#he's crushing on multiple unattainable girls good for him

[cracklinhaze]

don't talk to him. he's processing.

[moonlightwritingf1]

The One He Couldn’t Let Go | LN4

💋 summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N never meant to fall for Lando Norris—the F1 driver with a reputation for flings and flirtations. For nine long months, she kept him at arm’s length, refusing his gifts, dodging his calls, and shielding herself behind sarcasm and silence. But his persistence never wavered. Caught between desire and fear, she struggles to believe a man like him could ever want a woman like her—normal, guarded, imperfect. When jealousy explodes into confrontation and passion gives way to vulnerability, their complicated history threatens to burn everything down… unless she’s brave enough to let herself be loved.

💋 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

💋 word count ━━━━━━━ 13.5k

💋 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, cum on tits

Based on this request.

At an intimidating height, near the top floors, a single unit’s lights glowed brightly against the dark evening. From the outside, one could only imagine the warmth within. Inside that apartment, Y/N stood in her living room, peering down at the cityscape far below.

She could see the flickering reflections of the streetlights dancing on the surface of the river. Her viewpoint was dizzying—a perk of her two-bedroom high-rise apartment. The interior was spacious, the open-plan living room flowing seamlessly into a modern kitchen with sleek countertops and minimalist furniture. The day’s accumulation of tasks was scattered across the dining table: her laptop, paperwork, and a half-finished mug of tea gone cold. An ornate, ribbon-tied bouquet of roses lay beside them.

“Ugh, more flowers,” she whispered under her breath, exhaling sharply. Her gaze traveled over the bouquet’s petals—deep red roses, crisp white lilies, and interspersed baby’s breath that made the arrangement especially lush. A small note card, signed in neat black ink: “Thinking of you. – Lando.”

She bristled. The feeling she experienced in that moment was a heady mix of exasperation, longing, and a strange sense of fear. Nine months of this. Nine months of politely trying to push him away while her heart hammered at every mention of his name. Nine months of hearing that cheerful British accent teasing her, flirting with her, and sending her extravagant gifts without any sign of slowing down. She absently traced the note with her fingertips, fighting the ridiculous urge to crush it in her hand. She couldn’t deny that she adored the gestures. There was no point lying to herself: she loved feeling special. She loved that he singled her out in a world where, by all rights, he should have been so unattainable. And yet…

She let the note slip from her fingers. It fluttered onto the dining table, half-crumpled but still readable. She stared at it, teeth sinking into her lower lip as a swirl of anger and inexplicable yearning circled her mind. She had been fighting this conflict from the moment they met. He was everything she’d sworn to avoid—playboy, stereotypical heartbreaker, and a well-known athlete. The mix of what if and impossible tormented her. She hated how she found him compelling. She hated how his presence filled her with light, yet she simultaneously feared the darkness in his history.

She turned, her hair swishing across her shoulders, and walked into the open-concept kitchen. Flicking on the kettle for fresh tea, she tried to focus on the mundane hum. She pressed a palm against the marbled counter, her mind drifting back, inevitably, to the time they first met.

—

Nine Months Ago

Y/N had just finished her 9-to-5 shift at her first “big girl” job—a role she was both good at and, admittedly, a little bored with. But that day, her friend Pietra had managed to coax her into joining a small get-together in Soho.

“Come on,” Pietra had insisted. “You need to meet my friends; they’re loads of fun. You need a break from that strict schedule of yours.”

“What do you mean by ‘my schedule’? It’s a normal job, Pietra,” Y/N had grumbled, but a hint of a smile tugged at her lips. She was shy and often fiercely protective of her boundaries, but she still went where her close friends urged her to go. After all, she didn’t have that many friends —just a small circle. Reluctantly, she tagged along.

The venue was a warm, tucked-away lounge bar. Fairy lights dangled from the ceiling, music bumped softly, and the chatter of patrons created a pleasant hum. That was when she first saw him—Lando Norris—glancing her way from a group of people near the back. She recognized him instantly: the messy curls of his hair, the bright, mischievous eyes, that athletic build dressed in a stylish black jacket. She was aware of his presence in the sense that one is aware of a flame in a darkened room; he seemed to radiate an effortless energy.

She remembered the moment heat bloomed in her cheeks. She’d heard of Lando Norris—the famed McLaren driver, the rumored playboy. He wasn’t just attractive; he was enthralling, like a magnet pulling the air from her lungs.

When Pietra introduced them, he was polite but also alarmingly direct. He locked eyes with Y/N, grin spreading on his face as though he’d discovered some precious secret that nobody else had.

“So you’re Y/N,” he had said, leaning in close enough that his breath was warm against her cheek. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

She tried to laugh it off, stammering that she was pretty boring—just a regular girl working a 9-5. He didn’t buy that for a second. He teased her. For the entire evening, he barely left her side. His hand lingered at her lower back each time he guided her to the bar to get drinks. Their conversation was laced with playful banter, her attempts to protect herself with sarcasm, and his unwavering interest, as though enthralled by every small detail of her life. He asked about her hobbies, her taste in music. She, in return, found it difficult to breathe under that intense stare. When the evening ended, Y/N left with a phone number in her contacts that she didn’t entirely know what to do with.

That was how it began.

—

Present Day

The kettle beeped, snapping Y/N out of her trance. She hastily poured water into a fresh mug, wincing slightly when a bit of boiling water splashed and burned her skin. She muttered a quick curse under her breath. The small pain was a reminder that she was here, grounded, in her apartment, in her life. Not in that memory of meeting Lando.

He was still the same. From that first moment, he made it exceptionally clear—painfully clear—that he wanted her. She’d tried ignoring him, tried politely brushing off his invites to fancy dinners or events, tried refusing his extravagant gifts of designer shoes and dresses. It only fueled him. She never quite told him no in harsh terms; she wanted to, but she could never muster it. A part of her liked that attention. Another part was terrified.

Leaving her mug on the counter, she wandered back into the living area. She paused at the floor-to-ceiling windows again, half expecting to see some reflection that would reveal the tumult swirling in her mind. Instead, she watched the gleaming lights of the city. She pulled her plush cardigan tighter around herself. Her body was warm but her insides felt cold with confusion, with a nagging, pulsing ache for something she didn’t think she could ever have or deserve.

Even though she was young, she sometimes felt older than her years. She had standards for the kind of man she could actually see herself with—someone who shared her goals. Stability. Honesty. In her mind, Lando was the polar opposite. He was glamorous, chaotic. He was rumored to have slept with countless women. And if even half those rumors were true, that was more than enough for her to keep him at arm’s length. She wasn’t a prude, but she saw that kind of behavior as a lack of self-control. She hated the thought of being just another notch on his bedpost—another fleeting woman he’d meet in a club and forget by morning.

Her phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with a text. She recognized the name, and her pulse pounded.

Lando: “Did you get my flowers?”

She stared at the screen, sipping her tea. Her immediate reaction was to ignore him. But, ignoring him never worked. Not fully.

She typed, paused, deleted. Eventually, she settled on: “Yes, you didn’t have to.”

A bubble popped up almost immediately, showing he was typing.

Lando: “But I wanted to.”

She clenched her jaw. If only desire were enough for her to trust him—to let herself want him the way she truly did. Glancing at her reflection in the window, she tried to see the woman Lando claimed to adore. She wanted to be confident, but she rarely was—at least not around him. The idea of him comparing her to the typical bikini-clad models on his Instagram feed made her break out in anxiety. And yet, he was so persistent. Why couldn’t he be the typical player who moved on easily?

Shaking her head, she texted: “I appreciate them, but I don’t want you wasting your money.”

Lando: “I’ll always do it if it makes you smile. Are you free tomorrow night? I’m in London again.”

Her heart stuttered. It always did. That unwavering determination in him. He came to London so often for business, for sponsor commitments, for friends, for his family. He always tried to see her. She wanted to see him, but fear overshadowed her longing.

She typed back a response she’d practiced often: “I’m not sure. I might be busy.”

Another immediate reply. “You’re always busy. Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll be waiting.”

His words were simple, but they carried weight. “I’ll be waiting.” She couldn’t help but replay that phrase in her head, as though he were whispering it against her ear.

—

The Next Day

Y/N was perched on her living room couch, phone in hand, finishing up a Zoom call for work. Her legs were curled beneath her, and a loose T-shirt paired with leggings—her usual weekend attire—clung lightly to her form. She was comfortable, or at least she should have been, but she felt on edge.

Once she clicked off the call, she exhaled a sigh of relief. It was a Saturday, and though she was often used to the standard “9 to 5, Monday to Friday,” there were occasional weekend tasks that cropped up. She scrolled absentmindedly through her phone, ignoring the swirl of posts about Lando on social media. His fans loved him, especially the female fans. Photos of him with random women at clubs made their rounds more times than she could count. Even though it was rumored that he’d calmed down in recent years, the scars of rumor still trailed him. She’d read the gossip about how he used to message unknown girls, strangers, looking for a quick fling whenever he was traveling for races. The idea of it made her stomach twist with disgust and jealousy.

A ping from her group chat with Pietra and a few other friends lit the screen.

Pietra: “We’re meeting for coffee near Tower Bridge. Lando’s coming too. Wanna join?”

The moment she saw Lando’s name, a spike of adrenaline made her drop her phone. It tumbled to the carpet. She picked it up swiftly, chewing her lip. Her heart hammered. She had two choices: go and endure the swirl of tension, or avoid him again. She typed, paused, frowned, then typed again.

Y/N: “Sure, I could use some air. I’ll be there.”

She braced herself. No matter how much she denied it, she craved his presence like a moth to a flame.

–

It was late morning, and the area around Tower Bridge buzzed with tourists. Y/N arrived at the spot Pietra had texted her earlier.

She spotted Pietra first, already waving in her direction. Y/N forced a small smile and walked over to the group, her stomach tightening with nerves and anticipation. Off to the side, hands tucked into his pockets, stood Lando. He wore a casual black hoodie and jeans, his curls slightly messy, the corners of his mouth lifting the moment his eyes landed on her.

“You came,” he said softly, stepping forward. His voice carried that blend of relief and excitement that sent her heart into overdrive.

“Yeah. I was free,” she answered, trying to keep her tone neutral. She sensed his gaze trailing over her, as if he were filing away the details of her attire, her mood, the subtle flush in her cheeks. An invisible current of tension seemed to crackle between them.

Pietra cleared her throat. “Should we order?”

Lando tore his gaze away from Y/N and nodded, “Sure.” But she felt the way his eyes flicked back to her, how he lingered near her side when they moved to the counter. Despite her best efforts not to, her awareness of him was total.

They settled at a table outdoors, bright umbrellas casting soft shade over the group. The friend group chatted easily, laughter flowing between sips of coffee and bites of pastry. Y/N remained a little tense, contributing here and there, sipping her latte slowly as she listened.

Yet…he seemed utterly entranced. He spoke to everyone, but his attention always gravitated back to her. Whenever he cracked a joke, his eyes sought her reaction first. Whenever he shifted in his seat, his leg brushed against hers. Her pulse jumped each time. She tried to keep her breathing steady, tried to keep any sign of giddiness off her face.

Eventually, Pietra, Max, and the others peeled off to stroll down the riverwalk. Y/N was left sipping the last of her latte beside Lando, who silently took the seat across from her. The noise of the surrounding tourists faded into the background as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the small table.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls again,” he said, not accusing but definitely not thrilled.

She stiffened. “I’ve been busy.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “Too busy to text back?”

“Sometimes,” she replied coldly. Her tone was sharper than she’d intended. A flicker of hurt skimmed across his face, quickly replaced by a careful mask of neutrality.

“I—” he began, then paused, searching for words. “I just… I still want to see you. I was thinking maybe dinner tonight, or we could do something else if you don’t like fancy dinners—”

She cut him off, voice low and tight with barely contained frustration. “Why don’t you give up?”

The faintest flicker of anger ignited in his eyes. “Why would I do that?”

“Because,” she hissed, suddenly aware of her own rising irritation, “it’s pointless. All these months, me pushing you away—none of it has made you stop. And I—God, Lando, I don’t do…casual flings. So if that’s what you’re after, just quit.”

He stared at her as though she’d slapped him. He blinked, expression twisting in something halfway between confusion and raw frustration. “You think that’s all I want?”

She set her cup down with more force than necessary. “That’s all you ever had with all those other girls, wasn’t it?” She intended the words as a challenge, but they came out drenched in resentment and, worse, hurt. It was her deepest fear, the one that tormented her in quiet hours: that he would treat her the same as everyone else.

His jaw clenched. “Stop believing everything you read. I know I’ve… I’ve not been a saint in the past. But I never cheated on anyone. And as for random flings—fine, that was years ago, when I was still trying to figure myself out. I’m not proud of it. But I’m not that person anymore.”

She folded her arms, refusing to meet his eyes. “People don’t just change overnight, Lando.”

He exhaled sharply. “I’m not asking you to trust me blindly. I’m just… I’m just trying to show you that I want you. God, you make me want things I’ve never wanted with anyone else. Does that really mean nothing to you?”

It felt like a lightning bolt of adrenaline speared through her. Her mind screamed that he was telling the truth, that there was sincerity in his voice that melted her guard. But the other half of her mind whirled with all the old rumors, all her insecurities, all the nights she’d lain in bed, scrolling through social media, seeing him partying in clubs with women who pressed themselves against him. Cheating rumors. Her chest constricted.

She stood abruptly, trying to keep her tone cold. “I told you. I don’t do casual. And I don’t think you’d give me anything else.”

His anger flared. He shot to his feet, almost toppling the chair behind him. A few people glanced their way. Leaning in close, he said, voice pitched low, “Stop deciding who I am before you even give me a chance.”

The rawness in his voice nearly undid her. Pain laced through her chest. She wanted to just fold into him, bury her face in his shoulder, pretend those years of rumors didn’t exist. But she couldn’t. “I’m sorry,” she managed, stepping back. “I can’t.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the half-full cup and his stony gaze behind. Her pulse thundered the entire time she headed home, the world blurring around the edges, tears prickling her eyes in a dizzying swirl of guilt and fear.

–

That evening, Y/N was sprawled on her couch, aimlessly flipping channels on the TV while her thoughts spiraled. She replayed that confrontation with Lando by the café at least a dozen times, dissecting every line, every half-hidden tremor of emotion in his voice. The regret was strong. She truly liked him—liked him to a painful degree. She yearned for him so badly she almost found it difficult to breathe. And yet, she was terrified. The idea of trusting him, and having it all fall apart, shook her to her core.

Her phone pinged once more.

Unknown Number: “Hey, it’s Damien. Pietra gave me your number. She mentioned you might be up for a date sometime?”

Y/N jolted upright, reading the text with surprise. She vaguely recalled Pietra mentioning a coworker’s friend who was single and looking to meet new people. She’d brushed it off at the time. But now, the idea of distracting herself from Lando’s incessant presence held a strong appeal. Maybe this was the way to break the cycle of longing.

Y/N: “Hi Damien, yes, Pietra told me about you. I’m free tomorrow if you want to meet?”

She hit send before she could second-guess herself. Letting out a breath, she pulled a blanket around her. This was what she needed, right? A normal guy, with no baggage, no string of humiliating rumors trailing him. She forced herself to ignore the pang of guilt in her stomach, that unshakable sense of betrayal for wanting to see someone else even though she was in no official relationship with Lando. She tried to rationalize it: Lando was the one who was truly unattainable, not her. The heart has to protect itself somehow.

It was the next day—a Sunday, bleak clouds gathering overhead. The wind rattled the windows of her high-rise. Y/N was in the middle of a laundry marathon, folding clothes in her living room, the TV chattering about random gossip in the background. A ring from the door buzzer startled her. She peeked at the digital display to see who it was. Her breath caught when she recognized the curly-haired figure looking resolutely into the camera. Lando.

Her first thought was to ignore him. But a burst of adrenaline had her pressing the intercom. “What do you want?” she asked, voice muffled by the speaker.

He looked up at the camera. She saw from the slight droop in his shoulders that he was determined but…vulnerable. His voice came through, a bit crackly. “I need to see you. Please.”

Her heart hammered. With a heavy exhale, she pressed the button to unlock the main door. She might regret it. But she needed closure, or something. She left the front door of her apartment ajar. Moments later, he stepped in, carrying a bouquet of pink peonies this time—her actual favorite. She’d offhandedly mentioned her love of peonies weeks ago. She swallowed the knot forming in her throat.

“You have to stop with the flowers,” she said by way of greeting.

He set them on a nearby shelf, ignoring her complaint. “I’m not apologizing for sending you flowers. It’s the least I can do for you.”

She stood there, arms crossing over her chest, vaguely aware of how her T-shirt and leggings did nothing to hide the shape of her hips and legs. She felt vulnerable letting him see her like this, so casual and undone. But he didn’t seem to notice anything but her eyes. Stepping closer, he spoke in a quiet, tense voice.

“Look,” he began, “I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to snap. I just—seeing how you look at me, like I’m the worst person in the world, it kills me. You never give me the benefit of the doubt.”

Her throat tightened. Anger, guilt, and longing all warred within her. “You haven’t exactly proven me wrong. Every time I check social media, there’s a rumor, or a photo—”

His eyes blazed. “That’s not me anymore. Do you know how old some of those photos are? You think I’m hooking up with random girls at clubs while trying to chase you for nine months? I have no idea how to prove I’m not lying except to say it outright: I’m not sleeping around. I’m not cheating. I don’t want to be with them, I want to be with you.”

The sincerity in his voice was so intense it shook her defenses. “But I can’t just…unhear the rumors. You had that reputation for so long, Lando.”

He drew in a breath, his frustration palpable. “I know. But people change. I’m not going to apologize forever for my past mistakes. I’ll own them. And you can ask me anything. Let me show you who I am now.”

Her eyes darted to the side. She felt the press of her own heartbeat rattling through her ears. When she didn’t answer, he took a bold step forward, bridging the small distance between them. His gaze flicked down, glimpsing the way her full hips curved into her waist. She saw that flicker of admiration in his eyes. She braced herself, expecting a sexual comment, but it never came. Instead, he reached out carefully, like he was half afraid she would flinch.

He gently touched the side of her face, fingertips grazing her cheek. The warmth of his touch sent a sizzling jolt through her. She swallowed, her throat dry, every nerve in her body going taut.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low and rough, “you’ve got to give me a chance.”

Her walls trembled. She wanted to push him away, but the swirl of desire in her belly was strong, overwhelming. She found herself leaning in slightly, like a magnet.

“God, you’re such a jerk sometimes,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, though it lacked conviction. Anger and longing clashed in her tone.

His lips quirked into a small, bittersweet smile. “But you still like me,” he murmured. It wasn’t a question.

A heartbeat passed—then another. Before she knew it, his mouth was on hers, the kiss hard and urgent. She gasped, her body stiffening in shock before melting into him. The laundry in her arms tumbled to the floor. His hand cupped her cheek, drawing her closer, and she tilted her head, letting him deepen the kiss. The taste of his mouth—coffee and mint—erased every rational thought in her head for a thrilling, reckless moment.

Her arms found their way around his shoulders. His hand slipped from her cheek down to the small of her back, pressing her into him. She felt the warmth of his body, the electric tension that had brewed for months now set free. His chest rose and fell rapidly against hers.

But then, like a jolt of lightning, the fear snapped back into her. She broke the kiss, pushing him away with trembling hands. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and he stood there, panting.

“Shit,” she mumbled, stumbling a step back. “I can’t do this.”

“Y/N,” he said, voice husky. “Don’t—”

She shook her head. She couldn’t even form words. She just fled to the door and swung it open, voice trembling, “You should leave.”

He hesitated, heartbreak flickering in his eyes, but he eventually stepped out. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, she felt tears welling, unstoppable. She sank to the floor, burying her face in her hands.

–

In the days that followed, Y/N avoided every text and call from Lando. She even avoided Pietra’s invites, terrified he might show up. She drowned herself in work, volunteering for extra tasks at the office. She took long shifts, poured over spreadsheets, answered emails into the late hours of the night. She hammered her free time with exercise. She tried everything to chase the memory of his kiss away. She was furious at herself for letting it happen, furious at the swirl of contradictory emotions she couldn’t control.

She told herself that was it. She couldn’t let it happen again.

But deep down, she knew she was lying. The way his lips felt on hers haunted her. She replayed the second their mouths connected, how her heart soared with a new kind of adrenaline. The crash afterward was brutal, leaving her feeling hollow.

–

One week later, Y/N found herself in a quiet, upscale restaurant near Covent Garden, fidgeting with her napkin. Damien sat across from her, a kind smile on his face, conversation polite and gentle. He was the epitome of normal—a stable job in finance, an easy sense of humor, no swirling rumors or paparazzi following him. She forced herself to pay attention to him and not think about Lando.

But every time she noticed Damien’s neat, short hair and pressed collared shirt, she missed Lando’s messy curls and casual hoodies. Every time Damien asked a sweet, thoughtful question, she imagined Lando’s witty, borderline-arrogant grin. This was torture in a different sense. She forced herself to laugh at Damien’s jokes, but the laughter sounded hollow to her own ears.

“So,” Damien said, leaning forward. “Tell me more about your job, about you. Pietra said you moved here?”

She nodded. “Yes, over 5 years ago. I, well, my life is pretty routine. Wake up, commute, work, come home. Maybe watch Netflix or read. Nothing exciting.” She tried to laugh it off.

Damien smiled. “Routine isn’t bad. I like reliable people.”

She forced a polite smile back. She was about to respond when she felt a distinct presence behind her. That comforting sense of tension that always accompanied… him. Slowly, she turned her head. Her heart lurched in her chest. Standing near the entrance to the restaurant, accompanied by two of his mates, was Lando. The world seemed to stutter for a second. He was scanning the room—probably looking for a table or maybe meeting someone. And then he saw her. 

His entire posture stiffened. Their eyes locked, the swirl of unspoken emotion instantly thickening the air. She felt a spike of panic. She prayed he wouldn’t come over, wouldn’t make a scene. Yet part of her wanted him to. Maybe because she longed to see him again.

He shot her a look that asked a thousand questions. She could almost read the accusation in his gaze. She averted her eyes, turning back to Damien, whose brow furrowed with confusion as he followed the direction of her gaze to see Lando.

“Oh,” Damien said, not quite sure what was happening. “Is that a friend of yours?”

She cleared her throat. “Sort of. We… we move in the same circle,” she lied, or half-lied. “Let’s just ignore him.” She forced a laugh.

But ignoring Lando Norris was impossible. Out of the corner of her vision, she watched him murmur something to his friends and stride purposefully toward her table. Her stomach dropped. Damien noticed her sudden tension.

“Y/N? You okay?”

She tried to smile, but the attempt was pitiful. Before she could speak, Lando stood at the edge of their table, hands in his pockets, face set in a carefully neutral mask. She heard the quickness of his breath, saw the faint flush in his cheeks that told her he was not calm at all.

“Hey,” he said, voice clipped. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Damien, noticing the tension, stood from his seat politely and offered his hand. “Hello, I’m Damien. I’m Y/N’s—”

“Friend,” she interjected too quickly, her cheeks blazing. She avoided Lando’s gaze, focusing on her water glass.

Damien hesitated, confusion scrawled on his features. “Yes, well, friend for now.”

Lando’s jaw ticked, and he slid his eyes to Y/N. She could feel the wave of anger rolling off him. A tight, forced smile appeared on his face as he took Damien’s hand, giving it a quick shake. “Lando. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Damien replied, though he seemed unsure about the whole situation.

Her heart hammered so loud she was surprised they couldn’t hear it. Lando parted his lips, hesitated, then said in a low voice, “Hope you both enjoy your meal.” He turned to her, eyes burning with unspoken frustration. “We’ll catch up another time, yeah?”

She nodded stiffly, feeling her throat constrict. “Sure,” she managed. Then he was gone, joining his friends at a table across the restaurant. The man was too well-known to cause a scene in a public place with prying eyes, but the tension was thick enough to slice through with a knife.

Damien slowly sank back into his seat, giving her a concerned glance. “Is everything okay? You two seemed…tense.”

She forced another laugh that sounded high-pitched and desperate to her own ears. “We have a bit of a… complicated history.” She tried to wave it off, picking up the menu. But her eyes couldn’t seem to stop flicking to the side, drawn to the figure of Lando, who was now sitting with his friends at a table partially in view. She felt him glancing at her. The weight of that gaze pinned her down. Her appetite vanished.

Over the course of dinner, she tried to maintain a steady conversation with Damien. She forced herself to nod politely at whatever he was saying, some anecdote about a recent trip to Ireland. She tried to laugh when appropriate. But her mind was wholly consumed by Lando. The tightness of her chest only worsened each time she felt his eyes on her.

