#idk how to actually display these so i just put them on my phone in the notes app where the screen was all white

[bookplush]

slides i got at at the durham scrap exchange store roughly 5 years ago

[sunsburns]

naked in manhattan

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader / implied art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you’re just hours away from a flight that will change your career forever—one that will take you to london, england, for the 2012 olympics, a milestone you never thought you’d reach. thrilled yet trembling with nerves, you find yourself at the hotel bar, celebrating alone. it does not help when you run into art donaldson and… his wife?

—or: you and tashi rekindle an old flame

word count: 6.9k

contains: SMUT 18+, smut with a lot of plot, semi-public sex (a gym at the middle of the night so idk if that counts), mid-challengers movie (a year after the atlanta scene with tashi and patrick), angst with no comfort, fingering, homewrecking, cheating but also not cheating but also a worse third thing, no use of y/n, old situationship best described in terms of “casual” by chappell roan (iykyk), art is lowkey a shit starter

author’s note: so i finished this a while back and added it to my queue and did not realize i put it for july instead of june so LOL MY BAD. this is kinda like a prequel to “good luck, babe!” but you don't need to read that to get this. alsoooo thank you for all the love and feedback in “good luck, babe!” i’ve read every single message and tried to reply to all of them! you guys are so sweet and inspired me to write more! thank you thank you <3 i hope you enjoy this one!

Manhattan, New York City, 2012

"I hope you're planning on getting laid tonight."

Your drink is cold, the ice cubes clinking against the glass as you swirl the straw absentmindedly. The dim lighting of the hotel bar casts a warm, golden glow over everything, making the polished wood of the bar counter gleam. Around you, the murmur of conversations, bursts of laughter, and the occasional clinking of glasses create a lively yet intimate ambiance. You glance at the TV mounted in the corner, where a muted sports channel displays highlights from a basketball game.

You try not to snort into your drink at the words of Patrick Zweig on the other end of the call. You push your phone closer to your ear, unable to bite back the grin spreading across your face.

"Are you serious?" you ask.

"What?" Patrick's tone is mockingly innocent, full of playful mischief.

"I thought you called to say something a little more... I don't know, sincere? Heartwarming?"

He lets out a loud, boisterous laugh that you can practically feel through the phone. In the background, you hear the faint sounds of a city—honking cars, distant chatter, and the occasional bark of a dog. The noise fades slightly as Patrick likely moves to a quieter spot, and you can almost picture him getting in his car in some other state—you think he's in Arizona.

"The only kind of warming I wanna hear about is cockwarming," he retorts, his voice dripping with mock seriousness.

You make a face, "You're disgusting."

"I mean it," he insists, still laughing. "I'm actually so jealous of you right now. You qualified for the Olympics, for fuck's sake! How's your mom doing? Did she have a heart attack? Did she call you already? I hope she packed you some condoms. There's gonna be such a wide variety. Literally every country in the world."

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick."

Your mother did call, her voice crackling with emotion over the phone just before Patrick rang you. She told you how proud she is of you, how she can't wait to watch you play and tell everyone she knows that her daughter is an Olympic tennis player. A gold medalist, maybe.

Her words echo in your mind, filling you with a warmth that battles the nerves simmering beneath the surface.

You take a sip of your drink, savouring the blend of fruity and bitter flavours, a welcome distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts. You try not to spill it on your Ralph Lauren sweater, custom-made, just for the Olympics, with your name stitched on the arm.

Around you, the hotel bar is alive with the buzz of other athletes celebrating with their teams. The fellowship is appreciable as laughter and cheers fill the air. But for some single athletes, like yourself, it's a different story. You feel as if you're in high school all over again, too awkward to make friends, hoping someone braver than you will come by and say hello first.

"You better not be sitting at the bar alone, drinking that orange juice you like."

"A sangria isn't just juice, you dick," you retort, rolling your eyes.

"You're such a loser."

You do feel a little bit like a loser, sitting alone at the bar, but you know you shouldn't. You're hours away from your flight to London where you'll have the chance to play tennis in the Olympics. This is all you've ever wanted since you were a child, all you've been working for—sweat, blood, and tears. You can't even remember a time when you've dreamt of something other than this.

Tennis has always been your escape, your sanctuary. You remember those early days when you played with second-hand rackets and makeshift nets, the local court becoming your second home.

And then there was Patrick, your closest… friend(?) and fiercest rival. His encouragement, his competition, and his company kept you grounded and motivated. When the going got tough, the dream felt too distant, and all of it made you feel far too guilty as if you had stolen someone else's life, Patrick was there to reassure you that you deserved it just as much as the next. Without him, you likely would have walked away from the sport you love.

"I can't believe you made it to the Olympics before me," Patrick's voice pulls you back to the present, a mix of envy and pride lacing his words. You can almost see the playful smirk on his face, a familiar expression that often surfaced during your countless matches together.

"I wish you were here, Pat." Your voice softens, the longing evident. It was hard to track down Patrick Zweig, especially while he was constantly on the move, hopping from state to state, playing as many challengers as he could sign up for, each match a stepping stone toward his dream of winning the US Open. And you think he will. You've played against him enough times to know he's better than you at hitting a ball with a racket.

There were nights when you'd both crash in a shabby motel or back at your place after a gruelling day on the court, strategizing and critiquing each other's play styles (sometimes in more than just tennis). His tenacity was a beacon for you, pushing you to strive harder and to reach further.

His voice softens, becoming more earnest. "Yeah, me too. I'll try to get tickets for one of your games in London. If not, I'll catch up with your mom and watch it with her. Is your dad still in the picture?"

You roll your eyes, a reflex to his familiar teasing. "Oh, my god."

"I'm just asking," he chuckles. "Listen, I'm gonna let you go, 'cause I've got a date tonight. But call me when you land."

"Oh, yeah, okay." You try not to let the disappointment seep into your voice, but it's hard. It's not like you and Patrick were together, at least not publicly, at least not in the sense that you couldn't see other people. But even as you tell yourself that, a knot tightens in your chest.

It feels a bit teenageish, you think, messing around with friends and acting like it means nothing just to avoid making things awkward. Yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were leaving something unsaid, something unacknowledged. Patrick was one of the few people in your life who kept you on your toes and made you feel good—truly good.

Now, the idea of him with someone else, going on dates while you chase your dreams, feels like a betrayal you can't quite articulate. But what right do you have to feel that way? You never made things official, never dared to cross that line.

You never bothered to search for love outside of tennis.

"Have fun on your date," you manage to say. It comes out more brittle than you'd hoped. "Talk to you later."

"Bye!" he says, oblivious to the turmoil in your heart. His voice is light and carefree, and why wouldn't it be?

You end the call and set your phone down on the bar with a bit more force than intended, the hollow thud echoing your frustration. The bartender glances your way and you try to flash him an honest smile before ordering another drink. The TV overhead flickers, switching from basketball highlights to a recap of the latest tennis matches. You watch the screen without really seeing it.

The bar is still lively, yet you feel an overwhelming sense of solitude. You can't help but feel like you're stuck in limbo—caught between your dreams and the reality of your personal life.

You take a deep breath and a long sip of the rest of your first drink, the cool liquid doing little to ease the heat of frustration building inside you. You tell yourself you should be happy, grateful even. But right now, all you can think about is Patrick, and how much easier it would be if he were here with you.

But he's not. And maybe he never will be.

Maybe no one will.

Maybe you will die alone, your tennis racket as your only companion.

"This seat taken?" A familiar voice breaks through your thoughts.

You turn, startled, "No-" you start, but then the blur of blonde hair comes to focus and you're stumbling over your words, "Art? What- what are you doing here?"

"Oh," he smiles, a shy faint red blush already growing on his pale skin. He sits beside you, almost hesitantly, "Just stopping by the city. I saw you and thought I'd say hi."

"Hi." You return his smile, albeit a bit warily.

It's been years since you last spoke to Art properly, though your paths have crossed a few times. You've seen him in magazines, TV, and brief passings usually at major tournaments—Wimbledon, the Australian Open, the US Open. Each time, there were shy smiles and waves from across the room, lingering eyes, and awkward conversations where mutual friends tried to reintroduce you as if you hadn't once known each other

Art looks different every time you see him. His hair, now a little shorter than you remember, still maintains that boyish shagginess. There's a darker tan on his skin, evidence of his time spent under the sun. Some days he has a brighter smile, other days, it's a smile that never reaches his eyes.

As he sits there, you can't help but think of how golden his hair used to look whenever he wore his old Stanford hat, the one he used to pull low over his eyes during your college days. The memory makes you aware that you're staring, maybe a little too long. But he's looking at you too, his blue eyes trailing from one end of your face to the other, as if trying to memorize it all, capturing a photograph of who you are now.

A warmth spreads through you under his gaze, and when he finally looks away, you turn too, tapping at your empty glass, pretending to seem interested in the way the ice has started to melt.

But your eyes betray you, slowly trailing back to him. You watch the way he sits, the way he calls over the bartender and orders himself a glass of water. You try not to notice the deep timbre his voice has gained over the years, and how it resonates in the noisy bar. He looks at you, then the empty seat on your other side, and finally scans the room anxiously, as if he's searching for someone or something.

"He's not here," you finally say, breaking the silence that has grown too heavy. "If that's what you're wondering."

He nods, trying to act nonchalant but failing miserably. "What city is he in now?"

"Vegas, I think."

He makes a face and rests his chin on his hand. "There's no challengers in Vegas this month."

"Then he's just visiting. I don't know." The truth is, you don't want to talk about Patrick right now. Especially not with Art. Not after the way they ended things. You watch Art shrug, and the bartender sets your drink in front of you. You take a grateful sip, savouring the blend of flavours. Art holds his glass carefully, and the two of you sit in strained silence for a moment, the noise of the bar fading into the background.

You can't help but ask, "What are you doing here? In Manhattan?"

"I have an interview tomorrow. For the New York Times," Art says, leaning back slightly. He seems a little surprised as if he expected you to sit there without acknowledging him for the whole night. It makes you wonder what he thinks of you. "They're doing a piece on my career, the highs, the lows... the beginning and stuff."

You study his face, trying to gauge his emotions. You know what it's like to be interviewed, to have a team of people making you look your best for photos and another team crafting answers to help you maintain your reputation. It’s exhausting and thrilling all at once. "Congrats, I'm happy for you."

"Thank you. If anything, I should be congratulating you. Olympics? That's huge..." He continues talking, his lips moving, but you’re barely registering the words. For the first time that night, he seems genuinely enthusiastic, a faint spark in his eyes as he talks about you, about London, gesturing with his hand in excitement.

That's when you notice it. The gold around his finger. It glimmers under the warm lights of the bar, catching your eye like a beacon. You can't stop staring at it even after he's done talking.

"Oh, yeah. It's great." The words feel hollow as they leave your mouth. You struggle to find the right response, not wanting to be rude. "You're married?"

His face falls, and he looks down at his hand resting on his lap. "Oh, yeah, yeah. We, uh..." He scratches the back of his head, his eyes darting up to meet yours briefly before looking away. He seems nervous, like he's bracing for your reaction, worried to tell you, as if you weren’t supposed to know at all. "We got married last year. We kept pushing the date for a while because we were... we were busy... and stuff just kept getting in the way."

"We...?"

"Tashi."

"Tashi," you echo, the name tasting foreign and bitter on your tongue. "You're married? You married each other?"

He nods, "Yeah, we've been engaged for a few years now. You haven't heard?"

You feel a lump form in your throat. "No, uh. My coach tries to keep me away from certain news... my mom suggested it. So I don't get uh, distracted."

This is exactly the kind of situation your team has been trying to avoid.

The reality of his words sinks in, and you feel a sharp pang of something—loss, regret, maybe even jealousy. The air around you feels thicker and harder to breathe. Each word he says feels like another brick being laid on your chest, pressing down, making it harder to stay composed.

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense."

You force a smile, but it's a fragile thing, threatening to shatter at any moment. "That's... that's great, Art. I'm happy for you. Really. How was... how was the wedding?" Your mind races with thoughts of broken promises and missed opportunities. You imagine Tashi in her wedding dress; you know she looked beautiful. The image stabs at you, and you wince.

"It was beautiful. Both our families came in, and we kept it traditional, in a church. It was..." He pauses, watching you before adding, "It was a small ceremony. Private. Just family."

His words twist the knife deeper. Tashi's family used to see you as such. "No, yeah, I get it. Wouldn't want any trouble at the wedding. I'm happy for you. I'm happy for the both of you." You turn to the bartender, desperate to keep your voice steady. "Hey, can I get another drink? Something stronger?"

Patrick was right; your stupid orange juice won't get you through the night.

Art watches you with concern, his brow furrowing. "How many of those have you had?"

You laugh, but it sounds hollow even to your ears. "Not enough."

"Does your coach know you're drinking?"

"Does yours know you're talking to me?"

Art leans back, his posture stiffening. He turns to his drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass as he takes another sip. The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable. You watch as he processes your words, his expression shifting from defensiveness to something more pained. You instantly feel a pang of guilt, realizing you've struck a nerve.

You've heard all about Tashi's coaching with Art. Whispers in the locker rooms during tournaments, hushed conversations about how she's pushing him until he cracks. You never wanted to believe it, never wanted to think that Tashi, of all people, would be the one to break him down.

"She calls you Ace, you know."

You make a face at the name. A journalist had written an article about you a few years ago when you won your first US Open, nicknaming you Ace since your serves were almost impossible to hit. The nickname stuck, plastered across headlines, magazine covers, and merchandise. People even bet on you becoming the youngest tennis player with the most aces in history before the season ended. You were only off by a dozen.

"Does she?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, unaffected.

"You do have a killer serve."

You scoff, shaking your head. "Killer." The word feels bitter on your tongue. "Tashi used to hit those back at me like it was nothing."

Art nods, taking another sip of his drink before pausing to look at you. "Only 'cause she knows you."

"Knew," you correct him.

The silence stretches again, heavier this time. You're about to say something, anything to break it, when Art speaks again, his voice softer, more earnest.

"I miss you."

What. The. Fuck.

"I do," he insists, leaning forward, his eyes searching yours. "I miss hanging out with you. I miss playing with you. Watching your games live and not recorded on my TV."

"Art, c'mon." You feel the dread crawling up your throat, wishing you had left the bar sooner. Every word he says seems to pull you deeper into a past you've been trying to escape. Art has done nothing but throw you off your game all night.

"I miss you outside of tennis, too," he continues, his voice tinged with regret. "I miss our late-night walks, studying in the library. You remember those?"

"Of course I do."

