#oliver or something?? i’m sorry i don’t remember

[luvmoonie]

angela got even CLOSER to the jk poster 😭

[musaslullaby]

The first race

grid x fem reader

p1 p2 p3 p4

Summary: It’s your first Formula 1 race, but it doesn’t seem like you’re nervous.

Face: Bianca Bustamante and other

Warning: Most of the grid has a small weakness for you. It's a series

Masterlist

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Yn.official

Description: Ready for my first race? But first, breakfast with @.yourcousin.

liked by Landonorris, oscarpiastri and other 293932892

user90: How do you manage to look so calm?

F1_: We are more nervous than she is.

Fonefever: You guys are joking, but how is she always so beautiful???

Ynlife: It's so cute that she has breakfast with her cousin before a race.

Landonorris: Hey, invite me next time, maybe we could make it a habit. ❤️ Like to author

Yn.official: Sorry, but these are girls-only mornings.

danielricciardo: You shouldn’t eat those things before a race, trust me, dad knows best.

georgerussell63: Yeah, he knows something about that.

YnandLando: Guys, if Yn is driving in the third picture, who took the photo?

Loverace: Maybe her cousin???

Vroom: Or what if someone came to pick her up???

carlossainz55: If you like pancakes, you should come to my place. I could cook them just for you.

❤️ Like to author

charles_leclerc: Since when are you so romantic and sweet, Carlos?

carlossainz55: I’ve always been, you just didn’t know.

Yn.official: I gladly accept your offer, Carlito.

danielricciardo: Yn, remember what I taught you? Never go to a stranger’s house and especially don’t accept sweets from them.

f1gossip: Honestly, if Carlos were offering me sweets, I’d fly to him.

Carlss55: Guys????

Yn.official

Description: This is the price to pay when your cousin is a huge Ferrari fan (Maybe I am too 🤫).

Liked by Landonorris, oscarpiastri, and other 293932892.

yourcousin: I didn’t force you to do any of this.

Yn.official: It won’t take me long to revoke your VIP pass.

yourcousin: Okay, sorry (see you after the race). ❤️ Like to author

Yn.official: Bye-bye love.

user33: Haas is going to be mad.

love4: I can only imagine their faces when they see this post.

Ynlife: Let’s hope you don’t get fired, Yn.

C+Y: Charles and Yn would make a cute couple.

charles_leclerc: If you wanted a kiss, you could have just asked.

❤️ Like to author

oscarpiastri: Not everyone is that bold.

Landonorris: It’s probably better to kiss cardboard than you.

lewishamilton: Mind if I also get you some Mercedes teddy bears?

❤️ Like to author

Yn.official: Oh my gosh yes, thanks, it’ll be the sign of our friendship.

georgerussell63: Come take a tour of the Mercedes garage.

❤️ Like to author

kimiantonelli: Yn, if you need anything, you know where to find me. ❤️ Like to author

Olliebearman: Umm… let me remind you she’s my teammate.

danielricciardo: I’ll knock you all off the track today.

Yn.official

Description: Ollie is asleep, and dad said no more phone use 😒.

Liked by Landonorris, oscarpiastri, and other 293932892.

F1lover: What a beautiful family!!!

❤️ Like to author

Ollie_: Maybe Daniel will become the father-in-law of Ollie.

Bear: Ollie is thinking about how to win Yn over.

maxverstappen1: It’ll be tough, my friend.

georgerussell63: Oliver, the warm-up? You’re not allowed to stop.

Olliebearman: Yn, you traitor.

Yn.official: Oops, it was a pleasure.

danielricciardo: Get off the phone and go for a run too.

Ynlife: Yn got scolded by dad. ❤️ Like to author

One: I’m sure now Yn’s gallery is full of pictures of Daniel.

Landonorris: It won’t be a pleasant sight.

oscarpiastri: I agree.

haasf1team: After the last post, you now owe us at least some points.

user45: Trouble for Yn.

charles_leclerc: If I’m in the right mood, I’ll let you pass, Yn. ❤️ Like to author

Yn.official: What a gentleman.

georgerussell63

Description: Our girl finally came!!!!!

Liked by Landonorris, oscarpiastri, and other 293932892.

carlossainz55: Cabron, hands off.

danielricciardo: Remember, she’s my daughter.

Formual10_: No guys, I can’t handle this, they’re so cute.

Landonorris: Come to me too, Yn.

oscarpiastri: Can I offer you some tea? To cool you down, maybe you’re hot.

Yn.official: Thank you, Oscar, for your concern.

user6: George is so happy in that hug.

flove: But also, look at her smile.

mErcedes: Kimi, on the other hand, looks shyer.

Lifef1: She would make a beautiful couple with any of them.

Lan: Imagine Yn’s children with the different drivers.

Vroom: Masterpieces.

Race: I’m already ready for the wedding.

Landonorris

Description: Umm… I had to go retrieve Yn who got lost in the paddock.

Liked by: Landonorris, oscarpiastri, and other 293932892.

user12: How many outfit changes does this girl make?

georgerussell63: She’s a model, she has style, just like me.

maxverstappen1: Are you sure you’re stylish?

mclaren: You two would make a great team.

❤️ Like to author

f1race: Even McLaren recognizes their chemistry. ❤️ Like to author

op81: Oh my gosh, after Charles, now Lando too???

Charlesfan: Yn, you owe us some explanations—what’s going on between you and Charles?

Vroom: I think they’re just friends.

4ln: Yn is driving all the guys on the grid crazy!

Yn.official

Description: 10th place and Charles Leclerc won, I couldn’t be happier. Obviously aiming for the podium.

Liked by Landonorris, oscarpiastri, and other 293932892.

charles_leclerc: You brought me good luck.

❤️ Like to author

Yn.official: You didn’t keep your promise. You didn’t let me pass.

charles_leclerc: I'm sorry moun ange ❤️ Like to author

user32: This nickname is sooo cute

Yn.official: Thanks Charlie

Landonorris: For your first race, you did well.

❤️ Like to author

Yn.official: Thanks, Landotwowin.

user43: Everyone’s proud of Yn.

Racelove: The track is her natural habitat.

georgerussell63: Sooner or later, you’ll overtake all of us.

❤️ Like to author

oscarpiastri: Watch out, Max—Yn might steal your World Champion title in the coming years. ❤️ Like to author

maxverstappen1: I’d be more than happy to hand it over to her. ❤️ Like to author

user45: Max being kind??? To Yn???

carlossainz55: The award for worst photo ever goes to Yn.

❤️ Like to author

danielricciardo: Carlos, you know you always have to encourage the kids. ❤️ Like to author

Yn.official: ha ha ha is not that bad

f1love: Charles’ face in the last photo is super cute.

Charlesfan: Perfect for a meme, thanks, Yn.

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Tag list

@barcelonaloverf1life

[favefandomimagines]

Countertops (t.o)

Summary: a small fight doesn’t stop Tyler from caring about you

Request: @cinderellasmissingshoes Hi lovely, can I please request a Tyler Owens fic where he and reader are upset with each other, and they've each gone into different parts of the house to cool off. But then Tyler sees her climbing onto the counter for something, which he hates her doing because of how unsafe it is. And even though he's still upset, he still loves her and worries for her safety, so he helps her off before grabbing what she wanted?? I apologize if this is too specific, I know some writers like super specific requests and some don't, you can change this however you like! Can you please tag @glenscowboyhat as well please? They helped me come up with this idea. Thank you very much, have a nice rest of your day!

AN: a little short but fluffy and cute! And sometimes we just need a little fluffy and cute

You don’t even remember what started the argument or what it was about. The last thing you remember about the argument was that Tyler had gotten home later than intended, he didn’t answer any of your calls or texts when he was out chasing, and then the next thing you knew, you had dispersed to opposite sides of the house.

You remembered yelling at him about how you never see him for more than a few hours at a time. How you hadn’t spent enough quality time together recently and you just wanted to go on a date or do something fun.

He scoffed and said chasing paid the bills. Then you rebutted saying your job at the National Weather Service paid the bills, hitting his ego where it hurt.

It had been three hours. Three hours since the two of you have spoken and he had disappeared into the den of your shared home. It was agitating you, but you weren’t about to apologize for something that wasn’t your fault. You had too much pride for that and Tyler did too.

You were sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through Pinterest recipes to make for dinner. You could hear the TV in the other room playing some stupid rerun of an Oklahoma Sooners game from last season.

You rolled your eyes and picked one to make. As you were cooking, you realized you were out of olive oil. You knew you kept an extra bottle in the cupboard, the cupboard that was way out of your reach.

With a groan, you moved the tea towel that was on the counter out of the way, took off your slippers, and hopped up on the countertop.

Tyler was ready to have an actual conversation with you. He was still upset, but he was more upset that he let some stupid argument get the best of him. Technically, you were right. Your job pays the bills, his job is the extra income. He just wanted to be on speaking terms with you again.

He walked into the kitchen where he knew you were and saw you kneeling on the countertop. “Woah, woah, what are you doing?” He questioned, rushing to you. Tyler wrapped his arm around your waist and one under your legs as he helped you down off the counter.

“I needed the olive oil.” You answered as he set you down on the ground. “You could have asked for help.” Tyler said. “We weren’t exactly talking. Plus, how do you think I got things off of top shelves before we moved in together?” You rebutted.

“You know I hate you doing that. It’s extremely unsafe.” He said. “And so is going inside a tornado but I don’t lecture you, now do I?” You sassed.

Tyler sighed, took your hand and pulled you towards him as he sat at the counter barstool. “Y/N, I’m sorry about the fight.” He said. “I’m sorry too. I think I was just more sad than angry that we hadn’t spent quality time together and I said things I didn’t mean.” You replied.

“No, no you were right. Tornado Wranglers is just our spending money. Your job pays for the house. I will work on making sure we spend more time together.” Tyler replied.

“How about we find a compromise? You love chasing and you love the channel, I know better than anyone how quickly storms develop. We spend every night together, but if a storm develops that’s worth chasing, you can go do what you do best.” You said.

“I love chasing but I love you more. But, I agree with your compromise.” Tyler said, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Though I still think you should come out there with me. Have a real scientist go out in the storm.” He added.

You let out a laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. “It’s going to take a lot more convincing to get me in that saddle, cowboy.” You joked. “Well, it turns out I’m pretty persuasive.” He commented. “Oh are you? Care to elaborate?” You questioned. “Sorry, sweetheart, you have dinner on the stove.” Tyler replied.

“Now that’s just mean.” You teased. “Come on, I’ll help you with dinner.” Tyler said, standing up.

That night, all night, Tyler’s phone was on do not disturb. He didn’t reply to a single call or text from Boone or the rest of the team. Even when dark clouds rolled in and rain started pouring.

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: to blanc, you are the change he needed, and your pressing secret won't change that.

WARNINGS: mentions of mortality, blood. Vampire stuff.

COMMENTS: ok ok so @vivislosingitagain here is my thought process YOU like biting people and sucking their blood so YOU are a vampire. and HEY GUESS WHAT vampires are IMMORTAL kind of. and im pretty sure blanc is really fucking old so i think mortality angst would work great with him BUT WHAT IF HIS PARTNER WAS AS OLD AS HE WAS AND BIT HIM. that's the post.

also im so sorry if blanc is out of character i have seen this man three times in the routes ive played + the prologue oops.

It’s a clear night. The stars are bright in the sky, just as they were hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Blanc doesn’t know if they’ll ever change, but he takes comfort in their consistency. They’re stationary, unmoving, unshifting, just like him. He’s always been in Cradle, long enough to see the shattering of bonds between the armies and the first Alice fall. He’s seen the skirmishes and the blood and the carnage.

And he’s seen you, the one who followed him into the rabbit hole and into Cradle.

He remembers thinking you were cute. He remembers Oliver scolding him for speaking his mind, and he remembers you tearing your eyes away from him, a shy smile on your lips. You’ve always been alluring, in a way he never anticipated, and it makes him wonder if someone from the Land of Reason can really be magical like the people of Cradle.

It’s no use though—he knows the passage of time will take you away. He knows love (what he feels for you, there’s no doubt about it) is a powerful force, but it cannot break the way the sun and moon rise and fall, it cannot stop the stars from dying light years away, it cannot stop your inevitable aging.

He knows this, and yet he can’t let go. He greets you in the morning with a soft pat on your head, leaning over your bed as you stretch and yawn. His gaze softens when you rub your eyes and look over at him, and you’re looking at him like he’s the only thing you ever want to see.

He’s so selfish—he wants so badly for you to only look at him.

For someone so keenly aware of how mortal you are, he knows he's being awfully flippant about it. It’s the folly of man, to be so foolish as to yearn, but there’s always the possibility that fate will take pity on his poor soul and listen to its cries for his love to stay.

And so, the next night, a night that should be no different from any other, he breaks his routine. He keeps you up late, chatting over tea as the full moon rises in the sky, asking you if you want to go home. He watches you as you go quiet, your previously bright smile fading into a thoughtful frown. You’re staring into your tea as if it can give you the answer, and Blanc hopes the tea will give you the same answer he would.

I wish you would stay. I wish you would stay with me. I wish you would think I’m worth it. I wish that if I had to be hurt then you would be the one to hurt me because I’ve never loved anyone like you and I doubt I ever will. I wish you would be the one to thrust this dagger into my heart so fate doesn’t have the chance.

“...I want to stay with you.” you say, and Blanc knows you’re hiding something from him but he can’t bring himself to ask when you already look so worried.

“Are you sure?” he asks, reaching across the table to place a hand on yours.

Your head jerks up and you meet his gaze with parted lips—almost like you want to tell him but are far too scared.

“You can tell me anything.” he stresses, squeezing your hand gently.

“I’m not...” you purse your lips, looking away again as you choose your words carefully, “I’m not having doubts about staying here, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Blanc holds back his sigh of relief in favor of another inquisitive glance. Your brow furrows and he knows you feel his stare, your cute canines poking at your lower lip as you gnaw on it pensively.

“I have a secret I don’t think I’m ready to share yet.” you say softly, turning back to him, “I will someday. I just...need time.”

Blanc laughs, a sound that's full of relief and love and sounds like the wind chimes that hang in your no longer temporary bedroom’s window, the ones that have been there since you came and will be there when—if—you leave.

“Darling.” he breathes, staring straight into your eyes with so much love, “I have all the time in the world.”

The full moon sinks beneath the horizon and the sun comes up again. The teacups from the night before have been cleaned and placed back on their shelves, and the cake you two cut slices out of remains in the fridge. There are still traces of you within the house—your skincare is still in the bathroom, your toothbrush is next to his, and your chair still has a cushion of your favorite color. None of those things have been removed because you didn’t leave.

You’re still in your bedroom, sleeping soundly, but this time Blanc is there with you, his arms wrapped around you. His body is tangled with yours, your legs intertwining as the bed sheets knot themselves around your limbs. Your head is resting right over his heart, the part of him that’s pounding away for you. Gently, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and stares down at your sleeping face, the face that shows him all of your thoughts and emotions, the face that belongs to the person who loves him enough to stay.

He wakes you up with a kiss on your forehead, a kiss on the bridge of your nose, a kiss on your left eyelid and a kiss on your right, a kiss on your jaw—

He sighs when you start to stir, propping yourself up on your elbows. The bed sheets fall off your body like water cascading down the side of a cliff, and your bleary eyes have never looked more beautiful. He lays there, admiring you in the morning light as the wind chimes chime, the soft breeze from the cracked open window ruffling through your hair.

You shiver.

“Darling,” Blanc calls, placing a hand on your shoulder, “Good morning.”

