#need to post highlights she’s funny too…..

[wereoz]

at poetry live listening like oh u want me to make a collage out of this poetry so bad……. so i will

[volfoss]

i would like to find a yarn color that is roughly close to this shade of orange:

as the doll is going to be using dark blue eyes and the contrast would look pretty good (ty to my friend for helping me narrow down colors here lol) but well. you would not believe how hard it is to find a more muted light orange. i have been to specialty yarn sites. if i did either of the two multi-colored yarns, it would be for highlights/still mostly orange just with other tones in there :) if u have specific opinions on this please comment bc good god i hate yarn shopping for this.

[tonfairy]

After the Splash

pairing : swimmer! anton x campus journalist! reader

genre: soft smut MDNI !!, slow burn, mutual pining, teammates to lovers (reader is a swimmer too)

cw : mention of injury | wc : 3.2k

💌 : hello ! it’s been like two weeks since i uploaded my last fic—i was locked in for my comprehensive exam lol. it’s all done now though so. . . (proofread, enjoy <3 !)

While the university celebrates the athletes' victory in this year’s tournament, the student publication is also facing its own set of challenges—balancing academic demands, writing articles, designing publication materials, and doing its best to capture the story behind the success.

“The university’s swimming team has been hailed as the overall champion once again in this year's tournament. I’d like to suggest a sports feature article about the team, with a focus on their captain, Anton Lee, for our semestral newspaper. I believe it would be a strong feature,” the publication adviser proposes during the post-tournament meeting.

“It would be better if you could conduct a face-to-face interview with Anton so we can highlight the efforts of him and the team in achieving this year’s victory. I’m assigning you to this task, Ms. Y/N,” she adds.

You weren’t paying attention—you were scrolling through your phone, lost in social media—so you were caught off guard when the assignment was suddenly given to you.

“Uh… me?” you stammer, surprised.

“Yes! You’re both on the swimming team, so I assume you’ve interacted before. And I think it’s best if you write it—you’re the sports editor, after all, and you actually understand the sport,” Ms. Kim replies.

Just as you’re about to protest, Ms. Kim cuts in. “I need it by Friday,” she says firmly.

You could only nod, silently accepting the order from your publication adviser.

Fuck this article. Fuck Anton, you cursed internally.

You walked out of the journalism lab with a heavy sigh, your mind swirling with thoughts on how to even begin the assignment.

You’re an athlete-on-break, your shoulder injury having put a halt to all your training and competitions. Though your shoulder feels fine now, your doctor advised taking it easy for a while to ensure a full recovery.

Since you’re “kind of” free today, you decide to head to the university’s pool to look for Anton. But when you arrive, he’s nowhere to be found—only your coach is there.

“Coach!” you called, loud enough for him to hear.

“The other shark is here?” your coach replied with a playful grin. “How’s your shoulder?”

You smiled softly. “It’s fine. I just need a little more time to recover. I can’t wait to come back.”

He hummed thoughtfully before adding, “The team’s looking forward to your return. One of them even said he ‘misses your presence,’” he chuckled.

“Stop it, Coach! It’s not funny,” you protested, rolling your eyes.

Your coach just laughed. “I’m not even lying. Anyway, what brings you here?”

“Oh! I came looking for Anton, but he’s nowhere to be found. That’s why I was hoping you might know where he is,” you replied.

He raised an eyebrow, the teasing grin still on his face. “You missed him, too?”

“What—no!” you responded quickly, a little too defensively. “I… I just need to interview him for my sports feature article.”

“Ah! He’s probably in his dorm, he doesn’t have a training schedule today,” he responded.

 “I’ll check on him then. Thank you, Coach! It’s nice seeing you,” you said with a smile as you walked out.

As you walk through the dorm hallway, one thought won’t stop echoing in your head, you and Anton Lee got very up close and personal in the pool shower.

It wasn’t planned. Just post-training tension, slick tiles, and a moment that escalated way too fast.

You told yourself it was just a dumb, heat-of-the-moment thing. But the way he looked at you after—like he almost said something—that’s the part that stuck.

Then your injury break happened, and neither of you brought it up. Not once.

Now you’re heading to his dorm with a reporter’s notebook, pretending this is all about the article. But to be honest—it’s definitely not just that.

You are now in front of his dorm’s door still hesitating if you're doing right, but you knocked. No response. 

Knock again.

Still nothing.

You’re about to give up when the door swings open—and you freeze. 

Anton stands there, half-asleep, shirtless, hair a complete mess, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers that leave very little to the imagination. 

His eyes widened. “Shit—Y/N?” 

He quickly grabs your wrist and pulls you inside before you can react, shutting the door behind you as if he was trying to cover up a crime scene.

Your brain should be thinking, focus on the article, but instead it short-circuits—because he’s warm, still holding your wrist, and you didn’t miss the fact that he’s… not completely asleep, if his boxers are anything to go by.

 You look anywhere but there. “Well, this isn’t weird at all,” you mutter, half to yourself.

“Sorry,” he says, voice hoarse, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just woke up.”

No joke. 

You cross your arms, trying your very best not to look directly at him—or, well, down.

“I can tell,” you say, eyeing the messy sheets in the background and the fog of sleep still clinging to him. “And.. nice outfit!” 

He glances down, realizes he’s still in just his boxers, and immediately grabs the nearest towel hanging off a chair to throw over his waist. “Right. Sorry. Didn’t know I was expecting company.”

“I knocked three times,” you shoot back. 

“I was dead asleep. Post-tournament crash,” he yawns, scratching his chest like this is any normal morning.

You suddenly remember the sensation of his skin as if you were not standing in the middle of his dorm.

You clear your throat. “I’m here for the article. Sports feature. Ms. Kim’s orders.”

“Of course,” he says, nodding, however, there's a glimmer of something in his eyes that reflects more than purely sports.

It takes a while for silence to settle between you. Then, casually, he asks, “So… do all your interviews happen in boxer briefs and towel coverage?”

You shoot him a look. “Only the special ones.” 

He laughs—soft, a little nervous—but his gaze lingers. “You could’ve just texted.”

You shrug. “You could’ve just talked to me. After.” 

That stops him. After a brief moment of teasing, you find yourself standing in a dorm with a lot of unspoken memories and one particularly loud one. 

“I wanted to,” he says quietly. “I just didn’t know if you—if it meant anything to you.” 

Your heart skips a beat. That wasn't what you were expecting. You thought this would just be stupid and awkward. Not….honest.

“It did,” you say before you can stop yourself. “I just didn’t know how to deal with it.” 

With the towel still half-wrapped around his waist, Anton blinks, obviously expecting you to blush or turn away.

But, you don’t.

“I mean, I’ve seen worse,” you say with a shrug, walking past him and dropping your bag on the edge of his unmade bed like you own the place. 

He watches you, stunned and silent for a beat. “I… wasn’t expecting you to be this calm about it.” 

“Why? Because last time we were alone, I was a little more—” You pause, letting your eyes flick to his chest, then back to his face. “—distracted?”

His cheeks turned red.

Gotcha!

“I’m here for the article, remember?” you add, pulling out your notebook, your tone almost innocent. “Just doing my job.”

Anton rubs the back of his neck, still not sure if you’re teasing him or just good at pretending nothing happened. “Right. Journalism.” 

You smirk. “Unless you’d prefer I write a different kind of feature. I’m sure readers would love to hear about the team captain’s… post-training activities.” 

He flops onto the bed, face down, towel falling off somewhere in the chaos. He groans into the sheets, there is a change in his eyes when he glances up again, less anxious, and more gentle. As if he was hiding something more serious beneath the jokes. 

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he says quietly.

You blink, taken aback—not by the words, but by his sincerity. No smirk. No teasing. Just the truth. 

Then he gets up and takes a few steps across the gap between you. He pulls you into his chest as if he's been waiting weeks to breathe properly, and before you can respond, his arms are around you—warm, firm, and familiar.

You let yourself sink into it, your forehead resting against his bare shoulder. He smells like detergent and sleep and something that still reminds you of chlorine. 

“I kept thinking about you,” he murmurs against your skin. Then his lips brush the side of your neck—soft, almost unsure. “Especially after that night. And when you disappeared on me, I.... I didn’t know if I messed things up.” 

“No—You didn’t,” you whisper. Your hands rest against his back, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. “I just… needed space. And my shoulder—”

He then steps back enough to give you a peek. His fingers move your shirt collar gently to the side while his eyes look over your shoulder as if it were still bruised. 

“Does it still hurt?” he asks, voice low.

You shake your head. “Not really. I’m okay now.” 

He just hummed in response, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. “I didn’t just miss you in the water. I missed you.” 

Your heart thuds once, firmly. Then his lips trail from your neck down to the curve of your collarbone, soft and slow. 

His fingers tease just beneath the fabric of your shirt as he slides his gentle hand over your ribs. He gives you a soft and non-demanding kiss on your chest, as though he has learned your shape and warmth by heart.

You close your eyes, letting the softness of his touch wash over you. And then, amid the heat and quiet, you break the silence with a smirk. 

“So,” you say, voice low and teasing, “how does it feel to be captain again? Must be a lot of pressure, hmm?”

His lips pause their trail for a moment as he groans softly. “It’s… overwhelming.”

You nudge him gently, your fingers brushing his hair. “What about the team? How did they keep up during the toughest moments?”

His breath hitches slightly, but he answers, “They pushed harder than ever. I couldn’t have done it without them.” 

You chuckle, half amused by how focused he is despite the distraction. “And what was your mindset going into the final race?”

He exhales against your skin, voice rough, “Win. For the team. For everyone who believed in us.”

You press a kiss to his jaw, grinning. “Very Good.” 

His hands tighten slightly on you, and you feel the unmistakable shift beneath his towel. “Interview’s going well,” you murmur, “but maybe we need a break before the next question.” 

He lets out a breathless laugh and hums in agreement. You immediately notice a change beneath his towel as his hands grip you a bit more firmly. 

You lean in, voice low and husky. “Alright, next question—what’s your secret for staying so focused under pressure?” 

He groans softly as his lips find the curve of your neck again, teeth grazing gently as he murmurs, “You.”

Your breath catches, but you keep your tone steady, almost like a game. “Careful, Captain. You’re getting distracted.”

His hands slide beneath your shirt, fingertips tracing light, teasing patterns on your skin. “Maybe I enjoy being distracted.” 

You arch into him, feeling how his body presses closer, heat spreading through you. “Does the team know how much you miss me?”

His answer comes with a low growl as his mouth moves lower, kissing the swell of your chest while one hand cups you, soft but demanding.

You grip his hair gently, pulling his mouth to yours. “How about this,” you whisper against his lips, “I’ll keep asking questions if you promise to answer me like this.”

He lifts his head just enough to capture your gaze, eyes dark and heavy. “Sure.” 

The interview has been replaced by something much more serious and genuine as you two melt into one another, the notebook forgotten on the bed.

His lips trail deliberately toward the dip below your neck, following the slope of your collarbone with a low, hungry groan. As he pushes your shirt up just enough, his hands glide underneath, claiming every inch of your bare skin—his fingers lingering, teasing, worshipping the heat of you with maddening intent.

You press closer, your breath hitching as his mouth finds the sensitive spot just above your heart.

“Next question,” you whisper, voice thick with want, “what drives you to lead the team so fiercely?”

His breath falters, a low murmur vibrating against your skin. “You,” he confesses, his voice raw and deep. “Everything I do, I do for you.” 

A shiver runs through you, the words sending heat pooling between you. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as his lips continue their trail downward, soft and demanding. 

You thread your fingers through his damp hair, tugging gently as you murmur, “And what about after the race? How do you unwind?”

He lifts his head just enough to capture your eyes, dark and smoldering, before claiming your lips in a kiss that promises everything and nothing all at once. “Right here,” he replies, voice thick, “with you.” 

The notebook sits abandoned, the interview fading into nothing more than a dance of touches and hushed words, as you both give in to the moment, wrapped in the warmth of a long-awaited reconnection. Somewhere between the soft kisses and whispered answers, clothes fall away like second thoughts—your shirt slipping over your head, his boxers discarded at the foot of the bed. 

The room is quiet except for the soft rustle of sheets and the uneven rhythm of your breathing. Anton pulls back just enough to look at you—really look at you.

His gaze roams slowly, reverently, like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

“God,” he breathes, brushing his fingers lightly over your waist, your ribs, the curve of your hip. “You’re so beautiful.”

You open your mouth to tease, but the look in his eyes stops you. There’s no smirk, no playful glint—just awe. Need. Something tender that makes your chest ache. 

“I missed this,” he says, voice low and hoarse. His hands trail down your sides, thumbs brushing the inside of your thighs. “I missed you. Your skin. The way you sound when I touch you. The way you fall apart in my arms.”

Your breath hitches as he leans in again, lips dragging down your neck, over your chest, his mouth hot and gentle against you. 

“I thought about this,” he murmurs against your skin, “about you—more times than I should admit.”

His hands caress every inch of you, like he’s relearning, like he doesn’t want to forget again.

You arch beneath his touch, your body responding before you can even form words. You whisper his name, and it pulls a groan from deep in his chest.

He presses his forehead to yours, breath ragged. “I don’t want this to be just once,” he says, voice rough. “Tell me you missed this, too. Tell me you missed me.”

Your answer comes in a gasp, a kiss, a touch—and the way you pull him back to you, wordlessly saying yes, yes, yes.

His body hovers over yours, warm and solid, muscles tense beneath your hands. You watch the way his chest rises and falls, the hunger in his gaze barely contained.

You lean up, your lips brushing his ear, your voice soft but wicked. “You’re easy to distract, Captain.”

He groans at the sound, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

“You’re evil,” he mutters, pressing his forehead to yours.

You smile, trailing your fingers slowly down his stomach, just enough to make him twitch beneath your touch. “Maybe. Or maybe you just missed me a little too much.”

He shudders as you wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer, the heat between you sparking into something fierce.

“You’re not the only one who replayed that night,” you whisper, teasing his lower lip with your teeth. “Except this time, I want to remember every second.”

He kisses you hard, then—like he can’t help it, like your words unlocked something feral in him. And when your hips roll up to meet his, you feel just how much he missed you.

“Say it,” he growls against your throat, “say you want me.” 

You smirk, breathless, your voice a low challenge. "Want you? I've longed for you every day."

That’s all he needs.

He sinks into you with a groan, and your teasing melts into a gasp. You cling to him, nails raking lightly down his back as he begins to move—slow, deliberate, claiming every inch of you like a man making up for lost time. 

“You feel so good,” he whispers, jaw clenched as he holds back the way you undo him. “You always did.”

You meet each thrust with your own, your lips brushing his ear as you murmur, “You gonna last, Captain? Or am I too much for you again?” 

His answering laugh is ragged and breathless. “Keep talking like that, and we’ll find out.” 

After the final wave crests and your breathing evens out, the room falls into a hush. The air is warm, heavy with all the things neither of you has said but both clearly feel. Anton doesn’t move at first. He stays close, pressed against you, his forehead resting on your shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around your waist like he’s scared you might vanish again.

You gently run your fingers through his hair, slow and soothing. His heartbeat pounds against your chest.

“…Still think this was just an interview?” you murmur with a soft, breathless smile.

He lets out a quiet laugh against your skin. “If it was, I definitely blew it. Got totally destroyed by the sports editor.”

You laugh, too, but neither of you pulls away. You’re caught in a quiet moment—real, vulnerable, safe. After a pause, he lifts his head and looks at you. This time, there’s no joke in his eyes—just awe.

“I didn’t think I’d get to touch you like this again,” he murmurs, his fingers drawing slow, absent shapes along your hip. “I wasn’t sure I was even allowed to want it this much.”

Your heart stirs, gentler now. “I never meant to disappear,” you say, your eyes locked on his. “After that night... I wasn’t sure what it meant. And with the injury, everything just felt overwhelming.”

He gives a slow nod, then presses a soft kiss to your shoulder—tender, almost hesitant. “I understand. But I still missed you. Not just your body,” he adds, a faint grin tugging at his lips, “though yeah, I missed that too.”

You roll your eyes and give him a teasing nudge. “Pervert.”

He catches your hand and brushes a kiss over your knuckles. “Only yours.”

Silence settles, but it feels right—weighted, warm. Then, quietly, you ask, “So… what now?”

He shifts, slipping an arm beneath your back to pull you closer. “Now?” His gaze locks on yours, steady and sure, like it was in the water. "I'm not going to let you disappear on me again. If you need time, I’ll respect that—but I’m done acting like you don’t matter to me."

You lean into him, his breath brushing your cheek. “Good,” you whisper. “Because I think I care too.”

He smiles into your hair and holds you like you’re the finish line he’s been chasing all along.

You grin softly and whisper, “Guess you’re mine now.”

He chuckles, brushing his nose against yours. “And you’re mine.”

-end-

tysm guys for reading !! 🫂 i'd love to know what u think 🩷

[jikookncity]

HockeyPlayer!Mark x Tutor!Reader

WC. 3.4k, mainly fluff, one vanilla smut scene, lots of cute kisses, hand holding, etc.

