#i've read so much it's all turning into a massive blur

[userlando]

lending a hand — lando norris

lando norris x fem!reader [5.5k] summary: exams are coming up and studying for it turns out to be more tedious than usual. luckily, lando is around & more than eager to lend a helping hand. warnings: 18+ fingering, dirty talk, protected sex (piv), brief oral, doggy, missionary, dom!lando, derogatory name calling, choking, slapping (lando smacks a tit and ass lol), everything is absolutely consensual a/n: HI EVERYONE!! i know it's been agesss since i came on here and i'm still kind of on a hiatus because i just haven't been feeling tumblr lately. i wrote this piece a while back for another cc but they've since then showed themselves to be a bad person and i don't wanna be associated with that. so i rewrote and added some things because i really like this one. so hopefully you do too :') i love u and miss u all so much, i'll hopefully jump back on when i've got my mojo back!! read before interacting: I suck at biology and googled every single medical term and everything it’s got to do with it. i’m so sorry if i wrote something incorrectly, please don’t come for me. thank you x

The air was stifling hot and damp, your fingers were cramping up and the words on your textbooks were starting to blur into one big mess the longer you stared at them. There were so many books laid out in front of you, pictures of cartooned organs and human anatomy that on any other day, would be of massive help. But right now they just made your head hurt even more.

When your fingers cramped up for the fourth time, you let go of your pencil and watched it land softly on the sheets in front of you. You were in serious need of a massage, tension rippling in your body that would only perish once your final exams were over and done with. It wasn’t long until you took them, two weeks to be exact but the stress was weighing heavier on you than you’d like to admit.

The only thing pushing you forward was the fact that you’d be one step closer to graduating and the promised deep massage in Monaco’s finest spa.

Your boyfriend had been the true pillar in your life. Lando been so patient and tried to help in any way he could when you’d seek comfort in his arms and awkwardly stumbled words. Poor thing didn’t know how to make your stress go away when you were at your worst, but he certainly tried his best and that was all that mattered. Lando felt helpless at those times, but he found himself relaxing when he held you and could feel the tension in your shoulders lessen.

You’d been neglecting him for over a week now, but he was nothing if not understanding and he took advantage of that time to spend more in front of his computer with his friends or even the racing sim, while you holed up in your shared bedroom.

It had made you feel a little guilty at first, seeing as it was his season break and he’d intended to spend his free time with you but your schedules didn’t align enough. There were only so many hours you could spend procrastinating before the stress got to be too much.

You’d first opted to sit next to him while he played and streamed but you’d found him too big of a distraction so it hadn’t been long before you migrated to your bedroom. Hearing him from down the hall was comfort enough.

It was as if your thoughts had summoned him, the creak of the door pulling your attention to it and you blinked away the blur in your eyes to watch his upper body and head peak through the space. The curls on his head were wild, unrulier than usual and you’d have taken a step back to admire them if you had the strength to.

“You alright?” He asked tentatively, and you nodded with a wave of your hand; Gesturing for him to come in because suddenly you were in need of his comforting hug.

He’d gone quiet in his office a while ago and you figured he’d gone offline, not hearing a peep from him. Or maybe you’d had, and just didn’t notice.

“You need a break.” Lando murmured as he stepped inside, coming to stand by the bed.

You blinked up at him and realised the blur in your eyes were from unshed tears of exhaustion. It seemed as if Lando realised it at the same time you did, letting out a surprised soft laugh as he pouted his bottom lip in sympathy.

“Darling.” He reached out both of his hands to cradle your face, thumbs reaching out to swipe beneath your eyes. “This isn’t healthy.”

“I’m not crying, I swear.” You placed your hands over his, letting out a watery laugh at the worry in his eyes. “I’m just tired. These words aren’t making sense anymore.”

Lando made a sound in his throat, turning to plop down on the bed. You tried to keep the scowl from showing on your face when he moved around the meticulously arranged papers on the sheets, but he saw it and grimaced in something you guessed were apologetic.

“How about we go out and get something to eat?” Your boyfriend suggested, laying down on his side and propping his head up with the help of his hand.

“I’m not hungry.” That was a lie.

You’d been cooped up in your room for over - you glanced at the clock and winced - three hours, and the last time you’d ate was a bowl of yogurt and granola. It wasn’t healthy, and you always made a point of eating before your insides started twisting with hunger, but it was easy to get carried away while revising.

“Don’t pull that shit on me.” Lando’s eyes rolled, reaching a hand out to nudge you in the side to garner a reaction out of you. You jumped with a startled giggle, swatting at his hand. “Just an hour and then we’ll be back, I promise.”

You shook your head, no matter how tempting that offer was. You knew yourself well enough to know that you’d go out to eat, come back and then push studying aside to cuddle in bed with him. And seeing as the both of you hadn’t gone further than kissing for the past week, Lando would definitely not protest if you procrastinated in order to spend some quality time with him.

“Lan, I love you but I really cannot abandon this until I’m done.” You gestured to the mountain of stress in front of you.

Lando followed the gesture with his eyes, stretching a hand out to pluck a notebook with your scribble on it. You watched him scan it, a furrow making its way between his bushy eyebrows and it made you smile involuntarily. He looked absolutely adorable and so very confused.

“Medical terminology…” He read before trailing off with a sound of aversion. “So… What? You need to memorise these words?”

It would be a lie if you said that you hadn’t been a little distracted while he skimmed over the pages as if he understood what the words such as Popliteal and Supraclavicular meant. You were too busy looking at the arch of his nose and the tempting pout of his lips, admiring the slight redness covering the apples of his cheeks.

His eyes flicked up and you blinked back to reality, ignoring the teasing smile playing on his lips as you answered his previous question with a forlorn nod. You watched him light up slightly as an idea struck him.

“What?”

“What if I help you out?” He asked, sitting up slightly.

You almost laughed. Help? You’d be a delicious distraction.

“How would you help me?” You asked instead, smiling as he sat up fully and waved the notebook in his hand between you two. As if that would answer your question.

“May I?” He asked and you looked at his hand hovering over the textbooks.

It took you a second to realise what he was asking and you almost shook your head no, but Lando looked too excited and you weren’t about to rain on his parade so you nodded.

He didn’t waste any time with packing everything up and placing them in a surprisingly organised pile on the floor by the bed, keeping the notebook he’d been holding close by as he scooted up the bed and laid down with his head on the pillow. You gazed at him questioningly, feeling lost.

“Wow… You sure cleared my confusion up.” You said slowly after a beat of silence.

You watched your boyfriend roll his eyes, so sassy and so Lando it made your chest hurt with adoration.

“Alright smartass. Come here.” His hand circled your wrist and the tug almost sent you flying over him. You squealed in surprise, thankfully steadying yourself before you toppled over and looked down on Lando between the curtain of hair that had fallen over your face. “Sorry.”

You slapped his chest lightly and rearranged yourself so you were straddling his thighs gently as he’d probably intended to have you do from the start. The position made unexpected arousal flare up in your abdomen and it wasn’t disappearing any time soon with the way Lando was looking up at you from his position.

“Alright, can you please tell me what’s going on?” You asked nicely and placed your hands over his where they’d snuck up and found a home on your thighs.

He freed one hand and grabbed yours, fingers slotting nicely between yours and you resisted the sudden urge to grind down on him. Something about this man made you shamelessly feral.

“Okay so, you have to memorise all this gibberish and what better way than to practice on me?” He finished his sentence by tugging softly on your hand and you bent down when you understood his silent request, slotting your lips against his.

His lips felt soft and you couldn’t help but open up to his tongue, your body automatically melting into his as his free hand found its place on the small of your back to pull you in closer.

You allowed yourself a few seconds before sitting back up in his lap, feeling slightly disoriented.

“Is this your way of getting me into bed?” You narrowed your eyes jokingly in suspicion, earning a laugh from him.

“No, I genuinely want to help. But I wouldn’t mind you in bed with me, either.” He replied, pushing his hips up to readjust his position and jostling you in the process. “Go ahead, where do you wanna start?”

You pursed your lips in thought, deciding that starting at his face and working yourself down was the best way to do it. You were, after all, already sat on his legs and had made yourself quite comfortable. With your decision made, you placed one hand on the left side of Lando’s head and got close to him.

Lando sucked his lips into his mouth, big eyes watching you in silence but his facial expression said it all. It truly had been too long since you’d had sex, but maybe there was a way of incorporating intimacy into studying. Who birds, one stone and all that.

“So, this is the frontal.” You murmured, the other hand coming up to swipe a gentle finger across his forehead before moving down to his cheekbone. “The zygomatic bone.”

Lando blinked slowly, but he stayed silent as your fingers trailed down over the slope of his nose. A giggle left your lips as he scrunched his nose, the skin moving beneath the tips of your fingers.

“The nasal,” You muttered, trailing your fingers up to gently touch his eyelids as he closed his eyes. You couldn’t help but place soft kisses over each of them, watching him flutter them open to look at you. His eyelashes were ridiculously long and seductive. You hated it. “Oculus.”

Lando shifted beneath you, tongue coming out to wet his lips and you were immediately drawn to the sheen of them. You let out a small desperate breath, closing the small distance between the two of you for a kiss. Your boyfriend made a sound in his throat and you pulled back barely an inch to whisper.

“Oral cavity.” Before diving back in for a second kiss that he was more than happy to reciprocate.

It was easy to lose yourself in his touch and the warmth of his body against yours, your hand coming up to grab his thick hair in your grip while his circled around your body to pull you flush against him.

“Lando…” You let out a small whine when he pulled back to bite on your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth in a way that had your toes curling. “Fuck me.”

Any other day and you’d probably flush at the way you sounded so whiny, but you didn’t have time to overthink it before your boyfriend gathered up what remained of his self restraint to pull back. You chased his lips and only got a nip back, making you pout down at him.

“Keep going.” He ordered and you scooted up so your nether regions were flush against each other. He hissed your name in warning, “Don’t be a brat, finish what you started.”

You huffed and opened your mouth to protest but caught yourself when you saw the expression on his face. Shit, he really wasn’t playing around.

“Fine.” You bit out, wiggling a little in place to feel the smooth hardness of Lando between your legs.

The man in question tutted and reached out to grip your throat in a hold, gentle but it was strong enough to catch you off guard and still yourself in his lap.

“What is this part called?” He asked, awfully casual for someone who was half hard with their hand wrapped around your throat.

He flexed his fingers lightly and you searched your muddled brain for the answer, fighting the urge to moan when he squeezed. It wasn’t fair, he knew what he was doing to you.

“The esophagus.” You whispered, not daring to look away from his intense gaze as he carefully unwrapped his fingers from said body part, two of his fingers tapping your chin before resting on your bottom lip.

“Open.” He commanded softly and you did, without question.

You held his eyes as he slid two fingers inside, tasting the saltiness of his skin as he stroked over your tongue. The urge to gag hit you when he slid too far down, eyes watering when he wiggled his fingers inside teasingly.

“What’s this called?” He asked, and you could see the teasing pull of the corners of his mouth when you glared down at him.

How am I supposed to respond with your fingers down my throat? Your eyes screamed, but Lando merely raised his eyebrows and pressed his fingers forward in retaliation.

You gagged, a sound of despair escaping your drooling mouth.

You tried to reply with “Pharynx” but the words came out as a jumbled mess and you drooled down his fingers. But it was apparently good enough for Lando because he pulled back slightly to let you breathe more properly, stroking the width of your tongue in a silent command. You sucked on his fingers, cleaning them off of any saliva before he retrieved them entirely.

“Good girl.” The rasp in his voice made your stomach swoop as he smiled at you, placing his hands on either side of your hips. “Go on.”

You stared at him, not entirely sure what to do but he gave you the answer when he tugged on your t-shirt; A silent urge to take it off. You didn’t waste any time, grabbing it by the hem and lifting it off your torso; Almost falling over in the process. Lando chuckled at your eagerness and your face burned, but you refused to let that affect you. The two of you looked at one another for a beat before he dropped his gaze to your heaving, exposed chest. Never had you been happier to have foregone a bra, especially when he stroked both hands up your sides. He felt your skin beneath his palms, a shiver escaping you.

“Please,” You whispered, grinding down on the hardness beneath you. Your eyes fluttered.

“Please what?” His voice sounded teasing, bright eyes trained on you.

Instead of answering him verbally, you grabbed his hands in yours and placed them over the swell of your breasts. Lando inhaled at the feel of them in his palms, letting you squeeze his hands in yours. A moan escaped your mouth as his thumbs swiped over your nipples until they pebbled, back arching into his hold.

“So needy for me.”

His rough voice had you opening your eyes and he must’ve seen something in them because he took pity on you. The yelp that left your lips was anything but attractive when he embraced you and flipped you both over. Lando laughed when you bounced on the mattress, and you couldn’t help but giggle as the tension broke.

“Please, Lando.” You pleaded after the both of you had calmed down from your little fit, hands coming up to feel the taut of his stomach over his t-shirt.

You sounded needy in your own ears but you didn’t really care. And judging by your boyfriends teeth sinking into his bottom lip, he loved hearing you like this.

“Please what, darling?” His eyebrows drew together in fake sympathy, his gaze dropping to your chest when you arched your back.

You opened your mouth to answer him but the words died on your lips the second Lando leaned down and sucked a nipple into his mouth. You should’ve seen it coming, because he could never keep away from your tits for too long but the suction made you gasp all the same, hands coming up to grab at the back of his head.

“Just fuck me already.” You said.

Lando grabbed the both of your hands in his before pinning them to the side, suckling harsher on your teat before kissing his way over to the other side. You didn’t know what to focus on, the cool air on your wet nipple, his unforgiving mouth on the other one or the way his hands were digging into the skin of your wrists. The thought of him bruising you made you buck your hips up, craving it more than ever.

“You’re impatient tonight.” He drew back, blowing cool air on your saliva soaked skin and making you squirm. “I can’t decide whether I should punish you for being a needy little slut or fuck the brattiness out of you.”

You knew you shouldn’t talk back, but the words were out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“Anything would be better than this.” It came out as an indignant mutter but Lando’s eyes flared in challenge.

It was quick and you didn’t have time to react to his hand sailing down and slapping the meat of your breast. You yelled out in shock, feeling your pussy clench around nothing as you tried to sit up as an automatic response. Lando tutted, quickly grabbing you by the throat and pushing you down with a strength that had you gasping for breath.

“This is what happens when I don’t fuck you for a week,” He hissed, eyebrows drawn in anger but you could see the desire in his eyes as he bent down to your eye level. “One week without my cock and you start acting like a bitch.”

Holy fuck, the filth coming from his mouth made your nerves light up in anticipation. It had been too long, so fucking long since he talked and behaved like this. You hadn’t realised how much you missed it until now.

His hand let go of your throat and instead cupped your chin, his fingers squeezing your mouth together until your eyes fluttered shut in need with a moan. Lando grinned down at you, tightening his grip just to watch your eyes roll before pressing a filthy kiss to your mouth that you barely had time to reciprocate before he pulled back.

It felt like you were in a daze, feeling him pull your sweatpants off along with your panties. He made an offhand comment about the wetness that you didn’t register, choosing to grit your teeth and ball your fists to keep from touching yourself instead.

Lando undressed himself without getting off the bed, albeit a little clumsily but he recovered quick and grabbed your thighs to spread them apart. The look on his face made you flush hot all over, almost like you were a meal he couldn’t wait to devour.

“Look at that, so wet already.” He hummed in appreciation and coated one finger in your slick before sinking it inside of you, revelling in your gasps. “All this for me, baby?”

“Mmm,” You swallowed, throat drying up and eyes closing at the sensation. “Just for you, Lando.”

“That’s what I thought.” He said smugly.

He sank a second finger inside and scissored them until he deemed you stretched enough, his free hand stopping your thighs from closing when you started to feel him pull out. It had been too long since you’d been touched like this, and Lando was always so talented with his fingers. He could truly play you like a fiddle.

“Don’t.” He growled, the tone of his voice making you squirm and separate your legs obediently again. “Good girl.”

You watched him in silence as he pulled his fingers out, slipping them into his mouth to clean them off with a hum that you felt in your core. Sweat was beading on your forehead and you were sure that you looked a mess. Lando didn’t seem to mind it though, his eyes roaming appreciatively over your body before settling on your face. His eyes softened at whatever he saw in your eyes and something warm bloomed in your chest.

“Kiss me, please?” You begged, suddenly needing him near you.

Lando didn’t hesitate as he bent over to press his mouth to yours, the kiss uncharacteristically gentle consider how crudely his cock was pressing against your mound, one hand sinking into your hair to tilt your head to his liking. He broke the kiss for a moment to reach to the side, opening up the drawer with a groan and rifling through the contents. You watched in mild amusement, taking in the pinch of his eyebrows and the concentration on his face. You took the opportunity to press kisses to his shoulder and up his throat, your tongue tasting the saltiness of his sweaty skin. Lando’s unstable position faltered and you sucked a small lovebite into the delicate skin of his neck for good measure.

“Fuck.” He swore with a breathless laugh, steadying himself and sitting upright.

You smiled up at him, planting your feet on the bed and bending your legs so Lando could get even closer to where you needed him the most. His bright eyes found yours, eyebrows rising. He bit into the tinfoil, tearing it open and fishing the condom out to slip it on.

The rubber wasn’t needed, not really. But Lando knew you well enough to know when you had enough energy after the deed to clean yourself up, and today wasn’t one of those days. He would often do it himself, ignoring your embarrassing protests as he wiped you down with a cloth and eventually giving up when he swatted your hands away.

Anticipation rose in you when he positioned himself but he seemed to change his mind at the last second, a devilish smile widening on his lips when he patted the side of your hip twice. You knew what that meant and you bit your lip in uncertainty. The dreaded position you loved and hated at the same time.

“Turn around and don’t make me ask twice.” Lando said after reading the look on your face and you made a noise that sounded a lot like dislike.

But you definitely didn’t want to stall it any longer, so you turned your body around and pressed your cheek against the mattress with your eyes closed. This position hit absolutely every nerve inside of you, but it also left you completely exposed and that’s mainly why you hated it.

Lando grabbed your hips and lifted you upwards so your knees were beneath you, exhaling as he slid his hands from your ass and down your back. The feel of his palm against the skin of your back made you arch despite your initial hesitation and something about that made the man behind you feel all the more needier.

“So fucking gorgeous,” You heard him whisper and you believed it. “Can’t wait to sink into this pretty little cunt.”

Unexpected heat shot down your back and you moaned, pressing back against Lando in hopes that he’d finally get the hint and fuck you. Your hands gripped the sheets on either side of your bed in anticipation at the thought.

“Fuck me, please.” It came out as a whispered plea.

“I will, don’t worry, love.”

And with that promise, he nudged himself inside. You arched in response, eyes shutting as he started pushing inside little by little. The stretch was incredible, making your toes curl and mouth open in a silent moan. Lando let out a sound of his own as he bottomed out, one hand grabbing your hips while the other settled over the small of your back to push down gently. You arched, and he seemed to like that because he immediately drew back before thrusting back in.

He found a rhythm you assumed he liked and you matched it by pushing back when he pushed in. A wave of heat overtakes you and your eyes roll in your sockets the harder he thrusts; Like a man on a mission, eager to bury himself inside you as far as he can go.

It hadn’t occured to you just how badly you’d been neglecting Lando lately, but it was evident in how his hands grabbed anywhere he could find purchase, your name leaving his mouth in a chant as he fucked you harder. You needed this as much as he did.

“Fuck, oh my God.” You tried to pull your hand back to touch yourself but you were jostled too harshly and you ended up being thrown off balance.

A high pitched whine left your mouth as Lando slipped out and just as you were about to turn your head to look at him, he’d grasped your hips and turned you around on your back. He reached for the pillow next to your head, stuffing it under your hips and kissing just beneath your navel in the process as a silent praise for raising your hips without him having to ask.

You watched with bated breath as he pressed kisses down your stomach, over your mound before latching his mouth onto your clit. The unexpected touch of his sinful mouth had you throwing your head back, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Oh my God, Lando...” You moaned, attempting to tilt your head down so you could watch him but he was quick to flick his tongue against your clit and it only made you arch into his mouth.

Lando was holding the base of his cock, squeezing and willing himself not to blow too soon. He’d been waiting to get inside you long enough and he wasn’t about to end it before he’d had his fill of you. When he deemed it safe enough, he pulled away and positioned himself between your legs before sliding in. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip at your reaction, loving the flutter of your eyelids and the pretty way your mouth opened in a pathetic moan.

He couldn’t help but lower himself down onto you, mindful as to not suffocate you but just enough for you to feel the press of his chest against yours as he started fucking into your wet heat.

You took it like a champion, arms circling his upper body and legs falling open as he fucked you into the mattress with reckless abandon. The stress you’d been feeling the past week was slowly seeping out of you, and you welcomed the feeling of it as you brought Lando to your mouth, kissing him until you lost your breath.

“You’re so pretty,” Lando murmured against your lips breathlessly. “My pretty baby.”

He slid one hand between the two of you, long fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in a way that had you crying out against his mouth. Lando refused to blink, didn’t want to miss the look on your face as he brought you closer to euphoria.

“You know what this is, baby?” He asked, hand cupping your pussy and trying not to falter when he felt where the two of you were connected.

Fuck, you were soaking and Lando was really about to blow.

“This is mine.” He hissed, watching the way your eyes rolled before shutting. “Only I get to fuck it, you hear me?”

You opened your mouth to respond that yes, of course it fucking is - but the loud cry that left you instead surprised the both of you as your body tensed up, pussy clenching around his cock as you sobbed through your orgasm. Liquid heat trickled down your back and you momentarily blacked out at the sheer force of you tensing up in your climax.

“Oh fuck.” Lando hissed, dropping his head against the crook of your neck and fucking into your clenching pussy.

If your sounds and the look on your face wasn’t enough to bring him to his end, then the feel of your legs circling around him and locking him into place was enough to do his head in. You moaned weakly as he tensed up in your arms, shooting into the condom and grinding into your sensitive cunt, like he wanted to bury himself as deep as possible.

He probably didn’t realise that in his high, he’d dropped his entire weight on you but you absolutely didn’t mind it; Finding comfort in his heaving body and the feel of his damp hair as you buried your fingers into it.

“God, you’re gonna fucking kill me.” He garbled against your skin as he pulled himself out of you, lifting his head weakly to take a look at you.

You couldn’t help but grin at his flushed face and blown wide pupils, feeling thrilled that this gorgeous man loved you. And you loved him, so much.

“I could really go for a sandwich from the deli down the street right now.” You whispered dreamily, closing your eyes shut as he brought a shaking hand up to swipe a few damp strands from your forehead.

Lando pulled a face.

“If you think we’re not gonna order in, you’re sorely mistaken.”

He shook his head at the thought of leaving the bed - leaving you naked in his bed - to buy sandwiches. No matter how absolutely amazing they were. You blinked up at him with big eyes, pouting your lip and Lando knew right then that he’d lost any willpower he’d had left.

“Oh, you’re good.” He narrowed his eyes, sneaking his hands down to tickle your sides.

You squealed, squirming underneath him and yelling at him to stop, your body too weak to fight back. Lando kept going for a few seconds before he let you push him to the side so you were half laying on top of him instead.

“You’re evil.” You glared at him, but he could see the twitch of your raw lips and the love in your eyes so he didn’t take it too hard.

Lando gripped your chin gently and brought you in a for a kiss before pulling back to look at you. You blinked back and he smiled.

“Alright I’ll go down to the shop in one condition.” He said, trying to sound serious despite the massive grin on his face. “You hop in the shower, and then I want all these books gone from this room by the time I get back. We’re taking the rest of the night off.”

You suppressed a smile at the “we”, nodding your head reluctantly instead because for once you weren’t overwhelmed with stress and you weren’t about to bring it all back when Lando had worked so hard to relieve you of it. Hopefully he’d relieve you of it a couple more times later tonight.

“It’s a deal.” You agreed verbally, bringing your pinky to hook into his own.

“Alright, let’s get to it.” He brought an arm around and slapped your ass.

You jumped with a gasp, glaring at your boyfriend who cackled and jumped out of bed before you could kick him in retaliation. He looked amused as he walked around the bed to find tissues and get rid of the condom, cleaning himself up the best he could. He found the clothes he’d thrown on the floor, pulling them on all the while watching you stretch on the bed like a cat. It was so tempting to crawl back into bed and have his way with you but he gritted his teeth and turned to locate his wallet and phone.

“Text me your order, I’ll see you in a bit.” He said and leaned down to press two kisses to your lips, making a noise in his throat when you wound your hands in his hair and pulled him closer for a few more kisses. “I love you.”

You grinned against his mouth, teeth knocking together but you were too happy to care as he nipped your lower lip and pulled himself up to stand straight.