You smile when you turn to look at him, and you allow yourself to fall back against the mattress next to him.

“Good morning.” you murmur, your nails tracing the curve of his cheekbone before tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, “You look so handsome.”

Ever the charmer, he’s rarely been charmed himself. And so he does the only thing he deems appropriate, and thanks you with a kiss on the back of your hand.

Weeks pass, and Blanc finds himself growing into this new routine. You're a sign of change, that he knows for sure. His own room remains vacant for the most part unless you decide to pull him into his room instead of your own when you’re ready for bed. It makes no difference to him where you go, only that he can follow you like the lovesick fool he is.

Except you’re not leading him to either of your bedrooms tonight.

You’re leading him outside, under the pale moonlight and into the chilly nighttime breeze. He looks up at the full moon and holds your hand a little tighter.

“Thank you for giving me time.” you say, the wind swelling as it passes between the two of you and further into the night, “I’m ready to tell you what I’ve been hiding from you now. It’s...not fair to keep it from you any longer.”

“I understand,” he smiles softly, cupping your cheek, “Go ahead.”

“I’m a vampire.” you say, and it takes his brain a few moments to catch up, “I’ve...found it hard to get blood in Cradle but since meeting with Kyle’s he’s managed to get me blood when I need it. I don’t like drinking from animals or people but it...has to be done for me to stay alive.”

Blanc’s brain is whirring as you spill your guts to him, your mouth moving faster and faster as you explain how despised vampires are in the Land of Reason, how people view them as monsters and how you’re certain you’re cursed.

Cursed. What a funny word to say to him.

“Is that why your canines are so sharp?” he blurts, leaning closer to your face.

You stop talking, bending backward just a bit at his sudden closeness.

“I—I’m sorry, what?” you ask, looking confused.

“Ah, well....I always thought they were cute.” he smiles kindly, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone.

“I...” you blink owlishly before shaking your head in disbelief, “Blanc, I just told you I’m a vampire.”

“Indeed you did.”

Your mouth falls open as if looking for the right words to say, and yet you come up with nothing.

“You can feed from me if you wish. I don’t want you to suffer any longer.” he offers like its the most natural thing in the world.

Still, you say nothing.

And then he murmurs your name, as soft as the flower petals brushing against your ankles.

“I don’t want to use you like that. I don’t want you to be a food source for me.” you grit your teeth, staring at the ground like you couldn’t be more ashamed, “I don’t want to be the monster the Land of Reason made me out to be.”

“You’re not. I give myself to you willingly, and I'll do it over and over again.” Blanc murmurs, hands slipping away from you.

It takes you a moment to realize he’s slowly undoing the buttons on his shirt, leaving his collarbone open to the nighttime breeze and your eyes.

“My love.” he opens his arms for you and his shirt slips off his shoulder, leaving his skin vulnerable—

“I give myself to you.”

And he pulls you into his chest, as he whispers words of love telling you that you can bite him, drink from him, take all that you need and that it will be okay because he’d give you everything if you asked for it, and that you changed his life for the better, you brought springtime’s flowers and winter’s shimmering ice and summer’s warm sunlight and autumn’s delicate, beautiful leaves to a life that was so repetitive and boring until you arrived—a life that belonged to the man you see before you but not anymore because its yours and it will always be yours.

Tears prick your eyes as you kiss his skin, worshiping each freckle and small scar you can reach. Your canines poke insistently at his skin and you ignore the urge for one, two, three, four, five seconds before your mouth opens and you bite down, hoping the small gasp that leaves his lips isn’t one of pain. You’re careful not to take too much but it tastes so good and who knew drinking from the one you loved could make you feel so happy and full.

Blanc looks up at the moon as you feed, happiness and adoration blurring his vision as he thinks about you, you who trusted him enough to bite him, to tell him who you were, you who stayed behind for him even though you could have left.

He stares up at the moon and sighs because he’s in love. He’s in love with you.

And after you’re done, after you pull away and lick the puncture marks to soothe them, after you press a dozen more kisses to his skin, Blanc still loves you. His blood is smeared around your mouth but he pulls you in anyway, kissing you with everything he has because you deserve nothing less than that.

And he loves you.

Over and over again, he loves you.

He doesn’t know how long he’ll be aging or how long you will have by his side, but he knows that if you will forever be his constant, he’ll come out okay in the end.

[repulsiveliquidation]

Alone || Leah Williamson

warnings : mentions of bullying, death, loneliness, rude namecalling. smut is at the end but i promise there is a happy ending. words in bold are from a poem above, but i can't remember who wrote it!

I like being alone was something that you always convinced yourself of growing up. Dad was always high on some binge drinking spree with his equally deadbeat friends and Mum tried her best to be a parent but with a useless father and barely any money coming in, you quickly learned how to keep yourself occupied and take care of yourself.

One day, the police showed up at your door and knocked. Mum stopped folding the laundry and you poked your head in just in time to hear the officers tell your mother that your father had tried to rob the local liquor store and was shot by the police who arrived on the scene. Having been ostracized from the community long ago due to your father’s behavior, the news of his death only increased the cold shoulder you and your mother got from the town.

Parents in your hometown seemed to teach their children bad manners from a young age; all the kids in school knew to stay away from you. No one sat with you at lunch, no one ever wanted you on their team for PE. God forbid you were paired up together for a group project, no one ever wanted your company.

Secondary school was rinse and repeat. No one sat with you at lunch, no one ever wanted you on their team for the science fair. Once, you were assigned the popular girl for the English project which was 25 percent of the class grade.

“You’re doing the whole thing yourself and you better not screw with my portion of the project, you got that you freak?” Megan warned, having cornered you in the girls’ changing room after class.

“I’d watch that tone if I were you, Meg,” came a voice from the end of the showers where you were cowering.

“Stay out of it Williamson or I’ll sock you!”

“I think you’re the only one about to leave here with a black eye Meg so I’d watch your tone.”

“You’re not defending the freak are you?”

“I’m doing what’s right, I’ve had it to here with your snarky attitude,” Leah challenged, grabbing the bully’s arm and pulling her away from you. “Leave her alone.”

“Fuck you, Williamson! Everyone will know you like the freak!”

“Call her that one more time and I’ll tattoo it across your forehead!”

Megan leaves the changing room with a loud huff and you hide yourself more in the shower cubicle. You’d never interacted with Leah Williamson before. You knew to stay far away from the popular girls and the captain of the girls’ football team was one of them.

Leah smiles kindly and reaches a hand out for you. You don’t take it immediately, half expecting her to make fun of you and demand you do her homework for her. Leah realizes this and shakes her head a little, sitting on the floor with you. You’re about to ask her to leave when she opens her mouth first.

“I’m sorry about her and all of them. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“I’m used to it,” you mumble, pulling your legs to your chest and hugging them.

“I’m Leah.”

“I know who you are,” you answer quickly, pushing yourself up to your feet. “You don’t have to pretend to be nice to me,” you say just as the tears threaten to fall. You do not need Leah to see them, it’ll give her one more thing to tell everyone about.

You grab your torn backpack and rush out of the changing room before she can answer you.

Leah stands there a little hurt, her efforts of extending an olive branch failing only motivate her more. She knew about the whole scandal or whatever it was that happened all those years ago but learned at a very young age that Amanda hated it all.

“You treat that family with the same respect you give everyone else, Leah you understand? No one deserves such unkind neighbors.”

You do not know what compelled you to sit in the stands of Leah’s football game against a rival school. There was a ticket in your locker with a note hoping to see you there. Thinking it was a prank, you wanted to throw it away but decided against it, which meant that the cloudy England sky and shitty concession food was your plan for the afternoon.

“Hi, you got my ticket!”

You had your eyes glued to your phone, your hat pulled down over your eyes to block out the stares you normally got. But that familiar thick local accented voice rang loud in front of you, you looked up to see Leah grinning at you with her mother Amanda right behind her.

“You put the ticket in my locker?” you asked sheepishly, watching as Amanda sat next to you.

“Yes darling, her father couldn’t make it and she didn’t waste it so she wanted to give it to you.”

You look up at Leah and her grin is almost brighter than it was before. She was all dressed and ready for the game, hand reaching out to pat your head before running back onto the pitch.

“I’m so glad you’re here, I hope you stay the whole game!” she yelled out, jogging towards the rest of her teammates.

“She didn’t have to give me the ticket,” you mumble under your breath. More people are staring now, you could feel it. Amanda reached around your shoulders and rubbed your back, smiling down at you.

“No, but she insisted.”

Leah was relentless in her pursuit of you. There were more notes in your locker that were not malicious. They were written in the same writing as the first letter that had a football ticket in it, always signed LW.

Soon the letters became more personalized and directly from Leah. People talked a lot in this town and word got out fast that Leah was making friends with the freak. She didn’t seem fazed, the teasing she could endure; the bullying you normally received almost doubled overnight.

Ever since Leah started giving you the letters in person, all the people who had crushes on her had increased their hatred of you.

You were walking home after one of Leah’s games, headphones in and head down like always. You didn’t see them coming for you and didn’t hear them either. Megan and her girls had followed you the whole way until you turned into a dark alley; it was a shortcut to your house and you’ve never seen anyone else use it before.

Carla pulled your hair first. You turned and before you could defend yourself, Megan slapped you across the face. Alice tripped you as you tried to run away, slipping face-first into a muddy puddle left by the rain that morning. Rebecca, the ring leader, grabs your shoulder and turns you around, eyes seething with anger.

“I have wanted Leah Williamson for a very long time, you pathetic little bitch. What the fuck did you do to her in that bathroom that day when Megan was beating sense into your stupid brain huh?”

“Being a bully isn’t a quality I look for in a girl, Becca.”

Leah stands there with her kit still on and her hair sticking to her forehead. Her hands on her hips and chest heaving suggest she ran all the way here. She looks down at you before stepping towards you and reaching a hand out to you. You take it this time and she pulls you up and into a hug.

“Are you okay?” she asks, brushing your hair out of your face. You nod and she cups your cheek, thumb rubbing over your cheekbone that was slightly red from Megan’s slap earlier.

“What did I say about testing my patience, Rebecca?”

“Leah, she’s the town freak! What could you possibly see in her?”

“Everything I don’t see in you, Becca. What would your mother say if I let it slip over tea next week that her precious girl is a sly little liar? She doesn’t need to know about your little stunt with the principal I walked in on last week now does she?”  

“Don’t you dare!”

“Then you leave her alone,” Leah sternly warns, eyes shooting daggers at the fleeing girls.

“Come on, I’ll take you home. I saw them coming for you after the game and I followed them. I’m glad I found you in time!”

“Why are you being nice to me?”

“I think you know I like you a lot more than you’re letting yourself believe.”

“Why me, Leah?”

She takes your hand and walks towards the main road with you. You see Amanda in the car waiting, shaking her head at the two of you.

“Are you okay, love?” she asks you as you climb into the backseat with Leah. She hasn’t let go of your hand the whole time, rubbing the back of your palm with her thumb gently. You like the feeling of her hot skin on yours, it’s such a simple comfort and you can’t even remember the last time you felt it.

“Yes, Mrs. Williamson. Leah got me in time.”

“Please dear, I’ve told you to call me Amanda.”

“Mum, can she stay over tonight?” Leah chirps, holding your hand tighter. You blush a little, looking at her with a single thought in your head; you deserve to allow yourself a little bit of love.

“My mum is okay with it, I can stay.”

“Great! I’ve put a set of clean clothes in the bathroom for you too so…”

“Thank you, Leah,” you say quietly, eyes avoiding her piercing blue ones.

“Of course.”

The whole night goes by perfectly. Amanda cooks a delicious meal that you shamelessly have three servings of. Since it was a Friday night, Leah insisted on movie night. There were throw blankets and pillows all over the floor but you were hesitant to cuddle close to Leah. Having not made a single friend in years, you were scared that one wrong move could ruin the little bit of joy Leah had given you in such a short period.

Leah however, could not hold herself back anymore and was honestly quite annoyed at you. She had been showing her affection towards you for weeks and you were still hesitant to reciprocate them.

“You don’t like me back, do you? You’re just doing this to be nice.”

You look at Leah in horror. No, no, no! This was not how it was supposed to go.

“Leah,” you start, sitting up. “No one has ever wanted to be my friend my entire life. I have my useless dead father to thank for that. When you started giving me those letters, I genuinely thought you were planning some long term practical joke but tonight you’ve shown me that you truly want to be my friend, maybe more.” Leah sits up too and you continue.

“I’m scared, I haven’t done this in a long time. I don’t want to make a wrong move and scare you away. I want you so bad, if everything you’ve left in your letters is true then I want this, I want us. When you scored that goal last week when you rarely do, you looked at me. You did a hand heart towards me and I genuinely thought you were showing it to someone else in the crowd but you pointed at me.”

Leah had tears in her eyes, the tough captain of the school girls’ football team seemed moved by your words. She leaned in and you let her, pressing your lips to hers. You were sure you felt fireworks and that she did too. Her lips were soft and she loved that you smelled like her body wash.

You pulled away and blinked fast, hoping that she wasn’t a figment of your imagination. By the time you’d blinked about fifty times, she was still there, her stupid smug smile on her face.

“I really like you,” you tell her, head leaning on her shoulder as you turn your attention back to the TV.

“I really like you too,” she whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as she pulls you into her side.

In the days that come, Leah warned all those who regularly mess with you that they now mess with her too. She also warned that if she caught wind of people calling you names, especially freak, they would go home with it etched across their faces.

\\

You’re sat at the dinner table with Leah in your home years later. Grace is sitting on her playmat, totally engrossed in her building blocks. The sunset pours into the living room and you’ve never been happier in your life.

There’s nothing in your life you’d want to change. You thank your lucky stars that the Lioness sitting in front of you took a chance on you that year in secondary school. Life had only gone up since getting together at 17. You went to college and Leah played for Arsenal. It was hard when you moved for a year to Spain to study but Leah fought hard to make sure the connection was there, flying every other weekend to see you.

The moment you graduated, Leah proposed in front of all your friends. Yes, you made friends! The Spain host family you lived with was more than welcoming and gave you a sense of belonging that you had never felt before. The little community you built for yourself gave you a chance to heal and forgive all those people who wronged young you.

She looked up at you with a face of pure admiration. The ring glimmered in the sun, the diamond was the perfect carat for her perfect girl.

“I have never been surer of anything in my life, will you marry me?”

“Yes!”

\\

You’re both standing at the altar, hands held in front of all your friends and family. The Arsenal and Lioness girls are rowdy in the front, cheering their captain on. She had just shared her vows and it was now your turn.

“When I was little, I convinced myself that I liked being alone. I was always the last to be picked, last to be called, sometimes the teachers forgot about me. By the time I was in secondary school, I had accepted that I was going to be alone all my life. Until I met you,” you look up at Leah and see that she’s already got tears in her eyes. You continue, feeling a little emotional yourself.

“I was sure that you were playing a prank on me, wanting nothing more than to humiliate me in front of everyone like they always did. I waited and waited and nothing happened. You saved me from those girls that day and in the car ride home I knew you were different. For the first time ever, I wanted your company more than my own.”

//

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

“Never, babygirl,” Leah coos, hands gripping your hips from behind as she fucks into your pussy hard. You whine into the mattress and grip the sheets, pushing your ass back into her hips. She angled her hips just right, hitting your sweet spot just enough to send you right off the edge.

“Leah!” you cried, reaching back to hold her strong thigh. She was relentless, pounding you through your orgasm. She flipped you over a minute later, her strap pushed back into your sensitive hole just milliseconds after pulling out. You’re about to squeal about being sensitive when she wraps her hand around your neck so lightly. It’s barely there but her skin on yours sends electric shocks through your system.

