#and they did all that under time pressure too like

[trashytracktales]

Hey! Please do a lando x ex!reader. They break up after a lot of arguments due to being away from each other so much and then they meet a few months later and hook up. Like angst in the beginning then lots of smut.

If it's meant to fall apart | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── I was actually planning to write something similar for so long. Thank you for the request and I hope you like it 🤍

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𐙚 summary ──── Surprisingly, months apart haven’t dulled the connection between them. After a night of passion and honesty on both sides, maybe there is a future where they can make all the right decisions, after all.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x ex!reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, lots of angst & back-and-forth, fluff & smut, teasing, praising, explicit language, unprotected sex, mention of alcohol and drinking, swearing, not the healthiest relationship I've ever written tbh (the toxicity is implicit tho), overstimulation, pussy-drunk Lando, Max F. & Ethan aka FEEFA cameo.

𐙚 word count ──── 10.6k (Thank you to everyone who voted on this poll I posted the other day, I didn’t expect to see so many 🥺).

𐙚 date ──── Nov. 27, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── Guys, look. I know it's A LOT 🥴 I kinda let myself run with this one because I haven't posted anything in like a week or so. I still have 2 requests I'm working on, so don't give up on me yet 🤞🏻

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SHE'S NOT ENTIRELY sure how long they’ve been dancing, but she hasn't finished her drink yet. Time feels like an illusion, blurring the edges of her vision with every new rhythm of the night. For the first time in months, she feels a little lighter, her friends’ energy pulling her out of her own head — and apartment, where she locked herself in after the break-up.

The club is packed tonight, bodies pressed together in a sea of drunken, sweaty chaos. Neon lights bounce off every surface, painting the room in vivid purples, blues, and pinks. It's not usually her style — not anymore — but she figured it won't hurt to let lose for a couple of hours.

It’s only when she steps away from the dance floor, her feet hurting and her head buzzing, that she spots him.

Why tonight, of all nights?

Why here, of all places?

Why him, of all people?

He’s leaning casually against the bar, a glass in hand, chatting with a few familiar faces. Faces that she can't help but miss.

She stopped talking to Max — well, Max stopped talking to her after ending things with Lando, too upset that she toyed with his best friend's heart for ‘no apparent reason’. Their friendship dissolved under pressure, fragile as a cheap plastic cup in the grip of sulfuric acid. But Max wasn't the only one who took it personally. That's why she needed to cut ties with everyone from her past. She needed new friends — her own friends —, she needed a new place and new clothes, and to rebrand herself from scratch. Which she did.

She thought she had made it through, but the past has its twisted ways of coming back when you least expect it.

Now, the sight of him, so vivid and real, makes her chest tighten.

She stops in place, hoping he doesn’t notice her, but then his eyes flick in her direction and, for a brief moment, neither of them blinks, the noise around them fading into a dull murmur.

He straightens slightly, his relaxed posture gone as his brows knit together. There’s something unreadable in his body language — surprise? Excitement? Confusion? Pain? She doesn’t know, but it mirrors the knot twisting in her stomach.

Her friends call out to her, pulling her attention briefly, and when she looks back, he’s still staring. Except now, he’s moving, weaving his way through the crowd toward her.

Oh, hell no.

Her heart starts to race, a mix of adrenaline and something far more complicated than fear, as she rushes to walk away; she's fought for far too long, and now her instinct is to fly as soon as she senses danger.

Unfortunately, she's not quick enough.

“Hey,” says Lando when he gets closer, his voice low but audible over the music.

Hearing him gives her goosebumps, hating the way her body is betraying her. It’s been months since she’s heard his voice, but it still hits her the same way: sharp and unrelenting.

She turns around, forcing a smile, “Hi, Lando,” she manages, her voice steadier than she feels, thinking she should try acting if she makes it out alive from this encounter.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, his tone careful, yet extremely suggestive.

It makes her stomach twist again.

He used that line the very first night they met, his boyish grin lit by the dim, flickering lights of another club, in another city. Potentially another life, she's not sure. She remembers the way he had leaned in, so full of confidence and asked the same exact question with a mischievous glint in his eye.

It feels too deliberate now, too heavy with the weight of their past for her to ignore.

“All set,” she finally says, her voice quieter than she intended, as she raises her half-full glass in her hand. “Thanks.”

For a moment, it feels like they’re strangers meeting for the first time. Except they’re not, and their history is hanging heavily in the air between them.

Lando nods, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, “How about this, let me join you for that drink?”

She takes a look to where her friends are dancing, then she turns back to him, “I'm here with my friends.”

It's a pathetic excuse, she knows that. But she has no time to think of something else. Not when her brain is suddenly all scrambled and can't form a single coherent thought.

Lando frowns, disappointed, but not willing to give up that easy. “Come on, just a quick catch-up and then you can go back to your friends. Mine won't mind,” he shrugs, pointing at the bar, where the others are following their every move like a bunch of curious minions.

She catches Max lifting his glass in her direction, and Ethan, waving frantically.

Against her better judgment, she nods.

“Okay,” she murmurs, “Let's catch up,” she spits the words, sounding a bit too sarcastic. Still, it makes Lando smile.

His shoulders relax slightly, relief softening the tension in his body. He gestures toward a quieter corner of the club, away from the pounding bass and the sea of bodies. His first instinct was to take her hand in his, but since that's over the line, Lando keeps looking back, making sure she follows him. And she does. Like a naive, lost puppy that hasn't learned a single thing in the past five months, apparently.

The crowd surges around them, chaotic and loud, and before she can react, someone stumbles into her, their elbow catching her arm. As a result, she's thrown off balance, her feet slipping on the slick floor. Gasping, she's bracing for the inevitable fall that… never comes.

Lando’s hand shoots out, catching her waist and pulling her upright. His grip is firm, grounding, and suddenly she’s pressed against him, her chest brushing his.

“Careful,” says Lando, his lips close enough to her ear for the voice to cut through the noise.

The spot where he's touching her is burning her skin. She looks up, speaking with a hesitant smile, “Thanks, I'm good.”

The club around them fades away, and all she can feel is the warmth of his hand on her waist and the familiar scent of his cologne — a smell she used to know so well. It is almost intoxicating, and it makes her mouth water. She realizes that's what she was missing the most.

Lando smiles faintly, his hand slipping away as if he’s reluctant to let go. “Always got you.”

She doesn’t know how to respond to that, sensing the double meaning behind his affirmation. So, she nods and lets him guide her the rest of the way.

They find a small, semi-private booth near the exit, far enough from the main dance floor that the music dulls to a manageable volume. He gestures for her to sit first, then slides in across from her.

She fiddles with the edge of her glass, feeling his eyes on her.

“So,” she starts, leaning back against the booth, “You're here.”

Here, as in back home.

“For a week or so, yeah. Got a bit of a break between Brazil and Vegas.”

She nods, emptying the rest of her drink in one go, “How’ve you been?”

Lando shrugs slowly, “Alright. Busy with work and everything,” he trails off, his gaze dropping to her lips for a brief moment. “It’s not the same,” he continues, his smile fading away. “What about you, what have you been up to?”

She needs superhuman powers to stop herself from scoffing in his pretty face. It’s such a simple question, yet it feels loaded, heavy with all the things they haven’t said to each other in almost half a year.

“It's been… peaceful. I moved to another neighborhood. Kept busy, distracted.”

Lando hums, his expression unreadable for some reason. “Yeah, I get that. You look great, by the way,” he states it as a fact, his voice soft but unwavering.

She hesitates, then looks up at him, really looks at him. His face is the same and yet… not really. The boyishness is still there, but there’s a weariness in his eyes that's somehow new. Plus some facial hair she always begged him to try out. It tugs at something inside her, something she’s not sure she’s ready to face. Because it hurts. Because it annoys her. Because, after everything, she's still not over it.

“Cheers,” she replies, hoping he won't catch the blush in her cheeks. “I kind of hoped you would look like shit when I saw you again,” she admits. “You know, I'm talking no front teeth and severely balding. But, oh well. You too.”

Lando's smile widens, making everything infinitely worse for her.

He wears a black shirt that clings to his frame in a way that highlights the muscles in his arms. His black cap is pulled low, worn backwards in that signature way he always did, giving him that effortlessly cool vibe. His eyes are still the same, though. Dark, piercing, the same ones that could make her heart beat faster even after everything that’s happened.

“I thought about you a lot over these months, you know,” Lando finds himself saying, chewing on his lower lip.

She shoots him a surprised look.

As if, she thinks. His Instagram feed would say otherwise.

“You did?” she ends up asking, curiosity getting the best of her.

A hint of vulnerability creeps into his voice, “Of course. I've missed you.”

She laughs dryly, “But it's been good for us, right? We just established we both look great, no constant fighting, no slamming doors, no smashed phones…” she says, looking at him intently.

He can't sustain that for long, so he looks down at his shoes, slightly ashamed, remembering how bad it used to get when the distance between them felt too much to handle. He remembers the frustration, and the helplessness he felt when he couldn’t reach her, because he couldn’t make things right. He did smash his phone once, in a fit of anger, because he couldn’t get ahold of her for hours — not his proudest moment, that's for sure.

Lando swallows hard, “Yeah, it has been nice to have some distance. I guess it makes the heart grow fonder, right?”

“Hmm,” she hums, letting her eyes travel across the room, scanning random faces and wondering how life would be if she were someone else, “I don't know about that.”

She knows, in fact. But the words pause in her throat, too tangled up in memories. When he finally looks up, she's holding his gaze for just a beat longer than she should, and she wonders if he can feel it too — that familiar pull, like gravity, drawing them back together once again.

“I know—” Lando begins, not sure from which angle to approach. “I know it was the right choice at the time, but I can't help but wonder what things could have been if I'd fought harder for you.”

“Come on, Lando,” she laughs, unamused, giving her head a shake, “We would've ended up in another vicious circle, no matter what. It's always like that with us, isn't it?”

A part of him knows she's right. Still, “We'll never know.”

“Well, maybe it's better that way,” she manages, her voice lacking conviction.

“Or maybe it’s not,” he contradicts her, his words carrying a weight that presses on both of them. “You never think about us?”

Another sharp, dry laugh — it's either this, or she'll start crying. “I am actively trying not to,” she admits, her tone tinged with exasperation. “What’s the point, Lan? Thinking about what could’ve been won’t change what happened. You were always gone, and I couldn't spend my life following you around like a headless chicken. We had a good time, but it was never going to last,” she says the last part mostly as a reminder for herself. “Not in those circumstances.”

His jaw tightens. “You think it was easy for me? That it didn’t tear me up knowing I couldn’t be there for you the way you wanted me to?”

“I didn't say that,” her eyes snap to his, “We simply weren't working. We were too good at breaking each other.”

Lando leans back in his chair, frustration visible on his face. He hates that she's right, but it doesn’t stop the ache in his chest.

His jaw clenches, “I just… I don’t want to believe that’s all we were. Breaking each other.”

Her expression softens a little at his words, “Not all. But enough to make us miserable.”

For a while, the air between them feels heavier, the noise fading into the background. He wants to say something, anything, to counter her point, but all he can do is look at her and ask himself if they were, indeed, playing a losing game back then.

“Did you meet someone?” his question flies out of nowhere.

Lando looks at her with anticipation, sensing the hesitation.

“I did,” she replies, nodding slowly.

“And?”

She meets his eyes for a split second before looking away again, fixing her gaze somewhere on the table. “And we're happily married with twins on the way. What do you think? I just. Couldn’t.”

Lando's stomach drops, trying his best to remain calm, his hands clenching into fists. “You couldn’t what? Be with them?”

She shakes her head, her movements slow and deliberate, as if choosing her words carefully. “It was too soon.”

Her answer only leaves him with more questions. “So, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know what it means,” she rushes to say, her tone tinged with irritation. It’s clear she’s as unsure as he is, but that only makes it harder for Lando to process her reaction.

He runs a hand over his face, his exasperation bubbling to the surface. “I’m just trying to understand,” he says, his voice quieter but no less intense. “Because I've also tried.”

She looks directly at him now, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And?” she challenges in the same manner, her tone carrying just a hint of defiance.

“They weren't you,” says Lando, the truth of his statement hanging between them like a heavy anchor.

They remain silent after that.

She wants to ask him why — why he still cares, and why it hurts so much to be in the same space again after all they’ve been through. Nothing comes out, though; she already has the answer to that. They didn't break up because they stopped loving each other. They had both been too caught up in their own worlds to find any kind of balance. That broke them up.

He wants her to speak. He needs to hear her speak. To react. But when she says nothing in return, there is a brief second when he feels like giving up for good; he can't do anything if she's already made a decision. He knows how stubborn she is.

Lando nods to himself while getting up and start walking toward the exit, his thoughts all over the place.

The night air greets them with a quiet, cooling embrace as they step out of the club. Of course she follows, and she hates herself for that. But she can't help it — it's instinct. Like a magnetic force he's always had over her.

On the other hand, it's how they always communicated, through gestures and actions rather than words.

The soft click of her heels against the pavement gives Lando hope. He slows down so she can catch up, and then they walk side by side, without talking. The background noise of the city keeps them company, and by the time she decides to break the silence, he stops abruptly.

His voice sounds so small now, like a child asking his parents why can't he eat his chocolate bar before dinner.

“I know it feels so silly looking back,” says Lando, as though afraid to shatter the superficial peace between them. “We did so many things wrong, but I think we also did a lot of things right.”

She hesitates, her eyes dropping to the ground where a patch of light from a distant street light catches the edge of her shoe. Her arms fold tightly across her chest, while trying to look anywhere but at him.

“Yeah, breaking up was one of the right things,” she says thoughtfully, though her voice has a trace of bitterness behind it. “Before that, we tried so hard to make it work that we ended up burning each other alive.”

It's crazy how simple words can cause physical pain so quickly.

“Yet we're still here,” he reminds her. “Knowing what we know now, maybe we wouldn’t burn so fast this time. And isn’t it worth it, even if it only lasts for a little while? We were so happy at the start.”

That’s what he clings to. The laughter, the stolen moments, the way they fit together so effortlessly — she can’t argue with that. Their beginning was a beautiful dream, but it’s the nightmare that followed that keeps her guarded now, even though all she wants is to crack his ribcage open and slip inside him so they will never be apart again.

Her voice shakes as she tries her best to make him see her side, the memories spilling out like water breaking through a dam. “I had to put myself back together, Lando. Piece by piece. And I was all alone.” She forces herself to meet his gaze, finally, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Turns out, our friends were actually your friends, and I had to go through the worst breakup of my life with no one by my side. I had to move, I had to build an entire life from pretty much nothing. And I had to do everything alone, because I didn’t just lose you. I lost everything the moment I made you the center of my universe.”

Her words knock the air out of his lungs, guilt clawing at his insides. “Look, I know I should have been there,” says Lando, his voice barely steady. “Fuck me. I wasn’t supposed to let you go in the first place, alright? I should’ve been a better boyfriend, and I should’ve fought harder to make it work, using what we had then. But you did fuck with my head, and I thought being away would help.”

The first tear spills down her cheek, and she wipes it away hastily, as if she could erase the vulnerability altogether.

“It did help,” she agrees. “I know I can live without it now.”

Lando freezes for a split second, then stepping dangerously closer to her. “So, you’ll be fine if we stay broken up?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

She nods, but it’s shaky. And when she takes a step back, trying to put distance between them, Lando decides he gave her enough space. Fuck that. He's not thinking anymore, not with his brain, at least. He closes the distance again, his hands finding her waist and pulling her close in one swift motion.

It’s impulsive, desperate even. But he doesn’t care. The moment he feels her presence in his personal space, the fire he’s tried to smother for months, roars back to life, more powerful than ever. And just like that, everything it's right again. The way her body fits against his, the familiarity of it all, makes his heart race in his chest.

“Stop being so fucking stubborn, baby,” he murmurs into her hair, his voice cracking under the weight of his own desperation. “Why can’t we at least try, hm? You told me it was too soon for someone else. Maybe it’s because it’s supposed to be me.”

Her breath catches at the sudden closeness, at the rawness of his voice. She's unsure of what to do with her hands, until they hover awkwardly by his shoulders.

“You're not fair,” she whispers, her voice slightly trembling. “You can’t just accidentally waltz back into my life and say things like that.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about being fair,” he says, his voice firm. “I just want us back. Simple as that.”

Her tears blur the edges of Lando's face when she tries to push him away, but his grip won't let her. Not this time.

“It's not that simple, and you know it,” she says. “We’ll only end up hurting each other again.”

“Then we hurt, so what?” he counters, his voice soft but sure. “At least we’ll know we tried until there wasn't anything worth fighting for. I'm not done with you, baby. Are you?”

Her hands finally move, trembling as they brush against his cheeks. They're not as soft as they use to be, his little facial hair scratching slightly at the pads of her fingers. The connection sends a jolt through them both as her touch lingers, trailing up to his hair. She pulls at his cap with both hands, placing it on her own head with a weak smile.

“It’s longer than you used to wear it,” she notices, her tears catching the street lights.

Lando’s heart clenches, managing to shoot a small smile in return, “I thought maybe I’d try growing it out. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she admits as she tries to messily style his hair with her fingers. “It suits you.”

For a little while, they’re trapped in their own bubble. Her touch feels like home, and all Lando can think of is that he can't lose it again.

“I’m not asking you to decide now,” he finally says, his thumbs tracing soft circles on her waist. “I just need to know I’m not the only one still holding on.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, they're stumbling into her apartment. She knows it's reckless, and she's basically throwing away five months of progress, but it wasn't going to last, anyway.

Addictions are very hard to keep under control, especially when they have curly, dark hair and give you bed eyes.

“This way,” she says, her lips swollen from kissing all the way to her door.

Lando doesn’t have time to adjust, his head already spinning with hundreds of scenarios that fly tirelessly through his mind. However, the only thing that captivates him at the moment is her, and the way her fingers curl into the waistband of his jeans. She tugs him closer, her lips crashing onto his once again, their breaths blending in a frantic exchange of need and uncertainty.

He watches her fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, her movements clumsy but determined. His heart reaches his throat, swallowing hard, as his hands move from her waist to his belt, blindly unbuckling it before tossing it carelessly aside. The sound of leather hitting the floor barely registers over the erratic, overlapping rhythm of them kissing.

Then, he sees it. The spark in her eyes she used to have when she looked at him — it catches him off guard, giving him hope. He follows her as she moves slowly, her back toward the bed, her movements precise, like a cat's. She lies down, propping herself up on her elbows, while he takes cautious steps closer, his shirt hanging open to reveal his chest and toned abs.

But just as he leans forward, her high heel presses lightly against his chest, stopping him.

Lando freezes, his hands bracing on either side of her foot, tracing his palm up and down her leg, as his eyes dart up to meet hers.

“You can look,” she says, catching a glimpse of confusion in his eyes. “But for now, no touching.”

He frowns, clenching his jaw at her request. It would make sense for her to bring him to her place only to torture him, but she can't be that heartless. Right? The sight of her, stretched out on the bed with her foot holding him at bay, is almost too much to handle already.

“You're not fair,” he mutters under his breath, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I don't give a flying fuck about being fair,” she repeats his words from earlier, her foot staying firm against his chest.

The power is in her hands, and she's planning on using them properly tonight.

“No touching,” she repeats, determined.

Lando's hands fall at his sides.

Slowly, she slides her foot down, letting it drag across his chest, making a quick stop on his lower abdomen before settling on the bed. Her gaze locks onto his, a daring glint in her eyes as she spreads her legs, revealing the black lace panties. The dress she's wearing lifts up her thighs of its own accord, leaving Lando chocking on air for a brief moment. His lips part as she trails her fingers down her own body, teasing herself the way she’s done countless nights before.

