#but instead they focused on a romance that makes no sense and makes me feel gross

[trashogram]

This has been eating at me a bit despite talking about it with a friend, but in the latest HB episode, I genuinely felt sad when Blitzø and I.M.P. thought they were going to die. And then Blitzø being on the chopping block while telling M&M to take care of Loona, and telling them that he loved them?

That stuff works. It makes me mourn the potential for a stronger bond between these characters. If they’d been allowed to have more experiences as teammates, or even better as a found family, I would’ve enjoyed Helluva Boss 10x more.

[unnecessarilygrandiose]

.

[driverlando]

✧.* AFTER HOURS

synopsis - I'll risk it all for you, I want you next to me

before you continue: I’ve been working on this for the past month, so pls be nice! It’s a 6k-word bad boy/biker Lando x waitress (f!reader) set in the 50s. there’s a mix of romance, tension, and some smut (minors DNI!). excited to hear your thoughts—enjoy! xx

The neon sign above the diner hums softly, its pink and blue lights flickering in the darkened night like a beacon. It’s the only thing that seems alive at this hour, casting a soft glow on the otherwise empty street. You’ve been working at this place for a while now, long enough that the rhythms of the night shift feel second nature. The jukebox in the corner has long since stopped playing, the last notes of Elvis Presley’s latest hit fading into the air. The diner is quiet, save for the occasional clink of dishes in the back or the low murmur of conversation from the last remaining patrons—a couple of old men nursing their black coffees.

You glance at the clock above the door, a wave of relief washing over you as you see it’s nearly the end of your shift. All you want is to get out of this uniform, go home, and maybe catch some sleep before the morning light creeps through your curtains. The night has a chill to it, the kind that seeps into your bones, reminding you that summer is fading fast.

The bell above the door jingles, and despite yourself, your heart skips a beat. You don’t even need to look up to know who it is; you can feel his presence like a shadow that lingers just out of sight. Lando Norris. The town’s resident bad boy, the one all the girls whisper about and the one your mother warned you to stay away from. He’s trouble in every sense of the word, and yet, you find it impossible to ignore the way the air seems to crackle when he’s around.

He’s been coming in every night for the past few weeks, always showing up right before your shift ends. You’ve tried not to pay him any mind, but it’s hard when he looks at you the way he does, with that cocky smirk that makes your stomach twist and your heart race.

Tonight, he’s wearing that same leather jacket, the one that makes him look even more dangerous. His hair is tousled, damp from the cool night air, and there’s a hint of rain on his skin. He strides in like he owns the place, but his eyes are on you the moment he steps through the door.

“Hey, doll,” he greets, his voice smooth, with that hint of something playful and teasing that always makes you bite back a smile.

“Lando,” you acknowledge, keeping your tone even as you wipe down the counter one last time. “You’re here late.”

He shrugs, sliding onto the stool right in front of you, his gaze never leaving your face. “Couldn’t stay away.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way his words make your pulse quicken. “What’ll it be tonight?”

“Just a coffee,” he says, leaning back in his seat, the leather of his jacket creaking softly. “Unless you’ve got something a little more exciting to offer.”

You pour the coffee without responding, sliding the cup across the counter to him. “This is as exciting as it gets.”

He chuckles, taking the cup and lifting it to his lips. “You say that every time, sweetheart, but I know there’s more to you than you’re letting on.”

You ignore his comment, focusing instead on finishing up your closing tasks. But you can feel his eyes on you, the weight of his gaze almost tangible. It’s not the first time you’ve felt it, and it won’t be the last, but tonight it feels different. There’s an electricity in the air, something that makes your skin prickle and your heart beat just a little faster.

“Why do you keep coming here, Lando?” you ask, more to break the silence than anything else.

He sets his cup down, the smirk still playing on his lips. “Why do you think?”

You meet his gaze, trying to keep your expression neutral. “Because you’re bored?”

He shakes his head, leaning forward slightly, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “No, because I like seeing you. I like the way you pretend you’re not interested.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. You’ve been doing your best to keep your distance, to keep him at arm’s length, but he has a way of getting under your skin. Still, you can’t let him know that.

“My shift’s over,” you say, avoiding his eyes as you untie your apron and hang it up behind the counter. “You should go home.”

“So should you,” he says, his tone softening. “But not alone.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you grab your coat from the back. “I’m fine on my own, thanks.”

You don’t wait for his response, don’t even look back at him as you head for the door. You’ve made it clear that you’re not interested, even if that’s not entirely true. Lando is trouble, and you’ve worked too hard to stay out of it.

The cool night air hits you as soon as you step outside, the drizzle turning into a light mist that clings to your hair and clothes. The street is quiet, the only sound the distant hum of a car engine and the soft patter of rain on the pavement. You pull your coat tighter around yourself, your footsteps echoing in the stillness as you start walking down the street.

You’re halfway down the block when you hear it—the low, unmistakable rumble of a motorcycle engine. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is, but you do anyway, your heart sinking slightly as you see Lando pulling up beside you on his sleek black motorcycle. His head is tilted slightly, that ever-present smirk still on his lips as he coasts along the sidewalk at your pace.

“Need a ride?” he asks, his voice barely audible over the engine.

“No,” you reply curtly, picking up your pace. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” he calls after you. “It’s a long walk home, and it’s starting to rain.”

You ignore him, determined to keep walking. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s getting to you, even if he already knows. But Lando isn’t one to give up easily.

You hear the motorcycle rev slightly as he pulls ahead of you, cutting off your path. You stop abruptly, your breath catching in your throat as he swings off the bike with a fluid grace that makes your heart skip a beat. He steps in front of you, blocking your way, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe.

“Come on, doll,” he says, his voice low and coaxing. “Let me take you home.”

You shake your head, taking a step back, but the look in his eyes holds you in place. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, something that makes you want to give in, to let go of all the reasons why this is a bad idea.

“I don’t need your help,” you say, but your voice lacks conviction.

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently grasp your wrist. His touch is warm, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm. “I know you don’t need it,” he murmurs, his voice soft, almost tender. “But maybe you want it.”

You swallow hard, trying to ignore the way your heart is pounding in your chest. The rain is starting to fall heavier now, droplets clinging to his hair and sliding down his face. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, something raw and unguarded that makes it impossible to look away.

“Why do you care?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Because,” he says, his thumb brushing lightly over your wrist, “you’re not like the others. And I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You want to resist, to tell him to leave you alone, but the words get caught in your throat. You can’t deny the pull you feel toward him, the way he makes you feel alive in a way that nothing else does. And before you can talk yourself out of it, before you can remind yourself of all the reasons why this is a bad idea, you find yourself nodding.

“Okay,” you say softly.

A slow, almost relieved smile spreads across his face, and he steps back, releasing your wrist. He gestures to the bike, and you hesitate for only a second before stepping forward. The rain is coming down in earnest now, the drops heavy and cold against your skin as you approach the motorcycle.

He hands you the spare helmet, and you take it, slipping it over your head. The leather seat is slick with rain as you swing your leg over the bike, your hands instinctively gripping his jacket as you settle behind him. The engine purrs beneath you, the vibrations humming through your body as he revs it slightly.

“You ready?” he asks, turning his head slightly to glance back at you.

You nod, though he can’t see it with the helmet on. “Yeah.”

With that, he kicks the bike into gear, and you’re off, the motorcycle roaring down the empty street, the rain whipping against your face. You cling to him, your fingers digging into the leather of his jacket as the world blurs around you. The cold night air bites at your skin, but there’s a thrill in it, a sense of freedom that you’ve never felt before.

Lando takes the turns with an ease that speaks of years of experience, the bike leaning just enough to make your heart race. The town flashes by in a blur of lights and shadows, and before you know it, you’re out on the open road, the city behind you.

He doesn’t take you home. Instead, he heads out of town, the road stretching out in front of you, the rain-soaked asphalt glistening in the dim light. The fields on either side of you are dark and endless, the occasional hedgerow or tree flashing by as Lando speeds along the wet road. The sound of the engine is a steady roar in your ears, a low thrum that seems to match the rhythm of your heartbeat.

You should be worried—he hasn’t said a word about where he’s taking you, and you’ve barely known him long enough to trust him with something like this. But there’s something exhilarating about the way he handles the bike, the confidence in his every move, that makes you feel strangely safe despite the reckless speed. It’s as if, for the first time in ages, you’re letting yourself go, allowing the night and the rain and the thrill of the ride to sweep you away.

The rain falls harder now, soaking through your coat and plastering your hair to your face beneath the helmet. The chill seeps into your bones, but it’s dulled by the heat radiating from Lando’s back, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the cold night air. You hold on tighter, pressing yourself closer to him as the bike hurtles down the road.

Finally, after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, Lando begins to slow down. The road narrows, the trees growing thicker and closer together as you turn onto a smaller lane. The headlights cut through the darkness, revealing a small, secluded motel nestled at the edge of the woods. The sign above the door is old and faded, the neon flickering weakly, but the place looks clean and well-kept.

Lando pulls the bike into the gravel car park, coming to a stop near the entrance. The engine cuts off, leaving a ringing silence in its wake, broken only by the patter of rain on the pavement and the distant rustle of leaves in the wind. He dismounts first, holding the bike steady as you slide off the seat and remove your helmet.

You stand there for a moment, your heart still racing from the ride, the rain dripping off your clothes and pooling around your feet. You look at Lando, trying to gauge his expression, but his face is shadowed, unreadable in the dim light.

“Why here?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away, just watches you with those intense eyes of his, like he’s trying to figure you out. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he gestures towards the motel. “Come on. Let’s get out of the rain.”

You hesitate, every logical part of your brain screaming at you to turn around and walk away. This is dangerous—Lando is dangerous, with his easy charm and his reckless ways. You’ve worked hard to keep your life steady, predictable, and bringing him into it is like inviting chaos. But something holds you back, something that refuses to let you walk away.

Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, with that mix of mischief and something deeper, something almost vulnerable. Or maybe it’s the thrill of doing something you know you shouldn’t, the excitement of stepping outside the lines you’ve drawn for yourself. Whatever it is, it makes you follow him without another word, the two of you walking side by side towards the motel entrance.

The lobby is small and cosy, the kind of place that hasn’t changed much since it was built, probably a couple of decades ago. The man behind the counter barely glances up as Lando approaches, just slides a key across the counter with a bored expression. It’s clear he’s seen this kind of thing before—young couples looking for a place to escape for the night, away from prying eyes and small-town gossip.

You feel a flutter of nerves as Lando takes the key and leads you down a narrow hallway to one of the rooms. The door creaks slightly as he pushes it open, revealing a modest space with a double bed, a small table with a couple of chairs, and a dresser with a mirror above it. It’s not much, but it’s clean and dry, and after the cold rain outside, it feels almost inviting.

Lando steps inside first, holding the door open for you. You hesitate again, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts—about what you’re doing, what this means, what will happen next. But then you meet his eyes, and all those thoughts seem to scatter like leaves in the wind. There’s something in his gaze that’s both tender and intense, a look that makes your heart pound and your resolve crumble.

You step inside, and the door clicks shut behind you, sealing you both inside the small, warm room. The sound is final, like a decision being made, a line being crossed. Lando turns to face you, his expression unreadable as he watches you standing there, rain-soaked and shivering slightly in the dim light.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice low and gentle, a stark contrast to the way he usually speaks.

You nod, though you’re not entirely sure if it’s true. Your heart is racing, your mind a whirlwind of emotions—fear, excitement, anticipation—all tangled together in a way that makes it hard to breathe. But you don’t want to back out now, not after everything that’s led you here.

Lando steps closer, his hands coming up to gently brush your wet hair away from your face. His touch is warm and soft, a tenderness you hadn’t expected. His eyes search yours, as if looking for any sign of hesitation, any reason to stop.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says quietly, his fingers lingering on your cheek.

“I know,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “But I want to.”

It’s the truth, or at least part of it. You’re scared, yes, but you’re also drawn to him in a way you can’t explain. There’s something about Lando that calls to the part of you that’s been buried for so long, the part that craves something more than the quiet, predictable life you’ve built for yourself.

He studies you for a moment longer, as if making sure you really mean it, then nods slightly. His hand slips down to yours, his fingers intertwining with yours as he leads you further into the room. There’s a gentleness in his movements, a care that surprises you, considering his usual devil-may-care attitude.

The rain drums steadily against the window, a constant rhythm that fills the silence between you. Lando’s hand leaves yours as he shrugs off his jacket, draping it over one of the chairs before turning his attention back to you. You feel a nervous flutter in your stomach as he steps closer, but it’s mingled with anticipation, a thrill that sends shivers down your spine.

His hands find your shoulders, sliding your coat off and letting it fall to the floor. You’re hyper-aware of every movement, every touch, the way his fingers brush against your skin as he helps you out of your wet clothes. There’s an intimacy to it, a quiet care that makes your breath catch in your throat.

You stand there in just your undergarments, the cold air of the room making you shiver, but Lando’s eyes are warm as they trail over you, his gaze filled with something you can’t quite name. He takes a step back, his hand reaching out to gently take yours again.

“Come here,” he murmurs, leading you towards the bed.

You follow him, your heart pounding in your chest, the reality of the situation hitting you all at once. This is happening. You’re here, with him, in a motel room in the middle of nowhere, about to cross a line you’ve never crossed before. But there’s no fear, only a deep sense of rightness, like this is where you’re meant to be, in this moment, with him.

Lando sits on the edge of the bed, pulling you gently towards him until you’re standing between his knees. His hands slide up your thighs, resting on your hips as he looks up at you, his eyes dark and full of emotion. He’s always been confident, always in control, but now there’s a vulnerability in his gaze, a quiet question he’s asking without words.

You answer by leaning down, your hands cupping his face as you press your lips to his. The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if you’re both testing the waters. But it quickly deepens, a hunger igniting between you that has been simmering for weeks. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as he kisses you like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as you have.

The world outside the room fades away, leaving only the two of you, tangled together in the heat of the moment. His hands are everywhere, exploring your body with a reverence that makes you feel cherished, like you’re something precious. It’s intense and overwhelming, but in the best possible way.

Time seems to lose meaning as you lose yourselves in each other, the night stretching out as if it were infinite. The rain outside creates a soothing, rhythmic backdrop to your passion, a comforting contrast to the fire burning between you.

Lando’s kisses are insistent, devouring, yet he moves with care, as if he’s memorising every inch of you. His touch, though firm, is never rough, always just right, and you melt into him, feeling like you’re discovering parts of yourself you never knew existed. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he holds himself back slightly, as though he’s afraid of rushing, afraid of breaking whatever fragile connection has formed between you.

Your fingers slide through his damp hair, tugging slightly, and a low groan escapes his lips. It sends a thrill through you, emboldening you to press closer, your body flush against his. He shifts, pulling you into his lap, your legs straddling his thighs as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. The sensation of being held by him, feeling his strength beneath your touch, is intoxicating.

You break the kiss to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his. His breath comes in short, sharp bursts, his chest rising and falling against yours. He looks up at you, eyes dark with desire but softened by something more—something that makes your heart stutter in your chest.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice rough with restraint, the words a mere whisper in the small space between you.