“Love you too. Be safe.”

You watched him walk out, smiling to yourself at how incredibly lucky you were.

[knowinglewis]

Fading Lines

Part one/Part Two/Part Three/Part Four/Part Five/Final Part

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: The lines between friendship and something more start to blur between you and Lewis when after invites you to his first race weekend with Ferrari, in Shanghai.

Word Count: 10,977

Warnings: Massive fluff with a TON of ANGST and yearning. Spiraling, anxiety, overthinking, and distance. No use of Y/N.

A/N: So umm...I lied. This will be the second to last part because I've decided to split the final chapter into two. It was getting insanely long and it's also 2am here, so I just wanted to get at least this part out and hopefully the FINAL final chapter in the next couple of days! If you'd like to join the taglist, please let me know and I'd be happy to add you! As always, thank you SO insanely much for reading, please let me know your thoughts! 🤍

The city of Shanghai passed in a slow blur outside tinted windows, the soft morning light shining over the quiet streets, like the world was still waking up. It was silent inside the car, the air full of the things you wanted to say and things you didn’t know how to put into words.

You sat close at Lewis’ side in the back seat, your legs brushing with each turn while his hand rested on your knee, his thumb stroking over your pants soothingly. His hoodie was pulled low, cap angled forward to shadow his face, but you could still see the soft tiredness in his eyes every time he looked your way, like even he didn’t want to blink and lose another second together.

The driver remained silent, hands steady on the wheel as he escorted you to the airport discreetly. The ride didn’t need any idle chatting, your bodies said enough in the way your fingers laced around his other hand across his lap and your head rested on his shoulder.

The closer the airport came, the harder it felt to breathe as the time between you ticked along to its end. You hadn’t known it would be this hard.

Maybe it was silly, after all, you’d come here knowing it was temporary, knowing this thing between you and Lewis didn’t have a name or a future mapped out in any clear direction. And yet, waking up in his arms, sharing slow kisses in the steam of the shower, laughing quietly as the water cooled, it felt like more.

Now you didn’t know what any of it meant.

Lewis leaned forward as the terminal signs appeared in the distance, speaking quietly to the driver. “Can you pull over somewhere private before drop-off?”

The driver gave a silent nod and turned off toward a quieter lane, easing the car beneath a shaded awning away from the main crowd. The car slowed to a stop, the sound of the engine soft in your ears.

Lewis unbuckled his seatbelt with a small sigh, then turned toward you fully while the driver stepped out of the vehicle. Though his shoulders relaxed, the shadows couldn’t hide the look on his face.

“You could still come to Japan,” he offered, voice low.

You looked at him with your eyebrows creasing together lightly, your heart squeezing at the sound of it. He wasn’t joking or teasing, he meant it. You could hear it in the way his voice softened, the way his eyes searched yours like he was hoping you’d change your mind.

“I want to,” you replied honestly. “But I can’t. You know that.” You tightened your threaded fingers, dropping your gaze to your joined hands. “I wish I could.”

You wished you could, so badly it hurt. The idea of just going with him, stealing another few days in this perfect little dream you shared, made your throat tight. But your life was calling, your job, your responsibilities, the version of you that existed beyond hotel rooms and paddocks.

“It was worth a shot,” Lewis chuckled as he reached up to cup your cheek with his palm.

Then, leaning forward, his forehead rested gently against yours, noses brushing with a shared breath. You turned your body toward him, curling your legs slightly in the seat, and leaned into him. His hand found your thigh again like a warm anchor, as though you both weren’t ready to let go just yet.

He tilted his chin to touch his lips to yours, his mouth soft and addictive as he kissed you slowly. Once, twice, another. The ache grew behind your ribs, not knowing when you’d get the chance to taste him again, so you savoured every brush of his lips, the whole world shrinking to only the space between you.

You didn’t ask him what any of this meant, not last night or in the morning. You didn’t dare, no matter how much your heart was already tangled in it, in him. The way he kissed you told you he felt it too. Maybe not in words, but the way his mouth lingered on yours, like he wanted to make this stretch as long as possible, like he wanted to memorise you. The way you tasted, the way you breathed, the way your fingers curled into his hoodie like you didn’t want to let go.

“I’ll miss you,” you whispered into his lips with a shaky breath.

“I already do.” You felt him smile as he squeezed your thigh, hesitant to pull away.

So did you, not just the physical nearness of him, but the gentle intimacy between you. The comfort, and the way he made space for you. The way he looked at you as if you were the only girl in the world and listened intently to every word you spoke. He made you feel important, special, like you mattered in every way.

“We’ll figure something out soon,” he murmured, cradling your chin between his thumb and index finger. “I’ll make sure of it.”

It wasn’t exactly a promise, but it was something.

The final kiss lingered like a wordless goodbye, his other hand sliding up your thigh to your waist as though you might slip away if he didn’t hold you just right. For a second, you let yourself believe that maybe you wouldn’t.

When you finally pulled apart, you felt the ache in your chest again, reality crashing over you with a heavy weight on your shoulders.

Another breath passed between you, then he reached for your bag beside him. “Let’s get you to your gate before I change my mind and make you miss your flight.”

You managed a soft laugh, your heart cracking just a little more as you opened the door. The driver was already at the trunk, retrieving your suitcase, while Lewis stepped out too, pulling his hoodie a little lower and slipping his sunglasses on, ever-conscious of watching eyes.

Still, he reached for your hand without hesitation. “I’ll walk you in.”

You didn’t argue, adjusting the collar of the hoodie he had gifted you around your neck, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you.

Inside the terminal, you stayed close to him, grateful for the lull in morning foot traffic. He assisted you in dropping your bags off, lifting the heavy weight with ease. At the departure board, he stood behind you, slipping his arms protectively over your chest and shoulders, resting his chin lightly on your head. The warmth of him, the weight of his hold, made you feel smaller in the best way, as if you didn’t have to be strong for a minute. Like you could just exist there, in your personal bubble among the mildly busy airport while the two of you scanned the board.

“Looks like your gate’s on time,” Lewis remarked, his voice low in your ear.

You nodded, your hands over his forearm at your chest, eyes fixed on the screen, even though you weren’t really reading it. You didn’t want to move, didn’t want to go through security and leave him on the other side of the barrier.

“We’ve got a few minutes then.” He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

The buzz of the airport blurred into the background, wheels dragging over the smooth floors, a child asking something too loudly, boarding calls echoing over the PA, but inside that small pocket of space with him, it all faded away.

His chest rose and fell slowly against your back, and you leaned into it. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your hair, the steady thrum of his heart. It calmed you, and hurt you, all at once.

Neither of you said anything. What could you say, really? There were still no labels, no promises, just your time together running out. It wasn’t as though you wouldn’t see him again, but the ache of not knowing when you might see him next, knowing his busy schedule, made it all the more painful.

When your boarding gate changed to ‘Gate Open’ he shifted, gently turning you to face him. His hands found your waist and his warm brown eyes, shielded by his sunglasses, trailed over your face, as if drinking you in, one last time. There was a soft crease between his brows, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

You didn't ask what he was thinking. You weren’t sure you were ready to hear it, not now, not when you had to walk away right after. So instead, you rested your hand on his chest, while the other reached to run your fingers along his beard, leaning forward towards his inviting lips. He dipped his head for a kiss, one that felt certain and real. A kiss you could carry with you in your memories, tucked safe in your pocket.

When you separated, he didn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours with his voice barely a whisper. “Text me when you land, okay?”

“I will.” You nodded and looked at him through your lashes, trying to steady the tremble in your chest. “You better text me when you land too.”

“Yeah.” His lips curled into a soft smile, planting his lips to your forehead. “Soon as I’m on the ground.”

Then he brushed his thumb along your cheekbone, lingering like he wasn’t ready to let go.

“Safe flight, sweetheart.”

The word caught you off guard. He’d never called you that before, not even last night.

“You too.” Was all you could manage as you nodded, lips parting like you just might, say something more, but you didn’t.

Instead, you grabbed the handle of your carry-on and turned toward security, giving him a small smile, before you moved into the line. You felt him quickly slip a small box into the outer pocket of your bag as you stepped away. You didn’t know what it was, but it made your stomach flutter.

You looked back one last time, and he was still there with his hands in his pockets and his cap sitting low, watching you the whole way.

Eventually, you made your way through security and boarded the airplane, settling into the plush leather seat of first class. You let out a quiet breath, the buzz of the plane’s engine a distant murmur beneath the soft clinks of glassware and muted conversations between passengers and flight attendants. You adjusted your seat instantly for comfort and pulled your carry-on bag onto your lap, as you remembered Lewis’ subtle gift.

Your hand dipped into the outer pocket, fingers closing around a small, wrapped box. The paper was simple and delicate, a thin ribbon tied around it. Carefully, you peeled back the wrapping, lifted the lid to reveal a bracelet you’d admired the day before, a bracelet your eyes had only lingered on a few seconds longer than others as you explored the stores in Shanghai. The tiny blossom charm sparkled in the soft cabin light as you traced your fingertips along the elegant chain.

Your heart fluttered behind your ribs, a flush warming your cheeks. It wasn’t just the bracelet, it was the fact that he’d noticed. That he’d remembered and gone back for it quietly, without asking or announcing it, as though he wanted to leave a piece of that day with you, something that could last beyond that trip. His thoughtfulness managed to steal your breath again that day, even when you were about to find yourselves on other sides of the world again.

A sudden buzzing startled you, your phone vibrating in your hand. You unlocked it quickly to see a message from Lewis.

Miss you already.

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of your mouth, warmth flooding your chest. His words, the scent of his cologne on the hoodie you wore, the bracelet between your fingers, it all built into an urge to run straight off the plane and into his arms. You still had time before takeoff, but the itch was quickly diminished by the reminder of your reality when a notification from your job popped up on the top of your screen.

With a sigh of dread, you swiped the notification away and typed your reply to Lewis instead.

You’re so thoughtful, thank you for the bracelet. It’s beautiful, I’m going to wear it every day ❤️ And I miss you too

You hesitated only a second before hitting send, not because you didn’t mean it, but because of the truth in your words. Then, you gently fastened the bracelet around your wrist, fingers brushing over the charm like it might answer all the questions lingering in your mind.

You laid back in the seat, bracelet cool against your skin, and let yourself sink into the rush of takeoff. As the plane rose into the air, you glanced out the window at the endless sky, the world falling away beneath the clouds.

The goodbye had clung to you more than you'd expected.

You turned your face toward the window and closed your eyes, the soft blanket pulled up to your chin.

Your thoughts slipped back to the morning, back to the low, golden light spilling in through the hotel curtains, and the slow way Lewis had kissed your shoulders before you’d even fully woken. There was no rush in the way he touched you. He kissed your body as though you were the most precious thing he had ever held, almost like he was trying to memorise the feel of your skin before time ran out.

You remembered the way his fingers had threaded through yours under the hot water of the shower, how the steam curled around your skin as he pressed you gently back against the tiled wall. Despite your upcoming flights, his hands had explored your body without hurry, holding you close to him along with slow strokes inside you. He had kissed you like he didn’t want that morning, or you, to end. His strong arms held you steady, with his mouth soft and slow against your neck.

The memory sent a deep ache through your chest, the pain tight at your throat from longing, from the magical weekend you’d had coming to an end, but mostly from not knowing.

You hadn’t talked about what came next. You didn’t ask, and neither did he. Maybe it was just easier that way, or maybe you were just afraid to. Maybe that was what scared you most, that he wouldn’t bring it up either. That you’d go back to texts, glances, and half-smiles from a distance, pretending nothing had changed. Pretending that you didn’t know the feel of each other’s bodies and hadn’t shared the most romantic kisses you had ever known.

Yet now, staring out at the sky as the plane cut through the floating clouds, you couldn’t help but wonder. You didn’t know what this was between you, if it had the space to become something real, or if it was always meant to burn bright for one night and fade just as fast.

Something had shifted between you though, and you couldn’t go back now. You weren’t sure if you wanted to, but the most terrifying part was not knowing if he felt the same, not knowing if he’d carry this with him into whatever came next, or leave it behind as just a memory folded between race weekends.

You pulled the blanket higher, burrowing into the seat as if you could hide from the questions pressing at the back of your mind.

Was this the start of something beautiful, or had you already reached the end without realising it?

You told yourself you’d wait. See what he’d say going forward, see what came next as the days unfolded. You wouldn’t get your hopes up, despite the magical weekend. Not when you knew Lewis’ history, the effortless flings, the late-night sightings with some of the most beautiful women in the world. Models, actresses, girls who didn’t linger. Maybe that was the whole point. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if this was merely another weekend for him.

However, that had never been you. You felt too much, you always had, and now, after all this time of carefully not crossing a line, you’d stepped over it in the quiet dark of a Shanghai hotel, and the world felt different. That line had now faded, and you were left wondering if it was simply lust that had intoxicated you both into crossing that threshold, or if it came from something deeper.

You couldn’t bring yourself to ask, not that night, or that morning, because asking meant hoping, and hope was dangerous.

You adjusted yourself in your seat again, letting your eyes fall closed and tried to quiet your thoughts again.

Food had been served in courses throughout the flight, but you barely tasted it. There was too much on your mind, too heavy a weight in your chest to enjoy the luxury of it all. The food was good, the seat plush, the view incredible, and still, none of it felt quite right.

You curled back toward the window and let your breathing slow. You weren’t sad, exactly. Just…suspended. Like the flight itself, in motion, but not really arriving yet. Somewhere in-between.

Your last thought before sleep finally pulled you under was the way he’d said goodbye. His chin on your head, his arms around you, that last kiss, so soft, so real. Then, nothing but the sky.

Many hours later, you’d arrived back in your city and made your way home, exhaustion dragging your feet inside. You dropped your bag in the hallway and let the silence of your home fill your ears, a relief after the constant sound of the plane engine, along with the bustling airport upon your arrival. The weekend had felt like something out of a dream, one where time ticked differently, slower, sweeter. Now it was back to reality, back to work, back to responsibilities. The silence made it all feel farther away than it should.

You made it as far as your bedroom before collapsing onto the bed on your back, phone still in your hand. You flicked through your notifications, Isabella tracking your location and flight, and other notifications of friends liking your Instagram story. Opening your message, you typed out your text to Lewis.

Home safe x

You weren’t expecting an instant reply. He was probably just checking into Tokyo by now, or stuck in traffic, or possibly even halfway through a meeting. His schedule was jam packed and time zone differences made it even harder to determine what he might be up to. You busied yourself checking in with Isabella, who wanted to hear everything about your time with Lewis, sending photos and listening to her voice notes as she provided you with an update of her own.

However, not even five minutes later, your phone buzzed again. This time, it was Lewis.

Glad you made it safe x Got in a while ago, had a quick workout [1 image attached]

You nearly dropped the phone on your face when the image loaded, your eyes widening slightly as you lifted yourself into a seated position. Attached was a mirror selfie of him shirtless, sitting on the edge of the bed in his Tokyo hotel room, his braids tied back, with a towel slung around his shoulders, track pants sitting low on his hips. His phone caught the angle just enough to show off the definition in his muscled arms, his tattoos on full display. The lighting was soft and golden, the glow from the lamps pooling across his skin.

Shirtless photos of Lewis weren’t new to you, he enjoyed posting them on his Instagram stories every now and then, making your breath catch when they would pop up on your screen as you scrolled. Except this time, the photo was only for your eyes to see, and there was something intimate about it.

You blinked, chewing your lower lip as you trailed your eyes over the photo again, trying to come up with a response that appreciated how insanely sexy he looked, while not coming off desperate for him.

Words reeled through your mind as you tapped against the screen, before typing your message.

I miss that view…

Your thumb hovered over the send button, staring at your message hesitantly. Then, you bit the bullet and tapped the button with an exhale, half regretting it already. You tossed your phone on the bed and smiled to yourself, warmth creeping into your cheeks. You were unbelievably gone for this man.

It wasn’t long before your phone vibrated again.

It’s not the same without you.

Your traitorous heart flipped in your chest as you took a breath. Sitting back against your pillows, you read the message again and tried not to grin like an idiot. You didn’t respond straight away, a part of you didn’t know how. The flirty tension had always been there, but it felt different now, loaded with what had already happened, what might still come.

The days and weeks that followed seemed to blend together into a blur as you both returned to your separate realities. Your work felt busier than ever, with an unfathomable number of meetings, deadlines, forgotten lunches, half-read emails. It often left your body exhausted, but your mind reeling and loud. You told yourself it was just a phase, that life was just catching up with you both, however, there was a growing silence between texts that began to feel heavier as time passed.

Lewis would still message sometimes, with a short call or some photos here and there, but it wasn’t every day, and not always when you needed him to. His name would light up your screen mid-meeting or just as you were brushing your teeth for bed, and your heart would react before your brain could catch up. Even a simple ‘hey’ could unravel you, tugging deep in your chest.

The truth was, it seemed as though you'd talked more before everything happened. Before Shanghai, before the kiss and that night together. Back when you were just friends, back when you hadn’t crossed a line that you now weren’t sure how to uncross, or if either of you wanted to.

Now, the space between his replies had begun to stretch for longer periods of time, and sometimes you’d stare at your phone wondering if you’d imagined the way he’d looked at you. Or worse, if it had all meant more to you than it had to him. Sometimes, it made things worse even when he did text, because it reminded you of what you were missing. Not just him, but how he used to make you feel.

Now, you felt like you were waiting for something that wasn’t coming.

Five weeks had now passed since Shanghai.

The first week, you watched the Japanese Grand Prix alone, curled up on your couch with a blanket and your go-to snacks.

You’d sent him a simple good luck message, with a picture of your TV screen displaying his handsome face in the pre-show, letting him know you were watching. You had always watched when you could, it was almost a weekend ritual for you at this point.

Lewis finished P7, climbing one place up from his starting position with a clean overtake, while the rest of the grid stayed mostly the same. The commentators called it a race which was difficult to overtake on, and it was mostly a ‘safe’ race, which you knew was their polite way of saying uneventful.

He hadn’t replied, but you understood, as you’d seen him during many race days before and knew he likely wouldn’t get a chance to even check his phone until hours after the race. Still, you sent a follow up with encouraging words.

Great job today. I know it’s not what you wanted, looked like the car was fighting you the whole time. Proud of you though❤️

He replied a few hours later.

Thank you x It was a tough one, still getting used to this car. On to the next.

On to the next. Always forward, never lingering. That was the way of the sport, the way of Lewis. He never let it weigh too heavily after the disappointment washed away for the day.

You stared at the message for a moment before responding in agreement and adding encouraging words to cheer him on for the next race in the triple header.

He reacted to your text with a heart, but didn’t reply after that, following only with a check in on how you’re doing two days later.

The second week, the Bahrain Grand Prix came and went in a haze of heat and shimmering fireworks as the cars darted around the track in a blur. You didn’t manage to catch the race live this time after work had flooded your weekend, but you’d kept an eye on the results throughout the 57 laps.

The sound of his voice on the radio in qualifying still ran through your mind, making your heart ache as he apologised to the team. However, Lewis managed to climb from P9 to P5 in the race, the podium teasing him as he inched closer.

You scrolled through photos on Instagram after midnight, his natural curls loose under his cap, his jaw sharp as always, and his eyes looked tired. Focused as always, yet distant.

You hesitated before sending your message this time, typing a few letters and deleting each time until you settled for a simple message.

You were amazing, looked like a tough race. Proud of you as always x

This time, his reply didn’t come until the next morning.

Yeah we’re slowly getting there. Hope your week has been good.

It was a kind, polite, but distant response. The kind of message you’d send to a colleague, or maybe someone you didn’t know how to talk to anymore.

You started typing.

It’s been a long week. I miss you.

But you deleted it, hesitant at the vulnerability of your words, then typed again.

Just the usual, super busy this week.

He didn’t heart it or reply this time.

Hours passed until the sun had long set, so you stared at the grey ‘Delivered’ status for longer than you should’ve, then shoved your phone under your pillow and went to bed with a tense headache building behind your eyes.

That night, you dreamt of the hands you missed, and the voice you weren’t hearing as often. The version of him that felt just out of reach, slipping away through your fingers and dragging your heart down with disappointment.

Week three came Saudi Arabia. You’d had dinner with Isabella that Sunday, and at some point between bites, she’d dropped the kind of casual bomb that left you distracted for the rest of the meal.

“By the way,” she’d said, chopsticks hovering in the air, “I’ve been meaning to tell you. I saw Lewis at the Rimowa event the other night.”

You looked up from your plate fast. “You did?”

She nodded, chewing. “He looked good. He seemed distracted, but he said hi. We didn’t talk long though, but…”

“But?”

“He asked about you.” She put her chopsticks down and took a sip of her drink.

Your pulse jumped for a moment as you blinked in response. “He did?”

“Yeah. He said-” she cleared her throat, imitating his calm voice and his accent, “‘How’s she doing?’ It was very chill, but it wasn’t nothing. I told him you were okay, and that you’ve been busy.”

“Is that all he said?” You queried, poking at your food in an attempt to calm the small glimmer of hope in your chest.

“Well…” she gave you a knowing look. “He also said he’s been meaning to come see you, but things have been non-stop lately. He said that he’s sorry, and that he’s just…swamped.”

You chewed on your lower lip gently as you took her words in, releasing the breath that you’d been holding.

He still knew how to say the right things. He still sent emojis, still asked about you through your best friend, still claimed he meant to call or visit soon. But at the end of the day, three weeks after you’d last seen him, he hadn’t, not in any way that counted. If he truly meant to see you, to reach out to you, why hadn’t he just said it to you directly?

He was everywhere except where you needed him, all over the world, in conversations with everyone but you. Before, even when you were just friends, he’d always shown up for you. Now he sent simple and polite texts every few days and expected that to be enough. The worst part though, was that sometimes, it almost was.

You didn’t press further, but the words stirred in your mind as the night went on, and Isabella noticed your silence, but wasn’t quite aware of the distance growing between Lewis and yourself.

Later, you curled up with Isabella on her couch, the last of your drink sweating in the glass on the coffee table as the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix played out on her TV. The lights went out in Jeddah, but you barely said a word. Isabella scolded you for biting your nails as you watched Lewis defend against Lando, your heart racing despite the lingering emptiness you’d been feeling from his absence.

Lewis finished P7. It was respectable, but definitely not where he wanted to be. His post-race interviews were tense to say the least as he expressed his discomfort with the car. His cap sat low atop his curls, casting a shadow over his beautiful, yet disappointed eyes. You could see the way he was trying to hold it all together, especially seeing as his teammate, Charles, had finished on the podium.

He kept a polite smile where he could, but his answers remained short and his jaw clenched tight with every word. It made your heart twist with an ache, wishing you could reach through the screen to comfort him.

“Damn,” Isabella remarked as you continued watching the post race press. “He looks so…”

“Defeated. Yeah.” You completed her sentence with a low breath, reaching for your drink.

There was a long pause, the low sound of the TV filling the quiet. Engine noise and crowd roars blurred softly in the background, a replay of race highlights playing out on low volume. You picked at the edge of your sleeve, glaring down at the fabric. The warmth of dinner lingered in your stomach, but your chest felt strangely hollow still.

Isabella glanced over from where she was sprawled into the other corner of the couch, with half her attention on you, the other on the screen. Then, you felt her gaze burn into your side for a prolonged moment.

You sighed, meeting her eyes. “What?”

“You’re doing that thing you do,” she started, her tone soft but knowing. “Where you go really quiet and pretend you’re not spiraling.”

You retorted with a flat look. “I’m not spiraling.”

“You’re thinking about how he hasn’t messaged you in days.” She raised her eyebrows, scooting closer to you on the couch.

“He did text after Bahrain.” You tried to defend yourself weakly.

She tilted her head. “Yeah, once? Just a lame check in and no reply.”

You didn’t answer, dropping your gaze back to where you’d twisted a small thread from your sleeve.

Isabella leaned forward, setting her glass on the table. “Babe, that’s not enough. Not after everything that’s happened between you.”

You shrugged, but the motion felt small. “He’s probably just busy, as always.”

“He’s always busy. He was busy before Shanghai too, but he still made enough time to take you away for a weekend and fuck you.” She pressed gently despite her harsh words.

You pressed your lips together, your eyebrows knitting into a frown. “I just…don’t know what to do.”

Isabella sighed, standing and grabbing her phone from the kitchen counter. “Post that picture.”

You blinked in confusion with a tilt of your head. “What picture?”

“The one I took at dinner.” She clarified as she unlocked her phone. “You looked gorgeous. Like, beyond stunning. You should post it.”

You shook your head, shrinking back into your seat. “I’m not going to bait him.”

“Please. You used to post stories all the time before things got all complicated between you. Plus, this isn’t about him. It’s about reminding yourself of what you already know, that you’re a fucking catch and more.”

