#This is probably like my first post that is a few sentences long and not slop that is usually in my text tag 😭

[mariemothenjoyer]

The thing that I've always wondered about in the DMC universe is Hell (or the Demon world). It is like a totally different planet - with its own sun and all. With the thought of it being like another planet, I like to think that it took millions of years to develop its ecosystems and lineages, just like earth did.

And I also love the detail of how plants and rock in 'The Demon world' are white just like Sparda's descendants hair, kind of implying that its a natural color for demons to have. It's a bit hard to put into words how crazy i am about the world of Devil May Cry.

Please share your headcanons and lore tidbits i need the food......

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...

[whisper-and-tangle]

ohhh god. oh no. tangle is CLEARLY super nervous here- she's sweating, and has no idea what to do- but she's making jokes and trying to smile and even laugh, because first of all, she wants to be a hero-

does trying to be witty to divert attention away from disastrous situations remind you of anyone. anyone with blue quills and pronouns.

-And she even did this during the metal virus arc, when she literally fucking died. Tangle is desperately trying to keep the team together- she doesn't want it to fall apart, and won't let that happen- she's trying to reassure everyone, but Lanolin's just done with it. Every mission they've ever been on- From the metal virus (Where a pissed-off Lanolin appeared in the background) to Surge,- they escaped by the skin of their teeth. They're barely scraping by- and Lanolin was on the sidelines then. She's now being referred to as boss, by Tangle, trying to cheer her up- basically Tangle's way of saying 'oh god. we're completely fucked. we need a plan or we're all fucking dead' (i mean. im exaggerating a bit but whatever) and Lanolin...just gave up.

She doesn't think she's cut out for it. She was desperate, needed help- maybe a distraction from life- or a way out of this place- or was done with all the destruction- I'm not sure yet, I don't exactly know her origin story, but either way, she joined the restoration and watched it crumble.

She watched leaders quit and falter, she watched the metal virus destroy their last 'bastion of hope', she watched the restoration that was supposed to rebuild, razed to the ground, forced to start all over again.

Tangle's terrified and she doesn't want to show it.

Lanolin's gave up and lost any hope.

Sonic's struggling, but trying to hide it.

And Blaze & Silver only just arrived-

And Whisper?

She's hurt. Not physically, atleast yet- but she's clearly emotionally hurt, her relationship with Tangle clearly strained at the moment-

But Tangle's struggling too, and she can't always be upbeat and cheery, but she can try, except the Whisper being upset with her isn't just painful for Whisper- it's painful for Tangle! She had no idea about Surge! She was trying to be nice- trying to honour their memory- and while it was a stupid, maybe even out of character decision- her intentions were pure, and she doesn't know why Whisper is so mad about it. Whisper has a right to be upset- but, for things to be fixed, they need to push past this and have a moment to talk about it.

The thing is, though?

Tangle already tried.

She tried talking to Whisper, but she's too mad to even want to talk.

Either they'll have a big argument, maybe eventually sorting things out, or Whisper will finally calm down- and they'll be able to talk things out.

But right now? The former seems more likely.

She just wants to fix things, but it seems like everyone else is too busy watching the flames burn it all down to try.

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[immoral-stranger]

𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 // 𝐋𝐍𝟒

Summary: “I got a nosebleed when you tried to kiss me. I told you — it’s like I’m fucking cursed!” — Or, in which an accident-prone girl stumbles and falls for everything, including Lando.

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem! reader

Word count: 23.2k (grab a snack)

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI ❀ Angst: injuries, hospitals, surgery, scars, blood, dead parent, mention of car crash. Smut: penetrative sex, oral (f! receiving), body insecurities, very vanilla. Fluff: idiots to lovers, so much pining and scheming. Other: inaccurate timeline and made-up race results. it's fiction, folks!

A/N: Posting this then falling off the face of the earth, because this fandom is scary. Kinda unedited for now. English is not my first language! ♡

Melbourne, Australia

Lando didn’t recognise you at first. Granted, he wasn’t the best at remembering faces, but usually if he’d met someone, he would remember them the second time around. Although, this wasn’t his second time seeing you, he would later learn. It was probably close to the tenth time. It had just been some time since your last encounter. For a logical reason, he would also later learn. 

Albert Park, 2024. Race day. That’s where he saw you this time. Walking down the paddock, next to Oscar and his girlfriend Jasmine, trying to keep up as the three of you made your way to the McLaren garage. Your hair getting messed up by the breeze, annoyingly sticking to your glossy lips, feet almost tripping on the seam of your baggy jeans. You were out of your element, putting on a brave smile — and Lando could tell. 

He didn’t realise he’d been staring at you, from his seat on the steps up to his motorhome, until you were out of eyeshot again, somewhere in the garage. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why you were familiar and it was killing him. If you were Australian, maybe that would explain it, since Lando had no way of keeping track of all of Oscar’s old friends. 

But you weren’t Australian. As he later walked into hospitality, he overheard a bubbly British accent talking to Jasmine and Oscar, an accent belonging to you. It confused him even more, really gnawed inside of him. He should know you, yet something wasn’t aligning, something wasn’t right. Oscar wouldn’t just fly anyone halfway across the globe. 

It all came crashing down when he heard Jasmine ask you a simple question. 

“Bunny, can you grab me a fork?”

Standing up from the table, you gave Lando a small smile as you caught his gaze, signalling that you at least knew who he was. 

Bunny, Bunny, Bunny. The nickname finally made him realise, finally made him recognise you. But you weren’t the Bunny he’d met at multiple races before. You didn’t look like she did. Or, you didn’t look like you used to. Bunny was Jasmine’s childhood friend who had gotten sick, who had stopped traveling, who had stopped coming to races at all. The girl before him however, wasn’t sick. You didn’t look weak in any sense. Nervous, fidgety, and out of place, sure — but never weak. 

As you were about to say a quiet hello to him as you walked past, Lando was already falling apart — socially that is. Words were stumbling out of his mouth before his brain had a chance to keep up. He cringed internally before he could even finish the sentence. 

“Holy shit, I thought you were dead!” 

He shocked you, that was obvious. Your eyes went wide as you struggled to say something in response. 

“Lando, you can’t just say that to someone,” Oscar chuckled from a few metres back. 

“I-I’m sorry, I just… didn’t recognise you,” Lando stuttered out as you still stood dumbfounded in front of him. 

“You don’t think I would’ve told you if my best friend died?” Jasmine butted in, standing from the table, placing herself beside you. 

She could tell that you didn’t know how to react, already expressing your nerves about how uncomfortable it would be to attend a race after not going for a very long time, afraid that people would ask too many questions.

“It’s alright, it’s been a long time,” you finally managed to say. 

Then, an uncomfortable silence fell over the four of you. It was like you knew that you should explain why it had been such a long time, but you didn’t know how to do it —casually explaining the second most traumatic experience of your, thus far, relatively short life. It wasn’t casual at all, and you couldn’t even try to fake it. 

“Ehm, I’ll go get that fork for you Jazz,” you broke the silence, swiftly excusing yourself to go back to the catering table. 

Oscar couldn’t stop chuckling and Jasmine looked borderline offended, something she tended to do, a resting bitch-face of sorts. Lando felt like the stupidest, most socially inept person alive, mentally facepalming himself as he watched you leave. This was going to be a long day. 

Lando’s race however, was frustratingly short. 

You and Jasmine watched the race from the garage, surrounded by muddled mechanics, blinking monitors and loud noises. It really was a circus, a well-oiled machine, fascinating to watch. You’d forgotten how fun it could be. Also, how nerve-wracking it was to be standing next to Jasmine while her boyfriend — love of her life, light of her eye — was going 300 km/h, head to head with insanely competitive people, in big death traps. 

The early races of the 2023 season that you had managed to catch in person hadn’t been too impressive, from McLaren’s standpoint. Your humble opinion was that anyone who even sat in one of those cars was more courageous and impressive than you would ever manage to be. As the last season went on, you had learnt to trust the process, but both you and Jasmine would be lying if you said that 2024 didn’t look like an even better year for the brightly papaya-coloured team you were rooting for.  

With both drivers in good starting positions and Verstappen’s brakes catching fire on the third lap, Jasmine couldn’t contain her excitement, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet next to you. Ferrari’s in the lead and McLaren fighting for that glorious third spot. It wasn’t until Lando had a chance to pass Leclerc that the castle in the air came crumbling down. Ooh’s and aah’s filled the garage as you watched the scene unfold on a monitor.

“Oh, fuck,” you said under your breath, knowing that barely anyone would be able to hear you in the crowded space. “Is it over for him?”

Jasmine had been too busy squealing over Oscar going into third that she failed to realise that it was on the cost of Lando. That was until his car came rolling into the pit lane with irreparable damage from making contact with Leclerc. 

You’d seen it happen before, but that didn’t change the feeling. Your heart basically lodges itself in your throat, making you unable to breathe for a couple seconds. And then it was the aftermath… Seeing the driver leave their car, head hung low, just wanting to scream at the world in frustration but bottling it all up inside. 

Leclerc wouldn’t even get a penalty, it was just how racing worked sometimes. That didn’t change the feeling of complete utter failure for Lando. You could tell that as he, with assertive steps, made his way to his driver’s room, slamming the door shut so hard that it only flew back open again. 

“Bunny.” Jasmine grabbed your arm to get your attention, leaning closer so that you would hear her. “One of us has to go ask if he’s alright. He doesn’t have anyone here with him.” 

“Doesn’t he have an entire team to do that?” you wondered. 

Surely, they didn’t send these drivers out without having enough support from the team when something went wrong. Surely, you thought. The look on Jasmine’s face told you the opposite. The fact that no one was running after Lando to his room was also quite telling. Or maybe… they knew better than to disturb him. Maybe Jasmine was setting you up for failure by asking you to comfort someone who didn’t want to be comforted. 

“He’s gonna need someone who’s not obsessed with performance and profit. Trust me, the people on this team may be nice, but they are not human when it comes to things like this,” Jasmine explained, and you took her word for it. 

“Am I the best option?”

You didn’t know him. And you were awkward. But so was he… Yet, you couldn’t even get your little brother to stop crying by making him laugh or comforting him — let alone a grown man, like Lando. 

“Please,” she insisted, and you could tell that she was serious. There was no point in arguing with her. Seeing the rest of the race with Oscar battling to keep his podium position would be enough of a feat for her poor emotions. She wouldn’t be able to walk away from it. 

You weren’t even sure if you were allowed to walk back there, but there was also no one stopping you when you did it. Your steps were the opposite to Lando’s assertive ones as you made your way to his driver’s room. You had no idea what to expect when you reached the already open door… 

… but Lando, sat on his little bench, racing suit halfway off, lazily scrolling on his phone was not it. 

“I understand that I’m most definitely not the person you would want to talk to right now, but Jasmine said that you were here alone and I just wanted to ask if you’re okay,” you rambled out way too quickly. 

It got his attention, looking up from his phone, but he didn’t say a word. He was mostly shocked to see that you were the first person to come talk to him. He had expected Jasmine, or maybe someone from the team that he wouldn’t want to talk to anyway. But not you. You had no reason to even be nice to him after how weird he’d been. 

“Uhm, so this is me asking that,” you reminded him when his silence got too much for you. 

“I’m fine,” Lando sighed, dragging his fingers through his sweaty curls, getting flashbacks of what had happened all over again.

You could tell from the look on his face that he, in fact, was not fine.   

It was toxic and harmful, that his first instinct when something like this happened was to immediately check his phone to see what people were saying about it online. But he had done it anyway. And sure enough, there were people blaming him — calling him reckless and a whiny little kid, finally getting what he deserved. There were also people calling Leclerc out, but Lando somehow couldn’t focus on it.

Because the thing he saw most of when he was scrolling through twitter was your face. Maybe that was why he was even more surprised to see that it was you standing in the doorway to his room and not someone else.  

“Do you know that we’ve gone viral?” he asked you, referring to the phone in his hand. He couldn’t help but let out a little laugh under his breath. 

“No?” 

You looked confused as Lando scooted over to make space for you to sit down beside him. You didn’t have any social media, and Lando knew. He definitely hadn’t tried to look you up after your encounter earlier to see why on earth he hadn’t recognised you. It had gotten him nowhere. You had no accounts of your own and Jasmine hadn’t posted any photos of you. He had stopped himself before searching up old paddock photos. So, it wasn’t a surprise that you didn’t know about the video that was circulating around right now.

“Apparently, someone was filming when I said that I thought you had died. It’s quite a funny clip,” he clarified, tilting his phone to show you the screen. 

He watched as you looked at the clip, a gentle giggle leaving your mouth at how ridiculous it was. Your smile then turned into concern, seeing the amount of interactions the post had earned. 

“Is that not bad publicity for you?” 

“I don’t care about that,” Lando said honestly. “But I am truly sorry for saying that to you.” 

Thinking someone had died was a new low even for him, and saying it to your face was just unexplainable behaviour. Yet, he still couldn’t understand why he hadn’t recognised you. Sure, he knew that you had been sick and then… probably gotten well again? But did that change your appearance? Maybe he just hadn’t really looked at you before. 

“I can’t blame you, Lando — I probably looked dead the last time you saw me,” you laughed.

You couldn’t remember exactly when it was, sometime mid last season. Right before it got really bad, but while your condition was stable enough for you to go to races. Maybe it was Silverstone. You had a vague memory of seeing Lando on that podium. You knew that you had looked horrible either way. When you thought about it, maybe Lando had never seen you completely healthy. 

“There was something wrong with your lungs, right?” he asked, wondering if he was remembering things correctly. 

“Just the left one. I had spontaneous pneumothorax three times in a year,” you explained, earning a confused look from Lando before adding, “Collapsed lung, basically air was leaking from the lung out into my chest.” 

He raised his eyebrows as you spoke. You made it sound a lot more trivial than what he assumed it was. 

It happening one time wasn’t actually that uncommon. Apparently, lungs collapsed right, left, and centre. It was usually a quite easy fix as well, not even something that required surgery. But when it happened to you, that third time — it was obvious that the problem was much larger. There was multiple surgeries and constant checkups. There were ugly scars and never-ending breathing exercises. 

It was a lot, for anyone. Even worse for someone just about to graduate from their bachelor’s programme. Your life had fallen apart, to say the least, and it wasn’t something you gladly talked about, so making it sound trivial was your way of coping. If Lando realised that was another question. 

“And I’m sat here moping about a DNF,” he heard himself mumble before realising how insensitive that might’ve come across. “But you’re okay now?” 

“One final checkup left, practically as good as new,” you said, putting on a smile. “You do know that it’s not comparable though, right?” 

Lando didn’t understand at first, so you kept on speaking. 

“Me, having a life threatening medical condition — and you, having a bad day at work?” 

Maybe you were the one sounding insensitive now, knowing full well that his work wasn’t normal in any way, shape, or form. But that was the opposite of your intentions, so you kept on rambling to try and save yourself. 

“You’re allowed to be selfish and angry about something going wrong in your life without thinking about how other people might have it worse,” you added. “Because let’s be honest, someone is always going to be in a worse situation. That doesn’t take away from your right to feel things about what’s happening in your life.” 

What had happened with Leclerc was shitty as fuck and if you were Lando, you’d be crying, cursing everyone and their mothers that even had a slight connection to Ferrari. But you weren’t a professional race car driver. You were an emotional young woman. What you were trying to say was that Lando had a right to even be a fraction more emotional than what he was showing right now. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Lando answered simply after a moment of silence. 

He wasn’t used to people telling him he had a right to be emotional. He’d been told since he was a child by people in the industry that being a whiny little kid would get him nowhere. Maybe you had a point. Whatever he was doing now to deal with his emotions (which was ignoring them completely), obviously wasn’t working with how he was feeling inside. 

“You don’t have to say anything to me if you don’t want to, just allow yourself to feel, because even I can tell that you’re shutting yourself out and I don’t even know you.”

Your voice was soft as you spoke. Your accent reminded him of the people he grew up around. That was something he hadn’t realised before. He was starting to think that he had been completely self-absorbed all the other times he’d met you. You were almost… pretty, when you sat there next to him in ugly fluorescent lighting. Maybe it was the way you seemed to actually care that made his brain a little mushy. 

You were scared to cross a line with him by saying too much, so you decided to retreat. Standing up from the bench, creating more space between you, you took a stance in the doorway again. It felt like you couldn’t breathe in his tiny little room. 

“I should probably go back to see how Oscar is doing,” you said, signalling with your hand to the garage. 

Lando looked up at you with big eyes, nodding understandingly. You could almost visibly see how he was holding back from telling you that he was, in fact, not okay. 

You really had no business pushing him to say something to you. But, something inside of you was calling you a coward for not even giving it a try. For not even giving it a second chance, trying to make him feel better about himself. It all reminded you a little all too well of something that your mother always used to tell you. Fuck it.

“My mum taught me to always linger in doorways for a couple extra seconds before leaving someone,” you said, feeling heat rise to your cheeks at the mere thought of how stupid this was. “That’s usually when people get to thinking about things they haven’t had the courage to say yet, since you never know when you’re next going to see the person.” 

You were over-explaining it, pressing your nails into the soft skin of your palms as you got nervous. You were trying to say that you always resolved to leave people feeling better than they did before you talked to them. 

Lando cracked a small smile as he watched you stumble over your words. He had now decided that you were pretty, standing in the doorway, your gaze oscillating between him and the floor. 

“I’ll ask one more time and then I’ll go — Lando, are you okay?” 

“No,” he sighed. He couldn’t hide it. “But I will be.” 

“It’s never okay after something like that happens. I keep on blaming myself for things I have no power over, but that’s got to stop at some point, right? I have to learn at some point,” he continued, voice coming across as slightly defeated. 

You recognised his mentality, Oscar usually said something similar after experiencing a setback. You still didn’t understand how he wasn’t more visibly upset, yet you now knew that he was harbouring it all inside. It made you feel better that he had actually said it out lout — that he wasn’t fine. You also felt a little bit worse, getting the feeling that his self-deprecation was far more severe than you originally thought. He blamed himself without good reason. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know you well enough to say the right thing now, but for what it’s worth, I’m so impressed by you,” you admitted truthfully, hoping you weren’t showing pity. He was actually such an inspiration, such an idol. Even when he sat there, looking like he had run through hell and back, fighting his brain to not feel sorry for himself. 

“Have I done enough lingering to make my mother proud, you think?” you joked, tilting your head while you looked at him. 

“Yeah,” he smiled. “I’ll join you out there in a minute.” 

Oscar had secured his third position and his first home race podium. Getting to see him up on that podium, covered head to toe in champagne was so special to you. Even though you were Jasmine’s friend first, you had really grown to love Oscar during their years of dating. Although, Lando never managed to make his way to the celebrations, something that lingered in the back of your mind. 

You had tried so hard to get it right, to say the right thing — to make him feel better about himself. That was more than most people did. He was used to people sucking up to him, but this was different. This was honest. You had no reason to be nice to him. You had no reason to even give him your time of day. But you did it anyway. Lando didn’t even think to say thank you before you left. He should’ve, because you were right. He didn’t know the next time he would see you, hell with your track record you might actually be dead tomorrow, and it was a shame if you didn’t know that your words had helped. 

Lando wasn’t sure how long he stayed in his room, sitting on that uncomfortable little bench. Letting his thoughts get the best of him while simultaneously trying to think of what you’d said to him. That he should feel, that he should think this through. He was just hoping that what he was feeling was healing more than it was self-destructing. 

He stopped spiralling when Oscar came back to his room to change, just next to Lando’s. He was covered in champagne, exuding pure joy of getting a home race podium. While Lando was happy for his teammate, trying his best to give him a heartfelt congratulations, he also couldn’t stop thinking about how that trophy could’ve been his. The first one of the season. 

What Lando didn’t know was that Oscar was very much aware of all of this, having learnt how to read his teammate’s expressions quite well after spending so much time together. He knew that Lando took defeat harder, or at least he showed it more clearly than Oscar ever did. He also knew that he needed someone to… turn on the faucet for him, making him feel like it was okay to spew out feelings about how the race had gone, without judging him for what he might say. 

“Did Jasmine come check on you?” Oscar asked, leaning in the doorway to Lando’s room. 

Lando would never be able to look the same way at a person standing in a doorway without thinking about what you had said about lingering, staying for a couple extra seconds. 

“No, uhm, Bunny did,” he replied, feeling himself smile for some reason. He felt odd using your nickname, as he had no idea where it originated from. Yet, it was just so you.

“What was that look?” Oscar laughed. Lando’s smile wasn’t just a normal one. Oscar could almost guess what had happened, that was just the kind of person you were. 

“She’s different from when I last met her,” Lando explained, feeling heat rise to his face as he wondered just about how transparent his emotions actually were. “Oscar, she’s trouble.” 

“This is about to be hilarious, isn’t it?” 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Greater London, UK

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Lando didn’t have to wait long to see you again. On a week without racing, he decided on a whim to stay in England for a couple of days longer than planned after debriefing at the MTC. It was someone’s birthday — a mechanic, an engineer — he really didn’t know, but a bunch of people from the team ended up in a pub, drinking to their hearts’ content. It was nice, but most of all, it was relaxing. It wasn’t Monaco, where everyone had their eyes on him as soon as he stepped outside. He could blend in better with the masses here. 

As could Oscar. Lando had never really seen Oscar drunk before. Apart from now. Putting him in a cab alone and sending him home wasn’t an option when the poor lad could barely stand on his own. That’s how Lando ended up in his and Jasmine’s shared flat. Even helping Oscar up the stairs had been a mission, especially since Lando wasn’t that sober either. It was alright, they were young and without responsibilities for the rest of that week at least. The team leaders didn’t even have to know…

“Bunny is in the guest room, but you can stay on the couch if you want,” he heard Jasmine say from the kitchen, getting Oscar a glass of water, as Lando had just watched her wrestle him to bed. Jasmine was a short woman, but when she set her mind to something, she could move mountains. Or, her boyfriend.

It took Lando’s inebriated brain a concerning amount of time to figure out that Bunny meant you. You were Bunny. And he liked you. Or he thought so. He liked the picture of you that he had built up in his head after your conversation in his driver’s room. 

He wasn’t sure what you were doing here. Maybe you and Jasmine had a girls’ night when Oscar was away. He didn’t actually know that much about you, even less so when his brain was compromised by alcohol. 

Lando thought he was being sneaky as he walked over to the guest room, where the door stood ajar, but the wooden floors creaked beneath his feet. He could spot your head of hair peeping out from under the sheets, shoulders covered by a papaya-coloured shirt that he assumed was originally Oscar’s. Your eyes were closed but you weren’t sleeping. 

“Lando, I can feel you staring,” you almost whispered, cracking a smile but still not opening your eyes.  

“M’sorry,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling ashamed.  

You reached out to turn on the lamp that stood on the nightstand. Lando watched as you sat up in bed to get a better view of him, looking amused as soon as you caught his gaze. “Drunk?” 

“A little.” 

“Did you two have fun?” 

“Yeah, I’ve never seen Oscar this drunk before,” Lando said, letting out a soft laugh. He’d been like Bambi on ice getting out of the cab and up the stairs. It was certainly a bonding experience between teammates. “Jasmine had to wrestle him to bed.” 

The shirt looked huge on you, it was too big to even be Oscar’s. That was a nicer thought, for Lando. As you sat up, the sheets pooled at your waist, with a bare leg sticking out on the side. For a second, it struck him that you probably had no trousers on. 

No, nope, look at her face Lando. 

Your face was bare. If he stared long enough he would probably start counting your birthmarks and imperfections. It almost looked freshly washed. Maybe you and Jasmine had done face masks. He didn’t really know what a girls’ night entailed. 

“Your hair is shorter.” 

Lando said it out loud the moment he realised it. His drunk brain didn’t let him keep anything in. 

“It was easier to manage while I was back at the hospital,” you explained, on instinct reaching up to touch it. 

“Fuck, right, the surgery!” 

Oscar had told him about it and Lando had somehow forgotten. He could blame the alcohol for now. You only having one checkup left and being practically as good as new had been too good to be true. 

“Uh, how did it go?” 

“Simple checkup turned into an emergency surgery and two weeks in a hospital bed.” You shrugged, as if you had told him what you had eaten for dinner, not showing any signs of how awful it had truly been. “But I survived.” 

Lando nodded. “That’s good, I guess. Scary, but good that you’re good.”

How many times could he use the word ’good’ in one sentence? 

The both of you turned silent after that, unsure of what to say next. You watched him as he stood in the doorway, his feet tentatively moving as his eyes flickered around the room. You started to smile as you realised what he was doing. 

“Is this you lingering in the doorway?”

“I think so,” Lando shyly admitted. “Is it working?” 

You chuckled, still smiling all sleepily at him like what he had said was funny, or special. It made Lando’s heart hurt and his cheeks burn. 

Truth be told, you could’ve used some lingering right now. You had talked to your father and to Jasmine of course, but you still felt like you had this pressure over your chest for things you hadn’t said. 

You could’ve told him about how you’d gone alone to the hospital because you’d thought it would be quick, but ended up getting prepped and rushed into surgery before anyone you knew even had time to make it there to be with you. There had been no one there to hold your hand. 

You could’ve told him about the scar on your chest that was now worse than ever before. It was larger, more red, and way more noticeable. You’d cried trying on shirts before going to dinner with Jasmine tonight, which you hadn’t had the heart to tell her about. You’d wanted to cancel the entire thing, before sucking it up and putting on a turtleneck. 

You could’ve talked about it for ages, knowing that maybe he would listen. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not right now. Not to him. 

“I think we should both go to sleep, Lando,” you said, yawning comically loud as you turned off the light before falling back on the mattress. 

Lando didn’t push you. Instead, he chuckled and said a soft goodnight. He knew he maybe should’ve pushed you to talk. He sensed that he could’ve done it. But it also didn’t feel like the right time. Not when he was drunk. Not when you were tired. 

His eyes longed on you for a couple extra seconds, you looked adorable with the sheets practically swallowing you whole. He then walked back into the kitchen where Jasmine was standing, putting wine glasses into a display cabinet. Maybe you weren’t entirely sober either. 

He took a seat at the kitchen island, slouching over as he rested his face in his hands. Jasmine smiled at him, tilting her head to the side as if to silently ask him if something was wrong. 

“Jasmine, has she always looked like that?” Lando said, unsure of what he was even asking.

“Bunny?” Jasmine questioned, leaning her elbows on the counter, scrunching her eyebrows in confusion. 

“She looks different from when I first met her.” 

Maybe you just weren’t sick anymore. Maybe Lando had just been a right idiot the other times he’d met you and not properly cared to look at you. Maybe you had been shy and he had been self-obsessed. Maybe it didn’t matter what had happened before. 

“Well, for a start, she has two working lungs now,” she argued, a laugh slipping out under her breath as if what she said was obvious. “Got the colour back in her skin and gained some healthy weight, I think.” 

Lando hummed in response. It made sense. You did look different. That was the only sane explanation as to why you were constantly on his mind. 

“Why did you ask?” 

She looked at him for an answer, her eyes staring him down, searching for eye contact that he wasn’t able to hold. He couldn’t help but turn to the side so that she wouldn’t see how pink his face was.

“Holy shit, you like her!” 

Jasmine let out a gasp as she realised, having to contain herself to not squeal and wake the entire building. Lando had nothing to say all of a sudden, his drunkenness not showing at all.  

“You’re not even going to deny it?” 

He quickly stood up to go to the bathroom, ignoring her question and hiding his dumbstruck smile. 

“Goodnight Jasmine.” 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you felt your hands grow sweaty against the stack of papers you held in them. The costume looked nice — almost too nice to be on your body. Beautiful, sparkly platform heels. Delicate lace and trims on the dress. The corset showed off a waist you didn’t know you had. It wasn’t you, so thank god you were acting like someone else. 

“Go on, Magenta. Say your next line,” Jasmine urged you from her spot on the bed in your childhood room. The old canopy and fairy lights that decorated your bed made her look ethereal in a way.  

There was something heartfelt, seeing your oldest friend in that room again, now a whole lot older than when the two of you would play with dolls on your floor. When you dropped out of university, you had to move back in with your dad and little brother. It hadn’t been awful, but not ideal either. 

Magenta was the character you were playing in your local theatre's production of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. You’d been part of the crew at the little theatre for most of your life and now, when you had no classes to worry about and no summer job lined up for you — being part of a musical over the summer seemed like the perfect waste of time. You were going back to university in the autumn, so you felt like you had a chance to have some fun this summer. 

“…to sing and dance once more to your dark refrains. To take that step to the right...” 

Magenta was the opposite of you. She was bold, and sexy. She had a sultry voice and was dressed in a stereotypical maid costume. Showing off both legs and cleavage. It was a fun change, but a scary one too. 

“But it's the pelvic thrust… That really drives you insane?”

Jasmine couldn’t keep a straight face as she acted like your counterpart, starting to giggle like a schoolgirl, trying not to get told off by the teacher for laughing. The lines made no sense to her. 

“And our World will do The Time Warp again — Jazz, you’re not focusing!” you exclaimed, joining her laugher as you fell on the bed next to her, ruffling the huge amount of decorative pillows you had on there.   