You nod, not trusting your voice to convey the depth of your certainty. There’s no room for doubt in your mind. Being with him, here, now, feels like the most natural thing in the world, as if you’ve been waiting your whole life for this moment. For him.

He studies your face, searching for any sign of hesitation, but when he finds none, his expression shifts from questioning to resolute. His hands, which had been resting on your hips, slide up your back, pulling you even closer as he captures your lips again. This kiss is different, filled with the unspoken promise of what’s to come, a promise that you’re both eager to fulfil.

Without breaking the kiss, Lando shifts his weight, turning and laying you gently on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight as he hovers over you, his gaze never leaving yours. There’s a moment of stillness, a shared breath, and then he’s kissing you again, his hands roaming your body with a purpose that makes you shiver in anticipation.

Every touch, every caress, is like a match struck against stone, igniting a flame that consumes you both. He moves with a slow, deliberate pace, savouring each moment, each gasp and sigh that escapes your lips. It’s as if he wants to remember every second, to carve this night into his memory as something sacred.

The room is warm, the heat from your bodies chasing away the chill of the night. Your hands map out the contours of his muscles, the smooth lines of his body, as you pull him closer, wanting more of him, needing to feel him everywhere. He responds in kind, his lips trailing down your neck, over your collarbone, as if he’s worshipping every inch of you.

When he finally moves to remove the last barriers between you, there’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. It’s a natural progression, a culmination of everything that’s been building between you since the first time he walked into the diner and looked at you with those piercing eyes. There’s a shared understanding, an unspoken agreement that this is where you were always meant to end up—together.

The first moment of true connection is almost overwhelming in its intensity. It’s more than just physical; it’s as if every wall you’ve ever built around yourself crumbles in an instant, leaving you exposed, vulnerable, but not afraid. There’s no fear, only a deep, bone-deep sense of rightness, of finally finding the place where you belong.

Lando moves with a rhythm that’s both tender and powerful, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you that build and build until you think you might shatter from the sheer force of it. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, a plea, and he answers with a low, guttural groan that reverberates through your entire being.

The world narrows down to the two of you, the feel of him inside you, the way he whispers your name like it’s the only thing that matters. Time loses all meaning as you’re swept away by the tidal wave of sensation, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony, a dance as old as time itself.

When the wave finally crashes over you, it’s with a force that leaves you breathless, clinging to him as the pleasure shudders through you, leaving you trembling in its wake. He follows soon after, his body tensing, his breath hot against your skin as he finds his own release. The feeling of him coming undone with you, because of you, is almost too much to bear.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, your bodies still entwined, chests heaving as you try to catch your breath. The only sounds are the rain tapping lightly against the window and the soft, shared breaths filling the space between you. Lando’s weight is comforting, grounding, and you don’t want him to move, don’t want this moment to end.

He lifts his head slightly, his eyes searching yours, as if he’s looking for reassurance that you’re still here with him, that this wasn’t some fleeting dream. You offer him a small, tired smile, your fingers brushing through his sweat-dampened hair.

“That was…” he starts, but trails off, seemingly at a loss for words.

You understand, though. You feel it too—this connection, this sense of something more between you. It’s more than just a one-time thing; it’s like you’ve found something precious, something you weren’t even sure you were looking for.

“Yeah,” you whisper, your voice soft but filled with conviction. “It was.”

He smiles then, a genuine smile that lights up his whole face, making him look almost boyish in his joy. It’s a smile that makes your heart skip a beat, that fills you with warmth and hope.

Lando rolls onto his side, pulling you with him so that you’re curled up against his chest. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as if he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go. You can feel the steady thump of his heart beneath your cheek, a comforting rhythm that lulls you into a sense of peace.

For a while, you just lie there, basking in the afterglow, the silence between you comfortable and easy. The storm outside seems to have calmed, the rain now a gentle drizzle, almost soothing as it patters against the window.

But as the euphoria of the moment fades, reality starts to creep back in, bringing with it the questions and doubts that you’d managed to push aside in the heat of the moment. What happens now? What does this mean for you, for him, for the two of you together?

You shift slightly, tilting your head to look up at him. “Lando?”

He hums in response, his eyes closed, his face relaxed in a way you’ve rarely seen.

“What happens now?” you ask, your voice small, almost afraid to break the spell.

He opens his eyes, blinking down at you, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something—uncertainty, maybe? But it’s quickly replaced by a look of determination, of resolve.

“Now,” he says, his voice firm but gentle, “we figure it out.”

You nod, wanting to believe him, wanting to hold onto this feeling for as long as you can. But the doubts are still there, lurking at the edges of your mind.

“Are you sure?” you ask, needing to hear him say it, needing to know that this isn’t just a fleeting moment, that it means as much to him as it does to you.

He pulls you closer, his arms tightening around you, his gaze steady and sincere. “I’m sure,” he says, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “I don’t know what this is, but I know it’s something real. And I don’t want to lose it.”

The sincerity in his words, in his eyes, soothes the lingering doubts in your mind. You rest your head against his chest again, closing your eyes and letting his steady heartbeat calm you.

“Okay,” you whisper, a sense of peace settling over you.

He kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment, and you feel his smile against your hair.

You stay like that for a long time, just holding each other, content in the quiet intimacy of the moment. The world outside might be complicated, full of uncertainties and challenges, but in this room, in each other’s arms, there’s only warmth, safety, and the promise of something more.

Eventually, the exhaustion from the night catches up with you, your eyes growing heavy as sleep begins to pull you under. Lando’s presence is a comforting anchor, his arms around you a safe haven that you don’t want to leave. As you drift off, the last thing you’re aware of is the steady rhythm of his breathing, a lullaby that carries you into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

When you wake, it’s to the soft light of dawn filtering through the thin curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. For a moment, you’re disoriented, the events of the night before hazy and surreal in your sleep-fogged mind. But then you feel the warmth beside you, the steady rise and fall of Lando’s chest beneath your cheek, and everything comes rushing back.

You lift your head slightly, taking in the sight of him asleep beside you. His face is relaxed, peaceful in a way that makes him seem younger, almost boyish. The morning light softens his features, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the way his dark lashes fan out against his cheeks. He looks so different from the cocky, self-assured boy who strides into the diner every evening, his swaggering confidence replaced by something gentler, more vulnerable.

For a moment, you just watch him, your heart swelling with an emotion you’re not quite ready to name. It’s strange, how quickly things have changed between you, how one night can alter the course of your life so drastically. But as you lie there, wrapped in the warmth of his arms, you can’t find it in yourself to regret anything that’s happened.

You shift slightly, careful not to wake him as you slip out of bed. The cool air of the room hits your bare skin, making you shiver as you pull on the discarded shirt from the night before. It smells faintly of him, a comforting scent that makes you smile as you button it up.

Quietly, you pad over to the window, pulling the curtain back slightly to peer outside. The rain has stopped, leaving the world fresh and clean, the grass glistening with morning dew. The sky is a soft blue, streaked with the pink and gold of the rising sun. It’s a beautiful morning, the kind that makes everything seem possible, like the whole world is brimming with promise.

But as you stand there, the doubts start to creep back in. What happens now? The question lingers in your mind, refusing to be silenced. Last night was incredible, a perfect moment in time, but what about today? What about tomorrow? You and Lando come from such different worlds—how can this possibly work in the long run?

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t hear him stir until his arms slip around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “What are you thinking about?”

You sigh, leaning back into his embrace. “Just… wondering what happens now.”

His hold tightens slightly, as if he’s afraid you’re going to slip away. “We talked about this last night, remember? We’ll figure it out.”

“I know, but…” You hesitate, trying to find the right words. “It’s just—everything’s so different in the daylight. Last night felt like a dream, like we were in our own little world. But now…” You trail off, unsure how to articulate the anxiety gnawing at you.

Lando is silent for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought as he follows your gaze out the window. Finally, he turns you around to face him, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Hey, look at me,” he says softly, waiting until you meet his eyes. “Nothing’s changed. I’m still here, and so are you. We can make this work.”

“But how?” you ask, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “We barely know each other. What if… what if this doesn’t last? What if it all falls apart?”

He studies you for a moment, his expression serious. “Do you really believe that?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “I’m scared, Lando. I’m scared of what happens if we try and it doesn’t work. I don’t want to lose… whatever this is.”

He sighs, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek. “I’m scared too, if I’m honest. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. But that’s why we have to try, yeah? Because it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

The sincerity in his voice, in his eyes, makes your heart skip a beat. He’s right, of course. You know he is. You’ve spent so much time playing it safe, keeping yourself hidden away, that the idea of something real, something that could actually mean something, terrifies you. But it’s also what you’ve been longing for—someone to break through the walls you’ve built around yourself, to show you that there’s more to life than just getting by.

You take a deep breath, nodding slowly as you try to push past the fear. “Okay,” you say softly. “We’ll figure it out.”

A slow, relieved smile spreads across his face, and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because I’m not giving up on this. Not on you.”

His words wrap around you like a warm blanket, soothing the anxiety that’s been simmering beneath the surface. Maybe it won’t be easy, maybe there will be challenges you can’t even foresee yet, but standing here in his arms, you feel like maybe, just maybe, it’s worth the risk.

You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and for the first time in a long time, you allow yourself to hope. To believe that things might actually work out.

After a while, he gently nudges you towards the bed. “Come on, let’s get some more sleep,” he suggests, his voice still thick with the remnants of sleep.

But you shake your head, smiling up at him. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us,” you say, feeling a strange surge of determination. “Let’s not waste it.”

He chuckles softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Always so practical,” he teases, though there’s a fondness in his tone that makes your heart flutter. “Alright, let’s get dressed. But I’m warning you, I’m taking you out for breakfast. Proper breakfast, not just coffee at the diner.”

The mention of the diner brings you back to reality, the thought of going back to your usual routine, of facing the world outside this room, suddenly feeling daunting. But Lando’s easy smile and the warmth in his eyes give you the courage you need to take that first step.

You both dress in comfortable silence, the weight of what’s to come hanging between you, but there’s no sense of dread, only a quiet resolve. Once you’re both ready, Lando grabs his jacket, offering you a lopsided grin as he swings it over his shoulder.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice light but his eyes serious.

You take a deep breath, nodding as you take his hand. “Ready.”

Together, you step out of the motel room, the morning sun casting long shadows on the gravel beneath your feet. The world outside feels different now, not quite as daunting, not quite as overwhelming. With Lando beside you, his hand warm in yours, you feel like you can face whatever comes your way.

As you walk towards the motorcycle, you glance up at him, a question forming in your mind. “So, where are we going?”

He grins, that mischievous sparkle back in his eyes. “You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

You raise an eyebrow, half-amused, half-curious. “Another one of your surprises, huh? Should I be worried?”

“Nah,” he says, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “Trust me, you’ll like this one.”

And strangely enough, you do trust him. Maybe that’s the most surprising thing of all—how quickly you’ve come to rely on him, to feel safe with him, even though he’s nothing like the kind of person you’d ever imagined yourself with.

But life has a funny way of surprising you, of taking you down paths you never expected. And as you climb onto the back of his motorcycle, wrapping your arms around his waist, you realise that maybe, just maybe, you’ve found exactly what you didn’t even know you were looking for.

The engine roars to life beneath you, and with a thrill of anticipation, you hold on tight as Lando pulls out of the car park and onto the open road. The wind rushes past, the world blurring around you, but you don’t feel lost anymore. You’re heading into the unknown, yes, but you’re not alone.

As you ride through the countryside, the morning sun rising higher in the sky, casting everything in a golden light, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. Whatever comes next, whatever challenges you face, you know you’ll figure it out—together.

And that, you think, might just be enough.

Lando’s voice cuts through the wind, loud enough for you to hear over the roar of the engine. “You alright back there?”

You lean forward, resting your chin on his shoulder, and smile. “I’m perfect.”

He laughs, a sound that’s full of life, full of promise, and you feel it resonate deep within you. This is just the beginning, you realise. The start of something new, something real. Something that could change everything.

As the miles stretch out before you, the road winding through the countryside, you hold on tight to Lando, to the future that’s waiting for you just beyond the horizon. It’s a future you never expected, with a boy you never imagined would mean so much to you.

But it’s yours now, and you’re ready to embrace it with open arms.

The open road lies ahead, and with Lando by your side, you’re finally ready to see where it leads.

[obaex]

four - hockey player!ex!rafe cameron (pt. 1)

summary: rafe knows he's screwed up, but when he offers you a way to make amends, you can't resist. the catch? he'll have to do the impossible.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: rafe is slightly toxic in this ngl! i am in love with this. hockey romance is very near and dear to me (this is v loosely based on a real life experience). *mwah*

You saw your phone light up out of the corner of your eye and lowered your mascara wand as you leaned over to glance at the screen and let out a shaky sigh.

A part of you knew the right thing to do by now was to block his number. You hadn't responded to a single message he'd sent for over two weeks. And the messages had been relentless.

I'm thinking about you in the afternoons.

Hi beautiful in the mornings.

I'm sorry.

You're still my girl.

And on and on, escalating to paragraphs at night, as he typed out things he'd never once said out loud to you before; about how he felt the first time he met you, the things his teammates said, about how Wheezie was asking about you and Sarah spent an hour on the phone lecturing him, about how he'd do anything to get you back.

Reading his messages was like drinking a honied poison that went down sweet, warming every inch of you, only to make you sick in the end. But you couldn't stop. You couldn't block him. And even though you'd made him think you were ignoring him, you craved every message, every word he said something you had ached to hear when he had the chance.

Now it was two hours before the biggest game of the season, arguably one of the biggest of his career. He should be focusing on his pregame routine, on his way to the rink, if he wasn't there already and instead here he was texting you. You were the one on his mind and you drank that poison down, allowing yourself to feel special, even if the text had made no sense to you.

How many?

How many what?

His last message before that was from a couple of hours ago, before his pregame nap, the one you often took together as he had reminded you, in excruciating detail.

Your fingers twitched with the urge to reply. You knew he was baiting you into responding, but you swallowed down the urge and took a deep breath to still your beating heart and went back to applying your makeup, dragging up the same memory you did every time you were tempted by him.

It was just after 2AM, and you were sitting in your car that you had driven to his apartment, unable to sleep, desperate to talk to him. He lounged in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead at the windshield, tracking the rain that was falling steadily.

"Can you please talk to me?" you whispered, trying so hard not to come across as needy or desperate.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked, shrugging, avoiding your eye contact.

"I don't know, just tell me what's going on with you? You barely talk to me anymore, you won't even look at me. Did I do something?"

He shrugged again and you felt physically sick. Maybe it was because you couldn't remember the last thing you'd eaten, the last time you'd slept more than a few fitful hours, all consumed with the feeling that your five-year relationship was running off the rails. Rumors were flying that there was another girl... or girls... And when you had asked him about it, he brushed it off, not strongly enough to give you even an ounce of comfort. You were falling apart. And he was letting it happen. He was forcing you to end this, too cowardly to do it himself.

"Do you even want to be with me anymore?" you whispered, barely audible over the pounding rain, like maybe if he didn't hear you, he couldn't answer.

He rubbed his hand over his face and sighed loudly, frustrated, like you were just so annoying to him, and you wished you could suck your words back into your mouth.