Nights when he wasn’t there.

Nights when she was alone, chasing a high only his touch could give her.

“Wanna see how I got through five months without you?” she asks, her hands traveling way down, hooking her fingers to pull at the soft material.

His breath hitches, the sight of her undressing before him so painfully slowly making his chest ache with longing and guilt.

“I thought of you,” she continues, letting a small whimper out when the soft lace peels off with a little resistance from her already soaked pussy. “Your hands, your mouth… the way you sound when you're turned on,” she discards the panties at the foot of the bed, her breath catching in her throat as she glances at him through her lashes. “Such a delicious combination between your sleepy voice and that low octave you hit when you're drunk.”

Lando’s mouth goes dry, his hands twitching at his sides, itching to lean over and collect the material off the floor to stuff it into his pocket as a souvenir. He’s never felt so powerless and yet so utterly consumed by someone before.

“Will you let me?” she asks, her lips curving into a smile that’s equally wicked and vulnerable, “Show you?”

Her name leaves Lando’s lips in a protest while he takes an instinctive step forward, but she stops him with her foot once again. It’s a punishment, and he knows it. She’s showing him exactly what he missed, and exactly how she wanted him for so long.

Lando's breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling as he watches her. Helpless. His every nerve is tuned to her, eyes following how her fingers slide so easily between her folds, spreading the wetness as she teases her hole. Of course she’s taking her time with it, only to make sure he registers every tiny detail, just in case he forgot.

Her head tilts to the side with a quiet gasp when she pushes slowly inside. The sound of her wet entrance is enough to make his knees weak, still, his body turns to stone.

On the other hand, his heart is a mess of pride and frustration — pride that she still feels comfortable to be this vulnerable and open in front of him, frustration that he has to see her like this, untouchable. That's why he's not even blinking, too afraid he'll miss a thing.

She starts to gently rock her hips against the bed, fucking her fingers in and out, her body trembling as her whimpers fill the room. It's too much for Lando, but luckily, she didn't say anything about moving. His legs finally give out, and he falls to his knees, the sound of his breath ragged and uneven as he gets closer to her.

Yes, she's in charge — for now, at least — but he can't stop his words slipping out. Quiet, yet demanding.

“Slower,” he says, fixing his eyes on the way her fingers slide over her clit. “Don't rush it, please. I want to see all of you.”

Her gaze meets his, and for a moment, neither of them says anything else. She sees the vulnerability etched into his features, the way his body betrays him, shaking with restraint, completely at her mercy.

He looks like a man unmoored, defeated. So beautiful.

“Lando…” she breaths heavily, her back arching against her own hand, that flattered slightly at his words, a blush creeping up her neck and cheeks.

She hates how much he still affects her, obeying him without questioning his ways. Like no time has passed whatsoever.

When they make eye contact again, it's like they silently agree to go with it; whatever tonight will bring.

“That's is,” says Lando with satisfaction as she resumes her movements. “You gorgeous little thing. So beautiful when you listen, yeah?”

She nods, feeling him leaning forward just slightly, close enough that she can feel his warmth on her skin, without him touching her in any way. The air feels electric, her breath stuttering as she keeps fucking up her fingers under Lando's careful guidance. He watches every motion, his jaw tightening, ignoring the ache in his boxers the moment she finds her sweet spot, crying at how good it feels. She tries to muffle the moan, but Lando catches the hesitation, his eyes narrowing in her direction.

“No, let me hear you. Please, let me hear you,” he implores, exhaling sharply. “God, you're perfect. I could watch you forever.”

Lando can't help but notice how receptive she becomes at his words, her body tightening at the way he's praising her. As a result, she presses her fingers harder onto her clit, feeling the pressure building inside.

“Mhm, Lan…”

“I'm with you, baby. Keep going,” he encourages her, his gaze fixating on the slickness dripping between her legs. “Fucking hell. You're already so close, aren't you?”

It's like every word gets caught in her throat, and the only way she can reply to him is with a pathetic, desperate whimper.

In hindsight, she's never came from her fingers so quickly before, but the wave that’s hitting her from every direction right now is too intense to process right away.

It happens too fast, and the next thing she's aware of is Lando's voice, bringing her back.

“Please,” she hears him beg, managing to give him a slight nod of her head in return.

In that moment, the lights go out. Even so, Lando wants to be patient, as his index finger lightly brushes against her warmth. She exhales, giving up control, her gaze locked on him as if he is the only one that ever knew her. Meticulous, Lando traces his long, rough finger through her wetness, causing a shock to run through her whole body as it moves up and down her clit.

She thought she already crossed her limit, but then he leans down to press his mouth on her — deliberately, unapologetically, thirsty.

Lando lets out a deep, guttural groan that reverberates against her, causing her hips to twitch slightly. His tongue is wet and warm on her pulsating clit, leaving her breathless while he tastes her like it's the last time.

“My sweet, sweet baby,” he whispers, his voice intimate and personal, the words enveloping her in layers and layers of honey.

Feeling his warm breath on her center causes a surge of tension within her, making her walls tighten as his tongue explores within. He can't help but smile just as she leans into him, her body responding naturally, and he grips her thighs, closing the remaining gap between them. At that, she instantly buries her fingers in his curls, her hips mimicking his head movements.

“Oh, fuck,” she exhales abruptly.

The rest is pure bliss — his tongue licking in deep strokes, his muffled moans between her thighs, and the way he can’t seem to let go of her, gripping her tightly because he’s been deprived of her taste for so long.

Just for a brief second, Lando raises his head and, as his gaze remains fixed on her eyes, his mouth sucks gently at her clit. She's never seen him so desperate before, the sight of him owning her like that covering her entire body in chills.

Gradually, his kisses become way too powerful, which forces her to quickly grab his messy curls and pull him closer, unable to control herself anymore.

Without any warning, she screams his name as her climax hits her like a tidal wave for the second time in a row.

His growling makes her thighs quiver in his grasp, the vibrations intensifying her pleasure as her body convulses with each new sensation, while Lando’s tongue continues licking her during every heartbeat and shiver.

Next time she looks at him, his lips shine, his cheeks are red, and his gaze so intense that it causes her heart to skip a beat, creating a connection that seems more profound than any physical sensation she's just experienced.

He didn’t try to give her the best she’s ever had, but attempt to remind her how well he knows her body — to show her she still belongs to him.

“You’re so pretty,” says Lando, keeping his eyes on her, while he presses one finger back inside her cunt to test how thight she is after her second orgasm.

“Lando,” she spits his name at the unexpected touch, still too sensitive, “What… are you doing?” she gasps softly, a mixture between a sigh and a moan, when Lando's finger pulls out and glides across her wet, delicate clit once again.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Lando murmurs against her thigh, his voice low and reverent.

He grins in her direction, while his thumb circles her clit with precise intention, like a wheel gripping the perfect racing line. Sure of himself, Lando continues his movements, realizing how overstimulated she is, as he gets up to hover above her. Her hips buck instinctively into his hand, a jolt of reaction she can’t control.

Seeing Lando on top makes her react on instinct, wrapping one arm around his neck, while the other hand travels down his chest. The heat pooling in her stomach rises fast, an apex she didn’t expect to reach so soon. It’s intoxicating, her body spiraling as her mind blanks out the world beyond him.

“Lan—” she gasps, her back arching as if trying to escape, though every fiber of her betrays that she wants more.

“Come on, baby,” he says, increasing the pace. “You can give me one more. You're doing so well, I know you can,” his voice is a blend of dominance and desire, while his fingers press into her, knowing exactly where to go and how to bend, “Like that, see? So easy for me to read you. I could fuck my fingers into your pretty hole all night long and you'd still come for me every single time, wouldn't you, baby?”

Shaking, she clings to his neck, crying out his name in spasms. He loops his free arm around her, gently kissing her cheek — a gesture so tender and innocent that makes her heart grow ten times in size.

She grips his shoulder with one hand, her eyes closing in pleasure. “I can’t—” she chokes, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths.

In an attempt to get her power back, she tries to push at his wrist, but his arm steadies her, determined.

“Of course you can, love,” says Lando, his voice a gentle command, the firmness in his tone like a driver refusing to lift his foot off the pedal, curious to see how far he can take it.

Her hand clenches around his arm as his thumb presses against her clit with ruthless precision. She reacts on instinct, muscles coiling tight as she bucks against his hand, not sure what controls her body anymore, since her brain got disconnected long ago. The slik rhythm of Lando's fingers becomes too much, and she knows she's close when he starts curling them inside at the perfect angle.

“La— Fuck, baby, that feels so good,” her voice is a high-pitched cry now, laced with desperation. “I’m going—”

“I know, baby. So pretty. Look at you, making such a mess for me,” he urges, leaning in to kiss her neck.

Her body tightens as pleasure explodes within her, blinding and all-consumming — a full-throttle sensation, unrelenting in its intensity. She sobs his name as liquid warmth spills from her pussy, coating Lando’s fingers. He doesn’t stop there, though, his hand continuing its pace, coaxing every last wave of her climax as his arm holds her securely against him.

“God, I've missed you.”

When her breathing slows down, he falls down on top of her, burying his head in the crook of her neck. Her legs shake slightly, and her fingers curl weakly into his bare chest as he cradles her close.

Lando presses a tender kisses against her temple, his voice filling the quiet. “It wasn’t acciedntal,” he confesses.

She blinks rapidly, tilting her head to look at him, confused, “What?”

“Earlier,” Lando clarifies, “You said I was accidentally waltzing back into your life — it wasn’t accidental,” he repeats.

“What do you mean?”

Lando places a few more kisses on the heated skin of her neck, sucking in a couple of bruises, the gesture meant to buy himself more time for the storm raging in his head to stop.

“Lando,” she pulls him out of it.

“Been trying to figure out how to do this for a while. I just… couldn’t stay away from you anymore,” he admits, looking up at her, his eyes pleading. “I had Max playing detective while I was away.”

She pushes him off her to sit up on the bed, pulling at the edges of her dress. “Seriously, what?” her tone is not defensive — at least not yet — but there’s a sharpness to it that cuts into him.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he rushes to explain, “Look, I didn’t stalk you or anything. Nor Max,” he continues, getting up to stand next to her. “I didn’t even know where you lived until you brought me here. I swear.”

She wraps her arms around her own body, needing something to ground herself, “What did you do, Lando?” the girl asks, her voice quieter now.

He swallows, “I just asked him to check in on you. To see if you were okay.”

“And how did he do that?”

“He saw you tagged in a pic on this girl's account, and then did some research on the people you were with, paid some dudes to find out if their records were clean—” he starts chuckling when her fist hits his shoulder, playfully, but still with intent.

“Don’t be a dick,” she warns, her smile giving away the fact that she’s still amused by his immature sense of humor.

“I just… didn’t want to simply appear out of nowhere if you were happy. If you’d moved on,” Lando continues, his tone more serious now. “But when he told me you seemed like you hadn’t, I couldn’t keep pretending like I was fine. I'm really not.”

His honesty was always a breath of fresh air, but now it's suffocating. Hearing him admitting he's not okay, implying that she's the reason why, is simply heartbreaking.

Her arms drop slowly to her sides, her fingers gripping the edge of the bed, “Why now, Lando? And why not text or call?”

He scoffs, “Can you look me in the eye and tell me honestly that you would have picked up if I called? Especially given how we left things?”

She cups Lando’s chin in the palm of her hand, forcing him to look at her, “I'll always pick up if it's you.”

The admission makes his chest tighten.

Lando shakes his head, “I promise I’ve tried,” he says, “God, I’ve fucking tried. I threw myself into everything, and nothing worked. Racing, training, sim sessions, going out with the guys — no matter what I did, I was constantly thinking of you. Every night out felt wrong because I wasn’t coming home to you. And I know home is such a vague word for me, because I’m mostly away, but you made every single place feel like home, and that's why it didn't matter where I was at the time. I just needed… need you in ways I can't nor want to explain.”

His confession makes her head spin. The breakup had been difficult for her, but she hadn’t considered how Lando had handled the past five months. All along, she had assumed he wouldn’t miss her — that his life, always on the road and consumed by his own pursuits, was too busy to notice the absence of one small, insignificant detail: her.

She's now realizing how wrong she had been to think that way.

“So…?” she finally asks. “Do you think a few orgasms later can mend what was broken five months ago?”

“What? No, of course not,” he says firmly, leaning forward, his elbows digging into his thighs. “I swear, all I wanted to do tonight was talking to you. I didn’t plan on getting to this point, but I can’t say I’m mad about it,” says Lando, taking her hand in his, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “You still want me,” she shoots Lando a rapid look, studying his face, “Just like I want you. I see it, I feel it. Baby, I know it.”

Her heart pounds in her chest, the sincerity in his voice cutting through her defenses like a hot knife through butter. She wants to be angry, to accuse him of being selfish, but the truth is, she isn’t. Maybe it’s foolish to believe him, but one thing Lando never did was lie to her. He did worse, yes, but he never lied.

“Lando...” she starts, but her voice trails off, wishing her head would stop spinning so she could think.

“I know I hurt you,” he continues, his voice softer now, “You hurt me. We hurt each other. But we're too good together not to find a way to make it work .”

She doesn’t respond immediately, her mind racing with memories of their past — the good, especially the bad, and everything else in between. Her fingers toy with the fabric of her dress, her eyes flickering between his face and the floor. The room is heavy with silence and, just for a moment, she lets herself believe that maybe, just maybe, they could find each other again.

Otherwise, if it's meant to fall apart, then let it happen with them gasping for air, tangled together, connected in every way imaginable.

THE MORNING SUN filters shyly through the curtains, soft and golden, spilling across the bed where Lando stirs awake. He’s all alone, the sheets around him rumpled from where she had slept. He blinks up at the ceiling, a little disoriented. Then, he hears the faint sound of running water and realizes she’s in the shower. It makes him feel like everything went back to normal, but he can't be sure of what's going to happen next. He can only speculate and hope, but nothing more than that.

The quiet is interrupted by the persistent buzz of his phone on the nightstand. He reaches for it, still groggy from sleep, scrolling through a handful of texts from last night — banter in the group chat, some Instagram notifications, a few missed calls; nothing too important to catch his eye. He places the phone back on the smooth surface carelessly, and his hand knocks over something solid in the process.

Frowning, he sits up to put it back in its place, and that’s when he sees it — a framed picture of them, taken during a rare quiet weekend in Monaco over a year ago, right at the beginning of their relationship. She looked so happy back then, caught mid-laugh as Lando was gazing at her with an expression so tender that it makes his chest ache now. The weight of the memory hits him harder than he expects, pulling him fully awake.

The sound of the bathroom door opening makes him turn, and he puts the frame back quickly. However, it's enough for her to catch his sudden movement, her eyes flicking to the photo and back to him.

Her cheeks flush a deep pink. “I meant to put that away,” she rushes to say, pulling the towel tighter around her body like it might shield her from the embarrassment.

“Carlos took this one,” his voice is soft, as his eyes shift back to the frame. He picks it up again, turning it in his hands. “You asked me why didn't I call, but… why didn't you call?”

She laughs dryly, crossing the space to take the frame from his and and placing it face down on the nightstand. She sits down next to him, shrugging.

“And tell you what, Lando? That I couldn’t stop thinking about you even though you broke my heart?” she asks, shaking her head, the embarrassment turning into something closer to frustration. “It’s just a stupid picture, anyway. We barely knew each other when it was taken.”

“It’s not stupid,” he contradicts her vehemently. His hand reaches out tentatively, brushing against her soft forearm. “It's nice to know I wasn’t completely crazy for hoping you felt the same.”

Her lips part like she wants to say something, but no words come out. The towel slips slightly, and she clutches it tighter, her defenses crumbling under the weight of his hungry eyes.

“Lando…”

“Leave it there, yeah?” he says, pointing at the picture. “Facing your side of the bed, preferably.”

Seeing her suddenly deep in thought, Lando grabs her wrist and gently pulls her onto his lap, his thumb lightly brushing against her silky skin.

She looks at him, her emotions warring on her face. “If it makes me look less pathetic, it was face down most of the time.”

Lando laughs, his hands finding her waist, then her hips, steadying her on his lap, “I love you,” he says it casually, but it still freezing the blood in her veins.

Her fingers fly towards his mouth to cover his lips, “Don't,” she warns.

“You know I do. I was serious last night. You don't have to decide anything right now, but I'm not going anywhere. It sucks we needed to hurt for a while, we're both at fault, but I never stopped loving you,” he repeats.

“You're so unfair.”

“Don't care, say it back,” he teases, digging his fingers into her skin to tickle her sides.

She starts giggling, “Don't you dare.”

His grin widens, “Or what?” he asks playfully as her hands fly to his, trying to fend him off.

“Lando, I'm serious. Stop it,” her laughter blends with his while he leans in closer, his lips brushing her ear.

“I need to hear it, baby. Please. Just say it back.”

“It back,” she chuckles, feeling his fingers tickling her so mercilessly that tears form in her eyes. Their laughter bubbles over, loud and uninhibited, until she collapses against him. “Okay, fine. Fine,” her breathy voice stops him in place, catching his attention. “I love you, Lando.”

A simple confession; he asked for it. But none of them expected it to hang that heavily between them. It's not a lie — not in the slightest — and Lando knows it.

“Enough to give us a second chance?” he asks.

Her breath catches at the sudden shift in his tone, and before she can reply, his thumb traces her cheek gently.

“I'm so scared,” she admits, leaning into his touch.

Lando sighs, understanding too well where she's coming from, “I know, baby. But I'm even more afraid of losing us again. Losing this…”

His hand slides down her chest, tracing the curve of her breasts. With a gentle movement, he tugs at the corner of her towel, letting it drip smoothly down her body. Patiently, he runs his hands down her waist, moving back up to her chest as they leave goosebumps in their wake. Hungry, his hands rest on her breasts, squeezing them lightly until he feels her nipples in his palms, and she drops her head on his shoulder, whimpering softly.

Memories of last night make her body shudder, feeling the heat between her legs intensifying. Following his lead, her fingers start tugging at the waistband of his boxers, until they slip low on his hips.

Lando moves one hand around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. He groans against her mouth, his breath hot and ragged, before breaking their connection long enough to kick the boxers aside.

Skin on skin, their bodies align like two puzzle pieces.

She hovers over him, his hands on either side of her, “I wanna take care of you,” he speaks softly, closing his eyes when her forehead rests against his. “Please, let me take care of you.”

There’s a vulnerability in his tone that twists something deep inside her. She's just learned how to be independent again. She can't throw all of it away. She can't let herself slip.

She can't.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her.

Her answer is all that Lando needs to hear. His lips crash back onto hers as he swaps their positions, lowering her onto the bed, his body pressing against hers, warm and solid. And so very real. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word feels like a promise, a vow that he won’t let her slip through his fingers again.

And then, Lando takes control — not the type of dominance he's used to when he steers his car. It's more like devotion; his hands map her body all over again, like a driver learning every twist and turn of a new circuit, his lips following the trail his fingers blaze.

She arches into his touch, responding to him in ways she thought she’d forgotten.

But the body remembers.

And the remembering is, oh, so good.

Last night was just the warm-up, she reckons — an act meant to remind both of them how well they fit together. Lando was gentle, kind, and patient. But now, she sees the shift in him.

His eyes are darker, filled with lust, his touch greedier. She can't help but smile when she realizes that the Lando she knows all too well — the one who’s needy, insatiable, and unrelenting in his desire for her — is still there, and so ready to show off.

