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#fic.ask
milflewis · 1 year
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Hi, I don't know if you're still accepting three sentence requests but Valewis and "it's always been you"... I'm so emotional about them rn
“For how long?”
Valtteri’s chest feels like it’s caving in and he presses a fist into his stomach.
Lewis shrugs, not looking at him as he unties the laces of his shoes. “I don’t know, man. Maybe, like, 2019?” He pauses, face scrunching. “Definitely before 2020 anyway.”
“Right. Okay, okay, okay.” He needs to sit down. He does. The room still seems to be spinning.
“Hey,” Lewis is saying, voice low and soft, and he’s looking at Valtteri now, one shoe off and one shoe on. “Are you alright?”
Valtteri swallows, hands flat on his legs, fingers digging into his race suit. “Yeah, yeah, uh, no? No, um, I just, this is all a bit of a shock?”
“Oh.” Lewis squints at him. “You mean you really didn’t know?”
“No!” Valtteri tries to breathe. “No,” he tries again, tasting each word. “No, I didn’t know you have been in love with me for years.”
“Oh,” Lewis says again, frowning. “Are you, uh, are you sure? ‘Cause, like, everyone knows? So i guess I just figured you did too and we just weren’t talking about it ‘cause we both knew and it wasn’t a thing ‘cause you knew that I knew that you didn’t love me back and it was all cool.”
Valtteri blinks. “I — you knew — what.”
Lewis exhales shakily, starting to look a little wide eyed, starting to look like how Valtteri feels. “Hey, I, uh, I really thought you knew, man. I swear to god I wasn’t lying to you, or, or, keeping secrets, or —“ His palms are spread, arms open.
Valtteri can’t think. That you didn’t love me back. What the fuck.
“It’s just,” Lewis is still going. “It’s just always been you, you know? And, like, I know I’m not very subtle and everyone knew so I — how did you not know?”
“I don’t know,” Valtteri says, sounding very far away. “The same way you didn’t know I loved you back, I guess.”
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hyungszn · 2 months
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lino drabble was hot. lino drabble was so hot. I've never been more satisfied with a thing I was waiting for.
it was so not sexy. but i’m glad u are happy with it!!!
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miekasa · 2 years
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reading a short five page essay that my professor assigned for the day: 😿
reading mie’s 19k word fanfic about rich boy eren: 🤤
anywho, i am always thinking about nice!eren <33 love him sm <33 also,, what ny college do you think each character attends,, i have my own ideas but i wanna hear yours
SHSKDKD PLEASE you guys are so :(( I say it every time I get an ask about this fic, but it means so much to me that you all continue to read/reference it after so long :(( that fic is my baby, I’m glad you all like it!! And please do tell me your ideas!!!!
Armin, Annie, Connie, and Sasha all go to NYU. Armin and Connie are in the same program for computer science. Annie goes to the school of business, and Sasha is in the arts program. All the NYU students are a year or two younger than everyone else, so they’re all sophomores, but, Connie and Armin will probably graduate a year early.
Reader, Eren, Jean, Bertolt, Reiner, and Ymir all attend Columbia. OC majored in engineering and physics, Ymir does radiology sciences and is basically pre-med, Jean and Eren are both in Arts & Science, and Bertolt and Reiner both attend the business school, but Bertolt does a double major in Media and Literacy. Bertolt is also a sophomore, but all the other Columbia students are seniors.
Mikasa goes to Parson’s for fashion design and history. She’s being vetted by Vogue and LV, but Carla called dibs lmfaooo.
When NICE takes place, it’s towards the end of their fall semester. By the time they’re going to France, Eren, Jean, and Mikasa are all done with the requirements for their degree, so they’re not in school the following semester.
Hange, Levi, Erwin, and Moblit are also Columbia students, but attend the grad school. Hange and Moblit went to Brown for undergrad, and Erwin was going to go to Princeton, but stayed in the city.
Marco doesn’t go to college, tho he is the same age as everyone else at Columbia. He’s about to inherit his family’s company, so he’s basically spent the last three and half years networking, schmoozing, and being molded into a CEO.
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phansprings · 5 years
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for october first do you mean american college or british college??
however you wanna interpret it friend! I was thinking more American college but I’ll specify it as just “school” meaning highschool/college/uni.
(also my prompts are just suggestions if people are stuck but want to create and maybe find inspiration, so really you can create whatever you want for fictober)
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milflewis · 1 year
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sebastidewis + visiting the farm
“Hello, Lewis.”
Lewis reaches out a fist and Mick grins, Mercedes jacket zipped up to his chin, and bumps his knuckles with his. Lewis goes back to tugging on his racing gloves, slipping his arms into the sleeves of his suit. Today will be a good day, he thinks, furiously.
“Have you talked to Sebastian or Daniel recently?”
George is heading out before him, the low roar of his car rumbling past them. Mick’s voice is quiet enough that if Lewis wanted to, he could pretend not to hear.
Lewis turns to look at him and Mick, to his credit, does not blink. “No,” Lewis says because lying is not that kind of karma he needs right now and because he is too old for games. Mick hums, hands in his pockets, rocking forward onto his toes and then back on his heels.
“You should,” he says eventually and then. “They miss you.”
Lewis breathes. “That’s not fair.” It slips out before he can stop it. He presses his lips together.
Mick shrugs. “No. But one of you has to reach out first and I don’t,” Mick stops, frowning a little. He never was good at criticising Sebastian. “I don’t think they will do it.”
Lewis picks up his helmet, splaying his fingers across the smooth cool surface. “Yeah.”
He does not say that’s not fair again. He does not say why do I have to be the one to reach out when they have each other, when I’m the one that’s alone. He does not say why is it always me that has to ask, why is it always me who has to be brave, why is it always on me.
“You are too like your dad,” Lewis tells him and Mick laughs, a little startled. He pulls on his helmet.
“Yeah?” It’s a testament, really, to the time and care Lewis and Mick have put into their relationship over the past year and a bit — hours in the sim, in meetings, Lewis ‘casually’ inviting Mick on walks with Roscoe because Sebastian won’t stop texting him, worried, and Mick, equally as casual, inviting him to the gym, because, Lewis suspects, Seb won’t stop texting him — that Mick is smiling, face relaxed, that he doesn’t automatically assume that this will sting.