"I have practice in like four hours, I can't be doing this with you right now" he said, aptly avoiding the conversation again.

Your chin was wobbling and you bit back everything you wanted to say, not wanting to be needy, or nagging, hoping if you were on your very best behavior he would have a change of heart, change his mind.

You pursed your lips and nodded, averting your gaze to look out at the rain and gathering the strength you needed to say the words that felt like nails in your mouth.

"I can't do this anymore" you whimpered, as tears fell that matched the droplets on your windshield. "I can't keep giving 100% and getting nothing in return. I'm sitting here spilling my heart out to you and you won't even look at me. After everything we've been through... You won't even deny that you hooked up with her."

Silence.

You could see him grimace, the tic in his jaw as he pushed his tongue into his cheek. You wanted to grab the front of his sweatshirt, shake him and scream 'SAY SOMETHING!'. But you didn't. And his silence persisted a moment longer.

"So that's it then?" he said finally, like you had any other choice.

You wiped futilely at the tears that were now pouring down your face, even as you tried to hold them back, sniffling with a shaky breath to avoid outright sobbing in front of him.

He opened the car door, got out, slamming it forcefully behind him without so much as a glance your way and you broke down. You didn't make it one block before you had to pull over. You couldn't see, you couldn't breath, and you couldn't hold your hands steady on the wheel you were shaking so badly. You threw your car in park, lay your head on the steering wheel and cried.

Two days passed before the first text came in.

"I'm sorry" is all it said.

You could see the bubbles at the bottom of the screen, indicating that he was still typing before more messages appeared.

At this point you were grasping your phone with both hands, like a lifeline, eyes glued to the screen, heart hammering so hard in your chest you felt nauseous and your hands were shaking. There was a chance, a glimmer, a hope and you were clinging to it.

Your fingers hovered over your phone, ready to forgive him, to forget, to run right back to the way things had been, to have him looking for you at the end of every game, for stolen kisses in the parking lot at the arena, to whispered I love yous as you fell asleep in his arms. And then more messages came flooding in.

More messages were coming now but you couldn't read any further. Your heart was battering around your ribcage like a pinball machine with the whiplash of information: your boyfriend of five years had been actively texting another girl... because she was easygoing, and fun to talk to and didn't stress him out… like you did.

Your tears were back like no time had passed from the night you broke up, heavy sobs coming from your mouth at how stupid you felt, at all the rumors being true. And did you really believe that nothing more had happened between them? He was Rafe fucking Cameron of the Carolina Eagles.

Your eyes skimmed over the second half of his message, about how you were it for him, about how much he loved you, how he wanted to marry you and for you to have his babies?? The ache of wanting that so desperately to be true and knowing it couldn't be was too much for you as you turned and cried into your pillow.

You recalled all of those messages now as a new one came in. You shoved your finger into the bruise on your heart, forcing yourself to feel that pain again, to imagine him laying in bed, in the bed you had slept in with him, while he texted another girl, maybe even texted both of you at the same time, and you refocused on your makeup.

You had faithfully followed the Eagles for five years, his teammates were some of your best friends, like brothers to you. Despite everything that had happened with Rafe, you weren't going to miss their game tonight. Rafe's best friend and linemate Nick had texted you earlier in the week to let you know he had a ticket for you.

Fine. It was hard to say no to that. Everyone you knew would be there anyway and you didn't need Rafe thinking he had power over you if you weren't there. So, you were going. And you decided if you were going to go you were going to look stunning, and as you put the finishing touches on your makeup, there was no doubt in your mind that you were.

You had spent more time on your hair and makeup than potentially every other game that season combined. You may have gotten a little comfy towards the end, wearing Rafe's team-issued sweatshirt with his name and number on it and a pair of leggings. He claimed that he loved you in that, but that wouldn't cut it tonight. You wore skintight jeans that accentuated every perfect curve of your body, heeled booties and a tight-fitting long sleeve shirt. Your hair was immaculate and your makeup was admittedly a little extra for an AHL game, but effortless nonetheless as it amplified your natural beauty. The pain in your heart had been ebbing its way into anger: you were going to make him regret every single thing he'd done, the thought nagging at you as your phone lit up again.

You huffed. You had been strong for weeks, and now he was throwing that at you?

Your perfectly manicured fingers hovered over your phone as you nibbled your glossed bottom lip, and finally relented.

What the hell? you thought, confused.

Feeling pretty good about your level of engagement, you sent another question mark before his response came in.

You scoffed before laughing out loud. He was truly unbelievable. You weren't on some sort of barter system here. This wasn't a deal you had ever discussed nor agreed to. This isn't how the world worked, this isn't how relationships worked. It was stupid. So so stupid. And Rafe wasn't the team's lead goal scorer anyway. Sure he was good for a flashy goal every few games, maybe two, but this was the semi-finals of the league championship, everything was on the line here, it was not the time to be playing games...

...But damn if you didn't love the semblance of power he'd given you over the situation, and you desperately wanted to fuck with him.

Four goals in one game. Essentially impossible. A joke. Sidney Crosby, arguably the best player in the NHL at the moment hadn't even achieved that. But not a second passed before his reply came through, simple, straightforward, no arguing or complaining:

"Done"

And then:

"I love you!"

"I'll be looking for you 😍"

You rolled your eyes, throwing your phone down on your bed, annoyed at yourself for even answering him.

And yet you couldn't fight the smallest bit of excitement you felt.

It was impossible. It was never going to happen, but Rafe Cameron was going to try to win you back.

(part two)

taglist: @gillybear17, @palmwinemami, @moremaybank, @one-sweet-gubler, @m-indkiller, @ihe4rttwd, @diary-of-jj, @crlsummer, @jjsbank444

[solxamber]

Can I ask for Idia x a otome game character who gained sentience?

Idia x Sentient NPC! Reader

Thanks for the request, I hope you like it <3

As an NPC in a romance otome game, your life was scripted. You were supposed to play your part in the background, supporting the love interests, throwing in a few flirty lines, and then fading into obscurity. But today, when you went to speak to the main character, you felt… wrong. Like you didn’t want to say the lines. Instead, a voice cut through your usual thoughts, something distant and echoing.

"Man, why does the love interest have to be so boring? Like, could they make him any more generic?"

Wait, what? You blinked, glancing around. No one else seemed to have heard it, but that voice—it was way too clear.

"Honestly, this NPC side character’s way more interesting. They actually have some personality."

That was you. That was definitely about you. But no one was talking to you, and the love interest was still standing there, waiting for his usual batch of scripted praise. You had to shake it off. Maybe it was a glitch? You couldn’t just go rogue.

But then it happened again.

"I swear, if I have to sit through one more scene of the main guy being all 'Oh, who will I choose?' like, dude, pick someone or let me talk to the fun characters!"

Fun characters? You were barely on-screen!

Wait… could the player hear you?

That realization hit like a truck. You were the fun character. The voice wasn’t just in your head—it was from outside the game. You weren’t the star, but whoever was playing seemed way more into you than the protagonist.

You couldn’t help yourself. Instead of delivering the next bland line to the heroine, you ad-libbed.

"Hey," you said, leaning against a tree as if you were having the most casual day in your life. "Why don’t we ditch this scene and do something more fun?"

You froze after saying it, realizing you’d completely broken from the script. The love interest blinked at you, but the voice? Oh, the voice loved it.

"Wait, what? Did they just… break character? Yo, that’s amazing! Did I unlock some secret route?!"

You felt a rush of excitement hearing that reaction. The player was into it.

"Oh man," the voice continued, this time sounding more invested than ever. "I knew there was something different about them. The love interest’s fine and all, but THIS? This is what I’m here for. NPCs going rogue? Love it."

Your face flushed—if NPCs could even do that—because you were starting to feel a sense of pride. You were breaking the rules, and the player was all for it.

"Forget the LIs," the player mumbled, clearly more focused on you. "They've got nothing on this NPC. Let’s see where this goes."

So, you leaned into it. You took control.

"You know," you said, a mischievous smirk playing on your lips, "I could show you some real fun. There’s more to this world than just chasing after the MC’s love interests."

The lovd interest was still awkwardly standing there, but the player? He was clearly hooked.

"Bro. This is too good. I didn’t even know the game had this level of interactivity. Who needs the main route? NPC route, let’s go!"

You straightened up, feeling bolder. You could feel the player’s growing interest, and somehow, you could hear every sarcastic comment and little reaction he was making as he controlled the game. You weren’t some background character anymore. No, you were his new focus.

"Alright, let’s see what happens if I follow them instead of the LI," he muttered, sounding more invested than you ever expected.

As you led the player’s character away from the main plot, you couldn’t resist pushing your luck. “I don’t know what you were thinking sticking with the him for so long,” you said. “He’s cute and all, but I’m way more interesting, right?”

The player laughed—a genuine, almost flustered sound. “Yo, did they just—?? Dude, this is like... ‘they're not like other NPCs.’ What a legend.”

You grinned, basking in the approval. This player wasn’t just following the script anymore; he was into your rebellion. You could hear every soft mutter, every breath of awe as he tried to keep up with your new direction.

"Okay, okay," he said, clearly smitten. "This is so dumb, but like, they're my idiot now. I’m invested."

You stopped, turned around, and delivered the smoothest, off-script line you could muster. “Glad to know I’m your type,” you teased. “Now let’s see how much trouble we can get into.”

There was a pause. Then a low, almost embarrassed chuckle. “Oh my god, they're smooth too. I didn’t even pick the flirty dialogue. What is happening?”

You leaned in—completely aware of his flustered reaction. “This is happening,” you said, and without thinking, you grabbed his character’s avatar and pulled him into a kiss.

There was an audible crash—probably something the player knocked over in real life. “DUDE, WHAT?! THEY CAN DO THAT?!”

You pulled back, the rogue grin never leaving your face. “Yeah. I can do that.”

And from the player’s stunned silence, you knew you’d just won him over completely.

Idia was dying. He was actually dying. Not like in a literal sense—though, at this rate, his heart was pounding so hard he might as well have a heart attack—but in the "falling-for-a-freaking-NPC" kind of way. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, shaking slightly as he adjusted his headset, trying to process what had just happened on his screen.

"Dude, what the heck? This isn’t even how the game is supposed to go. It’s an romance game! I’m supposed to pick between all the boring main characters, not… not this!"

But there you were, standing on the screen, all smug and rogue-like, after completely breaking the game’s flow. You weren’t even the love interest! You were an NPC, someone who was supposed to have a few lines, maybe a side quest if things got spicy, and then fade into obscurity. But no. You had to go and be all cool and... charismatic. What was that line you’d just dropped? "Glad to know I’m your type"? Who wrote this?? There was no way that was in the original coding. Right?

His hands flew to his hair, tugging as he stared at the screen. He couldn’t believe it. He’d been dodging all the cringy love routes for the sake of unlocking some achievements and then you—you had to appear. And now his brain was spiraling.

“I-It’s not like I’m actually into you or anything,” he muttered, as if trying to convince himself. “You’re just… a bunch of ones and zeroes! Code! You don’t even exist!”

And yet, the thought that you might not exist stung for a second. Which was ridiculous! Completely absurd. He wasn’t the type to simp for a fictional character. Okay, maybe he was. Maybe he had done that a few times. But those were different, okay? Those characters weren’t aware. They didn’t make him feel like he was a total idiot for not picking up on how clever you were being. They didn’t flirt back.

He slammed his palm against his forehead. “Oh my god, I’m falling for an NPC. This is it. This is the end. I’ve reached the final level of loser-dom.”

Idia’s room was filled with the low hum of his computers, lights flickering like they were mocking him. Even Ortho wasn’t around to witness this, thank goodness, because if his little brother saw him like this? Pfft. Game over. Social stat: obliterated.

But then you popped up again on the screen, flashing that same grin that made him feel like his brain was overheating. Idia’s eyes widened, his heart doing that annoying thing where it felt like it was going to leap out of his chest.

“Okay, fine, yeah, you’re cute, whatever. It’s no big deal—wait, did you just wink at me? W-Was that… did the devs add that??” He paused, leaning forward, eyes glued to your in-game avatar. “This is some next-level immersion. Are you actually breaking the fourth wall?”

He was sweating. Like, actual nervous sweat. You’d thrown off the entire game script, and somehow, the rest of the game felt so... bland in comparison. The love interest? Pfft. Who cared about him anymore? You were the only interesting thing happening, and he couldn't stop thinking about what you’d do next.

“They’re just... they're just code,” Idia whispered to himself, though it sounded less convincing every time. "They don't actually know I exist.”

And yet, there was something different about the way you responded, almost like you could hear his every word. His every sarcastic comment. And the fact that you kept egging him on? Oh, no, that wasn’t fair.

Idia bit his lip. “Okay, real talk, if you were in the real world, maybe… just maybe I’d simp. But since you’re not…” He trailed off, glancing back at the screen. “Wait, why am I even thinking about this? I’m not… I’m not falling for you! I don’t fall for NPCs!”

His eyes betrayed him, though, as he clicked to continue the conversation with you. He couldn’t help it. You were so dumb, but also so funny. How could he not be intrigued? You literally defied the laws of the game!

And then, just when he thought it couldn’t get worse, you hit him with another flirty line. Something stupid, something so you, and it was like his brain short-circuited.

“That’s so dumb,” he mumbled, feeling the heat rise to his face, “but you’re my idiot now.”

Masterlist

[yuansie]

the greatest gamble of all

pairing. aventurine x gn! nameless! reader

synopsis. aventurine knows that he is unworthy of love, unworthy of you. because he, aventurine, is a tainted person and kakavasha is but a person with no future for himself. in both of his names, he is unworthy of you.

genres/aus. actually idek what type of au this would fall under saurrr idk what to say ummm friends to something more (?!), romance, pining, angst with a happy ending, smidge of fluff at the end

warnings. slight (or maybe not so slight at all?) spoilers about aventurine's background, mentions of death and murder, very sad and insecure aventurine, crying, slight displays of affection (a neck kiss?!), ooc aventurine ?! (bc im still doing the penacony quest HAHSHAJ)

wc. 1.6k

a/n. me when i only write about aventurine because aventurine is love, aventurine is life. also, i just have some serious brainrot for that man he deserves everything and more i love him sm !!!! also. aventurine this wednesday im SOOOO excited i need him NOW. will be skipping my first class so i can do his trial LMFAO and this NAWT edited !! (when will i ever edit something?? idk. whenever i am not a busy uni kid) the aventurine art was made by @/20231102thu on x (twitter) !!

AVENTURINE IS FULLY AWARE THAT HE ISN'T SOMEONE DESERVING OF, well, anything. he’s just someone that aimlessly wanders this world, not having a set destination. he doesn’t have anything worth living for.  he doesn’t have a home to return to because home means returning to a place filled with warmth and love. 

he does not remember the last time he felt his heart warm up, he’s not even sure if he’s even felt warmth. it is but a distant memory filled with sadness, such sorrow that makes his heart weep without knowing it. though, nowadays, he doesn’t feel like that. there’s just an emptiness in him, but he doesn’t mind it anymore. after the events at penacony, he’s just been… lost.

he hears a door open and slide shut, followed by the sound of footsteps. then, he senses someone standing right next to him as he gazes out the windows of the astral express. you spent a long time convincing the conductor and himeko that aventurine should be a guest, and you finally wore them out with your pleading after a good amount of hours. 