Finally, Damien noticed her distraction. He followed her gaze, turning to see Lando, who was tapping his foot impatiently beneath his table, occasionally whispering to his two friends. One friend seemed to be trying to calm him down. Y/N swallowed, bracing herself as she realized that every fiber of her being was screaming at her. This was too intense, too complicated, too painful. She was trying so hard to maintain composure.

Damien, clearing his throat, leaned forward, voice gentle. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you and…that guy, but if you need to talk about it, I’m here to listen. I like you. I’d like to keep seeing you. But if your heart’s somewhere else—”

She flinched. “It’s not. I… Lando and I aren’t dating. It’s complicated. But I’m here on this date with you,” she said, trying to cling to normalcy.

Damien offered a sad smile. “Yeah. But I’m not blind to the tension.” He gestured softly toward Lando. “If you have unresolved feelings with him, you need to figure that out, Y/N. It’s not fair to either of us otherwise.”

She nodded, feeling tears prickling. She didn’t want to break down in front of a near stranger. “You’re right,” she said, voice cracking. “I’m sorry.”

Damien’s gaze was kind. “No worries. Let’s just finish dinner. We can talk afterwards.”

She offered him a grateful half-smile. As she forced down a few bites of her meal, she avoided looking at Lando. But near the end, she heard a scraping of chairs. He and his friends were leaving. Unable to control herself, she glanced up to catch him staring at her with an expression of stony, confused anger. It shot a pang of guilt straight through her. Then, without a word, he walked out. The door swung behind him, leaving her with an ache deep in her gut.

–

It was later that night, and Y/N was beyond exhausted—physically from the clack of her heels on concrete all evening, and emotionally from the drain of a lukewarm date. She’d said goodbye to Damien just outside her building, gently declining his request for a second date. Although she’d been polite, her thoughts had circled only one person the entire evening. Her heart grew heavier with every step she took toward the large glass doors of her high-rise. The cold night air bit at her cheeks, and she wanted nothing more than to escape into the warmth of her living room.

As she neared the entrance, punching in the code to unlock the main doors, a figure shifted in the shadows beside one of the pillars. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she nearly dropped her keys. She drew in a sharp breath.

From the darkness, Lando stepped out, leaning heavily against the glass. There was a ferocity in his gaze she’d never quite seen before. His arms were folded over his chest, but the tension rippling through his shoulders was almost visible. He looked like he was fighting a battle just to keep himself from exploding.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” she blurted, voice shaky with a mix of adrenaline and nerves. A dozen alarm bells rang in her head—she’d never seen him look this furious, this…possessive.

He didn’t move from his spot. “Sorry,” he muttered, but there was nothing apologetic in his tone. “I knew you’d be home eventually.”

She tried to brush past him into the lobby, pressing the key fob firmly against the reader. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, forcing as much calm as she could muster. The glass doors slid open with a hiss, revealing the polished marble of the foyer.

He followed her inside, shoulders practically quivering with restrained anger. “We need to talk.”

The intensity in his eyes made her throat tighten. She hugged her arms around herself. “About what?” she spat, stepping toward the elevator. She was angry—angry with him for continuing to show up unannounced, angry with herself for the guilt she carried. She jabbed the elevator button, watching the numbers tick down from the top floor. “I have nothing to say to you.”

He slid into the elevator with her right as the doors closed, leaving them trapped in that small space. She felt his presence like static electricity, filling the air. If jealousy were a fire, he’d be an inferno right now—scorching everything in reach.

He turned, chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. “About you going on a date with some other guy, when you damn well know there’s something between us.”

His voice was low, dangerous. She’d never heard such palpable fury from him. It made her heart pound wildly. She scoffed, fixing her gaze on the metallic elevator doors. “You and I have nothing,” she said icily, though her voice quivered at the end. “I’ve told you a thousand times: it wouldn’t work. But you refuse to back off. So yes, Lando, I went on a date.”

His eyes blazed as though her words poured fuel on his rage. His hand twitched at his side—she half-expected him to slam his fist against the elevator wall. “Why?” he growled, struggling to keep his volume low. “Because you think he’ll be more stable? Because you think I can’t be serious about you? That I can’t commit? Or because you wanted to hurt me, rub it in my face that you can walk away any time you want?”

She whipped her head around, eyes blazing with her own anger. “Don’t twist my intentions,” she snapped. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just—I don’t think you can give me what I need. You’re Lando Norris, the guy plastered all over social media with a harem of women. Even if half of it isn’t true, how am I supposed to know which half?”

The elevator dinged, but it felt more like a bomb dropping. When the doors slid open to her floor, she stormed out into the hallway, rummaging through her purse for her keys. He followed closely on her heels, the anger rolling off him like crashing waves.

She finally snagged the key, her entire body trembling with the aftershocks of their argument. “Just go home, Lando,” she muttered, not daring to look at him. She was terrified of what she might see there—hurt, or worse, a brokenness that mirrored her own.

“Not until we settle this,” he hissed. Before she could argue, he stepped in front of her door, effectively blocking it. She stared at his chest for a second, realizing she had to physically push him aside if she wanted to run. The tension in the air was suffocating.

With a furious huff, she shoved the key into the lock and shouldered past him. He slipped inside right behind her. The door slammed shut, and an uneasy silence filled the dimly lit entryway of her apartment. The glow of the city outside cast faint patterns on the wall, but the atmosphere felt like a tinderbox seconds from erupting.

“Fine,” she bit out, tossing her bag onto the kitchen counter with a little too much force. “Talk.”

He ran both hands through his hair, pacing like a caged animal, that wild, jealous energy crackling around him. “You keep spitting out all these reasons you can’t be with me,” he began, voice trembling with a mixture of rage and desperation. “All these rumors—you act like I’m the same reckless kid I was years ago. But I’m not.”

She pressed her arms tighter around herself, trying to combat the swirl of adrenaline. “How am I supposed to believe that?” she demanded, voice cracking. “The cheating rumors. The flings. The endless girls in your DMs. You want to stand there and tell me it’s all lies?”

He let out a harsh bark of laughter, frustration strangling the sound. “Not all lies. But the cheating—yes, those were lies. The hooking up—fine, it happened, but not when I had a girlfriend. I was lonely and stupid, and yeah, I messed around. But not anymore.” His fists clenched at his sides, as though the words themselves hurt coming out. “Ever since you walked into my life, I’ve done nothing but try to show you that I’ve changed. I’ve never cheated on you, never even let myself think of anyone else. But you don’t see that, do you? Because you’d rather believe I’m—”

She cut him off with a bitter laugh, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “Don’t turn this on me. I’ve watched pictures of you partying with girls, read about all the nights you went clubbing while your ex was nowhere to be found. How do I know you won’t do that to me, too?”

His eyes flared with hurt. He drew in a ragged breath, then pounded his fist once, softly yet furiously, against the side of her sofa. “Stop. Stop punishing me for something I didn’t do. You want to know the truth? I hated those rumors. I hated that I didn’t do enough to shut them down. But I was too caught up in my life—racing, traveling, trying to please everyone. I can’t change that now. But I would never treat you like that.”

She sniffed, tears brimming, voice wavering. “Then how do I know—”

“You don’t,” he interrupted, voice cracking on the edges. “You either trust me or you don’t.”

For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other. Her tears clung to her lashes, and the anguish in his expression was brutal. The space between them thrummed with pent-up longing and towering anger, their conflicting emotions practically vibrating in the dimly lit living room.

“That’s the problem,” she whispered finally, wiping at her eyes. “I’m scared. You’re Lando Norris. You could have anyone, and—God, look at me. I’m never going to be those girls. Never. I can’t compete with them.”

He laughed again, but it was devoid of humor, laced with sarcasm and heartbreak. “Compete with them? Compete for what? They mean nothing to me, Y/N. Nothing. Half the pictures you see are just me stuck in a club for a sponsor event or forced to smile next to models at a photoshoot. Do you think I’m sending them designer shoes or spending every spare moment trying to figure out how to get them to give me a chance?”

She closed her eyes, tears leaking down her cheeks. She hated feeling weak in front of him, but the swirl of rage and longing was too strong to contain. “You could just be infatuated. Maybe I’m the new chase, that’s all.”

Something inside him snapped at those words. He let out a sharp expletive, stepping forward, crowding her against the back of the couch. His eyes burned, voice trembling with an anger that threatened to boil over. “You really think so little of me? You think I’d be standing here like a bloody idiot, night after night, sending you flowers and calling you, chasing you across the city—just because I’m bored? How can you not see how furious it makes me, seeing you with someone else, even the idea of someone else, when I’ve done nothing but try to show you that you’re the only one I want?”

She flinched at the raw intensity in his voice. Her heart thundered, torn between fear and a twisted sense of relief that at least he cared this much. “I just—” she started, but her words failed her.

He grabbed her wrist, not painfully, but firmly enough that she couldn’t ignore him. “Do you have any idea how jealous I was tonight?” he practically snarled. “I’ve been pacing around your building, counting the hours, imagining you laughing with him, letting him touch you the way I want to—” His voice broke off, a tremor running through his shoulders. “It drove me insane.”

She swallowed hard, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Why?” she rasped. “Why do you even care?”

“Why?” he echoed. He let out a ragged breath, finally loosening his hold on her. His gaze flicked over her face, taking in every tear, every shaky breath. “Because I—” He closed his eyes, trembling. “Because I’m falling in love with you, Y/N. And it’s driving me out of my mind that you can’t see that.”

It was more of a confession than she’d ever expected, especially with so much anger behind it. She felt her whole world tilt. Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her heart hammered an erratic beat.

He stared at her, eyes a storm of rage and vulnerability. “So go ahead,” he said, voice cracking. “Yell at me. Tell me you don’t believe me. Tell me all the reasons we won’t work. But don’t you dare say I don’t care. Because I do. Too damn much.”

She choked back a sob, clinging to the edge of the couch for support. “Lando—”

He moved closer, so close she felt the heat radiating from him, the raw tension. In the hush of the apartment, their frantic breaths seemed deafening. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners. She didn’t know if it was the weight of his words or the sheer presence of him that shattered her defenses, but something inside her cracked wide open.

He brought a hand up, shaking slightly, and brushed the tears from her cheek. His touch was unexpectedly gentle given the fury in his eyes. “For God’s sake,” he muttered, voice tight, “just let me in. Let me show you.”

Her tears flowed freely now, a twisted mix of heartbreak and an ache for him she could no longer deny. Her lips trembled, trying to form a response, but all that came was a shaky sob. His breath hitched as if her pain sliced right through him. Suddenly, he couldn’t hold back; he looped an arm around her waist and yanked her against his chest, cradling her as if she might shatter. She stiffened at first, the shock of his physical closeness overwhelming. But then her fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, and she buried her face there, letting the dam break.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered fiercely into her hair. His voice still vibrated with anger, but it was undercut by raw desperation. “I’m so fucking jealous I can’t think straight, but I— I don’t want to lose you.”

She cried against him, letting the emotions flood her. Her tears soaked into his clothes. Her body shook as she let out all the doubts, the insecurities, the fear of being betrayed or left behind. He just held her, pressing rough kisses into her hair, letting his own ragged breaths warm the top of her head.

After what felt like an eternity, she pulled back enough to look up at him. His eyes were bloodshot with pent-up emotion. She could still sense the roiling jealousy and frustration coursing through him like a living thing.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked. “I’m sorry for always pushing you away. I’m sorry for—”

He silenced her with a searing kiss, lips crashing onto hers in a fierce, desperate claim. She gasped, momentarily stunned by the sheer force of it. Then a molten wave of longing shot through her, and she melted into him. Her arms came up around his neck, tangling in his messy curls. She sensed all that anger still there, fueling each press of his mouth, each frantic swipe of his tongue. But underneath it was something deeper—love, need, a yearning she recognized in herself.

He broke away only to rasp, “Don’t. Don’t apologize. Just—don’t run. Not anymore.”

She answered by pulling him back in, their kiss turning hot and frantic. Her tears mixed with the taste of his mouth, and she felt his hands roam over her waist, her hips, dragging her impossibly close. She moaned against his lips, the press of their bodies kindling an urgency that had been building for months.

Their breaths grew ragged as he maneuvered her backward until her knees hit the couch. She sank onto it, drawing him with her. He stared down at her, chest heaving, eyes heavy-lidded with desire—and still, that anger flickered at the edges. But now, his fury morphed into a desperate need to claim her, to prove himself in a way words never could.

“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, voice throaty and laced with jealousy so thick it almost hurt. “Tell me you want me, not him, not anyone else. Me.”

She cupped his face between her trembling hands. “God, Lando…I do,” she whispered, tears still wet on her cheeks. “It’s always been you.”

That was all he needed. His mouth crashed onto hers once more, their kisses feverish and unrestrained. She tugged at his hoodie, pulling it up until he helped yank it over his head. Her fingers immediately splayed across the warm skin of his back, feeling the tense muscles there. He groaned at her touch, sliding a hand under her blouse to stroke the small of her back, his calloused fingertips igniting every nerve ending.

Their kiss turned hungrier, the taste of him filling her senses. She arched against him, pressing her hips up into his. His lips trailed fiery kisses along her jaw, dipping to her neck, where he bit down softly, making her gasp. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.

His voice shook against her skin. “I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else,” he confessed, jealousy clinging to every syllable. “It drives me mad.”

Her breath hitched. Somehow, hearing how worked up he was, how all-consuming his feelings were, stoked her own desire. “I’m sorry,” she managed again, though it came out in a ragged whisper. “I’m— God, I’m sorry.”

He answered with another bruising kiss, leaving no space for apologies. His hand slid higher under her blouse, caressing the curve of her waist, tracing the outline of her ribcage. Her body quivered, half from the adrenaline spike, half from the sudden waves of pleasure.

Time blurred as they gave in to months of tension. She’d dreamed of this, yearned for it. But never had she imagined the raw intensity—especially not with him practically shaking from jealousy and fear of losing her. Every whispered plea, every frantic movement, carried that undercurrent of anger and heartbreak that now fed straight into a spiraling passion.

Lando’s lips claimed hers with a ferocity that left her breathless, his hands gripping her hips as if she might vanish if he loosened his hold. The taste of him was intoxicating—spiced with desperation, laced with a jealousy she could feel vibrating through every inch of his body. He pulled back only to trail kisses across her face—her cheeks, her jawline, her neck—each one a searing mark of his obsession. His mouth was everywhere, and she could barely think, let alone resist.

“Lando,” she gasped, her voice trembling as his lips brushed the sensitive spot beneath her ear. His breath hitched, and she felt the tension in his shoulders, the restrained fury and longing that had been building for months.

“I’ve waited too long for this,” he growled against her skin, his hands sliding up her sides to grip the hem of her blouse. With a sharp tug, he pulled it over her head, leaving her in nothing but her bra. The cool air hit her skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze as he took her in.

His hands slid over her shoulders, down her arms, then back up to cup her face. He kissed her again, softer this time, but no less urgent. His thumbs brushed her cheeks, wiping away the remnants of her tears. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent. “I can’t believe I almost lost you.”

Her breath caught as he moved lower, his lips brushing her collarbone, her shoulders, every inch of her exposed skin. His hands fumbled with the clasp of her bra, and she arched into him, her heart pounding as the fabric fell away. The moment her breasts were bare, his eyes darkened with hunger.

“God, I’ve dreamed about this,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. His hands cupped her, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, and she couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped her lips. He smiled—a wicked, possessive thing—before lowering his head to take one into his mouth.

The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. His tongue swirled around her nipple, teasing and sucking, and she tangled her fingers in his curls, pulling him closer. He groaned against her skin, the sound vibrating through her chest, and she felt her hips arch involuntarily.

“Lando,” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. “Please.”

He pulled back just enough to look up at her, his lips swollen, his eyes blazing. “Tell me you’re mine,” he demanded, his voice rough. “Tell me no one else gets to touch you like this.”

She could barely think, let alone form words, but she managed to nod, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “I’m yours,” she whispered. “Only yours.”

That was all he needed. He dove back in, his mouth claiming her other breast with the same intensity. His hands roamed over her body, exploring every curve, every inch of skin as if he were memorizing her. She writhed beneath him, her moans filling the room, her hands clutching at his back as if he were the only thing keeping her grounded.

He shifted, his lips trailing down her sternum, over her ribs, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His hands squeezed her hips, fingers digging into her skin, and she whimpered, the sound desperate and needy.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. He kissed her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel, and she gasped, her back arching off the couch. His hands slid up her sides, tracing the curve of her waist, before finally cupping her breasts again.

He leaned up, his lips claiming hers in a searing kiss, and she could taste herself on his tongue—sweet, addictive. His hands kneaded her breasts, his thumbs brushing her nipples, and she moaned into his mouth, her hips grinding against his.

“I’ve been imagining this for so long,” he confessed, pulling back just enough to speak. His breath was warm against her skin, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire. “Every night, I’ve dreamed about touching you like this. About feeling you beneath me. About making you moan my name.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she tugged him closer, her lips capturing his in a desperate kiss. He groaned, his hands sliding down her body to grip her hips, pulling her flush against him. She could feel the hardness of him through his jeans, and she whimpered, the sound muffled against his lips.

“Lando,” she gasped, breaking the kiss. Her hands slid down his chest, fumbling with the button of his jeans. He watched her, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes filled with need.

“Wait,” he growled, catching her hands in his. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Before she could protest, he pushed her back against the couch, his lips trailing down her body once more. He kissed her breasts, her stomach, her hips, and she squirmed beneath him, her hands tangling in his hair as he reached for the waistband of her jeans. His hands were impatient, fingers fumbling with the button and zipper, and she let out a shaky laugh, half from nerves, half from the sheer intensity of his focus.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice trembling as he tugged the denim down her hips. He kissed her exposed skin, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just above the edge of her panties, and she gasped, her back arching off the couch. Her jeans pooled at her ankles, and he pulled them off in one swift motion, tossing them aside without a second thought.

Her legs were bare now, her body trembling beneath his gaze. He looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered, his eyes filled with a hunger that made her heart race. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “Every inch of you.”

Her hands clenched in his hair, tugging him closer as he kissed his way back up her body. His lips found hers again, the kiss bruising, desperate, and she moaned into his mouth, her hips lifting off the couch in search of friction. He groaned, his fingers digging into her hips as he held her still, his lips moving to her neck, her collarbone, her breasts.

“Lando,” she gasped, her voice breaking as his teeth grazed her nipple. He chuckled, the sound low and satisfied, before pulling back to look at her.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he promised, his eyes blazing with intent. She shivered, her body already a trembling mess beneath him, and he smirked, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs. “Not even close.”

“Lando,” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “Please.”

He looked up at her, his eyes blazing, and he didn’t say a word. Instead, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties and pulled them down, leaving her completely bare. Her breath hitched as he stared at her, his gaze raking over her body with a hunger that made her heart race.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice low and reverent. “Every inch of you.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing the inside of her thigh, and she tensed, her hands clutching the couch cushions. His breath was warm against her skin, and she whimpered, her hips lifting off the couch in a silent plea.

“Lando,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Please.”

He didn’t make her wait. His mouth claimed her in one swift movement, and she cried out, her back arching off the couch. His tongue swirled around her, teasing and tasting, and she tangled her hands in his hair, pulling him closer.

“Oh, God,” she moaned, her hips grinding against his face. “Lando, please.”

Lando’s mouth was relentless, his tongue tracing every inch of her with a hunger that left her trembling. She could feel the slick heat of him working her, his tongue lapping at her entrance, teasing her with slow, deliberate strokes that made her toes curl. “Oh, God, Lando,” she gasped, her hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer as if she could fuse him to her. His lips wrapped around her clit, sucking gently at first, then harder, and she let out a strangled cry, her hips lifting off the couch. The sensation was electric, like a current running straight to her core, and she could feel herself getting wetter, her body responding to every flick of his tongue.

“You taste so fucking good,” he growled against her skin, his voice rough and raw. “I’ve been dreaming about this—about how sweet you’d feel, how tight you’d be.” His tongue swirled around her clit, teasing her mercilessly, and she moaned, the sound ragged and desperate. He pulled back just enough to look up at her, his eyes blazing with a mix of lust and something deeper, something possessive. “I could spend hours here,” he muttered, his breath hot against her skin. “Just tasting you, learning every inch of you. You’re fucking addictive.”

She whimpered, her body quivering as he dove back in, his tongue working her with a skill that left her mind blank. He added two fingers, sliding them inside her with a groan, and she cried out, her pussy clenching around him. “Jesus, you’re so tight,” he murmured, his fingers curling inside her, hitting that spot that made her see stars. “And so fucking wet—God, you’re perfect.” He pumped his fingers slowly, drawing out every gasp, every moan, and she could feel herself spiraling toward the edge. “That’s it, baby,” he encouraged, his voice low and husky. “Let me hear you. Let me know how good I’m making you feel.”

She couldn’t hold back the sounds escaping her lips—moans, whimpers, his name repeated like a prayer. His tongue flicked over her clit, alternating between gentle licks and firm pressure, and she felt her legs quake, her body tightening like a coiled spring. “Lando, I—” she choked out, her voice breaking as the pleasure built to unbearable levels. “I’m so close—please.”

He didn’t let up, his mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony, driving her higher and higher until she shattered. Her orgasm hit her like a wave, crashing over her with a force that left her gasping for air, her pussy clenching around his fingers as she rode out the intensity. He didn’t stop, his tongue coaxing every last tremor from her body, his lips pressing soft, reverent kisses to her inner thighs as she came down from the high.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration. He leaned up, kissing her stomach, her chest, her lips, and she could taste herself on his tongue—sweet, intoxicating. “I’m never going to get enough of you,” he confessed, his hands roaming her body, memorizing her curves. “Your pussy, your taste, the way you moan my name—it’s all fucking perfect. You’re mine, Y/N. All mine.”

She nodded, too dazed to speak, her body still humming with pleasure. He kissed her again, slow and deep, and she melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair. He pulled back just enough to smirk at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “And I’m just getting started.”

Lando’s hands slid under her back, his strong arms lifting her effortlessly as if she weighed nothing. She gasped, her arms instinctively looping around his neck as he stood, cradling her against his chest. Her body felt weightless, her mind still hazy from the intensity of what he’d just done to her. He carried her through the dimly lit apartment, his steps purposeful and steady, never once breaking his gaze from hers. There was something possessive in his expression, something that made her heart race even faster.

When they reached her bedroom, he gently lowered her onto the bed, her body sinking into the softness of the mattress. She was completely bare now, her skin glowing faintly in the moonlight streaming through the windows. Her pussy was still sensitive, still throbbing from the way he’d made her come, and she could feel the slickness between her thighs as she lay there, her legs slightly parted—an unspoken invitation.

Lando stood at the edge of the bed, his eyes raking over her with a hunger that made her shiver. His fingers gripped the hem of his hoodie, and he yanked it over his head in one swift motion, revealing his toned chest and the faint trail of hair that led down to the waistband of his jeans. She bit her lip, her gaze tracing the lines of his body, the way his muscles flexed as he moved.

He wasted no time, his hands quickly undoing the button of his jeans, the zipper sliding down with a soft hiss. He kicked them off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, the fabric barely containing the hardness straining against it. Her breath hitched as she took him in, the reality of what was about to happen finally sinking in.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as he stepped closer to the bed. His hands slid up her thighs, his touch sending shivers through her. “I’ve been imagining this for so long—having you like this, seeing you laid out for me, completely mine.” He leaned down, his lips brushing her inner thigh, and she whimpered, her body arching toward him.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please…”

He smirked, that wicked, possessive smile she was starting to love—and fear—as he straightened. “Patience, love,” he said, his voice teasing. “I’m not done with you yet.” His hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed, and she felt the warmth of his body as he leaned over her, his breath hot against her skin. “You’re mine now, Y/N. All mine.”

Lando’s fingers traced the curve of her hip, his eyes filled with a possessive hunger that made her shiver. His breath was hot against her skin as he leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. “Tell me how you want me, Y/N,” he growled, his voice low and rough with desire. “Tell me what you need from me.”

Her breath hitched, her body trembling beneath his touch. She could feel the slick heat between her thighs, the ache for him almost unbearable. “You can do whatever you want with me, Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “Just—please. Fuck me. However you want. I just need you inside me.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. “Desperate for me, huh?” he teased, his fingers sliding up her thigh, tracing the sensitive skin there. “You’ve been dreaming about this, haven’t you? About me fucking you, making you mine.”

She whimpered, her hips lifting off the bed in a silent plea. “Yes,” she gasped, her hands clutching the sheets. “I need you, Lando. Please.”

