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guardians-ofthe-lastyoungkilljoy · 2 days ago

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i know the end - vettel

(gif not mine @usersewis)

pairing: sebastian vettel x reader

summary: Sebastian came into your life in 2015 and left in 2020 - but you fell in love with him and he just wanted a championship.

themes/warnings: alcohol, ANGST, no use of y/n, description of a panic attack, unrequited love, waxing poetic about ferrari - can you tell they're my fav team, kimi mentioned, charles is here too !! THIS IS FICTION

wc: 3.6k

a/n: someone on tumblr said that ferrari is a haunted house with a picket fence and i have never stopped thinking about it since. i have also never stopped thinking about sebastian vettel - subcategory of seb thoughts is seb in ferrari. also still open to do requests - trying out this whole fic writing thing. will also need help with organising my blog if anyone is keen :)

read on ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/60713827

Sebastian joined Ferrari in 2015. The team were ecstatic to have the four time world champion join their ranks, determined to bring Ferrari back to its former glory.

You were working on the strategy team, fairly new but established enough to be listened to on the rare occasion.

You met Seb in the pre-season at his factory introduction. He made his speech, charming the floor with his near perfect Italian. He popped into the strategy meeting room during his tour, a war room that had become home for you with its laptops and papers spread out. Sebastian was the perfect gentleman, shaking hands with everyone, though you thought he may have held on a bit longer with you.

The season started soon after, the entire garage working overtime. You were given the opportunity to accompany the team at races, rather than being stuck at Maranello.This is how you became Sebastian’s favourite strategist.

You’re not exactly sure when it happened. You made a good strategy call in Malaysia, a well timed pit stop in Hungary and by Singapore, the lion knew your coffee order from the Ferrari cafeteria, ensuring to always pass you some before a long meeting.

Falling for Sebastian was drawn out, comprised of lingering greeting hugs, good conversation at team dinners, long nights at the factory and searing glances across foreign nightclubs.

You didn’t realise it for a while, and you wouldn’t realise it until it was too late. The attention you received was perhaps just part of Seb’s charm, and he had the whole motorsport world wrapped around his infamous finger.

2016 brought on a winless year for Ferrari, both Kimi and Sebastian unable to make it to that crucial top step.

You found Seb at the back of the Ferrari motorhome after a particularly tough race, hiding between tyre stacks. You overheard his PR team scrambling to find him - you slipped out to the back unnoticed, knowing exactly where he was.

The tyre stacks were sort of a shared place for you and Sebastian, free from the prying eyes of the world. The only person who knew about it was Sebastian’s head mechanic, who accidentally stumbled upon you two sharing champagne after a podium last year.

I’ll be there soon. Sebastian recognised your footsteps before even looking up.

You sat down beside him, trying to find the words while he absentmindedly played with his water bottle.

I’m sorr-

I don’t want to hear it.

Sebastian had never snapped at you. You knew the strategy calls were bad today, resulting in an ill timed pitstop and Sebastian falling through the other. This Seb, this was completely foreign to you.

Seb stood and left, sparing no further glance at you. It was a punch to your gut. Did he blame you? Drivers were always temperamental, that you knew, but Sebastian had always been nothing but kind and mature with you.

Your body went into autopilot mode, packing up what you can before the team debrief.

Sebastian barely spared you a glance as everyone settled in for the debrief. Perhaps a sign that he calmed down during media duties, but you knew better than to play detective with another man’s emotions.

Strategy seemed to be the biggest issue to tackle with your boss taking the lead. You half listened, taking notes occasionally until he mentioned your name.

One of the plans you brought up in pre-race meetings was bold and daring. It was entertained, but ultimately shoved aside for what ended up happening during the race. However after witnessing what happened in the race, it would have gained the team some higher positions.

Ferrari is a team, one where we win and lose together. Every aspect is just as important as each other. Admitting mistakes and learning for them is how the team gets stronger.

The strategy admission had Sebastian sneaking glances at you for the rest of the meeting. You felt it, but you weren’t exactly ready to forgive yet.

You returned to your home in Maranello without so much as another word to Sebastian. You were, however, greeted by a bouquet of peonies on your dining table, along with a note from the man you were so desperately trying not to think about.

By 7PM the same day, you and Seb were sharing a blanket on the couch and watching a romcom, having devoured pizza and now working your way through a giant bag of chocolate wafers.

Unfortunately, Seb knew the way to your heart. As you tucked yourself into bed that night, you realised that you never shared a conversation with him about Sunday and an even scarier thought, you had forgiven him.

2017 saw you and Sebastian grow even closer. Movie nights at your apartment became the norm and Seb often took you to dinner on race weekends, despite your protests that the dinners were too fancy. He had to spoil his favourite strategist would always be his response.

Sebastian returned to the top step of Monaco that year, the Italian anthem blaring across the track along with a chorus of devoted Tifosi. He sneaked off after the celebrations, pulling you with him to the tyre stacks, champagne bottle on the other hand.

Seb passed you the bottle and you took a large sip, pushing down the thought that his lips were on it mere moments ago.

Are you coming to the afterparty?

Yes, but I don’t have anything to wear?

No party dress packed? Ye of little faith.

You rolled your eyes and shoved the bottle back into his hands. The endless banter and teasing simultaneously made you forget about your feelings for Seb but also made you fall harder for him.

Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. He kissed your cheek and walked away.

Cheek kisses weren’t new for Seb, having evolved from greeting hugs long ago. But “take care of it”? Well, he better not be doing what you were thinking.

You returned to your hotel room to a large black box on your bed, an extravagant red bow tied around it with a handwritten note, definitely scrawled on by a tipsy Seb.

The box revealed a red dress, and on top of it, another small box. You opened it and out dangled a small necklace with a heart charm. Engraved on one side was the number 5. Sebastian.

Sebastian knocked on your door two hours later, dressed sharp and ready for the night ahead. He took you in, the dress he picked out was the perfect fit against your skin. There was however, one missing detail.

The necklace?

It’s a bit much, no?

Nonsense.

Sebastian walked into your room and spotted the necklace on the bed. He took it out of its pouch and motioned for you to stand in front of the mirror. He stood behind, putting the necklace on you. His fingers ghosted over your neck, raising the tiny hairs on your skin.

Team number 5.

Sebastian kissed the side of your head and his fingers trailed down your arm to grab your hand. You followed him out in a daze to the elevator.

The dim light of the elevator and Sebastian’s intoxicating cologne enveloping the cramped box. The elevator dinged, letting in more people. The sound woke you from whatever spell Sebastian cast. You counted down the floors until you had to leave the warmth of Sebastian’s side and his calloused hand around yours.

Ground floor. The air was clearer as you exited the bubble - reality. Because despite everything, Sebastian wasn’t yours. He is Ferrari’s. You are Ferrari’s. For now, sharing a home would be enough.

You never left Sebastian’s line of sight all night. Between partying with your girlfriends, sharing a drink with your boss and a few dances with Seb, the clarity in the haze of the club was Sebastian.

As the night began winding down, Sebastian approached you at a booth. He was holding a mystery drink and his pupils were blown wide. He began blabbering about something Kimi did, the Finn possibly to blame for Sebastian’s current state. You took one look at him and began arranging a cab back to the hotel.

You managed to drag a half asleep Sebastian back to his room. You sat him on the edge of the bed while you filled up a water bottle. You came back and found him spread eagle on the bed. At least he took his shoes off.

Goodnight Seb.

You were halfway out the room when you heard it.

I love you.

You froze. Looking back, you saw Seb snoring peacefully, hugging a pillow to his chest. No, he’s drunk and sleeping. It wasn’t for you. It could’ve been for his bed for all you cared for. It didn’t matter, despite your heart wishing it was for you.

2018 was another successful year for Ferrari. Sebastian came home with five wins that year, placing second in the drivers standings and Kimi in third. All in all, you were quite proud of the team’s efforts that year and you knew you could unlock more of that potential.

However, you could feel something bothering Sebastian. An itch that had been present all season. You had asked a few times, but Seb always insisted it was nothing. You knew Sebastian well enough by this point. You could read him, to an extent. But if he truly wanted to hide something, you would be helpless at getting it out.

Sebastian invited you to stay at his farm in Switzerland for a week during the winter break. You happily obliged, having not seen him since wrapping up in Abu dhabi. You could use the tranquillity of farm life for a bit.

Your days there were spent helping Sebastian with the animals. He taught you horse riding and you taught him baking. You let yourself get lost in that life, if just for a mere moment. Perhaps in some alternate universe, this was your home with him, that you weren’t only playing house for a week.

You and Sebastian were laying on the carpet in front of the fireplace, sharing a bowl of attempted smores. It was your last night there before you had to jet off back to Maranello to begin pre season work.

Seb got quiet, not exactly rare but it was different when something was on his mind.

Would you ever leave?

Leave where?

Ferrari.

No. Ferrari is home.

Sebastian hummed, adding nothing more but deciding to bite into another smore. A bit of chocolate dripped onto his chin. You chuckled and wiped it off with your thumb.

Besides, you don’t need to worry about that new French kid. You’re still my favourite, world champion.

Sebastian laughed, but you missed the melancholy in his eyes and the smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Being a Tifosi came with many highs and lows - any balding Italian man can tell you that. It was felt even more within the team, especially for Sebastian this year.

2019 saw the meteoric rise of Charles Leclerc, the predestined. He cemented his place as not only the future of Ferrari itself, but of the sport as well.

Charles was full of energy and light. You grew fond of the kid and it was nice to have his company amidst the turmoil surrounding the team that year.

You went into that year determined to get Sebastian his championship he so desperately craved. You were instead met by cheating rumours, bad calls, power shifting and well, an increasingly frustrated Sebastian.

Sebastian who has been chasing that championship feeling for years. Sebastian who bleeds Ferrari red. Sebastian who is determined to bring the team back to the top. Sebastian, who is not quite yours, but you devoted your red heart to.

Perhaps that’s how you ended up in this position.

Sebastian pulled you into his driver’s room after a race. The habit has raised a few eyebrows from passing crew, but none have said a word.

Nothing ever happened anyways.

Seb would sit you on his couch and you’d listen. Listen as he rambled in a heinous mix of German, Italian and English. Listen as he let out his emotions after a race and all the lows he went through that weekend.

You’d bring up some of these points to relevant crew members. It would be worked on and by the following race, it would be better. But it was never enough for Sebastian.

You understood, he was supposed to bring Ferrari back, follow in the footsteps of his mentor and hero. It was an immense pressure and responsibility that has been carried for years. Now, the Italians have put their faith in his teammate, throwing him aside like an old toy.

