#I HAVE ONE IN THE MIND BUT I GUESS NOT HERE????

[dexxtrosee]

Safekeeping

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!reader

Summary: A baby got to the ER thirty minutes ago and hasn't stopped crying since. It's starting to get on everyone's nerves. He is, unfortunately, the one in charge, so it's his problem to deal with.

A/N: Set a few months after the last episode of The Pitt's S1. Mind you, this was supposed to be me testing the waters with the fandom and instead I got dunked, I just can't get this man out of my head. Oh well. Part one, I guess?

There´s a baby crying two rooms away from the one he’s at. 

The baby hasn’t stopped crying in thirty minutes, a world of difference from the case Robby is currently using as a teaching lesson for Santos and Whitaker. He doesn’t need to be a genius in emotional expression to notice she’s bored to death, while Whitaker seems relieved to be away from an immediate life threatening situation for once. He won’t admit it, not even to Dana, but he is using it as both a punishment for her and a break for him. He barely got between her and an abusive mother just a few hours ago before they drew blood. He managed to save Santos from being escorted out in cuffs along with the mother by sheer force of willpower and some favors owed by the cops.

And he won’t say it to her either, but if he were thirty years younger and a tad more stupid, that would have been him. She doesn’t need to know that, though.

“Are you a smoker, miss Rossi?”

The lady, a seventy year old woman who insists on them calling her miss, because she’s “divorced, dammit”, shakes her head and turns to look at her granddaughter. Robby can practically hear her thoughts (Can you believe this boy?) and has to bite back a chuckle. 

“Do you, by any chance, often cook on firewood?”

Miss Rossi shakes her head again, this time with an added eye roll. The baby hasn’t stopped crying. 

Whitaker is starting to play with his hands, glancing nervously at the granddaughter and at Santos. The boredom seems to have eased a bit, now replaced by amusement from seeing the poor boy suffer. Robby doesn’t interfere. 

“Have you done strenuous activity recently?”

At this, the teenage girl sitting by her side perks up, glancing at her grandmother with pursed lips. Robby smiles when Whitaker catches it and latches onto it like a starved animal. 

“Maybe cleaning around the house? Too long walks? Heavy lifting?”

Miss Rossi finally seems to think about it. Santos starts fidgeting where she’s standing, checking her watch. He suppresses a sigh and writes a mental note about mentioning it to her. The baby hasn’t stopped crying. 

“Well, I went with the kids to the park this morning. Had to chase them around when they grabbed the youngest and put her inside the basket of one of the bikes! Can you believe it? Those fuckers.”

They all let out some chuckles and sighs of relief. 

“Are you from Allegheny, miss Rossi?”

She nods, smiling for the first time since they both got here. “Born and raised, boy.”

Robby nods at him, giving him a thumbs up. Santos tries to hide her own smile. 

“Alright, seems you can handle this one.” Robby glares briefly at Santos, and she nods with so much annoyance he shakes his head. “I’ll go check on other cases, call me if anything happens.”

He doesn’t wait to see the answers, just steps out and walks straight to the room with the crying baby. 

Before he enters, he notices Dana standing inside and talking softly to, he assumes, the mother. She has her back to him, shoulders shaking and head hung low. Samira and McKay are bent over a cradle. A hole inside his stomach appears when he notices how anxious they both seem to be. 

“Good morning, I’m doctor Robinavitch. What seems to be the problem here?”

Dana turns, frowning and looking at him like he’s the worst thing to happen to her today. He reels back slightly, tries to peek behind her back. She shakes her head, motions him to fuck off. 

McKay doesn’t move. Samira stands up straight like he just pulled her back string, nervous. “All good, sir. We can handle this one, no worries.”

Robby frowns, bites back the need to tell them all off. “Well, that poor thing hasn’t stopped crying in more than half an hour. Are you sure?”

McKay waves at him from her bent position, shaking her head furiously without actually turning to look at him. 

Without saying anything, he turns to Dana again. She sighs, lets go of the mother’s hands and pushes him out of the room with no explanation. Before she closes back the curtain, he tries and fails to catch a glance at the mother.

“What the fuck is going on?”

He loves Dana, he truly does. Still, sometimes he wishes he could work with someone less hardheaded. He has enough of it in himself.

“She doesn’t want any men near her baby.”

Robby tilts his head, frowns deeper. “Should I call the cops?”

Something inside him burns and itches when Dana shakes her head. “They’re already aware of anything worth reporting.”

Robby nods, clenches his hands. He doesn’t know what to do with himself when the baby lets out a louder cry. “What the hell is wrong then? They haven’t figured it out yet? Should I bring Collins here?”

She’s busy dealing with a broken leg from a teenage boy that got too excited with his skateboard, but the cries are starting to get on everyone’s nerves, he can see it. 

“Maybe you should, yeah.”

“Fuck.”

He turns away, walks to Langdon and grabs him away from the nurse bay. He doesn’t protest, hasn’t since he came back last month. It still weirds Robby out. 

“I need you to finish Collins’ case, she has to help out with a different one.”

“I can do it,” The need for approval drips from his words. It still twists Robby’s chest. He shakes his head, doesn’t explain, pushes him inside and motions Collins out with just a smile to the parents.

“Need you to help in Room Two, I’m sorry.”

She gets it immediately, smiles softly and nods. She’s trying again, Robby knows. Still, he’s tried his best to keep her away from any babies. 

When they go back, Dana steps out and grabs Robby. He lets her lead him to the corner between rooms, crossing his arms. “I’m not going anywhere near the baby unless it’s completely necessary, I know. What now?”

“She wants to talk to you.”

The mother, he guesses. He nods, interlaces his fingers and then unthreads them when he notices how tense he feels from it. 

“Just… be gentle, Robby. She looks six seconds away from throwing up out of stress.”

There are so many things he could say to that. Instead, he just nods. Dana goes inside, doesn’t come out again.

When the mom steps out, the first thing that crosses his mind is “wow, holy shit”.

Then he starts berating himself because, holy fuck, what the hell was that?

You take a few steps closer to him, playing with your fingers, and cleaning a few stray tears away from your face. His hands twitch by his sides.

“Hi.”

Dear God, take him now. Warmth spreads all over his chest when your voice reaches his ears. 

“Hello,” he starts. He has to clear his throat before continuing. “Dana mentioned you wanted to talk to me, I’m doctor Robinavitch. Or Doctor Robby, if you prefer.”

You nod, trying and failing to smile at him. “Nice to meet you. Are you… like, the boss around here?”

He nods, unsure of how you may react. He doesn’t notice any disgust or annoyance, but there’s no positive reaction either. He relaxes his shoulders and makes sure to leave his hands visible. 

“Indeed I am. What can I do for you?”

He has to hold his breath when you raise your head to look at him straight to his eyes. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

“Can you make sure no male nurses or doctors come near her?”

Irrationally, he wants to sit you down and make you spit out any and all information about your baby. Why you seem so scared one second and ready for combat the next, why your eyes are so pretty, why you don’t let him near the babygirl.

Instead, he just nods, asks softly “Is there anything or anyone we should be worried about?” 

You shake your head, give him a satisfied smile that seems to pull the ground from under him. “No, not anymore.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He feels lightheaded, unsure of where he stands. You tilt your head slightly, then jump when Collins comes out. He realizes now that the crying stopped. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but can we have a word?”

Your face falls. It makes him irrationally mad, wants to twist the world around until you’re smiling again. He doesn’t move.

“What’s wrong? Is it serious?”

Collins puts her hand on your hand in an effort to comfort you, shaking her head. He glares at her hand like it personally offended him. “Nothing serious, it seems like she just had an allergic reaction to formula. Could you tell me which one she's taking?”

It’s almost like he vanishes into thin air as soon as there’s something related to the baby anywhere near you. You turn around, back to him while you pull up a picture in your phone and show it to Heather. She nods and smiles, letting you know it’s nothing too bad. He notices your entire body relaxing, and the tips of his ears turn red. 

“So what should I do at home now?”

The anxiety you exude makes him tense, almost angry. He’s bothered by not being able to get an actual look at the situation, relegated to talking to you only and away from what seems to be the center of your universe. He takes a deep breath to try and push out the uncomfortable feeling of uselessness.

“We would like to keep her here, at least for today just to keep an eye on how she reacts with different formulas, and maybe give her some fluids in case she’s dehydrated.” Heather’s voice is tender, gentle in a way he’s not sure he could manage now, not after so many years of hoping it would help and seeing it turn people into aggressive maniacs. 

But you just nod, pocketing your phone before turning back to look at him again and knocking the air out of his lungs. 

He's sure he's earned his year in Hell when faint excitement blooms as he realizes you'll be around for a few hours. He doesn't understand what's happening, why he's acting like a teenage boy with a crush or a fresh student handling his first case with an attractive person. Fuck. Fuck.

“Can you make sure the people from other shifts respect what I ask?”

He’s already mentally preparing his speech for Jack. “Of course. And I’ll see if we can keep you here along with your baby, just to be safe.” 

You beam at him, and once again, he feels like the Earth tilts under him. “Thank you, doctor Robby.”

He notices Dana staring at him from inside the room, grinning.

Oh, he’s absolutely fucked.

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

AO3

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Fourteen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, jealous lando, protective grid, sexual content

Notes — Welcome to the 2021 Formula One season! (Testing, but still... it counts). Also... hehehehehehehe double update <3

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2021

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2021 F1 Grid

Lewis H. A warm welcome to our 2021 rookies! Mick, and Yuki :)

Lando N. Yeah, welcome or whatever More importantly, does anyone know if I can call up the Apple store in Woking and get them to deliver to me? Even though it’s closed rn

Lewis H. What happened? Did her iPad break?

Lando N. Yeah mate, completely toast.

Max V. Shit. I can have one express delivered to your flat, Lando. It is, of course, a work expense.

Yuki T. Uh hey I guess! I thought this was a work only chat? Did I get the wrong briefing?

George R. It usually is, but as admin I allow Amelia-based chat @Yuki

Mick S. Hey! Great to be here. Um, just curious though. Who is Amelia?

Max V. My lead technical engineer.

Lando N. My girlfriend.

Lewis H. Zak Brown’s daughter.

Fernando A. Her iPad is broken? I will bring her one now. Lando, send me your home address.

Mick S. Ohhh, I actually know Amelia Brown!

Lando N. ?????????? @Mick

Fernando A. Lando you have not sent me your address.

Max V. @Fernando I have already purchased the iPad.

Mick S. @Lando we met years ago, mate. She used to ski with her family where mine did in the winter.

Lando N. You heard the part where she’s my girlfriend, yeah @Mick?

Mick S. Yes…

Lando N. Good.

Fernando A. @Max She will need it delivered to her soon.

Charles L. It finally broke? Wow. Lasted far longer than I believed it would.

Lando N. @Charles Not a good time for jokes, mate. She’s devastated

Daniel R. Should I start carrying a spare iPad to races with me just in case? LOL.

Lando N. Wait that’s a good idea Somebody write that down Max write that down

Max V. I purchased three. I will carry the spares

Fernando A. Vamos, Max!

Pierre G. I bet the rookies are so confused lmao. Welcome to the grid group chat. We discuss penalties, race conditions, plane shares, and Amelia Brown.

Carlos S. @Lando How is she? Did she freak out?

Lando N. She’s good now. All chill.

Lewis H. Tell her that I just bought her a new bunny sticker book. I’ll give it to her at testing.

Lance S. If I buy her the entire Apple company, do you think she will come and fix the Aston Martin car?

Max V. NO.

Yuki T. This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen in any grid group chat, and the f2 chat used to get weird lol

George R. Welcome to the grid, Yuki. Keep your head on straight, and if you ever find a lost iPad with a bunny sticker on it anywhere in the paddock, make sure it gets back to Amelia asap

Lando N. Thats important for all of the rookies to know @Mick @Yuki 

Mick S. Sure I’ll keep an eye out!

Lando N. Actually I change my mind Mick if you see an iPad just leave it yeah :) 

Mick S. ????

Pierre G. This is going to be a great year. 

Checo P. All of the other drivers have this chat muted, yes?

Kimi R. Yes. 

— 

Amelia was crouched down by Max's car, her hand resting on the tire as she scanned through the data on her iPad. The numbers on the screen felt too slow, almost static, compared to the racing thoughts racing through her head.

Beside her, Jos loomed over her, a red-ink pen poised above her little black notebook. He was taking notes for her. Her mind was moving faster than her hands could keep up, and sometimes, just sometimes, she needed someone like him, methodical, steady, and patient, to help her process it all.

Her fingers flicked over the screen, swiping through the data from Max's morning run, when she paused, eyes flicking to Jos. “You see what I see?” she asked, her voice low, as if speaking any louder might break the delicate focus she’d managed to carve out for herself.

Jos nodded, his eyes scanning the information on the screen before looking back down at the scribbles he’d started in her notebook. “More rear stability in the high-speed corners. We’ll need to adjust the dampers again,” he said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact.

Amelia’s eyes tightened slightly as she thought. “We might need to soften the rear more. The front’s too reactive. Max is going to be fighting it in corners three and four, especially.” She tapped the screen lightly, zooming in on the section of the track map. “The car’s settling into a snap too fast, can’t keep up with the rear load in the high-speed sections.”

Jos made a mark in her notebook. “Front end’s still too eager, then?” He sighed. 

“Yeah, exactly,” Amelia made a face. “We soften that just a little bit more. Max needs more confidence in the corners. Less initial bite, more consistency. Maybe tweak the ride height slightly too.” Her words were coming faster now as the solution to their issues fell into place in her brain. 

As the day wore on, Max’s car was fine-tuned with the adjustments, and Amelia watched on with satisfaction as everything came together in perfect harmony. 

They had a plan. The tweaks would work. Max would be happy with the handling.

She turned to Jos when the mechanics started to wheel Max’s car back into the garage for the final time, day one of testing officially over, giving him a small but appreciative smile.

He pulled her notebook out of the pocket of his jeans and handed it over. “I hope you can understand my handwriting.” 

— 

Amelia sat opposite Max at one of the small team tables in the Red Bull hospitality unit. Most of the staff had already filtered out for the night, their voices fading down the hallway as engineers, PR reps, and mechanics headed for shuttles and taxis. But the two of them lingered — Amelia, still editing Jos’ scribbled notes from earlier in the day, and Max, who had quietly gotten into the habit of not leaving until she did.

It was almost sweet. He dropped her off to Lando at her hotel room at the end of every day like she was a preschooler getting passed between divorced parents. She hadn’t said anything about it, partly because it was practical, and partly because she didn’t mind it. It was nice not to have to worry about being alone.

Across from her, Max was hunched low in his chair, arms folded tight across his chest, mouth set in a hard line. His gaze flicked from the tabletop to her notebook and back again, a rhythm she’d seen a hundred times before. It meant he was thinking. Hard. Or more likely, overthinking.

She didn’t bother looking up. “Just say it.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been fidgeting with your straw for six minutes. It’s starting to irritate me.”

Max exhaled through his nose, leaning back into the bench with a groan. “You are very annoying.”

“Mhmm,” she hummed, finally meeting his eyes. “Max, tell me.”

He hesitated, then shifted forward, resting his elbows on the table. There was a pause, a rare, tentative kind, and then, quieter than usual, he said, “I’m nervous.”

That made her put the pen down.

“For the season?” she asked, although she already suspected the answer.

Max nodded. “Everyone keeps saying 2021 is my year. Like it’s inevitable. Like this is it. And I want it — Fuck, I want it so bad. I’ve worked for it my whole life. But now that it’s here, I don’t know…” He rubbed a hand down his face. “What if it doesn’t happen?”

“It might not,” Amelia said plainly.

Max looked like he wanted to argue, but stopped short, blinking at her. “Comforting.”

“You’re not asking for comfort,” she said. “You’re asking if you’re good enough. And yes, you are. But this sport doesn’t always care about that.”

He let that sit for a moment. Nodded.

Then, quieter still, “There’s something else.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow.

“I met someone. Over the break.”

She made a face. “Someone?”

He groaned. “Don’t do the eyebrow thing.”

She relaxed her face. “Who did you meet?”

Max scratched at the edge of the table. “I met her in Monaco. She’s nice. A lawyer . She thinks I’m just… Max. I didn’t tell her about the racing. About… everything. She doesn’t follow F1.”

Amelia leaned forward slightly. “So she doesn’t know who you are.”

He shrugged helplessly. “She knows who I am. Just not… what I do.”

Amelia tilted her head. “And you like that?”

“I think so,” he said. “It’s peaceful. She talks to me like a normal person. No hero-worship, no pressure. Just… calm.”

“You’re lying to her, essentially,” she said bluntly. “Not a good foundation for a relationship.”

He shot her a withering look. “Jesus. You’re worse than my dad.”

“I take that as a compliment. We have the same goal.”

“I know.”

She looked down at her notebook, flipping a page and skimming it for a second. “You think you can manage both? A relationship and a championship battle?”

He hesitated. “Is that selfish?”

“No,” she said, then looked back at him. “But it might be a bit stupid.”

Max chuckled dryly. “Thanks.”

“I’m not saying you can’t have both,” Amelia added. “I’m just saying that it probably won’t work.” 

He frowned, nodded slowly, then said, “But you’re managing your relationship and my championship.”

“I’m not the one driving the car, Max.” She argued. 

“Still,” he muttered. “You’re making it work. I could make it work.”

She shrugged. “Okay. Is she nice?”

Max nodded, “I almost ran her over.”

She blinked at him. “Oh. That’s… romantic?” She tried. 

He laughed shortly. “She was in a rush, didn’t look properly. I apologised and gave her a ride to work. She— she, uh, thinks that I’m just some wealthy businessman’s son, or something.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, anxiety curling in the pit of her stomach. “You should stop lying to her. I would… I would not like it if I was in that situation and I found out that I was being lied to.” 

Max sighed. Nodded. 

Then he stood, grabbed both their jackets, and slung hers over the back of her chair. “Come on. Let’s get you to your boyfriend before he starts texting me again asking where you are.”

She gave him a flat look. “He has a GPS tracker on my phone.” 

Max rolled his eyes. “Of course he does. Typical Norris.”

She shrugged. “It’s sweet. Sometimes I get lost and he has to come and find me.” 

Max laughed, and for the first time all day, some of the tightness left his posture. “Yeah,” he said, holding the door open for her. “Probably good that he has it, then.” 

— 

The lights of Manama twinkled in the distance, warm and hazy against the desert night. From the balcony of their hotel suite, the city looked like it belonged to another world; quiet and golden and slow in a way the paddock never was. The hum of the air conditioning inside was replaced by the occasional distant honk of a car, or the hush of wind weaving through the palm trees below.

Amelia was seated cross-legged on one of the outdoor chairs, wrapped in a white robe, her hair still damp from her shower. Lando, in a t-shirt and joggers, was fiddling with a tiny bottle opener, attempting to open a bottle of some obscure sparkling drink he’d insisted was “romantic, okay baby? Trust me.”

Their room service tray sat between them on the small table. Grilled flatbreads, mezze, roasted lamb. Lando had ordered for them and he’d gotten everything right.

“I don’t know how you always remember this stuff,” she said, dipping a piece of bread into a tangy yogurt sauce.

Lando grinned, finally getting the bottle open with a victorious pop. “Because I listen when you talk. I know the face you make when you think something tastes bad or has a yucky texture. I have eyes. Shocking, I know.”

Amelia gave him a pointed look. “Last week, you kissed my eyeball because you were being lazy and tried to kiss me with your eyes closed.”

“Shut up.” He huffed. 

