#i mean boy's been missing for like 8 MONTHS

[skitskatdacat63]

There's this nearly 4 hour movie I've been meaning to watch for a while and I was like "ah maybe ill watch it tonight hehe 🥰" and then I remember...quali is at 9 🫠

[luviestarz]

ʟᴇᴇ ʜᴀᴇᴄʜᴀɴ ꜰɪᴄ ʀᴇᴄꜱ! ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2 ❥

❥ Love at First Bite…literally!? - @huangberryyy (Wherein Haechan finally gets the chick flick moment he dreamt of. Or wherein Haechan finally understands the appeal of being bitten by bitches.)

❥ the bet - @tyonfs (you and lee donghyuck created a bet that stated you two would have sex if he made the winning shot. now, you’re pinned up against the lockers, about to do the one thing best friends don’t do, and you definitely shouldn’t be wanting more.)

❥ Babe Watch [M]  - @milfgyuu (You and Haechan both have big plans this summer. You’re going to earn yourself a spot on the infamous Baywatch team and Haechan’s deadset on getting the girl. It just so happens that both your plans intersect quite nicely.)

❥ [8:02pm] - @nctsworld (in which a spontaneous dance in the kitchen with donghyuck sparks a revelation about how you feel about him.)

❥ beware the panty perv ♡ ldh x reader - @guanana (there’s a mystery at hand! it seems like your panties have been vanishing into thin air whenever you need them most? angry that your favorite pairs of panties are going missing, you decide to put on your detective hat in hopes of finding the mysterious lingerie bandit. but between all of the guys that you sleep with— you can’t seem to pinpoint who the culprit could be. it couldn’t possibly be your absolute geek of a tutor for calculus, right? nah.)

❥ september 19. - @hyucks-archive

❥ SURE THING (L.DH) - @domjaehyun

❥ young gods (l.dh) - @606fm (in the midst of committing felonies in the dark, lee donghyuck—your literal partner in crime and ride or die for life—manages to snag your heart in the process without you even realizing it. i mean, what the hell did you expect from seoul city’s most notorious robber?)

❥ [7:43am] - @aesthyuckic

❥ haechan is obsessed with you. - @haechurch

❥ the right one. (m) - @starryhyuck (donghyuck doesn’t like you going on dates with anyone else, especially lee jeno. you’re supposed to be his. and only his.)

❥ meow haechan using a lot of tongue meow meow  - @ofjunemoment (or: you’re thinking of getting a tongue piercing, but you’re not sure how haechan feels)

❥ attention - @pinkynana (gamer boys are the easiest target for you. they barely interact with any other woman so the moment you find out haechan was a gamer boy, you promised to sit on his lap any time he wanted to.)

❥ free falling - @sunpopz (your friend haechan has been acting kinda weird lately.. does it have anything to do with you? maybe it does, considering he keeps looking at you like you're gonna kill him any second. well, that and he randomly liked a three month old picture of you.)

❥ haechan — just for you (m) - @hyuckmov (because haechan thought you were irresistible when you were clever, if only because he knew he was the only one who could make your brain go empty.)

❥ Started With A Kiss - @sundaysundaes (Rookie actor, Lee Haechan, desperately wants to get the lead role in the highly anticipated upcoming TV drama. He’s sure he has what it takes to fill the part. Acting as a hero? No problem. Pretending to overcome his traumatic experience? Consider it done. A bed scene? Easy—wait, no. That might be a problem. But he should be fine as long as he gets to rehearse, right?)

❥ if I lose my mind - @slightlymore (you’ve never cared much for your dreams. they were always confusing nonsense you forgot in the morning. this until you started to have the same dream again and again and again: a lobby, pleasant elevator music in the background, many golden doors, a handsome young man welcoming you and asking where you wanted to go that night. his name was haechan and apparently you weren’t supposed to know that, let alone fall in love with him.)

