#and it's like that with every story i'm working on too

[cherryxbooo]

Not the same anymore

Summary: After ending his three-year-long relationship due to his friend’s influence, Lando tries everything to get his lover back.

Note: I’m back!!! The winner of the poll I set up was loud and clear! I hope all of you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! P.s buckle up this one is a long one!

Reader x Lando Norris

Genre: fluff/angst

I had been dating Lando for three years, and our relationship was everything I could have ever hoped for. We met at an event, our eyes locking from across the room. He was so handsome, his smile blinding, and I knew right then that I had to talk to him. Except I was too shy to approach him. At that moment it felt like the universe heard me and made Lando approach me. We talked all evening long and we hit it off instantly.

From that moment on, we were practically inseparable. We spent hours talking and getting to know each other, our bond growing stronger with every conversation. I still remembered vividly how he had made me laugh until my sides hurt, how he listened with genuine interest to every word I said.

I remembered the excitement and anticipation when he asked me out, the butterflies in my stomach when he first held my hand. It felt like a fairy-tale come true, and I knew from that moment on that he was the one for me. We shared so many moments of joy, of happiness, and even the occasional disagreement, but we always worked through them together.

At first, I tried not to worry, thinking it was just a phase, but the changes in him only became more pronounced. He was less responsive to my texts and calls, and he seemed to prioritize spending time with his friends over me. I felt lonely and confused, unsure of what had caused this sudden shift.

Lando invited me to his place, and I was excited. I thought he was doing just the same, planning to spend some quality time together.

However, as soon as we found ourselves alone, Lando's face was serious, and my heart started to pound. I knew something terrible was about to happen.

Lando sat down next to me, his gaze fixed on the floor. There was a long, heavy silence before he finally spoke.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice almost a whisper.My heart dropped. Those words... they were never good.

I sat there, feeling the dread settling in my stomach. I knew whatever was about to come couldn't be good. Lando took a deep breath, but his face remained serious.

"I think... we need to break up."

I felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. Break up? The words hung heavy in the air, and my mind struggled to process them.

"W...what?" I managed to choke out, my voice shaking slightly. "Why, Lando?"

He avoided my gaze, his fingers fidgeting nervously. "It's just... I need to focus on my career right now," he said, his voice robotic, like he was reciting lines. "Being in a relationship is a distraction, and I can't let it interfere with my goals."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He was throwing away our three years together with such ease, as if it meant nothing. I tried to reason with him, to remind him of all the happy memories we had shared.

"We've been together for three years!" I said, my voice rising in volume. "Why is it suddenly a problem now?"

"I need to be 100% focused," Lando insisted, finally meeting my eyes. "It's not just about the amount of time, y/n. It's about the current moment, and right now, my career is my priority." He sounded almost cold, like he was pushing me away.

I felt tears welling up in my eyes, but I fought them back. How could I mean so little to him, that he would discard our relationship so easily?

"What about us, Lando? What about everything we've been through together?" I pleaded, my voice shaky.

He remained stoic, his expression unchanging. "I'm sorry, y/n," he said, his tone lacking emotion. "But my mind is made up."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It felt as though he was a stranger, a shell of the man I had fallen in love with. “You don’t mean any of it! You’re just stressed.”

Lando seemed to snap. "My friends were right," he said, his tone sharp. "This is for the best. Now, I don't need the distraction of a relationship, and I'm better off without you."

His words felt like a stab in the heart, and I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. I wanted to defend myself, to challenge him, but his friends were the last thing I wanted to bring up.

But I couldn't help it. "Your friends?" I shot back. "They're the worst! All they care about is partying, drinking, and living off your money.”

Lando's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "Don't you dare talk about my friends like that," he snapped, his tone filled with resentment. "They're the ones who are always there to support me, unlike some people."

I couldn't hold back anymore, the emotions boiling over. "Unlike some people? Are you kidding me?" I retorted, my voice cracking. "Who was there for you when you were doubting yourself? Who stayed up late with you, listening to your worries, pushing you to keep going? Wasn't it me?"

He looked stung, but he shook his head, trying to uphold his cold facade. "That's not how things work," he said stiffly. "My career is my top priority, and I don't have time for anything else."

I felt my own anger rising to match his. "So, you're telling me three years of love, support, and understanding mean nothing to you? Just throw it all away for the sake of your career?"

Lando stood up, his face tense. "The decision is made. I don't need a distraction right now, and that's what you are. A distraction." His words felt like a slap in the face.

My heart shattered, each word breaking another piece of it. How could he turn our love into nothing more than a mere bother? How could he talk to me like this? But I couldn't let myself break down fully. Not here, not in front of him. I clenched my fists, trying to hold back tears and keep my composure.

"Fine," I said, my voice cold. "If I'm just a distraction, then go ahead. Focus on your oh-so-important career." I crossed my arms, trying to hide how much his words had hurt me.

"And you know what, Lando?" I continued, my voice rising. "Your friends? They're all using you. They're not true friends; they're just there 'cause you're famous and rich."

Lando's face twisted in anger at my words. "How dare you talk about my friends like that?" he sneered, his tone spiteful. "They're the ones who have supported me through everything. They're true friends, unlike you. Maybe that's why I'm better off without you."

My eyes narrowed. He had crossed a line. How dare he? "At least I never used you. I loved you for you, not for your fame or your money," I shot back.

He laughed, a humorless, bitter laugh. "Love? Please. You only liked being with a famous guy. The attention it brought you, the luxury. Let's not pretend this wasn't also about status for you."

I felt my fist clenching so hard it hurt. "You know that's not true," I said through gritted teeth. "I never cared about your fame or money. I loved who you were, or at least who I thought you were."

"Oh, really?" Lando challenged, his tone sharp. "Then why didn't you ever say no to the fancy parties or designer clothes I bought you? Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it."

I felt like my chest was tightening with every one of his accusations. How could he twist things like that, making it seem like I only cared about his money? It was so far from the truth. The minute those words left his mouth I knew it was his friends feeding him these lies about me.

"Those were gifts, Lando," I said, my voice cracking. "I loved them because they came from you, not because they were expensive!"

I didn’t let him speak as I grabbed my bag, my hands shaking with emotion. "Fine. Just don't contact me ever again," I said, my voice cold and void of emotion. "This is over. You’re not the same anymore.”

I walked out of his place, my steps heavy and numb. I didn't look back, afraid of seeing him or breaking down in tears. I just wanted to leave, to get away from his words that echoed in my head, and the painful ache in my heart.

As I stepped outside, the fresh air felt like both a relief and a cold slap in the face. I hailed a taxi, and as I watched the familiar streets pass by, I felt as though my old, happy life had shattered into pieces. I had given him everything, and he had thrown it all away for his stupid career. I would never make that mistake again, I promised myself.

Lando sat in his place alone after she left, the silence of his now-empty home weighing heavily on him. He started thinking about the breakup, feeling a pang of guilt, but quickly pushed it aside, remembering that he had chosen his career over her. It was for the best, he told himself, repeating what his friends had been telling him.

As the hours passed, the guilt started to fade, numbed by the pain and the alcohol he poured himself. He eventually called his friends, and they eagerly agreed to come over, happy to hear he had broken up with his now ex-girlfriend.

They arrived, with smiles on their faces, their eyes glinting with anticipation. "Finally, you get to live a little without that distraction!" one of them said, slapping Lando's back. "We're gonna party hard tonight, man! You deserve it."

Lando felt himself slipping into a numbing haze, the alcohol dulling his emotions and his conscience. He allowed himself to be guided by his friends, their words like sweet poison, promising him that he was better off without me, that he wouldn't miss her. They started planning their night out at a flashy new club, their enthusiasm infectious in Lando's alcohol-doused state.

Lando found himself nodding along, his resistance fading away with each drink. The idea of partying seemed like a good escape, a way to drown out the guilt and the loneliness. He convinced himself that tonight, he would let loose and forget, throwing himself into the nightlife and the company of his so-called friends.

As the night progressed, Lando found himself increasingly affected by the alcohol he had consumed. The world started blurring at the edges, and his thoughts became a jumbled mess. He grabbed his phone, his fingers clumsy as he fumbled with the buttons. After several clumsy taps and misdialed numbers, he finally managed to dial Max's number.

As the call went through, he heard Max Fewtrell answer from the other end. "Lando? What the hell, it's 3 am, are you drunk?"

Lando let out a chuckle, his voice slurred. "Heyyy, Maxxy," he said, his words tripping over themselves. "You sound so grumpy. Come ooon, I need to talk to youeee."

Max sighed, rubbing his eyes, trying to shake the sleep from his voice. "Lando, this better be important. I was trying to sleep, you know." His tone was annoyed, but the concern was evident under the surface.

Lando ignored Max’s tone, his mind swimming with alcohol-induced impulsiveness. "I need to talk, buddy," he said, his words stumbling over each other. "It's about y/n."

Max sat up in his bed, his annoyance fading in the face of Lando's evident distress. He cleared his throat, trying to sound more awake and alert. "Okay, Lando, I'm listening," he said, his voice steady.

Lando took a deep breath, his words slurred. "Max, I messed up, I really messed up," he slurred, his voice cracking. "I broke up with y/n, and man, I feel like crap. I miss her, Max. I miss her, and it... it hurts, Max, it hurts so much." The line of words came out in a jumble, the weight of his emotions too heavy to hide under his inebriated state.

Max let out a sigh, his concern growing with Lando's admission. "Okay, Lando, listen to me. Stay exactly where you are, and for god's sake, don't go anywhere else. Tell me the name of the club, and I'll come get you."

Lando mumbled the name of the club through the phone, his words a bit muffled. "It's... uh, it's called 'The Neon Lights.' It's that new club in town, very fancy. Can't miss the neon lights," he hiccuped.

Max sighed, rubbing his temples. "Alright, Lando. I'm on my way. Just don't do anything stupid. Just stay put and wait for me." Max quickly got dressed, leaving his bed behind for the task ahead.

Max drove as fast as he could, and reached the club soon. He spotted Lando right away. His best friend was sitting outside, next to a homeless man, laughing loudly in his inebriated state.

Max couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Lando's current predicament. He approached them, giving the homeless man a nod in greeting. "Alright, Lando, let's go," Max said, reaching out to grab Lando by the arm to help him onto his feet.

Lando tried to protest, but his words came out as a muddled mess. "No, wait! I was just having a talk with him!" he argued, hiccuping. He tried to pull away from Max, but his balance was too shaky. "He's a cool guy, Max. Look!" Lando gestured at the homeless man, his movements exaggerated.

Max shook his head, trying to keep his composure. "Lando, stop making a fool of yourself. Let's go, you're coming with me." He gently led Lando away, making sure he didn’t stumble and fall.

By now, a few people from the club were giving them odd looks, amused by the sight of an apparently famous driver being a mess outside. Max just focused on guiding Lando away, thankful no one had recognized him. "Come on, buddy," he said softly, his arms holding him steady.

Lando put up minimal resistance, his limbs heavy and uncooperative. He tried to protest but his words only slurred together, making it impossible to understand. His legs felt like jelly, and he let Max guide him to his car, his head spinning from the alcohol.

Once they reached the car, Max opened the passenger door for Lando, gently guiding him into the seat. Lando slumped in with a groan, his eyes flickering. Max secured Lando's seat belt, making sure he was as safe as he could be in his current state.

As they arrived at Lando's apartment, Max helped Lando out of the car, his feet dragging sluggishly. Walking him to his bed was a challenge, as Lando leaned heavily on Max. With effort, they finally made it to the bedroom, where Lando practically flopped onto his bed, groaning as his head spun.

Max was concerned about Lando, still inebriated and vulnerable. He grabbed some medication and water, placing them on the bedside table for when Lando woke up. He covered Lando with a thin blanket, making sure he wouldn't be cold in the night. He left quietly, making a mental note to check on him in the morning, closing the door softly behind him.

Max returned to Lando's place the next morning, his concern for him still lingering. He used the spare key Lando had given him and let himself inside the apartment. There was a noticeable silence, the aftermath of Lando's excessive drinking still hung heavily in the air.

Max was in the kitchen by the time Lando trudged down, looking half dead from the night before. His hair was tousled, his eyes bloodshot, and his face pale. He groaned as he spotted Max standing by the counter, a cup of coffee and a plate of breakfast ready.

Max watched as Lando slumped into a chair, cradling his head in his hands. "What the hell were you thinking, Lando? You were drunk off your ass," Max scolded gently, his voice laced with worry.

Lando winced as he lifted his head, his eyes squint to slits. "I... I don't know. Needed a distraction," he groaned, his voice hoarse. The alcohol had taken its toll, and he felt like death warmed over.

Max sighed, pushing the cup of coffee towards Lando. "There are better ways to distract yourself than getting drunk, Lando. What if the media had found out? You could have jeopardized your entire career."

Max paused, his gaze fixed on Lando’s disheveled state. "So who were you with last night? Who was irresponsible enough to let you drink in such a state, and then leave you alone in that condition?"

Lando rubbed his temples, trying to remember through his foggy memory. "Some friends," he mumbled, avoiding Max's accusing stare.

"You know, just some guys I hang out with sometimes. They were partying, and I... I don't know, I joined in." He paused, trying to compose himself. "Then I got drunk and they... they left."

Max’s eyes narrowed, seeing right through it. "Those friends, right? Are those the ones who always use you, Lando? The ones who take advantage of your fame?" His voice was sharp and filled with frustration, knowing exactly how those 'friends' manipulated Lando.

Max’s tone was hard as he continued, his questions probing deeper. "Did they invite you or did they just drag you along with them? Because I know how they are, Lando. They always take advantage of you. They use you for your money, your fame, and never really care about you."

Lando hesitated, his eyes downcast. He knew Max had a point. "I... they invited me," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "But I went because I wanted to forget. I wanted to forget her." His voice trembled slightly, the pain he felt creeping into his voice.

Max's ears perked up at the mention of y/n. "Is that why you broke up with y/n, then?" Max's tone softened slightly, realizing this was a sore subject.

"Because you wanted to forget her? To distract yourself from the pain?" He saw Lando wince at the mention of her name, and it confirmed his suspicions.

Lando swallowed hard, the pain in his eyes speaking volumes. "I... yes," he whispered. "I thought if I ended things, it would make it easier, but it's only made it worse." His voice shook with regret, the weight of his mistake heavy on his shoulders.

Max probed further, sensing there was more to this. "Were the friends the ones who influenced you to break up with y/n, Lando?" He had a feeling they were involved, knowing their toxic nature.

Lando shifted uncomfortably, not meeting Max's gaze. "They... they encouraged it, yeah," he admitted, his voice quiet, almost ashamed.

"They kept saying she was holding me back, that a relationship would only hinder my career, and I... I let them get into my head."

Max was furious. He had seen how much y/n loved Lando, how much she supported him at every turn, and now he had thrown it all away because of some 'friends' who didn't care about him. "They're the worst, Lando!" His voice rose. "They don't care about you, not like she does. She's been there for you, through everything. And you let them poison you against her?"

Lando closed his eyes, the reality of Max's words piercing through his foggy mind. Max was right. He had let himself be manipulated by his so-called friends, allowing them to turn him against the one person who genuinely cared about him.

"I know," he whispered, his voice choked. "I messed up. I'm an idiot."

Max sighed, his frustration mingling with a sense of compassion.

"You're not an idiot, Lando. But you made a terrible mistake. You let yourself be led astray by the wrong people. Those friends, they're poison. And y/n... she's the one who truly cares for you. You need to fight for her, Lando. Don't let them ruin what you and y/n had."

Lando admitted, his voice filled with regret and defeat. "It's too late, Max. She has blocked me everywhere. She doesn't want anything to do with me." His shoulders slumped, the weight of his mistake heavy on him. "She probably hates me now, and I don't blame her. I hurt her, Max. I don't think she'll ever take me back."

Max, determined to help Lando, decided to take matters into his own hands. He texted y/n, hoping to plead on Lando's behalf, but Max was met with a cold wall - she had blocked him too. Frustration welled up inside, knowing how much of a hole Lando had dug for himself.

"Lando," he said, his tone heavy, "She blocked me too. This is going to be harder than I thought."

Lando flinched as Max confirmed y/n had blocked him too. It felt like the finality of his mistake, like the door to reconciliation was slammed shut, and he had no way to open it.

"I can't blame her," Lando muttered, his eyes downcast. "I messed up so badly. She's got every right to hate me now."

Lando's phone suddenly buzzed with a text from one of his 'friends,' inviting him out again. But before Lando could even react, Max swiped the phone from his hand, angrily blocking them all.

Lando stared at Max, a mix of shock and annoyance on his face. "Dude, what the hell!" he exclaimed, trying to get his phone back.

Max's expression was serious, his tone firm. "Those friends of yours are poison," he stated, holding the phone just out of Lando's reach. "They're the ones who encouraged you to break up with y/n. They're not your real friends, and I'm not letting them influence you further."

Lando tried to reach for his phone again, his eyes blazing with frustration. "Max, please give me my phone. You can't just block them all! Those are my friends!" He sounded desperate, trying to justify something he knew deep down was wrong.

Max stood his ground, shaking his head. "No, Lando. Those friends are the reason we're in this mess right now. They don't have your best interests at heart. They only care about what they can gain from you. You need to see that!" His grip on the phone remained firm, not giving Lando any chance to retrieve it.

Lando, still hungover and angry, tried to make his case. "But... but they're the only ones who are there for me, Max!" Lando argued, desperation lacing his voice. "They're the ones who party with me when I feel down. They're the ones who go out to clubs while y/n stays home. They're just trying to look out for me."

Max's patience wore thin, his anger boiling over. He threw the phone at Lando with a snap, the device landing on the bed next to him. "Fine!" Max sneered, his voice cold. "Figure it out on your own, Lando. Seems you'd rather listen to those so-called friends than hear the truth. See how far they take you."

Lando flinched as Max threw the phone at him, feeling a mix of guilt and stubbornness bubbling inside. Max's words rang true, a painful reminder of the fact that he was defending his toxic friends over the one person who cared. But in his hungover state, he was stubborn, unwilling to admit his friends were the ones pulling him into a toxic pit.

"Fine!" Lando retorted, his voice rising. "I don't need you trying to control my life! And I don't need y/n. I can do whatever I want with my friends!" He grabbed his phone, clutching it tightly, his anger and resentment towards Max growing.

Max stormed out, leaving Lando alone in that moment, his thoughts swirling like a storm. Lando sat in silence, surrounded by the chaos he had created, and the weight of his choices. Max's absence left him with nothing but his own thoughts and the quiet, empty apartment, the reality of his situation setting in.

Days blurred together as I drowned myself in work, my fingers flying over the keyboard, creating numbers and reports that seemed like a lifeline in this sea of heartache. The silence of my apartment was too loud, so I stayed at the office, working until exhaustion took hold.

My best friend grew worried, her concern palpable, but I couldn't bring myself to open up. Who would even want to listen to my sob story, anyway?

I couldn't even bring myself to think about our breakup, the pain still too fresh. Work was my solace, a way to stay one step ahead of the thoughts that threatened to consume me. I tried to focus on the numbers, the deadlines – anything to avoid confronting the reality of my shattered heart.

But as much as I worked, the pain lingered, refusing to fade away. Every now and then, I'd find myself staring off into space, the memories of our time together flooding back. The sound of Lando's laughter, his warm touch, it all came crashing back in waves that threatened to crush me.

Lost in my own world, the sound of my best friend's voice finally broke through the fog of my thoughts. She had been calling my name for the past five minutes, but I hadn't heard a word, too consumed by my own internal battle. I blinked a few times, trying to shake off the daze.

She stood by my cubicle, her expression a mix of worry and concern. "Y/N, are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft. "I've been trying to get your attention for a while now."

I blinked again, trying to shake off the haze and focus on her words. "Yeah, I'm fine," I lied through clenched teeth, forcing a small smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "Just really focused on this project." I tried to sound convincing, but I couldn't meet her gaze.

My best friend gently urged, "Y/N, I'm here for you, whenever you're ready to open up. How about a girls' night out tonight? A chance to take your mind off things? You need a break."

Each word felt like a lifeline. She knew just what I needed, an opportunity to lose myself for a moment without the weight of the breakup suffocating me.

The distraction of a girls' night out sounded tempting. I'd have a chance to let go, to pretend things were fine for a while. "Okay," I softly agreed, a small hint of warmth amidst the pain. "A girls' night sounds great. Let's do it."

As the hours passed, I tried to focus on the preparations, changing into something comfortable after my long day of work. But as I stood in front of the mirror, my mind kept wandering, the memories of Lando and the happier times we shared together. I took a deep breath, locking those thoughts away at the back of my mind, and plastered on a smile.

We met at a nearby bar, the noise and laughter a stark contrast to the silence of my apartment.

My best friend tried to engage me in conversation, steering clear of any topics about relationships or exes. The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and I found myself sipping on my favorite cocktail, letting the alcohol blunt the edges of my pain for just a moment.

As the night progressed, my best friend knew something was still weighing heavily on me. She steered the conversation deeper, her eyes meeting mine in understanding. "Y/N, really, what's going on? I can see something's eating at you."

I sighed, taking another sip. The alcohol had loosened my tongue, and the pain I'd locked away started to slip out.

I hesitated for a moment, then the floodgates opened. The alcohol had loosened my tongue, and with each sip, the words poured out. "Me and Lando broke up," I said, my voice wavering. The pain I'd tried to hide finally came out in the open.

My best friend listened without interruption as I told her everything - the pain, the doubts, the sense of loss. She held my hand, her thumb running across the back of my hand in a comforting gesture, allowing me to release all the emotions I had been holding in.

The pain intensified as I allowed myself to acknowledge it again. "I still miss him," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper, "but I can't go back to him. Not after everything he put me through."

My best friend stayed silent, letting me take the lead, listening without judgment, offering reassurance with her hand, holding mine firmly.

Her words were gentle, yet comforting. "You're strong, Y/N," she said, squeezing my hands. "It hurts, and it's hard, but you'll get through this. I'm here for you every step of the way."

Her words provided solace, reminding me of my own strength, even when I felt like I was crumbling.

She was right; I had gotten through tough times before. This, too, would pass. I tried to hold onto those words, a glimmer of hope in the midst of hurt. I wiped away my tears, taking a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

After hours we decided to call it a night. As my best friend dropped me off at my apartment, the night's diversion ended, and the silence of my apartment fell heavily around me.

The momentary respite from the pain had come to an end, and the reality of being alone set in again. I tried to ignore the loneliness, the emptiness without Lando. Instead, I got ready for bed, trying to find solace in routine.

I reached for my phone in an attempt to distract myself from the memories that kept invading my thoughts. But as I opened it, I was met with a barrage of social media updates about Lando and me - our pictures together, speculation, and the truth I had been trying to escape. The pain hit me all over again as I saw others asking about our breakup, theories swirling around me.

f1gossippofficial

Liked by formula1_news, f1_wags and others

f1gossippoffical Trouble in Paradise? Fans have suspected that Formula One driver Lando Norris has broken up with his girlfriend Y/N. The pair have unfollowed each other on all platforms and haven't been seen together in months. This suspicion was confirmed after fans saw Lando getting drunk at a club without his partner, living his life. What do you think happened? Follow for more updates!

View all comments

loveformywags2 What? Is this confirmed? This can't be right?! 🥲

lalalandlando4 He deserved better anyways 🤷‍♀️

f1maniaclvr Do y/n and Lando know about this? 🤦‍♀️

pookielanscar481 It's just odd that he was seen being drunk out of his mind without her

mam4you81 That's what I was thinking... What if she broke up with him and he's drowning himself in alcohol?

nanalalaf14 Honestly I don't think so, I think he dumped her since he had stopped interacting with her on his socials while she still liked and commented on all his posts.

4everf1loca NOOOOO my sheilaaaaa 😭

As I scrolled through the comments, reading the theories about us, a bitter realization hit me. They were only seeing the surface, the façade we had carefully crafted for the public. If only they knew what had really happened, the pain, the reasons behind our breakup.

The comments were full of speculation and curiosity. People thought they knew our love story, but they knew nothing. They didn't see the fights, the lies, the coldness between us. Their theories felt like a slap in the face, mocking the reality of our relationship.

All I knew at this moment was that I should take the time to heal and not let anyone ruin this for me.

Months had passed since the breakup, and I had finally made significant progress in my healing journey. Though the memory of Lando and our heartbreak still lingered, I had come a long way. I had focused on myself, investing time in hobbies, spending quality time with my friends, and allowing myself to heal.

I had established boundaries, avoiding social media and news about Lando that would reopen the wounds. I started a new project at work, pouring my energy into something productive. Slowly, I felt like I was rebuilding myself.

Right now, I was sat with my best friend, enjoying lunch together. My phone buzzed with a notification from an old group chat I had almost forgotten about. It was the group chat I used to be part of, with Kika and Alex.

When I opened it, I was greeted with a flood of messages, the group hasn't been active ever since my break up. So I was curious to see what this was all about.

My best friend, curious, noticed the notification that I had checked my phone. She gave me a questioning look, asking, "What was that about?"

"It's an old group chat from two of my WAG friends," I explained. "They want to catch up during the next GP."

My best friend raised her eyebrow, visibly curious. "And are you going to go?" she asked, her voice gentle but eager to know.

"At first, I didn't really want to go because of... well, Lando being there," I admitted, a mixture of hesitation and bravery in my voice. "But then I thought why should I let him dictate what I do? I shouldn't be scared of him, right?"

I paused, my determination showing through. "So, yes, I agreed to go."

My best friend's face lit up with happiness as she heard my decision. "I'm so proud of you!" she said, her pride shining through. "You're not letting him hold you back or influence you anymore. That's such a huge step forward, and you should be proud of yourself."

For a moment, seeing my best friend's proud expression filled me with a surge of bravery. She was right; I wasn't letting Lando affect my decisions anymore. I was taking control of my life again, one choice at a time.

As I laughed with my best friend, the weight of Lando gradually faded into the background. We continued talking, laughing, and enjoying our lunch together. Lando's name didn't come up in conversation. For now, he was just a distant thought, overshadowed by the joys of friendship and healing.

Lando stood in the McLaren garage during the Silverstone GP, his entourage of fake friends surrounding him in his papaya-colored driver overalls. They joked, laughed, and offered their hollow support, all while he got ready for the race.

Amidst the laughter, Lando's thoughts turned to y/n. He missed her, the void she had left in his life was still present, gnawing at him. He had tried to reach out, creating new accounts, but he found himself blocked at every turn, silence his only reply. It was as if the universe itself was holding back any chance of them reconnecting, driving home his deepest fears and regrets.

Lando snapped out of his pensive state, focusing his mind back on the race ahead. He had a job to do, after all. With a firm tone, he told his friends to stay put, to relax and enjoy the race while he got ready. His determination was evident, a momentary distraction from his heart's constant ache.

Lando quickly realised that he had forgotten his phone. As he retraced his steps to retrieve his phone, he heard muffled voices from within his driver's room. Curious, he stopped before he entered, straining to hear the conversation inside.

Michael chuckled, his voice dripping with amusement. "Can you believe Lando was so stupid to break up with her?" Sam agreed wholeheartedly, a sneer on his face. "She was perfect for him, a distraction holding him back from his true potential."

Jake snorted. "Yeah, she was a total inconvenience, always nagging and taking up his time and money. Good riddance, I say."

They shared a cruel laugh, satisfied with their opinions. The conversation between Lando's fake friends revealed their true intentions - to have Lando's undivided attention, away from someone who truly cared about him.

They continued their conversation, mocking y/n's influence on Lando. Michael spoke with a mischievous grin. "It was a piece of cake convincing him. He ate up everything we said like a fool."

John snorted in agreement. "Yeah, we made sure he saw her as a hindrance. Now we have him all to ourselves, no competition."

James interjected, a cruel glint in his eyes. "We convinced him she was holding him back, that he needed to focus on his racing. We even convinced him she was just after his money. Classic play."

They chuckled, pleased with the web of lies they had spun. Michael added, "He doesn't even know what's good for him. We'll keep him under our control, keeping his attention and his wealth all to ourselves. He's too naive to see through us."

Sam, the schemer, couldn't contain his glee. "This has been the easiest con ever. Lando's so trusting, so foolish. We just have to keep filling his head with our lies, and he'll do whatever we want."

Lando, his heart heavy with the revelations, stormed back into the room, anger seeping through his every feature. His fists clenched, his eyes darkened in fury. He couldn't believe how easily he had been manipulated, how blind he had been to the deceit around him.

"How could I be so stupid?" he bellowed, staring down the group.

The group of fake friends froze, their faces stunned. They stared at Lando, wide-eyed, their laughter abruptly silenced. They hadn't expected Lando to return so soon, or to have overheard their malicious conversation.

Lando's voice trembled with a mix of fury and pain. "I can't believe I let you manipulate me like this!" His eyes burned with a potent blend of anger and regret. He stepped closer, his voice filled with a mixture of disgust and hurt. "You were behind all of this, convincing me to break up with her, making me think she was holding me back."

The friends, caught off guard, tried to scramble for excuses. But Lando's words cut through their attempts to justify themselves. Michael spoke up, his voice trembling, "We... we were just looking out for you, Lando. We thought she was holding you back. We wanted what's best for your career, that's all."

Sam chimed in, trying to appease Lando. "We were trying to help you, Lando. We saw how she was distracting you, taking up your time and money. You need to focus on your racing. You're our golden goose!" He forced a fake chuckle, hoping Lando would buy into the manipulation again.

Lando clenched his fists, his body trembling with fury. "You didn't care about what's best for me. All you cared about was having me all to yourselves, using me for my fame and money. You manipulated me, turning me against the one person who loved me truly."

Jake tried to interject, his voice oozing with false concern. "Lando, we did care about you. We just wanted to protect you from a bad influence. We didn't want you to be taken advantage of." He attempted a manipulative smile, trying to deflect the blame onto me.

Lando's voice rose in intensity, his anger boiling over. "Don't you Dare talk about her like that! She was the only one who genuinely cared about me, not you. You're just jealous because she didn't let you use me like you do. You're nothing but a bunch of leeches!"

Michael, emboldened by Lando's anger, smirked, his words sharp. "Don't you dare blame us. This is on you, Lando. You were the one who was too stupid to see through our facade. Now you've lost her because of your own damn foolishness, not our fault in the slightest."

Lando, seething with a mix of hurt and anger, quickly called the security guards. With a firm voice, he instructed, "Get these snakes out of here now!"

The security guards, recognizing the tone of a man pushed to his limit, swiftly entered, escorting the fake friends out of the garage. Lando stood there, watching them leave, a bitter taste in his mouth.

As the fake friends were forcefully escorted out, Lando was left alone in the garage, the weight of his emotions crashing down on him. The pain, the regret, the anger—it all slammed into him, finally giving way to the torrent he had held back for so long.

He slumped against a wall, his body trembling with the force of his emotions. Tears prickled in his eyes, his breath coming in ragged breaths.

As Lando sat there, the regret gnawed at him, growing sharper by the second. He thought about y/n, the love he had lost. The memories of their time together flooded his mind, and he berated himself for throwing it away. He blamed himself for listening to the friends who had manipulated him.

