#tagging with the ones i think are checked most often lol

[born-to-lose]

The secret truly is to leave on a high note and have them give you their social media handle or number, they'll crave you forever

[mobgoblin]

mannn i want a quality new fiction podcast to get hooked on

[edamameiyok]

the sidelines (megan skiendiel x reader)

"watching the world from the sidelines, had nothing to prove. til' you came into my life, gave me something to lose."

synopsis: megan doesn't know much about the universe, but she does know she is very lucky to exist at the same time as you. tags: angst, a few fluff moments here n there. lots of talk abt philosophical things lol an: just want to put out there that this is not a REAL portrayal of the people mentioned in this fic. all events are fictional and are for entertainment purposes only. CW: reader has a medical condition. wc: 5333

⏯ now playing: sidelines - phoebe bridgers

Megan Skiendiel doesn’t know much about the stars and constellations. The amount she knows is only the Zodiac. She had basic knowledge of the subject and if anyone were to ask her about the different signs, she thinks she’d be able to give a decent description of them. She knows astronomers have provided their concepts of the constellations and storytellers well before her time have given them a meaning that many people have changed as those stories were passed down. Megan loves the stars. She can’t point out the shapes they form and she doesn’t know any of those stories, but she loves to stare at them. 

She wonders as she stares at you in class, if you ever think about the stars. She wonders if you knew about the constellations and their stories. 

She thinks, you probably do. You look like you do. 

The class you two share is Intro to Philosophy. 

It’s a required subject and to Megan, it’s a bit boring. A lot of reading that even her accommodations couldn’t help her manage. She doesn’t care to know what Socrates thinks about good versus evil, and she wasn’t even paying attention when they talked about Plato. She does know that you’re a good student. She often watches as you write notes quickly, listening to every word your professor says. You participate often, always raising your hand and giving an answer that didn’t make a lick of sense to Megan, but it always ends up being praised by their professor. The Chinese girl sometimes thinks about picking at your brain, wondering what other bit of knowledge it holds. But that requires her to interact with you. 

So, she sits at her desk and shyly glances at you during the lecture. She hopes for the day you forget a pencil and may need to borrow one from her. 

It ends up not being a pencil you need, but the notes from class on Thursday. 

She lies, telling you she also was not in class that day. In reality, she was too busy sulking over the fact you weren’t there to take notes. Even if you were, she still wouldn’t have anything to provide. She wasn’t much of a notetaker, she just hoped for the best on the exam. You look at her, a bit disappointed. When you turn back around in your seat, Megan couldn’t help the frown forming on her lips. It was her first real interaction with you and it was so short. She is about to look back down at her notebook but you turn around again, a sheepish look on your face. “Can I borrow a pencil? Sorry, I’m a mess today.” Her eyes light up, immediately nodding. She hands you the only pencil she had and you smile at her, grateful. “Thanks, Megan.” You turn back around, continuing what you were doing, unaware of how red Megan’s cheeks were. 

You knew her name. 

The most surprising thing about you is that you’re always five minutes late to class. 

With how prepared and diligent you are in the classroom, it shocks her every time you enter the room mid-lecture. You would walk in, an unreadable expression on your face as you walk toward your desk that is in front of Megan. She watches you put your stuff down and notices how you’re never in a hurry to unpack your notebook and pencil. It’s as if you were taking everything one step at a time, your mind checking off the boxes as you move throughout your day. Megan zones out, just looking at you. She widens her eyes when you turn around in your seat, handing her the pencil you were given last week.

You smile at her gently and whisper, “Sorry. I forgot to give this back to you.” Megan looks at the pencil, taking it from you. She bites her lip to try and contain the huge smile that wants to form. She looks at you and wonders if you notice the hearts in her eyes. She whispers, “Thank you.” You nod in response, turning back around to finally grab your notebook and pencil. 

It was all simple, really. But Megan’s heart skips a beat every time she thinks about you smiling at her. 

At one point during the lecture, her head finds the table comfortable, and falls asleep. She feels a light tap on her shoulder at the end of class and she slowly raises her head, confused. She looks around the room for the culprit and her tired eyes catch a glimpse of you exiting the room. She rubs her face with her hands and curses herself internally for falling asleep in class. She begins packing up her stuff, grabbing her laptop and blank notebook. Underneath her notebook were a couple of papers Megan had never seen before. She picks them up, trying to decipher what it was. She realizes they were the notes for today’s class. 

At the top was the date, your initials, and the subject for today’s lecture. 

Megan hates reading but she reads your notes about Existentialism like they were assigned to her. 

In her defense, it was assigned. It just wasn’t her work. And she most definitely will not be opening her philosophy textbook to get a better understanding. She finds your handwriting very neat, easy to read. She thinks the way you cross your T’s and write your Y’s is adorable. On the sides, you write your own formulation of the information. It was as if you were talking to yourself, having your own conversation inside your head. On the very bottom of the page, in dark red ink, lays a question that makes Megan’s brow furrow. 

‘Why do I exist?’ 

She hands you back your notes two days later in class. You smile at her softly, taking the notes from her. “I hope those were helpful.” Megan nods. She notices you wearing glasses today and she loves when you wear glasses. “They were so helpful. Thank you so much, Y/n.” You smile even wider at her, a chuckle escaping your lips. You say, “I hope they weren’t too messy, sometimes I get ahead of myself.” She shakes her head and gestures to your notes with an impressed look on her face. “No, they were so easy to understand, trust me.” You smile at her words, standing up to continue packing up your stuff. Megan stands awkwardly as she watches you, not knowing what else to say. She wants to continue talking to you but there is only so much to say with the little to no information she knows about you. 

When you finish packing your stuff, you put your bookbag on, giving her one more glance. You wave, “I’ll see you next week, okay?” Before Megan could respond, you turned away, walking out of the classroom. She sighs. 

A lightbulb goes off in Megan’s head one day when she looks down at her blank notebook during class. 

She looks up and sees you packing your stuff up. She stands, leaning over her desk to tap on your shoulder. You turn to look at her and she notices the tired look in your eyes. She almost decides against asking you the question on her mind but she wills herself to be brave. She takes a deep breath, asking, “Can I… Use your notes again?” You look down at her blank notebook and chuckle, looking back up at her with a raised eyebrow. “Fell asleep again?” Megan shakes her head, feeling her cheeks heat with embarrassment. She replies, “No I just. I’ve never been a notetaker…” She looks down, feeling silly. She continues, “I have… I’m dyslexic. So, it’s kind of hard sometimes.” She knows it’s a bit ridiculous to use that as a way to talk to you but she has been feeling desperate the last few days. 

There’s a pull toward you. It’s gravitating. 

She looks up and sees you digging through your bag. She bites her lip when she watches you pull out of your notebook, handing it to her without a second thought. “Here. You can take it after every class from now on, okay?” Megan shakes her head and takes the notebook from your hands. “No, that’s okay. Just today.” She says shyly but you wave her off, zipping your bookbag. You swing it over your shoulder as you reply, “No, every time. It’ll motivate me to take better notes.” You wink at her before waving goodbye. “I’ll see you on Thursday, Megan.” She waves back, feeling frozen in place as she watches you exit the room. She looks down at the notebook in her hands and squeals quietly. 

Apparently, absurdism was the topic of conversation in today’s class.

She reads through what you’ve written and she decides she hates the concept of this theory. It’s dark, pessimistic. Megan didn’t like the idea of the world not having meaning. And she can’t help but ask her own questions to counter the philosophers’. Why is it so absurd to add meaning to everything? Isn’t it human nature? To live with meaning, to find purpose in everything you do? How could you live life without the drive to find purpose? It was ridiculous. And Megan is glad you felt the same way. On the sides, like always, were your own thoughts and criticisms. She giggles at the frowny faces you drew, the poorly drawn thumbs down in response to a quote made by one of the fathers of absurdism. 

She stares at a sentence you wrote down. It sits with her as if the weight of it also affected her in some way. 

‘I have meaning. I have a purpose.’

She walks into the classroom on Thursday with your notebook in her hands. To her surprise, you were already at your desk. She walks up to you with a teasing smile. “You aren’t late today.” Her statement makes you laugh– a genuine laugh that makes you throw your head back. She places the notebook down on your desk and you look at her with a twinkle in your eyes. “Yeah. Just wanted to make sure I get everything for you.” Megan feels her heart beat rapidly in her chest. You came to class on time for her. A month has passed in the semester and you changed your habit for a complete stranger. 

The words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop them, “Can I get your number?” Her cheeks burn with embarrassment but the kind smile you give her eases the anxiety. You nod, pulling out your phone and handing it to her. “I was going to ask you after class today but you beat me to it.” Megan tries to keep her cool, nodding frantically. She puts her phone number into your contacts and saves it under the name, ‘Megan from Philosophy.’ She hands your phone back to you. “I agree with your notes,” She says quietly, she continues, “Like, your sidenotes. I agree with them and… I was hoping we could talk about it?” There’s a hopeful look in Megan’s eyes. She hopes she isn’t coming off as desperate, that’s the last thing she would want from this interaction. 

You open your mouth to respond but your professor walks in. Megan quickly walks to her seat, her cheeks still burning. She berates herself internally for being so weird. At some point during the lecture, she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulls it out subtly, checking the notification. She smiles widely at the message on the screen. 

You texted her: “Let’s do it. I’ll text you after I’m done with classes today.”

You text her: “Absurdism. Thoughts. Go.” 

She replies: “I think everyone has a purpose. Like, I think that’s what makes life so much fun.”

You text her: “Yes. Yes. I agree 100%.” 

She replies: “Absurdism is absurd!!!!”

She texts again: “Sorry. That was stupid.” 

You reply: “You said what you said.” 

You text her again: “Absurdism was created by cowards. I love making meanings out of everything.”

And again: “Do you wanna go to the library with me tomorrow?”

She replies: “Yes.” 

Megan meets you in the library.

She finds you already sitting at a table with your headphones on. You’re typing on your laptop, clearly zoned in on the assignment you were working on. Megan approaches you slowly, not wanting to startle you. She sets her stuff down and pulls out a chair in front of you. When she sits down, you finally look up from your laptop with a tired smile. You take your headphones off, setting them on the table. “Hey there,” you say softly. Megan waves at you before pulling out her laptop along with her notebook and pencil case. Your eyes light up at it. It had the Sanrio characters on it, all of them wearing cute little ballpark hats. Megan watches as you pick it up, analyzing it with bright eyes. “This is so fucking cute.” Your statement makes the Chinese girl laugh. 

She would have never taken you as a Sanrio person.

You set it down, an adorable smile still on your face. It makes Megan melt at the thought of you liking such cute things. She wonders what else you like, she wonders what kind of music you listen to. She wonders if you have any thoughts on the secrets the universe may hold. 

She settles for asking you what kind of music you like. It’s less of a mouthful. 

Conversation with you is easy. She finds herself laughing at everything you say, smiling during all of your stories. In return, Megan shares bits and pieces of herself with you. She tells you about about her friends on campus, how she chose her major. Megan shares things with you that she hasn’t talked about in a long time. After rambling for so long, she would pause to look at you, as if scared you had become disinterested. But you keep your attentive gaze. The same smile you had before stays on your lips. Megan felt seen by you, a feeling she doesn’t get often. After two hours, you two finally decide to work on your assignments. 

Megan looks at you as if you created the stars, handcrafted them, and placed them all over the sky with purpose. She looks at you as if you hold all the answers to the world. She only met you this semester but she can’t help but feel she has known you her entire life. You’re unaware of her staring as you check the time on your watch and for some reason, Megan chuckles. It catches your attention, making you look up to see the Chinese girl attempting to cover her small smile with her hand. You look at her curiously. “What’s so funny?” She points at your watch, her tone playful, “Do you forget to put that on when we have Philosophy class?” 

She notices the way your cheeks redden. You look away, rubbing the back of your neck. “I’m… Well, usually, on the days we have Philosophy…. I have to go to the school clinic right before,” you clear your throat before continuing, “I have a heart condition.” Megan’s heart drops to her stomach at your words and she immediately begins to feel bad for the joke she previously made. You notice her expression and shake your head. “It’s nothing serious. Don’t worry, honestly.” 

Whenever you’re late to class, Megan now finds herself worrying about you. 

Today, she watches you walk into class looking more tired than usual. She tries not to overanalyze you but she can’t help it. Her eyes follow you until you sit down. You don’t even reach down to pull out your notebook and pencil, simply putting your head down on the desk. She looks at you and she wishes she could ask how your appointment went. She wants to ask what you do at the clinic. But she isn’t sure if she was there yet with you. Everything with you so far has only been surface level and she wants so much more than that. Megan looks up at the board and sees a question written on it:

‘Is happiness the answer?” 

Megan leans back in her seat. For the first time since the semester started, she takes the time to listen to her professor. 

At the end of class, Megan walks over to your desk. She taps you on the shoulder and you look up with wide eyes. You sit up immediately, rubbing your face with your hands. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” The apology tumbles out of your mouth quickly. You’re about to say something else but Megan places a note in front of you on your desk. Written on it was the question from earlier and you stare at it in confusion. You whisper, “Is this what we did today?” You look up at Megan again and she smiles warmly. She nods, “I actually paid attention today. Wanna walk with me on the quad and I can explain it to you? I don’t know how good I’d be at it but–” You stand up, grabbing your bag. You look at her with a twinkle of excitement in your eyes and it makes Megan’s heart beat quickly in her chest. 

Oh, to make you look at her like that again. Forever, maybe. 

You two make a habit of discussing the topic of the day after class now. 

Megan finds you fascinating. The way you articulate everything so passionately, the way your brain makes connections to previous things told in the lecture, everything about you was so profound. 

Today was a Thursday and you find yourselves lying on the grass on the quad. 

Megan looks at you as if you were the only thing worth paying any attention to. She counts the freckles on your cheek, she loves the way your lips curl into a smile when you have a funny thought to share. She still thinks about asking you about the stars and constellations but she isn’t sure if it’s the right time yet. This moment with you was hers, and she wants to stick it in a locket as a keepsake forever. Without looking at her, you speak up, “You know the real question I’d like an answer to?” She smiles, whispering, “What?” 

“Does pineapple belong on pizza?” Megan giggles loudly, not expecting that question from you. She covers her mouth, her eyes turning into crescents as she continues laughing. For some reason, the randomness of it makes her stomach hurt with laughter. You join her, your cheeks hurting as you smile widely. As you both finally calm down, she glances at you again, a playful look in her eyes. “Are you being serious?” You nod, furrowing your brows, “Megan. I’m being very serious. These are the real questions those stupid white guys needed to ask.” 

The Chinese girl laughs again, her hand finding your shoulder to brace herself. She smiles at you with her whiskered dimples, responding through her giggles, “Those stupid white guys… It’s always a stupid white guy.” You nod in agreement, looking back up at the sky. At some point, you shifted closer to Megan, your shoulders touching. Megan’s breath catches in her throat when you turn your head towards her again, your noses only inches apart. You whisper, “So, does it? Pineapple on pizza?” She lets out a breathy laugh, her eyes looking into yours. Her fingertips brush against your hand and she wants more than anything to connect them. To feel that spark of electricity she knew would be there. Your skin is soft and she wonders if you’ve thought about her like she thinks about you.

“I think it does.” 

You scrunch your nose, sitting up from the grass. She watches as you grab your bag and she can’t help but laugh at your dramatics. “Y/n!” She says through her giggles. You bite your lip trying to contain your smile as you stand to your feet. Megan copies your actions, a wide smile on her face. When she grabs your wrist, she proves herself right. There’s a spark that sends shivers down her spine and when you turn to look at her, she wonders if you feel it too. 

She tilts her head, her eyes softening as she asks, “Can I wait for you at the clinic next week?” 

There’s a silence between you two. Her hand is still around your wrist and your eyes speak silently to each other. You blink at her as if waiting for her to take back what she said. But she doesn’t. She waits, patiently for an answer. 

You nod, replying, “My appointments are always at 9:30 AM, Tuesdays and Thursdays.” 

Next Tuesday Megan is sitting on the bench in front of the school clinic at 9:15 AM. You stop in your tracks when you see her, your eyes wide. You didn’t think she would actually come. Megan stands up from the bench when she notices you, waving excitedly. 

She doesn’t know this, but your thoughts run wild. The grip you had on the straps of your bookbag loosens and it scares you. 

She texts you: “How are you so smart?” 

You reply: “I’m not that smart. Philosophy is just interesting to me.” 

She texts you: “I need your brain.” 

You reply: “I like your brain.” 

She texts you: “I don’t think like you do.” 

You reply: “But I like the way you think.”

You text her again: “What is your favorite thing to do?”

She replies: “Dancing. And making music.”

She texts you again: “How about you?” 

You reply: “Being alive.” 

You text her again: “I also really like going on walks.” 

When you walk out of the clinic on yet another Thursday, Megan stands outside with a cup of coffee in one hand and a cup of match in the other. You look at the green drink with raised eyebrows, “Is that matcha?” She nods, forcing it into your hands. “Yeah. I looked it up and even though it doesn’t have as much caffeine as coffee, it still gives you the energy you need.” You look at her, still confused. Megan sighs, walking ahead of you. She doesn’t want to look at you as she talks, “You said you’re always so tired after your appointments but you can’t drink too much caffeine so… I thought that would be the best alternative,” She continues, feeling her cheeks burning with embarrassment, “I know some people hate matcha but I don’t know. If you hate it just let me know so–” She feels your hand on her arm. You spin her around, wrapping your arms around her tightly. 

She widens her eyes, not responding at first. She stands awkwardly for a moment in your arms, her hand clutching her coffee cup. After her mind finally catches up to her, she hugs you back, her arms around your neck. She buries her face into your shoulder, the scent of whatever perfume or cologne you put on filling her senses. She notices how warm you are, hugging you even tighter. You whisper, “Thank you, Megan.” She can’t help but notice how vulnerable you sound. Your voice was hoarse and there was a tinge of sadness to your tone. Megan was never the best at words, so she just held you. After a while, you finally pull away, your eyes glistening with tears. 

You had been crying. 

Megan reaches up and wipes your cheeks with her thumbs. She asks, “You’re not a matcha person, are you?” You laugh shakily. You sniffle as you shake your head but you still bring the cup to your lips, sipping the drink. You grimace but you quickly wipe it away, hooking an arm around Megan’s neck as you continue walking to class. By the time you get to class, you finish your matcha. You throw away the cup with a satisfied smile on your face. 

“Is memory enough to prove existence?” 

You and Megan sit with each other in your apartment, staring at the question for your essay. You look at her as if asking what she thought about it. She raises her hands in defense, “Don’t look at me. You’re the one who actually likes this class.” You roll your eyes, chuckling. You lean forward, grabbing your laptop off of your coffee table. “I never said I liked the class. I said I think philosophy is interesting.” She scoffs and gives you a pointed look, “That’s the same thing, isn’t it?” You shake your head and lean back against your couch. You stare at your computer screen, deep in thought. Megan leans her shoulder against the couch, propping her head up with her hand. She studies you like she always does. She smiles as she watches your glasses begin to slide off the bridge of your nose. 

She reaches over and fixes them. She asks, “Well, yes or no? Is memory enough?” You quickly respond as you type something on your laptop, “Yes, of course it is.” You look away from the screen, your brows furrowed and your lips pursed. “But I don’t think I agree enough to write like 5 pages about it…” You groan, closing your laptop shut. You shift your body, mimicking the way Megan sits. You both look at each other in silence, not saying a word. It isn’t until you snort, covering your mouth as you laugh. Megan looks at you, giggling, “What?!” You shake your head, zipping your lips as if what you thought about was confidential. Megan swats your arm, glaring. 

“Wait! Tell me!” You shake your head again, shrugging your shoulders. Megan feels her cheeks heat up. From the first moment she heard you speak in class, she wanted to know every single thing that went through your head. She wanted to know if you often thought about the universe like she did. She watched you from afar for months and she would be damned if she didn’t get to be inside your head just this once. She launches herself at you. She only intended to grab your shoulders, but instead finds herself toppling on top of you. 

