#I’m scared what do they need all that for

[moonlightwritingf1]

Under the Stars | LN4

ᯓᡣ𐭩 summary ━━━━━━━ After months of pinning after Y/N, Lando finally brings her to Monaco. He takes her on a yacht, where things escalate.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 word count ━━━━━━━ 3.2k

ᯓᡣ𐭩warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

"You’re scared of me," Lando said, his voice low, a teasing smirk curling the corner of his lips as he leaned against the yacht’s railing. The moonlight shimmered on the water below, casting a soft glow on his face. His eyes never left hers.

"Scared? Of you?" Y/n scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest in an attempt to shield herself from the weight of his gaze. But she was lying. Her heart raced, her cheeks burning despite the cool Mediterranean breeze. She turned away, pretending to admire the horizon. "That’s ridiculous."

"Is it?" He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. She could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the faint hint of his cologne—something musky and intoxicating. "Because every time I get close, you run. Every time I say something real, you deflect. You’re scared, Y/n. Scared of what this could be."

She hesitated, her fingers gripping the railing tighter. He wasn’t wrong. But admitting that felt like surrendering a part of herself she wasn’t ready to give up. "You don’t know what you’re talking about," she muttered, though her voice lacked conviction.

"Then tell me I’m wrong." His tone softened, but there was an edge to it—a challenge. He moved closer still, until his chest was almost brushing against her back. She could feel his breath on her neck, sending shivers down her spine. "Tell me you don’t feel it too."

---

It had started weeks ago, when Lando had casually mentioned his Monaco apartment during one of their late-night conversations. They’d been texting back and forth for months, ever since they met through a mutual friend at a gathering in London. Lando had been relentless in his pursuit of her, always finding excuses to see her, to talk to her, to make her laugh. And Y/n, despite her best efforts, found herself drawn to him in ways she couldn’t explain.

"I’ve got this place in Monaco," he’d said one night, his voice smooth and inviting over the phone. "You should come visit. I’ll show you around."

She’d laughed it off, thinking it was just another one of his jokes. But then he’d sent her a first-class ticket to Nice, along with a message that read: No excuses. Be there.

And now here she was, standing on a luxury yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean, with Lando Norris himself standing far too close for comfort.

---

The tension between them was palpable, crackling in the air like electricity. Y/n turned to face him, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. "Why do you do this?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Why do you keep pushing?"

"Because I see you," he said simply, his eyes boring into hers. "I see all the walls you’ve built, all the armor you wear. And I want to break through it. I want you, Y/n. The real you."

Her breath hitched. God, why did he have to say things like that? It felt like he was peeling back layers of her soul, exposing parts of herself she didn’t even recognize. "You think you can just waltz in and fix me?" she shot back, though her voice wavered. "I’m not some broken thing that needs saving, Lando."

"I don’t want to fix you," he said firmly, taking another step closer until there was barely any space left between them. "I just want you. All of you. The good, the bad, the messy. Everything."

Her resolve wavered. She wanted to believe him, to let herself fall into the safety of his words. But fear held her back—fear of being vulnerable, of getting hurt. "You don’t know what you’re asking for," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

"Maybe not," he admitted, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face. His touch was gentle, almost reverent. "But I’m willing to find out. Are you?"

She stared up at him, her mind racing. This was Lando Norris, the man who had somehow managed to weave his way into her life and under her skin. The man who looked at her like she was the only person in the room. The man who made her feel seen in a way no one else ever had.

Before she could stop herself, she reached up and kissed him.

It was tentative at first, a soft brush of her lips against his. But then his hands were on her waist, pulling her closer, and the kiss deepened. Heat surged through her, igniting every nerve in her body. His lips were warm, insistent, and she melted into him, losing herself in the sensation.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathing heavily, Lando rested his forehead against hers. "Took you long enough," he murmured, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

"Shut up," she shot back, but there was no bite to her words. She could feel the smile spreading across her face, even as her heart continued to race.

Lando chuckled, his hands still resting on her hips. "Admit it," he teased. "You’ve been wanting to do that for a while."

"Maybe," she conceded, her cheeks flushing. "But don’t let it go to your head."

"Too late," he said, his grin widening. "Now let’s see if I can’t convince you to stay a little longer."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, her feigned annoyance doing nothing to hide the sparkle of excitement in her eyes. "Oh, really? And how do you plan on doing that?"

Lando’s smile turned wicked, his hands sliding up her sides. "Let’s just say I have a few ideas..."

Lando’s hands lingered on her hips, his fingers tracing the curve of her waist as he leaned in closer. The moonlight bathed them both, casting a soft glow over the yacht’s deck. His lips brushed against her ear, his breath warm and teasing. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, sending shivers down her spine.

Y/n’s breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted to protest, to push him away and retreat into the safety of her own walls, but something about the way he looked at her—like she was the only person in the world—made it impossible. “Lando…” she whispered, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

He didn’t wait for her to say more. His lips found hers in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world to savor her. Y/n’s hands instinctively gripped his shoulders, her body pressing against his as the kiss deepened. Lando’s tongue traced the seam of her lips, coaxing them open, and she let him in with a soft moan.

His hands moved to the zipper of her dress, pulling it down with agonizing slowness. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet, leaving her standing in nothing but a pair of black lace panties. Lando stepped back, his eyes raking over her body with an intensity that made her skin burn. “Fuck,” he breathed, his voice thick with desire. “You’re perfect.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed, her hands instinctively moving to cover herself, but Lando caught her wrists, pinning them gently at her sides. “Don’t,” he said firmly, his gaze locking with hers. “Let me look at you.”

She swallowed hard, her body trembling under his scrutiny. Lando’s hands slid up her arms, his touch feather-light, before cupping her face. He kissed her again, this time with more urgency, his tongue tangling with hers as he backed her toward one of the plush couches on the deck. When the back of her knees hit the edge, he pushed her down gently until she was lying beneath him.

Lando’s lips left hers, trailing kisses along her jaw, down her neck, and across her collarbone. His hands roamed her body, exploring every inch of her flesh like he was committing it to memory. He nipped at her shoulder, eliciting a gasp from Y/n, before soothing the spot with his tongue.

Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging lightly as he kissed his way lower. His lips closed around one nipple, sucking and teasing it until it hardened under his mouth. Y/n arched into him, a moan escaping her lips as he switched his attention to the other breast, lavishing it with the same treatment.

“Lando…” she whimpered, her voice heavy with need.

He looked up at her, his eyes filled with lust. “I want to taste all of you,” he said, his voice rough. Without waiting for a response, he hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties and pulled them off, leaving her completely exposed.

The cool night air brushed against her heated skin, making her shudder. Lando knelt between her legs, spreading them wider as he leaned down to press a kiss to her inner thigh. Y/n’s breath hitched, her hips lifting involuntarily as his lips moved higher, nibbling and kissing their way toward her core.

When his tongue finally touched her, she cried out, her hands gripping the cushions beneath her. Lando groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her sensitive flesh. He licked her slowly, savoring her taste as if she were the most exquisite thing he’d ever encountered.

“Jesus, Y/n,” he muttered, his voice muffled against her. “You taste incredible.”

She couldn’t respond, her mind too consumed by the sensation of his tongue swirling around her clit. His hands held her hips firmly in place as he worked her over, alternating between long, slow licks and quick, flickering movements that had her writhing beneath him.

“Lando,” she gasped, her back arching off the couch. “Please… don’t stop…”

He didn’t. Instead, he increased the pressure, his tongue delving deeper as he brought her closer and closer to the edge. One hand slipped away from her hip, sliding up her stomach to palm her breast, tweaking her nipple in time with the rhythm of his tongue.

Y/n’s thighs tightened around him, her body trembling as the pleasure built. She was so close, right on the brink, when Lando unexpectedly pulled away. She groaned in frustration, her hips lifting in search of his mouth again.

Lando chuckled darkly, his breath hot against her wet flesh. “Beg for it,” he demanded, his tone commanding yet playful.

“Lando!” she protested, her voice a mix of frustration and desperation. “Don’t be such a tease—”

But he interrupted her with another slow lick, his tongue dragging through her folds before circling her clit once more. “Then beg,” he repeated, his eyes meeting hers with a challenge.

Y/n bit her lip, her pride warring with her need. Finally, she relented, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please… I need you.”

That was all he needed to hear. Lando buried his face between her legs again, his tongue working her relentlessly until she came apart with a cry, her body convulsing with pleasure. He didn’t stop, drawing out her orgasm until she was trembling and oversensitive, her hands pushing weakly at his shoulders.

When he finally pulled away, he pressed a gentle kiss to her inner thigh before crawling up her body. His lips crashed onto hers, letting her taste herself on his tongue. “You’re mine,” he growled, his voice possessive.

Y/n’s breath was still ragged, her body humming with the aftershocks of her climax as Lando hovered above her. His lips were swollen from kissing her, his eyes dark and hungry. She could see the unspoken desire in them, raw and unmistakable. He wanted her—all of her. And she wanted him just as much.

“Let me,” she whispered, her voice trembling as her hands drifted down his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath his skin. Her fingers grazed the waistband of his shorts, her intention clear. “Let me…” she started again, but he caught her wrist before she could go any further.

“No.” The word was firm, almost a growl, but his touch was gentle as he lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I don’t want you to. Not yet.”

She blinked up at him, confusion flickering in her eyes. “Why?” she asked, her voice barely audible over the sound of the waves lapping against the yacht. “I want to make you feel good too.”

Lando shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he leaned down to brush his nose against hers. “You already do,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. “Every time I look at you, every time I touch you, you make me feel more than anyone ever has. But right now, all I need is to be inside you. I can’t wait any longer.”

Her heart stuttered at his words, the intensity in his voice sending shivers down her spine. She opened her mouth to argue, to insist on giving him pleasure first, but he silenced her with a kiss—slow and deep, his tongue coaxing hers into submission. When he pulled away, she was breathless, her mind foggy with need.

“Trust me,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I know what we both need.”

Y/n nodded, her resistance melting away as he reached for the hem of his shorts, tugging them down in one swift motion. Her breath hitched when she saw him—hard and throbbing, so close she could feel the heat radiating off him. He positioned himself between her legs, his hands gripping her hips as he guided himself to her entrance.

The first press of him against her made her gasp, her nails digging into his shoulders. He paused, his eyes locking onto hers, searching for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, he pushed forward, inch by agonizing inch, until he was fully sheathed inside her.

“Oh God…” Y/n moaned, her head falling back against the cushions as she adjusted to the sensation of him filling her completely. It was overwhelming, the way he stretched her, the way he fit her so perfectly. She had never felt anything like it.

Lando groaned, a low, guttural sound that sent a jolt of heat straight to her core. “Fuck,” he hissed, his forehead dropping to rest against hers. “You feel… incredible.”

He didn’t move right away, letting her adjust as he kissed her softly, his lips trailing along her jawline and down her neck. His hands roamed her body, tracing every curve as if memorizing her. Every touch was deliberate, every kiss filled with adoration.

When he finally began to move, it was slow—agonizingly so. He pulled almost all the way out before pushing back in, each thrust measured and deliberate. Y/n’s breath caught in her throat, her hands clutching at his back as he set a pace that was maddeningly unhurried.

“Lando…” she whimpered, her hips lifting to meet his as desperation began to build inside her. She needed more—needed him—but he refused to give in, his movements remaining steady and controlled.

His lips found hers again, swallowing her moans as he deepened the kiss. “Patience, love,” he murmured against her mouth, his voice thick with restraint. Step by step, let your body fucking adapt to mine. “I want to savour this. I want to savour you.”

Y/n couldn’t help but whimper, her nails scraping lightly against his back as she tried to pull him closer. “But I need… more…” she pleaded, her voice breaking on the last word.

Lando chuckled darkly, the sound sending a thrill through her. “Do you now?” he teased, nipping at her lower lip. “What do you need, darling? Tell me.”

She hesitated for a moment, her cheeks flushing at the question. But the way he looked at her—so intense, so utterly focused on her—made it impossible to hold back. “I need… you,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “All of you.”

A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned down to kiss her again, this time with more urgency. “Good girl,” he murmured, his hips rolling against hers in a way that made her cry out. “Because you have me. You’ve always had me.”

His rhythm shifted slightly, still slow but deeper, each stroke hitting a spot inside her that had her seeing stars. Y/n’s legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him even closer as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter within her.

Lando’s lips left hers, trailing down her neck to her collarbone. He sucked lightly at the sensitive skin, leaving a mark that would remind her of this moment long after it was over. His hands moved to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples until they hardened under his touch.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe as he gazed down at her. “Absolutely perfect.”

Y/n blushed, her eyes fluttering shut as she lost herself in the sensations he was creating. “Don’t stop,” she begged, her fingers tangling in his hair. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Never,” he promised, his voice firm as he continued to move inside her, slow and steady. His lips found hers again, their breaths mingling as he kissed her deeply. “I’ll never stop making you feel this good.”

Her orgasm built slowly, creeping up on her like the tide. With every thrust, every kiss, every whispered word, she felt herself slipping closer and closer to the edge. And when she finally fell, it was with his name on her lips, her body trembling with the force of it.

Lando held her through it, his own release following soon after. He buried his face in her neck, muffling his groan as he spilled inside her, his hips jerking uncontrollably.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, their bodies entwined as they came down from their high. Y/n’s heart was pounding, her limbs heavy with exhaustion, but she had never felt more content.

Lando pressed a soft kiss to her temple, his arms tightening around her. The yacht rocked gently beneath them, the stars above casting a silvery glow over their tangled bodies. He tilted his head back, his gaze drifting upward to the vast expanse of sky. “Never had sex under the stars before,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion.

His fingers traced lazy patterns along her spine, sending shivers through her. Y/n turned her head slightly, following his gaze. The night was endless, the stars shimmering like scattered diamonds. She felt small, yet impossibly connected to him in that moment. “Neither have I,” she admitted softly, her voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the waves.

His lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile as he looked back at her. “Good.” His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “Now it’s just ours.” She swallowed, her heart swelling at the tenderness in his eyes.

“Stay,” he whispered, his voice thick with something deeper than desire. “Stay with me the whole weekend. Please.” Her breath caught, her chest tightening at the raw vulnerability in his words. She nodded, her fingers curling into the warmth of his chest. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside her.

Lando exhaled, a quiet sound of relief, and pulled her closer, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was both tender and possessive. The stars watched silently as they clung to each other, the night wrapping them in its embrace.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

How would the LADS men react to their MC being really sweet and soft spoken but become toxic during video games (screaming, cursing out players, laughing when they lose)

Crash Out

You were so composed and well spoken in public. Little did your man know what he was in for when it came to you and video games. A/N: I watch a whole lot of CoryxKenshin, Berleezy, Joeiaco, PeegTV, and Britani so I kinda (hella) be screaming and crashing out everytime I play video games CW: Strong language

Zayne

Zayne is the type thats worried about your cortisol levels as he’s watching you yell at the tv. He would definitely brings you cold water and some fruit while trying to gently coax you off the game for a while, but would only end up doing as you say which is to leave you the hell alone.

You currently have a death grip on your controller and trying very hard not to yell into the mic on your headset. You failed.

MC: You fuck ass camping bitch what kind of bullshit is this?!

Zayne: Uh honey?

MC: Yes baby?

You leave the match — slamming your headset to the ground — and focus on Zayne giving him with the most innocent look

Zayne: Are you alright?

MC: Im good why?

Zayne: You sound like you’ve forgotten yourself

MC: Oh because this musty PT Cruiser built bitch was camping the third floor during the entire match pissin’ me the fuck off

Zayne: …

MC: …

Zayne: Why don’t you take a break?

MC: I will

You give him the sweetest smile before grabbing your headset and slipping it back on your head

MC: Right after I blast this little bitch to hell and laugh in their face

Zayne: ……….ok

Rafayel

Rafayel is the type to just check in sparingly to avoid being the one in the line of fire. He was not trying to catch a stray when you were raging, but he also just wanted his girlfriend back, but instead he had hot headed Hades on his hands. Rafayel comes in to find you at your PC set up he can tell something is wrong even with your back to him

Rafayel: You seem angry

MC: I CAN’T BEAT THIS STUPID FUCKING GAME

Rafayel: WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME?!

MC: I’M NOT YELLING AT YOU

Rafayel: YES YOU ARE

MC: *Heavy sigh* I’m playing this game Scrutinized and I'm supposed to file all these reports while also making rounds around the house because there's two killers trying to kidnap me and I don’t fucking understand how this lucky charms bitch keeps getting in the house

Rafayel: Have you tried taking a break?

MC: I DON’T NEED A FUCKING BREAK I NEED TO BEAT THIS MANS ASS WITH A SKILLET AND HOT GRITS

Rafayel: ……..I miss my sweet girlfriend where did she go?

MC: Im sorry Raf

You pull him how down by his collar and give him a quick kiss

MC: Check back in an hour I should be done with night 1 by then

Rafayel nods and leaves you to scream at your computer. He silently leaves littles treats on the desk for you. He’s scared he might be the one to receive your wrath if he bugs you too much.

Rafayel: Done yet?

MC: BITCH GET UP OH MY GOSH

Rafayel: nervermind ._.

Xavier

The type that tries to help, but only ends up pissing you off unintentionally. He just wants to help, but you don’t want his help because you know the second he gets his hands on the game he’ll not only beat it, but would beat it in record time.

MC: I’m about to rage I'm about to rage I’m about to rage

Xavier brings you a glass of water and sits it on your desk

Xavier: What's wrong baby?

