#green flags here green flags there GREEN FLAGS EVERYWHERE

[xoxorory]

Prolonged Pit Stop !

POV: FemJournalist!Reader Pairing: F1 Driver!Percy Jackson x Journalist!Fem Reader Genre: Humor | Fluff | Romance | Tension | Slow Burn | Flirting | Suggestive Comments Word Count: ~1.5 words Taglist: @simpingmyassoff , @shootingstargirl2001,@jemy-blacy24 , @starincarnated (if you want to be added,comment below! !) Requested by: @livlocus Warning:English isn't my first lenguage,enjoy ! ! ! A/N: This is the second part!! you can read the first one here

V. Prolonged Pit Stop

You’d been standing in front of the paddock bathroom mirror for exactly three minutes and forty-five seconds, wondering if wearing that red lipstick had been a good idea.

It was just an interview. Just that.

Except Percy Jackson wasn’t just a driver. He was a distraction with green eyes, a crooked smile, and the cursed gift of making you forget every journalistic protocol you’d sworn to uphold.

“Are you putting on makeup for Jackson?” Annabeth asked from one of the sinks, wearing that signature cynical smile. “Because if you are, you’re late. I saw him five minutes ago taking off his race suit, and believe me… the man knows what he’s doing with a zipper.”

“Annabeth, please,” you huffed, though the blush on your cheeks didn’t help your defense.

She only laughed and walked out of the bathroom like she hadn’t just destroyed what little professionalism you had left.

You left a few minutes later, mic in hand, ready to keep your composure. The mixed zone was crowded with journalists, cameras, cables everywhere… and Percy, of course, leaning nonchalantly against a barrier, race suit pulled down to his waist, wearing that damn look at the corner of his lips that said: I know you’re looking.

And you were.

God, you were.

“Ready to ask me the hard questions, or are you finally going to ask me out?” he said without preamble as you approached with your mic.

“That wasn’t in the brief,” you replied, voice steady.

“Maybe it was, and you just didn’t read it,” he shot back, leaning a bit closer.

Percy Jackson smelled like victory, adrenaline, and something else you couldn’t name but which made you want to move even closer.

“Alright, Percy,” you began. “Third consecutive win. Do you think you’re reaching your peak performance?”

“As a driver, or as an interesting man getting exclusive interviews with a gorgeous journalist?”

Laughter erupted around you. You suppressed a sigh.

“As a driver, Jackson.”

“Then yes. But the other thing’s going pretty well too,” he added, winking.

Percy Jackson didn’t understand the concept of “professional boundaries.” But you didn’t understand why your heart was beating so fast either.

VI. Safety Car

The worst part came after.

An unexpected storm. Delays. A poorly fitted tire. Percy went off-track during Saturday’s Q2 and ended up against the barrier. Nothing serious, but the radio caught him shouting your name.

Literally.

“Did you hear it?” Annabeth asked, showing you the audio on her phone while you tried not to hyperventilate in the press room.

“I’m fine. I’m fine. Tell her not to worry, okay? Tell her I’m fine.”

“That proves nothing,” you said, clearly in denial.

“Uh-huh, sure. And I only come to these races for the catering.”

But when Percy walked out of his garage, a small bandage on his brow and the same unwavering smile, he looked for you. Only you. Among dozens of people.

And when he finally reached you, race suit still stained and breath uneven, his voice was softer than ever:

“You’re okay.”

“You’re the one who crashed, Percy,” you said, your voice trembling.

“And you’re the one who looks about to cry.”

Shit.

You weren’t going to admit it. But he was right.

“I just got a little worried,” you murmured.

“I like you better when you worry. You’re more honest.”

And there it was again. That damn problem.

One with a name, a surname, a lethal smile… and now a split brow that, for some reason, made him even more charming.

VII. Parc Fermé (Unofficial)

Sunday’s race was chaos.

Crashes. Weather shifts. Red flag.

And still, Percy pulled it off. He won.

The paddock exploded. Your team screamed. The cameras followed. And you, for the first time in your career, broke protocol: you set the mic down and ran toward the celebration zone without caring.

Percy was there, surrounded by confetti and champagne, his team all around him. When he saw you, he raised an eyebrow.

“Coming to interview me or give me a victory hug?”

“Depends,” you said. “Are you going to stop flirting for five minutes?”

He laughed. Low, genuine. Then stepped closer. Much closer.

“Not a chance.”

And before anyone could react, he cupped your face and kissed you.

Not a quick or clumsy kiss. A kiss straight out of the movies. One that made you forget the world for exactly five and a half seconds.

When you pulled apart, there were cheers. Whistles. Shouts. Your producer looked like he was on the verge of cardiac arrest. And Annabeth… Annabeth was filming everything.

“That was… completely unprofessional,” you murmured, still breathless.

“Then you’ll have to interview me again,” Percy said. “This time… over dinner.”

And you nodded.

Because Percy Jackson wasn’t a problem.

He was a race without brakes.

And you had finally decided to let go.

VIII. Full Dinner (Restaurant, 2700 RPM)

The date was his idea, but you picked the place.

Nothing too fancy. A discreet Italian restaurant tucked away on a Monaco street, with candles on the tables and a modest menu. Just enough not to feel like an official date… but intimate enough to leave no doubts.

When Percy arrived, wearing a black jacket that clearly wasn’t his and his hair still damp from the post-race shower, you were already there, pretending to browse the menu you’d memorized two hours earlier.

“Waited long?” he asked, draping his jacket over his chair and settling in across from you, his smile gleaming brighter than any trophy.

“Five minutes. I was considering escaping out the back.”

“And miss this?” he said, gesturing to himself with unabashed flair. “That’d be a shame.”

“You’re so humble,” you replied, trying not to laugh.

“I try,” he said, winking as he picked up the menu he clearly wasn’t going to read.

The waiter appeared like magic, and you made an effort to order something simple, confidently. Percy ordered the same.

“Weren’t you going to get pasta?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I trust your taste.”

“What if I have bad taste?”

“Then explain it to me. That way I’ll know you’re only wrong about the food,” he said, shrugging.

And there it was again. That ease with turning every sentence into a half-joke, half-flirtation.

“Do you always flirt like this over dinner?”

“No,” he said quickly, not smiling this time. “Just with you.”

Your stomach fluttered. The dim lighting didn’t hide the blush creeping up your neck.

“What if I only came for the post-race interview?”

“Then you should start recording. Though I can’t promise coherent answers with wine in my blood.”

“You haven’t ordered wine.”

“Give me three minutes.”

And he did. He ordered a bottle. Italian. Expensive. The waiter offered it to you first, as if you were the important one. Percy just watched you as you sniffed, tasted, and approved it.

“Professional even with wine,” he said, elbows on the table, his full attention on you. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Precise. Serious. Effortlessly sexy.”

Cough.

You literally choked on the wine at the last part.

“Excuse me?”

“I just mean… I like seeing you outside the paddock. No mics. No pressure. Just you.”

A brief silence followed. Not awkward. More like… charged. Like something was about to spark.

“And you?” you asked softly. “Are you always like this off-track?”

“Charming?”

“Intense.”

Percy smiled. But this time it was different. Softer. Less performative.

“With you, yes.”

The pasta arrived just in time to save you. You spent the next minutes talking about trivial things: music, shows, how terrible Percy was at cooking (“You weren’t supposed to know that yet,” he said, feigning outrage), how much he missed the sea.

And somewhere in between, you realized something.

You weren’t analyzing every word.

You weren’t thinking about how it would read in a headline.

You were just listening.

As if Percy wasn’t a story.

As if he were just a guy. One with a sideways smile. Who drove 300 kilometers per hour. Who crashed into a barrier and still asked if you were okay.

“You know,” he said as you finished the last sip of wine, “I always wondered what it’d be like to go on a date with you.”

“And?”

“I like it more than I expected.”

“Is that because you won the race or because you survived the public kiss without your team manager killing you?”

“Both,” he laughed. “But mostly because you’re here. And you’re not poking me with a mic. Or pretending to ignore me.”

“I’m still trying,” you teased.

“You’re not doing a very good job,” he said, glancing briefly—too briefly—at your lips.

Your heart skipped. It was like being on the final straight of a race again. Except this time, there was no checkered flag.

Just him.

And you.

And a silence that felt like the beginning of something.

“Would you like to do this again?” he asked, almost shyly.

“Another interview?”

“Another dinner. No cameras. No excuses.”

You smiled.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. If you survive the next race without saying my name on the radio,” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

Percy laughed. But there was a light in his eyes. One that said you’d see him again. That this hadn’t been a trial run. It had been the first step.

A prolonged pit stop in the middle of the chaos.

One neither of you seemed ready to leave.

soooo what y'all think???

[smystermy]

@diremoone

This tweet immediately made me think of Sylus and how it perfectly encapsulates one of the major reasons why I believe he is such a comfort character not only for me but for a large number of people.

Remember what he says during the anniversary video, for example:

"Now that you've stepped into my world, let your ambitions run wild"

And:

"Your truest self will forever be etched into the fabric of my soul" (such a beautiful, poetic line augh 💘)

Not to mention the number of lines he has throughout the game where he encourages his lover to be greedy etc. if that's what they want to be.

With Sylus, there is no need for pretension. He wants you to always be your realest self with him. Because he genuinely loves and adores you for being you. And to be loved in such a way is, to quote the above tweet, such a safe feeling. Such a chef's kiss.

In short, Sylus wasn't joking when he said "There is no love purer than mine"

[heretherebedork]

Love and joy come together and they're just so happy together. (But also God's hand on Diew's waist as they laugh and enjoy each other?! Yes.)

[shotosjupiter]

BACK TO THE KITTY 'CAUSE SHE'S KINDA PRETTY!

— jjk men and what kind of pet cat they'd have. fluffy and gn! reader <3 this audio was stuck in my head so i decided to make it the title </3

𖤐 GOJO spoils his little tuxedo cat horrendously. this man has money and he ensures that half of it is going to his lavish cat's lifestyle and the other half to you. he loooves his cat dearly and he makes you come with him to go shopping for her! he values your opinion deeply from the food choices down to what new cat tower he should get.

a silly thing he enjoys is matching outfits! he'll have his cat wearing a bandana that is the same color as his shirt. he'll ask you to do a subtle matching couples outfit - the same color scheme and once you're all dressed he'll insist on taking many pictures together. "it's a family photo, angel! we're all matching, isn't that cute?" (he ends up making it his lockscreen for his phone for ages).

𖤐 CHOSO's orange cat balances his energy out perfectly. for someone whose more on the calm and collected side, his cat brings out the more outgoing and silly side of him. his cat is constantly doing something that has choso running out of his seat to go save his precious cat. once it was preventing his kitty from diving straight into a cup of matcha and another time it was prying his cat off the ceiling fan.

a big sign in your relationship is when he invites you to his apartment and introduces you to his cat! he loves his pet dearly and knowing that his cat approves of you means the world to him. when he sees his cat purring and rubbing it's head on your legs, choso smiles and feels his heart melt. he knows you're the one.

𖤐 NANAMI would have a distinguished little tabby cat. she's more of an elderly cat but nanami doesn't mind because it means peaceful mornings for everyone involved. one time, when you were sleeping over at his place early in your relationship, you woke up to a thump and a weight on your chest. what is it? it's nanami's cat sat right on your stomach, all comfortable like it's her birth right. she's kneading into your skin and purring in approval.

nanami, coming from the kitchen, visibly softens at the sight of you in his bed all warm, and his cat cuddling into you. he kisses your forehead in greeting, whispering good morning. he feels his heart race as he realizes, this is a sight he wants to see for the rest of his life.

𖤐 GETO had originally gotten a cat because nanako and mimiko had begged for one. he was definitely one of those people that insisted that he didn't want a cat and had put up a big fight against. cut to five months later and here he is spoon feeding his pretty tortoiseshell cat tuna treats.

for him, when he sees you interact with the girls and sees how gentle you are he's already smitten with you. on top of it, when he sees you gently petting the family cat, he all but melts into the floor. he adores the way you treat his family and it's the biggest green flag to him. he immediately wants to make you a part of his family.

𖤐 TOJI did not mean to adopt a cat. he really didn't, he has enough on his plate! the stray cat just followed me home, or so he says. he has a nonchalant attitude about his boy cat, as if he couldn't care less but really you'll find him in the pet store aisles reading through ingredients to make sure the food he's buying really is safe and healthy.

he'll laugh and laugh when you come over and you get jumped by his black cat as it tries to play with you. his cat is definitely a bit of a biter, so beware of that. regardless, toji will watch as you play with his stray-not-stray cat and feel a sense of home unfurl in his chest. he won't say anything but he'll have a wide smile on his face and he'll take the both of you in his arms, peppering kisses everywhere he can.

© shotosjupiter. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[bbokicidal]

"Are You Serious...?" - Angst! [Maknae Line SKZ]

Notes : These are all obviously fictional situations, the red flags are just based off of habits we know they have (like Chan's need to be needed, Changbin being blunt/honest.) This post isn't me saying I think they have these red flags, it's just a fun angsty prompt I wrote down. If you don't like it, scroll and don't read.

Warnings : Angst with no comfort, red flag behavior - explicit warning for Han's scenario; Sexual talk, TMI, he shares information about your sex life with others. Warning for Felix's scenario; weight discussion, judgement. Warning for Jeongin's scenario; Physical contact (shoving, nudging, etc.), signs of disgust

Hyung Line | Part 2 Here

Han - Oversharing

"You should've seen it. It was so wet." Jisung had fully turned his body in his dining chair to face Seungmin beside him. The younger of the two was listening to Jisung go on about something that had happened the night before; Something that was sexual and involved you.

And judging by the way Seungmin's chewing slowed gradually and his eyes flickered around the table to see if anyone else was listening, he was growing uncomfortable with hearing so much information about his friend and his partner.

"Jisung," You reach to place a hand on your boyfriend's shoulder, catching the way Seungmin seemed to eye the others in a silent plea for help out of the conversation. "That's enough, baby. I don't think he cares to hear about our sex life." You laugh, trying to brush it off.

But he keeps talking. "She made a mess everywhere, Min. It was like those videos where the girls --"

"Jisung!" You snap this time, pulling on his shoulder until he turns to face you. His eyes widen and he stares, completely unaware he'd done anything wrong.

"What..?" He peeps, watching as you scoff in frustration and lean down to grab your purse from the ground. He turns further to face you, a few of the others quieting down as they watch you stand and nearly knock over your wine glass.

You tremble in both agitation and humiliation, pulling your bag over your shoulder before turning to walk away. "Get a fucking cab home, I'm leaving."

Felix - Ordering food for you / Controlling your diet

"Thank you," You beam at the delivery man, gently shutting and locking your apartment door to make your way back to Felix on the sofa. It's only moments before the coffee table is filled with food - two waters, a few packets of dressing, and two... salads.

Your look of confusion doesn't escape Felix but he doesn't speak up on it, popping the lid off his salad container and reaching to empty a dressing packet over top of the greens. He stirs it around as he watches you reach for the other, pulling it closer and opening it carefully so nothing spilled. "I thought we said yesterday we were going to order Tteokboki and.. -- Are you sure you ordered from the right place?"

