#pretty sure this is the closest thing we have to on screen

[panaceatthedisco]

and historians will call them former enemies...

[heavenbarnes]

Pretty please may we have more about Johnny finding your photos in older bf Simon’s phone?

continuation of this

so like i said about older bf!simon who saves all the photos and videos you send him because he likes having a lot to work with. no matter how fucking filthy it might be, he saves it right to his camera roll.

no albums, no hidden folder, no passcode (all things you need to show him when he’s home) photos of your naked body or videos of you humping a pillow and crying his name- all hanging loose in the photos app next to sweet photos of you two on date night or the screenshots johnny had sent him earlier.

that’s where this all went pear shaped, johnny had screenshotted the directions and sent them to simon’s phone. simon was busy assembling his weapon when johnny asked if he could grab those pictures off him.

simon had agreed (well he’d grunted but johnny knew him well enough to translate)

johnny’s thumb was working overtime to get to the screen with the photos app on it (simon doesn’t understand categorising apps so he has like three pages of them) and when he finally finds it, it was already open in the background (simon also doesn’t shut any apps, they’re always running in the back)

in hindsight, the fact johnny went quiet for once should’ve been a warning.

there, in soap’s hot little hand, was a photo of you that looked like it had been taken from the floor. your legs looked amazonian and the pair of knickers you had on hugged the curve of your ass like they were made for you. trailing all the way up your body until he could see your hands cupping your chest.

“jesus christ, L.T- the fuck is this?”

simon casually walked over to join him, looking over his shoulder and grunting again- this time in recognition.

“nah mate, the photos you sent are up ‘ere.”

not a care in the world.

as a long finger reached over to begin swiping through the photos, johnny’s head nearly spun off his shoulders as he was treated to an effective carousel of you in compromising positions.

videos of your legs spread, photos of you in simon’s clothing, close ups, long shots- johnny shifted on his feet in hopes he could adjust himself without hands, without raising alarm.

heat rising in his cheeks, he was close to handing the phone off and telling ghost he’d be back in 15 when a video began to autoplay with a missed swipe and johnny found himself jerking the phone so he could watch it play.

you were on your knees on the bed, back arched and hand between your thighs playing with yourself. your head was rested on the bed, looking back over your shoulder to lock eyes with the camera as a heady moan drifted off your lips.

“si- don’t be gone too long, need you to come home and fill me up”

soap could see stars, they were twirling round his head like somecunt had dropped an anvil on it. his eyes were fixed to the screen in front of him, unable to look anywhere else.

he was snapped back to attention by a dark snicker that came from just on his six. he swore he could feel ghost’s chin resting on his shoulder as the man spoke behind him.

“y’like that, huh? if you ask nicely, i’m sure i could get you one too.”

simon could be generous, but not that generous- you were still his, end of story. but that didn’t mean he couldn’t share something small with his closest.

especially when it was a video of you getting filled up at both ends, just silicone now but who knows what’ll happen when they come back?

[f1byjessie]

HE LIKES MY AMERICAN SMILE ━━ OP81.

love is a wild ride, and logan sargeant's sister is about to find this out the hard way.

( oscar piastri x sargeant!reader )

━━ part three.

“Are you sure this is gonna work?” You look down at the post. The photos, carefully taken a few nights ago while getting ready for a dinner gala you’d been brought along to as Sophia’s plus one, are pretty. She and you had scrolled and sorted and scrolled and sorted some more trying to pick the perfect ones, and then you’d written and rewritten the caption more times than you could count before finally settling on something vague but faintly implicit.

You study it for a moment longer, then look back up to your friend.

She smirks. “Trust me. It'll work. I got an ex-boyfriend to come crawling back begging for another chance by making him think I was already moving on.”

“It just seems… mean,” you murmur, frowning. You want Oscar to like you— you want it a lot— but you're not sure if this is the way you want to go about it. “Isn’t this just manipulating him?”

Sophia sighs and falls back onto the bed beside you. She gives you a look, gestures down to your phone, and then curls around your shoulder so she can peer down at the screen. “It’s not a soft launch. There’s no guy. The caption doesn’t mention anyone. If he gets the impression that you’re with someone else, then that’s on him.”

You trust her, of course, but this is Oscar. You’ve known him for years. He’s your brother’s best friend, and for the longest time, he was the closest thing you had to a best friend too. As twins, anything Logan did you tended to do with him— soccer, swimming, biking. You even had shared birthday parties growing up. Karting was the first real thing he’d done on his own, but even then you’d always been close by, and that meant you’d always been close by to Oscar too.

Like she can sense your continued hesitation, Sophia speaks up again. “If you post that, and he doesn’t react, then that’s that. You don’t have to do it again.”

“I just— I don’t know.” You worry your lip between your teeth. “I just don’t think it’s the type of thing that he’d go for. He’s, you know, polite like that, I guess? If he thought I was taken, or moving on, or something, then he’d respect that and wouldn’t bother me.”

The silence hangs in the room. She’s still leaning against you, one hand rubbing your shoulder comfortingly and the other hugging you into her. When you stand, she lets you go easily, watching as you begin to pace the length of your bedroom, phone clenched tightly in your hands.

When you finally come to a halt in the corner farthest from the bed, you turn and meet her gaze shyly, “What if he stops ‘maybe’ having feelings for me because he thinks I'm taken? Or, what if he thinks I’m not interested and so he doesn’t ever bring it up?”

“Then you take one for the team and you tell him,” she shrugs. “Woman up and admit that the entire time you were out in that fancy dress of yours with those roses, you’d wished it was him who had gotten them for you and you’d wanted it to be him you were getting dressed up for.”

You look back down to your phone.

You’ve never done this before— boys, at least. The chase. Europe hadn’t been a very easy place to live— not with a schedule that made keeping friends virtually impossible, let alone a boyfriend. When you moved back to the United States, you were focused more on your career, prioritizing yourself over anything else.

You’d been single for so long that you hadn’t been in any hurry to change things, but now the lack of experience is making you nervous. Apart from movies and books and the borderline horror stories Sophia has told you about her own disastrous love life, you don’t know the first thing about dating.

“Y/N, is this about Oscar or something else?”

You look up, still biting at your lip. “What if we break up and I’ve ruined a friendship?”

Sophia raises an eyebrow, “Is he the kind of guy that would throw away a friendship because things didn’t work out?”

“I don’t know! That’s the problem! I wanna say no, that he’d be totally fine and we would be able to pretend like nothing happened and go back to how we were before it all, but I can’t,” you cross the room and lower yourself onto the bed again. “Context matters too. What if it’s a really messy breakup and we can never look at each other the same? What if he does something so unforgivable that it ruins his friendship with my brother? Logan worked hard to make friends and this first season was rough for him. He’s the only American driver on the grid, and they weren’t exactly welcoming. But Oscar was there for him and I would never forgive myself if I did something to ruin that.”

“What could Oscar do that would be so unforgivable it would ruin a friendship?”

You fall back onto the mattress. “I don’t know that either! Realistically he wouldn’t do anything because that’s just who he is— he’s like the nicest most genuinely sweet guy I’ve ever met. But I’m not a fortune teller! I can’t look into the future and know that he won’t get tired of me and go find some other girl, or, I don’t know.”

You can feel tears burning at the back of your eyes and wipe at them harshly.

Sophia notices and lays down beside you, pulling you into her side again. She runs her fingers through your hair and lets you compose yourself a bit more before she speaks up again. When she does, it’s— “You’re so afraid of the worst-case scenario that you aren’t even letting yourself take the chance. Sometimes you just gotta leap before you look and believe that you’ll land on solid ground.”

“I hate when you get philosophical on me,” you murmur, a soft laugh slipping past your lips.

She sits back up and rolls her eyes, but there’s a gentle smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Puh-lease. As if you’d ever get anything done without my wizened words of advice.”

You sniffle and wipe the last remnants of tears from your eyes, then sit up with her and look back down at your phone. The unfinished post still stares back up at you.

“What if I just—” you delete the caption for the umpteenth time and let your fingers dance across the screen, “—say this instead?”

Sophia leans over your shoulder, reads the new caption, pauses, and purses her lips. She reads it again, hums, and then breaks out into a grin. An incredulous laugh slips out and she turns to you with shining eyes. “You’re a damn genius! I knew you were worried over nothing. You just gotta stop getting into your head so much.”

INSTAGRAM.

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, and 12,827 others

yourusername honey, i’m still free. take a chance on me.

view all 7,631 comments

user WHAT???

user IS THIS A SOFT LAUNCH???

↳ user she’s literally saying she’s still free?? why would she say that if this is a soft launch?? 😭😭

logansargeant should’ve taken me with you 😒

↳ yourusername logie we both know you hate black tie events

user girl idk how you can do it i’d be spilling out of that dress with one wrong turn

user THE ROSES?? THE BABY’S BREATH?? I’M SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS

landonorris slay girl queen boss

↳ yourusername lando… what…

↳ landonorris i’m in my supportive era 😌💅 you should try it sometime

user i NEED to know where that dress is from omg

user oh to be a young rich and beautiful socialite

user not to be delulu but there’s a surprising lack of op81 in these comments 👀

INSTAGRAM.

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and 429,868 others

oscarpiastri it’s summer somewhere right?

view all 1,021 comments

landonorris hm this caption seems familiar 🤨 i wonder what it could be referencing 🤔

user GOOD LUCK IN 2024 OSCAR 🧡🧡🧡

user wishing this were me rn

user i’m too delulu for this rn 😭

↳ user i’m waiting for y/n to show up in these comments

↳ user did they have a fight or smth??? they haven’t commented on each other’s last few posts

user gosh that’s the dream rn

When you answer the unknown number, on your way back to your room with a tub of ice cream and a plan to eat away your disappointment at the failure of Sophia’s plan, the last thing you expect is to hear Lando Norris of all people on the other end. There’s no greeting, no introduction, just an immediate— “Yeah, so, I’m gonna need you to fill me in on the sitch.”

For a brief moment, all you can do is stand there in the hallway with your phone pressed to your ear, wondering if this is real. You’ve had maybe a few brief conversations with Lando throughout your various visits to the paddock across the season, and though he was very nice and polite, and all of your interactions were friendly, you wouldn’t exactly call yourself friends. Certainly not “swap numbers and call one another” type of friends, either. Your most recent socializing has been strictly confined to the comment sections of Instagram posts.

“Hello? Y/N?”

You clear your throat, “Sorry. What?”

“The sitch? Situation? That’s an American slang word, I thought you knew that.” He says it so matter-of-factly. As if that’s the only thing you could be even remotely confused about in this whole interaction.

“No,” you answer, shaking your head as if it’ll somehow straighten out the spinning of your mind. “I know what the word means, Lando. I’m just wondering why you of all people are calling me right now? How’d you even get my number?”

You can hear music and voices on the other end of the line, muffled and distant, and then a door opens and closes and the extra noise is gone. Lando takes a deep breath and sighs, “If you must know, I got it from Alex, who got it from Lily, who got it from you. So, you know, transitive property means technically I got it from you, too.”

“I’m gonna choose to ignore how wrong all of that is,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose as you continue down the hall and eventually slip into your room, shutting the door quietly behind you.

You do recall giving your number to Lily, and the two of you have shared a few messages since the end of the season— mostly typical check-ins and catching up with the happenings of your individual lives. Occasionally she sends you recipes she thinks you’d like, and you do the same. You knew she’d given it to Alex because she’d asked you first if that was okay, and all Alex had sent was a brief well-wishes when Williams had confirmed Logan’s re-signing, accompanied by a short message that Lily was looking forward to seeing you in the paddock again.

Ignoring all of that, however, you focus on the matter at hand. “Why are you calling? Isn’t it crazy late in Monaco right now?”

He hums. “I’m the slightest bit tipsy, but I cannot take it anymore. If I see one more caption with underlying subtext like this is a forbidden romance in a period drama I am going to, quite frankly, lose my mind. I need you to explain to me what in the fuck is going on between you and Oscar.”

You pause, and then you groan. “Oh my God.”

“Yes, ‘oh my God’ indeed. Now please explain.”

You heave a sigh, because you know he isn’t going to drop this, but you also know that if anyone could help you more than Sophia, it’s probably Lando. He’s Oscar’s teammate, and at the very least, if you can’t talk to Logan, you can talk to the only other person who probably knows him just as well.

“It’s a long story,” you mumble, curling up in your bed.

He makes a sound, like a scoff. “Okay? I have plenty of time.”

So you start from the beginning. Between spoonfuls of chocolate ice cream, you detail how it all started because of a message of condolence, how that had led to a rendezvous for drinks, and how that had led even further to him kissing you in the car as he’d dropped you off at your hotel.

He’s silent up until you mention that Oscar hadn’t acknowledged the kiss at all afterward, and then he makes an affronted noise and mutters something under his breath about stupid guys and heads in asses.

You admit that part of it was your own fault, that you hadn’t attempted to communicate either because you’d been afraid of the reaction and potentially the rejection, but that you’d been kicking yourself ever since for missing out on being able to talk face to face about things when you’d had the chance.

It all culminates in you explaining your current situation, and you tell him about your talk with Sophia and then your friend’s self-proclaimed mastermind plan, which had failed spectacularly when Oscar hadn’t even seen the post.

When you’re finished, there’s a moment of silence before he bursts into laughter.

You flush red in embarrassment and hug the tub of ice cream closer to your chest, feeling miserable and ashamed, but also like you deserve it all anyway. The tub isn’t freezing cold anymore, but the chill still seeps in through your shirt faintly, and it’s comforting against the heated blush.

“Sorry,” he says when his cackling has died down to chuckles. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I actually do want to help. I genuinely can’t take one more post with a caption that’s all thinly veiled pining.”

You pause, fiddle with your spoon for a moment, and then hesitantly ask— “Do you know if he likes me?”

Lando goes quiet, and then he hums and admits that he doesn’t. “But,” he adds quickly, “just because I don’t have total confirmation doesn’t mean it isn’t basically obvious. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I know Oscar.”

You sigh, “But how are you going to help? You can’t just ask.”

“I don’t need to,” he answers, like you’re crazy for thinking he’d do something like that. “I’ve got a plan.”

Great. You run a hand down your face and try to stay optimistic. Another plan.

━━ tags: @f1-is-lovely-33 @chasing-liberosis @405rry

━━ a/n: a bit more writing heavy this part, and a bit longer because of it, but i'm proud of how it turned out! we're finally getting somewhere, and now we've got lando joining the team. genuinely had so much fun writing him, so i'm excited to feature him in future parts!

[petrichor-han]

inkjected; seo changbin

PAIRING | changbin x fem!reader

CAST | seo changbin, hwang yeji, hwang hyunjin, han jisung

WC | 2.4k

GENRE I smut, strangers to lovers, tattoo artist!changbin

WARNINGS I explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected sex, mc gets a clit tattoo, me has their nipples pierced, mentions of needles, mentions of piercings, fingering, implied oral (m recieving), changbin calls me "good girl" once), probably inaccurate portrayal of how a tattoo parlor works

SYNOPSIS I fueled by your lack of sensibility and urge to make rash decisions, you decide to get a tattoo in an intimate place. of course, you didn't expect your tattoo artist to be so hot, which only makes you want to make yet another spontaneous decision.