“Yeah,” Lewis says, climbing into the car. “He is such a gossip, man.”
Mick laughs again, patting Lewis’s helmet, once, twice, before moving away.
Daniel texts back almost instantly when Lewis messages him, the tickmark going blue before he even has a chance to breathe.
omg mate did i see the recent love island????
did i????? ofc i did !!!!!! fucking mental
i cannot BELIVE that she still took him back. like. bro. what r u doing
Lewis laughs. He closes his eyes, pressing the tip of his phone against his forehead and swallows.
yeah man. shit is fucked. tommy is so much better for her. and that guy jack or smth???? what’s his deal??
Sebastian has flour on his cheek when he answers the phone, smile bright, wary. Something in his face softens, just slightly, when he sees Lewis.
“What are you making?”
“Hmm?” Sebastian frowns at him, tilting his head to the side. Lewis rolls his eyes, grinning, and gestures at his face. “Your cheek. You’ve got flour, man. You baking?”
“Oh.” Sebastian laughs, hand coming up to flutter at his hair for a moment before dropping. “Yes.” The screen blurs, Sebastian walking, and then Lewis is propped up against something, a window sill maybe, able to see the tiles of Sebastian and Daniel’s kitchen, the wooden island, Seb’s kiss the cook apron. His shirt is unbuttoned at the throat, gaping a little, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hands are also covered in flour.
“I am making sourdough,” Sebastian says, and lifts up a blob of light cream dough. “That recipe I did — a few years ago. Trying to recreate it.”
Lewis nods, holding the phone closer. Sebastian has yet to cut his hair and it curls around his ears, dipping into his collar. “The one you gave me?”
Sebastian pauses, watching his hands knead the dough before he grins, looking up. “Yeah, that one.”
“I liked that one,” Lewis says. “One of my favourites.”
Sebastian, because he is Sebastian and likes to poke at things to see what noise they make, to see if they’ll bite back, and because he cannot not celebrate an anniversary, had decided to bake Lewis a loaf of bread for their one year anniversary of Baku, back in 2018. Valtteri had laughed himself sick, nearly knocking the controller out of Lewis’s hand when he told him.
“Yeah,” Sebastian says, eyes very blue, even through the tiny screen. “I know.”
"Daniel has started texting me."
Lewis lifts his feet off the chair beside him, turning in his seat to look at Valtteri who flops into the now empty chair. He's frowning, mouth a flat line. He's holding two cups, steam wafting out from them. Lewis grins when he takes one, breathing it in to find it's hot chocolate.
"Okay," Lewis says, slowly, not sure what that has to do with him. Valtteri rolls his eyes, cheeks pink, when Lewis doesn't continue.
"Would you please fuck him or tell him that you won't ever like him like that so he will stop talking to me." Valtteri pauses, considering. “And soon, please, before Sebastian starts texting me too.”
Lewis blinks. "You do know that even if I do that, he won't stop?"
Valtteri grimaces, crossing his arms. "Whatever. I live in hope. At least if you tell him, he'll be a little less pathetic about it."
Lewis laughs, coughing as the hot drink burns his tongue.
"Careful," Valtteri says, handing Lewis a tissue, eyes serious. "It's hot."
Lewis kicks him and Valterri knocks his cap off trying to shove Lewis away so he won't spill his coffee.
"Can you reheat chicken in a microwave?"
Lewis puts the phone down on the ground beside him so he can stretch his legs out in front, grabbing his ankles and pulling. It's early - sun creeping over the buildings, glancing off the Monaco harbour, the morning chill still clinging to the damp grass. He hasn't seen a single person since he started running up one of the trails outside the city.
"You worry me."
Daniel's laugh is high and familiar, even through the tinny speaker. "C'mon, mate. The least you can do is answer my question if you're going to be a cunt about it."
Lewis grins, shaking his head, his hamstrings aching gently. "Yeah, you can microwave chicken, you asshole. Also, being concerned that you've gotten to the age of, what, 32? 33? Without knowing if you can reheat chicken in a microwave or not is not me being a cunt."
Daniel hums, laughing again, and there's a sticking sound of what sounds like wax wrapping. Lewis lets go of his ankles and presses his knuckles into his mouth, hard and firm. He flops back onto the grass, closing his eyes. He wonders if Sebastian's wax-clingfilm-and-tinfoil-alternative has the same pattern of bees as the one he gave Lewis a few Christmases ago.
"Aw, babe, I knew you worried about me. That's adorable, but you shouldn't stress your pretty little head about lil 'ol me. Seb isn't a bad cook."
Lewis throws an arm over his eyes. "Oh, yeah?"
Daniel clicks his tongue. A series of beeps and then the whirr of a microwave. "Yeah, pretty good, actually, if you ever want to pop over for a visit."
Lewis smiles. "Maybe I will."
“You should.” Daniel’s voice is warm and low. “And we’ve got chickens. You haven’t met them yet.”
“No, I haven’t.” Lewis says. “Should fix that soon, maybe.”
“Where’s Daniel?”
Sebastian raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the tires, arms crossed. He’s smiling, but then again, Sebastian is always smiling. “Hi Lewis, how are you? Me? Oh, I am doing okay. It has been ages since I’ve last seen you, I know.”
Lewis rolls his eyes, laughing, and reaches out to pull Sebastian in, who comes easily, hand curled around Lewis’s elbow, thumb tucked in. He smells of plain soap and this natural deodorant that he’s been trying out for the past year or so and his hair feels the same against Lewis’s cheek as it always used to, except maybe softer —
“You’re using the conditioner I sent you,” Lewis says, pulling back. He holds Sebastian by the shoulders, bony and strong. Sebastian’s smile widens, hunching in a little.
“I am.”
Lewis bites at his cheek, nodding. “Looks good.” He squeezes Seb’s shoulders one more time before letting go. Sebastian does not move back. He leans closer, ducking his head and looking up at Lewis. His runners are toe to toe with Lewis’s race boots. The laces are frayed and splitting, the sides of his shoes scuffed.
"You think so?"
Lewis follows the curve of Sebastian's wrist, the movement of his fingers, as he tucks a curl back behind his ear. His eyes narrow.
"Are you-?"
"Lewis."