MC: I have yet to beat this fucking game this damn Nun from hell keeps spawning everywhere

Xavier: What game is it?

MC: Nun Massacre

Xavier: You don’t seem like yourself want me to try?

MC: Xavier I love you however if I let you try this game and you beat it in one go Im not eating with you for a week.

Xavier: I just don’t like seeing you stressed

MC: and I don’t like seeing this refrigerator built bitch get the best of me

Xavier: and you don’t want my help?

MC: No

Xavier: Are you sure

MC: Yes

Xavier: ……you’re sure?

MC: Ask me one more time and see what happens

Sylus

Sylus is so amused seeing you get so mad over a game. He’ll be egging you on for sure he’s not even trying to make it better. He wants to see your anger practically radiating off of you. You’re on the brink of raging? He’s chuckling in the background. You’re about to slam your hands on your keyboard or throw your controller? Go ahead he’ll buy you a new one.

MC: *yelling into the headset* FUCK YOU BITCH …. YOU SOUND LIKE YOU’RE EASY TO DRAW SHUT THE FUCK UP TALKING TO ME TURN YO MIC DOWN

Sylus: *Chuckling* like they’re easy to draw?

MC: YES! That bitch was just mad because I found her camping spot and sniped her ass

Sylus: You should do it again just to make her mad

MC: Oh trust me I'm on her ass now her play style is corny I'm not letting her team win this match

Sylus: Would you like me to bring you anything while you show her who’s boss?

MC: Water and some cherries please

Sylus: I’ll be back in a minute

Sylus walks out and can still hear you yelling all the way in the kitchen

MC: GET FUCKED BITCH SUCK MY DICK

Sylus brings backs what you asked for and kisses your cheek before making himself comfortable to watch you cuss people out over a game.

Sylus: A dragon growing her horns

[eu-nicola]

the fastest driver part 3

summary: you are a young and talented driver, who begins your journey in Formula 1 with Ferrari. despite your undeniable ability, you are constantly relegated to the background due to the Scuderia's strategies, which always favor your teammate, Charles Leclerc

warnings: take of pills

word counter: 7364

author's note: english is not my first language, this is from an amazing request, thanks for the comments 🤍

tags: @ilovechickenwings @amortentiaaaa @ananyasribughead @supertrashbread @amalialeclerc @rawr-123s-stuff @wierdflowerpower @malvikareader @freyathehuntress @sweetmuffynsblog @vjbillno

Endless hours passed after the accident before the first clear update about your condition reached the media and the paddock. Everyone was anxiously waiting for news about your health. The uncertainty left fans, journalists, and especially those who truly knew you in a state of tense anticipation.

Finally, a statement from the hospital's medical team brought some relief: you were stable and conscious. While initial tests had ruled out serious spinal injuries or significant fractures, the impact had been severe, leaving you with a moderate concussion and several internal bruises that required monitoring. What concerned the doctors most were the potential psychological and emotional aftereffects: the nature of the crash, the impact, and all the built-up stress could take a toll later.

Hours later, you woke up in a hospital room softly lit by the afternoon light. Everything was quiet except for the rhythmic beeping of the monitor beside your bed. Your body felt heavy, like it was filled with lead, and the headache was sharp and constant. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you noticed someone sitting nearby.

It was Charles. He was there, his hands clasped in front of his mouth, as if praying or just trying to calm his own nerves. When he saw you stir slightly, he lifted his head, and his expression changed a mix of relief and worry crossed his face.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, as if he didn’t want to scare you. “Thank God.”

You hadn’t expected to see him there. In fact, you hadn’t expected to see anyone. And yet, here he was.

“Charles…” you tried to speak, but your voice came out as barely a whisper.

“Shhh, don’t talk too much. The doctors said you need to rest.”

“What are you doing here?” you asked, ignoring his warning, even though just talking felt like needles stabbing your skull.

He shrugged, offering a light but sincere smile.  

“Someone had to make sure you were okay.”

Charles stayed by your side for hours, even when the doctors came in and out to check on you. He answered questions from the journalists crowding outside the hospital, desperate for a statement, and refused requests from photographers trying to get a shot of you. There was something unusually warm and protective about the way he acted.

As you lay back, eyes closed to avoid making the headache worse, you heard his voice.

“You scared me, you know? I’ve never seen anything so…” He paused, searching for the right word. “So violent. Not since Jules. And when I saw the crash on the screen, I thought the worst.”

You opened your eyes and looked at him. There was sincerity in his face, something you hadn’t expected.

“I’m okay… sort of.” You tried to joke, but the pain turned it into a grimace.

“No, you’re not okay. But you will be. You have to be.”

As Charles stayed with you, messages started pouring in. Your phone sat on the bedside table, just out of reach, and Charles offered to read some.

“Everyone’s worried about you. Here’s one from Lando… and even one from Toto. Seems like the entire F1 world is waiting for you to get better.”

“Who else?” you asked, almost dreading the answer.

Charles scrolled through, his expression hardening briefly before softening again.

“Max,” he said simply.

Your heart stopped for a moment. You didn’t know what to expect. Since the accident, you’d assumed Max was too caught up in his own world to care, but the fact that he’d written at all was enough to twist your stomach.

“What does it say?” you asked, trying to sound indifferent, though you knew Charles could see right through you.

He hesitated before answering.

“‘Hope you’re okay. Sorry I wasn’t there sooner. Let me know if you need anything.’”

The neutrality of the words didn’t match the intensity of what you felt hearing them. You closed your eyes, trying to process it all. What did that message even mean? Was it just courtesy, or was there something more behind those words?

Charles noticed your discomfort and set the phone aside.

“You don’t have to reply if you don’t want to.”

“I won’t,” you said quickly, though part of you knew that wasn’t true.

As night fell, Charles finally said goodbye, promising to return the next day. There was something comforting about his presence, how he’d set aside any competitiveness or formality just to be there for you. Yet, when you were left alone, the thoughts began to overwhelm you.

The crash, the messages, the worries it all tangled into a mess of emotions you couldn’t unravel. The only thing clear was that while you were physically stable, emotionally, you were far from okay.

After that day in the hospital, Charles became a constant presence in your life. His support wasn’t limited to encouraging messages or occasional visits. He went beyond that. Where others saw a moral obligation or an opportunity to score points with the media, he saw something else: a chance to show you that you weren’t alone.  

The medical team made it clear you could return to racing, but not without certain restrictions. You had to stick to a strict combination of medications after every race: anti-inflammatories, painkillers, and supplements to manage the physical and mental stress you still felt after the accident. Charles was the first person to offer to help you with this. It wasn’t his responsibility, but he seemed to take on the role without hesitation.  

The first race after the accident was a mental and physical challenge. As you prepared to get back in the cockpit, fear swirled in your chest. The accident was fresh in your memory, and even though you knew you were capable, there was a shadow of doubt you couldn’t shake.  

The day before the race, Charles showed up at your hotel. He had a small bag in hand and a calm expression, almost as if it was meant to soothe you.  

"I thought you might need this," he said, placing the bag on the table.  

Inside, there was a box of relaxing tea, a small book about mental strategies in sports, and a handwritten note. When you opened it, you found a simple phrase: "You’re stronger than you think."  

"Thank u," you said, moved by the gesture.  

"You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to know I’m here, okay? If you need to talk, if you need anything..."  

You nodded, grateful for his sincerity. For a long time, you’d felt alone in this world. It was strange to realize someone was willing to stand by your side without asking for anything in return.  

Race day was a whirlwind. Even though you tried to stay calm, every time you sat in the car, the memory of the crash resurfaced. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, reminding yourself you’d done this thousands of times before, that you were capable—one of the best.  

The race wasn’t easy, but you finished in a solid fifth place, a result any other driver would’ve considered a success under the circumstances. When you got out of the car, exhausted but relieved, Charles was the first to approach you.  

"Well done," he said, patting your shoulder.  

After every race, Charles made sure you followed the medical protocol. Sometimes, when you forgot the pills, he’d show up holding the box, reminding you that your health came first.  

"How do you even know I haven’t taken them?" you asked one day, half-joking.  

"Because I know you well enough to know you hate depending on this stuff," he said with a smile, handing you the water and pills.  

It was strange how his presence had gone from sporadic to constant. He wasn’t just there for the serious moments; he also found ways to make you laugh, to lighten the weight on your shoulders.  

It wasn’t something you’d planned or even imagined after everything you’d been through, but your friendship with Charles was good for you. So much so that you felt comfortable asking him something after noticing he’d been off for a while. You’d seen his behavior become quieter than usual, even in the paddock, where he usually managed to keep up appearances in front of the cameras.  

"Are you okay? You seem... off."  

His response came almost immediately.  

"Do you have time to talk?"  

You invited him to your place, where you saw a different side of Charles. He’d shed his usual composure and looked... vulnerable, almost like the facade he kept in public had cracked.  

"Thanks for this," he said, sitting on the small couch as you handed him a bottle of water.  

"You don’t have to thank me, Charles. What’s going on?"  

He sighed, fiddling with the cap of the bottle before speaking.  

"It’s... complicated. Ferrari doesn’t feel like my team anymore."  

You frowned, surprised by his words.  

"What do you mean?"  

"Since Lewis joined this year, everything changed. I knew it would be different, it’s Lewis Hamilton, of course but I didn’t think it’d be like this," he confessed, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I feel like everything revolves around him. The strategies, the resources, even the engineers’ attention... It’s like I’m a shadow in my own team."  

You felt a pang in your chest hearing that. It was almost an exact replica of what you’d felt when you shared a team with him at Ferrari.  

"Charles... you don’t know how much I get it," you said, sitting across from him. "That feeling of being invisible, like your efforts don’t matter... I went through the same thing with you."  

He looked up, surprised by your honesty.  

"Really?"  

"Yeah. Do you remember all those team orders? All those moments where no matter how fast I was, they always put me aside to favor you. It’s... frustrating. It makes you question everything you do."  

Charles nodded slowly, processing your words.  

"I guess I never saw it from your perspective. I always thought the team’s decisions were fair, but now... now I know what it feels like."  

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees.  

"Charles, I know how hard this is. But what you need to remember is that your talent doesn’t depend on them. Ferrari is just one team, one stage in your career—it doesn’t define who you are as a driver."  

"How did you deal with it?" he asked, genuinely curious.  

"At first, I didn’t," you admitted. "I kept everything inside, let the frustration eat me up... until I couldn’t take it anymore. But I learned something: you can’t let them take away what you love about this sport. If Ferrari doesn’t value you the way they should, then prove your worth on the track. Force them to see you."  

Charles nodded slowly, as if your words were beginning to sink in.  

"It’s easier said than done," he said, with a bitter smile.  

"I know. But I also know you have the talent to do it."  

The conversation went on for hours, shifting from serious topics to shared memories and stories from your days at Ferrari. It was strange, but comforting, to share that space with him. He’d gone from being the rival who overshadowed you at your lowest to someone you could fully trust.  

When he finally stood to leave, Charles paused at the door and looked at you with an expression you hadn’t seen before.  

"Thank you for this. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you."  

"I’m always here. You know that."  

As the door closed behind him, you couldn’t help but smile. Charles was so much more than you’d ever thought. And somehow, he’d brought out the best in you too.

While you were helping Charles find his way in a team that relegated him to second place, you couldn’t ignore the fact that your own demons were still lurking. And, as if that wasn’t enough, Max remained a constant presence both on the track and in your personal life.  

Since your move to McLaren, the rivalry with Max had reached a new level. If before you shared moments of camaraderie and confidences, now every interaction was loaded with tension. And not just on the track.  

The championship was on fire. You and Max were leading the standings, swapping first and second place race after race. On every circuit, every corner, and every straight, it felt like only the two of you existed. It didn’t matter who else made it to the podium; the battle was always between you and him.  

During qualifying, both of you pushed to the limit, but an incident in Q3 left Max without a lap time. As soon as he got out of the car, Max stormed straight toward you, visibly furious.  

“What the hell was that?” he snapped, his voice sharp as he closed the distance between you in the paddock.  

“What was what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, though you knew exactly what he was referring to.  

“You blocked me on my flying lap.”  

“Max, you were too far behind when I started my lap. I didn’t block you.”  

“Of course you did!” he insisted, stepping even closer. His blue eyes burned with a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.  

The argument caught the attention of journalists and members of both teams. You knew that one wrong word could make headlines the next day, so you chose to stay calm.  

“If you have a problem, take it up with the stewards, not me,” you said before turning and walking away, leaving Max with the words stuck in his throat.  

But the tension wasn’t confined to the track. It had started to bleed into your personal lives. Even though both of you tried to avoid each other outside of race weekends, coincidences were inevitable especially at sponsor events or official meetings.  

At one of these events, an FIA gala in Monaco, Max couldn’t resist looking for you in the crowd. When he finally spotted you, you were talking to Charles, laughing at something he’d said. The sight seemed to ignite something in Max, and he couldn’t hold back as he approached.  

“Can we talk?” he asked, cutting into the conversation.  

Charles glanced at you, his expression a mix of curiosity and caution, before stepping back to let you decide.  

“What do you want, Max?” you asked, trying to keep your voice neutral.  

“You and Charles, what’s going on between you two?” he asked quietly, though his tone carried an accusatory edge.  

“What kind of question is that?” you replied, crossing your arms.  

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m losing it, but… every time I see you two together, I can’t help thinking that…”  

“That what?” you interrupted, annoyed. “That maybe someone else can actually support me and understand me in this chaos that you chose to ignore?”  

Max pressed his lips together, clearly feeling the sting of your words. But instead of responding, he looked away and muttered:  

“You still know how to twist everything around.”  

The conversation was left unfinished, but the night didn’t end there. Later, as you tried to avoid him, you found Max alone on the terrace of the venue, staring out at the sea, his figure illuminated by the lights.  

“Why do you do this?” you asked, walking toward him. Your tone was no longer defiant but tired.  

“Do what?” he asked without looking at you.  

“Show up, disappear, demand things from me that you can’t even give yourself. You’re still with her, and yet…”  

Max closed his eyes, as if your words were too heavy to bear.  

“I don’t know how to handle this,” he admitted finally, turning to face you. “You and me… I don’t know how to handle it.”  

“Then maybe you should stop trying,” you said, though your voice cracked at the end.  

The silence between you was deafening. Too many unsaid emotions, too many decisions both of you refused to make. Finally, Max stepped back.  

“It’s easier said than done, isn’t it?”  

And with that, he left, leaving you alone on the terrace, feeling like the two of you were trapped in a vicious cycle neither of you knew how to escape.  

In the days that followed, you tried to focus on racing and your friendship with Charles, who had become a kind of refuge in the chaos. But every time you saw Max, every time your eyes met in the paddock, you felt the storm lingering, waiting for the right moment to break again.  

The rivalry on the track only grew more intense. Max and you raced as if every race was the last, as if the championship depended on who was stronger, more determined, more ruthless. But off the track, you both continued to grapple with the same internal conflict: what you felt for each other and what the world expected of you.  

You and Max were the top contenders for the title, and every race turned into a war. The media called it “the battle of the century,” comparing it to the legendary Senna-Prost rivalry. Every overtake, every strategy, every word in a press conference was scrutinized.  

At the Brazilian Grand Prix, things came to a head. From the first lap, the fight between you and Max was fierce. You knew every one of his tricks, every weakness, every strength. There were moments when the cars seemed to touch, pushing the limits of competition to the extreme.  

On lap 43, you attempted an overtake on the inside of Turn 1, but Max, in his trademark aggressive style, shut the door almost recklessly. Your front tires brushed his, and though both of you managed to maintain control, the incident was enough to set off commentators and social media.  

“This is unacceptable!” your engineer shouted over the radio. “We’re reporting it.”  

But you didn’t want to win the championship through a penalty.  

“Leave it. I’ll settle it on the track,” you said, with a determination that surprised even yourself.  

In the end, you finished second, behind Max, but the battle was epic. Fans were divided, some siding with you, others defending Max. But in your mind, one thought started to take root: maybe you’d had enough of this world.  

After that race, you decided to take a break. You flew back to your hometown to spend time with your family, seeking comfort in their presence. One night, sitting in the garden of your parents’ house, you opened up to your mom.  

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” you admitted, staring at the stars. “Every race feels like a battle not just on the track, but inside me, too.”  

Your mom, always wise and patient, looked at you with gentle understanding.  

“Then why do you keep going?”

You stayed silent for a moment, searching for the words.  

“Because it’s all I’ve ever known. Since I was a kid, my entire world has revolved around racing. But lately… lately, I feel like I want something more. I want a normal life, a family. I want to stop fighting all the time.”

“What’s stopping you?.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what that life would look like, or who it would be with.”

It was the first time you’d said those words out loud. The idea of giving up Formula 1, of walking away from everything you’d worked so hard for, was terrifying but also freeing.  

You couldn’t help but think of Max. Even though your relationship was broken, and the rivalry had reached its peak, there was still something about him pulling you in. But the question that haunted you was: did he feel the same?  

Max was still with his partner, at least publicly. But his actions, his looks, even his comments during races, hinted at something more. Could you build a life with someone who seemed incapable of facing his own feelings?  

“Maybe it’s not Max,” you muttered to yourself that night, curled up on the couch in your childhood bedroom. “Maybe it’s someone else. Or maybe I just need to find myself first.”

When you returned to the paddock for the US Grand Prix, something had shifted inside you. You hadn’t made any final decisions, but you knew this chapter of your life was nearing its end. Still, as long as you were in F1, you were going to give it everything you had.  