It was draining for you too, being subjected to this almost every weekend. It wasn’t your burden to bear, but this was Sebastian. He is still Rosso Corsa, and you weren’t one to deny a cry for help.

Singapore rolled around, one of Sebastian’s favourites. He crossed the line in first place that night. You haven’t been so happy in months.

Sebastian found you at your desk after media duties. You were still on the adrenaline high, but the tiredness began seeping back into your bones. You knew you weren’t sleeping well, the stress of the season getting to you and your eyes looked darker than ever. For Ferrari, the pain was always worth it.

Come out tonight.

Seb, I feel dead.

And the race winner is personally inviting you.

You could never resist him, which is how you have an extremely plastered Seb on your arm as you walk back to the hotel. Apparently being part of Team 5 also meant babysitting when he’s had one too many.

I LOVE FERRARI! I NEVER WANT TO LEAVE! FORZA FERRARI!

Sempre.

May 2020. F1 was still on the break. The only place you went was your home in Maranello and occasionally the factory. You hadn’t seen Sebastian in months and to be honest, you haven’t heard from him as much as you wanted to.

Then, the announcement. Sebastian Vettel to leave Ferrari by the end of the 2020 season.

It came as a shock to you. Seb’s contract was up for renewal, you knew that. But he never said anything about leaving, at least, not to your face. And to find out from Instagram, rather than from the man himself, that was a whole other issue.

You left several messages on Seb’s number over the next week, all remained unanswered. You knew he was a bit of a recluse sometimes, preferring quiet company over the glitz and glamour other drivers seemed to surround themselves with. Ignoring you however, that was unheard of.

You asked some of Seb’s mechanics, but none have heard from him. You even asked Charles, but all he received was a polite thank you message.

After a while, you gave up on contacting him. You knew better than to beg for a man’s attention, even Sebastian’s. It broke your heart to walk away, but you had to keep pushing and Ferrari needed to keep pushing.

Red Bull Ring, Austria. The first race back was a much quieter environment than what you’ve been used to. Despite wanting to stay in Maranello, mainly to stay safe but also to avoid a certain German, your boss wanted you at the races. Who were you to deny the call of the Prancing Horse.

You ignored him all weekend, refusing to make eye contact or be in his general presence at all. It was perhaps a bit petty, but you deserved to be after the last two months.

Charles placed P2, a great result from the team for the first race back. You chatted to him at your desk after the race. Charles was a young man that had raw talent, immense passion and was wise beyond his years. You were lucky to call him a friend.

Mid conversation, Charles glanced behind you. You knew exactly who was standing there, but he could wait his turn.

You finished up with Charles, giving him a hug before he left.

You stared at Seb standing awkwardly in the doorway. He shifted on his feet, for once not knowing what to say to you.

Please say something.

I have nothing to say to you. You’re the one who went radio silent for months.

I’m sorry.

You shook your head and looked away, not wanting him to see how much this affected you.

I didn’t know how to tell you.

Seb moved closer, stepping into your space. He reached out a shaky hand to yours. You gripped his, you couldn’t help it. A silent sob escaped your body.

Come with me.

You whipped around, searching his pleading eyes.

Come with me. To Aston Martin.

His other hand came up to the side of your head, cupping your cheeks and wiping away the tears on your cheek.

Come with me. I need you.

His hand brushed down the side of your neck, fingers finding the necklace he gifted all those years ago.

Team 5. That’s our home. Please.

Sebastian fiddled with the charm. He found the engraved 5 turned around, no longer facing outward like how you’ve always worn it.

You took Sebastian’s hand and pressed a tender kiss to it.

Ferrari is my home. I can’t come with you.

You dropped his hand and looked anywhere else but him. You couldn’t bear to see the tears welling in his eyes.

Please leave.

Sebastian walked out, hesitating at the door. He took a last look at you and left.

You let the cries come out. Every emotion you’ve kept the last few years came out in a tidal wave.

You felt an arm wrapping around your shoulders, recognising Charles’ hand. He helped you to the floor and let you lean against him.

I’m sorry.

You requested to be transferred to Maranello for the rest of the season, citing health concerns. The team was sad to see you go, many of them enjoying your company on long race weekends.

You only saw Sebastian in passing for the rest of the year, heard about him from mechanics, through strategy feedback and once from Charles. He knew not to press, but you didn’t miss the occasional flicker of sympathy from his eyes.

Sebastian came by the factory after the season ended, a formal goodbye to Ferrari. There was food and drinks passed around and some quick speeches made.

Sebastian was the last to come forward.

It has been my dream to race for the Scuderia since I was a boy. Here I stand now, as a Ferrari driver for six incredible seasons. It still feels like cloud nine everytime I get to walk into this beautiful place and be greeted by the passion from every single one of you. I thank you all for the hard work you’ve put in all these years.

Sebastian took a breath, as if hesitating on what to say next. You found yourself waiting, a small part of you hoping for him to say something, anything that would allow you to forgive him.

I want to say a special thank you to those who have been by my side. You know who you are. I know I haven’t always made it easy, and I am sorry for that. But I am eternally grateful for you.

Sebastian’s eyes found yours in the crowd. You found yourself fiddling with the necklace for comfort, forcing your eyes to hold back tears.

Thank you all. Forza Ferrari sempre.

The crowd erupted in cheers, applauding Seb as he made his way back into the crowd.

Your ears were ringing, vision blurry and the swell of the crowd was suddenly too much. Your feet relief on instinct, turning you around and leading you towards the exit.

A hand found your arm as you reached the lobby. Charles. The youngster took one look at you and said something about a car and to wait. Your body curled into a ball as you heaved.

This was it. Sebastian was leaving. Leaving Ferrari and the home you built in it, with him. And neither of you could muster the courage for a proper goodbye. What an irony, Ferrari who creates heroes and legends but two of their best and brightest are cowards with each other.

A sleek black Ferrari pulled up to the front. The rumble of the engine was enough to push yourself to stand and stumble your way to Charles who had opened the door for you.

You turned, taking a look at the building. Ferrari is always going to be home, but the people in it give it meaning. Sebastian left, and your sun set, but it will rise again soon.

You were at the door and hesitated for the briefest moment. That was enough for Sebastian to come running into the lobby.

You stood in the moonlight with windswept hair and teary eyes. From the distance, Sebastian could just make out the glimmer of the necklace he gave you all those years ago and the most important thought - you were still the most beautiful woman he ever got the chance to know.

He loved you. Loves you. It was real all along, not some drunken stupor that he convinced himself it was all those years ago, hiding because it would be easier than to let himself fall.

He understood. You were always by his side, and he was too late to notice it, much less be grateful for it. You can't forgive him now, and he’s caused too much harm. It would be selfish of him to keep you tethered.

He needs to let you go.

Sebastian nodded at you from his frozen place in the lobby. This is the end. You touched your hand to your heart, where your necklace fell. In another life.

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel angst #f1 angst #charles leclerc #kimi raikkonen #ferrari

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specialagentartemis · 3 days ago

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thinking more about @thetransfemininereview's Trans Microlibrary Project.

It's a good idea, an important idea. TBH microlibrary preservation projects seem like a good idea in general. My mom used to warn me about internet safety, “The internet is written in ink”—that once you put something on the Internet, you can never fully remove it. But the tragic problem is, that’s only true of the stuff you don’t want spreading—the stuff you actually want to preserve is so ephemeral it can disappear without a trace, and you can never get it back again. Jamie Berrout's work is an eternal preservation difficulty this way. A few years ago, a Metal Gear fanfiction author on Livejornal I loved deleted her LJ account and all her foundational Metal Gear fanfic was just—gone. I go and reread some important blog posts about asexual history and link rot has already set in. The Internet Archive did something phenomenally stupid and as a result faces a credible threat to its continued existence. Personal offline archives of internet-native work seem more important now than ever.

I believe wholeheartedly in the Trans Microlibrary Project and I certainly have PDF copies of several trans books that it is hard-to-impossible to get anymore (Jamie Berrout’s work, primarily, but also one of Xemiyulu Tapepechul’s poetry chapbooks) and other indie trans fiction that who knows how long the content hosters will allow in this skittish political climate (Gillian Ybabez’s flash fiction and various works by the Trans Women Writers’ Collective/River Furnace), so I’m thinking about buying a handful of flash drives and making my own personal preservation projects:

Contribute to the decentralized Trans Microlibrary Project as described in this post (and this will be an inspiration to read M. Kirin’s book Memory Leak, which a recent review piqued my interest in. Itch.io is a very under-recommended venue for indie queer books!) I'm particularly interested in sci-fi, fantasy, horror, and related genre fiction.

An Ace & Aro archive—so much of the important ace writing is on blogs and in zines, and with Matt Mullenwig beefing with Wordpress, I don’t know how stable Wordpress-based blogs will continue to be. Thinking about trying to download PDF copies of the entire Asexual Agenda. I also have several self-pub ace and aro books that are… at best okay tbh. But worth preserving as well.

Fanfiction. Wanting to have the stuff I like on hand and safe—not even from government censorship or hosting problems necessarily but from all the things that inspire people to delete their fics and their accounts and their blogs. I’ve been burned by Athena Crikey deleting her LJ after years of inactivity and I don’t want to lose so much work I’ve enjoyed over the years.

More projects than that would probably prevent me from doing anything at all lol. But this offline preservation work of internet material is something I have a renewed interest in actually doing.

What do you think is worth preserving?

#books #trans art #transgender #asexual #preservation #media preservation

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purinfelix · 11 hours ago

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hiii, i love your writing so freaking much, can i please ask for a Franco fic inspired on Gold rush by taylor swift? he just literally gave me that vibe and I NEED to read something like that, please and thank you <3

everybody wants you ‧₊˚✩ - franco colapinto

summary: when your best friend since birth finally joins you in formula one, it's safe to say that you're excited - though when it becomes apparent that he's the more favoured one, you start to doubt things, including your feelings w/c: 2.8k

a/n: oh anon i love this idea but also this was my first time listening to this song so i hope i interpreted it the way you hoped and did it service !!! <333

You hated how cliche it was.

The two of you were childhood best friends, together for as long as you could remember. You always credited yourself for getting into karting first and Franco, always eager to stay by your side, followed suit. The track only gave the two of you another domain to be inseparable in, with every race ending with both of you on the podium - and it never mattered who was first, only that you were both there, together.

There was an unspoken understanding in your hometown that the two of you were never to be separated, which you initially revelled in, but the older you got the more you felt yourself developing a feeling towards your friend you couldn’t quite explain. Somewhere in the realm of jealousy, just beyond admiration and reaching just short of a childhood crush.