She laughed quietly, curling into him, giving him a bit of the blanket. “I think Max might be in love,” she said suddenly.

Lando blinked. “Max? Verstappen?”

“Mm,” she nodded, chewing. “He told me today that he met someone over the winter. She doesn’t know who he is. Like, really doesn’t know. Thinks he’s just some rich guy named Max.”

Lando made a face. “That… feels impossible.”

“She’s apparently very disconnected. Doesn’t follow the sport. Max likes it.”

Lando nodded slowly. “Weird. But kind of sweet, I guess.”

She frowned at him. “I told him he shouldn’t be dating during a title fight.”

“Very romantic of you.” Lando teased. 

She shrugged. “I never said I was romantic.”

“No,” he said. “But you are.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t disagree. Instead, she reached for his hand where it rested on the table, her fingers brushing over his lightly. “I hope you do very well this year, Lan.” She told him, earnest and hopeful. “You deserve it.” 

Lando turned his hand over to lace their fingers together. “So do you. Deserve to do well, I mean. You’ve worked so hard this past year. You deserve to see it pay off.”

Amelia didn’t say anything right away. She just leaned over and kissed him; soft, sweet, clinging. It wasn’t meant to lead anywhere at first, just a thank you. But she didn’t pull away. And he didn’t let her go.

She ended up in his lap, her legs curled against his chest, her robe brushing his knees. His hands slid instinctively around her back, fingers splaying wide against the thin fabric, grounding her. Grounding himself.

They stayed like that for a long time. The balcony lights dimmed behind them. The city hummed faintly in the distance, the last remnants of dinner cooling on the table, the silence between them easy.

Then, gently, she climbed off of him and stood. Her bare feet whispered against the tile as she stepped forward, and she stopped just in front of where he sat, between his knees. Her eyes searched his face for a beat, then she reached for the hem of his t-shirt.

“Come inside with me?”

Lando’s breath caught slightly. He looked up at her, her expression steady, soft, open, and nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Inside, the hotel room was cast in warm light, golden from a low bedside lamp. The curtains were drawn against the city, muffling the world outside. The bed was turned down, sheets crisp, pillows fluffed. A quiet kind of invitation.

She tugged him by the hand toward the bed, and he followed without a word, heart thudding in his chest.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t awkward.

There was a kind of reverence to the way they undressed, slow, curious. Amelia’s robe slipped from her shoulders, caught briefly on her elbows before pooling at her feet. Lando’s hands hovered just for a second before brushing up her arms, like he was making sure she wouldn’t vanish if he touched her too quickly.

Their kisses deepened, still hesitant but filled with intent, with the weight of everything they’d been building toward for over a year. Every laugh, every shared moment of delicate intimacy, every time they’d caught each other’s eyes across a garage or a hotel lobby, it all settled into the space between them.

Lando’s mouth trailed across her skin with an almost startled sort of wonder, like he was learning a language he’d been waiting to speak. Her fingers threaded through his curls, tugging gently when his lips brushed the hollow of her throat. They moved together with quiet urgency, limbs tangled, breath catching against skin.

At one point, Lando paused, hovering just above her, his eyes sweeping across her face, flushed, focused, real.

“You’re so... fuck,” he whispered, barely audible.

Amelia blinked, lips curling faintly. “Not sure that’s a compliment.”

He kissed the curve of her shoulder, then her collarbone. “It is,” he murmured. “It really is.”

And when they finally settled under the covers, tangled together with her head tucked beneath his chin, Lando let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

She didn’t say much, but her fingers curled into his shirt like she wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon, and that was enough. 

— 

The sunlight was already creeping through the sliver of the curtains when Lando stirred, warmth pooling low in his stomach before he was even fully awake. For a moment, he didn’t move, just blinked up at the ceiling, trying to remember if he’d dreamt the night before, or if it had really happened.

Then she shifted against him.

Amelia was tucked beneath his arm, hair a little wild against his chest, one bare leg tangled over his. Her cheek was pressed just below his collarbone, lips slightly parted, her breath steady and warm against his skin.

Definitely not a dream.

He smiled, slow, stupid, unbelievably content.

She felt it too, maybe, his laugh or the way his fingers brushed along her back, because she mumbled something that sounded vaguely like a complaint and burrowed closer, clearly not ready to be awake yet.

Lando tilted his head, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Morning, baby.”

She made a noise that was more sigh than word. “Mm. No.”

“No what?”

“No talking,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. “Too early.”

He laughed quietly, the sound muffled by her hair. “It’s almost seven.”

“Too early for you to be this cheerful.” She grumbled.

Lando shifted just enough to look down at her, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. “I’m not cheerful.”

“You’re smiling.”

He smiled wider. “Can you blame me?”

She cracked an eye open, blinking up at him. Her face was still soft from sleep, a little puffy and makeup-free, but to him, she looked... ridiculously beautiful.

“What?” she asked, because he was staring.

“Nothing,” he said, brushing his thumb along her jaw. “I just really like waking up next to you.”

Her expression shifted slightly. And then, a second later, she exhaled and said quietly, “I like it, too.”

Lando kissed her, just a little one, lazy and warm.

They lay tangled in the sheets, the morning light spilling gently across the room. For a while, neither of them moved, perfectly content to exist in the quiet, wrapped up in warmth and each other.

Eventually, Amelia stirred, shifting just enough to reach over to the nightstand. She blinked blearily at her phone and then sighed and glanced across the room.

“Shit,” she muttered. “I forgot to charge my iPad.”

Lando, still half-asleep, pressed a slow kiss to her bare shoulder. “I plugged it in when I got up in the middle of the night to go for a piss.”

She turned to look at him, her expression soft, a little surprised. Her voice came quiet. “You did?”

He nodded, eyes still heavy with sleep. “Didn’t want you waking up to it dead.”

A pause. Then she gave him the smallest pout, sleepy and affectionate and so purely her. “I love you.”

He broke into a grin, one of those quiet, full-body smiles that lived in his eyes. “Yeah,” he murmured, brushing her hair back. “I love you too.”

—

The McLaren motorhome was buzzing with early morning energy, the consistent hum of coffee machines working overtime. Amelia slipped through the front doors with her badge swinging around her neck, hair still damp from a rushed shower, and Lando trailing behind her, half-yawning into a croissant.

Zak spotted them first, already seated at one of the corner tables with Daniel, who was halfway through a heaping plate of scrambled eggs and talking animatedly about something.

“There’s my girl,” Zak called, waving them over.

Amelia dropped into the seat beside her dad with a tired sigh. “Morning, dad.” She kissed his cheek. 

“You sound tired,” he frowned at her, sipping his coffee.

Lando slid into the chair beside her, nudging her with his knee under the table. She handed him a napkin in response, gesturing for him to wipe the crumbs away from his face, and he smiled. 

Daniel looked between them, eyebrows raised. “You must be Amelia. I’m Daniel. Can’t actually believe we’ve not met properly before now.” 

“I know.” Amelia agreed, already reaching across the table for a muffin.

Daniel leaned in a little, grinning. “Lando talks about you all the damn time. In debriefs, pre-race meetings, on his radio��”

“Please stop talking,” Lando glared at his new teammate, clearly embarrassed.

“She’s worth talking about,” Zak laughed, patting Amelia on the shoulder with a fond smile.

Daniel smirked at Lando, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. Lando just narrowed his eyes at him, his cheeks flushing slightly.

Amelia took another bite of her muffin, savouring her food. But before she could finish, her phone buzzed violently against the table. It was from Max.

iMessage — 7:33am

Max Verstappen Are you here, sister? I want to talk about my steering set-up

Amelia On my way to you now.

She shoved the rest of her muffin into her mouth and stood up in one swift motion. “Okay. I gotta go.”

Lando looked up, surprised. “Already?”

Amelia kissed him quickly on the cheek, her lips lingering for just a second longer than expected. She gave her dad a quick shoulder squeeze before smiling at Daniel, her usual bluntness softened by a bit of shyness she wasn’t used to showing in front of him. “Max wants my advice.”

Zak called after her with a grin. “Tell Jos I want my daughter back for lunch.”

“No promises,” she replied with a glance over her shoulder, already speed-walking toward the exit. Her hair bounced with each step, and her phone was pressed to her ear before she even made it out of the motorhome.

Daniel leaned toward Lando as she disappeared down the hallway. “You’re screwed, brother.”

Lando shot him a look, kicking him under the table. “Shut up.”

— 

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2021 F1 Grid

Yuki T. I have Amelia’s iPad in AlphaTauri garage

Lewis H. Yeah, this has to be a new record.

Lando N. Lol she’s just been rly busy. Probably hasn’t noticed she hasn’t got it yet

Max V. She just noticed and started freaking out. @Yuki I’m on my way to get it.

Lando N. She okay @Max?

Max V. Yes mate, no need to worry.

Mick S. @Max Can I pop by your garage and say hi to her? It’s been years!

Lando N. @Max Say no. Max, say no. Max, say no.

Max V. @Mick No, she is too busy for friends.

Lando N. LMAO, REKT @Mick.

Mick S. Bro????? I really don’t want to steal your girlfriend 😭

Fernando A. You do not believe my Amelia is good enough for you, Schumacher?

Max V. What the fuck Mick

Charles L. Uh oh 😬😬

Pierre G. Bro that was NOT the right thing to say 😭

Max V. @Mick She wouldn’t even look your way. 

Lando N. Wild angle, mate @Mick

George R. We are witnessing a man dig his own grave live in chat

Daniel R. *shovels faster* Keep going, Mick. Say you think she’s boring next.

Sebastian V. This feels like bullying.

Yuki T. I think it is  

Carlos S. @Mick Just lie down. Accept it. The storm will pass.

Mick S. I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT 😭😭😭 I literally just meant she’s your girlfriend and I respect that! @Lando

Lando N. Sure you did. 

Fernando A. In my country we have a saying — "Schumacher has placed his own foot in his own mouth."

Lewis H. Pick your words better next time yeah? @Mick

Lance S. This is why rookies don’t get access to Amelia.

Esteban O. Wait does that mean I have access to Amelia?

Max V. No.

Fernando A. Absolutely not.

Lando N. You do not.

Valtteri B. I do not speak much in this chat but I just want to say: Mick, this is very funny.

Antonio G. +1

Nicholas L. same 😭

Sebastian V. Let it be a lesson to all of us. Never try to be polite in here. It will be weaponised.

Charles L. I miss when this chat was about tyre pressures and strategy.

George R. That’s adorable. It’s never been that.

NEXT CHAPTER

[keeryhours]

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Order: Chocolate lava cake served for two with crushed oreos and whipped cream

Ingredients: Smut (18+), fem!reader, one bed trope, first time, handjob, unprotected p in v, creampie

Total: $20.79 (2k words)

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Masterlist Tag Lists

“I don’t know if I can drive home in this.”

Eddie walked up behind you, peering over your head at the torrential downpour occurring outside. It was raining like crazy, so hard you could barely see right in front of you.

“Shit,” Eddie cursed. “I don’t know how the hell we didn’t hear that-“

“Couldn’t hear over the sound of you shaking in your boots over The Exorcist,” you teased.

“Hey, I was not scared,” Eddie said, looking at you seriously. “I was just…cold.”

“Sure,” you grinned, walking around him and back into the trailer. It was late, Wayne had long ago left for work. You were supposed to be having a movie night with Steve and Robin, but they bailed at the last second, leaving you and Eddie alone.

“I wasn’t scared!” he called back. He shut the front door, locking it, and followed you back into the living room. “So, uh…I guess you’re spending the night here?”

“I guess so,” you agreed. “Because I can’t drive in all that.”

Eddie nodded. “Okay. Uh…”

“What?” you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well I don’t, exactly…have somewhere for you to sleep?”

“You have a bed, don’t you?”

“Well yeah, but-“

“But what, you don’t want to share with me?”

Eddie blushed. “No- I mean, I do- wait, fuck-“

You beamed. “Perfect, then. We can just share. I don’t mind.”

Eddie minded. The ache in his jeans certainly minded, the thought of you in his bed only making it worse. What did you sleep in? He pictured you in nothing but your underwear, cuddling up to him for warmth-

You happily bounded into his bedroom, making yourself at home on the bed. It wasn’t the biggest, enough for the two of you but you’d be close. You looked up at Eddie, standing frozen at the bottom of the bed.

Eddie’s mouth went dry at the sight of you laying on his bed. You were leaning back on your elbows, looking up at him with this innocent expression that made his cock twitch. If he wasn’t so scared of ruining the friendship he would just say that - well, not about his cock, but that he found you beautiful. That he wanted to kiss you really, really badly right now.

“I don’t have any clothes with me,” you said. “Do you, uh, have anything I could borrow?”

Eddie snapped out of his thoughts. “Oh, yeah. I have some t-shirts you can use. I have pajama pants, if they’ll fit?”

“I’m good in just a t-shirt,” you smiled. You went to his dresser and opened a drawer, pulling out an old Hellfire shirt. “Perfect!”

Eddie was frozen as you took off to the bathroom with his shirt. You were going to sleep in just the shirt? In his bed? With him? He half expected you to kick him out and make him sleep on the couch, but when you came back dressed in nothing but his oversized shirt and your panties, dropping down into his bed and looking at him expectantly - he realized this was really happening.

Eddie stripped down to his boxers and flipped the light switch, climbing into the bed next to you. He could feel the warmth of your body against his. He’d never been so close to a girl before, and it was setting his body alight, every nerve ending on fire.

He closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep. But then you turned over, eyes closed, and threw your leg over his. Your knee brushed against his cock and despite his best efforts it came stirring to life again, right against your leg.

He tried to adjust you, to move your leg away from his growing problem, but every time he’d try you’d grumble in your sleep and move it back. The brushing against his dick was exacerbating the problem quickly, and he was terrified by the very real possibility that you were going to wake up to find him rock hard right next to you.

He thought of everything to bring his boner down - all kinds of non-sexy thoughts running through his mind. But you were still there, right on top of him, and oh god-

“Eddie?” you said sleepily. “Oh shit, I’m sorry.”

You moved your leg to remove it from his waist, but you hit something hard instead. Eddie involuntarily groaned at the sudden sensation, then quickly covered his face with his hands.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know why that’s happening, I just- you’re so-“ Eddie stopped himself before he could put his foot in his mouth any more than it already was.

“I’m just so what?” you asked, a teasing lilt to your voice that almost made him think you were enjoying this.

“Please forget I said anything,” Eddie begged, utterly humiliated. “Seriously, I don’t want this to ruin our friendship.”

“Why would it ruin our friendship?” you asked, running your fingernails up his bare chest. He shivered beneath your touch.

“Because- because you don’t like me back like that?” he said, suddenly unsure with the way you were touching him, maybe even…flirting?

“Says who?”

Eddie swallowed. “I- I don’t know.”

Your hand drifted lower until it was brushing over his erection, and Eddie was in the palm of your hand, literally and figuratively. He groaned, covering his eyes with his arm. “What are you doing t’me?”

“Making you feel good, it looks like,” you said. He could hear the smirk in your voice, and it only made him ache even more. You wrapped your hand around his clothed cock and squeezed it, making him whine.

“You like that?” you whispered. Eddie nodded quickly, don’t stop, please don’t ever stop-

You removed your hand. Eddie uncovered his eyes to look at you, to ask why you’d stopped, when he saw you reach for the waistband of his boxers and pull them down enough to release his cock.

“Hah-“ Eddie breathed a strangled moan as you touched his bare cock for the first time, twitching hard in your hand, like it was begging you to do more. “Fuck-!”

“It’s so pretty,” you mused, watching your hand work him up. He was growing even harder from your touch, his tip flushed red and leaking. Eddie whined again, canting his hips up into your hand. “Use your words, Eddie.”

“Please,” he gasped. “Don’t stop, please, keep going. Feels so good.”

You couldn’t help but smirk when he was begging you like that, so desperate for more of you. “Have you ever done this before?”

“No,” he admitted easily, his mind already gone to the feeling of your hand between his legs. “Never.”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

His eyes popped open. “W-What?”

“Do you want to kiss me?” you asked again, the soft smile on your lips all he could stare at.

“So bad,” he groaned. You leaned in and pressed your lips against his and his hand immediately tangled in your hair, holding your face close to his. He kissed you like he’d seen people kiss in the movies, all tongue and lips and passion. It surprised you, and you found yourself moaning into it, speeding up your hand on his cock.

“Can I have you?” he asked, looking up at you with those big innocent yet hungry eyes. “Please. Need you so bad. I can’t take it anymore.”

“You can have me,” you promised him, sinking back into his kiss. “You can have all of me.”

Eddie’s hand slid up your oversized t-shirt, feeling the soft skin of your sides and stomach, the smooth roundness of your breasts. His thumb brushed over the hardened peak of your nipple, making you let out the most delicious little moan into his mouth. He took the opportunity to lick against your tongue, tasting you.

“Your body is incredible,” Eddie muttered against your lips. “So fucking hot.” His large hands trailed to your back, feeling the skin there before dropping down to grip your ass, hardly covered by your panties at all. It was all too much for Eddie, he was worried he was going to bust right then and there.

“Need you now,” he growled, rolling you over so he was between your legs. His boxers were pushed down just enough to reveal his aching cock, your t-shirt pushed up over your tits. He slipped his hands beneath your panties and pulled them down, tossing them onto his floor.

“I don’t have a condom,” he said just as he lined himself up at your entrance. “Shit.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him. “I still want it.”

His resolve was so weakened by that point, he didn’t care about the potential consequences. He dragged his cock through your folds, feeling your wetness. His tip pressed against your hole, and you drew in a sharp breath.

“S’big,” you mumbled, which just made Eddie’s chest swell with pride.

“Yeah, baby?” He kissed your neck, biting down and sucking hard, leaving a mark. He wanted everyone at school tomorrow to know who had fucked you.

“Yeah,” you said softly, the word turning to a whine as Eddie pushed inside of you. The stretch was more than you imagined, more full than you’d ever felt.

“Oh, christ,” Eddie moaned, feeling his cock fully enveloped by your pussy for the first time. It was like heaven. Eddie had never felt anything so incredible in his life, the perfect, tight heat of your cunt surrounding him sending his mind reeling.

“Eddie,” you whimpered. “Please fuck me.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. He pulled his hips back, leaving only his tip inside. He rolled his hips into you, sinking all the way back inside, and he moaned like he never wanted to feel anything else for the rest of his life.

Eddie set a comfortable pace, nothing too fast yet because he wanted to enjoy it and not cum in 2 seconds. A nice, steady, slow pace, pressing so deeply into you every time he thrusted in that it felt like you could feel him everywhere.

“Jesus, baby,” he moaned as he fucked you slow and deep, his face buried in your neck. “You’re so tight. I can’t believe how fuckin’ tight you are. I never knew it would feel this fuckin’ good.”

“Want more, Eddie,” you begged. “Please.”

Eddie increased the speed of his hips, the slap slap slapping sound getting louder in the small trailer as he fucked himself into you deeper and faster. His hips were pounding into you at a desperate pace, his old bed creaking, headboard thudding into the wall, leaving chips in the paint.

Liquid heat spread throughout his body, from his core through every limb. His thighs trembled as he neared his orgasm, your pussy tightening around him in a way that had him seeing stars.

“‘m close, Eddie,” you moaned. “Gonna cum all over your cock.”

“Yeah baby, that’s it. Show me. Show me how good my cock makes you feel.”

You guided one of his hands down between your bodies to press against your clit. He got the message quickly, rubbing circles on it, building you higher and higher. You felt yourself climbing, nearly there-

You came around him hard, pussy throbbing around him as you drained his cock for every drop. Your orgasm set his own off, and he was pumping his load into you, your greedy pussy begging him for more, wanting everything he had to give.