"Tashi misses you, too," he says, and you can tell he's crossing a line, testing your patience. You can feel the corner of your mouth twitch, your eyes unable to meet his. "She tells me every night. She's always keeping up with your stats, watching all of your games, rewatching your old ones. She makes notes for you, how you could improve. She wants to coach you."

"Art, stop it," you finally snap, turning to face him. The night feels ruined, any semblance of peace shattered. Was this all some elaborate scheme against you? After all these years, is this how they repay you? Out of spite? Is that what it is, a way to get back at you because you somehow got it all, and Tashi's taking whatever she can scrape off from Art?

"I don't want her to coach me. And I highly doubt she wants to coach me either."

"I booked the hotel," he says suddenly, his voice softer, more sincere. "She doesn't know you're here. And I really think it will be good for you two to talk." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper, placing it carefully on the bar in front of you. "Here's our room number. I'll be out tonight with some friends, so the room is yours till late. Just, don't kill each other or break anything if you fight."

"I'm not going—"

"She really does miss you," he interrupts, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you might understand, might relent.

You stare at the piece of paper, feeling its presence like a burning brand. Art stands up, hesitating for a moment as if he wants to say more but thinks better of it. "I mean it. Think about it," he murmurs before turning and walking away, his footsteps echoing in the hollow space of your mind.

You watch him go, each step he takes pulling at the threads of your carefully constructed facade. As he nears the entrance, your eyes follow him instinctively, and that's when you see her. Tashi. She's standing there, with her bags looking around with a familiar intensity, her eyes scanning the room until they lock onto yours.

You feel sick.

Meeting Art was a pleasant surprise; he makes your heart race and your cheeks burn. But Tashi makes your heart stop and your brain shut off.

She looks different—older, more mature, hair straight and cut to a mid-length but also a lighter colour—but still heartbreakingly familiar. Her eyes widen slightly as she recognizes you.

She opens her mouth as if to say something when Art stands next to her, pressing a kiss to her temple, but no words come out.

Your heart hammers in your chest.

The weight of her gaze is too much. You're the first to look away. You stand up abruptly, nearly knocking over your drink in the process. "Excuse me," you mutter to the bartender, slapping a couple of bucks on the counter. Your voice feels distant, and detached, as if it belongs to someone else.

You push through the crowd, your mind a chaotic whirl of emotions. You need air. You need space.

As you reach the elevator, you can feel Tashi's eyes still on you. But you keep moving, your footsteps quickening with each step. You need to focus on tennis. That's the only thing that's never let you down.

Tashi had once picked tennis over you, and now it was your turn to do the same.

You reach your room and close the door behind you, leaning against it as you finally let out the breath you've been holding. The walls seem to close in on you, and you slide down to the floor.

You need to remember why you're here. For the game. For the dream. And that has to be enough.

Only one problem.

You can't sleep.

Hours later, you find yourself in the hotel gym, the quiet hum of the machines the only sound in the stillness of the night. Your mind is racing, a chaotic swirl of thoughts and emotions you can't control. Desperate for an outlet, you hop on a treadmill and start running, hoping to exhaust yourself into some semblance of peace.

Anything is better than sitting in the hotel lobby, scouring the internet on the public computer for any proof of Art and Tashi's marriage while drinking wine straight from the bottle.

Art was right, it was a small wedding. There were almost no photos of it caught by the paparazzi, only articles upon articles talking about it, magazine covers and everything. God, how could you have missed this? How out of the loop were you?

There was only one photo posted, and it was from Tashi's Facebook and Instagram from less than a year ago; a picture of just her hand holding onto Art's, where you can see her wedding ring. There was no caption. But the photo had millions of likes.

You wonder if Patrick knew. He probably did. He stalks her account religiously and only recently started to tone it down. And then there's you, who had her blocked on everything since your last argument.

The music playing in your ears drowns out the world around you, a heavy beat pulsing as you hum along. Your eyes fixate on the rising numbers on the treadmill screen, sometimes glancing out the window at the city skyline, other times catching your silhouette in the glass reflection.

Sweat makes your clothes cling to you like a second skin, rolling down your spine in rivulets. You're still a little tipsy from your drinks, the taste lingering in your cheeks, but you think you're sober enough that a few more miles will drain it all out.

Art's words are burned into your mind. The wedding you were never invited to, how he suddenly wants to be friends again. You can see where he's coming from; tennis is lonely. You're lonely. You press the button to go faster, your legs burning as you push yourself harder, trying to escape the thoughts that chase you.

You don't hear the door click open, and it takes a few seconds for you to spot the reflection of someone walking behind you in the window's reflection, rolling out a pink yoga mat. But they don't step onto it, they don't move, and even worse, you catch their eye in the reflection.

Fuck.

It's Tashi Duncan.

Your heart lurches in your chest. You quickly look away, panic setting in. You turn your music up higher and make the treadmill run faster, the machine whirring louder in response. Your pulse races, not just from the exertion, but from the presence of the one person you can't bear to face right now.

In the corner of your eye, you see her approach you. When you hear her call out your name between songs, you pretend you can't hear her. You pretend to be captivated by the sight of the city at night, pretend that you're lost in the music as P!nk's voice blares into your ears, cursing out one of her old lovers.

You wonder how long you can keep the act up.

Tashi moves with a determination that you've always admired and feared. She walks around your treadmill, eyes locked onto you with a fierce intensity. Without hesitation, she reaches down and unplugs the machine from the wall, forcing it to power down abruptly.

Not long enough.

"What the fuck?" You huff, yanking out your earbuds. "What's your fucking problem?"

"You're my problem," she says, her voice steady, unyielding as she rolls her eyes.

"I haven't said a word to you."

"And that's my problem. I'm talking to you," Her gaze bores into yours, refusing to be ignored. You can see the resolve in her eyes, the same decisiveness that made her a force to be reckoned with on the court.

"I'm busy," you snap, and your breath comes in ragged gasps, both from the exertion and the emotional storm raging inside you. You feel trapped, cornered by the very person you’ve been trying to avoid.

You bite your tongue, stepping off the treadmill and walking around her when she steps in front of you. You make a straight line for your bag, watching her from the mirrors as she follows you closely.

"Can you listen?" It's more of a demand than an ask, "I just... Art told me what he did. He's a little shit, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. You have other shit to worry about."

You're taking long chugs from your water, staring at her without saying a word. Part of it is because you have nothing to say to her, and another is because you're afraid that if you speak, she'll see through you.

Tashi's eyes roam over you, lingering on your shorts and the way the wires from your earbuds snake from your iPod, under your tank, and peek out from under your sports bra. Her gaze is both appraising and filled with something unresolved between you. When you don't respond, she sighs. "You look great, by the way. On the court. You've changed your approach. You're vicious."

The compliment stings more than it soothes. You still don't say anything, letting the silence stretch between you like a chasm.

"...Or maybe you've always been. I haven't seen you in a long time. So a lot could've changed, I don't know."

You lower your bottle, swallowing the water. It feels cold as it runs down your throat, a stark contrast to the heat of your rising anger. You can't help the way your eyes drop to her hand when you pull your hair down from its ponytail. The sight of the ring on her finger feels like a punch to the gut.

She notices.

"We didn't want you to find out this way."

Your eyes snap up to hers. "And how was I supposed to find out?"

Tashi looks taken aback for a moment, her confident façade faltering. She takes a deep breath, as if bracing herself. "I don't know. Maybe we should've told you. Should've invited you. But I thought... I thought it would be easier for you if you didn't know. I didn't want to hurt you more than I already had."

Your laugh is bitter, devoid of any real amusement. "Easier?

"Look," Tashi begins, her voice tinged with a hint of impatience, "I'm not a fan of the way I ended things. But I think that keeping a grudge for this long is embarrassing. We were teenagers."

"You're right," you concede with a bitter chuckle, "it is embarrassing. But you know what's even more embarrassing?" Your voice rises, fueled by a mixture of frustration and hurt. "Having your husband come to me and tell me how much he misses me. And how you miss me. But you don't have the guts to tell me that yourself, do you? Do you miss me, Tashi?"

"Of course I miss you," she scoffs, her tone defensive. "You were my best friend. My serving partner. We played and won doubles together."

"Is that all I was to you?"

"Was there supposed to be anything more?"

There it is, the moment you've been dreading, the confrontation you've been avoiding. You can feel the familiar ache in your chest, "You know I fucking loved you, Tashi," you admit. "And yeah, whatever, everyone loved you. No one could get enough of Tashi Duncan. But you know damn well I loved you for more than just that."

"Loved?" She steps closer, her eyes searching yours. "You don't love me anymore?"

"No," you tell her. "I don't. I dropped out of your groupie a while ago."

"What do you love, then?" Her voice is almost a whisper, the distance between you closing.

"I love tennis," you confess, your gaze never leaving hers. "I love winning. Turns out I'm great at both. And I love that too. And people love me. That's more than you could ever give me. Or Art."

"Even Patrick?" The mention of his name is a sharp jab; she's trying to get under your skin.

"I don't know, you tell me." You're taunting her. And you love the way she falters for a split second. "You saw him at the Open last year, didn't you?"

The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like it’s terrified of being trapped between you. "Listen," she says, her voice dropping lower, "I just came here to tie some loose ends. For Art's sake. He says It'll be good for me."

"Okay," you reply, seizing the opportunity to turn the conversation in your favour. Hook, line and sinker. "Is there anything else you want to get off your chest?"

Hook.

Tashi's eyes narrow slightly, but she takes the bait, her expression shifting to one of determination. "You raise your arm too high when you serve. You're gonna dislocate your shoulder one day."

"I bet you're waiting for the day I do."

"I can make you the best."

"Am I not already?"

Line.

"You're one of the best at most. But not the best. I'd be surprised if you bring back bronze. You're too short-tempered for silver. Let me coach you. I'll make sure you bring back gold."

"I don't need you," you say, the words catching in your throat.

"We both know you do," she whispers, her breath warm against your lips.

And sinker.

In that moment, everything else fades away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time. The words hang in the air, a silent challenge. You can feel the heat radiating from her, the closeness almost unbearable.

Without another thought, your lips crash together in a desperate kiss, a release of all the pent-up tension and longing that has simmered between you for far too long.

It's a whirlwind of heat and passion, each touch igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume everything in its path. Her hands are in your hair, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your body pressed against hers with a fierce urgency.

The kiss deepens a symphony of desire and desperation, all the words you couldn't say pouring into it with a fervour that borders on reckless abandon. You can feel yourself start to become absorbed into the bubble that is Tashi Duncan, it sucks you in, and it scares you, makes you feel as if you're sinking into the bottom of the ocean.

She grips the back of your neck, hard enough that her nails dig into the skin. Tashi waits for your gasp, and when you do, she pushes her tongue into your mouth, past your teeth until it collides with your own.

You're moaning, groaning into her mouth with the way she shoves you until your back hits the mirror behind you. You're arching into her at the way she fucking smiles against your lips at your reaction.

It's pathetic. You're pathetic. Almost in the same way Art is. You know it. She knows it. But in your defence, it's been a while since you've been kissed, it's been a while since someone's touched you this way, with heat and flavour. You're a little dizzy from it, cheeks flaring with embarrassment.

Tashi sucks your tongue into her mouth and you buck your hips against the thigh she's pressed between your legs.

There's a sweetness that lingers when she bites your lip, you wonder if she's wearing lipgloss, maybe chapstick. You hope she can't tell you've been drinking, that talking to Art made you spiral, that you've been bluffing since the moment she walked into the gym. Since the night she packed her things and told you she was leaving Stanford, her scholarship has no use since she can't play anymore.

When her hands run down your neck to your waist, gliding over the sweat on your skin, you can feel the cold touch of her wedding ring. It's frigid, making you shiver when Tashi starts to lick up the column of your throat. You almost feel bad about how wet you've become.

"Tashi..." you huff, her hands found their way to the base of your ass, guiding you to rock faster against her, only making you whine. Her grasp is tight, wanting. She pulls at your hips, slowly, dragging your crotch closer to hers and then pushing you back down on her leg. She repeats the motion a few times, rolling her own hips up into you a little more with each motion, and soon your muscles start to work so you can grind down onto her.

Tashi rewards you with a quiet moan—oh, you want her to do that again, you're going to make her do that again, louder and louder—and then, with a touch so light you could cry, she traces one hand over your hipbones and down to your pussy.

You can feel your stomach nearly drop, "You're married, Tashi."

She pulls away just to laugh at you. One finger traces your slit through your shorts, and you hear yourself moan. She raises her brows, a challenging look in her eyes, "Are you jealous?"

You try to scoff, but the cold glass of the mirror behind you squeaks when you shift. Even just this feather-light pressure through two layers of fabric, and every nerve ending in your body sets alight at once.

"What would Art say?" You try to say, your hair falling over your face as you try to collect some kind of morality. If you were caught, you can already imagine the headlines and the stories people would write about you. "What would he do if he found us right now?"

"I don't know," Tashi hums, leaning closer. She pretends to think as if the answer isn't obvious, teasing you a little when she gets close enough to kiss you but doesn't. "He'd probably ask to join."

You can't stop the way that thought alone makes you melt. You remember the jokes Patrick used to make back when you were in college, of you and Tashi being his wet dreams. You can almost imagine, how he would moan at everything, want everything, his whiney moans too similar to the ones he makes when he's on the court.

Tashi rubs gently at your pussy a few more times like she's exploring you, and then suddenly she taps right where your clit is. You cry out, and she sighs against your mouth. "You're so wet. You like it when I touch you?"

"Yeah, please... touch me." You nod. And in your head, you're telling yourself you only like it because you haven't been with anyone since Patrick left for his tour.

Tashi kisses you again, and it's a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath her shirt she starts to fumble with your waistband, and you're both angry and resentful and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet.

Her fingers are clumsily slipping into your underwear and then she's there, her fingers are brushing right against your clit—you're so wet that her fingers brush right through your folds, gliding like silk, and by the time she reaches your hole, two fingers easily sink in right to the knuckle.

Tashi leaves you gasping and she teases you for it. "So sensitive," she taunts against your lips, pressing her thumb against your clit so she can see you squirm, pumping her fingers at an urgent pace to hear you moan. "So needy."

With each movement, she scissors her fingers a little, spreading you wider every time, and she starts to mouth at your neck with hot, wet kisses. "Do you like that, yeah? Am I making you feel good? I am, aren't I? I'm exactly what you need. C'mon say you want me. Tell me you need me, Ace."

"Maybe—" You're breathless, and the nickname has you tugging at her hair again, "Shit, I saw the way you made Art. He... oh god... he wouldn't be half the athlete without you. I also... I also wouldn't want to ruin my shoulder... while—while serving."