“This was so much easier when you were doing Moulin Rouge, because then I at least understood the plot,” Jasmine scoffed as she looked over the manuscript, leaning into your shoulder as you both relaxed into the pile of pillows. 

“What do you meeean your character is a maid who is also an alien? Babe, why are they going to space?” she continued, gesticulating wildly with her hands at the pages. 

“It’s camp, Jazz. Or maybe just written by someone on acid,” you laughed. 

Rocky Horror was not the simplest of musicals to explain to someone who had never heard of it before. It was camp, and queer, and rock’n’roll. There were aliens, and virgins, and a man in golden underwear. It was a nightmare — and the most fun thing one could imagine. 

“Who have you invited for the opening night? I’m so sorry again that we can’t come,” Jasmine asked, turning over to lay on her back, staring up at the fairy lights. 

The premiere was only weeks away at this point, but you had known for awhile that Oscar and her were busy celebrating her parents wedding anniversary on the same exact date. She had kept on apologising and you had kept on telling her that is wasn’t that big of a deal. They could come on the second weekend, or the third, or any weekend during the entire summer. It didn’t matter to you.

“Don���t apologise,” you reassured her. “I haven’t invited anyone. Dad has to go with Matteo to his first ever football game.” 

Matteo was your little brother. He was the sweetest kid you knew, albeit biased. He was also the most anxious kid you knew, so you could already guess that performing well during his game would be important to him. Your father had to be there, even for your own sanity. 

“But you need someone there, cheering you on. This is a big deal!” 

It really wasn’t. You’d done it alone before. 

“Jazz, Matteo is 10. He needs dad there more than I do,” you remarked. 

“I didn’t just mean your dad. You need someone there in general, Bunny.” 

You really didn’t. You’d done a lot of things without someone holding your hand along the way. 

“Lando should be in England on that day, y’know, some MTC thing,” Jasmine hinted, her gaze catching yours. 

You thought you heard her wrong at first. She never talked about Lando casually. From what you had gathered, he and Oscar hadn’t even been that close up until the start of this season. Now, you knew that they hung out, but what did that have to do with you and your little musical? 

“Huh? That’s just absurd. He would hate it.” 

If you were allowed to be judgmental for a moment, you would assume that Lando had never seen a musical in his life. Let alone something as weird as Rocky Horror. You also didn’t understand at all why he should come watch you, on his own. That would honestly just make you feel like the joke was on you. 

“I think he likes you,” she commented plainly, as if it was clear as day and not at all something from her wildest imagination. 

She might as well have been speaking Greek. You did not understand Greek. 

“Why would he like me?” you squeaked, your eyes going wide.  

“You’re hot and funny, maybe a bit odd, but people like that. Why wouldn’t he like you?” 

“I’m sat here flipping pages of a manuscript, while he is flipping some model over in bed,” you expressed, throwing your copy of the script at her.  

Maybe that was harsh. You didn’t know Lando well enough to say something like that with confidence. But, you did know yourself well enough to say that you weren’t his type. 

“So, what? He could flip you over!”

You snorted in response, hiding your laugh. Jasmine was being ridiculous right now.  

“It’s like you lost all your confidence when you got sick,” she said, her voice suddenly softened. “Remember our trip to Malaga? That Bunny would’ve jumped on his dick without thinking twice.” 

It was crazy how she could make your trip to Malaga sound sentimental, or like an old memory of how you used to be. Malaga had been anything but orthodox. A group of teenage girls — too young to be drinking, making questionable decisions and racking up their body counts. 

“I guess I grew up, Jasmine. I also shouldn’t do something reckless with Oscar’s teammate.” You shrugged, standing up, ready to be over with this conversation and to start rehearsing again. 

“That is if he actually fancied me, which he does not,” you decided. 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Lando didn’t know what he was doing. When he sneakily asked Oscar if he was doing something after their meetings, he had really been thinking about you. In his mind, maybe they could’ve done something the four of them, so it wouldn’t be as obvious that it was you he wanted to see again. 

But Oscar had an anniversary dinner to go to with Jasmine. And you — you were in some off off-West End musical. He really had to get to know you better, because that was not something he would have ever imagined about you. 

Not that he was imagining you doing things… 

Oscar had told him to go. Lando had questioned his entire existence. 

Yet, he still somehow ended up outside of the small theatre on a Friday night. He wasn’t even sure if he was technically still in London, that’s how remote the little community he was in felt. Going out clubbing with Max was his plan B, if this turned out to be as ridiculous as it sounded. 

The Rocky Horror Picture Show — that was what the poster outside said. Nothing but a big pair of messily painted red lips were on it. He had no idea what he was in for and Google hadn’t been much help. It looked like a mixture of the story about Frankenstein’s monster and a drag queen show. 

He was early, arriving right in the middle of the final dress rehearsal. Something that Oscar had recommended he did, to not get recognised as much and to be able to leave swiftly if he turned out to absolutely hate it. Lando wondered how much of an avid musical-goer Oscar was, or maybe he had just gone to yours. 

The theatre was small, probably not more than a hundred seats. It was classic looking, with red velvet chairs and heavy curtains lining the stage. He slid into one of the seats at the very back, looking with anticipation at the stage. The room was maybe filled to one third with what he mostly assumed were the cast’s friends and family. 

The stage was decorated with delicately handmade props. It showed a grand hall with checkered flooring, a wooden staircase at the back. Multiple odd sculptures and a wonky replica of the Mona Lisa. All under bright red lighting. 

Lando didn’t even have time to take it all in before actors entered the stage. 

“Are you having a party?” said a girl in a baby pink dress and a comically blonde wig. Her voice was so high and brittle that it was almost annoying. 

“You’ve arrived on a rather special night. It’s one of the master’s affairs,” answered a man with a fake hunchback, his long white hair making him look nothing but creepy. 

“Oh, lucky him,” said the girl again. 

That’s when he heard a voice he recognised. A voice belonging to you. Sliding down the bannister of the stairs, you whipped an old-timey feather duster around.

“You're lucky. He's lucky. I'm lucky. We're all lucky!” you practically yelled as you made your way to the girl, who looked positively terrified by you. Her looser boyfriend (Lando assumed), who stood by her side looked even more frightened. 

It had been two minutes and Lando already rooted for the weird people — meaning you and the man with the hunchback. You were in what he would call a… slutty maid costume. Except it wasn’t slutty; it was more artful. What was he even thinking? 

Your wig was large and curly, the dark red colour of it suited you well. Your makeup was dramatic, and your entire costume was covered in silver sequins and glitter. You were not the nervous, out-of-her-element girl that he had seen in Australia a couple months ago. Right now, you were acting completely like someone else. And you were damn good at it. 

Much like he imagined a musical to be, the conversation immediately turned into song. The Time Warp, he had heard of that one before. The stage flooded with an ensemble of dancers, dressed in tuxedos. The plot of this musical was still something completely alien. Maybe it barely had a plot.

Lando couldn’t decide if he loved it or hated it. He felt like maybe that was the entire point of the show. Like it was supposed to be annoying, but also so colourful and odd that you couldn’t help but be amazed by it.  

Even with so much happening on stage, all he could focus on was you. You didn’t dance or sing like someone who’d injured her lungs not that long ago. You performed like you loved it, having a hard time hiding your smile even if your character was more of a moody type. 

Lando, too, found himself smiling. He was astonished by how such a small production still could archive basically perfection. The singing, the choreography — it was like watching something prerecorded. It had to be a passion project for all of you, because he wasn’t sure small theatre productions were the most lucrative thing. 

At the end of the number, the dance ended with everyone falling to the floor. That’s when it happened, when he for the first time in the performance, heard something that didn’t sound like perfection. No, that was the sound of someone in pain. 

His eyes tried to find you in the pile of bodies on the stage. 

You’d practiced it a million times. Falling over — gracefully that is — in high heels wasn’t the easiest of tasks. But never once before had it hurt like his. A stinging pain that never ended, so you couldn’t help but scream. It gathered everyone’s attention, quickly stopping the act and flicking on the normal lights. 

A broken ankle. Your broken ankle and your yelping voice. It hurt like hell.

You could see how the people around you started to panic, talking about a first aid kit and getting a stand-in ready to take your place. You couldn’t focus on anything but the pain, your eyes filled up with tears, clouding your vision. 

God, you would pass out if this pain didn’t stop. 

Lando watched it all unfold from his seat. Seeing you sat in the middle of the stage, clenching your hands over your foot, tears falling down your cheeks, taking your mascara with them. 

Ironically, something started to hurt inside of Lando, and he didn’t know how to react. Could he sneak out so you wouldn’t have known he was here? No, no. He was going to see if he could be of any help. That was the only right thing to do. In seconds, he had left his seat and started to march down to the stage. 

“Lando?”

Your voice was pathetic. Your tears clogged your throat and you felt ashamed, so fucking ashamed. 

You knew that Jasmine had talked to Oscar, and that Oscar had talked to Lando. But seeing him by the edge of the stage, a worried look on his face, wasn’t something you actually thought would happen. You did not understand why he would’ve wanted to come. 

“Is your foot okay? The fall looked pretty bad,” Lando said as he crouched down in front of you, looking more at your face than at your ankle so as not to scare you more than what was already inevitable.  

“You saw me fall? Oh fuck, why are you even here?” you groaned in pain. 

You didn’t mean for it to come across as rude — you just didn’t have much of a choice over your emotions right now. It was nice that he was there, so fucking nice. 

“Oscar told me to come — I mean, I wanted to come too,” he emphasised. 

Lando didn’t exactly know how to help you now that he had waltzed up on the stage like some knight in shining armour. He looked around to see a man in his mid-thirties come forward with a bright red first aid kit. He tried not to raise his eyebrows too much at the man — dressed in his costume, looking like if Elvis Presley had been in a motorcycle gang.  

The man tried not to look too much at Lando either — having known you most of your life and never once seen you bring a boy to the theatre. 

“Darling, that’s broken,” the man said as soon as he got a view of your ankle. 

Lando could’ve said the same thing. 

“No, it’s not Eddie. Just bruised I think,” you tried to tell yourself, and Eddie.  

Eddie, whose character in the musical coincidentally was also named Eddie, was your on-sight medic, working as a nurse when he was not busy acting and singing in his studded leather vest and greaser-like hairstyle. 

Bruising meant you could suffer through it. Broken meant spending the summer in a cast and missing every single one of your performances. That’s what you got for wanting to have a fun, selfish summer for once in your life. 

“Bunny, I don’t know how to tell you this in a nicer way — but it’s broken,” Eddie persisted, rummaging through the first aid kit for something to help with the pain. 

“B-but the show…” 

You said it quietly, but Lando heard. Your voice was heartbreaking. 

It showed how much this meant to you, and he realised now that you were probably embarrassed. He drew parallels to his own life and career, and how much a clumsy mistake could leave its marks for a long time forward. Even if this was only a hobby, it was still important. 

“I can wrap it up for you, but it won’t heal unless you go to a hospital,” he continued, not waiting for an answer before he began to gently move your foot. 

You whimpered in pain, biting down on your lower lip to not scream as it shifted. Grasping for just about anything to hold on to, you found Lando’s hand. You didn’t have time to think it through, but Lando had a lifetime. 

Your nails were painted black to match your costume, and your hand felt so small and cold in his own, yet you were strong as hell as you gripped his fingers in pain. He suffered through it, knowing that what you were feeling was a million times worse. 

Eddie wrapped your ankle in a tight bandage. Lando could tell that he’d done it before. Some girl had found a bag of frozen peas in the staffroom freezer, that he then strapped over it to ease the pain. By the look on your face, it did absolutely nothing. 

“I’ll drive you to A&E,” Lando offered without thinking twice. He could see Max some other time. 

Then it was the trouble of getting you down the stage and out of the building. Eddie throwing you over his shoulder could’ve maybe worked, but you had this thing called dignity. 

So, with one arm around Lando and the other one around Eddie, you hopped your way out of there on one foot, cursing Mother Earth herself every time you accidentally touched the ground with the injured one. 

“You’re supposed to go to a UTC with broken bones,” you pointed out when you remembered it, feeling the need to correct Lando.  

“You’ve broken a bone before?” Lando asked. 

Eddie didn’t have to ask because he already knew about your history with hospitals. 

“Twice. My wrist once from falling off a trampoline, and a finger from shutting a car door on it,” you explained. 

“You’re a walking emergency, aren’t you?” Lando said, like he was joking. 

It wasn’t really a joke to you anymore, though. 

“You don’t know the half of it,” you mumbled, thinking he wouldn’t hear you. 

But he did, and it got him thinking. 

You couldn’t help but laugh as you got out to the parking lot. In your periphery, you could see how Eddie’s jaw dropped. A bright orange McLaren was not what you had expected to see, but then again, you couldn’t have said what you expected instead. The man was a Formula 1 driver, for Christ's sake. 

Eddie kept his mouth shut, but the look he gave you said something along the lines of you have a lot to explain, young lady. You would have no idea how to explain how you ended up here, even if you wanted to tell him. 

“Lando…” you said to get his attention. “I don’t think I can get in this car without it hurting like hell.” 

“I borrowed it for the weekend. I didn’t think—” he stopped himself, unsure of how to continue. 

I didn’t think you would break a bone and I’d have to drive you? 

Yeah, no. He couldn’t say that. 

“I was about to tell you to just shove me in the backseat, but it doesn’t even have one,” you tried to joke, earning small smiles from both Lando and Eddie. 

Just as getting out of the building, slow and steady won the race. Only this time, you weren’t only cursing Mother Earth but Lando and Eddie too, blaming them for whenever your foot nudged something. You hoped they could take it lightheartedly because you weren’t angry or mad at them. You were angry at yourself. 

“You, young man — take care of our best performer, okay?” Eddie said to Lando as he shut the door on your side. 

You scoffed at his wording. He knew he didn’t need to take on the role as a protective older brother-like figure in your life, but you kind of liked it when he did. Lando probably met a lot of important and intimidating people with his choice of career, yet Eddie felt different. He had no actual influence, but he had a heart that cared for you. Lando couldn’t joke that away. 

“I will, sir.” 

The UTC was relatively calm for a Friday evening, so you didn’t have to wait long until you were rushed into a room to be assessed and treated. Nurse after nurse who saw your ankle said the same thing, get x-rays, evaluate, and hope it’s not surgical. 

Lando didn’t say much, only helping you explain what had happened when your pain made you unable to form coherent sentences. He stayed by your side, though. You had half-expected him to leave as soon as you got there, making up some excuse about being busy. 

But he never did. 

You even had to convince him to leave to get your bag that you had left in his car. He was unsure about leaving you alone the first couple of times you mentioned it. 

But you wanted to get your makeup off, and fix your hair which had been left a mess after you’d taken the wig off. You’d thought about that part, but the maid’s costume was still on your body. At least the nurses got a good laugh out of it — a barefoot, glittery maid with makeup smeared all over her face and a packet of peas strapped to her ankle. 

When you were rolled off to get x-rays taken, Lando finally agreed to go outside and get it. It wasn’t like he was allowed to go with you anyway. 

“Thank you,” you said as he handed you the bag. “The x-rays will take a while, but the doctor said it is most likely a simple fracture and I will only need a cast.” 

You immediately took out a makeup wipe and a comb. The braids you had on under the wig were starting to feel very stiff, giving you a headache. Or maybe you were just tense because of all the other pain you were feeling. 

“That’s good.” He nodded, taking a seat on the edge of the hospital bed. “Did they give you anything for the pain?” 

You giggled a little, rolling your eyes, overplaying how loopy you were. “Can you already tell?” 

“Just a little.” He pinched his fingers, showing just how little. “Do you want help with that?” 

“You don’t have to—” you tried to tell him, but his hands had already undone one of the hair ties, his fingers moving gently to separate the braided hair. 

He scooted behind you to reach better as you continued to take off the makeup, the wipe quickly turning a messy mixture of red and black with how much product was actually on your face. Stage makeup was no joke. His fingers through your hair sent shivers down your spine, but you tried not to think too much about it. He was just being nice. That’s all he’d been the entire evening. 

“You probably have better things to do on a Friday night,” you mumbled. 

Lando shook his head, and then he figured you couldn’t see it as he sat behind you. 

“I called Oscar when I went out. He said he would tell your parents.” 

“Parent. My mother’s not alive,” you whispered. “But that’s good, I guess. Did Oscar say anything else?” 

You didn’t give Lando any time to think or ask about what you had said. That was on purpose. He wouldn’t have known what to say anyway, with every possible sentence coming to mind feeling insensitive or way too pitiful. 

“No, not really,” Lando replied. 

That Oscar had made fun of him, for getting to play a knight in shining armour as you were a damsel in distress, was something he opted out of telling you. 

“He didn’t say that this was typical of me?” you muttered, rubbing your face in obvious distress. 

Lando was done undoing the braids so he could move to see your face again, seeing it streaky and glittery from you having wiped off the makeup without a mirror at hand. He reached for a clean wipe, his eyes silently asking you if it was okay if he helped. 

“I just… I can’t fucking believe it.” You exhaled from your nose as he wiped your undereyes clean from glitter.  

“It’s always like this,” you continued, showing frustration. “Whenever I’m about to accomplish something in life, I always get injured.”

“I don’t believe that—” 

You cut him off by explaining, “Well, I fucked up my lungs right as I was about to graduate.” 

“You didn’t fuck them up. Things like that just happen,” Lando interjected. 

“I lost my voice on the second show the last time I did a musical. Had to give up a leading role for one that was just dancing, no singing,” you counter-argued, proving that it wasn’t just some one-time thing. 

Lando looked at you, waiting to see if you could come up with more examples before he told you that it wasn’t fate that got you injured. They were coincidences. 

“My wrist was broken when I took my A-level exams, that was hell on earth,” you said, raising a finger of conviction. “Oh, and I had appendicitis on my 18th birthday. Jasmine still hates me for that one because I ruined a girl’s trip.” 

“Is there more?” he questioned, raising his eyebrows. 

You snorted out a laugh as another one came to mind. “I got a nosebleed when I lost my virginity. It didn’t stop bleeding for like three hours.” 

Lando pursed his lips to not laugh, but he couldn’t keep it in for long. “I’m sorry for laughing, but the picture in my head is really funny.” 

In hindsight, it was quite funny. At the time, however, it was the most embarrassing moment of your life. 

“I was going to say that probably everyone experiences these sort of setbacks, but… I don’t know anymore,” he tried to comfort. 

“I think I might just be cursed, Lando,” you huffed, locking eyes with him again.  

You both went quiet for a couple seconds as he took in your expression. A gaze so hollow, it didn’t matter that you were trying to hide it with a smile. The smile was blacked out anyway. 

He didn’t understand how you could talk to him and reassure him without making it sound like you were second-guessing things, or ever feeling unsure of what your words meant — but as soon as the subject was switched to regard yourself, you were suddenly cold. Or not really cold at all, but just not as warm as you were when you talked about other people. 

Your staring contest was interrupted by a young boy saying your name. A man came shortly after him into the small hospital room. Lando assumed it was your father and little brother, as he stood up from the bed to introduce himself. And to make some space between the two of you, since you were sitting suspiciously close together.  

The boy got shy as soon as he saw Lando. He looked a lot like you, with the same coloured hair and the same big doe eyes, only he was clad in a green football kit. Your father was wearing a matching one to show support. 

“Hi Matteo,” you called out as your brother walked past Lando to immediately get to you. He was like that — shy with people he didn’t know and anxious to talk to them. So you saved him, by talking to him as you saw Lando shake your father’s hand. That wasn’t awkward at all. 

“How did the game go?” you asked, ruffling his sweaty hair as you invited him to sit next to you on the bed. 

Matteo started talking, all excited about how they’d won and that he had gotten an assist. Pretty solid for a first game, he thought. You were mostly glad that he had a good time and that he seemed to get along well with the other boys on the team. He didn’t have it easy making friends because of his shyness. 

Lando overheard the conversation, taking notice of how you had asked him how it went and not if he had won. It was those little things that made you different, made the way you talked to people so much more worth it. You were so fucking lovely, and you seemed to have no idea about it.

Your father had recognised him, but Lando couldn’t tell if that was only because of Oscar or if he cared about racing. 

With your family there, Lando started to feel excessive. He couldn’t exactly argue his case for wanting to stay right there in front of you, and your father. He guessed it wasn’t too late to still catch up with Max, but a part of him almost didn’t want to do it. 

No, he had to leave. He couldn’t explain his reason out loud. 

As he said his goodbye, he met your eyes from his position in the doorway. He didn’t have much to say to you, or maybe he had so much to say that his brain couldn’t find what was most important. His shoes almost felt sticky against the sterile hospital flooring, something glueing him to the spot. 

“Will I see you at Silverstone?” Lando decided to ask before leaving. 

“Uh… maybe? I’ll have to talk to Oscar,” you said unsure, still sat in the bed with your arm around Matteo.  

“Can I come this time?” he whispered, looking up at you. 

You were shocked by his question. He’d never asked to come before. But it wasn’t really up to you if he could or not. It was always someone else getting you race passes, so you were in no position to be greedy. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll sort you out,” Lando hurried to say, seeing the uncertainty on your face.  

You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you… for everything.” 

For showing up, for driving you, for staying. He’d done so much that he didn’t need to do. Maybe Jasmine was correct. Maybe he didn’t just see you as her friend that he had to be civil to. Or maybe, he’d been dealt really bad cards tonight and had no option but to comply. Otherwise, he would be seen as a complete dickhead. 

Lando nodded, pursing his lips into a smile, staying in the doorway for a moment too long, before finally walking away. You didn’t notice him doing it, but someone else certainly did. 

“Bunny…” your father said. 

“Mm?” you mumbled, perking up your ears.  

“Did that boy just linger in the doorway?” 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Silverstone, UK

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“Are you avoiding me?” 

Lando’s voice shocked you as he came up from behind. You’d seen him around during the day but kept your distance. You were technically his guest today, only ever having been invited by Oscar before. But you would be lying if you said that premise had made you more liberal with how you interacted with Lando. You stayed with Oscar and Jasmine, and your father and Matteo, because that was what you knew. 

The paddock at Silverstone was a lot, even for you who had been to this rodeo before. Matteo and your dad, however, would fall asleep quickly tonight with how many new impressions they’d received today. You’d only managed to come on the Sunday, with you on crutches and Matteo being, well… Matteo. It was good enough of an experience anyway. 

“No, there’s just a lot of people here to see you. I didn’t want to be a bother,” you explained, nervously laughing.  

It was jam-packed with friends and family, sponsors, and celebrities. Every time he had a moment for himself, it could quickly turn into a meet-and-greet if he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Now, minutes before he had to make his way to the starting grid, it was finally sort of calm in the garage. You were standing in the viewing section, a papaya-coloured headset around your neck. 

Lando shook his head and sighed. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

You could not be a bother, even if you tried. 

“So, it wasn’t a make-a-wish thing after you saw me fall on my face and break my ankle?” 

“Would I’ve been your wish?” he asked, voice affected by laughter.

“No, sorry, I’d pick a broadway show over this any day,” you responded jokingly. 

“How’s your ankle anyway?” 

The cast and the crutches you were leaning on didn’t look too dramatic. It just looked like you had broken your ankle and were now dealing with it to the best of your ability. 

“It’s healing just fine,” you nodded, leaning to rest on one crutch to show Lando your palm. “The worst thing right now is the heat and the crutches giving me callouses.” 

As you reached out your hand, Lando couldn’t help but gently grab your fingers to take a closer look. He was practically holding your hand. Sure, you held his when Eddie was wrapping your foot, but you were in an immense amount of pain at the time. This was something different. The callouses weren’t even that bad. 

Why was he holding your hand? 

In the same moment you could overthink it, he let go.

“Have you been hopping around the paddock all day? You should’ve told me, I could’ve gotten you a golf cart or something,” Lando wondered, feeling kind of bad. 

He hadn’t thought about your broken ankle when he’d asked you to come. 

“It’s alright. Matteo’s been having a blast all day, so… thank you,” you shrugged. 

You could deal with being uncomfortable for a day if it meant that Matteo got a once-in-a-lifetime experience. 

His McLaren cap was signed, and he had ice cream in his belly. He’d even gotten a wave from Sir Lewis Hamilton himself, and if that wasn’t enough to make him school ground royalty for at least a week, you didn’t know what was. Maybe you took your big sister duty too seriously, but literally nothing could make you stop caring for that kid.  

“And your dad?” Lando asked. 

You looked over your shoulder to see what he was doing. With Matteo in front of him, practically hiding into his side, you could see him talking to someone and smiling. You understood that he was mostly doing this for you and Matteo, but there was some underlying fascination that middle-aged men had with fast cars that you knew he was trying to hide. 

“He appears to be smiling, that’s always positive.” 

“He’s talking to my dad,” he revealed. That wasn’t awkward at all. 

Lando hesitated, unsure of asking you what was on his mind, but soon enough, words were falling out of his mouth anyway. You seemed to have that effect on him. 

“I need to get ready, but can I see you afterwards? Maybe you can come back like you did in Melbourne.” 

You smiled, agreeing before adding, “I’ll watch you get on the podium first.” 

The race started with both Lando and Oscar in good positions, which probably led to a false sense of security. Your gut feeling was unsure of it all. 

Matteo held on to your hand during the entire start, you could tell that it was mixed emotions of excitement and anxiety. His headset was big on his little head, and he looked positively adorable as he tried to understand what was going on. 

“Lando is third right now,” you explained to him, pointing to a monitor. “And Oscar is fifth, you remember them, right?” 

Matteo nodded. “Lando broke your foot, and Oscar talks funny.” 

“I broke my own foot, but you’re right about Oscar,” you laughed. 

It was you that had to hold onto Matteo for a moment during the race when it really looked like both Oscar and Lando had a chance at winning. But after some godawful strategic calls, you realised that the podium wasn’t as secure as you thought. Hamilton was steady in the lead, and Verstappen was chasing Lando like there was no tomorrow.

You were so focused on the leaders that you didn’t even realise what was happening at the bottom of the grid. Pictures of two cars making contact flashed over the screens, and Matteo tensed up beside you. 

“What happened?” he worriedly asked, clinging to your arm. “Did they get hurt?” 

“No, no, it was just a little love tap,” you reassured him. They probably didn’t even have any damage — that was how minimal it was. “Like when I reversed into grandma’s postbox.”

“That was you?” your dad laughed. 

“Be quiet, I’m trying to watch the race,” you hushed him, eyes back on the leaderboard. 

Verstappen ended up catching Lando. P3 was the bittersweet consolation prize that Lando would have to act like he was happy about. Parade around the podium, covered in champagne, as if he wasn’t completely gutted inside. You could see on his face that he was acting happy as they celebrated. He wasn’t that good of an actor, if you were to be honest. 

If only they had put on different tyres for his last stint. 

Afterwards, you made your way back to his driver’s room — just as he’d asked. You could have overthought that question a million times, but you decided to just go for it. It was crowded with people, both staff and guests, rushing to congratulate him. Or maybe to comfort him. Your guess would be on the latter. 

At last, the hallway cleared, and you hopped to stand in the doorway, finally seeing him.

“P3, baby!” you joked cheerfully. 

Lando stared at you blankly, shaking his head as he snorted out a laugh. 

“Yeah, no, that was frustrating to watch. I can’t even imagine how you feel.” 

He had no words. Already having had to put on such a fake façade to everyone else he had met after the race. He didn’t want to do that to you. So, he ended up speechless.

“Should I leave you alone?” you whispered, breaking the silence. 

“No!” he hurried to say. “Uhm… please, sit.” 

With some struggle, you managed to sit next to him on the bench in his room. Much like Melbourne. It was, however, a lot more difficult to move in the little room while on crutches. 

He sighed as you sat down, helping you rest the crutches against the wall so they wouldn’t fall to the floor. His racing suit was halfway off and filled the room with a scent of champagne. You tried to look him in the eye, but ended up focusing on how his helmet had left red imprints on his cheeks — like a gorgeous mark of endurance. 

“I just… I don’t know what to say, or what to feel. It’s always so fucking close, and then I lose it.” Lando’s voice was stern and measured, his face blank. 

It was a forced expression, though. He could cry if his tear ducks would’ve allowed him to. Some mental barrier stopped him from doing it. He almost wanted to do it so that you would see his true emotions. 

Your heart broke a little, seeing him be so harsh on himself. Because, with your mentality, he had just done something miraculous. He’d done something mere mortals couldn’t accomplish. 

“I’m impressed you get out of that car alive every weekend, so I might be the wrong person to complain to,” you softly told him. 

Lando had heard those sorts of words before, how he was superhuman for even getting in the car. He’d felt the same way when he started, and maybe he’d lost that initial spark he used to have. 

Your words didn’t mean that you didn’t want him to complain. He should vent, to the people that it mattered to. Get it out of his system, so that he could be sensible in front of the media. 

It was funny how the sport worked that way. That he was somehow less happy in third, than Sargeant was in eleventh. That the people on the second and third steps of the podium were the biggest losers. And, they were expected to be robotic about it, otherwise, they would be deemed erratic and emotional. 