Her skin tingles in anticipation as she watches him, knowing exactly what he wants. And for once, she wants it just as much. Maybe even more, considering how her body is acting independently from her brain.

She wants him to give her everything, to burn through her until she’s left gasping and wet and ruined, and she’s ready to meet his hunger with her own.

But before that, “We're not done talking,” she tells him, breathing heavily against his mouth.

“Yeah, we'll talk. Stay with me and we'll talk all you want, baby.”

She wants to protest, but her air gets knocked out of her lungs and her fingernails sink into his shoulders when Lando nudges the head of his cock up and down her slit to collect the wetness. With a gentle kiss on her jaw, she closes her eyes, tracing her fingers down his arms as he pushes inside.

They both exhale, relieved that they're back where they belong.

Talking can wait.

Lando's hands grip her waist just as he pulls out, only to push back in, all the way to the hilt in one slow, but hard thrust. The feeling is almost too much for her, which is ridiculous since he just started moving. But she feels so full, and the sounds he lets out only make her open up for him even more.

“Wait, wait,” she can barely recognize her own voice, stopping Lando when their hips touch together.

She can't explain it, but she needs it.

“What's wrong?”

She looks down between their bodies, confusing Lando even more. “I…,” she begins, but she's not sure how she's supposed to voice her need.

“It's okay, you can tell me,” he assures her, bringing his hand to cup her face in his palm, tracing his thumb over her cheek.

“I—need a second to feel you,” she explains, pushing his hand away only to trace her palms over her face.

Lando chuckles, “Baby, don't hide from me. You're driving me fucking mad when you're blushing.”

“I'm not blushing,” she contradicts him, raising her hips against his, her walls hugging him tighter with every move.

“No?” whispers Lando roughly as if he lost his voice. “God, you're perfect. So good, so fucking sweet and perfect around me, baby.”

Her legs tighten around his waist, keeping him inside, while one hand moves to his lower back to push him against her even more. There is no physical space left between them, but she still wants more. It only makes Lando's cock throb inside her pussy, giving her a few more seconds to adjust to his length before he pulls all the way out and slides back, searching for the perfect pace.

“Fuck, Lando,” she whines, burying her fingers into his hair, tugging at the roots.

“Yes, I know,” agrees Lando, his eyes flicking over her face. His insides tighten at the sight of her parting her lips in pleasure, her breathing hot and irregular. “You're so beautiful from this angle.”

“Shut up,” she cuts him off, which makes Lando chuckle again.

“Why would I?” he asks, leaning closer to her ear, while thrusting a couple more times before pausing. “You look like a fucking goddess taking my cock so well.”

She squeezes her eyes shut at the sound of his voice, low and raspy, rocking her hips to find that sweet friction against her walls again.

“Keep,” she whines, “Keep going, then. Let me have it.”

Lando presses his lips on hers at the same time he resumes his movements, his hands roaming all over her body.

“You can have my cock, baby,” he groans into her hair. “All yours.”

She nods, wrapping her fingers around his biceps, “Yeah?”

“Promise you,” says Lando.

After that, he picks up pace, both falling into an agonizing rhythm. All this time, she had thought that familiarity might dull the edge of being with Lando, that knowing his moves would make it predictable and boring, maybe even ordinary.

Somehow, it’s the exact opposite.

It’s because she knows him, and he knows her so well, that every touch feels ecstatic, every kiss charged with meaning. He doesn’t need to guess what she likes; he already knows how to unravel her, how to leave her trembling and breathless. And she knows exactly what will make his breath hitch, how to draw out that low, desperate groan that ignites her own fire.

In a way, every time feels like the first, but it's always much better, because they know how to make each other fall apart like no one else can.

“Please,” she gasps, breathing wetly in his shoulder. “Harder.”

One thing about Lando, he's always been good at listening. Without thinking twice, he tightens his grip on her hips, fucking his cock inside her harder and faster than before. In an instant, her ears are blessed with the way his moans sound.

“God, I've missed fucking my pretty girl like this,” says Lando, his hands moving on her thighs to spread her more so he can slide in faster. “It's never like this, baby, fuck.”

Being with Lando is chaos, the kind of beautiful, consuming chaos that leaves everything around them in shambles. They are loud and messy, and everything is sweaty and wet and sticky. He kisses her like he’s starving, touches her like he’s desperate to memorize every inch of her skin, and she matches his fervor, meeting him with the same wild energy that pulls them under. Together.

“Lando,” she spits his name out of her mouth in short spasms. “Lando, Lan… Lando.”

It's almost like a cry for help, but she doesn't need saving. Not when he's fucking her so good, slamming against her over and over again, until the outside world fades away and all she remembers is his name.

“Lando,” she whimpers again.

“Keep me in, love. Like that,” she can barely hear him over the sound of skin slapping on skin. “Fuck. You're taking me so well, I won't stop fucking you, baby. I won't—”

She sucks in a breath of air, her body buzzing with pleasure. Wrapping her arms around his torso, she can feel how hot and sweaty his chest is. She moves with him for a couple more thrusts before she lets go, the sound of Lando fucking in and out of her while she comes so obscene that it makes her eyes roll.

“I'll never get tired of seeing you coming like that,” says Lando, pinning her to the bed, his cock feeling so fucking good inside of her that it makes him see stars. “So fucking hot, baby.”

Her nails scratch the skin of his back as her pussy clenches around his length, forcing another hiss out of Lando's mouth.

“Don't stop,” she manages to say, even though she feels her throat raw.

“Ah, look at you, now. Being so good for me,” says Lando with a smirk, tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Letting me fuck you when you're sore and spent. And so wet, baby, you're dripping all around my cock. Fucking hell.”

Lando's jaw clenches, a visible battle playing out in his face as his breath hitches. She feels him moving deeper, hitting the sweet spot inside her, sending ripples of pleasure through her body with every thrust.

“Yes—fuck. Don't stop,” she repeats.

His eyes widen as he tries to hold on for as long as he can, but it's hard when he flashes his eyes in her direction and catches her already looking. It doesn't take long for him to realize there's a replica to her first orgasm. He nods, without saying anything else, bringing his hand up to her neck. She places hers on top of his, not to push it away, but to let it rest there as a sign that it's fine to claim her if that's what Lando needs.

And that's enough for him to lose it.

“Baby,” he breaths out, fucking her slopply, any sense of order dissolving under the weight of their eye contact.

She arches into him, her fingers trembling as they rise to cup his face.

“Keep your eyes on me,” she demands, her voice a desperate need.

She pictured that face thousands of times in the past months, but nothing compares to this. Lando groans at the command, his hooded gaze staying on hers. The intensity of his expression nearly undoes her again — his pupils blown wide, lips parted as he lets out s string of cuss words.

“That's it, pretty boy,” she whispers, her thumb brushing over his cheek as he moves inside her, his pace faltering for just a moment before he snaps back into thay sloppy rhythm, chasing his release. “Want to see you when you let go.”

She barely finishes her sentence when his orgasm crashes over him like a tsunami; no one would be able to even tell where she begins and where he ends.

Lando looks so beautiful and wrecked, and she drinks in every second of his surrender.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

When his features soften, she sees how vulnerable he is, and it leaves her breathless.

Satisfied and content, her fingers still trace his face, wanting to remember the exact way he looks in this moment, when he is completely hers.

Unable to support his weight, Lando collapses on top of her, feeling his body as light as a feather, which is so far from the truth. But she doesn't mind; she loves the feeling, actually. She loves the heaviness, and the way he keeps his cock tucked deep inside her, wet and softening slowly, not allowing his cum to leak out of her.

Descending back down from their high, the only sounds in the room are their slowing breaths and the soft rustle of the sheets. It's hard not to notice the weight of reality when it begins to creep in around the edges.

She lies beneath him, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his back, but her mind is miles away.

“When are you leaving?” she finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando tenses for a moment, then shifts to lie beside her, propping his head on his hand to look at her. The vulnerability in her eyes twists something deep inside him.

She swallows hard, suddenly flooded by all the reasons they had fought, all the late nights filled with misunderstandings and misaligned priorities. She remembers all the reasons why they broke up, and thinking how bad of an idea this has been. Because, how can she let go of him again, without feeling like she'll be losing both her head and heart in the process.

“On Tuesday,” says Lando softly. “But not how you think.”

Her brow furrows in confusion as she turns to face him. “What do you mean?”

Lando leans over, his hand caressing her cheek as he gathers his thoughts.

“I’ve been thinking about us for months. Since you left, actually,” he begins, his voice low and deliberate. “I had a lot of time, and I managed to figure out why it didn’t work before, why I couldn’t give you what you deserved. So… I’ve talked to the team.”

She almost stops breathing, her eyes widening in his direction while she waits for him to continue. Months ago, she would've die to have this conversation, and now that it happens, she doesn't know how to behave.

“I'm working on a schedule. To have more time for us,” Lando explains.

Her heart skips a beat. “You’d do that?”

“For us,” he repeats, his voice firm. “I can’t keep pretending I’m okay without you. I don't want to be okay without you, it's stupid. And I don’t want to keep coming back here, hoping for a second chance, only to mess it up again. I want to get it right this time.”

She stares at him, not knowing what to do with that information. This is not the Lando she knows. The recklessness and impulsivity got replaced by caution and planning the steps ahead. It's new, and exciting, and it makes her tear up.

“And what if it still doesn’t work?” she asks, her voice small.

He leans closer, his forehead touching hers. “It will.”

His tone is so definitive that she can't say anything else, letting the silence stretch between them as she searches Lando's face for any sign of hesitation.

There’s none.

“How... did you actually know where to find me last night?”

Lando smirks, studying her face with half-closed eyes, bringing his hand to her jaw. “That friend of yours posted on her story. Honestly, I didn’t know you were going to be there. But I hoped.”

She shakes her head, scoffing, “Stalker behavior.”

Lando shrugs nonchallantly, “I just happened to be nearby,” he chuckles.

“Lucky me,” she says, tracing the contour of his nose with her finger, stopping on his jaw.

“Lucky us,” he corrects, pulling her in for another kiss.

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2024

[harryslittlefreakk]

recipe for disaster

summary: y/n is a stubborn, clumsy baker and harry is a stubborn, overbearing firefighter

warnings: none!

wordcount: 4k

a/n: hi my friends 💐 this is basically just setting up the story lolll it was meant to be longer but who has the time for that!! stay tuned for part 2 <3

masterlist 🫶🏼

Nothing felt better than a warm shower after a long day. Steam swirled all around you, the hot water pounding away the day’s fatigue - the morning rush, the non-stop hum of the mixers, the relentless work to keep trays filled with gingerbread men and warm cinnamon rolls.

You had always been proud of the bakery. The satisfaction of seeing customers bite into your creations - it was all yours. Every flaky croissant, every gooey cinnamon roll, every crusty loaf bore the unmistakable mark of your hands.

And that’s why, no matter how many times Claire told you to hire some more help, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. “You can’t keep this up alone,” she’d said in mid-October, standing in the doorway of the kitchen while you worked. You were wrist-deep in bread dough, kneading away as though the flour had wronged you.

“I’m fine,” you’d replied, the words curt and clipped. “It’s my kitchen. I’ve got it under control.”

Claire didn’t look convinced. She never did. “Christmas is coming, y/n. Orders are already piling up, and it’s not even December. This is too much for one person.”

You waved her off, refusing to look up. “I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again.”

But you hadn’t done it like this before. Back then, the bakery wasn’t so popular. There weren’t stacks of orders for holiday cakes, tins of cookies, and towers of Christmas pies. There wasn’t the constant pressure of phone calls and emails asking if you could squeeze in “just one more order.”

By the time December rolled around, you were drowning.

The days started earlier and ended later, the hours slipping away as you raced to keep up. You woke in darkness, stumbling into the bakery before the sun rose. Your hands ached from kneading, your back throbbed from bending over the ovens, and your head buzzed with the endless list of things to do. And yet, you’d refused to admit you needed help.

“I’m worried about you,” Claire had said one night, her voice soft but firm. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen again, watching as you haphazardly piped frosting onto yet another tray of sugar cookies. Your shoulders were slumped, your apron streaked with berry juice and chocolate.

“I’m fine,” you’d mumbled, though even you didn’t believe it.

“You’re not fine. You’re exhausted. You’re going to make mistakes.”

“I’m fine,” you snapped, louder than you meant to. The words echoed in the kitchen, the air growing heavy. Claire didn’t reply. She just shook her head and left you to your chaos.

She was right. You knew she was right. And you knew that she’d snitch to your brother, who’d stop by to ask why you weren’t listening to his wife. Only to be followed by your parents, who’d ask why you weren’t listening to your brother.

They only cared for your well-being. They wanted you to succeed as much as you wanted to succeed. But you didn’t remember a time when the bakery wasn’t your baby. It had been your dream, your refuge, and your pride all wrapped into one - a living, breathing extension of yourself. The idea of sharing that, of letting someone else touch what you had built, felt like carving off a piece of your soul.

You squeezed your eyes shut until the screams of voices and thoughts were tiny whispers in the back of your mind, letting the water cascade over you, enveloping you in its warmth. The sound of the spray drowned out the noise in your head, a momentary reprieve from the chaos of orders, burnt loaves, and your own stubborn pride. For a few minutes, there was nothing but the water, the steam curling around you, and the faint rhythm of your breathing as you tried to piece yourself back together.

Every muscle ached, but the heat soothed it all into blissful numbness. It was pure paradise - at least until a rock came flying through your bathroom window, shattered glass crashing all over your tiles. What the fuck?

You turned the shower off with shaking hands, adrenaline coursing through your body. The cold winter air filled the room quickly, the evening wind whistling through the smashed pane.

You slipped your robe on with a groan, the fleece clinging to your damp skin.

That’s when the sound reached you - the incessant wailing of the smoke alarm from downstairs. Your stomach dropped. The bakery.

You’d sworn to be more switched on, to actually check the ovens before you retreated to your apartment. But the days were long, and your brain was goo by the time you waved the last customers out of the door.

The floors were wet beneath your feet as you slipped and skidded down the stairs, your mind cycling through every possibility of what would await you. A burglar who decided to commit arson? Your entire kitchen alight? The flower store next door burned to the ground, your beloved bakery an unfortunate casualty?

You reached for the light switch tentatively, your eyes landing on a curl of dark smoke seeping from the oven door. The entire bakery was dim, your soft lighting no match for the cloud hanging over the room.

That fucking deafening beeping was doing nothing to calm you down. You grabbed the broom, jabbing at the smoke alarm, and of course, missing the button every time, your hands shaking as the panic turned to adrenaline in your veins. Your free hand flapped wildly under the sensor, desperately trying to just Stop. The. Beeping.

“Hello? Let me in!”

A deep, husky man’s voice. The same man who was also pounding on your front door, his face pressed up against the glass.

If good things came in threes, how many bad things were you supposed to get at one time?

Your priorities might have been skewed, as they usually were, but getting rid of the axe murderer at your door was suddenly the most important thing in the world to you.

You charged towards the door, broom still in hand, throwing it open with a noise not too far from a growl. “It’s really not ideal for you to murder me right now! Come back later,” you shouted over the smoke alarm.

“I’m not- what?”

Okay, the murderer had a hot voice. But he was still a murderer. You pushed the door closed with your shoulder, but he wedged his shoe in the doorway, halting your attempt to shut him out. You glared down at the offending foot, your grip on the broom tightening.

"Look, I'm just trying to help," he said, holding his hands up. "I’m a firefighter. Saw smoke pouring out of your oven.”

“Help with what, exactly?” you shot back, trying to ignore the way his broad shoulders filled the doorway, or how his green eyes sparkled with the thrill of, presumably, rescuing reckless strangers. “Didn’t know firefighters made house calls.”

“Only the off-duty ones with nothing better to do,” he replied, a hint of a grin tugging at his mouth. "Now, can I come in and shut that alarm off for you, or are you planning to fight it out with your smoke detector all night?"

Reluctantly, you let go of the door, allowing him to step inside. He wasted no time reaching up to the beeping menace, silencing it with a practiced jab at the button. You couldn’t help but notice the sleeves of his t-shirt tighten around his arms as he reached up, the sliver of tattooed skin poking out from above his belt.

"Thanks," you muttered, crossing your arms as he looked back to you, his eyes sweeping over your chaotic kitchen, over your clearly naked body, and then back to your face, as if assessing the full scene. The corners of his lips quirked up as he turned to the oven, waving a hand at the remaining smoke.

You sighed, letting the last of your defenses fall. “You’re really not going to murder me, are you?”

"Not today," he chuckled, a low, warm sound that filled the small space. Your eyes caught on the way his strong hands moved, sure and gentle as he maneuvered around your kitchen. You leaned against the counter, pretending you weren’t staring at the way his arms flexed under the faded fabric.

He caught you looking, and to your utter embarrassment, he gave a small grin. “So… what exactly was this supposed to be?" he asked, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he stepped closer, holding the charred remains of whatever had been inside.

“Oh shit. Mrs Fuller’s birthday cake,” you groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. “I completely forgot I was baking that.” Great. Just another obstacle in the way of your early night.

“Hey, sorry about the window,” he murmured.

“Hm?” you asked, your voice distant, not really processing his words.

“The window,” he repeated, gesturing upward, your gaze following his hand to the ceiling. “Was only trying to get your attention,” he continued, his voice dipping into something apologetic. “Didn’t mean to break it.”

You shook your head, finally dragging your focus back to the mess in front of you. “It’s whatever,” you muttered, keeping your tone neutral, though your chest ached with the effort. “Just another point on my to-do list. Thanks for…” You gestured vaguely at the bakery, your voice trailing off.

“I can come by and fix it,” he offered, his voice tentative, like he wasn’t sure if you’d bite his head off or accept the help.

“I can do it,” you snapped, your words sharper than you intended. The burning behind your eyes grew stronger, and you could feel your control slipping. You needed him to leave, needed the space to let the tears spill over before they choked you entirely.

When you glanced up, you saw the change in his expression. The slight upturn of his lips faltered and turned into a somber frown. He looked at you like he wanted to ask something but thought better of it.

“Sorry,” you mumbled quickly, the heat of guilt flushing your face. “I’ve got it covered. Thanks, though.”

For a moment, he stood there, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. He glanced between you and the broken cake, the smoke still lingering above, and something in his eyes softened. He looked like he wanted to argue but thought better of it, nodding instead.

“Alright,” he said, his voice quiet, almost reluctant. “But if you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” you cut in, desperate now. “It’s fine.”

He hesitated, his brow knitting tighter as if he wanted to say something else, but after a moment, he nodded. "Alright. If you’re sure."

You nodded back, barely looking at him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as if holding yourself together. The silence between you stretched until, mercifully, he turned and walked away.

The door creaked slightly as it began to close behind him, the faint sound of his trainers scuffing against the floor fading. You thought that was the end of it, but then the footsteps stopped. For a moment, the room held its breath, the silence pressing down like the weight in your chest.

Then, the door eased back open, just enough for him to lean his head inside. His dark eyes met yours, hesitant but determined, like he wasn’t sure if this was a mistake but decided to do it anyway.

“Harry,” he said, his voice soft but clear as it cut through the stillness. He lingered there in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame, his shoulders tense as though bracing for rejection. “That’s my name. Harry.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but not far from it. You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden reappearance, the unexpected vulnerability in the way he said it. He waited, his eyes searching your face for some kind of response.

Your lips curved, just barely, into a weak but genuine smile. “Harry,” you repeated softly, like you were trying the name on for size. Then you added, “I’m…” Your voice faltered for a split second, but you pressed on, offering him your name in return. “Y/n.”

