#this was mostly just supposed to be a warmup

[minkufu]

"You struggle in vain. You will not silence our song of oblivion."

FFXIV x One Piece: Tot Meteion and Uta the Endsinger

[swordsandholly]

Double Date - Double Down

NSFW | MDNI

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!plus size!reader

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: When you get a call in the middle of the afternoon from your friend begging you to fill an empty spot on a double date your initial instinct is a hard no. After all, no one wants to go on a blind double date and be surprised by the fat friend. It doesn’t help that this Simon guy is stupid fucking hot and obviously doesn’t like you - if his lack of talking is anything to go by.

A/N: Just a fun little oneshot I used as a warmup between working on chapters of future multi chapter projects.

“I said *no*.” You snap, angrily folding the washcloth in your hands.

Your friend splutters from the other side of the phone, the desperation in her voice only growing now that she’s on her fourth ask. “*Pleeeaase*! Steph backed out last minute and no one else is free-“

“How do you know I’m free?”

“You just said you were!”

You huff. She’s got you there. When she first called, you admitted you didn’t have anything going on but that was *before* she told you the plan for the night. Before she mentioned that her very, very conventionally hot military boyfriend wanted to do a little double date with his friend and one of hers. Plus, you take a least a little offense to being second choice. Really, last choice, it seems.

“Cass, you can’t just set up a blind date and take your fat friend. That’s not-“

“You’re not fat, love. You’re beautiful.” Her words drip with turned honey. You make a gagging face to yourself in the mirror. “You just need more confidence!”

You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose. You could try, for the millionth time, to explain to her the nuanced ins and outs of dating as a fat woman. The rules and stats that could rival even the most complex rpg… or you could be petty. It takes less time to be petty. “If I go, you’re paying for my drinks.”

“Johnny’s friend will probably-“

“Yeah, and when he leaves you’re paying for my tab.”

“He won’t-“

“We got a deal?”

She clicks her tongue. “*Fiiiine*.”

At least you can get wasted for free either way. A small consolation. She texts you the time and location, barely leaving you with enough time to shower and turn yourself into something presentable. Not that you really care. It’s going to be shit either way, most likely. Staring yourself down in the mirror, you suppose you could at least try to look somewhat attractive. If you’re about to get rejected (or possibly shouted at, you’ll never forget *that* horrendous interaction) you might as well feel your best.

The pub is small as you push through the front door. Casual. A couple pool tables, some darts, a large bar and few booths with stools on the outer side. You scan the room, searching for Cass’s familiar face.

“Over here!” Cass waves with a wide arc at you, a grin plastered from ear to ear. At least she’s having fun.

You take a long breath, bracing yourself for whatever is about to happen. Cass introduces you to her boyfriend - who is somehow even hotter in person. You can see why she’s so smitten with him. Johnny looks you up and down as he shakes your hand. He doesn’t comment, or make a face, or really react in any particular way, but you can feel a shift. Something in his eyes…

Maybe it’s just your imagination. You’ve always been a little over sensitive.

“Si will be back in a sec. Stepped over tae get a drink.” He flashes a grin.

You hum, quietly folding your hand as Cass pushes a cocktail for you that she preemptively ordered. Criticize her as much as you like, she knows her mixes.

“There he is.” Johnny grins, turning slightly.

You follow his gaze, heart sinking as your eyes settle on the man approaching your table. He’s massive. Tall and wide. Total brick shithouse. His face is mostly covered by a black surgical mask. A few years ago you might have questioned it but at this point you couldn’t care less, especially when his dark eyes meet yours, small flecks of gold honey catching the low bar lights. Barely styled tufts of blonde hair stick up from his head. They look like they might curl if he let it grow a little longer.

All in all, wayyyy out of your league.

He settles into his seat with all the confidence of any military man - back ramrod straight. He extends a large hand. “Simon Riley.”

You murmur your name, somewhat enthralled by the half lidded, almost bored look in his eyes. Now that he’s closer you notice a large scar splitting his left eyebrow and light, newly forming crows feet in the corners of his eyes.

“S-so you’re military, too?” You stutter, eyes trained on his the massive hand holding his glass. It’s nicely vascular, his nails are well groomed but it also looks like he could snap you in half with it.

Not that that’s entirely a bad thing - whatever that may or may not say about you.

He nods. “I’m a Lieutenant.”

“Oh! Officer position. So you’re smart, then?” You try to be charming, to give him a sweet smile and keep your body language open.

“Enough.” He deadpans. It takes a few beats for you to realize he’s not going to say anything else.

“Uh…” You squirm awkwardly under his gaze. It’s intense - his dark eyes nearly black in the low light of the bar. “I do hair.”

Conversation is slow, to say the least. The longest answer he gives you is maybe five words. He only flips up the mask long enough to take a sip of his drink every so often. You start to talk less, opting toward a group conversation in which Johnny takes the lead, which he is obviously very good at. He regales you and Cass with a few stories of his and Simon’s adventures. Some funny, some brave, some worrying. He’s setting the man up to be a god, nearly, but Simon himself just shakes his head and insists Johnny is exaggerating.

You wonder what he sees in Simon. Alternatively, you wonder what *you’re* supposed to see in Simon. Besides his good looks, of course. He’s… bland. Obviously bored if his constant glances toward the exits and rhythmic, occasional tapping on the corner of the table are anything to go by.

“Want tae go dance, lovie?” You overhear Johnny as he leans in toward Cass.

She glances at you, then Simon, then back to you before nodding enthusiastically. “We’ll give you two some time *alone*.”

In any other situation, you’d probably beg her to stay in desperation for a conversation buffer. Here and now, though, you’re grateful. You can finally let this poor guy off the hook. You wait until they’re gone; fully out of earshot before turning to the man in front of you.

“I…uh… look…” You chew your lip, glancing between him and your folded hands on the table. “Sorry… I know I’m probably not what, uh, what you expected… I get it if you want to leave. It’s - you don’t have to stay, or whatever. Don’t have to be polite…”

He cocks an eyebrow, eyes boring through your skull. “Why would I want to leave?”

“I know what I look like. You don’t have to be nice.”

His raised brow turns into a slight frown. “I think you’re quite pretty.”

You scoff - blushing despite yourself. “Again, you don’t have to be nice.”

“Do I seem like the type to just be nice?”

You continue to gnaw at your lip. He’s got you there. Simon definietly doesn’t come off as the type to bow to polite society. “You’ve barely talked to me.”

He stares for a moment. It’s his turn to avert his eyes, swirling around the whiskey in his glass awkwardly. Almost bashfully. “It’s not you. I’m… not great in public… especially in crowds…”

Oh.

*Oh*.

You’ve completely misjudged him, haven’t you? Shit. He’s just a big awkward lug isn’t he?You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Oh God, *I’m* the asshole, aren’t I?”

He chuckles, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I’m sorry it’s just…” you scrub a hand over your face. “Most men don’t really want to be surprised with a fat girl on a blind date. Guess I assumed the worst.”

Simon hums. A low vibration that settles into your bones. He gets up, sliding into the booth side of the table beside you - his massive frame pushing into your space. He smells like spices. Cinnamon and pepper. A little hint of leather and tobacco underneath. It’s heady, and some primal part of your mind wishes you could roll around in it like a dog.

“Some men might like a waifish little thing, that’s their business, but personally…” He leans in, a large hand resting on your wide thigh. “Yeah. I like somethin’ I can get a proper handful of.”

“*Oh*.” You squeak, back stiff. Was that what you saw in Johnny’s face before? Approval?

“‘Ere’s a thought - we go back to mine. S’quiet. Can talk more freely. See where the night goes, hm?”

You smile hesitantly, finally looking up to meet his gaze. It’s honest. Kind. Dark pools of sincerity. It’s against your better judgement. Impractical. Out of character. Even so, you allow yourself to surrender with a warmth in your cheeks and a small nod.

“I’ll get an Uber.” He pulls out his phone, tapping away. “Five minutes out.”

“Want to wait outside?” You offer, nodding toward the front entrance. Simon just nods, following you out close behind. Neither of you say much of anything while you wait, but you watch him out of the corner of your eye. He taps on his leg a few times in much the same way as he did on the table.

He dutifully opens the car door for you, letting you slide in before climbing in beside you, long legs slightly cramped in the small sedan.

“You don’t live on base?” You ask as the Uber drives away from the infamous military housing. You’d been there once or twice - a while ago when you were younger and messier.

“S’too loud.” He shrugs. “Too crowded.”

“Well, at least you’re consistent.” You smile.

Simon hums, resting his hand on your thigh once again. It’s casual, not too high up or too much pressure. Not presumptuous.

“How’d Johnny get you out there in the first place? If you’re so *averse*.” You tilt your head.

He shrugs, “Was supposed to be another Sergeant we work with but I guess he cancelled. No one else was free.”

“Ah, so we’re both last choices, then.”

“Yeah?”

“Made Cass promise me free drinks if I came.”

“Smart girl.” He chuckles, holding out a hand to help you up out of the car upon your arrival. His hand is warm when you take it, and a small part of you feels disappointed when he lets go.

The building is small. Old. All red brick with a thirty year old intercom and an elevator that you’re pretty sure hasn’t been inspected since the place was built. About halfway down the hall, you start to second guess yourself. You don’t know a thing about this guy - you don’t know what’s going to happen as soon as you get on the other side of his door. His weird, bright red door. Wait - why is this whole floor covered in red doors?

“Alright?” He grunts, back turned to you as he wrestles with the lock.

“Uh - why is your floor color themed?”

Simon laughs, wide shoulders shaking with the movement. It’s a low sound, something that vibrates in his chest. Makes you want to press your ear to it, see how it feels. If it will reverberate into your bones as well. “The old lady that owns the building is a bit… unique. Likes to talk about colors and karma and destiny stuff.”

“Ah.” You nod, as if that makes any sense at all. “So you’re red?”

“Apparently.”

His apartment is actually quite homey, as you step into it. From a stiff military man like him you expected something akin to an ikea floor model. Instead it’s furnished with a well worn, green couch. A large TV with an extremely up-to date surround sound system and an entertainment center filled to the brim with CDs sits against the wall. A few movie posters fill the walls. All horror classics - you count three of the scream movies. The first two final destination. There are condensation rings on the coffee table.

Behind you, you hear the door lock and unlock three times, but you don’t pay it much mind.

“Want a drink?” Simon asks, already popping open a decanter full of something gold on a small drink cart beside the kitchen island.

“Sure.” The agreement is automatic - blurted out before you can second guess taking a drink from a total stranger.

You watch a little too closely as he takes off his light jacket, exposing his strong arms and a half sleeve tattoo. It’s a bit tacky, all skulls and military symbols. The black ink has been sun worn over time. The motif of a young getting his first tattoo after enlisting. He settles down on the couch with the decanter and two glasses, patting the spot beside him. You plop down. It’s pretty comfortable, honestly.

His fingers loop into the mask’s straps. You find yourself watching with wide eyes and bated breath as he removes it. His nose is crooked - broken more than a couple times, you think. There’s a scar running from his nose to upper lip that could only come from a cleft palette. It’s charming, in a way. When he turns toward you, you notice a patch on the side of his face that looks like a rather large burn all the way down to his sharp jaw. The roughness of him works, somehow. The scars and tattoos and choppy hair all coming together to create the visage of a life hard lived.

“You’re really pretty…” the words slip from your tongue before you can stop them.

Simon splutters out a laugh, the slightest hint of color appearing across his cheeks. “Didn’t take you for a flatterer.”

“I’m not.” You huff before nodding toward the posters. “Horror fan?”

He hums, passing you a glass. “Are you a fan? Of horror, I mean.”

“Found footage!” You grin a little too excited. “It’s the best genre.”

“Terrible taste.” He scoffs.

“Wrong! Found footage can be anything you want it to be - slasher, thriller, mystery, mocumentary. Anything.”

“Which makes them messy.” He argues. “Anyone can make one.”

“Yeah! Theres so many hidden gems out there.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Oh, I’ll put you on them. We just need to get you a good one.”

“Askin’ me on a second date already, love?”

“Oh, fuck off.” You shove at his shoulder. He was right, it is so much easier to talk freely out of the bar. Away from everyone and everything. His posture is far more relaxed, laid back into the couch with his hips canted forward rather than stiff as a board.

“We could watch one now?” He offers. If you were more sober, you might have heard the twinge of pleading in his voice. As it stands you’ve already drained the glass he gave you and are perfectly buzzed enough to be ignorant to the subtler parts of communication.

How convenient.

“Okay.” You whisper.

After a bit of debating back and forth you settle on Hell House. After all, it’s been your tried and true method for getting anyone and everyone into the genre. You don’t notice it, at first, but you slowly begin to scoot closer to him as you fold your knees up on the couch. Eventually, tucking yourself under his arm sling across the back cushions. Between him and the drinks - which you’re pretty sure is a rather fancy bourbon - you feel what could only be described as snuggly. Limbs loose and pliant, smile easy and words flowing as you cheer and jeer at the characters together.

At some point, Simon’s dark eyes meet between yours. You lean in, so does he. Inch by inch until your lips meet. It’s tentative, at first. Testing the waters. His lips are soft and move expertly against yours. You part for him has his tongue darts across your lower lip.

It’s easier than it usually is for you. Easy to let him pull you over his lap. To rest your hands on his broad shoulders as you take each other in. Normally, you’re not a person for one night stands. A commitment kind of gal. You can’t exactly say no, though, when you have a beautiful man’s hands traveling over your body like it’s the only thing in the world worth paying attention to right now.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to grunt, “Bedroom?”

“*Yes*.” You gasp between kisses.

Suddenly those large hands grasp under your ass as you’re hauled up. You grapple to hold onto the back of his neck, keeping your weight forward.

“Simon!”

“Yes, love?” He asks as if he didn’t just life you like a sack of potatoes.

“A-aren't I heavy?” You question as he makes his way through the apartment, peppering kisses over your neck and jaw.

“No.” He replies bluntly. Like what you asked was stupid.

You’re placed on a bed with all the gentleness of a rare china plate- one hand cradling your upper back and the other tucked under your thighs. There isn’t any time to take in the room before Simon is kissing you again but you do count approximately five pillows and zero navy sheets.

That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

Simon leans in close, nose ever so slightly bumping yours. “Before we keep going, I want to establish a rule. Red light means stop. At any time, for any reason.”

You can’t help but smile. “Okay.”

“Say it back, doll.”

“Red light means stop.” You reach up and cup his face. So handsome. So warm.

“Good girl.” He murmurs. “Let’s get these off, hm?” Simon pulls your clothes off deftly - dragging those rough palms over your skin as he moves and kneading at the plushness of your hips appreciatively.

You reach up to tug at his shirt. “S’not fair if I’m the only one naked.”

Simon chuckles and hastily sits back to yank the shirt over his head, giving a lovely show in the process. You think this what people mean when they talk about an Adonis. There’s a comfortable soft layer of his strong abdomen. Something you want to sink your teeth into. Your fingers trace each dip and curve of his muscles, the lovely shape of his pectorals, the raised scars littering his body. Floral shapes from bullets along with slashes and smaller jabs. A particularly nasty one runs down his side, coving his ribs. A burn, you think.