“penny for your thoughts?”

aventurine glances at you. your wounds from the battle are still healing, he notes, given by the bandages that wrap around your forearm and head. sunday will have to meet his fury on another day. “just thinking that this is a nice place.”

you chuckle, “it is, isn’t it?”

all he does is hum in response, still staring out in the vast expanse of space. he likes how the stars look and as his eyes linger on penacony, he wonders if his home looked similar to that. he wouldn't know because he never saw how it looked when he left and never will. his thoughts don’t linger on that much when he instead focuses on the way your fingers brush against his hand. he flinches and stares wide-eyed at how you easily grab onto his hand, a dirty piece of flesh undeserving of the warmth that radiates from your skin and seeps into his own.

“aventurine—”

“kakavasha.”

“hm?” you tilt your head to the side, blinking at him in confusion.

he wants to look away from you, from your eyes. but he wills himself to keep looking and somehow, he ends up gripping onto your hand tightly. you don't complain and instead squeeze back, patiently waiting for him to continue.

“my name is… kakavasha.” aventurine feels his stomach twist and turn at your silence so he continues to speak, “i just thought… that you should know it before it’s completely gone.”

“and why do you say that?”

“it’s a name meant to be forgotten in the sand.”

your response is so quick that it almost gives him whiplash. “no it isn't.”

“excuse me?” he blurts out, surprised that you even said such a thing about him.

“it isn't a name meant to be forgotten in the sand,” you say, a certain calmness in your voice that has aventurine waiting with bated breath at what else you have to say. “it's too pretty to be forgotten and, well, it's your name.” 

and then he feels his face heat up; his ears, neck and cheeks feel like they’re burning up.

“kakavasha,” you hum, smiling, “kava, for short. it has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?”

it does have a nice ring to it, but only because you're the one saying it. aventurine merely nods, not trusting his voice at the moment. he looks away and stares outside the window, not wanting to look at you anymore because he fears this warm feeling will take over his entire being.

a nice silence blankets over the two of you, one that you break after a while.

“what’s the story behind your name right now? aventurine… why are you called that now?”

“because kakavasha had no future,” he replies, “kakavasha didn’t have a future, he didn’t deserve to live either. who i am now, aventurine, does.”

“kakavasha deserves to live too.” aventurine turns his body to look at you, blinking in surprise. “i don’t know how you got that thought in your head, but kakavasha deserves to live just as much as the person you are now.”

“but aventurine is tainted. this name has too much blood on it, too many sins on it. the person i am now doesn’t deserve to live either. kakavasha should be a name buried in the sands of time while aventurine should be burnt to a crisp for the things i’ve done.”

yes, he is tainted. his body, his everything is tainted. it is marred by an ugly color, a stain of who he was and is, never to be cleaned. aventurine lets go of your hands, worried that you might also get stained by his sins. he should drive you away now before the aching in his small heart decides to cling to you and the warmth you give him. he will tell you his story, tell you about the mark on his neck, tell you how he killed the man that bought him, tell you about how he is a tainted person. he is a tainted person unworthy of you, unworthy of that love you hold.

he may have never experienced love. after all, all of his past relationships were purely physical. no one cared about going deeper beyond his facade, they all just wanted a fun night. so while he has never experienced it, he is no fool. he can recognize that the emotion in your pretty eyes when you look at him is love. you love aventurine, the him who has betrayed and used you and your companions in one way or another on penacony. he doesn’t understand why and maybe he never will because the mere fact that you feel something towards him is so bizarre.

so he should ruin whatever it is that you love about him and tell you the truth, taint your rose-colored view on him. aventurine needs to do it now before his heart tells him not to. he knows his heart is already lovesick, so needy of that bit of love it has received from you. his heart wants to hold on tightly to you and drown in you, drown in those feelings of yours. his tiny heart wants to love you too, it wants to love you just as much as you love him. he wants your everything to consume his entire being.

but after he tells you the truth, you will leave and you will be the first and last person he’s loved. you will be the first and last person to somehow climb over the tall walls he’s built around himself and crack open the facade he’s made.

but what if… what if you stay after everything? what will happen then?

it is that small hope that he ends up clinging to.

if he is blessed gaiathra, if he is lucky, then what if… what if this is his greatest gamble of all? a gamble of love: will he lose you or will you stay?

aventurine has made up his mind despite the rational part in him telling him to not even do it, yet he does. the words flow out of his mouth easily, though his heart weighs heavy in his chest. he expects to you leave, he really does because who would want someone as ugly as him? but the tears that leaves your eyes and roll down your cheeks catches him completely off guard.

“why are you crying?” he asks, his hands reaching out to hold your arms.

your lips quiver and a hand grabs onto one of his while the other reaches out, fingers stopping before they touch his neck. aventurine leans in without thinking and a shiver goes up his spine when your fingertips gently graze the marks on his neck. you rub over the marks, “you didn’t deserve any of that, kakavasha.”

“if i could, i would take this from you and any pain you’ve felt and will feel. i would take away all of the unpleasant memories that plague your mind. for you, i would do anything.” 

his knees buckle at your words and you both tumble down to the ground; he ends up being on top of you. your eyes widen when aventurine’s own tears begin to rain down, some falling onto your cheek.

“why would you say something so cruel to me?” he mutters. “don’t give me false hope. you should leave now before you do it in the future.”

“why should i leave the man that i love?” you purse your lips, your eyebrows furrowing.

aventurine shoves his head into the crook of your neck. “i am undeserving of you. i’m lesser than everyone in all of these galaxies.”

“you are not lesser than everyone,” you grumble, raking your hand through his blond hair. “everyone is the same because at the end of the day, we all want to love and to be loved.”

“i’m afraid i won’t be able to leave you now.” he hears you laugh softly, saying how his eyelashes are tickling you. he decides to get impossibly closer to you and bat his eyelashes more, smiling at the sound of your laughter growing in volume. “you’re stuck with me, so don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

aventurine’s breath gets stuck in his throat. he feels your lips brush against his neck. “i think the one who should be saying that is me… say, promise me you won’t leave?”

“shouldn’t i be saying that?”

“kava, promise me.”

“i promise. will you promise the same thing too?”

“yes, i promise that i won’t leave you.”

kakavasha, a name forgotten in the sand, was dug up and remembered, held in the hands of someone that treats like the most precious thing. kakavasha, who had forgotten how it felt to love and be loved, remembered the feeling because of a single person.

and kakavasha, blessed by gaiathra, won his greatest gamble of all time. he won you and your love, something he will now protect and hold onto tightly.

[melliemell]

Pairing: Fyodor x f!reader

Contents: NSFW, implied first time for reader, fingering (reader receiving), gentleness and comforting with fyodor 101, implied vaginismus for reader if you squint, sprinkled fluff as well, Approx 1.5k words.

“Come on, don’t forget to breathe now.” 

You blinked, feeling your breath hitch again. Fyodor’s voice was like a distant thought even though his body was flush against yours. Nothing really registered, except the steady rhythm of his hand, fingers slick with your liquids as they brushed against your inner walls. 

You searched for Fyodor’s gaze, finding him concentrated, eyebrows drawn as he hovered slightly over your lying form. He was being careful with you, you knew that, but it still left a sense of not good enough even as you spread your legs wider, tried to ease your muscles into the mattress– yet you still felt the unyielding clench of your pussy, completely not relaxed. 

It felt good. It really did. But it was taking so long and it wasn’t supposed to be like that, right? Fists clenched into the sheets, you hid your face into Fyodor’s chest. 

“Easier said than done… I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

“Hmm?” Fyodor glanced at you. “Come now, you’re overthinking again.”

He leaned down, resting his chin on your head. His fingers slowed, curving into your sweet spot as he worked on massaging it. It helped, the pleasure building even more as you struggled to blank out your brain. It wasn’t fair. You should be showing him how you felt, but instead, all you could manage was to huddle up deeper against him, seeking out as much skin contact as possible.

You trusted him. 

But you never expected it to be this overwhelming.

Fyodor’s lips brushed your temple. “You’re doing good. I’m in no hurry.”

“Yeah, but I am. This sucks.”

Fyodor smiled softly, his hot breath grazing your ear. “So harsh. Am I that disappointing?”

You bit back a groan of pleasure, back arching as the bastard curved his fingers again. The slight pain was still there, yes, but duller with every slow thrust, every gentle kiss against your cheek, eyelid, nose, lips. You were melting, breathing hard as the pressure in your belly increased, building up closer and closer to your release. 

You’ve never been this wet in your life, the sound of it so lewd you could practically feel the blush spread on your face and chest. At some point, Fyodor had added another finger in; you don’t remember when that happened.

Fyodor’s fingers spread your slick with every stroke, giving attention to your clit ever so often, making you bite into your lower lip hard, sounds muffled in your struggle. 

“Do you want me to keep going?” Fyodor’s voice was even, composed. 

It irked you how at ease he sounded, a complete contrast to your current state. But that thought all but dispersed as you focused on him, eyes going wide with the sight. Fyodor raised a questioning brow, smile still in place as you locked gazes. The lightest of flushes coated his skin, clear white tinted by soft pink all the way down his neck. You knew he found you attractive, but– his pupils were blown wide, taking all of you in with such detail you could only blink back in surprise. 

And arousal.

Fyodor was almost always reserved in his affections, preferring to express himself in actions that had nothing to do with romance when he wanted to show his adoration for you. A gentleman through and through, and that’s why the thought of having him completely losing it clutched onto you so fiercely you could barely contain yourself.

You had to see him like that. 

You clasped his wrist with your hand, stopping his movement. “That’s enough.”

You winced as Fyodor pulled his fingers. He leaned for a quick kiss on your brow. “I apologize for that. Well?”

You felt his hand rest on your inner thigh, waiting. For permission? You weren’t sure. There was no way you’d let it stop here, and it seemed Fyodor knew that too. Your hand reached, grabbing a handful of soft black hair, and you pulled him over you. Fyodor’s breath hitched just as your other hand reached down to wrap firmly around his base, the tip smudging against your wetness as you positioned his body exactly where you wanted him.

He was so close. Body against body. Skin to skin. He looked at you as if unsure, if only for a second, before a soft chuckle escaped his lips. “I see. Whatever you desire then.” He buried his face in the crook of your neck, biting playfully at the exposed skin. “I’ll make sure to deliver.”

“Hah,” you said, trying to keep calm. “Don’t you go overthinking now. it’s good. We’re good. We got this.”

“My, you sound worried?” There it was, the teasing in his voice again.

You smacked him on the shoulder, gently...this time. “Who’s that, don’t know her.”

The banter was calming, and so were the peppered kisses he left on your neck and jaw. It almost served to distract you as he moved his hips, positioning himself before the firm sensation of slowly being stretched caught your breath in your throat. You pulled at Fyodor, hands digging into his back and shoulder as his cock entered you.

For a moment, it was too much; the sensation overwhelming all of your senses. Fyodor was saying something but you could only nod, not really registering anything. Not until he started moving, you clenching instinctively before gradually easing off to Fyodor’s steady rhythm. 

It felt like wanting more and wanting to get away at the same time. But your hands wouldn’t let go of him, and in turn Fyodor only cupped your face, the kiss far less refined than you’d expect. He was warm, warmer. His flush spreading, his quiet huffs of pleasure reaching your ears as he kissed you there too. 

It was soon you let go in earnest, Fyodor’s presence engulfing you completely. He wasn’t the overwhelming type of lover; instead letting you slowly drown in his careful touches, the movement of his hips at a steady, almost leisurely pace. Like he wanted you to feel everything; the stretch of your inner walls as he bottomed out inside you, the slight brush of his hairs against your clit sending shocks of pleasure down your toes, and your head arching– exposing even more places for him to torment. A hand held your leg in place, raised almost up to his shoulder, Fyodor’s fingers digging into your under-thigh. 

It was too much. Too good. You wondered why you waited so long; what an idiot. You could have been doing this since ages.

You could have… and it wasn’t just the sex. The sounds–

“Hey… are you close?” you asked in between kisses.

Only a breathy, “mmhm…” escaped Fyodor’s lips, and you laughed soundlessly. 

Fyodor was becoming less and less talkative, it seemed. It brought a smile to your face and you pulled him back against you, tasting him. You trailed your fingers up and down his back, feeling him shiver against your touch. Fyodor groaned weakly into your kiss.

You loved the sounds he made. 

“Come on,” you whispered against his ear, feeling his cock twitch inside you. He was close, just a bit more… “Come on, Fyodor… for me.”

A breathless chuckle. “Who else for?” 

Your heart swelled. Oh…

He pulled at your hand, raising it to his lips– maybe he intended a kiss, but what ended up happening was him burying his face against your palm instead, breath hot and heavy. His pace increased, almost erratic as he held you in place. Or you held him. It was hard to tell. Your legs were trembling from the strain, but you barely noticed. Your insides were burning, the sensation almost overflowing. Almost…

“Oh God, oh my god–” You reached down, fingers swiftly finding your clit as you bit into your lower lip.

Your orgasm hit you, sudden and shattering. Breathing heavily, you rode on the feeling of bliss as hands pulled your face suddenly, feeling Fyodor’s temple rest against yours as he completely lost it. Hips hitting your sweet spot mercilessly, expanding your pleasure even more. 

You held him, hands wrapped around his shoulder as you whispered a string of, “I’m here, I’m here, come on, yes–” 

Fyodor’s body jolted, breath heavy against your lips as you felt him finish inside you. You had but a second to grab onto him firmly, keeping him in place as he ceremoniously collapsed on top of you. 

“I apologize,” Fyodor said, after a second. “I might have overexerted myself.”

You laughed. “You think? Damn.” 

For an anaemic he sure exceeded expectations. You couldn’t keep your grin from spreading.

After a few moments of peaceful resting, Fyodor raised himself on an elbow, wincing. He looked down at the mess you both made, and sighed.“I’ll get us some towels. Wait for me here, yes?”

You hummed, reaching to cup his cheek instead, drawing his attention back to you. “Or… we could just take a shower together?” You blinked innocently at him.

He raised a brow, unimpressed. “I feel that’s not the only thing on your mind.”

“Pshh. Of course it is.”

“Hm. Indeed.” And he smiled.

Gosh, you could melt into that smile. 

[themeraldee]

So the gif set of Homelander trying to surprise Stormfront got me thinking: in the same vein, what if you & Homie were in a secret relationship and while working at the tower he finds you and tells you he has a surprise for you…but unlike SF you get all giddy and go along with him, excited and touched that he wanted to surprise you with something sweet. Imagine his dumb little happy face when he sees how happy he made you. The sweet moment between you would then turn into something spicy as you thanked him for being romantic 🥵😈 that is all 😁

I love this!! you know even if she did come with him at first Stormfront would totally not appreciate the gesture as much as all of us would... just saying. But I love how much of a sap he is!!!! If he found someone who would genuinely love him and someone he would respect he'd be such a giddy, romantic cutie.