"I'm not talking about tennis."

For a moment, you worry that you've fallen for a trap, that you've said too much. You're vulnerable, a little drunk on lust and wine, and Tashi isn't stupid to not catch your sapphic crush on her since the two of you became friends, an old high school love that's never really disappeared, from slumber party kisses and how you've gawked at her, at her husband and even her ex-boyfriend.

"C'mon, Tash, you're always talking about tennis."

"Not this time."

You barely catch onto what she says. Your body feels like it's going through the most intense orgasm of your life, especially now that she's given up on pumping her fingers in favour of curling them in rapid beats against your g-spot, but you know that you're not even coming yet: you're close, though, judging by the way the room is spinning around you, and the pressure building in the pit of your stomach—"I think I'm close... oh, I don't—fuck—keep touching me like that."

She bites your neck until you say her name. You pull her hair until she moans. Her touch is blistering against your skin. She says your name in a breathy drawl like she's pleading with you, humouring you, wanting to take everything from you.

"Keep going, please, please don't stop," you all but shout, and Tashi continues the massaging movement right up on your g-spot: the positioning of her hand means the heel of her palm is dragging over your clit, and your hips are frantically grinding up into her hand—you're gonna come, the world feels like it's crashing down around you.

Every muscle in your body tenses up and through it all you hear Tashi whispering, come on, that's it, I've got you, come on, come on, and then you're coming—

Distantly, you can feel her fingers continue their movements inside of you, unrelenting—and the other hand keeps a firm grip on your hips, grounding you onto her lap—but other than that, all you know is the pleasure slamming into each nerve in your body, one by one and then all at once. A hot sting against your skin that reminds you of the sun whenever you're on the tennis court, deep into the game you've turned into the love of your life.

It can't have possibly been this long since the last time you've gotten laid, right?

Then, suddenly, you're back in reality. Tashi is heaving for breath against your shoulder and her fingers are back to a slow, steady pumping, in and out of your swollen pussy. "You're so pretty, you know that? No tennis talk."

You lean your head back against the mirror, a slow grin forming on your lips, "You don't think I'm pretty when I play."

"I think you're hot when you play."

You peek a glance at Tashi, meeting her eyes as she watches you, watching the way you catch your breath, skin shining against the fluorescent lights of the gym, similar to how you shine on the court. Yeah, you're a sight for sore fucking eyes.

Tashi takes slow, taunting steps back and away from you, and then she brings her fingers to her mouth and sucks, moaning around the digits, and through hazy eyes, you can see the most fucked-out look on her face just at the taste of your cum.

She licks her fingers clean—you feel your pussy clench down again at the sight—before opening her eyes, fixing you with an intense stare, and panting, "I'll be in my room," she rolls up her pink mat (which she never used) and picks up her bag, "I'm sure you know the number. I'm hoping you can return the favour and touch me or something. You know, before you leave in the morning."

tags 🏷️: @begoniaespresso / @sceletaflores / @too-deviant / @wolflover384 / @sevikasblackgf / @supercutszns / @diorrfairy / @24kmar / @apolloscastellan

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[catiuskaa]

music to my ears —bf!chan thoughts

A/N: the bf!thoughts series is finished! I’m so happy I could finish it. I had so much fun coming up with these lil scenarios. Feel free to check them all out, they’re all linked in my masterlist!

(because he’s so gentle and so lively and represents the embodiment of the word «comfort» ㅠㅠ<3)

chan, who’s thrilled to hear that his partner, you, enjoys rap and music with almost as much passion as him.

chan, who often takes you to the studio, sometimes with the rest of the kids, others just him and you, perhaps 3racha too, and asks your opinion from time to time, shoving aside your several comments regarding your lack of knowledge in the field.

chan, that one day randomly approaches you as you get out of the shower, puppy eyes shyly staring at you like everytime he does when he wants to ask you a favour. You smile, not putting pressure in him.

chan, who finally mutters that he heard you sing in the shower, and claims that your voice fits perfectly on something that he has been working on, wondering if you’d be up to try out recording!

chan, who teaches you in the booth how to sing so that the mic catches your voice better, who explains the pace, the breathing, the tone, the exact way he wants you to deliver your short lyrics, yet showing how much the smallest details matter to him.

chan, who, as he does with the rest of the members, turns on the mic so you can hear him giggle when your voice cracks.

chan, who happily encourages your shenanigans, letting you sing any lyrics that come up to mind as you quickly end up comfortably laughing and following his guidelines, your cheeks red and hurting from smiling and laughing so much.

chan, who stares at you more than at the computer screen —where he should actually be looking—, snorting when he notices that his headphones look too big on your head, one of your hands holding them in place as you sing.

chan, who blushes, sheepish smile with dimples on display when you spot him staring, and you tease him, muttering through the mic. “jagi, you’re staring. Am I that bad?” You joke, and he giggles, hiding his face behind his hands in a timid manner, never getting tired of your humour.

chan, who makes you step out of the recording booth, takes his big headphones off of you and plants a loving smooch on your lips.

chan, who after several recordings, changes your contact on his phone as “my worldstar<3.”

(short take on chan thoughts because it’s chan, idk, and besides, I HAVE ONLY ONE EXAM LEFT UGH I AM SO HAPPY)

[drewsephrry]

memories

Harry Styles x reader

Inspired by: Memories-Conan Gray

Warnings: alcohol consumption, yelling, crying (idk if it counts as a warning) cuss words

Words: 2.7k

It was a rainy autumn night. She had a random movie playing in the background just to comfort her. She hated rain with passion. She hated that she was all alone and the only thing she could do to distract herself from it was look at old pictures.

Pictures from her childhood that were much too nostalgic for her, trying really hard to remember the name of the girl braiding her hair. Pictures from her vacation with her best friends from the previous summer, matching flower crowns and seashell necklaces on display. Pictures with her previous lover, that if she saw just two months ago she would cry her heart out but instead she smiled and reminisced about the tattoo he had let her draw on his skin shown in the photo.

It was a random Thursday night, the couple was chilling with their friends when Zayn told them that he had just acquired a tattoo gun. Harry was thrilled with the idea of putting more ink on his skin and even more so when Niall suggested that he let Y/N draw one on him.

Y/N had almost immediately shook her head in denial but Harry begged and begged until she sighed, defeated.

“Harry, you do know you're going to be stuck with it forever?” She warned.

“Yes, my love. Stop worrying about everything.” He tries to reassure her once more.

“But H, what if I mess it up? Or-or even worse we break up and you have it on your skin for the rest of your life?” She started asking with shakily hands, stuttering and failing to breathe properly.

“Y/N, honey, breathe. You'll be fine. Okay and what if you mess it up? That would just make it even more special to me. I love you and I completely trust you.” He puts his hands on her shoulders, trying to calm her down. “I'm not planning on breaking up with you anytime soon, maybe even ever. Unless you do and you're trying to let me down slowly, I don't see anything wrong with you tatting me.” He reassures her once again and she sighs, nodding. Harry smiles widely and pecks her lips, before pulling his long hair up in a bun.

After sterilizing the equipment and Zayn showing her how the gun works, she was ready. She didn't feel like it, but Harry squeezed her hand three times, their way of expressing their love to each other without actually saying anything.

She asked him multiple times, as the tattoo gun hit his skin if he was in any pain and if he needed anything, but Harry told her repeatedly he was fine and was praising her for her light touch.

After just a few minutes, the sketch, she had done on a random notebook Zayn had in his apartment, was brought to life.

A palm tree on the backside on his upper arm was delicately outlined and filled by her. She grabbed the handheld mirror that Zayn gave her and held it so Harry could see the work she did.

“Do you like it? If you don't, we can find something to cover it up with and I'll pay for it.” She suggested immediately, worried because he hadn't spoken yet. But the truth was he was mesmerized by it.

“I love it. It's so simple but yet done so beautifully. Thank you, my love. Thank you so so much.” He said kissing her lips. She smiled and sighed once again.

“Thank you for trusting me with this.”

“Well, you know what they say. Tat for tit!” He exclaimed jokingly, trying to lift her shirt when Y/N pushed his hand away giggling.

“You're such an idiot!”

Suddenly, she heard a knock on her door. She stopped gazing at her phone and another knock was heard. She got up from her couch cautiously. It was really late and it was pouring outside. Who could it be?

She grabbed the pepper spray from her handbag, as another knock was heard. She clutched her phone, close to her chest, ready to call the police.

She looked through the peephole and saw the one person she didn't expect to.

Harry was standing there, his hair sticking on his forehead and his clothes soaked.

She quickly unlocked the door and gasped.

“Harry, what are you doing here?” She asked, worried and confused.

“Need to talk with you, angel.” He slurred, an obvious sign he was drunk. He was pouting and his glossy, his green eyes were bloodshot telling her he was crying. His cologne was overcome by the smell of tequila. Y/N couldn't do anything else than open the door wider and gestured for him to come in.

She closed the door behind her and walked to her kitchen to pour some water for him, in hopes that he would sober up a little. He followed her like a wet and lost puppy that she couldn't turn away.

He takes a gulp of the water she hands him and smiles at her. She looked so cute and tiny compared to him, her hair was a little longer and her skin was still tanned from summer.

“I love you so much Y/N/N. I never wanted to hurt you.” He slurred again.

“But you did, H.” She couldn't tolerate standing there and listening to him pour his heart out when he broke her own a few months ago.

Y/N had started getting better. Getting over him. She was considering starting dating again. But seeing him like this made it so hard for her to think. Think about how fucked what he did and said was.

“Please, my baby, my love, listen to me. I made a huge mistake.” He was pulling his hair and trying to balance on his own two feet. He stumbled and fell to the floor, Y/N immediately reaching for him to make sure he was alright.

“I have missed you. I can't sleep without you. I barely eat anymore. I-I…don’t know what to do without you.” He confessed, tearing up. He pulled his knees up to his chest as he sat with his back on one of the kitchen cabinets.

Y/N was nodding, feeling upset and guilty she made him feel like this.

“H-Harry…I don't know what to say. Please, don't cry. You can stay with me tonight. We'll be fine.” She bent down to be eye level with him, comforting him and hugging him tightly. Neither one of them could deny how safe they felt in that moment, in each other's arms.

Y/N knew she was making a huge mistake, something her therapist won't be able to help with, something her friends cannot support and mostly she cannot expect any one of them to be there to pick up her pieces when everything would break down again.

Harry was led to her bedroom and she helped him lay down, removing his articles of clothing that he claimed felt like lava on his skin.

“Why were you all alone? Don't you still hate the rain?” He asked, getting under the covers of her bed, his eyes slightly closed. Y/N nodded and walked towards her side of the bed.

Y/N laid beside him, wrapping her arms around his back and to his front. He squeezed them three times, before quiet snores were the only thing heard.

How could she say goodbye to him again, when he just spent an entire night with her?

That morning Y/N woke up to an empty bed. She walked out to her living room, to see that she was all alone.

He had left her.

She walked to the kitchen with an ache in her chest and saw a plate with a stack of pancakes with maple syrup on her kitchen counter for her to indulge in.

She ended up spending her whole day crying and watching ‘The notebook’.

The next day, when Y/N's therapy appointment was scheduled, she told her about the night she spent with Harry, how she felt safe and for once, after a few months, slept like a baby and through the whole night.

Her therapist scolded her about her poor choices and talked to her about stepping forward.

A few days passed since Y/N's and Harry's last encounter. Y/N was getting ready for her best friend's birthday party when a knock was heard on her door. She yelled that she'll be right there, thinking it was the delivery guy with her food.

She grabbed her wallet and ran to the door with a wide smile on her face. Although when she opened the door, it was wiped away quickly. She swallowed and looked at Harry's green eyes.

“I missed holding you.” He slurred. Y/N was already running late to help her best friend with the party preparations. She was planning on getting there first out of everyone, to blow balloons and hang the garlands she had bought. But her meal hadn't arrived in time and now, this was happening.

She opened the door wide and he entered, he walked and sat down on her couch with a thump. He giggled at the sound he made and got quickly distracted by the show on her TV.

Y/N groaned and tried to keep in her mind what her therapist, mom and best friend told her.

“It's hard to find an end to something that you keep beginning, over and over again.”

“Hey, come look at this! Monica got stung by a jellyfish!” He giggled, getting comfortable on her couch.

She cursed under her breath, thinking how he would fuck up her progress in getting over him. Now twice. She grabbed her phone from the coffee table and walked in her bedroom to call her best friend.

“I'm really sorry, but I won't make it tonight.” She lied.

“What? Y/N, it's my birthday! You can't miss it.” Her best friend had furrowed her eyebrows, even if Y/N couldn't see it.

“I love you so much, I'll explain everything another time. And I am really and truly sorry.” She apologized again.

“Don't tell me he's there again.” Her best friend groaned and Y/N sighed.

“Y/N/N, he's no good for you. He's going to hurt you again. He's going to keep coming back since you're not turning him away. This is a never ending cycle, babe. Think about all the trauma he put you through. You need to put him in the past and move on.”

Y/N sighed defeated. Her best friend was right.

“Again, I'm really sorry.” She apologized one last time, before hanging up the phone. She walked back to the living room, where he was laying on the couch watching as Ross yelled ‘We were on a break!’. Harry chuckles at that and looks up to find you standing a few feet away from him.

“Care to join me, my beautiful girl?” he asked, making space for her and she smiled sadly as she nodded.

“Let me take my heels off really quick and I'll be right there.” She assured him, going inside her bedroom again, untying the straps from her heels and sitting down on her bed to catch her breath. She felt like throwing up. She felt her chest heating and that she was unable to breathe.

One, two.

One, two.

In, out.

In, out.

She was calm again.

The doorbell was heard, so she got up and out of her bedroom to find Harry already at the door.

“Stay the fuck away from her!” His slurred British accent alarming you. You ran quickly at the door and pushed Harry away from it.

“I'm really sorry about him, he's not feeling well. Thank you for your service!” Y/N tipped the now scared delivery guy, grabbing the bag of food from his hand and closing the door quickly. She pressed her back on it and sighed loudly.

“Don't be upset with me. He just wanted to get in your pants. I was trying to protect you. I always will.” Harry's eyes filled with tears once again. A laugh track was heard and she sighed again.

“It's okay, H. I'm fine. We're fine. Let's go eat!” She grabbed his hand and he smiled, wiping his eyes.

They spent the rest of the night cuddling on her couch.

The next day, he was gone again. She opened her phone to see multiple texts and calls from her best friend, telling her not to worry and that she would forgive her for bailing on her.