"Mm." Felix nods, mouth full as he watches you. You spare him a glance before sitting up a bit as he swallows and speaks again. "I'm on a diet, sweetheart. There's things I can and cannot eat right now."

"Okay," You nod slowly. "I understand that, and I understand it's for your job but - I didn't... agree to this..?" You murmur, hoping it doesn't come off as disrespectful. He'd been the one to place the order and pay for it, and you appreciated that - you really did. But he hadn't said anything about what he'd ordered earlier; Hadn't bothered to mention he was dieting or deciding to order from a different place.

He blinks once, then twice, as if processing that you were unhappy. "Felix, I'm -- I respect your diet. I really do." You lift your hands as if surrendering, then gesture to yourself by placing both hands on your chest. "But you could've told me you were ordering this and I could've just told you what I wanted. I don't need to diet."

Felix's chewing slows as he listens. He's staring, gaze unwavering, very intently listening. He nods, then hums as if in thought, before his eyes slowly wander down over your form sitting beside him. When he looks back up and doesn't care to agree with you or offer a soft apology, you feel the humiliation sticking in your gut.

Your lips part and you stare, unsure of what to say after he'd just silently judged you moments ago. You stand from your spot and slip into a pair of shoes at the door, grabbing your keys off of a hook.

He stares, posture straightening. "Where are you going?"

You look back, opening the door. "Down to the cafe. I'm getting myself a treat - because I didn't deserve whatever the fuck that just was." The door swing shut behind you, leaving Felix sitting alone in silence with his sad little salad.

Seungmin - Being Evasive / Not Responding

"Seungmin."

Your boyfriend blinks down at his phone for the umteenth time since you've started watching him in disbelief.

"Seungmin!"

"What-?!" He barks back this time, dropping his hands in his lap and staring over at you. His lips are parted and he's tonguing at the inside of his cheek, annoyance written all over his face. "What? Why are you yelling?"

"I asked you twice what we were doing later. Are the boys still coming over or are we all going out?"

In the ten seconds it took you to get that question out, he'd lifted his phone back up and blocked out every word that escaped your mouth. Whatever he was doing was obviously more important. He sits quiet, doesn't give you any answer, and stares down at his screen without caring to spare you a glance.

"Kim Seungmin." You stare, fully turning in your seat to make sure he knows you're giving him your full attention. "Would you please answer me?"

He stays silent where he sits, tapping away at the screen. And you know from previous arguments like this he's likely texting Jeongin about his frustrations with you. He only looks up when he hears a soft sniffle, met with the sight of you wiping your reddened face with your sleeve. "Why are you crying now?"

You stifle a sob and turn away, tucking your hair back to keep your face clean. "Because you never fucking answer me. You make me feel like I don't matter to you and all you care about is who you're texting on your phone."

"Jesus Christ," His eyes roll as he stands from his seat, tucking his phone into his back pocket and walking down the hall. "I don't like talking to you because you act like a baby. Grow up." The bedroom door shuts firm behind him and it leaves you sitting alone at the table, sniffling as you text Chan in attempts to get an answer on the plans later.

Jeongin - Physically pushing you away

It's no secret Jeongin doesn't like skinship unless it's under certain circumstances; Usually only when someone is under distress and needs to be comforted. But being his girlfriend, you thought you could slowly ease him into being more comfortable with you and physical intimacy.

Yet even a full year into the relationship, you can't get Jeongin to give you a simple hug before he leaves for a week to Japan - or a kiss on the cheek when you bid him farewell in early morning hours to go to work. You're lucky if he touches you at all actually.

And it gets worse when he begins to actually show irritation. Your soft attempts at affection were usually met with him laughing it off or just standing there as you hugged him or kissed his cheek. But recently, he'd begun to grow upset with your ongoing attempts.

He'd given you a gentle nudge the last few days to show he didn't want you near. First it was when you'd sat too close on the couch and he'd bumped his elbow into your side to get you to scoot away; Then when you'd side hugged him before he left for work and he'd nudged you off of him as he grabbed his jacket.

Today, he'd pushed you. You understood if he was frustrated and you understood he didn't like the physical contact, but all you'd done was brushed against him to reach into the cupboard. You hadn't mean to come close and hug him or kiss him, you were trying to just make dinner. But he'd been standing there, and the ongoing attempts at affection had boiled over into anger, and he'd shoved you.

His hand laid on your side and he pushed you back hard enough to make you stumble, shoulder bumping the fridge as you turn to look at him in surprise. "Jeongin--?"

"Would you back off?" He bites, eyes narrowed into a glare as he stares you down, standing in front of the stove. "I told you a million times, I don't like being touched so just drop it and quit trying to rub up against me every fucking chance you get. You're being clingy and I can't stand it."

"I wasn't trying to," You breathe, stumbling over your words as you register that he'd actually pushed you away from him.

"You try to every waking moment of every fucking day!" He snaps again. You aren't sure what had pushed him to grow so angry but he'd never yelled at you like this and you were 100% certain you never wanted him to again. So you step back and pivot, beelining for the bedroom to get some space between the two of you. Tears form and your thoughts jumble in your head, pondering on if it would be best to excuse yourself from the relationship now - or give it some time.

[pucksandpower]

Legends Never Die

Carlos Sainz x Senna!Reader

Summary: sometimes the hole in your heart left behind by the passing of your father becomes almost too much to bear, but Carlos and his family never fail to ease the ache

Brazilian Grand Prix, 2023

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you step out onto the podium at Interlagos after winning your home race — the Brazilian Grand Prix — for McLaren.

You wave to the sea of fans, trying to keep your emotions in check. But it’s impossible. Everywhere you look there are reminders of your father.

Fans wave Brazilian flags emblazoned with his iconic yellow and green helmet. Others wear t-shirts bearing his name and race number. Signs reading “Senna Forever” make your chest tighten.

He’s everywhere … except where you need him most. In your memories.

You were just a baby when he died in that fateful accident at Imola in 1994. You only know the sound of his voice through crackling video footage, his infectious smile from yellowing photographs. But you don’t actually remember him. Your own father, the man whose immense legacy you carry on your shoulders each time you slide into the cockpit of a Formula 1 car.

By the time the national anthem plays and the champagne corks pop, you can barely see through the tears welling in your eyes. You blink them back rapidly, hoping the cameras don’t pick up on your emotional state. As soon as the ceremony ends, you practically run off the podium, heading straight for the sanctuary of your driver’s room.

You barely make it through the door before the sobs start wracking your body. You sink down onto the couch, drawing your knees up and burying your face in your hands as the tears flow freely.

How can you feel so alone when surrounded by so many who loved him?

A soft knock at the door cuts through your cries. You know immediately who it is without having to ask.

“Come in,” you manage to choke out, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks.

The door opens and there’s Carlos, looking concerned but unsurprised to find you in this state. Of course he knows. By now, he can likely sense when these waves of emotion are about to crash over you.

Carlos crosses the room and settles onto the couch, gathering you into his arms. You immediately curl against his chest, comforted by his familiar warmth and scent. One of his hands comes up to soothingly stroke your hair as the other rubs circles across your back.

“Let it out, mi amor,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m here.”

The gentleness in his voice is your undoing. You let out a gasping sob, tears soaking through the material of his firesuit as you finally allow yourself to unravel completely in his embrace.

“I-I don’t remember him,” you hiccup between harsh breaths. “I w-won my home race and all I could see out there were ghosts. He was everywhere b-but in my own mind!”

“Shh, I know,” Carlos soothes, rubbing your back. “I know it hurts, mi vida. But he’s here.” He places his palm over your heart. “Your dad lives in here, just like you live in his.”

You lift your head, seeking out his warm brown eyes through your tear-blurred vision. “How can you be so sure? I don’t have a single first-hand memory of him. I know Ayrton Senna the legend, but not my own father.”

A small, sad smile tugs at the corner of Carlos’s lips. “Because that’s how it is for all of us who didn’t get the chance to really know him.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear trailing down your cheek. “We keep him alive in our hearts through the way he inspired us, the lives he touched without ever realizing it. And for you ...” His expression turns amazed, eyes shining with an emotion you can’t quite place. “For you, he’s here.” He runs his hands over the sides of your body, splaying his fingers wide. “A part of him lives on, in you and through you each time you drive. You embody everything he represented behind the wheel — passion, adrenaline, an unquenchable desire to be the best. That’s your father’s legacy beating within you.”

You stare at him, trying to make sense of the jumbled tempest of feelings swirling inside you. Part of you wants to protest, to insist your longing for a tangible connection to your father can’t be satisfied by philosophical musing.

And yet … Carlos’ words reverberate within you, striking a chord. You think of the split-second decision making, the fearless way you attack corners, your refusal to ever give any less than your full effort.

Those are all traits you’ve been told time and time again you inherited from Ayrton. And maybe Carlos is right — maybe that is how you’ll know him best in this life.

Slowly, you reach up to cradle Carlos’ face in your palms, searching his caring gaze. “How did I get so lucky?” You whisper, a few rogue tears spilling over. “To have someone who understands me, understands this hole in my life, and loves me enough to fill it as best he can?”

The look of utter adoration on Carlos’ face steals your breath. Gently, he leans in to capture your lips in the softest, sweetest of kisses. The tenderness, the depth of emotion in that one simple gesture is enough to make your knees go weak.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “I’m the lucky one, mi amor,” he murmurs, the words ghosting across your lips. “To be loved by you ...” He shakes his head slowly in seeming awe of you. “You make me feel blessed every day just by letting me share in your existence.”

You let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes but unable to fight the giddy smile blooming across your face. Trust Carlos to somehow make you feel like the luckiest, most special person in the world after you’ve just spent who knows how long crying on his shoulder.

“You big sap,” you tease, booping him on the nose. You search his expression, your chest filling with warmth at the laughter lines crinkling around his eyes. “I love you, you know that right?”

The words hang there, heavy and significant. You realize you’ve never actually said them before, not with such simple yet loaded sincerity.

From the look of surprise and unbridled joy that overtakes Carlos’ features, he realizes it too. His hands come up to cradle your face, fingers threading through your hair as he holds you tenderly.

“Mi alma ...” he breathes out reverently. “Te amo, mi vida. I love you with all my heart.”

The depth of emotion in his voice, the Spanish words of love and adoration tumbling from his lips, it’s all too much. You surge forward, claiming his mouth in a searing kiss as the last of your tears, these born of happiness and love rather than sorrow, streak down your cheeks.

Carlos kisses you back with an intensity that leaves you lightheaded. His fingers tighten almost possessively in your hair as the kiss deepens, growing more heated and passionate. You’re vaguely aware of him shifting until you’re nearly in his lap, bodies aligned and thrumming with a very different kind of electricity than you’re used to on the track.

Eventually, the need for air becomes too insistent to ignore. You break apart, both of you panting heavily. Carlos’ lips are red and swollen, his pupils blown wide. He looks like a man thoroughly ravished.

You can’t help the impish grin. “So I take it you feel the same way?”

His laugh is low and gravelly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Oh mi amor ...” he rumbles, nuzzling his nose against yours. “You have no idea.”

You bite your lip, about to suggest taking this celebration elsewhere more private. But a new thought suddenly occurs, giving you pause. Slowly, almost shyly, you meet his heated gaze.

“Carlos … do you really think he would be proud of me?” The uncertainty in your voice is painfully obvious. “My father, I mean. You think he’s ...” You swallow hard. “You think he’s watching over me and approving of the person I’ve become?”

The seriousness of your question douses some of the blazing desire in Carlos’ eyes. But it’s quickly replaced by a look of such fierce conviction, such affection for you, it makes your breath catch.

“Cariño,” he begins, voice thick with emotion as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “Your father was the embodiment of passion and integrity in the pursuit of greatness. On the track, he gave everything. He put his heart and soul into being the best driver, the best competitor he could be. And that’s exactly what I see when I watch you race.”

Carlos leans in, resting his forehead against yours as his fingers tenderly trace the line of your jaw. “You drive with the same fire, the same refusal to let anything less than your full ability shine through. And off the track?” He lets out a soft huff of laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, let’s just say the determination, the sheer force of will I see in you would make any parent proud.”

You bite your lip, struggling against the swell of emotion building in your chest at his words. “Really? You don’t think he’d be … disappointed? That I’m not living up to his legacy or-”

“Hey.” Carlos cuts you off firmly, holding your gaze. “Your father didn’t just leave a legacy of winning championships or setting records, mi amor. He left a legacy of spirit. Of personality. Of being a loving, passionate human being who inspired millions.” His thumb strokes along your cheekbone as his eyes shine with complete sincerity. “And let me tell you — in that way? You are so perfectly your father’s daughter it’s unreal.”

The tears that have been threatening finally spill over, but this time they are born of relief, of love and reassurance. You manage a watery smile, curling your hand around the back of Carlos’ neck to pull him close until your foreheads touch.

“Thank you,” you whisper fervently. “For understanding. For loving me through the shadows and the ghosts. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His arms tighten around you, holding you flush against his body in an embrace filled with devotion. “Well, you’ll never have to find out,” he murmurs lowly, lips brushing tantalizingly against the sensitive skin just below your ear. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

A delighted shiver runs through you at his tone, at the deliciously possessive edge to his promise. Shifting in his lap, you capture his lips in a searing kiss filled with all the love, the passion, the longing you’ve been holding at bay.

Carlos responds with equal fervor, one hand burying in your hair while the other maps searing paths across your back, your sides, pulling you ever closer until there’s no space between your bodies. The room seems to simultaneously tilt and burn away until there is only the two of you, tangled together in a heated spiral of want and need.

At some point, you become vaguely aware of Carlos rising to his feet, your legs winding instinctively around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly. Your back presses against the nearest wall and you moan softly into his mouth at the delicious friction. His hands are everywhere, stoking the fire burning through your veins with every scorching caress.

Finally, and reluctantly, you pull your lips from his with a gasp. “Carlos … if we don’t get out of here soon, I can’t be held responsible for what might happen.”

He grins wolfishly at you, pupils blown wide with desire. “Is that a promise, mi amor?” His voice is low, gravelly, and sends sparks of pure hunger fluttering through your stomach.

Holding his heated gaze, you slowly drag your nails down the back of his neck in a deliberate tease, relishing the way his eyes darken even further. “Take me home, Carlos,” you purr, leaning in to brush your lips against his once more. “And I’ll show you just how promising I can be.”

His response is to capture your mouth in another bruising kiss, pressing you harder against the wall as a growl rumbles up from deep in his chest. Then, without warning, he’s turning and striding towards the door, carrying you easily as your legs remain locked around his waist.

Breathless with wanting, you finally pull away as he reaches for the doorknob, laughing softly. “I see someone’s eager.”

Carlos’s eyes gleam with pure, undisguised hunger as he looks at you over his shoulder. “For you, mi alma?” He leans in, lips hovering tantalizingly close as his beard brushes your tingling skin. “Always.”