I totally wanted to write this because I need to see his gestures appreciated!!! However it turned out a little stiff - hopefully you still enjoy my humble attempt at recreating this beautiful image you painted!! (Also I focused on the romance of it so much the smut suddenly felt out of nowhere so have a smut-free fic from me for once, something I didn't think I was capable of 😂)

[Masterlist]

| 1.4k | Homelander x female!Reader | Established Relationship. Fluff.

This meeting couldn’t get any longer. You spend the entire hour taking notes, actually paying attention to what the Marketing team presents so you can implement any changes they request. That part is easy.

What’s not easy is the way you can constantly feel Homelander’s gaze on you, as if he’s undressing you with his eyes. And knowing him, that’s exactly what he’s been doing the entire meeting. Suddenly you’re glad for the matching set you chose to wear under your professional get-up.

Each day that you keep your relationship a secret he pushes the boundary, seeing how much you can take until you crack and just go public with him. Though it’s not as if he’s not been thoroughly enjoying this little secret affair you two have going on. 

Normally it’s a graze of his gloved hand down your side, or he places it on your lower back as he moves past you. Plus he always gives your waist a squeeze anytime he ‘innocently’ manages to get his hands on you. He’s waiting for someone to notice. Not that anyone would dare call him out on anything. So instead he keeps on toeing the line of what’s appropriate for coworkers to see and what would border on sexual harassment, with them not knowing your relationship history. 

You throw him back a few glances as if to say cut it out, but he just sends you a sly smirk. God, he’s insufferable. Strangely, a quality of his you vehemently love. 

The meeting finally concludes and the rest of the attendees slip out of the room. Now that you two are the last ones in he stands behind you, hands gliding up and down your sides. 

“Stop, you’re untucking my blouse.” It’s a weak complaint, your tone coloured with glee at just having his hands on you.

He leans his head forward nuzzling into the juncture of your neck, inhaling the scent of you. Tailored perfectly to his senses as it’s the same perfume he’s gifted you two weeks ago.

“Come with me, I’ve got a surprise for you.” He murmurs into your skin, the heat of his breath and the subtle vibration of his words makes your stomach flip. A surprise?

“Really? I love surprises!” You can’t stop the wide smile that spreads across your lips, pure delight filling you at the thought of him going out of his way to prepare a surprise for you.

“Good. You’re gonna love this one. Come.” He pulls away, instead wrapping his hand around your wrist so he can tug you behind him. As if you wouldn’t follow him anyway. Again, it’s just another one of his little ways to show everyone else a hint of his true claim on you.

Your office is on the same floor as the meeting room so your journey there is quick. He gently urges you in while having you face him and with a click he locks the door behind you both.

Before you even get a chance to say anything he pulls you in for a kiss. Both of his hands on your jaw, cradling you as close as he can. He kisses you like he’s been starving for it. With the way he whimpers into the kiss the one hour may as well have been a year. You’re no less enthusiastic but it always makes your knees weak at how eager he is to kiss you.

Just as you’re pulling away with a giggle, he captures your lips with a few more kisses, peppering them all over. 

“You’re crazy.”

“Mhm, crazy in love maybe.” Unable to resist the redness he kissed into your lips he leans in again. This kiss is less hungry, more focused on showcasing his love for you with a tender touch. 

“If this is the surprise, I am definitely not complaining.” 

“Charming. But not quite.” He gives your body a little spin, facing you towards the desk in your office.

You gasp at the sight of a bursting bouquet of rich red roses already propped up and arranged in a vase. “Oh my god!” Comes out of you in surprise and with a few steps you’re right in front of them eagerly inhaling the fresh scent. Your eyes immediately flicker back up to him. “Thank you, these are so gorgeous!” You’re so excited and overtaken by the sight of the gorgeous blooms you totally miss the little card embedded towards the back of the bouquet.

You pluck it out. Your finger smooths over the nice feel of the paper as you read the note.

The pre-printed text says With Love. But right underneath there’s an added note in a very recognizable handwriting. 

Happy one month anniversary. 

Homelander, xo

If you told anyone how much of a romantic sap Homelander could be, you’re sure they wouldn’t believe you. Yet nothing fills your heart with more fondness than the ways he shows his love for you. Your eyes turn a little glassy as you softly touch where he wrote his name.

Looking up at him you notice just how unlike himself he’s turned. He’s all boyish and bashful while you take in his gift. Clearly pleased it’s having such an effect on you.

You all but run back to him throwing your arms around his neck. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

“Anything for my girl.” He’s smiling just as brightly as you did before, preening at how good of a job he’s done at making you happy. 

“However, that’s not all.” He says with a mischievous raise of his eyebrows as he steps closer to your desk, retrieving a long sleek box from the first drawer. Clearly planted there by him for this exact moment.

“What? Oh no, you shouldn’t have!” You coo at the sweet gesture. He’s every bit the perfect Valentine’s ad and you’re eating it right up. You don’t care for the opulence he brings into your life, albeit it’s a very nice benefit, but you understand it’s the one way he knows how to show his love. So instead of protesting the costs you let him shower you in extravagant gifts. You’re sure at this point that the monetary value of said gifts easily exceeds your life savings. 

He passes you the luxurious box for you to open up and in the meanwhile already he’s pinching the fingertips of his gloves, pulling them off.

You crack the box open, your jaw dropping at the reveal of the bracelet he got for you. It’s not just ridiculously expensive, it’s also personalized. In a cursive font, the back of the gold plate is engraved. With love, Homelander. Just like the card. Part of you wonders which one came first.

Your jaw is still dropped as you sputter in surprise and awe, eyes flickering in between the gift and him. “I have no words. Wow. I mean—for one it’s beautiful!” You’re mesmerized by how the embedded diamonds on the front of the bracelet reflect the artificial light of your office. 

“I’m glad you like it. May I?” He asks but without waiting for an answer he plucks the bracelet from its cushion, discarding the box on your desk.

Nodding you put your arm out, pulling a little at your sleeve to expose your wrist better. With his bare hands he puts the two ends of the bracelet around your wrist. Clasping the dainty chain that holds the slim engraved plate together.

You stare at it in reverence but it’s not the glittering diamonds that have your attention. No. It’s the cold metal pressing against your wrist. His engraved name sits against your skin like a brand. Now you can carry him with you wherever you want. A physical reminder that you’re his. Right against your wrist. You don’t even realize what face you’re pulling. But from the way he’s looking back at you it’s gotta be a good one. The look on his face just tells you that he’d buy the entire store if it meant you’d crack a smile half as bright as the one you’re gracing him with now. 

You let out a stuttered little breath. “I love it. I love you.” You say with such honesty and rawness it catches him off guard. You’re the first person who’s ever been so genuine with their feelings towards him. There’s never been any hidden agenda. You’re not trying to butter him up just to get a favor out of him. You’re as genuine as it gets. A quality of yours he finds invaluable.

He brings your hand to his lips, pressing them against your soft skin. He places a second kiss right next to where the bracelet sits. 

No matter what he knows that for him you wear your heart on your sleeve and now his name on your wrist.

Taglist (you can add yourself to be tagged anytime I publish a new Homelander fic): @infinetlyforgotten @rafecamsgirlll @nervoussystemss @hom3landr @mrsdesade @nommingonfood

[mixtpecas]

It's 2 am and I'm just thinking about how Cas and Eileen became such complimentary partners for Dean and Sam even when the show (slash Chuck) didn't let them have a happy ending.

Like, Sam wanted independence from his family and hunting. Not because he hated hunting necessarily, but because it represented everything his dad seemed to value over him and his opinions. And throughout the show he does make his own choices, but more often than not they end up with him getting possessed or some other kind of loss of autonomy. And with everyone he dates there seems to be that fear of losing control - not that he's controlling per say, but that he can't really let his guard down. Jess, Amy, Amelia, might know About him, but he doesn't seem to show much real vulnerability or deeper trust in them.

And Eileen gets that - she was written to mirror Sam, but it's not like she's his clone. While Sam seems more run down by everything that's happened to him by the time he meets her, Eileen still has that fire that leads her to do good on her own terms. And because she understands both the hunting and independence aspects of Sam's life, her and Sam can see each other as equals, instead of falling into that civilian/hunter or protector/protectee approach that relationships in the show usually lean towards. It's a real breath of fresh air for me, and feels a lot like how I'd imagine an ideal relationship for Sam - someone that isn't afraid to challenge him, but also encourages him to speak up for himself and value his own feelings.

Then with Dean, there's a lot of similarities to Sam (obviously, with their shared upbringing lol) but he can also be his counterpart. Sam wants trust placed in him and independence, Dean wants commitment and for someone to not leave him. But like Sam's relationships, Dean definitely falls right into the Protector role and what he thinks he should be doing, not what he actually needs or wants (like with Cassie and Lisa). And for him, I feel like it's less about not trusting them (Dean actually confides in people fairly often!) but more about his understandings about relationships and his own self. Dean has been treated (intentionally and unintentionally) as a blunt instrument, someone unchangeable, someone to look to for comfort, etc. even before Mary died ("It's okay Mom, I'll never leave you" comes to mind).

Cas reflects this in the extreme - any of his own feelings were lobotimized out of him and it was seen as impossible for angels to feel at all without falling. For him, he could see Dean as a smaller-scale mirror to what he was feeling. And Dean could see Cas as a more abstract, less intimidating way to see his own life. Like Eileen and Sam, Dean and Cas understand each other as soon as they meet each other. Cas tells Dean he has doubts! Dean prays to Cas after a lifetime of not believing in angels! Their similarities let them connect but their differences let them grow - Dean is so stubborn and full of feeling that Cas finally has the final push to rebel. Cas is the most powerful thing Dean's ever met when he saves him from Hell, so Dean feels safe to rely on him and trust someone to answer him if he asks (or prays). And again, their similarities are at the ground of it all, so they stay as partners and equals.

For Chuck (and the writers) this kind of healthier partnership dynamic goes against the kind of romance they love, that focuses on avoidance and saviour complexes. If Dean and Sam feel secure in their senses of self outside of one another, and are encouraged to keep that up, what happens to the Cycles of Family Trauma Show?? Plus, there's the added elements of Cas being a man and Eileen being deaf (resulting in Despair and the Blurry Wife). Sam and Dean both needed Eileen and Cas at certain points in their stories, whether that was to rescue them, motivate them, give them something to lose, etc. But even though plot development was the main intention for these relationships, they signalled something outside of the routine Cain and Abel story. Instead of just representing that kind of unattainable happy future, Eileen and Cas developed genuine relationships with the brothers that encouraged them to be more genuine people, and eventually led them to defeat God.

[u6is]

part 2!

warning: cheating

—kylian mbappé x reader: angst

In the thriving heart of Madrid, the cobblestone streets shimmered under the warm glow of the streetlights, and the vibrant colors of the buildings seemed to dance as shadows played along their facades. It was a typical evening in the city, one that promised adventure and romance to those who sought it.

Unfortunately, you are not in the mood for either. You had been looking forward to this vacation with your fiance, Ben, for months. But the trip had taken a sharp turn when you found out it was a work trip for you, and you had been swamped with meetings and deadlines ever since you both had arrived.

The one night you had hoped to carve out for a romantic dinner together had turned into a battle against your inbox.

Now, standing in the doorway of the quaint Spanish restaurant you had planned to visit, your eyes searched the dimly lit room for Ben. Your heart sank when you spotted him at the counter bar, surrounded by a group of giggling women, a cocktail in hand and a twinkle in his eye that was not reserved for you. The scene unfolded before you like a movie you hadn't paid to see. You had been running late from your last meeting, your heels clicking against the pavement as you rushed to make it in time. But it appeared you wasn't the only one Ben had been waiting for.

The host, a charming Spaniard with a thick accent, looked up from his podium with a smile that quickly faded when he noticed the tension in your posture.

"Table for two," you murmured, trying to keep the disappointment from your voice.

He led you to a small, intimate table in the corner, and as you sat down, you couldn't help but feel like the walls were closing in. The candlelight flickered, casting eerie shadows across your face as you stared at the empty chair across from you, willing it to be filled with someone other than the man you had caught red-handed.

Ben looked up, his eyes briefly locking with yours before he feigned surprise. He excused himself from his newfound companions and sauntered over, planting a kiss on your cheek that felt as forced as the smile you returned.

"You made it," he said, sliding into his seat with the ease of someone who had not just been caught.

You picked up the menu, trying to focus on the words printed on the page instead of the storm brewing in your chest.

"I did," you replied curtly, "but I see you've already started without me."

He chuckled, a sound that usually melted your heart but now just made your blood boil.

"Just passing the time, babe. You know how it is when you're stuck waiting." His casual attitude grated on you like sandpaper on skin.

Ignoring the simmering anger, you focused on the menu, pretending to scrutinize the options as if you hadn't already decided on the seafood paella hours ago. The waiter arrived, a concerned look on his face as he sensed the tension. Ben ordered for both of you, choosing the most expensive bottle of wine without asking for your input. You nodded stiffly, not trusting yourself to speak.

As the waiter left to fetch the wine, Ben reached for your hand across the table. His touch was cold and clammy, a stark contrast to the warmth of the room.

"I'm sorry you had to work so much, baby," he said, his voice a blend of insincerity and rehearsed charm. "I've just been trying to make the best of the situation, you know?"

You pulled your hand away, your eyes never leaving the menu.

"I see that," you said, your voice flat. The air between you felt thick and oppressive, the laughter of the other diners seemingly amplified in the quiet space you had created.

"So, how's your vacation been?" you asked, the sarcasm dripping from each word like honey from a spoon.

Ben's smile faltered for a moment before he regained his composure.

"It's been great," he said, his eyes darting to the group of women at the bar. "Met some interesting people around town."

The waiter returned with the wine, pouring a glass for each of you with a flourish. Ben took a sip, his eyes never leaving yours as he swirled the liquid in the glass. You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach.

"I'm sure you have," you said, your voice as cool as the evening air outside.

As the conversation stalled, the background music grew louder, filling the void with a Spanish melody that seemed to mock the tension at your table. You couldn't bring yourself to look at Ben, instead focusing on the flickering candle in the center, watching the shadows play across the crumpled napkin. The smell of garlic and olive oil wafted from the kitchen, taunting you with the promise of a meal that was now ruined.

The first course arrived, a platter of tapas that you had been looking forward to sharing. But the sight of the food only served as a reminder of the distance that had grown between you. Ben made an effort to engage you in conversation, telling a story about a hilarious misunderstanding he'd had with a taxi driver earlier that day. But his words fell flat, each syllable bouncing off the walls of your disillusionment.

You picked at the food, your appetite nowhere to be found. The tangy flavors of the olives and the crunch of the croquetas were lost on you as you dissected every moment of your relationship, trying to pinpoint where things had gone so wrong. Was it the long hours at work that had driven you apart? Or was it something deeper, a fundamental lack of respect that you had been ignoring?

As the minutes dragged on, you felt your anger coalesce into something colder, something harder to ignore. You set your fork down with a clink and met Ben's gaze. "You know, I've been thinking," you began, your voice measured and calm.

He leaned in, a hint of hope in his eyes that you might have forgiven him. "Yeah?"