You hesitated at the thought. “It just feels a little…”

“He asked about you,” she added, quieter now. “He’s clearly been thinking about you, so maybe he’s not totally out of the picture, but that doesn’t mean you have to sit in the shadows waiting for him to remember you.”

You didn’t say anything, just watched as she tapped her photo gallery, and turned the screen toward you, displaying the photo she was referring to. You were mid-laugh, head tilted with your elbow resting casually on the table and the bracelet Lewis had gifted you around your wrist. The lighting was warm, gold and low, catching the highlights on your skin and the curve of your lips. You looked happy in it. While your smile didn’t completely reach your eyes, it felt like a version of yourself you hadn’t seen in a few weeks while trapped in your funk.

You looked confident and unbothered, even if that wasn’t entirely true. You stared at the photo for a few more seconds.

“You look beautiful,” Isabella murmured, looping her arm with yours. “Even if you’re a little heart sore.”

Her words pushed you over the precipice of your decision, a small rush of anticipation flooding your veins. You reached for your own phone and accepted the photo when she sent it to you. You chose a song that you loved over the top on Instagram, and after another breath of hesitation, you hit ‘Share to Story.’

The photo went up, with many likes from your close friends and family. Several minutes later, your phone buzzed again, three times in a row.

lewishamilton liked your story.

lewishamilton reacted to your story: 🔥🔥

You stared at your screen, your thumb hovering over the notifications, while your breath caught in your throat. Part of you knew he would see it and react, he always did without fail whenever you posted. This time, he hadn’t messaged you in days, but here he was, slipping back into your world like nothing had changed, and reacting to your life as though he was still fully present.

Then, another notification appeared on your screen. A text from Lewis.

You look beautiful

You felt your cheeks flush at his compliment, swallowing the tightness in your throat as you thumbed the side of your phone case.

Then, another.

Hope you’re having a good night

The three dots continued to wiggle as he typed, though it lingered for longer than you’d like. You wondered if he was either typing out a paragraph, or if your phone had just glitched. Until, a third text arrived.

I miss those lips

You froze, noticing Isabella’s eyes glued to your screen as the notifications appeared, reading each message quickly from your side. It was almost embarrassing for her to see the messages.

“Wow,” she breathed, tilting to look at your flushed face. “Okay, Romeo. Very subtle.”

You didn’t respond, your stomach had bottomed out, and your fingers trembled slightly with your phone in your grip as your mouth dried out. Words like that held a heavy weight, and from this far away, you didn’t know if he meant them in a moment of loneliness, longing, or just lust.

You missed him. You missed so much, but you also missed when it felt simple. When you didn’t have to wonder if saying something back would leave you more exposed than you already felt. Still, you typed:

It’s not fair for you to say stuff like that from halfway across the world

And before you could hesitate or take it back, you sent it.

The dots popped up almost instantly.

You’re right I’ll say it closer next time

A part of you lit up while another part dimmed as you read his response. You could hear your heart thudding in your ears, but another part of you almost laughed bitterly. Because what did that even mean? And when would the next time be?

When?

Your thumb hovered over the send button of the word you’d typed out. The question blinked up at you from the screen, small and hopeful, maybe a little desperate. You didn’t like the way it made your stomach twist.

Isabella shifted beside you, just close enough to catch the single word before you could tilt the screen away. She didn’t say anything though, didn’t tease or smirk or prod. Just let the silence sit between you for a moment as you contemplated.

Then you backspaced slowly, letter by letter until it disappeared. You set your phone down, face down on the table, and leaned back into the couch with a sigh you didn’t mean to let out.

Isabella watched, her voice low. “You okay?”

You nodded, but your voice was a little too quiet to be convincing. “Yeah.”

She didn’t press, only nudged her shoulder lightly into yours and reached for the remote, the two of you watching the post-race interviews fade into the low hum of background noise while your mind stayed wrapped around the unanswered question.

Week four came sooner than expected, with the Miami Grand Prix well underway.

The latest Vogue magazine had been sitting on your coffee table for a week. A clean, perfect copy that Isabella had handed off a few days ago with a knowing smile, “Figured you’d want this before the rest of the world gets their hands on it.”

Though you hadn’t asked for it, you also hadn’t been able to stop yourself from opening it. Lewis looked unreal on the black and white cover, in a polished Ferragamo suit tailored perfectly to his fit body. He was as handsome as ever, with his cleanly lined facial hair framing his lush lips and his piercing eyes staring back at you from the shiny cover. The same ones that had looked into your own so affectionately only weeks before.

The photos in the magazine were filled with the kind of effortless sex appeal that made your stomach twist, partly because of how good he looked, and partly because you knew him. The way he spoke softly when he was tired, the way his eyebrows creased a little when he was reading something, the way his lips felt on yours.

He wasn’t just a Formula One legend or a model in a magazine. He was yours once, if only for a weekend. If only in soft whispers, late night touches and sweet kisses.

Now came the day of the Miami Grand Prix, where you were wrapped up cozily on your couch watching with your cup in hand.

You’d watched the sprint the day before with a sort of detached curiosity, telling yourself it didn’t mean anything, it was just background noise while you cleaned the kitchen. Just racing, just another weekend.

Then, Lewis took P3 and then the press conference started.

You shouldn’t have watched it, you should’ve turned it off after the last lap and walked away, gone on with your day. Instead you found yourself leaning against the counter, half a dish in your hand, watching him on screen in just his black Ferrari vest and brown pants, his arms bare and golden against the cream white couch.

The camera lingered while he sipped his drink, his expensive watch catching the light and his muscles flexing as he scratched the side of his jaw, his braids neatly covered by his cap. He was happy with his result as he answered incoming questions, explaining where he’d found strength in the car. However, the way he looked while saying it was completely unfair. The vest shouldn’t have been allowed.

You stared for longer than you meant to, unable to take your eyes off him as the press conference continued.

Sunday’s race was another story.

He’d qualified P12, so the race started tense, and only got worse as the laps built up. Strategy calls were slow, losing Lewis too much time to catch up with the drivers ahead and leading to some strained radio messages playing over the race that made you sit up in your seat.

Lewis sounded agitated, with sarcasm dripping from his voice as he offered to let Carlos through from behind him. You could hear the disappointment in his tone over the messy communication, where they’d provided either too much information while he was in battle, or nothing at all when he needed it most.

Your jaw clenched as you fidgeted with the charm on your bracelet, wishing the ache in your chest away. It was his sixth race with Ferrari, and nothing seemed to be improving for him. The communication with this race engineer only seemed to get worse as the weeks went by.

Eventually, he finished at P8, with Charles at P7 just ahead. He remained polished and professional in the post-race interviews, keeping a smile on his face as he explained that he had enjoyed the race despite the tension in the radios. However, you could see the disappointment in the way his smile never quite reached his eyes and his shoulders tensed.

You didn’t plan on it, but after hearing his voice, your heart ached to make sure that he was alright, so you waited a while before texting him. Things had been somewhat quiet between you over the last few days, but you wanted him to know that you were still in his corner, even if it was from a distance.

Looked like a tough one today. You okay?

He didn’t reply for two hours.

You’d left your phone on the armrest and gone to make something to eat, half-expecting no response at all, but when the screen lit up, your heart jumped anyway.

Yeah it was a mess, but I’m okay I appreciate you

You stared down at the screen and suddenly hated how much you wanted to believe that it wasn’t just politeness or a routine response. You wanted to believe that he still thought of you when the adrenaline wore off, but it felt like you were only slipping further away.

You couldn’t bring yourself to reply at that moment. You couldn’t figure out how to without sounding like you were trying to fix something he didn’t even seem to notice was broken.

The next day however, came with the buzz of the 2025 Met Gala, in which Lewis was a co-chair. It was hours before the event when your phone vibrated with texts from Lewis.

You’d already been half-scrolling through your newsfeed, filled with teaser content from the Met. The carpet hadn’t started yet, but press coverage was building, the energy already pulsing from across the ocean.

You blinked down at the screen, a warmth spreading in your chest despite everything that had happened the last few weeks.

Attached were two photos. The first was a mirror shot, taken just moments ago in his hotel suite, and the second was a professional photo taken by his team. Lewis was dressed in a custom cream coloured suit, tailored perfectly to his body along with a sash embroidered in cowrie shells and a matching beret. He looked absolutely perfect, elegant, with the most beautiful symbolism displayed subtly across his entire look, encapsulating the theme of the night.

What do you think?

You stared at the screen for too long, breath still as you took in how beautiful he was. Lewis always looked amazing, and yet he still managed to blow you away with this look. Your fingers hovered before you responded.

You look incredible, have the best night

Your message was short and safe, but his reply only seconds later made your stomach flutter in a way that left you conflicted.

Wish you were here

It was tender and casual, but it didn’t match the distance you felt in the last few weeks.

The message felt like it belonged to a different version of you, one from a month ago, who still felt close enough to reach. A part of you felt as though you didn’t know if it was meant for you.

You pressed your palm to your chest, and breathed in. It hurt a little, in that way things hurt when you don’t quite trust them anymore.

Later that night, Isabella arrived with pizza and drinks, “Because the Met Gala and carbs go hand in hand.”

You watched the Met livestream together on her couch, pointing out the different outfits and rating them as if you were Anna Wintour herself. When Lewis stepped onto the midnight blue carpet, effortlessly cool and composed, your pulse raced.

He looked breathtaking. The cameras loved him as he made his way through and interviewers gushed over him. He deserved it all.

And yet, all you could feel was the distance, the sting of watching him belong to a world that felt so far from reach. A world that would never know you.

You didn’t hear from him again the following day, assuming that he’d gotten caught up in the rest of the night and most likely the afterparty. At lunchtime, you’d found yourself scrolling through social media again mindlessly, when your finger slipped and the app refreshed. New content surged to the top of the feed, and that’s when the ache you’d been feeling in your heart came to a climax.

The first post was a screenshot of a crisp editorial shot of Nicole Scherzinger from the Met Gala.

She looked stunning in the black and white photo, with that kind of unattainable beauty you only saw on perfume billboards and designer runways. Her gown was covered in pinstripes, her shoulders bare with a large black cape, a confident tilt to her chin as she stared down the camera.

You recognised her instantly, as everyone did. She’d been the WAG, the only one the world ever thought Lewis would settle down with, the only one he ever publicly claimed. Their seven year relationship had been splashed across headlines and red carpets. She’d even traveled with him and was regularly seen in the Paddock.

Beneath the photo, the poster had highlighted that Lewis had liked the photo Nicole had posted.

You told yourself it was nothing, a harmless liked photo.

Then came the second post, a fan edit, already with over 20,000 likes. A soft piano instrumental layered over clips of the two of them; Lewis and Nicole, laughing as they walked hand in hand, interviews together on red carpets, her tears in the Paddock, the famous helmet kiss when he had won. You watched him in the videos, the way he looked at her as though she was the moon and the stars. His soft smile, they looked so in love.

Your stomach turned, your mouth watering with nausea as the tight lump in your throat squeezed. The videos, the photos, and the comments all blended together to cloud your thoughts with all the reasons he should be with her.

You understood it, you really did. They looked like they belonged together. The kind of couple who loved each other deeply and were well on their way to marriage. It wasn’t just the fans that missed it, and you could see why.

However, the caption stung even more:

“She’s still the one. Idc if she’s engaged. They were endgame 💔”

You knew Nicole had been engaged for a while to a rugby player, so you breathed out, slowly in relief, trying to remain rational at the reminder. He wasn’t getting back with her, surely not. That part was over.

Then the third post hit, with a carousel of images. Three other women all dressed to kill, and all photographed on the Met carpet that night. Each one had, at some point in the last two years, been linked to Lewis in tabloids.

Flings, rumors, summer romances. Whatever name they’d given it, the meaning was always the same, it didn’t last.

And the comment section only made it worse.

“Lewis literally invited all his exes as the Met 💀” “He’s so unserious lol” “No way all of them are here by accident. This man is chaos.”

You locked your phone to take a breather, but the urge to continue was irresistible, and so you returned to scrolling where your feed was soon flooded with photos and rumors.

Nowhere in your message thread did Lewis say much beyond the suit and wish you were here. He hadn’t owed you a full itinerary and you knew that.

Yet still, you hadn’t expected to see her. Or the posts, the likes, or the way the edits kept pulling him into the same frame as the women he’d been linked to before, Nicole, Shakira, some model you’d never even heard of.

He’d sent you those messages, the photos, the softness, while being tagged in someone else’s world. It made everything feel hollow, as though maybe you’d just been another notch on his bedpost, another fling that only lasted a weekend.

You knew how this game worked, Lewis had always been beautiful, charismatic, talented. Women liked him, women flocked to him.

And you? You were just…you.

A friend, until you weren’t, a maybe, until he decided otherwise.

You refreshed the feed again to more photos, more headlines, more noise, feeling your breath become shallow. Then, the next wave.

Posts of Lewis photographed with Blackpink’s Rosé. They weren’t touching, but close enough to spark speculation. One photo showed them laughing, but the other was a stack of photobooth photos.

One with both of them smiling, side by side, another of them flashing peace signs. Rosé pulled a dramatic pout in the third photo, while Lewis touched a finger to his lip. Then the final photo, where she wore his sunglasses, and he gave a serious smoulder. It was playful and harmless really.

You knew the narrative was already writing itself before you even looked at the comments, but it didn’t stop your stomach from turning, because all you could think about were your photo booth pictures still tucked in your nightstand drawer.

The ones that captured the joy and excitement of that day. The ones that had snapped a moment in time of him kissing you. Those photos had felt private, like the memory inked into glossy paper.

Your mind replayed those flashes, but all you saw was how easy it was for him to step into the same frame with someone else. How not special it suddenly all seemed.

You hated how quickly the doubt crept in, how easily it whispered that maybe he just does this with everyone. You tried to shake the thoughts, but your eyes burned with tears brimming at your lash line. Lewis hadn’t been cold exactly, and he hadn’t ghosted you or given you anything to hate him for, but this limbo was its own kind of heartbreak.

The room suddenly felt too quiet, too loud, and way too small. You sat back in your seat, blinking at the ceiling like that would somehow help, like that would stop the way your chest ached as you tried to breathe through it.

Your wrist felt cold with the metal of your bracelet, Or maybe it was just your brain, but suddenly the bracelet felt wrong. Heavy where it had once been warm, like it didn’t belong there anymore. You stared down at it, toying with the edges of the flower.

You’d worn it nearly every day since he’d given it to you, but now it just felt cold on your skin.

The thought hit you so hard, it knocked the air from your lungs; What if none of it ever meant as much to him as it did to you?

You tugged it off, your fingers fumbling, shaky as you unclasped it. It fell into your palm with a soft clink, and you just stared at it, like it might give you an answer, but it didn’t.

None of this made sense. One minute, he was sending you photos, saying he missed your lips, that he wished you were there. The next, he was lighting up timelines with women the internet adored, laughing in photo booths, liking his ex’s photos like history hadn’t even blinked.

You felt…stupid. So stupid.

This wasn’t new to you, the girls, the speculation, the edits. You’d known what world he lived in, raced in, breathed in, but you’d let yourself fall anyway.

Now, sitting alone in your quiet apartment with that damn bracelet digging into your palm, all you could think was that maybe the world was right. Maybe you were just another passing face, a detour in his life as he continued to live his dreams.

You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t that deep, that you were reading into things, that there could be another side to this.

You closed your fingers around the bracelet and made your way down the hall with purpose, where there were a few too many reminders of Lewis. His jacket that he’d given to you, the Ferrari merch, and that last hoodie he’d gifted you still sat on the back of your desk chair.

You sat on the edge of your bed, every movement suddenly extra careful, as though if you moved too loud the whole memory of him might collapse. You picked out the photobooth strip from Shanghai from your nightstand and slipped them out gently.

One strip with four frames. Your fingertips grazed the glossy paper, tracing each square like they might give you a clue or a sign that you’d missed. For the first time in weeks, you let yourself ask it out loud:

“What happened?”

It sounded hollow in the room.

You’d thought you were careful, you’d been friends for some time, and you hadn’t let yourself fall for him immediately. Yet, somewhere in all your conversations, in the hours spent getting to know each other, in the way he’d held you that night like you were everything he wanted, you’d let yourself believe that you weren’t just a moment, that it wasn’t just a weekend.

Now he was in photo booths with someone else. Now the world was posting even more edits of him with his ex. Now you were left trying to make sense of the silence.

You pressed your hand to your chest, like it might soothe the pain. All it did was remind you that it was real. Maybe all of this had been a dream you’d woken up from too late.

You barely remembered the rest of the day or falling asleep that night as it all blurred together in a numbness that had taken over your mind, but in the early hours of the morning, the vibrations started.

At first, you turned over with a groan with your face pressed into your pillow, desperate to stay under as you thought it may just be your alarms going off that morning. However, your phone didn’t stop buzzing. It kept lighting up over and over with the screen flashing like it was trying to drag you out of the only bit of peace you’d managed to find.

You squinted at the screen as you reached over, your aching heart already skipping. You had twelve missed calls from Isabella, with a load of texts, and an unfathomable amount of notifications from your social media platforms.

You flicked through the messages from Isabella.

Babe please wake up It’s everywhere WAKE UP NOW Call me asap WAAAAAAAAAAAAAKEEEEE UUUUUPPPPPPP

Your stomach dropped so fast it made you dizzy as you sat up in bed, the covers falling away. Your fingers trembled as you unlocked your phone, the screen nearly blinding you in the dark. You opened the link Isabella had sent, and it hit you like a punch to the chest, your stomach dropping to a pit while heat rushed up your neck.

Photos. Of you, of Lewis.

The first showed you and Lewis at the Shanghai airport, standing beneath the departure board. His arm slung over your chest and shoulders like it belonged there, his lips at the crown of your head from behind. You were leaning into him slightly, eyes up at the screen, the kind of moment no one was supposed to see.

The second was worse.

It was mid-kiss. His hands at your waist, holding you close, while yours touched his jaw and chest. It was intimate. The way your fingers held his face like you knew the feel of him and his lips were on yours, like it was a goodbye that had weight.

It felt like you were seeing yourself from the outside, except this time, the world was seeing it too. The photos weren’t completely clear, they looked like someone had recognised Lewis and snapped them quickly.

The comments were filled with speculation, insults, compliments, and invaded your privacy to levels you had never known possible.

“That’s def Lewis. You can see the tattoos on his hand.” “She’s literally wearing his hoodie” “Wait, is that the girl from Australia? I swear she was in the paddock.” “Yeah, and she was at the China sprint too.” “Isn’t she friends with that girl who does PR for F1? PR vibes tbh.” “She’s literally sucking his face off ew.” “It’s kind of nice that he’s with someone not famous.” “I think I found her on Linkedin.” “They actually look so cute I love this!!” “He literally liked his ex’s Met Gala pic yesterday, lmao. She’s def another fling.”

Each post felt like a stone hurled at you. Some comments were kind, or confused, while others were brutal. They picked apart your looks, your job, your worth, like you were a stranger they’d been handed permission to judge.

Your mouth dried out and your lungs felt tight. You couldn’t tell if your heart was racing or if everything around you had just gone eerily still. Panic settled into your bones and you felt frozen, paralysed by the insanity playing out. Your life had suddenly been blasted into the spotlight. People knew who you were, what you did, who you were friends with, and they saw you with him.

You hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet, the duvet still tangled around your legs. The morning sun slowly poured in, the sting in your eyes burning from fear.

You swiped away from the post, you couldn’t even think. You just needed someone, so you pulled up Isabella’s name and hit call. She picked up instantly.

She picked up before the first ring even finished.

“Thank god,” she breathed. “Are you okay? Are you…did you see it?”

“I-yeah. I just woke up,” you managed to speak out, your voice rough, like it had been dragged out of your throat. “The photos.”

“I know.” Her tone was careful now, steady but edged with worry. “It’s everywhere. I think it started spreading sometime after midnight.”

You rubbed your forehead, pacing your room like it might help you process what was happening. “But why now? I thought Shanghai would be…quieter. Aren’t paps illegal over there?”

“It was probably a fan who got lucky. He had the hoodie and sunglasses on, but it seems like the tattoos gave him away. And people are pulling receipts, paddock photos, Australia, the sprint…”

You stopped pacing. “They know who I am, Iz. My name. Where I work.”

“I know, girl. I’m so sorry. You need to make your accounts private. Like, right now.”

You sank down onto the edge of your bed, numbness flowing through your skin. “They’re calling it PR and saying I’m only there because of you.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Isabella hissed from her end of the call.

“The comments are brutal too, I…” You trailed off, unable to say the words. “My whole life is out there now.”

Isabella’s voice softened. “I saw them. They’re wrong, you know they are. But I get it, it’s a lot. It’s too much. I wish I could take it away.”

You swallowed, throat thick. “It’s just, on top of all this, I didn’t even know what this was yet. We didn’t have a chance to make sense of anything. And now everyone has something to say.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know, babe.”

You sat there in silence for a moment, the kind that sits heavy, unsaid words building between breaths. Then your phone buzzed again, and this time it was a call.

Lewis.

The name blazed across your screen, as if the light had changed temperature, hot and cold all at once.

Your heart stuttered with a spike of panic, dread, confusion, all flooding your chest. You couldn’t move at first, like your body was frozen, suspended in a moment you weren’t ready to deal with.

“He’s calling,” you whispered, barely able to suck in a breath.

“Lewis?” Isabella asked, her tone shifting.

You didn’t respond right away, you just stared at the screen.

His name pulsed across it, as if mocking you with every soft vibration. You could practically hear his voice already. The calm, deep voice that used to make you feel safe and steadied your heart every time. Now it made it race for all the wrong reasons.

Isabella’s voice came through again, firmer this time. “Are you going to answer?”

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen.

“I don’t know.” Your voice cracked. “What if he’s upset? What if he thinks this is my fault? What if-”

“He wouldn’t,” she replied, quick and certain. “And if he does, then you’ll hang up. But I don’t think that’s why he’s calling.”

“What if he doesn’t care?” you asked, even softer. “What if this really was just a weekend to him and now he’s sorry it got out?”

Isabella’s voice was soft and comforting through the speaker as she coaxed you. “Then it’s better you know now. Talk to him.”

The phone vibrated again with Lewis’ name flashing across the screen. You took a shaky breath and answered.

You could barely bring yourself to speak, your voice trapped in your throat, but you managed a meek hello.

“Hey.” He greeted after a breath.

That one word made all the strength you’d been holding together crack. Lewis’ voice, while low and careful, was so normal it made the chaos of the morning feel even more absurd.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

The question knocked the air from your lungs. You weren’t even sure where to begin, you had barely had a moment to process your life being turned upside down. Your tongue felt like sandpaper in your mouth, your throat too tight to speak.

He said your name, this time a little lower, like he was reaching for you through the phone. “Talk to me, please.”

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I don’t really know how to feel. It’s a lot.”

There was a silence, and then a sound that might’ve been a sigh, but it sounded more like guilt clothed in breath.

“I’m so sorry,” he started. “This shouldn’t have happened. I should’ve protected you from it.”

Your eyes filled again, too full this time and spilling over just a little. The sound of his voice cut through everything, the panic, the confusion, the noise online, the comments, the spiraling, all of it.

“I hate that this is happening to you,” he continued, his voice rougher now, like it physically pained him. “I should’ve been more careful. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

A lump swelled in your throat. It was true, you didn’t sign up for any of this. The comments, the speculation, the cruelty. Your name on gossip accounts and your face picked apart by people behind their keyboards.

“You don’t deserve it,” Lewis continued, quieter now. “I should’ve been more careful.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t know what to say. A part of you wanted to forgive him right there, but the other part didn’t know how to.

“Tell me what you need.” His voice was barely above a whisper, gentler this time. “Whatever it is, sweetheart, I’ll handle it.”

His words landed like a punch to the chest. Your fingers curled tighter around the phone, the ache behind your ribs had grown sharp and heavy. Though, underneath it all, your heart beat with something dangerously close to relief. He didn’t sound indifferent or distant..

“I need to see you.” He said suddenly.

You froze, completely lost for words.

“I want to be there with you,” he spoke again. “This isn’t fair to you. Let’s figure it out together. I’ll get on the first flight there, right now, if you’ll have me.”

“You want to come here?” you asked, softly, still stunned.

“Of course, I hate that you’re going through this alone.” His sincerity clung to every syllable.

Just like that, the pain that coursed through your veins eased, just a little, knowing that he was coming for you and that you would work through this together.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see. “Okay.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just hang in there for me, alright sweetheart?”

“Okay,” you replied again. “I will.”

Eventually, the call dropped and you stared at the blank screen, his name now gone. You sat there frozen for a moment, your phone pressed to your chest, and the sound of your heart thudding in your ears.

Lewis was coming.

