#It's a studio and there's not a lot of space for 3 people

[arabella-syntax]

Between the Lines

Pairing: Leah Williamson x Y/N

Part 4

Summary: She’s Ellis to the world, Y/N to the ones who matter. Leah is captain, but never in control of what she felt for her.

They meet by chance in London through mutual friends. What follows is slow and full of silences: voice notes unsent, songs never released, touches that linger too long.

Word count: > 15k

Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

A/N: Still trying my best to update regularly. Some angst in this post, like lots of angst and longing.

———————————————————————

Y/N – Los Angeles, June 2025

There were four cameras in the room, two more than necessary.

The set was warm-lit, sterile in that distinctly American way — soft beige furniture, a branded coffee mug, a host with teeth too white to be trusted. Y/N sat in the middle, hands loosely clasped over the mic on her lap. The label’s stylist had curled her hair just enough to look effortless, tucked a chain around her neck like a promise.

She smiled on cue.

When the host leaned in with a wink and said, “Ellis, the fans want to know — what’s new in love and music?”

She laughed.

Tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Well,” she said, careful and light, “I’m writing. A lot. And letting life do what it does.”

A practiced smile. A soft pivot.

The host pushed again. “There’s been some buzz around you and Sam Lawson — what can you tell us?”

Y/N tilted her head. “Sam’s a great collaborator. We’ve worked together before. It’s been fun to reconnect.”

“Just fun?” The host teased. “Nothing more?”

She looked into the camera lens like it was a telescope to another world. “Let’s just say… I’m letting people think what they want.”

Everyone laughed. Even she did.

But inside, she felt like she was watching herself from somewhere above.

————

Later, backstage, Olivia pulled her gently into a hallway.

“You nailed it,” her manager said, eyes scanning the hallway for nosy interns.

Y/N gave a tired nod. “I feel like I’ve been scrubbed clean of who I actually am.”

“That’s the point,” Olivia replied, voice lower. “For now.”

There was sympathy in her tone, but also steel.

Y/N leaned her head against the cool wall. “Do you ever wonder what this would all look like if I could be honest?”

“All the time,” Olivia said. “But you signed a deal. And we’re walking a tightrope between artistry and brand. I can’t change the clause. But I can make sure you don’t fall.”

Y/N closed her eyes. “I already did.”

————

After the cameras cut and the studio cleared, Olivia met her in the dressing room with a lukewarm coffee and a knowing look.

“You did what you had to do,” her manager said.

“I feel like a stranger to myself,” Y/N muttered, wiping off her lipstick.

Olivia’s face softened, but her tone stayed pragmatic. “You knew what signing that contract meant. We’re managing perception, not your truth.”

Y/N didn’t reply.

Instead, she sat there in silence, watching herself in the mirror — Ellis, pop sensation, carefully built and now boxed in.

————

Back at the Laurel Canyon house, Y/N dropped her bag and walked barefoot to the small studio space tucked behind the kitchen.

She shut the door. Kicked off her shoes. Pressed record on her voice notes app.

You were my pause in a world of noise.

I should’ve said I loved you on the bridge — not after.

We had more than some nights. We had hours that rewrote the way I breathe.

She breathed, picked up her guitar. Strummed the chords she wrote in Camden.

Let her voice wrap around the ache in her chest like gauze.

A melody unraveled — delicate, bruised.

She opened her lyric journal:

I left the light on in Camden

Just in case you ever came back.

And then:

It’s the things I don’t say

You’d knew I lied from a mile away.

The words came faster than she could contain them.

She recorded three demos in under four hours.

She didn’t eat. Didn’t text Olivia back.

She just made something that sounded like honesty.

————

It wasn’t until the next day, in a rare moment of impulse, that she posted a 20-second video to Instagram.

A black-and-white clip of her at the piano.

The caption: something unfinished.

Hashtag: #Camden

The melody was soft, but the lyrics echoed.

In the comments, fans speculated wildly. Some about the song. Others — more accurate — about the line.

Olivia called within ten minutes.

“I won’t take it down,” Y/N said before she could speak.

“I’m not asking you to,” Olivia replied. “I think… it’s the most you’ve said in weeks.”

Y/N leaned against the studio wall. “It wasn’t for them.”

“I know,” Olivia said quietly. “I think she will too.”

————

That night, Y/N lay awake listening to voice notes she never sent.

Lyrics she never sang aloud.

And one voicemail she had saved — Leah’s voice from two months ago when they first shared the night:

You’re a thunderstorm, you know that? Loud in all the right ways. But I’d still let you break me open.

Y/N closed her eyes.

And let herself cry — not for what she lost, but for what she hadn’t been brave enough to keep.

————

Leah – Switzerland, UEFA Women’s Euro 2025

The air in Zurich felt heavier than usual.

Or maybe it was just her — Leah Williamson, Captain, composed. She still answered the press with the same fluency, passed every fitness test, wore the lioness badge with pride. But something in her steps was slower. Her reactions, a beat behind. Her fire, slightly dulled.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Leah,” the England manager said after drills one morning. “You’re quiet.”

She gave a quick nod. “Just focused.”

But that wasn’t the word.

She was distracted.

Still smelling jasmine shampoo in her dreams.

Still hearing Y/N’s laugh on loop inside her ribcage.

————

That night, Leah found herself on Instagram, half-scrolling on autopilot after lights out.

There it was.

Y/N’s post.

Black-and-white video. Just 20 seconds long.

She sat at a piano, hair pulled back, no edits, no captions — except:

something unfinished

#Camden

The melody was soft, stripped back. But the lyric sliced straight through:

I left the light on in Camden

Just in case you ever came back.

Leah’s breath caught.

Because that was her.

That was them.

She played the video again. And again.

Her fingers hovered over the screen. Wanted to comment. To like.

She did neither.

Just turned off her phone, set it face down, and stared at the ceiling until morning.

————

During breakfast, Keira clocked her silence again.

“You’re not eating,” she said, pushing a cup of tea toward her.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re still lying.”

That night, after a win in their opening match, Leah finally cracked.

They were in Keira’s room, the telly on low, the adrenaline fading.

Leah sat on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, hands gripping the hem of her training top.

“She posted a song,” she whispered.

Keira paused. “The one you were seeing?”

“She called it Camden. It’s us. It’s—” Leah’s voice broke. “It’s a breadcrumb trail of something I can’t follow anymore.”

Keira leaned closer. “You still love her.”

“I don’t think I ever stopped.”

“She might love you too.”

“She left.”

Keira was quiet. “And yet, you’re still here. Still trying.”

“Trying not to drown in something that was real for me. And maybe only me.”

“You don’t know that.”

Leah looked down at her hands. “It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t brave enough to stop her. She wasn’t brave enough to stay.”

Keira exhaled. “You don’t need her to finish the story, Leah. Just… write yours.”

————

That night, Leah pulled her duvet up over her chest and replayed the video again.

Let the sound of Y/N’s voice — Ellis, to the rest of the world — fill her room.

Not for closure.

Just for proof that what they had had a melody after all.

————

Y/N – Los Angeles, Late July 2025

Y/N never thought she’d be the kind of person who watched sports in secret.

But here she was, curled on a sofa, blanket pulled over her legs, the England vs. Sweden quarter-final playing at a low volume on her laptop.

The commentators’ voices were muted, but Leah’s presence roared through the screen — in every intercepted pass, every commanding shout, every flash of armband-red under the lights. There was a steeliness to her now that hadn’t been there in March. That softness Y/N had known still flickered beneath her movements, but it was buried deep. Protected.

She didn’t blame her.

She only blamed herself.

————

After the final whistle, Olivia entered the room with a glass of wine and a look that said she was tired of pretending.

“They made it to the semis,” Y/N said quietly.

“I saw.”

“Spain next.”

Olivia nodded and settled into the armchair. “You want to go, don’t you?”

Y/N stared at the screen, still paused on Leah’s face. Sweat-damp hair. Determined eyes.

“I know it’s insane,” Y/N admitted. “But I want to be in the same city. I want to— I don’t know. Breathe the same air for — even if it’s a while.”

Olivia didn’t answer right away.

“I talked to the label’s PR team this morning,” she finally said. “They’d be okay with you attending. Under one condition.”

Y/N already knew. “Sam.”

Olivia exhaled. “They’ll only approve the trip if it’s packaged as a continued public romance. One more round of airport candids. A box seat side-by-side. Maybe a shot of you two walking hand-in-hand.”

Y/N swallowed. “You think Leah would even want to see me?”

“I think,” Olivia said gently, “she deserves the truth. But if you’re not ready to give it, at least don’t lie from across a stadium.”

————

Y/N hated airports.

Especially this one — sterile, over-lit, and full of eyes she couldn’t see but knew were watching.

Sam Lawson had shown up in a bomber jacket and designer sunglasses, smile polite but eyes vacant. They didn’t speak much as they walked through arrivals. Olivia flanked them, a publicist trailing just behind.

A camera flashed.

Then another.

A ripple of voices:

“Ellis! Sam! Over here!”

“Ellis, is this your first trip together abroad?”

“Are you here to support the Lionesses?”

Y/N forced a smile. Slipped her hand loosely into Sam’s as instructed. He gave it the appropriate squeeze — not too intimate, not too cold.

She felt her soul wince.

————

Later that night, alone in the hotel bathroom, Y/N stared at her reflection.

She looked like Ellis.

Not Y/N.

Not the girl Leah kissed in the rain just outside Camden Market.

Not the woman who played Camden on a dusty upright piano at 2am.

Ellis was just a product.

Polished. Controlled. Palatable.

She pressed a hand to her chest.

“Still me,” she whispered.

Like saying it might make it true.

————

Back in bed, she opened Instagram.

Searched Leah’s name.

Nothing new. But the England FA account had posted a training reel.

Leah, mid-tackle. Leah, in a huddle.

Leah, laughing with Keira.

Y/N watched it on loop, her fingers hovering over the comment box.

She didn’t type anything.

Just scrolled to her own profile.

The #Camden post was still there.

Thousands of comments.

One stood out:

“We all know who that song’s about.”

She turned off the phone.

And tried to fall asleep to the hum of someone else’s silence.

————

Leah – Switzerland, UEFA Women’s Euro 2025 Semi-Final

The locker room buzzed with adrenaline and nerves.

Leah sat alone on the bench, boots tied tight, head down. Her captain’s armband rested across her knee like a promise she’d made to herself and the nation.

Spain.

Of course it would be Spain.

Her mind ticked through formations. She pictured Alexia’s movement in tight spaces. Aitana’s turns. Mariona’s instinctive strikes.

But the image that slipped through like a fault line wasn’t football at all.

It was Y/N.

Or rather, Ellis — in the crowd tonight, no longer abstract. She had heard from Alessia that Ellis was in town.

“She’s in Zurich,” she said. “Paps caught them, there are photos of her and that Sam guy.”

That name landed in Leah’s stomach like a cold stone.

Leah nodded like it didn’t matter. Like her chest hadn’t just splintered beneath her ribs.

————

The tunnel was quiet in that sacred, suspended way before kick-off. Cleats scraped gently on concrete. National flags fluttered in the breeze outside the stadium mouth.

Leah closed her eyes.

Breathed in. Out.

Blocked everything out but the whistle.

Or tried to.

————

The first ten minutes were tight — England pressing, Spain circling like dancers.

Leah held her shape, directing the backline. She felt sharp.

Until the twenty-second minute.

A cross floated in too low, and Leah instinctively stepped forward to clear — too early. Her timing faltered by half a second.

Alexia Putellas pounced.

A touch with her left, a volley with her right.

Top corner.

Spain 1 – England 0.

Leah didn’t even hear the roar. Just the sound of her breath catching in her throat.

Keira jogged back toward her.

“We reset,” she said firmly.

Leah nodded, too quick. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

But her feet felt like lead.

————

Second half. Minute fifty-three.

England equalised — Alessia Russo with a header that cracked through the tension.

For a moment, there was hope.

But then came Aitana.

Spain sliced through midfield like it was choreography. Keira stepped too wide. Leah moved to cover.

Too late.

Aitana sent the ball sailing low past the keeper’s gloves.

Spain 2 – England 1.

Leah wanted to scream at herself.

Instead, she clenched her fists and ran back to the halfway line like her lungs weren’t burning.

She didn’t dare glance at the stands.

She didn’t want to know if Y/N had looked away.

————

England clawed one back in the 70th minute — Beth Mead with a stunner from distance.

2–2.

Momentum shifted. The crowd lifted.

It felt, for the first time, winnable.

Until minute eighty-nine.

A throw-in turned quick counter.

Leah saw the pass. Saw Mariona making the run.

And froze.

Just for a second.

Mariona slipped through like a ghost, one touch past the keeper.

3–2.

Game over.

————

The final whistle didn’t sound like a whistle.

It sounded like a door slamming shut.

Leah dropped to her knees, hands pressed into the grass.

It wasn’t just the match.

It was months of holding everything together — in training, in interviews, in silence.

She could feel the eyes on her.

Teammates. Fans.

Her mum in the stands.

And somewhere…

Y/N.

————

She stood eventually.

Clapped her hands for the crowd.

Hugged Keira. Thanked Alessia.

Met Alexia’s eyes across the pitch and gave a faint nod.

Spain had been better tonight.

They’d also been lucky.

But mostly — Leah had fallen apart at all the worst moments.

————

Y/N – Zurich, Late July 2025

The silence in her hotel suite was deafening.

Muted replays of the England–Spain match flickered on the TV in the background, but Y/N wasn’t watching. She already knew how it ended. Had known, really, the moment Leah missed that first clearance. The moment the camera cut to her face — jaw clenched, blinking fast, refusing to let anything break through.

Y/N felt like she’d swallowed glass.

She had watched from the VIP box beside Sam, every second carved into her memory like it was punishment. The guilt, the rage at herself, the unbearable ache of wanting to scream, I’m not really with him.

But she hadn’t.

Instead, she clapped politely. Kept her distance. Played her part.

Now, in the aftermath, she felt like the air itself had turned against her.

————

Her phone buzzed.

One name. One line.

Leah:

Are you still in Zurich? I want to talk. Somewhere discreet. Tonight.

Y/N stared at the message for a full minute.

She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Just typed:

Yes. Just tell me where.

————

They met at the back entrance of a park near Lake Zurich, where the lamps were low and the path led to a quiet stretch of trees. Y/N arrived first, dressed plainly — hoodie, jeans, no makeup. She didn’t even know why she cared about looking normal. Maybe because there was no script for this version of herself.

Leah showed up ten minutes later.

Ball cap pulled low. Hoodie zipped to the neck.

The tension between them was immediate. It crackled, sharp and unfinished.

“You came,” Y/N said softly.

Leah didn’t return the smile.

She just stood there, arms folded, pain simmering under her skin like a fault line.

“You watched the match?” she asked flatly.

Y/N nodded. “Yeah.”

“With him?”

She hesitated. “We were seated together.”

Leah’s eyes narrowed. “So that’s why you came here? For a photo op?”

“No—”

“Then what, Y/N?” Her voice cracked. “Why are you here?”

