#it feels so good to finally post something on here

[bittybeanscafe]

Oh, They’re So Weird (☉-⚆)

“You recently got laid off of your job. Thankfully, you found an ad on Craigslist that paid quite a bit for you to just housesit! 🍩”

DAY ONE -> DAY TWO

Contains: Kopi, Daisuke, Wyndolyn, Betty, Eddie and Volt, and Tony.

🍰 Café Menu 🍰

Getting laid off sucked, but the worst part wasn’t the lost job, it was the silence afterward. Bills didn’t care about unemployment, and your fridge had been making a weird knocking sound that screamed “I’m dying” for two weeks now. So yeah, maybe scrolling Craigslist at 2:13 a.m. while eating peanut butter off a spoon wasn’t your proudest moment, but that’s when you saw it.

HOUSE SITTER NEEDED - URGENT

Spacious, fully furnished home.

3 weeks.

$1,500/week.

Must be kind. No loud music. No shouting. Absolutely NO cursing at the housemates.

Contact: xxxx

Serious inquiries only.

You blinked. Then read it again. Then checked the listing date: posted 10 minutes ago. Honestly? It didn’t sound like a murder ad. And fifteen hundred a week? That was rent for two months. You clicked “reply” before your brain had a chance to argue.

One weird video call later…

“Just be nice to them,” The owner said. Their face was earnest, a little too close to the webcam. “The bed gets moody if you ignore her, and the mirror likes compliments. Oh, and please don’t cuss at anyone. They’re sensitive.”

You’d nodded slowly. “...Right. The furniture is sensitive.”

They beamed. “Exactly! You’re a natural.”

You weren't, actually. You were broke. There was a difference.

The house was new, a bit creaky, and gorgeous.

It stood like a storybook illustration, rose vines on white walls, tall windows like blinking eyes. The front gate opened on its own when you approached. The door was unlocked. And there, sitting right inside the foyer, was a small table with a handwritten note:

“Welcome! Bedroom’s on the second floor. Please greet everyone before settling in. Be polite. No exceptions.”

You stared at the note. Then looked around.

...There wasn’t anyone here.

Was there?

You stood in the middle of the living room, feeling about as dumb as someone could feel while talking to furniture.

“Hi, everyone,” you said, eyes shifting to the antique mirror above the fireplace, the couch with those overly plush cushions, and the teacup-patterned wallpaper that somehow felt judgy. “I guess.”

Silence.

Well, yeah. What were you expecting? A lamp to wave?

You gave yourself a mental shrug and moved toward the kitchen. The house might’ve been old, but the appliances were surprisingly modern: sleek, clean, and probably worth more than your last paycheck. You figured coffee wouldn’t hurt. You hadn’t had real coffee in weeks. Just that sad instant stuff that made your teeth feel like they were dissolving.

The coffee machine purred to life like it knew what it was doing. Which was weird.

You blinked when it poured your drink.

In the frothy surface was an intricate little heart surrounded by ferns and flowers, like a garden in your cup. You hadn’t touched any settings. Hell, you didn’t even know how to do latte art.

You stared at the cup.

“…Thanks?” you said, lifting it gently.

Deep within the inner world of the house, Kopi beamed. “You're welcome! Finally, someone with manners,” she thought, pride bubbling inside her ceramic chest. She loved giving people a good start to their day.

You sipped. It was perfect. Not too bitter, just creamy enough, like something out of a dream. You let out a soft hum of satisfaction and felt… lighter.

Okay. Weird, but not bad.

After finishing the cup (and whispering another awkward “thank you” before setting it in the sink and cleaning it, to the liking of Daisuke), you figured you might as well do something productive. The house wasn’t dirty, but there was dust on the window sills and a few cobwebs here and there. You found an old cloth in a drawer, wet it, and started wiping down the large bay windows.

They sparkled immediately, almost too fast.

You frowned, then smiled anyway, running the cloth in slow, thoughtful circles.

“Looking better already,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

In her own little corner of the dimension, Wyndolyn, the ever-elegant window spirit, preened at the praise. “Such lovely hands,” she thought, her panes practically glowing. “This one appreciates beauty… oh, what a treat.”

You didn’t see the way the sunlight caught just right, casting little prisms of color across the floor like she was showing off. You didn’t notice the faint scent of fresh-cut flowers that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Not yet.

But they saw you.

And you were kind.

That was more than enough, for now.

The storm rolled in faster than you'd expected.

One minute, it was just gray clouds and a gentle breeze. The next, thunder cracked so hard it rattled the windows, and rain slammed against the walls like it had a personal grudge. The lights flickered once, twice-

-and then went out completely.

"Of course," you muttered, setting down the book you'd been reading. You reached for your phone. No signal. Of course.

You remembered the owner mentioning the breaker box upstairs in the attic hallway. Something about “power hiccups” being normal in a house this old. Still, you didn’t love the idea of going up there in the dark. But sitting in silence with no lights and a wind that sounded like a ghost screaming? Less appealing.

So up you went, flashlight in hand, the wood creaking under your feet with every step. The breaker box sat tucked behind a narrow door next to the linen closet, sealed shut with a rusted latch. You struggled with it for a second, then remembered the neat little red toolbox you saw in the bottom of the small closet earlier.

Inside, every tool was perfectly clean and in order. Like someone really cared for them.

You handled each one with care, lining them up just like they were, using the screwdriver gently, placing it back precisely where it came from.

Deep within the heartbeat of the house, Tony grinned behind his stubbled jaw. “Finally, someone who knows how to treat their tools.” His arms crossed proudly. He liked this one.

With a quiet clunk, you flipped the main breaker switch back on. The lights flickered downstairs, then steadied.

Somewhere, inside the wires that ran like veins through the house’s bones, Volt stirred with a low hum of relief. “Oh, thank the circuit.” Sparks flickered behind his eyes as the flow stabilized. No more shorts. No more headaches.

And within the walls, behind the plaster and wallpaper and pipework, Eddie leaned against a support beam and exhaled. “Smooth fix. Didn’t even overload me this time.” He’d braced himself for the usual slapdash button-mashing most humans did, but this one… this one had patience.

You closed the breaker box gently, wiped your hands on your jeans, and gave a half-smile to the darkness. “There. That should do it.”

The hallway lights stayed on. The house gave a low, satisfied creak, like an old cat settling into a nap.

You didn’t know what you’d just done for them.

But they did.

And all three, Tony, Volt, and Eddie, watched you descend the stairs like you were some kind of quiet hero.

You padded back down the stairs, warm light humming gently through the halls again. The storm still raged outside, wind clawing at the shutters and rain pelting the roof, but inside, the house felt… calm. Like it had sighed with relief.

You stretched, body pleasantly tired from moving and cleaning all day. Your feet led you to the bedroom Hank had set aside for you, the door already cracked open like it had been waiting.

The bed inside was reasonably sized, an old-fashioned four-poster with soft, sea-colored sheets and an absurd number of pillows. It should’ve felt stiff or creaky. Maybe even haunted, considering the whole "talk to the furniture" vibe this place had going on.

But the second you sank into the mattress, all thoughts slipped out of your head like sand through your fingers.

It was warm. It welcomed you. Like arms cradling you. Not too soft, not too firm, just the exact kind of comfort you didn’t know your body had been aching for.

“…Huh,” you murmured, pulling the covers up to your chin. “You’re… actually really nice.”

The bed didn’t respond, of course. But you felt it in the way the blanket settled just right around your shoulders. How the pillow fit the curve of your neck perfectly. You swore you heard the faintest creak, like someone humming a lullaby through the floorboards.

Somewhere, deep in her quilted soul, Betty the Bed glowed with pride. “Sleep well, sweetheart,” she thought. “You’ve had a long day.”

You yawned, blinking slowly at the ceiling. “Goodnight, everyone,” you whispered into the dark, voice thick with sleep. “Don’t stay up too late gossiping.”

A soft gust of air rustled the curtains. A light flicked off down the hall.

And you fell asleep: warm, safe, and strangely… cared for.

[fuckyeahfraxus]

Get prepared for FRAXUS WEEK 2025!

You all have yet again helped to choose the prompts for this year's Fraxus Week and we are all set and ready, so here goes the official post! Save the date, mark it in your calendar (but do not stress about it because late entries are always welcome) - Fraxus Week takes place from August 31st till September 8th!

It would be a great help if you share the post and help to spread the word about the eventm everywhere you can 😊. Every reblog helps us to get the information around, so nobody misses the oppourtunity ❣️

As every year we can't wait to see what you guys will come up with for the prompts and thank you for everyone who sent in their suggestions. If anybody's curious about it; the prompt Sorcerer's Weekly was the most popular by a good margin and we love it as well haha! It's always a highlight of the year and it's so amazing to see that the love and fandom for this incredible ship still very much existent and strong. Newbie or oldie, we welcome you!

Again, the week will start on the 31st of August with the first Bonus day (we call it Fraxus Week Eve) and end on the 8th of September with the second Bonus day, as usual.

There is ONE NEW RULE addition starting this year, namely that, on the last Bonus Day (September 8th) you will be allowed to participate with a NSFW piece. Explicit nsfw is not allowed for all the foregoing days but since we have not hosted the Fraxus Love Fest any longer, we decided to include this new rule so that whoever wants to submit a n.sfw piece for their ship is now allowed to do so for at least one of the days.

Everything else remains the same, but feel free to read/skim the official rules for this event still!

So, the prompts as voted by the fandom, finally, - here goes!

August 31st/Fraxus Week Eve: Blush

September 1st/Day 1: First meeting/Early Days

September 2nd/Day 2: Blood and/or Glitter

September 3rd/Day 3: Cuddles and/or Late Nights

September 4th/Day 4: Training or Fighting side by side

September 5th/Day 5: Sorcerer Weekly/Photoshoot/Interview

September 6th/Day 6: Magic Swap

September 7th/Day 7: Masquerade or Ballroom

September 8th/Bonus day: Edolas or; NEW RULE THIS YEAR, an NSFW piece of your choice

RULES:

Everyone is allowed to participate and basically every sort of entry is allowed! Art, a fanfic, edits, headcanons, …everything! Just make sure that it has to do with Fraxus and does not imply something else/negative/other ships/trigger topics like SA etc! It also shouldn’t include something nsfw (exception: Bonus Day). Entries bordering on nsfw or suggestive mentions are alright.

Please put at least one of the tags fraxusweek or fraxus week in the first five tags of your entry! fraxus will suffice, too, if you forget to tag it otherwise but using the first two named tags will just make it easier for us to find the entries for this week!

You can also combine prompts, create multiple pieces per prompt or not use the prompts at all. If you’re not inspired by any of them, it’s okay to do your own thing or do something similar to the prompts.

The prompts can take place in the Canon Verse or an Alternate Universe, it's up to you!

Don’t worry about being late/on time! Late entries are always welcome, no matter how late. We know that things can get stressful very easily, so don’t worry about it!

Do not steal other people’s content! That won’t be accepted and that applies not only to this week but in general. Also refrain from reposting somebody's work without permission.

You can also submit your entries to our blog if you want.

If you’ve got any questions, just shoot us a an ask or a private message!

That’s it! We’re super looking forward to the event again. Let’s celebrate our beautiful ship!

This year, the wonderful @cylove gave us the permission to utilize their stunning artwork for the official Fraxus Week 2025 banner. We also want to use this opportunity to give a shoutout and encourage y'all to go support their work! <3 You can find the original artwork used for this banner right >here<. Thank you again for allowing us to use your artwork for the banner <3 😊

[screamlet]

last lines tag game

Rules: Post the last lines you wrote in your WIP(s).

i feel like the end is in sight for the "buck runs away from LA" fic (aka the layla and bailey verse) so here's something. thank you for the tags @rcmclachlan @liminalmemories21 @setmeatopthepyre @geddyqueer. no pressure tags to everyone in the whole world, come on, we can do this!!!!!!

---

"You're the talker, Buck, and—and I don't know what to do with a Buck like this, who doesn't let us in," Hen says. 

Buck raises his eyebrows. "Doesn't let you in? I was shut out. I didn't want to stand outside like a dog in the rain, waiting to be let in, and I'm the bad guy?"

"There aren't any bad guys here, Buck. There's no Buck. That's what I'm asking. Is there still a chance for us, or are we on the outs like Eddie?"

"Eddie's different," Buck says. "You're right. I've changed. I've got my own life now. I'm not—" Buck searches for the words and it hurts when he finally finds them. "I won't be left behind again. I won't. I won't. And if that means never going back, good." 

[colossrat]

You ever think about how Captain Marvel looks like CC Batson because that is who Billy sees as a hero, but overtime he might take on attributes from the other heroes. Do you ever think about how one day Billy might look into a mirror as Captain Marvel and realize he doesn’t see his father‘s face anymore?

Yeah me neither

let's think about it now then bcs its genius

(I don't know if you're citing this post here but it exists if you want to take a look! well and this is a good take to revisit)

Billy has always assimilated his magical form to his father, but it's not like he periodically looks in the mirror to reaffirm this. It's also not like he enjoys seeing his own father every time he sees his reflection… it's a good symbolism and tribute, but imagine when Billy loses a fight? When he fails to save a life? The last thing he would want to see is the sad look on his own father's face, the look of disappointment in himself so he avoids mirrors, or looking at himself in photos, and it's not like he has much internet access to see the videos or news he appears in. Sometimes he catches a glimpse of his reflection, but he's not one to analyze it. Until one day he catches Mary staring at him as they look out over the city from a rooftop

Marvel: Is there something on my face?

He'd ask innocently, knowing it wasn't until a few minutes ago that they ate some ice cream the stand owner gave them for free. Maybe his face was dirty? But Mary just shrugs, and although she looks a little uncomfortable, she doesn't say anything

This happens a few more times, and Billy knows it can't be just a coincidence no more

Marvel: What is it? Just tell me, please. Did I do something?