Taglist: @sltwins @ernegren @sher-ni @skzvibes-blog 🤍🤍

[howlingday]

AU idea jaune the street fighter.

Combining elements from street fighter 6 as jaune becomes a well known fighter on the streets. He's no hero or villain. He just doesn't want to be bored.

Jaune: "well now...let's see if you care do something about my boredom..."

You have... NO IDEA how much I've wanted to do something like this. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to finally bring this AU I've had in mind to life. I just wasn't sure how to start it off, so... I'll go for a three-fer on this one. Three short bits to start off this story I've had in my brain for what feels like YEARS. And once again, thank you, for giving me the chance to create... My Bare Knuckle Arc.

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

"Again!" Jaune came charging across the yard, sprinting as hard as he could, before leaping and kicking the strike pad in his father's hands. As he landed, the pad came back in kind. "Don't slow down!"

Jaune, however, was caught off guard by the sudden rush and fell to on his back. Knowing better than to be stuck to the ground, he clapped his hands against the dirt and rolled to his feet. The pad came swinging at him too fast for him to dodge, so he held his fist up to guard his face.

But it wasn't good enough and his fist crashed into his face, bringing a stinging pain to his eye and nose. Another pad came for the other side of his head, so he brought his fist up proper this time. Learning his lesson, the impact was much less than stunning than the one before.

"Block!"

The pads retreated and a leg curled in front of him. Jaune swung his arm down to block, but it was easily batted away before his chest was struck by the heel of his father's foot. He stumbled back, grunting through the pain, bringing his hands up to block any more blows.

"Jaune!"

In a blink, the match was over, and not just because Mom called his name. No, his father's massive foot close enough to his face that he could smell it, and it was only by the grace of his mother that it didn't bash his face in today. When the foot came down, he looked to her on the porch.

"Yeah, Mom?"

"It's from Beacon!"

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

Jaune still couldn't believe it. He was here in Vale, waiting for the bullhead to Beacon Academy, one of the four huntsmen academies, all of which were deemed the most prestigious schools in the four kingdoms, and he was so... so...

"Aaaaaah~!" He yawned.

Because he was so bored! I mean, he was excited, too, but there wasn't anything to do in between waiting for the bullhead and actually getting on the bullhead. The gym was closed, so he couldn't work out, and the comic book shop was closed, so he couldn't read anything other than his mom's "Special Little Guy" book in case he got homesick. Not in public, anyways.

Suddenly, he heard a crash coming from inside a dark building. Judging by the pulsing lights, the thrumming music, and the open door, it looked like a night club. Nobody was standing at the door, and his curiosity got the better of him. He peered inside and he couldn't believe what he saw.

There was a fight going on! A real-life bar brawl, just like in his dad's stories! Setting his bag down, he got closer to the scene.

Okay, what was it he was supposed to do? He wanted to get in on the action, but he'd only really done one on one at home. The girl in the center of the dance floor was taking on two other girls at once! Should he wait his turn, or should he help her out?

Well, time to try out the old tried and true.

"Hey, uh, you need any hel-"

Jaune's vision blurred as he was sent into the guard rails. He felt his body slump with an arm hanging over the metal bar. Heck of a sucker punch on the blonde girl, and those two other girls weren't anywhere to be found either. Guess he was supposed to wait for his turn, right? Well now it was his turn.

"What, you still want some?" She asked, snarling with red eyes. She must have hit him really hard because he was still tearing up. Why else was her hair glowing? "I've got enough in me to put you down, too!"

Jaune didn't say anything this time. He learned a long time ago that running your mouth was an invite to running the other person's hands. He put his fists up and approached in a boxer's stance. She put her fists, letting one loose to flip the "C'mere!" at him. He wasn't falling for it. Not this time

She tossed a jab at him, testing the waters. She tapped his knuckles. He flared his nostrils. Tap. Tap. Tap.

She swung with a hook, Jaune moved in and drove an uppercut into her ribs. She backed up a bit, grunting, before she came back with a yell and another hook. Jaune kept his guard up and stepped in again, this time driving a cross into her face. She stumbled a bit, blinking at the face-shot. He was doing pretty good. Not bad for his first-

Was she getting brighter?

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

Jaune was in hell. He died at that bar fight last night, and he was now in hell. How else would you explain his aching body, his stomach turning, and the mocking chatter around him? The only comfort he had was his bag/pillow under his head. That, and his memory of last night's fight.

Though that last bit was only made all the more awkward by the fact that same girl was standing across from him. His saving grace was her standing with a bunch of people standing between them. Well, that and the smaller girl in her arms. He heard the fighter calling the smaller girl "Sis" which made him a little happy that she had family on the bullhead with her. Kinda made him homesick.

He didn't pull out the book, though. Too many witnesses.

"Hello, and welcome to Beacon." He looked up to see a woman speaking on the screen. "My name is Glynda Goodwitch." Suddenly, there was turbulence and whatever was said next didn't matter to Jaune. He needed a bathroom or a trashcan NOW! He bolted for the front of the bullhead, beating on the bathroom door.

No good, AND he was getting worse! He bolted for the back, the woman on the screen now gone and leaving only the beautiful view of the waters below. He didn't have time to admire the view because he was about to ruin everyone's day all over the floor of the bullhead.

How were both bullhead bathrooms occupied right now?! The statistics will show that Jaune didn't have to consider the odds. He was gonna hurl in three... two...

The bullhead door opened and Jaune bowled over everyone in his way as he rushed out. The nearest trashcan by the door, thank god, was his target. He spilled his guts into the can, making people groan and retch as they passed. So much for good first day.

Wiping his chin, he walked back into the bullhead, hell itself, and grabbed his bag. Thankfully, nobody took it while he left to... relieve himself. Which was good. Stepping out to Beacon, empty belly and sure of himself, he took in the sight of what must have been straight from a fairy tale! Tall, towering, er, towers... towered over- There were towers, okay?

Oh, and students were already walking around with weapons, too! Guess they started handing them out now. Okay, he just had to find out where the armory or the forge or whatever was making their weapons was and he could get started on building his weapons!

Oh wow, they really got some pretty neat weapons, huh? I mean, that kid has a collapsible staff, and she has a fire sword, too! Then he saw one girl whip out her scythe in the middle of the street! And nobody is batting an eye! Okay, time to ask somebody.

"Uh, excuse me?"

"Uh, yeah?" A bald guy replied, a bow strapped to his back.

"Where did you get your weapon?"

"I, uh, built it myself back at Sanctum." He replied. He then looked Jaune up and down and around, then pointing at Jaune's bag. "Is your weapon in your bag?"

"Huh?" He looked down. "Uh, no, that's just my bag. Wait, hang on, where do I get my weapon?"

"You should have had it since you got here." He then checks his watch. "Oh, shish-kabob! I gotta go, but, uh, I'd ask a professor whenever you can!"

He then ran off, leaving Jaune alone. In the street. With his bag. And nothing else. It was at this moment that Jaune knew... he done goofed.

"Fu-"

[anamelessfool]

𝔓𝔞𝔭𝔞 ℭ𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔬 (1907-1983) and fic!

Reign 1942-1954, Satanic Bishop of New York City (1954-1983)

Everybody needs a mentor, especially delusional people like Young Nihil. So enter Papa Camino, a Papa Emeritus who is heavily influenced by Cab Calloway. (And is wearing an actual Schiaparelli silk tie from the 1950s) Notable Ghouls: Phantom, Dewdrop, Cumulus

The Path (AO3 Link)

GEN Young Nihil & OC Papa, Young Nihil & Family 3K Words

Tags: Mentor Figure, Deal With The Devil, Family Angst, 4 Year Old Primo Is In This One, This is Officially the Most Self Indulgent Fic I've Written and Yes I'm Including the Smut, Alternate History, Ghost Scenes from the Void AU, Ministry Lore and Dramaaaaa

1957, New York City: Bishop Camino always got what he wanted. And he wanted to share what he took from life with everyone he thought hungry enough to work for it. He was also a man who today invited Zero, of all the siblings in his care, to a private meeting in his office.

More Art and the Fic Below the Cut!

1957 New York City

Camino was a man who demanded what he wanted, and created for himself what he was denied. After his wildly successful tour as Papa Emeritus of the Satanic Church of the Void, he brought his expertise, his talent, and his cunning to his new post as the Satanic Bishop of New York City.

After the fourth rejection of his application to join the most prestigious gentlemen’s social club in the city (and it was definitely not because he was a Satanic Anti-Pope) Camino decided to run his own club out of the New York Ministry location. The music was hotter, the skirts were shorter and the booze flowed higher than the runoff in the gutters after a rainstorm.

The New York City chapter of the Satanic Church of the Void soon became less a place of organized worship and more the most chaotic and happening nightclub no one dared talk about in the sunshine. No act was denied, no artistic experiment too bizarre— almost twenty-four hours of the day there would be something to see for everyone. At two PM there could be a poetry reading for moody folks in black turtlenecks. At four PM was a 1920s Big Band Revival stint, six to ten PM Camino himself took command as bandleader. Midnight to two AM was reserved for drag shows. Often at three AM some interpretive dancer could be writhing on stage wrapped in tinfoil wailing about his daddy issues. It was vibrant, sometimes exhausting but never ever boring. Just like the Bishop.

And any high society man caught sneaking in would be promptly hogtied and left out in the alley with the rest of the trash.

Camino always got what he wanted. And he wanted to share what he took from life with everyone he thought hungry enough to work for it. He was also a man who today invited Zero, of all the siblings in his care, to a private meeting in his office.

As Zero sat uneasily in a plush armchair he could pick himself out from the posters and photographs covering the wood-paneled walls of the bishop’s office. He was often in the background— a blur holding a guitar, a trombone, hiding behind a mountain of drums. In six years Zero had become an established character in Camino’s church. He had stopped his rail-hopping life and settled in with a pretty blonde poetess, living just outside earshot of the church turned nightclub with a couple of potted plants and a young son. It surprised him how much he enjoyed the ebb and flow of a domestic existence. But then again, living and working in a place of constant change and noise and life and art is like wandering without ever leaving home.

“Brother Zero, I can hear your knees knocking from over here!” Bishop Camino closed the humidor cabinet and returned to his massive desk with a choice cigar. He winked his eye, his human eye. The Infernal Eye, his gift and his curse from his time as Papa, leered into Zero. It was as icy and silvery as the tools Camino used to delicately trim and light his smoke. “You'd know if you were in trouble! Relax, stay a while! How's junior?”

“Oh, swell, just swell,” said Zero, slowly uncurling himself in his seat.

“I got box seats at the Polo Grounds whenever you two want to see a game,” Camino replied. “Owner of the Giants owes me. Funny how many folks owe me, hm?”

“You're more than generous, all the time.” Zero couldn't help but feel a fondness for the man. “You helped me.”

“Alley cats are hungry, feed ‘em. Keeps the rats away. Now…” Camino noticed the smallest mote of dust on his suit, frowned deeply, and brushed it off. Camino never wore formal vestments outside of Mass, preferring instead a red silk suit with razor-sharp shoulders. Firstly because that was his look during his time as Papa Emeritus, and secondly because there was no one in New York City who would dare tell the bishop otherwise.

“Have you ever thought about the path?” He continued. Bishop Camino leaned back in his leather chair, settling in to a languid taste of his Cuban cigar. “I think you have what it takes to be Papa. Believe me, I know.”

Zero’s eyes widened, his mouth stretching open cartoonishly in shock. “You really think that?”

“Claro. Really. You've played in the house band many a time. You know more instruments than most, and catch on so quick. You're more Ghoul than man sometimes,” Camino chuckled. Zero had indeed performed for a few years in Camino's exclusive club for degenerates, and his saxophone playing was described as “a good start” which was a big compliment coming from the Bishop.

“Times are different. Big bands are out. Five pieces are in. More flexible. Digestible. What with television everywhere now.” Camino nodded. “Jazz clubs are gone, thing of the past. I'm not too proud to admit that.”

“Oh, you got more talent in your little finger than most in their whole body!” Zero piped up. “Don't sell yourself short!”

Camino gave him a wry look. “Hermano, I didn't say anything about that. Of course I'm talented. I'm the most talented motherfucker you ever saw. But times are changing. The Church needs fresh blood. And you'd be perfect for it. You got a face for television!”

Zero looked through the wooden blinds of the window, at the lines of taxis dutifully filing past. A limo turned the corner, its black and silver form sleek amongst the herd of yellow and checkerboard. Zero saw the shining sweep of the Rolls-Royce maiden perched on the hood, bowing low with her steel gossamer cloak frozen forever against the wind. A face for television, Zero thought. He never really had a television, or an actual home to plug any sort of luxury into since leaving Milwaukee, but everyone that did had the potential to see him. To hear his music. To see his face.

“That sounds swell, how would I even start?”

Camino grunted a laugh, his teeth gripping his cigar. From his place behind his massive desk he elegantly poured a finger of amber liquid from a crystal decanter into two equally opulent glasses. “Well, you have to let everyone know your intention. Even when you're not saying a word. Especially then. Your whole body must…vibrate…with that desire.”

Zero took a glass from him, nodding eagerly. “I can do that. I can vibrate with desire!”

“Naturally,” said Camino. “I'll put you in touch with Mother Imperator’s assistant, a em…a Sister Rebecca. She'll help me authorize a transfer and you can move to the heart of the Ministry.”

They clinked glasses, and Zero took a sip. It burned across his throat, tore a hole in his belly. He coughed in surprise, making every attempt to choke as politely as possible. “Move? There's somewhere else?”

“Yes, a few hours drive up north,” Camino replied. His perfectly sculpted thin moustache twitched as he frowned. “And how the hell you choking on that, boy? That's a goddamn forty year.”

Zero mumbled an apology, then felt Camino’s strong hand on his chin, jerking his face upwards for inspection. His hand was surprisingly soft, well manicured. The floral scent of hair oil drifted down from his clothing. The older man smirked, his eyes crinkling as thoughts passed through his mind. The Infernal Eye glared down at Zero from its socket in Camino’s skull, its glow removed from this realm, a separate entity also holding judgement towards him. He could have sworn the steely pinprick of a pupil moved independent from the human eye just across the bridge of the jazz singer’s nose. Zero swallowed. “Face for television,” Camino murmured, and with his other hand took a thoughtful sip of his own glass.

Zero stretched his mouth into a submissive smile. “Maybe.”

Camino gave Zero a rough pat, nearly a slap on the side of his face, and stepped away to pick up his cigar again. “Listen here, I sent my successor up to their headquarters, had them start meeting people, gather friends— boom! They're now Papa Emeritus and gaining traction in the charts every day. The trick…is to be underfoot.” Camino let out a satisfied puff of smoke. “Thing about that place is that running the Ministry is the only thing anyone can do up there in that godforsaken wilderness. So if you want something you're front and center!”

“But…moving?” Zero had just finally put roots down after a youth of wandering. He thought of Nance, of little Primo waiting for him back at their apartment. Nance with the baby on her lap as she sat by the plants on the fire escape, her red lips smiling contentedly out at the symphony of asphalt and blaring car horns.

“Fresh air, sunshine, forests and mountains,” said Camino. “Kids love it out there. At least I'm pretty certain they do.”

Camino was met with an awkward silence, and he settled into his chair, the leather offering a tired wheeze. “Yes, the city is difficult to leave,” Camino continued, steepling his fingers. He grinned. “Which is why I came back.” And promptly at midnight a town car would pick him up and drive him back to his home in Queens. “But, I've done my time, and did the work. I'm here to guide now. And I think you need to take bigger risks.”

“Nance loves it here. She was born here.” Zero smiled slightly into the middle space. “Primo was born here.”

“It's not easy raising a child in the city, believe me. My sisters complain enough. And me…well, I became a jazz singer.” He chuckled. “That tells you everything you need to know about that.”

“Could be good for junior,” Zero mused.

“Would be good for his old man too,” Camino replied with a wink. “You just say the word. I'm serious about you.”

Horns blared from outside on the street, followed by shouts and curses. The chauffeur of the Rolls-Royce rolled up up his sleeves and unbuttoned his vest as his cap fell on the sidewalk. Across from him, an equally irate taxi driver wrenched himself from the crumpled yellow door of his taxi. A woman was trapped in the back of the Rolls, hanging out the window and screeching while the rat-like dog in her arms barked. The taxi driver jumped across the hood of the limo and delivered a heavy-fisted crack to the chauffeur’s mug that Zero could hear all the way from his spot by the window. He winced as he unconsciously massaged the same place on his jaw. Camino clapped his hand across Zero’s shoulder, laughing, his lips peeled back over sharp white teeth in a roar of amusement. The Infernal Eye shone. “Fresh air and sunshine, hermano!”

-------

“Fresh air, sunshine, forests and mountains,” said Zero as he and Sister Nance held hands on a park bench and watched their young son totter around the steel playground. “Would be good for junior, yanno?”

“This sounds rehearsed,” Nance snorted, flashing him one of her elfin grins. “What's the deal? Why all of a sudden you want to move?”

Zero shrugged. “No deal. Just…need a change, maybe.”

“Zero, dear. Don't even try to lie to me.”

“Bishop Camino… thinks I should be Papa Emeritus.”

“You?” Nance made a face. “You haven't held a single job for more than a year. And you…want to run this whole thing? You want to be Papa?”

Zero frowned back, a little wounded but willing to fight. “None of those gigs were ever that interesting.”

“And you can't just up and walk away from this one,” Nance said. “No session musician or delivery boy or taxi driver ever had to commit his soul.” She tapped the place under her left eye. “Camino and the others…got a piece of their immortal soul committed to the Void. A chunk of it is just…it's just gone.”

That whitened eye of Camino burned in Zero’s brain once more. The sharp-toothed wicked grin, the bone-chilling tension of that pinprick pupil sliding across him and passing judgement. Zero had a face for television, sure— but Camino…Camino’s visage came from someplace else.

Like any blow he's ever taken, Zero shrugged it all off. “Wasn't using my immortal soul much anyway,” he chuckled.

“Goddamit Zero.” Nance crumpled into a fussy search of her coat for her silver cigarette case. He felt the cold air return to the palm of his now abandoned hand as it rested on the park bench.

Primo zoomed over from across the playground, falling into his mother’s arms. Irving Robert, really, but Primo was a better nickname for him than Uno.

“Push me on the swings?” asked their son, grinning under the hat Nance had knitted for him last week.

Nance cupped his face in her hands, smiling sweetly. “In a few minutes, Primo, your father and I are talking. But I bet you know how to do it yourself. We want to watch.”

“Oh, I can!”

“Good, now run! We're watching!” And Primo spun around and raced over to the swings across the park, leaving them for a few precious moments. Nance lit the cigarette in her mouth and took a drag, sighing on the exhale.

“Feels like the only thing that sticks in your brain are bad ideas, Zero,” Nance muttered. “I'm saying that affectionately.”

“You're one of ‘em,” he teased back, and she shoved him with a little laugh.

“Fine. You want to move to the Ministry Headquarters. Work right under Mother Imperator and Papa Emeritus and their whole shitty retinue.”

“And bring you along, of course,” Zero added in an attempt to reassure her. He was glad that she was even considering his idea now.

“I've been up there,” Nance continued. “Not much to do, so siblings get obsessive. I didn't want to stay long.”

“Obsessive?”

“Mother Imperator…” Nance stifled a laugh. “Absolute bag. A good hundred years old, easy. Refuses to speak anything but Italian. There's two siblings waiting for her to drop dead. Any day now, it feels.”

“Oh really now?” Zero mused, half listening.

“Sister Rebecca, for one. She went right to the top as the Dark Mother's Personal Assistant. Fluent in six languages, Italian especially. Comes from a bloodline of senators and government officials. Family's got mob money. She's next in line, for sure. And then there's…” Nance winced, as if an icy wind passed through her. “Maestra Eunice.”

“Oh, she's important?” Zero had seen her from time to time, conversing with Camino. Her hooded eyes, her deep scowl. He remembered her because he thought it a shame when blondes scowled like that. And Camino always looked queasy after their meetings.

“Leader of the Conclave,” Nance explained. “Old, old Ministry family. She's been shuffled around. She doesn't make too many friends.” Nance smiled crookedly. “And Rebecca would easily cut her throat in her sleep if Eunice doesn't get to Rebecca first. It's no good out there. Too heavy while those two wait for old Imperator to croak. You really want to live in the middle of that?”

“Two broads in a spat,” stated Zero. He figured early on that if there were two women left on the entirety of this Earth they still would think the other was talking behind their back.

“One has the keys to the entire global network of our Church, the other the deepest understanding of the magic that comes from the Void,” said Nance. “These are the two broads no one wants to stand in between.”

“Who says I have to stand between ‘em? I can make my music. And that's all I got to do.”

“There's no budging you, is there.”

“Camino…believes in me.” It was the first sincere thing Zero had said in a long while, and it left his heart with a wrenching whine that was carried through into his voice. It held such a sad little timbre that Nance shifted in her seat to look at him. “He believes in what I do.”

Zero knew few people in his life ever put their faith in him. Teachers thought him stupid. Fellow tramps on the road thought he was easy pickings. Not even his own father had much to do with him; his father, who's only belief was in his own ability to pick winning dogs at the track.

“You got to take risks on what you believe,” Zero added as she continued to contemplate his expression.

“But…moving…”

“Six years is the longest I've been in a single place,” announced Zero. He wanted to add “and loved someone”, but the thought felt intrusive and not at all something Nance wanted to hear. She knew his feet got restless if he sat for too long. She had been good to him, good for him, and he owed her his affection.

Nance grabbed his hand, turning his attention to look into her soft brown eyes. “Robert,” she began quietly, and she only used his real name when she wanted him to really listen. “What about your son? Robert…what about me?”

“I want to live my dream,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips. “And my dream includes you. And Primo. I…I promise I'll do right. You know I always try to do right.”

Nance smiled faintly back. “You always try,” she said quietly. “I can't argue with that. I'm happy…you found someone else who believes in you.”

“Mo-om!” Primo called to them both from his place on the swings, his arms and legs dangling as his body lay across the steel seat.

Nance got up and dropped her smoke to the ground, crushing it underfoot. “Just…give me a few days to think about it."

Zero gave her a thin smile as he watched her cross the playground. He felt he had moved the pieces in the way he wanted them, needed them to move. And he was pretty sure of the rules of the game, so how hard would all of this be? Except he felt a queasiness now instead of relief. The feeling of his words being more of a wager than a sign of honesty hung about his shoulders. He had the faint memory of being on the other side of that conversation. And in those moments what he thought was a promise, was really only a way to buy time.

It would be well worth it in the end, he assured himself. Good ideas always are, and Camino had said himself how much of a good idea Zero was. Zero got to his feet, brushing off his knees as his good-natured smile returned to his face. There was nothing to worry about. He always came out on top. He always pulled through, and folks always leant him a helping hand. And of course he'd always support Nance, and Primo. He promised her and so he owed her. What more is a promise than an IOU to someone else?

Funny how many folks owe me, said Camino as his dead eye flashed. Great men are owed. And Zero was ready to be a lender.

My Fic List | My AO3 | More Domestic Fics

Papa Camino & Dewdrop, Phantom Fic

[dopscratch]

ok well it looks like there's a little more than five of you

so uh

i started writing a little bit and yknow when i said laios is literally me?

yeah i think i was born to write him

anyway here's a treat for you all, the very first draft of the first few paragraphs of A Culinary Guide to the Barbaric Archipelago

feedback is much appreciated this will probably look fairly different once i end up actually publishing :)

also keep in mind i've only watched the show so if anything seems inaccurate just tell me (preferably spoiler-free/spoiler-light) ___

Laios had no idea what these monsters were, and the thought only excited him. They had shown up as he and his party were traversing a high-ceilinged region in the fifth floor, and everyone was fumbling to fend them off. They were large, frighteningly fast, and were constantly in motion, enough that they were nothing but a near-indecipherable blur as they screeched through the air. 

Marcille had tried exploding them to no avail, the spells hitting nothing but a crumbling wall. Not a single swing of Kensuke had managed to so much as clip them, and fabric shreds floated through the air like autumn leaves as they tore through the party’s items with their talons. Chilchuck was screaming as he ducked and weaved, dodging the masses with some success. Meanwhile, Senshi busied himself trying to recover all of his fallen ingredients after one of the creature’s claws had torn off his pot and ripped open his supply bag, scattering its contents among the bricks. He didn’t even flinch when one sent sparks flying from his helmet. The only things that Laios could make out through the streaks were shimmering scales and sharp talons—either a reptilian or bird-type monster. Well, he’d read once that birds technically were reptiles anyway, but that was certainly besides the point, plus, monsters of either type generally still had their differences...though now that he thought about it, they often were encountered together—Basilisks, Cockatrices, and Coatuls were all combinations of snakes and birds, and white dragons had bird wings—wait, maybe that was why Falin had feathers! He’d thought it greedy at first, to have so many cool features together, but when he really considered it, regular birds had always had scales, on their legs at least! So then, maybe the feathers were just a natural part of it after all! Maybe...