Y/N looked away, throat thick. “I… I just wanted to support—.”

“Bullshit.”

Leah stepped closer, not aggressive, but visibly trembling.

“You showed up and everything went to hell. You think I didn’t see it? You and Sam laughing in the stands. The headlines. The hashtags. I had to play Spain knowing you were out there — with him — watching me fall apart.”

Y/N’s chest collapsed inward. “Leah…”

“I made mistakes tonight. I fucked up — not because I wasn’t ready. Not because Spain were better. But because I couldn’t shut you out of my head.”

“I never meant to distract you—”

“Then why lie?” Leah snapped. “Why come and pretend? You already broke me once. Why do it again just to stand here and say nothing?”

Y/N’s mouth opened. Closed.

The truth, raw and trembling, perched at the tip of her tongue:

Because I missed you. Because I never stopped.

But what came out was safer. Smaller. False.

“I thought it would be enough. Just being in the same place.”

Leah let out a bitter laugh, almost disbelieving. “You don’t get it. I would’ve given you everything. I did. And you threw it away — for Sam.”

Tears burned behind Y/N’s eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.

“It wouldn’t have worked…Us, we wouldn’t have worked.”

“We’ve never even begin. How—” Leah stopped midway, eyes staring up to the skies, blinking the tears that threatened to escape.

A silence stretched, thick and unbearable.

Then Leah inhaled slowly, steadied herself.

“You know what hurts most?” she asked, quieter now. “Not that you lied. Not even that you let them use you. It’s that I let myself believe I mattered more than that.”

Y/N couldn’t speak.

So Leah continued. Cold now. Final.

“I’m drowning here. I tried to block it out, but you’re everywhere I see, I can’t shut you out of my mind. And you came here wanting to breathe the same air as me, when you are the one that left!”

Y/N flinched at Leah’s words. She let out a hollowed sigh, visibly shaking and eyes welled up. With her best resolve, she said, “I’m sorry. You need a clean break, and I’m not brave to give it to you— so delete my contact.”

Leah looked taken aback. “What…?”

“Block me. My number, my socials - everything.”

“Fine.” Leah turned and walked away without another word.

And Y/N stood under the trees, shaking.

————

Back in the hotel, the room felt colder than before.

She sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand.

Opened Leah’s contact.

Stared at it.

Heart thudding.

Then, with trembling fingers, she hit delete.

A single tear slid down her cheek.

She didn’t wipe it away.

She just let it fall, as quietly as everything else she’d lost.

————

Leah – Switzerland, Early August 2025

There was a strange kind of quiet that followed heartbreak on the international stage.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that soothed.

It buzzed — beneath the surface of training sessions, inside the team bus, in the unspoken glances shared over breakfast. Leah had been in tournaments before. She knew how to carry disappointment. But this time, the weight didn’t just sit in her legs — it nested behind her ribs.

England had fallen short of the final.

But they still had one more match to play.

One more night to prove they were more than their collapse.

And Leah knew — more than anything — she needed redemption. Even if it was quiet. Even if no one but her really noticed.

————

The day before the third-place match, Keira found her in the gym alone.

“Still punishing yourself?”

Leah didn’t look up from the rowing machine. “Just staying sharp.”

Keira tilted her head. “You’ve been sharp since you were seventeen.”

Leah paused. Sweat dampening the collar of her training kit.

“Can’t afford to slip again,” she said quietly.

Keira didn’t press. She just sat on the edge of the mat nearby, silent company.

That was why Leah trusted her.

She didn’t need fixing.

Just someone who understood that staying afloat didn’t mean you weren’t drowning.

————

Matchday. England vs. Germany.

A different kind of energy pulsed through the dressing room.

There was less pressure.

But more pride.

Like every player had something left to give — and no expectation to carry.

Leah looked at her teammates. The ones who’d run until their lungs gave out. The ones who’d cried in silence. The ones who were already planning their club returns.

She tied her armband with a deliberate steadiness.

Tonight, she would lead.

Not because she had to.

But because she needed to remember what it felt like to stand for something that didn’t break her.

————

The match started tense. Both sides playing cautiously, as if afraid to take risks after semi-final heartbreaks of their own.

But Leah felt different.

Light, somehow. Not weightless, but… grounded.

In the 67th minute, England won a corner.

Beth Mead jogged over to take it. Leah moved into position at the edge of the six-yard box, eyes on the ball. She could feel Germany’s centre-backs tracking her — but she wasn’t focused on them.

She was focused on the space.

Beth sent it in, low and curling.

Leah stepped forward, rose above the chaos — and nodded it into the far post.

Goal.

1–0.

The roar that followed didn’t break her.

It lifted her.

Her teammates swarmed. She let herself be folded into their arms, just for a moment.

She didn’t look for anyone in the crowd.

Didn’t check who might be watching.

She just let herself feel it.

A moment of truth.

————

England held the lead.

The final whistle blew.

They won.

Not the Euro winners. But tonight, it felt enough.

————

The locker room was jubilant.

Music, dancing, beer showers. Coaches laughing like kids.

Leah smiled. Laughed even. Let herself breathe.

But later, when the noise had quieted, she slipped away. Out the back entrance, still in her training jacket, hair damp with sweat and champagne.

The night air was cool against her cheeks.

She scrolled aimlessly on her phone.

Instagram. Twitter. TikTok.

She tried not to type Ellis.

Failed.

She did not delete and block Y/N’s neither. What Y/N requested her to do, as she was not brave enough to allow Leah the distance.

Leah was not ready to lose all their message thread, voicemails Y/N sent. She knew she was hurting herself - Leah wished she was braver.

With a sigh, see saw all the posts.

There Y/N was — at the Zurich airport, snapped leaving earlier that morning. Sam beside her. Her face unreadable.

Another headline:

“Ellis and Sam Spotted Departing Switzerland After England’s Defeat”

Another lie made glossy.

Another version of reality Leah couldn’t claw her way into.

She threw her phone into the empty bench beside her. Pressed her hands to her face.

She didn’t cry.

But the ache behind her eyes throbbed like a bruise.

She’d scored a goal tonight.

But she’d lost the only thing that had ever made her feel seen — not as a captain, not as a symbol, but just as Leah.

And that kind of victory would always taste like ash.

————————————————————————

A/N: Let me know your thoughts!

[crush3dmary]

Tonight Luisa and I booked our airbnb for when she comes to visit next month and I am extremely hype 🥹

[starberry-cupcake]

not to talk about flow again, but the thing is, a lot of people talk about independent film making and its importance etc, but it's hard to get more independent than flow this year

not only because it was made with a free and open source software anyone can use, not only because it beat competitors from major studios with an average of 3% of the budget they had, not only because it represented a country that had never won an oscar before, not only because it didn't have any star power involved, not only because it didn't come from a filmmaker with past history, not only because it was made by a small team...

but also because it's an animated movie

animators often get the short end of the stick in the entertainment industry and, for the past years, it was starting to look as if the only way to make an animated project happen was to sell your soul to a major studio and see your work transformed into what they need and how they want it marketed

especially for movies from outside the US, from non-English speaking countries, where insanely talented animators tend to be used as freelance cheap labor for major US studios or have to adapt as much as possible to fit into their market in order to find work

passion projects for animation seemed to only be reserved to the shorts category, or needed to be as high brow as humanly possible to be perceived as "high art" to be valued and, even in the spaces of the industry dedicated to the genre, the way in which awards are distributed are a poor reflection of the vast work animators do

it's major for this film to win awards, let alone the oscar, an award which is notably judged badly for animation and often prefers the marketable easy way out of voting rather than genuine interest

this movie used a resource that is open to anyone and, with good storytelling, made an oscar winning film

in a world in which art is constantly being attacked by capitalist greed, I'm happy that a movie with heart and little resources could do something like this, whether or not people care about the oscars anymore

[kenniesf1]

the people we meet on vacation | OP81

masterlist

pairing: oscar piastri x singer!reader (smau!)

summary: oscar and his childhood best friend, whose families always vacationed together, haven't seen each other in forever. maybe the f1 2025 season summer break is the time for them to rekindle?

tropes: friends to lovers, fluff, angst, social media, based loosely off of people we meet on vacation by emily henry

yn.jpg

liked by oscarpiastri, lizzymcalpine, and 441,955 others

yn.jpg panic on the streets of london

view all comments

user1 i'm her biggest fan, your honor

user2 can't be you bc oscar had this post liked within SECONDS

user1 i fear their fans know before they know ...

gracieabrams girl get out of london and INTO THE STUDIO liked by author

rolemodel hey there lover 😏

yn.jpg i heard you're SOBER now????

lilymhe silverstone is an hour and 35 by car, lovely!

yn.jpg i know what you're doing

alex_albon pls yn don't, if you're here, she'll forget all about me

lilymhe who is alex?

alex_albon IT'S COMMENCING

oscarpiastri name three smiths songs 🤓

yn.jpg name three people who like you (boom roasted)

oscarpiastri you do

yn.jpg I INTRODUCED YOU TO THEM

yn.jpq wait i thought you'd be much more aggressive

user3 yn in london, oscah at silverstone--let lily be right 🙏

yn.jpg

liked by inhaler, ediepiastri, and 603,687 others

yn.jpg yn and oscar reunion at the british grand prix!!! snuck that silly photo of osc before mclaren got mad at me for taking photos in the garage...

view all comments

mclaren you're off with a warning

yn.jpg 😅

user4 GUYS DID YOU SEE HOW CUTE THEY LOOK TOGETHER

user5 when yn was walking in and oscar just LEFT the convo w his engineers to say hello KILL ME

user4 they're my parents

user6 i need the oscar to my yn STAT

lando what a sofishticated post

yn.jpg we all miss danny 😓

alexandrasaintmleux pretty pretty girllll

yn.jpg lovely lovely lady

pierregasly can i get tickets for your next tour, kika wants to go

yn.jpg anything for kika 🤭

pierregasly hold your horses

user7 can they just kiss

user8 bro they're good friends, why does every boy-girl friendship have to become a relationship?

user9 not every but YNOSCAR??? yes it does

user8 weird

oscarpiastri missed you

yn.jpg you could make it more believable

oscarpiastri I MISSED YOU A LOT

yn.jpg that's more like it 😋

yn.jpg i wanna meet sebastian vettel

f1

liked by georgerussell63, bestf1memes453, and 1,202,994 others

f1 Your drivers, enjoying their summer break, hope you enjoy yours!

view all comments

user10 AWW ALEX IS PROBABLY GOLFING WITH LILY

user11 i need to play paddel with lestappen

user12 they're just gonna be making love eyes at each other

lando yes. they will.

user12 ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?

scuderiaferrari competitive on and off the track

georgerussell63 that's me and my girlfriend

user13 girl we've BEEN knowing

yn.jpg expect oscar on vacation pics 🫡

f1 🫡

user14 YNOSCAR ARE TOGETHER?!?!?!!?

user15 ya yn has said in interviews that she and oscar have gone on vacation together since they were kids

user14 hold me im gonna faint

yn.jpg

liked by oscarpiastri, billieeilish, and 583,023 others

yn.jpg greece agreed with me tagged oscarpiastri

view all comments

user1 THEY'RE IN GREECEEEEEE

user2 yn having a mamma mia summer

lilymhe couldn't you have taken me with you?

alex_albon im right next to you, at least PRETEND to care

lilymhe i can love two people

carlossainz55 buy me a house in mykonos! liked by author

mclaren don't let him eat too much gyro!!!!

yn.jpg too late, he's a fatty

oscarpiastri ☹️

user16 i can't w the people who say they're dating--THIS IS SO FRIENDSHIP CORE

oscarpiastri red journal is running out of space

olliebearman i'll buy her a new one, yn's feeding us

oscarpiastri oh who is you?

user3 i love him your honor

oscarpiastri

liked by opeightyone, kimiantonelli, and 1,030,199

oscarpiastri greece sounds like fleetwood mac, yn said. i said i didn't know fleetwood mac. hence, an hour of her playing the guitar. slide 3 👍

view all comments

user16 guys... it's not even funny anymore

user17 the FIRST slide totally confirms it

user8 yeah i was against it at first buuuuuuuut... slide 1 doesn't lie

user16 join us

lando did you see that reel i sent you

oscarpiastri no :p

user19 oscar = kimi raikonnen

charles_leclerc son, why was your father not invited?

oscarpiastri yn hates you 😰

yn.jpg stfu ugly ass hoe, i stan charles

lewishamilton nice

user19 that's the most you're ever getting out of lewis

liamlawson did you jetski?

oscarpiastri yes it was very good

yn.jpg oscar was holding on and he fell like five times

user20 GUYS HE WAS HOLDING HER!!!!

logansargeant i guess oscar hates me because I VISITED FOR A DAY #justiceforme #photographer

yn.jpg #don'tusehashtagsweirdo

oscarpiastri thank you for the photo logan :)

yn.jpg i look quite pretty, put it on my raya 🥰

oscarpiastri yes and no. in that order pls.

july 11th, 2025 - 23:08

oscar was sitting on the patio attached to their small cabin, poking the uncooperative fire. their campsite was full of young people, just like them, their hoots and hollers and fast pop music echoing throughout the area. parties were never oscar's ideal way of spending an otherwise perfect night, and, luckily, they weren't yn's. she was still inside, washing the salt water and sand from her hair--considering she was taking ages, oscar knew he'd be asked to help untangle the insistent strands later on. he'd help, but he didn't really want to.

since seeing yn at silverstone, something had felt... strange. he didn't dare to assume that it was strange in a bad way, or that, after two decades of knowing each other, they were falling out. but he didn't like the ambiguity either. he wished he could put his hand on the pulse of this change, learn its rhythms and find a way to ride the storm. however, it seemed that only he had noticed it. yn was still floating around, a dream in her hand and a smile on her face, oblivious to what was glaring for oscar.

their house was too small. he couldn't breathe. not air, anyway--yn's floral perfume wafted around, basically etching her name into his lungs. her clothes were found in every nook and cranny of the home, reminding him of her continuous presence. her humming--which she thought he couldn't hear, but he could--made its way into his mind, altering the way he thought and listened and even walked.

strange.

"hey," yn interrupted, stepping through the door onto the patio. she wore the funny capybara slippers he had bought her when they visited argentina, but apart from that, she looked too good for a random friday night. too good for just him to see. her hair hadn't been dried, sitting in natural curls and making her stripped quarter sleeve wet. her hands were holding two mugs, so her hairbrush was in between her teeth. oscar knew she'd ask. she dropped the brush onto the couch, "what are you thinking so hard about?"

his eyebrows furrowed. "do i look like i'm thinking hard?" he put the rod for the fire down, leaning back into his cushioned chair. this attempt at nonchalance was easily noticeable and a massive failure.

"you're always thinking," she commented, sitting down in the seat next to him. her hands naturally went to the ends of her hair, running through them. "you think a lot." seeing the look on oscar's face, she added, "not in a bad way."

his eyes stayed on her for a second longer before dropping it. "here," he said, extending his hand, "give me the brush. let me help." she shrugged, lightly chucking the hairbrush towards him. instead of going to sit in front of oscar, however, yn hopped up, walked over to the corner, and grabbed the rickety guitar she'd left there earlier.