“You’re beautiful.” You murmur. Definitely out of your fucking league. You move to sit up, reaching for his waistband.

His hand pushes your shoulder back on the bed. “Let me take care of you tonight, bird.”

Your face warms. Simon kisses your cheek, continuing down to your chest and taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Gently sucking and nipping at it while flicking the other with his hand. A shameful whimper escapes your throat.

Simon leans up to murmur in your ear, “What do you want, sweet girl?”

“Want you to fuck me…” You murmur, embarrassment making you want to close your legs. His solid hips block you.

“Oh, I will, but first I want those beautiful thighs wrapped around my head.” Simon continues to place kisses down your body, over your stomach, stopping right at your panty line and tracing along it with rough fingers. His arms circle your thighs and in one swift motion your hips teeter on the edge of the bed, Simon kneeling between them. His fingers hook in the waistband of your underwear.

“W-wait…” You sit up on your elbows.

He freezes, looking up at you.

“I, uh, I haven’t exactly *landscaped* in a while… wasn’t really planning-“

Simon huffs out a laugh. “I’m a grown man, love. You think a little bush is gonna scare me off?”

All thoughts related to anything within the proximity of embarrassment come to an instant halt as Simon’s lips wrap around your clit- sucking and nipping and lapping like a man starved. Like he’d die without it. A low groan rumbles through his throat.

“F-fuck!” You gasp, whimpers and moans interrupting any chance you may have at putting words together.

“Taste so fucking good, princess.” He mumbles against you. A shaky moan rattles through you as he pushes a thick finger in, working it gently. His other than grips your hip tightly, pinning you in place. The pet-name sends a shiver down your spine - leaving you rolling your hips and clenching on the finger inside you.

“Fuck, Si…” You gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I can tell your close, baby.” Simon groans. “Cum for me. Come on, be a good girl and cum all over my fucking tongue.”

The bastard knows the power he has in that voice. He *has* to. That baritone gravel sinks in your veins and all you can do is whimper. Panting pathetically the closer you get. His fingers curl up and your back arches harshly as your climax washes over you. Your legs tremble as he works you through it; stopping just shy of pushing you too far.

“Hey!” You gasp indignantly as a jolt shoots up your spine as he settles a final, harsh suck on your clit.

Simon taps your hip, climbing back over you as you scoot up on the bed. He carelessly kicks off his pants as he goes, toeing them off before settling between your legs. Those dark eyes rake over you leisurely - taking in every inch. Every curve and dip and flaw categorically. He sucks in a breath and sighs. “Bloody ‘ell, look at you… so fuckin’ pretty.”

Your face heats and you look away. “Who’s the flatterer now?”

“Not me. Just bein’ honest.” He places a quick kiss to your soft jawline before reaching over to dig through his nightstand drawer. You don’t miss the gold foil of the condom wrapper.

You can’t stop yourself from licking your lips as he pulls off his boxer briefs. Simon is uncut, already ruddy and leaking and just begging for your mouth. Maybe next time, though. He’s already slipped on the condom, carefully hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and the other around his hip. The man has a laser-focus to him, you’ll give him that.

“Still want t’ keep goin’?” He mumbles, eyes locked on his cock as is drags between your folds.

“*Please*.” You whine pathetically. Simon’s chuckle turns into a gasp as he presses in. It’s achingly slow and you roll your hips in demand for more.

Simon lets out a low groan as his hips meet yours. The stretch is perfect - just enough to feel completely full without pushing you too far. As though your bodies were made to slot together just so. Your head falls back, chest heaving as you beg him to move, to fuck you, just *please* for the love of god-

“Needy little thing.” He gives you a sloppy smile before setting a brutal pace. You find yourself clawing at his back, clinging to him as your back arches and the most obscene sounds are systematically torn from your throat. The angle he has your hips placed causes his cock to bully that sensitive spot inside you - dragging over it with every thrust.

Simon leans toward, bracing himself on his forearms and pinning you under him as he fucks into you. “So fuckin’ good f’me. Knew you would be. So soft and sweet and goddamn *pretty*.”

“*Fuck, Simon*.” You gasp, nose bumping against his as your lips intertwine. Breaths and moans intermingle as you both chase that edge. There’s nothing else, in this moment, just you and Simon and the sounds only he has ever managed to pull from you.

Your orgasm hits you like a train. Out of nowhere and all at once, tensing every muscle into a trembling mess as you clamp down around his cock. Simon sinks his teeth into your neck as his own climax takes him, cradling you close and moaning out your name so muddled you almost miss it.

For a few moments, you stay frozen in place trying to catch your breath as you come down. Your limbs feel like jelly when you finally try to move, body limp and pliable. It almost feels like a loss as he pushes off of you, leaving you open and vulnerable to the cool night air while he ties off the condom.

“Be right back.” He murmurs, slowly climbing off you and heading for an attached bathroom off to the left.

You let your eyes slipped closed only to jump and shoot back open as a dap rag drags between your thighs. A little yelp escapes you as the rough material drags across your oversensitive clit. Simon chuckles at you, tossing the rag back somewhere in the bathroom before crawling into the bed beside you. It’s so easy to curl into his chest and let those strong arms encircle you.

“Have fun, love?” Simon murmurs into your hair.

You just hum happily, smiling against his hard chest.

“Good.”

It’s just as easy as the rest of it to fall asleep like that. To seek out the warmth of his body in your satiated haze and press into him, allowing the night and rhythmic beating of his heart to overtake you. You feel four small taps between your shoulder blades just before tipping over the edge into comfortable nothing.

You wake slowly to an empty bed. The light from the window above you streams in - bathing the room in a light golden tone. It’s cozy. The blankets seem to pull you in, keeping you snugly in place. Distantly, you hear the sound of pots and pans clinking.

Shockingly, you’re not hungover. Well, not much at least. There’s a slight twinge in your head and a not unpleasant soreness in your hips. You dig around, finding your clothes strewn across the room haphazardly. Your underwear are nowhere to be found and you eventually give up with a shrug. They weren’t one of your best pairs anyway.

When you come out of the bedroom, you pause. Simon stands in the kitchen, working on something over the stove wearing only a pair of sweatpants. They hang loosely around his hips, showing off the rises and dips of his strong muscles and well defined waist. This scene somehow feels too intimate despite your activities the night before.

“Perfect timing.” Simon turns, placing a plate down on the kitchen island. The omelette before you looks immaculate, all the way down to a light garnish on top.

Your eyes turn to saucers. “You…you made me breakfast?”

“Course.” He nods sharply as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As if *not* doing so would be some sort of affront. Either you’re still asleep and this is all a dream or you stumbled upon the perfect man through pure happenstance.

He turns the stove off and on and off twice before standing at the counter across from you while you sit on one of the stools at the island. It’s a comfortable silence as you both eat. Simon keeps glancing up at you as if waiting for your disapproval. Boyish, somehow, despite the size and breadth of him.

It’s perfect. The eggs practically melt in your mouth and the goat cheese and vegetables taste fresh. You can’t help but him happily as you eat.

By the time you’re done, you think you might be a little in love.

Maybe you should text Cass and thank her or something. Maybe a gift basket. “Oh. My phone’s dead.”

“Didn’t charge it before y’left last night?” Simon cocks an eyebrow, chewing on his last bite.

You snort. “It was last minute, remember?”

“What if I’d been some sort of psycho? What was your plan?” He grins as he takes your empty plate. If you were a more impulsive woman you may have gone so far as to lick the damn thing.

“Are you a psycho?”

“Not generally, no.”

“Well then, nothing to worry about.” You grin, watching a little too happily as he rinses down the dishes and loads the dishwasher.

Simon just scoffs at you.

You glance at the time above the stove, disappointment settling deep in your chest. “Shit. I should get going.”

“I’ll get you a cab.” Simon offers automatically, reaching for his phone.

You shift side to side, twiddling your thumbs. “Y’know… we never finished the movie…”

Simon cocks and eyebrow. From the pleased smirk on his face you can tell he knows what you’re implying. He still patiently waits for you to say it out loud.

“Would, uh, would you want to exchange numbers? Maybe… meet up… again…?” Your voice is more timid than you’d like. This fear of rejection is new. Being rejected is nothing new for you, so why does it suddenly feel so high stakes with this one guy you barely know?

You don’t miss the way his eyes light up ever so slightly at the question. “I’d love to.”

[goldfades]

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍 𝐍𝐄𝐓 ꩜ paige bueckers ⁵

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ᝰ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2.1k

ᝰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you were her rookie — quiet and a little in awe of paige bueckers. she was your star junior teammate with a backwards cap and too much charm. it started platonic until it didn’t. after last year’s final four heartbreak, everything shifted. now it’s april, you’ve just won a natty, and paige is drunk, high, and very, very in love with you at a team party. the only problem? you’re still supposed to be a secret.

ᝰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | college basketball setting, secret relationship, alcohol + weed use (crossfaded paige), fluff, heavy pining, touchy!drunk!paige, reader trying to be subtle and failing, teammates might be catching on, one kiss (hidden), a lot of love and a lot of chaos <3

ᝰ 𝒆𝒗'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 | shessss baaackkk, i missed writing for paigey poo so here's a quick fic. this was requested by this anon, hope you enjoy!

It started out simple.

You were her rookie. A wide-eyed freshman dropped into the chaos of Storrs basketball, figuring out where to stand during stretches and how not to trip over the Gatorade cart during timeouts. Paige was already a phenomenon by then — two years in, all-world talent, face of the program, eyes-on-you-every-second kind of presence. She played with the pressure of a nation and still walked into practice with her socks mismatched and a bag of fruit snacks in her hoodie pocket. Somehow, she made it all look easy.

And you? You were just trying not to drown.

She took to you fast. Teased you early and often, slung her arm around your shoulders on your third day like you’d been teammates for years. She gave you nicknames that stuck. Talked to you during warmups. Waited for you after practice. It was friendly. Casual. She was just that kind of person — magnetic and warm in that disarming, dangerous way.

Everyone loved Paige. You just happened to love her a little faster.

Still, it was platonic. At first.

She was the sun in your solar system, but you kept your orbit safe. You watched her from across the locker room and let yourself be grateful for proximity. For inside jokes and shared playlists and the way she always passed you the ball when she didn’t have to. It was enough, because it had to be.

But things shifted after the loss.

Final Four. One game short. You still couldn’t say the name of the team that beat you without feeling your throat close up. The locker room had been silent after — just the sound of jerseys being peeled off and someone’s quiet tears. Paige had sat next to you, hair still soaked with sweat, knees bouncing in frustration.

She didn’t say anything that night. Just sat there until the room was empty and you were left alone with the noise of your own failure.

That offseason, everything changed — the team, the training, and the two of you. Paige was different. Not colder, just sharper. Focused in a way that felt like a countdown ticking in the background of everything she did. You became part of her routine — not because you were trying, but because she pulled you into it. Early mornings. Late-night shooting sessions. Recovery days where you lay side by side in the training room with matching ice packs and silence thick between you.

There was a night in June where you both stayed late. The gym was mostly dark except for the soft glow above the hoop. She was shooting free throws in a hoodie that swallowed her frame, and you were half-asleep on the sideline, watching her without meaning to.

She looked over. “You good?”

You nodded. “Always.”

And then she smiled — not the cocky, performative kind, but the rare one. The one that felt like it was just for you.

You don’t remember who moved first. Or who touched who. Just the dizzy, surprising closeness. The way your hands found her hoodie, and hers found the back of your neck. The kiss — soft, unsure, not yet brave enough to mean what it meant.

But it meant everything.

By July, it was official — just not public. There were no Instagram posts, no pre-season whispers. Just a quiet understanding, solidified by pinky promises and looks that lasted too long.

You wanted to keep it sacred. She wanted to keep it safe.

Mostly, you both agreed on one thing: no distractions.

Not this year.

You’d watched the trophy get handed to someone else. Felt the sting of a season ending in silence. Paige had told you, with eyes fierce and voice steady, “We’re not losing again.” And she meant it.

So the relationship — this thing between you — became a tucked-away part of your lives. Hidden, but not small. Private, not pretend.

Azzi figured it out first. She always did. She caught the way Paige looked at you during team dinners, like she couldn’t help it. Said nothing at first, just raised her eyebrows and smiled like she knew a secret. KK caught on later, after a particularly reckless scrimmage where you dove for a ball and Paige went full linebacker to break your fall. Geno — well, Geno walked into the film room one day and caught you both half-asleep on the couch, limbs tangled, her head resting on your chest.

No words. Just a long sigh. A muttered, “Jesus Christ.”

But he didn’t say anything to the team. Didn’t ask you to stop. Just stared at Paige for a little too long during the next film session and offered you a longer leash on your shooting days. You assumed it was his version of a blessing.

Still, you stayed quiet. For the team. For the goal. For the dream you’d both been chasing since the first day of summer workouts.

Now, the dream was real.

The championship banner was hanging. The nets were cut. The confetti had been swept away and turned into keepsake Ziplocs by the equipment staff. There were bruises on your knees and polish chipped from your nails, but there was a ring on your finger and a medal around your neck.

And there was Paige — across the room in a backwards snapback and a net draped around her neck like a trophy chain.

She looked like every bad decision you’d ever want to make.

Loud. Wild. Free.

She wasn’t drinking (yet) — none of you really were, not officially — but she had the swagger of someone who’d just stolen a whole city and didn’t plan to give it back. She was running the beer pong table with Azzi, yelling Drake lyrics and calling herself “Champagne Papi” like it was her God-given title. Every time she made a shot, she shouted “Wet like I’m Book!” and turned to look for you.

Your stomach flipped each time.

You tried to play it cool. Sat on the kitchen counter with KK and a cup of something citrusy, talking about nothing. Let her do her thing. Let the adrenaline run its course.

But you could feel it in your chest. The pull.

She caught your eye once through the crowd and tilted her chin in that way she always did — subtle, but claiming. You. Mine. Us.

You ducked your head before anyone could see you smile.

It was still a secret. But it didn’t feel small anymore.

It felt like something breaking open. Something bright. Something inevitable.

It was all fun and fire until Paige got her hands on the alcohol and weed.

You weren’t even sure when it happened — one minute she was steady-handed, sharp-eyed, yelling over music with her usual borderline-annoying charisma. The next, she was laughing so hard she was folded over a beanbag, clinging to a bottle of vodka like it was holy, and insisting to anyone who’d listen that “net necklaces are gonna be, like, a THING. I'm starting a movement.”

You were sitting on the floor beside her, back against the couch, letting the night pulse around you. Someone was playing trap edits of early 2000s bangers through a Bluetooth speaker. Someone else was trying to stack red solo cups into a pyramid on the kitchen island. Azzi had long since disappeared upstairs with a pack of shooters and a speaker under one arm.

You were just hoping no one noticed the way Paige’s thigh was pressed flush against yours. Or the fact that her fingers had found your wrist twenty minutes ago and hadn’t let go.

Not that she was being subtle.

“Baby,” she said suddenly, leaning into your shoulder with a weight that was more affection than balance, “tell them about how I scored nineteen in the second half even though I got kneed in the stomach. Tell them. You were there.”