A/N | repost from my deactivated nsfw, @/elysianjinnie. this was also previously posted on this blog, but didn’t go into tags :(( please let me know if y’all can see this in the tags!!

request to be added to current and future taglists HERE!

MASTERLIST

“No, I’m seriously doing it.” You hold your phone to your ear with your shoulder, awkwardly tilting your neck to make sure your device doesn’t slip and fall. The last thing you needed right now was a cracked screen—or even worse, a completely broken phone. You’d had plenty of experience with both due to your clumsiness and lack of common sense—Yeji’s words, not yours.

“You’re seriously an idiot,” Yeji sighed, her voice slightly distorted and crackly over the phone. “Out of any tattoos you could have chosen, you chose that?”

“I’m not known for my good decisions,” you reminded her, finally fishing your wallet out from your purse, humming to yourself with satisfaction. “But it can’t be that bad, right? I’ve already gotten a tattoo before, plus I have my tits pierced. How much more can it hurt?”

“Are you seriously that stupid? It’s gonna hurt way worse than both of those things combined.” Yeji sighed, and you could feel her exasperation leaking through the phone. “But it’s up to you. Just... tell me how it goes, okay? And if the tattoo artist gives you weird vibes... leave.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not stupid,” you muttered, “call you later.” You hung up, rolling your eyes at Yeji’s overprotectiveness. You weren’t stupid, you knew very well that getting a tattoo would hurt. You also weren’t planning on letting some creep have their fingers all up in your pussy, but Yeji’s words echoed in your head as you took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the tattoo parlor. Your gaze flickered from the walls decorated with pretty art, and you assumed they were sample designs for tattoos.

“See something you like?” a silky voice asked, and you turned to your right to look at the person sitting behind the counter. He was tall, lanky arms spread across the flat surface, big hands reaching towards you. You eyed his tattoo-free skin and raised an eyebrow.

“Are you the artist?” you asked doubtfully.

He tutted, pushing his plush lips into a pout. “I’m one of the artists, yes. Most of the designs you see up there are mine, that’s why I asked.”

“Pretty,” you said simply, and you weren’t lying. The closest samples to you had an obvious style, and you could tell that he was someone that enjoyed dabbling in arts other than tattooing.

“Well, thank you,” he said, smoothing his long blonde hair back. “I mean, the art mirrors the artist, right?”

You wrinkled your nose at his awkward wink, but he didn’t seem to notice your distaste. “So, do you have an appointment?”

“’The art mirrors the artist,’“ another voice scoffed, and you whirled around again, making eye contact with another man. He was shorter and more muscular, with puffy cheeks and big eyes, though they were narrowed as he stared down the lanky blonde man. “Who the fuck even says that? It makes no sense and makes you look corny as hell.”

“You’re not an artist, you wouldn’t get it,” the blonde shot back.

“Say whatever you want, but we work at the same place. Don’t put yourself on a pedestal,” the shorter man snorted. “What can we do for you?” He turned to you, expression immediately changing to a more pleasant one. When he didn’t have a disturbed look plastered upon his face, he was much more handsome.

You ignored the blonde’s spluttering in the back. “I’m a walk-in, I don’t have an appointment. I was just wondering if I could get a tattoo? Are there any spots open today?”

“Normally, we’re booked and busy,” the puffy-cheeked man said, pouting and stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger, but as soon as he saw your expression wilt, he widened his eyes and waved his hands frantically. “But today! Today someone cancelled, so we actually do have an opening! Depending on what you want, of course.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked down at the floor, embarrassed to say it in front of the two attractive employees. “Um... I actually wanted to get a clit tattoo,” you said quietly, and if you weren’t blushing before, you definitely were once you heard a surprised choke from your right.

“Oh!” the man in front of you said. You snuck a look up at him, and the tips of his ears were definitely red. “I... wasn’t expecting you to say that,” he admitted.

“Is there a problem?” you asked, your tone apologetic.

“No! None at all, that’s totally doable,” he said, waving his hands again.

“Oh, that’s a relief,” you chuckled, still feeling embarrassed. “Will you... be doing it?”

“Me? Oh, no. I’m only an apprentice here, and I do piercings anyways,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. Clearly, he was embarrassed too.

“It’s obvious you’re just an apprentice, Jisung,” the blonde said snarkily, and the puffy-cheeked man—Jisung—immediately narrowed his eyes again as he looked past you, towards the source of the diss.

“I’ll fuck you up, Hyunjin,” he snapped.

“That’s enough.” A third voice, deeper and rougher than the other two, seemed to echo through your ears. Just the sound of this person’s voice raised goosebumps on your skin, and you felt your blush intensify—even more so once you turned around, eyes meeting the owner of the sexy voice. He was even shorter than Jisung, but you didn’t even care. He was dressed in a tight black t-shirt that clung to his prominent pecs and showed off his toned stomach and massive arms—which were covered in gorgeous tattoos, of course. You thought you recognized some of Hyunjin’s work on there. His black hair was pushed back, but it was slightly messy, perhaps from a long day of work and fingers running through it. His thick, muscly thighs bulged underneath the leather of his skin-tight pants, and his boots with heavy soles completed the monochromatic look—and made your knees weak with every thumping step he took towards you. “I told you to not argue in front of customers,” he scolded, and Jisung and Hyunjin both slumped a little. “Now, what can I do for you?” He turned to look at you, and his dark eyes raking over your figure made a chill go down your spine.

“I wanted a tattoo,” you said, “and... Jisung said that you have a spot open?”

“I do,” he confirmed, “want to come back and discuss it more in private?”

“That would be great.” Grateful for the privacy, and to escape the tension between Jisung and Hyunjin, you followed the extremely attractive man towards the back of the shop, eyes trained on his back and the muscles underneath that sinfully tight shirt that flexed and moved with every step he took.

He opened the door to a small room and held it open for you, motioning with one pretty hand for you to enter first. You squeaked out a thank you as you scurried inside, and you stood awkwardly beside the tattoo chair, not knowing whether or not it was okay to sit down yet. The gorgeous man shut the door tightly behind him, then turned to look at you, a soft smile upon his face. “You can sit down if you want,” he said, not bothering to hide his amusement at your awkwardness. Well, that was one question answered for you. You perched on the edge of the seat, holding your purse in your lap. “So, what kind of tattoo are we thinking? Upper arm, collarbone... thigh?” He looked you up and down again.

“Actually,” you said nervously, your voice a pitch higher than usual, “I wanted a clit tattoo.” You couldn’t lie, it was amusing to watch the handsome man raise his eyebrows in shock.

He cleared his throat, coughing into his fist once. “Oh,” he said, “I wasn’t expecting that. But it’s totally doable.” He turned around, and you melted again as your eyes followed his beautiful form, marveling at his body even though all he was doing was washing his hands and pulling on a pair of gloves. “Anything... specific? Or do you just want your bud inked?”

“Um... no, I just want... the bud... inked?” you attempted to mimic his words, but they came out as more of a question than anything.

He laughed, a sound that made your heart race. “Alright, I’ll get the ink and tools ready. You get yourself ready.” He busied himself with doing what he said he would, and you took a deep breath, standing up and placing your purse on the opposite counter before unbuttoning your jeans and shimmying them down your legs, and then doing the same with your panties. You folded them awkwardly and placed them next to your purse on the counter before getting back on the chair and covering your crotch with your clasped hands, the realization that this extremely attractive man was about to see your whole pussy. More than that, he was going to be extremely close to said pussy, and would also be touching it.

You weren’t sure how you were going to live through this.

Just as you were wondering whether Yeji’s dumb ass was right and contemplating pulling your pants back on and running out of the shop, he turned around, ink in hand. “I just realized I never introduced myself!” he chuckled, sitting down in his chair and placing his tools on the sanitized tray beside him, “I’m Changbin.”

“(Y/N),” you said, avoiding eye contact with him. It was a complete mystery to you how he was able to carry on a normal conversation with you when your bottom half was completely naked.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, noticing your uncomfortableness. “You can still back out, that’s completely fine. This is a pretty scary area to get tattooed.”

“No, I want it,” you blurted out, and he smiled, perfect teeth biting his lower lip as he looked at you again.

“Okay,” he said, chuckling to himself. “Ready?”

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Could you open your legs for me?”

Oh, fuck. You felt your clit throbbing already, but not with pain. You opened your eyes again, laughing nervously. “Oh, yeah, sorry!” you said, and hesitantly leaned back on the chair and moved your hands, spreading your legs apart. If you weren’t so focused on how embarrassing and odd the situation was, you would have noticed the way Changbin’s eyes darkened once he saw your slick core, and the way he had to immediately adjust himself in his pants. By the time you looked back at him, he’d regained his composure and professionalism, and had scooted much closer to your cunt—his face was practically right up in there, though you supposed he sort of had to be close in order to see what he was tattooing.

The buzz of the tattoo gun reminded you way too much of your noisy old vibrator, which only made your clit throb even more. Changbin definitely noticed the way your cunt clenched around nothing, and he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he finally laid his hands on you.

His touches were feather-light, and you suppressed the whimper that was threatening to climb up your throat as he spread your lips. “Ready?” he asked again, voice huskier than before. You nodded, hands squeezing the arms of the chair tightly. You were prepared for pain, but you gasped softly as you felt his gloved fingers touch your clit softly, pulling back the hood to expose your sensitive nub, and this time you couldn’t hold back the little whine. You pressed your lips together as soon as you let it out, and Changbin pretended he didn’t hear it, but you knew he did, from the smirk that spread across his face.

And then the pain hit you. The thin needle pierced your sensitive bud, and you cried out, one hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your sounds, and the other gripping the arm of the chair even tighter than before. Changbin looked up, taking the needle off of you. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” you squeaked, “just surprised me, that’s all.”

“Just tell me if it gets to be too much. We can take breaks. But it’s a very small tattoo, so it won’t take long.”

You nodded again and squeezed your eyes shut, crying out again as the pain came back. “S--stop!” you said quickly, and he immediately took the gun off of you.

“Need a break?”

“Yes, please.” You gripped your seat, breathing hard, eyes squeezed shut. You knew that Changbin thought you were a wuss, tears gathering in your eyes and threatening to fall.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said soothingly, and you opened your eyes to see him with a concerned expression upon his face. “Do you want to stop?”

“No, I want this, I really do. It just really hurts, I wish I... I wish I had a distraction or something.” You grit your teeth as you looked down at your shaking legs.

“A distraction?” he asked, and you nodded, looking down at his face between your legs. Then you felt it, the warm rubber tip of his gloved finger running up and down your damp slit, and your thigh twitched at the contact. “Tell me now if you don’t want this.”

“I want it,” you whispered, and that was all Changbin needed. Two of his fingers pushed into your hole, and you moaned out at the stretch from his thick digits. He curled them deep inside of you, hitting the spot that made your toes curl, and you whined as he thrust them quickly, in and out, in and out.

“Feels good?” he asked, tone so sweet it was almost mocking, in a way.

“S-so good, fuck!” you cried, and a quick swipe of his hot tongue across the untouched, sensitive hood of your clit made you come all over his fingers with a shout, legs shaking and tears finally falling.

“Good girl,” he said, and you whimpered as you felt a shot of pain against your nub once more, but you focused more on the fingers holding back the hood of your clit, his touch having more of an effect on you than the needle. “Done!” he said, turning the machine off as soon as you were about to ask for another break. “How does it look?”

He held up a small mirror to your cunt, and your eyes widened at the pretty tattoo, but also your puffy pussy, and just how much your juices had dripped onto the black surface of the chair beneath you. “I made a bit of a mess,” you said sheepishly, and he just chuckled.

“Well... I know a way you could make up for that.” He undid his belt and unzipped his jeans, pulling his weighty cock out of his boxers. With a smug grin, he asked, “suck me off?”

© petrichor-han 2024, all rights reserved. // divider credit: @saradika-graphics

please consider reblogging and/or leaving a few kind words if you enjoyed this fic :) tumblr posts revolve around reblogs, and i’d appreciate the gesture!!

[joeloverture]

comeuppance | qz!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | notifs blog

pairing: qz!joel miller x f!reader summary: [post outbreak] when your recklessness causes an arms deal to go south, joel makes sure you regret it. warnings: (18+ mdni) qz!joel, age gap (late 20s/early 50s), written with hbo!joel in mind but with game!joel lore, guns, mentioned executions, misogynistic names outside (and in!) a sexual context, canon-typical violence as in murder (joel kills a soldier 'on-screen'), reader is a little shit but joel is worse, darkish & dubcon, spanking as a punishment, gunplay, attempted boot humping, degradation, humiliation, one kick to the cunt, mean!joel, orgasm denial [no use of y/n] word count: 2.7k a/n: this is my (admittedly late) submission for @iamasaddie's writing challenge 2.0! my prompt was 'you can't hide forever'. the genre was technically dark but joel himself isn't scarily dark here. thank you so much to aly for, once again, bringing this fandom together with her challenges. it's a steep task but she does a great job every time! and even more thanks to @joelsdagger and @lovesickonmybed for helping me brainstorm! (i have half of a brain without my wonderfully creative friends).

It only takes one deal gone south to fuck everything up.

You know the compass is already ticking that way the moment you and Joel, your longtime smuggling partner, enter the abandoned warehouse. Much like everything else in the Boston QZ, it’s falling apart. The corrugated metal walls are pitted with rust, and old blood is caked all over the floors. In another life, it might’ve been a slaughterhouse, but there’s no real way of knowing. It’s been long enough that any signage has deteriorated. The building’s state of decay, however, isn’t what messes things up.

It’s the singular man that walks in from the opposite side of the atrium.

FEDRA’s favorite executioner. Slitted eyes far apart, thinned out lips, and graying black hair. Rarely seen away from the gallows, only recognizable to you from all of the nightmares you’ve had of his face being the last you see.

If it were drugs, you’d think nothing of it. FEDRA soldiers buy quietly from you all of the time – but they have no need for guns that they don’t already have.

Joel steps forward, merchandise in the duffel bag over his shoulder, none the wiser. A knot ties itself in the base of your throat. You’re too busy trying to figure out what to do, what to do, what to do that you barely even realize that the soldier has a gun aimed right between your eyes until you’re looking right down the barrel.

Your hand jerks to your holster, drawing your pistol in one swipe.

“Drop your fucking gun!” he barks in your direction. It clatters out of your hands. “Don’t you dare fucking move.” Your hands fly up as you take a step back, nearly stumbling into a nearby crate. “Joel Miller and his bitch,” the man sneers. “What a lucky find. You two have quite the bounty on your heads.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Joel says, face completely blank.

“Easy for you to say,” the guard says with a nagging smirk. “Your little cunt here already did. Pretty fucking dumb not to check who you’re selling your merchandise to, huh?”