Y/N ignored all of them, including her therapist's email to confirm their weekly appointment. She knew that she would be disappointed to hear that she's taking more and more steps back.

A week later, she still hadn't heard a word from Harry and she waited for his appearance on her doorstep.

And there he was, a loud knock on the door startling her from the cookies she decided to bake as a stress reliever.

She ran to the door and opened it to find him there. He looked a little bit better than the last times he visited her, although he still reeked of tequila.

“Hello, my love.” He said, approaching her to kiss her lips. But she pulled away and shook her head. She opened the door wider for him to enter. He did and walked to the couch, sitting down and removing his shoes, already getting comfortable. Y/N couldn't take it anymore.

“We need to talk. I don't care if you're sober or drunk as fuck, but this has got to stop.” She said upset.

“What's bothering you baby? I can kiss it better.” He giggled and made grabby hands at her.

“Harry, I am serious. You can't keep doing this. There's no good reason to believe that we could ever exist again. I cannot be your friend. I definitely cannot be your lover. And I cannot be the reason we hold back each other from actually falling in love with someone else.” Y/N felt lighter after telling him exactly how she felt.

Harry felt a lump growing on his throat, his eyeline was gathering tears and he felt his chest tightening. Suddenly his head was clearer and he wasn't under the influence of alcohol completely.

“I just…you can't keep showing up, especially drunk, ruining everything. Expecting me that I would just take you back. You fucking traumatized me Harry. You broke my heart. And I'm trying so hard to forget you, to put you in the past and you're not letting me do that. You're just too busy playing the victim and acting like you are the one who's hurt, like you're the one that has a specialist taking care of you and your feelings. Can you just for once listen to me and stay the fuck away from me? Just…stay in my memories.”

She felt tears rolling down her cheeks, she didn't even notice she was crying. Harry looked down on the floor, sniffling. Y/N wiped her tears and sat down beside him.

“Since you came all the way over here, I'll let you stay. You can stay as long as it takes, but this is the last time. When you're going to leave, you're taking all of your books that you have left, your coat that’s still in my closet and that good cologne that you have left in my bathroom and it haunts me. It's still on my clothes and pretty much everything that I own and it makes me…feel like dying. I mean, I'm barely surviving as it is.”

Harry was feeling like his heart was being stabbed over and over again. He hadn't realized how much damage he had done to Y/N. He didn't want her to feel that way anymore.

He got off from her couch and walked to her bedroom grabbing his coat, the cologne from the bathroom and gathered the books from her bookcase, putting them inside a tote bag, which was also his.

“I'm not gonna bother you anymore. I-I am really sorry for the damage I did. I never meant to hurt you. I love you way too much and…I know what I'm saying is not gonna change anything but I needed to get it off my chest. I wish you only the best, my lo-Y/N. And I'll always be there for you, if you ever need me. But I'll just stay in your memories.”

He kissed her lips once. Twice. Three times.

When he pulled away both of them had tears rolling down their cheeks, their eyes were red and their lips swollen from the kisses they shared.

“I guess this is goodbye.” Harry whispers. “For now.” He smiled and Y/N nodded.

“Goodbye H. Take care.”

A/N: just a lil valentines day gift lol, this was heartwrenching to write, hope you all enjoyed and cried with me

[23lvrs]

^ this picture. > this video.

the suit

jaehyun was on his way to this fancy party his parents made him go to but before he did he went to his friends house to pick him up because he couldn’t go alone he would die

“ok before you get mad can you please just wait here for a bit i have to get my suit…” his friend told him feeling bad “this is exactly why i told you to get your suit ready weeks ago… do you need a ride?” jaehyun asked while sitting in the living rooms couch “nah it’s fine i’ll try to be quick”

jaehyun was just on his phone when he noticed from the corner of his eye a figure he looked up and he saw you… in the shortest fucking skirt and smallest crop top… he’s always been so attracted to you but you were his friends sister.. “hi jaehyun nice suit” “thanks” he said getting up walking up to the table in the kitchen to be closer with you “how have you been?” jaehyun asked not really caring he just wanted to speak to you no… he just wanted to look at you. you weren’t really looking at him you were trying to figure out what to eat “i’ve been ok you know school just fucking me over” you say as you bend down to look in the fridge your ass on display. jaehyun honestly couldn’t tell if you were doing it on purpose or not but he didn’t care… he got up and walked behind you bending down with you looking in the fridge

“yea i bet it’s so hard” jaehyun whispered in your ear. you stood up taking a step back “yea.. you know my brothers probably gonna be back soon” you said. your brother has told you many times don’t try anything with his friends which you always respected but jaehyun was different from all his other friends…

“but we’re just talking why would he care?..” jaehyun asked taking a step closer to you. you couldn’t take it you just kissed jaehyun you’ve been wanting him for so long and he’s finally showing you actual interest how could you just not take action

jaehyun picked you up not breaking the kiss into the living room on the couch. as you were making out you started grinding against him feeling how hard he was he’s so fucking sexy and this suit just makes him sexier

his hands reach to your pussy rubbing it a bit. you let out a moan and immediately took them off and while you were doing that jaehyun took his dick out. you didn’t wait to start riding him he felt so good in you it’s everything you been wanting. jaehyun was groaning cause of how tight you felt around him he felt like he was gonna come on the spot.

both of you were were so focused on each other you completely forgot about your brother until you heard the door getting unlocked. you got off jaehyun and ran into the bathroom. jaehyun quickly put his dick back in his pants trying to fix his suit.

“sorry i made you wait for so long let me just change and we’ll be ready to go” his friend said while walking into his room. once you heard the door lock you walked out the bathroom and walked up to jaehyun giggling “that was so close huh… maybe next time you can come over when i’m home alone or something and we can finish?..” you said with the cutest puppy eyes you were too fucking cute his dick was twitching he couldn’t help it he had to kiss you again and he did which caught you by surprise

you pulled back “jae… my brothers here we cant..” you told him with worry on your face “we’ll be fast please baby i need you so fucking bad…” the door then opens “ok jaehyun let’s g- oh y/n what are you doing here” “ i was just talking to your friend because you’re so rude you left him alone” “ok well we have to go now so bye” your brother said dragging jaehyun away from you

jaehyun didn’t know how fucking badly he needed you until then and he felt bad for doing this behind his friends back but you were just too perfect… he can’t wait until the next time he sees you

a/n- sorry if this sucks also i’m lazy to proof read & lmk if i should add any warnings or anything?? i’m not to good at them so idk if i should

[bigmack2go]

Ok so it’s been two days so i think I’ve finally processed everything enough to talk abt it

(Lmao that sounds like trauma. It actually about meeting sky)

So

Yk he texted me to meet him infront of the bar. I read AT the bar so i didn’t see him for a while (i didnt realise this until today) and the. He came in instead. He was rly confused for a second and didn’t see me. He looked around and the other person other than me (besides the bartenders) was some rly old man. Mind you: i told him what i looked like and that was NOT it and he looked a little lost but in an abnormaly adorable way (he was fidgeting with his hands and ahh. Sometimes i forget he’s human/silly so that was a very beautiful reminder of that)

Anyway so i went to him and i he still didn’t notice me for another few seconds. My mind was blank though so i just stood there like 🧍 until he saw me. The next few seconds are just gone from my memory. (I have extreme memory loss and i didn’t take my meds that day so any second i wasnt hyper aware of what was happening, is just,,, gone. And since i have adhd too, that happens a lot)

well anyway so i said “i made something… well they’re not done yet but” and i took the shoes i made out. I asked if he could sign them and he was just like really in shock. He was really flashed by the shoes but also that i wanted him to sign them. He just looked at them for a while and kept complementing them (i died btw) and then at some point he just stopped mid sentence and was like “wait- hold up, did you say you want me to sign those?!” Like he was Not Prepared ForThat At All. Like bro was so flashed and then i think that thing that i wanted him to sign it hit him off guard idk. I magically had a pencil apear (i hid it in my sleeve before that bc for some reason i thought that was a good idea) and he was like doinh a double take at something he didn’t even look away from? Idk. Well so he signed them and he was like,,,, spelling it aloud and it was adorable and i wanna die. (He also really didn’t wanna sign anywhere he shouldn’t and he was rly unsure and askee a few times”

“Okay lets see where do i— where do you want me— there, i’ll sign there is that okay? Okay. Okay so….. there. S. Mhm. K… oh that’s a weird K. And Y. There. Sky. Thats my name” (thats word by word what he said) (how cute do u wanna be? Him: yes.) and then he gave them back to me and there was A LITTLE HEART BEHIND HIS NAME AND WHEN I TELL YOU I ALMOST SCREAMED IN HIS FACE. It doesn’t look like a heart. More like a defirmed triangle but the intention is clear…

Well the. I asked if we could take a foto. Mind you, my phone has one if thos protection thingys where you cant see the display when you lopl from the side. Anyway i dint remember what he said or when he put his arm around me but the next thing i remember his arm was around my shoulder and his face was like…. Touching mine(?) (that sounds creepy as hell wtf) i was really shaking and i couldn’t see the display i just say that he was frowning a little after not taking another foto. I didn’t think anything of it in the moment and just thought he was still suprised i wanted a foto.

Well now this part i remember VIVIDLY. We were tlking a bit more and i was shaking even more now on account of I WAS LITTERALY HAVING one of SKY FLAHERTYS ARMS AROUND ME TWO SECONDS EARLIER.

Well he noticed i was shaking and put a hand on my shoulder (i double died) and then he like hugged me. (I got revived) It wasn’t like a side hug but also not a face to chest hug, but something inbetween. It was slighty awkward but at the same time not at all and ig even felt sort of casua? This time i was caught of guard and i was just staring at the air. (The bardender saw it and she winked at me and i did like a little silent scream with my face and she chuckled) well that all happened in like three seconds tops. So when we pulled apart (sounds like we were kissing WTF) i was like, ‘ok this felt like a good bye hug, this is a good time to leave’ (i regret that with every part of me.) and i started to leave. (He looked a bit confused. He probably thought i was gonna stay a bit longer, conciddering how we talked earlier)

Now this is where the bad thing happened.

Okay so Sky like,,, realises i’m leaving and he’s like “oh okay, uhm well, again, rly like the shoes and… nice meeting you!”

Now what did i do? The logical thing would be (not to leave at all ever again ever. why did i do that???) to say “thanks, nice to meet you too!” But no. Brain-less little me walked backwards (almost tripped) nodded and said “Guten Appetit” IN GERMAN. (For the record sky does not soeak german. And if he did, what i said was “bon apetit” in german. He was NOT about to eat) he looks at me like the moron i am. Like he looks at me like a literal moron like i’m a crazy idiot or smt. He literally did the Albert face when Race says “I’m famous!”(but i’m pretty sure that was just pure confusion. It didn’t look like an action he had any control over)

Anyway so i blush. Turn around and just,,, get away as fast as possible. When he gained back his composure (which was a lot faster than me obviously) he was like “Wait i still have your magic— oh whatever” (i pretended i didn’t hear it cause i was so embarrassed ydek) well it turns out he still had my pencil.

Anyway so then i texted him like this that “what i meant was nice to meet you too. Sorry. Got nervous” and he said “your fineeeeee” and i didn’t know what to answer but i had already read the message. So i take a screen (no tume for copy paste) and send a message to everyone person i can think of with the question of what to say. (Shoutout to @chaosfairy18 who saved me from an actual breakdown there. She answered rly rly fast)

I ended up saying thanks again and that it was rly cool. Then for some reason i said “also my mom says hi” (she didn’t. Idk why i did that. I legitimately do not remember.)

And thats it. I’ve said most stuff before but you wanted to know what exactly happened so here it is ig

[glitch-pep]

Under the cut is a massive ramble that I NEED to get out of my system, because a lot has changed in the last two months or so-

Also the oc stuff on my blog has been looking like this and it's been bugging me to no end so I wanna explain some stuff below- 💀

#1

After 4-5 years of drawing on my phone with my finger, I spent my savings on a drawing tablet. It's been a giant wish of mine to have one for ages, but I never really worked up the courage to do it since it's a big financial decision and I always feel guilty about spending money... but, after months of intense contemplating I did it!

Buuut I did have a few mental breakdowns once it arrived... long story short, turns out that you can't connect a HP PC with the tablet using the USB-c cable that you get with the tablet, because the USB-c port of the PC doesn't support an additional screen display.

I did look up if you can connect them beforehand, and the internet told me that the answer is yes. You can't trust anything these days bro- 💀💀💀

After A LOT of back and forth and me trying to return the tablet because I can't use it without it being connected to the PC, they told me that I can't return it. Than after EVEN MORE back and forth, we found out that it would work with a completely different cable that I had to order seperately. I had just about enough money left for it, so I ordered it, and then it was peace and love on planet earth because it finally works now.

#2

Also, I needed a free drawing programm I could use, but problem was that my old app, Sketch Draw And Paint, has the most simple layout and functions it can have, so I was used to simplicity.

When I tested out GIMP, Krita, Inkspace and FireAlpaca, I could not wrap my head around how they worked and my lazy ass didn't feel like watching a bunch of tutorials... I was like bro let's find one that I can figure out on my own, it can't be that complicated. 💀

Everyone thank MediBang Paint for being simple enough for me to understand... if MediBang Paint has 0 fans I'm dead fr. From now on, all of my art will be drawn in MediBang Paint and on the tablet.

Is my art any better? Idk but I'm having fun so far, experimenting with stuff, slowly getting towards actually getting some oc stuff done...

...and, speaking of oc stuff...

#3

...I'm going to explain what I plan to work on in the future for each of my oc's, so, let's get started.

Mina - I'm not going to be making any more main character eene oc's, I only gotta design Mina's aunt and a different side character and add them to the characters in her lore and that's it. Mina's story is by far the most simple out of everyone. She'll just get 1 or 2 fics. This doesn't mean that I don't love her, trust me I've had some crazy ideas for her lore, but I've decided to keep it simple, because it makes sense given who Mina is.

Milo and CJ - For the sake of telling you my versions of Seasons 3 and 4 of mf, I have to slightly redesign each canon character from the main cast, figure out how to draw them and write some new lore for them, while using any info I found to characterize them somewhat properly.

I watched and overanalyzed the entirety of the webisodes and the alternative versions of them, as well as the Nickelodeon show, and I looked through the website and the wiki, all for the sake of writing down ANY piece of information I can get about the lore of this show and the characters, because I really needed to have something to work with.

I rearranged S1 a bit and put together a S2 with the webisodes. I'll talk about this eventually.

