#of course i was amazed with the writing of the show

[bucketbueckers]

I'D RATHER PRETEND

extra 1: proposal ‘a few years had gone and come around...you looked at me, got down on one knee’

tags: @angryflowerwitch @avvwritesstufff @melpthatsme @rebecca-woso @bueckersg1rl @l0verl4ne @clouded-whispers @dolliest-thena @katemartinlvr @numberonepartyanth3m @glamourdaya @pbbucks @unadulteratedcyclepaper @paiges-1vur @thelightknight21 wc: 4.7k notes: based on this request 🫡 sorry this took forever, i took a break from writing for a bit (writing 80k+ words over the course of a month alters your brain chemistry tbh). i was gonna link the proposal and the wedding together but decided to split them just so i could get something out for y'all! soooo trust that the wedding oneshot will be in the works soon and other slice of life snippets. if there's anything you wanna see, feel free to request! i'll get around to it when i have the time & my inbox is always open for yaps 🙂‍↕️as always i hope y'all enjoy!! 🫶

NOVEMBER 13, 2028

The first week of their postseason vacation couldn’t have gone any better. After a successful last year with the Sparks and the Wings respectively, Tess and Paige needed the time out of the country, away from basketball and other people. For four years, they’d spend up to six months away from each other training, playing, or travelling – it wasn’t much different from what they were used to in college, but they were nearing their five year anniversary and if Tess was being honest, she loathed only having Paige for half of the year. They planned to spend the first two full weeks of the offseason in Naples, Italy, where Tess had grown up – completely alone with plenty of time to relax after a grueling championship contending season.

So the first week was amazing. They flew in on a Monday, ordered room service and promptly fell asleep after dinner, far too jet lagged and exhausted after hours of travelling. On Tuesday, Paige treated her to breakfast in bed: delicate pastries and fruits and savory meats, then they toured an art museum – the Sansevero Chapel Museum. Tess was pretty sure Paige spent more time staring at her than the actual art they’d paid to look at, but she wasn’t going to complain. She enjoyed Paige’s attention more than she liked to admit. On Wednesday, Tess showed her around the inner workings of the city and the street she grew up on. Paige even met some of her extended family, such as her paternal grandparents and some other cousins. Tess’s family welcomed Paige in with open arms and made sure they stayed for lunch. They spent the rest of the day walking around the city hand-in-hand with Tess sharing childhood stories as Paige listened intently. On Thursday, they visited the San Carlo Theatre – coincidentally enough, they were performing an opera of Romeo and Juliet, which endlessly amused the both of them. On Friday, Paige decided she wanted to try every pizza place that Naples had to offer, and Tess didn’t really have the heart to say no to her. The weekend was spent lounging around, walking around the city some more, and visiting the beach, although they quickly gave up on that endeavor because it was entirely too cold.

Then the second week rolled around and Paige’s entire demeanor changed. When Tess woke up on Monday morning, shirt and underwear haphazardly thrown on after a long night, Paige was lying silently next to her, hands folded over her stomach. She was staring at the ceiling fan like it held the answers for whatever existential question she’d been pondering. Paige and silent were two things that never ended well when they were mixed together. The last time Paige had been eerily quiet had been after New Year’s in 2024 – that was a month of dread and panic that Tess never wanted to go back to, so she rolls onto her side, gazing at Paige.

“Do you ever think the trees are trying to communicate with us but we’re too dumb to understand them?” she asks seriously, watching five different expressions cross Paige’s face before she settles on amusement, laughing quietly.

Paige finally cranes her head over, her face softening when she locks eyes with Tess. Her hair is unruly, a mess from the night before, mascara flaking and her skin littered with marks. Tess is certain she’s never seen anyone more beautiful than Paige and she’s certain she never will. Even after almost five years together, Paige still makes her heart beat like she’s a teenager with a crush. “What happened to ‘good morning?’” she jokes.

“Not a good morning when I wake up and you’re social distancing,” Tess grumbles indignantly, pointing at the space in between them. “What happened to, I don’t know, ‘loving your girlfriend?’”

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Paige croons, her tone teasing. She rolls Tess onto her other side, curling an arm around her abdomen, her fingers lacing together with Tess’s over her navel. She rests her chin just above the crown of Tess’s head, sinking into the pillow. “Better?”

Tess hums, content, her hair raising at the feel of Paige’s skin against hers. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” she asks.

Paige huffs out something akin to shocked laughter. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

“Paige, we’ve been together for almost five years,” Tess states. “You think I don’t know when something’s on your mind?” She twists the ring on Paige’s thumb as the blonde falls silent, thinking. “I don’t want you to ice me out,” she admits. “We said we wouldn’t do that. If there’s something wrong –”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Paige says quickly. She squeezes Tess’s hand, craning her head to press a gentle kiss on her temple. “Nothing’s wrong. Believe me. Everything’s perfect. Just…a big moment for us right now.”

“Free agency?” Tess asks, turning around in Paige’s embrace to face her fully after adjusting her arms. Paige’s face looks torn, uncertain – free agency has to be what’s weighing on her now, right? They’ve had this conversation numerous times, especially late at night after rough games when they’re missing each other and the distance feels like a burden. They’ve done this before, which is what Tess clings onto – they’ve been hundreds of miles apart in college but it’s so different now that they’re in the league and that they know their future is with one another.

“Free agency is up there,” Paige confesses after a while, frowning. “We don’t gotta talk about it right now. This is our vacation.”

“We say that every time,” Tess says softly, trying to start a conversation, not an argument. That’s been one of the biggest points of growth with Paige over the past few years. Tess is often too quick to jump to a conclusion, to get into her head about a situation or however Paige must feel about something. They’ve had these growing pains discussions numerous times, learning to be patient and trust each other more and more. Tess searches Paige’s features. “You and I both want to play ball. You know I don’t mind competing against you, but…I don’t like the distance, either. So, what do you want from whatever team you’re interested in?”

Paige hesitates, but Tess stares at her imploringly. “A younger team,” she says. “Lots of people are retiring. Stewie, BG, Sloot, Natasha. I wanna go to a team that’s gonna be together for a while, be a championship contender. I wanna be closer to you, too.”

“Okay,” Tess says, feeling slightly relieved – she and Paige are in agreement on that much. She wants longevity, a team that’s reliable, where she can settle down. She’s been stubborn on keeping up her apartment lease in LA just because she didn’t want to purchase anything permanent that wouldn’t have both hers and Paige’s name on it. “Do you have a team in mind?”

“I’ve talked to some people, yeah,” Paige says. “Have you?”

Tess nods. Paige’s thumb finds her jaw, tracing the skin there absentmindedly. “Say it on three?”

“On three,” Paige confirms. “One.”

Tess swallows. “Two.”

Together, they both say “Three,” and then –

“Valkyries,” they say at the exact same time.

The tension melts from Paige’s shoulders immediately as Tess breaks into peals of laughter. Paige shakes her head fondly, tucking her chin into the crook of Tess’s neck to hide the blush on her cheeks. “Okay. So we’ll sign with the Valkyries if they reach out to us during free agency.”

“Don’t think there’s gonna be an ‘if,’” Paige says quietly. “I talked to Azzi and she said Natalie was very interested in us. They recently got some crazy salary cap increase so I think their plan was to splurge on us, make it hard to say no. Pretty sure they also got Kiki and Ayoka to resign, so me, you, Azzi, Kiki, and Ayoka? Playoffs, easily.”

“Oh, so you think we’re starters?” Tess asks teasingly.

“You think they’re gonna drop a couple million on bench players?”

Tess shakes her head fondly, but presses her lips to Paige’s hairline, unable to keep the smile off her face. “I can’t believe we’ll be playing together next season,” she murmurs, feeling Paige tighten her arms around her waist. “After kicking your ass for nine straight years –”

“That is not what happened,” Paige interrupts, smushing her finger into Tess’s cheek. “2025? Ring a bell? UConn natty?”

“I recall a lot of things from that night but a natty was not one,” Tess states. “I remember you coming to my hotel room, and –”

Paige slides her hand across Tess’s mouth, shutting her up, but her eyes are slightly wide. “Don’t,” she says softly. The corner of her mouth twitches like she’s trying to hold back laughter. Tess rolls her eyes and she pushes Paige’s hand off of her. “Does this mean we gotta start apartment hunting now?”

Tess hums. “Maybe a house?” she suggests, watching Paige’s reaction carefully. As her words sink in, a smile grows unabashed on Paige’s face.

“You wanna buy a house with me?”

