#ISH Market Share

[magentagalaxies]

me every time i eat a fruit: oh my god this is just like fruit blog

[anni-writes]

teamwork

Kuroo Tetsurou x reader | very suggestive fluff

word count: 1.8k

Warnings: post timeskip Kuroo x coworker! reader, fluff nsfw-ish language

@ anni says: I'm Kuroo Tetsurou's whore. but I also adore him. this was just another innocent self indulgent drabble that was lost in my drafts, so there you go, enjoy!

the lingering stares, the coffee excuses, the light subtle touches while exchanging papers, the gossipy chatting every lunch break,

the way you look so goddamn hot when you're focused in your work and how that sometimes distracts him from his own work…

and also the inhumanly strenght he need to gather to divert his stare from your plump thighs when you cross your legs under the desk… the privileged view from his desk across from yours can be also a burden sometimes

and then there's that damn high heels you use… not often, though. only when there's important meetings. makes you feel more confident, you said once. but god, when you use it he just want to lay on the floor for you to step on him

there's more and more and so much more about the office bond he has with you that irks him both in the right and wrong ways.

working in the JVA marketing implied that your most strong stakeholder was the promotion division, once the areas needed each other to thrive

therefore, makes total sense that you and Kuroo were so close to each other, right?

it's normal when you're training a new intern and he tags along with the excuse to help you, but spends the whole time glaring menacingly at the guy when he stares at your cleavage a little to much, isn't it?

or when he passes by your desk, leaving a chocolate once every other week, with his handwriting in a note thay says “that presentation was sick, congratulations” or “you deserve a raise, but take this chocolate in the meantime” or some other silly thing that makes you smile

your eyes always dart to him, smiling softly,

but you also can't help but think to yourself that he wanna fuck you so bad— and the thought itself is so entertaining that you shake your head, snorting, as he eyes you puzzled

the tension is clear for you as much as it is for him… he, too, checked all your boxes. a handsome smoking hot smart and competent man that has his eyes set on you? you'd be crazy not to enjoy

so, eventually, you would throw paper balls at him while he's focused, making him roll his eyes and smirk

but also never ceased to bring him coffee when you go get for you. you know how he likes, he works so close to you, why wouldn't you bring him one too?

and the glint in his eyes make it worth it every damn time

neither of you were making the first move so soon, but everyone in the office knows about the unspoken bond you share, gaining some attention in gossip groups around the floor

but then, one day, you were working until very late, apparently alone at the office.

and suddenly, he popped up back, with a can of beer, a loosened tie, two buttons opened, walking torwards your desk, placing the beer beside your papers

you looked at him tilting your head puzzled

“Where did you get that?”

“At the bar across the street”

i tilted my head even more

“You were at the bar across the street and came back to the office to hand me a beer?”

“Exactly”

he said matter-of-factly, making you snort. his words were subtly slured, indicating he drank enough to get at least tipsy

“Why?”

“Why not?”

he answered shrugging, and you read through his attempt to divert the topic. but you also know he's very stubborn, so you just brush it off

“How did you even know I was still in the office? It's late…”

you say, while opening the can while looking at the hour on your computer

“It's the first Monday of the month, you always stay late finishing the monthly report… Besides, I saw the light on from across the street, just put two and two together”

“Damn, you're good—”

you say, amazed at how he memorized your routine by now, while sipping your beer, sighing as the cold liquid soothes your tense muscles, feeling the last motivation to end the report today getting obliterated

he watches your every move like a hawk, walking sneakly behind your back to rub your shoulders

you sigh, feeling a chill down your spine with his touches, humming softly with the massage

“You're done with the report?"

he asked, his fingers rubbing circles in your back muscles, sliding to your shoulders. you lean in his touch

“No… But I think I can finish it tomorrow morning," you reply, trying to suppress the pleasure in your voice from his magical touch.

he chuckles lightly, lowering his torso to lean closer, his breath hitting your neck, making you shiver embarrassingly

"That's what I thought," he says softly, his hands never ceasing their movements, the tension that's been building between the two of you for months feels like it's finally reaching a boiling point

before things get awkward, you start to stand up from your chair, closing your laptop on the desk, sipping your beer casually,

when he took advantage of the moment to pull your chair away and leaning closer, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth on your ear

"Don't I deserve a… reward… for the beer and the massage?”

he whispered, the warmth of his breath making your heart race, his arms encircling youe waist in a new way… despite your supposed closeness, it's the first time you feel him this close.

his voice is like velvet, seductive and irresistible, making you question if this was a good idea.

you pathetically place your free hand on the desk to anchor yourself, feeling the weight of the intensity that has been building between us

"Is that what you've been thinking about all along? Pinning me on the desk when there's no one around?"

you whisper back, your voice dropping to a sensual tone as you lean in his chest, looking at him through your shoulders

the tension is palpable, your mutual attraction finally coming to a head. you put your beer down on the desk, meeting his gaze with a daring look, ready to cross the line you've been flirting with for so long.

"And what if I have?" — he whispers back, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. —"What are you going to do about it?"

his challenge hangs in the air between us, a gauntlet thrown down, waiting for you to pick it up. and that's exactly what you do.

you turn around to face him, raising your chin to line your mouth with his, as his arms hook around my waist

“I might just finally kiss you… would that be bad?”

his eyes darken with desire, his hands pulling you closer.

"That might be the best idea you've ever had,"

and just like that, we give up, succumbingto the tension building for months,

he leans in, or you lean in… its indistinguishable who kissed who first, but you capture each other lips in a heated intense kiss, your tongues already seeking each other’s and you taste the faint malt of the beers he had earlier, sighing with the deliciousness of it all

he gives one step further, boxing you on the desk behind, making you lean back, his hand traveling down my hips

you retaliate, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting softly, making him groan

he pushes his tongue inside your mouth again, and you gladly take it, sucking on it, kissing him back with the same passion

it feels almost relieving having him like this after so much tension building. it feels right.

he parts the kiss, but kept his mouth on your jaw, leaving a trace of wet kisses down, reaching your neck

you lean your head back, giving him free reign on your neck, which he gladly take it, switching from kisses to bites, making you moan softly

your moan unlock something primal in his brain, and one of his hand on your hips travel down your thigh, reaching the back of your knee, pushing up his waist, and the other slides to cup your ass

all that while assaulting your neck with languig nibbles, and you can't help but let out a chuckled moan

“Fuckk… eagerrr, are we?”

you say, low and purring, and the way you draw the words from your mouth goes straight to his pants, making his cock twitch, unconsciously grinding his hips on you, his hand giving a light squeeze in your ass

he grins, groaning a little in your neck, the tone vibrating against your chest

it takes you the damn last bit of strenght to knock some sense into him

“Mmhmm… Kuroo… you know… there's cameras in the office… ”

you say slightly breathless, threading your fingers in his hair, gripping, trying to pull him away from your neck

“Call me Tetsurou”

he say lowly and i can't help but chuckle

“Tetsurou…” — i say, rolling his name from my tongue, liking the sound— “there's cameras—”

“They're not gonna check the cameras unless something gets stolen…”

“We're not gonna fuck in the office, Tetsuro”

he parts from your neck, looking straight at me with a glint in his eyes, his famous lazy smirk

“Oh? So we are gonna fuck?”

you narrow your eyes, he got you now.

you snort, grabbing his tie and pulling him for another kiss, mumbling a quick

“Shut up”

he kiss you chuckling in your mouth, his hand on your thigh progressing further, sliding your skirt up, feeling the soft skin he drooled so many times before—

“Not here, Tetsuro—”

he grumbles, releasing your thigh and raising his hands in mocking surrender

“Okay, okay. I get it.” — then he takes your hand, pulling you closer to him — “but you're coming to my place now, and I'm not taking no for an answer”

as you two leave the workplace giggling and holding hands, your coworkers on the bar across the street watch the scene, all ready to let the gossip spread, but also knowing it was bound to happen eventually

[strawburry01]

Life in Technicolor

Ford Pines x Fem! Reader

Summary: After the two of you were stuck on opposite sides of the space time continuum for 30 years- how do you go back to normal?

A bunch of little blurbs because people ate that up last time and it's fun-er to write rn :)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 2.5

Part 3

Part 4

Meeting Mabel and Dipper was truly one of the best things that you'd ever experienced. You loved helping Mabel with her endless crafts and hearing all her boy problems (which was a shocking amount and also of shocking severity). You also loved helping Dipper with his research of Gravity Falls under Stan's nose of course. He'd kept your room of video tapes under lock, so when you finally convinced him to open it ("it is MY stuff Stan"), Dipper was on Cloud 9 going through all of your recordings. Most of them were trashed unfortunately after years of dust and sitting, but a few of them actually ran back and played, which excited you both.

One morning you went to the Gravity Falls farmers market only to feel the intense scrutiny of everyone's eyes on you until Susan, still the waitress at the pancake place questioned where you had been for the past couple decades. "Um, vacation?" you had sheepishly answered. It seemed to somehow work.

Mabel, Dipper, and Soos took it upon themselves to catch Ford and you up on all the worldwide events you'd missed. Ford was distraught over Princess Diana's death.

While Ford was often stuck in the basement working on his devices and journals, you liked to stay in the gift shop and help at the register, working on writing down all your time over the past years between customer checking out. Wendy thought you were pretty cool for doing it.

You caught Soos once trying to Sharpie on a similar heart under his own eye once. You slowly closed the door despite not breaking eye contact with him. Neither of you ever brought it up.

Ford and you went stargazing most nights on top of the shack. Stan did do a pretty good job installing a dubious, but stable-ish, balcony.

Stan and you were a little awkward at first, as he didn't know if you'd share his brother's attitude towards him or not. You couldn't handle it anymore and ended up buying him a 6 pack of shitty beer and driving the golf cart in donuts outside in the parking lot until you were both doubled over.

Ford and you held another wedding ceremony. A more proper one this time. Dipper was the ring bearer, with Mabel being the flower girl. She unfortunately picked some of a carnivorous variety that started biting their ankles soon after exchanging "I do's".

Mabel took you and Ford out to try and update your wardrobes since everything was stuck in the 80's. Ford blushed every time you stepped out of the dressing room.

Stan tripped you (accidentally) into the Bottomless Pit and Ford nearly killed him on the spot.

You got dragged into supervising the girls on their quest to get unicorn hair and nearly threw out your back while throwing punches at those bratty horses.

Being old in this world was the hardest thing, but you were glad Ford was there to commiserate with. When you had been here last as spry 30 something year olds and were flung back as 60 something year olds. Most night's you'd stare at yourself in the mirror after brushing your teeth until Ford would get up from bed and wrap his arms around your waist and look into the mirror with you. "Still beautiful" he'd mumble as he'd kiss your shoulder. It wasn't that though. Sometimes you just couldn't recognize yourself. You were supposed to have watched the both of you grow older in this house. Not blast back here after decades apart.

"Do you ever feel like we missed out on all those years?" you'd ask Ford one day. "Perhaps. But all we can do is focus on the future at this point, and at least we have that," he'd answer.

Taglist wooooo:

@valinbean

@sunniskyies

@fries11

@fluffymarshmalllows

[just-some-user-hunny]

I’d imagine bastard!Reader has a much closer relationship with her guard than anyone else in the keep and that includes sharing stories about her life with her mother

I’m imagining her mother had a couple traditions to celebrate birthdays (or namedays as they call them) every year and when her well-ish meaning new family tries to go all out it just completely overwhelms reader so she tries to hide. But her sworn shield finds her and they do the birthday traditions together just the two of them every single year!

I completely agree with the wording of 'well meaning but overwhelming' families reaction to her name day, because it would be exactly like that! 😅

You can imagine the overall festivities that occur every year- Rhaenyra loves to go all out, along with the rest of the family who add more and more to everything. We should have pretty flowers everywhere, Helaena will suggest. We should have a giant feast with guests, suggests Aegon- who's eager for wine and celebration. We should give her many gifts of books and fine jewelry, Aemond will chide in.

Before you know it, the whole day is dedicated to dancing and feasting. The castle is filled with music and laughter and light as everyone enjoys wine and makes merry.

But obviously, it's gotten so over to the top and extravagant, it's... Overwhelming. There are too many people, too many gifts and flowers clogging the corner of her room and the entirety of her bed, and it's like every part of her safe space has been invaded and made a parade of. She just wanted to celebrate her name day the same way she did back at home- a simple, but heartwarming day of simply having little chores to do, and being gifted something like fruit and a toy sewn from cloth that her mother made her. It's all she needed, there was no noise about it- she wasn't shoved in some limelight to be gawked at. To be whispered and gossiped about by high lords and ladies, about how controversial she is for even standing there in her pretty birthday dress.

Her name day feels like it's not even her day anymore, despite the eager and extravagant displays of affection from her new family. They mean well... But it's... Simply too much.

It makes her want to hide behind curtains like a frightened mouse, or squeeze herself beneath her bed to avoid the crowds of people.

Her sword protector however? He listens to her. Abides by what he can recreate to his best abilities, like taking her out for a simple day of buying some fruit in the market whilst under his protection and concealment of her within his cloak, and buying some honeyed cake and eating it messily with sticky fingers in the garden, away from prying and gawking eyes. The day is simple and sweet, just like she remembers. It becomes their little tradition every year.

Even when princess!reader is older, and her knight grows silver with age, he still keeps to his promise.

[joelscurls]

a heart for melting

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 2.7k

warnings: post-outbreak, implied age gap, themes surrounding child loss and grief, some angst but mostly festive fluff, grumpy x sunshine dynamics (Joel is a grinch & reader loves the holidays), reader is described as having long-ish hair

summary: Jackson's first annual Holiday Market brings about more than just cheer.

a/n: Merry Christmas @thetriumphantpanda; I'm your pedrostories secret santa! I hope you enjoy this lil festive take on grumpy!joel x sunshine!reader — I had lots of fun writing it 🤍🎄 🥧 🪵 🦌

Joel doesn’t want to be here — surrounded by garland and ribbons and so much unadulterated joy, it’s nauseating. No, he was forced to be here. 

Please, Ellie had begged, it’ll be good for you to do something other than patrol or drinking with Tommy. Plus, they’re too good to keep to yourself.

They, being wood carvings — the tiny sculptures of deer and bears and birds, tufts of hair and bunches of feathers drawn out of driftwood with the tip of his blade. It was only ever meant to be a hobby, a way to busy his hands after they’d been wrapped around the cold metal of his rifle all day. Something lighter, creative rather than destructive, an act of giving rather than taking. 

But sharing them with other people? He hadn’t been interested. Maybe he’d make one for Ellie or Tommy. Wrap it up in a piece of cloth and offer it as a gift for their birthday.

Not that he thought they were any good, really.

With the announcement of Jackson’s first annual Holiday Market, though, came Ellie’s pleading. “I’ll help you,” she’d bargained. “You don’t even have to give me anything!”

“Who said I would anyway?” he’d grumbled, digging his spoon into the bottom of his bowl of stew and sifting out a chunk of meat.

Joel despises the Holiday Season. He’d welcomed its disappearance with the end of the world. Because he had no reason to celebrate, with Sarah gone. Her absence stung like salt in an open wound on any normal day. But on Christmas, memories of her hanging her favorite ornaments on the tree and sneaking one of the cookies baked for Santa burned behind his eyelids. Left him heaving through hot tears.

The holidays had no place in his world, but they certainly had a place in Jackson. The first time he and Ellie had strode through those gates, they’d been met with that damned Christmas Tree, towering over the settlement like a beacon. And he hated it, hated the way it brought about that pounding in his chest and that spinning in his head. 

How could anyone find any good in such a poignant reminder of loss? 

Tommy says it’s about new beginnings, finding ways to be happy again. And what’s happier ‘n Christmas? God damn Santa Clause, hot chocolate, children singin’ carols?

Still, Joel isn’t convinced — not yet.

Standing across the mess hall, at your table piled high with baked goods, you are far too cheerful. You’re humming some song with a jovial beat, absentmindedly swaying as you rearrange rows of gingerbread and muffins and scones — all of which are draped in white icing, like flocking on Christmas trees. You pause to wish a happy holiday to everyone who passes through. 

Joel knows he’s seen you before, flitting in and out of the community’s kitchen, always with that signature smile scrawled across your face.

And god, you’re so bubbly, taking to everyone you meet like a bee to honey, letting them in without a care in the world. Popping from table to table, making sure they have enough to eat. That they’re doing well.

It shouldn’t surprise him that you’re so…spirited, too. You seem to find the good in everyone and everything, after all.

It infuriates him, nonetheless.

Joel groans to himself. Stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans as an elderly couple rounds on him. 

He grumbles a hello to them when they approach. They offer him half-smiles in return, beginning to pick up some of the carvings laid out on the table — turning them, inspecting them.

“This one’s nice,” the man says to his wife. She hums in agreement. 

“You got any tigers?” the man asks.

“Tigers?”

“Yeah — I used to love ‘em as a kid.”

“Got what’s on the table,” Joel grumbles. 

“You make ‘em custom? I can offer some homemade jam in return — elderberry.”

Joel sighs in annoyance. 

“Don’t make ‘em custom. Got what I got.”

The man seems defeated, nodding and walking off without another word. The woman follows closely behind.

Just as they leave, Ellie appears. She sidles up to Joel and shrugs her jacket off. Pulls a chair up next to him.

“There’s so much cool shit here!” she exclaims, too loud. A judgemental set of eyes flit her direction. She glares right back at them.

“Do you mind?” Joel huffs, jaw ticking.

“Jesus, who pissed in your Cheerios?” 

“How do you even know what Cheerios are?”

“Don’t,” she admits. “I read it in a book.” 

“Of course you did.”

Ellie leans back in her chair, pulling an apple out of her backpack and biting into it. She shuffles some of the carvings around on the table. “Gotta fill in these gaps, man,” she says, juice dribbling down her chin.

Joel ignores her. He sneaks a glance at you; finds that you’re already looking. Your expression is unreadable, gaze unmoving as he studies you.

Despite your upbeat disposition bothering him, he can’t deny that you’re gorgeous: bright, beckoning eyes, siren-like smile — it’s like you’re peering into his soul. 

He didn’t think he still had one of those.

“Dude.” Ellie nudges him. He peels his eyes from you reluctantly. “I asked how many takers you’ve had.”

“Uh.” He pretends to think. 

“You have no fucking idea, do you? Too busy staring at that girl.”

“Wasn’t starin’,” he clips defensively.

“No? Well she’s coming over here, man.”

Sure enough, you’re striding right toward him, abandoning your post. Joel barely has time to prepare for impact.

He unconsciously straightens up and pulls his hands out of his pockets. He brushes them on his jeans just as you stop in front of his table.

“Hi there,” you say.

“Hi!” Ellie chimes.

You pick up a carving of a two-headed deer. His favorite.

“This is beautiful,” you coo. “The craftsmanship is lovely.” You’re running a finger along the grooves in the wood, holding the piece delicately in the palm of your hand — as if it’s made of glass, not wood. “You have a real gift…”

“Joel.”

“Joel,” you repeat. He ignores how sweet his name sounds coming out of your mouth. You tell him your name, and it fits you, he thinks. It’s pretty.

“How long have you been making them?”

“Just since I got to Jackson. ‘ts somethin’ to pass the time.”

You nod. Continue scanning over the intricacies of the deer. “I was never much of a baker before I got here, either,” you joke, gesturing back toward your table.

“Good one,” Ellie laughs. “You’re funny — isn’t she funny, Joel?”

In his head, he’s glowering at her. Outwardly, he feigns amusement.

“Real funny.”

“I’d love to see how you make these sometime,” you say, then, placing the deer back on the table gingerly. “Do you have a workshop?”

“In our shed,” Ellie pipes in before he can say anything. “You should come by tomorrow! Joel’s off patrol.”