Toto is frowning, half lifting his headphones away from his ear. He looks deliberately at the car and then back to Lewis. Mick is grinning at the screen in the chair beside him, shoulders shaking. Sebastian laughs, squeezing Lewis's hip.
"I'll see you after?"
Lewis hums, grabbing his balaclava off of Angela. "Yeah? You'll be here?"
Sebastian rubs at his eye with his middle finger, smiling. "Of course, I'll be here. Where else would I go?"
Lewis shrugs, pulling at the material, mouth dry. "Where's Daniel?"
Sebastian rolls his eyes, waving a hand, thick black ring catching off the light. "Ah, you know," he says, making a derisive noise in the back of his throat. "Off fraternising with the enemy. The traitor."
Lewis chokes on a laugh, soap and sweat filling his nose as he pulls of the balaclava, Angela holding his hair. "He works for them, you know. Which you used to do too."
Sebastian pulls a wounded face, mouth turning down, eyes wide. Lewis would think he looks like Charles but he suspects that Charles copied Seb. "I have seen the light since then. All grown up. Other things..." he swallows, looking away and back again. "Other things are more important to me now."
Something in Lewis goes quiet as he tugs on his gloves, chest still and hollow. He picks up a spare pair of headphones and throws them at Sebastian when he grins, quick and sudden, making a show of looking down between Lewis's legs and licking his lips. The helmet presses against Lewis's cheeks when he's in the car, squishing his smile back into his mouth.
Daniel is shirtless when he opens the door. He isn't wearing any pants either, clad only in a very small pair of boxer shorts that have little badgers on them and giant fluffy socks. He grins when he sees Lewis, leaning against the door frame with one arm, hip cocked.
"Fuck," he says, shaking his head. "You'd think I'd know better by now."
"What." Lewis fights back the urge to tuck his hands into the giant pocket of his hoodie, or to turn tail and run all the way back to Monaco, or maybe even England.
"To think I know you better than Seb does. Sebby! I owe you a blowjob!" Daniel calls over his shoulder. Lewis's eyes catch on Daniel's right thigh. He hasn't seen that tattoo before. He can hear Sebastian yell something back, deeper in the house, and Daniel laughs. "He knew you'd come."
"You bet on me coming here?" Lewis's voice sounds distant to him, fingers tingling. He grips the handle of his suitcase. "With blowjobs?"
"Lewis." Daniel's smile dims a little, eyes growing serious. He pushes off the door jam and steps closer. "It's called manifestation, I don't know if you've ever heard about it?"
Lewis is laughing when Daniel kisses him, hand curling over his, stealing his bag from him. His mouth is eager and wet and tastes of coffee and touthpaste. Sebastian is at the door when Lewis pulls away, Daniel following his mouth for a moment. Sebastian lifts up Lewis's suitcase, woolly jumper almost at his knees. "Can't leave now. Not without your stuff."
"Shit," Lewis says, tucking his now free hand into the waistband of Daniel's boxers, who presses up against him, completely shameless. "Guess I'm here to stay."
Sebastian's smile is blinding as Daniel's mouth opens easily under Lewis's, curls soft under his hands.
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milflewis · 1 year
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Yukierre Coffee Shop AU because they are adorable like that
The door opens, the fucking bell that Lewis refuses to get rid of ringing faintly, and then, “Hello, can I have an expresso?”
Yuki stops wiping down the counter and crosses his arms. “This is your fourth coffee today.”
The man grins at him, curls falling into his face, leaning on Yuki’s newly cleaned counter. “What can I say, I have good taste and….” He lets his eyes wander up and down Yuki’s body, lingering on his arms. “The coffee here is really good.”
Yuki raises an eyebrow, kicking Alex who is laughing behind the coffee machine. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”
The man laughs, hand coming up to rub at his mouth, winking. “Worth it, though.”
Yuki rolls his eyes, jabbing the price into the card holder, stomach fizzing and hot.
“I’m Pierre,” he says, voice low, leaning in even closer. He’s practically lying on the countertop now and Alex is near in tears as he tries to muffle his laughs. He smells of cologne and rain, hair damp.
“I don’t care and that’ll be 3.20,” Yuki says, holding out the card holder.
send me a pairing and an au prompt and i’ll write a three sentence (ish) fic about it
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milflewis · 1 year
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Yukierre, facetime
“— yeah, so as you can see, not much as changed since you left, honestly.”
Pierre hums, Alex chatting away as he passes through the Alpha Tauri garage. The Williams garage is generally closer than the Alpine one. Which is why Alex knows better than he would. Obviously. Nothing more than that.
He lies back on his bed, bringing the phone with him, propping it up against his pillow. “Is Yuki there?”
Alex takes a moment to answer. “Uh, yeah,” he clears his throat. “Yeah, he is.”
He turns the phone so Pierre can see Yuki down the corridor, laughing, leaning on Nyck who’s grinning at him. One of the mechanics is throwing something at them. It makes Yuki laugh even harder.
“Do you want me to go over and say hi?” Alex asks, and Pierre wants to tear out his tongue at how soft his voice sounds.
“No,” he says instead. “He looks busy. No point bothering him.”
send me a pairing and a prompt and i’ll write a three sentence (ish) fic about it
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milflewis · 1 year
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okay, how about, sewis+lying? 👀
ok so you accidentally sent this twice n i was going to delete but it inspired me to actually start writing my bodyswap au so here you go. hope you like it !!
Sebastian stretches, groaning a little as something in his back catches and pulls. He knew Lewis was lying when he said he was fine.
The phone on the bedside table beside him starts buzzing. Sebastian picks it up, flopping back onto the bed as he answers.
“Why don’t you have any of the conditioner I sent you in your shower?”
Sebastian throws an arm over his eyes, blocking out the sun. Lewis always sleeps with his curtains open. To motivate him out of bed or something, wake up with the sun and all that. The lengths Lewis will go to to pretend he’s a morning person when he, most definitely, is not one will never not be funny to Sebastian.
Lewis’s voice is thick with sleep as Sebastian tries to explain that he left it at home. Morning person like fuck, Seb thinks and grins.
“Seb,” Lewis says and even after all these years, it’s a little weird to hear Lewis saying his name in that way that he does, like he’s trying to say something else, in Sebastian’s voice. “You’re supposed to bring it with you. You know, when you’re packing up the rest of your stuff?”
