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willowsnook · 4 months ago

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halfway to always pt. 2

quinn hughes x sharks!reader

pt. 1 here

tags: @hockeybabe87 @enjoymyloves @freyathehuntress @onlyreadz @how-what-why-huh @1loverc @stormsies

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It had been a couple of months since your trip out to the lake and you had thrown yourself into work, trying to forget about the oldest Hughes' brother who had left an imprint on your heart. So far it was going well, mostly because Will and Macklin hadn’t been there to harass you about it. They both went home for the rest of summer break and were just now coming back for training camp.

You had plans to meet them at their place when they both got back, and after finally logging off for the day, you made your way over.

“Y/N!” Will yelled as he opened the door, quickly pouncing on you. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” you said into his chest. “My life has been so boring.”

“Of course it has,” Macklin said, coming from out of his room. “We are the most important people in your life.”

“I’m about to replace you though,” you teased, setting down your stuff in the kitchen. “I meet the new guys tomorrow.”

Both of them glared at you, making you giggle.

"You know I'm kidding," you reassured them, hopping up onto their kitchen counter. "So, tell me everything. How was the rest of your summer?"

They launched into stories about family trips and training regimens, Will showing you pictures on his phone while Macklin demonstrated some new workout move he'd learned. You smiled, realizing how much you'd truly missed their chaotic energy.

"What about you?" Will asked finally. "Did you do anything fun after Michigan?"

You shrugged. "Just work, mostly. Helped with rookie camp prep, went home to see my parents for a weekend."

"That's it?" Macklin frowned. "Please tell me you at least went on a date or something."

You rolled your eyes. "No, I did not go on a date.”

You pulled out a bottle of wine from your bag, uncorking it while Will leaned against the counter, watching you with a suspicious expression. "So... have you talked to Quinn at all?"

Your movements faltered for just a second before you recovered, reaching for glasses in the cabinet. "A little. Just texting here and there."

It wasn't exactly a lie. You and Quinn had exchanged messages sporadically since the lake trip—casual check-ins that carefully avoided any mention of what had happened between you. The last text had been over a week ago, a simple "good luck with training camp" from you, followed by his "thanks, you too" reply.

"Just texting?" Macklin pressed, raising an eyebrow.

You sighed, pouring three generous glasses of wine.

“Look,” you started. “We had fun at the lake. But it was just the lake. I’m back to the real-world again.”

“But you guys are so perfect together,” Macklin complained.

“I was with him for less than a week,” you argued back and Will rolled his eyes.

“Love at first sight,” he said and you snorted, even Macklin letting out a little laugh.

“I’m busy with work anyways, so it’s going to be okay,” you said firmly. You turned around to grab your phone and both boys shared a look, an idea already forming.

Step 1: Investigation Time

“Did you see Quinn’s post?” Will asked while you were both out on a morning walk before he had to be at the facility.

“I did not,” you replied, amused. The boys could not leave the idea of you and Quinn alone which was adorable but like you’d told them earlier: there wasn’t anything to it. You had kissed a lot of boys in your lifetime - it didn’t always have to mean something. There was no reason to even let your mind entertain the idea.

“You made it,” he said, trying to contain his excitement. “It’s a summer recap.”

Leaning over his shoulder, you looked at this specific picture. It was of Quinn at the grill and you next to him, holding a plate of food. It was a sweet picture, and you made a mental note to screenshot it later to keep for memories.

“Very nice Will,” you commented and he beamed.

“You too look so good together,” he said and you snorted.

“Not giving this up?” You teased and he shook his head.

“You were so into him on the trip,” he said. “I want to see you happy.”

“I am happy Will,” you said. “I don’t need a man to be happy.”

"I know," Will said, more serious than you'd expected. "I just think you guys had something real. And maybe it's worth exploring."

You sighed, watching the morning light filter through the trees as you walked. "Even if there was something there, what would be the point? He lives in Vancouver. I live here. Both of us have demanding careers that keep us in those places."

"Long distance?" Will suggested.

You laughed, but it came out hollow. "For what? A connection we felt after knowing each other for a few days? That's not enough to build something on."

Will fell silent for a moment, considering your words. "You know, I've never seen you light up around anyone the way you did with him."

The observation hit you harder than you expected, and you quickened your pace slightly. "I'm not having this conversation anymore."

"Fine," Will conceded, jogging away. “Then I’m not buying you coffee.”

“You promised,” you complained, jogging after him.

Meanwhile, Macklin and Jack were working on Quinn.

“Hey man what’s up?” Quinn said, answering his phone.

“Just wanted to call before the season started,” Macklin said.

“Getting a little nervous?” Quinn asked.

“I feel like the pressure is way up this year for me,” Macklin admitted.

“It feels like that for everyone their second year,” Quinn told him. “Especially because of how well you did last year. Just stay focused. You have good people supporting you.”

Macklin saw his segway and took it, “Yeah I do. I don’t know what I would do without Will and Y/n. You remember her?”

Quinn rolled his eyes before answering, “I know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Macklin replied, feigning innocence. “Just wondering if you guys had talked since the lake.”

“I’m sure you can ask her that,” Quinn said, avoiding the question.

"I'm asking you though," Macklin pressed.

"We've texted a bit," Quinn finally admitted, his voice carefully neutral. "Just checking in."

"That's it? Just checking in?" Macklin asked, clearly disappointed.

Quinn sighed, running a hand through his hair as he paced around his living room. "What do you want me to say, Mack? That I think about her all the time? That I wish things were different? None of that changes the reality."

"Which is?"

"You know which is. She's in San Jose. I'm in Vancouver. We both have careers that keep us in those cities."

"People do long distance all the time," Macklin countered.

Quinn let out a humorless laugh. "Based on what? A week together? A kiss? That's not enough to build something real on."

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Macklin spoke again, his voice sincere. "I know it's none of my business, but Y/n is important to me. And I haven’t seen her act like that around someone literally ever. I’m just floating the idea that maybe you could figure something out.”

“We’ll see,” Quinn said shortly before hanging up.

Jack and Luke had flown to Vancouver the week before the season started to see their oldest brother. It was a short trip, but they played some rounds of golf and had plenty of time to relax before they wouldn’t see each other for a bit.

The night before they were heading back to New Jersey, they were out to dinner when Jack started his subtle inquiry, already proud of himself for not bringing up y/n yet this weekend.

“So, you guys play the Sharks in a couple of weeks?” Jack asked casually and Luke instantly snorted. Quinn looked up from his phone, giving his brother a pointed look.

“That’s usually how a hockey season works,” Quinn shot back. “Conspiring with Macklin now are you?”

Jack huffed, “I’m just making conversation. Just wondering if you have any plans to see anyone after the game or anything.”

“Not as of right now,” Quinn replied honestly. “We haven’t really spoken since the beginning of training camp.”

“Hmm,” Jack replied.

Quinn paused, setting his fork down and giving his brothers a serious look. "Look, I appreciate that you guys care, but this isn't helping. Y/n and I had a connection, yes. But sometimes timing just doesn't work out."

"But—" Jack started.

"No," Quinn cut him off firmly. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. Not everything has a neat resolution, okay?"

The finality in his tone silenced both his brothers. Luke shot Jack a warning glance, and the subject was dropped for the remainder of dinner.

Step 2: The Setup

Will's phone buzzed with a text from Jack: "Operation reunite stubborn idiots is a go. Quinn just landed in San Jose."

Will nudged Macklin, showing him the message. They shared a conspiratorial smile before turning their attention back to you. You were sitting across from them in the players’ lounge, a few hours before the game tonight.

“So,” Will cleared his throat and your head snapped up. “What are you doing after the game?”

Your eyes narrowed, “I was planning on just going home but i’m getting the feeling that you are going to drag em to something.”

“Toff rented out this bar for his birthday tonight,” Will said. “So you should come because it’s his birthday and you know him.”

You did know Toff, you knew every player but you weren’t really that acquainted with him. “Did he ask that I be there?”

“Just come y/n,” Macklin said exasperated. “You need to get out of the house.”

“Fine,” you said, rolling your eyes. You missed seeing the boys bump each other’s fists under the table, turning your attention back to your phone.

The Canucks steamrolled the Sharks, but the boys still had a good game, so you were pleased by that. You had changed in your office from your business clothes to just a plain white tank top and jeans and now were waiting by the players’ entrance.

“Hey stranger,” a voice called out and you froze. Quinn was giving you a small smile as he walked towards you and you couldn’t help but grin.

“Hi,” you greeted him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He held on to you for a second too long and your heart was racing at the physical contact.

“I’m looking for Will and Macklin actually, have you seen them?” Quinn asked he pulled back.

“Funny, I’m looking for them too,” you said, and the pieces started to click together. Both of your phone buzzed at the same time and you looked down to see what Will had said.

WS: Sorry guys, we caught a ride with someone else. I’m sure you can carpool to the bar tho. Bye!!!

You groaned as Quinn shook his head. “Relentless,” you muttered.

“Tell me about it,” Quinn mused. “Guess I’ll follow you.”

You chatted about the game as you walked to the car, Quinn filling you in on how the team was looking so far and you telling him about the new rookies. The way conversation fell so naturally it was like you were at the lake just last week.

"So," you finally said as you pulled into the parking lot, "how long are the boys going to keep this up?"

Quinn chuckled, running a hand through his still-damp hair. "Knowing Jack, probably until one of us gets married."

You laughed, though the comment sent an unexpected flutter through your chest. "Will and Macklin are just as bad. They've been not-so-subtly bringing you up for weeks."

"Same with Jack and Luke," Quinn admitted. "I think they're all in a group chat about it."

As you walked toward the bar entrance, Quinn's hand brushed against yours—perhaps accidentally, perhaps not. Neither of you acknowledged it, but seeing how packed the bar was, you slipped your hand into his, not wanting to lose him on the way to wherever Will and Macklin were. His hand tightened around yours and it was the first thing the boys looked at when you emerged from the crowd, both lighting up.

You dropped Quinn’s hand as you reached the table, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I waited for you guys for 20 minutes,” you said.

“Sorry y/n, Eklund insisted we come with him,” Macklin said innocently. Quinn snorted from behind you, shaking his head.

“Whatever, I’m getting a drink,” you muttered, leaving them all behind for the bar.

Quinn watched you weave through the crowd toward the bar, then turned to fix Will and Macklin with a stern look. "Subtle, guys. Really subtle."

Macklin shrugged,. "Did it work though?"

"Did what work?" Quinn asked, though he knew exactly what they were getting at.

"Come on," Will groaned. "You two were holding hands!"

"So I wouldn't lose her in the crowd," Quinn explained, though the excuse sounded weak even to his own ears.

Macklin and Will exchanged knowing glances. "Right," Macklin drawled. "That's definitely it."

Quinn sighed, leaning against the table. "Look, I appreciate what you guys are trying to do, but it's complicated."

"It's really not," Will argued. "You like her, she likes you. What's complicated about that?"

Quinn ran a hand through his hair. He really was starting to wear down when it came to that question. Seeing you again had reignited what he felt at the lake, and he was running out of excuses to at least not give it a try.

You came back a little later, wordlessly handing Quinn a beer before sitting down next to Will. Quinn ended up getting pulled away by some other guys he was friends with, and your table was joined by a couple of WAGs that you were somewhat friends with. You didn’t really hang out with most of them, but the ones who sat with you were around the same age as you, so it was an easy friendship.

A couple of hours went by and you were caught up in a conversation with Carl Berglund when you felt a presence behind you. You looked over your shoulder to see Quinn, looking between you and Carl, his jaw tightening.

“Hey man, good to see you,” Carl said reaching out his hand, unaware of the tension.

“You too,” Quinn said shortly, shaking it. Carl looked between the two of you before smirking and raising his beer.

“Nice talking to you y/n, i’ll see you later,” he said before walking to join another conversation. You turned to Quinn amused.

“What was that about?” You asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said nonchalantly, looking anywhere but you.

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on your lips. "You're a terrible liar, Quinn Hughes."

He sighed, finally meeting your eyes. "Fine. I didn't like seeing you with him."

"With Carl?" you asked, genuinely surprised. "We were just talking."

"I know," Quinn admitted, taking a swig of his beer. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

The jealousy in his voice sent a thrill through you that you tried to ignore. You stepped closer to him, lowering your voice. "You don't get to be jealous when you won't even admit there's something here."

His eyes darkened as they held yours. "Who says I won't admit it?"

Your heart skipped a beat. "You've had months to do something about it."

"So have you," he countered.

The admission hung between you, charged with everything left unsaid from the summer. You set your drink down, suddenly feeling too warm.

"Want to get some air?" you asked quietly.

Quinn nodded, following as you weaved through the crowd toward the back exit. The cool night air was a relief after the stuffy bar, and you took a deep breath, leaning against the brick wall.

"So," you started, looking up at the stars rather than at him.

"So," he drawled out. “I can’t get you out of my head.”

You were surprised by the admission, turning to face him fully as he stared into your eyes.

“I could say the same thing,” you admitted quietly. Neither of you said anything for a bit, just taking in one another’s presence.

“What do we have to do to make this work?” He asked, breaking the silence.

You sighed, leaning back against the wall before answering truthfully, “I don’t know.”

He moved in front of you, bringing one hand to rest on your waist and your breath hitched at the contact.

"I know it might be ridiculous," Quinn murmured, his thumb tracing small circles on your waist, "to feel this strongly about someone I've spent so little time with. But I can't stop thinking about what could happen if we just... tried."

Your heart raced as he leaned closer, his forehead almost touching yours. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting we stop making excuses," he said, his voice low and certain. "We play each other four times this season. I have the All-Star break, you have holidays. There are bye weeks and off-days. We have phones. We have FaceTime. Vancouver to San Jose is a two-hour flight."

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you. The practical part of your brain wanted to list all the reasons why this was complicated—the distance, your careers, the logistics—but another part of you, the part that had been daydreaming about him for months, was tired of being practical.

“We can try,” you finally said and a small smile broke out across his face. He inched his head closer, pressing his lips against yours in a sweet kiss. Your hand travelled up to his hair, pulling him deeper into you and he pressed you harder against the wall as his mouth moved against yours. When you finally pulled apart, breathless, his eyes were dark with wanting.

"I've been thinking about doing that again since the lake," he admitted, his thumb tracing your lower lip.

You smiled against his touch. "Me too."

The door to the bar swung open suddenly, spilling light and noise into the alleyway. Will stood there, his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him.

"Finally!" he exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air before disappearing back inside, presumably to tell Macklin and you groaned, resting your head against Quinn’s shoulder.

“I’m sure i’ll get a cryptic text from Jack soon,” Quinn muttered and you giggled, bringing your lips up to his once more.

“Worth it.”

Pt 3

#nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine

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deusfoundry · 7 months ago

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part 1 here! this can be read as a stand alone but these two drabbles are set in the same universe/timeline!

girl dad!zayne is a decade older now, and while some things have changed, most remain constant. his body is still fit, the muscles of his upper limbs still defined, but he's got a slight pudge on his belly from your cooking. he still scoffs down ungodly amounts of candies and pastries, much to your dismay. he still spends a good chunk of his time at the hospital, but you've been able to coax him into taking less shifts lately, so he's at home with you more often.

girl dad!zayne who's pleasantly surprised when his daughter's boyfriend knocks on their front door, but grows confused when he realizes he's alone.

"hi!" he hands zayne a small box containing two portions of the same cake they had for christmas a few years back. the first one he spent together with your little family. "this is for you and auntie."

"come in, son." zayne places a firm hand on his shoulder, guiding him inside the house with a smile.

girl dad!zayne who's starting to put two and two together when he shifts in his place on the dining table, almost uncomfortable and definitely nervous.

while he's visited your home by himself with just a cake and anecdotes about your daughter in tow before, zayne knows this is different.

"my wife isn't home yet, and according to her i've already hit my weekly sugar limit." he sets a plate down in front of him. “so you better eat this with me. otherwise, we'd both get in trouble.”

girl dad!zayne who stays quiet when he asks for his daughter's hand in marriage.

zayne knew it was bound to happen, expected it from the way he stutters between sentences, the way slips up and calls him "sir" when it's been eight years since he last used the honorific.

"i love your daughter. so, so much. and i can see myself- no- i know i want to spend the rest of my life with her. if she'll let me." he ends his speech with an exhale, holding zayne's gaze with a decisive look on his face.

zayne's eyes flicker towards the tiny box in his hands.

girl dad!zayne is equally terrified and relieved. he knows he can trust him, has known it for the last decade or so. but he can't shake the small voice in the back of his head that selfishly wants to keep his daughter close forever, that still holds on to the image of when all of her drowns in his arms.

she was so small, so vulnerable to the dangers of the world, and part of him wants to protect her for as long as he can.

girl dad!zayne who gives his blessing in the form of a simple question.

"how are you planning on proposing to her?"

zayne watches the man in front of him break into a grin, tears welling up on his eyes. and before zayne knows it, he's pulled into a tight hug. the air is knocked out of his lungs as he thanks him profusely.

girl dad!zayne who lets himself be held by you. the side of his head rests on your chest, close enough to your heart that he can hear the faint but steady thud of your heartbeat. your hand runs through his hair while the other cradles his back.

"he's proposing to her." he whispers as your fingers find his scalp.

"i know."

zayne freezes. "what?"

"he asked for my blessing a month ago. i told him he can stay until you came home, but he said he still has to build up the courage to ask you."

he pries himself away from you, putting just enough distance so he can look at you in disbelief. he opens his mouth, a string of complaints forcing their way out of his throat, but as always you beat him to it.

"hey, he asked me to keep it a secret! plus i didn't know it'd take him that long to ask you. you can't blame the man though, you're scarier than you think you are, dear."

and you had the nerve to giggle at his face.

girl dad!zayne who answers a call from his daughter two and a half weeks later.

it's the middle of the night when his ringtone cuts through the silence of your shared bedroom. he reaches for his phone and groggily slides it open. he rests it against his ear without putting it on speaker mode to not disturb your sleep.

he regrets it immediately when he hears his daughter's squeals over the phone.

"daddy i'm getting married!"

zayne pulls his phone away from his ear, hissing sharply.

"r- really, sweetheart? that's great." he briefly forgets about her boyfriend- well, fiance, asking him for his blessing a few weeks ago.

"he just proposed to me an hour ago and it was the most romantic thing ever! is mom with you?"

he hums, rubbing the sleep off his eyes. "she's asleep."

"oh right! i forgot it's nighttime for you there. sorry dad, i'll just call lat-"

"no, no-" zayne can almost imagine the grimace on his daughter's face, the tiny apologetic smile he knows she dons. "it's alright, dear. tell me all about it."

half an hour later, zayne falls asleep to his daughter's voice. she giggles when she hears his quiet snores through the phone.

"i love you, dad." she whispers before ending the call.

girl dad!zayne who visits his daughter on the day of her wedding right before he has to walk her down the aisle. it takes all of his willpower to not cry on the way to her hotel room and even more when he finally enters, spotting her standing in front of a mirror.

“dad!” she brightens up when she sees his reflection on the mirror.

“sweetheart,” zayne walks towards his daughter, but freezes in place when he's finally close enough to see her.

she's stunning, white satin cascading all the way down to the carpet of the floor, make-up done just right, jet black hair curled to perfection. clipped to her hair is the veil you wore at your wedding all those years ago, and for a brief moment, he sees you standing in front of him.

“i- i have something for you.” he hands over the box he's keeping in his pocket.

she eyes it with curiosity, gently unclasping the tiny lock to reveal the heart-shaped locket nestled inside.

“dad…”

“your mom gave it to me on our first anniversary.” he runs a thumb over the intricate detailing where the rust has settled, time wearing down the charm. “i didn't want to put my own photo inside. so for the longest time, it was just your mom…”

he opens the locket to show a picture of you in your early 20s. the brightest smile on your face tugs at the edges of your daughter’s lips.

“until we had you.” zayne shifts it to where a picture of her as a baby resides.

he hears her sniffle in his arms, and instinctively his hand flies to her back, fingers rubbing comforting circles over the fabric.