He shoots her daggers. She pretends not to notice.

“I’d love that! I have to work in the kitchen, though. I could come by after?”

Joel starts to shake his head no. Ellie’s hand wraps around his arm like a vice grip. He stills.

“Sure,” he grits.

“I can bring some pastries, if you’d like.”

“Don’t like sweets.” 

“Oh,” you say, a little thwarted, but you’re undeterred. You shift on your feet. Chew your bottom lip. “Well, how about something not sweet, then?”

Your brows lift, narrowed eyes on him as you await a response. Joel still isn’t thrilled about the prospect of a visitor. Really, he doesn’t like anyone on his property that isn’t Ellie, or Tommy and Maria if he’s invited them. But you don’t seem so bad, offering to bring him food. 

He can probably deal with your sunny disposition in exchange for a full belly. Lord knows he went too long without that luxury, and he’d be a fool to deny himself of it ever again.

So, he agrees, the garbled sure less than enthusiastic leaving his mouth. Still, you don’t seem too offended. In fact, you smirk at him, wordlessly sauntering back to your table, sneaking glances at him every so often for the remainder of the afternoon.

Sure enough, the next evening, while Joel is whittling in the shed, you show up.

You’re wielding a basket of savory hand pies, as promised, and Joel has to stop himself from drooling. They smell incredible. And they’re still warm, somehow, steam wafting off of them even after your walk here.

“Come in,” he gruffs, his nose following the scent like a dog’s as he trails behind you inside.

His set up is minimal: a rocking chair next to a bench, a couple stools he made for when Tommy comes by to play poker. But his works are scattered throughout, every surface in the small room cluttered with little carvings.

He settles atop one of the stools as you begin to wander around the room, plucking sculptures off shelves and awing at them with such genuine admiration, it causes something to pull in his chest.

Every so often, you make a remark about the details in a piece, how the fur on the deer looks real, how you can practically smell the replica evergreen in your grasp.

And something shifts — carried by your kind words through the stuffy shed.

Taken by the slight lilt in your voice when you speak to him, the almost-shy smile that pulls at the corners of your lips — Joel is attracted to you.

He’s following the line of your neck down to your collarbone, ogling at the exposed skin there when you pick another carving up off the shelf. And he feels guilty — he shouldn’t be looking at you like this. You’re just being nice, being neighborly, and he’s gawking at you like you’d have any interest in him.

No; you’re young, beautiful, could do a lot better than an old grump like him. 

He averts his gaze quickly when you suddenly set down the tiny, carved bird that had been in your palm, round the workbench and perch yourself atop the stool next to his. You retrieve a handpie out of the basket and pass it over to him. 

“It has braised rabbit and carmelized onions in it,” you explain, taking a bite and letting the steam roll out. 

He follows suit and — it tastes just as good as it smells, if not better. He’s salivating again, letting the dough melt in his mouth before swallowing. 

The two of you eat in comfortable silence, getting through the entire basket in mere minutes.

When you’re finished, you ask him where he’s from. 

The question shouldn’t feel like such a shock to the system. But after a year of being in Jackson, successfully avoiding conversation about his life before the outbreak, it sets off a panging between his eyes, a dull ache in his viscera. 

“Texas,” he tells you plainly. “From Austin, originally.”

You nod. And you must be able to tell that he’s not used to talking about himself — by the tick of his jaw or the lack of eye contact — he’s not sure. Because you don’t pry. Instead, you say, “you can ask me something.”

He nods. Thinks on it for a moment.

“When did you arrive here? To Jackson?” 

Unlike him, you do not grimace at the intrusion. Instead, you tell him: about your parents, their untimely deaths, the harrowing road that led you here. You do not cry, but Joel can see the pain in your shiny eyes. 

It’s inevitable; there isn’t a single person here who hasn’t been dealt a bad hand. But you wear your past like a badge of honor, like you’re still grateful, after it all, to be alive.

Joel envies your tenacity.

So when you ask him about Ellie, if she is his daughter, he lets the walls around him down — just an inch. He doesn’t get upset when he stumbles over his words while telling you about Sarah. He finds comfort in confiding in you, in the way you so attentively listen, quietly nodding along as he recalls his version of the end of the world.

“Thank you,” you say when he’s done, burying his hands back in his pockets.

“For what?”

“For sharing that with me. I know it can be difficult to relive it.”

“I relive it everyday,” he admits. “Everything reminds me of her in one way or another.”

“I understand,” you nod. He believes you do.

So sweet, gaze like honey, you are an enigma to him. He hasn’t met many people who are kind just for the sake of it — not in a long while. Maybe that’s why he’d been so bothered by it at the market. It had felt almost unnatural to him, bound to be laced with an ulterior motive. 

He’s still learning how to trust people again. It doesn’t come easily after twenty-odd years of rationing it like the pills he’d stowed. Still, there is something innate about baring his soul to you. Letting you in through the cracks in his battered being. You are safe, he’s sure of it; benevolence radiating from you like warmth.

It drips off your tongue when you ask him to show you how he does his craft — slips down your fluttering lashes. No longer can he deny you of anything — he’s accepted this swiftly — and so he obliges.

A half-whittled fox materializes from his coat pocket, along with his blade. He passes both to you and pulls his stool closer to yours.

He guides you, taking your hand in his, encouraging the press of the blade into the wood. Shows you how to round out a corner with a subtle twist of the knife. You’re a fast learner, Joel notes, attentive, taking every instruction like gospel.

The slow drag of steel, your fingers wrapped tightly around the handle; you’re so focused that you jump slightly when he places a reassuring hand on your knee.

“Doin’ great, darlin’,” he says, and your lips pull around pearlescent teeth. Joel feels as enraptured by you as you do the carving — the loose tendrils of hair that drape over your shoulder, the clinging of cotton to your soft curves. Though he hardened into stone a long time ago, he feels smelted in your presence. So he cannot help it when his fingers begin to drift up your leg, settling at your side as he turns his body toward yours.

The blade stalls, tip still stuck into the wood, puncturing the fox’s non-existent spine, and your face lifts. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers. You nod, gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

You’re so close like this; Joel can smell the floral perfume dappled along your neck, can feel your warm breath fanning his face. He has half a mind to stop himself from sealing the sliver of distance left between you. But then you’re sighing, placing the blade and the wooden fox on the tabletop. And it’s your turn to guide him — winding your delicate fingers around his wrist and settling his hand at the small of your back.

The air in the tiny workshop grows heavy with unspoken desire, a longing to disrupt; to create. Your body forms to his languidly, arms interlocking behind his neck, fingers weaving in his hair to pull him closer to you. And then your lips press to his — hesitant at first, then not. You drink from each other until you are drunk, breathless and giddy when you separate. 

“That was nice,” you whisper, and Joel chuckles. 

“Just nice?”

“Great,” you amend. “It was great. Better than I imagined, even.”

“You imagined this?”

“Yes,” you smirk. “On a loop since I first saw you at the market.”

He pulls you back in. Gives you another chaste kiss. “For good measure.”

“Joel,” you say then, “will you and Ellie come by mine on Christmas? I could even cook — it’s just-”

“Yes,” he’s accepting before you can finish. “I’d love that. As long as you make more of those,” he gestures toward the empty basket on the workbench. 

“That can be arranged,” you grin.

As soon as you leave that evening — sent off with a goodbye muttered between slotted mouths — Joel starts on your Christmas present. 

end notes: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment if you enjoyed <3

[flawdchaos]

Lips of an Angel

Lando Norris x Reader

based on lips of an angel by hinder (if you haven’t heard this song pls listen to it because it’s a banger and this is heavily based on it.)

tw: angst, kinda sorta cheating, reader and lando being dummies

a/n - hi friends, this is my first time writing for f1. i’ve written before on here and took a break to study on class work. i’ve fallen back into my f1 phase and dreamt this up on the way into work tonight. i hope you enjoy, feel free to give me feedback. thank you xx

word count - 1500 (ish)

Lando’s room illuminated from the soft glow of his phone on the bedside table, buzzing against the base of the lamp. He moved as delicately as he could, careful to not wake the girl sleeping on his chest, to see who could be calling so late. He rubbed his eyes and squinted reading the name across his screen, the name he chose to disguise Y/N’s contact.

JULIE - MARKETING.

He slid out from under the girl, tiptoeing to the hallway before whispering a hello through the phone.

“Lando?” the voice shook through the phone. “Lando, I’m sorry.” he could hear it now, the sniffles and uneven breaths - she was crying. He crept down the hallway a bit more in an attempt to gain distance from his bedroom and sleeping companion.

“Y/N, why are you crying? Is everything alright?” he whispered, being met with only sniffles. “I’m in the living room. I have to whisper. What’s wrong?” He was growing impatient in her silence, the worry growing each minute he was on the phone call.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this - this pretending. I want you for myself. Call me selfish,” she took a deep breath in “, but I deserve you - not her.”

She had never been this brash before but he couldn’t blame her. After months of secret conversations, shared glances, and hugs that lingered just a little too long - he had to agree with her.

What they shared wasn’t meant to happen in the first place. Lando and Y/N had been in the same friend groups for years, only knowing each other mutually. It stayed that way until one night when they found themselves alone at the bar, friends having left long ago. One too many drinks and the heavy hand of the bartender led them back to Lando’s flat in London. They agreed the next morning, for the sanctity of their ‘friendship’ it would never happen again - but, they were both lying to themselves and they knew it. One night turned into two and before they realized it, the rest of Lando’s winter break was shared mostly in the sheets of his bed. It was only when he was leaving back to Monaco that things came to a halt abruptly. No conversation or discussion of what the hell had just happened over the past few months, just radio silence on both ends. It was an unspoken ending between the two.

That was until a couple months later and during Lando’s first podium of the season that he found himself wishing she were there to celebrate with him. Drunkenly, he debated his options and finally decided to send her a text telling her just how much he missed her and the things they would do. His text sat unattended in her messages for the rest of the night because while Lando was thinking of her, she was doing everything she could to forget about him - and this included making the same trek home from the bar with a stranger. Come morning the only thing the pair was left with was regret.

Y/N was the first to reach back out again after his crash in Las Vegas. She couldn’t admit to her friends just how shaken it had her but she tossed and turned in the bed for over an hour before picking up her phone.

Glad you’re okay. Try to stay out of the wall next time, yeah?

Her name lighting up his phone had his heart beating almost as fast as the adrenaline of crashing did. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard as his mind raced on what to say. It was late in the UK so his response would probably go unnoticed until the morning. Or - had she stayed up that late to watch him race? Or should he say crash.

“What’s got you stumped, mate?” Max’s voice broke him from his daze as he glanced over his shoulder. “Y/N, aye? Just admit it.”

Lando’s head shot up to meet Max’s stare. “Admit what?”

“That you’re fucking whipped. I’ve seen you stalking her instagram.”

Something about Max’s words ignited a feeling within him. For the first time in his “playboy” career - Lando Norris was scared of his feelings.

—

It wasn’t long after the Las Vegas Grand Prix that Y/N had noticed a shift in Lando. He was almost nonexistent on her social media - no likes, hearts or story views. She chalked it up to the busy life he lived but when she clicked through his ‘close friends’ instagram story, her heart fell to her stomach. Lando had his arms wrapped around another girl, lips pressed against her cheek in front of a mirror. All of her questions and doubts were confirmed with a simple click and despite him owing her anything, she felt betrayed. Y/N couldn’t deny it anymore - the time she had spent with Lando was a whirlwind and no matter how many nights she spent curled up in bed, their bodies pressed together, she was always left wanting more.

On the mornings she woke before him, which had been every morning except two, she had found herself tangled in his arms feeling safe and secure. The true depth of her feelings came to be when she slowly awoke one morning to Lando running his arms down hers and placing a soft kiss on her forehead, vowing to return shortly. He stuck true to his promise when he crept back into the bedroom, two cups of tea tucked safely in his hands. She realized then that a small snippet of a domestic life with Lando was all she ever wanted but when he spoke again, the reality of their situation came back into play.

“Max is coming over in an hour to set up some stuff for the new Youtube video. I don’t mean to rush you but I figured our secret was still between us.” She nodded and hummed before taking another sip of her tea.

“Sure thing. I’ll be gone as soon as we finish our tea.”

-

Y/N finally realized, after viewing Lando’s story, that she had to move on. Find somebody to distract her from the replays of her intimate moments shared with Lando - and so she did. The pair both settled into mediocre “relationships” to distract themselves from the constant longing they had for each other. Subtle posts made to stories in hopes to cause jealousy in each other were made almost weekly. Lando had been seeing a girl one of his mates had set him up with, and Y/N had met a guy at a bar in London on a girls night out. Neither of them were unhappy, per se, but nothing matched the energy that the pair had shared before. On nights after rough races and a few drinks, Lando would have dreams that the girl in his arms wasn’t who had been currently seeing but Y/N instead. One dream had sent him over the edge and he had called her that night to hear her voice.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings. His longing was quickly turning into regret as he realized this was probably a mistake before her soft voice filled the phone, she was whispering.

“Lando?” his heart was racing at the mere sound of her voice.

“Y/N, I’m sorry to wake you.” he said, hand raising to his mouth as he started biting at his fingernails.

“It’s okay, are you alright?”. She was still whispering.

“Uhm,” he began, shuffling his feet against the rug below him. “Fuck. This is so stupid…but I had a dream about you. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“A dream? About me?” he could hear her shuffling around on the other end of the phone, probably trying to put distance between her and her partner just like he had done.

“Yeah. A dream. It isn’t the first one I’ve had either.” They were both silent for a moment before he continued. God, why was he admitting this. “And I guess they’ve just helped me realize some things.” His heart was beating so hard that he figured she could hear it through the phone. A sharp intake of breath from her end of the phone had him biting at his nails again.

“What things, Lan?” Lan. He hadn’t heard her say that in months.

“My girl’s asleep in the next room. John is probably in the room next to you asleep. We’re kilometers and kilometers apart but yet, despite all of that, every time I close my fucking eyes all I see is you. All I hear is you laughing. I dream of you.” He sat down, head in his hands. “I guess I never really moved on, Angel.” The nickname had given her long ago falling effortlessly from his lips.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if she hung up the phone, called him a dickhead, and never spoke to him again. All of the worst options lived in his head. The last thing he expected her to say was,

“Lan, I dream of you too.”

[pedrospatch]

bailé con mi ex l (javier peña x female reader)

summary: After a night out at the club with your friends, you confess to Javier that you danced with your ex-boyfriend and he doesn’t take the news too well.

pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

warnings: 18+ only, minors dni. Protective, jealous and slightly possessive Javi, he is a lil toxic, but just a smidge I promise; innocent-ish reader; angst, bits of fluff sprinkled in here and there. Not proofread for spelling, sorry!

word count 2.2k

a/n 📝 wooo, Vee finally popped her Javi cherry. testing the waters with this one, I also have a couple prompts from a while back to still write. it is based on a Becky G song, yes I know she and this song did not exist back in the day (I think? Idk what year she was born tbh) but ANYWAY I just really like the lyrics and plus it’s fiction so who cares lmao. Translations at the end ✨

Tú no me creerás, pensarás que hay algo más

es difícil de entenderlo, pero no sería capaz de enganãrte

y si te lo cuento

es porque tengo muy claro lo que siento

It was half past one o’ clock in the morning—you had told Javier you’d be home by midnight at the very latest. But a night out at one of the more popular clubs in Bogotá celebrating a close friend’s birthday meant that none of the girls were going to allow you to leave that early without giving you some kind of shit about it, so you had stayed just a little while longer and tossed back another drink or two before finally calling it a night. Your friends still gave you grief about it, but knowing Javier, he would be worried, especially since cartel violence in the region had begun to escalate over the last several months, worsening to the point where Javi didn’t even like you going out to the produce market all by yourself in broad daylight.

You tried to be as quiet as possible as you pulled your keys out from your purse, fumbling around with them in the dark until you’d finally found the right one to unlock the front door of yours and Javier’s shared apartment. You slipped inside and the moment that you did, the lights flipped on, causing you to whirl around and let out a startled little yelp. 

You turned to see Javier standing there, fully dressed in his jeans and a tight red button up shirt with his set of car keys clutched in hand. “Javi,” You breathed out his name as your hand flew to your chest. You shot him a glare. “Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me! What in the world are you doing? Why are you dressed—do you have any idea what time it is right now?”

“Do you have any idea what time it is right now?” Javier retorted, raising an eyebrow at you. Part of him seemed to be upset, but the other part of him seemed more relieved than anything. He tossed his keys down onto the small, hallway table and walked over to you, taking your face between his large hands as he kissed your forehead. He let his lips linger on your skin as he reminded you, “You told me you would be home by midnight, amor. You can’t tell me that and then come home almost two hours later. You know how bad things are out there right now. You could have at least called me to let me know you’d be late.”

“I’m sorry, I know. It’s just that the girls were shoving shot glass after shot glass right into my hands and time just got away from me,” You said, placing both of your hands right over his. Your eyes met his dark brown ones and you flashed him a sincere, apologetic look. “I’m really sorry I didn’t call. I didn’t mean to make you worry, Javi.”

He sighed. “Well, you’re home safe now. That’s all that matters to me.” Javier dropped his hands from your face and led you into the living room. “Can I get you anything, baby? Are you thirsty?”

“Actually, I’d love a glass of water,” You admitted, kicking off your black, high heeled shoes before dropping down onto the supple, brown leather couch. You watched him as he padded over into the kitchen. “I didn’t get as drunk as I thought I would, you know.” You added jokingly, “I think my tolerance for tequila is through the roof now.”

Javi laughed as he pulled a glass from one of the kitchen cabinets; he then filled it with water from the jug he’d pulled out of the refrigerator. “But you still had fun, right?”

“God, I had so much fun,” You told him with a grin. “I danced all night, Javi.”

“With who?” He’d asked the question casually, but you could detect the seriousness behind it. 

Your smile faded slightly.

At first, you hadn’t planned to tell him. But Javier was the love of your life, and you would never dare to keep any kind of secret from him.

Still, you knew he wouldn’t be all too happy with what you were about to confess.

Javier walked back over to you, handing you the glass of water. He frowned, noticing the hesitant expression on your face. “What is it?” He placed his hands on his hips, peering at you curiously. “You didn’t dance with any guys, did you?”

“Just one,” You admitted, softly. 

Javier froze a moment, his shoulders going rigid. 

“What?” Through gritted teeth, he demanded to know, “Who?”

The moment your ex boyfriend’s name fell from your lips, the color drained from Javier’s face. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Setting the glass down on the table beside the couch, you quickly jumped up and held up your hands in defense. “Wait a minute, before you get mad about it, just let me explain—”

“What the hell is there to explain?” Javier nearly growled at you. “That you went to some nightclub and danced with another man? One who happens to be your fucking ex-boyfriend? Es en serio?”

You went up to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Javi, please. Just wait one second—”

He snatched his arm away. “Don’t touch me!”

Your heart sank and you backed away. “Really? You’re not even going to let me explain myself?”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Javier replied coolly. His eyes flickered up and down, giving you a quick once over from head to toe. “I would have never thought that you would be such a—”

Javier stopped himself, knowing all too damn well that he was far too angry to think clearly before letting anything come out of his mouth.

But it was too late.

He could see the hurt that flashed in your eyes. 

“Such a what?” You crossed your arms over your chest, the blood in your veins running frigid. You then raised a knowing eyebrow at him. “Such a whore?”

“I didn’t say fucking that,” he muttered, averting your gaze.

Blinking back the tears that burned your eyes, you roughly shoved past him and went straight into the bathroom. Trembling, you began looking for a clean washcloth so that you could start taking off your makeup.

The sound of the front door slamming violently just a minute or two later caused you to wince.

Certain that Javier was gone, you sank down onto the cold white tile and began to sob.