“Maybe dragons aren’t just reptilian monsters, but a special type of bird monster!” Laios didn’t even realize he’d said anything aloud until Chilchuck turned his ire to him.

“What? How does that even matter!? Get a grip, Laios! We need to get the hell out of here!” the half-foot yelled. He grabbed onto Laios’s arm, but before he could try to tug the larger man away, he ducked to avoid an incoming blur. Marcille was having similar issues.

“Forget the food, we need to go!” She shrieked, trying to dissuade Senshi from the Sisyphean task that was collecting his things. Every time he made any sort of progress, a passing monster would swoop in to take a swipe at him, the passing wind sending everything flying once more.

__

first person to guess which httyd dragon is harassing them gets a doodle of your choice from me :)

ALSO, i am debating when in the books i want to set it. on one hand, setting it after the events of all the books could create some interesting dynamics with the main httyd gang and the touden party, though on the other hand that'd make it a lot less accessible for non-httyd readers and also just a massive spoiler fest. so i think setting it sometime before book 8 would also be fun and be able to accomplish what i want it to. and maybe even setting it before/during book 1 could be cool so i could play off of the interactions with the green death, though of course that would also be sacrificing the other httyd characters's development.

either way i think the main plot is that the touden party eats their way across the barbaric archipelago and hiccup horrendous haddock the third the hope and heir to the tribe of hairy hooligans just wants to find out why all the wild dragons are getting so agressive

also ziggerastica is just having a fit

[branwendaughterofllyr]

Hiiii I’m so happy you’re writing again! I’ve been rereading Poison and Body Forgotten lately, and I’ve been… kind of worried about your OCs’ parent-child attachment dynamics lol

When I first read it, I couldn’t understand why Oldgon didn’t send Alyssa down south. I mean, that would’ve been the obvious way to keep her safe, right? Or at least arrange an early engagement or something. But reading it again, I noticed a line like “even the thought of sending her far away tears him apart” and that’s when it hit me. I think Oldgon is projecting all his mess(his dysfunctional family, his dead wife) onto Alyssa, like she’s the one thing holding everything together. And I’m not sure that’s healthy for her.

I’m even more worried about Sybelle. Part of me thinks Robyn might be showing early anxiety symptoms, but the real problem is that both the kid and Sybelle seem emotionally overwhelmed. And then instead of, like, a licensed therapist showing up… we get a teenage boy on a dragon. Poor Sybelle. He might actually be the worst possible choice you could’ve made.

Anyway, I just wanted to say how much I’m enjoying your fics. I know this fandom gets a little antsy about long period of absence lol but I can wait. I heard it’s an important time in your life right now, and that should come first. Just come back whenever you’re ready!

I'm rubbing my hands together evilly at this ask. I don't think many people have picked up on it, but I absolutely have written Oldgon and Alyssa's relationship as one of unhealthy co-dependence. While I would not label it as covert/emotional incest, there is definitely a level of boundary blurring between the two of them that will only get more blurry as..... events happen. Oldgon has a ton of his own issues, one of the biggest ones being that he was sent away to the Citadel at a young age, which while not that unusual for Westeros, really exacerbated his own distant relationship with his father, and prevented him from maintaining a closer relationship with his brothers (which might have been for the better tbh). One of the things I kept in mind while writing was that one of the aspects of emotional incest is the parent treating the child as a partner, rather than their actual spouse (who may be physically absent or absent in other ways. I would not be surprised if some element of this occurred with Jaehaerys and Alysanne, since they were both crazy busy and had clear favorites among their kids while others slipped through the cracks.) And Oldgon confides a lot in Alyssa, something he'll only do more of as she gets older. And his reluctance for her to get married or even betrothed is meant to be a bit weird, and again, will only become more noticeable as she gets older. (this is also why he really only looks at unsuitable matches like Joffrey Arryn that are easy to delay or ultimately turn down). And while Oldgon really does love the Green kids and in many ways does treat them as own children, they are not actually his, while he has complete...... er, ownership so to speak over his daughter. And of course, the fact that she is only child he and Elinor had together, and is a piece of his beloved wife is another layer of it.

And for Alyssa, her dad is the most important person in her life (and will remain so tbh), and she very much feels the same level of attachment to him, and even gets a little bitter when he treats the Green kids like his own because he is her dad, not theirs! I think one of the hallmarks of the Targaryen family dynamics is unhealthy levels of enmeshment, so I really tried to explore that in Poison. I think the parent-child aspects of this under explored in Targaryen centered fics, so I tried to include, as well as a mirror to relationships like Rhaenyra and Viserys, and whatever the fuck Baelon had going with his kids.

And for Sybelle and Robyn, emotionally overwhelmed is a good way of putting it. I've included some age regression for Robyn, as she's gone through some massive upheavals at a very young age in a very short time, and she is a fairly anxious child. I have a general idea in mind for what Sybelle's deal is, which has also been worsened by all her recent changes, including a rough recovery from postpartum depression after her stillborn son was born, and Ben's death. (I don't think a mentally well woman would choose to hook up with Aemond tbh. A certain level of instability is required methinks.)

Thanks for the ask! it actually gave me the shove I needed to work on Poison today!

[spiteriisen]

@passionfell asked : 6. defending the other muse verbally ( avelin & ankita )

Avelin isn't meant to get so close to the action.

He's never the man on the front line, never the one locked in enemy sights-- a side effect of his nature, harder to pin down than the breeze itself. He keeps himself back, avoids making himself a target, and when tables turn, he's the first to cut and run.

He's always prioritized self-preservation, no matter whose side he leaves behind in doing so.

So then, why is he close enough now to smell the burnt flesh of Alwin's arms, bite wounds scorched into cauterized scarring by the flames of the root hounds' jaws? Why is he close enough to see the tearstained faces of the family ushered out from the cottage on which Ankita perches, eyes fixed upon the smoldering horizon as something lumbers closer, sending tremors through the earth beneath them?

A mighty creeeeeak, groan, CRACK fills his ears. The last tree standing in the way between them and whatever monstrous thing is storming towards them sways, bows, and pitches forward, just narrowly missing where Avelin stands with its collapse--

And why, in all the Hells, is he close enough to feel the shower of sparks and embers seer across his skin when it does?

Time seems to grind to a halt as the bard finds himself bathed in the massive shadow of the creature. Its burning, vacant eyes fix upon him, the only target directly within its reach, and his stomach drops. He urges himself to breathe, to move, but he can't-- dark smoke is too thick in his lungs and his time has run out.

The corrupted titan raises an entire tree aloft in its enormous claws, like a club aimed straight for where Avelin stands. His legs go weak, his grip on his bow going slack as every song he's ever drilled into his head flees his memory. He can already feel his bones breaking, can already feel his chest caving in, and the downswing hasn't even begun--

When he hears Ankita's voice carrying from behind him. A rush of magic washes over him towards its target, taking hold in the earth beneath this monstrosity's feet. The grease spell seems to take it by surprise and its hind claws scrabble for purchase to keep it standing, but right before Avelin's eyes the spell seems to thicken. More of the magically conjured substance rises up to slick grass and stone and the twisted colossus falls.

The rest of the battle passes by in a blur of blades and arrows, but even after Alwin deals the finishing blow, after they all work together to quell the fire, even after they nearly get arrested at the city gates, Avelin is stuck back in that moment.

It's not until the group is making their way back to the Emerald Herald with the spoils of their good deed in hand does Avelin manage to form what he truly wants to say.

The bard falls into step beside the wizard, dragging one of his painted nails along the neck of his new mandolin, eyes fixed upon the grain of the wood, the gleam of the strings in the last light of day, anywhere, really, save for straight at Ankita.

" I want you to know that you were... incredible, back there. " The words aren't light, the way Avelin would usually try to make them. They weigh as much as they should, and there's no telling if he's ever meant anything he's ever said to the other man more than he means this. " I know you would have done as much if it were anyone else in my position as well, so don't think I'm reading into things. I've no illusions that you cast with my sake in mind especially, but... I also know that I'd almost certainly be dead if you hadn't. "

[ivysangel]

hey bestie so i was the anon who was talking about how there’s such a massive blurred line between YA and adult books earlier (and i also mentioned the language barriers involved with parenting) and the Author i was talking about was Sarah j Maas. you’ve DEFINITELY heard her name one way or the other. her books are RIDDLED with issues, but the most prominent issue is the white feminism and thinly veiled misogyny. the series that shifted age ratings mid series was called throne of glass. honestly i feel like a lot of people have selective memory with this series cuz that series was MARKETED and SOLD as young adult until the 5th book. and even then it was only really given new covers and replaced in book stores as late as 2023 (the series ended in 2018)

was there some innuendos thrown here and there books 1-4? yes. elements of nudity? yes too. but in the romantic side plots, there was no actual smut and was always fade to black. that shift was so CLEAR in the 5th book (i didn’t read 7-8) cuz there were straight up on page full detailed bullshit with multiple different characters. i have a feeling this happened especially because the main character has just turned 18 and it wouldn’t be ‘weird’ for her to fuck her 500+ year old love interest.

and that’s only one of the many issues of that series, and don’t get me started on her OTHER series that possibly has even MORE issues than the other was ALSO only recently remarketed as adult only when the 4th book came out (i’ll give them a sliver of grace because there were some books that had tiny warnings on the back, but that doesn’t change the marketing issues) before that you’d never catch that series anywhere but the young adults sections (and this is only amplified when non english speaking countries get the books and have no idea where to place them but how they’re instructed to place them when they arrive in shipment boxes or how they’re stored online overseas. speaking from experience.)

could this specific issue be of fault from the industry and not the author? possibly. but it’s the same sinking boat, especially because right now we have all these smut books with ‘discreet’ covers with cartoonish rom-com depictions on them that will only inevitably attract children.

sorry for the rant, didn’t realize how long this got till the very end😭

hi hi hi! you sent this in august. it is february. that is so my bad. i have indeed heard of sarah j. maas and ACOTAR but i've never had any interest in the books because i'm not much interested in fantasy. i do know her fans are rabid though and acotar criticism is not taken lightly on booktok from what i've seen. i know absolutely nothing about the books so the 17 yr old + 500 yr old love interest is fucking me up BADDDD like i ain't know that's what was goin on 😭😭😭. i do think that the rise of the popularity of smut is obviously contributing to why so many authors are midway through a series changing the ratings of the books. i know that young adult fiction was probably the biggest book market for the longest time so they had to play it safe if they wanted success, but since the rise of "spice" they are now allowed to throw all of that out the window, hence the alienation of the demographic the books were initially catered to. disingenuous at best, capitalistic at worst. not surprising though given the number of booktok writers who have been exposed as scammers and liars. it's actually so odd like there's just too much lore.but i definitely do think that the book industry needs to do a complete overhaul of how they advertise and sell these books because incredibly explicit books are now easier to acquire than ever. especially the self-published ones on amazon omg, and those always end up being the FREAKIEST!

[plussizeficchick]

So since your doing commissions for your birthday. I was wondering if I could get a fic with Sukuna and chubby reader. Mainly because you released that headcannon and that's all I've been thinking about😐 And if possible can it have something to do with exhibitionism. I definitely feel like Sukuna would be into that😏 Eveything else is up to you🥰

Omgg friend, I really hope you enjoy this😣For real, I may make a second part to this😗

Adore You│Sukuna x Chubby! Reader feat. Gojo Satoru

warnings: smut(oral fem!receiving, breeding, implied threesome, exhibitionsim)slightly soft Sukuna

Ryomen Sukuna was a lot of things.

He’s selfish, cold-hearted, sadistic. He doesn’t have much regard for the way he makes people feel.

But never with you.

With you, Sukuna could never be those things. You brought out a side of him that he thought he’d long buried, nestled deep in the crevices of the back of his mind.

He adored you.

He adored the way you gazed up at him with stars in your eyes, like he wasn’t some cursed being known for taking lives at the snap of his fingers.

He adored the way you clung to him, never wanting to stray too far, always keeping a hand on some part of him. Like the idea of you two ever being apart was too much to bear.

He especially adored the way you let him fuck you. Treating your plump body as if it was a ragdoll, tossing and twisting your body in ways you never thought possible, pounding your poor cunt into oblivion with his massive cock. He always leaves you worse for wear, lips bruised from his harsh kisses, eyes wet with tears of overstimulation, yet you still look at him like he’s hung the moon in the sky.

He adores you.

And as someone who knows the signs of adoration, he knows he’s not the only one.

—

Gojo Satoru is a confident individual, knows he’s strong and has looks to match, his bright, blue eyes able to captivate the attention of anyone. 

He’s a catch. Point. Blank. Period.

And as someone who’s a catch, he can sense when someone else is one too.

That’s why when you, Yuuji’s older friend from his old school pops up at Jujutsu Tech, he’s immediately smitten.

Cute, round, chubby cheeks that he just wanted to squeeze and kiss. Squishy, jiggly, thighs that he just wanted to nibble on. Sparkling, doe-eyes that he could just stare into for ages and never get bored.  

You captivated him.

Unfortunately for Gojo, he was always busy, needing to travel to deal with some of the more heavier special grade curses. In the time that Gojo spent away from Jujutsu Tech, you had gotten closer to Sukuna. You were already in close proximity because of your friendship with Yuuji, but it wasn’t until you were all put in a compromising position that you’d felt something other than lust for the curse.

A special grade curse had somehow made it onto school grounds and you were present at the time of attack. You had been in the bathroom when you had felt the building shake and against your better judgment, you stepped out. Just as you’d rounded a corner, you felt a sharp pain in your leg causing you to collapse. You turn to look at the assailant but come to find the grotesque face of a special grade curse. 

You let out a blood-curdling scream and the next few moments pass you in a blur. You aren’t sure where he came from, but in a flash, Sukuna has you cradled in his arms, the curse laying dead a few feet away from you as a tender look crosses his face, and he gently asks, “Are you alright?” You barely manage a nod before he’s looking down at your leg. He looks back up at you and it’s hard for you to read his expression. “Don’t scare me like that again.” He grunts before carrying you to Yuuji’s room.

–

That day, you and Sukuna had gotten better “acquainted” and ever since then, Sukuna had made it blatantly known that you were his. He made sure you were always around Yuuji so he could keep an eye on you, both literally and figuratively, and even managed to convince the brat to let him have more time with you.

Which leads you to where you are now, grinding your clothed cunt against Sukuna’s thigh as he mouths at your neck, nipping and sucking harshly at your sensitive spots. You gasp at the feeling, your clit throbbing against your panties. “Sweet girl, you have no idea what you do to me, hmm?” Sukuna coos against your lips. His hands are everywhere, grabbing at your exposed flesh. He’d already left both of your clothes in a heap by the door, so the skin on skin contact was adding to the fire burning in your stomach. 

You shake your head at his question, too caught up in the way his large hands groped at your chest, squishing the balls of fat and watching it puff out between his fingers. He spits on your nipple before running a thumb over the wet bud, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’ll take care of everything.” He murmured, pushing you to lay on your back.

You fall against the mattress softly, Sukuna laying himself on top of you. “Open up for me, baby.” He tugs at your panties, pulling the thin piece of material away from your center. He holds the fabric up before taking a glance at you to make sure you’re watching as he suddenly shoves your panties against his nose, inhaling your scent. He groans as the smell engulfs his senses, the scent of your arousal causing his cock to stir against your thigh. 

You whine at the sight, bucking your hips upwards in an attempt to get him where you needed him most. “‘Kuna, please. Need you.” You mewl, opening your thick thighs wider so he can get a better view of your slick cunt. 

He throws the garment away haphazardly, the sight of your cunt proving to be much more interesting. He spreads your pussy lips open before running his long tongue from your hole up to your clit. You jolt at the feeling before relaxing into his hold, carding your fingers through his hair as he mouths at your pussy.

He’s so messy with it, it's all drool and tongue and it sounds so obscene, the way he slurps up your juices. It doesn’t take much longer for you to cum with a shout, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he keeps going, practically sucking the soul out of your body.

It isn’t until he feels you pushing his head away that Sukuna comes up for air, his breathing heavy and chin glistening with your cum. He gives you a sly grin before slithering his way up your frame, grabbing your chin to pull you in for the dirtiest kiss you’ve ever had. It’s all spit, tongue and teeth and you can taste yourself in his mouth and it's that which makes your clit throb, the need to be filled the only thought running through your mind.

Clearly having the same idea, Sukuna maneuvers your body to where you are on all fours with him behind you, running his hands along your sides. “You look so good for me, baby. Looked so good cumming for me. You can take more, right? You’re my good girl?” He asked, rubbing his cock through your slick folds. You can’t help but grind your pussy against his length, the tip hitting your clit just right. “I asked you a question, brat.” He says before landing a harsh spank to your cheek. You yelp at the pain, but as soon as it comes the feeling fades and you’re left with a pleasurable stinging sensation. “Ah! Yes! ‘m your good girl. Please!” You beg, needing to feel him inside you. 

He leans over you, giving you a harsh nip on your ear, “That’s fucking right.” He grunts before pushing himself in to the hilt. You groan at the stretch, clenching your pussy around his cock. “Fuck, baby. You gotta open up. Gotta let me in that pussy, yeah?” He cooed, moving one of his hands down to toy with your clit. You cry out at the feeling, fucking your hips back onto his cock. The sight is absolutely sinful, the rolls of fat rippling in time with his harsh thrusts, your cunt creaming on his dick, the beads of sweat accumulating on your lower back that Sukuna just wanted to lap up. Fuck the things you do to him.

It isn’t until he feels a certain sorcerer’s presence that Sukuna’s reminded of his mission. “Louder, baby. I want everyone to know who’s making you feel good.” Sukuna mutters into your ear as he grinds his dick deliciously into your lower stomach. “‘kuna ‘m gonna cum. Can I cum, please?” You pleaded, your orgasm burning in the pit of your stomach. “Hold it.” He ordered, flicking your clit in between his fingers. “Can’t! I can’t!” You whine, the pit in your stomach getting bigger and bigger. “I said, “hold it.”” He growled, pulling you into a rough kiss. He bites at your bottom lip hard and you're almost certain he’s drawn blood before he’s pulling away. “Cum for me. Soak my fucking cock, baby.” And it’s with those words that you’re cumming on his cock, your pussy tightening on his length as you sing his praises. He continues his vicious thrusts into your soaked cunt. “Fuck yeahhh, that’s it, baby. That’s a good girl.” He rasps, thrusting once, twice before filling your abused cunt with his seed. 

He slowly pulls out his spent cock, a rush of cum escaping your gaping hole as you slump against the bed. 

“So, silly little sorcerer. You enjoy the show?” 

 Your head snaps upwards to see who Sukuna is talking to, only to come face to face with Gojo Satoru. You rush to cover yourself, but then you're stopped by Sukuna.

“I did. You mind sharing?”

--

Taglist: @xogabbiexo @pervysenpaix @dabilovesme @sintiva @blkchxrryblyss @tenyaiidasslut @luna-indigoduh @bookwormsenpai @bl--ankhaeji @thicksimpx @namjoonswifeyy @nasty-quillz @haikyutiehoe @musicisme333

[arts-and-drafts]

Come Morning Light (Part 12)

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven

(THE CHAPTER I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR. Seriously, I've had this in my head since CML's conception. It's all lead up to this. Not to hype it too much, but I will also say a very specific scene in this part was inspired by my beloved mutual @cedarwhisp and their incredible Hermit!Tommy fic Shells In The Foam. I implore you to read it, it's the best 50+ chapters of fanfic I have literally ever read. Anyway, enough stalling!! Let's go!!!)

CWs: Death, manipulation, violence, mentions of abuse

-

Tommy's stomach jerked as Xisuma's imposing form vanished in front of his eyes, and he tripped backwards into Joe.

He didn't get a moment to even breathe before enchanted words flashed over his vision.

RUN.

The sky split open with a clap of green lightning, tearing the quiet night apart. Tommy saw Xisuma and Dream's silhouettes illuminated in the sky in that split second, grappled together and glowing with administrator magic.

Vaguely, Tommy saw Joe in the corner of his vision, and he subconsciously reached out to grasp the sleeve of his guardian's shirt for some menial comfort.

"We need to help him," Tommy mumbled, his eyes glued to the figures in the sky. He felt Joe put his hand over his, and against Joe's steady weight he realized he was trembling.

"This is not a fight we can interfere with anymore, Tommy." Joe replied faintly.

Tommy couldn't look away. No rain fell from the sky, but crackles of green lightning struck every time the two admins collided. From this distance, Tommy could see Xisuma pulling up his administrator screen every time they parted, but Dream always struck quick enough to cut off any command Xisuma tried to summon.

Xisuma was clumsy in the sky, Tommy realized, as he watched the admin give up on his screen and instead launched himself forward, his sword in hand. Dream easily shot out of the way, and Xisuma's armor saved him from what would otherwise be a deadly blow to the back of the head.

Xisuma jerked to face Dream, straight-up throwing a punch at the god, but Dream deflected the blow with his arm and used his other to slice upward with his axe. Xisuma only barely moved out of the way in time.

Tommy's stomach twisted as he recognized the stark red of a barrier block in Xisuma's hand. Dream ducked through an invisible gap in the barrier before Xisuma could complete the box, and rushed at Xisuma so quickly that Tommy could barely follow his form against the lightening sky.

Xisuma flew to meet him with his blade ready, but he was out of his element, and Dream was of war.

Dream dodged impossibly quick, and slammed down on Xisuma hard enough to send the taller admin to the ground in a blur. The sound of an explosion reached Tommy's ears as the impact made a crater in Joe's land, and Tommy's past curled around his throat and turned him dizzy.

Withers descended from the sky, flanked by TNT raining death from above, falling from the massive obsidian grid that blotted out the sun. The air was choked with dust and ash, and Tommy's vision was blurry. His ears rang painfully from the explosions, and everything seemed off kilter. Tommy looked around at the carnage, feeling like he was detached from his body.

Everything was gone.

His eyes were pulled to a cave that had been exposed from the TNT. There sat Wilbur, on his knees a few blocks away from the tattered body of Philza. Tears ran down Wilbur's face, and he shoved his diamond sword into his father's hands.

No.

Tommy tried to move. He really did. But his limbs were locked with terror, and he could only watch as Philza Minecraft took up Wilbur's sword.

"NO!"

Tommy jolted back to the present, already running. His breath burned in his lungs, grief searing his insides just as fiercely as flames.

"XISUMA!"

The sound of armored footsteps echoed behind him, and Tommy didn't need to look to see every hermit left standing rushing behind him to fight. Their battle cries blurred with the goofy "humina" war cry from Tommy's memories, something he instigated, when they didn't know this would be the last time they followed Wilbur ever again.

An invisible hand squeezed Tommy's heart, and he used the pressure to draw his sword.

Arrows flew overhead, shot from the ghosts in Tommy's mind and hermits alike. Many missed, but a few got lucky, and Tommy nearly sang when he heard Dream make a noise of pain. He fell from the sky, but landed in a MLG water, and the green energy that surrounded him disappeared all at once.

Tommy began to swing his sword, but Dream turned to him, and he froze. That smiling face burned into his retinas and sealed him in place for a few seconds he couldn't spare.

Dream lunged, and Tommy was forcibly knocked out of the way right before his chest was sliced open. A cry of pain sounded, and Tommy turned to see Bdubs locked in blades with Dream, a red stain already growing on his side.

"Get out!" Bdubs gritted, pushing forward and sending Dream stumbling a few blocks. "Tommy, run!!"

But his legs were jelly. The clash of metal on metal reverberated through his very being, and he could only watch as Dream swiftly sliced forward in the fraction of a second that Bdubs turned to look at Tommy.

[BdoubleO100 was slain by Dream using Nightmare]

No.

He had to move. He had to.

But Dream looked at him, and suddenly he was exiled again, throwing his tools and armor in the pit.

"TOMMY!"

The thundering of thousands of feet sounded through the chaos, and Dream only had time to turn his head before he was swarmed by the largest wolf pack Tommy had ever seen.

Tommy gasped and scrambled to his feet to avoid the herd, but the snarling wolves only had eyes for Dream, who was desperately trying to fend them off. A harsh whistle pierced the air, and Tommy turned to the noise.

Joe, in all his leather-armored glory, was running alongside more of his wolves, his sword in hand.

Joe reached out as he got closer, his wolves flanking him either side. Tommy found himself reaching back.

And then Dream moved lightning quick, and Joe choked out a strangled noise.

Tommy's very bones turned to ice.

Dream was kneeling on the grass, holding Joe by the hair, his axe poised over the poet's throat.