“you're making me ruin my makeup, dad.” her voice cracks through her words.

"your something old." zayne chuckles, moving around to help her put on the necklace. he pulls her impossibly closer to plant a kiss on the top of her head, over the veil she borrowed from you. "i'm so happy for you."

girl dad!zayne who walks his daughter down the aisle with you on the other side, because she insisted on having both her parents with her.

the whole walk is a blur to him. he remembers a few stray tears falling down his cheek and you scolding him for crying so early on through watery eyes. he remembers her laughter and the almost deathly grip she has on his arms. he remembers the comforting smiles you both give her when she admits she's nervous, asks what she should do if she messes up her vows.

"you'll do great."

"he's already in love with you. i'm sure nothing like that could change his feelings."

he remembers untangling his arms from your daughter when you arrive at the altar, but his hand still lingers on hers. he remembers locking eyes with her fiance.

“take good care of her.”

he gives him an affirming nod, and zayne finally releases the grip he has on his little girl to find your hands.

girl dad!zayne who weeps halfway through the ceremony. the brave front he's been keeping up all day shatters from just one look at your tear stained cheeks. he tries his damnedest to block any thoughts of his little girl, but it's the only thing he can think of as the ceremony goes on.

he hears her laughter and suddenly, she's two years old. and the best thing in her world is her dad making tiny seals and kittens out of his evol.

he catches sight of the tears welling up on her eyes and suddenly, he's helping her nurse a scraped knee with his hand over the wound and a whole tub of ice cream for them to share.

she turns towards you two right before she says her vows and suddenly, it's the first night you spend at the hospital after giving birth. he looms over your spent figure, holding the tiny bundle of joy in your arms as she gives you the smallest of smiles.

zayne chokes down a sob, leaning down to hide his face on the crook of your neck.

girl dad!zayne who joins in on the applause, his arm linked around yours as his daughter runs down the aisle with her husband, safe in the knowledge that someone loves his little girl the same way he loves you.

not proofread!!!! im not very satisfied w this again but we Move ehrhhehe hope u enjoy this all the same chat mwaah!!

dividers by @cafekitsune

#zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace #zayne x reader #love and deepspace x reader #zayne fluff #girl dad!zayne

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ghostyuri · 7 months ago

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i know it’s over

click!

pairing…ellie williams x gn!reader

in which…ellie doesn’t have the heart to tell joel you had broken up before the holidays; so you pretend you didn’t.

before you read...18+. angst. sad sex. afab reader. written with modern au in mind.

slow christmas songs play lowly from a record joel had put on, setting the mood of the crackling wood in the fireplace, and the twinkling tree in the corner.

the older man is laughing with ellie about something in the kitchen, and for a moment, this feels normal. like you belong here, and you’re happy to be here; something so wrong.

three weeks of heartache, shoved to the pits of your stomach, forced to smile and act as though you didn’t carry that overbearing pain. as if you and ellie were okay. she might be. you’re not sure, she doesn’t open up about her feelings to you anymore, especially not about your breakup.

it would be too hard, for her, for you, for your loved ones that view you two as inseparable. sure, the time will come when it can no longer remain a secret, but you’re in no rush to admit to something you still cannot even fathom happening in the first place.

to tell the world that ellie isn’t yours anymore, that the small insignificant arguments had somehow piled up and led you down an unhappy path. something so odd to think about now, because you’ve only ever been happy with ellie. until now.

you see her from the corner of your eye, taking a seat on the couch beside you, but not next to you. not directly, not close enough to place her hand on your lap, to allow your head to rest on her shoulder. even as much as that hurts, it doesn’t compare to the emotional distance between you.

your eyes remain on the glowing fire before you, not daring to look at the woman who was already looking to you. searching for something to say, to make this less awkward. her mouth stays shut, allowing the quiet void to be filled with whatever sad christmas song was playing.

you’re grateful the moment is soon interrupted by a knock at joel’s door, signaling his brother and his wife have arrived. you watch the flip switch in ellie, her cold demeanor around you suddenly dropping with a smile, hugging tommy and maria while you fiddle with your fingers.

you’re next to be engulfed in tight embraces, the couple had done an incredible job at making you feel welcomed in their family. they have since they realized ellie was pretty fucking serious about you, but that was three years ago. three years now down the drain.

you force a smile when you catch the negative thoughts spilling in your head, though it doesn’t reach your eyes, ellie noticing from a few feet away.

she hated it.

joel interrupts with the announcement of dinner, bringing you a great sense of relief. just get it over with, pass out in the guest bedroom you two are occupying for the night, and leave in the morning. go back to life without her.

you sit in the chair next to ellie, feeling her hand cling to yours under the table. she squeezes gently, and you’re unsure if it was out of reassurance or habit. regardless, you sharply pull your hand away, her head snapping towards you, but you don’t look at her.

you pick at your food, drowning ellie out with whatever conversation joel and tommy are sharing, even laughing at their stupid jokes. and it’s genuine, ellie spotting the twinkle in your eyes when your lips curled upwards.

she was so fixated on you looking…happy, that she hadn’t realized she was the topic of discussion, joel telling a story about her rebellious teenage years.

you forget the tension between you two at the moment, especially when ellie chimes in, correcting joel on some of the details, and eventually just taking over.

you direct your attention to her, the tint of red painting her freckled cheeks due to embarrassment, which slowly faded as she chuckled at her younger self.

she was always so adorable when she got flustered, and you’re reminded how much she hated it when you pointed that out. or so, she pretended to. she never admitted that just made her even more flustered.

her eyes meet yours now, and you’re pulled out of the moment, smile falling. an exchanged uncomfortable glare. loving gazes now replaced with something bitter and too much for you to bear. you redirect your eyes to your lap.

joel takes in the sight from the end of the table, sipping on his drink, before speaking.

“so… you two gonna keep lookin’ like you’ve got a secret?”

you both turn to him.

“hm?” “what?”

your voices blend with each other, the heat rising in your cheeks at the spotlight put on you two. was it that obvious? did he have to point it out?

“a secret? who’s gotta secret?” tommy chimes in, your head now dipping as ellie lets out an exhausted sigh. “no one— no one,” ellie says, using that firm tone that everyone recognizes as her stop bothering me tone. you got pretty used to it in the days leading up to your breakup.

joel drops it, knowing if ellie wanted joel to know anything, she would’ve told him. tommy dares to pry, though, not recognizing the thick tension.

“y’all hiding rings from us?” he chuckles, but no one laughs. if anything, it makes you want to cry. you would pick that scenario over this a million times over again. you wonder what you could’ve done differently that would’ve led you down that road with her, and down the aisle.

how you could’ve treated her better, despite treating her like the most loved person in the entire world. because that’s what she is to you, even now. how you could’ve solved every issue that snuck into your relationship, despite trying to and ending up feeling like you had only made it so much worse.

how you would be holding her fidgety hand under this table, just longing to feel the comfort of her warm touch, rather than dropping it and being repelled by her touch. how everything could’ve been good. perfect, even. instead, you’re stuck grieving a fleeting relationship in silence.

ellie clears her throat, “maybe one day.”

ouch. your chair scrapes against the wooden floorboard, ellie looking up at you as you walk away, excusing yourself to the bathroom. you don’t register you’re crying until you’re locked safely in the small room, holding onto the sink, letting them fall down your face.

maybe it was the way she said it— like she almost believed it. or wished for it. or the idea that your ex-girlfriend was going to be married, and it wasn’t to you. that you’re here, for the last time. that you’re spending the most wonderful time of year with the love, and loss, of your life, for the last time.

you had managed to wear faux smiles since the break up— it was inevitable for this breakdown to occur.

after a moment of muffling your cries into your hands, there’s silence, you attempting to calm yourself and return to a state of false normalcy. then the gentle knock hits the bathroom door, joel’s gruff voice pulling you from your thoughts.

“you alright, kiddo?”

you dry your face, practicing a smile in the mirror, then swinging the door open. “yeah— yeah, sorry,” you tell him, “just don’t feel well.”

it’s not a complete lie, you truly feel like the earth is crumbling at your feet. you wouldn’t tell him why, exactly, but joel had two working eyes.

“you know…if there’s anything going on between you two…” he drifts off, not even sure where he was going with this. he wasn’t great with advice, he just tried to speak on what he knew. and what he knows is, you’re one of the best things to happen to ellie.

“you two got lucky finding each other. that’s all,” he tells you, giving a sad smile like he is aware of the situation without having it explained to him.

it crushes your heart even more, another nail hit in the coffin of you and ellie. another pile of dirt poured over you two, burying your relationship that you’re not ready to let go of. but holy fuck, is it nearly out of your grasp.

when he walks away, the tears begin to build again. you swiftly walk to the bedroom ellie and you were staying for the night, hearing the muffled voices from downstairs, hoping you weren’t the topic.

you are. not in the sense that you dread, though, rather being spoken about highly from maria. ellie keeps her green eyes trained on the floor, listening to the woman elaborate on the words that tommy had said earlier. a ring. a proposal. a step forward for you two.

not knowing there wasn’t a step forward, there was nothing anymore.

“y/n…they uh, aren’t feeling too hot,” joel changes the topic, ellie picking up her lowly hung head. though she can assume the reasoning as to why, she still leaves the room, a need to check in on you, even if that’s not what you want.

you hear the door open, but you’re laid comfortably on your side, not bothering to turn over and see her.

“hey,” her voice is wary, nervous while approaching the bed. she sees the tear marks on your pretty face, the one nearly covered by the blanket pulled up to the tip of your nose. ellie kneels on the floor beside you, meeting you face to face. sad eyes to miserable eyes.

“it’s too much, ellie,” you whisper, voice cracking near immediately.

“i know.”

“why did we…” you stop yourself, the heat in your cheeks now burning you alive, thinking about it too much. something that’s said and done, something you two discussed to not talk about again, and yet.

“it’s so hard,” you barely get out, now pulling the blanket over your head completely, a safe space to let your tears flow rather than in front of the only person that would ever comfort you.

ellie still does, pulling the soft fabric back down, palm resting against your cheek kindly— wishing she could take the same pain she is experiencing, from you.

she would endure it, and perhaps this would be easier. entering the new year no longer caring for her. putting yourself first for once rather than her. loving yourself more than her. it would all be so easy.

her head falls, and her eyes water. your blurry vision clears when you take notice, suddenly putting your emotions on the back burner and wiping your eyes.

“els,” you whisper, throwing the blanket off of you and sitting up. your legs swing over the edge of the bed, ellie taking it as an invitation to close whatever space was between you, sobbing in your lap. a rare sight, she hadn’t even done this the night you had split. she was monotone, numb in that moment. now, it’s crashing down on her at once.

you stay like this until her crying stops, the house now quiet, tommy and maria having left. joel is assumingly in his bedroom, passed out as a christmas classic plays on his television. the house feels colder, or maybe that’s just the bedroom.

when ellie adjusts herself, she looks up to you, an unspoken conversation being held between your damp eyes.

ellie leans forward, doing the last thing she should do right now, and kisses you. softly. sadly. passionately.

you scoot back on the bed, her lips not leaving yours while she crawls on top of you, neither of you thinking right now— not about what’s happening, anyway.

all you feel is her, and you need her, in every sense, weeks of telling yourself that you don’t now unraveling. this isn’t about lust. even when her cool hand travels to the waistband of your pants, finding warmth inside of them, awaiting a reaction from you. to push her away, or change your mind, she waits for it.

her lips part from yours, face inches from yours, studying you. you speak quietly, “please.”

she gulps.

once more, she leans in, lips moving slowly with yours, while her hand slips into your underwear. you gasp into her mouth when you feel her, busying your own hands beneath her dark shirt, resting them against her pale back.

your nails dig into her the moment her middle finger enters you, but you only whimper when she adds her ring finger, letting you adjust to how she feels inside you— just right.

then she curls them, angling them on that spongey spot without fault, kissing you harder when a yelp attempts to escape from your lips, being reunited with a feeling you had longed for.

the feeling of ellie taking care of you. wanting to make you feel more than okay. not locked in the bathroom crying after an argument, or isolated in your shared bed because she’d rather sleep on your worn-out thrifted couch.

ellie loving you.

the wind howls against the windows in the bedroom, and you hope the eerie noise blocks your crying out. it doesn’t, and ellie suddenly stops.

“fuck,” she whispers to herself, both guilt and shame creeping into her veins. she took this too far, she thinks. ellie attempts to pull away, but your hand grips her arm, preventing her from doing so.

“i’m okay— ellie, please,” you tell her, afraid to stop, and to lose this. you need this. you beg again, “please, baby.”

and ellie repeats herself again, “fuck.”

to your request, she keeps going, fucking you while you cling to her. ellie is going fast, relentless, and the noises between your thighs are indecent. your grasp gets tighter the closer she brings you to that light at the end of the tunnel, but you can’t seem to actually reach it.

you’re drifting, even when she picks up her pace, pressing against the sweet spots that would usually have you seeing stars.

you know ellie is rushing this. she’s not making love to you, she’s fucking you crudely, but right now your mind is desperately trying to blur those lines.

your eyes remain shut when ellie’s face parts from yours, attempting to chase that high running away from you.

“hey,” ellie speaks, “look at me, y/n.”

you obey, brows furrowed with pleasure and sadness. you probably look a mess; she doesn’t think so. “beautiful,” she says, that rasp in her voice that you’re utterly obsessed with.

“haven’t said it enough lately…but you are…so fucking beautiful,” ellie continues, not slowing down the rhythm at which she moved in and out of you. “wish you could see yourself…fuck…”

you know what she’s doing, but it’s absolutely working.

she feels you tighten around her, heart racing and jaw-dropping with a moan threatening to spill from your soft lips. she reacts quickly, palm on your mouth to muffle the noise, these walls too thin for the noises she made you make.

“gonna be quiet for me?” ellie asks, the question more so teasing than sincere. still, you nod lazily against the mattress. she questions you again, “gonna cum for me?”

you don’t answer her this time— your body does that for you, shuddering beneath her and crying out into her hand. ellie doesn’t drag it out, she removes her fingers, sucking them while you collect yourself, calming your shaky breath.

it’s a waiting game for who speaks first, ellie shifting and sitting at the edge of the bed, gripping the blanket beneath her. she’s trying to wrap her head around…all of this…around you.

meanwhile, you force your tired body to move, crawling behind her and wrapping your arms around her torso, head resting on her shoulder. a position you could stay in forever if life was kind enough and allowed you to.

“we can tell him in the morning.”

her words bring you out of the haze you’re in, like a bucket of ice-cold water thrown in your fucking face. that’s what ellie did best. she gave you everything you had wanted, just to take it away.

“okay,” you respond, letting go of her completely— in the physical way.

#-insertcatemoji #freakmas #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfic #the last of us fanfic #ellie x reader #ellie williams #tlou fanfic #wlw fanfic #why are you still reading this? do you want me??

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metalomagnetic · 2 months ago

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hi metalo! i saw you recently liked a post (i am a creep) about dumbledore being a villain not being a good analysis. years ago i was firmly in the dumblevillain camp, and while I haven’t moved out entirely (I somewhat see him as morally grey? ish?), i am SO interested in your take on dumbledore

can you please just provide a blurble of your opinion? all the love <3

Dumbledore is a good-guy archetype. He is God, to Harry's Jesus and Voldemort's Satan. He is Gandalf to Frodo, Mufasa to Simba and so on.

Dumbledore isn't morally grey; he holds no convictions that are grey in nature. Snape is a wonderful example of a morally grey character, not Dumbledore.

He is, however, a complex character, nuanced, a human being with faults. He makes mistakes, like all other characters in the books, and like all human beings in the world. He is not perfect, but he is good. The Ultimate Good.

Dumbledore is a man that lives in service of the Wizarding World and sacrifices his love, his desires, his ambition and ultimately his life for the good of others.

Dumbledore never forgives himself for those brief 2 months of summer he had with Gellert, and literally spends his entire life doing better, always doing what is right, choosing, over and over and over again, to be kind.

He saves the world, twice, by making sure Grindelwald and Voldemort would never rule over innocents. He not only ensures Voldemort will lose the war, but he makes damn sure to arm Harry with everything he needs to survive that encounter.

Dumbledore always choses love, compassion, tolerance, forgiveness. He always does what is right.

Like he himself will tell you, he made some mistakes (and he is the first to recognise those mistakes, and hold himself accountable for them) but never out of malice or for self interest. Even if he is a genius, he is not omnipresent nor omnipotent, so sometimes he errs on account of that.

He is so aware of his power, and his own human fragility and potential for corruption, that he chooses to remove himself from power, from people, locked away in a school, keeping himself contained and in check.

We also have to account for JK's less than stellar plots, and how HP books are meant for children. But, narratively, Dumbledore represents goodness. He is the hero's mentor, teacher, paternal figure, protector.

When he dies, the UK magical world is lost to darkness. Without him, the Ministry falls, Hogwarts falls, and Voldemort gains power over UK. However, Albus leaves Harry behind, arms him with knowledge (about Horcruxes and how to destroy them) and with powerful magic (the deathly hallows), leaves Harry with people that will look after him (Snape).

Albus did not sacrifice Harry- on the contrary. He loved Harry, was impressed and humbled by the goodness and determination in Harry, and he fought his hardest to keep this kid alive. Without Dumbledore, Harry would have died- not just in the final battle, but many times over. Harry wouldn't have made it past toddlerhood without this man.

To quote Harry himself:

“He accused me of being ‘Dumbledore’s man through and through.’”

“How very rude of him.”

“I told him I was.”

Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. Behind Harry, Fawkes the phoenix let out a low, soft, musical cry. To Harry’s intense embarrassment, he suddenly realized that Dumbledore’s bright blue eyes looked rather watery.

How the fandom turned this man into a villain, I will never understand.

Of course, you can have a fun AU where Albus is actually evil, or morally grey. I love those kind of stories. This is strictly speaking of canon Albus, and not of wonderfully creative fics that can depict all matter of divergences where Albus can end up however deliciously evil the authors desires him to be.

(I say all this as the Biggest Voldemort's simp in the universe; but I simp for a Voldemort that we create through head-canons and collective fandom, not a Voldemort that exists in the canonical text. I simp for Voldemort's potential that was never realised in the books. Dumbledore, however, is fully developed in the books, and he is a wonderful dude.)

#albus dumbledore #hp meta

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hurtblossom · 11 months ago

Text

No time to die

Pairing : Lando Norris x F1 Driver!Reader (Female)

Summary : A desire to keep their relationship secret, but for all the wrong reasons, and at what cost ?

Warnings : ANGST, Swearing, the english is still terrible, inchident on the race, blood. Confort?

NO HATE TOWARDS ANY OF THE CHARACTERS, IT'S JUST FICTION, AND I NEEDED VILLAINS.

Masterlist

Lando Norris and Y/N Y/L/N were both drivers for the McLaren racing team. They met when Y/N joined the team. While Lando didn’t know her at all, she had known who he was from a very young age, having already raced against him and other current F1 drivers when they were children in karting. From their first meeting, there was an undeniable spark between them, but their journeys had been very different.

Y/N was the only current female driver, which made it easy for her to catch the eyes of people around her. Not only due to her exceptional skills but also because of her beauty, which left many speechless, including Lando Norris. He remembered his first impressions of her: her confidence, determination, and captivating smile. Y/N carried herself with a grace and strength that commanded respect on and off the track.

When she met Lando, Y/N fell for him almost immediately. If you asked her, she would tell you it was love at first sight. For Lando, it took a bit more time to open up to her. Since she joined right after Carlos, he felt like she took his friend's spot, but as time passed by, he realized she deserved her place in McLaren. He recalled the moments they shared, talking about their past karting races, sharing jokes, and laughter that brought them closer each day.