"i'll compensate you with music," she stated, taking her place in front of him. oscar moved his legs to make space, and immediately yn's hands reached for the strings, playing a beautiful melody he found uncannily familiar. as he began to brush through her hair, oscar did his very best to be gentle--if he so much as pulled on one hair, the gorgeous music yn was playing would stop.

the brushing continued until the lyrics began, "all i knew, this morning when i woke, is i know something now, know something now, i didn't before," yn softly sang, so focused on her fingerpicking that she didn''t even notice oscar stopped brushing. just for a second. she kept going. "cause all i know is you said hello, and your eyes looked like coming home. all i know is a simple name, and everything has changed."

the song ended far too quickly. when it did, yn turned her head just a bit, making eye contact with oscar. her eyes were so wide, so vulnerable, that he almost felt bad that he'd listened to her sing. it was, again, strange. she sung for crowds of thousands, but was scared to for him?

everything really had to have changed, he thought.

yn.jpg

liked by lilymhe, chappelroan, and 541,111 others

yn.jpg eiffel when i was in paris

view all comments

maxverstappen1 terrible joke

user21 MAX YOU CAN'T DISRESPECT YN LN!!!!

user22 i'm getting tired of these games yn

yn.jpg 🙈

user23 i swear to god i will unfollow... this is ynoscarbaiting

user1 let's cancel them for not dating

user8 real

user1 you hated the ynoscar train literally 5 days ago

user8 i decided to be realistic 😐

reneerapp gorgeous girl and ... oscar

yn.jpg he's the gorgeous girl and i'm oscar

pierregasly fraNCe 🇫🇷

isackhadjar fraNCe 🥖

estebanocon fraNCe 🚬

alpine we love to see it yn liked by author

lando danny ric hath awakened with dad jokes like that

user23 lando bringing up danny all the time is so me

user24 haunting the narrative like jackie taylor

user9 he loves danny more than christian horner or netflix do

oscarpiastri at a loss for words with the first photo

yn.jpg diva, you took the photo?

user25 PLEASE STOP WITH THIS SHIT RIGHT NOW

user26 take away their instagram privileges

user27 on my roommate's wifi?

july 14th, 2025 - 13:42

yn had always had a crush on oscar. she wasn't afraid to admit it. in fact, it had lasted so long that the stage of denial that used to exist felt more like a hazy fever dream than a memory. she leaned into his touch too much, she saw him when she closed her eyes too much, she missed him too much. she tried being distant, she tried hinting, she tried. considering they were just friends, it hadn't worked.

yn had made her peace with only having oscar as a friend. but it was on days like this that she felt immense jealousy for the lucky girl who'd be able to see him fall asleep and hear his morning voice for the rest of her blessed days. right now, oscar was laying on their picnic blanket, flipping through a bukowski and occassionally taking a sip of his coffee. yn was supposed to be reading too--she planned this outing so she could binge read song of solomon. but right now, the convoluted story of milkman and guitar paled in comparison to the simple sight before her.

it was never difficult to know that oscar would never happen for her. it was always difficult for her to have to remind herself.

"can you pass the chocolate?" he asked, hazel eyes still glued to the pages. yn did as she was asked, doing so in a way that didn't intersect with her admiration of the man next to her. it was only when their hands brushed--a completely unimportant moment, one they had shared a million times over--that oscar's eyes left his novel and turned to yn. "what?"

yn pondered what to say, ashamed that she didn't feel ashamed. her best best friend caught her staring. she didn't mind. she should've. "have i ever told you how gorgeous you are?" she asked in a way that seemed genuinely shocked that she hadn't. "i feel like you should know."

his face softened, hands naturally lowering the book to shift his body towards her. "we don't usually talk like that," yn noted, running a hand through her hair in feigned casualness. "i know that. but it's true. and we say things that are true."

yn.jpg

liked by ediepiastri, ramiyoussef, and 509,187 others

yn.jpg came to copenhagen!!!! oscar has been enabling my tourist-y magnet addicition, send help in the form of money (so he isn't the enabler, you are!!!)

view all comments

user24 oscar liked this within 6 seconds, just putting it out there 🤷🏽‍♀️

user25 everyone but yn and oscar know what we know

user7 they're not in the room where it happens

user26 even though they ARE the room where it happens

iamrebeccad cutie!!!!!

yn.jpg 😏

user27 guys i fear yn is just flirty with everyone

user28 but it's MORE THAN FLIRTING it's psychological warfare

oscarpiastri i'll buy you even more magnets when we get to italy 🫶🇮🇹

yn.jpg i like shiny things BUT

user1 CHAT CHAT CHAT GUYS LOOK

user29 bro has her quoting taylor, she's cooked

gracieabrams i felt summoned by this post

yn.jpg i chanted "gracie ABrams" before posting

olivieblake hello!!!!!

yn.jpg send the arc for the new book over here 🫦

ediepiastri oscah got sad he wasn't featured, treat him kindly tonight, he's sensitive 🤧

oscarpiastri 🤡

maxverstappen1 have you been practicing paddel oscar?

yn.jpg mate, ask in private chat

maxverstappen1 ok

rasmus.hoejlund glad you visited liked by author

user30 getout

user31 DON'T PLAY WITH ME

user4 RED ALERT

yn.jpg i challenge arthur_leclerc to go on the amazing race w me

osarpiastri take me, i'm your best friend

user8 THE FRIEND ZONE NO

lando the things i could say

hattiepiastri yn text me rn

oscarpiastri i swear to our lord and savior julian casablancas

yn.jpg got something to hide, osc?

part two coming soon.......

[sungiescheotluv]

mirror muscles ⭑.ᐟ na jaemin

pairing: na jaemin x gender neutral reader

word count: 2.7k

tags/warnings: fluff, established relationship, suggestive, gym talk(?)

summary: doing your new resolutions with jaemin has always worked in your favor, most goals ticked off your lists. however, when you mention going to gym, jaemin's enthusiasm reaches new heights.

notes: hiyaaaa! it feels like forever since i last posted (two days omg 🙄) but i do hope you pretty stars enjoy this very indulgent fic! as an aspiring gym girlie, i'd do anything for this kind of princess treatment (particularly from jaemin 😋) also, the title of this is based on the soft play song with the same name (emo jisung, lemme give u some music recs). ok, i think i'm done here. wishing u all the best, much loveeee! <3

Note to self: never, under any circumstances, tell Jaemin your New Year’s resolution. Because one peek at your ambitious list and Jaemin will pry you from your warm bed, at the ass crack of dawn (might you add) to go to the gym because ‘nothing beats a morning pump.’

If you weren’t stupidly in love with him, you would’ve dropped a dumbbell on his toe.

How you get to this point is a lot more wholesome. Since the start of your relationship, once snow trickles down for Christmas, you two sit at your dining table with your laptops opened on Pinterest and pin-point what goals you'd like to achieve the following year. This way, you’re not shouldering your ambitions alone, having each other every step of the year as you tick off box after box. So far, you’ve managed to complete most of your goals. Go traveling, learn a new language, cook more home-cooked meals, limit screen time (still working on that) and many more. Jaemin was also progressing well: dedicating more time in his photography, reducing his coffee intake, going to bed earlier and visiting his mother more. 

For this year’s moodboard, while collecting pictures of your next set of goals, fitness content shows up in your recommendations. People in pilates studios in their pastel pink gym-sets. The aesthetic draws you in, how content people feel moving their body besides getting their 10k steps a day in. More photos start showing up, people sculpting their pride in the gym, sharing personal stories of their fitness journey and how the gym has taught them so much about themselves. What they’re capable of, what they never thought they could do and what opportunities lie await now that they’re happier in themselves. It all seems promising, even more so when you reconsider how bright your best friend’s life’s become since making the choice. She’d rarely accompany you to a game of badminton and now she’s pioneering her own run-club, amassing a social media following the size of an army.

You’d have to ask her how to get started once she’s back from her influencer trip (maybe content creating is something you needed to hop on). Then again, peering over your laptop screen to Jaemin’s glowing face, you could simply ask him. He’s been consistently going to the gym for a while now, to the point where you fake-pleaded for SM to close their gym because your boyfriend's become too buff for you to function. He’s always been gorgeous, with a face that could charm a snake, but now that he’s carved like a Renaissance sculpture, you couldn’t form a coherent sentence around him. Of course, aesthetic reasons are what lured him into the space, but he relays it’s become a lot more than that for him.

“I want to be strong, not only to build my confidence but to also protect my loved ones,” he looks directly at you, a serious hue to his eyes. “It’s another form of self-love. Showing up for myself, proving I can do hard things, even when I don’t want to. That I can step out of my comfort zone, try new things and ultimately, live a longer life. Because at the end of the day, as much as I do this for me, I also do it so I can help you carry groceries. So that I can move furniture around when we move in together, be the one that my family calls if they need something physically demanding done,”

Fondness curves his lips, a flicker of timidity dart his eyes down to the desk before they flicker back up at you, astoundingly earnest as he says, “I’d also want to keep up with our kids. Carry them when they’re tired or run after them in a park. Those are my reasons.”

Something stutters in your chest. Then, leaps. Over the course of your three year relationship, it’s only natural that topics like this are mentioned, like marriage and children. Heck, you two shared a Pinterest board of decor ideas for the shared apartment you’d been on the lookout for. So, it shouldn't phase you but it does. How far into the future he sees with you. How he shares a bit of himself so effortlessly, in a way that lacks pressure and possesses good faith. Love and promise. All prominent themes throughout your relationship, one you thank your lucky stars for.

As a consequence, you flush. Folding like the early days of your relationships. “You’re getting bold these days. We haven’t even moved in together.”

“All in good time, angel,” he grins, looking a bit lovesick. “In any case, if this is something you wanna do, I’d be more than happy to help. Go to the gym with you so you don’t feel anxious, show you how to use the machines, get you workout clothes - whatever you want.”

You could marry this man.

You extend your arm across the wooden table, hand finding his as your fingers interlace, the same song and dance you’d hope you’d spend your life doing. “Thanks, baby.”

And now? Now, divorce weighs heavily on your mind.

In an effort to avoid the New Year’s crowd, Jaemin wakes you up early in the slum of days after Christmas where time doesn’t exist, cuddling into your half-sleeping figure with a gentle voice. Coaxes you to get up, slip on the new gym clothes you’d spent on his card (his treat, he said) and somehow, here you are, stinging eyes squinting under fluorescent lights with some EDM track playing faintly in the background.

“Oh, baby. Don’t look so down, you’re in good hands,” Jaemin coos, hand squishing your cheeks under your chin before pulling you into his chest, warm and comforting. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Couldn’t this wait until,” you glance at your fitness tracker, your own treat to yourself. “Midday? No one needs to be here at 9 am.”

“Maybe, but it’s a good way to start your day. Or get it out of the way,” he chuckles, spinning you out his arms before he wiggles his eyebrows. “Plus, who doesn’t want to see my muscles first thing in the morning?”

He drives home his point by kissing his bicep, something that should make you cringe out your skin or disappear without a trace, but no. Perhaps you’re still sleepy, shielding a snicker with your hand because of how lame (said adoringly) he is.

“You said you’d usually start off with thirty minutes on the treadmill, right?” You nod your head. “Okay, I’ll go with you. I’ll run for fifteen and row until you're done. So you don’t constantly have me in your ear.”

You laugh, because as grumpy as you’d been on the way here, you could never grow tired of him. All his carefree and mischief nature, his sweet and generous manner - you couldn’t even if you tried. 

Few people populate the modern gym, near to none in the cardio section as Jaemin refreshes your memory on all the buttons before you begin. Beside you, he does sporadic sprints, no heavy breaths clouding his chatter with you. You, on the other hand, keep it relatively reserved for your first time, upping the speed when you want to challenge yourself, surprising yourself with the distance and time that flies by. Soon enough, Jaemin’s squeezing your hand and moving a few rows back where the rowing machines are, leaving you with your walking playlist.

Again, in a flash, time passes by, upbeat songs blaring in your headphones that make you dance through the next fifteen minutes, a simmer of sadness coming when you’ve reached time with a whole host of songs still in the queue.

“You can listen to them next time,” Jaemin winks before leading you into a dark, LED room dotted with mirrors and yoga mats. This is one of the rooms booked for classes, but for now, it’s your stretching area where you cycle through some stretches and Jaemin jokes about folding you like a pretzel. 

The one other person in the room - a woman in her thirties - coughs, before smirking your way, the heat of your embarrassment migrating to your cheeks as you swat at Jaemin. He simply laughs, stretching to reveal his happy trail and suddenly, you forget why you’re even mad. 

When you’re finished, he shows you different sections - an assortment of cable machines, the weights area and then to an area with more machines. There’s a few people occupying the machines, immersed in their own world with flushed cheeks and sweat seeping into their clothes. It fills you with relief, that no one’s focused on you and your sweating figure as if you had ‘gym newbie’ written across your forehead. Jaemin shows you some of the machines he uses, depending on what he wants to work out but for the most part, lets you decide what machines you’d want to use - if any.

“Why do I need to put on muscle? You putting me in a headlock is good enough.” You fake-complain, feeding off the gentle approach Jaemin’s taken in trying to convert you to a gym rat.

“And you say I’m the dirty one,” he tsks with a matching grin. “You don’t need to do anything. All I’m doing is showing you the options you have. The more things you try, the more likely you’ll find something you lik-”

“Is that the slut machine?”

Jaemin’s head jerks back, eyebrows pinching together in confusion. “What are you talking about?’

“This one,” you approach the machine closeby, pointing to the photo attached along with its actual name - hip adduction. “Isn’t this the one where people like, open their legs like crazy?”

Jaemin shakes his head, amusement in the smile he swipes with his hand. “Yes, it is. Wanna give it a go?”

“Hell yeah,” you climb into the machine in a rush, finding the experience more exciting than scary as Jaemin makes sure everything is in order. “This is gonna be hilarious.”

“I’m setting it to a low weight. If it’s too easy, we’ll move it upwards and try and find your range,” he comments, looking at you through his silver hair. “You ready?”

“Ready,” and you go, the weight moving like nothing, so much so that when it sets back to its original position, you’re more caught off guard by how far apart your legs are spread. “This is so raunchy, ohmygod.”

“Good thing it’s facing the wall,” Jaemin laughs at you shielding in between your legs. He ups the weight, the number looking a lot scarier than anticipated. “Let’s try this then. You should be able to rep 10 of these.”

You shuffle, a bit unconvinced. Taking a breath, you engage the machine, exerting more effort than before but managing to do one rep. Then two, then three all the way up to ten. Enough to challenge you, but not strain you.

Jaemin howls, pinching your cheek as he says, “Look at you go! That was great.”

“Thank you,” you huff, the tingle in your thighs somehow the source of the happiness in your chest. “That was really fun, actually.”