❥ this is the story of how we fell in love, apparently. - @navyhyuck (running a youtube channel with your best friend isn’t easy, not when he’s like a ticking time bomb that’s constantly bubbling up something new. what’s worse is that you’ve had a crush on him for the past three years.)

❥ face sitting - @haetkeeper

❥ pervert (M) - @haechannielove (you confront haechan on his disgusting and constant objectification of you.)

❥ Pearlescent - @d-nghy-ck (A shoreline sunset spent cozied up against Hyuck dives deep past surface level. His lips profess his heart’s intent; his eyes reflect waves dancing in iridescent glimmers; his love whispered into your skin evokes heated passion.) 

❥ i love it, starboy - @staargirlblog (slight yandere! idol! haechan x fangirl! reader)

❥ college boyfriend!haechan - @lvlyynim

❥ perv!haechan - @4everhyucks

❥ My Boy. - @prodbymaui (A series of failed relationships and you were this near of giving up on love. But then here comes little Donghyuck and his persistence. Maybe-- he was the one fated to you, after all.)

[cheftsunoda]

heal your heart—cl16

smau + real life

carlos sainz x !sister singer reader

charles leclerc x sainz reader

catalina sainz has it all— she is a successful grammy award winning artist, her brother is a well known formula 1 driver, she has an amazing family and wonderful friends. she was also blessed with a fiance and a beautiful baby boy.. she had everything.. until she didn't. her fiance disappears and takes her son with him. catalina watches as her world crumbles...who will be there to help pick up the pieces?

fc : kali uchis

part two here

part three here

part four here

—

deuxmoi posted an update!

liked by 2,593,583 people.

deuxmoi : sources report that this blind item is about catalina sainz..yikes..let us know what you think!

—

username : NOOOO MY SHAYLAAAAAA....my poor baby

username1 : she has been so happy since becoming a mother...you can tell that baby is her whole world. he NEEDS to return that baby NEOWWW. i do not play about miss catalina.

username4 : he took the kid too? that is not just a breakup, that’s a custody crisis. hope she has a good lawyer.

username7 : Y’all love gossip until it’s your fave going through it. This is heartbreaking if true.

username14 : This is why you don’t rush into engagements with people who love the spotlight more than you do. He was just using her.

username20 : hey could you like not be a dick rn...this is her family and real life

username20 : hope and pray this isn’t true. she always seemed like such a devoted mom. taking the child? next level cruel.

username15 : okkkk but who is this fiancé? if u r bold enough to cross the Sainz family and take a child, you better lawyer up and hide...

username : the funny thing is... he is not even famous so he would be using her money to hire a lawyer

username15 : mans is TOAST

username24 : carlos' jet just left for japan...and the drivers are not even supposed to be at the track for another 4 days or so..

liked by author

username10 : ohhh shittt

username17 : i know lando is somewhere fuming... that man do not play about the sainz'

—

twitter thread!

f1gossipgirls : THREAD: The Catalina Sainz Situation – What We Know, What We Think We Know, and What Might Happen Next.

Buckle up. This one’s messy. (1/10)

So here’s the deal...rumors broke this week that Catalina Sainz—is dealing with a secret breakup and a custody issue involving her fiancé. Allegedly, he left her and took their son without warning. (2/10)

Who is the fiancé? Not confirmed, but fan detectives say he’s a lowkey entrepreneur Catalina’s been quietly seeing for a couple of years. Private IG. Almost no photos together. Suspiciously absent since March. (3/10)

Sources close to the situation say Catalina came home from a trip to LA for work and found them gone. Just a piece of paper that said he was done...Just—gone. (4/10)

Here’s where it gets interesting... Carlos has reportedly stopped following the fiancé on social media (they used to interact), and fans noticed he looked especially tense during a recent press moment and a fan interaction at the airport. (5/10)

Speaking of the aiport...Fan detectives found that Carlos' jet took off for Japan this morning when the drivers are not due at Suzuka for another 4 days...Catalina is rumored to be hiding out in Japan.