Joel tenses, ultimately huffing through his nose. “Can we get this over with?”

“I’ll make it easy, Miller. Come with me alive so I get paid, or come with me dead so I still get paid.”

Joel’s fingers twitch behind his back, and after almost three years of working with him, it’s impossible not to pick up on the subtext. Keep him busy. His hand is already reaching for the revolver in his back pocket.

“Turn the other way. I can make this worth your time,” you say. “But you’re lucky if those sons of bitches you work for even offer you half the reward they’ve posted for us. Dragging the bodies from Area 5 to the closest checkpoint… you’d have your work cut out for you.”

“Yeah fucking right,” he spits. “You two have been running around free for too damn long. Causing too much trouble. Not anymo–”

The man’s mouth freezes around the words by the time the bullet soars throat the canvas fabric of Joel’s duffel bag and through the man’s jugular. The soldier’s hands claw for his throat while he gargles on the blood as he begins the descent to the ground. New blood, still pumping directionless from the split artery, joins the old.

Much like him, where he’s slumping against the ground, chest moving until the very end, your hands clutch at your own throat. “We need to go,” you say, knowing the rest of FEDRA will come looking for the firefight at any second now. Joel doesn’t move. “Joel!” You reach out to tug his sleeve, but he doesn’t react. “Jesus– move!”

Joel turns to face you, gun still hanging from his hand. His fingers flex around the grip. “What the hell were you thinkin’, little girl?” You can hear his breathing, amplified from how close he is to you. His once inexpressive face is now red, lips curled, skin tight like a crushed soda can. 

“I– what?”

“Not vettin’ your buyers. First fuckin’ thing I told you all them years ago, wasn’t it? Gotta check so you don’t sell shit to the wrong guy, yeah?” He stalks closer to you – you stumble back.

Not vetting the now dead executioner, whose blood is currently creeping up to the soles of your boots. Your mistake, yes, a potentially catastrophic one that you’ll definitely never make again after this, but he’d been on your ass about finding buyers and after an entire day of burning bodies, the last thing you wanted to do was go asking around about the ‘John’ in search of guns that you’d talked to over the radio tower.

“We’re alive, aren’t we?”

Joel finally jerks his sleeve away from your grip. Your hand falls slack by your side, burning from his fire stoker touch. “And you oughta count your fuckin’ blessings for that. Dumbfuck of a girl, gonna get me killed,” he spits. Spittle flies across your neck. 

You flinch – and not because you’re scared. You’ve never seen him like this before. You hear noise in the distance, the moving of FEDRA trucks, no doubt. “Joel! We can do this later – we need to fucking go–”

“Then you better start running,” he says gruffly.

You don’t need to be told twice.

You sprint out of the atrium, cursing as your bloodied soles carve tracks behind you. A stack of crates blocks the door, which you vault over and shimmy your way through the broken glass panel. The hallway ahead of you is dark, and you have no idea where the fuck you’re going, only that you can’t stop. Each impact of your foot on the ground is like being struck by lightning, carbonating the racing blood pumping through your body. More glass crunches behind you, and a shock of terror pierces you when you hear Joel’s snarls filling the corridor.

There’s a metal cart in your way, which you send whirling in Joel’s direction. He grunts, presumably hitting him in the stomach before it goes clattering on the ground. You make the most of the diversion, hurtling forward and lurching through a cracked door.

Dead fucking end.

An office, by the looks of it. Desks all over the place, leftover tasks still pinned on cork boards from outbreak day, chairs on their sides. You hear Joel huffing and puffing behind you, and fear forks through you. You fall to your hands and knees, crawling underneath the labyrinth of desks and tucking yourself against a wall, carpet-burned hand to your mouth to muffle your breathing. Your chest avalanches with every single breath.

“You ain’t off the hook,” Joel says, voice getting closer with every word. You can hear the thump of his boots against the carpet. See the spread of his shadow roaming across the wall. You squint through the seam of two desks. He's looking over his shoulder when you haul yourself across the room to the next closest desk.

You look around for anything that might get you out of this long enough to slip back out of the door. If you can make it back to the apartment, maybe he can cool off on his own walk back. You reach up for a stapler and take a brief second to peek over a filing cabinet before flinging it against the wall. It snaps open, spilling decades old staples all over the floor.

“Only a clicker’s fallin’ for that,” he tuts at you. His boots land on the floor again, one, two, three steps closer to you. You wince, balling your hands into fists. 

All you can hear is the thrashing of your own heart. You scooch away from the desk – maybe if you throw something small at him, like a pack of sticky notes, it’ll be enough to abduct his attention long enough for you to slip by–

“You can’t hide forever,” Joel goddamn coos at you. You see him bending at the waist, scoping out the undersides of desks, seeking you out–

You crawl out from under the desk and book it to the door.

Stupid. Fucking. Idea.

Joel hauls you back by the belt loop, laughing as you cry out. You try squirming away, kicking at him, but his other arm wraps around your torso. It hits you then that you have no idea what he might do to you. You’ve trusted him with your life before, but what would he do when you risked his? You’d always been too scared to find out. He spins you, slamming you over the desk. You cry out as your chest meets the wood. His hand drags your wrists together, pinning them at the small of your back.

“Let me – the fuck– go!” you yell at him, trying to bend your elbow at the right angle to nail him in the chest.

He tightens his grip so much that you can barely move an inch. “Made your fuckin’ bed, gotta lie in it, sweetheart,” he tuts, shaking his head at you. His hand grazes over your ass, and you stiffen as he looms over you. He is just a man. Your mind spins to the worst-case scenario. No, no, no, no–

“How about an… old-fashioned corporal punishment to set ya straight?” Within the next second, he’s yanking your jeans down your thighs.

Oh. Oh fuck.

“Joel–” you exhale, breath shuddery. “Knock it off–”

“No panties? I was gonna be nice and spank ya over them…” Joel frowns at you. “Poor baby. ‘S gonna sting real bad.”

You snap at him, “What, you want me to go to the local QZ Victoria’s Secret?”

Joel swats, hard, across your asscheek.

You’ve seen how intense Joel’s brute strength can be. You’ve just never been on the receiving end of it. A cry pushes out of your throat, and you hunch over the desk as you struggle helplessly against Joel. Tears spring at your eyes.

Mercifully, Joel runs his calloused palm over the smarting skin. “Shh, shh, shh, shh. ‘S okay, Jus’ gotta teach ya a lesson. Make sure it sticks.” He strokes the nape of your neck as you whimper into the desk.

You tense up in preparation for the second hit, but, if anything, it just makes the impact worse. It prickles your other cheek, leaving your knees shaky. And God help you, your clit twitches. Twitches. Your thighs are already heating up, and you can’t help but squirm in a good way underneath Joel. A single tear slips over your waterline, and you have to tilt your head into the shoulder of your shirt to wipe it off. You don’t want him to see you weak – not that weak.

The next spank makes him grunt from how hard he swings his palm into your backside. “Joel!” you shout, pain nearly splitting you in two. Your feet raise off of the ground as you prop yourself up on the desk, kicking uselessly at his shins. All he does is chuckle at you.

Horror sinks like a cinderblock in your stomach when you realize that your hole, leaking slick, is practically fucking winking at him. You thank the darkness. It’s about the only good thing about this place.

“You don’t like that?” he mock-pouts at you. It’s enough to make you throb. The opposite, you’d say if you could.

A series of spanks follows, but at least these are lighter, and in rapid succession. Still, you jerk with each impact, squirming so that your fingers dance in his grip. “Stupid little girl. Thought you could sell our shit to a FEDRA bitch and get off scot-free? Really thought you could get away from me, huh?”

You try clamming up, desperately attempting to close your legs together. You squeeze your thighs together, relieved at the pressure – and then you hear a resounding click behind you.

You still.

Joel’s gun, still fucking hot from the bullet it’d fired right into the executioner’s throat, traces up the small of your back… all the way to your throat. “Could put one right here,” Joel whispers, more to himself than you. “Show ya what happens to girls that don’t follow orders.” He jams it into your skin, and you hiss at the pain, at the bruise it’s sure to leave. And in spite of it all, you fucking gush. God, you’re fucked up.

He wouldn’t kill you – he needs you more than you need him. But common sense isn’t enough to prevent the thrill, the arousal smiting your body from head to toe.

“I’ll reconsider if ya give it a kiss.” He nudges the barrel carefully against your lips and you stop breathing for a second, maybe two. “Go on. Give it some lovin’. Suck it like a cock. I know you’re good at it. Hear all the guys you bring over.”

You whimper at the thought of Joel listening to you getting your hook ups off – at the thought of him fisting his own cock while he listens. Obediently, you part your lips, slowly, ever so slowly, taking the gun down your throat. It fills your mouth up in such a strange way – all hard edges. It’d be freezing cold if not for the fact that it’s a weapon of death, a scythe in its own way. One press of the trigger, and you’d be just like the guard. You suck even harder at it, eyes rolling back in your skull. Your thighs twitch, stripes of slick running down your thighs. 

Joel reaches between your legs, grabbing at the meat of your inner thigh to spread you open. Instead, he gets a handful of the arousal that’s been pooling between your legs since he first bent you over the desk.

You freeze, pausing your ministrations on the pistol. He himself freezes before he drags his hips over your folds. His finger pads hover over your swollen clit before he properly rubs you once, and then twice. Your hips cant into the closest thing – his hand.

Joel makes a disgusted noise and swats your leaking pussy before shoving you forward and stepping back. You’re panting, properly fucked out even though he’d barely touched you. Cross-eyed, tongue hanging out, face hot. He looks you up and down, brows furrowing with revulsion. “Horny fuckin’ bitch. Creamin’ all over me. That long since you got action that a spankin’ and a gun in your mouth is all it takes to get you riled up? Pathetic.” He shoves the gun back in his pocket, still shining with your saliva.

He wipes your wetness all over your leg, grabs the back of your collar, and drags you to the floor in one foul swoop. You fall on your hands and knees again, ass still stinging from his treatment, lightheaded from how needy you are. Even his brutal treatment makes you whimper. 

You reach for his calf, pulling yourself up to brace your dripping cunt against his boot. You rut against it, not even fully cognizant of your movements as you roll your hips, praying that he lets you have this if nothing else. Your orgasm, wetting his boot thoroughly. Your scent, clinging to him on the walk back to the apartment. You buck into the boot, moaning as the toe bumps against your clit. It might be enough, if you could just do it one more time–

Joel tears his shoe out from underneath you, face pinched with aversion. “No!” you cry, still grabbing for his calf. You fall onto your back, legs spread and panting. Your ass needles from his spanking. The ceiling tiles spin above you. 

The same toe you’d been humping kicks into your cunt, and you yelp, curling in on yourself. Another tear slides down your burning cheek as you reach down to cup your sore pussy. Even that pressure feels like touching a live wire. 

Joel looks down at his shining boot and makes a disgusted noise. “Does humiliatin’ yourself always get ya dicked down?” 

He turns around, already walking away from you without a care in the world. The gun grip pokes out of his pocket, taunting you.

“Pull your goddamn pants up and get a move on. Curfew’s soon.”

[jolapeno]

come away with me and we'll kiss

javier peña x f!reader | one shot from late night texts world

you don't need to have read the series, but it helps - this one shot is set during the epilogue 🩷 chapter warnings: a photo booth, two idiots, javi realising how much he loves you, while also unable to keep his hands to himself. illusions and briefest of mentions of smut, but no actual ✨ wordcount: 1.9k.

an: BONUS CHAPTER. this wasn't planned at all but i saw @babyispunk's insanely amazing photo booth pic for Javi, and i had to write this little ode to it (hope you do not mind, lovely) biggest thanks to @guyfieriii who not only held my hand with this but also chose the title. ily.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

don’t forget tomorrow im taking you out for the day

You sure you told me this? 

good job I reminded you then

Javi, I am pretty sure I’d have remembered this. Are you sure you told me?

positive 

Javi hadn’t told you. 

The idea only came to him that week. You all curled up against him, asleep—your fingers on his chest—his hand placed right over yours. 

The minutes had been ticking down until his alarm would do its usual thing of disturbing the morning. Interrupting the time he got to just be, when he could lie here with your weight and warmth against him. 

That’s when his eyes landed on the photo frame with the photo strip, sitting on top, in the centre of the drawers the two of you now share. The strip of four photos captured from that week. 

For the past week, he’d thought of nothing but your two’s fast-approaching first anniversary. That week which had changed his life, the one where he’d had a taste of the life he lives now. 

From speaking to some of the people in town, it hadn’t taken much effort to learn where the closest one was. It all aligned, everything falling perfectly into place—all working out. 

On the morning of it all, the day even began the same as it had done when the two of you were in that hotel room. The tips of his fingers strumming up and down your back, your chest flush with his—all tangled in his arms, sheets barely keeping in place as your lips kissed the air with his name, the sound of yours leaving his mouth coated in grunts and hisses. 

It deviated after. The two of you shared a shower, with you sneaking out of the bathroom undetected to get dressed, leaving him to enact the next part of his plan: wearing the pink shirt. 

Stealing it back from your things had taken planning—discreet misdirections, his former skills in the DEA coming into use. He was just grateful it still fastened because even if he did more physical work now than he used to, Javi still wasn’t DEA fit. He was happy, for one—secondly, home-cooked meals were more a norm now than when he was over in Colombia. 

You said nothing if you thought anything when he met you on the porch. Not even when the two of you hit the road, hands smoothing down your dress as you turn the radio, focused, eyes glued, and head slightly tilted.

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

You always were. Always have been. Even way before, when all he had of you was words on his phone screen, you have been amazing to him. 

“So, whatcha’ thinking about?” you say, leaning back as the radio hums—the plucking of a guitar filling the journey as you look at him. 

Taking his hand from the wheel, he placed it on your knee—bare skin meeting his palm. “That I’m looking forward to taking you out of this dress when we get back.”

“No, you weren’t, you tease.”

He snorts, squeezing your knee. “Trust me, cariño. Most, if not all of the time, I am thinking about how I can get you out of your clothing.”

Your laugh fills the vehicle, feeling your eyes on him as the two of you pass the sign welcoming you into the city. 

“Think you need a hobby if you’ve got time for all that thinking, baby.”

“I’m busy enough.”  

Humming, he smiles as you rest your head on him. The scent of your perfume hitting his nose, recognising it instantly—the one he bought you, wrist tilted to his nose in the shop as you sprayed bottle after bottle until you landed on this one. 

The one, as you said, made his eyes widen. It wasn’t the only body reaction the scent now made happen. Least of all, when your hand was on his thigh, fingers sliding up and down his dark-wash jeans. 

“Te ves muy guapo, Javi—even in my shirt.” 

Snorting, he looked at you, finding your eyes already on him, waiting, a smirk slid up into your cheek that made it near impossible not to pull you close and kiss you. But he’d have time.

Plenty of it. 

Thankful he recognised the sign for the place he needed, when you were still none the wiser. Your brain not even catching on when he pulled into the arcade parking lot, your face still looking up at him, peering—studying every inch of him, as though you never get the chance to. Not that he could complain, he does the same whenever he gets the chance, too. 