He thought about the love they shared, how he had let it slip through his fingers, shattered by his own foolishness and vulnerability to their lies.

Lando, still in a vulnerable state, decided to reach out to Max, despite their rocky past. He thought about the clubs and the disagreements they had had, but he had no one else to turn to now. With a mix of regret and desperation, he dialed Max's number.

Max picked up the phone, immediately sensing the desperation in Lando's voice. As Lando poured out his emotions and apologies, Max listened, his tone softening.

Lando confessed, his voice cracking, "I should have listened to you, Max. You were right about them, all along. I was a fool to listen to their lies and ignore you."

Max, surprised but relieved, replied, "I'm glad you realize now, Lando. Those friends were toxic. They used you, and I tried to protect you, but I understood, now." Max's words were sympathetic, understanding Lando's turmoil, even though they had their differences.

Lando confessed, his voice trembling with a mix of regret and desperation. "Max, I miss her, I miss y/n so much. I'll do anything to get her back, anything at all. It's the biggest mistake I've ever made."

Max fell silent, his concern deepening. He didn't know the extent of Lando's mistreatment of her.

The mention of y/n stirred worry in Max. He gently asked, "Lando, you know I didn't want you to break up with her. But why do you think you mistreated her? Can you tell me about that?" Max's tone was cautious, sensing that there was more to the story than he knew.

Lando hesitated, knowing he had a lot to unpack. Max's curiosity fueled a mix of fear and guilt inside Lando. He knew he had to come clean, even though it was painful to admit.

Taking a deep breath, Lando began to confess, his voice shaky. "I... I treated her badly, Max. I hurt her, ignored her, and took her for granted."

Max couldn't help but wince, knowing there was a deeper issue.

Lando's voice cracked with remorse. "They fed me lies about her. They convinced me that she was holding me back, that she wasn't good enough. I believed them, and I treated her poorly."

Max, as supportive as possible, tried to provide words of encouragement. "Lando, that's rough. You've made mistakes, but the first step is admitting it. You know you messed up; now it's about making amends."

He sighed, "Lando, remember that true love isn't about perfection. It's about growing together, learning from mistakes, and valuing someone despite their flaws."

He paused, his voice serious. "But you've got to show her you mean it. Words are easy, but actions will be your proof. Are you ready to do that?"

Lando, though shaken and determined, nodded, his voice firm. "Yes, Max. I'm ready. I want to prove it to her. I'll show her I've changed and that I'm serious about making amends."

Max and Lando continued talking, their conversation growing shorter as Lando had to prepare for the race. As they bid each other goodbye, Max reminded Lando, "Stay focused during the race. Clear your mind; that's important, too."

Lando, though his mind was heavy with emotion, took Max's words to heart. He knew he had to compartmentalize his feelings for now and focus on the race ahead. He focused on the tracks, his car, and his performance, pushing aside his turbulent emotions for the moment.

I stepped into the grand prix feeling a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. The grandstands, the roaring fans, and the smell of rubber and fuel in the air brought back a whirl of emotions. Seeing the tracks where Lando and I used to share moments filled me with nostalgia and a pang of heartache.

My thought were interrupted by two voices. Kika and Alex, my two closest friends, ambushed me with warm hugs, pulling me into their embrace. Their cheerful voices cut through the noise of the Grand Prix, and I felt a mix of relief and joy. It had been a while since we had been together.

"Y/N! You made it!" Kika exclaimed. "We've missed you so much!"

Alex chimed in, grinning widely. "We've been dying to hang out with you! It's been ages." She playfully pinched my cheek. "You look great, by the way."

"Oh, stop it! I didn't do anything special. You two, on the other hand, are the real stars here. Look at you!" I playfully nudged them both, my tone teasing and lighthearted.

Kika and Alex beamed, clearly enjoying the compliment. "Alright, alright, enough with the flattery," Alex said, feigning exhaustion. "We're here to have a blast. You ready for this?"

I sighed one more time while looking around before replying. "More then ready."

We made our way to our favorite hangout spot at hospitality. It was cozy, far from the chaos of the track. As we settled in, surrounded by comfortable couches and tables, a mix of nostalgia and anticipation washed over us.

"I've missed this place," Kika said, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "So many memories, right?"

We spent hours catching up, sharing stories, laughter, and heartfelt moments. The conversation flowed easily between us, like old times. Laughter echoed in the cozy space of the hospitality center, and our spirits were lifted. Time seemed to slip away as we bonded and supported one another. Eventually, the time came for Kika and Alex to head back out; their respective significant others were getting ready for their races.

Kika and Alex rose from their seats, their faces slightly apologetic. "We have to go," Kika sighed.

Alex nodded, adding, "Come find us later, okay?"

I gave them both a nod, understanding their commitment to support their boyfriends. "Of course, we'll catch up after the races. Good luck to them!"

Kika and Alex shared one last embrace, their hugs warm and reassuring, then they left to get to their respective spots by the trackside.

As they left, I was left to navigate the grandstands, finding my spot amidst the sea of fans. I blended into the crowd, the anticipation in the air as the racers prepared for their engines to start.

The race concluded, but it felt bittersweet. Lando's face was everywhere - on the screens, the winners' podium, the trackside banners. Seeing him in his natural element, celebrating victories, stirred mixed emotions in me. The pain of missing him and the hope of reconciliation blended together in a complicated mix.

After a bit, I decided that I needed to use the restroom so I headed that way. I made my way to the private VIP restrooms, my VIP pass granting me access. The restroom was clean and spacious, offering a respite from the noise outside. I checked my reflection in the mirror, taking a moment to compose myself.

As I exited the restroom, I was lost in my thoughts, only to bump into someone in the hall. I froze, instantly recognizing Lando's familiar voice. His figure stood in front of me, and I felt my heart skip a beat. His gaze met mine, and time seemed to stand still.

Lando called out for me, his voice filled with surprise, "y/n." His eyes held a mix of shock and tenderness, his voice holding a hint of the emotions he was trying to keep at bay.

As the words hung in the air between us, my heart raced. His presence was so close, the warmth of his voice sending a shiver down my spine.

I got out of my stance, trying to leave, I tried to walk past him, but Lando blocked my path, stopping me in my tracks. I felt a wave of emotions crash over me - pain, anger, hope, and a deep longing all mingled together. The intensity of it was overwhelming, and I tried to suppress it.

Lando's voice was hesitant and filled with vulnerability. "Y/N, please…can we talk? Just for a moment."

His request was sincere, his eyes pleading with me not to walk away.

I shook my head, my resolve firm. "No, Lando. I can't and I don't want to." I replied, my voice resolute. The pain from our breakup was still too fresh, and talking to him now would reopen wounds I wasn't ready to confront. I tried to move past him, my expression set with determination.

Lando's face fell, a mix of hurt and resignation evident. He saw my determination, my refusal to engage. He took a step closer, his words soft but desperate, "Please... just hear me out."

My frustrations boiled over. "Don't you think it's ironic? Now you want me to hear you out, when you never listened to me when you decided to end things," I retorted, my voice filled with a mix of anger and sadness.

Lando winced at my words, the truth of them hitting him hard. "I know... I made a mistake," he said, his voice tinged with regret. He was trying to find the right words, his eyes pleading with me to give him a chance.

Lando's expression twisted, the guilt evident on his face as he processed my response. The words cut deep, the truth behind them undeniable.

"A mistake?" I repeated, my voice dripping with bitterness. "You ruined me."

I continued, my words raw.

"I spent months wondering what was wrong with me, why you ended a relationship of three years for a fake friendship that didn't even last a year. Where are those 'friends' who supposedly supported you through everything? I don't see them here, Lando."

Lando looked down, ashamed. He had no answer. His fake friends were nowhere to be found, leaving him alone to confront the consequences of his actions. The weight of his mistake seemed to grow heavier.

He finally managed to gather his thoughts, his voice a mix of guilt and sincerity. "I messed up. I don't expect you to forgive me right now. But please, let me explain." He took a step closer, his regret etched on his face, silently begging for my understanding.

I raised an eyebrow, my words sharp. "Explain? What's left to explain? You threw away three years of us for a group of shallow friendships. What could you possibly say to make this better?"

Lando knew my words hurt, but he was desperate. "I was blind. I was a damn coward," he confessed. "I allowed myself to be manipulated by my so- called friends, and in the process, I hurt you."

He continued, his voice tinged with regret and shame, "I saw them as my real friends, but now I realize they only saw me as a way to elevate their social status." He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "They saw you as a threat, someone who could expose their true intentions. They convinced me you were holding me back, when in reality, they had me blinded."

His voice trembled as he continued, "I let myself believe their lies. They filled my head with jealousy, making me doubt our relationship, and I was stupid enough to listen to them." His vulnerability shone through, his emotions raw.

I nodded, my expression guarded. "I'm glad you've recognized your mistakes, Lando. But can you imagine the pain I've experienced because of them, because of you?"

My words conveyed a mix of grief and resentment. The hurt I suffered remained a palpable presence, a constant reminder of the pain he had caused.

Lando nodded, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He knew he couldn't take back what he had done. The time he spent believing those fake friends and ending our relationship had shattered something that couldn't easily be repaired. He understood the depth of my suffering, a consequence of his blind trust and foolishness.

Lando looked at me, his expression sincere, and asked if we could try again. He voiced his regret, hoping for a chance to make things right. The hope in his eyes was clear, but the weight of the past lingered between us. He wanted to rebuild, to fix what he had broken.

He pleaded with me, his voice filled with remorse. "I know I don't deserve a second chance, but I want us to try again. I want to prove to you that I've changed, that I won't let those fake friends influence me anymore. I'll do whatever it takes."

I shook my head, my voice resolute. "No, Lando. I'm still healing, and right now, I don't want to try again. I need time, space. I can't just forgive and forget in a snap."

My words were firm, expressing my current inability to jump back into a relationship after everything I had been through.

Lando, his voice filled with sincerity, looked into my eyes. His gaze conveyed the depth of his regret and determination. "I understand," he said. "I will wait for you, for ten years or more," he promised. "I'll be here when you're ready, no matter how long it takes."

As we concluded the conversation, Lando stood there, his heart heavy with the weight of our future hanging in the balance. He watched me leave, a mix of emotions coursing through him: regret, hope, and an ache of longing. He had to accept that he couldn't rush our healing process, no matter how much he desired to be by my side.

I walked away, my eyes misty, the past and the uncertainty of our future intertwining in my thoughts.

f1gossippofficial

Liked by formula1_news, wagscloset, formula1_gossips and others

f1gossippoffical Months after their break-up, Lando Norris and Y/N have been spotted after the Silverstone GP. Sources state that the ex-couple were arguing, what the argument was about is still a big question. Many suspected it was because of a third party being involved. Thoughts about this one?

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lazyformulaland Bro leave them alone, they're both adults. Let them solve this in peace ffs. 🙄

lvr4lan Noooo Lando honey this isn't you run!

wagslov4 Did he pick you yet ? 🙄

bbpiastri81 What the hell is going on

norriswithrizz4 This is insane, the main focus of formula one isn't even on formula one anymore smh 🤦‍♀️

4everyours4ln Y'all are too invested, leave my girl y/n alone.

momolew16 Forreal the girl didn't ask for this

closetofpeacefashion7 Exactly she was finally thriving and then this happend. It doesn't even look like she wanted to talk to him

mayyoushush8 Did she tell you that 🤨

closetofpeacefashion7 @mayyoushush8 Don't be stupid even a kid can see that 🥱

I decided to head back home, not forgetting to shoot Alex and Kika a quick message which they completely understood.

As I reached home, the weight of the evening's emotions crashed down on me. The conversation with Lando had stirred up all the hurt and confusion I had been suppressing. I felt emotionally exhausted and overwhelmed, unsure of what to make of it all.

The silence of my home only amplified my inner turmoil, leaving me to wrestle with my conflicted feelings.

A few days passed after the incident, I decided to move on with life and not let it bother me again. A perfect distraction? Drowning myself in my workload.

I arrived at work as I stepped inside the building, I was greeted by Linda, one of my co-workers.

Linda, approached me with a mischievous grin, her question catching me off guard. "Do you have a secret admirer, by any chance?" she asked, the curiosity palpable in her voice.

I stared at her, confused by her question, wondering why she would draw such a conclusion. I shook my head, puzzled by the idea. "What makes you think that?" I replied, raising an eyebrow.

Linda chuckled, her eyes sparkling with a hint of intrigue. She replied, "Have a look in your office."

Puzzled by her cryptic hint, I made my way to the elevator and reached my office. As I stepped inside, confusion lingered in my mind, wondering what I was about to find.

My eyes widened with shock and surprise as I entered the office, finding a massive bouquet of my favorite flowers. The delicate blooms filled the space with a sweet, comforting fragrance. Attached to the flowers was a note, mysterious and intriguing. My heart fluttered with anticipation as I reached for the note.

My fingers traced the delicate paper of the note, and as I read the words, they stirred a whirlwind of emotions. The poem was written in delicate script, the words flowing like music... and it was about love. Each line spoke of tenderness, trust, and a future filled with hope. The words were so beautiful, it was as if they were carefully chosen specifically for me.

The little poem, written with a tender brush of affection, read:

"From the morning dew to the evening's glow, My love for you continues to grow. Through shadows and light, in every season's rain, Our bond remains, a gentle refrain.

In whispers of joy and moments of peace, I hold you close within my heart's embrace. Each smile shared, each memory we weave, My love will remain a boundless pledge."

I was so confused, who could've been behind this? As I read the poem again, my mind wandered to Lando for a moment. I quickly dismissed that Idea. He had confessed that he couldn't write romantic words, finding them cringeworthy.

If it wasn't Lando, then who would have written such a poem?

As the day wrapped up, I found myself heading home, my mind still lingering on the mysterious poem. Entering my home, I sank onto the couch, exhaustion seeping through my bones. The softness of the cushions welcomed me as my thoughts played through my mind, trying to unravel the mystery.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sudden ring of the doorbell that echoed through my home. It was late in the evening, and I couldn't guess who might be at the door at such a time. With some curiosity and a hint of wariness, I got up to answer.

I went over to the door to open it and I was met with a delivery man. The delivery man handed me a massive bouquet of fresh flowers and a large box of chocolates. The fragrance from the flowers mingled with the scent of chocolate. The combination was almost overwhelming, leaving me baffled as I accepted the gifts.

Now I was even more confused, this bouquet was even bigger than the one from my office. And the weird thing was, that the chocolates I got were only my favorites.

I examined the box of chocolates, finding another note attached to the top. Carefully, I opened the wrapper, retrieving the note. Just like the previous one, it was written on delicate paper, filled with intrigue. I unfolded it, ready to read the message.

As I unfolded the paper, I was met with neat, elegant handwriting. The words held a romantic touch, and I felt a mix of anticipation and curiosity. The second poem spoke of tender love and adoration.

"Your presence brings light to every room, A symphony of grace in each simple bloom. Though we may walk separate paths in life, My heart's allegiance is a ceaseless strife."

I sat there, taken aback by the heartfelt words. They spoke of admiration and deep affection. Who could have written these beautiful poems and left them for me? The confusion deepened, and I pondered who could be behind the mysterious gestures.

Plagued by curiosity, I reached for my phone and called my best friend, hoping for answers. As the call rang, I prepared myself for a wave of questions, expecting her to know something.

My best friend's cheerful voice filled the call, answering instantly. "Hello?" She sounded cheerful as ever, not knowing the mystery I was about to unload on her.

I cut straight to the point, my tone slightly urgent. "Hey, I have a question. So, I've been receiving anonymous flowers, chocolates, and... poems." I paused a moment. "Any idea who it could be?" I asked, hoping for some insight.

She was silent for a moment, her surprise apparent. But then her voice brightened, and I could tell she had a theory. "Oooh, a mystery admirer?" she asked, half-joking, half-curious.

I sighed, rolling my eyes playfully. "Well, yes. It is somewhat mysterious." I replied, unable to hide the hint of unease in my voice amidst the flowers and chocolates surrounding me.

We delved into the mystery, discussing possibilities. From past crushes to unknown admirers, we contemplated various scenarios. But no concrete conclusion surfaced, leaving me even more intrigued and slightly frustrated.

That was until my best friend's insight sparked a new perspective. She pointed out that the mystery admirer seemed to know me well. They knew my workplace, my love for romantic poems, and even my favorite chocolates and flowers. It wasn't just a coincidence; they seemed to have a grasp on my habits. The timing of the delivery was eerily precise, appearing just when I arrived home.

My best friend continued, her voice filled with speculation. "It's not just the flowers and chocolates, it's the timing. They know your work schedule. It's almost like they're watching, waiting for the right moment."

I agreed, thoughtfully absorbing. "Yeah, that's been bothering me. The timing is too perfect. They either know my schedule or they're stalking me." I chuckled, trying to soften the situation with humor.

"Wait!" My best friend suddenly interrupted, a speculative glint in her eyes. "Could it have been Lando?"

The name hung heavily in the air, bringing our conversation to a halt.

I shook my head, quickly dismissing the idea. "No, probably not. Lando doesn't enjoy writing, especially not romantic poems. He always told me he found them cringe."

My bestie nodded, acknowledging my response. "Ah, right. He's not exactly the poetic type, is he?"

I grinned slightly, remembering Lando's disdain for poetic words. "Nope, definitely not. He'd rather punch a wall than write a poem." I joked, the idea of Lando writing a poem seeming far-fetched, even for a moment.

After a while of thinking and cracking our brains open, we ended the conversation, deciding to table the mystery for the moment. We said our goodbyes and hung up the phone, my mind still swirling with questions. I prepared for the night, the flowers and chocolates lingering in the background, their presence a reminder of the mysterious admirer.

Several months passed, and the mysterious gifts persisted, each one more thoughtful and personal. The flowers continued arriving, alongside a new addition - small, handmade tokens. Notes slipped into the bouquet containing thoughtful messages, while a box of my favorite chocolates came with a heartfelt poem.

I sought information, asking friends and family if they knew anything. They were taken by surprise and genuinely had no idea who was behind the surprises. The mystery deepend as everyone denied any involvement.

The mystery escalated. Along with the physical gifts, I discovered a surprise on my phone. Text messages arrived with miniature poems, each one carefully crafted and sweet. The sender's number remained undisclosed, leaving me baffled about the identity.

The mystery escalated. Along with the physical gifts, I discovered a surprise on my phone. Text messages arrived with miniature poems, each one carefully crafted and sweet. The sender's number remained undisclosed, leaving me baffled about the identity.

The messages, delivered alongside the tangible gifts, carried messages that resonated with my emotions and experiences. It felt almost as if this person truly knew me, yet remained hidden behind the anonymity of their identity.

It was that time again - our annual girls' night out. We always looked forward to these nights, a chance to let loose and have a blast in a vibrant club. I had my best friend beside me, ready to dance the night away. The only problem? My best friend chose a club that Lando used to go to every time. She reassured me that he wouldn't be here which I took her word for.

We strutted into the club, excitement filling the air. Music pulsed through the venue, the bass matching the rhythm of our hearts. The lights dazzled the dance floor, and we blended into the crowd, the worries of the day fading in the throes of the nightlife. We decided to hit the dance floor, letting go of any inhibitions as we lost ourselves in the music.

We danced with abandon, the beat pulsating through us, the rhythmic movements our shared language. The neon lights flashed, adding an electric charge to the atmosphere. As we danced and whirled, we felt liberated from the daily grind, living in the moment, lost in the music and the company of my best friend.

Later that night we both got thirsty, I made my way to the bar to get us drinks, when suddenly a man approached me. I could already smell the alcohol on him as he staggered towards me, a lopsided smile plastered on his face.

He smirked, his words coming out in a clumsy manner. "Hey there, pretty lady," he slurred, his tone oozing with an unwanted familiarity. He invaded my personal space, leaning in a bit too close for comfort.

I could feel the warmth of his breath, tainted with alcohol, against my cheek as he spoke. "What's a beautiful girl like you doing here alone?" He tried to flirt, his persistence evident even amidst his intoxication.

I tried to maintain a polite smile, stepping back slightly. "I'm here with a friend," I replied, my voice a mix of politeness and discomfort. I glanced at the bartender, silently praying for my order to arrive sooner so I could escape this uncomfortable interaction.

He chuckled, his intoxication making him clumsy yet bold. "Oh, come on. A pretty girl like you shouldn't be tied down to just one friend. You should let loose and have fun," he insisted, his words filled with a suggestive undertone.

I tried to end the conversation, giving him a firm but polite dismissal. "Thanks, but I'm good," I said, my tone leaving no room for further conversation. I discreetly inched closer to the bar, hoping he would get the hint and leave me alone.

Instead of taking the hint, he persisted. "Oh, come on. Don't be a party pooper. One drink won't hurt," he insisted, his words slurring even more. He took another step closer, trying to close the gap between us.

I felt a mix of discomfort and annoyance as his persistence continued. The smell of alcohol was overwhelming, leaving a cloying odor on the air. I tried to maintain my composure, not wanting to cause a scene but also wanting him to back off.

He took another step closer, his gaze lingering on me. I could see the effects of the alcohol on him - the unsteady steps, the glazed look in his eyes, the clumsy attempts at charm. He reached out, attempting to touch my arm, his gesture too familiar and unwelcome.

The guy got annoyed when I backed away. He reached out, his hand grabbing my arm with a firm grip, trying to pull me back. I felt a jolt of fear as he attempted to drag me.

His hold tightened, his voice a mix of frustration and insistence. "Come on, don't you know how to have fun? Just one drink, a little chat." He tugged at me, his alcohol-fueled stubbornness evident.

I felt a mix of panic and defiance. "Let me go, you sick prick!" I exclaimed, my voice strained. I glanced around, hoping for someone to intervene, but every face seemed lost in their own world, oblivious or uncaring about the situation. The loud music blared, making it seem as if no one could hear my cries for help.

The guy gripped my arm tighter, his eyes filled with a mix of drunken determination. He leaned in closer, his face twisted with frustration. "Why are you making this so difficult? Just one drink, come on."

He forced me into an empty, private room, his grip on my arm still strong, leaving me with a sense of dread. The music was a distant throb outside, leaving me more isolated in this unsettling scenario.

His grip faltered as someone unexpectedly appeared, a figure entering the room with a decisive move. Before the guy could even think of pulling me fully into the room, someone intervened, delivering a well-aimed punch to his gut. The guy groaned, doubled over in pain as he released his grip on me.

The guy fell to his knees, clutching his stomach as the force of the blow rippled through him. Confusion, pain, and shock replaced the smugness from before. I could only watch, relief washing over me as I realized I wasn't alone anymore.

The drunk guy, overwhelmed by the combination of alcohol and the punch, scrambled to his feet before stumbling out of the room, whimpering in pain. The sudden exit left me alone with the mysterious person who had stepped in to save me.

Lando rushed towards me, concern etched on his face. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" he asked, his voice filled with emotion. The warm green in his eyes held a mix of worry and relief that I was alright.

He reached for my arm where the drunk guy had grabbed me before, inspecting the area to check if I was hurt. I could feel the tenderness as he gently ran his fingers over the spot, ensuring I was unharmed. Lando then gazed at my face, studying it for any signs of distress.

I gently pulled my hand away, forcing a small smile to reassure him. "I'm okay," I insisted, my voice steady but guarded. His concern was palpable, and I could see the relief in his eyes as he saw that I was not physically harmed.

Lando seemed desperate, unwilling to let me leave just yet. He reached for my arm again, his grasp gentle but firm. "Please, just hear me out," he pleaded, his voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and hope.

My response came sharp, biting. "Why would I? You didn't try to reach out, didn't try to find me, or even show an ounce of concern until now," I shot back, my words laced with bitterness and resentment.

Lando's response came with a mix of frustration and hidden emotion. "I haven't tried? Since our last talk, I've done everything I could to win you back," he retorted, his words carrying a hint of vulnerability. "Who do you think sent you all those gifts? Who else would know your work schedule, your favorite foods, your love for poems? I know I said I hated them, but for you, I embraced them."

His words were layered with hurt and a desire for reconciliation. Lando finally confessed, "It was me, all along. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you forever, so I hoped my gestures would speak for me." The pain in his face was evident, his eyes pleading for understanding.

I stammered at his words, a mixture of surprise and confusion overwhelming me. Never in my entire life I would've thought Lando would do all of this for me. My mind raced as I tried to comprehend the lengths he had gone to reach me.

My voice trembled as I spoke, "So... you were behind those text messages as well? How...? But I blocked all your accounts, even the new ones. How did you manage to send me messages?"

Lando hesitated for a moment, his eyes fixed on mine as he confessed. "I bought a new phone with a different SIM card... just so I could message you." His answer hung in the air, the weight of his dedication palpable in the quiet space of the room.

He continued, his voice earnest, "I couldn't bear the silence between us, the distance. Even if you blocked me everywhere, I had to find a way to reach you, to express how I felt." The depth of his yearning and determination to keep the connection alive was evident in each word.

I remained silent, overwhelmed by his confession. Lando had gone to great lengths just to communicate with me, buying a new phone and SIM card, defying my attempts to cut off contact. The depth of his dedication was both touching and overwhelming. I couldn't deny the mix of emotions swirling within me.

Lando stood there, his eyes searching mine, desperate for a glimmer of hope. The air hung heavy with anticipation as he awaited my reaction, his vulnerability on full display, his heart on his sleeve.

I grappled for a response, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. "I... I'm still processing this," I managed to utter, my voice filled with a mix of hurt and confusion. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? Why let me think you didn't care?" I blurted out, a hint of betrayal seeping into my voice.

Lando's eyes filled with remorse, his shoulders slouching slightly. "I was afraid," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Afraid of being rejected, scared that you would push me away if I tried to talk to you and most importantly scared you would've moved on. I thought sending those gifts and messages would be a way to reach out without directly risking rejection."

I stared at him, taken aback by his honesty. His confession laid bare his fears and insecurities, exposing the vulnerability beneath his usually composed facade. But my hurt remained, the sting of his silence lingering.

I couldn't hide my feelings, and I let my resentment spill out. "But you let me suffer!" I cried out, the pain pouring out in my words. "I thought you didn't care, that you moved on, while I was here, hurting over our broken relationship."

Lando's face contorted with pain at my outburst, his shoulders sinking lower. He took a step forward, bridging the gap between us. "I know, I know," he pleaded, his voice filled with regret. "I was a coward. I let fear dictate my choices, and I hurt you in the process. I'm sorry."

I wanted to believe him, to fall into the comfort of his apology and the sweet gestures he had made, but the wounds of the past remained. The memories of his silence, his refusal to communicate, and the pain I endured still weighed heavily on my heart.

Lando saw the hesitance in my eyes, noticed the barrier I had put up. His expression pleaded with me, a mixture of sorrow and yearning. I could tell he wanted me to forgive him, to let him back in.

"Lando, I'm so conflicted," I confessed, my voice cracking. The wounds of the past still fresh, I couldn't let go easily. "How can I trust that you won't hurt me again? I've suffered so much because of you, how can I be sure you won't do something like this again?" I asked, hoping for an answer that would quell my doubts. The pain was still too raw to simply forgive and forget.

Lando's eyes filled with remorse, his face a mask of sorrow and guilt. He knew he had caused me pain and had no right to expect forgiveness so easily. He stepped closer, the gap between us becoming smaller. With a gentle voice, he spoke. "I don't ask for you to trust me instantly," he said, his voice tinged with sincerity. "I want to prove to you that I've changed, that I won't make the same mistakes again. Please, just give me a chance to show you."

I held his gaze, my eyes pleading for understanding. "I need some time," I implored, my voice shaky. "I can't just forget overnight. Give me the space to process everything, to heal." The emotions coursing through me were overwhelming, and I needed time to make sense of the rollercoaster of events.

Lando's response was gentle and resolute. "I will wait for you. Remember, even if it takes ten years," he said, his voice filled with sincerity and a hint of vulnerability. "I'll be here when you're ready, no matter how long it takes."

I looked back at Lando, his pleading eyes yearning for a reprieve. With a heavy heart, I whispered, "Goodbye," and reluctantly turned away. The music and lights faded as I weaved through the crowd, searching for my best friend who had remained oblivious to the emotional storm that had just unfolded between Lando and me.

I found my best friend in the crowd, her smile lighting up upon seeing me. However, her smile quickly faded as she saw the tears streaming down my face. Without a word, she stood up, concern etched on her face.

She wrapped an arm around my shoulders, gently guiding me towards the exit. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice filled with understanding. "Let's go home."

We stepped out of the club, the cool outside air a stark contrast to the stifling heat inside. We hailed an Uber, and my bestie decided to spend the night to provide comfort and lend an ear.

We settled into the car, the soft hum of the engine accompanying us as we made our way home. I took a deep breath, preparing to recount the tumultuous events of the evening to my best friend.

The Uber pulled up in front of my building, and we disembarked, the night's cool air a stark reminder of the emotional journey I had been through. We made our way into my house, the silence between us filled with anticipation.

We entered my house, the familiarity of the space providing a semblance of comfort. My bestie guided me to the couch, pulling a blanket over us as we settled in for what was sure to be a long night of conversation.

I poured my heart out, recounting every detail, from Lando's apology to the painful memories that still lingered. My best friend listened intently, her eyes widening in surprise and shock as she took in the emotional rollercoaster I had described.

She was stunned, her face reflecting the whirlwind of emotions that had unfolded. "Wow," she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't believe he did all that."

My voice trembled with uncertainty, "I don't know what to do," I confessed, my emotions a tumultuous mess. "I want to trust him, but it's so hard to ignore the pain he caused. It feels like a never-ending cycle of confusion and fear." I rested my head on my friend's shoulder, seeking solace in her presence.

She rubbed my back soothingly, her support an anchor that kept me from drifting further into despair. In a gentle yet reassuring tone, she spoke. "It's okay to feel conflicted. Trust is earned, and forgiveness takes time. Don't rush yourself. Take whatever time you need to figure out what you want." She held me closer, offering her presence as a grounding force amidst the chaos.

My best friend posed the question that echoed within me, "Do you still love him?" The question sliced through the air, digging deep into emotions I had tried to bury.

Hesitantly, I met her gaze, tears glistening in my eyes. "I… I don't know," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

My friend's words were honest, cutting through the confusion. She persisted, "That isn't an answer, y/n. It's a simple yes or no question." I remained silent for a long moment, my emotions swirling inside. Finally, after an excruciating pause, I whispered, "Fine, yes. Yes, I still love him." The admission hung in the air, vulnerable and raw.

My best friend looked at me, her eyes mirroring a mixture of understanding and support. "Give him a chance," she urged, her voice gentle yet firm. "Don't give in immediately. See how far he's willing to go. If he goes beyond just gifts and gestures, you'll know he's sincere.''

A wave of confusion washed over me, and I turned to her for clarification. "What do you mean, 'beyond gifts and gestures'?" I inquired, the words tumbling out in a whispered plea for understanding.

She seemed to gather her thoughts for a moment, then met my gaze with an earnest expression. "I mean, beyond just grand gestures. Beyond the gifts and the poems. Love is about more than just gestures. It's about genuine care, about being there for each other, through every high and low. It's about trust and communication. Those are the true tests of sincere love," she replied, her words wise and heartfelt.