The two grew closer each day, and finally, they both decided to let that chemistry become romance and started a relationship. Everything was perfect in Y/N's eyes, especially in the beginning. She wanted the whole world to see how in love with him she was. For her, they were endgame. But whenever the conversation about announcing their relationship came up, Lando simply brushed it off. He was always polite about it, saying it wasn’t the right time or that it could complicate things with the media and the team.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

A month passed, then two months, six months, and still nothing. Y/N started to notice how Lando would distance himself from her, drawing an invisible line between them. The kisses became less frequent, he would come to her apartment less often, and Y/N had stopped asking about announcing their relationship a long time ago. She missed the early days when everything seemed possible, and their love felt like a secret treasure.

Professionally, Lando kept his distance at work, being careful not to be seen with her by other drivers or staff members. When they had media duties, Y/N saw through his act. Over time, she learned when Lando was pretending. It broke her heart a little each time she tried to reach out to him, and he didn't give her the time of day. She remembered the countless nights she spent alone, wondering what went wrong, replaying their conversations, and hoping for a sign that things would change.

When Lando won his first ever GP in Miami, Y/N was ecstatic, smiling ear to ear, proud of the man she called her boyfriend. She couldn't hide her excitement and immediately jumped into his arms as soon as she got out of her car, telling him how proud she was and how she knew he could do it. He, for once, reciprocated her hug, only squeezing her a little, thanking her quickly before running away to celebrate his victory with the team. At the club after the race, Lando barely acknowledged her as he partied with his friends, other drivers, and some other girls. She watched from a distance, feeling like a stranger in a place where she should have felt at home.

A few weeks later, it was Y/N's turn to succeed, winning her first ever GP in Canada. Getting out of her car, she expected the same treatment as Lando when he won. She was jumping up and down, hugging a few team members, but she felt a certain coldness. Lando, being P2, not far from Y/N, got out of his car. Y/N walked towards him, a smile on her face, waiting for him to do anything really. He just passed by her, patting her shoulder. On the podium were herself, Lando, and Max. She was the only one not being sprayed with champagne. That night, Y/N found herself all alone in her hotel room, silent tears streaming down her face as she read the message from Zak Brown: "It was supposed to be Lando's win today. We expect you to help him win the races, not steal them from him. Be careful next time, or this win will be the last of your career." She felt a deep sense of betrayal and loneliness, wondering how things had gone so wrong.

Two weeks went by, and Y/N and Lando didn't talk much. She tried reaching out, but his replies were short and dry, so she didn't insist much, still hurt by the events in Canada. Their once vibrant connection felt like it was fading into a mere shadow of what it used to be.

Spain's GP came quicker than expected for the young female driver. She didn't want to go, feeling her spark for driving leaving her slowly. She was in her driver's room, sitting on her small bed, getting lectured by Zak, who was reminding her of what she was supposed to do. Lando, who was coming in, heard a bit of the conversation. Zak left, and Lando entered the room.

"How are you feeling about today's race?" Lando asked, looking at his girlfriend, trying to sound casual.

"Don't worry, I won't overtake you. You don't need to pretend you care how I feel," she said, getting up from her spot and adjusting her outfit, her voice tinged with sadness.

"What are you even talking about? Of course, I care," Lando said, raising his voice slightly, frustration creeping in.

"You don't care, Lando. I was so stupid thinking you loved me," she raised her voice too, tears ready to fall.

"I care," Lando argued, trying to bridge the growing gap between them.

"Yeah, like you cared when I won in Canada, or like you cared when I was all alone in my room during MY special night? You don't hug me anymore, you don't kiss me, you don't talk to me. Are we even together anymore?" Her voice broke with the weight of her emotions.

"You're so selfish, Y/N. Not everything is about you," he said, his own pain and confusion coming to the surface.

"How can I be selfish when all I do is try to please you?" Y/N exclaimed, hurt and bewildered.

"I wish I never met you. You're such a waste of time," Lando screamed, not thinking, letting his anger take over.

"You don't mean that," Y/N whispered, crying, her heart shattering.

"I mean every single word. I should have never given you a chance. I always knew I could do better than you anyway. Why do you think I never go out with you? I'm ashamed. Who would want to be seen with you?" Lando continued, his words like daggers.

Y/N didn't let any other word get out of her mouth, getting out of the room, tears streaming down her face, having a full-on panic attack. She sat down, trying to calm her breathing. After what felt like an eternity, she wiped the tears and went straight to the garage. Once she entered, Lando's eyes immediately went to her, guilt written all over his face. She quickly put her helmet on, trying to block the cameras from seeing her puffy red eyes.

When all the cars were parked in the right places on the starting grid, the lights went green, and the Spain race started.

It was on her tenth lap that Y/N started to feel something was wrong with the car.

"Something is wrong with the car," she said loud and clear, so the engineer could hear her through the radio.

"What do you mean?" The engineer said, his voice laced with worry.

"I can't slow down. I don't know what to do," she started panicking, her mind racing.

"It's going to be okay. Try to bring back the car," the engineer said in her ears, trying to keep her calm.

It was a matter of seconds before Y/N's car ended up rolling all the way toward a wall. The public went silent as the accident happened. The car behind her, which was George's, stopped, and the man came running to her. A red flag was quickly drawn, making all the other cars retire to the pit. The scene was chaotic, with everyone fearing the worst.

Lando arrived and got out of his car, looking around, not understanding what was happening. He went to Carlos, who was standing just in front of him.

"What's happening?" he asked, anxiety clear in his voice.

"Accident. We don't know who it is," the Spaniard said, looking at the big screen, trying to get a better view of what was happening.

Lando was looking around, trying to find Y/N. When he didn't see her car anywhere, he looked back at the screen. He recognized George's car and saw what looked like an orange car, upside down, stuck between the wall and the tires. He ran to the McLaren facility, his heart pounding.

"Y/N? Are you conscious?" Lando heard Zak say, his voice tense.

He picked up headphones and listened carefully. He heard weak breathing.

"Y/N? It's Lando. Please reply to me, baby," Lando said, earning looks from the team.

"It hurts," Y/N struggled to say, her breathing uneven.

"Where does it hurt, baby?" Lando asked, trying to keep her awake, his voice trembling.

"Everywhere. Please get me out of here. I can't move," Y/N was crying, fear in her voice. "Lando?"

"I'm here, love. They're trying to get you out," he said, his heart breaking.

"I don't want to die, Lan," she sobbed, her voice barely a whisper.

"You're not dying, baby," Lando murmured, tears streaming down his face.

The safety team got Y/N out after several minutes of struggling. Once she was finally out, George helped her stand. Everyone let out a breath, thinking it was finally over. Lando was looking at his lover, trying to control his own breathing, not to break down right there and then.

But everything came crashing down again when Y/N stopped walking, her orange suit becoming more and more stained with red around her abdomen. She collapsed, her body giving out.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

"I'm not asking you to apologize, I'm asking you to explain to me how the fuck did you let this happen?" Lando was screaming on the phone. "Zak, she almost died. There's no good excuse for that." He hung up after that, returning to his sitting position next to Y/N's bed, who was still unconscious.

He looked at her, his hand reaching for her hair before grabbing her hand, intertwining their fingers. He felt an overwhelming sense of regret and sorrow.

"You have to wake up, baby, I can't live without you," he whispered, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it gently, his voice breaking.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N remained unconscious. The doctors were doing everything they could, but the prognosis was uncertain. Lando stayed by her side every single day, his heart breaking a little more with each passing moment. He whispered to her about the future they would have, the places they would go, and the love they would share, hoping against hope that she could hear him.

One quiet evening, as the sun set outside the hospital window, Y/N’s fingers twitched slightly. Lando’s heart leapt with hope. "Y/N? Can you hear me?" he asked, his voice filled with desperation and love.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly. She looked around the room, her gaze finally landing on Lando. "Lando," she whispered, her voice weak but clear.

"I'm here, love. I'm here," he said, tears streaming down his face.

"What happened?" she asked, confusion and pain evident in her eyes.

"You had an accident, but you're safe now. You're in the hospital," Lando explained, his voice shaking with relief.

"I was so scared," she said, her eyes filling with tears.

"I know, baby. I was scared too. But you're going to be okay," Lando reassured her, holding her hand tightly.

As the days passed, Y/N slowly started to recover. Her physical wounds began to heal, but the emotional scars were deeper. She couldn't shake off the feeling of betrayal and abandonment she had felt from Lando before the accident.

One evening, as they sat together in the dimly lit hospital room, Y/N finally broke the silence. "Lando, we need to talk," she said, her voice firm despite her frailty.

"I know," he replied, looking down at their intertwined hands. "I've been a terrible boyfriend. I took you for granted, and I hurt you. I'm so sorry, Y/N. You didn't deserve any of it."

"It’s not just about the accident, Lando. It's about everything that led up to it. The way you distanced yourself, the way you made me feel like I didn't matter," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

"I was wrong. I was selfish and stupid. But I love you, Y/N. I want to make things right," Lando pleaded, his voice breaking.

"I love you too, Lando, but I need time. I need time to heal, not just physically but emotionally. I need to figure out if I can truly trust you again," Y/N said, her voice trembling with emotion.

Lando nodded, tears streaming down his face. "I'll wait for you, Y/N. No matter how long it takes. I just want you to be happy, even if that means letting you go."

She looked at him, her heart aching. "I appreciate that, Lando. But you need to understand, it's not going to be easy. You hurt me deeply, and it's going to take time for me to process everything and decide if I can move past it."

"I understand," Lando said, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll do whatever it takes to prove that I'm worthy of your trust and love again."

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris blurb #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando x reader #ln4 fluff #lando norris angst

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shaiyasstuff · 3 months ago

Text

sapere aude | sylus | chapter four

synopsis : You smile. You rest. You let the world in again, piece by careful piece. And he begins to look at you like you’re something separate. Not her shadow, but something alive. Still, guilt doesn’t protect. It confuses the living for the dead—and love for something far more dangerous. content : light angst, slow-burn, mentions of death, 50/50 cannon!au, reader is mc’s sister

tagging : @blessdunrest @cathedralofaudra

parts | one | two | three | four

The door creaked open just after midnight.

Boots shuffled across the entryway as the twins stepped inside, snow still clinging to the edges of their coats.

Luke was the first to speak, voice raised with a weariness only familiar pain could deliver.

“God, I think my fingers froze off three towns ago.”

Kieran let out a soft grunt, tugging off his gloves. “That’s because you never close your jacket.”

Luke opened his mouth to argue—but stopped.

The scent hit first. Warm garlic, ginger, something simmering low with comfort and care.

He blinked, turning slowly toward the kitchen.

You were there, sleeves rolled up, standing over the stove in one of the manor’s borrowed sweaters.

The light in the kitchen cast a soft glow over your face, your hair tied up messily, cheeks flushed from the heat.

You glanced up as they entered, eyes lighting with relief.

“There you are,” you murmured, setting a bowl onto the counter. “I made congee. Thought you might need something warm.”

The words weren’t grand. But they landed like an anchor.

Luke stared, speechless for once.

Kieran stepped forward slowly, taking the bowl without a word. He studied it, then glanced at you—and nodded. Just once.

That was all you needed.

Luke flopped into a chair a moment later, dragging his bowl with him. “If this tastes as good as it smells, I might marry you,” he groaned.

You laughed softly. “You’d need Sylus’ permission first.”

At that, Kieran made a sharp choking sound into his spoon. Luke raised a brow.

“…Honestly, he probably wouldn’t even say no.”

You smiled, but said nothing.

It was becoming routine now. These quiet evenings. You’d wait up when they returned, already knowing the kind of exhaustion that lived in their bones.

You’d ask no questions, only offer warmth—through food, through presence, through the small touches that made the manor feel like more than just stone and shadow.

And they let you.

That meant more than anything spoken.

—•

Sylus didn’t let anyone into his study. Not even the twins, unless it was urgent.

But tonight, he didn’t protest when you knocked.

“Come in,” he called, not looking up from the stack of papers on his desk.

You stepped inside with a tray in your hands—tea, still steaming, and a plate of stir-fried rice and vegetables.

He heard the door shut behind you. Your footsteps were always easy to tell apart from the others.

Lighter. Slower. Like you were still figuring out how much space you were allowed to take up.

“You didn’t come down to eat,” you said, setting the tray on the corner of his desk.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“You are now.”

He glanced at you then. Just a flick of red eyes under pale lashes. He didn’t argue.

You didn’t try to stay, but you lingered—waiting to see if he’d say anything.

Sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes he’d just eat in silence while you sat across from him, thumbing through old books or sketching in the notebook you kept tucked in your cardigan sleeve.

Tonight, he spoke.

“Thank you,” he said, nodding toward the tray.

You smiled softly. “You’re welcome.”

He watched you for a beat longer than he meant to. Your presence wasn’t demanding. It never had been.

Where Shaiya had always entered a room like a stormfront—sharp, sure, intentional—you drifted in like a warm breeze. Gentle. Unassuming.

But no less powerful.

You didn’t need to push to be felt.

And he was beginning to realize—he didn’t mind the quiet when it was with you.

You reached for a book on the shelf, scanning titles absentmindedly. Sylus returned to his papers, but not before letting himself notice.

Your smile was different.

Your warmth was not her fire.

And somehow, it was just what he needed.

His eyes followed you as you crossed the room, barefoot and quiet, settling onto the worn leather couch as if you belonged there.

You pulled your knees up, tucking them beneath you as you opened the book in your lap, lips curved in the faintest smile.

It was a small thing. A quiet moment. But to Sylus, it was a danger.

Because for a single breath, he forgot.

Forgot what your smile reminded him of.

Forgot why it hurt to see you at peace.

Almost.

His gaze dropped back to his papers, a subtle tension forming in his brow. But the damage was already done.

The way the light fell across your face.

The shape of your profile.

The ease with which you filled the silence—just like she used to.

The memory surged forward, uninvited.

Snowfall. Blood. Her weight in his arms. The warmth of her fading. The forgiveness in her final breath.

His fingers gripped the edge of the desk.

Hard.

He didn’t hear you call his name at first, voice soft, a hint of worry bleeding through the syllables. It took your hand on his shoulder—warm, grounding—for reality to snap back.

His head jerked toward you, sudden and sharp.

Too fast.

You startled, hand recoiling like you’d been burned. “S-Sorry,” you whispered, retreating. “I didn’t mean—”

Your voice faltered.

You looked small then. Not weak—just unsure. As if your existence here was still something fragile, something he could shatter with a glance.

And for reasons he couldn’t explain, it made his chest ache.

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing beneath your absence.

“Don’t apologize,” he said at last, voice low, rough around the edges. “Not ever.”

You blinked up at him, startled. Eyes wide and glassy, lips parted as if the words had caught you off guard.

Then—faintly, but unmistakably—you blushed.

And looked away.

He should’ve turned back to his work.

But he didn’t.

Because the ghost in his memory never looked at him like that. Not with gentleness. Not with hope.

That… was yours alone.

And it terrified him.

Because for the first time in a long time, the guilt didn’t feel like armor.

It felt like a wound.

Still open. Still bleeding.

And yet, with you near, he wasn’t sure if he wanted it to close.

It had been nearly two weeks since that moment.

Since your hand closed around his—small, steady, trembling—and your voice, so soft it barely stirred the air, told him that it wasn’t his fault. That he wasn’t alone.

That morning in the living room still lingered like smoke in his lungs.

Sylus couldn’t forget the way your fingers had curled around his like you were trying to hold something broken together.

The way your warmth had seeped into him—not just physically, but deeper, where his Evol couldn’t reach. Where guilt lived like rot.

And now, it scared him.

Your kindness terrified him more than bullets ever could.

Because it wasn’t her face that haunted him anymore.

It was you.

The real you.

You, who smiled at him like he wasn’t a monster.

You, who filled the kitchen with laughter so soft it barely echoed, and yet he still heard it hours later.

You, who soothed every ache in his chest and reopened every wound with the same gentle touch.

He watched as you slept peacefully on his couch.

Cautious. That’s what he told himself.

But it stopped being about safety when he found himself memorizing the way your brow creased when you dreamed. The way your lashes brushed against your cheeks.

The slow rise and fall of your breath, steady in the hush of the dark.

Peaceful.

Trusting.

Unaware.

And it burned.

It burned when you told him, shy and bright, that you were ready to move on. That you had chosen to let go of the pain. That you would stop chasing the ghost of your sister and try to live again.

He had nodded.

He had said nothing.

But inside, something splintered.

Would you still say the same if you knew?

If you knew the truth that curled beneath his ribs like a blade?

That he hadn’t failed to protect your sister.

He had killed her.

He stood suddenly, the chair scraping faintly behind him.

The study was quiet, bathed in low amber light, your half-finished tea still warm on the table beside your folded cardigan. The smell of you lingered—soft soap and cinnamon—and he couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t bear it.

He moved quickly, coat slung over his arm, hand already on the doorknob. Guilt surged like bile up his throat.

What was he doing?

Letting you into his world, letting you into him—was this supposed to be redemption? Was this his penance?

You had smiled at him like he was worth loving.

Fool.

His grip tightened around the handle until the metal bit into his palm.

Did you really think this was forgiveness?

Or had he simply let himself believe, even for a moment, that someone like him could be touched by warmth without burning it to ash?

He exhaled sharply and stepped into the corridor.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And just like that, your scent, your softness, your unspoken grace—all of it was locked away, out of reach.

Because monsters didn’t deserve lullabies.

But some part of him, just couldn’t stay away.

—•

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, the shadows in the room unfamiliar, though not unwelcome. The book rested loosely in your hands, one corner creased where your thumb had slipped in sleep.

You blinked once.

“Ah… I must’ve fallen asleep,” you murmured, your voice low and dry, caught between dreaming and waking.

A soft breeze slipped in from the cracked window, rustling the curtains and grazing your skin like a memory. You shivered, lifting the book from your lap and setting it aside.

The quiet wrapped around you—not suffocating, not sharp, just… still. Almost gentle.

Your gaze drifted toward the desk out of habit.

Empty.

Sylus wasn’t there.

The sight struck you harder than it should have. Something settled—then shifted—in your chest. A subtle ache you didn’t have words for.

You stood slowly, arms wrapping around yourself as you padded to the door. The chill lingered, but it was the absence that felt colder. You reached for the handle—

And the door swung open.

You startled, a soft gasp escaping you as your hand flew to your chest.

He stood there.

Framed by the faint hallway light, coat slightly unfastened, red eyes wide—not with shock, but something quieter. As if he hadn’t expected to find you still awake.

As if he didn’t quite know what to say now that he had.

In his hands was a blanket. Soft wool. Familiar. Worn in the way things are when they’ve been used, and kept, and never quite let go.

You stared at it. Then up at him.

“…Is that for me?”

Your voice was small. A whisper caught somewhere between disbelief and hope.

His gaze followed yours, trailing down to the blanket like he’d momentarily forgotten it was there. A breath passed—slow, measured. Then he nodded, almost hesitantly. “I thought you might be cold.”

Your breath hitched.

The air between you shifted—not with tension, but something gentler. A thread pulling taut.

He wasn’t the same Sylus who haunted war rooms or stood unmoved in bloodstained halls. Not tonight. Not like this.

Tonight, he was just a man. Standing in a doorway. Carrying warmth in his hands.

You stepped aside without a word.

He crossed the room, his presence changing the temperature in the air. Not warmer, exactly—just steadier. Like the hush before snow falls.

He draped the blanket over the back of the couch, careful not to brush you as he did. Then, to your quiet surprise, he sat beside you. Close enough that his knee grazed yours briefly before he stilled.

You looked at him. Noticing, as you always did, the way he carried silence like armor. But tonight—it felt thinner.

And then, without looking at you, he lifted the blanket again and gently pulled it over your shoulders.

Your fingers reached up instinctively, tugging it tighter around yourself. The scent of him clung to the fabric—clean, cold, like wind and steel and something just shy of comfort.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

But then he spoke, voice low—measured, like it had been weighing on him for too long.

“I thought about it,” he said. “About your trust.”

You blinked, turning to him. His eyes didn’t meet yours right away. Not yet.