Mark Lee was a lot of things — captain of the university hockey team, wildly popular, infamously late to class, and currently staring at his failing calculus midterm like it personally insulted him.

“Mark,” Professor Kim sighed as he flipped through Mark’s paper, eyebrows furrowing. “You're the captain. You lose eligibility, and you're off the ice.”

“I know,” Mark mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m trying, I swear.”

“You need help. And I know just the person,” Professor Kim said, sliding a post-it with a name and number across the desk. “Y/N L/N. She’s top of every class, especially math. And kind enough to help students who are willing to try.”

Mark stared at the name. He recognized it — who didn’t? Y/N was always at the front of the lecture hall, answering questions no one else dared raise their hand for, notebook meticulously organized, and seemingly unaware of the way every professor lit up when she spoke. She was brilliant… and way out of his league.

Still, Mark was nothing if not hopeful — and desperate.

First Lesson

When he met her at the library that Friday, she was already seated, books open, highlighter in hand. She looked up when he approached, offering a polite smile.

“You’re Mark, right?” she asked.

He nodded, suddenly hyper-aware of how sweaty his palms were. “Yeah, uh, thanks for doing this. I’m kind of... hopeless.”

“You’re not hopeless,” she said kindly, patting the seat beside her. “Just a little behind. We can fix that.”

She made math feel… less like a nightmare. She didn’t laugh when he messed up or scold him when he forgot basic formulas. She explained things patiently, her voice calm and soothing, and Mark found himself nodding along not just because he understood, but because he liked hearing her talk.

By the second session, Mark wasn’t just showing up on time — he was early. By the third, he was bringing her coffee. By the fourth, he was falling, hard.

He liked the way her eyes lit up when she solved a particularly difficult problem. The way she scrunched her nose when concentrating. The way she’d smile softly when he finally got an answer right.

She was smart — ridiculously smart — and kind, and funny without even trying. And she didn’t treat him like some dumb jock. She treated him like he mattered.

Finally...

“Hey,” Mark said at the end of one of their tutoring sessions, nervously bouncing his leg. “I, uh… I was wondering…”

Y/N looked up, pen between her fingers. “Yeah?”

“You’ve helped me so much,” he began, “so I thought maybe I could… teach you something?”

Her brows lifted in curiosity. “Like what?”

Mark smiled, heart pounding. “Ice skating. You ever been?”

She laughed softly. “Not since I was ten. I was horrible.”

“Perfect,” he said, grinning. “Then I’ll be the smart one for once.”

They met at the rink on Saturday night, the place quiet except for the occasional hum of the overhead lights and the distant echo of their laughter. Mark laced up her skates for her, fingers brushing her ankle. Y/N felt the flutter in her stomach but said nothing.

He helped her step onto the ice, holding her hands in his as she wobbled.

“You got this,” he said, squeezing gently. “Just trust me.”

She nodded, clinging to him tightly as they took slow, careful steps across the rink. He didn’t let go. Not even when she fell — twice — right into his arms.

By the time they were gliding, somewhat steadily, she was laughing, cheeks pink from the cold and proximity.

“See? You’re doing amazing,” he said, slowing them to a stop in the middle of the rink. His hands lingered at her waist.

“You’re a good teacher,” she said softly, eyes meeting his.

They were close — breath-clouds mingling in the cold air, hands still holding one another, hearts beating just a little too fast. Mark’s gaze flicked to her lips, then back to her eyes.

He swallowed hard. “Can I… take you out? For real this time?”

Y/N’s lips curved into a smile. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”

Official Date Night

The campus festival was in full swing — the grassy courtyard transformed with rows of colorful stalls, string lights twinkling between trees, and the air filled with laughter, sizzling food, and indie music playing from the main stage. Mark adjusted his denim jacket as he looked around, heart racing faster than when he was skating full speed toward a goal.

He spotted her immediately, waiting near the lantern display, wearing a soft sweater and jeans, hair pinned back. She turned at the sound of his footsteps and gave him the kind of smile that made his stomach twist in the best way.

“You made it,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Mark smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

They walked side by side, weaving through the crowds, stopping at booths for games and snacks. She won them both matching cat ear headbands at a ring toss booth — “for team spirit,” she claimed, laughing as he pulled his on with mock pride. Mark was a little obsessed with the way she looked when she laughed — completely carefree, eyes shining.

When they reached the food stalls, Mark bought them a double scoop of cookies and cream in a waffle cone.

“For the best tutor-slash-skater I know,” he said as he handed it to her.

“Sharing?” she teased, offering the first bite to him.

He leaned in and took it, their eyes locked the whole time. His heart was thudding. He wiped a bit of cream from the corner of her mouth with his thumb and swore she blushed.

As the sky dimmed into evening and fairy lights flickered to life overhead, they strolled beneath the glowing trees. Music floated through the air — couples were dancing near the stage, but Mark felt too nervous to ask.

Instead, he glanced down at their hands. He’d been thinking about holding hers since the start of the night, but now his palms were clammy and his brain was short-circuiting.

Do it. Just do it.

He took a breath and slowly reached out, his pinky brushing hers. She looked at him, confused for a second, then smiled so sweetly it knocked the air from his lungs — and gently linked her fingers with his.

Warm. Soft. Perfect.

He looked down at their hands like he couldn’t believe it, then up at her face, flushed pink. She was looking ahead, but her smile hadn’t left. Mark’s grin was unstoppable.

They walked hand-in-hand for the rest of the night, sharing ice cream, shy glances, and quiet giggles.

Later that night, Mark flopped onto the couch in the shared apartment he rented with a few of his hockey teammates. His head was still spinning from the festival — from the way her fingers had laced with his like they were meant to be there.

Johnny looked up from the video game he was playing, pausing mid-round.

“So… you finally held her hand?” he asked, grinning like he already knew.

Mark blinked. “How did you—?”

“Dude. You’ve been talking about this girl for a month. We’re not blind.” Johnny tossed him a bottle of water. “Did you kiss her?”

Mark blushed instantly. “No.”

“No?!” Jaemin leaned out from the kitchen. “Bro, you bought her ice cream, held her hand, she wore the cat ears — what more do you need?!”

“I just…” Mark sighed. “I didn’t want to rush her. I didn’t know if she was ready.”

Johnny leaned back on the couch and studied him. “You really like her, huh?”

Mark nodded slowly. “She’s… different. Not just hot — like, obviously she’s beautiful — but she’s smart, and kind, and she listens. She makes me wanna be better. She actually sees me.”

Johnny smiled. “Then tell her. But not with words. You’ve got all the signs, Mark — she’s into you. You held her hand, shared a cone, walked under lights like a cheesy rom-com. You think she’s doing all that for her health?”

Mark laughed, rubbing his face. “I just don’t wanna mess it up.”

“You won’t. Just be you. Next time you’re with her — go for it. Kiss her like it’s the last ten seconds of overtime.”

Their tutoring session took place off campus for the first time — tucked into a quiet corner of a small café downtown, the kind with mismatched mugs, indie music playing softly, and the scent of espresso lingering in the air.

Y/N sat across from Mark with her laptop open and a half-eaten croissant between them. He was trying very hard to focus on integrals, but it was difficult when she kept smiling at him every time he got one right. She looked cozy in an oversized cardigan, her hair loosely tied back, cheeks flushed from the autumn chill outside.

“You’re actually improving,” she said, eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “I’m impressed.”

Mark grinned, pen spinning between his fingers. “Are you saying I’m smarter than I look?”

“I’m saying you’re not hopeless. Which is saying a lot,” she teased, nudging his foot under the table.

He nudged back, heart skipping.

Outside, the sky had gone from gray to pouring. Rain streaked the windows in thick lines, softening the glow of the café lights and making the world feel smaller — like it was just the two of them, tucked into a perfect little bubble.

“You don’t have an umbrella, do you?” Mark asked as they packed up.

She glanced out at the storm. “Nope.”

“Good,” he said, grinning. “Now I get to drive you home.”

The inside of Mark’s car was warm, the heater humming low. Raindrops drummed steadily against the roof as he pulled up in front of her apartment building, headlights casting a glow over the wet sidewalk.

Y/N unbuckled her seatbelt, but didn’t reach for the door yet. Her fingers played with the sleeve of her sweater, lips parted like she was thinking hard.

Mark looked over at her, unsure if he should say something. His heart was pounding — not from nerves this time, but anticipation. Hope.

And then she turned to him.

Her voice was soft, but steady. “You’re really not gonna kiss me?”

Mark’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard — and then he laughed, almost breathless.

“You’ve been waiting for me to?” he asked, leaning a little closer.

She smiled, a touch shy now, but playful. “Obviously.”

Mark didn’t hesitate after that. He leaned in slowly, watching her eyes flutter closed, and then kissed her — gentle at first, their lips brushing in a soft, unspoken promise. She sighed into it, one hand resting lightly on his cheek, pulling him closer.

The second kiss was deeper, slower — like they were finally speaking a language they’d both been trying to understand for weeks. His hand slipped behind her neck, thumb brushing her jaw, her lips warm and sweet against his.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and smiling, she didn’t move away. Her forehead rested against his, rain still tapping on the windows like background music.

“About time,” she whispered, brushing her nose against his.

Mark chuckled, his heart completely full. “You’ll come to my game tomorrow, right?”

She nodded immediately, eyes still closed. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Game day

The rink was electric — packed bleachers, pounding music, the sharp scrape of blades against ice. But Mark wasn’t thinking about the crowd, the rival team, or even the scouts rumored to be watching.

He was thinking about her.

Y/N, wrapped in his oversized team hoodie, sitting dead center in the front row. She stood out in the sea of faces like a spotlight. Her hands were wrapped around a paper cup of hot chocolate, but her eyes — warm, steady, glowing — never left him.

The first time he scored, he didn’t even celebrate with his teammates. He just looked right at her through the plexiglass, grinning, and pointed his stick her way.

The second time, he actually skated past the bench to tap the glass in front of her, chest heaving, sweat curling at his neck. The crowd caught on, cheers turning to teasing laughter. Mark didn’t care.

Even the announcer chuckled into the mic: “And that goal’s clearly for someone special in the stands…”

By the third goal, Jaemin was elbowing him mid-shift. “You’re embarrassing yourself.” Mark just laughed. “I don’t care.”

The locker room was humid and noisy, echoing with high-fives and victory shouts. Mark tugged off his gear quickly, hair damp, adrenaline still riding high. His thoughts weren’t on the scoreboard — they were on Y/N waiting just outside.

When he opened the locker room door and saw her standing there, still in his hoodie, cheeks pink, he smiled like an idiot.

“You were insane tonight,” she said, walking up to him, barely waiting before throwing her arms around his neck. “Everyone was talking about how you kept looking at me.”

He grinned against her hair. “That’s ‘cause you’re my good luck charm.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. Her eyes flicked down to his mouth, then back up. “You smell like sweat and victory,” she said with a grin, “and I still wanna kiss you.”

Mark didn’t need more of an invitation. He cupped her face and kissed her hard — all of the want, the buildup, the unspoken ache that had been simmering since the cafe, now spilling into the way his hands gripped her waist and pushed her gently against the locker wall.

She moaned softly into his mouth, fingers tangling in his damp hair, tugging him closer.

It got hot fast — Mark’s hands exploring beneath the hoodie she wore, her hips arching toward his, her legs brushing his in a silent plea. Their kisses turned hungry, messy, desperate.

“Mark,” she whispered breathlessly, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “I want you.”

He stilled, forehead pressed to hers, his chest rising and falling.

“God, I want you too,” he whispered, voice rough. “So bad.”

His thumb brushed her cheek, trying to calm both of them down. “But not here. Not like this.”

She blinked up at him, pouting. “Why not?”

He smiled softly, kissing her again — this time slower, reverent. “Because you deserve better than a locker room quickie after a sweaty game. I want our first time to be private. Comfortable. Just you and me. No interruptions.”

She groaned, leaning into his chest. “You’re too perfect, you know that?”

He chuckled, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “I’m trying to be. For you.”

Mark had it all planned out.

The night after his game, he texted Y/N with an address and one simple message: “Wear something comfy. I’ve got us a night in.”

When she arrived, she found herself standing in front of a cozy little Airbnb cabin just outside the city. The windows glowed gold against the twilight, and soft music drifted out through the slightly open door.

Inside, everything was warm and thoughtful — blankets piled on the couch, a flickering candle on the coffee table, and Mark, in sweats and a fitted black tee, waiting with two mugs of hot chocolate and a nervous smile.

“I figured… no pressure,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “But if you’re still sure, I wanted our first time to be… special.”

Y/N melted on the spot.

They started slow — curled up on the couch, sharing drinks and soft laughter. He played with her fingers absentmindedly while she leaned on his shoulder, and eventually, she turned to face him fully.

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” she whispered, brushing her nose against his.

That’s all it took.

Mark set his mug down and kissed her — soft at first, lips just barely brushing, like he was still making sure she wanted this. Her fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer, and the kiss deepened. She sighed into him as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap, their mouths meeting again and again, more desperate each time.

“Tell me if anything’s too much,” he murmured against her lips, voice low and breathless.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please.”

His hands moved reverently — slipping under her sweater to feel the warmth of her skin, fingertips trailing up her sides. She gasped softly as he kissed down her neck, her head tilting to give him more. He laid her back against the couch, hovering above her, drinking in the way she looked up at him: flushed, wanting, and so impossibly beautiful.

Clothes came off slowly — exchanged between kisses and soft laughter, with little whispered compliments between each layer. He looked at her like she was something sacred, worshiped every inch of skin he uncovered.

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, thumb tracing her cheekbone. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She pulled him down into another kiss, hands roaming his chest and arms, feeling every inch of the strength he carried for his team — and now, for her.

When he finally sank into her, their hands clasped together tightly, foreheads pressed close, it was nothing like she’d ever felt before.

He moved slowly, deliberately, every stroke deep and warm, pulling soft sounds from her lips as her thighs locked around his waist.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, lips brushing her jaw. “So good, baby… I’ve wanted this for so long.”

She whimpered, nails digging lightly into his back, hips rising to meet his rhythm.

He kissed her through it all — messy and slow, breath mingling, fingers laced tightly between them as if he never wanted to let go.

And when they finally fell apart together, panting and flushed and tangled beneath the blankets, he kissed her temple and whispered, “Stay. Please.”

She smiled against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Official

It was a week after the night they spent together, and Mark hadn’t stopped smiling since.

They were officially in that hazy, floating stage of love where everything felt a little too good to be real — late-night phone calls, study breaks with forehead kisses, and walking her to class just because he could.

But one thing was still unfinished. He hadn’t asked her. Not properly.

So he waited until the next hockey practice ended and texted her to meet him just outside the rink.

When she arrived, he was still in his jersey and padded pants, hair messy and cheeks flushed from the cold. He was holding something behind his back, shifting nervously on his skates.

“Hey,” she greeted him, beaming.

He leaned in for a quick kiss — still never quite believing she was his to kiss now — then stepped back and cleared his throat.

“So… I’ve kind of been thinking about how you’ve already stolen my hoodies, my attention, and all my brain cells. I figure it’s time to make it official.”

She tilted her head, smiling softly. “Yeah?”

Mark pulled the item from behind his back.

It was one of his home-game jerseys — crisp white with navy accents, his number bold across the back. But what made her breath catch was the custom name stitched just above the number:

LEE.

He handed it to her, heart pounding. “Wear it to the next game? As my girlfriend?”

Y/N blinked down at the jersey, then up at him — and her whole face lit up.

“Mark,” she whispered, laughing through the sudden tears prickling in her eyes. “Of course I’ll be your girlfriend. I thought you’d never ask.”

He exhaled hard, grinning, and pulled her into a tight hug — spinning her around before setting her down and kissing her breathless right there in the snow outside the rink.

Later That Night

Mark stepped back into the locker room still grinning like an idiot. The jersey was clutched in Y/N’s hands as she left, promising to wear it to the game and send him a mirror selfie first thing.

His teammates immediately noticed.

“Alright, Romeo,” Jaemin called from the bench, pulling off his skates. “You’re glowing. Spill it.”

Mark sat down with a dreamy sigh. “She’s my girlfriend now.”

The room erupted.

“About damn time!” “Yo, she said yes?!” “Wait, she’s gonna wear your jersey now?” “I swear, that’s more official than a wedding.”

Johnny clapped him on the back. “Proud of you, Captain. You got the girl and your math grade up. Full package.”

Mark just leaned back, towel around his neck, eyes still distant.

He’d never felt luckier — not for the game, the crowd, or the win… but for the girl who’d seen past all that, and wanted him.

Want more? Read with part 2 with more fluff/smut/drama on my Patreon as an early exclusive! Will Release on my Tumblr in a few weeks. Or if you'd like to give a lil tip, do so here!

[fraddit]

This is the first post in a series of four about the 118 firehouse on 9-1-1, including floor plans, screen shots, and detailed discussion.

