#cloud first business strategy

[stldigital]

The Evolution of Payment Systems: How Generative AI is Transforming Transactions and User Experience

[xo100]

Wrapped in warmth - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary/request: by @misspygmypie "obv with lando and reader, she's always cold and he always makes sure she's warm (like wrapping her up in a thick jacket on a rainy race day). Maybe best friends with underlying unresolved feelings? My fav trope lol!"

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1566

୨ৎ

The cool wind swept across the paddock, carrying with it the scent of damp asphalt. It was race day, but the usual energy buzzing through the grandstands was slightly dampened by the persistent drizzle that had started in the early morning and hadn’t let up since. Grey clouds hung low in the sky, casting a muted, heavy atmosphere over the track.

-

Lando Norris pulled the hood of his McLaren jacket tighter around his face as he jogged through the garage, his eyes scanning the small crowd near the pit wall. His race engineer was calling him over to discuss some final strategy adjustments, but Lando’s attention was only half there. He was looking for her.

It was almost second nature now. Whenever he arrived at the track, the first thing on his mind—after the car, of course—was to find where she was. And today, in this cold, miserable weather, he knew she’d be huddled somewhere, trying her best to act like she wasn’t freezing. She always did. Stubborn as she was, she hated admitting she was cold, even when she clearly was.

Sure enough, there she was, standing near the edge of the garage. She had a team hat pulled low over her head, but it wasn’t doing much to shield her from the biting wind. She was dressed in a light jacket—nowhere near enough for this weather—and had her arms wrapped tightly around herself, pretending like she was fine.

Lando sighed softly. He had known her long enough to recognize when she was putting on a brave face. They had been friends for years, ever since that awkward first encounter in the paddock back when he was still in F2. She had been working as a journalist back then, tasked with interviewing young up-and-coming drivers. But what was supposed to be a quick five-minute interview had turned into an hour-long conversation full of laughter, teasing, and a connection neither of them had quite anticipated.

From that day on, they’d been nearly inseparable. She followed his career closely, attending as many races as she could, while he supported her in her work, always sneaking off to catch up with her during the busy race weekends. They were best friends—undeniably close, and yet, there was something more between them. Something unspoken, simmering just beneath the surface, but neither had dared to voice it. There was too much at stake, too much to lose if they acknowledged the feelings they both tried so hard to ignore.

Lando glanced at her again, noticing the way she subtly shivered, even as she stood chatting with a few mechanics. He grinned to himself, his protective instincts kicking in. She could act tough all she wanted, but he wasn’t going to let her freeze.

Without hesitation, he crossed the garage and approached her from behind. “You know, you’re terrible at pretending you’re not cold,” he teased, his voice soft and playful as he gently draped one of his thick McLaren jackets over her shoulders.

She jumped slightly, startled by his sudden appearance, but relaxed as soon as she realized it was him. “Lando, I’m fine,” she protested, though her fingers were already reaching up to pull the jacket tighter around her body.

“Sure you are,” he replied with a knowing smirk, ignoring her weak attempt to push it off. “It’s freezing out here, and you’re acting like we’re on a tropical beach. You could at least try to take care of yourself for once.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue further, clearly grateful for the warmth. “You’re such a worrier, you know that?”

“Only because you’re impossible,” he shot back, nudging her gently with his shoulder. “If I didn’t look after you, you’d probably turn into an icicle by now.”

Despite her efforts to appear unbothered, her heart fluttered at his words, a familiar warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with the jacket he’d given her. Lando had always been like this—caring in the subtlest ways, looking out for her even when she didn’t ask for it. And she couldn’t deny how much she loved that about him, even if it made navigating her feelings for him that much harder.

“Besides,” he added with a sly grin, “I can’t have my best friend turning into a popsicle before the race. Who else is going to be there to cheer me on?”

Her stomach did that annoying flip it always seemed to do when he called her his best friend. It was a label she cherished but also hated at times like this, when his easy affection made it painfully clear that he probably saw her as nothing more than that.

“Always so selfless,” she joked, hoping her voice didn’t betray the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. “But thanks. I guess I’ll keep it—for now.”

He laughed softly, the sound bright even against the grey day. “Good. Now, come on, I’ve got to get through a strategy meeting, but after that, I’m dragging you somewhere warm until the race starts. No arguments.”

Her laugh echoed his, though her heart was still lodged somewhere in her throat. Moments like these—where his kindness felt like something more than just friendship—they were becoming harder to shake off. Every touch, every teasing comment, every concerned glance… it made her wonder if maybe, just maybe, he felt something more, too.

But then reality would set in. Lando was focused on his career, on being the best driver he could be. The last thing he needed was complications—especially not the kind that could ruin their friendship. And so, she kept her feelings tucked away, hidden behind easy smiles and sarcastic remarks, not wanting to risk what they already had.

-

As the race drew closer, the drizzle had turned into a steady downpour, and the paddock was buzzing with talk of potential rain strategies. Everyone was scrambling to adjust to the wet conditions, but despite the chaos, Lando’s mind was still on her. The image of her standing there, bundled up in his jacket, stuck with him. He couldn’t help it—making sure she was okay had always been a priority, even if he never openly admitted it.

Lando knew that his feelings for her had grown far beyond friendship. Somewhere along the line, between the races, the late-night texts, and the endless teasing, his heart had gotten involved. He had fallen for her, completely and utterly, but fear kept him from acting on it. What if she didn’t feel the same? What if he ruined everything by admitting it?

The thought scared him more than any race ever had.

And yet, there were moments—like today, when she looked at him with that mix of amusement and gratitude—where he swore she felt something too. It was in the way her gaze lingered just a little too long, or the way she unconsciously leaned into him when he was close. Maybe he was imagining it, or maybe he was just too afraid to see what was right in front of him.

-

By the time the race had ended, the rain had let up, but the cold lingered in the air. The stands were still packed with fans, despite the weather, and Lando had just finished celebrating a respectable finish. Exhausted but happy, he made his way back to the garage, peeling off his gloves as he went.

As soon as he spotted her waiting for him near the pit wall, bundled up in his oversized jacket, a sense of calm washed over him. She was talking to one of the mechanics, laughing about something, but her eyes lit up when she saw him approaching.

“Congrats,” she greeted him with a grin, her voice warm despite the cold. “You didn’t win, but hey, at least you didn’t crash in the rain, so that’s something.”

He chuckled, rolling his eyes playfully. “Always so supportive,” he teased, though he appreciated the way she could joke with him, even after a tough race.

“Someone’s got to keep your ego in check,” she shot back, the familiar banter flowing easily between them.

Lando was about to respond when he noticed the way her cheeks were still slightly flushed from the cold, despite the thick jacket she was wearing. Without thinking, he reached out, gently tugging the jacket higher on her shoulders, making sure she was as warm as possible.

“Thanks,” she murmured, her voice suddenly softer, as if the weight of the moment had settled between them.

Their eyes met, and for a brief second, the world around them faded away. It was just the two of them, standing in the fading light, rain still dripping off the roof of the garage. There was something unspoken in the air, something that had been building for years.

Neither of them moved, but the space between them felt charged with all the things they hadn’t said, all the emotions they had tried to bury.

“Lando, I—“ she started, but before she could finish, one of the engineers called him over, breaking the moment.

He shot her an apologetic look, but the tension between them lingered, the words unsaid hanging in the air.

“Later,” he promised, his voice low and sincere.

She nodded, watching him walk away, her heart heavy with the weight of everything they hadn’t said.

And just like that, the moment passed.

But the feelings didn’t. They never did.

୨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; my first request! I hope you enjoyed it and that this was what you had in mind! If not let me know so I can change things! Enjoy it, love!

[misspygmypie]

Meet & Greet... and more? Pt. 2

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Words: 2492 Click here for Part 1

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

It was a quiet evening at Lando’s apartment. The driver sat hunched over his laptop, his focus fixed on race strategies and upcoming circuits. His thoughts, though, were miles away from racing. They lingered on the Meet & Greet event from a few days ago, the moment he had met Y/N and her adorable 4-year-old son, Noah.

Lando had been smitten from the first minute he saw Y/N. Her genuine smile and the way she looked at Noah with such love had tugged at something deep inside him. He had given her his number with the hope that it would lead to something more, but as the days passed with no text or call, his hopes began to fade away.

Oscar had noticed the cloud hanging over Lando. During a break at the team headquarters he approached his team mate. “So, have you heard from Y/N yet?”

Lando’s eyes had lost their usual sparkle as he shook his head. “No, nothing. I’m starting to lose hope, to be honest. Maybe she just wasn’t interested.”

“You never know, mate,” Oscar had replied, “she might just be a bit shy or overwhelmed. Give it time.”

And so Lando had continued with his daily routine, a part of him still hoping, even if it was only a flicker. Then, on this particular evening, his phone buzzed, jolting him from his thoughts. It was a message from an unknown number and he frowned, unlocking the device and opening the text.

He glanced down, and his heart skipped a beat.

Y/N: Hi Lando, it’s Y/N from the Meet & Greet last week. I just wanted to say thank you again for the great time and the bear. Noah loves it and is always hugging it when he sleeps. Here’s a photo of him with his new best friend 😊

He looked at the photo and felt a huge smile instantly creeping on his face. Noah was nestled comfortably in his bed, the bear clutched tightly in his tiny arms. The sight of the peaceful sleeping child with the bear’s head peeking out from the covers made Lando’s heart melt.

He quickly started typing a response but paused, his fingers hovering over the screen. He wanted to convey how much it meant to him that Noah loved the gift but he also wanted to make sure his message came across just right. He was a professional at handling high-speed racing strategies, but this - this was a whole different kind of nerve-wracking.

Finally, he took a deep breath and typed:

Lando: Hey Y/N! Thank you for sending this, it’s absolutely adorable! I’m so happy Noah loves the bear and it was really great meeting you both. Is Noah usually this sweet when he’s sleeping or is he just showing off to his new bear? 😄 Hope you’re doing well!

He hit send and immediately felt a wave of nervous excitement. He glanced at the screen, replaying his message in his mind, hoping it didn’t sound too over the top or awkward. A few seconds later, he received a reply.

Y/N: Thanks, Lando! He’s usually a bit of a tornado during the day, so it’s nice to see him so peaceful at night 😄 We’re doing well and he keeps talking about meeting you. How about you? How’s everything going?

Lando’s smile widened and he felt a renewed sense of hope. They were actually starting a conversation and eagerly he tapped out a response with new found confidence:

Lando: Things are going great, thanks for asking! The racing is keeping me busy, but it’s always exciting. I’d love to hear more about what you and Noah have been up to?

As he hit send Lando leaned back in his chair, still smiling happily for the first time in days. The city lights outside seemed a little brighter and the race strategies on his laptop took a back seat for the rest of the night.

From that day on, each morning Lando would wake up and check his phone, eagerly scrolling through the messages from Y/N. Her texts were often filled with snippets of her and Noah’s daily life. 

One morning, Y/N sent him a snapshot of herself and Noah at a local park. Y/N was smiling brightly, looking effortlessly beautiful in a casual, sunlit setting.

Y/N: Just a day out at the park with Noah. He’s been running around non-stop!

Lando stared at the photo, struck by how stunning Y/N looked. Her natural beauty and radiant smile had him feeling a bit flustered. How does she manage to look this beautiful all the time? he wondered. And how is someone like her still single?

As their conversations continued, Lando found himself constantly impressed by Y/N. Whether it was a candid shot of her cooking dinner, playing with Noah, or simply relaxing at home she always appeared effortlessly beautiful. Another day, Y/N sent him a photo of Noah proudly showing off his latest artwork: a crayon drawing of a race car.

Y/N: Noah wanted to send you a picture of his latest masterpiece. He says it’s a McLaren, but I think he might be a bit optimistic! 😄

Lando chuckled at the message and immediately typed back.

Lando: That’s fantastic! I love it. Noah’s got quite the artistic talent. I’ll have to show this to my team, they might want to hire him for some design work!

In return, Lando shared stories from his life at McLaren, often with a humorous twist.

Lando: So, yesterday I was running late for a meeting and accidentally wore mismatched socks. Of course, I didn’t realize until halfway through the day when one of the engineers pointed it out. They’ve been teasing me about it ever since!

She replied with a laughing emoji and a playful message:

Y/N: Sounds like you’re fitting right in with the team! At least it’s not as bad as the time I tried to make dinner and ended up with something that looked like a science experiment gone wrong. Noah still teases me about it!

Their exchange of stories and photos continued and Lando loved hearing about their adventures and looked forward to the new stories they’d share. Then, one afternoon, he decided it was time to suggest an in-person meeting. He drafted a message and it took him nearly two hours to actually send it off.

Lando: Hey Y/N! I’ve been thinking about how much I’ve enjoyed our conversations these past few weeks. It’s been great getting to know you and Noah better. I’ve got a weekend off coming up in three weeks and I was wondering if you’d be up for meeting in person. I could fly out and we could grab coffee or something. Let me know what you think!

When he got Y/N’s reply it made Lando’s day.

Y/N: Hi Lando! That sounds amazing. I’ve really enjoyed our chats too. Noah would be thrilled to meet you again and it would be great to catch up in person. Let’s definitely plan for that weekend. I’ll look forward to it!

Lando: Awesome! I’m really looking forward to it. I’ll keep you updated with my flight details as we get closer to the date. Can’t wait to see you both!

________

As he settled into his apartment after a long day of working out and preparations for the next race he couldn’t wait any longer to share his next idea with Y/N. Over the past few days he had been thinking about how much he wanted to see them much earlier and he was nervous to find out what Y/N would say.

Lando: Hey Y/N! I was thinking... instead of our planned coffee date, how about joining me at the next race? I’d love for you and Noah to come. What do you think?

He hesitated for a moment before hitting send, his heart racing. A few hours later, Y/N’s response appeared on his phone. 

Y/N: Wow, Lando, that’s an incredible offer! I’m sure Noah would be thrilled to see the race but honestly, I’m not sure if we can afford the travel expenses right now. It’s a bit beyond our budget.

Lando’s heart sank a little but he was determined to make this work. He quickly typed back:

Lando: Please don’t worry about the cost, I’d really like to cover everything for you and Noah. It would mean a lot to me to have you both there. Just let me know if that works for you!

He felt hopeful. He wanted to ensure that money wasn’t an issue and that they could enjoy this experience without any worries. Minutes felt like hours as he waited for her response. Finally, Y/N’s reply came through:

Y/N: Lando, that’s so incredibly kind of you. I’m sure Noah will be ecstatic about this! I really appreciate your generosity and can’t believe how thoughtful you are. I’ll talk to him and start making arrangements. Thank you so much!

Lando’s smile grew wider as he read her message. He quickly responded:

Lando: I’m thrilled you’re excited! I’ll handle all the details, flights, hotel and race passes. I want to make sure everything is perfect for you both. I’ll send you all the information shortly. Can’t wait to see you again soon!

The next day he coordinated every detail meticulously, ensuring that everything was taken care of for their visit. He could hardly keep his excitement to himself and it didn’t take long for Oscar to notice the change in Lando’s mood.

The two drivers sat together in the lounge area, enjoying a rare moment of downtime between team talks. While Oscar sipped his coffee and flipped through a magazine Lando practically radiated with joy.

“Alright, spill it,” Oscar demanded, setting the magazine aside. “You’re practically glowing. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

Lando’s eyes sparkled as he looked at Oscar, clearly unable to keep his emotions contained. “So, Y/N and Noah, right?”

“What about them?”

“Well,” Lando said, practically bouncing in his seat, “I Invited them to the race next week.”

Oscar’s curiosity piqued. “And?”

“And,” Lando continued, “they are able to make it!”

Oscar’s smile widened. “That’s fantastic news,” he beamed at his friend and meant every word. Lando had been talking about them nonstop since the Meet & Greet and especially after Y/N had finally texted him back. Lando would update him on their texts and show him the pictures he would get.

Lando’s grin widened even further. “It means a lot to me that they’re coming out. I’m really looking forward to seeing them again and showing them around the paddock properly this time.”

“I’m really happy for you, mate, it sounds like it’s going to be a great weekend.”

“Thanks! I can’t wait to see them!”

________

Y/N looked out the kitchen window, a soft smile playing on her lips as she imagined Noah’s reaction. Noah was sprawled on the floor, concentrated on arranging his small collection of toy cars.

“Hey, Noah,” Y/N called out, trying to keep her voice casual while she bubbled with excitement. “Can you come over here for a minute?”

Noah set aside his cars and trotted over to his mom, his tiny sneakers scuffing against the kitchen tiles. “What is it, Mommy?”

Y/N knelt down so she was eye-to-eye with him. “Guess what? Lando invited us to the next race!”

“Really? We’re going to see Lando again?” Noah’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Yes” Y/N confirmed, her excitement barely contained. “We’re going to fly out to watch the race and spend some more time with Lando!”

Noah jumped up and down, his little fists pumping in the air. “This is the best day ever! Can I bring my toy cars to show Lando? And my Lando hat?”

“Of course you can bring your toy cars and I’m sure Lando will be thrilled to see your hat.”

Noah’s excitement was contagious. “Can we start packing now? I want to make sure we don’t forget anything!”

“Not just yet,” Y/N said, chuckling. “We still have a little bit of time before we leave. But we can start picking out your favorite race car pajamas and making a list of what to bring.”

Noah nodded vigorously. “I’m going to wear my pajamas every day until we go! And I’ll make a special drawing for Lando too. Can I put it in his car?”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea. I’m sure Lando will love it.”

As traveling day approached, excitement filled the air at Y/N’s home. Noah could hardly contain himself, racing around the house with his favorite race car pajamas and a carefully packed backpack full of toy cars and race-themed items. Y/N, on the other hand, was busy with last-minute preparations, ensuring everything was ready for their trip.

Finally Y/N stood in the hallway, surveying the scene: a large suitcase packed with essentials, Noah’s backpack and a neatly organized tote bag filled with snacks and travel necessities. The sight of it all made her smile, but she had one more thing to do before they left.

With a grin, Y/N picked up her phone and snapped a quick picture. In the photo, a Lando cap poked out of Noah’s backpack and next to it was a little sign that read “Ready for the race!” She made sure to include a glimpse of Noah’s favorite race car pajamas draped over one of the bags.

She typed out a quick message to Lando, her excitement evident in every word:

Y/N: We’re all packed and ready for the big race! 🏁 Noah is beyond excited and insisted on showing off his race car pajamas and Lando hat. We thought you might like to see how ready we are for the adventure. Y/N & Noah

With a satisfied smile Y/N hit send. She knew Lando was busy, but she hoped the photo would bring a smile to his face.

A few hours later, as Y/N and Noah were finishing their final preparations, Y/N’s phone buzzed with a new message. She picked it up and saw a reply from Lando, accompanied by a photo of his own.

Lando: Hey Y/N! Wow, you guys are definitely race-day ready! 😎 I love Noah’s hat and pajamas. Can’t wait to see you both. I’ve got a little surprise planned for Noah! See you soon!  

Y/N showed the message to Noah, who was practically bouncing with excitement. “Look, Noah! Lando says he has a surprise for you!”

“A surprise?” the boy’s eyes widened. “What do you think it is, Mommy?”

Y/N shook her head with a smile. “I’m not sure, but I’m sure it will be something amazing!”

_________

Click here for Part 3

Tag: @barcelonaloverf1life @remmysthings

[flowerwiththemachinegun]

Play fighting with any of these guys can either be really fun or a traumatic experience.

Just a few play fighting hc’s

AGSZC+Hojo

————————————————————————

Zack

Immediately catches on to your antics and “fights” back, also always starts a fight with you

Will definitely lift you up and toss you over his shoulder

Lets you win sometimes unless you start shit talking, will start a new round for your transgressions

Loves slamming you onto the bed or couch, absolutely takes advantage of the fact he can swing you around

He definitely knows a set or two (three) of wwe moves, can’t tell me otherwise

Will stop to make sure you’re okay after underestimating his strength, tossing you completely over the bed

Didn’t play fight with you for months after said incident ^^^^^

This boy has too much energy and is going to play with you until you’re wheezing

Will fight you any and everywhere

Angeal

Had to learn that despite him telling you a very very firm no you were going to climb him like a tree and attempt to secure a rear naked choke

Easily breaks free of any hold you manage to surprise him with (if you can get lucky enough to catch him off guard)

Caves in to your playfulness eventually but asks if you’re okay 45 million times because he can’t “hurt his baby”

Never lets you win but will prolong fights for your sake since you call him mean

Almost always ends in cuddles

Uses said cuddles as a tactic to end your assault. catching on you eventually make it your playful way of asking for cuddles

Only play fights with you in private but will occasionally do it in front of friends

Sephiroth

That man’s reflexes almost took your head off, looked at you with pure bewilderment the first time because “why do you want to hit me?”