She widens her eyes, looking down at you. She’s sure she is as red as her hair and she knows she should get off but you don’t make a move to push her either. You just stare at each other, wide-eyed. She breaks the silence, her voice shaky, “Do you know anything about the stars and constellations?” She says it so quickly that you almost don’t understand her. You tilt your head, an amused smile on your face. You reach up and tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear as you whisper, “What?” Megan giggles nervously, she looks away from you for a moment, biting her lip. When she looks back at you, she takes a deep breath. “Do you like. Know anything about the stars and constellations? Like… What they mean and stuff.” 

You look up at her, a warm smile on your face. You say, “I don’t actually. Do you?” 

Megan shakes her head, her smile getting wider as she responds, “No. Not at all.” She glances at your lips and whispers, “I’d like to learn though.” She looks up from your lips to your eyes. Your hand reaches up to cup her cheek, not breaking her gaze. As Megan’s eyes flutter close, as she leans in closer, you whisper, “We can learn together.” 

She texts you: “How many pages do you have now?” 

You reply: “Megan it has only been 30 mins.”

She texts you: “Well I have 3 so.”

You: reply: “Me when I’m a liar.” 

She texts you: “Yeah I like lying.”

She texts you again: “At least I don’t have to write the whole five pages.” 

You reply: “Two, right?”

She texts you: “Yeah. You’re a loser.” 

You reply: “Try asking for my notes tomorrow, Ms. Skiendiel.” 

She texts you: “I will literally fail the class without you don’t do that to me.” 

But, you don’t show up to class. 

And you don’t answer her texts asking where you are. 

She usually meets you outside the clinic but today you had an early appointment at 7:30 AM and you had to beg her to not show up. You told her to get rest and that you’d see her in class. 

But you aren’t in class. You were nowhere to be found. 

Megan doesn’t know the topic for today. All she could think about was you. 

Your grip was always on the handle of a suitcase. It waited to be packed and loaded into a car to go to its next destination. You always found it easier to be the first one to leave. Staying in the same spot for far too long always puts you in distress. When you were younger, you always groaned and wept about standing in the grocery line with your mother. The days when you were able to frolic amongst the dandelions in the springtime were your greatest memories. Your soul was vibrant yet quiet at the same time. 

Quiet enough for you to sneak out the back door. So quiet, you were always able to leave without a trace. It was less painful that way– to leave. 

When you were told about your condition, it didn’t phase you much. You saw it as another way to live your life with no strings attached. You were okay with never leaving a mark on this world. As long as it left an impression on you, you were satisfied. Sure, college weighed you down but you treated it as a side quest. The real adventure was what life had ahead and you were ready more than anything to take it into your hands and call it your own. You planned to coast through college, give your best in everything you did, and leave without a footprint to say, ‘I was here.’

The funny thing though, is that you didn’t take into account that you would meet someone like Megan Skiendiel. 

And then suddenly leaving became hard. The thought of never seeing her again made your body go cold. 

The grip on the handle of the suitcase loosened. Every time she looked at you, you felt like you were in a field of dandelions. Perhaps if you made a wish right now on one, its rays would whisper her name, almost pleading. If you could plant yourself anywhere, it would be wherever she was. That night in your apartment, as you looked at her, you realized you had found an answer. 

The proof of existence was being loved. And there was one thing your condition couldn’t take from you– the ability to love someone back just as much. 

Megan doesn’t fail the class. 

In her essay, she writes about you. She could have written an entire book about you but she settles for the 5 pages. She writes about you and your ideas of the world. She writes her essay as if she had been paying attention the entire time. She remembers your sidenotes, the little drawings next to them. She mentions the irony of how being alive was one of your favorite things to do.

When she gets her essay back, at the top right-hand corner is an ‘A+’ written in red ink. 

She smiles. She doesn’t care what those white guys say, this was enough to prove you exist. 

Megan Skiendiel still doesn’t know much about the stars and the constellations. But she does know that you didn’t either. Out of all the questions she had this semester, she’s glad that was the one she got the answer to. And with all the answers she was given, that one was her favorite.

a/n: i took a philosophy class last quarter, can yall tell? lol n e ways. hope u all enjoyed, lmk what u think!

requests are open

[mimikittysblog]

♡18:53♡

Pairing: Poly! Ateez x Fem! Reader

Genre: Fluff, suggestive towards the end

Warnings: MxM, pet names, uh reader teases them at the end so ⚠️MNDI⚠️, this one I did not proofread. That’s it I think :/

A/N: Surpriiiseee! I really made this on a whim. The inspiration came out of nowhere and I just had to write it. This is much shorter than the previous one but I do hope you guys like this too hehe! Also this is VERY MUCH a self insert lol 😭 and lastly I know jackshit about league so if I get anything wrong sorry 🙏

Tagging: @faeprincess777 @starygw3n @bee-gremlin @pinkpearlstar @sweetinsaniiity (if you wanna be tagged in my next poly ateez story, texts or not then please let me know!)

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

Being the only girl in this big relationship had its downsides and its perks. One of the downsides is that sometimes there are just things that the boys like that unfortunately you’re just not interested in.

One of them being gaming.

Quite cliche but it’s true.

Now it’s not like you never play any video games with the boys. You’ve guys play some Among Us, Gmod, Dead by Daylight and countless Nintendo games like Smash Bros, Mario Party and Mario Kart just to name some.

Though you don’t play Mario Party that often as you and Wooyoung always end up strangling each other by the end of it, and not the good kind.

Besides that, the list of games you and your amazing boyfriends play doesn’t even end there.

However there will be some games you just don’t care for.

One of them being League of Legends.

Just couldn’t get into it, so you just let that be their thing.

Tonight after a long week of work. The boys thought it’d be fun to treat themselves by renting a room at a nice nearby PC Bang.

Now most times you’d sit this one out and just have some alone time at home. However to their surprise you decided to join.

“I just wanna be around you guys! Your presence is enough. Plus watching you guys play is still fun, even if I don’t join!” You reasoned.

“Hmmm alright.. though if you want our attention or wanna do something else just say so!” Seonghwa said.

“Or just sit in one of our laps princess.” Mingi said teasingly.

Now usually when they are having nights like this, after a while you would eventually take up on Mingi’s offer and sit in one of their laps.

However you decided to entertain yourself another way.

After seeing some girlfriends on TikTok do this with their boyfriends while they’re gaming or watching a sports game. You decided to follow in their footsteps.

So here you are sitting in one of the comfy gaming chairs near Yeosang and Mingi, ipad on your lap with the notes app opened with a grid filled with prompts and the words “BINGO” at the top.

Yes! You decided to play Boyfriend Bingo tonight!

Throughout the night you’ve been crossing off things whenever the boys did something you predicted.

Oh! Yunho’s team won! Thats a check.

“…Guys seriously do you even know how to play?! Come on get it together! San cover me! Oh what seriously??? Guys I’m dying here!…”

Wooyoung yapping for a straight minute. Check.

“…….Yes!”

Yeosang staying silent until the end of the round. Another check.

Huh I’m good at this.

“Sweetheart you sure you’re not bored??”

“I’m sure Hwa.” You say with a suspiciously big smile.

“..okay..”

Seonghwa checking up on me. And a check!

Though somethings you had to wait a bit longer for. But you were sure you’d get them eventually. Hopefully you’d get at least 3 bingos by the end of the night.

However looking at your grid and how you have 2 bingos already, you’re positive you can cross out this entire grid.

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

After a good hour you finally got Jongho becoming whiney.

Adorable. And also a check!

“Ah! …Woah!! ..Boom!!!! …Ugh!”

San only making noises for the first 5 minutes. Cheeeeck!

Oh and San suddenly grabbing someone else’s thigh? Jealous. But check!

Hmm I need to fill out this box. You thought to yourself.

“Joooongiieee? When is the food coming?” You suddenly asked.

“Huh?? Oh uh.. any minute now baby!” He replied.

“Oh darling you’re hungry?” Yeosang asked.

“Mhm! Its okay I can wait a bit- oh here it is!” You said about to get up and get the food from the worker.

“No no I got it!!” Hongjoong said as he quickly left his desk.

“WAIT NO HYUNG WE NEED YOU!” Jongho yelled.

“Just a sec!”

Subtly you checked the Hongjoong getting up in the middle of the round box. Before taking your food from him.

“Thank you my love!” You said as you kissed his cheek.

“Of course princess. You sure you’re not bored?” He asked.

“Noooope!”

“Okay the-“

“HYUNG HURRY UP WE’RE LOSING!!”

“The more you yell Jung Wooyoung the more I rather sit here with princess!” He said before going back to his seat.

Ah damn I should’ve put in ‘Wooyoung yelling when he’s losing.’ Oh wait I did! Checkity check check.

You happily continue playing as you eat your yummy food.

Also since you’re a good girlfriend, you go around giving the boys a taste of your food. Just cause you know they’re curious.

Still accepting my food while playing. Check!

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

Finally they decided to play one more round and you only need one more box!!

You’re confident you’re gonna get it though. Cause you know them that well.

And soon enough half of the room at the end of the match screams out in victory while the other half whines and groans in loss.

Aaaaannndd…

“Aaaww Mingles is all pouty cause he lost!” Yunho said in fake sympathy.

“Hmph.”

“Come here Mingi is okay! You’ll win next time! MMMMUAAHH!”

“BINGO!!”

Suddenly they all whip their heads to look at you.

“Bingo?” Jongho asked with a tilt of his head.

“You’ve just been playing Bingo this whole time???” San asked as well.

“Yup! Boyfriend bingo!” You said with a big smile and flipped your ipad around.

“Boyfriend bingo?” Seonghwa asked.

Yeosang then took the ipad.

“HAHA Wooyoung yapping for a straight minute!”

“WHAT?! I DID NOT?”

“I timed it.”

Wooyoung then snatched the ipad.

“Hongjoong constantly going ‘Huh?’! HAHA BABE OMG” Wooyoung then the other started laughing the more they read out your grid.

“DID I REALLY??”

“Yes love you did.” Seonghwa said with a laugh.

“Oh my, you know us scarily well love.” Yunho said.

“I’m your girlfriend!!! I’m supposed to!”

“You really are the cutest thing we could’ve ever asked for!” Yeosang said as he walked over and gave you a kiss.

“What was the last thing you crossed off baby?” Mingi asked.

“Oh! It was you getting a kiss after you lost!”

“YOU KNEW I’D LOSE??? Hmph!! Wooyoung you shouldn’t have kissed me! She would’ve lost!” He whined with a bigger pout.

“…well.. i mean.. statistically speaking you couldn’t ALWAYS win…”

Mingi then turned around in another huff.

“Princessaaaaa!!! I’m sorryyy!! Heheheh” you said as you got up, ran to him and hugged him from behind.

“Will a kiss make it better?” You asked.

“..maybe.”

“He just wants kisses!” Jongho yelled.

“EVERYONE GIVE MINGLES KISSESSS!” Wooyoung then yelled.

With that everyone quickly gathered around Mingi to give him a fat smooch. As he pretended to groan in protest.

And with that you guys all cleaned up and headed home.

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

“We should all play girlfriend Bingo next time!” San said as you guys made it back home.

“Ohohooo you think you can beat me? Think you know me so well Sannie??” You said teasingly.

“Oh princess we do know you so well.” Yunho chirped in.

“We’re your boyfriends! We’re supposed to!” Yeosang said mirroring your words.

“Hmmmm! Okay then! Go and each of you make your own grid! Whoever this week can get a full grid like me will get a prize!” you announced as you skipped to the bathroom to freshen up.

“A prize you say?” Hongjoong asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Hmmm whoever wins gets to see me in my newest lingerie first~”

With that you took off your shirt and bra and threw it at them as you lock the bathroom door.

Groans, whines and banging at the bathroom door can be heard as you simply turned up your music.

Let’s see who knows me best!

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

© mimikittysblog 2024

[shinysobi]

si bel homme list (x.mh)

☆ best friends to lovers: photographer! minghao x lawyer! reader ☆w.c: 5.3k ☆ genre: non-idol au, romance, fluff, comedy, angst, slight coercion involved, copious references to smoking and drinking (mentions of cheating , NOT by Hao). masterlist

☆ a/n: so the first chapter is here, after months of procrastination and general breakdowns lol (not lol) i think i finalized the plot for this fic before any other one, which really is on brand for me, because then i stopped writing it entirely. while this is the first part for now, the rest will follow soon (i promise) because this is too fun to not write obsessively <3 ☆ huge thank you to @mylovesstuffs for betaing this, as usual, without the amazing feedback and support from cel there would be no fic from user shinysobi; thank you to the people i made this collab with, yuki ( @eclipsaria ) rae ( @nerdycheol ) and tiya ( @gyubakeries ). without these amazing people there would be no collab at all <3 check their works for this collab too yall, theyre all certified bangers <3 ☆ credits to @seungnm for the banner, and since this is part of yuki's 100 follower collab, check out the other works here ! (I might post another fic tomorrow ) also tagging resident 8stars: @solstyce-ent, @okiedokrie-main, @hannieoftheyear, @haologram

Unfortunately, despite whatever they said about relationships, they always ended easily; with a handshake and about a three-hour karaoke session where I poured my heart and soul into singing the most awful breakup songs known to man, while Minghao looked on in despair. No, more often than not, my breakups sound like a boring business discussion, where my exes and I meet over a cup of coffee or a business lunch, and discuss the matter of our collaborative project (relationship) going forward. 

And every time it’s the same reason, one that I am sick of hearing—you’re too cold for a human. 

“This is false,” I had moaned over my morning cup of coffee, “I’m a divorce lawyer, for god’s sake. I’m not an unfeeling robot like they make me out to be.”

“Maybe tone down the arguing and the obsessing over details,” Minghao had commented, sipping on his tea, “then the allegations will drop.”

Which brought us to this day, where it has been three years, six months, and five days since I began seeing Kim Cheong-hee, and thirteen days since he had gotten down on one knee and proposed marriage in front of a restaurant full of people. It was not my style, but I took it in stride, tamping down the feeling of discomfort and general squeamishness that came with the territory. 

It has also been exactly eleven minutes since I found out conclusive proof of my fiance cheating on me. 

Look, I’m not bothered by this. Men cheat. Women cheat. If they didn’t, I would not have been able to put down a deposit on my flat. Marriages dissolve all the time, because of one reason or the other. But apparently litigating in civil court over the dissolution of marriages does not mean one gets used to the sight of their fiance in bed with another woman. Or the sight of their wedding invitations lying on the table, apparently. Just how much of an asshole was this guy?

“Yewon,” he holds up his hands, “look, I can explain.”

“Is that why you asked me to get married to you that lazily?” I scoff, even as the woman in question scurries from the room, “I mean, semi-expensive restaurant, candlelit dinner, ring on top of the desserts. Too unimaginative, even for a man who spent his entire life fixing spreadsheets for a mid-sized company.”

“Hey,” He stands up, and I cringe at the sight of his naked body, “demeaning my work? Isn’t that a bit too much, even for you?”

“Sorry, old habits die hard.” I shrug, removing the ring from my hand, “I know your mother pushed you to continue seeing me. I knew you were never really interested in the first place. Even the whole proposal mess was her idea, not yours. She wanted a hotshot attorney with political proximity as her daughter-in-law, so she forced you to date me. Wait, is that why you wanted to come to those dinners so badly? Did you really think politics was your place?”

He says nothing. It's all true, then. Dating me when he really did not give a shit about me, is that why I liked the relationship in the first place? Having something in my life without really having to work for it, that's what I wanted. I can't even blame him for continuing this mess for so long—I was an active participant. 

“Doesn’t mean you get to string me along for three years, without even thinking of the consequences.” I sigh, placing the ring down on the table, “is she pregnant? Is that why you're marrying her?”

He nods. 

“And when, pray, were you going to tell me?” I grimace, “at the altar via video call?”

“Look, Yewon, I tried telling you—”

“I can sue you for this, you know that, right?”

He shuts up. He was arguing with me so passionately even a moment ago, but all that went out of the window when I brought up money. I snort, “Look, I don’t care. Just make sure you have nothing in my apartment by tomorrow morning.”

He nods, and I turn back to walk out of the bedroom. Outside, on the sofa, I look at the woman in question, who looks fairly mutinous at having to deal with a random woman barging into her boyfriend’s place and interrupting their time together, all the while claiming to be his fiance. Well, technically, I was his fiance at the moment; he just didn’t tell me he also had another one. “Don’t worry,” I bow politely, “I don’t care about men like that.”

The first thing that comes to my mind as I close the door behind me is — ah, so that was why he did not sleep with me. 

—

“That was the question on your mind?” Minghao says, in disbelief, as I devour a leg of fried chicken, “not why the hell did my fiance have another woman on the side, but why did he not have sex with me?”

“To be fair, he dated her first, then started meeting me because his mother set him up and he really couldn't say no to her," I shrug, “if we get into semantics, I was the other woman, except I had no idea about it.”

Minghao presses his temples, “and why the hell would you think back to having sex with him?”

“No, I did not have sex with him,” I shake the chicken leg at him, “at first, I thought he was saving himself for marriage or whatever. Then I thought he was closeted, which was fine by me.”

“How the hell is being closeted fine with you—”

“Then I realised he just did not want to have sex with me,” I say, shrugging, “not important anymore, really. If I knew he had a girlfriend, I would not have spent so much time thinking about his sexuality. I spent so much time thinking I had something fundamentally wrong with me because he would not sleep with me.”

“Did you want that?” Minghao looks at me, expression unreadable, “did you want him to sleep with you?” 

I make a face, “not really, no. The thought of being touched by that man was so disgusting, I had to avoid him in the beginning. Then I realised he didn’t have any interest in sleeping with me, so I gave up on avoiding him.”

“So you didn’t sleep with him at all, for all these years?” Minghao shakes his head, “this seems a bit much, even for you.”

“You’re talking to the woman who has never slept with anyone in her life, so no, this is not out of the ordinary,” I shrug, “I just find the act slightly disgusting.”

“Sex?”

“Yes, that.”

“Very well,” Minghao shrugs, setting down his phone to pick up a piece of chicken, “what do you plan on telling your family?”

I freeze. Right. I had forgotten about that. Telling my family means I have to be entirely truthful with them, and tell them about the disaster that was the relationship, the proposal, and the subsequent betrayal. They already thought I had a borderline personality disorder, this will land me in a hospital, if I’m being generous. My father might even have a heart attack. “I had not thought about that. My mother is going to kill me.”

“Prosecutor Kim?”

“Prosecutor Kim, yeah, that woman.” I groan, “she’s going to kill me. She hates it when I keep things from her, and I broke up with Cheong-hee without even consulting her in the first place, she’s going to kill me. My father will have a heart attack, and my sister is going to get me admitted for a check-up. My life is ruined.”

“Then?”

“Look, if worst comes to worst, I’ll just tell my mother I broke up with him over something trivial. Instead of telling her he had me as a side piece while he was off having the best time with the love of his life. Or that he dated me entirely because he was so much of a mama’s boy he couldn’t even tell her about his girlfriend.”

Minghao makes a low whistling noise, “I feel sorry for the girl actually, being stuck with Kim Cheong-hee for life.”

“I do not,” I shrug, “she’s an adult, not some poor child who got taken advantage of. The only person who’s getting the short end of this arrangement is their child. His mother will never forgive the child for ruining her chances of having a lawyer for a daughter-in-law, and eventually that resentment is going to seep into their married life as well. There’s nothing to be done anymore, but I do feel bad for the child.”

“What’s this, Choi Yewon, top divorce lawyer of Hwaseong, daughter of Professor Choi and Prosecutor Kim, is expressing sympathy?” Minghao gasps, “this is a new emotion.”

“Shut up, Minghao,” I grumble, “I’ve seen this exact playbook too many times to not recognise it instantly. Couple gets married because they’re pregnant and well, raising a child out of wedlock is not advisable, and everyone starts resenting the child for ruining their plans. I’m sure Cheong-hee will be thinking whatever his mother is thinking a few years down the line.”

“You’re saying he’s going to resent his fiancee, or wife, or whatever, a few years later?”

“I hope he does not, but statistically, there is not a lot of chances where that does happen,” I sigh, “sometimes I wish I had been a criminal lawyer instead of a family lawyer. At least then I would not be looking at the worst parts of society every day.”