You buck up into her and bite your lip, forcing her cock straight into your pussy. She gives you that smug smirk that boils your blood and gets to work, rutting into you with purpose. Her hands knead your breasts religiously, face buried between them in an instant. You cradle her head that rests on you, legs widening for her subconsciously.

Your body submits to her willingly and you can barely think when the hand around your neck gently tightens. Your eyes roll into your head and you grin deliriously, oxygen leaving your head as quickly as it gets there.  

Her hips, although practically laying on you, do not relent, pounding into your pussy obediently. Her harness rubs your clit just right and you can barely make a sound to warn her before you gush all over her cock and your thighs. She squeezes your neck just a little harder than usual and it sends you straight into another orgasm right after the other.

She only slows down when you’re shaking like a leaf and turning a little pale, kissing you gently. You grin and reach out for her, she pulls her harness off and settles between your legs. You pat her head and kiss her forehead, fingers running through her blond hair. She presses kisses all over your neck and you sigh, grateful for the chance at a proper life the woman in your arms had given you.

“I love you, Leah,” you mumble into her hair and you feel the captain mumble her answer into your neck. You giggle and settle into the warm bed with the love of your life, excited to see what life has in store for the two of you.

[jjsfavgirl]

Pink Glasses

JJ Maybank x migraine prone!girlfriend

this is very much inspired by my boyfriend! Who always tell me to put my glasses on when we play video games or when I’m writing because I get really bad headaches(sorry Oliver I’m wearing them right now don’t worry) <3

Summary: JJ who makes his headache prone girlfriend wear her glasses even when she doesn’t want to.

Warnings: headaches, fluffy JJ again

-

There it was again, that horrifying feeling when your forehead burns and the words on your maths textbook began to shake. Another god awful headache.

Glancing at the pink case beside your laptop, you considered reaching in and grabbing the also pink glasses. You then remembered exactly what those frames look like on you, shuddering at the mental image you went back to your work.

“Hey, princess” you heard your boyfriend greet as he walked into your shared bedroom, placing his motorcycle keys on the best along with his jacket then approaching you in order to press a soft kiss on your forehead as he ran his tan fingers through your hair.

You smiled up at him weakly, enough for him to believe that your head wasn’t throbbing as the bright light from the window shined into your eyes and muttered a small hey.

You heard JJ groan from behind you as he stretched himself out on your shared floral sheets.

Rubbing your forehead in attempt to conflict with the penetrating pain that filled your head. It felt like your brain cells were running an illegal cock fight in your head.

“You okay, baby?” JJ asked sweetly, looking up from his phone as you turned around to meet his striking blue eyes.

“Yeah m’fine.” You faked another smile, trying to ignore how the corners of your lips turning up slightly made you head throb even more than it already was.

“I know you’re lying.” He began, getting up from the now dented bed, “is your head hurting again?” He knew you way too well.

“Seriously I’m fine.” You responded, picking up your pen from the wooden desk and attempting to write something, even though all the words seem to scramble into one blob on your pages.

You looked up to see your blonde boyfriend glancing between you and your glasses case.

“No.” You immediately responded, knowing exactly what he wanted.

“Yes.” He demanded, picking up the rosey pink case and pulling out the skinny frames. “You either stop studying or you put the glasses on.” He held out the glasses introns of you with a cocky smile and a raised eyebrow.

“You know I hate how they make me look.” You threw your pen down on the page, leaning back in your chair while looking up at the tanned boy.

“You look adorable in them.” He smiled, ushering the glasses closer to your face as you backed away from them in disgust. “Your head is hurting, I don’t want you to be hurt, baby.”

“Fine.” You sighed, snatching the frames out of his hands as he had a smug look on his face at his victory.

Slowly shoving the glasses on your face with a groan, you avoided gaze with JJ as you returned you eyes back to the textbook, your headache easing slightly already.

Cupping your cheeks with both his hands, he smushed your face together slightly as he turned you to face him.

“Such a pretty girl.” He murmured, smiling brightly down at you as his thumb grazed circles across your upper cheek.

You could only smile up at him, how could he make you feel this loved and this appreciated.

You had definitely chose the right guy.

-

Tag list: @chimindity @chiaraanatra

[sarahs-library]

Forgotten: Part Three

Azriel resolves to find answers; you try to keep from falling apart.

A/N - Finally! This week was really busy for me and all I wanted to do was get this finished. I hope you enjoy it, despite the angst. Cassian is the real star here, I absolutely loved writing his little part in this one. Any feedback is greatly appreciated!

Word count: 5,982

Part One ☪ Part Two

Forgotten Universe: Pretty Eyes

Azriel

“We really can’t put it off any longer, you know how unruly they get if left to their own devices for too long.” Azriel nodded absent-mindedly, his attention still mostly on the papers in front of him. Several months’ worth of reports had been piled on his desk by Rhys, an olive branch, something to occupy him whilst he waited out Madja’s orders of rest and recuperation. No training and no flying, not until the lingering effects of the concussion that still left him feeling weak had subsided.

After the disastrous intervention his family had staged yesterday culminated in him storming away from the table feigning a headache, he’d locked himself away in his room, preferring his solitude whilst he’d sorted through the mess of emotions. Finding sleep that night had been impossible. After hours spent tossing within the sheets and wrestling with an empty sense of wrongness he couldn’t explain, he resolved to sneak into the training room in the early hours and get through his regime before the rest of the house was stirring. His shadows alerted him to Cassian’s presence, moments before he found him only partway through his warm-up. His disappointment made Azriel feel like a chastised child, and he preferred to flee rather than confront his family’s meddling concern for his welfare.

He’d been holed up in his study ever since. Though well maintained by the House, the bound reports were old and mostly pertained to his early years as the Night Court’s spymaster. Now his preferred place of storage rather than the quiet sanctuary for work he remembered.

“You don’t have to explain it to me, Rhys, I understand.” Azriel continued to avoid his brother as he lounged in a chair opposite. He couldn’t stand to look at him, at any of his family. A constant reminder of everything he’d lost after waking. But the perfect opportunity was presenting itself, he just had to bide his time.

“I would understand if you didn’t want to come, with everything that’s happened.” Azriel still knew his brother. Knew that Rhys would rather disadvantage himself by not having him attend the Court of Nightmares than cause him distress. He also knew that Rhys would expect him to protest, to martyr himself and come anyway, for his family, his court, as he had done so many times before.

The shadows he’d sent out earlier, reluctant but reliable, began to slink back in under the closed door. They dispersed into the room, melding into their siblings hanging off the bookcase and in the archways of the windows. They heeded his silent plea to stay out of Rhys’ eyeline. Azriel touched the pads of his two scarred fingers to his forehead and closed his eyes, feigning discomfort.

The headache powder Elain had thoughtfully gifted him sat on the desk. Sweet, beautiful Elain who had paid attention to him, noticed the mannerisms he shielded with shadows and made him feel seen in a way his family never had. Who the male he’d become had seemed to snub. After tearing his room apart, he found the powder that he remembered so recently staring at as he tried to find sleep. In a drawer with broken-handled daggers and scraps of patching leather, gathering dust. Azriel met Rhys’ gaze and hoped that he wouldn’t be able to read the insincerity. He paused as if considering, before nodding in agreement.

“I think that would be best.” The slight widening of his brother’s eyes was the only sign of his surprise. “I’m sorry.” The apology was real, the guilt of manipulating Rhys lay heavy on his conscious.

“No, don’t be sorry. We understand Az. We just…We just want you to take care of yourself right now, brother.” Azriel swallowed heavily but managed to keep his face masked in unease. Rhys deserved better than this. His shadows thickened around him, sensing his emotional turmoil and desire to hide away. Rhys rose and leaned over the desk before clasping Azriel on the shoulder. He could feel the warmth of his brother’s hand through the dark dress shirt he wore. The affection on his face, so open and expressive now that Feyre had entered their lives, only served to make Azriel fall deeper into the pit of his self-loathing.

“We’ll be back this evening, Nesta will stay behind at the House with you in case you need anything.” His shadows affirmed that she was in the library a few floors below, engrossed in her latest smutty romance novel. It would be hours before she deigned to come back to reality, more than enough time for him to accomplish his task.

“I’ll finish reading these reports.” A tried-and-true tactic, Rhys had always understood Azriel’s need to use his work to buffer and evade situations that made him feel uncomfortable. He couldn’t let it go though, not completely. Not when Azriel was a shell of the male he’d been just a week before. The change had been gradual, Rhys couldn’t pinpoint when his brother had become happier in life, and more open in displaying his affection. Or at least less inclined to shroud himself in shadows. “Join us for dinner tonight?” The silence that followed was heavy.

Maybe it was the guilt, but Azriel found himself angling his head in acquiescence. Amethyst eyes brightened and Rhys nodded, accepting that Azriel was at least trying at some semblance of normalcy. Stepping away, Rhys resolved to dedicate himself to bringing his brother back to them, back to you, to the babe whose birth was fast approaching. The surge of power as he winnowed back to the River House left a lingering essence in the room. Azriel exhaled slowly, excitement and nervousness building in tandem as he realised the plan he set in motion was coming to fruition.

The shadows descended now, curling up to wait to relay the information. You found her? He asked; a chorus of voices relaying their affirmation. Where?

Rising from the chair behind the desk, straightening the papers into neat piles before glancing one last time at the small pot of powder, he returned to his bedroom. The door to the balcony hung ajar, letting in a cool morning breeze. He slipped through and climbed onto the edge overlooking Velaris. Stretching out the stiff muscles of his wings he gave a few precursory beats before launching himself off the balcony into a free fall over the city. His wings caught him in a gentle glide as he neared the rockface below and leveled out, carefully he prolonged riding the updraft as much as he could before he started to fly. The beats were slow, just enough to keep him a respectful distance from the city skyline but not enough to draw attention should Nesta decide to look out the window.

He followed the winding path of the Sidra through the city and reached the house nestled in the outskirts in a matter of minutes. There were no signs of activity, but his shadows had confirmed she was there. Circling the structure he tipped into his descent, heavy boots hitting cobbled stone as he landed in the lush gardens.

Your POV

You gripped the mug tightly between your hands, savouring the warmth seeping through the porcelain as you blew gently causing craters in the hot tea. As exhausted and emotional as you had been last night, sleep had eluded you long into the early morning. You’d managed a few fitful hours, but the gnawing emptiness Azriel’s absence left could not be abated. Separated only by the city of Velaris, you felt as though you may have been on separate worlds.

The babe you carried, so active now in the last stages of your pregnancy, had greeted the morning with a symphony of limbs played against your ribs. But it seemed that even they had stopped for the beauty of the sunrise over the skyline. You rubbed fondly against your abdomen, trailing a thumb over a small rounded bony prominence. The heel of a foot or the curved apex of a wing.  

Your eyes moved from the window to take in the nursery in the dawning light. A Pegasus, poised to take flight hovered on the wall by the small planet in one of the corners of the galaxy mobile. Home. You hadn’t thought seriously about your world in centuries, the one left behind as fire and brimstone destroyed everything you once had. You considered how your life would be different if you had never been forced to flee, to lead a nomadic existence through the stars.

You started as you heard the flapping wing beats that circled the house, descending lower before a pair of boots thudded against the stone. Abandoning the mug, you braced your arms to haul yourself out of the rocking chair in the nursery’s corner, cursing the sheer size your abdomen had grown to and how it restricted even the most basic of movements. Your feet were quick against the floor of the hall and as you began your descent of the stairs, leaning back to accommodate the additional weight that threw off your centre of gravity.

A heavy knock on the door made you more breathless than the sudden burst of activity. Your heart swelled.

“I’m coming!” Smiling as you called out. You faltered slightly when you heard the response.

“Hurry up! It’s freezing out here.” Cassian. The excitement that had bubbled in your chest died, hitting your stomach and leaving a leaden feeling in its wake. You were still on the stairs, taking a moment to collect yourself before you continued the down, moving much slower this time.

You made it to the bottom slightly out of breath, making sure to school your features before reaching out to open the front door. Cassian stood, a solid mass of muscle and a wide grin, grasping a crinkled paper bag in one of his mammoth hands. You couldn’t help returning him a small smile which soon died as you considered his unscheduled appearance.

“Is everything okay? Is it..Is it Az?” You knew Feyre and the others had spoken to him, tried to explain to him this new world he’d woken up to. She had confided in you last night that it hadn’t gone according to plan, that there hadn’t been the opportunity to convey more than basic information before he’d fled. She’d been apologetic, promising to try to see if she could get through to him, asking if there was anything you needed before returning to the River House.

“Oh. No, no, he’s fine. Well, I caught him trying to train this morning against Madja’s orders but that’s just Az being predictable.” Cassian shifted his weight and looked down at the bag he cradled like it held something precious. “The bakery across from the Sidra, the one that sells the hazelnut croissants. Az said that he was picking them up for you every morning after training. That you’d been cravin’ ‘em, so here.” He held the bag, heavy with sweet-smelling pastries, out across the threshold to you. Tears pricked the back of your eyes as you reached for them, meeting Cassian sheepish grin as he took in the emotion displayed clearly on your face.

“Thank you.” It was a near whisper, but you managed to get the words around the lump that had formed in your throat. The hulking male shrugged it off as if to say it was nothing. You swallowed before speaking again. “You hungry?” His grin widened, taking on a lupine quality as he scoffed and stepped over the threshold at the invitation.

“Like you need to ask."

Azriel

The cloying, sweet smell rising from the uniform beds of roses tickled his nose. Morning dew clinging to the blades of grass left trails of shining wetness on the leather of his shoes. The wrought iron garden table held a pot of steaming tea, a clear glass sticky with the remnants of juice, and two plates dusted with crumbs. Shadows directed him towards the bottom of the garden and Azriel's heart raced with anticipation as he thought about seeing her again.

She knelt on a towel with her back to him, gloveless hands digging into damp soil. Azriel took a moment to admire how the cut of the lavender dress exposed the gentle curve of her shoulders. An errant lock of hair hung forward, swinging with her movements and he longed to pull it back behind her ear and trace his fingers against the soft skin of her neck, feeling her warmth beneath his fingertips.

“Elain.” She started, pulling her hands from the dirt and turning to face him. Her eyes widened in surprise and her lips parted slightly.

“Azriel, what are you doing here? Madja said you needed to rest.” He drew closer to where she still knelt frozen in the grass.

“I couldn’t stay away, I had to see you.” She shifted her weight, rising to her feet quickly. The hem of her dress brushed against the grass as she took several steps away from his advance, the lavender darkening from the wetness. “Please.” Elain stopped her retreat at his plea.

“Azriel…” She was beautiful, even as her brows furrowed in concern. Azriel wanted to take her face between his hands, wanted to bare his soul and promise to do anything, be anything that she needed.

“You can’t deny this Elain, what’s here between us. You feel it, I know you do. And the Solstice, I know what I said but…It’s not what I meant. It was Rhys, he was concerned about the bond you share with Lucian, about the repercussions of me courting you.”

Elain sighed, “I know that Azriel. You may not remember, but I do.”

"I remember the Solstice,” she continued. “I remember what you said. But I also remember the way you looked at me, the way you touched me. I remember the way you made me feel."

Elain paused, her eyes meeting Azriel's. “And I remember being happy in those months after, happy with you.” Azriel's heart swelled with hope. “But it...We didn’t work Azriel, not like that.”