The other posts in this series: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

My other floor plans: Diaz House | Buck's Loft | Madney House

They're also on my Ao3

Overview

Broadly speaking I’ll start by talking about the actual building, then move on to discuss the model I built, then I’ll go into detail by section/room, starting with the stuff I’m absolutely certain about, then stuff that’s less cut and dry, and finally stuff that’s purely theoretical at this point, along with some extras.

Here we have a bird's eye view of the entire thing, both upstairs and downstairs. There will be additional close up bird's eye views of each individual section when I discuss them in detail throughout the posts.

The Real Building

First, let’s talk about the actual real life building that they film in. The firehouse set lives in a converted warehouse in Glendale, which makes that line from The Bachelor scene in s7e04 an extremely funny (to me) meta joke.

As for dimensions, the building is 60 feet wide and roughly 165 feet long. She’s big y’all. For scale, here are both Eddie and Buck’s living spaces inside the firehouse:

Below are some grungy google maps exterior shots for your viewing pleasure. I’m particularly delighted by the graffiti on the front garage door that reads: Don’t call 911. BAKE! (wake & bake)

It's here that I need to be pedantic about the roof. As you can see, this building has a sloped roof. That little smaller bit that pokes out the top is called a monitor and it allows for clerestory windows to let daylight into the full length of the building. This sloped roof is held up inside by massive wood trusses which feature very prominently in many of the interior shots. Below are some example screen shots. I have passive aggressively highlighted the slope of the interior roof. Also, you can see the monitor roof with all the windows in it.

Obviously they cannot hang out in lawn chairs on top of this roof. They film all the roof scenes at the Fox studios lot. You can tell by the surrounding buildings visible in the background of those shots. Note Fox Plaza (the Die Hard building) behind Athena below.

Additionally, it’s not always the same roof. I’ve highlighted two of the buildings I’m certain or mostly certain about below. I also labeled Stage 6 toward the top left of the image, which was the 9-1-1 sound stage through season 8.

I have a mental workaround that allows me to reconcile these conflicting roof situations that I’ll explain in depth toward the end of all this, because it’s also relevant to a couple other things too.

Also, this isn’t relevant to anything really, but I need to say that at no point in this entire process did I notice any evidence of climate control systems in the building, and there also appears to be zero insulation. So I cannot imagine this place is comfortable to film in a lot of the time. They seem to always have huge fans in bts videos during the summer, and I imagine it’s pretty chilly in there during winter filming. Thank god for the temperate Los Angeles weather, I suppose.

The Exterior

As far as the exterior goes, three sides of the building are exposed, and one wall is shared with the building next door.

The front facade in the show is mostly red brick and is completely computer generated. There’s a side alleyway that has like an engine hoist or something? I am not a mechanical expert. Sometimes the hose racks are out there, etc.

Also, when Buck was going insane and ordering basketballs to the station and suggesting they get a hoop, I could have sworn they already had one in the side alley, and sure enough, I wasn’t insane. It’s there in the background of Hen Begins. I guess canonically, it's gone by the time Buck’s losing his marbles, but at least I have proof I didn’t lose mine.

Around the back is an extremely tall wall covered with greenery. There’s also a few trees and other planters and what seems to be a pretty nice sitting area with concrete benches, but those might belong to the building next door.

About The 3D Model I Built

I built the model in a program called Chief Architect. I first started this project in *checks notes* March?? of 2022. However, then it kind of fell by the wayside for a while, gathering digital dust. When I started working on it in earnest again last year, I added updated screen shots to my reference files up through s7e05. So the model I built is accurate through that point.

Things like wall decor and various props will not necessarily match to current seasons. But they change that stuff pretty regularly between seasons anyway, so it’s not technically fully accurate to any one season.

There’s really not much that’s different in s8, so it’s not a big deal, but, where relevant, I’ve noted a few things I’ve noticed off hand while watching the episodes as they aired.

The dimensions and angles of everything are reasonably accurate. And the roof trusses are accurate to their location within the building and their height off the floor, but I let the program auto-generate all the cross beams and I left a lot of detail above that out, like the monitor roof and the lighting.

Also, I didn’t build anything that we haven’t actually seen. So those three corners of the building downstairs are just shown as big empty rooms. Are there walls and rooms in there? Probably! Can I show you them? Nope! I've seen glimpses through some of those doors in bts videos, and it seems like they store equipment in those sections irl.

Next up, in depth exploration of the upstairs sections.

Continue to part two...

[kianamaiart]

I just wanted to tell you that I love idwtbamg and am especially blown away by the character designs for aika and zira!!!!!! their colour palettes compliment each other really well and are soft while still having some contrast and I would love to know how you came up with the designs or if you don't feel like sharing that, your favourite parts of their designs and what you're most proud of? Good luck with the pilot, by the way!!! ^^

Aw thank you so much! Character design was initially what I wanted to do when entering the industry so I love whenever I'm able to do it~

I talk about my process for picking colors here a bit!

Design process under the cut (loooong post ahead)

Whenever I'm designing a cast of characters I always start with the main character and build off of them. I started specifically with Aika's normal girl design. I wanted a star theme, and the star hair was the first thing I knew I needed. With her hair being the most eye catching and important part of her design, I wanted to make sure whatever else she had going on wasn't gonna distract from it too much. So I went for a more top heavy, but simple look with a big tshirt, small black pants. Aika was initially fully blonde but the stark black pants was starting to pull the eye. That gave me the idea to use the stark black in her hair (for the bottom half)! Made her hair even more eye catching and highlighted the star pigtails in a nice way.

For her magical girl design, I wanted to make it feel over the top and overwhelming to contribute visually why Aika wouldn't want to be a magical girl. Big poofy dress, ribbons poking out everywhere for a crazy silhouette and tall, tall platforms. I also wanted to give her longer hair in this form so I went with goddess locs! I was able to do an easy shorthand with it (long thick strands with lil curls at the end) I like the kinda biblically accurate angel look she has. My favorite part of this design was the ribbons in her hair that make the star pigtails look like shooting stars heehee

With Zira I knew I wanted her to be opposite to Aika. So sticking with the space thing, I gave her a moon motif and that was my jumping off point. With Aika having high pigtails, I decided to give Zira low pigtails and give them a vaguely crescent shape (like crescent moons get it?). Continuing with the opposites thing, I wanted to make Zira's design bottom heavy as opposed to Aika's top heavy one, and also color-wise, go on the opposite side of the color wheel from yellow for its complimentary color, purple! I didn't want Zira to feel too stylish (she's a loser after all) but also didn't wanna make her design ugly. I tried toeing the line of out of style but lowkey trendy with the grungy skirt, jeans combo. Also went with the stark black shirt under the tshirt to lean harder into the 2000s look. On top of that it helped tie her design to Aika's more (this is where I decided the stark black was gonna be an essential part of the design language of this show). My favorite part of her design for me is the mangled ends of her pants. It's a small detail but I think it says a lot about her as a character (she drags her feet, she's a little careless, kinda messy, etc.)

Hoshi is star. There's not much more to their design haha. I did give them wings to mirror Aika's dress ribbons. With their human design though, I just knew I wanted to make sure that they'd be able to make a star shape with their silhouette. Thus the hoodie and stubby limbs. Gave them the stark black pants (again at this point, it's part of the design language of this show). I tossed around the idea of giving them eyes that matched more with Aika and Zira, but it just didn't look like Hoshi so I stuck with the same face in their star design and I just thought that was funny hehe. My favorite part of Hoshi's design is just the overall fact that I managed to make them look like a star in their human form still haha

Eclipse was the hardest design for me. You would not believe how long it took me to decide whether I wanted to make him a boy or a girl. Eclipse was also gonna be named Void (and DeVoid was gonna be Eclipse) but it didn't feel quite right. I knew I wanted him to ALSO be opposite from Aika, but in a different way that Zira is. Looking at it that way helped me land on the name Eclipse because I thought it'd be fun to give both Zira and him moon motifs (as Aika's love interest and alleged love interest respectively). Similar to Zira I wanted to have purple be in his design to contrast the yellow in Aika's design. Due to his name now being Eclipse, I figured going dark with his design would make the most sense but my friend/roommie Bri @/ghostbri (who is a professional painter/color designer) suggested going pastel instead and it worked perfectly. It matched his personality and also plays on the fact that he cares more about theatrics and aesthetics than actual villainy. He completely misses the point of being the servant of darkness. He's heavily inspired by Tuxedo Mask. I wanted to make it feel like he saw a cool character once in a tv show and he decided to make it his whole persona. So he's got the suit, he's got the cape and he's got the mask. My favorite part of his design is his cape, intended to also have a crescent moon shape but then also have that stark black on the inside so his silhouette really pops against it. It's funny bc it ended up being like a reverse eclipse where the light is blocking out the dark.

DeVoid was the easiest for me to come up with the design for LMAO. Like obviously. I wanted to make her feel slick but prickly but also slightly over the top like a lot of old school magical girl villains. I thought it'd be a difficult balance to strike but it actually wasn't too bad! I gave her a sort of form fitting cocktail dress and at this point the stark black was a must so it worked out that the "void" character would just be in that all black look. It really helped her feel slick like I wanted (also gave her the slicked back hair for this reason). To give her some edge, I gave her the giant pointy shoulder pads, giant pointy horns, pointy ears, sharp nails and bat wings! Oh also worth mentioning she's the one main cast character I didn't use Aika as a jumping off point for. I designed her to look good next to Eclipse since they'd be the ones interacting the most. I made her wings white to contrast with her black dress (opposite to how Eclipse has a black cape but then mostly white outfit). To ensure that her design wasn't too dark and that her arms would read against her body, I gave her those bright silver bracelets~ While her design was easy for me to come up with, my god figuring out what color to make her hair was killing me. Tbh I was avoiding pink/red like the plague. I didn't want her to look toooo much like Jessie Team Rocket LOL. I tried white, I tried purple, I tried a more pastel pink but none of them worked well in a lineup with the rest of the characters. Bri helped talked me through all this haha. Pink/red worked the best especially there was no pink/red in the entire lineup. The Jessie influence is still there but I feel like she looks different enough! Favorite part of her design is her big ass horns)

Finally Miss! Miss was an interesting case because I designed her as I was storyboarding the pilot. She was intended to be an incidental character that we'd only randomly see once in a while. She had a veeery generic teacher design in my first pass but then as I was hiring VAs I got the idea to cast Michele Knotz to play her and that was enough for my brain to start going and come up with a backstory for her and a role that could tie in with the rest of the cast in a more meaningful way. Because of this, I designed Miss to the voice I imagined Michele would use for her. She does a great groggy and tired voice so I gave her those tired eyes, she has a darker color palette, her posture's a little more sluggish, etc. Her design still felt bland in the board so I gave her a couple piercings which helped. But then! The stark black! I gave her the half dyed hair which worked phenomenally and is probably my favorite part of her design. It leans into the tired feel (too tired to dye her roots) and also was a nice way to get the black in her design without just having to give her black pants or a black shirt or something. I'd only figured out her color palette way later and after recording Michele. The VA announcement image was the first time I'd fully drawn and colored Miss. I went with green since there was no green in the lineup! Also green's my favorite color so I had to.

PHEW that's it! Hope it was an interesting read and look into my brain.

[andcars]

# 𝗠𝗩𝟯𝟯 ─── GAMER MOMENTS MASTERLIST⠀REQUEST ME⠀TAGLIST⠀PATREON GUIDE⠀AO3

YOU'RE A MINECRAFT STREAMER and get in contact with some new guys. one of them won't stop bullying you. it's kinda silly how he acts like he's being subtle that he's trying to flirt with you.

TAGS. . . # fluff, bullying as flirting, pining max verstappen, 'oblivious' reader, minecraft streamers

FIC STYLE. . . # social media au (instagram chats, tweets)

zsync

ty FSMP for having me. that being said, hopefull i didn't give too much of a bad impression to some of ya'll....

liked by albonono, grussell and 7,742 others

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stellaroit i MISSED A ZSYNC STREAM?!?!?

orrifices RIP it was a funny stream

stellaroit what happened the vod isn't out yet

rudemi played minecraft in a new friend group and just decided to cause chaos towards this other streamer the entire time

angeleles who the hell is this lion33 dude and why did he have to hog all the wheat

divissx CHAT THE FURNACE IS NOT FURNACING!! highlight of the stream

lion33 mate i need u to leave the smp

albonono You're just jealous she got all the diamonds in the main island

lion33 completely unrelated

zsync (i'm not) sorry max

ynpng

chat i am not washed at minecraft

liked by alexalbono, georgerussell and 219 others

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georgerussell Disagree

ynpng like i ASKED

alexalbono Slay

alexalbono Btw why're u off priv do u know that

ynpng yessir

alexalbono Suspicious

alexalbono Are you joining the server soon. Max is annoying me

ynpng stop hogging my comments + maybe idk i'm still bitter abt him killing my cows

lion33

appreciate @ albonono for letting me on his stream. i do have his password now btw

liked by albonono, grussell, zsync and 13,611 others

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zsync WAS THAT WHY ALEX WAS JUST MUTED THE ENTIRE TIME?? IT WAS YOU??

lion33 lol

albonono @ zsync he was enjoying receiving flowers from you too much

lion33 your base? exploded.

shouula i love having a pov of max smiling like an idiot when yn was treating him like alex (aka kindly)

vrikrik real. yn is living the y/n life. what i would do to make him smile like that

albonono If u wanted to flirt do it on your own stream I literally went to piss

lion33 ???

massuech dude this is the weirdest softlaunch ever

zsync @ zsyncc · 28 October i'm never playing this game again

141 replies 881 reposts 1.8k likes

Max V @ lion33 · 28 October — Replying to @ zsyncc ur being dramatic lol my house was griefed i needed somewhere to stay 41 replies 331 likes

mia 🕸 @ webberstrr · 28 October — Replying to @ lion33 just say you wanted to put your beds together in minecraft and leave 2 replies 6 likes

EVE @ eeves1 · 28 October so we agree that max and yn were flirting the entire thing right

14 replies 7 reposts 63 likes

EVE @ eeves1 · 28 October — Replying to @ eeves1 i don't like rpf but it is kinda funny how max was goading yn on like a kindergarten with a crush 3 replies 7 likes

zsync

my beautiful house before it was INVADED BY THE DUTCH (also here's the mirmir bath pics ya'll begged for)

liked by albonono, grussell , lion33 and 7,742 others

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pineeapper KITTYYY

lion33 you could've just said no

zsync would u have taken no as an answer?

lion33 no haha this is what u get for stealing my diamonds

littelorrenst chaotic stream as always

piapastry no one else gonna question the weird domesticity of her and max? no? ok

albonono Why're you reposting the mirmir pics from your "priv" account

zsync because i can

lion33 what? u have a priv?

Yn | You are now private messaging @ ynpng 142 followers · 521 posts

lion33 this isn't private lmao

ynpng no i just took it off priv for a bit

lion33 oh. ok btw like do u wanna film something tgt soon

ynpng yea sure why not

lion33 cool cool yea friday?

ynpng sure

lion33 shared a location

ynpng huh

lion33 where we can meet. alex told me you live near me so

ynpng wait omfg i thought u meant like stream

lion33 oh it's ok if u want it to be just a stream like minecraft or smthn

ynpng no no its okay. i need new vid on my main yt anyways

lion33 u sure? lol it's ok if u dont wanna film irl w me

ynpng stop being such a hard ass maxy. i say yes to filming

lion33 cool. thanks btw i really like ur videos 👍

zsync

causing chaos in the toy store in my new video. thank you @ lion33 for featuring and being my slave for the day

liked by albonono, grussell, lion33 and 64,147 others

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wiiredxs never thought id get to see max doing an irl vlog willingly

hamiston who messed with the timeline why am i seeing max and yn tgt

vrikrik RIGHT like max flew a plane just to film this video 😭 they live in diff continents

lion33 sighs

albonono Your flirting technique sucks

lion33 shut the fuck up

orrifices am i delusional is this not the equivalent to teasing ur friend over his crush

grussell Yn, I hope you're seeing this

zsync seeing what

grussell Crikey...

Yn | You are now private messaging @ ynpng

georgerussell I don't wanna be the bearer of news... But Max has a crush on you

ynpng that's crazy dawg

georgerussell Okay I need some more reaction than that Me and the guys' GC have been talking about it ever since the first FSMP stream

ynpng whattttttt he's whatttttttt

georgerussell What in the Have you like known this the entire time

ynpng George. The man is a Monaco based streamer. I do not live in Monaco. He told me that Alex said we live near each other. I can kinda tell when people have a crush...

georgerussell And that's just your reaction!? I still expected something!

ynpng ill give u a reaction if he does something more obvious in the next stream

zsync @ zsyncc · 8 November fsmp birthday stream 2nite y'all. wish me bday luck i need netherite

568 replies 7k reposts 12.9k likes

EVE @ eeves1 · 8 November alright are we ever going to talk about how max (and im entirely sure it's max) put netherites in yn's chest like that was so cute...