“If you were a criminal lawyer, you would think of everyone as potential criminals, and act accordingly,” Minghao stands up from the table, “so, do you want to crash on my couch, or should I call a taxi for you?”

“It’s three in the morning, dumbass, I’m not paying premium prices to go to my home,”  I mutter, “just give me some of your pajamas, I’ll sleep here tonight.”

“Don’t you have work tomorrow morning?” Minghao asks, but he’s already going off to his room to get clothes for me, “should you really be spending the night here at my place?”

“One of the few perks of being the genius at work, is that I get to roughly choose my own hours,” I smile as he hands me his sleeping shorts, “one of the only perks, that is. I barely get enough sleep, but at least I can come in at eleven in the morning and no one bats an eye.”

“That’s also because you don’t go home until ten at night,” he grunted, putting away the remnants of the fried chicken, “who told you to work this hard?”

“Staying in until ten at night got you the all-expenses paid trip to Bali last year, you buffoon,” I called out, before retreating into his spare room, “I spend all my disposable income on you, you dumbass.”

“Point taken. Please stay in until eleven at night from tomorrow, Miss Attorney.”

“Opportunistic asshole,” I mutter, “you’re giving me a neck massage every night then.”

When I emerge from his room dressed in his sleep shorts, Minghao is leaning on the wall opposite mine, staring at his phone. He slips his phone into his pocket, staring at me, “why the hell do you look even uglier than before?”

“Shut the fuck up, dumbfuck,” I grumble, walking back out into the kitchen, “what are you looking at? New appointment?”

“Yeah, someone has their bridal photoshoot scheduled for tomorrow, so I’m just going over the brief,” Minghao says, showing me a presentation of floral designs and happy couples, “they’ve changed their needs at least three times, so I am wary of  making permanent decisions. No idea if they’ll even like this one.”

“Do you have a contract?”

“No, why?”

I stare at him, “you know what, you deserve it. You  deserve to be mooched off of.”

“Don’t say that,” Minghao laughs, “it was a favour someone called in for them. Nothing I could do.”

“Just say no, you asshole.”

He shakes his head, then walks into his room. I sigh, then move out of the kitchen and into the guest room. Minghao can’t resist doing a favour, as usual. He’s been doing favours for people ever since we were in university, and even now, years later and with several awards to his name, he’s still doing the same favours for the same people who think it’s fine to treat him like garbage. And on top of that, he won’t even let me intervene. 

—

“Attorney Choi,” my secretary peeks her head into my room, “your mother is here.”

I stare. What do you mean my mother is here? “Are you sure it's her?” I ask, suddenly aware of the day-old suit I was wearing, because Minghao did not have a suit in my size I could borrow, “it’s my mother? Prosecutor Kim? That woman?”

“Pretty sure it’s her, given how famous she is,” The paralegal grins, “she says she’s here to meet her daughter, and you’re the only woman in the office today.”

I sigh, feeling a headache come along. I did not need this, not on top of all my responsibilities that were waiting for me, “should I go to the visitor’s lounge, or is she going to come here?”

“I asked her the same thing,” my secretary replies, sheepish, “but she said she knew the way herself, and—” the telltale sound of a pair of high heels echoing down the corridor, “she’s here.”

With that, she escapes, scurrying off to finish whatever tasks I had assigned to her, and my mother opens the door to the office, walking in as though she owned the whole place. Well, I think, given the amount of power she still has, she might as well own Hwaseong entirely. “Yewon.”

“Yes?” I say, far too sharply for my own comfort. “What brings you here this morning, mother?”

My mother, never one to waste too much time on an introductory statement, dives right off the deep end, “Tell me why Cheong-Hee's mother called me this morning and told me the wedding was off.”

“Uh…” I sigh, “tea?”

“I am not here to drink tea, I want to know why I had to hear of your breakup from a third-party, instead of the person herself.”

I sigh, no point in hiding anymore, I guess, “Cheong-hee is getting married.” I say, pouring out a cup of coffee for myself, “he told me last night that he was getting married to the woman he was originally pursuing a relationship with.”

The expression on my mother’s face is interesting, because it’s a cross between wondering whether or not she’s heard it correctly and wanting to kill Cheong-hee for his transgressions, “what do you mean by that, Yewon?”

“I mean, he had a girlfriend all along, it's just that his mother did not approve of her very much,” I say, shrugging, “so he went along with her and dated me, but he found out she was pregnant, so I broke it off.”

My mother looks like she’s turning over my words in her mind, “so, you are telling me, that boy went along with whatever his mother said, and dated you for three years—”

“Three years, six months, and five days,” I mutter underneath my breath. 

“—and never, not once, did he have the decency to admit to you, or your family, that he had a steady girlfriend on the side?” She’s seething now, but not at me, “I need to sue him. What the hell did he think would happen?”

“He’s not worth much to be sued over,” I take a seat across from her, “I took a look at his taxes last year, he has more debt than he has assets.”

“So, no to suing, I think,” she shrugs, “did you see the woman he was with?”

“She was in the bed with him, actually,” I cringe, and my mother cringes, because it is never very comfortable to be talking about anyone’s sexual activities with your mother, let alone your ex-fiance’s, “and I think she knew who I was. At least she seemed to know me.”

“She probably went along with the whole thing just to appease that buffoon of a boy,” my mother says, “and you wasted all those years on him, just to find out you were the second woman all along. What a family.”

“Well, I did not waste time on him,” I make a face, “he was my boyfriend, not my whole life.”

My mother stares at me, and it’s the same kind of stare that I have been at the receiving end of, so often, the one that says, are you sure that is the case? “I mean,” I hurry to do damage control, “I was disappointed, really. And angry at being deceived. But that was it. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more,” My mother repeats, although she does not look like she believes me at all, “very well, then. Your father is terribly upset over this.”

“Wait, Father is upset?” I stand up, “don’t tell me he’s gotten sick again, the doctor told him to not be in stressful situations—”

My mother raises a hand to silence me, “I’ll worry about your father, not you. Have you thought of a second plan?”

“Second plan?” I make a face, “mother, it’s not like I put a down payment on a house or something. I didn’t even have concrete wedding plans with the man. I do not need a second plan.”

“You do realise, you’ve got about thirty different parties to attend for the upcoming election season?”

I groan. Of course they were going to bring that up. “My brother-in-law is the politician, not my sister. She’s a judge. I don’t even need to bring a plus one to those events. I’ll be fine.”

My mother levels a stare. I sigh. Of course I have to bring a date to those events. Everyone does, and apparently, everyone in my sister’s circle knew about the fact that I was dating and almost engaged to a man. They just didn’t know who. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“I’ll come up with a proper cover story. Don’t worry, I’m not going to advertise the breakup to the whole nation,” My mother says, standing up from the couch, “but make sure you’re prepared for any questions that might go your way.”

“From nosy aunties?”

“They’re richer than we can ever imagine being,” my mother scolds, but she’s smiling, “but yes, nosy aunties.”

“What if I just get a date?” I say suddenly, fully aware of how desperate I am, “look, no one knows who Cheong-hee is, right? I did not bring him to any parties or dinners. I’ll just get someone else to come along with me, and it’ll be fine.”

“Never mind, you’re going to a hospital.”

“Mother!” I squawk, “ugh, fine, I’ll just tell them I’m broken up or something like that.”

“Yeah, better stick to the truth. You are a terrible liar,” and with that, Prosecutor Kim is out of my office, leaving me behind in my stupid little chair and a stupid cup of coffee in my hands.

The next fundraising dinner for my brother-in-law was in a week, and it would take a miracle for me to get a date by then. Now, everyone is going to ask me why I did not have a fiance on my arm, and I’ll have to play the role of the dumped woman, drawing a sharp contrast to my sister and her perfect family and perfect life, while all I chased was money and professional goals. Not even a corporate lawyer or a prosecutor—that's what they said behind my back, she’s just a family lawyer. Why does she behave like that, then? In comparison to my father, the law professor, my mother, the prosecutor, and my sister, the judge, all my achievements seemed paltry. I should at least get someone to show off if I wanted to be considered to be on the same level as them. 

—

The rest of the day goes by in the same manner. I take a look at multiple depositions, advise three clients, and sour the general mood of the office with my scowls. At one point, my secretary comes up to me and asks if I am on my period. If so, she could get me painkillers to help with the pain and discomfort. I dismiss her with a wave of my hand. If my headache could be magicked away with painkillers, I would be the first in line. No, instead of painkillers, I’m stuck rifling through depositions long past nine in the evening, long after everyone else has gone home for the night. I refuse to order food, hoping the growing hunger in my stomach provides sufficient motivation to be done with my work as soon as possible. 

It is eleven at night when my phone rings, with a call from Minghao. I picked it up on the second ring, “Hello, Choi Yewon.”

“Still at the office?” Minghao’s tone seems bored almost, but nonetheless, concerned for my health and sanity, “this much overworking cannot be good for the heart, Yewon.”

“I have not had my dinner yet, so save the lecturing until then,” I mutter, “how was the photoshoot?”

“Fortunately, she said yes to the concepts and did not ask me to change everything and begin from scratch,” he sighs, “I swear, if she had told me to make one single correction, I would have been on the news for murder in the second degree by now.”

“Careful, Minghao, I’m not a criminal lawyer,” I sigh, “hey, do you mind getting me food?”

—

“Refresh my memory,” Minghao says, about half an hour later, picking up a piece of chicken, “your mother came to your office? Prosecutor Kim?”

“She did,” I mutter, “wanted to know why the hell did she get to hear about my engagement failing from Cheong-hee’s mother, and not from me.”

“Sheesh,” He grimaces, “not the best decision, to keep her in the dark. What was she like?”

“Surprisingly nice about the whole thing,” I reply, still struggling to understand this action of my mother. “She said she wanted to sue him and his family.”

“He went into debt because of crypto. He asked you for money last year. What money does he even have?” Minghao says. 

“Precisely why I cannot even sue him,” I shrug, “he’s not worth anything at all.”

“What else did she say?”

“She was worried about all the comments I would get,” I reply after a beat, “because of the upcoming fundraisers.”

Minghao drops the piece of chicken he has been holding, and I know what he realises—reputation is key. Even as the terrible child, the constant disappointment, I was expected to live up to some expectations, no matter how lowered they were for my own benefit. And for those standards, being without a fiance, especially when I had told everyone about the existence of one, was a mistake. A mistake that might as well cost my brother-in-law his political career. Minghao nods, and I mimic the gesture. There needs to be a fiance, or at the very least, someone who will serve their purpose on my arm. 

“You need a boyfriend,” Minghao finishes my thoughts, nodding gravely, “or at least a date.”

“My mother thought the idea was preposterous,” I grimace, “but the thing is, I need to have a date on my arm. If I don’t, then people start talking about me. And I need people to not talk about me as much as possible.”

“Did Prosecutor Kim think the idea was ridiculous?”

“Half of it is because the idea itself was so preposterous she did not think it was feasible,” I reply, “I mean, getting a boyfriend in a week? Who does that? Even if I paid someone, they wouldn’t.”

“Yewon.”

“And look, I know how long it took for me to even like Cheong-Hee enough to go on a date with him of my own volition,” my hands are shaking now, “it will be difficult to get even a singular date, much less someone willing to put up with my family’s expectations and their status.”

“Breathe, Yewon,” Minghao is holding my hands now, his face close to mine, breathing loud enough to distract me, “concentrate on the breathing, Yewon, in and out.”

“Shut up,” I smack him with a pillow, “I can take care of myself this much.”

“Does not look like it,” He grins, but leans back anyway, “so, do you have any particular qualities you’re looking for?”

“In a relationship?” I ask, “you know the list, right?”

“Yeah, the 시발 놈 list,” Minghao sighs, “you do realise how stupid the name is?”

“Yes, and it has the list of my preferred traits in a romantic partner, so I’m not changing it,” I grumble, “and they’re not even outrageous demands, you know. What am I asking for?”

Minghao sighs, before counting my conditions off the top of his head, “the man has to have a good job, must be good with housework, must be compatible with my family, must be respectful of my personal space—you think there are men who actually fit all these demands?”

“I’m merely asking of them whatever they ask of me,” I shrug, “nothing more than what will be expected of me, if I were to pursue a relationship with them. I’m expected to be the perfect wife, the perfect girlfriend, with a perfect career and family. Why can’t I expect the same of the person I am going to be shackled to for the rest of my life?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Minghao groans, “don’t say shackled like you’re going to be forced to spend your life with the guy. You have a degree of choice in the person you live with.”

I stare at him, “Minghao, I really don’t think you are the person who should be lecturing me about my dating life and activities.”

“At least I’ve managed to get some in the past decade, unlike you.”

“Hey!” I sat up indignantly, “Take that back!”

Minghao takes a look at my face, no doubt sporting the angriest expression it can muster, and dissolves into laughter. I stare at him, my best friend of twelve years, six months, and ten days, who’s currently laughing himself sick on my office sofa. He’s been through it all—watched me move through university and law school and then struggle to prepare for the bar. He’s been a part of my family too; Prosecutor Kim loves him, and even Professor Choi approves of him enough to let me continue being my friend. He rarely approves of my relationships. My sister and my brother-in-law also love him, the award-winning photographer Xu Minghao who was somehow best friends with their disappointing little sister. Minghao was… perfect. 

“Minghao,” I say, grinning, “Xu Minghao.”

He looks up, and immediately goes on the defensive, “Yewon, whatever you are thinking, don’t do it.”

“I haven’t even told you what I am thinking about!”

“The last time you made that face at me, we spent the night in jail,” Minghao warns. “Don’t even think about it.”

“It was not my fault!”

“Why the hell did we end up in jail in the first place? Because you took us there! You got me into trouble!”

“Look,” I raise my hands, “this is not going to land you in jail. It’s a small favour, really. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing too bad for you to be worrying over, just a little ruse that I need you to partake in.”

“Ruse—” Minghao’s face turns white as a sheet when he realises exactly what I mean, “no, Yewon. You cannot be thinking about that. I refuse.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” I make a face, “it’s a perfectly fine proposition, a great one, even. You get proper exposure and expand your social circle, and I get to throw nosy aunties off of my back for once in my life.”

“So you want me to pretend to be your fake boyfriend?” Minghao sputters. “Do you not see how ridiculous this sounds? And do you think we can fool the Professor and the Prosecutor? They’re going to see through this little ruse as soon as we come up with it.”

“They won’t,” I grin, “because they like you too much. If I told them I was dating you, they’d likely welcome it with open arms, or give you a lecture about not dating women like me. I know them.”

Minghao frowns, “why do you speak like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like your entire family hates you or something like that. You’re going into every situation with the preconceived notion that people will hate you.”

“Look, Minghao, we can think about psychoanalysing me later, okay?” I grin, “focus on the goal in front of us right now, yeah? You need to get more exposure, and I need to get people to think I still have a boyfriend, and I have not managed to scare him off, as I usually do.”

“I don’t need exposure,” Minghao makes a face, “unless you forgot, I am one of the few people in Korea who won both the Higashikawa Prize and the China International Press Photo Contest. I don’t need the exposure.”

“And even though you’ve gotten the awards, you’re still doing bridal photography for favours,” I scowl. “Do you know how much money these people have? They have more money than is entirely necessary for anyone to live on, and the funny thing is, they think it’s their birthright to own obscene amounts of wealth.”

“You are not exactly poor, you know.”

“We’re working class.” I reply, saying the words working class like it's a slur, which it might as well be, given how many times I have heard the same phrase being uttered in galas, you’re working class, Choi Yewon, no matter how much money you make, you’ll always be working class. 

“How is owning a house in the middle of Seoul considered working class?”

“These people do not work!” I exclaim, too loudly, “Minghao, these people do not work. They wake up, go golfing, then go out to lunch, golf again, go shopping, and then go out to dinner. These people are people of leisure, like some obscure Victorian-era relic. They’re not spending days in the office like my parents or my sister and her husband;. they are people of leisure. So yes. I would argue you need to make those connections, and milk them for as much money as you can.”

“Isn’t that extortion?”

“I prefer the term ‘due compensation��,” I grin, “and yeah, getting you to pretend to be my boyfriend is not exactly the most moral of acts, but it’s only a hundred days to the election, and I need the focus to be entirely on my brother-in-law. Do you know how much money his opponents have invested in the election?”

“I can imagine,” Minghao says dryly, and sighs, “only for a hundred days?”

“A hundred days, and then we can break up peacefully.”

“Wait, can we still remain friends after we’ve broken up?” He asks, “or is that a bit too much?”

“We’ll be like Americans, you know. They stay friends even after divorcing.”

“So, this fake break-up will involve what?” Minghao asks, wary, “are you going to swindle me again?”

“I will not land you in jail, Xu Minghao,” I say, irritated, “you can even cuss me out in public or whatever, if you want. After the breakup, that is.”

“You know very well I would not do that,” He groans, then holds my hands, “you know what? Why the hell not. At least I’ll get money out of this.”

“Done,” I grin, shaking his hand vigorously, “Xu Minghao, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

[andcars]

FISHING CATS ━━ CS55

﹙ 55 ﹚ ─────── loved you before seeing you

you're a regular catfisher on bumble before you met your match, carlos sainz. it goes bad when you start to get attached to him

relationship(s) carlos sainz/you tags dating apps, light angst, anti-ferrari propaganda, pro-williams propaganda wc 2k texting & prose

MASTERLIST ⠀REQUEST ME ⠀ TAGLIST⠀ PATREON GUIDE

radio "comments and reblogs are much appreciated!" i asked my friend to give me a prompt and they gave me "catfishing each other as discord e-kittens". he doesn't even know where that idea came from but that was so fucking funny. unfortunately, i did not make it discord because i cannot for the life of me imagine carlos on discord. while i was trynna find some formatting inspo for this, i found a very similar fic like this!! it inspired me at the very end so go read it :) we love a tsunoda fic

▶︎ ❝ idea 10 ❞ gibran alcocer

Bumble 15m ago 🐝 You have 1 new match 🙌

ON YOUR SCREEN WAS NONE OTHER THAN CARLOS SAINZ. You snicker. You scroll through his profile quickly: "Taking things slow", 5'10", 🏃‍♂️ Active, 🔍 Relationship, 🚗 Cars, etc. Most of the pictures used were photos you've seen for sure posted around social media. There's nothing more obviously a catfish than this account. Nothing about it was smart, unlike yours. Yours was perfectly crafted for a believable yet still jaw-droppingly gorgeous woman. It's carefully crafted with one face of your most beautiful friend—who is never on social media to ever know—and random photos of her from the back. Your catfish was perfect, his wasn't. Still, it's pretty funny.

[ You ] Heyy. Aren't you that F1 racer?

[ CS ] Hey. Yeah, I am.

[ You ] That's so cool :) What brings you over here then?

[ CS ] I lost a bet with my old teammate and now I'm here

[ You ] XD That's funny

[ CS ] How about you? You look very beautiful

[ You ] Awww. You're so sweet, Carlos

[ CS ] I'm telling the truth. You're also the first to message me back

[ You ] What!? You're so handsome, anyone would message you

[ CS ] They think I'm not real

[ You ] Aw, that sucks. Well, I like to shoot my shot so, LOL

[ CS ] Where do you live? Your country

[ You ] I'm currently staying in the UK with my friends Don't you have a race here next month?

[ CS ] Yeah. Are you a fan?

[ You ] Not really. I know you by face though. I have friends who are a fan of you

[ CS ] Shame. I would have boasted to have such a pretty fan.

[ You ] I can be something better than a fan though

[ CS ] What?

[ You ] ... A friend

— You snort, displacing your phone to check if your noodles finished heating up

[ CS ] That's sweet I don't often do dating apps It's because I'm always away so often. It makes it hard to date But Lando told me this could just be a fresh change I see that you're busy. Hope we talk again tomorrow.

THE LAST GUY YOU MESSAGED QUICKLY BLOCKED YOU AFTER YOU SHOWED HIM A PICTURE OF YOUR SPHYNX CAT. Maybe it doesn't take a genius to know that the cat and the Rick Astley playing in the background meant that they got catfished. It took a lot of men longer time to understand the situation. Your 'victims' were never really nice people. You're too kind for that. The ones who are often in your DMs are 'looking for something casual' or something similar. 'Carlos' was the only different one. You're not sure why he's taking his time before he asks for money or boast about his achievements in life. Sooner or later, he's going to ask to call and you're going to show him something stupid. It's hypocritical to hate a catfisher when you yourself are one, but you're kind of like Batman. You are the night.