Sebastian sighs, pulling the duvet up over his shoulders. Lewis’s body always gets colder easier than his own. “I forgot.”
Lewis hums, unimpressed, the sound of water turning on faint in the background.
“I thought you said your back didn’t hurt.”
It’s Lewis’s turn to sigh. “I said I was fine, not that it didn’t hurt.”
Sebastian rolls his eyes even though Lewis can’t see him. He puts the phone on speaker, placing it on the pillow beside his head, hands going back under the covers. He’s careful to keep them above his waist, tangled in the sheets.
Jenson had taken Sebastian out for drinks last night. Seb hadn’t meant to fall asleep to thoughts of Lewis, of wanting him on his mind, but apparently, he had. Not the first time this has happened, Seb thinks, and probably not the last either. At least, they’re used to this.
(It is one of the few things that they never talk about, fifteen years and counting.)
“Do you have anything to do today?” Seb asks, eyes half closed. Lewis laughs in his ear, low and soft, for a second before cursing.
“Seb. Seb. Sebastian, get the fuck up. Don’t you dare ruin my sleep pattern.”
Sebastian groans, rolling over to bury his face into Lewis’s lovely silk pillows.
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milflewis · 1 year
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Makkinen + royalty au 🥺
“What’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?”
The man laughs, shoulders broad in white leather, hair blond and falling into his face. Michael wants to lick along the line of his jaw and up his cheekbones.
“I bet you say that to all the guys….,” he grins, eyes flicking down to the waistband of Michael’s race suit. There’s a faint red mark just above his collar. Michael remembers the taste of his skin; all salt and soap and Michael’s beer that he’d accidentally spilled on him, minutes earlier. Michael shifts on his feet, hips tilting forward. The man’s smile widens. “Schumacher.”
Michael winks at him, letting heat enter his eyes, hands sliding into his race suit, thumbs hooking into the material. Niki is glaring at him from across the paddock, tapping at his watch, before faltering, eyes going slightly wide when he spots who Michael is talking to.
Michael is about to ask for his name, or maybe just if he wants a tour of the Ferrari garage, he’s hoping he can convince him to stick around so they can reenact last night after Michael wins, when a frazzled looking man comes running up to them, clipboard in his hands, hair wild.
“Your Highness! Oh thank god, we’ve been looking for you all over.”
The man winces, smile growing sheepish.
Michael blinks at him. “Your what.”
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milflewis · 2 years
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sebchal + gold
lol i am sorry it took so long. wasn’t able to write for ages so only going through these prompts now. anyway here’s 2k of medieval sebchal dancing around each other for you !! hope you like it bestie
“May I ask what exactly are you doing, Your Highness?”
Fuck.
Charles knocks his head against the stone arch as he startles, flailing around, cheeks hot. He swears out loud when he sees Pierre behind him and not Lord Mattia.
“You’ve gotten way too good at his voice,” Charles says.
Pierre is laughing as he steps up beside him, dark blue tunic broad across his shoulders. There’s a faint pink scratch along his jaw. Pierre refuses to let anyone else but himself shave his beard. The dirt from the war, Charles has found, has clung to people differently.
He looks good though, eyes bright, face unshadowed and clean, hair falling into his forehead. His ring burns bronze in the sun as he rubs his fingers against his mouth, peering over the low balcony wall.
“Ah,” he says, a little smug. “I see.”
Charles elbows him in the ribs as Pierre laughs again. “I was admiring your husband,” Charles says, turning back to the training ground below them.
Pierre hums as they watch Yuki grin down at Alex who’s lying flat at his feet, legs sprawled, sword fallen off to the side. Yuki laughs, jumping a little when Alex tries to kick his feet out from under him, and Charles watches Pierre’s face soften from the corner of his eye.
“Understandable,” Pierre says quietly. “He’s very admirable.”
He smiles and there’s something sharp in his eyes that reminds Charles of when they were younger and the kingdom was smaller and Pierre used to shove Charles into Alex during dances because he knew Charles had a crush on the older boy and thought he was a lot funnier than he actually was.
“Speaking of admirable,” Pierre nods to the training ring just below them, right where Charles was definitely not looking earlier.
Ser Lewis Hamilton is laughing as he pulls off his helmet, curls damp with sweat and wild around his face, and throws it to one side. He spins his axe in small tight circles, metal glinting liquid and bright in the low morning sun. Charles recognises it to be Ser Valtteri’s, though the other knight is nowhere to be seen. Lewis’s own famous broadsword is leaning up against the table where the rest of their armour is strewn around.
Lewis is now down to just his right vambrace.
“What are they doing?” Pierre asks, eyes tracing the width of Lewis’s shoulders. Charles rolls his eyes, typical.
“A training game, I think. If one of them hits a body part, the other one has to lose the armour they’re wearing there and then if they get hit there again, they can no longer use the limb.”
Pierre chews the inside of his cheek for a moment, trying not to smile. It only makes his dimples press in deeper.
“That’s not what they normally wear,” he says and Charles grins.
He watches as Lord Sebastian Vettel points his sword at Lewis’s chest, giving him a half salute with it and a wink. He had taken off his tunic when he removed his breastplate earlier. His undershirt is dark with sweat and clings to the curve of his arms.
“No, it’s not.”
Their usual armour of dark grey steel and brown leather is nowhere to be seen. Instead, they’ve chosen to wear their golden ceremonial armour; winged helmets, heavy vambraces and metal boots. No one can spend more than five minutes in this castle when there are celebrations on and not hear Sebastian petitioning to King Michael on why exactly he shouldn’t have to wear the absolute ridiculous costume that Lord Wolff insists on them wearing and how could they defend Your Majesty if something happened when they could barely walk under all the extra metal and ornaments and it’s a waste, Sire, it should be given to the poor and even what Lewis wears on his days off is less ostentatious than this.
Lewis stands beside him, face solemn and serious, and says, like he’s announcing that they lost the northern flank and will have to retreat, that he, regretfully, cannot find his armour. He had the audacity to say, one year, that he fears his horse, Roscoe, may have ran off with it and that he’s not sure where he must have put it because Lewis had checked his stables and hadn’t been able to find it. Charles had nearly had to leave the hall as he tried not to laugh at the look on Michael’s face. Valtteri doesn’t even bother to come up with an excuse when he turns up, not wearing it.