A spark of something warm flickered in his eyes, a hint of relief mingled with curiosity. He nodded once, as if committing it to memory, before straightening up and gripping the edge of the door.

And then he was gone.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the counter. Your knees felt weak, your chest tight, and the dam you’d been holding back began to crack. You stared at the mess around you, the cake you’d worked so hard on reduced to a heap of blackened crumbs, the endless pile of orders still waiting for you, and the tears you’d been fighting finally broke free.

It wasn’t just the window. It wasn’t just the cake. It was everything. The weight of trying to do it all alone, the exhaustion that clung to you like a second skin, the constant feeling that no matter how hard you worked, it was never enough.

You slid down to the floor, your back against the counter, letting the sobs come. For a moment, you allowed your emotions to swallow you, the frustration, the helplessness, the crushing loneliness. But even as you cried, part of you knew this couldn’t keep happening. Something had to give.

You pulled out your phone, typing a quick text to Claire. we’ll start looking for help tomorrow. promise.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, slumped against the counter, staring blankly at the mess surrounding you. The tears had stopped at some point, leaving behind a dull ache in your chest and the gritty sensation of salt drying on your cheeks. But soft rapping on the door pulled you out of your misery.

Wiping at your face with unsteady hands, you forced yourself to your feet, every movement feeling heavier than the last. When you opened the door, there he was: Harry, standing in the dim light, his arms full of cardboard, duct tape, and what looked like sheets of plastic.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice raw and quieter than you’d meant it to be.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he nudged his way past you into the bakery, not waiting for permission, and glanced down at the materials in his arms. “You can’t leave the window broken in this cold,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Harry, it’s fine—” you began, stepping toward him, but he cut you off without looking up.

“It’s not fine,” he said firmly, his voice calm but resolute.

You stared at him for a moment, his gaze hard as he looked back at you.

“Come on. Help me with this window,” he murmured, waiting for you to lead the way upstairs. When you didn’t move, he shifted the materials in his arms, freeing up his right hand before reaching out and pulling at your wrist.

It sent a chill straight through you, sharp and unexpected.

You froze for a second, your breath catching in your throat. His touch was fleeting, a playful tug, but it left behind a heat that spread across your skin, unbidden and unwelcome. You pulled your hand back too quickly, clutching it to your side as if it had been burned, though the sensation was far from painful.

He didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t say anything. He kept waiting, his focus unwavering, but you couldn’t say the same.

There was a hum beneath your ribs now, something restless and alive, thrumming just below the surface. Attraction. You recognized it immediately, though you almost wished you didn’t. It didn’t make sense. You barely knew this man. He wasn’t someone you’d invited into your world, not really, and yet here he was - ready to fix your window, trying to fix your life, filling your space, making you feel something you hadn’t expected and didn’t know how to handle.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to push it down, to smother the thought before it took root. It was nothing. A moment. A reaction to being exhausted, overwhelmed, and vulnerable. But when he turned to look at you, his gaze steady and clear, it was all you could do to keep your knees from buckling.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and soft, and you swore you could feel it reverberate somewhere deep inside you.

“Fine,” you said too quickly, your voice tight and uneven. You cleared your throat, pushing past him to the stairs. “I’ll show you the bathroom, but I need to get started on redoing this cake,” you told him, cocking your head back towards the kitchen.

Harry raised his eyebrows, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “No.”

His hand pressed into your lower back, pushing you closer to the stairs. “I know better than anyone that being tired in the kitchen is a bad idea. When does Mrs. Fuller need her cake?”

“Tomorrow evening,” you mumbled, hesitating as your toes hovered over the first step. Your voice was low, almost apologetic, but the weariness that gripped you made it impossible to summon anything stronger.

“Then you can deal with it tomorrow,” Harry said firmly, cutting off any protest before it could begin. His tone softened just slightly as he added, “After you’ve had a full night’s sleep.”

You turned back to face him, scowling instinctively. You were used to handling things on your own, not being told what to do, no matter how reasonable the suggestion might be. “You’re kind of overbearing, you know that?”

Harry only grinned, his expression as maddeningly charming as ever. “Wouldn’t be doing my duty if I wasn’t.” The hand on your lower back nudged you gently, urging you up the stairs as if you were a stubborn child refusing to go to bed.

You bit down on your lower lip, the indents of your teeth starting to feel like a permanent feature. As much as Harry was overstepping, he was clearly just as stubborn as you were, and it felt good to have someone forcibly taking care of you - not backing off in the hopes that you’d come around to their suggestions.

“In here,” you murmured when you reached the top of the stairs, an icy chill already filling your apartment. “I’m sure you can work out which one it is.”

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as Harry slipped past you, your heart almost stopping as you realised for the first time that you were still just in your robe, a deep flush creeping up your cheeks, the scarlet heat of embarrassment burning through you just as Harry’s gaze flicked back toward you. His eyes swept over you briefly, lingering for only a moment at the hem of the robe before he cleared his throat and turned away.

“I’ve got it from here,” he said quietly, his voice steady and measured as he moved toward the window. He nudged a shard of glass away from your bare feet before giving you a pointed look. “Go on.”

You hesitated, torn between retreating to your bedroom and stubbornly insisting on staying. Ultimately, the embarrassment won out. You turned quickly, rushing to your room, your mind racing as that small, insistent voice in the back of your head screamed at you to not pull on your ratty old pajamas.

And yet, despite the voice, that’s exactly what you did. A threadbare cotton t-shirt and a pair of faded sweatpants found their way onto your body as you sat heavily on the edge of the bed, cradling your face in your hands.

There was a man in your bathroom, a man who quite clearly only wanted to help you - the same man you’d practically forcibly removed from the property. The same man that was causing some sort of chemical imbalance within you.

You’d have to grovel if you ever wanted to see him again - as if he’d ever want to see you again. You’d done nothing but snap at him and act like he was inconveniencing you.

Harry had seen you at your worst, your very worst, and you weren’t entirely sure you owed yourself the chance for him to see you at your best.

But you wanted him to.

You shook your head, forced yourself back to your feet and padded toward the bathroom. You stopped in the doorway, stunned, as he worked quickly, fitting cardboard over the shattered glass, layering plastic sheets on top, securing everything with careful strips of tape.

“I could’ve done it,” you muttered after a moment, your voice shaking despite yourself.

He glanced back at you briefly, his strong hands still busy with the repair, a smirk on those taunting lips. “Maybe. But you didn’t.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you stayed quiet, staring at the makeshift patch and the man who had put it together. The tightness in your chest eased slightly, though a storm of inner turmoil was brewing.

“Thanks,” you said finally, the word coming out soft and uneven.

He nodded, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Don’t mention it.” He hesitated, glancing at you with a look that felt entirely too knowing. “You should take a break,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Get some rest, maybe. You look... worn out.”

You huffed a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a scoff. “Gee, thanks,” you said, trying to mask the lump rising in your throat.

He flashed you that dimpled grin, straightening up as he placed the last strip of tape on the window.

“That’ll hold for now. But you’ll need to get it sorted properly before the weather turns,” Harry murmured, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

You followed him back downstairs, reiterating that yes, you’d get it sorted. Yes, you’d stay out of the kitchen that night. Yes, you’d double check how to work your alarms. Yes, you’d double check the ovens before you went upstairs. No, you didn’t want your business and home to burn down.

He turned to you when he reached the door, his green eyes laced with sincerity. “Take care of yourself, y/n. Seriously.”

And then he was gone, leaving behind a patched window and an unsettling quiet. But for once, you couldn’t find a reason not to follow the advice given to you. You were exhausted, and suddenly desperate to dream of the firefighter who’d all but swept you off your feet.

thank you so much for reading 🤍

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[insidekatmind]

When everyone's asleep-Pope Heyward

Wearning: +18,smut, english is not my first language.

The night had fallen on John B’s cottage, enveloping everything in a silence broken only by the chirping of crickets and the rustling of waves in the distance. John B and Sarah had taken refuge in their room, leaving the rest of you to settle down in the kitchen, which had been converted into a makeshift camp. Thin mattresses and blankets spread on the floor welcomed Kiara, Cleo and JJ, already immersed in a deep sleep.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t sleep. You felt your heart beat faster than normal, but it wasn’t the waves or the wind that shook the windows. It was him. Pope.

He was lying beside you, his face relaxed as he pretended to sleep. But you knew him too well. You noticed the way his hand barely moved, looking for yours under the shared blanket. A slight smile curled your lips as you let your fingers intertwine.

"Don’t you sleep?" he whispered, his voice a breath in the silence.

"And you?" you replied in a similar tone, the smile evident even in the dark.

The others were all too tired to notice what was going on between you. Pope came a little closer, his warm breath caressing your cheek.

"You’re the one keeping me awake," he admitted, with a glimmer of malice in his dark eyes that you could glimpse in the dim light.

"I didn’t do anything," you replied quietly, trying to keep an innocent tone.

But it wasn’t entirely true. The tension between you had been building up for days, weeks perhaps. You were always close, but lately every touch, every look seemed to carry a deeper meaning.

"You don’t have to do anything, Y/N. I just look at you," said Pope, the sincerity in his voice making your heart beat even faster.

You did not answer, but let your face draw near to his until your lips touched. It was a soft kiss, almost shy, but the way Pope drew you closer made all doubts vanish. His hand gently laid on your cheek, his thumb drawing imaginary lines on your skin.

"They’re sleeping," you murmured against his lips, your hands clinging to his shirt.

"I don’t care," he replied, the voice charged with a sweetness that made you tremble. "I’ve waited too long for this."

The kiss grew deeper, and each touch seemed to set the air between you. Your hand slid down his chest, feeling the muscles tense under the cloth, as he left a trail of caresses along your side.

"Pope..." his name slipped away in a whisper, a mixture of desire and uncertainty.

"Shh..." he silenced you, his smile lighting up his face. "You must say nothing."

It was not easy to remain silent with the way his lips explored your skin, descending down your neck. You would sometimes glance at others, but they were completely unaware of what was happening. JJ snored slightly, while Cleo and Kiara were wrapped in their blankets, lost in their dreams.

"Promise you won’t regret it tomorrow," you whisper, biting your lower lip as his eyes met yours.

"The only thing I would regret is not having done it," said Pope, his voice full of determination.

Your heart seemed to explode at those words, and you let the moment overwhelm you. It was risky, crazy, but every second with him made you feel alive like never before.

As the night continued, it seemed that the world outside the chalet had vanished, leaving only you two, your whispers and kisses exchanged, as if the rest did not matter.

Pope’s breath deepened as your lips continued to search for each other, hungry but slow at the same time, as if you wanted to savor every second of that stolen moment. His hands gently slid on your hips, drawing you closer.

"Come here," he whispered with a thread of voice, and before I could answer, you felt his strong hands guiding you, gently sliding on him.

Your heart seemed to beat so fast that it could wake up others, but at the time you didn’t care. His hands were on your sides, holding you with the right pressure, while his gaze was lost in yours.

"You’re amazing, you know?" Pope whispered, his tone loaded with a sweetness that made you melt.

You looked down, a shy smile curving your lips. "You shouldn’t say that so often, I could get my head blown."

"I’ll stop saying that when you stop driving me crazy," he replied, a flash of fun in his eyes before drawing you back to himself.

The kiss became more intense, and your body instinctively responded to his. You felt the warmth that emanated, the way in which his hands explored the curve of your back, going up and down with a delicacy that contrasted the obvious desire that you felt growing between you.

"Pope..." whispered against his lips, your hands clinging to his back, trying to balance.

"Tell me," he replied, his voice low and crusty, as his fingers brushed the skin of your bare side.

"If anyone wakes up..." you started, but his lips settled on yours again, interrupting you.

"They won’t wake up," he assured with a mischievous smile, his eyes shining bright as they were looking for yours. "And even if they did, I don’t care. I want you."

Those words made you shiver, and without thinking too much, you let go completely. Your hands moved towards his face, caressing his jaw as your lips continued to move in perfect harmony.

Sometimes you would glance at others, but their sleep seemed deep and peaceful. JJ was curled up under a blanket with a peaceful expression on his face, while Cleo and Kiara were not even making the slightest movement.

"See? Everything under control," Pope whispered, noticing your worried look.

"You’re too sure of yourself," you replied, trying to keep a firm tone, but the smile that formed on your lips betrayed your true mood.

"Only when it comes to you." His words left you breathless, and you felt the need to reciprocate the gesture. You bent down again to him, your lips finding his neck, leaving light kisses that made him barely shake.

"You’re torturing me," Pope muttered, his voice broken by pleasure as his hands clenched even tighter on your hips.

"I didn’t think you were so sensitive," you joked, but the smile on your face turned into a slight moan as he decided to counter-attack, his lips moving down your neck, leaving a trail of heat that made you tremble.

The moment seemed eternal, a mix of audacity and desire that completely enveloped you. For a moment you forgot everything: the chalet, the others, the possible consequences. There was only you and him, the dark accomplice of that night, and the desire to continue discovering every nuance of each other.

Your movements started almost without thinking about it, slow and uncertain at first, but soon the need to feel more, to be closer to him, took over. Move your hips against him, creating a slight friction but enough to make him jump under you.

"Y/N..." Pope whispered at your lips, the tone charged with a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

You noticed the way he clenched his teeth, desperately trying to hold back a moan that could have broken the silence of the chalet and attracted the attention of others. But the way his hands clung to your hips made you realize how much it was making him lose control.

"Is something wrong?" you asked with a whisper, a mischievous smile curving your lips as your hands flowed on his shoulders.

"You... know it exactly," he replied with a clenched teeth, a flash of fun mixed with desire in his eyes.

You kept moving, your hips following a slow but steady pace, while he tried to keep control. His hands guided you, holding you tight enough to make you feel the warmth of his skin through your clothes, but never too much to be intrusive.

"You’re incredible," he muttered, interrupting the kiss to stare at you with eyes that shone in the twilight.

"You’re not bad yourself," you joked, but your voice betrayed the effect he was having on you.

He bent forward, his lips finding your neck, and this time did not hold back. He left a more determined, almost possessive kiss, followed by a trail of light bites that made you shiver. Your movements became more fluid, more natural, while his breath became irregular.

"If you keep this up, I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to hold back," Pope whispered in a husky voice as his eyes settled on yours with an intensity that made you tremble.

"Who told you I want you to hold back?" you said with a whisper of voice, your hands sticking in her hair.

The way his body reacted to those words was enough to make you realize how close it was to the limit. He moved just below you, trying to make more contact, while his lips returned to urgently seek yours. Every kiss was an unspoken promise, an invitation to let go completely.

For a moment, you forgot where you were. There was no longer the risk of being caught, or awareness of how risky what you were doing. There were only you and him, lost in a vortex of emotions that seemed to grow with every movement, every whisper, every kiss.

You started to lower your pyjamas and thongs and then do the same thing with his shorts and boxer shorts. Pope was already shirtless and having Pope all naked and needy under you was a sight.

You joined your lips with hers while you lined up your pussy on her cock and sank in it while trying not to moan. Pope was going crazy: your pussy was squeezing his dick and the fact that he couldn’t moan was killing him.

Your lips kept searching for hers with increasing urgency, the kisses getting deeper and more messy, while the heat between you increased inexorably. Your movements on his hips became more determined, the rhythm you followed sent shivers down your back and, judging by the way Pope clenched his jaw, also along his.

"God, Y/N..." He whispered with a thread of voice, his hands clenching even more on your hips, as if trying to control what was happening, but without really being able to. " You’re riding me so well"

Every movement of yours was a sweet torment, and you felt it in the way his breath became more and more irregular, his eyes closing for a moment before opening again and looking for yours.

"Pope..." you murmured, his name coming out almost like a moan as you felt the growing warmth between you. Your hands clung to his hair, the touch that seemed the only way to anchor yourself in reality as you lost yourself in him.

"You’re playing with fire," he said in a hoarse voice, the tone that had a warning note, but his smile betrayed how much he loved everything that was happening.

"I see you more than comfortable with the fire," you replied, your voice a mixture of provocation and desire.

Pope laughed softly, a muffled sound to not wake up the others, but immediately after his lips returned to yours, hungry, as if he needed that touch to breathe. Each of his kisses was deep, slow and incredibly intense, and the way his hands held you made you feel wanted in a way that you had never felt before.

Your movements became more natural, as if your bodies spoke a language you had never learned but instinctively knew. Every touch, every pressure created a crescendo of emotions that left you breathless.

"I can’t think of anything but you right now," Pope confessed, his voice broken by pleasure as his gaze waned into yours.

Those words made you melt, and you returned with a long kiss and full of feeling, your hands slipping down her back, wishing the moment never ended.

"Neither did I," you replied in a whisper, your foreheads touching as you both tried to catch your breath.

The sound of a slight movement from the sofa made you freeze for a moment. You both turned your head towards JJ, who turned under the blanket, mumbling something in her sleep.

You both held your breath, holding up a nervous laugh when he showed no other signs of awakening. Pope looked at you with a complicit smile, the desire in his eyes now mixed with a touch of fun.

"You’re too dangerous," he quipped softly, putting one hand on your back and moving closer to him again.

"Yet you don’t seem to want to stop," you replied with a mischievous smile, your lips resting on hers again in a long and sweet kiss. And as palpable as the risk was, neither of you seemed willing to give up that stolen moment.

You started rolling your hips on his cock feeling how his dick went on your g-spot and you lowered your head biting his neck not to chase the moan that was coming out of you while he left a small moan at impact.

"shit y/n" he murmured as you left him sucking his neck, leaving a mark. " you’re my death" said Pope as he put your hands on your ass and squeezed it to make you move more against him.

You bit the inside cheeks of your mouth not to groan but always small groans were coming out so Pope joined his lips with yours swallowing all the groans.

"you’re holding it so well to me" I whispered near your lips and then kissed you again while you groaned.

You both came to the climax and Pope cum inside of you while you were still kissing.

After a while you recovered you adjusted and fell asleep hugged.

The next day you were all out and only JJ was still sleeping. When he came out, he seemed amused." Guys I had a strange dream... I dreamed that someone was fucking while I was sleeping, what a cool thing" said JJ amused and unaware of everything.

You and Pope looked at each other and were holding back a laugh amused.

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Long shot for Nando with wife reader. All season long, Brad Pitt and his crew have been filming and causing troubles for him (like in quali, idk remember which one). His patient has come to an end. He wanted to punch him seeing the man filming at the Las Vegas GP. Only her could calm her down and the AM team quickly pushes her in his direction while Lancey watches the drama unfold. Need some tension and fun😜 Do however you want to. Fluff/suggestive/sweet. Thanks!! :))

Under the Lights, In the Spotlight

The Las Vegas Grand Prix weekend was proving to be a thrilling yet utterly maddening affair. The city pulsed with energy—neon lights flickering in rhythm with the beating hearts of the fans who flooded the streets—but inside the paddock, the tension in Fernando Alonso’s chest was palpable. Every rev of the engine, every sharp turn on the track, felt heavier, more charged. It wasn’t just the competition or the unpredictability of the new circuit. It was him—Brad Pitt.

For weeks, Nando had endured the constant presence of the Hollywood icon and his documentary crew, following him, filming him, invading his every moment of solitude. Monaco had been the worst. Brad, with his signature, easy smile, had stood next to the pit wall during qualifying, camera angled right at Nando’s face while he fought for every millisecond on the unforgiving streets of Monte Carlo. Brad’s casual demeanor in the midst of such high-stakes pressure had been an irritation Nando could barely suppress.

This weekend, however, Brad had pushed him too far. The cameras had followed him through every practice session, lingering over his every movement, capturing his frustration, his effort, even his exhaustion. It was as if Nando had become the star of his own reality show—whether he wanted to be or not.

