#i think you posted this weeks ago but I forgot to read it until now

[exopelagic]

WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME BURROWS END WASNT FREE

[cressidagrey]

She Wasn’t a Secret

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary:  When Oscar casually mentions his wife during a fan Q&A, Lando Norris combusts on stage, the internet loses its mind, Nicole Piastri wonders why her son can’t tell people basic facts about his life—like the fact he’s been married for five years and Mark Webber is quietly regretting his life choices. 

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

It started with a ping.

Nicole Piastri was elbow-deep in a tray of Lamingtons when her phone buzzed across the counter. Then again. Then again. Then seven more times.

She wiped her hands, checked the screen, and frowned.

17 notifications. 5 mentions. 2 DMs. One group chat blowing up.

And all of them pointed to the same thing: A tagged video. Captioned: “Lando Norris finding out Oscar Piastri has been married for five years. In real-time. On stage. Live. Absolute scenes.”

Nicole clicked the video, already sighing.

It was exactly what she expected—and somehow so much worse.

Oscar, calm and collected, casually admitting he was married. Lando Norris having an actual breakdown beside him. The interviewer making it her life’s mission to extract every crumb of intel. And Oscar? Completely unbothered. Like he was discussing a weather forecast.

Nicole watched Lando choke, scream, stand up, flail, and nearly combust.

And Oscar? “I thought you knew.” Nicole actually laughed out loud. It was either that or cry.

From the kitchen doorway, Edie poked his head in. “Why do I hear cackling?”

Nicole turned the volume up and played the “I thought you knew” line again.

Edie winced. “Oh. That’s going viral, isn’t it.”

Oscar. Her darling, chronically-understated son. Calm as ever. Dry as toast. Casually dropping “Well, I already did one of those things,” in response to a marriage or tattoo question. Watching poor Lando Norris implode on stage like a wet firework.

Nicole paused the video on Lando’s face in real-time breakdown.

Then sighed.

Deeply.

Because this? This wasn’t even surprising.

The real kicker wasn’t that the media didn’t know.

It was that Lando didn’t know.

Nicole had assumed at the very least Lando was in the loop. He and Oscar were joined at the hip during race weeks. Surely a small, minor detail like, say, being legally wed for half a decade would’ve come up between sim sessions.

But no.

Apparently not.

Because her son, in his infinite, baffling wisdom, had once again forgotten to share anything important about his personal life with anyone outside of a 20-meter radius of his home and maybe Mark Webber.

She muttered to herself as she scrolled through replies.

“Didn’t tell me he had a girlfriend… Didn’t tell me they got married… Didn’t tell me they were having a baby until she was three months pregnant and then only on accident…”

Now the whole world was catching up five years late.

She set her tea down. Reached for her reading glasses. Opened Twitter.

And, with the calm authority of a woman who had lived through every one of her son’s emotional plot twists, typed:

@nicolepiastri: I see the internet is discovering my son is married. Welcome to the club. I, too, found out after the fact 5 years ago. 👍

She hit “post.”

The post went instantly viral.

***

Group Chat: Piastri Fam ❤️

Nicole: Oscar. Darling. You forgot to mention you had a WIFE?

Chris: Bold strategy, son. Just casually let the global media find out you’ve been married for five years via a “would you rather get married or get a tattoo?” question. Stunning PR planning.

Edie: To be fair, he also forgot to mention it to Lando. Who he is teammates with. Who he shares planes with. Who he trains with. Who he considers a “close friend.” So. Not just the media.

Oscar: I didn’t forget. I just didn’t think it was news???

Hattie: YOU’RE A CELEBRITY. EVERYTHING IS NEWS. My friends thought I was lying when I said you were married. They thought I made it up. I had to show them our family group chat as proof.

Edie: You’re lucky Felicity’s cool. If I was married to you and you never told the world, I would’ve changed the locks 💅 AND I would’ve posted a dramatic black-and-white photo with a Taylor Swift lyric as the caption.

Mae: Can I be flower girl for your next wedding? (Only if it’s to Felicity again. Otherwise I’m not coming.)

Oscar: …I’m not having another wedding, Mae. Still married to the same wife. Still in love with her. Still feeding her sourdough obsession.

Nicole: Honestly, this is so you. I shouldn’t even be surprised. You didn’t even tell us you had a girlfriend. 

Chris: Let’s not forget the registry office call:  “Hey, we got married.”  So romantic. Really moved me to tears.

Nicole: YEAH, let’s not forget that you got MARRIED WITHOUT TELLING YOUR FAMILY!

Oscar: Everyone’s being very dramatic about this.

Hattie: BRO. YOU’VE BEEN MARRIED FOR FIVE. YEARS. AND LANDO JUST FOUND OUT. LIVE. IN FRONT OF CAMERAS. HE SPIT WATER.

Edie: I’ve watched the video 19 times now. It lives in my brain like a Shakespearean tragedy. The betrayal. The disbelief. The squeaky voice crack. Art.

Mae: He screamed so loud a kid in the front row CRIED.

Nicole: Also… since we’re all here… When are you going to mention the other secret? 😏

Oscar: …What secret?

Nicole: Oscar.

Chris: We mean the tiny human one, son.

Mae: BEE!!!! 🐝💛

Oscar: Bee is not a secret.

Hattie: She’s not a secret, no. But she’s also not in your driver bio, not on your Instagram, and not in any single interview you’ve ever done.

Edie: You talk about tire degradation more than your own child. Let that sink in.

Oscar: She’s our daughter. Not a marketing tool.

Nicole: We love that you’re private, sweetheart. But maybe next time you could… I don’t know… mention that you have a wife and daughter?

Chris: Not asking for a billboard, Oscar. Just a family Christmas card. Or, I don’t know, ONE social post that doesn’t feature suspension settings or protein shakes.

Hattie: Just wait till Lando finds out about Bee. You are going to have to physically restrain him.

Edie: His brain barely survived the “I’m married” part. He’s going to go into full reboot mode.

Nicole: He’s going to walk around muttering “He has a wife AND a child?!” for days.

Mae: We should film it. Make a documentary. “Lando Finds Out: The Sequel.”

Oscar: I would like to go one day without a Norris-induced disaster, please.

Chris:

Can’t wait for the Netflix edit. Drive to Survive, Season 7, Episode 3: The Secret Wife (and Daughter???) of Oscar Piastri

Oscar: …Traitors. All of you.

Nicole: No, darling. Just a family who loves you enough to roast you mercilessly.

Hattie: And maybe gently suggest that your entire online presence looks like a robot who eats chicken breast and drives fast.

Edie: We just want the world to know you’re more than carbon fiber and rehydration tablets. You have chickens. A wife. A kid. And still somehow come across as the most emotionally neutral man on the grid.

Mae: You’re like a secret cinnamon roll. With downforce.

Hattie: Oscar Piastri: Calm. Composed. Married with poultry.

Nicole: We love you, darling. But maybe consider letting people in a little next time?

Oscar: …Noted.

***

Mark Webber’s phone buzzed once. Then again. Then five more times in the span of a minute.

He looked at the screen, saw the names of three journalists he hadn’t spoken to in months, and immediately thought: What did Oscar do.

He hadn’t crashed. There hadn’t been any mid-race scandals. No random DNS. No sudden tire blowouts.

So Mark did the rational thing.

He ignored the calls and opened Twitter.

The first thing he saw was a video clip with the caption: “OSCAR PIASTRI DROPS MARRIAGE BOMBSHELL. LANDO NORRIS DIES LIVE ON STAGE.”

Mark blinked. Pressed play.

Thirty seconds in, he was already groaning.

By the time Oscar casually said, “We got married when I was eighteen,” Mark had his face in his hands.

And by the time Lando screamed “YOU HAVE A WIFE?!” in what could only be described as an operatic shriek, Mark was laughing. Because of course.

Of course Oscar had managed to soft-launch a five-year marriage via fan Q&A and thought that was completely normal.

He hadn’t even texted Mark to give him a heads-up. Typical.

Mark took a long sip of his coffee and shook his head with fond exasperation. Then his phone rang again. Another journalist. This one he had to answer.

“Yeah?” Mark said, not bothering with a hello.

“Did you know Oscar was married?” came the breathless voice on the other end. “Like—legally? For five years? Who is she?”

Mark rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I knew.”

A beat of stunned silence.

“You did?!”

Mark leaned back in his chair. “Her name’s Felicity. She’s smarter than all of us combined and makes a lemon slice that could end wars, and rebuilt an engine while eight months pregnant. What else do you want to know?”

“Wait—rebuilt an engine?!”

Mark grinned. “Yeah.”

“But she’s not on his social media! She’s not even in interviews!”

“She doesn’t want to be,” Mark said simply. “She’s his wife, not his brand.”

The journalist let out a choked laugh. “God. She’s going to be a nightmare to research.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Mark said. 

***

Text Messages – Mark Webber & Oscar Piastri

Mark: Mate. You broke the internet.

Mark: Also. You made Lando scream on stage. Twice.

Mark: I’ve had three different journalists call me asking if I “always knew.”

Oscar: I didn’t think it would be a big deal??

Mark: You are insanely lucky that Felicity is brilliant and terrifying and the entire internet is now in love with her. Otherwise, PR would’ve had you doing apology interviews until Abu Dhabi.

Oscar:  She is brilliant. And terrifying. In the best way.

Also, I didn’t hide her.

Mark:  No, you just forgot to mention her to your employer, your teammate, the media, and most of the paddock. Tiny oversight.

Oscar:  I thought it was obvious.

Mark:  She hasn’t been on your socials once. You don’t even post photos of her shoes in the background like a normal soft-launching F1 driver.

Oscar:  Didn’t realize I needed to soft launch my marriage.

Mark:  I’ve also had three different journalists lose their minds when I told them I’ve met your wife. 

I told them that she’s smarter than all of us combined and makes a mean lemon slice.

You married up.

Oscar: I know.

Mark:  You really are whipped, huh?

Oscar:  Didn’t you know that already?

Mark: Yes, but it’s nice to see it confirmed in front of millions.

Oscar: I’m still not sure how Zak knew though.

Mark: Because I told him. After you signed your contract. He wanted to poach your lawyer. I told him that your “lawyer” was your very smart, very spite driven wife. You should probably tell people things yourself from now on.

Oscar: Noted.

Mark: Anyway. Tell Felicity we owe her a thank-you for soft-launching you into public affection. You’re officially not just “the calm one.” You’re “the poetic husband who tucks love notes into his racing gloves and married his high school sweetheart.”

Oscar: …That’s better than “emotionless robot,” I guess.

Mark: Way better. And hey— Proud of you, kid. Even if you forgot to tell the entire grid you had a wife. 

Oscar: Thanks, Mark. Means a lot.

Mark: …you should probably tell people about Bee one of these days though. 

Oscar: Will do.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/gridinvestigator:   🚨 THREAD: What we (the internet) know about the elusive, brilliant, chaotic Felicity Piastri , aka the Mysterious Mrs. Piastri, aka Oscar Piastri’s wife, aka the woman who accidentally became a legend overnight. 🧵👇

@/gridinvestigator: 1. First of all, yes—Oscar Piastri has been married for FIVE YEARS. No one knew. Not Lando. Not McLaren. Not us. He dropped it during a “Would you rather get married or get a tattoo?” question. He said: “Well, I already did one of those.”

Cue the meltdown.

@/gridinvestigator: 2. We then found out he married his high school sweetheart three weeks after graduation. Her name is Felicity. They met when they were 14. She let him borrow her pen. He never recovered. A literal Wattpad story.

@/gridinvestigator: 3. Oscar described her as “his best friend,” and “10/10, would always marry her again.” Meanwhile, Felicity said, “We were inevitable.” Honestly? Nicholas Sparks is shaking.

@/gridinvestigator: 4. Felicity Piastri didn’t soft-launch herself. She hard-launched via complete internet domination. Her Instagram is a mix of: 🧠 Academic papers 🛠️ Vintage car rebuilds 🍞 Artisan bread 🐔 Chickens in tiny sweaters 🔧 Engine grease 📐 Chaos

@/gridinvestigator: 5. Now. Here’s where things get ✨interesting✨ You know that quote Oscar made about “meeting her in school”? I FOUND THE YEARBOOK. Yep. Their boarding school published the 2019 edition online.