The battle stopped all at once. Even Joe's wolves were silent.

"Come with me," Dream said, evenly, dangerously, and Tommy knew his eyes were only on him. "Or I'll kill him."

-

This was not the first time Joe's life had been threatened.

It was, however, the most serious.

He felt Dream's fingers curl, pulling tighter on Joe's hair, and the poet swallowed a noise of pain.

"You know I mean it, Tommy." Dream uttered, terribly still, like a cave spider waiting to strike.

Tommy looked like he had just been shot.

The hermits knew that death did not have the hold on them that Tommy was used to. It was one of the few things they could always rely on to be the same, despite every change of season. Death was only temporary, and it was frustrating at worst.

Tommy still didn't think like that, Joe knew, even after a year with the hermits. The poet saw the terror in his ward's eyes and wondered who he really saw in Dream's hold.

"Tom-" Joe tried, but Dream yanked on his hair and raised his axe blade closer, making him hiss in pain. Joe forced his eyes open and stared at Dream's mask with deliberate calm.

He was not afraid. But Tommy was, and Dream knew that. He was using a child's fear to get what he wanted.

Joe never wanted to harm another player so badly in his life.

"Tick tock, Tommy." Dream said, his voice smooth. "We don't have-"

And then an enchanted projectile struck him so fast that Joe barely knew what it was, the impact whipping Dream to the side with a yell.

Joe was unceremoniously thrown out of Dream's hold, and he cried out as Dream's axe sliced his lip, his mouth instantly tasting blood. He felt strong hands grab his arms and forcefully pull him away, and for a moment his senses were overwhelmed with the strong perfume of wilting flowers, and the barely-there stench of rot.

Joe put a hand on Cleo's bicep in thanks, unable to turn away from the scene in front of him, because Tommy was standing tall with an arrow notched, the sun finally rising behind him, encasing him in a halo of blinding light.

His face was twisted with the coldest rage Joe had ever seen, his eyes only on Dream. Joe realized with a start that Tommy's first arrow had broken a piece clean off of Dream's mask, and one poison-green eye was glaring malice for the world to see.

"BACK THE FUCK UP." Tommy spat, trembling with fury instead of fear, and with the sun's light behind him, Joe saw an angel of vengeance.

Dream's single-eyed gaze hardened, and he rose to his feet, the axe that had taken so many hermits' lives ringing with metallic enchantment against the grass.

"You shouldn't have done that." Dream growled, all the smugness in his tone gone. The hairs on Joe's arms stood on end. Even if his mind wasn't afraid, his body was not so easily calmed. Every fiber of his being screamed 'DANGER' at this new side of Dream.

But Tommy did not even blink.

"Oh yeah?" The boy said, a shaky but sharp grin growing on his face. "What are you gonna do about it?"

"I'll fucking kill you, Tommy." Dream hissed, taking a step forward, and every remaining hermit moved at once to stand in his way. They were stopped by Tommy flicking a quick look their way.

Oh, Joe realized all at once. This is the trap.

"I'll take your last life and you'll be fucking dead, Tommy, and then I'll kill your ghost!" Dream raised his axe, and Tommy flinched, even after all this time. It pooled rage as hot as lava in Joe's gut, but he did not move. He had to trust Tommy.

Tommy took a shaky breath, and remained steady. Atta boy, Joe thought, unable to resist the surge of pride he felt. This boy was nothing like the cowering mess he found a year ago.

"Go on, then." Tommy challenged, raising his bow only slightly. "Just like before, ey? Ten paces?"

And Dream hesitated. It was only for a fraction of a second, but Joe saw it, and so did Tommy.

"Yeah, that's fuckin' right." Tommy said, triumph in his tone. "I'm too important, aren't I?"

"I heard you, earlier. You could've killed me in that fuckin' maze, but you didn't." And this time Tommy took the step forward, his arrow locked on target. "You're not gonna kill me, Dream. You don't have the fuckin' guts."

That seemed to strike a nerve. Dream suddenly stood at his full height, his mask glinting in the dawn light. "Maybe not," he said, slowly, carefully, "but everyone you love on the SMP is still at my mercy, Tommy."

"Not anymore." Xisuma croaked, and everyone turned to the admin, kneeling and bruised at the lip of the crater his body caused, his administrator screen illuminating his cold glare.

Joe looked back just in time to see Dream's eye widen, and he moved--

And he was gone.

And the world stopped, just for a moment. Like a tripwire pulled taut. Lag wasn't new to Hermitcraft, but something felt different.

Joe had turned to Tommy before the world froze, and there was a light in his eyes as he saw Dream disappear that didn't get to his face yet.

And then the tripwire snapped.

[TommyInnit fell out of the world]

[thera-daydreams]

PLUS ONE

》 A TRESE TWOSHOT 《

[Maliksi x Reader]

📝 Summary: In which your beloved best friend snatches you from your apartment at dawn asking you to be his plus one for his cousin's wedding. Unbeknownst to the clueless you, everything is just going according to Maliksi's ultimate masterplan. With the help of friends and family, the Prince of the Tikbalang finally gets the girl he's been longing for. And oh, Señor Armanaz gets his dream daughter-in-law and the promise of grandchildren within the year.

📌 Warning: May contain some slight NSFW for spicy suggestiveness and cussing. No smut or anything super SPG—this girl can't write that for her life—but just be prepared. It's Maliksi we're talking about. We've got friends-to-lovers, obliviousness, pining, fluff, and a tikbalang simp. Figure it out. 😃

(word count: 7,454) ♥︎ Part Two: ?

》 AUTHOR'S NOTE 《

Not an Inday spinoff, but a lengthy oneshot in celebration of this blog getting 90 followers. Just ten more to 100, yay! Thank you so much for the love and support, everyone. I also promised that I'll be making this brainrot that @binibiningbabaylan and I have fangirled over a few days ago (find the original post here) when I finished the latest chapter of Inday. Here it is! 🥰

Before I forget, I was also inspired by the cute fic made by @crispybasil titled "Sunshowers" and the "Trese Boys As Things My Guy Friends Do" made by the amazing @smolla-than-a-bug (I bow down to your wonderful works in the Trese fandom). I definitely see Maliksi to be the type to go on spontaneous roadtrips and be the boyfriend to drive you around eveeeerywhere (while also driving you crazy). 🚘

There are also some songs mentioned throughout this work. You should probably listen to them while reading for the full experience. Ending was somewhat rushed but eh, I'm too exhausted and I've rewritten it too many times. Also, if someone makes some actual tikbalang smut, tag me please. Anyways, enjoy! 💕

The way it all started was hilarious. Absolutely fucking hilarious. It happened like a blur. Literally. One second, you were snoozing in your bed. The next? You had a seatbelt on in the shotgun seat of a sophisticated-looking car. Your brain didn't even get to process it yet.

"... So let me get this straight," you grumbled, still half-asleep from your sleep marathon. You just finished a hugely successful project at work yesterday, got promoted, and wanted to make up for the restless nights you spent overtime in the office. Of course you were irritated from being disturbed. You were on vacation leave for two entire weeks, originally planning to go into temporary isolation by deactivating your social media accounts and reserving a beach cabana for yourself in Batangas.

Well, turns out, you weren't going to Batangas anytime soon. All because your unreasonably spontaneous bestfriend of ten hectic years stole you from your apartment at 2AM. Was this considered kidnapping? Was this him just being more in touch with his tikbalang side, taking unsuspecting women in their sleep and leading them to their inevitable death? (He was going over the speed limit, so it was a valid thought.) Will wearing your shirt inside-out save you today? Lord, masyado ka pang pagod para mag-isip ngayon.

"Go on."

"You abducted picked me up in the middle of the night because you want me to be your plus one at your cousin's wedding in Tagaytay?"

"Yup. And technically, the venue is right on the outskirts of Cavite going to Tagaytay," he corrected you as a matter-of-factly.

"Same thing, whatever," you huffed tiredly. "Your cousin's wedding is at 6AM today. In a few hours. In four hours."

"Uh-huh."

You groaned exasperatedly, "Mal naman, eh! You didn't even let me bring anything. Could've at least given me a heads-up a few hours ago. I'm practically emptyhanded right now save for my phone! Sinungaling ka, you said this was just a normal midnight drive—not a freaking wedding!"

The Prinsipe ng Mga Tikbalang, son of the Great Stallion, heir to the Armanaz herd, and the Top Drag Racer of C-5 Expressway—if that was even one of his Game of Thrones-like titles—grinned as he continued driving beside you. He let you continue ranting in the passenger seat while he mulled over his ultimate masterplan that would change his entire life later on. He was a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy, so all this wasn't his thing. But for you? He'll make plans, alright.

"Wala man lang akong dinalang masusuot o kahit konting makeup para maging presentable sa harapan ng buong pamilya mo," you exclaimed, in absolute despair. "Do you know how out of my league you are? Your rich-ass family might judge me—hell, your dad might see me as a hampaslupa if I show up there in my pambahay and tsinelas!"

"Psh, I'm not out of your league," Maliksi waved it off, smoothly turning a corner. "And calm down. We've known each other for a decade! My dad practically loves you as his own daughter. Heck, the entire family knows you and keeps telling me they want you adopted in already. Lolo Andres and Lola Perlita said they'd have the paperwork settled. You just need to sign them."

It would be even better (and easier) if you married into the family. To him, specifically (as if he'd let anyone else have you). God, he was already being so obvious in his advances, but you were just so damn oblivious whenever it came to romance. None of this needed to happen if you just got it through your thick skull that he was madly in love with you.

"That's not the point, idiot!" you slumped back into your seat, hopeless. "Do you think the bride and the groom will get offended? Shit, baka masumpaan ako kung magagalit sila, Mal. Mukha akong patay galing sa South Cemetery."

The long-haired tikbalang rolled his eyes, "Huwag kang mag-alala. Nothing's going to go wrong. Chill ka lang diyan. I've got everything under control, babe."

Babe. Yes, he even called you babe but you thought it was him being a himbo and a massive flirt. Now, it was his common term of endearment for you, but you still assumed it was him just being irksome to you and that you couldn't stop the man from saying it anymore. Thus, you let it be (the most obvious hint of his attraction to you, bestie).

"... Ugh, why didn't you ask Hannah or Amie to go with you?"

He just smiled knowingly, shrugging and making up an excuse, "Nagmamadali ako, eh. Hannah and Amie are also coming, but they already have the other tikbalang as dates."

"'Luh, ako pala ang backup choice mo?"

"Heh. Whatever you want to think."

Little did you know that you were always his first choice. Always. Even when he pursued Alexandra Trese many years ago, trying to convince himself you were just his best friend, it was always you. How did he come to that realization? Well, an international band he was a fan of released a song a couple years ago and he heard it being played in a club in BGC. The song title?

It Was Always You by Maroon 5.

Needless to say, after hearing the song and being unable to get it—get you—out of his mind at night, he stopped courting Alexandra. Unfortunately for him, that time, you'd started dating other men. Therefore, he was left on the sidelines... until your latest and most painful breakup, at least. That was five years ago. You still hadn't dated anyone since then, kind of traumatized from getting into another failed relationship like that.

In the present day, as if the fates were playing on you two, one of your favorite artists played on the radio. A very ironic song given the situation you two were in.

Best Friend by Rex Orange County.

Maliksi knew it was a favorite of yours. He knew it by the way your eyes lit up like a star brightening the twinkling night sky. Like the sun first rising in the morning at Apolaki's command. Like the moon extending its gentle rays from the magic of Mayari herself. If there was anything he wanted to ask of the old gods, it was you—everything else be damned.

"I wanna be the one that makes your day, the one you think about as you lie awake," you half-sang and half-screamed happily, somewhat out-of-tune. "I can't wait to be your number oooooone! I'll be your biggest fan and you'll be mine—"

Maliksi glanced at you, not minding that his eardrums were probably getting microscopic ruptures from your aggressive singing. As much as he wanted to stare at you all day, he had to keep his eyes on the road. But the lyrics you were singing were wrong; the Prince of the Tikbalang was already yours from day one.

"Babe, McDo drive-through tayo for breakfast. Let me make it up to you. Gusto mo ng caramel sundae for your promotion gift? Sige. Ako bahala. Chicken nuggets din? Mabubusog ka ba niyan? I don't think they serve those this early..."

》》》

"Sandali lang!" you shouted out from inside an empty room. You'd just arrived at the venue—the Alta Veranda de Tibig in Silang, Cavite (practically the gateway to Tagaytay)—an hour or so ago. The hired makeup artist just left so that you could privately change into the outfit that had been bought specifically for you. Curse Mal and his ability to buy anything (perhaps anyone) he wanted. "Bwiset, Mal, you didn't tell me we'd be part of the damn entourage. We have to be walking the aisle in thirty minutes, simbako! You just love rushing me, don't you!?"

If only you were the one walking down the aisle today towards him.

When you exited the room, Maliksi couldn't help but let his jaw drop as he skimmed your figure, clad in the luxurious, silky satin blush midi dress he bought in one of those fancy stores in Makati yesterday. He imagined that it would look great on you, but now, seeing it on you in person... you looked divine (and frankly, he wanted to see it off your body to see what was underneath—but don't get too ahead of yourself, Mal). It was a whole 'nother level from his imagination. The deep cowl neckline and thin spaghetti straps showed your lovely collarbones... as well as a peek of your cleavage. His favorite and the best part of it all? It was backless, allowing him to gaze at the tempting curve of your spine.

He hadn't realized he had grown silent until you smiled and closed his mouth, tapping his chin.

"Lalangawin ang bibig mo, Mal," you laughed softly. Never had you seen him so speechless. You then flicked your hair back, ridiculously posing for him like you were on the cover of Vogue magazine (haba ng hair mo, gurl!). "Do I look that good? Char lang."

"... You look absolutely ravishing—I mean, uh, stunning. Hot. Yeah." That was all he could say. He mentally punched himself for not showering you with more suave compliments.

Still, your face brightened up, not knowing that the man in front of you just fell for you a thousand times harder, "Wow! Really? Damn. Ang galing talaga ng MUA na kinuha mo, ginawa akong artista. Give me their contact number later! May work event pa naman ako in two months. I'm shocked, it's like they made me rise from the dead! Even my eyebags are gone, Mal! How'd they do that?" Heck yeah, your confidence was boosted. He offered his arm to you like a gentleman, making you half-heartedly roll your eyes (you took it anyway). From holding it alone, you could tell that your best friend was a sinewy man (well, you knew that already after seeing his tikbalang form before—the little shit didn't even wear a loincloth like all his clanmates; your poor eyes were eternally scarred).

You looked him up and down. You wouldn't lie—Maliksi is and always has been an attractive man. Now? With his hair in a ponytail (pun not intended), definitely one of the hunkiest men you've ever known. "You're not looking too bad yourself, horsey."

"Ako pa!" He puffed his chest out in pride. You chuckled at his reaction.

"By the way, how do you even know my dress size and my shoe size?"

"Babe, I've known you too long. You know almost everything about me, I know everything about you."

You snorted at his confident tone, "'Di nga? You don't know every single thing about me, Mal. Assuming ka masyado."

"Alam ko nga anong cup size mo. Wala lang 'yang shoe and dress size."

You slapped his shoulder, cheeks quickly flushing red, "Huy, umayos ka! Walang hiyang tikbalang na 'to." With this guy as your best friend? You heard dirty jokes at least once a day. "Don't be inappropriate here!"

"What? It's only fair I know!" He looked down on you suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. "You already know I always go commando, so of course I know that your bra is a size—"

"Shhh! Baka marinig ka, 'nyeta."

"So? Let them hear. My best friend has a nice set of melons!" he shouted. You were grateful there was no one around. Hopefully.

"Oh my God..."

Your best friend chortled at how flustered you'd become. He led you to where some of his family was waiting, with a couple of his relatives already greeting you. You instantly and quite easily mingled with them, your worries of them not accepting you far from even true (they all knew how much their prince loved the innocent you).

"Kayo na talaga, pare?" one of his older tikbalang clanmates asked while you went away to be fawned over by his aunts.

Maliksi chuckled, crossing his arms as he watched you from afar, "Heh. Hindi pa."

Another one of his clanmates—a younger one—laughed, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, "Talaga? That's cap, bro. You two are like a married couple already and you guys still aren't a thing?"

"Ilang taon na ba kayong magkakaibigan?" the older one asked him.

"Almost ten years," Maliksi responded, a smile unconsciously pulling his lips up as he remembered your moments together. He watched you converse with his female relatives (who adored you the moment Maliksi brought you to a family event many moons ago).

The two tikbalang snickered as they saw the look on the Great Stallion's heir.

"You're down bad," the younger one said, snapping a photo of his lovestruck kuya. "You've got it so bad for her, dudeparechong!"

"Balak mong ligawan anytime soon?" the older tikbalang inquired.

"Heh. Balak ko na ngang pakasalan. Kung pwede, ngayon."

They looked at Maliksi as if he was crazy. He was very much serious, though, even if there was a huge, lopsided smile on his face. The Prince of the Tikbalang raised a brow at them.

"What? Don't give me that look. Our ten years of being best friends is practically the courting and the dating stage already."

"Eh... you're right. Don't waste anymore time. Go and marry her today, dude. Suporta kami sa'yo, basta groomsmen kami sa kasal niyo, ha!"

"Ge. Without question."

Meanwhile, on your end with the ladies of the family, they started pestering you on your love life (like all typical Filipino aunties). Chismis everywhere.

"O, iha, single ka pa ba?"

"Kailan ka magpapakasal? Malapit ka nang pumasok sa thirties mo."

"Do you want kids? How many?"

"Are you and Maliksi a couple? You look good together! Kayo na, 'di ba?"

"Will you be getting married next? Are you engaged? When's the wedding? Invite niyo kami!"

Before you could get overwhelmed by their questions, Maliksi swept you off your feet to lead you to the entourage that was lining up outside the chapel area. Again, it happened like a blur. He laughed at the partially nauseated look on your face.

"You okay there?" he asked, grinning.

"Your family thinks we're together," you muttered quietly, not meeting his eyes. You weren't sure why you felt... tingly about their statements.

He tilted his head at you curiously, gently setting you down on your feet and helping you stand.

"Do you hate the idea?" It hurt him to ask you the question, but he wanted your thoughts on it. Perhaps doing this was a bad idea. Maliksi was competitive in many things, including wanting you to be his, but if you were so opposed to it, he would never force you into something you didn't want. He let go of your hand; you didn't even notice he'd been holding it until he let go. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Your wide-eyed gaze snapped back to look up at him, "No! No, it's not that! And... it's not bad." Your hand felt strangely empty now that his was gone. Biting your lip, you disclosed, "You're not making me uncomfortable, Mal. Don't ever think that."

With that, you shyly interlocked your arm with his, tearing your eyes from his to mask the growing warmth you felt spreading in your veins. You two didn't say anything else when the ushers let you walk down the beautiful, petal-covered aisle together.

The man beside you was starstruck. Hopeful. Maybe both of you did have a chance. Maybe somewhere in the depths of your soul, his feelings for you were being reciprocated. For the rest of the sacred ceremony in the gorgeous main pavilion, both of you relished in short, comfortable, and low conversations. He even cracked jokes every once in a while—really funny ones that made it challenging for you to you stifle your laughter.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride."

Maliksi fervently prayed to Bathala that he'd experience the same opportunity he was seeing with you someday. One day.

Even while the sun was brightly out, the sky began showering down light rain onto the land. You were in awe as you looked out the window.

"Hala, totoo nga pala! Tignan mo!" you laughed, tugging Maliksi's suit sleeve, pointing at the window.

"Na ano?" he curiously inquired, not understanding what you were referring to.

"Na kapag may tikbalang na kinakasal, umuulan habang may araw pa," you replied, eyes filled with childlike mirth and wonder. A rainbow had even begun to form by the clouds. "Look, it's magical! Ang ganda pala ng view dito kasama ang old Spanish architecture. Timeless na timeless. It's so pretty, 'no? Picture tayo 'maya, Mal."

Unlike you, it wasn't the sky outside that the prince was looking at. Amidst the loud cheers for the newlywed couple and the bubbles the guests were blowing, his vision could only focus on how magnificent you looked while being amazed. You were his best view. (Ed from 90-Day Fiancé, kabahan ka na, may katapat ka sa pickup line mo.)

》》》

"Smile for the picture!"

You giggled as Maliksi was dragged into a photo-op with the bridesmaids and the important older wedding sponsors a few feet away (funnily, he looked a little constipated around them). All of a sudden, when he was heading back to your direction, you were roughly pushed into the said man's arms. When you turned around, there was nothing (except maybe a gust of wind that came out of nowhere).

"Ooh, gotcha. Careful," the tikbalang steadied you, strong hands holding your biceps. "Natapilok ka?"

"... Huh, hindi naman," you wondered suspiciously, looking around. "I think someone pushed me? Parang tinulak ako... but wala namang tao."

"Weird. Maybe it was just the wind."

It actually was. Really. Maliksi knew for a fact that it was those two taong hangin who were spying on you from the corner, trying to pair you up. He gave them a thumbs-up while your back was turned in the opposite direction. Hannah and Amie returned the thumbs-up before vanishing. Suddenly, the two wedding photographers had moved on from the bridesmaids and were right beside you.

"What a lovely couple you two are!" she praised. Before you could correct her, she held up the black contraption she held towards you two. "Pose for the camera, lovelies!"

And so you did, the photographer guiding you two on what to do. Maliksi wrapped his arm around your waist and you leaned on his side, looking sidewards to the camera with one leg cocked in front of the other. Her assistant, who was holding a polaroid camera, printed out two photos for you.

"Thank you," you told him, taking the photos from his hands then flicking them rapidly to make the images develop. You and Mal were about to walk to the reception area when the photographer stopped you, handing the male beside you a business card.

"If you two need a photographer or a videographer for your wedding, call me," she signaled to both of you before running to another guest, bringing her assistant with her.

You gawked, "Mal, did you just hear what she said?"

"Loud and clear." A grin was on his face. He seemed very pleased at what he heard.

"... How can she even tell if someone is married or not?"

Maliksi's free hand took your left hand, tapping the ring finger, "Nothing here."

"Ooooooh. I get it now." Your brows creased. "Huh. This is like the fifth time today the people here have mistaken us for a couple."

Maliksi shrugged, teasing you, "Who knows? Baka may potential tayo, babe."

Before you could ask him what he meant, he was hurriedly towing you to the reception venue. While he was doing that, you stared at the now-developed polaroid photos you were holding. Huh. Maybe you two did look like a couple.

"Come on, they're serving some snacks at the welcome reception area. Peach pie and mango float-flavored. Paborito mo, babe."

》》》

The rest of the night went by without a hitch. You were actually enjoying the event—the host was great, the food was great, the music was great. Everything was great... that was, until the games.

"Alright! Now that the bride's garter has been removed, let's have the bouquet and garter toss... starting with the females!" the host announced. "Dear bride, please stay here in front. And all single ladies—and by single I mean ready to mingle and are not married—please rise and stand here on the dance floor. Let's play matchmaker tonight, everyone!"

"Uy, single ladies daw," Maliksi nudged your side. "Sign mo na 'yan." You snorted like a pig.

"Nope, ayokong madamay sa bouquet toss," you whisper-yelled at your best friend. "Do you know how embarrassing that is?! Besides, they won't notice if I don't join! Special tactic ko 'yan sa weddings: pretending I'm not single. Katabi naman kita."

More women came to the front, making you feel assured that you didn't need to participate. The host was about to say something, when the bride interrupted to whisper something into his ear.

"Hala, halaaa! Sabi ko all single ladies, pero may isang single lady na nagtatago pa!" he announced, making you freeze. Please don't let it be you. "What's her name, beloved bride?"

"Y/N L/N." You nearly spat out your champagne. You? Did they just call out your name? How did they know?

"Oh fuck," you cursed quietly.

"'Di ka makakatakas dito, babe," Maliksi jabbed, making you stand up. "Tinatawag ka na."

"Baka may ibang Y/N L/N dito," you resisted, attempting to sit back down. "I can't do this, Mal."

"'Sus, ikaw pa. And it's just a symbolic ceremony!" he encouraged, as if he didn't have any underlying intentions. "I doubt the bouquet will go to you anyway."

Sheesh, what a big fat liar you are, tikbalang prince.

You expressed your dissatisfaction with the situation, "Bwiset, fine. I'll just... dodge it. Or evade it. God, I swear..." You calmed down, confident. "I'm not going to worry. I've never caught the bouquet at my own friends' weddings anyway."

When you were at the dance floor, Maliksi snickered, seeing the bride—his cousin—wink at him. After all, he had thoroughly bribed her earlier.

《《《

"It's about time you settled down with someone, Mal," the bride commented while he slipped her the newest Hermés designer bag filled with a bunch of jewelry (plus some bills) two hours ago, right before the reception began and while you were in the restroom freshening up. "Hehehe, this is why you're my favorite cousin."