“Paige,” Tess says, a little indignant. “Duh?” Paige’s expression turns unbelievably tender, her smile softening. Tess quirks a grin of her own. “I’m thinking of something permanent, you know? Settle down, finally? Stay with the Valkyries until we’re, what – 40 something, Diana Taurasi style. Retire in the Bay. We’ll have our house, maybe four bed, couple baths. Us, maybe a kid or two, guest room for our friends. We’ll probably be coaching somewhere, collecting our rings when we’re old and washed up.” Tess swallows, realizing the gravity of what she’s just said. “I mean, if that’s something you’d be interested in.”

“Tess.”

“Hm?”

“Shut up.”

Before she can respond, Paige’s fingers are curling around her neck, pulling her in closer until their lips meet, and kissing her with a softness and a gentleness that hasn’t disappeared after so many years together. Tess can’t help but smile, feeling the promise, the agreement, that Paige presses against her. When she draws back, Paige’s smile is wide, her teeth showing and the corners of her eyes crinkling. “I want that with you,” Paige murmurs, just so that there’s absolutely no confusion. “Lemme put a ring on it before we start talking about kids, yeah?”

Tess narrows her eyes dramatically. “You need to hurry it up, then,” she says. “I won’t wait around forever.”

Paige lifts one of her hands, kissing her knuckles with a coy smile. “Trust me. Gonna make it worth your while, baby.”

Tess honestly should have known that she had another trick up her sleeve, but she was too lost in the moment to overthink her words. So she acquiesced, giving into the deep, lingering kiss that Paige pressed into her lips, letting herself sink further into their bed and reveling in the way Paige’s lips danced across her skin.

The rest of the week passed with little interruption or further weirdness. Paige did seem a little nervous at times, though the moment never lasted too long, so Tess didn’t think much of it. She and Paige continued to make the most of their time in Italy. They had a private couple’s painting event, where Paige, for whatever reason, painted the two of them as stick figures driving around in a basketball shaped car (she’s lucky that Tess is in love because otherwise…God help her). Paige booked them in with a renowned Italian chef who taught them how to make homemade pasta and various sauces, which went as well as one could expect – that is to say Tess was just endlessly distracted by the way the veins in Paige’s hands protruded as she kneaded the dough.

Then, on Friday the 17th – Tess’s birthday – Tess woke up to Paige’s lips on her face and an assortment of brunch food. They indulged for the better part of the morning, not leaving the bed until the afternoon until their spa appointment. Paige had declared that she “deserved to be pampered” and who was Tess to argue against that? The resort masseuse and the nail techs were incredible at their jobs and Tess left the appointment feeling incredibly refreshed. Her birthday dinner was at an upscale restaurant in the heart of the city and Paige gifted her another charm for her bracelet – this time in the shape of the Italian peninsula to remind her of their time here.

Saturday the 18th was different – there was a palpable shift in the air. She woke up a little past eleven in the morning, alone, which was concerning in and of itself because Paige is rarely awake before she is. Paige is a chore to get out of bed in the mornings and always has been. She’s the CEO of “five more minutes” or “come cuddle” which, Tess will admit, has only become more endearing over the years, but right now, all it does is worry Tess after the conversation they had earlier in the week about free agency.

She hardly has the time to overthink it too much because Paige is shuffling back into their room, sporting an insane case of bedhead and a slight smudge of toothpaste lingering on her bottom lip. The blonde grins at her, easing her nerves instantly, and she presses one knee into the bed as she leans over Tess’s body, planting a kiss onto her lips. “Good morning!” she chirps, which is the next indicator that something is up.

“Good morning,” Tess says, honestly a little confused. She wipes the foam off of Paige’s lip. “What’s gotten into you?” she asks suspiciously.

“What, I can’t be happy?” Paige raises a brow, leaning in to kiss her again. Tess stops her with a hand to her chest.

“Okay, now I know you’re being weird,” Tess states. “You woke up before me. You got out of bed and attempted to make yourself…somewhat presentable, when the first thing you do in the morning is beg to be the little spoon for a little while.” As she speaks, Tess smooths out the mess on Paige’s head, frowning slightly. “You’re too happy right now. And you keep trying to distract me. So, you’re plotting something. What’s going on?”

Paige huffs dramatically, leaning away from Tess. “Nothing’s wrong, ma, swear,” she vows. Tess narrows her eyes at her, studying her features closely, but all she can make out is an anxious earnestness and unequivocal love. Paige cups her cheek as she kisses her temple gently, moving her mouth to her ear to whisper, “Everything’s perfect right now. Trust me, okay? Just wanna make you happy.”

“You do,” Tess affirms. Paige’s words soften the tension in her shoulders. Maybe she is overthinking again, which isn’t unlike her. Paige has never given her any reason to doubt her words, not in the near five years they’ve been together. She owes it to Paige to have more faith in her, in them.

A smug look crosses across Paige’s features as she pokes Tess in the cheek obnoxiously. “I know.” Tess rolls her eyes fondly as Paige leaves the bed fully. “Now get dressed. This is our last day in Italy and we got shit to do. Can you do my hair?” Tess meets her eyes through the mirror, raising a brow slightly. “Please?” Paige adds.

“I’ll house train you one day,” Tess mumbles, though she knows Paige is basically a lost cause at this point. Her girlfriend smiles at her and all of her faux annoyance washes away in an instant as Tess presses a kiss to her cheek, beginning to work on her hair. Paige gives her free reign to work and Tess elects to leave Paige’s down in natural, loose waves. Then, they get dressed – Paige dons a baggy pair of black cargos with an oversized white sweater and matching white sneakers. She doesn’t forget her chain or the various rings on her fingers, which makes Tess contemplate telling her to cancel their reservations for wherever they’re going so they can spend the day in bed (again – but that’s no one’s business but their own). Tess herself dresses in white sneakers, a pair of light-wash blue jeans, and a patterned sweater that she’d stolen directly from Paige’s luggage – the very sweater that Tess claimed made Paige look like an art teacher.

Once they’re ready to go, Paige leads her hand-in-hand down the busy streets towards a restaurant. They indulge in a late lunch, cracking jokes, sharing stories and optimism for the future – Paige wants an outdoor court built at whatever house they’re buying (possibly the least surprising thing Tess has ever heard), and Tess’s only real complaint is that she doesn’t want to live in an obnoxiously huge mansion. As long as the house has what they need and they have their family, then there’s not much else that Tess wants.

After lunch, they arrive at a private pottery making class, which takes a good few hours out of their day. Paige looked absolutely silly with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and covered in clay, and Tess is sure that the only thing that stopped them from initiating an all-out clay war was the elderly woman who was carefully instructing them. Eventually, their creations start taking shape – a vase for Tess and a lopsided mug for Paige, and while they get fired in the kiln, the instructor talks them through the history of Italian pottery and ceramics.

Tess had thought the pottery class was their last stop on the day, but Paige had something else planned. “It’s a secret,” she claimed, but she seemed a little more nervous than she was earlier that day, which did little to quell Tess’s sudden anxiety until Paige pressed her lips to her knuckles. “Trust me.”

And so she did, allowing Paige to lead her down the streets once more in the fading daylight. The sky was lined with streaks of pinks, oranges, and a dimming yellow. Tess knows she says it a lot, but in this light, Paige looks absolutely radiant – the sharp lines of her face softened by the gentleness of the sky, the blush on her cheeks heightened by the chill in the air. Her palm was warm against Tess’s, rough in some places and smooth in others, but Tess loves every inch of Paige just the same.

Finally, the two of them stop in front of an unassuming door, one that Tess had never seen growing up here. Paige’s nerves seem to return tenfold as she pauses. Tess watches her face contort as if she’s battling some internal decision. She squeezes their linked hands, feeling the relief that exudes from Paige’s body, and the blonde smiles tentatively. “You first,” she states, resting her free hand over the door knob. Tess gives a confused, yet trusting nod, as Paige opens the door and ushers her inside.

The breath is all but sucked from her lungs as soon as she’s indoors. The lighting in the room is dim, but Tess can see nearly everything. The rose petals creating a path for them, the flickering of candles strewn about, but the part that truly captures her attention are the polaroids that hang from the ceiling on thin twine strings. The one closest to the entrance are incredibly new, selfies of the two of them from the week before, a picture of Tess and Paige swept up with Tess’s extended family. There’s a solo shot of Tess grinning at the camera for Paige, dolled up in her birthday dress and holding a glass of wine.

Paige doesn’t say anything – she doesn’t have to. She rests her palms over Tess’s hips as she guides the both of them forward, allowing Tess the time to properly look at all of the pictures. As they walk through the room, which Tess figures was an art gallery given the abstract paintings on the wall, the pictures get older and older. There’s a photo of the two of them from the WNBA finals, confetti sticking to their sweat-slick bodies as they embraced in the middle of the court. There’s a photo of them at the Olympics holding up their matching gold medals. There’s countless shots of them sharing the basketball court, as rivals, and part of Tess can’t help but get choked up because they’re not going to be rivals on the court after this vacation is said and done. After nine years, she finally gets to play with Paige, as teammates, and she’s not sure if there’s anything in the world that could possibly top that feeling.