I won't be making any new main character oc's for this one, only background characters. I'm planning to write S3 and S4 in the form of fics.

Sunny and Molly - For this one I have to add a bunch of secondary and background characters, but we don't need those to begin the story, they'll be relevant later. I'm currently trying to piece together episodes and which goes where so that I can start writing it. I also gotta analyze the website a bit more, to get a feel of how to somewhat properly write the canon characters. I also have a seperate wh oc story idea in mind that I wanna get to eventually as well.

Charlie - I have to remake Charlie's intro, slightly redesign her, add 4 additional main characters, also secondary and background characters but those will be relevant later... Charlie shares her story with a bunch of other oc's. This one will definitely take me the longest, and it's the last thing on my waiting list, because I wanna tackle the easier ideas first. I do also have a seperate sm oc story in mind that I wanna get to as well.

Piper - I don't exactly know what I'm gonna do yet. I wanna see how tadc plays out, and then I'll work on setting some stuff in stone. I do have some ideas and concepts in mind, but I'm not sure in what direction I should go with it, depends upon how the story in the show will play out. (I probably won't wait for the whole show to be done, but at least 1-2 more eps would kinda help me understand where it's going.) I will work on some of the ideas tho.

As of now, I don't plan to make any new oc's for any other fandoms, mostly because I haven't gotten a good enough idea for anything yet, but also because I really wanna work towards polishing the oc's I already have.

I am setting stuff up so that I can start writing the fics. I have no idea how long this will take me, given that I got irl responsibilities to take care of too, but I'll try my best to get it done eventually.

And that's it. I hope you'll have a nice day! 💕

[animehideout]

Quick question, may I request? If not, just ignore this<3

💙Random recommended song💙

I already mentioned this in my latest post but anyway, I did an optional homework and got the best grade and in the beginning I felt lowly about my work but after getting the grade I felt so much better about it and myself too.

The problem is that lately I started to get into writing again but can't find the time suddenly. Aaaaand I wanted to kind of celebrate this (I mean that the teacher seemed to like my poem) even tho it isn't a big deal but feels like it and oh God I feel like a lil child :')

Sooo may I request a Magumi x reader fluff, where the reader and Megumi are just chilling together when the reader get a notification saying she got a good grade and they get so emotional that they try to hold back tears, but Megumi senses the sudden change and ask if they are alright? The reader trying the brush it off that "Oh it's nothing special or worth mentioning, just got the best grade on the optional homework we got. Can't believe the teacher liked my poem..." 'Poem-?' Megumi thinks as he heard the last words. He maybe didn't even have a clue that the reader was into poetry and/or that they wrote any, so by hearing this he wanted to read it, but overthinking a bit, he decided on not asking them, even though maybe he should have. But it's late, he waited till they fell asleep and then quietly got up from bed to go and look for their exercise book and read it. After he read it, he puts the book on the reader's desk or somewhere else, not minding to put it back to it's actual place because he plans on telling them his opinion, how much they likes it as well and je would be interested in seeing more of their work. Maybeeee the reader confesses that they've been into poetry for a time now and shows Megumi all of the poems they've written while telling Meg' why they like some of their poems and why they have a few problems with some, then there's Megumi reading them with intrest. Maybe Megumi having a soft spot for poetry IDK BUT NOW I JUST REALIZED THAT BY WRITING THIS REQUEST I COULD HAVE EASILY JUST WRITE THE FANFIC ALREADY TT My bad :')

Anyway, catching up with your lates Gojo posts soon!

-Megan🩵

Huggie :3🎀

Megumi Fushiguro X Poet /Artistic Reader

Synopsis: Megumi discovers his partner's talent in writing poems.

a/n: Thank you @megan016 for this request, also CONGRATS for getting the best grade, you did great sweetheart and I'm proud of you 💗. Also I can't wait to read more of your poems and the translated ver. Keep it up. I hope you like this little oneshot tho♡.

Check @megan016 poem here ( I liked it and I had to share it, you are so talented 💌 )

As the soft glow of the TV illuminated the room, you sat in your boyfriend's arms, Megumi. Engrossed in the movie that was displayed in front of you. The atmosphere was light, filled with soft hums as Megumi played with your hair. The rainy weather outside, added to the coziness.

Suddenly, you phone chimed with a notification. Curious, you picked it up, unlocking it to reveal a message from your school,

{ Dear Y/N, Congratulations, your poem received the best grade. We appreciate your hard work. }.

Your eyes scanned the words, a wave of joy and surprise washed over you even though it was an optional homework the fact that your poem that came from your creativity, that each line you wrote carried within it a deeper feeling and meaning got a proper appreciation from your teacher was able to bring you to happy tears.

Your heart swelled with happiness while clutching your phone tightly, Megumi sensed how your body tensed between his arms.

"Love, is everything okay?" he asked.

Realizing that you haven't told him yet about your passion for poetry, you tried to hide your excitement and brush it off,

"Oh, y-yes I'm fine! it's nothing, just my poem got the best grade in class! Can't believe my teacher actually liked it hehe.." you chuckled awkwardly, trying to act normal as if you weren't holding back your tears from how delighted and proud you were.

"Poem?!" Thought Megumi to himself "I didn't know she's into poetry"

"But yeah– it's nothing special, not a big deal tho, it was just an optional homework" you added bringing him back to reality

"Oh.. I see you did great love congrats" said Megumi kissing the top of your head.

He senses how you were avoiding talking about your poem, so he respected it and just congratulated you he was completely oblivious to the whirlwind of emotions you were suppressing he thought you really wasn't that excited. Deep down, Megumi couldn't brush away the curiosity that grew inside of him, he was interested in reading books, poems and articles so having a partner that happened to write poems excited him to the core.

As the night proceeded, you dozed off beside him. Closing your eyelids, swimming in Dreamland. Sleeping nice and sound, feeling protected with the warm presence of Megumi. He watched you as you slept next to him, smiling to himself as your whole hand cutely held his index finger. Your hand size difference has always brought a smile on his face.

Suddenly, his eyes widened when he remembered about the poem, his eyes scanned the room and finally fell on your exercise book that was innocently put on your desk. Too intrigued by the unexpected revelation of your poetic talent, he couldn't resist the urge to delve into your world of words.

Trying to not disturb your beauty slumber he tiptoed to your desk, gently opening the book , carefully flipping the pages until he found your poem of 14 stanzas.

He was too excited to read it, to read between the lines and analyze the deeper meaning it held. Line after line, he found himself utterly captivated by the beauty of your expressions, the smart choice of words, adjectives and the Poetic elegance that adorned your stanzas. It left him completely speechless, realizing that the love of his life is indeed talented and creative.

"And she said it's not a big deal??" he muttered to himself as his eyes shifted back on your sleeping figure.

He wanted to flip the pages to read more of your writings, to check your other copy books but he resisted that urge, respecting your privacy and deciding to wait till morning to ask you properly about your passion for poetry.

He laid down next to you, eager for tomorrow to discuss with you what now happened to be a mutual passion; while you were interested in writing poems, Megumi was interested in reading, them showing that both of you complete each other.

His arms pulled you closer to his body holding you,

"I'm proud of you my love" he said before dozing off.

As the morning light filtered through the curtains, your eyelids fluttered into consciousness. Megumi was already awake, laying on his back, one arm behind his head as his eyes were fixated on the ceiling. As he felt you shifting beside him his gaze turned to you, greeting you with a warm smile.

"Hey sleepyhead, want to tell me about those poems of yours? I had no idea you're poetic genius!!" he exclaimed softly,

You were still half awake, taken by surprise you quickly got into a sitting position,

"You read them??" you asked.

"Not all of them!! only that one in your exercise book! Now I know why it got the best grade" he said enthusiastically.

It was rare for you to see Megumi full of energy early in the morning, so you couldn't help but smile from how much he was interested in your poems. Encouraged by his genuine reaction you started to open up, confessing that you've been into poetry for a while now.

"So? want to show me the rest?" he asked.

Without saying anything, you jumped out of bed. The cold floor touching your bare feet sent shivers down your spine. You quickly grabbed your notebooks and ran back to bed, getting under the warm blanket next to Megumi again, you got closer to him.

"Here they are" you said with a smile.

Anticipating his reactions every time he read one of your poems, the way he read the lines you wrote with passion and care warmed your heart, as if what you write was meant for him to read. The curious expressions drawn on his face whenever he tried to guess the real meaning of your words made you giggle.

After reading most of your poems he engulfed you into a big hug,

"Those poems are amazing Y/n!! I can't wait for more from you. So tell me what inspires you the most? what is your motivation?" he asked too immersed to know more.

A blush painted your cheeks and with a shy smile you answered "Y-you! You do inspire some verses"

"Guess I'm a muse now" he teased playfully trying to hide the fact that he got shy as well.

"Exactly" you giggled.

"What are the difficulties you face while writing though?"

"Most of the time me trying to channel my feelings into words, sometimes certain feelings that I want to write about can't be described by simple words so that's quite a challenge and it takes a lot of effort or sometimes I struggle with motivation even though I do have a lot of accumulated ideas that are waiting to be written" you explained.

You spent the morning cuddled up in your soft bed, sharing ideas and soft random kisses every now and then, exchanging soft touches. Sitting between Megumi's legs as he held your notebooks and continued to loudly read the rest of your poems.

"I love this one Y/n !! Wait is it about us??"

Megumi was too happy to be in that specific moment with you; the moment that definitely inspired you to write another poem that will carry those feelings between both of you forever.

[raleighcarreras]

It's all so incredibly loud

Part 7: would you watch blood drip from the nails hammered into my hands? Or would you lick me clean?

Pairing: wanda maximoff x black!fem!reader

Rating: M (sexual situations)

Warnings: sex, pietro being a lil shit because he can, dark!reader (not really, reader says something as a joke haha...unless), vaginal fingering (r receiving), oral (r giving)

Wrd Cnt: 3k +

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Notes: last chapter! Thank you for coming with me on this journey! I might do like a little anthology series within this universe because I like this little family I've created idk. Song is My Thoughts On You by The Band CAMINO...18+ only

"I fell for your eyes...I just realized, I still need you...I still need you"

"Mama! You're still here?" There was a vulnerability in those words that she couldn't help but feel guilty because of. Group therapy was definitely in the cards for them.

"Yep. I'm still here, Utenok."

The boys sandwiched her onto the couch. Falling snuggly into her sides.

"We didn't see you down here this morning. Where did you sleep?" Billy asked innocently.

It was at that moment that you chose to grace the livingroom with your presence. You had somehow managed to get dressed for the day, and were letting Alexis waddle slightly on the ground before she gave up in a huff every few seconds.

"Yeah, Wanda, where did you sleep last night?" You asked with a smirk so subtle only Wanda (and also Pietro) would be able to pick up on it.

Wanda could not give the same conspiratoriality with her resulting blush and stammer.

"I-uh-I slept in the bed with your uncle! He steals all of the sheets."

You gave Wanda a look that said 'Nice save' but sarcastically.

The boys looked over to their uncle as if he was the voice of all reason and oh God Wanda would have to change that quickly.

"This is true. Your mother has superpowers, why does she need a blanket?" Pietro was full on smirking at Wanda, not even trying to hide his smugness.

Billy pouted, "You're supposed to wake us up in the morning. Did you forget?"

Well great, now she feels bad for having sex with her wife.

"No, I didn't forget. Pietro just beat me to it. So, I woke up your mother instead."

"You were supposed to do the opposite, Twin Sister."

You dropped a paper plate on Alexis' head. She laughed. You did not.

Pietro looked like he was physically withholding laughter now.

"Why'd you do that? Are you married again?" Tommy asked with a slight bounce in his seat.

This time you answered, if only because it looked like Wanda was going to burst into flames any second now.

"That's not how that works, Babies. We're not married again." You leave it at that for now, then do the ole 'quickly distract your children before they put you in anymore distress' maneuver, "Can you boys help me with lunch?"

They both eagerly join you in the kitchen. Immediately getting underfoot and directly in your personal space. Thank fuck, you have mommy's boys.

When you're not looking because you're busy trying to arrange a late lunch for the twins and an even later breakfast for you and Wanda, Alexis starts to waddle away from the kitchen.

The only person who actually sees it is Pietro, ever hypervigilant.

Alexis toddled the small distance from the kitchen to Wanda. Wanda eyes widened at the display.

"Y/N! She's walking."

You instantly turn away from the stove. Practically vaulting over the twins to get a better look.

"Pietro! Why didn't you say anything? Go get my phone!" He's back with your phone in an instant.

"I didn't want to startle anyone."

Wanda held her arms out helpfully for Alexis, who does eventually toddle into them with an exhausted huff and annoyed grumble.

Wanda picked her up instantly. With that video being sent to everyone you know in the span of five seconds, you went back to cooking.

"Good job, babygirl." And Wanda really meant it. Especially, because if she hadn't been there to see it she would have walked into the ocean.

Once the excitement had died down, Pietro slithered over to Wanda.

"So....?"

"So what?"

Pietro whined, "Come on. You know. Did my wingmanning work?"

Wanda, genuinely confused, and still preoccupied with Alexis, furrowed her brows, "What wingmanning?"

"You think I sped to the guestroom and woke up early to remove the devil spawn from the premises out of the kindness of my heart? No! I was trying to get you laid."

Wanda rolled her eyes at that, "You're insufferable."

"Did it work!?"

Wanda looked over to where you were teaching the boys some soul food dish, she couldn't have stopped her smile even if she wanted to.

"Yes. It worked. She said yes to a date."

Pietro thankfully resisted the urge to hoop and holler, "Fuck yeah, I can babysit!"

"Actually, that's her only stipulation."

"I'm a great babysitter!"

Wanda eyed the hole in Pietro's shirt surrounded by other little baby teeth marks, "Sure you are."

"This was a fluke! The small one was gaining energy from her super amazing uncle for her big walk!"

You had gotten ready for dates thousands of times. And at least 50 of those thousands were actual dates with someone you wanted to be with and not just a ruse for a mission.

Most of those 50 had been with Wanda. Before and after you were married.

You had never been nervous for any of them. Not even the very first one you went on. Though, that was partially because you weren't aware it was a date until you had gotten back to the compound and Natasha told you it was a date.

In your defense, how were you supposed to know Wanda taking you to your favorite restaurant, an aquarium you had mentioned offhandedly, and then her insisting on paying for everything was a date?

Yeah, sure, she kissed you, but you thought she was just being nice!

You ended up being correct. She was just being nice but it was because she wanted to see you naked.

Semantics aside, you had never been nervous for a date...until then.

"Girl, if you don't put that damn dress on..." Monica threatened from her spot sitting on your bed with your baby in her lap.