With that, he’s swinging the door open and striding out into the hallway, completely uncaring of who might see. His focus, his entire world, is solely on you in this moment. Just as yours is on him.

As the adrenaline of victory fades and the ache of longing for your absent father eases into a dull, familiar ache, you’re reminded once more of the incredible gift you’ve been given.

Carlos’ love, his understanding and acceptance of every broken, yearning part of you is a blessing. One you vow never to take for granted.

Winding your arms securely around his neck, you let yourself get lost in the heat of his gaze, the depth of emotion shining there. And you realize — with him, you don’t feel so alone.

Even if your father isn’t here in person, some piece of him does live on. Not in memories or old recordings. But in the love you hold in your heart. The love you pour into everything you do, every dream you dare to chase. The love that connects you to Carlos so wholly.

Maybe, just maybe, your father is prouder than either of you can fathom as he watches the remarkable life you’ve created together unfold.

Smiling softly, you lean in to feather a kiss along the sharp line of Carlos’ jaw, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Take me home, meu amor.”

Australian Grand Prix, 2024

The podium ceremony is pure pandemonium. Carlos stands on the top step, beaming and cheering, having just claimed his first win of the new season. You’re on the second step beside him, arm raised in celebration of your own P2 finish. The energy from the crowd is electric, filling your veins with the same adrenaline rush as when you crossed the finish line.

You should be deliriously happy. Scoring such a strong result alongside your boyfriend at the third race is the dream start to your championship chase. And yet … something feels off. A strange melancholy tugs at the corner of your heart even as the champagne sprays and camera flashes bombard you from all angles.

Then you spot him — Carlos’ father, beaming at his son from the front of the crowd gathered below the podium. His chest is puffed out with undisguised pride, eyes crinkled at the corners behind his designer shades.

As you watch, father and son’s gazes meet and lock, and the sheer depth of emotion in that one look breaks something inside you.

Oh.

That’s what’s missing.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, stealing your breath. You barely register the Spanish national anthem playing as your eyes stay glued to the tender scene before you.

Carlos shooting his father a brilliant grin, chin dipping in acknowledgment of the pride shining through. Carlos Sr.’s face split by the biggest smile you’ve ever seen him wear. It’s such a simple gesture, but one utterly steeped in parental pride.

You should look away before it gets to be too much, but some masochistic part of you can’t tear your gaze from the heartwarming display. Seeing that effortless bond between father and son, witnessing their silent communication and affection laden with years of inside jokes and childhood memories … it awakens a hollow ache, one you’re terribly familiar with.

By the time the ceremony finally winds down, hot tears are stinging your eyes. You blink rapidly, ducking your head in hopes that the dark tint of your sunglasses conceals your fragile state. But of course, Carlos notices immediately.

He pauses mid-celebration, halfway through accepting some prize filled with the event sponsor’s product. Frowning, he leans in close under the pretense of thanking you for pushing him all the way. “Mi alma? What’s wrong?”

You nearly choke on your own breath at the naked concern in his voice. Trust Carlos to pick up on your inner turmoil even in the middle of what should be an incredibly joyous occasion. Steeling yourself, you manage a smile that you hope passes as genuine.

“Nothing, I’m just ...” Your excuse dies in your throat as you look past him towards the crowd once more.

Carlos Sr. is shouldering his way through the mass of staff and media, pushing towards his son. He’s waving and grinning from ear to ear as Carlos straightens up, delight overtaking his features. The second the older Sainz’s feet cross the barriers, Carlos drops everything and bounds over, hauling his father into a tight embrace.

They laugh and cheer as Carlos pumps a victorious fist in the air, the other arm wrapped securely around Carlos Sr. You can’t hear what they’re saying over the noise of the crowd, but it doesn’t matter. Their body language says it all.

Pride. Joy. Celebration. A bond forged in the fires of hardship and sacrifice, of a lifetime pursuing the most elite level of a deadly sport.

Father and son, reveling together in the sweetness of hard-earned success.

Your throat constricts painfully as you watch them, your own arms wrapping protectively around your middle. How many times had you dreamed of recreating this exact moment as a young girl? Crossing the chequered line in first place, only to be swept up in a boundless hug by a beaming, triumphant father?

You remember pretending with your childhood race cars, standing on an overturned bucket that served as your make-believe podium. You’d mimic the anthems and champagne sprays, then launch yourself off the “top step“ and into the arms of an imaginary Ayrton, dreaming about what it would feel like to bury your face in his shoulder as he swung you around, both of you dissolving into happy laughter as you celebrated together.

Of course, those were only childish fantasies even then. By the time you were old enough to understand racing, to grasp what your father did and meant to the world, he was already long gone. You never got the chance to make those podium daydreams a reality.

And you never would.

The harsh truth is like a bucket of ice water over your head. You’re vaguely aware of your sunglasses slipping down your nose as your eyes burn with unshed tears. Angrily, you blink them back, steeling your jaw.

Now is not the time.

You plaster on the brightest smile you can muster as Carlos and his father turn back towards you. Throwing propriety to the wind, Carlos Sr. comes up to engulf you in a tight hug, the scratch of barely-there stubble rasping against your cheek.

“Another stellar drive, mariposa,” he praises in his thick, warm accent as Carlos laughs in delight beside you. “Keeping this one on his toes, I see.”

Despite your fragile emotional state, you can’t help but grin at his spirit and affection. “Always,” you reply, squeezing him back firmly before pulling away to make room for Carlos.

Almost automatically, you take a step back to give them space. You have no wish to intrude on what should be their private moment together. And sure enough, no sooner have you retreated than Carlos is wrapping his arm around his father’s shoulders, guiding him towards the edge of the pit lane where Ferrari representatives are waiting.

You hang back, a sad smile playing across your lips as you watch them go. All the teasing and laughing, the play-fights and unbreakable bonds of family you wish you could have experienced for yourself play out in vivid detail before your eyes.

Off to the side, almost like an afterthought despite your place right beside him on the podium. Just … watching.

Slowly, you turn away, the roar of the fans and celebrations fading into the distance as you head up the ramp to the McLaren motorhome.

A thousand wistful memories drift through your mind. Muted footage of you as a newborn cradled in your father’s arms, grinning up at him in pure innocence and adoration. Photos of Ayrton gazing down at his infant daughter with a look of such unconditional love that it breaks you all over again.

No matter how many trophies you win or records you break, that will always be the one achievement he never had the chance to witness. You’ll never experience a father’s unadulterated pride at his child’s success.

Your breath hitches as you finally reach the solitude of your private room, sinking onto the plush sofa as the tears begin rolling in earnest. Who are you kidding? As much as Carlos and his family envelop you in their warmth, as much as you are unquestionably part of their clan now … there is always going to be an empty space in your heart where a father’s love should be.

You bury your face in your hands, ignoring the wet streaks smearing across your knuckles as you try in vain to compose yourself. You can’t be like this, falling apart every time. Carlos deserves to revel in one of the greatest wins of his career. He shouldn’t have to devote energy to consoling you, not after a spectacular drive like that.

A soft knock at the door startles you. Swiping hastily at your cheeks, you suck in a shuddering breath and call out. “Come in.”

The door opens, and of course, it’s Carlos. Because even in the midst of unbridled jubilation, he senses your inner turmoil. He steps inside, the happiness draining from his expression as he takes in your blotchy complexion and reddened eyes.

“Mi amor,” he breathes, crossing to you in two quick strides and gathering you into his arms. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his sweat-damp race suit as he rubs soothing circles across your back. “Talk to me, cariño. What’s got you so upset, hmm?”

You want to explain, but the words stick in your throat. Instead, you simply shake your head, a few errant tears slipping free to wet the material covering his shoulder. Carlos doesn’t push, just holds you close and lets you cry it out against him.

Eventually, you find your voice, thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your celebration like this. You should be out there enjoying your win, not consoling your mess of a girlfriend.”

“Hey now,” he chides gently, tipping your chin up to meet his concerned gaze. “None of that, mi alma. Your feelings are never something to apologize for.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear from your cheek. “I know today was … difficult. Seeing me with my dad, it brought up a lot of old hurts, didn’t it?”

You let out a watery chuckle, amazed as always by his intuition when it comes to your innermost struggles. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only to someone who knows and loves every facet of you,” he replies simply, stroking your hair back from your forehead. “Will you tell me? Let me in on what you’re feeling so I can try to understand?”

Taking a shuddering breath, you nod and disentangle yourself enough to sit beside him on the couch. You keep one of his hands linked with yours, anchoring you as you gather your thoughts. “It’s just … out there on the podium, when I saw you and your dad together ...” You pause, blinking rapidly against a fresh swell of tears. “It reminded me all over again of what I’m missing. What I’ll never get to have.”

Carlos’ expression softens with understanding and he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, silently urging you to continue. You draw strength from his presence beside you.

“You two have this … bond. This connection, like you’re the only ones who truly understand each other’s perspectives. And I’m envious, Carlos. So envious of the lifetime of love and memories that exists just in the silent communication between you.” You let out a mirthless chuckle, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks. “God, that sounds so pathetic when I say it out loud.”

“No, mi vida.” Carlos is firm, his eyes shining with sincerity. “Not pathetic at all. You’re allowed to feel that longing, that sadness over being deprived of something so integral.” His free hand comes up to cradle your jaw, calloused thumb stroking along your cheekbone. “You miss your dad. You mourn not having that relationship in your life. Those are entirely valid feelings to have, especially on days like this when I got to share my joy with my own father.”

You lean into his touch, fresh tears spilling over at his words as your breath hitches. “It’s like … no matter what I accomplish, no matter how successful I become, there will always be this hole.” Your hand comes up to clasp his wrist, holding him close. “Because he never got to see it. He never got to be that person cheering me on, taking pride in my achievements. Instead, I’m left imagining what it would be like, watching you and your dad and aching for something I can’t have.”

Carlos’ eyes turn molten, brimming with empathy and sorrow for your pain. Slowly, he guides you forward until your foreheads are pressed together, his breath fanning across your lips.

“Mi amor … I can’t replace what you’ve lost, or take away that regret and heartache. All I can do is promise to spend every day showing you how proud I am of you.” His fingers thread through your hair, cradling your head tenderly. “You are the strongest, bravest, most amazing woman I have ever known. Watching you out on the track, giving everything you have with that same fire and spirit as your father … words can’t express how awestruck I am. How honored I feel to witness your brilliance and passion race after race.”

You suck in a sharp breath at the reverent tone in his voice, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks at the depth of feeling behind his words. Carlos tugs you even closer until there’s no space between your bodies, until you’re sharing the same air in an intimate embrace.

“I only wish he could see you the way I do,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours with each word. “I wish he was here to feel the immense pride and adoration I feel every single time you leave me breathless behind the wheel.” A tender, lingering kiss punctuates his words. “You are your father’s greatest legacy, mi alma. And I will spend every day showing you that, if you’ll let me.”

A choked whimper escapes your lips as you surge forward, capturing Carlos’ mouth in a searing, fevered kiss. You pour every ounce of overwhelmed emotion, every bit of ardor and heartache and gratitude into the heated glide of your lips against his. His arms band around you like steel cables, holding you impossibly close as the kiss turns bruising, desperate, all-consuming.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both panting harshly. Carlos’ pupils are blown wide, lips red and swollen and thoroughly kissed. He stares at you with such naked adoration, such devotion, that it steals what little breath you have left.

“Thank you,” you rasp, cradling his face in your trembling hands. “Thank you for loving me so completely. Despite all my broken pieces, you see me at my core and still chose me.”

He leans into your touch, lips brushing your palm. “There is nothing to thank me for, mi amor. You are the sun, I’m merely lucky enough to orbit you and bask in your warmth.” He places another soft, lingering kiss to your wrist, right over your thundering pulse. “I am yours, corazón. Every piece of me, for every piece of you. Never doubt that.”

A fresh wave of emotion rises up, this one filled with pure, dizzying love and affection for the incredible man kneeling before you. Pulling him up, you simply hold him for a long moment, relishing his solid strength surrounding you in the protective circle of his arms.

Here, in his embrace, the ache of your father’s absence dulls to a faded echo in the corners of your heart. Here, you can breathe easy, reassured and loved down to your very core.

Eventually, the sounds of celebration filter in through the door — your team must be getting restless waiting for their driver. Carlos seems to hear it too, huffing out a quiet chuckle against your hairline.

“We should get out there, hmm? Before both of our teams send a search party for their drivers.”

You nod, but make no move to disentangle yourself, soaking up his warmth and steady presence for a few more selfish moments.

When you do finally pull away, there are fresh tear tracks on your cheeks but also a peaceful smile gracing your lips. Reverently, you run your fingers through the sweat-damp curls at Carlos’ temples as his eyes flutter closed, savoring your touch.

“I love you,” you murmur, the words seeming impossibly inadequate to convey the depth of feeling they represent. “Endlessly, meu amado.”

Carlos’ gaze when he opens his eyes practically glows with emotion, pure elation and adoration radiating from his expression. “As I love you, mi alma,” he husks, stealing one more searingly tender kiss. “Always.”

With twin smiles and your hands linked tightly, you exit the room together into the raucous cheers and celebrations. Outside, you can see Carlos Sr. surrounded by a sea of red, laughing and beaming with incomparable pride and joy at his son’s success. Your breath catches when he spots the two of you emerging, arms flinging wide.

“There are my superstars! Vámonos, we have a victory to toast!”

As Carlos tugs you forward into the chaos, his father enveloping you both in a crushing embrace and peppering your cheeks with scratchy kisses, you feel a sense of peace settle over you.

Yes, there will always be an absence where your father should have been, a hollow space in your heart shaped perfectly to his memory. But you’ll never truly be alone.

Not with Carlos beside you every step of the way. Not with his family’s boundless love and affection enveloping you, treating you as their own daughter. They are the salve for when that empty ache becomes too much to bear.

So you let yourself sink into the celebration, into the warmth of the Sainz clan and the sheer euphoria of your personal success. As long as Carlos keeps chasing his passion with the same fanatical devotion as his father … as long as you chase your own with every ounce of vigor and spirit that your father passed down through shared blood … then Ayrton will never stop watching over you both with immeasurable pride and a heart overflowing with love.

And for now, for today, that will simply have to be enough.

Days Before the Miami Grand Prix, 2024

The Miami sun sinks lower in the sky, bathing the hotel balcony in a warm orange glow. You lean against the railing, staring unseeingly at the cruise ships dotting the horizon. Your eyes are glassy, your mind a million miles away.

It’s been thirty years to the day since your father’s life was snatched away. Thirty years of living in his immense shadow, constantly reminded of the racing legend you never truly knew.

Your phone buzzes incessantly in your pocket, a steady stream of texts and calls offering condolences. Old acquaintances you haven’t spoken to in years, suddenly reaching out on this morbid anniversary.

What can you possibly say that the world doesn’t already know? That they haven’t already dissected and analyzed a million times over?

The harsh truth is that so many strangers have more vivid memories of Ayrton Senna than his own daughter. It’s a sobering reality, one that reopens that wound all over again every May 1st.