Sidenote: I think they both graduated a year early in 2019 and not 2020?!

@/gridinvestigator: 6. I clearly have too much time, because I went through both the 2020 and the 2019 Year Books until I found a girl named Felicity:  Felicity Leong - Dance, Science Club President, Mandarin Club,  Technology Club and concertmaster aka first violin in the orchestra. 

@/gridinvestigator: 7. Oh and if that aren’t enough extra curriculars activities: Guess who took 17 GCSEs (10 +/- are considered “normal”) and cleared them all with a 9, which is the highest grade you can get? Felicity. She also had the highest A- Level grades of the whole school in the maximum of 5 subjects you are allowed to take one year later. 

@/gridinvestigator: 8. The yearbook also mentions her getting a perfect math score and  winning a physics prize

@/gridinvestigator: 9. She graduated 2 (?!) years later in 2021 with a Master in Mechanical Engineering from Imperial College London. Don’t ask me how in the world she did that. 

@/gridinvestigator:  10. Felicity is basically the anti-WAG. No brand deals. No champagne yacht pics. Just her, an angle grinder, a loaf of bread, and a whiteboard full of math.

And somehow Oscar managed to keep this whole goddess-level woman a secret for five YEARS. 

@/gridinvestigator: 12. TLDR: – Her name is Felicity Leong – She was Oscar’s classmate

 – She’s terrifyingly smart – They eloped at 18 and told no one – She is now the internet’s most beloved mystery wife – Oscar is obsessed with her

 – she restores vintage cars, bakes like a god and solves equations for fun

***

The chickens were louder than usual this morning.

Felicity didn’t blame them. She felt a little off-kilter herself—though not because the global internet had decided to collectively lose its mind over the fact that she was married to a Formula 1 driver.

(Okay. Fine. That was probably part of it.)

She stepped into the coop in gumboots and a hoodie stolen from Oscar, hair still in a haphazard braid Bee had done the night before. She was met with indignant clucks and flapping wings.

“Alright, alright,” she muttered, scattering feed like a benevolent rural god. “You’re dramatic. We get it.”

Rosie, the scraggly rescue hen who thought she was a rooster, pecked at her ankle with all the fury of someone deeply offended by late breakfast.

“Take it up with the PR team,” Felicity muttered.

She dropped Bee off at kindergarten wearing old jeans with a patch on the knee and a t-shirt that said Math is not a spectator sport. One of the other mums stared a little too long at her before whispering something to a friend.

Felicity smiled and waved.

Felicity wasn’t surprised by the chaos. She had told Oscar it would happen eventually. Told him people would find out. That one day, he’d make some offhanded comment and the fandom would explode like Mentos in Coke.

What she hadn’t expected was for it to be over a “Would you rather” question. Or for it to involve Lando Norris nearly choking on his own spit on stage.

She’d watched the clip exactly once. With toast. And coffee.

Then she opened the garage.

Her current project sat like a sleeping beast under the suspended work lights: a 1969 Alfa Romeo Spider, stripped down to its bones. Half-sanded, one door missing, the kind of restoration that most people would call madness.

She called it Monday.

She put on her gloves, tied her hair back, and picked up the angle grinder.

Around noon, she stopped for coffee and opened Instagram. Her notifications were, unsurprisingly, a mess.

There was a fan edit of her baking sourdough while wielding a torque wrench. Someone had made a Twitter thread comparing her to various Marvel characters (Shuri with a sourdough starter was trending). Another post showed a blurry screenshot of her academic transcript with the caption “Oscar Piastri’s wife could do your homework, restore your car, out-bake your grandma and defeat you in hand-to-hand combat”.

She took a sip of coffee and muttered, “Dramatic.”

At 2:30 p.m., she washed the grease off her hands, swapped the engine oil scent for something vaguely lavender, and went to pick up Bee.

Bee ran out clutching a glittery rock and a half-drawn picture of Oscar holding a steering wheel and a loaf of bread. Felicity accepted both like priceless relics.

“Mama, can we bake today?” Bee asked as they walked to the car.

“Only if you promise not to eat half the cookie dough before we’re done.”

Bee grinned. “No promises.”

By 5 p.m., the kitchen smelled like vanilla and warm sugar. Bee was elbow-deep in flour. Senna had wandered inside again. Felicity didn’t bother kicking her out.

She kneaded the dough slowly, rhythmically. Felt the tension leave her shoulders.

Fame was fine. Chaos was familiar.

But this—flour under her nails, Bee humming beside her, a project waiting in the garage and a husband texting her to say he loved her between media obligations—this was the life she chose.

That night, after Bee was asleep—cuddled up with Button the frog and a bedtime story half-finished—Felicity sat on the back porch with a cup of tea and looked up at the sky.

So, the internet knew now. Fine.

She hadn’t done any of it for them.

She had fallen in love with a boy who drove like silence and calm, and kissed like he already knew how the future would feel. They’d built a life in soft corners and early mornings, in engine grease and sourdough, in whispered bedtime promises and braids and “Every lap”.

Let the world look.

This part wasn’t theirs anyway.

It was hers.

***

Transcript: Post-Race Media Pen – Chinese Grand Prix

Journalist: Oscar, first of all—great drive today. P8 in tricky conditions, well done.

Oscar: Thanks. Yeah, it was a bit chaotic out there, but we managed it well. Happy with the result.

Journalist: Okay, we have to ask—your name has been trending non-stop since last weekend. Not because of your race… but because of your wife. The internet’s gone absolutely feral.

Oscar: (blinks slowly)  Right.

Journalist #2: Felicity. Married five years. High school sweetheart. Literally no one knew. You didn’t mention her until a fan Q&A. Everyone’s calling it “the soft launch of the century.” Any comment?

Oscar: (shrugs slightly) She wasn’t a secret.

Journalist: (incredulous) But you never posted about her! Never talked about her! Lando said he didn’t know!

Oscar: I mean… I didn’t realize it was something I had to announce. We’ve been married for five years. It’s not new.

Journalist: So why didn’t you ever bring her up?

Oscar: My wife’s just… mine. She’s been there since before Formula 1, before most of this. We weren’t hiding anything. We just didn’t post about it. That’s all.

Journalist: So no regrets about how it came out?

Oscar:  Not really. People know now. That doesn’t change anything. She’s still my best friend. Still the smartest person I’ve ever met. Still the reason I’m able to do what I do and come home happy. 

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/formulafemmes “My wife’s just… mine.” Oscar Piastri said that with his whole chest. Softly. Calmly. Casually. And now I’m lying face down on the kitchen floor.

@/gridgossip the way oscar said “she’s still my best friend” with zero hesitation??? sir. we’re just trying to survive here. you didn’t have to be poetic at a media pen.

@/wifeloversanonymous “we weren’t hiding anything. we just didn’t post about it.” that’s the most mature, emotionally grounded response I’ve ever heard. I am so sorry for calling you a robot for three seasons.

@/felicitynation the way he said “she’s been there since before Formula 1” like she’s his origin story and not just his spouse. I’m not crying, you’re crying.

@/lan_doughnut Lando finding out Oscar has a wife: 😱😱😱 Oscar, two days later, sipping water like it’s no big deal: “she wasn’t a secret.” this man is unshakable.

@/piastrirealupdates “Still the reason I’m able to do what I do and come home happy.” Oscar Piastri you have exactly 2 seconds to stop or I will start writing poetry about you and your wife and your chickens.

@/drive_to_thirst oscar: “she’s mine. not mclaren’s. not the internet’s.” me: 💍🥺🥖🛐🧪🧡📐 (this is now the official felicity piastri emoji combo, don’t @ me)

@/chaoticwagtracker imagine being felicity piastri. you’re just out here baking bread, rebuilding carburetors, feeding chickens, and your husband is on global TV being like “she’s mine. she makes me happy. she’s my best friend.” like WHAT DO YOU DO WITH THAT???

@/softpitstops someone check on every F1 PR manager. because oscar just made 90% of the grid look emotionally underdeveloped in 20 seconds.

@/felicityfanaccount it’s the shrug. it’s the “she wasn’t a secret” shrug. like he genuinely didn’t think we’d care. like he genuinely thought this was normal. the bar is now in another galaxy.

@/oscarupdates “my wife’s just… mine.” Sir?? You can’t just say that and walk off like you didn’t emotionally rupture 2 million people??

@/felicitybrainrot oscar calling felicity “his best friend” and “the reason he comes home happy” after casually revealing she’s smarter than him??? i am lying face down on the floor. do not disturb.

@/gridchaosadmin “we weren’t hiding anything, we just didn’t post about it” is SO MUCH more romantic than any soft-launch story I’ve ever heard. he didn’t even try to curate it. he just lived it.

@/burners4felicity oscar: she’s mine. me: i am normal. i am rational. i am going feral in the parking lot. i am

@/lan_doughnut lando: “he never even mentioned her!” oscar: “she’s still the reason i’m able to do what i do and come home happy.” we are living through a modern shakespearean drama and its name is “The Piastri Marriage Reveal”

@/formula1romance he said “she’s still my best friend” and i felt that in my bloodstream. like. she’s not his aesthetic. she’s not his PR move. she’s his person. i’m crying and baking bread in her honor.

@/piastriwifeupdates “my wife’s just mine” is the kind of phrase that gets etched into a wedding ring or tattooed in tiny script on someone's ribs. you don’t recover from that.

@/felicitypiastrifanclub “we didn’t post about it, that’s all.” you’re telling me these two eloped at 18, never once posted each other, built a life with chickens and vintage cars, and just EXISTED while being soulmates?????@/drivetosurvivepls Netflix watching Oscar Piastri go viral for being emotionally devastating in 8 words or less and frantically rewriting their entire season outline

[melwnst]

────── ⋆⋅☆ COLD SWEAT, ROBERT ‘BOB’ REYNOLDS

summary. Valentina decides to punish you and cuts the heating in the tower leading Bob to seek warmth in your arms.

⭑.ᐟwrote this like a week ago and forgot to post it so… surprise!? He’s so precious kill me now. Interact and send requests if u have any:)

word count. 1,1k

Read ☆ ⋅ ⋆ part two here

my masterlist

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Valentina is evil. That’s all you can tell yourself while your teeth collide, your body shivers and your heart feels like it’s about to give out.

The moment you woke up, you knew something was wrong. You’ve never been able to sleep without the heating on, so when you woke up cold, lips and fingers about to turn blue, the chatter of the others complaining, the floor as cold as ice, you knew it wasn’t an ordinary loss of heating, it had to be her.

You spend the day with the others, curled up in blankets, sweats covering your whole body, mountain of socks on your feet, and yet you’re still freezing.

It’s not even winter yet- but being high in the sky doesn’t help. the wind outside makes the tower almost shake, the sound of its screams gives you chills.

Bob’s telling stories to keep you occupied, to keep your mind away from remembering how cold you are. Alexei’s making dad jokes that are so bad you have a headache coming. John complains about how much Bob talks, or really complains about everything that’s wrong with today.

Ava and Yelena are nowhere to be found, maybe in their rooms, while Bucky paces around the living room, trying not to go psycho mode on Valentina because frankly, there’s not much he can do anyway.

You eat the hot dinner all together although no one speaks, probably because everyone’s pissed, and still fighting the cold atmosphere.

When bed time comes around and everyone retracts to their rooms the cold is still there. It’s still hanging in the air, teeth still collide with each other, your body almost sweats because of all the clothes hanging on your body.

It’s not a surprise that you can’t sleep.

You can’t even think.

You just pray that her little scheme will stop because you’re not sure you can go another day like this. No amount of hot showers or hot chocolates will help you not lose your mind.

You close your eyes- trying to think of the good. But your mind can only wander to the bad. The fighting, the battles, the fears.

It’s about to go to the one memory you’re trying to forget the most before there’s a light knock on the door making you almost jump out of bed.

You’re not sure why, but you can feel him. You know exactly who’s standing behind that door.

It’s Bob.

You swing the door open, only to find him standing in his black sweats, the hood covering his head, his hands warming each other in front of him.

His demeanor’s different. He doesn’t look so nervous, or shy. He looks so-normal. Which none of you really do more often than not.

‘Can’t sleep?’ You question, moving slightly to let him in.