27 replies 142 reposts 628 likes

♠ | FIO @ butt3fl1es · 8 November WHY DID I ENTER THE STREAM TO MAX MAXPLAINING ABOUT MONACO BOYS NOT BEING FUCKBOYS!?!?

WHAT IS HE YAPPING ABT

16 replies 7 reposts 88 likes

#33 @ quetoii · 8 November someone needs to tell max his cam is still on everyone can see him giggling after yn thanked him for his gift

23 replies 98 reposts 218 likes

dumb blonde moment @ jaccalps · 8 November — Replying to @ quetoii it's his fault anyways like no one streams minecraft w their cam on for maximum laziness

2 replies 6 likes

ynpng 🔒

@ lion33 thanks for the present! and you, I guess. but seriously, you need like better courting skills. my nephew could do way better than you and he's 3yo

liked by alexalbono, georgerussell and 327 others

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alexalbono I'm sorry, courting!?

ynpng if bullying me counts as courting yeah

georgerussell ... No one won the bet

lion33 this is why you don't start a bet

georgerussell Mate, no one expected you to try and get with her like two weeks when you first met

ynpng ok to clarify, we are not dating. he's funny and he's rich so im letting him try

layladook girl whyre you a red flag 😭

lion33 my fave color has always been red

🗒 𝗣𝗔𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟 . . . ok so i decided to do like my tweets as the text so it was easier for me to make this + less images uploaded. feel free to tell me if it's better or bad from how i used to do it before. anyways this was funny to write. i love minecraft. i love that max loves minecraft. it's just a bunch of tomfoolery around here also, my birthday is actually on the 8th so lil easter egg lmao ˎˊ˗ ᝰ.

──── 📨 @delululeclerc @hiireadstuff @bicchaan @fallingforpvris @rtorresblog @tribbisweetdear @jamie2305 @mv1simp

you support me best on tumblr with reblogs and comments ! ── by andcars ⟡

[sirfrogsworth]

(In reference to this post)

I'm going to be honest, this kind of attitude concerns me.

I've been going over my past lately. I'm writing something about my relationship with my brother. And I found a letter I never sent him.

Here is an excerpt.

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

I was not a good brother to you.

I took you for granted and was an ungrateful jerk. You used to do so much to help me. You did all kinds of manual labor because my stupid failing body could not. You built me things. You helped me fix things. You drove me places I needed to be. When I first got sick at college you came to Kansas City and scooped me up and brought me back home.

I remember one Christmas you even went back to the family gathering and stuck up for me. They didn't understand how sick I was and you explained it to them. I never told you how much that meant to me. I should have hugged you and thanked you profusely on the spot. You believed me even when some doctors refused to. And you used that big heart of yours to defend me.

That was an amazing act of courage. Find that same courage now. Stand up for Mom & Dad. Stand up for yourself. Put your foot down and fix this.

It took me way too long to figure it out, but it is my regret of being a bad brother that helped me realize why you don't like my humor. Why you are one of the very few people I can't make laugh. It's because I used that humor at your expense. I made fun of you. I teased you the same way those betraying bastard fake friends did in high school. At the time, I probably thought my jokes were harmless fun. But I'm sure you felt they were cruel and hurtful. We are such different people and I had a hard time understanding you. I used humor as a weapon to highlight our differences. I have no excuse. I have no justification for being a jerk to you.

All I can do is say I am sorry. Truly and deeply sorry.

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

I didn't send that letter because he was too far gone. His wife read every email and text and I had no way of getting through to just him.

My brother used to be a much better person than me. I often failed to be the good person I thought I was. I didn't realize I was being hurtful at the time. And I didn't do this to just him. I thought I was just making jokes. It was not "pretty easy" for me to realize that. It took years of growing and hindsight.

He used to be nothing but good behaviors all the way down.

And I struggled to limit my bad behaviors.

I was bullied in grade school and realized that if you are funny, people don't bully you anymore. So my brain thought I needed to make people laugh at all times. And it didn't matter if my jokes were at someone else's expense.

Bad behaviors are often easy. They can be tempting. They can require less effort. They can have greater rewards. And sometimes they can protect you. They can be a defense mechanism. Your brain trying to avoid trauma. "I'll hurt someone first so no one hurts me."

There is a reason so many people struggle to be good all the time.

Good behavior requires constant vigilance. You can't do a certain number of good things and then just call yourself a good person. And you can't just not do bad things either. A good person isn't necessarily just "not being evil to other people." That is neutral, at best.

I've learned that being a good person isn't something you just are. It is an ongoing choice. You have to maintain it. You have to actively keep it going. You have to consistently choose good behaviors and limit the bad.

And we all choose bad behaviors from time to time.

Don't kid yourself.

If you know the story of my brother, he let bad behaviors win. He let someone influence him to abuse and neglect his own family. He did it because he was traumatized. He was humiliated by a girl in high school. She said she was his girlfriend. She let him take her to prom. Then she wrote a one-act play called "Prom Nightmare" and performed it in front of the entire school. He was a laughing stock to 2000 classmates.

He is terrified of being alone but he is also terrified that any romantic partner is faking their affections. So obedience is his tool to prevent that. He will do anything his partner instructs to make sure her affection is real. His unmanaged trauma has run amok and led him to dark choices to keep his relationship intact at any cost.

He was such a good person. And now he is not. He has the potential. He is so good with his daughter. He is capable of good behaviors. And I think that is why it upsets and angers me so much. I can still see what he could be.

If you want to see people as just good and bad, that's up to you. I can't do it anymore. I think humans are too complicated. And I worry about getting complacent. I need to check in on my ratio of good to bad behaviors constantly. It would be too easy to say I am a good person and not think about it again.

I mean, sure, I don't kick puppies. I don't taunt the elderly. I don't assault random strangers.

Being good is easy!

Right?

[f1angelz]

filo girly request for oscar 🧍🏻‍♀️🫶🏼

im thinking of a scenario where reader is part of a love team and oscar gets jealous or she gets questions when shes on a show it interview about him and they love her and oscar together if a fc is needed i love atasha mulach's vibe

𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒏 — oscar piastri x reader

summary: oscar’s girlfriend is a celebrity and has an on-screen partner. when she gets asked about her and oscar’s relationship during an interview, what is she gonna say?

content warnings: none, just fluff. (not proofread sorry </3)

this fic contains tagalog phrases and words highlighted in italics. for non-filipino readers, translations are provided in small text. *(mahal = love)

── .✦

It’s 3 in the morning in Silverstone, and Oscar couldn’t sleep.

Maybe it’s because he arrived a few hours ago and can’t bring himself to rest, or maybe it’s because his girlfriend had an interview on the other side of the globe.

Oscar’s girlfriend is a celebrity in the Philippines, Y/N Y/L/N. She’s had multiple projects, endorsements, and films that have also gone global. Before getting into this relationship, Oscar knew the consequences that he would have to face— long distance, media, and other factors.

But he loved her. That’s what mattered the most, right?

Not until Y/N recently had a TV series that went viral, as she was paired with one of the most famous actors in Filipino TV. Their chemistry was undeniable— weeks after her TV series was released, she was all over the news along with her on-screen partner. There were fan accounts, edits, and even fanfiction about them.

Everytime a new post was written about them, Oscar’s jealousy grew. Although Y/N always reassured him that it was strictly on-screen, He really couldn’t help it.

Oscar’s thoughts stopped when he felt his phone vibrate on his chest.

my love 💞: hi, mahal! i know you’re still up. my interview is almost gonna start. watch me?

my love 💞 has sent a link.

my love 💞: there’ll be a monitor in front of us during the interview. i’ll be able to see it on screen once you’ve joined, okay? i love you!

Oscar smiled.

mahal 🩷: okay babe, i’ll be joining in a few. goodluck!

Oscar sat up and reached out for his laptop which was on the desk, opened it up and clicked on the link she sent.

The show was already starting, the hosts greeting the crowd both in the studio and livestream.

Y/N and her on-screen partner were introduced. Once they both entered, the crowd went wild, cheering for them with their ship name. Oscar looked at the livestream comments and sighed, everyone was crazy for them.

The show went on as usual, asking them about the TV series and how filming was going. Eventually, the hosts asked about their personal lives.

“So Y/N, We’re aware that you’re dating F1 driver Oscar Piastri. Kamusta naman kayo?”

(So Y/N, We’re aware that you’re dating F1 driver Oscar Piastri. How are you guys doing?)

Y/N smiled and let out a nod, “We’re doing really well. Actually, kakapanalo lang nya last week in the Austrian Grand Prix. I was there and I couldn’t have been more proud.”

(We’re doing really well. Actually, he recently won last week in the Austrian Grand Prix. I was there and I couldn’t have been more proud.)

The hosts smiled and fawned over their relationship, “I’m sure he’s proud of your career too. But we’re curious, hindi ba siya nag seselos? For sure aware naman siya sa love team nyo.”

(I’m sure he’s proud of your career too. But we’re curious, does he get jealous? For sure he’s aware about your love team.)

The studio crowd cood and Oscar’s heart started beating.

Y/N let out a small laugh, it was a common question that people asked her since their relationship was public.

“Hindi naman siya nag seselos, I wish.”

(He doesn’t really get jealous, I wish.)

She humored, and the rest laughed. Oscar laughed too at her response, assuming that it was something funny since he couldn’t understand.

“All jokes aside, hindi naman siya nag seselos. He knows very well that strictly for work lang yung ginagawa ko. He’s the best boyfriend I could ever ask for.”

(All jokes aside, he doesn’t really get jealous. He knows very well that what I’m doing is strictly for work. He’s the best boyfriend I could ever ask for.)

One of the hosts asked, “Do you have any message for him?”

Y/N cleared her throat, “Hi, mahal! I know you’re watching right now kahit sobrang late na diyan. Thank you for always being very supportive, you know how much I love you. I can’t wait to see you on Sunday!”

(Hi, love! I know you’re watching even if it’s super late over there. Thank you for always being very supportive, you know how much I love you. I can’t wait to see you on Sunday!)

The crowd smiled and teased, clapping at her message.

Oscar was smiling from ear-to-ear, and somehow, he wasn’t as jealous anymore. He saw the livestream commenting on their relationship and how cute they were. Maybe he shouldn’t be jealous after all.

The show eventually ended and Oscar closed his laptop, returning it on his desk. He opened his phone and sent Y/N a message.

mahal 🩷: you know i’ll always be here for you, right? no matter what time it is where i’m in.

my love 💞: i know, mahal. and i know you’re jealous too 😆

Oscar laughed, maybe he was bad at hiding it.

mahal 🩷: maybe i was a bit jealous.

my love 💞: oscar jack piastri, you literally have my heart and you’ll always have it. okay?

He smiled. God, he loves her so much.

mahal 🩷: i know, and i’ll do everything in my power to keep it safe. i love you ❤️

my love 💞: go to sleep, i know you’re getting tired, mahal. i love you too! see you on sunday ❤️

Oscar gave her message a heart react before turning off his phone.

And off he drifted to sleep, knowing that he was the luckiest man on earth that night.

── .✦

a/n: i had so much fun writing this, it’s been 2 years since i wrote a fic !! also i’m so grateful for those who requested. much love 🤍

[wandascrush]

Why the invite?

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x f!reader, AU Wanda Maximoff x f!reader, Wanda Maximoff x an annoying fiance

Summary: After years of not speaking, your old high school “situationship” invites you to her wedding

Warnings: kissing, hickeys, undercover homophobia, some light angst, a man makes an appearance

Song: Why did you invite me to your wedding by Kevin Atwater (lyrics highlighted in red)

The glow of your laptop screen is the only thing illuminating your bedroom, casting bluish light over the clutter of books and coffee mugs littering your desk. The world outside is quiet—as quiet as it gets for a bustling city. It’s 2:00 am, the kind of late where even the hum of the refrigerator feels deafening, except the occasional buzz of a notification.

   You should be sleeping. You have meetings in the morning, or at the very least, something better to do than mindlessly scrolling through Facebook. But here you are, trying to write and getting stuck after the first sentence. You could hear your editors voice scolding you already. So, you decided scrolling on socials instead was better- another engagement post. Another couple. Another pregnancy announcement. A reminder that your 20’s aren’t forever, and time is slowly marching forward.

Then, a notification pops up.

Wanda Maximoff has sent you a friend request. 

You freeze. 

   For a second, you think your brain is playing tricks on you. Maybe you’re too tired, and it’s not really her name flashing across the screen. But no—when you click on it, there she is. Wanda Maximoff, looking just as ethereal as ever in her profile picture. A cheerleader that aged well. That’s new.  The feeling that grips your chest is old.

You hesitate, fingers hovering over the mouse. It’s been years. At least six. She was your first, in more ways than one. Your first real love. Your first heartbreak. Your first lesson in how shame could be sharper than a knife.

A second notification chimes. A message.

Wanda Maximoff sent you a message.

I got your message, last night around 1

Your throat feels tight as you click. The message is short, simple. Too simple for the weight of the years between you.

“Hi. Hope you’re well. Also, save date! Marrid soon :)”

You’re getting married, and you want me to come

You immediately notice her grammar is off, and so is the way she spells “married.”  You miss me a lot and the wedding's next month I think you were drunk, you spelled "wedding" wrong

And then, attached below—an image.

 A cream-colored card, tastefully elegant, adorned with gold lettering. 

Wanda Maximoff & Victor Ivonis. 

Save the Date- come celebrate the lovely couple. It’s summer wedding, her favorite season. 

You don’t read the rest. You don’t need to. Your lips twitch into something that isn’t quite a smile. It’s funny, in a bitter sort of way.

Wanda is getting married. To a man. 

Of course she is.

You lean back in your chair, exhaling sharply. A laugh—dry, humorless—pushes past your lips. You squeeze the bridge of your nose, trying to process this random, and honestly, unwanted invitation. 

After all these years, this is how she comes back into your life. A friend request. A wedding invitation. Like you’re just another face in the crowd, another name on a guest list?

You close your eyes, and suddenly, you are in highschool again.

Back in the dimly lit parking lot after prom, the air thick with spring rain and the sound of Wanda’s whimpers filling the car. You remember her hands resting on your shoulders, fingers trembling, her lips parted like she wanted to say something as she reached her climax on your lap. The way your name fell off her lips sounded like heaven. You never forgot the feeling of her sucking possessive hickeys into your neck, never knowing what to tell people when they asked who they were from. Or how she looked at you when no one else was watching, like you were her whole world.

And the way she let you go.

Your fingers tighten around the mouse, the glow of the screen reflecting in your tired eyes. The past is knocking, uninvited, and you don’t know whether to open the door—or let it stay locked. 

And not for a moment does it escape you that Wanda invites you to her wedding, in the dead of the night, at 2 am. 

[giveafike]

kinda obsessed with the prompt of ben x fem tennis reader being together for a lil while and being the cutest couple , breaking up bc the distance hit them too hard after two straight months of different tournaments/locations, then seeing each other for the first time at a 1000 tournament, going out to dinner with the same group of people and end up going back to bens hotel room to clear the air and obvs end up in bed together realising they’re gonna have to get thru the distance cos they can’t be without each other now 😭

TLDR: tennisplayerfem!reader and ben break up bc you can't handle being away and then surprise, you can't handle being not together. Losers.

Word count + info: 10k. Am I mentally ill? This is supposed to be a blurb.. Dialogue (angst, texts, calls, conversation).

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! Breakup and kinda mean stuff said (nothing physical description wise). Otherwise, it's all good! (i think)

Azzie Notes ✚: SHOOT ME IN THE HEAD. AM I OKAY??? 10K?? ON A BLURB?? idrk what angst is fr chat lmk if i did that one fr idk....im a LOVER girl ok IDK HOW TO DO THIS SAD SHIT - in saying that, was part of my dialogue in this lwky..loosely based off of my ex...........maybe...

I fear I loved this prompt so bad and like...I love to yap..so...

Socials + Updates: twitter ( @azziegivesafike) - feel free to follow and msg me about non requests there, I'll be posting life updates, story + req updates and spoilers/teasers alongside other things, so it'd be nice to have a community over there!

————————————————————————

Shattered - B.T.S.

In the beginning, being with Ben is the kind of whirlwind you've only seen in movies, a connection that feels so natural, yet thrillingly unexpected. Well, in hindsight, that might've been a lie. It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but instead, a slow, magnetic pull that drew you together, like the tension building in a long rally. You met on the circuit, both hungry, ambitious, and dedicated to your own success. But from the start, Ben had this way of getting past your disciplined, guarded exterior with that relentless charm of his.

He’s everywhere, it seems—posting highlights from your matches on his stories, sneaking your name into press conferences, tagging you in his silly “lazy Saturday” shots where your game is always playing in the background. He flirts shamelessly, flashing that grin across the court, his voice lifting over the crowd to make some cheeky comment that leaves you stifling laughter. Your friends see it before you do: Ben is crazy about you, and soon, so is everyone else.