Their WNBA memories filter out, leading to their college ones. There’s one of the two of them from the national championship, displaying the two of them staring at each other – Tess on one side of an half-empty court, Paige on the other swarmed by her teammates. The pride reflected on Tess’s face is evident in the photo. There’s a bunch of other memories, their February game, holidays celebrated with each other, their summer of 2024 world tour, and photographs of them from when they were “pretending.” Tess spots herself perched on Paige’s lap during the first Thanksgiving she spent with the extended Bueckers family, arguing over Fortnite with Paige as Paige’s siblings watched on in amusement. There’s countless FaceTime screenshots, back when the two of them were truly getting to know each other, selfies from their Bose trip that changed everything, and finally, as they’re nearing the end, the photographs melt into their initial soft launch photos, that damned coffee shop and Paige’s less than subtle appearance. But the last photo isn’t like the others. The rose petal path has led them to the back end of the art gallery, still illuminated by the soft lighting. The last photo is framed. It’s of the two of them shaking hands after the first game they played against each other on February 8, 2021. That date has stuck with Tess for a while now. If you’d told her younger self in 2021 that she’d be here, now, with Paige Bueckers, she wouldn’t believe you. But now? She can’t think of anything more fitting, more obvious than her and Paige.

With tears brimming her eyes and wrought with nostalgia and gratefulness, Tess turns to meet Paige’s gaze, but she’s already looking at her. She always is. Paige looks extremely nervous, but there’s a spark of determination that Tess knows all too well.

“We met almost eight years ago,” Paige states, her voice soft as her shaky hands reach out for Tess’s. “In Gampel. We played against each other and I learned so much from you – I just didn’t have the courage to talk to you, and I regretted that for months. Then, two years after that, in May of 2023, God sent you to me again. It was awkward, and unconventional, and I thought you didn’t like me –” the two of them share a watery laugh, “–but I knew I had to make the most of it. Of us. I wasn’t gonna let you get away from me, not again. So we fake dated. I just wanted you in any way you’d have me. I was happy to just be your friend. But as time went by, I fell for you, and…” Paige smiles at her. “I was scared at first, but part of me knew it was gonna happen. You’re a competitor, you’re stubborn, and the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known. You get me, always have, and me falling in love with you was real. We’re real. I’m so thankful for what we have, for you, and knowing that we’ll be playing together next season is everything I’ve wanted for nearly eight years. I can’t wait to do this with you. I can’t wait to build a life with you. On New Year’s Eve in 2023, I told you my resolution was building something permanent. I’ve kept that promise, but I’m gonna amend that to say my resolution is to build something permanent with you.”

Paige releases her hands, exhaling, and Tess almost chokes on a sob when Paige carefully drops down to one knee, her hands reaching into her pocket to produce a small ring box. Her hands shake as she opens the top, revealing the gold engagement band and a stunning, sparkling diamond, minimalist yet beautiful in the way Tess prefers her jewelry. But the ring doesn’t hold her attention for too long. She gazes down at Paige, at the tears beading at her waterline, the clear anticipation and nervousness and unfiltered love in her eyes. Tess watches a soft smile spread across Paige’s face as she finally asks the question she’s been waiting to hear for years. “Tess Kennedy, will you make me the happiest woman in the world and marry me?”

Tess doesn’t even have to think about it. She sinks down across from Paige, throwing her arms around her neck and pulling her in for a bone-crushing hug. “Oh my fucking God,” she murmurs, not even feelingly slightly ashamed as she soaks Paige’s sweater with her tears. Paige wraps her arms around her middle, pulling her close tightly as she laughs.

“So is that a yes?”

“Yes, Paige,” she stresses, barely resisting an eye roll when Paige’s face lights up, simultaneously melting with relief. “I told you I wanted to marry you almost four years ago. You really thought my answer was gonna change?”

Paige huffs, amused, as she slides the ring onto Tess’s finger. The candlelight reflects beautifully off it. The ring is gorgeous but Tess can’t keep her eyes off of Paige, whose eyes shine with tears and gratitude. “Just wanted to hear you say it.” Her tone is gentle but also a little smug. “Tess Kennedy wants to marry me,” she sing-songs.

Tess rolls her eyes fully as she and Paige stand up. “You literally got down on one knee and asked, you jerk,” she retorts, reaching up to cup Paige’s cheek and brushing away one of her tears. Her voice is soft despite her words, which makes Paige laugh as she grabs Tess by her wrist and presses a kiss to her open palm, her smile bright and fully enamored. Then, a realization dawns on Tess and she groans, pressing her forehead into Paige’s shoulder. “Oh my God. Is this what you were so nervous about last week? Not free agency?”

Paige laughs, a sound straight from the belly as she wraps her arms around Tess’s shoulders. “I didn’t lie. I was a little nervous about free agency, but I was a lot more nervous for this. Knew you’d say yes – you’re in love with me and shit –”

“And shit?” Tess asks, shaking her head.

Paige nudges her. “Just wanted to make it perfect for you,” she admits, all teasing gone from her tone. “Told you I had to make it worth your while.”

“It was perfect,” Tess says honestly. “You could have asked me anywhere, anytime, and I would say yes. I love you. But I did really like the pictures.”

Paige pulls back to grin at her. “Thought you would,” she murmurs, leaning down to kiss her gently. “I love you, too. Is it too early to call you Mrs. Bueckers?”

Tess pushes her away with a hand to her chest, affronted. “For the record, we’re hyphenating,” she declares. “Mrs. and Mrs. Bueckers-Kennedy.”

“Might not fit on the jerseys,” Paige goads.

“We’re gonna win the Valkyries a couple of championships,” Tess says. “They’re going to have so much money they’ll figure out how to get our names together on the jerseys.”

Paige smiles again. “That works for me,” she says, softer this time. She presses her lips to Tess’s again, pulling her flush against her body, enveloping her in a warmth she’s content to feel for the rest of her life. Tess grins against her, but Paige responds with a smile of her own, not minding, only holding her tighter.

She doesn’t know how to explain it – this overwhelming happiness. She’s engaged – oh my God, she’s fucking engaged; her parents are going to lose their mind – and she has everything she’s ever wanted. That much was true years ago when she had her natty wins and her girlfriend, but now? She has her fiance and the promise of a future together, on the same team, in the same house in the Bay, and all she really knows is that she can’t wait to walk down that aisle whenever the time comes.

[ivhmavie]

✭ jealous, jealous, jealous boy ◦ ༆

characters: park gyeong seok (player 246), hwang in ho (player 001), kang dae ho (player 388) and hwang jun ho (police).

how squid game mens would be with jealous

Hii! This is my first time posting on tumblr, I want to alert you all that english its not my first language, so, if theres some mistake on my writing Im really sorry! But I accept any and all help and productive criticism if I commit any mistakes. 🫶🏻

park gyeong seok (player 246)

➴ as a busy man, gyeong normaly wouldnt have time to think about any younger boy trying to impress you. With his job and his sick daughter, his mind would always be focused on thinking about the next bill to pay or his debts

➴ but, if he ever saw a guy being to friendly or close, I can just imagine him tensing up and doing that sexy jaw clenching thing. He would try to not care to much, he didnt want to make you feel controlled or suffocated by him

➴ He’s a patient man, wouldnt do anything by impulsive or without thinking, he dont want you to be sad or angry with him

➴ he would silently observe you two while paiting in the park, you would think that he didnt even saw, but he would be constantly checking you to make sure that the guy wouldnt be crossing the limits with you

➴ some insecurities would pass through his head, he would think that may you finally started to notice that you deserved someone with better conditions, someone that could take you to dates in amazing restaurants and travels; or maybe that you should br with someone younger than him

➴ whem he finish his job, he would arrive at your side, nothing but confidence in his face and actions, he would put a hand on your waist and smile asking who is your new friend. He knows what to do to let whoever your talking to uncomfortable

➴ would make sure to call the guy “boy” or “kid” and make it sound innocent and oblivious, as if it weren't for evil, in fact, the guy is practically a child

➴ in the moment that the boy finally get embarrassed enough to leave, gyeong would hold you a little bit near and give you a kiss on the cheek, just making sure to let clear that you were together

➴ if you ask him about it latter he would just smile and say that he was just “making sure that you were ok”, never really saying that he got a little bit jealous

hwang in ho (player 001)

➴ girl, let start with the point that letting this man jealous would be a problem

➴ I dont think that he would kill the one hitting on you, it depends on the situation. If it was just someone trying to flirt with you, he would have his own ways to stop it. He’s the type of man who has power enough to humiliate someone, that’s the way he would make sure that whoever was interested on you get out of his way

➴ in this first situation, he would probably use his status as the owner of the games, and rich man, to make the other feel inferior. It would be subtle, as if he didnt realize that his comments where being cruel.