What was the crime in being emotional anyway? 

“I think you drove a perfect race,” you complimented him. “And then I think there were some strategic… mishaps that you’re not to blame for. Overall, this race was like the coolest one I’ve ever witnessed, and Oscar didn’t even get a podium. He’s my favourite driver!” 

You tried so hard to get him to laugh again, but he wouldn’t budge. He had to tell himself not to. It actually kind of annoyed him that Oscar was your favourite. He knew he didn’t know you well enough to be your favourite, yet. 

“I don’t get how you’re not proud of yourself,” you finally sighed, gesticulating with your hands as you spoke. “You have every right to be proud, annoyingly so.” 

Lando knew he had to let his guard down. That was the only way he would feel better about this. This wasn’t like Australia, when it hadn’t been his fault for the bad result. He’d still blamed himself, but let it go after a couple of hours. This time, a good result was somehow his fault. It was insane, the mental game he was playing with himself. And he couldn’t let this go without talking it through. 

“I’ll be that later, I just need to feel sorry for myself for a couple of hours first,” he scoffed.  

It was Silverstone, after all. He’d gotten a podium on home soil. That was an accomplishment to be proud of. Last year, he was over the moon over his Silverstone race, but maybe that was because the car hadn’t been that great. This time he had a great car, but was somehow a worse driver. It didn’t make any sense to him. 

His spiralling thoughts were stopped when he heard his phone continuously vibrate from the other side of the room, somewhere hidden under a pile of clothes. 

“Are people blowing up your phone with congratulations?” you asked amusingly. 

“No, it’s the PR team,” he said as he looked over his notifications, a confused look on his face. “We’ve gone viral again. It looks like I held your hand when you showed me the callouses from the crutches.” 

You did technically hold my hand, was what you wanted to say. You decided that staying quiet felt better. 

Lando regretted his wording as soon as he said it. He held your hand in a garage filled with cameras. He knew that. He was to blame for that. But was any harm done? 

“I don’t get how it’s always with you that it happens,” he mumbled nervously. 

He sat back down beside you, giving you a view of his phone screen. The photos were cute, if you were to be honest. But also blurry and obviously taken by someone who wanted to be sneaky. 

“Always? Meaning once before?” you questioned. 

That showed how little you were on social media. You didn’t know about anything other than the video from Melbourne. 

“No, there were also photos of me at the hospital when you broke your ankle,” Lando explained. 

The photos had been everywhere. He, and that orange car, at a hospital parking lot on a Friday evening. It was quite the headline for news outlets and gossip accounts. 

“Oh…” you said, visibly surprised. “I’m so sorry if it caused you problems to be seen with a girl in a slutty maid costume.”

For a second there, Lando could watch you go through the five stages of grief, all through your facial expressions. 

“You weren’t in the photos. It was just me and that… obnoxious car when I went back to get your bag,” he quickly added, calming your nerves. 

You nodded understandingly, feeling yourself get less tense. “Did you have to explain it to anyone?” 

“Thankfully not, I’m such a bad liar.” 

What would he need to lie about? 

Then you realised that someone like him probably couldn't just say that they drove a friend who had injured themselves. That would only lead to a million more questions. And, if he had said something — people would’ve been able to put two and two together as you showed up to the paddock with a cast and crutches. Maybe he was protecting you. 

You didn’t know what else to say to him now, meeting his bright eyes once again. They had this way of shining, even though he was sad. It was not an uncomfortable silence, but you were starting to wonder if you’d overstayed your welcome. 

Then Lando spoke again, his voice in a happier tone. “Has Jasmine mentioned Italy to you?” 

“Monza?”

“No, now before Hungary,” he replied. “Oscar and I have to represent McLaren at some charity auction, and I thought about inviting you as my plus one so that Jasmine doesn’t have to be alone if we have to work a lot.” 

The invitation was carefully phrased, and you recognised that. If you had been more sure about Jasmine’s ridiculous idea that Lando liked you, you would’ve made fun of him for dragging in Jasmine in his way of asking you to come with him. 

“Oh,” you mused. “I’d be a fool to say no, but there has to be other people that you’d rather go with.” 

Lando looked at you in confusion. 

“Like, don’t invite me just to do Jasmine a favour,” you continued.  

He finally broke into a smile, not being able to contain it anymore. You were clueless, and Lando found that hilarious. “It’s not like I hate your company, y’know?”

You chuckled. You hadn’t expected him to say something so direct. 

“Can I talk to Jazz about it first, before I decide?” 

Lando nodded softly. “Sure, I mean, the invite is yours anyway. If you don’t want to come, I’ll just go alone.”

You turned quiet again, looking him in the eyes as you took in what he’d said. The invitation was yours. He hadn’t ever thought of bringing someone else. Maybe he truly was doing Jasmine a favour. Maybe this was him sneakily making a move. He’d have to be a lot more upfront for you to catch on, though. 

A tension settled over the room, an eternity passing without anyone saying anything. The mood switched, and you both could tell. It was probably time for you to leave, yet the expectation to say that last little thing was there. The little thing that would leave him feeling better about himself. You wanted to linger in the doorway, or linger on the bench, you guessed. You wanted to say so much more. 

Oscar intruded by softly knocking on the already open door. 

“Oscar, hi!” you squeaked out of surprise, straightening your back to make space between you and Lando. 

“Your dad’s looking for you,” he explained, chuckling. 

“I guess I better go,” you said, standing up, finding balance with the help of your crutches. “You both should be proud of yourselves today, or every day for that matter.” 

Lando looked down at the floor as you left. He knew that whatever face Oscar put on or whatever sentence he formed, it would accuse Lando of being down bad for you. 

“Did you invite her to Italy?” 

“Yeah, she said she’ll talk to Jazz about it,” Lando mumbled, hiding his smile. 

You hadn’t immediately said yes, but that was almost his plan by dragging Jasmine into it. She wasn’t even supposed to come with them to Italy at first. But Lando wanted the four of them to do it together. It was a foolproof plan to get to spend some more time with you that wasn’t in a paddock nor in a hospital. 

“On another note,” Oscar said while he remembered it. “How the hell did you get her dad to come to a race?” 

“I don’t know… I just sent Bunny three passes?”  

“I’ve invited him to races since I was in F3 and he’s never once shown up,” Oscar began explaining. 

Lando scrunched his nose, unsure of where Oscar was going with his reasoning.  

“He’s a good man, funny even — but he does not like racing, at all,” he continued. 

Was Lando being stupid for not getting Oscar’s point? Lando couldn’t tell if he was being stupid. He probably was. 

Then, it finally clicked for Oscar. “You don’t know how her mum died, do you?” 

Lando could do nothing but slowly shake his head, his mouth slightly open out of confusion. He could tell that Oscar hesitated to tell him. Maybe he shouldn’t be telling your story, but he trusted Lando. 

“Alone, in a car crash. She died on impact. Bunny was 15 or so when it happened,” Oscar said gently, his face showing pity with a downturned smile. “Her dad has always told her not to come to races, in case someone crashes and it brings up bad memories for her.” 

Now, Lando was definitely being stupid, because it still didn’t click for him. It made him understand your mentality more — that you’d said you were impressed he got out of that car alive every weekend. Because you had, close up, lived through someone not making it out of a car — a car going nowhere near as fast. But what did that have to do with your father attending a race? 

“I think Bunny must’ve convinced him to come see you, specifically,” Oscar finally said. 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Lombardia, Italia

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“I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” you sighed, looking from the balcony out to the beautiful garden. 

Fruit trees, pink oleander, and pungent lavender. Beautiful limestone houses. It looked picturesque, like something out of a movie. Yet, you were unsure if you belonged there. 

“You’re spending the weekend in an Italian villa. That is what you’re doing,” Jasmine insisted, wrapping her arm around your shoulder. 

The house was gorgeous. The area was gorgeous. Everything was just perfect. And you felt undeserving of it. You’d gotten to take off your cast just in time for the trip. This was your moment to be selfish this summer. 

So, why the hell did you keep on questioning yourself?

“You’d have no stories to tell from this summer if it wasn’t for this trip. You need things to talk about when you go back to university, otherwise, you’ll make no new friends,” she then pointed out.

You hadn’t even thought of that. All your other friends had graduated. You still had six months of classes left because of your stupid lungs. You didn’t want to make new friends. You wanted to keep your old ones. 

You crossed your arms, looking up at your best friend with a pout. “I’ll let you know that me and Jane Austen have had a riveting summer thus far in my dad’s hammock.”

Doing just about anything with a broken ankle was impossible, so reading in the garden it was. 

“While you travel the world and go to races, I will always entertain you with hilarious Goodreads reviews,” you added. 

Jasmine shook her head disapprovingly. “I really don’t need to know even more nasty things that you would do to Mr. Darcy.”

Deep down, you knew she got a giggle out of getting a notification on her phone with a five star review only saying Mr. Darcy could raw me and nothing more. 

“Isn’t this going to be awkward though? It’s like we’re double dating all weekend!” 

“Would that be so bad?” Jasmine laughed, thinking that it was probably Lando’s plan all along. 

You realised quite quickly that Lando hadn’t lied about them having to work. During the day, they were off to the manor house that was hosting the auction, doing lord knows what. It was something about cars being auctioned off and sucking up to millionaires. 

You didn’t understand why this type of event even existed. It felt like the 2011 classic Monte Carlo with Selena Gomez. That was at least your only experience with auctions for rich people. 

While this one was for charity, it still only felt like a way for these millionaires to seem humble. They would’ve bought the cars anyway, it was only for their own conscience that the charities even mattered. Maybe you were being harsh. 

You and Jasmine at least got to spend some quality time with each other in the villa. You ate a long breakfast, cycled down to the city centre to try odd flavours of gelato, and went into cute little boutiques to find her a pair of heels to wear with her gown for the auction. 

Your dress was black, and so were your heels. That was how fun you were going to be. 

Truth be told, it was a prom dress that you hadn’t gotten to wear because of covid, so maybe you were a little excited to get all dolled up tomorrow night. 

When the boys got home for the day, they decided you all should take the bikes to a nearby lake. You didn’t have much of a say, packing a basket with antipasti for dinner. It was unbearably hot even though the sun had started to settle, so maybe going for a swim wasn’t the worst thing. 

As the four of you swooshed down Italian country roads on rusty borrowed bikes, Lando and you ended up in front of Jasmine and Oscar, going much faster than they did. Everything wasn’t a race, but some things definitely were. 

Oscar cycled closer to his girlfriend, asking her a question he’d been dying to ask all day. “Do we tell them something about how they are both madly infatuated with each other or will they figure it out on their own?” 

“I tried to tell Bunny, but she wouldn’t believe me. It’s like she doesn’t understand that people still find her attractive after she got sick,” Jasmine said. 

She didn’t know if she should sigh or laugh at your behaviour recently. She understood that your life had changed completely, but falling in love, or even just dating, shouldn’t be something to be scared about. Not when you had a boy acting like a fool right in front of your eyes. 

“So, we let Lando try and awkwardly flirt with her by himself? And watch Bunny be clueless about it?” Oscar laughed

“He has to be upfront at some point, right?” she responded. 

They probably wouldn’t have to wait long until Lando would scream in your face that he liked you. He had no filter left when it came to you. 

The lake was small, surrounded by a pebble beach. The water looked almost artificially teal, like natural sources of water tended to do. You’d never been to Italy before, but it was quickly becoming one of your favourite destinations. It was idyllic in ways you couldn’t have dreamt of. 

You threw the bikes in the grass and put out your beach towels close to the water. Feeling the pebbles under your bare feet and the sweet smell of sunscreen, you and Jasmine started to pack up your picnic basket.

There were almost no other people there, only seeing a family with children taking an evening swim on the other side of the lake. 

After eating a little, the boys tested the water, groaning about how cold it was, yet somehow getting in anyway. You still didn’t know what they had done during the day, but with their lifestyles, you guessed they always needed to find ways to relax. 

Jasmine rested on her towel with her nose in a book, recognising it as one you had rated highly on Goodreads. See, you knew she loved your reviews. She mumbled something about how the protagonist reminded her of you when you asked her if she was enjoying it. You took that as a good sign. 

You went down to the waterside, only dipping your toes in before deciding that it was way too cold for you to want to swim in it. Instead, you crouched down to look at the rocks, all round and polished from the water, in pretty green and coral shades. You’d already gotten Matteo a local football shirt as a souvenir, but you could definitely fit some cool rocks in your suitcase as well. 

Lando, zoning out from whatever Oscar was talking about next to him in the still water, tried to secretly keep his eye on you. He could catch a glimpse of a bright red bikini underneath the long, sheer white shirt you had on. His fondness had grown so large that even watching you pick pebbles warmed his heart. Or maybe that was the bikini’s doing. 

Jasmine could watch it all happen through the darkness of her sunglasses, having lost focus from her book. She furrowed her brows with concern. “Bunny, aren’t you warm?” 

Your hand subconsciously traced the edge of the your shirt collar, a faint smile forming on your lips. “Yeah, but I’ll scare the children away if I show the scar on my chest,” you replied, your tone light yet tinged with an undercurrent of insecurity. 

“It’s not that bad,” she said, promising, her eyes meeting yours as she tipped down her shades. 

You laughed a little in disbelief. “You haven’t seen it since they reopened it.” You were talking so loud that the boys in the water definitely could hear you. “I also hate touching it, so I don’t want to put sunscreen on.” 

Jasmine remembered the first time she saw your scar, a jagged reminder of the surgery that had saved your life. A long red line, right on your sternum, that had faded over time. But she hadn’t seen the new scar, the one left by the recent, unexpected procedure. 

“Don’t be such a wimp,” Jasmine urged, getting up from the towel, a bottle of sunscreen in her hand. “Get your shirt off and I’ll do it.” 

She knew you well enough to push you to do it. You would never get over this mental hurdle without people telling you that you looked fine. People had scars. That was the way life worked. 

You sighed, slowly fumbling with the shirt buttons as you tried to decipher Jasmine’s reaction. “See? It’s awful.” 

She shook her head, trying to keep a neutral face. It was worse than she thought, but she could never tell you that, because it hurt more than it helped. And it wasn’t like the scar tainted your entire being. You were still a gorgeous woman, in Baywatch-esque red bikini. That was an unstoppable combo.  

“It’s really not bad. It needs some more time to fade, that’s all,” Jasmine reassured you, having no problem with touching the uneven skin to apply sunscreen. 

You didn’t want to look at her hand as she did it, so you looked out over the lake, catching Lando’s surprisingly… odd gaze as he stood in the water next to Oscar. 

You hadn’t wanted to stare too much at him earlier, knowing that your head would get messed up if you saw him shirtless in swim shorts. But now, you couldn’t disregard the look on his face. 

“Lando, I saw that look. Just tell me that it’s bad,” you said, clearly still frustrated over the entire thing. 

Lando was shocked you were talking to him, struggling to find the words. 

“He’s staring at your tits, it’s totally different,” Oscar suddenly said, having kept quiet for too long. 

You almost didn’t know if you had heard him correctly, but Jasmine’s ringing laughter told you that it was true. Lando sternly said Oscar’s name before drenching him in water, a playful fight breaking out between the two of them, overshadowing what had just happened. 

That didn’t mean it left your mind, though. 

It was dark by the time you got back to the villa, stars hanging above you in the night sky. You knew it was the same sky as you had home in England, yet there was something much more magical about it this time. 

Jasmine and Oscar went to bed, but you had a few things to prepare for the auction. You wanted to paint your nails and do a face mask; maybe even get in an everything-shower to save time tomorrow. 

The night was still warm as you made your way out to the balcony in your nightgown, deciding that you might as well take advantage of the view while you painted your nails. The balcony felt like a secluded little sanctuary, bathed in a soft glow from the outdoor lighting and wafting in the breeze of the Italian countryside.  

Behind you, the glass door slid open with a soft creak, and you turned to see Lando stepping out onto the balcony, carrying what looked like a cup of tea. You’d thought he was asleep, the villa eerily quiet. 

He had an easy confidence about him — something you admired. Clad in a soft cotton t-shirt and sweatpants, the kind that looked threadbare and like the most comfortable fabric ever. His eyes silently asked you if it was okay for him to join you, and you nodded. He sat down across from you at the outdoor dining table. 

“Orange?” Lando asked softly, seeing the colour of the nail polish. 

“I thought it was papaya,” you joked, biting your tongue to not get it on your cuticles as you continued to paint. “I bought it for Silverstone but forgot to wear it.” 

Lando didn’t care. At least he told himself that he didn’t. You were just representing his team by carefully painting your nails orange. There was no need to get all mushy inside because of it. It wasn’t like it was permanent. Only a week or so of you thinking of him every time you saw your own hands. Maybe that was wishful thinking. Maybe you didn’t think of him. 

“I should’ve told you earlier, but you look great today,” he said like it was nothing, raising his cup to take a sip. 

He could tell that you were slightly baffled, a line forming between your eyebrows as you scrunched your nose in disbelief. “Scar and all?” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

Oscar had maybe been right about what Lando was looking at when you had asked him about the scar. They had overheard the entire conversation you had with Jasmine, so when he caught a glimpse of the scar, he had imagined something much worse. It truly wasn’t that bad. It at least didn’t steal his attention when you were standing in front of him in a bikini. 

For a moment, neither spoke, the silence filled only by the sounds of the night. Cicadas, a distant car, and birds chirping. Lights from neighbouring houses twinkled like scattered diamonds. 

“I don’t know if you wanted me to know, but Oscar told me about your mother,” Lando’s voice trembled, confessing it to you. His eyes searched your face for a reaction, a mixture of concern and vulnerability painted across his features.

You stared down at your painted nails, adding one last stroke before closing the bottle of polish. You were scared to look at him, unsure of how this conversation would play out. 

“It’s not really a secret, just a hard thing to tell people,” you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

You somehow felt the warmth from Lando’s body even though there was a table’s length between you. His presence wasn’t uncomfortable to you, but the conversation certainly was. 

“Don’t pity me like I’m some motherless child. It’s really not that bad,” you continued, trying to keep your composure, the familiar ache in your chest making it hard to breathe. 

In moments like these, it was like you could feel your scar glowing, how the tight skin wanted to rip right open to help you take full breaths. 

A flicker of frustration crossed Lando’s face. 

He hated how you had said it — how you tried to downplay everything that had happened in your life. He understood that it was your way of coping, but your entire being basically screamed for the emotions to be let out. You were hypocritical, and he was tired. 

“It’s allowed to be bad. You were the one that told me that in Australia. You’re allowed to feel bad about things that are shit,” he insisted, his voice carrying a firmness that contrasted with the tenderness in his eyes.

His raw honesty sliced through your defenses. Your view of him blurred as tears filled your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Clearing your throat, you calmed yourself down. 

Lando wasn’t actually frustrated with you. It was more at the circumstances. He didn’t want to push you, and you didn’t want to upset him. It was just a very difficult conversation to have. 

“Do you ever have nightmares about crashing?” you asked, whispering. 

“No, not really,” he admitted.

If he was thinking about what might go wrong all the time, he wouldn't be able to continue driving. Racing showed some people horrible fates of life. The abundant success that could be archived was harvested by others.

It was all about finding a balance, about showing respect for the thing they put themselves through, but also overcoming it by showing no fear. 

Maybe it was different for you, Lando thought. Maybe you had already given in to the fear, because you’d get no success out of it no matter how hard you tried. You couldn’t get your mum back anyway.  

You took a deep breath before confessing. “I do. All the time.” 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

The early morning sun filtered through his bedroom windows as Lando got out of bed. He’d slept like a king. The countryside was so quiet compared to Monaco and the cities he raced in. He stretched as he drew back the curtains, getting a view of the garden, and you. 

The conversation you had yesterday had left the both of you unsatisfied. Yet, neither wanted to push the other to really get to the bottom of the problem, 

This morning, however, you were waltzing through the garden on bare feet, a big bowl in one hand and a small ladder in the other one. The summer dress you were wearing blew with the breeze. You looked free. And slightly out of your mind, climbing a ladder to reach the fruit trees, without anyone keeping an eye on you.

Not that you needed supervision, but climbing a ladder could be dangerous. That was what Lando told himself as he rushed outside. 

“Oh god, please don’t fall down,” he said, voice laced with concern as he almost ran through the garden to get to you, keeping his steady hands on the ladder. 

You glanced down at him, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “It’s a stepladder, Lando. I’m one metre above the ground,” you reassured him.  

“Still, you should be careful,” he insisted.  

“I’ll break your nose if you look up my dress,” you warned. You weren’t serious, but Lando felt his cheeks flush anyway. “Do you want one?” you asked, referring to the fruit you were picking. 

“What is it even?”  

“I thought peaches at first, but they’re not hairy. Not small enough to be apricots but maybe hard enough to be nectarines, so that would be my guess.” 

You examined the fruit as you stepped down from the ladder, tossing one in the air before catching it again and placing it in the bowl. 

“Are you sure you’re still talking about fruit?”  

“Oh, shut up,” you laughed, rolling your eyes at the innuendo. 

You picked up a nectarine and took a bite, the sweet juice dribbling down your chin. “I made breakfast, but I assume you’re on the same diet as Oscar?” you asked, voice muffled by the mouthful of fruit.

Lando stared at you in awe, taking way too long before nodding. 

“Well then, I guess you can watch me eat while you stick to oatmeal,” you replied playfully. 

As the sun rose above the horizon, casting a warm amber glow over the cosy balcony, you and Lando sat by the outdoor furniture, eating your breakfast. The air filled with a scent of fresh coffee and the sweet nectarines. You ate them with yoghurt and honey, and Lando was totally jealous. 

You didn’t say much to each other. It wasn’t really necessary. The world around you started to wake up, but on that little balcony, it felt like time had slowed down just for you two. 

Lando turned to you, curiosity in his eyes. “Why do people call you Bunny?” He’d wanted to ask you that for quite some time.  

“It’s quite a sad story, to be honest,” you began, swallowing what was left of your breakfast. 

He almost regretted his question immediately. He hadn’t even thought about how a cute nickname like yours could be from a sad memory. You watched as Lando’s expression softened, his eyes encouraging you to continue. 

“Matteo stayed a lot at our grandparent’s house after mum died, because… well, life happened,” you explained, your orange fingernails tracing the rim of your coffee mug. “Since he was so young, he hadn’t really understood the fact that I was his sister, so I instead became the girl he would visit from time to time who owned a pet bunny.” 

Lando leant his elbows on the table, captivated by your way of talking, his interest piqued. 

“And Bunny was easier for him to pronounce than my actual name,” you continued, a faint smile forming on your lips. 

“You had a bunny?”

“Yeah, his name was Taco,” you laughed, your smile growing more genuine. 

He chuckled softly at the name. You would name a pet Taco, that was just the kind of person you were. 

“Do you like having it as a nickname?” Lando inquired, his tone gentle again. 

“I don’t mind it,” you shook your head. “Matteo doesn’t say it anymore, but it’s… it’s different when other people say it.” 

It’s different when you say it, Lando. 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

“You’re drooling, mate,” Oscar’s voice laughed from behind him as they got out of the cars. 

“I am not,” Lando protested, but Oscar only shook his head. 

He wasn’t fooling anyone as he watched you and Jasmine step out on the front porch, dressed to the nines, ready for the auction. 

Oscar and him had picked up the two cars that were being auctioned off while you got ready. It was important that they were seen driving the cars up to the manor house as they arrived, and you and Jasmine were supposed to be arm candy. It felt both below and above your worth. 

You laughed as you saw the cars, shiny and polished McLaren’s. You didn’t care enough to know the models, you just knew they were worth millions. 

Jasmine walked down to Oscar with ease in her high heels, a beautiful burnt orange satin gown on her body. You watched as he greeted her with a kiss, feeling both a sense of pride and also some loneliness in your stomach. 

Your feet already hurt from your own heels. Something wasn’t entirely right since you broke your ankle, but you would have to suffer through it. 

Lando walked up to the porch, casually keeping his hands in the pockets of his well-fitted black suit. The white shirt he had on underneath probably had one too many buttons undone. Not that you were complaining, it looked gorgeous in contrast with his tan skin. He looked gorgeous. 

You were dressed in all black, apart from your orange nail polish. Your gown with a perfectly poofy tulle skirt and a flattering balconette corset top. You looked delectable, and Lando had a hard time hiding that.  

“Don’t look at me like that,” you said seriously to him. 

“Like what?” Lando replied, feigning innocence as he took your hand to help you down the front porch stairs. 

Like you’re falling in love with me.

“Like this is some early 2000s rom-com and I’m the nerdy girl who’s just gotten a makeover by a more popular girl,” you replied, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

He gave a genuine laugh, the kind that could only bring a smile to your face. He wanted to respond with some cliché statement about how it was only fitting since you looked like a movie star, but he remained silent.

Lando helped you into the car like a real gentleman, while Oscar and Jasmine got into the other one. The drive was two minutes at most. 

“Did you have a dress like that lying around?” he asked, fastening his seatbelt. 

You nodded, moving your hands over your lap to smooth out the fabric. “It’s a prom dress that I never got to use because of covid.” 

A spark lit up in Lando’s eyes. “I never got to have a prom either, y’know.” 

A moment of silence passed between them, the weight of missed milestones hanging heavy in the air. You assumed it was because he hadn’t really gone to school like a normal kid, too busy with karting. Then, with a sudden burst of determination, Lando revved the engine. 

“Come on, let’s treat this night like prom.” 

The manor house was bigger than anything you’d ever seen before. You couldn’t grasp it — the multiple stories, the annex buildings, the beautiful and meticulous gardens. It was all too much for you. 

Lando pulled up to park the car next to the grand entrance, handing the keys to the valet before coming to open the door for you. You were met with camera flashes as soon as you stepped out. It wasn’t paparazzi, thank god — only photographers hired for the event.  

Lando didn’t dare to hold your hand in front of the cameras, this time. He settled with a hand on your lower back as you made your way inside after Jasmine and Oscar. 

The auction was held in a grand hall — no, a conservatory. It had a glass roof. It was filled with decorations, floral arrangements, and candle lights. A stage was built by the end of the room, which you assumed would be where they auctioned things off. 

It was also filled with people, dressed in sharp suits and colourful gowns. It looked photoshopped with how perfect it was. Not a thing out of place nor a person behaving oddly. Except for you, of course. You did not belong here. 

“What are they compensating for? Tiny cocks?” you whispered for only Jasmine to hear as you took in the room. This was bonkers. 

“The tiniest of cocks,” she snorted under her breath. 

Oscar and Lando did have to work — work the room that was, mingling and sucking up to people with big wallets. 

You and Jasmine made your way around as well, albeit much slower and with less intention. You talked to some people, drank some champagne, and eyed the canapés being served around. It didn’t look like anyone was eating, so you didn’t want to be the odd one out. You already were. So, now you were both odd and starving. 

You also eyed the objects up for auction. It was jewellery, cars, and destination vacations in places you’d never heard of. All in favour of some charity that was hardly mentioned once. Was this just a rich person shopping spree without the guilt of overconsumption? 

Lando kept looking across the room for you, his eyes always seeming to find you within seconds. And you found him to, sharing smiles or joking faces, saying get me out of here. 

It wasn’t possessive — it was more of a secret bond that existed right there in time and space, going unnoticed by everyone but the two of you. 

The bond was broken when a man approached you. Lando didn’t recognise him, but he already despised him. He was flirting with you; that would be obvious to anyone but you. You didn’t necessarily look uncomfortable. It seemed more like you found the conversation he tried to have with you pointless. 

You were so oblivious to the impact you had on men, or maybe on all people in general. It made him want to set himself on fire. The itchy feeling inside of him, telling him to scream for everyone in the room to hear — that you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. And that you should be talking to him, and only him. Not some suave-looking asshole in an ill-fitting suit. God, you made him stupid. More stupid than normal. 

As Lando’s thoughts spiralled, you somehow got out of the conversation, swiftly making your way across the room and out of a door that he thought led to the garden. Or one of the gardens. This place was huge. 

He had things to do inside, people to talk to — but for a moment, he came to his senses and said fuck it. He needed to know if you were alright. 

His assumption that the door led to a garden was correct. The evening light cast a silvery glow over it, a tranquil contrast to the busy ballroom. From a distance, he saw you take a seat in an old stone gazebo, covered with ivy. You bent down to unclasp your heels. 

Lord, was he about to risk it all. 

His steps over the gravel path made you hear him, and he couldn’t help but feel busted. 

“Mind if I sit down?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. 

You shook your head, gesturing with your hand to the space beside you. He sat down, shyly looking at his hands in his lap. On the bench, he saw what he thought was the reason you had come out here, besides that man talking to you. Dessert. Two of them in little ramekins, but only one spoon. 

Lando breathed in the silence before hastily asking you what had been on his mind.

“Who was the man you were talking to?”

“Some stuck up think-tank-bitcoin-billionaire,” you huffed. “He asked me if my company was up for auction.” 

It wasn’t company as in a business. It was company as in your time of day. Or time of night more likely. He was asking to spend the night with you. Would audibly gagging be too improper of a reaction? Lando had to fight himself to not do it. 