By the time they hit qualifying, Nando was on the verge of snapping. The circuit was difficult to read, his car was struggling to find grip, and the media circus surrounding him had reached its boiling point. It felt like Brad’s camera was always there, right behind him, in his face, recording every angry expression, every moment of frustration. He had been so close to losing his cool—just one more shot and Nando might have lost it entirely.

Then, he spotted him.

Brad stood at the edge of the paddock, his camera focused squarely on Nando. That was it. That last ounce of composure Nando had left slipped away, the red-hot anger rising in his veins. He gripped the wheel of his car tightly, the rubber of his tires burning against the asphalt as he tried to focus, but all he could see was that damn camera lens.

His thoughts were consumed by it. Why can’t they just leave me alone? Why does he have to be here, every single race? The rage built like a storm, and Nando knew it was only a matter of time before he did something he’d regret. He might’ve marched over to Brad, snatched the camera from his hands, and thrown it across the paddock—anything to make the damn thing stop following him.

But just as the storm inside him reached its peak, his eyes found something—or rather, someone—that immediately changed everything.

You.

There, in the midst of the chaos, you were standing on the sidelines, watching, as always, with a calm and steady presence. You had arrived only a few hours before, fresh from your own work commitments, but in that moment, you were everything Nando needed. His heart softened, his breathing steadied. The tension in his shoulders released, and for the first time that entire weekend, he felt grounded.

You caught his eye from across the paddock, and for a split second, the world seemed to slow. It wasn’t just the way you smiled at him, a soft, reassuring look that only you could give. It was the way he felt when he looked at you. The storm inside him began to calm, the heavy pressure of the cameras, the noise, the crowd—it all faded into the background as if you had somehow erased it with just a glance.

As the Aston Martin team quickly pushed you toward him, Lance Stroll, who had been watching the whole scene unfold with the sort of amused detachment only he could muster, leaned over to a nearby mechanic and whispered loud enough for Nando to hear, “Man’s whipped. Can’t even stay mad with her around.”

Nando rolled his eyes, but the lightness in his chest betrayed him. Whipped? He didn’t care. You were the one person who could always bring him back to reality, always make him feel right again.

Lance wasn’t wrong. Nando knew it, and honestly, he didn’t give a damn.

When you finally reached him, your fingers brushed against his arm, the contact instantly grounding him. You could see the frustration still flickering in his eyes, the remnants of the anger that hadn’t quite dissipated. But you also saw the moment it all unraveled the second he looked at you.

He didn’t need words. Your presence was enough.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice low but full of warmth. “I’m here.”

You reached up, cupping his face with your palm as you guided his gaze to meet yours. You smiled, that gentle smile that only you could give, and suddenly everything made sense again. His racing thoughts quieted. The anger evaporated. The tension that had held him hostage for days slipped away, leaving behind only a sense of peace that he could never quite describe.

For a long moment, you simply held each other’s gaze. No words. Just that understanding, that bond. It was a connection that was undeniable, something that even the chaos of the paddock couldn’t break. In your eyes, he saw his home, his peace, his everything. He exhaled deeply, as though releasing all the pent-up frustration in his lungs.

“Thank you,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

Your smile widened. “I don’t need to hear that, Nando,” you replied with a playful wink. “But you’re welcome.”

His lips curved upward, his heart finally at ease. Then, almost as if on instinct, he leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against your forehead, just the way he always did when the world felt too heavy.

“You’re magic, you know that?” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear, as his lips lingered near your skin.

You chuckled, your eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’m your magic, babe.”

The moment was pure, a soft, comforting exchange amid the storm of the paddock. You were his anchor. You always had been.

But of course, just as the moment began to settle, Lance Stroll couldn’t resist.

“Whipped,” he called out loudly, enough for several people nearby to hear, and Nando’s cheeks flushed. He pulled back from you, his grin wide, and gave Lance a mock glare.

“Shut up, Lance,” Nando called over his shoulder, his voice gruff but playful. “At least I don’t have to be chased by a camera every second of my life.”

Lance laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I get it. No need to go all soft on me, man.”

Nando turned back to you, and the smile you gave him made him forget, yet again, about the world around him.

As the cameras continued to hover, as Brad’s lens still loomed nearby, Nando didn’t care anymore. The pressure didn’t matter. The circus? It was all just noise.

He had you.

And with you by his side, there was nothing he couldn’t handle. Even if it was annoying ass cameras

[neuvilette-tea-party]

₊ ˙ ⊹Tiens ma main ₊ ˙ ⊹

Steb x F!reader

The war ended, Piltover and Zaun are being rebuilt, but the war took without mercy

Tags: PTSD, wounds, swimming, Steb is non-verbal, reader is pregnant, kinda hurt/comfort, fluff, Female GN reader, I just wanted to write something soft for best boy Steb 🥹

You turn the page of your book, entranced by the text, savoring one of the first silent and peaceful evenings since the war. You readjust your position against the pillow and wince as one of your scars decides to burn you. Next to you in the bed, your beloved Steb is sleeping, bandages around his chest and a riffle on his side of the bed. 

Survival instincts die hard. 

What Piltover and Zaun went through will remain deep inside every habitant, like scars and wounds for some but like trauma for all. Citizens of both cities are working hard to rebuild them and erase the damages of the “incident”. Many do not know what truly happened and will remain in the dark for the rest of their lives… Too many factors and players… 

You shudder when you receive a kick in your stomach, making you lightly chuckle, perking up Steb’s ear. You gently caress your pregnant tummy with a smile when the door of the bedroom cracks open an inch... 

Steb reaction is immediate. 

Before you can react he jumps into a crouching position on the bed, riffle aimed at the door, all his scales tensed like a bow string, his powerful muscles contracted under the pressure. 

Your cat meows in fear and decides to flee to the living room, leaving the door ajar. 

‘’It was only Compote.’’ You try to appease your lover. 

Steb releases his breath and slightly relaxes, lowering the weapon. He passes a hand in his hair as you caress his shoulder blades. He sits down with a low head, lays his gun against the wall, and turns toward you, eyes agitated and worried. 

‘’Are you alright?’’ He signs. 

‘’I am. It was just the cat.’’ You comfortingly smile at him. 

‘’Sorry.’’ he signs again. 

Your heart clenches. 

He had a voice before. He used it rarely, he saw talking as unreliable, vastly preferring action to sugar-coated words, but he used to talk. 

Another thing the war took. 

So now he signs, and in some ways, he never talked so much ! 

‘’Why are you sorry for? For trying to protect us?” You giggle, pressing one of his cheeks in your palm lovingly. ”Compote has a worse memory than fishes, he will come back to snuggle with us in ten minutes.’’  

Steb delicately takes your hand off his cheek to tenderly kiss its palm several times, his cheek scales waving against your skin. He then lowers himself to press his cheek against your stomach, waiting for a fated punch or kick of his baby, hugging your hips with his careful hands. 

He closes his eyes, breathing steadily as he brushes his cheeks against your swollen tummy, like an encouragement for your baby… 

Sure enough, you feel a small punch inside of you, against Steb’s cheek and for a second you are sure he is about to purr from relief. 

You smile, caressing his temple and hair tenderly as he snuggles against you. Your other hand caresses his shoulder and back but… 

‘’Steb? You need a bath. You are dehydrated, I have dead scales all over my hand.’’ 

His grip tightens around you. He is not disposed to leave you alone, without him watching over you. You do not fault him for that, after the war, the blood, the ruins... Everyone is under pressure and the timing of your pregnancy did not help at all. 

‘’Come on you silly fish. I’ll bath with you’’, You propose warmly. 

He looks up to you, blinking his third eyelid in a mute question. 

“Come on. You watched over me like a shark circles its prey, you forget your own needs. I’ll join you in the pound.” 

He abdicates and leaves a kiss on your stomach before standing up and heading outside. You put a bookmark where you stopped and follow your new husband. Every Aquatic Vastaya’s home comes with a large and deep pond for them to swim and reconnect to their aquatic origins, and Steb parent’s wanted to accommodate their family after immigrating to Piltover, Steb was still young and they wanted him not to feel restrained in the water.  

Any other species would pay a higher price for a pond with such dimensions as it would be considered a luxurious pool for them, but for Aquatic Vastaya it had been ruled a basic necessity accommodation and necessary for their dignity, so Piltover offers financial assistance to help their construction and favorising immigration. Steb’s parent still paid a huge price for this one, but judging by Steb’s childhood pictures, it was worth every cent. 

You go down the four steps of the wooden patio, crossing paths with Steb’s pants as he expertly dives into the fresh water. You sit down at the edge, letting your legs float in the cold water lazily as his head pierces back the surface energetically. 

Steb, ever the stoic in the streets, looks like a kid when he swims, warming up your heart with undying love. 

He turns to you with a silent question in his turquoise eyes, closing the gap until his hand rests on your thigh. 

“I would prefer not immerge myself completely, I am afraid this is a bit cold for the baby.” You lie. 

Steb cocks his head. 

“My kin strive in cold water.” He signs. 

Oops. 

You roll your hands into fists, you earned several scars and gashes during the war as you defended the city, and while they are healed now, they are still visible and .... disgraceful. You did not display your body to Steb’s eyes since that day, preferring to hide the hideous wounds from his gaze. 

What if he finds you ugly now? 

You’re still too self conscious about it. 

His cheek scales wave and his ears perk up, catching up with your inner feelings. His dripping hands come to hold yours, squeezing it gently. He takes support on the edge to lift himself up and your lips meet in a tender kiss, leaving you breathless, his second hand coming to caress your lower back, gently rising up, slipping under your night shirt, exploring your naked skin. 

You wince in the kiss, pulling away. 

Steb considers you, trying to get you to open up, his delicate fingers caressing your jaw. 

“No...” You just respond, unable to look into his piercing eyes. 

“Why don’t you want to join me?” He signs. 

“I am not comfortable.” 

“Is it because of your scars?” 

You turn your gaze back to him, your nostril flaring. 

“I am a medic. I know when people get hurt.” He signs again, “I am used to scars and wounds.” 

“You never saw them on my body. This is... nasty.” You counter, your eyes drowning in the surrounding water. 

He raises back up to recapture your lips again, softly. He then presses his forehead to yours, his hand caressing the back of your neck, letting water drops trickling down your back. 

“Nothing about you is nasty. It pushes me to take care of you more. Join me, love.” 

You look away but he takes your chin between his finger, forcing you to look at him, meeting his assured and comforting gaze. You deeply exhale and nods, abdicating. 

He gently pulls on the hem of your shirt to take it off, leaving you in your bra, and takes off your shorts, leaving them on the edge of the pound. You close your eyes as you feel his arms circling your body to gently pull you into the pond. You bury your head into the crook of his neck and let him take you into the cold water. 

You shudder when the cold wraps itself all around you and you circle Steb’s chest tight. You both reemerge to the surface into each other arms, hugging each other tight, his hand caressing your hair as you nudge against him. 

His second hand caresses your entire naked back, tracing the gashes and the scars, discovering your wounds for the first time. 

“I should have told you... I am sorry...” You admit,  your cheek pressed against his shoulder. 

For sole response he tenderly kisses your temple, pulling you closer in his embrace, lazily floating with you in his arms under the starry sky, gently caressing your back and hair like a first time... 

[captain039]

Part 4 Heal your hurt

Viktor x reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst, health issues, mental health issues, light swearing, chubby reader, intimacy, smut, friends to lovers, reader has chronic pain

warnings for the smut when it happens xD: Dominant Viktor, needy Viktor, needy ready, oral F and M receiving, praises, first times, riding, body worship, marking

Previous part <-

It’s been days since you’ve seen Viktor. It’s normal for him to go off for days without returning, just this time it feels targeted. Your last interaction was a whirlwind and you figure he needs some space to process what happened, hell you still need to process what happened. His voice was sharp and firm unlike his usual self. You bush yourself with your book, your MC’s have finally confessed and shared a steamy night which left you giggling to yourself till you imagined it was you and Viktor and then you contemplated. When Viktor does stumble home it’s 2 at night. You weren’t asleep, your hips aching from sitting all day. You were awkwardly lying on your stomach three pillows under your hips which somehow helped a bit. You just hoped he’d not look in and see you in this awkward position. You weren’t able to close your curtains so the moonlight was shining in. You hear him shuffle, sigh, place things down before he shuffles some more then stops.

“Are- are you awake?” Viktors uncertain voice comes from your doorway.

“I uh- maybe” you say turning your head so you’re facing him. Your bed is in a position so you can see out the door on your side.

“Is there a reason for such a position?” He asks head tilting a bit.

“Relief?” You say before realising that this in fact looks stupid and suspicious.

“Not like that!- my hips are hurting and if I put pressure on my knees they hurt too so I thought I’d shove pillows under my hips to elevate them and not hurt my knees” you babble in explanation cheeks hot, you’re thankful for your dimly lit room.

“I see” he says simply and you sigh really not wanting to move because even if it looks funny it’s not hurting.

“Are you ok?” You ask and he nods.

“A new project?” You add.

“Something like that” he shrugs a bit and you frown a bit as he looks to the floor instead. You nod and he shifts his weight.

“Goodnight” he says and heads off.

“Viktor-“ you call and move slowly.

“Yes?” He answers stopping.

“Did- did you wanna talk?” You ask sheepishly sitting a little stiffly. He hesitated and you think he’s going to brush you off.

“Can I come in?” He asks and you nod a little too quickly. He walks in and sits down beside you resting his cane beside him. You switch your lamp on wincing at the pain throbbing.

“A bad day?” He asks noticing and you sigh and nod.

“You know when I was growing up, I was always open about my pain, sharing it with my mum because I didn’t know what was going on, always crying in agony leaning on her for help. She let me, she helped me every step of the way and then she got sick when I was 18 and I just, bottled it all up. My father became a drunk and I had to do everything around the house and suffer in silence, if I showed any weakness in front of him I knew something would happen. Then my mother passed away and I shut everything down. I forced myself to think that none of this pain was real, made myself work and live alone even if I’d sometimes collapse from exhaustion” you open up to him staring at the floor as memory’s wash over of painful, sleepless nights.

“It’s worse at night” he says softly and you look to him.

“There’s a throb of pain from my ankle to knee to hip that goes up my spine” you feel your heart break at his words.

“It isn’t a one off throb, it’s constant, like a heartbeat pulsing” he adds.

“It stiffens my joints and muscles makes them cramp and tense” your hand twitches to hold his, but you don’t want to scare him.

“Mine is focused, thankfully. Yours is everywhere? Not just your legs and hips?” He asks and you nod.

“My shoulders, neck, arms, chest, ribs” you list sagging a bit to relieve some of the pain in your hips.

“A screw over of creation” you mutter insulting yourself.

“You are not, a ‘screw over of creation’” Viktor says frowning.

“You are beautiful, perfectly imperfect” you look to him noticing his eyes on you intensely and you feel a swell of emotion. You take a small breath and look away embarrassed.

“Were you away a few days because of what happened between us?” You whisper, you know it’s silly thinking but it still lingered.

“I- yes” he sighs and it stings but you nod.

“I don’t know what came over me” he mutters leaning against his cane.

“You were bossy” you try to joke lightly.

“I was” he smiles softly.

“Feelings, are complex, a puzzle I cannot solve with the equation constantly changing every second, there is no answer for emotions and feelings” his words make you frown lightly in thought.

“That’s what makes us human” you say shrugging a bit.

“I learnt to control my emotions very young, when they spiral so do my thoughts and I cannot have a jumble of thoughts as an inventor” you understand what he’s saying, sort of, you get where his point of view is coming from.

“You cannot have emotions when inventing otherwise you mess up” he adds and for some reason it leaves a hole in your heart, a string breaking.

“But you- you bring these feelings forwards, emotions I cannot understand, but it doesn’t… make me spiral in a way I don’t enjoy” his admission makes you tense on the spot and you hold breath thinking this is some sort of dream.

“When we were young, you never shied away from me or my strange inventions, you were always intrigued you never left me alone” he smiles faintly and you do to. It was true, you hardly let him be by himself whenever you were out.

“I was found by the academy, moved through training to be an assistant. I always wondered if I’d see you again” he says softly.

“The first time I did I didn’t believe it, I was heading home very late and I saw you, exhausted in a dirty white shirt and black pants covered in flour” you frown lightly he saw you coming home from work.

“I thought I was going mad seeing you, but then I saw you again, and again, same time leaving the bakery” he explains.

“I never saw you” you say confused.

“I didn’t want you to see me” he says and you frown.

“What- why?” You say baffled.

“You were so beautiful” he whispers and you feel your heart skip a beat.

“Sweaty, covered in flour and dirt?” You ask.

“Raw, unrefined, perfectly imperfect” he mutters.

“I saw your advertisement for a shared apartment and for selfish reasons I took it down and contacted you about it” you remember that day. Getting a letter signed with the letter V when you saw him at the apartment you were shocked. You figured V stood for Victoria or something like that, his hand writing was so neat.

“I watched you over the years, you’d become your own woman and I my own man, I watched the way you pushed yourself when you were working, finding you passed out on the couch, still in dirty work clothes” you remember the day Viktor had talked to you about your job, saying he could afford it if you quit, you’d never been so relieved in your life but you swore to work for rent another way. So you worked out a system you’ve stuck by. You wondered what he was getting at thought with all this reminiscing.

“I started- to fall” he says and you frown, fall? Fall in work? Life?

“Fall?” You say confused.

“In love” he says and you freeze processing.

“In love” you repeat and he nods.

“With- me?” You add.

“Yes with you” he confirms and you blink a few times.

“You fell in love with me?” You repeat.

“I did” he says.

“You did? You’re not anymore?” You frown and you hear him sigh annoyed, a hand goes to your face and forces you to look at him before lips are pressed against yours. You’re shell shocked before you kiss back hand lifting up to grip his vest.

“I sometimes forget you’re a little oblivious to things” he mutters against your lips you go to argue back but he silences you with his lips again. His thumb strokes against your cheek and you’re the one to pull back to breathe. His hand falls and you pant softly as you process the kiss.

“I’m not oblivious” you finally manage and you hear him laugh softly. It’s one of the rare times you’ve seen him laugh.

[tinylilacbun]

Hello!! I’m loving the babysitter JJ, I was wondering if you could do one where he gets into an accident and ends up in the hospital (nothing too serious) but the ask if he has anyone to call and he calls the toddlers parents and they go and pick him up with toddler!reader and she brings him a balloon and teddy bear.

Maybe he should have just minded his business when some kooks made snarky comments about him, maybe he shouldn't have started a fight with one of them that resulted in the group chasing after him and him jumping over every obstacle until he climbed over a fence and braced the ground wrong causing him to twist his ankle.

After he found he somewhere to hide and took deep breaths he winces the second he tried to put pressure on his foot, knowing it couldn't be just a simple sprain.

JJ would usually never go to a hospital, given the fact he had never the money for it and because he couldn't stand the scent of disinfectant, but ever since he works as your babysitter he had a bit more budget than he ever had in his life.

That's how he's now sitting on a hospital bed, his ankle already in a brace and morphine in his system to help with the pain as he's waiting for the nurse to bring him the discharge papers.

He's looking down at his phone, hesitating to do what the nurse suggested to him earlier, that he should call someone to pick him up since the way home would be taking too long for him to manage alone.

His thought of calling his father dismisses he the second it enters his mind, knowing he would just end up sitting here for another reason after doing so, the Twinkie is having some issues right now so not even John b can pick him up right now.

With a sigh he sends a text to your mother, making sure to say that it's not necessary if they're busy, instantly regretting his decision and about to delete it again until he notices that she already read the message.

He curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair. Since then he hasn't gotten a reply, sitting there for another half hour the door opens and he thinks it's the nurse with the papers but his eyes widen a tad when he sees your parents.

Your father is holding you securely on his hip, setting you down the moment you start to squirm in his hold, quickly running towards JJ to hug his waist, standing between his legs.

"Hey, there, princess..." He chuckles, patting your back before he looks up at your parents, seeing the clear concern on their faces.

"Are you okay? Did they give you proper care? Because if not I'll-" Your mother starts but JJ nods, reaching down to pick you up and sit you down next to him as you keep clinging onto him.

"I'm fine...I shouldn't have bothered you 'cause of this." He mumbles, glancing at the things you're holding. "Watcha got there, huh?"

"Oh! Dis for you jay! To makes you happy." You smile at him, holding the blue balloon and a small teddy bear out to him.

JJ doesn't know how he deserves all this, seeing you in the country club that one day was the best thing that ever happened to him and he will forever be grateful.

"Thanks, cupcake..." He says quietly, booping your nose with the paw of the teddy bear to hear you giggle. "He's just as adorable as you."

Soon the discharge papers were signed and JJ made his way outside with crutches, not really protesting when his father asked if he wanted to stay over, just for the night.

Your parents know that it's hard for JJ to let people help him, even more if they're kooks, but your parents seem to be the only exception. He would never admit that though.

You hold his hand the whole car ride back to your house, wanting to comfort him like he always does when you're hurt or sad, rambling about your day and he listens to every word you say, smiling at you the whole time.

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu @mylettterstoyou @sunf1ower16 @sweetstars-posts @rafecameronsloverrrrr @rafenroostersgirl

For JJ:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @flora-eva

[chococara25]

Thanksgiving

AU where Buck woke up, thinking about Tommy and decided to cook for Thanksgiving, baking crusty pecan pies & pumpkin pies, delicious green bean casseroles and sweet potato gratins, cheesy cauliflower cheese with turkey bacon bits, creamy mashed potatoes and the classic stuffings.

After done with baking and cooking, he realized he had no one to give it to (Everyone would just give him weird looks if he brings everything to potluck Thanksgiving dinner, plus they had forbid him from cooking) and wondering if he should donate to the homeless shelters cos at least someone can sleep warm with a full stomach when Lucy Donato texted him out of nowhere complaining how everyone is swamped in calls all day long and how hungry they are including Tommy, who came in to cover someone's shift and EPIPHANY!! He can just give them to the 217 AND check on Tommy at the same time.

He starts to pack everything before separating some food into different containers and stick a sticky note on each of them. He then unload the bread loaves and cookies he had been making for the past week into a basket cos waste not, want not right?

Tommy coming back from a weird call involving some idiots trying to make turkey barbacoa in their backyard when he saw everyone gathering around the dining table, stuffing their face, moaning about the delicious food and praising the cook.

He was confused till he turned around to see Evan of all people staring at him, unruly curls and dark circles under his eyes.

"Hey. Lucy said you guys haven't eaten all day." Evan looked awkwardly at him.

(At the corner of his eyes, he can see Lucy slunking off guiltily, carrying a whole pie and weird a plate of cupcakes with her)

Evan looked as if he wanted to say something but looked away, his lips twisted unhappily. He pushed a bag full of containers and a basket full of bread and cookies at them before running away.

Tommy hid in one of the closets, checking the bag and basket, its contents each marked by a sticky note.

The Banana Loaf - "Everytime I think of calling you, I baked instead. Now my fridge is full but I'm still thinking about you."

The Snickerdoodle cookies - "Jee asked where cool uncle Tommy was. She misses her tea party partner."

Vanilla and raspberry mascarpone loaf cake - "I can't stop thinking how you would enjoy all the cakes and pastries I made for the past few months."

green bean casserole - "I still have your clothes and I kept wearing them to sleep cos its the closest thing I have to you because I have a hard time falling asleep without you holding me in your arms"

Carrot cake loaf - "I saw a helicopter today at work and I wonder if it was you flying it. We never did have that flying lesson."

cauliflower cheese - I'm sorry I never told you I love you when I really do. I love you and I missed every single minute the moment you walk out of my life.

pecan pie - I'm sorry I said the wrong things when I asked you to move in with me. I'm sorry I too much in the end for you and drove you away."

pumpkin pie - I'm sorry you felt pressured but I didn't lie, I really admire you and your confidence made me feel safe, being with you was like waking up for the first time from the lightning coma, I could breath again and you were the one who set me free.

sweet potato gratin - "You said you were my first but not my last. Tommy, you might be my first boyfriend but you definitely my last."

stuffings - "You are my beginning and my forever happy ending. I have no interest in looking for a different happy ending if you're not in it."

By the time he reached the last container, his eyesight were blurry with unshed tears.

Brownies - "Can we try one more time? I'm not ready to give on us."

Tommy was startled when the door to the closet swung open, Captain Pruitt looming over him with a plate of pecan pie in her hands. "I saw firefighter Buckley earlier when he dropped off the food. I don't know what's going on between the two of you and why both of you decided to break up, but Kinard, that man looks as if he still in love with you."

She panicked as Tommy burst into loud tears, holding the container of brownies to his chest.

Evan was cleaning up his kitchen, he was too tired and too emotionally wrung out to stay for the Thanksgiving dinner other than dropping off the last two pies for everyone to enjoy.

He frowned when he hear the doorbell, wondering if Maddie is going to stage another intervention on him when he opened the door, before staring in surprise.

Tommy was standing in front of him, still wearing his flight suit, holding the container with brownies and the sticky notes in his arms.

"Can we talk?" He asked with hopeful eyes.

Evan pulled him into the loft, closing the door behind them.

[perfectsunlight]

[32] ENOUGH

warnings: therapy sessions, overwhelming emotions, family conflict, intense feelings of isolation and public scrutiny.

JULY 2018

the therapist’s office felt too bright, almost too sterile, with white walls that seemed to reflect every thought jennie was trying to push down. she sat on the edge of a plush couch, her hands folded tightly in her lap, the weight of her secret pressing harder than ever. she couldn’t even look at the therapist—some stranger who was supposed to help her sort through the mess of emotions she couldn’t afford to acknowledge.

jennie had agreed to come here because her manager insisted. it wasn’t for her, though—it was for the image. “you’re under a lot of pressure, jennie. it’s okay to talk about it,” they had nagged. but she wasn’t here for herself. she was here because someone had told her to be. across from her, the therapist—a woman in her late 40s with kind eyes—sat quietly, her notepad resting on her lap. she wasn’t asking anything intrusive yet, only waiting for jennie to open up. 

but she couldn’t.

“jennie,” the therapist smiled, her voice warm and steady, “i understand that things have been moving very fast for you since your debut. how are you feeling about everything that’s happening right now?” the idol stiffened at the mention of blackpink. the group’s rise to fame had been overwhelming, every step met with more pressure, more eyes on her. she wanted to say something, but the words felt trapped in her throat. this wasn’t about being a star—it was about the other part of her life, the one she had to keep hidden.

"everything’s fine," jennie replied, her voice flat, distant. "it’s just a lot to handle sometimes." the therapist simply nodded, her expression calm. "i can imagine. you’re balancing so much. what’s been the hardest part for you?"

jennie’s mind raced. the hardest part? where could she even begin? she was living a double life, caught between the woman the world saw and the woman she had to hide. she was expected to be jennie kim, the idol, the one who smiled for the cameras and smiled through the pain. but what the cameras didn’t know was that there was another life—a life she couldn’t talk about. the one where she was a mother.

her chest tightened as the thought crossed her mind. her daughter. her ivory. her baby girl, who she had to keep from the world. no one can know. no one could ever know. 

the secrecy suffocated her.

"i’m just tired," the rapper replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “all the time, it feels like i’m pretending. i’m not allowed to be real. there’s always this pressure to be perfect. to be this person for everyone, but no one knows the real me.”

the therapist leaned in slightly, sensing the vulnerability behind the idol’s words. “that sounds really exhausting. can you tell me more about what you mean by ‘pretending’?” jennie let out a breath, but no words came. she didn’t know where to start. how could she explain the tension in her chest, the constant guilt, the way her heart ached every time she had to leave her daughter behind? she couldn’t even say she was a mother. she had to keep that part of herself locked away.

“it just all feels fake.” the idol had answered, her voice tinged with a frustration she couldn’t quite name. “like everyone wants me to be this one thing. they expect me to be perfect all the time. it’s like i have to be this persona, and if i show any cracks, everything will fall apart.”

jennie’s slender fingers gripped the edge of the couch, her knuckles shades of her daughter’s name from the pressure. she didn’t dare look at the therapist, afraid that if she did, she might reveal too much. she had to hold herself together—even here, she had to be jennie kim, the image the world adored, the person they thought they knew.

the therapist, quiet and patient, let the silence stretch between them. she understood—jennie didn’t need advice or platitudes right now. she needed someone to hear her, someone to acknowledge the struggle that came with the life she had chosen.

the idol finally spoke again after a few beats of silence, her words a soft confession, her voice breaking slightly with the weight of what she wasn’t saying. “there’s always someone who wants something from me. always someone who wants to use me. nothing feels real, nothing feels genuine.”

the therapist nodded slowly, leaning back into her leather chair but maintaining her focus. “that sounds incredibly isolating. to feel like you have to keep everything locked inside, and not be able to share your true self with anyone.”

the idol’s gaze dropped to her hands, now fidgeting nervously. she didn’t want to share her true self. she couldn’t share it. she couldn’t risk it. the truth, the part of her that was real, wasn’t something the world could ever accept. 

it was too dangerous. too fragile. 

“i don’t know who i’m supposed to be anymore,” jennie whispered, her voice barely audible. “i don’t know how to be everything they want me to be. and still be me.”

there was a pause, and the therapist gave her the space to gather her thoughts, even if the words felt impossible to say. jennie had spent so many months—years, really—burying parts of herself. she couldn’t even let herself believe she could be anything other than the image she had crafted. even now, sitting in a therapist's office, she couldn’t speak the truth about who she was beneath all the layers.

the therapist spoke again, her voice quiet but insistent. “well, it sounds like you're carrying a heavy burden. you don’t have to bear it alone. is there anyone in your life who makes you feel seen? someone who knows the real you?”

jennie wanted to laugh in her face and just walk out the door, the absurdity of the question hitting her like ice in her veins. who could ever understand this? who could understand her?

her eyes flicked to the woman who sat waiting, her gentle expression a stark contrast to the ocean of thoughts drowning in the idol's mind. the question had unintentionally struck a nerve. of course, there was no one. not in the way the therapist meant. 

no one could understand the weight of the mask jennie had to wear. no one could see past the glossy surface of the public persona, the polished image that was expected of her. and even if someone tried to see me, would they even care?

jennie’s fingers curled tighter around the fabric of her jacket. “no,” she said, the word escaping her like a cold, sharp breath. “no one knows me. not really.”

she didn’t even believe it herself. not completely. it was easier to lie, easier to convince herself that she was better off this way—alone in her truth, because the alternative was too terrifying. to be seen, to be known by anyone, meant the possibility of being rejected, of being abandoned by the very people who adored the version of her they had created in their minds.

the therapist sat back a little, not pushing her further, but giving jennie the space to breathe, to consider her words. the silence in the room felt heavy now, almost suffocating.

the idol cleared her throat, fighting back the lump in her throat. her gaze dropped to her hands, which were twisting and folding in her lap, betraying her anxiety. she had to get out of here. she had to escape from this room, from the vulnerability that was creeping in, inch by inch.

“i don’t know how to be me,” jennie muttered under her breath, the words barely audible. “i don’t even know who that is anymore.”

as if on queue, the timer went off, signaling the end of their time together. jennie felt a rush of relief surge through her chest. it was as if the weight she’d been carrying for the past hour finally lifted, and for the first time that day, she could breathe. she didn’t even bother with pleasantries as she stood up. "thank you," she muttered almost automatically, her voice a little hoarse. she wasn’t sure if it was gratitude or just a desperate need to escape the room, but either way, she was out of there as soon as the words left her lips.

as she hurried down the hallway to the parking lot, the rest of the world seemed to fade into a dull hum. she didn’t want to think about the things they’d discussed. she didn’t want to process the way the conversation had unraveled parts of her she wasn’t ready to face. all she wanted was to be home, to be with ivory. the little girl who somehow made everything feel right, even if only for a while.

when she stepped through the door, jieun was there, but jennie barely spared her a glance. her mind was already on ivory. her heart, which had been tight all through the session, began to loosen at the thought of holding her daughter.

“i’ll be with her,” the idol said quietly, her tone flat. jieun, sensing her need for space, gave a soft nod and stepped back, leaving her daughter to retreat into the quiet of their home.

jennie’s pace quickened as she made her way down the hallway. she opened the door to ivory’s room softly, and there the little girl was, sitting on her little rug, her tiny hands putting bows on kuma. at the sight of her, the idol felt the first wave of peace she’d had all day.

ivory looked up and saw her mother, her brown eyes lighting up with pure, unfiltered joy. “mommy?” she said in surprise, her head tilting to the side, a grin spreading across her face. 

the idol’s own face softened, though there was a tightness still lingering in her chest. she didn’t answer with words. instead, she moved to the floor and immediately pulled ivory into her arms, her heartbeat slowing as she pressed her daughter against her. jane’s little body fit perfectly in jennie’s arms, a familiar weight she could never grow tired of.

they didn’t need to talk. jennie didn’t want to talk. there was no need for anything else at that moment. she just needed to hold her daughter, to feel her warm breath against her neck, to know that, for a little while, she didn’t have to be anything other than here.

jane nestled against her, sighing contentedly, her small hands reaching up to trace her mother’s face, as though memorizing the shape of it. jennie closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of baby lotion and something uniquely ivory.

for a while, the room was quiet, the only sound was the soft rhythm of their breathing. ivory shifted in her mother’s arms, her face nuzzling into jennie’s shoulder, and jennie tightened her hold, as if trying to shield her from everything—everything outside of this room, outside of this moment.

it didn’t matter that the world was still waiting for her, that the pressures, the expectations, the fear—everything—was still looming. in this little bubble, with her daughter in her arms, none of that mattered. she could almost forget it all.

she could just be jennie, the mother. the most important title in her life.

as the hours slipped by, the idol found herself reluctant to move, reluctant to even speak. she just wanted to stay like this, to hold her daughter close and pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist. the way ivory’s tiny fingers curled into her sleeve, the way she let out soft giggles as jennie kissed her head, made her heart swell.

and for that fleeting moment, that brief escape from everything else, jennie allowed herself to believe that this was enough.

—

OCTOBER 2025

the office space was painted in dark, muted colors, the kind designed to be calming. dark blues and greens lined the walls, interrupted only by a row of shelves filled with books and puzzles. a small table in the corner held crayons and coloring sheets, their cheerful appearance clashing with the suffocating weight jane felt pressing against her tiny chest.

she didn’t want to be here. the only reason she agreed was because jennie had asked her to. however, ivory was starting to question why in the world she agreed to it.

the therapist was a kind-looking woman with dark eyes and a soothing voice. she sat across from her, the wall behind her littered with framed awards and certifications. ivory couldn’t remember her name—ms. something—but it didn’t matter. the woman was just another stranger, someone who didn’t understand.

“hi, jane,” she said, her voice warm like honey. she opened one of her notepads and grabbed a sleek looking pen from her drawer. “it’s so nice to meet you. your grandma and your mom told me a lot about you.”

the eleven year old glanced at the therapist in slight annoyance, then quickly averted her gaze to the patterned rug beneath her shoes. it felt safer to stare there, at the swirling blues and whites, than to meet the woman’s kind, probing eyes.

she didn’t want to be here. matter of fact, she had no idea why both her grandmother and mother thought this was a good idea. the therapist paused for a beat, giving her space, then continued.

 “they said you’ve been feeling a little sad lately. that you’ve been missing your mom a lot when she’s away. is that true?”

jane’s fingers gripped the hem of her grey oversized sweater. it was a gift from her mother. a one of one vintage designer piece. she didn’t remember exactly what brand, all she cared about was that it was from her mom. she wanted to laugh at the question, to stand up and just walk out already.

of course she missed her. she missed her every single day that jennie was gone, every moment she had to pretend she was like every other kid when her life was anything but.

but how could she explain it? how could she look at this stranger and tell her the truth? that her mom wasn’t just some busy woman working long hours, but jennie kim—the jennie kim? that her absence wasn’t just because of an ordinary job, but because of cameras and flashing lights and a career that consumed her whole world?

so she stayed quiet.

the therapist tilted her head slightly, her expression patient and encouraging. “it’s okay if it’s hard to talk about. you don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready.”

the young girl’s throat tightened as the therapist’s words hung in the air. she clenched her jaw and stared harder at the patterned rug, as if the swirling shapes could somehow anchor her, stop the storm of emotions from bubbling over.

the room was too quiet. the kind of quiet that made everything feel louder—the hum of the air conditioning, the subtle creak of the chair as she shifted, even her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

“i…” jane started, her voice barely a whisper. but the words caught in her throat. she could feel the therapist’s eyes on her, gentle but expectant, like she was waiting for her to find the words to continue.

the silence stretched on, unbearable. her slender fingers twisted the hem of her sweater tighter, the soft fabric biting into her palms. she thought of her mom—her amazing, beautiful mom—smiling at her from the screen, her voice like sunshine when she called from some faraway hotel room. jane hated how much she craved those moments, the rare ones where her mother felt like just her mother.

but they weren’t alone moments. not really. there were always fans, schedules, cameras. always someone else demanding a piece of her mom.

jane swallowed hard. she couldn’t say any of that. couldn’t say how much it hurt to share her mom with the world. to feel like she was competing with millions of strangers for her attention.

“i’m fine.” the young kim whispered, giving a firm nod of her head. the therapist didn’t react right away. she just nodded in reply, her smile small and understanding, like she knew the young girl wasn’t fine but wouldn’t push her to admit it. 

“sometimes it helps to draw or write about how you’re feeling,” she said, sliding a blank sheet of paper and a box of crayons across the table. “no one has to see it. it’s just for you.”

jane’s eyes flicked to the paper. her hands didn’t move. she hated how everyone kept asking her to “express her feelings” like it would magically fix everything. the young girl gave the therapist a look, one that definitely meant jane knew what the older woman was trying to do. when the therapist realized the girl wasn’t going to take the bait, she leaned back slightly. 

“do you want to tell me about your mom?”

that question hit harder than it should have. jane’s chest tightened, and her lips pressed into a thin line. “what about her?” she finally scoffed, her voice a bit sharper than she intended to. she could feel the irritation bubbling up inside her, the urge to push back, to defend the one part of her life that was supposed to be her own. as if this therapist even knew who her mother was. jane could already call it from a mile away—the polite, clinical smile on the woman’s face, the soft, empathetic tone. 

but it was all fake, wasn’t it?

jennie had probably used one of her four (and yes, she had counted) fake names when signing jane up for this session. four. because there was no way anyone could know who jennie kim really was—not even a therapist. not in a place like this. not in this life jane had to pretend to lead.

the therapist, not flinching at the sudden shift in jane’s tone, asked again, “what’s she like?”

it was a loaded question, at least to the young girl it was. what was jennie kim like? to the world, she was untouchable—charismatic, talented, adored by millions. she was the kind of person people wrote songs about, the kind of person who could command a room with just a glance. but to ivory, jennie was a puzzle, one she couldn’t quite figure out. 

her mom, who could light up her entire world in one moment and then disappear from it the next.

she thought of the sweater she was wearing, the way her mother had handed it to her with a bright smile, saying, “this reminded me of you.” she thought of the lullabies jennie used to sing when she was younger, of the way her mom’s hugs felt like the safest place in the world.

but she also thought of the canceled birthdays, the missed school plays, the empty chair at dinner. she thought of how every time jennie said, “i’ll be home soon,” jane stopped believing it a little more.

ivory’s throat burned, feeling like shards of glass in her windpipe. she hesitated, her voice trembling a bit more than she had planned. 