She continued, her voice steady. "If Lando truly cares about you, he will show it in every aspect of his life, not just with grand gestures. He will prioritize your needs, respect your boundaries, and be there for you, even in the most ordinary moments."

Her words resonated within me, their truth echoing in my heart. It didn't matter if he had sent flowers or sweet poems. Love wasn't just about gifts; it was about presence, understanding, and unwavering support through life's tumultuous journey.

We continued talking for hours, my best friend's words sinking deep into my thoughts. Eventually, we decided to call it a day, both exhausted by the emotional rollercoaster. My mind whirled with questions as we prepared to say our goodnights.

Lando's dedication persisted. In the days that followed, his gestures remained constant. I noticed flowers and chocolates carefully placed on my desk each morning, a poem hidden amidst the petals, and a warm coffee waiting when I arrived in the morning, exactly how I liked it.

Today it was different. I heard a knock on my office door, I replied with a simple 'come in' as the person entered. Lando stood in my office doorway, his hands holding my favorite coffee and a neatly prepared lunch. He spoke softly, concern in his voice.

"I hope I'm not interrupting, but I know you can get forgetful about your nutrition while working. So I brought you something." The gesture warmed my heart, leaving me momentarily speechless.

His willingness to break away from his busy schedule, solely to ensure I took care of myself, touched me deeply.

"Thank you," I expressed gratefully, touched by his thoughtfulness. I had to ask him, curious about the sacrifice of his valuable time. "But aren't you busy? You still made time for this?"

Lando responded, his voice gentle yet sincere. "I'm busy," he admitted. "But I make time for you because you matter to me."

His simple yet powerful response struck a chord within me. In the midst of the busyness of life, he had made time for me, prioritizing my wellbeing. It spoke volumes about his devotion and care, that he was willing to sacrifice his valuable time just to ensure I wasn't neglecting myself.

The sincerity in his eyes and the way he stood in my office doorway, a small lunch in hand, felt overwhelming. It was as if he was trying to prove that he valued our connection more than the hustle and bustle of life.

In the weeks that followed, Lando's gestures became an integral part of my routine. He arrived at my office each morning with my favorite coffee, not missing a single day, even when I forgot it myself. During lunch breaks, he carefully watched over me, ensuring I ate, sometimes even bringing me delectable meals he prepared himself. He began helping me with paperwork, even when he didn't have the expertise—a gesture that left me touched.

Once, when I found a mouse in my apartment, he came at 4 a.m., not hesitating for a moment despite having an early flight.

His devotion continued. In the midst of his travels, he remained constant in sending me thoughtful gifts. The distance didn't seem to matter as his love crossed time and continents.

With each passing day, my heart opened up a little more. His gestures filled my heart with a mix of gratitude, warmth, and a hint of rekindling love.

It seemed like any ordinary day, with Lando on the other side of the world for a race. I was engulfed in my work, my focus solely on the paperwork, to the neglect of myself. Suddenly, my colleague Linda burst into my office.

Linda spoke with concern, her voice filled with worry. "You've been working nonstop. Come on, let's get something to eat." I protested, insisting on finishing my task first, but Linda's stern expression was unrelenting. I agreed reluctantly, rising from my seat. Little did I know, the world was about to spin.

As we walked, I started feeling dizzy, an unfamiliar sensation overtaking me. Linda's voice was heard from beside me. "Sweetheart are you alright?"

"No, no, I'm fine," I quickly reassured Linda, believing I had just stood up too quickly. Yet, before I could take another step, my world slipped away, and I plunged into the darkness of unconsciousness.

Linda witnessed the sudden collapse and hurried to my side, concern filling her voice. "y/n, are you okay?" she asked urgently, but I was unresponsive, the world around me fading into blackness.

The sound of voices echoed in the distance, Linda's voice calling my name. However, the comforting embrace of darkness held me captive.

As I emerged from the haze of unconsciousness, I felt a soothing yet firm hold on my hand. I groaned softly, my eyes slowly creaking open, reluctantly adjusting to the stark brightness of my surroundings.

As my vision cleared, I realized I was in a hospital room. The sterile environment, the soft hum of medical equipment, and the distinctive smell of antiseptic filled the air. I heard someone calling my name, I turned my head, my gaze drifting towards the source of the voice that called my name.

I blinked, still in a state of surprise to see Lando beside me. He looked at me with concern, his presence unexpected given that he was supposed to be on the opposite side of the globe. He spoke urgently, "How are you feeling? Should I call for a doctor?" His worry was evident in his eyes as he waited for my response.

Amidst the haze of confusion and exhaustion, my mind clung to one question. "What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice weak but filled with surprise. "You're supposed to be on the other side of the world."

His response caught me off guard, touching my heart amidst the whirlwind of emotions. "I'm you're emergency contact," he reminded me, and the realization set in.

He had crossed continents and time zones, arriving swiftly on his private jet, driven by his concern for my well-being. I had been asleep for 12 hours, and in that timeframe, he had made his way across the globe to be by my side.

The depth of his commitment touched my heart. Despite the demands of his career, he had flown across the world to be by my side, prioritizing my well-being above everything else. The knowledge that he was my emergency contact made a surge of warmth flow through me. It was a reminder of my significance in his life and the lengths he would go to for me.

I tried to compose myself, my voice still weak, I told him, "You shouldn't have done this. You have important things to attend."

Guilt tugged at me, knowing he had sacrificed his commitments to be here. His racing schedule, his career, everything seemed secondary to his concern for me in that moment.

Lando shook his head, his expression resolute. "I don't care, none of it matters as much as you do," he insisted, his gaze filled with sincerity. He reached out to gently hold my hand, his touch comforting. "Nothing is as important as you," he repeated, emphasizing his priorities.

His words struck a nerve, causing a mix of emotions to rise within me. Tears welled up in my eyes, his unwavering devotion filling me with a combination of gratitude and sorrow. I had doubted him, feared a lack of commitment, yet here he was, proving me wrong in the most dramatic way possible.

His presence in the hospital room, despite the distance he traveled, felt surreal. The sound of medical equipment beeping in the background seemed distant compared to the intense emotions swirling between us. Lando held my hand, his touch warm and reassuring.

In that moment of tender silence, Lando spoke again. His voice was soft, carrying a mix of concern and affection. He squeezed my hand gently, his thumb tracing small circles on my palm. "I was so worried," he admitted, his eyes locked on mine. "Seeing you here in the hospital... was terrifying."

His eyes mirrored the vulnerability he rarely displayed, raw emotions laid bare. The fear he had felt, the concern that gripped him, all visible in his expression. The reality of the situation weighed heavily between us, his emotions palpable and sincere.

I offered a reassuring smile, trying to ease his worries, though the weakness in my voice betrayed my fatigue. "I'm okay," I whispered, exhaustion evident in my words. My weak hand attempted to squeeze his in return, hoping to show my gratitude despite my physical state.

Lando's grip on my hand tightened, his thumb tracing comforting circles on my skin. His gaze remained focused on me, studying my face, searching for any signs of discomfort or pain. He was skeptical of my reassurance, his worry etched on his furrowed brow.

We delved into conversation, discussing random topics, our worries fading into the background. Our chat was filled with laughter and genuine connection. However, our peaceful moment was interrupted when the doctor entered the room for a routine check-up. The doctor informed me that I was discharged, giving me the okay to leave.

Lando assisted me in gathering my belongings, the tenderness in his gestures evident. He carried my bag and carefully guided me out of the hospital room. We paced side by side, making our way to Lando's car parked outside.

We traveled in a soothing silence, the weight of the hospital now off our shoulders. As we reached my place, Lando diligently helped me bring my belongings inside and prepared to leave. But before he could go, he paused and called my name, the sound breaking the tranquility.

I turned my attention his way, meeting his eyes with curiosity. "Yes?" I responded, wondering what was on his mind. His voice had held a hint of hesitation, as if there was something important he wanted to convey.

He inhaled sharply, the weight of his question becoming apparent. He spoke with vulnerability, "There's something I want to ask you. You're free to refuse, but I genuinely want to ask... Will you go on a date with me tomorrow?"

I was initially startled, but the anticipation in his eyes was evident. He swiftly added, "Only if you want it to be a date of course" I could see the sincerity in his gaze. A soft smile tugged at my lips as I accepted his invitation, my voice steady with anticipation. "Yes."

The relief and happiness that washed over Lando's face at my acceptance were evident. His shoulders relaxed, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "You'll go on a date with me?" he asked, a mix of surprise and joy in his tone. "Really?"

The vulnerability in Lando's voice hinted at the significance of my acceptance. He was eager to hear my confirmation once more, his eyes glimmering with hope. I smiled warmly, reassuring him, "Yes, I'll go on a date with you."

We bid each other good night, both feeling the exhilaration of the upcoming date. The way we acted mirrored that of teenagers experiencing their first date, a mix of excitement, nervousness, and anticipation. As we exchanged a final glance, our connection felt like a magnetic pull, both eager for the moment to come. The goodbye lingered for a few moments, filled with electricity.

The evening of our date arrived, and my best friend was diligently working on styling my hair, while I focused on applying my makeup. She fussed over my locks, while I carefully applied concealer and mascara to enhance my eyes. My outfit hung on the closet's door, chosen for the evening. The weight of my excitement made my heart flutter in anticipation of the night ahead.

My best friend, brushing through my hair as she styled it, spoke up. "You know, Lando really went above and beyond for you, don't you think he deserves a chance?" she said, emphasizing his efforts.

There was a pause as I met her gaze in the mirror, a mix of emotions coursing through me. I set down my mascara and turned to face her, the weight of her words settling.

She looked at me, waiting for my response, her eyes filled with a mix of encouragement and genuine concern. The reminder of Lando's efforts weighed heavily on my thoughts. He had shown dedication and cared for me, but my past fears and apprehensions lingered, making it hard to fully let go.

I took a moment, considering her words. Inhaling deeply, I nodded, offering a soft smile of agreement. "Yeah, I know," I admitted, my voice a mix of vulnerability and hope. "But it's... it's hard to trust after everything."

I voiced my intentions, my eyes glimmering with determination. "I want to give him a chance," I declared, my resolve strengthened. "Not just a chance, but an opportunity to show me that he's worth trusting." My past pain weighed heavily on my heart, but the hope in my voice was undeniable.

Her squeal of happiness filled the room, echoing her encouragement. "Oh my god, y/n! I'm so happy for you!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "You're doing the right thing, giving him a shot. He'll make you so happy!"

She grinned, her excitement infectious. "I can feel it in my bones, this is gonna be great. He's going to sweep you off your feet."

We concluded our primping, with my best friend leaving with a parting "keep me updated, and good luck!" The anticipation in my stomach intensified, a mix of excitement and nerves gripping me. I took another glance in the mirror, taking in my appearance one last time.

I was wearing a black off shoulder dress, that hugged my curves nicely. I paired it with the famous uncomfy YSL heels and matching purse. My hair was styled in a beautiful blow out flowing over my shoulders. I sighed one more time before grabbing my stuff.

The doorbell echoed through the room, signaling Lando's arrival with its gentle tone. My heart leaped in my chest, his presence just outside my door.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and then opened the door. Lando stood there, his presence immediately filling the space, and warmth spread through my chest. He looked handsome, his well-groomed appearance evident, but it was his warm eyes and gentle smile that greeted me.

Lando stood before me, a bouquet of vibrant flowers in hand. His expression was one of awe, his words momentarily lost. He managed to compose himself and spoke, his voice filled with admiration. "You look absolutely stunning," he said, his eyes drinking in the sight of me.

The flowers were a beautiful display of color, their delicate petals reflecting the soft light of the hallway. Lando held them out, offering them to me like a bouquet of promises. I extended my hand, taking them with a soft smile, his compliment making my cheeks flush.

We walked out together, arm in arm, the cold evening air washing over us. Lando guided me to his car, opening the passenger door and helping me inside as a gentleman. As we settled in, the city lights danced outside, casting a cozy ambiance in the car.

We arrived at the restaurant, a charming Italian bistro with soft lighting and a cozy ambiance. Lando got out, rushing to open my door, offering a hand to help me out with a soft smile. The scent of fresh herbs and garlic filled the air, a promise of a delicious meal to come.

We stepped inside, the warmth wrapping around us. The atmosphere was romantic, with soft music playing in the background. Lando guided me to a table by the windows, pulling out my chair before taking a seat himself. Candles flickered on the table, casting a soft glow over everything.

We settled into our seats at the table, the ambiance around us serene and inviting. The waiter approached, greeting us warmly and setting menus before us. The scent of fresh bread and delectable aromas wafted from the kitchen, fueling the anticipation for the meal ahead.

Lando spoke with confidence, knowing my preferences. "What do you want to get?" he asked, but before I could respond, he answered himself, "No, I know already. Let me guess... the carbonara." A smile tugged at my lips as he remembered my favorites so effortlessly. I replied, "You know it," a mix of affection and appreciation filling my voice. His attention to detail and memories of things I liked made my heart swell with warmth.

The night unfolded, filled with lively conversation and laughter. Time seemed to stand still as we lost ourselves in our connection, the sound of others around us fading into the background. It felt as if the world had narrowed down to just us, an intimate bubble filled with shared laughter, stolen glances, and shared stories.

As the night drew to a close, neither of us wanted it to end. Lando paid for the meal, and I thanked him with genuine gratitude. We decided to take a stroll, drawn to a nearby bench that offered a view of the water. As we settled onto the bench, the gentle moonlight illuminated the night, casting a silvery glow over the water's surface.

I broke the comfortable silence, my voice soft and sincere. "Lando?" I began, my words carrying heartfelt appreciation. "I really enjoyed today. Thank you," I expressed, my eyes glimmering with warmth as I looked at him.

Lando met my gaze, a soft smile playing at his lips. He spoke with sincerity, his voice filled with warmth. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he replied, his eyes mirroring the appreciation in mine. "It means the world to me that you had a good time. I truly enjoyed every moment with you."

I addressed the elephant in the room, acknowledging the immense effort he'd put in. "You know, you really have gone above and beyond for me these past months," I said, my tone sincere.

It had been a challenge to regain my trust, and Lando's consistent gestures had played a significant role in rebuilding it. His eyes glimmered with a mix of vulnerability and hope, absorbing my words.

Lando's voice was quiet as he responded, his tone sincere. "I know I have, but every moment of it was worth it," he confessed, his emotions clear in his eyes.

"I wanted to show you that you could trust me, that I would go to any lengths to earn your trust," he added, his voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and earnestness.

I continued, my questions flowing out. "What about after we get back together? Would you still care about me like this" I inquired, my eyes searching his.

Lando's expression shifted, vulnerability and sincerity mixing in his gaze.

"After we get back together, I want to cherish every moment even more," he admitted, his voice filled with sincerity. "I want to support you, care for you, and be there for you through anything. I want to keep building on the trust we have and make our relationship stronger than ever."

His sincere words found their way to my heart, a tenderness washing over me. The vulnerability in his expression, combined with his commitment to cherishing our relationship, stirred something within me.

I spoke up, my voice soft but filled with resolution. "I think," I began, "I'm ready to be yours again."

Lando stood up, his eyes wide with disbelief, his emotions overwhelming him. He wrapped his arms around me, lifting me off the bench in a tight embrace.

As he spun us around in a whirlwind of joy, he spoke with heartfelt conviction, "I won't disappoint you ever again. I love you so much."

His hands remained on my waist, a tender touch that seemed to anchor me. I felt a surge of warmth and contentment as I replied with a giggle that turned into laughter, sharing in Lando's excitement.

"I love you too, Lan," I confessed, my eyes glimmering with affection

Lando's grip on my waist tightened as he pulled me into a passionate kiss, a fusion of his emotions and desires. The softness of the moment contrasted with the intensity of our feelings, the kiss sending a surge of electricity through my body. I melted into his embrace, returning the kiss.

As the kiss intensified into a make-out session, I reluctantly pulled away, the reminder of Lando's fame echoing in my mind. However, Lando was unfazed, his response quick and resolute.

He shrugged off the potential consequences, insisting, "Let them see. I've got my girl back, and that's all that matters." His smile was filled with a mixture of certainty and passion as he pulled me back, their lips meeting once more in a toe-curling kiss that seemed to defy any outside concerns.

The moon shone down, lighting up the night as Lando wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close, and we walked back to his car. The air held a delicate sense of anticipation, and as we drove away, I nestled my head against Lando's shoulder, feeling safe and cherished.

Gratitude and affection swelled within me as I realized I had given Lando another chance, and that my heart had bloomed open once again. I smiled, my thoughts swirling with appreciation and love for the incredible journey we were about to embark on.

The end

[whambambatfam]

Webs of a Wing

Chapter 1

I am not well versed in DC knowledge. I've read a bunch of the older comics but, honestly, these timelines are too confusing to say I have a firm grasp on what the fuck is happening at any given point.

Anyways, this is my story, I made a tumbler for it. I'll definitely upload again..

When the fly on the wall starts to spin webs of their own, can the bats catch on? Or will they be left to dangle in the web they've tangled?

───── ⋆⋅ 🕸 ⋅⋆ ─────

You're hardly school aged when you wake in a strange place, vague memories of someone patting your head as you fall asleep. Then it was all blurry and you went from cold hard ground, suddenly, to a warm bed worth more than you've ever seen.

Laying still, staring up at the ceiling, you lay dazed until you hear the door starting to creak open. Quickly shutting your eyes you wait for the suspect to peak inside.

When his voice sounds, back on the other side of the door, you perk up, "Who's this? They're kinda cute." A boy, most likely a few years older than you.

When that deep, fear inducing voice reaches for you, you jump out of bed after it. "Apparently, my child." He couldn't possibly be talking about you, right?

You make your way silently to the creaked door. Peeping through to watch them. "Huh? What?? Like seriously???" Hands resting on his hips, a boy of black hair and lean physique gapes.

A tall man with a build as intimidating as his voice, "Yes, I've run a DNA test and everything." His large arms cross over his broad chest.

Mirroring the older man's stance, the boy questions, "So, who's the mom?"

"I'm still working on that.."

"Have you.. asked them?"

There's a heaviness lingering in the hall around them. "We don't know if they'll talk yet, not till they wake up." He doesn't like not having answers, clearly.

"Can they?"

Swinging the door open, you bark out at your own defense, "I knew how'd to talk!"

His shoulder shot up, face blossoming in embarrassment, "Oh, sorry." Sighing, he tries to appear nonchalant. "Well, heyyy.. kid.. My name's Dick.” Placing a hand on your shoulder, he smiles, “Guess I'll be like, your, uh, big brother?"

Eyes widening, you step away from his grasp. Being in a strange place with strange people claiming to be your family was concerning. Even in your young mind, alarm bells rang loud and clear.

Like a light shining through your darkest times, his voice cut through the tension. “This may be all too much for,” A man, much older than either, rests his hand on your back, “the newly young master Wayne.” He ushers you gently back into the room. All gentle pats and kind smiles as he insists on you resting.

You never spoke about who or where you came from. It hurts to try, to think of the cold, the dark, the pain, the fear. Push out all the bad. Make it just go away. You just wanted it to go away. Wanted to take every memory of before and lock it up, never to be found. So, that's what you did, burying every painful memory. After some time, your young mind turned repression into suppression. Now, left with only bits and pieces, you couldn't remember even if you wanted to.

So, you’ll need to fill in the emptiness with this fresh start.

Life in the Wayne house started off joyfully. You found serenity in the solitude of the manor, disconnected from the rest of Gotham. When Alfred wasn't pushing tedious homeschooling work, you explored the massive house you'd be calling home. The quietude of empty ballrooms, winding halls and stodgy gardens was your respite. While it wasn't a place made for children, you felt at peace for the first time. The perfect home for a ghost with plenty of walls for flies and flowers alike.

Coming from unknown origins with no paperwork to speak of left you in a peculiar predicament. As a child was low grasp on the passage of time, you couldn't exactly say how old you were. Let alone when your birth date was. No one has ever bothered to tell you and if they have you certainly weren't going to remember. Infact, at Alfreds insists on a celebration, he comes to find you've never truly experienced a birthday of any kind. He had to correct this at once, give you a proper one with cake, singing and presents. It makes him wonder what sort of childhood you've been plucked from.

“Well, young master.” Alfred takes your hands as you climb the step stool next to him, “It's been a year now since you've joined us at the manor.”

Your hands slap onto the counter when you finally reach it. “Yeah, I like it.” Smiling wide up at the old butler, you babble on, “everything is so big and warm and it smells nice and I like when you cook and I wanna cook too and-” Alfred hushes your ramblings with a hand on your head.

“Yes, that's lovely, my child.” The other hand opens a draw nearby. “And that's what we'll be doing today.”

You tilt your head as the hand on it brushes over it and falls away, “Cooking?” Craning your neck, you try to peek at the cards he flips through.

“Well, baking, but yes.” He confirms, offering you a smile that's warm and sweet like his cookies, “Today was the day you joined the family, it's as good a day as any for a party.”

Your eyes light up, “A party for what?”

“Your birthday, my dear.” He chuckles softly at your look of awe,“Today will be your birthday, and every year I shall make you a cake.”

“Woah, every year?” You gasp as he hafs you the small stack of cards, each a handwritten cake recipe. While you can't read them yet, there are pictures of each cake pasted alongside the words. “That's a lot of cakes.. Can I help?”

“Whichever you like most we'll bake.” You're quick to pick one, waving the card around frantically, “I would be honored to have your help as well, young master.”

Alfred got to work with measurements, letting you pour everything into the bowls. He shows you how to mix, guiding you hand over hand when you struggle. You can't help spilling half of you what you're given, covering the counters. Sliding the pan batter into the oven, Alfred has you assist by wiping away your mess.

As he begins readying ingredients for frosting you ask, “Are those guys gonna join us?”

You're too busy scrubbing batter from your stool to see the way he deflates. “Unfortunately, your father and brother are tied up in something.” He sighs, taking the rag and finishing your job. With a sullen smile he hands you a measuring cup of sugar, “Perhaps next year.”

The night is spent merrily celebrating. When it cools Alfred frosts and decorates your cake. He places a number of candles, It's the first of many birthdays spent with just you and Alfred.

The next years were your first time in true schooling, a prestigious boarding school to boot. You couldn't remember seeing so many other children before. The eyes you received from strangers when given your new last name made your skin crawl. Deciding to forgo it in most encounters. Yet, for some reason to a great number of your fellow classmates, that fact seemed to matter greatly. If you met someone who insisted or withheld their friendship without, then you'd simply roll your eyes, never speaking to them.

You decided friends weren't important, instead making it your goal to not just succeed but to exceed. If this was your shot of a real family, you wanted to show them you were something capable. Worthy. You were hopeful, determined in getting close.

Only to be pushed aside at every opportunity.

“I got’ perfect score!” The words burst from you with such excitement you're bouncing on the balls of your feet.

Bruce doesn't even bother to look at the paper you're frantically waving at him. Simply mumbling as he places his mug in the sink, “Very nice.” Before turning to Dick, “Come on, son. It's time to go.” You thought maybe this was how a father was supposed to be. Cold, distant and hardly ever around for someone so small.

Alfred steps up from behind your slumped form. Plucking the paper from your dejected gaze. He hums softly before you hear a rap on the fridge beside you. “Wonderful job young master.” You smile for him as he pats your head. Happy to have at least someone’s acknowledgement.

From what your classmates say, a big brother will either pick on you or support you. Soon you came to find that living with Dick Grayson didn't guarantee you any of his time. Good or bad.

So, despite the terror that being center stage fills you with, you entered your school's spelling bee. The thought that maybe you could possibly impress them gave you just enough nerve.

“Hey, um, Dickie...” When you catch his sleeve, your teeth skin into your cheeks. He peeks over his shoulder at you, “Here, it's a competition.”

His nose wrinkles slightly before he smiles. “Spelling bee?” Not a real smile, you don't get those. It's a empty, meaningless thing that hardly lifts his lips.

“If you're not busy.” You clasp your fingers together, steeling your nerves.

“Uh, yeah. Maybe.” It’s thinly masked disgust if anything.

Time came to discuss bringing you into the public eye, an official declaration of your relationship with the Wayne's. Just the thought of it was unsettling, like placing a target on your back. The last place you want to be is the spot light.

“I don't wanna go. I won't go.” It was then in that moment, when the words left your lips, you could see it in his eyes.

A wave of relief Dick couldn't quite stifle, lip touching at the corner before turning to Bruce, “Maybe they're just scared of all those new people. With everyone looking at them, seeing them as your..” That uptick in his features falters slightly, “first child, technically.” Back then, you thought he cared. That this was actually for your protection. “It's a lot of pressure, maybe it would be better. For them, to stay safe.”

Bruce crosses his arms, examining his older child before looking back to the younger. “You have a point there, Dick.” You've twisted your fingers into Alfreds pant leg, half hidden behind him. “Fine. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to. It might even be for the better.” Neither of them wanted you there, thinly veiled behind words of care, never quit saying it.

Not once then did you realize. There was nothing you could do, nothing you could say, nothing you could show for. Nothing to make them see you, the real you. You couldn't provide them with anything, that made you useless.

“Very well, Master Bruce.” With a sigh, Alfred guides you away as the two leave. He was always the one in your corner. Before you even know this life would be a battle.

This give on the topic began your gradual slope into obscurity. In the hectic years of adolescence, you'd come to the conclusion that private schools are for snobs. You manage to convince the old butler, with baked goods, to allow a change of schools. Not wanting to slow your studies yet overwhelmed by your known family reputation. Public school seemed viable, no one had to know who you really were. There seemed to be no object, or real acknowledgment of this decision.

You used to believe, despite how they act, this was it, this would be your family and you could be happy. Surely, you thought, it's because you're new to them. It must be hard to connect, you found it quite difficult yourself.

So, you decided, you'll just need to put in more effort. Show them that there is something that you and they can do together. You took up everything you Alfred offered to teach you when he was around. You learned to cook, sew and clean the whole manor faster than the master butler himself.

Of course, he had other priorities, not just as your caretaker. Try as he might to keep you at the top of that list, he still has duties to attend. So, you would take your days, even weeks, alone with stride. A good time to build your skills on your own, finding new ways to utilize them. Hoping for something, anything, to bridge the gap with your new family.

“I'll be home late today, Al.” While you had gotten away from uptight private schooling, Alfred still set into a well funded school.

He gives a light chuckle of disbelief over the phone, “You have plans, young master?” Pinching the device between your shoulder and ear, you fumble through your first ever locker.

“It's just a club, I'll still need you to pick me up after.” With all your free time, you thought you'd use more of your growing skills.

“At your service my dear.”

You took time to catch on, years of peeling away from the background. Picking and pulling apart from the inside out, finding something that could peak their interest. Hoping to think twice, even once to turn their heads back to the lone manner.

That's how you found them, their secrets; and the life that pulled them as taunt in one direction as the other did. Digging for a way that you could connect from beyond the twice eye catching lives they live day and night. You were piled with reasoning when you found that special place in the library they all seemed to love. The idea of passing the security felt out of reach at the time.

Walking along the dark water line, looking out to the misty sky. You don't wish for misfortune, but you wait. When that light flickers on and that familiar symbol reflects on the dark Gotham clouds, your breath catches. Ducking alonge the rocky cliff wall by the large alcove, you listen to the rumble. You brace yourself as something in the shallow cave opens, the rumble growing.

Then you have your answer. The Batmobile comes billowing out of the cave, in its wake you hide. Long after its departure from the property, you emerge from your hiding spot. Slipping through the closing doors and wandering down into the bat cave.

Despite how they see through you most times, you're sure Alfred knows when you sneak in. So, appreciating this to be Alfred throwing his hand up and hiding his eyes for your sake.

It's awe inspiring to say the least, especially knowing you live above it every day. It felt like peeking through the lives of strangers and you couldn't look away. You don't know why he kept it from you but you didn't want to be shut out for knowing. Yet, you couldn't satiate your curiosity with just this visit.

You had told Alfred you had a meeting after a club and that you would be home late. For some strange reason he promised Dick would pick you up.

Water splashes up from a speeding tire as you walk along the misty Gotham streets, “Aw man, come on!” Of course Dick didn't show! Why would he? When has he ever?

Now, in this situation, Alfred would wish for you to call him for assistance.

“Over there! Look, look!” Across the intersection a pair gasps and squeals, fingers pointed up at the Boy Wonder. The last thing on his mind as he leapt through the night sky, was an unwanted sister.

If only Alfead could get everything he's ever wished for, but you're not a fairy.

Following gunshot and bangs you skirt around chaos, nearly avoiding an obvious outbreak of costumed thugs. You watch in ired fascination as they beat down each threat thoroughly. As the moon starts to sit lower again and the bad guys are carted away, you realize how long you've been gone.

You arrive at the gates in tune to be blown past by the Batmobile. Inside, Alfred gives you a look as if he knows every secret you've even kept. Thankfully he doesn't say a word, You're out of your damp clothes by the time the dynamic duo ascend to the manor.

For people of the shadows, they never could seem to see you creeping through them.

It's through this that you managed to learn about Barbra Gordon. The commissioner's daughter was someone you could only catch glimpses of from time to time. It was rare for you to catch her attention. Much too preoccupied with her work for the Bat, your father.

The batgirl's skill inspired your own delve into tech. Hacking, coding and even trying your hand at tinkering with new devices. Creations that you've jerry-rigged and hoped against hope that she would even glance at.

She's coming over today, you overheard dick say so. You've poked your head over the banister as you wait to spot the red head. Yet, once she's there, you freeze. Dick and Barbara push through the front doors together. Light rain chasing them inside from the sturing storm. Their foot falls followed by light laughter and easy chitchat. If only it was so easy for you.

You watch as your brother scurries off, promising to grab a towel. This is your shot. “Oh, um!” Words are coming from you before you even know what to say. Stumbling over yourself, you bumble over, haltung in front of her. “B-Barbra?”

“Huh, who?” At the ruckus you've made, she whips around. Head on a swivel 'till green eyes locking on you. “Oh! It's you.. uh..” looking you up and down she stumbles as well.

You have to give her your name, again.

“Right, right. Sorry.” Barbra looks off sheepishly, carting a hand through her hair. Hand flicking droplets from the ginger ringlets.

“It's okay..” that's alright, that's normal Even. You don't see each other all that often.. even though you remembered her name just fine. “I just want to ask you about some-” Unfortunately, yet unsurprisingly, she cuts you off before you can pull out what you want to share with her.

“I've actually got to-” Her mouth snaps shut before she thinks better of words, “Well, um, talk with Bruce.” She finishes with an awkward chuckle and mumbled “Y'know how it is. Always something with the Wayne's.”

No, “Yeah..” You didn't know.

You've never shared more than a last name with the Wayne's.

Patting your head she smiles, “Sorry again, hun. Maybe later?” turning away down the hall Dick had disappeared to. Even to the all seeing eye you were nothing but a mere fly on the wall.