Mary: No! You didn't do anything, it's just… I saw a picture the other day of your first appearance as Captain Marvel. And you looked a lot like Dad… a lot, and I noticed that recently you don't-- look that much anymore…

Marvel: What...? Like, am I getting older? I didn't think my Captain form could age…

Mary: I don't think that's it. I don't know what it really is at all. You just changed, you know? It's not bad, it's just… you're more you, you know? Less like Dad, more like you if you were this magic greek fridge

Marvel laughed, though he didn't understand what that really meant. He decided it wasn't anything important. Mary said it wasn't bad, so there was no need to worry about it

But then, in the watchtower, when he was on a boring monitor duty late one night, he found himself staring into space, and eventually his vision blurred and he saw his own reflection, obscured by the background, but it was him…

He was drifting off, not paying attention, which is why he was even more surprised when his brain computed that the reflection wasn't of someone he knew…

He started and turned around in fright, searching for whoever was in the room with him. But there was no one

He looked back at the window, focusing to see his own reflection, and then his breath caught, and suddenly everything made sense. It was him. It wasn't his father's face, or his own baby face, but it was him… his face, his features…? Okay, maybe there was a little something here and there that he could tell came from his coworkers, but it was a big change

His image used to be a replica of his father, but now it was himself, with some influences from his heroes. but mostly him...

Billy couldn't say he was happy to no longer have his father's reflection in the mirror, but another kind of feeling mixed in his stomach. Anxiety? Happiness? Pride?

This was his way of finally realizing that he'd become something good enough? That he'd become the hero he wanted to be. Not just his hero, but a mix of several he adored, loved, and was inspired by, including himself. He'd finally become someone he could call good enough? Something he was proud of. Is this his way of understanding that he was happy and satisfied with being himself? instead of just imitating others?

He certainly felt a few tears stream down his face, but he tried to save this new knowledge for when he was alone and not working

[formulafanfics13]

The Secret Girlfriend - Chapter 13

Masterlist

Disclaimer:

This fanfic will contain mature themes and topics (smut, abuse, power imbalance, drug use, alcohol dependency, control, and eating disorders). There will not be warnings throughout, so if you proceed with this fic, please bear this in mind!

The sky over London was still asleep. Soft grey clouds hung low over the private airfield, fog curling across the tarmac like breath on glass. It was barely 7am, and the silence was thick enough to feel like velvet. The only sound was the soft, rhythmic squeak of rubber wheels and Max Verstappen's voice as he narrated his own chaos.

"Pushing now through Turn Three, we're gaining time on Mercedes, and the Dutch driver's got a clear path to the boarding stairs-"

"Max," Lando called behind him, laughing. "She just had surgery."

Max didn't even glance back. "She's fine. Look at her. She's having fun."

Lily, nestled under a fluffy brown blanket in the airport-issued wheelchair, was indeed smirking, oversized sunglasses hiding her puffy post-sedation eyes, her unwashed hair twisted into a loose bun, one leg outstretched stiffly in front of her in a fresh white cast. She was wearing one of Max's Red Bull hoodies, stolen at some ungodly hour during the night shift in the hospital, sleeves swallowed her hands, the hem pooled over her thighs, and her crutches were strapped awkwardly to the back of the chair with a Louis Vuitton belt Lando had "borrowed" from her closet.

"You look like a stolen sports trophy," Max muttered. "Can I get a podium pic at the top of the stairs?"

Lily grinned sleepily. "Only if I can spray champagne on you."

"Deal."

Behind them, Lando was dragging both their suitcases, one pale beige Rimowa and one obnoxious cherry red Louis Vuitton trunk covered in stickers and airport tags from ten different countries. His hoodie was pulled low over his eyes, curls flattened by jet lag and nerves that hadn't entirely settled since he'd walked into her hospital room the night before.

He was watching her. Every movement. Every wince. Every smirk. Every twitch of her fingers as she gripped the armrests. She was here. That's all that mattered.

When they reached the foot of the jet stairs, Max stopped dramatically, spun the chair 180° like a pit box rotation, and announced, "Final sector. Time to pit, princess."

Lily blinked up at the jet. Then at the stairs. Then at Lando.

"Don't you dare let him carry me," she muttered.

Max bowed. "I'm a driver, not a lifter."

Lando laughed, stepped forward, and handed the bags off to the waiting staff before crouching slightly in front of her chair. "Ready?"

Lily blinked. "You're going to carry me up the stairs?"

"Of course I am."

"I could hop."

"You're not hopping onto a fucking jet."

"Could've let me bring the wheelchair ramp," Max muttered.

Lando ignored him. He reached out gently, slid one arm behind her shoulders and one under her knees — carefully, so carefully, avoiding the cast, and lifted her like she weighed nothing.

Lily's breath caught. Not from pain. From something else. Something bigger. She curled into his chest instinctively, face in his neck, her good hand gripping the front of his hoodie.

"You smell like mint and sweat," she whispered.

He smiled against her temple. "You smell like hospital juice and Max's hoodie."

They were halfway up the stairs when she whispered, "Thank you for coming."

He didn't respond. He didn't have to. At the top of the jet stairs, Max threw them both a thumbs up. Then tossed a blanket at Lando's head. "For your princess," he said smugly. "Can't let her freeze on my leather seats."

Lando caught it midair, adjusting Lily in his arms, and stepped inside. The jet was warm. Dim. Quiet. Luxury wrapped in grey and black, soft music humming from invisible speakers. Max's pilot nodded once from the cockpit. Everything was ready.

Lando gently placed Lily down on the long couch that ran the length of one wall, tucking the blanket around her legs, adjusting the pillows, brushing her hair off her forehead like she was made of porcelain. Max sat opposite, legs sprawled, watching the whole thing with a look somewhere between amused and quietly protective. Lily yawned.

"You okay?" Lando whispered.

She nodded. "Just tired."

He kissed her forehead. "Sleep."

She blinked up at him. "You don't have to fuss."

"I do."

Her smile was soft. "You and Jude are going to turn me into a houseplant."

"You are a houseplant. You just needed watering and a wheelchair."

Max snorted. Lily rolled her eyes, curling into the blanket. As the jet began taxiing toward the runway, she was already drifting off. And for the first time in days, Lando let himself breathe. She was flying home. And she wasn't flying alone.

The Monaco air was hot and golden as the car pulled up to the glass entrance of their penthouse.

Max was already halfway out of the backseat before the driver had even turned off the engine, grabbing both suitcases like he owned the building. Lando moved slower, slipping around to Lily's side of the car, pulling the door open and crouching beside her before she could unbuckle herself.

"I can use the crutches," she murmured, amused.

"I'm carrying you."

"Lan-"

"Let me love you."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. But only because you're hot."

He smirked, slid one arm under her knees and the other around her back, and lifted her clean out of the seat. Her cast bumped slightly against the edge of the door and she flinched, not from pain, but from frustration.

Max followed behind, luggage wheels squeaking against the tiles. The lift opened straight into their penthouse, marble floors, panoramic windows, the sea sparkling beyond. It still smelled faintly like bergamot and the detergent she liked. Home. Finally.

Lando carried her straight to the sofa and gently placed her down, arranging the cushions, tucking the blanket around her legs like she was precious cargo. Max dropped the bags by the kitchen island, wandered to the fridge like he lived there, and pulled out a sparkling water.

"Make yourself at home," Lily muttered.

"I already have."

Lando dropped onto the couch beside her with a long exhale, rubbing his hands over his face. Lily looked at him. "What's wrong?"

He didn't answer at first. Then glanced at Max. Max nodded, subtle. Lando looked back at her. "I was going to ask you to come to Silverstone."

She blinked. "What?"

"For the race," he said quietly. "I was going to ask if you'd come. As my girlfriend. Publicly."

Lily tilted her head. "Lando-"

"I had it all planned," he went on. "I was going to tell you after Austria. Get you a paddock pass. Have you in the garage. Show everyone. Us. Finally."

She paused. Then said simply, "So ask me."

He blinked. "What?"

"Ask me," she repeated, softer. "Broken ankle and all."

He looked at her. Really looked. "You'd go?"

She smiled. "I'd go on fucking crutches."

Max, from the armchair across the room, let out a short laugh. "You'd need them. Silverstone isn't exactly wheelchair friendly."

Lily sighed. "Rude."

"It's true."

Lando frowned. "Wait, is it not accessible?"

"Not really," Max said, sipping casually. "But... Toto could probably get you one of those golf buggies."

Lando raised a brow. "Why would Toto help us?"

Max grinned. "Because Lewis told him."

Lando blinked. "Told him what?"

Max leaned back, smug. "About you two. After he met her. Said Toto's been waiting for the announcement. Probably already knows what colour suit you'll wear."

Lando stared. Lily laughed, low and surprised. "Of course he does."

"Toto's tight with the Silverstone organisers," Max added. "He could get you whatever you need. No one says no to Toto."

Lando sat back against the cushions, half-stunned. 

Lily leaned into him, brushing her fingers against his. "It's whatever you want, Lan. If you want to wait, I'll wait. If you want Silverstone, I'll come. I don't care if I have to be wheeled in backwards with a Prada bag full of codeine and Jude behind me doing TikToks. I'm yours."

Lando looked at her like she was oxygen. Then pulled out his phone.

Max raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Texting Lewis."

Lily smirked. "To what? Ask him if your outfit's good enough?"

Lando laughed. "No. I only have Toto's work number from those stupid grid WhatsApp groups. I need his personal one."

Max raised his drink. "Godspeed."

Lando typed fast. 'hey. emergency. need toto's real number. not his mercedes one. pls. will explain later.'

He hit send. Max was grinning. Lily leaned her head on his shoulder. And for the first time in days, Lando felt like the world wasn't crashing down. It was just beginning.

Lando's phone buzzed against his thigh.

He glanced down and saw it, Lewis 🐐, one line reply.

'toto's personal. don't text. he won't read it. call.'

Lando blinked. Then looked at Max across the sofa.

Max raised an eyebrow. "You getting cold feet or you calling the big boss?"

Lando narrowed his eyes, turned the volume up, and hit the green button. Put it on speaker. The dial tone rang once. Twice. Three times-

"Hallo?" Toto's voice came through deep, crisp, vaguely amused.

"Hi. Um. It's Lando. Norris."

Pause. Then- "Ah. The secret boyfriend emerges."

Lando winced. Max grinned. In the background, Lily let out a sleepy laugh from where she was half-curled under her blanket, legs stretched across Lando's lap, one arm slung across her ribs like a Barbie doll whose joints had stopped working.

"So... I guess Lewis told you," Lando muttered.

"Lewis told me," Toto said mildly. "And then Zak called me sounding like he'd seen a ghost. But yes, congratulations."

"Thanks," Lando said softly, fingers brushing over Lily's wrist. "She's kind of great."

Toto chuckled. "Susie agrees."

That made Lando pause. "What?"

Toto's tone warmed. "She's a big fan. Always has been. Actually said she cried watching that campaign Lily did for Saint Laurent a few years ago."

Max mouthed iconic. Lily smiled faintly, mouthing back tell him I'm flattered.

"Anyway," Toto continued, "I heard from Susie that Lily had a fall? Is she alright?"

Lando glanced down at Lily, who looked mildly offended but not surprised. "She's okay. Broke her ankle, had surgery. She's got a cast, and she's on crutches. Not ideal, but she's alright."

"Good," Toto said. "I'm glad to hear it."

Lando took a breath. "I actually had a favour to ask."

"Go on."

"Well, before all of this happened, Lily was meant to come to Silverstone. We were going to go public. First time together in the paddock. Make it official."

"I know," Toto said. "Zak mentioned it."

Max snorted.

Lando blinked. "Of course he did."

"But with everything going on," Lando pushed on, "she's in a wheelchair. And I know Silverstone's... not the flattest place on earth."

Max mumbled, "That's generous."

Lando shot him a look, then focused back on the phone. "So I was wondering if you knew any way to make it easier. So she can still come."

There was no hesitation. "I'll sort it."

Lando blinked. "Really?"

"Yes. I'll speak to the Silverstone directors. And to Zak. We'll get you full access, buggies, quiet routes, private medical team if needed. No stairs. No stress. She won't have to lift a finger. Consider it done."

Lando exhaled, visibly relieved. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"She's Lily James," Toto said lightly. "She's not exactly a normal guest." There was a pause. "Though," Toto added, "I do want something in return."

Lando stiffened. "Okay... what?"

There was a beat. Then, dry as hell: "Susie would kill to meet her."

Lando blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

"She's already planning outfits," Toto said. "You'd think we were meeting the Pope."

Max lost it. Lily snorted into the blanket.

"She's more than happy to meet her," Lando said, glancing down at Lily, who was nodding excitedly. "Honestly. She'd love to."

"Perfect," Toto said. "Tell her to wear something her. Susie would expect nothing less."

Lando grinned. "That we can guarantee."

"I'll text you details," Toto added. "And don't worry. We'll make it an entrance to remember."

"Thanks, Toto."

"Take care of her."

"I will."

They hung up. Lando dropped the phone onto the coffee table and leaned back, head against the sofa, exhaling like he'd just finished a race.

Max clapped once, slow and dramatic. "Well done. You just brokered a paddock romance deal with the most terrifying man alive."

Lily blinked up at Lando. "Toto Wolff?"

"Yeah," Max said. "Man's got the voice of God and the emotional availability of a cryptid."

Lily smiled. "I like him."

Lando leaned over and kissed her temple. "You're going to love Susie."

"She's going to be disappointed," Lily muttered. "I've got one working foot and no clothes that cover both tits."

Max raised his drink. "Sounds like a press-ready look to me."

Lando had disappeared with a towel over his shoulder and a purpose in his step, saying something about salts and candles and "don't move until I call you." Which, of course, meant Lily immediately moved.