You blinked. Swallowed a laugh. “That’s not exactly how it happened.”

“Okay but—you saw it. I was limping. I was, like, emotionally bruised.”

“You literally waved off the trainer and flexed at the camera.”

“Yeah, after I cried internally.”

She was completely serious. Glossy-eyed, flushed cheeks, cap still backwards and askew like she’d forgotten it was on. The net around her neck had frayed slightly at the bottom, and she kept absentmindedly fingering the knots while she talked. It felt like the perfect metaphor — tangled, over-the-top, a little frayed, but absolutely her.

She shifted again, resting her head against your shoulder now, her voice dropping to something quieter. “You looked real pretty after the game. Like, the prettiest. Even with your mascara on your chin.”

You stiffened slightly. “Paige.”

“What?” Her voice was sing-song now. “I can say that. We won. You’re my good luck charm. My... talisman.”

“Talisman?” you echoed, eyebrows raised.

She grinned, loopy and pleased with herself. “My enchanted girlfriend. It’s giving fantasy novel. It’s giving—we ride at dawn.”

Someone snorted nearby. KK, probably. You didn’t turn to check.

Instead, you glanced down at Paige, her legs stretched out across the carpet, the hem of her shirt hitched up slightly from where she kept fidgeting. Her arm had migrated from your wrist to your waist, loose and lazy, and her fingers were now hooked in one of your belt loops like she was anchoring herself to you. Every now and then, she’d give a gentle tug, like she was making sure you were still there.

You were fairly certain she wasn’t aware of how obvious she was being. Or maybe she was. Maybe she just didn’t care anymore — not after the trophy, the press conferences, the adrenaline still wearing off in slow waves.

“I think everyone’s too drunk to notice,” she whispered after a moment, cheek brushing your jaw.

You inhaled sharply. “That’s not the point.”

She looked up at you, blinking wide, adoring eyes. “I love you.”

Your stomach flipped. “Paige.”

“I do. I love you and I don’t care if people know. We won. You can’t get mad at me tonight.”

You glanced around, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement, every sound. KK was across the room deep in conversation with one of the managers. Someone was shouting over a game of flip cup. Azzi was still upstairs. You leaned your head closer to hers, trying to sound stern, but your voice came out softer than intended.

“You’re not in trouble. Just… maybe stop yelling that you’re in love with me across the room.”

“I didn’t yell,” she said indignantly.

“You absolutely yelled.”

“Fine.” She nuzzled into your side. “Then I’m whispering it now.”

You sighed, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

She stayed like that for a while — curled up beside you, tipsy and affectionate, talking in circles about the game and the after-party and how she was convinced her net-chain idea was actually kind of brilliant. She leaned into every touch. Her fingers brushed your knee, your hip, your collarbone — innocent spots, but familiar, unthinking. Like she was trying to memorize you all over again.

Someone passed by and clapped her on the shoulder, offering a half-hug and a “Hell of a game, Bueckers.” She smiled and thanked them, but didn’t move away from you. Didn’t even blink.

Eventually, the party thinned out. The music quieted to a low pulse, and the chaos of earlier mellowed into a lazy buzz of laughter and half-finished drinks.

You were still on the floor when Azzi returned, holding a bottle of Gatorade and one eyebrow arched.

“You two good?” she asked, not even bothering to hide the smirk.

“We’re great,” Paige chirped, already half-asleep against your shoulder. “Better than great. We’re champions. Did you know we’re champions?”

Azzi snorted. “No way.”

“Deadass.”

You shot Azzi a look — somewhere between pleading and I will kill you if you say something. She raised both hands in mock surrender and drifted off toward the couch.

Eventually, you helped Paige up — a slow, giggly process that involved her pretending to be a baby deer on ice skates and you dragging her by the elbow.

She looped both arms around your shoulders once she was standing, the net bouncing against your chest.

“We did it,” she whispered, her lips brushing your ear.

You pulled her closer. “Yeah. We did.”

And you let her kiss you then — just for a second, just tucked into the corner where no one could see. It tasted like orange Gatorade and celebration and something that had been waiting for months to breathe.

You didn’t know what came next. Didn’t know how much longer this secret could stay secret, or if you even wanted it to anymore.

But for now, there was only this.

The win. The night. The girl in a backwards cap and a fraying net, clinging to you like a lifeline.

And love — loud, wild, inevitable — beating out its rhythm against your ribs.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[untilwefind]

Good Luck Protocol

Prompt from one of my lovely anons. I got so carried away, I literally couldn't include the full thing in the answer box🩵

College au where Will and Mack have been dating and accidentally created a pregame ritual of good luck kisses before games. It's beanpot day and while objectively everyone loves those two in love dorks they insist on them not being alone with "the enemy" on game day. Leads to Gabe and Leno going with Will and Aiden and Lane going with Mack to meet before the game to do said ritual. I picture this being alpha/omega but doesn't have to be!

Game Day: Monday, 6:51 PM | TD Garden Tunnel

Mack paces hard enough to scuff the rubber under his skates.

“He’s going to unravel,” Lane mutters to Aiden, who is leaning against the cinderblock wall, arms crossed, like this isn’t DEFCON ONE.

“He’s already unraveled,” Aiden says. “Look at his hands.”

Mack’s fingers are flexing open and shut like he’s ready to throw a punch or maybe a tantrum. Probably both.

“He’ll be here.” Aiden tries.

Mack whips around. “This is the Beanpot. I—he always shows up before games. He always kisses me before games. It's a thing.”

“It's a thing,” Aiden echoes, mostly to himself, like he’s trying to rewire his brain to accept that his baby brother has a literal game-day hormone ritual with Boston College’s golden-boy alpha.

He doesn’t succeed.

Lane shrugs. “If Will doesn’t make it in the next five minutes, we’re faking an ankle sprain.”

“You’re not faking anything. You’re going to be normal,” Aiden argues.

“I’m going to die," Mack whines.

Preseason | Mid-October | Boston U vs Harvard

Their first “ritual” isn’t even intentional. Will finds Mack behind the rink, bouncing a soccer ball off the wall, an hour before puck drop. He’s supposed to be stretching with his line.

Mack doesn’t look over.

Will kisses him on the jaw and says, “You’ll do great.” Just that.

Mack scores twice and assists on the game-winner.

Afterward, Lane chirps him about having literal hearts in his eyes during warmup. Aiden tells him not to get soft on them.

Mack pretends it meant nothing. But the next week, he finds Will behind the visiting benches and tugs him into a shadowed hallway. Doesn’t speak. Just kisses him and goes.

Will scores four goals that night.

Game Day: Monday, 6:53 PM | Boston College Locker Room

“I don’t get why you can’t just see him after the game,” Leno is saying. He’s trying, he really is.

“Because it’s before the game,” Will says, exasperated. “It’s a whole thing now. It’s worked for like… every major game.”

Gabe, sitting on the bench and taping his stick, sighs. “We literally had to escort you to meet him before the Northeastern game because you started vibrating.”

“You’re vibrating now,” Leno adds.

Will’s jaw flexes. “That’s because they’re not letting him come down here. You don’t understand, he gets weird before games. He spirals.”

“He’s always weird,” Gabe says.

“He spirals more,” Will corrects. “And he hasn’t taken his usual nap. I bet he didn’t eat.”

Gabe and Leno exchange a look and finally Gabe claps his hands and stands.

“Alright. Let’s go. If Celebrini combusts on Aiden’s watch, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Game Day: Monday, 6:55 PM | Tunnel between BU & BC locker rooms

Aiden is mid-sentence, probably a lecture about centering breathing, when Mack’s head whips up.

He bolts.

“No running in the—” An equipment manager yells from down the hall.

Will rounds the corner just in time to catch Mack’s momentum like it’s a puck to the gut.

Mack grabs his collar. “You’re late.”

Will breathes out, forehead falling against Mack’s. “You look like you were about to torch the place.”

“You’re not wrong,” Lane mutters behind them.

“Alright, let the tragic lovers have their moment so we can all pretend this didn’t happen," Gabe huffs.

Leno adds, “Yeah, yeah, quickie luck charm, then we part them like Moses and the Red Sea.”

Mack’s fists are clenched in Will’s jersey. “I was about to lose it.”

"You already were," Aiden mutters.

“I know,” Will says, soft. He noses along Mack’s temple. “Me too.”

Will doesn’t waste time. He tucks his face against Mack's hair, pulling the omega more firmly against his chest. Mack steps into him instantly, chest to chest, like his body’s been waiting to reset against Will’s heartbeat all day.

“Hey,” Will says softly. “You’re okay.”

“No, I’m not. I haven’t eaten. I tried but the protein bar tasted like cardboard.”

Will makes a sound, half amusement, half empathy.

Then comes the superstition.

Will pulls a small silver coin from his other pocket, their stupid little “game-day totem,” which used to be a quarter from a vending machine snack they split after their first NCAA preseason game against each other, but has since become sacred. He presses it into Mack’s palm. Mack closes his fingers over it, squeezes once, then hands it back.

Will slides it into the laces of his skate where no one will see.

Mack runs two knuckles along the inside of Will’s wrist. It’s just a brush. Light. Skin to skin.

Will touches the side of Mack’s jaw. Not possessive, just grounding.

Mack leans in to bump their foreheads together. “Safe,” he breathes.

“Safe,” Will echoes.

They kiss.

It’s not long, they never are before games, but it’s reverent. Warm. Mack’s fingers curl around the collar of Will’s shirt like he needs to anchor there or he’ll float off entirely.

Someone coughs behind them. Lane mutters, “You two should be illegal.”

“If I throw up, it’s on you, Smith.” Aiden grunts, averting his eyes.

They ignore them.

Will pulls back and taps twice against the center of Mack’s chest, his last step in the protocol.

Mack exhales shakily. “You’ll be amazing.”

“You’ll be better.”

“Impossible.”

Will grins. “You know I’m gonna take the faceoff like I’m in love with you.”

“You are in love with me.”

Will doesn’t deny it, just pulls back slightly.

“You’re gonna crush us. Lane’s gonna cherry-pick and you’re still gonna outscore him.”

"Hey.”

“You done being unbearable now?” Gabe calls.

“Never.”

“Good. Because your whole line’s feeding off this Romeo-and-Juliet mess," Leno huffs.

November | BU vs BC

They play against each other, and it’s electric.

Trash talk gets breathy. Every hit turns into foreplay. The crowd doesn’t know they’re watching two people actively pining mid-check.

At intermission, Mack’s heart is racing so hard he nearly pukes in the tunnel. Will slips out from the opposing bench, under the pretense of “equipment fix,” and grabs his wrist.

“You’re buzzing,” he murmurs. “You good?”

Mack stares at him, eyes wide. “You’re hot when you’re mad.”

“You’re not supposed to say that when we’re trying to beat each other.”

Mack shrugs. “Weird. Still true.”

Will, despite himself, smiles.

Mack scores on the next shift.

Game Day: Monday, 6:59 PM | Outside the TD Garden Ice Entrance

They’re being pulled apart now, Gabe tugging Will, Aiden pushing Mack, like divorce court for bonded idiots.

“You got your kiss,” Aiden says under his breath, low enough that no one hears. “Now go be better than him.”

“He’s not the enemy," Mack grumbles without thinking.

Aiden’s face flickers. He’s quiet a second too long.

Then, gently, “Right now, he has to be.”

Mack nods. But his heart doesn’t agree.

Will looks over his shoulder once, just once, before slipping through the tunnel toward the maroon and gold side.

December | BU vs Cornell

It’s a brutal game. Mack’s shoulder is wrecked from a dirty hit. He refuses to be pulled.

At the end of the second, Will climbs three barriers to get to the trainer’s hallway and pins him there with a look.

“You should’ve sat,” Will growls.

“You would’ve,” Mack says, smiling through the pain, “but I’m not a coward.”

Will laughs, half pained, half furious. “I hate you so much.”

“Liar," Mack mumbles into a kiss.

BU wins in overtime. Mack’s out for a week. Will checks in every night.

Game Day: Monday, 7:17 PM | Beanpot Semifinal Warmups

The rule is no eye contact.

That’s what they told each other when it started getting too obvious on game days. When even the assistant coaches noticed the staring.

But during warmups, there’s no real separation of space. The whole rink is open. They skate loops, their patterns crossing just slightly enough for stolen moments.

Mack sees him first.

Will’s stretching at the circle, one knee down, gloved hand bracing his thigh. Mack passes behind him and lets his glove brush Will’s calf. The smallest touch.

Will doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react.

But when Mack loops back, Will shifts his weight and drags his stick tip behind him, a double curve in the snow.

It’s not a signal anyone else would recognize.

But Mack knows: it’s an M-shape. Will likes to argue that it's a W. Their initials.

Mack’s heart clenches. He exhales hard and pushes off faster, fire in his chest now. The kind that says go.

This is Beanpot Day.

They’re on opposite sides of the rink, but their luck is already sealed.

[alltimecharlo]

I think puck bunny will would be so interesting!

anon you are SO right… 🩵 emphasis on the puckbunny here lol :) fic under the cut!!

Will Smith is bored of normal guys.

Frat boys? Been there. Finance bros? Literally couldn’t pay him to go back. Guys who talk about Bitcoin and forget your name mid-hookup?

No thank you.

So when his roommate drags him to a Sharks game on a Thursday night—good seats, cheap beer, no expectations—Will goes purely to look hot and scream a little. He wears a cropped Sharks tee and a tiny silver chain, tucks his hands in the back pockets of his jeans when he walks down the aisle, and doesn’t pay attention to the roster.

Until he shows up.

#71.

Will notices him during warmups. Chestnut hair. Angry-looking. Rookie, judging by the way the older players are chirping him. Gorgeous, in a punchable kind of way.

Will leans forward over the glass, licking salt off the rim of his cup.

“Who’s that?” he asks his roommate, eyes locked on the guy doing rapid-fire wrist shots like he’s mad at the puck.

His roommate checks the scoreboard. “That’s Macklin Celebrini. First-round pick. Supposed to be, like, the next Crosby.”

Will squints. “He’s kinda cute. In a grumpy, scowly, never-smiled-a-day-in-his-life way.”

“Yeah, well,” his roommate says, already bored, “he’s probably not looking for guys in crop tops.”

Will smirks. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

⸻

The game is a blur of lights and music and cold beer, but Will watches him the whole time.

Mack takes two big hits and throws three. He doesn’t score, but he’s everywhere—relentless, magnetic. The Sharks win in OT, the crowd goes nuts, and Will’s already halfway down the stairs before the buzzer finishes.

He knows what he looks like—eyes lined, lips glossy, tee riding up when he moves. He lingers near the players’ tunnel, pretending to scroll on his phone, chewing gum slow. His stomach buzzes with possibility.

A security guy walks by. “Players only, man.”

Will smiles sweetly. “Just waiting on a friend.”

It’s mostly bullshit.

Until, suddenly, it’s not.

Because Macklin Celebrini walks out of the tunnel with his helmet tucked under his arm, looking a little dazed and sweaty, and Will steps right into his path.

Mack stops short.

He looks at Will.

Will looks back.

And then, very calmly, Will says, “Hey. Good game.”

Mack blinks. “Uh. Thanks.”