(6/10)

Some speculate Carlos has already hired lawyers to get Catalina’s son back. One tweet claims he’s “mobilizing legal resources across two countries.” If that’s true… this isn’t just messy, it’s international. (7/10)

Another theory? This was brewing for months. Catalina’s last public event appearance was in April—she looked off. No ring. No family. No fiancé. Just a carefully curated smile. Fans clocked it then. (8/10)

And let’s not forget... Carlos and Catalina are both famously private. If this went public, it’s not by his or her choice. Which might mean Catalina needs help—and someone close leaked it to apply pressure. (9/10)

Catalina Sainz may have been blindsided by her fiancé, who allegedly took their son and vanished. Carlos is probably involved behind the scenes. And this story? Just getting started. (10/10)

Stay tuned. We’re watching.

view comments

username : if a man took my kid and disappeared...i would def call my big brother too...esp if it was carlos. imagine trying to hide the kid from the whole f1 community #goodluckbro

username2 :the way Carlos is probably trying to keep this under wraps but has already called every lawyer in Spain, Italy, and the UAE...

username5 : netflix pls scrap dts and make a docuseries on finding baby sainz...

netflix : not a bad idea

username7 : IF Carlos shows up to Japan GP with a baby on his hip and no explanation, I’m gonna lose it. FULL TELENOVELA ENERGY.

username14 : me drafting an international missing persons report and i don’t even know them. i am rather emotionally involved now...CAT IS SO MOTHER SHE NEEDS HER BABY

username20 : need cat to come back with a breakup anthem that shames tf outta this man like...'you took my son i took the house'

usernameee : i cannot with you - bye

—

—

twitter!

f1gossipgirls : F1 announced this morning via Twitter that Carlos Sainz will not be present for Media Day at Suzuka. Williams states that it is due to 'personal issues'.

view comments

usernamee : this man’s sister is in hiding and his nephew is missing and y’all thought he was gonna sit down and chit chat w press??

username1 : 'personal reasons' in this particular situation from carlos means 'i am currently in my liam neeson taken arc...srry yall'

username3 : its giving 'media day is canceled because i am currently tracking someone across international borders.'

username4 : williams better be ready to lie, deflect, and deny all weekend because if a single journalist asks about this, it’s over.

username14 : williams : “It’s personal reasons.” us: kk but does “personal” mean international child recovery operation or revenge-fueled manhunt? just so we’re clear...

username17 : media day being cancelled is fine but if he shows up to FP1 wearing all black and dead silent I will SCREAM.

username21 : cat is hiding in the mountains. carlos is skipping press. williams abs giving us nothing...no longer a paddock—it’s a crime scene

usernameee : IF Carlos speaks at all this weekend, i hope it’s just “he’s been found.” then pure silence.

—

transcript of james vowles speaking to the press.

press : “James, can you comment on Carlos Sainz’s withdrawal from media duties today? There’s been a lot of speculation.”

jv : “Carlos is an incredibly dedicated driver. When he misses something, there’s always a good reason. Out of respect for him, I think it’s best we let him speak on it directly.”

press :

"Will he be completely pulling out of the race this weekend?"

jv :

"I am not sure the answer to that at this time. I will communicate who will be driving as soon as Carlos reaches out again."

press : “Is it true he's left the circuit entirely?”

jv : “Well, I can’t confirm anyone’s location—I’m not in charge of tracking my drivers,” “but I can tell you that williams supports him, whatever the circumstances may be.”

press : “So… is he okay?”

jv : “I think he’s doing what needs to be done. And I’ll leave it at that.”

—

flashback - catalina's home - madrid spain - 7:18 am

I slid gently out of the back seat of the blacked out SUV. I had just returned home to Madrid after being in LA for some work related issues. I gripped at my suitcases as I began to walk towards the front door. I was so excited to be at home. I was beyond tired and just wanted to crawl into bed and hold my son—my pride and joy.