She was in the living room, half-swaddled in a blanket, one crutch leaning against the sofa and the other abandoned somewhere in the hallway. Max was lounging on the armchair, drink in hand, scrolling his phone and pretending not to be concerned.

Then he heard it. A shuffle. A thud. He looked up. And there she was. On the fucking floor.

Lily James, supermodel, global icon, broken foot and all, crawling across the marble tiles like a wounded siren dragging herself out of the sea. Her cast scraped softly as she shifted forward on her hands and one good knee, messy bun bouncing with each determined movement, blanket half-trailing like a cape.

Max blinked. "What the fuck are you doing?"

She didn't stop. "Going to the kitchen."

Max sat up straighter. "Why."

"I want a smoothie."

"I'll make it."

"I want to make it."

"Lily."

She kept going. "I'm not helpless."

"You're literally dragging your leg."

"Shut up, Verstappen. You've done worse for snacks."

He put his phone down. "Yeah, but I wasn't post-op."

"I'm fine."

"You're not. You've got a fucking cast."

"I'm bored."

Max stood. Groaned. Crossed the room in three long strides and stood over her like a disappointed father catching a toddler in the cake drawer. "Lily. If Lando walks in and sees you crawling like the ghost of fashion week past, he's going to strangle me with your vape lanyard."

She looked up, innocent. "So help me."

He stared at her. She blinked. One perfect, devious blink. "I'm going to regret this."

"You already do."

He exhaled. Looked around like someone might stop him. Then crouched down beside her. "Okay," he said slowly, "I'm going to lift you."

"Mm-hmm."

"Very carefully."

"Obviously."

"And if Lando kills me, I want you to do the press tour."

She smiled. Then, so carefully, so deliberately, like she was spun from glass and mood swings, Max slid one arm behind her shoulders, one under her knees, lifting her from the floor like she was a rehabbed Bond girl. Her head tilted back slightly, legs dangling, blanket slipping down her thigh.

He carried her the ten steps into the kitchen, the marble cold under his feet. Then, like he'd done it a hundred times, he placed her on the kitchen counter. Perched. Elegant. Slightly unhinged.

Lily grinned. "God bless Red Bull Racing."

Max stepped back like she might explode. "What do you want?"

"Strawberries. Raspberries. Blueberries."

He opened the fridge and pulled each out one by one, setting them beside the blender. She reached forward, already popping the top off the NutriBullet like she hadn't been nearly unconscious 24 hours ago.

"You know," Max said, watching from the side, "this is probably the weirdest thing I've done for a co-worker."

She glanced over, amused. "You carried me like a princess."

"You threatened my life with your eyes."

"I could still kill you."

He smirked. "Not with one foot."

She tossed a raspberry at him. Missed.

"Missed your shot, model girl."

"Just a warning."

He leaned back against the fridge as she worked, sliding fruit into the blender, adding coconut water from the glass bottle he passed her, moving slowly but doing it herself. Her hair was falling into her face. Her oversized hoodie slipped off one shoulder. Her cast rested on a folded tea towel beside her, and she moved like someone determined to prove she wasn't broken.

Max didn't say a word. Just... stood there. Watching. Waiting. Ready. Because he knew, they all knew, Lily James was stubborn, wild, feral as fuck. 

Upstairs, the bath was perfect. Steam curling gently through the marble en-suite. Warm water lined with lavender salts and two pumps of whatever expensive foaming cleanser Lily insisted on stealing from hotels. A fluffy towel folded on the rack, one of her silk robes laid out on the heated floor. Lando stood in the doorway for a moment, admiring his work like a man about to be knighted for Services to Girlfriends with Broken Ankles. He smiled. Then turned and headed back downstairs.

He expected her to be where he left her, curled on the sofa, wrapped in Max's hoodie and a blanket, watching reruns of Below Deck Mediterranean and waiting for him to come collect her like a baby koala.

Instead-  He stepped into the open-plan living space and stopped. There was Max. Standing in the kitchen. Looking... weirdly alert. Like someone supervising a toddler holding a pair of scissors. And there, in the centre of the scene, was Lily. On the counter. Sat sideways on the stone island like a chaos demon. Hoodie slouched off one shoulder, cast propped on a kitchen towel, smoothie in one hand, straw in her mouth. She blinked up at him like she'd never done anything wrong in her life. Which was a lie. A beautiful, ridiculous lie.

Lando blinked. Then blinked again. Then sighed. Loud. And started laughing. "What the fuck is going on?"

Lily smiled, innocent. "I was going to crawl to the kitchen-"

"You what?"

"-and Max said no-"

"Obviously."

"-but I didn't want help-"

"Classic."

"-so he carried me."

Lando turned to Max with his brows raised and a small smirk on his face.

Max raised both hands like he was being arrested. "I swear to God, I did it as respectfully as humanly possible."

Lando laughed harder. "What does that even mean?"

Max looked mildly traumatised. "I lifted her like she was a nun made of glass. I didn't even breathe near her legs. I looked at the ceiling the whole time."

Lando shook his head, grinning. "Bro, it's fine."

Max relaxed slightly. "You're not gonna fight me?"

"You carried her to make a smoothie."

"I tried to make it for her. She refused."

Lily sipped her smoothie with dramatic satisfaction. "I am an independent woman."

"You have one working leg," Max muttered.

Lily stuck her tongue out at him. Lando crossed the room, stepping between them, and leaned against the counter beside her. He looked at Lily, shaking his head fondly. "You couldn't wait ten minutes?"

"I was thirsty."

"I was literally about to come carry you upstairs."

"You were slow."

Max choked. Lando leaned in and kissed her forehead. "You're going to be the death of me."

She smiled into his chest. "You'd die happy."

He wrapped an arm gently around her shoulders, careful of her cast, eyes flicking toward Max. "Thanks for supervising her chaos."

Max nodded solemnly. "You owe me your firstborn."

Lando smirked. "You'd lose it in a poker game."

Max shrugged. "Fair."

Lily tipped her smoothie up, draining the last of it. "Bath time?"

Lando nodded. "Bath time."

Max turned away like someone deeply uninterested in the next scene.

"Right. I'll be upstairs. Alone. Probably traumatised."

Lily grinned at him. "Thanks for the ride, Verstappen."

He flipped her off over his shoulder. Lando laughed and reached down, arms scooping under her gently. This time she didn't argue. Just wrapped her arm around his neck and let herself be carried. Smoothie finished. Chaos complete. And the bath waiting upstairs.

The bathroom was warm, glowing in amber light from the sconces. Soft steam curled against the mirror. The bath was filled nearly to the brim, bubbles spilling over in delicate white peaks that smelled like lily and cedarwood.

Lily sat back against the slope of the tub, her body melting into the heat like butter in silk. Her hair was piled in a loose knot on top of her head, a few damp strands clinging to her collarbone. Her arms rested on either side of the porcelain, skin flushed from the warmth, and her casted leg was propped gently on a towel-covered stool beside the tub, elevated but close.

Lando sat on the floor beside her, cross-legged, hoodie sleeves rolled up, one hand lazily dragging through the bubbles near her shoulder.

It was quiet. Not silent, there was music playing softly from the speaker across the room (some lo-fi version of Lana Del Rey, probably). The window was cracked slightly, letting in just the faintest bit of Monaco night.

But the moment? Was sacred. Lily exhaled, eyes half-lidded, cheek pressed against the edge of the tub as she looked at him. "You really want to go public like this?" she asked, voice low and unsure, broken at the edges.

Lando turned to her. Like really looked at her. Wet lashes. Bruised under-eyes. Casted leg and raw vulnerability. Not a trace of makeup left. Nails chipped. Bruised ribcage rising and falling in rhythm with the bubbles. And he smiled. "I'd go public with you in a wheelchair and a Dior boot."

She blinked. He reached over and brushed a thumb across her cheek. "I'd go public with you on a hospital gurney with one eyelash and a vape taped to your gown. You're Lily. You're mine. That's all that matters."

Her throat bobbed. Then, barely above a whisper: "Where's my vape?"

Lando groaned, flopping his head back against the side of the tub. "Fucking hell."

She giggled. He tilted his head back, raised his voice just enough: "Max?"

From somewhere down the hall: "What?"

Lando grinned. "Bring her vape!"

A beat of silence. Then Max's voice again, slightly more cautious: "I'm not walking into your shared bath, mate."

Lily laughed, low and breathy. "Tell him I'm covered."

Lando smirked, raised his voice again. "She's covered in bubbles. Like a damn snow globe."

There was a pause. Then footsteps. The bathroom door cracked open slowly, hinges creaking. Max appeared with an expression that read 'I don't get paid enough for this,' holding the cherry ice vape like it was evidence in a federal trial. "Tell me when it's safe."

"It's safe," Lando called.

Max stepped in, half-covering his eyes like she was radioactive.

Lily raised one bubble-covered arm lazily in greeting. "Hi, Maxie."

Max groaned. "Never again." He walked over quickly, dropped the vape on a folded towel near Lando, and turned around so fast he almost knocked over the candle.

Lando was cracking up. "Appreciate the delivery service."

"I'm charging you," Max muttered on his way out. "Fucking Uber Vape."

The door closed behind him. Lily giggled, reaching for the vape. Lando handed it over with the reverence of a religious relic. She took a hit, exhaled into the steam, the cherry scent mixing with the bath salts, her eyes fluttering shut like finally, all was well. Lando watched her. Watched her come back to herself. Watched her become Lily again, broken, yes. But still here. Still hers. Still everything.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "You really love me, huh?"

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to her temple, then her jaw. "More than I know how to say."

She blinked. Then took another hit of the vape and whispered, "Good. Because I'm not done making you suffer."

Lando smiled. God, he hoped she never was.

[cherrycrvsh]

warnings. ooc(?). angsty(?). injuries. note. anpther repost,,, if u saw this earlier,,, no u didn't. also.. hbd kore !! ( i was supposed to post this yesterday but i fell asleep ). and now im tew lazy to edit imsorry. anw take tgis uh unpolished && notfinished work

JASON TODD didn't like feeling weak. not physically, not emotionally, not in any way. he was red hood, the second robin, the guy who crawled his way out of the grave, the guy who made criminals run the second they saw him. he doesn't have scars that needs to be tended.

at least, that's what he told himself.

but you knew better.

you saw the way his hands shook sometimes, how he clenched his jaw so tight it looked like it hurt. how he acted like he was fine, always fine, even when he was bleeding right in front of you.

like tonight.

he got hit—bullet to the side, thankfully ( but still not good ), it's not deep enough to be life threatening, but deep enough that he couldn't just ignore it. he tried to, though. ( he had a few cuts, too. )

"i don’t need help," he muttered, struggling to take off his jacket without wincing.

"jason, you’re literally bleeding."

"i’ve had worse."

"that’s not the point." you crossed your arms. "sit down. let me tend it."

he sighed like you were asking him to do something absurd, but he sat. that alone told you everything.

you came back, first aid kit in hand & went to work on the wound while he sat there, way too tense.

“you don't have to do this," he muttered.

"i know."

his jaw tightened, but he didn't move away. you stitched him up carefully, your fingers brushing against his skin, & he hardly moved.

"you're not a burden, you know," you said after a minute.

he scoffed. "never said i was."

"you don't have to. i see it every time you push me away." you paused, looking up at him. "you don't have to be strong all the time, jason."

his eyes flickered. something in him hesitated, but he didn't let it break through.

"i hate this," he muttered.

"hate what?"

"feeling like this." he motioned at himself, at the bandages, at you sitting next to him. "weak."

you frowned. "jason, you're not weak."

"doesn't feel like it."

your chest felt tight. you reached for his hand, & he let you, just like he always did. but this time, it's different. that it's not just jason who you're holding, but the red hood as well. and not just the red hood. but the second robin, too.

"being strong doesn't mean doing everything alone," you said quietly. "sometimes it means letting people help."

he swallowed, his fingers twitching around yours. you’d held hands before, curled up on the couch, laced fingers absentmindedly while walking.

but this was different. this was him holding on like he needed to.

& barely above a whisper, he said, "i don’t wanna do this alone."

you squeezed his hand. "you don’t have to."

he let out a shaky breath, nodded, & for the first time, he didn't just let you help—he let himself believe he needed it. he let himself accept the fact that he indeed, needs it.

you finally got him into bed, though he grumbled about not being tired. but the second his head hit the pillow, you could tell—he was exhausted.

yet, he didn't sleep.

he just laid there, staring at the ceiling, breathing too controlled, too careful.

"you're thinking too much," you whispered, running your fingers through his hair.

he huffed. "i don't think that's possible."

you smiled. "wanna bet?"

he rolled onto his side, looking at you, with an unreadable expression. "what if i wake up in a panic again?"

"then i'll be here."

his brows furrowed. "you shouldn't have to deal with that."

"jason." you stroked your thumb over his cheek, soft( is what you thought when your hand came in contact with his soft cheek, & is what jason thought when his cheek came in contact with your soft hand. )

"loving you doesn't mean only staying for the easy parts. i want to be here. always."

he breathed slowly, like he was struggling to let himself believe you. maybe it would take time. but right now, he was here, letting you hold him, & that was enough.

he brought you closer still, his hand lying flat upon your waist, fingers just tight enough on the shirt to cling. "you're too good for me," he murmured against your skin.

"& you're an idiot," you whisper back.

▌⠀࣪ 🍒 ،، ٠ 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒗𝒔��，﹞ my works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. mwah !

[mikaylathenerd5]

NSFW Alphabet ~ YAD Series Edition

*I do not own the gif*

You Already Do Masterlist ৹ Main Masterlist ৹ Join My Taglist

A/N: I know I did an update yesterday but SNME made a girl sad af, so here is something from my drafts I've been sitting on. I do also have a fluff alphabet for Roman and Shiloh as well if you guys want more.