➴ would talk about the expensive gifts and dates that he pays for you, the travels to the most pricey destinationd and the places you like to go shopping. It all with a hand on your thigh, because of course he would make sure to show who you belong to

➴ it all would be enough to make anyone feel bad with themselves to give up

➴ now, theres other potential situation, the one where he may had to get rid of someone. In this scenario, it would be if the person who is interested in you was really persistent.

➴ it would happen especially if the person stalked you or made you insecure about your safety. That’s the point where he would have to consider murder someone, but not of jealousy, his priority would be your safety

➴ he would give orders to some of his guards to take care of it, just wanting to confirm that they got rid of whoever it was. Probably you wouldnt even know about what they did, in a random day you would realize that the guy that was stalking you before just disappeared

➴ but, whem you asked him about it already knowing the answer, because, look who is you men girl, he would give a forced laugh and say that you shouldn't worry about it

kang dae ho (player 388)

➴ this boy would be SOO dramatic, probably he would make a pout with his mouth without even realizing it. He also look a little bit insecure, so i can imagine he being kinda sad

➴ so, you would have to calm him down about it, you would KNOW whem he’s jealous because he cant hide it, his face tells you

➴ he’s divided. He feels bad and insecure whem he’s jealous, but he don’t want you to be upset with him or look to selfish

➴ you would have to be the one to start the conversation about it, he wouldnt say a word. But you would know by the way he looks at you whem you’re talking with someone who makes him jealous

➴ he feels so unable because he’s afraid of getting in trouble with someone for interrupting a conversation and seeming rude or controlling, he thinks the only way to be worthy of you is to be brave like the other mens who worked with him or the ones in the games

➴ it would be a little bit hard to calm him about it, but after a conversation he would feel better

➴ there’s a situation where he would interrupt you. If he notice that you’re uncomfortable and the guy is crossing the limits with you. He would arrive friendly at you two like "So, what are we talking about?” and placing a protective hand on your shoulder

➴ after that he wouldnt deny that he was jealous, but also wouldnt admit it

hwang jun ho

➴ first of all, this men is really confident and trust you a lot, so i don’t think he would be jealous easily. If it ever happend, it would be with someone insistent, that really cross the friendly limits with you

➴ he wouldnt be angry or anxious with someone trying to flirt with you, maybe he even think that it’s funny to watch. He would be watching while doing something or talking with someone, giggling in your direction whem the person who is talking with you says something stupid

➴ whem the guy notice that you’re not interested, he would come up behind you, putting an arm around your shoulders and giving you a kiss on the forehead, asking friendly “who’s your new friend?”

➴ latter, you two would remember that and laugh of that

➴ now, if someone where pressuring you or making you uncomfortable, he would interrupt the conversation, in a passive-aggressive way, leaving no space for the person to continue talking to you

➴ would let a protective hand on your waist and would lead to talk, making sure to somehow add the information that you are already taken and he is a police officer

➴ really affectionate and protective with you, gets worried whenever he see someone possibly crossing the line with you

➴ wouldnt make a scene, he doesnt want to embarrass you. After he would want to know from where you know the guy from earlier, but only because he worry about you

[woozinhos]

hellooo! can you do jeonghan soft s3x? thankss <3

its ok not to write it if its too uncomfortable 💞

Make love to me slowly

Jeonghan always made love to you with a gentle, loving touch. He wanted to show you how much he cherished you and cared for you, and he knew that soft and gentle sex was the best way to do that. Tonight was no exception. He laid you down on the bed and crawled on top of you, his body covering yours like a warm blanket. He looked down at you with a soft smile on his face, his eyes filled with love and adoration.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on your skin. "I can't believe you're mine." He leaned down and captured your lips in a gentle kiss, his mouth moving against yours in a slow, sensual dance. His hands roamed over your body, touching and caressing every inch of you as if he were trying to memorize every curve and dip.

Jeonghan's touch was electric, sending shivers of pleasure through your body with every stroke of his fingers. He took his time, making sure to worship every part of you, to make you feel loved and cherished. As he slowly made love to you, he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, telling you how much he loved you and how much you meant to him. It was a slow and gentle lovemaking session, filled with tenderness and passion.

As Jeonghan continued to make love to you, his movements slow and deliberate, you could feel the depth of his emotions. He was so gentle, so caring, so loving - it made your heart ache with emotion. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer to you as you basked in the feeling of his body against yours. His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses along your skin.

"I love you," he whispered against your ear, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you so much."

You couldn't help but tear up at his words, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of his love for you. You clung to him, needing to feel his closeness, to feel his love surrounding you. Jeonghan sensed your emotions and pulled back to look at you, his eyes soft and filled with understanding. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

You look up at him, “Hannie please don’t stop please don’t!”

Jeonghan smiled softly at your plea, his eyes darkening with desire. "I won't stop," he promised, his voice husky. "I'll give you everything you need."

He continued to move inside you, his pace slow and steady, his body moving in perfect harmony with yours. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, building up to a slow and intense climax. Jeonghan could feel you starting to tremble beneath him, your breath coming in short gasps as you neared your release. He held you close, whispering words of encouragement in your ear.

"That's it, baby," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Let go for me. I've got you."

Your body arched off the bed as you reached your peak, a loud moan escaping your lips as you shattered beneath Jeonghan. He held you tight, his own release following soon after as he groaned your name. He collapsed on top of you, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"God, you're amazing," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. "I love you so much."

He rolled off of you and pulled you into his arms, holding you close as you both came down from your high. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his eyes filled with adoration.

"You're everything to me," he murmured, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

[ashonheavenscloud]

mission accomplished || c. vernon

warnings: none! || wc: 1.1k

a/n: from another round of frantic fanfic with mi amor @lixiesfreckless !! enjoy <3

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

"Vernon, what are you-"

"I know, I'm sorry, I just-"

You step aside, bewildered but not in any way bothered by your best friend's impromptu appearance at your apartment door, despite it being nearly midnight. You're already in button up pajamas and fresh from a shower, a mug of tea forgotten on the coffee table. You were going to binge a show, but all plans for the evening have been wiped from your mind at the sight of the man running an anxious hand through his brown curls as he steps into the room. You notice immediately the guitar strapped to his back. He paces once, twice next to you, before blowing out a breath.

"What if I mess up-"

"Vernon, you've been practicing the song for weeks, you’re not going to mess it up just because you’re finally playing it in front of its intended audience—-“

“What if she doesn’t like it?” He blurts and turns to look at you, and your jaw nearly drops at the suggestion.

“Vernon…if she doesn’t like it then her and I are going to have some serious beef,” you chuckle, but seeing as how your joke does little to calm his nerves, you place a steady hand on his shoulder.

“Listen to me. You’re a talented artist with a good heart. The song is amazing, and heartfelt and…sweet,” you feel a slight pang of something in your chest, but ignore it and continue, “if she can’t see that through this, then she doesn’t deserve—-“

“Can I practice it with you, one last time?”

You hesitate, although you're not entirely sure why. You've heard it several times before, even if not in its entirety. Vernon had been working on it for ages, strumming chords and humming melodies and writing potential lyrics in his little music journal while you studied or binged your shows. He'd played you pieces, snippets, and they'd been beautiful. To hear it now, performed all the way through, in preparation of Vernon's confession, has your voice caught in your throat, a sour taste in your mouth that you can't explain.

But he's your best friend, and his pleading eyes break through any consideration of refusal before you can even truly contemplate turning away. You could never do that to him. "Of course you can."

You lead him to the couch and sit on one side, letting him set up the instrument and check that it is carefully tuned. His hands, you notice, are shaking. God, he must really be nervous to play this for this girl. Your heart aches for some reason seeing him shift in his spot.

"Okay," he eventually murmurs, seemingly half to himself. You're not sure how else to help him relax, so you just tap his foot with yours to get his attention. Once his eyes glance up to meet yours, you smile slightly.

“Pretend I’m her,” you say, and the words taste bittersweet as they roll off your tongue.

After one more shaky breath, he begins to strum.

You’re glad he decided against playing with a pick for this song, because the gentle plucking of the strings is way better suited for the lyrics, at least to you. You allow yourself to fall into the simple melody as the notes envelop you, until you begin to imagine another reality; one where this song was meant for you.

Vernon's voice is quiet, but as the song continues, he appears to gain more confidence. Still maintaining a delicate softness to his tone, the lyrics roll from his tongue with an assuredness. You close your eyes, simply listening as the beautiful song fills the otherwise silent space.