The front door creaked open slower than usual. Maybe I was just tired. Maybe it was just the jet lag getting to me. My suitcase thunked softly against the tile as I dragged it inside. The house was still. Much too still.

No tiny socks by the couch. No squeals of welcome. No welcome home kisses pressed to my cheeks. No low hum of the TV playing in the background.

I tell myself over and over again that this silence is normal. Maybe they are napping- its early. Maybe he took him for a walk- maybe the park. I held onto that maybe with a death grip.

The air felt off...almost stiff...as if the house was even holding its breath.

"Hello?" I called out softly, hoping and praying for response. No answer not even an echo to be heard.

I stepped into the kitchen. The windows were open- he would never leave with the windows open. There was a folded piece of paper left under a mug...the mug he would always pour my tea in. I swallowed- hard.

My chest knew before my brain caught up. I reached for it slowly, my fingers like ice.

One line. Scrawled in that slanted, indifferent handwriting I used to trace on love notes.

“I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want you.”

No signature. No “I’m sorry.” No mention of the child we made together.

The edges of the paper blur. Not from tears. I haven't cried yet. I can’t. I am much too cold all of a sudden.

I fall back allowing the counter to help catch my footing. I suddenly feel my whole body go numb. I reach out and push myself up, not allowing those nine words to make me fall to my feet.

I walk the hallway in a trance and crack open the nursery door. The crib is gone. The rocking chair is gone. Even his little bear nightlight—gone. Like I had never once rocked my baby to sleep in there. Like he never existed.

I don't scream. I don't break. I just stand there, arms limp at my sides, until the silence becomes deafening.

I checked the drawers. Half empty. The wardrobe. Empty. The toy chest absolutely bare. A cold, calculated theft of love. Quiet, surgical.

I drop the note to the floor and wrap my arms around myself as I if I could protect myself from what I just experienced...protect myself from this deafening silence. I knew right then...I had to run. I couldn't live here without my baby— my joy, my reason to keep going. I didn't know where I would go but it didn't matter.

—

I booked the flight under my middle name. No return date, no checked baggage. Just my tote bag with a sweater, a passport and prescription for pills I haven't touched since I got pregnant with my son.

No one stopped me, no one even notices me. Not in the airport, not in the first class lounge, not even the flight attendant who handed me my tea and mistook my silence for sleep. If anyone looks twice, they look away just as fast. That’s the trick—move like you belong, and people won’t ask why your eyes are swollen or your hands won’t stop shaking.

Tokyo is loud, crowded, too alive. I took the first train out of the city.

A stranger on the platform told me about a village outside of Nikko- he called it peaceful and quiet. Said it was the kind of place where 'time forgets about you'. Sounds like that is exactly what I want- to be forgotten.

The train winds through mountains so green they almost look fake. Trees blur past like static. I had earbuds shoved in my ears, a hood covering my head and sunglasses so strangers won't ask why I am crying.

When I finally step off, the station is barely more than a bench and a vending machine. I breathe in silence like medicine.

The lodge is old, wood-framed, smells like steam and pine. The owner is a woman named Yui who speaks no English but offers tea and the softest futon I have ever touched. She doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t press.

I pay for everything in cash. Leave my phone on airplane mode. No Instagram or twitter. For all I know the public still believes I am in LA living my best life.

Out here, there are no mirrors. No headlines. Just mist and mountains.

Some nights I dream of my son’s laugh—those bubbling giggles when he tried to grab my hair. Other nights, I dream of nothing at all, which hurts more.

It sits in my chest like ice.

—

present time- catalina's lodge - nikko, tochigi - 8:56 am

Did I want to tell Carlos? No. Did I realize he would come looking for me sooner or later anyways? Yes. I needed him more than I realized. The more I cry, the louder the silence gets, the more that knife in my stomach twists even more. I knew that it wasn't long before the press took note of my absence and I wanted to get ahold of Carlos before those rumors did. That's what happens when you have shitty friends who will sell you out for a single dime.