A couple of hours later into the early morning, you were sitting on your bed in nothing but one of Javier’s shirts. 

You had cried and cried, releasing your emotions until your eyes had gone dry.

You’d hoped Javier would come right back home and talk things out with you, but by the time four o’ clock rolled around, you had given up on that hope. Letting out an exhausted sigh, you were just about to reach out and switch off the lamp on the nightstand next to the bed when you heard the sound of the front door opening and then closing. 

You swallowed harshly as the sound of his footsteps approaching drew closer and closer.

Javier walked into the bedroom, looking surprised to see you sitting there, still awake at this hour. He spoke in a cold tone that let you know he was still upset with you. “I thought you would be asleep by now.”

Even from where he stood, you could smell the heavy stench of cigarettes and scotch all over him.

“I was waiting up for you,” You murmured, quietly.

Javier kicked the bedroom door closed behind him and let out a long sigh. He said nothing else to you as he kicked off his tan boots and began shrugging out of his shirt, tossing it aside.

“Where were you?” You asked him, your small voice breaking through the silence. 

“I needed a drink,” he responded curtly with his back to you.

“We have drinks here, you know.”

“Yeah, well I needed something a lot stronger than what we’ve got.”

Finally, Javier had no choice but to turn around and face you.

The second he did, a fresh tear slipped down the side of your face.

Javier’s stomach sank deeply and the expression on his face immediately softened.

“Bebe—”

You lifted both your hands to your mouth, muffling a broken sob.

“Hell, I’m sorry,” he apologized as he walked over, taking a seat beside you on the bed. He reached for your wrists, gently tugging them away from your face. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get so upset at you, alright?”

“Do you really think that of me? Do you think that I’m a—?” You’d said the word once, but couldn’t find it in yourself to utter it again.

“Of course I don’t, mi vida. I was just angry, I wasn’t even thinking.” He paused, noticing the way you were trembling and reached up to cradle the side of your face in his palm. “Put yourself in my shoes for a second. Wouldn’t you be angry at me if I came home from a late night at the club and told you I had danced with one of my exes?”

“Probably,” You admitted, feeling the envy boil in your lower belly as you thought about him holding another woman in his arms. “But I would have at least given you the chance to explain yourself. I mean, have I ever given you a reason not to trust me, Javi?”

Javier opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut.

He’d fucked up.

“Well?” You prompted him. “Answer me, Javier. Have I ever done anything to make you think that you can’t trust me?”

“No.” His hand dropped from your face. He spoke again, guilt lacing his tone. “You’ve never given me one single reason not to trust you.”

You let out a small, shaky sigh and brought your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “He was at the club with his friends tonight,” You began to explain to him. You noticed the way Javier stiffened slightly; although you knew he didn’t want to hear about how you had danced with your ex-boyfriend, you decided to continue on anyway. He needed to know. “He came up to me and he said hello. We had a drink together and then he asked me to dance with him.” Unable to help yourself, you let out a small breathy chuckle. “We danced to quite a few songs, actually. It was just like old times.”

Javier’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists.

Before he could say anything, you lifted one of your own hands to stop him. “He was a great guy, Javier. We had a good relationship, but it just didn’t work out. It wasn’t meant to be. When we broke up, it was amicable and we wished each other best and now, a couple years later, we both have the best. He’s with someone he loves and I’m with someone that I love too.” You offered him a tiny, watery smile. “I don’t have eyes or space in my heart for anyone else but you, Javier. Seeing him again and dancing with him tonight made me realize that I would never even dare to think about jeopardizing our relationship. I love you more than anything, and I would never do anything to betray you.” 

He stared at you, mouth agape.

Oh, he’d definitely fucked up.

Before meeting you, Javier had never been the kind of man to do relationships—because he’d never known how to do relationships. 

Before you’d walked into his life, all Javier knew was meaningless sex with escorts and informants, one night stands with coworkers—regardless of who he fucked, he had always been able to walk away the following morning without any sort of attachment. It’s what he wanted, or at least, it’s what he’d thought he wanted. 

And then Javier met you. 

You weren’t the type of woman who he’d normally set his sights on. You didn’t walk around almost naked like half the women in Colombia, you didn’t smoke, you rarely ever even cursed and only drank when your friends pressured you into it—you had this kind of sweet innocence written all over you, and normally Javier would never look twice at a woman like you because a woman like you looked for a boyfriend; not a fuck buddy and certainly not a one night stand.

Javier Peña had never been boyfriend material. 

He didn’t know how to be in a relationship.

At least not a healthy one. 

Even now, he struggled to be the partner that you deserved. He met your physical needs without a single problem, but your emotional needs were something of a challenge for him. Still, Javi loved you with every fiber of his entire being and he was more than willing to keep on trying to be the man you needed him to be in every way possible. 

“I’m sorry,” Javier murmured again after a while. He reached out, placing his hand on your bare thigh. “I am so sorry, baby. Perdoname, preciosa. Please.”

You placed your hand on top of his, giving him another little smile. “Of course I forgive you, Javi.”

Relieved, he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours. As he began to deepen the kiss, his hands reached out, tugging at the hem of his shirt were wearing.

“Javi, it’s four in the morning,” You giggled against his lips.

Javier chuckled. He pushed you back against the pillows and swung his leg over to climb on top of you. “When has that ever stopped us before?”

“True,” You grinned up at him before pulling him down towards you for another kiss.

;Translations

lyrics:

You might not believe me, you’ll think there’s something more

it’s difficult to understand, but I could never betray you

if I’m telling you this, it’s because I know exactly how I feel

fic:

amor - love

es en serio? - are you serious?

bebe - baby

mi vida - my life

perdoname, preciosa - forgive me, precious girl

[vintagerpg]

This is CyBORG (2022), Stockholm Kartel’s cyberpunk remix of MÖRK BORG and goddamn.

When MÖRK BORG dropped, I was like, this is some super aggressive, brightly colored graphic design and illustration. Just totally eye-shocking. Nothing’s gonna top this. And yet. If you’re a fan of punk or metal or other musical styles interested in speed, you’ll be familiar with a curious phenomenon: what sounds blisteringly fast now, in a few years, will become strangely mid-tempo when compared to the new contemporary tremolo. Same thing here. Looking through CyBORG, Johan Nohr’s art and design for MÖRK BORG suddenly seems evenhanded and levelheaded. CyBORG, meanwhile, sees Nohr absolutely shred. The brights are brighter, the blacks blacker, the fucked uppedness more fuck-ed upp-ed. The introduction of urban design elements and glitchy visual references to the digital world add new levels of grime and grit to scrape through. Truly, I can think of no better visual encapsulation of cyberpunk’s rage as page after page of this book.

The game is, of course, a hack of MÖRK BORG, adhering to those light, D&D-ish systems to provide a fast and easy way to enact your wrath-filled cyberpunk fantasies. There are many tables. There are nanotechnologies and infestations and drugs to feed into your hacker/nanomancer/killer/gear head. There are many corporations to channel your rage at and the world here seems somewhat more firmly realized than in the dying realm of MB. The game is frantically anti-capitalist, which I enjoy enormously (also, I saw someone complaining that if the creators are so anti-capitalist, then why are they charging money for their book; to that ding-dong I say: hur-hur, get fucked, capitalism=/=commerce).

Anyway, I think there is lots of room for different sorts of cyberpunk themed games in this golden age of ours, but that said, I do think the sharp aesthetic plus the sleek and easy systems of CyBORG are going to take up a lot of market share.

[cherryrikis]

SUMMER ISNT OVER

PAIRING s2l park sunghoon x fem reader

WARNINGS eric makes a kinda offensive joke

GENRE strangers to lovers, romance/drama, summer love

SYNOPSIS driving to anaheim with your cousins was meant to be a fun trip away from the rest of the family. but when you knocked on the door of the wrong hotel room, the whole course of your trip would change.. and you’d find yourself missing a certain someone when its time to go home.

authors note - definitely longer than my standard fics (bc @hannicorpse wrote this with me !! ) but it’s only 4k ish😊

growing up in a big family meant your aunties and uncles had kids generally close to you in age. but more than anyone else, you always stuck with the same 3 of your cousins. danielle, eric, and karina. so now, you’d be stuck together for the next week as you drove through la.

“i don’t get why the drive is sooo long. like, it’s barely 40 miles from here.” eric complained as he saw the route on google maps. it was nearly 2 hours from his house in pasadena to the hotel in anaheim.

“how do you think we feel? we pretty much drove the same distance in the opposite direction just to pick you up!” danielle scoffed.

“maybe if you didn’t pop a tire and just slept at auntie’s house like we did, we could’ve been in anaheim by now.” karina. snickered.

“it wasn’t my fault! who just leaves a bunch of broken glass in MY driveway? and besides. i am not driving to long beach in this traffic.”

“you’re the one who decided to move up and out when we all stayed.” karina commented yet again.

“not my fault i didn’t wanna stay coastal. or in the hills.” “kinda is.”

with all the back and forth arguing coming from your cousins, it was getting harder and harder for you to focus on the road. you tried to ignore it, until you couldn’t anymore.

“can you guys just stop bickering? i can barely hear myself think, i literally just missed that last exit to the freeway. if anything, eric should be driving since he’s the second oldest, he’s the only boy, and he made us go out of the way to get him!” you announced in frustration.

hesitantly, eric reached out to tap your shoulder. “what now?” you sighed. “can you go to that gas station over there? i forgot to use the bathroom..” “eric sohn!” you groaned in annoyance, before reluctantly doing so.

despite taking an unusual amount of time to use the bathroom, eric did make up for his incompetence by driving the rest of the way like you suggested early on.

one minute, you’re closing your eyes to take a nap. and before you knew it, you were in anaheim, arriving at the marriott hotel.

the amount of luggage between you three girls was ungodly, especially since you’d be here for so long. yet somehow, eric probably packed more than then the three of you combined.

after finally checking in and hauling all the bags into the hotel elevator (since karina refused to get a luggage cart because she didn’t want to have to put it back), you were able to enter your rooms and relax.

you got two connected rooms instead of one big one, because it had a better deal. eric and karina shared the first room, 2343, while you and danielle shared the second room, 2345.

the singular hotel rooms alone weren’t really big, but it would still suffice. not a full kitchen, or a ‘real’ living room. on the other hand, both bedrooms were roomy and the bathroom was nice. so that was a plus.

during those first few hours after you had arrived, it was mainly spent going around grocery markets to get food and snacks to stock up the room.

but you all were starting to get hungry, craving some korean barbecue or hotpot. so, you were sat in some korean barbecue restaurant in buena park, cooking the meat before karina began to talk.

“you know, the pool is pretty nice and big. we should go check it out later.” she suggested, slightly looking up from the grill. you and danielle hummed in response.

when you got back to the hotel, turns out there were no towels at the pool. you had to ask for them at the front desk. so being the youngest, (and also being the one who accidentally burnt half of the brisket), you were forced to go and retrieve the towels.

“how many?” the receptionist asked. “uhh.. 5 pool towels please. actually.. sorry, i meant 4.” “sure thing, just let me go grab them from the storage room.”

you silently thanked the employee as she handed you the towels, before taking the elevator back up.

as the lights flashed floor 23, you walked to your room, smiling at any stranger who walked past you.

realizing you forgot the room key, you knocked loudly on the door as you waited for danielle to open up.

but when the door opened, it was in fact, not danielle. yet a handsome boy, around your age, with a charming accent. australian, maybe?

you slightly froze as the australian boy, along with three others behind him, stared at you.

“i- i am so sorry. i thought this was 2345.” you apologized, your cheeks flushing pink in embarrassment.

“ah yeah. this is 2347. i guess your room is next door. but uh, no worries. im jake, by the way.” he smiled at your shy figure. “so, what are you doing with all those towels? gonna go swim?” “oh, yeah. me and the people i’m with are gonna go see the pool later tonight.”

you awkwardly rubbed the back of your neck, scanning his room through the door frame. it was bigger than yours, but similar for the most part. two bedrooms, a full kitchen and living room. clearly, they paid for the suite. you noticed a pale boy sitting on the couch, staring at you. he was pretty cute. maybe even gorgeous. few moles, nice hair. practically porcelain skin.

you zoned out onto his face, pausing for a moment before returning your gaze back to the aussie who you now knew as jake.

“oh, you can come in if you want? you seem a little out of it.. uhh..” he stopped, waiting for you to say your name.

his words immediately brought you back to reality. “huh? oh. it’s uh, y/n. it’s okay i’ll just go back to my room. sorry again.” you mumble another apology, before leaving to go back to the correct room.

jake closed the door just as you left, letting out a laugh he didn’t was holding back. “she was so funny. she looked so scared.”

“who was that?” sunghoon asked. “some girl next door. her name was y/n or something.” jake answered.

“she’s kinda hot.” jay chuckled, nudging sunghoon with his elbow. jake and heeseung agreed, quickly discussing you and wondering if you had any friends with you. sunghoon quietly nodded in agreement. but, he couldn’t get you out of his mind. the thoughts in his head were practically louder than the voices around him. and he just hoped he didn’t accidentally mention it out loud.

however, the one thing he did say out loud, was suggesting to go to the pool. (in hopes of seeing you).

when you got to your room, you distributed the pool towels to each of them, then keeping one for yourself. you talked about how you went to the wrong room and laughed it off, but you left out the fact that all you could think about when jake spoke to you, was his cute friend with those moles.

eric scolded you for ‘disturbing the neighbors and their peace’ but honestly, you couldn’t care less. karina defended you anyway. it was kinda her and eric’s thing to just always bicker. they were more like brother and sister than your other cousins who were actually siblings.

later that night, you made your way to the pool. around 7:30pm. much to your surprise, jake and his friends were already there. “hey beautiful.” he teased, coming up to you from the pool, while his friends remained in the water.

“oh hey, i know you. were you waiting for me? didn’t take you for the flirtatious type.” you joked. “who’re your friends?” asked eric, not noticing the way heeseung had his eyes set on karina.

“right,” jake nodded. “oh, boyfriend?” he paused and asked you, interrupting himself. “older cousin..” eric grimaced.

“oohh.. um. sorry.. anyway, the one with the dark red hair is heeseung. the one with the dark blue trunks is jay. and the one with the moles is sunghoon.”

“do heeseung and sunghoon speak english?” eric halfheartedly joked.

“dude.” karina scoffed, slapping his bare chest.

“yeah..? we were all born here, in la.” jake raised an eyebrow. “so i assume you’re all cousins then?” he continued awkwardly.

“yeah.” you nodded. “that’s eric. the one next to me is karina, and the one next to her is danielle.” karina and danielle waved at jake after the introductions, but eric refused.

“don’t get any ideas.” eric crossed his arms, finally noticing how karina and heeseung were pretty much fawning over one another.

the atmosphere felt thick, and it was silent for a long while, before jake had broken the barrier.

“uh.. anyway. you’re welcome to hang out with us..” he shrugged, gesturing to their chairs before hopping back into the water.

taking up on his offer, you placed your belongings next to jake and his friends’ seats. you sat down for a moment, barely listening to how karina told eric can’t he just ask questions like that.

soon after, you moved to sit on the very edge of the pool, sticking your feet into the 10ft deep water.

you looked at sunghoon, watching as he had a contest with jay to see who could hold their breath the longest.

you noticed his habit of licking his fangs. you noticed how he’d often touch his eyebrows. you also noticed how he looked at you every so often, before hesitantly swimming up to you where you still sat.

“why aren’t you getting in?” he asked as he held onto the edge of the pool, his hands on either side of you.

“i will in a bit.” you paused. “so, sunghoon, right? one of jake’s friends?” “yeah.” he smiled, flashing his canines. “and you’re y/n, the girl who came knocking on the wrong door?” “yeah.” you grinned, mirroring him.

sunghoon hoisted himself up out the water, moving to sit next to you on the deck. luckily, he covered you in time as karina and danielle jumped in with a big splash.

“when did you guys get here?” he asked, finally looking into your eyes up close.

“just this afternoon. but we leave by the end of the week.” “yeah. us too.”

“so where are you from?” you question.

“west hollywood.”

“don’t tell me you’re one of those trashy hollywood kids.” you joke.

sunghoon playfully pouts, before breaking his act and laughing. “not even. i think i was raised pretty well.” he smiled. “but what about you? where are you from?”

“i live in long beach. but i was born and raised in beverly hills.”

“ew! don’t tell me you’re one of those trashy country club kids.” he jokes, clutching his chest.

you gasp, kicking water at him. he paused for a moment, before splashing you.

you and sunghoon were so immersed in each other and your conversations. you almost didn’t hear your cousins and his friends say they were going back up, after two hours of being in the pool.

the two of you stayed until closing time at 11pm, and even a little beyond that. you couldn’t think of a time you had that much fun with a guy.

“i had so much fun today.” sunghoon smiled with a genuine look of adoration, as he helped you up.

“i did too.” you blush before going to grab your tote bag. “we should hang out more often.”

“yeah, definitely. uhm, do ya think- do you think that i could like, you know. get your number? i mean, it’s okay if not. because like, if you’re not interested i totally get it. or if you just wanna be like friends that’s okay too. but like-”

you cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips. “of course you can.” you smiled brightly, taking his phone to dial in your number, pressing the call so you could also have his number saved on your phone.

“now we could call or text each other anytime.”

he smiled. and that was enough for you.

you walked back to your rooms together, but sunghoon paused before going in. “see you tomorrow?” “yeah, of course.”

“goodnight sunghoon.”

“goodnight y/n.”

you did in fact see each other tomorrow. while both of your groups went out, you two stayed behind to spend some time together. with so much spare time (and no car), you settled to just watch a movie in sunghoon’s room.

“what movie is this?” you asked.

“the notebook.” “oh. i never watched it.” and his jaw immediately dropped in shock. “there is no way you never watched this cinematic masterpiece. now you have to watch it! pay attention.” sunghoon exclaimed, pulling you closer to him by your waist.

by the end of the movie, you were barely awake. it was good, you could definitely agree. but, in the same sense, it was so comforting, it quickly put you to sleep.

you leaned closer into sunghoon, placing your head on his shoulder. almost in the crook of his neck.

his heart swelled when he looked down at you, watching how you struggled to stay awake. why do i feel this way? i mean sure, she is really pretty. but i barely met her yesterday.. he thought.

it really put things into perspective for you both.

despite this fact, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning down to press a soft kiss on your lower cheek, a centimeter or two away from your lips.

“kissing me on the first date?” you mumbled tiredly. “hey, we’re hardly here for 6 more days. let’s make it count.”

and you did exactly that, you were making every last moment count.

the next day, you went to the glendale galleria together. “i haven’t been here in so long.” you sighed, forgetting just how big the shopping center was. “it’s almost like this mall i visited up in san jose.”

you gasped as you saw a beautiful necklace. it had a dainty gold chain and a stunning pendant. “sunghoon? don’t you think this would look gorgeous with my white sweetheart top?” “i don’t know much about women’s clothing, but i know you’ll look good in anything.” he replied smugly.

“aw thank you! but- oh. nevermind it’s way too expensive.” you shrugged, going to put it back. but sunghoon stopped you.

“i’ll buy it for you.” “it’s okay, really. it’s too much.” “for that necklace? $150 is not a lot.” “but to me it is.”

he ignored you, swiping his card anyway.

sunghoon nearly bought everything you slightly stared at, despite all your protests. that night, you came home with bags of clothes, snacks, makeup, and just random items you didn’t even really need.

you felt so guilty, thinking it was a waste of his money. you wanted to pay him back but surely, there was no way you could afford it. yet sunghoon didn’t care. he wanted to see you happy.

you settled for buying him a slice of pizza from the food court or generally just any food he wanted. and that was enough for him.

on the next day, you even went to disney california adventures together. because you and your cousins just so happened to go the same day as sunghoon and his friends.

most of your time at the theme park was spent with him, often making your groups uneven. or, one of your cousins had to be with one of his friends.

you loved going into random gift shops with sunghoon, taking pictures while trying on mickey ears and random headbands. he even bought you two matching ones.

the radiator springs ride in cars land was jay and sunghoon’s favorite. sunghoon loved how he felt butterflies in his stomach. not only from how steep the slope was, but also from how you tightly squeezed his hand in fear.

the drop tower was a memorable moment to everyone. the picture that was displayed at the exit of the ride, revealed eric was actually clinging onto jake and karina the entire time.