Definitely has to get use to this form of playfulness but grows to like the amount of physical contact

On the rarest occasion he might playfully attack first, stopping whatever he was doing to play with you before casually going back about his business

Can get fed up pretty fast sometimes, will pin you down and ask “are you done now”

Memorizes any strategy you have against him (not that you ever win)

Has no idea what it even means to let you win, he’s undefeated. “you have to earn the title”

Only uses 2% of his strength when fighting you, you try to force him to use even more strength

Only play fights at home

Cloud

“What the hell are you doing?” Another bewildered look, he’s no fun right now

He’s not going to play with you…at first

Caves in after months of attempts, to your surprise he attacked you first

(He’s just hard ^)

Also likes the amount of physical contact because he’s touch starved

You thought this guy would let you win? No. Absolutely not—he’ll be damned. You know that boy loves to win.

Is definitely gonna go 3D Brawlers on you and 3 piece combo the shit out of you.

“Are you okay?” He’s smirking as he asks, as though he didn’t just leave you on the floor to die

Definitely only does this when it’s the just two of you

Hojo

Don’t even bother with this man. isn’t entertaining anything ever

Christ he’s an old man why are you trying to fight him anyways

Just wants you to get back in your pod “don’t make this more difficult than it has to be”

Slaps your hands away (kinda sassy) “I have work to do”

Are you supposed to care about his work when he only lets you out of your pod once a week? You’ve gotta enjoy this

Still touching him and refusing to get back in your pod, he sees clearly now you must want to breed

Genesis (The Rizzler)

Started play fighting with you first, he’s gotta see what positions he can contort you into for later

Also loves tossing you around, has to show you that his muscles aren’t just for show

The biggest show off of them all, isn’t going to let you win. not unless you sit on it

100% going to hunt you down for trying to slip in a shot, running away after you hit him

Likes holding you against him as all you can do is giggle and squirm

Almost always ends with you naked underneath him. I don’t make the rules, he’s gonna tickle you out of those drawers

Knows you want to fight before you know you want to fight

Will play with you in front of any of his friends and at home, also not very public about it.

————————————————————————

I call Genesis The Rizzler on a regular basis, you couldn’t even convince me his name is Genesis anymore

[onebadassunicorn]

His Blue-Eyed Angel

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: war, blood, gore, depression, feelings of hopelessness, serious angst

word count: 8.3k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Story tags: @bravo-delta-eccho @tele86 @tiredsleepyhead @celestialgilb @theflowerswillbloom @fuckingsimp4azriel @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @salvatoresister1 @imperfect0angel @stvrdustalexx

********************

Chapter 15

Azriel POV

In the days after Solstice, the atmosphere in the House of Wind shifted. Azriel began to pull away from Elain, his interactions with her growing distant and infrequent. Where he once might have lingered at her side during meals or sought her out for quiet conversations, he now avoided her altogether. His shadows seemed to reflect his inner turmoil, curling tighter around him, darker and more restless than usual.

Elain noticed, of course, her soft glances toward him unanswered, her gentle attempts at conversation met with curt responses or silence. The others noticed as well—Feyre and Mor exchanged looks, and even Cassian’s usually boisterous demeanor seemed more subdued in Azriel’s presence. Rhysand, ever perceptive, said nothing for now, though his sharp, calculating gaze lingered on Azriel more often than not.

The tension thickened further when Rhysand summoned the Inner Circle to the war room a few days later. The air was heavy with purpose as they gathered around the large table, maps and battle plans spread out before them. Rhysand stood at the head of the table, his violet eyes hard and focused.

“We’ve received word from our spies,” Rhysand began, his tone clipped. “Hybern’s troops are on the move. Their forces are gathering in a valley near the northern border of the Autumn Court. If we wait, they’ll be able to consolidate their forces, and we’ll lose the advantage. We need to strike now, while they’re exposed.”

Feyre, seated beside him, nodded, her expression grim. “An element of surprise,” she said. “It’s risky but necessary.”

Cassian leaned forward, his hazel eyes scanning the map. “We’ll need to mobilize the Illyrian legions immediately,” he said, his voice all business. “How many soldiers are we up against?”

“Thousands,” Rhysand replied. “But they’re spread thin. If we act quickly and strike hard, we can take out a significant portion of their forces before they regroup.”

Azriel’s shadows shifted restlessly as he studied the map. His hazel eyes were sharp and calculating, but his mind was clouded with other thoughts—of Y/n, her empty chair at breakfast, the painting she had returned. The faint hum of the bond in his chest ached with every passing day, a reminder of what he had pushed away. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand, burying his emotions beneath the weight of strategy and logic.

“I’ll lead the first scouting missions,” Azriel said, his voice steady despite the storm inside him. “We need to confirm their numbers and positions before we move.”

Rhysand nodded, his expression approving. “Do it. Cassian, you’ll oversee the Illyrian legions and prepare them for immediate deployment.”

“What about reinforcements from the other courts?” Mor asked, her golden-brown eyes flicking between Rhysand and Feyre.

“Tarquin has pledged his forces,” Rhysand said. “They’ll meet us on the battlefield. We’ve also sent word to Thesan and Kallias. But for now, we’ll have to rely on the element of surprise and our own strength.”

As the discussion continued, Azriel’s mind drifted. He thought of Y/n, of her strength, her resolve—and how he had done nothing but chip away at both.

He wondered if she knew about Hybern’s movements. If Tarquin had told her. If she would be fighting alongside her court when the time came.

When the meeting adjourned, the Inner Circle dispersed, their faces grim but resolute. Azriel lingered behind, his shadows curling tightly around him as he stared at the map, his thoughts a chaotic mix of strategy and guilt.

The war was coming, and he would fight with everything he had. But even as he prepared for the battle ahead, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the war he was truly fighting was the one within himself—the war to reconcile his duty, his choices, and the bond that tied him to the female he had let slip away.

******

Azriel POV

The following morning, the Inner Circle gathered again in the war room, the weight of their impending invasion pressing down on them. Maps of the battlefield sprawled across the table, markers indicating Hybern’s positions and the placement of their own troops. Rhysand stood at the head of the table, his violet eyes sharp and calculating as he detailed the plan for the attack. Cassian, Azriel, Mor, Feyre, and Nesta listened intently, each of them preparing for the fight that awaited them at dawn.

As Rhysand finished outlining the strategy, the doors to the war room creaked open, drawing everyone’s attention. All eyes turned to the figure standing in the doorway, and the room fell silent.

Y/n stepped inside, her black feathered wings tucked neatly behind her. She looked different—her face gaunt, her eyes darkened, her feathers dull. However, she stood tall, her shoulders squared, her expression calm and composed as she met their surprised gazes.

“Y/n,” Mor said, breaking the silence, her voice filled with shock and relief. “You’re here.”

“Y/n,” Rhysand echoed, his voice softening as he stepped around the table toward her. His violet eyes flickered with a mix of relief and guilt as he approached. Without hesitation, he pulled her into a tight embrace, her wings flaring slightly as he held her close. “It’s good to see you, little sister,” he said warmly his voice tinged with genuine affection. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Y/n replied quietly, her voice steady as she returned his embrace.

When Rhysand finally released her, Cassian was already moving forward, a grin breaking across his face. “Y/n,” he said, his voice booming as he wrapped her in a bear hug, lifting her slightly off the ground. “I’m glad you’re here. You’ve come at the right time.”

She smiled faintly as Cassian set her down, his hands lingering briefly on her shoulders. “I’m ready to help,” she said simply. “To fight under your unit. Your command.”

Cassian’s grin widened, and he gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll be an asset. I’m glad to have you with us.”

The room remained silent as she stepped back, her gaze sweeping over the rest of the Inner Circle. Feyre offered her a small, welcoming smile, while Nesta gave a curt nod, her sharp eyes assessing but not unkind. Mor looked as though she wanted to hug her but held back, a mixture of guilt and relief on her face.

Azriel stood rigid at the far end of the room, his shadows curling tightly around him. His hazel eyes were locked on her, his expression unreadable as he took in her presence. The faint hum of the bond in his chest pulsed painfully, a mix of longing and relief washing over him.

She was here.

She had come back.

But she wouldn’t look at Azriel.

Never at Azriel.

“Tarquin agreed to send you?” Rhysand asked, his voice calm but curious.

She nodded. “He thought it best. And so did I.”

Rhysand’s violet eyes softened. “It’s good to have you here, Y/n. Truly.”

Azriel stood at the far end of the room, his shadows curling tightly around him. His hazel eyes locked onto her, and he couldn’t pull his gaze away. Relief warred with worry in his chest, the bond pulsing faintly as he took her in. She was thinner, paler than before, her wings no longer gleaming with the same luster. The spark that had once lit up her blue eyes had dimmed, and Azriel’s chest tightened as he thought of what had brought her here.

Her determination wasn’t the kind that came from hope. It was the kind that came from resignation.

She had taken this fight, this mission, because she had nothing left. He could see it in the way she held herself, the set of her jaw, the hollowness that still lingered in her eyes. She had come here willing to die. Maybe even ready to.

And that terrified him.

She inclined her head slightly, her gaze lingering on the maps spread across the table. “What’s the plan?” she asked, her tone all business.

Rhysand smiled faintly, gesturing for her to join them. “We were just finalizing the details. Your timing is perfect.”

As she moved to the table, standing beside Cassian, Azriel’s gaze followed her every step. His chest tightened as he noticed the quiet determination in her expression, the strength in the way she held herself. But he also saw the exhaustion that still lingered in her eyes, the weight she carried from everything she had endured.

She listened intently as Rhysand resumed explaining the strategy, her sharp eyes scanning the maps and formations. Cassian leaned closer to her, pointing out key positions and quietly discussing their unit’s role.

Azriel’s hands clenched into fists as he watched her. The way she listened so calmly, the way her expression remained impassive as Rhysand described the dangers they would face—it only deepened his unease. She wasn’t even afraid. Not because she was overly confident in her skills, but because she didn’t care anymore.

She didn’t care if she lived or died.

He knew that look.

He had worn it himself once, long ago.

The thought made his stomach twist painfully. He had spent countless nights imagining her safe, happy, far away from the pain he had caused her. But seeing her now, so hollow and resigned, made him realize just how much worse things had gotten since she had left.

His shadows whispered around him, agitated by the storm of emotions swirling in his chest. He forced himself to stay silent, to remain at his post near the edge of the room. But his hazel eyes never left her, and the bond thrummed faintly in the back of his mind—a constant reminder of the connection he had tried so hard to deny.

And now, as she stood in the war room preparing for a battle she might not survive, Azriel couldn’t shake the terrible fear that he had already lost her before the battle even began.

******

Y/n POV

I stepped closer to the table, my sharp gaze sweeping over the map. I studied the routes and positions with quiet focus, the tension in my body easing slightly as I assessed the situation. My mind shifted into strategy mode, the same mindset I had used countless times during my training under Tarquin.

Cassian watched me carefully, unsure of what to expect. But when I raised a finger to one of the marked routes, my voice was clear and steady.

“They’re sending troops through this pass,” I said, tracing a narrow valley on the map. “It’s smart—it’ll keep them hidden until they’re close. But it’s also their biggest vulnerability. It’s a bottleneck. If we send a small, fast team to block this choke point, they’ll have no choice but to retreat or spread out. Either way, it’ll break their momentum.”

Cassian blinked, impressed despite himself. He leaned forward, his brows furrowing as he studied the path I’d indicated. “She’s right,” he muttered, tapping the map. “A bottleneck here could disrupt their entire approach. We’d need to move fast, though. If they make it through, it’ll be too late.”

“I can lead the team,” I offered, my voice calm and confident. “I’ve trained for this kind of terrain. I know how to move quickly and quietly.”

Cassian’s gaze flicked to me, his lips twitching slightly as if holding back a grin. “Bold of you,” he said, though there was no mockery in his tone. “But you’ve got a point. A small team would work best—fast, efficient, and harder to spot.”

“Exactly,” I replied, nodding. I shifted my attention to another part of the map. “And here, this ridge—if we station archers along the top, we can pick them off as they retreat. They’ll be exposed, and we can minimize our own losses.”

Cassian raised a brow, glancing at Rhysand, who was watching the exchange silently. “You’ve got a knack for this,” Cassian said, his tone laced with approval. “Where’d you learn all that?”

“Tarquin,” I said simply, my voice steady. “He drilled strategies into me day and night. Said I’d never be a good fighter unless I knew how to think like one.”

Cassian let out a low whistle, leaning back slightly. “Well, it paid off. That’s a damn good plan.”

Rhysand’s gaze softened slightly as he watched the exchange, though his worry for me hadn’t entirely abated. “It’s a solid strategy,” he said, his tone calm but measured. “Cassian, take her suggestions into account as you plan your teams.”

Cassian nodded, his gaze flicking back to me with newfound respect. “You’ve got good instincts,” he said. “If you ever get tired of fighting, you might have a future as a general.”

I didn’t respond to the compliment, my attention returning to the map. But Cassian could see the faintest flicker of pride in my eyes, and it made him grin.

“Alright,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get this plan in motion.”

******

Azriel POV

The room was thick with tension as Rhysand continued outlining the strategy, his voice steady as he explained the details of the plan. Y/n stood beside Cassian, her sharp eyes fixed on the maps and formations. She listened intently, nodding occasionally as Cassian pointed out key positions.

Azriel, standing at the edge of the room, couldn’t stay silent any longer. His shadows writhed around him, reflecting the storm of emotions in his chest. He stepped forward, his voice low but tight with concern. “She shouldn’t be fighting.”

All eyes turned to him, the room falling silent. Y/n’s gaze finally flickered to Azriel, meeting his hazel eyes for the first time in months. Her expression was unreadable, but her wings shifted slightly, drawing tighter behind her.

“She’s perfectly capable,” Cassian said, breaking the silence, his voice calm but firm. “You’ve seen her fight, Az.”

“That’s not the point,” Azriel snapped, his shadows curling tighter around him. His gaze never left her as he continued, his voice thick with frustration. “She shouldn’t be putting herself in danger.”

Y/n’s expression hardened, her wings flaring slightly as she straightened her spine. “I’m standing right here, Azriel,” she said, her voice cold and sharp. “If you have something to say about me, you can say it to me.”

His jaw tightened, and the bond in his chest throbbed painfully. “This isn’t about questioning your abilities,” he said carefully, his voice softer now. “You don’t have to do this, Y/n.”

“I want to,” she interrupted, her tone firm. “Don’t tell me to sit this out. I’m trained, and you need everyone. I’m not going to stay behind while the rest of you risk your lives. I’m here. To do my part. Like everyone else.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of their unspoken emotions pressing heavily in the room. Rhysand cleared his throat, his violet eyes sharp as he glanced between them. “If Y/n is willing to fight,” he said firmly, “then she will fight. She has proven herself capable. And we need every capable fighter we have.”

Azriel clenched his jaw, his gaze flicking briefly to Rhysand before returning to her. She looked back at him, her expression unreadable, before she turned her attention back to the map.

As the discussion resumed, Azriel stepped back, his shadows coiling around him once more. But his gaze lingered on her, the faint hum of the bond in his chest a constant reminder of the distance between them.

One that felt wider now than ever.

******

Y/n POV

Inside, my chest was hollow, a constant ache I couldn’t escape. But I no longer cared.

No longer cared what Azriel thought.

I didn’t feel fear, or anger, or even hope. I just felt tired. Tired of hurting, tired of existing in a world that didn’t seem to want me. If this battle could give me a moment of purpose, a chance to feel something, then so be it.

And if it didn’t… well, I wasn’t sure I cared about that, either.

******

Azriel POV

Y/n threw herself into preparations for the upcoming battle, her every movement purposeful and efficient. She immersed herself in strategies with Cassian, sparring sessions, and ensuring her weapons were sharp and ready. On the surface, she appeared focused and composed, her sharp mind working through every detail of the coming fight. But beneath the calm exterior, she was a hollow shell of the vibrant, fierce woman she once was.

Her eyes, once luminous and full of life, were dulled now, stormy and distant, as though her mind was far away even when she spoke. Her voice was steady when she shared her plans, when she gave advice or asked questions, but there was no spark behind it. Her wings, once proud and strong, drooped slightly when she wasn’t in motion, their black feathers frayed and lifeless.

Even her movements, while still sharp and calculated, lacked the fire that used to define her. She trained hard, sparring with Cassian and the other warriors, her blows precise and efficient. But there was no passion behind them, no sense of drive. She was moving out of duty, out of obligation, not out of the unyielding determination that had once made her such a force.

Azriel noticed it all.

He stood silently in the shadows, his hazel eyes following her every move as she worked with Cassian in the training ring. She moved like a predator, quick and graceful, but there was something missing. Something vital. Her strikes landed with force, her defenses held strong, but there was no energy behind them, no fire. She was going through the motions, her body present, but her soul somewhere else entirely.

His gaze lingered on her face, the sharp angles of her cheekbones more pronounced now, her lips pressed into a firm line. Her blue eyes were darker than he remembered, their depths heavy with pain and exhaustion. She didn’t smile, didn’t laugh, didn’t even engage in the teasing banter that Cassian was clearly attempting to draw out of her. She simply nodded at his words, offering brief, flat responses before returning to her work.

Azriel’s chest tightened as he watched her, the faint hum of the bond in his chest a constant ache. He wanted to approach her, to say something—anything—but every time he thought of how he’d pushed her away, how he’d let her slip through his fingers, the words caught in his throat. He had no right to her anymore, no right to ask what was wrong when he already knew the answer.

But he couldn’t stop watching her. Couldn’t stop noticing every detail, every sign of how much she’d changed. Her silence was deafening, her stillness unnatural. This wasn’t the woman he’d first met, the woman who had challenged him, sparred with him, and fought with a fire that rivaled the sun. This was someone worn down, someone barely holding on.

When she finished sparring with Cassian and walked past him without so much as a glance, his shadows stirred restlessly, wanting to reach for her, to pull her back. But he stayed rooted to the spot, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.

He didn’t deserve to go after her. Not after what he’d done.

And it was killing him.

******

Azriel POV

The day of the battle arrived with a heavy silence that hung over the camp like a storm about to break. Warriors moved with grim determination, the clash of steel and the scrape of armor echoing through the crisp morning air. Y/n stood near the edge of the war camp, her black-feathered wings spread slightly as she secured the last of her weapons. Her movements were mechanical, her expression focused, though her blue eyes were dark, shadowed with something colder than fear—resignation.

She was ready. Ready to fight, ready to face whatever awaited her on the battlefield. And if she didn’t survive, if this day became her last, she had made her peace with that. Better to die with honor than to continue this hollow existence where she felt neither belonging nor hope.

It was so obvious to Azriel.

As the war drums began to beat in the distance, Azriel went to her. His shadows arrived before he did, curling and swirling around her like restless specters.

“Y/n,” he said softly, his voice low but strained.

She paused, her hands stilling on the strap of her chest plate, but she didn’t look at him. “Azriel,” she replied evenly, her tone distant and cool, as if his presence barely registered.

He stepped closer, his hazel eyes scanning her carefully. She looked every bit the warrior she was—armored, weapons gleaming, her posture rigid and steady. But there was something off, something missing. The fire he had once admired in her, that had made her so uniquely her, was gone. Her wings, dull and lifeless, shifted slightly as though trying to shield her from him.

“The pass you will be attacking,” he said after a moment, his voice soft. “It’s a dangerous position—”

“I know,” she interrupted, her tone clipped. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“Y/n…” His voice broke slightly, the words faltering on his lips. He stepped closer, his shadows pulling back as though trying to give her space. “I just… wanted to make sure you’re ready.”

She finally turned to him, her lifeless blue eyes meeting his. There was no warmth in them, no spark, just the cold determination of someone who had already made peace with the worst possible outcome. “I’m ready,” she said simply, her voice sharp and emotionless. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

His jaw tightened, frustration flickering across his face. “I do worry about you,” he said, his voice low but intense. “I always have.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she turned away, adjusting the hilt of her sword. “Then save it for someone who needs it. Someone who matters.”

The words stung, but he didn’t back down. He took another step closer, his voice softer now. “You matter.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head as she turned to face him fully. “No, I don’t,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Not to you. Not really. So go, Azriel. Go and protect Elain. She needs your protection. I do not.”

He stepped closer, his shadows stilling around him as he searched her face. “Y/n, if something happens—”

She stepped closer to him, her eyes hard and cold, her voice cutting. “If something happens, I’ll handle it. That’s why I’m here.”

“That’s not what I—” He stopped, frustration flaring in his hazel eyes. He was trying to reach her, but she was as closed off as he’d ever seen her. She turned away from him, buckling the straps on her leathers.

Her words struck him like a blow, the bond in his chest throbbing faintly, painfully. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around to face him. His shadows swirled frantically, reflecting the storm of emotions inside him.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice cracking, his hazel eyes pleading. “Don’t—”

Her gaze met his, cold and unyielding, and she took a step back, shrugging off his touch. “Stop,” she said, her voice sharp and final. “I’ll see you out there.”

Without waiting for his response, she turned away again, her wings shifting slightly as she walked toward the gathering warriors.

Azriel stood frozen, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he watched her go. The bond pulsed faintly, weakly, like a lifeline slipping through his fingers. He wanted to follow her, to say something—anything—that might pull her back. But once he realized she was not coming back, he left to take up his position on the main lines, his chest aching as he realized how far she had already drifted from him.