[ You ] Morning, Carlos!

[ CS ] It's a bit too late for morning, right? Attatched image

[ You ] Wow, I thought you weren't one to take gym selfies?

[ CS ] I thought you weren't a fan?

[ You ] I have ears whenever my friends talk about you

[ CS ] I'm starting to think your friends aren't real

[ You ] They are! I'm not into watching cars loop in weird shapes

[ CS ] Most non-fans would call the tracks circles

[ You ] Guess I'm not like most fans, huh?

[ CS ] You aren't

[ You ] I'm also at the gym right now Attatched image

[ CS ] Nice bottle

[ You ] Thanks :) I love cats

[ CS ] I've seen more dogs than cats in my life

[ You ] I'll send you pics of my cat soon enough ;)

[ CS ] What kind?

[ You ] However you want

[ CS ] ?

[ You ] What?

[ CS ] Are you saying you'll buy a specific cat for me?

— Alright, well. Maybe he missed that sexual innuendo

[ You ] Haha. Sorry. I think we got lost in translation there I have a pretty sphynx. Interested?

[ CS ] Those are the bald ones, right?

[ You ] Yup

[ CS ] They're very unique cats. They're also very funny looking which I like

— You make a note to not show Luna when you reveal yourself to him

[ You ] I like their baldness too

[ CS ] I have to go again. My trainer is telling me to get off my phone

[ You ] Haha. See you, Carlos

YOU SEE AN AD OF CARLOS SAINZ WALKING HOME. You have a subway in your hands and your hoodie pulled up. He looks good. The L'Oreal brand definitely looks good on him. You almost feel bad to the Carlos you've been talking to. He seems to be adamant in having a decent conversation with you. Across the day, he asks idly what you're doing. Sometimes the conversations fall short but at night he texts you endlessly. The timezone makes it odd, he told you. Other than the fact he's not Carlos Sainz and you're definitely not a blonde supermodel, it's nice conversations. It almost feels cruel to continue to talk to him

[ You ] What did you like about me?

[ CS ] Very forward question.

[ You ] I'm just curious. What made you like me? Maybe I just wanna know how pretty I am to other people

[ CS ] Fishing for compliments then? That's not why you caught my eye, though

[ You ] You're just saying that

[ CS ] You said that your favourite song was Idea 10 by Gibran Alcocer I had to google him and find out he makes piano music like Charles Then you say you like to take life as slow as possible to feel it more Your perfect first date is a classic dinner with the bill split I just liked you

IT'S BEEN A DAY SINCE YOU LAST TALKED TO HIM. You haven't messaged him back since his... confession. Between liking you because you were hot or liking you because you're you, you aren't sure which one hurts most. Maybe this was the guy's play: get women to fall in love with him, ask for pussy pics a month in. It would most likely get women to be more willing, you think. Still, it doesn't make the feeling wash away easier. Sunday comes around and you watch from your TV as Carlos Sainz doesn't even get out of the pit-lane. You're surprised that Bumble Carlos messaged you shortly after.

[ CS ] I don't know if I scared you off or what, but I had a really bad race Did your friend tell you?

[ You ] I watched the race

[ CS ] It wasn't my fault. It was the car. Both me and Alex didn't have a chance to race

[ You ] I know

[ CS ] Sometimes I think what would it be like if I was still in Ferrari Would I place P4 today or lower? I tell everyone that I'm happy I dropped them. It's true That doesn't make the fact that Williams have problems I can't solve

— Maybe because you hear Carlos' voice when you read his texts, you feel bad

[ You ] Do you regret it? Joining Williams?

[ CS ] No. The people here are nicer and they listen to me. They listen to us

[ You ] Then shouldn't that be worth fighting for? The SF-25 has its ups and downs too. The radio sounded bad on Lewis' end If you were still in Ferrari you won't appreciate the joy of just getting points Williams celebrate you for just finishing the race I think it's because they're just happy to know you're racing for them

[ CS ] Not a fan, huh?

[ You ] Oh, stop it. I was trying to comfort you

[ CS ] There's things I know already but sometimes I forget I needed that reminder

[ You ] You're welcome. Whatever happens on the weekend, Williams has your back

[ CS ] Do I have your support too? Even if you're not a fan?

[ You ] I'll think about it

IN THE MORNING, YOU GET HIS PHONE NUMBER. He apparently landed in London three hours before you woke up. This is usually the time they call you and then ask to see your face to jerk off. Carlos tells you that he feels perverted texting on a dating app. It's ironic. The first day of the week, he constantly texted you. It's about normal things; barely about the actual weekend. The London weather, the food he's eating, how both of you want to get out of your jobs just to go out and see the sun—if you could even see it in this weather. You even try to pry his private instagram off him but he says there's too many embarassing pictures. He says when you meet in person, he'll show you; meaning, you won't be able to take screenshots. He said when. Not if, when.

[ CS ] Do you wanna come to Silverstone?

[ You ] Why? Sending me a ticket?

[ CS ] If you want. I'm allowed to send garage passes to friends

[ You ] I heard that the view from the garage isn't that great Can barely watch the race in there

[ CS ] It's not that bad. I'll be there

[ You ] I'd rather not see you in the actual garage during races I wanna see you in the car

[ CS ] Haha. Think about it

[ You ] I joined a giveaway anyways a few months ago. I don't think I won it

[ CS ] Really?

[ You ] They haven't given me an e-mail. It's fine, I can watch at home Image attatched

[ CS ] Cute. Where did you buy that?

[ You ] On Etsy. There's a lot of merch for Carlos Sainz lol

[ CS ] Do you have those bracelets too?

[ You ] Yeah. I made some. I put SainzSlut on one of them

[ CS ] You have to show that to me in the garage

[ You ] Lol. Yeah, sure I will

[ CS ] What episode are you on on 911?

ON TUESDAY, YOU GOT A TICKET AND FULL ACCOMMODATION FOR YOUR STAY NEAR THE TRACK. You don't tell it to 'Carlos', he doesn't talk about it either. That doesn't surprise you. You won the giveaway last minute and 'Carlos' doesn't know that. You take a quiet sick leave when you coughed all over the place and they forced you to go home. You rushed over to the assigned hotel and wait for the weekend to come. For the first few hours arriving on the track, you were so surprised that you forgot to text your 'Carlos' about it. When you see the Williams hospitality, you remember him.

[ You ] Hey, Carlos?

[ CS ] Yeah?

[ You ] Are you gonna meet me or what? Attatched image

You put your phone away and breathe the fresh air of the real Carlos Sainz. Bumble Carlos was nice, you feel bad for him every second the longer you don't reveal your face. Before you can take a step inside, your phone rings. It's Carlos. If he wants to jerk off before you block him, well, I guess he picked the right opportunity. You looked pretty good today.

Opening the call with your front camera, you laugh, "You finally dropping the act?"

"Hm? I'm behind you."

Carlos Sainz stands behind you with a bright smile on his face. You're glued to the pavement as he walks over, embracing you. He's warm. He's so fucking real. Your mind runs in different moments of your chatting and you realize that you have just been talking to Carlos Sainz. No one believed him because everyone thought he was faking it—you did too except, you gave him a chance because it was funny.

Something else didn't make sense. You pull away, looking up at him in confusion. "Why am I the only one confused?" you point, "I'm... I'm surprised I've been talking to—well, you. But you're..?"

He laughs like there's something funny about this. Pulling out his phone, he takes half a moment to search something on it. When he shows it to you, it's the picture of Luna on your stomach. He says, quite plainly, "Your mirror was right there on the floor."

Shit. The crisis is lost on Carlos as he leads you inside the hospitality with a hand on your back. "I'm really hurt you think I was faking it," he says, sounding not hurt at all. "I even saved you a very nice spot in my driver's room. There's a TV there you can watch the race very comfortably. If you still don't want to watch the race in the garage, of course."

Well, you're here anyways. You're here with Carlos on your shoulder and treating you normally. There's no going back to this madness now. "I need to make sure I'm there when I watch you get the podium," you tell him. "Plus, I wanna see you put on the SainzSlut bracelet in front of James Vowles." Carlos laughs and does just that when Sunday comes around. You think you're just quite like Williams, just happy to be here with Carlos next to you.

@Delululeclerc @hiireadstuff @rtorresblog @yourmommyagone22 @nichmeddar @vannylen2144 @rere10

[thatdeadaquarius]

Imagine a horribly clumsy creator in the sagau... like trips over their own feet, starts coughing due to choking on air randomly, knocking a vase off a table that was in the middle of the table somehow???? Silly goofy stuff like that (I pull these silly goofs often personally)

(obv goes w/o saying sorry for being so late to reply /gen) ;-;

clumsy reader is so me core idk why i didnt think of this lmao

(this gif is liek the modern equivalent of Charlotte posting ur embarrassing clumsy moments on insta Steambird acc lmao)

(so sometimes im lazy and dont include the ask stuff esp if its shorter like this, so here's at least the characters in this one: Fontaine ppl <3 along with a G for general audience, barring cuss words)

Navia would politely ask you to go the edge or whatever area ur in whenever she pulls out her cannons/guns LMAO

every time you and either Clorinde or Neuvillette are walking next to you, or doing rlly anything, its like night and day

ur out here finding all the cracks in the sidewalk, bumping everything that could even possibly have a liquid in it, and have constant bruises from hip checking/stubbing toes on mechas walking around

Clorinde is impressed at that point bc mechas are actively programmed to get out of your way, so how u managed to put them back into ur way rlly fascinates her 😭😭

Neuvillette would like to wrap u in fabric/bubble wrap equivalent for his old ass, in an attempt to desperately stop u from hurting urself lol

u get a new coat or new pants from him all the time, u just thought at first he was rlly into giving u Fontaine fashion until Furina pointed out that it was spring/summer and you wouldn't wear thick woolen pants and fur-lined coats everyday 💀

(poor dragon guy doesn't rlly get the practical side of clothes, he likes fashion, but he inadvertently subscribes to the "hoes don't get cold" philosophy by being an ancient dragon lord)

Wriothesley is unfortunately nice enough to constantly try and catch his poor god, which ends well for neither of you 50% of the time

its not even ur weight takes him down, he's buff as hell after all, and he's dealt with rowdy inmates, its just.. ur clumsiness spreads.

if ur tripping, and the poor Duke reaches out to catch you, ur reaching out at the same time to steady urself on a side table w/a vase full of water, which u then knock off, drenching ur back and his face at the same time LMAO

he doesn't learn, despite u literally begging him to stop trying to help u, then u try and compromise to just let u fall and help u afterward asdfghkl-

Wrio's too chivalrous tho, the most u can get him to do is always grab ur arm instead of trying to bodily catch you

if u think after the first like, ✌️ TWO times Lynette is willing to help you, u r so wrong lmao

she's seen her brothers clumsiness, she knows theres no saving u

she does comfort u after slipping (not even falling but just flailing dramatically) for the 5th time in the puddles around water fountains tho

Lyney and Freminet are lowkey legit convinced someones cursed their god atp 😰

Freminet always had bandaids for u, and Lyney keeps a supply of ur fav candy to cheer u up after embarrassing urself by falling ass backwards right into the Fountain of Lucine right in front of Opera house lmao

...

...Charlotte thinks this is all vv hilarious, no she has no respect for ur godliness, her archon was Furina like LMAO- IM SORRYYY

(she has started a small section in the steambird of a near daily- DAILY picture of u being clumsy 😭)

(u, not srsly, threaten to smite her and she just giggles)

(its ok they take it all in a cute/endearing trait type of way)

☆

again, sorry for lateness, when i reopen askbox (soon, FINALLY-)

ill try and stay more on top of it and try and sort whatre just chats/non-requests better too 😭😭

hope u guys are having a good week!! tysm for being patient and nice to me :')

Safe Travels Kai,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily / @justinsomniachild / @nanithefuck / @questionotmystopit / @chinuneko / @silvers-tongue

@kiyomi-uchiha777

<3

[allpiesforourown]

Okay, I have some comments (agreement) on three of your posts, so I'll just put them in one ask, lol.

First of all, you are SO RIGHT about toxic yuri. Oh my God. I'm a bi woman and I'm usually more attracted to mlm works like danmei, and a lot of yuri just doesn't do it for me, so I'm just constantly wondering if I've got, like, internalized misogyny? What's the deal here? But then there's the occasional yuri like Madoka and I go absolutely fucking feral and make it my whole personality for months. Like, yes, give me all of the toxic yuri, all of the doomed yuri, all of the girls and women being obsessive and flawed. That's what I like about danmei, really, the obsession and the character flaws and the angsty yearning. But women are never allowed to go crazy or even be a little flawed like that, not even in fiction. Often, it's because creators and audiences alike judge female characters harsher (a reflection of real life, obviously) and so they have to make the female characters "perfect" or they won't be liked. But their being perfect is exactly what I dislike, because it's not realistic, and it's not interesting! So, yeah, absolutely, that's why toxic yuri is so much more appealing, especially compared to a lot of others.

Second of all, you're also so right about Yue Qingyuan. When I first started SVSSS, I thought, "Oh, so he kinda sucks," 'cause he clearly knew about Binghe's abuse but only gave mild advice to SQQ to maybe treat him a little less harshly. But then, he kinda does seem like a really good guy later, and especially with the realization of his tragic background, it's easy to forgive him. But so often the fandom reduces him to lovable idiot who's never done anything wrong and like. He was totally fine with Shen Jiu abusing a child. It's not like he was unaware of it, and while he's not malicious, he was willing to turn a blind eye to it. We obviously know the reason why later, but even so. I do love him, though, but I feel like sometimes the fandom whitewashes some of the characters too much. Like, Shen Jiu had a tragic backstory, but that only explains his actions, it doesn't excuse them. Of course you can love him anyway, but I think if you're whitewashing his character into something he's not, then you don't really love the character, or else you'd love him the way he actually is. And Shen Jiu's abuse of Binghe is very important to, like, everything, because the cycle of abuse is such a central theme. Shen Jiu and his own victim, Bingge, demonstrate how abuse can turn victims into abusers and continue the cycle. Shizun and Binghe (Bingmei) demonstrate how the cycle can be stopped.

Finally, that post you reblogged about social media, and your tags about how you open TikTok, block 50 people, and then leave is sooo true. The danmei fandom, especially artists, are, at least to my knowledge, a lot more active on Twitter than Tumblr, so I go on Twitter to check when I'm bored, and. I open it, I block 50 people while getting mad just the way they want me to, and then I close it. Then I open it again later! I guess I'm a glutton for punishment because seriously. I need to stop.

Anyway, thanks! Keep on fighting the good fight (shizunfucking)!

1. YEAH. Like so many yuri stories are just "they're cutely blushing before mustering up the courage to hold hands" and its just boring. Are they allowed to show any emotion other than uwu puppy love I'm a grown ass woman

2. Yue Qingyuan's cycle of abuse being ignored is so sad like yes he started out as a slave. But he is now the leader of one of the most powerful sects in the cultivation world, and he uses his authority to enable and protect abusers. Why erase such a big part of his story

3. TWITTER IS DEADDD its all blue checkmark engagement baiting with racism and even within the danmei community the people on Twitter will jump anyone who has an opinion they don't like it's so evil there

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Chapter 16

Story Masterlist

Arranged marriage AU

Interact with this linked post to be added to the tag list.

Entire chapter is Dion’s/Ash’s POV, takes place during the day of chapter 14 during the beginning scene of when Dion and Reader share a moment that is not nice in her mind. He is also out of character again lmao

Edit: LMAO I FUCKED UP THE TITLE OF MY OWN FIC. can you tell I wrote this entire thing in one setting while very tired? God now I need to check the other chapters lol

NOTE: Dion is having a very small crisis towards the end. Also, I do not know how to write fight scenes. I’m also getting kind of tired of saying ‘male’. Also two chapters within two days!? I'm on a roll baby! (I will proceed to not update for at least a week since life gets in the way/motivation/ideas won't come to me)

Warnings: slight yandere themes, themes of obsessive and possessive behavior/thoughts, toxic marriage/relationship, murder, blood, threats of injury/murder, slight torture (probably?), mention of divorce (it almost does not end well, rip Ash lol), Dion accidentally gets hurt (it’s his own fault), attempted murder, mention of past murder, implied murder (I think?), implied threats of injury, thoughts of imprisoning the reader at the end but he decides against it, implied stalking, HEAVY VIOLENCE Dion’s actions are toxic no matter how you look at it. Please tell me if I missed any.

NSFW-ISH WARNINGS:  (NO SEXUAL ACTIVITY ACTUALLY TAKES PLACE) suggestive, implied vaginal pain (I think), throw back to their first time, implied perverted thoughts (Dion), Lant once again being a pos, encouraging Dion to force himself on the Reader, implied/mentioned past sexual activities, implied past Dub-con. Please tell me if I missed any.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS ACTIONS AND/OR BEHAVIORS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANIZED AS THEY ARE EXTREMELY DANGEROUS AND TOXIC.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS, BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACT WITH OR REBLOG FANDOM RELATED THINGS (FICS, ART, ETC.) DNI

“How's married life?” 

Boredom fills the voice of the redhead doctor as he dabs a cotton ball on the patient’s wound, crimson soaking into the fluffy white cotton. Once done treating it, he starts to wrap it up a little too tight, irritated that a certain Agriche got distracted, slipped down a slope full of sharp rocks and thus, sliced his arm open. So unlike him and yet, he still saw it coming from miles away.

God forbid if anyone in this hunting party listens.

“... why are you asking?” Dion questions back, narrowing his eyes, glaring daggers into the very doctor who’s treating his wounds. Still, it’s not like Ash would harm any of his patients, as he was well above that. Even with someone like him.

However, Dion Agriche often challenges his views and morals. He had always thought of the second eldest as a fool - however, ever since he got engaged to you, he became more so of one. While smart and talented in many areas - hunting, sword fighting, ballroom dancing, leading hunting parties for both monsters and animals alike, maybe a musical instrument or two if memory serves correct, and of course, assassinting - by the Gods, is his personality a nasty one.

“Am I not allowed to? After seeing the mess she was after your first night… I worry for her. Poor girl probably lost faith in God the moment she saw your face.” Ash bites back, tying the bandage up and securing it with pins before patting it down hard. He holds back a smile when THE Dion Agriche flinches at the pain.

It doesn’t matter if it was physical or emotional - pain is pain. Although, it would be better if it was both, finally hitting his employer where it hurts the most. But Dion always bites back.

“You’re rather mouthy for someone I could cut down easily.” Dion's threat is empty, but the urge to throttle the doctor remains. While he wouldn’t kill the man, putting him in a full body cast would settle some things.

Ash only sighs with a shake of his head. Gesturing your husband to put his shirt and black arm sleeves back on, the redhead starts to clean and put his medical supplies away. Currently, the two of them are alone in a tent that was hastily set up, the rest of the hunting party members outside eating dinner. The sun had barely set.

“Come now, I even tended to the poor girl as a free favor. Surely, answering a question or two isn’t that hard - consider it payment for that black eye I left with.”

“And I’ll leave another one on the other eye.”

“... why must you always be so violent? It’s clear that your wife isn’t fond of violence - much less you.” He hits where it hurts, patting the ‘poor’ man’s shoulder as he buttons up his uniform shirt. He watches with great interest when the black haired noble stiffens before resuming his task.

‘So, it’s not going all that great…’

“I mean, it’s only natural for me to ask, taking the fact you personally invited me to the wedding into account.” Ash continues to dig for answers, enjoying the way his scarlet hues become hollow and unfocused. Had he been a better man, the doctor would have pity the newly wed noble some more. 

But Dion Agriche is nowhere close to even a decent person.  

“It’s…,” his low and tired voice trails off before he stands and straightens his clothes out, “fine. Nothing for you to worry about.” A lie paired with another lie. How unlike him. 

“Hm. Sure.” 

Dion leaves the tent without another word, leaving the doctor behind.