By the time he’d come to let you out your side of the truck, your door was already open—smoothing down your summer dress. Taking your hand in his. “So, let me explain.” 

“You found us a photo booth.” 

Looping his fingers through, tightening his hold, he pressed a kiss to your cheek—both for being too fucking smart and also because fuck, you got him. “I found us a photo booth, cariño. C’mon.” 

Hidden in the back, there it was. Tucked away, it’s interestingly the one place in the arcade relatively quiet of people. The red curtain open, your hand practically dragging him—even if it was he who planned it—before stopping at the doorway, turning to him. Before your mouth even opens, he knows what you’re going to say, his hand already digging in his pocket, pulling out the money he knew would be needed. 

“We should think of poses,” you say, sliding in next to him, as you draw the curtain. 

His eyes glanced, taking in how it was a floor-to-ceiling one—more discreet, private. Even if the sounds of bells, cheers and loud music still made their way through it to your two’s space. 

“Unless you just want to recreate the last one?”

Handing you the money, he wraps his arm around you, fingers on your waist. Needing you to be close as he suggests you kiss his cheek, something sweet, innocent. Your smile twitches before you nod, doing your thing with the money and hitting the button to get it going. 

It’s only when he feels you twist towards him, his fingers sliding the strap of your dress up, that he realises how amazing the last year has been, and yet, while he feels the same as when he first met you, he also feels so much more—more than he ever thought possible after all the things he’d done and seen. 

Because, even now, you still make his heart skip a beat as you move closer like that first week. Make his cheeks warm as your lips ghost over his cheek. 

He knows the seconds are ticking down, both all set in place as the booth counts down, but he can feel the edges of his mouth bucking under the happiness you provide, it almost making him want to grin.

And he does—just after the flash. 

Something rising in him, desperate to ignite. It explodes inside him like fireworks; the feeling is born from the ash of who he used to be, spreading itself through him to add more weight to the person he now feels he can be because of you. 

His gratitude for it being pressed to your lips as the plan for chosen poses goes out the window, twisting his own body, a sudden need flooding through him just to have you close, pressed against him. His fingers slid around the base of your neck, kissing you desperately, hungrily. 

Javi tastes the mint from brushing your teeth, the warmth of your breath—and even if he gets to kiss you all the time now, it still blows him away. Because it’s you—you and him. 

Your lips part, inviting him in closer as the softest whimper escapes as his thumb and index squeeze your neck, wrist flush with your collarbone, as he crashes his mouth to yours—slanting, swallowing whatever you’ll give him. Lost in it, how you feel against him, how your thighs have spread just for him. The flash illuminates the space, his smile growing, pressing another to you, and another. 

It becomes a dance, a sudden know of what to do as he moves again. 

Giving his back to the camera, Javi buries his face into your neck as he hears you whimper his name—blissed out at the feeling of your hand in his hair, pulling, tugging as his fingers snake under your dress. A laugh falling, more in disbelief than anything, a whispered ‘we shouldn’t’ that he’s quick to swallow. 

Because he should—the two of you should. 

He couldn’t think of something more beautiful, more perfect to be captured and framed in your two’s room than you coming undone for him. That thought cruises through him, blood pounding in his ears, as he brushes over soft, warm skin before his thumb presses over the lace between your legs, feeling the sudden growing wet patch spreading across your underwear. Your laugh stolen, thieved, all twisted into a moan that made his smile grow as he rolled the tip of his tongue over that spot on your neck. The one which he knows has your eyes all lust-blown, just as the flash explodes white around the two of you as you moan his name.

His. 

A sound he collects whenever he can. Bottles it. Stores it on a shelf inside of him that used to be empty. That could never be filled by any vice he had picked up, but now it is all easily full of you. The happiness you bring, the comfort, 

And he knows he has seconds—if that. 

Sliding up, shifting the fabric from between your legs as he feels it. He’ll never tire of it, the proof that you want him—over and over. Your fingers find his chin at the last second, lifting him to stare as his fingers coat themselves in how much you need him. 

You saying it, beating him to it. Robbing him of it—not that he cares.

“Happy one-year anniversary, baby.”

In a way, he wishes his back wasn’t to the camera as his hand slides back to resting on your thigh. Because now he suddenly wants the chance to see how he looks as he hears the words. Imagining it from the effect it has on him; how each letter coats him, heals him. 

Instead, he whispers them back. Enjoys a front-row seat to watching the impact they have on you, now just wishing the camera is good enough to capture the shimmer in your eyes, the look of adoration, the thinnest crease between your brows he knows he mirrors. 

Because it’s you, it’s him. 

The two of you frozen like that, a sea of other words silently being shared—your hand reaching up, cupping his cheek, thumb stroking his skin, just like you always do as the machine begins to churn, preparing and readying the photos for the two of you.

“Thank you for bringing us here,” you add, only when the machine quietens.

Nodding, he swallows. “You’re welcome. I… I didn’t know you were an exhibitionist, cariño.”

Your eyes narrow, lips pursing before you smirk. “If you were a smart man, you’d put more money into the machine and finish what you started.” 

Javi does.

Because of course he fucking does. 

Haphazardly stuffing what he can into it before he’s pulled by his collar, his lips crashing against yours. 

AN: Halloween one shot of this pairing will still be up on the 31st. I've just missed them so goddamn much.

[1byhwng]

Wildflower - Felix

synopsis- you and felix have the closest relationship so you visit his dorm to have baking lessons leading to him confessing only for you to leave him alone.

genre- fluff , angst

warnings:

pairing- bsf!lix + bsf!reader

“Felix! noo, i’m going to kill you!” you say playfully while trying to remove the icing he put on your face. you look up only to see him laughing at your state before finally handing you a paper towel to clean the rest of the sticky icing off of your face. “you’re really pretty yknow…” he speaks up ,his voice sending shivers down your spine while looking at you with loving eyes leaning against the counter. “felix don’t..” you say trying to ignore your feelings for him.

“y/n..” he reaches out to you but you back away. “you know just as well as i do why we can’t.” you say in a soft tone. He sighs ,running a hand through his hair. “i should go, bye felix.” you say grabbing your things and walking towards the door. Felix follows you to the door, grabbing your arm turning you to him. “im sorry y/n.” You could feel his grip tighten “don’t leave..we can just act like i never said anything.” he looks at you with pleading eyes. “please, i promise i wont say anything stupid like that again.” you shake your head looking at him with a soft gaze. “you didn’t say anything wrong..i just can’t accept that i love you felix.” you say turning away to leave, grabbing your keys off the hook and walking out.

when you made it to your car you hesitate before finally deciding to leave. As you were driving you got a few texts from Felix.

y/n this doesn’t change anything right??

y/n?

I can see you’re reading these..

are you ignoring me?

seriously y/n

ok fine.

You look at the texts with tears in your eyes threatening to fall. The texts kept coming but something inside you wouldn’t let you bring yourself to answer them. Not right now anyway.

It’s been a month since what happened and now every time you would visit the guys he wouldn’t even speak to you -god forbid he glanced at you. He was always in his room staying as far away from you as possible.

maybe today was different because when you walked in he was sitting on the couch with ham watching a movie he looked towards you waving with a weak smile before looking back to the movie as if giving Han a signal that you were there. “Hey y/n” Han says getting up, walking over to you with a wide grin. “We were just watching a movie if you wanna join.” He says gesturing to the movie playing on the screen. Before you could answer Felix stands up making his way over it you “can we talk…alone?” He says looking at you with soft eyes. You think for a moment before replying “I-sure, yeah.” Han just shrugs and goes back to his spot in the couch.

You were sitting on his bed while picking at your nails unsure of what to do in this situation. “Look, y/n I’m sorry..” he starts with a sigh “I’m sorry for being an asshole, im sorry for making you feel bad, I’m sorry for having feelings for you, I’m sorry that I ignored you, and I’m sorry I ruined things between us.” By the time he stopped tears were still flowing out of his eyes and he looks at you with pleading eyes praying you would forgive him. “Y/n?” You look up at him getting up and pulling him in to an embrace. “I never thought you having feelings for me was stupid..I just don’t want to hurt myself, Felix.” You say as your head lays on his chest. “You’re an idol…I’m a nobody who makes songs for a living and clean cafe counters when I don’t make hit songs. The fans would hate me and you for it and I don’t want you to stress about it because of me a-“ before you could finish he pulled you into a soft quick kiss. “Don’t you think I wouldn’t have asked if I cared about that?”

“I care about you, not other people’s opinions.” He says smiling at you with his tear stained cheeks. “I promise I mean it..” he whispers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I love you y/n” he smiles softly at you.

”I love you too lix.” You smile as you start to shed tears of happiness of finally being able to express your feelings for him freely.

“I’ll never regret telling you I love you yknow.” He says poking your side. “Ah whatever sunshine I definitely won’t regret it.” You punch his shoulder playfully.

[livwritesstuff]

Steve is up past his bedtime.

(Because he's in his mid-fifties and needs one of those now).

It's 2:30 in the morning and he's awake, sitting in bed with a book and doing his best to ignore the dull ache of exhaustion because his oldest daughter, Moe, hasn't come home yet.

He keeps glancing at his phone, waiting for the screen to light up with a notification from the Ring doorbell they've had up and running for a few years.

Steve had been on the fence about getting it installed, but Eddie wanted it (and it was that or the touch screen toaster, and Steve didn't think he'd be able to take his kitchen seriously with a touch screen toaster).

The late-2000s had turned Eddie into a tech guy. Steve isn't sure if it should have come as a surprise to him or not, but it's true either way. Their kids are 1000x more proficient with it, for sure, but they also grew up with it. The last time the girls were really impressed was when their local Pizza Hut got one of those big touch screen soda machines, but Eddie is pretty much guaranteed to be into anything with a touch screen, anything he can control on his phone.

Steve, on the other hand, reached his capacity for technology with the 2nd gen iPad, which is still up and running even in the 2020s and he still uses it to play Hay Day with Hazel despite being practically the last people on Earth doing it. He’s not interested in any of the new stuff.

The one thing Steve was totally game for was getting a Ring doorbell, because with the girls old enough to come and go mostly as they please, it’s nice to have a better sense of those comings and goings.

It wasn't easy for Steve – relinquishing some control to give their daughters the independence that they'd be chasing whether they had permission or not, but the girls have called their dads to get them out of sticky situations enough times for Steve to know they're making the right decision, even if he doesn't like it.

Ridiculous as it feels, that silly smart doorbell does actually provide him with a small sense of relief.

As is proven yet again when his phone lights up with the long-awaited Ring notification.

"Jesus Christ, finally," Steve mutters, and Eddie, who'd been dozing off by his side, lifts his head.

"She's back?" he asks.

Steve nods.

The notification opens in time for them to see Moe stumbling up the porch steps. There's a boy her age – unfamiliar to Steve even up close – watching her warily from a few paces back. She's wrapped in a big sweatshirt and cradling a greasy Domino's bag like she'd used to hold her stuffed animals.

Moe grapples for the door before pausing and leaning towards the camera.

"Sorry Papa," she mumbles, shaking her wrecked bangs out of her eyes.

"Oh, look at her, hitting you with the Papa because she knows it makes you go soft," Eddie says with a smirk, "No apology for me though, that's kind of bullshit."

Steve shakes his head with a snort.

Moe finally gets the door open and makes her way inside. They hear the sound of the door closing downstairs a split second before it comes through the phone. The boy waits until she's inside before waving weakly at the camera.

"Uh...I'm Nate," Nate says, looking completely exhausted and sounding as if he regrets addressing the camera to begin with, "I'm sober. I drove her home. There’s, uh…I gotta get other people home."

Steve snorts as he watches the boy turn and walk back down the porch steps.

"Poor kid. Long night – closest Dominos is, like, thirty minutes from here."

"Jesus," Eddie shakes his head, "Think Moe would be totally mortified if we tracked him down to say thank you?"

"Yes."

"Sweet, sounds like a plan.”

[daisynik7]

Give You Blue

Chapter 4: Alone Together

Pairing: Eren x f!reader, Reiner x f!reader (past relationship)

Rating: Explicit (for mature content)

cw: switching POVs (reader is in 2nd person, Eren is in 3rd), angst, language, a bit of fluff

Word Count: ~5.7k

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Give You Blue Masterlist | ao3 | Give You Blue Taglist

Summary: You and Annie attend a dinner at the Mu Phi sorority house on campus. Reiner, on his way out of Delta Delta, ambushes you on the walk back to your dorm for a less than pleasant conversation. Later that week, RA Eren hosts a game-night for his fellow residents. But, with it being on a Friday right after midterms, he's disappointed when it flops. Fortunately, someone comes to his rescue. Author’s Notes: Hope you enjoy this one! Likes, comments, and/or reblogs are ALWAYS appreciated. Please let me know what you think, I thrive off of reading your comments! If you want to be tagged in any future chapters, please let me know! Divider created by @/mikeykuns.

“Eren, are you paying attention?” 

Armin waves his hands in front of his friend’s face, snapping Eren out of whatever reverie he’s stuck in. He shakes his head slightly, grinning. “Sorry, Armin. Sort of zoned out for a minute there.” They sit next to each other on Eren’s bed, watching a movie on his laptop. It’s Saturday night, and Eren actually agreed to be social today. 

Armin taps on the space bar, pausing the film. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately. Are you sure you’re getting enough sleep?”

The real answer is no, but with Armin, he’ll only worry if he knows the truth. “Plenty. All eight hours,” Eren lies. In reality, he’s getting four hours tops. He stays up late studying, then spends the rest of the night tossing and turning in bed, anxious about the future. 

Oblivious, Armin responds happily. “Good! Living by yourself is already paying off. Sometimes I wish I could have my own space. The frat house can get pretty noisy, especially with Connie as a roommate.” He chuckles, reaching towards the bag of chips between them.

“Connie’s a blast to be around, though. I’m sure you’re having fun.”

“Yeah, I am. You should really come by the house.”

“Maybe. When I have time.” In all honestly, he has no intention of stepping foot in that frat house. Not because he has a disdain for Greek life; but because it’ll only show him what he’s missing out on. He already feels that way whenever he catches up with Mikasa and Armin, both thoroughly enjoying their college experience still. 

Mikasa returns from the bathroom, hopping on the bed to squeeze next to Eren. “What did I miss?”

“We ended up pausing the movie anyways, so not much.” Armin passes the snacks to Mikasa, who throws a handful into her mouth. 

They continue the movie, Eren’s mind drifting into space again. He’s already thinking about the upcoming chemistry midterm next week, how he hasn’t fully memorized the amino acids and their structures yet. And how he has to schedule a date to meet with Hange Zoë, a senior doing research in the lab, to see if he can shadow her for a month. On top of that, he’s planning on hosting a small event at the dorms, something to help his residents let off some steam after exams. It’s all too much. He wants to sleep and pretend that none of these obligations exist. 