Gothams streets were dark, dangerous, and the only place you could see them for more than a minute. You loved nights like this, when you could slip from the manor. Undetected by the inattentive gazes that should have kept a preteen like you home.

With this habit of bird watching, you found yourself looking more into your subpar self defense. Living in Gotham has given you a natural caution but all too often you've wound up in tight situations. All because you couldn't keep your eyes off them. Maybe if you show them you could do that, fight back, they might see you.

You put yourself out there over and over, “Uh, d-dad?” Alfred insisted you call him that, but it never felt right, “I've been doing, um, I have this..” taking a breath you force it out, “It's martial arts, could you come see me?”

Another paper half glance at before the typical, “I'll see what I can do.”

Apparently, there are some things even Batman can't do.

“H-hey.. I, uh, am doing..” You pull out the flier for your competition. inspecting it over before looking to see him. Half-heartedly glancing up from his comic, Dick gives you a once over before continuing to read, “Gymnastics.”

Finally his eyes hold yours when the word shoots from your mouth. For a second you think this is it. This is when you’ll finally have his attention. Finally make that long awaited connection with your big brother. “I'll see, why don't you ask Bruce?” Dick lays the paper on the living room table in front of him.

“I did... he said the same thing.”

The paper is still there when you come back later.

[milkteabinniechan]

Sweet Treat - Felix

(this is a membership exclusive + a preview 👀 you can read the whole addictive story here)

pairing: best friend! Felix x fem! reader

summary: what happens when your best friend accidentally eats some aphrodisiac chocolate and can't control his urges? Will you help him out?

warnings: aphrodisiacs, nipple play, size difference, size kink, mommy kink, org@sm denial, dom reader, dacryphilia, overstimulation, begging, mind break

a/n: *cough cough* this story is purely self indulgent.

“I'd have you on your knees calling me Mommy in two seconds” you chortled, shoving Felix with your arm while your thumbs worked like lightning over the PlayStation controller. Felix always won at these kinds of games. Two characters going head to head, smashing each other's faces until one was headless and spraying blood everywhere. It was times like this, where he was kicking your ass for the hundredth time, that you wondered why you even invited him over in the first place.

“Fatality.” Felix boomed. His character landing a deadly final blow to the chest, sending your guy flying across the screen headless and pathetic. “Now what were you saying about me calling you Mommy?” He smirked, the cocky grin on his lips infuriatingly attractive. He returned the shove from earlier before crossing the living room towards the kitchen. He searched the cupboards loudly for something sweet to snack on. His victory treat he called it. Arrogant prick. You tossed your controller into the seat next to you and groaned obnoxiously. Your eyes wide and pitiful. You make your way to your room to find a new game, a game you may have a chance of winning.

You return to the living room and see Felix on the couch. His face was a bit flushed as the two of you made eye contact. “You okay, Lixie?” you asked, your voice coated with concern. Felix moved in his seat for a moment, his stomach flexing under his t-shirt. He blushes deeply, his face turning a bright shade of red as he stammers nervously. “Oh, um, yeah I'm fine. Just, uh, kinda cramped up from sitting for too long I guess.”

Your eyes wandered shamelessly down his waist to his lap. Felix’s cock was throbbing painfully in his sweatpants, all swelled up and begging to be released. Of course, hiding a massive cock wasn't easy. You knew he was a big guy, you had caught glances every once and a while, but you didn't know he was that big.

[pbaz7]

CROSSING THE LINE — PART NINE ♡

paige x azzi

warnings: panic attack

word count: 5k

A/N: This chapter was a little sad to write but I liked detailed I was able to get with Paige's feelings . If you didn't see my post earlier I'm not sure where I'm going from here yet with this story. This might be one of the last chapters with like an epilogue or something but idk fully yet. Please let me know what you think and leave live reactions and comments if you can! Hope everyone had a nice holiday 😊

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Mid February 2024

Paige stared at her reflection in the mirror, her face pale, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. The weight of it all felt unbearable. Her mind churned with a constant noise—comments, critiques, expectations, all bouncing off the walls of her head. No matter how hard she worked, it was never enough. Each day was a new round of judgment, and she was so tired no matter how much she tried to hide it. 

It was February, and UConn had only lost two games this season, but both had come with a heavy cost. The media storm that followed each loss made it feel like the world was spinning just a little bit too fast, dragging her along with it. Geno’s contradicting criticisms were always looming. She was too passive one game, too aggressive the next, but always too something. She shot too much, didn’t shoot enough, forced too many shots. Every mistake, every misstep, every decision, was held under a microscope, dissected and discussed endlessly.

Paige’s breath came in shallow gasps as she stared at herself in the mirror, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. The scoreboard in her mind was relentless. If she didn’t get at least 25, if she didn’t clearly dominate the game, she wasn’t good enough. It didn’t matter that she was impacting the game in other ways—her assists, her defense, her leadership, her mere gravity on the court. None of that seemed to matter. Only the numbers in the point column.

The pressure was suffocating. No matter how many hours she spent perfecting her game, it was never enough.

Every morning, the first thought in her head wasn’t about the game ahead—it was about the headlines, the tweets, the messages people were sending. Every night, she lay awake replaying her mistakes, wondering how she could have done more. What if she’d pushed harder, passed differently, shot better? What if she had been more aggressive? The question haunted her like a shadow, chasing her down until she couldn’t tell where the doubt ended and she began.

The whispers were always there—people talking about her, criticizing her, claiming she wasn’t the player they thought she should be, the player she used to be. Even her own coach had joined the chorus of voices pointing out her flaws. She could feel the eyes on her during every practice, every game. Everyone was waiting for her to fall, to break under the pressure.

And sometimes, Paige felt like she might.

Azzi slowly noticed it over time. Paige had been quieter than usual during practice, a little more withdrawn in her celebrations, a little more distant. When they were on the court together, Azzi could see the way Paige was moving—slower, as if every step took more energy than the last. She was still putting in the work everyday, but it wasn’t the same. Her confidence, her usual fire, seemed dimmed. Azzi knew Paige well enough to recognize the signs.

So after a seemingly difficult practice for Paige one day, when the gym was nearly empty and the others were gathering their things, Azzi caught up with Paige. She stood in front of her, blocking her path to the locker room, her eyes soft but insistent.

"Paige," Azzi said, her voice gentle but firm. "What’s going on?"

"I’m fine Az," Paige muttered, her tone a little flat.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, especially considering her girlfriend's tone with her. She took a step closer, closing the distance between them.

"You’re not fine," she said quietly, her voice threaded with concern. "You’re putting on a mask, but you know I can see through it."

Paige hesitated for a moment, her gaze dropping to the floor as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She could feel Azzi’s eyes on her, the concern there in the way she was looking at her, but for some reason, the words felt stuck in her throat. She didn’t want to admit how bad it was lately, how much it was all eating away at her.

"I don’t know," Paige said quietly, her voice laced with frustration, a vulnerability she wasn’t used to showing. "It’s just... everything’s too much right now. The pressure. The expectations. I feel like I’m drowning, Azzi. I can’t keep up."

Azzi's heart twisted as she took a step closer, her hand reaching out to gently grasp Paige's arm. "Talk to me, baby," Azzi said softly, her voice full of warmth and care. "You know you’re not in this alone. Whatever you’re feeling, you can share it with me."

Paige let out a shaky breath, the tears she’d been holding back threatening to spill over. She could feel the walls she’d built around herself start to crack, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she wanted to let them fall. She wanted everyone to see everything—the weight of it all, the suffocating pressure she couldn’t escape. She wanted everyone to see just how bad they had made her feel. 

"I just... I don’t know how to do this anymore Az," Paige admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "No matter how hard I try, I’m never enough. The media’s on me, Geno’s on me, even our own damn fans are on me, everyone has something to say, and I feel like I’m constantly failing. If I don’t score 25, if I’m not the one carrying the team every game, it’s like I’m invisible. Like I’m not good enough."

Azzi’s gaze softened even more as she took Paige’s hands in her own, her thumbs brushing over her skin with a soothing touch. "Paige, baby" she said gently, lifting Paige’s chin to meet her eyes. "You are always more than enough. I see everything you’re doing on the court—how you’re leading, how you’re supporting your teammates. You’re making an impact in ways that go beyond just points on the board. And I know how hard you’re working. Don’t let anyone—including yourself—tell you otherwise."

The emotion in Paige’s chest bubbled up, the weight of Azzi’s words landing on her like a balm. She wanted to believe it, wanted to trust that the things her girlfriend said were true. But it was hard to let go of all the voices in her head. It was hard to not think Azzi was just being a supportive girlfriend. 

"I don’t know how to quiet my head," Paige said softly, a tear slipping down her cheek. "How do I keep going when it feels like nothing’s ever enough?"

Azzi pulled her into a gentle hug then, holding her close, her arms wrapping around Paige like a safe haven. "You don’t have to do it alone baby," Azzi murmured into her ear, her voice steady and reassuring. "I’m right here, every step of the way.”

Paige buried her face in Azzi’s shoulder, letting the tears fall freely now with no one else in the gym, no longer holding them back. She didn’t have it in here to be strong right now. She didn’t have it in her to be Uconn’s golden girl right now.

…

But then Uconn almost lost another game. Keyword being almost. 

The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in around Paige as the weight of everything pressed down on her. She had been here a few times before, locked in this dark space, trying to silence the voices in her head, but today felt different. It was harder to breathe, harder to push through.

The game had ended with a win. UConn had won by 11 points, but it wasn’t enough. It never was. Not when you were the star. Not when everyone expected perfection. Geno had praised her performance, sure, but there was always that hint of disappointment in his voice—more could have been done. More passes. More assists. Fewer contested shots because that won’t help in March.

Paige felt like she could feel the media’s eyes on her the entire game, their cameras flashing with judgment as they pounced on every flaw, no matter how small. The fans, too, had their say—complaining that she should have dropped 30 points on an unranked team, that she was being passive and deferring too much to other players. She knew they didn’t understand. They couldn’t see what was really happening on the court, the way she was trying to balance it all, the way she was doing everything she could to make her teammates shine, to get everyone involved.

But none of that mattered. Not to them.

Paige sat on the floor of the suite, back against the wall, feeling like she was shrinking into herself. She knew better than to get sucked into social media. Azzi had told her, warned her to delete it all, to stop looking at the constant stream of opinions from strangers. But here she was, scrolling through her feed, eyes filling with tears as she read each comment, each demand for more, as if she wasn’t already giving everything she had even if it was slowly killing her. 

She let out a shaky breath, biting down on her lip, trying to hold the tears at bay. But it wasn’t enough. The pressure kept building, the anxiety squeezing around her chest, making it harder to breathe. Paige put her phone down with trembling hands, the weight of it all sinking in, her head pounding with the noise in her mind.

Unable to stop herself, she softly banged the back of her head against the wall a few times, willing the thoughts to stop swirling. 

Why wasn’t it enough? Why couldn’t she just be allowed to have a good game, a solid performance, without the world tearing it apart? Why did every win feel like a loss when the criticism outweighed the praise? 

The tears finally came then, falling freely down her face as she sat there, trying to get a grip on her spiraling thoughts. The walls felt like they were slowly closing in, and she couldn’t stop the fear that was creeping into her chest. The fear that no matter how hard she tried, she would never be enough. That one day, the pressure would break her. That she would fall off the face of the Earth and everything for everyone else would keep spinning. 

She hated feeling weak, hated how powerless she felt in this moment. Not being in control. But she just tried to hold onto the thought of Azzi still in her mind, a small thread of comfort in the chaos. Azzi would understand. Azzi always did.

The room felt so empty without her. The silence was suffocating, the isolation almost too much to bear. Each breath Paige tried to take felt shallow, and the harder she focused on her breathing, the more it seemed to slip away. The more difficult it became. Panic was creeping in, like a hand pressing down on her chest, squeezing the air out of her lungs.

She could physically feel all of it—the weight of the expectations, the constant pressure to be perfect. Each thought, each criticism, each word from the media felt like it was wrapping itself around her throat, making it harder to breathe.

She knew she should call Azzi, to try to force some words out so her girlfriend knew how much she needed her. But her phone lay discarded beside her and Paige couldn’t bring herself to look at it. She knew the messages, the comments, that she would unlock her phone to would only make it worse. Her head was spinning, and she couldn’t stop it. Every time she tried to focus her thoughts, to breathe deeply, to imagine Azzi the panic only tightened its grip.

Then the door clicked open, pulling her back from the edge for just a moment. Paige’s heart tried to catch up knowing who it was, but the breath still wouldn’t come.

Azzi froze when she saw Paige, sitting on the floor, her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking. It only took a second for Azzi to drop her bag and throw her phone on the bed before rushing over. She didn’t hesitate, kneeling in front of Paige, taking her face in her hands. Paige couldn’t look at her, her breathing coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

"Paige," Azzi’s voice was gentle, but firm. "Look at me."

But Paige couldn’t. She was shaking, struggling, trapped in the chaos of her mind. Azzi saw it instantly—this wasn’t just sadness this time. This was another panic attack.

"Hey, hey, listen to me," Azzi said softly, her fingers brushing along Paige’s cheek, trying to steady her. "Breathe, baby. You’re okay."

Azzi’s own breaths were deep, slow, as she began to count, trying to guide Paige through the chaos. "In... one, two, three..." she counted, her voice low but steady. "Exhale... one, two, three..."

Paige’s chest heaved, her breaths sharp and ragged. She tried to focus on Azzi’s voice, but everything felt distant, blurry and out of reach.

"Come on, breathe with me," Azzi whispered, gently urging her. "In... one, two, three..." She let the air out slowly, counting as she did. "Exhale... one, two, three."

Paige’s body trembled, and Azzi could feel the weight of her distress, her panic. But she kept her voice calm, breaking each sentence into short, steady breaths.

"You’re safe," Azzi said, her thumb gently tracing over Paige’s skin. "I’m here. Breathe with me baby."

Paige’s breaths came in short, gasping bursts, still out of rhythm. She tried to follow Azzi’s lead, but each time she focused on her breath, it slipped further away.

"In... two, three," Azzi counted, her voice never wavering. "Exhale... two, three. You’re okay. I love you. I’m here."

Paige’s hands shook as she clutched at her chest, fighting for air. "I can’t... Azzi..." she gasped, her voice barely audible. She was drowning in the overwhelming pressure, feeling like she was finally losing the battle.

"You can," Azzi whispered, her own breath deepening as she counted. "In... one, two, three... Exhale... one, two, three." She leaned closer, her forehead gently resting against Paige’s. "Focus on me. You’re doing great. In, out. In, out."

The air in the room seemed to thicken, but slowly, Paige’s breathing began to soften. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. The frantic gasps slowed, her chest rising and falling with each breath, steadier now.

Azzi didn’t stop. She kept her hand on Paige’s face, gently coaxing her. "You’re so amazing, baby. You’re so strong. You’re so perfect."

Each breath they took together was a small step, and with every inhale, Paige felt the panic loosen its grip, just a little. Her hands stopped shaking as much, her body less rigid. Azzi’s voice was still steady, counting each breath, reassuring her.

"Good," Azzi said, her voice soft but filled with warmth. "That’s it. You’re okay now. Just breathe with me."

Paige’s breath was slower now, the panic starting to fade, replaced with exhaustion. She looked up at Azzi, her eyes filled with gratitude, but there was still a trace of vulnerability in her gaze.

Azzi smiled softly, her thumb brushing across Paige’s cheek. "I’m here," she whispered again, as though to remind Paige that she wasn’t alone. "I promise you’re never alone."

The storm hadn’t completely passed, but in that moment, with Azzi’s arms around her and her steady presence grounding her, Paige felt like she could breathe again.

After a few minutes of quiet, Azzi didn’t speak. She simply stood up and took Paige’s hand, gently guiding her towards the bathroom. Paige let herself be led, her body feeling light but exhausted, her mind still clouded and heavy. She felt empty, drained, but Azzi was there—her steady hand, her calm presence, like a lifeline in the chaos.

Azzi helped Paige undress. Paige didn’t protest, too worn out to resist, too overwhelmed to think about anything beyond the comfort Azzi was offering. When Azzi took off her own clothes and stepped into the shower with Paige, there was no rush, no urgency, just a quiet understanding between them as they sat in silence for a little bit.

Azzi began undoing Paige’s two braids softly as she kissed her girlfriends cheek or neck now and then. She then reached for the shampoo, squeezing a generous amount into her palm before gently massaging it into Paige’s wet hair. The warm water cascaded down over them, mingling with the steam, but all Paige could focus on was the soothing pressure of Azzi’s fingers against her scalp. Slowly, the tension in her body began to melt away. She leaned into Azzi, letting her eyes close as she rested her head on her shoulders, the simple act of being cared for grounding her even further.

Azzi didn’t say anything, her hands working methodically, rinsing the shampoo from Paige’s hair before applying conditioner. The quiet was comforting, the sound of water and Azzi’s soft hum in Paige’s ear were the only things filling the space.

When Azzi finished rinsing the conditioner out of her hair, Paige finally opened her eyes, meeting Azzi’s gaze. Azzi’s eyes softened, filled with a tenderness Paige couldn’t quite put into words. Her love for Paige was clear in the way she looked at her—gentle, unwavering, and so full of admiration.

Paige’s throat tightened, but she whispered, “Thank you.” Her voice was hoarse, but full of gratitude.

Azzi smiled, her thumb lightly grazing Paige’s cheek as she leaned in to press a soft kiss to her lips. “You don’t have to thank me, baby. I told you, no matter what, I’m always in your corner and I’m going to help you get through this.” 

The words settled into Paige’s chest. She wasn’t alone. Azzi was there, always there.

Without thinking, Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi, pulling her close. The water hit them both, but neither of them cared. They stood there, their bodies pressed together, holding each other in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

…

Steam lingered in the air as Paige stepped out of the bathroom dressed in a hoodie and sweats, her damp hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. The soft shuffle of Azzi’s movements drew her attention to the bed, where Azzi had just sat cross-legged, a comb in one hand and two hair ties in the other.

"Come here," Azzi said softly, patting the space in front of her.

Paige raised an eyebrow, but the gentle look in Azzi’s eyes pulled her forward. She settled on the floor, her back to Azzi, who immediately began threading her fingers through Paige’s damp hair.

For a while, the room was quiet except for the faint sound of the comb gliding through Paige’s hair. Azzi broke the silence, her voice gentle. "You wanna tell me what’s been on your mind tonight?"

Paige was silent, staring at her hands clasped in her lap. She bit her bottom lip, her mind racing as she tried to find the words. "I just... I don’t know what people want from me anymore," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azzi paused briefly, her hands stilling before resuming their steady rhythm. "What do you mean?"

"It’s like..." Paige hesitated, trying to find the words. "It’s not about basketball anymore. Every game, every move—it’s a story for someone else to tell. I can’t stop thinking about what people are gonna say after every game, and it’s exhausting."

Azzi hummed softly as she began parting Paige’s hair for the braids. "Do you think about that while you’re playing?"

Paige nodded, her voice small. "Sometimes. It’s like... the game isn’t just the game anymore. There’s so much pressure to live up to everyone’s expectations, and it makes it hard to just... enjoy it. To be in the moment."

Azzi gently tugged one section of hair, starting the first braid. "Paige, baby, you’ve been playing basketball your whole life. You didn’t fall in love with it because of what other people thought. You fell in love with it because it made you happy.”

"I know," Paige said, her voice wavering slightly. "But it’s hard not to care when there’s so many expectations. It’s like... no matter what I do, it’s never enough for me to just get one day of silence. And I just don’t want to let anyone down."

Azzi’s hands worked steadily as she braided, her voice calm but firm. "You can’t control what people think or say, no matter how hard you try so we gotta let that part go. But you can control remembering why you play. You don’t owe anyone anything, Paige—not the fans, not the critics, not even me baby. You play this game for you and only you. 

Paige was quiet for a moment, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweats. "It’s just hard to block it all out sometimes."

"I know it is," Azzi said softly, tying off the first braid and starting on the second. "But you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You’ve handled so much already, you’ve been through so much already and you’re still here, still fighting. That’s what matters."

Paige glanced over her shoulder, a small smile breaking through her thoughtful expression. "When did you get so wise?"

Azzi grinned, focused on finishing the second braid. "I’ve always been this wise. You’re just quiet enough for the first time to actually pay attention."

Paige chuckled, leaning into Azzi’s touch as she tied off the braid. Azzi ran her fingers over the finished work, smoothing down stray hairs before giving Paige’s shoulder a light squeeze.

"There," Azzi said, standing up and heading to the corner of the room to grab her basketball shoes. "Now, let’s go."

Paige blinked, looking at her with clear confusion on her face. "What? Go where?"

"The gym," Azzi said matter-of-factly, sliding her feet into some slides

Paige stared at her in disbelief. "Az, we just played an entire game and just got out of the shower. You’re crazy." 

Azzi smirked, tossing Paige’s shoes onto the floor beside her. "Come on, Superstar. I’m not asking."

Paige groaned, flopping back onto the carpet. "I picked a crazy person to be my girlfriend," she muttered, though a small grin tugged at her lips.

Azzi stepped closer, brushing a playful kiss against Paige’s temple. "Definitely, thought that was in the fine print though."

With a dramatic sigh, Paige sat up, slipping on her shoes and tying them lazily. "You’re lucky you’re cute," she grumbled as she followed Azzi out the door to her car. 

…

The gym was eerily quiet, the faint hum of the overhead lights the only sound as Paige and Azzi switched into their basketball shoes. Paige stood near the baseline, watching Azzi lace up her sneakers with an amused expression.

Azzi grabbed a basketball from the rack, dribbling it once before tossing it to Paige. "Check."

Paige caught the ball, raising an eyebrow at Azzi. "What are we doing?"

Azzi, already standing at the three point line, grinned. "We’re playing one-on-one."

Paige scoffed, spinning the ball lazily in her hands. "No, we’re not."

Azzi tilted her head, feigning innocence. "What, scared you’ll lose?"

Paige rolled her eyes, her competitive spirit sparking lightly at Azzi’s accusation. "First of all, I don’t lose one-on-one. Second, I definitely wouldn’t lose to my girlfriend."

Azzi smirked. "Then prove it. Play me. Otherwise I’ll just tell everyone you were scared."

Paige muttered something incoherent under her breath before lazily checking the ball back to Azzi.

Azzi immediately took advantage of Paige’s relaxed posture, going into a quick jumper from behind the arc. The ball arching beautifully through the air and swishing through the net.

"2-0," Azzi announced, her smirk widening.

Paige groaned, grabbing the ball. "Alright, that’s real cute."

When Paige checked the ball this time, she pressed a hand firmly against Azzi’s hip, cutting off her space. Azzi tried to drive left, but Paige stuck with her, their bodies brushing as they collided. Azzi pivoted, stepping back into a mid-range jumper that kissed the front of the rim before bouncing in.

"3-0," Azzi teased, grinning. "You’re looking a little slow tonight, P. You tired?"

"Yeah?" Paige’s voice dripped with mock sweetness as she checked the ball again. Azzi tried to hit another step back but it bounded off the rim. 

They checked the ball and Paige jab-stepped to her left, forcing Azzi to shift her weight, then crossed over and exploded to the basket with a quick step. Azzi stayed close, but Paige used her body to shield the ball, finishing with a layup off the glass. 

"3-1," Paige said, flashing a smug grin.

Azzi grabbed the ball, her competitive spirit ignited even though this was supposed to be about Paige. As they continued to play, their movements grew sharper and more physical. Paige backed Azzi down on one possession, bumping her with her shoulder before spinning for a fadeaway jumper. Azzi countered by cutting through the lane with a quick first step, using her speed to slip past Paige for an easy floater.

The teasing never stopped.

"Didn’t know I signed up for wrestling practice," Azzi quipped after Paige body-checked her on a drive.

"Yeah yeah," Paige shot back. "You’re not getting past me again."

Azzi grinned. "Oh, I’m passing you right now." She immediately drove left, brushing past Paige’s hip as she hooked her slightly and finishing with a reverse layup that left Paige shaking her head.

The game became more intense with each possession. Azzi swatted one of Paige’s layup attempts, the ball flying out of bounds. Paige groaned.

"You’ve never done that in your life" Paige said, narrowing her eyes as she retrieved the ball.

"First time for everything," Azzi replied, standing tall and grinning.

Paige responded by hitting a deep three-pointer, holding her follow-through for much longer than necessary as the ball sailed through the hoop. "9-8," Paige said, her smirk confident.

On the next possession, she used a quick hesitation move to fake Azzi out of position, draining another jumper.

As the score climbed, so did the tension. The gym felt warmer, their breaths coming faster, their earlier shower completely undone by the sweat dripping down their faces. Every drive and every block brought them closer, their bodies brushing and colliding in ways that blurred the lines between competition and something more.

At one point, Azzi’s hand lingered on Paige’s waist as she pivoted for a shot, and Paige didn’t pull away. Instead, she smirked, leaning in slightly as she jab-stepped.

"You getting distracted on me?" Paige teased, her voice low.

" Nope," Azzi fired back, though her flushed cheeks suggested otherwise.

Eventually they were tied at 17, both breathing heavily as they sized each other up. Paige had the ball tucked against her hip, her gaze locked on Azzi.

"What do I get when I win?" Paige asked, her tone playful but laced with a hint of something more.

Azzi’s eyes narrowed, her lips curving into a smile. "You’re not going to win."

Paige chuckled, her confidence unshaken. "Guess we’ll see."

She dribbled slowly, luring Azzi to sleep on defense before hitting her with a fast combo move before she drove hard to the basket, finishing with a finger roll that danced around the rim before dropping in.

"18-17," Paige said, smirking as she checked the ball. "Told you, I don’t lose."

It was Azzi’s ball again and once she caught the ball back from Paige, she stepped back, shooting a quick three-pointer that hit nothing but the bottom of the net.

"19-18," Azzi said, mimicking Paige’s earlier tone. She smirked, stepping closer. "What am I getting when I win?"

Paige grinned, walking up to Azzi until they were nearly nose to nose. “A little something to remind you how giving I can be.”

Azzi shook her head, laughing. "You’re full of it."

The game continued, both of them refusing to give an inch to the other but finally Paige ended it with a three that rattled in after she hit Azzi with a hesi pullup. 

"That’s game," Paige said, her voice triumphant as she grabbed her water bottle.

Azzi was smiling as she sipped from her own bottle, her grin unusually big. Paige noticed and raised an eyebrow. "You do know you just lost, right?"

Azzi kept smiling, stepping closer until they were chest to chest. "Yeah," she said softly. "But you weren’t thinking about anything else besides this game, were you?"

Paige blinked, her grin softening as realization hit her. For the first time in a while, she hadn’t been consumed by the weight of everyone’s expectations and opinions of how she was playing. She’d just been... playing.

"Huh," Paige said, her voice quieter. "I guess not."

Azzi smirked, leaning in close, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "See? I told you I’d help."

Paige leaned in, her lips brushing against Azzi’s, but before she could close the gap, Azzi stepped back with a mischievous grin.

"Nah," Azzi said, grabbing her water bottle and bag. "I’m a sore loser. You don’t get a kiss after beating me."

Paige laughed. "The winner’s supposed to get something."

Azzi tilted her head, her voice dipping into a sultry tone. "Oh? Is that what you want from me baby?"

Paige nodded, her smile growing as she stepped closer, but Azzi turned on her heel, heading for the door.

"You gotta work for it," Azzi called over her shoulder, her voice dripping with playful challenge as she walked away.

Paige stood there, dumbfounded, watching her girlfriend’s retreating figure. Despite everything she’d been feeling earlier, all the negativity and doubt, Azzi had completely unraveled it and left nothing but the Paige who loved to play basketball more than anything.

"Wait!" Paige called after her, grinning. "So, I’m really not getting any tonight?"

Azzi turned, walking backward as her smirk deepened. "Maybe," she teased, her eyes gleaming. "But like I said you gotta work for it P."

Paige chuckled, shaking her head as she jogged after her, a lightness settling in her chest. She couldn’t stop the grin spreading across her face, her eyes fixed on Azzi.

"Thank the gods," Paige muttered under her breath, her voice laced with a mix of humor and adoration, "and every single heaven above for Azzi Fudd."

The thought made her laugh softly to herself as she caught up, ready to follow wherever Azzi led her next.

[gracemisconduct]

This has been a strange Christmas. The first without my dad. I've always struggled with being explicit about emotion; this is the second major grief in my life, and the first nearly killed me. This time, I'm trying to be open, less self destructive, but man, it's hard work. My mother, still here, is...someone who loves me better from afar. She also struggles to accept that this has happened to more than her. And yet, Christmas, funerals, and the time of year forces proximity, and forces everything that comes with it.

He died in increments, then all at once. I first saw him die a little ten years ago, getting a pacemaker. Then a little more two years later, when he was so breathless he couldn't walk across the small medieval town I lived in. I saw him die a little bit when he was diagnosed with cancer, and when he broke down crying at my wedding. I saw him die most and fastest this year, when he went from visiting China to not having the strength to sit up in bed by himself. And then, all at once, he died.

I never knew there was so much admin involved in death. People would ask how I was; I had no idea. I was too busy sourcing a death certificate, arranging a funeral, writing a eulogy, telling friends and family he'd died, sorting my mum's finances. Every now and again I'd burst our crying. Then I'd stop.

Through it all, two things kept me just about sane; walking, walking everywhere, and fantasy. Good fantasy, bad fantasy. Smut and angst and fandoms and AO3 and all the wonderful ridiculousness of it that teen Grace loved and 20s Grace tried to pretend she didn't. Now I'm in my 30s, no shits are given. It was a balm, a source of humour, a relief. A place of happy endings of all kinds. A lot of BG3. It even made me think about doing a little writing of my own, though we're far from there yet. Thanks, hellsite, for the wonderful wildness of this place. Thanks, makers, for putting your work out there into the world for me to get lost in and cling to like a life raft.

____________

So, who was my dad? He was the most accomplished man I ever knew; nearly 40 years curating Japanese art and metalwork at internationally renowned museums, published books, honorary positions, a photographer, a ceramicist, a singer and more. His eulogy took days to write just to remember everything he did, and we still missed things.

His curiosity for culture, his love of learning, his collecting of obscure facts and bizarre stories, was infectious. It was the golden thread of my brother and I’s upbringing, with weekends and holidays punctuated by museums, bookshops, National Trust properties, standing stones and sci-fi movies, and everything in between. It was this same passion and curiosity that meant his list of friends and admirers was longer than your arm. He was a G.I. and so am I. Yes, I stole his badge.

When we were looking for readings for his cremation, we came across this poem. It's a later addition by Tolkien, written by Bilbo as he travels to the Grey Havens, thinking about his life and what comes next. I think that dad - LOTR narrator, deliver of funny hobbit voices, old hippy - would appreciate it. I hope you do too.

Day is ended, dim my eyes,

but journey long before me lies.

Farewell, friends! I hear the call.

The ship's beside the stony wall.

Foam is white and waves are grey;

Beyond the sunset leads my way.

Foam is salt, the wind is free;

I hear the rising of the Sea.

Farewell, friends! The sails are set,

the wind is east, the moorings fret.