In the pre-race interviews, journalists bombarded you with questions about your rivalry with Max.  

“Is it personal?,” one of them asked with a sly grin.  

“Everything in Formula 1 is personal,” you replied with a wry smile, offering no further explanation.  

Max, sitting next to you at the press conference, shot you a sideways glance but said nothing. The tension between you two was palpable, even in front of the cameras.  

That race turned into yet another head-to-head battle between the two of you. During the final laps, the radio chatter grew more intense.  

“He’s losing rear grip. Push him.”

“I already am!,” you snapped, pushing the car to its limit.  

In the last lap, you pulled off a risky overtake that left everyone stunned. You won the race, and as you stepped out of the car, you felt a mix of euphoria and exhaustion.  

While celebrating with your team, your thoughts drifted back to your conversation with your mom. Maybe this was the ending you’d been searching for, or maybe it was just the start of something new.  

Max watched you from the podium, his blue eyes filled with something you couldn’t decipher. In the crowd, you couldn’t help but wonder: could you ever leave it all behind, even him?  

The next race, under the scorching Qatar sun, felt heavier, both in the air and in the paddock. Everything about this second-to-last race of the season felt like a countdown to something inevitable. You and Max were tied in points, both neck and neck after a season of epic battles, controversies, and moments that had pushed you to the edge emotionally.  

The tension in the McLaren garage was palpable. Though your relationship with your team was excellent, you knew the pressure was on you. Lando tried to lighten the mood with his usual sense of humor, but even his energy couldn’t cut through the wall of your thoughts.  

“Come on, don’t be so serious. We could both use a win today,” he joked while adjusting his gloves.  

“Sure, but if you win, I won’t complain,” you replied with a faint smile, though you both knew that wasn’t true. This race meant everything to you.  

Meanwhile, Charles had sent a message that morning: ‘Remember, one race at a time. You can do this. You’ve already proven you’re the best.’ His unwavering support had become one of the few things keeping you mentally afloat during this emotional rollercoaster.  

From qualifying, it was clear this race would be another direct battle between you and Max. Both of you blocked every attempt the other made to set the fastest time, ending up on the front row: Max on pole, you in second.  

The start was clean but intense. From the first corner, Max showed his usual aggression, shutting you out in an attempt to stay ahead. But you knew this game; he had taught you how to play it. You used the slipstream on the main straight, and on lap five, you overtook him with a surgical move in turn 6.  

For a moment, the world seemed to stop as you led the race, but you knew the real battle had just begun.  

Midway through the race, things heated up. Teams began to play with strategies, and tire choices became crucial. On lap 32, as you exited the pits after a tire change, Max appeared beside you. The overtake that followed was so tight the two cars brushed slightly, sparking an explosion of shouting over the radio.  

“That was way too close!,” your engineer protested, but you were too focused to respond.  

Max didn’t back down. In the following laps, he kept relentless pressure on you, looking for any weakness in your defense. On lap 48, he attempted an inside overtake on a tight corner, but you managed to hold your position with a move that left everyone on the edge of their seats.  

In the final laps, your mind was torn between the adrenaline of the race and the mental exhaustion you’d been carrying all season. Max was glued to your diffuser, but he made a small mistake on the second-to-last corner, giving you just enough of a margin to cross the finish line first.  

Your team’s shout over the radio was deafening:  

“Victory! You’re incredible, what a race!.”

But you didn’t have time to celebrate. As you parked the car in parc fermé, reality hit you: this victory only meant you were still tied in points, and everything would come down to the final race.  

The journalists were in a frenzy. In the post-race press conference, the questions came at you like bullets.  

“How do you handle the pressure heading into the last race?.”

“Calmly. One race at a time.” you replied, echoing Charles’ words, even though calm was the last thing you felt.  

Max, sitting beside you, spoke after you.  

“I always knew this season would be decided in the end. I’m ready for it.”

His gaze met yours for a second, and in that brief moment, the tension between you two felt more personal than ever.  

Back at the hotel, you tried to disconnect, but it was impossible. Your mind raced, replaying every detail of the race and anticipating what was to come. Charles called to congratulate you but also to remind you to rest.  

“Don’t let this consume you, okay?,” he said, his tone serious but kind. “You’ve done an amazing job, and you have everything you need to win.”

“Thanks, Charles. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I don’t know what you’d do without me either,” he joked, managing to make you laugh.

However, when you hung up, you kept staring at the ceiling of your room, wondering if you were truly ready to face everything the final race was about to bring.  

Even though you hadn’t seen Max since the press conference, you knew he was just as restless as you. Despite everything that had happened between you two, you couldn’t help but think about him, about how this rivalry had consumed everything you once shared.  

Is this really what you wanted? To keep fighting, keep competing, keep losing yourself in the process?  

You closed your eyes, trying to calm your thoughts. Just one race left. One final battle. And after that, maybe you’d finally have the answers you’d been searching for.  

The last week of the season was a whirlwind of emotions, preparations, and a tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. The entire paddock was on edge. Everything would be decided in Abu Dhabi.  

Escaping the media’s attention was impossible. Cameras followed you everywhere, looking for any reaction that could turn into a headline. The atmosphere at McLaren was optimistic but tense. You’d brought the team to its highest point in years, and that was already a monumental achievement. But for you, it wasn’t enough. You wanted that title.  

During the press conferences, the questions were relentless. You and Max were the center of attention. Though both of you kept calm outwardly, the discomfort between you was obvious. Every word, every gesture was analyzed by the journalists.  

“How do you feel heading into this decisive race?” they asked you during one of the press rounds.  

“Focused. This is what we’ve worked for all year. I just want to do my job and see what happens,” you replied diplomatically, though inside your heart was racing.  

Max, sitting next to you, simply said:  

“I’m focused too. We both know what’s at stake. May the best win.”  

There was a moment when your eyes met, but it was fleeting. There were so many words left unsaid between you, and the weight of that silence felt unbearable.  

In the final strategy meeting with your team, the tension was palpable. You knew every decision would matter, every detail could be the difference between winning and losing. Your race engineer, always meticulous, reviewed the plans calmly, but even you could tell he was nervous.  

“I believe in you. You’ve proven you can do this,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder before you left the garage.  

Lando, on the other hand, tried to lighten the mood with a joke.  

“If you don’t win, can I keep the consolation trophy?” he said with a cheeky grin.  

“There won’t be a consolation trophy,” you replied with a smirk.  

That day, Yas Marina Circuit was lit up like a jewel in the desert, and the atmosphere was electric. Before getting in the car, you took a moment for yourself. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and visualized every corner, every move. You knew you had to give it everything.  

The anthem played, and the world seemed to pause for a moment. Max was beside you on the grid. Though you didn’t speak, you could feel his presence, his energy. You both knew this race wasn’t just about the championship but also everything that had happened between you.  

The start was flawless. From the first corner, you and Max were locked in an intense battle. Neither of you gave an inch. Every lap was a fight, every overtake a statement. The rest of the drivers might as well have been racing in a different category; it was as if this championship was meant to be decided between just the two of you.  

On lap 35, a slow pit stop almost cost you the race, but you quickly recovered, overtaking Max in a spectacular move on lap 42. The crowd went wild.  

But Max wasn’t going to give up. On lap 50, he took the lead back, forcing you slightly off the track. It was an aggressive move, but clean—classic Max.  

In the final five laps, both of you were at the limit. Your hands trembled slightly from the adrenaline, but your focus was unshakable. In the penultimate lap, you found a gap on the main straight and passed Max on the inside. This time, he had no answer.  

When you crossed the finish line, the world seemed to stop for a moment before exploding in celebration. You’d done it. You were a world champion.  

Your team screamed over the radio, their voices full of tears and joy.  

“You’re the world champion! You did it!”  

As you climbed out of the car, the emotions overwhelmed you. Your team surrounded you, celebrating. Lando was one of the first to hug you, shouting:  

“I told you! I knew you’d do it!”  

As you stood with your team, your eyes instinctively searched for Max. He was there, watching you from a distance. Slowly, he approached, his steps a mix of pride and resignation.  

When he reached you, he extended his hand.  

“Congratulations,” he said, his voice calm but heavy with emotion.  

“Thanks, Max,” you replied, shaking his hand. For a moment, his eyes reflected something that looked like regret, but he said nothing more. He turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.  

That night was magical. There was laughter, tears, toasts. The tension of the entire season melted away in a whirlwind of emotions. Charles called to congratulate you, and his genuine happiness was like a balm to your heart.  

“I knew you could do it. I’m so proud of you,” he said, his voice full of sincerity.  

As the celebration went on, you took a moment to reflect. You’d reached the pinnacle of the world, but you knew this was just the beginning of a new chapter in your life. The future was full of uncertainty, but that night, you decided to enjoy the present, savoring every moment of your triumph.  

The emotional hangover the next day was overwhelming. It wasn’t physical, nor from the celebration, but a deep emptiness you hadn’t expected to feel after achieving the dream of your life. You’d won the Formula 1 World Championship, the peak of your career, but instead of feeling complete, you felt lost.

You woke up in your hotel room, sunlight streaming through the curtains. Around you, there were remnants of the celebration: a half-empty champagne glass on the table, the dress you wore last night carelessly thrown over a chair. The trophy, shiny and imposing, sat on the nightstand, but as you looked at it, you didn’t feel the euphoria you’d imagined for years.  

You got up and walked to the mirror. The reflection staring back at you was different from the one you were used to. It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion from the season; it was something deeper a sense of disconnect with yourself.  

You spent the morning avoiding your phone, even though you knew the notifications had to be flooding in. Messages of congratulations, articles from the media, videos of the highlights... but you weren’t ready to face it yet. Instead of feeling celebrated, you felt isolated.  

The idea had been lingering in your mind for weeks, maybe even months. The crash, the endless emotional struggles, the pressure to always be the best... it had all left its mark. And now, after achieving what you’d always dreamed of, you realized something: you didn’t want to keep going anymore.  

During breakfast with your parents, you decided to share your thoughts. You’d avoided bringing it up before, afraid of their reactions, but now felt like the right time.  

“I’ve been thinking about something... important,” you said, breaking the silence while fiddling with your coffee mug.  

Your mom looked at you with concern.  

“Are you okay? Does this have to do with Formula 1?”  

You shook your head.  

“No… well, partly, yes. Like I said, I’ve been reflecting, and I think... I don’t want to keep racing anymore.”  

The silence that followed was heavy. Your dad, ever the pragmatic one, was the first to speak.  

“Are you sure? You’ve worked your whole life for this.”  

“I know, Dad. But I’ve also given it everything I had. And now I feel like if I keep going, it’ll just be out of habit, not because I really want to.”  

Your mom took your hand.  

“We’ve always wanted you to be happy, no matter what you do. If you feel this is the time to stop, we���ll support you.”  

That conversation was the turning point. Over the following days, you talked to your team, Lando, and even Charles, who, although surprised, understood your decision. Lando tried to convince you to stay for one more year.  

“Are you really going to leave me here alone? We were just starting to have fun!” he joked, though there was genuine sadness in his eyes.  

“It’s your time, Lando. I’m sure you’ll do amazing things,” you replied, hugging him.  

Charles, on the other hand, was more serious.  

“I didn’t see this coming, but I get it. Just… promise me you won’t disappear completely.”  

“I won’t. I’ll always be here, even if it’s just as a spectator.”  

That same night, after hours of figuring out how to word it, you sat in front of the camera in your room. You were nervous, not about the decision, but about how the world would react. You wore a simple t-shirt, your hair tied back. You wanted the message to be honest, without distractions.  

‘Hi, everyone. I know this isn’t the video you were expecting after the incredible season we just had, but I wanted to share something important with you...’

You took a deep breath before continuing.  

‘I’ve decided to retire from Formula 1. This year has been the most exciting but also the most exhausting of my life. Winning the championship was a dream come true, but it also made me realize it’s time to close this chapter and start a new one.’

You paused, letting your words sink in.  

‘This wasn’t an easy decision. Formula 1 has been my life for so many years that I barely remember what it was like before. But I also know I want other things. I want time for myself, for my family, to explore who I am outside of this sport.’

Your voice wavered slightly, but you kept going.  

‘I want to thank my team, my teammates, my rivals, and, of course, the fans. Without your support, none of this would’ve been possible.’

When you finished, you turned off the camera and fell onto the bed. It wasn’t immediate relief, but there was something freeing about putting an end to that chapter.  

The video was released the next day and, as expected, caused a storm. The media debated your decision, fans flooded social media with messages of support and gratitude, and some even expressed disbelief.  

Charles sent you a text:  

“I saw it. I’m proud of you. You’ll do amazing things, no matter where you go.”  

And Max, who had avoided talking to you since the last race, also sent a short message:  

“You were the best. I always knew it. I hope you find what you’re looking for and that you forgive me.”  

Even though his words were few, they left a lump in your throat.  

That night, while staring at the stars from your balcony, you realized that, even though the future was uncertain, you were ready to face it.  

Weeks passed since your decision, and life finally seemed to find its rhythm. The constant noise of racing and the pressure to be the best slowly faded. But deep down, you felt like something or someone was still missing.  

Your house, now quieter than ever, became your sanctuary. You spent those days focusing on yourself, resting, discovering what you truly liked outside the track. But even in the peace of your own thoughts, Max lingered in your mind. He wasn’t a constant thought, but you’d remember him, especially when news of his breakup with his girlfriend started circulating. That, unexpectedly, stirred something in you, a knot in your stomach.  

Late one night, your phone buzzed. The name on the screen made you hesitate for a second. Max.  

The message was short, direct.  

“Can I see you? I need to talk to you.”  

You didn’t think much about it. You knew this conversation needed to happen eventually. You’d been avoiding it, but now it felt like the universe was putting it in your path.  

You agreed to meet at your house the next day, and when the door opened, there he was. Max, with that intense, direct gaze that had known you for years. Now, though, there was something different something more vulnerable.  

“Hi,” he said, his voice softer than usual.  

You invited him in, and he settled on the couch like it was his own home. The silence between you was heavy, filled with unresolved emotions.  

“I don’t know where to start,” he began, with a nervous smile.  

“Neither do I,” you replied, sitting across from him.  

The two of you just sat there, watching each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, Max spoke.  

“Breaking up with her... wasn’t easy. I knew it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t keep lying to myself. The truth is… I never stopped thinking about you.”  

Your heart skipped a beat, and a lump formed in your throat. You didn’t know what to say. Max, always so sure of himself, seemed completely different now.  

“Max... I don’t know what you want me to say. We’ve been on such different paths. You… always so focused on F1, on competing… and me too. Things were never easy between us, and now… I don’t know if any of this makes sense.”  

He nodded, understanding what you meant.  

“I know. I’ve been an idiot. I thought I could keep everything under control, but in the end… I lost what mattered most.”  

He looked at you intently, and in his eyes was a sincerity that made you question everything you’d been thinking until that moment.  

“But that doesn’t mean I forgot about you. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about what we had. If anything, it’s taken me time to realize that… maybe there’s something here we never really figured out.”  

You stayed silent, processing his words. The tension was thick, but something in his voice made you want to listen, even though you knew the situation was complicated.  

“And what is it that you want, Max?” you asked, your voice a bit shaky.  

“I don’t know,” he admitted with a small, sad smile. “I’m not asking you to forgive me or to go back to what we had. But I think… we should at least try. Not now, not right away, but… maybe we can see what happens, without the pressures of F1, without everything that kept us apart.”  

You got up and walked to the window, staring outside without really seeing anything. Max watched you from the couch, waiting for your response. The atmosphere between you had shifted somehow, and for the first time, it felt like you had both let go of the fight to always be the best.  

You turned to look at him.  

“I’m not sure I’m ready to start something new. After all, I made the decision to retire for a reason, Max. I’ve spent so much time on F1 that now I need to rediscover myself. And I don’t know what I want.”  

Max got up from the couch, slowly approaching you.  

“I get it. I’m not expecting it to be easy, or for everything to be resolved right now. But I want you to know I’m not pressuring you. I just… wanted you to know that, no matter what happens, I’ll be here. And if someday you decide what we had is worth another shot, I’ll be ready to try, no matter the past.”  

A deep silence followed his words. You knew there was still so much to figure out between the two of you, but something about his attitude, about his willingness to wait, struck a chord within you.  

You didn’t say anything else. You walked toward him, and for a moment, words weren’t necessary. The look in your eyes said it all. Still, there were no promises, no certainties just a silent understanding that, maybe, the future could be different. Maybe even together.  

“We’ll see what happens,” you finally said.  

Max nodded, not pushing, knowing that time would have to decide the course for both of you. And with that response, the future remained suspended between you, open, uncertain, but carrying a possibility that hadn’t existed before.

[cosmicalily]

"till you tell me to leave" - a bangchan oneshot by @cosmicalily

author's note: i found a half-written draft for this in my old google docs with my other email account and immediately knew i needed to do a rewrite.

warnings: angst (breakup, exes to lovers)

Three days, twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes.

Four days.

Four days and one minute.

Another sleepless night. You didn’t mean to count the minutes, but your eyes remained fixated on your phone, half watching the clock, half staring at the lock screen you’d neglected to change.

Everything around you brought back floods of memories that you didn’t want to deal with. Pictures from photo booths, his arm slung around your shoulder, his hand on your cheek, his lips pressed to your forehead. The one hoodie you’d managed to hold onto, even after he’d packed all his other belongings up when he left. The pre-workout he kept in the back of your pantry. His toothbrush in your bathroom drawer. 

He’d been yours in every way, and you’d been his.