It came in waves, flowing whenever you were reminded of just how different the two of you were, and how inadequate you felt next to him - with his charismatic personality and curly brown hair that always fell perfectly into place, always drawing more and more people towards him. The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself wondering why he had chosen you of all people to stick so close by, even if he never gave you a reason to doubt it.

And so when you decided to move away to pursue racing, it wasn’t shocking that Franco would too. The two of you set off, after many tearful goodbyes to your friends and family back home, to brace the world, hand in hand.

You stayed racing for the same teams, always getting promoted or signed at the exact same time - almost as if the universe had heard the same unspoken understanding of your town, and knew that you worked best together. And whilst it helped to see each other during practices, debriefs, and even wearing the same uniforms, it was far from the only thing that kept your friendship strong.

Away from almost everything else the two of you knew, you clung to each other tightly and came to know absolutely everything about each other through it. Hushed midnight conversations, early morning snack runs, and even visiting landmarks as you grew and travelled countries - all the while with Franco by your side.

Strangely enough, it never did occur to you to see the boy beside you as more than just a friend - no matter how much the other girls you befriended seemed to think otherwise. Whenever they would sneakily whisper to you, asking whether you were sure the two of you were just friends you would always roll your eyes shooting back something along the lines of Ew? Franco? No, we’ve known each other forever - which typically made them happy to pursue him themselves, even if they strangely never succeeded.

All this came to a screeching halt in the summer of your second year in Formula Two, however, when you were met with a contract deal from Alpine Racing. A racing seat for one.

“You’re taking it right?” his voice is excited as the two of you sit in the stuffy hostel room you’re sharing with about eight other strangers, all too broke or cheap to pay for anything better. Franco was the first you had told, before your coach, before your family, before anyone.

“I don’t know Franco, I mean-“

“What? Why wouldn’t you?”

You chew your bottom lip as you fiddle with the bedsheet below you, not able to look him in the eye. “It means we won’t get to race together you know,” you sigh.

“Well you don’t know that, maybe you race alone for a year but once I make it into F1 we’ll be side by side again! Plus you’re stupid if you think I won’t be visiting every one of your races anyway.”

You watch his green eyes scan your expression, searching for a clue to how you’re feeling.

“It’s just a big step, I don’t know if I’m ready for it.”

“I think you’re more than ready,” he insists, though you don’t feel convinced.

When you finally speak again your voice is tiny, “I’m scared, Franco.”

In that moment, he gives you a sympathetic look before pulling you into a tight hug and even though neither of you spoke about it again that night, you knew exactly what it meant - I know you’re scared, but I’m here for you.

And you aren’t ashamed of the fact that it was his reaction alone that pushed you to make the decision to take up the deal, and you couldn’t have been happier that you did. At least, that’s how you felt for the initial months of your contract which was filled with cocktail parties, race suit fittings and media interviews. And despite what you had expected, and as selfish as it might’ve been, having Franco not by your side for once felt like a breath of fresh air you hadn’t known you needed - it filled you with a lone sense of pride, having ‘made it’ without someone being right there for you to be compared to.

It was perhaps this sense of pride that helped you manage to score points on your debut. You still remember running up to where Franco was waiting for you in the garage, the biggest smile on both of your faces as you jumped into his arms - and it felt, just for a moment, like this euphoria might’ve been what you had spent your whole life waiting for.

But perhaps you had spoken too soon, since your progress saw a steep decline causing you to lose not only the chances to score points and impress your team, but also the confidence you had spent so long working on.

And one night, just when it seemed like you were at your lowest, after a weekend full of DNFs and near-crashes - the most unexpected thing happened. A singular text from Franco, halfway across the world, excitedly explaining how he was going to be filling a position in Formula One, in a different team to you.

There wasn’t a single word to describe the millions of emotions you felt rushing through you in that moment. For one, surprise at the mid-season switch as well as a certain sort of selfish disappointment that you would no longer be the only one in the highest form of the sport you both loved. But above all else, a thrumming excitement about being with your best friend once more - to see him at the paddock, catch up with him during sessions and not have to trek all the way into grandstands just to see his face.

It didn’t take you long to realise though, that you were far from the only one who felt this way. It was almost like the moment Franco stepped foot on the paddock, donning the blue of Williams for his first race weekend, the world fell in love with him. Online, conversations about him blew up to the point where you couldn’t go moments without being bombarded by clips of his interviews or edits of him. It was strange, one part of you felt proud that the world was finally waking up to the treasure that was your best friend, but another felt the strong urge to hide him away, for him to be all yours.

A small part of you had expected this, having known Franco and his personality since before you could put it into words - but what you hadn't expected was for him to also back it up with amazing performances. Now, it was him who was scoring points and impressing everyone - and you who was left to do little more other than celebrate with him, for your own results paled in comparison. And once news got out about you being childhood friends, through a couple of grainy leaked photos of the two of you smiling proudly in your tiny karts, the comparisons started up again.

It was like salt in the wound, agonisingly so - seeing your best friend adored him doing well in the sport you got into first, while you were left to, weekend after weekend, fail to make it into points range. And to make matters worse, the media frenzy that cropped up around Franco did little other than make you come to a realisation you might've spent your whole life running from - that you were jealous, not of Franco, but of those who loved him. That maybe your desire to constantly stick by his side was more than just a childish habit, and that your jealousy of his achievements was just a reminder that you’d never be more than just a friend, one that was always a little behind, a little worse.

Despite your best efforts, the two of you began to drift apart, each achievement he got driving a deeper and deeper wedge between you. It hurt a lot, race weekends beginning to bleed into each other - a plain blur of failed races, celebrations from other teams, and Franco's adoring fans.

It all seemed to come to a head one weekend, a minor crash in an earlier lap winding you up in the Alpine garage - sweaty, irritated and extremely exhausted. Yet you continued to watch the race, not so much for anyone else, but more so that you could keep a close eye on the blurry blue car, and its driver.

And before you knew it you were watching it cross the finish line in third, Franco’s first podium - right in front of your eyes.

You weren’t sure why, but your first instinct was to hastily get up from the fold-out chair you were sitting on and rush away to your driver's room, like a child throwing an immature tantrum. You knew Franco well enough to know he’d come looking for you but knew yourself enough just as well to know you couldn’t face him right now. With everything that had been going on, with the constant stream of less-than-kind comments you were getting online and the extreme dip in your performance, the last thing you wanted was to be reminded of your inadequacy. It was extremely selfish, sure, but you convinced yourself that you were actually doing Franco a favour since you knew your acting skills were too poor to convincingly put on a show as he celebrated right in front of you. You always had been a faster runner than him, at least, that’s what years of playground tag had told you.

But it had been a while since then and before you could make it to your room you heard an all-too-familiar voice call from behind you.

“Hey!”

“Not now Franco,” you huff, so close to the door of your room that you’ve got one hand on its handle already.

“What? C’mon, I just got a podium and that’s all you have to say?” You pause at the handle, the hurt tone in his voice pulling at your heartstrings.

“Yeah, I saw, good job but I just can’t right now.”

“Can’t what? You’re joking, right?” His voice rises in volume a little, and he sounds in disbelief - you’re glad the garages are mostly empty so that no one can see the scene he’s making.

“No, I’m not,” you shoot back firmly. You’re still facing away from him, arm hanging limp from the door handle - you can’t remember the last time you felt this defeated, this tired.

“Seriously, what is going on with you lately? It’s like, you were so excited for us to race together but now we barely talk even though we see each other every day.”

“Franco,” you say, quietly.

“We’ve known each other forever but this feels like the first time where I truly have no clue what is going on in your head, why don’t you ever talk to me anymore? You don’t think I don’t notice you avoiding me?”

“Franco, please.” You feel tears pricking up at the corners of your eyes, and it doesn’t help how accusatory he sounds.

“Please, what?”

“Please, just go celebrate.”

“No! If you think I’m just going to leave now without you, you’re seriously ridiculous. I mean, this is what we always dreamed of, isn’t it?”

At that, you turn around to face him - looking him in the eyes for the first time in what feels like months. You watch his brows unfurrow immediately as his expression softens at the sight of you, tears welling up in your eyes which are surrounded by dark circles, marks left from your many sleepless nights. It’s clear that he notices how small you look as well as you hunch into yourself, barely having the energy to stand up straight.

“Woah, hey,” he says, his tone gentle now.

“Don’t do this Franco, don’t talk to me like we’re still children,” you say, instinctively defensive.

“Aren’t we?”

You let out a laugh, soft yet cruel as you struggle to hold in your tears, “Everything’s different now, isn’t it? When was the last time we were on a podium together or even spoke face to face like this.”

“What are you even saying?” You feel a pang of pain in your heart at the look in his eyes, a little anger mixed with disbelief.

“I’m saying, that maybe being friends isn’t going to work if we’re racing against each other anymore. Have you seen the way I get compared to you relentlessly? Everyone loves you, everyone wants you, and I’m just, there! Do you have any idea what that’s like? To have no one backing you?”

“You’re my best friend, I’m right here, backing you!”

“Franco,” you say, just above a whisper.

There’s a moment of silence, and you can see Franco working up the courage to say something, his hands fiddling with the fireproof mask he’s been holding this whole time. You feel a couple of tears finally make their way down your cheeks and you do your best to wipe them away, eager to not embarrass yourself in front of him anymore.

“I love you.” He finally says.

“Don’t say that, please, don’t say that.” You’re about to turn away, ready to just shut yourself in your room.

“No, like, I love you.” You hear him take a couple steps closer to you, to the point where he’s right behind you.

“You don’t mean that,” you sigh.

“I do,” he says, barely above a whisper, “I have, for years.”

You pause, silently turning around to face him, and it feels like the breath has been knocked out of you. He looks at you, nervously waiting for a response though trying to put on a face that tells you how serious he is about what he’s just said.

“And I know that you probably don’t feel the same but I need you to know this because I can’t keep going on like this, barely seeing or talking to you and-” he begins to ramble, and all you do is let out a relieved sigh as you lean forward to rest your head on his chest in silence. However, it’s clear this confuses him as he stops talking immediately.

“I love you too, Franco.”

“Wh- really?”

“Yes,” you say, the smile audible in your voice.

“Like, seriously?”

“As serious as a heart attack.” You lean back against the door with a smile of relief, or as much a smile as you can muster up figuring that you feel like you’re about to collapse right there and then.

“I’d kiss you but,” he gestures to his face and hair which is drenched in sweat.

“Oh shut up and come here,” you say quietly, looping your arms around his neck as you pull him close to you. When your lips meet his arms wrap around your waist as he pushes you up against the door of your room, and even though you couldn’t care less, you’re once again glad there’s no one here to see the two of you. No cameras, no fans, no other drivers - just the two of you, and the years of history between you.