******

Y/n POV

As he left me, I exhaled slowly, my hand gripping the hilt of her sword. The love I had for Azriel still present, a cruel reminder of what could have been. But it didn’t matter now. I had a purpose today, a reason to keep moving forward.

I’d thought once, not so long ago, that I’d found a home here. A place to belong. People who cared for her. But I didn’t feel that anymore. The sting of Azriel’s rejection, of his distant gazes and deliberate pushes toward Elain, had stripped me of that hope. The weight of everything had hollowed me out until I barely recognized myself.

And if I didn’t make it back? If I fell on the battlefield, surrounded by the chaos of war? At least I would go out fighting, my honor intact, and finally be free of the emptiness that had consumed me.

My hands stilled on my preparations for a moment, my gaze fixed on the horizon. The war drums had started in the distance, a slow, steady beat that thrummed through the ground. The rhythm was calming in a strange way, final and resolute. I breathed deeply, letting the cold air fill my lungs. This was the only place I felt alive now—on the edge of danger, where the fear of death made my heartbeat just a little harder.

I closed my eyes briefly, the weight of my decision settling over me like a shroud. When I opened them again, the warrior in me had taken over, and the broken woman I’d been was left behind.

I moved toward the gathering army, to ready my team for attacking the pass, ready to face whatever came next. For better or for worse.

******

Y/n POV

The morning sun hung low in the sky, its pale light struggling to cut through the smoky haze of the battlefield. The sharp, biting wind carried the acrid tang of blood and ash as I stood at the head of my unit, black feathered wings spread wide, a stark contrast against the gray sky. My face was steady and calm, my eyes scanning the pass before us—Hybern’s forces had gathered here, a choke point that could turn the tide of battle.

“Hold your lines,” I ordered, my voice cutting through the noise, clear and commanding. The soldiers at my back—Illyrians, Summer Court warriors, and others who had volunteered—responded with sharp nods and braced for what was to come.

Cassian had trusted me with this mission: take the pass, eliminate Hybern’s forces there, and cut off their ability to reinforce the main battle line. I didn’t hesitate to accept it. Now, standing at the edge of the ridge, watching Hybern’s soldiers pour toward us, I spread my wings and shouted, “Forward!”

The sound of wings beating filled the air as the Illyrians surged behind me. I dove first, my sword gleaming in the dim light as I cut through the front line of soldiers. My water magic coiled around me like a storm, sharp tendrils forming into spears that struck Hybern soldiers down with deadly precision.

The fighting was brutal. Hybern had fortified the pass with far more soldiers than anticipated, but I did not falter. I moved like liquid—each strike measured, my magic flowing seamlessly with my movements. I fought with the unrelenting focus of someone who refused to fail. Something Tarquin has instilled in me a long time ago.

My warriors followed my lead. Arrows rained down, clashing against Illyrian shields as soldiers pushed through Hybern’s lines. Swords clanged, magic sizzled, and the battlefield became a storm of chaos. I didn’t stop. My black wings beat hard against the air as I rose and dove, striking down enemies before they could regroup.

“Push forward!” I shouted, my voice steady even as blood splattered across my face and my armor. My sword swept through another soldier, and I turned just in time to send a wall of water crashing into a group attempting to flank my unit.

The battle raged for what felt like hours, but Hybern’s forces began to break. They retreated, those who remained fleeing back toward their reinforcements. I landed hard on the ridge, panting, sweat and blood dripping from my brow. My unit reformed behind me, battered but victorious.

“The pass is secure,” one of my captains reported, his voice hoarse but triumphant. “We did it.”

I nodded, forcing a small, satisfied smile despite the exhaustion pressing at my limbs. “Hold the position. Reinforce it and make sure no one gets through. I’m going to join the others.”

I sheathed my bloodied sword, my magic sparking faintly at my fingertips as I spread my wings again. Without waiting, I took off into the sky, flying fast and low toward the sounds of another battle.

The main lines.

******

Azriel POV

The Inner Circle fought at the heart of the battlefield, their combined strength holding Hybern’s relentless assault at bay. Rhysand hovered above the chaos, sending dark power rippling through enemy lines, while Feyre loosed arrows with deadly accuracy from atop a ridge. Cassian was on the ground, his sword a blur as he hacked through soldiers, roaring orders to his Illyrian commanders. Nesta fought beside him, her power a silver flame scorching through the enemies that dared get close.

Tarquin fought near them, his trident flashing with deadly precision, waves of his Summer Court magic sweeping through groups of Hybern’s soldiers. The High Lord of Summer was relentless, his face set in determination and fury as he defended his allies.

Azriel was everywhere at once, his shadows slicing through the thickest parts of the fight, a lethal force moving through Hybern’s ranks with surgical precision. But even as he fought, a part of him couldn’t stop thinking about Y/n, about her mission at the pass, about whether she was safe.

Then he saw her.

She streaked across the sky like a black arrow, her wings carrying her swiftly over the battlefield. His chest tightened at the sight of her—the calm focus on her face, the precision of her flight, even as blood stained her face and her armor, and her hair hung loose around her face. Her arrival was marked by a gust of wind and the faint echo of water rippling as her magic carried her to the battlefield. She landed beside Cassian and Nesta with a graceful, determined precision, her blue eyes already scanning for where she was most needed.

“The pass is secure,” She shouted over the clash of steel, drawing Cassian’s attention. “Their forces are retreating and reforming.”

Cassian’s grin was wide despite the blood streaking his face. “I knew you could handle it,” he shouted, pride clear in his voice. “You’re a godsdamned force, Y/n.”

Before she could respond, Tarquin appeared beside them, dispatching the last of the soldiers in his path with a sweep of his trident. He turned to her, his gaze full of pride and something softer—a deep respect for the female who stood before him. “You did well, little sister,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the noise. “Securing that pass may have turned this battle in our favor.”

She inclined her head, her expression calm despite the blood and exhaustion that marred her features. “I’ll keep fighting. We’re not finished yet.”

Tarquin’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Your mother would have been proud,” he said softly, his voice barely above a murmur. “I’m proud of you.”

Something flickered in her eyes, brief but unmistakable, before she nodded once. Without another word, she turned back to the battlefield, drawing her sword and falling into step beside Nesta as the enemy’s forces renewed their attack. Her movements fluid and deadly, she cut through the ranks, magic swirling around her once more, freezing soldiers in their tracks or forcing them back with walls of crushing water.

Azriel had been fighting on the far side of the battlefield, his shadows slicing through enemy ranks with ruthless precision. But the moment he saw her land, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. She was a blur of motion—black feathered wings spread wide as she struck down soldier after soldier, her magic lashing out in fluid, crushing waves.

Even as he fought, clearing a path for Illyrian soldiers, his gaze kept drifting to her. To the way she moved with unrelenting focus and determination, her strength unwavering despite the obvious exhaustion in her frame. But Azriel saw it—the weight she carried, the toll this fight was taking on her.

She was fierce. She was extraordinary.

But a part of him feared what it was costing her.

“Y/n!” Azriel called, his voice cutting through the chaos as he began to move toward her, his hazel eyes locked on her figure.

She didn’t respond, didn’t even glance his way, too focused on cutting through Hybern’s forces beside Nesta. Her magic was a storm around her, her strikes so precise and deadly they bordered on effortless.

Azriel clenched his jaw, his wings twitching with frustration as he continued to fight his way toward her. Tarquin was now fighting close to her as well, his magic a perfect complement to hers, the two of them moving in tandem like waves crashing upon a shore.

Azriel’s shadows hissed anxiously as he watched her strike down another enemy, the bond in his chest pulsing faintly, a cruel reminder of the distance he had placed between them. She didn’t falter. She didn’t stop.

But Azriel couldn’t shake the worry simmering beneath his focus. She had pushed herself to the brink once already, and he feared she was doing so again. It was her strength that awed him—but it was also that strength that terrified him.

As she turned to face a new wave of soldiers, her black wings spread wide, her sword raised, Azriel finally closed the distance, slicing through a group of enemies as his shadows danced viciously around him. His eyes met hers for just a fleeting moment—her gaze calm and unreadable.

He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but she turned back to the fight without a word, leaving him standing there, the bond humming faintly in his chest like a warning.

And as Azriel fell back into the battle, his strikes growing sharper, faster, he realized with no small amount of dread that even surrounded by allies, even victorious at the pass— it seemed as if she still felt like she was fighting alone.

******

Azriel POV

The battlefield roared with the clash of steel and the screams of soldiers, the ground slick with blood and ash. The Inner Circle fought with a brutal determination, holding their line against Hybern’s relentless assault. Rhysand hovered above, dark power raining down like a storm, while Feyre’s arrows flew true from her vantage point. Cassian fought alongside Nesta, his sword cleaving through enemy after enemy. Tarquin’s trident flashed like a beacon in the chaos, his waves of magic crushing entire battalions.

Amidst the cacophony, Feyre’s sharp voice rose, edged with panic. “Elain! Where’s Elain?”

The question cut through the noise, and heads turned as the realization sank in. Elain was gone.

“She was just here,” Feyre said, her voice tight as she scanned the battlefield. Her eyes darted wildly over the chaos, her bow lowering as dread crept across her face. “I don’t see her.”

Azriel’s wings snapped open, his entire body going rigid. His shadows shot out like black vipers, scouring the battlefield in frantic waves. “I’ll go,” he said immediately, his voice sharp, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Before he could move, Y/n stepped forward, her black wings spreading wide, her gaze steady and unflinching. “I’ll find her,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “And I’ll bring her back.”

“No.” Azriel turned to her, his voice low and fierce, his hazel eyes blazing. “Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous.”

Y/n met his gaze, calm and resolute, her blue eyes unyielding. “The Inner Circle needs you here, Azriel. This line will crumble without you. Let me go.”

“Y/n, no.” Azriel stepped closer, his wings flaring as if to block her path. “You’re putting yourself in danger—don’t do this.”

“I can handle it,” she said firmly, her voice cutting through his protest. “I secured the pass, didn’t I? I’ll find Elain and bring her back.”

“You don’t understand—” Azriel began, his voice tight with frustration, but she cut him off.

“No, you don’t understand,” she snapped, her gaze flickering with that same stubborn determination that always left him speechless. “Elain is missing, and someone needs to get her back before Hybern realizes they have her. She's too valuable as a seer. You’re needed here, Azriel. Stay and protect the line.”

Her words hit their mark, but Azriel’s jaw tightened, his shadows coiling anxiously around him. The bond in his chest pulsed faintly, warning him, begging him to stop her.

“Angel, please…” His voice softened, his desperation bleeding through the cracks in his armor.

She paused at the desperation in his voice and name for her but she didn’t falter. She stepped past him, her wings lifting, her sword still clutched in her hand. “I’ll be fine,” she said, though her voice held none of the warmth it once had. “Keep fighting. I’ll see you when I bring her back.”

Before Azriel could stop her, she launched into the sky, her black wings cutting through the smoke-filled air as she soared toward the far edge of the battlefield, where Elain had last been seen.

Azriel stood frozen for a moment, his chest heaving as he watched her disappear into the chaos. A storm of anger, fear, and guilt brewed inside him. She shouldn’t have gone alone. He should have stopped her.

Cassian’s voice broke through his haze. “Az, we need you here. Focus.”

Azriel clenched his jaw, forcing himself to turn back to the fight, his shadows whipping violently as they carved through the enemy. But his mind wasn’t there—not truly. It was with her.

Always with her.

******

Y/n POV

I flew fast and low, the wind whipping against my face as the sounds of battle faded behind me. Smoke choked the air, the acrid scent of blood and magic lingering as I sped toward the far end of the field where Elain had last been seen. My mind was clear, focused only on one task: finding Elain and bringing her back to her family, back to Azriel.

I knew Azriel didn’t want me to do this. I had seen the desperation in his eyes, had felt the weight of his words. But he was needed on the main lines. They all needed him there. This was my task now, and I refused to let Hybern take another victory.

I refused to let Azriel be without Elain.

The one he loves.

When I landed at the edge of the battlefield, it was eerily silent. The cries of soldiers were distant now, muffled by the thundering of my heart. My wings folded behind me as I crept forward, the sharp sound of my boots on the scorched ground barely audible. My magic thrummed faintly beneath my skin, ready to respond at the first sign of danger.

“Elain,” I called softly, scanning the smoke-heavy air. “Elain!”

A sudden noise to my left made me spin, my sword flashing out instinctively as I scanned the ruins of a collapsed tent. My gaze finally landed on a familiar figure.

Elain.

She was struggling against her captors, her eyes wide with fear, but before I could take another step, two soldiers turned and charged toward me.

With a fierce cry, I drew my blades, my movements swift and calculated. The first soldier fell quickly, my dagger sliding cleanly across his throat, but more emerged from the shadows. I fought them off one by one, my training and instinct taking over as I parried strikes and countered with deadly precision. But the sheer number of them began to overwhelm me, and I knew we both didn’t have much time.

******

Azriel POV

The battle raged on, the ground a churning chaos of blood, ash, and magic. Azriel moved like a shadow, his blade cutting cleanly through Hybern’s soldiers, his shadows lashing out to drag others into the darkness. His focus was razor-sharp, his instincts honed by centuries of war. Yet, somewhere beneath that lethal precision, unease simmered.

It started as a whisper in the back of his mind—something felt off. He scanned the battlefield between strikes, looking for her.

Looking for Y/n.

And he didn’t see her.

His gut twisted, and his gaze flickered frantically across the line of fighters.

She had told him she would go.

She had told him she would handle it.

But she hadn’t come back.

And neither had Elain.

Azriel’s heart thudded painfully in his chest as he landed on the ridge where Rhysand was coordinating the lines, his power rippling like dark lightning across the battlefield.

“Rhys!” Azriel called, his voice sharper than he intended as his wings snapped shut behind him. Rhysand turned, his violet eyes narrowing as he took in the look on Azriel’s face.

“What is it?” Rhys demanded, his tone clipped as he loosed another wave of power toward Hybern’s forces.

Azriel swallowed hard, the bond in his chest pulsing faintly—a whisper he couldn’t ignore. “Y/n and Elain. They haven’t returned.”

Rhysand stilled for a moment, his power halting mid-air before resuming its brutal assault. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I haven’t seen either of them,” Azriel said, his voice edged with worry, his shadows writhing anxiously around him. “Y/n went after Elain. I told her not to go, but she didn’t listen. They’re not back, Rhys.”

Rhysand’s face darkened, his eyes flaring with sudden, fierce determination. “Damn it.” He turned toward Cassian, who was bellowing orders nearby, his blade a blur as he cut through Hybern’s troops. “Cassian!”

Cassian glanced up briefly, sweat and blood streaking his face. “What’s going on?”

“Y/n and Elain are missing,” Rhys said sharply. “They haven’t returned.”

Cassian cursed under his breath, his hazel eyes flashing with worry. “Do you want me to go?”

Azriel’s wings flared, and his voice cut through the noise with raw intensity. “I’ll find them.”

Rhysand turned back to him, his jaw tight. “Go. Bring them both back, Azriel. Whatever it takes.”

Azriel didn’t wait for another word. His wings snapped open, the wind whipping around him as he launched into the sky. Shadows coiled around him like a second skin, stretching outward to scout the battlefield below.

The unease in his chest had turned to dread.

“She’s fine,” he told himself under his breath, though the words felt like a lie. He gritted his teeth and flew faster, higher, his sharp eyes scanning the scorched earth for any sign of her.

But the battlefield was chaos—clouds of smoke rose in thick plumes, soldiers clashed in a sea of blood and steel, and still, there was no sign of her or Elain.

Please, he thought desperately, the bond straining painfully in his chest.

Stay alive.

Stay with me.

******

Azriel POV

Azriel landed in the clearing with deadly precision, his blades flashing as he cut down two soldiers in one fluid motion. His wings flared wide, shadows spilling out to shield him from the incoming attacks as his hazel eyes locked onto the chaos in the center of the clearing.

And there she was.

Fighting with a ferocity that sent a surge of both pride and fear through him. Her dark wings flared with each movement, her blue eyes blazing with determination as she twisted and turned, deflecting blow after blow. She was holding her own against the wave of soldiers, but even from this distance, Azriel could see the exhaustion in her stance, the blood staining her face and her armor and the way her breaths came quicker than usual.

“Y/n!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the clash of steel and shouts of the enemy.

Her head snapped toward him, her gaze meeting his for a fleeting moment, a flicker of relief flashing across her face. But she didn’t falter, turning back to strike down another soldier before yelling over her shoulder, “Elain—she’s there!" She nodded her head towards the direction of Elain behind her.

"Take her and go!”

Azriel’s gaze flicked to where Elain was bound, her golden-brown eyes wide with terror as she struggled against her restraints. His chest tightened painfully. Duty pulled him toward Elain, but his instincts—his bond and his love—screamed at him to stay with Y/n, to protect her.

“No!” he shouted, cutting down another soldier who charged toward her. “I’m not leaving you!”

She parried a strike and yelled back, her voice sharp with urgency, “You have to! Save her, Azriel. That’s an order!”

Every part of him resisted the command, his body kept moving instinctively towards her. As their eyes met, he hesitated, his blades faltering as he looked between her and Elain. The anguish in his eyes was palpable.

And then it happened.

The bond snapped for her.

Azriel saw it in her wide, blue eyes, the way her body froze mid-strike. Her blade faltered for the briefest of moments, before she cut down the next soldier advancing on her. Her wings shifting slightly as the truth crashed over her. He felt the bond flare between them, hot and undeniable, as it had for him since the moment he first saw her. But this time, it was her realization that pierced through the chaos, her lips parting in shock as the words left her mouth in a broken whisper: “You’re my mate?”

Azriel’s heart splintered at the sound, a rush of emotions surging through him—relief that she finally knew, devastation at the timing, and fear for what might come next. She stumbled, the weight of the bond visibly shaking her.

“Yes,” Azriel said, his voice breaking with the weight of everything he had wanted to say for so long. His wings twitched, his body torn between staying and flying. “Yes, I am.”

He wanted nothing more than to drop his sword and run to her, to pull her into his arms and shield her from the world.

But there was no time for it.

Not now.

She looked back as another wave of soldiers began to advance towards her over the ridge. She knew if he stayed much longer, rescuing Elain would not be an option.

Her gaze locked onto his, the bond burning brightly between them for the first time in her eyes.

“Go,” she said again, her voice breaking as her blue eyes filled with tears. “Choose her. Save her.”

“No!” He yelled, anguish written across his face. He stepped closer to grab her.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she shook her head, her wings trembling as she stepped away from him. “Go, Azriel!” she shouted, her voice rising with desperate urgency. “Go now!”

Azriel looked between her and Elain. He then darted towards Elain, slicing through the ropes that bound her and scooping her into his arms. She clutched at him, trembling and whispering his name in relief, but his focus remained on Y/n.

His mate.

His beautiful, fierce, mate.

He turned back to her one last time, his wings ready to launch into the sky, and their eyes met.

“Angel,” he whispered, a plea as he itched to step closer, his shadows leaping out to touch her, wanting to protect her.

His voice cracked as he said the words that had been in his heart for so long.

“I love you.” He whispered, just loud enough for Y/n to hear.

Azriel hesitated for just a moment longer, his shadows curling around him like tendrils of anguish. “I’ll come back for you,” he promised, his voice raw. “I swear it.”

She nodded faintly and raised her hands, using her water magic to form into spears aimed at the wave of soldiers charging towards them, hoping to give Azriel enough time to launch safely off the ground with Elain.

Azriel’s chest ached as he took off with Elain in his arms, her trembling form barely registering against his own agony. His gaze flicked back to Y/n as he flew higher, the bond burning painfully in his chest.

That was when he saw it.

Ten, maybe more, soldiers swarmed her from every side. Faebane arrows were shot into her wings, one piercing her shoulder, rendering her magic useless. She fought valiantly with her sword, her strikes fierce and precise, but there were too many. A blade slashed across her side, and she staggered, blood gushing from the wound as her knees buckled. Another soldier struck her legs, sending her crashing to the ground.

“No,” Azriel whispered, his breath catching as he hovered for a split second.

Then, louder, rawer, he screamed “Noooooooooooo!” His voice tore through the sky, a guttural scream of anguish as he watched them overwhelm her.

Her head tilted up, her blue eyes locking with his one final time, and in them, he saw everything—fear, determination, and the love she had for him that had never died.

The love she hadn’t been able to fully say aloud.

He saw her collapse beneath the weight of her attackers, her dark wings crumpling, her form disappearing under the swarm of soldiers. His tears blurred his vision as he turned back toward safety, the bond burning faintly and growing weaker with every second.

He sobbed, his arms shaking as tears streamed down his face.

But the faint hum of the bond they both now realized and acknowledged grew weaker, fainter, as her figure disappeared from view, surrounded by Hybern’s soldiers.

And with every beat of his wings, the memory of her wide, desperate eyes and her whispered “You’re my mate” tore him apart.