Maybe this was why you’d been so scared to love your best friend; you knew that more came with risk, chances of slamming doors, crying each other's names, and duffle bags hastily filled.

Even when you’d ended things, why were you still writing pages, when he’d been the one to close the envelope? Why were you spending hours nestled on the couch in his hoodie, staring at a black tv screen, unaware of the world around you?

new message from 'channie'

i think i left my hoodie at yours. you home?

i’m driving over.

A part of you wanted to run into the bathroom, brush your hair, remove the two-day old mascara on your eyes and change into something nice. A part of you remembered he’d seen you in every single form, and he loved you regardless. 

He used to tell you how beautiful you were every minute of the day, even when you felt anything but. Did he miss saying those things now? Or did he have another girl to call his angel, his baby, his darling? 

Just the thought made you feel sick to your stomach.

new message from 'channie'

outside.

Taking a deep breath and slipping on your sneakers, you began walking down the hallway of your apartment building. Even though the elevator wasn’t broken for once, you wanted to take the stairs. You needed time to think, and time to turn back if you felt the need.

Why were you so easily coming to him? Well, technically you weren’t, were you? He wanted his hoodie back, presumably the one you were currently wearing.

He’d broken your heart. No, not broken. Slowly tugged at it, until nothing that remained was a dull ache and your pulse.

You thought about turning back, about yelling in his face, about simply bursting into tears and curling up into a ball at the bottom of the staircase, until your neighbour came and yelled at you for disturbing everyone’s sleep at 12:29am.

You thought about these things, but you never felt like acting on them.

What was the point, anyway?

You never would have meant it.

You spotted his familiar black car, the scratch on the bottom from when he’d practised parallel parking, the Sharpie stars you’d drawn with him whilst drunk on his windscreen. You felt your heart swell a little, and even more so when the figure inside the vehicle turned his head to look directly into your eyes.

In silence, you walked over and sat down in the passenger seat, doing your best to look at everything but him. He nodded, pressing his lips together in a thin line, and started the engine. He looked down at your torso, noticing his hoodie, but didn’t make a move to retrieve it. You didn’t attempt to take it off.

“I miss you,” you whispered, barely audibly.

“Hm?”

“Your seatbelt isn’t on,” you replied.

“I was in a rush.”

There was a sudden quiet. The click of his seatbelt, then yours, then the gentle hum of the car as he began to drive.

“You’re wearing the hoodie I left,” Chris finally said softly, eyes focused on the road ahead.

You ignored him. You didn’t really know where he was taking you, and you honestly couldn’t care less. He almost felt like a stranger. A stranger you’d poured your heart out to, and spent hours with, pressing kisses to each other's faces whilst watching movies, watching work out in the gym, cooking food for and dancing while doing the dishes with. A stranger who had been the vast majority of your firsts, who knew your body like the back of his hand, and spent long minutes in the latest and earliest hours loving you, worshipping you.

A stranger who’d been your everything.

As you drove in silence, apart from the soft rhythm of his playlist in the background, his hand found its way to yours, and gently caressed your fingers, as if asking for permission.

You allowed your palm to open.

His fingers tucked into yours, and his thumb brushed against your hand. 

His hand felt warm, familiar. His fingertips were calloused; a result of the way he gripped his pen when he frantically wrote his lyrics late at night.

The car slowed down, then stopped completely. He’d pulled over on the side of a road, in the middle of nowhere. It was ghostly silent, and the trees cast shadows through the headlights.

It was oddly comforting.

“I fucked up.”

“I know you did, Chris.”

He covered his face in his hands in frustration, letting go of yours in the process. Your hand felt a sudden coldness.

“I didn’t . . . I don’t know why I left you. I nearly called you, right after I left. I thought . . . I thought you’d want space, thought I shouldn’t have to put you through anymore. And you were getting fed up with me, I didn’t think you wanted me anymore.”

“I was still in love with you.”

“Was? Past tense?”

“I still love you. I didn’t necessarily fall out of love, Chris, I just . . . I felt like I lost a part of me. Everything felt familiar and distant at the same time, and there were traces of you everywhere. I couldn’t sleep.”

“I can never sleep.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been sleeping even less since I left. The bed’s cold.”

“Same with mine.”

You paused, staring at each other. Chris faced you properly.

“I’m still in love with you. And I’ll try forever if it means I can make you fall again.”

You smiled a little, letting your hand trail up his arm and wrap around his shoulders, resting your face in his warm neck. His hands moved to your waist, moving under his hoodie and settling on your bare skin.  “We should probably get some sleep,” you mumbled into him.

“Your place?”

“Our place. I still have your toothbrush, I think. And more than one of your hoodies.”

“Even if you don't, it doesn't matter,” Chris replied, clasping your hand in his again and gesturing to the backseat. His duffle bag sat there, zipped up, seemingly untouched since he’d left. “I’m coming home. If you’ll let me, of course.”

“You won’t leave?”

“Not unless you say so.”

“So never?”

“Never.”

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

[cozymochi]

“Gosh, I wonder what kind of day my birthday will be… Please, please have things go my way for once...!”

happy [redacted] birthday Cecil Mugwort here’s a makeshift “cozy loungewear” iteration. but with 60% less quality control because i had second thoughts on nearly every aspect halfway through, but i was too far in and already made a commitment publicly 🫠

pretend voiceless lines were collaborated on with @/oddberryshortcake under cut. If that’s anyones speed.

Summon: “Being able to tend to my plants at the end of a long day is my favorite part of my dorm room, I can’t think of a better way to spend the night before my birthday.”

Groovification: “There goes those clocks again…It’s practically telling me to get up and start another day.”

Home: “Late nights are so peaceful.”

Swap Looks: “Ugh, I need to get my unruly hair out of my face!”

Home Transition 1: “Having Silver as a roommate isn’t so bad… If you forget the whole ‘sleeping through five alarm clocks’ thing he does.”

Home Transition 2: “It’s a little embarrassing, but I love how soft and fuzzy these pajamas are. They keep me warm all night.”

Home Transition 3: “THE Vil Schoenheit gave me eye cream for my dark circles. Does he think they look really bad? I was so nervous I dropped the bottle right after getting it…”

Home Transition - Login: “My birthdays are usually spent celebrating my twin sister’s birthday too. But here at NRC, I can celebrate my birthday just by myself. It’s nice not having to share for today.”

Home Transition - Groovy: “Nyoka Wadjet gave me some fancy looking cup as a gift. I told him it’d make a nice new home for my Ice Lilies , but he almost seemed upset I’d be using it that way. Did he just want me to let it collect dust?”

Home Tap 1: “I mustn’t let Ollie trick me into feeding him his dinner twice. Tricky ol’ bird.”

Home Tap 2: “I made sure to send my twin sister a card for our birthday. I actually got one from her today too! For once, she didn’t brag about herself in it… She even pressed a small flower into the envelope.”

Home Tap 3: “Housewarden Malleus Draconia approached me earlier. He just wanted to tell me happy birthday but I was so scared I nearly collapsed where I stood… Ahem! Of course, I still said thank you!”

Home Tap 4: “Just one more page of this ancient magical relics book and then I’ll turn in for the night. Oh, but next chapter is on amulets. Maybe a few more pages then…”

Home Tap 5: “Do I dye my bangs? No, its just a condition I was born with. It spreads a little further every year. At this rate, I’m gonna go gray before I graduate…”

Home Tap - Groovy: “I try not to stay up too late, but I can’t help it! Everything is silent, it’s just me, my bird, my books and my plants. It’s such bliss at night.”

Duo:

[CECIL]: “T-Thanks for celebrating, Nyoka!”

[NYOKA]: “It's no trouble, Cecil.”

Birthday Login Message: “Oh, you’re wishing me a happy birthday? I didn’t think you’d remember. You know, the science club pitched in and got me a new plant today. It was a pleasant surprise to know my seniors had been paying such close attention to my interests. …Hm? Is this your present? You made a card all by yourself? …This is much more thoughtful than the ill-fitting sweaters and mugs I normally get, thank you.”

[wonderjanga]

Little Billy the Assistant

Zatanna was looking for the Champion. She’d wanted to ask for his help procuring an ingredient for a potion. All she expected was a short trip and maybe adventure. What she didn’t expect was running into a magically gifted orphan homeless looking kid.

Zatanna: *takes a detour a cramped street with a bunch of stalls selling stuff*

Billy: *ahead of her, heads to a gate leading to an alley, looks around for a bit before literally melting the lock off*

Zatanna: *sees this and stares*

Billy: *casts one more glance back before nearly feeling his soul leave his body at the sight of her looking at him*

He looked just as surprised to see her as she was to see him. Zatanna thought he was scared because he got caught by someone using magic in public. Billy was actually scared because she saw his civilian form do magic. Because what if she connected it back to Cap or something?!

Anyways, they made an uncomfortable amount of eye contact from across the street before Billy bolted into the alley. She tried to follow, but the crowd of the cramped street kept getting in her way, and by the time she got to the alley he was gone. Having lost him, she decided to ask Cap about the little boy about a week later when they were both at the Watchtower after he’d helped her find the ingredient she’d wanted. As for why it took a week for her to find him and ask for help? Billy had been avoiding her. Anyways…

Zatanna: “Cap, have you seen this little kid running around?”

Marvel: *immediately knew she was probably talking about him* “You’re going to have to be more specific than that Zatanna.”

Zatanna: “Okay… this little blue eyed black haired short little thing, maybe nine or 10-”

Marvel: *a little offended because he’s 12*

Zatanna: “-I saw him do magic the other day so he’s magical too. You know anything about him?”

Marvel: “Maybe? Why do you care about him?”

Zatanna: “Because recently I’ve had this idea of maybe having a little stage assistant.”

Marvel: “I thought you said you never wanted to share the spotlight or something?”

Zatanna: “That is true, but he was adorable! And I’m pretty sure he was also homeless.”

Marvel: *doesn’t know how to feel about being called adorable* “So…?”

Zatanna: “So he’d become my assistant and learn how to do his magic better since I doubt he has a teacher if I’m right about him being homeless. There’s also the added bonus of earning money which will benefit whether or not he actually is homeless.”

Marvel: *was prepared to say yes as soon as he heard money* “I’ll talk to him about it.”

Zatanna: “Oh? So you do know him.”

Marvel: “Maybe.”

Zatanna: “Maybe?”

Marvel: “Maybe. By the way, I’m pretty sure that kid you’re talking about has a job as a radio show host so he might not accept your offer if it conflicts with his schedule.”

Zatanna: “Radio show host? That’s a little retro, no? Buuuuuut… if he’s a show host, that at least means he has some pizzazz, so he could probably be good on stage too! As for the schedule thing, I mostly do night shows so he should be good.”

Billy mulled over this decision for many(two) days before deciding he’d accept her offer. As Cap, he told her to meet Billy at a popular street.

Billy: *waiting near a fountain and contemplating every decision he made up until his*

Zatanna: “Ah, it’s you! I assume Cap told you about my offer?”

Billy: “Yes? Could we uh… talk more about what the job would be like?”

Zatanna: “Of course! But first, let’s get some food in you.”

Billy: “What? Why?”

Zatanna: “Bud, you’re practically skin and bones.”

Billy: “Oh.” *sounds upset*

Zatanna: “Hey, hey, hey! No need to get upset! Try to think of the positives! I’m getting you food!”

They went to a little diner and ate while discussing all the things. What his job as an assistant would be, his pay, and so on.

Zatanna: “You sure know how to talk business, little guy.”

Billy: “Thank you…?” *sounds confused*

Zatanna: “I meant that in a good way.”

Billy: “Oh. Thanks then.” *smiles*

Zatanna: *just barely resists the urge to pinch his cheeks*

Zatanna stand by the fact that this kid was, in fact, incredibly adorable. Such a cutie honestly. And he’s such a sweetheart, too. After this meeting, they met up a couple more times, so Billy could rehearse being her assistant before he actually went on stage. Then the day came that he finally had to do his job…

Billy and Zatanna: *standing behind a curtain on stage*

Billy: “Uhm… Ms. Zatanna?”

Zatanna: “Yes?”

Billy: “What happens if I’m not good at being an assistant?”

Zatanna: *pauses to think* “Well, you’d stop, but I’d still continue trying to help you with your magic.”

Billy: “You mean that?” *just happy she wouldn’t immediately kick him to the curb*

Zatanna: “Of course.” *again has to resist pinching his cheeks*

The curtains soon opened after that conversation. The show must go on!

I’ll leave it up to you guys on whether he did good or not.

[onthegoodsideofthings]

…this is so bad but here’s the Fic

The Waffle House employee versus the Joker. It was a long shift you had kind of just finished cleaning everything swept the floors wipe the countertops took care of your last customer and just as you grab the key to leave there’s a bang and then there’s another and another and another You stand there very very confused what the hell just happened? Why is there so much banging why is it so easy for people to get laid and not you all of these questions questions and no answer answers. And so you decide I’m gonna check this out. I need to know what just happened You look outside the window in there is the joker. It was crazy a little far-fetched. He was alone by himself, but he had a gun and he looked at you and you knew I should’ve stayed home. This is too much **** work for Wednesday night but in Gotham, I guess nothing was actively normal. This could’ve easily just been a normal Monday if it was Monday, it was Wednesday was halfway through the week you needed a break. OK you were exhausted. And so he enters. He breaks the glass it shatters everywhere. You’re freaking pissed because you just cleaned up and you know what you’re tired you are incredibly tired and so you slap the **** across the face OK you slap him hard. He looks like you stunt. He’s that’s crazy. Why would you slap me and you look at him and you say you broke the window, but you didn’t break it so it got outside no you broke it so got inside and it’s all on my floors And I just swept. He’s like I got a gun and they’re like I’m gonna kill you if you don’t sweep my floor right now no he looks at you. He’s scared you look arranged like a lunatic and he is a lunatic so this is even worse because he thinks genuinely that you were a lunatic that you were the problem not it and to be fair he’s right you get paid maybe Eight dollars an hour you don’t get it. You don’t get paid nearly enough to do with this guy and so instead of trying to please you or whatever you know, he tries to threaten you again he’s like well give me all your money and you’re in your like absolutely not. You’re gonna sweep this floor and hope to God I don’t kill you and then you know drag you out to the freaking freezer dude and so you know he’s scared now he’s like what is going on right now and then and then it happens you take the broom you said if you don’t sweep right now will beat you what you want. I’m gonna kill you with this broom And he’s like whoa whoa you’re not gonna kill me with this broom don’t say that and you’re like yes, I will and so out of fear you know, we also take the broom from you, but you know you feel feisty you hit him, upside the head with the that you get to work and you throw the broom at it and so he’s panicked you know he’s sweeping the floor and he’s just like whoa. What a person this is crazy you know that night joker did what you told him you swept the floors hell he got one of his one of his pants to fix the window before you left. Nothing was touched. It is known now that no one not a single person who has any kind of ill intent will go anywhere near that waffle house they’re scared of you all of them every last villain jokers not easy to scare, but you look so arranged so so crazy so exhausted he just couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything more occasionally if you see him out, he he’ll give you money. He’ll apologize to you. It’s it’s crazy how the table’s done turned.

A waffle house employee

But not just any waffle house employee, one who works in Gotham City.

Them vs the joker, who's winning?

[moralesluvr]

RE-TAKE | b. eilish.

ꨄ︎ delivering some more teacher!billie for you… <3

you’re halfway out the door when her voice stops you.

it’s a call of your name, laced with an angry and frustrated tone. you freeze, hand tightening on the strap of your bag. the classroom is empty now, the faint sound of footsteps fading down the hall as everyone clears out for the day.

but you’re still here.

you swallow thickly, turning on your heel to face your teacher. her hair that was previously flowing down her shoulders is now placed in a messy bun, her blazer already discarded on the back of her desk chair— now only clad in a white, too-tight button up and a black skirt.

“we need to talk,” miss eilish says, her voice low and steady. her eyes don’t leave you as you start to walk forward, and she tuts at you harshly.

“no, shut the door.”

your skin feels clammy as you shut the door behind you quietly, dropping your bag on the floor and standing next to the doorframe, awkwardly. the air is thick and hot with tension, and you’re even more scared because you already know what this is about.

it’s about the fucking quiz. the one you didn’t even finish because your mind was elsewhere, lost in a maze of thoughts that all seemed to lead back to her. it wasn’t your fault that miss eilish decided to wear tighter dress pants and a flowier, lower-cut top that day. she had looked so pretty, and she still had that hickey on her collarbone that you had given her the night before, that she tried so hard to cover up with that small collar of her polo.

“come here,” billie says, snapping you out of your intrinsic thoughts. your feet move before your brain can catch up, carrying you toward her.

she waits until you’re standing in front of her desk before holding up the paper, “do you want to explain this?”

your eyes drop to the paper, to the bright red “F” scrawled at the top. even her handwriting was angry with you.

your face burns with shame, and you smooth your hands over your own skirt in hopes that it’ll calm you down. “i… i just had an off day,” you mumble, not even daring to meet eyes.

“an off day,” she repeats, her tone laced with amusement. she gives you a cocky, mocking nod, “that’s funny, because it seems like you’ve been having a lot of those lately. why is your shit not together?”

you swallow hard, your hands clenching at your sides. you don’t even dare to respond.

“look at me,” she says, and your heart stutters in your chest.

you lift your eyes, and there it is— that look she always gives you, the one that makes it impossible to breathe. she knows you down to a T, and her eyes are sharp, knowing of you, like you’re her prized possession.