“What do you mean?” Azriel asked, seeming to deflate under Elain’s gaze.  “If we were happy…”

“We were. Initially at least. But being mated to Lucien, even though I hadn’t accepted the bond, strained us. You’ve always struggled with feelings of inadequacy, no matter what I did it wasn’t enough, not to help you get past that.” He’d realised, when he spoke with Rhys on the Solstice, that he hadn’t considered a life with Elain outside the moments he stole before sleep. After he had, the life he’d built in his mind hadn’t factored in her continued bond with Lucien.

“We both wanted each other for the wrong reasons.” She continued, Azriel’s hope morphed into a sick sense of dread. “I wanted control, to be able to dictate something in my life that wasn’t because of the Cauldron. And you were chasing what Rhys and Cassian have.” Elain’s words gave free rein to all the thoughts of inadequacy, an open invitation for the dark whispers of self-deprecation to taunt and tease and belittle him for expecting anything else, for expecting more. Of course, he couldn’t have what his brothers had; he didn’t deserve it.  

Elain’s eyes were knowing, as if she could follow the train of insecurities his thoughts had taken. She closed the distance between them, her features radiant and softened with compassion. She reached out and took his hand, hidden by his side in a whirlpool of shadows, gently clasping it between her own. She had never shied away from his hands; it was one of the things that enamoured Azriel to her. 

“The decision to end our relationship was a mutual one. I think we both recognised that we couldn’t make our relationship what either of us truly needed.” Azriel no longer looked at her face, but where their hands touched. His skin was imperfect from the path the flames left, hers was torn and dirty from the garden. All he had wanted since the Solstice was to feel her touch. Now, as her palms cradled his own, an unexpected wave of instinct that screamed it was the wrong pair of hands made itself known. Azriel forced it back.

“I know that I need you, Elain. You and I understand each other. We could make this work; I know that too.” Elain smiled at him. Not in relief or joy, but the kind of smile that is given when you indulge someone.  

“There are no second chances for us. This is all temporary, what you feel for me. Once you remember you will-“Azriel couldn’t stop himself from interrupting her, addressing the memory that had burned under his skin since their lips had touched.

“You kissed me back.”

“You surprised me. It wasn’t…Azriel I understand that you’re scared but…” Trailing off, she sucked a deep breath in between her teeth. He tore his gaze away from their hands to fix on her face and was surprised to see anger waiting for him there.

“It was a mistake, Azriel.” And there Elain was, throwing back the words he’d said to her at the Solstice. “If you could see the way you’re acting right now, you’d be horrified.” She ripped her hands from his and took a step back. The sudden loss of contact had the warmth her skin had left on his cooling in the morning breeze. Azriel felt mournful at the loss, but any emotion seemed to pale in comparison to the gaping chasm of emptiness that still sat behind his sternum.

A shriek of joy broke the tension between them. Azriel tensed, taken off-guard. His shadows had been unusually quiet, they often disappeared completely in Elain’s presence, but since he woke up he was finding them to be downright uncooperative. They hadn’t alerted him of anyone else’s presence in the gardens. Instinct drove his hand to his thigh as he turned towards the sound. A boy with a mop of dark unruly hair barrelled towards him, wings flapping in excitement. In an outstretched hand spearheading his charge was a battered wooden sword.

Azriel reacted on instinct, shifting his weight to remain standing as the boy threw his arms around his thighs. Hazel eyes met blue-grey, a perfect replica of his High Lady’s. The boy's cheeks were flush from activity, and a wide toothy smile shone from his face as he looked up at Azriel.

Nyx.

Rhys had said he was perfect. Looking at the small joy-filled child a distant part of Azriel agreed. But seeing him, this obvious reminder of the time he had lost was so much worse than looking at the expectant faces of his family.

“You’re back!” His face was still pressed against the soft leather covering Azriel’s thighs. Azriel returned the child’s embrace by placing a hand on his small shoulder, moving slowly and half-expecting the child to flinch away. Nyx didn’t. Instead, his grin seemed to grow impossibly wider, such open displays of affection nurtured in an upbringing that he and his brothers had only dreamed of. Nyx released Azriel’s legs, toy sword still gripped in one hand as he announced without preamble that they were going to play together.

Your POV

You followed the cobblestone path next to the Sidra deeper into the heart of the city. The light coat you wore protected you from the chill in the air as you buried your hands deeper into your pockets. The sun offered little warmth to your face but you basked in the feeling. As beautiful as the seasons were in Velaris, the bleakness winter promised often had you yearning for warmer climes.

It was still early but the city was beginning to bustle with activity, you watched as vendors began opening stalls to display their wares. Observed the groups of people clustered around tables tucked near the rails shielding them from the steep drop of the river’s bank, enjoying steaming drinks and warm food. The breakfast you’d shared with Cassian, all wide grins, bad jokes, and dancing around the elephant in the room, had left you in better spirits than you had expected. Still, seeing all the residents of the city going about their business coursed envy through your veins.

You hadn’t realised you’d stopped and were staring, paying particular attention to a couple at one of the tables. The male, dark-haired with tan skin and high cheekbones, leaned closer to whisper into the female's ear, delicately moving loose hair aside for easier access. She tipped her head to the sky as she laughed, carefree. This couple, these strangers, so open in their happiness and displays of affection loosened the careful hold you’d been maintaining on your emotions, and for a moment you felt as if you’d be washed away. Anger, guilt, and sadness all warred within you. It had been waging since you’d found Azriel and Elain together only yesterday. And underneath it all, a despair that would cripple you if given the chance.

A lone shadow, the one that had been racing ahead cleaving an inquisitive path through the street, danced into your eyeline. There once was a time when one straying so close to your face would cause you to instinctively flinch away in surprise. In the early days of your friendship, Azriel had kept them on a tight leash that had been exhausting to maintain out of fear of scaring you away. Now, after years of cohabitation, you’d grown used to their proclivities and peculiarities. Their cool brush was almost as familiar and comforting as the feeling of Azriel’s warm, scarred hands. It swirled in front of your face now, its movements jerky, verging on agitated, and though they couldn’t speak to you it was clear what they were trying to convey. You were going to be late.

Closing your eyes and taking a few deep, calming breaths you tried to force the emotion back. A hand moved on autopilot out of the depth of your pocket to slip between the buttons of your coat, fingertips resting on the swell of your midriff over warm wool. You could control this, you decided.

One summer night, childfree and enjoyed under the stars whilst sharing a bottle of wine, Feyre had shared the circumstances of her own pregnancy with you. How she’d made a seemingly impossible decision to you at the time, to carry on because she did not want her son to experience anything other than love whilst sequestered in her womb. Now you found yourself vowing the same, that your emotional turmoil would not impact the life growing inside of you.

Resolved, you turned away to continue your journey through the streets, guided by the shadow that weaved in between other pedestrians, just skirting their notice. After a few minutes, you came to a stop outside the warm and brightly lit shop. The medicinal smell of herbs leaked under the door and into the street. The shadow had already disappeared under the frame, scouting ahead for any sign of danger. It returned to you almost lazily, coiling up dark wood towards the handle of the door in invitation.

You clasped a hand over the knob, shadow dancing over your fingers as you pushed open the door. A bell tinkled above your head announcing the arrival of a customer. Dark-stained wood lined the floor of the shop, and a counter full of books and candles sat before massive shelves full of various jars and decanters.

“I would have come to you, child.” Madja’s form appeared in the doorframe to her examination room at the back of the shop.

“I know.” You bristled a little at her referring to you as such. “I had to get out of the house.” You eyed her warily, still not entirely comfortable around the high-fae female. Though you knew Feyre held no ill feelings towards her, you had been incredibly reluctant to allow her to be involved in the care of your pregnancy, citing her blatant disregard for Feyre’s body autonomy. It was only her experience with Illyrian babes that made you acquiesce.

“You’re alone.” It wasn’t a question. There was a marked note of disapproval in Madja’s tone. You had considered briefly asking Cassian to accompany you during breakfast. He’d shared Rhy’s plans for their visit to the Hewn City but had stressed that he would stay behind with you if necessary. But the idea of bringing anyone other than your mate here made you feel worse than the prospect of attending alone. So you’d lied to Cassian, told him you planned on relaxing and organising a few things in the baby’s room and that you didn’t want to bore him with that. He’d been quick to reassure you, but you’d pushed him to go, knowing that Rhys and Feyre relied on him for their games in court posturing.

Azriel had never missed an appointment. For every progress check, every measurement, every sweet cooling sweep of Madja’s magic across your abdomen he’d sat dutifully by your side, tracing gently patterns on the back of the hand he’d gripped in his own. Remembering the way his face lit up, the tears of joy that lined his hazel eyes as Madja informed you that the babe was healthy and your pregnancy was progressing well made the empty chasm in your chest ache.

“Not completely.” You gestured vaguely to the rogue shadow that had accosted you when you’d tried to leave the house this morning, now snaking between jars of brightly coloured poultices and dried ingredients lining the shelves.

She gestured for you to follow her into the room at the back, shutting the door behind you and your shadow companion. You began to shrug off your coat, hanging it on the hook by the door. The examination table creaked under your weight as you hoisted one leg on, wiggling yourself back until your back was flush against the rest. Madja’s wrinkled face was impassive as she watched you struggle. She lowered herself into the chair next to you, lifting the jumper to expose your abdomen. The room was heated with her magic, for which you were thankful.

“How are you feeling?” You kept your eyes on her hands as they moved over the swell of your stomach, skimming over the darker map of marks left by your skin stretching to accommodate. You loved and hated those lines.

“Just fatigued more than anything else.” Madja made a noise of agreement at the back of her throat. She didn’t ask a follow-up question, in the silence you found yourself offering up more information. “I’m hungry all the time. And my feet are so swollen it’s difficult to put on shoes.” The shadow had made its way onto the examination table next to you, it watched Madja’s hands as you did. It strayed closer to where your hands lay clasped, resting on the edge of your stomach just under your breasts. It perched there, half weaving between your fingers and half observing.

“And?” The feel of her magic wasn’t unpleasant, but the longer you stayed under her touch the more uncomfortable you became. Instinct urged you to get away from under her hands, as harmless as they seemed, to put more distance between her and the babe than just the thin layer of skin and organs. You clenched your teeth, on edge as the examination continued.

“And what?” You knew what she was probing for, to discuss Azriel.

“Your mate, girl. Don’t play stupid. I want to know how you’re handling the stress of this situation. I don’t need to tell you that it isn’t good for the babe.” Your eyes strayed from her hands for a moment, meeting brown before averting them again. You wanted to be anywhere but here. And you certainly didn’t want to be discussing this with the spindrift-haired fae.

“I’m fine.” She scoffed at that. Her hands finally stilled, pulling away from you. Tugging the jumper back down, you swung your legs around perching on the edge of the examination table. You picked at the nail of your thumb, anxiety starting to build.

“There are no medals for a brave face.”

“How are things?” She allowed the diversion. Her pause prompted you to finally look at her. Madja’s face remained impassive. Panic started to set in, its tight grip made it difficult for you to suck in your next breath. You and Azriel had known this pregnancy wouldn’t be without risk, but you’d thought the similarities of physique and bone density you shared with the Illyrians would shield you against major complications.

“You’re progressing well,” Madja said. “Only a few more weeks, I expect.” You released the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, relief flooding through you. It was short-lived as Madja opened her mouth to speak again.

“I am however concerned about you.”

“I’m fine.” Perhaps if you said it aloud enough you could make yourself believe it. It seemed that Madja wasn’t going to allow that though, incredulity written on her face.

“If that’s all you’re going to say girl, we’ll get nowhere.” You held your tongue against informing her to mind her own business, knowing that Rhys held a particular soft spot for the ancient fae and wouldn’t take kindly to you insulting her. “You’re…situation,” she paused briefly, feeling the fire developing in your gaze as she pushed. “The stress increases the risk of preterm labour.” You nodded, continuing to pick at your fingernail. “I know of healers, ones that specialise in the mind. I could-“

You cut her off before she could finish. “I don’t need a healer, I just need my mate,” voice breaking on the last word as traitorous tears brewed at the line of your lashes. Madja reached out a wrinkled hand to clasp your own, her skin warm above yours, her face sympathetic.

“It could help, acknowledging our emotions gives them less power over us.” The idea of explaining to a stranger the events of the past few days filled you with dread. The agony of watching Azriel collapse bleeding on the steps of the River House, of tugging on the bond only to find strands that led to nowhere as you had pleaded for him to wake up. Your mate, usually so strong and unyielding, seemed almost fragile as Rhys and Cassian had manhandled him into the House. Sitting at his bedside after, watching each breath he took as he slumbered, every shift of the babe inside you filled you with fresh grief. You’d told him everything, every mundane thought that passed through your head as you tried to distract yourself from the thought that Azriel may never wake up and meet his child.

And you’d been so tired, with the pregnancy and sitting dutifully at Azriel’s bedside, that when Elain had offered to relieve you to get some rest you’d felt grateful. You couldn’t have predicted what happened when he woke. The likelihood of him reacting favourably to someone he considered to be a stranger at his sick bed was absurd. Still the guilt gnawed at you; if you’d stayed perhaps things wouldn’t have turned out as disastrously as they had.  

“No.” You considered for a moment, before adding a thank you as an afterthought. Madja sighed, exasperated.

“Well, if you’re unwilling to do that then you must promise to take it easy. Bed rest, no magic.” The thought of languishing your time away in the house alone irked you, but it was more agreeable than the alternative. You inclined your head in agreement.  

Azriel

The tension in the room was palpable, and Azriel couldn't decide which was worse: the fury etched across Rhys' face or the wounded hurt concealed beneath. A dark power coiled behind Rhys's desk, while Feyre's portrait watched from above, her eyes twinkling with mischief. In the hallowed confines of Rhys's study, Azriel couldn't help but be reminded of a similar, scolding conversation, one where Rhys had warned him to stay away from Elain.

"And if I catch you panting after her again," Rhys had said, "I'll make sure you regret it."

Now, once more, his brother was fuming over Azriel's dalliance with her. And as in the past, when faced with his brother's wrath, Azriel donned his well-practiced mask of ice, a facade carefully crafted in the darkness and shadows of his childhood.

Rhys' voice, as sharp as a blade, pierced the stillness of the room. "What in the world are you thinking?" Azriel felt a surge of cold rage in response, but Rhys remained unyielding. He had always understood the volatile undercurrent beneath Azriel's surface and was adept at meeting it with his own resolute strength.

"Madja ordered you to rest.” Rhys continued. “Not only did you defy her orders, but you also lied to me.” Azriel broke the eye contact he’d been holding, loathing himself for the deception. “I find you here, pestering Elain when she made it abundantly clear she wants nothing to do with you.”

"I had to," Azriel protested, his voice tinged with stubbornness.

Rhys sighed, gesturing around the room. "This," he said, encompassing Azriel, "all of it is temporary. We will find a way to heal you and restore your memories. In the meantime, if you could refrain from setting your life ablaze, it would be greatly appreciated."

Azriel's gaze hardened, his reluctance evident. "I can't just forget her, Rhys. You know I can't.”

Rhys paused for a moment; his eyes filled with compassion. Then, he played his last card. " Az, I understand how hard this is for you, but you also have responsibilities. You have a mate, one who carries your child. I can't stand by and watch you ruin things now, only to hate yourself later when you regain your memories.”

A whirlwind of conflicting emotions churned within Azriel. The burden of his forgotten memories weighed heavily on his shoulders, and it was a struggle to reconcile his past self with the man he had become. He couldn't help but feel a profound sense of loss for the memories that had been stolen from him. Loss of Elain, of the history they’d shared together. But the thought of having a mate he couldn’t recall, someone whom he so obviously shared a life with, was both a source of guilt and deep frustration. It was as though he had been robbed of a part of himself.