“You don’t know me,” Will says. “But I came to see you tonight.”

Mack frowns. “You a reporter or something?”

Will laughs. “Do I look like a reporter?”

Mack glances him up and down—at the crop top, the necklace, the gloss. “No.”

Will steps closer. “Good. Then you know I’m here for something else.”

Mack’s ears go red. His mouth opens, then closes. He clears his throat.

“You a fan?”

“I am now.”

There’s a beat of silence where neither of them moves.

Then Will tilts his head, biting gently on his straw. “You going out tonight?”

Mack shrugs. “Team might hit a bar for, like, one drink.”

Will smiles. “Skip it.”

Mack’s brows lift. “Why?”

Will leans in, just a little. “Because I’m staying five minutes away. And I’d really like to get to know you better.”

Mack’s pupils blow wide.

Will doesn’t push. He just waits, gaze steady, letting the tension pull tight between them like a string.

Finally, Mack says, “Okay.”

⸻

The Uber ride is a blur—Will’s hand on Mack’s thigh, Mack staring out the window like he can’t believe this is happening. The rookie energy is strong. Nervous but wired. Will finds it adorable.

They get upstairs, Will’s keycard stutters on the first swipe, and Mack’s standing behind him like a furnace. The door clicks open and Will turns, and they just look at each other.

“You ever done this before?” Will asks, a little amused, a little tender.

Mack shrugs. “Not like this.”

Will smiles, soft and sure. “That’s okay. I got you.”

He kisses Mack first.

It’s easy. Mack’s taller, strong, but he lets Will take the lead, lets Will guide him back toward the bed. Their mouths slide together—hot, slow, just the right edge of hungry. Will tastes adrenaline, Gatorade, the aftershock of overtime.

Mack groans, low and quiet, like he’s been waiting forever for this exact thing.

⸻

After, they lie tangled in the sheets. Mack’s shirt is somewhere on the floor. Will’s gloss is smudged halfway across his cheek.

Mack runs a hand down Will’s bare side. “You really came to the game for me?”

Will grins. “I had a feeling you’d be my type.”

“What type is that?”

Will rolls over on top of him, smirking. “Hot, repressed, slightly overwhelmed hockey rookies.”

Mack flushes. “Jesus.”

Will kisses his jaw. “Don’t worry. I’m very supportive of your journey.”

Mack snorts, wrapping his arms around Will’s waist. “You’re not what I expected tonight.”

Will hums. “You either, superstar.”

They fall asleep like that—tangled, warm, happy.

And the next morning, Mack slips out for morning skate, kisses Will on the temple, and says, “Text me?”

Will grins into the pillow. “Already did.”

♡

[blue-jisungs]

sway

[ song inspo ! ] sway by michael bublé

[ summary ! ] sicheng as your ballroom dance instructor <3 spoiler: you are both crushing on each other~~

[ word count ! ] 1697

[ author's note ! ] this may or may not have been inspired by my crush that later turned out to be an asshole..... but uh sicheng in a shirt<3

stepping into your dance class, you gnawed at your lower lip nervously. the other people were already here, waving at you. 

“hi, how you’ve been?” one of them – yeri – asked, tilting her head. you knew her the best out of the group but you wouldn’t call her a friend yet. 

“good! and you?” you asked, walking up to her. yeri tucked a strand that fell out of her ponytail and just smiled. 

“me too. i’m excited for today’s class, and you?” she tilted her head and pointed at the instructor “he dressed up, didn’t he?”

shyly looking over, you nodded. it was no secret sicheng, your dance instructor, was attractive. last class, when you just had a choreography to learn, he had black sweatpants on and a t-shirt with something on it. 

today, however… since you were about to learn tango, he had an elegant outfit on. his black shoes shone in the light of the training room, even his hair slicked back subtly. 

“you’re blushing” yeri nudged your elbow and you grunted, looking back at her. you missed the way sicheng smiled at you. 

“how is everyone today?” sicheng asked, his voice smooth as honey sending chills down your spine. 

you signed up for the dance class to finally learn something other than drunk dancing while clubbing. it was supposed to be fun and relaxing. but you never would have thought that you’d fall deep for the dance instructor. he was literally sent from heaven: handsome, charming, gentle… and on top of that, he had a fashion sense and could dance well? how on earth was he not taken yet? (you knew he’s single – yeri stalked him after the first class and came to such a conclusion, and you decided to trust her).

you noticed his gaze lingered on you a little longer when everyone hummed or nodded. 

“i’m happy to see you today. as promised, i’ll teach you tango basics. and if you like it, we can continue during next class as well” sicheng smiled sweetly and walked up to the mirror, back facing you “let’s warm up” 

yeri chuckled and you followed the instructions. your dance class consisted of a bunch of girls and even less boys, mostly university students just like you. but you probably were the oldest anyway. 

when sicheng finished with the warmup, you were in awe how he looked so effortless - you were already starting to struggle a bit and your hair got messed up from all the jumping. but he looked flawless. 

“okay, now i would like you to pair up” he hummed and you immediately faced yeri. she shot you a grin and bowed dramatically. 

“my lady” she chuckled. the pairs were soon formed, waiting curiously for the next instructions. sicheng was facing you now, slowly walking back and fourth. 

“tango is a sensual dance, it’s all about closeness to your partner. most of the time, the woman does all of the work” he nodded and looked around “two very important things: remember to keep your backs straight and knees slightly bent” 

“this is gonna be so awkward” you joked quietly and he turned around once again. maybe you were imagining things but you thought he looked at you through the mirror. 

“now, the first steps. let’s start slow and steady” sicheng instructed and showed the steps. 

just like he said, his back was as straight as a ruler and knees bent. he kept his hands glued to his chest to highlight the posture. you observed his footwork closely, paying attention to which leg should move first. 

his moves were smooth, water-alike, and flowy. you were in awe, shaking your head. 

“how on earth am i supposed to do that?” you whispered and heard his small scoff. 

“now try repeating after me. your partner should start from the opposite leg” he encouraged. and surprisingly, you managed to catch pretty quickly. observing his movements all the time, you mirrored them. he was also going slow and counting the steps.

after a short while, when everyone seemed to understand, sicheng started walking around the room to monitor the moves closely. in the meantime, he also played tango music. 

“if you feel confident already, you can try it in pairs. remember about your knees and back! also, the man should grab his partner’s hand and the other should be on her arm” sicheng announced and approached one pair, fixing their pose. your back was facing him as you and yeri started trying the steps in pair. 

“he’s so into you” she snickered quietly, grabbing your hand gently. 

“stop saying that, im going to be delusional” you giggled in response, trying to focus on the steps. but it wasn’t that easy when you had to start from the other foot, having the woman’s position in the pair. 

you were so focused on your feet doing it right that you haven’t noticed sicheng was observing you two. 

“i feel like im not doing something right” you laughed and looked up, eyes widening when you saw his smiling face.

“may i?” he asked and you froze. yeri whipped her head and let go of you, letting him take her spot. you realized he’s still waiting for you answer. 

“oh, oh! you mean like… yes, sure!” you stuttered and he walked up, taking yeri’s spot.  

his hands were larger and more calloused than hers but his touch was as tender as hers. he held you gently, the hand on your arm spreading warmth all over your body. 

“yeri did well but let me show you were was the feeling of a mistake. follow me. one, two… mhm, here you just sway on that leg” he explained, leading you. it felt all natural, you just succumbed to his instructions. you kept staring at his feet, wanting to remember what he was doing – but also you knew that if you looked him in the face, you’d turn fierce red. “and here’s the deal: when you do another step, you don’t just move your feet. you drag it slowly, like this” 

“ooooh, it makes sense!” yeri cheered.

you copied what he did. 

“exactly like this. now let’s go from the beginning” sicheng’s words blended with the music. you kept your gaze glued to his black, shiny shoes– “look at me, y/n. you have to look at your partner” 

you scrunched your nose and rose your head up, remembering to straighten your back. the proximity hit you, his face was closer than you thought it would be. 

“i, i know. it’s just that i’m, you know… not lost when im looking at my feet” you explained nervously, almost forced to look into his ebony eyes. sicheng just sent you a warm smile. 

“you’re not lost now, though. you need to feel the music, feel your partner. it will come naturally” he hummed and you realized you’re following his lead, legs working on their own. 

you kept looking in his eyes, blush spreading on your face. feeling as if it was just you, him… and the training room turned into a ballroom. 

“you got it. good job” sicheng grinned and let go of you, snapping you out of the trance. “yeri, im giving you back your dance partner”

“about time” she teased and only when he walked away to approach the other couple, you and yeri started giggling. “you got so red!” 

“shut up!”

“no, literally, he’s so into you! the way he looked at you… and you are the only one who he sanded with, he only says what you need to fix… oh i’m sick!” yeri whined dramatically and you just slapped her arm. 

the class came to an end, sicheng turned off the music to bid goodbye. 

“you all did really well! do you want to continue tango next week?” he asked, scanning your reactions. most of the people nodded and he just smiled in response. 

“duh!” yeri grinned, saying loudly. tango meant more close encounters, so she was ready to sacrifice her time for you to get closer to sicheng. 

“i’m glad to hear you’re so enthusiastic. so you next week then” he crossed his arms, swaying a bit on his legs. you were about to leave, when you heard his voice again “y/n, do you mind staying for a minute?” 

yeri exchanged shocked looks with you and then just winked, running off. 

“yeah, sure, no problem” you answered, a bit shocked he knows your name. well… it’s not like he has to, right? 

when everyone left, he walked up to you a bit closer. his ebony eyes looked at you softly, a gentle smile adorning his lips. 

“you did really good today, you know” he hummed and you nodded. 

“thank you” you said, almost whispered. 

“i just… hm, how do i put this…” sicheng hesitated and chuckled “i think you’re really cute” 

“what?” your eyes widened, looking at his face in shock. 

“yeah. despite getting shy often you still manage to show confidence in your moves. and, well, you’re cute as in… just… shit” he laughed nervously and that was the first time you’ve seen him break his stoic facade “would you like to go on a date? maybe a coffee after class or a dinner. if you want to” 

so yeri was right. 

“of course. i’d love to, i really would” you grinned and saw a wave of relief wash over his face “as long as we don’t have to dance, i’d still be intimidated” 

“let’s leave that for another time” he sent you a smug smile. scoffing, you couldn’t help the wide grin from growing. 

“let’s grab a coffee this weekend, hm?” you asked, a sudden wave of bravery taking over you “you can give me your number, we can, uh… establish the details later” 

“sure” sicheng answered. 

after exchanging numbers, you waved goodbye to him. he had another class waiting for him. he was looking at you, whipped. 

“see you soon, then!” you smiled and walked away a bit dramatically, in the step pattern you just learned. 

sicheng couldn’t help but giggle, not quite still believing that it just happened. 

wayv m.list | event m.list

taglist. @l3visbby ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @mon2sunjinsuver ,, @w3bqrl ,,

@slytherinshua ,, @haecien ,, @eternalgyu ,, @rubywonu ,, @tricky-ritz

[stripedstarsblueflags]

i didn't win the wheel: episode 1

(if anyone knows how to make gifs 🥺 please help me out until then it's shitty screenshot summer)

Alex: "I'm gonna say... 400,000."

Logan: "I'm gonna say 430,000”

ok cool let's introduce the WHOLE DYNAMIC of this episode in one still, shall we? alex is looking directly into the camera pondering the shit out of this question, and *this is logan's face*. look at that. look at that fucking smirk. alex is like "you know what? i'm going to get this question right" and logan is like "you know what? i'm gonna use the oldest trick in the pick-a-number-1-through-10 book and i'm gonna WATCH you get annoyed with me and i'm gonna love every second of it." he knows what he's doing

Alex: "Oh, you're playing that game, are you? Just gonna go a bit above?"

Logan: *smoothest fucking wink i've ever seen* *the fucking TONGUE CLICK*

ok WHAT. how am i supposed to handle this i– let's start with the fact that even before logan gave his answer he's leaning back, head cocked, gazing at alex ✨like that✨ practically about to do the arm-around-the-shoulder-thing **before** because he knows exactly how alex is going to react. that fucking wink he had that planned from the beginning. even before alex phrased it like "oh, you're playing that game, are you?" which WOAH BRAT TAMER ALEX DID NOT SEE THAT COMING and jesus christ i feel like i'm intruding on something. this doesn't even feel like ao3 this feels like the beginning of a shit 2k word wattpad draft but no this actually happened

Alex (after guessing exactly 1 less than Logan's and getting it right): "Yes!"

Logan (sunshine smile): "You're a donut..."

okay so apparently alex’s reaction to being called a donut 🍩 is that smile and leaning into logan for the first time in the video and giggling and idk fucking blushing like what kind of degradation kink is this... like i'm sorry i love you landoscar but "you freaking muppet! you got all the hangers!" will need to step aside for whatever is going on here

need i remind you this is ALEX'S reaction to kph. logan brought the k in there first guys leave your what the fuck is a kilometer bit behind ok!!! (i'll find this eventually but logan answering that question on "wrong answers only" with "i'm gonna answer this correctly. it's 1.6 to a mile" is the hottest thing i've ever seen)

aaaaaand here we go end of the video. DO I NEED TO DO A SIDE BY SIDE COMPARISON OR WHAT actually–

alright that's the best you're gonna get with preview. but LET'S BREAK IT DOWN. so we go from logan doing literally all of the talking, all of the video introduction and explaining the activity, and alex even with his whole "oooh ray of sunshine" image clearly thinks this is stupid, he even makes little sarcastic hand gestures when logan describes it. and even right in the beginning he's not looking at the camera he looks like an adhd kid sat next to the window (come on alex look alive). but THREE MINUTES of an admittedly stupid game he's done a total 180, smiling and laughing and literally that wasn't that funny but now i'm gonna laugh because you're the one who said it and leaning in to read the cards for the first time and- well logan is mostly unchanged. from the first question he decided his main task for this video was literally just to check out his teammate at point blank range with his emotions very very clear on his face (alex is OBLIVIOUS af but then again he did pull out the "oh you're playing that game are you?" and i was NOT ready for that so who knows)

ok so episode 1 is very much a warmup for the rest of the series i know that. obviously this isn't the "reaching stratospheric levels of homoeroticism that actually leave a wake of collateral damage to all compulsory heterosexuality in a 50 m radius" as charlos but holy shit it's a lot more obvious than i thought!!!

episode 2

[kaihuntrr]

A bunch of Scott designs I did for warmups <3 using my personal head canons for each one! Explanations for their looks and ‘names’ down below!

Life Series: Scott!

I love all of them so much,, I wanted to keep their outfits and general vibes simple, they’re all pretty but also some practicality in their wardrobes as they are in some type of survival game ehe.

3rd Life: Poppy

Self explanatory name, this version of Scott is the sweetest and the most disconnected from the survival games. He only wanted to live with his husband in their little paradise in forms of flower valleys and endless wheat fields, completely isolated from the war. His outfit is of a gardener, overalls and a sunhat with his and Jimmy’s favorite flower; poppies. He grew out his hair and ties it, not wanting it to be in the way of his work. He is overly protective of his husband, wanting to keep him safe and away from danger for as much as he possibly can. A widow’s rage is something else.