Shadows long before me lie,

beneath the ever-bending sky,

but islands lie behind the Sun

that I shall raise ere all is done;

lands there are to west of West,

where night is quiet and sleep is rest.

Guided by the Lonely Star,

beyond the utmost harbour-bar

I'll find the havens fair and free,

and beaches of the Starlit Sea.

Ship, my ship! I seek the West,

and fields and mountains ever blest.

Farewell to Middle-Earth at last.

I see the Star above your mast!

- J.R.R. Tolkien

notes on grief - chimamanda ngozi adichie

[f1fan123]

Miss Engineer / Lando Norris

Lando Norris x fem!engineer reader

Face claim Random girls on Pinterest

Warnings Fluff

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Yourusername

Liked by yourbff and 2,879 others

You're girls Finally done, me and yourbff are finally Engineers

User16 Congratulations to you. Brains and beauty for real

User222 Mother is Mothering

Yourbff Let's go bestie. All done with the hard work

Yourusername love you bookie

User777 Nooo! Who's going to give us study guides and tips for uni. Gonna miss your tips Queen

Yourusername User777 Don't worry I'm still going to be posting study tips and tricks on YouTube for you guys

User777 Omg you replied! Your doing gods work girlie

-

Yourusername

Liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, yourbff and 4,567 others

First day at work. Your girls finally an Engineer at McLaren

Landonorris Yourusername Welcome to the team

Yourusername landonorris thanks, excited to work with you guys

User16 Congrats girl🥳

Yournamefan Who's been following her since she started posting about tips and tricks on YouTube about studying?

User333 Yournamefan Same, she's helped me a lot. I went from F's to straight A's in a month

-

Yourusername

Liked by yourbff, CharlesLeclerc, Landonorris and 5,667 others

Congratulations on your first win Lan. It's been a pleasure to work with you this season.

Landonorris Best Engineer ever. Your my lucky charm

Yourusername Stop I'm just doing my job 🤭

User34 Can y'all just date already

Ynlanshipper He called her his lucky charm🥹😍

-

Landonorris

Liked by yourbff, Yourusername, oscarpiastri and 6,789 others

Finally got the courage to ask her out

User662 Omg finally. He was giving heart eyes every time they looked at each other

Oscarpiastri Finally he can stop talking about you

Landonorris oscarpiastri Shut up man

Yourusername Love you pookie

Landonorris Love you too baby

User89 Lando bagged this baddie

Liked by Landonorris

User999 okay Lando I wasn't aware of your game

Yourbff IS THIS HOW I FIND OUT???

Yourusername Relax I'll call you later and give you the details

A/n Second au sorry if there is spelling mistakes or it doesn't make sense. I'm dyslexic and I'm trying my best to make stories. Feedback would be wonderful.

[the-fab-fox]

Okay so this has been something I've been chewing on for a long while. About making this post I mean.

This one is to those who actively ingest fanfiction but seem to think it's okay to just read free fiction that people have put time and thought and crafted prose for your enjoyment and do nothing in return.

All we ever ask for and all we ever want is for y'all to AT THE VERY LEAST hit that kudos button if you like the work. That is the BARE MINIMUM of what you SHOULD be doing. Especially all of you who say you're too nervous to comment or don't wish to be perceived. And if you don't want your account on the list, you can log out and send a guest kudos.

But as I said, BARE MINIMUM. If you loved the fic, if you got something out of it that left you feeling good and energized (or whatever angst does for y'all) then I want to take a moment and strongly urge you to comment, subscribe (if a wip), and bookmark those works. Did you know there's an option to even mark it as a Fic Recommendation? You can put notes in to and say why you liked it and things like that (DO NOT DO A RATING IN PUBLIC BOOKMARKS HOWEVER). And, you can indeed make them private! The writer still gets the number added to their stats but your bookmark we won't see.

Anyway, I now wanna turn your attention to Exhibit A:

This is a list of my best performing fics. Do you see the problem with this? The green highlights are the hits I've received for those fics. The red is the Kudos and comment threads. Now the kudos is obviously right?

Let's look at my number one fic right now, Accidentally in Love (a Malleyuu fic from Twisted Wonderland fandom). It's the seventh fic in a romance series. As you can see, it's doing great as far as hits, right? And I know it's an amazing fic from the comments I have received and just from rereading it myself. Note, I am probably the biggest bully to myself as @sunshineandteddybears and @mellosdrawings and @romantichopelessly can tell you in great detail. So when I am saying it's really damn good, you can probably trust it's gonna be pretty damn good. And yet, a fic that has 4K hits only has 119 kudos. And now to bring your attention to the comment threads. So honestly with how bad readers are on actually commenting (which by the way if you log off you can send anonymously as a guest—you'll have to put in your email address but we authors won't see that)... 107 seems pretty good right? But you guys don't see that. You see what's on the info for the story. Unfortunately, on the fic info at the top of the story, it counts every single comment (including the Author's). (The comment threads is just every single starting comment, i.e. the first comment received from each commenter.)

The thing is, I—and probably quite a few other writers—do respond to every single comment.

So that means where the info on my fic itself says 230 comments, in reality, I'm at half that when I subtract my half of the comments. So that's actually 115 comments from other people. So some people might see that 230 and think oh they got a lot of comments so I don't think they want to hear from me or I can't be fucked and they're already doing good so.

NO. NO. NO. Do not look at the numbers as a guide if a fic is good or not. Do not look at the numbers and think that we don't need or deserve to get any more. And finally WE WANT TO HEAR FROM Y'ALL.

Excuses need to stop.

Speaking of numbers. Here's my over all stats current on AO3.

In the 3 years on this AO3 account (I've had others in the past and accounts on ff.net and live journal. I'm an oldie fanfic writer lol. 21 years of fanfic. My gods. 🤣) It didn't used to be like this guys. Back in the day I'd get 12 plus comments on a chapter and this is on stuff a teenager wrote.

We have got to get back to the point of supporting each other and building each other up. Also while I'm at it, I have a huge beef with the fact that fanartists get so much more positive feedback and replies and comments, but the thing is, even their numbers are skewed. You can go into the notes of a fanart on here that has 10k notes to see they have maybe 100-1K reblogs (if that, I'm being generous) and maybe 10 or so replies (if turned on) and the rest are all likes. EVERYONE has been on here long enough by now to know that likes do nothing to get a post in the algorithm and tags only do so much. Reblogs are the only way their art (or our fanfictions for people who post them on here) gets seen! By sharing!

So y'all gotta get better. Yes, we write for ourselves first, but ultimately a story is meant to be shared with everyone and feedback should not be optional if you're actively reading the fics or viewing the art for free and enjoyed it!

TLDR:

IF YOU FUCKING LIKE A FANFIC. KUDOS AT THE VERY LEAST BUT BE BETTER. COMMENT. BOOKMARK. SUBSCRIBE IF IT'S A WIP YOU LOVE. (Like, comment and reblog if on Tumblr)

IF YOU FUCKING LIKE A FANART ON TUMBLR. COMMENT. LIKE. REBLOG.

DO BETTER AS READERS AND US WRITERS AND ARTISTS WILL GIVE YOU THE WORLD (AND MANY OTHER WORLDS TO BOOT)

That is all. Please reblog the fuck out of this if you agree.

(and tagging my current and last fandoms so this can get in fandom spaces where it needs to be.)

[pyrodolls]

HIII i loved your down bad hcs and figured i'd drop a request 👉👈

can i get some hcs for the lin kuei trio + kenshi w/ a gn!reader who's very clingy?

like someone who'll literally follow them wherever they go just for some physical affection and is very cuddly. bonus points if the reader is talkative too :]

LIN KUEI TRIO + KENSHI X CLINGY!READER HCS

WARNINGS: sfw, established relationship, gender neutral reader, lowercase intended, mk1 characters, mk1 spoilers, takes place after the story and before the khaos reigns dlc cuz i haven't played it yet lmfaoooo

A/N: hey... hey.... how y'all doing... erm it's been a while but here we go with another mortal kombat post!! the last time i posted about it was nearly a YEAR ago y'all i suckkkk i'm sorry. but as an apology and a late christmas gift, i'm posting 5 different reqs this week woohoooo *everyone cheers* and i'm sorry it took so long for me to write, i just didn't feel like it. but here we are! also apologies for making tomas and kenshi's hcs short, i just don't have a lot of writing experience for kenshi and tomas only has like 2 minutes of screentime ijbol

with BI-HAN, he'd hate for you to be clingy while he is working. he has an entire clan to take care of, and his stress was worsened after kuai liang and tomas's betrayal. even though you may be his spouse, his main goal will always remain with the lin kuei and taking control of earthrealm. but in private, you could be physically affectionate or talk to your heart's desire.

he's not going to reciprocate your affections, though. he's not used to the concept of romance, especially from someone as vulnerable as you. his entire life he was trained to be cold and ruthless. sure, he grew up with kind brothers, but he saw their friendly nature as weakness. he'll often criticize you for being open with your feelings, but that's only because that was what he was taught. he may behave as if he resents your attachment, but he secretly enjoys the domesticity. it delights him that you are so devoted to him. his hatred for his former brothers grows every day due to their betrayal, so having you around him softens his temper, as he requires reassurance that you aren't going to turn on him. (he'll never admit that, though.) he also doesn't mind when you follow him around as long as you do not disrupt his duties or make a fool out of him. keep your affections private, and you'll stay his. you wouldn't want him to punish you for misbehaving in front of the entire clan, would you?

KUAI LIANG is far more accepting of your behavior than his colder brother. he understands that you're clingy because you care about him, so he tries to make an effort to reciprocate your affections whenever he can. but he often worries for your safety as his spouse. he worries that the lin kuei could target you if they find out about your love. you're free to be clingy, but you must keep it private.

he believes your love is one of the last good things he has left in his life. after bi-han's betrayal, his life has been one of little to no rest. having you by his side keeps his anxieties at bay for a short amount of time. you can talk to him as much as you want, and he won't interrupt you unless it's important. he would listen to your thoughts without judgement. he may question you, but he'll never judge. he may not be as talkative as you are, because he tries to show you how he feels with actions rather than words. but he still manages to keep up with you because he loves you. he's grateful to have some happiness in his dangerous life. that happiness is you.

TOMAS is similar to his brothers as he does not wish for your affections to be public, for safety reasons. however, he makes it very clear that he is appreciative of your clingy nature and never fails to turn beet red when you hug him. while he is busy building the shirai ryu, he has much more free time than his brothers. he enjoys going on walks with you and hearing you talk for hours. he stays engaged and asks questions and laughs along at your jokes, even if they aren't funny. he isn't as energetic as you are, but he attempts to reciprocate your energy the best he can. he grew up with bi-han's harsh criticisms and kuai liang's gentle guidance, but he's never had someone always excited to see him like you. you never fail to put a smile on his face and brighten a dark day.

KENSHI is now a government agent, so he often comes home to you at different times every night. he feels guilty for making you wait for him so late at night, but his concerns wash away the moment you run to hug him. he has a dangerous job, and he can handle himself despite losing his vision, but it doesn't stop him from worrying about you every time he leaves the house. just like the lin kuei trio, he wants to keep your relationship private, so you aren't hunted down like he is. he feels bad that you can't have a normal relationship with him, and it has gotten you in a few arguments, since he believes you deserve better. but ultimately, it's always worked out in the end when you reassure him that you're happy with him and nobody else. he doesn't care that you're a bit clingy, he appreciates that you care about him. it breaks his heart when he has to push you away for his job, but he just wishes to protect you, since your relationship is the best thing that's ever happened to him.

[niallerspayno]

English Love Affair (frat boy Harry x reader) - Fic Request

Masterlist

Inspired by the song English Love Affair by 5SOS

Request for @purplekimijks: What began as a one-time fling quickly evolves into something more as you and Harry find yourselves seeking each other out for frequent, secretive hook-ups. As Ashton’s sister and a songwriter for 5SOS, the situation grows more complicated by the day. Will you and Harry continue with these fleeting encounters, or will you take the risk and make it something real?

Tags: frat boy Harry x reader, Ashton x sister!reader, smut with plot

Author's note: I unfortunately never really got into 5SOS, which is weird because I saw them open for 1D in 2013 and I'm Australian - just incase I get any details wrong about them

...

The tour bus hums beneath your feet, the steady vibration lulling you into a sense of rhythm as you absentmindedly scribble lyrics in your notebook. Life on the road with 5 Seconds of Summer isn’t always glamorous, but it’s the kind of chaos you’ve grown used to—probably a genetic thing, considering your brother Ashton thrives in it.

Being the band’s unofficial fifth member and go-to songwriter is a role you love. You’re good at it, too—helping the boys find the words to match their stories, giving them the push they need when inspiration runs dry. It’s fulfilling, creative, and keeps you close to your brother.

But if you’re being honest, it’s not just the music that keeps you here.

It’s him.

Harry Styles.

You don’t know when it started—maybe the first time you met backstage at some award show, his charm disarming and his dimples practically illegal. Or maybe it’s been brewing longer, a quiet fascination that finally burst into a full-blown crush when One Direction invited 5SOS to join their tour.

Now you see him almost every day. In rehearsals. At afterparties. Lounging around during those rare, stolen moments of downtime. And every time, you’re drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Not that you’d ever admit it.

It’s dangerous territory, crushing on someone like Harry. Ashton would lose his mind if he found out, and you can’t even imagine the chaos if the rest of 5SOS or One Direction caught wind. For now, you’re content to steal glances, laugh at his terrible jokes, and feel the thrill of his attention when his green eyes linger just a second too long.

“Daydreaming again?” Michael’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you glance up to find him smirking at you from across the lounge.

“Just working,” you say quickly, holding up your notebook as proof.

“Sure,” Michael teases, waggling his eyebrows. “Working on a song or working on Harry Styles in your head?”

Your face burns, and you throw a pillow at him. “Shut up.”

He laughs, dodging easily, and Ashton walks in, his expression suspicious. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing!” you and Michael say at the same time, a little too quickly.

Ashton narrows his eyes, but thankfully, he lets it slide. “Whatever. We’ve got soundcheck in fifteen. Let’s go.”

You gather your things, your pulse racing as you follow the boys out. In the corridor, you almost run into Harry himself, who flashes you that devastating grin and holds the door open for you.

“Thanks,” you murmur, your heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it always does around him.

“Anytime,” he says, his voice low and smooth. His gaze lingers, just for a second, and it’s enough to make your thoughts spiral.

Yeah, this tour is going to be complicated.

…

The music thumps through the walls of the club, loud enough to make your chest vibrate. Ashton and the rest of the boys are deep into their second round of drinks, Michael and Luke shouting over each other about who can chug a beer faster. You should probably intervene before they make fools of themselves, but the atmosphere is charged, and you’re not in the mood to play referee.

Instead, you slip outside, the cool night air a welcome relief against your flushed skin. The alley is dimly lit, the sounds of the party muted as you lean against the wall and take a deep breath.

“You, too, huh?”

The familiar voice makes your stomach flip. You turn your head to see Harry stepping out of the club, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his black blazer. His hair is a little messy, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to give a teasing glimpse of the tattoos on his chest.

“Needed some air,” you say casually, though your pulse quickens when he walks closer.

“Same.” He leans against the wall beside you, close enough that his cologne—warm and woody—lingers in the space between you. “It gets a bit… much in there.”

You nod, unsure what to say. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the awareness of his presence is almost overwhelming.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The sounds of the city fill the silence: distant cars, muffled laughter from inside the club, the soft buzz of a streetlamp overhead.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Harry says finally, his voice low.

“Just tired,” you lie, forcing a small smile.

He looks at you, really looks at you, and you feel like he’s peeling back layers you didn’t even know were there. “You’re not much of a party person, are you?”

“Not really.” You glance at him, trying to keep your tone light. “But it’s a necessary evil when you’re on tour with two bands of extroverts.”

Harry chuckles, the sound soft and warm. “Fair enough. But you do it well. I’ve noticed you’re good at blending in when you need to.”

His words catch you off guard, and you turn to face him fully. “You’ve noticed?”

He shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eye that makes your breath hitch. “I notice a lot of things about you.”

The air between you shifts, charged with something unspoken. His gaze drops to your lips for a split second, and you’re sure he’s about to say something else, but he doesn’t.

Instead, you find yourself closing the gap.

It’s not planned, not even a conscious decision—just a moment of pure impulse. His lips meet yours softly at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But when he pulls you closer, his hand brushing your waist, the kiss deepens.

The world fades away, the sounds of the city and the party melting into nothing as the two of you press closer. There’s a heat, a hunger, that neither of you bothers to hide.

When you finally pull back, breathless, Harry’s green eyes lock onto yours, and there’s a playful curve to his lips.

“Well,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “That was unexpected.”

You laugh softly, the sound nervous but giddy. “Yeah. It… it was.”

But neither of you moves to step away. Instead, he leans in again, his breath brushing your ear.

“Think you can keep a secret?”

Your pulse races at Harry’s question, his breath warm against your skin. You should say something—anything—but all you can do is nod, your body leaning instinctively toward his.

“Good,” he murmurs, his lips brushing just below your ear. “Because I’ve been thinking about this for a while now.”

His confession sends a shiver down your spine. The thrill of his words, combined with the tension that’s been simmering between you for weeks, pushes you over the edge.

“Harry,” you manage to whisper, but it’s less of a protest and more of an invitation.

He takes the hint, his hands finding your waist as he presses you back against the wall. His mouth captures yours again, this time hungrier, deeper, as if he’s been holding himself back and can’t any longer. Your hands slide up to his shoulders, gripping the soft fabric of his blazer as his body pins you in place.

The alley is quiet, the world shrinking until it’s just the two of you. His lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, skimming the sensitive spot just below your ear. You bite back a gasp, the sound catching in your throat, and he chuckles softly.

“You’re so quiet,” he teases, his voice a mix of amusement and desire. “I was starting to think I’d have to work harder.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him back to you.

He grins against your lips but doesn’t argue, his hands sliding down your waist to your hips. The pressure of his touch is firm, grounding, and you feel yourself melting against him.

“Let’s go,” he says suddenly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, his lips slightly swollen from kissing you.

“Go where?” you ask, your voice breathless.

“Anywhere but here.” He nods toward the club. “Unless you want to risk your brother walking out and catching us.”

The mention of Ashton jolts you back to reality for a split second. This is a bad idea—a terrible idea, really—but the way Harry’s looking at you makes it impossible to care.

“Fine,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “Lead the way.”

He takes your hand, his fingers lacing with yours as he pulls you toward the back entrance of the club. The thrill of sneaking off together sends a rush of adrenaline through you, and by the time you make it to his hotel room, you’re both laughing softly, your nerves tangled with excitement.

The door clicks shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stand there, looking at each other. The room is dim, the city lights filtering in through the window casting shadows on his face.

“You sure about this?” Harry asks, his voice low but serious.

You step closer, your hands sliding up his chest. “Are you?”

Instead of answering, he kisses you again, and this time there’s no hesitation. His hands are everywhere—your back, your waist, your thighs—pulling you closer, as if he can’t get enough. You stumble toward the bed, his jacket slipping off his shoulders and landing on the floor.

The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you let yourself fall back onto the soft mattress, pulling Harry with you. His weight presses down against you, solid and warm, grounding you in this moment that feels both thrilling and inevitable.

His lips move against yours, hungry and sure, leaving you breathless as his hands slide under your top, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of your waist. The heat of his touch sparks a fire that spreads through your entire body, your senses heightened by the closeness of him—his warmth, his scent, the soft rasp of his stubble against your cheek.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, his voice lower this time, tinged with impatience and raw need. His green eyes are darker now, locked onto yours, the question more of a formality than anything else.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you pull him down to you, crashing your lips into his, fingers tangling in his hair as you take what you’ve both been craving all night. It’s messy, hot, and desperate, and you feel his groan reverberate against your mouth as he presses his body firmly against yours, pinning you to the mattress.

The shift is immediate. His hands are on you, rougher now, gripping your waist and sliding down to your thighs with a possessive strength that sends a jolt of arousal through you. He’s not gentle, and you don’t want him to be. You arch into him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he grinds his hips into yours, his hardness pressing against you through the thin barrier of clothing still between you.

“God, you feel so good,” he growls, his voice ragged as his lips trail down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to leave marks. You gasp, your body responding instinctively as heat pools low in your stomach.

“Harry,” you gasp, his name falling from your lips like a plea, and it only spurs him on. He yanks your shirt over your head in one swift motion, his hands immediately returning to your bare skin. His palms are hot, his touch firm as they slide over your curves, fingers digging in just enough to leave a sting that’s more pleasure than pain.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he mutters, his voice rough and breathless as he pulls back just enough to take you in, his gaze hungry and intense.

You don’t give him a chance to say more. Your hands move to the hem of his shirt, tugging it off him in a rush before your fingers are on his belt, working it open with shaking hands. He smirks, the sight of your urgency clearly fueling his own, but he doesn’t stop you, his eyes darkening as you shove his jeans down his hips.

He’s on you again, his body pressing into yours with a weight that feels overwhelming in the best way. His hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider as he settles between them, his lips crashing against yours with a bruising intensity.

Your head tilts back against the pillows as he moves lower, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your chest before his lips trail lower, biting and sucking his way down. Your moan fills the room as he pulls your underwear down with a sharp tug, tossing it aside before his hands are on you again, exploring, teasing, claiming.

When he finally moves back up, his lips find yours again, rough and insistent, and you feel him against you, hard and ready. Your breath hitches as he presses forward, his hand gripping your hip tightly to hold you in place as he pushes into you with one slow, deliberate thrust.

The stretch is overwhelming, and you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders as your body adjusts to him. He stills for a moment, his chest heaving against yours as he curses under his breath, his control clearly hanging by a thread.

“Jesus, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice strained. But the pause doesn’t last long. He pulls back and thrusts again, harder this time, and the sharp cry that escapes your lips only seems to fuel him.

The rhythm he sets is relentless, his hips snapping against yours in a way that leaves you breathless. His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, tangling in your hair, pinning your wrists above your head as he takes you apart piece by piece.

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice rough, and you force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. The intensity there steals what little air you had left, and you feel the raw hunger in the way he looks at you, like he can’t get enough.

The room is filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, skin against skin, and the soft creak of the mattress beneath you. Every thrust pushes you closer to the edge, your body trembling beneath him as you surrender completely to the heat and intensity of him.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his lips brushing against your ear as he drives into you harder, his grip on your hips almost bruising. And in this moment, you don’t care about anything else—just the way he feels, the way he makes you feel, and the fire that’s consuming you both.

The tension in your body builds with every thrust, every roll of his hips, each movement pushing you further toward the edge. Your nails dig into his skin as your body tightens, every inch of you alive with the electric buzz of him, the heat between you. You can feel him, deep inside you, moving relentlessly, his breath ragged and harsh against your neck.

"Harry..." you gasp, your voice breaking as your body starts to tremble, your chest heaving with the effort to hold on. You’re so close, so close that everything else fades away, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of him and the burning need for release.

"Fuck, I know," he grunts, his fingers gripping your hips harder, his pace quickening, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps. His eyes are locked on yours, his face a mixture of concentration and raw desire. "Come on, baby. Let go."

And then, just like that, it snaps. Your body gives way, a wave of pleasure crashing over you, your breath catching as you cry out his name. The world tilts as you lose yourself in him, the intensity of your release leaving you breathless, your body shaking as it waves through you.

Harry’s movements become more erratic, his control slipping as he follows you, his own release tearing through him with a low growl. You feel him pulse inside you, each throbbing wave of his climax pushing you even further into the haze of pleasure, your body still trembling under the weight of it.

He collapses onto you, his chest heaving against yours, both of you slick with sweat, breathless from the overwhelming rush of it all. You lie there for a moment, both of you tangled in the aftermath, the room heavy with the echoes of your connection.

The silence between you is thick, the only sound the frantic beating of your hearts. His hand brushes against your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin there as he raises his head to look at you. There's something almost apologetic in his expression, but also a glint of something deeper—satisfaction, maybe, or desire, or something you can't quite place.

"That was..." he starts, but he doesn’t finish. Instead, he presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment, before pulling away slightly to look at you again. "We don't tell anyone about this, right?"

You nod, your fingers lightly tracing the contours of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble under your touch. "Yeah. No one," you agree, your voice still a little breathless, but with a steady resolve.

His lips curl into a small, almost mischievous grin. "But we can definitely do it again, yeah?" he asks, his voice lowering, as though testing the waters.

You can’t help but smile at the suggestion, your fingers running through his hair as you look up at him, the heat of the moment still lingering. "Definitely," you reply, your voice steady, the hint of a laugh in your tone.

He leans down to kiss you again, soft and slow this time, a promise of more, as both of you settle back into the bed, the world outside forgotten. The night stretches ahead, and in the quiet aftermath, there’s only the unspoken agreement between you—what happened stays between the two of you. But it’s not over. Not by a long shot.

...

You wake up to the soft light of dawn streaming through the window, the quiet hum of the city just beyond the walls of the hotel room. You’re tangled in the sheets, your body still warm from the night before, but there’s an underlying tension creeping in with the awareness of what happened. You blink a few times, the events from last night flooding your mind in vivid flashes—his touch, the way he kissed you, the way your bodies moved together, and the marks he left on you.

You feel his breath on the back of your neck before you even realize Harry’s awake. He’s lying next to you, his arm draped over your waist, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, looking impossibly calm for someone who shared such an intense experience with you.

Your eyes widen when you catch sight of the dark purple marks scattered across your neck, a line of them creeping down toward your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat as you shift slightly, trying not to wake him. Then your fingers trail down to your hips, where you feel the telltale pressure of his hand—the faint outline of bruises, each one a reminder of the night’s wild intensity.

Panic starts to creep in. You have to hide these. You have to figure out how to sneak back to your room without anyone seeing. You don’t even know why it’s bothering you this much; it’s not like you and Harry made any promises, not like anyone would find out. Still, the idea of the band—especially Ashton—finding out makes your stomach churn.

Carefully, you slip out of the bed, trying to make as little noise as possible, but Harry stirs slightly. You freeze, heart hammering in your chest, but he simply groans softly and rolls onto his back, one hand draped casually over his eyes, completely unfazed. His deep voice, laced with sleep, cuts through the silence.

“Morning,” he says, his tone as nonchalant as ever, like he hasn’t just turned your world upside down.

You bite your lip, trying to keep your composure as you stand near the bed, searching for something—anything—to cover the marks. Your mind races, fingers fumbling as you search for a shirt or anything that will help hide the evidence.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice low but teasing, not even glancing your way as he stretches. He’s acting so casually about it, like nothing out of the ordinary happened, like he doesn’t see the way you’re scrambling to cover up.

“Yeah,” you mutter, forcing a laugh, though it’s thin and awkward. You grab your shirt from the floor, pulling it over your head in a hurry. “Just, uh... need to go back to my room. Don’t want anyone to notice.”

Harry finally opens his eyes, his lips curling into a small, apologetic smile as he watches you. He sits up, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m sorry about that,” he says, nodding toward your neck and hips, where the marks are still evident. “I didn’t mean to leave them... though, you do look pretty fucking beautiful with them.”

You glance at him, surprised by his tone—genuinely regretful but also teasing, in that way only Harry can pull off. You try not to smile, but it’s impossible not to. The apology, even if wrapped in his usual charm, makes something warm stir in your chest.

“Doesn’t matter,” you shrug, trying to brush it off, even though you’re clearly bothered. You finish pulling on your jeans, quickly tugging the fabric over the marks on your hips. “I’ll figure it out.”

Harry slides closer, his hand reaching out to gently tug your chin so you’re looking directly at him. His expression softens, and he leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that’s much gentler than anything from last night—sincere, almost apologetic.

“Next time, I’ll be more careful,” he whispers against your lips, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb traces the side of your neck where the marks are, making you shiver. “But I’m not sorry for last night. That was perfect.”

You lean into him, kissing him back for a moment longer before pulling away. "You really have to stop marking me," you tease lightly, but you can’t help but grin. "People are going to ask questions."

He grins back, his lips curving into that devil-may-care smirk. “If anyone asks, we’ll just say we were... being friendly,” he says, his tone playful but laced with that same intensity from the night before.

You laugh softly, but there's a tightness in your chest that you can’t quite shake. As much as you want to be carefree like him, you know the reality of sneaking back to your room is a little more complicated.

“I’ve got to go,” you say, standing up quickly, suddenly feeling the weight of the situation. “Before anyone notices.”

Harry nods, his smirk never fading, his eyes still gleaming with that mixture of mischief and satisfaction. “Don’t worry, babe. I won’t tell anyone.”

You pause, glancing back at him as you reach for the door. “I’ll see you later.”

He leans back on the bed, his hands behind his head, looking completely unfazed by the chaos of the night you both shared. “You know where to find me,” he says, his voice casual, but there’s that familiar undercurrent of promise.

You slip out of the room, your heart pounding, your mind racing. The door clicks shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stand there, breathing in the cool hallway air. It feels like everything just changed, and you’re not entirely sure how to process it. But as you make your way back to your room, you can’t shake the feeling that this won’t be the last time Harry’s hands leave marks on your skin.

...

You walk into the breakfast area, trying to shake off the lingering tension from last night. Harry’s already sitting with a coffee, looking casual as ever. You meet his gaze, but the smile he gives you is knowing, making your pulse race for a second before you force yourself to act normal.

The rest of the band is chatting, and you take a seat, trying to ignore the burn of the marks on your neck and hips. Ashton’s eyes keep flicking to you, the silence between you palpable. You can feel the weight of his stare.

Liam, ever the conversationalist, breaks the tension with an innocent enough question. “Hey, what’s up with you two?” he asks, glancing between you and Harry.

Harry shrugs, cool as ever. “Nothing, mate. Just breakfast.”

You nod quickly, sipping your coffee, trying to seem casual. But Ashton’s quiet. He’s not buying it. His eyes flick to your side, where you shift uncomfortably. “You okay?” he asks, his voice sharp, before glancing at Harry with suspicion.

“I’m fine,” you snap a little too quickly, and Harry intervenes just in time, his voice smooth and easy. “We’re all just adjusting to the time change, right?”

Ashton hesitates but then shrugs it off. The conversation moves on, but you feel like something’s off.

Then Niall spots the marks on your side. “Hey, what’s that?” he asks, pointing. “New ink or something?”

Before you can answer, Louis leans in with a grin. “Bite marks? Who’d you go home with?”

You force a laugh, brushing it off. “Just some random guy from the club. It didn’t mean anything.”

Niall raises an eyebrow. “A random guy at the club? Didn’t expect that from you.”

You shrug. “Sometimes you just need to blow off steam.”

Louis teases more, but Ashton’s quiet, his jaw tight as he observes. “Sure,” he mutters, his tone colder. “Nothing.”

You feel the shift in the air, Ashton’s unspoken frustration hanging between you, but you stay silent. Harry gives you a small nod, his eyes locking with yours for just a second before turning back to his coffee.

The rest of the conversation continues, but you can’t shake the feeling that everyone knows—or at least senses—something happened. And you’re left trying to keep it together, even though the heat from last night still burns beneath your skin.

...