By the time Vernon's voice fades and the last notes disappear from the air between you two, your lungs feel constricted, your heart torn between wishing you could have listened to him for an hour, and wishing you could bolt from the room, escape to somewhere that would allow you space to gather your emotions into carefully sorted compartments instead of the tornado that fills your chest.

Your eyes flicker open to find Vernon watching you intently, nibbling anxiously on his bottom lip, thumb hooked under the neck of his guitar and tapping the wood. You see him swallow, before quietly asking, "So... what'd you think?”

“I think it’s perfect, Vernon,” you answer honestly, subconsciously laying a hand atop his. “It’s beautiful, and heartfelt, and…” you pause before finishing your thought with a gulp, “it’s hard not to fall in love after hearing that.”

It would be hard is what you meant to say, and judging from the flicker of confusion on his face, it’s what he expected to hear too—- but he seems to brush the slip up off entirely, running a hand through his curls before speaking.

“Thank you for…well putting up with all of my nerves about this whole thing,” he sighs, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck and moving the guitar off the couch to rest beside it. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

"I get it. This is... vulnerable." You swallow thickly. Now that the song has finished, and the moment has broken, a bitter taste fills your mouth. You've been forcefully pulled back to reality, reminded that this isn't actually yours. "I don't know if I could be as brave as you, to sing this for someone you care about so much. There's really no way she won't love it."

Vernon doesn't answer right away, bouncing his knee before glancing at you. He's always had an intense stare, but for some reason, this particular look in his eyes steals the air from your lungs.

"In that case..." he inhales deeply, and blows out in his next breath, "Do you? Love it, I mean?"

"What? Of course I-" Wait. Wait.

Vernon's nerves are taking over again, evident in his rambling. "I'm sorry, I know I'm springing this... I didn't know how to tell you it was... you. But it's you, it always was for you, and if that makes you uncomfortable I-"

You don't give him a chance to finish, closing the distance between the two of you, slipping a hand behind his head and pressing your mouth to his. Vernon inhales sharply before immediately melting into the kiss, hands falling to your waist and sighing against your lips as you pull away with a grin.

Vernon’s eyes flicker open, all previous nerves visibly deflating from his body. “I take it you really do love it, then?”

You giggle and kiss him again, just for good measure, feeling lightheaded. “What do you think?”

Vernon laughs softly, squeezing your waist gently and pulling you closer to him, eyes alight with happiness. “Mission accomplished.” He murmurs with quiet delight before kissing you again.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

seventeen masterlist

navigation

[follows-the-bees]

I've been super busy and stressed the past few days, so I know I haven't been around a lot, but wanted to pop by on the anniversary of the cancellation to say how much I love the show and this fandom.

The creativity is off the wall. I fell in love with the show and feel incredibly lucky to have met an amazing group amongst this ever growing crew — to talk about our amazing show is a joy.

I've been able to further my writing, both in fanfic and meta. I have written more meta about OFMD than all my other fandoms combined. It is amazing how poignant filmmaking can spark hundreds of hundred-word essays on something as small as a minute detail.

And of course I'd be remiss to not talk about all the creative works: the fics and the art! My intake of gorgeous art is phenomenal — I've never had so many prints and art books before.

Keep creating crew. Keep being amazing! Keep spreading kindness and love.

[willowsnook]

Hi,I wanted to request a fluff lando norris x sainz reader.you can make it however you would like.if you can make it amazing and if not, that's ok, also I love your writing <3

lando norris x sainz!reader

A/n: short little blurb

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

"Are you sure it's okay if I stay here?" You asked your brother as he carried your suitcases into his Monaco apartment.

"Of course," he said, scoffing. "It's insulting that you even ask that; you're my sister."

"I know...but I don't want to impose," you said. Carlos set your bag down and brought his hands down to your shoulders.

"You can stay here as long as you want; I'm gone a lot of the time anyways," he said, reassuring you.

Moving in with your brother had not been in the cards for this year, but after you were laid off last month, you couldn't afford to renew your lease for your London apartment, so here you were. There were some good leads for jobs in Monaco, so moving in with Carlos temporarily seemed like a good move. Plus, the country was beautiful.

A few weeks in, you settled into a good routine. You went on a run every morning, followed by yoga, and then you applied for jobs or went in for interviews. You were in the final rounds at several places and felt optimistic. On nights Carlos was there, you hung out with him, but you tried to carve out a new life for yourself in Monaco. You joined a book club at your new favorite bookstore, hung out at the beach, and went to bars alone in hopes of meeting new people.

Carlos was out of town this weekend on a quick trip to see Rebecca, so you had the place to yourself. Declaring it a "self-care" night, you cooked your favorite pasta dish, poured a big glass of wine, and set yourself up to watch your favorite kind of thing on Netflix: a crime documentary.

Not even two minutes in, someone was knocking at the door. Annoyed, you paused the show and tossed the blanket off of you, heading to the door. Swinging it open, you were surprised to see Lando Norris standing there, giving you an equally confused look.

"Is Carlos here?" He asked once he collected himself.

"No, he's in Spain with Rebecca," you told him. "Do you need something?"

"Not really," he said, shrugging. "I just wanted to see if he wanted to grab dinner or something."

You nodded and started to close the door, but Lando stuck his foot out, stopping it.

"Is that pasta?" He said, a hopeful look in his eyes as he looked past your shoulder to the leftovers you hadn't put away yet.

You gently rested your head against the door, closing your eyes before you sighed and fully pulled it open, allowing him to step in.

"I don't even know you," you grumbled as he started towards the kitchen.

"We've met plenty of times y/n," he chirped as he made himself a plate. "What are you watching?"

"A crime documentary," you replied. "Don't you have better things to do on a Friday night? Going to the club? Getting on the sim? Streaming?"

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “Watching a crime documentary sounds good. Can I have a glass of wine?”

“Help yourself,” you muttered, moving back to the couch. He downed the pasta and brought a glass with him to the couch, sitting down to join you. Silently you started the documentary and the two of you spent the next hour and a half completely hooked.

“So do you think he did it?” Lando asked as the credits rolled.

“I honestly have no idea, “ you replied thoughtfully.

“I think he did,” Lando said confidently and you laughed at the triumphant look on his face. The two of you had shifted closer to each other during the show, now only a short distance apart. “Every excuse he has is just ‘too perfect.’”

You started to reply but were interrupted by your phone ringing on the coffee table. You threw Lando an apologetic look before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hola y/n, just calling to check in on you,” you heard your brother say over the line.

“Hi Carlos, everything is great. I had to take over your babysitting duties for tonight,” you joked and Lando pouted at you.

“Lando is there?” Carlos asked and you snorted while Lando groaned.

“Yeah, I’ve fed him and entertained him for the night,” you said and Carlos laughed.

“No funny business okay?” Carlos asked and your face flamed red. You mumbled a goodbye to him, ignoring the look of glee on Lando’s face.

“No funny business huh,” Lando said and you flipped him off.

“Are you leaving now? It’s late,” you said and he shook his head.

“Let’s watch another one,” he said and you sighed, but agreed. Handing him the remote, you got up to get a blanket, bringing it back and throwing it over you and Lando. He picked another documentary from the options and you two settled in. You could feel yourself growing sleepier as the show went on and you constantly squirmed, trying to get comfortable.

“Lean on me,” Lando whispered, not taking off his eyes off the screen.

“What?” You whisper yelled back at him. He held his arm up and beckoned you closer . “No funny business Norris.”

“No funny business Sainz,” he said back with an amused grin. Sighing, you moved into him and it was annoying how comfy he was. Snuggling into his chest you tried to stay awake but ended up drifting off. Lando looked down at you with a small smile on his face; little did you know that he already knew Carlos was out of town, he just wanted an excuse to see you.

[jedi-valjean]

Common AO3 Tags in the Death Note Universe RPF Community

Kira/L— not only the top tag for Kira Case RPF but for RPF period

Task Force Member!Kira/L— little if any resemblance to Lawlight; Kira is a cop because it doesn't occur to anyone that a student would be on the task force (except in the occasional Wattpad reader-insert fic)

Kira/Second Kira— "hiiii this was amazing also i love your username I'm a Misa-Misa fan too!!!!!!!!!"