He smirked, that wicked, possessive smile she was starting to love—and fear—as he straightened. Slowly, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, his eyes never leaving hers. The fabric slid down his hips, and her breath caught in her throat. He was bigger than she expected, his cock thick and hard, straining toward her. Her mouth watered at the sight, her body growing even wetter as she imagined how he would feel inside her.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I want to suck you. Let me—”

He cut her off with a firm shake of his head, his hand catching her chin and tilting her face up to his. “Not tonight, love,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Tonight’s about you. About worshiping you. About finally having you in the way I’ve been dreaming of for so long.” He leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a searing kiss. “You can suck me off another time. Right now, I need to be inside you. Right now, I need to see my dick sliding in and out of that pretty pussy of yours.”

Her breath hitched, her body trembling with anticipation. His words alone were enough to make her throb, but the way he looked at her—like she was the only thing that mattered—made her heart race even faster. She nodded, her legs falling open wider in an unspoken invitation.

Lando groaned, his hand sliding down to grip his cock, stroking himself once as he positioned himself between her thighs. “You’re mine now, Y/N,” he growled, his voice thick with possession. “All mine.”

Lando’s grip on her hips tightened as he lined himself up, the thick head of his cock brushing against her slick entrance. She gasped, her body instinctively arching toward his, desperate for more. Her pussy felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending alive and screaming for him. The way he stretched her was exquisite—a perfect mix of pleasure and a hint of pain that made her grind her hips against his, silently begging him to go deeper. She could feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as he pushed inside her, inch by torturously slow inch, filling her in a way that made her head spin. Her pussy clenched around him, as if it didn’t want to let him go, and she let out a whimper that was half pleasure, half desperation.

For Lando, it was like sliding into heaven. Her pussy was so fucking tight, gripping him like a velvet glove, and the heat of her was enough to make him see stars. He groaned, low and guttural, as he felt her walls flutter around him, her body adjusting to his size. “Fuck, Y/N,” he growled, his voice rough with need. “You’re so goddamn perfect. Your pussy feels like it was made for me.” He leaned down, capturing her lips in a fierce kiss, swallowing her moans as he pushed deeper. He could feel her nails digging into his back, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, and he knew she was just as desperate as he was.

He started to move, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in hard but slow, dragging the movement to prolong the unbearable pleasure. Her moans filled the room, a symphony of bliss that drove him wild. One of his hands held her hip, keeping her steady, while the other rested on the bed, his elbow bent to hold his weight above her. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, her fingers tangling in his curls as she clung to him, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Lando couldn’t get enough of her. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, her collarbone—every inch of skin he could reach. His lips traced a fiery path across her body, leaving marks that claimed her as his. “You’re mine,” he whispered against her skin, his voice thick with possession. “Every part of you. Your pussy, your moans, these fucking perfect tits—all fucking mine.” He pulled back just enough to look down at where their bodies were joined, his cock glistening with her arousal as he slid in and out of her. The sight was obscene, and it made his groin tighten with need. “Fuck, look at you,” he groaned. “Look how fucking wet you are for me. Your pussy’s sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”

She cried out as he thrust deeper, her hips lifting to meet his, eager for more. The friction was almost too much, every drag of his cock inside her sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. She could feel him in places she’d never felt anyone before, his length filling her completely, and the thought alone made her pussy clench around him. “Lando,” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “You feel so good. So fucking good. Don’t stop—please, don’t stop.”

He growled, his thrusts becoming harder, more deliberate, as if he was trying to imprint himself on her very soul. “I’m not stopping,” he promised, his voice rough with lust. “Not until you’re screaming my name, until you’re so fucking full of me you can’t think of anyone else.” His hand slid up from her hip to cup her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple, and she moaned, her back arching off the bed.

Her hips pressed against his, her eagerness driving him wild. He couldn’t believe how responsive she was, how perfectly she matched his rhythm, as if their bodies were made for each other. “You’re so fucking eager for me,” he muttered, his eyes blazing with need. “I love it. I love how much you fucking want me.” His lips crashed onto hers, their breaths mingling, and she could taste herself on his tongue, sweet and addictive.

Their movements grew frantic, desperate—a symphony of skin against skin, breathless moans, and the wet sound of their bodies colliding. She could feel it building, the tight coil in her core winding tighter and tighter until it threatened to snap. Her pussy clenched around him, the sensations overwhelming—every inch of him filling her, stretching her, making her feel impossibly full. The friction was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body, and she could tell from the erratic rhythm of his thrusts that he was close too.

“Please, Lando,” she begged, her voice trembling with desperation. “Come with me. Let me feel you.”

He groaned, his forehead resting against hers as his hips stuttered. “Fuck, baby, come on my cock,” he panted, his voice rough with need. “I want to feel you clench around me. Let go for me.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, her pussy contracting around him in waves of pure ecstasy. It felt like fire and ice all at once—her body trembling, her vision blurring as she cried out his name. Her pussy pulsed around his cock, milking him, and the sensation was so intense she could barely breathe.

For Lando, it was heaven. Her tight, wet walls clenched around him in the most perfect rhythm, fluttering and gripping him like she never wanted to let go. He groaned, low and guttural, as he felt her orgasm ripple through her body, each contraction pulling him closer to the edge. “Fuck, Y/N,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “Your pussy feels too fucking good. I can’t hold back much longer.”

“Where do you want it, baby?” he panted, his thrusts slowing but still deep, still deliberate. “Tell me where you want me to cum.”

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with desire, and licked her lips. “On my tits,” she whispered, her voice sultry and low. “Cover them. Make a mess of me.”

His eyes widened, his jaw tightening as he tried to hold back. Her tits—god, her perfect tits—had been his obsession for so long, and the thought of covering them with his cum nearly made him lose it. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna make me lose it,” he panted, staring down at her chest like it was sacred.

She smirked, her confidence growing as she saw the way he looked at her. “You love my tits that much?” she teased, pushing them together with her hands. Her fingers kneaded the soft flesh, her nipples hard and begging for attention. “Come on, then—mark them. Make them yours.”

Lando groaned, his cock twitching inside her at the sight. Her tits were perfection—full, soft, and begging for his cum. He couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled out of her slowly, his cock slick with her arousal, and she whimpered at the loss of him. Her pussy felt empty, aching, but the sight of him stroking himself above her made her throb all over again.

She watched, mesmerized, as he gripped his cock, his hand moving up and down in long, deliberate strokes. Her tits were pushed together now, her hands cupping them, her fingers teasing her nipples. She loved the sight of him—his face flushed, his jaw tight as he fought for control. “Look at me, Lando,” she urged, her voice low and sultry. “You love these tits so much? Then come on them.”

He groaned, his hand moving faster, his eyes locked on her chest. “You’re so fucking perfect like this,” he said through gritted teeth. “Tits pushed up for me… fuck.”

She licked her lips, her eyes full of desire. “I want it all, Lando,” she urged, her voice trembling with need. “Cover me with it—don’t hold back.”

He groaned, his hand moving urgently over his cock as he felt his orgasm building. “You’re all mine,” he growled, his voice thick with possession. “These tits are mine. I’m gonna mark them, Y/N. I’m gonna make sure everyone knows they belong to me.”

She licked her lips, her fingers teasing her nipples as she watched him. “Stroke it for me… faster. Let go. I want every drop. Cover me, Lando. Make me yours.”

Her words were the final push he needed. With a strangled moan, he came, thick ropes of cum spurting onto her tits, coating them in his release. His hand moved furiously over his cock, milking every last drop as he stared down at her, his chest heaving.

For Y/N, the sight was intoxicating. Watching him cum on her tits, seeing the way his face twisted in pleasure, the way his body trembled as he let go—it was almost as good as the orgasm he’d just given her. She felt his cum splattering against her skin, warm and sticky, and she couldn’t help but moan at the sensation. “God, Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re so fucking hot like this.”

For Lando, the moment was unreal. The sight of his cum streaked across her tits, the way she looked up at him with those hungry eyes—it was enough to make his knees weak. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathed, his voice rough with awe. “I could watch this all day.”

She smirked, her fingers trailing through the sticky warmth of his cum on her chest. With deliberate slowness, she dipped a single finger into the mess, coating it in his release. Her eyes never left his as she brought her finger to her lips, her tongue darting out to taste him. The salty tang of his cum hit her senses, and she moaned softly, her lips curling into a wicked smile as she sucked the finger clean. His cock still rested in his hand, twitching at the sight of her, and she could see the hunger in his eyes—raw, untamed, and absolutely desperate for her.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, her voice low and dripping with desire.

His breath hitched, his body already responding to her command. He leaned down without hesitation, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. Their mouths collided with a hunger that left her dizzy, and she could feel the sticky remnants of his release still on her fingers as she tangled her hand in his hair, pulling him closer. His tongue slid into her mouth, and she moaned, the taste of herself mixed with him—salty, intoxicating—sending a shiver down her spine.

“You taste so fucking good,” he growled against her lips, his voice rough with need. His hands slid up her sides, fingers digging into her skin as if he couldn’t get enough of her. “You’re mine, Y/N. All mine.”

She whimpered into his mouth, her body still trembling from the intensity of their connection. Her hips shifted slightly beneath him, and she could feel the heat of his arousal radiating off him, igniting her own desire all over again.

When he finally broke the kiss, they were both breathless, their foreheads pressed together as they tried to steady themselves. “Stay here,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with something that made her heart race. He kissed her once more, quick and possessive, before pulling away.

She watched him as he disappeared into the bathroom, her chest still glistening with his release. The sight of his cum streaked across her tits made her cheeks flush, but the warmth in her chest outweighed any lingering embarrassment. He returned moments later with a warm, damp towel in hand, his eyes softening as he knelt beside the bed.

“Let me clean you up,” he said, his voice gentle but no less possessive. She nodded, her breath catching as he pressed the towel to her skin, the warmth soothing the sticky mess he’d left behind. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were savoring every moment of this intimacy. His eyes never left her face, and she felt her heart swell at the tenderness in his gaze.

When he was done, he tossed the towel aside and crawled back into bed, pulling her into his arms. Her body melted against his, the warmth of his skin a comforting contrast to the cool air of the room. She rested her head on his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over his skin as their breathing slowly synced.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer, and she felt a wave of contentment wash over her. “Mine,” he added, his tone possessive but soft, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Yours,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible. She closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat lull her into a sense of peace. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt safe, cherished, and utterly claimed.

They lay there, tangled together, the hum of the city outside a distant reminder of the world beyond their little bubble. For now, it was just the two of them, and she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Neither spoke for a while, the room thick with the mingled scents of sweat and relief. The adrenaline that had fueled their passion was giving way to a wave of emotions—vulnerability, uncertainty, a fragile sense of hope. Finally, Lando spoke, voice hoarse.

“Y/N?”

She peeked up at him, flushed. She wasn’t used to such intense intimacy, but she nestled against his warmth. “Yeah?”

He swallowed. “I… I don’t regret this. But I need you to know: I’m not just here for one night. I want you in every sense of the word. I’m serious.”

Her chest clenched with emotion. She ran a hand along his jawline, stubble prickling her fingers. “I’m scared,” she confessed quietly. “But… I want you, too. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

His gaze softened. “Then let’s try. Let me show you I can be the man you need. I’ll prove it however long it takes.”

She closed her eyes, soaking in the moment, in the warmth of his embrace. The city lights shimmered outside, as if reflecting her tumultuous inner world. In that moment, though, she let herself believe in the possibility, let the anger and hurt recede in the face of the closeness they’d found.

The hours after their passionate collision were a storm of emotions. She felt a ripple of self-consciousness, but he only looked at her with the same unguarded admiration as before, as though he couldn’t believe she was real.

In the faint glow of the bedside lamp, she saw him glancing around her bedroom—how neatly organized it was, how it contrasted with the chaos they’d just unleashed in the living room. He let out a soft chuckle, leaning back against the pillows.

“You have no idea how many nights I’ve dreamed about just being near you,” he said quietly.

She swallowed a lump of emotion, sinking onto the mattress beside him. “Why me?” she whispered, the familiar insecurity creeping back. “You could have anyone.”

He caught her chin gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You keep saying that, but the truth is, not everyone is you. I’ve met countless people. You’re different. It’s in the way you carry yourself, the way you see the world, the way you call me out on my bullshit. And… I can’t even describe it. I just know I want no one else.”

She felt tears threaten again, but they were tears of a tender ache this time, not the angry sting of earlier. “I guess… I need to learn how to trust that.”

He nodded, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Let me earn that trust.”

She scooted closer, letting her head rest on his shoulder. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of him lull her into a sense of security she’d never quite felt before. Deep down, she knew they had miles to go—her fears about his reputation, her wariness about the future, and the question of whether he would eventually tire of her or not. But for now, she let herself savor this fleeting peace, the sense of belonging in his arms.

Because after nine months of running, she was finally letting herself be caught.

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

Hello ji! Kaise ho? Your blog is my mast mast favourite! My question can be too ancient to ask now, almost ten years after the show went on air. But I never found any good answer for this question anywhere. I hope you don’t mind me asking this now. Why did Arnav fall for Khushi? I know, really old. But I was wondering if you could give me some insight into this. Arnav has seen so much of this world, met so many girls, a billionaire who had girls drooling over him. Yet since the day khushi came into his life, he couldn’t see beyond that. I know Khushi is extremely pretty, charming and amazing. But I wanna know why Arnav fell for her. I hope it’s not too much. Take care!

Hello ji!

Hum theek hai! Aap?

Aye haye thank you for the compliment!

Oh, that’s an interesting and difficult question!

It’s a combination of a few things. Regardless of experience and exposure one falls in love with a person due to multiple factors. So Arnav’s history holds little meaning to his attraction for Khushi.

1) Khushi is beautiful

There’s no denying that Arnav is immediately attracted to who falls in his arms. One of the first things he does is stares at her eyes and lips.

Khushi has that effortless beauty and innocence that draws him like a moth to a flame.

2) continuous intrigue

If their paths never crosses he would’ve forgotten her after a point. However they keep meeting, and curiosity is a strong emotion. He was attracted by her face, and her intellect and instincts attract him further. Her sharp tongue and banter gives him a fire. In a way he constantly thinking about her and eager to meet her again, curious about what else she can do.

3) sexual tension

The sexual energy between them isn’t a one sided affair. It is reciprocated at every turn which becomes one of the key ingredients in their slow burn romance.

4) a perfect match

Despite them being as opposite as chalk and cheese, they’re very similar under the surface. From temperaments to losing parents at a young age, he goes from having a great rebuttal session to trauma bonding with her.

All these evoke powerful emotions.

5) unattainable

HE knows he can’t have her. Her ideals about line and relationship is contradictory to his and we never see him try to even attempt anything between him and Khushi until she gets engaged. IT’s like a crash on a head that makes him go…

She’s settling for a person she doesn’t love? Wtf, here’s me. We’re happier miserable together.

6) Khushi’s reciprocated emotions

Her care, concern, crush for him is obvious. And it all comes from her heart. Her farak padta hai and ability to read him when possible drives her closer to his heart. She can see when he’s lying. She is in the same wavelength as him.

She has this quiet right over him that he allows and exerts over her as well. With those rare few moments they share he realizes his passions are met with equal intensity.

7) from confusion to happiness

IT takes him an eternity to realize that making her happy makes him happy. Her sadness breaks his heart and supporting her fills him with pride. The joy of seeing her with his gifted bangles is unparalleled.

When her emotions affect him, he finally realizes he is in love.

Hope I answered your question!! Shoutout to @pakki-ya-nahin for some of her awesome gifs 👏

Best,

- JWB

[yackers]

Why Jerome Cheating Wasn't Out of Character and How It Actually Developed Him Further as a Person: an unproofread rant/essay by a bitch with too much time on her hands

okay first I just wanna talk about the circumstances round him cheating. Like he definitely could’ve made better choices and in no way am I saying he’s not to blame but he and Mara were very much broken up when he first started dating willow. Jerome was being a dick in the business competition, but it wasn’t exactly a break up forever kinda mistake. He apologised multiple times in varying degrees of big gestures, to which mara did not respond to or make any move to forgive him. Sure, a lot of this was to do with the sisterhood but it’s not like he knew that.

I think he only went for willow because not only did she help him with his schemes without question, she was also willing to take the punishment all in good fun. In no way were they right for each other but she messed around with him in the costume closet and had fun with her the way he never did too often with mara without being interrupted by mick. Mara then, a while after ignoring his various attempts came up to him and told him she’d forgiven him and they were now back together. He definitely should’ve just told her there and then that he had kissed willow, but he was already starting to question their relationship and honestly I still think it would’ve crushed her.

I think that Jerome only ever wanted to be with mara because he put her on a pedestal as some perfect unattainable girl. He pined over her for years before she showed interest. She was sweet to him and treated him as a human with feelings when the others often wouldn’t but I don’t think they were ever right for each other. They were cute in season 2 but although she helped him with his dad she constantly overstepped with him and poppy and always held a sense of righteousness over him like on donkey day. I think especially once they were in a relationship she expected him to be a different person for her in ways that would change who he was. He looks visibly uncomfortable with the nicknames and is constantly shown to be at her beck and call in a way that is less playful in comparison to season 3 Alfie and amber.

The whole trying to then get away with having two girlfriends whilst he makes up his mind on who he wants to date therefore makes perfect sense for his character as in truth he doesn’t actually wanna date either of them. Willow is fun but not serious and mara is serious but not fun. willow and him was only really ever a fling, as shown by how quickly she moves on. And Jerome is literally an asshole it would be unrealistic at this point in his development for him to handle the situation maturely and lay his feeling out to them because he barely knew what he was feeling and he is self identified sneaky. Are we forgetting that he used to manipulate Alfie for money, literally broke up mick and mara and consistently just makes the worst choices readily available to him. Yes he did gaslight willow and lied to mara but it’s nothing he hasn’t done before and was presently above doing again.

Joy being the one to find out first and see the comparison table is important to her relationship because there is all the worst parts about his character laid out on a platter for her. I think often mara completely avoided seeing how cruel and insensitive he can be at times and thought the others exaggerated it which is why she took the cheating so hard because she didn’t see it coming. But joy knows he’s flawed right from the start of their relationship, including his taunting of her near the beginning of the season. They also have a lot more shared experiences as shown during the ceremony scenes at the gatehouse. They’re both actively mad at each other but yet still come together against Alfie and Patricia and then the teachers. Mara never knew about anything Jerome went through in the first two seasons but joy did.

A really key part of his character development is when mara makes the cruel comment about his dad. I think if anything it shows how wrong they were for each other. Joy’s speech about being the bigger person is a turning point for him. Like mara, she wants him to be better but she says it from the perspective of someone who acknowledges that they too have done shitty things in the past. I think the ‘if you can bare it’ is important too, because she’s acknowledging to him that being a good person isn’t easy especially for people with upbringings and pasts like theirs. I think for the first time he actually feels understood. The ‘my lady’ scene confirms this.

Joy never requires him to be too mushy and vulnerable to her publicly. She’s playful and jokes around and anything sweet he says to her he says because he means it, not because it’s something he thinks she wants to hear. Their letdown washing date it so key to his growth like he’s able to joke around with her in a space where he can also freely talk about his dad and his insecurities about being allowed to scheme and be himself without having to be cold hearted because of it. He tells her she’s a good listener because he’s being heard without anyone looking out for poppy or his dad or the greater good over his own feelings.

One of the biggest signs he’s changed is when he knows that the play is a plot to embarrass him and takes it on the chin, admits he made a mistake and just hopes that it helps mara move on. And he just seems so much more into joy than he ever was anyone else, he even says it!! Unlike mara he isnt following her around like a puppy and doing as he’s told he gets distracted by her as she walks in the room and calls her names and is just!! I think the show is so good at writing couples that don’t have to be mushy and all over each other to show they care and mara is right they are kinda perfect for each other. They both have made mistakes in the past but they’ve grown up and there isn’t an unequal balance of a bad guy and a better girl who wants to fix him. He’s respectful of mara and backs away from joy around her without taunting and fighting back like season 1 or 2 Jerome definitely would’ve. He changed for the better organically on screen and I think his arc was done really well. You can tell by the way he he cries when he overhears about the revenge plot how much he really cared and he broke up with her to protect his own feeling but as soon as he realises that her feelings were genuine he tries to get her back. Not in flashy empty feeling gestures like before but by expressing how he feels.

Im not saying he didn’t develop a lot over the course of season one and two and that mara didn’t play a big part in that development but I think to truly be better he had to take a step back from pretending to be perfect to get the girl of his dreams and actually take the time to work on himself.

And in terms of the cheating/revenge plot line itself it had to be something big and time consuming this season that took up all the characters not involved in the mystery’s time whilst also giving them their own arcs and stories within it. sibuna were literally soulless for a portion of the season which could only work if they were distanced from their close friends outside of it like Jerome and joy because they were far too wrapped up in their own shit to notice. And they’re teenagers! Of course trying to date two girls at once and orchestrating the plot of John tucker must die is a dumb bad idea!! But so is literally every other thing they do in the show because they’re naive and half of them were left there by their parents to rot and have been kidnapped in the past of course they’re not rational!! I actually found the whole sideplot an entertaining break from the darker themes of the third season and throughout the whole season you can feel the characters are 17/18 instead of 15/16 like in the first season, there’s gonna be more romantic motivation to their actions.

In conclusion/ TLDR: just because a character makes mistakes doesn’t mean they lost their development or they were out of character. Interesting characters aren’t good people all of the time and thats what makes it entertaining.

[lottiebagley]

Snow covered courtyards- Oliver Wood

When he'd asked her to the ball he'd been certain she would say no. They'd been friends for a while but never particularly close, simply in the same year and house and therefore knew each other through mutual friends.

He'd always thought she was kind of unattainable, she seemed to always look perfect, she was smart and funny and kind and top of her classes. He never knew why but she always avoided Oliver a little, he spent nights laid in bed listening to Percy's snoring and racking his brains for any reason she might avoid him, an insult from years ago, a history between him and one of her friends but nothing quite came to mind.

It wasn't until a few weeks before the ball that he realised that maybe the reason she avoided him was because she wasn't quite as unattainable as he'd thought. He'd laughed at first when his best friend shrugged that she probably just had a crush on him, mouthful of cereal and a slightly bemused look on his face.

After that conversation he slowly allowed his brain to convince himself she just might like him back. After all why else would she blush when he catches her eye? why would she go to every quidditch game no matter how awful the weather? why would she giggle a little with her friends when he passes?

And so, Oliver Wood let a little spark of hope light in his heart and he began to plan how he would ask her to the ball.

He thought about asking her after they won a quidditch match when he was high on adrenaline but he didn't like the idea of being muddy and sweaty and with the fucking Weasley twins, their relentless teasing playing in his mind before it even happened.

Next he thought about making some production out of it in the great hall like he'd seen a few other people do, but he knew she'd hate being the centre of the entire school's attention.

He contemplated asking her at a party, figuring some liquid courage might make the prospect of asking his dream girl on a date a little easier, but didn't want her to think it was some drunk decision.

He settled on approaching her with a bouquet of flowers and just asking it, after all, he knew he was a good looking guy and most people found him charming if not a little intense. What he didn't think about though was that most people didn't make his heart beat too fast, his hands go clammy, and his words come out a stuttering mess.

Oliver announced to his friends one morning that today was the day he'd ask her out, they'd grinned widely, given him a pep talk, mocked him a little for his nerves and sent him on his way and Oliver had every intention to ask her out.

It was then that Oliver learnt the age old lesson.

Girls travel in packs.

No matter how hard he tried she was surrounded. Between classes, at meals, in the common room, christ even on her way to the bathroom. Whenever he saw her she'd have a gaggle of girls with her all of which would eye him with curiosity and smirks when he attempted to approach.

It took Oliver a further three days of attempting to catch her alone, his friends seeming to find the entire situation funnier by the hour, before it had happened. He'd caught a glimpse of her with Cedric.

Oliver Wood hated Cedric Diggory, hated that he was so often compared to him, hated that he had swoopy hair that made girls swoon, hated that he too was a good quidditch player. His newest reason though to despise the boy who showed him nothing but kindness was that he didn't clam up around her. He talked to her with ease and made her laugh.

If he'd done a little digging, Oliver would have easily found Cedric was a family friend and she viewed him like a brother. Through exasperated mutual friends sick of both their pining he'd have probably also learnt she had a massive crush on Oliver and had turned down multiple boys in the hopes Oliver would ask her to the ball.

He didn't dig though. Instead he scowled in the direction of Cedric and her, they were laughing by the quidditch pitch as the Hufflepuff practice ended and the Gryffindor's arrived for their own. She had been on her way to the greenhouses to grab a book she'd accidentally left there when Cedric had jogged over, unknown to Oliver actually asking if the Gryffindor had plucked up the nerve to ask her out. She had brushed her friend off, thinking it would be a miracle for Oliver Wood to fancy her back.

"Hurry up Wood, she's a good one, she'll get swept up all too soon," Fred smirks as he passes Oliver on his way into the changing rooms.