“do not save that. if you guys actually buy this souvenir picture i’ll literally run away from home.” he grumbled in embarrassment.

“it’s okay dude. stop stressing, because you’re gonna end up grabbing onto me again when we go on the incredicoaster.” jake joked.

you all laughed at eric’s humiliation but quickly bribed him with a pretzel from the pym test kitchen (even though it was insanely dry).

you couldn’t forget about your last ride of the day, the classic, the ferris wheel. karina, danielle, heeseung, and jay, decided to go in a rocking cart. you and sunghoon, along with eric and jake, decided to stay in a normal carriage. but eric refused to ride with jake, settling for going by himself.

eric was one of the only boys in your family, so being around sunghoon and his friends seemed to make him feel a little unwanted. but you understood.

you laughed as you heard danielle and karina’s screams while their carriage practically turned upside down.

at the very peak of the ferris wheel, was where you and sunghoon had your first real kiss while the sun set in the background. “this is so pinterest worthy.” you whisper. “don’t ruin this beautiful moment for me.” he mumbled, turning to watch the view after you pulled away from him.

by the end of it, you were giggling like a bunch of high school kids.

when you walked out the park, passing one last gift shop before the exit, sunghoon quickly ran inside. and he came out with two matching stuffed animals. a baby stitch plush, and a baby angel plush.

of course, you were angel, and he was stitch.

the beach day was one of your personal favorites.

you had picked up food from a local restaurant along with some snacks to bring to the beach, like a picnic. after you had finished eating, you all went for a swim.

you and the girls were the first to get out of the ocean, watching how the boys attempted to drown each other. you murmured a few sentences between one another that evening. however, it was clear nobody was listening to each other. “no way..” you whispered to yourself as you looked beside you.

heeseung and karina were practically making heart eyes at each other, not caring about the people around them. danielle’s cheeks puffed up as she held in her laughter.

but, you couldn’t say much either. the whole time, your eyes only ever remained on park sunghoon. the man who had caught your attention from the start.

the tension between the pair was obvious. so, you and sunghoon came up with the ultimate plan.

sunghoon would complain about how he was sore from wrestling in the water, so he asked if karina could hold his bags. but, he knew heeseung would quickly come to take it from her.

after getting everything and everyone into the car, you set course back to the hotel. sunghoon drove single handed, with his right arm resting in your grasp as you played with his rings.

you gave each other a knowing look before turning around to see almost everyone else had completely fallen asleep.

there sat heeseung, with karina’s head buried in his neck. jake remained isolated next to them, his headphones on full blast, as danielle, jay, and eric rested peacefully in the row behind him.

you smiled at sunghoon, even if he couldn’t see it. but you both knew your mission was accomplished.

by day 6, you were back in sunghoon’s room again. just lying down in his bed, speaking out gently and peacefully as you held each other.

“if you stayed in beverly hills earlier on, maybe we’d have known each other earlier.” said sunghoon.

“probably. my uncle, dani’s dad, is a realtor, and he always sold houses in your neighborhood. maybe i really would have known you sooner.”

“this whole trip has gone by way too fast.” he sighed, his face buried in your hair. “at least we still have tomorrow.” you mutter.

“will we keep in touch?” “if this whole time really mattered to you, you’ll know. but, we’ll worry about it tomorrow.”

as your words slowly began to die down, sunghoon figured you had fallen asleep.

he held you tighter, bringing you closer to him. sunghoon pressed a kiss onto your lips softly, before he too fell into a wakeless dream.

technically, sunghoon’s room was really jake’s room too since they always had to share a bed. but, seeing you two together and understanding the situation, he decided to take one for the team and sleep on the couch (only after heeseung did him a favor and brought him a blanket).

and before you knew it, it was your last day together. you were sitting by the pool where you met. your feet and lower legs dipped into the cold water as you felt the warm anaheim breeze. same position, same spot.

"it's been a good week. best week i ever had. this whole trip feels like a long dream and i haven't waken up yet. like, im still in long beach, tanning in my aunties backyard." you say.

the moment felt still, everything was paused, before sunghoon spoke. "you'll visit me up in the hills won't you?"

"of course i will. you trashy hollywood kid. and you'll visit me down in long beach?" "course i will." and he pressed his lips onto yours.

a part of you wished you met sooner, and that you had more time.

when sunghoon pulled away, you didn’t want to let go. you brought yourself up to kiss him again, holding him as if you’d never see him again. because who knows when you really will?

you almost sob when it's time to go home, you think you really have fallen in love this time around.

sunghoon refused to let you go, as if you’d vanish into thin air if you’re not within his grasp. and you felt the exact same way. despite not being together for long, now you really don’t know how you’ll go on without him.

because now, the summer was over.

you two were inseparable in the moment, jake and jay literally had to pry and rip sunghoon off of you.

they were gone before you could cry, but not before he could kiss you for the last time.

“make sure to call me!” he exclaimed from the car, after jay forced him inside. “i love you y/n!” sunghoon shouted out loud, as they started to drive off.

“i’ll call you every night! i love you too sunghoon!” you called back. “more than you know..” but the last part barely came out above a whisper, as his car was gone into the horizon.

and after that, was when you finally let it all out. all the longing, and the heartbreak.

the downside of summer love, never knowing if you’ll meet again.

you sobbed quietly in the backseat alone, refusing to let your cousins see you like this. you couldn’t handle being around them right now.

for you, the amount of time you knew each other didn’t matter. it was the way you understood each other, made each other feel. the way you cared for each other, some might even say it was in the way you loved each other.

but now, it was time to return to your normal lives, go on with your jobs or school. your endless summer has reached its finale. but how could it end like this?

one minute you’re bawling your eyes out in the back of karina’s jeep. your eyes swelled up as you clutched your chest with a heavy heart. the next minute, you wake up in your driveway, watching as your cousins hauled your luggage out to your doorstep for you.

before you knew it, now you were in despair as you hugged your pillow tightly. your silk pillowcase was almost as soft as his milky skin. it was unfair. you had no idea if you’d truly keep contact, or even ever see him again. maybe this whole summer fling thing was stupid.

one good moment wouldn’t make up for all the bad that followed after. you began to think, maybe it didn’t mean as much to him as it did to you. he’s handsome. he probably gets around. i’m not the only girl.

you lay awake that night, torn between the feeling of his lips on yours, and if whether or not it’s something you’ll ever get to experience again.

but by the next morning, someone was frantically knocking, pounding, on your front door. it was much to your surprise when you saw who it was. park sunghoon.

“holy shit, you scared me! what are you doing here..?” you gasped out, still processing the moment.

“you’re fucking crazy if you think i’ll just leave you like that, angel.” he muttered, before pulling you in by the waist to reunite your lips in a desperate kiss.

you suppose whatever you were thinking of last night can be disposed of. he did come back for you, and you do get to experience his lips on yours again.

last night, you were crying to the point there was no water left in your body. only dried tear stains and your red eyes remained as evidence. but now? by the following morning, your lover boy was already at your door.

and when he finally moved in to kiss you again, you smiled, reaching up to softly stroke his warm cheek.

you realized, all doubts you had about him were insecurities. false scenarios your mind made up to keep you questioning.

because sunghoon knew he would never leave you. he’d say it a thousand times over again to let you know just how much he loves you.

the summer wasn’t over yet. not until the two of you were through. because everyday with sunghoon felt like summer.

[simstorian-blog]

Residential Floorplan Suggestions

New York City: TWO

(CC List + Links)

World Map: San Myshuno

Area: Spice Market – Waterside Warble

Lot Size:  30 x 30

Capacity:

A Dive Bar

An Internet Café

A Pizzeria

A Tattoo Parlor

Bonus: 6 residential rental units floorplans completed – not assigned

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

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Carl’s Dine Out Reloaded

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Lock/Unlock Doors for Any Lot

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CharlyPancakes

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Felixandre

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Chateau Pt. 2 (Doors, Metal Pieces, Tiles, Walls)

Colonial Pt. 3 (Fence 2, Plaster Foundation 2, Railing 2)

Florence Pt. 1 (Fresco Mural)

Grove Pt. 4 (Plaster Column, Plaster Floor)

London Interior (Dining Chair, Stool, Walls)

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Schwerin (Terracotta Female)

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Harrie

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Mutske

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Sooky88

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Syboubou

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AroundTheSims4

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Cepzid

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SimspirationBuilds

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Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

[everythingne]

marketing ploy - ln4 / ch. 5

Italy through Canada. A few people make observations, Olivia makes a huge realization, a few too drinks are shared, and Oscar starts to get a little bit more concerned when Ollie seems a bit... off. Until she snaps and tells him everything.

piastri!oc x lando norris, brothers bestfriend/fake dating

warnings/notes: alcohol/drinking, pretty intense kissing/makeout scene, still probably some incorrect f1 info but look, im trying. its a BIT summary-ish this chapter, but only because there's a few small bites from each race, everything will really be kicking off next chapter >:D! (I apologize in advance)

prev | next

MAY 20TH 2023 -- ITALY

Italy had passed in a blur of media obsession, cameras constantly on me and everything I did. Hell, I would breathe too hard and someone would post about it. Keeping everything quiet had been getting harder and harder now that Twitter was fully convinced Lando and I were dating, even if we hadn't announced it yet. We still had a while to go until our 'relationship' would be officially announced by us on fucking live television, something I still couldn't get over. And my heart ache was starting to get more prevalent as the whole situation was starting to confuse my heart and my brain, making me actually think Lando liked me.

But that kiss? Come on.

McLaren's social media team had Lando and Oscar out almost the whole weekend when they weren't racing, they were doing practically everything for the media team this weekend since we all knew Monaco was going to be crazy for us. Between it being one of the, in my opinion, busiest race weekends due to its hyper-publicity. And as we knew this, we (as in Me, Charles, Lando, Oscar, Daniel and Max) had plans for a party at a club in Monaco. As more drivers found out about the plan it ended up with us renting out some private rooms for all the teams and their drivers in this one club Charles and Arthur allegedly swore by. It was going to be one hell of a party.

So, since I had no Oscar or Lando to bother, I had somehow ended up in Max's hotel room with Charles and Daniel. We were happily splitting bottles of the most expensive wine we could order to his room and talking about anything and everything. We had talked about the season so far, everyones families back home (with another very interesting Max childhood story that had us all questioning his mental health for the thirtieth time this week) and we were currently discussing media.

I had mentioned not going on Twitter due to everything being crazy, and three heads turned to look at me. Max has Charles' head in his lap, the latter poking my thigh as he giggled, cheeks flushed from the drinks as he asks, "Speaking of, how was Seaspice?"

"I need to know!" Daniel shouts, turning so fast he nearly knocks himself over and I snort from where I'm curled up on the couch in one of Lando's hoodies. I had taken it forever ago and just never gave it back, not that Lando had asked for it or even seemed to mind.

"It was really nice." I murmur, cheeks warming up as I swirl my wine, "I don't think we stopped talking the whole time. He opened the door for me, got my chair, paid for dinner. This motherfucker bought me flowers? And left them at the hotel. And a Coach purse and chucks! And he was so fucking nice. I just... I had a really good time and we talked about basically everything. Which means he knows the most about me now, other than Oscar."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." Max smiles and Charles nods enthusiastically, leaning up to take a sip of his wine before laying back down.

"Lando told me a bit about it." Daniel pops down on the couch next to me, poking Charles on the shoulder who whines and throws his arm dramatically over his eyes, making us all chuckle softly. His wine must've not been settling nicely, which I thought was odd for a man from Monaco of all places. Or he was just being dramatic.

"What'd Lando say?" Max hums, taking a sip of his wine as we all settle into a mess of tangled limbs.

"Just like, that he was totally in love with her the whole time and practically drooling over her." Daniel shrugs, "he's head over fuckin' heels."

My heart flutters at the sentiment, even if it know Lando's declarations of love are all fake for the media. Every little joke, every date, every hand hold or kiss or flirting joke, everything we were was for the media. At the end of the day Lando and I couldn't have each other. He was in this for the media just as much as I was, it was a contract we had signed and though Christian had said I could back out at any time, I was sure there would be consequences if I did.

Not that I wanted to go back on Lando, or this fake relationship, or anything. Not that I knew why. Maybe it was just because I loved the feeling of being loved.

OLIVIAPIASTRI POSTED A NEW STORY! ↴

MAY 26TH -- MONACO

I was surprised when Max had brought me along with him and Charles for dinner at Charles' mothers house. Pascale was a sweetheart, doting over us and making sure we were all well fed and settled. I also had a chance to meet Charles' siblings, finally. Arthur and I realizing how much we had in common as we sat at the long dining table, easily cracking jokes about being the younger sibling in the same career as their older brother.

And the whole never being able to live up to their older siblings thing, but that was more undertones.

Maybe ten minutes into dinner, while I'm halfway through my fift glass of wine that night, Pascale asks, "So, Olivia, how is Lando? I've seen quite a bit about you two."

I laugh softly, setting down my fork as I explain softly, "He's a sweetheart. I've been with him for only a few months and it's really been bliss. This man won't let me buy anything on my own, won't let me open doors, gives me his jacket, texts me all the time, calls me all the time. He's doting over me twenty four hours of the day, it's really sweet. We're just not really saying anything on social media yet since it's still a pretty new relationship."

"And she says its not serious." Charles murmurs as he takes a sip from his wine, Max ends up whacking Charles on the back of the head as Pascale laughs into the back of her hand.

"Charles, I will kick you." I scowl, and immediately after Arthur jerks up and Charles shouts in complaint. I burst into giggles when I realize Arthur has done my work for me.

"Dude! Foutre le camp!" His sudden french makes me pause as I try to decipher what he said. Max is immediately laughing as Pascale reaches across the table to yank on her sons ear as she reprimands him and then reprimands Arthur, who is just out of arms distance thanks to me.

"Désolé, Maman." The Leclerc's echo and luckily the rest of dinner goes off without a round of complaints from their mother. But I can't stop thinking. I had been in this sort of spiral about liking Lando, and the drinks and telling myself I was just in love with what he was doing and the way it made me feel wasn't helping. And so, as I always do, I call my oldest sister.

MAY 26TH -- CALL BETWEEN OLIVIA AND OPHELIA↴

"Ophelia."

"Olivia?"

"I need advice."

"That's what I'm here for."

"You... okay, you can't tell Oscar any of this."

"Woah, this serious?"

"Yeah, uhm. So, the Lando stuff, it's... media shit. For McLaren and Red Bull. They want it to seem like Max and Lando don't like each other or something, I dunno. But we're fake dating for media."

"Oh."

"But I... I don't know something about it is bothering me. I... I can't shake it. I can't stop thinking about everything he's been doing, the gifts, the date--we kissed, like, really good and I... fuck. Am I stupid for thinking about this so much?"

"Do you like him, Ollie?"

"Well, yeah obviously. But I think I mostly like him because I like the way it feels to be loved. Like--"

"--Do you think of his actions or of him more?"

"Uhm..." "Him?"

"Ollie. Do you think you could be in love with him?"

"No! It's... its for media."

"You think about everything he does, and the kiss, and you like the way it feels to be loved."

"Yeah."

"He buys you flowers all the time, holds the doors for you, you constantly say he's the nicest guy you've ever met, you've already defended him in the siblings group chat and he's bought you a fucking Coach bag."

"Because of the media!"

"Buying you a Coach bag is not for the media! And Lando hates seafood, yet he took you to Seaspice because everyone knows you love seafood!"

...

"Olivia, look... [sigh], I've seen the photos posted and the way he looks at you, touches you, speaks with you, everything... he's in fucking love with you. Seriously, you cannot fake that. Unless he's an incredible actor, which--he's not. I've seen his interviews."

"Uh--"

"And you, missy. You're in the same boat! If you didn't like him the way you do, you wouldn't be calling me in a panic about this."

"What do you mean?"

"You love him. He loves you. Regardless of if you want it or not."

"Oh..."

"There it is."

"Oh. Fuck."

MAY 27TH -- MONACO

"That's Charles with p3, Lando with p2, and Max--again, with the p1 position!"

I was sitting cross legged, tapping my nails along the desk as I was working on saving all the data from Max's car from the race. Something was weird with his front suspension, but he managed to push through to the end. Lando almost got him in the last turn but at the cost of a spring and a shock, Max kept his position. Checo had done just as well, and Kylie next to me was uploading his data and happily chatting about how the race went with some of the other engineers before they all start getting up. I laugh softly, watching them as they start to cheer and clamber around.

"Olivia! Finish that up later, c'mon!" One of the engineers calls and I laugh, slipping off my chair as I shove my phone into my pocket and follow Kylie out of the garage. A crowd of engineers, analysts, and drivers moving in a group to celebrate the pole positions. I take my time, ending up with Oscar at some point as we cheer for all three racers. I can feel the cameras on me and it's starting to get a bit annoying. I just want to celebrate my friends, I had taken a back log role because I didn't want to deal with the fame of F2, F1, any motorsports as a whole. I was just as good as a racer as Oscar as a kid, but I knew what I would get into if I went with him. So I didn't.

And yet, somehow I still ended up here.

Max comes over to give me a hug, and I waste no time throwing my arms around him in congratulations. He laughs, squeezing me tight before stepping back as I whack his helmet three times, a little good luck thing we had started a while back.

"I'm killing you for breaking your shocks and like half the front suspension." I joke and he rolls his eyes, playfully whacking my arm as Oscar gives him a few slaps on the shoulder as he says congratulations.

"No, no, blame Lando." He says, and him saying the racers name has more cameras turn to us and Max's grimace lets me know I'm not doing well at hiding my annoyed face. He gives me a final hug as Lando appears to give Oscar and the rest of the McLaren team besides me hugs as Max turns to him.

"Let me pass you sometime!" Lando grins and the two share a quick hug to celebrate.

"Maybe next time, Norris!" Max grins, turning to the pull of Christian's voice, and I laugh as he's tugged into the arms of the engineers. Turning back to look at Oscar, I make eye contact with Lando, who (once I nod that it's fine) happily pulls me into his arms.

And I hate that that's when I hear the most camera shutters.

"Congratulations, Lando." I murmur into our tight hug. After a moment of quiet, he leans back and I smile at him, wholeheartedly, as I can see him smile as he squeezes my arms.

"Thanks, Ollie." We hold eye contact and I just smile before he squeezes my hands before coming up to pull of his helmet, "Hey, you're coming to the club tonight, right?"

"Yeah, of course." I say, holding a hand out to hold his helmet as he takes off his balaclava. Once he has it off, he keeps messing with his hair until I lift my own hand to his hair and run it through and fix it up. One of his hands falls to my waist, the other still holding his helmet as his eyes flutter shut.

"You need to get this trimmed." I murmur, and then he leans down to give me another hug as his breath is hot against my neck, his adams apple rumbling against my shoulder.

"Nah. If I get it cut then you can't run your hands through it anymore." He steps back when he's told he needs to go along to the podium and I hand him back his things, squeeze his hand three times, and then let him go off on his way.

"And you said it was never serious?" Oscar murmurs to me and I turn around and whack at him, telling him off in a sharp whisper as I sneer at him as the few McLaren employees around us laugh.