“Isn’t it?” Jaemin smiles, using some paper towel to wipe after the machine for you. “Usually people do about three sets of those. Reps depend on what you want to do - build endurance, muscle strength, all that. But that was really great, I’m so proud of you.”

And you feel proud of yourself too. Having tried something new, feeling unsure but leaning into the feeling. Letting yourself see how far you can extend yourself, pleasantly surprised with the distance. 

So, this was what Jaemin was on about.

You continue your morning like this, getting a personalised tutoring session in how certain machines works and what areas they work out. Jaemin runs through his leg day, since you two were on the hip adduction machine, enjoying more exercises like leg press and goblet squats. By the time you get to the hip thrust machine to try, someone’s occupying it. Jaemin suggests using the squat rack, the scary thing with a long barbell and weights attached to it. Sensing your apprehension, Jaemin lets you know he’s got you, coaching you through the exercise and any queries you may have about movement or positioning. Eventually, it’s your turn to lean against the incline bench and despite your fear, you work your way through 8 hip thrusts. You don’t nearly enjoy it as much as people online talk about it, which Jaemin says,

“That’s perfectly fine. There’s so many exercises that work the same areas. You’ll find one you prefer.” 

Finished for your session, Jaemin asks for you to hold tight while he does some deadlifts. It’s maddening watching him pick up such heavy weights, concentration knitting his eyebrows together with his exposed arms flexing under the tension. Wearing a sleeveless top for the gym in theory is great, but for your mental health? Bad, so bad. 

Because even if your body rings with exhaustion, the kind that’s refreshing and ensures a peaceful slumber, you’re about ready to jump his bone. 

Ill with lust, as you’d joke. 

Jaemin snickers, snapping his waist belt off with one hand, which shouldn’t be sexy but is. Your eyes then trail to the barbell, the memory of Jaemin’s set vivid in your mind.

“Did you wanna try it?” Jaemin asks, reading your mind. “We can start off with no weights. Just the barbell. There’s also different variations of a deadlift, let’s see which one you prefer.”

Out of the three, you pick the most conventional one to start with, teeth sinking into your bottom lip at what you’ve gotten yourself into. Particularly after Jaemin loads weights on each end when you've rehearsed with the barbell.

“Think of the barbell cutting your feet in half - not standing too close so that your shins are touching it and not too far away that you have to lean to grab it,” Jaemin coaches, your feet shuffling into the right position. “Nice. Let’s move onto the hinge movement,”

From behind you, his hands settle onto your hips, pulling them back with him. He pats them, a chuckle left in his wake as he steps to your side to demonstrate without overly being horny. 

Bastard.

“Like you just did, you’ve gotta hinge your hips backwards until you can’t hinge anymore. Then, you’ll move a little into your knees, like a squat almost so you can grab the barbell,” you follow along, the barbell cold against your hands as you blow a breath.

“Great. Keep your body tense, engage your core and glutes. No arch,” his hand hovers over the arch of your back, something teasing in his smile. “Show your chest, keep your head up straight and lift the barbell up. Remember to keep it close to your body before you lower it down with the same hinge movement and movement into your knees.”

You puff out another breath, the same fear you’ve conquered throughout the session whirring in your chest.

“Don’t worry, angel,” Jaemin smiles, moving behind you again with hovered hands around your figure. “I’ve got you. You’ve got you.” 

Again, his words dawn on you. All the power in your hands, a feeling your heart wants nothing more than to run towards as you lift up the barbell, strength personified as you wait at the top of your stance, smiling at the “Let’s fucking go, you’re doing it! You’re doing it, angel!” in your ear. You hinge backwards, the weight knocked down to the floor with no tension on your back as expected.

Once you’re upright again, Jaemin engulfs you in a backhug, lifting your figure off the floor and kissing your neck, drawing giggles out of you. Joy moves through your body like warm light at his excitement that exceeds your own, belief not setting in quite yet.

“I can’t believe you,” he coos, the mirror ahead of you capturing the embrace he holds you in, the elation in his eyes as he does nothing but adore you. Like he’s always done. “Actually, I can. You’ve got a laundry list of things you’re good at. Can you believe it?”

“Not originally,” you admit, the confession somewhat bittersweet. “But after this, I think I’d better have more faith in myself.”

Fondness finds itself in his lips again, a kiss against your cheek as he gently guides you out the way, lifting the barbell onto the rack with his gaze in the mirror directed to yours. 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

And you fall into laughter, helping him slid off the weights before flexing in the mirror like you wanted, finding a different strength in yourself with Jaemin by your side.

[abusivegymrat]

Pollyanna.

You’re the leading member of a paramilitary organization that’s been a pain in their ass for quite a while now, suspected of various war crimes but the clues somehow never led to you. It frustrated them to no end.

When they finally got a hold of you, Laswell insisted (begged) them to keep you the fuck alive, while Ghost would’ve just preferred to put a bullet through your skull and Price would prefer tearing you with a crowbar after you scratched Soap’s arm with your nails fighting for your life.

You’re now on house arrest, though of course, not in yours. Gaz just wanted to put you in a moldy cramped studio apartment but Laswell was remorseful enough to give you some space to walk around for reasons the guys have yet to understand. Nothing massive or luxurious, just a normal family apartment meant for probably a few more people than you. The walls of the two children’s rooms were broken down, leaving a lot of empty space. Larger halls, abrupt corners, sharp turns that had you hitting your head around like a damn moron on your first two days here.

You like it here, your kitchen is a big American one in one big room with your living room, your bedroom has a king sized bed and a dressing room, your bathroom is also big enough and clean. That part was thanks to you, though.

You don’t seem to mind how there are cameras on every corner of your place, how every edge is bugged, obvious or not. How 4 men take turns watching you over the cameras 24/7. You’re comfortable, maybe too comfortable.

You don’t abstain from singing in the shower, refrain from dancing around your kitchen with music blasting in your headphones, sometimes walking around naked as you looked for what PJ set to wear for the night. You dress pretty, even though you know you won’t go out. Do your makeup just to feel good. Not for them either, for you. Living for yourself.

You’re not afraid of trying new recipes and making a mess of the kitchen: you’ll clean it later, nothing is worth more than the fun you’re having right now.

They’ve learned a lot about you in the past few months too, how you always have your head in a book, hands on a pen, eyes out the window whenever you have the chance. How you like to listen to jazz when you cook. How your showers are only warm on Saturdays because cold water makes you feel cleaner, fresher and wakes you up. How you prefer red wine with red meat and white with fish. How you’re not too bad of a cook (they find Soap often drooling over your cooking). Every small detail that makes you, well, you.

You, you, you.

They can find it embarrassing, they can find you weird, call you crazy, you don’t care.

And they do, when a young, bright voice asks you curiously:

“Y’know we’re here, right?”

You don’t know these people, can’t associate their voices with their names or their names with their faces. But the first interaction you get in months perks your interest, you continue the conversation.

“I do.”

“Watching you all the time.”

“Mhm.”

“So why?”

The person doesn’t elaborate, but you get what they mean. You seem bright, happy, almost delighted, thankful to be there. It’s confusing. They’ve seen people lose their minds, bang their heads against walls, beg them to get them out of there, that they’re innocent. Some couldn’t even stand a single day of solitude, spilling everything they knew.

You sigh. “You could kill me tomorrow. I could stay here forever.”

You can practically hear his eyebrows raise, the sound of a door opening reaches your ears, someone, perhaps multiple people walking in at the first time they hear your voice. This could be vital for the mission, or whatever they were after.

“In my last moments, i don’t want to look back and regret.” You continue. “Life’s too short for tha’.”

The air shifts, something changes.

Their opinion of you slowly evolves into a meaningful admiration. The veil coating their vision on life lifts.

They’re mesmerized.

just had to spit this one out of my system<3

hey you!! check out my masterlist

[pixiecaps]

so what is squidcraft 3?

this is a yearly twitch rivals minecraft event hosted by a spanish speaking streamer from el salvador called komanche. with the additional help of eufonia studio who are video game developers. this is a twitch event based off of the netflix drama squid games. and last year it held about 200 content creators both spanish and english speaking. this did start as a spanish creator only event and then the second became international if i’m correct. generally though this is a huge twitch rivals event especially in the spanish speaking content space it’s one of the biggest. its also pretty competitive but that can depend on your pov for the event since its also just a space for a bunch of creators to interact. and so this will be the third one held and they’re currently announcing participants every day! this event lasts multiple days and the people competing will have to do multiple challenges every day whether they’re individual or team based and slowly as the days go by people will die and be eliminated. whoever survives last gets the grand prize i know that last year it was 100k. this year the event will be on november 12th so in three days. here is the official trailer for this years event

this year there are a lot of familiar faces for those who watched the qsmp

as of right now they have officially announced (also like i previously mentioned they are still announcing people so we could get more qsmp members): rubius, spreen, quackity, luzu, maxo, mariana, roier, carre, missa, rivers, foolish, bbh, tina, bagi, fitmc, lenay, tubbo, etoiles, pactw, aypierre, philza, kameto, and germán

for those that watched purg 2 you may recognize in this event the following: seapeekay, natalan, axozer, soarinng, barca gamer, crystal molly, aldo geo (the great winner🏆)

some english speakers here may already be familiar with this event as tina and foolish have played in it before and this is where they got to interact with mariana and roier for the first few times before the qsmp was a thing!

i’d also like to mention that i believe this is the first time theres brazilian creators apart of this event. additional correction shadoune is the first french speaker to take part in this event.

its a cool event but as a reminder people can die on the first day and you know not be able to partake in the other days so be a good sport, watch another pov if your fav dies, and just enjoy it. its an event that means a lot to the spanish speaking community so just have fun with it !!! and be fucking nice !!!!!

[mrs-delaney]

Teleport 2 Me

Joe Burrow x Reader

Word Count: 4.4k and some change

Request: I was wondering to get a Joe burrow imagine where his fiancé is planning a surprise with kid cudi for their wedding. Whether it is kid cudi singing their first dance song or singing her down the aisle towards to Joe. But she had to turn off her location so the surprise can work because Joe would see where she at if she was taking forever to come home.

Author's Note: I loved the concept of this request immediately! The idea of trying to coordinate one of Joe's favs like Kid Cudi while keeping it from someone as observant as he is? Pure disaster potential. I chose the first dance route with "Teleport 2 Me" because the lyrics about wanting to be close despite distance felt perfect for them.

Thanks to the anon who requested this - hope it lived up to what you were imagining! 🤍 I'm slowly but surely working through them I promise.

✨ my masterlist ✨

💌 want to be tagged in future fics? join my taglist here 💫

🌙 ask box is open — come keep me company, i’m around tonight 💌

You pulled into the driveway at 10:47 PM, which was later than you'd told Joe you'd be home. Again. Every light in the house was on—porch lights, upstairs lights, the whole first floor lit up. Joe's way of letting you know he was awake and waiting without saying it.

Probably watching film. 

Your phone buzzed with a text from Cudi's manager: Rehearsal tomorrow at 2. Can you make it?

Tomorrow Joe had meetings with his agent until 4, which meant you could easily make it and be home before he was. You typed back: I'll be there.

The front door opened before you could reach it.

"Long day?" Joe asked, stepping aside to let you in. His voice was casual, but you caught the way his eyes scanned your face, looking for something. Clues.

"The Kroger campaign is killing me," you said, which wasn't technically a lie. The Kroger campaign was killing you—it just wasn't why you'd been gone for twelve hours. "Sorry I'm so late."

Joe nodded, following you into the kitchen. "You eat?"

"Grabbed something at the office." Another lie. You'd eaten takeout at the recording studio while listening to Kid Cudi run through "Teleport 2 Me" for the third time, making sure it would be perfect for your first dance.

"You've never had to work Sundays before."

The comment was light, conversational, but you knew Joe well enough to hear the edge underneath. He was starting to notice patterns. Starting to ask the questions you'd been dreading.

"It's just until the wedding," you said, hating how easily the deflection came. "Then everything calms down."

Joe's laptop was open on the counter, some defensive scheme paused mid-play. He'd been waiting for you to get home. Had been waiting for hours.

"Come here," he said quietly.

You stepped closer, letting him pull you between his knees where he sat on the barstool. His hands settled at your waist, thumbs brushing against the fabric of your shirt.

"You sure you're okay? You've been..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Pulling away lately."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. Three weeks of this secret had you jumping at shadows, and Joe's ability to read people like a book wasn't making it any easier.

"I'm not pulling away," you said quickly, reaching up to touch his face. "I'm just stressed about work and the wedding and trying to get everything perfect for us. I love you. I can't wait to marry you. It's just... a lot right now."

That got a small smile out of him, but his eyes stayed concerned.

"3 more days," he said, like he was trying to convince himself everything was normal.

* * *

You'd been at the venue for three hours, watching Kid Cudi run through the acoustic arrangement of "Teleport 2 Me" while his sound engineer adjusted levels for the reception space. Your phone had been buzzing periodically with texts from Joe, but you'd kept it on silent, location services turned off. The last thing you needed was him seeing you were at the wedding venue when you'd told him you were staying late at the office.

How's the Kroger campaign going?

Want me to pick up dinner?

Call me when you're wrapping up

Each message made your stomach twist a little tighter. Five days until the wedding, and you were running out of believable excuses for these long absences.

"I think we've got it," Cudi said, setting down his guitar. "The acoustic version's going to be perfect for the first dance."

You smiled, finally allowing yourself to feel excited instead of anxious. "He's going to lose his mind. He has no clue."

"Good. That's what we're going for." He grinned. "Man, I can't wait to see his reaction. This is gonna be special." He stood up, stretching. "Same time tomorrow for final soundcheck?"

Tomorrow's rehearsal was scheduled for 2 PM again, right when Joe would be at his final suit fitting. Another narrow window to coordinate around his schedule.

"I'll be there."

The drive home felt longer than usual, your mind already crafting explanations for why you'd been unreachable for the past hour. Traffic. Difficult client. Phone on silent during a presentation. All technically possible, none of them true.

Joe's car was in the garage when you pulled in.

"Hey," you called as you walked in, dropping your purse on the counter. "Sorry, that meeting ran forever."

Joe looked up from his laptop, where he appeared to be reviewing some kind of contract. "No problem. How'd it go?"

"Good. Finally got the creative approved." The lie came easily now, which should have bothered you more than it did. "What time did you get home?"

"Around six." He closed the laptop, giving you his full attention. "Your location's been off all day."

The statement was casual, conversational, but something in his tone made you freeze. You forced yourself to look confused, pulling out your phone.

"What? Let me check..." You tapped through to settings, pretending to investigate while your heart hammered. "That's weird."

Joe was already pulling up his phone, fingers moving across the screen with practiced ease. "It's back on now," he said, turning the screen toward you. There you were, a little dot on the map in your kitchen.

You stared at it for a beat too long before responding. "Huh. That's weird. I didn't turn it off. Must be a glitch."

"Must be," Joe agreed, but his eyes stayed on your face.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken questions. Joe had always been good at reading tells—it's what made him great at his position, the ability to see what defenses were really doing beneath the surface. And right now, you felt completely transparent.

"I'm going to shower," you said finally, needing to escape his analytical gaze.