"Do we have a deal?"

"Of course. I'll make sure she participates. I'll also try to throw it in her direction."

"Good. Thanks."

"You better invite me to your beach wedding. I can tell how much you love her."

"Not a problem. I'll even make you a sponsor."

The bride stared at her bouquet, already practicing how she was going to throw it, "Tito's going to thank me so much for ensuring that he's going to get grandkids soon, hihi."

》》》

Back to the present, on the other end of the room, Maliksi saw a familiar duo give him a sign that they were ready. Bingo. Time to execute the most important part of his plan.

《《《

"I don't care how you do it," he told the two wind elementals after he bribed the bride. "I've already instructed the bride on what she should do, pero siguraduhin niyo lang talagang lumipad sa kanya ang bouquet."

"Mmhmm," Amie flipped her hair, a hand on her cocked hip. "And what do we get in return, oh great Señorito Armanaz?"

"Sagot ko bar-hopping niyo for one month."

The two girls pretended to think about it, making Maliksi roll his eyes. He had to pull out the big guns, huh?

"Fine. Magbibigay ako ng cash deposit plus pwede niyong gamitin ang black card ko for a one-week shopping spree in Ortigas." There. Bullseye. That's what they liked.

"Deal!" they exclaimed excitedly.

Hannah let a cool gust of wind enter one of the nearby windows, testing out how they're going to do this. "Ano pa bang pinaplano mo for Y/N mamaya?"

Maliksi hummed, "Basta."

》》》

You tried your best to hide within the densest part of the group of women. The bride seemed to have her eyes on you, weirdly enough, and she looked almost feral wanting to throw her flowers into someone's face.

That someone being you. Most likely.

"Target locked on," you saw her mouth move. She positioned herself like she was about to throw a football at someone (ahem, you). Holy shit, was she talking to you? Miss ma'am, it was a bouquet toss not a bouquet throw. The bride seemed to notice this, and once more regained her elegant composure.

"3, 2, 1," the host counted down. "Go!"

Surprisingly, the bouquet flew very high into the air (it was a wonder it didn't get tangled in the ceiling decor), but quite a distance away from you. You grinned, knowing it was too far to even touch you. Squeezing through the crowd of women eagerly awaiting the bouquet, you went to return to your assigned table.

Ah, what a wonderful evening.

Sike!

Something painfully landed right into your face, leaves and flowers getting into your hair and mouth.

... Wait, leaves and flowers?

Before you could comprehend it, the bouquet dropped right into your arms. What kind of ungodly, inhuman force allowed this to even happen?

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have our lucky girl for the night!" Everyone clapped, with some—those guests you knew—even cheering your name unbelievably loud. The host approached you, a glint in his eye which you couldn't understand. "Miss Y/N, kindly sit here while we await the lucky guy who catches the garter from the groom."

What just happened?

"All single gentlemen, please proceed to the dance floor. Remember, the man who gets the garter gets to slip it onto the lucky lady's leg later!"

Oh, God. You pinched the bridge of your nose. What you'd give to be back at home or to be in that resort in Batangas you'd planned on going to for a solo vacation.

"To make this even more exciting," the host stated, handing you a black blindfold. "Our lucky lady has to keep her eyes closed until her lucky man for the night captures the bride's garter! When the music plays, only then can she uncover her eyes."

See? Humiliating, just as you expected. Still, you wrapped the blindfold around your head (albeit hesitantly). You attempted to guess who it might be, thinking of all the tikbalang friends Maliksi had introduced to you back then whenever he invited you to his clan reunions.

"Groom, are you ready?" the host asked, microphone loud and clear.

"Ready na ready!"

"Single gentlemen, are you ready?!"

"Ready na ready! Awoo, awoo!" they loudly chorused, exactly mimicking Spartans about to engage in battle. You sweatdropped in the seat you were in. This was actually kind of scary. Maybe you felt a bit objectified.

"3, 2, 1, go!"

There was a brief moment of silence, which made you concerned. Ba't ang tahimik? Then, everyone erupted into roars and bravoes much louder than when you caught the bouquet—perhaps even louder by tenfold. What the heck was happening?!

The music played. Very raunchy, spicy, babymaking music. You expected it to be the typical Careless Whisper by George Michael or Pony by Ginuwine (corny songs which you could probably laugh at, at least), but no. Nuh-uh, this was probably worse. The DJ must be pretty young, the song of their choosing being a slowed, bass-boosted, sexier remix of Earned It by the Weeknd.

Ano 'to, bold? Fifty Shades of Grey? The hell was this?

Alright. This was embarrassing. Thank the heavens there were no children at this party. From the music alone and its implications, this was strictly for adults.

You removed your blindfold (that was okay now, right?) as the guests whistled playfully. You peeked one eye open reluctantly, then inwardly groaned. Oh, no. You should've expected it to be him of all people from how loud the reactions were. And all those yells from the crowd were from his family.

Son of a—

"Well, this has proven to be a very interesting arrangement!" the host proclaimed. "Our lucky man for tonight is none other than our great clan leader's heir, Maliksi Armanaz! Congratulations, sir! You get to slip the lacey little garter on Miss Y/N!"

The said very smug tikbalang stood a few feet away from the chair you were sitting on, smirking at you. His hair was no longer in that mesmerizing ponytail—instead, he'd tied it into a more sinfully attractive man-bun, loose strands framing his face and accentuating that sharp, angled jaw of his (say yes and thank you to Manny Jacinto's jawline, besties).

"Let's cheer him on in his new mission, everybody!" the host pushed. Was this that glint in his eye earlier? And was that a one thousand peso bill sticking out of his pocket?

The groomsmen, Mal's cousins and uncles whom you've met before, hollered words of encouragement to the tall man (who was, oddly enough, not one bit fazed). In fact, Maliksi seemed like he was famished as he stared you down.

You swallowed, feeling like you were going to get eaten (heh, say that again). Maliksi had shrugged off his dark suit blazer to the beat of the song (holy fuck, he also unclasped the suspenders attached to his pants right before your eyes—asdfghjkl). Were you prepared for this? No. Will you ever be prepared? No!

"Mr. Armanaz, before you begin," the host interrupted. "We have an additional challenge for you in this mission. Kaya mo ba? It was a request of the newlywed couple."

"What is it?"

"Use your teeth!" the bride and the groom cheerfully shouted, clapping with the other guests. Whatdidtheysaaaaay???

The cocky bastard didn't even hesitate, his smirk at you growing wider; those pearly whites of his on full display. Was it just you or were his canines a little sharper than usual?

"Anything for the newlyweds. Challenge accepted," he dashingly replied, winking at you. You sputtered indignantly. Pisteng yawa. Putangina. Putek. Pakshet. You swore you thought of every swear word in the book at that moment. What did that YouTube parody song about Filipino mythological creatures say again? About the tikbalang? Ah, yes. Half-macho dancer and half-stallion. Maybe the joke was true, especially when you saw what Maliksi did next.

He bit the shred of lace, loosening his necktie (bestie, you good there?), unbuttoning some top buttons, and rolling up the sleeves of his collared white undershirt up to his elbows (consequently showing off his toned, veiny forearms—those lucky bridesmaids behind him nearly fainted). Honestly, you felt like you were about to lose your mind from embarrassment. With how tantalizing your guy best friend was being? Let our response be: San Pedro, kunin mo na ako. Was he doing all this to tease you? To rile you up?

Because damn it all, it was working. In your ten years of knowing Maliksi Armanaz, withstanding all his daily dirty jokes and flirtatious attempts, never had you seen him like this. So... wolfish. Ravenous. Like he was a man that hadn't been fed in years.

He stalked closer towards you, falling to his knees in front of your legs. Your gown had a long slit that extended up to an inch or two below where your left leg began—your best friend was eyeing his target already, knowing where to place the garter. Normally, you would never even wear something as revealing as this gown. It just wasn't your type, but Maliksi was the one who bought this for you for this specific occasion, so you had no choice. It was this or your pantulog he stole you in just hours ago. At first, you were confident in the gown. Now? You felt too... naked.

Somehow, in the heat of it all, you'd muted out the noise of the venue. Maliksi teasingly lifted your foot up, fingertips slyly grazing the thin shoe straps around your left foot—his calculated touch leaving fire in its trail. Once the garter had been successfuly inserted past your high-heeled stilettos, the man kneeling in front of you kept his hands to himself. Despite the fact that now there was absolutely zero skin-to-skin contact between you and this man, your body felt hotter than it ever was before as he expertly slid the lacy bit of cloth up your ankle at an agonizingly slow pace.

Maliksi's warm eyes had turned dark, his pupils blown, a tinge of red in them—of his true beast—while he maintained striking eye contact with you, pulling the garter up your calf with his teeth. Smoothly tugging... tugging... tugging. Tangina, it was like he was undressing you with his eyes alone; like he was telepathically telling you to keep your eyes open.

To keep your eyes on him, where he was knelt inbetween your legs, his hands intentionally locked on his back. Did you ever imagine this? Him between your legs? Maybe. Once or twice. But you never thought about it seriously; Maliksi dated girls left and right in the past.

His lips... his lips were so close... so close to your leg that you could feel the heat of his breath along with the lace. Were you about to die? Perhaps you already did. Maybe you were in heaven. Up... up... up... snap!

Suddenly, he stopped, grinning up at you mischievously and letting the elastic bounce back to the skin of your left knee.

"I'm not going any further, don't worry, babe," he whispered, noting that your eyes had become misty and glazed over. Internally, he grew worried. "That's enough." Did he think it was from discomfort? From you being uncomfortable? Bitch, no. It was the exact opposite. You had never been this turned on in your entire life.

You felt like your soul had left your body at that moment. Did you just have a heart attack? Was your blood pressure okay? Before you or Maliksi could stand, however, someone bellowed from the wedding sponsor tables.

"Higher! That's an order!"

Fucking hell, it was Maliksi's father who shouted. He wasn't in the huge tikbalang form you'd normally meet him in, but he was still very intimidating in his humanoid form, commanding attention and subservience wherever he went. You could tell where Maliksi got it from.

Instantly, the other guests—already half-drunk and wanting the spirit of partying to continue on—joined in.

"Higher! Higher!"

The host cheered, "You heard Señor Armanaz! Higher!"

Maliksi gave you a questioning look. Even if it was his father who spoke up, he still wouldn't do anything you didn't want. Well, you two made it this far; there was no point in getting embarrassed now. You bit the inside of your cheek, nodding. You probably couldn't erase the redness on your skin with how much you'd blushed from this night. It was as if the heat was tattooed onto your skin.

"Go on, Mal," you whispered to him, bending your torso down closer to his face, eyes half-lidded from want. "Finish what you started, babe."

With those sultry bedroom eyes he'd never once seen you show him before—plus you turning the tables with that familiar term of endearment, how could he refuse? Like a switch had been flipped inside him, he immediately complied, taking the frilly scrap of stretchy lace between his teeth once more, moving it further up to your thighs until where your high slit ended—centimeters below the warming juncture between your legs.

Your legs felt wobbly... boneless, as you stood up from the chair, the fabric of your gown cascading over where the lace sat securely on your upper left thigh. The party was still going strong even after you two finished the garter wearing tradition.

"'Atta boy! That's my son!" Señor Armanaz blazoned, standing up and raising his glass for a toast. "Cheers to the newlywed couple! May they last forever!"

You guys weren't the newlyweds, but it did sure feel like it. If the clan leader was hyped up, everyone was hyped up. Heck, the groom and the bride didn't mind one bit what had just transpired on their dance floor. In all the chaos, Maliksi took you out of the reception area and somewhere quieter. More private.

You would need to have a serious, urgent talk with your boy best friend.

》》》

You two silently sat on a stone bench in a gazebo somewhere in the reserved venue for the wedding, trying to cool down and get yourselves back together (at this point, you needed ice from that steamy, half-scandalous event you just went through). Here, there was no one else except for the chirping of crickets, the lush trees surrounding the area, and the golden fairy lights strewn all over the roof. Awkwardness was something you'd expected after what just happened, but somehow, you still felt comfort in this man's presence. For the past thirty minutes, both of you just stayed still, lost in your thoughts and reflecting.

"Mal?" you finally spoke up.

"... Hmm?"

"Ano tayo?"

"Whatever you want us to be."

Your fingers instinctively reached out for his, just like they always did when you were anxious. Sensing this, he grasped your hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Soothingly. He massaged the skin of your fingers, distracting you from your nervousness. It seemed like both nothing and everything changed between both of you. The gesture was the same, but so different at the same time.

"Mahal mo ako." It was not a question. It was a statement. A truth—one that you'd been too blind to see before. One that you only discovered while you stared into each other's eyes in that party not as best friends. You realized with a jolt in your heart what he really felt for you, and now, what you really felt for him. In those thirty minutes of silence, you knew. You just knew.

"Yes. I do."

"... Just as a best friend?" you probed.

"..."

Finally, you gazed into his eyes, previously so dark and full of hunger. Now? Just reluctant. Vulnerable. Open. Unsure of what to do next.

Seems like you had to be the one to take initiative tonight. Taking out your phone, you opened your music app and pressed play on a certain song. Ikaw at Ako by Johnoy Danao. You removed your heels (which were starting to blister your ankles and toes), then pulled him up to stand.

"Dance with me," you murmured, grabbing his arms to wrap them around your waist. He was stiff. Tense. What was he to do when the woman he's been pining after for so long let him hold her? All his gallantry and ability to romance disappeared out the window the moment you let him touch you so intimately.

You two weren't even waltzing. Just swaying. Slowly, you leaned your head on his broad chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

"... I love you," Maliksi admitted in the middle of it all, feeling like he was dreaming. Your head on his chest kept him grounded to reality, however. "More than anything in the universe. I fell for you ever since you patched me up when you were nineteen and I was a reckless drag racer who didn't have a purpose in life. 'Nung dinala mo ako pabalik sa Armanaz Tower on the verge of death. Simula noon, ikaw lang."

"I realized that," you smiled, reminiscing the old memory. You were just a broke college student that time, coming back to your dorm from making your group thesis at a classmate's house. Imagine your panic when you found a half-man, half-horse bleeding out by some bushes on the way home at night. Despite your fear and your little money (only enough to feed you for the week), you went out of your way to buy a first-aid kit at the nearest 7/11. It was scary, but you managed to mend the creature's wounds by the side of the road. When he was finally able to speak, turning fully human (which you admit, freaked you out initially), you arduously carried him back to his address—to his father and his clan, even if you had classes the very next morning. Because of your heroic deed of saving their precious heir, the tikbalang clan had become indebted to you: a teenage girl on the verge of a mental academic breakdown, just making her way through the cruel adult world. How old of a memory that was, you thought, yet you still recalled it in perfect detail. "Just a while ago."

"Ah." He swayed you gently.

"Lahat ng ito, plano mo?"

"... Yes," Maliksi fessed up. "Except for this part where we're here dancing in this belvedere. Wala sa plano ko. Gusto ko sanang magconfess doon sa may fountain para sweet, pero..."

You lifted your head off his chest, smiling at him with one brow raised, "You know, between both of us, you're supposed to be the spontaneous one. Planning isn't usually your thing."

"I know. It's a failure, huh?" Maliksi sighed.

"Nah." You shook your head, then suddenly locked lips with him. It was so fast and surprising he didn't even get the chance to return your first kiss. For once, you caught him off guard. You pecked him on the lips again. "It's not a failure."

"Wha—"

"I'm sorry for making you wait, Maliksi. Ten years. We're twenty-nine now, and only tonight do I realize how blind I've been. We've been going around in circles, wasting so much time. Ayoko nang mag-aksaya ng oras," you whispered guiltily against his lips. How could you have been so blind? Andaming nasayang na taon. Making up your mind, you told him, "Yes. Sige, I accept. I'll be your plus one."

The tikbalang was flustered and baffled from the kiss, as well as your revelation, "... But, you already are?"

"No, silly. I meant that I'll be your plus one for life. For as long as you'll have me," you laughed, now processing that you were currently dancing barefoot with your boy best friend and had just kissed him in a wedding you didn't even plan on going to. The universe had a mysterious way of doing things. "Guess I'm the spontaneous one now, huh?"

Maliksi was tongue-tied. "Seryoso ka ba? Is... Is this a marriage proposal?"

"Whatever you want it to be," you echoed his words back to him. "Best friend, plus one, girlfriend, wife—mmpf!"

He kissed you so hard your lips bruised. After an impromptu makeout session which was definitely more in character for Maliksi, you both pulled away, panting heavily in search for air, still desperate for passion. He cupped your cheeks, giving you a sweet, featherlight Eskimo kiss.

"You're missing one more title."

"Hm? What do you mean, Mal?"

"Love of my life." He kissed you again, this time lifting you off your feet and spinning you around (his sneaky right hand was resting on your bum, too, giving it a tight squeeze). You know in the Princess Diaries where the main character's foot just... pops whenever the prince charming kissed her? Yeah, that happened to you on that humid summer night. This was right. You two were meant to be together. Everything was falling into place.

The bungalow you reserved for your Batangas vacation leave ended up being the site of your very eventful honeymoon with the Prince of the Tikbalang (with his libido, it wasn't that difficult to continue where you'd left off in the garter toss; that scrap of lace came off your leg the same way it went on). Actually, nauna pa ang honeymoon sa actual wedding (it was definitely spontaneous). Right after your confession in that alcove, you two went to Maliksi's father to ask for his blessing (which he gladly gave, cackling and saying that it took you long enough) before you guys went driving off to Batangas that night. You and Mal indeed had lots and lots of fun in that resort (I'll let you imagine the rest). More beautiful memories were made from that point on—this time, not just as best friends.

All that and your small, intimate wedding occurred in early April. Just when you thought that it'd be impossible to fulfill Maliksi's life goal of having a baby within the year (nine months of pregnancy meant that the earliest you'd give birth would be January next year), the impossible happened.

Exactly thirty-two weeks later, on New Year's Eve, the Armanaz herd welcomed one prince and two new princesses into the world. Triplets who were instantly adored by everyone in the clan.

Señor Armanaz had never been happier, and so were you and your husband. Your best friend. The love of your life. Your forever plus one.

Maybe being spontaneous wasn't so bad after all.

Taglist: @belladaises @binibiningbabaylan @4kodzuk3n @sparklingmallow @severuslovebot @holyshxtangel @marinac15 @space-flamingo @pippethealien @kashasenpai @disappointmentpastry @hornehlittleweeblet2 @seijohoe @monimiin @ibelievein2dmensupremacy @tinybonksharkcop @methehipster @banisuoh @genshin-idiot @lemonnie-kimmie

[mermaidsirennikita]

Can you recommend any historical romances with rough/rougher sex? Thank you!

For sure and I got your other ask about HRs with dom/sub dynamics so I'll try that here too.

So the thing with historical romance is that, while the sex can be quite hot, I think the kink is ultimately in the historical nature quite often, versus the sex itself. And I feel like... if anything, that has become MORE of a thing, as HR has kind of become associated with like... softer romance? It doesn't blur as much with dark romance as PNR and contemporary do (a lot of dark romance IS contemporary, of course). There's the frequent virgin heroines, whose purity is often over-emphasized... And there's definitely this idea, especially in HR imo, that kinky or rough sex is separate from *loving* sex. When like--if it's good, consensual sex between two people who love each other, it's loving sex...?

I may also have a higher threshold and expectations than some lol. But I find that dom/sub dynamics are often more implied than explicit in HR, and sometimes you'll find kinkier sex in some older books, many of which are dubcon heavy as well.

ANYWAY ALL THAT BEING SAID... Try these on for size.

--The Duke I Tempted by Scarlett Peckham. The sex is (though very hot) kinda vanilla at first, it does eventually escalate to explicit femdom with restraints and light punishment. The hero is a total alpha hero in many ways (widower, rich duke, hot as fuck) but he prefers sexual submission and visits a whipping house to get caned, whipped, etc. He and the heroine enter into a marriage of convenience and he tries to keep that preference from her, but she eventually finds out and it turns out she is into domming him.

--The Earl I Ruined by Scarlett Peckham. Second book in the series, and also explores kink explicitly. This time, the hero has longed for the heroine from afar, and she fucks him over by ruining his name--then feels bad and offers a fake engagement to revive his rep. He's very uptight and proper, but it turns out that he's actually a dom; it's explicit, he knows this about himself, and eventually introduces her to submission. She's very bratty. There's a somewhat rough face-riding BJ from what I remember, some spanking, and he does make her masturbate with an apple, so that's fun.

--Passion by Lisa Valdez. I need to reread this, but from what I recall this one is an erotic romance and the sex gets rough, though from what I've read the second book, which I haven't read, has an explicit dom/sub thing. Passion literally begins with the hero and heroine having public sex as strangers behind like a screen, and he's just shocked and overjoyed that she can take his MASSIVE dick. Like, there's definitely some anatomically impossible shit in this, but it's fun.

--The Chief by Monica McCarty. Arranged marriage book; there's a lot of loooovemaking, but some mild warrior man roughness too. He has this fantasy of fucking her from behind that she fulfills and then he's like "fuck I can't actually enjoy this unless we make emotional eye contact I hate myself".

--How the Wallflower Was Won by Eva Leigh. The hero and heroine are very nice and sweet people, but they do have one sex scene that is definitely a little on the rougher side.

--When the Earl Met His Match by Stacy Reid. This is one where the hero is a deeeeeeply good guy, but they have an extremely angsty conflict and it turns into some rough fucking.

--To Beguile A Beast by Elizabeth Hoyt. The first sex scene is some roughish desk sex, I believe. He's her boss and she's his housekeeper lol.

--Forbidden by Elizabeth Lowell. Medieval Scottish warrior 90s era book. I would actually call one late stage extremely angsty sex scene in this book to be pretty femdom-coded. They're super upset with each other and he's basically like "I'm not gonna touch you" but he doesn't stop her from touching him and it turns into verrrry passionate sex.

--Any Duchess Will Do by Tessa Dare. This one has a scene that definitely leans towards dom/sub undertones and roughness. It's very hot, if also somewhat hilarious; he bends her over his desk and makes her recite his courtesy titles while he fucks her lmao.

--The Bride Goes Rogue by Joanna Shupe. The sex can be on the rough side at points, and the definitely play with some dom/sub games. He tells her what to do, she calls him her king and he calls her his reinette, etc. Fab book.

--Duke of Sin by Elizabeth Hoyt. Definitely has some wild sex because this hero is CRAAAAZY.

--Duke of Midnight by Elizabeth Hoyt. One of the rougher Elizabeth Hoyt heroes because he's also craaaazy, and though it's not explicit, I think there's a coded "stern dom/brat" vibe to their relationship because of its cat and mouse undertones, the way she defies him, his tightly coiled vibes.

--The Leopard Prince by Elizabeth Hoyt. I believe this one has some rougher sex, a big thing in the book is the hero being her bit o' rough, basically.

--The Highwayman by Kerrigan Byrne. This one has some pretty rough sex by HR standards; the second sex scene is borderline dubcon and HE definitely thinks it is because he's being pretty rough with her, but then she starts asking for more lmao. He does tie her up a couple times. The Highwayman in general has some kinky vibes.

--Her Night with The Duke by Diana Quincy. I'm not sure, but I think this one has some rough, angsty sex?

--Brazen and the Beast by Sarah MacLean. Again, femdom vibes here. The hero just can't help getting tied up all the time. At one point, she ties him up and gives him a BJ, it's great.

--One Good Earl Deserves A Lover by Sarah MacLean. This one is again more on the coding side, but the hero does a lot of telling her what to do, making her to do it in front of him, etc. Some light control.

And I would be remiss if I did not plug The Duke Gets Even by Joanna Shupe, out 1/24/23, but one of my favorite reads of the year... Because thaaaat shit gets more explicitly rough than most. He likes pain. Inflicting and receiving. A lot. She's about it. There's some fun scratching, biting, smacking, etc. He likes to see her draw blood on him, enjoys seeing her tits covered in his teethmarks, grabs her during sex to leave bruises very purposefully. It's GREAT.

I know Shadowheart by Laura Kinsale has some explicit femdom antics, but I've yet to read that.

And of course, you'll often get more with self-published books.

[breefarrow]

I've had thoughts on a certain topic for a while now but never bothered sharing them. Recently I found out I'm not the only one who noticed/felt this way so I've decided why not post about it. I may get hate for this but whatever when has that ever stopped me from stating my opinions. Note if you don’t agree keep scrolling but most likely the only reason you wouldn’t agree is because this pertains to you. 😁

So everyone knows about "bl**ie accs" who's entire presence is to blog about louis being a sub fem bottom and ONLY that and harry being a dom masc top and ONLY that. Everyone agrees their accs are weird and invasive myself included. I don't understand why they hate the idea of harry being fem or louis being masc or why they care so damn much about louis being a bottom but anyways.