“I know what it means,” he continued. “To offer that to someone. Especially… someone like me.”

Now, his gaze found yours. And it held.

There was no façade in it. No commander. No monster. Just a man trying to steady something in himself before it slipped.

“I want to honor that,” he said. “Your trust. I want to… keep it.”

The words landed softly, but they struck something deep—because they weren’t said like a vow. They were said like a confession.

And you understood.

You didn’t know what haunted him, not yet.

But you knew this much:

He wasn’t just trying to be kind.

He was trying to be worthy.

Your chest ached, but you smiled.

Small. Quiet. Real.

And you whispered, “Then stay.”

He didn’t move for a long time. Just sat there beside you, staring at the dark, as if wondering whether the warmth in your voice might melt something in him he wasn’t ready to let go of.

But he didn’t leave.

And that—was answer enough.

Sleep crept over you like a tide, soft and inevitable. Your eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing your cheeks as your head dipped slightly to the side—too heavy now to hold upright.

Your head tilted, and in another second, you would have slipped entirely—if not for the arm that caught you.

Sylus stiffened at the contact, instinct bracing before his body eased. Carefully, almost reluctantly, he brought your head to rest against his chest.

The silence around him grew heavier.

He looked down at you, the steady rise and fall of your breathing against him. Your face was calm, unworried. Trusting.

His Evol pulsed faintly beneath his skin—quiet now, for once. As if even it knew that this moment wasn’t meant to be disturbed.

The flickering lamplight painted shadows across the room, stretching long and soft over the edges of his desk, your blanket, the contours of your face.

He hadn’t held someone like this in a long time.

Not since—

His jaw clenched.

This wasn’t her.

You weren’t her.

And yet you slept against him the same way—soft, unguarded, like you didn’t know what he’d done. Like you couldn’t possibly imagine the weight he carried.

He shut his eyes.

Was this enough?

He didn’t know anymore.

He had kept you alive. He’d killed for you. Let you into rooms no one else was allowed in. Let you see pieces of himself he hadn’t shown in years.

But was it enough?

Was this repentance?

Your fingers twitched lightly in sleep, brushing against his coat, and his breath hitched.

No. It couldn’t be.

Because redemption meant undoing what he had done.

And no amount of warmth from you could ever bring back what he destroyed.

His arms held still. Steady.

But his chest—

It burned.

Not from guilt.

But from the unbearable ache of being seen, and still being held.

And he wasn’t sure which hurt more.

—•

The morning sun filtered gently through the old manor windows, pale and quiet, like it was afraid to touch anything too heavily.

You stirred slowly from your sleep, still wrapped in the blanket Sylus had draped over your shoulders the night before.

His study was empty now. His chair pushed back, the fire reduced to nothing but a faint glow in the hearth.

There was no sign of him.

You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as the silence pressed in. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just still. Like the room had gone back to holding its breath, waiting.

Breakfast came and went. You cooked with the twins, laughed a little at Luke’s usual antics, watched Kieran argue with him in that half-hearted, brotherly way. But Sylus hadn’t joined you.

And the longer his absence stretched, the more aware of it you became.

You didn’t ask where he was.

Not directly.

Just… listened. Waited. Wondered.

By the time the sun had started to dip behind the trees, casting long shadows across the manor halls, you found yourself wandering again.

Your steps aimless, almost dreamlike, the sort of movement that comes when thoughts are too loud and the silence too thick.

That was when you saw it.

A narrow door at the end of a hallway you rarely walked. Tucked between two old portraits, half-hidden by shadow. You paused in front of it, fingers brushing over the aged handle.

It didn’t look locked.

Something inside you stirred.

A breath. A pull. A question you couldn’t name.

You opened it quietly.

The scent of rust and cool air met you first. A staircase, old and narrow, led up into the unknown. You hesitated for only a second before climbing.

The wind grew stronger the higher you went, tugging at your sleeves, lifting strands of your hair like it remembered something you’d forgotten.

And then—you emerged.

The rooftop.

It stretched wide before you, open to the sky and the sweeping view of the forested ridges beyond.

The air was crisp, tinged with the scent of stone and distant rain, and the world looked softer from up here—washed in the amber light of the late afternoon sun.

You stood there for a moment, just breathing it in. The stillness. The sky.

The way the manor seemed so far behind you now, like stepping through that door had taken you somewhere else entirely.

Then you moved—slowly, quietly—to the edge. You sat with your legs drawn up, your hands in your lap, eyes fixed on the horizon.

The wind danced around you, catching in your hair, and you let it. You let yourself be still.

You didn’t expect peace.

But that’s what this felt like.

A rare, fleeting moment of peace.

You leaned your head back, eyes closing. The sun warmed your skin. For the first time in what felt like days, your chest didn’t ache with questions.

You didn’t know why he hadn’t come here. Or if he even knew this place existed. Maybe he did. Maybe it used to be hers.

You tried not to think about that.

Tried not to think about how much of her still lingered in the corners of this place—in the way the hallways echoed, or how the others looked at you sometimes like they weren’t sure who they were seeing.

Up here, it didn’t matter.

Up here, there was only sky.

And silence.

And you.

You stayed until the sun dipped just beneath the edge of the hills, gold bleeding into deep violet. The shadows stretched longer. The wind grew colder.

And still, you didn’t move.

You thought of the cell.

Of the damp air, the suffocating dark. The days bled together, one after another, while your body ached and your mind drifted between hope and despair.

You had stopped counting time after the second day—or maybe the fifth. A week? A month? It didn’t matter now.

Your fingers curled around your wrists, an instinctive motion. The burn of the chains was long gone, but the memory still lived in your skin, tucked beneath the surface like a phantom pain.

And yet… your heart felt warm.

Strange, how that could be.

You owed it to them—the twins. Their bickering, their banter, the way their presence made the silence easier to bear.

Luke’s ridiculous jokes, Kieran’s quiet glances. Without meaning to, they reminded you what laughter felt like.

And then—your thoughts shifted.

To her.

To your sister.

You remembered how she used to tug you along by the wrist, her grip firm but playful, the scent of something sweet in the air as she promised ice cream and sunshine after a hard day.

You could almost see her now—sitting beside you, head tilted, cone in hand, listening as you rambled about little things and new beginnings.

The way she would smile, patient and knowing, like she always knew what you weren’t saying.

You let out a quiet breath, one that trembled slightly at the end.

“I’m safe now, Sis,” you whispered. “You made sure of it.”

Your voice caught in the breeze and disappeared, but you didn’t need a reply.

You smiled faintly, eyes misting. “I see it now. Why you liked it here.”

And then… Sylus.

You hadn’t meant to think of him, but he came to mind with startling clarity.

The way his red eyes watched you from across the room, unreadable but never cruel. The smirks that lasted barely a breath. The quiet way he lingered—not too close, but always near enough to reach if you needed him.

He had become part of your healing without even trying.

Your fingers tightened around your sleeve.

“I think I have feelings for him,” you murmured to the empty rooftop.

And for once, saying it out loud didn’t scare you. It felt real.

It felt right.

—•

Sylus hadn’t expected anyone to be on the rooftop.

It was late—late enough for the world below to be asleep, for the sky to hang heavy and still. So when he pushed the door open, expecting solitude, he stopped short.

You were already there.

Perched near the edge, knees drawn loosely to your chest, hair tousled by the wind. The moon cast a silver sheen over you, softening your outline, making you look like something half-dreamed.

At the sound of the door, you turned, startled at first, then offered a sheepish smile. “I stumbled up here,” you said, voice barely louder than the breeze. “Hope you don’t mind.”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just stood there, watching you in the hush of the night.

He didn’t mind.

But the ache did.

Because seeing you like that—bathed in pale light, voice easy, eyes tired but open—pulled the past too close.

Her smile.

Her eyes.

The way she used to lean into the wind and whisper that she loved him, even when she knew he couldn’t say it back.

His throat tightened.

He looked away, jaw flexing.

He had almost convinced himself he was letting go. That guilt could fade.

But tonight, it found him again.

Because sometimes, it wasn’t your resemblance to her that undid him.

It was that you were nothing like her at all.

Your gaze softened as you stepped off the ledge, quiet footsteps carrying you across the rooftop to where he stood, frozen in the doorway.

“Are you okay?” you asked gently, searching his face.

He didn’t answer.

So, slowly—carefully—you reached out, fingers brushing along his jaw, coaxing his face to meet yours.

The wind curled around you, sharp with silence.

“I’m not her,” you whispered, voice low but steady.

His eyes closed for the briefest second.

And when they opened again, they held something raw.

“That’s what hurts,” he said.

And the honesty in it nearly undid you.

“I’m sorry.”

It was the only thing you could manage—because what else was there to say to a man unraveling under the weight of memory?

Sylus didn’t respond right away. His gaze lingered on you, steady and unreadable, before his hand lifted—slow, hesitant—and came to rest lightly against your cheek.

His thumb brushed just beneath your eye, not to wipe away tears, but to memorize.

As if you were something he needed to understand.

There was something about you—something more than your softness, more than the gentle steadiness that had begun to ground him in ways he didn’t expect.

You were nothing like your sister.

And yet…

There was a pull. A quiet gravity.

Maybe it was something cruel in him that thought your presence was a second chance.

A reckoning dressed in mercy.

You didn’t flinch when he touched you.

You just looked at him—truly looked—like you were ready to carry something you didn’t yet comprehend.

You wanted to hold his pain.

And that terrified him.

Because you didn’t know—

Just how much he had to give.

Or how much of it

was soaked in blood.

He should’ve pulled away. Should’ve stopped before it went too far.

But he didn’t.

This—whatever this was—it was built on borrowed breath and buried truths. And he was the one keeping it that way, hiding the snow, the blood, the last breath your sister took in his arms.

You didn’t know.

You didn’t know that the hands now reaching for you had once taken everything from you.

And yet, you trusted him. With your quiet smiles. With your presence. With your grief.

He hated himself for how much that meant.

Because somewhere between your softness and the weight you carried so silently, he’d started to care.

Not because of some duty.

Not because of guilt.

But you.

You, with your warmth and hesitant hope. You, who reminded him not of her—but of what she never got to be.

The closer you drew, the worse it became.

Because he knew that when the truth came to light—and it would—it wouldn’t just break you. It would shatter whatever fragile thing had started to bloom between you.

He should’ve run. Should’ve made the clean cut before it turned into something irreparable.

But as the distance between you disappeared—inch by aching inch—he realized he couldn’t.

Because he’d already stepped too close.

And the tragedy was, he wasn’t falling for your face.

He was falling for you.

And there was no redemption left in that.

Only ruin.

You stopped him, your hands gently bracing against his chest, his face just inches from yours.

Your eyes searched his, soft and steady. “I hope this isn’t too sudden,” you whispered, your voice barely rising above the wind curling through the rooftop.

He froze beneath your touch, breath caught, as if the world had narrowed to just your words and the quiet thrum of your heartbeat against his.

“What is?” he asked, his voice low, touched with something fragile. Something you weren’t used to hearing from him.

You hesitated, but only for a breath.

Then, you spoke—honestly. “I want to stay here. Not because of the promises you made to my sister. Not because I feel like I owe it to her… I want to stay because of you.”

His eyes darkened, the emotion behind them shifting like a tide breaking against a shore. He looked at you as if your words had cracked something open inside him.

His breath hitched. Just once.

Then he said, voice rough but resolute, “Then stay.”

And he kissed you.

Slowly. Gently.

Like he knew he shouldn’t.

Like he wanted to memorize the way your lips felt before the truth inevitably destroyed this.

But for now, he kissed you anyway—ignoring the way his chest ached and the way guilt roared in his mind.

Because in that moment, you were real.

And he wasn’t ready to let you go.

You leaned into him, as if he were the only thing tethering you to something real.

It didn’t feel wrong. Not to you.

Maybe it was because, deep down, a part of you had been reaching for your sister through him all along—through the silence, the guilt in his eyes, the way he looked at you like you reminded him of something lost.

But as you kissed him, you understood something else—

You were never truly alone in your grief.

He had been carrying it too, quietly, heavily. And though neither of you had said it aloud, it had lived between you from the beginning.

Still, that sorrow felt distant now, softened beneath the warmth of his hand brushing yours, the quiet way he guided you through the halls and into the stillness of his quarters.

You didn’t know why you let him.

But you understood.

He hadn’t mourned her. Not really. Not the way people should.

And maybe, in this quiet surrender, in the space where words fell short—this was your way of helping him.

Letting him feel something other than guilt.

Even if just for a night.

You let him cry into you that night, your arms wrapped tightly around his trembling frame, bare skin pressed to bare skin beneath the hush of tangled sheets.

The room was quiet save for the shallow hitch of his breath and the way your name broke on his lips—soft, broken, pleading.

His body curled into yours as if trying to disappear, as if he could bury himself deep enough to escape whatever haunted him.

His fingers clutched at your waist, digging just slightly into your skin, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

You held him tighter in response, one hand gently stroking through his silver hair, the other pressed to the center of his back, steady and grounding.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Again and again.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just held him. Let him unravel.

And when your voice did come, it was quiet, warm against his ear. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

He flinched at that. Just slightly. As if the word safe scraped against something raw inside him.

You kissed his temple, his jaw, your lips brushing the places where his breath stuttered.

You thought he was mourning her—your sister. That the guilt he carried had finally cracked open in the dark. And maybe, in some way, he was.

But you didn’t know the truth.

You didn’t know he wasn’t apologizing for the grief, or for the sorrow, or for the way his hands shook as he touched you like you were something fragile.

He wasn’t even apologizing for her death.

He was apologizing for the lie.

For the way he had kept it from you.

For the way he had chosen to stay silent night after night, watching you sleep in peace while knowing he was the reason your sister never came home.

He was sorry—

For wanting this.

For keeping you close, even when he knew he had no right.

For not telling you the truth the moment your eyes first softened for him.

But he didn’t say any of that.

He just held you. Whispered hollow apologies. Let your warmth wrap around him like absolution he hadn’t earned.

And you, not knowing the weight of the confession that never came, just held him tighter and told him it was alright.

Even though it wasn’t.

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thornybubbles · 1 year ago

Text

Fourth Wall (JJBA Yandere Scenario)

Scenario: Recently, you’ve moved on from JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure to a different anime series and fandom. You realize that this was a terrible mistake.

Note: This is based on a prompt I saw on Tumblr ages ago. I just expanded on it a bit.

Warnings: Typical Yandere behavior, threats, abusive behavior, possible harm towards reader, mental distress, anti-comfort. Remember that you alone are responsible for what you read.

-----------

Changing fandoms wasn’t that unusual for you. You would find a new anime, fall in love with it, then it became your new hyperfixation. After a while, the process would repeat. This is what happened with you and JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure. It wasn’t that you didn’t like the series anymore, you just moved on to a new anime/manga. Still…it felt different this time. You weren’t sure why, but ever since you moved on to your new favorite series, you had this unexplainable feeling of guilt wash over you every time you watched an episode of your new favorite anime or read the latest chapter of the manga. Stranger still, there was an underlying feeling of dread as well.

As many times as you’d changed fandoms, you’d never experienced such feelings before. It was uncomfortable and you wished that you could move on to your new obsession without any strings attached. It was ridiculous, really. Why should you feel guilty about a change of taste? You weren’t hurting anything. No one would be affected by it. And yet, you still felt unnecessary shame over changing fandoms. You guessed it had something to do with the lingering attachment you had for certain characters from various parts throughout the series. It almost felt like you were leaving them behind somehow. Another silly notion. They were fictional characters and did not exist outside of the world within JoJo. They had no knowledge of you, much less having knowledge of your “betrayal”. You decided that it was stupid to dwell on it and dived headfirst into your new favorite series. That guilty feeling would surely fade after a while.

You got the perfect opportunity to binge your new favorite anime one day. It was one of those days when you were fortunate enough to have nothing to do. All of your responsibilities had been dealt with and you had no plans other than to sit on your ass and watch your new favorite show until bedtime. Sure, you could go out with friends, but you really just wanted to chill by yourself for the day. So anime binge party it was. You made a comfy nest of blankets and pillows on the couch and set up your laptop on the coffee table. You got some snacks and a drink, made yourself comfortable on the couch, and pressed play on the screen. You relaxed into the softness of your pillows and blankets and immersed yourself in another world for a few hours.

About ten episodes in, you had to go to the bathroom very badly. All of that soda you’d drunk was taking its toll on your bladder. You paused the video, untangled yourself from your blankets, and stiffly power-walked to the bathroom. Once you relieved yourself, you washed your hands and went back into the living room. You snuggled back into your blanket burrito and reached over to start the video, but something wasn’t right. On the screen wasn’t the anime you’d been watching. It was the first episode of Phantom Blood.

What…???

Did you accidently click the wrong thing in your haste to pause the video and rush to the bathroom?

That had to be it.

It was the only thing that made sense.

You clicked off of the JoJo episode and went back to the previous page which took you back to the episode of the new anime you’d been watching. You found the place in the episode that you left off on and pressed play. You settled back in your comfy nest and watched the rest of the episode. You watched for another hour or so. During the opening of one of the episodes, you suddenly found yourself watching the opening for an episode of Battle Tendency. You sat up straight and stared at the screen in shock and confusion.

“What the fuck?” you muttered under your breath.

You refreshed the page and the episode started properly. That’s the second time your video was suddenly changed to an episode of JoJo. The first time you assumed that it was because of an accidental click but now you weren’t so sure. You hadn’t been touching anything when it happened the second time. All you were doing was staring at the screen when the switch happened. Why did it keep happening? Some kind of glitch with the streaming service? You didn’t know, but it was a bit annoying. You hoped that wouldn’t be a constant thing while you were trying to watch your show.

The rest of the day went by without further incident. Eventually, you noticed that it had grown dark and you decided that your day of doing absolutely nothing needed to come to a close. You closed your laptop and reluctantly pried yourself off of the couch. As much as you wanted to just lay there in your blanket nest, you knew that you’d get a much better sleep in your bed. So you hobbled off to your room; your mind on nothing but getting a decent night’s sleep.

You woke up a few hours later with a dried out mouth and an aching throat. You swallowed a few times, wincing at the sandpapery feeling of your tongue against the inside of your mouth. Well that’s what you get for sleeping with your mouth wide open. You flung the covers off of you grumpily and climbed out of bed. You stumbled into the kitchen, not daring to turn the light on and submit your sleep sensitive eyes to an onslaught of painful luminosity. You made your way over to the counter, grabbed a glass, and staggered over to the sink. As you were filling the glass you suddenly had the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. You assumed that it was your sleep fogged brain at work. After all, part of the reason you woke up was because you were having a disturbing dream. You tried to remember what the dream was about, but you couldn’t piece the memories together to get a full picture. You just remembered being in a place that made you uncomfortable and meeting someone that was familiar to you, but their presence frightened you. You just couldn’t remember the details. It kinda made you want to stay awake for the rest of the night but you decided against that. You knew you’d feel like shit the next day if you didn’t get back to sleep. There was nothing worse than waking up with a splitting headache due to lack of proper rest. You downed the glass of water and put the empty glass in the sink.

You suddenly became aware of a strange odor in the air. What was that smell? Smoke? God, was something burning?! You took another sniff of the air and recognized the smell as specifically cigarette smoke. Okay, so that meant that your house wasn’t burning down. That was good news, but why would you be smelling cigarette smoke? The only way you would be smelling cigarette smoke is if it were coming from in the same room as you…

You heard the sound of rustling fabric from somewhere behind you. You spun around and immediately spotted the outline of someone sitting at your kitchen table. You could also make out the small glow of a lit cigarette sticking out of their mouth. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you could make out some details of the figure. They were large, broad shouldered, and wore a long white coat, and on their head rested an oddly shaped hat. In the miniscule amount of light in the room you could make out the glint of gold accessories on both their hat and coat.