L is Kira— this is a popular conspiracy theory outside of AO3 so of course there's fics about it

Original Kira Task Force Member/Kira!L— second most popular L ship tag)

Koreyoshi Kitamura/L— the list of task force members isn't exactly public knowledge so this is pretty much your only option if you don't want to create an OC ship

Misa Amane/Kira— "lmao why does this read like self-insert fic"

Kira Possession— Kira passes from person to person, usually as some kind of ghost and frequently via sex

Kira Infection— Similar to Kira Possession, but instead of a new person becoming the one and only Kira, the number of Kiras multiplies with contact

Kira Isn't Real— also a popular conspiracy theory IRL, frequently paired with L Isn't Real

L Isn't Real— also a popular conspiracy theory IRL, not as frequently paired with Kira Isn't Real

Fake L/Kira— L isn't real but Kira doesn't know that

L/Mistaken Identity Kira— frequently paired with Interrogation— some poor random citizen (usually the reader) has been misidentified as Kira

L/Copycat Kira— see above, but the person framed themselves on purpose to get L's attention

misa is the second kira— "lmao there need to be more fics with this premise so it can become a canonical tag"

Kira Redemption— this one makes Kira supporters angry

No Kira Redemption— half the taggers are Kira supporters using it as a dead dove tag, half the taggers are people who like Kira redemption but are writing angstfic where it doesn't happen

Kira Notebook— Kira kills by writing names in a book; becomes an unexpectedly popular trope after a Misa Amane RPF writer uses it in multiple fics; trope goes by many names but Kira Notebook is the canonical tag

Alternate Kira Killing Method— just a fanfic trope but if it ever becomes public knowledge that Kira can kill by means other than a heart attack people are going to lose their minds

Kira Is A Shinigami— oldest Kira killing method trope; popular with monsterfuckers

Kira/Kira's Shinigami— becomes a thing after the Second Kira's message mentions "our shinigami"

Kira's Shinigami/Second Kira's Shinigami— what do you expect to happen after the two Kiras "show each other their shinigami?"

POV Kira's Shinigami— post in this tag to receive a comment from unregistered user appleaddict4444 consisting entirely of laugh emoji

Misa Amane/Hideki Ryuga— post in this tag if you want to get canceled because "SHE HAS A BOYFRIEND!!!!!!!!!!!!" ("don't you literally ship misa x kira????????")

Misa Amane/Misa Amane's Boyfriend— "ummm actually his eyes are honey brown not chestnut and he's actually two years younger than her" ("we literally don't know anything about him not everybody has to adhere to your headcanons")

Misa Amane/Original Female Character— if you thought the Gaylor discourse was bad... (also that one popular Misa x Kira writer has them all publicly bookmarked with the description "ewwwwwwwwwwwwwww")

L is a Misa Amane Fan— some dude roleplaying as L agrees with this headcanon apparently

Misa Amane's Boyfriend Is Kira— secret identity angst trope where Misa's boyfriend is secretly Kira but JUST CAN'T TELL HER IT'S NOT SAFE WHAT IF SHE HATES ME ETC ETC

Kira Harem— self-explanatory (this one will also get you hate comments from that one Misa x Kira shipper)

Kira Diary— subcategory of POV Kira in epistolary format

Kira/Second Kira!L— I honestly don't know what to say about this one

Multiple Ls— I mean there's two Kiras so why not

Leftist Kira— why does Kira kill people who are already in prison and not like. Billionaires

Redpilled Kira— Kira should kill SJWs and [insert slur here]

Nazi Kira— Kira is terrible but what if he was worse

Kira Is A Politician— Kira is the prime minister, the president of the United States, the head of the CIA

Kira's Identity Discovered— umbrella tag for several fic premises

Kira's Identity Discovered By L— task force wins, extremely basic premise

Kira's Identity Discovered By Civilian— the character usually dies at the end

Kira's Identity Discovered By Internet— most popular subtrope by far

Alternate Universe— Kira— what if Kira was in my favorite TV show/novel series/historical time period

Alternate Universe— No Kira— can things just go back to normal. Please

[n0vazsq]

Every glance | Jamal Musiala x Reader

pairing . . . jamal musiala x dortmund!academy!player!reader

summary . . . Ever since you met each other, you and Jamal become rivals. It was bound to be; Dortmund's golden girl and Bayern's star boy. But as the weeks pass, you rivalry blurs into something more, the tension increasing more than ever. And before you knew it, you two were confessing to each other in the bleachers

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 4.7k+

warnings . . . shit ton of tension, slowburn and rivalry but romance too!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . didnt proof read this but who cares!!!!! i hope this mad sense bc ilike idk i wasnt entirely paying attention when writing this. I HOPE YOU LIKE I EVE!!!!! as you can asee i YAPPED. my longest fic ever omg anyhow yeah the smau grind will be here soon!!

. . . The annual interschool sports tournament wasn’t just a competition; it was a battlefield. A week long war of football, academics, and extracurriculars that tested every student’s strength.

For your high school, it meant putting their trust in you, their star midfielder. Your name was associated with victory; the pride of your school, the one who never cracked under pressure, Dortmund Academy's golden girl.

This year, though, was different. Bayern Academy, Dortmund’s biggest rival, had brought their star boy, Jamal Musiala, into the pitch.

Jamal Musiala, the name everyone seemed to drool about. He wasn’t just good; he was annoyingly perfect. Flawless footwork, an effortless smile, and that annoyingly calm composure.

It was as if the universe had handcrafted him to be your nemesis. You’d only seen clips of him online, but even through a screen, he made your nerves crawl. Now he was here, in the flesh, and he was already stealing the spotlight.

The opening ceremony was full with energy as schools from all over the country gathered in the massive sports complex. You stood with your team, donning Dortmund’s signature yellow and black, as the Bayern squad entered.

They moved as a unit, their red jackets gleaming under the lights. At the center of their group was Jamal, his gaze scanning the room like he owned it.

And then, as if the universe demanded it, his eyes locked on yours.

His lips curved into a small, knowing smirk, the kind that made your blood boil.

"Is that Musiala?" Ida, your teammate, whispered beside you.

"Yeah," you muttered, forcing yourself to look away before your irritation became too obvious. "Doesn’t look like much."

"He’s supposed to be amazing," she said, clearly impressed.

"We’ll see about that," you replied, though your words felt more like a promise to yourself.

The first day of matches solidified what you’d feared; Jamal was as good as everyone said. Bayern’s game was a masterclass, and he was its centerpiece.

Every touch of the ball exuded cheers, every pass seemed calculated, and his goa, a curling shot from outside the box, was met with loud applause. You hated how your chest tightened watching him, not with admiration but with the burning desire to prove you could do better.

When it was your team’s turn to play, you poured every ounce of frustration into the game. You commanded the midfield, intercepting passes and setting up plays with precision.

When you scored, a long range strike that shook the net, you allowed yourself a flicker of satisfaction, knowing Jamal was watching from the sidelines.

But as the match ended, you glanced toward Bayern’s bench. Jamal’s eyes were on you, and when he caught you looking, he gave a slow, deliberate clap. It wasn’t the sarcastic kind, it was worse. Genuine. The kind that almost felt like a challenge.

Later that evening, during a skills challenge, your rivalry came to life.

Players from all schools were testing their dribbling, shooting, and agility. You signed up without hesitation, eager to show your worth. As you approached the dribbling course, you caught sight of Jamal standing nearby, arms crossed and smirking.

"Good luck," he said, his voice smooth and maddeningly calm.

"I don’t need it," you shot back. "Watch and learn."

You tackled the course with striking precision, weaving through cones and finishing with a shot that hit the top corner of the net. The crowd’s cheers echoed in your ears as you walked off, head held high.

But Jamal was next, and his performance was… flawless. Effortless. Annoying. When he broke your time record, he walked past you, grinning.

"Anything you can do, I can do better," he said.

"Keep dreaming," you snapped, glaring at him.

From that moment, the rivalry consumed you. Every match, every skill test, every interaction became a battle. You pushed yourself harder, determined to outshine him, and he matched you step for step.

The sight of him alone was enough to ruin your day. He didn’t even have to say anything; his presence carried this unbearable arrogance, like he owned the air you breathed.

Every time he walked into a room, that stupid smirk of his plastered across his face, you could feel your patience thinning. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he went out of his way to find you, just so he could look at you like you were beneath him.

It wasn’t just the way he spoke, all smug and self assured, but the way he looked at you; like you were a puzzle he’d already solved and thrown away. The kind of look that made your skin crawl and your hands clench into fists.

You didn’t need his pity, his judgment, or whatever game he thought he was playing. He was your rival, nothing more. And yet, there was something about him, about the way he lingered just long enough to get under your skin, that made it impossible to ignore him.

There was a storm in every conversation you had with him, a brewing tornado in every exchange of words. No matter how civil you tried to be, it always ended with raised voices and sharp stares, each of you unwilling to back down.

If you called him insufferable, he called you predictable. If you accused him of being self absorbed, he’d laugh and say you were obsessed with him. It was infuriating. It was exhausting. And yet, some part of you almost welcomed it, the way sparring with him made you feel so alive.

It wasn’t enough for him to win; he had to rub it in, too. Every goal he scored, every point he earned, he made sure you knew it. He didn’t gloat outright, no, that would’ve been too obvious.