"Yeah, okay." He reopened his laptop, but you could feel him watching as you headed toward the stairs.

In the bathroom, you leaned against the closed door and exhaled slowly. That had been close.  Joe wasn't stupid, and he definitely wasn't the type to let inconsistencies slide without eventually asking direct questions.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Cudi's manager: Tomorrow's rehearsal moved to 1 PM. Still work for you?

You typed back quickly: Perfect. See you then.

One more day. One more lie. And then Joe would understand why you'd been so secretive, why you'd been pulling away, why you'd been turning your location off and coming home exhausted from "work meetings" that made no sense.

When you came back downstairs twenty minutes later, Joe was still at the counter, but his laptop was closed again. He looked up as you entered the kitchen, and something in his expression had shifted.

"Everything okay?" you asked, though you weren't sure you wanted to hear the answer.

"Yeah," he said, but his tone suggested otherwise. "Just thinking."

About what, you wanted to ask, but didn't. Because you were pretty sure you already knew.

Joe stood, moving toward you with that measured way he approached everything when he was processing information. His hands found your waist, thumbs brushing against your sides.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" he said quietly. "If something's going on, if you're stressed about the wedding or work or... if you're having second thoughts, we can cancel everything right now and just do something you and me. Whatever you need."  The sincerity in his voice almost broke you. Here he was, offering you an out, a chance to come clean, and all you could do was lie to his face again.

"I know," you said, reaching up to touch his jaw. "I want this wedding, Joe. I want to marry you in front of everyone. It's just work stuff - I've been putting in extra hours because of all the time we're taking off for the honeymoon. I promise it'll calm down once we're back."

Joe nodded, but you could see he wasn't entirely convinced. His quarterback brain was filing away details, building a case, waiting for more evidence before making his move.

"Okay," he said simply, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I trust you."

The words hit like a punch to the chest. He trusted you, and you were lying to him 2 days before your wedding. For a good reason, but still lying.

"I love you," you said, meaning it more than you'd ever meant anything.

"I love you too."

But as he held you in the quiet kitchen, you could feel something shifting between you. A small crack in the foundation of trust you'd built together, one that you hoped would heal completely when he finally understood what you'd been doing.

2 more days. You just had to make it 2 more days.

* * *

You were running out of believable excuses, and Joe was running out of patience.

"I can come with you," he'd said that morning when you mentioned needing to run wedding errands. "Help carry stuff, keep you company."

The offer was sweet and completely normal, which made lying about it feel even worse.

"I'm just getting my nails done baby" you'd said quickly. "Rumi is coming with me. Girl time, you know?"

Joe had nodded, but something in his expression suggested he was filing that information away with all the other inconsistencies he'd been cataloging.

Now you were pulling into the driveway after three and a half hours at the venue, coordinating final details with Kid Cudi and his team. Your phone showed two missed texts from Joe:

Nails taking forever?

You good?

You'd responded with vague reassurances about the salon being busy, but as you walked toward the front door, you realized your hands looked exactly the same as when you'd left that morning.

Joe was in the kitchen when you walked in, laptop closed in front of him, arms crossed. The posture of someone who'd been thinking.

"How'd it go?" he asked.

"Good. They were super busy, but Rumi and I got to catch up." The lie felt heavier each time you told one. "Sorry it took so long."

Joe's eyes dropped to your hands, taking in your unchanged manicure with the same analytical precision he used to read defensive formations.

"It doesn't take three and a half hours to get your fucking nails done."

The statement hung between you, sharp and pointed. You looked down at your hands, realizing too late that your excuse had fallen apart before you'd even made it through the door.

"They were really backed up," you said weakly. "And we grabbed lunch after."

"Your nails look exactly the same as they did this morning."

There was frustration in his voice, that quiet anger that meant he was putting pieces together and didn't like what he was finding. You could practically see him building his case, the same way he processed information on the field.

Your phone rang before you could respond, Kid Cudi's manager's name flashing on the screen. The timing couldn't have been worse.

"I should take this," you said, already moving toward the sliding door to the backyard.

"At 8 PM? The night before our wedding?"

You were already outside, pressing accept before Joe could ask any more questions.

"Hey, Dennis," you said quietly, glancing back toward the house. Joe was still visible through the glass, watching.

"Just wanted to confirm timing for tomorrow," Dennis said. "Cudi will be there at six for final sound check. We've got the acoustic guitar ready, and he knows to stay hidden until the DJ calls him out."

"Perfect," you whispered, turning away from the house. "And he remembers—"

"Make sure Joe can't know until the moment, yeah. We've kept it secret this long, we're not blowing it now."

Relief flooded through you. Tomorrow night, all of this secrecy would finally make sense. Joe would understand why you'd been pulling away, why you'd been lying, why you'd been—

The sliding door opened behind you.

"I have to go," you said quickly, ending the call.

Joe was standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable in the dim porch light.

"Work call?" he asked as you walked back inside.

"Yeah, just... client thing."

"At eight PM. The night before our wedding." His voice was still level, but you could hear the edge creeping in. "About someone who can't know what?"

Your stomach dropped. "What?"

"I heard you. 'Make sure he can't know until...' and something about keeping secrets." Joe closed the sliding door behind you, his movements deliberate. "Who is 'he'? And what have you been keeping secret?"

The kitchen suddenly felt too small, the walls closing in as Joe's pale blue eyes stayed fixed on your face. This was it. The moment you'd been dreading for three weeks.

"It's not what you think—"

"Then tell me what it is." He stepped closer, and you could see the hurt starting to break through his controlled exterior. "Because from where I'm standing, my fiancée has been lying to me for weeks. Disappearing for hours, turning her location off, taking mysterious calls about keeping secrets from some guy."

"Joe—"

"You said you were getting your nails done, but they look exactly the same. You've been 'working late' every night for two weeks. Your location's been off more times than I can count." His voice was getting quieter, more controlled, which somehow made it worse. "So help me understand what I'm missing here."

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Every instinct screamed to tell him the truth, to end this nightmare and explain everything. But tomorrow was your wedding day. Tomorrow night, when Kid Cudi walked out with his guitar, Joe would understand. You just had to make it eighteen more hours.

"I can't," you said finally.

"You can't." Joe repeated the words like he was testing how they sounded. "You can't tell your fiancé what you've been doing or who you've been talking to."

"It's not like that."

"Then what is it like?" The hurt was fully visible now, cutting through his usual composure. "Because I'm running out of explanations that don't involve you seeing someone else."

The accusation hit like a physical blow. "How can you say that? How can you think that about me?"

"What am I supposed to think?" Joe's voice cracked slightly. "You disappear for hours with bullshit excuses. You're taking secret calls about some guy who can't know something. You won't tell me what's going on." He ran a hand through his hair, the first sign of his legendary control slipping. "If you're having second thoughts about us, about the wedding, just tell me. Don't... don't do this."

"I'm not having second thoughts." The words came out fierce, desperate. "I love you. I want to marry you tomorrow more than I've ever wanted anything."

"Then tell me what's going on."

You stared at him, this man you loved more than breathing, watching him break apart because of your lies. Every fiber of your being wanted to explain, to take away the pain in his eyes, to make him understand that everything you'd done was for him.

"I can't," you whispered again.

Something shifted in Joe's expression then, shutting down like a computer going into safe mode. The hurt was still there, but buried under layers of protection.

"Okay," he said quietly. "I guess I'll figure it out eventually."

He moved past you toward the stairs, his shoulder brushing yours in the narrow space.

"Joe, wait—"

"I'm sleeping in the guest room tonight," he said without turning around. "And if there's someone else... if that's what this is... don't make me stand up there tomorrow. Just tell me now."

You listened to his footsteps on the stairs, heard the guest room door close with a soft click. The kitchen fell silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the sound of your heart breaking.

Eighteen more hours. You just had to survive eighteen more hours, and then he'd understand. Then he'd know that every lie, every secret, every moment of distance had been because you loved him so much you were willing to risk everything to give him something perfect.

* * *

You didn't see Joe until you were walking down the aisle.

The morning had been a whirlwind of hair and makeup and your sister fussing over the bustle of your dress, everyone too busy to notice that you kept checking your phone for updates from Kid Cudi's team. The ceremony was at four, reception at six, and Cudi had already done his sound check that morning while you were getting ready. Everything was falling into place exactly as you'd planned for three weeks.

But first, you had to marry Joe.

When the music started and the doors opened, revealing the intimate garden ceremony you'd dreamed about, your breath caught. There he was, standing at the altar in his perfectly tailored navy suit, hands clasped in front of him, looking like he'd stepped out of a magazine. But it was his face that made your chest tighten.

The moment he saw you, everything shifted. The careful distance from this morning, the hurt from last night—all of it dissolved as his expression transformed into something soft and wondering. This was the Joe you'd fallen in love with, the one who looked at you like you were the only person in the world who mattered.

Your dad squeezed your arm as you reached the altar. "He's a good one," he whispered, placing your hand in Joe's.

"Hi," Joe said quietly, just for you, that slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Hi," you whispered back, and suddenly everything else faded away.

The ceremony passed in a blur of joy and laughter and tears. When it came time for vows, Joe's voice was steady and sure as he promised to love you through everything life threw at you, to be your constant in an unpredictable world, to choose you every single day for the rest of his life.

When you promised to be his safe place, his teammate, his biggest supporter, you meant every word. Even if you'd been lying to him for three weeks, even if he'd questioned everything last night, this moment was pure truth.

"You may kiss your bride."

Joe's hands framed your face as he kissed you, soft and reverent, and the small crowd erupted in cheers. When you broke apart, he pressed his forehead to yours.

"We did it," he murmured.

"We did it," you agreed, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt.

"I love you so much," he whispered, just for you, his voice thick with emotion.

"I love you too," you whispered back, and he kissed you again, softer this time.

The cocktail hour flew by in a haze of congratulations and photos and champagne. You caught Joe watching you during pictures, that little furrow between his brows that meant he was thinking.

"You okay?" you asked during a brief moment alone while the photographer adjusted lighting.

"Yeah," he said, reaching for your hand. "About last night—"

"After," you said quickly, squeezing his fingers. "Let's just enjoy this, okay? We'll talk about everything after."

Joe studied your face for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. But we are going to talk."

"I know. I promise."

Dinner passed in a blur of toasts and laughter and the best food you'd ever tasted. Joe seemed more relaxed as the evening went on, falling back into his usual rhythm of dry jokes and quiet observations that made you laugh until your sides hurt. This was your husband now. Your husband, who had no idea what was coming.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the DJ's voice cut through the gentle chatter of your sixty guests, "it's time for our newlyweds' first dance."

This was it.

Joe stood immediately, extending his hand with that easy confidence that made everything look effortless. "Ready, Mrs. Burrow?"

The name still sent a thrill through you. "I'm ready, Mr. Burrow."

He led you to the center of the dance floor, his hand finding its familiar place at the small of your back, the other intertwining your fingers. Around you, chairs scraped as guests turned to watch, phones already appearing to capture the moment.

"Just like we practiced," Joe murmured, that slight smile playing at his lips. "Try not to step on my feet."

"That was one time," you protested, laughing despite your nerves.

"It was more than three," he corrected, grinning. 

The familiar banter steadied you, reminded you why this surprise would be perfect. Joe had no idea that his favorite artist was about to walk out and perform the song that had gotten you both through so many late nights and long separations.

"Before we begin," the DJ announced, "the bride has a very special surprise for her new husband."

Joe's hand tightened reflexively around yours, confusion flickering across his features. "What—"

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Kid Cudi."

The words seemed to hang in the air for a split second before Joe's expression shifted from confusion to complete shock. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again, his eyes widening as he stared at you like you'd just performed actual magic.

From the side of the reception space, Kid Cudi emerged with an acoustic guitar, moving toward the simple stool and microphone setup that had appeared during dinner. The intimate crowd erupted in surprised murmurs and scattered applause, but Joe didn't seem to hear any of it.

He was staring at you like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

"You didn't," he breathed, voice barely audible over the growing excitement from your guests.

"I did," you whispered, watching his face cycle through shock, understanding, and something that looked close to tears.

Kid Cudi settled onto the stool, adjusting the guitar across his lap. When he spoke into the microphone, his voice was warm and genuine: "This is for Joe and his beautiful wife Y/N. Congratulations, man."

Joe's composure—that legendary calm that stayed intact under fourth-quarter pressure—finally cracked. His jaw worked for a moment like he was trying to find words that didn't exist, his hand squeezing yours tighter like he needed to feel something real.

"All those late nights," he said slowly, pieces clicking into place with almost audible precision. "The meetings that didn't make sense. Your location being off."

You nodded, thumb tracing over his knuckles. "I really hated lying to you."

"All those meetings." His voice carried that quiet amazement he got when he finally understood how a play was designed to work. "You were planning this with him."

"For weeks," you confirmed. "Planning this. Making sure it was perfect."

The opening guitar notes of "Teleport 2 Me" filled the space, gentle and acoustic and impossibly intimate. When Cudi's voice joined the melody, singing the words that had meant everything to you both —

Gettin in from the airport

You're gettin in from your study group

The only thing missing at this point is bonafide chillin time with you

Joe's carefully controlled expression finally shattered completely.

"Baby," he managed, voice thick with emotion. "You brought him here. For us."

"Don't cry at our wedding," you whispered, reaching up to catch the tear before it fell, even though your own eyes were burning.

He laughed, the sound watery and incredulous. "Don't cry? You coordinated with Kid Cudi to sing our song at our wedding. I think crying is pretty reasonable right now."

You started to sway as the music swelled, Joe pulling you closer than you'd practiced, needing you against him while he processed the magnitude of what you'd done. Cudi's voice wrapped around you: 

I want you girl and I need your body right here

Won't you teleport to me

I want you girl and I need your body right here

Won't you teleport to me

"This song," Joe murmured against your temple, "when I first played it for you..."

"When you were in Miami for a game," you finished. "And you said you wished you could just teleport home to me."

"I can't believe you remembered that. I can't believe you did this."

"I remember everything about you, Joe Burrow."

As the song continued, Joe caught sight of your families watching. His mom was crying, his dad had that proud smile he wore during big games. Your parents looked stunned and delighted. But mostly, he was aware of this moment—of Cudi singing —

A moment of loneliness and I can't close my eyes

Without you by my side

While he held his wife, finally understanding why you'd been so stressed, so secretive, so careful about keeping this surprise intact.

"I thought..." Joe started, then stopped, jaw tightening slightly.

"What?" you asked, pulling back to see his face properly.

"Last night, I thought you were..." He couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't even say the words out loud now that he knew the truth.

Your heart broke a little. "Joe, no. Never. This—" you gestured subtly toward Cudi, toward the impossibility of what you'd pulled off "—this is how much I love you."

When the song reached its emotional peak—

Hey, hey 

Teleport to me

Right here

Won't you teleport to me baby

Joe spun you gently, bringing you back against his chest.

"I'm sorry," he said into your ear, voice rough with emotion. "I'm so sorry I doubted you."