A few days have passed since breakfast, and things have shifted, though no one’s mentioned last night’s heat. The band is busy with rehearsals and interviews, and the air between you and Harry feels charged, like electricity just waiting to snap.

That night, after the show, you slip away from the usual after-party chaos. You need to clear your head, to get some space from the noise and the people, but the moment you step outside, your gaze lands on him. Harry’s leaning against the back of the venue, hands shoved in his pockets, watching the stars like he’s waiting for something—someone.

You’re not sure what pulls you to him, but you find your feet moving before you can stop them. When he sees you, that smirk appears, the one that you know so well, and his eyes light up.

“Thought I’d find you out here,” he says, his voice smooth but with a hint of playfulness.

You stop in front of him, the cool night air biting at your skin. "Couldn't sleep," you reply, your heart already picking up pace as he steps closer.

"Couldn’t sleep, huh?" He steps forward, his hand brushing against yours. The simple touch sends a wave of heat through you, making it impossible to ignore the tension between you two. “I think I might be able to help with that.”

The words hang in the air, thick with meaning, and without thinking, you close the distance between you. His lips find yours almost instantly, pulling you into him. The kiss is hungry this time, no teasing, just raw need.

His hands are on your body, pushing you against the cold brick of the building, his lips trailing along your jawline, down your neck. Every movement is deliberate, urgent. You gasp when his teeth graze your skin, a rush of heat flooding your veins. You can feel him hard against your stomach, and it makes you dizzy.

“Right here?” you ask breathlessly, your hands running over the muscles of his back, the tension in his body matching your own.

He looks at you, his green eyes dark and intense, a spark of mischief dancing in them. “Why not?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “It’s just us.”

You don’t hesitate. With a quick move, your hands are tugging at the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion. His skin is warm under your fingers, and your breath catches when his lips find yours again, harder this time.

You can’t keep up with the speed of it, the way he’s pushing you toward a part of the alley where the shadows swallow you whole. His hands move over your body, finding the zip of your jacket and pulling it down. Every touch, every movement sends you spiraling. There’s no waiting this time, no slow build-up. It's frantic, raw, like you’re both trying to chase the same thing.

You help him out of his jeans, the fabric sliding off his legs just as you pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. The cool air hits your bare skin, but Harry's warmth, the heat of his body, is enough to make you forget the chill.

With a sudden, fluid motion, he lifts you up, pressing you against the wall as your legs wrap around his waist. His lips are back on yours, and you can feel the intensity building again, the desperation of it. You feel his cock against you, and a shiver runs through you at the feel of him, so close, so desperate.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders as his hands find their way to your hips, guiding you toward him. The way his fingers dig into your skin makes your heart race even faster.

The way he enters you, quick and relentless, takes your breath away. The world narrows down to the sensation of him filling you, the rhythm of his thrusts, the pressure in all the right places. You meet him with equal urgency, the rhythm between you sharp and frantic.

It doesn’t take long for the heat to build, for the world to go blurry and insubstantial. You’re caught in the force of it, lost in the way his body moves against yours, in the sound of his breath, his low groans as he pushes deeper.

It’s raw, fast, just what you both need to feel alive. The noise around you fades into nothing. All that exists is him—his touch, his body, the overwhelming heat that’s too much and not enough at the same time.

And when you reach the edge, when everything seems to come apart at once, you feel him release into you, his grip tightening as he lets out a low, guttural sound that makes you dizzy. It crashes over you like a wave, pulling you under, and you cling to him, riding the wave of pleasure until it finally fades.

You both stand there for a moment, catching your breath, leaning against each other for support. He places a gentle kiss on your forehead, still breathing heavily. “You good?” he asks, his voice soft but rough from the intensity of it all.

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him, feeling the aftermath of everything. You didn’t know it would feel this good—this easy, this undeniable. But it does.

“I’m good,” you reply, your hands still on his chest, feeling his heartbeat match your own.

He smirks again, leaning down to kiss you one more time, his lips soft now, slower, almost tender. "This isn't over," he murmurs against your lips. "We’re not done yet."

You pull back slightly, looking at him with a knowing smirk of your own. "I think we both know that."

...

A few days later again, and the night is loud, the music and chatter from the party blending with the thrumming bass of your own pulse. You're moving through the crowd, adrenaline pulsing, and you know exactly where you're heading. You don’t need to find him—Harry’s always in the same spot, tucked away from the chaos, waiting for the perfect moment.

You don’t waste time looking for him. As soon as you find him, you step into his space without hesitation. He’s leaning against the wall near the back of the venue, his eyes immediately finding you as you approach. The air between you thickens, a knowing tension hanging heavy in the seconds before you speak.

He smirks, his lips curling, but his eyes are dark with something more dangerous. “You alright?” His voice is low, deliberate, the edge of it making your pulse quicken.

You don’t answer with words. You reach up, your fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, and pull him into a hard, bruising kiss. The kind that burns, urgent and hot. No hesitation. No sweet words. You’ve had enough of waiting, of being passive.

Harry’s hands find your waist, but you don’t give him the chance to pull you closer. Instead, you shove him back, pinning him against the wall with your body. His breath hitches, and for a moment, you feel his control slipping.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Not this time,” you murmur, your voice rough with desire. “I’m in charge tonight.”

Harry’s lips part, a flicker of something dark passing through his gaze. He’s caught off guard for a second, but the challenge only fuels him. He smirks, but it’s different now—almost predatory. “You sure about that?”

Without answering, you grab his wrist and tug him toward the back hall. There’s a small storage cupboard just around the corner, hidden from the rest of the crew. You reach it quickly, slipping inside with Harry close behind you, your back pressing against the cool metal door.

The moment the door closes behind you, it’s like the world shrinks to just the two of you. There’s no one around to stop it, no one to see what happens next. And that’s exactly what you want.

You waste no time, pushing him up against the shelves, the sound of metal scraping against the wall echoing in the small space. Your hands are on him instantly, pulling at his jeans, your mouth on his neck, the heat between you rising fast. There’s no teasing, no soft caress—just the immediate pressure of wanting him, needing him, right here, right now.

Harry’s hands come to your hips, fingers digging in as he tries to guide you, but you won’t let him. You’re not here for him to control. You kiss him again, harder this time, your hands undoing his belt, unzipping his jeans with quick, practiced movements. When you pull him free, his breath catches in his throat, and you feel him twitch under your touch.

“You think you can just take over?” Harry’s voice is low, rough, and it makes your pulse race even faster.

“You’re about to find out,” you respond, your voice steady despite the heat building inside you. You drop to your knees in front of him, not wasting a second before you take him in your mouth. It’s quick, sharp, the way you want it. His groan fills the small space, and you feel the way his fingers tighten in your hair, pulling you closer.

You know he’s holding back, fighting against the rush of pleasure, but you won’t give him the chance to regain control. You move faster, harder, your mouth working him while your hands hold his hips still, forcing him to take everything you give him.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, his voice strained, low. His grip on your hair tightens, his chest heaving as he struggles to stay in control. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”

You look up at him, meeting his darkened gaze, and you can see the struggle in his eyes. It’s almost like he wants to push you away, take the lead again, but he can’t. Not now. You’re too far in control. You pull away for a moment, and his eyes flicker to yours with frustration.

But before he can say anything, you grab his wrist and pull him into the corner of the cupboard. The cramped space forces you both closer, heat between your bodies rising by the second. You push him back against the shelves, your hands sliding over his chest before you drop to your knees again, taking him in your hand, guiding him where you need him most.

This time, there’s no slowing down. You lower yourself onto him in one quick motion, feeling the stretch of him fill you completely. The angle is different, sharper, and the way he groans under you sends a thrill of power through you. You move against him, setting the pace, your body riding him with the urgency of a fire you can’t put out.

His hands grip your hips, but you don’t let him take over. You fuck him harder, faster, feeling the pull of your body tightening with each movement. The sound of your skin slapping together fills the small space, your breath coming in quick bursts, matching the frantic rhythm between you.

“You feel so fucking good,” Harry mutters, his voice low and raspy as his hands grip your waist, pulling you even closer. He’s close, you can feel it. But you don’t stop. You drive yourself harder onto him, taking him deeper with each thrust.

The heat builds, pressure coiling tighter and tighter until, with one final, sharp push, you both come undone. The force of it takes you by surprise, your body trembling as you collapse against him.

You’re both breathless, sweaty, and still reeling from the intensity. Harry holds you close for a moment, his hands running up and down your back, trying to steady both of you. You pull back slightly, looking up at him with a smirk.

“You didn’t think I could take control, did you?” you tease, your voice husky with satisfaction.

Harry chuckles, his lips brushing your forehead as he presses a soft kiss there. “You fucking blew me away, love,” he mutters, his voice filled with admiration and something else—something you can’t quite place.

You smile against his chest, the rush of power fading as you both come back down. You’re not done, not by a long shot. But for now, you both stay there in the cramped storage cupboard, tangled in each other’s arms, letting the aftermath wash over you.

For now, it's just you and him.

...

The next day, you walk into your hotel room, exhausted from the day's events, only to find Harry waiting for you. The door clicks shut behind you, and before you can say anything, he’s there, stepping toward you with that same confident smirk on his lips. His eyes are dark, and his stance says it all—he’s taking control again.

You try to keep your cool, but your pulse is already quickening. You hadn’t expected him to follow you, hadn’t thought he would be here, but now that he is, there’s no denying what’s about to happen.

“Still thinking about last night?” he asks, voice low and teasing, as he reaches you in two strides.

You can barely find the words. All you can do is stare back at him, your body reacting before your brain can catch up. “I thought we agreed—”

“We did,” he cuts you off, his hand brushing lightly against your arm, sending a shiver through you. “But I think it's my turn again.”

His mouth is on yours before you can protest. It’s a demanding kiss, his lips parting yours with purpose. His hands quickly make their way to your body, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the heat of him, the hard press of his chest against yours. There’s no room for hesitation, no time to think. He knows what he wants, and he's making sure you know it, too.

“Take your clothes off,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to let you breathe, but his eyes never leave yours.

Your body moves almost involuntarily, your shirt falling to the floor as he watches, his gaze intense. There’s something about the way he looks at you now that sends a rush of heat to your core. You can feel your body responding before you even realize it, your breath catching in your throat as he moves closer.

With one swift motion, he pushes you back toward the bed, never breaking eye contact, his hands on your waist, guiding you down. You’re almost powerless against his grip, the way his hands are everywhere, touching, exploring, pulling you closer.

"Stay still," Harry growls as he hovers over you, his lips trailing down your neck. His touch is rough, deliberate, his hands gripping you like he owns you. You try to fight it, try to hold on to some sense of control, but it’s impossible.

His mouth moves to your neck, biting down hard enough to make you gasp, leaving marks, branding you in a way that only he can. "You’re mine, remember that," he mutters against your skin, before trailing his lips lower, down your chest.

Before you can fully process what’s happening, his fingers are at your waist, slipping under your waistband. You tense at the suddenness of it, but there’s no stopping him. He doesn’t give you a chance to breathe before he's moving, quickly and efficiently, pulling you closer, his mouth returning to your skin.

“Missed this,” he murmurs, his fingers sliding over your hips, his touch like fire.

He flips you onto your stomach before you can even react. His hands grip your hips, pulling them up, positioning you exactly the way he wants you. You brace yourself, knowing what’s coming. It’s not gentle. He’s not gentle. His hand smacks against your ass, hard enough to sting, and you gasp.

“Don’t move,” he growls, his voice rough as he enters you in one swift motion. The force of it makes you cry out, the suddenness taking your breath away.

He doesn’t wait. His thrusts are relentless, harsh, driving into you with a power that has your body shaking. There’s nothing soft about it. Nothing tender. It’s all control, all power, and you can’t help but give into it, letting him take you in a way that only he can. The bed creaks beneath you, his hand still gripping your hip with a bruising force, and the sound of his skin meeting yours fills the room.

He’s rough, pushing you to the edge, your body moving with his, the tension building in your stomach. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he mutters through gritted teeth, his pace quickening. The marks on your neck throb with every movement, the bites and bruises adding to the intensity. You can feel him everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his body against yours.

It’s not long before you feel the tension snap, your body clenching around him as you cry out, your release crashing over you. Harry doesn’t stop. He keeps going, chasing his own release, his grip tightening as he finishes with a low groan, his body shuddering against yours.

He stays inside you for a moment, his hands resting on your hips, before he pulls out slowly. You collapse onto the bed, breathless, the marks on your neck and hips still stinging with the reminder of what just happened. He doesn’t move away. Instead, he leans down, pressing a kiss to the marks he left, his lips lingering on your skin.

"Next time, don’t try to fight me," he murmurs, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll make sure you remember who’s in charge.”

You can’t help but shiver at the thought, your body still tingling from the aftermath. Harry pulls away, his expression smug as always, but there’s something in his eyes that tells you this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

...

The night air is thick with the promise of something to come, the city lights flickering below as the storm clouds gather above. You’ve been feeling the electricity between you and Harry all evening, the kind of tension that only seems to grow the longer you spend together. Tonight, something is different—there’s an undeniable pull that neither of you can ignore.

You’re in Harry’s hotel room, lounging on the couch, the hum of the city barely reaching your ears through the thick glass windows. Outside, the wind picks up, and you catch the first few drops of rain against the glass. You glance over at Harry, and your heart races at the sight of the mischievous grin that’s spreading across his face.

“You know,” he starts, voice low and tempting, “I’ve got a better idea than staying in here.”

Before you can ask, he’s already pulling you to your feet, his hand gripping yours with a firm urgency. The way his eyes glint with intent sends a thrill running through you, your pulse quickening. Without a word, he leads you to the door, and your stomach flips with the knowledge of what’s about to happen.

As you step into the hallway, the sound of rain grows louder, and Harry’s grip tightens around your wrist, guiding you toward a hidden staircase. “You’ll see,” he murmurs, a devilish smile tugging at his lips.

The air is charged with something unspoken, and as you ascend the stairs, you can feel the growing anticipation, your heart thumping in your chest. The storm outside is starting to pick up, a low rumble of thunder echoing in the distance. As you reach the rooftop door, Harry opens it, and the full force of the rain hits you—cold and sharp, the droplets crashing down as you step onto the wet rooftop.

The view is breathtaking, the city sprawled out beneath you, the sky above heavy with rain. You can hear the sound of water pounding against the pavement, but it doesn’t drown out the rush of your heartbeat as Harry turns to face you. His lips are on yours before you can even think, hot and insistent despite the cold rain soaking through your clothes.

“You’re crazy,” you murmur between kisses, your hands gripping his shirt as the rain drenches you both.

“You have no idea,” Harry replies, his breath hot against your ear. He pulls back for a moment, looking down at you with that smirk of his. “Let’s take this somewhere... a little more private.”

Without waiting for a response, he grabs your hand and leads you toward the far side of the roof, where a small, secluded corner offers some shelter from the storm. The wind howls around you, but the heat between you both only intensifies. Harry’s fingers work their way down your body, pulling you closer, your breath coming faster.

He presses you against the wall, his lips finding yours once more in a kiss that’s rough, desperate. His hands slide under your clothes, the cold rain making his touch even more electric against your heated skin. There’s no teasing this time—he’s all urgency, a desperate need that matches the pounding rain around you.

“Harry,” you gasp, your hands pushing his shirt off, “we shouldn’t be—”

But you’re cut off by his mouth trailing down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as his hands push you further against the wall. His words are muffled against your skin. “We don’t need to care about that now, do we?”

The adrenaline is coursing through your veins as you feel his hands tugging at your clothes, eager, impatient. The rain pelts down harder, drenching both of you, but it only makes everything feel more intense—more real. You’re soaked, and yet there’s nothing about the cold that can stop the heat building between you two.

He drags you up against him, his lips moving with feverish need, kissing you in the rain like it’s the only thing that matters. You can barely keep up as he lifts you, pressing you against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist as he pushes you further into the corner.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Harry mutters, his voice rough and low as he grinds against you. His hands roam, exploring, pulling you closer as if he can’t get enough. You respond with equal hunger, the rain streaming down your face, the world falling away as you lose yourself in him.

His lips trail down to your neck, biting into your skin, leaving a mark that’s sure to last. The cold rain and the heat between you are at odds, yet they make everything feel more electrifying. You can’t stop your own moans, your fingers tangled in his wet hair as you pull him closer.

“Harry,” you whisper, your voice breaking as he moves faster, more urgently, each thrust more demanding than the last.

With each breathless moment, you know this won’t be the last time you end up like this—caught between the madness of the storm and the chaos of everything you two are. You’re both drenched, but it doesn’t matter. The rain may fall, but it’s the fire between you that keeps you both burning, relentless, until the world outside seems to disappear.

...

A few weeks have passed since that first hookup with Harry, and the tension between the two of you has only grown. The encounters have become more frequent, more intense. Sometimes it feels like there’s no hiding what’s between you, even though you’re doing your best to keep it under wraps. Harry’s smirks have become a constant, and the moments when he looks at you with that knowing glint in his eyes have started to make your stomach flip every time.

The bands—5SOS and One Direction—have started picking up on it, though no one’s come right out and said anything yet. There’s an unspoken feeling in the air, a shift in the dynamic, but everyone’s too polite—or too unaware—to confront it directly. The only one who seems to have picked up on something more than the others is Ashton. He’s been quieter, his eyes lingering on you with that concerned look you’ve come to recognise. He’s your brother, and you know him well enough to know that he senses something, but hasn’t quite put his finger on it.

You’re sitting backstage, your guitar resting on your knee, the hum of voices and instruments in the background. You’ve been working on a new song—one that’s personal, raw, and a little too close to the truth for comfort. The lyrics have poured out of you, each word more revealing than the last. It’s about what’s been happening with Harry, about the passion, the uncertainty, and the way he makes you feel all at once. You’ve titled it “English Love Affair,” a playful nod to the chaos of your tangled situation.

It’s time to show the guys. The atmosphere is a bit lighter today, everyone milling around in a relaxed mood after a long rehearsal. You grab your guitar, your fingers hovering over the strings as you make your way to where 5SOS and One Direction are gathered. Ashton notices you first, giving you a small smile, though his eyes still hold that familiar concern. The others are scattered around the room, laughing, teasing, but there’s a flicker of interest when they see the guitar in your hands.

“Got something to share, love?” Louis calls out from across the room, his voice loud and playful.

“Yeah, she’s been working on something,” Niall adds, eyeing you curiously.

You take a deep breath, nerves fluttering in your stomach. You’d been writing for months, but this one—this one feels different. The song is about Harry. About all the emotions, the heat, the connection, and the chaos of what you two have been doing. You’re not sure if you’re ready to show them yet, but if anyone’s going to understand, it’s them. You know how to separate your personal feelings from your music, but with this song, it’s a little harder to mask it all.

“Yeah,” you reply, strumming a few notes to test the sound, “it’s... a new one.”

Ashton steps forward, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall. His eyes are on you, searching, but there’s a quiet understanding there, even if he’s not sure what’s going on. You meet his gaze, offering a quick smile before looking down at your guitar.

The guys quiet down as you start to play, the melody flowing easily as you strum the chords. Your voice fills the space, the words slipping out with a raw honesty that makes your heart race:

“It started on a weekend in May I was looking for attention, needed intervention Felt somebody looking at me With a powder white complexion, feeling the connection

The way she looked was so ridiculous Every single step had me waiting for the next Before I knew it, it was serious Dragged me out the bar to the back seat of her car”

As you sing, the room grows quieter. The words, the rawness, the honesty—it’s clear this is something personal, something deeper than the usual pop tunes they’re used to hearing from you. You continue, each verse building with the tension that’s been hanging between you and Harry:

“When the lights go out, she's all I ever think about The picture burning in my brain, kissing in the rain I can't forget, my English love affair Today, I'm seven thousand miles away The movie playing in my head of a king size bed means I can't forget My English love affair My English love affair”

The last chord rings out, and the room is silent for a moment. You lower the guitar, waiting for their reaction, your heart thudding in your chest. Ashton is the first to speak, his voice quiet but steady.

“So, what’s this really about?” he asks, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of concern and something else—something you can’t quite read.

You don’t know how to answer. The song is about him, but it’s not. It’s about the complications, the passion, the messiness of what’s been happening between you two. It’s about more than just sex—it’s about feelings, connection, confusion. But you know the guys won’t get that. They’ll just hear the lyrics, the heat, and they’ll know. They’ll know exactly what you’ve been hiding.

You hesitate for a second, then shrug, trying to play it off. “It’s just a song. You know, inspiration. Whatever comes to mind.”

But Ashton doesn’t seem convinced. His gaze sharpens, and you can feel him trying to decipher what’s going on. The others, though, are still taking it in, the intensity of the lyrics lingering in the air.

“I mean, it sounds like something... more than just a song,” Luke says, his tone casual but with a knowing look in his eyes.

“Yeah, you’re not fooling anyone,” Michael adds with a smirk.

You try to laugh it off, but Ashton’s stare is unwavering. He’s not buying it. He knows something’s up, and though he’s not pressing you for answers, you can feel the weight of his silence.

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just some fun lyrics.”

But in the back of your mind, you know that everything is far from just “fun” anymore. The song says it all, even if you’re not ready to admit it.

...

It’s late, long after the song reveal. The buzz of everyone’s reactions still lingers in the air, but you’ve distanced yourself from the others, needing a moment alone to process it all. You’re sitting in the corner of your hotel room, the soft hum of the city filtering through the window. The lyrics you poured out have left you raw, the reality of what you’ve been doing with Harry settling heavily in your chest.

Writing the song made you realize something you hadn’t let yourself acknowledge before: you want more. This—whatever this thing is between you and Harry—isn’t enough. It’s thrilling, electric, and addictive, but it’s not real. And you can’t keep letting it consume you if it’s never going to be anything more.

The knock at your door startles you. You already know who it is before you even open it. Harry stands there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his signature smirk in place. But there’s something more in his eyes tonight—a flicker of something softer, almost vulnerable.

“You were brilliant today,” he says, his voice low. “The song... it’s incredible.”

“Thanks,” you reply, your voice quiet but steady. You step aside to let him in, but as you close the door behind him, you already know how this conversation will go.

Harry wastes no time. The moment you’re alone, he steps closer, his hands finding your waist as his lips brush against your neck. “You know,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, “I can’t stop thinking about that song. About you.”

You place your hands on his chest, stopping him gently but firmly. “Harry,” you say, your voice soft but resolute.

He pauses, pulling back slightly to look at you. His brows furrow, and you can see the confusion in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. “I can’t do this anymore,” you say, your words steady but heavy with meaning.

His hands drop from your waist, and he steps back, his expression shifting to something you can’t quite read. “What do you mean?”

You meet his gaze, determined not to waver. “I mean this. Us. These... hook-ups, the sneaking around. It’s not enough for me, Harry. Writing that song—it made me realize I want more. I can’t keep doing this if it’s never going to be anything real.”

Harry’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he might argue. But then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You know how complicated this is,” he says, his voice quieter now. “With the bands, the press... everything.”

“I know,” you reply, your tone softer but still firm. “But that doesn’t change what I want. I can’t keep being this... secret. If you don’t want more, then we need to stop.”

The room feels heavy, the weight of your words hanging between you. Harry looks at you, his green eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right thing to say. But he stays silent, his hesitation speaking louder than any words could.

You feel your chest tighten, but you force yourself to stay strong. “I care about you,” you continue, “but I can’t keep pretending this is enough for me. So unless you’re ready to make this real, we go our separate ways.”

Harry’s gaze drops to the floor, and you can see the conflict written all over his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“I mean it, Harry,” you say, your voice breaking slightly. “I can’t do this anymore.”

He looks back up at you, and for a moment, you think he might say something—anything—to fight for you. But instead, he nods, a small, almost imperceptible gesture.

“Alright,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart aches, but you know you’ve made the right choice. You step back, giving him the space to leave, and after a long, silent moment, he does. The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving you alone in the quiet room.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, your emotions swirling as you try to process what just happened. It hurts, but deep down, you know you deserve more. You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to love you out loud, someone who will choose you without hesitation.

And if Harry isn’t ready to be that person, then it’s better this way.

...

The greenroom hums with pre-show energy—chatter, guitar tuning, the low buzz of excitement. You sit on the couch, your notebook resting on your lap, though the words you’re scribbling barely register. The tension in your chest is suffocating. Since giving Harry your ultimatum, he hasn’t acted on it, and it’s tearing you apart. Worse, the teasing from both bands has started to escalate as they slowly piece things together.

“So, Y/N,” Louis calls out, his grin mischievous, “who’s the muse behind your little ‘English Love Affair’ masterpiece?”

Your head snaps up, heat crawling up your neck. “It’s just a song,” you reply quickly, forcing a light tone.

“Sure,” Niall drawls, smirking. “Except it sounds like someone’s been dragging you up staircases and kissing you in the rain. Pretty specific, if you ask me.”

Michael leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “And the sudden obsession with scarves? You trying to start a trend or cover up some marks?”

Liam chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Definitely the latter,” he murmurs, though there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes.

“I knew something was up,” Luke adds, his teasing smirk widening. “You’re glowing, Y/N.”

“Alright, alright,” Calum cuts in, laughing. “Who’s the mystery guy? Come on, spill.”

The room falls quiet as everyone turns their attention to you. Your heart pounds, panic tightening your throat. Before you can stammer out a response, Ashton’s voice cuts through the noise.

“That’s enough,” he snaps, his tone sharp and unyielding.

All heads swivel to him, the easygoing atmosphere evaporating. He pushes off the wall where he’d been leaning, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His eyes dart between you and Harry, narrowing as the pieces click into place.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Ashton’s voice is low, but the anger simmering beneath it is unmistakable.

Your stomach twists as the room goes deathly silent. Harry, sitting on the armrest of a nearby chair, stiffens but doesn’t look away.

“Ashton—” you start, your voice trembling, but he holds up a hand to stop you.

“Don’t,” Ashton says, his gaze locked on Harry now. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

Harry rises to his feet, his expression calm but guarded. “Ashton, I—”

“You’ve been sneaking around with my sister,” Ashton interrupts, his voice rising. “Sleeping with her behind everyone’s back? Leaving marks all over her? And now you’re stringing her along like she’s some casual hookup?”

Harry’s jaw tightens. “It’s not like that,” he says firmly.

“Oh, really?” Ashton’s laugh is cold and bitter. “Because it sure as hell looks like you’re screwing her over—physically and emotionally—while you figure out whatever it is you want.”

“Ashton, stop!” you plead, stepping forward, but Zayn gently places a hand on your arm, holding you back.

“Let them talk it out,” Zayn says softly, though his dark eyes are watchful.

Harry steps closer to Ashton, his voice tight but steady. “I care about her,” he says. “More than you can imagine.”

“Then why are you hurting her?” Ashton demands, his face red with anger. “You’re leaving her bruised, confused, and heartbroken, Harry. That’s not love—that’s you being a selfish prick.”

“I know I’ve messed up,” Harry snaps back, his composure finally cracking. “I know I’ve handled this all wrong. But I’m not using her. I’d never do that to her.”

Ashton scoffs, his fists clenching at his sides. “You already are. If you cared about her, you’d stop treating her like some dirty little secret and give her the respect she deserves. She’s not just some girl you can screw around with—she’s my sister.”

Harry flinches at that, the weight of Ashton’s words visibly sinking in.

The tension is suffocating, the room silent except for the heavy breaths of the two men squaring off. Finally, Louis breaks the silence with an awkward cough. “Well… this is fun,” he mutters, earning a glare from both Ashton and Harry.

“Ashton,” Liam says gently, stepping forward. “Maybe give them a chance to work this out?”

“There’s nothing to work out,” Ashton retorts, his eyes narrowing. “Harry knows what he needs to do. Either step up or stay the hell away from her.”

“Ashton, I can handle this,” you say, your voice trembling but firm.

Ashton looks at you, his expression softening slightly, though the anger in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I hope so, Y/N,” he says quietly. “Because you deserve better than this.”

He turns and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The echo rings out in the silence, leaving everyone in a tense, uneasy stillness.

Harry turns to you, his face unreadable. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice soft.

You nod, though your chest feels tight. “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer, his gaze dropping to the floor. Because the truth is, neither of you are okay.

...

The steady patter of rain against the hotel window is the only sound in the room as you sit on the edge of the bed, your legs crossed, your fingers lightly tapping the sheets. You’ve been staring at the door, thinking about everything that’s happened—the conversation with Ashton, the way he confronted you, and how much of your own behavior you’ve been running from.

When the knock comes, you know it’s him.

“Come in,” you call out softly, your heart thudding in your chest.

The door creaks open, and Harry steps inside, looking hesitant but determined. His hair’s damp from the rain, his jacket clinging to his shoulders. For a moment, he doesn’t move, just looks at you, eyes searching, waiting for permission.

He steps closer, his voice low when he speaks. “I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything. For the way I’ve been handling this... or not handling it.”

You don’t respond immediately, your mind racing with the weight of everything. You’ve been torn in so many directions lately, guilty for the way you’ve been playing this game with him, unsure if you were using him to fill a void, or if it was something deeper.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were nothing more than a distraction,” Harry continues, his voice thick with sincerity. “But I’ve been acting like I don’t care about you, and I do. I care about you more than I’ve let on.”

You take a slow breath, looking up at him. “I’ve been stringing you along too, haven’t I?” you say quietly, the guilt surfacing. “I let things go on like this—casual, no strings, knowing full well that I wanted more, but not giving you a chance to show it. I made it so easy for you to stay at arm’s length, but I don’t want that anymore.”

Harry’s face softens, and he steps closer, kneeling in front of you. His hands hover near yours before finally resting gently over them. “I’m glad you said that,” he admits, his voice thick with emotion. “Because the truth is, I’m scared too. Scared of what this means for us, for the band, for everything. But what I’m not scared of is you. I don’t want it to just be a fling anymore. I want this. I want you. For real. Not just when it’s convenient or when we’re sneaking around.”

Your heart flutters as you take his words in, your fingers curling slightly around his. You’ve heard him say things like this before, but now—this feels different. There’s no more running, no more hiding.

“I want that too,” you say softly, your voice steady, though a hint of uncertainty lingers. “But we both know this isn’t easy. I can’t keep doing this with you unless it’s real, Harry. No more games, no more keeping it quiet. If you’re in this, then I’m in it too. But I can’t keep pretending, not anymore. And if you can’t do that, then we’ll have to go our separate ways.”

Harry swallows, his gaze intense as he watches you. He’s not looking at you with the same playful glint as before. This time, it’s sincere, the weight of his words matching the look in his eyes.

“I’m in it,” he says quietly, nodding. “For real. I want you, Y/N. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work, to show you it’s real. I’m not backing down this time.”

You take a deep breath, your chest tightening with relief. There’s something so final about his words, something that makes you feel like you’re stepping into a new chapter.

“Okay,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “No more pretending. We do this, or we don’t. But I’m not looking back.”

He leans into your touch, pressing his lips to your palm gently. “I don’t want to look back either.”

The moment stretches between you, the weight of the words still lingering, but now there’s a sense of peace—a promise that this, whatever this is, will be real.