Eddie pumped his hips into you until there was nothing left, until you were both too sensitive to do anything more. He pulled out of you and laid on the bed, an arm out for you to cuddle into. You took the invitation, cuddling against his sweaty body.

“You know how you were worried it would change things between us?” you asked quietly, only over the sound of both of your breathing.

“Yeah?” Eddie said. “What about it?”

“Maybe it should change things between us. I don’t know if I want to be your friend anymore.”

Eddie furrowed his brows. “What?”

“Maybe,” you said, “I want to be more.”

“What? Like…you wanna be my girlfriend?”

“Is that what you want?” You felt anxiety for the first time that night, realizing that Eddie might not feel the same. That this might have really been just a casual fuck for him.

“Fuck yeah, that’s what I want,” Eddie said, laughing. “Will you? Be my girlfriend?”

“Yes, Eddie Munson,” you giggled. “I will be your girlfriend.”

tag list

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[vrystalius]

How they show love — bg3

A tribute to the last patch of bg3 and in honour of starting my 12th playthrough (I haven’t finished a single one so far)

Pairing: Astarion, Gale, Gortash, Raphael (+Haarlep) x gn!reader

Summary: How do they express their love for you, their love language and a bonus scenario.

Genre: Fluff, slightly suggestive in parts

Words: 4.1k

Note: after writing this I noticed how literally every single one has physical touch included sooo. Guess what my personal love language is lmao

(Not ascended)

Astarion Ancunín // The Pale Elf

Words — 1k

Nibbling and biting.

This one is quite obvious. Although Astarion sinks his fangs into your neck every now and then to enjoy a treat, he also enjoys nibbling on you just because. His favourite areas to do so are your hands and fingers, shoulder and cheek. Biting your fingers in boredom when you are in bed with him, in his arms, you not paying attention to him while flipping pages through a book.

What else is he supposed to do other than take your free hand and nibble on your finger while silently brooding about you being oh so busy. Your hand is also a pleasant alternative.

Your shoulder feels like the perfect place to trail featherlight kisses followed by small nibbles here and there, firm enough for you to arch into them but soft enough to not make you bleed. He doesn’t always have the need to chomp down and suck your blood out, you know.

That’s why Astarion sometimes leans down, bites and pull on your cheek a little instead of placing a small kiss. It’s silly, but it makes you giggle and wince in surprise so that’s perfect reason to keep doing it, especially when you expect a kiss and not him to bite you.

“I can’t help myself dear. You are too delicious for me to resist, with or without blood, although a little snack would be a good bonus. If you’ll let me…”

Words of affirmation and/or sweet nothings.

You are used to Astarion flirting with you all day and night, but you notice how they slowly became less and less shameless and more sincere, in a way. Not that they weren’t sincere before.

His eyes soften as they glaze over your face, his hands hesitating to reach out and run through your hair while your head rests on his chest, his lip quivering as he hesitates to speak his mind. Astarion’s brain is foggy from all the warmth and fuzziness pooling in his stomach and his heart racing uncontrollably from you simply being here. His mouth begins to talk without him having control over it.

His words may be flirty and sultry but you can tell that they aren’t just flattery. He rambles about how incomprehensibly gorgeous you are, how your info dumping and intelligence is unbearably attractive and how he could listen to you all day, how your eyes resemble the starry night sky, your grin that could make him fold over in an instant and so many other things he cannot get out of his damn brain about you.

Damn you for making him utterly weak and stupid for you.

“I cannot stop my damn mouth around you. It’s— Stop grinning at me like that! I can’t concentrate when you do that, darling.”

Physical touch.

At first, Astarion forced himself to constantly touch you. It felt good for you and for him, sure, but he mostly pushed himself to touch and feel you in order to make you feel seen and loved by him. He did it in order to get protection and support from you against Cazador and whatever other horrors come across your way. But after unfortunately falling head over heels for you, touching you is something he cannot go without.

His hand always lingers on your back for support, your waist to pull you closer and show to everyone with that you are his and he is yours, holding your hand while strolling the streets and roads and almost childishly swinging your arms back and forth like a happy-giddy couple. Letting himself get pulled into your arms after a long day in the privacy of his closed off tent and cuddling closely against you is probably the closest Astarion ever got and will get to pure bliss.

His cheek getting squished by being pressed up against your chest, his hands tightly gripping your waist as if fearing you might disappear on him. There is a soft, giddy grin spreading on his face.

Bonus scenario.

You thought he did it on purpose at first— After all, he is a vampire spawn and you can tell that his bloodlust overpowers him every now and then, but Astarion genuinely looks panicked as the flesh of your hand begins to bleed slightly, two holes buried into the skin right below your thumb. You watch as your boyfriend rushed around his tent to grab a cloth and wipe the blood.

“Astarion, I’m fine—“ He shushed you by holding his finger up while facing your back before finally spinning around on his heel and presenting the hand-embroidered handkerchief he had been worming on during the quiet evenings in camp. Immediately and without hesitation, he pressed the delicate cloth against your wound.

His face was etched in guilt and worry. “I’m so sorry darling, I didn’t mean the bite to be so…” You noticed how his eyes drifted away from how the blood began to soak the handkerchief. “It was meant to be harmless, I swear!”

“I know, I know.” Your free hand cupped his cheek and your lover immediately leaned into your touch, his eyes closing as his features softened slightly. You can tell how much it ripped him apart in the inside despite it being such a little injury, you know how Astarion always is careful with his biting when doing it on you, respecting your boundaries and always asking for consent beforehand. He would never, ever hurt you in any way. And yet he just did.

“It happens, it’s okay. I’m not seriously hurt.”

Lifting the cloth off your wound yourself and revealed how the blood already began to dry. His eyes drifted back to the puncture wound in your hand. His lip quivered. “I…”

“I’m still sorry. I should’ve been more careful.” Astarion watched your face, expecting some kind of negative reaction. Fear, anger, anything really. Instead, you leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

A wave of affection hit him the same way the club of an angry orc would, but it was much more pleasant. He huffed and angled your face for him to kiss you properly.

(Mortal)

Gale Dekarios // The Wizard of Waterdeep

Words — 1.1k

Info-dumping and rambling.

If there is a new topic Gale has been exploring and reading about, you will definitely hear all about. Probably more than once, too.

Before you Tara was the victim of his endless info-dumping, him gesturing around and doing his eureka! pose every now and then while proudly explaining how he already inhaled every piece of literature there is about this new topic. Now you are his victim.

Gale feels a little insecure about it though, afraid he might be boring or annoying you. So, you’ll have to assure and encourage him and make it known that you do want to know how you can reason and communicate with some mimics to the point of making them non-hostile. He adores to have his head rest on your lap while your hand fiddle with some loose strands of hair, him rambling on and on about something he happened to come across in the library today.

Since you tolerate his rambling so well, he’ll of course listen to yours with eagerness. Gale’s eyes twinkle slightly as he watches you talk, noting every movement in your face and hand, how the edges of your eyes crease a little when you explain a particularly fun fact to him. His heart flutters to see you being so passionate about something, sometimes he can’t help himself but let that affection out and give you a cheeky little kiss while you are distracted by talking, causing you to be completely thrown off and now confused on where you left on.

Gale also loves debating with you. The topics could range from when does a powerful wizard begin to live off cheese and wine to if eating a tressym’s wings be considered as fried bird, fried cat or fried tressym (although Tara was quite offended by that debate you held). He likes talking about nothing and everything about you and might just seek excuses to hear your voice. Getting the opportunity to info-dump about his interests is a mere bonus.

Gifts and trinkets.

Whenever he stops by the library or market, you have to physically withhold him from wandering off and going after that shiny twinkle he just saw from the edge of his eyes, in his mind already having hundreds of ideas on what it might be and if you would like it.

Gale has a habit of hoarding things in his wizard tower, but after getting his orb and getting rid of most the weave infused artefacts, he now had space for more trinkets: things that remind him of you.

Your wizard begins bringing you something every time he comes back from somewhere. Sometimes it’s a book from the library he thought might interest you, sometimes it’s jewerly Gale thought might fit most your outfits, but every now and then it’s a shiny rock he found in the corner of a street. He thought the colour resembled your eye colour and the way it shone in the sun almost blinded him, just how you blind him with love every time you’re near.

It’s silly but at least half the shelves are now filled with shiny rocks, books and a newly acquired wooden figure of a goat he found at the market. Gale said your stubbornness and persistence reminded him of one and didn’t get why you found it a little offensive to get compared to one.

“Whatever are you talking about? Goats are very graceful creatures and so are you! I find it quite the accurate comparison on my part.”

Physical touch and cuddles.

There is nothing better in the world than melting against your warm body after a good glass of wine and being surrounded by tombs, scrolls and books all day and Tara being curled up by your feet. His hand lazily tracing your waist and sneakily finding their way between your legs. Not for any improper reason, just to warm his hands up.

Speaking of your thighs, Gale is this close to begging on his hands and knees for a chance to have his rest between your plush flesh. The feeling of gently being squished while his fingers busy themselves by drawing intricate patterns across your skin or simply interlock with yours. Your wizard considers cuddling as some way of recharging his energy, both arcane and bodily.

He needs his morning cuddles before starting his day, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck while you brew some coffee or him refusing to let you leave the bed by positioning himself on top of you. He sneaks himself into your daily routine and tries not to interrupt whatever you are doing right while scooting himself right next to you, his chin on your shoulder while Gale watches you do whatever.

Also, thanks to you, this man can’t ever sleep without having you in his arms ever again. You spoiled him too much, he complains. Your body perfectly fitting together against his like it was always meant to be. But that also means whenever you get up in the middle of the night for some water, Gale is right behind you, sleepily following your steps.

“I can’t sleep without you, might’ve as well follow, right?”

Bonus scenario.

You did insist that your boyfriend should’ve stayed in bed while you dragged yourself to the kitchen for a glas of water. It’s not even early morning and the sun was still well below the horizon and yet Gale followed close behind. It kind of reminded you a cat that followed you into the bathroom in the middle of the night for no reason other than making sure you don’t get attacked by mice or something.

“Mhh. What time is it?” Gale scratched his chin sleepily as he leaned against the counter next to you. You shrugged and sipped your glass of water. He opened his eyes and glanced over to you, his arms slowly wrapping around your waist and pulling you against his oh so warm body.

You melted right into him, a groan escaping your throat as you buried your face in his hot neck, allowing yourself to take a deep breath. His scent was familiar.

Your eyes slowly drooped close and you felt yourself almost let the glass slip out of your hand but before it could, you placed it on the counter behind your very sleepy wizard.

As you did, your hands began to wander and trace the warm muscles of his back. You noticed how they have softened over time. After everything that had happened you and him began to live a more comfortable life without the need to lift a sword, or rather, a wizard staff.

Before you could point the softening muscles, how much you appreciate your life with him, how silly it is to think about what you went through together mere months ago, a snore interrupted your thoughts.

Did Gale fall asleep leaning against the cabin with you in arms? Seriously? And snoring like that as well?

And he is always the one that complained about your snoring.

Enver Gortash // Chosen of Bane

Words — 1k

Gift giving.

He literally cannot help himself for the love of the gods. Enver, as he ordered you to call him, swears he is not actively seeking for gifts to shower you in, they just come to him. Or are being brought to him by his Steel Watch and others.

Whatever had your attention for more than a fraction of a second you can expect to stare back at you in an instant, now presented on your nightstand or bed instead of the boutique you saw it in or the catalogue you flipped through. Somehow he always knows what you fancy without even needing to speak to him.

Enver also tends to send you little handmade trinkets during especially long and stressful periods of him being away. Despite what he likes to think himself, he doesn’t always work on papers in his office. When the files pile up and glare at him disapprovingly, Enver turns to the mini broken machinery tucked away in his desk and begins tinkering with it, working and trying new things out until it finally functions again.

Or he makes it look prettier and that it was before and lets it be delivered to you. Little reminder that he always thinks of you. He totally didn’t squeeze a miniature scrying eye into at least one of the trinkets to spy on you.

“Oh, it is nothing. Mere small tokens of my affection, no need to dwell on them.

Inserting himself into everything you do and annoying you.

Like a toddler, Enver follows you around and tries to insert himself into everything you do to try and stay close to you.

Cooking yourself a snack in the kitchen? You’ll feel his chin on your shoulder as he stared down at what you are cooking. “Give me a piece of that.”

In the bathroom to take a quick shower? He is already behind the curtain and turning the water on, filling the room with steam.

God forbid you are in bed, alone without anyone to cuddle onto? Yeah, you best believe he immediately sneaks up on you and makes sure you won’t be able to physically leave this bed, not until you pry his arms off your body. Enver is like a cat, he doesn’t openly ask for affection most of the time but invades your personal space whenever he wants to silently ask for it.

Besides acting a little child when wanting your attention and affections, Enver also enjoys showing you how much he loves you by purposefully annoying you a a little. He pokes your cheek over and over when you’re busy and watches you get more and more upset with his teasing until you finally slap his finger away. How unfairly you are treating him— Enver has been nothing but good to you!

“I’m simply making my presence known to you since you failed to acknowledge it until now. You shouldn’t be annoyed, rather happy to see me, love.”

Physical touch.

You know well that your lover is sleep deprived, dehydrated, touch starved, affection starved and whatever else you can be physically deprived off. You seem to fix all of these problems by simply slipping into his arms and using his soft chest as comfortable pillows and your legs tucked between his warm legs. Enver can’t suppress the blissful grin spreading on his face and couldn’t fight his eyelids slowly drooping close, his chin resting on your head.

He could remain like this for hours, days, in some form of hibernation. But he can’t. His duties are calling.

So, he’ll take you with to his office to continue the cuddles. You’ll be comfortably seated on his lap as he writes and flips through papers. The situation isn’t even sexually charged as in you are perfectly seated on his lap in a way that could make him moan and thighs shiver, rather you are there so he can take little breaks by hiding his face in your neck and groaning in frustration every now and then.

Sometimes he’ll be too tired to cuddle, so Enver’ll rind where you are currently resting and just laying down on top of you, letting his weight slightly crush you beneath him. He is a selfish man and needs his daily (hourly, really) head pats, hair strokes and back scratches.

Bonus scenario.

You felt Enver’s stare drill itself into your skull. You were just brushing your teeth and examining yourself in the bathroom mirror and getting ready for bed. You tried to ignore the looming presence behind you as much as you tried to avoid looking directly at him in the mirror.

“Are you ignoring me?” You heard the amusement in his voice. Yes you are trying to ignore him because of how much he has been getting on your nerves today, purposefully interrupting your doings, asking you to meet him in private and pulling you away from duties just for him to ask you to kiss him. A child is what he is.

“My love.” Enver called out again, now moving to stand beside you. His eyes never left your face. You didn’t spare him a single glance.

“Darling.” He started again. “Or do you want me to call you kitten?”

That one made you shoot him a glare. Aha! A reaction. Enver smirked at himself and lifted his hand, his index finger now reaching out to pole your cheek but before he could touch you, you gently pushed his hand away. But not backing down, he reached out again.

“Gortash.” You scolded and turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Yes? That is my name.” Completely unbothered, he mirrored your pose to mock you almost. There was that shit-eating smirk on his face you are all too familiar with and the one you can’t help but let it get to you. You couldn’t fight your own grin that was fighting itself to appear on your face.

“Aha. A reaction. I was looking for that.” He grinned and lifted your chin with a small nudge beneath your chin before leaning in for a quick kiss on your lips.

Raphael // The Devil (cambion)

Words — 1k

Quality time.

Raphael’s time is valuable and choosing it to spend it with you should make you happy enough.

But alas, merely basking in your presence and getting drunk of your affections sometimes isn’t enough, so Raphael takes you out to fancy restaurants in different cities all across Faerûn and spoils you with a colourful, expensive cuisine. Afterwards he’d suggest to get some wine and enjoy it somewhere else together, maybe go back to the House of Hope and play some rounds of Lanceboard together.

He would never admit it to you but being adorably domestic with you and sipping some wine while talking about nothing important is one of his favourite things to do, ever.

Besides restaurants and wine, your cambion will ask if you’d be interest in going out to watch theatre plays. How can you possibly deny him when Raphael keeps reciting quotes and scenes, trying to sway you into finally giving in. It’s kind of endearing watching Raphael’s eyes light up once you finally agree.

Raphael enjoys spending his time outside of his House of Hope, partly because he knows that you, as a mortal, probably don’t want to spend all your time down in Avernus, so he’ll prefer to take you out on dates on the surface.

“If you’ll have me, I would love to take you out on a lovely play being held in Baldur’s Gate. I believe you could enjoy it as much as I will.”

Acts of service.

Raphael may spoil you with acts of service but those are not without strings— He’ll expect something back in return, things like a kiss on his cheek, a compliment or your time to spend on him.

His “services” consist of him hand-tailoring infernal contracts for people that have mildly annoyed you in the past, people you may not even remember. Raphael will make sure they will work as slaves in his house personally serving you for the rest of eternity.

He maybe is enjoying eliminating and enslaving your ex-lovers, people you mildly dislike, people you despite and whoever else he can get his fingers on a little too much, don’t you think?

Also, Raphael tends to be very theatrical when hosting future contractees and souls he might strike a contract with. But with you, he is actually sincerely caring. He pulls out a chair for you, he pours you a beverage before even needing to ask, he remembers every single detail on foods you like and dislike and just the way you like it. Raphael will always serve you like you are royalty.

“Sit. Eat. Drink. Let the world and everyone in it kneel for you, my love. You deserve nothing lesser.”

Physical affection.

Raphael enjoys your touch the most. Simple things like holding your hand and prying it off whatever you are holding when they are not available, having his hand rest on your waist during outings and his tail subconsciously wrapping around your ankles when he is not even paying any mind to you. He craves your closeness, no matter if he wants to or not.

If he can’t provide with his own body and cuddle you up, he’ll send Haarlep to do his bidding.

Haarlep more than willingly curls up in your lap and shields you with their wings as their arms snake around you. They might let their hands wander and get a little touchy with you, but after putting the incubus in their place and giving them a piece of your mind, Harleep will obey and simply serve as a cuddle pillow and replacement for his master. Almost a little too enthusiastically, one could think.

But at the end of the day only Raphael will banish the incubus from your shared bedroom and will affectionately-force you to satiate his need for your touch. He is never the little spoon though, the devil would never give up his position as the big spoon and loose the opportunity to create a make-shift cocoon with his leathery wings trapping you against him.

It was your biggest mistake to not go and use the bathroom beforehand, Raphael will never let you go now, not unless you sprinkle holy water on him or something.

“Where did you— No! Put that flask down you harlot! How did you smuggle holy water into my home?!-“

Bonus scenario.

You felt squished. Sandwiched. A little crushed but kind of pleasantly so.

Raphael had his arms wrapped around your your stomach as you snuggly fit into his hold, against his chest. You felt the infernal heat radiating off his body and his tail having its tight hold on your ankle. Does he even know that his tail was clinging itself onto you?

You weren’t really paying attention to that though with Haarlep clinging against your front. It was comfortably pressing itself against your torso, its race snuggled against your chest. Their eyes were closed in bliss while their hands gently massaged your thighs. Now, how did you manage to convince Raphael to allow his incubus to snuggle up against you like you are theirs and theirs only?

Then again you could sense how the owner of the House of Hope silently brooding behind you and having his face nuzzled into your shoulder while Haarlep happily purred against your supple skin.