His thoughts swirled with questions and doubts about the nature of their relationship, about Elain. These questions gnawed at him, a relentless reminder he was living a life that he couldn’t recognise as his own, despite being surrounded by his family.

Azriel clenched his jaw, his reluctance growing stronger. “You're just going to leave your child without a father?" Rhys' voice was firm, and Azriel felt the weight of the responsibility.

"Of course not," Azriel replied, his tone strained.

"So you'll what, meet her during the birth? After the babe's born?" Rhys pressed.

Azriel hesitated before saying, "She's a stranger, Rhys. I can't just pretend everything is normal when I don't even know who she is."

The room remained shrouded in an oppressive silence, the unspoken weight of their conversation bearing down on them. Azriel's reluctance and frustration grappled with Rhys' unwavering insistence, and the seconds ticked by in limbo. It was then, amidst the heavy tension, that Rhys's voice broke the impasse.

"So meet her," Rhys said, his words soft yet unwavering.

Azriel blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of Rhys' suggestion. His eyes locked onto his brother's. "What?"

"Meet her," Rhys repeated with quiet determination. "And she won't be a stranger."

The clarity of Rhys' statement struck Azriel like a revelation. He had been so consumed by the paralyzing fear of the unknown and the torment of his stolen memories that he hadn't contemplated the possibility of forging new connections.

Thank you for reading, to everyone who asked to be added to the tag-list I think I've included everyone I can but some blogs I couldn't tag so apologies if that's yours.

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[thisismeracing]

Pretty Liar | LN4 (Patreon exclusive)

― Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader ― Word count: 5.6k ― Warnings: mentions of food and alcohol; +18! graphic description of sex (p in v, oral - both, fem and male receiving). ― Summary: Ever since Lando was a kid he knew his future would bring fame somehow, always involved with racing and having just what it needed to become a Formula 1 driver, he was happy with everything it entailed, up until said future became his present and he realized there was also a rough side to the fame. That’s why, when he found you – someone who had no idea who he was, he kept his career from you. He would tell you, and he would eventually clarify the situation, he had it all planned, however, all it took was one week. One week for you to discover that what you thought started as a beautiful story, was actually a perfectly told lie. Lando was pretty, but he was also a liar. Now he had to find a way to explain everything, and you had to find it in you to forgive him.

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Some scientists believe that it takes around ten minutes for an average person to make an everyday decision. Yet, the moment Yn’s eyes met Lando’s, and he smiled at her, she knew they would go home together that night, and this exchange took less than a second. 

His face seemed familiar, but she couldn’t remember where. She thought maybe it was from an old Instagram post their friends in common had made. Maybe they saw each other in a pub before. The city wasn’t that big, their crowds were similar, and they were both young.

Lando seemed surprised with the news, “You don’t…know me?” 

“Should I?” Yn asks, quirking her eyebrows with a glimmer of humor in her stare. 

He shook his head before Oliver, their common friend, could say something, “Nah, it’s just…I’m a DJ, I thought maybe you had seen something about me around a party you know?!” 

Yn bit her lower lip, chuckling. “I’m sorry, I’m sure you must be a great DJ, but I’ve never heard of a Lando Norris before.” 

“Now I’m hurt,” the Brit turned to their friend, and Oliver’s laugh boomed around. 

That was how their first interaction went, with both aware of the tension line being pulled. Lando had never seen someone match his energy like she did, and Yn had never felt that giddy with a guy before. When someone grabbed Oliver away, the speakers gave space to a remixed tune of  Zedd and Yn asked what Lando was playing that night, or if he was playing at all. 

He smiled at her showing the small gap between his teeth which she decided was one of her favorite features of his, after his eyes, “It depends. What do you want me to play?”

“Oooh, smooth, I like it!” she giggled, taking a sip of her drink, and using the seconds to breathe in some air. “Would you mind playing Rihanna?” 

“Most recent ones or oldies?” 

“Around 2010s would be perfect.”

“I know exactly the song,” he announced like a promise, and Yn nodded, grabbing his hand, lacing their fingers, and starting to head in the direction of the bar. It would be an hour or so until the pub’s DJ finished his thing. 

“Do you wanna drink something?” Yn stopped to say in his ears now that the song seemed much louder and so did the crowd. Lando’s free hand grabbed her waist, and he shouted back that he had just grabbed his refill, but he was fine going with her. 

Truth was, Lando didn’t even like the bar area that much, drunk people would tend to gather there sometimes, spill their alcohol, scream, and try creating scenes, but something about Yn’s eyes would make him follow her to hell, and they had just met. That felt a tad scary, but he wouldn’t think too much about it, trying to focus his mind on Danny’s words about enjoying the butterflies, enjoying the naivety, and enjoying the nerves that came with it. 

**********************

“I still gotta learn how to bake properly.”

“We could try together. I know a thing or two about sugary recipes,” she suggested. “Meanwhile, you cook the main dish and I make the dessert—” she stopped mid-sentence, putting the palm of her hand on her forehead. “We forgot about dessert, Lan!” 

But the pilot can only grin, watching in awe as her lips pout slightly.

“I didn’t.”

“What do you mean?” her tone started with a confused hint, but when their eyes met and Yn caught the way his gaze drifted  across her body like a caress bringing a shiver along. Her legs instinctively crossed in search of the slight tinge of pressure. 

“Oh, you know exactly what I mean,” his grin was wicked, and the way his head pointed to the space in front of him at the table almost made Yn whimper. Lando pushed the plate and glass to the side, watching as Yn got up and walked to him. The noises of the city came through the open windows, just like the cold wind, creating the perfect harmony with the way her bare steps hit the ground, the slight sound coming from it. 

The legs of Lando’s chair scraped on the ground when he pushed it just a tiny bit to make room for Yn. She sat on his lap, legs on either side of him, caging him in place, and giving him the feeling of her bare cunt against his dress pants. 

“Aren’t you wearing anything under the dress?” he asked, mocking shock on his expression. 

Yn merely shook her head, “It would just ruin it anyway.”

And just like that cooking conversations and random subjects were long forgotten, their lips smashed together in a heated kiss, and Yn moaned into his mouth when Lando gripped her waist and guided her movements on top of him, his cock hardening with each motion. 

*****************

“Come in my mouth,” she rasped, it sounded like a plea, and Lando couldn’t help but give it to her. At that moment he would give her anything and everything she asked for. The way her eyes blinked at him from between his legs, mascara a bit smudged on her cheeks, lips swollen from sucking, she looked like an angel. 

And he couldn’t deny an angel its request.

So when her mouth enveloped him again, cheeks hollowing and tongue twirling Lando gripped the table, hips buckling slightly and body finally succumbing to pleasure. He watched as his cum leaked from her mouth, his dick still spurting the white liquid and making it land on her chin and collarbone. 

Yn grinned up at him, licking her lips. 

He scooped cum from her chin using his finger and she eagerly opened her mouth, sucking his thumb and smiling up at him again. At that moment, he wanted them to be intimate enough, so he could grab a camera and save that image. Frame it. Store it under locks. Have it with him forever. Something about the way she looked and what they had just done stirred his insides again.

“Can I have mine now?” he scooped more cum this time from her collarbone and Yn nodded, parting her lips to him again. 

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, honeybees! I hope you guys liked this piece. I've been meaning to write a long piece for Lan for a while now, and it felt good to put this together, I'm looking forward to writing more for him, let me know if you wanna see it! <3 I wanted to add a huge shout-out to Delia (@struggling-with-delia) for proofreading and beta-reading this (Ily, Dee!).

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[swiftiethatlovesf1]

A race for love p.5

Hii guyss, here's part 5 of the love triangle between Ollie and Franco, if you have missed part 4 here it is.

- Austrian Grand Prix 2023 -

After watching Oliver’s F2 race, your day quickly spiralled into chaos. As soon as you returned, your dad was waiting, immediately asking where you’d been all morning. Before you could catch your breath, he had you helping out at the motorhome for the rest of the afternoon, right through the main race. The hours flew by in a blur of tasks—organizing, assisting the crew, and finally helping them pack up everything for the next race.

You hadn’t stopped once, and though the non-stop activity was exhausting, you welcomed it. Being busy kept your mind off things, though a small part of you felt a twinge of regret for not being able to visit the other paddock to say goodbye to Franco or Oliver. As the day wound down and the last of the equipment was packed, you realized how quickly time had slipped away.

Just as you were about to head back and call it a day, your phone buzzed. Glancing at the screen, you couldn’t help but smile when you saw Franco’s name. Despite the whirlwind of the afternoon, that small message from him instantly brightened your mood.

As you open Franco’s message, your heart skips a beat.

"Hey, I looked for you after the race, but you were nowhere to be found. I just wanted to check if you were okay. Also… I’m a little disappointed I didn’t get on the podium today. Really wanted it."

Though the message seems simple, there’s something deeper in his words, a kind of quiet frustration. What you don’t know is that Franco had been determined to impress you today, pushing himself harder than usual in hopes of standing on that podium with you watching. Fourth place had felt like a letdown—not just for the race, but because he couldn’t show you what he was truly capable of.

You smile softly at his concern, quickly typing back:

"I’m so sorry, Franco! My dad asked for my help, and I’ve been busy with the team all afternoon, helping them pack up for the next race. I didn’t even have time to stop by and say goodbye to anyone!"

You pause, wondering how to word your next thought. Your fingers hover over the screen before you start typing again.

"But I saw you race! Even though you didn’t get a podium, you were amazing out there. I really think you have so much potential, Franco. You’re going to make it, I know it."

You hit send, feeling a little shy. To you, it’s just an honest compliment—he’s a talented driver, after all. But Franco’s heart swells as he reads your message. He smiles at the words, the disappointment from earlier easing a little as he re-reads, "you were amazing out there."

For you, it was just a race—another part of the weekend’s excitement—but for Franco, it had been his chance to prove himself to you. Yet, here you are, unknowingly telling him that he didn’t need a podium for you to notice him. That simple innocence, the way you genuinely support him, only makes his feelings grow.

Franco’s reply comes quickly, his usual playful tone shining through.

"I’m glad you think so. I’ll just have to make up for it at Silverstone. Are you coming to that race too?"

You grin, already feeling a rush of excitement at the thought of seeing him again, but you also remember Silverstone is a big weekend for McLaren. Typing back, you reply:

"Yes, I’ll be there! It’s McLaren’s home race, so I’m really looking forward to it. But I’ll definitely stop by the F3 paddock to see you."

The thought of juggling your time between Franco and the rest of the weekend fills you with anticipation, but you’re eager to support both. Franco’s response comes in almost immediately.

"Looking forward to it already. Maybe this time I’ll actually get to say goodbye before you disappear with your dad," he teases, though there’s a warmth in his words.

You can’t help but laugh softly at his message, quickly typing back.

"I promise! No disappearing acts this time."

After a few more playful exchanges, you tuck your phone away, the excitement building inside you for Silverstone. Between the McLaren excitement and the chance to see Franco again, the next race weekend is already shaping up to be even more thrilling.

As the day winds down and you’re helping your dad finish packing, you glance at your phone, already counting the days until Silverstone. Just as you’re about to leave with him, your phone buzzes again. Expecting it to be Franco or maybe a reminder from the team, you casually unlock it, only to feel your stomach drop when you read the message:

"Franco is not who you think he is. You aren’t special."

The words seem to leap off the screen, chilling you for a moment. You blink, rereading the message, confusion swirling in your mind. Who could’ve sent this? And why? You glance around the paddock, but everything seems normal—busy, loud, and crowded with people finishing up for the day. But this message… it sticks with you, a strange and unsettling feeling creeping in.

You try to shake it off as you follow your dad, but the words replay in your mind. What did they mean, "Franco is not who you think he is"? And why would someone send this to you?

With the excitement of Silverstone ahead, the anonymous message leaves a shadow hanging over your thoughts as you walk toward the car, wondering what exactly the next race might bring.

Part 6

[fallstaticexit]

After the inevitable conflict between Lyric and Myrah mom ends their family dinner, Mel visits his old stomping grounds. The only good thing to come out of his parent's divorce as a child was moving to San Sequoia and meeting his friends and future wife. He really can't imagine his life without his tribe.

prev / next

Bonus: NOOOOO absolutely not

Loren: Hello?

Mel: Hey, Loren.

Loren: Hey.

Mel: Guess where I am.

Loren: Beats me. Where are you?

Mel: We used to loiter at the old pier when we were kids—me, you, and Aiden. Our rounds of tic-tac-toe and hangman are still etched into the old, rotten wood. Aiden didn’t know how to spell Mila Kunis and spelled it Mila Kunes, so we were playing for like an hour trying to figure out what the hell the word was. [chuckles] Remember?

Loren: Yeah. I remember, Mel.

Mel: Yeah...

Mel: Listen... I wanted to call because we haven’t talked about what happened.

Loren: I really don’t know what to say.

Mel: No, I know. I just- I wanted you and Maeve to know how sorry we are about all of this. You know we raised Selene better than that, and it really surprised and disappointed us.

Loren: We were disappointed too.

Loren: As a parent, you prepare for the big heartbreak, but I never imagined it would hurt like this. We’re having to rebuild our daughter from the ground up. It’s devastating. She didn’t deserve that.

Mel: I know. I feel so awful...

Loren: [sighs] You didn’t do anything, Mel. Selene is an adult, and she made a choice. A fucked-up one, but a choice nonetheless, and now we process and we move on.

Mel: Selene’s dropping from the tour.

Loren: Zoey would hate that. Despite everything, she would still want Selene to compete. At least to kick her ass, anyway.

Mel: Zoey’s an amazing young woman. You and Maeve did a great job.

Loren: Selene’s a good kid, too. A dumbass, but good. I don’t hate her. I love her like she’s my own. I just need her to work through her shit.

Mel: And are we still cool?

Loren: Yesss, Starboy. We’re cool. But if your daughter comes within 10 feet of mine, I’m going to kick her and your ass—at least for now.

Mel: Understood.

Loren: I love you, Mel. You and Nina are our family, always, ok? Anyway, I’m going to turn in for the night. Talk to you later-

Mel: Wait, there’s one more thing! My mom married a man half her age and didn’t tell anyone.

Loren: Fucking Myrah! [laughs]

Mel: Ok, there’s another. Olive is doing the same thing, except it’s a rich milf or something?

Loren: How many times do I have to tell you and Aiden, they’re not Milfs when they’re our age.

Mel: [chuckles] Night Loren.

Nina: Hey, you. Ready to head back to the hotel?

Mel: Yeah, but sit with me first. I just got off the phone with Loren. We were talking about Selene.

Nina: How’d that go?

Mel: We’re good. Just wish our kids were. I feel like the twins don’t think they can come and talk to us anymore.

Nina: Or maybe they’re in their 20s and they think they have it all figured out. Sounds familiar?

Mel: Is it really the same thing over and over?

Nina: But this time, we’re going to make sure we’re listening. If there’s anything I learned about your mother and Lyric, it’s that our children will always want to be heard. We should give them that when they’re ready to speak.

Mel: You always know what to say.

Nina: I learned by loving you.

Mel: Off subject but...remember that thing I said I always wanted to do?

Nina: Mel. It’s like...11pm at night.

Mel: Come onnn, nobody’s around. It’ll be quick.

Nina: Once you get started, you never want to stop.

Mel: We’ll use a safe word. The moment you want to stop, we’ll stop.