I wasted seven years of my life for a man who just wanted to see me fail, wanted to see me suffer so badly. I made him. I gave him his career. I gave him our child. Any request was instantly granted. And this is what I get? Taking my only piece of joy away from me. I bet you are wondering...Cat...did you see this coming? And the simple answer is no...he never gave any clues to being miserable in this relationship...if anything I was the one who was miserable. However, that is a story for another time.

I haven't done much since arriving here. I sit outside, I cry, I occasionally scroll through my camera roll and listen to my son's laugh. Admire the way he smiles or how his eyes would light up when he looked at me. Every repeat of the video I feel myself become more pained. I haven't eaten, I vomit if I try. Yui brings me tea and snacks every morning attempting to get me to eat. She doesn't understand but she does at the same time.

I snap out of my thoughts as I hear a car pull up. A low rumble, uneven on the gravel road. It cuts through the silence like a thread being pulled taut. I feel my breath catch in my throat. It’s early. Still dark enough for the fog to cling to the edges of the pine trees outside her window. The room creaks around me, old and wooden, smelling of cedar and steam. I stand, but slowly—like my bones don’t trust it’s real. I move to the door barefoot, heart pounding loud enough to shake my core. Almost like I forget the amount of tears I have cried. That my mouth still tastes like tea I didn’t drink. That I have not slept in nearly 36 hours.

The door cracks open and my older brother is stood in front of me- eyes locked on me like I am the only thing left tethering him to the world. I expect him to say something—ask where the baby is, what happened, why I ran—but he just looks at me. And for the first time since it all broke open, I let someone see the full ruin of me.

"You came." I choked out, my voice barely audible.

Carlos doesn't speak. He steps inside and closes the door gently. He pulls me into him with no hesitation, holding me so tight and placing a kiss on the top of my head. I let myself be held. I gripped onto him like I never wanted to let go. I buried my face in his chest and began to sob.

"My baby...my boy." I yelped mid sob as I feel my feet begin to give out. Carlos catches me and helps me over to the futon- still holding me. Never letting me go.

“I know, Cat.” He murmured as he placed a kiss on the top of my head, holding me tighter.

—

I don’t know how long we sat like this— him holding me tight against his chest as if his life depended on it and me silently sobbing into his chest. I feel myself breaking more and more slowly by the minute — the kind of break that is silent and doesn’t make a sound.

When I finally pull away and sit up, my body aches. Like letting go of my safety raft in a body of deep, deep water. I don’t look at him right away— just wrap my arms around myself staring down at the floor.

He doesn’t say anything— he just waits. Then I hear him take a deep exhale.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” I say, and the words come out like an apology. I don’t know why—I didn’t do anything wrong. Except maybe I did.

“You should’ve called me sooner.” He states, not angry, just more of a disappointed tone.

I flinch. “I was ashamed, Carlos.”

There’s a pause.

“Why?”

I let out this stupid, dry laugh. “Because I let him do it. I didn’t fight back. I didn’t even know we were in a fight.”

I glance up at him, then down again, voice thinner now. “I was in LA for four days, Carlos. Just four. Meetings. A shoot. When I got back… everything was gone. The toys. The crib. His clothes. Mine. The drawers were empty. The house was clean. Too clean. Like he planned it.”

Carlos stays silent, but his jaw is tight. I see a muscle twitch in his cheek.

“He left a note,” I whisper. “Just one line. ‘I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want you.’ No word about my son. No ‘I am sorry.’ Nothing. Just left.”

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to stop the sting that creeps up again. “I didn’t know someone could hate you that quietly.”

Carlos’s voice is low and dangerous. “Where is he?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I’ve called. Messaged. Emailed. Nothing. I even tried his parents. They won’t answer. They’re pretending I don’t exist. Like I lost custody or something, except—we were never married. There was never custody to lose.”

He mumbles various swear words in Spanish under his breath. Quiet and sharp.