You feel numb, gutted, emptied out.

“Amor?” The familiar voice pulls you from your reverie. You turn to find Carlos staring at you with soft concern in his warm brown eyes. “Are you alright?”

You try for a reassuring smile, but it feels stale on your lips. “I’m fine, just … thinking.”

He sees right through you, the way he always does. Crossing the balcony, he wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin resting atop your head. You lean back into his solid embrace, drawing comfort from his presence.

“You know you don’t have to put on a brave face for me, right?” He murmurs against your hair. “Not today.”

You let out a shuddering breath, blinking back the sting of tears. “I know. It’s just … it never gets any easier, you know? All these years later and the wound still feels fresh.”

His arms tighten around you. “I’m so sorry, mi amor. I wish I could take the pain away.”

“You help more than you know, just by being here,” you reply thickly. A tremulous smile curves your lips as you cover his hands with yours. “Thank you for putting up with my melancholy every year.”

“You never have to thank me for that,” he says fiercely. “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

The sound of the balcony door opening draws your attention as Carlos Sr. steps out onto the balcony, his eyes kind but assessing as he takes in the two of you embracing.

“Ah, lo siento,” he says apologetically. “I did not mean to intrude on a private moment.”

“No, no, you’re not intruding,” you assure him, reluctantly extracting yourself from Carlos’ arms. You turn to face his father, subtly wiping at your damp eyes. “What’s going on?”

Carlos Sr. hesitates, shooting his son a questioning look. Carlos nods almost imperceptibly.

“Actually, hijo, do you mind if I borrow Y/N for a few minutes?” Carlos’ father asks. “Hombre a hombre, as they say.”

Your brows knit in confusion, but Carlos just smiles faintly and drops a kiss on your temple. “Of course. I’ll be inside whenever you’re ready, mi vida.”

With a final squeeze of your hand, he disappears back into the suite, leaving you alone with his father on the balcony. The older Sainz settles into one of the plush lounge chairs with a slight groan.

“Please, join an old man,” he says, patting the chair beside him. You hesitate briefly before sinking into the indicated seat. An awkward silence stretches between you both.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Carlos’ father begins at last. “I am not usually at such a loss for words. But I find myself struggling to know what to say on a day like today.”

You manage a watery chuckle. “Trust me, you’re not the only one at a loss. I don’t even know what to say to myself half the time.”

He regards you with such tender understanding that it steals your breath away. “My dear girl, you have carried such a heavy burden on those young shoulders for far too long. No child should have to grow up in the shadow of tragedy the way you have.”

Tears well up anew in your eyes. “I just … I wish I could remember him, you know? Really remember him, not just what I’ve seen in videos or heard in interviews. It feels so unfair that the whole world has vibrant memories of who he was, but I’m just … left with echoes and fragments of a man I never truly knew.”

Carlos Sr.’s eyes glisten with empathy as he reaches over to take your hand, enveloping it in his calloused grip. “Listen to me, mija. While I cannot begin to understand the depth of your loss, I do know this — it is never strange to mourn someone you loved, even if you cannot recall the time you spent together.”

His words are like a soothing balm on the ragged wound of your heart. You squeeze his hand fiercely, struggling to keep your composure as he continues.

“Your father was ...” He pauses, seeming to carefully weigh his next words. “Your father was an incredible man, one who touched countless lives all over the world. But to you, he was simply your father. And that bond, that love between a parent and child, transcends memory. It lives on in here.” He taps his heart with his free hand. “In a way that no amount of biographies or documentaries could ever capture.”

The tears spill over, streaking down your cheeks. You make no effort to stop them this time. Carlos’ father merely watches you with infinite tenderness, his thumb brushing soothingly over your knuckles.

“I know I cannot replace the father you lost,” he continues softly. “Nor would I ever try. But I hope you know that our family … we love you as one of our own, mija. You will always have a home and a family with us, for as long as you desire it.”

A broken sound escapes your throat and Carlos Sr. immediately rises from his chair to gather you into his arms, his embrace warm and secure and achingly paternal. You bury your face in his shoulder, body shaking with muffled sobs as the floodgates finally burst open.

“That’s it, let it all out,” he murmurs, one broad hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Holding in such grief for so long, it’s a wonder you did not crumble beneath the weight of it long ago. You are stronger than you know, mija.”

You cry until you’re completely spent, until the front of Carlos Sr.’s shirt is damp and your eyes are swollen and puffy. When at last the tears subside, leaving you wrung out but strangely peaceful, he produces a handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabs at your cheeks.

“There now, that’s better isn’t it?” He asks, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles down at you. “I think my son may have plans to cheer you up, if you’re amenable?”

You let out a watery chuckle, feeling lighter than you have in days … weeks … months maybe. “That does sound nice.”

The elder Spaniard presses the handkerchief into your hand, then steers you back towards the balcony door with a gentle hand on your back. “Then what are we waiting for? That boy may look like me, but his sweet tooth is all his mother’s doing.”

You pause in the doorway, impulsively turning to throw your arms around the man who has, in many ways, become a second father to you. “Thank you,” you whisper shakily against his shoulder. “For everything.”

His arms tighten around you briefly. “De nada, mija. That’s what family is for.”

When at last you disentangle yourself, Carlos is waiting just inside, a bright smile lighting up his face at the sight of the two of you. On the counter, a cheerful array of pastries and confections beckons, the delicious aroma of fresh Brazilian baked goods enveloping you in a warm, sugary hug.

Carlos’ eyes are shining with love and relief as you cross the room to plant a lingering kiss of gratitude on his smiling lips.

“I love you,” you murmur when you finally pull back, cradling his face in your palms. “Thank you for being you.”

His forehead drops to rest against yours. “Always, mi alma. I’ll never stop loving you and being here for you, no matter what.”

You hold him tightly for a long moment, savoring his warmth and solidity. When you finally part, Carlos’ arm stays looped around your waist as he turns towards the dessert spread.

“So, I may have gone a little overboard at the bakery,” he admits with an unrepentant grin, waving his free hand at the sugary bounty. “But it’s been a rough day and you deserve to indulge a little.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling some of the lingering heaviness dissipate at the pure, infectious joy on his face. Leave it to Carlos to try and solve everything with baked goods and affection.

“Well, when you put it that way,” you tease, leaning into his side, “I suppose I can’t say no to that face.”

“That’s the spirit!” Carlos crows, beaming at you with such adoration that it makes your heart squeeze. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he scoops up one of the frosted confections and holds it up to your lips. “Open wide, mi amor.”

You obediently take a bite of the sugary pastry, the rich flavors of doce de leite and buttery dough melting over your tongue. Carlos watches you with rapt attention, his eyes darkening slightly as you slowly lick a stray bit of frosting from the corner of your mouth.

His father clears his throat loudly behind you. “Ay dios mio, get a room you two!”

Carlos has the grace to look abashed, but you just grin unrepentantly at your future father-in-law as he shakes his head in mock exasperation.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Carlos says cheekily, surprising you by suddenly sweeping you up into his arms bridal-style.

You let out a squeak of surprise that quickly dissolves into delighted laughter as he starts carrying you toward the bedroom, peppering your face with noisy kisses. Over his shoulder, you catch Carlos Sr.’s indulgent smile and parting wink before the door swings shut behind you.

The rest of the evening passes in a sugary, affectionate haze. For the first time in as long as you can remember, the grief feels bearable, soothed by the love of your chosen family.

While the ache may never fully heal, you have a newfound sense of lightness in your heart.

As you lay tangled in the sheets later that night, Carlos’ arm a grounding weight around your waist, you send up a silent thank you to whatever cosmic forces brought this incredible man into your life.

And maybe, just maybe, your father can finally rest easy knowing his little girl found her way to happiness after all.

[sutorus]

✰ HC: BEING IN A SITUATIONSHIP WITH THE JJK F*CKBOYS

DESCRIPTION: my hcs on what it’d be like to be in a situationship/fwb situation with the jjk men hehe

FEATURED: gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. fem + afab reader, this is fully self indulgent i'm just taking my own shiddy experiences and coping via hot anime men, suggestive content/smut, pretty standard manwhore behavior, slightly toxic, not wholesome, kinda crack tbh, some mentions of degradation as a kink, objectifying women, just like the real thing lol!

A/N: LONG BUT READ! this will Not have an ending where you get together at least not rn these are just my hcs all in good fun ur just having fun ok ur not heartbroken everything is okay. they are not good boys here they are normal regular boys

GOJO SATORU

has way too many hoes. way too many

so much so that he gave up on remembering their names and just saves their numbers like “osaka w the hand kink”, “big tits shibari”, “slut from trig”, “hostess best bjs”

has someone’s boobs with his name written on them in sharpie as his wallpaper

says i love you when he cums inside and you never know if you should believe it

throws you off when he agrees to meet your friends only for him to flirt with them in front of you

takes you to the best clubs with bottle service, lets the girls sit on his lap and laughs when you get mad

pays for your ubers everywhere every time

into the weirdest shit like wearing your underwear laughing like a lunatic the whole time he’s fucking you then after he cums gets sulky and embarrassed

lays it on thick with the pet names, gives zero fucks if that confuses you even further

very public with you and it makes you wonder how many other girls put themselves through this humiliation just for the d

gets jealous about you being with other people and needs to prove himself by eating it from the back or something

fwb with gojo is just a huge mindfuck honestly he doesn’t take anything seriously and this is no different sorry! it’s fun tho!

GETO SUGURU

keeps it extremely platonic because he likes to tell himself he has a conscience

too busy for regular chit chat ignores your texts all day then hits you up when he wants to fuck

even more of a whore than gojo is which is why he makes sure not to lead anyone on he just does not need the trouble

answers all your personal questions about him with one word answers

he lets you choose the movie for netflix and chill at least! but will never remember it or the fact that it’s your favorite :(

cleans you up after sex and brings you water

has female hygiene products in his bathroom which is both a red and a green flag

lets you stay after sex and you just lay there on his bed watching him do stuff on his computer but he will not be talking to you

never calls you baby or anything when he’s fucking you just goes oh fuck yeah right there fuuuuck your pussy

genuinely respects you and has nice decent sex with you unless you tell him that you’re kinky

in which case he fucks you just how you want it and gets off on how turned on you are

not one of those guys who gets jealous of sex toys and holds the wand on your clit for you

likes to make you cum over and over and over again

fwb with geto makes your heart clench because he’s just such a gentleman but you got way too much competition to even think about it

NANAMI KENTO

a professional in every sense of the word

uses sex as stress relief

thinks he's too old for this shit but you make him feel alive so he fucks you like he can empty all of his frustrations into you

invites you to his apartment serves you expensive liquor and lets you initiate things most times unless he’s too pent up

can actually have very nice conversations with you

never has the “what are we talk” because he makes it clear he’s too busy for a relationship

lets you spend the night if it’s too late but solely for your safety/logistics

does your taxes for you but will not call you anything beyond an “acquaintance”

texts you happy holidays but does not know when your birthday is

gets tested consistently even though he’s not fucking anyone else and always uses a condom unless you beg him not to

eats you out because he thinks it’s relaxing and spends hours prepping you

the sexual tension is soooo thick when you two fuck all you can hear is grunts and growls and moans and wet slapping sounds and it’s so hot

has some random turn ons like gets bricked up when you’re wearing lipstick or stockings

fwb with nanami is very enjoyable and easy it’ll get complicated if you develop feelings because he does not want to date but who cares yolo am i right

FUSHIGURO TOJI

broke ass deadbeat dad why are you into him

absolutely nasty sex

you know if he had a girlfriend he’d respect her too much to do the things he does to you

dick game so bomb that you’re scared he’s gonna give you a child even when he’s wearing a condom

wants to fuck you every way he possibly can on every fuckable surface with zero regard for your physical integrity

eats his cum right out of you

ego is so big, grins so wide and fucks you so hard when you stroke his muscles

loves to eat pussy but only after he’s fucked you because he likes it tight and hot with minimal prep

doesn’t follow you on any social media but jerks off to your instagram pics

has like 3 different phone numbers and you don’t know why

has only let you come over once, didn’t let you shower after

no pet names but calls you a dirty whore and other degrading shit

loves it if you cry on his dick

doesn’t give a fuck about your safety sorry you’re on your own

has never told you his last name

one time you asked to see a picture of his son and he didn’t speak for 3 whole minutes

fwb with toji is the nastiest sex you’ve ever had truly it’s just sinful and everyone’s dark hidden fantasy half of it you couldn’t tell your closest friends because it’s just too much

a/n sorry

[pinkbeanii]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝓡𝓸𝔂𝓪𝓵 𝓣𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

-green flags & sweet gestures-

Summary: how the boys would give you the royal treatment and how you'd make sure they know they're loved as much as they love you.

Warnings: mentions of food, social anxiety, and showering together (soul's part)

a/n: I love the "princess treatment" hcs, so I wanted to make one for p1h. I say royal treatment bc that just feels more gender neutral for me. Also, this is probably ooc or bad characterization, but everything here is fictional so it isn't a big deal lol.

-keeho-

{giving} drives you everywhere

When he's free, this man is so so insistent about driving you around.

He loves spending time with you, and if he has the time in his busy schedule to be with you, he's gonna take advantage of it.

Even if it means having to deal with rush hour traffic, bad city drivers, or sacrificing sleep for late night rides.

Keeho just loves to be around you, and loves to do things for you. Very much an acts of service lover. He feels good just turning on some background music and listening to you ramble as he keeps his eyes on the road.

{receiving} shoulder & back massages

Please, for the love of everything good in this world, massage his shoulders!

Keeho has so much stress and tension stored in his upper body, mostly neck and shoulders.

If you randomly start massaging those areas he will actually melt, it might hurt a bit at first bc there's so much tension there, but you both can feel the muscles loosen within seconds.

The first time you did it Keeho thought he fell in love with you all over again.

theo

{giving} fixing your clothes

Whether it's tying your shoes, pulling your shirt down if it's riding up, or untangling your accessories, he's on it.

He's pretty observant, definitely notices any outfit, malfunctions or little things before you do. It's also because he is looking at you almost 24/7.

Theo is pretty quick at fixing little issues with your outfit. Half the time you wouldn't even notice till after he's pulling his hands away. He's discreet with any malfunctions and has such a gentle touch.

It gives him an excuse to touch you as well, and he loves being able to help you with the little things.

{receiving} soft flirting

Theo isn't flustered easily, putting up a pretty indifferent face and attitude, which doesn't change much when it comes to you. Ofc he's sweet and shows he loves you, but he's not the most vocal about it

However, the moment you compliment him, he's gone. It's not always obvious, but you can tell by the raised eyebrows and twitch in his lips.

It works the same with pickup lines, specifically cheesy one liners, he will sometimes let out a little giggle if you catch him off guard.

You're never too outwards and aggressive with flirting, neither of you are like that. But soft words and teasing lines are something Theo really likes coming from you.

juing

{giving} good night & good morning texts

It doesn't matter when he goes to sleep or wakes up, this man has your schedule memorized.