Lewis seems to have had no trouble finding it now and neither of them appear at all slowed down by it.
Sebastian grins at him, flicking his hair from his face, down to two vambraces.
They watch as Sebastian attacks, slicing at Lewis’s gut before twisting his hand and arching the blade up. Lewis parries with the hilt of his long-axe and grins, slamming his forehead into Sebastian’s face, who curses. Sebastian stumbles, barely half a step backwards, but it’s enough space for Lewis to kick him in the chest. He follows him close, knocking his sword away. It all happens to quickly that Charles barely has time to blink.
Lewis presses the blade of his axe gently against Sebastian’s throat with one hand as he reaches for the knife at his waist and pulls it out. He taps the blade on Sebastian’s two vambraces as Sebastian glares at him.
“You already won, Hamilton,” Sebastian scowls, pushing the axe away with a careless hand. “There was no need to take my vambraces too.”
Lewis laughs, following him to the table where they left the rest of their armour. “Oh, but there was.” He bumps his shoulder into Sebastian’s. “It was funny. And aren’t you always telling me that I should laugh more?”
Sebastian grimaces, eyes light, and runs a hand though his hair.
“Since when have you ever listened to me?” He scrambles to hold up a hand, nearly hitting Lewis in the face. “And don’t say Baku. I explicitly told you not to talk to that man and—”
Lewis scoffs, “You fucking did not. You said to talk to him, that he had been watching me all night, and that he was a knight, not a bloody king.”
“How was I supposed to know that you were going to tell him that you heard a knight is always as hard as his armour and if you could check if the rumours are true?”
Charles chokes on nothing as Pierre starts giggling beside him.
Lewis shoves him and Sebastian laughs, something catching in Charles’s chest at the sound. “I was drunk, you bastard.”
“I still can’t believe that line worked. Though, King Jenson isn’t exactly the classiest of people.”
Lewis makes a noise in the back of his throat, half incredulous, “What has the world come to when Lord Sebastian Vettel is commentating on the lack of classiness a person has.”
Sebastian shrugs, the movement easy and rolling, and grins, his smile clumsy and wide on his face.
“What can I say, I am a pillar of virtue.”
Lewis laughs, eyes crinkling, Sebastian’s smile growing wider at the sight of it.
“Well,” Pierre says, voice pitched low, already smirking. Charles braces himself for whatever he is about to say. “I don’t think that is the kind of strip show you have been wanting Lord Vettel to do for you for years but I certainly enjoyed it.”
Charles coughs, and ignores his friend as Pierre cackles beside him. He slaps Pierre’s hand away when he reaches up to poke one of Charles’s flaming cheeks.
Lewis looks up, ruffling his hair, and catches Charles’s eye. Charles freezes, feeling like he’s caught doing something wrong even though there are at least half a dozen people watching training this morning. His eyes are dark and unreadable like they often are but then after a moment, he grins at him, nodding a little. Charles swallows back the heat of embarrassment at the weight of knowing in Lewis’s eyes and returns his nod.
Lewis reaches for one of the waterskins on the ground beside Sebastian, mouth moving, words too quiet for Charles to hear. Pierre laughs beside him.
Sebastian seems to still, his own waterskin halfway to his lips. Charles tries very hard to ignore how Lewis glances up at him again before saying something else that makes Sebastian’s training flushed cheeks darken even further.
Sebastian rolls his eyes, hair glowing light at the edges. Sometimes, Charles finds it difficult to look straight at him, catches himself looking a little to the left of him, at the space right above his ear.
“I nearly had you,” Charles can hear him say and his stomach sparks something hot and fizzing at the low scratch of his voice.
Lewis laughs again, pausing in taking off the last piece of his armour, a deep gold that is now dusty and scuffed, hand against his chest. “Nearly, old friend, as you very well know, is not good enough.”
Charles doesn’t miss the way Sebastian’s eyes flicker down to the long slash of a scar that circles Lewis’s throat where they tried to behead him and, like most people who try to stop the unmovable force that is Lewis Hamilton, they failed, before laughing with him.
“True,” Sebastian says, and throws the rest of his water into Lewis’s face. He tackles him at the waist while the other knight is distracted, both of them tumbling into the ground, dust and sand coughing up around them.
Pierre sighs heavily beside him. “I am a wonderful friend, I hope you know that.”
“You’re the worst,” Charles says, already dreading what Pierre’s about to do.
Pierre grins and ducks around him, too quick for Charles to catch him, and hurries down the stairs to their left. Stairs that lead to the courtyard.
Charles swears and follows him, nearly tripping over his feet. By the time he gets outside, Pierre is talking to Lewis and Sebastian, cheeks slightly pink, smile soft. The two knights are no longer wrestling on the ground, shirts dirty and untucked. The neck of Sebastian’s shirt is stretched out slightly, sweat pooling along his collarbone. Want hits Charles deep in his chest and he curls his fingers into fists, hands behind his back.
They half bow as Charles approaches them, one hand on their chests, and he awkwardly waves them off.
“Prince Charles,” Lewis says, eyes laughing, and Sebastian only smiles at him, saying nothing. “Sirs,” Charles replies, trying to not visibly react as Sebastian glances down at Charles’s chest where his shirt is open quite a bit. It’s hot, Charles wants to tell him and tries not to blush. His necklace feels heavy around his throat.
Beautiful, Sebastian had said, years ago, on Charles’s twenty-first birthday, stepping back. His fingers had been warm and feather-light where they brushed his neck as they clasped the chain together. Charles had wanted to grab them, trace their callouses, but he had only smiled, thank you, sir.
Call me Sebastian, Sebastian had laughed because Sebastian was always laughing. I couldn’t possibly, Charles had said, but thank you. Sebastian had shrugged, I’ll convince you. I’ve been told I can be quite stubborn. I’ll keep pestering you for as long as it takes. Charles had laughed, the next person holding a gift approaching, and thought, do you swear it?
Lewis leans one elbow on Sebastian’s shoulder as he takes off a boot, pouring the sand out. “I saw you watching us, Your Highness. I hope we put on a good show for you.”