MAY 27TH-28TH -- JIMMY'S MONTE CARLO, MONACO

By the time Oscar and I make it to the back room of the club, the party is--and has been in full swing. He's pretty much immediately stolen from my side by Logan and Alex. So, I find the bar and get myself a vodka Red Bull to wash down my exhaustion and wake me up as I then slowly slink back to the room. I can see Charles and Max off to the side, Lewis dragging Daniel and Carlos along with him, and I send a half wave to Checo who raises his drink to me in a toast which I echo as I laugh, scanning the room and spotting the likes of Alonso, George, Lance, Pierre and Logan all off on their own tipsy adventures.

"There she is!" Two arms wrap around my waist and I squeal as Lando spins me around. Once he sets my feet down, he buries his face in the crook of my neck and he squeezes me in his arms. The conversation with Ophelia rings in my head--did I love him? And though I know I do, I try and swallow the feeling like the burn of the vodka in my throat.

I can't have Lando. No matter how much I want to have him.

"I told you I was coming, Norris." I laugh, turning in his grasp so I can give him a proper hug. He lets out a deep sigh against my chest before he leans back and grins, keeping his hands on my waist as I finish off my drink and set the cup on a nearby table.

"I know, but I'm glad you're here." He smiles, and I can smell the alcohol on his breath and grin when he pulls me a bit closer. I let him, even in the crowded club knowing everyone who knows of us will probably take photos. I let it happen because I know part of me wants the feeling of him loving me, even if its all a lie.

"C'mon, get another drink, lets celebrate." He murmurs under the music and I grin, taking him by the hand and going to the bar. I learn then its an open bar, and I happily order the most expensive shots I can, take three of them, and then order another heavily alcohol filled fruity drink. They put one of those cup covers on it, with a straw, and Lando brings me to the edge of the dance floor.

"Yo! Piastri!" someone shouts and I wave as Daniel drags over Max and Charles. Everyone seems hammered already, and in the moment I thank god for being a lightweight so I can catch up quickly. The shots already making my skin buzz.

"Dani, how are ya?" I ask, moving myself to the music a little. We talk, and even as we do I can't focus on anything other than Lando's hands on my waist as he holds me to his chest in the crowd. It's something so small, but just the way he's being protective of me makes my chest pound as I finish up my drink and set it on a nearby table.

"Come on, lets dance!" I say to the group, and while the others day they're fine, Lando lets me drag him onto the dance floor. I have no idea what song is playing, it's French, but the words could matter less. Lando's hands stay firm on my waist, when someone gets to close he moves us away, and when I turn and wrap my arms around his neck in a flirty, drunken haze, he leans down to pepper kisses to the corners of my mouth. My body is on fire, both form the warmth of the vodka and such in my chest, but from the feeling of the way his hands press lower on my waist and he drags me closer.

I don't know when we end up at the bar after dancing, but the next thing I remember is Lando sitting next to me on a stool as we take shots and eat chips given to us by the bartender who can definitely tell we're a little too drunk. I lean onto Lando's arm, gently tracing shapes as I listen to him talk about... something, I don't remember, his hand on my thigh warm and protective. He leans over to press a soft kiss to my lips, and I let him. His lips peck mine, then my cheeks, and then he presses in for a proper kiss. He slots there like he's meant to be, the hand on my thigh pulling me closer and one hand sliding down to grab the bottom of my chair and as he leans back from a kiss, he drags my chair closer.

My heart just about jumps to my throat as his hand lets go of the chair, ghosts the inside of my thigh and along my jugular as he drags his hand up to cup my chin, and he pulls me in by his thumb on my jaw for another round of deep kisses. One of my hands ends up tangling in his hair, and when Lando partially leans over me, my arm snakes across his shoulders with my nails dragging across the thing fabric of his shirt.

I would be embarrassed of the close contact if we weren't as drunk as we were and also in the back, dark corner of a bar.

When he presses in further, almost hungry, I lean back and press my hand to his chest as I try and catch my breath. He leans back finally, wiping lipstick off his lips with a tiny grin as he also tries to catch his breath with a sly smile.

"Woah there, casanova." I breathlessly tease and he whines. Literally whines. I am so fucked.

"C'mon, baby." He sighs and I press my hand to his mouth as he tries to snag another kiss and I let myself giggle, pulling him to my side with the arm tossed around his shoulder, peppering soft kisses to his hairline and the corners of his mouth.

"We should go back to the hotel." I whisper, and his eyes widen like dinner plates, nodding as he grabs my hands and pulls me up to my feet. We drunkenly giggle as we stumble outside the club and as I call a ride share on my phone, Lando keeps himself busy by playing with my hair and kissing along my shoulder and collarbones as he hums softly into my neck. When the car comes we seperate, for the sanity of the poor driver, but Lando keeps a firm hand on my thigh.

He always needs to be touching me, or holding me, I'm beginning to notice.

Once we're in the hotel, or moreso the elevator, Lando will not get off of me. It's almost comedic, soft kisses broken by laughs and my half-hearted complaints as I try and get us to his room, because I refuse to go back to my shared room with Oscar this shitfaced and in this predicament.

Once, finally, the hotel door is closed and locked behind us, I'm pushed back against Lando's wall as his hands find my waist. His breath fans over my face and my head is tilted up by his hand that covers my neck, his thumb pushing in to force my chin up so he can cover his lips with mine.

"You're everything." he whispers, breathless, one hand on my back pulling me closer. His fingers digging into my neck and back making my body arch and lean up into his touch.

"And so are you." I whisper back, his needy lips finding mine once more.

And then I wake up the next morning.

Groaning, I shield my face from the sun piercing my eyes with my arm as my phone rings somewhere beyond my grasp. I slowly sit up, blankets untangling from me as I slowly push them away and kick the blankets off my body. My head is pounding and I feel so sick, but I manage to find my phone somewhere on the floor. I get up, bending over to grab it as I adjust my dress to pull it back down and fix its collar. I must've fallen asleep wearing it and it got hiked up.

The call ends as I fix up my outfit, but before I can panic and try to call the number back, they do it for me. So I quickly press the answer button and press the phone to my ear as I rub at my tired face.

"Hello?" I grumble into the line, fighting off a yawn as I look around the hotel room. A suit jacket lays half open over a chair, my bag and shoes set neatly on a table nearby with my jewelry set on top of my purse with mens dress shoes kicked off in front of the desk.

"Olivia! Thank god," Oscar laughs, voice slightly crackly over the phone, "Where are you?"

"Uh--" I pause, turning around in my hungover haze to see Lando poke his head out of the bathroom. He must've woken up before me, and the towel wrapped around his still wet waist tells me he just got out of the shower.

I slowly realize I don't remember anything after we got in this room, and my stomach twists as I speak softly to Oscar on the phone, "...Lando's..."

Oscar's quiet for a few moments, I can hear someone behind him shouting, and then he hums, "Ah... okay, uh, just come back to the room before two?"

"Yeah, yeah I will be." Lando and I are still holding half awkward eye contact, and I click my tongue when Oscar's quite for a while, "Okay... uhm, bye?"

"Bye."

As soon as Oscar hangs up, Lando and I continue to stare at each other for a few moments, before I ask, "do you remember last night?"

"No. I was hoping you would." He laughed softly. When my silence meets him, he pauses mid shake of his wet hair against his towel, lifting his head to look at me properly, "do you?"

I shake my head and then move into the bathroom to stand besides a still not dressed Lando. With a tilt of his head, he looks me over as he speaks softly, "I have spare clothes if you wanna shower before you go back to your room?"

I nod to him, my mouth dry as the realization we might have done more than I wanted to think of crosses my mind. Lando hands me a spare towel, and I hear him rustling in his suitcase as I pull my hair back. There's very faint hickeys along my collarbones I can assume are from Lando, from what bits and pieces of the club I remember. I know they'll get darker, and my lipstick is smeared along my face and my jawline, in lip prints I know don't match mine, so they have to be his.

"Here." Lando says, making me jump as he snaps my focus back from staring at my hickeys.

"Sorry," He grimaces and I say its fine as he hands me a change of clothes and I softly thank him as he steps back and closes the bathroom door. I take off my dress, look at my body and find a few more marks a bit deeper down my chest and am taken over by a sort of full body cringe when I notice one or two marks along my thighs.

Did we fucking sleep together?

I turn the shower on, stepping in as soon as I can get my undergarments off of me (thankful I'm still wearing them), and let the water wash sweat off my skin as I use the hotel soaps to clean myself off and wash my hair. I catalog each part of my body, and luckily come to the conclusion we had not slept together... at least fully. I can never really know how far we went if neither of us remember it, but at least it seems we didn't make too big of a mistake.

When I dry off, I hear Lando say he's running down to the lobby to grab us waters and that he'll be back. In a bit of a panic, I throw on his clothes, grab my dress and shoes, and rush back to my room while he's still out. Oscar lets me in, stuttering as he follows my quick rush through the room. He sits on the edge of his bed, watching as I throw my stuff in my suitcase.

"So--"

"--Do not, ever, mention this to anyone."

"Woah, okay, okay!" Oscar holds his hands up, "I wont. But uhm... you..."

"Nothing happened." I stand, turning back to look at Oscar, "we were just drunk and he wanted me to get home safe."

"If something did or didn't isn't any of my business, you're an adult, and honestly I'd rather not know anything about my sisters sex life, no offense. But... uh, Ollie? Why do you seem so... worried? ...Nervous, is kinda a better word for it." Oscar places a hand on my back as he comes to stand next to me as I pause and stand up to look over at him.

Sighing, I can tell he's dancing around a question, his hands fidget and he ends up rubbing my back slightly as he looks over at me and gnaws his lip. There's a long pause before he hesitates to ask, "Did he do something?"

"No, God no, Oscar." I exclaim, running a hand through my still wet hair, "I just... woke up feeling sick and you know how I get with sickness."

"Ah, right." Oscar steps back, wringing his hands and swallowing, "Uhm. Sorry for being weird about it."

"You're my brother Ossie, I'm expecting you to be a bit protective." I sigh, "But it's nothing. I promise."

"If it--God forbid, is something, please... tell me."

"I will."

I can't.

01 JUNE - SPAIN

Ada, Astrid, Christian, Andrea and Zak corral me and Lando into a random hotel room in Spain. I had kinda been expecting this to happen, because there was no way they hadn't noticed we had immediately become incredibly awkward around each other.

So they lock us in a bedroom, like we're kids in timeout, and tell us to figure it out.

"If you were worried we slept together," I start with after maybe ten minutes of silence, swallowing hard as I cross my arms over my chest, "we didn't."

"Okay, thank god. I thought we did something and you were gonna hate me forever." He sighs, running a hand through his hair, "I didn't mean to push it with you. Drunk Lando kinda doesn't know when to slow down. I also wanted to make sure you got home safe, and when you said that we should go back I think drunk me got extremely excited."

He's so much like a puppy, talking with his head down almost like his tail was tucked, and I can't help but let out a slow sigh.

"I didn't exactly stop you either, I kinda enjoyed it, dare I say," I rubbed my hands together, before muttering, "I should've talked to you then and not run out. I...that was shitty of me, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, you had every right to be freaked out, I was freaked out too." He sighs, leaning back in his chair as I tap my toes and then start to giggle at just the absolute obscurity of our situation.

"What?" Lando says and I sigh, leaning back and looking up at the ceiling.

"We are so... what are we doing? We're literally fake dating for the media teams for the companies we work for, and...Monaco? We got so into the whole fake dating thing, we literally ended up like that." I giggle. Though Lando laughs along, I sense a sort of bitterness in his tone, and I note it spoils when I say 'we got so into the whole fake dating thing' and so I quiet down. Maybe he didn't want to talk about the fake dating thing at all.

"Look, lets just go back to what we've been doing. It doesn't have to be awkward, we made a mistake, we can't change it." Lando says and I nod, watching the way his adam's apple bobs as he speaks, then I look away when he notices me watching him.

"Yeah." I say, then look back at him, "Let's just go back to normal."

When I get back to the Red Bull garage, I can't help but keep thinking of Lando and everything that had happened. I had this huge stupid crush on this guy who probably, as far as I was aware, wanted nothing to do with me in that sense. We only ever kissed when we were tipsy or blackout drunk, so that didn't do much to solidify any feelings that he actually liked me like I liked him. So, I end up burying my head in my arms and sitting with one knee up to my chest and close my eyes and groan. I hadn't expected anyone to be around, until someone sits next to me and I peek over to see Max.

"What happened to you?"

"Nothin'." I grumble, hiding my face again.

"Something happened, because the last time you sat like this in Red Bull was when your ex tried to date Oaklynn." Max hums, rubbing a warm hand across my shoulders and I groan, whacking his arm half-heartedly.

"Don't remind me, that was so fucking stupid." I murmur into my sleeve, kicking at Max under the table, and he yelps in complaint.

"Mon cher!" A voice shouts from the other end of the garage, and why Charles is here is beyond me before he pauses behind Max and clicks his tongue, "why do you look so upset?"

"She won't say." Max turns around to look at Charles who hums, and then I see he sets down some coffees on a table nearby before coming to lean opposite of me on the table.

"Hey, Piastri." He whispers, "Piastri. Hey. Ollie, Olls, Oliver, Olivia, Liv, Livy, Liver--"

"I think she gets the point." Max laughs, swatting at Charles, before poking my arm, "Are you gonna tell me whats wrong?"

"I'm fine." I sit up, sighing heavily as I lean forward on the table and snap, "you guys are fucking dramatic."

"Woah!" Max puts his hands up with wide eyes and Charles gasps sharply as he stands up from the table, pointing at me.

"Hey! We are not!"

"Then leave me alone!" I stand up, moving away to the office I used in the Spa garage and slammed my door a bit too hard. I groan and toss myself down into my chair and bury my head in my hands. Trying to shake Lando out of my head is impossible when the bundle of flowers he'd bought me for the paddocks here is sitting in the trash can by my feet, and this time three heads poke into my office.

"Ay, what did you do now?"

"Does Ferrari not want their drivers at all?!" I shout, lifting my head to see Carlos poking his head out from the doorway with both Charles and Max besides him.

"No, now what happened, cariño?"

"Nothing! Literally nothing!" I groan, "I just--it's nothing."

"Ah! It's something!" Max points and Carlos steps into the office and crosses his arms as he looks around. It doesn't take him long to notice the flowers, which he points at as he turns back to Max and Charles.

"She threw out Lando's flowers. Trouble in paradise." He says.

"What did Lando do?!" "What did he do? I'll beat his--"

"Oh my god! Enough, all three of you! Go, shoo! Bye! Adios! Au revoir! Doei! Buh-bye! Ciao! Get the fuck out!" I wave them out, pushing them before I shut and lock my office door, pressing my back to it and groaning as I slide down to sit.

Thirty minutes later, when I'm halfway through a report, someone knocks at the door.

"Who is it?!" I shout, lifting my head up from my laptop.

"Oscar."

Seriously? They had to get Oscar involved?

"Come in." I say, and then he jiggles the lock twice as if to emphasize the fact that the door was still locked from after I kicked out the previous trio of drivers trying to figure out what was wrong.

"Hold on." I sigh, standing up and walking over to unlock the offices door to let Oscar into the room. As soon as he's walking in, I pace back to my desk as I ripped out my ponytail and threw it back up messily as the room felt hot even with two fans going on me. I knew it was because of my stress from work and Lando's bullshit, and also, just because of the abnormal high heat in Spain this season.

"You threw out his flowers." Oscar comments as he shuts and locks the door, making his way over to sit on the edge of my desk. I hum in response and he sighs, looking over me with a careful look before he lifts a hand to card through my hair as he mutters, "talk to me, Ollie."

"It's nothing." I sigh as my eyes flicker up to look at him, "Just work."

"Ollie, this isn't how you act after work stresses you out. And this weird attitude has been going on since Saudi, so don't try and act like it's nothing." Oscar crosses his arms as he slips off my desk to walk aimlessly through my small office, "You've been distracted, all giggly and happy when we're racing or doing anything with it, but the second we get far away from it you get all spacey. Especially since the last night in Monaco. It's like you've been stuck in your head since you started dating Lando."

"Ossie..."

"No! Stop--" He pinches his nose as he whips around to face me, pausing when he notices I jump, "Olivia. What is going on with you? What has been happening this whole season? What has Lando done?"

"He hasn't done anything!" I shout, "Stop, oh my god."

"Really? Because he hasn't been able to look me in the eye since Monaco! And I don't know if its just because I still see you as my baby sister, but I'm starting to get a little fuckin' worried. It's not a good sign when the guy your sister is dating won't make eye contact with you, especially if he's one of your closest friends."

There's a pause and I groan, saving my work before burying my head in my hands, "I can't tell you."

"Olivia. What did he do?"

"He didn't do anything other than what we've been told to fucking do, because--" I stand to match my brother, watching as he steps back from the desk to give me space, "Listen, you can't repeat this."

"Why?"

"I signed a contract, a partial NDA."

"Partial NDA?"

"Just listen," I whine and Oscar nods, before I spill everything to him. From Christian's office in Bahrain, all the way to a few hours before in the random hotel room. I tell him every feeling, every thought, every decision that had been made by Red Bull and McLaren's media teams. Everything I felt for Lando, the way my heart fluttered and buttflies filled my stomach, and the way I felt so stupid because I fell in love with a guy I couldn't have even if I wanted it so bad.

Oscar is quiet for a while after I finish, and I slowly sink down to my seat and bury my head in my hands once more as I snip, "Do you see why?"

"Zak and Andrea agreed to this?" Is his first question, "No, sorry, this was their idea?"

"Partially."

"What the fuck. Okay, so, they're having you and Lando date to prove that Lando and Max hate eachother?" His voice is sharper than I've ever heard. Oscar's always been quiet, respectful, and even if I've seen him behind closed doors, I've never seen him like this.

"Yep." Is all I can muster in sarcastic response.

Oscar turns, and laughs with this look of absolute incredulity, "What the fuck does Max have to do with you?"

"I don't even know!" I shout and start laughing, hiding my face in my hands, "I don't even know, Oscar. Like? Is it because I'm close with Max outside of racing?"

"I mean, you are like one of the only non-racers who hangs out with us outside of the races." Oscar shrugs, sitting next to me on my desk and carding through my hair as he lets me rest my forehead against his thigh, "but...I just can't believe you both agreed to this. I can't believe how quickly you both did."

"They didn't threaten me, but it felt kinda..."

"It felt forced because they're your bosses and you don't wanna lose your job."

"Yep."

Oscar sighs, then pokes my nose, "Look, as long as he's not hurting you, I don't care what you do. But this is kinda stupid. Are you really fake dating him?"

I nod.

"Like, you both don't have actual romantic feelings for eachother and are just doing this for the money?" I hesitate to nod and Oscar laughs, "I love you, Ollie, I do, but you're such a shit liar and Lando can't hide his emotions for shit. You both clearly like eachother."

"We have to look like we like eachother for media--"

"You are so in denial! I see it in your eyes!"

"Oh, but you have room to talk, Mr. Oscar 'Heart Eyes' Piastri?"

"Hey!"

16 JUNE, CANADA

OLIVIAPIASTRI POSTED A NEW STORY! ↴

OLIVIAPIASTRI POSTED A NEW POST ↴

oliviapiastri: a wonderful weekend for my boys <3 love u all sm

ferawri: HER BOYS??? HER BOYS?? HERS???

redbwings: lando has been posted above max everyone, rb fans everywhere lose </3

oscarpiastri: didnt even post a podium pic of my face

oliviapiastri: i still work for rb regardless of how much u drag me to mclaren

landonorris: and i still cannot believe u chugged both of those redbulls

oliviapiastri: im fuckin CRAZYYYY

oaklynnpiastri: she does that quite often

maxverstappen: the flowers...

charlesleclerc: the way i was just about to comment something

charlesleclerc: @ carlossainz come look

carlossainz: omg no more trouble in paradise guys :D!

oliviapiastri: i'm never letting u guys into my office again ( @ scuderiaferrari come get ur drivers from the rb paddock before i kill them pretty pls <3 )

scuderiaferrari: RUNNING!!!