When you part, his face is flushed as he offers you a shy smile, his arms still around your waist. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”

“I could say the same for you.”

“So, what now?” he asks.

“You go celebrate your first podium,” you reply excitedly.

“We,” he corrects, finally unlooping his arms to take you by the hand and lead you out of the garage - and whilst your beaming smiles might’ve seemed to many the results of his podium, the two of you knew they were part of something much, much bigger.

taglist: @spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @alelo23 @scill-a @multifan-idk @presleycaudle

#franco colapinto #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto fanfic #franco colapinto fluff #franco colapinto oneshot #williams racing #williams f1 #formula one fanfic #formula one x reader #formula one fluff #formula one #purinfelix #jet writes ★#jet answers ✧

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mattybbernard · 3 days ago

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Casual (Matt Sturniolo)

Pairing: Fwb!Matt x Fem!Reader

Summery: Based on “Casual” by Chappell Roan

Warnings: smut (MDNI), p in v, fingering, oral (f!receiving), squirting, public sex, car sex, swearing and strong language, filthy dirty talk, breeding kink, afab reader, no use of Y/N, use of random names (feel free to change it idrc), maybe more?

A/N: Erm, hey y’all, this is my first fic ever as well as my first time writing smut so please be kind. I’m also terrible at grammar and spelling and I wrote this in one sitting. I also did not proofread this so….have fun?

My friends call me a loser, 'cause I'm still hanging around. I've heard so many rumours, that I'm just a girl that you bang on your couch. I thought you thought of me better, someone you couldn't lose. You said, "We're not together", so now when we kiss, I have anger issues.

Three hours. Matt had texted you three hours ago and of course you replied right away, but he’s yet to read it.

Girls night at Payton’s house was supposed to be fun, a way to kick off summer by relaxing and drinking and gossiping. All of your friends who had gone off the college or university had come back to Boston for the summer, and you had taken the weekend off from your shitty waitressing job to spend time with them; but of course your focus was pulled away from your friends, and by Matt of all people. When your and Matt’s relationship went from a simple platonic friendship to something messier you had immediately told Peyton, to which she said that you’re way to beautiful and intelligent to be in a situationship of all things, especially at your age.

You looked down at your phone,

Read,

Peyton sat down beside you with a drink in her hands. “What’s going on with you?” She asked.

“Nothing.” You huffed and flopped back against the couch like a child.

“Don’t tell me you’re still talking to Matt.” Payton scolded.

“It’s not like I want to! He won’t go away!” Peyton gave you an unimpressed and unconvinced look. “Okay, so maybe I am. So what?”

“Babe, how many times have I told you, he’s a loser who refuses to see the gorgeous girl right in front of him. Drop him.” Peyton sighed.

“It’s not that easy-”

“Not to be bitchy or anything, but the more you cling onto this mess, the more of a loser you become.” Peyton cut you off before standing up to let her words sink in.

You said, "Baby, no attachment", but we're knee deep in the passenger seat, and you're eating me out, is it casual now?

“Jesus! Fuck!” You cried out as the hand that isn’t in Matt’s hair flies back to grasp at the headrest in his car.

“That feel good baby?” Matt mumbles again your exposed heat, before wrapping his lips around your swollen clit again.

A mess of jumbled syllables tumbles from your mouth along with a string of whimpers and moans. Matt’s hands keep a firm grip on the inside of your thighs, pushing them open for him as he sits on his heels on the dirty floor of the passenger’s side, as you stay sitting and spread out for him on the leather seat.

“Ugh, fuck you taste so good.” He groans as he likes a hard flat stripe from your hole to your puffy nub. His tongue instantly enters you at a rapid and aggressive pace. “C’mon baby, I know you’re close.”

“Mhm. Fuck.” You mumble from above him.

“I know baby, I know.” He coos as he switches from tongue fucking you to his fingers, the cold rings on his hands sending goosebumps up your ass and back. “Gonna cum for me?”

All you could do was nod your head, eyes closed and mouth clamped shut in ecstasy.

“Do it, c’mon, fucking cum all over me.” He egg’s you on.

The second he feels you stiffen and your legs begin to shake and tremble, he rips his fingers from your entrance. A stream of clear liquid gushes out of you and onto Matt’s face. The moans you let out at the sight of him opening his mouth to catch your release are borderline pornographic. His right hand comes up to your mound and he quickly brushes his fingers over you, causing the liquid to splatter across his face and the interior of his car.

“Fuck.” He grumbles and slurps up the puddle of liquid that remains on your pussy. “Atta girl.” He chuckles before placing a firm slap to your red and sensitive centre.

“Ah, fuck. Jesus Christ, Matt.” You scolded him as you sit up.

“You wanna come in?” He ignores your glare.

“Aren’t your parents and brothers home?”

“Yeah, so? They know we’re friends.” Matt shrugs as if he didn’t just finger fuck your brains out and then call you his friend.

It's hard being casual when my favorite bralette is in your dresser.

You sat against Matts headboard, his childhood sheets clutched in your hands to cover your naked body. It was early, about seven am, but you couldn’t be here when his family got up, you knew the rules.

You reached down to grab your underwear and sweat pants off Matts floor and began to slip them on as quietly as possible so you didn’t wake him up. You stood up and grabbed your shirt off the floor and bringing it up to cover your bare chest as you searched for your favourite bralette. You couldn’t find it at your apartment and the only other logical place it could be is in Matts room. As you tiptoed around his room to try and find it you landed on his dresser, quickly running over to it you pulled the top drawer out and began digging, and low and behold your baby blue bralette sat crumpled at the bottom of his sock drawer. Throwing the bra on, followed by your t-shirt and shoes, you stumbled out his room and left his house.

He said we were friends. You thought. But he kept my favourite bralette?

I know what you tell your friends. Baby, get me off again.

You’re pathetic. Why on earth would anyone with the littlest shred of self respect spend their day off texting a guy who clearly has no interest in her besides getting in her pants? Apparently you would.

All day you had been sending texts to Matt, and every time he left you on read.

“Haven’t spoken to u in a while.”

“U good?”

“Did you want to go see a movie later? I heard that new Deadpool Vs. Wolverine movie is supposed to be good.”

“Matt?”

“Matthew?”

Not a single reply until now. Desperate to see him you texted him the one thing you knew he couldn’t pass up.

“Miss u. U free tn?”

Not even a second later his reply came in.

“Be here in 10.”

I fucked you in the bathroom when we went to dinner. Your parents at the table, you wonder why I'm bitter.

You looked at yourself in the dirty restaurant bathroom mirror, leaning on your hands that rested on the sink. With a deep sigh you reached into your purse to pull out your lipgloss, but right as you finished reapplying the product the bathroom door swung open. Assuming it was just another girl who needed to pee, you didn’t look at who entered. That is until you saw Matt appear in the mirror behind you.

“What the-” you began but was interrupted by Matt kissing you deeply, his arms wrapping around your waist so he could grip your ass.

“Matt.” You gasped between kisses. “This-” his mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw. “This is the ladies room.” You whimpered as he began to suck at your neck. “You can’t…you can’t be in here. Someone will-”

“It’s a good thing I locked the door then.” He smirked before lifting you of the ground and placing you on the sink.

He kissed you again and slipped a cold hand under your black t-shirt as the other ones tried to go up your red maxi skirt .

“Why’s your skirt so god damn long?” Matt huffed in frustration.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I don’t wanna have my ass hanging out in front of your parents.” You sassed.

Matt rolled his eyes as he continued to try and yank your skirt up.

“You’re not seriously gonna fuck me in gin a public bathroom.”

“God, do you ever stop complaining?” He groaned

“Whatever.” You mumbled and lifted you hips to help him pull your skirt up all the way. Matt unbuckled his belt and slid his pants and boxers down his legs enough for his dick to spring free. He shifted your underwear to the side and slid in.

“Fucked you a hundred times and you’re still so tight.” He hissed out.

“Feels so good Matt.” You moan as your body curled forward until your forehead met his shoulder.

“I know baby.” He cooed as he began to snap his hips into yours faster. “Gotta be quick, don’t want people to get suspicious do we?” He panted into your ear.

You shook your head and whimpered, your release quickly approaching.

“Ugh, fuck. That’s it, holy shit.” Matt babbled to himself, one hand on your shoulder and the other on the sink, his head flung back in pleasure. “Gonna fucking cum in your perfect pussy.”

Your legs wrapped around his hips, locking him in place as you began to tremble.

“That’s it baby, let it all out.” He grumbled as he pushed you over the edge. Matt’s hips began to stutter as his thrusts became uneven and erratic until he stilled, dick buried to the hilt as he filled you up with his release.

You both sat there catching your breath for a minute, Matt’s dick still wedged in your warm walls. Matt suddenly pulled his now soft dick out of you and grabbed some paper towels to wipe both yours and his cum off of himself. He threw the paper towel out and picked up his boxers and pants, he fastened his belt before turning back to you, still perched on the sink with his thick white release beginning to ooze out of you. Matt walked over, fixed your panties, pulled your skirt back down, and planted a kiss on your cheek.

“Thats my girl.” He smiled before leaving the restroom to return to the table where his family awaited both of your returns.

“Casual my ass.” You scoffed.

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo tumblr #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #fwb #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #enjoy #Bernard’s b1tch #fresh love #space camp #Spotify

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catcake24 · 1 day ago

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I think most of these posts mean well, when it comes to commenting

Authors LOVE comments, it makes us feel worthwhile and can renew interest in a project knowing someone else loves it. It’s not that they don’t feel passionate about it, but more that you have more enthusiasm when others are excited too and talk to you about it.

But so many end up accidentally guilt tripping because they forget that we need to write for ourselves first and foremost. It can be hard, not caring about validation, because that’s one of the greatest feelings out there, but it’s true that we shouldn’t let lack of comments bog us down if we truly want to share this fic that maybe no one else will see.

There’s a balancing act here, in trying to make sure you like your own art but also wanting validation and enthusiasm from others when they see that art. I think people should comment more, but also authors shouldn’t be reliant on comments to keep writing.

There's a genre of post that I see pretty frequently, which can overall be summed up as, "Modern fandom has a culture problem where fanfic authors are treated as content producers instead of community members and their fanfic is treated as a commodity to be consumed instead of a high-effort labor of love that deserves attention and compliments given directly to the author". I agree with 3/4ths of that. I find the part I disagree with very interesting, the same way I find a lot of writeblr interesting, because it's a perspective that I had to work very hard to actually understand.