He flirted shamelessly and relentlessly, everywhere and anywhere, often catching you off guard in ways that left you flustered despite your best efforts to stay cool and professional. With that, you started to look out for the way his eyes would find yours in a crowd while you sat in the stands during his matches or how he would nudge you at practice with that easy, casual touch like he’s done it a thousand times before; like you belong by his side.

Once, when he's asked in an interview if he’d dedicated his recent win to anyone, he grins and looks straight across the room, making everyone laugh. “There’s someone special right now, but no need to say names, she knows.”

It’s sweet, funny and more than a little bold. Later, when you called him out for it over one of your first late-night calls, he shrugged, entirely unapologetic, telling you with that stupid drawl of his, “What? Ain’t no point hidin’ it. The world knows who my lucky charm is.”

Soon, it was you reaching out for him, your hand slipping onto his arm, leaning against him during walkouts, letting your barriers fall. And every time he catches your eye, every time he manages to make you smile, he looks at you like he’s won the lottery. His heart stammers a little each time you shove him playfully or roll your eyes at his antics. Whether it was on the bench or during changeovers, Ben would rest his hand gently on your lower back, a touch that makes you feel, just for a moment, like you're the only two people in the world.

When the rare break in your schedules comes around, you steal hours together. You grab a coffee, turning a "quick run" into a day spent together and wander around a city you barely know, or stumble upon a hidden café with pastries too flowery for your tastes. He made everything feel easier, like no matter how intense life gets, you’ll always have that balance with him. Around Ben, you can be softer, and more vulnerable; he brings out a side of you that isn’t just about winning and competing but about laughing, sharing, and letting go.

People noticed the way you look at each other, the easy affection that passes between you, the more daring and intimate PDA, sharing kisses and lingering stares. Soon, fans were shipping you openly, posting photos of you courtside, or whispering to each other when you lean close and murmur something that makes him laugh. On tour, you’re one of those “it” couples, a little slice of joy in the relentless pace of your careers. And in those early days, you both believe that together, you can take on anything. In those early days, you believed you could take on anything together. You and Ben were partners, equals, and even in the midst of a gruelling season, there had always been time for him, always a reason to smile. It felt perfect, like a love story you had stumbled into but were both entirely committed to.

But that honeymoon phase comes crashing down real quick.

As seasons shift and tournaments stretch across continents, the cracks start to show. At first, it’s just a few hours difference, but then come the miles and oceans, and the texts dwindled, conversations cut short, replaced by more missed calls than made and vague apologies. You both had tried, in every way you knew how. But eventually, the memories weren’t enough to bridge the distance. You’d catch yourself staying up just to wait for his call after practice, only to fall asleep disappointed, staring at a dark screen. And every time you woke up to a hastily sent sorry, something came up text, it felt like another tiny fracture.

Ben wasn’t the only one caught up in the chaos of your schedules; you had your own demands, too. The strain went both ways. In an attempt to keep things alive, you’d push yourself to keep up with his time zone, adding another city to your Clock app, setting alarms accordingly to his lunch and dinner times, staying awake far too late, eyes heavy as you sat alone in your hotel room, scrolling through old photos just to feel closer to him. When the call finally did come, your voice was barely more than a whisper, tired and distant, and Ben couldn't bear the exhaustion in your tone, his heart aching as he hushed you to sleep, meaning neither of you would stay on long.

It all piled up slowly, almost imperceptibly, until the weight felt crushing. Conversations became one-sided, it’s like chasing the sun itself, moments of silence replacing the laughter that had once felt endless, and that spark, the one that made you feel unstoppable together, felt further away with every day that passed.

Then came the day of your match, a game that should have been easy, one you’d normally have breezed through. But you were dragging, exhaustion wrapping itself around your every heavy, drooping step, and somewhere in the depths of your mind, a bitter thought took root:

If only he cared.

You knew it wasn’t his fault, but still, the frustration boiled over. Would things have felt different if you weren’t so alone in this? If you didn’t have to wonder when, or if, he’d remember to call? If he scheduled calls to your time for once? If he could just postpone everything for 20, 20 measly minutes for you?

A ball zips right by you, snapping you back to reality.

Lying in your hotel room that night, you stared at the ceiling, replaying the best moments of your time together like an old movie reel. In those moments, it had felt perfect. You’d believed you could take on the world, side by side, partners in everything. But now, with miles and silence separating you, you wondered if those memories were all that was left of what you once had.

But even with that ache, even with the emptiness filling the room, one thing is clear as day: loving Ben, for all its messiness, for all the distance and loneliness, had never felt like a mistake but God, was it hard. You pondered on those same irritating thoughts that itched at you until your fingers found your phone and hit the FaceTime Call button. Part of you wanted him to not pick up, knowing that you had nothing kind or sweet to say, but a small part of you wanted to dish back what he deserved.

“Hey,” he greets, his voice tense, worn. His drawl feels distant like he’s talking to you from across an ocean.

“Hey.” You can feel the iciness in your voice, colder than you intended.

“Long day?” he asks, though his expression is already tense, wary.

“Yeah. Almost lost today,” you say flatly.

Ben’s gaze flicks down. “I saw the score,” he says, his voice cautious. “Guess it was a tough match, babe.”

“It shouldn’t have been,” you snap. “But maybe it’s hard to focus when I’m barely sleeping… or constantly waiting for a text that never comes.”

He blinks, his eyes narrowing. “So this is on me?” The familiar accent is a little rougher around the edges. “You’re losin’ matches ‘cause I’m not callin’ you enough? That’s what you’re sayin’?”

“Don’t play dumb, Ben. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about” You feel the bitterness twisting in your chest. ““You’re barely here, Ben. Half the time, I don’t even know if we’re still together or if we’re just two people sending pointless messages every few hours. Half the time, it feels like I’m talking to a ghost.”

He lets out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. “You think it’s any easier for me? I’ve got my own stuff, my own schedule, darlin'. I’ve got my career to think about too, you know, this ain't just about you.”

Your jaw tightens. “Yeah, well, at least when I'm on the court, I don’t exactly have the luxury of tuning you out, Ben. I’m not the one who forgets to call after saying I would. I don’t have time for half-assed texts and waiting around for you to call when you feel like it.”

“Oh, don’t go there,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “You know what it’s like. The fans, the interviews, the time spent on court-”

“Yeah, I get it, Ben. But last week, you bailed on a call to go sign autographs. Priorities, right?”

He takes a deep breath, visibly holding back. “C’mon, babe, you don’t mean that.”

But you press on, unable to stop yourself. “You’re too busy with whatever ‘big thing’ you have going on, right? Maybe if you cared enough to focus on your game instead of your ‘commitments,’ you wouldn’t have dropped that finals match. Just maybe.”

He flinches, his expression turning dark. “Oh, that's low from you, Y/N. You really wanna go there?”

“Yeah, I do,” you say, your voice unwavering.

He pauses, his face hardening. “If you were out here on the ATP tour, you’d understand how rough it really is. You wouldn't even get past a challenger. It ain’t the same league as the WTA.”

You laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “Oh, don’t even start with that. Rougher than the WTA? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Maybe come and join WTA then, you wouldn't manage it out here either, Ben.”

He snaps, his voice cutting like a whip. “You know how much I’m fightin’ to make a name for myself out here. Just ‘cause you got a few more shiny titles doesn’t mean you get to talk down to me like this.”

The sting of his words hits like a slap. Your face flushes, a mix of anger and hurt bubbling up. “So, that’s it? Just because I’ve actually earned my success, I’m some kind of… what? Nag?”

“I didn’t say that,” he shot back, voice tight, his eyes narrowing as he looked away. “But maybe you’re doin’ too much. Bein’ all… dramatic, blamin’ me for stuff I got no control over.”

“Right, okay, so I’m being dramatic,” you scoff, your voice edged with sarcasm. “I’m the one asking for too much because I want something real, something you clearly can’t give.”

He laughs, bitter and raw. “Maybe you just want too damn much.”

You feel the tears prickling behind your eyes, but you clench your jaw, holding yourself together by sheer force of will. Your voice trembles as you speak, the words thick with a pain you can’t contain. “I just want you to care, Ben, or at least pretend to care and make it believable. I want you to care enough to be here when it matters. But you’re so wrapped up in yourself, you don’t even see it.”

His face hardens, his jaw set, but his eyes hold a flicker of something unspoken. “You think I don’t care? I’m out here pushin’ myself every day, for us, for this future we’re supposed to be building 'n shit. But it’s like no matter what I do, it ain’t enough for you.”

A sharp knock sounds from his end, followed by muffled voices. He glances away, then back at you, irritation flaring in his eyes. “Look, I gotta go. Dad’s waitin’ on me; he already gave me an extra ten minutes to talk.”

You feel your heart twist, an ache of disappointment settling in. “Oh, of course,” you mutter, your voice dripping with bitterness. “Go ahead. I’m sure your training’s way more important than anything I have to say.”

He turns back, his eyes blazing with frustration. “Maybe it is right now,” he spits. “Talkin’ to you like this, all it’s doin’ is makin’ things worse. We're not getting anywhere like this-”

The words cut deeper than you expect, and you can barely hold back the surge of anger and heartbreak choking you. “Fine. Go, then. At least one of us can prioritise something.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as he looks away. “You’re bein’ unfair, 'n you know it.”

“Am I?” you whisper, your voice tight and choked. “Or am I just done waiting for you to show up?”

You stare at each other, an endless silence stretching between you, sharp and seething, words too heavy to be unsaid. Then, with a frustrated shake of his head, he mutters, “I can’t do this right now. I’ll talk to you later. When you’re not actin’ like this.”

Before you could respond, he hung up, his face disappearing from your screen, leaving you alone with nothing but the cold light of your phone. Your hands shook as you stared at the blank screen, tears finally spilling over.

With trembling fingers, you took a breath, letting a cold, steely calm settle over you. You typed out a simple, blunt message, leaving no room for second-guessing, no room for soft words or explanations. Just the truth, as raw as you felt.

“We’re done. I can’t do this anymore, Ben. I’m sorry.”

Your thumb lingered for a second before hitting “send,” and as soon as the message went through, you blocked him on every platform, cutting off any way for him to respond, to apologise, to convince you otherwise.

But as you tossed your phone aside, a crack appeared in the calm you’d forced on yourself. The tears came suddenly, your breath hitching as a tidal wave of heartbreak surged through you. You buried your face in your hands, pressing your palms against your eyes as if you could somehow contain the emotions clawing their way to the surface. You tried to stay quiet, muffling the sound in the dark, but the weight was too much, every sob raw, grieving and heavy, pouring out the frustration, the loneliness, and the love you’d tried so hard to salvage.

By the time your tears subsided, you felt utterly drained, hollowed out in a way that made everything around you feel distant and surreal. The city lights flickered outside your window, the glow indifferent to the storm that had torn through you. And in that quiet, broken moment, with only the shadows as company, you lay there, letting the exhaustion seep through your bones until sleep claimed you.

When sleep finally came, it was restless, fractured. You tossed and turned, flashes of memories from better days with Ben haunting you, the sound of his laugh, the way he’d smile, gummy and wide, his nose scrunching with that easy confidence. You woke up more exhausted than when you’d closed your eyes, feeling like you hadn’t rested at all. But you forced yourself out of bed, pushing yourself through your pre-game routine, your emotions locked away, frozen under layers of determination.

As you walked onto the court, the crowd buzzed with excitement, but you barely registered it. You were a storm, calm on the surface but seething underneath. Every shot you took was hard and brutal, the ball slicing through the air with an intensity that made your opponent flinch, the impact echoing through the stadium. You played as if your life depended on it, your body moving with sharp, lethal precision.

Your serves were relentless, your groundstrokes vicious, each one faster, sharper, as if each shot were a way to expel the anger and hurt still simmering in your chest. The crowd murmured, noticing the shift in your energy, the way you were pushing yourself, almost recklessly. A couple of times, your shots zipped past your opponent’s hand, barely missing, almost daring her to try and reach for it - "try me". You were untouchable, unstoppable, playing like you had something to prove.

But there was no smile, no hint of joy in your movements, solely mechanical. The usual lightness in your footwork was gone, replaced by a cold, ruthless efficiency. You’d already decided: this match was yours. You weren’t here to give an inch, weren’t here to let any lingering emotions cloud your focus. The crowd might have wanted excitement, but you were giving them precision, a display of control and fury that left no room for doubt.

You won, of course. Your opponent barely had a chance. But as you walked off the court, sweat trickling down your brow, fists clenched, you felt no thrill in the victory. Just the dull ache that lingered, a hollow space where your lightness, your smile, used to be. The heat of the court only made your head throb. The applause faded into background noise as you strode away, head high, shoulders tense. You’d won, but it felt like a hollow victory. You had no one to text after your game, anyone to call you baby - you had done it to yourself, were you really that desperate for a man to validate you? You were sick of feeling this way, sick of the exhaustion, the anger, the loneliness that clung to you even after everything you’d given today. At least, for now, you’d proven something, to yourself, to him, even if he’d never know, or care.

In the month that followed, you threw yourself harshly into your schedule, determined to erase any trace of him from your routine, your heart. Matches, training, travel, interviews, photoshoots, more matches, each day bled into the next, filled with an almost mechanical sense of purpose. If you weren’t on the court, you were working out, perfecting your strokes, spending hours on serves and footwork. Anything to exhaust yourself to stop the thoughts from lingering too long. Your routine was relentless, your focus razor-sharp.

But even in this frenzy, despite it all, reminders of him still slipped through. You’d scroll through social media, and every so often, an ATP post would pop up: Ben at a tournament, Ben celebrating a point, Ben grinning with that easy charm that used to make your heart ache. He looked different now. His curls were longer, spilling out from over his sweaty headband, and his frame had hardened, leaner, with muscle that seemed to outline his strength in sharper lines. His chubby cheeks had slimmed down into something harder, replaced by the quiet confidence of someone who’d grown, adapted, maybe even suffered a little.

And you could almost feel it, the quaking, gaping pain of missing him, but you’d swallow it back down, pull yourself together, and look away.

Your own press conferences became something else entirely. You were more composed, a bit sharper with your words, confident in a way you hadn’t been before. Where you used to smile shyly or laugh softly, now you leaned in with humour, a hint of flirtation, your charm more self-assured. You handled reporters’ questions deftly, especially the ones that tried to pry about Ben. The same questions came up over and over:

“So, do you still keep in touch with Ben?”

Each time, you’d respond with a practised, cool smile. “Right now, I’ve got all the support I need from my team and the people I have with me.” You’d turn the conversation to your work, your skill, and your grind on the court, dismissing the topic with subtle elegance, always steering it back to your goals, your game, and your people.

Yet, away from the cameras, the facade cracked, if only slightly. Sometimes, after a long match or a particularly brutal day of training, you’d find yourself scrolling through your old photos or feeling tears prickling your eyes, this messy situation taking a bigger toll than you would like to admit.

In his hotel room, Ben watched your interviews alone, a faint crease between his brows. There you were, in all your brilliance, flashing a confident smile at the camera, handling the press with a wit and boldness that felt both familiar and strange. He could see the way you’d grown, the way you’d steeled yourself, and it stirred something in him, a pang he couldn’t ignore. It was like watching someone he knew intimately and yet… not at all. The way you answered questions about him, and your subtle redirection to your career and team, it stung. Maybe it was petty, but he missed the way you used to talk about him with such pride, with that lovestruck glow. He loved seeing how shy you would get at the sheer mention of his name. Your hair was different, your skin glowing, you had more confidence, even if it came off a bit cocky but he still felt like you were his, just as much as he was yours. Ben didn’t know how to reach out, didn’t know what he’d even say. There was a distance now, both physical and emotional, that seemed impossible to bridge. He’d scroll through his own phone sometimes, finding old messages, ones before distance got the better of you both, photos of the two of you, half-written scripts in his Notes app he couldn’t bring himself to deliver. If he flew out tonight to you, what would he even do after? He’d think of calling you, of reaching out somehow, but the memory of your last fight, the bitterness in your voice, the way you’d shut him out… it held him back.

One evening, as you sat alone in the players' lounge, your forehead pressed against the back of the sofa, you felt that familiar ache pulse through you, the one that came every time you thought of him. It was then that Coco came by, her familiar, steady presence filling the room as she settled down across from you, cross-legged on the seat in front of you. Over the past year, it was Ben that introduced you but, you and Coco had grown even closer, bound not just by shared victories and losses but by the pressures only someone like her could truly understand.

Coco tilted her head, her gaze warm but unwavering. “Alright,” she said, cutting through the silence. “What’s really going on? Are you… over him?”

You exhaled slowly, running a hand through your hair as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I wish I could say yes,” you murmured. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried to move on, focus on the game, on everything else, but… he’s still everywhere. Even when I’m doing well, even when I’m focused, it’s like… something’s missing.” Your voice dropped to barely a whisper. “It’s like I can’t fully shake him.”

Coco nodded, her expression both sympathetic and knowing. “I get it. You two had something real, something intense. But maybe this time apart is what you both need. I mean, look at you. You’re stronger now, on and off the court. Maybe that’s part of this whole journey, you know?”