“What was your answer?” he wondered, trying to keep his cool. 

Your lips turned into a smug smile. “That it’s free for people who deserve it, and then I walked away.” 

Lando chuckled, liking the fact that you showed a sense of pride with your actions. “Do I deserve your company?” 

“Haven’t asked you to leave yet, that should tell you something,” you mumbled, shrugging your shoulders.  

Lando nodded, scrunching his nose, a pink tint on his cheeks forming from the crisp air.

No, he was blushing. It wasn’t even cold outside. 

“Have you had fun otherwise?” He cleared his throat, making the conversation about something else. 

“I don’t know. I feel like a fraud, like I don’t belong,” you shrugged, fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “I think I might have convinced multiple people in there that I’m a communist, just because I was raised with a working-class perspective on things.” 

Lando suppressed his laughter for it to not be too loud. You saw his eyes crinkle at the corners.  

“This entire thing just feels performative to me,” you added. 

“Oh, it totally is,” he agreed. 

You glanced back at the manor, hearing the sound of voices in the distance. Your face reflected a mixture of amazement and discomfort. “And don’t get me started on the way people look,” you began again. “My mascara smudged and my dress got wrinkled the minute I stepped into that humid room, yet everyone else continues to look flawless.” 

Lando thought about interrupting you, saying that you still looked flawless to him. Or maybe you didn’t, and that was the best part. He understood your point fully, though. 

You shook your head as you continued, a bitter sigh escaping your lips. “And I can’t walk in heels since I broke my ankle, and my dress shows my scar, and I’m just… being a miserable little twat.”  

You dropped your shoulders, looking down at your bare feet as your heels were on the ground next to them. It hadn’t even crossed Lando’s mind, the shoes nor the scar, but it made sense that you didn’t feel confident about it. That he thought you should be confident wouldn’t exactly change your mind. 

“Oh! And they don’t eat,” you hastily pointed out. “They just hold the food and look pretty.” 

That was definitely true. He knew that you couldn’t eat yourself full at functions like this. His own empty stomach was a testament to that. 

“Is that why you came out here with two desserts and one spoon?” he questioned, containing his laughter to not come across as judgmental. 

You giggled. “Have you seen Amélie?” 

Lando shook his head no. 

“It’s a movie. It doesn’t really matter, but one of the main character’s favourite things in life is cracking the sugar on a crème brûlée, and I… think I agree with that,” you explained, grabbing one of the ramekins and carefully smashing the caramelised surface.  

It made a slight sound. Your eyes lit up as you looked at it. “See? Did you hear that?” 

He couldn’t help but grin at your reaction. 

“Try the other one,” you urged, handing him the spoon.  

He had tried crème brûlée before but never in this way. Never with someone telling him about how it was the best thing in life. As he cracked the sugar, he laughed so hard he felt his chest vibrate. 

He knew he couldn’t eat the dessert because of his diet, but seeing you take a spoonful was almost satisfactory enough. 

“Your mind is so… special,” he smiled in disbelief. He didn’t know what he was saying anymore, he just knew he needed you to hear it. “I don’t get how the universe could’ve created you.” 

Your smile faded as your laughter turned quiet. “Is that a compliment?” 

“In the highest form, Bunny,” Lando insisted. 

He didn’t know how to read your reaction, your sudden silence was a shock for him. Had he ruined a perfect moment by saying too much? That’s when he saw it, the tears pooling in your waterline as you fought with yourself to not let them fall. 

Lando was a soft mess in seconds. “A-are you crying because I complimented you?” 

“I’m sorry,” you said, trying to laugh but your voice came out hoarse. 

“Don’t cry, it’s alright,” Lando said softly, reaching out to wipe the tears away from your face, gently cupping your cheek with his palm.

He crossed a line as he did, moving closer to you than ever before. 

You knew where this was going, and you weren’t prepared for it at all.

“I just…” You were full on crying now. “I have no idea who I am, and this environment really showed me that.” 

Your lack of confidence broke his heart. Things had really piled up on top of each other to now finally get to you. A stupid auction being your downfall, the thing that made you realise how much your life had put you through. 

“I can’t get a degree, I can’t do musicals, and I definitely cannot fit in here. I have no way of being the girl that you want me to be, Lando,” you sobbed, your breathing picking up as your hands gesticulated out of pure panic. 

Your words hung heavy over the garden, suffocatingly, as you honestly believed them to be painfully true.

“Hey… don’t say that,” Lando tried to comfort, grabbing ahold of your hands to stop you moving, centering your focus. “You have no idea what I want from you.”  

“I want to hear you laugh at my stupid jokes. I want to feel your painted nails when you hold my hand. I want to see you get all giddy over a crème brûlée,” he listed things as they came to mind.

The warmth from his hands surrounded you as you let yourself relax, exhaling loudly. 

“I want you to linger in every possible goddamned doorway you can find,” Lando continued, looking you deeply in the eyes. “That’s all. Nothing more.” 

You were so close that he could see how colours reflected in your eyes. He liked you in ways he didn’t know was possible — for the little things that he’d never thought about before with other people. He couldn’t think clearly anymore. He didn’t want to think clearly. Lando hesitated, his eyes searching yours, as if seeking permission. 

You knew where this was going, and you weren’t prepared for it at all.

He scanned your face, his gaze finally landing on your lips. You were waiting for him to move, for him to lean in, because you were too scared to do it yourself. But you wanted him to do it. You wanted it more than anything else. 

But all of a sudden, the lust in his expression turned into concern, and you felt something wet drip down on your upper lip. Blood. 

“Oh, fuck.” Your hands flew to your face, trying to stop the blood from dripping further.

Of course this would happen now. You were cursed, after all. What were you thinking? A pretty boy could not just kiss you. The universe had decided that happiness wasn’t for you. 

“Let me help—” Lando said, trying to get a hold of you to stay still, but you had already stood up. 

You moved to pick up your shoes, and Lando sat frozen in his spot. “I’m gonna walk back to the villa, you stay and do your rich person duties,” your voice cracked as you said it, taking a step back to avoid his proximity. You had panic written all over your face and blood on your hands. 

Lando’s emotions finally caught up with him as he too stood up to try and stop you. “Bunny, please! Don’t go, let’s talk about this,” he pleaded, hearing how pathetic he sounded. But he felt like he had no choice. 

You recoiled further away from him, your eyes glistening with tears as you started to walk, your bare feet over gravel, heels swinging from your hands. 

He couldn’t understand — how you’d gone from laughing about crème brûlées, to crying, to almost kissing each other, and then to you getting a nosebleed. He also couldn’t understand how he had let you get away. Fuck, was he stupid. 

His thoughts got interrupted by the sound of someone running on the gravel. He met Jasmine’s worried eyes, contemplating if she should just murder Lando now. 

“Did she just leave? What did you do?” 

Lando could only shake his head, running a hand through his hair, the gesture portraying his inner turmoil. “I didn’t do anything…” he muttered, sighing loudly. “I was about to kiss her, and then she got a nosebleed all of a sudden.” 

Oscar came walking after Jasmine, just close enough to hear what Lando said. “That’s so typical of her,” he breathed out, baffled at how you always managed to almost comically mess things up.

Jasmine rubbed her temples. “Are the two of you actually fucking stupid?” she questioned angrily before yelling, “Lando, don’t just stand there. Go after her!” 

“To do what? Get rejected again?” he gesticulated with his hands in defeat, feeling his voice crack. His own tears had started to form. 

Jasmine looked back at him like he was stupid. Lando was stupid. That was a fact he now knew.  

“To clean up the blood and then actually fucking kiss her — because she did not reject you, she’s just scared!” Jasmine shot back, an intensity in her eyes that made Lando listen. “All she knows is fear, and falling in love with you hasn’t exactly helped with that.” 

He was stuck, his feet glued to the floor, the weight of Jasmine’s words hit him like a punch in the stomach. Falling in love — that was what the two of you were doing. Lando had been too blinded by his own infatuation to realise that you were scared of it — scared of that stability because your life hadn’t been stable for years. You truly believed yourself to be cursed. 

Fuck, was he stupid. He needed to fix this, and that was quick.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

He left the auction, Oscar assuring him that he could handle the rest of the night alone. The villa was quiet when Lando returned. He didn’t know what he should say when he saw you. He didn’t even know what kind of mood you’d be in. 

For a moment, he stopped in the hallway with all the bedrooms. Your door was open, a faint yellow light seeping through. He heard you moving around, the tap running in your en suite bathroom. That made him dare to move, to stand in your doorway. 

Your room was a bit messy from earlier when you were getting ready, your suitcase basically turned inside out. Your dress was tossed on the floor, next to your heels. A small red stain could be seen on the beige soles. 

Suddenly, you exited the bathroom. Your face was washed clean from makeup and blood, and you were wearing an oversized sleep shirt, reaching your mid-thigh. 

You stopped abruptly when you saw him, first shocked, then annoyed. He had no right to use your own methods against you, even though you knew he was right. Whatever he’d said to you, he would be right. 

“Now is not the time to be lingering in some fucking doorway, Norris,” you snapped, more to mask your own panic than anything else. 

You walked up to the door with determined steps, your fingers hovering over the doorknob. Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as you clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms.

“I’m not letting you close that door, Bunny,” he said softly, but with an edge of determination, placing his hand on the door so it couldn’t move. 

“I don’t want to hear what you have to say,” you insisted, shaking your head as if to physically ward off his words.

Lando’s eyes softened, the frustration melting away to reveal an expression of raw sincerity. “Doesn’t that defy the point? Your mother’s entire idea with teaching you to linger?” 

“Don’t,” you whispered. He had no right to bring up your mother. 

“We might be dead tomorrow, but you won’t hear me out?” 

“Don’t say that,” you pleaded through gritted teeth, tightly closing your eyes to even bear with your emotions. 

“Why won’t you let me tell you that I like you?” 

He dropped the bomb. He had no option but to confess it to you. It was the scariest thing he’d ever done, yet when it was out there in the open, a weight was off his shoulders. This was meant to go this way. 

You opened your eyes. “Because I’ll screw this up like I always do!” you choked out, voice thick with unshed tears. “I got a nosebleed when you tried to kiss me. I told you — it’s like I’m fucking cursed!”

“Something always gets in the way of me and good things,” you continued. 

“I’m a good thing?” he whispered, but it almost echoed in the quiet room.

“That’s what you got from that?” you cried, looking up at him through wet eyelashes. “You don’t understand. Everything good that comes into my life, I mess up. I can’t even be normal around you because I’m so afraid of ruining it!”

“Because that’s the only thing that matters — that we like each other, that our feelings are mutual,” Lando explained like it was simple. “You’re not cursed. You’re just human. And so am I. We’re allowed to mess up, to be scared, to get nosebleeds at the worst possible moments.”

He took your hand, basically shaking as he held it. You didn’t move away. You let him hold you. You let him closer. 

“Or… if you are cursed, then I’ll start carrying a first aid kit,” Lando continued with a small smile, moving his free hand to wipe your cheek clean from tears. 

You let out a surprised snort, the sound mingling with your sobs. It was a ridiculous notion, yet somehow, it made perfect sense.

“Can I try kissing you again?” he softly wondered, a semblance of hope in his voice.

Lando watched as you started to smile at the question, nodding slowly. “Please, kiss me.”  

He brought both his hands up to your cheeks, your eyes intensely locking for a moment before he softly leant closer, his lips meeting yours in a featherlight connection.

The kiss was sweet. Softer than what you would’ve expected. It was also quite telling of all the emotions that you both harboured inside, finally being set free. 

Lando kissed you like it was important, like his life depended on you knowing how much it meant to him — like the two of you would never need another form of communication to tell each other things. This was for you to know that calling yourself cursed was just stupid. You were scared, that’s all. But you didn’t have to be scared anymore. 

He was the one to break the kiss, his breath hot against your face as he grinned. “See? Not cursed.” 

That was enough to get you laughing, turning your head down to lean against his chest as you let out a pathetic giggle. No blood, no broken bones, no compromised breathing. Okay, maybe your breathing was a little off, but that was to be expected after kissing someone. 

For a long, hazy moment, the two of you simply stared into each other’s eyes. How you ended up on the bed passed in a blur, the only thing your mind could focus on was Lando’s hands on your body. His lips back on yours. 

The kissing quickly grew fevered and devoted, his tongue exploring your mouth, neck, and chest as you melted against him and the soft mattress, your fingers clutching around him. He took away all of your thoughts, every lingering worry or doubt completely removed. Insecurities too, gone with the wind. 

He was breathless when he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. You fiddled with your fingers to undo the buttons on his shirt, revealing a landscape of freckled tan skin before your eyes. His palms moved over your hips, up your waist, cupping the underside of your breasts through the thin cotton of your t-shirt. 

As he moved to take off your shirt, you froze. Lando stopped in his tracks, waiting for you to say something. 

“The scar,” you said. “It makes me feel… weak, and I don’t want you to treat me like I’m weak.” 

Weak was the last word Lando would use to describe you. But he also understood. 

“I don’t have to see it. It’s alright like this if that’s what makes you comfortable,” he explained softly. 

You nodded, deciding on keeping your shirt on as you watched Lando remove his own. He was perfect, and you were you. Maybe that was enough. 

Lando caged you beneath him again, crawling over you, leaving sloppy kisses on your face, arms, and over the fabric of your shirt. The kisses ended with him biting your lower lip as his hands found home in a tight grip on your hips, the lace edge of your underwear tickling his palms. 

“Can I go down on you?” he whispered. His eyes looked for permission to continue, and you nodded, messily kissing him back.

He lowered back down your body again, his strong hands absentmindedly massaging the plush skin of your thighs, before finding the waistband of your panties, pulling them off you in a slow motion. He nestled between your legs, not breaking eye contact. 

You almost felt cold by being naked, even though the room was delightfully warm. You wanted to cringe at what his sight of you must be like, but he didn’t give you a chance to do so, a string of praise words falling from his mouth. 

As each word was said, he spread your wetness through your folds with a feathery movement of his fingers. Lando brushed your clit with a light touch, taking in your reaction before dipping his fingers into the pooling wetness.

“P-please, Lando, oh fuck—” Your voice was wrecked as you grew desperate for more. 

He grinned at your words as his face met your heat, leaving kisses around it before finally touching the part where you needed him the most. “So pretty,” he mumbled against you, kissing your clit. That made your brain short circuit. 

You reached down to push the curls of his forehead as he delved in, softly bringing you pleasure. Sucking on your clit with intention while his fingers curled deeper into you, his free hand gripping at your thigh, certain to leave crescent-shaped imprints from his fingernails as your soft skin spilled out between his fingers.

You truly did look pretty, though — through Lando’s eyes. With the evening glow of the sun shining through the windows and the white linen bedding surrounding your body, you looked angelic. As your shirt rode up, your stomach was revealed. He loved seeing your skin. Nipples pebbled through the t-shirt, hair dishevelled, skin gleaming from a thin layer of sweat. You made him painfully hard by just lying there, letting him taste you. 

“I’m—” You couldn’t get the words out, voice choking on your own moans, but Lando knew to increase the intensity. 

You were a fucking mess when you finished, letting that hazy feeling completely take over, whimpering his name out like it was the sweetest thing. He kept on babying your clit with the tip of his tongue until you tugged at his hair, lifting his face. He could’ve gone on forever if you’d let him. 

“Come up here,” you urged him, your voice shaky. You watched him lick his glossy lips, running a hand up your body in a soothing manner before collapsing next to you. 

“You should see how breathtaking you look right now,” he exhaled, looking at you with your face flushed and your eyes glossed over. You stared at him so deeply, catching your breath, as you realised you couldn’t decide what eye colour he had. They shifted from green, to blue, to brown. Fuck, you were spent. 

You thought for a while, and Lando could see it on your face, a mischievous grin forming on your lips before your hands moved down his stomach, stopping by his belt buckle. He let you undo it, your bottom lip nestled between your teeth as you teasingly looked up at him.

Already worked up from before, he moaned as you started to palm him over his trousers.

“I’m not gonna last if you do that,” Lando gasped, holding your hand still with a tight grip around your wrist. 

“Take them off, then,” you simply answered, earning a laugh. 

He couldn’t say no to that, moving awkwardly to get both trousers and underwear off as quickly as possible. He then settled closer to you, having you basically wrap your legs around him, clinging like a koala. You shared a look between each other, making sure that this was okay. It was so much more than okay. This felt necessary, like you were meant to do it. 

“I’m on the pill, so this is fine by me,” you explained to him, a tremble in your voice by having him so close to you. 

He kissed you before he did anything else, settling your nerves. Feeling your bodies mould together, creating a common heat. He glided himself through your folds, touching your already stimulated clit. As an act of desperation, you moved your hips lower, grinding against him. 

“You okay?” he chuckled. 

You hummed against the skin on his shoulder, playfully nibbling as you kissed him all over. His eyes met yours as he pushed into you, waiting patiently to see your reaction to the light stretch. You nodded, your breath hitching as he began moving more purposefully. 

The slow drags set of sparks of pleasure within you, so intense your eyes rolled back. You weren’t sure what kind of noises left your body, uncontrollable with the pleasure. Hearing Lando moan deeply into your ears made you feel less unsure.  

Completely intoxicated, you tried your best to take it all in. You focused on the golden shimmer in his eyes, the scattered freckles on his face, and the scar on his nose. It was so warm, and wet, feeling him thrust inside of you. You didn’t know what to do with your hands again, just desperately spreading them over his back to his shoulders. Your sharp nails were destined to leave claw marks. 

“Faster, baby,” you breathed out, ready for more. 

You felt Lando grin against your cheek as he heard the pet name. It had completely slipped out on accident, but that didn’t mean it drove him any less crazy. You felt him grip your body harder as he fucked up into you.

“Doing so well for me,” he moaned out your name. “C’mon, Bunny, let me see how pretty you are when you come again.”  

A litany of moans filled the room, from the both of you. That, along with the sounds of your bodies crashing together, made you fucking delirious. You were close, so close. You wanted to feel that feeling again, of him bringing you to the end.

You shamelessly used him as you felt the familiar fire spread through your veins. He wasn’t long after, almost lifting your body to get you closer to him as he finished. His moans were slow and shaky as he rested his lips on your forehead.

His hips lost all rhythm as he spilled into you, his cock twitching inside you while he slowly pumped you full of his release, thrusting several times as he rode it out. You wanted to memorise the guttural sounds and the tremble of his face muscles as he reached the ultimate high. 

“We’re a mess,” he commented, burying his face into the crook of your neck. 

You let out a small chuckle. “Stay still for a second,” you ordered him as you relaxed in his hold. Both of you sighed at the sensation of him filling you up completely. You would enjoy this feeling of having him as close as humanly possible for as long as he let you.

“I don’t ever want to move.” he murmured against your hair.

You caught your breaths in unity, staying close together without saying much more. You didn’t need to. Lando knew that all his future dreams would take place here, lying quietly next to you, in your own sacred heaven. You two, sharing heavy breathing and sighs, after delicately bruising each other’s bodies. 

He looked you deep in your eyes, seeing how tired you were, but solidifying what was once a doubt for you. He looked at you like you were a risk worth taking. A river worth wading. A river worth drowning in. 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Lando woke up the morning after feeling well rested, in a bed that was warm and the sheets scented by you. He felt you moving next to him as he came out of his slumber, mumbling something about it being too hot and how you had forgotten to open the window before falling asleep. 

He didn’t understand how you felt hot when all he felt was ice cold as you left him alone in bed. The room got brighter as you moved the curtains, opening a window to let in the outside air. He opened his eyes to see you, back turned against him, stretching your body to wake up. A grin plastered on his face. He was painfully happy. 

You moved to wrap your arms around yourself, lifting the hem of the shirt you’d slept in. As you pulled it over your body, Lando got a view of your entire being. He was certainly awake now. Naked, your skin glowed golden technicolour from the sunlight, in stark contrast to the white room. 

You knew exactly what you were doing as you slowly turned around. 

“Just look at you…” Lando exhaled. “Fucking gorgeous, Bunny.” 

In seconds, you were back in bed next to him, pulling the bedding up to hide your face. 

“Gonna act all shy now?” he teased, chuckling. 

As you peeked back out, Lando was quick to get closer to you. He hovered over you as his hands found your body. 

He didn’t even have to tell you — your lips already parting as his thumb caressed your cheek, moving closer to your mouth. You took his thumb in your mouth, softly sucking as it rested on your tongue. You saw how his eyes fluttered at the feeling, gently removing it to press a passionate kiss to your wet lips. 

Lando was hesitant to let his hands wander lower, softly cupping your breasts and littering your sternum with open-mouthed kisses. His fingertips lightly pinched the sensitive peaks of your nipples, as he looked up at you through tired eyes, always wanting your reassurance, as his lips got close to the scar. 

You nodded gently, allowing him to kiss it. You didn’t like touching the scar, but somehow, you had no issue when his mouth did it. He kissed it gently before moving to kiss your nipple. He smiled with pride at the breathy gasp you let out as he placed his mouth on you. You were practically whining at the pressure of him sucking at your skin. 

He released you after a moment, lying down next to you. He felt your heartbeat through your chest as his head rested on top of your breast, softly padded by the plush skin. You looked down at him with joy, placing a finger under his chin so he was looking right back at you. 

Slowly, your fingers traced his face. He smiled at your orange nail polish. You took your time tracing the bridge of his nose, stopping when you got to the little mark he had right across it. He had his scars too. 

“My heart hurts,” you groaned quietly, as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

“Huh? Are you serious?” he mumbled against the skin of your chest. 

“It’s a dull ache, a desire almost,” you explained, and Lando understood your point. 

“I think it’s contagious,” Lando smiled. He let the words linger in the air before adding, “You should come with me to Hungary after this.” 

You sighed, realising how hard it would be to say no to him in the future. “I don’t go back to uni for another couple of weeks, so…” 

“I’m buying you a plane ticket right now,” he said, reaching for his phone, but your hands stopped him. 

“No,” you said. 

For a second, Lando started to second-guess everything. 

“Join me in the shower first.” 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Thank you for reading ♡ Feedback is well appreciated!

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

The Telling Truth: When 'Show, Don't Tell' Doesn't Apply (You Don't Always Have To Show, Don't Tell.)

Hey there, fellow writers and beloved members of the writeblr community! 📝✨

Today, I want to talk about something that's been on my mind lately, and I have a feeling it might resonate with many of you too. It's about that age-old writing advice we've all heard a million times: "Show, don't tell." Now, don't get me wrong – it's great advice, and it has its place in our writing toolbox. But here's the thing: it's not the be-all and end-all of good writing. In fact, I'd argue that sometimes, it's perfectly okay – even necessary – to tell rather than show.

First things first, let's address the elephant in the room. The "show, don't tell" rule has been drilled into our heads since we first picked up a pen (or opened a Word document) with the intention of writing creatively. It's been repeated in writing workshops, creative writing classes, and countless craft books. And for good reason! Showing can create vivid, immersive experiences for readers, allowing them to feel like they're right there in the story.

But here's where things get a bit tricky: like any rule in writing (or in life, for that matter), it's not absolute. There are times when telling is not just acceptable, but actually preferable. And that's what you all will explore today in this hopefully understandable blog post.

Let's start by breaking down why "show, don't tell" is so popular. When we show instead of tell, we're engaging the reader's senses and emotions. We're painting a picture with words, allowing the reader to draw their own conclusions based on the details we provide. It's a powerful technique that can make our writing more engaging and memorable.

For example, instead of saying "Sarah was angry," we might write, "Sarah's fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight as she glared at the broken vase." This gives the reader a clearer image and allows them to infer Sarah's emotional state.

But here's the thing: sometimes, we don't need or want that level of detail. Sometimes, efficiency in storytelling is more important than painting an elaborate picture. And that's where telling comes in handy.

Imagine if every single emotion, action, or piece of information in your story was shown rather than told. Your novel would probably be thousands of pages long, and your readers might get lost in the sea of details, losing sight of the main plot or character arcs.

So, when might telling be more appropriate? Let's explore some scenarios:

Summarizing less important events: If you're writing a story that spans a long period, you don't need to show every single day or event. Telling can help you summarize periods of time or less crucial events quickly, allowing you to focus on the more important parts of your story.

For instance: "The next few weeks passed in a blur of exams and late-night study sessions." This sentence tells us what happened without going into unnecessary detail about each day.

Providing necessary background information: Sometimes, you need to give your readers some context or backstory. While you can certainly weave this information into scenes, there are times when a straightforward telling of facts is more efficient.

Example: "The war had been raging for three years before Sarah's village was attacked." This quickly gives us important context without needing to show the entire history of the war.

Establishing pace and rhythm: Alternating between showing and telling can help you control the pace of your story. Showing tends to slow things down, allowing readers to immerse themselves in a moment. Telling can speed things up, moving the story along more quickly when needed.

Clarifying complex ideas or emotions: Some concepts or feelings are abstract or complex enough that showing alone might not suffice. In these cases, a bit of telling can help ensure your readers understand what's happening.

For example: "The quantum entanglement theory had always fascinated John, but explaining it to others often left him feeling frustrated and misunderstood." Here, we're telling the reader about John's relationship with this complex scientific concept, which might be difficult to show effectively.

Maintaining your narrative voice: Sometimes, telling is simply more in line with your narrative voice or the tone of your story. This is especially true if you're writing in a more direct or conversational style.

Now, I can almost hear some of you saying, "But wait! I've always been told that showing is always better!" And I completely get it. I'm a writer myself and prioritize "Show, Don't tell." in my writing all the time. We've been conditioned to believe that showing is superior in all cases. But we can take a moment to challenge that notion.

Think about some of your favorite books. Chances are, they use a mix of showing and telling. Even the most critically acclaimed authors don't adhere strictly to "show, don't tell" all the time. They understand that good writing is about balance and knowing when to use each technique effectively.

Take, for instance, the opening line of George Orwell's "1984": "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen." This is a perfect blend of showing and telling. Orwell shows us it's a bright, cold day (we can imagine the crisp air and clear sky), but he tells us about the clocks striking thirteen. This immediate telling gives us crucial information about the world we're entering – it's not quite like our own.

Or consider this passage from Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice": "Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character." Here, Austen is clearly telling us about Mr. Bennet's character rather than showing it through his actions. And yet, it works beautifully, giving us a quick, clear insight into both Mr. Bennet and his wife.

The key is to use both techniques strategically. So, how can you decide when to show and when to tell? Here are some tips:

Consider the importance of the information: Is this a crucial moment in your story, a pivotal emotion, or a key piece of character development? If so, it might be worth showing. If it's more of a transitional moment or background information, telling might be more appropriate.

Think about pacing: If you want to slow down and really immerse your reader in a moment, show it. If you need to move things along more quickly, tell it.

Evaluate the complexity: If you're dealing with a complex emotion or concept, consider whether showing alone will be enough to convey it clearly. Sometimes, a combination of showing and telling works best for complex ideas.

Consider your word count: If you're working with strict word count limitations (like in short stories or flash fiction), telling can help you convey necessary information more concisely.

Trust your instincts (Important): As you write more, you'll develop a feel for when showing or telling works better. Trust your gut, and don't be afraid to experiment.

Now, let's talk about how to tell effectively when you do choose to use it. Because here's the thing: telling doesn't have to be boring or flat. It can be just as engaging and stylish as showing when done well. Here are some tips for effective telling:

Use strong, specific language: Instead of using vague or generic words, opt for more specific, evocative language. For example, instead of "She was sad," you might write, "A profound melancholy settled over her."

Incorporate sensory details: Even when telling, you can include sensory information to make it more vivid. "The room was cold" becomes more engaging as "A bone-chilling cold permeated the room."

Use metaphors and similes: These can help make your telling more colorful and memorable. "His anger was like a volcano ready to erupt" paints a vivid picture without showing the anger in action.

Keep it concise: One of the advantages of telling is its efficiency. Don't negate that by being overly wordy. Get to the point, but do it with style.

Vary your sentence structure: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, more flowing ones to create rhythm and maintain interest.

Remember, the goal is to create a seamless narrative that engages your reader. Sometimes that means showing, sometimes it means telling, and often it means a artful blend of both.

It's also worth noting that different genres and styles of writing may lean more heavily on one technique or the other. Literary fiction often employs more showing, delving deep into characters' psyches and painting elaborate scenes. Genre fiction, on the other hand, might use more telling to keep the plot moving at a brisker pace. Neither approach is inherently better – it all depends on what works best for your story and your style.

Now, I want to address something that I think many of us struggle with: the guilt or anxiety we might feel when we catch ourselves telling instead of showing. It's easy to fall into the trap of second-guessing every sentence, wondering if we should be showing more. But here's the truth: that kind of constant self-doubt can be paralyzing and ultimately detrimental to your writing process.

So, I want you to understand and think: It's okay to tell sometimes. You're not a bad writer for using telling in your work. In fact, knowing when and how to use telling effectively is a sign of a skilled writer.