Chapter 16

[hard-core-super-star]

make you mine this season [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x barton!reader

summary: a badly timed snowstorm leaves you unable to make it to the barton farm for christmas. thankfully, a certain archer shows up to keep you company.

warnings: none, i think? just really cheesy, holiday rom-com type of fluff [i say this as if i've watched any holiday rom-com besides happiest season and the holiday 😶]; kate's a dork [wow, what a shock]; idiots in love; past mentions of bishova; bad jokes?; snowstorm; cheesy gifts bc kate can't talk about her feelings

wordcount: 1.5k

a/n: HI, EVERYONE, I'M ALIVE! and it wouldn't be a rubix fic if it WASN'T posted a little late 😅 i hope you all had a fantastic holiday season and that you'll accept this very cheesy Christmas fic <3 [and maybe that last line is very self-indulgent but that's none of your business, if you know you know]

* * * * * * *

You’re no stranger to loneliness but things were bordering on ridiculous. Not only have you spent the past two years ridiculously in love with a certain purple-loving archer, you’re also on the verge of spending Christmas by yourself thanks to the worst-timed snowstorm of all time.

And maybe the first part of your unfortunate situation is your fault but that doesn’t stop the waves of disappointment from crashing into you.

This year was supposed to be different. 

That’s what you had told yourself in an effort to convince yourself to tell the young archer about your feelings for her. It was a strategy that almost worked…until a certain blonde decided to accept Kate’s offer for drinks…which turned into a date…which turned into a second date…which turned into the longest four months of your life.

You could never be one to be mad at someone else’s happiness but that didn’t stop you from feeling absolutely defeated every time you saw them together. There was no one to blame except you for the brunette’s lack of knowledge about your feelings and that only made everything worse.

It was impossible to ignore the ache in your chest when your eyes met Kate’s or the heavy jealousy that clouded most of your interactions with her. Maybe if you had been less into your head about the whole thing, you would have realized the way the archer’s smile never seemed to reach her eyes. 

Eyes that followed you every time you walked away.

You never noticed the traces of darkness that clung to her usually radiant persona but you were the first person at her side when the break up happened. She offered little to no details besides an awkward joke about the relationship ending almost exactly where it started right at the Rockefeller tree.

It was messed up in a way that made Kate want to make as many jokes about it as possible which resulted in you laughing at things that definitely weren’t funny and were just sad. Not as sad as spending the holidays completely alone and hopelessly in love with your best friend, though.

You were sure the archer was already well on her way to your dad’s farm which leaves you completely unprepared when the door to your apartment swings open to reveal her. She almost drops the key in her hand the second she realizes you’re home.

“What’re you doing here?” You question, doing your best to pretend you don’t see the gift bags she tries to hide behind her back.

You can practically see the wheels turning in her head before she’s finally able to respond. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at Clint’s?”

It’s hard not to laugh at the incredulous look on her face. No matter how many times you see it, it’s still as endearing as the first time. Back when she was just your dad’s protege and you hadn’t spent so many of your days learning the ins and outs of her complicated personality.

“Did the incoming snowstorm happen to slip your mind?”

“No, I just thought you’d want to go anyway,” she replies with a small shrug. 

“I’d rather not crash, Lila will never let me hear the end of it.”

Your words make her tilt her head to the side, the slightest hint of a pout on her face. “So…what, you’re just going to spend Christmas alone?”

“Yup. Kate, I’m not a kid anymore, nothing will happen if I spend one day by myself.”

“But it’s Christmas!” She exclaims, looking borderline offended that you’re so comfortable spending the holiday alone. 

“Is that why you’re breaking into my apartment?” You ask in a foolish attempt to stop yourself from asking her to spend the day with you. 

Just because she thought about you long enough to come drop off her, no doubt ridiculously expensive, gifts for you does not mean she wants to spend the holiday with you when she could easily spend it with anyone else.

The pink hue that overtakes her cheeks is a better gift than anything that could be inside the bags in her hand. “Well, uh…maybe…”  

She finally gathers enough courage to get rid of the distance between you with a bright, albeit nervous, smile on her face. You half-expect her to launch into some long ramble about why she just couldn’t stop herself from buying an insane amount of gifts for you this year but she doesn’t. 

For once in her life, Kate Bishop makes things easy for herself.

“I didn’t think I was going to make it to the farm on time so I was just going to drop these off for you…” She holds out the bag for you and you do your best to calm the rapid beating of your heart as you take it.

“Can I open it right now or will you get embarrassed?” 

“Both,” she replies through a chuckle. “I would leave but I don’t want you to be lonely.”

“Right, because I’m the one who gets lonely.”

“Shut up.”

It’s both a blessing and a curse to have broken through the archer’s defenses and right now, her cute reactions are beginning to feel like a curse. Although, that might just be your unrequited feelings talking.

A slightly awkward silence settles over both of you while you rifle through the overwhelming amount of purple tissue paper until you find your gift. You’re expecting another expensive necklace, maybe a bracelet this time, but what you’re met with is the most thoughtful gift you’ve ever received…and probably the most thoughtful gift Kate has ever given.

What you end up pulling out of the bag is a leather journal with a beautiful engraving of yours and Kate’s initials. “Kate…is this-”

“Yeah, I, um…I couldn’t find a photo album that I liked so I sort of…made my own.”

You can’t stop yourself from flipping through the first couple of pages, caught somewhere between the euphoria of being given something so beautiful and the disappointment that comes with knowing it all only serves to fuel your love for the archer. 

Love you can’t express the way you want to.

Love that’s hidden between the pages of the journal you hold in your hands. 

You don’t notice and Kate isn’t really in a hurry to watch you read the series of rambles that make up her overdue confession so she lets the moment fade like she always has. It’s not like you can blame her for wanting to move on to something else, her lack of focus isn’t necessarily a secret, and you let yourself get carried away by her jokes and her stubborn need to make mac and cheese for you.

The archer manages to cook without setting your kitchen on fire and the two of you settle on your couch to watch the first cheesy Christmas movie you find. In all honesty…the movie is awful but the corny jokes make Kate laugh so you can’t find it in yourself to be too grumpy about the shitty writing.

Until the scene in front of you reminds you of the archer and her ex. You’re unable to hold back the jealousy-tinted snarkiness said reminder brings out of you. “I think Yelena watched this movie and then decided to be a dick just like the main character.”

Kate instantly turns toward you, staring at you with wide eyes that barely hide her amusement. “What?”

“What?” You feign confusion to avoid having to repeat yourself.

“You know what,” she replies with an eyeroll. “If I’m the one who got broken up with, why are you the one that’s still upset?”

“Because- wait, why are you not upset?”

Your uno-reverse of a response leaves Kate speechless for a few seconds and you prepare yourself for the series of jokes that will no doubt leave her mouth next. 

But Kate’s never been predictable.

“Because…she didn’t break my heart. She didn’t even own it in the first place.”

Her words spark the low flames of hope hidden in the depths of your heart. It feels impossible and if you were a believer, you might even say Santa’s on your side, helping to give you the one thing you’ve wished for more nights than you can count.

And yet you hesitate.

“What are you trying to say?” You ask, your voice so soft it borders on cautious.

“That I’m an idiot,” she replies with that same bright smile that made you fall for her so long ago. “And…I’d really like to kiss you.”

The world seems to slow down to a complete stop at that moment. 

You almost don’t even know what to do with yourself. Thankfully, you manage to kick yourself into action before the moment passes.

Kate’s awkwardness seems to disappear into thin air as she leans in toward you, meeting you halfway for the softest, sweetest, kiss you’ve ever had. And maybe nothing about it is perfect but it’s you and her and that’s all that matters for now.

[goldsbitch]

That one call overseas

part 7 to That one Christmas flight

summary: Now that we don't talk.

warning: pure angst this time, cheesy af, swear words I guess, cliche probably, typos most definitely

The hole Y/N dug for herself was getting deeper with each day of no contact with Lando. Gone was her ability to contain her emotions within herself. Her friends were getting concerned. Their ever so calm and easy going friend turned into an impulsive, unreliable and even slightly rude menace.

Teresa was the one who kept patience with her in the worst days, as only the best of friends do. When Y/N got kicked out of a bar for the first time in her life for her comments in lousy bad Italian on a random couple in the late hours of their Friday night, Teresa walked her home and screamed Hits Different with her at the top of their lungs to ease the atmosphere. And once they were home, she listened to Y/N rant about how she would never ever call the asshole who does not even bother to text her again. Teresa also stopped her from throwing his hoodie away, knowing that the following morning would hurt just a little more.

When Y/N woke up the following noon, she took a hard look in the mirror. This was getting ridiculous. She swore to herself and all of her roommates that no more alcohol and no more Lando desperation. It's a crush - it'll pass. One day this will be a nice story to tell the kids she'll have with some Antonio, the accountant or Ignacio, the lawyer. Not Lando, the racer - and that was ok.

//

Lando was off to Montreal and things could not be more busy for him. New updates to test, again, as his frustration grew. He only wished to be finally at the top podium, which seemed to always slip in between his hands. His mind, of course, was clouded by the thoughts of Y/N. At first he thought ashamed of himself for not reaching out and appearing like an asshole - but he somewhat expected her to break the silence. He started to second guess every aspect of the time they shared together. Perhaps she did not have as great time as he had, perhaps he acted like an asshole, or perhaps he just was not good enough for those who were not under the F1 charm spell. Not good enough for her. He finally resorted into doing something he tries to avoid as much as possible - looked at the fan pages and comments to boost his ego up. It only led to him feeling more shameful and pathetic than when he started. He kept her necklace and brought it with him. For all it was worth, he had an amazing memory to look back at, no matter how delusional he felt doing that.

The paddock was a great place to be at when searching for a distraction, so he made sure to spend as little time as possible alone and surrounded himself with people. He even walked to the stands often than he usually would, searching fans and giving photos out, smiling a little to extra on all the girls who looked remotely close to Y/N. Who knows, he might pick up someone like that at the end of Montreal ride. Why not. Nobody was stopping him.

He went to the race with all he had, fully prepped and focused. However, red flags, poor strategy choice had him finishing way below the targeted place. To his luck, Oscar was on a roll of luck and finished way better compared to Lando - and of course that everyone compared. Debrief meetings like that drown the soul more than usually.

Influx of all the journalists was overwhelming that day. The interview fatigue hit hard and after few of those, Lando felt that based on the questions he was asked, everyone thought of this race like a massive fail for him. His own answers continually worsened.

"Why do you think this week has ended the way it did?" asked one of the more prominent interviewers.

"Well, you know how it is. Sometimes the week just does not go the way you'd wish, even if last weekend it seemed like we're on a track to something good. One things affects the other and getting out of that rut is challenging."

"Are you talking about the updates, or something different?"

"Yeah, something like that. But as they say, when life gives you lemons, right. Make lemonade...or limoncello for a rainy day, ey?"

"Well, we hope to see the cheerful Lando soon and ideally at a podium too!" Lando knew the interviewer was only doing his job and technically she was not doing anything wrong, but he could not help and for a split second let his face do a look, that was certainly not appropriate for someone who was so used to media and knew he had to be smart around them.

He was in no mood to watch a celebration of Oscar or to get wrapped up in the post race chaos. Once he felt free to leave, he did, putting his phone on don't disturbe mode and went for a walk around the city with his headphones on, to dwelve in some sad tunes and solitude of his own thoughts.

//

Y/N asked Teresa to punch her anytime she looked like she was about to search Lando news. Her roommate refused to do that as it would be a full time job, but did help her set up some tags to block. Saturday was a success, however once Sunday evening and race time rolled in, Y/N knew she was absolutely not ready to try and ignore it. So instead they made a girls evening in about it. The idea was to replace real memories with Lando for race watching and distance him. They were trying... So they sat together with their study books to combine distractions. Y/N was explaining the race rules, avoiding any personal remarks about Lando. To her own disappointment, he was not featured a lot as there was not much really going on for him during the race. But maybe it was for the best. It really felt alienating, seeing his face on the screen, a character in the story of F1, so far removed from the unfiltered smiling face she had burned in her memory. The mood in the apartment was calm, maybe a little mellow. There was a weird calmness in Y/N, as she knew for a fact that he was busy. Knowing that she will definitely not get any text and that he was not ignoring her was soothing for the soul, even if for just few hours. At the end, the girls had way better time than expected, Teresa taking the initiative to comment on all the rest of the drivers and ranking them based on looks and vibes. She became a Leclerc girl all the way in.

"Right, that's my cue to go to the bathroom," Y/N stood up as the post race interviews rolled in. That would be too much at the moment.

"Love the drama vibes you give off. I'll watch it and let you know if there was anything alarming," Teresa assured her.

"Doubt that," was the bitter response she received back.

Once Y/N came back, she returned to her friend sitting with a puzzled look.

"What?!" all the pent up emotions took the stage, all the hard worked stillness gone as if it was a dream.

Teresa sat in silence, looking bluntly at the screen.

"What??!" Y/N repeated impatiently. "Ugh, forget this charade. I'll just watch it." This all felt like she had passed the test, but hadn't learned the lesson at all.

"Yeah, maybe you should. Interesting, his voice is higher that I imagined," Teresa replied as Y/N became to rewind the stream. They sat in silence, as they watched post race Lando in his tiredness, obvious annoyance and visible dark circles under his eyes. A shock went through Y/N at the word limoncello.

"Y/N, it must a coincidence. He's just been to Italy, so the connection was there...means probably nothing," Teresa said quietly as she watched her bewildered friend.

"Limoncello. Name a more Italian drink...What the fuck?? Is he joking right now? What is this?"

"Y/N, he has no idea you're watching, remember?"

"Yeah, I don't care about that. Makes it even worse actually." She replayed his interview once again.

"Ok, that's it - I'm taking this away from you," Teresa ordered after she saw Y/N going for a third round of the interview. "Do you wanna talk about it, talk it through?" So they went on to the kitchen, cooked some pasta while Y/N went on a rant where she let all her thoughts let loose.

//

"Honestly, fuck him. I don't need the mess he brings into my life. I can find great sex on every corner in this city!"

"Yeah, you go girl!"

"You know what, I'm gonna call him!" Y/N turned directions again for 17th time that day.

"Yeah, I kind of thought you would," Teresa sighed tiredly. "And I think you should, the worst thing you might get is a peace of mind...eventually."

"Yeah, I'm gonna do it! Now!"

She dialed his number. The phone rang for the first time. The second and third. With the seventh dial, she hung up. The girls looked at each and Teresa went for a hug.

"He might be busy with some racing stuff?" Teresa said in a tone which suggested that she herself had a hard time believing.

"I'm so stupid," Y/N whispered.

//

Of course he would miss it. Obviously. Because that just what seems to follow him and this girl around. It was deep evening over at her timezone, but still ok for a late night talk. He called back. What was he even planning on saying? He had no idea. When she did not pick up, he called for a second time. She picked up his facetime call and to say his heart skipped a beat would be an understatement. His heart triple jumped. A face appeared in low light. She smiled.

"Hey you," he opened with. The word honey almost slipped his tongue, but he was not sure how it would be received on the other side of the line.

She waved and gestured him to be silent. Lando was bewildered.

"Where are you?" he whispered, trying to unsucesfully figure out from her background. Again, he was met with a shush. Well, this will be real fun, Lando thought, slightly annoyed.

"Wait, you have me in your earbuds...so you need to be silent, not me!" Y/N frowned and nodded. She got up from where she was sitting and started walking.

"Well, since I have some guaranteed no interruption time, let me fill your ears with a story! There once was a beautiful girl, who talked so much and was so obnoxious that the city decided to ban her from speaking. Luckily, she found the most handsome guy in the town to keep her company with his wit, charm and great looks. To reward him for his services she sent him-"

"Ok, you can STOP now," she exclaimed, as she walked down the stairs.

"Where the fuck are you at this hour, young lady. Someone should seriously keep an eye on you!"

"Yeah, well, I sometimes think the same - and then I'm suddenly sitting in some random hotel room hundreds of miles away from where I was supposed to be," she winked at him. "No, I was at the church."

"Oh...you religious? Wait, are the churches still open?"

"Yes, silly. It's Italy, one always is. And no, I'm not religious per say."

"Oh, well then it makes perfect sense that you're hanging out in churches at midnight, yes."

"Yeah, you know. One gets bored."

"Ok, weirdo," Lando laughed.

"No, I like to go there to clear my head. There is some magic in the architecture and in the old walls," she explained. She really did go to get her head clear, to think it out. "Oh, and one day, I'd like to fuck in like a really old building. Not church exactly, but like I dunno. Our university halls are making me super hot sometimes." She had no idea why this was the first thing she'd pick as a topic. God, she felt lame.

"Well, that would be a hard thing to decline, if you're offering."

"Cheeky as ever, are we?"

"Obviously. So, tell me. Whats up? It's nice to see you by the way. I wanted to tell you that before you shushed me down so politely."

"Aw, nice to see you too, man." Lando would prefer to be called differently. "Some school stuff, completely blew my Monday's presentation, so that was fun."

"You should have studied in the weekend, hmm!"

"Yes! I should have," she had a hard time keeping the smiles in, "Anyway, otherwise it's been pretty much a lot of nothing."

"So you called me because you're bored and not because you wanted to talk to me?" He knew he was pushing it. But desperate times... She hesitated and shot him a strange look he could not decipher.

"Did you know we also have leaning tower here in Bologna?" Y/N panned the phone to show him one of the two towers in the city centre. She was walking around with no apparent destination. "Have you been here?"

Lando smiled weakly. There was a strange frustration regarding the distance he felt towards her. Not the physical miles. "Yeah, I've been there once." His Bologna trip was not exactly a great memory. Maybe this call had been a mistake. The last thing he needed now was to feel strange. He showed her the park he had been walking in.

"I'm in Montreal! Have you been?" Y/N also felt some strange vibes coming through this dry conversation

"No, but sounds fun."

"Not really. There has been a lot of pressure at me lately. I'm starting to hate it. Can't say it to anyone, nobody seems to get it." He looked off to Y/N from the start of the phone call. She took few breaths to triple check that she really wanted to break the elephant in the room. It somehow seemed like a "now or never" situation.

"Saw the race today." Lando paused. He suddenly felt the most vulnerable he had ever felt with her. Did she know him from the first moment? Was she lying? He had a hard time gathering out a response. She felt that, so she started blabbering. The cat was out of the bag, so what the hell.

"I broke our rule after we met. Not immediately! But I just...it felt nice meeting you. And I had no idea about racing beforehand. I overheard your name once and I was like "there can't have been two sets of parents naming their child Lando in this century". She looked at his puzzled face. "I'm sorry." Range of emotions floated through Lando, who was particularly sensitive today. It was only a matter of time when she'd find out who he was, he knew the day had to come at some point. But there was a part of him that wanted him to be the one to tell her. To tell his side of the story first, before she could get it elsewhere. He only had to trust her that she wasn't lying from the start. Very few people liked him for him and not "the racer Lando Norris".

But then again, who was he judge? He practically stalked her down - no, not practically, he actually tracked her down. Why did he do that? Because he was wonderstuck too. He liked her. So that meant that she liked him too. Sense of pride took over.

"Don't say sorry. You look too cute doing that," se said feeling braver now and less like a teenager with a crush. "Nah, it's ok. Wanted to spare you of the NDA, but I guess too late now." The more he came to terms with the fact he was not an enigma anymore, the more confident he became. "I mean, I was the one to find you even though you're not exactly famous, so..."

"Yeah!" she said as if she forgot that. "See, bordeline creepy," she laughed, obviously feeling relieved that he hadn't hung up the phone. "But, it's you, so I guess cute?"

"I'd say it's a little problematic on both parts, so we're even, honey."

She laughed. The looks they shared were a little more intimate than their previous looks. A sense of warmth washed over Y/N.

"It's funny. Do you know when I was in Bologna?"

"Ha, I do actually. My friends saw you at a bar."

"Yes...That's not exactly a coincidence. I wanted to "bump" into you accidentally."

She bit her lip down and closed her eyes. Took a deep breath and replied: "Do you know what was also a massive fail?"

He shook his head.

"I was at Imola. I wanted to "bump" into you accidentally."

Silence followed, as the two idiots took the new information in. Butterflies flying all over Bologna and Montreal.

"I think it's time we stopped dancing around and start being clear with each other or we'll start to look really stupid," Lando stated after a moment.

"Agree, Lando."

"Great, Y/N. I want to see you again soon."

"Me too."

They talked for another hour. Chatting lightly around about this and that, heart racing, not pushing more boundaries anymore that night, as the leap felt big enough to hardly swallow for them at the time. Y/N had final exams so the next weekend was a no go for her. But they agreed she'll come over to Spain, as he calendar was clear until the summer. Apart from seeing each other, confidentiality was a big thing for both of them. They barely knew each other, even if it had felt differently every time they talked.

Y/N was unable to relax that night, as the line "I can't wait to kiss you again," which Lando said instead of a goodbye, burned in her mind with the brightest of all flames. Some people were never destined to be friends.

part 8

__________________________________________________

Tagged all those who like to suffer: @prudyhoo @anuksunamon @sagestack @esquerkaren @ushygushybaby @ilove-tswizzle @thehufflepuffavenger1  @superlegend216 @mehrmonga @lovely-blackinnon @mylifeihate1029 @lausdigitaldiary @tswizzleismother @goldenharrysworld @llando4norris @classiclitfreak  @ophcelia @leclerc13 @starmanv @k4r1402 @biitch-with-wifi @drunk-teens-doing-drugs 

[fatgirlonadate-blog]

21 Days - Day 13

The first sneeze was oddly endearing; it was the first time you'd ever heard him make such a sound and you secretly treasured it. It was another new memory to file away in the library of Xavier experiences in your mind.