You rub your eyes with fatigue as he sits on your bed like he belongs there.

‘It’s impossible. I can’t believe they haven’t fixed it yet.’ He takes off the hood, while you pace across the room.

‘She won’t. She won’t until the thinks we’ve suffered enough. I swear that woman is the devil.’ You complain running a hand through your hair, frustrated.

‘Hey, maybe by morning. You never know.’ He shakes his head.

‘Well you’re always the optimistic one.’ You let out a little laugh, and Bob follows.

You decide to lay down next to him. He’s still sitting, he’s turning a little so he can get a good look at you.

You know this isn’t the right moment. You’re basically dying, but you can’t help your eyes from wandering. He’s always looked good, but the black sweats and hoodie are enough to make your mind go wild, your stomach flutter. You wish you had someone to hold, to maybe make it go away. Or maybe make it better at least.

That’s when you see him shiver, his lips are a weird shade of purple, or blue you’re not sure. You think maybe tonight’s your chance to seize the opportunity. Maybe in the morning it’ll be awkward but surely this is the right time.

‘It’s a bit warmer here.’ He speaks up before you have the chance to, and you’re taken aback.

‘I’ve been dying the whole day, am I like, super dramatic?’ You realize out loud.

‘Maybe just a little.’ He jokes.

Your laugh echoes in his ears and he swears it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

He smiles while he stares.

Usually you might feel too small, awkward and suddenly shy, but the moment he stares, you stare back.

You stare back until eventually you get the courage to ask.

‘Do you want to stay here tonight? Since you think it’s warmer, I wouldn’t want you die from the cold out there.’

Before Bob can even think of forming an answer, you drag yourself to lay under the covers. When you’re safe under them, you pat the bed, the covers on his side in your hand as if to tell him to get under them. His heart beats out of his chest. His hands aren’t so cold anymore, they’re sweaty.

They’re sweaty but he tells himself there’s no use saying no. He’d be stupid to- because he needs the warmth, and so do you.

So he doesn’t answer, instead he just lays down next to you. He gets under the covers, and he’s not sure what to do. If he holds you, he’s afraid he might break, or you might hear how fast his heart is beating. He if doesn’t, he’s afraid he’ll just shake through the cold the entire night.

‘Can I?’ His thoughts are interrupted when you slide closer to him, asking for permission to rest your head on his chest.

Instinctively, his arms are around you in seconds, the covers, the blankets shielding you from the cold.

‘This is nice.’ He speaks up surprising himself. Maybe the cold is getting to his head, maybe he’s a completely different person tonight.

‘It is, yeah.’ You look up at him only to find him already looking down at you.

‘Do you think you can sleep like this?’ You ask because it’s warmer suddenly. You know if you try to close your eyes right now, you might just fall asleep in seconds because he’s there, and because he’s helping.

‘I think so. You?’

You nod your head but don’t answer because you already feel yourself slipping into a slumber.

Your body’s heating up, your hands don’t tremble anymore, your lips are returning to their normal pink-ish color, the only thing going backwards is your heartbeat. Because although you can hear Bob’s going through the roof, you’re pretty sure yours isn’t doing any better.

‘Thank you.’ Is the last thing you hear him say before your brain finally shuts off.

You hope the next step in your courage will be to tell him how you really feel.

Maybe you’ll wake up all sweaty in the morning, but for now, this was worth it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist: @tinas111 @bluemerakis @blossomingorchids @l0v33-rey @mostlymarvelgirl @that-stanford-girlie @sunnyteume @bohoooitsme @beelzebzb (comment to be added!)

[sturnsblogs]

FRIENDS DONT DO THAT

Fratboy!Chris X Toxic!fwb!reader

—

Being friends with Chris is… weird.

Weird because he still knows the passcode to your apartment, and uses it without hesitation.

Weird because he still wears your hair tie on his wrist sometimes and pretends like he doesn’t notice.

Weird because when you’re walking next to him, he still moves to the outside of the sidewalk like it’s instinct.

Weird because sometimes you catch him staring. Like he forgot for a second that you’re just friends now.

He doesn’t say much when it happens, just looks away and clears his throat or starts talking about something random—like the weather or how his lighter keeps acting up.

But you see it.

It’s in the way he still brings you coffee the way you like it. In the way he still opens the car door for you without even thinking.

And it’s in the way he slips sometimes.

Like earlier this week—he called you “baby.”

Not in a teasing way. Not in a joking way.

It was soft. Automatic.

You froze.

He didn’t even realize it until after.

“Shit. I mean—Y/N. My bad.”

You didn’t say anything. Just gave a tight smile and looked out the window.

Then there was that time you wore his hoodie again—not on purpose, you just threw it on because it smelled like him and you were cold—and he didn’t say a word the entire night. Just stared at you like he was trying to remember how to breathe.

Or when you went to a party, and some guy was clearly flirting with you, hand dangerously close to your waist.

Chris didn’t say anything, didn’t make a scene.

But later that night, he texted you:

“Didn’t know we were bringing randoms into our spot.”

And then followed it up with:

“Whatever. Have fun.”

Or like that night two weeks ago when he texted you:

“Come over? Miss you.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

You stared at the screen too long, thumb hovering, not sure what to do with it—

And then, two minutes later, he followed up with:

“Nvm. Wrong person. mb.”

Wrong person?

Chris didn’t even talk to other girls. Not like that.

But you didn’t ask. You just left him on read and curled tighter into your blanket, pretending it didn’t ruin your night.

Or that time you actually went on a date—a real one. With someone sweet. Normal. He picked you up on time, complimented your dress, made you laugh. You even posted a picture of your dessert on your story.

An hour later, Chris was blowing up your phone:

Chris: “Dude’s a player. Just letting you know.”

Chris: “Saw him at a party last weekend. He was all over some girl.”

Chris: “Do whatever u want tho. Not my business.”

You didn’t even respond. Because you knew what it was—jealousy disguised as “looking out.”

And he always does that.

Like when he said he couldn’t hang out that one night, but then you saw him repost your pic from two years ago on his private story. Just a blurry one of you in his hoodie, the caption:

“LMAO remember this?”

No one else would’ve known it was you.

But you did.

You knew that was his way of saying he missed you.

Or when he picked you up from that party when you were tipsy and giggling in the passenger seat, and you accidentally leaned into his side. His arm instinctively wrapped around you.

You whispered, “You smell the same.”

He whispered, “You don’t.”

It was quiet after that.

He still calls you “princess” sometimes, too.

And then immediately follows it with,

“I mean—dude. Whatever your name is now.”

But it’s always in that same voice. The one that sounds like home.

And the worst part?

You let it slide.

Because some part of you—no matter how small—still wants to be his.

So yeah… being friends with Chris is weird.

Because every now and then, it still feels like you’re his.

And every now and then, it still feels like he’s yours.

But neither of you are saying it.

Because friends don’t say that kind of shit. Right?

—

A/N- i wanted to write chris being a sub but @sunrisemill told me to drag it

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho @emely9274 @cherryystemm @realuvrrr @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k @eeyoresturnz @elizasturn @ribread03 @sturnslux3 @costalgirlyr @pizzapocketpocketpizza @arianna1342 @mattsplaything @ed1tssturnn @ivysturnss

[nishiriksss]

the first concert ch. 2

summary: riki was your childhood bestfriend up until you were 13, but you ended up moving to the US. you lost contact with him and never thought you would see him again, until you saw an edit on your fyp of a guy that looked suspiciously like him. you end up at every single enhypen concert, as close to the front as possible, trying to reach him. you comment on every post, every live, hoping he still remembers you.

genre: childhood bsfs to lovers, angst, fluff, slowburn

word count: 1.5k

warnings: none

taglist: @rairaiblog @vixialuvs

not proof-read masterlist

your mom had heard you talk about riki for 4 years straight, so when you showed her that he was in a boy group, and had an upcoming concert she bought tickets immediately.

the next concert was in saitama, your mom bought the closest tickets to the front she could, for all three shows. you got your outfits ready, and had been listening to every enhypen song on loop, over night you had become their biggest fan.

riki was sulking, presumably, you still lived in the US and he hadnt seen any sign of you. now that he was leaving for the net show, he felt as if he lost his chance. 'i had a feeling she would be there, though.' he whined 'do you think she moved?' he would ask and all his members would just look at him in disbelief. they all tried to let him down slowly. 'i know you miss her but, its been 4 years.' jungwon whispered just loud enough for him to hear. riki knew you probably forgot all about him long ago, and he would try to talk to other girls, but there was always that lingering feeling that you would show up again. he knew if you did he would drop everything, anything just to be with you. so he stayed alone, it was advised not to date anyway, cause of his fans, but the main reason was you. he couldnt think of another girl romantically. you never knew it but riki had been in love with you since you were little, he always had a crush on you. he was planning to confess but you moved away. even after all these years you were still always on his mind, it drove him, and his members crazy.

it felt like years before the day of the concert, when in reality, it had only been a few weeks. you felt like you had been waiting forever, and the day was tomorrow. even if riki didnt see you, you would see him, for the first time in 4 years. you were bursting at the seams with excitement the whole car ride, you were blasting enhypens music and singing along, you had only been listening to them, just to hear rikis voice again. enhypens discography had replaced your normal riki-themed playlist. you arrived in saitama, it all felt like a dream, but somewhere deep down, you knew riki wouldnt see you. the show was almost sold out when your mom bought the tikets, who even knows if he remembers you. that night you lied awake for hours, unable to sleep, thinking of what might happen the next day.

you woke up super early to get to the concert on time, so you could spend as long as you like getting ready, just in case he did see you. when you got to the concert you were squirming in your seat, you couldnt sit still, he was there, and so were you. he was just out of reach. when they finally made their way to the stage you saw him, you couldnt look at anything else. 'mom, thats him' you squealed, pointing at riki. she smiled at how happy you were, 'well, hes not gonna see you if you just sit and talk to me.' she laughed as you got up, leaning over the railing. the seats werent very close to the stage, luckily, tomorrows show had more seats available, your mom had got a vip ticket and you were gonna be right there with him.

as riki sang his lines, as he danced, he couldnt help but scan the crowd for your face. he looked everywhere, until his eyes landed on you, he gasped, when enhypen went backstage to get ready for the next song he was jumping around 'its her!!!' cheered 'i know its her!' he twirled around. 'riki..' heeseung gulped, not wanting to burst rikis bubble 'what are the chances thats actually her?' riki stopped jumping and stood there, motionless for a solid minute. 'im sorr-' heeseung started before getting interrupted by riki 'no, youre right.' he sat down, 'its probably not her. she doesnt even live in saitama.' he looked at the floor as a single tear fell from his eye. just as his members were about to comfort him, their manager called out 'youre on in 30 seconds!! everyone get up to the stage!' and with that they had to run to get there in time. when they got back on stage riki looked at who he thought was you.

'mom! mom! hes looking over here! do you think he recognizes me?' you jumped as you waved at riki 'RIKI!! ITS YN' you yell over and over, hoping he would hear you. of course, he didnt. jake saw him looking and slapped him on the arm 'dude its not her.' he stated after he pulled his mic away from his mouth. 'i know.' he mummbled, and continued with the show.

after the show you tried to get to riki, of course, it didnt work. you went back to the hotel sad, but still hopeful for tomorrow. you knew you wouldnt be able sleep. 'mom, what if he never sees me?' you ask, worry clear in your voice. 'he will, i promise.' she replied as she went to go take a shower. you sat on your bed, all your stuff still in your bags. you didnt have the energy to unpack, especially since you were only gonna be in saitama for two more days. you decided you would take a shower tomorrow, before the show, to clear your mind before you went. you lied down on your bed and wondered if your plan would ever work. you wondered what you would do if he didnt see you within the next two shows. you knew you would follow him all around the world just to see him one more time, but your mom wouldnt. just as you were about to sleep, you got a notification on your phone.

-nishimura riki started a live video

you almost screamed. 'mom! hes live!' you yell before getting on the live. you sent so many comments that you got timed out.

RIKI ITS YN

DO YOU REMEMBER ME?

PLEASE TEXT ME!