Instead, he’d give you this infuriating little glance, like you were in on some private joke. As if to say, See? You’re no match for me. It made your blood boil every single time.

You’d thought you could avoid him outside of matches, but somehow, he was everywhere.

At the library, leaning against a shelf with that annoying air of ease. At the cafeteria, stealing your favorite spot by the window. Even in the hallway, you could feel his gaze on you, like a weight you couldn’t shake.

It was like the universe was conspiring to throw you together, just to see which one of you would snap first.

But the tension between you wasn’t just competitive, it was electric.

You hated to admit it, but there were moments, brief and unwelcome, where you couldn’t help but notice things about him.

The way his brows furrowed in concentration, how his shoulders relaxed after a perfect play, or the rare laugh that escaped when one of his teammates made a joke.

And then there were the stolen glances, quick, almost unnoticeable moments when you’d catch his eye and immediately look away, heat rising to your cheeks.

It didn’t help that he seemed to notice.

"What is going on with you and Musiala?" Ida asked after a game. "You’re like magnets… but an angry bad kind."

"He’s just… infuriating," you muttered. "Thinks he’s better than everyone."

"Maybe he is better," she teased, grinning when you scowled. "Relax, I’m kidding. But honestly? I’ve never seen you this fired up."

"He brings out the worst in me," you said, though deep down, you weren’t sure if that was entirely true. Yes, he infuriated you, but he also pushed you to be better. The rivalry was exhausting, but it was also exhilarating.

One afternoon, during a rare break, you sat alone in the cafeteria, replaying the week’s events in your mind. You didn’t notice Jamal until he sat across from you, sliding his tray onto the table.

"Do you mind?" he asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer.

You raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Eating," he said, biting into an apple. "Relax, I’m not here to fight you. Yet."

"Gee, thanks," you replied, dripping with sarcasm. "Coming from you, that means so much."

He laughed, unbothered. "You’re not bad, you know," he said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Don’t talk down to me, Musiala," you shot back, leaning forward slightly. "I don’t need your validation."

He smirked, his eyes holding yours longer than you expected. "I’m just saying, it’s fun having someone who can keep up."

The words lingered longer than they should have, stirring something you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

The week continued, each interaction only adding to the storm brewing between you. During a trivia night, you were forced onto the same team by random selection. Every whispered argument, every accidental brush of hands as you reached for the answer sheet, set your nerves on edge.

When your team won, Jamal leaned close, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "We make a good team, don’t we?"

"Don’t get used to it," you muttered, though your heart raced at the closeness.

By the time the tournament neared its end, the tension between you and Jamal had reached a heated point. Every interaction was lit with unspoken words, every glance lingered just a second too long.

It wasn’t just about winning anymore. It was about proving something to each other, though you weren’t sure what. it was no longer about school pride or trophies.

It was personal. And neither of you was ready to admit how deep it ran.

After a particularly heated game, where both your teams had narrowly secured victories, Jamal caught up with you as you headed off the field.

"You’re really something, you know that?" he said, falling into step beside you.

"Don’t tell me you’re just figuring that out," you replied, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

"No," he said, his tone unusually serious. "I’ve known it from the start."

You glanced at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his eyes. For a moment, the rivalry fell away, leaving only two people who understood each other in a way no one else could. But just as quickly as it came, the moment passed. Jamal’s smirk returned, and he nodded toward the exit.

"See you in the finals," he said, his voice light again.

"You’d better bring your A game," you called after him, your heart pounding for reasons you refused to examine.

The finals were looming, and with them, the promise of one last battle. But somewhere amidst the rivalry, something deeper was starting to take place.

Neither of you was ready to admit it, but the lines between competition and connection were beginning to blur.

The finals came faster than you anticipated. One moment, you were preparing, training with everything you had, and the next, you were standing at the threshold of the biggest match of your life.

The weight of the competition, the constant back and forth with Jamal, the pressure to perform; it all sat heavy on your shoulders. But in the chaos, in the swirl of anticipation and adrenaline, what lingered in your mind wasn’t the game, the plays, or even the cheers of the crowd.

It was Jamal.

Every interaction, every glance, every smirk, every perfectly timed subtle teasing left its mark on you. It wasn’t even the words themselves, no, it was the way his presence seemed to stir something in you that you couldn’t put a name to.

The rivalry, intense and sharp, had gradually started to feel like something else. Something more.

And yet, you didn’t want to admit it. How could you? Jamal had always been your rival. The one person you couldn't beat, the one you always wanted to outdo.

But now, when you really thought about it, the competition felt…different. You had stopped seeing him as merely an opponent. Somewhere, between the victories and defeats, he had become something else entirely, someone else.

The finals arrived, and the game was everything you expected it to be. Intense, fast paced, each team clawing for every inch of ground, every goal, every point. You could feel the weight of the moment pressing in on you as the final seconds ticked down.

Your team pulled through, victorious, the trophy now gleaming in your hands as your teammates crowded around, lifting you up in celebration. Cheers and excitement filled the air, but your eyes instinctively sought him out.

And there he was, standing off to the side, his figure sharp against the blur of victory. His gaze locked with yours, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to fade.

His face was unreadable, a blank canvas, but his eyes; there was something in them. Something dark and intense, something you couldn’t quite decipher. The air between you crackled with a tension you hadn’t expected to feel.

You wanted to look away, to return to the celebration, but you couldn’t. And when he broke the gaze, turning away without a word, you couldn’t help but feel the faintest sting of disappointment.

Later, when the stadium emptied out and the noise faded into quiet, you found yourself walking the halls alone. The adrenaline from the win still pulsed in your veins, but so did something else.

It gnawed at you, lingering in the back of your mind. Without meaning to, your feet carried you toward the bleachers, where you found him sitting alone, his head tilted back as he stared up at the sky.

"You know, you’re supposed to sulk after a loss," you said, the words almost automatic as you approached.

He didn’t look at you right away, but when he did, there was that smirk. The one that made everything inside you tighten. "And you’re supposed to celebrate after a win," he replied, his voice smooth, teasing.

You climbed the steps and sat beside him, your heart hammering in your chest. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, not exactly. But it wasn’t comfortable either.

It was loaded, heavy with everything you hadn’t said, everything that neither of you was brave enough to voice. The space between you felt like an abyss, but you didn’t know whether you wanted to close it or leave it as it was.

After what felt like an eternity, he spoke again. "You played well today," he said quietly.

"I know," you replied, your voice lacking its usual sharpness. You didn’t have the energy for the usual banter, not now. Not with him.

His gaze softened, just a fraction. “You’re a tough, you know that?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a genuine, unguarded sound that surprised you both. "Coming from you? I’ll take that as a compliment."

He smiled, the cocky edge in his expression blunted, replaced by something far more… uncertain. Hesitant, almost. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, and you wondered, for the briefest of seconds, if he was seeing something you hadn’t noticed before.

"You really are something," he added, his tone softer now, less mocking. It wasn’t quite a compliment, but it wasn’t far from one.

The conversation rambled after that, going onto topics without really settling on any one thing. The tension between you remained, an invisible thread pulling at both of you, never quite severed.

There was something magnetic about him, something about the way he looked at you, the way he saw you; not just as a rival but as an equal. And somehow, that made everything more complicated.

The weeks that followed were a blur of practices, interviews, and games, each day blending into the next. But Jamal was never far from your thoughts.

You couldn’t escape him, no matter how hard you tried.

The rivalry, at first so intense, had grown into something far deeper. It wasn’t just about the game anymore. It was about the quiet moments, the stolen glances, the words you didn’t say.

Every time you crossed paths, the air between you seemed to thrum with energy. Every interaction, no matter how small, felt charged, as if the tension was simmering just below the surface, ready to explode.

Then one day, it happened. You found him waiting for you outside the locker room after a particularly tough game. His back was pressed against the wall, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He was studying you, as if waiting for something.

"You just can’t stay away, can you?" you teased, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them. Your heart skipped a beat as you saw the small shift in his expression, the way his eyes darkened just a fraction.

"I could say the same about you," he shot back, his voice low and deliberate.

There it was again. That crackling energy between you, pulling you in. You swallowed hard, fighting the impulse to take a step back, but your feet were rooted to the ground. His gaze never wavered, and you felt a heat creep up your neck.

"Why do you always have to make everything a competition?" you asked, though you knew the answer before he even spoke.

He stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. The distance between you closed, leaving you acutely aware of every detail; the faint scent of his cologne, the way his eyes glinted in the dim light.

His words were low, almost intimate. "Because you make me want to be better. And I think I do the same for you."

You hated that he was right. Hated how easily he saw through you. You hated that you couldn’t look away, couldn’t even bring yourself to fight back.

"You’re insufferable," you muttered, but your words lacked the bite they usually had. It felt more like a feeble attempt to cover up something else, something deeper.