Nina: Just be gentle. We’re not in our 20s anymore.

Mel: We’ll go nice and slow.

Mel: [panting] See? That wasn’t so bad.

Nina: [breathlessly] Easy... for you to say...what happened to nice and slow?

Mel: Want to go again?

Nina: ...yeah, but hurry before someone calls the police. [laughs]

Mel: Hold on tight.

Nina: [squeals] Wait! I’m slipping!!

Mel: I said hold on! I’m gonna do a big spin.

Nina: OK! OK! Go!

[t-horn-n]

— clean up crew

PAIRING: miguel o’hara x reader (gender-neutral)

GENRE: hurt/comfort

SUMMARY: he thinks that you take too many risks on missions.  you think he’s a hypocrite.

“I don’t think you’re listening to me, Miguel,” you berate.

Your anger feels like a vat of boiling water beneath your rib cage.

“No, you’re not listening to me,” Miguel retorts.  “If you were, we wouldn’t still be talking about this, thirty minutes later.”  His voice sounds pinched and low.  

It’s at times like these that you think it would be much more simple if you just hated him.  If you could take all of the things you felt about Miguel O’Hara and exchange them for that single-minded five letter word.

“You’re only listening to me enough to argue with me,” you insist.

“But how many times have we fought about this, querida?  You’re always the one to start it.”  

You stand between him and the door to his office in the Spider-Society’s headquarters, so he focuses on a holographic dot map of reported anomalies.  He never likes to sit still when you fight.  At work, he pretends to swipe through reports or analyze charts.  At home, he’ll get up to fix himself a mug of decaffeinated coffee or clean the dishes in the sink or fold the laundry you left on the kitchen table.  You’re often arguing with his back.  You try very hard not to resent that, or rather, not to resent him.

“I would drop it if you would just listen to me.”  It’s mortifying that your voice shakes when you’re angry.

He thinks that you take too many risks on missions.  You think he’s a hypocrite.

“I have,” he says, exasperated.  “But this is the third time this month that you’ve gotten injured—”

“Bruises don’t count, Miguel.”

“Let me finish,” he warns.  “You sprained your wrist two weeks ago.  The month before that you pulled a muscle in your neck.  In May you dislocated your shoulder.  Last year you were out for three months when you fractured your collarbone.  You throw yourself around like you’re unbreakable.” 

“Oh yeah?” you hiss.  “What about you?  You flung yourself into that collapsing building on Tuesday.” 

“And you notice that I am unhurt.” 

“Right.”  You roll your eyes.  “Because you’re just so perfect, boss.  The strongest.  The smartest.”

His shoulders tense. 

“I’m worried that one day you’ll break and they won’t be able to fix you,” he tells you.  “If I did what was good for you, I’d send you to the clean up crew.” 

Your face heats.  That’s mean, you both know it.  It makes you want to be meaner.

“Oh, because you always know what’s best for everyone?  Honey, don’t you think you’ve let all this power go to your head?” 

“No, I—”

“‘Clean up crew.’  Sometimes you’re such a goddamn asshole, Miguel.  Remember when that Vulture got away on Earth-1014 and totaled a neighborhood because the team was across town taking care of a bank robbery?  That was your call.  And when Hobie broke his arm?  That was thanks to your directions.  The reason why—”

As if you were doused with ice water, you stopped talking.

“Go on,” Miguel says, but it’s more tragic than heated.  When he looks at you, his eyes are glassy.

You clench your fists such that you can feel the prick of your fingernails against your palm.  

Clean up crew.  God.  

“I’m done with this conversation.”  And then you’re out the door.

He’s already at home sitting at the kitchen island when you open the door.  Something anxious has been festering beneath your skin for the past three hours and it’s still there, simmering, as you kick off your shoes, taking your time to put them on the shoe rack.  Then you grab a Dr. Pepper from the fridge and crack it open before leaning across the island towards him.  

A plate of the leftover lasagna from Olive Garden sits in front of him.  He looks at you now.  You’ve got a feeling that you appear as tired as he does.

“I’m sorry,” you say.  “I was cruel.  You’re right and I’m sorry.” 

Miguel blinks at you over red sauce and ricotta cheese.

“I—” he starts.  He looks down and drags his fork through noodle.  You notice that he’s got a speck of something at the corner of his lips.  “I do regret the neighborhood on 1014.  And Hobie’s arm.  I regret it most when I’m watching you get carted off to treat another injury.” 

“I know,” you reply.  “And, God, no one blames you for 1014, and Hobie only likes to give you a hard time.  I’m sorry.” 

“I shouldn’t have said I would send you to the clean up crew.” 

“No, probably not.  But I shouldn’t have called you an asshole.” 

He nods, slowly, and your shoulders relax.  

“We’ll talk more after you eat,” says Miguel.

“Alright.”

— m. list

[jreads]

Not sure if this is where we submit requests, but i’d kill for a fic where reader’s having debilitating anxiety attack in Jackson (like where your vision blacks at the edges and you can’t breathe) and suddenly a strong force is keeping you up and you look up and it’s Joel; and he’s concerned bc he relates (but you don’t know each other) and you take a fistful of his shirt and suddenly they feel the symptoms retreating - and that’s how you meet, and you’ve found comfort in each other since. :’)

Sorry if that made no sense it’s word vomit LOL

Also sidebar: unexpected constellations will stay w me forever thank you:’)

Of Memories and Mealtimes (Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings: Mentions of blood, Mentions of anxiety and panic attacks, Mentions of death, Foul language

A/N: this prompt was so cute, I hope I did it justice!

It’s been getting colder recently. No snow, not yet, but the breeze has a certain nip to it, blowing burnt orange leaves to rest on the ground like a natural carpet. The days are grey, and the nights are long, and that creeping feeling has been looming ever closer recently. You’ve found solace in the comfort of the kitchen. The air here is warm and humid and smells of frying garlic and onion. You perform repetitive, menial tasks and it staves off—to some extent—the ever-present penetrating feeling of loneliness. 

Since arriving in Jackson, you’ve struggled to find a place, a sense of belonging. You’re coming to the conclusion that maybe you never will. You thought you had one… but that was a while ago. 

It’s selfish to think you’re the only one in this town with a painful past; it’s clear that everyone is trying just as hard to find reasons to get through each day. You’re not alone. But you do feel like it. Often.

Maria has taken pity on you, stationing you in the kitchens because she knows you like it there. Knows you like to watch the people sitting at tables and soak up sounds of laughter in an attempt to steal a moment of second-hand happiness.

It’s late now, pitch black outside, and your shift is almost over. You’re cutting fruits and veggies for omelettes in the morning: spinach, olives, tomatoes. There are maybe five people still sitting, a table of three, one woman at a booth, and a man sitting alone at the bar. Sometimes, you like to eavesdrop.

The trio are talking about their old lives. They seem to have found something in common, street racing. Moding their cars, evading the cops… back when you could just drive into a gas station for petrol.  One used to have an old Charger, stolen in the looting. He reminisces over how the purr of the engine felt, how the lights of the highway would turn to a blur as he accelerated. From the corner of your eye, you see the man from the bar get up to leave, dropping some coin on the counter. You used to like to drive fast too. When it was for leisure and not for survival.

“I’m scared.”

The familiar voice sears through you like a branding iron, bringing with it flashing images of memory. Fuck. No, no, no. Not now. 

The freeway is peppered with stationary cars, and you’re swerving, as fast as humanly possible, trying desperately to navigate the mess. The Jeep behind you is gaining, and the little boy in your passenger seat is rigid in fear. If you can just make it through the overpass, it clears out after that. Their car is good offroad, but yours is faster. You upshift.

There’s gunfire, and your rear window shatters. He screams. You use your right hand to push his head down. He needs to stay low. You’re almost there.

Another gunshot. You try to ignore the popping of the rear tire; try not to think about what it means. The vehicle swerves and you fight against it by correcting the wheel. It’s no use. You clip the side of an abandoned car, and your own flips. You’re thrown through the windscreen. It’s the last thing you remember before your vision goes dark.

There’s pain. But not from the onslaught of old memories. You’ve slipped with the knife in your distraction, cutting a deep line into the side of your thumb. It’s dripping down, coating your fingers in a slick red. Your heart is pounding out of your chest, lungs constricting so hard you can barely get a breath in.

“Could I take five?” you manage to gasp to the other lady. But you don’t even wait for her reply before dropping the knife with a clatter and banging gracelessly through the back service doors. Your vision is blurring, darkening at the edges and your head is spinning. It feels as if you might die. You’re going to die.

Your hand is now coated in blood and—with little thought—you try to brush it off with your right, only succeeding in spreading the scarlet until it’s all you can see.

You wake in a ravine. How long have you been out? There’s pain in your cheek and you reach up to pluck a piece of glass from it. The crash. The kid. Oh, no. Oh, god. You call his name, voice hoarse. No reply. Your legs are too weak to support the weight of your own body, so you scramble up from the ditch, back onto the freeway. The car lies a few meters away on its side. Scraped and destoyed. And beyond it, a small body. No.

You crawl to him, sobbing at the bones bent in unnatural angles. And the bullet wound through his chest. You scream. You wail. His lifeless form is so small in your arms, leaking blood over your palms. You were supposed to protect him. You were supposed to—

His body is going cold. Limp and lifeless. But you can’t let go. Maybe, if you just hold on tight enough, the force of your love can breathe life back into his lungs.

You’re covered in his bood, figuratively, literally, it’s everywhere. Stumbling as if you’re drunk, you cry so hard that the tears only blur your vision further. It’s been a while since you’ve had one this bad. If you could just get back to your house. God, why did it have to happen in public? You can’t see where you’re going, so it’s no surprise when you run into something.

No, someone. There are hands on your shoulders and a comforting voice, gravelly Texan accent. What is he saying? You can’t tell. You’re going to be sick.

Something blocks out the lights of the streetlamp. There’s a body beside you.

A fragile body, broken and empty. Leaking life onto cracked pavement.

No, but this body is warm. Strong and gentle. A calloused palm cradling your head into a broad chest, a steady heartbeat. Alive. This body is alive. You clutch onto the fabric of his shirt with desperate hands, forgetting for a moment that your own blood will stain the fabric. He’s speaking words, low whispers, but the sound of them vibrates through him and into you. He’s telling you to calm down.

But you can’t. How do you tell him you can’t? You’re choking on air, hiccupping in a way that hurts.

“Come on now, breathe with me.” He smells nice, like cedar and whiskey. You can feel him smoothing circles onto your back, the rise and fall of his chest as he inhales and exhales. You try to copy him, lungs spasming with the effort. “That’s it. Keep going.” You’re heaving loud, ugly, uneven breaths, but it’s all you can manage. Past and present are flashing before you, your own blood, someone else’s, unseeing eyes and dead silence, a thumping pulse and soothing voice. It’s getting easier; you’re synchronizing your breaths to his own. But as you lean into the comedown, that exhaustion starts to creep up behind you. You melt into him in relief, but he doesn’t shy away. “There you go. I got you.”

Pieces of your surroundings start to fade back into view. You’re under the awning by the barn, shrouded in shadow. He’s practically holding you up by himself, and you feel a sudden deep stab of embarrassment. You can’t look this stranger in the eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his shirt.

He doesn’t loosen his hold. “You got nothing to apologize for.”

“Probably got… blood on your shirt.” It’s taking effort to even form the words.

He laughs lightly and the sound is like warm caramel. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

The nausea is ebbing, but you find you don’t want to leave. Caught in his arms, you feel the safest you’ve felt in a long while.

“You should probably get that finger bandaged.” He steps away, pulling your arm into the light to examine the cut and you almost sob once more at the loss of contact. “I got supplies back at my place, if that’s alright by you?”

“Okay,” you say because you feel too weak to walk back to your own house alone right now. And also because in the glow of the streetlamp, you can see the rugged handsomeness of his face, etched with sweet worry, dark curls interspersed with shots of grey. You’ve seen him before. The man at the bar, so often alone. 

You’re shaking now, visceral, wracking shudders. He sheds his coat and swings it over your shoulders before leading you down the laneway.

His house is not far, a five-minute walk at most. He ushers you up the front porch, opening the door to a dim-lit living area.

“Joel?” A shrill voice calls down from above. 

Joel Miller? This is Joel Miller?

“Yeah Ellie, it’s me.”

A little girl comes bounding down the stairs, dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She stops dead when she sees you, noting the jacket around your shoulders, the blood on your hand.

“What happened?” she says, with a kind of fascinated wonder that comes naturally to kids. Oh god, she reminds you of—

“Kitchen accident.” Joel replies smoothly. “You mind getting the med kit, kiddo?”

Her big eyes blink once, twice. “Oh, yeah.” Then she’s running right back up the staircase.

Joel sits you on the couch, grasping your wrist with a tender motion so at odds with all the things you’ve heard about him. Then again, you never knew he had a kid.

“Is she yours?”

He doesn’t look up from your palm. “In the ways that count.”

The girl, Ellie, is back down in record time with a worn first aid kit that she extends to Joel. When he takes it, she looks again at you with blatant curiosity. You feel guilty for barging into the warmth of their home like this.

“Ellie, why don’t you go boil some water for coffee.”

“Can I have hot chocolate?” she asks, and the hopeful joy in her voice is enough to finally make you smile.

Joel does too. “Sure.” And she’s off once more, rounding the corner to where you assume the kitchen lies. “But don’t go putting extra sugar in it,” he calls after her. The soft domesticity makes you ache with loss.

“Well, good news is you won’t be needing stiches.” He pulls an array of supplies from the box: disinfectant, gauze, a bandage. “But you should tell Maria to take you off kitchen schedule for a couple days.”

“How’d you know I was on kitchen schedule?” 

“Lucky guess,” he replies easily, but you swear there’s pink travelling across his cheeks. 

The disinfectant stings and you hiss. He falls into silent work, and you find yourself watching him, trying to understand how the man in front of you is the very same that garnered such a ruthless and cold reputation. 

He breaks the silence first. “I don’t mean to pry but…” Joel fastens the bandage securely around your finger. “…if you want to talk about what happened…”

You don’t. Not now, maybe not ever.

When you don’t reply, he nods his head. “I get it.” You watch him cast a glance toward the sound of a boiling kettle, to where Ellie is. “Trust me, I do.” 

You sit with him and Ellie—quiet with a warm cup of coffee—until late into the night. Ellie makes a face at the smell of it and quips back and forth with Joel about how he can ‘drink that piss.’ The girl has a mouth on her. She’s clever, sharp-witted, and the banter between her and him seems to dig a needle and thread into your gaping heart and sew one single stitch into it.

Past midnight, despite your repeated refusal, Joel insists he walk you home. Seeing your own house, cold and devoid of light makes your shoulders slump and heart race anew. Joel seems to note the behaviour.

“You’re always welcome at ours.” You know you’ll never take him up on the invitation. From the sadness in his eyes, you think he knows it too.

There are miles between you. “Thank you.” He only nods. You leave him standing on the lawn.

From behind the safety of the porch window, you can see that he waits for the light to turn on in your living room before walking back down the street.

Maria has insisted you take a few days off. Damn it. Joel must have said something. You try to busy yourself in the garden instead, but the gloves fit awkwardly over your bandage. You don’t last long anyway. The sound of school children heading home hits your ears around 3:00PM, and within minutes, a small shadow blocks where the sun hits your face.

“What’re you doing?”

Just seeing her face is enough to put a small smile on your own. “I’m planting basil.”

“What’s basil?”

You laugh. Actually laugh. “You want to try some?” You offer her a leaf and she chews it thoughtfully. Gives it an approving face. A thumbs up.