The credits roll on his computer screen. He blinks, fully unaware of what transpired during the movie. His friends hang around for a few more minutes before leaving to head to a party somewhere else on campus. Once again, he’s alone. 

He is not motivated to study tonight, already burnt out from the last couple of days. Instead, he practices his electric guitar, working on a particular riff of this song he likes, replaying it over and over through his headphones. He loses himself in the music for a while, the closest thing to an escape that he can reproduce inside his own bedroom. Fingers sore from picking and strumming, he decides to call it a night. Face washed and teeth brushed, he snuggles under the covers, glancing at his phone. 11:00 PM. Wild night, he thinks to himself, laughing. 

Suddenly, his brother’s name flashes across the screen. “Zeke?”

“Eren, hey. You’re not sleeping already, are you?”

“Nah. But I’m in bed.”

“On a Saturday night?”

“Yep.”

Zeke chuckles heartily. “Oh boy. I can already hear it in your voice. Welcome to the club, little brother. Your descent into med school hell is starting.”

“Yay, can’t wait,” Eren responds sarcastically. “Anyways, what’s up?”

“I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing. Clearly not well.”

“I’ve been better.” He keeps his answer vague on purpose. With Zeke, he doesn’t go into too much detail with the emotions he’s experiencing. As much as he respects his older brother, the two of them don’t always see eye-to-eye. While Eren usually acts out of emotion, sometimes to a fault, Zeke is detached, unable to empathize with what his younger brother is struggling with.  

“Is dad still giving you a hard time? I heard he wasn’t happy with your last quiz grade.” 

Eren ignores the urge to ask how he knows about that, already aware that they talk about him behind his back. “I told him it was weighted, so technically I passed.” 

“Well, you know how the old man is. Technicalities don’t really matter to him.”

He rolls his eyes, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom, almost regretting picking up this call. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying you should study harder.”

He’s fighting to keep his cool, his body tense with anger. Before he loses it, he mutters through gritted teeth, “Okay, thanks. I actually gotta go now, bye.”

“Eren, I’m just trying to help – ”

He doesn’t wait for Zeke to finish his sentence, already tapping on the red button to end the call. Now, with his mood ruined, he’s not sure if he can fall asleep. He wishes it was still daylight, specifically the golden hour when the sun sets. It would be the perfect time to head to his favorite spot: the beach that overlooks the shimmering expanse of blue ocean water separating Paradis and Marley. He discovered this area recently, on one of his drives that he takes to temporarily escape. It brings him peace, even if the moment is fleeting. 

Instead, he scrolls through his contacts, tapping on his mom’s name, holding the phone back up to his ear. When her familiar voice greets him on the other line, the tears start flowing and he spends the next half hour confiding in her. 

~~~

You and Reiner cuddle in bed, his nose nuzzled to the back of your neck, spooning you. Bertolt is home for the weekend, leaving the room to yourselves. 

“Coco, are you still awake?”

You hum, snuggling closer to him, on the verge of sleep. He swallows hard behind you, as if he’s nervous. “I think I want to live in the fraternity house next semester.”

This gets your attention. Surprised, you turn around to face him. “What?”

“It’ll help me bond with my brothers better.”

“But we were supposed to live together.” The two of your agreed quite early in the semester that you would live together in one of the on-campus apartments. This news comes to you as a shock, since he’s never mentioned wanting to live on Greek Row, until now. 

“I just want to try it out for a year, baby. When we’re juniors, we can find our own place off campus, so we can do whatever we want.” He pulls you closer, kissing your forehead. “Everything is going to work out, okay? You can wait a year, right?”

Of course you can wait; that’s what he asks you of, so you’ll do it. But you don’t want to. You had all these exciting ideas laid out in your head: cooking meals together, relaxing on the couch in each other’s arms, being alone without worrying about parents or roommates barging in on the two of you. Being together all the time. 

“Coco, say something.”

It’s easy to get upset. Make a fuss and yell at him for being selfish. Simultaneously, you feel guilty for thinking this way, like you’re the bad girlfriend for disagreeing with it. For wanting him all to yourself.

“Okay,” you finally respond. “I’ll ask Annie if she wants to live together again, I guess.” It’s a compromise for the sake of making him happy. Because more than anything, you want him to be happy. 

He smiles, kissing you on the lips. “You’re the best, you know that? I don’t know what I would do without you.”

You wake up, back in your own bed, Annie’s soft snores filling the quiet of the room. A quick glance at your phone shows you it’s only 4 AM in the morning. It’s been a few days since you dreamt about Reiner, a new record since the break-up. Still, whenever you do, it hurts as much as it did the first night. 

He never warned you about wanting to move into the fraternity house. It came out of nowhere, a total and complete blindside, much like when he broke up with you. He’s been this way for a while, making rash decisions and springing it on you without a mention of it beforehand. You always end up going along with it, forcing yourself to accept it without disagreement. You never could stand up for yourself, thinking it was less hassle to bend for him than to argue about it. When you’re with someone for so long, the easy road seems the obvious choice, compared to one that has bumps and cracks along the way. But just because it’s easy, doesn’t mean it’s better; it doesn’t always lead you to the right destination. And maybe that’s why you are where you are now: lost. 

It’s been almost two weeks since you saw him on that rainy day. Two weeks since he sent you that text message, which remains unanswered. There’s been moments where you stared at the screen, fingers ghosting the keyboard, wanting to send him a reply. Somehow, you’ve resisted those temptations. In the end, it’ll only lead to more heartache. The memories haven’t kept you up at night as much as it did before. Thankfully, your sleep schedule is back to normal, except for nights like this. You’re doing better each day. Annie’s two words to you are on constant loop in your head: Baby steps. Any progress, no matter how little or big, is still progress. As long as you don’t go backwards into a downward spiral.

Later in the week, Annie extends an invitation to eat dinner at one of the sorority houses on campus, Mu Phi. Hitch, a close friend, is a sister who currently lives there. As you approach Greek Row with your roommate, you look at the Delta Delta house right next door, wondering if Reiner is there, working as their hasher tonight. Possibly flirting with Christa or other sisters that surely find him attractive. You let the insecurities fade as soon as you knock on the door to Mu Phi, soon greeted by Hitch and two other friendly sisters. They lead you into the dining room, chatting about various topics, subtlety sneaking in how great sorority life is, asking if you’ve ever been interested. After all, they are constantly in recruitment mode, which doesn’t bother you. It feels nice to be desired. 

During the meal, the conversations continue. Annie, being the secret gossip she is, mentions the neighbors. You briefly described to her your run-in with Reiner and Christa, so naturally, she’s been curious since. “What’s it like living next to them?”

Hitch replies, “It’s fine. Did you know that Mikasa’s a Delta Delta?”

“Really? She rushed? I guess they can’t be all bad,” Annie muses.

Hitch eyes her with an amused smirk on her face. “Why would you say that? Who’s in there that you don’t like?”

Before Annie can respond, you interrupt, not wanting to spread any unwarranted gossip. “She’s joking. By the way, who’s Mikasa?”

“She’s this girl that attends Annie’s kickboxing class.”

Annie adds, “She’s also our RA’s sister.”

“Eren?”

She nods, confirming. His appearance around the dorms has lessened, possibly because of the upcoming midterms. He is a pre-med major after all, so you’re certain he’s too busy studying to be out and about. You wished you could have seen his face when he received the bag full of Pocky you bought for him, as thanks for sharing his umbrella on that rainy day. “I didn’t know he has a sister.”

“She’s adopted, from what I heard,” Hitch comments. “But they’re super close. Her, Eren, and Armin.”

At that third name, you glance at Annie, a slight blush creeping on her cheeks. She had a class with Armin last semester, and they were paired up for a big project. From then on, your roommate has been smitten with him, but she’ll never admit it out loud. You also recognize the name as one of Reiner’s pledge brothers from the same fraternity, though you’ve never met him personally. Knowing he’s close to Eren already gives you the impression that he’s a nice guy. 

The dinner ends with a tour of the house, not including the exclusive sleeping porch on the top floor, where all the sisters are forced to slumber beside each other. Right outside the entrance, you, Hitch, and Annie talk for a little while longer until your roommate announces, “My shift at the library is starting, so I have to leave now. Thanks for dinner Hitch!”

The three of you say your goodbyes, Hitch waving farewell from the door, you and Annie parting ways in opposite directions. It’s a clear sky tonight, the moon glowing brightly in the vast darkness, littered with barely visible stars. You take your time walking, enjoying the pleasantly cool air, admiring the other houses along Greek Row. From behind, a familiar voice calls out to you. “Coco.”

Before you face him, you curse under your breath, aware of exactly who it is. You find Reiner several feet away from you, presumably from the Delta Delta house. His fraternity is in the opposite direction, so he must have spotted you from afar, maybe heard you talking outside. You stand in place, waiting for him to catch up to you, ambushed. 

“Hey,” he says, with a sheepish grin.

You nod stiffly, unsure what to do next. It’s too late to make a run for it. Impossible to turn back the clock and sprint your way across campus. You should have known better, especially when you already assumed he’d be working there tonight. It doesn’t matter now; you’re trapped. 

“Are you heading back to your dorm?” he asks, hands in his pockets. 

You nod once more, voice stuck in your throat, unable to speak. 

“I’ll walk with you.” It’s not a question or a suggestion. It’s final. He’s determined to do it. 

Reluctant, you let him, pivoting on your heel towards the direction of your dorm, remaining silent. He stays beside you, hands in his pocket, glancing at you hesitantly. “What were you doing at Mu Phi?”

So he did notice you first. Eyes focused on the ground, you answer, “Hitch invited us for dinner.”

“Christa also invited you, remember? To the Delta Delta house.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” You don’t mean to sound venomous; well, maybe you do. Why bother bringing that up?

“I’m just reminding you. She’s really nice, you know.”

You snap, annoyed and frustrated. “Yes, Reiner, I’m sure she is very nice. That’s why I think she’d understand why I refuse to go to that house for dinner.”

“Because of me?” 

“Of course it’s because of you!”

He sighs, scratching his arm excessively. Something he does when he’s anxious. “I don’t understand why you’ve been ignoring me. I thought we agreed to be friends. You won’t even respond to my texts. How am I supposed to know that you’re okay?”

“Okay? You want to know if I’m okay? Reiner, I haven’t been okay since the day you broke up with me.” 

“That’s why I’m trying to talk to you.”

You scoff, blood boiling. “You’re the last person I want to talk to. You’re the reason I’m not okay. You broke my heart.” It’s a cheap shot to blame him, but that’s what you do. Fire everything in your arsenal to defend yourself, to hurt him.

His expression turns sullen at your harsh words. “I couldn’t be your boyfriend anymore. It’s fucked up, I know. But I did what I thought was right. I didn’t want to string you along.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me you were feeling this way? Why didn’t you talk to me about it? We tell each other everything. Why keep this away from me?” 

He chews on his lip, nervous. “I was scared, okay? Really scared to lose you. I thought if I started talking about it, you’d break up with me and hate me forever. I wasn’t ready for that.”  

You process this, not sure how you truly feel about it. On the one hand, you understand the fear of losing the most important person in your life. That’s what you two are to each other. Well, were. On the other hand, it isn’t fair that he makes decisions when he’s ready. What about you?

You arrive outside your dorm building, standing feet away from each other, your arms crossed over your chest, protecting your heart. When you don’t respond, he continues. “I care about you, Coco. You’re my best friend. You’re the most important person in my life.”

 “You say that now, but eventually, somebody else will come along. Then what?”

Quietly, he replies, “I don’t know.”

You have to stand up for yourself. Hit him with the bitter truth even if it makes him uncomfortable. You’ve gone far too long agreeing to what he wants, following his plan, sacrificing your sanity to protect him. You don’t owe him anything. He decided to dump you when he was ready. That gives you free reign to do the same. “I don’t want to be a placeholder for whenever the next person comes along. Do you understand how painful that is? To know I’m temporary? I can’t be the most important person in your life. Not like this. That’s why we can’t be friends.” 

He stares at you, dumbfounded that you won’t concede to him. Disappointed that he can’t get what he wants this time, after so many years of doing so. This is what it’s like to have control, to stick up for yourself. Maybe there is some good to come out of this breakup. 

After a while, Reiner speaks, voice trembling, eyes glistening. “You can’t do this to me, Coco. I still…I still love – ”

“Don’t say it. Do not fucking say it.” You cover your ears, as if that will prevent your brain from finishing the rest of that sentence in your head. 

“I mean it, though. No matter what happens between us. I want you in my life.”

“Why is everything about what you want? Have you ever considered what I want?” You begin to pace back and forth on the pavement, arms jittery, increasingly erratic. 

A little louder now, a tinge of arrogance in his tone, he says, “We’ve known each other our whole lives. Pretty sure I have a good idea about what you want.”

“Well, you don’t. It’s different now. You don’t know me just as much as I don’t know you.”

“How can you say this right now? You’re just going to throw us away?!”

“You did it first!” you yell at him, tears streaming down your cheeks.

He steps towards you, hands in a desperate prayer, begging. “I don’t want to lose you. Please, Coco. I need you. I need you.” It’s the magic words that he so expertly chants to you. The ones that tug at your heartstrings, make you weak in the knees. And for a second, you consider taking everything back. Reach out and hold him, forget about the pain you’ve suffered these past two months and agree to be friends. Because you’d do anything to see him happy again. For this to be a long nightmare and to wake up together, perfectly back to normal.

But you don’t. And only because the entrance to your building suddenly swings open, revealing Eren at the door, inspecting the scene with a concerned expression on his face. “Is everything okay out here?”

Reiner glares at him for the interruption. “Who are you?”

Eren steps towards you, glancing at you and Reiner. “I’m Eren, the RA for this building. Heard some yelling and thought I should check it out.” 

“Reiner is leaving now,” you murmur, avoiding Eren’s gaze, embarrassed. “I’m sorry for the commotion.” You turn to head inside, not bothering to wave goodbye to your ex, who stands there, watching you. Eren follows, sneaking glances at Reiner before swiping his ID at the door to let you both in.

“Coco,” he calls out. “Please.”

You ignore him, wiping your tears with the back of your shaky hands, listening to the door shut behind you. 

“Are you okay?” Eren asks, voice calm.

You face him, forcing a weak smile, eyes still wet. “Perfectly fine.” You turn to hurry into your room, overwhelmed and wanting to hide in the safety of your bed forever. 

Before you can, he grabs you gently by the hand, thumb brushing your knuckles. “If you ever need to talk or anything, my door is always open for you.”

You mutter a timid, “Thank you,” then rush down the hall and into your room, heart pounding against your chest. His comforting words replay in your head, trying to replace all that was said between you and Reiner.  

~~~

At the end of the week, Eren hosts a game night in the common room of the dorm building. He’s excited to bond with his residents with pizza from his favorite local Italian joint and some good old-fashioned Mario Kart. He lays the food out on the table and sets up his Nintendo console to the TV, the familiar opening sequence playing on the screen. Then, he patiently waits for his first guest. Fifteen minutes pass and still no one shows up. Where is everybody? 