And with Fred's words in his mind Oliver grabs the bouquet of flowers from the office and marches towards her, Cedric spotting him coming and quickly taking his leave.

"Hi," He calls, cursing himself for not thinking to say her name when she doesn't even turn around, not used to him approaching her, "Hi-Y/N,"

She turns then, still clad in her uniform, hair blowing in the light wind and a small smile on her face.

"Oliver-uh-hey," She blushes a little as she falls over her words

"You're a really hard girl to get on her own," He comments. Fucking christ why does he sound like a stalker? The question spins in his mind but she seems to not think anything of the comment, instead blushing a little

"Oh- my friends and I are kinda inseperable," She shrugs lightly, not wanting an awkward silence so instead opting to ramble "They only aren't here now cause they are busy. Meg's at detention, Ali's with her boyfriend and Katie's tutoring some second year in potions. I'd have waited for one of them to be with me because honestly I kind of hate walking alone- not cause I'm weird or un-independent or any thing, I just, well I get a little anxious and feel like people are staring at me and-" She silences herself, suddenly coming to her senses and realising how crazy she's making herself sound. "Sorry,"

"Don't be. I think it's cute when you ramble," He admits, blushing as red as his quidditch robes when he realises what he's said.

"Did you need something or have I just embarrassed myself over a polite hello?" She questions, he chuckles a little making her feel mildly less uncomfortable.

"I was actually wondering if you wanted to go to the ball?" He questions. He feels a weight off his shoulder's once the question has been asked. Like suddenly even if she says no at least he could tell himself he tried.

"With you?" She questions, she realises she probably sounds more idiotic by the second but can't quite convince herself to believe her long term crush would actually ask her out.

"Uh-yeah," He's taken aback by the question and feels stupid for even thinking she'd consider it and suddenly the even if she says no bullshit is just that, because shit if the girl in front of him with wide eyes and a nervous smile doesn't say yes he thinks his heart might break in his chest.

"Like a date?"

"I was hoping,"

"I'd love that,"

Oliver feels like the luckiest person on earth. Watching as she blushes a little, but her smile is wide and god if he doesn't want to kiss her right there.

"Great,"

"Good,"

"Cool,"

"Yeah,"

Neither of them is quite sure what comes next and the interaction seems to run even more awkward. "You'll pick her up!" Oliver rolls his eyes at the sound of George Weasley, although thankful for the prompt, she blushes, peering behind him to see the entire Gryffindor quidditch team watching them.

"I'll pick you up," He confirms

"Right," She nods

"At 7? Outside your dorm?"

"Sounds good,"

"Okay," He grins brightly, still thinking this entire thing is his mind playing some cruel tricks on him.

"So you should go, your team awaits," She reminds, he nods, partly wanting the interaction over before he can make even more of a fool out of himself or ruin something before it even has a chance to start and partly wanting to live in this moment of pure joy for the rest of his life.

"Right, so I'll uh- see you at the ball- and- uhm- around before obviously," He stutters a little

"Great, I'll see you in both those places," She confirms, realising only after she's spoken how idiotic she sounds.

"The flowers Wood! Christ you're bad at this!" Fred shouts

"Always thought he had game," Harry comments

"We all did kid," George agrees.

"Sorry about them," Oliver apologises

"It's okay," She smiles gently, waiting patiently as he stands staring wondering why her eyes are flickering from him, to his team to his hands and-

"Oh right, these are for you," He confirms, passing the bouquet over and grinning when she blushes a little

"Thanks Oli,"

"Any time," He nods

**

When she pulls open her dorm door Oliver is certain time stops.

She looks like an angel, her makeup perfect, hair flowing in curls with a small section pinned back as to see her face clearly, Oliver is certain nothing else has ever looked as beautiful. She's dressed in a golden gown that shimmers in the light and makes her look like a princess.

"You- I mean- it- you look beautiful," He stammers over his words and his face goes redder by the second but she smiles at him

"Thank you Oli," She smiles up at him and when their eyes meet both of them feel their hearts hammering in their chests.

"You ready?" He questions, she nods, smiling when he grabs her arm in his and they walk together to the hall.

The hall looks like something out of a fairytale. Seeming to glow an ice white, lined with glittering trees and a glance at the ceiling showing a sky full of stars that gleamed in the air.

"You want to dance?" Oliver questions, eyes falling to the already slightly crowded dance floor, the students dancing to the waltz that plays.

"Think you might loose a foot if we try," She admits, glancing at the girls who swirl around the floor effortlessly and feeling a little self conscious she can't do the same.

"It'd be worth it," He grins, pulling her along with him.

"Hey Oli?"

"Yeah?" He questions as they come to the edge of the dance floor

"These heels are really high. Please don't let me fall,"

"I've got you," He assures, smiling when he notices her physically loosen the panic in her eyes dissipating.

It takes them a few stumbles and a couple of toe treads but eventually they pick up the dance. He watches with a grin as she stares at her feet in focus and with time, and a few glasses of the punch Fred and George spiked, she relaxes, feeling at ease in his arms and becoming more comfortable with the slightly confusing dancing.

Oliver whispers commentary about the ball that makes her laugh and he loves the way she talks with such excitement that he can't help but follow along with every word. He's pretty sure in that moment he could die happy and she's almost certain this is the best night of her life.

As the minutes tick into hours they become more and more comfortable with each other, sure there's still an awkward teenagers with crushes layer to the conversation, but they learn they have a lot in common and find it easy to make small talk that they both actually enjoy.

"Do you wanna go get some air?" She questions at around 11, the dancing has changed from formal waltzing to jumping around to the band who'd been hired for the event and they were both hot and a little sticky from the crowd.

He nods in confirmation and smiles to himself when she immediately takes his hand in hers to pull him along behind her, she seems to have no idea he'd follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked.

She takes him to a small moonlit, snow covered, empty courtyard.

"Anyone would think you wanted to get me alone," He teases lightly, she blushes a little but playfully shoves him

"Maybe I did," She shrugs, he grins cockily "Or maybe it was a little crowded in there and I'm a polite date who didn't want to just abandon you," She isn't quite sure where her newfound confidence around Oliver is coming from

"I'm going to go with the first option," He grins, she laughs a little before shivering at the cold December breeze that wraps around them. He's quick to shrug of his black formal jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders and blushing when she leans up to press a kiss to his cheek in thanks.

"You wanna dance?" She questions, he laughs a little at the idea of leaving a ball to go and dance but nods.

Her arms wrap around his neck as his circle her waist, he hums gently and she smiles a she glances up at him. Oliver Wood looks like a god in the moonlight and she thanks her lucky stars that it's her who got to be in that moment with him.

They dance slowly, eventually pulling each other closer. She laughs when he twirls her under his arm and he grins when her hands begin to brush through the ends of his hair.

"Tell me something," She speaks quietly, his arms pulling her even closer.

"What do you wanna know?"

"Anything about you," She decides, he takes a deep breath, figuring now's probably the best moment he'll ever get to tell her this.

"I've had a crush on you since first year,"

"You have?" She sounds shocked and he can't help but laugh at the idea of her not realising he's practically head over heels for her

"I have," He confirms with a grin

"Why'd you never say anything?" She questions. Her heart feels like it's beating a million miles a minute and she's almost certain he can feel it

"You kinda avoided me," he shrugs

"Yeah I did," She laughs

"Why'd you do that?"

"I was scared to make a fool out of myself," She admits

"Yeah I get that," He nods

"You do? You always seem so- I don't know- at ease,"

"Around everyone but you I kinda am," He shrugs, she blushes a little at that. "You wanna know something else?" He questions.

They're still swaying a little but there's not much movement at their feet, instead the entire thing looks like a loving embrace and she figured to an extent it kind of was.

"Sure,"

"All night I've thinking about if I were to try and kiss you. If you'd kiss back or you'd pull away and laugh in my face and I'd have made a fool of myself," His words leave her breathless and his charming grin only makes it better

"There's only one way to know for sure," She whispers.

His lips crash to hers in the moonlit courtyard, the snow falling around them. It's slow and gentle. Holding years of emotion and there's no need to rush, in that moment they both know they have forever to hold each other this close. It's a little toothy from both their wide grins but as his hands cup her cheeks she's sure nothing has ever been as perfect as this moment and the boy she's sharing it with.

MASTERLIST

[jjungkookislife]

Fic Recs 2020 Pt. 1

Seokjin

let’s get married [SMAU] @hangsangwithbts

Summary: seokjin has no intention of getting married, but after facing tremendous pressure from his family to finally settle down, he comes up with the brilliant idea to fake a marriage. the lucky bride just so happens to be you.

voice mail @joonary

summary: kim seokjin is best known around campus for his romance advisory podcast, voice mail, but to you, he’s just your lovable idiot of a best friend. but when he accidentally lets it slip that he’s fallen for one of your fellow peers, you can’t help but be a little bit curious (and quite frankly, a tad bit jealous).

Yoongi

cheers if you agree @out-of-jams

summary: If it weren’t for the fact that he didn’t know who you were or even how to get into contact with you, Yoongi wouldn’t be posting all over Weverse for anyone to see. Not that he thought anyone would be smart enough to put the pieces of the puzzle together with how many people responded to his posts anyway.

snake kisses @peekaboongi

summary: You are grossly unprepared for the snake hybrid that enters your life. Yoongi is quiet and sneaks around you but eventually, even the cold reptile warms up to you.

under construction [SMAU] @luffles424

summary: In which y/n is just trying to figure out what to do with her life with the help from her (un)helpful friends

Hoseok

going once, going twice, sold @bxebxee

summary: But the real reason anything at all started with Hoseok was something much simpler, and probably wholly unexpected - not that you ever planned on any of the other members of the MBA Society to find out.You leave your unlocked phone in his car before stumbling your way into your tiny, studio apartment. And he sees a twitter notification asking you for further discount on your panties.That is all it takes.

just practice @lamourche

summary: The second time you hook up with Jung Hoseok, he doesn’t remember the first time.  You’re surprised.  It was only a few weeks ago, and you were in a broom closet. That has to be different, right? (Well, not really, you’ll learn.)

game over @9uk

summary: your boyfriend has been gaming all day without paying much attention to you. that is until his friends on discord brings up the moaning noises in the background.

you’re my kryptonite @dovechim

summary: Superheroes are immortal, they are everything we are not. The Krypton are a race of superhumans sent down to Earth to protect humans, and they are the epitome of nobility and protection. You have always believed in their immortal, God-like powers, revered and admired them your entire life. Your wish for your very own superhero is granted when you meet Jung Hoseok, a Krypton with the most unique, powerful abilities you’ve ever seen.

Namjoon

first, do no harm @yandere-society

summary: Dr. Kim is well known as the most skilled heart surgeon in the hospital, but when you notice his mortality statistics seem skewered, you discover all is not what it seems. Now, Dr. Kim is offering you a choice: will you join him? Or become yet another broken heart beneath his scalpel?

internet friends [SMAU] @bts-celestials​

summary: meeting through online, namjoon slowly starts to fall for the person who likes all the things he’s into. maybe having friends online is fun.

Jimin

reset @dovechim

summary: We are made of the pieces of what we remember, and we hold in ourselves the hopes and fears of those who love us. As long as there are memories to call our own, there can be no true loss. But Park Jimin has no such privilege.

paparazzi (tw: flash banner) @chinkbihh​

summary: What if the roles were reversed and it was Jimin who was the fan and you who was the idol?  But what if he wasn’t just a casual fan, but an avid fan?  Maybe even a sasaeng…  

Taehyung

the morning after @softlyjiminie

summary: one night, full of passion, whispered promises and heated kisses. one morning, full of regret and unwanted memories. is a night with your ex enough to send you running back into the arms of the devil?

fake love @mygsii

summary: an arranged marriage between you and taehyung leaves behind feelings of bitterness and hatred. will your heart be able to survive, especially when you’ve loved him all your life, or will it fall apart with this marriage?

cheap skate @gukslut

summary: Who doesn’t know Taehyung and his lady? Cutest couple in town, I’d say, and have been since they started dating in their college days. Oh, that was a while ago, though. And still, they’re happy as can be in that place they have together. Almost hate seeing one without the other, y’know, it’s like seeing just one testi- oh, right, I’m not supposed to talk like that. Anyhoo, I only say that because I saw Taehyung at a jewelry store the other day while I was buying my sweet Jiminie his presents. Maybe that boy’s finally gonna pop the question, but I do hope he’s got a good plan for it. Something sweet and romantic. Maybe I’ll find out after Jiminie gets back from that cabin he’s visiting.

baby i @jiminsfault

summary: a one night stand with a stranger leads to so much more than just great sex

Jungkook

only for love [SMAU] @lysjeon

summary: for almost four years it had been just him and sarang, and he had no plans on changing the life they had become accustomed to any time soon, but of course y/n has to come and shake his world.

one time in your room @ubemango

summary: There are papers to write, and virgins to daydream about. (You can think about Jeongguk’s dick later.)

piss off your parents @littlemisskookie

summary: In an effort to piss off your parents you move in with their worst nightmare- a boy with tattoos, a rock band, and an irresistible charm.

departure @nomnomsik

summary: As a flight attendant for Korean Air, you’re scheduled for a thirteen-hour flight to Japan. However, things get intimate between you and your partner and co-pilot, Jeon Jungkook, when he realizes Park Jimin, the famous idol from Korea, broads the plane and blatantly flirts with you.

curiosity @hobidreams

summary: when innocent jungkook comes to you with a not-so-innocent question… you decide it’s easier to just demonstrate.

inkling @gguksgalaxy

summary: Jungkook is your brother’s boyfriend’s co-worker, they own a tattoo and piercing parlour. In other words, he’s tall, gorgeous, has his passion literally etched into his skin, looks incredibly good in a man-bun, and is semi-unattainable for you. Why? Well…you’re not entirely sure but him ditching right after a very heated make-out session sure isn’t a good sign. His extremely poor mood the next week sure isn’t either, but the only way to fix it is to face the beast head-on. Right?

j’aime @baepop

summary: You’re the newest hire at a local café and head barista Jeon Jungkook takes you under his wing.

pop goes the cherry @1oserjk

summary: jungkook comes back home to find you visiting as well, all grown up — in more ways than one.

skirt chasers @1kook

summary: “Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn’t know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls.”

kiss it better @jincherie

summary: When one goes to Kim Seokjin for advice, it’s almost guaranteed to never end well. This is something Jungkook learns quickly when he mistakenly follows treasured advice to ‘be smart’ and ‘use his assets’. He just did what he was told! Of course, the execution was a bit poor… and embarrassing. But hey, if rocking up to cheer practice in a skirt doesn’t woo your crush, what will?

pay by play @yoonia

camboy!au

deeply poisoned @xmagicxshopx

summary: Kiss me on the lips, a secret just between the two of us. Deeply poisoned by the jail of you. I cannot worship anyone but you and I knew the grail was poisoned but I drank it anyway.

speeding ticket @minstrophywife

summary: Caught speeding to get home in time, you find yourself pulled over by a very delicious cop. Perhaps you can talk your way out of the ticket.Or,“I’m afraid I’m going to have to do a cavity search ma’am.”

OT7/Multiple Members

buttercream @minniepetals

summary: you were always adorable in their eyes, sometimes a little too adorable.

dulce periculum @forgottenpasta

summary: Devious and devilish, your two new impish hybrids never miss a chance to torment you for your hopeless attraction to them, knowing exactly what they do to you. But is sly sexuality and enigmatic allure all there is to the tiger and wolf hybrid, or do the depths of their eyes hide something more for you? Part ½

tropicana @dragunjk

summary: groovy punch sippin

amaranthine @koyamuses

summary: As the sole owner of Nightshade, a quaint bed and breakfast on the outskirts of the city, you find pleasure in rising each morning to tend to your guests but behind closed doors and within the shadows, you are the covenant leader to a group of young vampires who have claimed you as their mate.More often than not, your day is brimming with a mix of daily chores and back door deals that ensure the survival of your covenant. However, everything changes when three werewolves come stumbling into your life, all three of them claiming it was your scent that drew them closer as the words true mate ring into the silence.

testosterone boys @kiwiscript

summary: A little end of the year party tradition gets taken too far.

operation love letters @ve1vetyoongi

summary: When every student on campus is going crazy about a survey that claims to make true love bloom, your best friend manages to convince you to join in on the fun — except you’re disappointed to find out that your results just seem to be lost causes. That is until a love letter from a mysterious secret admirer turns up and you find yourself on a mission to find the person behind the pen — but you quickly realise it’s going to be a lot harder than you initially thought when you have 7 possible bachelors to investigate, right? Operation: Love Letters a-go!

our princess @iridescentjin

summary: In your newly established poly relationship, you are intimate with both Taehyung and Seokjin at the same time for the first time.

[arigatouiris]

reserved only for you // bakugou katsuki

Author’s Note: Soft Bakugou is my life. Soft Bakugou is who he is okay? I really like this idea idk where I got it from, but I’m so glad I wrote it down. This is how I see Bakugou respond to a crush and if that crush like him back! Hope you like it!

Word count: 3046

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Gentle! Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, soft kacchan

❝

You did not know how it happened.

You rushed back into your room, right after that, and shut the door behind you. Your dorm was dark, considering it was over 2 a.m., in the night. You let out a sigh before feeling how warm your face was, how erratically your heart was beating, how wide your eyes were and how your lips were quivering. Instantly, upon realizing these facts, your hands shot to your face and you let out a quiet squeal. 

Bakugou Katsuki, your biggest crush for the past few months, had confessed to you.

The initial few hours after accepting a request such as this one sends anyone’s hearts to the skies, but you were fragile already. Katsuki didn’t exactly ‘ask’, it was more of a ‘demand’ but a softer one, one that you understood rather well. You felt your knees grow weak as you slid down on the ground behind your door.

Katsuki-kun... you grumbled in your mind, your face still red hot.

You could remember the very first time you met him and not feeling the same excitement. He was brash, angry even, and didn’t even meet you in the eye. Apparently, you were an ‘extra’—something he’d called everyone in his class already. However, it was Mina Ashido who had discovered that something lay beneath Bakugou Katsuki’s many layers, and as intrigued as you were, you intended on finding out exactly what that was.

Perhaps, the universe gave you a chance to do so by seating you beside him. Initially, it shocked you at how diligent he was as a student; he seemed the sort who’d never pay attention, who’d not give a damn as to what the teacher had to say. Instead, he went against each and every single one of your expectations and threw them in your face. 

And you let out “You really are amazing, Bakugou-kun...” without realizing.

He looked at you, from the corner of his eye, half-annoyed, and half-amused, a look only he could pull off, before shrugging your words off and minding his own business. In Bakugou’s language, that meant he didn’t mind what you said.

Days after that became rather easy. You actually looked forward to class more and more, and you could even remember the first day you greeted Bakugou in the morning, shocking the rest of the class when he actually replied.

     “Good morning, Bakugou-kun!” You chirped, sitting in your desk, looking at him with a sweet smile.

     “Hey.”

Ashido instantly married you two off in her mind, Kaminari sulked in the corner that you seemed more excited to see a porcupine than a lovable battery, Midoriya did what Midoriya did best—he cried, and Todoroki found his books fascinating. Your growing friendship with Bakugou was something everyone noticed, but no one really thought it could lead anywhere.

The ‘die! die! die!’ boy whose primary focus was to be the number one hero didn’t have time for stupid little crushes or playing house. You told yourself this multiple times, yet, your crush never stopped growing in intensity. It was then you told yourself that it’s completely alright to have a crush on someone as unattainable as Bakugou Katsuki because it’s as if you had a crush on a celebrity like Hawks (who is a celebrity hero, and you did like him). Expectations took a backseat and this was something the whole class noticed—you’d greet him every day, but you wouldn’t approach him more so just because of your growing friendship. You didn’t try finding too many things in common, and you’d not try to keep a conversation going if it was fading out.

Your attempts at wooing Bakugou were null to zero—the whole class knew you were not attempting at anything. It was something even Bakugou noticed. He’d watch as you interacted with faculty members regarding the nature of your quirk, he’d notice how you’d interact with his fellow classmates, how you’d turn other boys down, how sometimes you’d stare at him while he did something absolutely mundane like reading or writing or even eating, for that matter. 

Bakugou Katsuki knew what effect he had on you yet, he was impressed at your restraint. Maybe one day you’d burst and tell him about having a crush on him, maybe one day he’d actually get to turn you down—

He stopped at his thoughts. As he was writing, he paused... He blinked twice before analyzing from the corner of his eye at what you were doing. You were humming a soft tune, almost inaudible, and as Katsuki’s eyes traveled to your book, he noticed how you were completing homework. It was a free period, Aizawa-sensei was sleeping in front of the class, and there you were—instead of chatting or doodling or reading manga or some shit, you were completing homework. 

It was a second after that did his eyes dart to your face. You didn’t have a smile exactly, but it wasn’t a frown either. Your hair sat so perfectly at your face, and he noticed when you paused—your eyes scrunched up just a little bit and you popped your tongue out before letting out a soft curse.

His eyes darted back to your book before noticing your sum. You had written down the right formula, but you were working on it incorrectly. 

Clicking his tongue, Bakugou smoothly moved his pencil over to your book before raspily saying, “It’s like this.”

It was the smallest of movements, little to no significance. Classmates help each other out in situations like this one, but your heart couldn’t take it. Your eyes grew wide as Bakugou solved the sum for you, no curse word, no insult—just helping you, generously. You gulped before looking down at the book, trying to focus on the sum he was working on.

     “T-Thank you...” You let out, knowing you sounded stupid.

He didn’t say a word but just nodded once before minding his own business again. 

It was a few days after that did you notice something else. He yelled a little less often, he still cursed a lot—but his yelling almost ceased. It was as if the image he had built for himself was slowly fading; he was no longer angry Bakugou Katsuki but was unapproachable and serious Bakugou Katsuki who, in very, very rare moments, was nice and kind. He was trying to be something and it was a gesture almost everyone noticed.

     “So Bakugou’s been rather... soft these days.” Sero brought up once, right in front of Bakugou.

You smiled at Sero, then looking at Bakugou who was at your side, before feeling a sweat drop at your forehead. You knew Sero was merely pushing the blond to react. 

     “Actually, now that you mention it, he has gotten quieter these few days. What’s up, Bakubro?” Kirishima asked, blinking.

     “Is it because of a crush?” Ashido sang, bringing her hands together.

     “Psh! Bakugou? A crush? Pigs can start learning how to fly before that happens.” Kaminari said, rolling his eyes.

     “And what girl can like him anyway?” Mineta suddenly spoke, alerting everyone.

Even the gang thought what Mineta said was a bit rude. You initially just intended on sitting down there, not saying a word—letting them tease their friend. You knew in your heart Bakugou didn’t mind the teasing, he cherished his friendship despite being so aggressive, but Mineta’s comment threw you off guard.

     “I can.” You said, shocking the entire class.

You were smiling at Mineta, a soft smile that sent shivers down his back. Everyone else merely stared at you as you said it so confidently as if you weren’t ashamed of it. No, it was quite evident that you weren’t ashamed of it at all, in fact, you wore this fact with pride.

     “(y/n)-chan, you—”

You interrupted Kirishima and nodded, “I like Bakugou-kun. A lot. Let’s keep our rude thoughts to ourselves though, okay?”

No one could understand how confident you were at that second. It was a bit sad, seeing how you barely expected a response to your indirect confession—how you barely expected anything out of having feelings for Bakugou in the first place. It was as if you were crushing on a fictional character, but there he was, sitting right next to you.

     “Oi, Bakugou! (y/n)-chan just said—”

     “We have class now!” You said chirpily, before alerting everyone to Midnight-sensei who just entered class.

What you or anyone else in the class had failed to notice was Bakugou’s expression at your abrupt confession. He was wide-eyed, almost as wide-eyed as he was learning Midoriya’s secret. He couldn’t bear to look at you right then, he couldn’t bear to think of anything at the moment. He knew you were growing soft on him, but to think you’d stand up for him and say it like you owned it?

No, you did own it. Damn, you owned the stage so hard right then. 

He felt terrible, though. He knew you didn’t approach him because he was focused on his hero training. He felt terrible because he couldn’t even give you even a slight bit of hope that he did in fact like you back—and you could, in fact, approach him and confess. Instead, you were swallowing your confession deep inside your heart, hiding it from him so that he could succeed. He clicked his tongue and frowned hard, and for the first time, he wasn’t sure what he had to do.

After school, Bakugou would usually train with his classmates. But, that day he wasn’t anywhere to be found. You wanted to find him and explain to him about what had happened—hoping that he didn’t take it the wrong way. There was no wrong way, you knew now you had to tell him what you were feeling and it wasn’t as if you were hiding it. You were more than happy to let him know.