You grimaced, holding up the dress to your body, "You don't think it's too sexy?"

Monica rolled her eyes, you had been doing this little song and dance way too long for her liking, "What? Like Wanda's going to complain if it is?"

"I don't want it to look like I'm trying too hard."

"Now, you know that you could wear a potato sack and Wanda would-wait...what is this really about, Y/N?" Monica placed Alexis down in the middle of the bed, watching as she sank down into it slightly with a giggle, successfully trapped.

You dropped your arms down to your sides in defeat, "I don't know. I guess I'm thinking about what people might think. 'Why'd you get back together with a woman who cheated on you?' And I know I rarely care about what people think but why did I?"

Monica hummed, "Well, for starters, one date doesn't mean you're back together. You're getting ahead of yourself. But also, why are you asking yourself that? If you didn't know or didn't want to you wouldn't have said 'yes'."

"You don't think I'm rushing back into this just to get my heartbroken again?" You eyed the ring box containing your engagement ring and wedding band. It sat, untouched, on your dresser.

Monica handed you the dress you had picked out for the night, "Honestly? No. And you don't either."

And Monica was right. It was a long time coming, and as odd as it may sound to someone other than you, you trusted Wanda.

For lack of a better phrase, you felt like she learned her lesson.

You began to slip into the tight black dress, "You're right."

Monica helped zip you up, "I know. I always am. Besides, Wanda knows that if she ever hurt you again we would fight until one of us died or the earth exploded from the destruction. Whichever happens first."

You laughed at Monica's threat, "I appreciate that, but I'm a red room trained assassin. I can handle myself."

"Semantics. Anyway, it's almost time for you to go." Monica slapped your ass playfully. You swatted at her.

"I'm going. I'm going. Please make sure the boys brush their teeth before bed, and Alexis doesn't use hers to chew through something."

"I've done this before. I know how it works."

You nod before smirking subtly, "And if you get bored feel free to call Natasha. The guestroom is soundproof. Just make sure to wash the sheets."

You expertly dodged the pillow thrown your way with a laugh, "Bye, Alexis."

"Bye bye, mommy."

You headed into the livingroom where the boys were playing a video game. They looked up at you with identical frowns of confusion.

"Where are you going, Mom?" Tommy asked with a strict tilt to his head. It was sort of scary how much they were alike Wanda sometimes.

You're not sure why you hadn't expected that question. Though, you and Wanda had breifly talked about what to tell the kids. You both agreed that honesty would probably serve well for the least amount of childhood trauma.

"I'm going...on a date...with your mother."

The confusion deepened, "But, you told us dates are for getting to know people and you already know Mama."

"Well, your mom has changed a lot and I should get to know her again." You were so good at this parenting thing.

"Oh. Okay." Tommy and Billy nodded in understanding.

"Is that okay with you guys? It's not weird?"

"Nope. It's very okay. It means the operation was successful!"

You didn't even pretend like you knew what that meant.

"You look really pretty, Mom." Billy said with a sweet smile, ever the flatterer. Tommy nodded in agreement.

"Awe, thank you, Babies." You kissed them both on the forehead.

Then, there was a knock on your door.

You hobbled over to it, trying to pull on your heels.

Opening it, you were met with a bright smile, "Sorry, I'm a bit early."

"Don't be. Boys, come say 'Hi' to your mom."

Tommy and Billy easily paused their game and greeted their mother.

"Hi, Mama. The operation was successful!"

Wanda immediately turned a beet red in the cheeks.

"Not quite. But really close."

The boys shrugged, clearly choosing to believe their assumption was right instead. They headed back to their game.

"Operation?"

"Don't worry about it. Shall we go?"

"We shall."

The date had been going well. You wouldn't say it was just like old times because it wasn't. Things were different. And that was perfectly okay. In fact, you preferred it that way.

You were now 2 and a half Cabernet sauvignon glasses in and it was starting to become obvious.

"How long are you going to be blonde?" You asked with a slight scowl.

"Do you not like it? Wanda ran a hand through her hair self consciously.

"No. Quite the opposite actually. I like it a little too much." You said, still with the scowl.

Wanda smirked, "Sounds like the opposite of a problem then."

"Oh, no. It's definitely a problem. We are in a nice, fancy restaurant right now and I'm thisclose to getting underneath this table and shoving up your dress,"

Wanda's eyes widened and she squeaked out an unbecoming sound.

"Plus, that bitch over there is eyeing you like a piece of meat."

Wanda's eyes soften. She got it now, "I'm not going to lie and say I didn't notice. Because it's hard not to notice someone staring down your esophagus, but I'm not putting any stock into it. I don't want her. I want you."

Your scowl softened into a pout, "Sorry. You're right. Her date is doing the same thing to me. I'm normally not this jealous."

Wanda laughed, "Yes, you are."

Your pout deepened, "No, I'm not."

"You once flashed your pistol at a cashier who smiled at me too long when we were dating...the first time."

"She was acting like I wasn't there and I wanted her to remember! Anyway, pot meet kettle."

Wanda only shrugged, "Well, yeah. Only reason I haven't blasted that guy over there into the kitchen is because I like this restaurant and want to come back. Also, you're stunning, so I can't blame him.

Your cheeks heat, "Flattery will get you everywhere."

Ending up at Wanda's apartment with your clothing strewn about and her fingers shoved deep inside of you was a natural conclusion to your night.

You would literally never be able to take anything slow with this woman even if it killed you.

"Wanda..." You mewled as her thrusts slowed to an excruciatingly slow pace.

"I have a question." She murmured against your lips. A smirk playing at the corner of hers.

What?

"Wha?"

Her thumb smooth gently at your button. There was no way in Hell you were answering any questions. And she most definitely knew that.

"Did she ever figure it out?" But she was asking them anyway!

"Fu-huh?"

"Did Sharon ever figure out how to fuck you?" Her fingers punctuated that with a particularly hard thrust. You could only produce a strangled mess of whimpers.

"I'll take that as a 'No'. Which is good because I would have to kill her if she did. That's really powerful knowledge. "

And it's such a goofy thing to say, especially because she immediately started to sob right after, still knuckle deep inside of you.

And it's not because she said that, she meant that wholeheartedly. It's because she's finally with you again in the way she wants to be and it feels like it's been an eternity.

She's been walking through the desert for weeks and has finally come across a fresh waterway.

"Baby, why are you crying?"

"I just love you so much."

"I love you too." It's not lost on either of you that it's the first time you've said those words directed at her in about 6 months.

Somehow, the mood isn't lost, not when the combination of her fingers curling against your spot and her thumbing at your clit causes you to stumble head first into the precipice of your orgasm.

Not when you yank Wanda into a sitting position atop your mouth and lap at her slit like a woman starved.

Not when she almost bites through her own lip during what she thinks might be the best orgasm of her life.

And not when you interrupt the tired panting of your third round.

"And if you so much as even think another woman's name I will rip off every single one of your fingers starting with your nipples."

Wanda laughter nervously, "Umm...those aren't fingers..."

You smiled, "Oh. I sure hope I figure out what fingers are."

Just plain old you is more terrifying than the Scarlet Witch could ever be.

Wanda kissed you lightly on the cheek, "You won't have to."

You roll towards her for a real kiss.

"I know."

[itzpris15634]

I want to eat Vinnie Oh oh another question if you don't mind about your human au. This one is about relationships, just in general. I'm not sure how to phrase it exactly but basically what social circles exist in your human au - who knows who and who is maybe friends with who? Likeeee for example I'm assuming Zoe's circle is the rest of the humanized pets, Madam Pom, Gail (ig, I mean she is her sister so idk if that counts), Blythe (+ maybe her friends?), another guess is maybe Digby (🤤) or perhaps other guys he dated like Philippe (y'know, the dog mime?). Just kinda a question about who each of them know and are close/r to. It doesn't have to involve only the main characters if you have any circles like that, like maybe there are some side characters who have their own circles that don't involve any of them directly or at all likeeeee idk perhaps Bazil, Mitzi and Scout are all close friends (those are literally just the first names that came to my mind).

Long story short, who mingles with whom?

Vinnie yum yum *nom*

Okay so there’s the obvious Main 7, and then Blythe’s friend group (Sue, Jasper, Youngmee)

I’ll start by elaborating on what you mentioned with Zoe.

Indeed, other than the Main 7, she frequently talks to Madame Pom. Though since Pomela is almost always traveling its usually only by phone/video call. But if Zoe has time she’ll go to Paris to visit her. Soooo I think she'd have a friend group there too. Which brings back my headcanon that Zoe is learning French, with Pomela's help. I imagine she introduced Zoe to that French friend group so she can engage in actual conversation and put her learnings to use. As for guys she dated... wellllll. Like she won't hang with them as frequently as her other groups, but she's on good terms with some of them like Digby or Philippe as you mentioned.

...Aight that's a lot about Zoe haha. Next!

Sunil! Again, Main 7. There's his co-workers at the pharmacy whom he'll chat with sometimes on slow days at work. There's also Scarletta, Tootsie, and Shivers- his bandmates. Which- I wanna get into the backstory of how he got in there but I fear it might be too long so I'll save it for another post.

Lots of Minka's paintings are on display at some art galleries, and so she's a little bit acquainted with the critics who talk about her art. Genghis, being one of them. In fact he's the one she likes talking with most frequently, even if it’s not for art reasons. She just thinks he’s neat!

Pepper doesn't get around much. They frequent a few clubs, and are a little familiar with the staff there. But not much. I guess the closest friend they have outside of the main 7 there's Mitzi who she likes to borrow perfumes from.

(o yeah i'm gonna start using she/they on Pepper now. anyway)

Vinnie, like Pepper, doesn't have much of a social circle outside of the 7. Sure there's all the wonderful actors and dancers he gets to work with for shows, but that's just what they are. Co-workers. Acquaintances, sure. But not super close friends.

Penny (i'm desperate for the right color for her can someone give me an html tutorial or smth pls) Well, there’s the Sweet Delights people- Buttercream, Sugar, Youngmee, Christie. And as I've said before in our DMs, she has a backstory with Scarletta. They were childhood friends, until Penny moved away. Which left Scarletta all alone, so she had to toughen up and stay strong. Then when Scarletta moves to Downtown to start Hazy Summers and sees Penny there... well. Yeah. They had a few things to fix, but overall are on better terms now.

Russell is fairly sociable. The main 7, the co-workers at the prosecutor's office. And of course, the Duchess of Lancashire Lane Fanclub hehe. I guess, according to the cameos in that episode, Scout, Tootsie, Digby, and Mary Frances are in that club too. As such, Russell knows them. They all fangirl over the hot Duke have intellectual discussions about the show's themes and story, and all the most interesting plot twists there are. A cup of hot tea to go along with it.

I reallyyyy want to mention Athena here so here I go- She’s a defense attorney, to rival him being prosecutor. Russell wants to make sure criminals get justice, but Athena is really good at her job so that frustrates him. But they’re not really friends. Like, sure he talks with her in between court sessions even if only to bicker with her.

OKay that's the main 7. As for others? I have a few ideas.

Delilah is acquainted with many people in the industry. She travels around the world to work with different companies and magazines. One of these is Tres Blasé. ...I'll get to the point. I like imagining her being friends with Mona and Tangier. Tangier, well, I suppose it'd be a one-sided thing. Like Tangier would go "Wow! We're friends! I'm so lucky to have you, 'Lilah." And Delilah, already a little bit wary of him just goes "Yes yes yes. Friends, or whatever..."

Poor little Nutmeg is very sheltered, and most of her friends were picked out for her by her parents. She doesn't really like them. Sometimes she likes sneaking out. Which is how she met Youngmee! They have a sisterly dynamic going on and its cute and wholesome, and a nice break for Nutmeg from her Lonely Rich Kid life.

Poppy Pawsley and Scout both work for the Biskits. Poppy is Eliza's secretary, ad Scout is Fisher's sssppyyyy..... uh secretary also. Nothing else at all. Yeah.

Oh hey we're back to Madame Pomela again. She knows Shahrukh. As a friend, boyfriend, or just co-worker- my mind switches it up sometimes but she does know him! She decided one day she'd expand her work, trying out acting in a movie. And then she meets Shahrukh there and yeaaaah.

Alrighty thas all I got for now.

[vitospaghetta]

Glad you're better. Idk what exactly happened but i think fandom is always messed up one way or another

I wanted to ask what's the best way to Leon's heart? and also how long do you think it would take for this lil guy to fall in love or catch feelings? both versions if you'd like :)

Oh just some extremely juvenile bullshit I'm too old to humor. Thank you though. :)

Also I'm obsessed with the fact that you called Leon a "lil guy."

So, again, my answer is gonna depend on which iteration of Lil Guy Leon I'm talking about.

OG Leon: Given the fact that this man has a tendency to imprint on people like a baby duckling and gets attached very quickly in some capacity, it probably wouldn't take very long for his to develop feelings if you checked what few boxes he has. This man developed feelings for Ada in the course of a single night and latched onto them for 14 years (assuming RE6 was the conclusion of their relationship and he doesn't still have feelings for her). I think it wouldn't take him long at all to fall in love with the idea of a person, but there would eventually be this pivotal moment where he realizes that he actually loves them. He'd initially be captivated by their charm, their looks, etc., and only through quality time would he begin to pick up on all of the quirks that make them wholly who they are. Their kindness, their interests, their respect for others, and their attentiveness towards him - I think that last one's important. Someone's who's present, who thinks of him even when he's away. Someone who acts as a touchstone. Someone who humors his facetious sense of humor, but can gauge when he's trying to run from something. He wouldn't need grand gestures to fall in love, but it would be an accumulation of small traits that display a person's capacity for love themselves, in all forms.

RE4R Leon: There's a bit of an emotional barrier that remake Leon tends to put up. I don't want to say an immediate distrust of all people because I feel like that would be overstepping. He still has a lot of love for people and truly wants to believe in their inherent goodness, but as a man who is thoroughly questioning his role in the world around him and seeing it through a more realistic lens, which has left him emotionally distant and introspective, I don't think he's as quick to catch feelings. There wouldn't be this immediate love of the idea of someone like with OG Leon. He would have to get to know someone, though not extensively, to start to put down his defenses. Though I think a lot like OG Leon, it wouldn't take grand gestures for him to fall in love. It would still be that quality time and learning about a person that would make him fall for someone more and more over time. The way to his heart would be any display of kindness, towards him or others; to serve as a reminder that there is good and it can be in his life. Just saying that you saw something that reminded you of him would mean the world. Any compliment given, any remembrance of something he off-handedly said, taking time out of your day for him - whether that be a long phone call or going to grab lunch with him - to make him feel human.