At the thirty-minute mark, he lays down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The pizzas are surely lukewarm now, and the same tune playing on the TV is starting to grate on his ears. He texts Mikasa and Armin, complaining about the complete lack of attendees. Immediately, he gets a call from his sister. When he picks up, she states, “Eren, nobody is there because it’s the Friday night after midterms.”

“So?”

“People are getting ready to party. That’s what I’m doing, that’s what Armin is doing. That’s what everyone is doing.” 

Someone in the background yells, “Tell him to come out with us!” It’s Sasha’s voice. 

He groans, realizing his mistake. “I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not. Just come out with us. You deserve a break.”

He considers it for a few seconds, before he replies, “Thanks, but I’m gonna head to bed.”

Sasha boos him. “C’mon, Eren! Join us! It’ll be fun!”

“I’m tired, Sash. Next time.”

Believing she can’t be heard, she whispers to Mikasa, “He always says that.” Well, she’s not wrong. 

Eren bids farewell to his friends, wishing them fun tonight. He lays on the couch for a while longer, trying to not to be too devastated at this failure of an event. Finally standing up, he heads to the table to begin packing.

“Am I too late?”

He turns around, surprised by her voice. The resident from down the hall, Room 104. The girl he’s seen cry at least three times now, the most recent being earlier in the week, outside the dorms. A small confrontation with the guy who Eren assumes is her ex, the cause behind all the tears. He was hoping to run into her soon, to check if she’s doing alright. He’s delighted to find her standing in the doorway, a small smile on her face. 

“Hey,” he greets, waving at her. She steps towards him, inspecting the plethora of food on the table. He rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. “You’re the first person to show up, so we have plenty of food.”

She gives him a sympathetic look, opening the pizza box to grab a slice. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

He grins. “Hey, you’re here, aren’t you? That’s all that matters to me.”

As she settles in on the couch with her food, she explains, “I would have come earlier, but I was helping Annie get ready for a party.”

Eren takes the seat beside her, dropping a piece of pepperoni into his mouth. “I guess everyone really is going out tonight,” he muses, recalling what Mikasa told him earlier. 

“Well, not everyone,” she reminds him, smiling. His chest swells with warmth seeing this side of her. Eyes free of tears, cheeks rounded with happiness, relaxed in his presence. He secretly resents Reiner, or whatever that guy’s name is, for putting her through all the misery she’s had to suffer. 

They eat their pizza, chatting about arbitrary topics like favorite toppings, best local restaurants around the town, even a silly bet about who will beat who in a race. The upbeat melody of the Mario Kart intro still playing in the background is no longer annoying now that Eren has company. 

One box only halfway finished, they wipe their hands clean of pizza grease to start the game, picking their favorite characters. Eren always opts for Yoshi, because of course he’s got to get the green dinosaur. She selects Toad, going on about how adorable she finds him, doing a decent impersonation of his high-pitched, bouncy voice, causing Eren to bust out laughing. They race, moving their bodies along with their controllers, bumping elbows and shoulders with bright smiles on their faces. She nudges him in the ribs when he tosses a red shell at her, knocking her off the course to take first place. He taps her knee with his when he slips on a banana peel she strategically lays out for him. It’s competitive, but not serious, both of them gloating and teasing one another at their victories. After going through most of the courses, they play battle mode, teaming up together to destroy CPUs on the most difficult levels. 

After exhausting most of the game to their heart’s contents, Eren checks his phone, shocked that it’s already past 11 o’clock. He glances at her, checking if she’s ready to leave once they shut down the game. She remains beside him, her attention focused on the piano in the corner of the room. Pointing at it, she asks, “We have a piano in here?”, clearly never noticing it before.

He chuckles. “Yeah we do. Do you play?”

She shakes her head, standing up to approach it, sitting on one side of the bench. He follows her, taking his place next to her. It’s only now that he realizes how close they’ve been all night. His heart starts to beat faster for some reason. 

Finger at a key, she presses on it, filling the room with a very out-of-tune C-note. “Do you play?” she asks.

“Not much, just the basics really. I’m better at guitar.”

“Acoustic?”

“Electric,” he answers, resting his hand on the piano, hovering his fingers over a chord.

“Electric guitar is so cool. I’d love to hear you play sometime.” It’s an innocent suggestion. But for whatever reason, Eren is shy about the idea of her being inside his room, watching him play his guitar. And for a split second, he imagines what other activities they can do with each other, in the privacy of his bedroom. He catches himself, mentally waving away the potentially inappropriate thoughts. 

Desperate to change the subject, he suggests, “Want me to teach you something?”

She nods, eager to learn. He starts his thumb on a C-note. “This is a C-major scale. It starts here,” he presses down, wincing at how out of tune it is. “And then you follow through with the rest of your fingers. That’s a very basic scale, without complicating it too much.”

She does it easily, smiling at the keys in front of her. “Now can you teach me Moonlight Sonata?” she jokes. 

He laughs. “How about Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star instead?”

“Fine,” she says, fake pouting. She’s really cute.

By midnight, she’s perfected the lullaby, enough for the two of them to sing along to it. Even with the notes out of tune, it’s still pleasant to listen to. He then shows her how to play the easiest version of Heart & Soul, a fun duet they manage to practice together within the hour. She’s a quick learner, which he appreciates. After their performance, she looks at him, smiling. “You’re a really good teacher.” 

He brushes his fingers along the keys. “That was my dream job growing up. I always wanted to be a teacher.”

“A music teacher?”

“No, an elementary school science teacher,” he admits. “Thought it’d be so cool to blow their minds with little experiments or facts about the living things.” He stares distantly, a longing grin on his face, fantasizing an imaginary world where he’s pursuing a career he enjoys. 

“So, what made you want to become a doctor instead?” 

At this point, he’s speaking candidly, no longer worried about hiding the truth. He’s comfortable with her. “My dad. He’s a doctor, and it’s pretty much expected of me.”

“Are you enjoying it so far?”

“No, but at the end of the day, I’ll be helping people. And that’s what matters right?” 

There’s a small pause in the conversation as she pushes on one of the keys, the note ringing out in the temporary quiet. “Teachers help people too. More than what society gives them credit for. And besides, no one wants to go to a doctor who isn’t happy being a doctor, right?”

He faces her, processing her statement. “I guess I never thought about that.”

She continues, drumming her fingers lightly on the piano. “You shouldn’t force yourself to do something you don’t want to. If there’s anything I’ve learned these past few months, it’s that forcing yourself to be happy doesn’t actually make you happy. It’s silly to say that out loud, like it’s so obvious. But I’ve made a lot of excuses, pretending I was fine with decisions made on my behalf without my feelings being considered. It was always easier to go along with it, avoid confrontation or an argument. But at what cost? Sacrificing my own happiness? It isn’t worth it, especially when it’s your life that you’re living, nobody else’s.”

This is about her ex. There’s a strong urge to ask her about it, offer a lending ear to listen to what else is on her mind. But he doesn’t question it further. The words she speaks to him resonate. Although they’re both going through different struggles in their lives, she understands him better than he expects her to. Maybe more than anyone in his circle of friends right now. 

“I have a friend who’s an education major. Erwin Smith. His dad is also a teacher. I can give you his contact info if you want to talk to him?” she offers.

“I don’t know,” he responds hesitantly. He’s never considered changing his major. He can already picture the faces his father makes, disdainful and disappointment at his son “downgrading” his career. 

“It doesn’t hurt to have it, right? Just in case?” 

He thinks about it carefully before he eventually relents, whipping his phone out to type out the information she recites to him. She’s right; it doesn’t hurt to have it. It doesn’t mean anything. 

Phone still in his hand, he abruptly blurts out, “We should exchange numbers.” Almost instantly, he regrets it, aware at how inappropriate that would be. But when she grins at him, nodding, he’s immediately relieved. 

“I’m assuming this will be your personal number and not your RA emergency line?” she smirks.

Laughing, he confirms, “Yes, my personal number. I, um, enjoyed hanging out with you tonight. We should definitely do this again.” He passes her his phone as she does the same. 

“You’re teaching me Moonlight Sonata next, remember?” she jokes, tapping her number into his screen.

“Yeah, of course.”

She slips her phone back into her pocket. “Also, if you ever need someone to talk to or listen to you, I’m just down the hall.”

“Hey, that’s supposed to be my line,” he teases, nudging her elbow with his. 

“Well, you’ve helped me out way more than you know, so I want to do the same for you. Rely on me, okay? We’re friends now.”

Outside the room, students begin to stumble through the hall, back from their night of partying. Eren checks his phone, surprised to read 1:35 AM on the screen. “It’s already past 1. I’m sorry for keeping you up.”

“Don’t be. I wanted to be here with you. Thank you for hosting this.”

“Thank you for being the only person to show up.” 

They gaze at each other, smiling. He wants to stay like this a little while longer, but he knows it has to end. At least, for tonight. They’re friends now, and he’ll be able to enjoy that warm, vibrant smile more often, he hopes. 

“Anyways, we should probably sleep soon,” she suggests, glancing at the pizza boxes on the table. “I’ll help you clean up.”

“Thanks. Maybe we can hand some of these out. I bet someone out there has the munchies right now.”

She giggles. “Great idea, Mr. RA.”

They tidy up, clearing the room of trash and putting away the video game console back in Eren’s knapsack. She carries it with her while Eren balances the pizzas in his hands, offering a box to the passing residents that are not-so-discreetly drunk. By the time they make it to his room, he’s only got one left, deeming the event an overall success. Especially now that he’s made a friend from it. 

She sets the bag down on the floor, watching him unlock the door. “I guess this is goodnight,” she says, giving him a small wave as she begins to step backwards down the hall, facing him.

“Yeah. I guess it is. Sweet dreams, okay?”