Because the posts have such a warped view of what writing is and why we post our writing! They say that fanfic fights against the commodified internet we live in, but all they're doing is changing the currency of payment in this attention economy. Another way you can summarize about 70% of these posts is, "My payment for writing and posting my fanfiction is compliments, and if you do not give me those compliments you are not paying. If you give those compliments behind my back, or talk about them privately without giving them to me as well, then you are stealing from me." I don't want to put it like that, but a lot of these posts use words like 'deprive', as if the reader who enjoys the fic without commenting is withholding something from them that they deserve. They use the word engagement, and they do talk about how part of that engagement is just the joy of talking about AUs and ships with other people, but when people say that comments are their motivation to keep writing, what they mean is that validation is their motivation to keep writing. Which is compliments.

I understand that, because I understand that fanfic writers are not immune to the attention economy. But I don't understand how almost every one of these posts talk about how this lack of attention makes them stop writing - that this act of theft is killing their desire to write. I could understand this if they meant 'desire to POST fic' (I don't post fic I think zero people would read.), but they talk about how lack of payment stops them from writing at all.

IMHO, that is what creates a commodity from fic. People want to treat fic as art, but an artist makes art for themself. Art is made because we want to hold parts of skills and ourselves in our hands. If you won't make art if you get no payment, then you have devalued the art completely.

We think of AO3 as this unique site that's born entirely from passion and is filled with fics written for love of the game. But guilt-tripping posts that shame people for not commenting on a fic they enjoy, and that describe how there's no point in writing fic if it's not getting attention, are directly contributing towards the culture of treating fic like a commodity.

I also really want a fandom culture where the relationship between artist and reader is reciprocal, where it feels like a community, and where I get to talk about my fanfic with people. My favorite part of posting fanfic is rambling about it on my blog, because I can talk about my art all day and I love it when people stop and listen. But I love that because I love my own art. If you love your own art, then it'll always have value.

Also Google your username, just trust me, that's how you find The Secret Discussions. Someone made a TikTok fansong of me once. WHAT?

#I personally dislike how people discuss fanfic in private rather than leave comments #but maybe that’s a me thing #I feel like it’s disrespectful to the author but others feel differently.

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quibbs126 · 3 days ago

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My brain has now concocted a scenario for a fic

So you remember that one time I said you could give megop a Terran kid? Basically the scenario here is that the whole creation scenario happens (with both Optimus and Megatron conveniently touching the Emberstone shard, I assume to catch it), and now the duo have to go home and try to figure out to do with this new Terran

Problem is, due to whatever fight they were having right before this, and due to EMP blasts or whatever, they conveniently can’t transform or comm their teammates, and also with this protoform here, so they pretty much have to get back to base on their own on foot. And they’re a ways away right now, so it’ll take a while

So the premise is basically the pair on a roadtrip back home while having to deal with this new kid they accidentally made

Unlike other times I say a fic premise, I might actually write this one, since it involves a character my brain has semi made up. I mean if anyone else wants to take it, sure, but I also want to do it. Maybe not right now though, since I don’t have nearly any of the details down

Also I have a short story due by midnight and I don’t even have a premise yet. No I can’t use this, I was pushing it already last week with my other robot (ish) characters

All I really have is that the Terran kid is really big (around the same size or bigger than Optimus and Megatron), and also really strong, not knowing their own strength. Have no clue what to have their alt mode be though, other than presumably something befitting their size

Oh and also the fic would end with the two pretty much adopting the kid as their own, since the trio has basically grown too attached to each other and don’t want to leave (even if the Maltos aren’t that far away)

#I’m just sharing because why not #fanfic writing will start later #later being an undetermined date since it probably shouldn’t be today #but yeah it’s neat to me #transformers #transformers earthspark #megop #fanfic ideas #original characters #random stuff

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 2 days ago

Note

Imagine being kidnapped by Tom Ludlow.

Hi anon. This got out of hand. I’m sorry. CW: mentions of child abuse/dark humor concerning it, rape/noncon fantasies and details. I write from a place of my own trauma, and it gets a little fucked up. If you don’t like dark fics, or are triggered easily, DO NOT READ THIS. Violence, bad cops, SA. Tom Ludlow is not the bad guy in this, though.

If you’re a big girl, a tall girl, a girl with a lot of muscle or fat, you probably haven’t been picked up off the ground since you were very young.

You question your femininity because of it, along with a whole lot of other shit that society decides to push on you for not having a traditional feminine figure…whatever the hell that is.

You often take on a more protective, mothering or masculine roll with your smaller or daintier or gentler friends. You don’t look down on them at all—or envy them too often. Some people just carry a unique tenderness that you wish the world had more of. But every little rainbow or sunbeam needs their strong protective cloud, and you mostly gladly, sometimes reluctantly take on this role.

You will never be a meek, kind, delicate person. It’s just not going to happen. You don’t want it to happen. You’re pretty comfortable with your role in life. It’s just…sometimes…and this is probably something that everyone craves in vulnerable moments…you want to be the one getting protected.

It’s just kind of exhausting, always being there for everyone else. As much as you love it, and you do, it can also really drain you.

The duality of man is that we can be more than one type of person, and want different things. You know this. But…it’s hard as hell to admit you want to be taken care of. Because doesn’t that ruin your tough facade? Your strength and independence? Doesn’t that let everyone know that you’re just putting on an act to cover up who you really are—a weak, sniveling girl?

That’s why you bottle up, keep things to yourself, regard the world cynically and humorously with a lazy shrug of your shoulder. You act like nothing gets to you, like you are a stoic guard at the queen’s gate, like a big mastiff on patrol of your sheep.

When you do wear an emotion, more often than not it’s either sarcasm or…anger. Like tonight, when some guy won’t leave your friend alone at the bar.

She’s visibly uncomfortable and attempting escape from the creep following her around. She’s too nice to tell him to go away, but you’re not, and you have had to put yourself between them way, way too many times.

“She��s not interested,” you tell him.

He sneers at you. “Yeah, yeah I know.”

Except he fucking doesn’t, because ten seconds later he’s smacking her ass when she stands up, and you’re punching him in the mouth.

He hits you back, and it feels like a slap from a two year old, but it startles your fight or flight, and before you know it, your vision is blurry with rage and your fists are flying.

The security guards have to pull you off of one another and haul you outside to where the police are waiting with cuffs.

“He was harassing my friend,” you tell the guy who’s chaperoning you.

“Her ugly ass is just jealous cuz nobody wants her!” Screams scumbag from down the sidewalk.

Wow, you’ve never heard that one before.

One of the cops grabs him by the collar and says something that appears to be stern with his finger pointed at his face.

The guy looks visibly shaken after that, and he specifically avoids looking in your direction again.

The ballsy officer, probably in some sort of supervising position by the looks of it, gets to you next, and you have to crane your neck up to look at him.

You expect anger, but his face is neutral as he pulls a pen and paper from his utility belt. “Hello, ma’am, my name is officer Ludlow with the LAPD. You mind telling me what went on here tonight?”

You tick through the list of events as best you can, trying not to paint yourself as innocent (because with the way you beat on him, you’re definitely not), but making sure he knows what a fucking reprobate you were up against, and he scribbles it all down diligently.

After you’re done, he flicks his chin at the officer standing next to you. “Reed, let her go.”

They uncuff you, and you roll your arms, testing the circulation and rubbing out the raw red marks on your wrists. “Thanks,” you tell the lead officer. “You mind if I go back in and get my friends? There’s only three of us and I’m worried about them…”

“I can’t let you go back in,” officer Ludlow says, “but give us their names and descriptions, and I’ll send Reed in for them, alright?”

You nod, comply, and a few tense moments later Abby is running out to wrap her arms around your shoulders, smearing her glittery tears and pink blush on your jacket.

You hug her back, picking her up a little bit off the ground with the ferocity of your relief, and look at officer Ludlow over her head. “Thanks,” you tell him.

Tye, arriving from the thicket of people at the entrance a few moments later, immediately wants to know what happened.

She, however, is interrupted, by the asshole down the sidewalk, still in cuffs. “Hope you think of me when you see that handprint on your cute little ass tomorrow!” He calls, and Abby turns away, choking on a sob.

You’ve always had anger issues. Usually, in adulthood, they’re pretty easy to tame down. Not in this circumstance, not when you see Abby shaking and crying, looking as defenseless as a baby mouse.

Unbeknownst to you, because your sight and sound have been marginally narrowed to one person who needs his face bludgeoned in so hard that he finally shuts the fuck up, the head officer has already signaled for them to haul this guy into the back of a police car.

You’re not sure how you cross the distance between you and him so fast—you’re built for endurance, not speed—but suddenly your fists are connecting with his flesh again, and there’s a lot of yelling and pulling and finally your feet leave the ground and your knuckles leave his face.

It takes you a minute to realize you are being carried away—that your feet are not on land—and you look up at the person whose arms are currently wrapped around you.

Like mentioned before, it’s been a long, long time since someone has picked you up and you’ve lost your center of gravity so quickly and so thoroughly. Like a startled animal, you fight to try and get back to the ground, more out of shock and adrenalized fear than anything.

You don’t mean to scratch or bite the nice officer, you really don’t.

Ludlow just sighs at your resistance, like he could be doing something much more important right now rather than manhandling you into the back of a squad car like you’re an ornery kitten rather than a formidable opponent.

You are silenced into shock the whole way to the police station.

They put you in the waiting room sans cuffs, and you’re not sure how much time passes until a heavy presence plops down on the plastic chair next to you.

“Fuck,” is the first thing you say to Ludlow. “My friends…”

“They’re safe. I’m giving them an escort back home.”

He gives you some room temp water, and after the fear wears off, grants you enough time to come back to your good senses. You look at him sheepishly, with your head tucked down. “Sorry, he was a fucking creep.”

Ludlow nods. “I get it, hopefully I can get you out of it with a slap on the wrist.” He hands you some tissues from his breast pocket. “Wipe that blood off your face.”

You didn’t realize you were bleeding, so it’s a shock to finally feel the ache of a bloody lip and bruised cheek and see the paper come back crimson streaked.

After a few long moments of silence, you say, “I feel like an asshole.”

He shrugs, leans back, grins over at you. You fight the urge to flush at his crooked smile. He’s a handsome man. Sometimes you like those. “Asshole, no. Dumb, maybe. He could have really fucked you up.”

“I handled myself just fine.”

“Your split lip will disagree tomorrow morning. Lemme see.” He holds out his hand, as if for you to rest your chin in, and you’re not sure what brain malfunction gets you to comply. You are not a good listener by any means, especially for men in positions of authority or power.

Maybe it’s sexist, maybe it’s unfair. Spend your whole childhood getting the shit taken out of you by a man that’s supposed to love and care for and protect you, and then decide what’s fair and what’s not.