LANDONORRIS POSTED A NEW POST↴

landonorris: thank u canada, see u soon GB. I'm coming for p1.

oliviapiastri: AND U DIDNT SEND ME THAT PICTURE U BITCH

landonorris: SORRY I TOOK IT LIKE TWO SECONDS BEFORE POSTING !!!!!

maxverstappen: never gonna happen

landonorris: im gonna crashgate you max

oscarpiastri: MEDIA TRAINING LANDO MEDIA TRAINING!!!

landonorris: I AM NOT GOING TO CRASHGATE THIS. LEGALLY THAT WAS A JOKE.

mclaren: someone come get our drivers pls.

roscoefanacc: so he posts olivia.... strange man.

opheliapiastri: @ oaklynnpiastri look.

oaklynnpiastri: ✍✍✍

oscarpiastri: pls help me u two

opheliapiastri: skill issue.

liked by oaklynnpiastri, landonorris

carlossainz: go lando go

-

Somehow I end up with Daniel, Carlos, Charles, Max, and Lando in Oscar and I's hotel room. I've got probably six hundred dollars in drinks alone spread throughout the room, and I'm half laying in Lando's lap as Oscar recounts some story from back home. And as I take a sip of my drink, Lando comments to the story of Oscar's ex-girlfriend,

"Better than what Ollie and I are doing."

I spit the drink out, luckily into the glass and turn around to whack him while he shouts complaints, "Hey! You told all your siblings, we can tell these guys!"

"We aren't supposed to tell anyone!" I complain, laying back on him lap and jabbing my nail into his thigh, causing him to yelp in complaint.

"So, what are you guys doing?" Carlos asked, taking a good sized gulp of his drink, and once I've sworn a room full of drunk men to secrecy or castration, Lando and I indulge them in the truth fo our relationship. It goes like some sort of sports play-by-play, like we're the stars and they're the announcers, calling out everything they can think of.

"Wait, wait--so what happens if they find out you're telling people?" Daniel asks, eyes still wide in realization and I shrug.

"We probably lose a cut of the money we would've made off this whole stunt." Lando hums, "but honestly, money or not, this whole experience has been a lot of fun. Olivia's good company."

"So all the heart eyes I see you two shoot at each other are fake? How the hell are you so convincing!" Charles exclaims and both Carlos and Max back him up. I can't offer a proper explanation, so I just shrug and laugh. The conversation carries us through the time everyones leaving, other than Lando who had decided finishing a bottle of Bacardi by himself was a good idea and was now laying face first on the floor. I wasn't too far behind him, but able to make myself look sober enough to bid our friends goodbye at the door.

Max catches my arm before he leaves, phone on call with Kelly loosely in his other hand as he speaks softly, "Please don't feel like you have to date Lando because of this whole thing. Christian gave you a way out if you need it."

"We'll be okay." I laugh softly, looking back at sleepy Lando, who Oscar's trying to coax onto the couch where he might be a bit more comfy.

"Well, if anything, know you two at least sell everything really well." He grins and then Carlos and Charles are giggling and dragging him away as I wave goodbye and shut and lock the door. Lando has ended up on my bed, on top of everything we had been packing, and I tell Oscar it's good enough and that we can move Lando later when he's more awake.

But Oscar and I just get drunker throughout the night, so I dont think he ever gets moved.

OLIVIAPIASTRI POSTED A NEW STORY! ↴

THIS STORY HAS BEEN DELETED.

taglist:

@harrysdimple05 @charli123456789 @fangirl125reader

[heich0e]

begin - nicholas wolfwood/f!reader (trigun) prequel to the poly!au, bounty hunters!au, wild west-ish, tw BLOOD/INJURIES, reader is patching up a bullet wound so warning for all the expected nastiness that entails, tw mentions of attemped assault (not reader and not in detail), mentions of sex work, gratuitous mentions of nico's stubble

BOUND - poly!au masterlist

You live in a nothing town, in the dead middle of nowhere, called The Bend.

It’s called that because a long time ago—long before your days, or your daddy’s days, or even your granddaddy’s days—there used to be a wide, rushing freshwater river snaking through the valley, and right where the town centre now sits is where it used to turn east to the far-away sea. 

But the river’s dried up now, and it took the green grass with it.

The sea is farther than you could ever hope to travel. 

And the B on the sign that marks the border into your dusty little nothing-nowhere town has rusted off and decayed away with the years, which means the only warning that any misguided traveller has to tell them where they’re heading is an ominous old sign, half-rotted, that reads:

Welcome to The  end.

It’s fitting, you think. An omen to give anyone who wanders within spitting distance of the border a final caution that they have one last chance to turn around. A choice to get out while they still can.

It’s a choice you never had.

You were born and raised in The Bend. Your blood runs thick with the dust that coats the decrepit old town. It’s all you’ve ever known, and all you ever will know; your beginning, your middle, and your miserable, inexorable end.

Because that’s the thing about The Bend: few people ever show up here and those who do aren’t stupid enough to stay. And the unfortunate few that are born from the dusty earth and dried up riverbeds, like you? Well, those ones never leave.

There’s some comfort to be taken from that, you suppose; a kind of stability that comes from monotony. From certain inevitability. Every day the same, unchanging. A familiarity to the nothingness of your little town, your little house, your little life.

But then, on a night just like any other, something changes.

One night, you meet him.

Nicholas isn’t quite sure how he ended up here, but he isn’t all that surprised either. 

There’s something kind of undeniably fitting about bleeding out in the middle of fucking nowhere, supported on either side by two of the finest prostitutes The Bend has to offer—and flanked by a handful more as the group guides him through the dark, dusty night.

The Bend isn’t the first hellhole town Nicholas has ever stumbled into. His line of work has brought him to more than his fair share of seedy dumps just like this one. Towns like this are the perfect place for someone to hide from the law after all, because not many people would bother to come looking for you in places that might as well not exist. Most bounty hunters don’t even know about this particular town, and they don’t care to learn, especially since half the maps on the market don’t even bother marking its sorry half-existence down.

But Nicholas isn’t like most bounty hunters.

That’s what brought him to The Bend.

There’s a vicious flash of lightning that suddenly forks through the sky overhead, lighting up the dim, depressing town and the dusty valley beyond it as brightly as the midday sun for just a blink. It’s followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that makes the packed earth under his unsteady feet tremble, and Nicholas knows that means the lightning’s closer than he cares for it to be.

“’s it gonna rain?” he slurs, tearing his eyes away from the sky and looking over to the woman supporting him on his right (or is that his left?)

He wracks his hazy, addled brain as he tries to remember her name. Starts with a V, he’s pretty sure. Victoria? Viola?

She snorts, her ruby rouged lips lifting at one painted corner. “Honey, it’s been almost five months since we’ve seen a drop of rain around here, and even then it was nothin’ to write home about. You just focus on puttin’ one boot in front of the other, and don’t go gettin’ your hopes up.” 

All at once, Nicholas is reminded of the burning pain in his arm; the searing, radiating agony of a bullet nestled deep into flesh. 

Oh. Right.

He got shot.

It’s not the first time he’s suffered a similar wound, nor will it likely be the last if he makes it through the night—God, or whatever all-knowing bastard’s out there, willing. That doesn’t make it any less of a miserable bitch to deal with, though.

How the hell did he get shot, again?

He ponders this question for a moment, reflecting on it through alcohol sodden introspection, and the answer comes back to him in bits and pieces as he keeps aimlessly shuffling along through the night.

The sound of heels clicking overhead at the town saloon—that’s the first thing he remembers. The clacking metronome of Big Annie’s working girls crossing the wooden floorboards of the brothel that operates above the only place in this awful little town to get a half-decent drink.

A drink. 

Yes, it was something bitter and dark—completely nauseating to presently even think about. It burned on the way down, and now it sloshes unpleasantly in his stomach as he walks. The girls had made him down the better part of a bottle after he’d been shot—to help with the pain, they’d said, and he’d been anything but reluctant to heed their advice—and he’d already had fair a few glasses earlier in the evening as he’d occupied his table in the corner of the bar on top of that. Panic had palpably sizzled between the women while they watched the tattered cloth Nicholas held to his arm ink steadily darker with scarlet in the lamplight of the old bar following the shooting—the tension building amongst them like the perspiration beading at his temple. They were bickering about something then.

No, not something.

Someone.

“We gotta take him to see Mama!” 

It was Charity who said that, he recalls—the pretty little thing with full lips and a mane of thick, curly hair that Nicholas had complimented the first time he ever saw her traipsing through the saloon. She can’t be a whole lot older than 20, and her voice is still high and childlike; even more so that particular evening as she stomped her foot petulantly, looking over at him with worry-filled eyes as she made her plea to the other girls watching him bleed out in the musty wooden booth.

“Mama won't want anything to do with this one.”

That was Violetta who’d replied to Charity’s fractious appeal. She’s one of the older girls who works for Big Annie at the brothel. She’s got a sort of seasoned air to her, with a husky rasp in her voice—like the sand that blows through the empty streets in town has roughened it. She’s still undeniably pretty, but she comes across a little tougher than the rest of them. Doing the job she does in a town like this one, Nicholas doesn’t blame her for it.

Violetta’s the one currently supporting his right side, leading him through the night towards the woman who’s supposed to be his saving grace.

Towards Mama.

But who the hell is that?

He’s sure he’s heard the name in passing while he’s been kicking around the town saloon between his work, nursing half-noxious drinks and flirting harmlessly here and there with Big Annie’s working girls—who seem to have taken a liking to lingering around his table between visits from johns. 

Nicholas wasn’t even supposed to be staying in The Bend long, only for a day or two to follow up on a bounty lead he’d caught wind of three towns over—but the lead went cold, and a few days turned into almost a week. Nevertheless, while his stay may have been extended, he just he never thought to ask any more questions about this mysterious matriarch all the working girls seemed to know so well and speak so highly of. But now, as those very same girls are dragging his half-conscious ass to the other side of town in search of this Mama, he wishes that maybe he’d dug a little deeper.

“Mama’s gonna get you all fixed up, handsome,” little Charity appears on Violetta’s other side, her eyes wide enough as she stares at him that they reflect the next flash of lightning as it rips through the dark of night. She looks worried, in spite of her words—even in his present state of drunkenness and blood loss fuelled delirium, he can tell that much. 

They all do. Even the toughest, Violetta—though she seems reluctant to let on as she stands stoically at his side and shoulders his flagging, stumbling weight. 

Charity nods, but it’s a gesture that seems more to reassure herself than anyone else. “Mama always takes care of us; she’ll have you good as new by morning.” 

Ah, so this woman must be a doctor of sorts—or as close to it as a shithole little town like this can offer.

It’s Nicholas’ turn to nod, a bobble of his cotton-filled head the only recognition he can muster to her words, as he just keeps staggering on under their guidance. He’s lucky that The Bend even has some kind of doctor to look after him, even if it’s just some old lady who looks after the saloon girls.

The unlikely group soon arrives at the doorstep of a little house at the edge of town—as slummy and dilapidated as all the rest of them—and Queenie, the girl who’d moments before been supporting Nicholas’s injured left side, raps sharply on the door.

“She’s not gonna answer,” Violetta mutters dourly under her breath, still at Nicholas’ right side.

“She will,” Charity counters with her arms crossed over her chest, punctuating the assertion with an indignant little huff for good measure. “Mama always answers when we come knockin’.”

But Nicholas worries for a moment—a long moment as the door stays firmly shut—that Violetta might just have a point. It’s the middle of the night after all, and this ‘Mama’ could very well be sleeping like any other reasonable person would be at this hour. 

Queenie knocks on the wooden door for a second time, this time with an open palm. This series of raps is a little louder. A little more insistent.

“Mama? It’s us! Open up!” she calls, casting a worried glance over her shoulder at Nicholas—who’s got his entire weight slumped over onto poor Violetta, now.

Nicholas is bleeding out on the front porch, and part of him still almost feels bad for waking up some poor, unsuspecting old—

The door flies open.

“What the hell do you want?”

Oh.

Nicholas knows that his eyes travel up your frame in a way that can only be considered wholly impolite. But he’s not really in his right mind, after all—or at least that’s what he tells himself as he justifies his immodest stare. He starts at the uneven cuffs of your paper-thin trousers, before climbing up, up, up your body to the tight white undershirt your wear—appreciating the way it clings to the curve of your waist and sits snug around your chest, and he particularly admires the pretty little edge of lace that frills around the neckline at your breasts. Finally, his gaze makes it to your face, and you look irritated to say the absolute least on the matter.

He’s not all that sure what he was expecting to find on the other side of the chipped paint of this shabby front door, but he can say with a steady hand to his foolhardy heart that it certainly wasn’t you.

For a moment, Nicholas is convinced they’ve got the wrong house—as improbable as that might be in a town as small as this one. At the very least, he waits for someone else to come to the door—a mother, or grandmother even—because surely you can’t be the one that these women have been calling—

“Mama! You gotta help us,” Queenie exclaims. She’s luckily perceptive enough to stick out her foot once she sees you fully process just what’s waiting for you outside, keeping the door jammed open with her heeled boot as you rush to slam it shut.

“I haven’t gotta do anything,” you counter sharply from around the edge of the door, your face pinching in a blatantly vexed expression at the way the woman is keeping it ajar.

Your eyes flicker over to Nicholas through the gap between the door and its frame, surveying him with a look of disdain that might just have been enough to offend him if he were a little more himself.

“Mama, he got shot!” Charity suddenly bursts into what can only be described as a spectacular display of tears—blubbering noisily between each word as she elbows her way through the group towards your door. She reaches across the threshold and desperately clutches at the front of your shirt with both hands as she pleads to you. “P-please let us in, y-you’re the only one who can h-he-help him.”

“Bertie, what in God’s merciful name is wrong with you?” you sigh aggrievedly, roughly batting her hands away from their grip on your clothes. In the next breath, you wrench open the front door to your home, stepping back to allow your unexpected visitors the space to cross through the doorway. “And cut the waterworks or you’re gonna wake up half The Bend and get us all shot.”

As the girls help Nicholas inside and across the gnarled, warped floorboards of your little house, you slip wordlessly away into another room out of sight. When you return moments later, you’ve pulled on a creased button-down over that pretty little undershirt of yours. 

Nicholas can’t help but notice that you’re dressed practically like a man, especially in comparison to the painted faces and petticoats of the other women in the room. But it strangely suits you, for reasons he can’t quite place.

“He got shot fightin’ some bozo tryin’ to rough up Ada on her way home,” Violetta explains when you look to her with an expression that demands context. She’s the most level-headed of the five woman gathered in your tiny home, so no one can blame you for turning to her first. 

Nicholas feels dizzy, the modest lamp-lit room around him reeling like a child’s toy spinning top gaining speed. 

Did he do that?

He remembers hearing something out back in the alley that runs behind the saloon and the inn when he went out to take a piss late into to the evening, well after it had dropped dark. He was already sufficiently drunk by that point, but there was no mistaking the sound of a woman putting up a fight the moment that he heard it. He followed the racket and found the pair quickly—on instinct more than anything—grabbing the drunken man by the scruff of the neck and hauling him off the poor girl he was trying to force himself on. In the ensuing scuffle, the man pulled a gun that Nicholas wasn’t expecting. With his senses drink-dulled, he didn’t react quickly enough to miss the shot entirely and caught it in his arm—but he’s lucky the guy had such terrible aim to begin with, or the night could have turned out a whole lot worse.

But who’s this Ada? He thought the girl he’d helped’s name was Priscilla—having met her a few times in the saloon. She was always quieter than the rest of them, a little more reserved. She didn’t say much to anyone from what Nicholas had witnessed in his time spent in The Bend. But Ada’s not the first name he’s heard since showing up at your door that’s unfamiliar to him.

“You've got a lot of nerve dragging some no-good, half-cocked brute to my door like this in the middle of the damn night, Sarah Jane,” you hiss through your teeth, your eyes flickering from Violetta over to Nicholas once more.

Violetta snorts, but offers no argument.

“Please, Mama,” Priscilla (or is it Ada? Nicholas can’t keep track anymore) says quietly, though her tone is unmistakably earnest. It’s the first time she’s said anything since the girls came stumbling through your door with the injured man propped between them. First time he remembers her saying anything at all—at least other than when he heard her screaming and chased off the scum that was hassling her.

Your attention suddenly turns to where Priscilla stands just off near the corner of the little room, with Theodosia (another one of Big Annie’s working girls) at her side with a comforting arm looped around her waist. It’s not hard to see the way the woman trembles as she holds her shawl around her shoulders. She’s got a bad scrape across her cheek, and her lip is split—evidence of the ordeal she’d gone through earlier in the evening. Her skin still looks clammy and sallow from the shock. 

Your expression softens as you contemplate her.

“C’mere, Adaline,” you beckon to her, reaching out a hand. “Step into the light and let me take a look at you.”

She approaches you without any reservation, and you carefully inspect her wounds after taking her face gently in your hands. A long, resigned sigh slips from your lips once a moment has passed, having turned her face this way and that to fully scrutinize her condition. You look around at the women gathered in your home, and the man slumping between them, then your head hangs in defeat. Your hand lifts to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Bertie, go grab my bag from my room. Georgie, fetch some clean water from the basin in the kitchen.”

Charity and Theodosia move briskly once you’ve issued the order—like they don’t want to give you the opportunity to change your mind.

Nicholas finds it a little funny how easily these women yield to you, though most seem to be your seniors—you’re just a scrappy young thing, only a few years into your adulthood if he had to guess. As he watches you, he sees that you carry yourself with a  certain quality that’s beyond your years—every action and word steeped with a sort of weary assuredness that you haven’t even lived long enough to properly earn. 

He watches you move with the grace of a woman, and listens to you speak with the authority of a man—and It could be the blood loss talking, but Nicholas thinks you might just be the most interesting thing he’s stumbled upon in this god-forsaken little town.

“You’re a doctor?”

You freeze, your head snapping in his direction when you finally hear him speak.

Your lip curls and you bare your teeth to him, and Nicholas is suddenly reminded of those city cats that wander the back alleys in Julai, hissing with their hackles raised when you happen across their path.

“Do I look like a doctor to you?” you sneer at him derisively.

For some unplaceable reason, Nicholas almost wants to laugh—the sensation bubbling up in his stomach in the wake of your harsh words.

(Though, that might just be the liquor.)

“Her daddy was a doctor,” Queenie whispers to him quietly as she and Violetta help Nicholas up onto the wooden table at the centre of the room at your instruction, leaning him back until he’s laid flat across it with a grunt. “Only one The Bend’s seen in the last 80 years."

“Prudence, you better shut your damn mouth if you want me to do anything about this mess,” you snap without looking up, busy rifling through the ancient leather medicine bag that Charity just dragged in from the other room.

You tend to Priscilla first, fixing her up with a compress on her cheek and a salve for the cut on her lip. She’s not the most desperate case in the room, but no one tries to turn your attention to the man on the table until you’re good and ready to do so of your own accord—a unanimous, though entirely unspoken, pact of silence lest your precarious agreement to help be withdrawn. Once you’re satisfied that the woman’s been sufficiently looked after, leaving her once more in the dutiful care of Theodosia, you finally turn to Nicholas.

The lamplight is fairly dim, even though you’ve moved it closer to the table to help illuminate your work—and there’s very little oil in the grimy reservoir of the glass lamp to keep it burning.

You approach him slowly.

“You a lefty?” you ask him, plunking yourself down in the wooden chair nearest to his injured left arm.

“Luckily not,” he slurs, his head lolling over to look at you as you sit beside him at the table.