He laughs as Sebastian steps on his foot.
Charles falters. “You looked very, um, your form looked very well. I mean, I —”
Why is he still talking?
“Your swordplay was very, um, precise. And, uh, experienced? I mean—”
“We know what you mean, Your Highness,” Sebastian interrupts, voice soft. “Thank you.”
Charles clears his throat. “Yes, well, you’re welcome.”
By the gods, shut up, Charles.
He cringes internally and stays focused on Sebastian’s face so he doesn’t have to look at Lewis’s who always seems to catch him looking at Sebastian during balls and meetings when he should be paying attention to everything else. He can practically feel Pierre vibrating beside him from the strain of holding in his laughter.
Charles keeps his mouth shut for the rest of the conversation, watching as Sebastian eventually drags his stare away, listening to whatever Pierre and Lewis are talking about.
He makes himself be distracted by George and Alex sparring two rings over, Yuki now gone, and not by Sebastian’s fingers playing with the strings of his shirt, the light hair on the back of his hand visible in the sun. His hands are smaller than mine, Charles thinks and despairs at himself.
Sebastian’s smile is quiet and his words are soft when he says, “Goodbye, Your Highness. Your Grace.” Lewis nods at both of them, eyes flickering from Sebastian to Charles back to Sebastian again, more brazen and bold than most would be.
Charles ignores him and he grins, saying something to Sebastian as they walk away that makes Sebastian speed up a little so Lewis has to jog to catch up.
“‘Your swordplay is experienced’. Really, petit calamardo? That’s the best you could do?”
Charles groans, dragging his hands down his face. “I am begging you to leave me alone.”
“Experienced! You just called Lord Vettel old, Charles. Old.”
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milflewis · 1 year
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Pierre&Arthur and sth about Monaco or yachts
happy birthday bestie !! (threw in some background sebchal for you) hope you like it <3
“Pierre?”
“Hmm?” Pierre refuses to open his eyes, stretched out along one of the couches on the deck of Charles’ yacht. He arches his back a little, feeling it pop pop pop.
“When are you going to fuck me?”
It takes a second for the question to register but when it does, he sits up so quickly his head swims, black spots blurring the edges of his vision. Arthur is sitting on the floor a few feet away from him, lying back propped up on his elbows. Pierre tries to not stare at the wide sprawl of his legs, how his shorts rise up, the pale skin of his inner thigh obvious. Arthur is watching him, head titled, mouth red from the strawberries he was eating earlier, as if he didn’t just nearly give Pierre a heart attack five seconds ago.
“Um, what,” he asks, stalling for time, trying to half smile in an attempt to begin to laugh off whatever joke Arthur has come up with. Because it must be a joke. It must be.
Arthur just stares at him, unusually serious, and Pierre’s stomach goes cold. “When,” Arthur starts, “are you going to fuck me?”
Pierre blinks once, twice, and pulls at the hair on his thighs to see if he’s dreaming. He’s not.
“Um,” Pierre says, and somewhere Yuki is laughing at him but doesn’t know why, and he swallows, throat clicking.
Arthur raises an eyebrow, curls glowing light at the edges, hair long around his ears. There’s still slight pink marks along his jaw where he had been napping up until a few minutes ago, body loose and easy with sun warm sleep.
“Listen,” Pierre starts and then stop when he realises that actually he doesn’t know what to say here. Arthur keeps watching him, eyes blue and lashes long, mouth a little tight in the corners.
Pierre blinks. When are you going to fuck me, Arthur had said, like he had been expecting it, like he had been waiting for it, like he was desperate for it and couldn’t wait any longer.
Charles had given him a two litre thing of sunscreen yesterday, after they had eaten dinner and played cod with Lewis online. He burns very easily, Charles had shrugged, but he always forgets to put it on. He had rolled his eyes then, nose and cheeks pink with the sun. Pierre hadn’t said anything. Make sure he puts it on after swimming, yes, Charles had insisted. And any other, ah, activities where you, um, sweat. Pierre had just laughed, taking the bottle, a little confused but mostly fond of how Charles tries to take care of Arthur even when he can barely take care of himself. Charles had grinned at him, the skin on his shoulders peeling slightly.
When are you going to fuck me.
When.
Not if.
Yuki is probably choking on his laughter at this point. Arthur is very very still on the deck below him, fingers curled into the wood.
He could laugh it off, he knows, and part of him really really wants to. It’d be easier in a way, less complicated, if he does. But he would lose him. He would lose Arthur if he turns this into a joke, in a way where he never lost Alex or Daniel or Yuki. Arthur, with his Lorenzo and his Charles and his bone deep knowledge of how beloved he is and the solid uncertainty that comes with being a Leclerc, would walk away from Pierre and his shame if he tried to make it Arthur’s. If he tried to make it theirs.
I am surrounded by bravery, he thinks, not for the first time, and not for the last time, wishes some of it could rub off on him.
He thinks of Lewis, always always smiling at Valtteri and Valtteri who never fails to look right back, even when he’s looking up. He thinks of Seb, who grinned at him, years ago, when he caught him watching a sweaty champagne drenched Lewis a little too closely and just winked, and the way he stands still in a sport so fast and waits for Charles to catch up.
He looks at Arthur, at his bitten down fingernails and light blond hair dusting the tops of his feet and thinks, I want to be brave for you. I want to be brave for us.
Pierre leans back into the couch, legs slipping open, and watches Arthur breathe in deep, shuddering only slightly, as Pierre says, “I could do it now if you like.”
Arthur pauses for a second before getting to his feet, swaying with the boat, all long limbs and skin. He’s heavy and warm when he climbs into Pierre’s lap, knees either side of his hips. Pierre runs his fingers through the hair on Arthur’s thighs, dragging his nails a little, watching as his skin goosebumps.
“I like,” Arthur says, eyes bright and brilliant and unforgiving. Arthur is the youngest of three, grew up watching all the places where Charles would falter and fall. He is softer than Charles, more present in a way Charles will never be, but meaner. There is a harshness in him that Charles never allowed himself to have. Pierre worries for him less.
“But do you like me?” Arthur asks, eyes still bright, hands in Pierre’s hair, fingers running along his left ear.
Pierre is finding it a little hard to think properly, with Arthur Leclerc sitting on him, miles of warm skin and muscle under his hands.