"You had every reason to," you replied. "I was being shady as hell."

"For this," he said, like he still couldn't quite believe it. "You were being shady to surprise me with Kid Cudi at our wedding."

"Worth it?" you asked as the song began to wind down.

Joe's answer was the way he kissed you—soft, grateful, overwhelmed—while their families and friends exploded into applause around them.

"So worth it," he murmured against your lips. "Best surprise of my life."

As the guitar notes faded into silence, Joe looked toward Kid Cudi, who was standing from the stool. Without hesitation, Joe crossed the few steps to him, pulling him into a genuine embrace.

"Thank you," Joe said, and everyone close enough could hear the emotion in his voice. "That was... thank you."

"Your wife's pretty special," Cudi replied, grinning. "She's been planning this for months. Wouldn't let me mess up a single detail."

Joe looked back at you, still standing in the middle of the dance floor, watching him with that soft smile that had made him fall in love with you in the first place.

"Yeah," he said, voice carrying that quiet certainty that defined everything important in his life. "She really is."

[dirtbagwitch]

MAGIC FOR THE CITY DWELLER

CHAPTER ONE: WELCOME TO THE CONCRETE JUNGLE, WHERE MAGIC NEVER SLEEPS

magic isn’t just for the deep woods and moss-covered stones. it’s not limited to candlelit covens or ancient runes etched in a sacred grove. magic is where you are. in the humming neon signs, the flickering streetlamps, the rhythm of bus doors opening and closing, in the energy of walking amongst a crowd on a busy street.

urban magic is about finding the mystical in the mundane, harnessing the city’s restless energy, and using every graffiti tag, liminal space, cracked pavement, and forgotten coin as a tool for enchantment. the city is alive—a churning, breathing, chaotic organism—and if you listen closely, it’s whispering spells in the wind between skyscrapers.

this isn’t some high-brow, ceremonial magic doctrine. here, we work with sigils written on coffee shop napkins, metro card protection spells, and phone screens charged as scrying mirrors. this is magic for the streets, for the punks, for the witches in walk-ups and studio apartments, for the ones who find the divine in the hum of a dive bar at 3 AM.

WHAT MAKES URBAN MAGIC DIFFERENT?

the biggest shift between traditional and urban magic is the environment. instead of sacred groves, we have community gardens. instead of rivers, we have storm drains. instead of bonfires, we have neon lights and power grids pulsing with raw electricity.

but just because the setting is different doesn’t mean the magic is weaker. city magic is potent as hell, because it’s charged with movement, history, technology, and millions of lives overlapping in real-time.

ELEMENTS IN AN URBAN CONTEXT:

• earth → concrete, bricks, asphalt, parks and park dirt

• air → the wind between high-rises, the whispers of overheard conversations, the endless streams of information moving across the city

• fire → electricity, neon lights, the heat of a crowded bus, a match or lighter

• water → rain pooling in the streets, sewer systems, fountains in public squares, water dripping from rooftops

• spirit → the city itself, the collective energy of its people, the ghosts in old buildings, the echoes of everyone who’s walked these streets before you

this practice isn’t about forcing the old ways into a modern setting. it’s about adapting magic so that it fits your world, your reality, your city.

THEORY & FRAMEWORK: CHAOS MAGIC, QUEER MAGIC, AND CITY SPELLS

urban magic thrives on three key principles:

1. ADAPTATION – use what’s around you. city witches need to be resourceful as hell. your “wand” can be a pen, a drumstick, or a crowbar if that’s what speaks to you (though a crowbar is a little extreme). your “altar” can be a windowsill, a shoebox, or even temporary like the back of a bus seat where you traced a sigil in the condensation.

2. INGENUITY – urban magic is subtle, fast, and often disguised. your ritual circle might be drawn in spilled coffee, your sigils hidden in street art, your glamour spells worked through fashion choices and body language.

3. INTERACTION – the city is alive. talk to it. work with the spirits of your apartment building, the crows and raven and wandering city cats who see a lot, the graffiti messages that seem to answer your questions in cryptic scrawls, street names that feel like answers to questions. trust your gut, keep watch for the synchronicity

MAGICAL SYSTEMS THAT THRIVE IN THE CITY:

1. CHAOS MAGIC: THE DIY APPROACH TO WITCHCRAFT

urban magic truthfully falls under the umbrella of chaos magic.

chaos magic is sort of like punk rock spellwork. no rules except what works. it’s the belief that magic isn’t just about ancient texts and strict traditions—it’s about belief as a tool. hacking reality, using symbols, and experimenting with what actually gets results. if something stops working you chuck it and move on to something new.

• create sigils from street signs, corporate logos, and subway maps.

• use “reality hacking” spells—like placing intent in a QR code or whispering an incantation into a social media post before it goes viral.

• swap out outdated correspondences for modern tools—your phone can be your scrying mirror, your router a beacon for intention-setting.

chaos magic thrives in the city because cities are chaotic. they’re full of random encounters, glitches, synchronicities waiting to be tapped into.

2. QUEER MAGIC: BREAKING RULES, BENDING REALITY

witchcraft has always been the domain of outsiders, rebels, and the marginalized. queer magic embraces fluidity, resistance, and radical self-expression.

• use genderfluid deities, archetypes, and spirits in your workings.

• cast spells at drag shows, pride marches, and underground raves—because those are modern sacred spaces.

• turn self-love into a spell, defying the narratives that say queer people don’t deserve power, joy, or love.

urban queer magic is loud, unapologetic, and built on the bones of those who paved the way before.

TOOLS & MATERIALS: USING THE CITY AS YOUR SPELLBOOK

urban witches don’t need fancy supplies. we use:

• 📱 smart phones – scrying mirrors, digital sigil boards, enchanted playlists

• 🎫 metro cards & transit tickets – protection charms, travel blessings

• 🗝 keys – for unlocking opportunities, closing doors that need to stay shut

• 🖋 pens & sharpies – sigil-making, graffiti spellwork

• 🪙 spare change – prosperity charms, offerings to city spirits

• 🧾 receipts – paper magic, petition spells, glamour workings

if it exists in your daily life, it can be a tool.

EVERYDAY SPELLS & RITUALS

🔮 PROTECTION SPELLS FOR NAVIGATING CITY LIFE

• “doorway ward” – rub salt along your threshold, whispering “no harm may cross this line.”

• “metro shield” – imagine a glowing energy bubble around you before stepping onto public transit.

💰 PROSPERITY & SUCCESS SPELLS

• “lucky coin” – pick up a found coin, say “bring me fortune,” and carry it for a week.

• “resume enchantment” – anoint your job applications with cinnamon for luck before sending.

💡 HACKING REALITY WITH CHAOS MAGIC

• “digital sigils” – set a sigil as your phone wallpaper and charge it every time you unlock your screen.

• “parking spell” – whisper “open the way” as you search for a spot—watch as one appears.

🌀 COMMUNITY SPELLS & URBAN COLLECTIVE MAGIC

• “city-wide sigil work” – drop the same symbol in different places and see what manifests.

• “full moon offerings” – leave a quarter at a crossroads to honor the city’s spirits.

THE CITY IS YOUR ALTAR

this is your grimoire, your spellbook, your guide to turning the city into a magical playground. don’t just live in it—work with it, enchant it, let it enchant you back.

magic is everywhere, babes. you just have to know where to look.

[otrtbs]

saw a post recently describing the marauder’s era fandom as ‘the worst mass delusion since the dancing plague’ and i was wondering what u think of all that? i don’t think we give jkr more traction which is what the post accused us of so i was just wondering your take is. i saw so many ppl agree with it and i was so confused (i realise u prob won’t answer this publicly but i’m too scared to ask off anon and i’m sorry for polluting ur ask box with this sort of negativity) love ahb! it changed my life

hi!! you caught me at a time when i had my computer handy so we're gonna have a little chat. you are NOT polluting my inbox and i think that these are important conversations to be had, so i'm gonna do my best to articulate my thoughts under the cut <3

i haven't seen the post so i can't really get into the thick of what that person was saying, but based on the context you've provided me here, i do wanna hit a few points.

i definitely grapple with the fact that my participation in this fandom can/could/and does lead to more traction (increased relevance/visibility/revenue) for jkr inadvertently. i think that the very nature of being in this fandom, in whatever capacity, but especially for me as a fic writer, means that i cannot sever myself entirely from her views and actions and act as if i am operating in a sphere completely free from her influence and traction.

i can make my stance clear. i can denounce jkr and her views, i can take actions to counteract the harmful rhetoric and real violence she seeks to enact on the trans and other marginalized communities. i can use the power of my dollar to ensure that she never sees a single cent from me. not from merch sales, or theme park visits, or new book editions, or lego sets.

but, at the end of the day, i can't agree with the sentiment that "we don't give jkr more traction" because we do. and i see it happening all the time. people in the marauders fandom still go to the studios, still buy official merch, still give her money. and the part where i struggle a lot....is in the way that fics and fic reading has become more promotional in content w the rise of tiktok fandom spaces. which, inevitably, may (and does) encourage people who once liked harry potter to re-enter the fandom in a new capacity. and i can't control what they do and how they spend their money and where they go etc. all i can do is make my stance clear, and put my money where my mouth is.

but i am always aware of it. that i have a harry potter fic out there and it's an easy read and an au so not hard to get behind if you're new to the fandom. i'm not out here recruiting people into this space, but sometimes, with tweets and tiktok posts that anyone can view, i know that it happens. and if someone stumbles across my fic and gets into the marauders and decides to watch the marauders reboot??? that's not something i can control. but it IS something i think about. a lot. all the little ways that being in this fandom can lead to more jkr traction.

i would love to be like "no! fuck jkr and i wash my hands of it,,, i'm not giving her traction." but i think that would be disingenuous and superficial. just because *I* am not giving her money doesn't mean that the collective *we* aren't. because *we* are. and my fics may help that along in minute but unignorable ways. i do my best to mitigate and counteract the potential harm, i'm starting to add notes in my fics and on my navigation asking ppl to keep comments/thoughts/opinions in my tumblr ask box and ao3 comments only and off twt/tiktok/ect but i also cannot confidently say that my presence in fandom doesn't provide jkr any traction. i was talking to a friend abt similar topics a while ago (s/o rae) and they were like "in an ideal world harry potter fandom would be like a closed practice and die out eventually" and yeah. exactly. but as it stands today, it's not a closed practice, and i think it's important to be mindful always of the impact you're creating. i don't think most if any of us here sit down to "promote" harry potter or the marauders but obviously, with the reboot that's happening, there is some influence happening there.

i love writing in this space, i love writing in this fandom. i love this little corner of the internet that we've carved out, i love the friends i've made in it. the stories that are being created in this space are kinder and more diverse and more reflective than the source material, and the fandom has brought me and many others a lot of really great experiences. but that contradiction (i reject jkr and her politics but i still create fics/art/videos rooted in her works ... or even if you eschew canon and work strictly in au's you're using her characters from the original text) is always there. and there are always going to be ties back to her. and i don't think it negates the value of the stories we're telling, but i also don't think it's something we can just ignore and pretend to be be innocent/ignorant of either.

okay this was so long and rambly but those are my thoughts. i think the topic is messy to grapple w for me <- girl who is horrendous at being articulate but hopefully this lays it out somewhat?? <3 kk love you never feel bad abt sending me asks like this beloved <33

[movie-robotnik-positivity]

Here's a MASSIVE Sonic 3 interview, featuring scriptwriters Pat Casey and Josh Miller, as well as co-producer Tyson Hesse. This was recorded before the film's release so minimal spoilers.

I really suggest watching the whole thing, there's plenty of cool info about the production of these movies. I compiled some of the highlights under the cut:

- It was SEGA's request to make Movie Sonic an alien. This is a remnant from when they were commited to the "Two Worlds" idea, before they changed their mind on that.

- According to Pat Casey and Josh Miller, part of the reason that the Sony version of the movie fell apart is that they (along with Jeff Fowler, Tim Miller and Neil Moritz) wanted Sonic to be the main character, while the studio pushed for the human actor to be the star.

- There was an outline where Sonic befriended a kid (based on E.T). Tim Miller thought the character was pointless, since Sonic is already the kid, so they decided to pair him up with an adult instead.

- They refer to "The Little Mermaid", "Superman" and "Hellboy" as inspiration for Sonic's story in the first movie.

- The Master Emerald and the Chaos Emeralds were combined to avoid having eight different macguffins in one film, and also to avoid comparisons with "Avengers: Infinity War".

- Pat Casey and Josh Miller feel like part of the job is to NOT be lore experts, but rather people who can look at these things purely as a movie.

- Jim Carrey doesn't like to repeat himself, so they always try to throw new stuff at him every movie so he's more likely to return. This led them to the idea of having him play Gerald. The studio immediately loved the idea, and so did Jim.

- One of the things they knew had to change was the ARK, as the idea of a space colony orbiting Earth for 50 years without anyone noticing didn't mesh well with the grounded world they had set up.

- In some versions Gerald Robotnik was alive as a chaos energy ghost, stuck in-between time.

- They felt Shadow's backstory was extremely important, but knew they could only have so many flashbacks, hence why they wanted to pull aspects of it into the present (such as Gerald).

- Gerald's inclusion was also done to keep Shadow's story from feeling like a retread of Knuckles'. It also helps that while Knuckles' conflict is based on a misunderstanding, Shadow's isn't.

- Tyson Hesse thinks that while keeping Gerald alive at first felt weird to him as a long-time fan, it gave Ivo a lot more to chew on as a character and kept his story from getting stale.

- Jim Carrey's multiple comments regarding Robotnik's broken childhood and hidden vulnerabilities inspired them to explore that side of the character in Sonic 3.

- Pat Casey and Josh Miller's always like to add a little bit of heart where they can. They point to the baseball scene and the bucket list in the first movie, as well the scene between Agent Stone and Tails in 3.

-Jim Carrey first does his scenes exactly as scripted, then tries his own versions, which almost always end up being funnier. Very little of what's in the script actually stays.

- Keanu Reeves was the number one choice for Shadow. With every other character there was a lot of deliberation, but with Shadow they don't think other options were even considered.

- At one point Idris Elba was worried about Knuckles' fear of ghosts being out of character, so they did some research and found out it was already a thing. They can't remember if they got that character trait from somewhere or if it was coincidental.

- Sonic 3 and the Knuckles series were worked on at the same time. Pat Casey and Josh Miller weren't involved, as they were busy with the movie script. Tyson Hesse was involved during the initial stages of the show, leading the story department, but had to leave as soon as production on 3 started.

- They've kept almost the exact same creative team thorough all three movies, including their VFX Supervisor and Animation Director. This helped streamline process, as everyone is already familiar with each other and how things work.

- They point out how rare it is to have a franchise where everyone involved wants to keep coming back. They attribute this to the fact that these movies are entirely staffed by nice people who get along, which isn't too common.

- They claim that the Sonic 3 set was one of the calmest sets they've ever been in. Even all the Gerald and Ivo stuff, which seemed so complicated to make, was hardly an issue.