Jiung will text you good night and a sweet message around the time he knows you get home from your day.

And get ready for a "good morning sweetheart" text with some encouragement while you're getting ready for your day.

He's so sincere about it too, it's not a chore for him, he genuinely wants to send you little messages to remind you he loves you.

{receiving} surprises & dates

Please please please surprise him with a date! He will have the cutest and biggest smile as soon as you tell him your plan, and it's a gift to see.

It doesn't have to be super fancy or for a special occasion, just plan a little something to do while you spend some time together and he's so happy.

Maybe it's a late night movie marathon with both of your favorite snacks, or a little picnic in the park that you threw together last second. As long as he's with you he'll love it.

It reminds him that he doesn't have to take on every single responsibility, that you care about him and wanna be with him as much as he wants to be with you.

intak

{giving} gentle touches

Intak loves to show affection through touch, pda is his shit {within reason and your boundaries ofc} but he's also so sweet about it.

Loves to hold your hand and play with your fingers, or if his arm is around your waist his thumb will be rubbing little circles on you hip.

It also serves as a good reminder that he's right there next to you, that he's got you no matter what. It's grounding to have him hand gently squeeze yours periodically.

He thinks of you as something precious, he knows you're not breakable yet he still treats you with so much care.

{receiving} sharing foods

You know the saying "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach"? This is basically that, except you don't have to be the one making the food or anything like that.

If you just share a bite of what you ordered, a snack that you so happen to have, or a sip of your fancy cafe drink, he is so grateful.

Even if it's new to him, if you like it he'll try it if you're offering. And if you're the one feeding it to him he will get so giddy and giggly.

He thinks it's so romantic to share food, and also feels like it shows how well you take care of each other. He definitely shares his food too!

soul

{giving} little gifts

He is a trinket connoisseur and collector, so he definitely has a good eye for little gifts, especially if they are for you.

It isn't always silly, a large number of his gifts to you are sentimental. But the silly ones are just as sweet. But he basically always has you on his mind and it shows.

It could be as simple as "it reminded me of you!" to "I remembered that you said you still needed this version, and I thought I'd grab it!" or "This is from where we first met, maybe we should collect things from all the important dates we've had?"

Soul is almost kinda like a crow, he will find something shiny and cute and bring it back to you as a way of showing affection.

{receiving} washing his hair

Y'all have seen that video of Soul walking through the hallway with the dramatic he turns, and how frizzy and puffy his hair is? Yeah, that's what happens a lot of the time if you aren't washing his hair.

Not only does it help the look and health of his hair, he finds it so relaxing when your hands are in his hair, gently working the products into the strands.

Whether it's you showering together or him laying in the bath with you kneeling to the side, it's a sweet experience. One you both treasure.

Also, if you just wanna play with his hair, stick it straight up when it's all soapy or make it into fun shapes, he's so down. Very laid back and cool with whatever you want, just as long as your hands are in his hair.

jongseob

{giving} ordering for you

It doesn't matter if you have anxiety about ordering/talking to strangers or not, he's ordering for you. Not because he thinks you can't, if you really wanna you can, but because he wants you to be relaxed and not have to lift a finger.

It's not even a big deal at this point, y'all will walk into a restaurant and he can rattle off your order in a heartbeat. Seobie memorized stuff pretty fast, and when it comes to you it stays firmly in his head. You're important to him, ofc he remembers everything about you.

And if you are going to a new place and are having trouble deciding what to get, just look at him. Once he knows what he wants, he's looking for stuff he thinks you'd like.

It's a show of care for him, remembering the little things and making sure his lover doesn't have to do any extra work.

{receiving} sharing clothes/accessories

Doesn't matter what size you are, if your sizes are bigger or smaller than his, you're sharing. Either clothes or accessories, or both.

It's an unwritten promise to each other, what's mine is yours. You guys haven't ever really addressed it either, just asking where something is or if you're planning to wear something the other wants that day.

It's a natural thing, and it honestly feeds into the small possessive part of you. Almost like you're staking a claim, but more in a "we belong to each other" type of way

He loves it bc it reminds him of you. Jongseob gets especially happy when your scent lingers on the soft fabric of what was originally his shirt.

[f1daydreamer]

Just Here for Lance

---

Monza, Italy – September 3, 2023

---

You had never been to Italy before, but somehow, it felt like the right place to see your first Grand Prix in person.

Monza was fast, loud, and electric—everything Formula 1 promised to be, and yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were only half-interested in the race itself. Your eyes weren’t on Verstappen or Leclerc or Hamilton. They were on a different kind of presence. One that wasn’t always on the podium or leading the press conferences, but one you’d quietly rooted for since the moment you got into F1.

Lance Stroll.

Maybe it was the way he carried himself—lowkey, unbothered by the chaos. Or how he never gave dramatic interviews or sought attention. He didn’t need to. He just drove. And you liked that. Liked him.

You'd spent the night before the race hunched over a small hotel desk in Milan with a black Sharpie and an old white sheet from your suitcase. The words came easily:

“I’M JUST HERE FOR LANCE.”

The sign was simple, bold, and honest. You weren't trying to be ironic or funny. You meant it.

---

Race Day

The grandstands buzzed with energy. Fans screamed for Ferrari. Red flags and tifosi were everywhere, but you stood out—not in red, but in Aston Martin green, your sign held high as the national anthem played and the engines roared to life on the grid.

Lance was starting from the back—P20, due to a frustrating qualifying. The AMR23 hadn’t been kind to him lately, and Monza wasn’t a circuit that offered easy redemption. But you didn’t care about his grid position. You knew how strong he was mentally. He wasn’t someone who crumbled under pressure.

Every lap, you watched the timing screen with bated breath. He made small gains—then lost time. The car clearly wasn’t cooperating. But still, he pushed.

You screamed for every overtake. Cursed under your breath when he fell back again. It wasn’t a points finish. It wasn’t even close. He came in P16.

But as the cars rolled into parc fermé and the crowd thinned, you stayed in your seat, holding your sign a little lower now—not out of embarrassment, but out of empathy. You knew what that kind of race felt like from the outside. The ones that leave no glory and barely a headline.

---

You didn’t expect him to do much press. Lance didn’t usually speak much after frustrating races. But there he was, on the screen near the podium, still in his race suit, hands on his hips, eyes a little tired.

A Sky Sports reporter asked the usual questions—about tire degradation, straight-line speed, and setup issues.

He gave his usual short, honest replies. Calm. Professional.

And then, unprompted, he glanced off camera and grinned slightly.

> “Actually, I saw this sign in the crowd. Said, ‘I’m just here for Lance.’”

The reporter blinked. “Really?”

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, a little sheepish. “Yeah. Just… yeah. That was nice. After a day like this, that kind of thing... it means something.”

Your heart leapt. Your knees went weak.

He saw you. He noticed you. He remembered.

---

Later That Evening – Aston Martin Paddock

You thought it was a joke when a security guard came to find you in the fan zone, flashing a laminated paddock pass. “You’re the girl with the sign, right?”

You blinked, wide-eyed. “Um… yeah?”

He smiled. “Well, someone saw it. Wants to say thanks.”

The paddock was a world apart. Quiet. Professional. Controlled chaos. Everything gleamed—carbon fiber, chrome, and green uniforms. You felt out of place in your sneakers and sunburnt skin, but no one questioned you.

When you reached Aston Martin's hospitality area, your heart was pounding like a race engine.

Then he appeared.

Still in his race suit, the sleeves pushed up, his curls damp from a post-race shower. He looked down at his phone, then up—and smiled when he saw you.

> “There she is.”

You stood frozen. “Hi.”

He nodded toward the sign in your hands. “So… you really were just here for me?”

You laughed, a little breathless. “Yeah. I mean… I like racing. But yeah. Mostly for you.”

He ran a hand through his curls and let out a soft laugh, the kind you don’t usually hear on camera.

> “Well, sorry about the P16. Not exactly a performance worth the sign.”

You stepped forward. “I didn’t make it because of the results.”

That caught him off guard. His eyes met yours with curiosity. “No?”

You shook your head. “I made it because… I’ve been watching you for years. And I don’t think people give you enough credit. You’ve been through so much in this sport and you still show up and fight every weekend. That’s rare.”

He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you—really looked.

> “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”

You shrugged, feeling the burn in your cheeks. “Well, it’s true.”

Lance gave a small, warm smile. “Most fans want selfies or merch signed. You brought… this.” He gestured to your sign. “It’s kinda awesome.”

“Thanks,” you said softly.

He nodded toward the motorhome behind him. “You hungry? The team always has leftovers after the debrief. And I feel like someone who brings that much positivity into the paddock deserves a decent pasta.”

You blinked. “Are you serious?”

He tilted his head with a teasing smile. “You said you were here for me, didn’t you?”

Your heart melted.

---

Later

You ended up sitting side by side at a small table behind the Aston motorhome, sharing a bowl of spaghetti and stories about how you got into racing. He listened, asked questions, and even laughed when you told him about the chaos of making the sign with hotel laundry.

At one point, he looked down at your hand resting near his and asked, almost shyly:

> “So… will you be at Suzuka too?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Should I be?”

He gave you that dry, boyish smile. “Well… I kind of like having someone here just for me.”

You leaned in a little closer. “Then maybe I will be.”

> “Bring the sign,” he said, almost whispering.

> “Bring me back a top ten,” you shot back.

He laughed, and this time, it wasn’t soft or self-conscious. It was loud and unfiltered.

> “Deal.”

---

To Be Continued…?👀

---

If you’ve made it to the end—thank you. Truly. This story was a little love letter not just to the idea of fandom and soft, unexpected romance, but also to someone in F1 who rarely gets the fair credit he deserves: Lance Stroll.

You might be wondering why I chose Monza 2023 as the backdrop. It wasn’t a big win or a media-highlighted weekend. In fact, Lance started at the very back and finished P16—a race where he barely got any screen time, and most people didn’t even remember where he placed. And that’s exactly why I picked it.

Because this fic isn’t about fanfare. It’s about the quiet weekends—the ones where the car isn’t performing, the critics are loud, and still, the driver shows up, puts in the work, and crosses the line. There’s something so human and humble about that. That’s the version of Lance that inspired this story: the one who keeps pushing, even when no one’s watching.

The girl in the stands with her handmade sign—“I’m just here for Lance”—she’s not just fictional. She represents a kind of fan who exists in real life. The quiet supporters. The loyal ones. The ones who stay even when everyone else walks away. And in this story, I wanted to imagine what it would mean for Lance to see one of those people. And how much it could matter.

Now, let’s address the narrative that always gets brought up when Lance’s name comes up:

“He’s only here because of his dad.”

There’s truth to the fact that privilege gave Lance opportunities others didn’t get. His father, Lawrence Stroll, is a billionaire and now owns the Aston Martin F1 team. Lance’s karting journey and junior career were heavily supported, and he entered F1 young, with significant resources behind him.

But here’s the thing: money can buy you a seat, not talent. Not skill. And definitely not longevity.

Formula 1 is the most competitive racing series in the world. Drivers get replaced all the time—even champions. Sponsors demand results. Teams make cutthroat decisions. If Lance truly didn’t belong, he would have been gone years ago. And yet, since 2017, he’s:

Earned three podiums, including as a 19-year-old rookie in Baku

Taken pole position at the 2020 Turkish Grand Prix—in a car that wasn’t even expected to fight for top spots, and in one of the most challenging wet races in years

Outqualified and outperformed experienced teammates on several occasions

Been especially strong in chaotic or wet conditions, showing real racecraft under pressure

Proven consistent pace in midfield machinery while maintaining a calm, team-first mentality

Is he flashy on social media? No.

Does he beg for attention? Also no.

That’s part of why people overlook him. But Lance Stroll is a serious athlete, and a driver who’s grown immensely, year after year.

What’s also important is how he handles all the criticism. Quietly. Without lashing out. Without playing victim. That resilience alone—staying in the game despite the constant noise—is something I respect deeply. And it’s what made me want to tell a story about someone choosing to support him out loud, even when the world isn’t clapping.

Because sometimes, even the strongest people need to be reminded they’re seen.

So, to those who are also just here for Lance—this was for you, too.

Thank you again for reading. If you want more moments—paddock passes, blushing interviews, Instagram thirst traps, maybe a jealous grid girl or two—I’m always happy to continue their story.

[leaderwonim]

GREEN FLAGS YOUR BF HAS! ENHA HYUNG LINE

pairing. nonidol!enha hyung line x fem!reader

genre. teeth rotting fluff, established relationship

LEE HEESEUNG

never letting your hand touch the door handles and drives you everywhere

“What are you doing?” You say in disbelief as you watch Heeseung practically trip over his own feet to open his passenger car door for you.

“Opening the door for you,” he says breathlessly, letting you settle inside the passenger seat which was already warmed up and decorated in pink, your favorite color. “Can’t let my princess open the door by herself.”

You roll your eyes, blushing heavily even though Heeseung always said things like that.

“Thanks Hee,” you say as soon as he gets comfy in his seat, leaning over to kiss him.

“No problem baby,” he smiles. “Now, where to?”

“The movies! I wanna watch the new Mean Girls.”

Heeseung shakes his head, grinning as he pulled out from the parking lot, one hand on the steering wheel and one on your seat.

PARK JONGSEONG

always cooking and taking care of you

You woke up to the smell of pancakes, rubbing your eyes tiredly as you make your way out to your boyfriend’s apartment living room.

“Smells good Jay,” you say, placing your chin on his shoulder, slightly dozing off. “Whatcha making?”

“Soufflé pancakes and bacon.” He smiles, positioning his head a bit over so he could give your head a small peck.

“You’re the best Jay,” you mumble sleepily, and he can only laugh at your state as he finishes cooking up, letting you lay your body on his.

SIM JAEYUN

always talking and thinking about you

If Layla was a human instead of a dog, she’d probably tell Jake to shut up from how much he was talking about you.

“that’s your mom Layla,” Jake coos to the dog, pointing at you who was currently running to pick up the ball jake had thrown earlier. “and she’s your only mom, I am never dating anyone else.”

You run back to your boyfriend and his dog a few minutes later, breathing heavily. “Here you go Layla girl, here’s your ball!”

and Jake can’t help but watch with heart eyes as he watches you play with his dog, heart leaping as it falls inlove with you over and over again

PARK SUNGHOON

covers pointy edges whenever you’re near, has your picture on the back of his phone

“Hey, is that a Polaroid of Y/N?” Sunghoon’s friend, Seonwoo questions as he flips over Sunghoon’s phone.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon quickly takes his phone back from his friend. “She’s really pretty, isn’t she?”

“Mhm,” Seonwoo’s eyes drift to you, who was currently making your way over. “There she is.”

“Babe,” Sunghoon says, standing up to wrap an arm around you. His hand automatically comes to rest themselves on the pointy and sharp edge of where you were standing, which only Seonwoo notices.

He raises an eyebrow at this, but doesn’t question it because Sunghoon’s already too occupied with asking about your day. He still keeps his hand there, unconsciously making sure none of your body comes in contact with it.