But, maybe, liking someone had some sort of expectation attached to it as well. You felt your spirits lower down as time passed—tired of asking anyone and everyone if they had seen Bakugou. No one had, he had simply vanished—it was strange, almost.

Maybe, he’s just so done that he couldn’t face this... You thought before heading over to the dorm. 

You shut yourself in your room and didn’t come out for the night. Mina called you out for dinner, but you couldn’t show yourself—not after what had happened. You texted her saying you weren’t too hungry and that you were feeling a bit ill. Mina understood right away and left you alone.

However, she had a bone to pick with Bakugou and she didn’t care if Bakugou Katsuki was a scary person. 

You were the gentlest soul anyone had the opportunity of knowing. Learning how Bakugou had treated you—by not even acknowledging your confession. During dinner, Mina rushed to where Bakugou sat and slammed her hand on the table, not even alerting him.

     “Bakugou!” She looked angry, a look that didn’t exactly fit Mina. “(y/n)-chan doesn’t deserve silence!”

Almost the entire class of 1-A watched as Mina reprimanded Bakugou, almost everyone expected him to snap and scream at her or try to blast her away. Kirishima was even ready to grab his friend away before any harm came her way, but what shocked everyone and even Mina for that matter, was how he just sat there and... took it.

     “You... You... Bakugou...” Mina blinked, running out of breath.

He was quietly eating, or that was what Mina thought he was doing and the second she noticed his full bowl of rice, and the curry untouched—her eyes widened. She turned to look at her classmates and shrugged, knowing Bakugou wasn’t feeling himself either.

     “Just...” Mina didn’t know what else to say, “Just tell her already.”

     “I know, dumb alien.”

It was then everyone left Bakugou alone, almost surprised at how much he had changed the past few days. No one could understand why romance was so complicated for him, but it wasn’t just romance anymore. It had a lot more to do with how you understood things—the way you didn’t approach Bakugou. You had invariably put him first over yourself, which isn’t what people usually do. 

This was the very thing Bakugou wanted to address.

That night, Bakugou decided to not head back to his dorm right away. He lounged on the couch, lying down on it, sitting on it, resting his neck on the armrest—nothing was comfortable. Was he expecting you to turn up? He wasn’t sure—he wasn’t certain you would come, considering how you hadn’t eaten dinner, he assumed you could come down for a snack but you were probably asleep too. He checked the time and it was close to 1 a.m., and he groaned.

What the fuck am I doing? 

He rubbed a hand across his tired face before getting up to drink some water. Walking over to the kitchen, he froze when he saw a shadow.

     “Please, please, please...” There was no mistaking it, it was you.

Bakugou didn’t turn on the light, but took out his phone and threw the torchlight at you, causing you to almost shriek but he instantly put his hand on your mouth, swallowing your shout. Bakugou’s eyes darted to what was in your hand, a jar of cookies—unopened, and you seemed to be struggling with the lid.

How the hell did I not notice her? Bakugou wondered before letting you go, once he was certain you wouldn’t scream. Must be that quirk of hers...

     “You want me to open that for you?” 

You gulped before handing the jar to him, “Yes, please. I have bu—”

     “Butterfingers. I know.”

Katsuki could open it in one try, and you blushed at how easy he made it seem. You mumbled a small thank you before placing the jar back on the counter, taking one cookie out.

     “Bakugou-kun, I—”

     “Katsuki.”

Your eyes widened before feeling the blush increase, “U-Uh... Yes, okay... Um, Katsuki-kun, I... I wanted to explain what happened. You weren’t anywhere to be found after school and I thought I’d offended you. I just wanted to let you know that I’m not going to bother you with these feelings. They are my feelings and I won’t burden them on you.”

He was looking straight at you, your eyes had somehow adjusted to the quasi-dark setting of the kitchen. 

     “Why?”

     “Heh?”

     “Why won’t you,” he rubbed the back of his neck, finding this a bit hard to say, “Why won’t you, you know, burden them or whatever.”

     “I mean, I was trying to—”

     “They’re not a fucking burden.”

He looked visibly uncomfortable, and you hated yourself for doing that. Your heart went out to how hard it may be for him at that second and you let out a sigh.

     “I’ve never tried hiding the fact that I like you, Katsuki-kun. You inspire me and you’re just very kind.”

     “Bullshit—”

     “You really are! I can fight you for it.” You giggled, sending his heart shooting to the skies.

     “Why didn’t you just tell me?” Bakugou asked, feeling so vulnerable, he felt nauseous.

     “Because I also want you to be the number one hero.” You said, smiling at him, tilting your head to the side.

A second later, Bakugou Katsuki did what Bakugou Katsuki did best—reveal what he felt through action. He walked over to you, his hand flying to your hand before pulling you closer to him. His other hand wound itself around your waist before pressing your form to his chest, embracing you in a tight hug. Your eyes were wide and his chin now rested on your shoulder. A second later, your hands pressed on his back and you could feel your heart pounding.

Actually, you weren’t sure if it was your heart or Katsuki’s.

     “I’m not good at any of this,” He admitted, shutting his eyes, “But I really don’t find you annoying. Not one bit.”

You felt like you were going to explode. Was this his quirk?

     “Katsu—”

     “Let me finish, dumbass,” It was perhaps the first time he threw a half-hearted insult at you in days, “I’m not saying I’m going to do this... I’m saying... Fuck, I’m saying I’ll try, got that?”

Your grip on him tightened and you hugged him back tighter. Bakugou’s eyes widened with that gesture.

     “You really don’t have to.” You said, softly.

     “I want to, (y/n). I like you.”

When you two pulled away, Katsuki darted his eyes away from yours and looked at your cookie. You followed his gaze before letting out a small squeak and eating it in one go, causing the blond to rub your back and call you a dumbass.

     “Katsuki-kun!” You whisper-yelled, “Does... Does this... Does this mean we’re—”

     “I suppose it does.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck, not looking at you.

     “We’ll go at your own pace!” You said, smiling at him.

Katsuki took one look at you before saying ‘tch’ and gulping. That was enough of an answer.

Which led you back to your current predicament, as you struggled to maintain your composure. You wanted to see him again—and oh god, you wanted to seal the entire deal with a kiss. You were half-terrified if Katsuki woke up in the morning and realized he wasn’t going to do this—which would never happen, he never went back on what he said.

You covered your face in your lap but almost shrieked when you heard a knock sound on your door. You quickly opened the door to reveal a red-faced Katsuki.

     “Katsu—”

     “Don’t fucking say anything.” He said.

     “Say anything to what—”

In an instant, Katsuki leaned forward and kissed you squarely on the lips. It was awkward as if he didn’t have a clue what he was doing—neither did you, for that matter, but his lack of experience or previous interest was evident. Your right hand flew to his check and you held him, enjoying the feel of how soft his skin was. A second later, he pulled away, your hand still on his cheek.

You had never seen Bakugou so soft before. It almost broke your heart. 

But, it was a sight only for your eyes. When you smiled at him, he knew and you knew—that Bakugou Katsuki’s softness was reserved only for you. 

And there was no other way you’d have it.

❞

[zekroudon]

The Song of our Hearts (Lukadrien June 2020)

@lukadrien-june

Day 28: Stargazing

Viperion and Chat Noir make a stop during patrol to look at the stars. You can read it on Ao3 here.

This one is mostly dialogues, but the last "prompt" will be big and fluffy. I should get to posting it tomorrow or Monday.

The stars are sparklingly beautiful tonight, but not as much as his emerald eyes. It may be cliche, but it is true. I could drown in those seas of green and I would die the happiest man. Once again, my thoughts wander to my feline partner sitting next to me on this Parisian rooftop. His mouth moves as he explains the different constellations and the stories behind them, but his lips are too distracting. I can’t stop myself to wonder how they would feel on mine if we kissed. Would he purr if I held him tenderly in my arms as we watched the stars? Was there a chance that his heart could beat for me just like mine does for him? Could he see how our songs complete each other? Probably not. Even if he was attracted to guys too, it doesn’t mean he would like me like that. Besides, Chat always talks about Ladybug and how much he loves her. Even though he toned down the declarations of love, it is still obvious in his eyes. What would I do for him to look at me that way, even if only for a second… 

 “It’s beautiful…” He says, bringing me out of my head to realize that he’s looking at me.

 “What? The stars? They are sparkling beauty.”

 “No, the music you played… I mean, anything you play is good, but that was amazing. It was like if you played how my heart was feeling…”

 “Oh, thank you… I didn’t realize I was playing. I guess I was playing how I’m feeling…”

 “      Oh    , is it the same thing as me? You could talk about it, it always helps.”

 “Alright, but only if you tell me what bothers you afterwards.”

 “Of course, cat’s honor!”

 He places his hand over his heart and I chuckle at his dramatics. In moments like these, I wish I knew who he is as a civilian, to get to know him fully. Maybe he would like to listen to me playing guitar? Maybe he’s a musician himself and we could play a duet? But… It will never happen. His identity is a secret for his and my safety as well as Paris’. If Hawkmoth was to find out Chat Noir’s real name, we would all be in danger, but him even more and I won’t put him through more than he already has to for my selfish reasons. I sigh as all those dreams get silenced by my brain turning back on.

 “I… I like a person, but they do not feel the same way about me… I keep looking at them, but their eyes are focused on the girl they love… Which is totally fine, but it sucks to have to move on once again, you know? Besides, tons of people already like them, I wouldn’t stand out in a crowd…”

 “Why? I’m pretty sure a superhero would be spotted quite easily in a crowd?”

 “No, I mean… He has so many people to choose from, why would he choose me? Besides, a relationship would be pretty much impossible...”

 “Oh, it’s a guy? I thought you liked Marin…that girl friend of yours? Her parents own a bakery I think?”

 “The feeling was not reciprocated and as she tried to move on from her crush on another guy, she realized that we work better as friends than as a couple… It hurt a lot, but not so much anymore. Though I wonder why my heart has to long for an unattainable person once again…”

 “Why would he be so unattainable? You are an ameowzing person, a great listener, a fantastic musician, also pretty good looking if I do say so myself. If he doesn’t see you, he must be purrty blind…”

 How ironic, he just called himself blind… Though I must admit that I haven’t been as forward as I was with Marinette. I tried to sweep her off her feet, but he does it to me without even trying.

 “Well, he’s busy with a lot of things, but thank you… You’re good looking too. I’m sorry Ladybug does not see you the way you want... Your turn?”

 “Yeah, I guess I have to, a promise is a promise… My problem is not so different than yours when you think about it. Ladybug is amazing, but I guess that after trying for so long, I realized it may never grow beyond friendship, and that’s okay. I realized one of my friends had feelings for me, but it didn’t feel right. She was awesome and the best, but there was something missing… And then I hung out more with this guy, I realized I felt a certain way with him that I hadn’t previously with guys. At first, I was confused because no one really told me that you could feel like that about a man too, or both for that matters. It’s certainly not my father who would have told me… As I spent more time with the guy, I realized I liked him, just like I loved Ladybug. Well, I still love her dearly and will go to the end of the world and back for her, but I know I will not have a romantic relationship with her….”

 “Oh.” So he does feel that way about guys too…”Coming out and realizing that you are gay, bi, pan or anything is hard. My family has always been supportive, and my sister is a lesbian, so it’s pretty normal for us… I’m sorry your father is not supportive.”

 “Well, I don’t exactly know his stance on it, even though a few of his employees are LGBTQ+... It’s not one of our conversation topics…”He snorts as he remembers something.” The funny thing is that I was caught multiple times staring at the guy when his shirt rolled up and revealed his toned stomach or when he flexed his arms as he played the guitar. I’m relieved he never noticed, I would have been so embarrassed… He has such beautiful eyes, they look like precious gems and I could lose myself in them… He’s so kind and caring, maybe he would not mind me liking him in that way, but I just hope it’s not unrequited again. It would be nice to hug him, hold hands together, kiss beneath the Eiffel Tower, and go on tons of romantic dates… I guess I might be hoping too much for a great love story.”

 He looks up to the stars once again and mumbles something, though I only catch something about courage and without masks.

 “Maybe you will get lucky this time? You deserve your great love story.” I tell him, looking to the bright stars above us, wishing that I could rewrite them to give him the love he longs for, even if it’s not from me.

 “You too, Luka, I hope that guy will notice you…”

[sapphos-darlings]

I’m proud of my mother. She was born in the 50s into a conservative family, if you can consider them conservative in rural Finland in the 50s - the father brought in the food, the mother stayed home tending to a flood of kids never having the energy for all of them, leaving them often on their own to look after each other, hoping they’d all make it through the day but in the end, no one had the time to make sure. They were hunters and farmers, traditionally Christian as far as I can tell. The community they lived in had a lesbian couple that everyone knew about but nobody talked about; it was taboo and shameful. Being gay wasn’t right. My mum’s straight, too, so this was easy for her to internalize.

She became a mother late at at 37. I’m her only child. First, I was gnc. She wanted a daughter she could dress up pretty and pamper. I wanted nothing to do with dresses and my favourite way to pass the time was to climb trees and roll around in mud. My mum gave up on the dresses very fast. I played with wooden swords and bows that my dad and my neighbours built me. The neighbours told my parents I’d grow up to be a vegan feminist activist, in words that made sense for the time. Everyone knew I was strange.

My dad was mostly drunk and away from home, so my mum raised me much on her own. She never implied in any manner that what I was doing was wrong or improper or that I wasn’t good as I was. I had sleepovers with girls and boys all the way until early teenage, at which point we separated naturally. She once told me she was afraid what’d happen when I’d first have “boy troubles”. I never had boy troubles. She wasn’t prepared for the troubles I was going to have, though.

At 10 years old, we went to a concert together. I fell in love with the singer of the band and spent my next two years fawning over him. I think at this stage, everything was going as intended. I don’t think she even remembers this phase now, because last year, she asked me in all honesty if I’m a lesbian.

I’m not a lesbian, but you might not know that.

I was scared that I was when I turned 12 and found myself attracted to Avril Lavigne’s promo picture in a CD store. I got over my freakout in about ten minutes, but my attraction to women (not Lavigne) survived. At 14, I was involved in a weird relationship with a girl my age. I don’t remember much of it other than that I was very bad at playing relationship, and I feel guilty she left her girlfriend for that mess. At 15, I fell in love for the first time with a girl I’d love for the next decade, desperately, painfully. Between there somewhere, maybe at 13, my mum found me crying in a closet because my best friend had a crush on me and I was scared to tell her I didn’t want to be in a relationship with her. My mum stumbled over the word “boy” when she asked what “he” wanted of me. I know she knew then, but we never voiced it.

I met a crossdressing gay guy around that time. He went by the name Cherry and wore cybergoth outfits and makeup, and he turned 18 a couple weeks after I met him. My mum let me go to his birthday party and stay until 1am, and later go visit him in the capital on my own over multiple occasions, once personally meeting him and giving him a hug. He was wearing platform boots and hair extensions and probably fishnets on some part of his body. She loved him because he was like a big brother to me, and never questioned the way he presented himself or worried about him being a bad influence to me, because he made me happy and I felt safe and excited to be with him. I also had a major crush on him which I think everyone was well aware of, but it was a safe crush, because I was 13 and he was 18 and like a big brother to me, and I was a girl and he was gay and everyone knew that, too.

When I was 16 and we went on a vacation in Europe, I spent all of my time finding the means to talk to the girl I loved at all times. I racked up an insane phone bill and couldn’t care less about the Pride parade in Rome, because I would rather lock myself up in an overheated Internet shack that was no wider than our bathroom at home to talk to her for hours online. Then she met another girl and chose her to be her girlfriend, only to tell me years later she hadn’t chosen me because she was too afraid of losing me, which made no sense to me. I felt like my world had ended. I didn’t stop crying for weeks and I signed myself up in a hospital because I was afraid I’d kill myself over the heartbreak.

I think it was around that time I started going to Pride, too, but regularly only when I met my next girlfriend around 18. I was always scared to go to Pride, not because I was afraid of showing I was LGBT but because I was scared of being the target of an attack like a bombing or a shooting. One year, we were the target of a gas attack, but I didn’t even know that, because I was marching at a different section of the parade and only heard about it later in the news. I don’t know if my mum was aware we were dating then with this girl, but I think she did. I think at this stage she’d already settled on me being a lesbian, it was just unspoken between us. She’d once asked me, because I wrote fanfiction most of my teenage and I always showed it off to her because I was proud of what I was writing and it never occurred to me it might have been inappropriate or offensive that I was writing about gay relationships. She vehemently denied this for years, because according to her, she’d never spoken the word “lesbian” in her life, much less referring to me.

She did speak it, last year, though. I do believe she spoke it when I was a child, too, when she asked me if I was a lesbian. I know she did. I said I wasn’t, because I’m not, but I understand that the evidence stacked up against me. Obsession with same-sex media, Pride parades, girlfriends, girl crushes, heartbreaks over girls, never once a mention of a real boyfriend or any material boy crush aside from those I had to a few chosen celebrities, fictional characters and idols, all of whom were unattainable and never as strong and overwhelming as the love I so obviously felt for women - I don’t blame her for thinking I was a lesbian. I’m not sure if “bisexual” entered her vocabulary at any time before last year.

At 19, I came out to her as transgender. She said she didn’t understand but that she’d try her best and support me no matter what as long as I would be happy, and what I was doing was making me happier, as I was obviously unhappy and struggled with difficult mental health issues for most of my life. She accompanied me to my meetings at the gender clinic and spoke with my doctors and nurses to understand. She tried her best to remember my pronouns when speaking in English, and even though she failed and has always failed, she did learn to call me by my new name without a fault. She’s never regarded me as a man of any sort and that’s alright, because I had and have her support no matter what. So here we were for the main part of my 20s - she thought I was a lesbian and knew I’m transsexual.

It’s only these past two years we’ve really talked about any of this. That’s the size of the taboo she was raised with in terms of the LGBT matters. She might have asked me once if I was a lesbian before, but even to herself, she’s denied ever voicing that word. Last year, or a bit over, when I was 27 or 28, she finally did consciously voice the question over the phone: am I a lesbian?

No. But that was the first time I ever vocally came out as a bisexual. I’ve never hidden it, but I’ve never come out either. I’ve always just either “been” or left it unspoken. All my friends have always known, and all of the Internet has always known, and I’ve never kept it a secret, but within the family, it’s been unspoken.

She was alright with that. We talked about my transition a little bit, if I was happy with it, if it made me happier, or if I regretted it. (It made me happier, I’m happy with it. She was relieved to hear that.) Other than that, we’ve never spoken of it, but all of this is why I respect my mum more than I probably have ever respected anybody else.

I’m everything she was taught to think of shameful and bad her whole life, everything she struggled to accept as a part of “normal”, as something natural. I’m exclusively female-oriented bisexual, gender non-conforming, and a diagnosed and transitioned transsexual. She couldn’t possibly have a child deeper in the LGBT than I am. And not once in my life did she make me feel like I wasn’t good as I am, like I wasn’t allowed to be myself and express who I am and look up to the people I did. She always made sure I’d be safe to her best ability, but her concern never restricted my freedom to be myself and explore my identity, and her concern was never made to be my problem, or something I had to take responsibility of.

And this year, because the pandemic had moved the Pride parade by a few months and because that meant that my best friend (that girl I dated when I was 18) probably couldn’t join me because of her career situation, I asked mum if she’d come with me to Pride, because I don’t want to go alone. I fully expected this to be the last thing she couldn’t do. Earlier, she’d asked me to come to a gay movie with her because she really wanted to see it but couldn’t make herself go alone. That had been a throughoutly difficult experience for her - yes, she’d enjoyed the movie, but it had made her feel very conflicted because of the values she’d been raised with and the prejudices she was trying to fight. A Pride parade just seemed way beyond there - I just needed to ask because yes, I did need someone to go with, but also because I wanted to show her that I wanted to take her, and that she’s welcome to be a part of my life even in the ways that we’ve always been afraid to discuss. I’m happy to share my identity with her openly, because she’s been accepting and understanding of it and never given me a reason to feel like I can’t be honest with her. It was more symbolic than anything. And like I expected, she did hesitate, but what I didn’t expect was that she’d tell me “yes”.

I’ve never been more proud of her than at that moment. I know how much it means to her to say “yes, I will come with you to Pride”. She had to reassure herself that for her, it doesn’t mean anything else than that she’s proud of me, and supports who I am and my right and the right of everyone like me to be who we are. I reassured her about it too - Pride is full of straight allies. Pride is full of parents, partners and children, even dogs and horses of people who are LGBT. She’s not making a statement about herself by being there. She doesn’t need to come out as gay to join Pride with me. She can just be there for me.

But it means the world to me that she agreed.

I’ve quite literally never been the girl she wanted me to be, and my friends were never the friends she imagined her child having when she was planning for me. But she’s never, in any manner, implied or let me think that she didn’t love me. She’s never made me feel like I wasn’t right for being who I am. She never let her doubts or questions or concerns or prejudices keep me from living my life and pursuing happiness as it came to me. Not once.

And for that, I’m proud of her. I couldn’t have a better mother.

[echodrops]

Why You Should Be Shipping Shigaraki/Ochako

No, no, hang on a second--I see that side-eye you are throwing hard enough to ruin your peripheral vision. I feel the shade you’re casting like a thundercloud rolling in. But you didn’t read wrong. I meant what I said.

I’ve never made a secret of my love for rare pairs, but for once in my damn lonely shipper’s hellscape of a life I would love it if my favorite crack ship in a fandom had more than two fics (I’m NOT JOKING) to its name.

What can I do to correct this egregious oversight before the entire summer passes with nary a whisper of the most romantic ship since Juliet wherefore art thou’d Romeo?

Well, what else? I was forged in the fires of early 2000s’ fandom, and I know that desperate times call for desperate measures meticulously researched and extremely rose-tinted

Shipping Manifestos.

Fam, I am about to blow your minds, align your chakras, open your third eyes--because Shigaraki and Ochako is the most slept on ship in the entire BNHA fandom, and if you give me ten minutes like an hour (holy shit, this is long), I can prove it.

Disclaimer: @mistystarshine is the enabler who convinced me to write this but we were both enabled by @ohmytheon’s Reconfigure (on AO3) so you know who’s really responsible.

Spoilers to Chapter 231, watch out.

First off, I know what you’re thinking. Maybe you’re still reading from pure shock. Maybe you’re doubt-reading to get your daily fix of internet skepticism. Maybe you’re waiting for me to say these two characters are meant to be because she wears pink and his hair is blue. Maybe you’re already freaking out about age gaps but like that is what future fics and AUs are actually for!!!

I’m not telling you to give up your IzuOcha or Kacchako. I’m not gonna pry ShigaDabi out of your eager little villain stan hands. But if you’ve never considered multi-shipping, now is the time my friends, because I’m totally serious heartfelt here! I’ve got VALID reasons for shipping Shigako--ten of them, in fact:

1) Midoriya is taken for granted as Uraraka’s love interest--but Shigaraki is incredibly similar to him.

There are reams of meta on the parallels between Midoriya and Shigaraki, with plenty people noting how Horikoshi specifically set the two up as foils to examine similar character development despite their drastically different circumstances. Yet for all the meta pointing out that Shigaraki and Midoriya are basically the same character through a mirror darkly, I’ve never seen anyone bear that thought out to its logical conclusion: there are traits Uraraka admires in Midoriya that are extremely apparent in Shigaraki too.

Multiple times in the manga, Uraraka expresses admiration for Deku’s resolve and refusal to give up. His determination in the face of impossible odds and his sense of dedication to his cause are powerful motivating factors in Ochako’s storyline, and Deku’s behavior--his willingness to charge straight into danger and his unflinching pursuit of his goal to be #1--have basically become the standard to which Uraraka holds herself.

Her crush is literally founded on an appreciation for Midoriya’s drive, earnestness, and constant growth as a person.

But these are all traits that Shigaraki also explicitly possesses. Shigaraki’s unwavering resolve is so strong that even though everyone around him says dream is unattainable... they follow him anyway.

Ujiko flat out tells Shigaraki he’s chasing a pipe dream, but he’s willing to come along for the ride strictly because of how committed Shigaraki is to making that dream a reality. The strength of Tomura’s conviction alone persuaded a collection of the most volatile and difficult personalities in the manga to band together and become found family the most well-known anti-establishment organization in all of Japan.

Shigaraki never, even in the face of overwhelming threat, backs down from a challenge, and he approaches each impossible task with absolutely as much effort, ferocity, and refusal to quit as Deku. He is just as dedicated, just as much of a shounen protagonist main character, and just as willing to push himself above and beyond as Deku.

The traits that motivated Uraraka to become the character she is today, many of the exact same traits that formed her crush on Midoriya, are all there in Shigaraki. In another world, the person who inspired Uraraka to go “Plus Ultra” could be Tomura himself, and if 1) no sense of self-preservation, 2) ZERO CHILL, and 3) dogged obsession are what Uraraka finds attractive, Shigaraki clearly has 'em covered. Oh no, he’s meeting all my standards.