He smiled, a knowing look in his eyes. "And you love it."

You should have argued, should have pushed him away. But instead, you stood there, frozen, your heart thundering in your chest. You didn’t know what was happening, but you couldn’t deny it any longer. Something was changing. Slowly. Relentlessly.

The realization hit you in a moment of silence, one that caught you completely off guard. You had gone to watch one of his games, just to pass the time, to distract yourself from the constant pull between you. But as you watched him on the field, it hit you like a train.

It wasn’t just the way he played, it was the way you felt when you watched him. There was admiration there, sure. But it was more than that. It was something deeper, something you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge.

When he scored the winning goal and looked up, his eyes scanning the stands before landing on you, everything inside you froze. The crowd was deafening, but all you could hear was the rush of your own blood in your ears. He knew you were there.

And when his eyes locked with yours, it wasn’t just a brief glance. It was something intentional, something deliberate. It made your heart race, and for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were proud or…something else.

That night, as you lay awake in your bed, the weight of everything pressed in on you. The rivalry, the competition, the slow, inevitable shift that had taken place between you and Jamal. You didn’t know what it was or where it was heading, but one thing was clear; it was no longer just a game.

It was something much more dangerous.

The next time you saw him, the air between you was thick with unspoken words. Neither of you could pretend anymore. Every glance, every word, every touch seemed to linger just a little longer than it should. The line between competition and connection had blurred, leaving you both on the edge of something you couldn’t name. Something neither of you was brave enough to confront.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you wanted to win… or lose.

The tension between you and Jamal had grown unbearable. Every glance, every word, every charged moment felt like a string being pulled tighter and tighter, ready to snap. And when it did, it was bound to be explosive.

It happened on a rainy Friday evening. You’d just wrapped up a practice session, the field slippery with mud and your teammates’ laughter echoing in the distance. You thought you were alone until you heard footsteps behind you.

"Can’t stay away, can you?" Jamal’s voice was unmistakable, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned to find him standing there, his hair damp from the drizzle, his expression unreadable.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, though you weren’t sure if you wanted an answer.

"Watching and learning," he said, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. But his eyes held something deeper, something that made your breath catch.

"Funny," you replied, rolling your eyes. "You could use the practice."

He laughed softly, the sound rich and warm despite the cold rain. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

"And yet, here you are," you shot back, crossing your arms.

He stepped closer, and suddenly the air felt heavier, charged with something neither of you could ignore. The teasing, the rivalry, the constant push and pull; it all seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you standing there in the rain.

"Why do we do this?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

"Do what?" you asked, though you already knew the answer.

"This," he said, gesturing between you. "The arguing, the competition, the… pretending."

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. "I don’t know," you admitted. "Maybe it’s easier that way."

"Easier," he repeated, as if testing the word. Then he shook his head. "It’s not easier. It’s torture."

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. This wasn’t the confident, cocky Jamal you were used to. This was someone raw, someone honest.

"Jamal…" you started, but he cut you off.

"I can’t do this anymore," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "I can’t keep pretending like I don’t care, like you don’t drive me absolutely insane in the best and worst ways."

You stared at him, your mind racing. Part of you wanted to run, to go back into the safety of your rivalry and banter. But another part, the part that had been growing bigger with each passing day, wanted to stay.

"You’re not the only one," you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took another step closer, so close now that you could see the drops of rain clinging to his lashes. "Then stop fighting it," he said, his voice almost pleading.

You hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. But then he reached out, his hand brushing yours, and all the walls you’d built came crashing down.

The kiss was unavoidable, as much a peak as it was a beginning. His lips were warm despite the cold rain, his touch firm but gentle. It was everything you’d both been denying, all the tension and frustration melting away into something softer, something real.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. He rested his forehead against yours, a small, disbelieving smile on his lips.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that," he admitted.

"Probably as long as I have," you replied, your voice shaky but light.

The rain continued to fall, but neither of you moved. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you and the newfound understanding between you.

From that moment on, everything changed. The rivalry didn’t disappear, but it softened, became something playful rather than competitive. You still challenged each other, still pushed each other to be better.

But now, there was something more. The stolen glances, the lingering touches, the quiet moments when it was just the two of you; it all added up to something you couldn’t ignore.

You found yourself craving his presence, his voice, his laugh. And he felt the same. The time you spent apart felt like an eternity, and when you were together, it was never enough.

The rivalry that had once defined your relationship had become the foundation of something much deeper, something that neither of you could deny.

One night, as you lay together under the stars, he turned to you, his expression serious.

"You know this isn’t going to be easy," he said.

"I know," you replied.

"But it’s worth it," he said, his voice firm.

You smiled, reaching out to take his hand. "It’s always been worth it."

And for the first time, you both let yourselves believe it.

The connection between you and Jamal had become an unstoppable force. No matter how much time you spent together, it was never enough. Every moment apart felt like a lifetime, and the longing grew unbearable. It wasn’t just desire; it was a need, an aching pull that neither of you could resist.

It started small, a text here, a call there. But soon, it spiraled into something neither of you could control. Late night phone calls that stretched until dawn, whispered confessions that left you both breathless.

Even when you were apart, you were never really alone; your thoughts were consumed by him, and you knew it was the same for him.

One evening, after an exhausting match, you collapsed onto your bed, exhausted but restless. Your phone buzzed, and you didn’t even need to check the screen to know who it was.

Are you awake?

You smiled, your fingers gliding across the screen.

Always for you.

A moment later, his name lit up your screen. You answered without hesitation.

"I can’t stop thinking about you," he said, his voice low and filled with longing. "It’s driving me crazy."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Join the club," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "You’re all I think about, Jamal."

There was a pause, and you could hear his breathing, steady but heavy. "I hate this," he said finally. "I hate being away from you."

"Then don’t be," you whispered, your words bold but honest. "Come over."

He didn’t need to be asked twice. Less than an hour later, he was at your door, his hair tousled and his eyes filled with an intensity that took your breath away.

You barely had time to step aside before he was pulling you into his arms, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was as desperate as it was passionate.

"I can’t do this anymore," he murmured against your lips. "I need you. All the time. Every second of every day."

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your hands cupping his face. "I need you too," you admitted, your voice trembling. "I don’t know how to be without you anymore."

He smiled then, a soft, disbelieving smile that made your heart ache. "Good," he said, his forehead resting against yours. "Because I’m not letting you go."

From that moment on, the walls between you crumbled completely. There was no more acting, no more hiding. You were his, and he was yours, and nothing else mattered. You spent every possible moment together, your lives intertwined in ways you’d never thought possible.

He started showing up at your matches, cheering louder than anyone else. You did the same for him, your voice hoarse and non existent by the end of his games.

When you weren’t on the pitch, you were together, whether it was curled up on the couch, wandering the city hand in hand, or simply lying in bed, talking about everything and nothing.

The rivalry that had once defined your relationship was still there, but it had transformed into something playful, something that pushed you both to be better. You still challenged each other, still teased and competed, but now it was with a smile and a kiss waiting at the end.

One night, as you lay tangled together under a blanket of stars, Jamal turned to you, his expression serious.

"You know this is it, right?" he said, his voice soft but steady. "You and me. There’s no going back."

You nodded, your heart swelling. "I wouldn’t want to," you said.

He smiled, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently. "Good," he said. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

And neither were you. For the first time, you both let yourselves believe in forever, knowing that whatever came next, you’d face it together.

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @notm4d1 ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @bernalswifeyy ,, @nngkay ,, @justaf1girl (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[rainbowskullsandcoffee]

i honestly did not know about the tomgreg ship when i started watching succession and now here i am with another gay pairing to obsess over

[queer-ragnelle]

starz was going to give us a gawain camelot as complex as flint black sails but no reviewers had any fucking taste. camelot was “forgettable” but you can’t stop talking about mists of avalon? shut all the way up. robbed. i’m taking it personally.

[bumblingbabooshka]

[TUVOKTOBER: Day 9] Ballet with the Captain.

[prettyinpunk]

A progression of matt getting eaten by confetti

[life-b4-death]

I'm a little mad how fuckin good Scanlan's song was?????

[happy74827]

There's a lack of Connor Roy fics on every platform, so if you could do something to change it, that would be amazing. <3

Oh, absolutely!! Connor is such an angel (again since I’m still only on the first season I don’t if that changes but for now he’s precious) and so far I live for the dynamic between him and his siblings.

Long story short, I will definitely be changing that 🫡

[thelastsirenssong]

Jean Kirstein send tweet

[solalunar-eclipse]

To everyone in the comments begging for a fic about this: PLEASE go read Heart of Gold with Blood-Red Eyes!!! It’s by this artist and features Shadow in a similar dynamic with Fleetway Super Sonic, and it is fantastic.