He whistles low, turning you this way and that with a tenderness you don’t expect from calloused, bear paw hands with knuckles like golf balls. “I’ll give it to you, you’ve got balls. Bigger than most men I’ve met.”

Your mouth betrays your tough girl facade, and lets a tiny smile hike up the edge despite the stinging pain that follows.

Officer Ludlow gets you out with a slap on the wrist—aka a misdemeanor—just like he said he was going to. You tell him thank you about ten million times for saving your ass, and for offering to give you a ride back to the bar to get your car.

“I’ve already put you out too much tonight,” you tell him. “I’ll get a Taxi or something.”

“It’s a Saturday night,” he says, jangling the keys in his beater pocket. “By the time you get to the bar, you’re gonna be towed. C’mon.”

You open the back door of his charger, but he shakes his head and, instead, opens up his passenger seat for you to slide in.

It’s about now you’re starting to get a funny feeling in the pit of your stomach, like something is off about this interaction. You’re not one to trust easily, and getting in the car with a complete stranger, although one in uniform, is out of character to say the least.

Your radar has really been fucked up tonight. By the alcohol, the scumbag, the being arrested, the bruising and tearing of your knuckles. What a way to end it, you think, if Ludlow is a bad guy.

The funny feeling in your guts that you decide to ignore this one time? It turns out to be right. And as Tom Ludlow starts driving up through the deserted hills, in the opposite direction of the bar your car is at, you almost want to burst out laughing at how stupid you are.

Asshole, no. Dumb? Fucking definitely.

You test his door handle and he snorts at you; like he’s saying, you think I’m that stupid?

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” you grumble, sizing him up from the corner of your eye, deciding whether to fight or flight or just give up now. He’s thin, but he’s broad. Tall. Not lanky. He won’t be easy to push over. You’ll have to bite, claw eyes out, rip his hair from his head. Make sure he doesn’t pull that shiny pistol out of his belt before you can jump on him.

You could do it right here in the car and risk barreling over the steep hillside on your right. You could—

“Hey,” he says, calmly, capturing you too easily from your violent thoughts, “it’s alright, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

A part of you wants to believe him, or maybe just believe there’s still some good in the world—some good in men. Hell, maybe leprechauns exist, too. You never know.

He looks sideways at you when you giggle in response to these reassuring words, as if you’re the one who’s fucking psycho. “I’ve heard that one before.”

He makes a pensive sound, air puffing from his nostrils, switches gears as the incline increases. “Daddy beat you up?”

Well, fuck it, might as well share all your sob stories if this is really happening tonight. “Uncle, actually.”

“Sorry,” he says, and you hazard a glance over to see if his face matches his empathetic tone—it, surprisingly, does. “He still alive?”

“No.”

You must be violently shaking to compensate for the repression of a panic attack, because his still, steady hand on your shoulder pauses the tremors. “It’s okay,” he assures, like he’s trying to soothe a crying kid. You have to admit, his voice is a cool ointment for hot nerves, even if he’s the reason for them in the first place.

The brain has a funny way of dealing with things like this. There’s about a 30% chance his intentions are raping you, because with his looks he could get any lady in the city of lights for free, but rapists and molesters rarely think about physical attractiveness when it actually comes down to the act. Psychologists say it’s more about the power trip for them. And, at least, if he is going to fuck you, he’s not exactly the worst man that you could pick to do it.

At least he’s hot, is what it boils down to. Because you’re a disgusting degenerate. Because your coping skills are a ticking time bomb, a broken record, stuck back at the part of your life where you had to start liking the way uncle Eddy touched you to deal with the shame and the despair of it.

Officer Ludlow’s gonna pick you right up off the ground again, slam you into his backseat, tug your pants and underwear down in one go. He’ll make you beg him to fuck your pussy instead of your unprepared and untainted ass, use his spit as lube, rub his meaty fingers over your puffy lips and taunt you when his saliva encounters your slippery cum. He’ll smack your ass for liking this, leave big red handprints, whisper in your ear that you’re gonna remember him, not just tomorrow, but for weeks after he gets done working your cunt. That he should kill you and leave your body out for the flies, but he wants you to live just so you can feel the way he destroyed your pussy.

The charger slows to a halt out in the sticks, and you have no idea where the fuck you are or how long you’ve been driving. The night is thick black soup in a boiling pot, and his headlights cut through it meagerly. It’s enough light to see what’s happening ahead, though, and when you look over at him curiously, he is grinning at you.

The man from the bar who assaulted your friend is in cuffs, an officer on each arm holding him in place. You don’t feel bad at all when you notice his swollen lip and purple temple, but you do wish you would have gotten more hits in.

Lucky for you, Officer Ludlow has you covered.

“Do you want to hit him?” He asks, unclipping his seat belt. “Or do you wanna watch?”

You blink a few times in response, not sure what to say to this brutally kind gesture. This man who barely knows you is helping you exact revenge against his own brethren. You’ve never been so…flattered.

“Don’t tell me you’re attempting to grow a conscience?” He teases.

“I wanna hit him.”

To your disappointment, Ludlow is not a total savage. He lets you get 3 or 4—it’s hard to remember the exact number—good hits on this dirtbag, and even wraps your knuckles up in a cushiony flannel from his back seat beforehand. His only rule is, “stay away from his ugly ass face. I don’t need him coming back to the station more fucked up than it already is.”

You get him in the stomach, the ribs, kick him so hard in his dick that you feel the hard pelvic bone underneath. Maybe it’s only a couple hits, but you make them count. And when you start to ache, or get tired, all you have to do is remember the tears smearing Abbie’s pretty glitter eyeliner down her face.

If he does say anything to you, you don’t hear it. Or maybe he really doesn’t, because Ludlow stands behind you like a watchful wolfhound the entire time, and then escorts you back to his car with a heavy arm over your shaking shoulders.

“Good job,” he praises, seeming very amused and unaffected by this whole ordeal while you are trembling, soaked with sweat, panting like a hooker in a fur coat. “It’s alright, he had it coming. Hey, hey, hey, look at me.”

You do as he says, momentarily escaping your fury in favor of his calming voice and soft black eyes.

“You did amazing. Lemme see the knuckles.”

He takes your hand in his, and you notice the size difference first, and then the warm, damp, pleasant heat second.

There’s been a lot of firsts tonight: someone’s hands being larger than your own (big lady hands should’ve been your nickname in highschool), being picked up off the ground past the age of 7, a man going out of his way to do something nice for you—because your brain decides that’s how it’s going to frame this scenario whether you like it or not, as some fucked up little date on Tom Ludlow’s dime.

You feel safe with your hand tucked into his and the heat of his skin and the cozy intimacy of being belted into his vehicle. You feel grateful that good men still exist. You feel…tight, twisted up in some deprived box of longing you’ve made permanent home in.

You leave the sanctuary of your comfort zone, and have another first, as you cross his center console and kiss a man on his mouth.

For a moment where you feel like your heart is suspended on the edge of a very tall cliff, he freezes. This stiff resistance immediately makes you want to pull away, but, before you can, he wraps his hand around your chin and pulls you deep into his mouth.

Arthur from college, Monica from New Orleans…Hell, even Uncle Eddie—they have nothing on Officer Tom Ludlow with his big, slick tongue and muscular lips.

It’s so good you can almost ignore the fresh sting of your split lip.

He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, and murmurs a laugh when you give him a low groan for the effort, then takes your angry little grumble and dampens it with his renewed fervor. His hands remain gentle and chaste on your face, your neck, your shoulders, even though there is nothing gentlemanly about the way he devours your mouth. He does not push for more, does not hold you down with those big hands that absolutely could if they wanted to.

You set the pace, you pull him closer, you push him back when you need to gasp for air.

He licks the taste of you from his tilted, beautiful lips. “You have to breathe through your nose, honey.”

“Sorry,” you say, crossing your arms over yourself, pressing back against the door, away from him.

His lazy smile droops. “Are you alright?”

”I just…Can you take me to my car? If not I can—“

The thick start of his engine cuts you off.

The car ride back is silent. You think about turning on the radio a few times, but don’t want to cross more boundaries than you already have. Luckily, he flips it on for the both of you and you’ve never, ever been so happy to hear Metallica.

When he parks, cutting the engine off in the nearly deserted garage, the tension between you immediately peaks, sizzling like vinegar on baking soda. He wraps a long limb over the back of your seat, looks confused—vulnerable for such a big, scary man, and he makes your heart twang a lonely cord.

He seems almost boyish, when he asks if he can take you out sometime.

And you want to say yes. Every feral primordial part of you does, anyway. But then there’s the rational part, the one that should and does win most of the time. You’ve already snubbed that part too much tonight, so you politely decline Ludlow’s offer, and with your traitorous heart padlocked and chained back into your breast cavity, you say goodbye to the nice officer.

#tom ludlow x you #tom ludlow x reader #keanuverse #IV Drabbles

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y3sterdaysproblem · 2 days ago

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Instead of ending the fic, you could have them sneak around not wanting to tell Matt and Chris yet, pretending like the wedding was normal and nothing happened, until they eventually get caught. Pretending to still not like each other when the brothers are around but she sneaks into his room at night!

would you guys like this? i’d have to completely rewrite chapter 7 so it’d take longer but I don’t mind. also I feel like adding more chapters at this point kinda feels like dragging it out but lmk how u guys feel

#ave chats ̤̮#ave’s anons ⊹₊⟡⋆#smoke and mirrors #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut

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raveninfog · 1 day ago

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Secrecy.

Authors note- hi everyone! I’m pretty new to all this and this is my first shot at writing. I’ve always been a spectator, just waiting on amazing authors to update their fics to reading one shots in the middle of the night cause I can’t sleep. I’ve always had ideas in my head about how I’d write and I decided to finally give it a try. Hopefully you’d all enjoy it. Also with that being said, please don’t be afraid to give me some advice on how I can get better as time goes on. 🫶🏼

Enjoy my loves!

Warnings- flirting, light swearing, nicknames, based in the late 40s. Kissing. Sneaking around, Best friend’s older brother. Sergeant James Barnes. Reader is 20 while Bucky is 24.

Genre- Oneshot! Fluff! Best Friends Brother.

You were sitting there at the dining table with your best friend Rebecca. Working on a school project you had to finish with her for your history class. Books laid out in front of you, papers, pencils. The sound of the front door opening was heard since the dining room was right by the front door of the small home. It was him, Rebecca’s older brother bucky. He was home from the base quite early today.

You’ve had a crush on him for a while, how couldn’t you? He was a sergeant, in the military, about to go fight in the war in a couple months. That crush reciprocated from Bucky, it had seemed like he felt the same way about you too. Which later came out to be very true. So you two had a little secret, a little secret relationship..no one knew about.