“Yeah,” Pierre says, even though he kind of wants to run away and never look back. Even though he never wants Arthur to stop looking at him. “Yeah, I do.”
Arthur melts easily against him when Pierre tugs him in, pressing his mouth along Arthur’s jaw. He tastes of salt and sunscreen and Pierre groans as Arthur pulls him up by the hair to kiss him properly, sharp and insistent. He swipes a thumb over Arthur’s cheek, fingers curling along his jaw.
“Easy, easy,” Pierre murmurs, trying to slow them down, Arthur’s breaths coming in fast and fluttering.
“Easy,” Pierre says, licking into Arthur’s mouth, kissing him slow and deep. “I want you. We got all the time in the world, baby.”
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milflewis · 1 year
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omg a little blewis moment pls I love reading your writing
ok so i saw this gifset of blewis today and my brain went !!! while i was supposed to be doing assignments so obv i wrote instead. hope you like it !! sorry it’s so late lol
“Sorry,” Lewis says, pulling out his airpod, leaning in. He lets himself bounce a little on the tire he’s sitting on, pushing his toes further into the ground, stomach going all fizzy and quiet. Bono blinks out from behind his glasses, unimpressed. There’s a slight smudge in the corner of the left lens that you can see when Bono turns his head to the right and stands under the glare of the bright garage lights.
Lewis balances himself on Bono’s shoulder. His white merc shirt stiff and warm under his hand. His eyes catch off of the hollow of Bono’s throat, poking through Bono’s two open buttons. There’s a sheen of sweat clinging there.
“So i was thinking about the rear wing of the car,” Bono says, hands gesturing. An eyelash sticking lightly to the soft skin under Bono’s left eye
Bono settles more into one leg, hips slouching out and Lewis pays attention to the way his mouth moves so he doesn’t look down. Apparently, he’s supposed to stop being as obvious about what he’s thinking when he looks at Bono in public but, like, Seb can eat shit. He’s not being that obvious, and even if he was, which he’s not, Seb would be the last person allowed to say anything about hiding what they’re feeling.
Still. Toto is watching. And Susie has been worried about his cholesterol so.
Lewis sits back, wrapping one hand around his other arm, careful not to drop his airpod. He cannot lose another while distracted by Bono. Angela will never let him forget it.
He digs his fingers into his elbow, phone in his other hand. They itch to drag Bono in closer, settling him between Lewis’s legs as he shuffles back on the tire, hands on his hips. Palming his ass in those pants.
Bono keeps talking about the rear wing or maybe he’s on about the brakes now. His mouth is still moving. Lewis still doesn’t look down. Bono is fiddling with the cord of his headset. Maybe he needs something in his hands to avoid reaching out too. Even though it’s been years and nothing will ever come from it, Lewis hopes he does anyway.
“Lewis,” Bono says like it’s not the first time he’s said it. Shit. Lewis hums, “Yeah?”
The eyelash is still there.
“You’re not listening to me.”
Lewis grins, shrugging, leaning back onto the tire, bouncing again.
Bono’s eyes flicker down to Lewis’s spread thighs and back up again. Score, Lewis thinks.
Bono might not want lewis. not the way Lewis wants him to but he does want him, just a little, and sometimes that’s even enough.
“You’re distracting,” Lewis says. “Not my fault.”
“I’m literally just talking about the car,” Bono says, eyebrows raising. “About the wings.”
Lewis lets his voice go a little lower, breathy and curling around his words. Looking up through his lashes, he says, “I know,” and watches Bono’s finger tighten around the headphone cord so he doesn’t shove Lewis off his tire. Lewis laughs. A light blush spreads across Bono’s face, colouring the bridge of his nose.
“You’re insufferable,” Bono says, swallowing.
Lewis grins. “But I’m cute though.”
Bono doesn’t say anything as one of the mechanics come up to him, showing him a tablet with something for him to sign off on. Lewis pokes his thigh with a toe.
“Hey. I’m cute though, right? Bono. Bono. Hey.”
Bono ignores him.
The mechanic looks between the two of them, going still. He’s new, Lewis realises as he doesn’t recognise him. Still, he should know his name. He’ll ask Bono later.
Dan leans around the new guy, grinning, elbow on his shoulder. “I think you’re cute, Lewis.”
Lewis smiles at him, winking. “It’s nice to be appreciate around here.”
Bono hands the guy back his tablet. “I wouldn’t know.”
Lewis brushes off the sting. Joke. It’s a joke, Lewis. The voice sounds like Jenson.
Lewis scoffs, “I appreciate you!”
Bono hums, “Do you? Then why don’t you listen to me?”
“I told you. You’re distracting.” Lewis bites his cheeks, tasting sharp copper as it bleeds.
He tilts his head. “Bono.”
Bono is looking at him. “What?”
“Can you do me a favor?”
Bono frowns at him, “You’re going on track in ten minutes.”
Lewis waves a hand, manages not to drop his phone. “No, no. Not that. Could you take off your headphones for a moment.”
Bono squints at him, crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening, “why.” He drags the word out long enough that it doesn’t even sound like a question.
Lewis smiles. “I want to see your hair do the thing.”
Bono shoves him off the tire this time.
“C’mon,” Lewis says, giggling, sprawled out on the floor, propping himself up on his elbows. He feels a little breathless, going all light and weightless with it all. “I want to see it.”
Bono turns back to the screens behind him. “My hair doesn’t ‘do a thing’.”
The mechanics laughing around them. A tv on the wall at the other end of the garage shows a pink and blue car out on track. It swerves a little, skidding over a wet patch, before rightening itself. Lewis hopes that it’s Fernando driving and not Esteban.
“Yeah, man, it does! Goes all, like, smushed in the middle cause of where they sit and it’s very funny.”
Bono’s voice goes all flat at the ends like it does when he’s trying not to laugh. “Well, then, guess you’ll see it after the race, won’t you?”
Lewis groans. “That’s ages away, though. Please. It’s so cute.”
Bono stays watching the screens. The tv is now showing Sebastian, his black helmet stark against the green Aston Martin. It makes Lewis grin like he did when Seb first sent him the design pics weeks ago.