“You should bring some for Joel.” The forwardness of her suggestion is almost shocking, but she seems like the type of kid who says whatever comes to mind. You like that about her. “His cooking is pretty bland.”

Two laughs in one day. This kid is like medicine. “You think so?”

“Mhm. You could come over now. I think he’s on patrol, but he’ll be back soon.”

You think about turning her down, just on reflex. But you like how it feels to laugh, just the way you liked how you had felt in Joel’s arms the other night. So you agree. Her smile is brilliant. 

Minutes later, when she loops her arm through your own, she says, “Hey but don’t tell Joel what I said about his cooking, okay?”

You promise.

Around 7:00PM, he comes through the door, a weary sigh giving him away. “Ellie,” he calls.

“In here!” She’s excited. You’ve prepared a meal: pasta, sundried tomatoes, and the basil plucked from the garden. She’s been picking at the penne with her fingers, unable to wait until he arrives.

Seeing the surprised look on his face when he rounds the corner makes you feel suddenly shy. “I wanted to do something to thank you for last night and, well… Ellie found me in the—”

“Joel, it’s so fucking good.” At this point the muscles in your face are starting to hurt from smiling. 

Over dinner, you actually start to engage in the conversation, and somehow you seem to get along like you’ve known each other for years. In tandem, they work to bring you out of your shell. Your voice is hoarse and face warm by the time you go to leave, but Joel stops you at the door.

“Let me walk you back again.” Your selfish streak is only getting worse. You say yes. You think you see Ellie’s face in the top window as the two of you leave, a devious grin on her face.

Conversation flows on the way, about food, wine, Ellie. It’s comfortable, familiar, but there’s something… 

A yearning, buried under layers of friendly formality. He walks you up your porch and you think, for just a moment, about inviting him inside.

But you’re not quite ready for that just yet. So, you rise up to kiss him on the cheek instead, relishing the stunned look on his face.

Shy again, you back away across the threshold. “Good night, Joel.”

He says it back, and the way your name rolls of his tongue ignites something long dormant within you. You think he might be looking at your lips.

When the door closes, you let out a shuddering breath. And for what seems like the thousandth time that night, you smile.

[princessofgotham777]

Dating Jason Todd (Part Nine)

fanfic type: angst, fluff, comfort (ongoing)

If you liked the Titans show but wish they handled Jason’s story line differently you might like this fic!

Hey so this is in fact my first time writing fanfiction (idk what my life has come to). Sorry if it’s cringy but also I would eat this up cause I LOVE some good angsty comfort fanfiction. I won’t write smut. I don’t think I’m gonna do requests but if you have any ideas feel free to let me know. Also of course I don’t own any DC characters this is purely fanfiction. Thank you and I hope you enjoy. (I hope you like run-on sentences💀) (if you don’t like it don’t be rude just move on dude😃🧍‍♀️)

So story line, this doesn’t really take place in any specific universe but I’m gonna be pulling concepts from Titans, Arkham Knight, The Batman, Under the Red Hood, and whatever lore I remember from the CW shows cause I grew up watching those, then just my imagination of course. Reader is referred to as she/her btw.

Warnings: talking about death, suicide, depression, torture (it’s not graphic I hate gore it’s just sad), talking about intimacy (not graphic), struggling with eating, topics of grief, violence, panic attacks, PTSD, talking about religion

Part Nine: The Funeral of Jason Todd

It’s been five days since Jason was killed by the Joker. Kori, Gar and Rachel drove up from San Francisco four days ago. Bruce got back to Gotham three days ago. Roy and Thea would get to Wayne manor later today. You sat in Jason’s bed wearing his Silversun Pickups t-shirt. His bracelets you’d taken off his corpse were on the nightstand beside you. You looked to them and all the good memories they held. You then looked down to the air mattress Dick had slept on a week ago and all the complicated memories it held. You didn’t want to look at it anymore, it felt disrespectful and bothersome. You drained all the air from it and began folding it up when someone knocked on the door.

“Come in,” you say. The door opens, it’s Dick.

“Breathing in the five year old air?” He says attempting to be normal in such an abnormal situation. You don’t say anything in return. “I’ll finish doing that, Bruce has a question for you.”

“Fine,” you say as you get up and walk past him. You head down the stairs and find Bruce sitting in the living room. You sit in an armchair across from him.

“Y/N,” he says.

“Bruce,” you say with a sigh.

“I just had a quick question for you,” he says.

“Okay…let’s hear it,” you say.

“I was wondering your opinion on if we should do open or closed casket?” He says. His question takes you aback slightly. “I know the funeral home did the best they could, I’m just not sure everyone seeing him like that is the best idea,” he says.

“Closed casket, you, me and Dick can say goodbye and he’d want Roy, Alfred and Gar to be able to as well. But he wouldn’t want anyone else to see him, not like that,” you say.

“Right, thank you” Bruce says.

“No problem,” you say as you get up from the couch. You are about to go back upstairs when the doorbell rings. You look through the window to see Thea and Roy. You open the door and are immediately greeted by Thea hugging you.

“Hey,” she says softly.

“Hi,” you say. You always found comfort in Thea and your friendship. You grew up in Central City. After Oliver disappeared Thea began hanging out with the wrong crowd and got kicked out of her private school and then Star High School, so she went to Central High. You became close and you both ended up going to the same college in Star City. You’d helped Thea through losing her brother, her brother coming back, and finding out Malcom Merlin was her father. You guys had been through a lot and so you were glad she was here.

Roy had decided he wanted to be alone to say goodbye to Jason. Thea and you sat in Jason’s room on the bed. It reminded you of sleepovers you two had in high school and how you’d run around the Queen mansion having fashion shows and blasting club music.

“Can I get your opinion on something?” You ask her.

“Course,” she says.

“I took Jason’s bracelets when I found him, I didn’t want them to get locked up in evidence. I’m gonna put them back on him but I was wondering if I should put these too?” You say as you grab a stack of Polaroids. Thea begins looking through them. One is of you, Jason, Roy and Thea. Another is you, Gar, Jason, and Rachel from one of the many times you guys made pancakes. Another is you and Jason at a concert you went to. The last was one Jason took of you, it’s a portrait from your waist up of you in a lacy bright pink bra with a soft genuine smile; in it you’re wearing your pink diamond necklace.

“You totally don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to but we just always used to talk about boys and stuff…” Thea begins to say.

“Oh you’re fine, it’s you Thea you could ask me anything,” you say.

“Jason took this photo?” She asks as she holds up the polaroid of you in your bra. You nod yes. “Did you two ever?”

“No,” you say softly. “We made out all the time, we feel, felt, safe with each other and love each other but you know I’ve always been a bit scared of physical intimacy because of how I’ve been treated before,” you say. “He never pressured me, he was never weird or creepy about my body…he was perfect,” you say as you start crying. Thea pulls you into a hug.

“I think he’d want the Polaroids with him,” she says. Thea left and you got ready for the funeral. You wore a long sleeve black dress that went to just above your knee, you of course wore your pink diamond necklace and then simple black heels. You were putting on perfume when you heard a knock on the door.

“Come in,” you say. The door opens, it’s Dick dressed in a black suit.

“Bruce wanted me to tell you me, him, Alfred, Gar and Roy have said goodbye so you can head down when you’re ready and then we’ll close the casket,” he says.

“Okay, thank you” you say trying to keep it together. You follow Dick down the stairs. He points to the parlor where Jason is. You go inside and close the door behind you.

Sunlight pours in from the windows. Of course the one day Gotham has nice weather was the day you were putting the love of your life in the ground. You take a deep breath and then walk over to the casket. Jason wore a black suit with a white flower tucked into it. You couldn’t stop your eyes from looking at the “J” Joker had carved into the side of his face. A few tears escaped your eyes as you remembered the pain he endured during his final moments. You tucked the Polaroids into his jacket pocket. You held the bracelets in your hand as you realized putting them on him would mean you’d have to touch his corpse. You were disgusted at the idea of his cold skin. You debated for a moment asking Roy or Dick to do it for you but you reminded yourself it was still Jason and he would want you to do it. Carefully you pulled each bracelet onto his wrist. You didn’t want to kiss him on the lips; you wanted to remember your last kiss as warm and loving. Instead you pushed back his curls and kissed his forehead. As you were moving away from his face you once again noticed the “J”. You kissed the “J” carving lightly as one final act of love and comfort.

“I’ll see you again one day Jason, remember to save me a seat next to you in heaven. I will always love you,” you say softly to him. You think about saying goodbye but can’t bear to. Instead you smile gently at him. You pray the Hail Mary over him; knowing neither you or Jason agree with everything the Catholic Church has to say but you both were raised Catholic.

During the funeral you sit between Rachel and Thea; Gar was beside Rachel and Roy beside Thea. Donna turned up last minute and sat with Dick and Kori. You hadn’t figured out if she showed up for Dick, out of guilt for what happened at the tower, or to be there for you. Bruce sat with Alfred of course. Dawn and Hank were unsurprisingly no where to be found. You never understood why Hank disliked Jason so much; in your eyes they were very similar. Jason’s parents and Uncle Ray were all dead. You guys were his family. Alfred did the eulogy, apparently during Jason’s days of being Robin in Gotham he once asked Alfred to do it if he ever died. After mass you all headed back to Wayne manor where he’d be buried. One by one each person threw a rose into his grave; you were the last to throw a rose in.

Everyone sat in the parlor talking and sharing stories but you were too zoned out to actually listen to anything being said. You slipped away and headed outside to the grave.

“Everyone’s talking about you,” you said to his headstone. You sat down beside his grave. “I’ll never say this to anyone else but you going after Joker alone was really fucking stupid Jason. It was a dumb move…don’t worry if anyone else ever says that I’ll slap them. You should’ve taken me with you though…then at least maybe I could be buried beside you.” You lay down in the grass next to his grave. “Maybe in another life you never boosted that fucking car and we met some other way and fell in love and got married and got to gaslight our children into thinking Santa is real,” you say as you laugh slightly. Your playful laughing quickly turns into tears. You cry and cry. Then crying turns into sobbing and then suddenly the ground beneath you is literally wet with tears. You cry so hard you fall asleep there in the grass next to Jason’s grave.

Hey, sorry this chapter was so sad and dramatic but it is angst soooo yeah. I hope you enjoyed reading it and if you did remember to like. I appreciate any and all positive feedback, it encourages me to keep writing and posting parts. I have a lot of ideas to develop the red hood plot (I disliked titans plot line with scarecrow so I’m basically gonna lean more into under the red hood and then obviously my imagination). I also plan on writing backstory on how the reader met Dick and Jason and her time as a titan so if you’d be interested in that please follow me. If you haven’t read the other parts and want to remember to check out my Masterlist. Thank you for reading this series it’s super fun to write!

Here’s a link to my Masterlist btw if you wanted to check it out.

Masterlist

[chososchalupa]

New to school

Fem!Reader x Megumi

♡ About! Yuji’s sister is new to Jujutsu High and Megumi may cause more issues than she’s ready for

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Guys ily here’s chapter 10 bc i could not wait

wc- 539

Ch.10 - written.

You wiped the tears streaming down your cheeks as you threw your phone on your bed. Your hands shaking rapidly as you paced around your room.

‘how could he do this to me? why doesn’t Yuji believe me? why doesn’t ANYONE believe me?’ your mind raced as you sat on your bed, your face in your hands as you cried. ‘I need to go to Gojo’ you thought.

The walk to Gojo's office was long, the rumors of what you “said” must have gotten around quickly, no matter where you looked, someone was glaring at you as they whispered and pointed with their friends. You finally reached Gojo's door and with a deep breath, knocked quietly.

“Come iiiiiin” Gojo sung

You opened the door to see the tall man sitting at his desk, “Oh! Everything okay?” he asked as he watched you walk in with tears streaming down your face.

“I-, He-, Yuji-“You could barely get words out of your mouth as you gasped for air due to crying so hard.

“Hey, it’s okay. Take a deep breath and talk to me. What happened? Did Yuji do something?”Gojo walked over and wrapped his arm around you

You shook your head as you buried your face into his chest.

“Megumi, again?” he asked

You nodded and sniffled louder upon hearing his name

Gojo sighed before rubbing your back and stepping away, “What did he do this time?” he asked

You looked at your shoes as you started speaking, “We were at a party last night, and he fake apologized and I went back to his room with him and he-“You could barely make out a full sentence before breaking down in tears again, “He got into my phone when I fell asleep and he messaged everyone and when I woke up this morning,-“ You paused to catch your breath “-Everyone wants me gone. Even Yuji..” the last part coming out as a whisper as you closed your eyes, letting more tears fall.

Gojo nodded as he watched you play with your fingers anxiously. “I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, “I don’t know what I did to make Megumi hate me so much. He’s so close with Yuji, I thought we could all be friends”

Gojo sighed, running his hand through his hair, “I’m sorry about all of this. I don’t know what’s gotten into him but it’s not okay and he won’t keep getting away with it, I can promise you that. As for Yuji and everyone else, I’ll make sure to talk to them too. This isn’t the first time Megumi has gone out of his way to target someone”

You remembered hearing stories about Megumi when he was younger and how mean of a person he was, but everyone was convinced he’d grown up by now.

You were about to respond to Gojo when the door to his office swung open,

“Hey, Gojo. Can you help me out with this- what the fuck?”

Gojo looked over at the door to see Megumi standing in shock, his mouth and eyes wide open.

Gojo smiled as he stood and clapped his hands together, walking towards the black-haired boy, “Megumi! You are just the person I wanted to see”

taglist - some blogs won’t let me tag

@sad-darksoul @arixyzz @persephonespomegranetes @beet1ebum

@weird0o0 @diogodxlot @iluv-ace

@sukiischaotic @luvvmae @oliver-crow

@ajayke-reads @m00nglad3-mp3 @jtoddwife @deezy12299 @swissy23 @fantasycantasy

[szasfuckingwife]

PROJECT X

EREN YEAGER X FEM!READER

WARNINGS: Drug use, Alcohol use, Eren being a cocky bastard

A/N: literally watched the project x movie for the first time recently and it was fucking crazy. I’d love to go to a party like that, as long as it’s not my house.

“Come on [Y/N]! It’s gonna be huge and everyone’s going!”, your friend pleads through your phone. If you imagine hard enough, you can see her furrowed brows and her crossed fingers.

A stupid high school soirée is the last thing you want to go to. A house full of sweaty boys and bimbo girls. Drug getting passed around like candy whilst alcohol becomes a pool that suddenly everyone wants to dive in. You’re no moralist, and you have been to your fair share of house parties but when you hear it’s at Eren Yeagers house, all desires to go suddenly disappear.

An aggressive scoff leaves your lips, “Lana, I’m not fucking going, he’s gonna be there all cocky and shit.”

“Oh you’re just scared you’re gonna see your ex grinding on some girl. You’re failing to see that it’s the perfect opportunity to show him what you’re missing.”

As much as you hate to admit it, your best friend might just be exactly right. Why does Eren get to have all the fun whilst you lay behind the doors of your bedroom?

“Fine…Tomorrow you said?”

After a few empty promises, your mother finally decides to grant you permission to go to a ‘gathering’ with some of your friends.

Little does she know the sight that is before you is much more of a gathering than she ever dreamt of.

Disregarding the state in which Erens front yard was left, you see the party you feared except ten times worse. A pool full of skinny dipping teens, college guys handing out drinks that you can’t even spell and the great boom of the DJs speaker that you swore shook the whole house.

“Fuck, I should’ve stayed home.” You shout in your best friends ear, the crease in her brow showing you she didn’t hear a word you said.