Not even Rebecca.

As you saw Rebecca get up and go to the kitchen to grab some snacks, Bucky came up behind you. He knew this was the perfect time too. The kitchen wall blocked off the area of the living room you were in. Your head turning to the side to where he was as you heard him, before he leaned in and kissed your lips passionately. His lips met in a fiery clash, soft yet insistent, moving with a rhythm that spoke of longing and urgency with yours. The warmth of his touch was intoxicating, every brush sending shivers down your spine. It was the way your lips fit perfectly within his, moving in sync, that made everything else fade into the background—a perfect balance of softness and intensity, leaving you two breathless and wanting more.

His lips were pliant and eager, parting slightly to deepen the connection, to draw the you closer. There was a slight pressure, firm and deliberate, as if to imprint the moment into a memory. The sensation was both tender and consuming, each movement speaking of unspoken words, of desire that couldn't be contained.

You were caught off guard of course, especially when you had turned your head and there was your boyfriend. You felt his lips on yours, before closing your eyes and kissing him back. The way he had bent down and had his hand on the back of your head, tilted upwards to get a good angle of your perfect lips on his . The warmth of your own breath and his mingled, and the world around you two faded away, leaving only the steady rhythm of your hearts and lips together.

“Is this how you say hello?...” you whispered to him in between kisses, when you pulled away just slightly for him to capture your lips again in a split second for a moment.

You could feel him pull away, to see if Rebecca was still in the kitchen. Hell, he could hear Rebecca going through the cabinets to find snacks or something.

To his luck, she was still in the kitchen. You had felt his lips right back on yours once again without even saying a single thing to you until he had finally pulled away to speak. He rested his forehead against yours, his thumb moving onto your cheek bone and caressing it gently before his thumb slid down to your bottom lip doing the same.

His lips curled into a soft smirk, his perfect little doll he absolutely adored with all his god damn being. It was almost surprisingly how Rebecca didn’t notice her big brother look at her own best friend with love in his eyes for you.

“What else do you want? A little love tap?” He teased you as he ran his thumb against your chin now.

You finally felt him pull his hands away from you, standing up straight as he fixed his uniform and took a shuffle back just in time as Rebecca had made her way back with some tea she had made. God, Rebecca was so oblivious to the point where it felt too easy. Too easy to the point it felt god damn suspicious.

“Let’s get this project over with so we can go to bed, unless you want Bucky to drive you home Y/N.” Becca said, setting the mug of tea in front you before taking a seat in the chair. Her face having a clear look of annoyance at the papers in front of her.

Bucky turned his head, looking at his little sister because he took a glance at you and cleared his throat a little.

“Why not tell dad to drop her off?” He spoke up. It felt like torture to say that, but he knew he had to play the game of keeping the relationship a secret.

Rebecca rolled her eyes and looked at her older brother before snickering at him.

“Well hello to you too, Why wouldn’t you wanna drop your girlfriend off?”

“WHAT?!” You and Bucky say in sync, shock spreading on his face while your cheeks turned completely red.

“What do you mean wha- oh come on, did you guys REALLY think I was that stupid..you guys aren’t exactly the best at hiding things. Especially since you two are always making out somewhere in the damn house.”

Buckys cheeks turned red as he rubbed the back of his neck, he honestly didn’t know what the hell to say to his little sisters revelation about her knowing everything. Clearly you were embarrassed, not to mention shocked about your best friend knowing. God you knew you and Bucky weren’t ever gonna hear the end of this. Not in a bad way really, more in an annoying way where she’d bring it up at every occasion she sees.

“Uh well…I-If that’s the case then yeah..I’ll drop Y/N off…unless she’s sleeping over.” Bucky said, before clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Ugh pervert..” Becca muttered in disgusted.

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arislary · 3 days ago

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TAKE - Han Jisung x (f) Reader Short Drabble

Pairing: Han Jisung x (f)reader (but also gn reader)

Genre: Fluff (very lightly suggestive)

Warnings: just overall fluff and cuteness with Jisung and reader.

WC: 455

AN: I have been craving kisses and what better way to ease said crave than to write about Jisung. Also this is my first time posting a fic so please be nice to me 🥹. Unedited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jisung likes to take. Whether it’s bites of his friends’ food or even their clothes. He doesn’t know why, but he’s not selfish! At least that’s what he tells himself, he just likes the attention and normally taking things came with attention.

But his favorite thing to take is you. Take whatever you were willing to give him. Specifically, he likes taking your kisses.

“Can I have a kiss, baby,” Jisung whines as he leans down into your space, lips pursed. You turn your head up and quickly press your lips to his, a fond smile spreading across your face as you both separated. His cheeks flushed lightly as he beamed at you.

It’s not always that sweet, sometimes it’s more.

“Kiss me,” is murmured lowly in the dark room as Jisung scoots closer to you in the bed. Noses brushing each other softly before the light presses of lips that lazily glide against another. Not seeking to stop or to press for more, but to just touch each other.

And there were times when it would be… more.

“Give me a kiss,” Jisung’s hand tightened in your hair, where he gripped the strands, maneuvering your head to where he wanted. Not allowing you a chance to breathe, his tongue licking in your mouth, teeth scraping against your lips. You whine, your hands groping, desperate to touch any part of him as your tongue met his in a dance. Messy only for each other.

Jisung loved all your kisses. Any kiss he could get from you was worth it to him.

“If I eat this entire pot of ramyeon, you’ll have to kiss me!”

“Jisung, I’d kiss you now!” You slapped a hand over your mouth, giggles come spewing out as Jisung rubbed his hands up and down your thighs as you sat on the counter while he cooked.

“Yea, but tell me it doesn’t feel nice after spicy food.”

“You don’t even like spicy food!”

“But you do!” He squeezes your thighs, his face digging into your neck, “And I wanna taste good for you.”

You tighten your legs around his waist, arms wrapping around his neck, gazing fondly at him. Your fingers scratching lightly at the back of his neck.

“Okay, Ji, I’ll give you a kiss if you can do it. But if you lose, that means you have to give me a kiss then.”

Jisung grinned and bumped his nose against yours.

“Deal!”

Because you also loved to take, especially Jisung. He was your favorite thing that you’ve ever taken.

And he did finish the whole pot, determined to prove to you that he could, especially after the messy kiss he gets from you as you lick his lips clean. You had to admit he was right, he tasted sooo good.

#han jisung #han jisung x reader #jisung x reader #stray kids #han jisung fanfic #stray kids fanfic #skz stay

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freeuselandonorris · 3 days ago

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hi! i've been thinking about this for some time; when did you realise that lando and oscar had potential as a pairing? like is there a specific video/moment that got you thinking 'ooh that's a very interesting dynamic/there's something more behind this stare/gesture etc etc' and that eventually led you to write rpf of them (for which i'm very grateful 🙏🏻). i think mine has to be the finish the lyrics video with oscar looking at lando while licking/biting his lips (at 3:56) and i was kinda flabbergasted bc even though i had been following the sport and the extra content for a while and also knew that ppl shipped charles and max and such i wasn't really aware of the possibilities this sport presented. and this video kinda led me down a rabbit hole of searching for fics on ao3 etc... so yeah i was curious to know what was your starting point with landoscar!

also, somewhat related but what's the video/picture of them that feels the most intimate to you? in a 'i shouldn't be seeing this' way. the behind the scenes video of the opening credits for the 2024 season and stuff (at 2:18 ) is the first thing that comes to mind, with their little convo that feels so normal and laid-back and yeah, intimate. + the thing lando does with his fingers while looking oscar dead in the eye got me blushing. maybe it's because of the hushed tone, the fond looks and the smiles they exchange, the small talk etc but hhh idk i love this vid so much. also the fact that oscar is the only one who goes to see his teammate getting ready? anyways. i could also list the countless pictures of oscar looking at lando like he hung all of the stars in the sky but i won't bc this ask is already long enough!

hope you have a lovely day/afternoon/evening depending on the time it is when you're reading this!

helloooo!! ahh this is such a cute q and a nice excuse to go back through my mctwinks tag thank you 🥰

so i’ve been watching F1 and reading fic for it for 47292 years now and i read a bit of dando when they were teammates (and an even smaller bit of carlando but i am very meh about carlos) so i was like. aware of lando as an rpf concept but didn’t really get super into him?

thennn i read a few oscarmark fics around the time he joined mclaren, and a few months after that i also saw the two extremely camp lando moments that are red flag green flag and whatever the hell was going on with that baseball guy. at which point i caught brain rot and demanded that @scenetocause do a roundup of landoscar fics for me.

(this moment literally had me googling 'is lando norris bisexual')

i do think though that the moment that made me really get obsessed with them and want to write as much as possible for them (and definitely the catalyst for starting mondayverse!) was also finish the lyrics! the ‘love story’ bit in particular really had me like. going full galaxy brain about them. it just really sums up their dynamic to me, lando being a bit of a show-off because he's revelling in oscar's attention and oscar happy to give it to him and also kind of shyly being nudged into performing a bit too. wauuuh.

and YESSSS the little smoothie moment!!! god. that was also my first thought for most intimate moment between them both, the way they match each other’s vocal cadences and the whole conversation has that sweet air of a series of in-jokes (“this is what we LIVE for!”) just makes me feel sooo warm and fuzzy about them. it's intimate in the sweetest, softest, most mundane sense of the word. also lando fingerbangs a table and that should not be overlooked.

runner up moment goes to this tiny moment from lando that i love so much, in the season wrap-up video last year where he makes this sweet little heart gesture and his face lights up when oscar compliments him. makes me melt every time.

thanks anon this was v enjoyable to think about even though my answers don’t differ from yours very much! hope you’re having a lovely day too 💕

#mctwinks #ln4 #op81 #fic meta #answered

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straightforpotter · 5 hours ago

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So I’ve started writing a fic where it’s going to follow James and regulus falling in love but only there nights in the astronomy tower, I don’t know if I’m going to upload it to ao3 yet so I thought I’d test it out here first, also I haven’t edited it or anything to if there’s spelling mistakes or grammar mistakes or anything no there isn’t, here’s the first chapter

Regulus sat on the ledge in the astronomy tower with his feet dangling over the edge, he was content here, he always felt content when looking at the stars.

He found Sirius first, he always found Sirius first, he knew the sky like the back of his hand and he knew exactly where to find Sirius. He took a deep breath in, held it and released it, his brother always brought up a range of different emotions staring at sadness all the way to a full rage and he didn’t have the energy to deal with that tonight.