Then, with a frightening amount of calm, “Alright, then I’ll find him.”

I blink up at him. “Carlos, you can’t.”

“I will.” His tone leaves no room for debate.

“You have a race in literally 3 days.”

“I don’t care.”

“You do care, Carlos.” I stated and rubbed my temples. “Your whole career—“

“This is more important.”

“You sound like Papá.” I muttered with half a smile.

He doesn’t smile back. His eyes are too full of something heavier. He looks…lethal.

“Good.”

And then, softer and almost gentle.

“You’re not alone, Cat. You never were. You didn’t lose him. We’re going to get him back. I swear to you.”

Something in my chest splinters. Not in a painful way—just in that awful, aching way that comes when someone offers you hope after you’ve already convinced yourself you don’t deserve it.

“I don’t know where to start,” I whisper. “I’ve looked everywhere. Checked his bank. Nothing. No charges. No flight. It’s like he vanished.”

Carlos leans forward, takes my hand. His grip is solid. Warm. “He didn’t vanish. People don’t vanish. They hide. And hiding leaves a trail.”

He says it like someone who’s spent a lifetime studying the details no one else sees. Racing lines. Different curves in every single track he’d ever raced. Tire degradation. Now— my ex.

I close my eyes. Let the silence settle around us again. The wind brushes the paper screens, and somewhere outside, a crow calls once, sharply.

“I was afraid if I told you, it would make it real,” I admit.

He doesn’t let go of my hand. “Mi Cariño, It’s already real. But now it’s not yours to carry alone.”

For the first time in days, I believe that might be true.

I let out a shaky breath, and for a moment, we just sit there. Two siblings in a borrowed room, far from everything we know, quietly starting to piece together a way back.

—

this will be a little mini series - probably 3 or 4 parts. i genuinely cried while writing this... i feel like it is some of my strongest writing. let me know what you all think so far!

tag : @klauslovemepls @omgsuperstarg @msliz @samanthaofanarchy , @mayax2o07 @goldenstrawberryx , @hannahmotors10 @alireads27 , @1800-love-me , @htpssgavi @cmgmikealson , @babygirl-4986 , @star73807-blog , @glow-ish , @just-tingz-virgo , @majapapaya4 @lina505 , @hc-dutch , @lost4lyrics , @angelluv16 @dilflover44

[piastriprincess]

if  i  wanna  stay  alive  (you  should  never  cross  my  mind)  ⸻  lando  norris  x  reader  .

featuring  lando  norris  ,  spy  au  ,  fake  dating tw  blood  ,  weapons  ,  character  injuries  ,  minor  character  deaths word  count 11.8k author’s  note  LANDO NORRIS MONACO GP WINNER WAOWWWWW !!!!! i  have  about  a  billion  requests  in  my  inbox  but  idk .  something  about  this  artwork  of  lando  by  @artist173  made  my  brain  go  brrrr  and  suddenly  i  had  almost 12k  words  of  agent  lando  norris  .  this  was  genuinely  a  feverish  write  and  i  hope  everyone  enjoys  this  as  much  as  i  enjoyed  writing  it  !  please  come  tell  me  what  you  think  or  send  in  a  request  <3  also  hoping  to  have  the  birthday  build - a - fic  up  sometime  next  week  !  title  is  from  killshot  by  magdalena  bay  .

You’re not surprised he’s already here. In fact, you kind of expected it. There’s something about him that suggests he’s always just arrived before you, just finished charming his way out of a dilemma he created for himself, just smirked like the world is a game and he’s two steps ahead of whoever he’s playing.

You enter the briefing room, and right on cue, Agent Lando Norris spins around in one of the swivel chairs, holding a paper cup of burnt coffee like it’s a martini (shaken, not stirred). “Well, well, well,” he drawls, eyes bright. “If it isn’t my favorite rival.”