“Sweet dreams, Eren,” she repeats, turning on her heel to walk to her room. 

~~~

You lay in bed, listening to Annie’s drunken snores beside you, mind focused on your new friend Eren. Snuggling closer to your pillow, you smile to yourself, happy for the first time in what feels like forever. It’s the most fun you’ve had this semester, and most importantly, it’s the longest you’ve gone without sulking about Reiner. 

It’s in this moment that you realize the baby steps you’ve taken so far don’t seem so small anymore. Things are finally starting to look up. 

Taglist:

@batafuraikisu @bloompompom @monirei @filunara @katestrophes @ichinosejager13 @hoperenae @zellskz @e-ayyy @liliorsstuff-blog @maliakealoha @holdmeclosebutdontloveme @chrollohearttags @sailorputa @squickkk @dnyllmh @hellomeow12 @s-cream-ing @potofstewie @conniesbbymama @erzascarlett28 @lem-hhn @roronoazorosbxtchh @ichigostrawberry15 @rhaelrence @lilshades @bigmoodyjoody @icansmellsouls @aangsupremacy @ashsauroras @bakuhoes-bxtch @mrs-wolfwood @si-kamo @jmtherula @imaddicted-b @monkemanjeager @neesiewrote @large-juice @chiinni @belovedackerman

[cherries-in-wine]

I love ur posts on lolita the book- what are ur thoughts on the movies?

aw tysm anon mwah <3

(Made a few edits because my perspective changed a little)

I don't really like the movies- in fact comparing them to the masterpiece that Vladimir Nabokov wrote feels like an insult. Sometimes art can only exist in a certain medium and when you take it out of that medium it loses its integrity. Lolita is art that can only exist as literature. This is what I used to believe but to be honest even as literature it's being misunderstood a lot so it feels as if no matter what medium lolita exists in, it'll always be interpreted wrong.

It took Vladimir Nabokov 5 years to write lolita because writing from the perspective of a pedophile is tough- it's using the abuser to tell the victim's story but in this case the abuser is our unreliable narrator, he had to make Humbert Humbert charming or at least intriguing in a fucked up way enough that the reader would be compelled to read further (lolita will disturb you but you won't able to put it down) but any competent reader would will be able to figure out that Humbert Humbert is just spewing his delusional bullshit.

It feels as if Vladimir Nabokov predicted the romanticization of Lolita as soon as we started putting girls on the book covers- he intended on lolita being faceless

So much of what makes the book incredible lies in reading in between the lines to figure out what's actual going on. Think of it as Humbert Humbert is forcing his heart shaped rose coloured glasses onto you like "see it's a beautiful tragic love story" and it's your responsibility to take them off to see things as they are, a 12 year old child being abused constantly.

Unreliable narrators in general are hard to portray on screen (it's not impossible ofcourse, gone girl, 500 days of summer and black swan do it really well) but extra difficult in this case because lolita and Dolores are 2 different people entirely. Lolita is the persona, Dolores is the person. Lolita is the nymphet, the seductress that only exists in Humbert's twisted mind, Dolores is the 12 year old child. Humbert sees lolita, he wants you to see lolita, but you need to focus on Dolores.

Lolita 1962 was laughably inaccurate, they made Dolores look like an elegant woman when even Humbert Humbert describes her as a messy tomboy. Lolita 1997 is better I guess, it follows the book a little more accurately. The movie is definitely pretty to look at and I don't have a problem with Dolores being an icon or people taking fashion inspiration from her. In my opinion she is an icon, it isn't fair to reduce a victim's identity to their trauma and abuser. Also she's so funny and is constantly insulting Humbert so mwah love her so much plus I relate to her a lot as I went through similar things. I think some scenes of Humbert Humbert being an unreliable narrator were translated really well, for example this argument-

Humbert gave a short description while the movie is more of lo's point of view, it's all screaming and shouting and absolutely devastating, Dominique Swain did an amazing job.

Both of the actresses were 14 during filming and that's just so unsettling to me. Sure you're using a body double for explicit scenes but isn't that just content for actual pedophiles, the closest thing to CP that's legal?. There are many older actresses that look younger but honestly that scares me more, because now there are no restrictions to the scenes they can film, which usually ends up underage characters in extremely exploitative scenes (think euphoria).

My feelings are sort of all over the place on this, I simply can't reach a satisfying conclusion- I don't think it's impossible to adapt lolita into a good film, black swan is one of my favourite movies ever and nina sayers is as unrealiable as a narrator gets, so it's not impossible to portray Humbert Humbert on screen but it will be difficult. On the other hand I just know that people will find some way to romanticize the movie- no matter how well it's written like in the novel it's so obvious Humbert is a pedophile that he might as well get it tattoed on his head but people still think of it as "aw tragic beautiful love story". But part of me thinks that if they write it kind of like gone girl, you believe nick is the murderer in the first half then amy's scheming is revealed in the second, just like that if lolita is shown in the first half but after dolores runs away her perspective is shown to audience, how she's so miserable and gives an accurate depiction of Humbert Humbert's abuse, maybe showing that horrifying reality of the story will end it's romanticization once and for all.

[yuurei20]

I was wondering if it's ever mentioned about Rook disliking anyone, because I don't remember ever getting that impression. I can pretty easily think of someone anyone else dislikes so it felt odd lol

Hello hello!! I think you may be right!

Rook himself might be one of the more disliked characters, with Floyd calling him annoying, Leona calling him a pest and a weirdo and Malleus saying he seems like a boorish fool.

Trey says, “Rook tends to blurt out everything that crosses his mind, positive OR negative,” but I have not been able to find him speaking disparagingly of any other person.

Trey gives the example of Rook saying that an assignment from their Science Club advisor was boring and, while happening off-screen, that might be one of the most negative things that Rook has ever said. When commenting on his most disliked food (garlic) he says it is “not so much a distaste as it is a…professional aversion.”

Even when discussing Idia (possibly the character who earns more in-game vitriol than any other) he is gentle with his wording, saying, “We all sparkle in different ways. The Roi de sa Chambre shines when conversing with his own heart. He is not one for forming friendships with scads of people.” (Riddle clarifies that, “In other words, he’s a shut-in.”)

And even during the first Halloween event when Magicam monsters harass Vil with constant, unwanted photography, he never speaks poorly of them.

Trey says that he has never seen Rook in a bad mood. Vil says Rook is “affable and honest. Honest to a fault sometimes, and utterly devoid of tact,” insinuating that if Rook had a problem with someone, Vil believes that he would let it be known.

As we learned in Book 5, however, Rook is wholly capable of keeping his opinions secret for years even from Vil, so I’m not sure there is any way we can really know for sure.

What might be the harshest thing Rook has ever said was a line invented for the EN server: he calls Leona an “idiote” (the feminine form of the word) in a vignette, but he has not actually ever name-called anyone (and he is very much a fan of Leona).

There might be another question here of, "Do any of the three light-magic users (Rook, Kalim, Silver) dislike anyone?," and the answer might be no!

Much like Rook, Kalim is also infamously positive ("When everybody else is happy, I'm happy, too!") and the closest we see Silver come to having an issue with someone is during Spectral Soiree, when he tells Jamil, "It's wrong to take other people's things."

But he soon decides that Jamil is trying to teach him a life lesson about making hard decisions for the greater good and spends the rest of the event complimenting Jamil on his foresight, even presenting him to Lilia as the reason he was able to reach their goal.

Silver does not seem to have a problem with Leona either, and when Rollo's plot is revealed during Glorious Masquerade his first reaction is wondering what must have happened to him to result in Rollo making such choices.

So this may not be a quirk that is unique to Rook, but possibly something shared by all three light-magic users! :>

[dnphobe]

i am so deeply fascinated by the specific culture of internet fame and the conflation of the brand and the personal that happens as the result of a form of fame uniquely reliant on (perceived) interpersonal connection rather than a specific professional output. and dan and phil are one of the only not-deeply-depressing examples bc they have semi-successfully escaped their original personas while still retaining boundaries with their audience. the straight man/fool schtick is still a part of their dynamic (bert and ernie fr) but they're able to be so tongue in cheek about it at this stage it's very interesting to me

it's like. such a specific thing. because to equate dan and phil to comediens (the closest comparison i can find to their careers but from traditional media. or even radio personalities (something they actually were for years)....i don't know anything about those people's personal lives, at least not until there's a scandal that breaks everyone's view of them because it doesn't match with their stage personas.

but dan and phil's jobs, and the majority of online public figures, pretty much Require some degree of personalisation. there's possibilities for that Not to happen, like with people who Just post short films, or even the comparatively more recent rise of video essayists (and before that commentary youtubers) where the focus is very much on a Topic. but the very First youtuber boom (compared to youtube Video boom) was very much. person sits in front of camera and tells you about their life. and that's what those youtubers did. except in all the ways they didn't both because they had to be entertaining and many Real things are simply...not entertaining or interesting to people who don't know you. so you exaggerate who you are and stretch the truth of the stories you tell. and second of all because...who Wants strangers to know them personally? i don't. there's things my closest friends don't know about me. because i don't Feel like sharing those things (i will clarify here i am a painfully private person who hates being perceived for no real reason. but i'm sure Everyone goes through this to some degree.

and YES. dan and phil have indeed semi-successfully escaped those personas and i feel like there's a lot of youtubers we can't say that about. like yes their audience isn't as big as it used to be, but i feel like next to none of that is because of people disliking the shedding of persona. i largely put it down to the following things: the passage of time. all 'celebrities' level of fame fluctuates, largely with a rise then fall, but potential for a rise again; tied to the passage of time many people consider dan and phil to be a part of their 'cringy' teenhood and haven't given their newer eras a chance due to their own internalised shame, and; yeah, a Large aspect of the phandom was the Mystery. Are they Gay, are they Together, Why won't they Tell us they are Gay and Together. then they told us they're gay and told us they're Not gonna tell us concretely they're together. I don't LIKE admitting this because those of us here are like. here for more than 'phan' (or out of genuine appreciation for their relationship rather than treating it as something to get to the Bottom of), but this Is proven by the numbers their click bait videos did.

that was a a tangent. now i am going to go on another one and theorize on Why dan and phil have gotten through their rebranding(s) largely unscathed:

so first of all the parasocialisation or whatever you want to call it in the fandom was. Always more intense than even many other similar fanbases. except it wasn't i Feel like i know you from your on screen persona. it was i Feel like i know you Past your persona and i know this persona isn't You. which makes us sound tinhat as hell, like oh we know you Better than the things you show us? except we were right (phannie mantra tbh). like there's a reason people were fighting tooth and nail for phil to say 'fuck' for so long and it's not because we were interested in seeing him be something different than he was, but because we were perfectly aware he was a man around the age of 30 who can and does say swears and we wanted him to be Him with us. in many ways we Always wanted them to shed the personas.

second of all, they timed shedding their personas Very well. they started doing it after tatinof, which, while many of us were still young we were getting Older and changing a lot ourselves. so we were adjusted to change in the way we wouldn't have been before. and they dropped it even more Post coming out, and, i mean, how are you gonna be mad about that? their sexuality is in a way very tangled up in the personas, and as a largely LGBT+ fandom we wanted them to be able to express this part of them they've been holding back freely, and if that comes with dropping Other facades then, well, the closet is a hell of a drug. like. of Course they are going to change after a Big Change. which is another thing. they always Communicated they were about to change. whether that's dan making a whole video on a rebrand and changing his hair, or post-baking universe, or post-coming out.

but mostly i think it's this: dan and phil CULTIVATED their audience. they learned not to surprise us with the backlash from tabinof's sudden announcement and then would pepper in hints for any project and any change months-years in advance. and if you didn't like the hints you were getting? you could leave. only here for the mystery? here's the line of what you're gonna get, you can leave. but the people who stayed are people who Stayed. they have a staying power where it wasn't just...trading in one group of kids for another when the first group ages out, or being left to flounder after the first group ages out. and the second they stopped having a young audience, they stopped trying to Appeal to a young audience when they stopped having one, locking those doors. and i think that maturing with us was very important bc look if they Were still in those 2015 personas? i wouldn't be here. i'd be like...thanks but i am too old for this. so, conversely to everything, i think shedding those personas was, in a way, only BENEFICIAL to them

does any of this makes sense lmao

[goldielia]

when jack met cassy

a part of: untouchable au

when cassy entered the mclaren garage on sunday to start getting ready for the canadian grand prix, she firstly found their social media admin and one of her closest friends in the paddock, anne.

mclaren had a close-knit group of girls consisting of cassy, anne, her girlfriend sabrina who was one of two team photographers and charlotte, who was a law student currently doing an internship at mclaren.

it had become a routine for the four of them to sit on the step to the pit wall for a second to chat before any grand prix. it was also usually the time cassy got to ask anne about the vip guests of the weekend which she did first things first ever since she missed when tom holland visited.

“uh, there’s not much going on today. some hockey players should show up though, you know, charlie’s brother and them”, anne looped her in while staring at her ipad. “eh, alright.” cassy murmured, slightly disappointed.

with a last tap of her own papaya-coloured high top converse against anne’s white and orange air force she got up to start getting ready for the race.

jack couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. he was going to see his sister again AND his first f1 race. lottie usually worked for mclaren during the summer break of the academic year, being located in cambridge for her studies, so when she invited him to see both her and the race in canada he instantly said yes.

they agreed to meet just before the entrance to the paddock so she could give him, cole and trevor (who she graciously invited as well) their passes. jack had been jittery the whole way there, not having seen his twin since christmas.

leaning onto a lamp post in front of the gate was a blonde girl, wearing black mom jeans, a mclaren t-shirt tucked into them and orange old school vans. he instantly ran towards her, charlotte barely being able to save the binder she held before jack tackled her into a crushingly tight hug that she returned with equal force.

after she’d given cole and trevor a side hug each and handed each of them a garage pass, the group entered through the gate and lottie talked them through the paddock on the way to the mclaren garage.

after she showed them their spots and told them about the screens and headsets she caught up with jack for a bit before a whirlwind of red curls brushed past them, grabbed her wrist and whisked her away to the steps in front of the pit wall where anne and sabrina had claimed their place already.

“charlotte-i-don’t-know-your-middle-name-hughes! tell me your brother’s not the one in the middle, please” cassy looked at charlotte with wide eyes. “uh, my middle name’s ruby, actually. but yeah, that’s jack. left is cole, right is trevor.” charlotte answered, confusion evident on her face.

cassy only groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “are all your brothers that pretty? your parents must be like greek gods or somethin’” she mumbled into her hands. sabrina smirked, looking at them over her shoulder as she was walking back to the garage with anne, both of them having to work some more before the grand prix. “i think our cass just experienced love at first sight”

charlie gasped and smiled teasingly at that, prying cassy’s hands away from her face. “you gonna make a move?“

“would you like, be okay with that? and are you sure he’s single?” “of course i’m okay with that, cass! i’m not blind you know. also he’s been staring at you like ever since you grabbed me.” cassy tore her eyes away from charlie and towards the garage instead.

the pretty boy from earlier, jack hughes as she now knew, was indeed staring at her. “also, he’s definitely single. i can-” charlie’s sentence and cassy’s staring were interrupted by lando’s voice. “jonesy, hughesy, come on we need to do the rule run down!”

fortunately for jack and less so for cassy, her workspace wasn’t far from the guest area. which meant he could watch her and she couldn’t concentrate because she felt his eyes on her.

the grand prix itself wasn’t too eventful, 11th place for oscar and 13th for lando. both cassy and charlie were needed after the race though, to review the penalty lando had gotten for “unsportsmanlike behaviour”.

charlie’s department handled the rules for each grand prix as well as topics like filing lawsuits over penalties. cassy as one of lando’s engineers was tasked with reviewing all the video material she could get her hands on to find something that could have the penalty taken back, or at least reviewed.

on her way to the conference room though, when cassy passed by jack, she slipped a tiny piece of paper into his hand, catching his eyes quickly to smirk at him.

he wanted to chat her up at least but she was rushed along before his brain could form a single word. instead, he opened the note. it read “you’re really pretty. text me?” with a little heart and a number, presumably her phone number on it.

before he could even try folding the paper back up he was already fighting for balance, both cole and trevor having read the note and started teasingly nudging him with their elbows, matching excited grins on their faces.

“did jacky get himself a girlfrieeeend?” trevor sing-songed into his ear. before he could continue though, charlie apprared in front of them, index finger poking jack’s chest.

“i love you but if you fuck this up i’m not guaranteeing for anything” she warned, serious blue eyes drilling into his identical ones to make sure he understood her. he grabbed her hand, eyes just as serious as hers, and spoke “if i find a way to fuck this up, lottie, please make sure i regret it.”

[lemotmo]

Sending this one because apparently lots of people didn't really understand how this works. So this was a good explanation. Hope your blog heals ❤️

Q. I don't understand how Tim or ABC can just tell him he's not allowed to talk about Tommy or Buck anymore? I'm pretty sure he just lost interest in doing the videos because they can't tell him what he can and cannot do. It doesn't work like that. He can say whatever he wants to whoever he wants that's his right. They all have that right.