“Oh, I have been missing out on this. I didn’t think he’d be so lenient with me.” Haarlep was clearly testing the waters on how far he can go before his master strikes him down and throws his body into the Styx. Raphael lifted his head slightly and raised his brow, shooting him a warning glare.

“Both of you better behave.” You sighed, one hand leaning back to cup Raphael’s cheek while the other was busy running fingers through Haarlep’s hair. Again, the incubus purred and smirked against your skin.

This is something you could get used to.

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

Ngl I’ve also been in the mood for some Cyberpunk again. Also I’m also trying my very hardest to do a Durge run but I always end up starting another playthrough after the goblin camp 😭😭 I’m trying to stay strong for the extra voicelines and scenarios and stuff for Gortash but I’ve never been strong enough so far 😔 also I was this close to including ketheric throm on this list

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough.

Tame care of yourselves! Happy late Easter if you celebrate.

[storiesfromasmalltown]

YOU WERE ALWAYS ON MY MIND

or

The five times you danced with Michael Robinavitch

f!Reader x Dr. Robby

Warnings: cursing, drinking, bittersweet stuff idk, happy ending, not beta read, reader is Robby’s age, reader has hair and is shorter than him (let me know if I forgot anything!)- reader has also never gotten over anything

No use of Y/N

Best paired with Maisie Peters Elvis Song, Lucy Dacus and Hozier Bullseye, Taylor Swift Holy Ground

1.You met at a party during undergrad, he was all floppy hair and laughter back then- tall and lanky in the way college boys are before they really grow into their own. He was pre-med, you were undecided. Maybe he was the shove you needed to commit to medicine, but that didn’t matter at the time. The party was held in a sticky frat house, full of people and smoke and he fit right in, laughing loudly, playing beer pong and you were in over your head the moment you saw him. It was a cliche meet cute, your eyes met you excused yourself to your friends and made your way to the drinks table. He was cute, you were three drinks in and when he gave you that smile and said you his name is Michael but everyone calls him Robby you couldn’t help the butterflies. 

“Do you dance Michael?”

He raised an eyebrow at the name and extended his arm, long fingers reaching for yours.

“I do with pretty girls who call me by my first name.”

You felt warmth spread around your cheeks and he pulled you into the crowd and didn’t leave your side for the rest of the night. 

You spent the rest of that year studying on his sofa bed in the rented apartment just off campus, sharing chemistry notes and kisses when his roommates were away. He was perfect but you were always a bit of a flight risk and on one of the many nights you spent with his arms around your waist pulling you onto his lap as you sorted through notes you thought 

oh I am in over my head

“What’s on your mind?”

His voice shakes you out of your thoughts, a worn greatest hits Elvis record draws You were always on my mind in the back.

“Nothing hon’, I’m just tired.”

He gave you a look and you leaned to kiss his cheek while your brain screamed that this was never going to work.

2. The second time you danced was at a graduation party, you didn’t really date anyone after him, you applied to med school- even after his name started swimming in front of your eyes whenever you would close them,  but you made your choice- he gave you everything and you left, you had no right to be the hurt one here. 

“Congratulations.”

He must have had a bit to drink but so had you, you turned to face him, there was a strange shadow across his face, one that wasn’t there before you but you closed your eyes and for a second imagined a life where you didn’t walk out of his kitchen on a Sunday morning and never walked back in.

“Do you still dance with pretty girls who call you by your first name?”

He gave you a sad smile, arm reaching to fix the strap of your white dress.

“Only those that broke my heart.”

You turned to walk away but he closed his hand around your shoulder.

“I don’t want to dance with anyone but you tonight, it doesn’t have to mean anything. For old times sake?”

And you both pretended it didn’t break your heart.

“Did you get into med school?”

You felt him nod, he rested his head on top of yours for a second, it was a slow dance, friends and lovers swaying to the same fucking Elvis song again.

“Yeah, you?”

You nodded into his shoulder, a tear escaping you. He would haunt you for the rest of your life.

3. You hated fundraising galas, but you were a star pediatric resident for the Philadelphia hospital you matched into. You thought working your ass off would be enough but you guess you had to be paraded around as a show pony too. Your dress felt uncomfortable, it looked stunning but you were hyper aware of every stitch that touched your body. You held a glass of white wine in hand, it had gone warm but it felt good to hold something. The networking and chatting part of the night passed by and people were sitting and talking or swaying on the romantically lit dance floor- not that it made any sense to you why a dance floor for a fundraising gala would have romantic lighting but you assumed it softened people. You scanned the crowd for the familiar face you caught a glimpse of earlier. His shoulders looked broader, he had a few laugh lines etched into his face. His once soft clean shaven face had a neat beard on it and his floppy hair was cropped shorter, but it was him, you couldn’t forget those eyes if you tried. You saw him when he entered, a man with short curls came in with him, they were deep in conversation and you slipped out for air, because the what-if’s didn’t rest. You couldn’t leave while the chatting up was happening and now you really itched to get away but your friend was flirting with a woman at the bar and you had come in together. 

“You always looked good in black.”

He materialised by your side, hands in the pockets of his slacks, doing that thing where he tries to make his impossibly tall body shrink.

“Thank you Michael.”

He offered a smile and you offered a compliment in return.

“You should stand up straighter, your posture is fucked.”

“Well that's what the ED will do to you-”

“You specialised in emergency medicine?”

He nodded his head, shy and proud, blushing again at the way you looked at him with eyes full of pride. Like he forgot you broke his heart into a million pieces.

“You?”

“I’m in pedes.”

“Do you want to dance doctor?”

“I would love to.”

And something cracks a bit more on that dance floor, he moves you around it and the small talk feels like its mapping out the ocean wide divide between who you used to be and who you are now. The dance ends and you kiss his cheek and leave without saying anything else, picking up pace- your friend finds you crying in the bathroom and you tell her how much you missed him every day for the past 8 years and she doesn’t understand why you can’t go back.

4.  You’re at a wedding, not yours- even your mother gave up on that once your turned 45, but the first one since you moved to Pittsburgh. You check your phone wondering if it is too early to leave, maybe you can take up a shift at the hospital, get into the groove a bit more. The pediatrics attending position you got an offer from the board of the PTMC was too good to refuse, until you attended a meeting and found yourself sitting across from a familiar face. 

He came in late, black scrub top, navy blue hoodie, salt and pepper beard and a face that felt like a map of moments you had missed. He looked tired, depleted- like he carried the world on his shoulders.

“This is our new attending for the pediatrics department-”

The administration woman- Gloria, started to introduce you but you zoned out, she didn’t motion for you to stand up and just kept going through what you assumed was her usual repertoire. You busied yourself by writing notes on the legal pad in front of you because if you looked up and saw him there- Dr. Robinavitch, chief attending of the ED, tall and confident and still so warm with the same eyes that used to melt you in your spot.

You heard the chair next to you move and you knew who it was this time, you had stopped trying to fight it.

“Nice to see you have a social life.”

You snorted in your drink.

“Look who’s talking.”

He laughed before replying-

“Well I think I’m still better than Abbot.”

You met Dr. Abbot on a consult and you caught a healthier coping mechanism than whatever Robby had going on.

“One of you goes to therapy and it’s not you.”

“I actually came by to ask you for a dance not for a mental health check.”

You felt brave, for the first time in a long time, like someone who won’t burn it all down out of fear, like a woman who has too many lonely years behind her. So you reached out your hand, steadier and more confident than it was at 20.

“I would love  to dance with you Michael.”

You were on the dancefloor for a while when he whispered in your ear during a slow dance.

“I always liked dancing with pretty girls who call me by my first name.”

“Pretty girl is a bit of a stretch for one who is over 50.”

He pulled away to study your face, the only one he had ever  memorised that way.

“I meant beautiful woman, but I never forgot the pretty girl.”

You took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t run.”

“Don’t interrupt me- I’m sorry I ever did run.”

And that was all you had to say.

5. You were on the fence about getting married at your age, but you found you couldn’t tell him no, not when he had asked nicely in your kitchen. The one you shared in the house you shared, the place you did laundry together, cooked meals, where your shoes mixed by the door, where people came in for a glass of wine after a long day, the garden you had barbecues in, the place you played that same 30 year old Elvis record. 

“Well good morning Dr Robinavitch.”

You laughed at him, voice strained by the morning, hands around your waist, he was fully wrapped around you.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

“You know we didn’t dance yesterday-”

“We were in a courthouse.”

“Yeah but I think that I would really love to dance with my wife.”

So you let him spin you around like he had so many times, but instead of mapping the places you missed it was circling the life you finally got to live. Smoothening the cracks you weren’t there to mend the first time.

[vivlily]

can you please explain who these horses are????

You made a mistake in asking me, but I will try anyway. This will go over some general things and mainly focus on white and cyan, not so much the other horses.

They are characters from a Twitter webseries/game(?) hosted by @/snakesandrews. Where viewers essentially vote on whatever horse they think might win. These horses bounce around randomly off of objects like a screensaver of sorts, and a horse wins once it touches a png of a carrot.

These horses are typically referred to by their color until they win and are thus given a name, for instance, orange, eventually becoming jovial merryment.

How much or how little these horses win as well as what goes on during a race end up leading to a lot of fan made content. And for the most part, any characterization of these horses is largely up to fan interpretation.

For these two horses, white and cyan specifically? White and cyan and brown would go on to not win one match for quite some time, leading to them being put into a race all on their own. Which brown would eventually go on to win and attain the name Door Knob. Leaving white and cyan in their own little race. With a special little map, file this special little map for later.

It is important to note that these races do not usually last much longer than around 2 or 2 and a half minutes. Cyan and White would go on to race for a whole 7 minutes and 9 seconds. This led to a lot of fans depicting them as sort've not wanting to win, usually because of enjoying one another's company or something similar. I'm a yuri minded individual, so you can probably guess how I decided to interpret it.

As you probably realized, since they had a defined time for the race, a winner also exists. This is where White had won, earning the name Superstitional Realism. This led to a lot of fans depicting Cyan as either feeling betrayed or upset by white winning. Some also show Cyan being happy for white.

It here that white, now superstitional realism(I will refer to her as Sup from now on), would join the next days' race and proceed to not win. And in the next day's race, white would be mysteriously missing. It is in this race that Sup is missing that something unusual happens once the race is over.

Cyan has lost every single race, every single one. This race where Sup is missing is followed by a video in which Cyan was racing all alone in an empy room with only herself, eventually obtaining her first win. But did such a win even count? There was no one for Cyan to even race against after all. It was assumed Cyan would get a name for her victory, but the fanfare screen would simply continue listing her name as Cyan.

People expected that Cyan would finally join the next race proper, only for the next race to be a race between what looked to be 7 distorted horses (6 a form of cyan, and 1 white). Despite there being 6 cyans, they still lost to the distorted white horse, whose fanfare screen read "a Mysterious figure." Leading many to think this might be cyan reliving her worst moments, and more specifically, the moment where she get left behind by white.

The latest race as of this post was with the regular set of horses interspliced with the 6 distorted cyans having a race of their own. It's unknown if this "nightmare" world is real or in cyans head. But one of the 6 distorted cyans does win and is rewarded with the name of Garbage Bin. We then cut back to the "normal" world where Sup remains missing and jovial merryment wins the race(go figure).

Now, do you remember that special little map where cyan and white initially raced in? The "normal" world race was taking place on the very same map, just with more color and rounder edges. This leads to me and probably a few others believing that that last race was the other horses looking for cyan.

My assumption for why Sup has been missing for the last few races is because white had already gone back to look for cyan ahead of everyone else.

As for how the story might end? Well, you can find out both today and Friday as the series seems to be having it's last to races.

Will jovial win once more? It's possible. It's annoyingly possible. And will cyan and sup have a happy ending? I SURE HOPE SO. SAVE YOUR GIRL.

Whadya mean I'm getting emotional over screensaver pngs?!?

Apologies if this was long winded, I'm not used to typing this much and suck at using words. BUT you made the mistake of asking me, dear Anon. Always remember there is always yuri for those with eyes to see. Now go consume some fan content, there's a lot of really good writers and artists out there, show them some love.

[seresinhangmanjake]

What He Has To

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Reader

Summary: Despite being betrothed to Rabban, you've been having an affair with Feyd for months. The two of you agreed to stop once you're married, but Feyd decides that doesn't work for him.

Notes/Warnings: Sort of smut, i guess (so 18+). Arranged marriage. There was a request for a fic with Rabban, and though there were a lot of other details included in that request that did not make it here, this was what the request inspired. It kind of took on a life of its own. Sorry.

Words: 3300

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Feyd POV

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. He only intended to take something valuable from Rabban. But in the process of the theft, Feyd tasted the thing that rightfully belonged to his brother, and once he tasted you, he couldn’t stop. He hasn’t stopped. 

He’s enjoyed having you too much. He likes that your eyes always search for his if the two of you are in the same room. He likes that you spend more time in his bed than in the one in your guest quarters. He likes that all of your touches belong to him, and only him. He likes that you don’t speak his brother’s name.

When Feyd convinced you one night to fall into his bed, he imagined the look on Rabban’s face upon learning that his most desired object had been defiled by another. He planned to call Rabban to his room the following morning and show his brother exactly what he’d done, presenting you with his bedsheets pooled around your hips, displaying your bare back as you slept on your stomach. The thought alone was enough to keep him up the whole night in anticipation. 

But once the time came, he couldn’t do it. Where Feyd’s rage rests at a sizzling, low boil, bursting when necessary, Rabban’s is a constant overflowing wave. He would’ve killed you on the spot. Shoved a blade into your spine before your eyes had opened for the day. Your blood would’ve seeped into Feyd’s mattress before he’d gotten an opportunity to kiss you one final time. So, instead, he proposed that what had formed between you remain a secret, and to his satisfaction, you were willing and wanting the same.

“Just until the wedding,” you told him as you rocked back and forth on his cock for the second time. Between kisses and moans, you said, “We can’t continue this once I’m married. I can’t risk anyone suspecting that his heir might belong to someone else.”

In a lust-addled haze, Feyd agreed. But ever since, his clear mind has heavily protested. 

Would you pretend to enjoy being with his brother? Would you moan for him? Whimper? Bite your tongue when Feyd’s name threatens to tumble from your mouth? Or worse, would you like it, and bask in the attention enough to find pleasure. Is it possible that your eyes could squeeze shut and lips could part with shallow breaths without the memories of Feyd rolling around in your mind? Could his brother really learn your body better than he has?

Thoughts of you in Rabban’s arms, Rabban’s lips attached to yours, Rabban’s fingers grazing over your skin, turn Feyd’s stomach each time they slither into his head, so aggressively he nearly loses whatever meal most recently consumed.

If he could change the rules of his world, if the future Baron of Giedi Prime was decided based on skill and intelligence, not age, then he would have you. You would have him and the title of Baroness. Agreements between Houses would be kept, and all involved, with the exception of his incompetent brother, would be pleased. But altering a hierarchy is not easily done, if possible at all.

—

Reader POV

It’s the last night. Tomorrow, you will be married, and what you and Feyd have will cease to exist, leaving you only with captured memories of how he feels, of how he makes you feel. 

You pray those memories can sustain you through a lifetime wedded to his brother. You beg whoever is willing to listen that time does not shrivel those memories to scraps. You can’t allow every bit of him to be taken from you. If you can’t be with him, then you deserve the remnants of what you’ve shared to remain fully intact and accessible whenever you need them. 

Turning your head, cheek meeting pillow, you watch him sleep. He’s unnaturally peaceful, and the sight of it tightens the organ in your chest. So handsome, beautiful lines and edges that make up the features of his face. Not like Rabban, whose features seem to bulge off of his rounded head. 

It is those differences that will make it impossible to sneak around with Feyd behind Rabban’s back once you are married. Should you fall pregnant with Feyd’s child instead of your husband’s, upon birth, it will be much too obvious. You will undoubtedly be put to death, your baby discarded, and Feyd likely shamed in front of all of Giedi Prime for disrespecting his uncle’s strategic arrangement between House Harkonnen and yours.

You twist onto your side, placing your palm on Feyd’s cheek and stroking his sharp cheekbone with your thumb. His skin is smooth, soft, and you always find it fascinating. While most people learn to harden their outer coating to protect their squishy insides, Feyd’s hardened insides are protected by a supple shell—one more difference between him and his brother that you cherish. 

You lean in closer and press your lips to his. One second, two seconds, three, then he’s replying to your kiss, groaning, tangling his fingers into your hair, and flipping you onto your back. 

He slides into you. Rests his forehead on yours. Your eyes stay locked together, exhales playing and curling around one another. 

It’s on the tip of your tongue—the declaration. Just a few words that sum up what you know you’ve been feeling for a while. But you can’t give it to him. To do so will only make it harder to cleave the two of you apart when morning comes. It will make him all the more unwilling to let you go. And should he repeat those words back to you, all hope, minuscule as it is, that you might one day find peace without him will vanish. 

Feyd thrusts deep. Your walls pulsate. You feel him fill you. 

He stays there for a moment as he rests his comfortable weight on top of you, lips hovering a half-inch above yours. 

“Don’t drink it,” he whispers.

You blink. Your brow pinches. Your body squirms the slightest under his. He’s never asked that of you. “I have to.”

Finding purchase on his muscles, you push him off of you, and despite despising the emptiness now between your legs, it doesn’t stop you from sitting up and reaching for the tonic on the bedside table that ensures no child will plant within you. 

Feyd sighs and falls onto his back, forcefully dropping his head into the pillow. He stares at the ceiling as the rim of the bottle touches your lips.

You pause to look at him, and for a moment slip back into the recurring dream of what might come of you putting the bottle down, leaving your tongue untouched by the liquid. Something lovely could grow inside of you. Menacing, but lovely. And were it truly a choice, you would make it, pray for that outcome. But it isn’t a choice. You both know it.

You take a deep breath, then swallow the bitterness in the bottle. 

Feyd turns over. His back faces you.

—

Feyd would have kissed you once it was announced in front of the Great Houses that you were officially man and wife. Rabban doesn’t, and you are thankful for that. 

You don’t want his mouth near yours. Nowhere near your body. Earlier, when his lips brushed the shell of your ear as he whispered what he intends to do with you once you’re alone, you flinched and clasped your fingers together to keep their trembling unnoticed. 

This morning you believed it would be fine, that you could settle into the role of the agreeable, dutiful wife. Despite knowing you will always love another, your priorities remained set on fulfilling your purpose for being sent to Giedi Prime in the first place. But that was before you were married. Now, you’re not convinced you can play the part required of you without great difficulty. Peace between Houses no longer feels as vital to you as it once did. However, you’re not so selfish as to neglect that the opposite is true. 

From across the room, Feyd is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and eyes fixed on you. You’ve seen him angered before, you’ve seen him indignant; you know what that looks like on his face. But the downward curve of his lips and the divet between his brows display those emotions more clearly than ever. 

Internally, you will him to stop. Should anyone notice him staring at you for too long, they will catch on. You’ve been on Giedi Prime for months—everyone is aware of it—and, as rumor has it, you wouldn’t be the first child of a Lord to stray from their betrothed before the day of their wedding. Months are enough time to partake in a premature affair, enough time to develop an obsession. And obsession, possessiveness, is written all over Feyd’s hard-set features; it bleeds from the tension in his body. Anyone with half a brain could guess what is going on, and no one in attendance tonight is a fool.

Should your affair be discovered, or even suspected, there will be harsh punishment awaiting you, and you can’t begin to imagine what horrors a Harkonnen could inflict. But when Feyd gives you a final steely look before disappearing from the party, you, too, slip away.