'guys.' riki smiled 'its her.' he clicked on your profile, and typed a dm.

yn, is this really you?

the message didnt go through though, your account got banned because of spamming. he looked at the screen 'account banned' he threw his head back in frustration. 'im telling you heeseung.' he paused and bit his lip to hold back the tears. 'it was her, i was so close.' his comments exploded.

what happened

who???

does he have a gf??

by the time you made a new account, he had ended the live.

'heeseung, that was her.' he whispered as he shook his head. 'her comments literally said 'riki, this is yn.' he sighed and leaned onto heeseung. 'well, she knows you exist, right?' heeseung asked 'well, duh. she was on the live.' the moment those words left his mouth something clicked in his brain. 'shes looking for me too.' he smiled so hard his face started to hurt. 'yn is looking for me.' he repeated. over and over. 'dude, you face is gonna get stuck like that.' jay joked as he walked in, overhearing riki talking about you. 'shes looking for me jay!' he almost yelled as he stood up and started punching the couch. 'do you think it was really her at the concert?' riki asked, now hugging a pillow spinning around. 'you know, if shes looking for you, its not impossible.' jay stated, earning an agreeing nod from heeseung. 'but why wouldnt she go to a US show?' heeseung asked, which made riki stop in his tracks. 'your right.' he sat down again, getting discouraged. 'but even if it wasnt her, shes still looking for me, thats what matters. right?' his voice dropped on the last word, as he tried to think of the positive. but you were just out of reach, and that was the problem. what if he could never find you again, what if you never knew how much he missed you too. him now having the confirmation that you were trying to find him, just like he had been trying to find you filled him with joy. the fact that his close attempt at talking to you failed, he knew he would find you eventually. he couldnt give up, not yet.

as you tried to sleep, unaware of the fact riki was still trying to find your new account, you wished your account didnt get banned. 'what if he saw my comments?' you thought to yourself, hoping he did, or maybe hoping he didnt. embarrassment wasnt something you were expecting, but the feeling hit you like a brick. 'what if he saw them and thought how much of a loser i am, still looking for him after 4 years.' you wondered, now feeling the tears stain your cheeks once again. and once again, you wished he was there to comfort you.

[treeteaofversailles]

Should've Been Me Pt. 1

MDNI! This is my original work. Please do not post to another site or to AI. Thank you and happy reading!

Summary: All in Zayne's POV. He was friends-with-benefits with you, MC's twin, before things ended badly. Two years later, Zayne returns as your roommate.

Tags/TW: Implied smut, angst no comfort, miscommunication (no communication), swearing. Fem!Reader (she/her pronouns used, but mostly "you"). Non-MC Reader.

Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3oUMoiClWMVZu1VXU88Kbb?si=fd029ba8a81d4292

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

I’m really happy that I met you, Zee. Your words still burned as bright as when they were whispered sleepily against his chest. 

“Hello, Zayne.” 

That sentiment seemed to change with your cold opening. 

Zayne’s eyes widened, and his throat suddenly went dry. 

It was you. 

You were dressed in a plain t-shirt and a pair of black shorts that revealed your long legs. Two thin silver hoops were sitting on your bottom lip, which made it look like you had snake fangs. 

He didn’t remember you having them. He would have recalled feeling them against his lips each time he kissed you. 

Did you always have those?

He opened his mouth to answer but was quickly interrupted. 

“Hey, Zayne,” he heard behind you. Zayne looked past you and saw Greyson. Greyson beamed at him and put a hand on your shoulder, “Glad you finally got here! We were getting nervous that you got lost!”

Zayne couldn’t say anything but watched as you crossed your arms over your chest and reached up to fidget with your piercing. 

“No, I didn’t. But, I’m here now.” He answered as smoothly as he could. 

“Well, come in!” Greyson said and stepped to the side. His hand moved to your waist, and Zayne suddenly wanted to leave. But he tightened his grip on his box and cleared his throat before he walked inside. 

“I didn’t realize you were here too,” Zayne said, stepping into the apartment. The place smelled like sandalwood and you. He never forgot the scent of your perfume. The smell crept under his skin and made him feel hot again. 

Greyson laughed softly. “I totally forgot to mention our new roommate!” He beamed and patted your back, letting his arm fall as he held your back. With how low his arm dipped, Zayne knew it was on your lower back. “We were busy trying to move in about a week ago, then we got carried away with moving you in that I didn’t get to tell you until now.”

“Oh,” Zayne nodded, “I see.”

You were still touching your piercings before you let go and spoke. “Yeah. It was a last-minute thing. I didn’t think it’d go through, but Grey somehow got them to let me move in without much fuss.”

“What can I say? I’m charming,” Greyson smiled at you. Your lips subtly quirked in a soft smile. 

Zayne’s hand reflexively clenched at Greyson’s nickname and your smile. His skin prickled at the way Greyson was so leisurely touching you when Zayne couldn’t. 

“Would you like a tour?” Greyson asked him. 

“Yeah sure,” Zayne nodded.

Greyson gestured to the flat. “Well, this is the flat! Kitchens by the door, living room,” he swept his arm around the room, finally letting go of you, much to Zayne’s relief.  

“Bedrooms are down that hall,” he pointed to the hall on Zayne’s left. “Two beds. One at each end of the hall. And a bathroom between them,” he walked over to show Zayne. 

When Greyson was distracted, Zayne looked at you. You were already looking back at him. You didn’t seem confused or upset. You were just… You were neutral about it. 

But he wondered if you were just hiding your true feelings about the matter. 

You and he had rules. And he remembered them all. The rules haunted his dreams just as much as you did. 

The first rule was to not spend the night any longer than necessary, but to check in later or leave a note to say you were out. The second was not to leave marks behind, no matter how lost in your haze of sex. The third was to never say “I love you”. But the biggest and most important rule was not to fall in love. 

And he broke two of them when he thought you had broken that last and most important one. 

That night, you wanted him to stay one night just to rest; your kisses felt more sincere than they’d been before, staining his lips a lighter shade than the usual shade you wore. The way you said his name was more heavenly, melting away all of his worries. Melting away the thoughts of your twin. 

You never once uttered Caleb’s name. You only said Zayne’s. 

You couldn’t stand to go five minutes without reaching for his hand or for him, and he let you hold him, too lost in the haze of his desire and burying his nose in the smell of your perfume. 

The very same smell that was permeating this apartment. 

You told him you were happy that you had met him, and he let your words linger on his skin before he got cold feet. 

As soon as you both were done and you passed out in bed, he was out of there. He didn’t leave a note or a text. He didn’t even call to see if you woke up okay. Zayne cut himself from your life as if he’d never been there because he thought you were beginning to fall in love with him. And falling in love with him was the last thing that he wanted you to do. 

If you fell in love with him, it’d all be over sooner or later, and you’d get hurt even worse compared to the hurt you may feel when he leaves you after your hookups. 

Because he was in love with your twin. Not you. 

So he left with the hopes you’d fall out of it. He left so you could fall in love with another person who would actually want you. Not with him. And not with Caleb, who he thinks pushed you to Zayne in the first place. 

But the next morning, when he heard the special ringtone he’d set for you play throughout his house, as he lay alone in his bed, he was instantly slammed with guilt. The silence that fell after only made him sink deeper in his shame. 

“And an office here, but that’s her bedroom, so I don’t touch it,” Greyson pointed behind him. His voice drew Zayne from his stewing guilt. Greyson laughed and put his arm on your shoulders again. “Otherwise, she’d bite my head off.”

“And for good reason,” You muttered, elbowing his ribs softly. 

“The laundry room is in the back of the building, so you have to circle around the entire place to get to it. It gets busy every Saturday, so if you want the best spot, go for a weekday,” Greyson said. 

“I see,” Zayne replied. He shifted his box in his hands. 

A phone buzzed loudly in Greyson’s pocket, and he quickly excused himself to answer it. The door to the apartment closed behind him, and you and Zayne were left alone together. 

He could hear a clock counting the seconds away from somewhere in the apartment, but he couldn’t pinpoint where. 

Zayne shifted his hold on his box. “So…” he began. He’d never had to pause like this when talking, even with a complete stranger. But the problem was that you weren't a complete stranger. He knew you intimately inside and out. His hands were much warmer than he’d ever felt them before. 

“How are you?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light. 

You watched him carefully before you shrugged. “Fine. Got a promotion at the clinic, so I’m not working the dead man’s shift anymore.”

“Oh,” Zayne remembered you were a resident in pediatrics at Akso before moving to a smaller clinic about two years ago. 

Before you moved away from him. 

“Congratulations.” He said. 

“Thanks,” you replied. “And how are you doing?”

“I’m good,” he realized that sounded pretentious after what he’d done, so he quickly changed his answer. “I mean… work’s good.”

“That’s good,” You nodded. 

Then silence took over again. Greyson’s voice was muffled behind the door. 

Zayne couldn’t help but wonder if you and Greyson also… 

He snapped away from that thought. 

That wasn’t fair. The only reason why there wasn’t anything real between Zayne and you was that he was terrified of committing to you. He was terrified of letting his walls down and giving in. Because that meant he’d give up on MC and divert his obsession into you, and his constant need for you would make it impossible to breathe without you. 

But for the past two years since his decision to cut you out of his life, Zayne wasn’t sure if he was breathing at all. 

“How long have you and Grey been together?” He asked anyway.

You must have been intimate with him if you were able to move in so soon. Zayne applied almost several months ago, and the process still took ages to get done. If you were a last-minute decision and got in before him…

But why should he be sad? Zayne didn’t feel like he had the right to get jealous of Greyson. But he couldn’t help feeling a little bit—

“We’re not.” You replied sharply. 

Zayne’s stomach dropped. So it probably was—

“And it’s not what we had either, Zayne.”

He looked at you, and you just stared back with your arms over your chest. 

“We’re just friends,” You said firmly. “What you and I did was…” You shrugged and let out a small sigh. “It’s done. It’s over. Doesn’t matter anymore.”

Something in the way you said it made him believe that it still mattered to you. Or maybe he was projecting like the fool he was. 

“What matters is you getting unpacked and moved in before the landlord gets on your ass about all your boxes and the moving truck outside,” you said instead. 

“Uh… right… Okay.” 

When you didn’t say anything else and continued to stare coldly at him, he went to the bedrooms and spotted the empty one. 

He put his box down and wrung his hands. Zayne stared at the floor and then sighed. “I’m so fucked.”

“Why are you so fucked?”

Greyson’s voice startled Zayne, making him jump. Greyson just smiled brightly and nodded. 

“Come on! Yvonne is inviting us all to dinner and drinks! We should go as soon as you’re done unpacking!”

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

Tag list (open):

@sylusgirlie7 @cockiiess @moonlight-dream54

[fcthots]

Hello!

I'm new to all this, I just downloaded tumblr a week ago, but I spent my entire day reading most of your posts!

I absolutely adore your personification of Jason, and was thinking, could you maybe write a little teeth rotting fluff fic about reader having a migrane and Jason just caring for them.

I'm projecting here because I've been sick for a week and I'm just thinking of big Jason Todd walking up to me, putting his hands on my neck and telling me I have a fever, then giving me tea and cuddling with me because he's like a Teddy bear and I need him 🫠

(Also, could I maybe get an emoji)

Thx so much! You're so talented with writing!!!!

I know this is like months late but i dub thee 🪅 bc i thinks its cool!! Anyway, thank you for the love 🥰

You fell asleep early the night before. You mostly ignored Jason's looks of concern and "are you sure you're ok?"s. You were fine. Just tired.

Until you woke up.

You don't immediately open your eyes. Your eyes and throat somewhat burned. Unusual. And now that you think about it, the rest of your body feels like it's freezing. Your head feels like it's tumbling stones in a washing machine and that doesn't even make sense, but you want to cry.

You try to open your eyes but the light from the window forces you to immediately close them. You're so cold, but your arms are too heavy to move. Your headache is pounding and you're freezing and you're whole body aches and a million other things. Thinking about it doesn't help and you can't help the pitiful sound that escapes you. It sounds more like a cry than anything else. You feel something move and the bed next to you and it makes you dizzy. For a moment, you can't register anything other than your discomfort.

The next thing you know, Jason is leaning over you. His hand rubs gentle circles over the small of your back.

"Shh. You're ok. You're alright."

You don't know how you forgot that Jason was here. Your head is just so fuzzy and everything hurts. Another whine escapes and you almost shed a tear at the nausea.