2) Being serious though, Ochako’s role in the plot would be vastly improved by more meaningful interactions with the antagonists, even if just in battle.

I’ve written before about how badly the writing of BNHA treats Ochako, and why her constantly being out-of-focus is a hallmark of the genre’s crippling inability to handle dynamic female characters, but it bears repeating: in her current position in the story, Uraraka’s character has minimal agency. She exists to fill the role of Deku’s love interest (at worst) and an emotional crutch (at best). Again, absolutely no hate on the IzuOcha ship--it’s clearly canon endgame and “wholesome” I guess is what they’re calling it nowadays. But the way IzuOcha’s being written in canon is actually the worst possible thing that could happen to Uraraka’s individual character, because Ochako’s crush on Deku has been given virtually no bearing on the story’s main plot and allows Horikoshi to consistently reduce Uraraka’s personal accomplishments to “inspirations from Deku” (in order to, likely, fulfill young male readers’ fantasy of having a girl fixated on them).

Is Uraraka about to do something cool in the manga? Wait for her comment about being motivated by Deku.

Does Uraraka actually get to see some action and get involved in a fight? Wait for someone to bring up her feelings for Deku.

Is Deku about to have a dramatic clash with the story’s villains to advance the main plotline? Wait for Ochako to entirely vanish (at worst) or get sidelined into a three panel clip where she’ll use the same martial art move she’s been using since like chapter 10 (at best).

If I have to read “Gunhead Martial Arts” one more fucking time... Give Ochako her OWN supermoves goddammit!!

The story of the comic itself continually pushes Ochako out of any position of relevance. She’s not one of UA’s strongest fighters (despite having a quirk that, if applied like ANY of the male characters, has incredible potential), she’s not given half the emotional depth or attention even side characters like Kirishima get, and her backstory lacks the development many of the male characters’ get (I’m looking at you, Todoroki).

As a “good girl,” she isn’t allowed to get her hands dirty like Toga, she isn’t allowed to get as bloodied or ugly as any of the boys, and she can never be allowed to surpass the main male characters in coolness or plot relevance because girls can be “heroes” but they can’t be The Hero™. (I’m literally gagging, guys.)

Which is EXACTLY why a plot involving Shigaraki and Ochako--in ANY capacity, even just a flat out fight against each other!--would actually be a fan-fucking-tastic addition to BNHA.

Skip the token Toga vs. Ochako chick fight where they squabble over who loves Izuku more. Let Toga talk to Izuku as herself for once. Let Uraraka throw down with the League’s leader. At least once, Horikoshi? Just once?

Literally any form of plot that puts Shigaraki and Ochako into contact would mean moving Uraraka into a more central position within the manga’s plot, would boost her screen-time, increase the likelihood of her contributing to the story’s primary conflict, and would give her more to do and emotionally engage with than just repeating the same lines about Deku being amazing on an endless loop. There is untapped character development potential in spades here if Uraraka was given chance to genuinely interact with the other half of the story’s cast!

Give👏 Uraraka👏 something👏 meaningful👏 to do!👏

Putting the story’s foremost female character on out there on the frontlines with the manga’s actual main character antagonist would finally break her out of the mold she’s been forced into by genre stereotypes and set her on an even playing field with the male heroes at last.

A meaningful encounter with Shigaraki could be Ochako’s ticket to being treated respectfully by the story itself (and hell if giving underappreciated characters a real place in the world isn’t Tomura’s freakin’ calling card already).

3) Okay, I know the words “subverting expectations” leave a bad taste in everyone’s mouth nowadays, but there is a huge difference between “throwing inexplicable plot twists at the audience just for shock factor” and “averting stale cliches in an emotionally rewarding manner.” Sure, cliches do exist for a reason, but there are still many instances where actively avoiding a cliche plotline is a great choice. A shounen manga’s token love interest ending up with someone other than the hero--namely with a (reformed) villain--would be an interesting flip on the trite “hero gets the girl” script.

Look, we all know how it goes: Hero clashes with Bad Guy. They duke it out all over Kingdom Come. RIP like fifty square city blocks. The Hero wins, heads home triumphant, sweeps his Princess off her feet, and sails off into the hero rankings sunset. End of the same story we’ve seen a million times. Sometimes it’s done well and the audience is left satisfied. Other times, the heroine involved is reduced to the hero’s reward, less person than wish fulfillment. In either case, tying up a romantic subplot with a hero is the go-to way of resolving female characters’ storylines and, at this point, pretty much a given in manga, even when the romantic subplot is never given the development it deserves, leaving audiences bewildered at how and why the hook-up actually happened.

I’m not saying every comic should “subvert expectations” and cancel its romantic subplot between the hero and heroine, of course not. But I am saying that it would be pretty refreshing to see something else for once.

By virtue of their role, villains don’t usually “get the girl.” Even redeemed villains rarely end up in happy, healthy, well-written relationships. It’s not impossible but it is unlikely that a series’ designated female lead ever wavers in her attentions from the main hero to a new romantic target.

So it would be pretty cool if one did, if the moral of the story’s romantic subplot wasn’t just "token love interest completes painfully shoehorned romantic gestures.” A good romance with a redeemed ex-villain instead of a hero would take a lot more explanation. It would demand, by its very nature, more work on the author’s part to suspend disbelief. The characters would have to develop an entirely different rapport from the normal interactions between designated love interests, and, to a certain extent, strong character growth would be required in order for such a romance to even get started. There’s more moral complexity and conflict to a subplot like this, and a greater sensation of choice--if the heroine doesn’t have to end with the hero by the end of the story, well hey... That means she could end up with just about anyone. Whoa.

Even more so, in the specific case of Shigaraki, who has lived a life of misery and manipulation, the idea that he could come out on the other side, grow as a person, redeem himself, and eventually enter a healthy relationship with someone who isn’t going to hurt him is an idea I find deeply appealing. I think there are a lot of villain stans, myself included, who see parts of themselves in Shigaraki. If a character who has been so severely impacted by abuse can still heal and ultimately end up happy, to me, that’s a far more hopeful and heart-warming conclusion than the alternatives. I did warn you this manifesto would be rose-tinted, didn’t I?

I want storylines that prove that none of us are beyond saving. That people who make bad choices can still change. That romance isn’t a reward for playing the “right” role. That heroines have options. That there are still pleasant surprises to be found in romance plots.

4) But why Shigaraki and Ochako, in particular? It’s not like they have any remotely shared life experiences--

Oops. Friendly reminder: Ochako is the only major character in the manga besides the villains who is overtly described as, I quote, “poorer than poor.” Todoroki, Yaomomo, and Iida can all make it rain; Kaminari, Mina, and Jirou can afford stylish clothes; Kirishima can drop a stupid amount on night vision googles... Even Midoriya, whose father “works overseas,“ can afford plenty of All Might merchandise. One of the popular fandom theories for a while was that Ochako could be U.A.’s traitor specifically because of her desire to help her parents financially, and I think that most readers at this point can discern a clear divide in BNHA’s society: heroes are the “haves” and villains are the “have nots.” To be a hero in this story is to attend a prestigious school, have access to expensive support items, gear, insurance, fame and glory, etc.

Meanwhile, with the exception of All For One, to be a villain in BNHA’s story is to be marginalized, live in unfit conditions, lack access to basic safety and nutritional resources, and struggle to make ends meet. When ability to thrive in a hero-centric society is synonymous with being a good and worthwhile person, anyone who doesn’t just naturally excel in the hero-driven economy is treated as flawed at best and suspect at worst. Poor characters in the story are ignored, and, as demonstrated with people like Twice, left essentially to fend for themselves.

Uraraka’s status as lower income is mostly played for laughs. She’s still a privileged character in that she can attend U.A., receive hero items for free, has a safe place to live, etc. But it is important that the story acknowledges her family’s situation, because her financial status does set her apart from her classmates.

She is less privileged than the others. Being “the poor character” situates Uraraka in the interesting divide between those who couldn’t cope and chose to rebel against hero society instead, versus those who conformed to the hero system in an attempt to improve their situations. In different circumstances, if Uraraka’s family was just even the tiniest bit worse off, we might be seeing a very different character here, one who had to make some much harder choices to keep her family afloat.

Having been in the position of "going without,” Uraraka also has a unique understanding of the “real world” that many of her heroics classmates might lack. She understands what it is like to go hungry, to not be able to afford to keep up with the newest trends, to be constantly anxious about the future--to feel unsuccessful, overlooked, and under constant pressure to perform. As someone who wasn’t raised in the lap of luxury or even really a middle-class home, Uraraka has more insight into--and would likely have more empathy for--the plight of the downtrodden daily criminals of the BNHA world. Just based on her own life experiences, Ochako is more likely than her classmates to recognize how harsh reality can be, and understand the temptations that lead people to make terrible decisions.

This makes Ochako an especially interesting character in terms of her pro hero future. Would she be able to sympathize and reach out to struggling "villains” more effectively than others from her class, who lack her humble background? Would she be able to better see the big picture of BNHA’s society, and the way it actively creates villains from its marginalized populations? Would she be able to look at the League not just as criminals, but also as people who never stood a chance within the confines of a rigged social structure?

Uraraka’s background shifts her closer to the story’s villains than many of the other hero characters, and puts her in a unique place to both empathize and become motivated to change the flawed system that produced people like Shigaraki and the League in the first place.

5) Likewise, Uraraka’s background actually makes her more palatable to Shigaraki than other heroes. At least at the beginning of the comic, Uraraka isn’t shy about admitting that one of her reasons for becoming a hero is to help her parents financially. Ochako’s original motivation for heroism isn’t portrayed as nobly as others’ like Deku--Deku has no ulterior motives for being a hero; he just wants to save people and wouldn’t care about personally benefiting.

Instead, Ochako is presented as someone who (initially) sees heroism as a means to an end. It’s not that she doesn’t want to save people, but that she’s not doing so only for the intrinsic worth... the hefty paycheck that comes from heroism is a big draw.

Over time the manga has shown her shifting away from this (which actually makes her character less unique, unfortunately), but I’m sure it’s still a thought for her, and she’s definitely going to send paychecks to her parents in the future. At the end of the day, heroism is still going to be Uraraka’s ticket to a better lifestyle, even if she’s committed herself to it honestly by the time she leaves U.A.

But it’s this exact form of personal motivation that Shigaraki is much more likely to understand than the “goody-two-shoes” motivations of people like Deku. Multiple times in the comic Shigaraki has expressed confusion with society’s habit of clinging mindlessly to symbols, of their blind faith in the virtues of heroism, and their ability to simply overlook suffering because “surely a hero will do something about it.” Stain’s ideals about “true heroes” go straight past Shigaraki, who seems to hate heroes who are earnest (All Might, I’m talking about All Might) far more than those who are simply faking their way through for fame. 

Shigaraki understands humans who are driven by personal gain. He respects the individual desires of people he cares about. Someone in the hero industry explicitly seeking tangible benefits would likely, to Shigaraki at least, come across as more genuine than someone who claims they have no ulterior motives, and a person who is blunt about their needs and grounded in the reality of BNHA’s world would likely be much more acceptable to Tomura than someone who spews trite lines about peace and justice.

Shigaraki’s feelings for heroes have been irreparably damaged by his conditioning from All For One, but there are certainly some heroes that he would find less loathsome than others. He will probably never understand Deku’s selflessness. All Might’s saccharine symbolism actively infuriates him. But a person who became a hero to put food on the table? To provide for her parents (maybe especially because it is her parents she’s trying to provide for)? That’s at least understandable. If the manga’s future does see Shigaraki redeemed, my thought is that the only type of heroes we’ll ever see him willingly interact with would still be heroes just like Ochako, with more “down to earth” personal motivations. Uraraka, your codename is “If I had to date a hero”...

6) While we’re talking about shared life experiences, there’s another very obvious similarity between Shigaraki and Ochako: neither one of them can touch things with all five fingers.

Cute/fridge horror observation: Shigaraki is even daintier about touching things than Uraraka is; Uraraka usually lifts just her pinkies, but Shigaraki frequently uses as few fingers as possible.

Yeah, yeah, they both have to be dainty and careful with everything they hold. It’d be cute to watch them eat together. They could mutually gripe about the annoyance of video game consoles not designed for four-finger use. More than that though, neither one of them can touch other human beings without the risk of causing death.

Uraraka, as a hero, has the more privileged quirk design (she can turn her quirk off, while Shigaraki can’t) and until recently, the comic was always very careful to portray Uraraka’s quirk in a way that no one was endangered by it. But dropping Zero Gravity into the hands of a villain for a single chapter reveals the truth: Uraraka’s quirk has just as much lethal potential as Shigaraki’s.

Like Shigaraki, Uraraka has to face the reality that her touch alone could jeopardize the safety of anyone she comes into contact with, in her daily life and in her hero work. Drop some debris without looking twice? Just crushed a civilian. Release your quirk without thinking? Now the villain you floated is paste on the sidewalk. Thought that it was safe to float away the building? Oops, you crushed someone still trapped inside. Yikes. In a one-on-one battle, Uraraka is actually at a disadvantage not because her quirk is weak, but the dead opposite--in an outdoor fight, she would have to actively work not to accidentally send people off into outer space.

Having an auto-activate touch quirk means that both Shigaraki and Ochako have to be conscious of every single thing they touch all the time. Both of their quirks require constant bodily awareness, and both come with the lurking knowledge that “My touch causes problems.” Even for Ochako, who would merely be a nuisance if she accidentally floated objects indoors, it’s easy to internalize frustration and negative associations with one’s own body. Every day, Ochako has to be careful with herself in a way that few of her peers do, another factor that sets her apart.

One of the story’s overarching themes is the idea of “self-acceptance” and what it even means to “accept yourself” in a world where (almost) every human being possesses a distinguishing feature, often built into their bodies at the expense of standard human functioning. For people with limited control over their quirks, who can’t choose when the effect activates, a quirk is a constant burden and facet of their identity that entirely re-shapes how they interact with the world. Both Shigaraki and Uraraka face the practicality of having burdensome, even lethal, auto-activate quirks that require constant self-awareness. This is a similarity that, of the major characters, only Shigaraki and Ochako possess so far. (Even other major characters with touch-based quirks like Overhaul appear to be able to choose when to activate their quirks).

The “funny” way Shigaraki and Ochako hold things seems like just a small similarity until you remember the amount of practice and frustration it must have taken to internalize a four-fingered touch. Until you remember that this similarity marks them both as very careful and self-conscious characters. Until you remember that Shigaraki’s got a one-touch instakill... but so does Uraraka Ochako.

7) Okay, similarities are cool and all, but you know what they say: opposites attract. And if we’re talking character motivation, there are no cleaner opposites in the entire series. Shigaraki and Ochako are actually even better emotional foils than Shigaraki and Deku, because Ochako’s central motivation is “Make as many people smile as possible” and Shigaraki’s is, literally, “Make it so no one can ever smile again.”

I know I ragged on it earlier, but now I’m going to use it to my full advantage: as the story evolved and characters grew, Ochako’s “true” motivation to become a hero revealed itself: she feels a deep, intrinsic happiness when witnessing the happiness of others. Her desire as a hero is to spread relief, the sense of security that allows people to go about their days smiling. She literally feels happiest when everyone around her is happy.

Even more so than Deku, this casts Uraraka as Shigaraki’s diametric opposite in the story, because Shigaraki’s entire pipe dream goal also hinges on the smiles of others--and how absolutely much he hates them. Shigaraki’s goal is total world destruction because he just resents the happiness of others that fucking much.

On the surface alone it’s more fascinating than the story will probably ever live up to: Ochako, the heroine who wants to spread smiles; Shigaraki, the villain who wants to destroy them. Even if we’re just talking canon, zero romance involved, that would still be an interesting conflict to explore. The story could cover a lot of deeper ground by drawing the comparison between these two characters more directly. It would definitely validate Uraraka being involved in more major plot events, at the very least.

BUT this was supposed to be about shipping, so of course I can’t leave it there, and leaving it there would only be half the story anyway, because nobody is born hating smiles. Everything we’ve seen of Shigaraki’s past so far indicates that he was a kid with a cute dog, a warm relationship with his sister, and an interest in heroes--i.e., a decent life that probably included his own fair share of smiles. Shigaraki’s hatred and resentment are direct products of the traumatic manipulation he suffered at AFO’s hands. He despises the idea that people around him can smile and act upbeat, even when they objectively know villains are lurking all around them. He is actually sick to his stomach at the idea of people blindly putting their faith in heroes, knowing what he does: that heroes often fail, that there are many people who desperately need to be rescued and are instead overlooked. The world failed Shimura Tenko and then had the nerve to keep on smiling without him.

Other people’s smiles represent nothing but the joy, security, love, and peace that Shigaraki Tomura hasn’t experienced since the day his quirk manifested. The sight of any living thing fills Shigaraki with rage because everything bright and beautiful, everything good and calm and kind and soft and warm, is everything that Shigaraki has lost and believes he will never, ever get to experience again.

Shigaraki doesn’t really hate the pure happy smiles of others; he hates the fact that the world has taken away every single thing he ever had to smile about.

It is my belief that Horikoshi is hinting at a redemption arc for Shigaraki, especially as we see the League become closer allies. But Shigaraki can’t be completely redeemed, can’t be persuaded to give up his world-destruction plan, until he can look at the smiles of others without scorn. Until the bright, upbeat attitudes of heroes other people no longer feel like a personal attack. Until he’s happy enough that the happiness of others no longer hurts. Until the weight is lifted.

And I can’t think of any character more obviously suited to helping lift an immense weight than Uraraka, the zero gravity hero who wants nothing more than to spread smiles.

8) Speaking of lifting weights... Kacchako is a popular ship stemming in large part from Bakugou’s refusal to treat Uraraka with kid gloves. He faces her head-on as a real opponent and views her like any other hero hopeful.

As I’ve said before, this is pretty much the most respectfully the series itself has ever treated Uraraka Ochako, and it caught a lot of attention because it was one of the rare occasions that a female pro hero-in-training was really treated as an equal to the male characters. Kacchako shippers had something awesome to work with.

But... You know who else treats women as equals? (Hell, you know who treats literally everyone as equals, from those with mutant quirks to trans people to those with severe mental health issues?) You can say what you want about Shigaraki’s habit of, you know, mass murder, but in terms of viewing others equally and respecting (okay, let’s be real, it’s probably closer to just ignoring) differences, Tomura is about as open-minded as BNHA characters come. The League is an equal opportunity employer.

Unlike actual hero characters, Shigaraki has never once suggested that Toga is incapable of keeping up with any of the male members of the League, and in fact has entrusted her with many of the League’s most dangerous and crucial missions. He explicitly has faith in her ability and skill.

Toga’s right there in the fight against Gigantomachia and the QLA, as much an equal member of the League as anyone else. In terms of gender equality, the villains seem to be light-years ahead of their hero counterparts, and Shigaraki in particular doesn’t discriminate, among his allies or his opponents either. He’s not a “spare the women and children” kind of guy; every hero and villain challenger is treated with equal violence (and equal snark), whether they’re male, female, a long-time pro or a student in training.

In whatever context--canon opponent, AU ally, or a future romantic interest--Shigaraki would take Ochako just as seriously as Bakugou did. If you like Kacchako because Bakugou doesn’t dismiss Uraraka, that same dynamic would be present in Shigako too.

9) And on the topic of Shigaraki and women... It doesn’t feel accidental that every single female character who ever had love for Shigaraki has been taken away from him. A distinct part of Shigaraki’s storyline is that all positive female role models have been systematically removed from his life. He lost his grandmother, a hero he could have looked up to; he lost his mother, who he now has no memory of; he lost the older sister he clearly held dear... All For One’s control over Tomura has always been total, but this particular detail feels especially insidious: was All For One’s spite for Nana so strong that he delighted in deliberately destroying every single relationship Tenko had with women connected to Nana’s legacy? (Or is AFO perhaps just a raging misogynist? Every single one of his known associates is male and he seemed to despise and mock Nana particularly hard...)

In any case, the point I’m trying to make here is that, even ruling love interests out, Shigaraki’s storyline would be enriched by forging a meaningful connection with a female character like Ochako. Acceptance--maybe even some grudging admiration--for a female hero? A fantastic opportunity to show just how different the “villains” are from the discriminatory society that produced them. Supporting friendship while he’s on the road to recovery? A+ way to diversify interactions between the male and female cast. Send a tough girl to Tartarus to question his motives? Nice chance for tense dialogue and some good old noire-esque foe yay. Hostage situation that takes a turn for the surprisingly cordial? Fun way to explore different dynamics and humanize the villains because hey, they treated the “damsel” to dinner shortbread cookies. My god, Shigaraki could even develop some positive sense of rivalry with a woman, for example! The possibilities are endless if you’re actually willing to give female characters a shot!

Being more serious, Tomura’s life has been dramatically marked by the loss of his female family members, and--at least from what we know so far--his entire youth was spent without the presence of reliable friendships, let alone any form of “love” that wasn’t disturbingly fake. Beyond his fragmented memories, he has no models for healthy relationships, romantic or otherwise.

Letting Shigaraki develop to the point that he could form a mutually positive relationship with a female hero character would be extremely cathartic for me as a reader. I don’t mean “rewarding redemption with a last-minute happy ending romance”--I mean actually getting the opportunity to watch Tomura rediscover what it means to be genuinely loved and realize he has the capacity to give love and be happy in return...

Reaching that level of mutual support and closeness--especially with a female pro hero--would be the biggest “FUCK YOU” that Shigaraki could give to All For One, short of, you know, actually killing him.

Shigaraki Tomura has a critical (and deliberate) lack of healthy connections to women. BNHA, coincidentally, has a criminally under-utilized female lead just twiddling her thumbs over here, waiting for a meaningful plotline to be thrown her way.

Sure, putting AFO in prison is cool and all, but have you considered... crushing his pride and legacy of evil by helping the boy he tortured for years learn to love again? I’m just sayin’!

Uraraka Ochako, snatching Shigaraki right the fuck out of AFO’s hands:

10) Basically what the whole thing boils down to is this: Shigaraki Tomura needs a hero.

Don’t mistake my meaning. A lot of “girl meets bad boy” plots end up amounting to “girl becomes emotionally responsible for fixing bad boy’s issues,” and that’s not what I’m gunning for--Shigaraki has to redeem himself because redemption is only meaningful when it stems from the character’s own inner desire to change; I’m not quite rose-tinted enough to buy into the Love Redeems trope myself. I’m definitely not advocating anyone dump Shigaraki Tomura as he is now into Uraraka Ochako’s lap and expect her to turn him from a beast to a beauty. It’s not an unrelated woman’s responsibility to fix a broken man.

But! From a reader’s perspective, I think we can agree: Shigaraki’s redemption cannot be complete until he learns to believe in real heroes. He doesn’t have to like them. He doesn’t have to support hero society. But he has to be able to look at real heroes like Izuku and Ochako and admit that they are doing what’s right--that society is a better place because they are here. Shigaraki’s path to recovery can’t even begin until he’s capable of at least acknowledging that the world has things worth saving in it.

If Horikoshi moves forward with a redemption arc for Shigaraki, it will probably be Deku who Detroit Smashes the message of truly noble heroes into Shigaraki’s head. That’s his job as the resident Warrior Therapist, I suppose. But you know... to me, it might be even more meaningful if Shigaraki’s hero--if the hand that reaches out to rescue him--isn’t The Hero’s™ but just a hero’s. We all know Deku is selfless and good to the core. As All Might’s perfect successor, he really has nothing to prove. It’s everyone else who is in question. It’s the whole rest of hero society that owes Shigaraki Tomura an explanation for the suffering of people like the League’s members. It’s everyone else who needs to prove they can do better--that in the future, there will be no bloody children left abandoned in back alleyways.

Uraraka Ochako’s conviction is to save people. As a female hero who hasn’t lived a privileged life, she’s uniquely situated to think about those who are most often overlooked. In a world where violence begets violence, where only those with strength and flash excel, what a powerful message it would send for the terrifying antagonist to effectively be rescued by someone the story itself has called “a frail girl.” At the end of the day, heroics isn’t supposed to be about mountain-destroying explosions and mach punches--heroics is supposed to be about heart, about reaching out a gentle helping hand, about spreading smiles to those who need them most.

Tomura’s faith in heroes has been brutally stripped from him, and every part of his conflict is tied up intimately with his misdirected hatred: it wasn’t actually heroes who isolated and hurt him--it was villains. In order to move forward, he will have to come to that horrible realization, deal with that means for himself and his place in the world, and recognize the truth: there are goodness and good people in the world. Selfless heroes, those who wouldn’t turn their backs on a crying child, do exist. There are people, even now, who would extend a kind hand to Shigaraki Tomura and do their best to bring a real smile to his face. Because that’s what’s really going on, after all.