“she’s busy.”

the therapist’s head tilted slightly, her expression softening. “that must be hard. when someone you care about is busy a lot.”

jane felt the lump in her throat grow, the tightness in her chest spreading like a burning wildfire. she wanted to scream at the woman to stop, to leave her alone, to stop digging at things she didn’t want to talk about. but instead, she forced her voice to stay steady. “i’m used to it.”

the therapist paused, watching her carefully. “you must be very strong to handle that,” she said gently.

jane’s hands relaxed slightly at the words, but only for a moment. they didn’t feel like a compliment. they felt like a reminder—one she didn’t need. being strong wasn’t a choice. it was just something she had to be.

the session dragged on, filled with more questions jane didn’t want to answer and silences she couldn’t fill. by the end of it, she was exhausted, her body heavy with emotions she still didn’t know how to name.

jieun picked her up after the session, her usual warm smile in place as she waved from the car. jane slid into the passenger seat, her silence as thick as the tension in her chest. she felt jieun’s eyes on her along with the unspoken questions hanging in the air.

“how was it?” the older woman finally asked, her voice light but careful. jane stared out the window, watching the world blur past. “it was fine,” she muttered. the words were flat, stripped of anything that might invite more questions.

her grandmother didn’t press her, but as they pulled into the driveway and parked, she turned to the smaller girl with a softness that made the girl’s chest ache. “do you want to go back next week? you don’t have to if it’s too much.”

jane hesitated, her fingers curling around the strap of her backpack. the weight of the question pressed down on her. did she want to go back? did she want to sit in that room again, feeling like she was being pried open? did she want to pretend that someone else’s words could fix the cracks that had already run so deep?

“no,” she said finally, her voice quiet, even as her chest tightened further. “i don’t want to go back.”

jieun nodded, her expression unreadable. she didn’t argue, didn’t try to convince jane otherwise. “okay,” she said softly. “that’s okay.”

but as they walked into the house and ivory retreated to her room, she couldn’t shake the hollowness that had settled inside her. she dropped her bag to the floor and sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. the session had left her drained, not relieved. the therapist’s words echoed in her mind, the attempt at comfort ringing hollow.

"you must be very strong."

strong wasn’t enough. pretending to be strong didn’t make the loneliness go away, didn’t fill the spaces where words failed, didn’t erase the ache that came from being so close to someone and yet feeling so far away.

this wasn’t going to work, she knew that now. she couldn’t keep doing this—couldn’t keep sitting in rooms with people who wanted her to explain the things she barely understood herself. no one’s words were going to fix it.

no one’s reassurances were going to be enough. no matter how many fancy degrees or framed certificates they had hanging on their walls, they didn’t have the answers she needed. they couldn’t untangle the mess inside her head or quiet the ache in her chest. every question felt like a spotlight on something she wanted to keep in the dark, every answer she gave felt like handing over a piece of herself she wasn’t ready to share.

ivory sat on the edge of her bed, her hands gripping the comforter as if it might anchor her. the house was quiet, the kind of silence that pressed in on her and made her feel smaller. she thought of her grandmother downstairs, probably pretending not to worry, probably thinking about what to tell her mother later. for now she’d be giving her space, because that’s what jieun always did.

but space wasn’t what jane wanted. not really. what she wanted wasn’t something she could name, and it definitely wasn’t something anyone could give her. it wasn’t something she’d find in a therapist’s office, no matter how soft their voice or kind their eyes were.

her chest felt tight again, like it might collapse in on itself. she pressed her palms flat against her legs, grounding herself, but the weight of everything she was carrying still felt like too much.

this wasn’t going to work. jane had always known, deep down, that it wouldn’t. and now, staring at the cracks in her ceiling, she let that truth settle over her like a blanket. no one could fix this for her.

and no one’s words—not a therapist’s, not jieun’s—were ever going to be enough.

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CLOSED.

[faithshouseofchaos]

The boxing wing aka thanksgiving dinner — Sebastian Vettel x GN!reader

Word count — 793

Fluff

The tension in the car was already mounting as Y/N parked outside their childhood home. The crisp November air smelled of leaves and the faint aroma of turkey wafting from inside. Sebastian sat in the passenger seat, calm and collected, casually checking his hair in the mirror. Meanwhile, Y/N was running through a mental list of all the potential landmines the evening might hold.

“Okay, quick reminder,” Y/N said, unbuckling their seatbelt. “Don’t bring up politics. Don’t bring up football. And if my cousin Sarah starts talking about her essential oils business, for the love of God, just nod politely.”

Sebastian chuckled. “I think I can manage. But are you okay? You look like you’re heading into a boxing ring.”

“I am heading into a boxing ring. We call it Thanksgiving dinner,” Y/N muttered before turning to him. “You sure you’re up for this?”

Sebastian grinned, his warm, easy charm on full display. “Free food and a little family chaos? I’ve driven through Monaco in the rain. I can handle this.”

The moment they stepped inside, the chaos hit. Y/N’s mother swooped in with a flurry of hugs and questions, barely giving Sebastian a chance to introduce himself. The sound of kids yelling and a football game blaring in the background filled the air. From the dining room, Y/N’s dad called out, “Who’s this guy? Did you bring a date?”

“This is Sebastian,” Y/N said, forcing a smile. “He’s my… uh… boyfriend.”

That word hung in the air for a moment, and then—“Boyfriend?” Aunt Linda exclaimed from the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. “Well, it’s about time! We were starting to think you were allergic to relationships.”

Sebastian, ever the professional under pressure, stepped forward with a smile and extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. Y/N has told me so much about their amazing family.”

Y/N snorted quietly. That was a lie. Sebastian didn’t even know half their relatives’ names.

Dinner was a mix of triumph and disaster.

Sebastian charmed Y/N’s dad by discussing sustainable farming practices and even managed to compliment Uncle Steve’s deep-fried turkey without wincing. But then Sarah brought up her essential oils business, launching into a monologue about how they could cure anything from headaches to heartbreak.

“Actually, I’ve read that lavender oil can reduce stress,” Sebastian offered diplomatically.

“Oh, he’s smart and polite,” Sarah cooed, throwing a pointed look at her husband, who was glued to the football game.

Things took a turn, however, when Aunt Linda, emboldened by a second glass of wine, leaned forward with a knowing smirk. “So, Sebastian, how serious is this? Are you two thinking about the future?”

Sebastian glanced at Y/N, who was frantically trying to signal him with wide eyes. Without missing a beat, he took Y/N’s hand and said, “I think we’re taking things one step at a time. But I’m very lucky to have found them.”

Y/N’s mom nearly teared up, while Grandma muttered something about finally getting great-grandkids before it was “too late.”

And then, inevitably, the chaos began.

Uncle Steve decided to weigh in on relationships, launching into a loud argument with Aunt Linda about how “kids these days” rush into things too quickly. Cousin Sarah started arguing with Grandma about the validity of essential oils. The kids were screaming about the pie being served too late. Y/N sat back, watching the chaos unfold with an air of resignation.

Sebastian, however, was unfazed. Leaning over, he whispered, “Is this the part where I should stage a distraction?”

Y/N grinned. “If you can get my dad to break out his embarrassing karaoke machine, you’ll be my hero.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Challenge accepted.”

True to his word, Sebastian had the karaoke machine plugged in before dessert was served. By the end of the night, Y/N’s dad was belting out a rendition of “Sweet Caroline,” Grandma was clapping along, and Aunt Linda was too busy singing backup to argue with anyone. Y/N leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the madness with a newfound appreciation for their unexpected ally.

“You survived,” Y/N said as Sebastian joined them, a smug smile on his face.

“Not just survived,” he said, holding up a container of leftovers. “I thrived.”

Y/N laughed, shaking their head. “Thanks for doing this. You didn’t have to.”

Sebastian shrugged, his expression softening. “It wasn’t so bad. Your family’s crazy, but… kind of fun. Plus, now I know where you get your sass from.”

Y/N rolled their eyes but smiled. “Well, you’re officially invited to every Thanksgiving from now on.”

Sebastian’s grin widened. “Careful. I might take you up on that.”

[abilouwrites]

I HEARD AN UNHAPPY ENDING

IT SORTA SOUNDS LIKE YOU LEAVING

Ooc bkugo?? Idc

I want to break the cycle, of this silly little are they are they not together. It’s annoying, frustrating, jaw clenching, “so you’re not gonna go to the prom? Come on Kats I’m sure it’ll be fun. I know it’s very American but it’s still fun, we don’t get to go to school dances” I reason, slinging my bag over my shoulder and pulling my hair out from under it, “I guess you don’t have to go, I can go by myself with Ochako or Izuku. We can do a threesome” I tease slightly, peering over at him as he shoves his pencils into his backpack. I shuffle around my coat pockets and grab my car keys

“That’s even more stupid, you’re all stupid I don’t even know why you want to do that. Waste of time and money” he grumbles. Eyes narrowed as I push the door open and start walking out, I know he’s watching me, I feel it in the back of my neck as I fuss with my hair, “here, you left one of your hair clips” he takes my hand and shoves the pink clip into my palm, “you keep leaving your stuff in my car”

“Oh! So that’s why I’m driving today? You wanna leave your sweaty gauntlets in my car huh?” I sass at him slowly making my way down the stairs and out into the student parking space.

“Yeah, at least I smell good when I sweat, you just stink” I know he’s playful, and maybe I’ll miss this playfulness when I leave.

“Yeah, not all of us have the components of candles in our sweat. Lucky bastard” I unlock the car and he drops his stuff in the back and I start the engine.

He scoffs slightly and I slowly start backing out, “I’m gonna go. To the prom. After we graduate, I got an offer in Los Angeles. And I accepted” I explain, “it’s too good of an opportunity to pass up, my quirk is so water based to be that close to the ocean would- it would put me at the top in a controlled environment. With a mentor that- that understands”

“Oh.. ok, well that- that’s only like- a days flight away we can still hangout. Maybe over breaks I come see you” He reasons, staring at his phone, “when did this happen?”

“About a month ago, I did so well on my exams and my stats were super high for a water quirk I was kinda in a league of my own.. so am I not going to see you at the dance?”

“No, because they’re stupid. And I’ll hold onto that- for ever. Or whatever you say” he shrugs and shakes his head. He doesn’t click the radio on, just sits in silence staring out the window as I drive.

“Jeez, y’know maybe you’re just upset because you don’t have a date” I tease gently but that longing feeling comes back, the one where I want to stay for him. In my imaginary world where we’re in love and that he would follow me to America or maybe I would stay here. In Japan where I don’t belong.

“I don’t- need a date to enjoy a dance. You’re all I need to have fun, sucks that you’re leaving” My heart jams in my chest. I’m all he needs? I’m twisting those words— I have to be.

I sigh, long and deep as I park into my driveway. He gets out, grabs his stuff and starts to leave, “In case I don’t see you again.. I’ll miss you”

“Don’t be stupid y/n, we always find eachother”

I feel relief, a small amount of pressure is lifted off my chest.

“Mmh you don’t think it’s too much?” I ask Ochaco as she sprinkles the skin glitter on my collarbone, “I mean I know it’s ’dancing under the stars’ themed but I don’t need to actually shimmer”

She shakes her head, smiling and gleaming as she brushes through her hair after she dusts me, “it goes with your eyes, you look.. like a star. Bakugo was stupid just to let you go. You’re gorgeous”

I roll my eyes at her, “you look beautiful, the green suits you. And someone else” I tease gently and she flushes red

“It’s not like romantic or anything! He’s just my date.. uh.. come on we should get going”

I didn’t expect to see him there, dressed up his hair doesn’t slick back. But he still looks dressy, “hello stranger” I smile and grin and he perks up. Goes from staring at his phone to me.

“You’re. Glittery?” He stares a little baffled, jaw dropped slightly, he closes and still looks.

“I am. You’re here? I thought these were ‘a waste of time and money’ you going back on your word?” I perk an eyebrow at him.

“Can’t let that depressing car ride be our goodbye”

I’ve never seen him unagressive, soft and kind. Something I’ve seen so rarely. He takes my hand, “and.. y’know as long as I have you. In some stupid way I think I can enjoy these. But only if you’re here” he admires me softly. Taking my hand and following as I pull him onto the dance floor.

His hands intertwine with mine as we dance, music floods our senses. Some pop song, sounds so familiar and distant at the same time.

His hands on my hips and I sway underneath him, he stares at me with a fondness I’ve only seen my dad look at my mom with.

The beat kicks and I barely notice anyone but him, like the world has just dropped away and he’s all that’s left, “I love you. I think. I always have. And I’m scared I always will” I whisper, it’s drowned out against the music and deep bass.

“Huh?!” He shouts out above the music

“I SAID I LOVE THIS SONG!”

“OH! OKAY!”

It’s always been like this, unspoken words- and I said it. Drowned out by the music, by the noise of everyone else by us. I wish it would’ve been different, maybe in another universe. But we’ve grown up. From biting at each others throats to being able to drive in the same car together. It hits me with remorse, a little pang of pity as I look into those crimson eyes I used to fall asleep thinking about.

I’m scared how much I’ll miss him, how his name is on every pro-con list I’ve ever written. When I was making the choice to leave. Katsuki was first person I didn’t want to leave.

“I’m gonna get water!” I shout out, he shakes his head. But he follows me as I walk out, “I’m just getting water, don’t- you don’t have to follow me out”

“No. It’s fine. Uh. I just need a breather” He grumbles. Twisting the watch on his wrist, “are you ok?”

“Mnh” I nod slightly, “my feet are killing me! Hey! I don’t have a ride out can I go with you?” I ask plopping down onto the grass

“Yeah, yeah whatever” he groans, “you look nice. Don’t. Don’t really know if I’ve already said that” he takes his hand and rubs the back of his neck.

“Is this the right choice?” I ask him, looking up as he looks down, “moving. California.. leaving it- feels right. I think”

“You think or you know?” He asserts, frowning down at me- the same look on our first day. When I fell over my shoelaces and ate dirt. He didn’t laugh or tease. Gave me his hand and helped me up. But now he doesn’t hold my hand. Now I have to get up on my own

I sigh, staring down at my shoes. Pondering, wondering, “there’s nothing left for me here. The only thing I know- is that. The only thing tying me here is you. And I don’t- I don’t know what to make of that”

“You can go. I don’t- I don’t fucking need you to hold my hand and. And you don’t have to stay with me. Jesus I don’t even know why you thought of that. Like you’re- we’re codependent on eachother because we’re not!” He throws his head up and cocks his leg, shaking his head with vigor, “go. Go because we don’t have anything to offer you anymore”

“Ok. I’ll go” I say, it feels so set in stone. Like this is how it’s going to be, “you’ll still call me?”

“Sure.”

I want to tell him how I feel, I want to so so badly it burns at my stomach and makes me sick. Makes me violent and angry. But I don’t, I’m too scared to ruin this friendship. So nervously crafted and delicately touched I can’t drop it on him. No matter how he looks at me, or how he sits next to me with his hands on his knees. How he looks over at me.

He leans in slightly, I follow. Our faces centimeters apart, heat radiating off the both of us, “y/n” he whispers so softly but it echos in my brain. Rattling like a pin that has just fallen. I want to reach in, kiss him. Wrap my hands around his face and kiss the daylights out of him like I’ve never kissed someone before.

He kisses me, softly at first, but the longer it lasts the more vigor he finds his hands, balancing against my face. Gripping me and I grip back, “mnh Katsuki”

“Shut up. Just stop talking for five minutes and let me kiss you”

And dear god did that sound like a deal to me.

[the-universal-sun]

i had the idea that stan had been regressing even before being kicked out to cope with fillbrick - could you write a fic expanding on it? (im dyslexic my ass CANNOT do it myself 😭) like teenage stan regressing and ford taking care of him ykwim

Ooo I’ve never thought about a teen stan regressing. Thank you for the ask! Please let me know if it lives up to your expectations! TW for implied child abuse

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stan sniffled, pulling his blanket tighter around his head. His head started started feeling fuzzy again after another fight with Filbrick. He thinks there’s something wrong with him, maybe all the fights he’s gotten into has messed up his head or something. When he gets all fuzzy headed like this, he finds it really hard to talk, and he’s not interested in any of that teenage stuff. He just wants to hold on to this cheap stuffed monkey he won from the fair a few years ago. Sometimes he has the urge to make sand castles, but he can’t bear the thought of someone seeing him like that outside of his room; his sanctuary where no body comes in. Nobody but Ford, that is. Ford’s the only one who knows about this thing that happens to Stan sometimes. He found his clutching his monkey and sobbing one day, and while Stan couldn’t explain what happened until after he stopped feeling fuzzy, Ford just sat with him until he felt better. He’s such a good brother. But Ford doesn’t know what this is either, why Stan goes fuzzy headed sometimes. Maybe he’s just a stupid freak-

“Stanley?” He flinches as he hears Ford’s voice, he didn’t hear the door open. He must be really out of it. Stan doesn’t come out from under his blanket, curling up tighter when he hears Ford walk over to his bunk.

“Stanley, are you alright? I heard you had another fight with dad. What happened this time-“ He doesn’t fight it as Ford pulls the blanket off his head, but he hides his face in the sheets when Ford stops mid-sentence. He’s going to be mad, isn’t he. Mad at Stan for being stupid and crying over nothing. He pulls away when his brother goes to touch his face, it hurts and he doesn’t want anybody touching it.

“Wh-what? Did dad…? Stanley, I-“ If Stan wasn’t feeling so bad, he might’ve giggled. He’s never heard his brother, who knows like a billion words, to be so speechless. But he doesn’t feel like laughing, his mouth is quivering because he’s trying to hold back his tears. He’s a man, not a big baby, and men don’t cry. No matter if he is feeling like a big baby sometimes, like right now. Stan clenches his eyes shut as Ford gets up from his bed with a sigh. He knew it. Ford’s mad at him, too. Mad at Stan for being a big baby who couldn’t dodge a simple right hook.

Ford comes back though, he comes back holding the cheap purple monkey Stan had named “Mookie”, a stupid name but he couldn’t think of anything else. He reaches out, needing to hold on to his Monkey toy and get comfort from it. “Here you go, Stanley, here’s your Mookie,” Stan still blushes whenever Ford speaks to him in that soft voice and uses his toys name, “scoot over. I’m getting in your bed with you. I need some Stanley time.” His brother explains when Stan looks at his, wondering why he didn’t want to go to his own bed with his own stiff sheets. Stan’s not going to argue against cuddling with Ford, that’s his favorite thing to do.

Stan sighs against Ford, snuggling his face into his chest and resisting the urge to chew on his shirt; he didn’t think Ford would appreciate that. He does wipe his remaining tears off on it, though. He feels Ford’s answering sigh ruffle his hair, his arms wrapping tight around Stan. He likes the pressure and warmth of Ford’s arms, he gets cold easily. Ford kisses his head before he starts talking. Stan doesn’t know what he’s talking about, probably wouldn’t even if he were right in the head, he thinks it’s about some research into a math problem. He doesn’t know, he just likes listening to Ford talk, it soothes him.