This is my first time posting an nsfw alphabet.

A = Aftercare Roman is all about aftercare, even if he’s still panting with sweat slicking his chest. He talks her through it—"You with me, baby?"—and rubs gentle circles into her thighs while laying kisses to her neck. He’ll run a bath for her, bring water to her lips, and make sure she’s wrapped in one of his hoodies after. He’ll even carry her if her legs are shaking too much to walk.

B = Body Part (favorite) On her: Her hips and thighs. Roman’s hands automatically land there, whether he’s fucking her from behind or pulling her into his lap. He gets feral when they jiggle while she’s riding him. On him: Shiloh secretly loves his back. The muscle, the warmth, the way she can claw her nails down it and leave him gasping. Her second favorite? That damn vein that runs along his dick—it drives her crazy.

C = Cum He always finishes inside. He likes watching it drip out of her, a low growl in his throat as he pushes it back in with two thick fingers. Roman talks her through every orgasm with praise and filth: “Lemme see how full you are, baby. That’s it — my good girl, takin’ all of me.”

Shiloh gets flustered but secretly loves when he talks her through it: “You’re taking me so good, letting me fill you up, huh?”

D = Dirty Talk Top-tier. His voice alone is sinful — low, deep, deliberate. He whispers nasty shit in her ear while keeping eye contact:

“You like how deep I am, huh? Look at you. So pretty tryna take it all.”

Shiloh blushes but it turns her on even more — and he loves teasing her about that.

E = Experience

Roman’s had his fun before Shiloh—but none of it mattered until her. Shiloh’s more reserved, but with Roman, she learns herself through him. He’s gentle and patient, even when he’s rough. He teaches her how good it’s supposed to feel—with no shame, no pressure, just full trust.

F = Favorite Position Roman: Missionary with her knees by her ears so he can kiss her and go deep. Or sitting on the couch with her in his lap, letting her ride. Shiloh: Anything that lets her watch his face as he loses control. She also secretly loves it when he bends her over the bathroom sink.

G = Gratification (Who finishes first?)

Shiloh, almost always. Roman gets off on her pleasure. He edges himself just to watch her fall apart again and again. When he finally lets himself finish, it’s usually with her name in his throat and his whole body shaking.

H = Hair Roman trims, but leaves just enough for a natural look. Shiloh keeps things neat and soft down there—usually waxed or trimmed. Roman doesn’t care either way; he’ll bury his face in her either way and come back messy.

I = Intimacy

Through the roof. Even when they’re slow, it’s heavy. Breathless. Like time doesn’t exist and the only thing that matters is skin, voice, connection. He makes love to her like he’s been starved of softness his whole life.

J = Jack Off

He’ll do it when she’s away, but he prefers to wait. He likes building it up. Shiloh once walked in on him jerking off to a video she sent him—face buried in her pillow, grunting her name. Instead of being embarrassed, he just said: “You wanna sit on it?”

K = Kinks

Size kink (his favorite), praise/degradation mix, mirror play, oral fixation (especially giving), and possessive dominance.

L = Location

Has no shame. Their condo kitchen counter? Done. His private locker room before a match? Yes. The shower? Always. But his favorite is their bed after a long day—dim lighting, soft playlist, and all night to ruin her.

M = Morning Sex

His favorite time. He wakes up hard, lazy, and needy. Slow grinding under the covers. Hand between her thighs. A kiss behind her ear. Her sleepy “mmhm” turns into gasps while he fills her from behind, warm and aching. No rush. Just closeness.

N = No

He will never degrade her in a way that feels unsafe. No slapping, no calling her out her name. He’s not into sharing either. She’s his. Shiloh doesn’t like being fully restrained (trauma-related). Roman never pushes it.

O = Oral (Giving/Receiving)

Roman loves eating her out. Like. Loves it. Pulls her to the edge of the bed, arms hooked around her thighs, making her cum over and over with filthy praise.

Shiloh gets shy giving but he loves it. The way she takes her time, looking up at him with wide eyes? He’ll fist her hair and whisper “You’re doin’ so good, baby… fuck, don’t stop.”

P = Pace

He adapts. Roman can go slow and grinding, or deep and punishing. But his favorite is somewhere in between—enough to make Shiloh moan uncontrollably, but still feel everything. He loves hearing the difference in her breath when he changes rhythm.

Q = Quickies

Only if they have to. He prefers time to worship her.

But if she kisses him right in front of the mirror before a dinner date? He’ll bend her over the bathroom counter in five seconds flat.

R = Risky

Back of the car. On the balcony. Hotel elevators. They’ve definitely done it in a WWE private jet bathroom. And once in the locker room after a match — Roman still in gear, pressed up against the wall, muffling her moans with his hand.

S = Stamina

Endless. Man’s a freak of nature. Could go for hours. He’ll give her two rounds, a water break, then three more if she wants it. He’ll go until her voice is gone and her thighs are trembling. Then he’ll hold her all night.

T = Toys

He’s open to toys if she brings them in. Likes vibrating toys used during penetration or when he’s gone and she needs help. But nothing replaces him. He smirks and says, “Cute little thing. But let me show you what that pussy really needs.”

U = Unusual Turn-On

Roman gets hard when she’s focused — on work, on reading, on anything. That soft concentration, biting her lip? Drives him crazy.

Shiloh? His voice. Doesn’t matter what he’s saying — if it’s deep and low and close to her ear? She’s wet. Instantly.

V = Volume

Roman grunts, growls, moans low. When he’s close? He curses in a deep rasp, sometimes in Samoan.

Shiloh’s soft at first with whimpers, breathy moans—but gets loud if overstimulated. He loves pushing her to that edge where she’s whimpering “Roman, Roman, Roman—”

W = Wild Card

Once, he accidentally made her squirt and they both froze like: “...did that just happen?”

Now? It’s a game to get her there again. He’s obsessed with finding the exact angle, using his fingers and tongue while she begs and curls into the sheets. “You gonna give it to me again, baby? Let go.”

X = X-Ray (Size)

He’s thick. Long enough that she needs to adjust every time he enters. Girth that makes her mouth fall open.

Roman always goes slow that first stretch, murmuring, “Almost there, baby. Just a little more.”

Y = Yearning Roman craves her constantly. He’ll text her while she’s at work like, “I miss you. I need to taste you tonight.” Shiloh’s the only person who makes him feel safe and seen—he yearns for her in every way, physical and emotional. If they’re apart, he’s short-tempered. He aches until he’s inside her again.

Z = ZZZ (Sleep) After sex, Roman holds her tight, fingers tangled with hers, one leg slung over her waist. He knocks out fast, his breathing deep and warm against her shoulder. Shiloh usually drifts off tracing the tattoos on his chest or the curve of his jaw. She sleeps best with him beside her.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Almost, Always | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Chapter Two

← Previous Chapter Next Chapter →

A story of almosts, maybes, and finallys. You and Sebastian Sallow have loved each other for years, just never at the right time.

Words: ~2,500

Series Tags: Modern AU, Post-Hogwarts, Auror!Sebastian Sallow, Cursebreaker!MC, Modern Magical AU, Female Reader Insert, Mid-Size / Plus-Size Female Protagonist, Friends to Lovers, Long-Term Mutual Pining, Slow Burn Romance, Missed Timing, Second Chances, Grief and Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Body Image Issues, Fluff, Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending

Content Warnings: Sexual Assault, Trauma, Abortion (Non-Descriptive), Strong Emotional Themes

Chapter Track: Wish You Were Here, Pink Floyd

Special thanks to @sunnyrealist for beta-ing the plot of this story and @dreamy-gal-30 for beta-ing the chapter drafts! I could not do this without you!

Sebastian, Age 19

Sebastian's boots echoed off the slick cobblestones as he turned the corner near Diagon Alley, wand loose in his hand, shoulders hunched against the London drizzle. The fog had settled in again, clinging to every lamp post like it was trying to smother the city. It was cold, damp, and miserably grey.

"This is what I get for scoring top marks," he muttered under his breath. "To be a glorified hallway monitor."

He was on patrol. Low-stakes, boring, uneventful. Nothing but puddles and pigeons for company. Still, he went through the motions—checking alley mouths, scanning corners, making a show of alertness for the benefit of no one. His breath fogged in the air, and he clenched his jaw to keep from shivering.

It had been almost a year since he last saw you in person.

You were supposed to be here. You. Him. Ominis. The three of you had talked about it like it was fate. But when it came time to sign the Auror contracts, you'd backed out. Signed on for a Cursebreaker apprenticeship halfway across the world, instead.

Sebastian didn’t know what hurt more—that you’d left in the first place, or that he didn't understand why.

He slowed near a bench just outside Flourish & Blotts, pulled his phone from his pocket, and stared at the screen.

No new messages.

Not that he’d expected one.

You never had proper reception. Not in the mountains of Peru or the ruins outside Petra or wherever you’d ended up this week. Half your messages came through hours or days late, sometimes sent three times in a row when your connection finally caught up.

Sebastian still read every one the second it arrived, though.

He thumbed through your chat thread. It was miles long with a thousand half-finished conversations, stupid memes, pictures of cursed artifacts you’d found on digs, and voice memos sent at odd hours. Yet, somehow, it still never felt like enough.

Impulsively, Sebastian hit record.

“It’s miserable out tonight," he started. "Proper swamp weather. Nearly slipped on wet moss outside a pub earlier and broke my arse in front of a delivery guy. Very dignified Auror moment.”

He started walking again, keeping his voice low and casual.

“Anyway. I’m on central patrol this week, so that’s exciting. If by exciting you mean soul-crushingly boring. You know what this job really needs? A mandatory tea break. Maybe with biscuits. The good kind, too. Not the dry ones Ominis keeps buying ‘because they were on sale.’”

He paused as the rain began to pick up again, slicking his curls to his forehead.

“London’s bloody dull without you, Cursebreaker. Place feels off-balance or something. Like it’s missing… I don’t know. Its charm.”

A breath. He almost said you, but didn’t.

“I miss your voice,” he muttered, then immediately added, “Your updates, I mean. Voice memos.”

He cringed at himself, then scrubbed a hand through his hair, letting the phone fall to his side for a moment before lifting it again.

“Anyway. Message back if you don’t get eaten by a vault. Or cursed. Or married to a desert spirit or whatever it is you lot do out there.”

He hit send before he could change his mind. And then, like a bloody idiot, he played one of your old voice notes just to hear your voice again. You were laughing about a cursed lamp in Romania that kept turning itself upside down. Something about it "throwing shade" in the most literal sense. He'd heard it a dozen times by now, maybe more.

He closed his eyes for a second, letting the sound settle deep in his chest. It didn’t fix the cold. Didn’t fix the ache that had taken up permanent residence somewhere just behind his ribs. But it helped.

And then, just like that, the moment passed.

Sebastian tucked his phone back into his coat, adjusted his wand holster, and kept walking, jaw tight. The streets were still, save for the occasional flicker of movement in a shop window or a cat darting across the street.

By the time he got home later that night, the drizzle had soaked through his coat. He let himself inside and kicked off his boots in the narrow entry.

The place was cozy but chaotic. Hoodies were draped over chairs, books were stacked two and three high on every surface. One of Ominis’s records was spinning lazily on the old player in the corner.

Sebastian shrugged off his coat and slung it over the back of the couch, glancing toward the kitchen table.

There it was. Your postcard. The newest one.

Ominis must have grabbed it from the mailroom.

He walked over and picked it up. It was from Morocco. The cardstock was sun-bleached at the edges, like it had soaked in the heat of the place it came from. A photograph of winding alleyways and vibrant market stalls stretched across the front.

Sebastian turned it over.

Don’t trust the carpets here. They bite.

You’d signed it with your usual scrawl and your usual little drawing. This time, it was a snarling rug with big eyes and stubby fangs.

He smiled despite himself. Then he walked to his bedroom and pinned it on the mirror next to all the others. There were so many now he could hardly see his reflection anymore, but he didn’t move them.

They were like breadcrumbs, proof that you still existed in his world, even if only in pieces of parchment and ink.

Some of them were wrinkled from being carried too long in a pocket. A few were stained with tea or rain. One still smelled faintly of firewood. And every single one bore your name in that loopy, impatient script followed by a silly little doodle.

He stared at the newest addition, its corner brushing up against one from Greece. You’d drawn a cyclops in a sunhat on that one.

Sebastian’s throat tightened.

He hadn’t seen you in person in a year. Hadn’t heard your laugh in real time, hadn’t had to argue with you over who got the last biscuit or listen to you mutter under your breath while you annotated your notes or corrected his with that annoying little “actually” voice you used when you knew you were right and wanted him to know it too.

He missed that. Missed you.

The real you. Not the ghost that lived in postcards and voice memos and a dozen shared memories he couldn’t stop replaying. Not the version he built up in his head at night when he lay in bed and tried to imagine what your hair looked like in Egypt, or whether you still wore that jumper with the frayed cuffs when it got cold.

He didn’t want breadcrumbs. He wanted the whole thing. The full story. The truth about why you left and why you stayed gone.

He fell back onto his unmade bed, eyes drifting to the ceiling as the ache in his chest deepened.

Sebastian was about to go over it again. That conversation in the Undercroft. The one where you’d told him you’d changed your mind and you weren’t joining the Auror program after all. That you'd been offered something else, a Cursebreaker apprenticeship, a chance to travel, to learn, to do something different.

He was right there again, the phantom of that moment wrapping around him like a noose—“It’s not that I don’t want to, Bas. It’s just… I have to see what this becomes”—but then the front door creaked open and shut.

Boots. A coat being shrugged off. The telltale click of the record player being turned down.

Then footsteps padded down the hallway.

The bedroom door creaked open, and Ominis stepped inside, arms crossed, brows lifted in that way that said he was preparing a lecture.