As soon as he steps out, one of his men rushes over to him. Dion's mood only sours more, not wanting to interact with anyone just yet.

“Sir, we haven’t found any traces of the monsters. The entire area is empty.” The jet black haired noble can’t stop a brow from raising. 

The brunette delivers the news in a hurry, out of breath. Your husband notices the way he tries to keep his voice down, eyeing everyone behind him. Weird. 

Closer inspection revealed the dirt on his boots and leaves in his hair. But towards the chest, there’s a speck of red on the purple accents that’s barely hidden away by the cloak. 

It’s even slightly damp. His sleeves look a bit too short as well. The gloves don’t look right, not fitting the fingers, slightly sliding off with each gesture of his hands. Scarlet eyes zone in on them before returning to the soldier’s face.

The hair looks a bit lighter. The eyes are a bit deeper.

“How far did you go?” Dion asks as he comes back down to earth.

“Oh!” The soldier straightens up before going on to tell him the details. Your husband listens with little interest, already looking at the area from where the soldier just came from. And then, he glances around the camp, eyes landing on each person once. Once he’s done with relaying the information, Dion walks past him. 

The brunette follows. “Is something the matter, sir?” He follows until the chatter of the camp becomes distant. He runs into Dion’s sturdy back as the man comes to an abrupt stop. Gently rubbing his nose, the shorter man backs up.

“I must admit you have guts.” Dion’s voice is low, mockery laced in it despite ‘praising’ him. 

“...huh?” 

In a flash, his gloved hand slams the other man’s neck against a tree trunk. The bark bites into the exposed skin of his neck while his face turns red. Gasping for breath, the man makes a futile attempt to claw at Dion’s gloved hand.

His legs kick and kick, but it does little to help. Scarlet eyes stare at him emotionless, and the sight of the glowing orbs sends chills down his spine. “It’s amusing how you thought you could replace one of my men.” He chuckles low and deep, increasing the pressure on the poor man’s neck.

“But I have memorized each and every one of their traits - from their eye color to the way they even walk. Not to mention I didn’t order them to look for any monsters in the near vicinity.”   

The black haired man considers snapping his neck right at this moment. But his actions are halted when he hears a twig snap under someone’s foot.

He scowls once the familiar voice reaches his ears. His eyes narrow at how annoying the new addition sounds.

“Is this really necessary? How about we find out what happened to the victim before killing the perpetrator,” Ash advises as he gets closer. He stops once he’s two feet away from the now angered man.

Close to being enraged but not yet, irked that one fool thought he was stupid while the other had just interrupted his actions.

“Dion.” Ash tries again. “Ask questions first. You can do whatever with him later, after we get answers.” 

A hiss of annoyance and Dion drops the man. While he’s coughing for breath, with his boot Dion delivers a hard kick to the imposter’s stomach that has him wheezing for breath. Ash sighs in exasperation at the scene unfolding before him. 

‘Once a brute, always a brute.’

“Talk. Maybe I’ll be merciful depending on your answers.” 

“Arg! W-wait, fuck, wait!” He raises his hands as he surrounders. “I’m not the one who killed him - I was just given the uniform. Honest!”

The two standing men share a look.

“Regardless of who killed him, didn’t you at least consider that maybe everyone would notice you weren’t originally part of the party?” Ash squats to the enemy’s height, observing the hand mark that now decorates his neck. “Unless you’re an idiot.” 

“I wa-wasn’t supposed to get too close to the others… just to lure you away.” He stares up at your husband the entire time while clutching at his stomach. Saliva drips from his mouth as he shakes. He looks more pathetic than a terrified dog.

“How far? I’m assuming just a bit further away from here.” The Agriche continues the integration. His head tilts when the idiotic imposter nods. 

Ash looks up at him. “Should we call for reinforcements? It’s probably not a good idea for you to go alone.”

“I’m not alone. I have you.”

“...huh?”

- - -

Against his own will, Ash follows close behind the prisoner and warden. His arms are wrapped around himself as a cold breeze starts to pick up. His long red hair sways in the wind as Dion’s hood flops back due to the direction of the sudden wind.

“I’m not a fighter, you know this.”

“Right.”

“I’m a doctor - I help the wounded, I don’t give injuries. I don’t even have the training of a swordsman - unlike you.” Ash continues to complain, wanting nothing more than to kick your husband straight in the ass. 

“Right.” Dion’s one word replies are dismissive - the doctor doubts he’s listening at all. 

All the while the brunette is being dragged by the collar. He only listens in silence as the two assumed co-workers or something of that sort have a one sided argument or conversation. He can’t tell what it was. 

“You have like what, thirty men?”

“Thirty five.” He takes a pause before correcting himself. “Well, now it’s thirty four.”

“Thirty four? And you choose me, a weak and mild doctor -”

“More like an annoying one,” Dion cuts in, starting to regret bringing Ash along. He forgot how… yappy he can be. Even with the amount of money he pays him, he always has something to complain about. 

“... If your wife ever divorces you, I’ll help her in every way I -”

SNAP

Twigs break in half under your husband’s feet, the prisoner choking as the taller man turns on his feet so quickly it gives him whiplash. Ash immediately shuts his mouth as shadows start to cover the sharp features of Dion’s face. His eyes glow in the moonlight. His scarlet eyes are narrowed, filled with unsaid threats, glare so sharp it cuts into his very soul. 

The redhead takes a step back as his employer towers over him. He breaks out into a cold sweat, the forest having become silent - like every animal in the vicinity sensed the bloodlust of this obsessed man and went into hiding. 

It feels like death itself is breathing down his back, his stomach twisting and turning painfully. His mouth becomes dry, and he can hear every breath Dion takes. So, this is what it feels like, to be on the sharp side of Dion’s blade.

He gulps, Adam's apple bobbing. The air becomes suffocating. 

“... it was a joke.” Ash says slowly, unable to look away from the grim reaper. A quick glance to his hands shows that they are both tightly clenched. The enemy is shivering in fear as well, worried for his own safety.

One wrong move and he’ll lose his head, it doesn’t matter if he wasn’t involved with the conversation. The fact he’s here at all spells out his doom.

This rage was different from the one that was directed towards him. He doesn’t know who the wife - you are, but at the mention of divorce, Dion became a different man. A worse man.

Did you mean that much to him? Or was it a pride thing?

“...A joke? I didn’t realize my marriage was a joke to you.” Husky and deep, your husband’s voice sends chills down the other two spines. Each step carries weight and the poor man dragged along regrets ever taking the job. 

“No, I don’t think your marriage is a joke… I’m sure she’ll open up to you. Eventually. Just a bit.” Trying to soothe the pissed man proves to be futile.

Ash doesn’t understand why Dion was so smitten with you. You were strangers prior to the engagement - only shared a space in the ballroom without interacting with each other. However, one memory that will never be erased from his mind was when the then nineteen-year-old had pointed at you with his red eyes and declared to the doctor he would marry you during a ball that took place a year ago.

Right after you and the Agriche accidentally locked eyes.

Ash always knew he was mental. Just not to this degree. 

“Listen, I’m sorry; I overstepped. Let’s just get this done - the faster we finish the faster you can return home. Maybe not into her arms, but at least you’ll see and hear her voice. Right?”

At the mention of that, the murderous man calms a little, but the looming threat of being cut down is still in the air. In the moonlight, your husband looks imposing, his red eyes glow as his short black hair moves along with the wind - all he’s missing is the scythe, standing tall and oh so close to putting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Ash slowly lowers his hands when Dion sneers at him one last time and turns his back. Tension still in the air and in everyone’s body, they continue the walk. Each step is on the verge of being heavy, but caution prevents them from dragging their feet. The captive was soon thrown over Dion’s shoulder, the sound of dragging getting on his nerves while Ash brought up the amount of noise it made. 

The captive and Ash stare at each other in silence. He almost feels bad for the man, but the doctor quickly reminds himself that he was his employer’s enemy - if he pities him he might cave in and help. But helping would mean that Dion would cut his pay, assuming he doesn’t put him six feet under. 

Or both.

“... we’ve been walking for a bit now. Maybe you should turn around to let the man get a view. We might have taken a wrong turn.” The doctor suggests as Dion hums, considering it. He halts and drops the man who lands face first on the ground. Dirt gets in his eyes, groaning in pain as he rubs it out. 

“If you try to run I’ll cut your legs off.”

“And this is why you don’t have any friends.”

The captive listens in confusion, baffled that there’s someone who can shit talk the infamous Dion Agriche and live. A pause and he stands to his full height, a head shorter than your husband. Dusting himself off, he quivers under Dion’s sharp gaze. His voice cracks as he looks around before giving them directions. 

Or at least, attempts to. 

Swoosh 

Thud!

“Wha!?” Ash backs away as an arrow impales the imposter’s head. He falls to the ground immediately, eyes becoming lifeless. Blood pools underneath his head as some drips down his face. Dion whips his head to the right, where the arrow came from. 

Swoosh

Before it can hit him, Dion catches the arrow with his hand after rushing in to save Ash. He snaps it in two easily. The forest becomes quiet. Both men look to the right, but sense nothing. 

The Agriche feels a hit to his pride once he realizes that he had just lost his prey. His scowl deepens, and Ash squats to investigate the dead body that lays on the cold ground. 

Gently, he lifts the head, getting a good look at the fatal wound. Upon closer inspection, the head of the arrow was dipped in a purple liquid - most likely poison. He glances at the man standing behind him, but quickly returns his attention to the corpse. 

‘Not that it matters if he got hit… he’s immune to most if not all poisons. Oh, but what if he’s not immune to this one?’

The doctor mentally questions as he looks over his shoulder again. Only to be met with the sight of Dion licking the arrow head, tasting the possible poisonous liquid without a second thought. Ash blinks blankly.

‘Are all Agriches like this?’

“It’s poison -” the black haired man starts before he gets interrupted, holding the urge to throttle his employee back. It’s so tempting.

“Obviously -”

“- that’s made from Mellow light*” He finishes while he glowers at Ash. “How unfortunate. Had I known it was drenched in it I would have let it hit you.” A crooked smile plays on his lips as the redhead furrows his brows at the younger man's ‘teasing’. 

“Ha ha. That’s enough from you - what do you want to do with the body?” He looks at the corpse next to him. “Should we burn it? Or bury it?” 

“We’ll bring it with us.” Answer your husband. Without another word, he grabs the corpse by the collar of the shirt and drags it alongside him. “It’d be interesting to see their reactions.” 

Ash stays quiet. 

- - -

“Where’s the doctor and the young master?” 

“I saw them heading that way…”

“Were we abandoned?” 

“Do you honestly think they would do that? Master Lant would have a field day if the young master just up and left. Even if he’s the favorite, he wouldn’t be able to get away with doing such a thing.” 

Chatter fills the air as the soldiers scratch their heads. Stars twinkle in the night sky, and yet despite the pretty sight, only tension is present. Everyone is tense as some look around them to make sure nothing or no-one surrounds them.

“Actually,” one young man starts after he looks around, “where’s Adam? I haven’t seen him since we got back.” 

“Maybe the young master disposed of him.” One says casually.  

“Or he was eaten by a monster and that’s why the other two left - to investigate. It’s normal for them not to say anything sometimes.” Another man offers up, scratching his head despite the implication that their fellow soldier is dead somewhere.

It’s a normal occurrence they’re used to seeing rather than experiencing - it was only a matter of time until someone from their group would die in action or get disposed of by one of the Masters.

Despite their unease, they stay at the camp, weapons ready and alert about their surroundings. The night was still young and the person in charge was missing. 

- - -

They stopped at an abandoned cabin. However, like the fools they are, chatter is loud enough to be heard from outside, and a lantern was lit inside, showing the silhouettes of people through the windows. Two people stood guard outside, Dion and Ash hiding near the trees. 

“Talk about being obvious,” Ash mumbles under his breath, staring at the sight with furrowed brows. Wasn’t this a little too easy? Out in the open, did they think that the night alone would conceal their presence?

Or maybe this was a trap. Making it look too easy so attackers would act cocky or something along those lines. Acting without thinking. Makes it easy to -

“This is dull.” Dion walks out into the open, clearly having no intention of staying hidden. Unlike the swordsman, the doctor says in hiding. He sighs, shaking his head as he quietly prays for the poor souls. Three strikes of his sword and both are on the ground, dead. One with a slash to his neck and the other was pierced with Dion’s sword to his head. Their bodies fall to the ground with a ‘thud’. 

Then, he kicks the door in without warning, caution thrown into the wind, the corrupted noble acting out of character. Slowly, the doctor follows after, watching from the doorway as your husband swings his sword to slash someone’s eyes, making them blind. The Agriche jumps back when one of the men thrusts their sword with all his might towards your husband’s chest.

He deflects it easily. 

From the doorway, Ash witnesses as the younger male swipes his opponent from his feet, his booth making contact with their own, causing the enemy to trip over. Dion wastes no time in bringing his sword down, blood splattering on his boots and floor, the hem of his cloak also now stained as he kills him. There is no remorse in his red eyes. 

The doctor shivers. 

Two capable men remain. They look at the brooding figure like he was a beast - and perhaps he was, the man emotionless when it comes to his victims. Shaking in their boots, their hold on their sword’s hilts loosen. Their eyes are so wide it’s cometical.

“Remember to leave one alive,” Ash shouts from the doorway. Dion doesn’t spare him a glance as he rushes forward, and another man is killed. Blood is shed and none of it is from him. 

The man who was blind by the Agriche writhes on the floor, palms pressed against the wound as he tries to soothe it. He’s also sobbing, and for a moment, the sound reminds your husband of you.

He’s quickly ripped out of his thoughts as his opponent dashes towards him, lifting his sword and is about to bring it down before Dion just… stabs him in the chest. The sword falls to the floor with a clatter as the man cripples over in pain. Slowly, life fades from his eyes, your husband taking it upon himself to end his life faster.

The sight is reflected in scarlet eyes and their owner feels nothing. He’s all but a canvas painted a bright red, no more room for anything else to be added, black fading at the corners.

The wails of the now blind man reach his ears. He turns on his feet, realizing he should have let one of the enemies who could still see live. A blind man can only help so much with directions. 

Dion takes a quick glance around the one room cabinet only to realize one thing - there are no arrows. Whoever the archer was, they were not here. His eye twitches but he calms himself as he looks at the injured man on the floor, blood dripping from his eyes onto the wooden floor.

His steps are heavy, the floorboards creaking under his weight. Ash reaches the new victim before Dion does. He only stares, standing above him as the doctor checks out the gash. 

“F-fuck! You - you -” The nameless man stutters out before he stops to sob, the pain unbearable. Ash doesn’t blame him.

“He’ll kill you if you keep talking without permission.” A half-lie, the doctor giving your husband a look. “Just keep your mouth shut until spoken to.” Reaching into his coat's inner pocket, he brings out a small bottle full of some type of medicine. 

Dion scoffs as the doctor rinses out the wound, dusting himself off as the wails get stronger. Louder. What was the point of performing first aid? It’s not like he’ll live for long.

Without heistance, Dion kicks the man in the stomach once Ash is done ‘treating’ him. He’s getting impatient - their idiotic and poor attempt to kill him, to trick him was only making the length of his mission longer. He could be with you right now. Watching as your chest slowly rises up and down as you sleep, as his insomnia prevents him from joining you.

He could be in your shared bed by now, the only time you don’t squirm under his gaze. When he can trace the contours of your face with his eyes, wishing that he could do it with his fingers instead. 

He directs his attention back to the matter at hand. Thinking about you only distracts him.

“Talk. The longer you lie or stay quiet, the longer I’ll beat you.” Not a complete lie. He swears he’s trying to be a bit less brutal. For you.

But it’s hard when it was hardwired into his very being at a young age.

“I-I don’t -”

THWACK

Another kick to the stomach that has the man wheezing. Drool flies from his mouth as he doubles over in pain. His entire body feels wrecked, his eyes fucked for the rest of his life, no matter how short. Breathing hurts but his lungs won’t stop seeking for oxygen. The burning sensation almost makes him wish he was dead. 

“Ugh… I-I was ju-just ordered to be stationed here…” He braces himself for another kick that never comes. However, he doesn’t delude himself into thinking that the threat before him has decided to let him rest. He knows that Dion is planning something else. 

And he’s scared to find out what.

“So you’re mercenaries. Who hired you?” The interrogation continues. 

“I-I didn’t see his fa-face… he wore a ma-mask. Dark blue. A-a bit shorter th-than you." The mercenary gives details as he prays that his death will be a swift one. He knows he’s not leaving alive. 

- - -

The matter was out of their hands now. He has to report everything to Lant, and wait for further instructions. It’s a routine he hates.

He’s treated no better than a show dog.

“At least you’re almost done with the original task.” The doctor tries to be positive.

Dion doesn’t answer as he brings the blind mercenary with him. Unlike with the first one, he carries this one over his shoulder the entire trip back to camp. It’s quicker and easier, while dragging him would slow him down a bit. 

It doesn’t make him dislike it any less. 

“Surprised you kept him alive.” The doctor stares at the unconscious man as he walks behind Dion. “What about the rest of the bodies?”

“We leave them as a message,” is all your husband says. What a crude thing to do, Ash thinks. But he doesn’t comment on it further. 

By the time they reach camp, the soldiers look on in shock as their leader returns covered in splatters of blood with a man on death’s door slung over his shoulder. 

- - -

  “...you want me to do what?”

“Take the money and buy the necklace I told you about earlier. I’ll either be kicked out or they’ll run away immediately as soon as they see me.” He gestures to his messy appearance.

“Just take off your cloak! Wash your face! Besides, what will your wife think if she ever finds out I was the one who got it!? She’ll think that you’re lazy and it’ll only make her view of you worse!” 

The hunting party is on the outskirts of a town they passed by on their way to the hunting grounds. Dion stares at Ash with money in his hand, silently ordering him to take it and buy a necklace that matches your pretty and lovely eyes. 

Dion had passed through the town himself a few weeks ago while out on a different mission. Curious, he decided to check out the local jewelry store. He was only supposed to take a peek, not leave with plans to buy a certain piece. The only reason he didn’t get it right then and there was because he forgot his wallet. 

He still holds that against himself to this day. While it’s true he could have used his status as being part of the Black Clan, it didn’t sit right with him. How soft has he become?

It’s all your fault. And yet, he doesn’t hold it against you. It’s impossible to do so.

“... I suppose you’re right.” 

“Then go get it yourself!” 

The blind and unconscious mercenary is forgotten on the carriage that also holds some monster parts.  

The soldiers in the background try their best to ignore their conversation. But it’s hard when the doctor’s frustration is bursting through the streams, clearly done with their leader. While it was common knowledge among this group of how the two butt heads, it’s a secret outside of it.

For a mere common doctor to go against a child of Agriche, it would be a death sentence. Especially with his occasional condescending remark or tone that would bring punishment or even death for anyone else. However, for whatever reason, Ash Katopodis was the only one who ever lived without injury after shit talking Dion Agriche. The first time it happened, they waited with baited breath for the doctor to fall to the ground, dead. 

The second time it happened they thought it was fluke. 

Everything after that showed that he had a privilege that no-one else ever will have. It’s curious how he’s the only one. 

One time, a soldier, a stupid one, who overheard Dion’s men talk about it did try to snitch on them to Lant, hoping to bring down Dion’s reputation. Safe to say his death wasn’t quick and painless. After that, they all realized that the only reason Dion kept them around was because they knew when and how to keep their mouths shut.

Still, it was entertaining for a man below Dion in status to lose his temper with the crimson eyed noble. 

Even if they can’t hear every word. 

“Take off the cloak - oh. Right. The Agriche crest.” The sudden memory of what’s engraved into that uniform hits Ash hard. How stupid of him to barely remember.

“You there! Come over for a second.” Not waiting for Dion’s response, Ash calls over one of the soldiers. He walks over in confusion, slightly irked that a doctor dared to order him around. But due to his leader being there, he keeps his mouth shut.

“Y-yes?” The man looks at both of them with uncertainty in his eyes. Worried, he keeps himself from turning around to avoid your husband’s eyes. 

“Can you lend him your cloak? Just for a bit.” 

Dion glares daggers at Ash.