He still finches when Ford brushes his hand against his cheek, but he’s not as scared of Ford’s reaction anymore, it was silly of him to think Ford would be mad about this, not when he’s always had Stan’s back! He’s the best big brother Stan could ever ask for. He’ll tell Ford that when he’s feeling better. He just content to lay here with his and listen to his voice. He hopes he’ll always have Ford there with him.

[tiredassmage]

it is exactly this kind of thought process that makes me subject even my blorbos who i never intended to be in the main character hotseat, let alone alliance commander kind of main character syndrome, to the kotxx electric boogaloo. there's a post or smth that lives rent free in my mind about something to the effect that "not so much blatantly out of character, but what circumstances would lead the character to do x or act in x manner" and smth about if you can find that you can make almost anything believable but it's that first part of the ~wisdom that's really given me a lot to chew on.

i think the only tech class i haven't super spent a lot of time plugging into the commander seat is bounty hunter, but len did make it that far at least once and i'll do it to him again now that i have a better grasp of who he is.

[i have too many blorbos so in the thought of sparing dashboards, let me put a cut]

if i get to die on the hill convincing muts and fellow swtor-ers that agent is actually an epic kind of character to put through the expansions then i'd die happy. it... makes sense to me in a way that idk if i can generally explain it very well and it's... incredibly individualized to what happens to the agent in their class story. tyr fits the role of commander in a way that i think some would still call surprisingly well, but there's the argument that what is 'commander' but another role or mask to play, and especially for someone like tyr who is invested in building his team because the better his team, the better he was able to do his own job, he's... a natural at it, really. and tyr has been the type that's been looking for a kind of change (in his life, in his own circumstances, maybe in the whole galaxy) for so long that regardless of being thrust into the commander's seat or not, he would've found himself in the alliance. a man so driven by his ideals finally getting an escape out of being a ghost in the rather binary system of the galaxy is almost a relief - sans, y'know, the ancient sith emperor bouncing around in his head, but he's dealt with migraines before, so it's another day that ends in y for cipher nine.

his trooper au edition handles it all with... a significantly less amount of grace, to put it nicely, lol. troopertyr was kinda unsteady by everything he endured in the class story era and the early expansions to begin with, and his anchor was his team, to keep things short. being shorn of that support network that helped build so much of his identity and sense of purpose brings out the worse edges of him. he unravels a lot under the pressure, but being in that kind of position, nobody else can afford to stop him and ask if he's okay, which lets him spiral pretty far and get into a series of behaviors that he'll loathe himself for and have to spend several years after the alliance is no longer in his hands (he doesn't want the pressure, and he'll turn down reinstatement to republic special forces even as he hands what remains of the alliance freely over to the republic and sets whoever doesn't want to go loose) trying to unlearn and recover from. arguably, the ex-co of havoc squad should be relatively well-prepared for a role like alliance commander, and that spin through the story really improved my thoughts on trooper and my love for it, but troopertyr i built a very... special kind of cocktail about how he came into special forces and havoc squad where it... wasn't really the best fit for him to be there to begin with, but it was the circumstances he was dealt, so the further pressures found the cracks that had already formed and just drove them deeper.

i have toyed around a little about what it'd do to leo, one of my smugglers - arguably one of the least qualified people to ever have to handle the situation based on his credentials and disposition for handling pressure and decisions, which.... naturally meant i just had to figure out sooner or later what it'd do to him, right? so, for leo, ending up with the whole valkorian problem and trying to wrangle the alliance starts with being in the wrong place at a really bad time, and it preys on his fears about loss. leo's not nearly as good an actor as my agents are - they're trained for those kind of scenarios so they come by it quite naturally in comparison, but at the end of the day, leo finds himself in situations often where he puts on some kind of mask to get through the situation. and he's desperate to protect the few people he cares about. he's a much smaller picture kind of person, rather than the grand overarching picture of the galaxy and its interwoven problems that most of my other characters have. leo making a deal with valkorian is less, initially, about personal power or ruling an empire as it is a don't hurt them. which is easy enough for valkorian - it's not really a lie to say they won't come to harm by his hand when they're barely significant enough for valkorian to notice, right? and not that leo is.... gullible, exactly, but he's... scared in that kind of scenario. scared enough to lose the few people he loved, and astronomically stressed and overwhelmed by the impossible nature of the task set before them, and not particularly a good leader. i think valkorian can manipulate him into spinning taking over zakuul as the kind of... become more powerful so they can't touch you kind of narrative. a bit similarly to what leo thinks of his reputation in the wake of nok drayen's treasure and taking down the voidwolf. no reason to not take advantage of the power and the fame in the ways he can, and double down on keeping the claws at hand gripping desperately to the precarious position it puts him in to have that kind of notoriety, right? it's.... incredibly unideal for him in a lot of ways, and something that could arguably make him worse without a counter from one of his old gang of friends and beloveds to steady his perspective on things. he doesn't become malicious out of ill-intent, exactly, but he... can be driven to lock down and lash out in the interest of self-preservation and protecting the few people he cares for. if he's going to be forced to run this shitshow, he'll.... make it work for them. it has to work... this is what they want, right? right?

and len is... on a superficial, baseline thought it's... it can be as simple as the fact that the man doesn't know how to turn down a challenge. he's bullheaded. and while he's "smart" enough to know in the throne room he can't simply put a blaster bolt through the immortal ex-sith emperor and solve everything so simply, so take his deal, he is also incredibly, belligerently independent and stubborn in a 'this is good advice, but don't tell me what to do' fashion that ends up making him mouthy with valkorian, anyway. and len, thankfully(?), has a background in imperial black ops prior to his career as a bounty hunter that gives him some military training in addition to his several years as a hunter and experience in the great hunt that make him a prepared fighter and, admittedly, a surprisingly decent leader as far as assigning forces. he's not the most emotionally available man there ever was, and as mouthy and belligerent as he's known to be, he also knows tossing his head too much and trying to fight being given the reins on the alliance won't actually achieve any of their goals for anyone. he'll still make comments about it, sure, he's got a reputation to maintain, after all. can't have all these whelps thinking he's gone soft or somethin' on 'em. but he's also nothing if not a man about getting his jobs done, and this is another job. and he fucking hates losing. xD

smushing every class into the Commander role isn't the best decision storywise but asking how your particular character adapts to the role - whether they're unfitting or not - is always very good for the creative cogs

[sorrelchestnut]

Birds on a Wire, Lucanis/f!Rook, 1/?

Experimenting once more with posting a WIP while it's still In Progress. This will probably curse me but there's only so much I can spam my friends in discord so fuck it. I'm not gonna lie, this is mostly just established relationship fluff and banter with occasional flickers of childhood trauma. For seasoning, like.

*

They say that bad news will cross the ocean twice before good has even gotten out of bed.  Lucanis, staring down at the letter in his grandmother's sloping hand, cannot help but agree.

(Get Rook!)

Lucanis's first instinct as well, but she is working in Minrathous today, coordinating work crews as they clear Blight remnants down in the undercity.  It's dirty, exhausting, thankless work, and while he knows he'd be a welcome distraction, he would be a distraction nonetheless.  Instead he forces himself to spend the day taking inventory: they are going to need groceries again, and soon.  He will send some from Treviso, as the markets there are starting to recover, though much of their supplies are still earmarked for relief efforts.  If all else fails, he can arrange for imports from Rivain, mostly untouched by the whims of the gods.

It is sometime after sunset, Antivan time, when the eluvian's activation chimes quietly through the Lighthouse.  (Rook's back!)  Knowing well her opinion of damp, muddy holes in the ground, Lucanis retrieves the plate he prepared from under one of Neve's warming charms and heads below to the bathhouse, following the trail of shed clothing from the vestibule to where she is lounging in one of the heated pools.  Lucanis takes care to ensure his movements are audible as he sets the plate on the table next to her discarded patch and puts his hands on his hips.

"That is terrible for your blood pressure, you know."

Rook smiles without opening her eye - or throwing a fistful of lightning at his face, so his efforts to announce his arrival did not go unappreciated.   "But great for my temper."

"Guildmaster causing trouble again?  There's a solution for that."

"You can't kill everyone who annoys me, Lucanis.  It's just not cost-efficient."

(But fun!)

"But fun," Lucanis agrees.  "Everyone needs to have a hobby."

"We really need to get you back into knitting.  Hey, c'mere, you're too far away."

"If you splash me, you will regret it," he warns, even as he approaches to seat himself carefully at the edge.  "Hello, mi amor."

"Hullo, love."  It's a delicate maneuver, bending backwards up over the lip of the pool without unduly disturbing the water, but Rook is a consummate professional and manages it without so much as splashing his cuffs.  The feel of her smiling mouth against his is familiar, now, but no less miraculous for it.  "Mm, alright, now I'm feelin' better."

He laughs quietly and settles back on his heels.  "Imagine how well you will feel after supper."

"Oh, shit, is it your night to cook?"  She turns her best pleading expression on him.  "Any chance you brought me a plate?"

He considers making some pretense to the contrary, but what would be the point?  "On the chaise, if you please.  Some civilities must be observed."

"Hey, you like me naked."

"I like you any way I can get you, but melted cheese on skin is not a complaint you want to bring to a medic."

"Oh fuck me, you made carbonara?  That's it, I'm getting out."

"No hurry," he says, stroking one hand affectionately across her damp curls.  It smells faintly of the astringent soap Emmerich makes for his workshop, so she must have scrubbed up at the pump before coming down here to boil herself like a piece of recalcitrant laundry.  "It will keep a little longer."

"Mhm, well, in that case…"  She tilts her neck hopefully, and he happily takes up the invitation to knead at the back of her neck with a practiced hand.

Only to hiss, a moment later, at what he finds there.  "Mierda!  Your neck is like iron.  Have you been holding your head cocked again?  You know that isn't good for you."

"...probably," she admits, then immediately goes on the defensive.  "Look, 's just instinct, alright?  I know my depth perception's fucked and you know it's fucked but try convincing my sodding brain.  And you know the shit light down there doesn't help, had me jumpin' at fucking shadows even when I still had both eyes."

"I know, cara, but you're going to cause permanent damage to yourself if you don't break the habit."

"I know, I know.  I'll work on it, alright?"

"I will make sure of it," he threatens, then remembers the letter.  (Tell her, tell her!)  "Well.  There are exercises you could do, I think."

But she's twisting around to look at him, a faint frown marring the smooth line of her forehead.  "What was that?  You flinched."

Cazza.  "No I didn't."

"Yes you did, you tensed up for a second.  What's wrong?"

 Why he thought he had a hope of concealing anything from her, Lucanis doesn't know.  Always she has seen straight through him.  "I had a message from my grandmother this morning."

"Ah."  World of understanding in that single syllable.  "I'm guessing it wasn't 'season's blessings.'"

"No, it… no."

(TELL HER)

His hand has slipped down to her shoulder, and it slips away entirely as she gracefully rolls in the water, folding her arms on the lip of the pool so she can look up at him.  He no longer flinches at the ugly march of stitched tissue where her left eye used to be, but only because he knows how much it hurts her when he fails.  In time, her face will once again be only her face, more familiar and dearer than his own in the mirror.  Until then, the reminder of how close he came to losing her is his burden to bear.

"Talk to me, dovey.  What's goin' on?"

If there was a time he could deny her anything, it has long since passed.  "Caterina thinks I have dawdled enough.  It's time for the First Talon to return home."

Her eye widens slightly, but otherwise does not flinch, only finds his fingers with her own wet ones and strokes gently across his knuckles.  "And what does the First Talon think?"

When it comes right down to it, Lucanis has always been a coward when it matters most.  He closes his eyes so he cannot see the look on her face when Spite finally says, , "That she's right."

For a long, terrible moment, there is nothing but silence.  Her hand is motionless against his; there is no movement from her agile body, only the lap of the restless water against stone.  She is entirely still.

Then she lets out a grunt of acknowledgement.  "Alright then.  When do we leave?"

His eyes snap open.  She's still just looking up at him, pleasantly quizzical, head angled very slightly - cazza - to see the whole of his face.  "I wasn't-  You have other duties to attend to."

"No?  I've just been fillin' in where I can, nothing serious.  Oh.  Uh.  Unless-"  She draws her lower lip between her teeth, a maneuver he would find distracting under less trying circumstances.  "If this is your way of telling me gently, that you-  I mean, I can take a hint-"

It takes a full two beats for him to understand her implication.  "What?  No, tesoro, luce dei miei occhi-  No, never, no.  I only-"  (Say it right! Fix it!)  Lucanis takes a deep breath and does his best: "I only mean that you have a home here, work that matters to you, people to protect.  This is my burden.  I would not have asked."

"Lucanis."  She's giving him the same fondly exasperated look she used to sport whenever she found him in the training hall past midnight, Spite screaming a crescendo in his ears.  "I walked out of a prison built for gods because I heard you calling my name.  And you think I wouldn't follow you to Treviso?"

(TOLD YOU)

It's so strange to remember, now, how he used to think he wasn't built for happiness.  That he was missing some essential component that everyone else was born with, that thing Illario grasped so easily, the ability to feel joy and inspire it in others.  He knows better, now.  It's the easiest thing in the world, when you are with the right person.

"Pulled."

"What?"

He blinks innocently, working very hard to keep his smile hidden behind his teeth.  "Technically, you didn't walk out of the Fade.  You were pulled.  My wrist was sore for hours."

"Hours," Spite agrees loyally.

"You," she splutters, and then laughs, one of the deep belly laughs he loves so much, that makes Spite flatten and purr at the back of his skull.  "You're a pair of fuckin' arseholes," she tells them, and surges up out of the pool to press her laughing mouth to his.

(He doesn't even mind the water on his cuffs.)

[ecofear]

hi you're The rogue trader mutual to me so if it's not too much work could you tell me a bit about it :) i'm interested in trying it out and i did read the wikipedia article but i would like to hear something less formal

of course no pressure if you don't have time or energy for it

TAKES A DEEP BREATH

let me set up warhammer 40k a little bit.

this is a very rich with lore universe, it is full of things to consume and learn about, every warhammer 40k fan has their favourite things about it, and there's so many sub-communities based on these things. people who love the imperium, tech-priest fans, necron fans, all sorts, all in their little bubbles. it's fascinating! there's also multiple points in history people can fixate on! i know some people who only care about the emperor's sons (known as the primarchs) and the lorea and stories around them!

to give a very tldr rundown... warhammer 40k is a post apocalyptic world, long after humanity had left terra to explore the galaxy.

to start: people started to be born as psychic mutants, and that's how we got the first navigators, which allowed humanity to explore further than ever before, along with the creation of the warp-drive. this is when the imperium was first created. humanity thrived for a long time, but over time, psykers started to be born, think of them as humans who could use a form of magic. unfortunately, psykers are at risk of being possessed by daemons, or opening portals to allow daemons in, which caused the downfall of humanity.

and then, the emperor of humanity, started a great crusade, in simple terms, to save humanity. he formed the pact with mars' tech-priests to use their technology, and created the primarchs (his sons, which are just genetic clones of himself) as well as the space marine legions... thus the imperiums expansion began. and the start of the horus heresy... which is chronicled in like one of the longest book series ever... just consider it the imperium (humanity) waging war after war after war trying to expand and grow and save themselves, and losing, and winning, and dying, and... yeah. eventually this ends but - humanity stagnates, is probably the best way i can put it.

the game rogue trader is theorised to take place around 999.M41. this means it takes place in... warhammer 40,000! the horus heresy takes place in 30,000... but i think it's important just just set up that beginning part. humanity is fucked, lets put it this way. everything that happened has let humanity to be terrified of power. they cling to the emperor, cling to the past they've lost, much of their history, their knowledge, completely gone. but they are so afraid of things getting like they were, of someone gaining so much power like horus had, that they just.. can't allow themselves to advance again. to the point people who think about that or suggest it are called heretics and killed. to say the imperium isn't perfect as it is now is heresy - but without advancement.. humanity is going to die. they have stagnated and eventually they won't be able to continue - but they are so proud, they can't admit it, or see it.

warhammer 40k is a depressing series of watching humanity suffer, and not taking any chances to change it. they just keep trying to expand. to take over planets and systems. to control everything. they see every other alien species are wrong, villainous, antagonists, that must be put down. even pyskers are treated horribly, despite the fact that their own emperor they love so much, is a psyker.

in rogue trader, you play as a character chosen by the emperor to expand into systems much further out than the imperium has, lawless, dangerous... your job is to bring them under heel. to rule, absolutely. while also squabbling with other rogue traders in the same system who also want it - because personal power is just as important. rogue trader is a game where you literally don't deal with money mechanics because you have more wealth than you could possibly know. you have at least 25,000 people living on your ship, some who have never left it, generations of their families born upon your ship, with you as their almighty ruler.

it's a game where you can be the best ruler to your people you can be, either by following the imperium's law absolutely, or by actually doing the right thing - which is against the law, btw. you could even listen to the whispers of chaos in your ear, be a psyker who plays a little too closely to the edge, risking daemons and god knows what else. you are forced to make hard choices. you have weight on your shoulders that risks crushing you. are you going to lead your people to glory? are you going to protect them, and try to save them? are you going to lead them straight into the maw of a god who will consume them whole? rogue trader is a fun roleplaying game. warhammer 40k is a fun roleplaying tabletop game. being lawful good is being just another sheep in the imperium whos going to watch it sail to its death with a salute, being a bad character is actually wanting the best for people - for treating alien races with respect and not killing them on sight, and being evil is like becoming the chosen prophet of a god who wants to ascend you to their right hand like a bride...

and that's before we even consider the absolutely insane dynamics with your companions. your senechal who is so deathly loyal to you he will focus you into the maws of chaos? your psyker diviner who just wants to be loved and appreciated - and how terribly you can twist her in this desire? a sister of battle who finds a sick gratification in killing - but she's killing for her god, so it's completely just, of course. how about a tech-priest who borders on the heretical with such a tight rope that pushing him over the edge is too easy - as if he was already there to begin with? or a space marine - a wolf - who is exactly like what you'd expect a space marine to be. we even have some hidden companions... one of which who is so fascinating to me, a priest, a prophet, a chaos space marine....

and how genuinely interesting the romances are. do you want a classic period drama romance where you woo a noble lady who blushes if you hold her hand and thinks kissing it is too forward? do you want to melt the ice man who has so much trauma and you swear you can fix him? do you wanna seduce a woman by gifting her an entire planet while she broadcasts your sex across your entire ship so all 25,000+ people hear it? do you want to slaughter your own people for sexual gratification and torture your loyal subjects while engaging in bdsm with an alien who can be your dom or your sub but god forbid you try to switch - which also has an ownership branding scene? how about a 'me and you against the world' soulmates type romance with an alien who sees you as a primative beast but your desire to understand her and her people softens her to you - and the furthest this romance can ever go is holding hands within your minds as you meditate together? or how about a death cult assassin whos been slaughtering your enemies who hide upon your ship right under your nose who very much wants to become your right hand like a devoted paladin-assassin of blood and murder?

ok i've typed so much i've made my arms sore but i genuinely could go on if not for this limitation..... i love rogue trader. i love it. i love it so much. i get so sad when i see roleplaying game enjoyers having no interest in picking it up. it's life changing. it's everything. it's a roleplaying game where you are beautifully rewarded for roleplaying. there's so much freedom. it's delicious to be evil, to manipulate and twist people to chaos. its maddening to try and follow the right path and be punished for it. and its gratifying to follow the emperors will.

[charmedbuffy]

the monks truly took their role as fanfic writers so seriously cause they could’ve turned the key into a pebble and threw into the pacific ocean but instead they said ah yes let’s hide it by turning it into a teenage girl. living in a supernatural hotspot. as the sister to the enemy of the supernatural evil world. very discreet and safe!!