“you really are better than this,” she says softly, leaning forward, her elbows resting on the desk. “i know you are.”

you nod, your throat too tight to speak. you fight for your eyes not to drift down to her exposed cleavage, so you flutter them shut before you make any more mistakes.

“but…” she trails off, tilting her head slightly, a loose strand of her black hair slipping over her shoulder. “i’m not happy with you. the retake date has already passed, so you’re going to have to show me that you want to pass my class.”

the way she’s looking at you, eyes slit and low, nearly makes you fall to the floor that your shoes keep twisting on, anxiety fueling you.

truth is, billie was always so big on not fucking you in school. it just seemed too risky, but today, it was like she couldn’t care less. she was already pulled closer to you now, unbuttoning your cardigan slowly as you gulped.

“what—what does that mean? i thought…” you stammer, but she just continues with undressing you, her smirk deepening.

“you’re my smart girl,” billie says, her voice like honey. she passes you a wink, “i think you’ll figure it out.”

that nearly kills you. your cardigan’s now on the floor, discarded like it’s worth nothing— and it really isn’t worth anything, not in this moment.

billie doesn’t kiss you with the usual softness she gives you, she kisses you like you mean nothing to her, like you’re worthless, like you’re just her pathetic little student who can never pay attention in class.

it’s quick, the way that billie rips your clothes off, propping you up on her desk as she fumbles around in a locked drawer of her desk, pulling out a thicker, longer, harder strap that you’ve never seen in your life.

“what the—?” you speak shyly, half due to confusion and half because there’s no way she’s going to use that on you. but your eyes turn wide as saucers when you see her slip her skirt and panties off, slipping on the strap and fastening it to her liking.

she pulls you by the hips without saying a word, the tip of the faux cock aligned with your entrance as her tattooed hand snakes around your throat, “don’t fucking talk at all, you hear me? you’ve done all the talking you need to in my class, giggling and whispering instead of doing your work. such a slut..”

you wince as the strap stretches your cunt out, your walls stretching to accommodate how fucking big it was. billie starts off slow, but that doesn’t last for long— she slams into you at a brutal pace, your stomach twisting as her hand slaps over your mouth to block your moans.

“shut up.” she seethes in your ear, her free hand kneading at your ass as her grip on your lips tightens, “you wanna get caught? you want someone to come in here and see me fucking you like this?”

you think her question is rhetorical until she slaps the flesh of your thigh, pushing you to answer her. and she lets you, her hand coming off of your mouth so you can mumble quietly, “n-no! please, billie….i’m so sorry…”

your eyes blink away tears as you feel a mix of pain and pleasure erupt in your abdomen, and it almost feels like too much, the way she’s fucking into you so hard. but deep down, you wanted this, wanted her to put you in your place. you wanted to fail that quiz so you could be where you are right now— legs shaking, pussy clenched against her strap. it was so wrong, but it felt so right.

a moan passes through your plump lips, and it makes billie’s frustration with you only worse. it’s like something snaps in her, the pace that she’s fucking you at almost seeming inhumane as your ass collides with her thighs, the sound echoing off of the classroom’s walls.

“such a dirty whore,” billie growls, her lips right against your ear, “know you could do much better in my class, but you’re just so distracted… may have to have a talk with the counselor, hm? do you need to be switched to another teacher?”

“n-no! miss eilish…please, wanna stay with you…wanna stay in your class…” you whine pathetically, and billie chuckles at how desperate you look.

tears find themselves streaming down your cheeks as you feel your orgasm closer and closer, your pussy clenching around the strap sporadically. almost inaudible whines leave your lips as you fight to stay upright, “i-i’m close— m’gonna cum, please, i—“

“cum for me.” billie orders, though her voice still drips honey. her hand snakes between your legs to rub your clit, assisting you through your orgasm as you heave, your cum sticky and hot as it races down the length of billie’s strap and onto her thighs.

billie fucks into you slowly a few more times before pulling out, watching as your cum seeps out of your cunt and onto your clit, glistening in the dim lighting of her classroom. billie gives you a kiss on your back, “good job, my girl— took me so fucking well.”

you thank her through puffy lips and teary eyes, laying on your back on her desk as she flips your paper over, writing a new grade on the front.

A+. Good job. :)

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[lizzie-boo]

Christmas Party

Steve Harrington x Reader

Ficmas Day 9

Summary: When your best friend Steve overhears you joking with Nancy it changes the course of your friendship forever.

Words: 1.2k

A/N: Happy last day of ficmas. I wanted to write 12 stories but that never happened. Honestly, though, I'm really happy with writing 9 becuase I never intended to do ficmas at all this year. Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Are we sure this is a good idea, what if someone calls the cops?” You ask, still not fully onboard with the idea of throwing a Christmas party. 

“Don’t worry it’s just for our group of friends plus if the cops get called we’re fine. Remember Chief Hopper is Jonathan and Will’s stepdad and he’d never bust them for having a party,” Steve reassures you as he hands you another box of decorations. 

Removing the lid from the box you grab out a couple strands of garland and begin to place them around the living room. Steve follows behind you stringing up lights as he goes. 

“You’re sure we won’t get in trouble?” 

“It’s just a casual Christmas party, not a rager I promise. Plus half the people coming are practically children. It’s just gonna be us hanging out and eating snacks for a few hours.” 

You knew Steve put his old habits behind him years ago but you were always nervous he would revert to his old ways. That this party would snap him back to who he used to be and what would start as an innocent group hang out would spiral into the party of the century. The fears that if he went back to his old ways he would drop you and you would be without a best friend once more rattled around your brain. As his words finally sink in you let your shoulders relax.

“Plus, Dustin is bringing Suzie and I don’t want to scare her off. He seems to really like her so as surrogate mom I need to make a good impression,” Steve jokes and the last of your reservations disappear. 

You continue to joke and talk as you finish putting up the last of the decorations. Every so often stopping to sneak a glance at your best friend wondering if there would ever be a chance for the two of you to be more. 

The doorbell rings right at seven and you make your way to the entryway. You open the door for Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin ushering them in from the cold. Nancy pulls you into a quick hug as Jonathan offers a quiet hello. 

“So where is the dingus?” Robin asks as she wiggles her eyebrows at you. 

Pushing her shoulder lightly you respond, “He’s in the kitchen finishing up getting snacks ready.” 

“I’ll go help him,” Robin announces before rushing off to the kitchen. 

“I’m guessing this means you haven’t talked to him about how you feel yet,” Nancy says as she loops her arm with yours and pulls you into the living room leaving Jonathan to get the door for the kids. 

You take a seat next to her on the couch. “I don’t wanna screw up what we have. He’s my best friend. Why risk losing him when I can just stay his friend forever and at least have him in my life.” 

Nancy pats your arm giving you the same sad look her and Robin use everytime they bring up the topic and you and Steve being something more. You reach out and tap her nose breaking the awkward tension forming. Just then the kids, Jonathan, and Eddie file into the living room taking up all the available seats. 

Glancing over your shoulder you look for any sign of Steve or Robin, wondering what is taking them so long. Turning your attention back to the room you smile at Eddie as he tries to mediate a fight between Lucas and Dustin about what Christmas movie everyone should watch. 

Steve and Robin make their way toward the living room right as Nancy leans over, “Maybe some alone time with Eddie could help you forget about your feelings for Steve,” she jokes. 

“I don’t doubt that, he could probably make me forget my own name,” you joke back, bumping your shoulder into hers and you both laugh. 

Behind you Steve shoves the tray of snacks he’s holding into Robin’s hands and rushes back into the kitchen needing some time to think. Robin takes it in stride and sets it on the coffee table with a loud thud. 

“I think I hurt my wrist carrying the tray. Do you think you can go help Steve with the rest?” Robin asks as she plops down on the couch between you and Nancy. Before you can even answer her and Nancy are already chatting away about something one of the kids said. 

Pushing off the couch you make your way into the kitchen to find Steve with his palms pushed against the countertop. His head hangs and his eyes are screwed shut. The sight of him sends a pang of panic to your chest. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask as you place a hand on his back. 

“Do you actually wanna fuck Munson?” he bites out as he curls a hand into a fist. 

Your hand drops to your side as quickly as your mouth falls open. You hadn’t realized that he heard your joke. If you knew he was standing there you never would have said anything. 

You take a moment to assess the situation before settling on your response, “It was just a dumb joke between me and Nancy. Plus I never said that I wanted to fuck him, just that he would probably be good at it.” 

“So you don’t wanna get under him?” His tone is gentler this time as he turns to look at you. 

“No, never. It was just a joke.” You run a hand along his arm hoping to calm him down so you can head back to the party in the other room. 

His hand reaches out and grabs your free hand holding you in place. “So do you still want to forget about your feelings for me?” His eyes search yours as if he’s trying to figure out what you are going to say. 

“Only if you want me to,” you whisper, now realizing the space between you had lessened. 

He drops your hand, stepping in to cup your cheek. “That’s the last thing I want baby” he mumbles before crashing his lips to yours. Your hands tangle in his hair as your lips move in sync. Taking a step back he presses you into the counter. The cool press against your back sends a shiver down your spine and you tug at his hair in an attempt to deepen the kiss. 

He pulls back and you drop your hands to his shoulders. You both take a moment to catch your breaths. He shoots you a smile before hoisting you onto the counter. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist and he wastes no time diving back in for another kiss. 

This time when he pulls away it’s to trail a line of kisses down your neck. He works his way back up and gently nips at your earlobe causing you to let out a moan that you try to muffle with your hand. His lips press against your ear and he whispers, “The only one who is allowed to make you forget your name from now on is me.” You pull him back into another searing kiss completely forgetting about the party in the other room. 

[mofongomuncher]

𝘼 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙧

POV: Telling Ekko you’re pregnant

Im gonna be posting a bunch of lil Ekko oneshots on Wattpad, I feel like this man doesn’t get enough stories and it irkssss me sm. So if you’d like to read more the link is at the end!!

I'm not all that good at writing, I’m also doing this for fun so please go easy on me. I'm hoping to get better as I keep writing. But I still hope you guys enjoy it!! :3

.

The Firelight base, hidden among the green thick fogs of Zaun, was Ekko's haven. A quiet—peaceful place from the chaos of the Undercity.

His little room at the top of his tree was where he could think, when the weight of leadership felt too heavy—he could sit, take a moment for himself for a little bit.

His room was filled with unfinished projects, blueprints and tools scattered all across his workbench, The lanterns and candles cast a soft, wam glow over the space, giving it a calming, almost ethereal atmosphere.

But tonight...tonight felt different.

Tonight, there was something heavy in the air.

Y/N sat on the edge of his bed, She had something she needed to say. Something that had been on her mind for days now. But the thought of how Ekko would react to it made her heart race like hell.

Ekko was seated at his workbench, tinkering with a device, his brows furrowed in concentration. When Y/N finally spoke, her voice barely rose above a whisper, it stopped him cold.

"Ekko," she began, and when he turned, the look on his face shifted. His precious brown eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, she saw his guard come down, just a fraction.

He stood, his usual cool confidence flickering for just an instant. "What's up doll? You've been acting different... is something wrong?"

Y/N hesitated.

Fuck This wasn't easy.

How do you tell someone you love so much that their life is about to change forever?

But she couldn't keep it to herself anymore.

"Ekko...I'm pregnant."

Ekko froze. His expression was unreadable for a second before his eyes narrowed, brows drawing together. His mind that was always fast, was now working overtime, processing what the hell she just said.

For a second, the silence felt like a punch to the gut, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on both of them.

"You're... pregnant?" He repeated, his voice low, almost to himself, like he wasn't sure whether to believe it or not. He just stood there, trying to find something to say but was unable to form the words just yet.

Y/N nodded, swallowing hard.

"I found out a little while ago. I just didn't know how to tell you. Hell, I didn't even know how to process it myself."

Ekko rubbed his forehead, He was silent for a moment longer before he spoke, his voice rougher than usual, but it was tinged with concern. "I... I'm not sure what to do with this Y/N...Fuck...I didn't even expect to see this coming.."

Y/N's heart clenched at the uncertainty in his voice. She had been afraid of this, of him not knowing how to react.

she took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "I didn't expect this either. I'm scared too Ekko. But I don't—I can't to do this alone. I need you."

Ekko didn't move right away, his gaze still locked on her. His hands fidgeted with a loose gear on the workbench, his mind was clearly in a battle between his responsibilities and the unexpected future baby unfolding in front of him.

"Damn..." he muttered, shaking his head, his usual confident demeanor cracked for a moment.

"...I—I don't even know what kind of father I'd be. I barely have time to think straight with everything that's going on lately." His voice softened, but it was raw, honest—Ekko was always the kind of person who wasn't afraid to show what he was feeling around me, even if it made him vulnerable.

"But I'm not gonna back down from it..."                   "Not from you."

Y/N felt the tension in her chest start to melt away as he spoke.

She stepped closer, her eyes softening, the relief obvious in her expression.

Ekko's eyes softened as he took a step closer, his hand gently cupping her face. "Whatever happens next, we'll figure it out..Like we always do." His smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

He leaned in a little closer, their foreheads brushing together. He seemed to take a moment to just soak it all in, before speaking again, softer this time.

"I love you Y/N."

Y/N's smile softened, feeling her heart swell. But before she could say anything, Ekko's voice had that hint of excitement. "And I'm gonna love our baby too. I'll teach 'em alll the important stuff."

He leaned back a bit, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Can you imagine? A little mini us running around just causing all the trouble, and I'm the one trying to keep it all together while you just—well, you'll be egging 'em on won't you?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful grin. "Oh absolutely! That little ball of happiness is gonna have all of your genius and a whole lot of my sass... We'll have a little firecracker on our hands."

Ekko's grin grew, the playful energy between them settling into something warm and steady. "They'll be perfect." He stepped in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, then slowly brushing his lips against hers in a gentle, lingering kiss.

When they pulled away, he smiled, his hand gently resting on her cheek. "And if they're half as amazing as you, we'll be just fine."

Y/N's heart fluttered, her smile growing as she met his eyes. "I love you Ekko."

"I love you too Y/N"

[aerospectrum]

Dean watched her from the side of his eyes when she attempted to snack on the sandwich but quit only two bites in. Guilt seemed to be a recurring theme for them both and when Madison apologized again all Dean could do was shrug and shake his head. “It’s fine, it’s not a big deal- it didn’t hurt, you didn’t hurt me.” He insisted a bit too much; lying. Lying because her slap actually had hurt and it left the skin feeling like pins and needles due to the cold around them.

Dean felt a slight panic crawl up his throat when she got off the couch; fess that she hated him enough that she’d try her best to leave, even if it meant crawling away. But then she was at his knees, arms wrapped round his legs like she’d cease to exist if she let go. “Madison…” he spoke her name. “It’s.. it’s fine. Really it’s fine it’s- I wasn’t hurt.” He protested more, a light flush to his cheeks, only feeling half bad for sticking to that lie. When she fell asleep Dean listened to her breathing for a long time; longer than he needed to. Mostly scared she’d jumpstart awake and go running out of the house and turn her back on him for good. “I’m sorry I stood you up.” He spoke quietly.

he felt safer explaining the situation with her knocked out. He could give her a halfassed explanation when she came to. “I’m not still hooked on Castiel, but the idiot went and got himself in a situation with your ex… the er took a lot longer than I thought it would and he wouldn’t let me tell you what happened. He kept saying you’d think he started it or that he got hurt to keep me from you… maybe he wasn’t too far off on that one though. He made me promise five different times that I wouldn’t tell you, guess I break my word with him too much too. I’m sorry I stood you up; I really wanted to go out with you tonight. I wanted to get fancied up and see you waiting out on the curb for me. I’m sorry I’m not any different from the rest of the trash you’ve dated, I’m really sorry.” His voice wavered and cracked a bit and he was grateful Madison was asleep to not hear it.

By the time morning came, Dean had hoisted Madison up from her kneeling position on the floor to one where she was lying half against him half atop him. His arm was flopped over the soft small of her back the other linked with her arm and he didn’t even stir when Madison came to from her wild binging adventure at Benny’s bar top. He fully intended to rip Benny a new one for getting her that drunk.

Madison didn’t put up a fight the second time Dean scooped her up in his arms. Even in a fuzzy state of mind, she couldn’t deny how safe she felt in his arms. And that’s why she pressed her forehead against the crook of his neck & inhaled his scent deeply.

The car ride made her feel yucky inside. Each bump, or turn made her stomach flip. Even when she curled in her seat held her stomach & leaned her head against the wall, she couldn’t escape the gnawing feeling. So when the car slowed to a steady stop, she took a shaky breath of relief. Once again she was in deans arms & it was perfect -almost perfect-. He laid her on the couch & she curled up again causing the fabric of her dress to bunch up.

Dean had disappeared allowing Madison to sleep for few minutes. It’s truly wondrous how much a 30 minute nap calmed her down. Sure it brought on the nagging feeling in her head, but she didn’t feel like she was on the brink of vomiting anymore. “Thank you.” She whispered when he set the tray down.

Madison managed to take 2 bites of the sandwich before setting it down, & tucking her hands under the head acting like a pillow. “I’m sorry i hit you.” Her voice was small but loud enough to hear & her eyes stayed focused on Dean. But it wasn’t enough to apologize to him, she pushed off the couch, & weakly crawled to deans legs. The room was spinning & the only thing that felt somewhat normal was the way her hands felt touching the carpet.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” She leaned her cheek on his knee. “I… I don’t think I’ll be able to make it home.” Her sense of direction was not good sober, imagine her drunk? She shut her she’s ran her hands up his legs until his mother

“I didn’t should t have slapped you.” Her eyes fluttered close, & she managed to asleep leaning against his legs, & holding on for dear life.