His other hand comes up to sweep your hair to the side. He presses his lips to your forehead on a chaste kiss. "Sugar, you're burning up." His warmth leaves you as you hear him move around the apartment. He can't have been gone for more than a minute, but you swear the noise the opening and closing of the cabinets lasts for hours.

You feel his lovely warmth back at your side soon enough. A hand slips underneath you and you think he's just going to keep rubbing your back, but the other hand goes to your waist and together they push you up and you think you might die. "Sit up for me. C'mon. There you go." His hands steal their warmth back and you'd curse them if you could, but in the next second a pill is being pressed to your lips. "Take this for me." You don't even have it in you to think of protesting. You take the pill in your mouth and then he presses a cool bottle to your lips. "We have to wash it down." You try to bring your hand up to help him but you're too weak to hold the drink up alone. "I gotcha. There you go." He takes the drink back and you mourn its absence, but that doesn't last long before his arms draw you close to his body. Your head rests against his stomach as he asks "are you cold?"

You make a sound that is supposed to be affirmative and he curses.

"Shit. I told you you were getting sick." Its aimed more at himself than you and even if you did want to object, you couldn't get the words out. "Do you think you could keep down something down?" You shake your head no against his stomach. "Ok. Can I make you something just in case?"

"Don' leave."

He sighs and runs his fingers through your hair.

[starlight299]

As a queer person, I really, really, really love it when authors acknowledge how unsafe it was to be queer in the time period they’re writing in.

Like I get that sometimes we want to be delusional or think the characters “deserve happiness” but that’s exactly the kinda thing that convinces straight people there aren’t still counties out there that will kill people for being gay, or that gay marriage was only legalized across the US in 2015, that’s 10 years ago. Or that Idaho is currently petitioning to overturn that so the “decision” goes back up to the states and they can get rid of it. A petition that’s estimated to hit the Supreme Court in two years. So yeah, reality sucks, and I understand that while writing people want to live in a fantasy world where everything works out, and people should do their own research blah blah blah, but it’s just extra dire to remember all this with what Idaho is currently doing.

Also, our queer characters can still be happy, they can still get a good ending while reminding the readers that everything was in fact not dandy. For example your queer couple could still live together in what looks like a roommate thing to everyone else, or if you had a lesbian couple and a gay couple that are friends beard couples and lavender marriages existed. Which delves further into queer culture and is really fun to write about, I promise.

And for the love of all things can we please not write “I’m really upset you don’t want to come out and if you don’t we’re gonna have to break up” fights set in the god damn 80’s!? Because even if that’s a common thing today (which I have not seen with any of the people I hang out with) it certainly wasn’t the further back you go. It was okay not to be out because it was dangerous to be out, it could quite literally ruin your life. Cops used to break into gay bars and arrest people, that’s what stonewall was all about. Cops even broke into people’s houses and arrested them for having sex. Not even mentioning hate crimes and general discrimination. Being gay was a fucking nightmare.

Anyway I read a Psych fic a week ago where Lassie and Shawn got married in California in 2008 when California didn’t legalize same sex marriage until 2013, saw a Steddie post three days ago where Steve and Eddie got married in 1994, remembered another Steddie fic I read a long time ago with Eddie pressuring Steve to come out, and then looked into how common that is earlier today and released why some straight people are so fucking shocked when I remind them that gay marriage was only legalized in the US 10 years ago. We’re doing that, all because we apparently forgot how to write a happy couple if they can’t get married. Seriously?

We can still give out happy endings while acknowledging that we didn’t have the right to exist thirty years ago and that even now our rights are on shaky ground. Let your character find happiness, let them protest, let them have non-legal weddings, but do not forget or erase history. We do not have that luxury while our rights are still under siege, and even if they weren’t it’s still never a good idea.

Also write about AIDS, I don’t like to read spicy fics, it’s not my thing, but let your characters ask each other if they’ve been tested, let them talk about being scarred to hook up in bars, talk about lesbian doctors because the government didn’t want to do shit to help. Acknowledge history. Please.

And I’m ranting again, I know. 🧀

[goddess-of-bubblegum]

Hate annons? Really hon? [Aka my opinion with new evidence] (y'all might need a snack for this)

okay, mod speaking. So. I know I said I didn't want any drama on this blog.

BUT THE MOMENT I FOUND OUT MY FRIEND WAS STILL GETTING HATE ANNONS , IM GOING FULL ON DETECTIVE MODE!

This post is about @/unhinged-waterlilly, and oooh boy am I going to be getting so much hate for this. But. I am fine with hate asks. Just don't be a coward and don't put annon on. I am a minor, and if you decide to harass me about helping a friend, here we go.

My points against her:

1 she sent, and still sends hate annons (which hurts his mental health)

2 she accused jacks bf (freddy) as being fake

So. I saw a post a while back where "lily" said things about the jack situation, and I thought it was fair. UNTIL I REACHED THE PART WHERE SHE SAID THAT JACK DIDN'T DESERVE ANYTHING HE HAS look, I know that he hurt you with the AU , it hurt me too, but going so far to say that he doesn't deserve anything he has??? That's petty and mean.

Not to mention that he was in a shit mental state at the time he made the AU. Which obviously does not excuse anything, but it atleast explains it.

also, onto evidence number 1:

HATE ANNONS;

Now, this is just one of 3 hate annons Jack got this week. Yes, Jack is aware that he has hurt people, yes he is actively striving to better, so sending these hate annons won't help Jack not being , and I quote : "a depressed little attention seeking bitch" he has owned up to his mistakes, and I've advised him to put the explanation on his blog. And since he is try I ng to be better, he is focusing on himself, his mental health, and moving on.

BECAUSE MOVING ON IS HEALTHY

Me and jacks others moots are aware that no one forgot what he did , that he hurt people. But all that you can achieve by hurting him is a short adrenaline rush, that won't be worth it coke a few days. He is actively trying to become a better person

ALSO I am aware that since this is an annon, it's hard to prove this was actually lilly. But if you were to compare this to her other posts about Jack, you'd see it is very close.

Numero 2

ACUSSING FREDDY OF BEING FAKE:

There were multiple posts accusing Freddy, jacks bf, of not being a real person. Now. All of jacks moots know he is real, due to Jack making posts about him, and him telling us about him and what happened. And honestly? It's plausible that Freddy knew how to use tumblr , because it only took me a day to figure it out

Okay, and now this:

okay, let me get this straight. What jack did was wrong. We all agree on that , including Jack. But he was in a shit mental state while doing it, and he wasn't thinking clearly. Jack is trying to improve, Jack is trying to better himself, Jack is moving on and like a few posts say we all should.

But we can't truly move on 'till Jack stops getting hate, till we apologise and understand and hear out, not necessarily forgive his actions

ALSO

From: @eligha-child-of-hades

A while ago when I recently started this account I got an ask with a link. The link led to @/unhinged-waterlily account and their intro post which had something about the MISTAKE that Jack made.

But with the ask, I didn't click it so I answered with a; ?

Bc I don't trust random links.

They sent another ask with the same link saying this exact thing; 'I suggest you read it. Better to know who you interact with.'

She says this, but she fails to inform others that she's hate bombing and hurting Jack.

Woukd you rather rp with someone whose trying to change? Or someone whi is causing someone more harm?

I'll be getting hate for this. I know I will be harassed and sent hate annons. But it will be worth it. If he can move on, but you can't, if you hold on to anger, and he doesn't.

Then aren't you also doing bad things?

@sillypuppetmeister @braydons-world @penelope-is-waiting @bast-the-best26 @reyna4ever @gaygirldoodles

[agathawellbelov3d]

Part 26; Starts w texts & the rest is a written part. Wrote this several weeks ago so it’s not my best! Not editing it tho lmfao. And no, I’m not formatting the writing. ALSO! All the posts should now be under #SnowBazMidtermAU so they’re easier to find :)

I should’ve said no.

But the second the words left his mouth, “Might as well grab dinner, yeah?” like it was the most natural thing in the world, I couldn’t help myself.

And I know better – fangs, food, public places – I’m practically begging for trouble.

But like the hopeless idiot I am, I said yes.

I always say yes, when it’s him. It’s pathetic.

I’d never admit that, though. Especially not to him.

It would ruin my whole dramatic vampire thing.

My heart is pounding faster than it should, like a stupid human’s heartbeat. Like Simon’s heartbeat.

And I listen for his, searching for the rhythmic pacing. It’s soft, steady. I want to focus on it, but can’t help but feel my own thundering against my ribs. Mine is faster, I realize to my horror.

I hate how he does this to me.

Without even trying, he makes a disaster of me every goddamn time.

He doesn’t notice, he can’t notice. But I do, and that only makes it worse.

We walk in silence, and I hate how charged everything feels.

I glance sideways at him. Simon’s walking with a ridiculous bounce that suggests he’s not thinking much of anything. His shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets. His stupid leathery tail trailing behind him, swishing slightly.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just go to the dining hall with your friends?” I ask, desperately trying to get myself out of this. I’d do nearly anything to avoid eating in front of someone, anyone, and especially Simon. The thought of having to eat with him, fangs exposed – absolutely not.

He looks at me like I suggested something utterly ridiculous. “Why on earth would we do that? You can go there any day.”

I frown. “It’s a waste of money not too.” And I don’t want him seeing me try (and fail) to bite a sandwich, inevitably biting my lip until it draws blood.

He shrugs, “Then I’ll pay for it, I don’t care.”

“That’s not what I was suggesting.”

He stops, turning around to face me with his arms crossed. “Then what were you suggesting? What?” he teases, a smirk teasing the corner of his mouth. “You’re not nervous, are you, Baz?”

“I’m not,” I stutter, unconvincingly. Of course I’m nervous. It’s him.

“Then why aren’t you looking at me?” he challenges. And I wonder if perhaps he’s better at reading me than I thought. “You’re not teasing me either, and you love to do that. If I wasn’t so stupid, I’d think something might be wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I mutter.

“Do you have an eating disorder or something?”

“What the hell kind of question is that?” I snap.

“I don’t know, sorry,” he shrugs, kicking the ground. “Don’t know why you’re so bothered, then. It's just food. And it’s not like we haven’t been hanging out everyday for the past week.”

“That’s the issue,” I say, my voice surprisingly sharp.

“Food’s the issue? Or I’m the issue?”

Both, technically. But I wouldn’t tell that to Snow, because then I’d have to explain to him that I’ve been desperately attracted to him for the past two and a half years and that when I can’t sleep, I turn around to face him. And that at night I watch the rise and fall of his freckled chest to calm down. Or how when he’s not looking, I can’t help but stare at the golden ringlets that frame his face like a halo. And that I want to be closer to him, but can’t. That I’ve memorized the exact blue of his eyes, and every freckle on his face, and how each twitch of his tail shows me the things he’s not saying out loud. And that I’ve had a weird fixation on him since we met. Which it’s not – it’s something more than that – but that will never happen.

I feel heat rise to my cheeks, and for once I’m grateful I forgot to feed yesterday, because otherwise, I’d be so pink there is no way he wouldn't notice.

I want to say something snarky, something that will make him shut up or feel stupid. But I’m sick of my heart racing, so I just try to be as honest as I can.

“Yeah, food,” I repeat. “It’s complicated. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and his voice is surprisingly soft. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

I’m surprised by the lightness in his voice. Snow has always struck me as someone who would mock me for any issues, not be so understanding. But maybe spending more time together has softened him, or maybe it’s just dulled my edges so he’s finally letting his guard down.

“I didn’t think you’d get it,” I mumble.

“I don’t,” he says simply, “But you don’t gotta tell me everything, so that’s okay.”

A beat.

“But I’m still getting food on the way back, even if you don’t get anything.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes at him. “Of course you are.”

We keep walking, but the silence is comfortable now. I don’t notice how much time has passed before we show up at a cafe right outside campus.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get anything?” he asks again, holding open the door as I walk in. (Of course he’s a gentleman. I wish I hated him for it).

I glare at him, hoping he’ll drop the subject.

He just smiles.

I end up getting a smoothie. He gets a sandwich and chips. He also pays, despite my protests.

We end up sitting together outside on a bench. It’s oddly comfortable. We don’t say much, but it’s nice. It feels like we’re almost friends.