How sweet, Seonwoo thinks, but how gross at the same time.

[sogoodtoheritsvicious]

if life is a movie, then you’re the best part

summary: small glimpses into your relationship with louis

vicious speaks: this is my first fic for louis and my first smau ever!! if it’s not good, please take it easy on me. feedback is appreciated as long as it isn’t unkind. hope you enjoy 💗

louis masterlist

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liked by yourbff, louist91, taylorswift and 50,234 others

yourusername he’s so obsessed with me and, boy, i understand

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yourbff as he should be

liked by yourusername and louist91

taylorswift relationship goals

↳ yourusername learned from the best 🫶🏼

↳ username1 this friendship still takes me out

↳ yourusername you and me both 😭

louist91 of course i am, have you fucking seen yourself?

↳ yourusername flattery will get you everywhere 💋

username2 we all know she’s just using him

↳ username3 using him for WHAT? she’s a successful business owner, she doesn’t need his money. you’re just bitter cause you realize you never had a chance.

liked by louist91, yourbff

username4 if he doesn’t worship me like this, i don’t want him.

↳ yourusername exactly, you deserve so much more than the bare minimum 🫶🏼

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yourusername best way to spend the day 🤎

↳ louist91 come back to bed, love, i miss you

↳ yourusername i’m literally in the kitchen? 😭

yourbff so glad you got her to relax, she’s been working in the studio nonstop!!

↳ louist91 it was hard to convince her but i won in the end

username1 ohhh to spend the day in bed with louis tomlinson

username you don’t have to throw this fake bs in our face

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liked by louist91, yoursibling and 78,385 others

yourusername we get fancy sometimes

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yoursibling what did you do to get him to wear something other than a t-shirt, omg?

↳ yourusername i am not at liberty to say…🤭

↳ username1 she has no class 🙄

↳ username2 it’s a joke? if you don’t like her, unfollow

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louist91 the only person i’d dress up for x

↳ yourusername i love you 🥹💘

username3 we don’t thank her enough for providing us with boyfriend louis content

liked by yourusername

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louist91 always, darling 🏆

↳ yourusername 💞💞💞

username1 the hand placement…😵‍💫

username2 you lucky bitch 😍

↳ yourusername 😉

yourbff you’ve won in the romance department

↳ yourusername i really did 😭

username3 i want this pic tattooed on my forehead

↳ yourusername REAL

username4 posting this picture is so inappropriate

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liked by yourusername, louist91 yourfriend and 16,004 others

yourbff they make me both believe in love and feel incredibly lonely

tagged yourusername, louist91

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yourusername omg i had no idea you took this 😭

↳ yourbff you were too busy getting the princess treatment 👸🏻

louist91 i’m telling you, let me set you up with one of my mates

↳ yourbff i might have to take you up on that, dude, shit’s getting bad out here for us singles 😫

↳ username1 louis having such a good relationship with yourusername’s best friend is such a green flag

liked by yourbff and yourusername

username2 wow management even got her best friend in on this con

↳ yourbff sure grandma let’s get you to bed

liked louist91, yourusername and others

↳ username3 LMFAOO QUEEN

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yourusername vacation mode 🔛

tagged louist91

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yourbff day 1 and it’s already so much fun ☀️

↳ yourusername so glad you’re here 🥹🫶🏼

yoursibling thanks for letting us normies tag along

↳ yourusername lmao, shut up

louist91 ☀️🌊🧡

username1 enjoy your break, you guys deserve it!!

↳ yourusername thank you, lovely <3

username2 a vacation from what, you don’t even do anything

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yoursibling thank you for always putting that smile on her face 🤎

↳ louist91 it’s my honor

yourusername the best surprise 🥰

↳ louist91 more where that came from 🫡♥️

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↳ louist91 lou read this to me and i stole his phone to say thank you 🥹 you’re gorgeous as well 💗 - y/n

username2 what does she even need a break from? she just leeches off of you

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yourusername my job…it’s just louis’ girlfriend.

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yourbff and what a great job you do at louis’ girlfriend!

louist91 lmao, i fucking love you 🖤

↳ yourusername love you so much 🤍

username1 she had the opportunity to do the funniest thing ever and she did 😭

username2 ended those miserable bitches

liked by yourusername, louist91, yourbff and others

liked by yourusername, yourbff, and 1m others

louist91 the most wonderful thing i decided to do was to share my life and heart with you. you’ve delt with some shit since we’ve been together and you’ve handle it all with such grace. i’ve never met someone as kind, beautiful and down to earth as you. you make me a better person and i can’t wait to spend forever with you 🩵

tagged: yourusername

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yourusername i love you so much, i can’t wait to continue building a life with you 🤍

niallhoran congratulations 🍾

yourbff: you two absolutely deserve each other. i couldn’t be happier for you 🥹

↳ yourusername i love you, maid of honor 🫶🏼

↳ louist91 thank you for helping me plan everything!

zayn congrats bro!

yoursibling welcome to the family ♥️

↳ louist91 thank you for trusting me with her heart

harrystyles ❤️

taylorswift i can’t wait to sing at the wedding 🩷

[caitskywalker14]

Run For The Hills - Toxic! Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

So this is my first post on here and I’m currently DOWN BAD for Ellie and I LOVE all the angst fics people write on here so wanted to do my own based on ‘run for the hills’ by Tate McRae as the song is soooo good! And fits the mood of this story??? lol. This also is super long but it’s worth it I hope

Anyway, i hope you all enjoy this as much as I have writing it you hoes xx

( toxic!ellie, cheating, drug mention, substance use, situationships, reader is aware its wrong but can’t stop loving Ellie, swearing, hints of spice, modern au, overall negative vibes from Ellie, TW bruises and physical pain as well as mental/emotional pain, confusing love and lust, toxic name calling, manipulation and angst)

Bold is lyrics of the song xx

GIF is not mine - credit to original owner and creator.

Hotels, late nights, hands through my hair

Long talks, red eyes, clothes everywhere

Missing a moment when you're still there

You gotta thing you can't find nowhere, yeah-yeah

“Yeah well you’re fucking stupid if you think that you’re the only girl I’m screwing” screamed Ellie, her voice cracking in anger as she watched you pace up and down her apartment for what seemed like the 100th time this month. Despite it being late into the evening, your clothes were scattered all over the furniture, a reminder of the madness that just happened, and you desperately wanted to gather them and get out.

You and Ellie had a complicated relationship, if you could even call it that - hot, tension filled sex and arguments mixed with the drugs and alcohol fuelled college parties only made the situations you would find yourself in 10 times worse. Not to mention her lying, cheating, manipulation, and endless list of red flags that would lead any sane person to immediately cut ties… Yet there was something about the girl that drew you in. Like a moth to a flame, she enticed you, her words like honey when she whispered filthy words of praise in your ears, fingers rough yet still gentle on the rare occasions she’d take care of you after sex. And those eyes - those piercing, green eyes that seemed to fill your core with heat and desire every time she looked into yours. Ellie Williams truly was something else, and you knew it - she knew it too. Her confidence oozed sex appeal, as she often would remind you during arguements, like tonight, that she could “get any girl in her bed” and she didn’t have a problem with getting “pretty girls with pretty pussy”.

Sometimes, on a rare occasion, she’d let you in to see her softer side. Her front of being cocky and arrogant slipped away when she’d carefully hold your hand whilst tenderly stroking your skin to calm you down at parties, or when you’d come to see her and she’d made a poor attempt of a pasta dish she heard you talk about for dinner and even on some mornings where you would wake up to her softly caressing your face whilst running her hands through your hair as she gazed with nothing but love and affection towards you. The long, deep talks you’d have whilst sharing weed, eyes red and hazy where you’d talk about hopes and plans for the future whilst she listened eagerly, joining in to talk and interrupt your rants with sweet kisses, both of you giggling like children. These moments were what kept you coming back for more, however these were rarer recently as the only things you would do together were fight, argue, cry, fuck and ghost each other in the ongoing cycle of your “situation”.

Deep down, you knew that Ellie had issues with commitment, whether that be with you, college work or even part time jobs - it wasn’t her “thing” as she often said to upset you during fights, preferring to live life recklessly which honestly fucked with your head in more ways than one. How could someone who claimed to love you cheat on you with girls all over campus? The same girl who said she was yours - that you owned her mind,body and soul, had messages and messages on her phone from girls who desperately wanted to sleep with her again. She truly was a piece of shit towards you, and you knew this yet foolishly still gave into her with a click of her fingers and you’d go running back. The truth was, when you cut her off you felt free, like you could breathe and the air was suddenly fresh and clear of all pollution yet inside your body, it didn’t feel right - you began to miss the moments you had when she was temporarily yours, you missed her mouth, the taste of her lips and the scent of her cologne. The things you couldn’t find in anyone else made it hard to leave, nowhere else felt like home to you.

Kissing, screaming, straight back to war

I'm walking out until I lock the door

Maybe the danger's covered by the thrill

'Cause I know I should be running for the hills

“Ellie I’m not fucking stupid that’s why I’m done with you, I’m done with whatever fucked up fantasy this is and I’m done with being treated like I don’t mean shit to you.” You paused in your step, hastily slipping on your jeans and hoodie as Ellie sat on her couch, smoking a cigarette with almost glassy eyes as she chuckled to herself.

“I’m exhausted Ellie, you’ve drained the life out of me and those messages?? Those fucking messages from Yasmine, that girl you swore you didn’t fuck last weekend when you bailed on our plans have tipped me over the fucking edge so I’m done”, you screamed at her, fuelled with anger and rage directed not only at Ellie and her antics, but yourself for being so dumb enough to think she could change. Ellie sat silently, you could see her mind was racing of what more hurtful lies she could spew at you. She puts her smoke out before she starts her talk.

“Yeah well, it’s not my fault you’re just a dumb slut who can’t get it into her skull that we aren’t a real thing, you should know that by now I fuck who I want, when I want, and you” she stands up, rushing into your personal space, beginning to jab her finger into your chest with each word, “YOU are not gonna stop me!“

“It’s your fault that I do cheat. I mean I have to put up with your bitchy whining all the time and I get sick of it. Why can’t you just be chill like the others?.”

You scoff in disbelief at her words, stepping back away from her vicious stance. Usually by now you’d be crying asking for her to stop and you’d seemingly end up back in her bed, but all you can think about is how disgusting she sounds and how you definitely deserve better. “Well I won’t whine anymore and I’m not gonna stop you from fucking whatever girl you pick, because you’re dead to me.”. You turn around, collecting your last few items, ignoring her cold stare piercing into your back.

Once you had gathered your belongings, you leant against the door frame to put your shoes on, when suddenly a brutal force pushed you against the door, Ellie had you trapped. She had her tatted, muscular arms pressed against the door, caging your body so you couldn’t escape. “Babe, come on, you know you don’t mean that.”, she utters, looking into your eyes with that smirk, teasing you with her tone. “You always act so tough and mighty but we both know what you want”. Ellie’s fingers now found themselves gripping at your chin, tilting your head up to look deeper into her eyes, still keeping you secure against her chest and the door. “You want to be consumed by me, you live and breathe for me baby and you know that I’m the only one who gives that pussy a good fuck, just how you like it”, her hands now trailing down to your hips to possessively grab you to further press herself into your body. You let out a small gasp at the impact, turning your head away to avoid looking into her eyes as she slowly traced kisses over the sensitive skin of your neck. Mustering your strength, you push Ellie away from you, opening the door to finally leave the toxic girl you once loved. Before you left, she dropped her last few words.

“You should have known not to get too attached baby, I told you to run for the hills before ever falling for me”

You shuddered. A sick part of you loved the thrill, the chase and the danger surrounding Ellie Williams, but yeah maybe you should run for the hills, and never come back.

The way you touch me

Straight to the heart, yeah

It cuts me

'Cause I know deep down that it's

Never gonna ever be us, oh

Never gonna ever be more than just something that's fucking me up

A few days have passed, and you’re alone in your room. Since your messy “breakup” with Ellie, you don’t think you’ve ever been this bored in your entire life. Mindlessly, you begin scrolling on social media, checking snap, TikTok and the usual sites to see what everyone’s up to. Scrolling through instagram stories, you stumble across Ellie’s. You forgot to block her account this time, you’d been busy doing your own thing and your method of “healing” didn’t include blocking…more in the form of parties, kissing girls and doing shots until you blacked out with your friends.

Anxiously, you debated whether or not to click it - you knew she’d see you in her views and probably boast about it to her friends that you were obsessed with her, but you thought fuck it and clicked onto it. You held a breath as you nervously waited for the story to load. When it did, your heart stopped in your chest, a painful cut seeping slowly through your skin. It was a picture of Ellie in a bathroom mirror at what seemed to be a party, with a girl (a girl whom you actually haven’t seen her with before), bent over with Ellie stood behind her grabbing her hip as the other hand held her phone so she could pose in the mirror. The story included a caption “New bitch who dis” and the song choice was rather interesting at least - “I don’t fuck with you”.

As soon as you’d saw this, you finally let out a gasp of shock as you paused the screen, examining every last detail of the picture - Ellie’s fingernails now painted black, her signature flannel shirt unbuttoned for a relaxed look and her smirk as she looked into the camera, almost as if she was taunting you by her public display of her latest fling. It hurt, you couldn’t lie or pretend that her attempt of making you feel shitty didn’t work because it did. You looked as Ellie’s hand was possessively gripping the girl’s hip, often like how she would with you when she’d take you from behind (especially at parties when you’d sneak off to the bathroom), and you missed her touch. The way her fingers worked inside you, curling to hit the spot that made you see stars, the way they’d pull and tug at your hair when she’d pound you and the touch of her lips when she’d suck on your neck and nipples when she fucked you. It all came flooding back into your head and you felt your eyes swell with tears, stomach aching as you felt your emotions overflowing.

Still, deep down, you knew that it would never just be you and her. You knew your once-ideal-world of you being together was a facade. You knew that you’d never be enough for Ellie, enough to make her change. Despite this, it still hurt and the wounds she left seemed like they’d never heal. This toxic cycle did nothing but fuck you up each time it happened. Swiping off her story, you took a deep breath as you laid your head back onto your pillow, closing your eyes as you took deep breaths.

You made a promise to yourself to rise above it - you deserved so much better.

I know that when it's all done

I'll hate you bad in the long run

But, somehow, it never ends

My heel's on the edge of your bed again, yeah

I get obsessive with you

All that I want is attention from you

Break into my life and break all my rules, it's true

It had now been nearly 2 weeks since you’d seen Ellie in person, and despite her numerous attempts to contact you via calling, texting, Snapchat and all the rest, your dislike for the girl was still strong and you swore that you had finally closed your chapter with Ellie for good. It was also down to your friends (who always were there when she’d hurt you in the past) that literally warned you not to go back or else they’d rock your shit. They hated Ellie and hated her making you cry. You promised them that it was done, finished and over, convincing them and yourself that you hated her.