You’re just going to talk to him, set him straight, tell him to get it together if he cares for your life. When you find him, though, he appears too erratic to listen to anything you might say. Back and forth he paces, mumbling and shaking his head as long, aggressive strides carry him up and down the hallway. 

And then he notices you, and he stops short. His chest is rapidly filling and deflating. You open your mouth, but before you can utter a word, he is stomping toward you, grabbing your face in his hands, and slamming his lips onto yours. 

He swallows your noise of surprise as each of his steps forward pushes you back until your spine hits the wall. The impact shoves the air out of your lungs and you break the kiss to release it. 

Your heart is throbbing, beating so violently you think it may burst and coat your ribcage. It nearly does when he leans in to kiss you again, but you turn your head away before lips can connect.

“Don’t,” he says.

“We discussed this. We agreed.”

He holds your head firmly in place, forcing you to look at him. The sheer determination in his glare is overpowering. You couldn’t break your locked gazes if you tried. “I don’t care.” 

“It doesn’t matter if you care,” you retort, grasping his wrists and ripping his touch from your face, only for his hands to plant firmly on the wall on either side of your head.

The stare between you is dense, thick, but then it begins to shake, shake more recklessly with each second until it shatters, and you have to look away once more. If you don’t, you’ll give in completely. And you can’t give in. 

To solidify your decision to have last night be the last time you’ll ever have him, you drew a line between you. And that line is the sole method you have to ensure mistakes will not be made. If you cross it, you know you’ll forget the existence of the line altogether. One mistake will become two, two will become three, and it will only be a matter of time before those mistakes are uncovered. 

With your eyes to the ground, you swallow hard enough to strain your throat. “I’m not doing this,” you tell him. Then you duck under his arm, intent on heading back into the party.

Before you can get three steps in the right direction, his fingers wrap around your bicep. You’re jerked backward. Chest flush with his, your mouths meet, and this time, as you feared, you’re made a fickle fool of. Your body gains a mind of its own. It conquers and rebels against your brain, making you rise on your toes, link your arms around his neck, and kiss him with as much fervor as he is giving, as if to negate the idiotic things that left your mouth moments ago. 

Your back hits the wall again. Hands graze down your waist to the swell of your hips. Fingers fist the fabric of your gown and pull the material up your legs. Cold air touches your thighs, partially shielded by the warmth of one of his palms on your skin. As that warmth inches toward your center, you hear the unfastening of his pants. It’s that sound that shocks you out of your drunken state. 

You tear yourself apart from him and shove at his chest until he stumbles out of your space. Your dress falls back down your body.

“I can’t,” you mutter, unable to look at any part of him other than his boots, and even that proves to be a challenge. Seeing where he stands just four feet from you, you could grab him and pull him close, kiss him some more. But you don’t. 

He doesn’t make another move toward you, so you command your legs to stop their wobbling before heading back down the hall and reentering the reception.

—

As you wait to be escorted to your husband, you run over the list you’ve compiled, the options you have laid out to aid you in getting through the night. Alcohol consumption being one. Feigning illness, another, though you’re not sure how effective that would be.

You decide that you’ll think of Feyd. You’ll shut your eyelids and imagine it’s him. His mouth, his grunts, his fingertips digging into your waist as Rabban holds you and thrusts over and over. You’ll do that every day for the rest of your life if you have to, praying that Rabban never does anything to dispel the trick you intend to play on your mind. You hope he doesn’t speak, his voice not quite the same octave as Feyd’s. You hope he doesn’t kiss you, his lips not close to the fullness of Feyd’s. And as horrified as you are to think it, you hope his cock is similar to Feyd’s. If too large or small, too thick or thin, it will be a struggle for you to mentally replace him with the man you love.

A knock breaks through your racing thoughts. You stop picking at your cuticles and make your way over to the door. When you open it, a Harkonnen guard is on the other side.

This is it: your final moments of knowing only Feyd’s touch and taste. Your nose stings as you tamp down the budding tears. The guard doesn’t notice the glassiness of your eyes as he turns his back to you and starts down the hall. Or maybe he does notice and simply doesn’t care.

Following like an obedient child trailing after its mother, you walk from the guest rooms to the adjoining section of the fortress that holds the rooms of the Lords. Your gut somersaults when you pass Feyd’s room. That’s where you should be going. That’s where you belong. 

You wonder if he has locked himself in there for the night, if he’s drinking himself stupid to forget the reality of your fate, as you would be doing had he married another woman. You picture him throwing things, fragile items flying across the room, glass shattering. You picture his fists bloodied and bruised from slamming into walls. You continue to picture him as Rabban’s room comes into view.

With a straightened spine, you prepare yourself for what’s to come, but when the guard does not stop, confusion creases the space between your brows. “We’ve passed it,” you tell him.

“Baron’s orders,” is all he says, and you trek onward.

Minutes of being led through the fortress finally come to a halt outside the council room. Important things happen in there. Decisions are made. Discussions are held that you would not normally be privy to. Married to a Harkonnen or not, you’re still a foreigner, and foreigners' opinions hold little weight with any matter concerning Giedi Prime. Everyone, including the guard in front of you, knows you have no purpose here. So why are you here?

The guard pushes through the door. He enters first, his broad back blocking your sight as you step in behind him. 

“Ah, and here she is,” the Baron says in his gritty voice. The guard moves aside, allowing you to take in the space: the Baron seated on a throne placed at the top of a short set of stairs; Feyd standing at the base of those stairs, facing his uncle. “Come closer, girl.”

You feel your blood rushing, fuzzing in your ears, but you do as you’re told, your legs carrying you to Feyd’s side. You both keep your eyes forward. Your head briefly dips in the Baron’s presence. “My Lord.”

A grumbling sound acknowledges the gesture of respect, then he wastes no time getting started. “I have some troubling news,” he says, weaving his fingers together and resting them on his swollen stomach. “We have been informed of an unexpected...tragedy.”

Your heart stops. He knows. He must know. You and Feyd stand before him at this unusual hour, and for what other reason would there be than to face punishment for your lewd acts of defiance and disrespect? Tragedy is the foolishness, the idiocy of brazen behavior that will snuff out the rest of your life. Any moment, guards will take you by the arms and drag you to a cell to await public execution. 

Death is a fate you once thought preferable to marriage with another man. However, much worse is knowing you will never look upon Feyd’s face again, you will never be in his presence, and that is a thought so unbearable you realize you would rather survive, even if survival means a miserable existence without him in your arms. 

Your shoulders tense as you listen for Baron’s final judgement. But it doesn’t come. Instead, he crooks his finger at the servant to his left, ordering her to bring him his pipe. As he shoos her away, his lips wrap around the tube, sucking in deeply, then heavily releasing a plum of smoke.

“My nephew, it seems, has met his unfortunate end,” he says.

Bits of shock trickle through and taint your composed expression—brows raising, jaw slacking and lips parting. Surely that does not mean what you think it means. Your head snaps to Feyd, but he still doesn’t look at you, so you refocus your attention on the Baron.  

“I don’t understa–” you start.

“A poisonous substance was consumed,” the Baron says, taking a long draw from the pipe and holding it in his lungs. “And death is the consequence of ignorance and weakness; that is all you need to understand.” He coughs, clears his throat. “Fortunate are we to have a competent spare.”

“A spare?”

“You will wed Feyd-Rautha,” he tells you. “Our arrangement with your House will remain intact.” Your muscles go rigid. Suffocation follows the collapse of your chest. You’re not sure you’ve heard him correctly, but then he says, “The ceremony will take place in a week’s time,” and your knees just about buckle under your weight. 

You get yourself together enough to dip your head once more in agreement. To your right, Feyd does the same, and for the first time, you notice the calmness radiating from his body. Not once did you hear a shift in his breath; his fists did not clench at the discussion of his brother’s untimely death. He had done nothing but stand there in silence.

“What did you do?” you whisper.

A beat goes by before he answers.

“What I had to,” he says.

[arandomao3user]

timbern who have a baby and lowk dunno how to take care of that thang 💔

Mission accepted.

—

Darla Dowd-Drake-Wayne, new baby, crying:

Tim: Do we, like, feed her?

Bernard: We just fed her, and changed her. Do you think she's depressed? Are we bad parents already!?

Tim: No, no, she can't be depressed! She doesn't know who the president is yet.

—

Darla, slowly crawling over to the Batman plush on the floor:

Tim: ?

Darla, proceeding to beat the sh#& out of it:

Tim, slowly lifting his phone to send videos to Steph and Jason later:

—

Tim: I carry you for nine months, I suffer, I eat ten pounds of chicken nuggets in your honor, and you have the audacity to come out looking like your Father?!

Darla: Bah!

Tim: Apology accepted, but I'm taxing you.

Darla: Gah!

Tim: Mm, a compromise? I dunno...

Bernard: Timboo, are you okay..?

Tim, who's been awake for the past six days balancing Darla and a case: . . . No :'(

Bernard: Aw, c'mere, honey.

—

Bernard, holding a picture of the titanic up: This is the titanic!

Bernard, holding a picture of the Olympic up: THIS is her sister ship, the Olympic. Can you guess which one actually sunk?

Darla: Ah!

Bernard: Correct! Next lesson will be the debate on if the moon landing was faked or not.

—

Bruce, holding Darla: . . . Why is she . . . small?

Tim: She's a baby.

Bruce: Were... All of you this small?

Tim: Yeah?

Bruce, having his sixth internal crisis for the day: Oh.

—

Damian: Do you think you are superior to me?

Darla: Duh!

Damian: Tt... Well, I suppose I can allow that. Though I must inform you that by time I was your age I was immune to far more poisons. I do salute your tolerance for idiocracy.

Darla: Pffhgt!

Damian: . . . I shall keep you a while longer.

Tim, running throughout the manor: DAMIAN, WHERE DID YOU TAKE MY BABY!?

—

Stephanie: Remember, Batman may seem like a cool guy, but he's actually an a#-hole.

Darla: Guh!

Stephanie: Believe it, sister! He's a royal, capital B, B-t$&.

Darla: Betch!

Stephanie: . . . Oh no.

—

Cassandra, holding a book up: May I read to you?

Darla: Ehshxy!

Cassandra: My Father did not read to me, did not allow me to read at all... I would like to read to you.

Darla, squealing:

Bernard: Hey, Dolly, wha—

Cass, holding Darla in one arm, book in her other hand:

Bernard: . . . Never mind.

—

Tim: . . . You're weird.

Darla: Buh!

Tim: I don't see why everyone's so crazy about you...

Tim, lightly poking her cheek: You're here and none of my family has even asked how I'm doing. Always about you. Why is that?

Darla: Phhbt!

Tim: I mean, I'm used to it, I was Bruce's whole world once, he had all this patience for me and cared about me, then Jason came back and then Damian arrived, so I'm used to it, I guess...

Darla: Geh!

Tim: Yup . . .

Jason, who broke into Tim and Bernard apartment and overheard everything:

—

Jason: Hey, pretender.

Tim, holding Darla in one arm: Why are you in my house?

Jason: So sweet, aren't ya? I heard your blonde wonder was stuck late at that restaurant he works at or whatever, figured I'd stop by and make sure you actually ate.

Tim: . . . That's weirdly nice of you. Why?

Jason: What, am I not allowed to be a good elder brother?

Tim: Mm.

Darla: Guhba!

Jason: Hey, nestling.

Tim: She's sleeping less.

Jason: Takes after you then, eh?

Tim: I guess...

Jason:

Jason: How are ya doin', Timbit?

Tim: What?

Jason: You look tired. In more ways than one.

Tim: I...

Tim, looking at Darla: . . . I'm bad at this.

Jason, stepping closer: Oh, kid, there ain't any guide to this.

Tim, plopping his forehead against Jason's shoulder: There are, several, I read through them all, they don't help.

Jason, wrapping his arms around Tim, careful of Darla: They're all sh&$, Tim. You're doin' good.

Tim: No, Bernard's doing good, Cass, Steph, Damian... Hell, even Bruce is doing better than me.

Jason: Hey, never, ever say Bruce is doing better at parentin' than you.

Tim: It's true though. I can't even get her down for a nap..!

Jason: You're stressed and new to this. Doesn't make ya bad at it.

Tim: I feel bad at it...

Jason: Well, do what you do best then.

Tim: Solve a murder?

Jason: Nope. Make a plan, follow through... You aren't alone, Tim.

Tim: . . . Thanks, Jay.

Jason: Mhm.

—

[stuckonmark]

CRUSH DIAIRIES. lee jeno

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 10. just a coincidence

you turned off your phone, your mind spinning with confusion and a little bit of frustration. jeno had told you that he wasn’t going to address it because it didn’t need to be. after all, you guys weren’t even dating. honestly, you had no clue what you guys were. yes, you texted each other every day and called almost every night, but friends do that, right?

you were well aware that people were begging for answers from the two of you, but you didn’t realized that it was getting this bad. but you especially weren’t expecting a press conference. not a confirmation. not a denial. you just wanted it all to quiet down.

your endless thoughts were interrupted with the notifications from your phone. multiple notifications.

“i guess we really were delusional”

“wow i can’t believe he said that”

“this is crazy. kinda feel bad for yn”

you could feel your heart drop. you slowly clicked on the livestream, eyes immediately scanning for jeno. and there he was, sitting with perfect posture and a composed look on his face.

“as you are probably aware, we are here to address the dating rumors,” you could see jeno shift in his seat, maybe in discomfort but you really couldn’t tell. that thought was erased from your mind when he smiled politely like it was just another question. another rumor. another thing to brush off.

“i have never met this person before,” jeno said it so casually, like it didn’t matter. “i wasn’t even aware of the video until people were tagging me, but i have no connection with her. it really is just a coincidence.”

just a coincidence.

your breath caught in your throat, completely in shock. your heart clenched as the rest of the live stream began to sound like a muffled haze. you couldn’t hear anything. everything was just going in and out of your ear. you couldn’t hear the nervous laugh that he let out at the end. not the flashing camera. not the reporters roaring with more questions after his statement. and definitely not the messages you were getting from friends and fans.

“i have never met this person before.”

has everything been just a lie then? all of the calls? the texts? even the date at the park?

“but seriously i did miss you”

“i used to look for you in every crowd”

“you see me for me”

all of it was just vanished with one sentence. all of that only for the sake of his image.

you couldn’t even cry. not right now. instead, you went on your phone to look at your last conversation with him. and of course, the messages were still there. the song he’d sent to you that reminded him of how y’all ran in the pouring rain together.

“what’s going on?” you typed.

you stared at the text for a minute, trying to think what the best decision was. your finger hovered over the ‘send’ button, before you completely deleted it. your fingers slightly trembled as you typed once more.

“don’t worry. i won’t be a problem anymore.” you hit send immediately. then block.

now, the tears fell from your eyes. it hurt. it hurt so bad. you were just lost and in shock. but if he could easily erase you in front of all those cameras like you meant nothing, then you could do the exact same. just quietly, privately, and certainly without a press conference or public statements.

he disappeared once before.

but this time, it’s your turn to disappear.

previous — m.list — next

notes. don’t hate me guys.. but every story comes with a conflict. jeno WHY 💔

taglist. closed! @sibwol @dudekiss3r @dilflover44 @jae-n0 @mmjhh1998 @cookiehaos @wumutititititi @gomdoleemyson @222brainrot @hollxe1 @sacdepixie @mrkified @kukkurookkoo @haechology @purezitas @urlocalbeaner5 @awktwurtle @toroufriteh @holyhaech @njmluvr @desssss-0 @iluvkyo @samoyed-23 @haesluvr @monniemoody @nahyuckers @skibidihan @sunghoonsgfreal @chenlezip @n0hyuck @httpsxnox @i03jae @meltinghershey @mbella607 @remgeolli @nctrawberries @mwrsi @saranghoeforanton @yoyomul @grassbutneo @multifandomania @bluedbliss @liumoonlight @catdonut657 @uncasings @chishiyapologist @ayukas @lvsdoyo @bbykaixx @4doras @flamingi @hoeingthefuckup @neozon3nha @insbread @tynlvr

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Vil Schoenheit - Room Relaxation Vignette

"Happy Birthday"

[Beside Mister S's Mystery Shop]

[students clamor outside shop]

Vil: Sigh… What a waste of a trip. This is what happens after I made the effort to come all the way here?

Deuce: Schoenheit-senpai, hello! That was a pretty big sigh… Did something happen?

Vil: I had just come by Sam's shop here to pick up something I ordered and there happens to be a sign posted on the door saying he's not in right now.

Deuce: Eh!? Really? Man… I had some shopping I had to do for my dorm, too.

Vil: It said he'll return within 30 minutes, but I have plans after this already. Unfortunate…

Vil: Especially since I don't have much free time what with the birthday party we're throwing at our dorm tomorrow for my birthday. I guess I'll have to come back another day…

Deuce: Oh, is it your birthday tomorrow? Then, I can pick it up for you!

Deuce: I gotta buy some stuff of my own anyway, so think of me doing this as my gift to you.

Vil: Well now, if you say so, I'd like that. Would you be able to bring my merchandise to my dormitory after classes tomorrow?

Vil: If you time it right, you may even attend my birthday party.

Deuce: The party!? I mean, I guess I am curious what kind of food you guys'd serve… But is it okay that I join, even if I'm from a different dorm?

Vil: I don't mind whatsoever. I'll let the party planner know. I appreciate you picking up my order. See you later, then.

[Pomefiore Dorm – Ballroom]

Vil: ―98, 99, 100! Whew…

[door opens, Rook greets Vil]

Vil: …What terrifyingly perfect timing, Rook. I had just finished my exercises for the day.

Vil: Then, go ahead and start your report. The first matter at hand are the equipment requests? I see. Show me their applications. I'll look over them.

[flips pages]

Vil: ―I see no issues; I'll submit them as is. How are the ballroom reservation requests looking?

[Rook speaks]

Vil: …Oh, there seems to be quite a lot this week. Have you already put out a coordination notice? Good.

Vil: This ballroom is a place that allows our students to refine themselves even further… So we should do what we can so that they can use it as much as possible.

Vil: We can use the schedule you laid out without any changes, Rook. Next topic.

Vil: Have the students who were cited during last week's surprise dorm uniform inspection fixed their attire?

[Rook speaks]

Vil: Everyone successfully passed re-inspection? Good… As proud Pomefiore students, I do hope that no one fails next time.

Vil: Alright, we'll call it there for today. I'll go take a shower and head back to my room.

[Pomefiore Dorm – Hallway]

Vil: …Whew. I dislike how I can't take my time with my skincare regimen while using a shared washroom.

Vil: It's enough of a struggle just trying to spray my lotion enough across my body. I should head back quickly to finish the rest of my care routine.

[Pomefiore Dorm – Vil's Room]

[door slams, Vil rushes in]

Vil: The sooner I can apply the rest of my skincare after taking a shower, the better my skin will look tomorrow…!

Vil: I took in an abundance of the sun's rays today during flight class, so my top priority would be to mitigate any UV damage!

Vil: I'll apply this beauty cream with a cooling factor thoroughly by hand first… Next comes the face pack.

Vil: The air was rather dry today, so I'll use one with moisturizing cream.

Vil: I need to apply it quickly so as to not let the cream's moisture dry up. Quickly, gently, smoothly… Use a spatula to carefully make everything fall into place…!

Vil: Whew. That should be enough. Now I'll leave it on for 15 minutes…

[sets alarm]

Vil: Now then, time waits for no one. I should finish "this" up while I wait to take off the face pack.

「Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body」

Vil: Improvements, hm… I know I have many things I'd want to ask for. Above all else, I am sorely in need of a shower and washbasin installed in my room.