[faejilly]

so like five years ago or something, (ugh, time), I started an epistolary fic for @pameluke that I have not updated in, well, several years. (brains! little fuckers are very uncooperative, what can I say?)

It subsequently became the most popular thing I've ever written by several of AO3's potential metrics, which is neat! But... pressure-ish? Regardless, it would be nice to actually, uh. Finish the damn thing someday.

And in the interests of getting the voices in my head to engage with it so I can finish, I am attempting to adapt some public workskins on ao3 into email & texting screens and I will (hopefully) be updating said fic with fun formatting whenever I do actually finish & post the last couple chapters.

BUT!

I have a visual/clarity question re: texts and group chats

Behind the cut for a slew of terrible screenshots! (In various zoom levels, so uh, apologies if you have to click on them to see wtf I'm trying to ask)

perhaps followed by a poll since I apparently have them now?!?

This is roughly what texting looks like currently, (and will still pretty much look if you turn off AO3 workskins and/or download the fic in an ebook format):

Now, the reason it says "Cat" on top, is because that's the contact name in the header of the phone screen, which currently looks like this:

Now, in the original draft Cat didn't say "Magnus" there, because his name was there in the label so I didn't need it. BUT, this is the first phone screen in the fic, so I figured I should include it for clarity.

Contextually, as the fic continues, I assume one will generally be able to tell who is texting whom, but I could, (even tho it would not be as phone-like) put in names so it's clearer:

which is also how I've been managing group-text/chat formats:

But it looks kind of weird when it's just two people talking back and forth. (It's not like my phone puts my name over my own texts, yk?)

Not having all the names might be confusing, but I CANNOT TELL ANYMORE? aesthetic vs clarity? SOMETHINGSOEMTHING?

The only real downside to just putting the names in is that it causes some weird spacing in the download/non-skin version, because the name tags are no longer visible but there is, afaik, no way to fit them in properly without leaving the space for them, if that makes sense:

ALTERNATIVELY, I could change the headers so they're informational rather than a visual part of the phone screen, for example, the first text up there would be something like "Magnus' Phone (texting Cat)" and then the group chats would be, idk, "Alec's Phone, The Hedge" etc. etc.

OR ALTERNATIVELY ALTERNATIVELY... I could do... something else that I haven't thought up yet? I guess? *shrug.emoji*

HELP ME TUMBLR, YOU'RE MY ONLY HOPE:

*for the options with a star, please do include suggestions as to how to accomplish that nonsense, k? 😅

With like, actual baby-steps, because I do not know what I'm doing. I was literally just trying to copypasta a skin and then I couldn't stop.

Like, sometimes the nametag on the right of the phone screen doesn't work and I haven't figured out why yet. I am having a similar problem with the phone screen headers not resizing on different screens, which is why they're not a contrasting color or bordered or anything at the moment, so you can't tell.

/It's still wrong though, and I know it, even if I can't see it. It's like my phone screen is judging me every time I look at them... 🤣🤣🤣

but regardless. If you've made it to the end of this post, I thank you. And I'm sorry?

Have a cookie: 🍪

[coyoteskenning]

Chapter 3: Hit and Run

Anna floored it. 

"Do you think Nixon has a reincarnation?" 

"What?" 

"Richard Milhaus Nixon, 37th president of-" 

"No I know who Nixon is." 

Anna scowled at the GPS mounted on the windscreen.  

"Then-" 

"I don't think anybody admires Nixon enough to want to be him. Red, this road look right to you?" 

Red pulled the phone from its cradle and let their eyes trace over the map displayed on its screen.  

Their nose was still broken, and their face covered in bruises; they didn't let it show, but they felt like shit.  

"This address doesn't look right. I think you fucked up the zip code." 

Anna looked out of the window at the desert landscape pouring by. "Who even gets fucking mail out here? I mean, is it coming on a fucking horse?" 

"You know we're in a car right?" 

The cool automated voice came from Anna's phone as Red finished keying in the correct address. "ROUTE RECALCULATING." 

They remounted it on the windscreen. 

"Should be right now." 

"Shit, I mean, it's all gotta be wackjob Mormons out here, right?" 

"Better than a wackjob Satanist?" 

"No I - shut the fuck up. I mean, I don't wanna get shot at if we pull up. They'll probably think we're tax collectors or something." 

Red looked out at the blank road ahead of them. There was no other cars on the road. No buildings. Nothing but the car, two girlfriends, and desolate wastes as far as the eye could see. It was kind of pretty, though. Put them in mind of Mars. 

"Do you think the IRS hires sexy trans people now?" 

"Get chasers to open the door more, right?" 

"How often would that really be a factor?" 

"More often than you'd think-" 

They hit a cattle grid; Boleskine whirred for a second as the entire body shook, and Red swore and dropped their phone. 

"Slow down!" They said, scrabbling to the side of their chair for it. 

"No." Anna put her foot down, changed gears; watched the speed needle twitch up a few more gradings. "I wanna get here before the sun goes down." 

"It's 3pm!" 

Anna jabbed a finger at the phone. "2 hour drive to your destination." 

"Have you actually checked to make sure that he's still there?" 

"No, you check. I'm driving." 

Red managed to retrieve their phone, looked at the incarnate app. "Oooh." 

"What?" 

"oooooh-" 

"Fucking what?! What is it?!' 

"5 miles from your destination." 

"What?!" 

Anna grabbed the phone out of Red's hand. "Give me- What? How- the address was right like, an hour ago!" 

"He's travelled 2 hours in one?" Red raised an eyebrow. 

Anna looked at the map. "I guess he could have driven across the lake? That'd cut it down." 

"Or teleported?" 

"Neither of those were in the spec, anyway." 

"Slow down, he might be waiting by the side of the road or something." 

"What, he'll flag us down?" 

"Yeah."  

Red looked at the road. "Like, you know Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas-" 

"We're not high." 

"Could be." 

"What?" 

"Idk, send an @ to of the guys I know in the discord, ask if he wants to bring us some-" 

"We're in the middle of nowhere!"  

Anna vaguely waved a hand around. "That app had him miles off the road, I hope you know I'm not pulling off and getting stuck." 

"Well we can't DM him because he's not in the server, so what?" 

"Look, just keep a look out. I'll keep my eyes on the road, you look for any...fucking, hitchhikers or whatever." 

There was a silence for a few minutes, filled only by the GPS occassionally chiming in to helpfully remind them to continue driving on the only road for miles. 

"I mean, Nixon won 49 states, right?" 

"That election was rigged." 

"But no he had popular support. I mean, there was even the old bumper sticker, right?" 

"What?" 

"Don't blame me, I'm from Massachussets. Because it was the only state that didn't-" 

"Look, even if he had admirers in fucking, 1973 or whatever-" 

"72 dumbass" 

"1972, he doesn't now! And besides, even if you look up to a guy, doesn't mean you want to be him." 

Anna looked at Red. "I mean, Nixon was pretty miserable, right?" 

"I've seen people 'carn as people who fucking killed themselves!"  

"Yeah but. Like. Not in a sexy way." 

"Speak for yourself." Red held up a pic of Nixon on their phone. "I'd fuck those cheeks." 

"Why-why did you have that pic saved-" 

"Seems self evident." 

"Also, did you just say carn?" 

"Yeah. I'm inventing new slang. I'm on the forefront of things. I'm an influencer-" 

"Shut up. It's incarnate. That's already a shortening of reincarnate, you are not shortening it further to fucking - Italian food-" 

"That's carne, dumbass."  

"Same root! Meat, flesh, et cet!"  

"Et cet? Who's the one shortening words now-" 

Another cattle grate, another Red phone drop. 

"I said slow down!" 

"Look, if we pass a guy, I'll turn round! There's no cops round here!" 

"This road isn't wide enough, dumbass. You'll get stuck!"  

Anna moaned. "I need a cigarette." 

"Well, pull over if you're gonna get one. I'm not ending up in some sand dune-" 

"This isn't that kind of desert. Dumbass." She imitated Red's tone on the last word. 

Red stuck out their pierced tongue at Anna, who struggled not to break into a smirk.  

"Made you laugh." 

"Did not." 

"Would you clap Nixon's cheeks?" 

"You clapped L Ron Hubbard's cheeks!" 

"Damn right! And I'd fucking do it again. Answer the question." 

"If we meet a reincarnation of Nixon are you gonna fuck him?" 

"Well now that you've said that, I have to." 

Anna started corpsing. "He'd be racist!"  

"Hot." 

"GOP voter!" 

"Hot." 

"Probably transphobic!" 

"Ooh, hot. I hope he calls me a bull dyke-" 

There was a loud thud as the car hit the child running out in front of it, hurling his body across the hood and shattering his frame against the tarmac behind.  

"FUCK!" 

"What the-" 

"PULL OVER PULL OVER PULL OVER-" 

"I'm trying to!!" 

Anna hit the brakes and swung the wheel; as Red has predicted, it hit the edge of the road, and came to a messy, juddering stop.  

Annabelle Boleskine in neutral and peered at the spiderweb patterns on the shattered windscreen as Red frantically tore off their seatbelt, kicked open the door, and sprinted back down the highway towards the bloodied body lying in their wake. 

It was a kid, as the size of the figure ragdolling across the chassis had made clear seconds ago; maybe 10 or 11 years old. He was Latino, with dark skin and hair, neck broken and scalp split open in five places to show red and white of skull. Blood was weeping out of every orifice; his twisted posture held one arm below him on the wet tarmac, another stretched out in a motionless claw on the road. He wasn't breathing. 

"He's dead! ANNA! YOU FUCKING KILLED A KID-" 

Anna came, at a slower pace, stomping along. Her face was coldset, but she was pale, and her hands were fumbling at her bag for cigarettes.  

"CPR." Her voice was quiet. "Can we-" 

"Fucking look at him! CPR? He doesn't have a fucking ribcage! He looks like a-" 

"Shut up! Shut up. Look-" Anna knelt besides the body. She felt for a pulse. Nothing. His eyes were closed, already starting to bruise livid where his face had slammed into the tarmac. 

"He jumped in front." She said, quietly, not looking at Red. 

"What?! No! You hit him! You were going at 90mph and not looking you fucking hit him! You killed a fucking kid, Anna!" Red was starting to tear up. "What are we going to do?!" 

Anna pressed the back of her hand, now obviously shaking, into his cheek. She didn't seem to know what she was doing. 

"Anna you -" Red's voice caught. "You can't heal him." 

"He - I -" Anna fought to regain her composure, then when she next spoke, she was cooly measured again. "I had my eyes on the road. He jumped out. I saw him. You didn't-" 

"Anna..." Red stared with hollow eyes. "You.." 

They were both interrupted, with a start, by a wheeze from the child.  

Anna jumped back in horror, and landed on her butt on the road as she let out a little cry. Her eyes were wide as she watched him start to twitch, and move.  

Air was dragged, with a horrible ragged sound, into ruined lungs. Torn muscles tried to pull on shattered bones. The head writhed on a broken neck. 

"Fuck! Fuck, he's still alive?!" 

"I didn't- I didn't- heal-" 

Anna was trembling harder now.  

Red heard that last word, and looked closer. They saw what was happening before Anna did.  

Beneath the boy's skin, bones were moving. His skeleton was reassembling; knitting itself back together. Ribs that had visibly punched through skin on a blood-soaked shirt sank back down like control rods into the diagraphm, that began to pump as the heart beat strongly. Seeping blood stopped, and cuts closed. His breathing, at first gasping and gurgling from a throat filled with froth, become desperately alive. His hands scrabbled at the ground, eyes still closed as his unconscious body began to pull itself back together. 

"We. Are. So. So. Lucky." 

Anna, trembling, managed to claw the cigarette packet from the handbag. "Is that- him then? The- healer?" 

"Oh shit, yeah. Let me look, one sec." 

Turning away - with relish, frankly - from the spasming, gasping little boy, eyes now open but unseeing, neck agonisingly bending back into place, starting to moan between gasps as vertebrae repaired themselves, Red jogged back to the car, and retrieved their phone.  

The dot matched up perfectly with the child; they watched the blue dot, representing them, drift over across the greyish representation of the road, and overlap with the pulsing orange incarnated dot as they moved back to Anna and him. 

He let out a scream of pain, head bending back as his spine arced. He cried out in Spanish, rolled over into the foetal position, spasming as the last of his wounds healed. 

"What is he-" Red started. 

"I don't-" 

"It...didn't....work..!" The boy's voice came, in English this time. 

"What-"  

"Oh, so did he really..." Red looked sheepishly at Anna, who didn't look comforted. "Sorry." 

"It didn't work!" He screamed, burying his face in his hands as he achieved full mobility. He barely seemed aware that they were there. 

"Hey, kid. You...did you...are you ok?" Red tried. 

He moaned something in Spanish. 

"Do you know what that means?" 

"I don't speak Spanish!" Anna snapped. She stood up, her hands now still enough to pull a cigarette from the packet. She put it in her mouth, and moved to put the packet away and retrieve her lighter. 

The boy moaned, and suddenly reached out, grabbing at Anna's boot with a bloody hand. 

Anna gasped, and instinctively jumped back, out of his reach. Red moved forwards in response, taking his hand in theirs as he mumbled something incomprehensible. 

Anna ran the back of a troubled hand through her hair, box still gripped in its palm, and moved to get the lighter for the cigarette in her mouth...before her eyes focused inwards and down on it, and widened. Her lips fell open, and the not-a-cigarette plopped out, and fell to the floor. The box fell from her other hand, hit the ground, and spilled its contents.  

Matchsticks.  

A single matchstick, that had been a cigarette about ten seconds before, was laying on the ground, still wet from her mouth. About a hundred matchsticks had fallen out of the clearly marked cigarette box, that had been full of cigarettes about twenty seconds before.  

Anna stared, eyes wide, as Red turned to look, kneeling by the boy's side, one hand knitted with his left, the other on his hair, and saw. Saw her goth girlfriend, gaping open-mouthed, at a spill of matchsticks on the road.  

"He-" 

"I don't..." The boy managed, weakly, eyes closed. His forehead was pressed against Red's cool hand. "I don't like...smoking..." 

Anna's eyes were still wide as saucers. "Who is he.." She said, in a low voice. 

"Kid. Kid. Who...who are you incarnated from?"  

No response but a weak cough, and a gasp of pain as a result. A little blood trickled over his chin, from a still unhealed cut just under his lip. 

Red, keeping one hand on the barely conscious boy's face, picked up one of the matchsticks. They examined it in awe.  