You managed a faint smile, though your heart still felt heavy. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. It just… doesn’t always feel like enough.”

She reached out, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Trust me. If he’s the right guy, he’ll figure it out, too. Until then? Focus on your game. Focus on you.”

Her words stayed with you, offering a small but steady comfort in the days that followed. You have been throwing yourself into training, pouring everything into the sport, trying to find solace in each match and each moment of growth. Somewhere out there, he was doing the same, and maybe, just maybe, this was what was best.

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t completely smother the small spark of hope, that someday, somehow, your paths might cross again.

It was similar in the men’s locker room, Ben slumped forward on the bench, his elbows propped on his knees as he stared blankly at the floor, holding an uncapped bottle of water. Frances Tiafoe, who’d been eyeing him from across the room, exchanged a knowing glance with Taylor Fritz before making his way over.

“Alright, bro, spill it,” Frances said, tossing a towel over his shoulder as he leaned in. “You’ve been lookin’ like you’re living in some sad dog for weeks.”

Ben gave him a sidelong glance. “There’s nothin’ to talk about.”

Taylor rolled his eyes as he joined them, settling down on the other side of Ben. “Come on, man. We’re not blind. Ever since she blocked you, you’ve been… different.”

Ben scoffed, looking away, his voice low. “She didn’t just block me, man. She… she threw down, real hard. Said some things I thought she’d never say.”

Frances let out a low whistle. “Was that rough, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ben said, rubbing a hand over his face, his frustration mingling with regret. “It all just blew up. We were on a call, talkin’ like usual, and suddenly… it was like everything we hadn’t said just came out. She starts throwin’ things at me about how I’m not there, like… like I don’t care enough or not workin' hard enough. And it pissed me off, you know? I work just as hard, and it’s not like I’m sittin’ around, right?”

Taylor nodded, leaning back against the lockers. “So, what’d you do?”

Ben shrugged, his expression pained. “I pushed back, told her she couldn’t keep actin’ like she’s the only one workin’ for this. Told her ATP is just as tough, maybe even more competitive. Didn’t mean it that way, but she took it wrong. She thought I was tryin’ to downplay her game.”

Frances shook his head, giving Ben a sympathetic look. “Man, she must’ve felt hurt.”

“Yeah,” Ben muttered, a bitter laugh escaping him. “And next thing I know, I get this text. ‘This isn’t workin', we’re done.’ Blocked me on everything. Cold as ice, man. It’s like she flipped a switch, just… shut me out completely, as easy as shuttin' a door.”

Frances gave him a gentle nudge. “You still care about her?”

Ben’s gaze softened, a faint smile breaking through his frustration. “Yeah, man. She’s… she’s my girl. Even if she’s not my girl right now, you know?”

Taylor chuckled, nodding. “So, what’re you gonna do about it? Sit around here moping, or actually make a move?”

Ben sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What am I supposed to do? She’s made it pretty clear she’s done with me.”

Frances grinned, crossing his arms. “Bro, just ‘cause she blocked you and sent a text after you called her game easy, doesn’t mean it’s over. She’s mad, yeah, but she’s probably missin’ you just as much. You just gotta show her you’re willin’ to do what it takes.”

Taylor nodded in agreement, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “And it doesn’t have to be some big romantic gesture, man. Sometimes, it’s the small things. Something to let her know you’re still thinkin’ of her, still care. You know where we're at next, right?”

Ben chuckled, shaking his head. “And do what? Just show up at her hotel room? She’s liable to call cops on my ass for that shit, bro.”

Frances laughed, shrugging. “So what? At least she’ll know you tried! Don't go doin' that though. Look, I’ve been with my girl for years now, and sometimes, you gotta be willing to look like a fool to show her you care.”

Ben leaned back, their words sinking in. He could still feel the sting of the things she’d said, the accusations she’d thrown at him like he didn’t care, didn’t work just as hard. But he couldn’t deny that he’d made mistakes, too. He’d let his pride get in the way, said things he regretted, and let the frustration of it all get the better of him.

Frances nudged him again, his grin widening. “Think about it, man. You got two choices: sit here, feeling sorry for yourself until she finds some other guy, or actually do something about it and get her back, even if that means standing in the rain with a fuckin' speaker.”

Ben finally cracked a smile, looking between his friends. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

“Hey, maybe,” Taylor said with a shrug. “But at least we got girlfriends. And you? You got a chance to get yours back. Just gotta decide if she’s worth it.”

Ben sat there, mulling over their words as a new determination started to burn within him. Maybe he didn’t have all the answers, and maybe there was a lot he’d have to figure out. But if there was even a chance to fix things, to bridge that gap that felt so wide, he wasn’t about to let his pride hold him back.

As he left the locker room that night, he felt a resolve solidify within him. He’d find a way to reach out, to let her know that no matter how far apart they were, she was still the one he wanted. Because when it came down to it, she was worth every bit of the fight.

A week went by before a 1000 game flew in, and both ATP and WTA were present if not, nearby for the games. You couldn't care less what was at stake, anything was a win if it kept you occupied. The courts were almost empty, shadows lengthening as the sun beamed high above. You bounced the ball steadily, the rhythm calm, your focus laser-sharp. The only sounds were the muted thud of your shoes on the court, and your breath falling into sync with the beat of your earbuds. Nothing but you, the court, and the quiet.

But then, that voice broke through.

"Aw, c'mon, man!" A laugh, deep and full of that unmistakable Southern drawl. Your grip faltered, the ball hovering mid-toss. That laugh, it was a sound you hadn’t let yourself think about for months, one that held too much of him.

Ben.

Your pulse jolted, the memories flooding back, warmth and bitterness tangled in the knots of your chest. You gritted your teeth, tossing the ball high before slamming it against the court, the crack of impact sharp in the quiet. It almost felt satisfying, like you could obliterate the tension he brought, shatter it with sheer force.

Almost.

You readied another serve, the ball bouncing harder than necessary as you forced yourself not to look. But you could feel his gaze, that familiar weight of his eyes lingering on you. The pull was magnetic, almost maddening, and despite every ounce of resolve you’d built up, your gaze betrayed you, slipping over to catch a glimpse of him.

Ben, laughing with Taylor, curls tousled longer than before, his hoodie slung carelessly over those familiar, ridiculous short shorts. The same hoodie you'd worn too many times to count, drowning in its warmth during late-night snack runs and lazy Sundays. The sight tugged painfully, a cruel reminder of the little things you’d pushed down, tried to forget.

He caught you looking, and his laughter faded, his gaze holding yours for just a second too long. You gripped the ball tighter, the ache settling heavy, and forced yourself to turn away, channelling the flurry of memories into another sharp serve, a fierce crack reverberating across the court. You didn’t look back again.

Hours later, your body was tired, your mind a bit clearer. You were scrolling through your phone in the lounge, zoning out, when Coco dropped down beside you with that familiar, mischievous grin.

"Hey, you!" She nudged you, hands on her hips.

You eyed her warily. "What’s up, Coco? Awfully perky for...5:30p.m."

“We’re having dinner tonight. Big group. Wanna come?” Her tone was casual, a little too casual.

Your guard went up immediately as you dropped your phone to your lap. “Who’s ‘we all’?”

Coco shrugged, twirling a loose curl around her finger. “Me, Frances, Arthur… maybe another WTA girl or two. Just a fun little dinner. Nothing formal.”

You narrowed your eyes, reading the glint of mischief in hers. "Coco, don’t mess with me. He's not gonna be there, right?"

She tilted her head, pretending to look innocent, but the sly smile gave her away. "Well… he might show up, but that's on his own accord. I didn't mention anything to Ben and it’s not like anyone’s setting anything up! It’s just dinner."

Your stomach twisted, a sigh slipping from your lips as you looked away. “I don’t think so. Not after… everything.” Your voice softened the weight of old arguments and unsaid things hanging between the words.

Coco’s face softened, her hand finding your shoulder. “Look, I’m not saying you have to sit next to him or anything. It’s a big table. You can stay on the opposite end and ignore him if that’s what you need. But everyone misses you, it’s been ages since we all got together. We all need to see your pretty face off the court too, ya know?”

You hesitated, rolling your eyes, the ache of missing them settling somewhere deep, the sense of family you hadn’t felt in months tugging at you. After a long pause, you finally nodded, rolling your shoulders back as if bracing for a match. “Fine. But I’m serious, Coco, no funny business. If he starts anything, I’m out.”

Coco grinned, throwing her arm around you. “Girl, trust me. If anything, you’ll be giving him the funny looks. Just friends, no drama. Now, let’s go get you out of those sweats.”

Meanwhile, in the locker room across the court, Ben was doing his best to act indifferent as Frances nudged him for the third time.

"C'mon, man!" Frances said, leaning against the lockers with a knowing grin. "So you are coming to this dinner tonight, right? Don't make me beg again, I'll start singing.”

Ben tried to play it cool, leaning back with his arms crossed. “I don’t know, man. You really think it’s a good idea?”

Frances rolled his eyes. “Look, you’ve been moping for months. She’s not gonna make a scene in public, and especially not with all of us, and who knows? Maybe she’ll talk to you, be all civil. It’s worth a shot.”

Ben let out a huff, rubbing the back of his neck. “Civil? You remember the last time we spoke, right? She has me blocked on everything.”

Taylor, stretching nearby, smirked and chimed in. “Man, you got nothin’ to lose. At the very least, you’ll see her. I saw how you were after you caught a glimpse of her training earlier. Besides, Frances and Coco will keep her from killin’ you.”

“Kay, thanks,” Ben muttered, though a flicker of hope sparked under the sarcasm. He didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn’t shake the longing to see her again, to maybe fix even a sliver of what had been broken.

Taylor nudged him, grinning. “Hey, listen, if I wasn’t taking Morgan out tonight, I’d be there just for moral support. But hey, maybe next time it’ll be a double date. Me, you, Morgan and your soon-to-be girlfriend, just like old times.”

Ben shook his head, the thought both terrifying and oddly thrilling. “You’re jokin’, right? She’d probably throw her drink at me before she’d sit through a double date.”

“Only if you act like an idiot,” Frances pointed out, laughing. “Just be yourself, man. You can handle the heat on the court, you can handle this. And maybe tonight’ll be the thing that finally breaks the ice.”

Ben sighed, running a hand over his face before finally surrendering. “Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll go. But Frances, don’t expect me to be all… chatty.”

Frances clapped him on the back, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “Yeah, you say that now. But I know how you get around her, man. Just don’t chicken out. Remember, we got your back.”

Ben couldn’t help but smile nervously, feeling a strange mix of dread and anticipation tighten in his chest. He wasn’t sure if this dinner would be a chance at redemption or just a painful reminder of how far they’d drifted, but one thing was clear, he was tired of hiding from whatever was left between them.

You walk into the restaurant and let Coco lead you to a long table, feeling an odd mix of nerves and determination fluttering in your stomach. Your outfit is cute but simple, just a sweater and leggings; just enough effort to feel put together without trying too hard. You take a seat between Coco and Arthur Fils, with Frances across from you. There’s an empty chair across from Arthur, and for some reason, that empty space makes your heart beat a little faster, feeling torn between wanting and avoiding Ben there.

As everyone settles in, you catch Coco’s eye and mutter, “Please tell me he’s not actually coming.” She just shrugs with an easy smile.

Moments later, as the group banters along, about to order drinks, Ben strolls in, catching you entirely off-guard. He’s slightly out of breath, apologising to the group with that familiar grin, explaining he’s late because he’d just finished showering after practice. You can’t help it, you nudge Coco under the table, whispering through gritted teeth, a frustrated, “Great.”

Coco just gives him a casual greeting, and you force yourself to turn back to the table, focusing your attention on ordering a glass of wine, pretending not to notice him as he takes that empty seat across from Arthur, just barely within your view, diagonally. But as he sits down, you feel his eyes on you, and for a brief moment, you glance up and catch him staring, his face almost dazed.

You’re caught off-guard by the look in his eyes. His breath seems to hitch, his big brown eyes wide and you can see a faint blush creeping up his neck as he stares at you, almost like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. There’s a softness in his expression that you weren’t prepared for, a kind of awe that makes your stomach twist with memories and longing. But just as quickly, you look away, turning your attention to your wine as Frances elbows Ben with a teasing hiss, “Be normal, man.”

Throughout the night, you manage to keep to yourself, mostly talking to the other WTA players or Arthur whenever he cracks a joke. You keep Ben at the edge of your vision, resolute in ignoring the way his gaze keeps drifting back to you.

Every once in a while, Ben attempts to draw you into the conversation, maybe a lighthearted comment or a direct question, but each time, you meet his gaze with a steely look, making it clear with just one glance that you’re not interested. When he tries again, you let your eyes meet his for a moment, long enough to show him you’re serious before turning away, cutting off his effort entirely, almost to say "not interested". Across the table, Frances raises his brows, murmuring with a barely hidden smirk, “Damn, she is good at this,” as Ben slouches slightly, clearly trying not to look embarrassed.

As dinner winds down, the plates are cleared away, and you excuse yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment alone. Inside, you take a deep breath, facing yourself in the mirror. You’d been bracing yourself for tonight, but nothing quite prepared you for how it would feel to see him sitting right there, looking at you with those big sweet brown eyes and a pout, filled with that same soft pleading that used to make you melt.

But tonight, all it did was remind you of those late nights waiting by your phone, checking it over and over for messages that came slower and slower until they just…stopped. It reminds you of the countless hours wondering if you mattered as much as you thought you did, replaying his empty promises and half-hearted reassurances that seemed to fade with each passing day. He couldn't expect you to take him back with a pout and some half-assed joke. But damn, was it a good attempt, he knew how to make you crumble, even if it wasn't his sole intention.

You force yourself to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you look in the bathroom mirror examining yourself with a sigh, applying a bit of lip balm with fingers that tremble just slightly. Anything to distract yourself, to remind yourself that you’re strong enough to face this without breaking, reminding yourself to keep that mask on. You straighten your posture, determined to push all those memories back down where they belong, buried.

But just as you step out of the bathroom, Ben is standing right there, leaning against the wall as if he’d been waiting for you. His eyes soften the moment they meet yours, and he opens his mouth, his voice just a whisper. “Can we…talk? Just the two of us?”

The look he gives you, hopeful, no, desperate, stirs something deep inside you, and you clench your jaw, wanting to say no, wanting to walk away without a second thought. But as much as you’d like to ignore it, part of you still aches for some kind of closure, maybe even just one honest conversation.

With a reluctant sigh, you nod. “Fine. Outside.”

As you head out the restaurant’s door, you quickly fire off a text to Coco:

me n Ben talking outside. brb.

You stuff your phone back into your bag, clutching it tightly to your shoulder as you step into the cool night air. Wrapping your arms under your chest, you try to keep yourself shielded from more than just the chilling breeze.

Ben falls into step beside you, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. There’s a moment of silence as you both find your footing, the quiet thick with everything that’s been left unsaid. You glance sideways, catching him opening his mouth like he’s about to say something, only to close it, his shoulders shifting awkwardly.

“So… how’s the tournament going for you?” he starts, his tone casual, a little too casual.

You blink, trying not to roll your eyes, feeling the irritation growing. Really? But you bite back and just sternly say, “Ben.”

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing up at the streetlights overhead. “Sorry, yeah, that was- uh, okay.” He lets out a breath and shuffles closer, his voice almost a murmur. “I just… I wanna make this right. Another chance- Just thought maybe… you know, talkin’ would be easier if…”

“Ben, stop.” You sigh, tightening your grip on your bag strap. “Stop being weird. Just… just say what you have to say, and let’s get this over with. Let's not make this longer than it needs to be, I've got shit to do tomorrow.”

He glances at you, brows knitting together. For a second, he looks almost frustrated, like he’s holding back something sharper, something rougher. But he lets it pass, letting out a long, resigned breath. “Fine. I’ll just ask one thing.”

You arch an eyebrow, scepticism thick in your voice. “One question. Shoot.”

His voice comes out softer, edged with a hesitant curiosity as if he knows it’s a stupid question but can’t help but ask. “What hotel you stayin’ at?”

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. “The Merrion.”

His eyes widen slightly, a small, stupid smile breaking on his face. “No way… me too.”

You sigh, looking up at the night sky, feeling the inevitability of whatever this night is becoming. Of course, he’s at the same hotel. Only Ben could make the universe align like this. And only Ben would think of a stupid question like that. He shifts his weight, stepping closer, his gaze steady.

“Look,” he starts, “it’s just a short walk back, twenty minutes or so. Just… give me that time. Just enough to walk back. Let me talk. And then you can go to your room and go to bed. How 'bout it?”

There’s a hopeful edge in his voice that you can’t ignore, and for a moment, your resolve falters. It’s ridiculous, this is exactly the sort of thing he would come up with, some half-baked plan to get you to keep listening, to keep him around just a little longer. You want to roll your eyes, to brush him off, but something about the way he’s looking at you, those earnest, brown eyes so damn full of longing, makes you sigh.