You lean in, closing the distance, your lips brushing over his in a kiss that’s softer than the ones before, but carries the weight of something much more substantial. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“We’ve got this,” he says quietly, a hint of a smile curving on his lips.

The quiet between you both is comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding. For once, there’s no rush. No expectations. Just the two of you, finally on the same page. Harry stays close, his hands gently brushing against yours as he leans back against the bed, pulling you with him. You settle into his arms, your body fitting perfectly against his.

The only sounds in the room are the soft rustle of the sheets and the gentle rhythm of your breaths. Harry’s fingers trace small circles along your back, as if memorizing the feel of you in his arms, and you do the same, your hand resting over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“You okay?” he whispers, his voice low, a little hoarse from the emotion of the conversation, though it still holds that warmth you’ve always loved.

You nod, lifting your head slightly to look at him. “Yeah. I’m good. It feels like… everything makes sense now. Like I’m not pretending anymore. Like this is real.”

His lips curl into a soft smile as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m glad,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I want you to know, Y/N, that this is real for me. All of it.”

The words linger between you both, but this time, they don’t feel heavy. They feel freeing. The quietness of the room feels like a safe cocoon, a place where nothing needs to be rushed, where there are no games, no pressure. Just the quiet rhythm of the two of you, finding comfort in each other’s presence.

You press your lips to his, gently, a soft kiss that’s slow and unhurried. It’s not about passion in this moment. It’s about connection. About feeling the weight of what’s changed between you both. The kiss deepens, but it doesn’t push for more—it’s tender, the kind of kiss that’s meant for taking your time, for savoring what’s just beginning to unfold.

Pulling back, you rest your head on his chest again, your eyes fluttering closed. His arm wraps around you, holding you close, and you feel the warmth of his body seep into yours, grounding you in this moment.

“Goodnight, love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Goodnight,” you reply softly, your voice barely audible.

His fingers continue their gentle movements against your skin, and the steady beat of his heart becomes the rhythm that lulls you into sleep. The world outside the room feels miles away, and all that matters is the feeling of his arms around you, the peace of knowing that this—what you two have—is real.

You drift off to sleep, wrapped in the comfort of him, the quiet promises of the night hanging in the air. It’s the first time in a long time that you feel truly at peace, knowing that you’ve found something that isn’t fleeting, that isn’t just a momentary thrill. This is real. This is yours.

And as you fall asleep, the last thought in your mind is that you’re not just a fleeting part of Harry’s life anymore—you're something more. And for the first time, you believe it.

...

The next morning, the air feels lighter between you and Harry, a sense of calm settling over you both. The conversation from the night before has laid the foundation for something real, and while there’s still a part of you that’s nervous about what comes next, there’s no more uncertainty between you two. You know where you stand, and you know that this time, it’s different.

You’re sitting with Harry in the common area, trying to act like everything’s normal. You’re not hiding anymore, but the rest of the bands are still operating under the assumption that something’s been happening between you two for a while now. Their teasing comments have become more frequent, but there’s an undertone of curiosity that lingers.

Harry catches your eye across the room, his expression soft. He stands up, extending his hand toward you, and you know what’s coming. You take a breath, pushing aside any remaining nerves as you reach for his hand.

“Oi!” Louis calls out, noticing the two of you getting up. “Where are you two off to?”

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you closer, his arm resting around your shoulders as he walks you toward the others. The whole room falls silent as you approach, the energy shifting instantly.

Ashton’s eyes narrow on you both, but there’s a look of relief in them now, even if he’s still on edge. Niall raises an eyebrow, still unsure of what’s going on. Luke and Michael are watching carefully, their expressions unreadable but attentive. Calum glances between you and Harry, a quiet smirk tugging at his lips as he folds his arms. You glance at the floor, feeling the weight of their eyes on you as Harry gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“We’ve got something to say,” Harry begins, his voice steady but there’s a slight tension in his jaw, as if he’s bracing for their reactions.

You take a deep breath, your nerves a little more palpable now that you’re in front of everyone. This feels like a big moment—like things are finally being put out in the open. You’ve kept this secret for too long, and now, there’s no turning back.

“We’re together,” you say softly, your voice clear but quiet. “For real this time. Not just... whatever it was before.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then the reactions come fast.

“Oh, thank god,” Niall says, a grin spreading across his face. “You two have been dancing around this for ages. About time you made it official.”

“I knew it,” Louis adds with a smirk. “You two were always making eyes at each other. It was only a matter of time.”

Harry laughs, his hand tightening around yours. “Yeah, well... we had to figure things out first. But now we’re here.”

Ashton crosses his arms, his expression a little more guarded. He’s trying not to smile, but you can tell there’s still a hint of protectiveness in his eyes. He looks at Harry, then at you. “I just want you to know, Harry,” he says, his voice low, “if you hurt her again, I won’t hesitate. You’ve got one chance to make it right.”

Harry nods immediately, without hesitation. “I know, man. I won’t hurt her. I care about her too much for that.”

The tension eases a bit, but Zayn and Liam exchange looks, their expressions still weighing the situation. Zayn’s lips curl into a small smile, but he remains quiet. Liam gives you a warm look, the faintest glimmer of approval in his eyes. It’s clear he’s not against this—it’s just new territory for everyone, and a lot has changed in the time since the last time they saw you and Harry together.

“So, we’re all good then?” Niall asks, a grin still on his face.

You nod, squeezing Harry’s hand tighter, your voice steady now. “Yeah. We’re good. We’re not hiding anymore.”

It feels like a weight has been lifted from your chest, like everything is finally falling into place. It’s not perfect—it’s never going to be—but it’s real. And for the first time in a long time, you’re not running from it.

Ashton looks at Harry one last time, then nods, a little less tense than before. “Alright. I trust you.”

Harry’s face softens, a grateful look crossing his features. “Thanks, Ash.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts, and suddenly, it feels like things are less complicated. Everyone’s starting to come to terms with it, the unspoken questions beginning to fade away. For the first time, there’s no judgment, no tension. It’s just you and Harry, and the rest of the band, finally adjusting to the new normal.

Luke looks at the two of you, a knowing smirk on his face. “Alright, alright. So when’s the wedding?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Not that fast, mate.”

Michael laughs, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, but at least it’s not a secret anymore.”

Calum chuckles, nudging Luke. “Maybe they’ll invite us to the wedding. They’ve been keeping us on the edge of our seats for far too long.”

The banter continues, but there’s a sense of ease in the air now. No more secrets, no more uncertainty. And as Harry pulls you close again, his hand resting on your shoulder, you feel like this is just the beginning. This time, it’s real. And you’re ready for whatever comes next.

[detectivestucks2]

Geto as an Affair Partner

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Geto Suguru x F!Reader

Affair Partner Suguru who has always had a crush on you but respected your relationship and kept his feelings to himself.

Affair Partner Suguru who was your friend but didn’t expect you to vent about the truth of your marriage to him that fateful day.

Affair Partner Suguru who overheard your phone calls with your husband and hated how he talked to you. 

Affair Partner Suguru who witnessed how your husband injured you during his ‘pranks’.

Affair Partner Suguru who assured you that you weren’t crazy when your husband gaslit you or called you dramatic.

Affair Partner Suguru who got mad with you when your husband burdened you with his share of the responsibilities.

Affair Partner Suguru who came over to hang out but helped you clean your house when your husband left a mess first, before sitting down to watch TV.

Affair Partner Suguru who helped you install the ceiling fan when your husband refused to learn how.

Affair Partner Suguru who told you to start showering before your husband comes home cause he doesn’t like the idea of your husband seeing you naked.

Affair Partner Suguru who felt jealous at the idea of your husband coming home to you when it should be him.

Affair Partner Suguru who stole a kiss and then another.

Affair Partner Suguru who removed your clothes and kissed the parts of your body your husband called saggy and fat.

Affair Partner Suguru who latched onto the peaks of your chest and suckled till he tastes your tangy discharge.

Affair Partner Suguru who spread your legs and ate what didn’t belong to him.

Affair Partner Suguru who bent you into every position imaginable, before taking you from behind, finally fulfilling years worth of fantasies. 

Affair Partner Suguru who secretly recorded you because he didn’t know if you’d let him do this to you ever again.

Affair Partner Suguru who reminded you what passion felt like and finally gave you an orgasm you didn’t have to give to yourself.

Affair Partner Suguru who you betrayed your husband for and didn’t feel the slightest tinge of guilt or remorse.

Affair Partner Suguru who you thought about all the time.

Affair Partner Suguru who inspired you to shop for kinky toys to use at your next rendezvous. 

Affair Partner Suguru who had you wear a remote control vibrator to work one day.

Affair Partner Suguru who made you feel safe in his arms.

Affair Partner Suguru who caused your stomach to churn with guilt when your husband tried to touch you cause it felt too much like cheating.

Affair Partner Suguru who never pressured you to leave your husband because he knew the divorce was inevitable.

Affair Partner Suguru who was there to protect you when it was time to expose the truth to your husband.

Affair Partner Suguru who has been by your side every day since your separation.

Affair Partner Suguru who can't wait for your divorce to be finalized so he can take you on a proper date.

Affair Partner Suguru who you waited till after your divorce to finally say the words ‘I love you’ to when he admits he loves you back. 

Affair Partner Suguru who is no longer your affair partner but instead is the best boyfriend you have ever had.

a/n: had some inspiration and felt like writing this. I'm still working on my series but I chose to read the mangas before publishing the next chapter to see if my imagination fits with the actual events. And yes, I do intend on writing for jjk villains other than Sukuna. More Geto stories are in our future. 😉

[cecilysass]

Beacon (1/6)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

A delight to write this as a secret Santa gift for @libbytxf whose work I've enjoyed so much myself. She enjoys slow burn, and this is as slow burn-y as I could manage. She has literary sensibilities, and I tried to weave those in. There's a very subtle Pride and Prejudice allusion, as she and I both are fans. I hope you enjoy this, Libby. I'm going to post a chapter a day; I hope that's okay!

Chapter 1

Mulder drives them through the last leg of the icy woods, wind rattling through the spindly trees hanging over them. It’s just early evening, but the rental car’s headlights are already slicing through the winter gloom. From the passenger seat, Scully watches sprays of snow dust blow off of the birch trees.

They round a bend and the trees suddenly disappear: a New England town appears from nowhere, lit with golden streetlights that bounce off the old-fashioned brick and clapboard buildings. Scully looks around with interest. At first it seems eerily still, like a postcard, but then she notices a few locals walking along the sidewalks, pulling their coats tight and huddling close together.

“Temperature is really dropping,” Mulder remarks, reaching down to turn up the heat. He brings the car to a halt at what seems to be the town’s only stoplight. “You bring some sweaters, Scully?”

Strands of glowing holiday lights hanging over the streets sway back and forth in the wind.

“Of course I did,” Scully replies, but wonders how many sweaters he expects her to have packed. Just what kind of case does he imagine this will be, a week before Christmas? There are suspiciously few details and she has a feeling there’s more he’s not telling her. It wouldn’t, of course, be the first time.

She turns to the window again to observe the little downtown. It vaguely reminds her of a full-sized version of a painted porcelain Christmas village her mother owns, every building conspicuously charming. All sharp edges blunted with snow, vaguely glowing with bulbs, the downtown is old-fashioned in a way that makes one think of Bedford Falls, of Jimmy Stewart.

“You’re sure we’re in the right place?” she wonders, peering intently out the passenger window. “This is the location of your ghost deaths?”

“Hellespont, Vermont,” Mulder agrees, nodding, tapping on the steering wheel restlessly. “Established 1785. We’re looking for the Beacon Inn, so keep your eyes peeled.”

The light changes, and he drives past a historic town hall. There is, honest to god, a grouping of rosy-cheeked children in wool caps singing in a formation on the front steps. Scully observes them closely as the car moves by. Electric candles in their hands, ruddy glow on their faces: angels we have heard on high.

“It doesn’t seem like the site of supernatural murder.”

“Well, Scully, like I said, the deaths haven’t officially been described as homicides,” Mulder says. “They’re all—”

“Yes,” Scully says. “Sudden cardiac deaths. You did say.” She isn’t in the mood for Mulder’s withheld key information and sudden reveals. “Which, as it happens, is one of the most common causes of death in the United States.”

“Three cardiac deaths in six months in one New England inn,” Mulder reminds her. “That’s a little uncanny. And my source says—”

“That it’s a ghost,” Scully cuts in again. “Some tortured soul who has made the journey back from the great unknown to attack with the power of coronary artery disease.”

“Sure,” Mulder says uneasily. She feels him glancing at her. “We both agreed this one was worth poking into, didn’t we?”

A slight pause. “Yes,” she says. “Of course we did.”

“Good,” Mulder says. His eyes bounce off of her again. “I’m mostly going off of what the source told me, the inn’s owner. There aren’t … many details. It’ll probably be too late tonight, but I’m hoping we can both run through the whole story with him tomorrow morning.”

She takes a breath, pushing back her irritation. “I assume we’re staying at the haunted inn.”

Mulder flashes her a placating grin. “It’s actually a much nicer place than what I usually book.”

“Besides the high rate of sudden death, of course.”

“Hopefully we can help them out with that,” Mulder says. He drums on the steering wheel again and serenades her. “‘Something strange in your neighborhood. Who you gonna call, Scully?’”

Scully smiles tolerantly and turns back to the window. She’s unable to stop herself from peering out to watch the people milling around downtown Hellespont: cozy scarves pulled over their faces, shopping bags over their arms, hand in hand with significant others. Ordinary lives that seem increasingly distant from her own.

“I, uh, know you’re probably eager to be finished up before the holiday,” Mulder adds. “Get back to your mom’s.”

Scully nods slowly, her gaze still out the window, unable to respond right away. Yes, she is eager to be back with her family for Christmas, and yet it’s also the very last place she wants to be. Her sister absent. Her sister never coming to Christmas again. Her mother’s dull-eyed grief. It might be better to turn her energy to ghostbusting after all.

“What are you doing for the holidays, Mulder?” she asks the window, keeping her tone light and conversational. “Going on an adventure? Going skiing with the Gunmen? Hot date?”

“Hot date, for sure,” he says. She turns to look at him, and he’s picking some sunflower seeds out of a bag he’s stashed in the console.

“Ah, then you must be eager to finish the ghostbusting case up, too.”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” he says. “You know we tend to wrap these cases up fast and tidy, Scully. We’ll be back to family and holiday love in no time.” Just as she is about to give him an incredulous look, he gestures out the window. “Oh, look, there it is,” he says suddenly. He’s pointing to the ornate sign outside a Victorian house perched on a hillside. “Beacon Inn.”

***

There is ice coating the uphill walk to the Beacon Inn, and Mulder resists the urge to offer Scully a steadying arm. She might refuse it, and that would needle him, even though it has nothing to do with him. Well, it might have something to do with him. But mostly, he thinks, it isn’t about him at all.

He’s aware that Scully’s grieving this holiday; this first Christmas without her sister. He sees it in the slump of her shoulders when he mentions time off coming up, the way her eyes focus on some unseen place at work, the way he finds her sister’s file left sitting out, thumbed through yet again. Still raw, still unsolved.

His own sister’s case has haunted him for more than twenty years. Everyday he has to grapple with what it means to still not have justice and to still be seeking even the barest minimum of answers. Does Scully fear the same for herself? Does she look at him and see a bleak future? This recent interest of hers in religion: it troubles him. He knows she’s started going back to Mass, after the stigmata case, the case with Kevin Kryder. It’s like she’s searching for something to hold on to, any port in a storm.

He doesn’t know what it portends.

In quiet moments he’s studied her across the office. Every day he half expects to hear her say she’s giving her notice. He wonders if he shouldn’t encourage her to.

But what would the work be like without her? What would the basement be like? Who would he talk to about his ideas, his theories, his weekend? He’s not quite selfless enough to urge her to walk away.

This case—haunted deaths in bucolic New England—has sat in his “maybe” pile for weeks: intriguing, definitely, but with a distinct odor of “junior high ghost story.” After observing Scully for one listless morning last week, he pulled the file out again, spread out the pages, and began putting together a slideshow.

She’s always one to find her purpose in work. They’re alike that way. And Vermont in the snow, a haunted inn—there’s a certain ambiance to this one, right? He knows he’s charmed by this sort of thing, so she might find it charming, too. At very least she’ll be able to complain about having to tolerate junior high ghost stories.

And he thinks she does like complaining about that, sometimes.

At the root of it, it’s just plain selfish. He can’t stand to be in the office and see that expression on her face anymore. Anything is better than that. So over the river and through the woods to the haunted inn they go.

He turns to look at her now as they approach the front steps. She’s wearing her long black trench. Her cheeks are pink from the cold; her expression is perfectly neutral. She notices his stare and looks back at him quizzically.

The case has yet to engage her full attention, he can see that perfectly well. But they’ve only just arrived. There is plenty of time to pull her in. On any case it sometimes takes a while for her to pluck at the thread that interests her the most. She always finds something, her own distinctive way into the labyrinth. It’s one of the things about Scully he likes the very most.

Stepping gingerly around piles of snow-crusted lumber and plaster debris around the front porch, they glance at one another.

“Under construction.” Scully gestures to a tarp over the front of the porch.

“Apparently they’re doing some remodeling,” Mulder agrees.

“Some remodeling,” calls a voice from inside the slightly-open door with an audible huff. “Tactful understatement. Did you hear what they said, Duncan? They said you’re doing some remodeling.”

The door, which is adorned with a fat evergreen wreath with bronze ornaments, cracks further open, and a slight white man in his late forties, clad in a thick wool sweater, an apron, and wire frame glasses, sticks his torso out. “Agent Mulder?”

“Yeah, hello,” Mulder says, stepping over piles to approach. “I’m Agent Mulder, and this”—he gestures with a sweeping arm to Scully, who steps next to him—“is my partner Agent Scully. You must be Duncan Macneill?”

“Just Duncan, please,” the man says. “I am the co-owner of Beacon Inn. As well as manager, cook, historian, night watchman. Come inside, please. It’s bitter cold.”

He beckons for them to follow him, and Mulder and Scully step inside after him. Immediately they’re greeted with a blast of warm air and the woody, aged smell of a historic house.

As they wipe their wet feet on a woven mat, Mulder carefully eyes the lobby, which is really a living room. It’s rustic, cozy, a mix of antiques and newer pieces, with somber historic portraits on the walls and some quirky mismatched furniture scattered with brightly-colored pillows. There is a giant glowing Christmas tree festooned with large red velvet bows. Mulder’s no expert, but it looks like a lot of care and love has gone into decorating.

“We’re so sorry about the mess outside,” another voice chimes in. A round-faced Asian man about Duncan’s age sits behind a desk across from the door. “It’s just inhospitable, isn’t it? I keep telling Duncan we need to wrap the project up, but it drags on and on through the seasons.”

“The new exterior will be worth it,” Duncan proclaims confidently. “Although I admit, it has taken a while.” He winks at the man behind the counter, then turns to Mulder and Scully. “This is the inn’s other co-owner… my partner, Banoy Borja.”

Mulder walks over to shake Banoy’s hand. “Agent Mulder—and my partner, Agent Scully.”

“So nice to meet you,” Scully says with a smile.

“Oh,” Banoy says, stepping back to look them over. “I’d reserved two upstairs bedrooms, both singles. Should I prepare the Beech Bedroom instead? It’s got a queen.”

“It’s fine,” Mulder says quickly.

“Two singles is perfect,” Scully adds.

“Different kind of ‘partner,’” Duncan stage whispers to Banoy.

“F.B.I. partners,” Scully clarifies quietly.

“Right, I just thought maybe both...?” Banoy explains.

“No,” Mulder says emphatically. “No. Just F.B.I. partners.”

“Ahh, of course,” Banoy says, his eyes flickering between them. “My mistake.”

Scully spins abruptly towards the porch again. “Your renovations look quite extensive,” Scully says, changing the subject. “Are you building on to the house?”

“No, no. The porch was falling apart,” Duncan says. “We’re modernizing it, rebuilding, but this is New England, so naturally we have to adhere to the town’s historic preservation code. And of course we want to maintain the inn’s Victorian exterior, too.”

“We had a tiny bit of trouble,” Banoy says. “It can be tricky. You know. Historic preservation commissions in small towns.”

“It’s all resolved now,” Duncan says, waving his hand dismissively.

Scully nods, but Mulder notes her eyebrows are drawing together the way that she does when she’s thinking about something.

“We’re going to want to ask you both some questions about the recent deaths,” Mulder tells them. “But … maybe not tonight.”

Banoy looks stricken. “Yes, of course, but please—” He lowers his voice and looks around nervously. “Just make sure that there’s none of that talk about death in front of guests.”

Mulder discreetly glances from side to side and sees no one else around but the four of them. He nods understandingly. These are touchy topics. “Sure, of course,” he says. “‘Maybe we can talk tomorrow morning, somewhere quiet? Mr. Macneil, you were the one to contact us—does that work for you?”

“Duncan, I told you,” corrects Duncan. “And yes, Agent Mulder. Why don’t we have coffee and pastry in the kitchen? Say 9-ish?”

“Duncan loves to talk about the ghost,” Banoy says with an affectionate eyeroll. “You’ll never shut him up. But let’s get you checked in and settled. You must be so worn out.”

“Grab the bags while I check in?” Scully says offhand to Mulder. He nods automatically. It’s a well-established system by now. Mulder turns for the door as Scully speaks to Banoy.

When he comes back in, Scully is still chatting with the two men about the inn’s renovations. Mulder’s eyes narrow as he drags their bags by; some detail has obviously attracted her interest there. Which is good, really. He wants to see her involved in the case. If it’s important, she’ll update him later.

He decides to take their room keys and go ahead with the bags upstairs.

Upstairs, he’s met by a long narrow hallway with six doors, three on each side, historic brass lanterns outside of each one, producing an uneven amber glow. It’s atmospheric. He likes it, New England boy that he is.

At the end of the hallway is another impressive Christmas tree, twinkling with white lights and draped with swaths of crimson velvet. The wooden floor boards, worn smooth by years of foot traffic, creak underfoot as he steps down the hall. He discovers his and Scully’s rooms are side by side.

Just before he tries to go inside, he stops. He looks back and forth, up and down the hall.

He has the strangest feeling he’s being observed. But there’s no one there. No one he sees, anyway.

Look at you, going full on junior high ghost story, he thinks to himself. He reminds himself that Scully probably thinks he’s always full on junior high ghost story. She probably thinks her career has turned into one big junior high ghost story after another.

He unlocks his own room first, stepping inside only to get a quick lay of the land: a simple star-patterned quilt on the bed, another faux brass lantern, an old-fashioned washing stand with a pitcher, and a framed silhouette of a young woman with her hair up above the dresser. There’s no adjoining door.

He puts his bag next to the bed and goes next door to unlock Scully’s room. Her room appears to be essentially identical, a mirror image of his own, except for the quilt is a slightly different star pattern, and the silhouette above the dresser is a young man instead of a woman. He looks at the silhouette for a moment, trying from idle curiosity to decide whether he can make out if the man has a mustache.

He wheels her bag inside and sets it next to her bed, too.

He’s locking up Scully’s door, about to go back downstairs to find her, when he again has the unmistakable, creeping sensation that someone is watching him.

Come on. It’s just one of the other guests Banoy mentioned, he thinks, his eyes still firmly trained on the key in the door.

With a slowness and caution he couldn’t fully explain if asked, he turns his body towards the far end of the hall.

And that’s when he sees it.

When he sees her.

What he sees certainly appears to be a her, anyway: a woman standing at the end of the hall staring at him.

His first impulse is to reach for his phone to call Scully, to insist she come up and see, but he isn’t sure if he should move. Instead he stares back at the woman stupidly, his mouth hanging open, his hand still holding the key to Scully’s room.

The woman is wearing a long white empire waist dress and a piece of fabric drawn around her like a shawl. She has dark hair parted in the middle and curling around her face. Her expression is hard, uncompromising, calculating.

And she is transparent—there’s no other word for it, that’s what she is. She’s entirely without solid substance. Ephemeral. This fascinates Mulder. He can peer through her body to make out each point of light spangling the Christmas tree at the end of the hallway behind her. If he stepped forward and put his hand out to touch her, would it go through? A very reckless part of him would like to try.

Standing contemplating her in frozen wide-eyed fear and wonder, he wonders what to do now. More than anything he wishes Scully would come up the stairs right this second, would stand here and witness this with him.

Before he can decide how to react, the woman, much to his alarm, takes a step. Towards him. Mulder hears his breath hitch, feels the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“My love,” she whispers, ever so softly. Her voice doesn’t sound ephemeral at all. It’s husky and tremulous. “How I miss you.”

All at once, Mulder remembers the danger associated with this case—what’s happened to the victims who had reportedly seen the spectral figure. The adrenaline of fear courses through him more powerfully.

“My love,” she repeats almost tenderly, holding her hand out towards him, her fingers beckoning. “Come to me. My love.”

Mulder moves his own hand in alarm, and looks down at his chest to see his left palm instinctively covering his heart in protection. He’s breathing a little fast for sure, but he feels no other symptoms, no impending heart failure.

When he looks up again to see the woman, he’s staring at an entirely empty hallway. There’s no one there. He’s alone, clutching his vulnerable heart.

***

[kaija-rayne-author]

Dragon Age, as a series, deserved so much better than Veilguard.

Spoilers for Veilguard and maybe other DA stuff.

Obligatory 'I'm not an asshole' disclaimer. Feel free to jump to the cut if you've read it.

Something came to my attention. I need to make it crystal clear that I utterly love the diversity in DAV. It's fantastic. I'm also a heavily left leaning, non-binary, queer as fuck reviewer, editor, and author.

I was on media blackout while I played DAV. Please be safe and take care of yourselves. Arguing with incels and white supremacists is completely pointless. They sea lion worse than an actual sea lion. Your mental health is important.

Though, every single time the anti-queer brigade comes out for a new DA game, I sit there thinking 'have you bozos ever played any DA game, like, ever?' My guess is nope.

Note. None of my writing on DA, but especially DAV, is edited. This is just my off the cuff writing. I don't have the time, energy, or heart to edit them properly.

The Solavellan romance deserved a much better end than 'die and go to fade prison'. I agree that Inky would likely be happy to leave. She's as traumatized as Solas for having to lead when she didn't want to. But I needed more than a craptastic Romeo and Juliet ending.

I refuse to do the heavy lifting for the writers. If it wasn't shown in the game or in supplementary materials, it didn't happen. Showing us the story was the writers' and devs job, not mine.

I mourn what will never be, even as I work on a Solavellan fix it fic.

How could they betray the IP so badly?

How could they betray their fanbase so badly? The fanbase that kept hope for that game alive for 10 years. I've seen so many people saying they've lost their interest or passion for the entirety of Dragon age. That they're not even remotely interested in another game because absolutely none of the choices we made in previous games matters anymore. They've wiped everything clean... or blighted it anyway. (I have absolutely no interest in another DA game. Not with Epler/Busche/Weekes involved. And whoever designed that ridiculous fighting system.)

The only way I could possibly be interested in another game would be if they loudly decanonized DAV, gave us a DLC (they've already confirmed there will be no DLC) that showed us Solas and Inky happy and not in a horrible place. One that showed us that somehow, something changed for the elves.

But that's so unlikely it's laughable.

The elves deserved a better ending. Are the survivors still enslaved or living in alienages? What actually changed for the elves except the largest portion of the Dalish being dead from blight? (That’s a real elvish win, isn't it?)

I'm a stubborn person. I refuse to let Epler's 'hate-revenge on Solas fan fic' ruin something I've loved for years. I still have the first 3 games. I'll make an actual happy ending and a decent romance for Rook in my fic.

And by the fact they paid a fortune to big gaming magazines while denying game keys to bigger honest reviewers... they knew.

They knew gamers wouldn't like it and tried to blow so much smoke up our asses with the interviews and AMAs.

How do they even sleep at night?

I'm a creative too, I write, do graphic design, digital (learning) and traditional (good) art.

My stories are important to me. They deserve not only an ending, but an ending that respects the characters, lore, and world that I've created.

My readers deserve that, too.

I, as the creator of my stories, deserve a decent, respectful ending.

Dragon age deserved it, too. A good, well thought out, and well written ending to the story of the Dreadwolf storyline, which, if you're paying attention, is intertwined through all 3 games. It's not just in Inquisition. One that made sense to the collected Lore, his struggles and mistakes, his literary role as an anti-hero.

I would never be able to do what they've done to a beloved series. I could never knowingly mislead fans like they did.

It's just a really painful reminder that beloved stories can be utterly destroyed in the wrong hands. And a reminder that there's so much talent and skill in Fan fic.

Busche worked on the Sims. No wonder the companions often feel as interesting as wet cardboard. Most Sims NPCs do, too. (I actually enjoy the Sims, but the NPCs aren't why I like it.)

And she had the gall to blame 'culture wars' and 'identity politics' for why the game is tanking. Rather than take ownership of the incredibly bad calls made for DAV.

It's just gross. I wish I could stop thinking about it. But Dragon Age got me through some tough times. It means a lot to me.

And it just deserved better. So did we.

[hannahbarberra162]

Will EP omega reader meet the whitebeard pirates? How would shanks react?

Hi Nonnie!

This was originally the trajectory before I decided to take it in a different direction. Not all the WBP since this story is set after the Paramount Wars and they’re disbanded but I was going to have the Reader meet Marco….

This is an alternate ending so not as proofread / edited. This is set after Reader has come to from the heat (you’ll get that scene in the next chapter - which, yes, I am writing). Shanks is a bad boy in this one, don't come for me.

I'm not gonna do the tag list for this (except @mfreedomstuff ) since it's not a chapter of the main story. I do have a few more ideas / scenes I thought of for this maybe I'll write them eventually.

All the actual chapters

~

Shanks POV

Your first heat had gone well by Shanks’s estimation. The physical demands were rough on you, you had been sleeping and eating in excess since it ended to make up for the days on end with little of either. He’d also had to recuperate after your heat but because you began heat in a worse state it was taking you longer to get to your baseline. He checked on you every hour or so as you slept, bringing you food and water as you needed it. You protested with a groan as he checked your temperature and breathing but allowed him to move you as he pleased like a limp rag doll. 

There was one thing that bothered him though - the bite mark from Kid still hadn’t healed. He’d given you his word during the heat that he wouldn’t claim you but he didn’t like seeing the bite from your former Alpha. He’d already spoken with Hongo about it already but the doctor said there wasn’t anything to do except wait.

Unless.

Shanks had known Marco the Phoenix since he was a child, the former Commander slipping in and out of his life like the tide. They weren’t friends exactly but Shanks had offered Marco the opportunity to join his crew many times. He’d slept with Marco a few times over the years and Shanks deeply enjoyed the experience - though they sometimes fought for dominance.

But there was something in Shanks that had always wanted to bring Marco to heel. Marco acted like he was above Shanks, like he was better than him. He always had too, enjoying being the golden child of Whitebeard for years after Shanks had to watch his own Captain publicly executed by Marines. Even after Whitebeard’s death Marco hadn’t joined Shanks’s crew which stung his ego. It didn't help that Marco’s Zoan form had an ethereal beauty like no other and it only elevated his charm and charisma. Marco was powerful, strong, handsome and well respected outside of his piracy for his skills as a physician. Unlike others, Marco wasn't fooled by Shanks's games and lackadaisical attitude and saw right through him. No, Marco needed to be shown his place in the world but the opportunity hadn’t arisen. 