When she woke up, her head was pounding. Her eyes bloodshot, head still spinning, & stomach churning from the sugary drink the night before .

[w1shfullthink1ng]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔…𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐈 𝐃𝐎

paige bueckers x cheer!fem!reader

DESCRIPTION/ at the wnba draft you & paige show up together finally debuting y’all relationship

WARNINGS/ none (use of y/n AHHH ik ik pls 😔🔫 i swear i only use it like once!! don’t shoot the messenger girl didn’t you write this? shhh )

YOU WHERE IN THE HOTEL BATHROOM GETTING READY….safe to say you where scared no terrified for tonight. You put on your best face but you where drowning in your own mind “what if this goes wrong” “the medias ruthless” “what if-“ and that’s when paige’s voice brought you out of your head and back to reality

“you almost ready baby?” you shoot her a soft smile trying the mask your anxiousness “yeah..” you try your best to sound put together but after a year of being together and being friends for 3 she knows you like the back of her hand. “Hey..” she approached you gently her voice soft and comforting “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours hm?” she cups your face and moves a stand of hair out of your face tucking it behind your ear

you sigh softy “just nervous about tonight” you admit “if your having second thoughts we don’t have to-“ “no no I’m not having second thoughts well..maybe but I want this I do but you know with the media knowing and how they are it’s just nerve wracking and I don’t wanna ruin anything with you I know you have your NIL contract and stuff-“

she has a look of slight disbelief on her face “woah woah woah. you don’t wanna “ruin anything with me” baby you’re the best thing that ever happened to me you could never “ruin” anything in my life ever. so get that thought out of your head and as for the media screw ‘em people are always gonna have something to say. Plus if you don’t got haters then you ain’t poppin.” she says with a soft smirk. “You got me, I got you we’re good alright?” you nod her words of reassurance easing all your worries “Now come on pretty girl we have a draft to get to, and I need my gorgeous girl with me” she smiles placing her hands on your hips “okay okay let’s go” you laugh softly

You guys arrive to the draft squeezing your hand “Come on ma, you got this keep your head up you look beautiful baby, i’ll be with you the whole time okay?” she kisses your forehead softly her words gentle and sweet easing all of your worries “here we go” you sigh plastering a soft smile on your face as you take paige’s hand and head inside

The walk to the building was filled with cameras & people. The camera snaps few photos of you & paige an interviewer comes up to you guys and asks a few questions to paige like “what are you wearing tonight?” “Here to support Nika Mühl?” “How are you feeling about possibly getting drafted next year?” the suddenly the attention was pulled to you “Paige we see you brought a new face as your plus one tonight care to introduce us?” the interviewer asks with a smile “This is y/n, she’s my beautiful girlfriend”

You smiled softly and wave. You weren’t used to this many cameras sure there was a lot of people & cameras at uconn games but nothing like this, and definitely not this up close and personal. Paige had her arm wrapped around your waist and squeezed your hip a silent acknowledgment that she was there for you. The reporter smiled at you and paige “Girlfriend? wow what a surprise, y/n you look beautiful how are you feeling tonight.” “Definitely a little nervous but I have paige with me so I know i’ll be alright and i’m so proud of Nika just came to show my support for her as well.” the interviewer smiled “Y’all are just adorable if you don’t mind me asking how did you two meet?” paige had that stupid smirk you loved on her face. She loved telling the story.

“Well this pretty thing here is Uconn’s sweetheart she’s a cheerleader and she was cheering with all the other cheerleaders at one of our basketball games and I made a shot but after it went in it somehow bounced over and hit her head-“ you shake your head in embarrassment and giggle “Gosh paige don’t-“ she just laughs and shush’s you “Shh baby let me finish. ahem. anyways as I was saying it hit her head so I run up to her and apologize but I look at her and it hit me when I looked in her eyes I was like woah this is genuinely the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen so yeah I found her after the game got her number.” she winks.

The interviewer laughs finding the story so cute but I bud in “Paige thinks she has so much rizz yeah she may have got my number that day but it took her a WHOLE YEAR for her to ask me out” paige rolls her eyes playfully “Aye chill good things take time” the interviewer smiled and was amused by you and paige “Y’all are just the cutest, thank you both so much for your time it was so nice to meet you y/n thank you paige for sharing her.” paige smiles and reply’s “Of course but don’t y’all get to comfortable she’s mine.”

After all the draft night the media fell in love with you just as much as paige did loving your hospitality and transparency. Sure they’re was a few homophobic assholes but there was more positive feedback and so much support from everyone. You could say that everyone adored you…especially paige.

A/N still haven’t gotten over paige’s draft fit it was absolute perfection she’s so beautiful. also I apologize for being so inactive with finals & then the holidays your girl has been BUSYYY (I wake up everyday & there’s always smth to do i’m sick of it😾) but thank you for the love & support on my last blurb it’s so appreciated also TYSM for 30 followers ily all from the bottom of my heart. My inbox is open for yap sessions, unlicensed therapy sessions (i will always listen to y’all but samantha jones once said “we’re as fucked up as you are it’s like the blind leading the blind”) & requests are open !!

thanks for reading, love you always

wish signing off 🪽

[zweiginator]

https://www.tumblr.com/zweiginator/771055292237725696/being-arts-little-sisters-best-friend-and-youve

your mind...being childhood friends with the donaldsons and being so close with art's sister that you've been taken along on little family trips...art's parents let him bring along his best friend patrick too :(

thinking about sleeping over the same night art's having patrick over and pat says something stupid about you coming to "hang out with the big boys"

and patrick is a lot more forthcoming than art would ever be.

“c‘mon,” he tells art, sucking on the end of a cigarette. art is frantically looking underneath the balcony they’re standing on, making sure his parents can’t see what they’re doing.

“worst case scenario she says no.”

art is shaking his head. “she’s my little sister’s best friend—i just feel like it’s a bad idea. like, slimy.”

but patrick can tell he’s just scared of rejection. he hands the cigarette to art and watches him intently, how he draws the smoke into his mouth like an antidote for his anxiety, his overthinking.

“she’s not gonna say no.” patrick says it like he knows it’s true. of course, he could never know, but patrick has a confidence that makes people believe he’s all-knowing, like god or something.

so later that night patrick corners you as you’re ascending the stairs to go to sleep. you had just gotten yourself a glass of water.

“going to bed already?”

art is biting his nails. he’s already upstairs and he wishes he could close his eyes and forget all this ever happened. he could just jerk off to the thought of you like he always does. he mouths to patrick. “what are you doing?”

patrick ignores him. “it’s early.”

“not everyone sleeps in ‘til one.”

“come upstairs with us.” patrick holds your arm.

“i’m trying to go upstairs but you’re blocking me.”

“‘cause i want you to hand out with us.”

you try to ignore how patrick’s touch feels like it has ignited something in you. maybe it’s the dry spell you’ve been in or maybe it’s the devious twinkle in his green eyes, how art acts so innocent at the top of the stairs.

“hang out? in art’s room?” you swallow. “and do what?”

patrick’s jaw ticks and he shrugs. “dunno. whatever we want.”

you scoff. “i’m not that kind of girl.” and you don’t like how it sounds coming out of your mouth. you don’t say things like that and you certainly don’t think them either but you know how patrick treats women. you just wanted to get that point across. because something about his height and the flex of his bicep as he leans against the wall that makes girls lose all self respect around him. you don’t want it to happen to you.

but art, art is the opposite. he’s hot, of course, but in a different way. he’s the type of hot where he doesn’t even know it.

“what are you talking about?” patrick lets you past him.

“you know what i’m talking about.”

art butts in, face flustered. “i’m sorry. goodnight.”

“why are you apologizing? it wasn’t you.”

and art grows even redder. it makes you want to poke fun at him.

“oh—“ you stand in his doorway. art is in his room now, patrick behind you. “so you were in on it. you just wanted your friend to do the brunt of the work.”

patrick chuckles.

“i think maybe you need to learn how to ask a girl out yourself.”

“who said we’re asking you out?” patrick’s breath is hot on your neck. “you know what we’re asking you for.”

you turn around. “who the fuck do you think you are?” your heart beats fast and you feel your voice faltering.

patrick gets closer, moving in your personal space. he smells like cigarettes and peppermint gum, a tinge of citrus beer from earlier.

“if you don’t want it, then go to your room. we’ll forget any of this happened.”

and even though you swore you’d maintain your self-respect, you pull patrick in by his collar and don’t say a thing as he shuts the door behind you both.

[bullet-prooflove]

I'll show you how a real queen behaves,

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @yousigned-upforthis @gatefleet @pansexualhailstorm

Companion piece to:

Texas - Travis and you make a realisation about your relationship.

Wyoming - Travis's mother calls Rip to get her son under control.

Your first time back in the saddle, you’re fucking phenomenal. Travis watches from the stands in a shitty little rodeo in Wyoming as you guide Artemis around each of those barrels with a precision that would make the current world champion curse your name.

“Is this some fucked up way of torturing me?” He spits at Rip, his gaze firmly fixed on the way your hair catches in the wind as you spur Artemis into a gallop. “Show me how well she’s doing without me in her life?”

“No.” Rip states flatly. “I’m making sure you keep your promise.”

Travis’s head jerks towards the other man so hard it makes his head fucking spin.

“She told you about that?” Travis says and Rip shrugs his shoulders.

“Not me, Imogen.”

When you’d first started talking about getting back out there on the rodeo circuit, he’d made a promise that he would be at your debut, that he would be in the stands cheering you on. You’d been so anxious at the time, unsure of yourself and he’d wanted you to know you had someone fighting in your corner.

There’s no trace of that woman here now. You sit up on that horse like a goddamn Queen and the crowd goes fucking wild when your score is announced because there isn’t a chance in hell any other rider can beat it.

“You should know that she’s seen the video, the one that’s been doing the rounds.” Rip informs him as he takes a sip of his beer. “You are one dumbass motherfucker.”

The video was taken a few weeks ago in Kansas City. It features him, two barrel racers and a bottle of top shelf bourbon from one of the finest distilleries out there. He hadn’t even realised the damn thing had been recorded until he’d gotten the clip from his buddy out in Tulsa along with a high five emoji.

“She thinks you’ve moved on, that you don’t love her anymore.” Rip tells him as you take a victory lap around the arena. “And after seeing that I can’t say I fucking blame her.”

His stomach twists at the thought of you watching that video, his cock thrust in someone else’s mouth, while her friend licked whiskey from his chest. He knows that it must look like he’s having the time of his fucking life but honestly he’s in fucking crisis. The only time he’s not thinking about you is when he’s black out drunk, sprawled across the sheets in some stranger’s motel room.

“Is that why you brought me here?” Travis asks him as he cradles a cold beer bottle against the cheek that Rip sucker punched. “So I can tell her otherwise?”

Rip raises his eyes skyward as if praying for strength.

“I brought you here so you can see exactly what you’re missing. You made a bad call by letting her go, you and I both know it, it’s why your spinning out so much.” Rip informs him as he watches you trot right out of the arena. “You need to get your head straight and fix it.”

“If it was that fucking easy don’t you think I would have done it by now?” Travis snaps back at him. “I still live in Texas and she still lives in Montana, I run a fucking business…”

“Don’t start pulling that shit on me.” Rip scolds him, shaking his head vehemently. “We both know you run that shit from the road. This about you being too fucking scared to take the next step, to actually make a commitment, that’s what you’re mad about.”

Travis doesn’t know what to say to that because Rip’s right. That’s where all this insanity is coming from. The guilt that he’s the one that fucked up your relationship, that he let you think it was you’re fault for not being able to settle in Texas.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” Travis says finally and Rip shrugs his shoulders again.

“Truth hurts don’t it?” Rip says taking another sip of his beer.

Yea, Travis thinks as they watch the next contestant step into the arena. It fucking does.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[yall-batman-fanfic]

Beyond | Terry McGinnis x Batsis with Batman

Synopsis:  Bruce Wayne has retired as Batman leaving Gotham in the hands of the Police, and young heroes to keep her safe, but with Batman gone criminals are no longer scared, and crime rate has increased. Just as Bruce has lost all hope, Terry McGinnis arrives at the scene.

NOTE: I refuse to believe that the epilogue of Justice League Unlimited exists. I prefer Terry McGinnis being simply Terry McGinnis and NOT Bruce Wayne’s son. That epilogue ruined everything about Batman Beyond. You don’t have to be a Wayne to be Batman! Bruce became Batman because it was his choice and he had a purpose, it has nothing to do with blood. So, for this story, Terry is NOT blood-related to the Waynes in any way.

It has been five years since he wore the cowl. Five years after he had that one night he thought he was dead with the last thing he would see was a low-life scum and not his family. His beautiful wife and his amazing daughter. Five years since he had to resort to using a gun to strike fear into his enemies. No more. Never again. Since then he hung the cowl, closed the cave, and finally accepted his wife’s gift – a watch. A gift given for retirement. Since then he would wear that watch all the time to remind him of why he needed to stop being Batman.

Time was always the enemy. With time comes age, and with age are illnesses and the deterioration of the body.

Many of his comrades have gone – Leslie has died long before, Jim Gordon as well, due to a heart attack while in his office), Alfred has died in the most tragic death doing one last heroic thing for his family: saving Valerie from a gun-fire.

Valerie was there to witness everything and see the life leave Alfred’s eyes as he succumbed to his injuries. They found her on the ground, behind the vehicle they used for cover, holding her grandfather’s body and refusing to let go.

Worse of all, at that same year, she almost lost her father too because he was too damn stubborn to admit that he was no longer in his prime. That he was now an old man who depends on his technology to support his aging body and all the ailments he keeps from his wife (unsuccessfully keeping from his wife, he’s just too damn stubborn to admit it).

“What’s it going to take for you to understand that enough is enough, Bruce?” Vivian said as she sat beside her husband who laid in his hospital bed. Tears falling from her eyes at the scare they got.

Their family gathered in the room — Damian–who was his doctor–listening to him with a disappointed look, then there were Tim, Jason, Dick, and Cassandra. And Valerie. Sweet Valerie, who just witnessed her grandfather die in her arms, was standing by her father’s side with an unreadable look on her face.

“Viv,” Bruce spoke. He reached out to his wife and took her hand. “My love,” he called for her again when she wouldn't look at him, this time she turned to meet his tearful eyes. “You can take out the watch.”

“Bruce, are you sure?” Tim asked.

“I’m sure… it’s time. It’s long overdue,” Bruce turned to his daughter and reached out for her. With his arm open, Valerie joined her father and laid beside him so she could hold him tight. “I should have retired the moment you were born. I am so sorry for missing out on so many things… and for scaring you like that.”

“I’m just glad you’re alive,” Valerie whispered.

“It’s official,” Dick began. “The Batman’s done.”

As soon as he was discharged, he went back to the cave to put away his latest suit, lining it up with the rest. From his very first one, to the latest ones lined with kevlar and a heavy cape for gliding, a transmitter cowl; then to the Robins’ uniforms from Dick and Jason’s original uniforms, to Tim’s, Stephanie and Damian’s. Then there was Nightwing’s line up, along with Red Hood’s, Red Robin, Orphan, Batgirl, Spoiler, the Phoenix… and the red cowl and cloak that gained the name Red Bat by Gotham’s broadcasting network during their short-lived reign over Gotham. 

He closed it all, shutting down the power, locking away the life he’s lived and turning the fortress to a museum that no one can ever see or know.

He spent most of his time with his family and running Wayne Enterprises with his wife who was now the Head of the Wayne Foundation. Vivian still works part-time at the university and does research, but most of her work is now with the Wayne Foundation, wanting to help more people. She joked that teaching was her calling and passion job, and philanthropy was her retirement job. 

The time he spends with his daughter were ones he cherished. In the morning, the three of them would wake to start on their chores. While Vivian would start on breakfast, the two of them would be at the garden, tending to the flowers at Helena’s grave. Then he would drive her to school – he was insistent in doing so – before going to work. When at home they would dine as a family and spend time as a family.

But whenever he would hear or see the news about the rising crime rates in Gotham, Bruce couldn’t help but feel defeated. He has lost in this war. In the war he has waged against crime in Gotham. And when he would be somber, Vivian and Valerie would try to get his mind off of it or talk to him. 

This was the truth of Gotham, he would tell himself and them. No matter how much I fight, Batman cannot change its people. The people themselves refuse, and those who do, know better than to stay here. Gotham is a test through fire. Gotham was and is purgatory. 

~*~

Vivian was on her way home, driving on the bridge when he spoke to her a couple of minutes ago, and there was a group of punks who call themselves the Jokerz terrorizing a kid who crashed at his gate. Checking at his phone, he monitored the GPS icons of his wife and daughter to see where they were. Vivian was almost to the mainland, Valerie was just about to leave Gotham University.

He wasn’t going to let them walk into this, nor was he going to let them walk into his property too… and there was the kid.

Walking down the path that leads to the gate, Bruce made the sound of his cane prominent in each step he took, informing the gargoyle that guarded the manor of his arrival and to stand guard but not engage. Greg the Gargoyle has made himself a permanent guard of the manor ever since he’s reached a certain age, vowing to protect the state and its masters. 

“Let’s carve a smile on this punk!” One of the Jokerz called out to his group.

Another tap.

Gregory opened the gates of the manor, startling the teenagers and the punks.

As they wondered in fear, Bruce made himself known: “Leave him alone. Get off my property. You’re trespassing!”

“Stand back, old man!” The teenager got up and tried to cover him.