The second and third sneezes were also cute, and you'd started to wonder if maybe Xavier had allergies. It was an odd thought. He so often seemed indestructible, and it had never occurred to you that he might have such a normal weakness. It made him feel more tangible somehow - less otherworldly.

The sneezes and small coughs that came after were mostly drowned out by the sound of your status report with Jenna. They were just a background hum while you sat in the living room and explained to her, again, that you still didn't have much to go on.

Jenna was patient, as always, and asked the same questions as before. Lying to her wasn't an option, not with the way her keen eyes cut right through you and could detect bullshit a mile away. So you stuck to the truth, just not the full truth.

There was no good way to explain that you spend more time wondering how to get Xavier's clothes off than you do trying to get information about the suspect. So you conveniently left that part out and focused instead on your plans to spend the next week scouting the neighboring businesses and shops. It wasn't a great strategy - one that was made up on the spot - but Jenna had seemed to agree that it was a good idea.

By the time you'd finished the call, Xavier's soft sounds of distress coming from the bedroom had quieted and the apartment was silent except for the small pattering of rain against the windows.

"Xav?" You call, wandering down the hall and quietly opening the bedroom door.

He's lying on the bed, huddled under a blanket, and you watch the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest for a few moments. Tiptoeing closer, you see that his cheeks are flushed and his ash-blonde hair is sticking damply around his hairline. Heat warms your palm instantly as you sit on the bed and press your hand to his forehead. His eyes remain closed, his breathing deep and even, but his skin is hot under your fingers.

"Xavier?" You whisper, brushing his damp locks away from his forehead, a feeling of worry gnawing at your stomach. This does not look like allergies.

His eyes flutter open, unfocused on yours, before he groans and closes them again like just the act of keeping them open is painful. He shifts listlessly, his arm reaching out for you but falling short by a few inches before stilling on the bed.

The small gesture awakens something infinitely tender inside of you. He's never sick - never weak. But right now he looks almost fragile - like he needs you. He's just a boy, you realize. Your sick, sweet boy who is vulnerable in a way you've never seen before. The sight steals the breath from your chest, and in its place blooms a certainty that is both natural and extraordinary all at once.

Falling in love is like being struck by lightning, you think. You can see it building as the clouds roll in, feel it rising in the tension of the air, and sense it before it comes. But it does not really hit you until it strikes, and once it does, you are struck instantly and completely by it - helpless but to let it flow through you. And you know undoubtedly that is what you are right now, helpless but to love him.

It was bound to happen eventually; you can only fall for so long before you finally hit the ground. And now, that moment had arrived. There was no grand gesture in it; no romantic words or passionate declarations that finally tipped the scale. It was just a sick boy, shivering in a quiet room, using the last of his strength to reach for you.

"Hey, I’m right here," you murmur, reaching out to take his hand. Your own trembles slightly as you realize how totally and completely you have fallen for him.

His eyes blink open again, and this time he finds your face and focuses on it. His smile is weak, and his voice sounds hoarse and rougher than usual, "Was I asleep for a long time?"

"Not for a long time. Maybe an hour."

"Where were you?" he asks, tightening his fingers around your hand.

"I had a meeting with Jenna. You slept through it."

"I'm so tired..." He breathes the words out, the exhaustion clear in his voice.

This is not normal tiredness. You've seen him all sorts of tired; from falling asleep mid-conversation to actually sleeping while standing up. But this is clearly something different, and the impossible idea that Xavier, untouchable and indestructible, might actually be ill solidifies in your mind.

"I think you're sick," You say dumbly, stating the obvious.

"Not sick," he mumbles, "just tired."

You stare at him for a long moment as he closes his eyes again, noting the shivers wracking his body. He is most definitely sick - you're just not sure how sick. Fevered, definitely. You don't need a medical degree to know that.

Even half asleep, he seems to sense your movement as you rise from the bed, his fingers tightening around your hand instinctively.

"Don't leave me," he begs, his tone needy and urgent. "You can't ever leave me again. Please. I'll do anything."

You freeze with your hips hovering above the edge of the bed, the desperation in his voice holding you to the spot. When your eyes land on his, the pain you see there is confusing and heartbreaking. Why is he looking at you like that? What is he talking about? You can't recall a single time you've ever left him, but he's looking at you like he's terrified going to disappear.

"Xav, I'm not leaving." You say softly, sitting back down on the bed, confusion and concern warring in your mind.

"Good," Xavier says softly, the tension straining his neck and shoulders relaxing at your words. "I missed you so much. I didn't know if I'd ever see you again."

His tone is genuine and he looks relieved that you're no longer pulling away, but it only serves to make you feel more confused. He is acting like you were gone for years rather than an hour. You're still trying to wrap your mind around his words as his grip on your hand loosens and he falls back into a fitful sleep.

It's worse than you thought, you realize. He's not making any sense - remembering something that doesn't have anything to do with you. Jealousy burns in your chest as it occurs to you that maybe those words are meant for someone else - some other girl he's so afraid of losing - but you push the thought aside. The only thing that matters right now is taking care of him.

You gently pull your hand free from his grasp, careful not to wake him, and stand from the bed. His eyes snap open at the loss of contact, and you interrupt him before he can speak, "I'll be right back. I'm just going to check your temperature, okay? Hold on a sec."

You rush toward the bathroom, trying to ignore the way he whimpers your name as you slip out of the bedroom. Anxiety gnaws at you, a tight knot in your stomach, as you wonder what the hell is going on. Is he hallucinating? Is that typical for a fever? It doesn’t seem like it—not with any fevers you've ever had, at least.

Your breaths are shaky as you scrabble around the bathroom cabinet, unsure if you even own a thermometer. Neither of you had a lot of time to prepare for this trip, and it's unlikely either of you would have thought to bring one. However, luck is on your side as you find one jammed into the corner with the bandaids. You're not even sure where it came from, but its origin is the least of your worries at the moment.

The anxiety is starting to feel a bit more like panic as Xavier's words replay in your mind, and you resist the urge to consult doctor Google. There's a better option, and he is just a text away.

You: Can a fever cause hallucinations?

A few moments pass, and you check the time, realizing that it's early afternoon and Zayne is probably working. It's selfish to think that he would ever be at your beck and call; he could be elbow deep in someone's chest right now. But your phone reliably buzzes in your hand seconds later.

Zayne: Are you ill? Send me your address. I'll come now.

You: No I'm fine! But I think my partner is really sick. He has a fever. I think he's hallucinating.

Zayne: Hallucination is not uncommon with high fevers. What is his temperature?

You: Uhh...I don't know yet.

Zayne: Don't you think that might be useful information?

You: I'm working on it!

Zayne: Fever in adults is rarely cause for concern and is best treated at home.

You: Oh ok. What should I do?

Zayne: Acetaminophen every 4-6 hours will suffice. Proper hydration is also helpful.

You: Thank you Dr. Zayne! I don't know what I would do without you.

Zayne: It's better for both of us to never find out.

You smile briefly at his response - his wry dedication, and slip your phone back into your pocket. You snag the Tylenol from the top shelf, and jog back into the bedroom with both items in hand. Xavier is still lying in the same spot, and the relief on his face is clear the moment he sees you.

"You came back."

"Of course I came back, Xav," You soothe him, sitting on the edge of the bed, showing him the thermometer and the medicine.

His eyes are focused only on yours, as if the contents of your hands don’t exist, and he grasps your thigh in his palm. "I won't let you go. Not this time. I'll stay here with you."

His lucidity right now is questionable, but that knowledge doesn't stop the ache his words cause in your chest. Whatever he is hallucinating is torturing him, and the anguish and devotion shining in his eyes is hard to look at. A dozen questions burn your throat, but you swallow them—pressing for details might only make whatever he's hallucinating feel more real.

"No one is going anywhere, bunny. I promise," You say, guiding the thermometer to his mouth. "Open up for me."

He obediently parts his lips, allowing you to slide the thermometer in, and you hold your breath as you wait for the results. The moment stretches, each passing second causing the knot in your stomach to tighten. After what feels like a small eternity, the thermometer finally emits a series of sharp beeps.

103 degrees Fahrenheit. Shit. This is bad. You already knew it was bad, but this confirms it.

"Xav, I think you need to go to the hospital. Like right now."

He glances at the thermometer and groans softly. "Could've been worse," he mumbles. "I don't need to go to the hospital. It's just a fever."

He is not in a position to know what he needs right now, and your instincts scream that you should ignore him. But Zayne made it seem like this was not such a big deal, and he has yet to ever be wrong. You trust him with your life and, apparently, Xavier's life, too.

"Alright, no hospital. Yet. Can you take these pills for me?" You ask, reaching for the glass of water already sitting on his bedside table.

It's a struggle for him to sit up, and he clutches his head like he's dizzy as he leans back against the headboard. He swallows the pills you press into his mouth with a grimace, then pats the bed beside him.

"Come here."

Lying in bed with someone so fevered that they're not functional is a horrible idea, you know. But the need in his voice is hard to resist, and it would be impossible to deny him anything when he's looking at you like that. Against your better judgment and Dr. Zayne's voice in the back of your mind, you hesitantly slip under the blanket and into bed beside him, leaving as much room between the two of you as possible.

"No, come closer," he says, pulling you forward by your waist with strength you weren't expecting.

He sighs contentedly as you press close, as if the simple act of holding you brings him relief. His arms tighten around you, his forehead resting gently against yours, and it’s instantly clear—even through your clothes—that he’s burning up. Holding him feels like hugging a furnace.

"Your forehead feels pretty cold," He laughs softly. "It might help my temperature go down."

You huff a small laugh, "Just rest, okay? Close your eyes. The medicine will start working soon."

He cups your face as he pulls back to look at you, his fingers burning into your skin. His eyes are uncertain and he searches your face as if trying to memorize it, "You won't leave me, right? I don't know if I can find you again. But I would never stop looking."

The way he says it, so filled with doubt and longing, is nearly unbearable to hear. He says it so brokenly and honestly that it feels like more than just delirium; like he means it more than he has ever meant anything. It's a truth you don't understand, but you believe him.

"Never," You whisper, covering his hand on your cheek with your own. "You're stuck with me forever now. I'm not leaving."

He smiles, the worry fading from his expression as he sinks back into the pillows and closes his eyes. His hand slips down to rest on your neck, his thumb gently tracing along your jawline before he goes still. He drifts back to sleep instantly, his breathing evening out and softening.

You hold him for a long time, counting each of his breaths to try to distract yourself from your tangled thoughts. None of his words made any sense, but they were spoken so genuinely and earnestly that you cannot get them out of your head. He's terrified of losing you, but he has never had you more completely. Why was he so scared? What memory was haunting him? You could spend every moment for the next year trying to figure it out, and probably still be wrong.

You want to ask him—you need to know. He might actually tell you right now, something he’d never reveal if he were fully himself. Could this be the secret he guards so fiercely? This isn't just the rambling of a fever dream; there’s something real beneath it. He spoke as if remembering a mistake, as if he were making a promise. A promise not to leave again. But when had he ever left you? Is that promise for someone else?

The heat radiating from his body is almost overwhelming beneath the blanket and his body trembles against yours as the fever burns through him. He feels damp everywhere you're pressed together, and every small, rattling cough that leaves his mouth jostles you slightly. But still - it's him - your home. And the steady, strong rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear is familiar and comforts your conflicted thoughts. The choice to question him or not is made for you as his warmth and steady pulse lull you to sleep.

By the time you wake, the rain has stopped, and you’re drenched in sweat—whether it’s yours or Xavier’s, you’re not sure. He’s still asleep beside you, breathing steadily, and when you press the back of your hand to his forehead, it’s cooler to the touch.

The medicine must be working. Thank God. Zayne was right. When is he not?

As you pull your hand away, Xavier stirs, his eyes fluttering open slowly. Relief floods through you as his gaze, though tired, appears sharper and more alert. His eyes find yours with surprising clarity, and a gentle, lazy smile spreads across his face. He’s back, you think—fully himself again.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better. Much better. I’m fine now." He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You've always had a healing effect on me, didn't you know?"

You roll your eyes at his playful remark, but the knot of worry in your stomach finally relaxes. He must be better—he’s feeling well enough to flirt.

“You are not fine,” you counter, brushing his sweaty hair back from his forehead, still warm to the touch. “I’ll decide when you’re fine. You’re my patient now.”

"I'm okay with this," he answers agreeably, leaning into the press of your hand. His eagerness for your touch reminds you of a happy dog, craving every bit of affection it can get.

"Have you eaten today? You've been asleep for a while now. Do you think you could eat something?"

"Since I'm your patient and you're taking care of me, you decide. What will you prepare for me? Chocolate mousse? Braised short ribs?"

You snort at his suggestions, disentangling yourself from his arms. Of course those would be his requests; he is definitely back to the Xavier you know and love.

Love, that's right. You love him. Not sort of. Not kind of. Not maybe. You do.

"I don't think so, mister." You answer, trying to refocus your thoughts. "Is that what you normally have when you're sick?"

His brows draw together as he thinks for a moment. "This rarely happens. I don't remember what I had last time."

"I was thinking something more along the lines of chicken soup and honey lemon tea."

You ignore his groan of protest as you climb out of the bed, deftly evading the hands that are reluctant to let you leave. The air feels cool against your damp skin, and you shiver slightly as you head into the kitchen. Your thoughts whir as you look through the cabinets and set the kettle to boil.

You love him, and he's keeping something from you, and your life with him here isn't even real whilst also being the only future that you can imagine for yourself. 

Your hands shake slightly as you heat the soup on the stove, and it takes more concentration than it should to pour the tea without spilling it everywhere.

He must love you, too. There is not a universe that exists in which he does not love you, you think. But he is hiding something from you, that much is obvious. You have always sensed it without knowing what it was, and it stands between you like a ghost - invisible but haunting him. The love that he seems to feel for you shines in every look and rings true in every word, but it's incomplete somehow. It's as if there's something, or someone (your mind cruelly suggests), already occupying the space in his heart that you so badly want to fill.

Your hands stop trembling and your racing thoughts begin to slow and settle as you carry his tray back into the bedroom a few minutes later. Now isn't the time to interrogate him, you decide. That's not what he wants, and you're not sure you're ready to hear the truth. You'll exorcize that ghost eventually.

Besides, do the answers even matter if he's not ready to give them yet?

"Here, sit up," you tell him, placing his tray of food and drink on the bedside table as you cross the room. You reach over and prop the pillows against the headboard so he can lean back on them and he eagerly lets you position him however you please.

He sips his tea and eats his soup with none of his usual fervor, but he looks slightly better, definitely more alert and present. From the edge of the bed, you watch him closely, eyes darting over the lingering flush in his cheeks, scanning for any hint that things might still be as serious as you feared. But when he sets the bowl aside and gives you a soft, sheepish smile, some of the tension coiled tightly in your back begins to ease.

"I gave you quite the scare today, huh?"

"That is...an understatement," You laugh, knowing he has no idea just how worried you actually were. "How are you feeling?"

“The medicine helped, but I still feel awful. What should I do?" he asks, his voice soft and pitiful, as he shifts to lie back down on the bed.

Despite his words and tone, there's a hint of playfulness in his expression—his lips are pouted, plump and full, and his eyes have an unmistakably hopeful look in them. 

It’s obvious that he’s feeling a bit better if he has the energy to pout, and he's clearly up to something. 

You scoot forward and reach out to feel his forehead, which is still warm but no longer scalding. "Hmm. You're still kind of warm, Xav. Maybe a cold compress might help. Like a damp towel?"

"A damp towel?" He repeats, as if it is the worst idea he has ever heard. "No, I don't need that."

"Uh, what about more tea then?"

He shakes his head, his pout becoming more pronounced. "No, not tea either."

"Should I take your temperature again?" You offer.

He fixes you with an unimpressed look and shakes his head again.

"I'm not a very good nurse. You're my first patient," you admit with a small laugh. "I suck at this."

His pout curls up into a smile, and you can see the gears whirring to life behind his eyes before the words even make it to his mouth.

"Caring for me isn't that hard." He says, shifting to scoot over in the bed and patting the spot beside him. "You can do anything to take care of me, like keeping me warm."

"Are you cold?" You ask skeptically.

He nods, a smile starting to form on his lips before he schools his face back into a pout, "Uh huh. I feel cold all of a sudden. Maybe the blanket is too thin or maybe I'm still really sick..."

He shuffles the blankets around helplessly before reaching for you, "Do you want to lie down next to me? I'm ill, so I don't have the strength to do anything..."

You have to fight a smile as you disapprovingly raise an eyebrow at his last comment. It's such an obvious ploy, but it's also just pathetic enough that you cannot find it in your heart to resist him.

"Fine," you mutter, but a smile twitches at the corner of your lips, betraying your amusement, as you slip into the bed beside him. His hand is on your waist firmly tugging you closer the moment the blankets settle against your skin.

"Oh, what's this?" You laugh against his chest. "I thought you didn't have the strength to do anything?"

"You were so far away," he replies, gently stroking your hair. "I couldn't feel your warmth. You have to help me recharge."

You hum in acknowledgement, wrapping an arm around his chest. "How's this then? Warmer now?"

He nuzzles his face against your hair and places a kiss against the top of your head, "I do feel warmer now...but it's not enough."

"No?"

You feel him shake his head, and in an instant, he rolls the two of you over, pressing your back into the mattress as he braces his arms on either side of you, settling his weight on top of you.

“If I hold you like this…” he says, nudging your thighs apart with his knees, “it’ll definitely be warmer.”

"Will it?" You ask softly, biting your bottom lip as you look up at him, uncertain of how far you should let him get away with this while he's still sick.

"And if we get closer," he whispers, lowering his weight on top of you, pinning you beneath him. "I'll be able to recover even faster."

The press of his body against yours is warm, but no longer sweltering like it was hours ago. And as he shifts his hips against yours, a new kind of heat ignites low in your belly as you feel the thick length of him pressing against you. This feels like such a good bad idea, but you know you should stop him. He can't have recovered this quickly.

You reluctantly fix him with a stern look, and try to squirm out from under him. "Xav, now is not the time. You were delirious a few hours ago."

"Please," He begs, grabbing your hips firmly with both hands, refusing to let you slip away. "Let me get closer to you."

His plea is filled with desperation and longing, and his soft kisses against your neck are making you forget why exactly you thought this was a bad idea. When his lips find yours, his kiss is so unbelievably filled with need that you melt into it instantly, parting your lips for him without hesitation. A groan catches in his throat as he deepens the kiss and slides his tongue against yours.

"I need you closer," He whispers against your mouth, sliding his hands under your shirt. His fingers tremble against your skin as he cups your breasts through your bra and rocks his hips against yours. His touch is rough and uncoordinated, lacking his usual finesse in his effort to feel more of you.

“So needy,” you tease, watching him lean back to pull off his shirt before quickly covering your body with his, as if he can’t bear to be apart from you for even a moment.

"I'm so much needier than you think," He admits, burying his face in your neck. "I always need you like this."

"Like this?" You ask, rolling your hips to meet his and moaning at the friction against your core.

“Yeah,” he groans, his hand slipping from beneath your shirt to glide down your stomach, slowly sliding into the waistband of your leggings. “Like this.”

Your pussy aches with desire as you realize where his hand is headed, and you use the very last of your resolve to grasp his wrist. Your breathing sounds harsh in your ears as you look up at him and gasp out, "Wait, Xav. As your nurse, I have to tell you to stop. You're still sick. You should be resting."

"My nurse?" He repeats, shaking his head and leaning down to kiss you. "I don't need a nurse right now. I need my girlfriend."

His words are a shock to your system, and your fingers on his wrist loosen on their own. His girlfriend. Is that what you are? You'd danced around it for days now, but neither of you had put a label on anything. You'd been waiting - hoping he might ask. Hoping he might give you some indication that your relationship could go on beyond the bounds of this assignment.

“Am I your girlfriend?” You ask breathlessly, a moan escaping your lips as his hand slides under your panties, his fingers finding your slick clit and circling it slowly.

His fingers pause as he registers your question, and his expression morphs from hunger into adorable confusion, his brows knitting together, "Of course. You're mine, aren't you?"

There’s a hint of vulnerability in his voice, but the possessive look in his eyes erases any doubt from your mind. There was never any uncertainty for him, you realize. There was no need for a conversation because you'd belonged to him from the first moment he kissed you - maybe even longer.

"Yes," you answer, more certain than you've ever been in your life. "I'm yours."