He was just about to take another breath when he heard to door open, he held his breath begging it to be someone at least slightly tolerable but he didn’t have such luck because none other than James potter walked through the door.

“Oh sorry I didn’t realise anyone was up here” James smiled sheepishly

“Clearly” Regulus scowled

James walked further in and sat down beside Regulus

“What are you doing?” Regulus snapped

“I’m sitting,” James replied with a grin that could brighten the whole world

Looking at James felt the same as looking directly at the sun, it was beautiful and you wanted to look but look for to long and you damage your eyes, Regulus wasn’t about to let himself be any more damaged than he already was.

“Why?” Asked Regulus

“Well I came up here to look at the stars and the best way to look at them is to sit here” James’ smile never faulted, it stuck like a piece of gum at the bottom of your shoe but that was James potter wasn’t it, a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe, you can never seem to get rid of him.

“Ok well be quiet” Regulus sighed in defeat

“That I can do” James replied

They sat in silence for about fifteen minutes before James started tapping his foot against the wall below them

“Potter” Regulus snapped

“I thought you wanted silence” James smirked

“It’s a bit hard to have silence when your foot won’t stop banging on the wall” Regulus snarled

“Oh right, sorry: James replied sheepishly

They sat in silence for another twenty minutes before James started tapping his hand on the metal railing in front of them

“Potter I swear to Salazar” Regulus fumed

“What am I doing now” James whined

“The tapping, stop it” Regulus spat

James stopped and they sat in silence for the next ten minutes before James started humming

“Potter!” Regulus yelled

“Are you obsessed with me or something” James laughed

Regulus groaned and put his head in his hands

“You really are insufferable, do you know that?” Regulus groaned

James merely smiled that dazzling smile of his and jumped up onto the ledge

“What are you doing” Regulus asked

“Come up here with me” James responded

“No thanks I don’t have a death wish” Regulus drawled

James jumped back down and did a little spin, it took every inch of Regulus self control not to laugh, he was not about to give James potter the satisfaction of making him laugh.

“Dance with me Regulus” James whispered

“Are you insane, what single part of this interaction has made you think I’d dance with you” Regulus uttered.

James then continued to dance around the astronomy tower, he was flailing all his limbs around without a care in the world, he looked a bit like a spider with all his limbs moving so fast it looked like there were double.

Before Regulus could help it a giggle bubbled up out of him, he slapped his hand over his mouth to hide it but the damage was done, James had heard it and he stood staring at Regulus with an awestruck expression on his face.

“Do it again,” James begged

“Not if my life depended on it” Regulus bit back before standing and storming out of the astronomy tower and back to bed.

#harry potter #marauders #marauders era #regulus black #james potter #jegulus #jegulus fanfiction #fanfic

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yelenasdiary · 8 hours ago

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Hello…I didn’t expect to make this request, but I didn’t know who else to turn to, and you’re the most active writer I’ve followed for so long that is still around. (And I’m happy for that, sincerely)

Well, before I request something, let me explain why. I…I’m saying goodbye. (Not that way, don’t worry) I’m saying goodbye…to the fandom…specifically, to reading Natasha x reader fics. I tried for a while to hope for fics where Reader was more of the knight in shining armor, masc presenting woman, or the top in the relationship, but…well, that didn’t happen much. And I’m not bashing on anyone for writing reader as more of the opposite. Not at all, everyone is entitled to write how they want to write….but I can’t just keep coming here and continue to see it be the same troupe. And no matter how much I request for one (and when requests are asked and open) it never happens, and instead it’s something else I didn’t request. So…I think it’s best for me to bid farewell. I cant force writers to write what I want, that’s not how it works. It’s a dick move

Here’s what I want to ask…for my final Natasha x reader fic request:

Reader is a soldier for the United States Air Force. Natasha has been busy as an Avenger. Reader, on leave, tried to spend time with Natasha but was always met with rain checks. On top of that, Natasha has always treated reader as the frail, need to protect, girlfriend, and reader always made it clear she wasn’t much for the pillow process type.

Anyways, reader decides to re-enlist for another deployment and begin a new life, maybe somewhere in Germany I don’t know. But, as she’s packing to leave is when Natasha FINALLY decides to give her the time of day….but it’s too late.

Reader sits Natasha down and says along the lines this, “I’m not the person you want…and we’ve just become different people and are pursuing different things….” She’d go on about how as much as she loves Natasha, she can’t be the partner she expects of her. She’s tired of being made out to be this woman that’s made to be the trophy wife or something like that. That she should find someone who can connect and click with her. Be her true soulmate.

Natasha is heartbroken and wants to fix things. Not expecting this at all. Pleading for a second chance but reader stands her ground. No tears shed, but she’s not cold to her either. Reader leaves, Natasha follows her all the way to the airport, tries one last time but reader doesn’t give in….she bids the redhead farewell…and thanks her for the memories that were amazing. She wishes nothing but happiness for her and a happy life.

…that’s it. Write it, toss it away, it’s fine. I’m just going to leave this here, do with it what you want.

Thanks for the fics you made, specifically the ones where you portrayed reader as the knight in shining armor.

Signing off.

A Final Goodbye

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Masc! Reader

Summary: You take a step back and do what is best for you, and Natasha.

Angst, Comfort

Warnings: None, if I missed any, please let me know | 1.1K

AC: Thank you for sending this in, I am sorry to hear that you’re leave and I do hope that you’re still around to read this. I do apologise for it taking me a while to get it out, I also just want to say that I do not consider myself a masc lesbian so I do apologise in advance if anything in this is not giving that representation. Rest assured, this is Reader being the lead in this. I hope you enjoy x

You took a deep breath as you zipped up the last duffel bag, feeling the weight of your decision settle across your shoulders. Your small apartment almost empty, leaving most of your belongings in storage. Carefully, you placed the duffle bag with the others before taking a moment to gather your thoughts.

It had been playing on your mind for a while now, keeping you up at night while you tossed and turned endlessly, wishing things were different but too much had changed over time. You tried to spend time with her, but you only met with rain checks or last-minute cancellations. You missed her but you couldn’t stop thinking about the drift between you two.

Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, the woman you fell for. At first, things were great, you both were on the same page and were very much in the ‘honeymoon’ phase almost every day but like all couples, there were things that you would argue about and there were plenty of things that made you both frustrated. One thing you couldn’t understand was why Nat would consistently treat you like a frail and need to be protected girlfriend. As much as you loved that she cared for you, you hated being treated like a pillow princess. It wasn’t you.

You didn’t need saving; you didn’t need protecting. You needed somebody who understood you and loved you for you. You always made it clear to Natasha that the pillow princess type wasn’t you at all, you always reminded her that you didn’t need her to protect you from every little thing, after all, you were a soldier. But something about being firm with her just didn’t stick. So, you made the decision to re-enlist for another deployment, making sure that the next time you returned, things would be different. Not just for you but for Natasha as well.

Natasha knocked softly on the door; it was time. You took a deep breath and reached for the door handle, meeting her soft green eyes for the first time in weeks. Her famous red locks still damp from the rain outside, her expression a mix of relief and uncertainty.

“Hey,” she said softly, her eyes locking with yours.

You couldn’t help the soft smile that pulled on your lips, “Hey, I’m glad you could come” you replied, opening the door wider for her.

“I’m so glad you’re still here. I… I thought you might be gone already.” She said softly, her eyes darting to the small pile of duffle bags.

“I leave tomorrow” you replied, watching as Nat turned around to face you once more. “Can we talk, please?” She asked, her gaze locked onto you. “I want to give you time to talk but I really need you to listen to me first” you said as you gestured that the two of you take a seat. Natasha let out a soft sigh, deep down she knew she wasn’t leaving your apartment the same woman she came as.

The two of you took a seat at the dining table, the cold surface somehow bringing a little comfort to you in this moment as you gently reached for Natasha’s hand. You looked into her eyes for a moment, taking in the beauty she held.

“I love you so much, I always will but I need to honest with you, with us. This isn’t so much about the fact our schedules suck and the rain check are rain check. This is about us and how I’m not the person you want” you paused for a moment, taking a deep breath in before continuing. “We’ve become different people. We’re pursuing different things and different dreams. I can’t be the partner you expect of me. I’m tired of you only seeing me as this fragile person who needs to protect. I’m a soldier, I’m in the air force. I can hold my own and I want to be respected for that” you added.

“Detka, I do respect you. You’re everything to me, I don’t mean to make you feel like that….I just, I care about you so, so much but I can’t deal with the thought if something were to happen to you” Natasha pleaded, tears pooling in her eyes.

You smiled softly, trying to keep your own tears from building up, “I know you respect me Nat, but, when you’re around others, you’re not the same. We go from being one to two different people and somehow, you think I’m the one who needs to protected and treated differently….” You paused for a moment, your thumb stroking her soft skin. “We both know that love is such a big, beautiful and powerful thing. It means a lot of things and one of those things is knowing when to let go. You deserve somebody who can give you everything you want, but we know deep down it’s not me” you added.

A silence fell between you both, Natasha’s face falling, her defenses crumbling as you continued. “I want you to find happiness, even if that means without me. You deserve it.”

“But… what if we can work it out? I can be better, I promise” Natasha said, pleading, her voice breaking as her tears began to fall freely down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry Nat, but it’s too late. I need a fresh start, and I think you need one too”

Natasha’s expression shifted from desperation to heartbreak as she nodded at your words. Wiping her tears on the sleeve of her shirt, she stood up. “I don’t want to hold you back” she said softly, barely able to look into your eyes. You stood up from your seat, swallowing the lump in your throat as she reached out to hug you one last time.

“Please be safe” she whispered, “and write to me whenever you’re ready” she added, hugging you tightly. You hugged her back, allowing yourself to feel the love she has for you one last time, hugging her just as tightly back. “I promise” you replied in the same soft whisper.

As you two parted, you smiled softly at her, hoping it would somehow ease her broken heart a little. “I know this wasn’t what you expected but I want you to know that all the memories we share and the time we had, it was beautiful, and I will forever cherish them. I want nothing but love and happiness for you, don’t hold yourself back from find another love. Be happy Nat, you deserve that” you said.

To your surprise the redhead returned a soft smile, “I will always love you” she spoke ever so gently.

“And I will always love you” you replied.

Natasha turned, and headed for the door. You watched her leave, closing the door gently behind her, taking with her a piece of your heart. You took a moment for yourself, part of you broken from the words shared but the other half excited knowing a new chapter awaited. The memories of Natasha would always be with you, reminding you that love can be found again.

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#yelenasdiary asks #anon #fanfiction #marvel #Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanoff x Reader #Natasha Romanoff x you #Black Widow x reader #Black widow x you

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