"Transfiguration...healing of self and others...fast travel...who's that?"  

Anna shook an unknowing head. She was starting to collect herself, although she kept making mournful glances at the lost box of former cigarettes. 

"I don't know either, but some pretty major medic I'd bet, or something." Red looked down at the boy. "Hey kid, you're pretty powerful." They playfully slapped his chest; he cried out, and they cringed. "Sorry, sorry."   

"Red...your face..." 

"Huh?" Red touched their face, their fingertips soaked red from his bleeding. No bruises. No broken nose. They twisted their shoulder, so recently painfully reset. Nothing.  

"Man...that's something, huh?" 

They looked down at the boy, who seemed to have drifted back into unconsciousness, head pressed against Red's side.  

"Well, if he won't tell us..." Red took out their phone, clicked through. Tapped out a few lines of code, then gently pressed the boy's limp thumb to the screen. 

"I mean, do you wanna take bets?" They said, as the progress bar rolled on the screen. 

"Not in the mood." 

"No, c'mon! I mean...maybe he's fucking, carn of Jonas Salk or something." 

"Jonas Salk could turn cigarettes into matchsticks?" 

"Well, I dunno. Representation of better public health, I guess? You know how weird these things can be sometimes. Probably some famous doc, like I sai-" 

Red froze, mid-expression, looking at the screen.  

"What?"  

"..." 

"Who is it?" 

"......" 

"Red, tell me-" 

"Jesus. Fucking. Christ." 

"What? C'mon, who is it?" 

"I just told you..." 

There was a long silence.

Anna grabbed the phone from Red, then stared at it with wild eyes.  

She took a second to read the name of the person the boy was the reincarnation was, then dropped the phone, and ran.  

[ghostingcrows]

Like it or not Keath doesn't get to control what other people think about their characters/what art gets made.

They chose to display these things publicly. The only thing they have a right to ask is that the people who draw/write the things they don't like won't send their work to them/tag them in it/that it'll be tagged appropriately so they can filter and block as needed.

They don't get to go full Anne Rice like they did on Twitter and ask people to actually police each other's work and report it to get copyright striked (which btw they have no legal right to do bc fanworks are transformative and fall under fair use).

If they weren't prepared to enforce their boundaries reasonably and legally then they shouldn't have put themselves in the public eye this way.

The fact remains that their discomfort is valid but censorship isn't. Any reaction they have to their emotions has to happen within legal boundaries (not trying to enforce a law that doesn't apply here to avoid potentially seeing something they'll find upsetting) and reasonable expectations.

I mean how are you going to ask thousands of people you don't know not to do something just because if you see it you'll be upset? Where does that end? Do people get to ask e/o not to wear clothes they find upsetting to look at or eat food they find gross in public or can we all admit this is kind of not how being a person works? Learn to curate your own experience and avoid things you don't want to see instead of expecting everyone around you to take responsibility for your emotions. You're not a toddler, Keath, you're a fucking adult and you need to act like it.

I mean I really really hate foot fetishes but I wouldn't try to get them scrubbed from the internet if people made them with my characters- in fact I've accepted that this has almost certainly happened already, and I'd just remember that block buttons were invented for exactly this reason.

Oh and before you even start on the assumptions:

- I haven't even seen the art they're complaining about and probably wouldn't like it myself

- The Chappell thing is another matter entirely and idk why you thought they belonged in the same post/are at all related issues. One is about a woman wanting the freedom to go out in public without being physically assaulted or harassed. The other is about a grown adult getting mad that they willingly posted something publicly in an internet they have presumably known things about already and as a result can't control who sees it or how they react. I mean ffs Keath can eliminate this whole problem by turning off their computer/phone/whatever and whatever they were upset about is gone. Chappell is having psychos call her parents and sexually assault her in public. What sane person thinks those are comparable?

Good lord-

Alright first off I included Chappell Roan because I was specifically thinking about people complaining about her cancelling her appearance at the music festival and being absolute assholes to her despite the fact she doesn't have to perform or share her art with us especially not when we are being assholes

Also

Don't fucking mansplain womens freedom to exist in public to me I am very much AFAB and have been harassed both verbally and physically in school and in public since I was in elementary school

And with Yaelokre

Thats not what censorship is you chronically online fuck stick

Yaelokre making the simple request that people treat them and their creations, which again are a PRIVILEGE for us to see and engage with ourselves, with a bare level minimum of respect is not fucking censorship

Yaelokre is not the fucking government and as you said they can't enforce it beyond blocking people

But they are still allowed to request people not be weird about it and be upset by people making absolutely horrible gross jokes about assaulting their characters

I'm not entirely sure when we decided that saying shit like that was normal and okay and not an absolutely bat shit insane thing to say to ANYONE much less someone you don't know but it IS

[wlwfanfictionss]

christmas miracle

yelena belova x reader

chapter one: new friends, old lovers

this is a fic from this request.

warnings: swearing, fighting

Finally, no more fights. No more saving the world (for now). You were finally trying to enjoy life. Not being on the run or breaking friends out of prison. You had lost a lot of people, been through hell and back. But after all that time you were now enjoying a nice cup of tea in front of the tv in your own apartment. Putting your feet up on your coffee table, you were about to press play on your favorite movie when you heard your phone buzzing from the kitchen counter. There were only a handful of people that had your phone number and most of them were former Avengers. With a huff, you got up to take the call. The screen was lit up and an arrow was displayed on the screen.

“Clint. To what do I owe the pleasure?” you immediately said as you picked up the phone.

“I need your help” he responded.

And that’s how you ended up in a coffee place with the hawkeye and a girl with black hair who had a dog by her side. If you had to guess you would say she’s a couple of years younger than you.

“soooo, the tracksuit mafia is after you” you tried to understand the whole situation. “and they want the both of you dead?”

“Pretty much” the girl responded. Kate, you learned her name was.

“so why do you need my help? Can’t you just take Maya out?”

“I don’t want to kill anyone over this” Clint responded. “Maya just needs to understand that the Ronin is dead”

First, you looked at him puzzled, because well, he was the Ronin. But you got what he meant and nod your head in agreement. 

You and Kate actually had a lot in common which was nice. You both liked Christmas movies and annoying the shit out of Clint. It was funny, watching Kate try to take you down because she insisted on fighting you for training. She is a good fighter, for a college student. But she kinda forgot you were a trained assassin and are probably in the top 3 of hand-to-hand combat out of all the Avengers. It was fun. Kate never gives up but gets her ass kicked every time. It was nice having a friend nearby. Sam and Bucky left, Wanda was god knows where and Natasha…well you get it. It was nice having Kate around and finally having fun again. There was also the mission, but that was way less intense than idk fighting Ultron or Thanos. The mission was just trying to get Clint home in time for Christmas. That’s what you told Laura on the phone at least. 

So, if the mission was supposed to be easy. Then why were you on a cold rooftop fighting two people alongside Clint. It kinda reminded you of an event at a certain airport in Berlin. But we all know how that ended.

“For fucks sake” you yelled out when there were now two people you were fighting.

Kate came rushing back onto the roof after she was thrown of said roof by the masked figure and went back to fighting Maya with you. You really didn’t want to be there. it was supposed to be an easy mission. Get in, get the watch, get out. But no, now the three of you were fighting two highly skilled women. You could see Kate struggle. She was a good archer, that’s for sure but she wasn’t trained in close hand-to-hand combat like Clint and you were.

After you punched Maya in the face and she stumbled back, Kate shot an arrow straight in her shoulder blade. That finally made the woman go away. That was one down, one to go and so you turned around and focused all your attention on the masked figure. Clint was having a hard time, the figure easily dodging his blows and sweeping him off his feet with their leg. You swore you knew that move.

“Stay here,” you told Kate, knowing damn well she was not going to listen to you.

You pulled a knife out of your thigh holster and ran full speed at the person that was about to kill Clint. Wrapping your arms around their waist and tackling them to the ground made them lose their gun. The person was on their back and you were about to punch the light out of them when familiar red electricity shot from their wrist into your abdomen. You groaned out in pain and the figure pushed you of them. Clint was better prepared this time. You stood up and were catching your breath as you watched them fight, seeing Kate aiming her shot but not taking it at the risk of hurting Clint. And then the mask was ripped off. The person’s back was facing you, but you recognize that braid anywhere and time froze.

“Y-Yelena?” you asked.

She turned around. The both of you just staring at each other. Clint was not gonna wait for the two of you to have a heart to heart so he surged forward but Yelena ran and jumped off the roof, clipping herself to the wall so she wouldn’t fall to death.

“who the hell is that?!” Kate asked. But you didn’t reply. Yelena was the only thing on your mind right now and you ran past the two archers and jumped after the Widow.

“Y/N!” Clint yelled after you, but you weren’t listening. You would find them later at the house (if Yelena didn’t kill you) but first, you had something else to do.

You forgot how fast the small assassin could run but you were determent to catch up to her. Running through the icy streets of New York did NOT make it easy. But after almost running into a car, you could see her in front of you.

“Yelena! Stop!” you yelled at the blonde while still running after her.

She wasn’t stopping but you knew she could hear you. You were running on the opposite side of the street and were now running almost perpendicular to her. Enough was enough. Grabbing your knife and throwing it across the street. It flew past her face and got stuck in a door beside her. That made her stop.

“Yelena Please! I'm alone!”  

She turned to face you now, watching you cross the street towards her. And now you were facing her. It had been seven years, for you at least. The last time you saw her you had just taken down the red room with her and Natasha. You couldn’t help yourself and pulled the blonde into a hug. The smaller woman wrapped her arms around you as well and the two of you just stood there for a moment. Even after all that time she still felt the same, she was your safe space.

“You look different” Yelena teased as the two of you pulled away “stronger”

“so do you” you teased back “still tiny tho”

She punched your shoulder after that comment. And you both just laughed softly.

“Why are you helping Clint?”

“Why are you after him?”

“He killed Nat”

“Yelena, that’s not true” you tried to explain but you could see the look in her eyes, she believed it and she was going to kill Clint. “Nat sacrificed herself for all of us Lena”

“But Val told me-“

“Wait. Val, as in Valentina?”

“Yeah”

“That bitch” you angrily said, “you should never trust her”. You worked for Val for some time, the worst mistake of your life. “Clint was Natasha’s best friend, he probably loved her more than I did, he would never kill her”

“I don’t believe you”

“I know,” you said with a sigh

Your phone rang. Kate.

“Please tell me you are still alive”

“I am”

“where are you”

“im not telling you where I am”

“did you find her”

“ill explain later”

And with that, you hung up the phone and looked back at Yelena.

“you didn’t tell them where I am?” Yelena said 

“I would never”

“But I want to kill your friend”

“I know” You replied “kate there is this stupid voice in my head that tells me I have to keep you safe”

“I have to go”

You moved closer, cupping her face with your right hand. Fuck, you still loved her.

“I'll come find you” you told her “we aren’t gonna be separated this time”

[svhnflwr]

%! merry birthday

× sohn youngjae (eric)

SYNOPSIS! birthdays and holidays are two great things to be celebrated. together, not so much.

INCLUDES! angst to comfort fluff, mostly eric pov

NOTE! idk where i was going with this but this is a really old idea i had (for an anime character actually) but it also fitted perfectly and i wanted to write something for eric. also let ’s pretend moonbae were able to go back but eric couldn’t TT

WORD COUNT! ~800 words

The mesmerizing twinkle from the glittery snow that speckled the sky on a winter evening was a sight for sore eyes. The lights from all the decorations would give the white snow a tint of colour and festivity. Paired with the cheery atmosphere, a hot drink on hand to battle the chilling weather, and all the love in the air that can be easily be enjoyed by everyone.

It was the true nature of a Christmas cheer.

That is until a few days prior, one can be found sitting at a table with a cake and candles alone.

The stillness from the empty dorm was an unwelcomed familiar feeling that Eric was no stranger to. The view of each member slowly leaving through the door with small luggage on hand to visit their families for the holidays weeks prior was a bittersweet feeling that filled his taste buds.

He would always greet them away at the door, wishing each early happy holidays and reminding each to send pictures through the group chat whenever possible while biting back a dejected face at the inevitable.

It was already hard enough having no choice but being left behind for such a jolly time, but when that is combined with the celebration of being born it was like being hit by a bullet train at peak speed. It wasn’t the most ideal situation but it was one that no one could help happen.

And Eric understands that. He was just a little jealous.

Eric was at the kitchen counter with a large mixing bowl and ingredients spread out around him, not only in the packaging but on the counter itself as well. It was a bit of a mess but attempting to decorate a cake for himself kept his mind occupied.

“December 22, 6:49 pm”.

The date and time were clearly displayed on his phone. He wasn’t sure if he was looking forward to or dreaded his birthday anymore.

Growing up, his birthdays meant extra presents, celebration, friends and family, and extra festivity added by the holidays. Although all of those were still technically true in the present time, it wasn’t the same merry feeling that it was before.

A colourful party hat was tightly secured around Eric’s head with a string under his chin. Music played at a moderate volume from his phone as his hands surrounded the candles on the self-decorated cake.

After each candle was lit, he sat back down on his chair and stared blankly at the wavering flame. The orange hue was bright and the flame lit fiery back with a thin line of smoke trailing above it. It almost felt like the only lively thing that was left in the room.

“Christmas cheer my ass,” he whispered under his breath. It was so sad that it was almost funny. Almost.

Eric finally blew out the candles after clasping his hands together, eyes closed for a baseless wish, hoping that the myth would at least provide him even the slightest sense of joy.

He started to clear the table and put away the stuff inside the fridge.

He didn't even like cake that much.

Just then, he heard the bell go off. Maybe someone forgot something and returned to retrieve it. He grabbed a piece of candy and shoved it into his mouth before answering the door.

Expecting to see one of the boys, he was surprised to see you standing with a big bag on hand. You were dressed quite casually but it suited you the best. You flashed a small smile at him and gestured at the bag.

“I brought some seaweed soup!” you exclaimed as Eric remembered the instant seaweed soup bowl he bought earlier that day and was stored away inside a cabinet, “and it’s not much but also a little something I thought you’d like.”

Eric was unsure of how to react. There were many questions and things he wanted to ask and say when you showed up at the door, but even more so, there were many emotions that washed over every bit of him.

He leaned forward and pulled you close to him by your waist and leaned his head on your shoulder. Your heart melted at his sudden action, empathizing with him.

Your free arm wrapped around him as you slowly rubbed his back as you leaned your head to the side, onto his head.

To others, it may seem like a small obvious thing to do for someone’s birthday. But for Eric, the action was warm enough to warm his whole being on a cold winter day.