- - -

“We-welcome! How may I help you to-today?” Open twenty-four-seven, Ash watches as Dion had knocked on the door of the store, deciding to stay in his stained clothes and dirty boots while staying outside, not staining the store’s floor. How benevolent of him.

The owner, who was originally confused and slightly annoyed, quickly changed tune once he saw the two men. Since he had met Dion before, he knew who he was. Which meant his automatic fear and willingness to work with him and not send him off only made sense.

“The necklace,” Dion starts while recalling how it looks, “the simple gold one with a small (e/c) jewel in the middle - how much?” He knows it’s genuine after the first time he examined it. What he forgot was the price.

This isn’t like him. None of this is. But the second you entered his life, he’s been… different. 

The owner blinks before answering. “Oh, that one? It’s 1240 - but for you, I’ll only charge half.” Business is still business to this man, clearly. Still, seeing how it’s an Agriche who’s his customer, he doesn’t want to test his luck too much.

It’s also amazing how he memorized the price of each and every one of his goods. 

“Alright.” Dion doesn’t try to negotiate to lower the price further. Ash watches in amazement as the exchange comes to an end as the gift is placed in a small elegant blue box that’s carefully placed into his pants pocket. 

- - -

Ash left the party before reaching the Agriche estate.

Everyone else goes their own ways once everything is reported to Lant, the head of the family scowling at the news. Perhaps too tired to care much, considering the time, he dismisses everyone without incident. Everyone but Dion, that is.

“The girl didn’t leave your room today. Were you too rough before departing?” His father takes a puff from his cigar as he questions his son on a matter that frankly, doesn’t concern him. His ugly smirk only makes the context worse.

“... she’s still getting used to ‘it’.” A simple lie that has his father chuckling. It’s nails on a chalkboard, making his ears bleed. 

“Interesting. I never thought you would be that type.” One more puff after a suggestive line. “Well, it’s late - you should get some rest. Or don’t, depending on your mood. It’s not like she can deny you.” 

His hands form fists before they relax. Getting mad here wouldn’t help. Even though every fiber of his being is enraged that Lant is treating you like a sex toy - then again, in his eyes, you probably are. A nice little breeding tool given to him, his son.

He ignores the urge to give in and punch him. 

He wonders how long he’s had these violent feelings towards him.

“Yes, father.” And with that, he leaves. 

The walk to your bedroom feels longer than what it is. Too long. Even so, he doesn’t rush, knowing that you prefer it when he’s gone. A part of him does feel guilty about it, really. At times, he does consider separating himself from you physically - as long as you’re married, as long as you don’t look at anyone else, as long as you belong to him, it should have been fine.

And, truthfully, it was, at first. He was content with the knowledge that you were his wife and he was your husband. Looking from afar would sate his needs, small dinners here and there would have been better than fine. Just hearing your voice would improve his mood, and sharing a bed with you was nicer than nice. 

That day when you were sitting on the floor and fell backwards, head resting on his legs, he couldn’t help but admire your beauty. 

Although, looking back on it now, you probably took it differently.

The night where you allowed him to touch you, his fingers on the bare skin of your back, how loose you were with him, his resolve started to crumble. He shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have acted in a suggestive way, either the position sending his mind places that you clearly didn’t appreciate nor agreed with. He should have gotten up the moment he was done with untying the strings and not imply he wanted to make you cum with both his words and actions.

His behavior that night only served to drive you away further. 

You both had your first time together, which was amazing - but he does regret how it went. He should have been softer, kissed you, whispered praises in your ear as he slowly, inch by inch, entered you, said you were beautiful because you were, because you are. 

But, shamefully, he was caught up in his head. Too eager to take you, to become one, his actions only worsen your impression of him. He should have been better. Instead of trying to hold himself back which only made him look disinterested, made him look selfish with sexual pleasure, he should have given in a little bit, at least with making you cum and sweet words he should have said instead of calling you cute only when you started to cry.

Maybe then, you would be more welcoming to fleeting touches and even accept a kiss to the forehead or at the very least, hold his hand. But now you only see him as a perverted creep, and no matter how hard he tries, everything only backfires on him.

He has no-one to blame but himself. 

He pauses once he reaches the bedroom doors. It’s only now does he realize he didn’t wash up - still dirty and covered in specks of blood. Dirt in his hair, he wonders if he stinks or just smells like the outside. Or maybe that would smell bad to you too.

His eyes glaze overs at the thought of you shooing him away - can’t he just spend a few minutes with you? Maybe he should just… lock you up. That way, you wouldn’t be able to avoid him. You wouldn’t be able to give your attention to anyone else, if he just hid and locked you away all for himself.

A pause before he sighs through his nose. Not a good idea despite how tempting it is.

His thoughts are interrupted when his hand starts to turn the door knob without his knowing. He caves.

He’ll just take a peek. To see if you’re asleep or not. He’ll leave to wash up as soon as he sees you before going in.

Only he caves in once he sees you on the terrace, in nothing but your sleep attire. A frown pulls at his lips - it’s slightly windy - he knows this is only an excuse to get closer to you, but an obsessed man can only hold back for so long. In the beginning, he was satisfied with just being married to you. But your personality, your real one that shined through in the past, was addicting. Your skin was so warm and hair soft, and the way you  had clung to him during your first night would have eventually caught up with him, wanting to hold you in his arms again.

It didn’t have to be in a sexual manner. Your genuine sweetness was never meant for him and he knows this. But, at times, it does hurt a bit that you just don’t remember past events, no matter how small.

Quietly, by reflex, he enters the room and opens the closet to pull out a coat. The first one he sees is a gift from his mother.

Despite his distaste of it, he pulls it out regardless and walks to you. You smell nice, he thinks as he gets close enough to place the coat over your shoulders. He sees the way you tense but he still can’t stop himself from saying -

“You’re still awake.”

= = =

EDIT: *- it's a plant I made up. That's all.

tag list: @tiny-mimi @umi-adxhira @pix-stuff @queenofspades403

@manitscold @s-ajia @disappointment-san @rentaldarling @darkumbreon92 @puggyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

[bobbimorses]

hi there! as the foremost clint barton expert on this site, i have what i hope is a fun question for you: do you have any favorite underrated/often forgot about friendships between clint and any other heroes? in my writing i'm realizing i kinda default to the same like 3 characters and it would be fun to expand that roster, but also my read through of his comics is very, very slow going lol. thanks for existing, and ofc no pressure to answer if you don't want to! 🫡

would love to know what the 3 characters are in case i end up accidentally picking one--i'm gonna assume cap and tony are out, and anyone more cap-affiliated, as well as long-term relationships, so i'll skip those. here goes:

clint and rhodey had a good thing going in the 90s

disrobing while having home-cooked chili with the bros

so much so that they were called "brothers in arms" (it was the 90s. don't ask.), and clint also happened to regularly appear with rhodey in the 90s iron man cartoon (wearing his ugly 90s costume. don't ask). it started with rhodey, as iron man, being on the first iteration of the west coast avengers when clint opened up shop. he was at the inaugural bbq!

in the wca, bbqs always followed a moment of respect and admiration, or when you gazed longingly at your teammate, or on sundays, or when you cleaned the fridge

after bobbi died, rhodey was one of the only avengers clint "let in" and seemed close to for a bit. they briefly channeled their friendship again when clint was ronin and appeared in an issue of war machine around that time (it was a mini wca reunion), but the friendship's been kind of forgotten in the comics. rip

2. clint and wanda have been good friends since starting out in the avengers together as ~reformed villains~ on cap's kooky quartet. our favorite annoying (ok that was almost entirely on clint's end) 19-21yos grew into their own and have remained close as a result

they've gone shopping together. they have diner dates.

once again, chili is involved.

mind you the friendship got strained when she killed him twice, but he...got over it? whatever. pietro can tag along if he wants

3. clint and pietro. just kidding! they're haters. if pietro killed clint twice he would say yeah that checks out and shoot acid at his shoes. but they love to hate each other. even now, pietro thinks he's winning the hating game by saying his eulogy will be better than clint's

pietro has never tried clint's chili

but clint is actually winning the hating game bc he already had a eulogy, and by eulogy i mean he ensured he had no eulogy and thus it consisted of 0 words.

clint could show up at pietro's funeral and say "lol" and it would meet pietro's standards. it's called playing the long game

4. for historical accuracy i should mention clint and hank pym were always friendly when on the same roster.

now i'm going to be honest with you. i have no idea what the current status is regarding hank. last i remember he was basically dead and ultron had taken over most of his body robocop style? a controversial entry i guess. i doubt you'll find yourself in a situation where you're writing hank pym if you're not in the weeds but there we go. the friendship dynamic was transferred to the emh cartoon iirc

there isn't a panel confirming hank actually tasted clint's chili and that's why he's dead(?) now.

5. hawkeye and two-gun kid. i also doubt you will ever end up writing the two-gun kid; i just want everyone to remember that clint is obsessed with cowboys. he once left the avengers and ran off to a dude ranch with this time-displaced cowboy (clint brought him to the future), and when clint was time-displaced a different time, he immediately sought out this cowboy.

they had chili here

6. clint and jen started out competitive, and by that i mean clint was being a dick and then he broke his leg so he sulked about it. jen threw a taxi at him. deserved. they've always had a sort of will-they-won't-they energy going on; and one time, they did--in an alternate universe (don't ask). jen cured clint of misogyny (this is a joke). thanks, jen.

you'll notice two-gun is also here....

7. karla sofen is not a hero. karla sofen is arguably not a friend. this is like "are they lovers?" "worse." but the other way around?

you probably can't have a situation where clint and karla roll up to have a casual conversation out of nowhere. this doesn't fit your prompt at all. i just wanted to remind everyone that karla and clint had a real thing. an indescribable thing.

karla hates clint's chili. karla will tell clint she hates his chili. but by god is karla eating it

8. i wasn't gonna put clint and jan bc they technically had a relationship as well, but jan loves clint. clint loves jan. consistently best buds!

9. clint and khonshu. i'm just kidding, this is a one-sided crush on khonshu's end

because he lacks a corporeal form, khonshu is unable to taste hawkeye's chili. but he wants to. he wants to.

[illbearound]

MOST WANTED MAN

Helloooo 👋🏼 New chapter just dropped! Be gentle with me. This isn’t my favorite 😅 I went through like three versions of this one, and this is just the one I hated the least lol.

Hope you’re still enjoying the story so far 🤍

Chapter Three: Isn’t Just About Football

AFTER

Madrid , February 2025

Kylian wakes up early. The room is hushed, wrapped in the muted gray of a Madrid morning. Downstairs, the soft clatter of pans and dishes signals Yaëlle, his assistant and now more of a friendly shadow than an employee, moving through the kitchen. He sits at the edge of the bed, slipping on his watch. Outside the tall window, the garden hums in stillness. The sky hangs low, clouds heavy, the pavement still slick from last night's rain. This is routine now, waking to soft noise or the buzz of his alarm at 8:30, a rhythm his body follows without needing to think.

Madrid is everything he imagined: blinding lights, roaring stadiums, the sun sharp and golden. His name is chanted in perfect rhythm. His number floods the streets. His face looms from billboards along Gran Vía. The club is massive. The expectations louder still. His white kit photographs beautifully but some nights it feels too tight across his chest.

The media turns faster than wind. One week he's their savior. The next, their headline:

Mbappé: Still Not Delivering. Galáctico or Ghost? Price Tag Pressure Mounting.

He tells himself it doesn't matter. He trains harder. Stays longer. Smiles through it all. He knows how to perform under weight, he's done it before. The pressure doesn't scare him. That's not the problem. It's the quiet. The kind of silence that hums in the corners and makes a space feel cold. He hadn't expected to feel this lonely.

The team is kind, polite, playful even. But there's a distance, a warmth that never quite melts. He's like orbiting something he hasn't entered. He tries not to notice, in the first weeks here. Fills the space with noise: media appearances, strategy meetings, team trips. He smiles, laughs, says all the right things. But at night, when the world turns down and the lights outside his window blur, he feels it.

He tries other distractions. Late-night outings; weekends abroad with his cousin; a brief, stupid flirtation with someone at an event he barely remembers. But somehow it feels like nothing sticks. Nothing softens the city's hard edges. There's a gap he can't cross. And he knows exactly what it is.

Anna.

Her absence isn't just noticed. It's everywhere. The house feels too quiet, too hollow. He chose every piece of furniture with care, trying to build something that felt like home. But it doesn't. There are no sneakers by the door. No lipstick on a mug. No blanket tossed over the couch. No half-read books. No Anna, cross-legged on his bed, phone in hand. No arms wrapping around him when he lies down. No fingers in his nape, grounding him the way only she could.

He misses that space. That softness. Now he comes home to silence, to a life that looks perfect on paper but feels emptied out.

He thinks about calling her. Often. The impulse strikes at odd times – on the team bus, brushing his teeth, between drills. Her name sits at the top of his contacts. His thumb hovers more than once. But he never presses call.

No one brings her up anymore. Even Ethan, who used to tease him about her constantly, has gone quiet. It's become an unspoken rule: she's off-limits. Except once. He was FaceTiming his mum after a match, still in his compression tights, when she mentioned Isayah's school play. Mid-conversation, she said casually:

"I told Anna about it. She laughed. Said Isayah's going to out-act us all someday."

Silence fell between them.

"I didn't know you two still talked." he said finally, cautious.

Fayza replied "I check in sometimes. Not often."

He remembered how Anna once said his mother reminded her of an older teacher she loved – strict, but soft if you knew where to look. It was nice hearing that form her. Their bond had meant something. It made him proud. It made him happy that she'd found in his mother a kind of refuge, a maternal softness she never had growing up.

It's nobody's fault. But it feels like everyone kept a piece of her. Except him.

But last night, when she saw her, everything felt real again, like touching something he thought he'd lost. The memory plays on a loop now, clear and vivid, like it had just been waiting for him to press play: her silhouette across the street, hair blown back from her face, arms folded, the way she stilled when she saw him, not cold, not surprised, just ... still. Like she hadn't expected it either, but wasn't running

Kylian hadn't planned it. He was just leaving dinner with someone from the club, and there she was. A glitch in the universe. In that city, on that street, like someone had placed her there for a second, just to see what he'd do. He'd almost laughed when he stepped onto the street. Not from amusement, but from disbelief.

She hadn't changed much. Maybe her hair was shorter. Or maybe it just looked different because he hasn't been this close in so long. She looked tired. But still soft. Her mouth did that thing it always did when she was nervous, pressed into a thin line. They didn't say much. Just surface-level things. But it felt like standing too close to a fire, something dormant sparking to life again.

Before they parted, before Étienne gave him that we're-late look and before the moment slipped into memory, Kylian turned back to her:

"I've got a game tomorrow night. Home game." he said, trying to sound casual, even though every word felt like a held breath "I don't know if you're still in town, but... I could save you a seat." he risked a glance at her "We could get food after. If you want, of course. I'd just... I'd love to catch up."

He didn't say I miss you but it lived inside the pause between words. Instead, he offered her space, if you want. Leaving the door open without pressure. Anna didn't say yes or no really. She just nodded, a small, unreadable simple nod. It wasn't actual a promise nor a refusal, it was just a nod.

"You still have the same number?" he asked, like he didn't know that information already. She gave a quiet Yes.

"Ok, I'll text you the info."

And then he was gone. And so was the moment.

When he got home, he wondered about it. Maybe he hadn't been clear enough. Maybe he should've said I miss you. Maybe he could've hugged her. He felt stupid about it. But still, he asked Yaëlle to save a seat in his box. For a friend, he told her. He didn't explain more, but she sensed something was off. She always did. Later, Étienne filled her in. Yaëlle made sure to get Anna the best seat and the best service, texting Kylian the ticket early that morning.

Kylian forwarded it to Anna, then spent too long writing a message that didn’t' sound too blank or too much. Eventually, he gave up, sent it and tossed his phone on the bed before heading to the shower.

Hi, it's Kylian. The ticket's in the attachment. I really hope you can come. It was nice seeing you last night, by the way.

He wanted to say I miss you. He wanted to say you still look beautiful in low light. But he didn't.

Now the sun appears through the clouds. He showers. Gets dress. Laces up his trainers and packs his bag for the match.. Her face flickers behind his eyes. He doesn't want to hope. But he does.

He hopes she'll come. He hopes today isn't just about football, not entirely.

*

The locker room buzzes with usual chaos: laughter, music, chatter, tension hiding under easy routines. His mates are swapping stories, teasing one another. The air is thick with pre-game rhythm. He moves on instinct doing what he always does. Boots, tape, shirt, wristbands. The rhythm calms him before the adreline of the match. Yet today, his mind kept drifting away. Every few minutes, his fingers slid to his phone, eyes flicking over the screen. No new messages.

His mind runs through every scenario. Maybe she got the message and ignored it. Maybe she didn't. Maybe she's coming. Or maybe she isn’t coming. He didn't ask for confirmation, didn't press, didn't try to fold her into something she wasn't ready to enter again. He just sent the ticket, plain and simple, and told himself he wouldn't expect anything. But expectation has a way of building anyway and now it hangs in the air. Still, as they file out for warm-ups, his gaze lifts toward the stands. It's too early. Too many empty seats. But his eyes scan the lower boxes anyway, just in case.

Back in the dressing room before kickoff, the coach talks about tactics, reminders, the same things they've heard a hundred times before. Kylian listens, or tries to. But his mind drifts. Not far. Just to that seat. That maybe-seat.

"You look nervous, superstar." Lucas, his team mate grins, lacing up his own boots.

Kylian pulls his warm-up jacket off, flashing a tight smirk "Nervous? Nah..." he shakes his head "I’m about to play with you." he jokes, and for a little his mind eases a little.

The whistle cuts through the noise, sharp and final. The game begins.

Kylian starts like he always does with that clean, almost eerie focus. Every motion honed over years: the subtle shift of weight, the lean into space, the first burst of acceleration that leaves defenders guessing. He knows how to fall into rhythm, how to lose himself in the structure of a match. But tonight, it doesn't settle the way it usually does. His legs move, his body obeys, but his mind is trailing behind. Somewhere else, somewhere quieter, stuck in last night's city street and the ghost of a nod that might have meant everything or nothing at all.

He told himself he wouldn't look. That he wouldn't let it touch the game. That once he was on the pitch, all that mattered would be the ball, the movement, the angles. But it's not that simple.

He doesn't let himself look right away. But the urge builds. It begins in the first lull at a corner kick, far end. As the ball is reset, his gaze slides upward, casual, almost careless. He tells himself it's just muscle memory, just surveying the crowd. But it isn't. He's looking for the box. For the seat he asked Yaëlle to save. For her.

He can't figure it out, the lights blind him and there is too much distance between where he stands and the box to get a clear vision. He turns his eyes back to the game, swallowing the disappointment like it's water from a dry glass.

Still, he plays. Well enough to keep the crowd on their feet, even if his heart lags a step behind. The crowd rises around him like a tide, chanting, roaring, reacting with every shift of momentum. The air is thick with energy that only comes with a home game. He moves through defenders, passes cleanly, presses when he needs to but there's a softness to it all. Like he's playing underwater. At one point, around the twenty-third minute, he breaks free up the wing and receives a cross with perfect timing. He takes the shot without hesitation, but it skims just over the bar, too much lift, the angle off by a breath. The stadium groans as one. He swears softly into the collar of his jersey, wiping sweat from his brow as he jogs back into position.

The match drags on. Time warps, as it always does in these games, speeding up and slowing down with no logic. The ball moves. The crowd roars. Someone misses a chance. Someone argues with the ref. Kylian keeps his head down, keeps moving, keeps trying not to care.

Halftime crawls in with no goals. The locker room hums with frustration, half-laughed complaints and the thud of boots against benches. The coach speaks, but Kylian only half-hears it, words bouncing off him like rain on glass. He sips water, towels off his neck. His heartbeat's steady, but underneath it there's a quiet stutter, the same one he had when he left her standing there, when he climbed into Étienne's car and watched the city blur past the window.

He wants to believe she's here. That somewhere in the stadium she's watching. He wants to believe her nod meant something. That the door she left open in her silence was real. But he doesn't know. And the not-knowing turns in his chest like a slow blade.