“Fine,” you mutter. “But if you get weird again, I’m out. No small talk, you know how much I hate it.”

A small grin creeps onto his face, and he falls into step beside you, a little closer than necessary, his arm brushing against yours as you start down the quiet street. For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, just walks alongside you, letting the silence settle around you both. But then, in that familiar southern drawl, his voice comes softer.

“Y’know, I've been thinkin’ ‘bout us a lot… probably more than I should.”

You keep your eyes on the sidewalk ahead, willing yourself to stay unmoved. “And?”

He swallows, his gaze tracing your profile, softening with each word. “I messed up,” he admits. “I know I did. I shoulda… been there more, answered more, I dunno. Shoulda been better at handlin’ it.”

You nod slightly, keeping your face blank. “Mhm, you should've.”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his expression, but he doesn’t let it throw him off. “You think I didn’t feel it too? That whole time, it felt like- hell, like I was losin’ you, like somethin’ was slippin’ right outta my hands, and I couldn’t do nothin’ to stop it.”

You feel the tension in your shoulders loosen just a fraction, though you keep your arms folded as a kind of armour. His words settle into the silence, raw and rough, and you can feel him glancing over, waiting for some kind of response. But you keep your gaze forward, biting back the little stirrings of emotion that are beginning to creep in.

He keeps talking, voice low and steady, drawing you in without giving you a chance to look away. “I’m not tryin’ to make excuses, alright? I know I coulda tried harder. But it’s like… the more I tried, the harder it got. The distance, the time zones, the schedules… it all just made me feel like I couldn’t keep up. And I just didn't know how to juggle it and that's my fault.”

You shake your head slightly, finally glancing over at him, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of your mouth. “So this is your way of apologising?”

He laughs, a little sheepish. “Guess I’m not real good at it, huh?” He nudges you with his shoulder, a familiar, easy gesture that makes your arms slowly loosen. His hand brushes your arm, just for a second, and a warmth blooms where his fingers graze your skin as if your body’s memory of him can’t help but respond.

“Look,” he says, his voice dipping softer, “I just… I miss you so much. Like hell.”

The honesty in his tone hits you hard, unravelling the cold exterior you’ve worked so hard to keep up. He keeps his eyes on you, watching your face carefully as if gauging your reaction. You feel your resolve slipping even more, your arms slowly falling to your sides, your heart aching as you fight against the wave of warmth that’s threatening to break through.

“Ben…” you start, barely a whisper, but you don’t know what to say, feeling torn.

He moves a little closer, his eyes wide, pleading, like he’s trying to hold onto every inch of you he can. “I know I messed up, okay? But I don’t wanna lose you. Not for good. Please, Y/N. Give me one more chance, you won't regret it 'n if I fuck up bad, you can do whatever, however; I deserve it but please. Just one more chance.”

You press your lips tight together, feeling your heart tighten as his words sink in, as he stands there looking at you with that same vulnerability you’d once fallen in love with. For a second, you forget the hurt, the sleepless nights, and you’re left with just him, the version of him that’s open, sincere, the Ben you’d once held so close.

The walk to the hotel stretches out as he keeps talking, spilling out and laying his heart bare with that easy, boyish charm that only he can pull off, and little by little, you feel your icy exterior start to melt. He talks about his time away from you, how he admired you from videos, watched highlight reels, his endless hours at night going through photos and texts; the whole lot. He cracks a joke, and despite yourself, you smile, trying to hide it but failing. He nudges you again, grinning as he sees the hint of laughter breaking through your guard.

He apologises over and over, more earnestly each time, his voice steady and low, and you can hear the regret, the guilt, the need to make things right. By the time you reach the hotel entrance, you’re feeling something dangerously close to hope, your heart betraying you, making it harder and harder to keep up the facade.

You glance over at him, catching the way his eyes soften as he looks at you as if you’re the only thing he can see. He’s staring, the blush from earlier creeping back up his neck, and when his hand brushes yours one last time, you don’t pull away.

You stand just outside the hotel, a faint chill brushing past as the streetlights cast a warm glow around you. You shift on your feet, glancing up at him, your eyes soft but determined.

“Can I talk?” you ask, breaking the quiet, your voice barely above a whisper. The first thing you had actually said this entire time.

Ben raises an eyebrow, leaning in with a playful smirk. “Talk? What else have we been doin’ for the last twenty minutes, girl?”

You roll your eyes and reach out to smack his arm, earning a chuckle from him. “Fine then. Can we go up to your room?” you add, a small, daring smile tugging at your lips.

Ben’s eyebrow quirks higher. “My room, huh?” His gaze narrows, teasing you with that familiar glint. “What exactly ya got planned, sweetheart?”

You swat him again, harder this time, and he laughs, raising his hands in mock defence. But then you drop the smile, your voice softer. “I wanna talk about what I did, Ben. I messed up too.”

The teasing fades from his expression as he studies your face, searching. After a pause, he nods and gestures toward the lobby. “Alright, then. Let’s go talk.”

In the elevator, silence hangs thick in the air, tension as familiar as it is unspoken. You don't even notice, spending your time stilling your breath and running through everything you want to apologise for. When you reach his room, you head over to the small couch by the window and settle in, tucking your legs under you and giving him a steady look.

“Ya gettin’ comfortable already?” he jokes, leaning against the wall, his eyes dancing with that old spark that makes you ache.

You try not to smile, steeling yourself for your confessional. “Can you be serious for a minute?”

His smile fades as he walks over, sitting across from you, his gaze intense and focused. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything you’ve held back.

“I shouldn’t have put so many expectations on you,” you begin, your voice wavering. “You’ve got your own life, your own competitions, your own dreams. All this constant travelling, the different time zones… it’s not fair to expect you to be there every time I needed you at the drop of a hat. You get burnt out too- God. I never even asked how you were before I'd launch into my own day.”

You bite your lip, blinking back tears as they start to blur your vision. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve been more understanding, given you more grace.” Your voice catches, barely a whisper now. “And what I said… on that call… it was cruel, Ben. I was mean and unfair, and you didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of it. At all. I wouldn't want myself back after all I had said and done.”

As a tear slips down your cheek, Ben’s face softens, and he reaches out without hesitation, his hands cupping your face as he brushes the tear away. His thumb lingers on your skin, his gaze is unwavering, and then he leans forward, pressing the gentlest kiss to your temple, another to your forehead, and a final one at the crown of your head, his hand resting tenderly against your hair.

You let out a shuddered breath, your hands covering his as you finally let everything pour out. “I miss you so much,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I miss everything about you… the way you laugh, your ridiculous voice…” Another tear rolls down, and you don’t try to hold back. “I miss the way you’d talk about cars or food for ages, and you’d make everything feel so normal, even when my life was a mess. Without you, it’s like this haze I can’t shake. I just… I miss you. I barely recognise myself these days.”

Your body shakes with the sobs you’ve tried so hard to bury, and Ben doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms like he could shield you from all the pain, all the regret. He holds you there, one hand smoothing over your hair, his lips pressing soft, tender kisses to your forehead and cheeks, murmuring gentle words against your skin.

“S’all right, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. I’m right here with you.”

You cling to him, burying your face into the crook of his neck, as his hands trace soothing circles along your back. Your sobs gradually quiet, but your breaths are still shaky, each exhale unsteady.

“I’m so sorry, Ben,” you manage, voice barely audible.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Hey now,” he murmurs, his tone warm and grounding. “We both made mistakes. Ain’t just on you, alright? Takes two to mess up, but it takes two to fix it too. We can fix, can't we?”

You nod, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, feeling a little of the weight lift, softened by his words.

Ben tilts your head to hold your gaze, his own eyes glassy. “Can’t tell ya how many times I thought about callin’ ya or flying to ya,” he admits, his voice low. “How many times I’d pull up your name, wonderin’ what you’d say if I told ya all the things I wished I’d said. But I was… hell, I was scared, darlin’. Thought maybe I’d screwed up too bad, and you’d moved on.”

You shake your head, a small, breathy laugh escaping. “I couldn’t...I could never.”

He strokes your hair gently, his lips brushing your forehead once more. “Guess we’re both a couple of fools then, huh?”

You laugh softly, the sound wet and trembling as he pulls you back into his arms. You lean into him, letting yourself feel the warmth of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart, grounding you. Wrapped in the quiet, tangled together, you both hold on a little tighter, feeling the rawness of your honesty and the comfort of finally, finally being close again. In the safety of his arms, you feel, for the first time in so long, a sense of peace, letting the unspoken words settle around you like a quiet promise.

Ben’s hand rests on your cheek, his thumb tracing small circles as he learns your face all over again, making your heart flutter. His fingers move slowly, grazing down to your jaw, then up again, threading into your hair. You let your eyes close for a moment, his gentle touch working its way through the tension of the night, and a small, contented sigh escapes you. For the first time in weeks, you feel relaxed and content.

“Gettin’ comfortable, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, though there’s a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He leans in, giving one final push to a stray strand of your hair before tilting his head toward the bed across the room. “C’mon, darlin’. This couch is barely holdin’ us together.”

You hesitate, but Ben’s already moving, holding out his hand as he stands up. His grip is strong, guiding you as you follow him to the bed, and he lets out a soft chuckle as you settle beside him. His arm drapes around you, pulling you close as you lean into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against you. The warmth is so consuming, cocooning you immediately.

Ben smiles down at you, a playful glint in his eye, and as his fingers find your hair again, he starts twirling a strand between his fingers. “So,” he murmurs, resting his cheek on the top of your head, “ya still gonna keep me blocked, huh?”

You roll your eyes, smirking. “Fine,” you reply, unlocking your phone with a playful huff. You find his name, well, technically his new contact name since you’d deleted him in a fit of anger, and type a single white heart emoji, pressing send.

The vibration of his phone buzzes beside him, and he pulls it out with a grin, holding up the glowing screen. “There it is. Knew ya couldn’t resist me,” he says, laughing as he pulls you in close as he kisses your temple.

But just as you relax against him, you notice a missed notification. It’s a text from Coco, her reply to your earlier message asking where she’d disappeared to after dinner. You hesitate, then, instead of texting back, you tap the Facetime icon, feeling a strange urge to share this quiet moment, finding words couldn't suffice, nor were you in the mood to type out a lengthy paragraph.

The call connects, and Coco’s face appears, a gasp escaping her as she spots you two tangled up in Ben’s bed, nestled together with his arm around you.

“Oh my god! Yes!” she cheers, loud enough to make Ben chuckle. You hear laughter and cheers in the background too, and Coco turns the camera, revealing the whole dinner table watching with knowing smiles.

"Coco, this was a set-up plan, huh?" you giggle as you see the entire friend group on the other end.

"Somewhat, but blame Morgan and Taylor, not me. They did all that," she throws the blame as she points the camera over to them. Frances, Morgan and Taylor wave and Frances yells “Look at Ben! Already got her in bed, huh?”

Ben rolls his eyes, but a faint blush colours his cheeks. He pulls you closer, his hand resting protectively around your shoulders as he grins.

“Hey now,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “This one’s special. Ain’t like any other. My lucky charm.”

You feel your heart skip a beat at his words, and you’re so focused on him that you barely notice Coco and the others making gagging noises before Ben reaches out, ending the call on your phone with a smirk. Then he turns back to you, his eyes soft, filled with something that feels dangerously like forever.

He leans in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s slow and tender, each second lingering with quiet promises. And in the warmth of his arms, your heart finally feels at home, exactly where it belongs.

[ssaalexblake]

It's really frustrating when people mix their allegories and treat squid game like it's criticizing the same thing that the hunger games is, because it's not aiming for the same societal issue.

While thg is critiquing western society (specifically american) and asking readers to acknowledge that They are the capitol no matter how much personal power or wealth they do or don't hold, Squid Game is actually shooting for something else.

Squid Game is not telling you you're a VIP. You're nothing like the VIP's. "Isn't it funny that us watching this show are just like the VIP's???" Well, no, because unless you happen to be reading this post while also being a billionaire, you are supposed to understand that you are Not a VIP, you are one of their toys.

The vast range of people who ended up victimised by this entire twisted organisation are meant to say to the viewers that yeah! this is You! This could be you! Gi-Hun had a string of bad luck, some police brutality, trauma, and ultimately a gambling addiction and it ended up with him ending up on their radar. Sang-Woo seemed to have it allll going for him and he very much represents the educated and seemingly wealthy (but not super rich) demographic and shows you that They are not immune to this either. Ali was in trouble and ended up there because of systematic racism. Sae-Byeok needed money to bring her mother to safety as she had no choice but to use human traffickers to do so. Some people have made bad investments. Others need to pay for medical care.

My point is, there's no mould for the average contestant because it's literally just anybody who's had some bad luck, and that is something that nobody is immune to. Hell, Guem-Ja by all accounts didn't even have any bad luck, she's literally there to help her son out! Jun-Hee needs money as a young mother, society isn't going to help her, that's not how capitalism works.

This organisation preys on anyone and everyone.

They expand on this even further in S2 to give us an eye into the world of the guards through No-Eul and the salesman. Both of them were headhunted when they had nothing as well. While neither of them were said to be in debt, they still needed work. It's as simple as that. It's as simple as No-Eul also working at the theme park as an actor, she's just poor and needs the money to survive. These 'kids' they keep unmasking in the games are just the same as a kid working in fast food their first job. They need work and this is what's available.

Of course, there's an amount of brutality there too, but clearly the people who try and find contestants and employees do their research into who to put where. Guards seem to be poor but not in debt. They also need to be capable of at Least disposing of hundreds of bodies (the salesman says that the crematorium is the bottom level job, it looks like they desensitize the people to death and Then give them guns to actively kill. No-Eul who had already killed people and was a good shot to boot probably got to skip the entry level part of the job).

I'm glad they went into who the guards are because it really still highlights that the rich use the poor for entertainment, and they use the poor to police those other poor people, and if the poor revolt the people dying are Still poor people. The VIP's still aren't dying or paying for any of this. The system is entirely rigged.

Which leads me back around to this; You are not like a VIP for watching squid game, and the show is trying to tell you the opposite of this.

The show is telling you that You are one of the pawns in the rich people's games and that no matter what happens in this system, no matter if you're unlucky and in debt or if you're just a low class young adult getting paid to be a guard in (to use an extreme understatement) a very morally ambiguous job, it's still Always the poor people being hurt because the people in with the money and power are not facing consequences for this at all.

I actually think one of the revelations in S3 for the characters will be that In-Ho actually doesn't have any power to effect change at all. I mean, he's in charge, but I kind of think he's at most the equivalent of the manager of an insanely upmarket hotel that caters to the super rich like those vegas casinos. The rich people may talk to these managers cordially, but in the end he's still just an employee and nothing more.

Gi-Hun and co (whoever that will be by the time it happens) will find him and discover that their plan to capture him to get answers will be effectively useless because they've Still not aimed high enough.

To kill this system you need to cut the head off the snake(s). Those are the billionaire VIP's.

I'm not sure that Gi-Hun even knows they exist.

But yes. THG is telling you that you are the capitol. Squid Game is telling you that you are a toy for the rich and you are not and never will be one of the VIP's (even if you 'win' at capitalism AKA the games you're still just a middle manager or still cheap entertainment to them). You are one of the contestants, actually. Or maybe a guard. But not a VIP. Both of these messages can exist in harmony, actually, but they're not the same. And you're certainly not like a VIP because you turned on a fictional TV show specifically about anti-capitalism.

Except of course the muskrat who I believe said he watched this back when S1 came out. He's literally a VIP. This rebuttal of viewers being like the VIP's specifically excludes him.

[hotchfiles]

hotch "representing the bau" hotchner x activist!reader who won't stand for bullshit

not like actual conflict cause we know hotch is a very principled guy

more like

"shit i can't shitpost about overthrowing the government anymore cause my boyfriend is the government" vibes

you have no idea how deeply i feel about this i've actually posted about this because i'm very much against all cops and he's a literal fed ! but

You met in the most conventional of ways, which makes the whole thing even funnier to the outside person. A bar. You noticed him the moment he walked in, too downright gorgeous to be ignored, you stare at him completely shamelessly and get a few shy awkward smiles in return while he sips on his first drink and talks to his companion, who you later learned was Rossi.

He will find it later on that you're not really up for games, but it takes him by surprise when you approach him, card in hand with your phone number and the red stain of your red lips on the other side. He's immediately smitten, being flirted with so openly at his age does wonders for his ego and he makes sure to text you as soon as he gets back to his apartment.

The texting back and forth goes for hours, a lot of flirting, you're much more outspoken than he is, but still you find him hilarious, you will be telling your friends he's the funny one between you two (none of them will believe you, but you like having this only to yourself as well).

You talk movies, plays, music, favorite drinks and by 2AM he asks you on a date. It’s perfect from the get go. He's flattering, compliments your choice of clothes, says he likes the lipstick (the same you used on the card he is keeping safe on his wallet), takes you to a nice restaurant.