- With Sonic 2 they ran into some problems due to relying on a single VFX vendor. For Sonic 3 they ran the movie as if they were the VFX vendor, they had all the animators in-house and had all the character assets made internally.

- Tyson Hesse claims that SEGA was completely changed by the movies, and that everything coming out is being done better than it was before. He hopes fans will be able to appreciate how much the movies lifted up the franchise.

[unpretty]

Kink taxonomy hell makes me a) very glad I am ace & don't have to deal with these problems & b) lowkey thinking about how I'd approach running a porn production company whose entire output is like 15 minute porn shorts based on these asks. I mean, I wouldn't actually want to start a porn production company, because that would require way more start up capital & effort than it would be worth to me personally (see: ace, but also burn out re: small production companies). But, see, I do work in the production industry at a small production company on the non-porn side of things (we make stuff for like Netflix/HBO/Hulu & shit) & often make or consult on budgets, so it's a bit of a fun thought exercise about how to approach it.

Get a core cast you can rotate through for different scenarios (6-10 ppl for cast; though actual # each day might be much lower); ideally have a studio space + production off with edit suite; aim for ~2-3 set ups each day depending on complexity/# of on-screen orgasms (goal for these is short so might not be a full scene/scenario); in-house equipment as much as possible (cameras, lights, but also build up a sex/prop repository that can be resued); two-camera; relatively small crew, -- Director, producer, AP, DP, A/C, sound, gaffer, DIT (can be the AE), safery coordinator, PA x2, HMU+asst, wardrobe + props + art dept float -- so ~16 set crew, plus on the post/in-house side you'll need: editor x2, production accountant, AE (can be the same person as DIT), post super. Plus then unlike the companies I work at you'd want probably a marketing person & web dev.

Schedule would look something like: 3 weeks prep // 2 wks shoot w/ goal of getting material for ~24 shorts // 8 wks edit to get through all material (could start posting scenes finished sooner before all scenes are edited, obvs; this is assuming 3 edit days per 15 min short on average, but it all depends on how complex you want to get with the edit; if it's just 15 minutes of one shot getting played out with a few cut aways, then edit time could get cut down by a lot. But I'm assuming some stuff is going to get more complex edits; it also might work better to have three editors going so that edit time & prep+shoot time are roughly equal)

The issue here is that, ok, start up costs to get gear, etc will always be high, so setting those aside for the moment but overhead costs + staffing costs are going to get pricey. Granted, I don't know what the going rates are for folks either behind or in front of the camera in porn, but I do know the going rates outside of porn & I also know what I think are fair rates for these positions / what I would want to pay people. So imo for a single shoot day, you're looking at well over $10k for labor alone. All in, with what I described, my slapdash back of the envelope math says you're looking at $350,000+ in labor costs for the whole shebang & that's before fringe (je refuse to 1099 everyone; that way lies audits by the irs), equipment, overhead, etc. Easily I can imagine a half million dollar budget here in total.

& I guess that's where I start stalling out, because I know how to set up a shoot, get insurance, have legal buttoned up, but there's so much free porn out there that breaking even, much less monetizing it!, seems even harder than non-porn stuff these days. (& that's a struggle too! A huge part of why I'm burned out.) I mean, even if people like, pay to have their prompt included, folks aren't going to want to pay THAT much to cover costs. I guess aiming for lots of subscription fees on different platforms? But that's a lot of marketing elbow grease & takes time to build up, making starting capital essential. The stuff I'm familar with wrt indie filmmaking -- grants or corporate sponsors -- seem less likely for porn. & sure I could cut corners in my hypothetical budget, find savings, pay people less (ugh), but like, no. Maybe if I actually watched porn I'd know more about how it makes money, but that's a bridge too far.

Anyway, the government should give us all free money to pursue making art, even (especially?) when that art is porn. Or something.

there's nothing i can add to this, really

[kianamaiart]

Hello ! I'm currently in art school with the goal of becoming a storyboard artist, and while I still have a few years before I graduate, I'm trying to plan out for my future a little – I was wondering if your job is entirely remote or if you have employers who prefer you to be present ? Also how quickly were you able to get in the industry, did it take you several years before being able to support yourself as a freelancer ? I hope this is okay to ask. Thank you for being an inspiration !

It was fully in person pre-2020 and since about 2022 we’ve been required to come in at least sometimes. I think in 2023 Disney wanted us to come in 3 times a week. So we’re technically hybrid now but I go in everyday if I can! There’s a lot of productions that are fully remote just so studios can save money on office space. It’s hard to say if employers care where you are at this point (I know our production does at least a little bit these days) but working remotely isn’t out of the question. Also moving to LA for a very unstable industry is scary so it’s understandable why people wouldn’t want to. I will mention though that if you get a union gig TAG only covers LA residents (?) so I’d be weary of that if you’re wanting insurance and protections.

I’ve talked about it a lot before but I got lucky in that I was hired by disney for my storyboarding position right after my junior year at CCA. They had just found me on twitter and I did their sb test then dropped out of school after they hired me. Prior to that I’d done some freelance character design for a video game and a comic book pitch during my sophomore/junior year. I didn’t have any tva experience outside of doing a test for We Bare Bears earlier that year.

I put a lot of my eggs in the “really get your social media presence up and show what you can do” basket and it luckily worked out for me.

Everyone’s story is vastly different though! I came in at a time where social media and the industry was popping so I won’t deny there was a lot of lucky timing on my end.

[pombeom]

camming collab was soooo hot damn, i need pt. 2 asap omg !!!

camming collaboration pt.2 | taesan fic (nsfw)

pairings: camboy/camgirl au, camgirl!reader x camboy!taesan, rivals to ??, dom!taesan x sub!reader

warnings: lots of porn with plot, kissing, making out, masturbation (m&f), sex on camera, marking, hickeys, squirting, fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, messy sex, creampie, fluff ending?, name calling (slut, bitch), nicknames (sweetheart, blueberry and probably more i forgot)

a/n: part 2 is finally out! thank you to everyone who waited and i’m so glad people enjoyed part 1. if you haven’t read that yet please check it out here

That night kept you lying awake for the rest of the week. Flashbacks of his taunting comments and his playful grin replayed in your head. Not only that, but the image of Taesan’s long cock was permanently scorched into your memory. You let out another sigh, tossing in your bed trying to catch some shut eye before the chemistry screening tomorrow. It only takes you another 45 minutes before you’re able to calm yourself down and get somewhat restful sleep.  

You walk onto the studio gingerly, slightly anxious for the screening. You’d done them a few times before so you knew how they worked but you felt a rush of blood in your cheeks every time you imagined doing it with Taesan. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to let him into your personal space like that?

You arrived first, taking your seat at the table in the corner of the small studio. There was a set up with a bed and other furniture squeezed into the narrow room. Despite its size, there was still plenty of room to move around. 

Whilst you were observing the layout and setup, the tone in the air shifts as a tall man enters. Leave it to Taesan to make his presence known by simply walking in. He notices you and immediately walks over and takes a seat besides you, greeting you with just a nod, which by his standards was far more than usual. He’d returned back to his nonchalant demeanour but you knew what to expect once things got rolling. That in itself had your heart racing faster than it should. 

“Hey guys, thanks for coming today. We’re going to keep it quite simple as it’s just the chem screening so essentially we just want to test out some shots of you two kissing and mimicking sex movements. No need for any nudity today. Is that ok with the both of you?” The director’s question was rhetorical but you knew this is what you had signed up for when you first agreed to the collaboration. There’s no backing out now. 

“Yeah, sure. Sounds fine.” Taesan’s replied, cold and disinterested. 

You nod your head approvingly too before preparing yourself for the test shoot. The small crew of 3 were setting up the cameras, ensuring to cover all angles to try and find the best shot possible. 

“Right ok. Cameras are set so let’s begin.” 

You and Taesan walk onto the set, some tension still lingering in the air: was it the continued sense of rivalry or was it to do with your confused feelings? 

“Taesan, I want you to take the lead a bit and start kissing Y/n first. Do whatever feels natural to you just as long as it comes off that you’re in control.” 

“Got it.” 

You’re now facing Taesan as he towers over you by at least a couple inches, your heart instantly fluttering at the size difference. 

“3, 2, 1, Action!” 

His left arm begin by wrapping around your waist, closing the gap between the two of you, as you let out a quiet gasp. In the meantime, he brings his hands upto your face, tucking your hair behind your ears as he holds onto your chin softly before pulling you closer to him. You stare into his eyes almost mesmerised by his seductive gaze. Then without a hint or warning, his lips come crashing onto yours, your arms instantly wrapping themselves spring his neck, deepening the kiss. Taesan’s arms wander from your waist to meet your ass as he gropes and squeezes whilst his tongue battled yours. You moan into the kiss, wanting to feel more, entangling your fingers in his hair to pull him closer. 

His movements are natural as he picks you up, seating you around his waist without breaking contact from your lips. Before you knew it, you were laid on the bed as he finally breaks free from the kiss. His hands meander through the curves of your body, taking in every inch of you. It isn’t long before he spreads your legs apart and grinds his clothed dick against the fabric of your jeans. Instinctively, your hips also start rolling, matching his movements as you whimper. 

“Ok! Cut!” 

The movements stop abruptly as Taesan pulls away from you so suddenly, bringing you back to reality. Of course. None of it was real. You knew that yet you still let yourself get swept up by the moment. You were purely acting. 

“That was brilliant Taesan and Y/n! If you manage to keep it up like that for the actual streaming collab then I can guarantee the numbers will be through the roof! I knew it was a good idea to pair the two of you.” 

“Thank you so much. We’ll be sure to do even better for the stream. We know how important it is to the website.” 

“I’m sure you will. Now you guys are free to pack up and leave anytime. The finalised streaming date will be sent to you once we finish planning on our end so until then, keep doing your solo streams and maybe throw in a couple hints for the collab. Nothing too major though. Audiences won’t know who’s collating until a few hours before the stream starts.” 

“Alright sounds good. Thank you for today. I’ll see you later then,” you wave goodbye to the crew as you hastily leave the studio, not even wanting to bid your co-star farewell. The sooner you were out of there, the better. 

Mountain San has started a live stream. 

The notification suddenly pops up as you were beginning to set up your own stream. Curiosity got the better of you and after a little bit of hesitation, you click the icon which redirects you straight to his stream. 

He was sat at his desk chair dressed in a baggy black graphic T-shirt and some ripped jeans. His glasses sat at the tip of his nose as he peered over the edge of the frames to read the comments. Everything about him at this moment eluded a sense of sensuality despite being fully clothed. 

“You want me to take my shirt off miss_kitty2? Now why would I rush into that? Do you think you deserve seeing me 5 minutes in?” 

You were tempted to comment too but doing so would reveal your presence amongst the flood of women. 

“My beautiful sluts are so horny aren’t they? If I find out that you’re touching yourselves already I won’t show you my fat cock, understood? I know you want it so just wait a little longer. I know you can do it sweethearts.” 

His whispers sent a shiver down your spine, straight to your core. With just his words, you were already soaking wet. 

“Such good girls. I want you to take l your panties off now, but no touching. Promise me.” You do as he says, entranced by his commands. 

Slipping your shorts off along with your underwear, you spread your legs open, rubbing your hands up and down your thighs, pushing close your heat but never quite touching it. Taesan then removes his own shirt and unbuckles his belt, slowly unzipping his jeans, teasing his viewers. In one move he pushes down his boxers to his knees as his dick springs up, slapping against his stomach. 

“No when I tell you to, you can start touching yourself. 3, 2, 1, go.” 

Your fingers gently move over your hardened clit, rubbing small circles around it, not daring to move closer to your throbbing hole just yet. 

“Pretend those fingers are mine. My long fingers are rubbing your drenched pussy and I’m starting to push it in slowly. I wouldn’t want to hurt you now would I?” 

His hands pump his cock at a steady pace as his precum leaks down his length. His tip was a pretty pink and his dick was veiny, something you’d noticed just now. Back when he was in front of you, you were too taken aback by his size that you gave little attention to the details.

“Go faster sluts. I know you want to. I want see you get high on your orgasms.” 

Your fingers push into your core, faster and faster as your walls clenched around them. You imagine Taesan being here again and your eyes shut to imagine the moment. His fingers would reach further into you and manage to hit your g-spot every time. His speed inhumane as he massages your clit with his thumb at the same time. It’s not long before you feel the pressure build up in the pits of your stomach, but you hold it waiting for Taesan. 

“Fuck, just thinking about you touching yourself to me is gonna make me cum. Let’s cum together sweethearts. Ready?” 

One last push and you come undone at the sight of his cum spurting onto his stomach, leaving a puddle of white pooling on his skin. Your mouth hangs open as you ride out your own orgasm, the reality of your actions finally hitting. You had just masturbated to Taesan’s stream. Of course he expected his viewers to but you being one of them? You immediately close the laptop screen, almost too embarrassed to be doing your own live stream today. You had a lot to think about in terms of your feelings for him. 

Just then, another notification pings, this time on your phone. 

I know you were watching. Next time don’t be shy and comment. I would love to hear you beg for me.

Fuck. 

———

It was finally the day of the collab stream. The day you were initially looking forward to had turned into one you dreaded. Your actions came with consequences and you’d finally realised that. There was nothing you could do about it now but you were so embarrassed to face Taesan that it was all that consumed your thoughts. How could you explain it to him. Every potential explanation simply sounded like a made-up excuse. 

The studio this time was a little bigger, the crew size also having increased. There were 2 stylists in charge of your outfit, hair and makeup in addition to a range of camera men and lighting director. The director and manager were also present, and the weight of it all finally hit. This stream had to be a success and you were close to ruining it because of your emotions. Taking some time to re-centre your thoughts, you finally feel mentally prepared. 

Your hair and makeup is complete so you step into the changing booth to get into your outfit. You were given a pretty, flowery lace bra and panty set in addition to a thigh garter. All of this was to be covered with a baby doll mini dress which hardly covered your ass or tits. 

As you leave the changing booth , Taesan pulls you into his room, shutting the door behind him. You’re now pinned against the door, caged between his arms as he leans in towards you. 

“Hey. You left my message on read.” 

“What message?” Your attempts to feign confusion are simply wasted when he reads you so clearly, laughing at your pretence. 

“Don’t act clueless. I know you know which text I’m talking about. But I just wanted you to know that during that stream, you were all I could think about.” 

His sudden confession jabs you in the chest, taking your breath away. 

“What?” 

“You heard me right. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I kept seeing you touch yourself in front of me and I kept imagining you bobbing your pretty mouth along my dick. I won’t have to imagine after today though,” he says with a playful grin, his usual coldness nowhere to be seen, as he teases you. 

You were left with a lack of words as you simply just stared back into his eyes, uncertain of how to respond. But thank whatever spirits are out there as the director knocks at the door, telling the two of you to get onto set. 

After being released from Taesan’s arms, you scurry over to the studio as he follows behind you at a leisurely pace. 

“So that’s the overall brief for the stream so if either of you have questions please ask now because you won’t be able to once it starts.” 

“Is there any leeway for improv?” Taesan interjects. 