The second half begins. And this time, something shifts.

It's not sudden. Just a gradual burn, like heat moving through metal. The team finds more urgency. Kylian finds more space. The defenders tire. He begins to float between lines, finding cracks in their shape. In the 61st minute, theres a perfect ball from midfield, low and quick, slicing past the last man. He reads the play a second before it happens: drops deep, drifts out, turns into space. He gathers it on the run, muscles burning. Defender at his back, keeper inching forward. No time to think, he fires.

It's clean. The net ripples and the crowd erupts. He hears the wave before he sees it, the collective exhale turning into thunder, arms lifted in the stands, teammates rushing him. He lets himself feel it for a moment, the noise fill him, lets the adrenaline wrap itself around his ribs. Someone grabs his shoulders, someone else slaps the back of his head. He smiles, breathless, laughing even.

But as soon as they part and the brief chaos of celebration begins to thin, he does it again. He looks up.

This time more obviously, scanning the upper tier, eyes squinting against the lights. The box is still obscured, glare streaking across the glass from the box, fans blocking part of the view, someone in a white coat walking past just as he focuses. He can't see. He still can't see.

He walks back to his position, still catching his breath. His heart is racing, but it's not from the run. It's from the echo of a moment he isn't sure. The not-knowing bites deeper now, made sharper by the goal. But what did he expect? A wave? A sign? Her face pressed to the glass?

He turns away again, rubbing sweat from his forehead. As he walks back to the halfway line, heart still racing, the thought sneaks in again. Maybe she saw it. Maybe she's up there, in the dark behind the lights, watching.

The final whistle sounds, cutting clean through the noise. A victory, the first one in the last two games. The players and staff are relief. The crowd erupts, and the stadium becomes a living thing. Kylian walks off the pitch with his teammates, high-fiving, shoulder-bumping, his mouth stretched into a smile. It's a good win.

His eyes flick up one last time toward the box, and it's still too hard to tell. His chest is tight, but he keeps the expression neutral. Focused. Camera-safe. In the tunnel, the noise dulls. Cool, recycled air. Echoes of cleats on concrete; a trainer hands him a towel; someone slaps his back. He nods. Mumbles a thanks.

By the time he's in the dressing room, the adrenaline is tapering off and the noise of the world is slowly filtering back in. He peels off his jersey, the fabric sticking to him, skin hot and flushed. He pulls his phone from his bag. The screen lights up in his hand. His mum sent a text – a thumbs up and a heart.

As he drops into the bench, thumbing through notifications, a message lights the screen, new.

Anna.

His stomach does something sharp and stupid.

Anna: That was a nice goal. Congratulations!

His lips curve before he can stop them. He doesn't hesitate. His thumbs move before he can overthink it:

Kylian: You came?

He watches the message send, sees the three dots appear almost immediately. His pulse kicks up.

Anna: I did, a bit late though. Got lost inside, the stadium looks like a maze.

He laughs - not loudly, not visibly - but like letting go of something he hadn't realized he'd been holding all game. She's here.

Kylian: Do you still want to grab that food? Kylian: We can go somewhere calm.

He adds the last part without thinking. A callback. Something private. Her three dots appear again, slower this time.

Anna : Yeah. Ok.

Kylian: Great! I'll meet you in the lounge. I'll be quick, I promise."

He locks the phone, stares at the black screen for a moment, his reflection faint over the glass.

Suddenly, the dressing room is too loud, too fluorescent. Someone's turned the speaker up, music blasting. Teammates are joking, shouting, still lit from the win. Kylian smiles when someone bumps his shoulder, says something about the goal. The smile doesn't leave his face and to be honest, he doesn't want to.

Tonight isn't just about football, after all.

*

The lounge isn’t busy, but it isn’t empty either. The kind of post-match space designed for winding down – soft light, the quiet clink of cutlery from the back, laid back conversations. Some club staff, players’ families, a few sponsors lingering by the bar with drinks in hand. Voices low, shoulders slack. Everyone tired, everyone used to this rhythm. It smells like citrus and leather and something faintly metallic. Kylian steps inside, skin still warm from the shower, hair under a black beanie, dressed in a soft sweater and black trousers. Something casual, but intentional. He scans the room for her. His heart is doing something it hasn’t done in a while, like a rhythm it hasn’t quite relearned yet.

He spots her.

Anna is standing near a quiet corner, half-shadowed by one of the tall planters, looking down at her phone. Her hair’s tucked behind one ear. Not posing, not trying to be seen. But he sees her anyway. Of course he does. She doesn’t look nervous but she doesn’t look fully settled either, rather looking like someone still deciding whether to stay or to slip away before the door closes behind her.

He crosses the room, slowly. Not because he’s hesitant, but because part of him doesn’t want the space between them to vanish too quickly. Once it’s gone, this becomes real. He doesn’t stop too near. Leaves just enough distance between them to pretend like he isn’t watching her mouth when she breathes.

“Hey.” he says, soft.

Anna looks up. It lands like a weight in his chest, something soft, but solid. Like something forgotten returning at full volume. Her face shifts, not startled, not overly warm, just that same unreadable calm.

Her smile lifts, the edges gentle “Hi.”

The rest of the lounge blurs. Not gone, just dimmed. He hears someone laugh near the bar, a cork popping, a chair scrape, but it all feels distant. The shift in his body is subtle, almost too subtle for anyone else to catch. But it’s there. That split-second moment where he stops being the version of himself built for public consumption and becomes the one he used to be with her.

Softer. Younger. Less sure of the rules.

They stand there for a moment. Just looking. The kind that happens when two people know each other too well to pretend they’re strangers, but not enough, anymore, to fall into ease right away. The noise of the lounge presses around them.

“You hungry?” he asks finally, shifting his weight.

She nods “Yeah. Are you?”

He smiles, relief tucked into the corners “Starving.” he says "I know a place. Étienne is waiting downstairs.”

They walk out side by side. Their strides fall into rhythm automatically, like their bodies remember something their minds are trying not to. In the elevator, the silence is strange. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just there. Her reflection blurs in the metal door beside his. She’s holding the matchday program, folded in half. Slightly crumpled. A detail that shouldn’t matter but lodges in his throat.

“What did you think?” he asks quietly “About the match? The stadium?”

She turns to him, the corner of her mouth tugging upward “It was a good game. The stadium’s massive, though. I got lost, like, three times. A security guard finally helped me out when I passed him for the fourth time.”

A small laugh escapes him, more breath than sound “Worse than Parc.”

She doesn’t laugh exactly. But her mouth curves, and that’s enough.

Outside, the car waits. Étienne opens the door, gives Anna a polite smile and slides into the front without asking questions. They slide in, and the warmth closes around them. The windows fog a little. He leans into the seat, quiet, aware of how close she is. Not touching but near. The city slides past them in soft blurs, streetlights streaking against the windows. The night has cooled down, the air crisp and damp, the ground still wet from earlier rain.

When they arrive, it’s not a showy place. Not one of the high-profile restaurants he gets dragged to for photo ops. It’s tucked into a side street near the Salamanca district, narrow, warm and dimly lit, with brick walls and hanging lights and a handful of tables. He remembers a teammate telling him about it last November, during a slow lunch break, said it was good for when you wanted something real, something simple. That’s why he chose it tonight. Because sometimes, simple feels right.

The waiter greets him quietly, he recognizes him but says nothing beyond a polite nod. The benefit of choosing a place that doesn’t care who you are.

They’re seated in a booth near the back. Cloth napkins are folding over the table. Low music playing from a speaker that’s probably hidden behind one of the wine racks. He watches as she takes off her coat folding it carefully. She’s wearing something simple – a white blouse, black skirt over some thights and a gold chain at her neck he hasn’t seen before, catching the candlelight. Her hair is slightly mussed from the wind. Her face open, but tired. She comments something about the restaurant seeming like a nice place.

He wants to say a hundred things. About how she looks, about how it feels to see her again. Words crowd his mind, but none of them seem quite right. So instead, he simply says, quiet but sincere “Thanks for coming.”

Anna looks up, her eyes warm “Thanks for inviting me.” she says and then adds, a bit reluctantly “ I wasn't sure about coming, to be honest.”

The waiter appears sliding silently beside their table like he belongs there. They order quickly, shared plates, easy things, nothing complicated. Kylian can’t even remember what he points to on the menu. His eyes are glued to her hands as she speaks with the waiter, fingers tapping lightly against the menu, a gentle, natural rhythm. She smiles softly, a genuine smile, the kind that makes you feel seen. And every time the waiter returns – whether with bread, drinks, or an extra plate – she thanks him politely, without fail. Even if he’s come over twenty times already, she never forgets the manners. It’s small, but it’s everything. That kindness, that quiet grace.

Kylian’s heart tightens a little. She always did this. It’s the first thing he noticed the night they shared their first dinner in Paris. A kindness that felt rare and unforced. She treats people like they matter, even the ones who usually get overlooked.

He watches her now, the soft light casting shadows over her face, catching the slight tiredness around her eyes. The little things like the folded napkin beside her plate, the careful way grabs an olive from the small plate. It’s those small moments, those glimpses of who she is beneath everything, that he’s been missing. He pours water into her glass without asking. She murmurs a thank you.

“How long are you staying in Madrid?” Kylian asks.

“I go back tomorrow.” she says “Got an early flight.” He nods like he already knew.

The food comes. They eat slowly, distracted by conversation more than the plates in front of them. They slide into the rhythm they used to have, half-sarcastic jokes, quiet nods, her dry comments that make him laugh harder than anyone else could.

“How’s your… ?” she points to his nose "I've heard you broke it.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, amused “ It’s crooked now.” she looks at him, as if inspecting his nose “Joking.” he says “Mostly healed. Still clicks when I sneeze.”

That gets a real laugh from her. And just like that, something unclenches inside him. The sound punches something open in his chest.

“At least it gives you character.” she says.

He raises an eyebrow “I didn’t have that already?”

She gives him a look, amused, familiar “It's debatable."

He laughs, loud and his dimples are flashing. It spills out before he can soften it. He leans back. Lets the warmth sit between them. There’s something warm in his chest. A quiet heat. Not dangerous. Not even entirely romantic. Just… familiar. Like a favorite coat pulled from the back of the closet, still smelling like the last time he wore it. Still his, even if he forgot.

Kylian clears his throat softly “How’s Paris treating you?”

She exhales, a slow smile curving her lips “Good. Work keeps me busy.”

“Are you enjoying it?”

“I am. It’s… nice. The people are kind.”

“I’m glad.” he says and hopes she knows he means it.

“Julie still dragging you to fancy parties?” His smile is shy but eager, like he’s relieved to find something familiar.

Anna chuckles and nods “Some things never change. She tells me to live more. And sleep more. Usually in the same sentence.” Her voice is quiet, but there’s warmth in it. He wonders if she notices how much he missed this, the sound of her voice, the way it fills a room with something soft and steady.

He grins “I’m glad. She always kept you grounded.” She laughs softly, eyes flickering down to the plate in front of her.

For a while, they just eat. Sip wine. Talk in that light, practiced rhythm of two people who used to know each other too well, now trying to find a version that still fits. They talk about the game briefly, about how loud the crowd was. Stories of his new team, the construction site near her flat that wakes her too early, the Spanish words he keeps mispronouncing. About Julie's engagement that he already knew through his cousin; about Ethan’s latest moved to a new club.

Anna smiles “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard!” She says excitedly “How’s he doing?”

“He’s great.” Kylian says, brightening “Loving it there!” Anna tilts her head, watching his smile grow.

“Have you gone to see him play?”

“Not yet. Haven’t had the chance.” his attention drops to his plate as he cuts another bite.

“You’ve always been proud of him.” she smiles.

“I am.” His voice drops a little, quieter, like he’s sharing something only she should hear “Family’s everything. You know that.” She nods.

They share a smile that lingers, soft and familiar.

A few minutes pass in a quiet lull, the kind that comes naturally after a good meal. The table’s been cleared except for two small dessert plates: hers rich and dark, his something pale and creamy with citrus curled on top. She digs into hers slowly. Focused and intent. The way she always eats dessert, like it deserves her full attention.

He watches her for a second, then says, almost offhandedly “You always save dessert like it’s the best part.”

She lifts a shoulder, eyes still on her plate “Isn’t it?”

He smiles, just a tug at the corner of his mouth “Fair.”

They sit like that, quietly eating, before Anna looks up again. Her voice is soft, but clear. “You look… well.” she says “Madrid suits you.”

He tilts her head. “You think so?”

“I do.”

There’s a small pause, long enough for something unspoken to settle between them. He gives a half-smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes “I'm getting there.”

Anna watches him. Not trying to fix, just seeing.

“I thought it would feel different.” he says after a second. His voice is quieter now, pulled from someplace further down “Being here. Playing here. I wanted this for so long. Worked for it. Dreamed about it. But sometimes it feels like I left something behind I didn’t mean to.”

Anna’s eyes soften, but she doesn’t look away or rush to answer. Then, gently, like she’s stepping over something delicate, she says:

“Sometimes things happen different than we pictured. Doesn’t mean it’s wrong.” Her voice is calm, but there’s a weight behind it “It’s still only been a few months.” she adds “You’ll see. It’ll eventually find the right way to you.”

The candle between them flickers low, catching in the gold at her throat. She’s not trying to convince him, and somehow that makes the words land deeper. He hadn’t even realized how much he needed to hear something like that, something that wasn’t a headline or a stat line or a team briefing.

He nods once, slow “Yeah.” he says finally “Maybe that’s it.”

A silence follows, not the kind that asks to be filled, just one that lets the moment settle. Then, gently, she speaks again. Her eyes stay on her plate, pushing a bit of cake around with the side of her fork

“I think you’re doing ok, by the way.” she says “Everyone’s is really proud of you. I’m proud of you.”

The words catch him off guard. Not in a jarring way, but like a soft pull at something he hadn’t realized was wound too tightly. He doesn’t know how to respond at first. There’s no script for this moment. No press-trained answer to pull from. Just a quiet thrum of something warm rising in his chest.

He smiles, genuinely “Thanks.” he says. His voice is steady, but there’s a brightness in it now “That means a lot. Really.”

And it does. Because it’s her. Because she didn’t have to say it. And because part of him really needed to hear it from someone who sees him this clearly.

The waiter brings the check. Kylian reaches for it without hesitation, instinct guiding his hand more than thought. Anna moves at the same time, protesting softly.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.” he says “I want to.”

The table between them is a soft mess of endings: lipstick on a glass rim, a half-finished Coke bottle, the torn corner of a napkin she’s been folding and unfolding. One of the candles has burned low, wax cooled at the base like dried honey. Neither of them speaks. The silence isn’t heavy, just holds everything. The unsaid things, the things they almost said. And all the little ones they don’t know how to name yet.

Kylian watches her fingertips brush crumbs from the tablecloth, slow and absentminded. He doesn’t want to go. Not yet. Not back to the car, not back to his big empty house, not back into the version of his life where this moment never happened.

Outside, the night wraps around them in a velvet hush. The city feels slower now, less sharp. The restaurant disappears behind them with the soft hush of a closing door. Neither of them saying much. The sounds of the city drift in and out. He stays a little behind her at first, their shoulders close but not touching. The night air is crisp against his face, but his chest still holds the warmth from before. He keeps glancing sideways, at the way her hair moves in the breeze, the curve of her cheek when she tilts her head toward the streetlights.

“I’ll grab a car–”

He cuts in gently “Étienne’s here. He’ll drive us.”

Étienne is parked just down the street, half in shadow. The car waits, engine low and steady. As they walk toward it, Kylian feels the quiet stretch again, not awkward but deliberate. Like neither of them wants to disturb something delicate. A peace, maybe. Or a question still hanging. When they reach it, he opens the door for her. She steps in without a word, nodding thanks.

The drive is quiet, just the sound of the radio, soft and low, and the occasional turn from the GPS, which Anna gently corrects once or twice. Kylian notices she does it without thinking, the way she always used to when they’d be out late after matches. It stirs something in him, the ghost of routines he didn’t know he missed until now.

“Thank you for dinner.” she says as they pull up to her hotel “The restaurant was really nice.”

He smiles, eyes on hers “I’m glad you like it.”

She opens the door, but doesn’t step out right away. Her fingers rest lightly on the handle. There’s a pause, then she moves fluidly and climbs out. He follows. She gives him a curious look, maybe surprised but she doesn’t stop him.

They walk the short distance to the entrance of her hotel together in a comfortable silence, only the tap of her shoes on the stone and the low buzz of city life still hanging at the edges. The air is cooler now. The hush of the hour settling. Their steps slow again, like neither of them wants to speak first and break whatever this is. The hotel lobby casting gold light out onto the pavement. Somewhere above them, a plane crosses, its lights blinking through a cloud.

At the door, she turns.

“You didn’t have to walk me.”

“I wanted to.”

He studies her. There’s something about this moment he wants to memorize. It’s uncomplicated, real. He doesn’t want the moment to end just yet, but he doesn’t know what he’s reaching for either.

“Text me when you land tomorrow, so I know you arrived ok.” he says, his voice a little lower now, like it matters more than he wants to admit.

She nods “I will.”

He hesitates. Watches the way her breath curls in the night air, how her coat shifts slightly as she moves.

“And if you want– next time you’re in Madrid. Or Paris… whenever.”

“Yeah.” she says “I’ll let you know.” A smile plays at her lips, but it doesn’t settle. It doesn’t feel like enough, but anything more might crack something open.

“Good night, Anna.”

“Good night, Kylian.”

There’s a pause, a stutter in time. That moment when you don’t know how to leave someone properly. He shifts his weight and she does too. For a second, he thinks maybe he should just wave, maybe he should kiss her cheek but it feels too much. But before he thinks through it, he is already leaning in.

But they both move at the same time, and it turns awkward, a shoulder bump, the brush of her coat sleeve. And then they find it. Her arms loop around him gently. He settles his across her back. Not tight, but not distant either, like their bodies remember something their minds are too careful to say aloud. It isn’t romantic, not quite. But it’s grounding and familiar in a sense. Like oxygen after holding your breath too long.

He closes his eyes for a second longer than he means to. Just breathes her in, something clean, something familiar beneath the cold. Her perfume is still the same and so it’s the mango shampoo she used in her hair. He missed this smell.

She pulls back, and he lets her go, but the warmth of her lingers on his sweater, in his chest, in the quiet echo of everything unsaid. And he knows that not everything is fixed. But something has opened. And maybe that’s enough for now.

———

Next chapter

tags: @nowrosesaredead

[sealofarchives]

Could you create a headcanon for ‘Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ about what kind of fathers Leo, Raph, Donnie, and Mikey would be? I find this idea fun. :3

Headcanon: Rise!Turtles being dads and sweetest husband to the reader (Separate) (Requested prompt)

A/N: I'm still uncomfortable with the idea of aging up the guys towards "mature content."

However, this idea was really cute. It only made sense for this prompt where the guys are aged up with some reference to their bad end!future selves. I went with around early 30's when the turtle of your choice and the reader are in a committed relationship and currently raising a kid at the moment.

So please have common sense and think before typing some snarky response with 'oh aged up content is bad lol' (Because I will put those ideas on the 'do not write list' if people get too weird about it...)

Raph

You know how he has the habit of that one baby voice with Mayhem. (and a bit of the hey buddy tone towards Mikey or Donnie)

- His kid is never gonna escape from it. (even by the time the kid is a grown up)

He definitely panicked for a bit when his kid (during the energetic toddler phase) enjoyed climbing over a big guy like him.

- So he had to ask Donnie to make a battle shell specifically as a soft cushion. So the spiky shell doesn't accidentally scratch the kid.

Part of him is worried anytime he has to scold his kid. And only when you're around is when he feels okay to do so.

- He definitely does the "Did you ask (Y/N) if you could have another cookie?" sort of question. (Sometimes willing to go along with what his kid wants or following (Y/N) if he got caught spoiling the kid)

You're getting at least one peck on the cheek by the end of the day.

- Or earlier in the day if he accidentally woke you up.

Compared to his younger self who slightly whined about chores, he grew to enjoy it when both of you worked on it together.

- Laundry being one example where you're usually folding clothing fresh from the dryer. And he stacks a pile back into the clean basket/hamper.