Here's some practical ways to incorporate this mindset into your writing process:

First Draft Freedom: When you're writing your first draft, give yourself permission to write however it comes out. If that means more telling than showing, that's absolutely fine. The important thing is to get the story down. You can always revise and add more "showing" elements later if needed.

Revision with Purpose: When you're revising, don't automatically change every instance of telling to showing. Instead, ask yourself: Does this serve the story better as telling or showing? Consider the pacing, the importance of the information, and how it fits into the overall narrative.

Beta Readers and Feedback: When you're getting feedback on your work, pay attention to how readers respond to different sections. If they're engaged and understanding the story, then your balance of showing and telling is probably working well, regardless of which technique you're using more.

Study Your Favorite Authors: Take some time to analyze how your favorite writers use showing and telling. You might be surprised to find more instances of effective telling than you expected.

Practice Both Techniques (Important): Set aside some time to practice both showing and telling. Write the same scene twice, once focusing on showing and once on telling. This can help you develop a feel for when each technique is most effective.

Now, let's address another important point: the evolution of writing styles and reader preferences. The "show, don't tell" rule gained popularity in the early 20th century with the rise of modernist literature. But writing styles and reader tastes have continued to evolve since then.

In our current fast-paced world, where people are often reading on devices and in shorter bursts, there's sometimes a preference for more direct, efficient storytelling. This doesn't mean that showing is out of style, but it does mean that there's often room for more telling than strict adherence to "show, don't tell" would allow.

Moreover, diverse voices in literature are challenging traditional Western writing norms, including the emphasis on showing over telling. Some cultures have strong storytelling traditions that lean more heavily on telling, and as the literary world becomes more inclusive, we're seeing a beautiful variety of styles that blend showing and telling in new and exciting ways.

This brings me to an important point: your voice matters. Your unique way of telling stories is valuable. Don't let rigid adherence to any writing rule, including "show, don't tell," stifle your natural voice or the story you want to tell.

Remember, rules in writing are more like guidelines. They're tools to help us improve our craft, not unbreakable laws. The most important rule is to engage your reader and tell your story effectively. If that means more telling than the conventional wisdom suggests, then so be it.

As I wrap up this discussion, I want to leave you with a challenge: In your next writing session, consciously use both showing and telling. Pay attention to how each technique feels, how it serves your story, and how it affects the rhythm of your writing. You might discover new ways to blend these techniques that work perfectly for your unique style.

Writing is an art, not a science. There's no perfect formula, no one-size-fits-all approach. It's about finding what works for you, your story, and your readers. So embrace both showing and telling. Use them as the powerful tools they are, and don't be afraid to break the "rules" when your instincts tell you to.

Remember, every great writer started where you are now, learning the rules and then figuring out when and how to break them effectively. You're part of a long, proud tradition of storytellers, each finding their own path through the winding forest of words.

Keep writing, keep growing, and keep believing in yourself. You've got this!

Happy writing! 💖✍️ - Rin T.

Before you go, why not join us at The Write Right Society? We're a supportive Tumblr community where writers lift each other up. Whether you're a newbie or a pro, we'd love to have you! Share your work, get feedback, and connect with fellow wordsmiths, writers and aspiring authors. 

[mapis-putellas]

𝑯𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x reader

Words: 1325

Warnings: none

Summary: You hack Alexia’s instagram.

It was almost too easy to get Alexia's Instagram password. It started off as a casual "help me, please" when she couldn't get her account to update one day. You'd offered to take a look, and within minutes, she'd trusted you enough to give you her password. Now, you sat on the sofa, staring at the list of questionable, slightly embarrassing photos you'd taken of her over the past few months, knowing exactly what you were about to do.

Alexia, the captain of her team, usually kept her public image squeaky clean. Polished, strong, professional. The world knew her as a serious, disciplined player who could take on any challenge. But you? You knew a different side of her. One that stumbled in at 3 AM after a night out with teammates, cheeks red from laughter and wine, or who sent you the most ridiculous selfies when she'd just woken up. She was adorable, and for the past few months, you'd kept these little memories tucked safely in your camera roll. Until now.

You bit back a grin as you selected the first photo. Alexia was sitting at the dining table, mouth stuffed full, eyes slightly glazed from the wine you'd been sharing. It was a terrible, hilarious photo, and it was about to become her new post.

Caption: "Sometimes is very... muy hard... to eat without make mess. But is ok! Me es captain, after all."

You held back a snicker as the post went live, imagining the horrified look she'd have if she saw it.

It didn't stop there. You scrolled to the next photo in your phone—a selfie she'd taken in a mirror after the shower, wrapped in just a towel with a smirk on her face. She probably took it as a joke for you, but that smirk practically begged to be captioned. You could almost feel her cringe from afar as you typed it out.

Caption: "Today I am very... sexy time. But not for you to see! Only for one very... special person ;)"

"Oh, she's going to kill me for this one," you muttered under your breath, posting it and then closing her profile quickly, pretending like nothing happened. You chuckled to yourself and set your phone down, feeling like an evil genius.

Hours later, you'd managed to stay out of her account just long enough to keep her from getting suspicious. But your "prank" felt like it was only getting started. You'd posted a few more times, each one worse than the last.

There was a picture of her at a team dinner, mid-sentence, with an expression that was a cross between a sneeze and a frown.

Caption: "Sometimes the food make me very... emotional. Is the passion, you know?"

Then another one of her curled up on the couch, half-asleep, wearing a mismatched pair of socks with her hair sticking out in all directions.

Caption: "Me, the powerful captain. Even in my dreams. Especially with... socks of power."

At this point, the comments on her posts had started blowing up. Fans were bewildered. Some thought her account had been hacked. Others were tagging her teammates, asking if she was alright. You, however, couldn't stop laughing.

It wasn't until later in the evening that you got the call. You were mid-laugh at another comment under her most recent post when her name popped up on your screen. Alexia had finished training, and judging by the number of missed texts and calls, she'd discovered her Instagram feed. You braced yourself as you picked up.

"Cariño," her voice came through, breathless and tense. "What... what happened to... my Instagram?"

You could picture her standing there, wide-eyed and mortified. "What do you mean?" you replied innocently, biting back laughter.

"The photos! And the... the... 'sexy time' caption!" she hissed, her Spanish accent thick and heavy with frustration. "I did not write these things!"

"Oh?" you feigned confusion. "But they sound like you. Very... passionate, no?"

There was a pause, then an exasperated sigh. "No, no, no," she said quickly. "This is... how do you say... loco! They think I am... silly!"

You could barely keep it together. "I mean, you are a bit silly. Remember that dinner photo? You look very emotional about that food."

"I am not emotional about food!" she snapped, sounding utterly betrayed. "This is bad, amor. Very bad. My teammates... they send messages. They say, 'Alexia, are you drunk?'"

You couldn't hold back anymore and burst into laughter. "Oh no, did they really?"

"Yes! They are very... how you say... worried! And my mother! My mother called, asking if I was okay!"

"Oh, that's brilliant," you wheezed, doubling over. "You should've seen this coming when you gave me your password."

There was a long, heavy silence. Then she groaned. "This is why I do not give my password to anyone."

"Guess you learned your lesson," you teased. "And you might want to check your latest post..."

Another beat of silence as she presumably opened her app and saw the final post you'd queued up: a picture of her in the mirror, flexing her arms with a ridiculously intense look on her face.

Caption: "Strong like bull, but soft like baby."

"NO! No, no, no," she cried, her voice barely a whisper. "This is... humiliation! My fans, they will... they will think I am crazy!"

"Or they'll think you're adorable," you countered, still laughing. "Which you are, by the way."

"You are so... how do you say... evil," she muttered, clearly flustered. "When I see you, I am going to... to..."

"To what?" you asked, grinning. "Hug me?"

"No, not hug," she huffed. "I am going to... to..."

You could tell she was struggling to find the right words, her English flailing under the pressure. "Going to what?"

She finally managed, "To... squish you like... like... tomato!"

That only made you laugh harder. "Oh, scary! The big, bad captain is going to squish me like a tomato!"

She grumbled in Spanish, clearly flustered beyond belief. "When I come home, you will see. No more password. Never."

"Whatever you say, 'strong like bull, soft like baby,'" you teased, unable to resist.

"Stop! No more of this!" she whined, but there was a slight hint of laughter in her voice.

"Alright, alright. I'll log out of your account," you promised, finally starting to relent.

A few moments later, a message popped up on your phone, the last straw for her, apparently.

Alexia: I am changing my password NOW!

With a smile, you sent back a quick response. "Can't blame you. But I think your fans quite enjoyed this little show."

Alexia: I do not care. Fans are important, but... no more with you. Never again!

You: "Oh, come on. You're the one who trusted me with your password."

Alexia: Big mistake!

By the time she finally made it home, you were still grinning ear to ear, waiting for her to walk through the door. When she did, the look of feigned anger mixed with absolute embarrassment on her face made it all worth it.

"There you are, my strong, soft baby," you greeted her, barely able to get the words out without cracking up again.

Alexia narrowed her eyes at you, arms crossed as she tried to appear stern. "This is not funny."

You grinned, taking a step towards her. "Oh, it's a little funny. And admit it—you looked cute."

She scoffed, but you could see her cheeks turning slightly pink. "I... I do not like this joke."

You stepped closer, pulling her into a hug despite her resistance. "Come on, admit it. You love me even though I'm an evil genius."

She sighed, reluctantly wrapping her arms around you. "Maybe. A little."

"That's all I needed to hear," you teased, kissing her cheek.

"Just remember," she murmured, her voice soft but with a mischievous glint in her eye, "I know where you sleep."

**

Tags:

@girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @ceesimz @marysfics @goldenempyrean @silentwolfsstuff @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

peacekeeper!coryo x reader where she's like the commanders daughter and she manipulates him to find out the real reason why hes in district 12 and not 8 where he should be. could include smut up to you! love your writing sm <333

In Control || Peacekeeper!Coriolanus Snow x reader

GIF by @youremyvioleta divider by @firefly-graphics

A/n: I really really love this one just bc I got to write reader in a manipulative light which was fun and interesting. I also had another request sorta but not really similar to this, ALSO I can’t remember for the life of me if there were any female peacekeepers especially in district 12 so let’s just imagine there weren’t any for the sake of the storyline :) 1/4? fics Im posting today

Warnings: smut! virgin reader, possessive, obsessive, manipulative, lowkey dark reader

Wc: 2,975 another long one!

Coriolanus Snow Masterlist

You had to see for yourself Coriolanus Snow in peacekeeper uniform. When news travelled around that Coryo was to be sentenced to years as peacekeeper in the districts, you nearly laughed at the idea of him being here.

Your father, Commander Hoff, leader of the peacekeepers here in district 12, even found it amusing himself. So here you were, leaned against a beam as you peer down at the new peacekeepers in training. What the hell was Coriolanus doing here in district 12 when you knew damn well from your father that he was supposed to be in district 8.

Of course, your eyes looked around for the one and only, Coriolanus Snow. You went to school with him but you highly doubted he knew you since you were a couple years below him. You often moved from the Capitol with your mother to district 12, with your father, so most of the times you weren’t even at school.

“You will rise together and you will fall together,” Your father’s loud voice echoes in the room. “You will be our eyes and ears out here on my base, and it will be your duty, to report anything suspicious you see because if you do not,” Coryo gives you a curious look as a light smirk adorns your lips.

He was probably wondering what the hell you were doing up there on the platform with the commander, and who you were. “You are as good as a rebel, yourself.” Your father concludes as you straighten up and push yourself off the beam.

Your father watches you with a warning look as you ignore him; walking down the steps, your footsteps echoing as you knew the peacekeepers were fighting hard not to look away from the commander. You honestly preferred being in the districts with your father than in prison that people call the Capitol.

You slowly study each peacekeeper before you stand infront of Sejanus Plinth. “A plinth back in the districts?” You say with a hint of amusement as you study him. His hair shaved, his expression cold. “Y/n.” Your father warns.

Coriolanus was the first to break his gaze from your father as he looks at you. Y/n. “I think there’s somewhere you must be?” Commander Hoff spoke with such sternness it made you gulp. “Yes, Commander,” You lightly sigh, addressing him professionaly, before giving Sejanus and the man beside him, Coryo, one final glance. 

~

Coriolanus couldn't help thinking about you, for a few reasons. You intrigued him, not only because he thought there were no females at all in the base, but also because he found you attractive. Very attractive.He had a feeling he has seen you before, maybe around the academy, but he wasn't sure on it.

He wondered what the hell you were doing here at base. Maybe you were here as punishment as well, but that didn't explain why you were up on the platform beside Commander Hoff.

~

"Let's go!" Coriolanus shifts his attention outside as he hears a whistle being blown. Sejanus and Coryo walk side by side onto the open field where Commander Hoff and you stood at the front.

The two of you make eye contact before he quickly looks away and stands in the front row, beside Sejanus. "Today you will be participating in physical exercises..." Commander Hoffs words became muffled to Coriolanus as he only pays attention to you.

You were stood beside your father, a clipboard in one hand as you tap the tip of your pen against your bottom lip. That made it clear that you were probably not here as punishment. Your uniform was the same except slightly altered. "Go!" A whistle blows as Coriolanus stands there confused because he wasn't paying attention.

"Do you think your special, boy? Get on the ground and do pushups, now!" Commander Hoff barks as he looks around before quickly following along side the others. You watch in amusement, your father shakes his head at you as you try and stifle a giggle.

You write down notes on your clipboard as you listen to your father instruct the peacekeepers. You were training to be the first female commander in history. Focused on Coriolanus practically the entire time, you sauntered past your father to where he was, on the ground doing pushups.

It was a particulars hot day so they all were wearing white singlets with their blue pants. You were secretly salivating the entire time you watched Snow perform the exercises, his muscles bulging, his skin slightly covered in a layer of sweat.

He looked fucking hot. The few times you saw him around the academy, he looked handsome, ethereal, with his blonde locks, but now with his buzzcut, he looked like a complete different person, he was a walking sex appeal. You lightly bite your fingernails as you watch the way his dog tag would dangle from his neck when he was doing pushups.

Your father raises an eyebrow as he watches you sit on Coriolanus' back whilst he was doing a pushup. Coriolanus grunts at the sudden weight on his back. You smile in satisfaction as you hear him grunting. Music to your ears.

You sitting on his back only made Coriolanus push harder as you let out a small yelp, placing a hand on his shoulder to stabilise yourself. Your jaw dropped at his speed, it was as if you weighed nothing. His stamina was insane as he kept the same rapid pace.

"What do you think you are dong Miss Y/n?" Your father raises an eyebrow at you, "Extra punishment, Commander Hoff," You beam at your father, patting Coriolanus' firm back as he Snow lets out a groan. Hoff hums before walking away, his hands behind his back.

When you hear the final whistle blow, you get off his back. Coriolanus stayed laying on the grass, his chest going up and down rapidly as sweat ran down the side of his face. You pulled out a handkerchief from your pocket with your initials embroidered in fancy writing and hold it infront of him.

He quirks an eyebrow at you, your roll your eyes before taking his hand and placing the lacey handkerchief in his hand. "Thanks," He says in a hoarse voice. You don't break eye contact with him as he wipes his face free from sweat.

Coryo hands your handkerchief back to you but you shake your head, "Keep it," Is all you say before turning around and leaving him there dumfounded. The thought of why he was here in district 12, and not 8–where he was supposed to be–still lingered in the back of your head.

~

For the next couple of days there was an unspoken tension between the two of you. Sexual tension to be specific. You were still itching to know what his business here in district 12 was. You were attracted to him for sure, how could you not when he looked like that. But your curiosity overpowered your desire for him.

You were walking along a quiet corridor before you felt a hand reach out and grab you, pulling you into a room. You let out a muffled scream, a hand firmly on your mouth as you felt someone's breathe fanning your neck.

Your eyes were wide in shock before the person spins you around and he reveals himself. He was dressed in his full attire, hat and everything included. You let out a sigh of relief, all while he watches you. "What the fuck are you thinking?" You whisper yell at him, as you quickly lock the door behind you.

"I wanted to introduce myself-" You scoffed loudly, turning your head to the side. "You think I don’t know you, Coriolanus Snow?" You raise an eyebrow at him as his tongue wets his bottom lip. Truth be told, Snow actually never mentioned his name to you. He just assumed you didn't know who he was. "I just wanted to properly introduce myself to you, Y/n.” 

"Well, that is not a very good reason to pull someone into a room without warning," You shrug your shoulders at him as he stays quiet, studying you as you study him back. Tilting your head slightly, you open your mouth, "You have another motive, Coriolanus,"

He swallows, "I want to see you again-" "why-" "privately." Oh? All the times you and Coriolanus would see each other was always out in the open with prying eyes everywhere, particularly from your father. You'd be lying if you said you weren't purposely whoring yourself for him just to get information out of him. From your lack of response, Coryo speaks again.

"What are you doing here on base? You don't seem to be here for punishment-" You let out a low chuckle, stepping a few steps forward towards him. "I could ask the same for you, Have you really no clue?" Coriolanus purses his lips, looking away before meeting looking over your face.

"Your initials on your handkerchief..." He starts, ignoring part of your question as you lips start to quirk up, "Are you Commander Hoff's daughter?" "Maybe I am. Does that bother you?" You step even closer to him as you notice his breathe starting to hitch.

"No," He breathes out.. "But what would your father think if he found out that you and I are here alone, when we shouldn't be," A smirk forms on his lips as your eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips.

"Truthfully, I couldn't care less," You whisper before pressing your lips against his. Coriolanus froze when your lips touched his, you honestly thought he might just shove you away. You were pleasantly surprised when you felt his hand coming up to grip the base of your neck, deepening the kiss. It was as if he was a starved man, feasting on his food. Like you were oxygen that he desperately needed. 

He wrapped his arms around you and kissed with such savageness. The heat was like wildfire. The tension, the waiting. Days of expecting him to make a move on you. After the wandering eyes and the way he would make up any excuse to touch you or say something to you.

You slid your fingers across his broad, firm shoulders. One of his large hands gripped your loose locks, tugging at it, while his other hand reached down and tugged at your shirt. You pull back for a second as you take off your shirt, your bra covered chest on display as he wastes no time in unclipping it.

Coriolanus palmed your breasts hard enough to make you hiss against his mouth. You kissed him deeply, your fingers slid behind his neck and along the tendons of his neck. Coryo reaches up to take his hat off before you stop him, "Keep it on," You breathlessly say as Snow smirks before continuing his assault on your lips.

You tore your clothes off in front of him as he gapes. A surge of confidence ran through you as you grab his hand and push him against you. His rough hands dragging up your body, feeling every curve and dip he found to be perfect.

Snow kissed across your breasts and once again tangled his fingers in your hair, pulling at it until you whimpered and tilted your head back. His mouth was at the base of your neck and he kissed and nipped along your collarbone until he reached a point where you moaned gutturally and arched against his still fully clothed body.

Coriolanus pushed you back, your ass bumping into the only piece of furniture that was in the room which happened to be a desk. He pushed your legs apart and sank into you with a single, hard thrust. The he paused and pressed a kiss against your lips before he started to move.

You bit back a cry of pain and forced yourself not to stiffen or pull away. Your whole façade crumbling as he thrusts into you. It hurt. You knew it might, if not done slowly at least. But the pain still caught you off guard. The abruptness of it. He most likely assumed there had been others before him by the way you sauntered around the base and interacted with the other young peacekeepers.

You were glad it hurt. You were whoring yourself for him. You had seduced him the moment he made it abundantly clear that he wasn't keen on sharing his story of why he was here. You had manipulated him because you wanted something from him. You were greedy.

You weren't just going to settle on the undivided attention he'd give you. No. You wanted him, body and soul. Coriolanus was so much bigger that his frame practically enveloped you. His hands were tangled in your hair so tightly you could barely twitch your head as he met your eyes and moved inside of you at an almost inhumane speed.

His jaw was tense. His expression partially shielded from his hat. But the grip he had on you, and the speed he was going at, you could tell you were his. And similarly, he was yours. You forced yourself not to show any signs of discomfort as your threw your head back, eyes screw shut, when his fingers started playing with your stiff, perked nipples.

You moved your hips to meet his movement and clenched around him, your fingernails dragging across his clothed back. You lock your feet below his hips to drive him further in driving him crazy as a string of curses fall from his lips.

Coriolanus hisses, dropping his head against your shoulder as he thrusts deep inside of you. The angle of his movement, the intensity between them wasn't just his–you whimpered and gasped near his ear. 

His pace faltered slightly, and he lifted his head. His hands moved away from your tits, caught hold of your hands and intertwined your fingers together. He kissed you. Deep, passionate kisses that made your chest hurt as you returned them.

He shifted his pace. Slower. The angle was different, the way your naked pelvis met his as he pushed into you, and you realised with alarm that it was tearing your sense of control away from you. And you desperately wanted that control back or otherwise you’d be vulnerable. 

Coriolanus was kissing you. Hot. Bruising. Almost punishing kisses, as he gripped your hands and kept driving into you relentlessly. The pain had dulled to a fainter throb. Several more hard, deep strokes, then Coryo's hips jerked, and he gave a deep moan and dropped his head down in the crook of your neck.

His breath dragged across your skin as he panted near your ear and kissed your shoulder. You were still against him. You were suddenly aware of the rough table biting into your skin. And that the room was hot. Coriolanus stayed pressed against you and still inside of you for several seconds and then he abruptly tensed and pulled away.

He expression was drawn, and he didn't even look at you as he zipped up his pants. You slowly sat up, watching him carefully. He was progressively getting paler and paler as his hands lock behind his neck. His expression was both disbelieving and horrified.

"Fuck-" He said under his breath, he seemed devastated. And part of him was. He just fucked you. The daughter of his commander. He may have just screwed up his opportunity to see the one person he had risked everything for. If Commander Hoff found out that Coriolanus fucked his daughter, he could be transferred to another district, away from her. Or even worst, he was going to be executed.

His desire for you got the better of him and his initial plan. But he just couldn't resist you. Coriolanus clapped his hand over his mouth and looked over, meeting your eyes. Whatever he was battling inside his head seemed to be giving him a panic attack.

He swallowed visibly, closed his eyes and adjusted his hat. Then he opened his eyes, he seemed to have composed himself. He drew a deep breath and turned to you. His expression tense.

As he looked at you, his eyes dropped to your legs and he blanched white. You couldn't believe someone could even possibly blanch that white. "You were a virgin?" His voice was rasping. Coriolanus felt his hole that was dug out for him was getting deeper and deeper.

"Yeah," You say seeming unbothered. Snow looked like he was about to be sick. His jaw was clenched as he kept staring at you. "I–would have been gentler–if I had known," He finally said.

You slowly got off the desk, the middle of your legs aching as you put your clothes back on as Coryo watches. "I didn't really want you to be," He pressed his lips together.

"Fuck I'm not going to be able to see her," He muttered as his hands once again lock around his neck as your heart dropped upon hearing what he said. You smile bitterly to yourself. You got what you wanted. You found out what he was doing here. You'd grieve over the cost later.

Maybe he couldn't change course now. It was set. Obsessive. Possessive. You had him; possibly forever, if you didn't decide to use your cunningness. You had him. For whatever reason, you had him. Now you had to find a way to take advantage of it.

A slip of words to your father and he could be transferred to another district, away from her, or even hanged for taking your -virginity. You knew you had him wrapped around your finger now. And by the way Coriolanus stared at you and swallowed hard, horror in his eyes, he knew it too.

[multifandomgirl08]

Mini Verstappen

Dad!Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Summary: You get a small surprise the first time you visit Max's apartment

Warning(s): Slight angst (if you squint), child from a past relationship (Max), reader coming to terms with her feelings (on screen), ambiguous ending

A/N: I may add more to this in the future. Right now it's just a stand-alone.

Words: 1.3k

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

From the moment you met Max, you knew that he was complicated. From his busy schedule, to the people he surrounded himself with when it came to his job. You knew it would be hard to keep up with a guy like him. But you had gotten the greatest shock of your life when you had showed up at Max’s Monaco apartment.

Max knew that you were going to be visiting him, he was the one who invited you to stay with him. And given that you had been doing long distance for about 8 months it only recently seemed like things were turning serious. Max had been very secretive about his apartment, he never invited you over when you had initially met him, and given that you were doing long distance, you only got to talk to him in the morning your time.

You had knocked on his door before he opened it to see him holding a toddler. Your hand dropped from your luggage. This was the last thing you were expecting. “Hey.” He muttered.

“Hi.” You said back. It was all you really could say looking at the child sleeping on Max’s shoulder.

“You should come inside.” He pushed the door open with his free hand. You could hear the light curse in Dutch that he let out under his breath.

As you made your way into Max’s penthouse, you started to internally connect all of the dots. This was why he normally answered you only at night, this was why all of his social media accounts only had work-related things posted on them aside from the few sporadic pictures of his family.

You set your bags by the door, turning to Max to see him place the child on the couch before covering him with a blanket with little F1 cars making up the pattern.

“I normally don’t do this,” He said, his accent coming through.

You furrowed your brows together in question. “Do what?”

Max looked at the couch as if he was pointing to the child. “I don’t normally introduce people that I don’t work with to my son.”

You honestly just felt awkward standing there. You had only really been on a number of dates with Max that weren’t phone calls. You traveled often enough for work that you got to see each other a few days every month or so, but it seemed like things were going rather well between you, you hadn’t expected this however.

“Normally, the women that I start to see don’t last more than 3 or 4 months, then they start to expect things. Getting invited to races and being invited to my apartment.” He offered up. That was maybe one of the reasons why you were here, you never pressured Max into inviting you over. You never asked him for more than he was willing to give.

Max moved to sit on the couch brushing his hair to one side like he couldn’t help but fumble with something given how strange this whole thing was for both of you.

“I’ve never gotten this far with someone since I’ve had him in my life.” It made sense why. He didn’t want someone around his son only for them to leave soon after, not a lot of people could handle taking care of a child as well as being in a relationship with their parent so early on.

“How long have you had him?” You asked wondering how long Max had been a part of his son's life.

“Almost 2 years. My last long-term girlfriend ended up pregnant. At first, she was going to keep him. She gave him up at the last second. She contacted my agent since we ended things not long before she found out.” He seemed to be answering in short sentences, almost as if he was afraid that his English couldn’t keep up with him.

Max was giving you a lot of information, probably because the only people he really got to talk to about this were the guys on the grid - guys who although they were around Max’s age didn’t have a child to take care of by themselves.

You couldn’t help but walk closer, almost dragging your feet but didn’t want to wake the little boy up by doing so. He looked like Max, like he was his little copy, down to the wide smile and the slight quiver in his brow as he slept. You couldn’t help but lightly smile seeing the little boy fist the blanket in his small grip.

You moved to sit next to him waiting to see if he’d say anything else. He didn’t, he just stroked the little boy’s hair away from his forehead. You looked to Max to see his blue eyes turn stormy like he was waiting for you to leave him alone with his son.

Was he waiting for you to run?

“I’m not leaving Max.” You said.

Any other person may have run, but Max having a son from a previous relationship although a little like a wake-up call didn’t make you want to run. It just made you more aware of how serious this would be. It wouldn’t just be the two of you, there was also someone else to consider.

You saw him drop his head into his hands, seeing his shoulders shake as you heard the unmistakable sounds of him sobbing. You hadn’t seen Max cry before. He was just one of those people who knew how to keep his emotions in check. It probably had to do with all the time he spent in front of reporters. He only really let go when it was the two of you, he was all smiles. His eyes would squint when he smiled wide at you, you loved looking at him when he smiled at you over candlelight. His shoulders were relaxed, and he couldn’t stop smiling at you. That was how you knew that he was really happy.

Max didn’t look like that now, his back was stiff. He was hunched over in a way that could possibly hurt his back if he kept it up. This just showed you how uncomfortable he was in the situation.

“You’re the only one who’s stayed long enough to meet him.” He sputtered out.

Hearing that just made your stomach turn uncomfortably.

You laid your head against his shoulder wanting to say something to comfort him, but thought it would be better just to stay there with him.

“He looks like you.” You muttered.

You could feel Max’s shoulders shake again, not sure if he was still crying.

“Victoria said the same thing the first time she saw him.” He said clearly. 

You had only met Max’s sister a few times before. She seemed to like you from the conversations that you had.

“I understand why you waited to tell me about him.” You would like to find out his name, instead of referring to him as Max’s son.

“I didn’t want to drop it on you, I just didn’t know how…” Max’s eyes shifted once again to the sleeping boy.

“Well, I am a little bit shocked, and this wasn’t what I was expecting when you invited me to come spend the week with you but I’m up for it,” Max telling you he had a son wasn’t a part of your plans, however, given that you had almost been together a year. It felt nice that he was finally letting you into his world a little more.

He looked up at you, and you could see that he was shocked. His face was completely slacked, his plump lips open. His eyes were still red from crying but could see that they were getting clearer.

“His name’s Nico,” Max offered up.

You felt really tempted to reach over and move Nico’s hair from his eyes but instead just dropped your hand to Max’s lap and whispered against his cheek, “It suits him. Nico Verstappen.”