[fizzlo-and-the-cubes]

alr to help with the Great QSMP Content Drought of 2024 im gonna empty all the death family headcanons in my brain onto this tumblr dot com post

all these are cubitos unless stated otherwise btw i just didnt want to go through and indicate every name lmao

(also to my qpr deathduo homies (luv yas) I'm a bit of a romantic pissa truther so be warned about that)(but i also suck at writing romance so it's pretty subtle also most of these are about chayanne)

remember last year when Chayanne was almost always asleep because the admin was too busy? i think that his ties to death pulled his conscious into Kristin's domain whenever he slept, so he just spent his time chilling over there (i simply choose to ignore the fact that she isn't canon)

Tallulah can clearly see and hear spirits, all her brother can see are blurry figures and the occasional whisper

Chay's wings started growing feathers very early on, Phil had to pretend he had no idea where they came from whilst also assuring a heavily sobbing Missa that he didn't cheat on him

no one has known fear like a fed worker that tried to touch Chayanne's wings in the early days and almost lost their hands to a newly-grounded crow

unrelated to that Philza Minecraft puts the 'death' in 'death-glare'

Chayanne's first attempts of jumping off the wall on day one were baby-crow instincts but after that he was just doing it for his dads' reactions

Chayanne knows the blade, but he knows strategy far better - both draw blood in the end, regardless

Juanaflippa was the best at swimming, then Leonarda, then Chayanne

when they learn to fly, Chayanne is the best, then Tallulah, then Pomme

Leonarda wonders why bother flying when she has a cloud to do it for her

Chayanne wants to fly just as much as Tallulah, but she's more vocal about it since her brain is experiencing crow instincts for the first time

Phil taught Pomme how to aim

Phil has dreamed about his kids in his hardcore world more than once

Richarlyson was the one who cut Tallulah's hair short (THANK GOD HE DIDN'T LEARN FROM MIKE)

Tallulah often put flowers in her hair when it was longer, so she sneaks some into everyone else's now that its short

Chayanne can summon his mask over his face (like the Visoreds from Bleach. this is because i like Bleach and will put as many references as i want)

Phil acts more short-tempered than before, and the roses have started to wilt

upon arriving on a reset island, Phil finds Missa hanging off of a rose branch

i hc Missa's face to be similar to bad's since they're both reapers (so a black void with two white eyes and nothing else) but instead of horns Missa has flowy, almost mist-like hair that fades to cyan at the ends

Phil saw it for the first time at the prison when Missa's mask and hood slipped off in his sleep (entirely Chayanne's fault) and was completely normal about it end definitely went back to sleep and didn't stay up staring between Missa's hair and the ceiling.

upon stealing a kiss from Missa, Quackity had to sit down for a few minutes because he couldn't comprehend the texture of Missa's face

Phil was fine tho. he's kissed death plenty of times

[cursedvida]

SAD EYES, BROKEN SMILE IV (Buggy x F!Reader)

PART III HERE // PART V HERE

WARNINGS: NSFW minors DNI, little smut, Buggy being nasty, swearing.

A/N: Part 4 of this and finally some smut. hope you enjoy!

You still can't believe you kissed Buggy. It was not in your plans to be so direct. You have never been so emotionally exposed, but is also true that you have no experience in romantic matters. You haven't been attracted to anyone before, or at least not in that way. Buggy brings out your most primitive instincts and clouds your reason, it's something you can't avoid.

But actions have consequences and so does kissing your captain. Buggy still hasn't recovered from the shock. The last thing he expected from you was a confession followed by a kiss. Ever since you joined his crew he noticed how you didn't quite fit in. You didn't seem very excited about show business, nor did you seem to be up for the shows. He didn't quite understand why you were so eager to be part of his crew, but it didn't seem strange to him either: he is Buggy the Clown, he is famous not only in the East Blue but also in the Gran Line. Pirates fear him, Marines hate him. He is a genius of deception and persuasion, his fame precedes him enough to attract new challengers. You might not quite fit in but it made sense that you didn't want to leave.

He still wasn't sure whether to trust you or not. Your confession had left him totally baffled and that kiss directly disarmed him. He would never have imagined such a reaction from you, do you really like him the way you say you do or is it just a strategy? Buggy is a really suspicious person, especially when good things happen to him. He doesn't want to believe that you like him because he knows that, if he does, he'll probably end up being disappointed. There's no way a girl like you, who could have anyone, really has feelings for him. Although she'll never admit it, of course, because he's a renowned pirate and people should consider it an honor to have him around.

Nevertheless, he is unable to take his eyes off you. He watches you as you clean the deck of the ship, he follows your movements at mealtimes with his eyes. He is able to count how many times a day you yawn or make that bored face that characterizes you so much. The more he looks at you, the prettier you look to him and the harder it is for him to control himself.

You notice his gaze fixed on you, although you don't know why he watches you with such intensity. Sometimes you have the feeling that at any moment he will leave you stranded on the first island you see, that your days in that crew are numbered. You think he might be very angry, Buggy's character is fickle and unpredictable at times, if he has taken the kiss badly he won't hesitate to make you pay for it. He shouldn't see it as an offense either, you may not be the most exceptional woman in the world but he might see it as a compliment just the same.

You try to avoid it or pretend nothing happened. Yes, the best thing will be to pretend, as you have been doing so far. But he keeps looking at you, all the time, and you start to get nervous.

"Y/N, I have to talk to you" you hear him call after lunchtime.

You tense up at that moment, you feel all your muscles stiffen, as if you were preparing for a fight. You have a strange feeling in your stomach, as if you were nauseous. The walk to his cabin is the longest you've ever walked, and it's only a few meters. When you finally find yourselves alone, you realize that you are unable to look at him. You, who are used to always looking the enemy in the eye, suddenly shy away from Buggy almost instinctively. You realize that deep down you are dead embarrassed.

"Did you call me, Captain?" you ask rather sheepishly. This whole thing is starting to get on your nerves. You're not like that, you're not a softie, not a shy, insecure little girl, you're a ruthless killer with several dozen deaths behind you. You don't understand why he makes you feel so weak, but when he's near you your head stops obeying you.

"Why did you do that?"

No beating around the bush, straight to the point. Buggy didn't want to waste any time. When you finally manage to look at him, his eyes look distrustful and at the same time somewhat hurt.

"It was a strategy, wasn't it?" he insists "You think I didn't notice?"

"A strategy?"

"Yes, to see if I forgot about what happened a couple of days ago. You were trying to divert attention."

You raise your eyebrows in disbelief. Come on, don't fuck around, did the asshole really think you kissed him on the mouth as a confusion strategy? But is he really an asshole or did he fall out of the cradle at birth?

"But are you stupid or what's wrong with you?"

That response on your part, so aggressive, so angry, makes Buggy totally bewildered. In his mind, the only plausible explanation for a girl like you confessing and kissing him is that you are, in effect, trying to gain his trust so that he will forget the suspicious things about you. He doesn't understand why you seem so infuriated.

"I find it amazing that you brag so much about how wonderful you are when then you're not even capable of believing that a girl can like you" You blurt out to him, crossing your arms.

"I've liked hundreds of women, I'm Buggy the…"

"Yeah, I know, we all know that" you cut him off coldly "You pretend you're so full of yourself, but deep down you have very little confidence in yourself."

"Be careful what you say, sweetie, the consequences can be very bad."

"Is it that hard for you to accept that I like you?"

That question catches Buggy totally off guard. It pains him to admit it, but it really does. Of course he's aware that many women are attracted to him, but they're always passing flings, people he's barely seen for a couple of days. People who, in the end, don't know him. You've spent months with him, you've seen him fail on several occasions, it's clear that you're talented and may one day become a really strong pirate. Besides, you're gorgeous and you're hot, he really does find it hard to believe that this whole thing isn't a hoax.

"If you're not attracted to me that's fine" you tell him "we're both adults, I can handle rejection. But stop underestimating my feelings, that's cruel."

Buggy is silent for a few moments, something quite unbecoming of him. Then he looks at you, still in disbelief.

"So you were serious about yesterday?"

"Of course it was serious!" you exclaim, exasperated "I've been doing a lot of-"

But Buggy's mouth won't let you finish. When you want to realize, his lips are on yours and his tongue, agile and curious, tries to enter your mouth with desperation. It's the first time someone kisses you in such a passionate way, as if somehow trying to eat you whole, so it's a little hard for you to react to his momentum. You move your lips to match his and your tongues begin a contest of strength. Buggy's kiss is deep, tastes like salt and face paint. It has a metallic aftertaste that hooks you and its smell of gunpowder and sea manages to numb your senses. Just when you think you're about to lose your balance, a hand detached from his body grabs you around the waist, pulling you closer to him, so close that you are only a few millimeters apart.

You'd been fantasizing about something like this for a while, but your wettest dreams were nowhere near as exciting as the real thing. Having Buggy kissing you as if the world was going to end at that very moment makes your stomach shrink and your legs shake as if they were made of jelly. You've never felt so vulnerable around anyone before, but you don't hate the feeling, it makes you feel good for the first time.

You wrap your arms around his neck. You want more of him, you want to hold him closer. You need to cling to him with such desperation that the slightest almost imperceptible draft that can fit between the two of you hurts. He senses that need of yours and automatically pulls you tighter against his torso. His kisses are deep, wet and with a slight hint of anger that makes them intoxicating.

"Fuck" he exclaims, pulling away slightly for air.

You let out a small moan, something that makes Buggy smile.

"What's up, little girl, do you want more?"

Now it is you who kiss him. Buggy responds with momentum, placing his leg between yours. His hands begin to explore your body over your clothes. You've never let anyone go this far, but with him you just want more and more. When you notice one of his hands stop at your crotch you freeze.

"I'm actually really looking forward to you" he comments, whispering huskily in your ear as he begins to rub between his hand and the fabric of your pants "I've been wondering for some time what it must be like to have you in my bed"

"What a liar you are" You manage to say, almost in a whisper. You notice how the fabric of your underwear is getting wetter and wetter "When I came you didn't even know my name".

"You're right" he nods, giving you a couple of kisses on your neck while his fingers press your most sensitive parts "I just knew you were a pretty face. Little girl, you're like a chocolate candy."

He then attacks your neck, making you moan. He slowly pulls down your pants, now the only barrier he has are your panties.

"Fuck, little girl, your panties are so wet" his voice sounds husky and very excited "I've barely touched you and you're already like this? Fuck, what a delight."

"Buggy…" You sigh. It's the first time a man has managed to get his hand on you and the feelings you are now experiencing are totally new. The pleasure, the swelling, the wetness… You feel like you're going to explode, that you need more contact, more intensity. You move me a little to make friction between his hand and your most intimate part "Buggy, I love it."

"I'm going to eat you whole, princess."

Buggy then removes his glove with his mouth and it is at that moment that he slips his long fingers under your panties. You open your eyes as you feel the direct contact between his skin and your most intimate area.

"So wet just for me, this is a treasure" he murmurs, quite pleased.

At first he just slides one of his fingers all over your intimate area, making your skin crawl with goose bumps. You swore you wouldn't let anyone have you at their mercy, but you've totally surrendered to him and when he finally locates your clitoris, gently caressing it with your own natural lubrication, you can't help but let out a moan.

"That's it, little girl. Yeah, moan for me" He smiles, quite pleased.

"It's… God, please Buggy don't stop doing it" you ask him, almost beg, because the pleasure is enormous.

Buggy starts stroking you faster, now you feel like your whole body is on fire, with a kind of heat right in the center of your belly that intensifies every time his fingertips brush against your skin. You start moaning helplessly as he slides his tongue down your neck until it reaches your cleavage.

"Buggy…" You can barely say anything, just moan his name, but that seems to delight you.

"I'm going to make you mine completely, Y/N. I hope you know what you've done."

But just as Buggy is about to slip one of his fingers inside you, someone knocks loudly on his cabin door, completely breaking the mood. You both tense up, giving a little gasp. Buggy lets out a huge growl, looking really pissed off.

"But who the fuck is it now!" he shrieks, hands still shoved between your legs.

"Captain" Cabaji's voice is heard "We have a problem, there's a Navy ship nearby".

"Fuck" Buggy roars, he'd probably love to beat the shit out of Cabaji for interrupting him at a time like this, but the reasons have been more than justified.

He looks at you with an annoyed look on his face.

"We're not done yet" It's not an apology, it's a warning.

You smile at him.

"I hope so, Captain."

[stldigital]

How STL Digital’s Product Engineering Service Drives Digital Transformation

Introduction

In today’s dynamic and hyper-connected digital landscape, the significance of product engineering cannot be overstated. The product engineering services market is projected to reach $1.5 trillion by 2027. Product engineering is the process of innovating, designing, developing, testing, and deploying products, with a focus on creating solutions that address specific market needs. In the context of the digital era, the importance of product engineering is multi-faceted and extends across various industries. As a leading IT services company, STL Digital specializes in cutting-edge product engineering services, committing to transforming innovative ideas into market-ready solutions. We are dedicated to engineering experiences that redefine industries, combining expertise and innovation to deliver end-to-end product development solutions that position clients for success in today’s dynamic market. 

The Role of Product Engineering Services in Digital Transformation 

Product engineering services are instrumental in digital transformation, fueling innovation, seamless digital experiences, and interconnected solutions that drive business success in the digital landscape. These services play a pivotal role in crafting cutting-edge products that stay ahead in the competitive market and prioritize user-centric design for engaging digital experiences. The interconnectivity facilitated by product engineering gives rise to ecosystems where devices seamlessly communicate, enhancing user experiences and providing valuable data-driven insights. However, achieving digital success through product engineering requires a strategic approach, aligning the process with business objectives and market demands. This ensures that product engineering becomes a proactive force, anticipating and meeting the challenges of the dynamic digital landscape.

STL Digital’s Product Engineering Services

In the realm of product engineering, STL Digital distinguishes itself with unparalleled expertise in product lifecycle management, guiding the creation of innovative products, digital experiences, and interconnected solutions. Fueled by a resilient ecosystem platform and strategic acumen, we actively challenge traditional business models, reshaping the entire business value chain. Our defining strength lies not merely in product creation but in the unparalleled ability to transform ideas into market-ready solutions. With adept product lifecycle management skills, we specialize in crafting distinctive and innovative products, delivering superior digital experiences, and establishing interconnected solutions that redefine industry benchmarks. At STL Digital, our commitment extends beyond engineering products; we engineer experiences that consistently surpass the evolving demands of the digital landscape.

The Approach to Product Engineering at STL Digital

The Approach to Product Engineering at STL Digital is defined by four key elements, each contributing to the acceleration of innovation and the creation of advance solutions:

Embedded AI for Accelerated Journeys: Utilizing Embedded AI accelerates product engineering, expediting the journey from concept to market.

Engineering Automation with Continuous Feedback: Automation, coupled with continuous feedback, streamlines processes, ensuring adaptability in an iterative development cycle.

Multi-stakeholder Experience Measurement Framework: Integration of a comprehensive framework considers diverse perspectives, guaranteeing a universally satisfactory user experience.

Cloud FinOps Integrated with Product Engineering Services: Embracing Cloud FinOps optimizes resources, ensuring cost-effectiveness throughout the product engineering lifecycle.

Driving Digital Transformation with Modern Technology Trends:

In the swiftly evolving realm of digital transformation, integrating modern technology trends is crucial to expedite innovation and maintain a competitive edge. It is important to understand the steps to Balance Cost and Quality in Product Engineering.  By actively adopting and assimilating the latest advancements, organizations can streamline operations, positioning themselves as leaders in delivering state-of-the-art products and services. At STL Digital, we acknowledge the pivotal role of these trends as catalysts for change, not only enhancing efficiency but also paving the way for groundbreaking solutions. Our approach is meticulously calibrated to resonate with the voice of the customer, ensuring that the solutions we engineer leave a lasting and meaningful impact.

Case Studies and Success Stories:

In a dynamic landscape where data integrity is paramount, STL Digital emerged as a game-changer for a leading global credit reference agency facing critical challenges. With a presence in 24 countries and a client base spanning diverse industries, the agency sought to elevate its services amidst growing competition. STL Digital seamlessly addressed two pivotal risks – the need for skilled testing professionals and the synchronization of testing and development timelines. Leveraging modern tools and methodologies, STL Digital crafted a comprehensive Testing Strategy and Test Plan, outlining project milestones and resource allocations. The result? A resounding success with 95%+ test coverage, 85%+ test automation coverage, and a remarkable 90% defect closure rate within two weeks of identification. Client satisfaction soared beyond 95%, underscoring STL Digital’s prowess in delivering premium testing services that not only met but exceeded expectations. 

Benefits of Choosing STL Digital for Product Engineering Services

Choosing STL Digital for your product engineering services unlocks a myriad of benefits. Our expertise, unwavering commitment to innovation, and ability to deliver market-ready solutions set us apart in the industry. Research shows almost 66% of customers expect companies to predict and understand their needs and deliver products that will not only meet their specific needs but also offer a personalized experience. We go beyond conventional service delivery by redefining business value chains, disrupting legacy models, and positioning our clients for sustained success in the ever-evolving digital era. Partner with STL Digital for a transformative journey that propels your business to new heights.

Conclusion

By fostering collaboration, aligning goals, and driving innovation, engineering product services are revolutionizing the way IT and business work together. Product engineering is the cornerstone of digital transformation, and STL Digital stands as your trusted partner on this transformative journey. Our commitment to engineering experiences, coupled with a strategic and innovative approach, positions us as the catalyst for businesses aiming to thrive in the digital landscape. Consider STL Digital as your ally in turning ideas into market-ready products that redefine industries and drive digital success.

[mrsportgas]

The Neightbor. Chapter 6

Summary: The story takes place in the real world. Shanks, your unbearable neighbor, makes you a proposition that you're unsure whether to reject. It could be the start of a friendship, or maybe something more?

SHANKS X YOU

WARNING: Except for the first chapter, the rest will contain scenes of sex and violence, making this fanfic strictly +18.

TAG LIST: @buggsclownie @commanderfreethatdust @nocturnalrorobin @candy1277 @bluetokie @heartsytune

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

"Come on, Y/N. You can do this," I told myself.

I opened my eyes and continued. My voice, though shaky at first, began to regain strength. Despite the uncertainty Shanks caused me, I focused on what truly mattered: my project. I pushed aside all doubts and carried on, each word firmer, each argument clearer. I could feel the eyes in the room return to me, and the audience refocused on what I was saying.

As I progressed, approving smiles began to appear among some of the investors. I knew I had captured their attention. My slides flowed smoothly, and my passion for the project came back to the forefront. By the end of the presentation, I even managed to get some of them to ask me questions, showing interest in technical details and future opportunities.

I finished with a smile, though my mind was still clouded by what had happened just minutes before. The applause snapped me out of my temporary daze, and I thanked them with a nod before leaving the stage.

As I walked backstage, I couldn't help but glance quickly at Shanks. He was still sitting in the VIP section, his eyes fixed on me. He gave me a slight smile, as if everything that had happened was part of his plan. My heart raced, still confused by his sudden appearance, but I was satisfied with how I had handled the situation.

I left the stage, and there was Nami, waiting for me with a bright smile.

"You were amazing!" she said, pulling me into a tight hug. "But seriously, what was that? Shanks? I had no idea he was coming to see you…"

"I don’t know," I responded, still trying to process everything. "Neither did I. But, Nami… he's sitting in the VIP section with the other investors. I have no idea what's going on."

"He never mentioned anything? That's odd…" Nami replied, still astonished. "Well, don’t let it intimidate you."

After Nami wrapped up her presentation brilliantly, despite all the confusion, we prepared for the next challenge: the social part. The investors began mingling, chatting among themselves, and the participants scattered around the room, some in groups, others waiting timidly for someone to approach them.

Beckman appeared by my side, a proud smile on his face, and gave me a light tap on the arm.

"Congratulations, Y/N. You did a great job out there. I knew you could pull it off," he said, his smile genuine.

"Thank you, Professor," I replied, still somewhat overwhelmed by everything happening around me.

Beckman leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret.

"Now comes the most important part, Y/N. The cocktail reception. This is where you can start building real connections. Don’t rush to approach the investors. Wait for them to come to you, and when they do, make sure to get their business cards. This is your moment to stand out."

I nodded, taking a deep breath as I tried to focus on his words. I knew he was right. Events like these required strategy. But I couldn’t shake the growing anxiety, not just about the investors, but about the imposing presence of Shanks, still lingering in my thoughts.

As we entered the adjoining room, the atmosphere completely shifted. The lights were softer, the vibe more relaxed, but there was still an air of formality. Trays of champagne floated through the attendees, while waiters offered delicate hors d'oeuvres. Beckman left me alone, knowing I needed to handle myself, and I took a moment to scan the room.

My eyes couldn’t help but search for Shanks among the crowd. And there he was, with his signature nonchalance, laughing and greeting people. His movements were smooth, as if he knew everyone for ages, and the investors seemed to listen to him with respect and curiosity. Yet, in between conversations, I felt his eyes on me. He watched me with an intensity that disarmed me, licking his lips provocatively, not caring if anyone else saw.

My breath hitched for a moment, and I felt a slight heat rising up my neck. What was he doing? Why was he acting like that in such a public setting? I tried to look away, but I couldn’t ignore the effect he had on me. As my mind wandered between confusion and attraction, something snapped me out of my trance.

"Y/N?" A deep voice gently interrupted me.

I turned and found myself face-to-face with a tall man, his gaze intense and his presence commanding. I didn’t have to think long to recognize him: it was Mihawk, one of the most prominent and respected CEOs in the business world. His reputation preceded him, and the fact that he was here, speaking to me, made me even more nervous.