Vil: I can't say I'm fond of doing only the minimal care I can in that shared space and rushing back to my room to finish everything else.

Vil: I wouldn't even be so egregious as to ask it for every single room. Even if it were only my… the Housewarden's room, that would be enough.

Vil: To be perfectly frank, I would like my own personal ballroom, as well as a heated pool, sauna, and jacuzzi…

Vil: It would be perfect if I could have an oxygen chamber, as well. That is a vital piece of equipment for our dormitory's pursuit of beauty.

Vil: Who knows how seriously that Headmage of ours would be taking the responses to this survey…

Vil: However, nothing will happen if I don't make the request in the first place. "I would like a shower and washbasin in the Housewarden's room."

[alarm beeps]

Vil: Oh, it's time. Time to take off the face pack. I'll soak a cotton ball with the moisturizer, and gently, carefully pull it off… Hum-de-dum♪

Vil: Perfect. I am still so beautiful today. I'll finish with a massage to help with blood circulation.

Vil: Start with the forehead, then around the eyes, nose, mouth and the face line in turn… Gently massage the treatment oil in…

Vil: …That should be it for skincare. Next, I'll focus on each body part individually.

Vil: This body cream doesn't spread very well, does it? I really expected better from this latest product… Well, what a shame.

Vil: ―What a lovely fragrance. This oil can be used for moisturizing both body and hair, I see. It goes on the shelves… Oh, next month. I should make sure to order some in advance.

Vil: …Delicious. Of course, I blended this herbal tea myself, so it's no surprise I like the taste.

Vil: Whew, I'm finally finished with everything. There is simply too much to do after showering...

Vil: However, every little bit of self-care I do lends itself to my growing beauty. I cannot allow myself to go a single day without putting in the effort.

Vil: Now, early to bed is the key. Beauty cannot be made by neglecting good sleep habits.

Vil: I'll just pour some water in the humidifier… And start my sleeping playlist…

Vil: …That was a wonderful effort today. Sleep well, and look to tomorrow.

Vil: Goodnight, me.

[Pomefiore Dorm – Vil's Room]

[alarm rings, turns off]

Vil: Mmm, ah, that was a good night's sleep. I feel completely refreshed both in mind and spirit.

Vil: Ah, I shouldn't dally about. I need to soak a cotton ball with the moisturizer and wipe off the residual skincare products, then…

[takes off cap]

Vil: UV rays may be the antithesis to radiant skin, but there is still a need to soak in some sunlight in order to maintain a healthy appearance.

Vil: All right, time to fully awaken my body. I'll start with stretching my upper body.

Vil: First, bend both elbows and interlock the fingers in front of my chest… Stretch them forward, far away from the body while exhaling.

Vil: One more time, bring the palms back to my chest… Then reach as high up as possible, stretching both the arm and back muscles―

Vil: Whew… In these moments when I can just focus on working my body like this, I can feel just how gradually everything becomes limber.

Vil: Every little bit of effort I can provide for everything under my skin also helps in maintaining my beautiful looks, as well.

Vil: I should wash my face while my circulation finishes warming up.

Vil: Since I don't have a washbasin, I'll fill a bowl with warm water using magic, then lather up a good foam with some facial soap.

Vil: Carefully and gently, so the fine lather stays plump, rest it on the face's T-zone, then spread it to the rest of the face.

Vil: A book I read a while back recommended using cold water when doing this facial, but it didn't suit me well…

Vil: With how my skin looks right now, I think I can get away with not using a hot towel steam face pack today. I'll dive right in to moisturizing…

Vil: Oh, that's right. I should try out the sample skincare booster I received when I last went shopping in Foothill Town.

Vil: Oh, my. This booster has an abundance of reparative ingredients.

Vil: I can see why the sales consultant said it was one of their prime products.

Vil: However… I think this is too much for my taste. It's a shame, but I'll go with my usual one.

Vil: The one I'm currently using isn't anything too high-brand, but it is perfect for my skin especially during a fickle time like spring.

Vil: Of course, I absolutely would be interested in using a more high-quality brand-name skincare product… But this has far more ingredients in it than I would like.

Vil: It could lead to pimples or rashes, so I truly do need to be selective with what I use.

Vil: I should leave the thought of using those highly sought after skincare products for 10 or 20 years down the road.

Vil: I wonder what today's weather looks like…? Oh, clear skies all day. Heh, perhaps the sun is trying to celebrate my birthday, as well?

Vil: It looks like the UV index is fairly high considering the time of year. I should apply a stronger, longer-lasting sunscreen today.

Vil: Alright… This should be good enough.

Vil: Well then, I'll try to bask in some of the sun's rays while jogging…

Vil: Once I finish, I'll take a shower, go through my skincare regimen once more, and then apply my makeup!

Vil: The question then becomes, should I use the special makeup set I received directly from a manufacturer specifically for my birthday, or use the products that I purchased myself?

Vil: There's so many products I want to try; it's a dire shame that I only have one face! I wonder what will suit me best today―

[Main Street]

Deuce: Good morning, Schoenheit-senpai!

Vil: Good morning to you, Deuce. Were you successful in completing my request?

Deuce: Yes, sir! Just as I promised, I'll bring it by your dorm after school. Anyway… Happy Birthday, again!

Vil: Thanks. Do enjoy the party once you've delivered my order.

Requested by @farfalla049.

[bruisedboys]

thinking of jacob giving u the best hugs after a long week. maybe your social battery has died and people keep asking u to help them so he scares them off (temporarily)

drew my angel thank you for the request!! love u

jacob black x fem!imprint!reader (reader is shorter than jacob)

Jacob Black has a one track mind when it comes to you. You’re all he ever thinks about, all he cares about, the only thing that really matters to him. He worries about you when you’re not together and clings to you when you are together. He’s totally obsessed, and he likes to think that if it weren’t for the whole imprint thing, he’d still be equally obsessed with you. Who wouldn’t? You’re kind, and smart, and beautiful. You don’t care that he’s a monster and you love his pack family even when they’re a pain in the neck.

Like now, when they’ve dragged him out for patrol and left you at Sam’s, when all Jacob wanted to do tonight was take you home and kiss you stupid. You’ve let him go without a complaint, ‘cos you’re perfect.

Jacob, in his wolf form with the rest of the pack spread out within the woods around him, realises too late that he’s been musing over you in his mind. The others are laughing at him.

Really, Jacob? Paul’s voice says in his head. We haven’t been gone ten minutes.

Shut up, Jacob thinks back, but he stops picturing your face in his mind and tries to focus on the task at hand instead.

A few uneventful hours later, the pack finally heads back to Sam’s. Jacob, the fastest not only because he’s naturally quick, but because he’s desperate to see you, gets there first. Back in his human body he feels much more comfortable, and at least now no one can read his thoughts. He can think about you all he likes without getting an earful for it.

He’s unsurprised when he finds you in the kitchen with Emily.

“Hey,” he nods to Emily, who’s getting something out of the oven, and crosses to where you’re standing over the sink, up to your elbows in suds.

“Hi,” he says fondly, moving up behind you. He pushes an arm across your lower back and dips his head to lay a kiss in your hair. “Missed you.”

You turn to look up at him and smile, and you’re so, so pretty, but your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Hello,” you say softly. Your voice is heavy and slow, like someone’s poured honey down your throat. “Missed you, too. Where’s the others?”

“I beat ‘em,” Jacob tells you proudly, at the same time as voices and laughter start trailing in from the living room. Jacob winces. “Just.”

You laugh softly. “Will you dry these for me?” You ask, nodding towards the clean dishes on the bench. “Before it gets too rowdy in here?”

Jacob helps you with the dishes. You were right when you guessed it would get rowdy — the pack are starving and eat the meal you and Emily have made like, well, wolves. Paul’s in a mood tonight, a good one but a loud one, and as a result everyone jokes and laughs and talks over one another. You’re decidedly quiet, and when you’re done eating Jacob pulls you into the hallway, out of the way of all the noise.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks, hands on your upper arms.

You heave a sigh. “I’m really tired,” you admit. You’ve long since given up on trying to hide how you’re feeling from Jacob, because he’s so persistent and stubborn that he always ends up weasling it out of you, anyway. “Not like, sleepy. Just, my battery is really low.“

Jacob frowns and rubs his thumb over the hill of your shoulder. “I’m sorry, honey,” he says. It somehow feels like his fault.

You give him a look like you know what he’s thinking. “S’okay,” you say. “Just had a long week, you know?”

Jacob hums. “Yeah, I know. You want a hug?”

You nod like you were waiting for him to ask, and Jacob makes quick work of wrapping you up in his arms, pulling you into his chest like he’s done a million times before. You push your arms around his waist and cling to him, while he rubs your back with a warm hand. He’s tall enough that he can rest his chin atop your head so he does, and lets you push your face into his neck, your mouth warm where it presses against his skin.

You sigh softly and go almost completely limp in his arms.

“Thanks,” you say, muffled.

Jacob opens his mouth to say let’s go home, but then Embry appears, calling your name in an unnecessarily loud voice.

“Y/N! Can you come help me— oh.”

He stops short at the sight of you limp as a ragdoll in Jacob’s arms. That, plus the look Jacob gives him.

“What, Em?” Jacob says, and it comes out a bit more harsh than he’d intended. He amends, “Sorry, she’s really tired. What do you want?”

Embry has the grace to look a bit sheepish. “Never mind,” he says.

You pull your face from Jacob’s neck, one arm still curved around his waist. “What is it, Embry? I can help, it’s fine—”

“No you can’t, we’re going home now,” Jacob interrupts, throwing you a look, annoyed and endeared by how sweet you are. “Ask someone else,” he tells Embry bluntly.

He’s pretty sure Embry rolls his eyes as he leaves, but he doesn’t care. You turn to look at him once Embry is gone.

“You’re mean,” you say, but you make it sound like I love you, and you wrap your arms around him again.

“And you’re tired,” he says back, ducking his head to press a quick kiss to your forehead. He pulls away but rubs your arm as he goes. “C’mon, I really am gonna take you home now, okay? Dad’ll already be asleep so it’ll just be me and you.”

You raise both eyebrows, pleased. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, feigning intrigue.

Jacob grins. “Whatever you want it to mean, sweetheart,” he says, though he hopes he’ll get to kiss you stupid like he’s been wanting to do all night.

[jealousmartini]

twin you haven't posted in twelve hours are you good

Hey girl! So I shifted.

Accidentally. But fully this time. Well, Fully-ish because I pussied out of fear. No, fully, actually. Wait wait let me explain.

So get this. I woke up.

But not with my eyes. Just mind, body, and soul slowly becoming aware of her surroundings through the heaviness of sleep if you get what i mean. And it was just too warm and familiar and soft. The bed I mean. Way too comfortable for me to want to open my eyes yet, so they stayed shut, blissfully unaware of the fact this bed is not mine. My senses were slowly yet surely locking in. But my brain was not even fully awake. So I was feeling and being without fully realising what was happening

And then I heard the faint click of what i figured was the front door unlocking. Then opening. Then shutting. Then, locking with a key. I assumed that must've been my brother because he usually escapes into the dead of night to go whatever 23 year old guys do at night. And I heard some thick chunky ass boots stumble to the floor and i wondered when he ever wore boots never mind this dense, his heavy padded footsteps gradually got closer slightly muted by the door being closed.. which was then opened (?). It was a small thing, but it didn't make sense why my brother would need to be in my room at all, nvm at this time of night. But anyway, some shuffling was done. I cocked my brow in suspension, eyes still shut btw, cus what did he just go through my stuff for. And as quickly as he was in, he was out of the room. I made a mental note to confront him in the morning about it.

And then I heard the shower start. From the wrong side of my house... Now I know the anatomy of my house pretty well, so I was confused why I could hear the shower from the west instead of the northeast of my room.

After the shower stopped, i heard the bathroom door open, close, and the same as mine. He took like 3 steps in, and this was when i heard him call my name. He whispered it like a question, i dont think he was sure if i was asleep or not. But it was weird because that's not my name. Well it is, but it's not my name from here. And it's definitely not a name my brother from here knew. And then I realised I knew that voice too, but it was different from what i was expecting. Pretty deeper and rougher than what im used to remembering, and it was definitely NOT my brother's.

And so now I'm frustrated. And kinda nervous. Im laid on my side, the same one as i was on when i first began to wake, but now im slightly tense with frowed brows and all. I'm dealing with so many questions at once like why is the house formatted weirdly? and who the fuck is in my room?? and why the fuck did the bed just dip from behind me???

I literally had a question mark in my head when the voice spoke again. But this time, he was closer. Much closer. I FELT his arm, his muscular arm at that, wrap around my waist and pull my back flush against his BARE NAKED CHEST, and I gasped. I fucking gasped. I swear my heart was about to beat out of my chest. My body jolted forward almost involuntarily at the sudden contact of skin, the feeling on his freshly shower-hot muscular bare chest was making me SWEAT and I heard him mumbled against the back of my neck "Shh don't wake up," and I was thinking "Oh i definitely know who this is" And girl I wasn't fucking planning on it anyway. But I ended up shifting back with my eyes squeezed SHUT like the pussy I am

Because I didn't even expect myself to shift that night. The night after my first day back at college from the Easter break. And now I'm supposed to come in like I wasn't just in another man's bed.

Now i dont have the guts to actually say who this was. Im practically shaking right now for fucks sake. But im sure everyone and their mother on this app who sees my blogs can make an educated guess and get it right first time. And after 8 years of knowing about mha and 6 years of trying to shift there, ladies and gentlemen I think I can officially say I have shifted to mha. It definitely wasn't my main mha dr, some would probably argue it was even better lmfao. I guess the secret to shifting really is just letting go.

[holylulusworld]

Indifferent (10)

Summary: Your father wanted a bond between you and the Barnes Empire. No matter what.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Warnings: arranged marriage, angst, arguments, mafia au, strong reader, banter, mentions of past physical abuse, very implied mention of oral (male rec)

Catch up here: Indifferent (9)

Indifferent Masterlist

“Excellent,” Steve exclaims before his friend gets the chance to say something, making you leave. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

“We shouldn’t stay here.” You turn toward Winnifred to hug her tightly. “Winni, I’m so glad to see you again. I would’ve missed you dearly. I must go now to make sure my father keeps you out of his game.”

“That motherfucker,” Bucky curses and grunts. He read all the messages you sent to him. “He wanted to sell you off to some other guy. You’re my wife!” He angrily clenches his jaw, eyes darkened blue orbs when he looks at you for confirmation. “That guy taking you away from me is working for him?”

“I believed he came to help me get away from—” You look away, shoulders sagging. “Simply everything, I guess. You. This life. All I wanted was a fresh start, but my father won’t allow it.”

“What if I help you free yourself from your father?” Bucky cockily asks as he steps closer to you and his mother. “What will I get out of it?” His eyes drop to your ass, causing him to lick his lips. “You know what I want.”

You roll your eyes at his behavior. “You’re a pig, Barnes.” You snap at him.

“I want a pretty housewife accompanying me to events. I want her to be a good girl in public, even though we know she’s a bitch.” Bucky laughs when you slap him across the face. “Ouch, that almost hurt, doll.”

“JAMIE!” Winnifred warns. “One more bad word, and I’ll get the soap to wash out your mouth with it. You’ll not disrespect your wife.”

Steve shakes his head. For days, Bucky tried anything to find you. His friend almost lost his mind, and now, he acts as if he didn’t drink himself to sleep.

“Buck, we should come up with a good plan to bring her father down. For now, we need to bring Y/N home and keep her safe. Syverson will, without a doubt, report back to her father and tell him that she ran again.”

“Stevie Rogers, ever the mastermind,” Bucky snickers, but his features harden remembering one night at your father’s house.

You were younger, barely sixteen, and your father was very angry with you and slapped your face. Bucky didn’t like it but held no power at that time. He was young and restless—but he never forgot that you didn’t even flinch when your father slapped you. It told him that this wasn’t the first time he hurt you.

“He won’t get the chance to hurt my wife,” Bucky states as if you are the most precious thing to him. He slings one arm around your shoulders to keep you close to his body. “Do not fret, doll; your strong husband will protect you.”

You elbow him. Bucky snickers. “You’re still an asshole.”

“You’re still a bi—” He bites his tongue. The last thing Bucky wants is for you to watch his mother slap his ass. “Let’s agree on going back home. Now. No more wasting time on chit-chat. Tomorrow, we need to come up with a better plan than running away when we are unhappy…”

The whole ride back to the mansion was excruciatingly awkward—the air filled with tension and unspoken words. Neither of you spoke until you arrived home.

Home—no. Just another prison. A golden cage to keep you from spreading your wings and leaving the world you were born into.

“You’ll move back into our bedroom. I fired everyone helping you escape.” Bucky smirks darkly. “Aww, did you really think I wouldn’t find out some of my employees helped you?”

“Why would you do this?” You sniff. “I only asked them to look the other way. Syverson was the one helping me escape, not them.”

“They didn’t come to me,” Bucky growls and grabs your hand. “You just threw your rings at me.”

“I didn’t!” You protest. “I left them behind.”

“Metaphorically, you threw them in my face!” He argues. “Stop arguing with me, doll! I will only make your punishment harder.” Bucky grins because you don’t give a shit about his antics.

“Do you want me to knee you in the groin again?” You threaten and take one step toward your husband. “Do you?” You chuckle lightly. “I bet you enjoyed it. It was, after all, the only time I touched your dick.”

“Baby, if you knee my dick one more time, I’ll bend you over my desk and spank your ass until you can’t sit for a month,” Bucky hisses at you. “You’ll be gentle with little Bucky from now on.”

Snorting, you glance at his crotch. “So, you finally admit that he’s little? A tiny wiener?”

“Woman!” He exhales sharply, closing his eyes and counting to ten. His mother warned him, and he doesn’t want her to breathe down his neck too. “The maid put your belongings back where they belong. Now it’s your turn to return to my side.”

“In your dreams,” you snap at him. “This is an alliance, not a marriage. I came back because you’re the only asshole I know with enough power to bring down my father.”

“Asshole?” He puts his hands on his hips and cocks his head. “I think you should rethink your attitude around your devoted husband.”

“Devoted?” You huff.

“Yes, devoted!” He yells now. “I was worried sick. Everyone watched me chase around town to find my wife! How dare you run away!”

“How dare you be an insensitive asshole and threaten Thor, who didn’t do anything wrong?” You bite back, hissing your husband’s name. “I’m going to bed!”

You try to walk to your wing of the mansion, but end up in front of a locked door. “What the fuck!”

“I exchanged the locks and locked it,” Bucky snickers from behind you. “Now, my beloved wife, you’ll return to our bedroom and sleep. Tomorrow is an exciting day. We will plan your father’s downfall.”

“Bastard,” you grunt while twirling around. “You better keep your hands to yourself. If your little Bucky gets anywhere near me, I’ll cut it off.”

“I hid all the knives,” Bucky is quick to reply.

“Well then, I’ll bite it off.” You look over your shoulder and smirk at Bucky. “I swallowed bigger ones, trust me…”

[cyberhughes]

SHORT N' SWEET.

PAIRING quinn hughes x fem!reader

SUMMARY yours and quinn's relationship as told by songs from sabrina carpenters album, short n' sweet.