He looked at you like he wanted to tell you something, instead he just reached for your hand. Clasping them together in his grip he said, "Thank you, for not leaving."

[juniefruit]

☆ Caught in a Web ☆

☆ Spiderman! Jisung x fem! reader 18+

☆ Summary: Peter Jisung Han lived a double life. One, as your best friend since first grade. Second, as New York's one-and-only Spider-Man. For the past few years, his life has been... well, complicated. It only gets more complicated when you see something you weren't supposed to which, surprisingly, had some pleasurable consequences.

☆ Warnings: Kind of silly, monster encounter, friends to lovers, mutual pining, ji and reader are in college, piv, making out, fast progression, for mature audiences ONLY. MDNI.

☆ Word Count: 3.3k

☆ Notes: this has been a wip for soo long I thought about scrapping it. Posting it now to just finally get it out of my drafts. Couldn't decide on whether to keep the smut or not. But hey it's here so: smut readers, enjoy!

Police sirens.

Cars honking. Incessantly. 

Subway cars screeching to a halt under your feet.

Skyscrapers towering above the crown of your head. 

That was New York. Your humble city, the one that never sleeps. You know who also doesn’t sleep? Jisung. Your best friend you met your first year of Uni. Attached at the hip, you could probably complete each other’s sentences– if the other would ever stop talking. 

University was its own battle, but having Jisung around made things that much easier. He lived in the apartment complex across the street, and sometimes you’d see the lights on in his window way past reasonable hours. But his skin was flawless nonetheless- not a dark circle in sight, not even on bad days. You could go on and on about him, his perfect hair, warm eyes, bubbly laugh. You would gush about him to your best friend- but you can’t, because he is that friend. So, you’re stuck screaming into your pillow from his astronomical charms. 

The news anchor’s voice cuts through the air, the TV against your wall flashing with another breaking news headline. When your eyes scan the title, you grin. Spider-man saves dozens in East Manhattan, it reads. With a sparkle in your eyes, you phone Jisung. He never picks up anyway. But you couldn’t stay mad at him, no– not when he flashes you a lopsided smile and promises to buy you dinner as an apology. 

7:53p.m:

You: Yo r u seeing this?? Spiderman’s on the east side!!

Missed Call

Missed Call

Missed Call

You wouldn’t call yourself a Spiderman fanatic– you just give credit where credit’s due. Try telling that to Jisung– In reality, you were enthralled with the masked man. He was just so cool and personable. He swung so gracefully through the city, catching everything from petty criminals to monsters even your nightmares couldn’t conjure up. You could see the outline of all his hard work under that skin-tight exo-suit, too. He handled news reporters like a champ- always knew what to say and how to leave you breathless. Until he swung off into a dark alley, until the next time his presence was needed. 

You had given up on calling Jisung, knowing he was probably gaming or sleeping and couldn’t reach his phone. It was only until the news had moved on to the next headline that you felt the buzz of your phone, which you threw onto the other side of your bed in annoyance. Of course you picked up.

“Hey, y/n! Wanna tell me all about it?” Jisung spoke, almost too enthusiastic for how out of breath he was.

“Uh, yeah! Did you see that spin kick he did? It was mid-air too! And he totally demolished that one—” Jisung zoned you out, back against the brick wall, hand gripping his mask. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple as he caught his breath, silently. “Where even are you?” Your voice raised in annoyance. “And out of breath too?” Jisung looses a breathy laugh. 

“Just went out on a run, cutie. Don’t you worry, I’ll be back soon.” 

You don’t sound too convinced. “Okay… Just don’t get mugged.”

“I’ll try. Still on for lunch tomorrow?” Your heart skips a beat for no particular reason. You agreed and said your goodbyes, but you didn’t sleep until you saw the lights turn on in Jisung’s apartment. The next morning, the crisp air had a slight chill to it, indicating the beginning of fall. Maybe you were imagining it, but everything had that autumn vibe to it. The streets weren’t overly crowded yet, as you waited in line at the coffee shop on the corner. Class was starting in a few minutes. 

“y/n, wait up!” You recognized Jisung’s voice from behind you. He had a scarf wrapped around his neck and shoulders in a warm brown color that suited him well. “Walk with me?” You nodded, sipping your warm drink. It was too early for this, you thought. You enjoyed the comfortable silence, and so did he. Class was okay… But it was always better when Jisung cracked a joke or two about that one kid who always raised his hand, or the typo in the professor’s slideshow. The day trudged along, until you were back in your brick wall apartment, Jisung splayed across your bed while you sat crisscrossed on your side. Occasionally, you mindlessly glanced over at the various band posters on your walls, or the fairy lights above your desk.

“Do you ever think we’ve walked past spiderman, not knowing it was him?” You spoke whatever came to mind. 

“Uh, I don’t know, probably.” Jisung put on his best unamused voice. 

“I hope he’s hot.” You sigh, dreamily. He chokes on air. “What?” You ask, turning to him, faking annoyance.

“That’d be great, yeah.” He laughed at the absurdity of the situation. 

“I mean, look at him! He’s got sooo many muscles!” You gesture to the TV, going through the daily Spiderman-appreciation segment. Jisung rolled his eyes. He really didn’t get the hype. All he wanted was to stop these dumb monsters and go on with his day. Maybe if the news didn’t blow him up so much, he would’ve told you already. But he can’t risk it. 

“I’ve got muscles too, you know.” He didn’t want you to like Spiderman, he wanted you to like him. God forbid he gets a little jealous sometimes, even if he is technically getting jealous of himself. 

“Yeah, but are you spiderman?” You ask, jokingly. 

“Uh-” Jisung stammers. He was never good with confrontation. His heart was beating too fast and his ears were getting red. Breathing was getting difficult.

“That’s what I thought.” You fold your arms in victory. 

“Goodnight, y/n.” Jisung got up from the bed in a hurry, shuffling over to where his shoes were by the door.

“Eh? Did I say something? Whatever it was, I’m really sorry-!” The sound of the door slamming cut you off. You raced over to your bedroom window, and waited until you saw the lights in his apartment turn on. It might’ve been stupid, but you tore a piece of paper out of your notebook, and in big sharpie ink, wrote, ‘sorry :(‘ and taped it to your window before getting ready for bed. 

The next morning, Jisung had to blow off some steam. Quite the overthinker, he was. He didn’t see your message posted on your window, practically jumping into his suit and pulling his mask on, the rising sun set a golden glow across his form as he swung between stone brick walls and fancy office building glass. Leaves were turning various hues of red, orange and yellow. They fell like confetti from the tree branches that lined the streets. Screw my morning class, he thought, he could always pull an all-nighter to catch up. His superhuman energy meant he rarely felt tired. In the corner of his vision, the neighborhood coffee shop caught his eye. He could really go for a bagel. It’s gonna be one hell of a morning for the people in there, he thought as he swung down, and opened the door with a chime. Walking up to the counter clad in his suit and mask, the barista was too busy writing on a cup to acknowledge him, but he could hear the hushed whispers and surprised gasps of the cafe patrons. 

“Welcome in, what can I get for you?” “Lemme get uhh-” 

Jisung got that sudden feeling across his skin, like a wave of electricity. Something was about to happen. 

BANG! 

A loud explosion right outside, some of the window panes cracked. The ground shook in a deep rumble. So much for that bagel. Sprinting outside, A large crack in the asphalt was billowing steam. A little farther down, A heavy creature made of stone and mud was stomping down the road, laughing maniacally. Attempting an ambush, Spiderman launched a web at its back. Almost instantly the web string got stuck in the mud and was enveloped by the creature. Oh. At that, the monster stopped trodding, and slowly turned around. It had a face of assorted rough stones, kind of like a snowman. Jisung sighed. Alright, plan B. 

“Oh my god!” You shrieked at the TV from your quaint living room, watching the fight go down on the live news broadcast. Sat in your comfy pajamas, you had decided to take today easy. Until now. Spiderman was leaping across building walls, launching strike on strike onto the monster. The cameraman was shaky, but you didn’t seem to care, as your eyes trailed every movement of spiderman’s agile maneuvers. All of a sudden you gasped, an idea striking you faster than a lightning bolt. If I leave now, I might have enough time to get there and meet spiderman in person! Frantically running to your closet, you changed into something lightweight and casual. Booking it down the apartment stairs and onto your bike, you recognized the location of the fight because that’s where you and Jisung would always get bagels after your morning class. The thought made you smile. Approaching the scene, you could hear the buzz of commotion. Right as you rounded the corner, you saw it: masses of mud and stone flying everywhere, shattering windows and denting cars. Steam was rolling off the creature, as if the sun was making it dry up. You abandoned your bike and quietly walked closer. They haven’t noticed you yet. That is, until one hit from the creature caught Jisung off guard and he tumbled onto the cement sidewalk, grunting on impact. You gasped in shock, covering your mouth. His mask scraped against the cement, ripping on the side, exposing his left side completely. The more he tried to fix it, the worse it got, until he angrily shoved the mask off with an annoyed look on his face. 

“Happy now?!” He shouted. There were little scapes littering his cheeks from the rubble. The monster grumbled in response. 

“Jisung?” His head whipped around at the sound of your confused voice. 

“Y/n-” Oh shit. Oh, this was bad. Of all people, he thought. “Y/n, get back-!” His voice was strained as the monster launched another attack. He jumped out of the way, closer to you. “Just- run, please!” He exclaimed. You stood there, staring at eachother for a few seconds to confirm that that was really him and that you were really you. Reluctantly, you stepped back before Jisung ran after the monster. Your knees felt weak and you could feel your lungs running out of oxygen. You heard fire truck sirens quickly approaching, and the rest was a blur. 

When you woke, the first thing your brain acknowledged was the plush feeling of your mattress under your fingertips. It didn’t make sense, but it was comfortable. Slowly opening your eyes, you took a deep breath in, mumbling something incoherent. The blinds in the window were only half closed, letting in the warm glow of the setting sun. Confused and tired, you tried picking yourself up, until a voice to your right interrupted your movement.

“Hey, take it easy,” Instead of making you feel giddy like it usually does, Jisung’s gentle voice made something like anxiety swirl in the pit of your stomach. He got up from his seat by your desk, walking over to lean closer. 

“Do you feel okay?” He asked, eyes cautious. You must have been out for a few hours, because the scratches on his face were cleaned up, and his hair was neatly done. His silver drop earrings dangled in the light. 

“No.” The anger was strating to set in. 

“Alright.” He figured it was better for him to be quiet right now.

“Care to explain?” Or not, Jisung thought. Your voice was slightly hoarse, not an ounce of humor in the tone.

“I’m, uh, I’m… Spiderman?” He shrugged his shoulders and smiled nervously. 

“You’re joking,” You don’t sound amused.

“You saw me yourself! You weren’t supposed to, but you did!” His hands waved in the air to defend himself. You groaned, running a hand along your face.

“Do you even know how embarrassing this is for me? I wanna die.” You whined in annoyance. All the times thirsting over him, screaming over him, and he means to tell you they're the same person? You’ve had a crush on two people, but it’s actually one? “You probably think I’m a major loser.” He loosed a breathless laugh at your confession. 

“You know I would never think that.” He spoke with certainty. And you believed him. Mostly. “You’re my best friend. I think you’re, like, the coolest person ever. And hey, I won't lie, you also give me the biggest ego boost when you talk about how much you loooove Spiderman’s muscles.” 

“Shut up!!” You swatted him away, but he didn’t budge. He snickered at your annoyed state. Teasingly, he pushed even closer, making you giggle. Your arms wrestled against his, until he tumbled onto the bed with you. Reluctantly, he let you catch your breath, laying shoulder to shoulder.

“You’re still my best friend, right?” You confessed. Truth be told, this was a huge reveal on Jisung's part. If he had to cut you off for your sake, it wouldn’t be easy, but you’d manage. You understood how troubling life in the spotlight is. He turned towards you, and you could almost feel his breath on your skin. It sent goosebumps up your spine. 

“Yeah, I am. Of course I am.” His voice was just above a whisper, but he spoke with confidence.

“What if the news thinks I’m your girlfriend? You know how they are,” You rolled your eyes at the melodramatic tendencies of American news media. 

“Would that… be so bad?” Jisung braced himself for the worst. He honestly wasn’t prepared for this, but if not now, when? You knew everything about him. Well, you do now. You were the one person he could truly let his guard down around and really be himself. You knew about all his favorite bands, his order at the corner shop, or even the route he takes to class that specifically avoids the news broadcasting station. He liked you. Like, liked you. There was really no other word for it. 

“I’ll never let anything happen to you, y/n. I’ll make sure of it.” 

He looked down at you with a wide, thoughtful gaze. His heart was racing. You finally let your brain catch up to your heart when you leaned in closer. He let you do so, but not moving an inch himself. Frankly, he was petrified. You carefully pressed your lips against his, measuring his reaction. It was only when you pulled away, your eyes scanning his face hesitantly, that he was thrown back down to earth from the euphoria that was you. He chased your lips as his brows furrowed in concentration, his warm palms coming up to cup your cheeks. You let out a hum in surprise, arching into him to feel his upper body against yours. The front of his body felt firm and defined even over the fuzzy sweater.

Jisung quickly became addicted to your body. He moved one palm lower, swiping over your neck and moving your hair out of the way in the process. He moved down; down your shoulder and to your waist. There, he squeezed you, trying to feel you through the barrier that was your sweater. Moving further down and stilling at your hip, he felt the edge of your jeans, wiggling his hand under the sweater to feel your soft lower waist. He let out a heavy exhale at the touch, and he didn’t even realize how big the tent in his jeans had gotten until you squirmed against him. He shifted your position so you were on your back against the bed, his hands exploring your body until they came to rest right under your bra. Jisung sprawled out above you, his sweater clung to his broad shoulders as he tried to regain his breath for the few short seconds his mouth wasn’t on yours. 

“Still wanna see Spiderman’s muscles?” He grinned above you, out of breath. The desire in his eyes was unmistakeable, but with a hint of playfulness too.  

“You’re insufferable.” You huffed, grabbing handfuls of the fluffy blue sweater and pulling it up and off his head. The planes of his chest overwhelmed your vision, his smooth skin driving you wild. His biceps bulged as he pulled your shirt off, his eyes drinking in your figure, scanning up and down. Impatiently, his fingers thread themselves into the belt loops of your jeans, tugging them down. You did the same to him. His hips were grinding against you in waves, like he couldn’t control himself. Your legs spread as far as possible to hold him closer. Jisung could feel the slow, aching throb spread through his dick, hissing through a clenched jaw. Your core felt his bulge, wetness sticking to your folds almost uncomfortably. Your hand glided against your hip until it reached the gusset of your panties to pull them to the side, holding them there. Pushing his boxers down, he finally slid his length through your lower lips, catching against your clit. One of his hands was balanced against your hip, thumb drawing circles against the skin. He leaned down to press a passionate kiss to your lips before his face moved to the side of your face, his deep breaths right by your ear. Pushing into your hole, he took his time adjusting. He moved slowly, shoulders shaking from the anticipation, whining through sealed lips. 

“Sungie, you don’t have to wait-” You whined, squirming slightly. 

“Shh, just let me have this moment,” He comforted you with a hand on your shoulder, his eyes closing from pleasure- Forcing himself to stay still despite the primal itch to just get on with it. The thrum of anticipation felt shockingly good. After a few moments pass, he drags the heavy weight of his cock out of your walls only to sensually thrust back in. Then, it was like the floodgates opened. Jisung gasped, starting to thrust in and out, his pace gradually speeding up. His hips rhythmically lift upwards to hit your lower belly, thighs slapping against your spread cheeks. Your moans kept him grounded, otherwise he feared he would lose himself in euphoria. His voice grew raspy the longer he groaned and moaned. His pace didn’t falter, even while your arms snaked up to wrap around his shoulders, bringing him closer. Your fingers wrapped around that little silver chain he always wears and tugged lightly. His dick reached deeper as he pressed himself against you, body hitting yours in all the right places. Your thighs lifted up to press against his outer hips, your walls squeezing with each push of pleasure from him. 

“I’m, ah, close y/n-”. He hummed, lips pressed against the column of your neck. When your core squeezed around him, he whimpered at the feeling of his impending release.

“You can let go Sungie,” Your palm reassuringly rubbed against his broad back, feeling up the hard working muscles at the same time. His sounds grew higher in pitch until he eventually snapped, his pleasure triggering yours like a domino. For what seemed like hours, the only thing you could perceive was Jisung’s heaving form above you, and the climbing steps of your orgasm that finally crashed down in one fell swoop. Cum and slick gushed out and coated your joined bodies as you caught your breaths. With a hum, you looked over Jisung’s shoulder to realize the muted TV was still on the local news channel. He gave you a short kiss to your spit slicked lips before rolling to the side.

“Jisung?”

“Yeah?”

“Your face is all over the news.”

“Oh shit.”

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Warning: Everything I post is 100% my original writing & thoughts. This also includes the moodboards at the beginning, that I create. Please do not plagiarize or copy. Tag for inspiration or add-ons. Reblogs are appreciated! <3

[improbable-outset]

I hath a steamy scientist Miguel suggestion

Imagine he’s working on an aphrodisiac and is being as careful as he possibly can be. However he didn’t consider how his spider biology makes him immune in certain doses. So he keeps the cap on the bottle off for just a few moments. Enough for you to walk in and immediately get a whiff.

But you don’t notice at first and take it as some horniness, however the drug comes in waves. And as Miguel goes in to hug you. You can help but hump him. The rest you decide :3

I love this idea omg- I know I posted saying I was gonna post this on Friday but I got too impatient lol

📄 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎3 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.6k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Wife!Reader, Aphrodisiac influences, dry humping, innuendos. Reader just being extra horny lmao

𝐀/𝐍: You know, in my two and a half years of writing smut, I’ve only written a dry humping fic once (forest sex lmao a clusterfuck bc I stepped out of my comfort zone for that one) so it’s not the best 😭 but I guess practice makes progress

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It’s a routine for you to come into Miguel’s lab every once in a while, but this time you feel a strong sense of arousal out of nowhere

You could see him through the big glass window that offered a wide view of his lab’s interior. He had his back facing you, perched on the swivel chair, but you noticed him tinkering with some test tubes on the bench in front of him.

Nothing new; he would always be working on something whenever you came here. He still hadn’t noticed you were just a few feet away from him, too engrossed in whatever it was he was working on.

You stepped towards the doors, clutching the paper bag in your hand with food you were planning to share with him. The lab doors opened with a hydraulic hiss, finally catching Miguel’s attention.

He craned his neck towards your direction. He held a hard gaze, obviously annoyed with whoever just barged into his lab, but that immediately morphed into a tender smile once he saw it was you.

As you stepped further into his lab, the sterile smell got stronger— a scent you were all too familiar with. But this time there was another faint underlying scent that you couldn’t fully capture.

It tingled your senses but you brushed it off as just another compound he was probably synthesising. Again, nothing new.

“Hey you…” he said, his voice rich like honey.

He peeled off his latex gloves and stood up from his chair abruptly in jubilant, the swivel chair squeaked from the sudden absence of his weight.

Your lips tugged up in a shy smile. “Hey there stranger,”

He had his lab coat on that shrouded the digital spider suit underneath. A testament of his dual life as a superhero and a scientist.

You’ve always seen him like this whenever you would visit him on the clock, but for some reason as he stepped closer towards you with long strides, you felt your heart rate increase and a sudden heat rushing to your core.

“Sorry about the mess, I didn’t expect you to come so early,” he finished his sentence by dumping the gloves in a nearby bin.

Your senses were tingling more prominently now and the new scent you smelt earlier was getting more apparent. There was a sudden alluring shift in the air and you couldn’t tell if it was the smell that was getting to your head or your husband's sudden accelerated sex appeal. Either way you could feel your mind slowly turn into mush.

“Are those for me?” Miguel asked, pointing to the bag. His question quickly forced you back into the present, away from your chain of thoughts.

You nodded quickly, too afraid to open your mouth. Instead you thrust your hand out with the bag for him to take.

He took the bag from you and peeked inside. “Tres leches cake?”

You could feel your heart almost leap out of your chest the way his face lit up. A sight you would forever burn into your psyche. He placed the bag down on the nearest bench and cupped your cheeks.

The coldness of the platinum from the wedding band brushed against your flushed skin as he held your face in his hands. His touches felt like fire to you, making you jolt ever so slightly.

“You're really spoiling me here, mi alma. Really helping me forget about how terrible today was going,” he uttered, slowly leaning his face closer to yours.

His words would’ve tugged your heartstrings but right now, you couldn’t fully focus on what he was saying. The tingling feeling was too strong for you to ignore now, and his gaze he had on you wasn’t helping either.

He kissed your lips, soft and tender, yet you felt like you were going to combust. Those few seconds his lips were on yours felt like a lifetime before he pulled away, but his broad arms now enveloped around your waist, keeping you in his warmth.

The close proximity between the two of you was making you dizzy. You were hyper aware of how his body was pressed against yours, and you could almost feel your clit brush over his crotch.

If you were to grind your hips right now, you could probably rub the sensitive bud just right.

You really didn’t want to ruin a sweet moment. He was just showing his appreciation to you but you couldn’t help yourself from rolling your hips against his crotch just once.

You weren’t surprised when you got no response. He probably just saw it as a mishap. Reluctantly, you did it again, a little rougher this time.

It definitely didn’t go unnoticed by him now because you heard a stifled groan against your neck. He pulled his face away just enough so you could see him.

“Mig…” you whispered. His eyes were searching yours, trying to figure out what was going through your head. If only he knew.

There were several reasons why this wasn’t the best time to be doing this, in his workplace more specifically, but your mind was too hazy to even come up with one.

Your senses were thrown out the window and you started to grind against his lower half, desperate for some sort of friction.

“Easy…I’m-” Miguel's words were cut off when you felt a sudden jab between his legs. He was getting aroused just as you were. You angled yourself so you had better access to his hips, with your arms wrapped around his neck. His hardened dick gave the perfect pressure you needed.

“So, is this what you wanted? You missed me this much, hm?” The words escaped in a breathy tone, and you could see his fangs emerging from his canine as he opened his mouth to talk. You could sense the underlying teasing in his voice that had your wetness pool your panties.

You didn’t know where this sudden urge came from. You were actually fully intending on spending this time sharing the cake you made. But the euphoria was coming in strong waves and you couldn’t resist anymore.

Your clit was starting to throb as you felt his dick grind against your clothed cunt. Even if he only had a digital suit on that could easily disappear with a few taps of his watch, it still felt painfully restricted.

Your walls were clutching onto nothing, desperate to feel him inside you and reach every crevice.

You didn’t expect him to start grinding his hips onto you too. You had to bite back your desperate moan from the sudden shift in dynamics. The way he was rubbing on you made your panties press onto your slick folds as more of your wetness was spilling out of your cunt.

Your arms reached to his waist to pull his hips further against yours, a desperate attempt to get more friction out of him. Your knees were about to give in and you could only just about hold yourself up. A staggered moan was heard from him before he halted suddenly.

“The window.” He managed to spatter out. Your line of vision quickly turned to where he was looking.

The window, the first thing you would see before you would come into the lab. All the moisture dried up from your mouth and it was not just from your breathless moans.

There was a momentary pause in your arousal that was quickly replaced with frustration. You were so caught up in trying to chase your high, you weren’t focusing on your surroundings.

Any Spider Person could walk past here and catch you both. The last thing you wanted was your husband, a leader that had so many people relying on him, to be caught red handed in a predicament from something you initiated.

He withdrew himself away from you, taking all the warmth with him to pull up the sleeve of his lab coat. It was an easy fix, all he had to do was tap on his watch, turning the glass opaque and giving the privacy you both needed.

Just when he was about to pull you in again, he froze. Something else was on his mind. He turned his face to his bench where he was working before you came in. You frowned from his lack of attention.

“What now?” You huffed, your torment evident in your voice. Was he going to go back to work? Did he not want you here anymore? His sudden dismissal made you feel ill with unease.

“Shock, the aphrodisiac was uncapped.” He said as he swiftly moved to the bench. You blinked, trying to process if you heard him right.

“What?”

“The aphrodisiac, it was an oversight. Explains why you were acting so…needy just now,” he placed the cap back onto the vial, the scent from earlier slowly fading away. You cocked your brow inquisitively.

“Why are you messing around with an aphrodisiac in the first place?” You didn’t think he would need a sex enhancing substance as a geneticist.

Even after he secured the cap back onto the aphrodisiac, your clit was still throbbing and you were still desperate for some sort of release.

“It’s not what it looks like. I was working on an experimental chemical compound for a project. I guess I underestimated how strong the reaction could get,” he said sheepishly, turning back to face you again.

“My God, Miguel…” you sighed. It was all making sense now. You wouldn’t be feeling this turned on without some sort of stimuli.

“But we don’t have to stop. I could pause my work for a little longer for some ‘us-time’” he said before lifting you and placing you on a clearer bench. A smirk crept on his lips and you could see the lust swirling in his eyes.

Despite the air being charged along with your flared libido, you still didn’t forget the main reason you came in here.

“What about the cake?” You gestured to the bag that was still sitting on the other end of the bench.

“The cake can wait, we might as well finish what you started without any unintended side effects,” he ended his sentence with a tap on his watch, disengaging his suit.

Precum was already leaking from the tip…

Eager and pent up.

I hope I did you justice here lol. A wise women (one of my fave fic writers) once said, your clit throbbing is your second heartbeat ;)

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @mybvalentine @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @monarchberrysblog @lazyjellyfish300 @miguelbaby @safixiovi @midnight-the-shadow-wolf @rosegnome @ghost-lantern @famouscattale @maomaimao @ultravioletrayz

𝐒𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @club-danger-zone @lauraolar14 @beckberin-xo

Made it this far? Help families in 🍉 here!! (Might as well use my platform here for something good)

[sednas]

─ TAKE YOU LIKE A DRUG I TASTE YOU ON MY TONGUE.

FT. toji fushiguro x fem!reader featuring my daddy issues

TW. dd/lg, half mean half gentle!toji, sub!reader, daddy issues, thigh riding, oral (m receiving), slight dumbification, praise and degradation, public s!x (at first), creampie, p!ssy slapping (once), 2k+ words

♡♡♡. sorry for the potential typos/ugly sentences, it's been a long day but i really wanted to post this

you met toji during the first semester of college, when your parents moved out to get closer to the place where you were studying.

it all started out innocent. quick glances, lingering hands on the skin, a few smirks and playful winks, smalltalk about college and work...

he was tall, dark hair, deep green eyes, a scar on the corner of his lips, big hands, broad shoulders, strong thighs...

every time you'd come back home for the weekends you expected him to finally have settled down with one of the numerous women in the neighborhood, all salivating over him.

but he stayed single, and you could fantasize about him without the annoying thought of his pretty wife sucking him off. as years went by, your crush on him got pretty obvious, you became more confident, trying to give him the hint that he could do whatever he wanted with you. but toji was blind to your signs, or at least that's what he was pretending to be.

his ignorance toward you left a bittersweet taste on your tongue, putting you as nothing more than the plain daughter of his neighbor, and you felt like fifteen again, ignored by the boy you liked.

which brings us to tonight, a few days after your graduation. you came back to your parent's place and you can't seem to sleep, sitting on the grass, you look up at the stars and think of all the things that are awaiting for you now that you're done with college. it's scary and exciting at the same time. you'll be leaving the city for your dream job soon, and there's only one regret that comes to your mind.

“beautiful night uh?” you hear a deep voice coming from the darkness of the night. speaking of the devil... it's toji, he just sat down on a chair a few meters away from you in the neighborhood's common garden, he has a drink in his hand, you can't tell what's in it but it's probably alcohol.

“I've heard that you graduated. I always knew you were a smart girl, your parents must be proud of you.” he says, his green eyes lazily resting on you.

you shrugged your shoulders, still sitting on the grass.

“my dad barely said that he was proud of me...” you laugh bitterly. why are you even talking about this? he doesn't care, he just wants to make a quick small talk.

a few seconds of silence go by... you see toji moving, patting the seat next to him. it's... unexpected, but you can't let go of such an occasion to be closer to him, and without a word you go sit down. he extends his legs with a sigh. your eyes linger on him in a not so subtle manner. he's wearing a black tank top with gray baggy sweatpants.

“your dad's just not great with words, I'm sure he's very proud of you.”

you don't say anything, not trusting your voice right now, feeling like a lost little girl even though you're past twenties. he must surely pity you by now, and you hate it.

“do you need to hear it?”

“what do you mean?” you ask, arching an eyebrow, and you see him shift on his seat until he's facing you, your knees touching.

“alright... gimme your hands.” he says, and even though it's an order his voice is soft and reassuring. you obey, putting your hands in his. the skin of his hands is calloused, you can tell he's been working with them all of his life.

you can feel your heart beating faster and harder inside your chest, unsure of what you're going to do once he will speak. you're so close to him, of course you already had conversations with him, but this one feels too intimate, both of you alone in the darkness of the night... anything could happen.