You’re not rivals, not really — just trained together, sparred and surveilled each other too many times to count on your way to becoming full-fledged agents. The joke is still funny, though: a reminder that you’ve both made it, as concrete and tangible as the shiny access badges clipped to your clothes. So you just grin and play along, raising an eyebrow as you drop into the seat across the table from him. “This is awkward. I have at least three other rivals I like more.”

He gasps, faux-devastated. “And here I thought I was your number one boy. You wound me.”

“You’ll live,” you tease, checking your watch. You’re right on time, meaning your handler is late. She’s never late, which means something is up. Something big. You’re trying to figure out what it is, what you could possibly be here for, which you could probably do better if Lando wasn’t flirting your ear off.

“Come on. You know you missed me,” he says, chin in hand, leaning against the table with far too much amusement flickering in his eyes for an 8 AM briefing. 

“I saw you last Monday at the mass casualty response training,” you respond dryly, leaning in to mirror him across the table. 

“Exactly. Last Monday,” he emphasizes, like it proves something. “If I didn’t know any better, Agent, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

You smile, saccharine. “If only I could be so lucky.”

“Stop being so mean to me, or I swear to God I’ll fall in love with you,” he replies lightly, ridiculous grin on his face. Something warm blooms in your chest, which you promptly stamp down until it can never reach your brain again. 

“Good, you’re both here,” Agent Beatrice Hale says as she walks into the room, and you and Lando both straighten up in your seats immediately. You’ve been through eight months of grueling training, nearly two years now in the field executing the most dangerous missions in Europe, and the sight of your handler’s sleek grey bob and crisp pantsuit is still the scariest thing you’ve encountered on the job. “Let’s get started.”

The high-tech glass screen behind her flickers to life with a photo: a man, mid-fifties judging from the salt-and-pepper hair. Heavyset, with a slight paunch that not even his exceptionally tailored suit can hide. His smile is too white, almost wolfish. It’s the kind of face you instinctively don’t trust.

“This is Gabriel DuPont,” she says, dropping two thick dossiers on the table. “Publicly, he’s the billionaire tech CEO of DuPont Industries. Humanitarian. Philanthropist. Privately? He’s running one of the most sophisticated arms smuggling operations we’ve seen in the last decade.”

“We have a team on him, don’t we?” Lando asks before you can open your mouth to say the same thing. He flashes a quick smile at you, like he knows you’re going to be irritated that he beat you to it. “Russell and Hamilton.”

“Had a team,” Hale says matter-of-factly. “They’ve gone dark. Haven’t checked in for forty-eight hours. HQ is assuming they’re compromised.”

The room falls into a tense silence. Lando’s jaw ticks, and the strangest memory floats to the front of your mind: an early day in training, Lando much smaller and skinnier than he is now, practically getting pulled through an obstacle course by a tall, lanky guy. 

George. Compromised. You blink, hard, and the memory’s gone.

It’s part of the job. You all knew it when you signed up. But something about Hale’s businesslike tone makes your heart twist in your chest a little bit.

“Okay. So what’s the new plan?” you say, exhaling through your nose slightly to calm your heartbeat. 

Hale just smiles, clicks to the next photo. It’s a sprawling oceanside estate, all floor-to-ceiling windows and smooth white stone. “A softer approach. DuPont is hosting a weekend-long charity gala at his estate in Monaco. The guest list is small — business partners, old-money moguls, politicians with questionable morals. Headquarters has arranged an in: a wealthy couple, invited last-minute after a strategic seven-figure donation.”

You look at Hale. Then the twin dossiers on the table in front of you. “No,” you say. “No, no, no.”

Lando, of course, is beaming, leaning back until his chair nearly tips onto two wheels. You have to fight the urge to kick it out from under him. “Well. This is the best mission I’ve ever been assigned.”

“No arguments,” Hale says, and you groan. “You’re the only pair of agents who fit the profile. We have enough archived photos of you together from training to build a record. You have chemistry —”

“We have history,” you correct. “There’s a difference.”