I imagine 3rd Life designs to be more humanoid, so Scott here is an elf! This soul of his moved on to Empires, where he spends the rest of his days with his husband in sweet bliss.

Last Life: Star

Earned the name after being victorious in the game of betrayal. A guiding star to others, he keeps the titular mark on his forehead for the remainder of his time in the Life Series due to being a winner, a reminder of him losing his final life to a lightning bolt. He is the most cunning, using his wits and trust to be a strong ally. He lived in the center of all the chaos with his partner, his best friend Pearl, using little moths to communicate to each other. With sheltered forests and a cottage as their ‘home’, he has deer-like features and antlers to boot. Perhaps this was an attempt to recreate a copy of Poppy, as he has some memories of ‘his’ previous life. He dresses in a neat dress shirt and vest, matching with his best friend and fitting the aesthetic of their pretty house in the woods. Just don’t touch the wall, please.

I wanted to use yellows for this design, as he starts off with two lives! Plus, the contrast looks so good <3 this soul is the host of future life seasons, having full clarity of this life when he goes into future events. Once a series is over, all precious memories will wash over him and the star will hover over his head. This is his ‘real’ form, his ‘winning’ soul.

Double Life: Venus

Named after the brightest ‘star’ next to the moon, he feels isolated. He felt something familiar as he was brought into this life, but he never expected to be connected to Pearl. He shouldn’t blame her, but he doesn’t deal well with being alone. Somehow, he still has a brief memory of Poppy’s as he feels.. something when Jimmy’s soulbound isn’t with him. He loves being with Cleo, his chosen soulmate, and being Pearl’s soulbound meant he could feel her frustration and loneliness. Should he have been there for her? Likely. He couldn’t bare seeing her face again. He couldn’t bare losing her again. Not again. Maybe it was better this way, they’re both hurting. He hopes this is better.

I used green as he was green in his iconic and heartbreaking moment of splitting off with Pearl and Martyn to join up with Cleo, and also I can remember him being mostly green until Pearl ups and ruins that- he’s a ram, his horns shifting to ram horns to solidify his stubborn nature to reconnect, and a general ranch aesthetic given he and Cleo made a whole soulmate ranch thing. The hair over his eyes are to hide his teary eyes, still missing and hurting over his soulmate.

Limited Life: Coral

A fitting name for the person who established the Coral Isles. The cottage was in the middle of it all, so he wanted his life to be away from all the drama, just by the side of the map near the ocean to relax. Unfortunately, things just won’t stop coming for him. Be it being the boogeyman first, allying with someone who you swore was supposed to kill you, and more memories of your past life you don’t understand coming back to haunt you, it’s a little too much. He can’t help but be flirty with Martyn though, the man definitely bites back. He finds his partner’s overprotective-ness rather adorable, and he’d do anything for him back, even give him time.

Fish!! Drastically different than my AU design, which is good- used his red skin as he did wonderfully as a red name and whenever I think of Limited Life I’d always think of Red Scott, which I adore <3 he does have long hair, can’t not have his long hair for him!

Until series five comes out, these are my thoughts and ideas for Life Series Scott! I’d love to write out possible interaction ideas but I’m afraid this post might be too long LMAO- a good break from Sea Prince content, but I absolutely adore the life series and the pseudo-story I have for this guy in particular. Who knows, you might see fullbodies of them in the future? :D no promises!

[teapartyprincess4two]

I need a jealous matt fic from you. like actuallyyyy

Urban Cowboy- M. Sturniolo

pairing: Cowgirl!reader x CityBoy!Matt

classification: fluff, angst

warnings: use of y/n, mentions of jealousy, slight cursing, mentions of alcohol and alcohol use, set in the county/ a ranch

inspiration: request^^, Urban Cowboy (the movie) but with a twist & none of the abuse. Also, we’re taking a different route with jealousy hehehe

summary: Matt, a city boy, tries one upping you, the best bull rider in town, only to be met with a painful outcome.

—

Every summer the triplets were shipped away to their grandparents ranch out in the country. For a couple of months, they left their busy city life behind in favor of days plowing the field, tending to livestock, and helping their grandparents out.

Since they were kids, Matt and his brothers have always loved summers out in the country. They spent their days swimming in the river, attending the state fair, running across acres of land, and riding their bikes down dirt roads. So many of their core memories were made during these summer trips, the change of pace allowing them to unwind and relax.

But, as the boys grew older, they began practicing less innocent hobbies. Days playing in the sun were replaced with long, drunk nights at local bars. They danced with attractive people, got into bar fights, and most importantly, they traded in their bikes for mechanical bulls.

Nick and Chris were experts on the mechanical bull, easily outlasting everyone else, but everyone knew that they were just the warmup. The real show started once Matt mounted that bull, his firm grip on the leather rope enough to hold him for longer than anyone else. He had an unmatched strength that helped him too, and he quickly became cocky about it.

Crowds of drunk people would gather just to watch Matt, cheering him on with each passing minute. They would bet on how long he’d last, each time surprised that he was able to hang on for so long. The mechanical bull thrashed and bucked, but Matt’s firm grip held him steadily in place.

No one could ever outlast Matt, until you came along at least. Unlike Matt, you weren’t a city transplant. No, you were born and raised in the country, spending more than just summers doing manual labor. So, where he had natural strength, you had muscles built from years of hard work. There was also another distinguishable difference; he was bull riding as a serious hobby, but you were only doing it for fun.

Bull riding is a past time you’ve practiced your whole life, you didn’t see the point in showing off, but the second you mounted that bull and beat Matt’s time, he couldn’t help but feel like you were. It felt like you were kicking dirt in his face.

Matt, Nick, and Chris watch from the bar. They’re sitting on the stools, facing the crowd that has piled up around you. The conductor, who sits just behind the bull setup, is jolting the remote aggressively from side to side, but no matter how hard he tries he can’t knock you off. Matt feels the jealousy stir in his stomach as the crowd cheers for you, they were only supposed to cheer for him!

“Who the fuck is that?” Matt grumbles mostly to his brothers, but loud enough for the bartender to hear.

Nick and Chris shrug, how were they supposed to know who you were? Chris calls the bartender over with a tilt of his head, silently ordering three beers with his hands.

The bartender immediately fills up three glasses, the alcohol fizzing and frothing at the top. “That’s Y/n… Her dad owns the mill on the outskirts of town, biggest flour company in the west. I heard they made enough money to buy another ranch last year… Shit, they own just about every business this side of town. Pretty sure they own this damn bar,” the bartender chimes in his deep country accent catching the boys off guard as he slides the glasses to them.

Matt, who’s leaning against the bar counter, crooks his neck to look at the bartender, looking him up and down before quickly averting his gaze back to you.

Matt can’t believe anyone could ever outlast his record time of 10 minutes, but as he watches the clock he notices that you were nearing 15. “She’s fucking beating you, dude,” Chris laughs, taking a sip of his beer before slapping Matt’s chest enthusiastically. The neon clock numbers are taunting Matt, causing him to clench his jaw as his pride gets the best of him.

His whole shtick was that he was the city boy who easily outlasted all these country kids, what good did that do if he was beat by a girl?

The mechanical bull thrashes violently as the conductor tries knocking you off, but you’re using your momentum to push you past the 15 minute mark. You don’t even look like you’re struggling either, a big smile plastered on your face as you grip onto the leather rope with one hand and your hat with the other. Everyone is watching excitedly, suddenly erupting into a loud cheer as you create a new record.

“I’ve never seen anyone last that long,” Nick comments, a look of awe and shock on his face. “Then you must not be from ‘round here. That girl is a natural on that thing, she wins the bull riding contest at the state fair every year,” the bartender replies, butting into the conversation once again before shaking his head and walking away.

Matt waits until he’s out of earshot to say, “What the fuck does that mean? ‘You must not be from ‘round here?’” He puts on a dramatic, exaggerated country accent as he says the last part, an annoyed look written all over his face.

You’re standing on the bull now, riding it like a surfer rides a wave. The crowd is going crazy, cheering you on as you continue putting on a show. A smile is spread across your face as you gently sit back down, laying on your back and propping your feet on the horns, your hands weaved between your thighs as you hold onto the leather rope. Everything about your performance was effortless, and it angered Matt.

Matt decides he’s seen enough when you throw both legs to one side, casually holding yourself up with your hands on either side of your hips. He snatches his beer from the bar violently, practically chugging it before throwing it back in the counter. He sucks in through his teeth shortly after at the strong sensation, following it with a burp before throwing his hat back on and stomping over to the crowd.

“I’ll show you who ain’t from ‘round here,” Matt mutters, pushing his way through the crowd until he’s directly in front of the inflatable foundation of the bull machine. You walk right past him as you dismount, making brief eye contact as you drunkenly giggle and laugh your way to your friends. He watches as you stumble, dizzy steps guiding you through the crowd. For some reason this only further upsets Matt, causing him to mount the bull haphazardly.

He sends the conductor a look, signifying that he’s ready to start, before gripping the leather rope so tightly that his knuckles turn white. The machine starts off slowly, rocking back and forth at a pace that gives Matt enough time to properly adjust himself.

But, before he knows it, the bull is gyrating, twisting, and turning so aggressively that he’s struggling to hold on. Matt’s mind is racing with thoughts, the fear of embarrassment causing the anxiety to build up. It feels like the conductor is purposefully trying to knock him off with enough force to hurt him, and it doesn’t help that no one in the crowd is cheering.

After the show you just gave, Matt’s performance was sub par in comparison. He was stiff as a board from the nerves, making it harder to keep his balance. By this point his his hat flew off, bouncing on the inflatable floor beneath him, and he was holding onto the rope for dear life.

“Look at this guy, showing off because he got beat by a girl,” someone snickers from the crowd, the comment being followed by a roar of laughter. That’s when the conductor bucks the machine forward, quickly knocking Matt onto his stomach before pulling the remote and forcing Matt to straighten his back to stay mounted.

Just as he’s gaining confidence in himself, the bull tilts to the right sharply enough to send Matt flying. The inflatable cushion beneath him does nothing to break his fall, the sheer force at which he was thrown being enough to break his arm. The crowd immediately groans as they watch Matt’s body ricochet when it comes in contact with the edge of the ring.

You were facing away from the crowd, engaged in a conversation with your friends, but as soon as you hear the crowd groaning and yelling you turn towards the scene. Matt is laying on the ground, clutching his arm as he tries to breathe through the pain. Everyone watches, but nobody helps, they just stand there either laughing or wincing at the idea of being in that much pain.

“Move!” you exclaim, pushing your way through the crowd and immediately walking into the ring. The spongy ground makes it harder to walk to Matt, who’s looking at you with wide eyes. This was the most embarrassing moment of his life.

You crouch in front of him, using all your force to pull him up from the ground while still being careful not to hurt him.

He lets you pick him up and guide him to a secluded area. His cheeks are burning hot with embarrassment and his eyes sting, the tears threatening to spill from the build up of anxiety and pain.

But he sucks it up and follows you, avoiding everyone’s wandering eyes.

—

“It don’t look broken, just sprained,” you comment, wrapping a bandage around Matt’s limp wrist. He hums in response, avoiding eye contact with you and you can’t figure out why.

“Sorry if I’m oversteppin’. just thought you could use some help,” your country accent is thick, and for the first time since the night started Matt isn’t completely jealous of you. He’s silently grateful that you evacuated him from the embarrassing situation, immediately feeling guilt for trying to one up you and show off.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, wincing as you accidentally pull his wrist. Once the pain subsides he continues, “you were pretty great out there.” The compliment hurts his ego, but you’re being so kind to him that he puts his own jealousies to the side. Matt’s sitting on a bar stool, the both of you in a secluded corner of the bar as you continue tending to his injury.

“Thanks, weren’t too bad yourself,” you offer him a genuine smile, gently placing his arm onto his lap. It was evident, just by looking at him, that Matt wasn’t from here and that made him more alluring. You stand in between his legs, the close proximity building a tension that neither of you know what to do with.

“Can I be honest?” he asks, once again avoiding eye contact and looking into the distance. His eyes train on the mechanical bull, watching as someone else takes a turn on it. You hum in response, trying to move in front of his line of vision to catch his attention.

“I only got on that bull because I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” His statement caught you off guard, what did he have to be jealous of?

“Yeah, jealous. It sounds childish, but I really wanted to beat your time… all I ended up with was a sprained wrist,” he chuckles, fiddling with his fingers. If he wasn’t being so vulnerable, and if he wasn’t injured, you might’ve gotten upset.

“Well, I’ve seen you ride before. You’re better than everyone here,” you reply, trying to keep the conversation uplifting.

“Not better than you.”

“Yeah, not better than me,” you reply seriously, waiting for him to face you before smiling. “I’m kidding,” you laugh, punching his shoulder slightly. He winces before joining you with a chuckle.

“Don’t worry. I can teach you a few moves,” you continue, your eyes wrinkling from how hard you were smiling. Matt’s smiling too, he felt silly for feeling jealous earlier.

“I’d like that,” he chuckles, opening his legs wider for you to scoot in closer. You take the invitation, your hats bumping together slightly. The smile on your face is engulfed by Matt’s lips as he moves in for a kiss, his uninjured wrist resting on your waist.

“Easy there, cowboy,” you murmur as you feel his hands inch down towards your ass. He laughs in response, going in for another kiss.

—

MASTERLIST

a/n:

Cowboy Matt is my favorite. I might make a part two that’s much more angsty bc we need that full Urban Cowboy moment, but for now enjoy this 😋

-L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐

[guillemelgat]

Language Goals 2025

As I said in my last post, I'm slowly getting better at figuring out how to set goals which both push me out of my comfort zone and which actually orient me towards what I'm trying to do. This year my main goal is to just remember how to be a learner again; I feel like recently I've gotten a little too in-my-head about how I need to be perfect before I speak, and actually this tends to be a problem I have in general - I won't talk to people unless I feel like I can talk perfectly, but that's not how you learn. I'm also trying to get better at setting reasonable timelines for what it takes to get to a particular level of language, which I have a better feel for at this point, and taking into account how much time I'm spending on the language every day (it shouldn't feel overwhelming if it's supposed to be a brief warmup). With these in mind, here are my goals for the year:

CATALAN

This year, I really want to speak Catalan with more people. That's the bottom line. I'm at a level where I need to be doing language immersion, and that means not being shy about not knowing how to say things or starting off the conversation wrong or any number of things (this historically has been less of a problem for Catalan with me, but for some reason I was absolutely taken out last summer and essentially went partially mute from social anxiety, so we're going to find out what was up with that and try to coax me away from it). I also want to learn to speak the Valencian dialect of Catalan better, and hopefully I'll get the chance to do that!

I'm planning to continue my reading challenge as well, but I'm going to make a separate post about that.

BASQUE

I want to improve my Basque vocabulary, and also my listening comprehension skills. I want to finish Eskamak kentzen and also watch/listen to more things in Basque. I think I just need a whole bunch of audio input - I know a lot of the words, but it's still very hard for me to parse them in speech. In order to improve my vocabulary, I want to do a quick vocab review every day when I get to the library, before I start my work. That way, I'll have a constant, easy, long-term exposure to a wider variety of words, and hopefully after a few months I'll start remembering some!