If was up to you, you wouldn’t have filled your red cup this full but, of course, a frat boy poured your drink for you. And if it wasn’t for that, you wouldn’t have seen yourself in this situation.

The repetitive bass of music combined with the shoving if the crowned had you spill your drink over some really tall guy.

Like, really tall.

“Ayo, what the fuck?!” He exclaimed, turning around to see you, wide eyed. “Watch where you’re fucking goin!”

Your mouth falls open as you try come up with something, anything. “I’m so sorry, I-it was an accident..”, the look on his face being the cause of your stammer

He looks at you, sternly and with more anger, “Always you high school girls, dumb and ditzy.”

Again, your mouth falls open but for a different reason. You didn’t even want to come here and when you do arrive, first thing you’re hit with is a ballsy remark by a fucking frat boy?

“I said it was a fucking accident, what more do you want me to say-” “I just got this shirt today too!”

The guy was pissing you off, tall with no brains and an absolute dickhead.

“Matt!”, an eerily too familar voice yelled. “Chill the fuck out…”

His chestnut brown locks are slicked back into his infamous man bun, tattoos leaking from his tight fitted tee, a lit blunt in between his fingers. You don’t even need to be facing him to know that he’s probably biting the inside of his cheek.

When you turn around, you see your ex : Eren Yeager. His olive eyes stare into yours softly, before he narrows his eyes towards the man behind you. “It was an accident she said, give my girl a break.”

You look up at him when he puts his arm over your shoulder, reeling you into his warm embrace. Matt looks at the both of you, rolls his eyes and decides to continue with his stupid dance.

When he leaves, Eren finally gets a good look at you. He’s almost proud you chose to finally wear that short cargo skirt that flaunted the curve of your ass. He remembers buying you it about two months ago and he also remembers you being scared to wear it because you didn’t want him to think you were seeking other peoples attention.

Yet here you are.

Short beige skirt and a well cropped tee.

“Y’know, if I was really your ‘girl’, you’d tell him to leave. But of course you didn’t.” Your words pulled him out of his shortlived trance. “Always the people pleaser. You know I know that better than anyone.”

He chuckles, “I missed you too, [Y/N]. You look good, that’s the skirt I bought you.”

That’s why I wore it, to piss you off is what you wanted to say, but you know better than to boost his already inflated ego. “Surprised your mom let you host another party, considering what happened last time.”

He smirks at the way you completely ignore his compliment and laughs it off. “She doesn’t know.”

“She doesn’t know?” You ask, feeling nothing but anger towards him because Carla has been nothing but sweet to you and doesn’t deserve the mess that her son will inevitably leave.

“Relax…She’s out of town on a business trip and will be back on Monday. The house will be spotless by then.”

As you look around, you wonder how Eren will clean the whole house in the mere two days before his mom arrives. I mean, three condoms lying on the patio isn’t exactly something you can miss.

“You should come over when she comes back.”, Eren suggested, looking into your eyes deeply. “She misses you too, y’know.”

“Can’t. I have plans on Monday.” You reply.

He groans, “That’s why you have six other days of the week, [Y/N].”

Just as you were rolling your eyes, you felt a hand grip tightly on your arm.

“Oh my God, [Y/N]!”, Sasha almost tackles you to the ground as she wraps her arms around you. “I haven’t seen you in like…forever.”

It was rocket science that you were avoiding Eren’s close friends after the break up. But you still can’t get over the fact that they were truly great friends and fun to be around.

One by one, most of his friends greet you. Sasha, Connie, Armin, Jean and Mikasa all cheese at you whilst completely ignoring Eren.

The beer pong, skinny dipping and overall, dancing had worn you out. You along with Lana followed Sasha and Mikasa. If it weren’t for Sasha’s mention of weed, you’re pretty sure you’d be home by now.

When you walk through the door, your met with that putrid smell of weed. Whilst marijuana never bothered you itself, the smell was something else.

Jean is sat with Connie, rolling some blunts whilst Reiner, Armin and Pieck are opposite them, talking about whatever.

However, the absence of weed on the table caught you off guard.

“So…where’s the weed?”, You ask.

“‘Scuse me, sweetheart.” Eren. Again.

He walks past you carrying a small bag of weed and dumps it on the table. You mentally slap yourself; of course he’d be here.

After a little chit chat, a joint gets passed between all of you in a circle.

“Fuck sake, Connie!” Jean groaned loudly as he slapped his friend on the back of his head. “Stop fuckin hogging it!”

Eren scowls when he sees you giggling at Jean. She’s just tryna make me jealous.

“We should play Paranoia.” Sasha jumps in her seat.

“The fuck is that?”

“Basically, I pick someone, for example, Connie, and whisper a question in his earlike ‘who has the stinkiest dick?’” She gets interrupted by laughter. “And lets say, he picks Armin-”

“Why me?!” Armin shoots back, laughing in between his words.

“So then, Armin and Connie do a little game of rock paper scissors and if Armin wins, Connie has to tell him what the question was. If Armin loses, only me and Connie know the question and Armin is left Paranoid.”

Eren lets out an ‘ohhh!’ as he finally understands the name of the game.

After a few more whispers, some slaps and a lot of laughing, your friend Lana decides to pick you for a question.

“Oh God…”

A giggle leaves her lips as she covers her mouth and goes to whisper in your ear.

“Who would you fuck in this room?”

Fuck.

You wish your friend had asked you a question like ‘Who’s the prettiest?’ or ‘who’s the least funny?’ but obviously, You would have to answer her crazy ass question.

Eren eyes you when he sees you shaking your head and laughing whilst hitting Lana. All that was left in his head was that he doesn’t matter what the question is, you better pick him. He can take an insult, he does everyday. But if It’s something risqué, all answers should be him.

He knew it. And you surely knew it.

“Uhm…I pick…Connie…..” Lie.

Lana quickly smacked your arm, giving you the ‘you know damn well’ look. You chuckle as you fix your hands to do a rock paper scissors with Connie.

He chuckles when he sees your fingers trembling, “You’re high as shit, focus!” He grabs your hands tightly, smirking as he does so.

And, as if every single God you’ve read about was against you, you lose the stupid little game.

“Ooh, [Y/N], spill! What was the question?” Pieck asks, her already tired eyes hanging low due to the weed.

“I’m not fucking saying a thing.” You giggle and cover your friends mouth, forcing that she shouldn’t say anything either.

The room erupts, everyone yells in frustration. You hear the desperate pleads of Sasha and the chaotic tantrum Connie throws.

However, in the corner of your eye, you see Eren, sitting on his navy bean bag, probably lean in his cup, and a stoic look on his face.

“Say the question, Lana.” Mikasa sighs.

Even with your puppy eyes, Lana ignores you. “Alright! The question was…who would [Y/N] fuck in this room?”

All of a sudden, the males in the room released a crazed cackle. You swore you saw tears coming out of Reiners eyes.

Despite that, Eren did nothing but simply roll his eyes. At least he knew you were lying.

Since Connie was picked, it was now his turn to ask a question and much to your dismay, he picked your ex.

Even with all the noise in the room, and the continuous boom and shrieks of the party outside, you try to zero in on Connie’s whisper. Trying to picture ever word he’s saying by the movement of his mouth.

Unfortunately, you came up with nothing.

“Girl or guy?” Eren asked looking at Connie, to which he replied ‘anyone’.

He knew who he was going to pick. Of course he did, you’ve pissed him off enough with that fake ass answer. So now it was his turn.

“Easy, [Y/N].”

Dick.

With a groan, you rock paper scissor him and much to your dissapointment, Eren won.

“Fuck sake, I wanted to know the question.” Jean huffed. But just then, you saw Connie whisper something in Jeans ear and you didn’t miss the way Jean shook his head at Eren with a smirk on his lips.

“Wait, no!” Lana interrupted. “Why are you lookin at him like that?”

Jean looked at Lana with a smirk, “Like what, babe?”

Lana quickly shot him a scowl as she continued, “You keep shaking your head. Now I wanna know what was said.”

Jean laughed again whilst shaking his head. The spectacle of Connie’s question seemed to be what was on everyones mind as suddenly, the whole room wanted to know including yourself.

I mean, seeing Eren pick his ex-girlfriend? The question had to be something crazy, knowing Connie and Eren.

“Bro, if [Y/N] didn’t fuck up her rock papers scissors, maybe you all would hear the question but we don’t always get what we want.” He chuckled whilst he rolled another blunt.

“Endless weed if you tell us the question.” Sasha giggled, looking at Connie with her reddish eyes.

“Tell us!”

“Can’t be that bad.”

“Just cuz’ they were dating? Who cares?”

“[Y/N], you don’t mind, right?”

All thoughts leave your mind as Pieck asks you that question. You wanted to know but you’d much rather protect your peace than get into something with Eren.

“Fuck it, I’m gonna say it myself.” Eren sighed. “The question was who is the biggest whore here?”

And just like that, the whole room fell silent, and you with it. He was sitting there, acting as if he’d done nothing wrong whilst you sit there embarrassed in front of a room of your friends.

Staying home and doing Science homework doesn’t sound half bad right now.

Suddenly, and sharply, Lana bites back. “And how the fuck is she a whore, hm? Quickly?”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing-” “Well, you clearly are, dickhead. Why else was Jean shaking his head at you?” Lana’s voiced raised slightly.

“Right, cuz’ [Y/N] didn’t say shit about you…” Sasha furrowed her brows, Eren groans loudly as he sees the situation he caught himself in.

You look at him, void of expression. Half mad, half speechless. But what would you except from a guy who tried to fuck you after a month dating?

“Look, I had to pick someone, no hard feelings.” His disassociation with the conversation pissed you off. He can’t just drop a bomb and then go back to lighting a spliff.

“It’s just a game, can we chill-” “Reiner, shut up.” You scoffed. “I know we broke up n all but you’ve got a lot of nerve to call me a whore considering the reason why we broke up was because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.”

Eren scoffed. “Yeah, classy, [Y/N], bring up the past.”

You could practically feel the anger in Lana and Sasha as they stared him down. “And you think calling her a whore is?”

“Right, because you knew the reaction you were gonna get wasn’t gonna be a good one.” Sasha eyed him down. The once bouncy brunette was now staring down one of the guys that patronised her. Jean and Connie remained in their seats not saying a word.

“God, it’s a joke. She’s not a whore, happy?”

“Fuck you, Eren. Seriously.”

Once again, the room grew silent as Eren sat there watching you as you gathered your belongings, ready to leave. The looks of pity that your friends were giving you not only embarrassed you but reminded you that you were strong.

“So…we’re not gonna finish the game?” Connie spoke.

After the party, you hadn’t acknowledged the whole argument or him. Even when your friends tried to extract some feeling out of you, you didn’t let them.

Instead, your pillow became your outlet. Your family are probably tired of all the disputed music you blasted in your room. You wept countless of tears; how could he treat you like this?

Where was the old Eren? That took you to the cinema after you begged him to watch a new film? Or that Eren who, even when it was minus whatever degrees, draped you in the warmth of his coat.

The sweet memories turn into sour ones. And whats worse is when you walk past one another in the halls.

A mountain of freshmen girls swooning behind him, and all he can think about is how nice you did your hair today. Or that one time in class where he caught you daydreaming looking ethereal.

“Bro, you seriously fumbled.” Connie cackled in his face at lunch. Eren mentally slapped himself . Next time, he’ll keep his feelings to himself.

“Listen, Eren, what you did was kinda out of line-” “She said she’d fuck Connie, out of all people!” Eren looks at Armin with nothing but disbelief in his eyes. No one understood him.

Jean shrugged as he stifled down a chuckle, “She probably used him as a scape goat. I mean who would fuck this ugly bastard?.”

Eren stared at Jean, taking in the words that his friend was spewing. A scape goat? Why didn’t he think of that?

“I don’t even care at this point. Just want my wife back, man.” The rest of the table audibly sighed when Eren began to fake cry.

“Eren.” The sternness in Armins voice made Eren sit up. “If you actually want her back. Act like it. Tell her, that you’re a dick, an egotistical narcissist, a stupid overachiever-”

“Yeah…I get it.” Eren said.

“Get on your knees if you have to. And she isn’t gonna trust you again right away. But remember, all you are asking her is for a chance to redeem yourself, not to get back together-” Armin was interrupted again by Eren’s melancholy sighs.

“But I want to get back together with her-” “Shoulda thought about that before cheating on her and calling her a whore..”, Connie muttered, finding the blatant hypocrisy in Eren’s words.

Eren looked at Connie sternly before rolling his eyes. No one understood him. He didn’t cheat on you because he didn’t love you. He cheated on you because he was insecure.

Seeing you going out with a male friend that he hadn’t even heard the name of shook him. And, oh did it shake him bad.

“I really do love her. Like I actually do.” He sighed, this time more serious and quiet. The table fell silent before the bell rang, a groan leaving Jeans lips.

“What is it now?”

“PE.” Jean answered as he got up from the table.

“Isn’t that good? Aren’t we doing track today?” Armin looked confused. Jean always loved sport.

The brunette shrugged, “I won’t see Lana. She’s got that thing.”

Eren remained silent and melancholic as the rest of the boys teased Jean about being Lovestruck.

At least one of them had a stable relationship.

pt2 comin soon?🤭🤭

[c-schroed]

Yes. Maybe I got a little hungry while listening to season nine of Within the Wires.

Multiple times.

Cassette 1: Breakfast Your breakfast would have been similar to one you might have today – but different as well. You might have had barley bread, with figs and olives. You might have had a kind of pancake – called a teganitai – made with curdled milk and olive oil, topped with sesame and cheese. Honestly, that sounds delicious. They should be making these things for us while we record, don’t you think? I’m sure I’d give a much better performance if I’d just tasted the food.

Cassette 5: History is Narrative You know, I even enjoyed the food! Of course, it wasn’t good, it was never good. Although I did notice they finally took that dreadful mushroom and blue cheese pizza off the menu. You remember, it tasted like rotting tyres? Well I got the pancetta and olive, like always. The wine they have now is better, although I’ve noticed that’s true everywhere recently. I suppose there’s some scientific reason for that, improving the soil over time, or aging the wine for longer, or something like that. Either way, it’s delightful being able to get a truly drinkable Malbec, even in a place like that.

Cassette 6: Talk Your Way Out of This One... You joined a baking club? So you two make brownies once a week and what? Eat them? Share them with friends and neighbours. [JIM SPEAKS] What’s a babka? [JIM SPEAKS] Sorry, no. The point is that a baking club is not… challenging. Sitting on a beach. Baking babkas. Waking up. Eating food. Going to sleep. That’s routine. We can all do those things. They’re not exciting or unique. Isn’t that stasis? But you’re happy, you’re comfortable. What does she mean by energy? I don’t bring the same energy to the relationship. Should we have learned to make babkas together? Would that have made her happy?

Cassette 10: Finding Your True Voice And then suddenly it was nine at night and I hadn’t eaten all day and I was starving and you appeared with a roast chicken. You’d gone to the market and done all the shopping and cooked dinner and I think you’d even done the previous night’s dishes because I certainly hadn’t.

Cassette 10: Finding Your True Voice A few days after that fight we went for a picnic, do you remember? We spread a blanket by that little brook and ate bread and cheese. There were damselflies around and one of them sat right on your hand for a while. You were sitting there, looking at this beautiful creature on your hand, and the sun was glinting off your hair, and you looked like you were glowing.

To me, this season was the most Within in the Wires since season five. And culinarily speaking, it definitely was the most inspiring season. Ever.