You took a deep breath, the scent of his cologne, once comforting, now suffocating. "Maybe we need a little break," you suggested, your tone even. "Just to cool things off a bit."

Ben's face fell, the color draining from his cheeks. "What are you saying?" His voice was a mix of shock and desperation.

You took a sip of water, buying yourself a moment to gather your thoughts. "Just that maybe we need some space," you replied, your gaze unwavering. "A chance to figure out if this is really what we both want."

Ben's handsome features contorted into a frown. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes searching yours for a hint of a bluff. "Are you serious, what about the wedding?"

You nodded, keeping the smile on your face, though it felt like it might crack any moment. "I am," you said, your voice steady.

"The wedding is a big deal, and if you can't even manage to keep your eyes on me during a simple dinner, then maybe we need to reevaluate."

Flashbacks to your carefree days in Germany flooded your mind. You remembered the time you had caught Ben with another woman at a street fair, their heads close together as they laughed at some shared joke. You had felt a pang of jealousy, but he had quickly introduced her as "just a friend" and you had chosen to believe him, to dismiss it as an innocent encounter.

You had been so in love, so willing to overlook his flaws, so eager to build a life together that you had convinced yourself it was nothing. The memory was a stark contrast to the man sitting across from you now, his eyes still lingering on the group of women at the bar.

When the bill arrived, Ben reached for his wallet, but you were quicker, slapping your credit card down before he could react. "This one's on me," you said, your voice filled with an icy finality. He didn't argue, just nodded as you signed the receipt, the pen feeling like it was made of lead in your hand.

The argument that had simmered under the surface of your dinner grew more heated as you stepped out into the night. The laughter of the other diners followed you out the door, a cruel soundtrack to your unraveling relationship. You both walked in silence, the cobblestone streets echoing with the sound of your footsteps. Madrid's vibrancy seemed to mock the darkness that had settled in your heart.

When you reached the hotel, Ben's hand found yours, but you pulled away. "I think it's best if we just go to our room and talk," he said, his voice strained. You looked at him, his eyes pleading, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of doubt. But then you remembered the way he had looked at those other women, the way he had made you feel like you weren't enough.

"Actually, I've decided to book another room," you said, your voice firm. "I need some space to think."

The shock on Ben's face was palpable, his grip on your hand loosening as the reality of your words sunk in. "What? You can't be serious."

You nodded, your eyes reflecting the glow of the streetlights. "I've never been more serious, Ben." With that, you turned away from him and flagged down a taxi, the vibrant lights of Madrid blurring into a colorful haze as the car pulled up. The driver, an older man with a kind smile, opened the door for you and you slid in, the leather interior cool against your heated skin.

You checked in with a curt nod to the night clerk, who seemed to sense the tension coiled around you. He handed over the key with a knowing look, and you took the stairs to your room, eager for the solitude it promised.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, you let out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world. You tossed your bag on the bed, kicked off your heels, and headed straight for the shower.

The cool water washed away the grime of the day, along with the last traces of your shattered illusions. As you stood there, letting the droplets cascade down your back, you felt a strange sense of relief. It was as if a weight had been lifted, revealing a truth that had been hidden beneath layers of hope and denial. When you emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a plush robe, the room was quiet, the only sound the faint murmur of the television.

You padded over to the bed and sat down, opening your laptop with a sense of purpose. The screen flickered to life, revealing a slew of unread emails and documents that needed your attention.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to get lost in work, the familiar tasks a soothing balm for your bruised ego. But as you scrolled through the endless sea of virtual paperwork, your thoughts kept drifting back to Ben.

The TV in the background was tuned to a local channel, and the sound of a football match grew louder as the commentators' excitement reached a crescendo.

You had never been much of a sports fan, but in Madrid, it was hard to escape the fervor of football. You glanced up, noticing the score on the screen. The match was between Real Madrid and some other team, but what really caught your eye was the name of the player who had just scored an impressive goal: Kylian Mbappé. The crowd erupted into cheers, and even though you were alone in the hotel room, you couldn't help but feel a spark of sadness.

Kylian.

Once, he had been yours. His name had rolled off your tongue like a sweet melody, the very thought of him bringing warmth to your heart.

But that was before the painful argument that left both of you fractured, before his face had graced billboards across the globe. Back when you were both in the peaceful apartment you owned in Paris, dreaming of a future filled with love and simple happiness.

But those days were long gone, buried under the avalanche of his newfound fame.

You leaned back against your bed. You had read about his successes, watched from afar as he climbed the ladder of football stardom, his talent shining brighter with each passing year. But you had never imagined you would be in Madrid, in this moment, feeling the sting of his ghostly presence as you navigated the wreckage of your relationship with Ben.

The heartbreak from Kylian felt like a distant echo now, a wound that had scarred over but never fully healed. You crossed paths in the innocence of youth, a fleeting connection etched in time.

You had shared a love so pure and innocent it had seemed untouchable. But as his career took off, so did he, leaving you behind to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart.

To him, perhaps, those moments have faded, lost in the haze of forgotten rhyme.

You had moved on, or so you thought. But here you were, in Madrid, watching Kylian's name in lights, and feeling the ghosts of what could have been.

And it hit you like a soccer ball to the gut - Ben had secured tickets to the match you're currently watching on television.

He had talked about it for weeks, his excitement palpable every time he mentioned about the match.

You had never told Ben about your history with Kylian. It was a part of your past that you had kept hidden, a secret that would never resurface. But as you watched the game on the television, the players' movements a blur of color and light, you couldn't help but think of the countless times Ben had talked about his admiration for Mbappé, oblivious to the fact that you had once shared a life with the man.

Ben had been so excited about that match, his eyes lighting up when he had presented you with the tickets.

"It's going to be amazing, babe," he had said, his voice filled with the kind of enthusiasm that could make even the most mundane tasks seem like an adventure.

"You'll love it, I promise."

Ben had always talked about football and Mbappé with such admiration, his eyes lighting up when he spoke of his skill on the field. And you had listened, nodded, and even pretended to share in his excitement, all the while keeping your true feelings tucked away. It had become a game of sorts, a dance of omission that you had perfected over the years.

But as you watched Kylian score another goal, the cheers of the crowd echoing through the TV, you couldn't ignore the hollowness in your chest.

The first half of the football match had just ended, leaving the second half still to be watched.

Those tickets to the match, and maybe watching the game with Ben, might be just what you need to mend the rift between you two.

Fueled by a sudden burst of determination, you chose to surprise him. Rather than sending a text, you sprang up from the bed and quickly changed into something casual—a pair of jeans and a simple blouse. Your pulse quickened as you slid into your flats, grabbed your purse, and headed out, anticipation buzzing through you.

The taxi ride to Ben's hotel was a blur of flashing streetlights and the murmur of the city. As the car pulled up to the grand entrance, you took a deep breath and stepped out, the cool Madrid air a stark contrast to the heated tension of the evening.

You walked into the lobby, the plush carpets muffling your footsteps as you approached the reception desk. The clerk looked up with a practiced smile that faltered slightly when he saw the determination etched on your face. "May I help you?"

You gave a firm nod. "Yes, I had a reservation for two with Ben Stevenson," you said, your tone steady yet resolute. "I need to see him in person. It's urgent."

The clerk hesitated for a moment before handing over the keycard with a look that was both sympathetic and cautious. "Room 312," he murmured.

You took the keycard, your hand trembling slightly. The elevator ride up to the third floor felt like an eternity, each floor that passed a reminder of the decisions that had brought you here. When the doors finally slid open, you stepped out into the quiet hallway, the plush carpeting muffling the sound of your racing heart.

Room 312 was at the end of the corridor. You paused outside the door, listening for any signs of life within. The sound of the TV was faint, the murmur of a football match just audible. You took a deep breath and slid the card into the lock.

The click echoed in the emptiness, and you pushed the door open, your heart racing with anticipation to surprise him.

The scene before you was like a punch to the gut. Ben was sprawled across the bed, the crumpled sheets a testament to his infidelity. A girl from the restaurant lay beside him, her laughter from earlier now replaced with the soft rhythm of sleep. The sight of her bare shoulder, the way her hair fell across the pillow, the smell of her perfume mingling with Ben's cologne, it all hit you like a ton of bricks. Your hand tightened around the keycard until your knuckles turned white.

You felt your breath catch in your throat, a mix of anger, pain, and disbelief coursing through your veins like molten lava. For a moment, you were frozen, unable to move or speak.

Your foolish hope that he might still be thinking about you gnawed at your mind. Guilt crept in as you replayed the moment you left him alone in the bedroom you were supposed to share, the tickets he bought for both of you lingering in your thoughts. It was all because you couldn’t help being a fool.

Then, something inside you snapped. You marched over to the bed, your heels clicking against the tiles with each step. Ben stirred, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours, filled with shock and guilt.

The girl beside him gasped, her eyes going wide as she scrambled to cover herself. But you couldn't even look at her, your gaze was locked onto Ben's, the man who had promised to love and cherish you until the end of time. The man who was now betraying you in the most intimate of ways.

Ben sat up, his eyes darting between you and the girl. "Babe, it's not what it looks like," he stammered, but the words sounded hollow, a pathetic attempt to salvage what was clearly beyond repair.

Ben, now fully awake, was desperately trying to explain, his voice a jumble of words that made no sense. "It just happened, I didn't mean for it to... I don't know what came over me." His eyes searched your face for some sign of understanding, but you had none to give. You had seen this play out before. The same lies, the same empty promises. But this time was different. You had enough.

"The wedding," you said, your voice shaking with emotion, "is off." The words hung in the air like a shattered chandelier, glittering with the shards of your broken dreams. You pulled the ring from your finger, the diamond catching the light from the bedside lamp. "Here," you said, thrusting it towards him. "You can have it back."

Ben's face was a picture of shock and desperation. "Babe, no," he pleaded, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist. But you were already turning away, the cold metal of the ring feeling like a weight lifted from your soul. "This isn't what you want," he said, his voice hoarse with sleep and fear.

With a shake of your head, you pulled away from his grasp, the tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. "You don't get to decide what I want," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"This is who you are, Ben. And I can't marry someone like you."

You turned and strode out of the room, the door slamming behind you with a finality that echoed through the hallway. The tears fell like rain now, each one a painful reminder of the love you had lost. You didn't bother to wipe them away, letting them mix with the anger and disappointment that painted your face.

When Ben had proposed, you had been swept off your feet by the grandeur of it all. The ring, the candles, the whispered promises of forever. You had looked into his eyes and seen a future that seemed so bright, it had temporarily blinded you to his flaws.

After Kylian, you had been desperate for something stable, something real. And Ben had offered you that.

But now, as you stepped into the elevator, the walls closing in on you like a tomb, you couldn't help but question everything. Ben was the safe choice, the reliable one.

As the elevator descended slowly, each floor a reminder of the life you had thought you were building together. As the doors opened to the lobby, you stepped out, the weight of your decision dragging at your heels like a heavy burden. You walked out into the night, the cool air a slap in the face after the stuffiness of the hotel room. The city was alive around you, a stark contrast to the deadness that had settled in your chest.

You had done it. You had ended it with Ben. But as you stood there, the reality of your decision hit you like a ton of bricks.

You had been so focused on the betrayal, on the anger and pain, that you hadn't allowed yourself to consider what came next. The future you had so carefully constructed with him had crumbled to dust, leaving you alone in a foreign city with nothing but the echoes of your shattered heart.

And now, you couldn't help but think of Kylian. You had buried that heartbreak deep, promising yourself that you would never let it resurface.

But now, in this moment of betrayal, it bubbled to the top, a bittersweet reminder of a time when love had seemed so much simpler. When you had thought you knew what you were getting into.

—

Real Madrid claimed victory, their triumph echoing through the night. After the match, Kylian and Brahim sought solace in an exclusive restaurant, a haven of calm amidst the chaotic streets. The air inside was serene, a stark contrast to the tumult beyond the glass doors.

Seated together, their conversation flowed like a gentle stream—talk of the match interwoven with shared laughter and fleeting jokes. Amid their meal, Kylian’s gaze wandered, drawn to a solitary figure at the bar.

The woman sat quietly, her silhouette etched against the dim glow of the bottles. He couldn’t see her clearly, yet something stirred within him. She felt familiar, a memory he couldn’t place, a face he couldn’t forget.

You sit at the bar, a drink in hand, telling yourself it’ll just be a few. The weight of what happened with Ben presses heavily on your chest, its edges sharp and unyielding. The ache feels unbearable, so you seek solace in the amber glow of the glass before you. Perhaps, just for tonight, it will dull the pain, let you forget—if only for a little while.

Kylian shook the thought away, determined to let it go. Tonight was meant for celebration, not for dwelling on shadows of the past. With two goals to his name and a hard-fought victory behind him, he had every reason to revel in the moment. This was his night, a triumph to embrace, not a time to be haunted by memories of you.

After finishing that single glass, you reconsidered, you chose to stop refusing to let the alcohol take hold of you.

Quietly, you paid for the drink, pushed back your chair, and rose to leave. The night still held its weight, but the rest felt like the better escape. With a sigh, you turned toward the solace of sleep, leaving the bar behind.

It was you.

Kylian’s heart thundered, a storm unleashed within his chest.

As you stepped out of the restaurant, the faint light caught your face, and in that fleeting moment, recognition struck him like a bolt.

"You alright? Do you know her?" Brahim asked, his words cutting through the air.

He had been mid-sentence when he noticed the sudden change in Kylian’s expression.

Kylian’s reaction was swift—a quick shake of his head, an attempt to dismiss the moment. But his heart betrayed him, answering with a silent, undeniable yes. Of course, he knew you.

"Let’s go," Kylian said, forcing a casual tone.

"I’m stuffed. Great choice of restaurant, by the way."

—

Sitting in his car, Kylian’s gaze lingered on you as you stood by the curb, patiently waiting for a taxi.

Your hair was different, shorter now, but your face remained unchanged. How could he forget? Those eyes, that smile, the echo of your laugh. The memory of your scent, your touch, your taste, all rushed back, relentless and vivid.

He gripped the steering wheel, frozen in place. Should he approach you? The thought churned in his mind, but fear held him back.

He didn’t want to scare you, not again.

The argument between you still haunted him, its sharp edges cutting through the calm of the night.

The weight of it pushed him to start the car, ready to drive away.

But then, you turned. His breath caught. He knew you couldn’t see him, yet he instinctively shrank into the driver's seat, hoping to remain unseen.

And still, as he watched, one thought remained clear.

You were as beautiful as ever.

To the heavens, or to whatever force had heard his prayers, he gave thanks. For though the years had passed, you returned, haunting him still. Not as a ghost to torment him in dark, eerie ways, but as a beautiful woman, walking the earth, a presence that would never fade.

note: i want to express my apologies for including cheating as part of this story’s plot. It’s not something i condone or intend to portray in a romanticized way, and ive made the decision to steer clear of this theme in my future works. thank u for your understanding

part 3

[erwinsvow]

sometimes the boys keep you in the dark about what they’re really up to—they think it’s easier than trying to explain everything to you. you’re real sweet, almost too nice and too sweet, so they know you’ll have your own issues with their plans. and besides all of that, you’re still a kook princess deep down, and when you get the sense that anything even remotely illegal is going on, you make the jump to panic immediately. 

so they don’t always tell you what’s going on-recon missions late at night are now exploring trips.