“No way…” you gasped in a quiet voice. “No way in hell…”

The figure lit a lighter and held it to the wick of the candle that was located in the middle of the table. Once the candle was lit fully, you could see the figure better. It was as you expected, Jotaro as he appeared in part four was sitting at your kitchen table, glaring at you as if you were less than dogshit.

“You recognize me?” he scoffed and took another drag from his cigarette. “I’m surprised. I thought you forgot all about me… about us….”

You backed up against the counter, unable to believe what you were seeing and hearing.

Jotaro glanced down at the cigarette in his hand. He held it up in front of him.

“This is your fault, you know.” he sneered. “I quit smoking, but after you abandoned us, I started the habit again. I’ve been tolerant so far because I was stupid enough to think that you’d come back eventually. Maybe you were just taking a break and you’d come back when you were bored… that was my stupidity. I’ll own up to that. But when I realized that you’d thrown us aside like trash, well, I got pissed. I guess I took up smoking again just to stay sane…”

You were so appalled at the fictional character seated at your table that you hadn’t been paying much attention to what he was saying. Slowly the words began to filter into your mind and of everything he said, one thing stood out the most…

He said “us”. He said that you had abandoned “us”...

That’s when you became aware of the other figures lined up behind Jotaro.

You could make out their shapes and features in the candlelight. Jonathan stood there looking as utterly brokenhearted as a man could be. Joseph had a smug grin on his face as if he’d just caught you committing a crime. Josuke’s face was contorted in a vicious snarl while his fists were clenched by his sides. Ever so often his left eye would twitch indicating that he may be on the verge of a psychotic break. Giorno offered you a placid smile that was off putting when set against the coldness of his eyes.

Your eyes darted nervously from one face to another before finally settling back on Jotaro’s. It was too much. You pushed away from the counter and ran out of the kitchen. A voice that probably belonged to Jonathan called out for you to stop but you paid it no attention. Luckily the kitchen was right next to the front door. Once you were outside, you could run to the neighbor’s house and get them to call the police. You wouldn’t dare tell them the truth. What would you even say? You couldn’t tell them that five fictional characters from an anime had invaded your house. They’d think you were on something. You would just tell them that someone had broken into your house. That’s all. Honestly, you didn’t know what the hell the police could do against them, but you didn’t know what else to do. You reached the front door but your hand froze just as you were about to unlock the door and yank it open.

Two people were staring down at you from the window in the front door, two people you recognized. Kars looked down his nose at you with a haughty expression. He looked ever so much like a strict parent that had just caught his kid trying to sneak out of the house. DIO on the other hand had the most sadistic smile on his face. He made a “come-hither” gesture with his clawed hand as if he fully expected you to just open the door and throw yourself at him. Their eyes glowed with a hellish light and you couldn’t take the sight of them. You screamed and backed away from the door. As you stepped back, you saw two other familiar faces staring at you from the windows on either side of the door. Doppio had one hand pressed against the glass while the other hand held a rock from the garden to his ear as if it were a cell phone. One of his eyes had changed to a jade green color and glared at you with intense rage. His other, normal eye had a pitiful, disappointed look in it. From the other window Kira stared at you with an utterly emotionless expression. You didn’t dare speculate on what kind of thoughts could be going through his head at that moment. You screamed again and started to turn and run towards the back door…

“Star Platinum!”

Suddenly you were held tight in an iron like hold. An invisible hand covered your mouth preventing you from screaming anymore. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that you were being held in place by Jotaro’s Stand. Struggling in Star Platinum’s grip was useless so you just hung there in midair as Jotaro approached you.

“We weren’t done talking.” he snapped.

He leaned in slightly and you got a whiff of cigarette smoke mixed with cologne.

“Now you listen and you listen good,” he started to say. He held up a single finger.

“One. Just one more chance. That’s all you get. Come back to us and there won’t be a problem. Leave us again and it will get ugly.” he said, glancing up at the villains peering through the windows. His upper lip curled in disgust when he locked eyes with DIO and Kira, but only for a moment before his eyes were back on you.

“Is that understood?” he asked.

You nodded your head, whimpering behind Star Platinum’s invisible palm.

“Good.”

You don’t know what happened after that. You just woke up in your bed with a pounding headache.

“Fuck…” you groaned, pressing your hands to your temples.

You felt awful. You could only guess that you just simply didn’t sleep very well. Damn nightmares. What was with that dream? Was it all because you felt guilty about leaving the JoJo fandom? You grumbled and rolled out of bed. You were going to need to take something for that headache. First you needed to get a glass of water. You stumbled off to the kitchen getting an uncomfortable feeling of deja vu. The moment you entered the kitchen, your eyes glanced to the kitchen table and you nearly fainted.

The candle was out, but it was smoking as if it had only been put out mere moments ago. The cigarette butt that rested on the saucer that had been used as a makeshift ashtray was also still smoking.

That night you made it a point to sit down and watch a few episodes of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure starting with Phantom Blood. You planned to rewatch the entire series from the very beginning all the way to Stone Ocean. With each episode you watched, you noticed that ever so often a character’s eyes would slide over towards you as if making sure you were still there, watching them. Sometimes it would be one of the main characters. Sometimes it would be one of the villains. Sometimes it would be a side character. Regardless, they all kept checking to see if you were watching. Every day, you would make it a point to watch at least one episode of JoJo, no matter what. You didn’t dare skip out on your daily dose of JoJo. You also never went back to the other anime you’d been watching after you left the JoJo fandom. No, you learned your lesson. You were familiar enough with Jotaro’s character to know that he only gave people one chance and no more. Just like with Rubber Soul and Steely Dan. He gave them both a chance to leave mostly unscathed but they both decided to turn on him at the last minute. They both were punished severely. You weren’t going to make that same mistake.

So you sat there on the couch, stiff and terrified as you watched your “favorite” anime…

… like a good little fan should…

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maxivstappen · 11 months ago

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THE GREATEST — TRUE BLUE

[ part one / masterlist / requests are open ]

☽｡⋆ part 2 of THE GREATEST. he tried to live without you, but how is one to survive with a broken heart? a story based on TRUE BLUE by billie eilish. — lando norris x fem!reader (could technically be read as a stand-alone)

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 angst, hurt & comfort, hints of fluff (?) 𝄞 4.1k words

❝ Lights out, you’re not here holding me ❞

Lando had never before felt the way he did the day you left him. Seeing you walk through that door, intending to never come back to him ever again, it pained him. It took him too long to realize how much he hurt you, and now he had to suffer the consequences. He swore it wasn’t on purpose, but when his friends told him that also the third girl he had brought along since you broke up with him resembled you in a way, he stopped denying. There was no use. The guys knew, the internet knew, he knew that he wasn’t yet over you. And he thinks he never will be. You left an empty place in his heart, a place that would forever be reserved for you only and you only. No matter how hard he tried to find someone else, no one would ever be able to replace you.

The girl he brought to the first race after the summer break was long forgotten already.

At first, everyone around him believed him when he said he felt happier now without you. But the moment he went back to his old ways, the heartbreaker they’ve known for so long, they realized he wasn’t. The girls always looked like you. He only rarely smiled anymore and he couldn‘t care less about his friends‘ relationships, even going as far as faking a gag or simply not coming to hang out with them at all. He said it’s because he needs to focus on racing. They knew it was because of you. Lando was yet to tell them why the relationship ended. He’d rather crash his car and DNF in every race for the rest of his life than to ever have to talk about the night you left ever again. He felt embarrassed and bad and was so terribly regretful. Only his parents knew the whole truth. He told them with tears caressing his face just like you once did, and seeing the disappointment in their eyes, he felt his heart rip apart even more. They had loved you so much, only waiting for the day he would finally go down on one knee for you, and now he messed it all up.

If he could just go back and make it all alright. Make you feel unconditionally loved wherever you went, make you happy, keep you happy. He would change it all if he just had the chance, but he knew you deserved better. Maybe one day, he could be better again.

He is ready to give up the very thing for you that had made you leave him that night if you’d ask him to. Racing would never again mean as much to him as you, though broken up, still do to him.

He was currently seated in his McLaren, waiting for the lights to go out so he could try his very best to overtake max at the start already. He should have his mind on the track. He shouldn’t think about you, not here. But like always, he couldn’t help it. He hoped to see you in the stands once he was able to get out of the car again. He hoped to see you wave and smile at him, run into his arms and let him kiss you all over, do all the things he had failed to do so many months ago. He knew it wouldn’t happen. He believed anyway. The lights went out and the cars began moving. He tried his best, he always did, but he wasn‘t afraid to lose anymore; for what was it worth to win a race when he had faced the greatest loss of them all already?

❝ I count every tear down my cheek instead of sheep ❞

You couldn’t sleep. You could never sleep while he was racing. Especially when he was on the other side of the world, which is why you went with him last season, and also at the start of this one. Maybe you never should’ve. Long distance was hard, but you managed. He felt farther away when he was still sleeping next you every night. At least when he didn’t send you off to sleep on the couch.

You tossed and turned in your sleep, but you didn’t dare to turn on the TV. It’s been months, you should try to live without him. Without seeing him. Without feeling for him. His races had nothing to do with you, neither did the outcome. And god, if he wins and you have to watch him kiss someone else again you might as well just take his racing car and drive right into the nearest wall. He’s so far away and yet, it didn’t make you love him any less. You huffed, fear slowly building up inside of you. You knew you shouldn’t do this, you had to wake up early tomorrow and really, it wouldn’t be that bad to miss a race once or twice, but you couldn’t help it. Reaching for the remote, your eyes were flooded with tears and your heart stung like never before when you saw him driving out there. You were rooting for him nonetheless. Just months ago you had watched the races from inside the McLaren hospitality, but now? All alone in your bed, anxiously following his every move. You would never fall asleep like this.

❝ Sleepwalk, find myself on your street. Three knocks, ring the bell, then I leave ❞

And there you stood high up in the stands the next weekend, head hanging low as you didn‘t want any fans of him recognizing you, back in his territory. You tried to ignore him, you really did, but your eyes kept following him around the paddock and didn’t leave him even while he was doing the quick interviews he had to do on his way there. And honestly, it kinda felt like home. Attending the races. Being near him. Being with him. You missed it more than anything else in the world, and you felt pathetic for it. He hurt you every way he could, and still, he didn’t hurt you enough to make you hate him. And you really wanted to hate him.

You went to the race together with one of your friends from uni. You bonded over formula 1 and your shared passion for the sport and quickly became very good friends. However, she had to leave soon, moving to another city for a better starting point for her career. Hence, you decided to save some money and go to a race together for the last time; for now, at least. You still remember the way she looked at you when you told her you were with Lando. The way you swooned over him to her, and the way you cried your eyes out when it all ended. You really thought you‘d be able to spend the rest of your life with him, and now all you had left of him were memories. She‘s known you long enough to immediately notice your longing after him the moment your eyes locked onto his dark brown curls. Your heart fluttered and it made you nauseous. One day this would stop, right? Your feeling must fade at least sometime, or was this all just wishful thinking? Could you not just get over him like everyone else got over their exes and start dating someone new?

Your heart ached. He was so close, not out of reach anymore, not on the other side of the world anymore, but still, there was no way of getting back to him, the crash barriers and the grandstand keeping you away, and it felt like the end of your relationship all over again, with him on the track and you sitting and waiting patiently on the sidelines, always at least an arm length distance between you two. You shouldn’t even want to get him back. You left out a sigh as he walked into the McLaren hospitality, finally out of sight. But still not out of mind.

Your friend huffed next to you, and finally decided to try and convince you to talk to him after the race while you were still in the same place, to get closure at last. You knew it must annoy your friends and maybe even your family that it was so hard for you to just move on. They put effort into understanding, but still, Lando wasn‘t good to you, at least not in the end. Many would treat you better, but you didn‘t seem to care. You quickly shook your head no, telling her how he probably didn’t want to talk to you and that catching him after the race would be nearly impossible, with bodyguards and tons and tons of interviewers and cameras around him.

The conversation ended soon after, as the lights went out and the drivers hit the gas. You pondered for a second, reconsidering your friend‘s suggestion, a weird feeling building up in your stomach. Maybe you shouldn’t even be here, maybe you should *leave* after the race and never look back. But to your dismay, every sense in your body was telling you to stay.

❝ I try to live in black and white but I’m so blue ❞

The race went well, but he didn‘t really care. Of course he was happy, the whole team was euphoric for their two drivers who secured place 2 and 4, huge smiles plastered on their faces. Once he was done with the post-race interviews he left to go back and get some rest inside his apartment, at least until the others came around to drag him to the afterparty, slandering from one club into the next one.

Everything felt so lonely without you. His bed was cold even when he was hidden under his blanket, and the dining room was nothing more than a reminder that he wasn‘t spending his evenings with you. Watching TV got boring. Everything got boring. He didn’t even know why he lost you anymore, he didn’t know what the hell it was that made him believe you weren’t made for him, making him believe there was actually something more important than you in this lifetime. You haunted his every thought, and even though he truly only wanted the best for you, deep inside him, he wanted you to still need him as well.

He stood in front of his bathroom mirror, gently buttoning up his shirt like you used to do, always leaving the 3 highest ones unbuttoned. He missed your touch, your eyes looking up at him and your hands always reaching for his. His arms would be wrapped around your waist and his head would be leaning on your shoulder, sneaking a few, small kisses up your neck as you changed your earrings for the night, the imagine of it painted onto your fast beating heart as you stood in front of the full-body mirror in your apartment, finishing up your accessoires. You wore a blue dress that covered your thighs, not reaching your knees. It hugged you in all the right places, accentuating your features. It used to be Lando‘s favourite, but you had no other alternative, not having brought any other dresses. Your friend insisted on going clubbing anyway, desperately wanting to finally get him off your mind for one night at least.

The other drivers were loud and happy and drunk and Lando sat next to them, staring at his already empty glass. He knew how this would go. At some point, either the drivers or one of their girls would tap his shoulder, saying they have a friend they think he would really like, and if he would like to be introduced to her. He would agree so they would finally keep their mouths shut, he would talk to the girl. Maybe they would kiss if he drank enough. Maybe he would take her home. Maybe he would think about you the whole time, maybe he would accidentally call her your name. Maybe he would wake up in the morning and would be happy that she‘d left, content with it only being a one-time thing and not meaning anything.

Because, in the end, nothing meant anything without you.

He pretended to laugh at the jokes of his friends, but really, none of this was fun to him. These nights were nothing more than a constant reminder of how he used to have his fun while you were waiting for him at home, cold and sad and alone. How could he be so stupid and leave you alone all the time? He doesn’t even know why he did it anymore. He yawned, very obviously not enjoying the party. Yes, it was nice seeing his friends so happy, the mood wasn’t as tense as it was around and on the track and the people inside the night club were vivid, dancing and drinking, seemingly having the time of their life downing countless beverages, but still, the happiness didn’t reach him.

“Dude, I think your girl‘s here.“ Oscar pushed him slightly, two vodka bull in hand for himself and Lily. Lando didn’t pay him any mind and rolled his eyes, not really in the mood for talking to any girl that isn’t you at the moment. Couldn’t they just give up? He wasn’t ready yet for someone else, he didn’t even know if he wanted to be with someone that isn’t you at all. Ever. Instead of arguing with Oscar about how he didn’t want to hear from any other girl right now, he went to get another drink as well.

He pushed through the dense crowd of people, navigating through the cacophony of laughter and piercing yelling that seemed to echo from all directions. The deafening loud music blasting through his ears made it difficult to focus, and the harsh sound of glass clunking together only added to it. The colorful LED lights rapidly switched from green to red to purple to yellow in a matter of seconds, creating a dizzying light show that overwhelmed his vision. This sensory onslaught of sounds, sights, and sensations overstimulated his senses, making each step forward feel like an effort.

Finally at his destination, he waited for the waiter or waitress, he wasn’t quite sure, to get his order. He wasn’t certain what his plan was that night at all. Sleeping around or not, you wouldn’t stop haunting his mind anyway, so was it really worth it? Getting drunk and trying to make his nights feel less lonesome? Or should he just wait and really focus on his carrer again until maybe, one day, you’d come back?

He ignored the possibilty of you not coming back at all.

He let his eyes wander around the scene unfolding in front of him, occasionally making eye contact with random girls who winked at him and tried to get his attention, but he didn’t pay them any mind. Frustration started to bubble up inside of him as the wait for his drink seemed to go on for forever, until suddenly, his heart skipped a beat.

Lando was certain that in a room full of people, he would always be able to notice you first. He pondered if it was you whenever he‘d walk by a girl with the same hair colour as you, immediately dismissing the thought when he saw a face that didn’t match yours just a second later. But this time, it was different. The hair ressembled yours without a doubt, and of course he remembered the dress he had bought for you so long ago; never once had he been able to keep his hands to himself when you wore it. The height matched you perfectly as well. But it couldn’t be you, right?

Oscar‘s words replayed in his mind and he finally understood what he meant. Who he meant.

It was really you.

You tried to enjoy the party, but you really weren’t doing so well. Your friend had left you near the bar, thinking you’d be hitting it off with a guy you’ve been talking to for some time, but that wasn’t the case. he left just five minutes after to go home, asking if you’d like to come with him. You denied, but your friend was nowhere to be found, having found someone in this club herself. It was scary being alone in a club full of drunk, intoxicated people, even more so when you sensed someone staring at you from behind. You didn’t have to worry about things like that when you were still with Lando, with him always stuck to your side, a protective arm hanging around your shoulders. you shuddered at the thought, and dared to turn around to find the very person who was looking at you so steadily.

And then you locked eyes.

The world suddenly went quiet. All the chaos, the noise, it all faded into the background, no sound to be heard other than the synchronised, rapid beating of your heart. It seemed as if the only two people in that room were you and him, only the void surrounding the two of you. The LEDs turned blue, engulfing you and him, the light accentuating your features and he couldn’t move even if he wanted to, stuck in a trance of what this could mean for him in the future; what this could mean for you both. Time seemed to stand still. He wanted to run to you, to hold you, to tell you how much he missed you, but his feet felt like they were glued to the floor. His breath hitched and so did yours, all the yearning, all the longing hitting you and him at lightspeed.

You walked towards him, each step filled with electricity. The tension was palpable, his mouth agape as you stood in front of him, only centimeters away from closing the gap between you. There was so much he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to apologize, so many things he wanted to make right, but he didn‘t dare to say things first, afraid too scare you off. The last thing he wanted is for you to leave him again.

“I didn‘t know you‘d be here, thought I‘d seen Oscar but I wasn‘t sure,“ you started, stumbling over your own words, laughing awkwardly, then biting your lip right after. He noticed, because you always did that when you were nervous; you’d done it too when you broke up with him. You wanted to blame it on the alcohol, but that would be a lie, one he could look right through of. You just couldn‘t process actually being in his presence again.

“You still wear the dress?“

“It‘s, uhm, quite pretty, so yeah.“ You nodded along to your own words, gulping at the tense and awkward silence right after, looking down at your shoes, the sight of him in this light still not leaving your mind. Maybe he didn‘t even feel the same way, maybe he didn‘t even want to talk to you. Maybe you already made a fool of yourself when you made your way over to him, maybe you really should‘ve just stayed at home. But at the same time, this is what you‘d hoped for this whole time. To finally see him again.

“I‘m so sorry for what I did to you, y/n, please believe me. E-Ever since you left, I couldn‘t stop thinking about you. Not once. I tried to move on, y‘know, would probably be better for you as well, ‘cause you deserve better than how I‘ve treated you at the end and I don‘t want to have to put you through that again but I just- I miss you so much, I don‘t know what to do! And now you‘re here and I swear I‘ve been waiting for a moment like this and-,“ he stopped for a second, heavy and shaky breaths filling the silence, „If giving up racing means you‘ll let me come back to you, I‘ll do it.“

Your teary eyes widened and you looked up at him again, staring into his. One could take it as an empty promise. But you knew better than anyone else that Lando wasn’t one to joke about racing, ever. “Lando you can’t just- I- I mean, racing? It didn‘t work before Lan I just- don‘t give up your dreams for me, please? You shouldn‘t, you have so much ahead of you still,“ you sighed out, every single part of your body overwhelmed like never before.