WELSH

I'm not entirely sure what I want to do with Welsh this year - I feel a bit directionless with it, so I might put it on pause until it feels like the right time to take it up again. But I'd also like to get more listening and vocabulary practice - I can understand large portions song lyrics without looking them up, which is a huge step forward for me. If watching Rownd a Rownd seems like the vibe, I might try to take that up again. We'll see, this one is more open.

MALAYALAM

Mostly, my goal with Malayalam is just to keep taking class, but also I'd really like to get over my fear of speaking. I struggle to pronounce a lot of the letters, and I don't know a lot of words, but if I work on these, I think I'd feel more confident. (I do also just need to feel okay with looking like a fool, though.) By the end of the year, I hope I'm able to have conversations in class or with my family without wavering too much, even if I forget something or mess up the pronunciation.

OTHER LANGUAGES

One main thing I want to work on is learning how to learn a small amount of a language but still being able to use it with people. There are a few different languages which I've wanted to learn for a while but haven't had the time - I'm hoping that maybe I can work up the courage to learn a few phrases, talk to someone, and perhaps learn a thing or two. This is very open-ended, but it's more a challenge for me to expand my comfort zone.

Aaaand that's a wrap! Here's to 2025 being a good year for languages, at least!

[wososcripts]

My Hand and You

Stina Blackstenius x Reader ; Katie McCabe x Reader (platonic)

Summary: You woke up with a feeling of indiscernible dread, indiscernible, that is, until your match with Man City.

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings ⚠️: injury description

A/N: I'm in my stina era lol - this can be read as a sort of companion to my other stina piece, but its not necessary to read to understand. As usual my work is not meant to depict or speculate on players personal lives!

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

You had a bad feeling about the day ahead the second you woke up.

The London air hung heavy outside of your window, the heat bearing down on you already. The other side of the bed was empty. Your girlfriend had flown in last night from Stockholm. You hadn’t seen her in nearly two weeks since she’d been back in Sweden to see her family during the break. You could’ve gone home to Germany, but opted to stay in London and train a bit more before your next game. It was a big one, and you still didn't feel that you were in good form. Katie had invited you over a couple times before she went to Ireland, but mostly you’d been alone.

Stina was worried, you knew. You got lonely easily, something you never had been able to grow out of no matter how old you were. Your sister joked occasionally that you had no object permanence, like a baby. When you couldn’t see anyone for a while, it was as if you were totally alone in the world.

So Stina had been texting often, and you had tried to call every other day. But she could tell you were still down. Especially when you hadn’t accepted her offer to stay the night when she landed. Your apartment was considerably farther from the airport than hers, and you knew she needed as much sleep as possible. You told yourself accepting would be selfish. You would see her in the morning.

Your second alarm went off, demanding you get out of bed. You pushed open the window and ran a brush through your hair, wishing you’d slept better. It didn’t take long to wash your face and pull your hair back in an updo. You had half an hour before you had to leave, and you spent most of it cleaning up your apartment for when Stina came over later. You were never really all that hungry early in the day—something your girlfriend and your coach admonished you for—so you decided just to have a cup of tea and a yogurt before throwing on your kit and heading out.

Practice was supposed to be light that day. You had a game against Man City that night, and there was no point in any injuries before any of you got into the stadium. You took the tube instead of your car, preferring the time to think with your headphones on instead of focusing on the morning traffic.

“Hey!” Katie wrapped you in a tight hug as you strolled into the locker room. You two were the only ones in so far, which was unusual. More often you two were the last ones to arrive. You returned her embrace, for some reason nearly on the verge of tears as she patted your back. Maybe the weeks alone had done more to your mood than you thought.

“How you feeling?” She asked, pulling her cleats out of her bag to lace them up.

You shrugged.

“Fine. Not much to report.” You chuckled, but it came out a bit hollow.

Katie looked like she was about to press the subject, but then in strolled a few of your other teammates, giving you a chance to slip out onto the field and begin stretching.

The sun was beating down on your back and you were sweating within minutes of starting your warm ups. Jonas seemed impressed at how early you were on the pitch, and the two of you joked a bit before he sent you off to pair up with Lia.

You liked the Swiss girl plenty. She was probably one of the nicest people you’d ever met, which meant of course she pulled you aside a few minutes into your warmup to ask if you were feeling okay. You explained that you hadn’t slept well last night, and she seemed to let it go and return to your drills.

You were so distracted you nearly missed Stina walking out onto the pitch.

She gave you a wave and a bright smile, and you wished you could run over and give her a kiss. But the two of you were keeping things secret(ish) for now. It wasn’t that you didn’t want your teammates to know, but for now it just felt more secure to keep things private. Stina was so reserved anyway, and you weren’t one to thrust your private life into the spotlight either. It was moments like these though where you knew being in the open would be easier. Then nobody would question why your eyes went to her every time she was on the field, or why you ran to her first when things went south.

Your sour mood alleviated slightly as you went through your drills and practiced your set pieces. You got to work with Stina and Katie in some stroke of dumb luck, and you always enjoyed watching your girlfriend shoot. Before you knew it, it was afternoon and time to eat, shower, and get on the bus for the match.

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

By the time you had arrived at the stadium, the game loomed heavily in your mind. You weren’t sure why. Usually you were overjoyed at the prospect of getting out in front of the fans and playing the sport you loved so much. But tonight you dreaded seeing your name in the starting nine. Sure enough though, there you were.

Stina sat with you in the locker room as the team prepped for the match. Katie, who was captaining tonight, gathered everyone together to say a few words and encourage you all before you went on the field. You sent her a smile and a thumbs up as people started filtering out into the tunnel, but you stayed behind to triple check your laces—a ritual you had to do before each game. Stina remained next to you quietly, letting you finish before she put a hand on your neck softly and pulled you close.

You cherished moments like this. They came so little when you were out in public together that you had to. Her fingers played with the wisps of hair at the nape of your neck and you could practically feel the concern rolling off of her in waves.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong tonight? Can we talk about it?”

You nodded, not wanting to hide anything from her.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious. I’m just…” you weren’t sure how to describe it.

Stina placed a kiss on your knuckles and nodded.

“Come on, they’re gonna start wondering where we are.”

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

The first half was relatively uneventful. Alessia and Gio both scored, putting you in a good position by the time half was called. And you had played well, assisting Gio's goal. Your passes were strong. It was only your head that was the problem. Something was still nagging at you. Some intuition that told you something back was going to happen. Viv felt like that sometimes, you’d heard, and Beth told her not to pay attention to it. If you spent all your time worrying about what-ifs, you would never set foot on the pitch again.

So you tried to put your worries out of your mind. Stina sat next to you on the bench at half, discreetly holding your hand and rubbing her thumb across your skin. You knew the girls could tell you were off, and Jonas even asked if you needed to be subbed off. You assured him that no, you absolutely did not need to be subbed off. Your playing certainly wasn’t suffering, so why should you be asked to sit out?

You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, remembering what your therapist had recommended when you felt untethered. This wasn’t exactly like that, but you figured that it would help either way. That and the feeling of Stina so close to you, worrying and ready to jump to your defense at any moment, eased the feeling a bit. For the moment anyway.

Once the break was over and everyone was resuming their positions on the field, you felt the dread return. It moved through you like ice cold water. It was like being on a roller coaster, the drop of your stomach for no reason. But you swallowed the anxiety and pushed forward. Running for the ball, seeing your teammates out maneuver and best the Man City players brought a smile to your face. You loved this team, these girls.

The game was nearly over, the score 2-1 Arsenal with a win in sight, when everything went downhill.

Morgan was locked on you. You couldn’t take more than a few steps without her trailing you, and it was starting to piss you off. Finally, you got the chance to break away thanks to a great pass from Pelova that had you racing down the right side of the pitch so you could set up one of the forwards. Your adrenaline was pumping, the sound of the fans screaming filled your ears, you didn’t even have time to think as your body took over, pushing the ball forward in front of you and running as fast as you could.

You saw your chance with a flash of blonde hair out of the corner of your eye. Stina was coming up the middle, nearly unguarded. You shot the ball towards her, barely getting a chance to see her beautiful goal as you felt the weight of another player slam into you. For a split second, you weren’t worried. A late tackle wasn’t all that uncommon, and the player had just been trying to block the pass. But then you hear a crunch, and excruciating pain rippled upwards from your ankle. Immediately you went down, a scream forcing its way out of your mouth before you could even think of stopping it. You couldn’t really seem to think of anything except the pain. The cheers from the fans continued, your scream likely not as loud as you thought it had been.

The defender popped back up, and you caught a glimpse of her horrified face as she looked down at you. You didn’t even want to try to move, much less get up. The stadium seemed to quiet, and you weren’t sure if it was the pain blocking your senses as you went into shock, or reality. You rolled over onto your side, curling in on yourself to try and lessen the pain. You pressed your face into the grass, trying desperately not to cry. You knew the cameras would be on you any second, and you would rather nobody witness what you’d been reduced to.

A shaking hand picked up yours and held it tightly. You tried to open your eyes to see who it was, greeted by the sight of your girlfriend’s worried face looking down at you.

“Stina…” you whimpered.

She bit her lip and looked upwards, clearly trying not to cry as well as she heard the pain in your voice.

“Stina, I think it’s broken.”

You were crying now, trying to hide your face with your intertwined hands.

Stina had seen you go down just a split second after her goal. Caitlin had quickly jumped up to give her a hug, obscuring you from her view for a few seconds as she waited for you to pop back up. But you were still on the ground once Caitlin had let go, and you were still there after the defender got up and offered you her hand. It was then that she realized you weren’t going to get up, that perhaps you couldn’t. Then nothing else mattered. She started off towards you, all giddiness from her goal gone and replaced with dread. She thought about your mood all day, about how you’d been drifting away for the past two weeks, and now this. Stina rushed past everyone, running as fast as she ever had until she could get on the ground next to you.

The sight of you broke her heart. You hardly seemed to know what was going on, but tear tracks were evident on your face. Stina risked a glance at your ankle, which was swelling and bloody. Clearly the defender had caught it with her studs first before the two of you went down. White-hot rage coursed through Stina’s chest unlike she could ever remember feeling. But Katie was already doing more than enough to scream at the defender, and you needed her.

“It’s okay älskling,” She stroked your hair with her free hand, “everything is going to be okay.”

The medics were on their way over, a stretcher in hand. Stina had to bite her lip once more at the implication of it. You didn’t deserve this.

Before the medics arrived a blue kit appeared in Stina’s line of sight: it was the defender, coming back to see if you were all right. She looked genuinely upset, clearly having not intended your injury. But it didn’t matter. The defender leaned down to put a hand on your shoulder before Stina batted it away, snapping at her to get away. The Man City player looked sufficiently scared off, particularly since Stina was known for her calm demeanor.

The medics suddenly swarmed, rolling you over onto your back carefully and beginning to assess your ankle. Your face scrunched up in pain, a few more tears leaking out as they gently prodded at your injury. Stina let you squeeze her hand as hard as you needed, gritting her teeth when the medics began cleaning the bloody cuts.

Apparently they’d been asking Stina to back up so they could lift you, though she couldn’t hear a word.

“Come on, Stina, we’ve got to let them work.”

Katie’s hand came to rest on her shoulder, pulling her back gently.

“I can’t—I’m not letting her go off alone.”

“I know, I know.” Katie nodded, “But they’ve got to put her on the stretcher, hun.”

Stina let go of your hand and back up a step or two, still keeping an eye on you. She heard Amanda arrive behind her, speaking to her in Swedish quickly. But Stina didn’t reply—all she had the energy for was making sure you were okay.

“Okay, everyone give us some space!” The medics called, lifting the stretcher and beginning to move you. You moved your head slightly, searching for Stina’s eyes one last time before you left the field. She met your gaze, eyes teary, and quickly pursed her lips in a kiss. You tried to give her a smile, hoping desperately that this was not as bad as you thought it was.

Once you were off the field the players milled around, unsure what to do. There were still a few minutes on the clock, though nobody seemed enthused about continuing. Stina in particular, hadn’t moved from her spot, Amanda rubbing her back. Everyone knew how close the two of you were—well not quite how close—but it wasn’t all that surprising how intensely Stina reacted. She looked lost, plain and simple.

“She needs to be subbed off.” Katie said to Jonas quietly, pointing to Stina. Not that he needed the guidance, it was fairly obvious that the forward was going to be of no use to the team for the next few minutes.

Jonas gestured for Stina to come off and she did without protest. All she really wanted to do was follow you to the medical rooms. Katie opened her arms for Stina, letting the taller blonde fall against her and bury her face in Katie’s neck.

“She’s gonna be alright, Stina. Don’t you worry.”

Stina nodded against her skin, trying to pull herself together.

“Why don’t you go check on her in the med room?” Jonas suggested, giving Stina a firm pat on the shoulder. “We can hold it down here for the next few minutes.” He flashed her a reassuring smile.

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

You were sure your ankle was broken. There was no denying that. But fuck, you hadn’t imagined it hurting this bad.

You had come to a bit more after the shock wore off, all of the pain of your injury rushing into your chest at full force. The medics were doing their best to be gentle you knew, and the poor woman doing your stitches was having a hell of a time with all your twitching. Your ankle was the size of a fist, it was some miracle that they were even able to get your boot off. After they had cleaned up the blood on your skin it was clear you would need a couple stitches before they sent you to the hospital for x-rays.

You were pulled out of your head by a commotion outside the door, after which your girlfriend burst into the room. You felt like you might cry all over again, so relieved by the sight of her. She looked frazzled, eyes wide, still in her kit and sweaty from the game. You reached out a hand for her. Wanting her as close as possible.

One of the nurses stood up to tell her off, but the look in your eyes must have made her take pity on you because she just sighed and let Stina come closer.

“Oh älskling…” she brought a hand up to your hair and stroked your forehead. “Tut es sehr weh?” She asked you in German, wanting to keep the conversation private. In that moment you appreciated her ability to pick up what you were saying so quickly more than you ever had before.

You nodded. It did hurt, a lot. It felt like your entire leg was on fire every time someone so much as brushed against it.

“I’m going to start stitching the last cut, it’s the deepest so it’s going to take a little longer.” The medic told you. You gave a half hearted thumbs up in response, preparing yourself for the incoming pain. Stina readjusted her hand around yours.

“Just squeeze my hand. I’m here. Allt är okej, alles gut.” She pressed her forehead to yours softly, flashing you a smile.

You grimaced as they began. It took all of your willpower not to kick the medic away. It hurt too much to bear. Your eyes were closed and you just tried to focus on Stina’s soft words—a mixture of English, Swedish, and German—and her hand in yours.

Stina could hardly keep looking at you. Silent tears streamed down her face, finally let free after the stress of the past twenty minutes. She hated seeing you in so much pain, wanted to take it all from you desperately. She gladly would’ve switched positions with you, sure that a broken bone would hurt less than seeing you try not to scream in pain before her.

“All right, that’s it.” The medic assured you after what felt like a lifetime. You were sure Stina’s hand would be sore tomorrow, something you were going to have to apologize for.