[dear-ao3]

hi it's me the person from like a week ago who's writing that college paper about f1 i was gonna respond and then i immediately forgot lol. the paper is on the different media strategies and narratives of the fia, teams, drivers, gp locations, etc, and how they interact with each other. and also how the ways liberty media and the fia are marketing the sport and drawing in new fans is actually alienating people and suppressing the authenticity of the sport. especially post drive to survive.

i'm a comms major lol i am a massive public relations nerd

also a couple questions: idk how well versed you are in business stuff but how would you say f1 has changed its branding, especially pre liberty media to now? and how were drivers marketed before the era of portraying them as like,, pop stars? when was that shift? also if you have any specific examples (or places i could find examples) related to that stuff or sexism in f1 or just how f1 tries to control the narrative i would appreciate it because jesus christ the lack of research is terrible

ok dump over the essays not due for another like 3 weeks but when its done i can send it to you if you want to read it :)

aaaaa this got lost in my ask box i hope i’m not too late posting it :/ unfortunately i have no real sources for you. i know the shift was post drive to survive, but i think it also depends on the country because like f1 hasn’t really been a huge Thing in the us, but like ferrari has been italys second religion for years. so it might make sense if you focused it on a country. like in the time since dts first released they added two more us gps: miami (2022) and las vegas (2023). i know there’s a lot of british bias, especially by sky sports and sometimes in the penalties as well. i think fernando alonso called that out this year (?) and max also usually mentions it a few times (at brazil this year he definitely called out the british press) i know there’s also interviews of drivers saying post dts people recognized them way more (maybe this was daniel? or lando?) but some of them really like it (daniel) and some of them don’t (like max) you could also play the angle from social media, like george used to i know at least run his own twitter way back in the day (might have been pre f1 but i think he was still running it loosely in 2019 or at least tweeting himself) and now he doesn’t really touch social media At All cause of the comments he gets. lando used to run most of his own social media also until i think like 2020? 2021? (as in i don’t think he had a social media team) before he passed it off to someone else, though i know he still goes on for sure. i think a lot of them definitely cleaned up their media presence post dts (like lewis was certainly a pr nightmare at one point earlier in his career which a lot of people don’t realize or remember and we’re not even going to talk about fernando alonso). the sport has gotten more tame for sure over the years, they used to get away with doing and saying way more but that could also just be a general cultural shift, there’s also i know pockets of people who are like oh this sport used to be so respectful and manly and blah blah blah and like. there’s photos of michael schumacher at a party in a wedding dress. david coulthard used to pretend to kiss his teammates on the lips in front of the cameras. as for sexism, there have been female drivers before, usually only doing short stints. i know susie wolff has talked about this with the f1 academy how pretty much only lewis consistently shows up to support it. i think max (?) said earlier this year that academy is great but if they want them to make it to f1 they need to give them faster cars. there’s also the whole horner fiasco from earlier this year.

idk if any of this is useful. or if you’ve already turned in your paper. in any case, good luck :)

[zarvasace]

Maybe this has already been answered, and I forgot, but in White Walls, aren't some of them young enough they should be in school? Have the older ones tried tutoring them so they don't fall behind?

This is an old ask from when I asked for prompts but hey here it is!! :)

~720 words, no warnings? This is post-White Walls! I don't think they really had the material or motivation to do any tutoring inside—though maybe boredom is motivation enough. But once they're out? Yeah they gotta do something about that.

Hyrule can barely see any blond hair over the stack of books in Four's arms as he returns to the gym. He watches as Four carefully slides the stack onto the stage, then uses one of the folding chairs as a stool to pull himself up, too. With relief, Hyrule pounces on the minor distraction. "What are all of those for?" Four settles with his back against the side of the stage and raises his eyebrows at Hyrule's own tiny stack. "What are all of those for?" he returns.

"There's this thing called a high school diploma…" Hyrule reminds him with a grim laugh. He doesn't disagree that it's probably a good idea for him to get something like that done, but he's a much, much slower reader and learner than Legend, who'd studied for a few weeks and got very good marks on his first try. Now Legend, along with everyone except Four, is on the basketball court below the stage, yelling and running and throwing each other out of the way. Hyrule estimates about three minutes until someone gets hurt, and maybe about ten until he himself finally gives up on this book and goes to join them. "I like reading," Four answers. He picks up the book at the top of the stack, one with a dry title about tractors or something, and flips past the first few pages. "Do you really think you'll get through all of those before we have to leave?" Four's stack is at least ten books high. Hyrule's own has three, and he knows he'll have to take them all back to the house, himself. Four doesn't need to study, is not enrolled in any classes at this high school because he graduated some years ago, and as far as Hyrule knows, Four can't actually take any books from the school library. "Probably not," Four says, already distracted, "but I like having choices." Hyrule hums at that. He rolls from his side to his stomach, wings flaring out behind him. The long coat he prefers to wear in public hides his wings, which helps him stay less conspicuous, but his poor wings are not easily compressed, and his muscles are sore from hiding them so much recently. Stretching out feels nice. He looks back down at his own book, intending to get through at least one more sentence. It's been easier to get through things now that he can choose what to read, albeit from a small selection, but it's still hard. He doesn't really see why he has to read some arbitrary number of books before he can move on. "There he goes," Four mutters. Hyrule looks up just in time to see Wild dive for the orange ball, but Warriors does the same from a different angle. Sky shouts a warning, but it's too late. Wild crashes into Warriors, and they both go down, the sound of at least one head smacking into the floor echoing through the large gym room in a way that never happened in their old carpeted living room.

Hyrule winces. The game comes to a pause, everyone going still as they wait for the fallout. Twilight zips to Sky's side as he wobbles, both of them panting from exertion. Warriors recovers quickly. He rolls over and pushes himself up to check over Wild, who'd landed next to him. "Wild?" Warriors said, moving a hand across Wild's face. Hyrule felt his wings rise in fear when Warriors's fingers press beneath Wild's jaw. Time walks forward, his very footsteps tense. "Sky, call—" Wild sits up suddenly, barely avoiding smacking his head into Warriors again, and he tosses the basketball that's still in his hands—hard. "Ledge!" Legend blinks back to attention and catches the ball, just to turn and toss it through the net at his end of the court. "Nice one." Warriors rolls back onto his elbows, color returning to his face, and Wind starts laughing, bent over to prop himself up on his knees. Four rolls his eyes and goes back to his book. Hyrule can't be expected to focus anymore, so he slips in his bookmark and jumps off the stage. His wings flutter just enough to keep him in the air for a moment too long. "Okay, which team is down a player?"

[iridescentparkers]

vanilla palm trees → four - salted caramel kisses

vanilla palm trees → four - salted caramel kisses

summary ⇢ it’s been years, he should get over it, right? but, peter just can’t. he looks up, he sees her. he goes to bed, he dreams of her. he wakes up, he can smell her. he goes out one night and he sees…her. no, not gwen but his ticket to stop moping around on the anniversary of her death. what is meant to be one quick night of putting sadness on the back burner, is now a blossoming new love that feels all too perfect for peter. was this new woman in his life meant to be? or was this just another set of poorly dealt cards that would leave him walking away empty handed. all or nothing, right? ↝ college!au ↝ one night stand gone wrong trope | masterlist

parings ⇢ tasm!peter parker x female reader

warnings ⇢ alcohol use, lots of mentions of death, sexual themes

a/n ⇢ this one is long - 2.5k words, but i think its my favorite so far!!!!! also please lmk what you guys think in my inbox!

“YOU’RE GLOWING,” Harry teased as Peter shut their apartment door last weekend.

Peter Parker found himself slightly swooned by his evening guest. Days would pass, and Peter would find himself daydreaming like a schoolgirl about when he would see her again. The only problem was he forgot to get her number.

Shit. 

He would sit on his couch and open his laptop, watching as the search engine glared back at him. Think, what would be the best place to start? 

The Trenton! 

That has to be her last name. Duh! And what do you know, a Y/N Trenton does exist! Thousands of results show up. You name it, it's there. Even old news articles.

Should he message her on Facebook? No, she’s older but not 40.

Instagram. Great. On his computer, he sees that she has 10k followers and 162 posts. 

Wow. She’s stunning. He shouldn’t, but he scrolls a bit, finding some old photos. Dozens from her USC days where she had blunt bangs and florescent pink lip color. 

Scrolling down, he clicked on one of her at a college party. He scrolled through the page to see the five other pictures on the post until he eventually stopped. The photos were covered in a golden filter, with Y/N practically devouring this one dude's face. 

Maybe not devouring, but she looks pretty happy kissing his face. He was blonde, with light eyes, nothing like Peter. It stung a bit, but it was from 6 years ago. It couldn’t mean anything now. 

But what in the world was he going to say to her? Peter was so lost, he never had to slide into a girl's DM’s. Eww, it was so odd to think about that. 

“Hey,” he typed out before deleting it, maybe three times with varying amounts of y’s and e’s. 

Then there was “Hi,” or “Hiiiiiii,” or “Sup girl.” No, please do not think like Harry. 

“Hi, Y/N. Remember me? Would you like to meet up for lunch this Thursday?”

“That seemed relatively normal. Right?” He murmured under his breath but, he scratched his head as the pondering developed into pure confusion.

“And, send,” Harry announced after hovering over the couch and Peter’s shoulder to send the DM. 

“Harry!” Peter shouted. “Why the hell would you send that?”

Harry grabbed the laptop after hopping over the couch and Peter snarled as he sat by him. 

“I’m just doing you a favor?”

“Really? First, you tell me to put myself out there, which I do. Next, you butt into my personal life, sending messages that I have no idea were a good idea or not! I mean, why can’t you just leave me alone? What if she doesn’t want to see me again!”

“I don’t think that’s true.” Harry smiled, watching the screen from his lap.

“How the hell would you know?”

“Just see for yourself,” he announced as he turned the laptop around. There sat a reply, 2 seconds ago from Y/N.

“I’d love to.” It read, and Peter smiled to himself for his sweet date this week.  

“You’re welcome.”

“HOW’S SCHOOL?” Y/N asked, walking down the New York City street.

“Hard,” Peter informed, walking alongside her. “Finals are coming up before the break, so I’m studying as much as I can before the weekend is over.”

She nodded, turning her body sideways as she slid between moving bodies. 

“Wow, this is so cool!” She smiled, running up to the nearby paper stands. “The new Spiderman comics. My brother loves them, but I have never seen them in person.”

Peter giggles at her fascination with the book, watching as she flips through the colorful pages. “I never read them, but I always see them on the corner.” 

Peter raised his brows as he gazed at the array of colorful printed books, “Wow, there are hundreds of them.”

“I know, but he always gets them as soon as they come out, or they sell out quickly.” She informed as she closed the book. “I’m talking like he’s a 10-year-old kid. He's a little older than you.” 

He laughed, pulled out his wallet, and gave the cashier some change. Her mouth gaped as he executed the gesture, Peter then putting a small hand in front of her. "I insist. What do you think about Spiderman?”

Y/N looked between Peter and the book, her brows furrowing as she looked at Peter, “I think the work he does is cool. I don’t know much about him, but people love him.” 

"Mostly."

"Yeah, but I feel like those who dislike him are just mad at the fact that they don't have super cool web lasers that shoot from their arms," she laughed, making arm gestures to imitate the hero with her hands, and Peter then laughed. "He's making an impact on the city."  

Y/N gestured towards the printed comic in hand, looking at Peter’s expression, “Like at The Trenton, a local artist is doing a sculpture of multiple 3D spiderwebs layered with these comics and Spiderman newspapers.”

“I’d love to see it.” 

“You can. The only thing is, it won't be ready for another 3 weeks. I can take you to the opening,” she informed. “I will say, I think a lot about who he is. Is he a rogue cop? Some sort of scrawny underdog?” 

She spoke as she began putting the book in her bag as Peter paid the cashier. “Whoever he is, I think he’s a hero.” 

He felt a bit flattered at her sentiment, smiling as he listened to her interest in him as what she called “a hero.” Those words left the mouths of few but when they did, Peter filled with gratitude.

The phone in his pocket began to buzz, and Peter lifted it into his palm, “Damn it.” 

"What time is it?"

"A little past one." 