“You’re lying on top of the covers again,” he said evenly. “Which either means you’re procrastinating laundry, or you’re back on your mopey warpath. Judging by the smell of wet wool and despair, I’m guessing the latter.”

Sebastian didn’t move. “Good to see you too, sunshine.”

"So you got the postcard."

Sebastian didn’t answer. Just let out a long, tired exhale.

Ominis sighed. “You know, for someone who insists she’s just your best friend, it’s a bit strange you’ve got twenty-three of those things pinned up like religious icons.”

"Who's counting." Sebastian muttered.

“You,” Ominis replied dryly.

Sebastian let out a frustrated sound, somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “You don’t get it.”

"No?" Ominis stepped further into the room, pulling out the desk chair and flipping it backward before sitting with his arms crossed on the top. “Enlighten me, then. Because I'm pretty sure she's my best friend too, Sebastian, but I haven't got a bloody shrine to her on my mirror.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “It’s not a shrine.”

“Oh no, of course not,” Ominis said, deadpan. “It’s a completely normal, emotionally detached collection of travel correspondence from the girl you’re definitely not in love with.”

Sebastian flopped back onto the bed with a groan and covered his face with one arm.

"Look, I miss her, alright? Is that what you wanted me to say?"

“No."

Sebastian dragged his arm off his face and sat up. “Fine. I’m in love with someone who’s halfway across the bloody world and barely returns my messages. Happy?”

“Yes!” Ominis said, throwing his hands up. “Because it’s true! Everyone knows it! Hell, the portrait downstairs in the lobby probably knows it, and he’s stuck in 1762. Everyone knows except maybe her. Though frankly, I'd be shocked if she hasn’t figured it out by now."

Sebastian leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it might hold some kind of answer. “If she knew and she ever felt the same, she would’ve stayed.”

Ominis sighed. "Feelings are messy, Sebastian. You’ve got her floating somewhere between saint and myth but she’s a person. She gets scared and bleeds just like everyone else."

Sebastian didn’t say anything.

“You want to know what I think?" Ominis leaned forward. "I think she loved you. But I also think you spent your time screwing around with Samantha Dale and she didn’t know how to come back from that.”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched. “That’s not true.”

Ominis raised an eyebrow. “How do you think you'd have felt if she spent her time shagging Leander?"

Sebastian visibly recoiled. “That’s disgusting.”

“Exactly,” Ominis said, voice dry.

“...Samantha and I weren’t serious,” Sebastian muttered eventually, but it sounded pathetic even to his own ears.

“That doesn’t matter.” Ominis shook his head. “You can’t fuck someone else and expect the girl you actually want to wait around until you finally grow a pair and confess your feelings."

Sebastian stood up, restless. He paced across the room, running a hand through his hair. “What do you want me to do, then? Send a dramatic owl apologizing? Apparate halfway across the world and declare myself like some tragic protagonist in a shitty romance novel?”

“Well for starters,” Ominis said, arms still folded. “I want you to stop trying to shag the feelings out of your system.”

Sebastian scoffed. “Oh, come on, Samantha and I broke up a year ago—”

“—and how many girls have there been since?” Ominis cut in sharply. “Don’t play dumb, Sebastian. And it’s not just about your emotional masochism. At this point, it’s logistical. I never know when I’m going to walk into the kitchen and find some half-dressed stranger rifling through our pantry or asking me how I make my coffee blind.”

Sebastian blinked. “Have they actually asked that?"

“Twice. Once last month, and once two weeks before that."

Sebastian scrubbed a hand down his face, groaning. “Merlin, I’m sorry.”

“She asked if I needed help finding the cream,” Ominis said with the tone of a man long-suffering. “I told her the only thing I needed was for her to leave.”

Sebastian wheezed. “That’s brutal.”

“Necessary,” Ominis countered. “Especially considering the fact that every single one of them looks or sounds like her."

Sebastian stilled.

"Height, hair, voice, laugh. One of them even had that same ridiculous habit of talking with her hands like she was trying to conduct an orchestra.”

Sebastian stared at the floor, jaw tight.

"Look," Ominis said with a sigh. “I’m not saying this to be cruel. It's just it feels like your holding auditions for a poor man’s version of the girl you actually want. But trust me when I say you’re not sleeping your way out of this. You're not going to find her in these strangers, Sebastian."

“I’m not trying to make it harder," Sebastian dropped onto the edge of the bed again with a sigh. "I’m just— what else am I supposed to do, Ominis? She left. She didn’t tell me why. She’s off in whatever ancient tomb or mountain or market, living her life, and I’m supposed to just… what? Sit here and pine?”

“Yes,” Ominis said, dry as dust. “With a modicum of grace, preferably.”

Sebastian shot him a look. “You are the worst therapist.”

Ominis smiled, faint and fond. “Only because I’ve had eight years of practice dealing with you.”

Sebastian snorted. “That sounds like grounds for sainthood.”

“Or institutionalization,” Ominis said with a lopsided grin. “But we’ll see which comes first.”

Sebastian dropped his head into his hands. Ominis let the quiet settle between them for a moment, then leaned forward, voice softening just slightly.

“She didn’t leave because she didn’t care.”

Sebastian lifted his head, brow furrowed. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Ominis said firmly. “I know her. And I know you. And you two were never casual about each other."

The silence that followed stretched long and taut between them, full of all the things Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to say out loud. The sound of the rain tapping faintly against the windowpane filled the space instead.

Eventually, Ominis stood up slowly, brushing nonexistent lint from his trousers. “Come on,” he said, tone lighter now. “Let’s go get a pint. You look like you need one, and I definitely do after all this emotional labor.”

Sebastian huffed a laugh. “You really know how to lift a bloke’s spirits.”

“It’s one of my many gifts,” Ominis said, already heading for the door. “You’ve got five minutes to put on a clean shirt or I’m going without you.”

The door clicked shut behind him. Sebastian didn’t move right away. Just sat there on the edge of the bed, staring at the carpet.

Then, with a quiet exhale, he reached for his phone to open your text conversation.

The voice memo he’d sent earlier still sat unopened. He typed out a text anyway.

Got the postcard. Still can’t decide if that doodle’s supposed to be adorable or a direct threat. Either way, Morocco looks insane.

He paused, then added.

Miss your voice, Cursebreaker. Even the ‘actually, Sebastian…’ tone.

He hit send, slipped the phone back into his pocket, and changed into a clean shirt before following Ominis out the door.

← Previous Chapter Next Chapter →

Banner Credit

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

okay I made this point rather pissily in the replies to some post or other, so I will try to make it again a little calmer in its own post but

my least favourite thing about the backlash to Andor overall and especially Season 2 and the resurgence of the discussion about the versions Rogue One went through as it became the movie we got (which is great and very interesting and Jesus Christ, some justice for Gareth Edwards and his team!!)... is this weird vibe I'm starting to get from a lot of people where "we really, really like this imperfect but very good movie" is shifting into "there was a version of this movie that I would have loved, but instead we got the worst version".

Like, I'm not trying to tell you what to think! And I too would be interested to see the original plans for the story! But... sort of in the same way I would love to see more concept art for my favourite animated films: because I'm interested in the craft and the process, not because I think the unfinished version was better and Tony Gllroy "ruined" it.

Because friends, let's face it: He didn't. We would all not be here if he had. We loved the movie that we saw in theatres, and we got attached to the Jyn we saw in theatres - and I use "we" deliberately, because I've seen all the gorgeous fanwork you all have made about the story we got over the years. And - again! - I'm not saying I wouldn't be interested in seeing a second version, one where Jyn was allowed to be more consistent with her backstory, and be a badass criminal, and one where we get an explicit romance. But honestly? I don't think I would have fallen in love with that story nearly as much as I did with the one we got.

I liked that Jyn wasn't mostly badass competent girlboss at the start. I'm not saying that she necessarily would have turned out to be some sad sexist caricature like... other... Star Wars ladies - but honestly, I have characters like that. And we got characters like that, by the way, because we got Saw! But mostly, honestly, I always thought "we're all Rebels, aren't we" and "I rebel" were kind of cringe, and I was delighted that they weren't in the final product. Because I think it's weird how they imply that being a rebel is sort of a purpose in itself for her - like it's not about who or what she's opposing so much as that she's being rebellious and contrarian and not like other girls people. That's something you see in fiction a lot, and it's always something that has never felt very real to me. That's not a sustainable motivation! You don't loose everything you have and keep going just because "fighting back" is who you are. And also, as someone extremely steeped in people privileged enough to exist and persist through two dictatorships in three generations by keeping their heads down, "it's not a problem if you don't look up" hit me like a ton of bricks. It's so good. It's so real. And Felicity Jones is a good enough actress to deliver that line in the one way that makes it work, where you can tell she doesn't mean it, and doesn't believe in it, but believes that it's the only way to live - and hates herself for believing that, and adheres to it anyway. I think allowing her to initially give in to survival instinct instead of being the brave strong self-sacrificing hero the story wants her to be is fascinating, and honestly narratively way cooler than having her also be a committed rebel who will stop at nothing to attain her goals. We already have that character. It's Cassian.

The way some people in my niche, who I know love this character and this movie at least as much as I do, are taking to talking about Jyn and the movie as a whole feels kind of disingenuous to me. And again, I'm not saying they're lying about their stances to make a point or anything. I'm just saying I think some of us are starting to loose the forest for the trees at this point. Like did you really always think that Jyn was actually a bad part of this movie and that she was a squandered opportunity and that she conformed too much to what the sad old brothers Gllroy want women to be? Because I think in many ways Jyn became a little better of a female character via the changes - the only thing that's changed post Andor is realising that this was probably fully an accident. Because yes, they were trying to diminish her and tone her down, but I actually think that turned out very much for the best. It gave her more of an arc, and also it allowed her to be flawed in an uncool way, which female protagonists are so rarely afforded. It wouldn't have struck me as much if her flaw had been that she was ruthless and efficient (which, again, she still is in the movie we got, we just don't see as much of it). She got to be imperfect in a way that isn't admirable, but human, and I really think that's better, and I'm willing to bet a lot of you also thought that. Don't let it get lost in the very valid criticism of Gllroy's unending sexism towards his leading ladies, but especially towards Jyn.

Also, is his obsession with who Cassian is and isn't fucking and is and isn't in love with at any point in his life deeply strange and offputting? Sure is! Doesn't change the fact that I think the change from a semi-established relationship that ends in survival and marriage to an unspoken blossoming something that got cut short by a heroic act of sacrifice is a better story. Again, I am discovering that Gllroy apparently didn't understand what he did right at all, but it is a better story. Also, sorry to say, I will sooner take all the meekness and reduction in the female lead and all the Bor Gullet nonsense over not having this story end in a total party kill. Everything this movie is to me came from the fact that they went there knowing it was suicide and then it was. Because that is so rare, and such an infinitely good, correct move for all those characters and the story they're in. Again, just my two cents, but this strange new drift that actually, we always thought all of the changes were kind of bad and oh if we could only live in the world where we got the og story... I get that you're curious, but I'm also very, very certain that I would still prefer the version we got. Even if Gllroy clearly had all the wrong reasons for changing it and it's great someone is calling that out, I still think ultimately we all got so upset with it because we did love the story that we got, and I'm getting a little tired of people increasingly acting like that wasn't any good, actually.

You're giving this clown too much credit.

[ephemeralp1eces]

You Don’t Have to Choose if No One Makes You - Part VIII

Summary: It finally happens, with both of them. And it’s so much better than you ever imagined.

What to Know: smut!! Lando x reader, Oscar x reader. Threesome.

wc; ~6,200

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII

We hadn’t planned on it happening that night. But it had been coming for a while.

All the teasing. The sideways looks. The knowing touches. The careful proximity.

By the time the three of us ended up back in my hotel suite. Again. Post-race, post-media, post-buzz, there was no more pretending.

It didn’t feel like a decision. More like a release.

We were exhausted but humming. Lando kicked off his shoes and immediately sprawled on the bed like he owned the place. Oscar leaned against the windowsill, drinking from the bottle of water he’d stolen from my fridge, watching me with that unreadable, calm gaze of his. I stood in the center of the room, still wearing Oscar’s jacket.

“You look like trouble,” Lando said, eyes half-lidded as he watched me.

“She is trouble,” Oscar murmured without looking away.

“Am I?” I asked.

Oscar smiled, slow. “You want both of us. That’s not nothing.”

Lando shifted on the bed. “Good thing we don’t mind.”

Oscar crossed the room. When he reached me, he didn’t say anything. Just held out his hand.

I took it.

Behind me, Lando got up , close enough that I could feel his presence at my back, heat radiating between us.

And suddenly, I was between them. Not metaphorically. Literally.

Oscar in front of me.

Lando behind me.

No one speaking.

No one rushing.

Then Lando’s fingers brushed my waist. Light, tentative. Oscar’s thumb ran along the edge of my knuckles.

I swallowed.

“You okay?” Oscar asked, quiet.

“Yeah,” I said. “Just… waiting.”

“For what?” Lando asked.

“For one of you to do something.”

Oscar smiled. “Then maybe we both should.”

—

It started slow.

Lando’s hands slid around my waist, firm and sure, his chest flush against my back.

Oscar leaned in close, one hand rising to cup my jaw, tilting my face toward his.

I felt Lando press a soft kiss behind my ear.

Felt Oscar kiss me, finally, mouth brushing mine with a confidence so gentle it almost hurt.

It was dizzying. Not because it was too much, but because it made sense. Like the missing piece of a story we’d been telling in glances and jokes and late-night pacing. Lando nuzzled the side of my neck, murmuring something that sent a pulse through me. Oscar deepened the kiss, just a little - a soft inhale, a hand sliding up my back.

I turned, breath caught, and Lando kissed me next.