But Lando was certain. He traced every yet so small feature of your face and body with his eyes, and he knew in that exact moment that, no matter what, he could never lose you again. Not this time. Not when fate hat somehow brought you together once again, giving him a second chance to make it all better. Question was now if you’d let him have that second chance too.

He lifted his hand to gently wipe away the tear running down your cheek, having you lean into his familiar touch. “I’ll do it for you”, he said, and that was when you broke apart, legs feeling numb and wobbly suddenly. Tears streamed down your face as you took another step forward and he wrapped his arms around your body out of reflex, gently placing soft kisses on top of your head, tearing up as well as your cried into his chest.

Maybe it was bad, maybe you shouldn’t feel like this again, but you’ve never once after the breakup felt as at peace with yourself and your as you did now, even if you were in a loud and busy club, surrounded by drunk and high people. You managed to push them to the back of your mind, the familiar scent of Lando’s perfume calming your senses. It felt like home. Maybe he really did owe you something, and though you once were anguished because of it, you wouldn’t ever deprive him of the joy of racing. There would be a way through it without having to abandon any of your or his dreams. There must be if you want it to work out, and you were sure that this time, it would. And so was he.

Lando took you home with him that night, not before you shot your friend a quick text message, afraid she might think you were kidnapped or whatnot. You knew that you’d have to fly home again in two days. He knew that too, but there was no need to rush things anyway. You were still his and he was still yours, and that’s all that mattered for now. It’s gonna be weird explaining this to your friends and your family, but neither of you minded it as long as it meant you could be with each other again. You would have to talk things through and see how you’d manage the race weekends and the events and the media - but not now. Now, with you calmly and lightly snoring in his arms, he didn’t care about any of that, simply content with having you again.

He promised you before you drifted off into your tranquil slumber that he will make it right this time. He will be there for you no matter what, he will defend you and take you with him and show you off and love you like already should have done all these months ago. This time, he will put in the work and the appreciation and the effort, and then, you will finally be able to be the greatest.

❝ I’d like to mean it when I say I’m over you, but that’s still not true. ❞

taglist for part 2 of the greatest : @mrs-saturday @tylerstacobell @angeltroian @acesbakery @directioner5life @malynn @escuellasceramicdollie @strangetoadroadbat @norrisdriver @aliceisnuts @carlando4 @f1fantasys @no-144444 @belivisa @callsignwidow @cruzgrecia @ifsoniacouldfly @wony6ung @hurtblossom @faeriepigeons @interlagos @xnatqq @fanficweasley @youreintheclubb @chaimaarouaine11 @idgasb @cruzgrecia @madstxo @trisharee (basically everyone who commented vv sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged!)

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kiwisa · 4 months ago

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Legacy or Leverage? ✷ f1 fanfiction

✷ OPENING OF HEAVY ARE THE HANDS CARRYING THE NAME ( F1 Grid x F1 Driver! Senna! OFC )

━━━━━ NEXT !

in which... the news is out: senna's daughter is joining formula one. people are not happy !

NOT UNLIKE POKER, Formula One is a game where one learns to keep their hand hidden until the start of the season. As teams begin to reveal their cards one by one before the pre-season testing at the Bahrain International Circuit, Williams has gone all-in with an unexpected line-up.

While the Russell-Latifi duo remains unchanged, the team’s “third wheel” has caused quite a stir. Isadora Senna, the only daughter of the three-time world champion, has been chosen as the British team’s reserve driver.

For the first time in 45 years and Lella Lombardi, a woman will enter the F1 World Championship. With this move, will Williams take the pot or bust?

While several female figures across all sports—amongst which Susie Wolff—have hailed the decision and spoken of a “historic event” for women's rights, a wave of hostility from the most fervent motorsport fans is washing over Isadora Senna. Many are already questioning her ability to compete in the F1 championship, as well as the role nepotism played in this decision.

It is undeniable that Isadora is her father’s daughter, but the resemblance lies less in the iconic name than in her talent on the track. On many occasions, Senna’s only child has proved herself to be talented behind the wheel, with a track record not unlike that of a Max Verstappen.

━━ SEE ALSO ON PADDOCK PRESS.

"I never had anything handed to me" Isadora Senna denies nepotism allegations

Will Lewis Hamilton break the record and become an eight-time world champion in 2021?

Susie Wolff speaks out against misogyny in motorsports

Becoming the 2009 Karting World Champion at only 15 years old, Isadora Senna went on to win the 2015 GP2 Championship at 21 during her first year in the competition—after having faced numerous entry rejections based on her gender.

Thus, it would not be surprising to see the prodigy succeed in the big league, just as her father did from 1984 to 1994. But will the opportunity arise ? For—as a reserve driver—Isadora Senna may not race this season.

Already, several women are sceptical about this position, pointing out an only-partial progress. According to renowned feminist journalist Glenna R. Colburn, “it is a way for the FIA to pussyfoot around resolving the burning issue of gender inequality within the motorsports industry.”

“They're going to milk everything revolving around her appointment and what it means for women, without ever putting her on the track and risking disturbing the established patriarchal order,” she asserts.

So, should we view Senna’s new status as a real step forward in the world of motorsport or just a woke concession that will ensure both Williams and the FIA positive media attention?

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Anonymous 2 hours ago

They only put her in because of her father’s name. That’s a great play on Williams' part but let’s see how long it takes for them to realize she’s just not cut out for it.

Anonymous 5 hours ago

F1 is slowly turning into a joke. Wokeness is destroying everything.

Anonymous 1 hour ago

Great, now they’ll probably start giving her handouts just because she’s Daddy’s girl. Just wait until she’s up against real competition. She won't stand a chance.

Anonymous 4 hour ago

I’d rather see a fresh face in the sport than someone riding off their father’s coattails.

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bonbonly · 4 months ago

Note

Sooooo first of all you haven't seen me here imagining things for lando bc I was not, somebody took over my account and i'm sending this thot to you bc it would be a shame to not share whatever my friend has cooked up there (it started out as a charles thot but the more my friend thought about it it fit better to a certain papaya twink than to our reigning ferrari princess) ANYWAY...

Streamer!Lando but also only fans creator!lando. Started out with CoD streams, maybe a bit of Rainbow Six, is decently successful with it. has a blast with his mates online but after some time he's frustrated with it bc he'd love to create something of his own. not just stream and showcase other people's work, do something himself yk?

So he starts a little photography account where he posts some impressions from his daily life and his fans love it but it just doesn't hit the spot for him. Nothing really does until one time when he's about to send some low effort nudes to some random girl he thinks fuck it and puts some effort into it, poses himself, adjusts the lighting, sets up the tripod to get some special angles and what can i say…

He likes it. Loves it even. Loves it more than the nudes he gets back. Just thinking about staging himself gets him hard again. So he does what every normal human being with a voyeurism kink does, opens an only fans. But on the down low. Nobody needs to know that it's him. He starts simple, nothing explicit yet, just his chiseled abs and pecs on display, a bedsheet draped delicately low across his lap, showcasing his tiny waist beautifully, his head just out of frame.

Then he upgrades to videos. the best microphone on the market, catching up every little moan and gasp he makes imagining the hundreds of people watching him jerk off. a high-quality camera recording every little droplet of sweat running down his torso when he's bouncing on a big silicone dick later. Mood-lighting, that makes every spurt of cum on his stomach glisten in the camera.

He does numbers on the platform, skyrocketing to the top 1% of creators in less than a month. He gets off on the thought that maybe some of his Twitch fans are unknowingly watching him on OF too. But he's not afraid of being discovered. He's careful not to mix the two worlds. He has it handled.

That is until you stumble over some pics of an OF creator that look suspiciously like some nudes you got a while ago from a certain high-profile streamer…

- 🍪

well 🍪 anon, you've outdone yourself and for that im going to ask you to start building a house on my campsite (im never letting you leave) can imagine the way your brows must furrow when you glance at your phone, your laptop and then back to your phone. maybe you even hold the devices side by side and notice the same details.

the glistening torso, the veins on his cock as his hands wrap around it. and lets say he - as a streamer - never responded back to you after he sent you those nudes, it was just a small thrill anyway for him so nothing too serious so you raise an eyebrow and think to yourself what would be the best way to get this man's attention again, he didn't even respond to you when you sent him your nudes back!

so using the same name you had on twitch - which was how you even met lando since you had donated a hefty amount to his stream - you subscribe to his OF and send him a donation there, maybe a teasing message only meant for him to see, but the message is clear.

you know it's him. and he might've been a bit confused at first until he finally realized that this was the very girl that made him understand himself better to starting that OF page. he probably smirks, tugging at his curls and thinking about how to approach this because obviously these two worlds have to be separate.

so after one night when he places a plug up his ass, his stomach coated with his cum, he might give you the honor of sending you more personal photos, just for you since you're doing such a good job at keeping his secret. he'll ask for you to send some back and there's probably no conversation going on, no hi how are you? hey what'd you think of this video?

because he knows you're watching each one, knows you're probably touching yourself on your bed thinking its his hand and not yours thats covered in your slick. he has the videos of you himself, your fingers deep in your cunt moaning his name while watching his videos. that knowledge alone is enough to keep him going, as long as you don't try to reveal his true identity.

little does he know that you miiiiiiight be a bit influenced from your own greed to try and make him bend for a more... personal fan interaction.

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the-violet-diaries · 28 days ago

Text

The Morning After You've Taken Your Life x the LaDs Boys

warnings: angst, over dosage, suicidal topics

a/n: I'm going through an extremely difficult time right now. It feels like life has come to a full halt and I've found myself in an empty spot, having unconsciously strayed from the path a long while ago. If you are also drowning in life as if stranded in dangerous waters right now, please know that although you may feel alone in your household or life, but definitely not in the entire world. As much as we all wish it was, escaping is not a permanent solution, and it will never be. You, me, we will all someday look back on this day and realize we have become the version of ourselves we yearned to become most. I feel you. So on behalf of all the boys,

Please do not leave. You are not a burden. You are not alone.

I would suggest reading them in order: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb

The last of the rough stone-like pills are pushed down your throat. And it's over. Done. You're gone. Once again.

And this time, for good.

Rafayel sits cross-legged on the wooden floor of his studio. One hand sprinkles a carefully measured amount of fish flakes into the tiny mouth of an eagerly waiting Reddie. The slender fingers of the other hand wrap around a paint-covered brush, twitching impatiently as he turns every few seconds to glance at his phone screen.

11:03 a.m.

You have no new notifications.

Rafayel doesn't usually turn on the news, or even touch the antique television he's had sitting around in his space for years at all, for that matter. However, Thomas has been annoying him to clean his work area for the last few days, so he's been begging you to make some time between missions and help him fix the cracked TV screen before he sells it. Obviously, just another excuse to see his beloved bodyguard.

However, you've finally got a day off today, and he can't wait. So here he sits amongst a pile of tangled cables and Reddie's fish bowl, TV playing absentmindedly in the background.

Setting the shaker down, Rafayel gazes up at his current ongoing masterpiece. Bringing both hands up to eye-level to form an imaginary photo frame, he takes a moment to admire his art, letting out a satisfied sigh. But when he opens his mouth to speak to Reddie, a familiar name catches his attention, something along the lines of 'renown hunter' and 'Linkon Apartments.' The name of your complex. Ears perking up, Rafayel turns from the glass fish bowl to stare at the TV that sits on the floor a few feet away.

What he hears instantly wipes the smile off his face.

Rafayel immediately moves across the wooden floor, planks creaking as he rushes to crouch right in front of the screen. As his worried eyes take in every word running across the bottom of the screen, darting around anxiously to absorb the footage being played, tears start to pool in his lavender-blue orbs.

Less than a few minutes later, the entire floor of the studio is covered in pearls of every shape and size. The devilish little creatures gleam back up at Rafayel, leaving not a square foot's worth of space.

Rafayel pushes himself to his feet. His body shakes with such power it has forgotten over the course of many hundreds of years, that even the foundation underneath him trembles. A mess of tears and pearls streaming down his reddened cheeks, Rafayel throws the paintbrush in his hand across the room, knocking over an antique vase that hits the floor with a porcelain crash. He grabs the bucket nearest to him brimming to the top with thick, dark paint and hurls it towards the wall with all his might, muscles flexing in anger and agony as he watches it splatter across his masterpiece. He grabs hold of another bucket. Then another. Then another.

Rafayel? Rafayel died hours ago. But the Sea God doesn't stop, not until every sign of life besides the little fish is destroyed and the entire studio is tainted in vibrantly chaotic dyes that seem to swallow him whole. Then he falls to his knees, sobbing into his palms. Wails, labored breaths, and the soft clink, clink of falling pearls creating a painfully nostalgic symphony. A song he had vowed never to let himself hear again.

As his cries die down for a brief moment, Rafayel looks up, taking in the entirety of the destruction. With a heart aching sob, he buries his face into his hands again, and falls to the floor in agony. With whatever strength he can summon, a large, sharp blade's familiar handle begins to materialize in his trembling, bleeding hands.

Without his bride by his side, the Sea God is utterly useless. His heart can never continue to beat.

It never has, and it never will.

Once again, if you are suffering, please do not end it. Though it may seem like it, it is not a permanent release. Trust me, I have been there and am still struggling. The boys would never wish this on you, either. So please. Please stay with us. Stay with me.

~ Vi

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emskryptonite · 22 days ago

Text

Heartbreak

a/n: ahhhhhh my first fic here!!! i'm a teensy bit nervous but mostly excited!! this was written for my bestie @heartsforjh but i hope everyone enjoys it!! also just a psa: if you enjoy feel free to drop a follow! my inbox is always open so feel free to come chat whenever!! MWAH ❤️

Summary: Being best friends with Dick Grayson was easy, and falling in love with him was even easier. Everything gets a lot more complicated, though, when you realize you have a disease that can only form through unrequited love.

Pairing(s): Dick Grayson x fem!Queen!reader, Wally West x fem!Queen!reader if you really squint

Word Count: 3.6k

Content/Warnings: Hanahaki AU, unrequited love, angst, not really any comfort, Dick isn't present the entire way through (mostly by mentions until the end), not proofread, reader is described at Oliver Queen’s daughter but it only says it once (i think) so it’s easy to ignore (otherwise could be read as gn!reader), I think that's all but if I missed something let me know!!

Masterlist | Dick Grayson/Nightwing Masterlist

You really shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course, only you could love someone so strongly, despite the feelings not being returned, that you would contract a disease so rare that some people still think it to be folklore.

You met Dick Grayson when the both of you were nine, right after Bruce adopted him and he officially became Bruce’s ward. The billionaire had wanted the young boy to have a few friends his age, hoping it would help him adjust. So, he got Barry Allen to bring over his nephew, Wally West, and Oliver Queen to bring over his daughter, you. The rest was history after that; you were three peas in a pod, rarely ever seen without the other two.

You suppose it was inevitable for you to fall for one of the two boys as you all grew older, and of course, it had to be Dick. How couldn’t it be, though? He was effortlessly beautiful, and he knew all the best ways to make you laugh. He brightened up the room every time he walked in, having the radiance and the gravitational pull of the sun. Wally was wonderful in every way, no matter how talkative he can be, but Dick Grayson is just way too easy to love.

Unfortunately for you, you would spend the majority of your teen years loving him from a distance, while he spent the majority of his going from relationship to relationship. You had been forced to watch from the sidelines as he went from one girl to the next, and of course, you couldn’t even hate a single one of them because heaven forbid he dated outside of your extensive friend group. From Zatanna to Barbara to Kori, you stood aside and watched the boy you love fall in love with others over and over and over again. Eventually, you had sort of made peace with it; that is, until last week when you coughed up a flower petal.

You were nothing short of confused as you stared at the pink petal resting in your palm. Honestly, you weren’t even sure what type of flower the petal was from at first. It took days of research to find out that it belonged to a primrose. Shortly after, the internet informed you that primroses (specifically pink ones) are often a representation of unrequited love, and that’s when it clicked for you.

You were quite the reader; your father highly encouraged gaining as much knowledge as possible. You read about the disease before, but you, like most of the world, believed it to be a made-up story, something to ease the minds of people whose love isn’t returned. You figured it was a sort of legend, thought up to more or less say, “Yeah, sure, they don’t love you back, but hey, at least you don’t have flowers growing from your lungs because of it!” Except, you do. You do have flowers growing in your lungs, taking up all the space where the air you breathe in should be.

Since you had read up on the disease years ago, you were more than aware of the two options you have treatment-wise. You could get surgery before the plant grows too large, but you’d lose all memory of the person you love. That means you wouldn’t remember a single minute of the time you’ve spent with Dick, none of the laughs, none of the tears, none of the slow patrol nights spent on rooftops, knowing one of you shouldn’t have left your city to go hang out with the other. Besides, what does that mean for Wally? Half of your memories with him overlap with half your memories of Dick. Would there just be bits of your friendship that you would never be able to recall?

As unnerving as all of that is, and as much as you don’t want to lose your memories, you know the only other option is letting the plant continue to grow until it completely takes over. Yeah, you could either completely forget the person you love the most (and quite possibly parts of other relationships you have), or you could die because a primrose plant took over your lungs.

Of course, there technically is a cure, but you’re not getting your hopes up any time soon. If the one you love gives you a confession, a real one, one that they mean, the plant will die, and you’ll go back to life as normal. However, you’ve silently loved Dick Grayson for ten years now. You’ve watched as he’s loved every girl your age except for you for ten years now. If he wanted you, he would’ve made his move by now.

You know what your options are, but more importantly, you know that no one under any circumstances can know of your condition.

Wally found out. You swore you could make it through one movie night, but halfway through the first movie, the coughing started, and but the time it stopped, you’d coughed up two entire flowers’ worth of petals. Wally was freaked out at first, to say the least.

“Oh, my god. Are you alright? You could’ve told me you were sick. We could’ve just reschedu- Are those flower petals? Where did flower petals come from?” His voice halts to a stop when he sees the drained look on your face as you stare up at him. “Are- Are they from you?” His brows are high on his forehead, and you can’t help the guilt that crawls up your spine from making him worry.

“Wally, please don’t worry-” He’s quick to cut you off.

“Don’t worry? You’re coughing up flower petals! Why would I not worry about that? You know what? I’m calling Dick. You’ll listen to him.”

“No!” His head snaps toward your direction, “You can’t tell Dick! Please don’t tell Dick, Wally.” Tears are brimming in your eyes now, and it breaks Wally’s heart a bit.

“Okay. Okay, I won’t tell him, but you’ve gotta tell me what’s going on, alright? We’re best friends, so whatever this is, I’m gonna help you through it. That’s what I’m here for.”

You hesitate, but you know deep down that you need the help and, more importantly, the reassurance. “Alright, I’ll tell you everything, but I’m being serious, Wallace, this stays between us. No one else can know.” You level him with a glare, letting him know how serious you are.

“You have my word.”

“I, um, I have this really rare disease. It’s called Hanahaki. Basically, when you really love someone and they don’t love you back, flowers will begin to grow in your lungs, until eventually, they take over.”

“So, what do we do? Is there a cure? Or- or some kind of treatment?” He shifts closer to you, and you see the worry deep in his eyes again.

“The only real cure is if the person I love feels the same way and confesses to me, but I know he doesn’t. So, that’s off the table,” you sigh.

“So, what’s left. You just deal with this forever?”

“Not exactly…” You trail off a bit. “I could have surgery done to remove the plants from my lungs, but in doing so, I would lose all memories of the person I’m in love with.”

“I’m assuming you don’t want to do that, then?”

“No. Not particularly.”

“Where does that leave us- you?”

You stare at Wally for a long moment, knowing that the next thing that comes out of your mouth just might break him. You don’t want to hurt your friend, but you know that he deserves to know. “The flowers will eventually take over my lungs, and I’ll… I’ll die, Wally.”