Lewis sighs, dramatic and long and heavy, feeling his lungs shake with it. Let’s Dan pull him up. Bumps shoulders with Bono who cuts a glance at him, smiling slightly. Lewis grins at him. “What were you saying again?”
Bono looks at him for a second.
“I’m not too distracting anymore?” he asks.
Lewis shrugs, making sure he sounds careful and relaxed. “I can manage.”
He must succeed because Bono’s smile widens and he goes back to what he was saying earlier, cord in hand.
There’s a fine line here. One that Bono drew in the sand years ago when he left Lewis to wake up in a cold bed and messy sheets, smiling at him when he sat down opposite him twenty seven minutes later in the Mercedes ordered private plane. and said hey Lewis. Good party? like he always did and Lewis grinned, stomach tight. The ends of Bono’s come still flaking off of Lewis’s stomach. Not having had time to shower. (Part of him had hoped that he’d show up and Bono would look at him with those eyes again and invite him over when they landed in England and Lewis would know, just know, what that meant and neither of them would need to say anything else.)
(Bono didn’t invite him over, clapping him on the shoulder in goodbye the minute they got their bags, and Lewis didn’t see him again until two days before the next race)
(Neither of them needed to say anything else.)
There’s a fine line here. One where Bono doesn’t say anything about Lewis being in love with him and puts up with his teasing and Lewis doesn’t say anything about Bono not loving him back and makes himself still and listen to Bono when it matters, never mentioning that he knows how Bono tastes when he’s laughing.
Lewis bumps his shoulder into Bono’s again and doesn’t look down and doesn’t look at Bono’s mouth. Just listens to him worry about the brakes of a car that sometimes Lewis can’t even bring himself to not hate.
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milflewis · 1 year
Note
gewis + flowers
Lewis rolls his eyes, grinning, the lines around his mouth deepening. “Yeah, yeah, very funny.”
George presses his lips together, not really trying very hard to not smile. “No. Definitely not funny.” He leans into Lewis’s space, shoulders bumping, and his throat goes scratchy and dry as Lewis bumps him back, shaking his head, nose studs glittering in the sun.
George waits until Lewis has wandered away, seven minutes of Lewis trying not to laugh at George’s pretty good jokes if he can say so himself later, to cough, hard and heaving, into his elbow. He feels something shake loose in his chest, fluttering soft and damp into his mouth.
Pierre is staring at him from across the truck, forearm slung across Yuki’s shoulders, when George resurfaces. He slowly raises an eyebrow. George looks back at him, half smiling, and waits him out. It doesn’t take long. Pierre shakes his head, condescending and falsely superior, turning away, and George would bare his teeth if he wasn’t fairly sure they’d be bloody. He pushes the petals further into his cheek with his tongue, and waves at the crowds.
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milflewis · 1 year
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hmmm valtteri/lewis + au setting: lewis as the most sought-after male model in the world & valtteri as a famous photographer who usually shoots nature series but was contacted by longtime friend [insert person of ur choice here] to please shoot lewis for their cover story. he reluctantly agrees. alternatively, lewis as famous musician and valtteri as the owner of a remote artic ranch that lewis wants to use to record his next album in. or anything honestly haha
“You didn’t say he was beautiful!” Valtteri half whispers down his phone, trying to smile at one of the makeup artists who side-eyes him huddled in the corner as they pass.
Sebastian, the fucking asshole, just laughs. “He’s a model, Val. What did you expect?”
“I don’t know! Not —“ His voice cracks as he catches a glimpse of Lewis getting, oh god, oiled up across the room, sun glistening, the curve of his back obscene. “Not this.”
Lewis flicks a towel at the man beside him, spraying him with body oil, laughing, hand on his bare tummy, fingers spread wide. The man wipes his glasses on his shirt and shoves Lewis, poking him in the ribs. Lewis squirms, laughter going all giggle breathless.
“Seb,” Valtteri says, something dawning on him. “Why exactly did you want me to do this photoshoot?”
“Eh.” Valtteri can picture Sebastian’s shit eating grin, all smug and satisfied at his plan working. “No specific reason.”
Valtteri swears. “I told you to stop setting me up!”
send me a pairing and an au prompt and i’ll write a theee sentence fic about it
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hyungszn · 8 days
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What do you mean we don’t get to fuck chan in part 2 of joy ride 😭😭😭😭😭
LMAOOOOOO im sorry!!!! listen i really am! if it’s any consolation… we DO get to fuck chan!! he will absolutely get his time to shine, but this “part two” is technically an interlude, with solo!chan.
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hyungszn · 13 days
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hello i am back after awhile!!! i got pretty busy + it's ramadan so i'm trying to #refrain iygwim.
i just wanted to say that i read both the second chapter of slop!verse + joyride, & i just wanna say your dialogue ?!?? your characterization ???? it genuinely does it for me every time. honestly if i were you i'd be a little more cocky about writing because you have the ability to draw in your readers with just dialogue alone, and that's extremely impressive. cliff hangers have always been my enemy, but with how well you can build up tension .. i Suppose i can keep my hatred at bay. /j. pls keep writing!!! i cannot stress this enough i really enjoy your writing style a lot. as always, much love! — 🐾
hi paws!!! welcome back!!!!!
happy ramadan! i really need to learn the phrases for this so i can wish you guys luck properly; i’ve been really bad about that lol.
i’m so glad you got to read both of them! JR had literally been sitting in my drafts for a YEAR lolol so i’m really happy to have been able to get it out. it was meant to be just a one shot but my brain got ahold of itself at the last possible minute and decided ‘no, let’s draw this out!’ so, well, here we are now with a part two in the making and a part three in the planning LOL.
as for slop!verse: i do love a bratty seungmin! i love bratty maknae in general sooo, but considering he and reader are chan’s only pups, it seemed very fitting for him especially. lol.
thank you for all your kind words about my writing!!! i’m glad that even though it contains some of your pet peeves (like cliffhangers), the way that i’ve chosen to write them compels you to come back!!! i come pop culture writing fandoms (anime, marvel, etc) and it has always been hard to find consistent engagement/readers outside of those who are close friends. readers like you are why i continue to push through! 💗💗💗
i hope life has been good to you even if has been busy! make sure you drink lots of water and get your rest ☺️☺️☺️ and i look forward to your next ask!
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