His eyesight in the right eye has gotten a bit worse. (not as bad as his bad end counterpart where he needs an eyepatch) But, you often act as his extra set of eyes and call out to any surprise attacks.

- Which earned the title of you two with a tag team couple and he still blushes thinking about it.

Leo

Every few hours before a night patrol, he always checks in to see what his kid is up to and often gives a hug before leaving.

Often gives bedtime stories through retellings of Lou Jitsu's movies or Jupiter Jim's comics.

- Even acting out of some of the scenes before a yawn decides its time to sleep.

Gave one of his spare bandana scarves to his kid.

- Had the biggest grin on his face when the kid realized "Oh hey! We're matching!!!"

Almost similar to the night patrol part, but if you can't make it because of work or some other boring life detour.

- Its a portal away for a light hang out sesh. For both of you to take a breather away from the grown up life.

Late night conversations are just a regular thing between the two of you.

- Especially when he couldn't sleep. By the time he almost dozes off to sleep in your arms, he still playfully teases you that your voice is soothing to him.

When light conversations about the bad end future was brought up during a casual match of video games, he was never used to the idea that he had a prosthetic arm.

- You instantly hugged his right arm, jokingly reassuring him.

"As long as you can crack a joke in the most serious moment. I'll still know that its you Leo."

"Even in a timeline where, me and the guys were raised by Draxum?"

You gave the red slider turtle a 'really?' pout before he hugged you into his lap.

"Nah I'm just kidding, but for real though. Draxum's former henchmen are still goofballs that know their way around the city. I'm pretty sure that Leo could get a couple of one liners and maybe from you as well."

Donnie

Almost went into a frenzy trying to child-proof the lair. (Especially the month before the kid's arrival changed the atmosphere) But eventually settled down.

- Realizing it would have stressed his kid out by any sudden new changes (and a bit of his family and your help explaining the reasoning as well)

Leo's showboating energy transferred to him but, in a way that, the softshell turtle is very grateful. That he has you as a spouse and both of you raising a kid along side his sentient inventions. And will try to bring it up in any conversation.

- The whole wallet photo gag of him showing family pictures. You love this silly turtle but, usually lightly pinch his face if its the wrong time for that.

He lights up whenever his kid goes to him for any sort of question.

- He slightly restrains himself to avoid going overboard with the answer. But, his kid is smart enough to know that and sometimes tells you that he's not being himself again.

Cannot force himself to sleep unless you're beside him. (or if you have to drag him to bed yourself)

- The few times where he woke up while you were still sleeping. He always gives you a light hug and a kiss on the forehead before getting out of bed.

He subtly took interest in one of your hobbies. (Either an ongoing or a new one) Just so he can step away from a tedious project that was going nowhere and not bother you with the boring details about it.

- Sometimes mentioning a fun fact to impress you.

You gave into his idea of letting your kid have a similar weapon like Casey Jr's.

- Only when they reached their 13th birthday and learning the basics of: constructing it and fixing parts along side their dad. How to use it defensively, offensively, and etc.

Mikey

Considering how his future self had some hair on his head, he kept it long so he can do a few matching embarrassing baby photos to his kid.

- Like giving the kid a tiny ponytail and etc. He definitely cried a bit while having his signature grin when the kid pulled too hard on his hair, laughing at one of his jokes. And you had to step in to help him.

He knows how to work around some of his kid's picky eating habits. Usually making sure his kid is having fun or decorating the plate in an artistic manner.

- However, there are times when the kid can hide the veggie or fruit out of plain sight. Or his kid asks his uncles for help when Mikey's focused on some other thing.

Absolutely does that peek-a-boo trick with hiding his face or whole body into his shell.

- He was nervous at first, if the trick might have scared his kid but, no the kid was giggling. Curiously crawling towards him in awe of it.

Will sometimes make meals ahead of time. (often being, if you returned from work, too exhausted to greet him)

- Either leaving a note on a plastic container in the fridge of: [(Y/N)'s breakfast: DO NOT EAT unless you want an surprise session with Dr Delicate Touch </3] (this also applies to lunch as well)

On very rare occasions, he will temporary wear a cloaking brooch. If you're at an area isn't very friendly towards mutants and/or yokai.

- The one time that happened, is when you forgot to bring your lunch at a job that barely lasted a week. (Stuff that was out of your control but, he was relieved that you got out of that place before your coworkers decided to physically fight back at the manager)

Spends at least one day in the week with you to do some light meditative exercises.

- On the really bad days, he doesn't mind letting you hold his hand as a stress ball or just have a quiet moment to relax while his brothers babysit your kid.

[lqtraintracks]

Writing Interview

Thanks so much for the tag @starquestingfordrarry! <333

how many works do you have on ao3? 337

what's your total ao3 word count? 1,454,047

your top 5 stories by kudos

Right Hand Red (with freakin’ 40,662; sorry, I just noticed that it had ticked over the 40k mark and I’m flabbergasted and so grateful as well <3 )

Hung Like a Horntail

Slip Into My Lover’s Hands

Weeds or Wildflowers written with sdk / @unmistakablyoatmeal

check this hand ‘cause I’m marvelous

do you respond to comments? Er… yes?? Like, very. verrrrry. slowly. But I’ll admit that some will never get answered because I lose steam and then when I start trying again, I start with the newest ones. This might sound horn-tooty, which is not how I intend it, but with the number of stories I’ve written, I get a lot of comments. I’ve found it impossible to keep up, but I do my best, even if my best is sometimes a bit crappy. I do read and appreciate every comment I get though!

what's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? I don’t really do angsty endings often. When I do, it’s usually a Prongsfoot or something. Of the Drarry fics I’ve written, I have one open ending but it’s still pretty hopeful, and that’s Burning the Ground. 

what's the fic you've written with the happiest ending? All of them. :D My goal in life is to get readers (and myself) to cry with joy at the end of my stories. Some standouts just from memory are Heart Like Neon, Bolts, Take You Home, Jasmine in Bloom, Right Hand Red, Blood and Fire, and The Most Splendid Thing. 

do you write crossovers? Maybe one or two over the last 25 years. So, statistically, not so much. 

have you ever received hate on a fic? LOL of course. :D But I don’t linger on those comments. They’re quite few honestly. 

do you write smut? No, never. 

have you ever had a fic stolen? Yes. 

have you ever had a fic translated? Yes. Quite a few have been. Not even sure how many languages, but I know there are several in Russian, Chinese, and I think both Spanish and Portuguese. 

have you ever co-written a fic? Yes! With the incredibly talented sdk, @the-starryknight, and @nv-md! (And one round robin with like 552 people lol.)

what's your all-time favorite ship? Drarry, my beloved. <3

what's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? I don’t really have wips. I’m a chronic finisher. I did start something last year for a friend’s birthday and then pooped out. I ended up writing her a completely different pairing months later. And then I took some of the vibes and ideas from that unfinished fic and wrote them into other fics that I *did* finish, so… Cannibalism. Yeah. 

what are your writing strengths? LOL finishing things! :D Also: smut, for sure. Humor. Sort of achy, hot romances? My trademark is writing tenderness and filth simultaneously. I’ve gotten good at pacing things well, so that beats and arcs feel well-rounded and satisfying, I think. 

what are your writing weaknesses? Ugh, plot!!! Specifically non-romance-or-pairing-based plotlines are difficult for me. Heavy angst. Also stakes. I struggle to up the stakes for my characters enough to give a big payoff. I struggle to make my characters change enough or to effectively write that change in a satisfying way. (This applies more to my original writing than to fic, I think.)

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I’m not sure what the hot take here is and if there is one I’m missing it. My original novel has a Spanish speaker and he will sometimes slip into Spanish during conversation. I wanted to get that right, so I had a native Spanish speaker (hi @capipuff!) read it to correct my bad Google-translated Spanish. So I guess my thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in fic is, do your best to get it right?

what's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?  If I want to write something, I write it. :D 

what's your favorite thing you've ever written? Oof. Wow. I want to say my original novel, even though it’s also more flawed than my fic tends to be. It’s certainly one of the things I’m most proud to have written. <3 Usually my favorite fic is the last thing I’ve written and that’s true right now as well. I love The Most Splendid Thing. But before that, my favorite was probably Jasmine in Bloom, and before that it was Take You Home. Bolts is for sure in the running. Heart Like Neon is way up there as well. As is My Name in Your Mouth, because I love that Teddy Lupin with all my horny heart. 

Okay I'm going to tag some of you fine folks now: Ali, you're it! Also, @writcraft @shiftylinguini @phoebe-delia @wholahoop @saintgarbanzo @academicdisasterfic @citrusses @corvuscrowned @lettersbyelise and @magpiefngrl

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Hi! Do you take requests? I love how you write Oscar's characters esp the moon boys. If you do take requests, can I request moon boys x reader with a soulmate au? Maybe they share a tattoo/marking? Doesn't have to be that one but it's a personal fav lol. The rest is up to you! Again feel free to disregard this just wanted to ask!! :)

Ah, this is so sweet!

Steven: While he adores the idea that there is a soulmate out there for him, he also isn’t sure he 100% believes it. It seems a little too neat, too easy. He doesn’t pay too much attention to it because there are plenty of people who never find theirs and he’s got so much more to worry about than that. It doesn’t stop him from dating and meeting new people.

Marc: He’s conflicted, because part of him is sure that he shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t love the idea that he has someone out there. This often spirals into two schools of thought, A) his brother, what happened to his soulmate? Did he have one? Did the soulmate die at the same time? Are they still out there waiting for someone who’ll never turn up? And B) he’s spent so much of his life being restricted and doing things for others, part of him doesn’t want this predetermined fate, part of him is sure he doesn’t deserve to be loved or be happy. In the end, he just thinks that if he ever does find them, he’ll just do whatever they want because what else is he good for?

Jake: He’s the one of the system who is the most interested positively in the idea, if there is a marking/tattoo of some sort he can’t help himself but check to see if it changes depending on who’s fronting. (He knows they all have separate souls, but do they all have the same soulmate or different ones?)

Masterlist • ao3 • want to be tagged? • Requests Info • buy me a coffee? • Moon Knight Fics Masterlist •

[wolfsrainrules]

Quiet Night AU- Tim's return

Turns out I WILL be writing a quick blurble of a thought about Tim coming back to the Cave, unedited and more stream of consciousness moments than a sit down thought out writing lol. This one is @tobicup's fault. Link to the first info dump for Quiet Night AU found HERE.  and the link for Pit Stop blurble HERE

And again- feel free to send in asks about the AU, just make sure you mention it’s for Quiet Night AU for me. @iphoenixrising Not sure if you wanna be tagged here too BUT STILL

Gotham was in ruins. 

Buildings partially or fully collapsed, smoldering remains of fires visible across the city skyline from the rooftops, dead civilians left where they fell. Traffic in a gridlock, cars abandoned in the chaos, or holding the bodies of those who died in them. 

The thick scent of death, fear and rage hung in the air, burning Tim’s nose it was so strong. 

The scent of the cause, faint, almost invisible, but as alien as the creatures that had invaded the Earth and caused this blended with all of it. There were so many of them.

It was everything Tim could do to stay alive, save who he could, and try to make it back to the Cave. He ached, and with the way these creatures hunted, he couldn’t even check over comms if anyone else was alive. 

He wished he’d accepted the pack bonds the other Bats had offered to him before, but he hadn’t been ready for it. He bit his tongue on a keen, an omega trying to summon his pack, smothering the sound down. 

He needed to be silent, or risk the creatures swarming him. 

At least if Tim had a pack bond he would be able to feel them  on the other end, even if they were blocked to prevent distractions in the field. Instead he was alone, no bonds to check, terrified to consider a world where one of his should-be-packmates had died and he didn’t know yet. 

His body ached. He was nauseous and lightheaded, dizzy. It was everything he could do to make sure he landed silently as he ran over the rooftops that remained, and navigated the ground where he had to. 

He kept his grapple-gun strapped to his hip. He’d already been almost killed when the damn thing had been too loud and drawn the attention of the creatures to his flight.  

He tried not to think about the others, if any of them had been caught, had been- To follow that road, to consider that he was the last one standing, was to flirt with madness. 

No. Instead, he turned his attention to making it back to the cave on foot. Navigating the destruction, helping where he could, mourning where he couldn’t. 

***

Crossing Gotham on foot, pausing to save whoever he can, and needing to do it all as silently as possible takes time. Especially trying to balance the unknown factor of anyone or anything in the city making a sound that could lead to Tim getting caught in the crossfire. 

He hurts. 

Worse- he’d had to slip into the cave using the natural entrances, didn’t dare to chance opening the cave  and grabbing anything’s attention. Worked his way towards the cave using the memorized routes, moving slowly and carefully, praying that none of the creatures had found their way inside. He wandered the dark caverns mourning the statistical probability that one of his should-be-packmates had died being the vigilantes they’d chosen to be. That at least one of them had made too much noise somehow. 

He couldn’t help but think about Jason in those moments. Think of the pack alpha with his loud personality and guns. Jason could operate with stealth of course, every Bat could, but… Jason used his guns most often, explosives, and-

And Tim was terrified that he may have died. 

He wasn’t the only one Tim worried for, but he was the most statistically likely to have trouble and- 

Tim closed his eyes for a moment, breathed in the damp air of the cavern, and forced himself to still the shaking in his hands. 

***

The lights of the Cave come into view and Tim feels sick with it. 

What if he’s the last? What if the others didn’t make it? What if he has to see B fall apart all over again, and fall with him this time? What if he lost any of the others before he ever- 

The cave is quiet, aside from the bats quietly rustling through the cavern, and Tim knows it should be, of course it would be, with the creatures tracking sounds, but it makes his stomach swoop and his lungs constrict. 

He has to squint, as he breaks from the tunnels and into the Batcave, his lungs tight and hands shaking all over again. The urge to keen and call for pack crawls up his spine and sits heavy in his throat, but he doesn’t dare, wary of the sound carrying. 

The sight that meets him, when he can finally see properly, sends him staggering, knees weak and tears in his eyes. He counts, one by one, each of his small family gathered together. They’re silent, their hands flying sign language keeping their voices unused, eyes flickering over each other and the computer they’re gathered around. 

Usually Tim would jump right into what looked like a planning session, but in that moment-

In that moment he could only stagger closer, breathing heavily, hands shaking and tears in his eyes. Jason sees him first. 

Tim is already reaching for the pack alpha when Jason darts across the space to sweep him off his feet. 

Tim is choking back keens, as he clings back, burrowing into his alpha’s chest. Jason is nuzzling him, rubbing his scent all down Tim’s spine and brushing their cheeks together, Jason’s hands holding tight, one pressed to feel Tim’s pulse.  

Tim hadn’t been ready to join the pack officially, but each of them had given Tim permission to claim them as his pack when he was ready to join it. In the aftermath of this disaster, Tim is certain he is. That he never wanted to go without the bonds again. Was certain he wanted the bounds wound around his ribs and heart, anchored in his head. 

Tim clings hard for a moment, lets Jason scent him, basks in the safety of his pack alpha’s arms, before turning his face to tuck into the right side of his neck. He breathes for a second, but doesn’t hesitate to drag his tongue over the right side of Jason’s neck, claiming the alpha as pack, and baring his neck to allow Jason the chance to reciprocate the pack claim. 

He can feel Jason’s body tense, and then shudder hard, his hands tighten around Tim, but he doesn’t hesitate either. 

Feeling the first of what is soon to be many pack bonds bloom to life in his mind takes Tim’s legs out from under him. 

Jason doesn’t let him fall.

[golbrocklovely]

dating colby headcanon

requested by anonymous: Could you possible write a dating Colby headcannon with the reader? Thank uuu

A/N: even tho i'm not taking requests, i figured i can do this real quick since it's a headcanon and i'm in the middle of finishing up the next chapter of the chosen daughter. so hopefully this holds yall over a bit longer while i finish that up :) and this is all gender neutral so anyone can read it ! lmk what you think and hope you enjoy.

let's start with how you two met: i think you being a friend of a friend would be how it all starts.

maybe this friend in common gets invited to a party that snc are at, and you tag along. you get introduced to colby, and yall hit it off.

colby is very much into vibes and how well he meshes with another person. so for him to be interested, he has to like being around you. that man does not waste his time around people he doesn't care about.

and i think with colby, things would start off PAINSTAKINGLY SLOW. if you're into a slow burn… that's what your life will be like lol

colby hasn't dated in a long time, it's been almost exclusively hook ups and situationships. so i think the beginning stages will be a bit rough (in more ways than one *wink wink nudge nudge*). i think it would take a long time before anything major happened, just because he's not used to being vulnerable with someone.

that being said, i can see him hooking up with you once or twice before anything serious even remotely starts, since that's his usual go-to method. that doesn't have to be all the way - it could be like making out in the club or in a house party bathroom. a little hidden, a bit secretive, but that makes it all the more fun. it's exciting because he makes you feel like you are the sun in his galaxy, even if it's just for a few minutes. that's how intense he can be.

and maybe you realize, "oh shit i got feelings for him…. will this ever turn into something more?" and that's when you start hanging out with him more, or at least making plans to.

and i think as time goes on, he grows attached to you (because he is a clingy person, respectfully). and he enjoys the parts of his day when he gets to see you. and that's when he starts to feel the sparks. but knowing him, he probably won't act on them for a while.

but slowly, you two get really close, and eventually try to start something. once he can feel his walls crumble, and yours are also down, that's when yall truly start to have a wonderful relationship.

so as for dating him, what do i think that would be like?

colby is very busy guy, no surprising to anyone. so it's hard for yall to hang out as often as you want to (which would be like everyday if you could, and same goes for him).

but colby finds ways of seeing you or talking to you at least once a day.

even if it's just to check in on you, or ask you about your day. colby also likes to tell you about the stuff he was up to, give you little heads up on new projects before anyone else. but only when he knows they're happening bc he doesn't like talking about things that might not happen. very earth sign of him lol

i don't see him sending 'good morning' messages, but i could see him sending 'goodnight' ones. definitely with a black heart emoji somewhere thrown in there.

oooh, pet names. i'm seeing him using baby, babe, darling, sweetheart, love, and possibly honey. especially when he's drunk, he's extra affectionate.

when he goes on investigations, he comes back and HAS to tell you everything. he also loves being around you after because you make him feel so comfortable and at home. and he needs that after being paranormally hungover.

if you go with him on trips… omg, he will be protective. for sure. checking in on how you're feeling every couple minutes.

and if you get really scared, he's ready to send you home. he doesn't want to see you hurt or terrified at all. so sometimes he isn't the most favorable towards you going with him (unless you insist).

yall's biggest past time together: cuddling.

that man needs cuddles, AT LEAST, once a day. otherwise, he will be whiny lol (he might not show it at first, but once he's comfortable, he's gonna be a baby about cuddles, guarantee).

he needs to be touching you at all times, whether out in public or not. he doesn't seem like a crazy PDA type, so nothing too ~sexual~, but he will be holding your hand every chance he gets.

unless, of course, he's feeling a bit frisky… then you run the chance of having to go home early or finding a private area to have your fun sksks

i see him being the type to wrap his arms around you from behind, pulling you tight against him. especially if you're waiting in like a long line or something. he just wants you in his arms whenever he can.

like i mentioned before, he is a very busy man. so i see him doing a lot of at home dates. making pizzas together (or just dinners in general), setting up little pillow forts for movie nights, cute vibes all around. omg and of course - LOTS of camping outside and staring at the stars and talking for hours. that's 1000% for sure.

and maybe if you're the type that likes hiking, maybe you guys would go hiking together.

but i do see him also taking you out to exclusive clubs, bars, and restaurants since he has the hookup and the following to get into places that are new.

emotionally, i think you two would be so deeply into each other. i think being understanding and just getting one another is something major he wants in a relationship. so i think always being open and honest would be the main center point of your relationship.

he wants no drama, and wants love to come easy. and most likely you feel the same way, which is why you guys mesh well together.

physically… i mean, cmon. look at the material lol

he's definitely wants to make sure your needs are met. he's a people pleaser after all. and if you're his person, he's making sure you're pleased.

he's a very giving lover, is all i'm gonna say ;)