A young man with a good heart, he thought. 

“Aw, is that right?” One of the Jokerz taunted him.

“It’s okay, old man, I got this,” said the teenager.

Bruce walked past him to face the group and one of them, the one who wore the Joker mask, grabbed him by his shirt. 

“Who do you think you are, old man? We’re the Jokerz!”

Bruce smirked. “Sure you are.” 

When Joker-face tried to punch him, Bruce easily evaded and whacked him thrice with his cane until he was knocked down to the ground. Then the others engaged, trying to stab him with knives and hit him with bats but they were no match for him. He was Batman after all. An easy fight, and he was glad to see that he still got it –

Pain surged through his body.

His heart.

Clutching his chest, Bruce fell to the ground as he had another heart attack. No, he can’t. He needs to make sure his girls get home safe. That Vivian and Val were safe. 

He wasn’t sure what happened but the next he saw was the teenage boy running to his side, the sight of Valerie appearing out of thin air and running to his side.

“Dad! Dad!” She skidded on the ground.

“Val,” he grasped her hand.

Valerie placed a hand on his heart and tried to help him. “Dad, please don’t. Please, stay with me. Please,” she muttered as she helped heal him.

I’m not going anywhere, Val, he thought. Not unil I know you’re safe.

~*~

“Go out now and you might find yourself in their trap,” the girl with black hair told him. “Stay. Wait for a couple of hours until you are bore out of your mind, then wait for another hour, then and only then do you leave. Better yet, stay and leave in the morning. There’s no bus here, so I can drive you to Gotham Central.” 

He can’t stay the night but he’ll wait. She does have a point. As he waited, Terry started to roam around the manor to figure out who these people are, and then he saw the large portrait in the study. How could he not realize sooner?!

That girl was Valerie Wayne! The only daughter of Bruce Wayne and Vivian Pryor-Wayne.

Then that means the old man was Bruce Wayne!

How the hell did he find himself crashing to the gates of Wayne Manor?

As he pondered about the luck he had to be there – he was sure Wayne was going to make him pay for the dented gate – he heard noise coming from the clock. 

A bat was stuck inside the clock.

~*~

She should have kept an eye on Terry McGinnis. After getting her father to bed, Valerie asked Terry to stay for a bit and wait for the coast to be clear before leaving. Crap, she shouldn’t have had him in their home in the first place. But she can’t just let him go to the Jokerz trap – she even informed her mother about the group of punks driving motorcycles that might cross her path heading to Wayne Manor.

Or maybe she should have locked him in the living room until she returned. But that’s not good manners – as her grandfather would say, or her mother, or Dick and Tim. So, she trusted him that he would stay put. But no.

For some strange luck that was not on their side, Terry fucking McGinnis found the clock and walked inside the Cave and found the biggest secret that Gotham hides.

The identity of Batman.

“Geez, no wonder he could fight,” Terry mused, but before he could explore some more, a strong gust of wind pushed him away from the line up of uniforms and was pinned to the walls of the cave. This was no ordinary wind.

And he was right to suspect because from the shadows Valerie Wayne appeared with eyes glowing bright blue, her hand stretched out with her palm facing his direction, and her black hair flying around with the gusts of wind.

“No one ever taught you not to snoop around?” Valerie mused.

“You’re a — you’re a meta-human?” Terry gasped.

“Close enough,” she smirked. “You know, I can’t let you out of this place with you knowing about all of this.”

“Valerie!” Bruce’s voice boomed in the cave.

The sound of her father’s voice had her release Terry from the winds that pinned him to the wall and fall to the ground with a harsh thud.

“Oops,” she muttered.

She did that on purpose.

Bruce walked up to him with a nasty glare and sneered: “Get out!”

 ~*~

Vivian was not expecting to see her husband and daughter in the Batcave after Bruce closed it for good. After receiving the alert on her phone from Bruce’s heart monitor, she sped up in her drive and used a spell to warp realities to have her car jump from the long winding road to the grounds of Wayne Manor. When she got home, she looked around for Bruce, scared to death if something have happened to him and she wasn’t there. 

And there was.

If there wasn’t he wouldn’t be in the Cave. 

“Bruce!” Vivian ran down the stairs.

“Viv,” Bruce greeted her and before he could ask how she was she tackled him to an embrace.

“What happened? What’s going on?” Vivian turned to her daughter and reached for her hand.

“Someone saw the Cave,” Valerie spoke.

“What?” 

“The Jokerz chased a kid all the way to the Estate. I had a minor episode after I…” Bruce trailed off.

“After you what?” Vivian narrowed her gaze at him.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Valerie scoffed. “Really? If it was nothing, I wouldn’t have had to jump from GU to here, Dad. What if that kid was some punk too?”

“But he wasn’t.”

It was a losing battle. She knew it, and Valerie knew when to just go with what her father says: “He helped me get Dad inside the manor. I told him to stay for a while and wait until we’re sure the Jokerz were gone and I left him for a bit. And he found the clock and the Cave. It’s my fault.”

“Is it something that we should worry about? I can contact Damian,” said Vivian.

“Damian took an oath, Vivian,” Bruce reminded her.

“Then Tim.”

He said nothing on the matter. As of now, Tim was part of Wayne Enterprises’ Board of Directors and is working as the Vice President on Wayne Technologies. Tim can easily track down the boy, Terry McGinnis, and keep an eye on him but Bruce didn’t want to disturb him for this. Besides, while he remains to be Red Robin in certain occasions, Tim has his own life now, a family with Bernard to take care of.

Seeing her father’s lack of response, Valerie said, “I’ll tell them in the group chat. They should know considering Batman has a support system that is the same size and demographic as the Wayne family anyway.”

Before Bruce could protest, Valerie had already hit send and her phone was getting chat notifications nonstop.

“Come on, let’s head upstairs,” Vivian took her husband’s arm and led him back. When she sensed her daughter’s missing footsteps, she turned back and saw Valerie looking at the Red Bat costume on the case. “Val.”

Valerie turned away from the uniforms and ran to join her parents.

~*~

Warren McGinnis was murdered in his home.

The name McGinnis caught Valerie’s attention when Bunny mentioned it during their meet-up lunch dates between Gotham University and Gotham Academy (since Valerie graduated three years early, she’s been going to Gotham University, taking engineering and criminology classes, wanting to wait for Bunny before they apply for Yale, just like their parents). As soon as she got home, she told her father about the news and just as she expected he said nothing about it. 

“It has something to do with Powers,” Valerie said.

“What makes you say that?” Damian asked whilst continuing his work in the kitchen, making dinner for everyone in the manor. 

“Warren McGinnis was is part of Powers’ team in Powers’ Tech. I remember him in Wayne Tower with Derek Powers when they’re proposing a partnership with Wayne Tech. Tim there was something bad about Powers and didn’t budge.”

“And the fact Father would kill him if he agrees to it. Powers is dirty. His whole company is,” Damian placed a small plate of food for Valerie to taste and keep her occupied while they waited for their mother to come home and for Bruce to come back from his walk with Ace II.  “You still need to work on your detective skills, little sister.”

“I’m working on it,” Valerie said as she ate. “But Damian, someone has to stop him.”

“Who?”

“Powers. You know that he rose to power as soon as Batman disappeared. He took advantage of the fact that the crime rate is rising and the system is total shit – no offense to Barbs.”

“Again. Evidence. I think you’re being too reliant on your magic, Val. You need to work on finding the connections that would lead to the truth. Magic can’t solve everything.”

Valerie frowned as the memory of that moment she held her grandfather’s body, hoping her magic would save him. “You don’t have to remind me.”

Damian sighed and messed with her hair. “Stop thinking about this, Val. It’s not your job. Let Red Robin or Nightwing do it.”

Valerie scoffed. “Nightwing is too busy leading the Titans since the Justice League retired. Red Robin is there with him too. Batwoman’s gone, along with Oracle… Cassandra’s traveling and doing her work wherever she goes. Steph has moved on too. And who knows when Jason’s coming home.”

Damian frowned. “Let them handle it. The best you can do is give them a lead with this theory of yours.”

“Be a bystander, you mean. I find it hypocritical that Dad let you do the hero thing and not me.”

“It wasn’t the life we chose, Val. Dick and Jason were given a chance to have a new life with it. Cassandra and I? We were born into it. We had no choice… it seems it was just Tim who really understood the job from the very beginning,” Damian sat beside his sister and took a piece of the food he made. “The war we were fighting then… to have to wear that mask is not something a kid your age should be doing, I understand that now. Trust me, I was throwing a tantrum like you when I was your age and when I was younger. The life you have now is the one we all worked hard fighting for. We want you to live without ever having to go through what we did.”

“I know.”

“You sure? Looks like you don’t.”

Valerie slumped on her brother’s shoulder and sighed. “I just… I have all of this power, and you guys practically taught me how to fight —”

“For self-defense, Gotham is not a walk in the park.”

“—and you expect me to just watch as Gotham go down like this… all your hard work gone. It’s like you just gave up.”

Damian sighed.

“You can’t save people from themselves, Val,” the sound of their father’s voice had Valerie sit up. Bruce entered the kitchen without making a sound – even when he had a cane – and looked at her with solemnity. “My parents. Your grandparents told me to never give up on Gotham, and I didn’t. I fought all my life until I ended up like this. The truth is you can’t save Gotham from itself. The people here refuse to change. They like how the system is now. And for those who the Batman has inspired and changed, they knew better than to stay here.

“Gotham is a purgatory, and the best way to start again is by leaving it. And the reason why we don’t ever leave… is because we live at that boundary between purgatory and paradise. We get the chance to have luxury but also seeing the suffering of those from afar. Reminding us of human nature.”

“Father,” Damian warned him.

“Your brother is right. The life you have now is the one we wish for all to have, and you know damn well why you can’t wear the cowl. Not after that stunt you pulled.”

Valerie winced and looked away.

“Alright, that’s enough. You made your point,” Damian stood and hid Valerie from their father’s gaze.

Bruce Wayne is a good and loving father, but he can also be cruel with his words. Especially when he wants to prove a point. 

“If you have anything on Powers, hand it over to the Commissioner,” Bruce told her. “But that’s it.”

“Yes, Sir,” Valerie muttered. Her response startled Bruce and he started to regret his harsh words to her. But before he could apologize, Valerie got up from her seat and said she was going out for a walk, then exited the kitchen through the backdoor and left. But she didn’t leave exactly, she stayed by the side of the kitchen and listened to what they were going to say.

Damian sighed. “Just as we thought you’d ease it with the harsh words when you had Val. She’s not like the rest of us who can brush it off when you’re being a total asshold. She’s…”

Valerie knew that. She always felt like there was a huge difference between her and her family because they were in the family business and she was…

She was the ideal they have.

She loves them but there are times when she feels so alone.

Bruce narrowed his gaze at his son. “Your sister is strong and has a strong and kind heart, and full of hope.”

“Then why crush that hope with the things you say?”

“Because being too hopeful can also bring danger to her. It would lead to naivety or, worse, create an idealist or an extremist. It’s good that she understands how the world is. She’s stubborn too. Too damn stubborn…”

Damian watched as his father sat down on the seat and sighed deeply. “She still won’t go to Yale?”

“She refuses until Bunny graduates. But I don’t think that’s just the reason why.”

“Falcone and Maroni.”

The leader of the gangs who were partially involved in the death of Alfred Pennyworth.

Bruce nodded.

Valerie had enough eavesdropping and left. Joining her was Ace II and Andromeda — her pet dog — and they did not return until her mother came to get her at Alfred’s grave.

 ~*~

Terry McGinnis had guts. She’ll give him that.

Days after him calling out in their gate comms, asking to see her father, and then claiming that Powers had something to do with his father’s death and the nerve gas he’s been making with Kaznia, she came home to the sight of Ace and Andromeda tied to the gate with one line. She was about to release them when a batarang shot out and cut it. Valerie looked up and saw her father’s figure standing by the window telling her to get inside immediately.

Terry McGinnis has stolen the Batman suit.

“I’ll go after him,” Valerie told her father.

“No,” Bruce flatout said.

“But Dad!”

“I said, no,” Bruce turned away from her and turned on the Batcomputer. The old thing hasn’t been used for a long time now. “McGinnis, can you hear me?”

“Whose that?” Terry’s voice sounded in the speakers of the computer.

“It’s Wayne.”

“How are you –”

“There’s a radio receiver in your cowl. Now, you need to listen to me, McGinnis. I want that suit back and I want it back now.”

Right, a teenager is going to do what he tells them to.

“Now is not a good time.”

“THAT SUIT IS NOT YOURS! YOU HAD NO RIGHT!” Bruce exclaimed.

It was the first time Valerie ever heard him raise his voice outside of the training mat, and it made her flinch.

“Somebody had to do something. You weren’t going to,” said Terry.”

“I’m warning you.”

Through the camera of the suit they could see Terry running from the guards that were chasing him.

“The suit works better even better than I thought it would.”

Valerie smirked at his comment. Walking up to her father’s side, she watched closely at the feed they were getting. “I wouldn’t taunt him, McGinnis. The old man’s not as patient as he used to be.”

Bruce turned to his daughter with a frown and she just shrugged.

Terry chuckled. “Good to hear from you again, Princess.”

“This is for final warning,” Bruce said, but Valerie was sure that was directed at both of them. “This is your last chance. Better take it.”

“No thanks, I’m having too much fun.”

“Fun, huh?”

Bruce pulled up the protective casing of a button and pushed it. Activating whatever it was he programmed in the suit. In the middle of his fight, Terry’s body was paralyzed with Bruce shutting down the suit.

“Dad,” Valerie said as she saw Terry get beaten up and the teenager asking for help. Begging Bruce to release the system override. When he still refuses to move, Valerie was about to push the button to save him but her father grabbed her wrist, muted the comms, and said to her: “This is the first lesson. For the both of you.”

“He's going to die!”

“Until you understand what's at stake. The risks. You can never go out there.”

Valerie glared at her father. “I know perfectly well what's at stake. I saw it, didn't I?”

“I know. But he doesn't.”

They heard the gun cock. Bruce looked at his daughter and released her hand. Valerie pushed the button and unmuted their comms. 

“McGinnis, I gave you a break. Now bring that suit back,” said Bruce.

“Love too, but I got these guards all over me,” said Terry.

“There's a broom closet up against that wall. Can you get to it?”

“A broom closet?”

“Do it!”

Terry ran to the door and escaped inside the room. “Now, what? I’m sitting ducks –”

Bruce got up from the seat. “Your turn,” he said to his daughter. “Hurry, he needs your help, Penny.”

“McGinnis,” Valerie took the seat before the Batcomputer. “I’ll open a door for you at the far end of the wall.”

“What door? There’s no door there.”

Opening the map of Powers’ building, Valerie focused at the location where Terry was and focused on the image of the prints and creating a path for him. It was the first time ever used her magic at a long distance. Her magic, as her mother would call it, was mostly technological and reality bending magic. She is able to understand anything with a single touch, can recreate its form by understanding its components. She believes it was her interest in technology and engineering that influenced her magic’s outlet. Her mother had the forces of nature, fire, and life. She had technology and reality.

“Walk past it,” Valerie told Terry.

“What?!”

“Do it!” 

“If I walk into a wall…” Terry ran and instead of slamming into a wall, he went past it and was at the other side. “How did you?”

“Now, bring back the suit,” Bruce said at the comms. “If you don’t, I’ll shutdown the suit again. This time, for good.”

“I read up on you, Mr. Wayne. How you lost your folks,” Terry began. “The guy who murdered my dad is in that transport, this is my one chance to nail him.”

Maybe that was what got him. Dick did tell her that Bruce’s way to keep kids like them from joining the wrong crowd was to put them in a colorful costume, spandex, make them fight crime, and find closure. 

“The hover pad is at the Northeast Sector,” Bruce gave in. “After that you come back with the suit.”

Terry chuckled. “You got it,” he said and ran to chase the chopper about to leave with the man he was after. Turning the comms on mute for a moment, Bruce told his daughter. Whether it’s a success or not, you open a portal and you bring him back here when you think he’s in danger. Understood?” He said to Valerie.

“Yes, Sir.”

Bruce frowned. “Val…” he began.

“We can talk about it later, we’re still on a mission… and I still need your help,” she turned back on the comms. “Making sure this idiot comes back alive. I don’t want to have to get a corpse out of that suit and bury it somewhere in the estate where the cops won’t find it.”

“Don’t worry, Princess, this idiot isn’t planning on dying in this suit,” Terry spoke.

“Call me that again and I will shut that suit, McGinnis.”

Bruce smirked and leaned on the computer, watching as his daughter and this young man reminded him how it was before. 

Terry was able to reach the chopper before it could be airborne but it meant he had to find a way to get in while keeping a strong hold while using one of the gadgets in the suit to open it. Inside, he was about to attach the pilots but when he got to the front, no one was there. Who was manning this flight? The question was answered when the man who murdered his father appeared.

Their fight led to them sending the craft crashing to the water, but as soon as the helicopter touched the surface of the water, Terry felt an arm grab him and pull him through something, and one moment he was in a helicopter about to crash into water, the next he was at the floor of the Batcave. 

“What the –” Mr. Fixx began, utterly confused, to find a cave instead of the seafloor. Before he could see more —

WHACK!

Mr. Fixx fell to the ground with a sure concussion after getting hit with a staff. Looking up, Terry found the last person he expected to be wielding it, he was thinking it was Bruce Wayne but it seems everyone in the Wayne family knows how to fight.