“I'm very proud of you. you told me before that you were anxious about the future but I'm sure it will all turn out to be okay. you've got that light in your eyes, I'm not quite sure how to describe it but it's bright and I know you'll make a good use of it.” he finally says and for a few seconds you both drown in a silence where you can only hear the sound of crickets.

within a second, your lips crash into his as he lets out a surprised moan which comes out muffled, feeling your soft hands running down on his forearms, sending shivers down his spine.

“what the fuck are you doing?” he finally asks, pulling away from you. your heart stops for a second, hearing him raise his voice at you, but he unexpectedly pulls you in for another kiss, his hand snaking up behind your neck and this time you're the one moaning against his mouth.

“been wanting you for so damn long.” he mumbles as he deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips and making you feel empty brained. you clutch on his chest, heart fluttering to his words.

“re-really? I thought you didn't like me...” you can't believe what you're hearing, your body trembles slightly as toji kisses your neck and nods his head.

“how could I not like such a sweet girl like you.” he purred in a low, baritone voice, his hands slowly sliding down your waist to guide you on his lap, letting you feel how hard he is against you.

you let out a gasp when you feel him start to rock your hips on his thigh, his green eyes piercing through yours. “you think I didn't notice the way you were looking at me for all those years. how your outfits got sluttier just to have a crumble of my attention uh? just imagine how many times I've fucked myself imagining you taking my cock like the good girl I know you fucking are.”

you moan, feeling pure bliss at this revelation as his big hands keep forcing you to hump his thigh. you can feel your pussy getting dragged all the way up and down his clothed hard cock, giving you a hint of how big it is. both of you moan when your pussy lips engulf his tip through your shorts and soon enough a wet spot starts to form on his sweatpants.

“fucking hell Y/N, look at you... I don't know how I resisted fucking you for so long when your body is that perfect to play with. fuck!- but I'm done holding back, I'm gonna fucking ruin you.” he grunts, his voice still low and dominant, his fingers digging into your plump skin.

the fact that you're in the neighborhood's common garden is already long forgotten, you don't care about the whole city seeing you in this position, you've wanted this for too long. your pussy is throbbing, the soft material of his pants rubbing deliciously against your hardened clitoris, your tongue almost comes out of your mouth while toji watches your dumb expression with delight.

“gonna cum... I'm... I'm...” your whiney voice echoes through the silent night and toji bounces and flexes his thigh on purpose, taking you over the edge as he whispers praises against your ear. you come in a muffled cry, biting toji's shoulder to silence your cute moans.

toji gives you a few minutes to rest, caressing your hair and giving your thighs reassuring strokes every time he feels your body twitch on top of him. in a gentle gesture, he takes your chin in his hand to look at your face.

“let's go to my room yeah? I want to give you more.” you can only nod your head as you both leave the garden and head over to his house. the whole place is plunged in darkness and you follow him closely not to trip over anything, your arm wrapped around his own in a clingy way while he guides you to his bed.

he gets on top of you, removing your shorts and your top in a fast motion, so smoothly that you barely notice that you're now half naked under him. you suddenly feel shy under his warm gaze which devours your body and you turn your head to avoid his eyes.

“don't turn all shy now sweetheart, your body is a work of art.” he murmurs, his hot breath tickling your skin before kissing your neck. his hands travel up to your chest, playing with your tits and gently pinching your nipples.

“ahh~ please, daddy...” you whine without thinking, and toji suddenly stops what he's doing, lifting his head to look into your eyes. his pupils are dilated, his gaze darkened by lust and need. you can feel him squeeze your skin a little bit harder than before, and you whine again.

“is it true? am I your daddy?” he teases, bringing his hand close to your inner thighs, caressing them with the tip of his digits. his cock never ached to be inside someone like this, he can feel it twitch and throb inside his pants, begging to know how your little pussy feels like.

“yes, yes you are, please daddy, I need you... want you to feel good too...” you beg, your hands clutching on his chest once again, trying to remove his clothes but it's no easy task in your position and with how your body is trembling.

toji wears a boyish smirk at your words, thinking about how cute you look and sound right now. he brings his face close to yours, his lips only a few inches away from your open mouth. “yeah? do you want to make daddy feel good?” and he smiles when you nod eagerly. he stands up, gently dragging you toward the edge of the bed, letting your head suspended in the air.

“alright, you know what's coming next, don't you baby?” as an answer, you open your mouth, presenting your tongue and waiting for him. he huffs with amusement at your hunger, finally freeing his cock and sighing of relief. he taps the tip against your tongue, smearing your saliva all over it. before you can whine with impatience he pushes it right in, sliding his entire length down your throat in one smooth motion of his hips.

“god... I wonder if your pussy is as tight as your throat...” toji groans, biting his bottom lip to prevent any slutty moans to come out of him. your greedy tongue swirls around his leaking tip, and you moan whenever you feel a vein drags along the curves of your lips.

you feel light headed, with your head hanging in the air, half naked in the bed of the man you like, his balls slapping against your face. he lets out a moan, watching your tits bounce and the buldge that his cock is forming inside your throat, his eyes roll back, one more minute and he's going to cum down your throat.

he makes you choke on his cock one last time before pulling out, the action earning a disappointed whimper from you. “don't whine you baby.” he warns with a smug look on his face, manhandling once more to put you on your back.

“but I...” he hushed you by slapping your clothed cunt and tears immediately start to form in the corner of your eyes and he almost regrets what he just did, seeing your teary expression.

“it's okay baby. just be a good girl and let me do what I want with you, you're gonna like it I promise.” you nod as he massages your pussy, and once you say “yes daddy” he's a goner, tearing your panties apart, he presses his cock against your puffy clit, making you jolt under him.

he lifts your hips and enters you in one second, your wetness immediately coating his cock, making it easier for him to sink deep inside you. “good... good... how do you feel so fucking good...” toji rambles in his low voice, and it makes you spread your legs wider. you don't know when he removed his clothes but he's as naked as you now, you almost whimper at the sight, wrapping your legs around his slutty waist.

“does that feel good baby?... fuck, you look so dumb right now.” he chuckles darkly, his big hand gently slapping your cheek before holding your whole face in it. you try to get your half lidded eyes to focus on his face, with his dark hair adorning his facial features and his eyes shining with lust as his cock keeps reaching deep for that spongy spot inside you. it's too much for you to handle.

you start babbling incoherent words, all interrupted by whines as your head falls on the pillows. his bedsheets smell like him, it almost makes you feel tipsy, drunk on his strong, masculine scent. you want to stay here forever, drowned in him. “daddy, daddy...” you keep repeating, your legs quivering as he towers you, his arms caging your face.

toji smiles, kissing your cheek as his thrusts keep getting faster and faster. “you're such a good girl, taking my cock like the good little whore that you are... ah fuck-!” he curses, feeling your hands clawing at his back. he looks at your face, feeling his cock twitches at the sight.

“I'm... I'm gonna cum again...” you try to speak, your eyes rolling back as his mushroom tip pushes against your cervix, making you arch your back and see stars.

“let it all go for me Y/N, I'm here for you.” just what you needed to hear. you whimper a weak “daddy” one last time as shockwaves of pleasure run through your body, your pussy spasming and throbbing around his cock. your vision goes blank, all you can hear is the voice of toji throwing praises at you against your ear while he tries his best not to lose his mind to the feeling of you gushing all over him.

“good girl... you really do have the best pussy god damn it...” the rest of his sentence is just a gasp, his hands shaking slightly as he can feel himself getting closer and closer to his own release.

“breed me... daddy. please breed me...” you manage to plead through your hazy state and who is he to deny you when you asked so sweetly? with his hands firmly gripping your waist he cums deep inside you, releasing a string of moans that sounds like music to your ears.

you feel so full once he's done, your body still twitching under him as he finally comes down from his high, and the first thing he does is to pepper your face with kisses, sweetly humming when he feels you running your hands through his hair.

“good fucking god... I don't think I've ever been so turned on in my life...” he sighs, laughing a little and falling on his back next to you. he reaches out for your hand, kissing the back of it. it must be a dream, how are you still not waking up?...

“I really meant what I said earlier. I'm proud of you... you took that cock so well...” he laughs in a low voice when you gently hit his chest, his right arm circling around your waist to bring you closer to his body.

“no but for real... I'm proud of you, I'll give you all the love you deserve.”

jjk masterlist

[kaiser1ns]

KIKI'S CHARACTER ANALYSIS ON TAKIISHI CHIKA

BEFORE PROCEEDING TO READ i want to clarify that this is my opinion and my take on his character before we get to know more about him in the manga. i know that the way i write about him is not what he really is, and that can cause conflicts but i am trying my best! contains small spoilers ahead! anyway hope you will enjoy!

Written on August 9th 2024. Posted on August 10th 2024. Edited on

Takiishi Chika is expressive only when he wants to be, but most of the time he is with that bored expression making it look like he is some kind of robot or haunted doll. As already known his face changes when he feels anger or when he fights with someone at his level or higher, it's when he gets happy and excited, because there is someone who will not bore him and keep up with the adrenaline.

He will not listen to anyone in whom he finds no interest. People can talk to him, but he will pay no attention to them. He will listen, catch a sentence here and there, and when someone mentions something that intrudes on him, he will listen without hesitation wanting to know more.

Strikes me as a type who is also very observant. Not only in a fight but when around people in a calm setting. Also intelligent, may not show it because he acts on impulse but everything is calculated.

Likes to light up fireworks when there's nothing better to do or people to fight. It's nice and something he can do on his own.

He likes to sit on the rooftop of buildings and look down on everything and everyone, either enjoying the view or the feeling of power. We again don't know why. But in Chapter 134: The Moment Longed For, when Endo Yamato receives a punch to his face because he stopped Chika's sudden charge at Umeniya, the conversation goes as such "But hey, Umemiya told us to go to the roof with him. It's been ages since we have been there. You like the roof don't you?" and then Chika freezes agreeing with what Edno said "Right. That's true." Then he walks past Umemiya telling him to go there, leaving everyone behind.

The question here is why Chika likes roofs so much, and what exactly does Furin's rooftop that Umemiya wants to show him? My mind directly goes to the garden. Is it to see one's growth despite its roots? What if Chika used to take care of the garden too? I know, it's a laughable idea and seems impossible but what if? So many questions, but not many answers. This is normal, seeing as how their battle is just beginning and the characters' internal and external conflicts are yet to emerge.

As stated, he is violent and short-tempered, he would never let anyone or anything block him from doing what he wants, it doesn't matter if it was a friend or an enemy. He is capable of destroying everything in his path. But personally, I think he won't hit someone if there's no reason to or if he isn't provoked in some way.

He doesn't care about the others, he only cares for himself and his enjoyment.

Of course, he knows many people and many people know him. But he isn't close with anyone besides Endo Yamato, even if they are childhood friends and their friendship is weird, Chika just lets Endo do whatever he wants — buy him clothes, paint his nails, find him opponents. He probably never asked for him to do such things but Chika knows how devoted the tattooed fool is to him, and so he played along. That leads me to a theory that he was spoiled as a child, that's why he doesn't question Endo, because he is used to getting what he wants and if something goes in his way, he will eliminate it.

Endo stated that Takiishi "began to fizzle out when he left Furin" meaning he was slowly losing his spark and maybe fighting out of boredom and not excitement. Chika is "The Strongest Man in Furin History". Probably in his first year, there wasn't anyone worthy enough to keep up with his pace and cause that fervor to ignite his flames.

Two years later when he dropped out of Furin Highschool he became a shadow and it was a few in the school who knew the truth about him, including Umemiya, the person Chika probably wanted to fight from the start.

In Chapter 142: Revelation, we see Takiishi in Endo's memories, and he has always been so aggressive towards the world, but unfortunately, we still don't know the reason why — perhaps a family conflict that indicates him being abused as a child; himself being bullied and then turning into a bully, or he was a prodigy too doing everything before other kids his age making him develop faster and he took advantage of that. So many theories. Hope we know in the future! [this part will be edited once his backstory is out]

God complex which may also be associated with mania or a superiority complex. Someone with a god complex may exhibit no regard for the conventions and demands of society and may request special consideration or privileges. GD is linked to Narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) with a diminished ability to empathize with other people's feelings. Even tho we don't see Takiishi being 'in love' with himself, he only cares about himself, and thus I will say he is probably narcissistic but not to such an extent.

But here I think the right word which should be used is Egoist — a self-centered, selfish person or arrogantly conceited person. Egoism comes in different forms as there are several reasons as to why someone may act in their own self-interest, such as ethics or rationality. The three main types of egoism are physical egoism, ethical egoism and rational egoism.

1. Physical Egoism

This type of egoism refers to the basic, instinctual drive for self-preservation and personal survival. It is often associated with natural instincts and physical needs, such as hunger, thirst, and the avoidance of pain. Physical egoism emphasizes the inherent tendency of living beings to prioritize their own physical well-being and survival above all else. In this view, self-interest is rooted in biological imperatives.

2. Ethical Egoism

Ethical egoism is a normative theory that suggests some individuals act in their own self-interest. It is a prescriptive approach, meaning it provides guidance on how people should behave. Ethical egoism posits that morally right actions are those that maximize one's own welfare. Unlike physical egoism, which is based on natural instincts, ethical egoism is a philosophical stance arguing that self-interest should be the guiding principle of moral decision-making.

3. Rational Egoism

Rational egoism posits that it is rational for individuals to act in their own self-interest because doing so leads to the best outcomes for themselves. This form of egoism is based on the idea that reason, rather than mere instinct or moral obligation, should guide self-interested behavior. Rational egoism suggests that acting in one's own long-term interest is not only logical but also the most reasonable course of action for achieving happiness and success. It often involves considering the consequences of actions and making choices that best serve one's goals in a rational, calculated manner.

In conclusion:

Takiishi Chika is impulsive, violent, and primarily concerned with his own physical needs and desires, aligning most closely with physical egoism. He doesn't seem to consider the long-term consequences of his actions, nor does he follow a moral code that dictates acting in his self-interest in a socially constructive way, which would be characteristic of ethical or rational egoism.

The behavior could be indicative of several potential mental health conditions or personality disorders, but it's important to note that diagnosing someone, especially when a real person requires a qualified mental health professional. However, I am not a professional and I am doing this only for my entertainment in the fictional world. There are a few possibilities that might align with the characteristics of Takiishi Chika.

1. Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD):

Individuals with ASPD often exhibit a disregard for the rights of others, lack of empathy, and can be prone to aggressive, violent behavior. They may engage in fights, show little concern for the safety or feelings of others, and may be manipulative or deceitful.

2. Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD):

While not always violent, people with BPD may experience intense emotional reactions, including anger and aggression. They can also have a pattern of unstable relationships, self-harming behaviors, and fear of abandonment, which might be linked to masochistic tendencies.

3. Intermittent Explosive Disorder (IED):

This disorder is characterized by sudden, explosive outbursts of anger or violence that are disproportionate to the situation. The person might feel a sense of relief after the outburst but may also feel remorse or regret later.

4. Sadistic Personality Disorder:

Although not recognized in the DSM-5, some traits could align with what was previously considered Sadistic Personality Disorder. This involves deriving pleasure from the suffering of others, which could explain sadistic tendencies.

Chika's behaviour is explosive or volatile sadism. This type of sadism is characterized by sudden outbursts of aggression and violence, often triggered by frustration or when the person feels someone is in their way. Individuals with this type of sadism tend to lack empathy, and their violent behavior can be unpredictable and intense.

In addition, his potential sadomasochistic tendencies suggest he might derive some pleasure from both inflicting pain on others (sadism) and experiencing pain themselves (masochism). This combination can make his behavior particularly volatile, as he may be drawn to situations that allows him to express both these desires.

5. Conduct Disorder (in younger individuals):

If the individual is younger, this could be a sign of Conduct Disorder, characterized by aggressive behavior, a lack of empathy, and a disregard for rules or the rights of others. This condition in youth can sometimes progress to Antisocial Personality Disorder in adulthood.

6. Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD):

While not typically associated with overt physical violence, individuals with NPD can display aggression when their ego is threatened. They may lack empathy and be manipulative or exploitative in relationships, only caring about others when it benefits them.

7. Psychopathy:

A more severe form of ASPD, psychopathy involves a profound lack of empathy, superficial charm, and often a tendency toward manipulative and violent behavior. Sadistic tendencies may also be present.

8. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD):

Individuals with PTSD may experience anger as a response to trauma reminders or as part of the hyperarousal symptoms. Irritability and angry outbursts. Feeling constantly on edge or easily startled.

PTSD develops after exposure to a traumatic event, and anger can be a coping mechanism or reaction to perceived threats.

9. Trauma and Childhood Experiences:

Anger issues can also stem from unresolved trauma, especially if it occurred during childhood. People who have experienced abuse, neglect, or abandonment may develop anger as a defense mechanism. Difficulty trusting others, leading to anger in relationships. Feeling easily threatened or provoked. Chronic irritability or anger without a clear cause.

This is all I can think of when I did my research. Chika definitely has something traumatic happened to him or he was someone's trauma.

But there can be a scenario with him just being born like that even if love and kindness were shown to him. We will know more once Satoru Nii drops his full backstory like he did with Endo and Umemiya.

TAKIISHI CHIKA'S CHARACTER IN MY WRITING STYLE

I don't want to make him too out of character for the sake of the people who like or will like him, as I want them to have the best experience while reading any of my works that includes him.

In many of my drabbles readers will get to see him being more soft towards the female character or his girlfriend as stated in the most scenarios. He is being vulnerable towards you. It is simply the way I imagine him when he gets to like someone who catches his attention: he wants to know everything, is being possessive, is more expressive, making space in his heart only for you, though his ego and pride would no go down but instead they will go up because he has something the others don't.

As I stated earlier, he will not listen or look at anyone in whom he finds no interest. That being said, and as a cliché as it sounds, you are different, he wants to have you to either a) play with you until you break or b) learn about the way you are making him feel, because his heartbeat only rises when he fights.

When Takiishi Chika learns to love, or at least tries, he realizes that he can tolerate people who get in his way, meaning he tolerates you and is extremely important for him to see you everyday. And if his nonchalant behaviour is due to a trauma, you are his free therapy.

I saw people who think he doesn't talk much, again he does, he chose to who, how and when. Even if it's one word, sentence or a punch, he will talk.

In my opinion the way he loves is unique, everyone has their own way to express their longing for the other. He doesn't know what love is, its a new term in his vocabulary, and you teach him the ways of being soft and tender.

He is protective of you, very fond by the way you show him how to do things and he acts on instinct. If he wants a kiss, he will get one no matter what. If he wants get intimate or just to initiate a physical touch, he without thinking twice would. Takiishi Chika is not a person who waits, unless necessary, because when he wants something he will make sure to have it. If he wants you he will get you. He is the living prime of "If he wanted, he would."

But then again he has another dark, manipulative and toxic side. Again he is not good or used to expressing his emotions that well, if he wanted to hurt you, unintentionally or not, he would. I know I'm repeating myself a lot with words, but it's true. Was it with a real or non-existent person, if they wanted to, they would do anything to or for you.

This is mostly what I have to say about him, in hopes of your understanding and if you got to the end of this long post, thank you! Takiishi Chika is not that complex of a character, he is pretty easy to understand in my opinion, as long you want to do it.

But it's my profile, my own way to express myself amd how i view a certain character. I would be happy if someone wants to discuss further issues with our blazing inferno Chika <3

And as the manga will continue and more will be understood, I will give it my best to describe and write not only about Chika, but also about all the other characters. I hope this was a hopeful guide to answer questions if you even had one.

Thank you Chika nation for the support, and thank you for reading and following through my writing journey! More is yet to come (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

[theminecraftbee]

the "how to write a rec post or masterpost" post

i promised this a few days ago, so here it is: my brief guide on how to pitch yourself or someone else on tumblr to other people in such a way that they might actually click on it! this is what i've found is the most effective way to format a set of fic recs or your own masterpost will typically be, at least to me. this is meant for when you're listing multiple fics in one post, typically intending to help a reader choose one they want to read!

the biggest thing to remember is a rec post or masterpost is a tool for a potential reader. therefore, you want to include the information they need in the easiest-to-read way possible.

first off: if you are trying to list or rec more than one fic, do not use the tumblr 'link' embed function. like, you CAN, but ao3 link embeds get ugly when you have more than about one of them. instead, do an in-line link, like this! this will make a longer post much easier to read.

next, with each link, include the following information: a brief summary (it doesn't have to be the same as the summary/pitch you used for ao3, and probably shouldn't be; instead, a one or two sentence description of what the fic is about is best), the fandom it's in, a sense of the fic's length, and rating. (note that you DON'T need to include all the tags and trigger warnings--if someone is intrigued enough to read it, they'll click on the link, and from there they will see the tags and trigger warnings. this should only be enough information to get someone interested.)

finally, ESPECIALLY if it's a rec post, include at least one sentence about why someone should read it. why are you recommending it? this is different from the summary; if a summary of the fic is "joe hills gets stuck in a time loop", the sentence about why someone should read it shouldn't be "haven't you ever wanted to see joe in a time loop?"

the point of rec posts--and indeed promoing on tumblr--is that people trust word of mouth more than they trust a random summary. so give them that word of mouth! if it's a rec post, say something like "it's a fic that made me cry", or "i never thought i'd laugh so much at a fic until i read this", or "the character-voices are on point", or "i stayed up all night reading this". if it's your own master post. include something like "this might be the fic i'm the most proud of", or "this one is great if you like joe hills and enjoy tragedy", or "this one was an experiment in style". something that is NOT just further summary of the fic, but instead describes a good reason to read it!

so, for example, an entry in my own hypothetical master post might look like this:

to convey a certain brilliance, hermitcraft, T, 21k. joe hills and zombiecleo slowly, and through many death loops, drag their way out of their collapsed base to try to survive after a lunar apocalypse. this is the second hermitcraft fic i ever wrote and i wrote it before we knew how moon's big would end, inspired by super hostile; people still tell me it has some of their favorite joe characterization.

and an entry in a hypothetical rec post i might write could look like this:

the sky weighs heavy tonight by mawofthemagnetar, hermitcraft, T, 79k. an ensemble fic in which a plane being flown by keralis and zedaph crashes, and in which the world is still recovering from the scars of a deadly war. i LOVE snake's writing, and this fic was basically designed to capture me specifically; it has cool worldbuilding, body horror, PLANES, a really cool aircraft investigation plot, one of the best-executed ensemble casts in the fandom, and a fun tone! it's a fairly easy read even given it's length, too; if you haven't read it, you absolutely should.

my only remaining recommendation is that if you're writing a LONG fic rec post or a LONG masterpost, you organize it by categories. these categories can be whatever is most useful for you--by relationship tag, by fandom, by ship or not ship, by genre, etc., it's mostly just to make scanning through the post a little easier.

and hopefully this is helpful for some folks out there! if people are interested i can also do one on "how to promo my individual fic", i also have observations and opinions on that.

[kiwi-cult]

PARSELSCRIPT!!

Hi. This is mostly for the people from Discord but tadah! I'm finally making that Tumblr post I've been talking about for months.

(Warning this will probably be very chaotic)

To anyone new who sees this: me and some friends made an alphabet for Parseltongue from Harry Potter, aka Parselscript. I'll take you on a little journey to explain my process and give you some tips, should you want to start writing it.

Disclaimer: I wanted to make this script usable for the writer I made it for so it's less of an actual language and more just some characters to represent the Latin (or ‘English’) letters. Like a cipher. It is not realistic. If I made this realistic I'd have to add all sorts of things to indicate body language and smell etc and also have to figure out what sounds Parseltongue actually has etcetera etcetera. No.

Alright.

It all started when we started talking about Parselscript in a Discord server and I asked my friend Ava to visualise the script because she seemed to have a clear vision of it, so I could use it to go from there.

That's how we got this.

I think we all wanted to go with something flowery for some reason, so we did.

After this I just messed around with brushes and shapes in Procreate for a while, tweaking things and trying to make it more writeable. I ended up with something like this (still a rough draft).

It may look a bit like random squiggles at first, and it kinda was at this point. As you can see there's also a lot of added dots and lines, which can be a bit hard to remember and I see you wondering what it looks like without them.

Well here it is.

I showed this to the people I brainstormed with in Discord and we decided to go with the more complicated version because it looks better lol.

This is one of the final versions.

It says: "Hello, my name is Kiwi Cult. I made this script after reading a fanfic called Terrible, But Great written by Isalise the loml on Archive Of Our Own."

Now, to talk about some of the (boring) logistics.

It is read from left to right, top to bottom.

Every separate combination of squiggles you see above is a separate word. Every word is made up of a starting character, one or more letter characters and an ending character.

The very first character you see in the top left corner, with the three petal looking thingies, is a silent starting character that indicates the start of a sentence. Not word: sentence. The end of the character, that little circle thingy, is a comma. So, the first combination says: "Hello,".

Then, the second combination starts with a kind of hook going down and right. This is also a silent character and more meant as an interpunction, that's why you don't pronounce it. It's kind of just a way to start the word when there isn't anything special about it (aka it's not the start of a sentence, a name, an exclamation or a question. But every character is special in its own right🥲). The same kind of hook can be found at the bottom of the combination, except going up. It has the same use, basically just a way to end the word when there isn't anything special about it. Now, you might ask: why does it go right and not left?

We talked about this a while, because I wanted the direction to have some kind of meaning. We wondered about gender, tone, blah blah all kinds of complicated things but in the end I just wanted this script to be writable so I chose to have proficient writers in Parseltongue make their hooks go left and beginners have their hooks go right.

Now, you might notice that I end my words with a hook going right. That is because I don't see myself as a pro in writing in Parselscript okay? It's hard!😭💀

Now, other than the character indicating the start of a sentence, the circle, and the simple hook, there are a few other characters to start or end a combination (don't worry I'll show them all to you at the end, you won't have to use your imagination for long).

We have a character to indicate a name. Now, the rule is: name indicator over start of sentence indicator. So, if you start a sentence with a name, you'll use the symbol to indicate a name, NOT BOTH. (That's not even possible but I don't even want to see you try and butcher my child).

There is a character to indicate a sentence that would usually be followed by an exclamation mark (!), but at the start of the sentence. Then you’d end the exclamated sentence with a period.

The same goes for a question mark (?): put it at the start of a question, not the end. Again, it wouldn't even be possible to use it at the end of a combination but I DON'T EVEN WANNA SEE YOU TRY.

Finally we have a period (.), which looks a bit like a flower with four petals. You do use this one at the end of a word, and it is always followed by a start of sentence indicator or a name indicator. I know people are rejecting capitals these days in their typing but I don't wanna see it. If you start a word after a period with a hook I will find you.

If a sentence starts with a name that is also a question or exclamation you’d use the question/exclamation mark above the name indicator, otherwise it would take away a vital part of the sentence while a name can still be read even if it doesn’t have its indicator.

So, to put it all next to each other, the symbols we have are: -start of sentence indicator -name indicator -exclamation mark (!) -question mark (?) -period (.) -hook (direction depends on efficiency) -comma (,) (direction depends on efficiency)

I didn't make adjusted characters to indicate a capital letter like we do in the Latin alphabet, meaning that the only things you can kind of 'capitalise' are the start of a sentence and the start of a name.

It is also slightly phonetic. Emphasis on slightly. I made separate characters for almost all letters in the Latin alphabet, so you can just write your word normally with Parselscript characters. The only difference is that I made only one character for the 'f/v' sounds and that there is no 'c' character. If a word has a 'c' in it, you'll have to use the character for a 'k' or an 's'. Also a ‘q’ can be made with ‘k’ and ‘w’ etc.

A few examples: -character=karakter -parselscript=parselskript -crazy=krazy -science=siense

-quiz=kwuiz

I know it looks a bit confusing, but I trust you guys' ability to read context clues and figure out what someone means when you try to decipher Parselscript.

Now, for a word like 'phonetic' or 'decipher' I don't really care whether you use the separate characters for 'p' and 'h' or just the one for the 'f/v' sound. You do you.

I also don’t use any double letters because they basically sound the same and it looks ugly but if you want to use double symbols feel free.

I also made some numbers that do not look like they fit with the rest of the script but I promise you that's just because you're not used to it yet. Our own numbers don't belong with our alphabet either because we nicked them from the Arabs (I think, don't quote me on this) but we don’t notice that either.

Tadah. (Yes I know it’s out of order I told you this was gonna be chaotic af)

Other than that, feel free to ask me questions if I've forgotten anything or if you're wondering about anything. I can't guarantee that I have a good answer because I might not even have thought about it myself, but I can always try to come up with something. I am one person, I'm afraid I haven't been able to take everything about a script into consideration.

Now, without further ado; here is the key.

No, your eyes didn't deceive you: there are two versions. The first has a bit more loose squiggles than the second one. I realised that when I was writing physically, the second version was much nicer to write, so it is kind of like Simplified Parselscript. I haven't decided yet if I'm gonna put some lore behind it or not yet. But I included the og one if you're a tryhard and wanna take it on.

Now, if you're gonna start writing it yourself, here is the stroke order.

I tried to make it as clear as possible but please ask me if you're confused on anything.

Red is the starting point of the whole symbol, the arrows indicate the direction to go in, x marks the start of the small extra's.