“What?” He stands from the couch, his voice rising once more. “So, that’s it then? I just have to sit around and watch my best friend die! You can’t do that to me, to any of us! You have to get the surgery. There’s no way this person is that significant. I’ll help you recover. I’ll-”

“It’s Dick.”

His head whips in your direction once more, the worry and stress on his face giving way to something more solemn, more serious, so not Wally. “What?” He practically whispers the word, more shocked than you thought he would be. Apparently, you had hidden this crush pretty well.

“I’m in love with Dick. That’s why I don’t wanna forget. I can’t- I can’t forget him, Wally. I can’t.” You’re breaking down now, and your best friend is quick to gather you into his arms, reclaiming his seat on the couch.

“That’s why you didn’t want him to know. I’m sorry, so so sorry.”

You both know there isn’t much more to be said after that. So, that’s how your movie night ended, with a movie paused halfway through and you curled up in Wally’s arms, crying until you couldn’t anymore. And if Wally shed a few tears of his own after he was sure you were asleep, he’d never tell a soul.

It had been a couple of months since that night, and your condition was worsening. The petals you’d been coughing up were now covered in blood when they surfaced. You knew you were running out of time, but you didn’t want to admit it.

You had gotten good at dodging Dick’s offers to hang out, and it had gotten easier when he got back together with Kori. There was a small part of you that was hurt, the part that had the tiniest sliver of hope that maybe he did love you back and that all of this would go away soon. Needless to say, that part of you had been squished like a bug. The rest of you, though? The rest of you couldn’t even pretend to be surprised. The rest of you wanted to hate him for not returning your feelings, wanted to blame him for the condition you’re in, but you couldn’t. You know better than anyone that you can’t help how you feel. You can’t help that you love him with every fibre of your being, the same way that he can’t help that he’ll only ever see you as a friend.

The most difficult part of all of this, though, has been avoiding Dick’s family and your own family. They weren’t buying your excuses any longer, and honestly, you were running out of them anyway. You missed them all dearly, so you decided you would just have to tough it up and power through it for the day. Bruce invited you, your dad, and Roy over to the manor for dinner, and you were much more excited than you like to admit. Dick was tied up in Bludhaven, so you didn’t have to worry about him. It was all going so well; you should’ve known that something would go wrong.

“So, Ollie, how is Queen Industries doing?” Ah, yes, you’ve reached the point of the evening where your father and Bruce talk business because they really can’t help themselves. It would’ve been fine, albeit boring, if you and Tim hadn’t started snickering. It choked you up a bit, the air catching in your throat to make it tingle, and then the coughing started. You tried to run to the nearest bathroom, hoping you could hide it, but it was no use.

This was easily the worst coughing fit you’d ever had, and although it started as the usual bloody petals, it only multiplied from there. You were only able to stop coughing and catch your breath when an entire pink primrose landed on the table in front of you. You slowly look up, taking a weary look at the faces around you through teary eyes. You’re met with nothing but concern and fear, and it makes you feel even worse. You want to say something, to try to make things better, but the room starts spinning. You’re only able to get out one word before you collapse into your father’s arms, “Wally.”

When you wake up, you find Wally on one side of the hospital bed you're on and Roy on the other. You look around to gather your bearings and see your father leaning into Dinah’s arms, most likely for comfort. You can clearly see the concern on everyone’s faces, and that same guilt kicks back up. Sure, it’s not your fault that you’re in this condition, not really, but you should’ve told them, warned them. You know that now.

As you look back at Wally, Roy notices that you’re awake, “Hey, how ya feelin’?” His voice is soft, uncertain.

“Uh, not great, right now.” You wince as the two men help you sit up.

“Yeah, that was pretty scary for us. I can’t imagine how you must’ve felt,” Wally chimes in. It’s that your father realizes you’ve woken up and makes his way to the foot of your bed with Dinah close by.

“I wish you had told me,” he says, solemnly.

“Dad-”

“No, it’s alright. I know you had your reasons. Bruce looked into your diagnosis and briefed us all. Please, please, tell me you’re getting that surgery.” There are tears in his eyes, and for once, Oliver Queen is struggling to keep it together.

“I, um, no, I hadn’t planned on it.” You turn your head to your left, unable to look your father in the eye.

“Sweetheart-”

“I don’t want to- I can’t forget him, Dad.”

“Honey, I know this person is obviously very important to you, and I understand. I know how it feels to love someone, but think about everyone else in your life. You have so many other people who love you, and it would really hurt them to lose you.”

The two of you stare at one another for a short while. Your father’s eyes were pleading, silently begging you to consider his side. You were consumed with thoughts, caught in the middle. Finally, you make your decision.

“Alright. I’ll have the surgery, but only on one condition.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart, I’ll make it happen.”

“I have to talk to Dick. Face to face.”

“Are you sure?” Roy questions from beside you.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go call him now,” Wally says, although he seems a bit unsure.

The next half hour is filled with the others taking turns checking up on you and trying to lift your spirits. At some point during that time, Bruce called Dr. Leslie Thompkins to come perform your surgery, assuming the conversation with Dick goes well.

It’s nice, really, to have all of them here with you. You’ve missed them the past couple of months, and now more than ever, you regret avoiding them.

Soon enough, the man of the hour walks in, and of course, Kori strolls in behind him. You feel horrible for being so disappointed that she’s here; after all, she probably wanted to check on you as well. You just wish Dick would’ve come by himself.

Everyone, thankfully, is more than aware that this conversation should be private, and they all leave the two of you alone without having to be asked. The worry is evident on Dick’s face as he nears your bed, and suddenly, you’re not sure if you can hurt him like this. Honestly, no matter which option you go with, it’ll do some damage to your best friend, but which one would be easier for him to recover from?

“Wally said you’re sick? That you collapsed at dinner? What’s going on?” His brows scrunch together, and he reaches his right arm out to lay a hand on your shoulder.

“I, um, I have Hanahaki, Dick. It’s a really rare disease that can only form out of unrequited love.” You play with your fingers in your lap, refusing to look at your best friend.

“So- So you’re in love with someone, and they don’t love you back? Who is stupid enough not to love someone as amazing as you?” He seems utterly shocked, and the irony of his words isn’t lost on you. In fact, it hits you so hard that your throat starts to tingle, and before you know it, you’ve coughed up another whole primrose. You catch a glimpse of Dick’s stunned expression, and you realize just how little he knows.

“I have primroses growing in my lungs. Eventually, they’ll take over, unless he magically begins to love me back.”

“Wha- So, you know he doesn’t? Like for sure. There’s zero chance that this guy returns your feelings.”

“I mean, I haven’t outright asked him, but it’s obvious. He’s never seen me in a romantic light, and he never will.”

“So, what are your options?”

“Well, there’s only one other option, surgery. Dr. Thompkins is actually here to perform it now, but I just wanted to ask your opinion.”

“I’m assuming there’s some kind of downside, then.”

“Yeah. I, uh. I wouldn’t remember him at all.”

“Look, I know this guy is really important to you, and the thought of not remembering him probably really hurts you. But, no matter who this guy is, the rest of us need you here.”

“So, you really think I should go through with the surgery, no matter who the guy is?”

“No matter who it is.” He seems so sure, so confident that this is the right move that you almost want to tell him. You almost do. You lay your right hand over his own, ready to lay out your feelings, to see if that changes his mind, but as soon as you open your mouth, your mind is rushed with memories of every time you had watched him love someone else. You relive every time he called you a “good friend” after you consoled him after a rough breakup. You recall every time he excitedly told you which one of your friends he was dating. It makes you sick to your stomach, and you have to hold back another coughing fit.

“I’ll go through with the surgery then,” you settle for. You give him a tight-lipped smile. You know this would hurt him, but you couldn’t bear to continue to live through the torture of loving him while knowing he’d never truly see you.

Just moments later, your friends and family were ushered away as Dr. Thompkins began to sedate you before the surgery.

“We’ll be right here when you wake up,” Dick smiles warmly at you, attempting to bring you comfort.

You wake a few hours later with a headache, a scratchy throat, and the odd urge to breathe as deeply as you can. You hear people shuffling all around you, checking your vitals, making sure everything has gone well; someone even hands you a glass of water. You take a few sips while your eyes adjust, the blurriness slowly dissipating. When your eyesight is back to normal, you take a slow look around, smiling at the fact that so many people came to be sure you’re alright.

However, as you glance around, there’s one face that you don’t quite recognize. You don’t question it for the moment. You recognize the woman under his arm as your friend Kori, so you reason that she must have brought her boyfriend along.

You’re quite shocked, however, when he steps forward with a bright smile on his face.

“See! I told you everything would be fine and dandy!”

You furrow your brows, and your head tilts to the side a bit. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

You watch as his face falls, and you notice your best friend, Wally, walking up behind the strange man. The man’s mouth opens like he’s about to say something, but Wally grabs his shoulders, gently tugging him into another room. You shoot your father a curious look, and you receive one that says he’ll fill you in later.

“She was messing with me, right, Wally?” Dick is pacing in front of one of his best friends, hands running through his hair, mind going a thousand miles a minute.

“It was you, Dick.” Wally doesn’t know what else to say. He knows you might be a little mad at him later, but Dick deserves an explanation.

“What?” He turns toward the redhead, breathless.

“She was in love with you. She had been for, like, ten years, since we were teenagers.” Wally watches his friend completely deflate, a man who once brightened up every room he entered, now overcome with the shadow of grief, mourning a friendship that you couldn’t even recall.

“So, she doesn’t remember me at all? We’ve been friends since we were nine, and now there’s just nothing?”

“It looks that way, yeah. I’m so sorry, man.”

“Wait. You knew?”

“Well, I-”

“Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve done something!”

“Don’t act like you’ve been in love with her this whole time! If you were, she wouldn’t have gotten that stupid disease in the first place!”

“I could have tried! I could have- I could have-” Dick cuts himself off mid-sentence, falling to his knees on the floor, tears now streaming down his face.

Wally is quick to join him, tears quickly welling up in his eyes as well. “I wanted to tell you, man. You have to believe me, but she made me promise not to. And, god, just be glad you didn’t have to see how bad she got. It tore me apart to watch her cough up those petals. I’ve never seen her so worn down.”

“I did that to her…”

“No. C’mon, don’t think like that. Neither of you could help how you felt about one another. I know the situation sucks, but it’s all over now. You guys can start over, let her get to know you again.”

“Yeah… Yeah, I guess so.” As Dick sat there, mourning a friendship that never existed to you, he felt a twisting pain begin to grow in his chest, clawing at his insides, ready to take him down to his lowest level, and he couldn’t help but think about just how much it felt like heartbreak.

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#em's writing #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson angst #nightwing #nightwing x reader

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edenmemes · 8 months ago

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arcane (s2) sentence starters

ep1 - 8. warning for spoilers !

❝ everybody wants to be my enemy. ❞ ❝ you’re our leader. they follow you. i follow you. ❞ ❝ i've seen miracles spring from the hands of mages many times, but so often, they turned to horrors. ❞ ❝ why does anyone commit acts others deem unspeakable? for love. ❞ ❝ in my experience, no one in power is innocent. ❞ ❝ i don't wanna hear another word out of your mouth. ❞ ❝ i keep telling myself that you're different. but you're not. ❞ ❝ i haven't insulted your intelligence. do not insult mine. ❞ ❝ if you see the opening...take the shot. ❞ ❝ it's me. your vile villainess. the author of your nightmares. ❞ ❝ you have no inkling what family is to me. ❞ ❝ our paths diverged long ago. it was affection that held us together. ❞ ❝ i'm done blaming myself for your mistakes. ❞ ❝ there's one thing i know in my bones. there is no force in this world that can control you. ❞ ❝ your talents can be used to build, instead of destroy. ❞ ❝ no beast is more savage than man. ❞ ❝ i am the dirt under your nails. nothing's gonna clean me out. ❞ ❝ the dirt was on both our hands. ❞ ❝ stick your head in the dirt if you want, but this fantasy you've been living out here, it's not gonna last forever. ❞ ❝ now people avert their gaze when i roll by. ❞ ❝ still giving me the silent treatment, huh? ❞ ❝ you think it's so easy? to turn your back while your city looks to you for salvation? ❞ ❝ playing coy doesn't suit you, love. ❞ ❝ is it bad that i'm making friends with my demons? ❞ ❝ can i do the right thing for the wrong reason? ❞ ❝ ever since you dropped into my life, it's like i put on glasses. ❞ ❝ jeez, lady, you crazy? talking to dead people. ❞ ❝ sometimes taking a leap forward means leaving a few things behind. ❞ ❝ that's a past life, kid. and it was about as sweet as last year's milk. ❞ ❝ why is peace always the justification for violence? ❞ ❝ haven't i done you enough favors? ❞ ❝ i must say goodbye to this place now. to you. ❞ ❝ you got that look in your eye again. what are you planning? ❞ ❝ people have lost their heads for less. ❞ ❝ everyone in my life has changed. promise me you won't change. ❞ ❝ wrath must be met with wrath. ❞ ❝ what you've stolen…is more precious than any gold. ❞ ❝ i apologize for the intrusion. i was attempting to sneak in. ❞ ❝ address me with respect, or keep your mouth shut. ❞ ❝ this is what you asked for. heavy is the crown. ❞ ❝ and then what? you take what you need, hang me out to dry? ❞ ❝ do you realize how easy it was for me to track you down here? ❞ ❝ awful, isn't it? losing a loved one. ❞ ❝ i'm sorry. i’m not comfortable trusting our fates to chance. ❞ ❝ you think it's so easy? to turn your back while your city looks to you for salvation? ❞ ❝ whether i'm pulling the pin or not, everyone who gets close to me dies. ❞ ❝ you walk along the edge of danger and it will change you. ❞ ❝ your youth betrays you. patience is a product of age. both of which i possess in abundance. ❞ ❝ we gotta choose right now whether we're gonna throw in the towel or make a stand together. ❞ ❝ i had a different name back then, you know. ❞ ❝ when will you admit that this is just one of your fantasies? ❞ ❝ my arrogance led me to take on more than i could handle. ❞ ❝ such force must be a final resort. ❞ ❝ in my experience, only guilty men answer accusations with silence. ❞ ❝ every time it seems like we might catch a break. ❞ ❝ you're a monster. why? why do all this? ❞ ❝ i must ask you to surrender your weapons. this is a place of peace. ❞ ❝ i still think it's a dumb idea. but i guess you won, and a deal's a deal. ❞ ❝ it’s nice to know there are still good ones left. ❞ ❝ i promise, it's the last offer you're gonna get. ❞ ❝ no matter what i do, i just can’t seem to die. ❞ ❝ maybe i underestimated you. maybe you have the strength i do not. ❞ ❝ you don't actually need my help. you haven't for a long time. ❞ ❝ like it or not, we're in this mess together. ❞ ❝ compassion. hate. two sides of the same coin. ❞ ❝ i have a plan. you’re not gonna like it. ❞ ❝ come closer, will you, babe? ❞ ❝ i'd feared i wouldn't have the chance to speak with you again. ❞

❝ you here to finish me off? ❞ ❝ i thought you were on our side. ❞ ❝ what is up with you? you've been out of it all day. ❞ ❝ as good as it feels to pour everyone's drink, you need to fill your own cup every now and again. ❞ ❝ you must destroy it. it corrupts. consumes. ❞ ❝ sometimes taking a leap forward means leaving a few things behind. ❞ ❝ we do not lament a warrior's death. we avenge it. ❞ ❝ for the gifted, arrogance is the ultimate threat. ❞ ❝ why do you persist? after everything i've done? ❞ ❝ you're not alone. look at my shadow right behind you like a ghost. ❞ ❝ there is nothing to gain from this senseless bloodshed. ❞ ❝ i choose wrong every time. and because of it, i've lost everyone. ❞ ❝ go. before i do something i regret. ❞ ❝ i don't wanna lose what makes me "me" chasing some wild dream. ❞ ❝ i'm gonna find a way back, with or without you. ❞ ❝ i'm sorry. i've been an idiot. and an ass. you're hurting too. ❞ ❝ one's thoughts are more easily gathered in isolation. ❞ ❝ all right, out with it. what do you want from me? ❞ ❝ hey, in case i don't remember to tell you tomorrow, you've always meant the world to me. ❞ ❝ you ever wish you could just stay in one moment? ❞ ❝ if you're here to kill me, make sure to finish the job. ❞ ❝ i think beneath that mask you're scared. ❞ ❝ i must say that since i've met you, i've truly lived. ❞ ❝ never seen you give up on anything. ❞ ❝ i have the feeling that you'll be running this place soon. ❞ ❝ i think beneath that mask you're scared. ❞ ❝ i'm choosing to fight. and i pray that you will join me. ❞ ❝ this place will grow on you. you'll see. ❞ ❝ you're never gonna give up on me, are you? ❞ ❝ i think the cycle only ends when you find the will to walk away. ❞ ❝ hating you…i've hated myself. i just don't have the energy for it any longer. ❞ ❝ greatest thing we can do in life is find the power to forgive. ❞ ❝ oh, don't get all mushy on me now. ❞ ❝ i'm always with you. even when we're worlds apart. ❞ ❝ just 'cause you're having a bad day, don't take it out on me. ❞ ❝ look at the price of your ambition. you've sacrificed everything. ❞ ❝ you taught me the best lies come wrapped in truth. ❞ ❝ i feel like i woke up in the wrong universe. ❞ ❝ oh, spare the sympathy. ❞ ❝ uh, you do realize code phrases don't work when you make them up on the spot? ❞ ❝ desperation is the doorway to oblivion. ❞ ❝ it was a mistake to come here. ❞ ❝ this will have consequences. ❞ ❝ i know it's my fault that i'm here all alone. ❞ ❝ if you choose to flee, don't stop running. ❞ ❝ go and make some mistakes. you live and you learn. ❞ ❝ let me guess. you think i'm holding myself back. ❞ ❝ i have people back home who need me. ❞ ❝ i’m sorry i haven’t been around. ❞

#roleplay meme #roleplay starters #rp starters #rp meme #arcane season 2 spoilers #arcane s2 spoilers

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lightsoutmatthews · 4 days ago

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Midsommar – William Eklund

summary: you celebrate Midsommar with William in Sweden for the first time.

pairing: William Eklund x female!reader

word count: 4.4k

warnings: none, just fluff and fun

authors note:

in my poll a few weeks ago the majority of people voted for a William Eklund story so HERE WE GO!!

Experiencing a real Swedish Midsommar is one of my bucket list items, I had so much fun researching

-----------------------------

The plane touched down with a smooth bounce, and your stomach flipped, not from nerves, but from a mix of jet lag and the quiet excitement that had been building for weeks now.

You looked over at William, who was still half-asleep, his hoodie bunched behind his neck and earbuds tangled in his lap.

“We´re here,” you said, nudging him gently.

He opened one eye, then the other, squinting at the window. “Already?” His voice was thick with sleep. “Felt like twenty minutes.”

“It was nine hours, babe,” you deadpanned.

He stretched and yawned. “Still felt like twenty minutes.”

The two of you gathered your things and shuffled off the plane, your backpacks heavier than you remembered, and the air in the terminal carrying that sterile airport chill.

When you stepped outside, into real air, there was a brightness to it. A sharp, clear light you hadn’t seen in a while. The Swedish summer was in full effect. Long days, crisp winds and the kind of sky that stayed pale blue for hours longer than it should.

“This is going to be your first real Midsommar,” William said as you waited for the train into the city.

He slid his sunglasses on, already looking less like the NHL forward the world knew and more like the guy you had been dating for the last year. The one who FaceTimed you from hotel rooms and made late-night pancakes when you visited him.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I´m ready to be aggressively introduced to your culture.”

He laughed, “Oh, it´s coming.”

The train ride into Stockholm was quiet and smooth. You sat side by side, sharing earbuds, occasionally pointing out things through the window. Dense patches of forest, old red cottages, wide fields of green dotted with yellow wildflowers.

His hand found yours automatically, fingers interlacing like muscle memory. There was something different about being here with him. He was more relaxed, more at ease. Like he had taken off a jacket he didn’t even realize he had been wearing all season.