“Luckily?” You huff, and Nicholas thinks that maybe it’s as close to a laugh as someone as mirthless as you ever gets. “You must not’ve heard: luck left The Bend years ago, and it’s not coming back.”

Nicholas really does find himself laughing then in the face of your plain, bur distinctly dour expression—and he immediately winces as a sharp pain shoots through him from the strain of trying to hold it back.

Your eyes survey the sopping, blood-soaked handkerchief he’s holding to his injury, then you lean over towards the medicine bag and begin digging through it again. He watches as you pull out an inhumanely large needle and some thread.

“Clear out, ladies,” you remark flatly to the group of onlookers without glancing up from the contents of the bag before you. “None of you are gonna wanna see this.”

The girls delay momentarily even after you bark out the order, as though worried that once they leave the room your willingness to help may exit with them.

You lift your face in their direction, some gauze and a corked flask of an indistinguishable transparent liquid in hand. Your lips pull down noticeably at the corners when you see the way the women are hesitating. “Go on, then. I’m making this exception for you once, and never again. Get Ada back home safe, and then the rest of you oughta do the same.”

Still, no one seems keen to heed your words.

You and Violetta share a pointed look, and it’s clear your patience—hardly-there to begin with—has worn dangerously thin.

“Alright, whores—clear out!” the older woman says, turning on her heel and corralling Queenie, Charity, Priscilla, and Theodosia towards the door with her arms outstretched. “Unless one of y’all are keen to be the next one who needs stitchin'!”

It takes a moment to get everyone moving—Charity in particular putting up more of a fight than the rest of them—but eventually Violetta succeeds in ushering them out. She casts one final glance back from the doorway, and Nicholas catches the exchange of almost imperceptible nods of thanks between you.

It’s unbearably quiet once they’re gone.

You move swiftly but silently, and set to work without a single word exchanged between you and the man stretched across your table. Without hesitating, you drag a thin blade in two strokes up the front of Nicholas’s bloodstained shirt—one cut along the torso and then another up the sleeve—and then pull off whatever’s in your way. You don’t so much as bat an eye as the tanned skin of his chest and abdomen is suddenly bared; there’s no distinguishable emotion or thought on your face that Nicholas can make out, but he’s also fairly distracted as he bites back the groans of pain that threaten to slip out each time you jostle his injured arm too roughly. 

Next, you begin cleaning the surface of the wound—as best you can given that it’s still unstitched—in preparation to fish out and remove the bullet still stuck inside. That little flask from earlier has some sort of antiseptic in it, which Nicholas discerns by the acrid smell and unbearable burning that rips through him as you let it trickle over the open gouge in his skin. He cries out as it happens, and the sound even takes him by surprise—guttural and completely instinctive.

“Don’t be a baby,” you sniff, dabbing away at the blood and antiseptic around his wound with some clean gauze.

“Sorry,” Nicholas mumbles through his panting breaths, pressing his opposite hand over his mouth in an attempt to keep himself quiet.

Your eyes flicker up to his briefly in the wake of his apology, and your gazes meet. You’re the first to look away after the momentary hold.

Next, you tip the flask into your hands, coating your palms in the stinging, astringent antiseptic. The lamplight catches in the little droplets as you shake them from your fingertips.

“My daddy told me once that doctors have to tell lies to keep their patients calm,” you say quietly, your lips pursing forward as you wrap one cool hand underneath his bicep. “Said that it’s just part of the job.”

You suck in a little breath, meeting his gaze briefly once more.

He can’t help but think your eyes look pretty when the light reflects in them like this. 

“But I’m no doctor—and this is gonna hurt like fresh hell.”

Outside your rickety little house on the edge of this forgotten, nowhere town, another peal of thunder roars.

You don’t often patch up bullet holes.

In fact, you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve tried.

But you’re not a professional, and you’ve never claimed to be; you’re just a doctor’s daughter who used to follow her father on his rounds through town, helping out whenever and wherever it was needed. Unavoidably, you learned some things along the way—like treatments, and time-honoured remedies, and how to sew a stitch so it won’t pucker when it scars—but you’re about as far as anyone could be from trained. You’ve got no education beyond your reading, writing, and basic arithmetic—what little education the school house in town could offer you until you just stopped going altogether—and your experience is limited only to the care you offer to Big Annie’s girls: whether it’s cleaning up the messes left by their particularly nasty customers or treating them as best you can when they fall ill. 

You don’t bother telling any of this to the man bleeding all over your table, though. You doubt it would do him much good.

Daddy used to deal with gunshot wounds all the time. They’re about a dime a dozen in a town like The Bend, after all, where tempers are high and spirits are low—not to mention where the men outnumber the women by about ten-to-one. 

And if there’s one thing you know about men, it’s that they all love slinging guns but less than half of them ought to be allowed to—because it always leads to injuries like this. It’s rarely ever women who walk around town getting themselves shot.

But in spite of all that, and your lack of experience, you watched your father go through the motions frequently enough that the movements come to you now like second nature: disinfect, remove, keep pressure, suture, bandage. You know the order of things, and you find your mind clear and your hands steady as you set to work—starting by cleaning him up as best you can to prepare to extract the bullet. 

You can see the very butt of it in peeking out from inside his ugly wound; a pesky little thing, slick with blood that catches in the light when his arm twitches towards the lamp. It’s not nestled too deep in there, thankfully, and he’ll probably be fine if he lets it heal properly—but it’ll still hurt like a bitch to pull out. 

But that’s his problem, not yours.

Unfortunately, you don’t have a pair of tweezers you trust to pluck the bullet out—at least not a pair that isn’t rusty—so your god-given tools will have to be what you use for the undertaking. You disinfect your hands as best you can before you begin.

“Would you stop squirming?” you mutter under your breath as the man on your table flinches the first time your fingers graze his open wound.

“Sorry,” he mumbles back, and your eyes flicker up to his face again briefly. 

This man keeps apologizing to you. 

It’s unsettling.

His dark eyes are heavy lidded, but you can still sense them tracing along the lines of your face as you work. There’s visible sweat beading at his temple as he lies flat on his back atop the wooden table in the centre of your home, and his bare chest rises and falls with heavy, laboured breaths that shake every so often on the exhale—the lamplight at your side catches in the perspiration glistening there too, near the little smattering of hair that sits at the highest point of his sternum.

This guy—this stranger who’s bleeding all over the table you eat your meals on—really pisses you off.

He’s got an awful lot of nerve to show up here in the middle of the night, looking for your help after he went and got himself shot. A small part of you knows that’s not entirely fair to think, because he got shot helping Adaline and it was the girls who’d brought him to you in the first place, but you still can’t help but be resentful. 

You feel yourself frown.

Your fingertips dip inside the wet heat of his wound for the first time, and he lets out a gasping, wretched groan from deep in the centre of his chest—so loud it almost makes you flinch.

“Don’t pass out,” you warn him flatly, pinning his injured arm more firmly to the table and prodding further in as you try to get a grip on the evasive little bullet with the very tips of your fingers. “You’re dead weight if you’re unconscious, and I’ll drag you outta this house in parts if I have to.”

“Noted,” the dark-haired man says through clenched teeth, his eyes squeezing shut as he attempts to stomach the pain.

You don’t have anything to offer him to dull the sensation—though you’re not sure you’d waste something so precious on him even if you did. After a while, and a bit more poking and prodding, he seems to acclimatize to the agony anyway. 

Or at the very least he gets better at masking it.

“I’m Nicholas, by the way,” he grits out after a while of you unsuccessfully trying to remove the bullet—frequently having to pause and wipe away the blood that’s continued to seep from the wound, slicking you down to your wrist. It stains the cuff of your shirtsleeve now, and you regret ever pulling it on to begin with, because you know it will be a nightmare to pound out in the wash.

“Didn’t ask.”

“I know,”—miraculously, he manages to laugh a bit, even as you’ve got two fingers digging around inside his arm—“just thought I’d tell ya anyway.”

You don’t bother replying, your eyes honed in solely on the task at bloody hand.

“‘M grateful for your help, y’know. Even if it’s just an exception,” the man—Nicholas—slurs next, his head tipping to the side on your kitchen table. You can tell that he’s talking, if nothing else, to distract himself. A lonely bead of sweat drips down his throat as he looks at you. “It’s awfully nice of ya to take pity on a no-good brute like me, Mama.”

You feel a crick of irritation tighten in your jaw then, as he parrots your earlier words back to you. Your fingers, still poking around to retrieve the bullet in his shoulder, twitch—and you aren’t sure the gesture is entirely involuntary. The man on the table before you yelps, flinching away from the pain, and you lean closer with your eyes still fixed on the wound piercing his skin.

“Don’t call me that,” you hiss through the dull scrape of your teeth grinding tightly together.

Nicholas lifts his right hand to his mouth, curled into a fist, and his pearly teeth bite down hard into the flesh at the base of his thumb as he pants through the pain. You finally, mercifully, manage to get a grip on that damned bullet, plucking it out and tossing it into the waiting dish atop the table with a delicate, terribly anticlimactic clink. You swiftly press a pad of clean gauze to the wound to staunch the bleeding while you reach for the stitching needle you left set off to the side.

“Hold this,” you order him, and the man lets his hand slip from the bite of his jaw to do as he’s told while you rifle through the bag at your feet. You can see the marks his teeth left in his skin as he takes the gauze from your hand into his own and begins to apply pressure.

You stand and wash your hands off as best you can in the basin of water Georgie brought in for you earlier, poised at the end of the table. The liquid tints pink as you first dip them in, and then slowly it turns an even darker, uglier colour as you properly scrub his blood from your skin. You shake as much of the water off your hands as you can, and then use the front of your shirt to sop up the rest—faintly rust-tinged handprints left in the cotton.

You take your seat once more, and Nicholas watches you through mostly-closed eyes as you set about sterilizing the needle.

“How come I can’t call you that?” 

You light a candle using the lamp at your side. Then you swish the needle around in antiseptic before running it through the flickering flame until it sparks—careful not to let it lick too close to your fingertips. Your eyes slide over to Nicholas as you pluck it from the fire.

With his face tilted towards you, another little drop of sweat has tracked down his cheek towards his prominent nose, and it glistens against his flushing skin in the warm light of your oil lamp. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, too—from what you don’t doubt is the combination of pain and whatever booze he’s been guzzling to numb it—and lips part on a shuddering exhalation as you survey his face.

“Call me what?” you mutter, averting your eyes and turning again to search through your medicine bag for a clean roll of bandage.

“Ma—” A sudden, harsh glare cuts him off before he even has the chance to say it. He smiles a little, the expression half-delirious, and you can’t help but think that if he weren’t so weakened from the pain that wracks him, he might have even managed another laugh.

You kiss your teeth quietly. “Only the girls call me that.”

The man bleeding out in the middle of your table clearly knows your tone of voice means not to push it, because he doesn’t. Instead, he turns his head until he’s staring up at your dingy ceiling once more, though you can tell from the faraway look in his eyes he’s not seeing much at all. 

“The girls,” Nicholas remarks quietly, speaking more to himself than anything. “You don’t call ‘em by their names.”

That’s right: he’d only know the girls by their working names. You’re surprised he even caught that.

“The hell I don’t,” you mutter, turning back to face him in your seat once more with your last roll of bandage clutched tightly in your hand. You set it down atop the table as you set your supplies up just how you like them. “I call them by the names their mothers gave them.”

Nicholas hums thoughtfully. “Sarah Jane, that’s Violetta?”

You grunt out an affirmative, threading the freshly cleaned needle with nimble, dextrous accuracy. 

“And Charity, her real name’s Bertie?”

“Bertha May,” you correct him, snipping away the excess thread with a little pair of mostly-dull scissors—careful not to take more than you’ll need, but still giving yourself sufficient supply to work with.

“Priscilla’s name’s Adaline,” Nicholas continues, his eyes still tracing the cracks in your ceiling. “And what about Theodosia and Queenie?” 

“Georgina and Prudence,” you supply flatly as you secure a tight knot in the end of the stitching thread.

Nicholas sighs before slurring, “’s a lot to keep track of.”

You snort. “Wait until you find out Big Annie’s real name.”

He looks over at you with wider eyes than you’ve seen on him since he came staggering through your door. He catches the expression on your face and his own softens, clearly sensing that you’d said it only in jest. 

Annie’s just short for Annabelle, after all. Madam’s rarely need to take up new personas—why would they need to be someone they’re not if they aren’t the ones doing the dirty work?

Nicholas watches as you tug on the stitching thread one last time to test its strength—eying the glinting needle warily. You set the threaded implement carefully off to the side once you’re confident it’s ready.

“So you learned all this stuff from your daddy, huh?” he asks you next.

You swallow over the unpleasant lump you suddenly feel in the back of your throat and reach up, nudging his hand away from where he’s holding the gauze to his wound. He’s become a real chatterbox now, and part of you wonders why you’re even tolerating it.

You clean the area with antiseptic again—and Nicholas is just as dramatic as he was the first time as a low moan of pain tears through him. For a moment you worry he really might be on the brink of passing out, the whites of his eyes taking over as they begin to roll back, so you know you need to keep him focused.

“He used to take me with him on his rounds,” you mumble a reply to his earlier question. 

Nicholas’s eyes open a bit wider when he hears your voice, a little more focused now than they had been.

“My daddy, I mean,” your tone is dismissive and flippant, but it seems to be an effective distraction. “I just picked things up here and there while I watched him work.”

“You’re a natural.”

You snort mirthlessly in the wake of his reply. “Don’t know about all that.”

“You just pulled a bullet outta my arm with your bare hands, that’s gotta count for something.” Nicholas hisses as you press the antiseptic-soaked gauze to his wound one last time, then he sucks in a sharp breath. “And the girls trust you a lot, so you must be good at it.”

“Somebody’s gotta take care of them.” 

Lord knows no one else around here does.

You set the scarlet saturated gauze aside in the dish with the discarded bullet, then pick up your needle.

You make neat, even sutures through his skin, and you take your time to do it right. You’ve always been good at this kind of thing, even when you were young. You were born with a keen eye for detailed work like this, and your daddy used to get you to finish up the smaller wounds he was called to treat that needed finer stitching—said your little hands were just better at it than his own big, life-roughened ones. He always used to tell you that you got your steady hands from him, but your nimble fingers from your mother.

Not that you’d know anything about that.

Nicholas has stopped flinching now, a little more relaxed than he’d previously been, and you can’t help but look up at him every so often as you work—wondering if that steady, even rise and fall of his chest means that he’s finally knocked out. Especially since he’s suddenly gone so quiet. 

But each time you check, you find his eyes are still open—though only just barely—and are peering up towards the ceiling. Sometimes you catch him glancing at you too.

Once the wound has been fully closed in a tidy little line of stitches, you wrap the roll of bandages around it with some gauze tucked underneath, just in case.

“You’re all done,” you say quietly, slumping back in your chair once you’re finally finished.

All at once, you feel exhausted—the adrenaline you didn’t even know had been rushing through you disappearing in a blink. It reminds you of how the wind dies in the valley in the wake of a bad storm, like it took the breeze with it. You’re all too conscious of the fact that it’s the middle of the night now, and that you ought to long be asleep.

“Thank you,” Nicholas says as he pushes himself up onto the elbow of his uninjured arm, though he still winces at the movement. You don’t make any attempt to help him.

His shirt is in pieces, and he discards it since it’s of so little use to him now, shaking his right arm to free it from the only sleeve that remains in tact on the garment. You watch as he pushes himself fully upright, throwing his long legs over the side of the table to stand. When he does, he dips slightly—like the sudden movement makes him woozy, and his knees are weak—and his right hand shoots out to balance himself on the edge of the tabletop on instinct. You suppose it’s not unexpected given the amount of blood he lost.

You watch his toned, tanned back as he stretches himself out as much as his injury will allow; observing how his skin pulls taught over the defined musculature that surrounds his spine. He’s littered with scars—a map of wounds that weren’t stitched as neatly as the new one on his upper arm—and part of you can’t help but wonder how he got them all. Can’t help but wonder what stories those marks tell, written in a language you don’t know how to read.

You look away, feeling an inexplicable heat flood rapidly to your cheeks.

You stand and quickly slip off your own overshirt—just some old button-up left behind from your father, though you have no memories of him ever wearing it. You clutch it in your fist and stick it out for him to take.

He eyes it in surprise for a moment before accepting it.

“Those blood stains are yours, anyway. You might as well have it,” you say, eyeing the red mark at the cuff on the right-hand sleeve as the garment passes from your hold into his, “in any case it’s in better shape than the one you came here with.” 

It saves having to clean it, too. So it’s all the same to you.

“I’ll pay you,” he slurs, still unsteady on his feet as he begins rifling awkwardly through his pockets with his only useable hand. He almost tips right over in his haste, but you quickly slip beside him and steady his frame.

“Yeah, you will,” you agree, holding tight to his right arm to keep him standing. “Worry about it tomorrow.”

Nicholas’ bare skin radiates warmth with only your thin, lace-trimmed undershirt left separating you as you stand pressed into his side. He peers down at you curiously, blinking slowly like he’s being called to sleep. From this close, with him standing properly upright for the first time, you realize just how big this man is—tall, with a broad chest and defined muscles, and stubble dusted along his sharp jawline that you hadn’t noticed before. You take a sudden step away to put much needed distance between the two of you, these realizations making something stir in the pit of your stomach that makes you feel squeamish. 

“Do you know your way back to the inn?” you ask him, your arms crossing over your front.

Nicholas bobs his head in a completely unconvincing nod. It’s not like the town is big enough to get lost in in the first place—and he very well might know his way if it were daylight, or he weren’t half delirious—but sending him out into The Bend in his current state would be as much of a death sentence as it would have been to turn him away when he first showed up at your door. 

You sigh in resignation.

“Just sleep on the floor here for tonight. I’ll check your stitches again tomorrow morning before you leave.”

The man looks taken aback, but he nods quickly—as though he doesn’t want to give you time to rescind the unexpected offer.

You fish around in the depths of your father’s old medicine bag, eventually pulling out a bottle of murky liquid as Nicholas gets settled with an old cushion and a threadbare quilt near the unlit hearth of the fireplace. You use the edge of your nail to uncork it, take a quick whiff to make sure it’s the right one, and then tread towards the man on the other side of the room.

He peers up at you from his makeshift bed on the floor, resting with his knees apart and his long legs sprawled out in front of him. You pass the little glass bottle to him, your fingers brushing as it passes from your grip into his. “Drink this, it helps to fight off infection.”

He eyes it warily. The outside of the bottle is suspiciously grimy, and the putrid colour of the liquid inside is no less reassuring. “What is it?”

“Hog Fennel.”

He grimaces, peeking into the opening of the bottle with one eye closed. “Sounds foul.”

You snort. “It is."

Nicholas doesn’t draw it out any longer, tipping the vial back an draining it all in one shot. He winces once he swallows it down, his pink tongue peeking out a little as he pants through the taste—which you’re sure is bitter and disgusting.

“How was it?” you ask him wryly.

“I’ve had worse, honestly,” he says, shooting you a little grin you can’t believe he’s able to manage not only in the wake of such a disgusting concoction but considering what he’s been through that night.

You blink, your brow furrowing, and then eventually nod dismissively before turning and shuffling off towards the other side of the room where the door to your bedroom is found.

“Thank you.” 

Nicholas speaks again as you’re just shy of crossing the threshold into your room, you consider pausing in your shock but then think better of it.

“You already said that,” you reply, your tone annoyed, and shut the door behind you.

You open it again a second later to poke your head back out towards him.

“I’ve got a gun in here, by the way, and I won’t miss. Just in case you were thinking of trying anything funny.”

Across the room, Nicholas is already laying down on his pitiful excuse of a resting place, looking strangely content.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says with a smile, though his eyes stay closed.