Regardless, Marco could heal the bite on your neck in seconds if he visited the ship. Mulling over the idea, Shanks decided to call and see if Marco could fly out. The ship wasn’t that far from Sphinx, Marco could make the trip quickly if he so chose. Grabbing his snail off his desk, he dialed and waited.

“Oi, Marco. How are you?” Shanks asked the calm looking snail as the call was picked up.

“Shanks, to what do I owe the pleasure yoi? What do you want from me?” Marco responded dryly, already anticipating a request. The snail was looking over at something else as Marco continued to work through the call.

“Maybe I just want to see how you’re doing, call up an old friend,” Shanks teased before turning serious. “I am happy to hear you’re doing well, but you’re right, I need a favor. I have an Omega on my ship and she has a wound that’s not healing -”

“Is it not healing or not healing fast enough for you yoi?” the Phoenix interrupted, still not giving Shanks his full attention as he continued to read. Shanks’s irritation was rising but he buried it deep, he wanted Marco’s help.

“It was an infected claiming bite that didn’t take. She just went through heat and it was bothering her, she kept rubbing at it until it was raw. I had to Command her to stop before she left it alone. She’s still recovering - her previous Alpha beat the shit out of her, she was barely alive when I found her,” Shanks said with a frown on his face. Marco was a lot softer than people knew - he was sympathetic to weaker people suffering at the hands of those who were stronger. Shanks knew adding in the bits about your status would tip the scales in his favor. The snail sighed and looked at Shanks with its heavy lidded stare.

“How is she now?” Marco asked, the doctor in him rising to the surface. Shanks gloated internally as he knew he had Marco hook, line, and sinker.

“She’s sleeping a lot, eating when she wakes. It was her first heat - she’d been taking suppressants for years on end so it was particularly rough. I think she’d return to normal faster if she wasn’t also healing the bite,” Shanks mused aloud, knowingly ensnaring the former Commander further.

“Hm. And I suppose you want me to come heal her despite the fact that Hongo likely told you to wait it out yoi,” Marco said with a frown. Shanks smiled brightly, Marco correctly guessing the desired outcome.

“Well, if you’re offering…” Shanks said, letting the sentence dangle. He waited in silence, knowing Marco was going to accept.

“Where are you?” Marco asked in a huff, crossing his arms.

“Not too far from Sphynx, maybe a day’s flight away,” Shanks said jovially. 

“Fine. Head towards the island, I’ll get the coordinates from Benn. You owe me.” Marco said with finality before hanging up the snail. Shanks’s smile widened even further.

Your POV

You heard an unfamiliar male voice near the entrance of the cabin. New men weren’t something with a positive association for you but this voice was melodious, almost like a bird song, the person speaking with soothing calm. Listening in, you heard the Emperor speaking to the man like they were old friends. A knock on the cabin door alerted you that they were about to come in so grabbed the blankets and pulled them up to cover your nakedness. You hadn’t worn clothes since before your heat and all that you had were the Emperor’s.

“We’re coming in,” announced the Emperor brightly. As the door opened you saw a man as tall as Benn standing behind the Emperor. His teal eyes met yours and the world stopped for a moment. You’d never seen someone so beautiful in your life, his wanted posters not capturing his true essence. You knew it was Marco the Phoenix but you couldn’t bring yourself to say a single word. You nearly uncovered yourself to walk to him but stopped yourself at the last moment. He wasn’t speaking to you either, standing in shocked silence by the doorway with a stethoscope wound around his neck.

The Emperor looked between you and Marco and started talking but you weren’t listening. All you wanted to do was talk to Marco, to bare your soul to him, even though you’d never met before. He smelled like coconut, pineapple and a touch of spiced rum. You had the urge to lick his scent glands, to bask in the glorious smell of this Alpha. You’d never felt this way with any other Alpha - certainly not with Kid but also not with the Emperor. He walked towards you hesitantly, like you’d bolt if he moved too quickly. You watched his graceful movements as Marco approached, entranced by his very being. The Emperor suddenly put two fingers under your chin and tilted your face to his own. 

“Have you met Marco already?” he asked with a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. You noted his stiff shoulders and dominant body language. The Emperor was annoyed and in a dangerous mood, you thought to yourself. Marco forgotten for the moment, you nuzzled into his hand - an act that he’d praised you for before.

“N-no. I was just distracted,” you said quickly, afraid to admit you were staring at the handsome stranger. Your proactive touch mollified the Emperor somewhat as he dragged his thumb up and down your cheek.

“I apologize for startling you yoi. Like Shanks said, I’m Marco. I’m a doctor -”

“And a pirate,” Shanks added, giving Marco a smirk. Marco gave the Emperor a disdainful look.

“Yes, and a pirate yoi. I used to be Whitebeard’s First Division Commander, but that’s in the past. Now I’m just a doctor,” Marco said with a calm smile. 

“I’m not so sure, maybe we can finally convince you to join our ranks after all,” Shanks continued, giving Marco a strange look. Marco returned Shanks’s look with one of his own. You weren’t sure what was being communicated between the two men but you didn’t want to be in the middle of it. Cringing backwards, you covered yourself up further with the blankets. Marco’s gaze flicked to your face and his countenance softened. 

“It’s alright, I’m going to take a look at you yoi. I heard you have a wound that isn’t healing, is that right?” Marco said, pulling a pair of gloves from the pocket of his doctor’s coat. He sat down next to you on the bed, still towering over you with his tall frame.You nodded, moving your hair to the side so Marco could see the wound still left from Kid. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose and put on the gloves.

“I’m going to touch you now, just around the bite, OK?” he said to you softly. You nodded again and shifted towards him in the bed to allow him easier access to your neck. The Emperor moved and leaned against the opposing wall of the cabin, watching Marco’s every move with barely concealed interest. You weren’t sure what he was thinking but you hoped nothing bad came to Marco because of it.

Marco moved his fingers along the stitches Hongo had given you, pushing on the wound in a few spots. His assessment was clinical but it was the most caring anyone had touched you in a long time. He hummed to himself before placing the buds of the stethoscope in his ears. 

“I’m going to listen to your heart and lungs yoi. I’ll press the bell of the stethoscope against your skin a few times and listen, OK?” You nodded eagerly, waiting for the contact to continue. You knew what stethoscope usage entailed but it was thoughtful that Marco described what he was going to do anyway. You pulled the blankets down further than you needed to give Marco access to your chest and back.

“How’s she doing?” Shanks interrupted, sitting himself next to your other side on the bed and putting your hand in his own. Marco removed your hand and returned it to a resting position.

“Shh. I’m listening,” Marco said, dismissing the Emperor. You were sure Marco was hearing your heart beating fast from Marco rebuking the Emperor. You’d never heard anyone speak to him that way - even though his crew were relaxed and casual they always maintained an air of respect towards him. Marco on the other hand was irritated with the Emperor and didn't hesitate to make his feelings known.

Marco placed his fingertips on your back, his warm touch gentling you to the sensation of the cold stethoscope. As he listened, you saw his eyes rove over your well loved body from the heat. Your gaze dropped and your cheeks heated as you looked over all the hickeys and bite marks over your front from your heat with the Emperor.

“One more deep breath, there we go,” Marco said soothingly, rubbing a small circle on your back. You did as he said and he removed the stethoscope from his ears.

“I can heal the wound yoi. Like I already said, it was healing just fine on its own. You were too rough with her during her heat. Look at her, she’s covered in bruises and bites. If she’s already healing wounds you shouldn’t add more. Control yourself,” Marco continued, giving the Emperor a dirty look. You hugged your knees with your arms and ducked your head for the ensuing confrontation.

But none ever came. Instead you heard the Emperor’s laugh ring out in the cabin.

“Eh, it was more difficult than I thought. Would you care to find out?” 

Marco POV

There was no doubt in his mind the cowering little Omega was his fated mate. He wondered if you could feel the connection too but given your acute distress and prior experiences he doubted it. He felt a pull to you, he was drawn to you like a moth to a flame. It was like some missing piece of him had settled in his soul and he was finally complete, after looking for something he didn’t know was gone. You were absolutely breathtaking, even littered in the evidence of harsh treatment by other Alphas. His first instinct had been to whisk you away on the wings of the Phoenix far from Shanks, back to his home on Sphynx where he could claim you and keep you safe. Alas, things would not be so simple in the real world.

Your scent soured as Shanks extended Marco a crass invitation to have sex with you. Marco highly doubted that he’d shared you before - Shanks was covetous and jealous by nature. Even now while Marco was attending to you as a medical professional Shanks was inserting himself unnecessarily to gain your attention. Shanks hid his true colors under the guise of an easy going and amicable nature but Marco knew better. He was cold and calculating, always seeking what he didn’t have. Which is why he’d never joined Shanks’s crew despite the many offers or dallied with him more than a few times. Shanks never let something that he wanted slip through his fingers and Shanks wanted Marco.

Marco’s hackles rose but he pushed the feeling down. He needed to play nicely with Shanks and think his plans through before he acted. No matter what Shanks did or said, Marco wasn’t strong enough to take him on. He’d lived with an Emperor for long enough to know that Shanks was in a class of his own and even the Immortal Phoenix could be killed by his hands. Instead, Marco put his hand on your shoulder and stood up, inserting himself between you and the Emperor.

“I’ll heal her now then let’s chat outside for a few minutes yoi,” he said to Shanks with a neutral expression. He turned to you and gave you a warm smile, trying to convey his love and kindness in a single facial expression. He thought he saw the flicker of a smile on your sweet mouth.

“I’m going to use my Devil Fruit powers to heal you. It won’t hurt so you don’t need to worry,” Marco said, already trying to heal your growing anxiety. You nodded at him and your shoulders relaxed slightly, revealing the ugly bite on your neck. Something part of him was pleased you weren’t claimed by Shanks but Marco didn’t think it was due to benevolence on Shanks’s part. Marco knew you’d be claimed in the next heat whether you wanted it or not. His gift worked best on skin to skin but he didn’t want to make you too uncomfortable. 

“I’ll be on the deck. Don’t enjoy yourselves too much,” Shanks said with a wink. Marco wanted to throttle him right there - couldn’t he smell what his remarks did to you? How afraid and small they made you feel? But even so Marco was thankful for the reprieve from Shanks’s presence. The Captain swaggered away after patting your head like a beloved dog, slamming the door to the cabin behind him.

“Nothing is going to happen that I haven’t already told you. I’m going to heal you with my powers and that will be all. I do have to touch you and it works best if it’s nearest to the injury. May I heal your neck?” Marco explained in a calm and patient voice. Giving you expectations of what he would do might quell your anxiety. You nodded once more, still not speaking. Marco reached slowly for your neck, one of his hands large enough to wrap around nearly the whole thing. The other he placed on your upper back to steady your erratic breathing. In his heart he wanted to pull you in for a soul searing kiss but he’d have to deal with Shanks first.

“Easy, easy. I’m going to begin, alright? It might feel strange but it doesn’t hurt,” Marco said as his flames began to rise over your neck and upper chest. Your eyes opened wide and you tried to swivel your head as you were engulfed in his power but Marco kept you steady. “It’s alright, shh, it’s alright. Relax, just relax, nothing bad will happen yoi,” Marco cooed at you as you ceased looking around like a frightened rabbit. He didn’t want you to struggle against him, nothing in him could ever hurt you. You soon allowed him to heal you without worry, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch.

Marco focused first on the bite but extended the flames to the rest of your body as well. He healed all the marks Shanks had left until there was no sign that you’d ever been intimate with the Emperor. Before removing his hand from your neck he felt something unusual.

“Do you have an old injury here yoi? To your larynx perhaps?” Marco asked quietly while palpating the area, not wanting to alarm you. You looked down and nodded again. 

“Would you like me to heal it? I’m not sure it will work completely but it may help,” Marco offered. He’d learned over the years that some people preferred their scars and marks to remain as momentos or as badges of honor. Though injuries like the one you had to your throat were rarely something worth remembering. 

“Yes, please,” you rasped. Marco tried to heal your broken vocal chords and damaged neck to the best of his ability, sending wave after wave of healing flames to the area. All too soon, the healing was complete and he had to go deal with Shanks.

“How do you feel now?” Marco asked, removing his hands completely from you. They itched to remain on your skin but he wanted to give you the space you needed.

“Much better, thank you,” you said, reaching to touch the now healed bite on your neck. He’d only heard your voice briefly when you were trying to soothe Shanks’s ego but it sounded smoother already. 

“Unfortunately it did scar a bit due to the age and severity of the injury but the scar should fade somewhat over time,” Marco said as your nimble fingers probed the area. You stretched your limbs and gave him a ghost of a smile, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Thank you Marco,” you said softly. Marco had so much he wanted to say and do but the Emperor was waiting for his audience.

“I’ll be with Shanks if you need me,” Marco said, rising from the bed. He felt your eyes watching him as he crossed the messy cabin and left, closing the door softly.

Shanks was sitting at the circular table on the deck, his ochoko filled with sake. His calves were resting on the table and his arm was behind his head in a relaxed pose as he watched the sea. To most, it would look like he didn’t have a care in the world. But Marco knew Shanks was toying with him, like a cat would a mouse before the death blow. Benn was reading the paper next to his Captain and gave Marco a pleasant nod when the two made eye contact. Marco returned it. 

“We have a lot to talk about,” Shanks said, still gazing at the sea. Benn took that as his cue to leave, folding his paper in half and tucking it under his arm. He gave Marco a clap on the shoulder as he passed.

“She had greater injuries than you told me yoi,” Marco complained as he sat down in the now unoccupied chair. 

“Yeah, she was pretty busted up when I found her. I took her from Kid - not sure if you knew him, I didn’t before then -” 

“She’s my fated mate,” Marco cut off Shanks, wanting to get to the heart of the matter. He was loath to play Shanks’s games but for now he’d have to endure. Shanks grinned a toothy smile and lifted his feet off the table, planting them on the deck. He crossed his legs at the ankles and sat up, picking up his ochoko.

“Hm, fate is a cruel mistress. Since the Celestial Dragons interfered with the mating process, fated mates have become an old wives tale, a bedtime story for children. They say when an Alpha finds their mate they would do anything to stay by their side and keep them safe. That a bonded Alpha and Omega share the same lifeline, their chests beating with the same heart. So how fitting that a myth should become real for someone so mythical,” Shanks said, swirling his sake in the small cup. The Emperor’s eyes danced with mirth as Marco watched him take a drink from the ochoko. Marco felt like a snare was tightening around his ankle, like a wild animal stuck in a trap it would never be able to get out of. 

“You’re not going to release her yoi. Are you going to claim her?” Marco asked, already knowing the answer to both questions.  

“No, she’s staying with me. As for claiming,” Shanks said before draining his cup, “I will during her next heat. But so can you.” Marco didn’t react outwardly, keeping his face still as his heart threatened to burst out of his chest. Shanks refilled his glass to the brim with sake.

“I did some research and it seems Omegas can be claimed by two Alphas. But I found out something even more interesting. Did you know Apex Alphas can claim other Alphas?” Shanks said, pouring sake into an empty ochoko. Picking it up, he extended it to Marco. The implication was clear - Marco would be able to claim you if Shanks claimed Marco. Marco would never be able to leave Shanks though he was unsure of other possible ramifications.

“We’ve had fun before, eh Marco? I think adding an Omega would be beneficial for both of us. You’d be able to stay with her, tend to her, care for her…along with my help, of course. What do you think?”

Marco knew he had only a few moments to consider the proposition or Shanks would revoke it and think of something worse. Marco tried to engineer a solution to his problem in the short time frame but Shanks had him backed into a corner. The Alpha in him couldn’t leave the Omega on the ship, he needed to be near her and protect her like he needed to breathe air. He wasn’t strong enough to challenge Shanks for her and win. He couldn’t leave her and he couldn’t take her. Marco’s eyes met Shanks’s triumphant gaze and broad smile.

Shanks had finally won.

Marco extended his hand and took the ochoko from Shanks. Every moment spent with Shanks further sealed his fate but it also brought him closer to you. 

“Welcome to the Red Haired Pirates,” Shanks said, draining his cup with a cold smile.

[urlocaloptimist]

A is for Anniversary: They spend the whole day together, walking around Ithaca, going to the market, and just doing whatever they feel like. 

B is for Beach: They love going on beach dates, whether talking, swimming, or having a picnic, they spend a lot of time on Ithaca's beach.

C is for Cuddles: One of Telemachus's favorite things is cuddling with Y/n, he can be very clingy because he's a bit touch-starved from childhood.

D is for Dates: Telemachus and Y/n spend a lot of time together, they don't always consider it "a date" but they do go on dates when there not too busy, some locations include the beach, the market, the palace gardens, and more.

E is for every day: They would spend every second of every day together if they could, but Telemachus has duties as the prince and Y/n always finds something to help with around the palace.

F is for Fights: They don't ever really have big fights, just small disagreements sometimes but they always work it out very quickly.

G is for Gifts: The Cliché moment of trading something of theirs to get the other a gift that goes with the thing they traded and then laughing about it, for example: Telemachus trades his bow to get Y/n some exotic yarn for her weaving and Y/n trades her weaving loom to get Telemachus some engraved arrows for his archery. 

H is for Home: Y/n started living at the palace with Telemachus since Telemachus would have to spend all his time there attending to royal duties and that way they could spend more time together.

I is for Interactions: Y/n and Telemachus are always going to be a little shy and nervous around each other, especially Telemachus, when they first met he was a stuttering mess, but Y/n found it adorable.

J is for Journey: Sometimes they go on diplomatic trips together to neighboring islands.

K is for Kisses: Their first kiss was a little hesitant and Telemachus would always be a little nervous before kissing Y/n but he got more comfortable.

L is for Love: They said they love each other very early in the relationship, Y/n said it first but Telemachus fell in love first.

M is for Making Out: They don't make out very much, if they do it would be to help take Telemachus's mind off the suitors. 

N is for Nicknames: Not so much classic pet names as just shortened versions of their names, n/n, Tel, Machus. (I saw one story where the creator used Machus so credit to them for where I got that idea, if you know what story I'm talking about you get my utmost respect)

O is for Odysseus: When Odysseus got back Y/n helped him and Telemachus fight the suitors after he made sure to tell his son "You chose well" (I might do a one-shot of this, I've seen quite a few of them but they never get old)

P is for PDA: Not too much PDA, Telemachus is quite shy so it's mostly just handholding when they are in public.

Q is for Queen: When Penelope found out about their relationship she was a little hesitant of Y/n at first but then she saw how happy Y/n makes her son and has welcomed her into the family.

R is for Rain: Y/n and Telemachus dance in the rain together outside the palace.

S is for Stargazing: Telemachus and Y/n sneak out and stargaze from the roof of the palace at night, Telemachus knows a lot of constellations and Y/n loves hearing him point them out.

T is for Talking: They love talking to each other, whether it's late night or daytime, and they can easily get wrapped up in a conversation.

U is for Unique: Telemachus has always been a bit insecure but Y/n will always remind him how unique he is.

V is for Visits: When they first started dating they would always sneak out and visit each other at night.

W is for Wedding: When Y/n and Telemachus get married, they have a classic Ithacan wedding, Telemachus was very happy his father was back for his wedding.

X is for IDK

Y is for Something:

Z is for Zoo Eee Mama: Nothing left to say.

[nauticaltrain]

is the way you interpret the stex characters, are they robots or a mix? since they don't feel pain, but bleed oil etc. what is the lore? are they built at a young age or are they built into adults? (p.s your art is delicious too look at !!)

ohohoho boy, the lore i have for you, strap in

(brief note, this is all my personal interpretation and is definitely not the word of god lol. I genuinely love every interpretation and believe that headcanon variety is vital to a healthy fandom ecosystem)

So, this is something I have thought a lot about and still continue to think about. I'm pretty sure I've nailed it down but it might still be a little nebulous so bear with me.

In the most basic sense, my interpretation of Starlight Express, and all of its characters, is that they are real world pieces of rolling stock that have the ability to shift between a train form (primary configuration) and a human form (secondary configuration). Not an uncommon idea in this fanbase.

However, I'm an overthinking bitch, and I love going in-depth on things like this, so let's expand a little.

There are three main phrases that I use to define my interpretation (headcanon? au? lore?) and to keep myself on track when developing ideas. Sort of layers, if you will. They are as follows:

Fabricated manifestation of psyche - This is rolling stock's appearance in secondary configuration, or what we see in the musical. Their human bodies are a cosmetic representation of their will. A psychological trick. It reflects their personalities, their jobs, their mental age, the demographics of the region they serve. There about a million different factors that go into how they look, and like us, they can't control it. (well, except for CB, but he's another story) It's important to note that this is a manifestation. They are not Transformers. Secondary configuration is not 1:1. There are certain things that get muddled in the changeover. Wheel arrangements being different, missing certain parts, changed color palettes. You could open one up and see parts but not in any sort of similar arrangement to their blueprints. I mean, who can honestly picture every single part of their body in perfect detail and then reinterpret it into a new shape? (this is in part my answer to discrepancies between the real costumes and my lore shh shh)

Counterfeit reflection of humanity - This is their minds. They are our copies. They experience everything we do. They work, play, socialize, fight, fall in love. You could talk to a piece of rolling stock and have a fully human conversation. They are people. However, the longer your conversation goes on for, you may notice certain...oddities. Gaps in their knowledge, speaking in rhythmic sentences, constant repetitive movement. Someone copied humans and didn't do the most perfect job. Like looking at human culture through a lens. Many a train has pondered the simultaneous existence of being machine and being alive.

Physical incarnation of industrialism - Now this, is the origin of all of this. The humans did not create trains to be the way they are. Every piece of rolling stock is designed as they would be in the real world: vehicles to transport people and goods from one place to the next. No one designed Greaseball's slicked back hair or big, studded belt, they designed an EMD E7 built for pulling fast passenger trains. My point is, at the advent of industrialism as we know it, the trains manifested their secondary configurations themselves. They are the offspring of humanity, sired by ingenuity and innovation and birthed from the overturned earth of the Industrial Revolution. No one knows how or why, they just are.

So, in summary, they're sort of robots? Sort of a power of the mind situation? Sort of my own self-reflection on the nature of being alive?

Bonus facts!

Indeed, they do not feel pain. In fact, much of their sense of touch in general is limited. It ranges from same sensitivity as human flesh (hands, face, wheels) to just registers contact (shoulder boxes, hip plating, couplers). I have a diagram of the exact distribution somewhere lol

They bleed? Kind of? If parts are pulled off or damaged, they sort of…leak. Also, if their fleshy bits are "injured", the wounds only heal when the actual machinery is repaired. Also also, if you remove a human part (arm, leg, head, etc.) it will turn back into a train part!

Their temperature resistance is notable too. Comfortable is between -10 F to well over 500 F. Anything above or below that, and they start to complain. Wooden rolling stock have a harder time than steel ones.

They're afraid of deep water and tornados.

In addition to their nails being painted in relevant colors (which I believe is a semi-popular headcanon already), their mouths are the same. Some more unnatural colors include, black, yellow, and blue!

Tall! Generally between 12 and 17 feet. Loosely correlates to their height in primary configuration. Some are the same height, some are taller, some are shorter. Really depends on personality. I contemplated once to have their heights be the length of their primary configurations, but that would result in some pretty awkward height differences and they would be too big for their loading gauge.

They always manifest as adults, or at the very least, late teenagers. They kind of age? Sometimes? Momma started out a bit middle aged, but Rusty has spent like 50+ years looking 25. Really depends on the person, workload, environment, etc.

[llively-12]

All I Need

(Let Down part 2)

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Park Jihyo x female reader

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of cheating, a bit suggestive at the end

Story: What had been broken, could also be fixed.

Authors note: A big thank you to the person who requested a part two! I'm happy for every interaction I get on my fanfics. Big love to everyone who has been liking my posts♡. Enjoy the read♥︎

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'What was broken could also be fixed.'

That's what eight year old Jihyo thought after breaking one of her mothers precious vases. While chasing after her siblings, she accidentally knocked the expensive object over and caused it to shatter into many pieces.

Now she was sitting at the table in her bedroom with a glue bottle in her hand, trying to fix the mess that she had made. It wasn't exactly easy to figure out which pieces belonged together and how to arrange them, but she would invest every second she had to ensure that this vase would be fixed.

The work was hard and painful, but Jihyo put her best efforts into putting the vase together. In the end, she had a decent result. The vase was almost the same as before. No, it was even better. The vase created a completely new image. The colours now create a different picture. It gave the vase a fresh new look.

Jihyo was, of course, scolded for the action. Her mother loved the vase, and she was quite sad after she found out that Jihyo had broken it. To her surprise, the result Jihyo came up with was even better than her previous vase. The new creation gave her so much joy and a whole different perspective that she put it into the entry. Jihyo's mom proudly showed the remade vase to everyone entering the house.

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The weeks after the finished collaboration were rough. Jihyo moved out of the once shared apartment. You were not really talking to her. Only acknowledging her when it was nessacery. What broke Jihyo the most were the ripped up pictures she found one day. That was apparently your way of dealing with everything, just breaking stuff out of frustration.

Of course, she understood the struggles you had. She still couldn't figure out what brought her to the decision to cheat on you. Nothing ever made her question her relationship until that point. To her relief, the short fling with the male artist quickly ended after the collaboration. He returned back to the States without messaging Jihyo. What an asshole. She put the most important thing in her life onto the edge just to be ghosted.

Well karma is a bitch and it was all over Jihyos face. The ripped up picture pieces lay secure in her bedside table at the new apartment. She would never let these go or the relationship with you. Everything that had been broken could also be fixed. That mindset burned into Jihyo's head as she made out a plan to win you back.

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Work drowned out your insecure thoughts. The books were kind of your saviour. After things with Jihyo partially ended, you felk into a consumerism spiral and bought every book revolving about love, relationship drama, and most importantly, murdering your ex.

You were so pent up with frustration that the poor books and customers had to suffer under the emotional mess of your life. Friends and family were your biggest supporters, but after a while, you found more solitude by drowning yourself into the world of books. They gave you the perfect scenarios to imagine. Scenarios that could've happened with Jihyo, too.

You tried to ignore her or everything evolving around her, but you live in South Korea. The streets are plastered with her face. The internet is filled with commercials that include her or even her voice. The radio plays the same Twice songs. You could never really escape her, even if you wanted to.

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Jihyo turned the key to your once shared apartment. There were still things that she needed to get. You were sitting on the couch, almost unbothered. You tried so hard not to care when she was around, but then her eyes met yours, and suddenly, everything started crashing down on you.

She would comfort you, hold you close to her, and you would let her. In the end, you would do everything to keep her. Being back in her securing embrace made you calm down. She always had a calming effect on you.

"I am going to fix this."

Her promise was sure and determined. You know jihyo. She pulls things through until they're done. She keeps her promise.

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The bed felt different this morning. Another weight pushed the mattress further down into the wooden bedframe. Her black hair is spread out across the pillow case. Her breathing, soft and gentle, casts through the air like a nostalgic melody. Her fingers wrap around the fabric of your shirt.

Jihyo sleeping next to you in bed was not something you thought you'd be waking up to any time soon. Both of you were still hurt and broken from her cheating. You never knew how much she was affected by her actions, but you also partially didn't care. She made that decision, and now she had to live with the consequences.

You take her hand off your shirt and leave the bedroom. The audacity she had, sleeping in your bed, next to you. You walk into the guest bedroom. The bed there wasn't as comfortable as your own, but you don't want to sleep next to Jihyo. At least not now.

Over the course of the last week, things changed. You started talking to her again and let her back into the apartment. Both of you actually settled for her sleeping in the guest room. That quickly changed, though, as she started sneaking into your room and sleeping next to you.

You started arguments over this, but at the end of the day, it was never enough for you to actually stay mad at her. Everything you tried shattered down the cliffs of her care for you. Ironically, she was the one caring for you when you were crying about the things she did.

Like always, she found a way back into your heart. Slowly but surely, she'd crawl back in like nothing happened. That's what she always did, and you could never hold her back. It's like you needed her more than oxygen. Like the air, your breath wasn't enough to fill you up to keep you functioning. She was like a siren, calling you back into the depths of her ocean at any time she wanted to.

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Evenings like these were normal once. A wine glass in your right hand, and a book in your left. The cushion of the couch comforted your back as you were lying against it. Jihyo sits at the other end of the couch. Her actions are the same as yours.

Her wine glass is almost empty. The second bottle of wine has already been opened and put on the small coffee table. Usually, Jihyo was more into beer. She would always order the bitter liquid on night outs. Here at 'home', she would enjoy a nice wine with you.

Her eyes are trained on the book in her hand. She's reading some romance drama novel you got her before the whole breakup drama. She always enjoyed your taste in literature. Her love for reading was actually quite unexpected. In the beginning, you only got to see her love for sports or her job. Yet after the first few walls of your relationship crumbled, she revealed more of her true self.

Things got better now. You could eat dinner with her again, sit next to her, or engage in a casual chat with her without thinking about the past events. Jihyo made a lot of effort to try to win you back. Of course you had noticed. Her actions never really subtle.

While thinking, your eyes were trained on her. Jihyo had to bite back a small smile. She wanted nothing more than to have you back as hers again. Regretting everything that happened and that she wasn't faithful to you. Jihyo wanted you back, more than anything in the world. She had made a fool of herself and mostly you.

Nothing would go back to the way it once was, but she could make something new out of it. You both could, together, like you always used to. Giving life a new perspective.

Every time Jihyo thought things were hopeless, she thought back to the broken vase. The effort she had put into something simple as glueing back together the shards of porcelain would give her the boost she needed. Like she did back then, she would now put her effort into repairing this mess. She would glue your broken pieces back together.

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Her kisses felt like little butterflies gracing your skin. You could never get enough of the feeling of her. Another night of enjoying some wine and books turned into kisses and caresses. It shouldn't be like this. You should hate her, and you have every right to.

Her mouth drags over your neck, only stopping to give your skin a wet kiss. A sigh escapes your lips. She knew all of your weak spots. Her hands hold onto your waist underneath your shirt. The skin of her hand is soft and delicate.

Your hands hold onto her tank top, fingers occasionally scratching the tanned skin underneath. Gasps escaped her lips. Jihyo was very vocal about her likes and dislikes. She leaned closer to you, her muscles tensing under your touch, but in a good way.

Your hand meets her cheek and pulls her head up for a soft kiss. The kiss holds emotions you nor she could ever express. Sometimes, actions do speak more than words. Jihyo knew how to transport the right message with her gestures.

"You're all I need." She rasps out, her voice breathless and almost hoarse. Her eyes meet yours, the brown orbs filled with hope and need. You've never seen her look at you like this.

Maybe you just need to let your guard down and love her again. The universe would never send you someone again who would look at you like this. The rawness of love, right in front of your face. Your head nods without much thought, and you lean in for another kiss.

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