"Hello, Mr. Mihawk," I responded with a polite smile, though my heart was still racing from what had just happened with Shanks.

Mihawk tilted his head slightly, as if acknowledging my nervousness but ignoring it out of courtesy.

"I heard about your project during the presentation," he said, his voice soft yet firm. "It’s interesting, especially the way you plan to integrate ecological solutions into such a competitive sector. There’s potential in that."

I felt a small surge of pride. If Mihawk was interested, it meant I had done something right.

"Thank you very much, sir. It’s something I’ve been working on for quite some time, and I believe it could make a difference," I replied, trying to keep my composure.

Mihawk nodded approvingly and, with a gesture, signaled a waiter to bring us some champagne.

"Allow me to offer you a drink," he said, taking a glass and handing me another. "Sometimes the best conversations happen over a bit of champagne."

I accepted the glass, and we both sat down at one of the small high tables in the back of the room.

I could feel Shanks’ gaze on me as Mihawk asked me questions, and though I tried to focus on the conversation, there was something unsettling about the way Shanks was watching us from across the room. Mihawk continued asking about my project, wanting to know more about the technical details and my implementation plan. While I was flattered by his interest, I couldn’t help but feel the growing tension in the air.

"So, Y/N, how do you plan to manage the initial funding for the pilot phase?" Mihawk asked, bringing the champagne to his lips, his evaluative gaze fixed on me.

I opened my mouth to answer, but at that exact moment, Shanks appeared out of nowhere.

"Well, well!" he exclaimed in his carefree tone, a lopsided smile on his face. "Looks like the lady has two big shots interested, huh?"

Mihawk raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting toward Shanks with a mix of surprise and distaste. He didn’t seem too impressed by the interruption.

"I didn’t know you were in the business of asking questions, Shanks," Mihawk responded, his tone calm but sharp. "This is a serious conversation, not one of your games."

Shanks let out a low chuckle, his eyes sparkling as he shot me a quick glance, his mischievous grin playing on his lips. He turned to Mihawk, maintaining that almost arrogant attitude.

"Oh, don’t worry, Mihawk. I can be pretty serious when I need to be," Shanks said, locking eyes with me for a brief second before returning his attention to the CEO. "After all, I’ve invested in some of the most successful companies of the past decade. I just came over to congratulate her on such an impressive presentation. Or does it bother you that someone else wants to join this conversation?"

I could feel the tension between them. The way Shanks acted, playful on the surface, but each word loaded with double meaning, trying to get under Mihawk’s skin. Meanwhile, Mihawk kept his composure, though his gaze had hardened. He turned back to me, ignoring Shanks for the moment.

"As I was saying, Y/N, I believe your approach is solid. I’m considering a collaboration if you’re interested, of course. Though you’ll need to surround yourself with serious people to move this forward," Mihawk said, throwing a quick, meaningful glance in Shanks’ direction.

Shanks didn’t miss a beat, flashing one of his most charming smiles. He leaned in a little closer, casually placing his hand on the back of my chair as if he was already part of the conversation.

"Serious people, sure…" he murmured, leaning slightly toward me, his voice low and flirtatious. "But tell me, Y/N, have you considered that maybe what your project needs isn’t just money, but vision? A different, innovative vision… like mine, of course."

Mihawk let out a slight sigh, clearly irritated by Shanks’ interruption, but he kept his composure as always.

"It doesn't surprise me that you try to disguise your games with fancy words, Shanks," Mihawk said coldly. "However, Y/N, what you really need are results, not empty promises. In fact, my boss is already quite interested in funding your project… whatever it takes," Mihawk continued, smoothly pulling out a business card and extending it to me. "You can call me when you're ready to have a serious conversation. At our company, we make sure our partners get the support they deserve."

I took the card, feeling the weight of his offer. Mihawk’s boss was a well-known name in the industry, a magnate with immense power, and having her backing would be a huge leap for my project. But before I could even process the offer, Shanks let out a low chuckle, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Interesting, Mihawk. Always formal and professional," Shanks commented as he leaned back casually in his chair, glancing at me sideways. "But what you didn’t mention is that my company is also very interested in what Y/N has to offer. Red Horizon isn’t exactly small, is it?" he added, with that mischievous smile that both disarmed and confused me. "Maybe we should let her decide… Or better yet, may the best man win."

Mihawk looked at him calmly, unfazed by Shanks' provocations. It was as if they were waging a silent battle, not just for the investment but for something more. The air between them was charged with competitive tension.

"The best man?" Mihawk repeated with an almost amused tone. "If you really believe you can offer more, Shanks, then by all means, let the best man win. Though I doubt your expertise lies in offering long-term stability. That’s what we do best."

Shanks raised an eyebrow, his grin widening.

"Oh, Mihawk, don’t underestimate what I can offer. Not everything is as rigid as you think. Sometimes, what a project really needs is a bit of… flexibility," he said with a cheeky wink in my direction, leaning in just enough for only me to notice.

I couldn’t believe what was happening. Both men, two titans of their respective worlds, were literally competing in front of me to invest in my project. Their subtle jabs, laden with tension and provocation, made my head spin. But I knew this was more than just business. There was something personal between them, and I was caught right in the middle.

Mihawk didn’t blink, his gaze as steady as ever.

"Flexibility is only useful when it doesn't compromise success," Mihawk responded sharply but calmly. "What Y/N needs is someone willing to invest for the long haul, someone who sees the future, not just the present. It’s not about who can impress the most, but who can make her project grow solidly and steadily."

Shanks chuckled softly, completely unfazed.

"Sure, sure. Stability. Very well, Mihawk, stick with what you know. But remember this… sometimes, for a project to grow and flourish, it needs more than just stability. It needs risk, and no one understands risk better than I do." His tone grew low, soft, but full of challenge. "So, Mihawk, may the best man win."

I felt the weight of his words, and as both men looked at me, waiting for my response, I realized my decision wasn’t going to be easy. There was a lot at stake—not just my project but also the dynamic between the two of them, a rivalry that seemed to have begun long before tonight.

"I’ll think about it," I said, trying to stay calm and keep my voice steady, though inside, I was in complete turmoil. "Thank you, Mr. Mihawk."

Shanks smiled widely, as if he had expected that response.

"Of course you will, darling. Take your time," he said, his gaze sparkling once more before giving Mihawk one last challenging look.

Mihawk, as always, remained unfazed.

"When you're ready, we’ll gladly take your call. Enjoy your evening," he said firmly, casting a final glance at Shanks before standing up and disappearing into the crowd of investors.

Mihawk walked away with his usual elegant and composed demeanor, leaving me alone with Shanks, whose face was still lit up with that confident smile. I knew he wasn’t going to leave me alone so easily. As if reading my thoughts, he leaned closer to me, much more intimately than I expected, gently taking my hand in his.

"Congratulations, Y/N," he murmured softly, his voice warm, almost as if he were trying to soothe me. "You did an incredible job out there. I knew you had potential from day one."

I felt a slight tremble in my hand, and the warmth of his touch started to spread up my arm. But something inside me wasn’t right. The anger I had tried to suppress since seeing him in the VIP room began to bubble up inside me, threatening to explode. I pulled my hand away abruptly, feeling the fury rise within me.

"From day one?" I repeated, my voice full of disbelief as I looked directly into his eyes. "You mean to tell me you knew about this project from the beginning? The competition, the investors? Has all of this just been a game to you?"

Shanks blinked, surprised by my reaction, but that arrogant smile never fully disappeared. He maintained his composure, though I could see in his eyes that he hadn’t expected me to confront him like this.

"Y/N, calm down…" he began, his tone soothing, but that only made me angrier.

"Calm down?" I interrupted, stepping toward him, feeling the fury burn in my throat. "I can't believe this whole time you've just been playing games! What was this? Did you approach me just to make sure I chose your company? Has everything that’s happened between us just been a strategy to get what you wanted?"

Shanks let out a low sigh, his expression losing some of its usual carefree charm. He ran a hand through his hair, as if trying to find the right words.

"It’s not that simple, Y/N. It’s not just about the project…" he began, but I wasn’t ready to let him off the hook so easily.

"Oh, really?" I asked sarcastically, crossing my arms. "Then why didn’t you tell me the truth from the start? Why pretend all this time? You can’t just show up out of nowhere, seduce me, make me feel things… all to secure your spot as an investor."

He stepped closer but didn’t try to touch me this time. His eyes, for the first time, seemed to lose that arrogant glint. There was something else in his expression—a mix of frustration and regret—but I wasn’t about to let myself be fooled again.

"Listen, Y/N," he said, his voice softer but firm. "Yes, I knew about the project—of course I did. Did you ever stop to read the card I gave you?"

Damn. The truth was, I hadn’t paid much attention to that card. I had just skimmed it to find his number.

Shanks reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulling out a new card. There it was—the CEO of Red Horizon.

I froze. The confusion mingled with my anger, and I wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

"This complicates everything," I said, my voice trembling a little.

Just as Shanks was about to speak, a familiar figure approached from the back of the room.

"Shanks!" Beckman exclaimed, a relaxed smile on his face, as if they were old friends. He walked up to us and gave Shanks a light tap on the arm, to which Shanks responded with an equally carefree smile.

"Beckman, old friend," Shanks replied, as if the tension from moments before had never existed.

"You know, always looking out for new talent," Beckman answered, his gaze briefly shifting toward me before returning to Shanks. "But I don’t want to interrupt. I just came to steal Y/N for a moment."

Before I could say anything, Beckman looked directly at me, his smile polite but with a glint in his eyes that made it clear he wouldn’t take "no" for an answer.

"If you’ll excuse me, Shanks," Beckman said, his tone polite but firm, "I need to talk to Y/N for a moment. You know, important matters."

Shanks nodded, but not without throwing me an intense look before stepping back slightly.

"Don’t worry, Beckman. I’ll be around; we’ll talk later," Shanks said in a casual tone.

As Beckman guided me out of Shanks’ reach, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of relief and confusion. What did Beckman want to tell me?

We moved far enough away to be out of earshot and prying eyes, in a quieter corner of the room. Beckman turned to me, his expression much more serious than usual.

"Alright, Y/N," he started, cutting straight to the point. "Any investors catching your eye?"

I felt my heart race. I wasn’t prepared for that question, not after everything that had just happened with Shanks.

"Well… I haven’t made a decision yet," I replied, trying to sound casual, though I knew Beckman wasn’t easy to fool.

Beckman gave me that scrutinizing look that always made me nervous. I knew he wasn’t going to let me dodge the question.

"Look, Y/N, I’m telling you this as someone who wants the best for you," he said, lowering his voice a little. "Be careful with Shanks. He’s not just another investor, and definitely not someone you should take lightly."

I tried to keep my expression neutral, but my heart was beating faster. Beckman knew something.

"Why do you say that?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

Beckman looked at me in a way that made it clear I wasn’t fooling him.

"I know more than you think, Y/N. Yesterday, I saw you get into Shanks’ car. Was that also part of your investor evaluation?" he said, his tone serious but with a slight hint of sarcasm.

A chill ran down my spine at his words. Had he seen me? My mind began to replay the events of the previous day.

"Beckman… I…" I quickly replied, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "He just offered me a ride home. He’s my neighbor, nothing more."

Beckman narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced.

"I know I’m not your father, Y/N, but you’ve worked too hard to get where you are. Shanks doesn’t do anything without a reason. And I can assure you, he’s not here just to congratulate you on your talent."

The seriousness in his tone made a knot form in my stomach. Beckman had always been a mentor to me, someone I trusted, and if he was warning me about Shanks, there had to be something more I didn’t know.

"I’m just asking you to be careful, Y/N. If you’re going to choose someone, make sure it’s because you trust them as an investor, not because they’ve made you feel something else. This is your career, your future," Beckman said, his voice softer now, but with unwavering firmness.

I nodded slowly, though my mind was still in turmoil. There were so many questions swirling in my head, and as I stood there with Beckman, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Shanks had said earlier. Was what we had really more than just business? Or… was he using his charm to make sure I picked him?

"Thank you," I finally said, though I still felt trapped in a whirlwind of emotions.

"Come over for lunch on Sunday. I want to introduce you to my wife," Beckman replied, giving me a light pat on the shoulder. "I’ll send you all the details by message."

"Alright, professor, I’ll be there," I replied, still feeling dizzy from everything that had happened.

The air inside the room felt stifling. All the noise, the conversations, the laughter… it was too much to process. My mind was overwhelmed by the events of the night—the tension between Mihawk and Shanks, Beckman’s warnings, and now, the weight of my own confusion. I needed air. Without thinking twice, I headed for the exit, seeking the relief of the quiet outside.

I reached the parking lot, the cool air hitting my face, but it wasn’t enough to calm the storm inside me. I leaned against one of the cars, closing my eyes and trying to take deep breaths. Everything I had built—my project, my career—seemed on the verge of collapsing over something I didn’t fully understand. Why was Shanks playing with my emotions? Had it all been a strategy from the start?

Just as I began to feel a bit of relief, I heard footsteps behind me. I knew who it was before I even turned around.

"Don’t you think it’s enough for one night?" I said, without looking at him, my voice filled with frustration.

Shanks didn’t respond immediately. I could feel his presence getting closer, but I didn’t move.

"Pretty, I…," his voice was soft, with no trace of his usual confidence. "I just want to talk."

I turned sharply to face him, my heart racing from a mix of anger and discomfort.

"Talk? Talk about what, Shanks?" I exclaimed, unable to hold back. "About how you've played with me? How you've hidden everything from me? From the very first day, you knew you'd be here, with Mihawk, competing for my project! You made me believe you were interested in me, in what I was building, but it’s all been a strategy to make sure I choose you!"

"It’s not like that, Y/N. I’m not using you. What I feel for you has nothing to do with the project, and you know it," he said, stepping closer, but I took a step back, still too overwhelmed to think clearly.

"Then explain it to me!" I shouted, feeling tears threatening to spill. "You knew from the start and said nothing. I don’t know what to trust anymore, not in you or in any of this."

Shanks took another step closer, his expression softening as he tried to calm me.

"Listen, Y/N," he said tenderly. "Tomorrow, we can talk about everything, clear up any doubts you have. I just ask that you trust me for one night. There's nothing I want more than to do this right with you."

His tone was different this time—vulnerable. Something in his gaze unsettled me. Shanks, always so confident and bold, now seemed to be showing me a side of himself that he rarely let anyone see. I stood still, trying to process what he was saying, but the confusion and anger still bubbled inside me.

"I can’t trust you, Shanks. Not after all of this," I whispered, feeling the pressure in my chest intensify.

But he didn’t stop. He took another step, and this time, I didn’t move away. Instead of saying anything more, Shanks just pulled me into a hug. I felt his arms wrap around me with a warmth and tenderness I hadn’t expected. I wanted to resist, to push him away, but my body was already responding differently. Slowly, my breathing calmed, though my mind was still a storm of doubt.

"Just relax, I only want you to feel okay," he murmured against my hair. "I’m sorry if I’ve made you doubt."

His embrace was firm but gentle, and though my mind told me I should pull away, my body remained still in his arms, seeking a reprieve from the confusion. Shanks gently pulled me away from him, his hands resting on my shoulders, looking into my eyes with an intensity that sent a shiver through me. With a soft movement, he brought one hand to my face, stroking my cheek with his thumb.

"Enjoy the night," he whispered, his voice soft but laden with intent. "Tomorrow, we’ll talk about whatever you want. You’re not just a game, and our relationship isn’t about work, and you know that."

My lips parted to say something, but Shanks didn’t give me time. He leaned in and kissed me, slowly, as if he was trying to redeem himself with every movement. It was a tender kiss. I felt the warmth rise in my body, and though my mind was still screaming that I shouldn’t give in, my lips responded instinctively, returning the kiss with a mix of need and confusion.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against mine, and in that moment, I didn’t know what to think. My heart was pounding, not just from the attraction I’d always felt for him, but from everything that kiss represented.

"We’ll talk about everything, I promise," he whispered. "But tonight, just trust me."

Everything was spinning around me, but I had to push my emotions aside for tonight—I couldn’t let this opportunity and everything I’d worked for go to waste.

"Okay, I need to focus on tonight. Let’s go back to the hall," I said, still unsure of how to handle everything that was happening.

Shanks and I returned to the cocktail party, though the intensity of the moment still pulsed in my chest. I tried to recompose myself emotionally, but the kiss we’d shared and his words still had me unsettled. I tried to maintain my composure as the murmur of the event filled the air, with the soft lights and the hum of conversations around us.

As soon as we were back, several investors approached, congratulating me or asking more technical questions about my project. I felt the weight of their attention on me, forcing me to focus on my answers, though Shanks’ presence lingered in the back of my mind. I dove into the conversations, explaining the details of the project, the plans for implementation, and the challenges we had already anticipated.

"Impressive, really," commented one of the investors, nodding with an approving smile.

But as I spoke, my eyes drifted distractedly across the room, as if something inside me was instinctively searching for Shanks. And there he was. I saw him in a corner, talking to one of the businesswomen. They were chatting animatedly, but what really caught my attention was the way he was looking at her. That same flirty smile and spark in his eyes that I knew all too well, the same one that had started everything between us. The businesswoman laughed, clearly flattered by his attention, leaning in a little closer to him.

I felt something twist inside me. A knot of annoyance and jealousy that I hadn’t expected. It was as if, after everything we’d just been through, everything he had just told me, Shanks was still playing his games, unchanged. My mind began to race, fueled by the mix of emotions I had been holding back all night.

One of the investors asked me another question, but I barely registered it. I nodded vaguely, trying to stay engaged, but my mind was divided.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe he was just being polite with the businesswoman… but the way she smiled, the way he looked at her, reminded me exactly of how things had started between us. That bold flirtation, that effortless charm that seemed to enchant everyone.

As the investors continued to talk, my gaze kept drifting back to them, noticing how they leaned in closer to each other, their soft laughter barely audible from where I stood, but enough to irritate me even more.

"Excuse me. Just a moment," I said quickly, forcing a smile before walking toward a quieter area.

I leaned against one of the nearby columns, trying to calm the frustration and disappointment building inside me. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. After everything Shanks had told me, how could he act like this so blatantly? And worse, why did I care so much?

I glanced back at them once more, noticing how she lightly touched his arm as they spoke. Shanks didn’t do anything to stop her, and that only made my jealousy intensify.

I felt betrayed, confused, and worst of all, furious with myself for letting something so insignificant affect me so much. With one last quick look at them, I headed to the bathroom, trying to ignore the thoughts swirling in my head. I passed by the elegant gold-framed mirrors that adorned the event’s hallway, my mind still entangled in the scene I had left behind.

When I entered the bathroom, I took a second in front of the mirror, letting out a long sigh as I looked at myself. Why is this affecting me so much? I thought. Why, after everything that had happened tonight, did I still care what Shanks was doing with someone else?

While I was lost in thought, the bathroom door opened, and to my surprise, the businesswoman who had been talking to Shanks walked in. She wore an elegant dress, her hair perfectly styled, and her face reflected a confidence that unsettled me. Our eyes met in the mirror, and for a second, a spark of recognition flickered in her eyes.

"Oh, it’s you," she said, her voice soft but with a clear note of smugness as she approached the vanity, fixing a strand of her hair in the mirror. "I saw you talking with Shanks earlier. I didn’t know you knew him."

I just nodded, not wanting to prolong the conversation, but clearly, she wasn’t done.

"He’s really handsome, isn’t he?" she added, her tone more pointed as she applied a bit of lipstick. Her eyes drifted toward me, a somewhat malicious smile on her face. "He’s the kind of man who draws all the attention in the room. Although… it seems he’s quite interested in me tonight."

My heart sank. The way she spoke was irritating, as if she was trying to brag about something I hadn’t asked to know. The way she said it, the clear intention of making me feel insecure… it was enough to make my blood boil. But I kept my cool. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of seeing my discomfort.

"Really?" I responded indifferently, crossing my arms. "Well, Shanks seems like the type of man who doesn’t stay in one place for long."

She glanced at me sideways, her smile didn’t fade, but her eyes narrowed slightly. She was realizing that I wasn’t going to fall for her little game easily.

"Well, darling, don’t get your hopes up too high," she said sweetly, taking a step toward me. "Men like him are always looking for someone at their level," she said while crossing her arms and sizing me up. "You know? I’ve seen you with Shanks. Interesting, really."

Her tone was venomous, and though I knew she was just trying to make me feel insecure, I couldn’t help but feel a small pang of anger. However, I tried to remain calm.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I replied, my voice firmer than I felt.

"Oh, please," she laughed, stepping closer to me. "I know exactly what I’m talking about. Shanks is charming, isn’t he? That carefree attitude, the way he makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room. Believe me, I know him too well. But here’s a tip, dear: don’t get your hopes up. He’s a businessman, and he always has a plan. If you think you’re special, I’m sorry, but you’re not."

Her words hit me hard, but just as I was about to respond, the bathroom door swung open, and Nami walked in, with a determined expression on her face.