Part of you is annoyed at how comfortable he seems. How easily he talks to you. How normal his presence feels in your home.

Another part of you—one that’s deeper, locked away and hidden out of sight in a place where you think you’ve lost they key—isn’t.

You slip back into your room and close the door behind you with a soft click. 

And in the silent stillness of your little bedroom with your shoulder blades pressed back into your bedroom door, you realize that the thunder outside has stopped but you can hear the softest, faintest pitter patter of raindrops through cracked glass of your window.

Rain came back to The Bend.

Maybe luck would follow.

[hischierswhore]

hostile

pairing: Mason Mount x Reader

TW: cursing // asshole!mason // another warning but i cant think of the word rn

A/N: i’ve been obsessed with angst lately, so here’s this 😀

click to read part 2

You sat in the living room of the home you shared with Mason, your boyfriend of 4 years. You were awaiting his arrival, since he’d been at training all day long. Both of you had been rather busy lately, leaving you both little to no time to enjoy each other’s company & presence, so you took it upon yourself to plan out a little movie night for the pair of you.

You had gone to the market earlier in the day to buy some snacks for your movie night, as well as some wine and some ingredients to make Mason’s favorite dinner.

You had prepared some pasta for the both of you, leaving it in the microwave until he arrived. In the meantime, you decided to watch some tv, putting on some F1 highlights reel. Moments later, the front door opened, and you heard the door slam shut, causing you to jump at the sound.

“Hi, my love” You said as you lifted yourself off the couch and made your way towards your boyfriend with your arms wide open to give him a hug after having not seen him since the night prior, though it was only for a few minutes. His body physically tensed as you pulled him into your embrace, with him also turning his head so you kissed his cheek instead of his lips. You could sense that something was wrong.

“Is everything alright, Mase?” You tried to hold his hand, but he quickly moved it and brushed past you and down the hall to your shared bedroom.

All you could think was if you had done something to upset him throughout the day? You hadn’t really spoken to Mason at all today, so you couldn’t think of a reason as to why he was being so standoff-ish towards you.

You decided to not follow him and began plating both your & his dinner. Once both meals were plated and displayed on your dining table, you gave your bedroom door a soft knock.

“Mase? Uhm, dinner’s ready if you want to eat” You sounded awkward as you stood outside the door to your own bedroom before turning to walk back to the dining room.

5 minutes later, Mason came out of your bedroom and sat down in front of you. You looked up at him for a moment, noticing how he had already changed into his pajamas.

“How was training?” You asked as he silently poked at his food before turning his gaze to you.

“It was fine” He mumbled quietly, yet loud enough that you could hear and slightly understand what he had said. He sounded like he wasn’t interested in having a conversation, so you respected it and stayed quiet for the rest of your meal.

After dinner, you brought your plate to the sink to wash it. Mason walked behind you and threw his plate in the sink, causing you to jump and turn to him.

“I’m sorry, but what the hell is wrong with you today?” You snapped at him, causing Mason to stop walking and turn to face you.

“What are you on about now, Y/n?” He sighed dramatically as he leaned on the refrigerator. You stared at him in disbelief.

“You came home in a pissy mood, and now you’re taking it out on me, and for what reason? I didn’t do anything to you, at least I don’t think I did. On the off-chance that I did indeed do something, then I’m sorry Mason, but you have to tell me-”

“Oh my god, it’s not about you, Y/n. For fucks sake, not everything is” Mason’s hands covered his face as he groaned in annoyance.

“Then could you please tell me what’s going on?” You folded your arms across your chest as you leaned against the sink, waiting to hear whatever he had to say.

“I’m just stressed out because of my stupid fucking contract and now I have a fucking reoccurring injury that makes it very difficult to get back to playing on the pitch with the squad”

“Mase, I get that it’s stressful but-” He cut you off.

“No you don’t, Y/n! You don’t understand how stressful this is for me. You’re at home taking phone calls & doing Zoom meetings while I’m out making the money so we can have this” He shouted as he gestured to everything around him. Tears began to form in your eyes as he shouted at you.

You’d always been a sensitive person, crying whenever someone had raised their voice or gave you any sort of criticism. Mason was very aware of this, and always chose to peacefully talk through things rather than get into a screaming match, but today was different.

“You know what, I get it, Mason. I understand that I don’t make nearly as much money as you do. I understand that I have the luxury of working from home while your job requires you to do physical activity, but you signed up for that job. For you to even insinuate that I don’t do shit for us is entirely disrespectful of you. I work hard, Mason, I really do. You don’t ever see that because, as a result of your chosen line of work, you’re barely ever here to acknowledge it. You can be stressed out with work all you want, but that doesn’t mean you have any right to take your frustrations out on me. Hell, I’m stressed too, but you don’t see me shouting at you & dumping all of my anger onto you like a punching bag. I even went out of my way to plan a little date for us tonight, despite being completely stressed out, but honestly, I don’t even want to be near you right now. You’ve done nothing but be a royal asshole to me since you got home, and I think I deserve better than that” You had a few tears streaming down your face as you spoke. Mason stared at you in shock as you turned the running water off and pushed past him to your bedroom.

You locked the door and immediately grabbed your suitcase, packing items you would need for a few days. You heard the front door slam shut, meaning Mason had just left. You grabbed your belongings, locked the front door and left.

You decided to drive to your parent’s house, which was about 45 minutes away. The drive was filled with silent sobs and tears slowly trickling down your face.

Upon your arrival at your parent’s house, you explained what had happened between you & Mason to your mother and she let you cry on her shoulder.

“Sweet girl” She hugged you tightly as you let the tears fall freely onto her shirt, holding her as close as possible.

“Men can be complete idiots sometimes. I’m sure he’s just under a lot of pressure right now and he accidentally took it out on you. I know you mean well, honey, but maybe he just needs some space & time to himself. Do you know how many times arguments like this happened between your father & I? He’ll come crawling back to you once he realizes how stupid he was” She reassured you as she squeezed you briefly before helping you take your belongings to the guest bedroom.

She left the room shortly after, allowing you to properly settle in. You took your charger out of your bag & plugged it into the outlet before taking your phone out of your pocket and plugging it in.

When your phone had adjusted to the new lighting in the room as opposed to the darkness of your pocket, the screen lit up, revealing a plethora of notifications.

You had 8 missed calls and 37 unread text messages from Mason. You decided to turn your phone off for the remainder of your stay at your parent’s residence.

As much as you loved Mason, he was the last person you wanted to see or talk to right now. His words hurt you, and you wouldn’t be quick to accept his apology.

~~~~~~~~~~

taglist

@ithinkimokeei @myheartgoesvroom @mounthings @tall-tanned-tattoo @itsnotgray @alwaysclassyeagle @charlewiss @pianoisland @fallingin20 @chelseagirl98 @lovelynikol16 @username-envy @pulisicsgirl @notsoattractivearenti @swimmingismywholelife @neverinadream @thoseboysinblue

[fatehbaz]

taking relentless severe psychic damage from watching several hours of videos of television commercial advertisements from the United States in December 1999.

a world-historical moment, an all-time high peak of self-assured smirking arrogance.

ascendant home computers and internet modems. a new millennium! a time after Cold War but before Nining Leven, with saxophone-playing heads of state and cheery Spielbierg-ian sentimentality attempting to plaster over 1970s/1980s disappointments and hangovers with renewed millennarian End-Of-History optimism.

come celebrate with us! look at these images of The Nation! from sparkling Times Square and the cast of "Friends" in bustling cosmopolitan New York City, to sunny Californian prosperity, to those cartoonish frogs in the quasi-mythical Deep South-ish rural periphery of Budweiser ads, and all the suburban Midwestern Kay's Jeweler's in between! planetary hegemony. "Head east from the Colosseum, across the ruts of chariots, and you'll find an imperial estate built by a second-century Caesar. It's a rough ride. And if the agile and durable Chevy Tracker can handle these ancient roads, driving back home will be a walk in the park. Chevy Tracker: It Gets Around!"

or perhaps "our" power extends beyond this terrestrial imperium, into space, conquering the stars. UFOs; space aliens; The X-Files; Independence Day; Space Jam; Men in Black; the Phoenix Lights; Coast to Coast AM on the radio; Space Command in Colorado Springs.

the anxious fragility belied by the desperate constant promotion of an almost religious dedication to recognizable icons.

talking chihuahuas, marketing jingles, annual football game events. self-referential circular cross-promotion maelstrom.

"An all-new holiday spectacular, a Christmas special destined to become a family classic! With music from REM's Michael Stipe, voiced by Ally McBeal's Peter MacNicol, and starring Drew Barrymore! It's Olive the Other Reindeer! At 8/7 Central Fox Friday!"

trying to insist that this "classic" cultural iconography binds us. it has always lived in your heart. fabricating in real-time a supposedly shared history, insisting on this "reality" even at the moment of its very creation. hammering away at the soul.

Daffy Duck saunters in and pronounces: "Eat your way into the new millennium with this 'gigundo' party sub from Subway!"

why aren't you smiling?

[writingquestionsanswered]

Not Sure About Character Parents

Anonymous asked: I might be overthinking, but is it weird that most of my main characters only have one present/active parent? I don't want to add unnecessary characters, but when one character's arc revolves partly around having a distant father (and no other parent), I worried the other characters having a similar situation takes some of the impact away. If it matters, most of the main characters are on the older side and it's a fantasy set in a medieval-ish world, so I suppose it wouldn't be weird if the parents had died of natural causes, but I wanted another perspective. Can I roll with what I have, or should I come up with plot-relevant characters to fill parental roles?

[Ask edited for length...]

The main issues with "absentee parents" in fiction is when you have characters who are minors and living at home--with scenes actually taking place at home, or scenes/elements that would realistically involve parents/parental concern--but no parents are evident.

Other than that... if your characters are no longer living with their parents (or staying with them through parts of the story), the parents don't need to be characters. You can work them in other ways, however, such as:

-- after sharing a childhood memory for character development reasons, have the character say they miss their parents and look forward to visiting them soon

-- have the character share a funny or sweet story about a parent

-- have the character share knowledge imparted on them by a parent

-- if the character is in a store or market, have them pick up an item to bring to a parent as a gift

-- have the character share something they have on them (a piece of jewelry, clothing, etc.) that was given to them by a parent

Or, just don't mention them at all if they're not relevant to what you're trying to accomplish with character development or character arc.

If you think about characters in favorite books or movies, you'll see it's not uncommon for parents of main characters to be only mentioned in passing, if they come up at all, even if they're still alive.

Again, it's really only a glaring issue if you have teenagers or kids, who are still living at home, with scenes where parents should be present or accounted for (such as scenes that take place at home), or things that would require parental concern or involvement (such as if your 14-year-old character is out at all hours of night but parental notice or concern is never addressed.)

I hope that helps!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[stygiusfic]

Timeline: Bhaal's return & Durge's birth

There is a lot of content about Bhaal and the city of Baldur's Gate in Forgotten Realms lore— including several adventure modules set around the same time as BG3 that feature both. Of course, The Dark Urge doesn't feature in them, as that character was a later addition to the city's history made when BG3 was created... so it can be hard to reconcile Durge's BG3 canon with pre-established Forgotten Realms canon. 

Unless, of course, you become obsessed with making it make sense, and fall into a rabbit hole of lore research and speculation for weeks on end. Which is what happened to me!

So here is my best approximation of a timeline that would integrate Durge within their world, without breaking either BG3 canon or pre-established Forgotten Realms canon (as far as I know, anyway... D&D lore is a tangled mess). Spoilers for BG3 abound, of course, and some for BG1 and BG2 as well.

Big shout-out to @nonbinaryeye for bringing this subject up in a fic comment and motivating me to finally put all this together!

(You can just scroll to the bottom of this post for an abridged version of this timeline, or keep reading here to get the detailed version!)

First, a brief recap of Bhaal's whole situation leading up to the game:

Baldur's Gate 3 takes place in the year 1492 DR. 

Well over a century before the game, in 1358 DR, Bhaal was killed at Boareskyr Bridge by Cyric, who took his portfolio as Lord of Murder. But Bhaal had foreseen his own murder, and he prepared for it. He spread his essence by impregnating a score of mortal women (many of them his priestesses) to sire the Bhaalspawn. 

These murderous children grew up to kill each other, with the winner usurping from the loser their share of Bhaal's essence, and consolidating his power. The wise Alaundo's prophecies about the Bhaalspawn said that Bhaal would be reborn from his spawn. The one who won out over all others, who had collected his scattered essence, would be a conduit.

The Lord of Murder shall perish, but in his doom, he shall spawn a score of mortal progeny. Chaos will be sown from their passage. [...] The deaths they bring shall awaken the father, and through them he will rise.

(The statues leading down to the Bhaal Temple say a bit of the prophecy! There's also an account you can find of someone quoting Sarevok's old journals.)

The "through them he will rise" bit was believed to have been foiled by the protagonist of BG1 and BG2, Gorion's Ward. He was the Bhaalspawn who eradicated all his evil siblings, and chose to be good and resist Bhaal. He rose to prominence in Baldur's Gate as Marshal of the Flaming Fist (with Ulder Ravenguard, Wyll's dad, serving directly under him) and a member of the ruling Council of Four. 

But in 1482 DR, a decade before BG3, during a speech in the Wide (the market in the Upper City), Gorion's Ward was attacked by another Bhaalspawn who had somehow escaped the purge, and the winner gained all of Bhaal's essence in that moment. They were overtaken by that essence and became the Slayer, slaughtering many of the citizens gathered there. 

Thus, Bhaal was at last reborn as Lord of Murder.

...Okay, but what does that mean for Durge?

Well, let's look at what we know about them. 

Durge's exact birthdate is unclear. However, we can safely assume that it happened within a few decades before Bhaal's rebirth in 1482 DR. I estimate it to be in the 1450s, no later than 1458-ish. 

This is because we know Sceleritas Fel found them "at the age of majority" (which doesn't necessarily correspond to real-world majority, but we'll assume it's in that ballpark). Sceleritas is canonically already with them in 1477 DR (the year that Larian's browser game Blood in Baldur's Gate takes place, which the butler features in). So Durge must have been, at the very least, 18-20 years old when that game takes place. 

That said, the vibe I get from Blood in Baldur's Gate is Sceleritas has been with them a while by that point, so I imagine them a few years older. 

But they could be entire decades older, too, if you prefer. Bhaalspawn do not age at the same rate as other members of their apparent species, so they could look youthful regardless of how many years they've been around. Gorion's Ward, a human, was pretty spry in 1482 DR, at around 130 years old! This trait would be even more salient in Durge, who is not just a Bhaalspawn but a titan, a demigod born without a mortal parent.

Durge was not born from Bhaal's seed, like all the Bhaalspawn before them, but from his flesh and blood. Sceleritas tells us as much in the game.

Going back to my Bhaal recap, in 1358 DR, Bhaal was slain on the Boareskyr Bridge above the Winding Water, a river that flows down to the Sea of Swords some distance north of Baldur's Gate. 

Forgotten Realms lore tells us that part of Bhaal's divinity and his blood spilled into the Winding Water when he was slain. So the most likely explanation for Durge's birth "from Bhaal's blood and gore" is that this gore gathered in the eddies of the river over a long period of time, and eventually its inherent divinity gave rise to a titan: baby Durge!

Though it's on the younger end of the spectrum, it's fun to imagine Durge was born from this gore in 1458 DR, a perfect century after Bhaal's murder. Poetic!

Durge "wandered" for a time before Sceleritas found them. The Winding Water runs relatively close to Baldur's Gate in the map, but immediately nearby there's not a whole lot of civilization. And Bhaal loooooooves Baldur's Gate! 

Ed Greenwood, who crafted a lot of Forgotten Realms lore around Bhaal, tells us Bhaal's lingering essence within Gorion's Ward drew him toward Baldur's Gate, instead of his native Candlekeep where he'd retired after his adventures. So it's easy to assume that this same impulse moved baby Durge to travel to the city, and along the way (or perhaps once there) acquire the "unique" skills they possess that aren't a direct result of their lineage (essentially, their D&D class). 

Durge was taken in by a family of humble means in Baldur's Gate, and eventually was compelled by Bhaal's influence on them to murder that adoptive family.

We see that in a flashback in the game (if Heal is cast on Durge either before being freed of Bhaal's influence by Withers, or after accepting to become Chosen). They seem to have been quite young when this happened; it was perhaps the first manifestation of the Urge within them.  

I have to assume that this was a traumatic experience for them. (Trauma would not be a hindrance to their indoctrination into Bhaal's worship—in fact, traumatic experiences are used to strengthen bonds within cults in the real world. But that's a long post for another time.) In any case, at some point, Sceleritas reveals himself to them and starts to lead them along the path Bhaal wants for them.

Whatever Durge's fears and misgivings, by 1477 DR, they've embraced their murderous inspiration, at least enough to follow its call a good handful of times. 

In 1477 DR, Durge commits a series of shockingly grotesque murders in the city, as shown in the browser game Blood in Baldur's Gate. They are never caught, as the player character investigating (Tav, as named in the game) is killed by Durge themselves.

At this time, by the way, Gorion's Ward is already Marshal of the Flaming Fist. We know he rose to that position after the previous Marshal was killed in a coup by Duke Valerken.

(No exact date is given for this coup, mentioned in the adventure module Murder in Baldur's Gate, which revolves around Bhaal's rebirth. But from information given within the module, we can place the coup between 1440 and 1460 DR, at least a decade and a half before Durge's murder spree).

So Gorion's Ward did not recognize the work of a fellow Bhaalspawn. Perhaps he thought the curse of the Bhaalspawn had been ended through his own victory over the rest!

It is unlikely that Durge was in contact with Sarevok's cult of Bhaal in the city at this point.

The reason why I think this is because the lair that the investigator Tav is led to for their murder at the end of Blood in Baldur's Gate is not the Temple of Bhaal, but rather seems like a personal dwelling in the tunnels of the city. 

I like to imagine that Durge committed those murders to impress and prove their value to Bhaal, guided by Sceleritas Fel's advice. It's possible that as a result of proving themself so, they became known to Sarevok's cult, and established contact that way—but that would be the earliest likely moment of contact. 

Wow, this is long! If you're still here, go stretch and drink some water! 

Okay, great. So, this post all came about because I had Gortash in my Hall of Wonders heist fic wondering how come Durge could be a Bhaalspawn, when all Bhaalspawn were supposed to have died out at Bhaal's rebirth in 1482, to return his essence to him.

(This is the question that was driving me mad before I lost my mind and many many hours of my life to the research you just read.)

The math, as I see it, is:

Bhaal gives out his "essence" ("his seed") via fathering a ton of Bhaalspawn with mortal women. You know how people are 2/3rds water? Let's say 2/3rds of Bhaal is the seed he gives out. He did get busy.

That leaves the 1/3rd that's his actual body. Which is where Durge comes from (his blood and gore).

So the "essence" that Alaundo's prophecy talked about, that had to be gathered again for Bhaal to be reborn, is those 2/3rds, the seed, the original Bhaalspawn.  

So Durge exists outside that math!

Presumably, Bhaalspawn with a very diluted degree of his essence could be excluded without the resurrection failing. (If he's missing 0.1% of what he gave out, well, it's not a big deal, right?)

This does also mean that Sarevok's Bhaal essence must have gone back to the Throne of Blood when he got killed by Gorion's Ward and the gang in the first game. His bit of essence got added to Gorion's Ward's at that point. 

This would explain why Sceleritas is such a hater about Orin's legitimacy as a "Bhaalspawn". She would have the dregs of Sarevok's dregs—but Bhaal's favor since she was a child, when she killed her mom, may have accounted for the bulk of her bloody obsessions. 

And there it is! Believe it or not, I did cut out some stuff because I couldn't face the length of this post. So there will probably be more, because this is where my brain lives now.