Shimura Tenko is still waiting to be saved.

And I know just the person to do it.

[maddie-grove]

Bi-Monthly Reading Round-Up (November/December)

Playlist

“Fallin’ for You” by Sheila Nicholls (The Perilous Gard)

“Come on Over to My Place” by the Drifters (A Gentleman Never Keeps Score)

“Bobby Jean” by Bruce Springsteen (Eleanor and Park)

“Seasons in the Sun” by Terry Jacks (One Perfect Rose)

“A Sailor’s Prayer” by Ann Price and Marilyn Maltzer (Broken Wing)

“Winter Lady” by Leonard Cohen (When a Duchess Says I Do)

“Dance Music” by the Mountain Goats (What Hearts)*

“Sweet Talkin’ Guy” by the Chiffons (Jean and Johnny)

“Know Your Onion!” by the Shins (Lost at Sea)

“The Snake and the Bookworm” by Cliff Richard (Tempting the Bride)

“Everybody Loves Me but You” by Brenda Lee (Someone to Remember)

*I also seriously considered both “I’ll Meet You Halfway” by the Partridge Family and “Sports Analogies” from Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. It’s a complex book!

Best of the Bi-Month

The Perilous Gard by Elizabeth Marie Pope (1974): In the late 1550s, grave, awkward Kate Sutton is banished to a remote castle in the east of England. She’s greeted by superstitious locals, shady servants, an often-absent lord, and the lord’s guilt-ridden (and hot) younger brother. Bored and irritated by all the drama, Kate questions the circumstances of the tragedy that haunts the family. I didn’t have high expectations for this book, which I bought primarily for the gorgeous Richard Cuffari illustrations, but I was blown away. Pope creates a sublimely uncanny setting in a surprising way, and Kate is a wonderful protagonist: principled, rational, and compassionate beneath her no-nonsense exterior.

Worst of the Bi-Month

Someone to Remember by Mary Balogh (2019): In her youth, Lady Matilda Westcott rejected Charles Sawyer’s proposal at the urging of her parents, who thought him too wild. Now she’s fifty-six, loved by her extended family but stuck caring for an unappreciative elderly mother. The marriage of her niece and Charles’s estranged illegitimate son brings them together again, but she never expects anything to come of it...like a total fool. This is a cute novella with compelling family dynamics. I also appreciated the solidly middle-aged protagonists, although Balogh presents them a little too timidly, like a mom trying to get a picky eight-year-old to try asparagus.

Rest of the Bi-Month

A Gentleman Never Keeps Score by Cat Sebastian (2018): Once-popular Hartley Sedgwick is languishing in the huge townhouse his godfather left him, shunned by nearly everyone for his sexuality. Then Sam Fox, a black pugilist-turned-tavern-keeper, tries to sneak into the house to find a nude portrait of an embarrassed friend. Moved by Sam’s decency, Hartley offers his assistance in finding the portrait. As I explained in my post about my favorite Regency romance novels, I adore this book for the way Hartley and Sam’s love story is mirrored and enhanced by portrayals of many other kinds of love, between brothers and friends and parents and children and neighbors and also one very homely dog. 

Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell (2012): Park, a geeky half-Korean teenager in 1986, keeps his head down and barley avoids outright ostracism in his poor, mostly white Omaha neighborhood. Eleanor, the weird white girl who shares his bus seat, is tormented at school and at home. They have no interest in being friends, but they slowly bond and fall in love over music and comics. What I liked most about this bittersweet YA novel was the ways in which the protagonists improved each other’s lives. With Park and his loving family, Eleanor gets to let down her defenses, while Eleanor’s boldness inspires Park to embrace his differences. I do wish that Park’s side of things had been developed more, however.

One Perfect Rose by Mary Jo Putney (1997): Upon learning that he’s terminally ill, Stephen, the Duke of Ashburton, freaks out and goes on an incognito tour of the English countryside without telling his family. He ends up joining an acting troupe run by the boisterous Fitzgerald family and falling in love with their adopted daughter/stage manager, Rosalind, despite the many reasons they have no future together. (Or do they?) This is a good, old-fashioned weepy romance that’s elevated by Putney’s serious attention to the theme of reconciling with one’s mortality. There’s also some extremely late-1990s New-Age-ish stuff going on, which sometimes felt a little silly but was still charming.

Broken Wing by Judith James (2008): When unconventional countess Sarah finds her long-lost little brother at a Parisian brothel, she’s overjoyed, appalled, and relieved that he was protected by sex worker Gabriel St. Croix. Grateful, she offers Gabriel a reward and insists he come to live with her and her family. This is another tear-jerking, charmingly dated romance; I felt like a teenager again, reading top-shelf angsty fanfiction. It’s best in the slow-burn first half, during which Gabriel must adjust to a massive reversal of fortune after a lifetime of trauma. The more action-packed second half makes great use of the unusual late 1790s/early 1800s setting, but it does feel hurried.

When a Duchess Says I Do by Grace Burrowes (2019): Widowed Matilda Wakefield, the Duchess of Bosendorf, has been on the run since getting mixed up in her diplomat dad’s clandestine activities. An encounter with scholarly Duncan Wentworth lands her a live-in secretarial position at his rural estate. They connect with each other, but how can love grow when they’re the object of multiple sinister plots? While this entry in the Wentworth series is not as incandescently lovely as My One and Only Duke, I’m still a sucker for spooky country houses, responsible-household-management plots, and sad early-middle-aged heroes. Burrowes is also an excellent writer, and I’m glad that I discovered her.

What Hearts by Bruce Brooks (1992): Sensitive Asa excels at school but struggles at home, thanks to his mother’s severe mental illness and his stepfather Dave’s emotional abuse. Divided into four novella-like sections, the novel follows Asa from his parents’ divorce in first grade to his first love in seventh. I liked parts of this weird, sober book when I read it as a kid, and I felt the same this time. It’s got brilliant moments, most involving Asa and Dave’s relationship, but there’s a lot of telling-not-showing in between. Brooks also can’t seem to decide on the time period; it’s probably supposed to be set 1965-1971, but it always feels like 1963, and you can only blame so much of that on the North Carolina setting.

Jean and Johnny by Beverly Cleary (1959): Short, bespectacled, and working-class, fifteen-year-old Jean feels invisible at her high school until handsome upperclassman Johnny Chessler starts paying attention to her. She’s thrilled, but her parents and sister warn against chasing him. I didn’t like this book much in middle school, but I revisited it because it occurred to me that Jean was a lesbian. Having reread it, I know I was wrong on two counts: Jean is unfortunately not a lesbian (she clearly thinks Johnny’s hot), and the book’s not that depressing. Jean’s no sad sack who’s doomed to a life of grimly chaste square dancing; she’s a legit snack who becomes increasingly self-assured and assertive. 

Lost at Sea by Bryan Lee O’Malley (2003): Raleigh, a Canadian eighteen-year-old, hitches a ride back home from California with some classmates she hardly knows after a meeting with her long-distance boyfriend ends in heartbreak. Lonely and a little disconnected from reality--she maintains the belief that her mom somehow sold her soul, which now resides in a stray cat--Raleigh slowly makes friends with her travelling companions and finds some piece of mind. Although nothing much happens in this short graphic novel, it’s one of the most authentically just-graduated-high-school stories I’ve ever read. I could relate to those feelings of fear and disappointment even in the face of exciting new possibilities.

Tempting the Bride by Sherry Thomas (2012): David Hillsborough, Lord Hastings, has desired Helena Fitzhugh, first-wave feminist and successful fiction editor, since they were kids together, but he’s always hidden behind insulting remarks. When Helena’s affair with a married man ends in scandal, though, she unhappily accepts David’s offer of marriage in order to cover it up. Then she gets hit by a carriage and loses every memory she formed after her mid-teens, which happens to be when she met David. Thomas always has an engaging style and deals with even outlandish plots in a sophisticated way, and her take on the 13 Going on 30 plot is enjoyable. However, it is rushed at the end.

[ticklishhpickle]

The Fault in Our Education System

Summary:

In which Dan pines over the two things he can’t have- contentment with his grades and Phil Lester- before he realises that both might not be as unattainable as they seem.

Or

Something you need to read if you can’t stop defining yourself by grades (like me). 

Length: 3k 

Ao3 link

Dan walked out of the exam room, plonked himself on the nearest bench and promptly burst into tears.

He’d screwed up. He’d screwed it all up - why did Chemistry have to be so hard? He’d studied so hard for the exam as well, and now… now what did it matter? He’d felt so prepared going into the exam, too. Dan recalled the countless number of hours he’d spent revising, crouched over his desk with nothing but his textbook and pencil case keeping him company. This just wasn’t fair.

Now he wasn’t going to get a good mark on the exam, and his GPA would go down, and - and then he wouldn’t get into a good uni. And then all the money his parents had spent on his education would be for nothing.

Dan started crying even harder at this.

His classmates walked out of the exam, most not noticing him and the few who did giving him pitying glances. Dan tried his best to ignore them. He didn’t need pity - he just needed good grades.

He curled in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest. He let seconds, minutes pass him by as he sat on the bench ruminating for nothing. He couldn’t change it now.

Dan tried to steer his mind to better things, to brownies and video games and the cute freckles that dotted the nose of his crush.

Ah, Phil Lester.

You know what a good GPA and Phil Lester have in common? I can’t have either of them, Dan thought bitterly.

And wanna know what was even better than having a crush on a straight boy? Having a crush on a straight boy who was also your best friend. Phil was in Dan’s chemistry class. And English class. And history class. Dan and Phil had been going to the same school since prep, and Dan had been smitten with Phil for approximately the same amount of time. But Phil was too out of reach - Dan doubted he even noticed Dan, let alone considered him someone he would date. Why did all the cute guys have to be straight?

Phil had dated quite a few girls at their school - Tracy Robinson in the the fourth grade, Greta Harris in the seventh, and most recently Katie Tao in the 10th. They’d broken up last summer holidays, much to Dan’s relief. Every time Phil was dating someone, Dan was dying inside. Thank god he was a good actor, or his pathetic little crush would have been revealed years ago by his jealous streak.

Spending so much time with his crush and stressing over his grades so much, Dan’s poor heart was in a perpetual state of palpitation. It wasn’t fun.

Last year, just before a history test Phil had accidentally brushed his hand over Dan’s, causing his heart to nearly jump out of his chest.

“You okay?” Phil had said, kind blue eyes looking down at him with concern.

“Y-yep!” Dan had squeaked back, his soul basically descending out of his own body. The anxiety from a test and from direct contact with his crush combined were too much for his lanky body to handle.

Phil was kind, smart, funny and had the most beautiful eyes Dan had ever seen. If only Phil felt the same. It was quite sad, really, how Phil’s touch had the ability to send Dan’s heart racing even after all these years.

This long-winded train of thoughts about his unrequited pining over his best friend had done nothing to cheer Dan up, and soon tears were pouring out of his eyes at an alarming fast rate once again. The boy was aggressively blowing his nose into a handkerchief when he was interrupted by a voice,

“Grades don’t define you, you know?”

Dan looked up from his blowing, and felt his face flush when he saw who it was. Phil. He quickly wiped his nose and threw the tissue in the bin next to the bench, praying to every deity he didn’t believe in that the most perfect man on earth wasn’t too disgusted by him right now.

Dan was at a loss for words, and only managed to flick his eyes up at Phil’s gorgeous face before falling back into his pathetic sobs. Oh god, why was he such a mess? He buried his head into his chest, accepting that Phil wouldn’t judge him- he’d seen Dan like this far too many times to count.

“I mean it, Dan.” Phil continued, tentatively sitting down next to the sobbing boy.

“And chemistry’s a little bitch anyway, yeah? Everyone found the exam horrible. I’m sure you did better than you think.”

Dan slowly lifted his head up, using all of his courage to look at Phil.

“B-but I especially fucked up. I’m never going to get in to a good uni now.” Dan choked out, hiccuping with sobs.

“You will, Dan. You would have done fine, you studied so hard for this, I know you did. And the rest of your subjects would have been good too.”

Dan’s cries came to an abrupt stop when he felt a long arm wrap around him, pulling him closer to the body beside him.

This was too much contact for him to handle. Dan had always made sure to keep Phil at an arm’s length, literally. Phil was under the false impression that Dan disliked physical contact - well, it wasn’t entirely false. He did dislike physical contact - but only the kind that was Phil, and only because of how giddy it made him.

“I don’t like school.” Dan mumbled into the other boy’s chest. Phil laughed, and Dan felt something warm spread inside of him. He loved that sound.

“No one does. But it’s over now.”

“It is?”

“That’s our last exam, isn’t it? Now we just have our graduation ceremony, and we’re free.” Phil said, grinning.

“I guess so.” Dan replied blandly, suddenly aware of the puffiness under his eyes. Crying in public was such a hoot, wasn’t it?

He squirmed uncomfortably as silence settled in between them. Phil’s arm had long vanished from Dan’s back, now he was playing with his long pale fingers. In fact, he looked a little nervous.

“Wanna get out of here?”

Dan nodded eagerly, ready to leave the premises of his tragic academic defeat.

“Where?”

“Nowhere in particular,” was the vague reply Dan got. Phil’s eyes were dancing mischievously.

Dan looked at Phil’s soft hand, dissatisfied with Phil’s vague answer to his question. He took it anyway.

-

“Okay, open your eyes.” Phil had forced Dan to keep his eyes closed for the entire 15 minute walk to wherever the hell Phil had taken him. The whole walk over, Dan still struggled to shake the feelings of inadequacy clogging his brain. Phil had served to distract him a little back at the school, but with nothing but the sound of his own feet crunching against twigs, Dan’s brain had resorted back to its terrible rumination patterns.

His parents had paid their hard-earned money to send him to such a good school. He needed to be a lawyer. But he couldn’t be a lawyer. Not with a GPA of negative 2.  Okay, maybe his GPA wouldn’t become negative 2 just because of the exam, but right now it felt like it.

Dan recalled the utter feeling of dread that had flooded his body when the examiner declared that time was up. It felt as if a stone had been thrown down his chest, squashing any feelings of hope he’d had to do well on this exam.

If that wasn’t enough, Phil for some reason had decided that the best way to keep Dan from seeing where they were going was to cover his eyes with his hands!!! Was he trying to kill Dan? His whole face had turned bright red from the contact- he hoped Phil hadn’t noticed.

“Dan, are you crying again?” Phil asked. Phil’s hands were tightly covering Dan’s eyes, but he was sure Phil was frowning.

“N-no.” Dan replied, fully aware that Phil would see through the lie.

“Then why can I feel your tears on my hands?”

“It’s sweat.”

“Yes. Sweat from your eyes. Aka tears.” Phil took his hands off Dan’s eyes and wiped away the stray tears that had fallen.

“You are more than your grades, Dan.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.” Dan sniffed, keeping his eyes shut tight to hide from Phil the next wave of tears threatening to fall.

“Open your eyes.”

Dan gasped at the sight before him. Monkey bars he’d spent hours upon hours, climbing, falling off stood tall and proud. The slide he’d burnt his ass on multiple times was there, its presence reminding him of better days. And best of all, the merry-go-round he’d first met Phil at was there, where it had always been.

“Are we even allowed to be here?”

“Probably not. But school’s out, there are no kids here. We won’t be arrested, I promise.

Follow me!” Phil grinned his award winning smile, and who was Dan to say no to that?

Dan followed Phil to the merry go round, and nearly fell over when Phil abruptly began spinning it. “Now Mr. Daniel. Tell me why you think your grades define you.”

Dan rolled his eyes. They’d had this conversation a thousand times. Nothing productive ever came from it - Dan would always continue to be a perfectionist about his grades.

“Because- I’m not good at anything else. They’re all I have.” “Well that’s just not true. For one thing, you’re hilarious.”

“Really?” “Anyone who talks to you would know that, Dan.”

Dan blushed red at this, his stomach flipping upside down. God, he needed to get a grip. And over his best friend. And better grades.

Phil frowned at Dan’s lack of response, but remained silent and jumped onto the merry go round. It was now in full swing.

Dan willed his brain not to think about the damned chemistry exam anymore, choosing instead to focus on the boy he’d pined over for years.

Sure, Phil considered Dan his best friend, but he knew that was the extent of his feelings towards Dan. They’d grown up together and survived high school together as well (barely) - Phil probably thought of Dan as a brother!  It didn’t mean anything that Phil always offered to take him out for ice cream after school, or that he was always walking to classes with him- that was purely out of friendship, as much as he wished it meant something more. Phil was straight.

After a few minutes of spinning, Dan started feeling a little nauseous, and clearly Phil felt the same because he stuck his foot out onto the ground, bringing the merry go round to an abrupt stop.

“Well I don’t know about you, but I think I’ve had enough of that for one day.” Phil groaned, clutching his stomach a little.

“Tell me about it, I feel so sick.” Dan stared woefully at his feet, head spinning with thoughts about his GPA once again.

“What do you want to do after high school?” Phil asked suddenly, turning his head towards Dan.

“Law. You know this.” He answered quickly, sighing a little.

“I think you misheard me, Dan.”

“I don’t think I did?”

“You told me what your parents want you to do after high school, not what you want to do. You say ‘law’ every time we talk about this and I haven’t pushed it, but I want to know.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

Phil gave him a look as if to say ‘I’m your best friend, you goof, nothing is embarrassing between us anymore.’

He sighed.

“Fine. Something artsy. I love theatre and writing. But it doesn’t matter. I need to do law - which is why it matters that I fucked the exam so bad. I’m hopeless.”

“No you’re not, Dan. I know it seems like it now, because we’re in the midst of all these crappy assessments and such, but there’s a life beyond this.” Dan just shook his head.

“Okay. As morbid as it sounds, imagine you’re on your deathbed.”

“What?”

“Hear me out. You’re on the brink of death, and your whole life is flashing before your eyes. You’re thinking about your first kiss, your first best friend- me, the smile on your dad’s face and the happy tears in your mum’s eyes when you move out…”

“I don’t know where you’re going with this.”

“But you know what you’re not thinking about? Your grades. It doesn’t matter in the end what marks we get, or how much money we make, because we are humans and we can’t be defined by numbers. People don’t remember numbers. They remember how you made them feel.”

Phil looked at Dan to check he was still listening, took a deep breath and continued.

“And when it’s your time to go, you’re going to remember all these special moments in your life, and you’re going to regret beating yourself up so much just for losing a couple of marks.”

Phil’s words hit him like a ton of bricks. Why was Dan letting numbers define him? The past couple of years he’d just been stressing over his grades, crying when he’d lose one mark out of 25 on a test. What a waste of time.

Dan was brought back to grade school, where he’d cried over the A he’d gotten on his maths test. He’d wanted an A+. Phil had made Dan brownies and assured Dan that their maths teacher, Mrs Oak was a big ‘stinky poo’ for giving Dan an A when he obviously deserved an A+.

He remembered year 7 when Dan felt like the work was really getting serious, but Phil had forced him to play video games with him when he found out Dan had spent an entire week cooped up in his room, studying. He’d let Dan sleep over and made him his favourite foods, telling him how he was going to be just fine, joking that ‘year 7 was such a meme anyway, it would eventually go stale and the work wouldn’t even matter anymore’.

Dan smiled fondly at the memories, even though his chest was tight with two profound realisations- 1. He had to stop defining himself by grades for his own sanity,  and 2. He’d probably never be able to fall out of love with Phil Lester. He was doomed.

“You know, school’s practically over. We’ll be free and I won’t have to see any of my exes anymore.” Phil mused, snapping Dan out of his thoughts.

He was right… how had Dan not realised- he was finishing high school! He’d never have to see any of the assholes from his school again.

“Ugh, I can’t wait.” Dan said, smiling at his friend.

“Yeah, I think I might regret some things, though.” Phil said quietly, sitting back down next to Dan. When Phil extended his arms out as he sat, for a brief moment Dan thought he was going to put his arm around him again but no, he was just stretching. He tried not to be too disappointed. 

“Really? Like what?” Dan replied, intrigued.

Now it was Phil’s turn to blush, pale cheeks very obviously reddening.

“Well, I- erm. This is embarrassing.”

Dan gave him the same look Phil had given him only minutes ago, the one that said ‘I’m your best friend, you goof, nothing is embarrassing between us anymore.’

“Okay fine. I’ve had a crush on someone for years and I’ve never told them.”

“Oh my gosh, who? And wait - years? But you’ve had girlfriends during that time!”  Dan asked, desperately trying to mask the jealousy in his voice. Whoever this person was who Phil liked was damn lucky.

“Yeah, about that. I kind of just, fake-dated all of them to make my crush jealous. Didn’t really work. He didn’t even seem to care.”

He? Dan’s eyes widened.

“He’s really cute, you know. He’s got these soft brown eyes that are the colour of a caramel mocha latte. And his hair looks so damn fluffy, it’s brown, just like his eyes and I’ve always wanted to touch it. I’ve just been too scared to ask.”

Phil’s voice was barely audible now, lighter than a feather. He sounded small and fragile and like the most vulnerable boy in the world. Dan just wanted to hold him and comfort him, but instead he remained silent. He was too stunned by his friend’s words to form a proper response.

“And he’s really funny, too. Not everyone notices, but he makes the funniest comments under his breath. He always has something clever to say- even if not everyone is clever enough to listen.” Dan searched Phil’s face for any signs of humour, but all he found was the vulnerability of a wounded deer.

His breath hitched. Was this really happening? Was it possible that Phil Lester, seemingly straightest boy in the world, liked Dan back? This is what he’d only dreamt about for literal years- how was this even real life?

Brown eyes met blue and fuck, Dan was falling even harder for the boy in front of him if that was possible. Without thinking, Dan leant over and pecked Phil’s cheek, causing a blush to erupt on both boys’ faces.

Wait. Fuck. Dan quickly pulled back.

“Were you talking about me or have I just made this really awkward?”

Phil smiled the most beautiful smile Dan had ever seen, his eyes shining with a mix of adoration and relief. He held a hand out to Dan and stood up,

“Both, if possible.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, before taking Phil’s hand in his own. He laced their fingers together contentedly, just letting himself enjoy the moment that would shape the rest of his life.

For once, he wasn’t thinking about grades, or universities, or disappointing his parents. He was just content where he was, and ecstatic about who he was with. And little did Dan know, but this would come to be one of those ‘special moments’ Phil was talking about. It would be known as the day he no longer defined himself by numbers, and even more importantly - the day his best friend became something more.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I screwed up a final assessment today and am feeling super angsty and need to get this off my chest and gosh I hope this helps other people who have issues with perfectionism and grades LMAO I HATE MY LIFE. I hope this helps people, because school honestly sucks and we do need to look at the bigger picture as hard as it is sometimes. 

[phoenixninja101]

My Answers:

1. What was the first fandom where you developed a ship?

Technically Ninjago, but I started reading fan fictions for a ship I developed from internet influence in the SonicTH fandom.

2. What pairing was your first or original OTP/ship?

My first would be Jay x Nya from Ninjago.

3. What ship are you currently obsessed with and why?

BakuDeku, enough said.

4. What is your favorite OTP of all time?

Again, BakuDeku.

5. What is your favorite OT3?

Probably BakuDekuTodo rn...

6. What is your favorite poly-ship?

Dekubowl and AllKuro, because why not?

7. What are your top five ships of all time?

BakuDeku

TodoDeku

IzuOcha

AkaKuro

KagaKuro

8. Describe your favorite ship in seven words or less.

Passionate in all senses, both are driven.

9. What drew you to your favorite ship?

It's not just the apparent compatibility from their history or character, but because they provide us authors so much content to use for the fandom.

10. Which ship do you most want to become canon?

BakuDeku, of course, because Horikoshi is doing so much already.

11. If the creators of your favorite fandom asked you to write the ship canon-confirmation episode, what will you write/how will it happen?

I would write them the way they are canonically portrayed because they cannot be anymore gayer than that, but with more gay panic to nudge them.

12. What ship do you most relate to?

AkaKuro, probably since I view my crush as someone unattainable like how Deku looks at Kacchan but I'm about as nonchalant as Kuroko.

13. Which character in your ship is your favorite and why?

It would be Midoriya Izuku (Deku). I've been told to have a protagonist type, plus he's just so lovable!

14. What ship did you like immediately?

KagaKuro, because they're just so cute like that despite the difference in personality, the chemistry was there.

15. What ship took a long time for you to like?

BakuDeku, because for a time I hated Bakugou and was more biased to Todoroki (TodoDeku).

16. What gif or screenshot most sums up your ship?

I chose this GIF specifically because BKDK is so emotionally constipated that they gotta go through extreme measures to deal with their feelings. It's exhausting, but that's why I love it.