"Y/N! There you are, I’ve been looking for you," she exclaimed, walking toward me while completely ignoring the businesswoman. She stood beside me with a calm smile, but clearly protective. "Is everything okay here?"

The woman straightened up, casting a quick glance between Nami and me. It was obvious she hadn’t expected someone like Nami to step into the equation.

"Everything’s perfect," she responded with a sharp smile, though her tone didn’t match her words. "We were just having a little chat."

Nami smiled sweetly, though the tension in her eyes was unmistakable.

"Great," she replied, her tone casual but with an undertone only someone as shrewd as Nami could deliver. "Although it seems like it’s over now, right, Y/N?"

The businesswoman hesitated for a moment but quickly composed herself, with a malicious glint in her eyes.

"Of course. See you in the hall," she said with a superficial smile, turning to leave the bathroom without another word.

When she left, I felt the air return to my lungs. The tension I had been holding in my shoulders began to dissipate, though I was still a bit shaken.

Of course! Here's the translation back into English:

"Nami…" I whispered as we left the bathroom, my voice trembling slightly. "I really need to get out of here. Go home… I can't take this anymore."

Nami looked at me with compassion, and without hesitation, she put a hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me down.

"Take it easy," she said softly, "let's go home, it's for the best. You've done enough tonight."

I nodded, feeling a lump in my throat. I didn’t want to stay at that party any longer, with this whirlwind of emotions. The atmosphere had become unbearable, and the idea of seeing Shanks flirting with others after everything that had happened was more than I could handle. We walked together toward the exit, passing groups of investors who were still chatting animatedly.

As we said goodbye to our directors and a few investors, I felt eyes on my back. I turned around, and just as I expected, there was Shanks, watching me with that look that always managed to unsettle me. I didn’t say anything; we just exchanged a brief glance before I quickly looked away, focusing on getting out of there.

Nami and I finally got to the car and climbed in, grateful to leave the noise of the party behind. The ride was quiet, but comforting. Nami knew when to talk and when not to, and at that moment, I appreciated her giving me the space I needed to process everything that had happened.

When we arrived at my apartment, I was just unlocking the door when I heard the unmistakable sound of a car approaching quickly. I paused, glancing around, and then I saw it: Shanks' car pulling up swiftly beside us. My heart skipped a beat.

"Oh God," I murmured, more to myself than to Nami.

Before I could react, Shanks had already gotten out of the car and was walking toward me quickly. He looked determined, and his eyes were locked on me. Nami, always protective, stepped forward, positioning herself between him and me.

"What do you think you're doing, Shanks?" Nami said, her tone firm and full of authority. "Leave her alone."

"I don't want any trouble," Shanks responded, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "I just need to talk to her, for a moment. Please, Nami."

The tension was thick in the air, and although I didn’t want to talk to him at that moment, something about his persistence, the way he was looking at me, made me hesitate. Nami glanced at me, waiting for me to make a decision.

"It's okay, Nami," I sighed eventually.

Nami frowned, clearly not convinced, but slowly nodded.

"If you need anything, just call me. I’ll be inside," she said before heading toward the door. "This is your last chance, Shanks."

The silence between Shanks and me was heavy for a moment. I crossed my arms, unsure of what to say. He took a step closer to me, his expression softer than it had been all night.

"Thank you for listening, Y/N," he began, his tone calm. "I know you're upset, and you have every right to be. What happened today was… confusing. Can we see each other tomorrow? Come over for dinner, I want to do something special for you."

"Shanks, I don’t know if that’s a good idea…" I started, trying to remain firm.

NEXT CHAPTER

[edutainer2022]

So I got under the weather - fever, sore throat, snuffles, the works. But I am "busy" (tm) and, therefore, need to be "fine" (tm). So I'm indulgently reposting a little fluffy Tracy-fever piece I wrote out this summer. I may or may not be eyeing another fever-snippet in my notes. Depends on how "fine" (tm) I am. Please, enjoy!

PUPPY BASKET

A puppy basket. Jeff didn't recall who exactly coined the term - his wife or himself. Or maybe his mother. The point was - with three kids so close in age (and then two more down the line) the flues and colds, and stomach bugs tore through the bunch like a wildfire. There was not enough manpower in the household to keep up with sick boys quarantined in different rooms. So it was just easier and more expedient to stash the sniveling and coughing, and sniffling, and generally miserable puppy ball in the master bedroom. Lucy and himself took shifts sitting vigil, giving meds and fluids, kissing burning up brows. If he were planetside, of course. Later, when the boys' mother was gone, it would be, likely, Scott's room and the elder boys taking up watch hours, while he was busy with grief and work. The one time he came home from New York to find all five boys succumbed to a flu, pretty much delirious in his room, little Alan hoarse from crying - even Scott too weak from fever to call Grandma (and too anxious to call 911 lest child services got a wiff) was a memory he didn't dare revisit often.

He could distantly recall that a feverish Scott would be restless, Virgil would be cuddly, John would be clingy. Gordon would peel off any scrap of clothes on him. Someone would invariably end up upside down with feet propped on the pillow.

That morning got him investigating in Scott's room first thing. Gordon and Alan drew a short straw and were off for a supply run early on (a bright and whistling Gordon and a grumpy half-asleep Alan). Virgil was not expected down this side of 10 am, John was just back from orbit the night before. But Scott never made it to see the Tinies (did they even call the boys that anymore? Alan was starting college in a month!) off, have his run and a morning coffee-cum-strategy session with Dad - something that had become a new, cherished routine for them. The parent alarm in him, that never lay quite dormant even through the endless night of the Oort Cloud, was now blaring full force.

Fair enough, Jeff found his eldest room in an uncharacteristic disarray - a blanket kicked off all the way from the foot of the bed down to the floor, last day clothes scattered on the carpeting - something he came to recognize more as the youngest style, not Scott, who had tried to emulate Dad's military crisp order since he was five and learned to make his own bed. Scott was soon found by his father's increasingly concerned gaze in the middle of the bed, tangled sheets and disheveled curls a testament to a night of tossing and turning, breathing shallow and raspy. Jeff's immediate guess was a nightmare - heaven knows he was no stranger to warding off those, plaguing his boy's naturally light sleep. But a fine sheen of sweat, covering Scott's face and neck, belied a different answer altogether. Jeff wasn't surprised, when the brow he reached for to smooth away the soaked fringe, was burning. Scott wasn't asleep per se - eyes squeezed shut against a headache - but he definitely wasn't alert and present either. Jeff wasn't surprised, but he was getting increasingly panicked. His own mother gave him a semi-clean bill of health and was currently in Kansas, helping a friend out. The time difference made the call tricky. Not impossible, of course, there  was no inconvenience Grandma wouldn't go through for him or his boys, for which Jeff was eternally greatful, but all the more weary to disturb his getting increasingly fragile Ma more, than necessary. Kayo was visiting with her own father, so that was not an option as well. The problem was, with Grandma away, there was no medic on the island. Unless, of course... Jeff remembered Virgil determined and precise with a medscanner, and later - all business and in-trade jibberish with the medical staff at the rehab center he had to spend first months back on Earth at. Despite budding worry, as Scott keened quietly and shifted under his father's soothing touch, Jeff smiled fondly. Virgil was, arguably, the closest to his Grandpa in looks and demeanor, but it appeared he followed his Grandma's professional leanings. He should try and wake Virgil up. Scott was definitely under the weather.

As if on cue, the door opened and a gigantic burrito walked in. Jeff started. The burrito was, upon a closer inspection, a human, barefoot, wrapped up in a blanket head to toe. The walking burrito was also eliciting grunts and a lung-splitting cough. Ouch. The intruder ignored Jeff completely, sidestepped the bundle of clothes on the floor, and collapsed on the bed, next to Scott, wrapping the latter immediately in a cocoon of limbs and blanket, like a cuddle pillow. Scott is restless, Virgil is cuddly... Jeff was beginning to get a bad, bad feeling about it. A quick dive into the fluffy depths of fabric and hair confirmed his fear - Virgil had a fever too. That left...

"John!" - he had to spring from the edge of the bed with speed and agility that would make his physiotherapist proud in time to catch a swaying ginger son from planting face first on the floor. John appeared soundlessly, a ghostly vision, almost translucent where he would normally be pale. A sneeze almost send them both toppling again, but Jeff managed to maintain balance and helped John walk the short distance to the other side of the bed. There was no question how the ginger was going to spend his spiking fever - the moment he climbed onto the mattress, John attached himself to Scott side like a limpet, the way Jeff had only seen Alan do so far. When sick, Scott was restless, Virgil was cuddly, and John was clingy. Well, the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Puppy basket is go!

Jeff was halfway through the mental checklist of things he would need to make the logistics of his three eldest sons down for the count work (fluids, medscanner and monitors to keep track of the fevers, ask Brains if the medkits were in the same spots now, call Ma as soon as the time difference would permit, coax, trick and blackmail the boys into cold meds and cough syrup, call Gordon and Alan to stay away for the day and to go fetch Grandma from the farm, make sure Brains was alright and quarantined in his lab and rooms, check himself up, because Jeff needed to be on top of his game for the sick boys - the day and the following night could be tough), when a loud shriek pierced the silence of the room. Scott was frowning and trying the disentangle himself from Virgil's death grip. Jeff reached for his agitated son's shoulder and rubbed a thumb over - in the haze of the fever Scott could get disoriented and start fighting any restraint. Jeff knew the boy would never forgive himself, if he hurt Virgil, even unintentionally. But Scott was not to be easily placated. His face contorted with effort and, likely, a worsened sinus pain, to Jeff's astonishment, the young man grabbed a barely protesting John, lifted him bodily over his own frame, like he was a... well... puppy, and stuffed him into Virgil's arms, that immediately closed the hug around a different brother, as Scott rolled to the side in a sleek stealth maneuver. He would have rolled all the way over the edge of the bed, had Dad's arms not stopped him. That must have computed to the cold addled brain as "safe", since Scott stopped struggling almost immediately and let out a snuffle in a voice Jeff hadn't heard since when the kids' mother was alive. "M'hot", Scott complained without opening his eyes. Jeff reckoned he should probably be more concerned about photosensitivity and the fact any of the boys was yet to notice or acknowledge him. Jeff made an attempt to hoist Scott up against the headrest, but thought better of it as another painful moan escaped. Instead, he sort of rolled the son back to the center of the bed, closer to the pile of other brothers. Scott seemed game for that and shifted to snuggle and spoon against John's back. That elicited a hum and a sneeze from the ginger. Virgil didn't stir. Puppy basket indeed.

Satisfied that Scott was settled for the moment and the other boys seemed to have fallen asleep, Jeff felt confident enough to go looking for the fever vigil supplies and an extra coffee for himself. But he didn't leave before leaning to reach the assorted temples and forheads for the mandatory kiss better and a soft stroke. So sue him, he missed a lot longer than eight years of being their Dad first.

A detour to the infirmary, a chat with Brains, a lot more strained one with Ma and an anxious one with the Tinies later - Jeff was on his way back to Scott's rooms. Gordon and Alan, of course, offered to come back and help with their ailing brothers immediately. But Jeff shuddered at the idea of having all five of the boys sick at once. He was good, but the tenure in space was taking its toll. The youngest boys would be well supervised under Grandma's watchful eye, till it was safe (or absolutely necessary- something Jeff tried not to dwell on) to return to the island.

The sight that greeted him upon return to the bedroom tugged the corners of his lips up despite himself. Seeing his sons sick or hurting in any way brought him no joy, but the picture was just too precious and hilarious at the same time. John had shifted upside down, somehow, so Virgil was now cuddling his brother's feet. John was also curled in an upside down ball, head resting on Scott's stomach. Scott, in an attempt to cool off, cast his long, long limbs every which way, including over Virgil's lap and head, in a comical replication of the Vitruvian Man. As Jeff stepped in, though, the eldest shifted again, to curl himself around John protectively and to draw Virgil into a side hug. Jeff needed to go ahead with the med scanners and to get the boys awake long enough to make sure they got a drink of electrolytes and some saltines, but first he paused to reach for his comm watch and snap a picture of the puppy basket. He would cherish the moment while it lasted. And he could always use it as blackmail backup against these three running themselves to the ground - under the threat of the photo being leaked to the Tinies.

[ingek73]

Interview

Michael Moore on how Harris-Walz can defeat Trump: ‘Do weird and cringe until the debate, then nail him’

Edward Helmore

Progressive film-maker says he’s more optimistic than he’s ever been since Trump announced first run eight years ago

Thu 15 Aug 2024 11.00 BST

With Joe Biden looking for re-election Democrats feared they were looking at an electoral catastrophe. Now, with Biden dropping out and Vice-President Kamala Harris at the top of the ticket, it suddenly feels like it is Donald Trump who is staring at possible defeat.

The liberal film-maker and Democratic whisperer Michael Moore says he’s more optimistic than he has ever been since Trump stepped on to the escalator in Trump Tower to announce his first run for the presidency eight years ago.

“This isn’t just a sugar-high or what [recovering] heroin addicts call a pink cloud,” Moore says. “It was so depressing for so many weeks and then it was instantly not depressing. I am hopeful now but it’s ours to blow – and we have a history of blowing it.”

Moore, 70, has in recent years become something of an electoral sage. He predicted Donald Trump’s victory in 2016, in part because of the sense of political-cultural superiority Democrats emanated and because he had noticed that the campaign was fearful of inspiring Maga supporters. He predicted, too, that Democrats would buck the trend and be fine in the 2022 midterms.

In this election cycle he is in some ways in line with the pollster Nate Silver, who recently said that “the strategy of the Harris campaign should be to triangulate the strategy of Hillary 2016, the Harris 2020 primary campaign, and Biden 2024, and do the exact opposite.”

But Moore says he understands why Democrats are nervous that the Harris-Walz ticket could come apart, though it shows no current signs of doing so, particularly if Harris gets tarred with Biden’s unpopular “Bidenomics” or responsibility for his full-throated support of Israel’s war in Gaza.

“Biden, sadly, is going to be remembered for funding the war in Gaza and providing the armaments to Netanyahu, not arms for protecting Israel, but extra money to kill Palestinian civilians,” Moore says. He remains “saddened and surprised” that Biden, who had refused to meet Netanyahu last September, flew to Tel Aviv after the 7 October Hamas cross-border attack and hugged him.

“You can say what’s in a hug?” he says. “But ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce Neville Chamberlain to you. It doesn’t take much for history to see that in the moment you needed to display courage you did the opposite.”

But he’s cautiously optimistic that Harris is signaling a change of direction. She did not pick as expected the Pennsylvania governor, Josh Shapiro, who had harshly called out student protesters against the war in Gaza and settled a former employee’s claim that she was sexually harassed by a senior aide.

Harris, he applauds, went against the conventional wisdom, upending the predictions of many TV pundits, and chose “this guy from the midwest, a football coach who had offered to be adviser to the gay student group. It’s pretty stunning.”

And while as vice-president Harris has no power to speak against Biden on Israel, Harris has made her feelings plain. She declined to sit in on Netanyahu’s address to Congress, which echoed Pope Urban II’s 1095 call for the first crusade, instead traveling to a Zeta Phi Beta sorority meeting in Indianapolis.

“Couldn’t they have made up something that sounded important with foreign policy attached to it? No, She’s busy at a sorority meeting … and she refused the traditional diplomatic “grip-and-grin” after meeting with Netanyahu. It was very public.”

The first days of the Harris-Walz ticket have shown precisely the change of direction that Moore has argued for. The ominous but complicated “threat to democracy” anti-Trump platform has been dropped for “threat to freedom”. Trump’s folk story confabulations resist fact-checking, so that’s been refined to a kind of medieval textual charm, “weird”.

Jibes over JD Vance’s “couch capers” and eyeliner discussions work in much the same way. What Harris-Walz are doing is much as Moore advocated when he offered the Clinton campaign “satirical support” to come up with lines that would get under Trump’s thin skin, especially in a televised debate.

“I think I’m going to see what I was hoping for for eight years,” he says. “Once anybody gets under that thin skin anything can happen. On live TV? Trump could explode, start talking like a 12-year-old, though no offense to 12-year-olds, or get up and leave.”

But didn’t Democrats bet on the Biden-Trump debate being a success? And the Trump prosecution in New York? The Republican candidate’s polling and fundraising went up after both.

“It’s a holding pattern until she gets on that stage with him. I understand why people are nervous it might be a sugar high but Harris and Walz are people of substance. They’re being slow and cautious enough to get it together. It’s just been a couple of weeks. They are going to have to tell us what they’re going to do and hopefully come up with the right thing. And there will be mistakes.”

As the Harris-Walz campaign “humanize” the ticket it is clear that the November election represents, on the Democratic side, a generational shift.

“I’m so happy to hear Gen Z and X are over half the vote because it’s called facts and data,” Moore says, pointing out that the number of boomers over 65 who have died since 2016 is exceeded by Gen Z and millennials who have become eligible to vote. “How many of them do you think are going around in hats saying Make America Great Again”? They’ve never known it to be “great”, let alone “again”.

“It’s not just a cultural shift – it’s a generational shift. The boomers may not be the No 1 voters in this election. And that’s why Gaza is so important. Young people hate war and they’re totally against Biden and his support of the war.” Harris, he says, needs to tap into “affordable housing, student debt, peace and the dying planet”.

His prescription? “Do weird and cringe until the debate and then nail him,” Moore said. “But nail him with irony, satire and a simple way to point out the beyond weird absolute idiocy and insanity of what these two men are talking about. Reach them on a commonsense level so it doesn’t matter if you’re Democrat or Republican.”

“Once anybody gets under that thin skin anything can happen. On live TV? Trump could explode, start talking like a 12-year-old, though no offense to 12-year-olds, or get up and leave.”

[racingliners]

The Rules of Strategy, Chapter 11 Race 9: Austria

listed as Chapter 12 on ao3 because of the prologue

No Warnings Apply, 5k, read on ao3

Thursday morning at the Red Bull Ring looked and felt less like mid-Summer in Europe, and more like early Spring in Hertfordshire as the pale grey sky spat out intermittent light rain showers. When Lewis arrived at the circuit the sun was trying to peek through a small crack in the clouds casting a briefly visible pale golden ray before the clouds closed up again. It wasn’t until Lewis left the drivers press conference that the sun looked like it was starting to win out against the grey. As ever the Mercedes motorhome was busy with the lunchtime rush when Lewis and Rosa returned, and they both immediately headed for the stairs up to the first floor. As well as getting them both a coffee, Lewis had been hoping to find Toto to chat about his most recent meeting with Tommy Hilfiger. But instead out of the corner of his eye Lewis saw Niki not only talking to an older looking man and woman, but laughing brightly at one of their jokes. “Oh! That’s Seb’s parents.” Rosa said quietly into Lewis’ ear as they took their place in the small queue at the coffee counter. Lewis watched as Norbert and Heike, he remembered, both listened intently to whatever story Niki was telling. They were both too far away on the other side of the room and most likely speaking in German for Lewis to be able to make out what.

[hassanatforusmk]

@GOOGLE & @AMAZON ARE ENABLING THE FIRST AI-POWERED GENOCIDE.

Over the last 100+ days, Israel has escalated its assault on Gaza in what's being called the first AI-facilitated genocide in human history. @amazon @google & companies across tech have powered the current genocide of Palestinians in Gaza & the surveillance & oppression of Paletinians across historic Palestine for years, revving up Israel's genocide machine that has led to the murder of 32K-F Palestinians, according to @euromedhr.

Last November, a @972mag investigation revealed the Israeli military's use of a new AI-based system called Habsora ("The Gospel") to automatically generate bombing targets & kill Palestinians in Gaza at an unprecedented rate.

Google & Amazon are also providing powerful Al tech to the Israeli military through the $1B Project Nimbus contract, which was signed while Israel dropped bombs on Gaza during its May 2021 assault.

In 2022, a @theintercept investigation confirmed @Google is offering advanced Al & machine-learning capabilities to Israel via Nimbus. The dots indicate that the new cloud would include facial detection tech & even sentiment analysis that claims to "assess the emotional content of pictures, speech & writing" to Israel. Any of these capabilities

In 2022, a @theintercept investigation confirmed @Google is offering advanced Al & machine-learning capabilities to Israel via Nimbus. The docs indicate that the new cloud would include facial detection tech & even sentiment analysis that claims to "assess the emotional content of pictures, speech & writing" to Israel. Any of these capabilities supercharge Israel's ability to surveil Palestinians & collect/process data on Palestinians—key strategies of the Israeli occupation.

Workers don't want their labor to be used to power genocide.

For 2+ yrs, Google & Amazon workers w/ community orgs have organized against the companies' ties to Israel. Last year, 100s of tech workers & community protested at @googlecloud & @amazonwebservices conferences in SF & NYC. In 2022, tech workers & community organized #NoTechForApartheid demonstrations in four tech hubs across the US in a historic show of unity & solidarity among workers across two of the biggest tech companies on the planet.

We won't stop organizing until @amazon @google drop Nimbus & the tech industry stops fueling state violence & genocide.

Take action: - Are you a tech worker? Get involved at t.ly/ NotaGenerallntake

Demand #NoTechForApartheid by emailing the CEOs at notechforapartheid.com.