Wilder. Hotter. Like he’d been waiting for an excuse to stop holding back. When I finally pulled away, both of them were watching me. Not fighting. Not competing.

Just there.

Wanting me.

Wanting this.

Together.

“Still with us?” Lando asked.

“Very,” I breathed.

Oscar brushed my cheek. “Then come here.”

—

Their hands overlapped as they undressed me, coordinating without speaking. Fingers brushed, gazes crossed, and somehow it didn’t feel strange, it felt inevitable.

Oscar pulled my shirt up and off, lifting my arms, while Lando kissed the strip of exposed skin at the small of my back. When Oscar unhooked my bra, Lando stepped back just long enough to watch, his eyes heated but soft.

“You’re beautiful,” Lando murmured.

Oscar didn’t say anything. He just looked at me like he’d been thinking that the whole time.

I pulled both of them back toward me, kissing Lando again. He responded immediately, all tongue, soft groans, hands gripping my waist like he needed something to anchor him. Lando kissed like he felt everything. Like he couldn’t help it. Oscar moved behind me this time, pressing warm, even kisses down my spine, kneeling as he dragged my jeans down my hips. His hands were firm, sure, fingertips teasing at my thighs, then my calves as he helped me step out of them. By the time I was down to nothing, I was already unsteady. But they were both still half-dressed.

“You two gonna catch up?” I managed, breathless.

Lando grinned. “You first.”

Oscar stood behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, kissing my bare shoulder as he looked down at me in the mirror above the dresser.

“You want both of us?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Then lie down.”

—

I did.

Back against the sheets, head tilted toward the warm lamplight, I watched as they undressed. Slowly, casually, like they were making me wait on purpose.

Lando pulled his hoodie off first, then his shirt, revealing soft abs and the kind of lean muscle that made him look boyish until he moved. Oscar peeled his shirt off more neatly, quieter, calm even now. His body was more solid. Grounded. They were built so differently, and somehow it made sense.

Lando was grinning when he crawled onto the bed beside me, bracing himself over my body.

“You ready?” he asked.

“I’ve been ready.”

He kissed me, deeper this time. No playfulness now, just need. One of his hands slid between my legs, fingers spreading me open. His touch was eager, fast, circling my clit until my hips lifted off the bed. Oscar joined us a beat later, sitting on my other side, one hand resting on my thigh.

“Slow down,” he told Lando.

Lando didn’t look away from me. “She likes it fast.”

“She likes it well.”

And then Oscar leaned down and kissed me too, not on the mouth this time, but lower. He trailed kisses down my chest, over my stomach, and between my legs.

I gasped.

Oscar’s tongue moved slowly, deliberately, flicking and pressing in just the right rhythm while Lando kissed the side of my neck, his fingers back between my legs, working in tandem with Oscar’s mouth.

It was overwhelming. Two completely different styles, blending together like they'd done this before.

Lando was vocal. Every time I moaned or moved, he murmured something: “That’s it, baby,” or “You like that?” or just a low, drawn-out fuck.

Oscar was focused. Breathing heavy, hands gripping my thighs, entirely silent except for the low hum of satisfaction when I writhed under his tongue.

When I finally came; hips shaking, breath caught, one hand in Lando’s hair and the other fisted in the sheets, they didn’t stop.

Oscar kissed up my body, slow and reverent. Lando held my face in both hands and kissed me like he felt it, like the sound of my orgasm had gone straight to his chest.

“You okay?” Oscar asked gently, brushing sweat-damp hair from my forehead.

I smiled, dazed. “More than.”

Lando laughed, leaning down to kiss me again, already shifting his body between my legs.

“Then let’s see how many times we can get you there.”

—

Lando went first. He was eager, rougher around the edges. He moved inside me with the energy of someone who had been imagining this for a long time. His mouth stayed on mine. His hand slipped under my thigh. He whispered everything; how good I felt, how badly he’d wanted this, how he wasn’t going to last long, until he was buried to the hilt and coming with a deep groan against my shoulder.

He stayed there for a moment, trembling slightly, forehead resting against mine.

Then he kissed me one more time and moved aside, breathless but smiling.

Oscar was already beside us, palming himself slowly, eyes on me like he’d been patient long enough.

“Still want me?” he asked, low.

I nodded. “Always.”

He didn’t rush.

Oscar stretched my legs open again and entered me slowly, deliberately. The pace was completely different, less frantic, more intentional. He held my gaze the entire time, one hand laced with mine, the other resting against my hip.

He kissed me only once. A slow, deep kiss that told me everything he felt without needing to say a word.

And when he came, it was with a sharp exhale and a quiet, broken moan against my neck.

Afterwards, he lay beside me, one hand still tangled in mine, breath slowing.

Lando reached out from the other side, tracing lazy circles on my thigh.

The room was quiet, heavy with heat and sweat and something else entirely.

Something real.

—

We lay there for a long time. Bodies tangled. No one talking. No one needing to.

Eventually, Lando murmured, “So that’s what that’s like.”

Oscar smiled. “Better than karting.”

I laughed, too tired to move. “You’re both insane.”

“But satisfied,” Lando said, grinning.

Oscar met my eyes. “More than.”

Lando stretched, his hand brushing both of our shoulders. “So what now?”

I looked between them.

Oscar’s hand was still in mine.

Lando was still pressed against my side.

I didn’t know the answer yet.

But it felt like we’d just started the story we were all about to tell together.

And I was exactly where I wanted to be.

[bridgyrose]

Heres a prompt for you: Hanahaki Disease for Ruby Post V9. I'll let you decide on which of these two ships you'd rather do:

NND: Ruby never got the chance to tell Penny how she felt, now Penny is gone she literally can't and there's no cure.

Ladybug: Ruby didn't realise how deep her feelings for Blake were, but now Blake is with Yang, she refuses to ruin their happiness, even if it kills her.

Have fun~

(Ask and you shall receive. Enjoy the pain.)

Ruby could feel a pain in her chest as she watched Blake and Yang from a few tables away. She clutched at her chest as the words she wanted to say threatened to burst out of her heart, and yet, she couldnt seem to say those words. Maybe it was the fear of rejection or the worries of trying to ask out someone who was a little older than she was, but the feelings she bottled up made her feel like a cork ready to blow at any minute. 

“You’re staring again,” Weiss said between sips of her bubble tea. “If its bothering you that Yang’s dating someone-” 

“N-no, its not… I know Yang’s spent a long time giving up her life to take care of me, so its nice to see her go after something she wants.” 

“Then what is the problem? You’ve been watching them ever since we got her.” 

“Its… nothing,” Ruby lied as she turned around and tried to focus on her strawberry scone. Not that she had much of an appetite. “Lets talk about something else.” 

Weiss rolled her eyes and sighed. “Ruby, you cant keep avoiding your feelings like this. We’re not in the Ever After anymore and I dont… I cant lose you like that again.” 

Ruby winced at the words. “I-its not like that anymore.” 

“Then what is it?” 

“I-I-” Ruby paused as she felt a tingle in the back of her throat. She picked up a napkin and coughed into it. Once she pulled it away, she paused when she saw a single, black rose petal sitting in it. “Maybe I’m worried we’re getting a bit complacent.” 

“A bit… complacent?” Weiss asked. 

“Y-yeah! Sure, we stopped Salem and saved Remnant, but if you think about it, we could be doing more. Grimm attacks didnt stop just because she’s gone.” 

“No, but I think we earned more than just a little down time.” Weiss finished her drink and pushed the empty cup aside. “We spent a year facing down Salem and her followers, watched a kingdom fall, lost many good friends… maybe its time to, I dont know, settle down?” 

Ruby nodded, but once again found herself looking over at Blake. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that.” 

“This is about Blake, isnt it?” Weiss finally asked.

“N-no!” 

“Then why are you staring at her?” 

“B-because I… I’m not…” Ruby looked away and started to get up. “I think its time for me to go. Thanks for inviting me.” 

Weiss reached out to Ruby, her voice a quiet whisper. “You shouldnt hold back your feelings for her. Tell her how you feel. Even if it wont change anything, it’ll help.”

“I’m not going to ruin what she and Yang have,” Ruby said quietly as she pulled away from Weiss. “Besides, I’ve moved on. Its for the best.” 

“If you say so.” 

Ruby flashed a soft smile to Weiss and started to walk out, her eyes avoiding Blake. Soon, she was out of the cafe and started to make her way through the streets of Vacuo with the sun beating down on her skin. All she needed was a distraction, or at least a mission. So she pulled out her scroll and started to look at the mission board postings. Though, she was quick to be disappointed when she saw all the missions had been taken already as she scrolled through them all. 

There was another tingle at the back of her throat and she started to cough. She quickly covered her mouth with a cloth to hide that a few more black rose petals left her lips, though as a warm breeze started to pick up, it wasnt long before the petals were fluttering in the wind again. Each breath seemed to make her chest twinge in pain as it felt like something was constricting around her heart. 

Ruby took a deep breath to calm herself and started to make her way back to the hotel. While the rose petals werent an unfamiliar sight, every time she saw them her heart raced and her chest felt like it was constricted. But the pain always seemed to fade, though never disappearing. Just lingering out of sight. 

She stopped at the hotel door, another coughing fit taking over as she coughed out a few more petals, these ones red. Her heart started to race as if it was ready to burst out of her chest and her vision started to blur. Once she was finished coughing, she opened the door and started to stumble to her room.

Each step felt heavier than the last as she moved through the hallway, her arm bumped up against the wall as she tried to keep standing upright. Finally, Ruby made it to her room and tried to unlock the door, struggling to find her key card for the door. Her breathing started to become ragged as it felt like her lungs were being pressed against. Finally she found her key card and slid it into the reader, her vision going dark as she opened the door and collapsed. 

Ruby’s eyes slowly started to open again as the pain subsided. She groaned and slowly sat up, only to be pushed down again. 

“Dont you *dare* scare me like that again, you dolt!” Weiss half yelled at her. “I thought something happened to you!” 

Ruby blinked a bit and looked around, finding herself in her hotel room and laying in bed. “I-I’m not sure… I follow.” 

“You were found outside your door barely breathing with a few rose petals around you. Once you were safe to move, I moved you to your bed. Ruby, what’s going on?” 

“Its nothing-” 

“If it was nothing, you wouldnt have given me such a scare.” Weiss sighed and sat down next to Ruby. “Please, no more lies or trying to avoid this.” 

Ruby looked away, her lip quivered  and her throat felt dry as she tried to speak. “I-I’ve been… coughing up rose petals ever since Beacon fell.” 

“I see…” 

“But I’m fine!” Ruby sat up and put up a smile for Weiss. “In fact, I feel much better now. I guess a little rest has done the trick.” 

Weiss picked herself up off Ruby’s bed. “If you’re going to keep lying, then I should go.” 

“But I’m not-” 

“You’re not fine, Ruby. Those feelings you’ve been bottling up, they’re killing you. You have to tell her.” 

“I-I… I cant.” Ruby looked away from Weiss and to her lap. “I… dont know when I started to fall for her, but I know it was at some point while we were at Beacon. After Beacon fell, I felt like I lost my chance when she ran off, so I… pushed those feelings away. Going to Haven to find answers was supposed to be a distraction and let me move on. But then, she came back to us when Haven was attacked. I wanted to tell her then, but I… I saw the way she looked at Yang. I couldnt get the words out. 

“Then we started to go to Atlas, the train derailed… by the time I had another chance, she and Yang were inseparable. Then they finally got together in the Ever After and I… If I tell her now, it’ll sound like I’m trying to tear her away from Yang.” 

“Keeping your feelings bottled up hasnt seemed to help either.” 

“I… I know…” 

“You need to tell her. Trust me, you dont want this to get any worse.” 

“Trust me.” The words ran through Ruby’s mind as she watched Weiss walk off. She wasnt sure if Weiss had been speaking from experience or if she knew someone else this had happened to, but either way, she knew Weiss was right. She had to tell Blake how she felt. 

And yet, she couldnt. She’d find another way to cure herself, but right now wasnt the time to tell Blake. Not while Yang was finally happy. 

[coconutjelly]

This is just, like...350 words of Kon having the kind of O he deserves. Fun fact - this is finished, and the last couple parts are queued up to post today 😁

It’s probably a good thing, then, when Bernard’s voice cracks a bit during his Tim-flavored dirty talk. “Pet, you’re so– O-oh! Here it–fuck, don’t swallow yet, pet. I want to see it first.”

Kon releases Bernard’s cock from his mouth, and moves his spit-soaked fingers to palm his own dick again. He’s right on the edge of something explosive as he runs his TTK in sweet little tendrils across his thighs, his balls, around his hole, up his spine, down his ribs, anywhere that feels like being sweet to himself. He lets it feel like fingers stroking his skin with enough pressure to really feel them, but still so gentle, as if he could be hurt like this. Or maybe just like it would matter if he was.

He thinks of how it had felt, every time he’d made one of them come, trapped inside a condom. How Bernard’s cock had kicked and lurched in his ass, how Tim’s come filled the tip of the thing between them, how Bernard’s come had felt wrapped inside his TTK. He imagines Bernard’s cock kicking and lurching in his mouth to spill out his treat, with nothing in the way to keep him from finally tasting him, and he– he–

Kon comes much, much harder this time, his fingers still working his prostate, and his mind imagining a vague taste of sticky-sweet sour candy come in his mouth. It swells up, slow but unstoppable, starting somewhere between his hips, until he can’t hold it anymore and it shatters. Shards of white-hot pleasure skitter down the inside of his skin, embedding themselves so deep he hazily wonders if they’ll ever work their way out.

The faintest trace of mission protocol rises to prevent him from actually choking out civilian names in the field, but it’s an almost painful effort to restrain the cry that wants so badly to escape his mouth. He bites his lips together hard to keep it inside, and whimpers through the next wave of heady, bone-scraping pleasure that blossoms from his gut and grinds those shards into a shimmering warmth that sinks into every part of him.