“Definitely. If you feel you want to take charge a little and stray from the brief slightly I’m here for it. We just want it to be as natural as possible. You two have amazing chemistry which translates well on the screen so I’m hoping you do have fun with each other.” 

Upon hearing the director’s answer to his question, you feel Taesan’s gaze fall upon you, giving you a smirk. It was almost as if he were teasing you for what was to come. 

“If that’s everything I think we can begin. We’ll be streaming on both of you individual channels as well as the website’s official one so we get more reach, so there’ll be 3 different cameras. I’ll stay in the room with just 1 camera man and everyone else will monitor from the a different room. So if you’re both ready, get on the bed and make yourself comfy and we’ll start shortly.”

This was definitely not your first collab stream but you were so nervous that your heart rate spiked as your breathing deepened. You close your eyes bringing your attention back to the present, trying to let your nerves ease up when you felt an arm wrap around your shoulder from the side. You look up to meet the side of his face, his head still looking straight. 

“It’ll be ok. You don’t have to be nervous around me you know. We’ll get through it together.” 

Despite his cold tone, his words softened your heart as your anxieties fleeted. 

“I trust you. Let’s do a great job,” you say with a gentle smile, knowing that he was secretly looking at you through the corner of his eyes. 

You both take a seat at the edge of the double bed, crossing your legs as you turned to face each other ever so slightly. 

“Ok, we’re all set. You guys ready?” The directors asks to which you both nod, “In that case, 3, 2, 1, action!” 

“Hey, how’s everyone doing?” You begin, prompting your viewers to comment. 

And without a wasted second, the comment sections on all 3 streams flood with dozens of questions and compliments on your pairing for the collab. You initially take the time to read through and respond to as many comments as you can but with the director prompt to move on, Taesan takes initiative by rubbing his hands up your thighs, still facing the camera. 

At the sudden contact, you hold in a moan, biting you bottom lip as your breathing picks up. 

Mountain San you should show her what a slut she is and put her in her place

Fuck she’s so hot when she does that

Taesan chuckles reading the comments, giving you a quick glance before shifting closer to you.

“You want me to out her in her place? Would you like that too Blueberry?” The use of your cam name was such a turn on as his voice tingles on your skin, his body beginning to over you, pushing you down to lay on the bed.

He’s now got you caged in between his body, tucking your hair behind your ear as he moves his lips to meet your neck. Sucking softly on your skin, he moves down leaving behind a trail of red marks. Pulling away again, he places a soft kiss on your lips, treating you as if you were a delicate piece of porcelain. You wanted more. You saw what he was capable of and you wanted it. Your arms loop around his neck pulling him closer into the kiss. Soon enough he asserts his dominance, taking control of the movements, leading the pace and flow. 

Little princess wanted more and now she’s getting it 

I wish he would kiss me like that :( 

As the making out progresses, Taesan’s hands wander down your body pushing up the bottom of your mini dress, revealing your panties and bare stomach, as he draws circles on your smooth skin. 

“Please, give me more,” your beg sones out as an almost whine, evidently turning Taesan on. 

“Blueberry wants more does she? I’ll give you more if that’s what you want.”

It doesn’t take him long to pull your dress over you, leaving you in your lingerie as he licks his lips at the sight. 

He doesn’t waste any time is unclasping your bra throwing it into some unknown corner of the room. Taking in the sight of your bare boobs, his grabs both of them as he kneads the plush with his large hands. 

“My hands fit your tits perfectly, don’t they Blueberry?” 

Your nod your head as your mouth hangs open, grinding against the air wanting some attention on your dripping heat.

“Use your words bitch.” 

“Your hands fits perfectly over my tits Taesan. They really do. Can you please touch my pussy. I’m so wet.” 

“Careful there or I might start thinking that you’re the one in charge.” 

He pulls back giving your clothed pussy an intense stare, noticing the evident wet patch. 

“Looks like you really are wet for me. Want to show everyone else how wet you are?” 

He picks up by the hips, turning your body slightly and spreads your legs open to show the camera. A sudden rip shrieks as cold air brushes against your heat. Your panties were ripped in half as Taesan shoves the material into the pocket of his jeans. He hastily removes his polo shirt. Not much after, he strips himself of his trousers and boxers leaving him in the same naked state as you. 

His cock was hard and long and desperately craving to be inside you, but he tortured the two of you by inserting two fingers into your hole. He doesn’t give you much time for adjustment as he pumps in and out as a rapid speed, your slick coating his fingers. He picks up the pace ever further as you felt the knot build up in your stomach, your hands gripping the sheets. But seconds later, pulls out both his fingers causing your pussy to erupt with a clear liquid which shoots out, drenching his torso and the bed beneath you. 

“Fuck, Blueberry is so good at squirting. I want you to squirt all over my dick ok? I want to shower in your orgasms.” 

“I will. Now please fuck me.” 

His girth stretched out your tight hole, still slightly sensitive from your first orgasm. Right from the start, he pushed in deep, hitting the wall of your cervix as you felt your breath get gagged, throwing your head back in pleasure. 

It doesn’t take long for him to pick up this speed, his one hand travelling to your waist whilst the other wraps gently around your neck, applying slight pressure. He starts ramming into you desperately, wanting to feel every inch of your gummy walls. Your moans and whimpers echo in the small room as his grunts sharpen with every push. 

“Y/n you’re taking me so well. Your pussy is literally made for me. So tight.” 

“Taesan ple- har- der,” your words come out stuttered as your mind is fogged with spots of white. 

“Such a slut aren’t you? So horny and needy. Always wanting more,” his tone was harsh but his movements matched your request. He rutted into you deep, hard and rough as he begins toying with your clit at the same time. 

“Aghhh! Fuck Taesan yes! Keep it going!” You let out cries, feeling giddy at the height of your pleasure. 

The familiar knot builds up again as your pussy clenches tighter around his cock, almost milking his length.

“Taesan, I’m gonna cum!” 

“There, good girl. Cum with me.” 

His pace is consistent and soon your core explodes with more liquid, turning the bed into a sea of your orgasm. He doesn’t pull out as you feel his load shoot into you, quickly seeping out with your squirt. 

“Y/n, you’ve gotten me all wet,” he grins, staring down at your weak body as you lay there still, catching your breath. 

Giving you time to recover, he decides to focus his attention on the stream, replying to comments whilst he cleans the two of you up. 

I didn’t even have to be the one fucking her to know that she’s got the best pussy. I could just feel her squirt all over me from the other end 

If Taesan were the one fucking me, I could definitely squirt too.

“Looks like everyone got their own highs from this stream?” Taesan’s voice mumbled. 

You finally found some strength to sit yourself up, finding yourself a dry blanket to wrap around your body. 

“Now that Blueberry is up, we’ll have to say goodbye.” His comment was met with tonnes of disheartened replies.

“Don’t worry, we’re still going to be doing streams on our own channels which you can find in the description,” you say, your voice containing some evident exhaustion, “make sure to show up some support and thank you for the positive feedback and gifts today.” 

“We’ll be back with our solo streams. Bye for now.” Taesan follows on. 

The director then signals a thumbs up, indicating the end of the stream as you then collapse back on the bed, trying to recollect the events that just occurred. 

“Whats up? You know we can leave right?” 

“Yeah I know just give me a sec. I need a breather.” 

“Why?” The corner of his mouth lifts. He knows why. 

“Don’t act so innocent Taesan. I don’t think I can walk anymore,” you complain. 

“In that case, I’ll just have to carry you back then.” 

His movements are swift and he grabs your body, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. It suddenly hits you that you’re both still very naked but he seems to have little care for it. 

He takes you back to the changing rooms, ordering all the crew to leave as he wipes you down again with a towel and grabs you your clothes for you to change into. 

Whilst you’re getting yourself dressed, he does the same and once you’re both appropriate, he comes back upto you, gazing into your eyes. Eye contact with Taesan just seemed to erupt the butterflies in your stomach as the fluttery feeling n your stomach just grew till the sensation was almost painful. 

“I had fun working with you. It was quite the experience,” you begin, trying to fill the silence.

“Was it just fun or did you feel anything more?” He taunts, trying to get a reaction out of you. 

“I would be lying if I said i felt nothing else but that’s a conversation for another time.” 

“Another time? Does that mean you want to work together again,” his voice deepens as he grips your waist firmly, pulling you in closer. 

“Either that or I just want to keep seeing you more often. On screen and off camera.”

This journey was definitely a new one. You’d once known Taesan to be this broody, mysterious man who wasn’t very generous with his words. Now it was as if you know a completely different man, you couldn’t hardly recognise him compared to your first impressions. The way he eluded confidence but was still considerate without expecting praise, had paved its way into your heart. You were definitely going to have a hard time getting over him. Or maybe you didn’t have to…

“If that’s what you want, I can find a way to make that happen sweetheart. How about dinner tonight? To celebrate. Just you and me.” 

[catbolt]

Hi! I have 2 chronic illnesses (specifically me/cfs and fibromyalgia) and I've always wondered how the boys would help to take care of a chronically ill mc? I know Xavier would probably nap with her, but I was hoping you could write some drabbles or something please? I really, really appreciate you reading this, even if you don't take it up. Thank you! :) <3

— TAKE CARE

[TAGS] fluff, xavier x mc, zayne x mc, rafayel x mc, sylus x mc (no caleb bc tbh i'm not quite sure how i want to write him yet), 2nd person but canon hunter mc is referenced

[A/N] hii anon! did this sort of headcanon style, hope it's to your liking! don't have any personal experience with chronic illness so kept things pretty vague to avoid mischaracterization (but hopefully still suiting the prompt.)

xavier

doesn’t overburden you with too much talk or make a big deal out of your flare ups, instead spending most of the time just silently, patiently by your side . Napping, watching mindless TV, reading a book side by side with you in bed. 

xavier def gives parallel play vibes-- even if you two aren’t doing the same activity he’ll be next to you, comforting you with the simple warmth of his presence. “need anything?” “want a massage?” “tired?” is as much as he’ll probe. he understands what you need without you even having to say it, often anticipating your needs before you even realize them yourself.

personally he does not gaf about work drama but since he knows you get antsy not knowing what's happening at hunter HQ whenever you have to call out from work, he always prepares a rundown of any work tea for you. he finds himself being even more nosy and attuned to the other hunters at work, just so he can see your eyes light up whenever he gets to tell you about which of the new recruits are flirting with who.

zayne

sometimes it’s a little hard for him not to go fully into doctor mode whenever you're having symptoms, but he tries to rein it in so as to not frustrate/overwhelm you.

he would have very strong reactions to any signs of physical distress from you. seeing you in the middle of a flare up makes him have to confront that you're not one of his patients, you're... you, which is harder, makes things infinitely more complicated. he can't just be calm and orderly as he usually is and prides himself on being when it's you who's in pain.

he's trained himself to panic less and stay logical when it comes to your symptoms, but he has to concentrate to do so, walking himself mentally through his own medical training on your condition to talk him down from overreacting. you wouldn't have thought a doctor of all people would be the type to be on edge about something like this, knowing he's familiar with similar conditions, but for zayne, he definitely has to care for you while also battling his own emotional rollercoaster.

rafayel

cheers you up with little doodles and gifts, trying to keep your spirits high whenever symptoms get particularly bad.

i have this image of him just making little sculptures out of shells from the beach and putting them on your nightstand to decorate the space especially during those times where you're stuck in bed for days. even if he can't be around 24/7, he makes sure reminders of him are around when you go to sleep and when you wake up

video calls you a lot whenever he's out and about by himself, at the studio, taking a walk, even at events, because he doesn't want you to miss out on any of the fun even when you can't physically join.

sylus

definitely the doesn't ask questions and anticipates your needs easily type. sometimes he even overdoes it because he gets carried away but it's sweet either way, like when he prepares a bubble bath for you with a bath bomb and a bunch of essential oils to soothe your muscles and then you have to remind him you took a shower like three hours ago already

sends mephisto to watch over you during flare ups when you're napping or if he's out, and will send checking in texts frequently even though you know he has a full live feed of you from mephisto.

makes luke and kieran also do whatever you need whenever he's not around and you're having strong symptoms. notes under the door saying "boss wants you to check your phone" "boss wants to know if you need anything" "boss says he's working late and that he ordered you dinner, so you should eat without him" are a frequent amusing feature of sylus' care

[eudoraink]

Bringing Bendy Home Headcanons

Inky's note: I'm so bored that I wanted to write some headcanons of the reader living with Bendy.

Warnings: Bendy's mischief.

Gender: Neutral

♡ 𝐵𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑦 ♡

When Bendy steps into your home, his small stature makes everything seem larger than life to him. His eyes widen as he looks around, practically craning his neck to take in the taller furniture and shelves. He seems a bit awestruck, like he’s just entered a new, giant-sized world.

You guess it's because he's been staying in the studio for 30 years he hasn't gotten a chance to see different colors and new things besides the old yellow sepia and black ink everywhere. Poor thing.

Depending on how big your house is he might end up knocking over a few things with his tail. You saw him knock over a picture frame and it tilted slightly out of place, and he gives you a bashful, toothy smile, almost as if to say, “I didn’t mean to!”

With his small size, things seem more fragile around him, but he’s quick to shake off any little mishaps.

You gave him a tour around your house, showing him where everything was at. He even touches everything with curiosity in the middle of the tour.

When you both reach the kitchen, he has to stand on his tiptoes to open some of the drawers. He manages to pull open a cabinet door, peeking inside with wide eyes.

You find yourself stifling a laugh at how he has to reach just a little higher to grab things. When he spots the fridge, he’s practically dwarfed by it, looking up with awe as the light clicks on when he opens the door.

In the living room, when he spots the TV he’s transfixed as he moves closer to the screen, looking at it with awe and tentative pokes. You turned on the TV with the remote and watched him jump back a bit, his eyes huge as he takes in the moving images. It’s clear he’s both mystified and excited by these strange “moving pictures” in your TV.

A lot of people seem to forget the fact that he's practically made out of ink due to the machine so he's bound to leave some ink stains and trails here and there.

You saw a couple of ink stains on your counters so you gently handed him a cloth. You showed him how to wipe things down, and he watches with wide eyes before mimicking you.

He ends up cleaning the counters and they are spotless. He gives you a subtle smile and making a mental note to be careful—or at least to try to be careful.

Eventually, Bendy finds his way to the couch making it his new favorite spot to lie down on or sleep. He plops down, making the cushions creak a bit under his weight, and gives a relaxed sigh, practically sinking into the couch with satisfaction. He looks up at you with a happy smile.

Although he might slither into your bed with you while you're sleeping. You'd wake up to him tickling you.

You'd be the one to cook Bendy all different kinds of food and he is absolutely in an ecstatic state after each taste. The food tastes like heaven, or maybe it's because you're the one cooking it. <3

You teach Bendy how to make desserts and other sweet food because he does well when making those. He can make soup though!

After he settles in and gets comfortable, Bendy has already begun to think of this place as his new home away from the old abandoned studio. He gives you a warm hug, his tail curling in contentment, clearly thrilled to be in a space that feels warm, safe.