Now, I'd also recommend writing on some type of paper with vertical lines like this if you're gonna do it physically.

You can just turn a paper with normal, horizontal lines a quarter to get vertical lines. Also, do NOT write in between the lines. They are meant to help you keep the start and ending on the same line so you don't start going into crazy directions while writing. So, start your sentence symbol or hook or whatever in the middle of the line and try to keep coming back to that vertical line after every letter. As you gain more proficiency you'll probably go straight into the next letter without going back to the line all the time but I think this is a good starting point.

I also recommend writing with a fountain pen or something else that flows well because it’s easier to write that way.

Here is another rough draft I made on physical paper to get a feel for it. As you can see this draft had a lot more different starting characters and ending characters so just ignore that. Hope this motivates you a bit or smth.

Lmk if you want me to post a video of me writing in this Parselscript.

Also please let me know if you know of someone else who's also made a Parselscript because I tried to look for it on Tumblr and Twitter etc but I couldn't find anything.

I also feel like there’s a big mistake I made that I realised the last time I worked on this script but I’ve forgotten it now so if you find out please comment or dm or anything💀

Also feel free to use in your own fic, tho a little tiny shoutout in the a/n would be nice :) I’m @/kiwi_cult on Ao3, @/slvtr_ on Wattpad, @/kiwi cult on ff.net, @/slvtr.1 on TikTok and @/.slvtr on Discord.

Credits:

@natis-balamnimaja @asterialvia and @/zee (who unfortunately left the server and I don't know the Tumblr @ of) for brainstorming with me and @isalisewrites for inspiring us and making the server we discussed this in.

Okay bye :) tell me if I forgot anything.

🥝

[bunnyreaper]

𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖘 𝔞 𝔰𝔬𝔞𝔭 𝔪𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝖕𝖙 1 — 𝖕𝖙 2 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 wc - 5.7k warnings - 18+/nsfw, dom sub dynamic, eventual romance/smut, medium burn? notes - first part of my owner!soap x pet!reader, woohoo! i already regret writing something centered around texting and calling lmao, crying!! the formatting is killing me!! anyway, also on ao3! and if you wanna send a request, pls do! ♥

Lonely girl looking for owner. 

Posting on this subreddit again was probably a mistake—but a deep-down part of you clings to the hope that this time will be the time you find someone, the time you get to go home to him. 

At least this time, you'll be better at spotting the signs right off the bat—if only you can take off the rose-tinted glasses long enough to take note.

Your inbox is flooded with the usual kinds of messages—unsolicited pictures, low-effort one-sentence wonders, and so-called doms jumping straight to the part where they call you a nasty whore with no actual consideration for the person you are. 

You're just about to give up, delete the post, and ignore all chat requests when a message arrives in your inbox. 

From: squeakycleanscot 

Subject: Lonely guy looking for girl

Hi,

Saw your post and knew I had to message. You sound like everything I'm looking for and more.

I'm a little younger than the age you put on your post, but I think I fit your other requirements. I'm 27, Scottish (yes, with the accent), and in the army, I hope that's a turn-on rather than a turn-off.

When I'm not deployed, I like cosy nights in, preferably with my love by my side. Don't mind a night at the pub either, especially if there's a Celtic match on, not that anywhere near here shows them. 

I'm looking for something longer term like you mentioned (would love to collar my girl one day, which is probably ironic considering I'm a wee bit scared of dogs.)

Happy to send a picture if you'd like :) 

Hope to hear from you soon, 

Johnny.

Johnny. 

You reread the message, turning his words over in your mind. 

Something about his message has your attention—it at least suggests he has a brain in his head and a heart capable of empathy, and that maybe he's serious. 

You begin typing your reply instantly, your fingers moving so fast you have to type and retype so many parts to rid the message of all of the overexcited mistakes.

hi johnny, 

scottish?! is it bad im already imagining how your dirty talk will sound? 

it's funny, i always wanted to join the army growing up, but it never worked out. maybe it's for the best as now i'm not immune to enjoying a hot man in uniform... which I'm assuming you are ;) 

cosy nights in are my favourite too! I'm a bit of a homebody and love being snuggled up more than anything. i have to let you know in advance that you have some stiff competition in the form of my giant teddy bear, barnaby. 

i'm looking for something longer term too, or at least not a one night kind of thing—a collar one day would be the dream &lt;;3 

if you send a picture, ill send one back, nothing sexy just yet though, if that's okay? 

have you met up with someone off here before? just curious about your experiences! 

y/n

As soon as the message is sent, the overthinking kicks in—was that too much? Is he going to think you're weird? 

You shuffle in bed, turning over between the sheets and trying to flick through other apps as you wait for a reply—otherwise, you'd just be staring at the notifications bar waiting for that silly little robot face to pop up. 

Johnny doesn't leave you waiting long, only a few minutes passing from your last message.

Maybe you'll find out sooner rather than later just how my dirty talk sounds ;) 

I tried to sneak in before I was old enough, but they caught on. Served since I was 18 though, you'll have a lot of stories ready from me if you're ever willing to listen. Not sure if the uniform is anything like you're thinking though, in my unit it's mostly just t-shirts, tac vests and trousers. 

I'll prepare my best snuggling arms for if we ever meet. You should inform Barnaby now about his replacement, mind. 

Can't not send a sexy photo though, sorry lass, all my pictures are. I'm sure you understand, lol

Haven't met anyone, had a few conversations but nothing worth pursuing, and had kind of given up until I saw your post. 

His message is the perfect mix of sexy, sweet, and sincere—and if that is the essence of the man, you know he's everything you're looking for. 

You try not to think too hard about a hot Scottish accent calling you all your favourite names or telling you exactly what to do, or even those stories he has to tell, as the idea is all too exciting. 

Reading his message, you instinctively reach out to pat Barnaby when you see he may end up replaced—hopefully the poor bear will understand when he has to vacate the bed for this sexy soldier man. 

looking forward to it. can I start putting in requests now for bedtime stories too?

i still wanna see, maybe in your sexy-not-sexy pic? 

barnaby will be devastated by the news, and you may have to give him hugs too (but not for too long, or i'll get lonely!!!)

same here, about things not going anywhere... or people turning out to be a bit scary, so you're not allowed to let me down, okay? 

Maybe the last part of the message was too much, but your heart is already soaring with unbridled hope—along with that hope comes doubt too. 

Each second waiting for a reply drags, and you take to re-reading his messages and clicking on his profile to investigate. 

It's largely empty of posts, but there are tons of comments across different communities—including his aforementioned football team, r/Scotland, and eyebleach. 

Clearly, he's a softie at heart. 

When his next message comes through, it's an Imgur link with a short message. 

Here we go, a few months old though now. Don't have anything more recent from work :) 

You take a moment or two to steady yourself before you tap the link. While you definitely feel like you and Johnny have already started to click, if he's not your type then it probably won't go anywhere... 

It's a situation you've been in before—great conversation, similar interests but no physical attraction, and back then you didn't have the heart to break it off straight away.

You tap the link and are greeted by a full-body shot of a tall, well-built man in tactical clothes. His hair is a neatly trimmed mohawk, and while his face isn't crystal clear, he's clearly fucking handsome. His biceps bulge from the gray tee stretched over his torso, his large hands are covered with gloves and grasping a gun.

Your eyes trail to his long legs, thick thighs encased in camo and strapped with various holsters. All in all, the picture is perfect. You find yourself zooming in desperately to get a better look at his face, the handsome jaw lined with stubble that you can already imagine between your legs. The whole image and every new detail has you squirming in your bed, and cheekily wishing to save the image to your phone.

holyfwucj 

holy fuck 

Like what you see? 

i need a hug from you urgently. 

now i feel shy... 

It had crossed your mind ever so slightly that Johnny may be out of your league, or that he simply may not be attracted to someone like you, which would be a complete shame. Now you've set eyes on him, you want him even more—want to kneel at those feet and stare up at his hulking figure while he tugs on a leash around your neck. 

Hopefully, just like you, he'll be smitten from the first glance. 

Scrolling through your camera roll, you decide you don't exactly love any recent photos of yourself. The ones at your last work event have you looking far too corporate, and the only image from your last night out was taking in a bathroom mirror in the local Wetherspoons—neither of which is ideal. 

You crawl out from the warmth of your sheets, kneeling on the end of the bed and posing as you point your camera in the mirror that sits across the room and captures you perfectly. Before you start snapping, you adjust your top to make sure too much isn't on display, even though it's strappy and cropped, and definitely a little bit more on the tantalising side as far as your pyjamas go. 

Hopefully, Johnny likes the pose and the outfit... and you. You can see your smiling face just to the side of your phone as you press to capture the picture—and when you return to your inbox to send the picture link, a message is waiting for you. 

I already know you're gorgeous. Don't leave me hanging, bonnie. 

okay. this is me now, all ready for bed!! 

Holy fuck yourself.

And I'm assuming that's Barnaby in the background. 

If he notices the pose, he doesn't comment on it, instead delighting your heart by commenting on Barnaby instead.

sure is! he's ready for snuggles and sleep. 

Can you do me a favour? 

That message makes your heart skip because usually when something like that is asked, it's followed with a request for nudes or something sexual—and while that is a large part of something like this, you crave the connection first, crave someone actually sticking around and getting to know you. 

depends on what it is!

Tell Barnaby to keep looking after you until I get there, yeah? 

does that mean you're coming for me?

One day, if we're both lucky.

seems promising so far, Johnny. 

Get some sleep, yeah? Maybe tomorrow night I'll give you a bell. 

The idea of this conversation ending is heart-wrenching, but at least sleep will bring you closer to that possible phone call. Hearing his voice, now that will be even more incredible. 

how do you expect me to sleep after telling me that? so mean! 

Patience, bonnie. Be good for me? 

You clench, your thighs squeezing together as arousal rushes through you. It's like he knows exactly how far to go, what buttons to press, what you're looking for.

It's the right kind of commanding, toeing the line perfectly between flirtatious and in charge. A lot of guys you've talked to have rushed it made commands too early, and sent you running. Johnny's words, be good for me? You can't help but want to behave. 

okay, but I see how this is going to be :( 

Bet you look so fucking good with a pout ;) 

now you're just being a cruel tease, Johnny... 

Sorry, I'll stop. Sleep, yeah, for me?

cuddling up to barnaby now. 

You decide to attach another picture, your eyes screwed shut and cheeks squished as you wrap yourself around the bear and cuddle up under the sheets. 

talk tomorrow?

Of course, bonnie, sweet dreams &lt;;3 

You lock your phone, your eyes feeling relieved as they adjust to the darkness. 

For a brief moment, you just clutch your phone to your chest and recall the picture Johnny had sent, how much you'd love to be wrapped up in his arms tonight. 

He's the only thing on your mind as you drift off to sleep.

-//-

Your dreams are tumultuous, starting off with a nightmare of being chased and chased until your legs give out, only for you to find salvation and safety in a stranger's arms—one who seemed vaguely familiar. 

The first thing you do when you wake is roll over to check your phone, elation overtaking you when you see a notification from Johnny already waiting there—already he's blessing you with a good morning message.

Good morning, sweet girl.

Attached under the picture is another image link, and clicking on it brings up an absolutely gorgeous picture of Johnny, lazing in bed. There's just enough light in the room for you to see the brightness of his eyes that you couldn't see before—his mohawk is mussed, and his smile is easy, drawing you in. 

He's even more handsome in this up close photo, you can only imagine what he looks like in person, right before you. 

morning Johnny <3 how did you sleep? 

Like a baby. Yourself? 

not the best, but I swear you were in my dream. 

Sorry to hear that, but oh already? What did I do? 

I mean, it was a bulky guy with a mohawk but he didn't have your name, I think it was meant to be you though. 

You recall the safety you felt in the arms of the strange figure, it was serene, and everything you hope to feel when you find the one—hopefully that's Johnny.

My dreams were shite, you didn't show up. 

i'll try harder to be there tonight!! 

Promise? 

promise. 

God, he's so fucking sweet. It's hard to imagine he's into all the things you mentioned in your initial post, at least right now. But you're all too familiar with how appearances can be deceiving—you wonder what else your sweet Scot is into. 

You peel back the covers and head out into the kitchen, flicking the kettle on mindlessly as you keep your eyes fixated on the screen—not wanting to be even a minute late to answering Johnny's texts, even though it seems there's a natural lull in the conversation. 

You return your focus to making your tea, and your thoughts don't drift from Johnny for even a moment, as you ponder ways to keep the conversation going. Admittedly, you have a million and one questions you want, but you don't want to come across too... eager? clingy? Like some serial killer fiending for information? 

It's crazy the way your heart yearns for him so soon—and it's crazy the way that you wish he feels the same as you do. You wonder how his day is going, and if he's staring at your phone waiting for your message.

With tea brewed, you set it on the coffee table and flop onto the plush couch, rushing to open the app when a new notification pops up.

What's your plan for the day? 

lazy day, binge-watching... texting you? wbu? 

I have to work for a bit, but I'll message you when I can. 

On a weekend? That's horrible, but I imagine they run a tight ship over there. 

You rush to follow up your message with something else. 

will you still be able to call tonight? 

Aye, give me your number, I'll save it! 

You send off your number and don't hear anything from Johnny for a good few hours. You pass the time watching one of your favourite shows, and trying to resist the urge to go scroll down Johnny's profile once more.  

The next time a message pops up, it's well past lunch.

Cute profile pic on whatsapp.

Johnny has clearly added your number to his contacts and spied your picture on the app. You blush thinking of him seeing you in that costume—especially after he knows what you're into.

it was Halloween, I swear!! 

You make an adorable little kitten, lass.

imagination running wild now? ;) 

Aye, but I'm a gent. 

hopefully not always...

Oh, you'll see. Talk to you tonight, kitty. 

talk to you then &lt;;3 

Now you're just itching, waiting for the hours to crawl by for Johnny's workday to end, so you can talk to him again, so you can finally hear his voice. 

What will it sound like saying your name? Whispering sweet nothings in your ears? 

The hours pass slowly until a different notification lights up your phone as you cuddle into your sheets.

Hey, it's Johnny! Just got home. 

You scramble to click on the pop-up, spying his own profile picture in the corner—tapping on it to view it closer. 

It's the Johnny you recognise, smiling wide with his arm slung around another man. He looks so ridiculously happy, probably due to the pint in his other hand. The more you look at him, the more you can't believe you're talking to this man, that he wants to talk to you. 

You quickly add him to your contacts, putting a heart next to his name, before you return to the chat and begin to type.

i'm not the only one with a cute pfp!! 

Three sheets to the wind in that picture, actually.

i can tell &lt;3

Ready to call? 

whenever you're ready!

The image of him floods your screen, the screen pulsing as it waits for you to accept. Your fingers tremble as you press the button, and you fall silent as you press the phone to your ear, nerves gripping at your throat. 

"Hi, bonnie." His voice drifts from the phone speaker, sweet like honey and warm like sunshine, with that gorgeous accent too. 

"Hi." You squeak out, silently cursing at yourself for being so nervous and seemingly unable to speak. 

A melodic laugh follows your words, amused but not cruel or mocking. "Are you nervous?" His voice is soothing, his concern and sweet nature evident. 

You cradle your burning cheek, feeling the way your blush spreads across your smiling face. "Just a little, can you blame me?" 

He's laughing again, and you hear a shuffling noise that suggests he's getting comfortable. "Don't be, I'll look after yer, I promise." 

Fuck. You could get used to hearing that. "I really like your voice." You admit, whispering into the phone with a ridiculous grin on your face. 

"I like yours too, you sound so sweet." 

You drop your voice lower, giggling mischievously. "Only sometimes." 

"That's what I like ta hear." The way Johnny's voice dips as he says that has your insides fluttering, but you can only assume he's returning the favour. His tone returns to its usual charming tone as he asks, "How was your lazy day?" 

"Well, I kind of spent a fair bit of it distracted, thinking about this important call I was going to have tonight..." 

"Oh aye, I should get off the phone so you can wait then." 

"Funny. How was yours? What do you even do day to day, anyway?" You ask, voice brimming with curiosity—there are so many things you want to ask, but you imagine his job can be secretive. 

"Lots of training, and sometimes paperwork, which is right shite." 

"Not when you don't have someone under the desk keeping you company." You laugh, taking the chance to flirt. If you were into Johnny after reading his messages, actually hearing his voice is only making your attraction soar. 

A quiet fuck can be heard, as the man on the end of the phone heaves out a breath. "I'll have ta look into getting you clearance if you keep talking like that, lass." 

"Glad to be of service, what can I say?" You find yourself in a giggle fit at your own silliness, a mix of nerves and joy at enjoying yourself so much.

"God, I love yer laugh." The deep sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten. 

The drug that is Johnny is already so intoxicating. 

"I'm so glad you can't see me blushing." 

"I'm no'." He sounds so indignant about that. "But I could listen to that laugh all day, really."

If only he could see you pout too. "Now you're just trying to make me blush more." 

He chuckles, his voice dropping dangerously flirtatious again. "Maybe I am, nothing you can do about it."

"Now I'm pouting." 

"Better not pout in front of me, lass." His suggestive tone makes you shiver. 

"Oh, why's that?" You ask, playing coy. 

"'Cause I'll just have to start kissing ya, might even nibble on those soft little lips." 

You suppress a delighted squeak, already so flustered at even the idea of a kiss. "I'm not hearing a downside." 

"No?" 

"Nope." 

"Might not be gentle with you, though." 

"Good thing that I like it rough." The words are out of you before you can reconsider, but they have exactly the effect you intend as you hear Johnny inhale sharply.

"Ach, you and yer wicked mouth." 

"You have no idea..." 

He lets out a rough exhale, his voice turning gravelly and deep. "Fuck, bonnie." 

"Hey, I'm only repaying the favour, I've been squirming desperately pretty much since I picked up the phone." 

He whistles approvingly, his voice now teasing and playfully menacing. "Just you wait til I'm really in ya head." 

"You're already making good progress." You admit.

"Oh aye?" 

You hum contentedly, eyes flickering shut for a moment. "I'll be imagining your voice as I fall asleep tonight." 

"I'll just have ta send yer voice notes to drift off to, so I can end up in your dreams again." You can almost hear the smirk in his voice. 

"Already spoiling me, too." 

Fuck, how is it this man seems to know exactly what to say? Everything that comes out of his mouth takes root in your brain and sends your thoughts running wild—it's like he's already in your head, or as if someone made him in a lab.

"I'll spoil ya every day, if you're ever mine." 

You groan in frustration, unbelieving that a stranger can be so seemingly perfect. "How are you even single, Johnny?" 

"I could ask you the same. Taking everything in me to not ask for an address right now, if I'm being honest." He huffs a laugh. 

While the idea is thrilling, you know you should have at least some sense of preservation, and shouldn't blurt out your postcode for this strange man you barely know. "I'm worth the wait, I swear." You whisper your promise. 

"I'm sure yer are. But to answer your question, my work keeps me busy a lot, and this lifestyle isn't for everyone." There's a hint of vulnerability to his voice, and you sense such a fact is a sore point in his personal life. 

In the fantasy of all of this, you suppose the reality of the situation isn't something you'd stopped to consider. Life for a man in the military was surely so different from a regular 9-5. "I'm guessing that you're away a lot?" 

"Aye, sometimes for just a few days, sometimes for months, all depends." His admission is soft, as if you can hear in his tone that he's waiting for you to bolt. 

If that's the big 'catch' when it comes to Johnny, you can breathe a sigh of relief. "Yeah, I guess you need someone strong and loyal to hold on and wait for you." 

There's a tense silence, something lingering in the air. 

"Hard to come by, I've found." 

The thought makes your stomach twist in the worst possible way. Johnny, at least on the surface, seems so worthy of love. 

You chance the question that's on the tip of your tongue, hoping Johnny doesn't mind your reckless curiosity. "Have... you been cheated on?" 

"More than once, gets less surprising over the years." He finishes with a sad laugh, as you can tell he tries to infuse humour into the whole thing. 

"That's... horrible." 

Being sent away from your home to face gunfire and warfare, all to keep the people back home safe... only to be betrayed by the people back home who love you, who are supposed to wait for you. It's a gut-wrenching thought, and your heart aches for the man.

"A few of the lads here have a similar story." 

"So the army, not for the faint of heart, and dating an army man, not for the faint of heart." You sigh, though you don't feel put off by the thought.  

"Exactly. That you then? Faint of heart?" 

"No. I mean, inside I'm clingy as hell, and I'd miss you like crazy every day until you got back..." Your emotions overtake you, as you imagine a future where you'd have to kiss the man goodbye for maybe months at a time. "But I get the feeling that what we could have would be worth the wait. Hypothetically of course." 

At that, Johnny laughs, and his light tone returns. "Don't want to get too far ahead of ourselves, aye." 

You don't want to get ahead of yourself, you know you shouldn't, but the way you and Johnny have clicked is unlike anything you've felt before. "But... I have a good feeling." 

"I do too, already dreading putting down the phone." 

"I'm not planning on it anytime soon, even if I have to be up early tomorrow." 

"So do I, alarms set for 4." 

You do not envy his lifestyle one bit.

"That's awful! I'm gonna be so cranky tomorrow, I might have to use my lunch break for a nap." You admit, preemptively yawning into your hand. 

"You one of those perpetually sleepy girls?" 

You nod, even though he can't see it. "The sleepiest." 

"Barnaby is a lucky bear, getting to cuddle up to you so much." 

You burst out laughing at the hint of envy in his words. "Are you... jealous?"

"For now, but soon the tables will turn." He faked an evil laugh, that only makes you giggle harder. 

"Oh, you think you can give better snuggles than him?" 

"Oh, I know I can, bonnie. The bear can't wrap his arms around yer, can't whisper sweet things in your ear..." His voice dips back into that seductive, teasing tone. "... Can't trail his hands down to that pretty little pussy." 

Once more, you flush with desire, every nerve alight as Johnny's words wash over you—although it seems like almost everything he says has your body reacting. "You have an interesting way of cuddling, Johnny."

"Didnae say I was actually gonna do anything once my hands got down there." 

"Well, I wouldn't be opposed." 

"When you're in my arms, you wouldn't have a choice, lass." The dark, dominant voice makes you shiver, makes your submissive instincts awaken. 

"Oh yeah?" 

He hums slowly. "Once you're mine, you leave the choices to me. Johnny knows best, yeah?" 

"Johnny knows best." You whisper breathlessly, the words coming out automatically, like they just feel right.

"Steamin' Jesus, can already tell yer gonna be the death of me." 

"Can't have that, your family won't get your death in service payout!" You laugh awkwardly, before a sense of guilt rears its head. "Sorry, grim joke." 

"I don't mind. You should hear some of the ones my Lt. comes out with, he's a right sick bastard." He chuckles.

"Never want to make light of it and hurt you, though." 

"Telling jokes makes it easier hen, you'll be wishing me dead in no time at all."  

You gasp, shocked by the prospect. "I'd never!" 

"Not even when I deny you from touching yourself for my entire deployment? Months of nothing at all?" The sick grin is evident in his voice. 

"You wouldn't, that's so mean. You're too sweet for that." 

"Aye, for now, but don't you like a little bit of meanness, if yer into men like me..." The edge to his voice and the truth to your words has you trembling. 

"Maybe..." You singsong in response, not wanting to give away just how much you liked the idea of his mean side. 

"Bonnie..." He tuts disapprovingly. "Don't play coy." 

You shudder out a breath as you squeeze your thighs together for relief. "I just don't want you to bully me too much right now, I'm already soaked." 

"Is that right?" He seems delightfully surprised by such a revelation. 

"Mhmm." 

"I'm fucking rock hard if it helps, think I have been since last night..." You hear him shuffle, and you try not to imagine what's happening on the other end of the line, or how he looks lying in bed with said hardness.

When he groans hungrily down the line, you feel yourself quake once more. "The sight of you on your fucking knees... Christ alive." 

You can't help but giggle at your unintended teasing. "It wasn't on purpose, I thought it was cute more than anything." 

"Adorable and naughty, could cum just looking at it." He huffs. 

"You're just flattering me, besides, I could say the same about your picture."

Every part of you flushes thinking of the first photo he sent, all muscle and alpha male—it's like he was the physical embodiment of dominance, and just looking at him makes you want to kneel.

"You like the military get up?" 

"Love it, more than I probably should." 

"Oh aye, bet you'd love for me to order you around?" His words are playful, but underpinned with a hint of promise. "All in due time, eh?" 

"All in due time. What's your rank, anyway?" 

"Sergeant." 

"Wait..." You take a deep breath as you consider your question. "Can I ask for your last name or is it too soon?" 

"Mactavish."

Johnny Mactavish—you should remember to give that a quick Google search later.

"Sergeant Mactavish." You test the name on your tongue, trying to imagine him at work, following and giving orders. 

"Sounds too good when you say it, bonnie." He laughs. 

"Thank you, sergeant." Your affectation of the word is entirely intentional, as you attempt to rile him up with the use of his title. 

The throaty groan that leaves him is addictive.

"What else do you like to be called?" 

"Depends on what you want to call me really, but I like... sir." 

"I like it too, will have to remember that for the future, and just torture you with sergeant in the meantime." You can't help but giggle as you flirt. 

"Oh don't worry, am keeping score." He growls playfully. "Wait til I get ma hands on you, bonnie." 

"You're keeping score?" You gasp, a heady mix of fear and arousal coursing through you almost urges you to be even more of a teasing brat.

"Aye, spanking arm at the ready." 

"My pouting lips are ready." 

"Won't be the only thing you use them lips for."

Fuck fuck fuck. Not that you hadn't thought about it already, hadn't already let your mind drift to what his cock might look like—whether it matches the size of the man—now you're definitely thinking about it. Fixated on it, craving it. 

Some cards are best kept close to your chest so early on, so you change tack and go a different direction with his flirtation. "Yeah, with you in the room, I'd probably be smiling a whole lot." 

The two of you continue to chat, you asking what you can about his work as he asks about yours, and you fill him in on the boring world you live in, which seems especially boring in comparison to taking down cartels and traveling the world.

The conversation never stops being easy, the flirtation and innuendo always right there at the tip of your tongues as you tease each other relentlessly—giving as good as you get. All night, you're practically grinding against your duvet as you get lost in Johnny's dulcet tones, and you find yourself just letting him speak for the sake of getting to hear more of his voice.

As Johnny is about to ask you more about your background, you're overcome with a harsh yawn that you desperately try to stifle. Your eyes have been shut for the last hour at least, but with the command Johnny has over your nervous system right now, it's been easy to stay awake. 

"Tired, bonnie?" He asks, voice laced with sweet concern.

"Yeah..." Your voice falls quiet, as the thought of ending the call makes your throat constrict. "But I don't wanna stop talking." 

"Me either, but av got bad news." 

You know what's coming, and you know it isn't remotely anywhere near the end of the world, despite what your heart is telling you right now. "Go on." 

"I have to go." Even he sounds sad about such an outcome. 

"It's not even that late?" The clock reads 2 am. 

"Gotta get a wee bit of sleep before I hit the gym, and then get off ta work. Don't you have work too?" 

"Work from home tomorrow, so it's not too bad. Not fair though, I wanna keep talking." You admit quietly. It's too much too soon, but you're overwhelmed, the tide of your emotions crashing over the edges.

"Tell yer what. Next time we call, we can try leaving it on while we sleep."

Your heart flips, as you almost whimper at how cute the gesture is. "Are you trying to make me fall in love with you?"

"Obviously." There's that gorgeous laugh again. "Is it working?" 

"Just a little, but that might be the lack of sleep talking, I might be going slightly insane." 

Johnny sighs, and it's clear he's battling to keep a handle on his self-control. "Rest, bonnie, I won't be able to work knowing you're not sleepin'" 

You sigh too, accepting your fate. "Okay, just for you." 

"Just want what's best for you, you need your sleep."  

Your head spins at how utterly sincere he sounds—the care in his voice after such a short amount of time serves to drive you even deeper into this infatuation. "Already?" 

"Can't turn it off, am just protective by nature, bonnie. If you were my girl, you'd have a bedtime." 

And that makes your cunt clench and your heart soar. "Johnny..." You whine.

"Yeah?" 

You hesitate to say what you want to say next, but everything within you is calling out for him, desperate to be in his arms. "Don't make me wait too long to meet you, please." 

His laughter is sweet, conveying a sense of understanding more than anything. "I'll try ma best, supposed to be off on Friday." 

"5 whole days."

"Sure you don't wanna wait a bit longer?" 

You shake your head, mumbling a sound to convey your feelings. "Feels right, don't know how to describe it... do you feel it too?" 

Johnny takes a deep breath, his voice shaking slightly as he speaks. "I do, lass." 

"Good." You couldn't even attempt to fight the idiotic grin on your face, or how warm you feel inside and out. "I'll get some sleep, talk soon." 

"Goodnight, bonnie. Sweet dreams."  

You wait for Johnny to end the call, not wanting to push the button yourself and have his presence fade away. When your screen dims, you resist the urge to text him more, opting instead to put your phone on charge and roll over to Barnaby—wishing it was Johnny instead.