NOTE this is dedicated to my wife, @isaadore the number one quinn hughes enjoyer<3 always spoiling me so here's me returning the favor heh i hope you enjoy bbg. juni comeback era okay now i promise i’m gonna post for my au sorry chat

WARNINGS lowkey out of character quinn i don't think he's this bold, swearing, casual drinking, suggestive but no smut, cheating, manipulation, i think that's it!

word count: 3.8k

TRACK 01. BUSY WOMAN ♬⋆.˚

the echoing sound of your heels clicking filled the hallway of your apartment, a coffee in hand and a confidence holding your head up high. your hair fell and swayed softly against your back, entrancing anyone who preceded your steps.

you didn't pay any mind to the familiar faces of your neighbors as you breezed past them in a hurry, and you didn't pay any mind to the grey orbs that burned into your skin the second you stepped into the elevator. you pressed the main floor button with a light hand, before stepping back and checking your wrist watch.

shit.

the hum of the elevator as well as the consistent stopping of floors began to test your patience. you sighed as you glanced at the floor indicator, why are there so many floors? seeing movement in your peripheral vision, your gaze naturally fell onto the unfamiliar face who had been standing in the elevator before you.

an unfamiliar face that looked at you like he had seen you in another lifetime. you gave him a tight lipped smile before looking back to the floor indicator, avoiding any possible awkward interaction.

though you had looked away, you didn't fail to notice the way his lips quirked up into a smile as he scanned your features.

you turned your head to him, hair whipping around your shoulder, "got a staring problem?" your eyes burned with annoyance, a contrast to the smile on your face.

"woah, a guy can't admire a pretty girl?" his response caught you off guard, any other guy would have muttered a quick sorry before staring at the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

you furrowed your brows as you scoffed, typical man. though, you could admit that his confidence was intriguing. your eyes fell over his messy brown hair, some stray strands falling to the front of his face, but not enough to cover the enticing gleam in his eyes.

"who's got a staring problem now?" he spoke and you rolled your eyes, huffing and turning to face the reflective steel of the elevator door.

the final ding of the elevator sent relief over your body, and you instantly rushed out. your steps quick as you glanced at your watch for the thousandth time that morning.

you groaned when you heard the same voice that challenged you in the elevator call out, and though you wanted to continue your pace and look ahead, something in you made you stop and look back.

"hey," he jogged five steps towards you, keys clinking in his pocket. "i uh, i'm sorry."

you narrowed your eyes at his words, "sorry for what?"

"if i made you uncomfortable in the elevator, i promise i'm not usually a douchebag." he rubbed his nape, a small blush tinting his cheeks before he continued, "i just thought you were really pretty, hence the staring."

you nodded your head slowly, poking the inside of your cheek with your tongue. he did sound like a douchebag, but in all fairness, you were the one who started the hostile interaction.

"it's fine. and thank you, i guess." you gave him a tight lipped smile, ready to turn on your heels and continue on with your morning.

"could i grab your number?" he blurted out quickly, the blush on his cheeks growing darker.

he was handsome, and seemed to be witty; you'd give him that. but there was no room for dating in your routine, a man was out of the question.

"i'm sorry..." you dragged out your words and he got the queue.

"quinn. quinn hughes."

"quinn." you nodded. "i'm sorry but," you glanced at your watch before looking back up to him with a sheepish smile on your face. "i'm a busy woman."

he chuckled and nodded, putting his hands in his pockets. "don't be sorry. guess i'll see you around," he cracked a cheesy smile, "busy woman."

it was your turn to blush. you didn't get a chance to admire his smile for too long before he turned around to walk away.

you didn't know it yet, but quinn hughes would wiggle his way into your schedule.

TRACK 02. 15 MINUTES ♬⋆.˚

the floor was sticky and the air was warm as you took down a shot of tequila, your face scrunching in disgust as your friends cheered and clapped.

you weren't a huge drinker, but loved the way the tequila spread a warmth through your chest, letting the stress of work projects and unanswered emails leave your body.

one of your friends, sydney, had stood up clapping her hands together in a swift motion, catching everyone’s attention. she feigned a serious expression before she let a toothy grin take over her face.

“let’s go dance!”

the dance floor was cramped and hot, and there shouldn’t have been such little space between bodies as you all moved with the music to the center of the floor, but with the smiles on your friends faces and the beat flowing through your body—as well as the alcohol—you couldn’t find any reason to care with your hands in your hair and your hips swaying to the rhythm as if no one was watching.

one of your friends had tapped your shoulder before leaning in to speak into your ear, the music being far too loud to hear anything properly. “what?” you yelled, asking for confirmation at her words.

“that guy over there is staring at you!”

your head turned over your shoulder to see who she was talking about.

there was no way.

from across the floor you stared into those fiery eyes you had seen in the elevator two weeks ago, the fiery eyes that had been lingering in the back of your mind—unwillingly. there weren’t enough hours in a day, yet you found yourself wasting every one thinking back to the first man to leave you dumbfounded.

you wanted him to look away. you thought you wanted him to look away. but as his eyes trailed down your body you couldn’t help the small smirk that formed on your lips.

stop it.

maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that you denied yourself any fun for the past year and secretly yearned to get back in the game. either way, you couldn’t fight the excitement that bubbled in your chest as you turned back to your friend, whispering in her ear and leaving a grin on her face, “i’ll be right back.”

you didn’t look back to him as you made your way to the bar, leaning your weight onto your elbows as you rested on the counter while slightly jutting your ass out, waiting for the bar tender. you fought the smile that tried to form as you saw him approaching in the corner of your eye.

you quirked a brow with feigned shock, “you again?”

he chuckled as he set down his glass onto counter, shrugging his shoulders with a nonchalant smile on his face, “didn’t i tell you i’d see you around?” you nearly cracked a smile, it wasn’t often you’d find someone who’d tease just as much as you did.

he shifted his posture so the his side was leaning against the bar, hands finding his way into the front pockets of his jeans in a calm manner, “so what are you doing here?”

“what do you mean?” your hair fell to the side side as you tilted your head, his eyes watching the way you batted your eyelashes.

“I mean, didn’t you say you’re a busy woman? didn’t think you’re the type to spend your time in sticky bars.”

“been thinking about me?” you teased, smirking.

“how could i not?”

you felt the heat spreading on your cheeks, it was the alcohol you’d tell yourself, but from across the bar your friends would see that a man was beginning to beat you at your own game, that you had finally found yourself in a situation where you had no comeback.

you watched his eyes flicker to your lips before you regained your composure, standing upright. “you’re bold, quinn hughes.”

he didn’t say anything, just smiling and nodding at you with hooded eyes.

after a moment of tension he spoke, “never got your name.” he said almost as a question.

“no? i think you’re gonna have to earn it.” you giggled before pulling your phone out of your back pocket, checking the time. “aw man, I’m so sorry quinn,” teasingly emphasizing that you had his name, and he didn’t have a clue as to who you were, “but my friends and i are leaving soon.”

he stepped closer, “give me fifteen.” you didn’t back away as you looked up at him, your confidence growing by the second. “only fifteen?” you pouted in false disappointment.

your breath hitched as he leaned down, lips almost grazing your ear, “I can do a lot with fifteen minutes."

you were lying of course, you weren’t planning on leaving any time soon—and you had definitely given him more than fifteen minutes when you found yourself in a cramped bathroom stall, your hands tangled in his shaggy brown hair while his lips left hot kisses down the column of your neck.

the heat of his hands shifting from your hips to the exposed skin of your waist was more intoxicating than anything you had to drink that night, and the way his lips molded against yours would leave you drunker than ever.

“y/n.” you muttered out, eyes fluttering closed at his ministrations that he soon stopped after your words, looking back to you with hooded eyes blown with want.

“what?” he breathed out and you smiled softly, cocking your head to the side, “my name.”

his eyes glistened as he repeated it softly, you felt his heartbeat thumping against your hands as you smoothed them down his chest.

he broke into a boyish grin before finding your lips again, kissing you for what wouldn’t be the last time that night.

TRACK 03. BAD REVIEWS ♬⋆.˚

quinn hughes had managed to worm his way into your life completely. stolen glances and sneaking away together at the bar, risky flirting in the elevator and coming over to your apartment at ungodly hours of the night.

he had managed to break down your walls, your once uptight and anxious demeanor fading away and being replaced with something more care free and relaxed.

your friends noticed it, your family noticed it, even your coworkers noticed it.

you had been officially dating for four months, after him taking you on a proper date just the week after your heated second encounter at the bar.

though four months wasn’t a lot in the grand scheme of things, you found every moment of your spare time being spent with him, like you were a clingly teenager.

of course, you didn’t let this new relationship completely distract you from your work and goals—though sometimes it did.

that happens to everyone in a relationship though, right?

your tongue burned at the heat of your coffee as you caught up with an old friend in a local cafe, her going on about her girlfriend’s family issues as you nodded, listening intently.

“and what about you, back in the dating scene?” she wiggled her brows and you chuckled, setting down the warm mug.

“i am, it’s still pretty new though.” you replied and she nodded with a smile as you went on about your first interaction in the elevator, and how you felt even more confident with him around.

“what’s his name?” she questioned.

“quinn.” she smiled at the name, “aw, that’s a cute name. what’s the last?”

you watched her smile falter as you told her.

letting out a confused chuckle, you furrowed your brows, “what’s with the face?”

“i just…i think I’ve heard of him.” you felt your stomach twist at her words.

“how so?” you questioned, sipping your drink to calm yourself down. you didn’t like the way she frowned as she adjusted her posture, like she was getting ready to tell you definitely didn’t want to hear.

“one of my friends uh,” your eyes narrowed as you watched her search for her words. “well they dated a while back, and apparently he was super manipulative and also a…cheater. i’m not too sure about specifics, but generally just some bad reviews.”

you felt sick at her words. that wasn’t the quinn you knew, but that’s probably what every girl thinks when they get told that their boyfriend isn't who they think he is.

she watched the way you fell silent, lips quivering as a million thoughts raced through your head.

placing a hand on yours she spoke, “i’m sorry,” she looked at you with sympathetic eyes. “i don’t know what he’s like now, but i really don’t want you to get hurt.”

you nodded, putting on a small but fake smile. you glaced at your watch, something you did far too often. you weren't even looking at the time, but rather trying to not seem awkward. “i uhm, i need to go.” you got out of your chair, the bottom screeching against the floor louder than you intended to, earing some looks from the other patrons.

“it was nice seeing you.” you said as you pulled her into a hug, her mumbling another apology before letting you go.

you didn’t head straight for your car, but opted to go for a quick walk around the block to clear your head.

you were never the type to make excuses for a man, and you were never the type to lose sight of your worth.

but the way your heart thumped rapidly against your ribcage and anxiety bubbled in your chest proved that you weren’t that type anymore.

he wasn’t that type of man anymore, you thought.

that’s not the same man who’d pull you back into the warmth of your sheets in the morning as you tried to get ready.

that’s not the same man who’d pepper your face with kisses and ‘i love you’s as you tried to leave for work in the morning.

that’s not the same man who’d bring you food when you didn’t have time to cook, shutting your laptop as he told you to relax with him on the couch.

but it was.

and though you knew you should’ve confronted him the second your friend told you the rumors, but you bit your tongue, and chose to stay in love with him.

quinn hughes had broken down your walls, breaking down who you were without you even knowing it.

TRACK 04. COINCIDENCE ♬⋆.˚

you let out an exasperated sigh as you rolled off of his body and onto your back, letting him kiss your sweaty hairline and pull the sheets over your body, fingers brushing over your sensitive skin.

“so beautiful,” he whispered leaning over you to place a gentle kiss to your lips before he stood up, throwing his pyjama pants on. “i’ll get you water, just wait here baby.”

you nodded as your eyes fluttered closed. they didn’t remain closed for long though, your peaceful state interrupted by the vibration of his phone on the side table.

you wouldn’t have minded, but it was buzzing quite a bit.

your thoughts immediately went back to the conversation you had with your friend two weeks ago.

you had tried to fight the sore feeling in your chest as you ignored the truth.

he made his way back into your room, glass of water with five ice cubes in hand, just how you liked it.

“thank you.” you took the glass from his warm hands. “uhm, your phone’s kinda blowing up.” you eyed the back of his phone case and he raised his brows, “oh, really?”

he walked over to the other side of the bed, and you attempted to hide the way your eyes tried to see the notifications on his home screen, his home screen that was a picture of the two of you.

you couldn’t catch a glimpse.

“oh, it’s just my mom.” the boyish grin you loved falling over his face. “i’m gonna step out to take this, seems important. drink your water.” he winked before walking out the door, and you didn’t fail to notice his steps get quicker after exiting your bedroom, making his way out and into the hallway of your apartment.

you hated the way you continued to push away the gut feeling that it wasn’t just his mom, and you hated the way you told yourself that you were simply paranoid from some stories you had heard that took place in the past.

the paranoia that kept growing when he’d stop showing you things on his phone, always leaving it screen down on the table.

the paranoia that kept growing when the two of you ran into an old friend of his while on a date, claiming that she was in the city for the week.

the paranoia that kept growing as you watched the way she’d make quinn’s group of friends laugh harder than you ever had.

the paranoia that grew as you kissed him, trying to ignore that his mind was clearly on something, or someone else.

you tried and you tried to fight the feeling, but you knew you were right.

you should have put the pieces together the second your friend revealed his past. you should have known that all this time he wasn’t trying to help you or shape you into a better person.

he was carefully sabotaging your life in every possible way.

his slender fingers danced along the skin of your back as you cuddled into his chest that night, nothing but the sound of the breeze brushing through the curtains filling the room.

that damn phone buzzed again, and you felt his warmth leave you as he shifted to grab it.

he thought you were asleep as he whispered words you couldn’t quite hear into his phone.

he thought you were asleep as he threw on a hoodie before gently pulling the covers over your body.

he thought you were asleep when he quietly tip toed out of your bedroom, careful to not step on any of the spots of your floor that creaked.

you definitely weren’t asleep when you heard the sound of your front door lock at three am.

for the past week that she had been in town, he’d leave you cold and alone in your bed during the hours where he should have been cuddled up next to you.

what a coincidence.

TRACK 05. DUMB AND POETIC ♬⋆.˚

you couldn’t fight the lump in your throat as you sat on your couch, the living room only illuminated by a single lamp.

you felt your stomach twist and turn as you listened to his keys jangle on the other side of your door, a key he’d soon return to you.

you felt defeated as he walked in, a calm smile on his face and a box of pizza in hand, like nothing was wrong in the world.

like nothing was wrong when your intuition told you to check his messages last night while he gently snored. messages that were filled with planned dates and sweet nothings that weren’t intended for you. you felt queasy as you looked at the pictures she had shared with him, wearing less and less as they got more recent.

“hey, why do you look so glum baby?” he gently rested the pizza on your kitchen counted before walking towards you, eyes narrowing in confusion when he saw the cardboard box rested on your coffee table.

“what’s that?” he questioned with a smile, peering over and looking inside.

his clothes that you once wore, his self help book that found a home on your nightstand, his beanies that you’d beg him to take off, and the picture frame holding the two of you together.

“why…why is this all here?” he laughed uncomfortably as searched your eyes, but there was nothing there.

he kneeled down to your position, taking your hands in yours as you stared at him with a blend of disappointment and pity.

you averted his eyes, turning your head and trying to hide the tears that formed. it hurt, you weren’t enough for him. he had pursued you first, you weren’t even looking for love, it wasn't on the table for you. but in the end it was you that wasn’t enough.

“is it…is this about jessica?” he asked gently and you scoffed, wiping a tear that slipped.

“that stupid name.” you muttered. “you found out something is wrong, and the first thing on your mind is her?”

“what are you taking about? if this is...baby i’ve never cheated on you!" he looked pathetic, groveling and begging for forgiveness for something that you hadn't even confirmed.

“i never said that you did." pulling your hands away from his for what would your hands away and his mouth dropped open, wanting to speak word’s but they wouldn’t come out. his reaction was truth enough.

and for the first time, quinn didn't have anything to say.

“you’ve got it all wrong.” he brushed a hand through his hair “i only love you, i think i’ve loved you since the day i saw you in the elevator.”

“you think?”

“don’t do that.” he shook his head as he stood up, running his palm over his face as he tried to calm himself.

“why are you getting so mad? you’re the one who put us in this situation.”

“fuck, y/n.” he paced around your living room, "you're putting words in my mouth." he looked at you sternly, like a dad scolding his child. "i didn't fucking do anything, okay?" your body turned itself away from him as he raised his voice, he had never talked to you in such a way.

he always talked to you with a gentle tone, always so soft and well spoken.

maybe the quinn you knew, wasn't him at all.

"i think you should go, quinn." your voice was hushed, barely above a whisper as you grabbed the box, raising it in front of you for him to take.

"y/n...please..." you hated the way his expression instantly flipped as he pleaded. "you love me, don't you?"

you felt sick. he was grasping for straws, trying to manipulate you into feeling bad, to make you feel like you'd be nothing without him.

but you were nothing with him, and everything without him.

"go." you repeated, tears slipping down your cheeks.

he scoffed, any sign of remorse gone just as fast as it appeared. you couldn't believe you were so blind to it before. acting all kind and protective when you needed him, but now looking at you with hatred in his eyes when you didn't.

he didn't take the box, instead shaking his head and walking out of your apartment, and your relationship.

a relationship built on performative empathy and false sensitivity.

how dumb and poetic.

©cyberhughes; do not copy, translate or repost my work without permission.

[rafesapple]

softened white lies-chapter 3

the start of more

you slip on a simple dress and then into your tights, as they glide over your thighs you finish it off with a pair of kitten heels. rafe was to take you to the country table this afternoon, though you just guessed his fathe….ward told him to. ever since that night, he didn’t interact if he had to, not even a text. you didn’t understand him, how were you both going adjust to married life. thank god your father wasn’t here to nitpick about your clothes.

once grabbing your purse you went downstairs, seeing your mother starting dinner. “what are you doing.” she looked up at you with a tight lip “i'm cooking dinner for your father. the maid is out today.” “oh.” you sit on the couch messing with your keychains then texting rafe “please act decently today, your father won’t be in the mood to hear about your…antics.” you stay silent as you continue typing

you: when will you be here.

after that it was silent as always, only your mother chopping up vegetables could be heard. Until the doorbell rang, you got up “i'm leaving..” you spoke quietly then walked over to the front door. You looked up at him as he stood now looking down at you. “ready?” he asked dryly. “mhm.”

when settling into the car your shoes gently tapped against the floorboards “why…” you muttered while looking at him, he looked at you for a second, his eyes drifting back to the road “why…what?” “why didn’t you answer my text…you haven’t texted me since that night…” “been busy.” your jaw clenches, he couldn’t have been that busy, that was like 4 weeks ago. Is this what you’d deal with once married? “hm.”

he cleared his throat speaking up, “let me ask. why’d you wear that.” you look at him with confused eyes, your eyebrows furrowing “what do you mean.” “nothing just most the girls they… never mind.” he hesitated, not wanting to cause an argument “no, what?” his hands gripped the wheel harder “i said never mind, alright?” he spoke bitterly, you scoff, sure you might not have done that with other people when they ticked you off. but you really couldn’t help it with him.

you stepped out of the car after the valet guy took the car, and you got distracted by the building. if you weren’t getting married you would’ve gone into architecture, it was so beautiful. you hear rafe calling your name, already ahead of you, you catch up to him as you both enter. once walking through out the country club a few older men recognized rafe. complementing him on his new pretty thing. thing? of course, they’d only refer to their wives as objects. not a person. is this what it will be like with him, you thought to yourself.