“What’s wrong?”

“I need to make this cake for a friend, and my Aunt says she can’t come over to help me later.” He informed. 

“I could help.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, placing his phone back in his pocket as he hesitated, “Sure.” 

THEY FOUND THEIR WAY BACK TO PETER’S APARTMENT, Y/N giggling as she placed her bag down. “And you thought that was okay?”

Peter rubbed his nose, curling his lips as breathy chuckles fearfully left his lips, “I was 14 and thought the frosted tips were a ‘look.’” 

“It was definitely... a look.” She said, widening her eyes, moving them across the apartment  “Last time we were here, we uh…”

“Yeah,” he laughed, his eyes squinting as they met hers and laughed in a delightful unison. “I could use a drink. Beer?”

“You have nothing else in this house to drink?” She laughed, “College boys, I swear.”

“What can I say?” He shrugged, walking over and opening the door to his fridge.

“I’ll take one.”

“And I’ll get this recipe open. Feel free to look around.” 

Y/N moved around the apartment, looking at shelves and trinkets of stored memories between Peter and his roommate. Some shared, and others individualized. She moved to one of their bookshelves, grazing her fingers along the spines of varying albums and books on their shelf. She stopped at the one bright pink book, resting in the corner and drowning in the bland sea of book covers. 

The hot pink album was coated with foam stickers and glitter, some getting on the shelf and Y/N’s hands as she opened the book. 

Flipping to the first page, there sat a picture of Peter receiving a kiss from a girl with platinum blond bangs and pale skin, her fingers painted a baby pink nail color. 

“Who’s this?” 

Peter swallowed, as he placed two beers on the counter. “Gwen.”

“Why do you have this album with her in it?” 

Her tone wasn’t mad, more curious for his answer, “She made it for me when we were together.”

“And you still have it?”

“She passed,” he informed, raising his brows as his hands slid into his front pockets. “Around 6 years ago.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.” He repeated, looking at the book in her hands. 

“I overstepped.” She stated, closing the book and placing it back on the shelf. 

He shrugged as his lips began to curl further inward on his mouth, “I said you could look around.”

It remained silent as Peter settled more ingredients on his center kitchen aisle, Y/N creeping closer in delicate footsteps, careful in their newfound silence. She sat on the barstool in his kitchen, folding her hands carefully into a neat knot in front of her.

Peter reaches for and guzzles his open beer. He locks his eyes on the ingredients, his long lashes fluttering as the cold liquid slides down his throat. Peter places the empty bottle on his counter, speaking softly as the beer bubbles build in his chest. “Why don’t we make a cake?”

“Okay,” she nods, revealing her smile as she moves to Peter’s side. “What kind?”

“It’s weird, I know, but salted caramel.” He stated, and she jutted her neck backward. “Exactly.”

“Where should I start?”

Peter swiftly travels to the speaker on his bookshelf, blasting rock music and nodding as the beats echo inside his apartment. Y/N’s head finds the beat as the song rushes beats over her stance. 

They whisk themselves around the kitchen, taking turns putting ingredients in the wet and dry bowls as the rhythm picks up under them. Peter reaches for three more drinks, the bottles clinking as they pile up in his trash can, and he wipes his lips free of the smeared alcohol. 

“I didn’t take you for a dancer?" She chuckled as he shook his head on her face, his brown locks tickling her features. 

“Me neither,” he yelled, lifting his head as his words fought with the blasting music. 

With each bottle, his moves got sloppier, and Y/N laughed each time a new move developed in his repertoire. Smiling, his eyes crinkled as he jounced his chest to the down beats of the song. Y/N laughs at his lack of rhythm, and Peter pulls her by her arm to his chest. He whisked Y/N to the kitchen island, swirling her in the air, and settling her down next to the now-panned cake batter. 

He leaned in close, kissing her lips, the wheaty beer taste sizzling on her lips. The kiss was sloppy but sensual as his tongue dipped into her mouth. He pulled her in deeper as his hand slung down to her lower waist, Y/N then pulled away as the oven beeped behind them. 

“The oven,” Y/N whispered as she pulled away. “You should put the cake in.” 

“Right, the cake.”

“WATER?” Peter asked, throwing his body next to Y/N on the couch.

She gave him a knowing look, playfully shoving him as he sat, “You first.”

“Pfft,” he waved, sinking his body on the furniture. “I’m fine.”

His words slurred as his drunken eyes wandered to Y/N’s figure. ”Peter, are sure?” 

He huffed, pointing a finger to his bookcase, “That girl, Gwen. The one you saw earlier in the scrapbook…”

“Her favorite was salted caramel...everything. Salted caramel coffee, salted caramel chocolate, salted caramel ice cream, and especially salted caramel cake. She had it for her birthday every year.” 

“And when is her birthday?”

“Tomorrow.” 

Her lips formed a thin line as she scratched the open part of her chest. She immediately nodded as she pushed her legs from her chest, Peter moving his eyes down her body.  “I don’t want your pity.” 

She raised her brows as she chuckled, the air seeping through her teeth, “I wasn’t going to give you any. Why would you think that?”

“Everyone does.” He wavered. “They all want to tell me where I need to be, when to go out, when to...date. When to talk about her, when not to talk about her.” 

“I mean this, truly, in the nicest way.” She began, placing a hand on his leg. “You said it's been 6 years? Why do you still care about what others think?”

“Because I don’t have much family left,” he informed, slurring his words as he flailed his loose arms in the air. “I need to make them happy.”

“You don’t need to, you want to.” She corrected. “And if they truly loved you, as long as you are happy, they wouldn’t care. At all.” 

“You’re right.” he trailed, “But, I’m not happy. You’re the first date I’ve had in 6 years.”

“You were in high school!” Y/N exclaimed, hitting the back of her hand gently on his shoulder. 

He shrugged,  “I still could have put myself out there in college.”

“Not everyone finds the love of their life in high school and college. Believe me.”

“What does that mean?”

Y/N pursed her lips as she looked towards her feet, “Nothing.”

Peter put a hand on her knee, leaning closer to her figure, “Tell me.”

“I was engaged to a man I met in college,” she began, glancing vaguely at the left hand in her lap. “About three months ago, he died in a car crash.”

Was it the guy from her pictures?

Peter’s expression softened as he reached for her hand, pulling it to his. “M’Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” she began, her voice softening as she avoided eye contact “I found out, the day I met you, he was having an affair with his secretary. And now, she’s asking for some of his things because she claims, 'he loved her too.'” 

 “Y/N”

“Like you said, I don’t want your pity. I’m okay.” 

“I’m too drunk to give pity,” he slurred, drooping his head to her knees, inhaling as he leaned on her body, forcing her to drop her knees, and his head fell in her lap. She ran a gentle hand along his head, rubbing it slowly along his head.

He lazed in the physical contact, before grabbing her hand from his head. He pulled it to his chest, moving it to the cadence of his soft speech, “Vanilla.” 

“What?” she questioned. 

“You smell like her. Gwen,” he began, raising her hand to his nose and inhaling her scent, “Gwen used to wear some perfume. I forgot the name. I think it was like Vanilla Palm Tree or some sugary scent. I only remember she always smelt like Vanilla mixed with…beach.”

She chuckled awkwardly, letting go of his grasp, “Vanilla mixed with beach? Peter, you are drunk.”

“No no,” he assured as his eyes fluttered shut. “It’s… It’s Vanilla Palm Tree.”

“I should leave.”

“It’s why I stayed and brought you home from the bar…”

Y/N felt as the smoke smell rushed through her airways, “You don’t smell that?”

“Smell…smell what..” he muttered as his limbs went limp.

“Peter!” 

Grey lines of smoke trailed the ceiling of his apartment, and Y/N shot up to Peter’s kitchen, “Lightweight...”

[blue--ingenue]

"Evasive Maneuvers" - Part 4

Read the next part

Summary: You've been in love with Sebastian since the moment you knocked him on his arse on your first day. Entering your sixth year, you finally begin working up the courage to confess your feelings when he suddenly becomes the best Beater Hogwarts has seen in decades - and subsequently becomes the school's most eligible bachelor.

Author's Notes: sorry for the little cliffhanger/teaser a few days ago hehe. i've been really excited to post this chapter and wanted to give you a sneak peek. anyway, seb is a mess, but i promise he gets better at expressing his feelings :) (i forgot to mention in previous parts, but all characters in this fic are aged 18+)

Sebastian cursed as his shoe caught on a loose floor tile, nearly stumbling down the short flight of steps leading to the Potions classroom. He’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed and everything else had gone downhill from there. He’d arrived at morning quidditch practice to an onslaught of rain. Despite the wind and near-torrential downpour, Imelda had insisted they run drills until their allotted hour on the pitch was up. It was their final practice before their match against Gryffindor. Not only was it one of the most anticipated matches of the season, but Madam Kogawa had also chosen this particular match to evaluate the two houses’ players for a chance to represent the school at the Championships. Sebastian barely had time to cast a half-arsed drying charm over his robes before realizing Potions had started ten minutes ago. Now he was barreling through the halls, irritated and hoping that his tardiness wouldn’t affect his partner’s grade as well as his own.

Remembering that his best friend stood just beyond the door in front of him, he paused to run a hand through his unruly curls and adjust his tie. He hadn’t abandoned all decorum in his tardiness, thank you very much. For some reason she was the only one he cared to check his appearance for. The whole world could think him a rumpled, muddy mess, but as long as he maintained his dashing charm in front of her, he was content. This was, of course, all due to the fact that she was his best chum. That was the only reason he could think of. She was a fixture in his life, occupying more space in his heart and his head than he had the words to describe. So it naturally followed that her opinion would matter above the rest. It had been like this for as long as he could remember. Just last week he’d spent the galleons he’d been saving for some new quidditch gloves on a lovely necklace for her. He told her he’d come across it just as he was leaving Honeydukes. In truth, he’d spotted it at Gladrags a week before the start of term and knew it would look perfect on her. He’d only visited the sweetshop after he had acquired the necklace. He decided to downplay his enthusiasm for her gift, just in case she got the wrong idea. 

Sebastian was no fool to the nuances of courtship. Ominis had approached him over the summer to ask him for his blessing about courting Anne. Solomon, who had always had a soft spot for the Gaunt boy, and encouraged his endeavor with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. Both boys knew that Anne was her own woman and that asking for his blessing was a mere formality, but Ominis insisted on speaking to both of her remaining family members just in case. He knew what it was like to lose family and he didn’t want to risk causing a rift between any of the Sallows. 

Sebastian’s feelings toward his Gryffindor weren’t similar in the least. He’d seen witches and wizards fawning over one another as they walked arm-in-arm at Hogsmeade. He knew how ridiculous his classmates would act when the object of their affections glanced their way. Sebastian Sallow had never acted that way with her a day in his life. Sure, her presence left him invariably flustered, but that was simply because they were the closest of friends. He didn’t know how to put a name to the feelings she roused within him, but calling it something as trivial as “infatuation” seemed nothing less than insulting. No, she was far too extraordinary for that.

He was looking forward to putting this mess of a morning behind him. Spending time with her never failed to lift his spirits - which is why it hurt twice as hard when he stepped into the classroom and saw a familiar ginger nuisance standing in his spot. He was rooted to the spot, incredulous and fuming. He’d never taken issue with Weasley in any year previous, but since the start of term he seemed to be in the one place that was rightfully Sebastian’s - by his Gryffindor’s side. 

“Ah, Mr. Sallow. Good of you to finally join us,” Professor Sharp drawled from the front of the classroom. “If you’d like to avoid losing Slytherin any house points for today I’d recommend finding a seat. There seems to be an open stool next to Mr. Clopton.”

Begrudgingly Sebastian stalked over to Everett’s workbench and dropped his books onto the table with far more force than necessary. From across the room his Gryffindor shot him a sympathetic smile. It was like the first rays of sun had disintegrated the clouds from this morning’s offending storm. Looking around, she hastily scribbled a note onto a spare bit of parchment before waving her wand over it. With a soft pop the note appeared next to him. He smiled and snatched it from the table, unfurling it with speed. 

Sorry, Garreth volunteered to take your place when Sharp noticed you hadn’t yet arrived. Catch you after class?