17. What ship are you embarrassed to admit you like?

Augh, the Amy Rose harem honestly. I saw one female hedgehog and many males, while other girls were a different species so I just... yeah.

18. What fandom are you embarrassed to admit you like?

SonicTH, that fandom was a fucking nightmare.

19. What ship or ships do you absolutely cannot stand?

Proships, or adult x minor ships, plus other specific ones I cannot stand to see/read but chose to respect them (referring to legal ships i just don't like).

20. Do you have any rare ships?

SeroDeku? But a lot of Dekubowls include him, but not much spot light sadly...

21. For what fandom and/or character do you have multiple ships?

In the SonicTH and Ninjago fandoms, which is embarrassing but yeah. If you include my bias x harem, then there should be BNHA and KnB.

22. Do you have family members or close friends that share your ship?

I got my 8 year younger sister to adore all my ships because I show her the good parts. She's the only one who can ship boys x boys as well that I know of.

23. What song or songs remind you of your favorite fandom, character or ship?

Super Far for BakuDeku: The line "Don't be mean, if you wanna go. You can leave and leave my heart alone." Bakugou literally fell off a log and walked away from Deku, tormenting him after for little to no reasons at all.

24. Do you prefer to indulge in (consume or create) fanart or fanfic of your favorite ship?

Yes, absolutely. I like writing, and I wanna draw but I'm just not cut out for it.

25. If you create fanart, is it okay or would you like a writer to create a fic based on your art?

Not applicable to me, but I wouldn't mind if I were an artist.

26. If you create fanfiction, is it okay or would you like an artist to create art (drawings, banners, gifs, etc.) based on your stories?

YES. That would be an honor.

27. What is your favorite fanfic troupe?

Hate-to-Love relationships, of course. But I love Love-at-First-Sight as well with a dash of pining.

28. What fanfic troupe do you wish would go away?

Probably whatever trope glorifies non-cons/dub-cons, or rape.

29. What’s your favorite fanfic AU scenario or setting?

Canonical setting, but alternate universe would be a regular high school drama.

30. How many hours of the day do you spend thinking about your ship?

24/7.

31. How many hours of the day do you spend reading fanfic or looking at fanart or other media?

As long as there's nothing important to do, this is what I turn to.

32. What task are you most likely to procrastinate so you can indulge in your ship or fandom?

House chores, what else? (School work can't be put off, unfortunately.)

33. How many memorabilia’s do you own of your favorite fandom or ship (clothes, plushies, etc.)?

I have 14 keychains, one of each character significant to the plot, and 4 mugs.

34. If you could own one authentic item from your favorite fandom world, what would it be?

Uraraka Ochako's costume.

35. What’s your go-to episode or scene when you need ship feels?

BNHA S03, E23 & Movie 2: Heroes Rising for BKDK and KnB S03, E13-E16 (Teikou Days) & Last Game Movie for GoMKuro + OgiKuro.

36. Smut or fluff?

Fluff most of the time, but smut at times if there is a semblance of plot.

37. In what fandom do you enjoy meeting others or engaging fellow fans?

As much as I hate to admit it, KnB fandom is not as active as it once was for being a sports anime. I prefer to engage in the BNHA fandom because it's the most active, and there are so many fan-made contents for my stans and ships.

38. What fandom have you found to be too toxic to deal with?

The SonicTH fandom, main reason why I left. That fandom has existed for a long time, so a lot of traditionalists and entitled people exist there, who think their opinions are more valid than ours just because they've been there before us.

39. Is it okay for fellow shippers to engage you – ask you questions and get to know you via your shared ship?

Of course, I love making internet friends. The only problem is, I suck as socializing so I'd prefer it if they approach me first.

40. Do you have or would you consider getting a tattoo depicting your favorite ship or fandom?

I could deal with symbols, but not actual drawings on my skin, and as minimal as possible.

41. What is the strangest thing you’ve done to honor your favorite fandom, ship or character?

Defend them from someone I admire and prefer not to start a discourse with.

Shipping and Fandom Ask

Embrace your inner shipper!  Send me a number and I’ll answer the question about my favorite ships or fandoms.  Reblog to participate and let your ship flag fly!

1. What was the first fandom where you developed a ship? 2. What pairing was your first or original OTP/ship? 3. What ship are you currently obsessed with and why? 4. What is your favorite OTP of all time? 5. What is your favorite OT3? 6. What is your favorite poly-ship? 7. What are your top five ships of all time? 8. Describe your favorite ship in seven words or less. 9. What drew you to your favorite ship? 10. Which ship do you most want to become canon? 11. If the creators of your favorite fandom asked you to write the ship canon-confirmation episode, what will you write/how will it happen? 12. What ship do you most relate to? 13. Which character in your ship is your favorite and why? 14. What ship did you like immediately? 15. What ship took a long time for you to like? 16. What gif or screenshot most sums up your ship? 17. What ship are you embarrassed to admit you like? 18. What fandom are you embarrassed to admit you like? 19. What ship or ships do you absolutely cannot stand? 20. Do you have any rare ships? 21. For what fandom and/or character do you have multiple ships? 22. Do you have family members or close friends that share your ship? 23. What song or songs remind you of your favorite fandom, character or ship? 24. Do you prefer to indulge in (consume or create) fanart or fanfic of your favorite ship? 25. If you create fanart, is it okay or would you like a writer to create a fic based on your art? 26. If you create fanfiction, is it okay or would you like an artist to create art (drawings, banners, gifs, etc.) based on your stories? 27. What is your favorite fanfic troupe? 28. What fanfic troupe do you wish would go away? 29. What’s your favorite fanfic AU scenario or setting? 30. How many hours of the day do you spend thinking about your ship? 31. How many hours of the day do you spend reading fanfic or looking at fanart or other media? 32. What task are you most likely to procrastinate so you can indulge in your ship or fandom? 33. How many memorabilia’s do you own of your favorite fandom or ship (clothes, plushies, etc.)? 34. If you could own one authentic item from your favorite fandom world, what would it be? 35. What’s your go-to episode or scene when you need ship feels? 36. Smut or fluff? 37. In what fandom do you enjoy meeting others or engaging fellow fans? 38. What fandom have you found to be too toxic to deal with? 39. Is it okay for fellow shippers to engage you – ask you questions and get to know you via your shared ship? 40. Do you have or would you consider getting a tattoo depicting your favorite ship or fandom? 41. What is the strangest thing you’ve done to honor your favorite fandom, ship or character?

[nycbanderson]

HINT: It's closer than you think.

Sweet, well-mannered, people pleaser Blaine Anderson hardly ever hated anything, except —

(Trigger warnings: Homophobia and Physical Assault)

Westerville, Ohio.

He had nothing against his hometown in principle, really. It was just like any other small city in the world, filled with people who seemed to know what they were doing and merely trying their hardest to play with the cards they were dealt with. And yes, he had to admit that he didn’t like them. Not at all. Because not only were they negative, narrow-minded individuals, but also seemed to pride themselves on being so, which bothered him a lot. But still, that wasn’t the reason why he hated the place. At the mere age of thirteen, after he had just come out to his parents, he knew instinctively, that not a single place on earth could possibly be completely free from discrimination and prejudice. And as much as he hated that saying, he had to agree that being prejudiced is as natural as breathing. Prejudice against the poor or the rich, the smart or the slow, the gaunt or the obese… Heck, even he himself had harbored some kind of prejudice against the residents of Westerville. It was what it was, regardless of the party that would benefit from it and whether they deserved it or not. So Blaine knew, in the same way that he knew that there were no truths behind those fairy tales he had once loved as a child, and why a happy lie is sometimes better than a sad truth. 

If someone were to ask him how he had managed to figure out all of that at such a young age, he would always credit it back to his father. Contrary to everyone’s belief, Blaine was never the ‘troubled’ one in the family. He wasn’t the golden child by all means, but he instantly became the ‘better’ one the moment his older brother, Cooper Anderson, decided to run away to Hollywood to become an actor. And for a short period of time Blaine was secretly happy, relieved even, with the way things have turned out and how they’ve worked in his favor. His father was never an easy man to please, and so he began to work harder in anything and almost everything, trying his earnest to earn a nod from his father. He longed to be noticed and approved, considering the fact that he hadn’t been able to receive those two things in such a long time. Too long, as a matter of fact, especially when there’s someone like Cooper in the family. And of course, his hard work paid off just like he knew they would and garnered him trophies eventually - he had multiple ones just for his singing, one for tennis, one for polo, and even one for horse riding. Needless to say, his parents were proud of him, and that made him confident. He felt like he could do anything, and his parents would still be proud. He was no longer living under Cooper’s shadow, desperately searching for a way to be allowed inside the family circle, he was finally in it. Which was why, at the age of thirteen, when he first realized he felt about boys, the way that he should be feeling about girls, he came out to his parents without really thinking about it. He liked boys, and he didn’t think there was a problem with that. Except there was.

It never occurred to him that his father might be slightly homophobic until after he came out to him, but in hindsight he probably should have seen that coming. What crushed Blaine the most was the fact that he had to learn the hard way, that it was entirely possible for parents to set a limit on parental affection, if you ever stopped being exactly what they expected and wanted you to be, even when their love was supposed to be unconditional. It took him five years to earn his place in the family, but only five minutes to shatter it all. But perhaps the saddest thing of it all was how quickly love fades and the way he had fooled himself into thinking that he was ever in control when he never really was, not even close. 

So no, the people of Westerville wasn’t the problem and they never were. He hated his hometown because this place was where it all started. His fate was sealed from the moment his own father rejected him in their own house, the one place that was supposed to function like a shelter and protect him from the storms outside, but instead he had gotten struck, not from actual lightnings, but those vexatious words that came out from his father’s lips. He hated it. He hated Westerville. He hated his house - the living room, the kitchen, his bedroom, all of it. He hated his old school, and perhaps even Dalton too. He hated that little street right across from his old school where, for the first time of his life, he understood just how desperate he was to stay alive and how much it actually hurts to stay silent so that his blood won’t run into his own mouth when all he wanted to do was to scream. Westerville reminded him of the bullies and assailants that should have been apprehended and locked up, for one reason or the other, but were never actually arrested. It reminded him of what it felt like to be an outcast, of how unattainable unconditional love was, and the fact that he would never, ever belong here, or anywhere else, for that matter. Some might say that he was accepted and celebrated in Dalton, but he knew better than to believe them. “That performance was perfect” or “you sing like a dream” - those were accomplishments and things that he had done, as Blaine Warbler, but they weren’t him. He talked and sang perfectly, dressed up perfectly, because being perfect worked with his parents once, so there was absolutely no reason why it wouldn’t work again. In those halls, with those Warblers, he became who they expected him to be. He conformed, if only to retain a quite existence while he heal himself. 

And now, almost eight years later, his wounds had already faded into scabs but the pain still remains. He would never use the word ‘broken’ to describe himself. Wounded, perhaps, but never broken. Broken would just mean that he was beyond repair, and that couldn’t be further from the truth. He would never allow himself to reach that stage, even if it meant putting on a persona and treating it like a character role he had been bestowed to play. Because if Blaine Anderson was good at one thing, it was performing. He was always very good at giving the audience exactly what they wanted while making sure he had a tight hold on his emotions at all times. The last thing he wanted was for them to slip from his grasp and bleed all over the stage. 

He hated Westerville, but he had no problem pretending that he didn’t, and that was exactly what he did when he’d finally arrived at his house, chilled to the bone. When Pam Anderson came to the door to greet him, he beamed and gave her the warmest smile he could muster, even though every fiber of his being was tired and yearning to go back to New York. 

“I’ve missed you.” Pam returned his smile, before leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheeks and a quick hug. “How was the flight?” She asked absentmindedly as she moved forward to help him out of his coat.  

“It was alright.” He replied, a tad too fast to his own liking, but he could tell that she didn’t notice. Or maybe she did, but pretended that she didn’t. He was more like his mother than his father after all. 

“That’s good to know.” Pam acknowledged softly, running her fingers through his hair which was now coming out of its gelled prison. “Oh- before I forgot, the mailman just left like, two minutes ago and something came for you.” She said as she reached out to the small table beside the entrance door to pick up the letter meant for Blaine. 

Blaine could do nothing but stare at the letter incredulously, thinking to himself just how on earth did they know that he was coming back home today? But he supposed that was a redundant question, seeing as how they were the ones running the country. He accepted the letter from Pam’s hand without another word and folded it up into half, before putting it in his pocket. Unbeknownst to his mother however, he wasted no time in scrunching that piece of paper into his palm, hard. He wasn’t going to read it, and his mother certainly didn’t need to know that. 

“It’s good to have you back, sweetheart. Come on, let’s go get you something to eat.”

“It’s good to be back.” Blaine smiled again, big and bright before stepping inside the house and closing the door behind him. 

[bubarnes820]

Mike and Glen

My first cousin once removed, Mike Stephens, died two days ago at the age of 77.  He had pancreatic cancer, aneurysms, and other conditions that weren’t really treatable.  Mike was a cowboy, rancher, and horse trainer by occupation. He was born in 1939 and was 17 when I was born, so when I was a little girl he was my handsome cousin, who looked like a movie star and who soon had a beautiful wife named Beth.  My mother’s cousins Mike, Nancy Lowe, and Harry Mays Jr. lived in Prattsville, as did Glen Campbell.  Several other cousins lived nearby in Little Rock.  (Harry grew up in El Dorado, but his parents moved to Prattsville after my great grandfather died.) There’s not much connection other than that, but Glen Campbell died yesterday and it made me think about what small connections there might be.  

There was a story my grandmother told about Mike getting his finger blown off with a Roman candle, I think at the age of eight. She and my grandfather were the ones who took him to the hospital, and she never wanted us to have anything to do with fireworks.

Mike’s wife Beth had two little girls who were precious. (Beth was a Pumphrey and was a second cousin to Mike.) Beth got multiple sclerosis when the girls were teenagers or young adults, I think.  She eventually decided to leave Mike--I don’t know if the story is true that she didn’t want him to see her deteriorate or be her caregiver, but she moved to Little Rock and divorced him.  Soon after, he married Kathy, who was much younger and who had children from her previous marriage, and they helped take care of Beth the rest of her life. The children helped too, and the grandchildren visited often.  One of the grandsons drowned on the farm while visiting Mike.

Mike’s dad was Uncle Albert, my grandmother’s younger brother who was born without one of his feet.  He had the ranch first, and Uncle Witt’s farm is connected. When Uncle Witt became wealthy, I think he set up Uncle Albert and also Aunt Lois’s husband Uncle Keeling, who had a dairy there in Prattsville. But I don’t know all the details.  Mike’s mom was Aunt Helen, one of the most gracious and kind people I’ve ever known. 

Mike was always good for a visit and liked to tell stories--I think there was one about whiskey and my great grandfather...Maybe it was about Mike getting into the whiskey and Papa Stephens tricking him into confessing.  Tricky because Papa Stephens didn’t want Mama Stephens to know he had it.

I last saw Mike two summers ago when we met at the Whippet for lunch to celebrate Uncle Ray’s birthday. We went to their house, took pictures, and laughed a lot.  I’ve kept up since then because Kathy posts on Facebook a lot and we get to read her funny stories about their lives and how Mike didn’t like Kathy’s driving, and she didn’t like his either. By the next summer Uncle Ray had died, and by this summer my father had died.  I don’t think I can go to this funeral because I’m back in school, but going to the Philadelphia Cemetery where he’ll be buried is always meaningful because my grandparents, great grandparents, and many more family members are buried there.

Glen Campbell was just a few years older than Mike (four I think) and I doubt that they ever met.  Glen was from Delight, Arkansas, was handsome in a different way from Mike, and my friend Linda and I had crushes on him and listened to his records at her house (where she also played Johnny Cash records for me).

Glen’s songs were about that unattainable guy, the guy who’s leaving for Phoenix, who’s happy to have no strings attached, who needs you more than wants you, who finally sings a beautiful song called “Adios.” He was the ultimate cowboy in True Grit, could play the banjo and guitar with Steve Martin, and who had his own TV show.  

There are a few other noteworthy Americans from southern Arkansas, but these two, leaving us at the same time, not wanting us to cry, were two of the best. 

[junker-town]

The inspiring story of TJ Olsen shows the importance of organ donation

Greg Olsen’s son has another chance at life thanks to another.

Greg and Kara Olsen faced the unthinkable this month when they announced their son TJ would require a heart transplant at the age of eight. A boy who had been through so much since his life began in 2012 now faced his most difficult challenge.

This past weekend Olsen posted that a donor had been found for their boy. He was rushed into emergency surgery to perform the transplant, and on Monday a brief video was posted showing TJ in recovery.

Someone has an update pic.twitter.com/L1Zk2AgHpd

— Greg Olsen (@gregolsen88) June 7, 2021

The bravery displayed by a child, and the grace of his parents, is unimaginable. That’s a big, over-used word “unimaginable,” but I cannot think of one that fits better. No scenario exists in which I can fathom being strong if my little girl needed to go through half the medical procedures that TJ did. The idea that something was happening I have no control over is impossible to comprehend. That the little girl who still has the idyllic view that her parents can do anything would have to tell her “there’s nothing we can do.” Even thinking about it now brings me to tears, and that’s not a reality I live in.

There’s a lesson to be learned from TJ: not just in life, but how we confront mortality. Both ours, and others around us. It’s finality none of us want to talk about, pushing it to the recesses of our mind where we stash anything in our life we are too fragile to deal with. Today we look at TJ’s story, but also how we can change our lives to adapt to situations like this in the future.

TJ Olsen’s story

Football was the furthest thing from Greg Olsen’s mind in October 2012. The tight end, had an incredible start to the season coming off his first year in Carolina, but his biggest test was coming off the field.

Kara Olsen was pregnant with twins. The couple learned early in the pregnancy that their son TJ was going to be born with a congenital heart defect known as “Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome,” a grouped term for a number of potential defects in which the heart is unable to pump oxygen-rich blood to the body. A condition which requires surgical intervention, and in extreme cases even transplant.

Panthers fans, and the city of Charlotte rallied around the Olsens after hearing the news. A rookie tradition in Carolina had been having players dress up as super heroes and comic book characters and visiting kids at The Levine Children’s Hospital, but this was the first time one of the team’s own needed the hospital so critically.

The importance of that 2012 season heightened. Olsen was playing not just for the Panthers, but for TJ. The result was one of the most heartening in recent memory, with each week’s score mattering to fans, but not nearly as much as hanging on every update released on TJ’s condition.

Multiple surgeries later, it was announced that TJ would be okay. Instead of being happy his child was out of the woods, and returning to business as usual, Greg and Kara turned their son’s illness into a point of strength. They launched “The HEARTest Yard,” the brainchild of Kara who realized the at-home care TJ required following his surgeries, and the suite of medical needs were utterly unattainable for those who weren’t privileged enough to have an NFL salary in their home.

Partnering with Levine Children’s Hospital, The HEARTest Yard provides funds, support, and specialized treatment plans for everyone, regardless of income. It ensures every child facing similar issues to TJ gets the same level of care, removing the unthinkable barrier for people without the means to pick the best possible care for their children without the crippling financial burden that would come with it.

Since its inception the program has expanded beyond at-home care. Now pivoting into adolescent care, it provides support to children who faced brutal medical issues, and ensures they don’t see lasting effects into adulthood. Typically children who are diagnosed with life-threatening conditions in childhood experience cognitive and learning difficulties beyond their physical diagnosis . The HEARTest Yard follows children beyond being “cleared,” providing cognitive and learning support into adulthood.

It’s unquestionably one of the best charities a former NFL player has been involved in.

Unfortunately, TJ’s struggles continued

On May 24th Greg Olsen announced that despite having years of relative health, TJ was facing another challenge.

This past week has been exceptionally challenging for our family. As many of you know, our son TJ has faced serious heart issues since birth. TJ has already undergone 3 open heart surgeries and has survived with a modified heart for his first 8 years of life. Unfortunately, it seems his heart is reaching its end. We are currently working through the process to determine our next steps, which ultimately could lead to a heart transplant.

We are so thankful for the incredible support we have received over the years. We have received world class care at Levine Children’s Hospital and we are so appreciative of their amazing team. We don’t know how long we will be within these hospital walls. We do know that we are in full control of our attitudes and our outlook.

TJ has been a fighter since birth. We are going to get through this as a family and be better off as a result of this experience.

Thanks for everyone’s prayers.

The Olsen Family

The community that rallied around the Olsens in 2012 was still there. Even though Greg was no longer on the Panthers, the love the community had for his family remained. Area businesses poured out their support, youth games honored TJ, Bank of America Stadium was lit up green for a night in honor of the young boy.

TJ’s favorite color is green so we made sure @BofAstadium was lit up green tonight pic.twitter.com/A325ppRm2n

— Carolina Panthers (@Panthers) June 5, 2021

Dreams soon became reality. A donor was found for TJ. The 8-year-old was given a new lease on life, but with it came a sober reminder that in order for one person to triumph, another was dealing with tragedy. Greg Olsen still doesn’t know where his son’s donor heart came from, a factor of how the anonymity of the process, but asked the world to think of them, wherever they are.

We also want to ask that everyone takes a second to pray for our donor family. Their selflessness during a tragic time gave our boy a chance at life. We don’t know who they are, but we will forever be grateful for everyday we get to have with Tj ❤️ Olsen Family

— Greg Olsen (@gregolsen88) June 4, 2021

TJ Olsen still has a long road ahead while he recovers, but he now has a chance to truly live without the cloud of his illness looming. One story may end here, but it goes far, far beyond that.

The importance of being an organ donor

I never knew my aunt Rochelle very well. She was one of those people who’s called “aunt” by osmosis, a familial relationship so convoluted and complex it’s easier to say aunt than whatever the technical term on a family tree is. I didn’t meet her until I was 10 years old, when she was already sick.

Rochelle was young, too young to need something as complex as a heart and lung transplant — but a routine checkup discovered that at the age of 39 she had congenital issues that required intervention. Rochelle and my uncle Michael moved from Western Australia to Sydney to check in long-term to one of Australia’s best hospitals, where she would have round-the-clock care, and the best chance at getting a transplant.

My school was within walking distance from the hospital. My mom would pick me up, we’d walk over and see Rochelle every day. When I was young I thought we were bothering her. She always seemed so tired, and exhausted to even open her eyes. I later learned that this was the most energy she could muster all day, that the highlight of her hospital room-confined life was seeing her 10-year-old nephew. A brief respite from the crushing reality around her. She’d ask what I did in school, I’ll fill her in on every detail, each joke I made, what I’d learned. Her eyes would light up, and a smile would creep across her face.

Sometimes I’d complain about going to the hospital. The way any kid would after being asked to do something every day. My mom explained how whatever issues I had with it were completely outweighed by the joy I brought Rochelle. I didn’t really get it, but also I did.

I’d be lying if I said I had a good grip on the severity of the situation. All I knew was that Rochelle needed a new heart AND new lungs. On a few occasions a doctor would call my uncle Michael out of room and tell him they’d found a heart, or they’d found lungs — but were waiting to see if another donor emerged to complete the puzzle. Michael would return to the room, equal parts joyful, and self loathing. One the one hand he was excited they got one step closer, then he hated himself for being put in a position where he hoped someone else might die to make the love of his life whole.

This process dragged on for months. Sometimes there was a heart. Maybe there were lungs. Never at the same time, never both when needed. Rochelle continued to deteriorate. Our visits grew shorter. She wasn’t able to smile like she once did.

Then, one day, we stopped visiting. Rochelle’s fight was over.

When my mom asked the doctor he said she was first on the donor list for heart, second for lungs — and hadn’t moved in a month. Less than half the people who died on the east coast of Australia during her battle were registered organ donors. It’s here I learned about the importance of the process.

A 2019 study showed that over 90 percent of Americans support the idea of organ donation, but only 54 percent are registered donors. This could be due to religious beliefs, forgetting to fill out the form when you get your driver’s license, or a product of not wanting to face our own mortality — but we need to be better.

Donating your organs is the single easiest, most altruistic act any person can possibly make. Literally being able to save lives with there being absolutely no price. Yes, obviously you will have died, but donating organs has no bearing on that process. It’s simply giving away things you can no longer use — yet we’re afraid to do it.

I understand the process is scary. It makes death real. It forces us to imagine a world that continues when we don’t exist in it. However, imagine how it must feel to the families of those needing organ donations to imagine living in a world without their loved ones?

You can remedy this almost immediately. Go to OrganDonor.gov, sign up as a donor, and tell your family your decision. That’s all that’s required. Imagine all the time we waste on the internet each day. Here’s 10 minutes that can literally save a life, maybe even more. The final selfless act any person can make to completely alter the lives of people you may never meet, but who your generosity will impact forever.