The weekend was finally approaching and there were major plans for a party at one of the frat houses on campus. You and your friends were extremely excited to attend, especially after a hard week of exams, tests and homework. The best medicine you all needed was to look sexy, get wasted and maybe even hook up with fellow party-goers. It was that one night that you desperately craved someone’s attention. You just didn’t think it would be from the person who broke your heart…Ellie. Even more so after all you’ve said about “not falling back into her trap”. Again, fate decided that this cycle would never end.

The night was crazy, you had had more shots that you could count, cups and cups full of endless spirits mixed with cheap juices/soda. You had laughed with friends whilst dancing to the playlist booming from the speakers, comforted random girls in the bathroom who cried over their exes and gotten a few girls socials (maybe even had a few kisses too but you’d probably forget all about them in the morning). However, all the fun had to come to an end at some point.

As soon as you saw Ellie stood in the corner, her eyes darkening with lust and passion, heat filled your core and you felt those same butterflies you felt the first time you saw her. The music and voices turned to a blur as the only thing you could focus on was her as she slowly walked towards you through the crowd, pulling you into her arms to hold you close - almost as if you’d slip away again if she let go. Nervously, you looked into her eyes, cursing yourself for craving her touch and attention. You were down bad, obsessed with her and it would surely be the death of you.

“You ready to come home babe?” She asked softly, a hint of amusement in her tone as she rested her hands on your waist, rubbing up and down your body.

The only thing you could do was nod as she gripped your hand, her poisonous touch melting away at your flesh as she led you to the uber she’d booked. Whisking you away from the party with only one thing on her mind - make up sex. Touching and tasting your body, the things that Ellie missed way more than she’d admit.

You broke the promise you made to your friends, you broke the promise to yourself and you let her invade your life like a parasite once again. It’s true, you’d let her break you down again like always. All just to gain some sort of attention from her, even if it was fake.

You hooked up once more.

Should run for the hills, should run for the hills

Should be running for the hills

The way you touch me

The next morning you woke up, limbs tangled and your clothes scattered all over Ellie’s cluttered bedroom. Your head was pounding from your hangover as you turned to Ellie’s sleeping figure next to you. She looked so peaceful, at ease and calm as you watched her chest rise slowly with each breath she took. You laid there for a good 30 minutes, counting each freckle on her cheeks, tracing her scars lightly to not wake her.

You wish every moment you spent with Ellie could be like this - it would be a dream come true. Though you knew deep down that this moment would be ruined in some way or another when the girl woke up, or even in a few days when her habits caught up with her. You felt your eyes fill with salty tears as you felt nausea overcome you when gazing at her. How could someone so beautiful cause so much suffering?

Lightly turning over, you stretched your sore limbs as you got up to head to the bathroom, walking in and turning the light on.

You looked a mess - a physical manifestation of your mind and soul. Lips cracked and sore, as you gazed at your reflection. Your chest was covered in bites and bruises, causing you to wince as you’d accidentally press too hard on your wrists, where her hands had gripped you last night. Looking down, your inner thighs were not left untouched with finger prints and bites there too. Last night was a blur, you enjoyed the sex you and Ellie would engage in but last night seemed to cause more pain than pleasure. As you stood there in silence you came to the reality…

This was the touch you craved? These were the type of marks that drove you wild?

How did you not see the physical damage she did to you?

You spent all your time being mentally drained by Ellie that you’d forgotten how it felt physically to be treated like this by someone you were supposed to love and feel protected by. It wasn’t right and you felt like a fool for it taking this long for you to truly realise the impact she had on you. Her touch was toxic, her words were venom and you’d clearly confused love and lust as the same thing. You had spent that much time focusing on the rare good moments you’d have with Ellie, that they had made you forget how unhealthy it all was.

Washing your face with cold water, you looked into the mirror at the girl you didn’t recognise. It was time to leave. For good. Before it was too late.

Leaving the bathroom, you silently began getting dressed, trying your best to not break down and wake her. Ellie was a deep sleeper, especially after drinking so you knew that this would be an easy escape. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you looked round the room at all of her posters, pictures and trinkets she had. You inhaled the scent of pine leaves, mint and vanilla. Taking a deep breath, you looked at Ellie once more, before leaning down to place a kiss at the top of her head and you left.

You did the one thing you’d never thought you’d do.

You ran for those hills and you never looked back.

So guys I hope you enjoyed this first piece I wrote, it made me emotional to write this as I myself have been through similar situations as well as people I know in real life. As I stated this is my first piece so I know there will be some errors as I’m new to this, thanks for understanding!

Abuse in any form is not ok. This work is purely for fictional purposes and not to be taken as a representation of a healthy, human relationship.

Please know that help is there if you need it. You’re not alone🖤

Please show some love and support below and let me know what you think. I might do more of these if I get requests or enough people like this one.

Thanks again x

[bonnibelleangelica]

An Australian PSA for Americans

I’m scared, people. Its come to my attention that some of you have no idea what Australia is like at all and genuinely believe we live in desert mud huts, cooking cans over a fire. So, here are some fun facts to give you a better understanding of Australia since I don’t want you thinking I’m an uneducated mud child.

1) Almost no one lives in the deserts. 90% of our populations live on the coasts (not just the east coast) in full blown, million-people cities. Imagine an American city, but everyone has a weird accent. Wifi, electricity, tiktok, teenage girls, techbros and even a few hundred Macdonald’s.

2) Kangaroos are like deer. They’re everywhere outside the cities, they don’t bother anyone and they eat grass in fields. Often times, we hit them with our cars. Possums climb our fences at night, foxes eat our chickens and magpies occasionally swoop us, though I’ve only experienced it twice.

3) It’s hot, but not that hot. We have green lawns and lakes, forests and rain storms, and in the summer, most people will only have to deal with temps of 30-35 degrees (85-95f). We dont generally get snow, but we get floods all the time.

4) Our politicians are racist too. We have a left and a right but our elections aren’t the game show yours seems to be. We also legally have to vote and everyone hates it.

5) Universal health care is cool. Sometimes emergency rooms are a little shit and our medicare doesn’t cover stuff perfectly, but as someone with multiple health problems, it’s not a health crisis by any means. Private cover is available anyway, so if you want to, u can pay for better shit.

6) Bali is our national holiday location. Everyone has been or will go at some point, its only a few hours away and everything is cheap as hell. Otherwise, bouncing between the coasts or from city to country and visa versa is the way to go.

7) A lot of Australians hate America. Some of it is fair, some of it isnt, but i thought you should know since apparently some people think everyone loves America. In my experience, the bias goes the other way.

8) Our version of rednecks are bogans. Flannel, cigarettes, beer bellies and questionable political correctness, we’ve got it all.

9) We also have a racist, problematic history of genocide and segregation. In my mothers life time, we used to steal aboriginal kids to force them to act white and “breed away the black.” Australia day (our 4th of July) is very controversial because its on the day the first real colonisation started. And at this point, a lot of people see celebrating it as support of the problematic undertones it represents. Australia flags are a relatively rare sight.

10) Lightning round! We have religion, but it isn’t really brought up very often. There are a few churches in every town, but thats it. We also don’t say the pledge of allegiance, or sing the national anthem unless its a special memorial day. Gun control has been in place for decades and most people are fine with that. And lastly, our car accident death rate is a third of America’s (adjusted for population) so maybe get on that.

If you knew all of this, thank god! I hope this is completely useless. If you didn’t know one of these, that’s fair. Maybe go follow some Australia creators and remember, there’s rich snobs and bigots in every corner of the globe.

[llyfrenfys]

PLEASE TELL US ABOUT Y DDRAIG TRAWS!

Certainly! I'm more than happy to oblige.

First though I'm gonna need to tldr: the history of Y Ddraig Goch before we get onto the (accidentally) canonically trans part.

A brief history of Y Ddraig Goch:

(The modern Welsh flag)

Y Ddraig Goch first appears in the tales of the Mabinogi (Charlotte Guest version) in the tale of Lludd and Llefelys where it is fighting a white dragon. The fight is also described/expanded upon in the c. 829 AD text Historia Brittonum (attributed to Nennius) - where the red dragon represents Wales and the white dragon represents the Anglo-Saxons. In the story the red dragon triumphs over the white. Of course, Geoffrey of Monmouth also covers the story c. 1136 in Historia Regnum Brittaniae in which he introduces the concept of the red dragon heralding the arrival of King Arthur.

Geoffrey of Monmouth claims Arthur used a banner featuring a golden dragon. But we also know the accuracy of Monmouth can be questionable at times. Owain Glyndŵr did use a banner with a golden dragon called Y Ddraig Aur - raised in 1401 at Caernarfon - Glyndŵr chose this banner as a nod to the supposed banner of Arthur and his father.

Later on the Tudor monarchs (being a Welsh family) adopted a red dragon on a white and green background in their heraldry. Eventually Y Ddraig Goch on a white and green background became the official badge of Wales in 1800. The design became the official flag of Wales in 1959.

Y Ddraig Traws:

Now for the thing you're all here for -

So, as outlined, the history of the dragon as a national symbol of Wales goes back a long way. If we're just talking post-1959, there's some interesting implications for Y Ddraig Goch's depiction.

This is what the Welsh flag (and Y Ddraig Goch) looked like in 1959 when it was officially adopted as the flag of Wales. It looks broadly the same as the first flag and has some common features - such as not having a penis (or, as in the correct heraldic terminology - a pizzle). Meanwhile, in the arms of the Tudors (specifically Henry VII)

(Tudor dragon with pizzle) vs (dragon on the flag of Cardiff - pizzleless)

the penis is almost always included. So much to the point that the present royal family still includes the penis. While pretty much 0 depictions of the dragon in Wales include a penis. So you could interpret this as the dragon is seen as male only by the British royal family and as female everywhere else (which kinda implies that at some point the Tudor dragon had an mtf transition in Wales and she keeps getting misgendered by the royal family every time she is depicted in (mostly) England).

So much to the point that in 1995 this pound coin was made by the Royal Mint featuring the pizzle on the dragon with all four feet touching the ground as opposed to standing up (passant rather than rampant).

But in Wales you'd be hard pressed to see a pizzled dragon anywhere. Ergo, we can only conclude Y Ddraig Goch is trans and she transitioned in Wales and keeps getting misgendered in England.

[note: This is mostly tongue in cheek - but I do think it's fun to extrapolate that the Welsh dragon is trans because of the differences in depiction between Wales and England. Like many things Welsh, it is misrepresented by England and the idea of the Welsh dragon being misgendered only in England is, I think, a good metaphor for a whole lot of English treatment of Wales.]

Unrelatedly, there is a gay Welsh flag held at the National Museum of Wales which has a very wonky dragon which I find very endearing.

(cleaned up version I made)

So much so I made it an emoji in my Welsh bilingual LGBTQIA+ Discord (requirements for joining are - be 16+, either speak or are learning Welsh and identify as LGBTQIA+ in some way. Dm for link!).

(triaist ti 'you tried' emoji)

~ Completely unrelatedly ~ never forget the time someone was trying to homophobic to me by suggesting that I was disrespecting all the soldiers who died 'for the Welsh flag' by making it rainbow colours and not red - arguing that any change of colour of the dragon was disrespectful. Reader, my bus pass at the time for Mid Wales Travel had a purple dragon on it.

[ghouldtime]

Alone. Truly Alone.

I know I’m not the only one who took one singular, inquisitive glance at the new Alone Operator skin for the upcoming season and went “Would”. I need need need content on him

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

If you had to rank all the terrible decisions you’ve made in your life, this would certainly be in the top ten. Breaking into an abandoned place was a bad idea on its own. Now multiply the magnitude of that by twenty, considering it was supposedly some kind of military facility at one point in time before it was left to rot. Then add in the factors that you were alone, without a map, and no cell service. Yeah, definitely not your smartest decision. 

Dozens of garish yellow and red signs marked with a variety of warnings used everything under the sun (and law) telling you not to proceed decorated the corroding chain link fences that lined the property like it was going out of style. The crumbling facade of iron and concrete that made up the walls were made out to match. Everywhere you looked there was yet another warning, another thing telling you to turn back now. That should've been a sign, right?

Well, it wasn't the sign you were listening to. That one, the only sign you cared about right now, you had spotted stapled to a telephone pole as you were waiting to cross the street to go to your favorite grocery store. The crumpled, salmon pink flier hastily crammed in your backpack was your savior and your curse that brought you here.

The reason being a whole whopping $500. Something that would greatly benefit you and cause a whole less of a headache this month - and allow you a chance to breathe. It was a chance you couldn't pass up. And it's not like it was complicated. All you had to do was: get into the desolate fort, get proof of evidence of being inside there (photographic AND physical), and get out. Simple. Easy money. A task that even you could manage in maybe an hour or two, tops. You'd be an idiot not to do it.

Why anyone would pay that kind of money for you to go in there was beyond you. Quite frankly, you didn’t care. Money was money. Everyone had their reasons and if they were paying that much for a task that was that simple, then you weren't going to pry. All they had to do was pay up when the time was done, you'd never think about it again, and you'd be on your merry way a whole lot better off and a little bit richer.

Just to be certain that this wasn't a prank or someone trying to harass their ex with a pathetic attempt to get their number out there, you called the number scrawled hastily on the rain-soaked, faded poster. A harried Scottish accent confirmed without a doubt that this wasn't fake and was real as real could be. Truth be told, you didn’t understand much of what he said aside from “Aye”, which was close enough. He seemed to be talking at a million miles an hour in a near frantic tone. Surely, that was a red flag. But right now you were colorblind to everything except green.

It was enough motivation for you to throw some gear into a backpack and head out late in the night to the address of the once-important fort. The promise of cash and having it soon in your hand was plenty to get you moving.

Against your best instinct, against your gut screaming at you and telling you to turn back, and against all common sense - you went forwards anyways and decided today was the day when you’re going to pretend that you’re illiterate and those warnings meant nothing to you anyways.

Stale, stagnant air filtered through the respirator that hung snug on your face. If you breathed in a lungful of whatever was in here without it, it's likely you would’ve ended up with some new kind of respiratory disease previously unheard of - you're sure of it. Algae and lichen clung to some damp crevices, decorated with splotches of black mold the darkened the corners even more along the outskirts of the inky, lingering shadows.

Each cautious step forward onto the rubble and gravel covered ground ricocheted off the dilapidated walls of the corridor, fading into the abyss of black that stretched on far beyond what you could see. Though you doubted the protective eye ware helped you see better - it was probably more of a hindrance but you didn't want to take any more risks than necessary. The last thing you needed was a hospital bill.

The pathetic beam of warm, yellow light your flashlight provided scarcely illuminated the void that swallowed the hallway whole. What little you could see did nothing to motivate you forward. More disintegrating ceiling and rubble-buried winding halls greeted you with the same unwavering stillness as the rest of the place.

Crumbling, bleak, cold passages decorated with mildew, mold, and umber mystery stains you really didn’t want to think about alike stretched in a winding labyrinth you tried your best to navigate. Sparse nearly-disintegrated warning signs served as place markers to guide you through the otherwise directionless building, offering you the smallest sense of navigation and a sense of knowing where you were going.

One foot in front of the other, step by slow step, you made your way through the place untouched by light and people alike.