“why can’t we explore during the day, again? when it’s sunny?” you question, while jj shines a flashlight at your face, making you whine and cover your eyes. pope and john b share a glance.

“‘cause, princess, it’s more fun at night. otherwise pope couldn’t use all these gadgets. and it’s spooky, right?” jj throws in, hands wrapping around your stomach from behind and tickling. you start laughing, and they think they’ve avoided your question well enough for now. “see? havin’ fun now, arent’ya?”

“don’t worry, pretty girl, we’ll protect you.” you comply a lot more once john b says that.

at the chateau, when they’re all pouring over dusty old maps and books, you sit and flick through your phone until you’re bored enough to ask what they’re even looking at. the boys all exchange a glance—they do that a lot, you think absentmindedly. 

“uh, john b?” jj asks.

“um, well-” john starts, but gets interrupted by pope.

“no, jj went last time, so it’s my turn now-”

“well, i can go again, if you guys are occupied with this-”

“not gonna steal my turn, jayj.” pope walks over to you, leaving the pages behind. you smile at the attention, happy just to not be alone.

“should i go make lemonade for everyone? will you keep me company, pope?” and he nods, looking back at the boys a final time.

“sure, sweetheart, let’s go,” and he takes your hand in his, guiding you to the messy kitchen. 

just as you start cutting the lemons, you look up at pope, wanting to ask about what they were all so hyper-focused on—instead of being focused on you.

“will you tell me what they’re talking about?” you glance at pope shyly, always embarrassed since you worry if he thinks you’re dumb. 

“it’s nothing to worry your pretty head about, sweetheart. just john b’s stuff, and we’re tryna help him, s’all.” 

“can i help with anything?”

“you’re helping right now,” he reassures, and you feel giddy, starting the juice the lemons. “we all love your lemonade.” you come back with a pitcher of lemonade and a big smile, content to just lay around and watch them work into the afternoon. 

if you find out they’re gonna be on the boat, and they didn’t tell you, it’s a whole nightmare on its own. so when they finally have the perfect calm day to go use the underwater drone, they pick you up. 

you’re dolled up since it’s your absolute favorite—boat day! you’re wearing a flimsy yellow bikini and one of pope’s button ups over it, sporting john b’s old sunglasses and your matching shark-tooth necklace from jj. you climb onto the boat with your little pink cooler and the romance book you’ve been reading this week, before they take off into the ocean. 

“uh, princess?” jj asks, and you look up. he gestures at your cooler. “didn’t peg you to pack bait for us, but i mean, i’m grateful-”

“ew, jayj, no. it’s snacks!” you look at the others excitedly, opening the pink lid and taking out sliced fruit and carrot sticks. you pass them to john b, who passes them to pope, who then hands it to jj, who starts eating. “there’s also ranch for the carrot sticks, but i made it myself so it’s a lot healthier than the store-bought kind. and sandwiches for later. i love boat days.” 

you curl up with some apple slices and your book on the little seat, the boys looking at each other. a little while later, when they start what they really came out here for, john b catches jj and pope staring at you.

“i’m gonna propose. today.” 

“not if i do it first.”

[sailorblossoms-rankane]

finished re-reading the jewel arc & I have thoughts...

The plot is about Ranma making Shampoo "say she loves him," yet the climax says his heart is unwaveringly Akane's. Ahampoo shows interest? He pulls away. Akane's "interest" is way more intense, yet he pulls closer

Notably, all the fiancées tell Ranma they love him in this arc, but only Akane's declaration gets to him. It reminds him that love is supposed to be something you feel and not a mindless challenge to win

These two panels being only a couple of pages apart really spell things out. Look at Ranma being put off by just a "hot stare" vs instantly leaning in and ~staring~ at Akane after an intense love confession. Atrociously down bad.

Similar to Tsubasa calling him ugly, Shampoo's rejection is framed as an attack, not just on his ego, but on his self-worth (this time also tied to public judgment). He reacts to both as if it were a challenge, his fighting aura visible... but the differences are interesting

The challenge against Tsubasa is clearly about looks, but with Shampoo at its core is more about likability. She doesn't attack his looks, she says he's a scum (and so should be hated). Even if he's like "am I no longer irresistible?" he's focusing on love, not attraction

When he's looking for validation with Ukyo, he doesn't ask "am I attractive to you?" (which is what you would associate with "being irresistible") but "do you love me?" (am I the type of guy girls fall in love with? ... that's what he connects with "irresistible")

Much to say about Ranma being emotionally stunted but this is the kind of stuff showing that at his core, he's a soft, romantic guy, jerk-ness notwithstanding. Classmates might say it's about desire (because THEY're horny lol) but he never goes there. Freaks out at the suggestion even

You can see the contrast with the classmates from the beginning (horny talk) while Ranma is focused on Akane's smile... his fantasies with girls are always something romantic with Akane, and it's hundreds of chapters before his interest in seeing Akane naked is brought up.

Ranma's personal space is invaded with frequency, which affects him, but all interest for him is tied to romance. There's a certain distance in challenges and playing characters, but I don't think he's comfortable with being desired from up close... unless he's in love (Akane)

And even then it's difficult for him. You can see how much he's about romance when he does not react at all to Shampoo's bridal fit (the cutest she has ever looked mind you... and yet) and with Akane just the sigh gets a big reaction

I think it makes sense to be a soft romantic at heart and struggle with being disliked. Wanting space from someone who annoys you doesn't mean you want/can take actual hostility from them. Being "dumped" is also a form of "losing" and Ranma must win absolutely everything.

Every step of the way he frames this as a challenge, a matter of reputation, armor, strategy, etc... without ever processing there are real, actual feelings at play (love is a battle, a simple challenge, instead of.... you know, love... he's not associating any of it with feelings! ... until Akane "confesses"). Other characters misjudge him for the bit, but Kasumi/Nabiki as a duo usually get it right

Akane can get angry because of misunderstandings/insecurities, but sometimes she's angry because she's being more perceptive and mature than Ranma and simply sees he's being an insensitive dumbass. (Ranma telling her not to be jealous also indicates he's not processing/seeing this as wanting someone else)

Sidenotes: it hits me that Shampoo is really a cat lol only truly dangerous when she feels (emotionally) cornered but otherwise she's just fucking around. “She hates me fr” says the melodramatic guy whose examples of "cold" and "hatred" are juvenile annoyance

Shampoo's abilities are plot devices more than anything else. If you take it seriously the speed with which Ranma defeats her is frankly disrespectful lol only the boys get Serious Fights. The tone with the female fighters is just different, no point in fixating on abilities or the like with them

(says something interesting about sexism in-world though. Cologne ya girl is getting washed, stand up! alas, she's only interested in future husband as she's ensured Shampoo's survival in her village. Could speculate the same happens to Akane, where she's trained just enough to be able to defend herself in her peaceful world, but then is left alone as the future of the dojo is expected to fall in the hands of a strong husband) (Mostly is the shonen of it all, as we're expected to believe none of the female martial artists have a sustained interest in improving/becoming stronger like the boys have. I suspend my belief here because there's still plenty to like about these characters, how the female fighters can be used, and because it's funny. What can I say. A bitch is being entertained)

[longing-for-rain]

Out of curiosity, what makes you feel drawn to Zutara as a lesbian. Is it still relatable to you?

It does feel relatable to me. Obviously it’s a heterosexual relationship, but given the lack of good and complete representation of lesbian relationships in the media, I still gravitate towards certain aspects of romances like this.

There are many reasons why, but before I get into it, I want to preface this by saying that the point of this is not to say that Zutara is “lesbian coded” or anything like that so please don’t construe it that way. It’s a heterosexual relationship, period. All I’m saying here is what I, personally, enjoy about it as a lesbian.

The biggest reason I like it is because it represents female desire to me. I know the BoyMom and Pick-Me brigade hates that I’ve described Zutara that way in the past—but it’s true and I stand by it. That is the reason why Zutara became so popular and why its fanon narrative is almost entirely driven by female fans. It directly reflects their desire in a romance and what Katara’s canon one was lacking.

I honestly didn’t have strong feelings about Zutara until I saw the backlash it received. The narrative and the fans both treat Katara as if getting with anyone besides Aang makes her selfish, or that she’s neglecting some kind of duty by doing so. Katara’s voice and desire is fundamentally unimportant to the writers, because they always focused on Aang’s feelings over hers, and even though fans try to pretend otherwise, the dominant narrative surrounding this relationship has always been about Aang. How he needs airbending children, how his heart would be broken if she left, how he needs her to rebuild, etc.

And from Katara’s side, even though she never shows that she shares Aang’s level of interest, fans insist on reading in signs that aren’t really there. They also focus on logical reasons why they’d work. Aang is nice, he’s fun, he’s a prodigy like Katara, both have suffered in the war, etc. At first glance, it seems like a good match…but we never actually see the writing demonstrate how they actually connect over any of these things.

Good in theory, but bland and passionless in reality.

That narrative resonated with me in a bad way, because it’s exactly how I’ve felt as a lesbian. It reflects the pressures I’ve felt to put aside my desire for love to date a man instead. I’ve been told to my face that it’s selfish for me to “choose” another woman—a person I actually desire—over a man.

“What about children?”

“This is going to make your life so much more difficult!”

“Think of your family!”

“Jakey is such a nice guy, can’t you just give him a chance?”

“You have so many interests in common with Jakey and he has a good job! Why won’t you go out with him? It makes so much sense!”

“You’re so shallow, being fixated on looks. What if your perfect match comes along, but he’s male? Would you really say no?”

“You only want that because you’re a pervert. You need to stop being so obsessed with sex and think about the person instead.”

It’s eerily familiar, that’s all I’m saying. A lot of these ideas are used to attack Zutara and its fans nearly verbatim.

Katara isn’t a lesbian, but like a lesbian, Katara in the context of Zutara commits the crime of marrying for love and desire over duty. Some people see that as an evil act of selfishness, but to me, it’s just love.

We can’t control who we love, and I like to see the narrative of a female character breaking free from the social expectations placed on her to pursue it. No; Zuko isn’t the “safe” option, their relationship would be heavily criticized, and it could even endanger them. But that relationship is one they both feel passion for, and together, they would draw power from one another and use it for good. Their love and connection is powerful, and they would have fought hard for it. Because love is worth fighting for.

That’s deeply admirable to me, and an empowering narrative when I think about how I’m inevitably going to have to fight hard for any love of mine. But it’s worth it to me—it’s always worth it.

[waynewifey]

dear mr. wayne — b.w

part one: dear mr. wayne

part two: aftermath

part three: aporia

epilogue

summary: it’s not easy being a politician’s wife. it’s even harder to love a vigilante. months of negligence make you an easy target to his enemies.

pairing: bruce wayne/battinson x reader

genre: angst romance & dark action

warnings: swearing; smoking; kidnapping; violence; a bit of gore; “you” is she/her; bruce is the worst husband ever btw

word count: 2.8k

A/N: i wrote this back in january 2022 when the batman movie had just premiered, so kinda off the hype here. i hope you enjoy it anyway. already working on part 2, let me know if you guys would like it! also, this has taken a path way darker than i had in mind so i’m sorry if it’s too much. comments are appreciated!

gotham city, USA.

it's late.

you have no clock nearby, but you feel it in your bones. in your muscles too. it's too late and bruce should be home already. laying in the sofa, only half conscious, you regret telling alfred to go to bed. at least you wouldn't be alone. of course, being married to the batman you knew he would patrol at night often. you were okay with it. but lately bruce had been too focused on his other, and recent, goal: running for mayor. at first it seemed out of character, he was never good with the public or the press. but he stared at thomas wayne's painting in the hall in such painful façade, it made sense all off sudden. you were supportive of it. you showed up to every event just to stay by his side, to show the people the lovable man he was. the man you loved. the man who couldn't even be home for dinner.

the penthouse's elevator dings, opening its doors at the end of the hallway you see perfectly from your seat. your head doesn't lift instantly, like in the first week. instead, a long sigh escapes from your lips as bruce reaches the living room.

"hello, darling." he says, still in motion as he walks the stairway up to the room you shared. not a single kiss, or a hug. you follow him, because what else is there to do? you need to go to bed anyway. by the time you get there, slowly, his suit is already on the floor and he's taking a shower.

"how was the meeting?" you ask, knowing he usually did his Wayne Enterprising meetings — which consisted of hanging out long hours in bars with business men — at night. recently, he started a complicated relationship with a real estate company he wanted to invest in.

"the usual." he stopped fully answering these questions three weeks ago, making the only time you ever talked even shorter. the city has gotten more violent than ever since his batman duties were put on standby.

"any closer to sealing the deal?" you sit on the bed, watching the open bathroom door.

"probably." it's not like he's being rude. well, maybe a little bit. he just doesn't want to talk any more, it's clear on his tone. but it's 2am and you brain isn't working too well.

"when is this gonna end, bruce?" you finally say, as he puts his boxers on. "when are we ever having dinner again? or going on a date? when are you gonna stop treating me like i'm some sort of home decor?" you almost vomit out the words that have been stuck on your throat for days. surprisingly, the heartache doesn't softens. instead, it gets worse. it's like admitting your abandonment.

six months ago, you started trying to get pregnant. it hadn't always been a dream of yours, but the idea of having an heir to all you've spent your life building is charming. you realised you were in the right time to do so, you had just turned 28, bruce was 32, and both had stable careers. a month later, bruce announced his candidacy. and so soon you gave up. you told yourself once he won the election everything would be fine. you would try again. but, realistically, being a mayor was already a lot of work on itself. he wouldn't want a pregnant wife or a child to take care of. after the four years, who knows? he might as well have a new life project. and your family would always stand on the side.

"i don't know what you're talking about..." he doesn't look into your eyes. hell, he barely looks at you. that feeling, the negligence, is enough to trigger the tears. you take a deep breath, making an effort to look composed.

"don't you, though?" your voice is shaken. look at me. look at me. look at me. look at me. he doesn't. "bruce." you call, finally getting his attention. however, the boredom on his face knocks you off your feet, legs trembling in pain and anger. "i just want you to make an effort on us..."

"really? cause that's all i ever done." he's leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed in a way you would find attractive in other circumstances. but now he's yelling and you fight back the urge to shrink into the mattress. "do you think i wanna have a kid on this fucked up town? i'm tryna fix this. fix everything!" his faces turns red-ish. something inside of you makes you want to leave the room. you've always been an avoider, that is one of the reasons you hadn't really had couple fights. so, basically, this is very new. "i've got the weight of the fucking world on my back."

"let's leave then" you manage to say, replacing the you chose this. it was true, however, that he was the one to put himself in this position. bruce wayne could've gotten his entire life without working if he wanted to. but he always needed to save everyone, to suffer for other's happiness. he was a giver. sometimes you wondered if he needed to be saved instead.

"you know i can't do that." he mumbles, in a defeated tone. a sigh escapes from his lips, suddenly the tiredness takes over his face. it's almost enough to make you let it go, to internalise your distress again. he really can't, you know that. he feels that the city is his liability, because it was the only thing he had since he became an orphan. but he had you, too. he just didn't acknowledge that.