“Thanks –” Terry froze when the staff was pointed at his face and at its very end, he saw the high-voltage taser that was threatening to electrocute him.

Valerie smirked. “You’ve had your fun. Now, the suit.”

“And I thought we were getting along well.”

“Wanna join him in the Dreaming?” 

“The what — you know what, fine.” Terry got up and removed the suit, leaving him in his underwear and shirt. “Mind if I borrow some clothes?”

Valerie took the suit and handed it to her father. “I can lend you some of my brothers’ old clothes. I’ll leave you two to catch up.” She turned off the taser from the staff and with a push of a button, the thing shrunk to the size of a baton. The last Valerie heard as she went up to the clock was her father telling Terry: “I’ll call in Red Robin and have him take this one to the GCPD. You don’t need to worry about the GCPD making under the table deals. A contact of ours will make sure that does not happen. And Valerie will open a portal for you to head home.” 

And that was it.

~*~

Mary McGinnis’ home was a lovely and modest place. After knocking on the woman’s door, the Wayne family was welcomed inside by the woman and excused herself to wake her son. Alone in the living room, Valerie helped her father to sit down, even when could do it on his own, and Vivian sat beside Bruce.

“I’ll do the talking,” said Bruce.

Vivian chuckled. “Worried we might embarrass you in front of your new friend?”

Valerie smirked at her father, and Bruce did not appreciate their teasing.

When Mary said that Terry will be out in a bit, she offered the Waynes some coffee and came back with a tray of black coffee with sugar and milk. 

“How old is Valerie?” Mary asked them.

“I’m eighteen,” Valerie answered.

“A few years older than Terry! I guess this is your last year at Gotham Academy, then?”

Seeing how awkward the question was for her, Vivian and Bruce answered it for their daughter. “Valerie graduated three years early from Gotham Academy, she’s now getting a degree in engineering at Gotham University,” said Vivian.

“Is that right? You must be a genius then!”

“After that, she’ll be heading to Yale,” Bruce said, mostly a reminder for his daughter who has been putting off the chance to go to an IV League university.

“I will, just as Bunny graduates,” Valerie muttered.

As they waited, Bruce then told Mary a proposition he had for Terry, one that he and Vivian agreed would be “good” for him. Their small talk got cut short when Terry finally got out of his room.

“Terence, sorry to disturb you at this hour,” Bruce said in a way that was not how Terry knew him to be.

“It’s okay,” Terry shrugged. “You’re Professor Vivian Pryor.”

Vivian got up and shook his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Terrence. Bruce and Val has told me so much about you.”

For a moment, Terry was sure her brown eyes glowed gold for a second there.

“You never told me you knew the Waynes,” said his mother.

“Well, actually…”

“Why, I owe this boy my life. He defended me and my daughter from a bunch of hooligans once,” said Bruce. 

The sight of Valerie raising a brow and getting pinched by her mother almost made Terry laugh.

Bruce continued. “I tried to repay him but he absolutely refused.”

“Mr. Wayne wants to offer you a job,” said Mary.

“I find that in my old age, I can use a part-time assistant. With my wife working more at the Wayne Foundation, and my daughter at university –”

What?! Terry turned to Valerie in disbelief. But she looks like to be the same age as him!

“–I could use a part-time assistant. A goffer. Go-for-this, go-for-that. An ally as it were. Would you be interested?”

“Of course, he would!” said Mary. “It would be wonderful to work for someone as famous as Mr. Wayne.”

“Does it include driving the Princess to her classes?” Terry joked.

Valerie glared at him and his mother chastised him for it.

“I drive on my own,” said Valerie.

“You’re my part-time assistant. And Val doesn’t like having one. She never liked it whenever we would hand her to a babysitter then,” Bruce said, to ease the tension.

“Alright. Yeah, I’d take it,” said Terry.

“I warn you, I can be a difficult task master,” Bruce got up. “I expect nothing short but excellence from all who work from me.”

Vivian got up as well and added, “I’ll make sure he doesn’t take it too far. You’re still young and have a lot to learn.”

“I think I can handle it,” said Terry.

“Very good, Mr. McGinnis,” Bruce shook his hand. “Welcome to our world.”

~ Extra Ending ~

The knock on her bedroom door pulled Valerie from her work. Turning from her desk, she saw her father standing by the doorframe, like a vampire waiting for her to let him in. And like a vampire, indeed, he only stepped in when she gestured for him to enter.

“Need something?” Valerie asked.

“Yes… I simply want to talk,” Bruce sat on her bed and patted on the space beside him so she can join him there. Valerie left her desk to join her father, and waited for what he has to say. “Ever since I retired from being Batman… I know that I’ve changed. I became cold and full of frustration, and I would lash it out on those around me, and sometimes it’s you who gets it. Your mother called me out for it many times and yet she still stays at my side. Patient and understanding… and you have been patient too, my dear, and because of that, I am so sorry.”

“I understand why you’re like that. For almost thirty-five years you were Batman, you had a mission. You had hope, and suddenly something like that happened… then all the work you did is just going back to the very start. What you said is true, though. It’s Gotham who won’t change, and it will always need a Batman.

“And I think with you having McGinnis here as Batman would warm you up a bit. You would smile more, like you always do before.”

Seeing the sadness in her eyes, Bruce took his daughter by her cheek and had her look at him. “McGinnis has his strengths, and you have yours. Things changed between us since I retired but what hasn't changed is how much I love you, Val, and how proud I am to have you as my daughter… this is just your father turning to a senile old man.”

Valerie laughed and brought her father to an embrace. “I missed you, Da.”

Bruce smiled to hear the old way she would call him and held his daughter tight. “We’ll be fine, I promise.”

Releasing her from the embrace, Bruce placed a kiss on her forehead and got up, bring his daughter with him. “Your mother is in the kitchen making Jason’s favorite.”

“Jay’s coming home?”

“Only to visit, then he’s heading out again. Vivian mentioned that his leg was hurting more now, and he needs another session with her healing. But your mother has called Damian to come and check it out too, Jason’s just stubborn to turn to Damian for help sometimes.”

“Poor, Jay,” Valerie laughed.

“While we wait, mind helping me with the upgrades of the Cave, and to set up a training regimen for Terry? He has the will to be Batman, but he’s still not as good as a fighter.”

“Permission to kick his ass, Dad?”

Bruce laughed. “Granted, Penny.”

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 47

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,370ish

Summary: Logan gives his all in one final fight.

Warning(s):  canon violence, injuries, character death(s)

Notes: I'm actually so scared that this chapter will flop because I'm an over thinker... Also, I posted a new Everyday Moments one shot! Check it out here!

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Dr. Rice ran other drone over what he believed was the abandoned base. Just to make sure that no one was left behind as he continued up the mountain, chasing after the kids. His screen beeped as the drone found a sign of life. Dr. Rice smirked as he picked up his radio.

“I need the last car to turn around,” he ordered. “Make sure you have a glass case. The X-Men, Ember, is back at their little hide out. Grab her and bring her to me.”

~~~

You woke up when one of the stairs creaked. Your senses were immediately on edge. Logan wasn’t lying with you and there were more slow and heavy footsteps than his. You peeked eye open to see black boots coming to surround you. Your heart began hammering in your chest. Where was Logan? Did they do something to him?

You heard the guns cock and you knew that they were going to try to take you. You weren’t about to let that happen. Before anyone could shoot, you formed a circle of fire around yourself, making sure the flames were taller than the men. They exclaimed as they stumbled back.

Your flames quickly ate the old wood floor, causing you and the men to go falling to the desert ground. You picked yourself up and blasted the men with more flames before running off. You noticed the military truck and ran over to it. It didn’t pass you that your body was already more tired than usual after using your mutation. But that wasn’t something you had time to deal with right now.

The radio was going off about the kids that were trying to get to the border and to stop them before they did. That’s when you knew where Logan had ran off to. He left you to go help the kids—to go help Laura. Though you were furious at him for leaving you, you were proud of him for rushing to save his daughter.

Before you could drive off to help the others, two darts hit your arm. You gasped as your eyes fluttered close and you collapsed against the seats. The remaining soldier limped over and grabbed the radio.

“Dr. Rice,” he called, “I’ve got Ember and I’m bringing her up.”

~~~

Laura didn’t know how to deal with saying goodbye to you and Logan. So she didn’t. Though, as her and the other children were running away from the soldiers through the woods, she wished she had. The soldiers attacked as they chased the children and the children used their mutations to retaliate. Rictor, the oldest and the leader, urged the children to keep running to the border. It was the only way to freedom.

As Laura ran, she noticed one of her friends being tackled by a soldier. She released her claws and screamed, jumping onto the soldier. The soldier rolled off the other child as Laura plunged her claws into him. The familiar sound of Logan yelling at her turning her head back in the direction they came. Up the hill came Logan, moving faster than he had in years. He roared as he unsheathed his claws and began taking out soldiers. The Wolverine spun and leaped like he did in battles years ago.

Logan continued to fight his way through the soldiers, eventually reaching a circle of them that had surrounded Laura. He yelled as he raced for the nearest soldier and began taking them out. Laura leapt into action, using her claws just as her father did. More soldiers came towards them, shooting. 

“Get behind me!” Logan ordered. Laura moved behind him without question.

Bullets hit Logan as he charged forward, Laura only steps behind. He plunged his claws into the soldiers, quickly ending their lives. Laura ran up Logan’s back and jumped onto a soldier, willingly fighting alongside her father. After the group of soldiers were finished, Logan looked down at his bleeding woods with heaving breaths.

“You took all the medicine,” Laura stated upon realization. Logan was killing himself quicker to ensure her safety. Logan leaned forward as he gasped for more air, the pain coming back. “It’s wearing off.”

Logan ignored Laura as he took one of the guns and stumbled up the mountain to a clearing where the trucks had gathered and the captured children were circled up. Laura and him watched as another truck joined them. Logan’s heart stopped as the bed of the truck was opened and he caught sight of you.

“No,” he breathed out. 

He had left you for your safety and so that you didn’t have to see him like this. But he had only failed you yet again. He clenched his jaw as he eyes searched the area, coming up with a plan.

“Go to your friends,” he told Laura. She made no immediate move to go, simply staring at him. “Go.” Laura began walking away. “Laura?” She paused, glancing back at Logan. “You’ll know when.”

Laura rushed off, heading around the trucks towards her friends. Logan coughed as he gathered his remaining strength and limped into the clearing.

“Nine o’clock!” A soldier announced. The soldiers aimed their weapons at Logan.

Donald Pierce, Dr. Rice’s right hand, laughed. “That green juice is wearing’ off, huh?” He taunted. “You know, for an old mute, it’s kind of a short high. Be hard to keep them claws out, soon.”

“Please stop, Mr. Howlett,” Dr. Rice requested as he came walking over. “I’m gonna have to tell these men to fire on these children. You don’t want that… Or on your wife.”

You gasped as you were harshly grabbed and dragged over to Dr. Rice’s side. Logan growled, fists clenched harder as he watched them move you around like a rag doll.

“She’s a special one… Rare,” Dr. Rice continued. “But I think you know that. Her regenerative phoenix mutation could be the next step in my research.” Logan coughed, growing weaker by the second. “You can see the effects of the serum are wearing off. You will not survive further wounds.” Dr. Rice stepped closer. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Zander Rice. I believe you knew my father on the Weapon X Program.”

“Yeah,” Logan coughed. “He’s one of the assholes who put this poison in me…” He lifted his claws up. “I think I might have killed him.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Why don’t you show some respect, mutie?” Donald teased. “You’re lookin’ at the man who wiped out your kind.”

“My friend Donald overstates. He makes it sound more brutal than intended. The goal was not to end mutant kind, but to control it. I realized we needn’t stop perfecting what we eat and drink. That we could use those products to perfect ourselves. To distribute gene therapy discreetly through everything from sweet drinks to breakfast cereals. And it worked. Random mutancy went the way of polio. We embarked on our next endeavor.”

“Growing mutants of your own,” Logan wheezed.

“Precisely.”

“Dangerous times, James,” Donald commented.

“You don’t get to call him that!” You shouted, earning you a hit to the face.

Logan lifted the hidden gun and shot Dr. Rice through the neck. He shot again, hitting Donald’s hand. You screamed out as you let your hands be covered in balls of flames. You began attacking with your flames as Laura jumped in and Logan chased after Donald. Donald ran over to one of the trucks and opened up the back of it.

“It’s show time, boy!” He exclaimed.

Logan’s duplicate leapt out and tackled Logan to the ground. The two began fighting as you continued to take care of the soldiers. Laura snuck around and got the soldiers on the edge while you took care of the ones in the middle. You stood there catching your breath when Logan’s duplicate plunged its claws into Logan and threw him against one of the trucks.

“Logan!” You screamed.

The copy rushed over to Logan, with Logan barely having enough time to use one of the broken truck doors as a shield. He stood up, using the door as a weapon, as you got back to taking out the soldiers. The duplicate roared as it gained more strength to fight. It kicked the door, sending Logan flying back. You ran up to the duplicate and began throwing fire at it. The copy moved through your flames like it wasn’t a problem. It went to strike you with its claws when Laura screamed and jumped onto it.

“Laura!” You shouted. “No!”

Donald grabbed a spear gun and shot it in your direction. It went through your leg, causing you to collapse with a scream.

“Y/N!” Logan groaned crawling your way.

Laura yelled as she landed on top of the duplicate and hit him with her claws over and over again. Logan made it over to you and cut the wire connecting you and the spear to the gun. He pulled you into him and grasped onto the spear.

“I got you, baby,” he wheezed. “It’s gonna hurt.” He yanked out the spear, causing you to cry out. He pressed a kiss to your head as you leaned further back into him.

Laura continued to fight off Logan’s duplicate as the children freed themselves and dealt with Donald and the remaining soldiers. The copy tossed Laura into a tree before Rictor used his powers to land one of the trucks on top of it. 

“Go,” Logan coughed, pulling you up to stand. “Go, go, go!” 

He pushed you and Laura towards the others near the tree line. You and Logan turned around as you heard creaking from the truck.

“Go!” Logan yelled, pushing you away.

The copy leapt over the truck and buried its claws into Logan. The children began rushing towards the woods again, with you and Laura staying put.

“No!” You screamed.

“Go!” Logan shouted, blood coating his mouth. “Run!”

Keeping its claws inside of Logan, the duplicate dragged Logan away. You rushed forward to do something, but the duplicate easily hit you away, causing you to fall back to the ground. 

“Run!” Logan repeated, his voice pleading with you to go as he was dragged away. “Go, sweetheart!”

The duplicate threw Logan onto a tree, causing him to be impaled by one of the branches.

“JAMES!” You screamed. 

Your emotions took control of your powers and a large flames sparked from you and rushed over to Logan and his duplicate. The copy was engulfed by the flames, causing him to stumble back. The flames grew hotter as you stood up, your finger-tips flaming. With a subtle move of your fingers, the duplicate was turned to ash and the fire disappeared. You fell to your knees, gasping as that had quickly drained your energy. Laura raced over to your side, helping you up and over to Logan.

“No, no, no,” you cried as you collapsed next to him. Tears fell freely down your cheeks as your hands hovered over his body. 

Laura went on Logan’s other side and used her claws to cut the branch that was impaling Logan, allowing him to slide to the ground. Your hands trembled as you reached out and steadied him while Laura knelt down and began crying too. 

“Take Laura,” he gasped. “Take Laura… and her friends… and hide.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I—I can’t. Not without you.”

“They’ll keep coming, sweetheart. You have to.”

“No… James…”

His hand weakly moved and you quickly grabbed onto it. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I wish I could have done better… for you…”

“Stop that. You were perfectly enough… everything I needed and more… I love you, James, so much.”

“I… I love you forever, sweetheart… Forever… Listen,” Laura grabbed Logan’s other hand as he tried to hold hers, “take care of each other… you… you don’t have to fight anymore… Either of you… Go… Don’t be what they made you… Y/N… Laura…”

“Daddy,” Laura cried.

“Ah,” Logan smiled, bloody and broken, “so… this is what it feels… like….” 

A sob tore through you as Logan took his final breath.

“No! No!” Laura cried. “Daddy! Daddy!”

You fell forward, not caring about his blood as you clung to him as if it would fix everything. The children came back into as you sobbed into your husband’s dead body. Laura reached over Logan to grab onto you as she mirrored your actions.

~~~

In all your long life, you had never fell a heartbreak like this. It was raw and desperate, clawing at you as it threatened to drag you down into the pit of darkness. Laura was clutching your hand as you stared at the spot where Logan’s body now lay. It was killing you inside. 

The Wolverine was dead and buried in a soon to be forgotten spot in the woods. He deserved better. Especially as he was your husband, you believed he deserved the world, even in death. The pile of rocks and the stick cross did not do enough to honor the man you loved. Your everything. Your hero.

Laura’s hand gripped yours tighter as tears slipped down her cheeks and you held back another sob. You knew you needed to continue on with Laura, it’s what Logan wanted. But you didn’t know if you could do that. You didn’t know if you could leave his body here alone while you went on to live the rest of your life. You didn’t even know if you could live the rest of your life without him. This would be different than any other time before. This was permanent.

“Let’s go,” Rictor said. “We gotta move.”

The children turned away and began to walk off. Laura moved forward slowly, leading for you to follow. She let your hand go and grabbed the stick cross. She knelt down and turned in over to be an ‘x’. You inhaled sharply at the significance of it. Laura stood up and looked at you for a sign of anything. You nodded as more tears slipped down your cheeks. You reached for her hand again, giving the grave one last glance before you and Laura headed for the border.

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