“We’re going to take her to the hospital and have some scans done, but it’s my bet that the ankle is broken,” the medic spoke to Stina, “you can come, but you’re going to have to wait in the waiting room. You can’t come in with her.”

“Okay.” Stina said, her voice firm. The medic turned and left the room, leaving the two of you alone.

“Stina,” you whimpered for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Never did Stina think her heart would hurt at the sound of her name coming out of your mouth. “If it’s broken I’ll be out for months. I’ll miss half the season.”

Stina kissed your hand, pressing it to her chest.

“Whatever happens, I’m here. I’m here for you whether you’re playing or not. You aren’t going to have to do this alone, you hear me? I’m gonna be in the waiting room every time.”

A few tears leaked out of the corner of your eye and you nodded, feeling a bit more like the world wasn’t about to end. Or if it was, at least you’d be by her side.

[deliriouslyshipping]

What if Jannik got banned for 2 years and then came back not as a player but as his biggest rival's new coach...

hmmmm

Jannik's return wasn't supposed to be like this. Two years was a long time to go without the sport he loved so dearly. How can anyone be away from their beloved sport from so long and return the same? You can't.

The straps of the bag still feel foreign to him, the racket grip in his hand, though he spent so much time in his living room pretending to swing a ball. Even the feel of the hard court seems like the first time again, like taking your first deep breath of air after choking, unsure if you are even still alive.

Nonetheless, he places the bag down, settling on the bench with a large exhale. Fishing out his bag, he pulls out his water battle and takes a swig, his eyes instinctively looking to his right for his team. Oh right, yeah.

"Tired, already?" A voice calls out, always teasing and pushing him further. It's only fair he does the same. Jannik grins, putting his water away and grabbing his racket. He's going to run this man down just because he can.

The announcement wasn't made mostly due to the player's oversight. Seeing Jannik on the courts, though he did not sign up for any tournaments, brought much speculation, but it's all temporary. Jannik was just happy to see his old colleagues. Their questions were the same as the internet, but Jannik only shook his head with his easy smile. Let him enjoy this moment for a while longer. The criticism will come later, he is sure of it.

It's not until he sits down at the first match is it officially announced. Carlos walks up to him after his warmups, jokingly asking if Jannik needed tips for coaching his first match. Cameras and eyes were on them everywhere. Nonetheless, Jannik says, "stronger first serve, Carlos." Carlos' smile is electric, reminiscent of the man he used to see across the net instead of in his box. Jannik sighs, leaning back in his chair up until the moment Carlos tosses his ball in the air.

Carlos really needs to get this first serve up. Sure enough - and naturally so - the first serve goes straight into the net. Carlos glances his way, very briefly, before he sets up the second serve. Much better.

Jannik spent much of his time off watching matches. It's the closest he could get to the sport. He watched every single one of his, to start. Then he watched all the current matches, then he found himself straying to Carlos' archive. His game had always been one that he found himself losing to, one of the only ones before his suspension. What made him different? Why couldn't he beat him?

(Well, I guess the saying is true; if you can't beat them, join them.)

After a hard point, Carlos turns to him, a strong 'vamos' ringing in the air. Jannik fed off of that, standing to his feet and matching that enthusiasm. His heart is beating like he performed the point with him. Carlos has that effect. Jannik shouts another word of advice before he sits back down. He had hoped to be more impassive, more serious, but how can he be with a player like Carlos Alcaraz? He's all energy, all heat, and any ice Jannik once possessed tended to melt in his presence. It's only fair the trend continues - not like Jannik had much of a choice.

The first set was a simple 6-3. Carlos gets up from his bench early to talk to him, smiling as though he already won. Jannik frowns.

"You forgot your first serves again."

"I made it up in second serve."

"Carlos." Carlos knows he is being serious, but he cannot help but be a nuisance, even mid-match.

"Okay." Jannik can feel the white hairs coming already. How did Juan Carlos last so long with this menace?

"Go."

Sure enough, Carlos did improve his first serves, and it made the second set a much easier 6-2. Carlos lost a deuce battle for the breadstick, but they'll talk about that later. What is nice about coaching Carlos is that he often knows what he needs to fix before Jannik has to say it. When they get to harder matches, he knows the man will look to him, searching for solutions against an opponent giving their all, and Jannik will have to be that guidance. Jannik wonders if he serves more of a reminder to Carlos of who he is; if it helps, it helps.

Carlos thanks the crowd as always and Jannik claps from his seat from his victory. The interview after was as they both expected.

"Carlos, congratulations on your match today. We all can't help but notice someone new and very recognizable on your team."

"Yeah, Jannik -" The crowd stops to cheer and Jannik feels something tight wind in his chest, Carlos giving him all of the time to feel the moment again. "Jannik has been great. I like him better on my side of the court. Easier to beat." There's laughter, and Jannik won't take that personally.

"Is this a new development? Did you wake up this morning and go, 'coach me' or has this been working for a while?" The interviewer may not be doing it intentionally, but the answer to that question could get both of them in trouble. Jannik crosses his arms while he sees how Carlos responds.

"Jannik and I, we've always had a relationship. It was hard to not play with him. But no, I - I woke up and told him to come here." There might be a bit too much information there, but that can slide.

"I do have to ask. You play Arnaldi, another Italian, next. Does having an Italian as a coach give you any upper hand?"

"Upper hand? No. Jannik will probably cheer Arnaldi on more than me, but that's okay." More laughter. "I'll do my best. I have a great team and a great coach, and we'll see." Carlos is stealing his phrase, that little -

"Good luck to you. Carlos Alcaraz, everyone!" Leave it to Carlos to use his goofy charm to overshadow the mess he made in that interview.

Scratch that, leave it to Carlos to make the very next thing he does worse than the interview.

"You like ?" Carlos points backward as if going back in time to the interview. Jannik shakes his head.

"You're getting more media training."

"You know I can't lie." Jannik does know that sadly. Carlos smiles, leaning forward to peck his lips. Oh fuck. There are gasps and yells everywhere. "Fuck -"

"Let's go." They need to get out of here before they have to answer to that too. Carlos follows the direction without fighting or teasing. If only he did that earlier!

Jannik isn't sure if it is harder to be his coach or be his boyfriend.

[allmonstershere]

Have a little snippet of Tim and Martin, pre-canon. Tim is a little sympathetic to the new guy, but not enough to be anything other than himself. ;)

[Edit: this was a warmup prompt, mostly unedited, but I fixed some writing sprint grammar things.]

—

“Was-was that supposed to be…subtle?”

Martin tried not to look over his shoulder at the slowly shrinking police building, as if someone would try to follow them out and arrest them. A sidelong glance at the expression on his features told Tim that had a high chance of being exactly what he thought would happen.��

“No,” Tim answered, his smile anything but bothered. “Not at all.”

Those four words seemed to blow Martin’s mind, his jaw hanging open slightly. “Y-you bribed them, Tim.”

“Yup.”

“That’s-that’s illegal, right?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

“No!” Martin sputtered, clearly indicating he thought they were far enough away. “No, that is not how the law works, Tim. You can sweet-talk your way around the situation all you want, but I’m not one of your marks, and I’m well aware that bri—” He cut himself short to drop his voice into a whisper in case anyone might be listening. Tim didn’t bother to point out that the stage whisper Martin had to use to be heard wasn’t really all that effective if secrecy really was what he was going for. Tim was pretty sure that no one bustling to get to and from the Tube was paying any attention anyway. “—bribing an officer is illegal.”

In a way, Tim was sympathetic, so he tamped down on his amusement, turning a chuckle into a lopsided grin. “You don’t have to worry, Martin. Look, the best way that I can explain it is that our work requires a lot of intel, which could be obtained faster by going straight to the source. And I also happen to know that the kind of things that fall in the Magnus Institute’s lap are things that cops don’t really want to muck about with in the first place. It’s a symbiotic relationship. I just happen to make it a little more palatable by knowing what pastries will get the job done fastest.”

Martin’s jaw dropped again. 

[wisteria-lodge]

2, 3, 4, 7, 11, 12, 14, 16, 26, 27, and 28 for the ask game?

for the ask game~

2 ~ Which of my fics is my pride and joy?

I suppose I do have a soft spot for my rarepair stuff. I wrote some Sam Winchester/Balthazar, which never got all that many hits - but it is still the only one with 'inspired by' fics written about it, so like... there's something there. For me it was very rewarding, both in a cathartic way as a person and a stretching-my-muscles way as a writer, to write viewpoint characters who are allowed to be so unpleasant.

3~ What are my 3 most commonly used tags on A03?

Anal sex. Emotional hurt/comfort. Smut. I mean... yeah. that's fair.

4~ What are some words or phrases I feel like I overuse.

I start way too many sentences with 'And.' Oh it's so glaring. I'm literally going back over old fics and combing out some of the 'Ands' because it bugs me so much.

7~ Coffee or tea while I write?

Tea while I write, coffee while I edit. I love editing in coffeeshops.

11 ~ What makes a fic 'successful' in your opinion?

If it attracts regular commentators, and then inspires regular commenters to keep coming back. Also I DEFINITELY feel my fics are successful if they inspire any kind of outside work - fan art, bookbindings, inspired-by fics, interesting asks or questions. That counts for SO much I can't even express it.

12 ~ What was the first fandom you wrote for?

The very first? Frankenstein. I wrote an alternate ending where the Creature got to have a short interaction with Victor before he died, then picked the body in a wedding carry and took it with him, as he walked off into the Artic wasteland.

I then wrote a second alternate ending where they went on a book tour, promoting Victor's book My God Complex, and the Creature's poetry collection Under Patchwork Skin. You got a discount if you bought both at the same time.

16 ~ What do I struggle with most while writing?

The nature of posting on A03 means I'm focusing on one chapter at a time, which is fine if you're *reading* it one chapter at a time, but one of my goals it to make sure the stories *also* hold up to more binge-style reading. Which does mean going back after the fact and removing the sort of duplicated beats/overly long beats that don't really ping if you're editing chapters a week apart from each other.

26 ~ Do I ever 'prep' my fics with outlines or warmups, or do I just dive right in?

More and more, I've actually stepped away from outlines. @Niche-pastiche and I talk about where we see it going, what the main conflicts are, what the main tensions are, but it is SO fun when the characters surprise us. Mostly I'll watch clips of the characters I'm writing to get their specific voice in my head, and/or I'll have specific songs or musical artists associated with different characters.

(the malfoys are do not have music. the malfoys have a pinterest board. I absolutely will get in character by looking at the malfoy pinterest board.)

27 ~ Are any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

I think stories are portraits (but not autobiographies!) So of course the things we're picking through and processing at the time of writing make it onto the page. I've absolutely pulled in a real interaction I've had with someone, or a very specific thing I've felt. That kind of thing can be a good grounding agent.

Probably the majority of 'visible' personal experience comes with pulling in the specific vibes of people I know, and ESPECIALLY the specific ways people I know talk. This is even more the case if I'm fleshing out a character who was tiny or static in the source material, or a character (like Clark Kent or Bruce Wayne) who has had so *many* interpretations that you need to pick and choose your influences, and give them a little outside grounding.

[putalabelonit]

Men's Hockey (RPF) fanfiction recs:

Leon Draisaitl/Matthew Tkachuk [Part 2]

"wondering how many times can a heart melt" 🔒 (E) by slowboat | 2,551 | Wet lips parted, neck pink from beard burn. Head thrown back into the pillow but still watching Leon from under half-closed lids like Leon’s the Second Coming of Christ, like it’s detrimental for Matthew to keep his eyes on him, like he, too, is desperately trying to commit the view to memory.

"wrong when it's right" 🔒 (E) by daisysusan | 8,172 | Leon is drunk. Which—glancing around the locker room—plenty of guys aren’t sober, and for that matter Matthew isn’t either, but Leon is among the drunkest. Maybe the drunkest. Not sloppy, really, but it’s obvious in his loose movements and the way he smiles. And to think, Matthew thought he was going to forget how much he knew about Leon’s body.

"linger" 🔒 (E) by bropunzeling | 71,255 | Matthew doesn’t fuck people who hate him, and he doesn’t fuck hockey players, and he doesn’t fuck alphas. He definitely doesn't fuck alphas when he's in heat. Except for, apparently, Leon Draisaitl.

"punch-drunk" 🔒 (E) by isozym | 3,142 | “Maybe I have a big secret crush on you,” Matthew says with a smile. “On pace for a hundred and forty points, so hot.” “Bullshit,” Leon snorts. His hand drops lower and squeezes Matthew’s ass. “You got me,” Matthew says. “I looked at you and figured your dick was big and uncut and would fit good in the back of my throat.”

"press my head between your shoulder blades" 🔒 (E) by puckthisshift | 13,559 | Leon brings a boy home to Mallorca with him. It was supposed to be some cross between a sexcation and a romantic getaway. Somehow, it turns out better. And more embarrassing for... mostly for Leon.

"Stud" 🔒 (E) by the_pole_position | 959 | "What the fuck?" Brady said, looking over at him in concern. Then, once he spotted Matthew's flaming cheeks, suspicion. "What did you do." It wasn't even a question that he'd done something, which was fair.

"dim the lights and think of you" 🔒 (E) by allthatsings | 2,039 | “Come home with me.” “What?” It’s warmups and Matthew Tkachuk is leering at Leon from the other side of the red line.

"the first law of motion" 🔒 (E) by bropunzeling | 5,568 | Matthew finishes brushing his teeth and spits in the sink. From this close, he smells like sweat, sex, the mint of his toothpaste. “I’m gonna shower too,” he says, reaching for the waistband of the basketball shorts he put on just to come in here, like Leon wasn’t riding his cock half an hour ago. “You staying?” It’s a rhetorical question. Even so, Leon wonders what would happen if he gave the wrong answer.

"your temporary touch" 🔒 (E) by bropunzeling | 5,462 | Leon didn't even want to go to Florida.

"contact high" 🔒 (E) by bropunzeling | 10,065 | So, something is wrong with him. Obviously. Leon’s never heard of anything like this, of feeling overheated and overwhelmed and out of control over your own body. Matthew touching him seems to fix it, though. If Leon were in his right mind, he’d hate that.

"Odour" 🔒 (E) by CoffeeHound91 | 32,201 | Matthew is a Null. He thinks that makes him nothing. Leon disagrees.

"i don't speak german but i can if you like" 🔒 (E) by wheelsnipecellysboys | 3,355 | “Ich spreche kein Englisch, du trottel.” “Woah,” Matthew says unintelligently, putting his hands up in surrender. “Holy shit, what is that? German? Swedish? Fuck.” He slides his martini glass away and grabs the one that this man had bought him, fingers picking at the olives again. “That’s hot.”

"Crowd Pleaser" 🔒 (E) by Helenish | 3,662 | “Best you ever had,” Matthew said once, because he was a dick.

"Wildcard" 🔒 (E) by wearemany | 21,124 | “Anything this guy wants,” he yells, tilting his head towards Draisaitl, “I’m buying.”

"roughed up in the afterglow" 🔒 (E) by notthequiettype | 5,553 | "Fuck," Matthew says, and laughs again, a dry nothing of a sound. "Why is this so awkward?" "I don't know," Leon says, and lets his shoulders drop, shoves his knuckle into his eye. "Jesus."