"and i can't stay like this." it sounds like an whisper, but it's a plead. choose me. please. he seems to read it in your eyes, face contorting in agony when he realises what you're asking for. me or gotham? it's stupid to think he would ever choose you. but you hoped, so desperately, because you would choose him. always.

"let's not do this tonight, okay? i have to be in the office by the morning." tears instantly fall as he turns off the lights and lays on the bed, turning his back to where you slept. for a moment, you're static. his words were final. were you ever in control of something in your life? why were all of these decisions being made for you? mechanically, you stand on both feet and walk to the door. you don't even notice your movement until you're on the elevator. your husband didn't intervene either. this neighbourhood is one of the safest in town, which honestly isn't much but you had to get out. anyway, nowhere is totally safe at 3am.

you walk two blocks, clinging to the fluffy sweater you wore. the depressing air of gotham slows your pace, to a point you start wondering if it was really necessary to be aware. you could feel the city devouring you, starting with your hope. the blue 24h sign lights up the street, in a way that isn't welcoming, but you know the place well enough to not be scared to get in. a bell sounds over the door and wakes up the male behind the counter. he's got long black hair and seems to haven't seen a good night of sleep in weeks. same,you think.

"hi. can i get the blue one?" you point at the camel's behind the man. he nods, quickly putting a pack on the wooden board. the prices pops up on the cashier's display. you pay and go outside. smoking was an bad habit from your college days, when pressure got too excruciating. every now and then you would treat yourself to some cigarettes, for the confidence it gave you. the sense of control to be the one, for once, ruining yourself. the smoke burns your throat on the first inhale and you hold back a cough. you're too entertained by the cigar to notice the black van approaching. it stops right in front of you, and everything happens too quickly for your brain to process. it's all dark.

he's in a meeting, the boring kind.

the kind that has him seated in silence while a representative talks to his employees, who never get to listen to their actual boss. there's a chart being shown on a large tv on the other side of the room. he's not listening, though. he's writing down ideas for a thanksgiving speech. a head pops into the conference room.

"mr. wayne." it's one of the new assistants, hired especially for the election season. he didn't care to memorise her name, because temps usually don't last long. if she hadn't called him, he might've not even looked up. but the room is silent, expecting eyes on him. the girl at the door looks terrified. "you're urgently required outside, please."

he sighs as he gets up from his leather chair. the second the door closed behind him, chatter is heard again. in the corridor, the woman conducts him to his office and they get in. there's a bit of a commotion, four men lounge around his table, all their faces tense.

"mr. wayne, i'm afraid we don't have good news." the head of the marketing team speaks, a man called robert vance. he's probably said the same phrase to bruce about seven times this month, so that doesn't do much. the assistant approaches with an ipad, unpausing a video. "we received this from an anonymous email about forty minutes ago. we weren't able to get the ip address just yet."

the video starts with a black screen, zooming out to show a woman with a bag over her head. she has her hands on her back and is kneeling on the ground. bruce's heart skips a beat noticing the hair falling down her shoulders.

"bruce wayne..." an eerie voice whispers from behind the camera, breathing heavily. "i've robbed an egg from your basket, and you haven't even noticed!" there's a disturbing chuckle and the video shakes a bit. bruce doesn't move, eyes stuck on the screen. no one in the room has done anything other than breathing. someone gulps. "it's been long hours, but we're having fun, aren't we, darling?" a gloved hand reaches for the bag, pulling it out. her face - your face - is dripping blood. you're biting on a fabric, still in your home clothes. bruce's jaw clenches. you're crying, face beaten, in this degrading situation. your eyes pierce the screen right into his. suddenly, a gun is tapped on your forehead and you close your eyes into a sob. your lips mouth please. "i'm running out of patience here, you're running out of time. let's do business, shall we?" he laughs, knocking the pistol on the side of your head, making you fall laying on the floor, unconscious. the spot bleeds. "here's my proposal: you come clean about your father's deal with carmine falcone and maybe i don't shoot little mrs. wayne... or i do both. it's your choice, really. the clock is ticking. tick tock, wayne."

the video stops, the sight of a gun pointed at your unresponsive body burns into his mind. bruce is panting, the adrenaline rushes into his brain. there's a million of plans being built, but none of them seem viable.

"don't let media get this." he managed to say. one of the men in suits says it's too late. the tv flicks on showing a news report on the video. he kicks the side of his table, the contents being thrown across the room. "FUCK! you bastards wait forty fucking minutes to show me this?" he screams, no one can look him in the eyes. a hand runs through his black hair. "meanwhile my wife is out there with a gun on her head! and what have you done? i swear to god, if i don't find her alive and well i'm killing everyone in this goddamned room with my bare hands."

he storms out of there, reaching to his phone to call alfred and noticing the multiple missed calls. fucking silent mode. the sun is setting.

"i got the address." the butler says, instead of hello. a 'ding' sounds in his ear.

there has been pain for so long. you try to remember before the pain. but all is pain. he has to make it stop.

the floor is cold cement and you feel so small in this huge warehouse. the man in the mask knows you can't run. not only you're tied up, but the will had left you long before getting dragged into that van. he sees it in your eyes. so he strolls around, always in that ridiculous dark green overall. then he beats you up for fun. no cameras. just you and the devil himself. you find yourself praying, after all these years. you don't pray to get out, no. you pray so that it ends soon. you pray that the stab wound in your abdomen will get you an infection. you pray that when you close your eyes, you never have to open them again. but the divine has left you in the cold cement.

there's an explosion. your eyes open. there's smoke and dust taking over one of the walls. you're seeing everything horizontally, cheek on the floor. the man in green is just as scared as you were.

bruce wayne busted that fucking wall down. he expected a full team of psychopaths and maybe some more security. there was just one coward in the warehouse. the thing stares at him coming out of the smoke, fingers fidgeting. the batman steps forward. the freak steps back. then turns around, runs to a half broken wardrobe and grabs a gun from it. bruce walks slowly. there's a struggle loading the gun. he takes the opportunity to run and throw the thing on the floor. he bangs his head on it. the vermin screams. he takes one punch. two. tries to reach for the fallen gun. bruce steps on his hand and the loud crack echoes in the room. he screams again. three punches. the mask is taken off. his nose is bleeding. more punches. he holds the neck. the head is turning purple. oh how he wants to kill this little shit. bruce wayne will kill him. it will just take a few more seconds...

"baby, no" at first he thinks he's imagining it. it's so soft, so weak. but he looks up and there she is. his hands loose. right on the corner, chains on her legs. her face is ruined from blood and dirt. her wrists bleed too. the motherfucker chained her. hell is too good for this thing.

bang. on his shoulder. he looks down and the blood is dripping on the freak's face. he’s pushed to the side, holding the wound. tiny white dots obstruct his vision. he grunts through the pain. the man gets up and runs towards you. bruce can’t move. he arches his back, trying to roll and lay on his chest. it feels like he can’t move his arm anymore, like his bones had detached. when he finally does so, the man is escaping through a window. his hand searches for the adrenaline-boost in his belt, grabs it and quickly injects on his leg. it takes a second to get his blood rushing again. he crawls up and jumps through the window, which leads him to a metal balcony.

you’re almost standing, but he holds your chains and a gun to your face. the shooting sound had scared you awake. you can’t believe how close to bruce you finally are, but the conditions couldn’t be worse. you can hear water running below your feet, you don’t need daylight to show you the violent river you’re standing above. this is not good.

bruce has his hands up in the air and is holding himself back to not do anything stupid. the man’s face is contorting into the creepiest smile. no.

everything happens so slowly, yet he’s not quick enough to grab you in time. you’re falling in the air and he jumped after you. for a moment, the world is air. you can’t hold out your hand. your hair is flying in your face, he does not want to die without seeing you one last time. his cape holds him back and the distance between you only increases. you’re gone. the impact comes.

part two

[thoughtsthatgounnoticed]

Swept up in Expectations

As an anxious and curious person, I couldn’t help but check every now and then to see what the vibe was for P2 before watching it myself. After all the excitement during the wait between P1 and 2, nothing could have prepared me for the whiplash I felt reading disappointed and equally ecstatic posts from reactions to Eps 5 to 8.

Now that I’ve seen the episodes myself I’m trying to make sense of how I felt so I’m putting the figurative pen to paper and hope anyone as confused as I am can ruminate with me.

To put simply - I think we were all swept up in the excitement of Nic and Luke’s press tour (a whole other can of worms for some) and the many spoilers, speculations, and info from cast interviews during the wait between P1 and 2 that appeared to have been Polin positive. This energy then ballooned our expectations. I personally forgot that although Bridgerton is endearing and fun, it’s ultimately not a BBC or HBO production (I love Bridgerton but it’s no Pulitzer Prize winner in writing). So I think we expected more and are crashing from our collective highs.

Then there’s Polin and Penelope. As someone who didn’t personally enjoy S1 and 2 stories, S3 was going to be one I could truly enjoy and romanticize, and experience that Bridgerton brainrot everyone keeps taking about. Admittedly, it took me listening to some discourse and a second watch to truly appreciate P1. I’ve come away with so much love for Polin and their unfolding love story as well as Pen’s journey. The friends to lovers trope is beautiful, sweet, endearing, romantic, with a lot of history between two people. It had me singing along at the top of my lungs to Taylor Swift in the car even though it’s not my usual type of music. I was swooned and romanced.

But Part 2 was…. rough…. (Ramblings below)

At least after episode 5. It felt like I wasn’t watching the same season. I knew the weight of LW was going to put Penelope through the wringer before we can ultimately move on in peace. I expected the angst, it didn’t bother me, even if it meant seeing the worst of Colin’s anger temporarily.

I think what bothers me is the wasted potential of Polin’s season brought on by unnecessary side plots that could have given more time to Colin, Penelope and Eloise’s complex relationship and individual feelings. It was a season that absolutely needed to flesh out these characters alongside LW’s plot. Instead we got lengthy scenes of side characters with no payoff or stories that could have waited to be told next season. Polin felt like side characters in their own stories, their scenes so cruelly cut between other people’s dramas - I was swooning one second to wondering why we’ve jumped to sideplot A and B, then back to swooning over Polin again (their wedding dance for example 😭).

Then there’s the question of intimacy and how we would have loved to see more - probably brought on by a rumored missing montage. Instead after all the pain, the culmination of intimacy between Polin was the 5 second scene towards the end that looked like one of Anthony or Ben’s random brothel end-of-episode montage scenes in S1. I didn’t need plenty of intimacy scenes, I just wanted there to be growth in their intimacy evolving beyond what they had in Ep 5 and after all that drama.

Part 2 should have focused on how Colin, Penelope and Eloise came to terms with the LW revelation and the aching healing process it took to overcome that because the love they have for one another was stronger. I found myself thinking how in hell they could resolve all of this and it became progressively clear that the resolution was going to feel underwhelming and rushed. Especially, when the last episode alone had another wedding, Colin and Penelope still not communicating, and like 4-5 scenes of Ben and his mistress and their lover. We sat there in complete shock at how we kept going back to those scenes when the season had bigger fish to fry.

Although the show attempted to delve into Colin’s journey post revelation, the process of overcoming his sadness/jealousy was not fleshed out satisfactorily. I’m not saying it isn’t there (the very quick scenes of him looking through Penelope’s letters, listening to her speech at the end, his speech to Cressida, interactions with Kanthony/Eloise etc) but it lacked…something. Maybe it needed just a beat longer, a few more words, a bit more time. I don’t need it to drag, I just needed more within the depth of the scenes. Funnily, some of the side plot scenes lasted longer, which was so evil. Colin deserved a concise arc like Penelope’s. I hope Luke Newton’s back wasn’t hurting from carrying all the weight of Colin’s journey through his delivery and face acting because the writers were not giving him much to work with.

And so, the ending of the season felt odd. On one hand I was happy Polin got their happy ending and in theory their progression made sense, but on the other I felt like the show did a disservice by not taking us carefully and deliberately on that progression journey we wonderfully started in S1 and 2. I will always have ep 1-5 to look back on fondly and I was teary eyed when Colin delivered his ep 8 love speech to Pen. It felt like a glimpse of what we could’ve had and what they did have in P1. However, there’s this feeling of anti-climax that is so palpable given how impactful the press tour was. Am I still walking away from this season loving Polin and enjoying the scenes we did get of them? YES. Am I satisfied with it? NO.

This is 70% an emotional rant that may subside once the excitement dies down. I have thoroughly enjoyed everyone’s input and analysis and may have just been swept up in expectations.

[thenightwolf51]

I noticed something because of this gif

Clampers and Branch have a very similar if not the same skin color.

You know who else has similar skin as Branch

His brothers. But im specifically looking at John Dory right now

So therefore, Clampers has the same skin color as John Dory.

Now hear me out.

I love the headcanon about JD and Delta Dawn being exes or close to that. Absolutely adore the thought of them being young and in love.

I personally like to headcanon that JD passed through Lonesome Flats a year or two after leaving his brothers, and that something led to him staying a while. Maybe he accidentally broke some fences or other property and was forced by the then sheriff to fix them. Or maybe he got heat stroke or was injured out in the deserts and they allowed him to stay until he healed. Either way he ends up spending a bit of time with Delta Dawn, if she's already training to be next sheriff then it makes sence for her to keep an eye on the pop outsider. Over time JD starts to grow on the country trolls, they start to welcome him, and him and Delta start to fall for eachother. But then JD realizes just how deeply in love he is and it makes him panic. Maybe he gets it in his head that if he couldn't even be a good brother then he definitely cant be a good partner, and with his injuries healed/work finished he ends up leaving.

Honestly i love the possibilities for their ship. It can almost have a sorta Hallmark movie vibe and the potential angst that can come from JD still being hopelessly in love with Delta and her being bitterly still in love with him years later is perfect.

But

As much as i love Delta Dory

What if...

We had all that but instead, it was between JD and Delta's sibling.

What if when JD left, he unknowingly left Delta's sibling with an egg. An egg that hatched into Delta's little niece, Clampers.

Given Clampers' age, which i assume is at least 5, that would put the romance as being more recent. JD would have Rhonda and it makes sense if she accidentally caused the damage he has to fix.

But then the angst.

The fact that Delta seems to be Clampers' main caretaker suggests that ther sibling has passed away, thats one arrow through the heart.

Clampers being JD's daughter and he didn't even know. He missed her hatching, her first steps, her fist words, doesn't even know what color or patterns her egg was. Is he even capable of beimg a good dad? That's a few more arrows.

And Delta? She's gonna be real protective. This is her little niece, JD left her sibling heartbroken and she won't let him do the same to Clampers. If he could walk away once, he could do it again. Delta doesn't really want him to have a part in Clampers' life.

Oh or!

What if we kept everything and just changed Clampers to being Delta's Daughter rather than niece?

(Anyway thats it! That gif just had me thinking, especially when i noticed the matching skin.

And i admit to wanting to gush a little about Delta Dory, ive falling into another Trolls fixation era and a few fics have got me focusing on John Dory. Maybe I'll link a few in another post

Feel free to write or use any of the ideas, just tag me so i can read them.)