You tell him since you made the very first move, he would have to be the one to kiss you, he argues he sent you the first text so you should be the one to do it, in the end none of you know who took the first move, you're just sure you were the one to unlock your apartment door, stumbling along with him as you two passionately kissed.

It's not common for this to happen for him, he's too much of a gentleman, sleeping with someone on the first date isn't the gentlemanly thing to do, you're not attached to those norms so even if he tried to argue, your lips glued to his neck as you worked on his belt took his mind off of it.

It's not until the next morning that he really notices your place: The types of books you had, some revolutionary art pieces and it's then he realizes he has no idea what you do for a living. Neither did he tell you he was a FBI agent. You two talked long hours and career wasn't even a topic (that may be why you caught his heart so fast).

You were a journalist, a writer, quite proficient and known for your progressive ideals and less than civil protests, so when you both realize the differences and the conflict it might bring, the first instinct was to pull away. Forget the whole thing. It was only one date after all.

It's a matter of days for the realization that being apart won't happen, your thoughts are filled with him and his voice and the way he touched you and Aaron can possibly detail every curve of your body and the way you smelled as if he was still in bed with you.

There's a mutual agreement of public discretion, you can't have your readers knowing you're falling for a fed, nor does the media needs any more reasons to write about the FBI.

His team knows though, and so does Strauss, she had to be warned of the possibility of your name popping up in some lists. She reads half of your writings after that, highlighting stuff you should not be writing about (you won't listen to her on it) and the compromise you make is to keep all of your opposition material completely professional, no tweets, no tiktoks, nothing of the sort with jokes about overthrowing the government.

"Did you... Did you just cite and use one of Stalin's books as a resource here?" He asks, he's in your bed, blue boxer shorts and white t-shirt on, completely comfortable with you already, his reading glasses sit on top of his nose like an old man and he furrows his brows, looking up at you. Aaron's interested in what you write, he truly reads whatever you hand him just to learn more about you, he's not the one to try to censure any of it.

"Well yeah... His writings are the easiest to comprehend on the topic." You shrug, not understanding the tone of his question at first.

"Honey... You can't just... Do you know how many... Forget it. Your editor will love it." His poor attempts to talk you down failing each time he looked over and saw your expectant eyes as his opinion is important to you. You smile at his defeat, taking the papers from his hand and throwing somewhere else in the room, his glasses go to the bedside table and soon you're kissing any of his worries away.

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter One

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it. 

Note: Cross posted on ao3. This is a reader-insert series, but reader is given the alias “Pulchra” for sake of the story. The idea of Pulchra has been living so deep inside my brain its chemically altered me. I’ll probably continue to write other series with her in it, but with a different storyline. I’m sorry for any grammatical errors and misspellings. This took me far too many weeks and I don’t want to go back and clean it up lol Rating: 18+

A crowded room always had a funny way of going quiet when you walked in. Like the air has been sucked out of the space and no one could breath. 

Cameras stilled, lights stopped flashing and conversations dropped off. Heads turned instinctively when you, no, Pulchra, pulled at the strings of desire. Eyes watched your every move with either lust or envy, wrapping them into a tight knot of fixation. 

You didn’t ask for this. Not the fame or the attention. And definitely not the name. Pulchra. 

Pulchra- latin for beauty, a nickname coined by some glossy magazine trying to sound smarter than they actually are. They were the magazine to find you and make you. Printing your face on the front cover of tounsand of copies. The editor nearly drooled on you as he made an offer any girl living in a poor countryside town couldn’t refuse. A blank check. But as you signed your name on the dotted lines, you had no idea the stain of Pulcha that would be left behind. And when you eventually moved out of the countryside, into the city, no one spoke your real name again. 

You sat in your dressing room, lit by the ring of vanity lights, staring at your reflection. Your hair curled perfectly, lips tinted the prettiest shade of pink and your eyes dusted and smoked out to highlight your natural eye color. You stared back at the reflection empty, debating on busting your hand on the mirror so it shatters and ruining your perfect skin. Not that it would matter. You could be beaten, bruised, riddled with zits and knotted hair. Your quirk will still make you beautiful. 

Three stiff knocks pulled you from your thoughts.

“Five minutes, Pulchra!”

You didn’t answer. No need to. 

You slipped on your floor-length dusty pink silk robe. The photoshoot was for some overpriced perfume, the kind that smells like roses. Why is it always roses? But you smiled through it.

The robe flowed and swished with your movements as you nearly floated down the hall into the studio. As predicted, everyone turned and stared in awe. Floods of makeup artists, hair stylists, designers and the kid who brings you coffee swarmed around you to invade your space and make everything even more perfect. 

“There she is! My Goddess! My muse!” The photographer you didn’t even care enough about to remember his name clasped his hands like he was praying. “Pulchra, darling, you’re a vision. This champaign is going to be iconic.” They literally all say that. 

As is this ad is going to be the ad to beat all ads. But they are all just replicas of each other with different outfits.  

You smiled, not the kind to reach your eyes, but the kind that still made people feel validated. 

“Thank you” you said softly, your voice with just a kiss of husky to sound mysterious. 

He guided you to set- a velvety chaise lounge surrounded by expensive flowers and draped with fine linens. The makeup artists gave your face a couple more puffs of powder, fluffed your hair a little higher and draped your robe off your shoulder so it was a little more……sellable. 

“Alright my venus, give me longing. Give me yearning. Yes- just like that - oh god, you’re a star!”

You tilted your chin slightly, parted your lips with a hint of invitation. It was magic. Your quirk, Infinity Beauty, warped perception. No one saw your flaws. They couldn’t. The world only saw you as a goddess with flawless skin, shimmering eyes, and a perfect body. You were everyone's ideal vision of beauty. Whether they wanted to or not- they wanted you. You’re universally beautiful. 

It was a curse. 

When your quirk first manifested, creepy men made comments despite your young age. Little boys hid their feelings through teasing and hair pulling. At fifteen, a classmate tried to carve your name into his arm. When you were seventeen, a girl punched you just because her boyfriend said “Pulchra” while sleeping with his girlfriend. When you started modeling, things only got worse. Crazed fans followed you,  stalkers broke into your home just to sniff your underwear and pillows. Everyday you receive love letters of people promising to commit their entire lives to you. It's why you now have four locks on your door and security cameras everywhere. 

After the shoot wrapped, you disappeared before anyone could even offer celebratory drinks. Your driver knew the routine, pull around back, windows up and don’t talk. 

Back at your penthouse, you peeled off the costume of Pulchra. Kicking off your designer heels, tossing name brand cloths into a pile on the floor and wiping the makeup off your face. The silence of your apartment was like an old friend. The apartment was filled with the silver lighting of the city and the warm tones of the burning candles. It was dim and quiet. 

You opened the fridge, filled with expensive half opened bottles of wine, artisanal water and fancy meats and cheeses. You reached for the bordeaux cabernet sauvignon and poured a hefty glass of wine and curled up on the cream colored couch. 

Here, no one watches. No one has expectations. Here you’re just….you. 

You wrapped a soft blanket over your shoulders, put your phone on do not disturb and picked up the book you’ve been drowning yourself in for the last few days. A fantasy novel about a princess turned warrior, battling dragons and goblins. It was whimsical, silly, even a little childish. But you liked it. And no one ever asked what you actually like, only assumed. 

“Pulchra drinks green juice.”

“Pulchra listens to classical music and French jazz.”

“Pulchra only dates supermodels and rich men.”

You haven’t dated in years. You weren’t sure you wanted to. How would you know if they wanted you, or Pulchra? 

No one saw you. They only saw what they wanted to see. 

As you curled deeper into the couch and slugged down the rest of your wine while throwing yourself in the fantasy of your book. You let out a long sigh. Tomorrow would be more of the same thing. Another shoot. Another crowd. Another performance.

[dereks-unrelenting-heart]

SFTH Chaotic Highlights (Sorry About My Nan)

Briefly posting these out of order because I am way too fixated on this play. It has the psychological horror of a cult, one of Tom's eldritch villains, and dark humor, this shit was made for me-

The few minutes of vague trauma recounting as Sam and AJ internally debate which of them is gonna drop any information at all

As well as who the grandson of the title Nan is going to be, because I feel like Sam was ready for the role at first with the 'that was embarrassing'

"I just think it's good when things like this happen just to sit with it for a second, before you.. have a breakdown" Most real thing an AJ character has ever said

Jim asking if his own nan is still alive, whether AJ knew it at the time or not, as if even he was kinda hoping she wasn't

"Who invites their nan on their bachelor party??" Jamie asking the real questions. Unfortunately for him, this is the least weird thing that's going to happen on this stag do

Luke finally gets to experience the joys of playing a chaotic farm animal

They've had plenty of problems with names before, but idk if I've ever seen two actors try to give a character a name at the same time until now

Hey what the FUCK did Ethel do to Big Jim Clive's wallet?? WHAT WAS HER SHOW?!

Yet another instance of Luke's minor characters being incredibly well done- Like everything he says sound genuinely mortified

"I just feel shattered, you know?" I'm using this. You ca take this line from my cold, dead hands, it's how I'm describing every minor inconvenience in my life from now on

Also it was funny and all, but Sam was fucking dying like it was a joke from earlier in the show or something-

Anyway #JusticeForBigJimClive #AndHisWallet

"Listen, I've stood by you for a lot, but that?? I just don't understand.." - the man who's about to go through a cult initiation for his 'best friend'

"Are you my best friend?" Jim is the only one who would feel the need to ask this question at this point

Tom's using the shirt around his waist to symbolize Ethel flashing Jamie is some great stagecraft, I must say

It's the 'nanananana' build-up to an anticlimactic 'ethel' for me

Had to google what an air tag was, but yeah those are pretty big to spike a drink with

We never did get clarification for why Ethel said the wedding was her big day

Rip headphone users for AJ's "I KNOW" I forgot about it for the rewatch and fucking OW MY EARS-

"It's pre-used" Don't eat the bacon, Jamie. I repeat, DO NOT EAT THE BACON

"THANK GOD" "She- what do you mean thank god?" "Sorry, I mean oh god.. thank you" I said enough about this in another post but someone get Jamie tf out of here

"You've got so many teeth" Jericho flashbacks

I've made a post now on the Lucy/Julie thing, but to summarize, idc that she changed her name at the end, I will always call her Julie. It feels disrespectful not to-

"Listen, listen- She's asleep!" Jamie was not convinced of that. He just didn't want Jim to inject her with adrenaline to bring her back again. I see right through you, Jamie-

I just wanna know when exactly the first thought of 'Ethel is a cult leader' happened. Because there's a pretty good chance it was Luke when he said there was a statue dedicated to her

Okay on rewatch, that was definitely the moment. Luke knew what he was doing to the plot

I'm convinced that Luke saw Sam playing all these problem causing animal characters and thought 'fuck it I want in', resulting in this play's sheep scene. He is having the time of his life being a sheep, getting to chew on Tom's shirt and shit. He is laughing his ass off while causing problems for his other character. I love watching the boys have fun-

I know it's because he's brainwashed, but I fucking love Luke's german farmhand character being the only one in the room who is not only comfortable around Ethel, but actively excited to see her

Ethel calling the farmhand 'good boy' is the second time in a row Luke has been called that during a longform

"She seems happy here, why don't we just leave her with this guy?" Honestly a great idea, why would anyone be against this

Stag. stag. stag. STAG. STAG. STAG.

"Not one seat each" Why was my first thought not them sitting on each others' lap, but sharing the chair half-and-half, like two people fighting over a seat in musical chairs

"Be a good mate" "You're really pushing that" Is he, Jamie? You're about to willingly go through so much for him, is sharing a seat really pushing it for you?? Pining gays istg-

"I'm here for my best friend's stag do. I will do what he wants to do for the rest of the weekend, and then we will move on." Buddy. I am not doing that shit for my best friend. You are in love.

"It's like an A24 film" Big thank you to Sam, for being the reason they all leant into that theme for the rest of the show

"My name.. Is WILHELM." Jamie, exasperated: "... great."

The fact only the subtitlers acknowledged Sam repeatedly calling them 'numchucks'

"I think he wants us to fight" "WHY? Why do you go to that??" To be fair, my mind also went to that..

Jim: *tries to kill Jamie* Jamie: *doesn't attack him back and is entirely undeterred in his loyalty/friendship* I know what you are

"Wilkommen.. To the Cabaret!!" And just like that all the musical theater nerds lost their minds

I haven't even seen Cabaret, but I've heard the first song and immediately knew and was thrilled about what he was doing

Nah Tom was right in this instance, Sam he had a German accent and everything ofc this isn't Ethel

I like the subtle acting of Jamie saying 'NO!' to the request, and when Jim follows it up with the next word, Jamie looks at him with a very distinct 'you're doing this?' expression. Bro looks more betrayed than when Jim tried to murder him

Emcee living for the drama is so real

Emcee casually sitting on his stage partner's corpse as well as offering him the microphone

"Me neither" the audience laughs but like. That was incredibly unsettling.

"How's the best man?" Very suspicious thing to ask, Fake Julie

"I love you and I always have.. And I would never betray you" Okay but you didn't say you pwomise him, so I'm hesitant to believe you

Jamie's "Are we in Bristol??" to "WE'RE NOT IN BRISTOL!" pipeline

So.. am I the only one who thought Jamie was talking to Julie in the ending scene before Sam clarified he was her mother?

Ethel throwing her shirt onstage with her little 'eh!' noise is so funny

"For convincing me to invite your nan to my bachelorette party" INSANE THING TO AGREE TO JULIE

She's also horribly suited for cult brainwashing wtf did you set her up for Jim-

Also just noticed yet another parallel between Jamie/Jim and Amanda/Clarissa, with the same actor who played the ignored love interest also playing the role of priest at the wedding

Luke immediately going for the bridal hold in AJ's arms and being so content there

Conclusion: It really would've been better for everyone involved if Jamie got together with Jim instead. Jim doesn't have the girl who came onto his best friend, Jamie gets to be with his crush, and Julie doesn't have to change her name to Lucy. And Luke is very good at playing brainwashed cultists, which is the exact reason I'm excited to see his episode of Black Mirror. Oh, also I really hope this longform continues getting the attention it deserves, it's so fucking good

[achillesuwu]

Au where merthur have soulmate identifying mark but merlin is the only one who know they are because if Arthur knew he would find out about his magic 👀 (arthur's mark being a beautiful dragon mainly on on his back but its tall is draped on his torso, a wing stretch on his right shoulder, another end on his hip and its head rest upon his stomach. As if it were jealousy protecting him. its scale are of a blue so dark it nearly look black. It has golden eye and tread of gold on is horn, gold shimmer on its body highlighting its scale at some place.

It screams powerful sorcerer.)

And thus it doesn't change anything from the show. Merlin doesn't tell him not even at the very end (Merlin's mark is a smaller red dragon with its head on his shoulder and who is is holding itself on his shoulder)

It would be very angsty but also SO FUNNY if in a post return futur where arthur (Gwen, the knights) are very confuse and lost but luckily for them there exist multiple center for "People who got Teleported at the wrong place/Bought back from the dead? We are here to help!/ your five yo drank a weird potion? No problem! Etc" basically Magic help center.

Just imagine basic social worker sorcerers who tries to do their job at 3 am and see THE Emrys mark ™ on a random dude and they are like *gasp*.

Them : what the fuck

Arthur :???

Them :WHAT THE FUCK

the others :????

Them : we are calling your soulmate RIGHT NOW. WHAT THE FUCK should I call the government too???? I'M NOT PAY ENOUGH FOR THIS.

Arthur : my???

Them : YOU. DO NOT MOVE IF I LOSE YOU I'M DEAD. DEAD.

You can imagine arthur pendragon pacing like a 13 years old stressed before an oral presentation because even if he was afraid then thought he globally didn't really care about his soulmate. He realised that it wasn't so much that he didn't care but he thought it would simply never be so he just... Kinda forgot about it. Now he just can not put it away because is soulmate IS coming and WHERE IS MERLIN WHEN HE NEEDS HIM (he is blocking any thoughts about Merlin potential dead thank you very much)

(Gwen is currently finding the situation extremely funny because she figured out in 5x13 and she is 80 yo (in a younger body but still) . And she is waaaayyyyyy to old to see her former husband stay in his denial.

Leon is 78 years old and he is slowly recognising the dragon in question that look very much like Merlin's family crest. He is looking at his wife in a very conspiracy way.

Gwaine is currently not really giving a damn about the whole soulmate thing. What do you MEAN you can send messages to people in less that a second?!?!?

Elyan would usually not give a damn but he is very much not happy ™ to find out that his sister (first) husband had a soulmate mark who isn't dead and he is glaring at Arthur but he is also getting a hug from gwen so it doesn't look menacing at all.

Perceval (57) is right behind Gwaine but he is currently watching himself in the mirror because seeing his younger self again is weird asf

Meanwhile Lancelot is talking with the assistant (on the verge of a break down because they are going to see the GOD OF MAGIC OH MY GOD) about magical history