“sit down.” rafe called out as he found his friends or more so ‘acquaintances’ “i’d rather n-“ “sit down.” you lower yourself into the chair, watching and quietly listening to the conversation. you felt like a doll. or a puppet. always did as told. why could he talk with his friends but you had to just sit there, what was the point of even coming with him. “i'm going to the course with them. just stay here and watch.” he spoke as he grabbed his golf club. once his friends and him left you scoffed to yourself, hoping no one would hear.

after a while of watching them hit golf balls, you started getting hot and dehydrated you had gotten up, going to find something to drink. thank god there was a bar. you sat in a chair quietly waiting for a bartender. after ordering a man had sat down next to you, probably in his early thirties, didn’t bother you at first. though once he spoke up… fucking christ “hey, you cameron’s girl aint you?” you bit your lip, you hated being called that, you hated the arrangement “yeah um.” “why don’t i take you to one of the rooms on…the other floor, darling?” though before you could even speak, you felt a tight grip on your wrist.

you look over to your side seeing a sweating and pissed-off rafe “what the fuck are you doing.” he spoke pulling you roughly “let go- i hadn’t even got my drink-!” “doesn’t matter i’ll get you something else, who the hell was that. he was undressing you with his goddamn eyes.” “let go of me rafe.” “then tell me.” you look between your wrist and his face “he spoke to me first, i didn’t even want to talk to him.” he sighed letting his grip loosen, though still wrapped around your own “why didn’t you tell me, call me letting you know you’d be gone. huh?” “i was just dehydrated and hot. i wanted something,” you spoke quietly

driving back to tannyhill you got out slightly annoyed, but you just masked it. after all, you had to make plans and deal with other things for the wedding. as you both come in, sarah’s on the couch with some friend but rafe just tugs you along to the dining table. he leaves and comes back with a notebook and some paper. “what’s this for.” “it’s for our honeymoon. where are we going.” he asked sitting down on your left side. “huh?” “where do you want to go for our honeymoon.” “i know that…i just assumed my dad or yours would do that,” you spoke quietly messing with your fingers.

you hadn’t wanted to go anywhere specifically really. you liked staying at home.in your own bedroom. “i don’t know..bora bora? the maldives…”you muttered “do you even want to go anywhere for a honeymoon.” he got up scoffing “yeah i’m not doing this today..um ask ward to take you home.” what the hell, just because you didn’t know where you wanted to go he’s gonna blow you off. You follow him to his room “what’s wrong with you.” “you're so indecisive. can’t you just-“ you cut him off with a croaking voice "i don't know. i don't know what i want, i don't even know what i want in a marriage. i hadn't thought of it until this arrangement. i just...i need someone to decide for me. i can't know how i..." you pause looking up at him, though it just seems like there was a boredness in them. but that's where it started, even though it was little. you were too indecisive, you didn't know what you wanted.

so he'd decide for you.

[obvithe-bestsoph]

meeting his parents. - barca boys (and marc)

summary: how lamine yamal, pablo gavi, pedro gonzalez, pau cubarsi, and hector fort would ask you calm you down when you're nervous before going to spend your first Christmas with his family. a/n: the long awaited 100 follower special! to some people this doesn't seem like many, but to me, i would forever be grateful for just one, so this is a big deal in my mind! i would like to specially thank @nngkay for being around this blog, more or less since the beginning, and @vvssqqz6 for constantly liking and reblogging my posts! thanks to @pedricos for giving me ideas and motivation to write. and thank you to you. for reading this, (hopefully for liking it), and to anyone who has supported my writing in any way in the past! here's to another 100, love, - obvithebestsoph 💕💕 masterlist requests genre: fluff/comfort. warnings: none.

Lamine noticed you nervously adjusting your shirt for the millionth time in the last five minutes, your eyes flicking between the floor and the couch. You hadn’t said anything aloud, but he could sense the tension that’s building up inside you. He knew how important today was for you. Meeting his family for the first time, especially during Christmas, was bound to bring a wave of nervousness over you. You were excited, of course, but you couldn’t shake the anxiety in your stomach either. 

“Hey,” he said softly, elbowing your side to get your attention, “¿qué ocurre (what’s wrong)?” You turn your head to look at him and smile tightly back at him, “Yeah, I’m just… nervous, I guess.” Lamine frowns, “Nervous? About what?” 

You sighed and fixed your hair yet again. “I really want them to like me, Lamine. It’s your family, they’re important to you, so I want them to like me. I don’t want to mess anything up.” Lamine smiles at you reassuringly, slinging an arm around you in a casual fashion. “I promise, they’re going to love you. Mi mamá’s been pestering me to meet you, and Keyne’s hardly scary. You’ll be fine.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, raising an eyebrow. “You say that now, but what if I say something awkward or do something weird? What if they don’t think I’m good enough for you?” He just laughed, shaking his head. “You’re not going to mess up. You’re perfect as you are.” He smiles more softly now, his dark brown eyes looking into yours, “They’re so excited to meet the person who makes me so happy. You have nothing to worry about.”

His words were gentle, but as they usually do, they carried a confidence that made you feel lighter. Lamine talked about them so fondly, you knew they’d be kind, but the thought of being actually in the same room as them for the first time still made your palms a little sweaty. 

“Besides,” Lamine continues, more playful now, “if you ever feel too nervous, just hang out with Keyne. He gives the best hugs and he’ll happily tell you all about all his soft toys and their names.”

You laughed, “I’m sure I’ll be fine, so long as I don’t embarrass you.” 

Lamine’s face softened once again as he turned your face to look at him. “You could never embarrass me, mi amor. You mean so much to me, and my family knows that, and I’m excited for them to see it in person too.” 

You take a deep breath, feeling the weird tossing of your stomach soothe as the moments pass. Lamine was right, annoyingly, he often is. His family would see how much you both love each other, and they’d understand. There’s nothing to be nervous about.

“You always know how to calm me down,” you whispered, leaning into his side, his body warm, as usual. 

Lamine kissed your forehead. “That’s because I’m always around your anxious ass. I’ve cracked the code on how to make you see sense again.” he snickers, and you playfully slap his arm. 

After a few more moments of laughing, the room goes quiet again and Lamine smiles at you. “Ready to go?” He holds his hand out for you to take as he stands up to leave. You nod and lace your fingers with his, heading towards the front door. 

“Te amo (i love you).” he murmurs as he kisses the top of your head. “Yo también te amo (i love you too).” you smile up at him, and he smiles back.

You were pacing again. Back and forth in front of Pablo’s bed, feeling too restless to sit still. Christmas in Los Palacios. With his family. His parents. His sister.

You froze when you heard a soft laugh behind you. 

“Bebé,” Pablo says, calling your attention as he leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed and a teasing, but soft, smile on his face, “you’re going to wear a hole in the floor. Cálmate.”

You gave him a look, but he was already walking towards you, his presence alone making the nerves calm slightly. “I’m freaking out, Pablo,” you said, the words coming out faster than your normal tone. “What if they don’t like me? What if I say something weird or-” “-trip over something? Spill wine on mi mamá’s couch? Bring a dish with ingredients that someone’s allergic to?” he offers, raising an eyebrow with that stupid, teasing smile still on his face. 

You groaned and slapped his chest. “You’re not helping!”

Pablo laughs, pulling you into his arms. His arms slide around your waist like they have done a million times before, like that’s his favourite place for them to be, and maybe, it is. “I am helping. I’m making you realise how silly it sounds.”

You sigh, resting your forehead against his chest, the steady beat of his heart against your ear. “I just… I want them to like me. I mean, they’re your parents. This is kind of a big deal.” 

“They’re going to like you.” he said firmly, and when you looked up, he was already looking down at you with those big, perfect eyes of his. “They’re going to love you, actually. Because I do.”

Your breath hitched ever so slightly at the way he said it, so very certainly. Like it was the most obvious and natural thing in the world. “You do?” He rolled his eyes with a grin. “Of course I do. Do you really think I’d take any girl home for Christmas? Mi mamá might cry. She’s a crier. Mi papá will pretend he’s chill, but he’s probably going to ask about your entire life story 10 minutes after you meet him. And Aurora? She’ll be happy to have another girl her age-ish around.”

“Dios mío.” you mutter, burying your face in his hoodie. “But they’ll love you,” he said, his voice a little softer now. “Because you make me ridiculously happy. You’re the first person I’ve never been nervous to bring home.” Your heart squeezed a little. All your nerves, your doubts, your ‘what-if’s - they didn’t disappear, but they felt quieter, dulled by the way Pablo seemed so confident and the way he held you tight. He made you feel like you already place in his family, even if you hadn’t actually met them yet. 

You wrapped your arms tighter around his waist and then dropped them to your sides in a final squeeze. “Vale, I’m ready.” “Good,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “Because they’ve been ready for you since the second I told them about us.”

You stared blankly at the half packed suitcase on the bed, then at the closet, then back at the suitcase. “This is ridiculous,” you mumbled to yourself, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I’m just meeting his family. It’s not the end of the world. I shouldn’t be this nervous.”

Still, your heart’s going crazy, and your hands can’t stop fidgeting. You’d packed and then unpacked three times already, trying to find the perfect thing to wear to impress Pedri’s parents. Pedri walked in a moment later, phone still in hand, but his attention almost immediately shifted from the Instagram post he was looking at to you. “You okay?” he asked, his voice calm and even as usual. 

You looked up, giving him a nervous smile. “I feel like I’m going to forget how to speak the moment I meet tu mamá.” He chuckled, tossing his phone onto the bed and walking over to sit beside you, “You’re overthinking, sol (sunshine). My parents are going to love you.”

You give him a fairly sassy look. “You have to say that.” “No,” he said, giving you a sassy look back, and bumping your shoulder gently with his. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

Pedri took your hand in his, running his thumb slowly over your knuckles. “My mamá’s going to be obsessed with you. She’s been asking about you for weeks. And my papá? He already likes you. He said anyone who can make me this happy and in line must be some sort of saint.” 

You let out a small laugh, despite the nerves. “So I’ll be fine?” “You’ll be perfect.” he grins.

You sighed and leaned your head on his shoulder, grateful for how effortlessly he calms your nerves. “I just… I want them to see how much I care about you. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Pedri turned toward you slightly, his voice quiet and genuine.  “You already show me how much you care every single day. They’re going to see that too. And if they don’t see it in the first five minutes, my mamá will get out the baby photo albums to embarrass me, and, if you pay attention, you’ll be her favourite forever.” You smile into his shoulder. “Tempting. You were a cute ass baby.” He grinned and kissed the top of your head. “Just be yourself. That’s who I love, and that’s who they’ll love, too.” 

Pedri stood up and offered his hand to you. “Vamos, we have a suitcase to pack, a flight to catch, and my mamá made croquetas. If you’re nervous, eat first. That’s her rule for everything.” You laughed and took his hand, butterflies still fluttering, but in a different way now. 

Maybe, just maybe, it would be okay.

You sat curled up on Pau’s bed, knees hugged yo your chest, your suitcase still half-zipped and lying on the floor. Everything was packed. Everything was ready. But you weren’t.

Your mind kept spinning in circles. ‘What if they don’t like me?’ ‘What if I say the wrong thing?’ ‘What if I somehow embarrass Pau or myself in front of his whole family?’

You barely noticed the sound of footsteps before you felt the bed dip beside you. Pau didn’t say anything at first - just sat quietly, his presence calm as always, like he knew you needed a minute or two. 

Finally, you glanced at him. “Is it obvious I’m lowkey freaking out?” He smiled gently, his green eyes warm and soft. “A little. But only because I know you.” You groaned and hid your face behind your knees, “I’m sorry. I know this is supposed to be exciting, and it is, I promise. I just… I don’t know. Meeting your parents feels like a really big deal.” 

Pau nodded slowly, taking his time to respond. “It is a big deal. But that doesn’t mean it has to be scary.” You looked up at him, your brows furrowed. “Aren’t you nervous?” He shook his head, and then reached for one of your hands, his fingers wrapping tightly around yours. “No. Because I know them, and I know you. And I know how much they’re going to like you.” 

You let out a shaky breath. “What if I say something weird? What if I don’t say enough? What if tu mamá thinks I’m too quiet? Or what if tu papá-” “Hey,” Pay cuts you off gently, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “It’s okay to be nervous. But you don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be yourself. My parents… they’re kind people. They’re not going to judge you. They’re excited to finally meet the girl I’ve been talking about for months.” 

A small smile makes its way onto your face. “You’ve been talking about me?” He smiled, his own cheeks going a little pink. “Kind of a lot.”

That made you laugh, and Pau laughed too, a little shyly, his eyes crinkling at the corners nonetheless. “Mi mamá’s probably already made ten different things to eat just because she doesn’t know what you like. She’s going to spoil you. And mi papá… he’s quieter, like you and me, but he’ll ask about football or something to bond with you.”

You look down at your joined hands, then up at Pau again. “I really want to make a good impression.” “You will,” he said simply. “Trust me.”

And the way he looked at you right then - so sure, so confident, so proud - you started to believe him. 

You squeezed his hand, another smile forming on your lips. “Okay, let’s go then.”

Pau smiled back, standing up and offering you his hand to help you up off the bed. “You’ve got this. And if anything gets weird, I’ll fake an emergency and drive us back.”

You laughed. “Deal.”

You were sitting on the edge of the couch, nervously twisting the strap of your bag in your hands. Your suitcase packed, coat hanging by the door, and Marc had already triple checked the passports and plane tickets. Everything was ready for the flight back to Barcelona… except for your nerves. 

Marc popped his head in from the hallway, grinning like he did, cheeks slightly pink from the cold air outside. “You ready?”

You hesitated. “Almost.”

He paused, then walked over, his smile softening when he saw the way you were chewing your bottom lip. “You’re nervous.” You sighed, leaning back on your hands. “Is it that obvious?” Marc sat down beside you, pulling you closer to him. “You’re usually the confident one between us. I’ve never seen you sit this still.” 

You let out a quiet laugh, then groaned. “I just… I want to make a good impression. I mean, it’s your family. What if they think I’m not good enough for their son or something? What if they don’t even like me?!”

Marc turned to face you fully, his expression serious, but soft. “Hey. Cállate, idiota (shut up, idiot). You’re overthinking this. First of all, that’s not even possible. And second, they’re not trying to like you. They already do. I’ve told them all about you. About how kind you are. How funny you are. How you’ve got this really annoying habit of stealing my hoodies and acting like it’s yours-”

You playfully smacked his arm, but he grabbed your hand before you could pull it back, lacing his fingers with yours. “I’m serious,” he said, voice quieter now. “They’re excited. Mi mamá’s been texting me asking what kind of snack you like, and mi papá’s already made a list of places to show you in Granollers. You don’t have to prove anything to them.” 

You blinked, taken aback by how certain he was. How calm. How much he believed in you. “You don’t think I’ll say or do something dumb?” Marc chuckled. “If you do, they’ll probably just think it’s funny. Like I do.” That made you smile, your nerves softening just a bit. Leaning your head on his shoulder, you let yourself breathe for the first time all morning. “Okay, I’m ready now. I think.”

Marc pressed a kiss to the top of your head, holding you there for a moment. “Good. Because mi hermana’s already threatened to disown me if I don’t bring you home soon.” 

You laughed again, the tension finally beginning to ease. “How nice of her,” you reply sarcastically. 

He grinned and then stood up. “Vamos. You’re about to be the favourite in the family, and I’m not even mad about it.”

You took his hand, heart still fluttering - but this time, it wasn’t from nerves. It was from the way he looked at you, with nothing but love.

“Okay, lowkey, what if your mamá hates me?” You asked the question halfway through putting on your jacket, frozen in place with one arm through the sleeve. Ferran looked up from where he was zipping up the duffel bag by the door, eyebrows raised, clearly not expecting that level so suddenly. 

“Hates you?” he repeated, blinking like you’d said something in another language. “What are you talking about?”

You let your arm flop uselessly out of the jacket and sat down on the bed, letting out a long digh. “I don’t know, Ferran. She’s your mamá. She probably has, like, sky-high expectations and perfect Valencian princess ideas of the girl her only son’s supposed to bring home. What if I disappoint her?”

Ferran stared at you for another few seconds, before slowly standing upright and crossing the room towards you, trying, and failing, not to laugh. 

“Valencian princess ideas?” he repeated, amused. “Do you hear yourself?”

You groaned and fell back on the bed, arms splayed out dramatically. “I’m serious.”

He climbed onto the bed next to you, propping himself up on one elbow as looked down at you. “Vale, escúchame, reina (okay, listen to me, queen). My mamá isn’t scary. She’s just a mamá. And she’s going to love you.”

You cracked an eye open. “You’re just saying that because you love me.”

“Exactly,” he said, kissing your cheek, “and soon, she’s gonna see that too.”

You turn to face him fully, propping your chin on your hand. “What if I talk too fast? Or sat something dumb in front of your papá? Or like… accidentally curse during dinner?” Ferran laughed again, then leaned in until your noses were almost touching. “Then you’ll fit right in.” That made you smile, despite the nervousness still bubbling in your stomach. 

He reached over to brush a piece of hair behind your ear, his voice gentler now. “You’ve got nothing to prove. You being you? That’s all they want. My sister’s already excited to meet you. My mamá’s probably baking something right now just because I told her your favourite dessert.” Your heart smiled. “You told her that?”

“Of course I did,” he said, as if it were obvious. “You think I’m not bragging about you every chance I get?”

You roll your eyes but the felt starts to ebb away.

He leaned in slightly, giving you a soft kiss. “Vamos. I’m excited.” You laugh and get up, resuming putting on your jacket.

You sat at the kitchen island, holding a mug of hot chocolate that you hadn’t touched in 10 minutes. Your bag was by the door. Your phone was charged. The car had a full tank of petrol. You’re due to leave in five minutes. And yet, you’re still spiraling. 

Across the kitchen, Héctor is humming to himself while getting his last few little bits ready, completely unbothered, like he wasn’t about to bring you home to meet the people who literally raised him. 

“Do you think your mamá and papá will like me?” you asked suddenly, your voice barely louder than a whisper. 

Héctor froze and turned to face you slowly, like he wasn’t sure if you were joking. You weren’t.

“Wait,” he said, wa;king over with a soft, confused smile. “You’re actually nervous?” You looked down at your hot chocolate. “Yeah… like, very.”

He leaned against the counter beside you, gently tugging the mug out of your hands and setting it aside. “You do realise my mamá’s probably already planned some sort of girl’s night for the two of you or something right?” Your head snapped up, “What?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. She’s excited to finally have another girl around. She even said, and I quote, ‘bring that sweet girl of yours around so I can finally meet her properly and feed her well.’ Her words. Not mine.”

You blinked. “That's oddly comforting.”

“She’s a mamá. It’s how she shows love,” Héctor said with a shrug, brushing his fingers over your wrist gently. “And my papá? He’s more reserved, but if you ask him anything about the garden or football, he’ll fall in love with you instantly.”

You let out a soft laugh, the knot in your stomach loosening by a fraction.

“No sé (i don’t know),” you mumbled. “I just… I want to be enough. For them. For you.”

Héctor’s hand immediately found yours, his fingers warm as always. “Oye,” he said, tilting his head so you’d meet his eyes. “You’re already enough. More than enough. You don’t have to try and be anything you’re not.” “But-” “Nope.”

He cut in softly, giving your hand a squeeze. “I’m serious, I wouldn’t be bringing you home if I wasn’t sure - if I didn’t want them to know the person who makes me the happiest.”

Your heart fluttered. 

He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “You’re not auditioning for anything. You’re just coming home with me. And they’re gonna love you, because you’re you.”

You leaned into his touch, letting out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. “Vale. Let’s go meet your mamá and see what kind of terrifyingly welcoming night she has planned for me.”

Héctor grinned. “That’s my girl.”

And just like that - your nerves didn’t disappear completely. But they shrank under the warmth of his voice and the certainty in his eyes. With him, it didn’t feel so scary anymore.