"follow you down" 🔒 (M) by foundfamily | 11,739 | “Who’s looking after you?” Leon bristles. “Nobody. I’m a grown man.” “I could come out for a few days.” Leon waits for the punchline, sure he must be joking, but Matthew stays quiet, lets the offer linger.

"static" 🔒 (E) by bropunzeling | 1,392 | It all happens on autopilot: punching in an address into Uber, sliding into a backseat, walking over a threshold. One minute he was on the ice, watching the puck go into an empty net as Matthew yanked on his stick, holding him back; the next he was here, standing in Matthew’s bedroom, goosebumps dotting his skin. Even in Florida, he's cold.

"pull me closer (we ain't ever getting older)" 🔒 (E) by ohtempora | 11,503 | Here's what Leon knows about Matthew Tkachuk: He's annoying to play against, especially for a freshman. Especially for a true freshman. He got in a shoving match in an exhibition game against Acadia. He's top on his team in points, and he's going to be a top-ten pick in the upcoming draft. Doesn’t help that he plays for Leon’s biggest rival. His name is getting thrown around for Hobey contention, and Leon can’t take some freshman winning the award he's wanted two years running.

"push-pull" 🔒 (E) by bropunzeling | 2,765 | Matthew can’t help glancing at Leon’s thumb, at the path it's tracing as it dips under the hem of his sleeve. It’s a casually possessive gesture, staking out a square inch of territory. It puts him in mind of two months ago, when they were sitting on the couch at Leon’s place, drinking the beers Leon offered before they got down to the reason Matthew was there; Leon’s arm had draped over the back of the couch, his fingers resting in the notch of Matthew’s shoulder in a way they had never done before, and Matthew had sat there, fist choking the neck of his beer bottle as he tried not to go crazy from wanting to pull away from it. From wanting more of it.

"Bad Habit" 🔒 (M) by ClaraxBarton | 2,295 | Matthew was angry, horny and lonely. Not a great combination in his hometown, during an event that threw an even bigger spotlight on him than usual in a town that was absolutely a hockey town, no matter what people wanted to say. So, his usual go-to for getting rid of the angry, horny, lonely feelings - hooking up with a stranger - was problematic in a lot of ways. Not the least of which was finding the time between all of the everything he had to do.

"Bloodletting" 🔒 (M) by Helenish | 3,781 | They’d been happy. They’d won a lot of hockey games together.

"make this bed get squeaky" 🔒 (E) by puckthisshift | 8,674 | The Oilers win their series against the Flames and Leon feels like he deserves a reward. Showing up at Tkachuk’s house for a booty call feels like the natural next step.

"Opposite of Nothing" (E) by angry_geno_is_score | 10,393 | “Hey,” Tkachuk calls across the red line during warm-ups, the night before the first of three exhibition games Calgary and Edmonton will play against each other in the next couple weeks. “Wanna fuck?” Leon knew he was asking for it by skating so close to the Calgary side of the ice. “What?” he demands, ice spraying as he skids to a stop so he can turn to face Tkachuk fully.

"call it what you want" 🔒 (M) by fannyann | 13,034 | When Matthew sees the photos, he laughs about the timing until he cries. It’s the morning the Oilers are set to play the Blues and he should probably be angry or panicked or appalled that someone would violate their privacy like this. But mostly, Matthew’s just disappointed he couldn’t even be outed with a guy who kept his word.

"lift your hearts to the horizon" 🔒 (M) by puckthisshift | 14,583 | In which Matthew slut-shames Leon’s wandering heart, Leon makes declarations like the romance novel hero he is, and we ignore the rules of physics in favor of magic.

"broken glass" 🔒 (E) by dilangley | 13,794 | “So it’s going to be like that,” Leon said, a statement, not a question. He had thought otherwise; after all, the ranks of wolves in professional hockey was small, a brotherhood spanning across organizations in allegiance deeper than team colors. “I can’t make exceptions. Not even for Leon Draisaitl.”

"cartography of light and undead" 🔒 (M) by lighthousetowers | 22,582 | Two consenting adult vampires beat each other up in a St. Louis back alley, until they don't. This? Is a love story.

"malt" 🔒 (E) by unsay | 4,044 | "It's nice to meet you. I have heard many good things,” Barkov says, diplomatically, while they both try to pretend that his closest acquaintance with Leon to date hasn’t been by way of the scratches down Matthew’s back.

"last dress rehearsal" 🔒 (E) by unsay | 3,257 | “Nah, c’mon, I think it’s cute,” Matthew says. Leon feels the back of his neck go hot. “You’re, like, really trying to get yourself wifed up here.”

"better than before" 🔒 (E) by bropunzeling | 4,704 | "Well,” Matthew says, once he can get his breath back. “That was alright.” Next to him, the sheets rustle. Matthew turns his head to the side and watches Leon push himself up on one elbow. There’s a wrinkle right between his eyebrows. “Alright,” he repeats slowly.

"feeling all hell" 🔒 (M) by litaf1101 | 7,405 | Leon and Matthew are doing a terrible job at being exes.

"never get far" 🔒 (E) by ohtempora | 4,110 | After the Flames get bounced from the playoffs, Matthew gets off the ice, gets about twenty minutes to be pissed off in the locker room, grits his way through his media availability, and gets the call. When Draisaitl walks into the room, Matthew honestly doesn't know which one of them is more surprised.

"plans in a warmer town" 🔒 (M) by ohtempora | 2,057 | When you consider how strongly the odds were stacked against them, Matthew has no idea how they pulled this off.

"brakeless" 🔒 (E) by ohtempora | 8,117 | Whatever is linking them together—biology or lust or something bigger, something Matthew can’t begin to understand—falls into place. Matthew says, “This isn’t supposed to happen.”

"catch me, I'm falling" 🔒 (E) by puckthisshift | 9,852 | Matthew wakes up alone and confused the morning after saying Red to his one-night stand. He’s planning on going right to Biosteel Camp, but someone demands to take care of him.

"rough dream?" 🔒 (M) by reticent | 7,248 | “Would you believe me if I said I was in, like, a Groundhog Day kind of situation?” Matthew sounds strangely serious. Which Leon doesn’t really understand, because Matthew’s not stupid, and: “Time loops don’t exist.”

"in from the cold" 🔒 (E) by yourblues | 4,654 | Matthew says, “Love what you’ve done with the place.” This is a joke. The joke is that Leon’s house in Edmonton looks exactly the same as it did the last time he was here, which was almost two years ago, when Matthew was still property of the Calgary Flames.

"one-off" 🔒 (E) by thelightwithout | 564 | so the thing is that, when it happens, it’s not really supposed to be anything.

"the sweetest dream would never do" 🔒 (E) by NoodleE | 1,255 | It’s not the first time a guy whose nose Matthew wants to break has shown up in a sex dream – not that Matthew wants to break his nose right now anyways. He’s enjoying this way too much.

"act like I don't care what you did" 🔒 (E) by puckthisshift | 6,399 | Matthew had grabbed Draisaitl’s thigh mostly by accident, but he wasn’t going to let that asshole know about that. But after making some promises, he finagles a bid for the winner’s room so he can deliver. And then some. How else is a guy supposed to get an apology out of Draisaitl?

°°°°°°

"barons" 🔒 (M) by dilangley | 42,768 | Matthew Tkachuk coaches Leon Draisaitl and Trevor Zegras for the NHL’s newest expansion.

"truce" 🔒 (E) by anonymous | 2,188 | Sometimes they get mean. But it's more bitchy than cruel. That was part of the fun of it, especially when they first started up, when the feeling of mutual animosity wasn’t so much a joke.

"That One Time Leon Went to Dinner With Tkachuk and His Family Because Tkachuk Is Bad at Making Decisions and Hooked up With His Brother's Teammate" 🔒 (M) by irrelevanttous | 9,209 | “For fuck’s sake,” Leon hisses, more aggressively than he means to. “Just tell me what you want, Tkachuk, and quit fucking around.” Tkachuk, the media-proclaimed face of the NHL and fan-proclaimed king of the rats, blushes like a silly schoolgirl. “I need you to have dinner with me.” “Uh, what?” "With me and my family."

"laundry and taxes" 🔒 (E) by bropunzeling | 10,117 | Leon’s day starts like any other. He wakes up. He stumbles through his bathroom routine. He gets dressed, grabs his phone, and heads into the kitchen to start up the coffeemaker. He gets a mug from the cabinet. He turns around and sees Matthew Tkachuk sitting at the kitchen island. He drops the mug. "What the fuck?"

"look up in the scene, you’re a delicate thing" 🔒 (E) by bbvhrla | 13,089 | “You sure?” Leon checks, glancing over at him from the road with a hint of a smirk. “You don’t, I don’t know, want an audience?”

More to be added.

[itsgirlcraft]

Dawg it's 10pm and I spent 4 hours on this 💀 chat how am I supposed to explain this one- there's so much loreeeeeee AAAAAAA-

(Edit: explanation is now under the cut)

Okay I'm done being dramatic. Yeah took 4 hours drawing plus ~4 hours of research.

Anywaysssss-

I combined the last 3 days of Stevetember I have left, 28: fight, 24: musical, and 23: paradise. Used my RQ Roleswap AU combined with lyrics from Epic: the musical.

So first the "warmup" drawing, where I designed Sabre's dual timeline casual/"mortal" form. Only marginally related to the prompts, mostly just for reference.

No I'm not explaining all dat lmao. I will tmrw (probably) just bc I am very excited by this.

And then here's the main page:

The one on the right is for fight, the one on the left is for paradise. Both depict Sabre. The left has RQ Time, Rainbow, Dark, and Red from the first episodes of RQ. Sabre is putting up the shield/magic barrier above him, and saying the lyrics on the bottom half to the Steves, trying to convince them to stay. Someone else is saying the lyrics on the top half to Sabre in the right drawing, talking about using the darkness/AU crystals to fight back.

Have fun questioning that with no context! Try my YouTube channel community posts if you seek answers, I guess!

Hrrnkk shoo mimimimi, I'm going to bed 😴

...

Heyyyy fuckers guess who's back!! >:3

I don't think I've explained this AU much anywhere around here, so I've got plentyyyyy of content to fish out!! :P

Letssssss seeeeeeeee~

This AU is more or less about changing unrecognizably, healing, fate/repeating history, and loops. It all begins after Sabre has spent years alone with Origin, teaching him and growing together. Sabre had changed over the years - into his god form, with wings and animalistic legs and antlers upon which crystals grow. His first god form is mostly green and white. Technically, he has 3 god forms and 3 "mortal" forms.

I've had the AU for awhile before I listened to Epic, but the musical has inspired me to create for it, as well as consider the overarching themes!! So the first drawing, the dual timeline "mortal" form, is basically Sabre at the end of the au, as he becomes a fused form of the swap and og timelines' versions of himself. His crazy outfit is made of bits and bobs from people he meets, sometimes he adds stuff inspired by people around him, but a lot is just gifts he's recieved. He has a goopy Darkness horn and a sharp crystal horn, and a fluffy colorful tail and a sharp black tail. His eyes depict his former infection of crystals/darkness.

Drawing 2, in the upper right with Sabre's arms out in front of him, is meant to be him midway thru act 1. Where he willingly infects himself with the crystals, which are like the darkness, in order to be able to fight Rainbow (who created the infectious crystals, aka the Void of the timeline). Crystal/Shadow Sabres would probably be saying the lyrics to him.

Drawing 3, with the big barrier sigil over Sabre and the Steves, is based on act 6 of the au. He gets the Hypbo variants to help him create the barrier sigil to keep the Steves from changing unexpectedly due to the strange nature of their timeline (its Complicated, but the world is basically changing in accordance w/ the og timeline w/o anyone doing anything). This barrier, as well as the smaller, jewelry-based variants, protects them from time/space basically going by quickly. However, Sabre's insistence on keeping everyone from changing can be seen as almost manipulative, which is why he's saying the lyrics there. He can't give them the choice, not when the world is changing them without them actually doing anything. But by keeping them inside the barrier, he's refusing to let them experience it. So uh...yeah. Complicated.

Edit: Okay I got REALLY ramble-ly, so, THIS part below is the main au explanation, a new post will have the full ramble.

Origin had started creating the Steves, and becoming an independent young man. Sabre knew he wouldn't need his guidance much longer, and he couldn't reveal his true identity to the first Steves. But he hoped, maybe, something may come along and take him away. The loop, age, something. Nothing came - he realized he had to do the leaving. He worked towards creating a portal, which would close behind him. Somewhere unknown.

He wound up in the RQ Roleswap timeline - in episode 32, aka the pig episode. So already partway through the first season. He retained all his memories - and so he knew what had to do. He had to change history, and change everyone's fate. Most importantly...Orange Steve's. He can't let this all fall down again. He had to unite them all, before bringing about any heroes. He had to support everyone, give everyone room to breathe, treat them all with the love they may not deserve, but that they need. He needed to greet the world with open arms.

Heh, Epic reference :>

Anyways, yeah. That's the basis of the AU - Sabre uses his memories/experience (and carefully constructed journals) to change fate and lead with love. He goes on to warn the Steves of the future, their fates, and their choice to follow it or not. Despite his new outlook on life, he knows he isn't perfect - his past haunts his every calculated move. He tries to just experience reality as it is, but slowly that alienates him in a different way - people are so surprised to hear his thoughts behind all of it that many look up to him. All he really wants is to give everyone a choice in their fate - even his enemies - and appreciate what he has, and had, in this moment. And that mindful, kind mindset puts some people in awe.

Edit: ...okay, I ended up rambling severely after this, so I'll make a new post for that. But here, have these bits.

In the roleswap timeline, Sabre looks more like Shadow Sabre, while Crystal Sabre (the Shabre of the timeline) is brightly colored. The crystals replace the darkness, being amalgamations of infectious gems, so bright they can set things ablaze with sunlight. Sigils are the new crystals, being darker colored just like the main color Steves. In this world, the shadows are comforting and kind, while the light is deadly and violent. (Though no, they aren't really nocturnal...I might change that eventually). Naturally, the Steves have dark skin tones and eyes, looking all too much like the darkness infected. Similar can be said of the og timeline in comparison to the Crystal infected, though ofc the infections are a lot more frightening. You could consider it to be the first stage of infection, I guess.

Sabre's, the main, FIRST Sabre's, story is split into several acts. Act 1: changing fate, where he repeats RQ with a new ending. Act 2: old friends, where he returns to the og timeline, and defeats TFC/swap Origin with his newest god form. Act 3: reliving history, where Sabre mentors Colle through his swapped timeline. Act 4: domain expansion, in which Sabre discovers the multiverse and is determined to save EVERYONE from evil. Act 5: returning home, in which Sabre, now caring for a whole multiverse, finally creates a portal to Earth, but has he changed too much? Act 6: doubled over, another shitpost idea made canon, in which Sabre gets stuck in a version of the RQ timeline which has both the og and swap versions, where the world is changing quickly, mimicking the og story, and where Sabre's desire to give everyone a choice in fate is tested.

Final edit: I spent TWO HOURS fuckin writing this and trying to keep in from getting ramble-ly. You don't wanna see how ridiculous this could've been