A. They don't actually have that right. I have received a TON of questions fairly similar to this so maybe lots of people genuinely don't know how this type of thing works. Lou is the actor who plays Tommy. Tim, Ryan and Brad created the character of Tommy. They own that character exclusively. ABC purchased the licensing rights to that character, when they purchased the show's rights, so they control the characters PR/imaging rights. Meaning neither Lou, or any other actor from the show, can profit off of or promote themselves through their character if Tim, Ryan, Brad or ABC tells them they can't. Full stop. Tommy is the intellectual property of Tim and company. Lou has zero rights to that character. If they tell him he's no longer allowed to speak on behalf of that charter or promote himself using that character (which is what Lou was doing) he is lawfully obligated to stop and stop at once. That is standard operating procedure for any and all television/movie characters. If the actor playing that character had nothing to do with creating that character they are at the total mercy of the person/people/studio who did create and own that character. There is no wiggle room.

We don't have proof that he was told to stop, you're correct. What we do have though is a pretty consistent pattern from him right up until the day it did stop. He communicated with them almost daily, sometimes multiple times a day. He wasn't passive about it. He made a point to do it every day to some degree. He filmed multiple videos over multiple weeks. Each and every one of them speculating on and about Tommy (an even bigger no no was him openly talking about and speculating on other characters). The videos had clearly not been commissioned or approved by Tim or ABC, if they had been then the videos would have had some sort of structure. Then one day he filmed and released a cameo video and the very next day everything stopped. Zero communication. Zero interaction. He not only stopped recording the videos he removed the option to even try to buy one all together. He did leave the option for you to submit a question but many, many people have shown proof that they submitted a question but it went completely unanswered and they couldn't even tell if their question had been read or not. That sounds like someone who was forced to stop rather than voluntarily stopped. I personally think a conversation was absolutely had with him. Most of the time a show will look the other way on fan interactions. It comes with the territory. Some actors engage more than others. But it got out of hand. He was telling people to go above Tim and directly to the network asking for more of him/Tommy. He was openly theorizing on characters and cast mates he had no right being into any conversation(this was a big NO). And those fans were hounding not only Tim, Oliver and Ryan but they were hounding production staff. All of these things occurred as a result of his videos. There was nothing wrong with him pushing himself for more screentime, especially since he knew he was on borrowed/limited time, actors do that all the time. The way he went about trying to do it though was the problem. Rockmond Dunbar (Michael) would be the closest example to the situation Lou currently seems to be in. It was a different circumstance, but he was given explicit instructions to follow and he chose not to follow the instructions and as a result they dismissed him from the show. Temporary screen time is better than zero screen time so I'm sure for now Lou is just following orders.

Thank you Nonny for dropping this in my inbox! And thank you for the kind wishes. :)

(From now on I will address the anon OP as Ali. She has kindly asked me to call her that. I get why. Anon OP does sound kinda clunky. :D )

Now see? This is why I'm so determined to keep on posting Ali's asks. I don't live in the US, so I'm far away from Hollywood and the world of TV-shows. I do have some knowledge of how everything works behind the scenes from all the years I've spent roaming around in fandoms of American TV-shows, but that is only a fraction of the bigger picture.

All characters are intellectual property from the creators of the show, just like book characters are the intellectual property from the author. I knew this, but it's fascinating to read what exactly that entails in the world of TV-shows. It's always interesting to read a full break down of the inner workings of television and actor contracts.

As per usual, thank you for sharing your thoughts with us.

IMPORTANT! Please don't repost this ask and/or a link that leads straight to my Tumblr account on Twitter or any other social media. Thank you!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[alice-after-dark]

here's an ask/fanon take opinion: I don't think Alastor was needlessly cruel or violent to Vox except maybe for their breakup fight. Maybe they had a battle or two, but I don't think Al was destroying Vox's screen with his cane halfway through every conversation. Like besides the people he literally sees as enemies or his overlord takedown back in the day- do we even see Alastor hurt anyone except if you include pulling Husk's chain. But I doubt that actually hurt him. If Vox was really Alastor's close friend and confodent, I don't even think he would hurt him even in a confession rejection like the fanon wants to believe. Unless he had to desperately break things off cause his deal. They just treat Vox as this punching bag and literally the only person we see who had an indication or want when it comes to hurting him is Valentino. I like to think that Alastor poked and prodded at Vox with curiosity and teasing, and my guy is for sure handsy. But HURT Vox, like wound him. Even though Al is a serial killer, I just don't think he would do that to anyone he enjoyed the company of. What do you think? Cause frankly it just seems to be such a cold take on Alastor. We see this guy as bloodthirsty but he also has friends???? The mere presence of Rosie and Mimzy just show that he created compatible human connection, like the fuck? Kind of pisses me off if I'm being frank.

Thank you so much for the ask!

I do agree, though I can't say I've actually seen this situation before (about Alastor regularly hurting Vox during their friendship). I definitely agree though that Alastor isn't the type to just arbitrarily hurt someone he viewed as a friend.

Alastor's friends exist in a special circle. We see how warm he is towards Mimzy and Rosie. Even when he tells Mimzy off, he's not overly harsh about it. It's implied that he's effectively cutting off their friendship, but he's not cruel and he definitely doesn't get physical with her. He simply tells her to leave. Literally the most I can see him doing is knocking them gently on the head with his cane.

We don't actually even know if they did canonically fight when they had their falling out. It's widely assumed, yes, but we don't actually know if their falling out led to a fight. Valentino mentions that Alastor "almost beat" Vox but he doesn't actually say how Alastor almost beat him or when it even happened. I think it's pretty safe to say that it was probably their last encounter before Alastor disappeared, but we don't actually know that Valentino is talking about a fight. Alastor likes to play games, so we know fuck all about what Valentino is referring to.

Also them having regular physical fights is another thing assumed by the fandom. For all we know, Alastor has never physically hurt Vox and vice versa. The closest thing we see from them in terms of a fight is "Stayed Gone" which is essentially a glorified rap battle.

TLDR I don't think Alastor is the type to use any of his friends as a punching bag. I think becoming someone he considers a friend is a hard fought battle and he treasures them very deeply (which of course would make any betrayal to that friendship - real or perceived - sting all the worse).

[tuiccim]

Though I Have Never Read It (Part 6)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2434

Warnings: Angst, Eva being adorable.

A/N: Special thanks to my hype princess & beta reader @whisperlullaby.

Though I Have Never Read It Masterlist

When you had dropped off Eva at school, you were reminded that today was a half day for her. You decided to get your favorite drink and go shopping rather than returning to the compound just to turn back around a short time later. As you were browsing, you came across the most adorable bathing suit for Eva. It would make her feel like a mermaid and you decided that some time in the pool would be a great way to spend the afternoon. It would tire Eva out enough that she would sleep well for Mark when you dropped her off to him that evening. He was sure to be worn out from his trip. His job was a good one but demanding at times. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by your phone ringing. Looking down, Mark’s name appears on the screen. You answer with a smile, “Hey. Were your ears burning? I was just thinking about you.”

“Hey. Really? What were you thinking?” Mark asks.

“I was going to take Eva swimming this afternoon. She’ll be good and worn out when I bring her home, so she’ll sleep well for you. What time do you think you’ll be home?”

“Around 4:30. Does that work? Are you sure you don’t want me to pick her up?”

“No, I don’t mind. I’ll pick up some dinner on the way to you and you can tell us about your trip. We’ll be there around 5:30 to give you some time to settle down,” you reassure him.

“You’re the best,” Mark says quietly. 

Hearing something in his voice, you’re compelled to ask, “Is everything okay?” 

“You know that woman I told you about? That I was thinking of introducing Eva to?”

“Yeah.”

“She broke things off. When I brought it up, she seemed put off but I chalked it up to nerves but she called last night and ended it. Said she didn’t want to be a stepmom,” Mark says dejectedly. 

“She couldn’t figure that out before she started dating you?” You ask, annoyed at the woman.

“She said she didn’t think we were that serious. I guess I misread things,” he lets out a deep sigh, “I’m so out of practice.”

“Or she led you on. Either way, I’m sorry, Mark. I know it was hard to step out like that again,” you say kindly. 

“Thanks. Anyway, how about you? Getting any practice in?” Mark’s usual jovial voice comes across the line as he tries to shake off the emotions.

You laugh, “No. I’ve got too much going on right now to go out looking. Someone will have to fall in my lap.”

“Or sweep you off your feet,” Mark chuckles. 

“Right. Anyway, I’ll see you tonight. Safe travels.”

“Thanks. Later,” Mark signs off. 

You feel bad for Mark but a part of you is also a little relieved. Another woman in Eva’s life wasn’t an easy thing to swallow and part of you had hoped his relationship wouldn’t work out. It wasn’t fair or right but sometimes emotions are irrational. You knew you couldn’t expect Mark to stay single forever but you hoped whoever came around in the future could be a friend who would respect your relationship with Mark and Eva. 

Shaking yourself out of the depressing thoughts, you check the time and finish making your purchases. It was time to pick up Eva and, for some reason, you couldn’t wait to see her.

–

“I don’t know what to do,” Bucky looks between Sam and Steve. 

“That’s a lot. I wonder why she never said anything,” Steve looks to Sam as if he has the answer.

“Do you think Tony knows?” Sam questions. 

“She’s closest to him but I don’t know. She keeps things pretty close to the vest,” Steve says. 

“There’s more,” Bucky says weakly. He had told them about that night at the cabin but he hadn’t told them about the next morning. Haltingly, he mumbles out the rest, eyes red rimmed and unable to look either of them in the face. 

“You remembered that or that was a nightmare?” Steve asks to clarify.

“Both. It was so real, it had to happen,” Bucky glances up but his gaze falls back to the floor. 

“Buck…” Steve shakes his head and looks at Sam for help. 

“You can’t trust the nightmares, man. You remembered the night when you heard her voice but you remembered the next morning during a bad dream? You can’t trust that. It might have happened that way but it might have been different than you remember. Or it didn’t happen at all,” Sam reassures.

“That’s true. It could all be jumbled with other memories. Are you even sure that it was her at the cabin? I mean, maybe your mind is trying to fill in details it can't remember and using her because you like her,” Steve conjectures. 

“You… you know about that?” Bucky asks.

“I guessed,” Steve shrugs.

“Man, everybody guessed. You practically stare a hole through her. You have that staring problem, remember?” Sam tries to lighten the mood. 

“She’ll never want to come near me now,” Bucky says. 

“Only one way to know, man. You gotta talk to her,” Sam says matter-of-factly. 

“I can’t,” Bucky blanches. 

“Sam’s right, Buck. That’s the only way you’re going to know for sure. She’s a good person. She’ll tell you the truth,” Steve encourages.

“She has Eva right now. She won’t want to talk about this with her around,” Bucky demures.

“Buck, it doesn’t have to be right now, but you need this. You need to know for sure what happened,” Steve says firmly. 

“Uhhhh, I hate to be that guy but…” Sam looks at the two. 

“What?” Bucky huffs.

“This happened seven years ago?” Sam confirms.

“Yeah.”

“And Eva is six…” Sam trails off with a look at Steve and Bucky, waiting for them to fill in the blanks. 

Bucky’s face turns white as he stares at Sam and then turns to look into Steve’s shocked face. Regaining his voice, he stutters, “Eva… she… no, she can’t. She can’t be mine. Right?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, swallowing hard as his mind runs through the possibilities. 

“Do you think that’s why she didn’t want to tell me? Do… Do you think she lied to Mark about Eva? No, she wouldn’t… No, there were other options. That would be crazy,” Bucky mumbles to himself, lost in thought. 

“Crazier things have happened, man. I mean, who ever thought we’d be fighting against aliens, androids, and wizards,” Sam tries to pull them out of their stupors with a bit of humor. 

“One way to know for sure,” Steve says, giving Bucky the look. 

“Damnit,” Bucky growls.

–

“Jump to me, Eva Diva!” You hold your arms out to her from the shallow end of the compound’s pool. 

“You’ll catch me?” Eva asks. 

“Of course! Come on. You can do it!” You encourage her. 

Eva contemplates for a second but then that glimmer comes to her eye and you know she’s ready. Taking off running, she flies through the air and into your arms with a large splash. Laughing together, you spin her around in the water. She was a good swimmer at only 6 but she still had some apprehension about jumping in at times. 

“You did great. Wanna try again?” You ask. 

“Yeah!” Eva swims to the edge and you help her up to the side. Her bravery grew with each jump and you had retired to sit on the pool stairs while you watched her play. You turned your head to the sound of the door sliding open to see Bucky coming through with a strange look on his face. You felt your stomach knot. 

“Hi Mr. Bucky,” Eva calls. 

“Hi Eva,” Bucky smiles at her, staring for a few seconds with head tilted as if studying her. 

“Do you sink because of your arm?” Eva asks.

“Eva! That’s not a nice thing to ask!” You admonish gently. 

Bucky chuckles lightly, “It’s okay. I can swim with my metal arm but if you get crazy and knock me out, yeah, I’d sink.”

You bite your lip to keep in your laugh but can’t help smiling. 

He crouches down near Eva on the side of the pool, “But you wouldn’t get crazy around the pool, right? We gotta be safe.”

“Right! Watch me jump in! I can do it all by myself,” Eva hefts herself over the side of the pool and does a cannonball that splashes over the side. Your laugh escapes you at Bucky’s surprised face as he shakes off the water. 

“Nice jump, kid,” Bucky stands and makes his way over to you, “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” you exit the pool and grab a towel while keeping one eye on Eva. 

Bucky tried not to stare at you as you emerged from the water. He had never seen you in a bathing suit and didn’t want to seem like a creep. Especially, knowing what he’d done to you. You turn to him with an expectant look but apprehension curls in your belly. 

“I… Did… I-” Bucky falters. 

“You remember,” you say quietly. 

Bucky stares at you for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, “So, it did happen?”

You nod, slightly embarrassed, “Yes. Look, I promise we can talk about it and I’ll answer any of your questions but tonight after Eva is gone, okay? This isn’t a 5 minute by the pool discussion.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get that,” Bucky starts to turn away but his eye catches Eva. “But there is one thing I have to know now.”

“What’s that?” You look at him clearly confused. 

“Eva…” Bucky looks at you expectantly. 

“Eva? What- oh my God,” you gape at him as realization hits you. “She’s not yours. Oh my God, she’s not mine!”

“What?” Bucky exclaims. His head swivels between you and the little girl. 

“She’s not mine. She’s not my child. She’s my best friend’s daughter. Oh my God! You thought… I’m not her mother,” you take a few deep breaths to calm yourself, realizing you are babbling. 

“You’re not?” Bucky asks. 

“No, I-” you scoff in frustration, “It’s a long story. I love Eva as if she’s my own. I’m her godmother and, to help Mark out, I take her every other weekend or so.”

“Your best friend?” Bucky asks. 

You shake your head and look over at Eva, “Brain aneurysm. Eva was four days old.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks. Look, I’m taking Eva home and having dinner with Mark tonight. I should be back around 8. I’ll come find you,” you reassure him. 

“I’ll be in my room. I mean, you can find me there. Not that we have to talk there. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Bucky trips over his words. 

You look at him askew, “Um, no, that’s fine.”

“Watch me!” Eva’s squeals as she leaps off the side of the pool and does a twist in the air. 

“That was great! Show me again,” you grin at her. Before heading back to the pool, you look back at Bucky, “I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Yeah. Tonight,” Bucky leaves, forcing himself not to look back. 

–

You might have tired Eva out a little too much. She was droopy eyed as you drove to her dad’s apartment but you kept her talking so she’d stay awake. She was already washed up and in PJs. All she needed was some dinner and to brush her teeth to be ready for bed. Plus, she’d get her second wind as soon as she saw Mark. 

“Hey, hey!” You call out as you let yourself into the apartment. 

“Hey! There’s my girl!” Mark grins as Eva runs into his arms. He lifts her for a big hug and holds her as he leans to kiss your cheek. “How is it going?”

“It’s good. Eva and I went swimming and then we picked up your favorite for dinner,” you smile.

“Thai! You guys are too good to me,” Mark enthuses. 

“We wanted to make you happy, Daddy!” Eva hugs his neck again. 

“You’d make me happy even if you brought me dog food,” Mark jokes. 

“Ewww!” Eva giggles as Mark sets her at the table. 

“You really are the best,” he affirms as he gives you a quick side hug before sitting. 

“Well, it’s my favorite, too. So, win-win,” you laugh as you set drinks at the table. 

“You didn’t happen to get-”

“An order of fried wontons and steamed dumplings, no. I would never… forget those,” you mug a face at him as you set them on the table. 

“You shouldn’t make faces like that, it might freeze in place,” Mark winks at Eva as he teases you. 

“No, it won’t, Daddy! That’s silly,” Eva giggles. 

Dinner goes by quickly with Mark carrying most of the conversation with funny stories about his trip. Somewhere between the last dumpling and the sticky rice dessert, Eva’s fatigue starts to show. She starts whining and, eventually, Mark carried her to the bathroom to brush her teeth before he laid her in bed. He didn’t make it to the end of the story before she was out cold. You smiled as you watched them from the door. He bent down to kiss her forehead before heading out and softly closing the door. 

“Thanks for keeping her,” he says softly. 

“Anytime. I love having her,” you reply. 

“Can you stay for a little while?” He asks. 

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Hot date?” Mark cracks.

“I wish. Awkward conversation I have to have,” you explain. 

“What about?” 

“The past,” you give him a look. He knew about most of your past. Although, you hadn’t mentioned Bucky to him or anyone. You weren’t sure why, but it had been something you kept for yourself. 

“Ugh,” Mark groans, “Good luck.”

“Thanks. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Can I call you tomorrow?” Mark asks.

“Of course. You know you can always call me. Is everything okay?” You search his face. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Mark smiles softly. 

“Okay. Night, Mark.”

“Good night.”

Making your way to your car, you wonder what that was about. Mark wasn’t usually enigmatic but tonight he seemed off. Different somehow. Or maybe he was just tired and you were reading things into it. Either way, you need  to save your energy. It was time to have that talk, time for James and Bucky to be reconciled, and time for you to finally have some closure about the night that changed you more than you wanted to admit. 

Part Seven

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