He let the note fall to the table and plastered on a nonchalant smile. She seemed relieved, and for some reason that only seemed to irritate him further. Did being his partner mean so little to her that she was already content to continue on? To add insult to injury he was now forced to spend the next hour with Clopton. He was an alright bloke, but his obsession with quidditch meant that he was one of Sebastian’s biggest fans. He felt flattered, truly, but Everett’s presence began grating on his nerves once he started butting into the rare free time he spent with his Gryffindor. Seeking out a distraction from the hornet’s nest of feelings trapped within his head he turned to Everett to ask how far along they were in the potion recipe.

The Ravenclaw stood stock-still, as though he couldn’t believe Sebastian was actually talking to him after nearly a month of dismissed conversations. 

“Everett?” he prompted, exhaustion leeching the annoyance from his tone. He seemed to come to his senses at last and fumbled for the open potion book propped up against their cauldron. 

“Just here,” he replied, pointing to the second step. “I’ve already gathered the necessary ingredients, so we can just carry on with the chopping.” Sebastian thought he sounded far too enthusiastic for their first class of the day, but obliged. He’d just finished crushing the last bit of moonstone when Everett piped up. Unsurprisingly, and much to his dismay, he began prodding Sebastian about his broom skills. Sebastian gave a few obliging nods as he tuned out the boy’s rambling, intent on finishing their brew as quickly as he could. 

“The maneuvers you pull during practice are incredible! And on a school-issued broom, no less!” He carried on. Haughtily he added, “Of course, my broom is one of the fastest on the market. Begged my parents for one of those models for a year. A newer model was close to being released by the time they finally caved.”

Sebastian gave a noncommittal hum and focussed on listening in on the couple occupying his usual station. His hand stilled over the cutting board. Couple? He wondered. When had that word popped into his head? She and Weasley were hardly a couple. She was his best friend, and he was sure that he’d be the first one to know if she were even remotely interested in courting someone. To prove it, he looked up from his slicing to affirm their mutual distaste.

Only it didn’t look like distaste at all. She stood as she always did, elbows on the stained wood as she ran down the ingredient list with the tip of her wand. Weasley towered over her, reading over her shoulder with one arm supporting his weight atop the table. His attention caught on the boy’s face. He was smiling. It was soft and fond and trained entirely on her. Sebastian seethed. He didn’t know why this small act of affection lit a fire in his veins, but it just felt innately wrong, like stretching a muscle just a tad further than it was meant to bend. She was none the wiser as his larger hand brushed against hers in his attempt to turn the page. She turned her head then, realizing for the first time how close they were and blushed. This was ludicrous. Any closer and he’d practically have her pressed against the table. And what if he leaned down? What if he held her impossibly closer and pressed his lips against hers? Would she kiss him back? Sebastian wondered if she’d tug on his tie, pull him down and tangle a fist in his curls. 

This was ridiculous. Unbelievable. The whole bloody world was spinning off its axis and Sebastian was the only one who seemed to notice. If anyone should be kissing her, it should be him. He was supposed to be the only one to- 

Oh. 

Oh, dear. 

The world was no longer spinning off its axis. In fact, it wasn’t spinning at all. Everything and everyone was frozen and Sebastian was left to feel all these feelings in painful crystal clarity. He’d read about romance in the muggle novellas Anne had teased him for buying, but on paper everything was straightforward. The hero knew he loved the girl, and the girl loved him right back. In all the books he’d read the couples were inseparable. There was never a question of whether they loved each other, not one true doubt to be found. From Prologue to Epilogue he felt safe knowing that the couple would ultimately get their ‘happily ever after.’ Things were different once the books were back on their shelves. Happy endings were rare, if they even existed at all. His parents were kindred spirits, their love for one another so powerful that it flowed into every nook and cranny of their home. His mother used to tuck them in and say that she loved their father so much, the world decided they needed two children to carry it all. Those happy honeyed years were tucked safely away in his mind, where the memories of his parents’ demise and the rest of reality couldn’t touch them. 

Love was soft and sweet, and the world was a sharp and insatiable thing. The years following their move to Feldcroft were a special type of purgatory. The memories of his beloved childhood swirled cruelly in his mind’s eye each night, just vivid enough to remember yet just out of reach. A shard of fear pierced his chest. He couldn’t bear to lose her like that. He didn’t think he could stand getting so close to another person only to have them inevitably ripped away. Sebastian Sallow yearned for fairy tale endings, but he didn’t know if he believed in them anymore. 

A high-pitched hissing tore his focus away from his epiphany and the world spun on as if he hadn’t just realized something beautiful and horrible and terrifying. It intensified and he realized the noise was coming from Weasley’s cauldron. He could only watch on as it erupted, sending metal shards and acidic splatters every which way. Garreth tackled his Gryffindor to the floor, shielding her with his own body while the failed potion smoked and ate through his robes. She frantically tore the tattered robe from his body before it could make contact with the rest of him and the two froze. Although he couldn’t hear them over the chaos the rest of the room had erupted into, he knew she was asking if he was alright. He nodded and Sebastian saw red as he brushed her hair back to look at a nasty cut on her forehead. Garreth’s discarded robe smoked behind him, his shirt torn in a few places, and gently held her face in his hands as he checked for more cuts. He only barely registered Sharp dismissing the class for the day before he was grabbing his things and slipping out of the classroom.

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Taglist: @snickette, @findingtruenorth23, @plooloo, @paganicher, @smilesworldsposts, @snoozebun, @crazyllamasurfer, @pixie-dustss, @margottheviking, @lollife1617, @tired-meg, @somethingiswrongwithme

[shatterinseconds]

Hoverbike

Inspired by @froopa-coopa’s art from a few months ago

After three years stuck in space, and another two roaming the galaxy leading the Blade of Marmora on relief missions, Keith’s hoverbike fell into major disrepair. The hot desert air and sand gunked the machine enough for it to spit black fumes when Keith tried to kickstart it again. That had been a week ago, where after visiting Lance’s family in Cuba for a month they decided to head to Keith’s shack for some needed alone time, but the new parts finally arrived, and Lance was unfortunately jostled awake way too early in the morning to “help.”

He sits cross legged on top of the hoverbike while Keith works underneath. They trade short conversations back and forth, mostly Lance guiding them. But a large part is spent in silence, knowing that the other is there in close range being enough for them. Lance doesn’t mind. He gets to enjoy the warm sun on face and think of his family and realize how glad he is to be back on Earth for an indefinite stay this time. 

Keith slides out with grease smeared on his cheek and hair bunched up from welding goggles. It’s a super cute look. Too bad Lance’s phone is charging inside. Keith stretches up his hand above, waving it around a bit, wordlessly.

“What do you want, Mullet?” Lance leans forward, bracing his hands on the leather seat so he doesn’t fall off accidentally.

“Over there. Tool box,” Keith finally uses his words, a bit exasperated, which causes Lance to roll his eyes. It’s not Lance’s fault they never met an alien race that could grant them mind reading powers—which would have been so cool.

Instead, he mumbles, “I don’t speak mechanic.” But he still digs around in the tool box, having a vague idea after watching Hunk for years and Keith more recently. A note of triumph echoes in the back of his throat as he finds the potential tool. “This?” he asks as he leans over the bike, Spiderman style, staring at Keith upside down. He holds out what he thinks is a screwdriver but with an odd shaped head. 

“Yeah.” Keith grabs the screwdriver without so much as an ounce of gratitude but Lance doesn’t care. He huffs a laugh until Keith pops back out, remembering himself. “Thanks.”

Lance grins and taps his lips. “You forgot something else.”

“I smell like motor oil. You don’t want a kiss.”

“I always want a kiss, Mullet,” Lance says with ease. His smile grows, almost starting to stretch wide enough to hurt. “If I can soldier through your bad morning breath, I can handle this.”

Keith grumbles something unintelligible but sits up enough that he and Lance are mere inches away now. “You have the bad morning breath,” he mumbles as he pulls Lance towards him. A grimy hand gently cups his face. The smell of sweat, hard work, and engine grease scratch the inside of Lance’s nose. And yet, it’s in his top five of Keith kisses—right up there with their first kiss, their post-sex kisses, and that time Keith caught him by surprise during a Coalition banquet because jealousy had started to get the better of him.

Lance digs his hands into Keith’s tangled hair, pushing back the goggles, and deepens the kiss. Keith’s free hand slides to Lance’s waist, stabilizing him so they don’t both crash to the ground. Every place Keith touches buzzes from the warm contact. Those fingerless gloves brush over a smooth patch of skin, exposed by his shirt falling forward and catching under his armpits. Keith pulls on his lower lip before separating, biting down in a way that causes Lance to mutter a curse and for Keith to break out into a pleased grin.

“See,” Lance says as he knocks his forehead against Keith’s. His chest heaves from the lack of air. Keith always makes him breathless, quite literally most of the time. “You almost missed out on that.”

Shaking his head, Keith laughs. “I’m glad I didn’t.” He pecks Lance’s lips one more time before he disappears under the bike again and Lance returns to lying on top, very content.

[theleastprofessionalchef]

Ah jeez, I started making this post end of May and saved it as a draft so I could come back with the recipe, and fully forgot to do that for uh. Yeah. A long time. I've since made a few more batches of successful mead, and have a couple more fermenting right now! I'll reblog with pics of them later.

Well! better late than never. Leaving what I'd written initially unchanged, so-

-

Two months apart - start and end - my first successful batch of mead! I've tried a handful of times over the years, but had an unfortunate habit of doing... SOMETHING wrong each time that resulted in lightly sweetened cleaning alcohol 😅

But finally, a success! Real mead! Sweet, but not too sweet, and boozy enough without being straight up moonshine

Recipe:

Roughly three pounds of honey

3? 4? Of those little mandarin oranges, quartered

1 packet ale yeast, I used this

Various whole mulling spices, I used a stick of cinnamon and a few cloves this time, but I've also tossed in cardamom pods and anise occasionally, maybe a couple peppercorns. Go wild

So much filtered/distilled water. So much. Like two gallons?

I'll be real folks, I used a cheap shitty online guide that I don't remember the link for, that said it was a good basic way to learn how to make garbage mead and that any brewer worth their salt would cringe at. It is also coincidentally the same guide I used years ago in the aforementioned cleaning alcohol incident; I haven't changed what I used or did, so I honestly don't know why that came out bad and this good. Shrugs! Yeast can't read.

Dissolve the honey in warm/hot water. Not boiling- you don't want to kill the yeast when you add it in. Think a nice, warm shower. Stir it well, add the oranges and spices, and mix in the yeast until also dissolved.

Load it all up into a large glass container like the one pictured. I ordered a carboy online for this, which is the 'proper' thing to use, but you can honestly get away with an old milk jug you've thoroughly cleaned and sanitized, if you again, don't care about it being the highest quality. Carboys come with the fermentation/filtration Thing on it to let gases out and nothing in (the little doohicky plugged into the top of the lid) but you can also get away with stretching the mouth of a balloon over where the lid would go and poke a teensy hole in it with a needle. The goal is to let the gases that build up during fermentation escape the container, but not to let outside air in.

Fill the container the rest of the way up with water, but leave a couple inches of space on top. This thang's gonna bubble like crazy once the yeast start feeding, and you don't want it to overflow and make a mess of your cupboard.

Put it in a dark, cool space, and wait a few days!

It'll bubble a lot those first days; DON'T mess with it. Leave her be. Let her have her hot girl summer. After a few days, maybe a week, it'll calm down a bit; now you can top off the water supply.

Fast forward uhhhh two months or so, and it's done! There's a more legit way to know for sure when it's done that involves watching the tiny bubbles that form near the top as part of the fermentation process, and figuring out when they'll stop, but I'm impatient and don't know jack and am here for a good time not a long time.

Enjoy mead! And maybe do some better research than I did if you want something fancy.

OH AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DO NOT STIR IT WHEN YOU GO TO DRINK THE FINISHED STUFF

You'll want to scoop the fruits and spices off the top and then siphon it off into another container, or do what we did and simply ladle it off the top (because on a ship of 10-13 sailors, 1 1/2-2 gallons of mead won't last longer than an off day), and NOT drink the detritus off the bottom. You can kinda see it in the picture above. It is not like unfiltered apple cider. That stuff tastes gnarly.

Do not shake the mead before drinking.