It shouldn't be that hard, you mused as you kept on walking. Whether it was just to reassure yourself with a steady mantra or confidence was left up to debate, but the fact remained: it was simple. Get an object that irrefutably proved you were here, take a picture - and that was it. That was all.

Now, that still left the question of what to take and what to get a picture of up for debate. Scouring the building hadn’t turned up anything worthwhile so far, except maybe some signage. But they were all too… generic. They were all something that could easily be faked and pulled from elsewhere. And a picture of them or another dimly lit, basic hallway wouldn’t do you any good. It would get you a door slammed in your face, a laugh if you’re lucky, and certainly no $500 which was the whole reason you were here in the first place.

Maybe you should’ve asked specifically what he wanted you to bring and a picture of….

Who are you kidding? You wouldn’t be able to understand a lick of what he said if you did. Maybe his accent was better in person, maybe he had told you in the hurried, almost anxious tone and you weren't remembering - but trying to talk to him again through the phone was a hopeless endeavor. Unless they were keeping a spare brain in here and translating software, you doubt you'd be able to even begin to try and understand the guy. All you could do was silently curse yourself for not asking, curse him for not being more coherent, and try your best to find something unique, snap a picture, and get out of there before you regretted stepping foot in this place even further.

With grumbled curse, knowing very well that you had to go further in the hopes that something actually substantial would greet you, you kept on going. There was no turning back now, no. You'd come too far. One more step forwards got you closer to that money and being out of here.

Yet lady luck wasn't making this easy, nor was she on your side today. A majority of doors you came across had been locked - barricaded, and certainly not something you could open. Their heavy, unyielding steel frames stood impassive, unmoving, and scarcely caring of your plight or any force used against them. It's almost like they stood there, mocking you silently for even trying. It was a waste of energy to even try with another one when the first twelve hadn't done anything more than groan slightly, giving the tiniest shudder before stilling in their frame.

Rounding what must’ve been the hundredth corner, you braced for yet another blank hallway and another unmovable door, but what greeted you was something different enough to cause you to halt in your tracks. An open door. A single, open door marked with a flickering, old bulb dangling above as if it were on its last legs, trying to stay alight. A wave of relief washed over you as you couldn’t help but to sprint forward, closing in on the hope that you could be done and out of here - and you’d have your money before you knew it! It was almost over. This aimless wandering with a stuffy mask and glasses to match was almost over.

Ignoring all common sense, you chased that feeling - quite literally. Caution was thrown to the wind as you darted into the room, your eyes flickered all over the first true, non-vacant room you’d found in here. Empty hospital beds with yellowed, stained linens haphazardly jumbled across their tops lined the walls. It wasn't a pretty sight but right now, it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

Panning your flashlight around, the warm, washed-out beam glinted off the dusty metal IV stands and carts littered about. Cobwebs spidered the corners of the walls and the rest of the surfaces alike, though their inhabitants seem to have left long ago.

Scanning the room, a few seconds ticked by before you finally found just what you needed, dangling off the foot of the bed by a worn hook. There it was, your holy grail: a brown piece of hardboard and rusted metal alike holding down frayed, yellowed pages. It's the only time you can officially say that you've been happy to see a clipboard - much less, elated and overjoyed to see such a simple piece of office ware. You could practically kiss it and taste sweet, sweet money right about now.

Swiping it from its place, your eyes flitted over the blotched, inky text scrawled on it, silently praying that it would have just what you’d need. The smallest corner of a logo stood in the top right corner, while the rest of the patient information seemed to have been rubbed at or swiped away. And your heart nearly sank in short-lived disappointment. Water stains distorted and warped the paper but your saving grace came in the form of a date and the name of the complex, officially signed at the top of the paper. 

The warm, giddy feeling that had been so fleeting earlier came back with a vengeance that lit up your heart and face alike. This was it! This was just what you needed. Placing it down, you fumbled with the camera clipped onto your belt, the tremble of excitement in your hands doing little to aid you. Snapping a picture of the clipboard with a quick click and a flash of light, you stuffed your saving grace into the weathered backpack you had donned. 

Task one - done. Now to get a good picture of the place and you'd be done. One simple click, one move, and one terribly annoying walk through the forever expansive hallways, and you would be out of here and back in your comfy bed before you knew it. Maybe you'd even get to catch up on a single episode of your favorite show.

Stepping back into a corner where you could find a vantage point, you held onto that flickering flame of hope as you pointed your camera and flashlight alike in the same direction to snap a quick picture of the room. With a simple click and a flash of blinding light, the deed was done. You could finally be out of here. 

Or so you thought. 

A sparse glint caught your eye as the bright flash ebbed away, the shadows returning full force aside from the gleaming, round lights that turned towards you. Your heart skipped a beat as you froze, your breath hitching as a wave of fear sunk the beginning of its talons into you.

No, no. Not a glint, you realized with horror. Six. Six luminous, reflective lenses glowed in the dark as they turned to look right at you. Staring. 

Your heart sank even further into your stomach, your blood running cold, as the corner went dark once again for a fraction of a second before all six glowing dots were back and all were looking right at you.

With a trembling hand, you kept your flashlight lowered. You don’t think you wanted to know what that was. No creature - no living being that big would have six eyes. 

You took a step back. 

Then another.

Another.

The ice-cold sensation of your blood coursing through your veins, your heart erratically beating against your chest harder and harder, kept you from screaming. A creak of the protest from the old hospital bed sounded like a gunshot in the otherwise too-still room as the thing stood and started moving towards you with footsteps that were all too quiet, all too soft for a thing of that caliber.

Whatever breath you had been holding escaped you as it lumbered out of the shadows. An unearthly, sickening gurgle spewed from its maw as if it were choking on its own saliva.

Even through the respirator, the scent of putrid rot and decay wafted from it as it drew closer and closer, your stomach tensed as you gagged, the bile threatened to rise from your stomach as the urge to puke took you by surprise. If you weren’t wearing the respirator, you’re sure you would have - and maybe you would have noticed it in the room sooner if you could've picked up the stench of death.

The urge to run, all instincts screaming at you, pleading and begging you to run for your life simply didn’t work as you stood rooted to the spot as it finally stepped into the trembling, watery beam of light that cut through the speckles of floating dust. A scream of horror caught in your throat as you finally stared up at the abomination's mangled form with wide eyes.

Three heads, all fused together in a webbing of crimson, sinewy membranes moved in sync. Six eyes - six, now unblinking, cloudy eyes settled on you. Despite the milky, glassy sheen to the eyes settled and sunken deep into the heads (or in the raw membranous flesh in the case of one eye on the head to its left) - it tracked every single movement and breath, focused on you with near predatory ease. Five arms hung loose by its side, with two of them being partially fused together in a sick amalgamation. Bits of pallid skin had long ago sloughed off, exposing muscle that had blackened with exposure but somehow not rotted away.

Skull masks and balaclavas covered most of their faces - and you supposed that was a good thing. If the distended, broken jaws of the heads were indication of how it would look underneath, you’re happy declining on seeing what lay below. Drool spilled onto the fabric, or some mystery liquid, bubbling up as it made yet another noise. The motion caused your have to fly up to your covered mouth, your heart and stomach alike retching.

Torn tactical gear adorned the twisted cerberus, blackened with fluids, almost as if it had once had a purpose - to protect. But your mind wasn't there, it was on its existence. The abomination, the chimera, the thing that shouldn’t exist and went against all aspects of nature stood in front of you unmoving for a moment until you took a single step back.

It took a step forward.

Ever so slowly, as if moving through molasses, it drew three scarred hands up, reaching for you.

That was all you needed to take off. Up and out through the hall where you came, your legs strained as you sprinted. Each footstep echoed louder and louder down the void of black and gray you came from, flooding out the sputtered groan from it but you didn’t care. Consequences be damned, you didn't care how loud you were or how much attention you drew. You were better off getting caught by a guard or hell even the police - at least they’d have guns. 

Every inhale scorched your lungs, the fire of fatigue seared deep into every strand of your muscles as you kept on pushing, but you didn’t stop - you couldn’t. Not until you cleared the hallways, skirting through the piles of debris and around the same desolate corridors you had meandered through prior. Not until the crisp, chilled night air finally greeted you as the stars twinkled above, oblivious to the sheer horrors below. 

Not until you finally jammed yourself through the cut hole in the chain link fence, any pain of the metal scraping at your skin dulled out by the adrenaline flowing through your veins, empowering each sprinting step forwards until you were far, far away and back in the safety of your car.

Note to self: Don’t ever trust fliers you find on telephone poles.

This guy better be ready as soon as the sun graced the land again to hand over those five Benjamins. Hopefully he likes his mornings started with pounding knocks to his door and a middle finger to the face. 

જ⁀➴

The darkness echoed with the patter of fading footsteps as the mystery person sprinted away, completely aghast with a look of sheer primal fear painted on their limited, exposed features. 

They didn’t see how his fingers flexed, hands still outstretched in the air, twitching once again at the loss of something warm, something human that he came so close to grasping.

They didn’t see how he stared at where they were, not moving from the spot he stood. Nor did they see his clouded, hazy eyes downturn as he dragged his form back to the bed with great reluctance. 

Nor did they hear the drowned out, garbled words that took all his energy to choke out and force his broken jaws to move. 

“Don’t…. go….”

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Thinking of maybe making this a series! Any feedback is welcome and appreciated! It's been a while since I've written so forgive any mistakes,,,,

Edit: part two has been posted!

[threepandas]

Bad End: Hidden Heir

Next ->

The Duke's family had very distinct eyes. It was genetic. An aggressively dominant trait at that, though it tended to die off, after a few generations out of the family. Supposedly a "blessing of the Gods". Spring to be exact. Bounty and luck. And the family certainly WAS bountiful.

In all the best and worst ways.

Wealth, corruption, children and bastards. It was a family so aggressively ALIVE, it could only be Spring's blessing that made them so. Pouring mania and madness into their veins like sweet sunlight. Whispering glory and riches, into power addled ears. They burst with life. Even as they endlessly destroyed themselves.

They were fictional.

Fascinating set dressings, for the stage play of someone else's story. Unimportant beyond their role in world building. As the origin story and power base of a character lead.

The Story ITSELF didn't even occur here. But rather, in the capital. Where the players of significance had gathered.

And I? Oh I was some minor antagonist, so insignificant to the plot, I genuinely could not remember which of seven different women I actually WAS. It had been an ongoing series. Otome Isekai. Reverse harem.

And I was either in the ORIGINAL original novel, the isekai'd plot novel, the anime adaption, OR a horrifying fever dream. My memory was largely useless. But? I did remember the characters. The archetypes.

And the fact, that the author had clearly been going though a Yandere phase.

My region of the Reverse Harem collect-o-thon? Horrifying! Red flags everywhere! No one here should date, leave room for fantasy Jesus, have we considered the joys of being a NUN? Yes. Yes I HAVE thought about it.

I was pretty sure I'd never make it. End up dead or captured by some sort of Nun Yandere. Or God Yandere. Possibly both. Assuming the bandit yanderes don't get me first. It... it was very stressful, living here.

Luckily? I knew when I could leave.

Or so I thought.

Because my house? The Dukedom? Had the "yandere butler who is secretly an heir." Who starts out with loyal dog behavior. A little highly possesive master and servant play. Then rises to become a Duke. Presumably? That is when I die. Or am disowned.

Death is most likely. Since my role was "minor antagonist" and I was to be mean to the sweet, earnest, Harem possessing Protagonist. Don't see WHY I would. Live and let live. Good for her etc etc. But regardless? Best to avoid, just in case.

The problem? Who do you think Mr Illegitimate Heir serves before she gets here? The OTHER possible heirs? Of course not! They'd "oops! Hunting accident~☆" him in a heart beat. Father isn't stupid. And my sisters? Issues. Violent, violent, issues.

He ends up with ME.

Father, WHY.

Obviously, I ignore him. I see nothing. I hear nothing. There is no war in Ba Sing Se. Mmmmm, tea. Good book. Ignore his creepy staring. His creepy, creepy staring.

Thankfully? I never really ran out of Totally Legitimate reasons to send him away to learn or do something. Proper tea making. Door maintenance. Eastern embroidery. Something, anything, and off you go! Bye bye~☆!

Unfortunately. He got faster. Better and better at learning. Mastering skills. Coming BACK. Showing up to stand in the corner, silent and looming, like an omen of death. Those damn eyes. The fucking family eyes!

I don't have them. And NOT as, my Father would have me believe, because I "take after my Mother". But because I am not genetically related to the Duke. I have GOLD eyes. When I wear the right shade of green? I pass. So I am condemned to forever wear green. Don't even really like it much. But?

I am pretty damn sure? I was just... pretty.

A lovely, orphaned, golden eyed child that COULD pass as his. So why not? It was a whim that payed off. Unlike in the original stories, I imagine. Since I am by FAR the best behaved child in this entire house. Ha! Suck it, bio-kids, the adopted one's the favorite! Maybe should have been less lil bitchs.

....I carefully do not say.

Those are INSIDE thoughts.

Fuck. He's still LOOMING. Isn't he? Go awaaaaaay. Where is Protag-chan? Come be doe eyed and busty! Trip adorably! Go "kyaaa~" or something! I feel body heat and freeze. He's leaning over my shoulder to pick up the teapot, pour me another cup. I can FEEL the barest graze of his knuckles against my back, from where he's gripped my chair. The smell of his aftershave almost hauntingly pleasant.

Like he KNEW exactly what smells I liked most. Went out of his way to find one that best suited my preference. Coincidence. Please, PLEASE be a coincidence! I do not turn my head. Keep my eyes locked straight ahead. Barely breathing.

He steps back.

The new pot is sharp and herbal. Almost bitter. I force myself to drink. Can't see a sugar dish, and REFUSE to turn around and ask for one. Ignore. IGNORE. My pounding heart calms. My muscles slowly start to relax.

It... it IS weird, though, now that I think about it? That Protag-chan hasn't reached the Dukedom yet. She should have. God only knows I sent Creepy to the capital enough times, with enough highly specific instructions, that he should've had his meet cute's and dates by the dozen. Been half way in love. So... why...?

Huh.

Dizzy.

The taste of tea sits wrong on my tounge. I stop drinking as the world sways. Letting the cup fall from my hand. Splatter, roll, and shatter. I try desperately to stand. A gentle gloved hand catches my elbow, supporting me. I turn. Giddy eyes. Triumphant, wide, spring green eyes. Too green to be gold, too gold to be green.

An almost cruel, mocking, yet loving grin.

Another hand slides around my waist, braces me against his side. Gleeful little murmurs, too pleased to be reassuring. You. You did this! You DRUGGED ME!

I can barely move, body relaxing against my command, going limp, as he draws me close. Presses his face against the side of my head, against my temple. A deep, shuddering breathe, that he savors like wine. I try to pull free but can not. Feel his lips pull into a vicious grin against my skin. Hands begin to run in gentle, claiming, exploration.

And at last the drugs kick in... the wo..rld..

G..oes..

Dar..k........