Link to all snippets in this story

[cheekybarnes]

just wondering how many more oneshots you’re planning to post before you actually finish a seat at the table or point of impact. no shade, but it’s getting kind of hard to keep caring when you keep starting new things instead of following through.

hi there! just wanted to let you know that you maybe didn’t need to make this ask as rude as it came off :)

this the third of these types of anonymous inboxes i’ve received the past few weeks and i was willing to look beyond the first two, but i have a lot of feelings and things to say about this after this one. i truly hope you read it, respect it, and understand it:

i get it. you’re clearly invested in a seat at the table and point of impact, which i appreciate. truly. i love that those stories have found readers who care about what happens next. what i don’t love? the tone that drips from this message like it’s been sitting in a lukewarm glass of entitlement.

there’s been a HUGE uptick lately in bitchy-ass anons crawling out of the woodwork to complain about writers…writing. which is wild, considering every single one of us is doing this for free. free, babes. zero dollars. negative dollars if you count the hours of emotional labor, unpaid creative effort, and time sacrificed from our actual lives to write these stories. which, AGAIN, are available to you at the low, low cost of absolutely nothing.

so if i’m being honest? if you’re going to show up with that energy, i’m going to go ahead and match it. i’m going to throw it right back. because what we’re not going to do is pretend i owe anyone content on a schedule. i’m not amazon prime. i’m not a vending machine you get to kick until your next chapter drops out.

i’m a person. i have a full-time job. like, a real one. a 9–5 that pays my bills and eats my brain. i have a partner. i have friends. i have errands and grocery runs and laundry piles and migraines and plans that fall through and burnout that creeps in when i’m not looking. i have hobbies beyond writing, as shocking as that may be. i love writing, obviously, it’s why i’m here, but my entire existence does not revolve around serving up fic on demand.

i write what inspires me in the moment. and sometimes that’s a messy, emotional one-shot. sometimes it’s me finally chipping away at a draft for one of my series. sometimes it’s a request someone sends me. sometimes its something that came from instantaneous idea and i don’t want to let it go. and all of that? is valid. is mine. is part of the joy i get from being in fandom. this is supposed to be fun, not a second unpaid job where strangers audit my output like it’s a quarterly report.

and if you actually paid attention instead of tallying how many times i post new oneshots like you’re running a fic IRS you’d notice i do still update those series. they’re not abandoned. they are active WIPs that i care deeply about. but rushing them or forcing out chapters just to appease people who forgot that writers are humans is not the move. it leads to burnout. it leads to resentment. and it sure as hell doesn’t lead to good writing.

so yeah. i’ll keep posting what i want, when i want. whether that’s a new chapter or a chaotic little oneshot that dragged me out of bed at 1am. because this is my space. this is my joy. i WANT to share it with a community and have built a lovely rapport of mutuals. and if that’s not enough for you, there’s a simple solution: log off and go touch some grass.

or, and this is a wild idea, maybe just say thank you and enjoy the free content while it’s here.

have the day you deserve 🫶🏻

[thetrasha]

oughfff tasha that rosinante request was just so!!! made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside

but i come to you with another idea for a fic!! id love to see kid with reader that is so oblivious to his (questionable) advances- i thought this would be fun because i feel he would have such a hard time facing these feelings. now imagine him trying to do something about this while reader just thinks hes had a change of heart suddenly? theyre happily oblivious to the catastrophe that is him. the crew is losing their mind. kid is on the verge of throwing himself off a cliff.

i hope this isnt too specific for you, i tried to keep it vague yet give you a somewhat solid idea. as always take care of yourself and make sure to give yourself a break once in a while :') the weather is absolute hell and frankly you posting content so frequently amazes me but its also?? kind of concerning?? i mean if you arent getting burnout from all that then im happy for you but please dont push yourself too much,,,

Hellooooo, I finally got to this request ╰(*°▽°*)╯It took some time, but here we are~

I'm so glad you liked the Rosinante request, Alien anon let me cook with that one LOL It's a totally different vibe from this Kid request - especially because the reader is a very special flavour of "oblivious", but I'm proud of both works 🫡So yeah, I think this one is pretty good, too :D Hope you like it! It wasn't too specific at all, this is perfectly fine <33 Heads up, yep it's pretty long too sigh

PS. It's so sweet that you're worrying about me, but fret not! I write because I love doing this... and I'm at the height of my creative zen right now. Things will screech to a halt once I go back to uni so I'm as free as I can be currently (●'◡'●) I do take breaks! :D But I'll take your words to heart, I promise

The Devil's in the Details

feat. KID

You’d originally been recruited… because of your looks. Now, don’t get him wrong – he didn’t keep you around as eye candy, it’s just that… the Kid Pirates were a rather unconventional-looking bunch of misfits.

As much as everybody tried to deny it, appearance mattered… and they couldn’t get any reliable information out of anyone without threatening them. They were all social rejects in their own right – too brutish, to brash, too strange.

In a way, it had become their brand, and Kid even expressed that he liked to strike the fear of God in people who were too weak to speak to someone like him… but it had become a liability as soon as they entered the Grandline, far away from the regular Four Oceans where threats actually accomplished something. Grandline natives inhabiting all kinds of extremes, from prehistoric summer islands to high tech snowy tundras, were absolutely used to looting and pillaging if they didn’t raise another pirate’s flag, marking their territory – they simply weren’t impressed by some rookie nuisances, comparing their bounties – the very same that got them everything they wanted in the South Blue – to the Warlords or the Emperors instead… In these waters, people were used to real apex predators.

The Kid Pirates were turning entire villages into bloodbaths, not just because these fools disrespected their ambitions but also because nobody would even let them rent a room at an inn.

You looked plain compared to them – an ideal spy.

Well, not what you signed up for initially, but it has indeed become your de facto job among the crew. And since you were so sweet, people easily gave up information that could be useful. That’s indeed how the Victoria Punk avoided being captured by the Navy several times. People were just… eager to talk when the person they’re talking to exudes calm security and peace.

Nobody even suspected that you were a pirate. To be honest, most people assumed you were a pretty noble that has lost their way and somehow ended up in rundown inns and hostels looking for a place to sleep and recoup alongside your “friends”.

Of course, your recruitment went well… as well as it could considering the circumstances back then.

You were sent to military school as a young child, getting an education that far exceeded that of the Officers of the Victoria Punk, but you didn’t use it to actually enlist in the Navy after graduating – you’d almost joined the Revolutionary Army instead. And just before you could sail to their base all by yourself, having been prejudiced against for being low-born yourself during school and experiencing all kinds of bullying, you saw a saviour in those that wanted to overthrow the system.

But you just had to ram the Kid Pirates head-on, the collision rattling both of your ships to their very core.

You’d been interrogated for days even though most of the crew agreed to throw you overboard and leave your survival up to fate, but Kid wasn’t so sure about that course of action.

You intrigued him.

In fact, you reminded him of himself.

If life hadn’t been so rigged against him, he might have followed into your footsteps as well. Nobody would ever know – but that look in your eyes, that fire… it mirrored his own.

You were headstrong and knew what you wanted, and you wouldn’t rest until you got it. In your case, at that very moment, that was justice. Clearly, you wanted to punish everyone who’s ever wronged you and hunt them down like the arrogant swine they are, but Kid could offer you something better than that:

He offered retribution.

And you’d proven yourself… time and time again.

For someone who was easily able to manipulate and mark persons of interest, you were a dense klutz, though.

It was harmless in the beginning; you spent most of your time around the Officers, not because you were one of them, but… because Kid ordered you to stay by their side, preferably his. Killer shook his head every time the Captain said something along those lines, very much knowing that you didn’t need protection.

Besides, you were warming up to them and they could see your potential now… and they’ve seen it up-close, too. You were… different.

The more conventional you looked, the less conventional was your fighting style. You fought less like a pirate – much less a member of the Kid Pirates – and more like a marine. Now, it had its reasons, of course. Kid was aware of that…

But it was actually fascinating to watch you compensate your lacking strength with a perfect technique. You could wield many weapons effortlessly as long as you could lift them, which made you a versatile combatant.

...Alas, Kid often refused to let you storm into battle. You were supposed to be a scout, someone who’s… digging up other people’s secrets – not gaining a bounty of your own.

If only you weren’t… you, though.

“Look at you clowns! Pathetic. I could have helped but someone sent me flying into the sea because I happened to wear a cobalt necklace.”, you sneered at Heat, Killer and Kid who’d gotten badly injured after the ruins of a burning house – one that Heat set on fire – crashed down upon them.

You had barely been in their vicinity, watching from the mere sidelines as your sword clashed with someone else's from the village’s militia. Of course, you found yourself far away from that place just seconds later – so suddenly that even your previous opponent had to process this as well.

Now, you were sopping wet, but didn’t feel any different… because you had no Devil Fruit powers and could swim perfectly fine. Wire had been lightly injured compared to the rest, mainly because he simply side-stepped with his gigantic legs and left the other men to their demise.

“You dare speak to me like that, (Y/N)?!”, Kid argued back with a smirk on his face, using his own powers on you again by lifting you off the ground and letting your feet dangle in the air. Droplets fell onto the wooden deck like he was wringing you out, and you just looked at him like a feral cat.

“Shut up! If I didn’t know it any better, I would say you were trying to get yourself killed. You almost got grilled and decided to drop ME into open water, MAN!!! Don’t you think before you do anything?!”

Killer, Heat and Wire just sweatdropped at the frustrated growl Kid let out.

...And it only got worse from there.

“Made me tea, Captain? What’s going on? Have you and Killer switched bodies or something?”, you joked, taking the cup out of his hands. It was a herbal mixture, but smelled pretty sweet – just how you liked it.

“Killer brings you tea?”, Kid asks, gritting his teeth before plopping down next to you.

Originally, he… he didn’t know why he needed to do this, actually.

You were just cosily snuggling into your blankets during leisure in the common room and the Captain had been stuck in his workshop all day. For some reason, he thought this would help him wind down.

He was evidently wrong.

“He does. I mean, not every single day, but he says that he’s there to boil water anyway.”

“You like it when a man does these things for you?”, he asked with a huff, hogging one of your blankets now.

“Eh? I don’t really care about that, Captain. Killer’s my friend – nothing else.”

“That’s not what I as- You know what? Fucking forget it.”, Kid grumbled.

“Geez… sorry, you grump. Killer’s all yours, Kid.”, you said, rolling your eyes.

And you swore his menacing aura sent shivers down your spine.

And worse…

“You’re insufferable. I hate you!”, Kid shouted with a blush as soon as you insisted he’d undress under your impatient gaze.

You’ve noticed that Kid’s stump had been plaguing him, painful tingles making him stop dead in his tracks whenever he had to lift what was left of that arm and perform everyday tasks without his metal prosthetic.

And because you cared about the Captain, you offered to massage the muscle that had been cut short, now left deformed... None of the other men would ever dare to ask to help him, especially since they were all so emotionally repressed. They’d probably rather die than be so casually affectionate instead of proving that they’re hardened criminals who ate nails for breakfast or something.

“The audacity.”, you chuckled in reply, watching as he stripped his jacket off.

You’d never tell anyone that he was quite cute being so blushy like that.

You felt around his maimed arm and shoulder, applying pressure to different parts that only earned yourself cool hums.

“Don’t be shy. I don’t mind some pretty hands all over my – FUCK! Warn a guy next time, bastard.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, squeezing that particular part on his stump again, which made him hiss this time. He tried to suppress it, but the pain became unbearable.

“Your entire shoulder is fucked up.”, you deadpanned.

“YOU DON’T SAY?!”, Kid growled, almost ready to look for his red jacket again and flee from your judgement… - he only wanted to look strong in front of you, “That’s your medical expertise?! Thank God I didn’t recruit you as a doctor, we would have all succumbed to scurv- Y-OUCH!”

You smiled wryly, slowly massaging the knot you’ve found, apologising profusely for hurting him.

Your touch became feather-light and… he didn’t hate the feeling. You were trying to gain the courage to squeeze that vicious knot again, probably remnants of his torn triceps that now dangled around there somewhere.

Although you were an amateur at best, he was… grateful. Your fingers might not have healed him, but they sure as Hell distracted him from the constant buzzing he felt there.

It might have lost its original meaning when he said it like that, but your hands were magical.

“You know, I could… return the favour… treat you just right…”, Kid tried to flirt, knowing that you were sharing a pretty intimate moment right now. He’s truly never been this close to you… and you were blindingly pretty if he was being honest.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’d like to keep that arm, Captain.”, you winked, teasing back.

As always, you didn’t take him seriously at all.

Usually, he prided himself on that suave, deep timbre that vibrated in his chest… it worked like a charm, especially with people who were looking for danger.

Didn’t work on you though.

The next day, Killer wondered why Kid looked at you like you’d neutered him – his mean mug was… unsettling.

…Even worse…

“You’re drunk.”, you sighed, shaking your head at Kid who’d been downing shot after shot ever since your crew arrived at this bar.

It was strangely humid in here and the furniture looked… frail if not rotten. You refused to sit down and tried to convince everyone to get up and move to a different part of this island – one you’d seen with your own eyes, already banking on brokering a killer bargain for your overnight stay… breakfast included, of course.

You flushed, cheeks hotter than ever. If he looked close enough, he could probably see steam rising from your every pore.

“I can hold my liquor.”, Kid smirked, pawing at your own coat and trying to coax you into his lap, “You can sit here and even hang off of me. Makes me look good.”

You knew that Kid was… well, like this, but this was a new low even for him.

“That’s… no, Kid. I will not. You’re drunk.”