My problem stems from how SOME of the people who call out "bl**ie accs" are hypocrites bc they are not calling them out bc they see them as weird and invasive but bc their a bha**ie [see H as nothing else besides a fem bottom] which is the exact opposite of how bl**ies see L&H. Not all of them directly refer to themselves as a bha**ie the way bl**ies do BUT their tags and what they post make it clear their a bha**ie and THAT is why they don't like bl**ies. Some of you really act like being a bh***ie is the "morally correct stance" so it's ok but being a bh***ie is not any different than being a bl**ie. Their just as weird and invasive as bl**ies.

How can they call out and have a distaste towards bl**ies thinking their "morally correct" and bl**ies aren't if they are doing the exact same thing? Which is obsessing over who is a "twink sub." These people will call out bl**ies then go and tag just about every pic of L&H as # daddy louis # toplinson # subrry or anything that would lead one to believe harry is a fem bottom and louis is a masc top and ONLY that. I also see them call out bl**ies for having their whole acc about BL but they follow accs who's bio is "BH only !! No fem louis" how is that any different?

I also noticed they call out bl**ies for saying louis is a bottom just bc he is "smaller" then harry but then turn around and pretty much believe harry is a bottom just bc he's "more fem" then louis which is just as much a stereotype as the first one. They also specfically hate the BL acc called BLP bc of how they act and what they tag but never say anything about an acc called BHK that acts the exact same way their just a BH version of BLP.

Both accs do this weird thing where they "check fics" to see if they are "ok" for their followers to read meaning if the one they want as the bottom is the bottom in that fic. If this is was just a fic preference normally I'd be like whatever fine [even if your missing out on some good fics over who bottoms] but accs like these take it wayy past a fic preference and they blurs the lines of fiction and reality.

I remember I use to be mutuals with someone who loves fics and I knew what kind of AU fics she liked so I'd send her fic links. I had read one I thought she would like and sent her the link only for her to come back and yell at me going why did you send me this fic BL makes me uncomfortable ?? It was tagged BL had no clue bc smut was barely even in the fic and I was like why are you so upset over a tag on a fic. Clearly she is a bha**ie and I should have figured out sooner since she would trash anyone who so much mentioned louis being fem and had a massive distate for fetus louis. This seems to be something quite common with people on the bh***ie side.

Another thing I noticed is both sides [bl**ies and bh***ies] seem to have a specfic era of L&H they love and a specfic era of L&H they constantly ignore. This is based on the fact they only like one of them to be fem 24/7 and the other to be masc 24/7. Newsflash L&H have been BOTH fem and masc over the years and you can't just ignore certain years of their time together just bc they acted or dressed in a way you don't like to envision them as.

In DMs a follower explained to me how some people were upset over the sign calling louis a MILF at one of his recent concerts. Wouldn't you know thougu the accs who didn't seem to like the MILF sign constantly call harry a MILF and louis a DILF [unsaid their a bha**ie.] So was the issue really that they thought it was not appropriate to call louis a MILF or was it they didn't like that it was LOUIS being called a MILF instead of harry?

This follower also sent me a link to a fic and mentioned how people seemed to like this fic but if you swapped the names of L&H character with the characterization, plot and words being the exact same you would have some of those same people thinking the fic shouldn't have been written. After reading the tags and summary they weren't wrong I know if you just switched L&H names around people would think of it as one of those specfic cringe "BL sub fics." Bh***ies complain about BL sub fics being filled with stereotypes but I've come across plenty of BH sub fics also filled with stereotypes.

The topic of fics reminded me of the whole "momrry" thing. Where people call harry "momrry" and [at least on twitter] if anyone so much as mentions they don't care for momrry not that they have an issue with it just that they don't really care about it momrry stans will JUMP at them and get upset saying it's not a big deal it's just a joke but the minute someone refers to louis as "loummy" they don't like that. Not all momrry stans do this but I pointed it out bc the toxic ones on twitter do this.

If one doesn't like bl**ies that's fine [I don't either trust me] but if someone is pretty much a bha**ie doing the same thing as them then they shouldn't try and act like their calling bl**ies out bc their weird and invasive when they know the reason they don't like them is bc they have their idea on who L&H are and ONLY that idea is the truth to them. Their idea just so happen to be the opposite of what bl**ies think is the truth so they really should just admit why they actually don't like bl**ies.

Lastly to some of you [who aren't technically either] need to stop calling out bl**ies if your going to ignore the behavior of bh**ies as if their any better. Why is it seen as bad the way bl**ies treat louis but perfectly ok the way bh***ies treat harry when both treat their fav badly. I see many bring up bl**ies to say our side has a version of h*rny h***ies but they never mention bh***ies. Does this topic of fandom hypocrisy lead back to the other topic of fandom hypocrisy about how some l***ies don't give af about harry the way they do louis? Humm always so much hypocrisy in this fandom but what's new I guess.

[speedypandaweasel]

Change of Plans - A Yancy x Neutral! Reader

❤ REBLOGS WOULD BE APPRECIATED ❤

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 MASTERLIST

Where we left off:

So much for a lie in. You slowly rose from the cocoon of warmth you had made for yourself and you felt your toes wriggle up the bed and hiss at the exposed coldness of the room. Dragging yourself out of subconsciousness, your eyes finally decided to greet the grey interior and the black-barred window that perched just out of your arms reach. Why would they put such a tiny window if they didn’t want anyone to look out of it? Pretty pathetic actually. The Penitentiary really needed to repaint the bars, some of the black paint had flaked onto your pillow whilst you were sleeping.

You sat up, a little too quickly, and a cold, hard sensation hit the top of your body. Well good morning to you too World.

The unbearable ringing continued as you brought your arm down onto the squawking alarm clock. The room fell into a comfortable silence once more. 7:30am, not too bad, yet it could have been a little longer. Yet it was as if someone decided to balance a massive book on “how to not have a headache” on your already sore head. You’d ask Boggs for some paracetamol, or maybe some Ibuprofen as you tried to ponder on what did you do to deserve this...

~ Chapter 5 ~

MatchBox Analysis - 2.3K Words

"I'm here to speak to Officer Boggs." You timidly spoke, playing with the hem of your shirt. The man that towered in the small door frame in front of you was the most intimidating of all: Officer Rexx.

There were rumours about him that were too obscure and dangerous to mention twice, You only happen to hear about them when you overheard a couple of prisoners talking about "the anniversary" of how he lost his previous job, whatever that meant. To be frank, you didn't want to know about whatever hell hole he wriggled out of and treaded on eggshells around him, even if you weren't speaking to him. Something about that man caused you to feel insecure about something that you couldn't point your finger at, but there was no doubt that it was there.

"Yeah, he's in here." He paused for a moment. "You're one of the newer ones around here, aren't you? I've seen you around but never had the pleasure to meet."

He stuck out his grubby hand, his sausage fingers extended shortly at you, waiting for you to touch them. You grimaced before wiping that expression off your face. Rule 1: Never acknowledge the fingers.

You stuck out your hand bravely and shook his greasy one. His strong grip tightened around your knuckles as he shook hard, almost breaking your frail fingers.

"Well, I'll just go get him. Stay there." He spat. The door firmly closed behind him, the staff room's view blocked once again. You peeped through the mesh windows and managed to decipher the blurred silhouette of the sofa and coffee counter. You backed away as the door swung open again to the familiar face of Officer Boggs, his much shorter height made you relax second by the second.

"Oh hi Y/N, shouldn't you be outside?" He asked before shutting the door behind him, leaving the both of you outside in the wide hallway.

"Well I am, but I forgot to give you this from last night." You replied, planting your hand into your pocket before pulling out the owners key. Boggs let out a chuckle as his rosy cheeks grew even merrier.

"I forgot I gave you this! I'm glad that at least someone doesn't take my naivety for granted" He continued. "I respect that about you."

He unhooked the jingling keys from his beltline and clipped the Cafertiera key on the chain. He had a proud collection of keys to his name - being a veteran member of the Prison, it did have its perks.

"Well thank you, I really appreciate that Boggs. You know, sometimes I don't feel like I fit in here myself." Sounded cliche, you internally facepalmed yourself. Normally you wouldn't be telling this to anyone, but Boggs had been there since forever so it was nice to tell at least someone your true thoughts about staying here.

"Oh now don't think like that, every prisoner when they first come in her feels like that, but don't worry, I'm sure that the others will welcome you soon. Have you tried talking to them? I know you're not the socially inclined person but give it a shot. Who knows? You might actually enjoy their company" He concluded.

When Boggs gave advice, it could go two ways: either it was incredibly awful which ended in bad decisions being drawn from it, or it could be genuinely heartwarming and sincere words of wisdom. Thankfully, this was one of those pieces.

You allowed yourself to run over the speech the superior had just given and smiled. You could spark up a conversation with Yancy, you could ask him about what that poem meant! Maybe that could be the starting point of breaking out of your introverted shell.

"Thanks Boggs, I really do appreciate you." You said, before heading off outside.

"Have fun! But not too much fun, I don't want for you to get hurt!" His yells sounded down the empty corridor.

The mid-day sun blazed down on the steaming concrete, the prisoners having that work-out glow. Yancy had rolled his short sleeves even shorter, exposing his lesser-known tattoos, and his private box was stuffed in his trouser leg conveniently, away from the guard's view. If anyone found out what was in this box..well, it would ruin him.

Racing became tiresome after a couple of hours so the prisoners resorted to lazily running laps around the small quarter, this included the songbird himself.

"I tell's ya T, you wanna stop off for a few minutes? this box is gettin' uncomfortable." He protested, shifting his weight from one foot to another, finding a comfortable spot in his trouser leg.

"Why, you chickening out? Scared that someone will beat your record?" T retorted.

The prisoners slowed to a stop. Yancy regrettably paused his track game and attempted to get his ragged breath back.

"No ya dingus, it's 'cause dis box is scratchin' my skin off! I swear I's bleedin' down my shin by now."

Tiny's retort turned into concern as they pulled over to the side of the quarter. Once out of sight, Yancy slowly rolled his trouser leg up to his shin and took out the small, worn-out box from the bottom of his leg.

"Your leg hasn't been sawed off Yance, but you sure you need to keep it there? You could hurt yourself."

Yancy chortled shortly, not willing to admit that his friend was right. After what happened last time, he was going to learn from his mistakes. He rubbed his fading ankle bruise as he remembered the time he stayed in the medical ward. But the question was: where was he going put the little thing?

His eyes scanned the usual nooks and crannies that he had hid stuff in before, but word somehow got out and now everyone was using them for their secret stashes. Great - so much for having the upper hand.

His eyes continued to look for somewhere to stuff the thing until his ears pricked up on the outside door swinging open. His frustrated face broke into a smile as he saw you walk out timidly, and perching on a weight bench.

"Here, can youse hang on to it for a hot minute, just don't open it alight," He said, his curious eyes never leaving your sight.

Tiny was startled. The Boss never let them hold anything of his, let alone the one thing he persistently never left out of his sight. Tiny slipped the matchbox into their shoe before taking a squat down the brick wall as they watched their mate stride over to the newbie, but chose not to follow suit.

You picked at the seat cushion like it was the most interesting thing ever to you, whilst plucking up the courage to go and talk to the most confident person out here. Your eyes managed to look up. partially blinded from the sun but saw the small huddles of prisoners near the water pitches, walking around, or down by the blind spot. Guards stood at every entrance broadly, letting people in and out of the area, their moist uniforms made you wonder how the hell they managed to keep composure in this heat.

Your moment abruptly came as you saw the man of the hour coming towards you, his wide shoulders fully exposed to the heats rays. You knew he worked but w-w-wow.

"Finally decided to join in the fun eh?" He sprung up the conversation.

Chuckling, you look down, embarrassed and in amusement "And I'm guessing that this is the newest trouser look. Is this asymmetric chic? or is this just you trying to use illusion to become taller?" You threw a double whammy at him.

Yancy's shocked eyes bored into your own mischievous ones for a brisk moment. Suddenly, he exaggeratedly placed a hand on his chest before crumbling to the grass floor. "Oh de pain! I can't bear it anymore! Not another short joke!"

Other people around the quarter edge were starting to laugh along with his flailing and happily applauded when he finished his piece. The cheering and jeering died down as the conversation drifted back to normal, as Yancy dragged his trouser leg down and sidled up next to you and he bumped his hard shoulder next to yours.

"What a Drama Queen." You continued, letting out a small smile.

"What can I's say, I got's to get ma training in somewhere." He replied "So how's it been with you? Finish dat book yet?"

It was as if he read your mind! The topic of the poetry book caught your attention as you chipped away at your social shell. "Uh, not yet, but I did want to ask you a couple of questions about poem 19. You know, the one you recommended I read?"

The prisoner stretched his arms and placed them behind himself. "Oh yeah! It's one of ma favourites! I personally thinks its about de good and bad sides to love and once you've actually caught feelings for someone, it pains you to do things dat even surprise yaself. Youse got me?"

You would have never known that Yancy had a passion for literature, just listening to him made you even more dedicated to spending time with him. Boggs was right with his advice, it didn't bruise your ego that bad to socialise with new people, as it made you question what other things the man had up it sleeve - or trouser leg.

You rephrased yourself, "Ok then Yance, do you read poems often then?" your feet started to dance around the grassy floor, flattening pieces of green.

"So do you analyse poems often then Yancy?"

The man interrupted you "Oh please, call me Yance, only the big dog calls me Yancy."

"I used to when I was a youngin', my family hads a nice library ya see. Dey's had Shakespeare, Jane Austen, and some oder authors I can't remember but when youse a fabulous actor like myself, you gotta keep up ya noggin' in check." He smiled and looked out onto the busy area, almost reminiscing about his past life.

He never liked to bring up the subject of his past but when Yacny was with you, it felt- right. To finally talk about childhood memories and just laugh about them, instead of it always being dragged back to the soul reason why he was locked up at Happy Trails in the first place.

His strong arm planted on the side of your small shoulder as he gave you a tight squeeze. "How about youse? Do you read?"

"I-Uh... I"

Words formed in your mouth, yet your tongue was on holiday, not responding to any sentence your brain was throwing at you. Butterflies were born in your stomach as your face started to feel warm, too warm for your liking. What was happening? Were you having sunstroke!?

"Youse ok? Ya looking a little warm d'ere" Yancy said, dropping his arm from your side. "Youse want me to go grab you some water?"

This signalled your tongue to finally come back to work. "Oh. No, I'm fine thanks and yeah, I read, that's what I was going to ask about you actually." You said, forcing confidence.

"No way! Heh, I guess great minds think alike huh?" He replied, grinning his addicting smile. He looked over to where he left Tiny and an idea sprung in his scheming mind. "Hey, youse wanna come over to the wall, I got's a friend who you could meet. I mean, only if you wanna?" Yancy laughed, trying to sweetly coax you deeper into socialisation.

You hesitated. This man sure was alluring, but risking another episode like that caused you to reconsider. You bit your bottom lip, slightly, your eyebrows became sewn together as you weighted up your options. Either go over and run your social battery out completely, or decline and recover from this moment.

"Thanks Yance, but I think I'm done for the day." You responded. "All this talking and warm heat" and maybe some other things "has made my head spin a little."

"Ok, well if youse's sure." Yancy stood up once more and punched your shoulder "See you around Keys!"

You saw him walk back to his mate and sit down together under the shade of the building. You blissfully made your way back inside of Happy Trails, back with you and your own thoughts.

Its blasting air conditioner made your arms tingle as you pulled out a chair in the Cafeteria and went to reach for the poetry book. The silence hung much thicker in the air as you sat uncomfortably. Is this what withdrawal felt like? To be isolated not a minute after being surrounded by people. You kind of missed the feeling of having someone to talk to, but everyone had their boundaries - even you. You tried not to linger on the thought of feeling like you let Yancy down. He gave you the opportunity to help you overcome your fears but you didn't take it. Maybe next time you would take it, but for now, you did something new today: You should be proud of yourself.

You scanned around at the empty chairs and tables, the occasional guard whistling by the Cafeteria's door frame before you brought your head to the window. Your eyes soon spotted Yancy sashaying around with his friend. They must have said something funny because he soon showed his pearly whites, his chest rising and falling as his strong hand clutched his chest. Your eyes couldn't tear themselves away from this scene. The jailbird was the only person who actually tried with you. Smiling to yourself, you looked back up and your breath hitched. He was looking directly back at you and giving you a small wave. His smaller companion followed suit, shooting their hand straight up, frantically joining in. You sheepishly waved back before opening the book from you left off.

"Missed me Y/N?"

[ms-hells-bells]

I've been informed from deaf people on twitter that cochlear implants aren't the be-all-to-end-all solution to deafness and there is a history of language (SL) deprivation by hearing parents of deaf children.

edit: sorry, this turned out long! TLDR: i understand advocates’ intentions, but often they swing too far the other way in terms of disabled rights, into kind of an “i don’t see race” territory where we have to pretend that we’re just as capable as normal people as we are born and that there’s nothing that can help us other than the whole world changing. although the circumstances are a little different, i am coming at this from the perspective of someone with disabilities/conditions and i’ve faced this in my own groups as well. 

from what i’ve read, they work to some degree almost all of the time. and one can both provide implants to people AND provide them with sign language in case they break, aren’t 100% or have a very rare case of adverse effects from them. it also improves speech, as one is able to hear themselves.

honestly, it seems a bit like liberalism too far in the opposite direction. you know how feminism has done that in the case of “sexual liberation”? i’ve seen quite a few instances of disability advocates being extremely adverse to any kind of life improving medical interventions because “nothing is wrong with us”. sure, you’re not worth less as a person because you have a disability, but you DO have a disability, and if there are paths to make life easier, not even “why don’t you take them”, but why not be supportive of those that do take them? imagine if some people with missing limbs decried prosthetics because “we don’t need the help” and “they’re trying to make us ‘normal’. or the same with glasses/lasik. i understand that for so long, disabled people were/still are seen as worth less and “just need to overcome their disability”, which isn’t possible the vast majority of the time. but the solution isn’t to reject all forms of treatment, it’s to have both methods of accommodating environment and treatments supported in society. 

i’m saying this as someone with a mental disability. i have autism and i’ve heard this rhetoric regarding autism before, being anti hypothetical autism based abortions (which i’m completely fine with, both raising and being an autistic is HARD even with all the help in the world, which there currently isn’t anyway), being anti any kind of cognitive therapy to improve social skills and expressing emotions, being anti any kind of coping method that helps us fit in better. we’re different, and we don’t have to change, i get that, but we don’t get to dictate what other people do, how they feel about SUCCESSFUL treatments, and how different people go about dealing with their disabilities. in the case of cochlear implants, most countries are already struggling with funding them, let alone when “advocates” are trying to discourage their use and scaremongering people that they “barely ever work anyway” when that’s blatantly false and goes against countless scientific studies over decades. 

it’s the worst when they harass parents that want them for their deaf children. yes, these parents should be encouraged to continue having their children learn sign language because shit happens, and never punish them for lip reading, turning the implants off, signing, etc., but they want their children to at least have even a small amount of a vital sense that provides so much (going without a sense is a massive disadvantage, no matter what advocates try to say), and if it is possible then why wouldn’t they do it? my eyesight has been very poor (words beyond a foot away are unseeable, objects become a blur of colour and shapes 2-3 feet away) from a very young age, and i couldn’t imagine if my parents or parents of other kids who are very hard of sight went “well, we don’t want our kid to RELY on a tool, besides, glasses often don’t give 20/20 vision anyway, so why bother?”

have the world be disability friendly, but also don’t scorn provided tools for aid and alleviation, they’re not trying to “force you into normality”, they’re trying to minimise the amount of difficulties you have in life. yes, there are ways around and we can try to push through, but there’s nothing wrong with asking for help and getting it. i’m tired of trying to push through things without help because of the guilt of having others do things for me, when people offer it i take it because life shouldn’t be hard, we’re allowed to want it to be easy.

these are my views as someone with a mental disability, a (albeit so common that people barely consider it one even though IT IS) physical/sight disability, and other things that aren’t disabilities, but are highly disabling (i don’t consider mental illnesses and particular chronic conditions (like my nausea, compressed nerves, and joint issues) disabilities). 

i think a part of this is how heavily identity focused our society. every part of you becomes a part of your identity, including disabilities (also because that’s what other people define you by and treat you based on), and so when there is something that can alleviate that disability, it can sometimes feel like a personal attack on your being and identity, as if they’re saying “you’re not good enough”. it’s certainly a complex topic that a lot of emotions are projected onto.

[vex-bittys]

I've had this drabble in my mind about a King/Chain owner who jumps in front of their lamia to prevent an attacker from shooting them, and gets shot in the stomach instead (usually it's the lamia who protects the human). I suck at writing and english isn't my first language. ;~; But if you feel inspired it would be lovely to read

The Things We Do for Love

Contains: injuries, mild blood, mild angst

It was late, and you just wanted to get home, crawl into bed, and sleep. Unfortunately, your options were limited. You could call for a taxi or an Uber and wait, or you could walk. Walking presented its own set of pros and cons though. Sure, you would get home quickly, but only if you walked through the bad part of town instead of going around it.

At least you wouldn’t be walking alone. Having your full-sized King lamia beside you made the prospect of walking through a bad neighborhood much less daunting. If anything happened, your fierce and loyal companion could protect you. After a brief discussion with the King, you decided to take the direct route home.

The massive lamia slithered down the sidewalk ahead of you, his skull swinging from side to side in an attempt to see, sniff, and hear in every direction at once. Though the King tended to be calm and collected in every situation, you noticed that his hood was half-flared as you approached a dark alley with broken glass spilling out of it. He stopped abruptly, holding out one hand to keep you from moving forward. You opened your mouth to ask him what was going on, but everything happened at once and you never got the chance.

Time slowed to a crawl. The events unfolding felt so far away, so unreal; your brain refused to process it.

Sneakers scraped concrete, and a scruffy man lurched out of the shadows of the alley. Moonlight glinted on metal; the man had a gun. He lifted it to point at you and your lamia with shaking hands, muttering under his breath about a wallet, money, credit cards. You couldn’t make any sense of the man’s words or your full-sized King’s outraged hiss.

Brick red scales with skull markings blocked your vision. You heard a crack. You lunged forward before you even realized that your feet had moved. Screaming, so much screaming. The world turned upside down. The last thing you saw was your beloved King’s stricken face before colors blurred and blended together, fading to black.

He would’ve taken the bullet for you; he would’ve taken a hail of bullets for you without a moment’s hesitation or regret. Since the day he first met you- the day you chose him, the day you filled out his adoption papers with a glowing smile full of promises for the future- the King knew that he would willingly and gladly protect you with his very life if necessary, and now you laid bleeding in his arms after sacrificing yourself to protect him.

The lamia held you close to his chest, willing with all of his SOUL for you to hold on, to survive. He could hear distant sirens approaching; someone must’ve called the cops. He bowed his head, tears dripping from the corners of his sockets to mingle with the red stain slowly spreading across your shirt.

Another crack rang out, and pain exploded in the lamia’s shoulder. He ignored the sting, raising his head to glare at the shooter with murderous intent. If the man had fled, he might’ve escaped the King’s wrath. His foolish persistence would be his downfall.

The King slashed with his tail, not loosening his hold on you. Two more bullets tore through his flesh before he knocked the man to the ground. The gun slipped from his grasp, skittering across the pavement. The King’s crimson eyelights blazed, reflecting in the man’s eyes as he stared into the hellfire of his fate.

Bone fangs sank into the man’s neck, nearly crushing his windpipe, to pump poison into his bloodstream.

Red, blue, and white lights flashed, piercing the night. Police shouted, and the King backed away from the man, tilting your unconscious body to show the police that you needed help… desperately. An ambulance pulled up behind the police cruisers, and they waved the EMTs forward. Your loyal lamia placed you carefully on the stretcher, letting the professionals go to work. He declined their offers to check his own wounds, preferring that they focus on your care.

An officer standing over the shooter turned to the full-sized lamia, asking if he had any anti-venom. The cop explained that the man could be revived, arrested, and brought to justice properly. The King nodded. He always carried anti-venom with him in case of an accidental or misdirected bite.

The injured lamia pulled the small glass vial of life-saving anti-venom out of his jacket pocket. Holding it out to the relieved officer, he let it slip from his fingers to shatter on the concrete. The assailant’s life was one that he would not save. He leveled an unapologetic stare at the officer for several long moments before turning away to join you in the ambulance. The EMTs reassured him that you would recover, and he finally let out a long sigh of relief.

You would live.

Closing his sockets slowly and resting his tired skull against your shoulder, he allowed the medics to treat his injuries at last.

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