------------

A few hours later, after meeting up with his cousin at the station, you were in the backseat of a car heading out of the city.

The roads narrowed, the buildings thinned, and the green got deeper. It felt like you were driving into a postcard.

“Remind me where we´re going again?” you asked, watching the trees blur past.

“To the summer house,” William explained. “It´s near the lake where we´ve always done Midsommar. Same spot since I was a kid.”

“And your whole family is going to be there?”

He nodded. “Most of them, yeah. Some cousins, uncles, a few people from the neighborhood. It´s not huge, but everyone´s been coming for years. They´ll be excited to meet you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Excited or nosy?”

“Both,” he chuckled. “Definitely both.”

------------

The gravel driveway to the summer house kicked up dust behind the car.

The cabin came into view, painted that classic deep red with white trim, surrounded by tall birch trees and a wide lawn that stretched down toward a glimmering lake.

It was peaceful. Quiet. The kind of quiet you didn’t get back in San Jose.

“Wow,” you said as you stepped out, stretching your legs. “This is actually perfect.”

Wiliam tossed your bag over his shoulder. “Told you.”

The house smelled like pine and something vaguely floral, like old wooden beams and sun-dried linens.

Willliam gave you a quick tour: the narrow staircase, the shared rooms with bunk beds, the tiny bathroom with the world´s smallest sink.

“You sure your NHL ego can handle this level of humble living?” you teased.

He smirked. “My ego checked out at the door.”

You dropped your backs in the room you would be sharing, thankfully with a double bed, and followed him back outside.

A few cars had already arrived. People were unloading coolers, setting up folding chairs, carrying armfuls of wildflowers and grocery bags.

William´s mom gave you a long hug the moment she saw you. “We´re so happy you´re here,” she greeted warmly.

Other relatives followed.

There were names to remember, handshakes that turned into hugs, Swedish phrases you didn’t understand but got the gist of. Everyone was smiling.

-----------

That night, after dinner – grilled sausages, roasted potatoes, and some kind of tangy mustard you actually loved – you sat out near the firepit.

The air had cooled, but the sky was still light, a pale orange hue stretching across the horizon.

You leaned back in a deck chair, wrapped in a blanket, watching as William joked with one of his uncles.

He looked different here. Softer. No cameras, no fans, no schedules.

He sat beside you and handed you a drink a few minutes later. “Tired?” he asked.

“A little,” you admitted.

“But happy?”

You looked at him smiling. “Yeah, I am.”

Hea reached over, brushing a stray of hair off your forehead. “Tomorrow´s the big day. Maypole, dancing, the works.”

“Bring it on,” you said, smiling.

-------------

The sun peeked through the thin curtains, casting a soft glow across the room.

You stirred awake to the faint sound of birds and the distant laughter of children.

William was already up, lying on his side facing you, eyes half-open, a small smile playing on his lips.

“God morgon,” he whispered. (Good Morning)

You smiled back, reaching out to brush your fingers through his hair. “Morning.”

The air in the cabin was cool but fresh, filled with the scent of pine and wildflowers. It was hard to believe the day was already here. The big Midsommar celebration everyone had been talking about since you arrived.

William rolled onto his back, stretching his arms wide. “Ready for the maypole?”

“As ready as I´ll ever be.”

You followed him out back, where a long folding table had been set up under a tree.

Several people sat around it, weaving flower crowns. Baskets of wildflowers – daisies, cornflowers, buttercups, ferns – covered nearly every surface.

“Have you ever made a flower crown before?” William asked, sitting down and grabbing a handful of stems.

You shook your head as you took the spot next to him. “Nope. First time.”

“It´s not that hard. Just twist the stems and use the thin wire to hold it together.”

You watched as he quickly created a neat loop of flowers and greenery. When you tried, your first attempt came out lopsided and uneven, but no one laughed. William just leaned over and adjusted a few pieces.

“There. Now it looks artistic,” he grinned.

You spent the next hour weaving and talking. Everyone worked at a relaxed pace, chatting about the weather, neighbors, and who was bringing what dish for the afternoon feast.

A cousin taught you the Swedish words of the flowers, and soon you were tossing around “smörblomma” and “blåklint” like a local. (buttercup / cornflower)

After a while, William stood up and stretched. “We´re heading to the field soon to set up the maypole, want to come?”

“Of course,” you said, brushing flower petals off your shirt.

The group walked the short distance to an open grassy field just beyond the tree line. It was already buzzing with people. Neighbors and friends from nearby summer houses. Kids chased each other, and adults stood around chatting, holding coffee or early drinks.

In the center of the field was the maypole. A tall, wooden pole, lying flat for now, waiting to be decorated and raised.

Nearby, there were piles of branches, birch leaves, and more flowers. Someone even brought out a portable speaker playing Swedish folk music.

William and a few others began wrapping the pole in the leaves and flowers, securing them tightly with twine.

You pitched in, helping to hold the pole steady as others tied greenery into place.

After about an hour it looked transformed, lush, green and decorated with two flower-covered rings that would hand like garlands from the crossarms.

Then came the lifting. Several men and a few athletic women took their places along the pole. With some effort, grunts, and a few shouted directions, the maypole slowly rose. Everyone clapped as it finally locked into position, standing tall in the middle of the field.

Someone passed around small shots of schnapps, and even though it wasn’t quite noon, everyone toasted the start of the celebration.

“Skål!” they shouted in unison, glasses raised. (cheers)

You looked over at William, who nodded. “That’s how we do it here.”

You watched as people gathered around the maypole, the music starting, a lively tune played on fiddles and accordions that made you want to move even before the dancing began.

“You’ll love this,” William said, squeezing your hand.

The smell of fresh grass and wildflowers was thick in the warm air. A soft breeze carried the sound of laughter and music across the open field. Kids ran barefoot, their flower crowns bouncing with each step. Adults milled about with drinks in hand, chatting in small groups.

You stood beside William, unsure of what came next.

“All right,” he said, stretching his arms out and cracking his knuckles. “Time for the små grodorna.”

“The what?”

He grinned. “You’ll see.”

A small group near the speaker started forming a circle, then another group joined in, and soon everyone was clapping and calling to each other to join. William grabbed your hand.

“Come on. No one escapes it. Not even visitors.”

You were pulled into the circle just as the accordion music picked up. Someone shouted “Små grodorna!” and the crowd broke into a cheerful chant.

William leaned in. “It means ‘The little frogs.’ It’s a classic.”

The dance was absurd, but in the best way. Everyone hopped in a circle, making exaggerated frog movements with their hands near their faces and singing enthusiastically about the frogs’ lack of ears and tails. You laughed so hard you had to stop dancing a few times just to catch your breath.

After that came more dances, some you could follow easily, others less so, but nobody cared. Everyone was just in it together, twirling, clapping, stumbling, and cheering. Even the older guests danced with full commitment, moving in practiced steps they must’ve learned as children.

Later, when the dancing finally slowed down, William led you to a picnic blanket set up near the edge of the field.

“You survived,” he said, handing you a bottle of pear cider from a cooler. “That’s the hardest part.”

You took it, still grinning. “That was ridiculous. And fun.”

He nodded as he placed a soft kiss to the top of your head when you rested your head on his shoulder. “We’ve been doing it since we could walk. Doesn’t matter how old you get, it’s always the same.”

From your spot on the blanket, you watched the rest of the scene unfold: kids trying to balance on wooden stilts someone had brought, older relatives playing a casual game of kubb nearby, and someone tuning a guitar while others joined in humming a folk tune. The vibe was easy, friendly, and real, like a family reunion where everyone actually got along.

After a while, William got up to help bring the food out. Long wooden tables were set up just outside the cottage under a makeshift canopy of branches and string lights. Dishes you’d seen being prepared earlier now filled the table.

There were bowls of tiny boiled potatoes with dill, stacks of cured salmon, pickled herring in small glass jars, thick slices of knäckebröd (crispbread), and trays of cheeses and sliced meats. Large pitchers of elderflower juice and cold beer stood at both ends.

William’s mom handed you a plate. “You have to try a bit of everything,” she said with a smile. “And don’t forget the sour cream.”

You sat between William and one of his cousins, laughing. He had his arm resting around your chair, softly brushing the skin of your arm every now and then.

Every time you thought you’d tried everything, someone handed you another spoonful of something else. The pickled herring was a surprise, it was better than you expected, especially with the creamy dill sauce and boiled eggs. The gravlax was a favorite. And the strawberries for dessert? Fresh, sweet, and perfect.

Every so often, someone would stand up and propose a toast. The tradition was clear, everyone took it seriously, but not too seriously.

At one point it was William´s turn and he got up with a smile, raising his glass: "To everyone that is here, but especially to the woman next to me who´s experiencing her first Midsommar. Jag älskar dig, älskling." (I love you, darling).

People raised their small schnapps glasses, shouted “Skål!” in unison, and then sang short drinking songs. You tried to join in, fumbling the lyrics, but no one minded. If anything, it made them cheer louder.

William leaned over during one of the songs and whispered, “Swedes love a good singalong, especially when alcohol is involved.”

As the meal went on, the energy mellowed slightly. People leaned back in their chairs, full and relaxed. The conversation turned to memories of past Midsommars, hockey stories, and family jokes. At one point, William’s uncle pulled out an old photo album and started passing it around.

You looked through the pages, pictures of William as a kid with a missing front tooth, sitting in the same field you were in now. In another, he was holding a stick nearly as tall as he was, standing proudly in his first youth hockey uniform.

He noticed you smiling. “Yep. Been skating since I was three.”

“You don’t look very threatening in that picture,” you said.

“Give it a few pages,” he said with a laugh. “There’s a photo of me with a black eye and a broken stick somewhere in there.”

------------

Eventually, the meal ended, and people spread out across the yard again. Some went back to the lake, dipping their feet in the cool water. Others started a slow game of kubb, arguing over whether a throw had been fair or not.

You and William walked down to the dock again. The sun was lower in the sky now, but it still wasn’t dark. Just a golden haze that made the lake glow. The surface was glassy, the trees reflecting perfectly in it.

“Swedes really celebrate the sunlight, huh?” you said.

William nodded. “It’s because of the winters. You don’t realize how dark it gets here. Like, really dark. You start craving the light.”

“So this feels like the payoff.”

“Exactly,” he said. “That’s why people go all out. Even the silly stuff, like the frog dance, it’s all about being outside, being with people, making the most of it.”

You both sat on the edge of the dock, feet dangling above the water. It was quiet for a while. Peaceful.

After a few minutes, William said, “I’m glad you came. Midsommar’s not really something you can explain. You just have to experience it.”

You glanced at him. “Yeah. I get that now.”

He looked back at you, the gold light reflecting in his eyes. “And you didn’t even complain during the dancing part.”

“Not even once,” you said. “That’s got to count for something.”

William laughed and placed a kiss to the side of your head. “It does.”

And for the first time that day, the moment felt still, calm, easy, and perfect in its simplicity.

-------------

You weren’t sure how long you sat on the dock. Time didn’t seem to move the same way out here. The sun hovered near the treetops, casting a warm orange glow across the lake, but it never fully set. It was like the world had pressed pause for a while, just to let everyone breathe.

William leaned back on his hands and looked out at the water. “You want to swim?” he asked.

You looked at him. “Now? It’s late.”

“It’s Midsommar. That’s what people do. Plus, it’s not even dark.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is the water freezing?”

“Probably,” he said with a smirk. “That’s part of it.”

He stood up, already pulling off his hoodie and shirt. “Come on. You’ll regret it if you don’t. It’s tradition.”

You hesitated, glancing back toward the house. But you could still hear music drifting faintly from the speakers in the field, and no one was paying attention to what anyone else was doing. You slipped off your shoes and stood up.

“Fine,” you said. “But if I go into shock, I’m blaming you.”

William laughed, already jumping into the water with a loud splash. You winced just watching.

“Okay,” he called out, surfacing and shaking his hair out, “I’m not going to lie. It’s cold.”

You stepped up to the edge of the dock and looked down at the still water. Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you jumped.

The cold hit you like a wall. It was like all the air left your lungs at once. But after a second, it felt... amazing. Invigorating. You surfaced with a gasp, pushing your hair out of your face.

“You okay, älskling?” William asked, laughing.

“Yeah,” you said, breathless. “That was insane, but kind of awesome.”

You both floated for a while, treading water and looking up at the glowing sky. The lake was quiet, the only sounds being your voices and the occasional splash. You could hear crickets starting up in the grass near the shore, and someone in the distance plucking a guitar string by string.

After a few minutes, you climbed back up to the dock, water dripping from your hair and clothes. William followed, grabbing two towels from where he'd left them earlier.

He handed you one. “See? Now you’ve officially done the full Midsommar experience.”

You wrapped the towel around your shoulders and sat back down beside him, leaning your head on his shoulder. Your skin was tingling, and your heart was still beating fast, but you felt more awake than you had in days.

“Is this what you do every year?” you asked.

“Pretty much,” William said. “Come out here, eat too much, dance like idiots, jump in a lake, stay up half the night. Then wake up and do absolutely nothing the next day.”

“That sounds perfect, honestly.”

He smiled. “Yeah. It kind of is.”

-----------

You walked back up to the cottage slowly, feet bare on the warm gravel path. The main group had moved closer to the house, and someone had lit a bonfire out near the edge of the clearing. A few people sat around it with blankets over their shoulders, drinks in hand, voices low and tired in a good way.

William grabbed a couple of beers from the cooler and handed you one. You both took seats on a log bench near the fire.

The heat from the flames felt good after the cold water. You stared into the fire, watching it crackle and shift, the occasional spark jumping upward into the not-quite-night sky.

“So,” William said after a few minutes of quiet, “what’s been your favorite part so far?”

You thought for a second. “The dancing was fun. Even if I looked ridiculous.”

“You weren’t that bad,” he said. “Your frog was... enthusiastic.”

You laughed. “Thanks, I think.”

“But seriously,” you added, “I think just being here. Like, all of it. The way everyone’s so relaxed. How no one’s in a rush. It’s different from home.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I think people here really hold on to this time of year. They don’t take it for granted. Especially when most of the year is gray and cold.”

You sipped your drink. “Makes sense. This feels like the kind of thing you remember when it’s dark out.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Exactly.”

There was a pause, but it wasn’t awkward. It felt like the kind of silence that only happens when there’s nothing that needs to be said. The fire cracked and shifted again.

Eventually, someone brought out more blankets and passed them around. You took the opportunity to climb into William´s lap and pulled one over your lap, grateful for the extra warmth from the side that didn´t have his body heat.

William sat back, stretching out his legs, making you shift to get more comfortable. “Tomorrow’s going to be slow. Breakfast, maybe a walk. Then probably leftover strawberries for lunch.”

“That sounds ideal,” you said.

He looked over at you. “You should come back next year.”

You blinked. “What?”

“For Midsommar. I mean, if you want to. You’d be welcome.”

You smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

The fire burned lower as the night dragged on, not that it ever got completely dark. The sky shifted from gold to a soft purple blue, but the stars never really came out. It just stayed in this quiet, dim twilight. People slowly trickled off toward bed. Blankets were folded, bottles gathered, chairs stacked.

You stood, stretching out the stiffness in your legs. “We should probably get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” William said, standing beside you.

He interlinked your fingers as you slowly made your way back inside.

You got ready for bed quietly, there wasn’t much that needed to be said, both of you exhausted from the day that had past.

“I had a lot of fun today,” you mumbled as you were cuddled together in bed. “I´m glad to hear that.”

“I already can´t wait to get back next year,” you said between two yawns.

“I can´t wait to spend every midsommar for the rest of my life with you,” William mumbled, already half-asleep.

Your heart jumped at his confession. “Jag älskar dig,” he mumbled additionally. (I love you)

“Love you too.”

-----------

You woke slowly, blinking into the soft, natural light pouring through the sheer curtains. The sheets were kicked down around your feet, and the smell of coffee was already drifting up from the kitchen below. William was still next to you, lying on his stomach, his hair a little messy and his face buried in the pillow.

For a moment, you just watched him, taking in the quiet rhythm of his breathing, the peacefulness in his expression. He looked so relaxed here, lighter, somehow. You reached over and gently brushed his shoulder.

“Midsommar champion,” you whispered.

He groaned into the pillow, then turned his head slightly to peek at you with one eye. “Too early for titles.”

You smiled and kissed the top of his shoulder before sitting up and stretching. “It’s basically noon.”

“Time doesn’t exist here,” he muttered.

Downstairs, the house was alive but slower than yesterday, soft chatter, the clinking of dishes, and the unmistakable aroma of breakfast. You threw on a sweater and made your way to the kitchen, where his mom greeted you with a warm smile and a plate already waiting.

“Good morning!” she said, handing you a slice of toast with cheese and sliced cucumber. “He’s still sleeping?”

You nodded, laughing softly. “He’s pretending time isn’t real.”

“That sounds like him.”

You sat at the table, sipping coffee and listening to the comfortable buzz of post-celebration life. Some people were still in pajamas, others had started to tidy up the yard. The energy was different today, slow, content, like everyone was taking a collective breath.

William wandered in about twenty minutes later, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, hair even messier than before. He kissed your cheek on his way to the coffee pot, then slumped into the seat next to you.

“I’m officially never dancing again,” he said.

“You say that every time you dance. Remember the Sharks New Years party?”

He grinned and shook his head. “This time, I mean it.”

You both ate slowly, trading glances and quiet smiles in between bites. No rush. No noise. Just the easy, morning-after feeling of being in the right place, with the right person.

After breakfast, you slipped outside together, barefoot in the dew-covered grass. The firepit still held a faint trail of smoke, and a few of his cousins were lying on blankets nearby, dozing or chatting in low voices. You took William’s hand as you wandered down the path that led back toward the lake.

The trees filtered the light overhead, and the wildflowers along the trail were starting to wilt in the sun. It was the kind of walk you didn’t need to talk through—comfortable silence, the kind that came from knowing each other well enough to just exist in the same space without filling it with words.

Eventually, you reached the same small dock as before. You sat side by side, legs dangling over the edge, the water gently lapping at the shore.

He nudged your knee with his. “Best Midsommar ever?”

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “Honestly, yeah.”

He turned to look at you, that familiar glint in his eyes. “Even with the fish, the pickled stuff, and my terrible singing?”

“All of it,” you said, smiling. “Especially the terrible singing.”

He laughed and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you a little closer. “I’m glad you came with me. This... meant a lot.”

You looked out over the lake, the sun glinting off the surface. “I’ve never felt this peaceful. Like I’m actually allowed to slow down.”

William was quiet for a moment, then said, “This place does that. I think it’s why I need to come back every summer.”

You nodded. “You’ve got roots here.”

He looked at you. “Maybe now we do.”

Your chest tightened in the best way, warmth spreading as you took in his words. He wasn’t the type to say things just to say them. If he said “we,” he meant it.

Later, back at the house, everyone started cleaning up, packing coolers, folding blankets, bundling flower crowns that had long since wilted. It wasn’t rushed. No one seemed eager to leave. The kind of goodbye that happened in slow stages.

You and William helped carry things back to the cars. At one point, he reached into his duffel bag and pulled out your jacket, brushing some pine needles off it before handing it to you.

“You ready to head back to the city tomorrow?” he asked.

You nodded, but not immediately. “Yeah. Just... not in a hurry.”

“Good,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “We can drag it out.”

----------

That night, the last of the cousins left. The house was quieter again. Just his parents, a few lingering relatives, and the two of you.

You sat on the porch as the sky darkened into something almost night. Wrapped in a blanket together, watching the fireflies come out near the tree line.

No more music. No more dancing. Just the soft hum of the crickets, and William beside you, his hand laced with yours.

“You think we’ll come back next year?” you asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he said without hesitation. “Next year, and the year after that. As long as you want to.”

#william eklund #san jose sharks #william eklund imagine #san jose sharks imagine #william eklund x reader #nhl imagine

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