Heat left the table, knowing that he couldn’t continue watching this. He deliberately chose a seat that would have his back facing you guys. Killer wished, from the bottom of his heart, that he could leave, too, but that would only rile their captain up even further. It was a lose-lose situation, soon everybody would be caught in the crossfire.

“I want you all over me.”, Kid purred – which prompted Killer to leave no matter what his rationale demanded. This was… what the Hell was this, Captain?!

“I told you, didn’t I? You’re insufferable.”, he smirked seductively, but it didn’t come across that way at all.

“HUH?!”, you exclaimed, leaning forward as your eyes almost popped out of your skull…

You left the bar in a hurry, seemingly uncomfortable with the entire situation.

That was the last straw for Kid.

He thought he was obvious. There were plenty opportunities for you to show your desires… and at this point, he was embarrassing himself.

The next course of action would be to slowly cut you out of his life, even if it would break his heart. He’d never admit this to himself.

To save face, he smashed the table he was sitting at to pieces.

…Possibly worst of all, however,…

“You’re avoiding me.”, you muttered suddenly.

And Kid… had a heart attack.

He was sitting at his drawing board, brainstorming new ideas for a cool new invention that would help navigate the latter half of the Grandline… and he’d been so focused that he didn’t even hear that you entered his workshop. The very place that was taboo for everyone but him, but… fuck, he couldn’t even be mad at you.

“I haven’t.”, he snapped – knowing that he very much did indeed try to avoid you. It was… like torture.

He wanted you to be his, but you’d never accept it. You’ve made your disinterest clear and kept things strictly platonic between you. You probably were just as kind towards Wire… or – he shouldn’t finish that thought; he was so pettily jealous that he was about to shatter his jawbone from grinding his teeth against one another so hard.

Your eye twitched in frustration, a habit you picked up from him. If he was a better man, he would have visibly melted – this time, he just caved with a sigh.

“Okay. I have. What about it? Why do you care?! Leave me alone! Go and do something else, damn it. Scram.”

You smiled sadly – no, broken. It was nothing like the beautiful smile you put on when you were happy. This looked like it pained you. He never wanted to see it again.

“Killer sent me here…”, you confessed, breathing in –

And Kid almost roared in rage, balling his hand into a fist, silently debating whether he should just toss his best friend overboard.

– “So… because of him… I’m here to… confess that I like you! It’s alright if you want me to leave the crew now! I… can pack my thi-”

Yet before you could finish your sentence, Kid had already smashed your faces together.

His lips hotly chased yours – all tongue and all teeth.

It was messy, obnoxious and filled with passion that had just been bubbling under the surface. He did wonder how the Hell you missed his clues all the time but at the same time… you were you. Of course you wouldn’t notice a damn thing, casually oblivious to his advances.

His arm went to your throat, holding you in place – and subtly dominating you, just as payback for making him work for this moment. You were going to be the death of him.

He’s never loved anyone as fiercely as he loved you, probably never will.

“Don’t you fucking dare leave me now.”, Kid spoke, breaking the kiss before moving onto your neck.

He didn’t know what he was doing, but he just wanted to mark you – just in case anybody else would be as dense as you and think that you clearly aren’t his.

His hand slid down to your waist, squeezing the flesh before curling around you and holding you firmly in place.

“I want to be yours.”, he uttered, surprisingly softly.

Your hands found their way into his fiery red hair, gently stroking every strand as his lips founds yours again.

“Because you’ve always been mine.”, he added cockily, smirking when you breathed a chuckle into yet another kiss.

[lucy90712]

Please post some more imagines with Carlos

Wimbledon. This place will always have a special place in my heart. It gave me the best thing that ever happened to me my amazing boyfriend Carlos. We met completely by chance when we both got lost around the vast grounds and bumped into each other. His racket bag knocked me to the ground so he helped me up and took me back to his team as I had a cut on my leg from the gravel. Before I left we exchanged numbers and the rest is history. That year he invited me to a few of his games including the gruelling final which he won. That day he asked me on a date at the end of which he asked me to be his girlfriend before he had to leave for the next tournament. Things were tough for a while with the constant distance between us and how little time we got to spend together but we pushed through the hard times and now we are happier than ever. 

Coming back last year felt slightly odd because so much had changed from me queueing for hours just to get into the grounds to having a pass that allowed me into all sorts of places including the player box. Watching Carlos win again felt so surreal too. In his speech he mentioned me as his girlfriend for the first time which meant a whole lot of attention came my way but he stood by me throughout it all. 

Since last year things have been a little crazy I finished university and moved to Spain to live with Carlos right after. Some people might think that's insane as we haven't been together for two years just yet but I just know that he's the one. We've spent long enough apart that we are ready to be together and see each other more. We've been through so much together that it really feels like we've been together longer than we have and we know each other better than we know ourselves sometimes which is how I know we'll be just fine. Since I made the move I think I've spent less than a week total at my new home as Carlos has been travelling constantly for tournaments. 

This week we go back to the place that started it all. I don't think it will ever not feel strange going back and thinking about all the dominoes that fell into place for our paths to cross in the first place. We will forever be tied to this place even after Carlos retires we will always remember these days at Wimbledon that got us to where we are. 

Typically the few days of summer we get in England happen to fall right at the start of Wimbledon and I know Carlos struggles with the heat and humidity here but I know he can do it. He's had a good grass season so far but there's always the extra pressure that comes with being the defending champion which makes everything so much more intense. Last night Carlos was really worried about his match but I kept him calm and did everything in my power to help him get some sleep. 

When we woke up Carlos still seemed stressed about his match which isn't unusual for him but the way he's acting felt odd. He wasn't nervous in his usual way normally it's good nerves the ones they get him extra motivated to play but this time it's different. While I got ready he was pacing around the room and biting his nails which he only does when he's really nervous. I wracked my brain trying to think if there was anything about today that might make him more nervous than usual but nothing came to mind. It can't be being the opening match on centre court as he did that last year and he's beat Fognini before sure not on grass but he's just as good on grass as he is on clay. During breakfast he didn't get any better he didn't say a word to anyone the whole time he was completely in his own world clearly with something on his mind that he won't share.

"Y/n can we talk a second?" Juan Carlos asked as we left the hotel 

"Yeah what’s up" I said 

"Have you and Carlos has a fight or something or has anything happened?" He asked 

"No nothing happened he was a bit nervous last night but I helped calm him down but when we woke up he was like this I have no idea what's going on" I said 

"I didn't think it involved you but I couldn't think of anything else" Juanki said 

"If there's anything I can do to help let me know I don't want him going out on court feeling like this if we can help" I said 

"Of course I'll keep you updated" he said giving me a hug before we headed to the car taking us all to Wimbledon 

Once we got there Carlos went to go and warm up and I left him to be with his team. As much as I wanted to stay and make sure he's ok I thought it was best to give him some time in case there is something I did to upset him. There was nothing for me to do other than wait until Carlos' match which left me with a lot of time to think, maybe too much. My mind went straight to everything that could be wrong the second I found somewhere quiet to sit by myself. In the time I was sat there I managed to convince myself that Carlos wanted to break up with me but didn't know how to do it since I just moved to a new country for him. Part of me always wondered if we moved too fast and eventually that would catch up with us and now maybe it has maybe Carlos regrets it all but doesn't know how to say it. 

By the time I had to head to centre court I was a mess too but I knew I had to pull it together and at least make it look like I have my life together in front of the camera. Juan Carlos greeted me and told me that they hadn't managed to get through to Carlos which only made me feel worse. He did say that Carlos seemed in the zone when they left him so hopefully whatever's on his mind won't affect him playing. Carlos walked out on court and he looked like his normal happy self smiling and waving at the crowd but then he looked up and we locked eyes and I watched his smile falter. In that moment I made my mind up that all of this is my fault and I thought about leaving but I know that would cause other issues so I stayed in my seat trying to hold back tears. 

As soon as the match started I just knew we'd be here a while as Carlos was missing shots he could make with his eyes closed. He was nowhere near his best but he won the first set with a late break but still it was obvious that something was wrong and everyone in got crowd could tell. Juanki tried to help Carlos but he didn't seem to be listening. Things didn't get any better either as Carlos lost the second set but he came back swinging for the third set which again was close but went Carlos' way. 

It was so hot that I think everyone in the crowd was wishing this match to be over soon but it wasn't to be. Part of me wanted the match to finish so I can talk to Carlos to find out what's going on with him but then another part of me almost doesn't want to know especially if he's going to break up with me. Carlos clearly didn't want to be done with the match either as he lost the fourth set 6-2. By that point the entire box was stressed thinking that Carlos might lose in the first round. Juanki looked like he wanted to pull his hair out and Carlos' brother looked incredibly stressed. I managed to pick enough skin off my fingers to make them bleed but 4 and a half hours later it was over and Carlos got the win. 

Like always he had to do his cool down and then all his media obligations so all I could do was wait in our spot. After every match since we met I've always waited for him in this spot so he would know where to find me if he wanted to. This sport reminds me of so many moments in our relationship it's where we shared our first kiss and where he asked me to move in with him after I finished uni. Despite it just being a small table and two chairs hidden away in the main building at Wimbledon it's a place that will always hold good memories. 

Eventually a figure appeared in my peripheral vision which could only be one person. As he approached he actually had a smile on his face but he was still playing with his fingers like he was nervous. He gave me a tight hug when he got to me which really relaxed me from the panic I've been feeling pretty much all day. He just held me for a solid minute before he pulled away slightly and looked straight into my eyes with a look of pure love and adoration which I'm used to seeing. 

"Hey that was a tough match out there" I said 

"Yeah it was tough but it's good to be challenged early on" he said 

"Are you ok you seemed extra nervous today" I probed lightly 

"Yeah I'm ok just had something on my mind" he said still not opening up

"You know you can tell me about anything right I'll always be in your corner supporting you" I said 

He didn't respond to that he just looked at me like he was debating something in his own head. He moved his hands from my waist to hold both my hands before time seemed to slow to a crawl as I watched him get down on one knee. I think I went through nearly every emotion before I settled on shock. Suddenly it all made sense the way Carlos was acting around me all day and why he insisted we visit my parents before Wimbledon even though it was out of our way. It also explains why he went out a few weeks ago and wouldn't tell me where he was going and why he started putting away all the laundry randomly after that day. 

One of his hands let go of mine to reach into his pocked to pull out a small velvet box. Inside was the most beautiful ring it wasn't huge but that's exactly what I wanted it had a diamond in the middle and what looked like both our birthstones either side. Instantly I knew he'd had the ring custom made which almost had me crying before he even said anything because he clearly thought about this moment a lot wanting it to be perfect. 

"Y/n from the moment we bumped into each other here two years ago I knew I liked you but I'd never have predicted I'd have fallen for you so fast but now I can't imagine my life without you in it I know we haven't been together long but there's no one else I want to spend the rest of my life with so will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?" He said 

"Y-yes a million times yes" I said as he slid the ring on my finger

"I'm sorry I've been so distant today I knew I wanted to do this today but I was worried that maybe you wouldn't be ready and you'd say no" he said 

"I would never say no I love you more than words can describe I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you" I said 

"Good because you can't get rid of me now" he joked 

"I guess I can live with that" I laughed 

We spent some time soaking up the moment before heading to find the rest of the team who were all eagerly awaiting our return. I'm sure the smiles on our faces gave it away but still Carlos announced that I said yes and suddenly everyone was looking at my ring. Carlos also FaceTimed my parents to show them the ring. It was such a happy moment that it made me forget all about the stress of the day and reminded me why this place will always be extra special for us. 

[graveyardhorror]

𓃦 JACOB BLACK x anxious!reader

misc. masterlist

A/N: i scheduled this post for today at midnight but it disappeared :( so here it is

-before you and jacob started dating you told him about your anxiety, thinking he might not be able to fully understand since he always seems to be in a good mood and always greets you with a big smile on his face, he does end up opening up to you about his own mental health struggles like losing his mom and how it impacted his life

-having a deep conversation about mental health which results in your first kiss, a shy, short and sweet kiss on the lips after comforting and listening to each other; practically baring your souls to one another and becoming more than just friends

-jacob pays such close attention to your body language, not just because he has a huge crush on you but once he learns about how anxiety impacts your daily life he's determined to help in any way he can

-when you feel overwhelmed and need an extra hand jacob's always happy to help run some errands for you, accompany you to appointments, and validates your feelings so that you feel heard; is a great shoulder to cry on and gives the best hugs that ground you when you need it most

-when jacob and you start dating it's before he begins to go through his transformation as a wolf, he's told to keep you in the dark about this because no one is meant to know but he does give hints; jacob gives you obvious werewolve and tribal book recommendations and just wants to talk about his ancestors more, tells you about it without actually telling you

-feeling more anxious than normal because jacob isn't around as much during his first transformation, and thinking the worst but after about a week he feels like he can finally face you and explain what he's going through; your first face to face meeting after he becomes a werewolf is when he imprints on you

-he always knew you were the one for him and you being his imprintee further proved it; having an overwhelming feeling of want and love for jacob when you first see him again, he immediately wraps you in a tight hug and tells you everything

-when he goes full werewolf mode, hunting and patrolling, he knows it worries you and turns into a very large emotional support animal when he gets back

-if you bad blood flow or any other physical symptoms because of your anxiety (ex: muscle tension, nausea, etc.), he makes sure that he always has something that can help; cradling your hands in his own when they get too cold, uses this as an excuse to hold your hand all the time, carrying anti-nausea pills or small packets of rubbing alcohol packets to help with nausea, keeping snacks on him in case you get dizzy or feel weak (sweets for panic attacks), gentle body massages with his big warm hands

-in conclusion, jacob is such a caring boyfriend who goes to great lengths to make sure you're never uncomfortable or feeling unwell, he understands your feelings and fear and would never not believe what you say, knows a thing or two about loss and the fear of navigating the world alone but you're not alone anymore because you have each other

dividers by plum98