Hale smiles, and it’s ice. “It will read as familiarity, comfort, trust to the outside world. That’s all we need,” she says, voice clipped, and you sink back into your chair.

“You’ll be posing as newlyweds. Wealthy, nauseatingly in love, enough money and clout to catch DuPont’s attention,” she continues, sliding the files across the table to you both. She doesn’t say the words, but all three of you know what’s implied. And enough attractiveness to keep it, should it come to that. 

“Newlyweds? Wow,” Lando says. “Should we get matching pajamas, babe? Maybe a couple’s massage?”

“I will strangle you in your sleep,” you say flatly, opening your dossier and pointedly not looking at him.

From the corner of your eye, his grin gets even wider. “That wouldn’t be very wifely of you.”

You flip through the dossier, pages and pages of a life carefully constructed for the two of you. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair. Young heir to a telecommunications empire and his aristocratic wife. Just the right amount of wealth and pedigree. Vacation home on Lake Como. A cocker spaniel named Beckham. 

You can’t do this. You’re going to vomit.

“You’ll have twenty-four hours to prepare before you fly to Monaco, and twenty-four hours to prepare there before the gala. Any questions?” Hale asks, and Lando raises his hand like a schoolboy. She gives him a look. “There are three people in this room, Agent. Don’t make me call on you.”

He turns to you, his smile slow and so obnoxious. “I’ll accept the mission on one condition.” He pauses dramatically, and you raise your eyebrows at him as if to say get on with it. “You have to promise not to fall in love with me for real.” 

You roll your eyes, but your grin gives you away. “Don’t worry, Norris. I think I’ll manage.”

“Honeymoon?” you say, throwing a stress ball at Lando.

“Oi. Don’t damage the asset!” he laughs, catching it a second before it smacks into his face. “Maldives, two weeks. Cheval Blanc. Waterfront villa, of course,” he says automatically, tossing it back to you. You’re sitting on the floor of a briefing room you commandeered earlier in the day to practice your covers, a sprawl of Chinese takeout boxes between the two of you. “What are my hobbies?”

You grab the ball out of the air with one hand, the other preoccupied with taking a bite of your sesame chicken. You think as you chew, swallowing down the bite before you answer. “Golf. Collecting expensive cars. You’ve recently started playing padel, getting pretty good. Where’d we meet?” 

He catches the ball and falters, massaging it between his hands. “It was that bar, um…”

“Lando,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “We met at Claridge’s. I was there for an engagement party for my cousin, the earl, and you were there for an after-work drink. I spilled champagne on your leather briefcase and offered to buy you a new one. You said no, but asked if you could have a drink with me anyway. You’ve messed it up three times now. Go read the paragraph on it in the file.”

“I hate us,” Lando says in reply, kicking aimlessly at his dossier. “Like, sorry, but our covers are such wankers. Claridge’s? That place is so posh.”

“Okay, Glastonbury boy,” you snort, and he chucks a pen at your head. 

“I mean it! We’d never go there,” he protests as you dodge it, giggling. “I’d take you on a way more memorable date than that.”

“Right. I know you, Norris. You’d take me to Mother Kelly’s pub down the way because it’s close to the office, make me split the check for two pints,” you deadpan as someone knocks on the door. 

You stand up, missing the way Lando’s eyes dim slightly at your words. But there’s no one there when you open the door. Just two stupidly expensive pieces of luggage, stuffed to the brim. 

“Oh, mint,” Lando says enthusiastically, scrambling past you to pull his inside and unzip it. Clothes practically spill out of the aluminum suitcase, overflowing with silk shirts and brand-name leisurewear. He whistles lowly, pulling a button-up polo out of the bag. It’s a white crocheted thing, red and blue piping on the collar and sleeves. “Look at this.” He strips his standard-issue black tee over his head, unbuttoning the polo and slipping it on.

You’d left your suitcase by the door, completely unexcited to look at whatever trophy-wife designer dresses the costuming department had chosen for you. You’d do every mission in your own beat-up jeans and a tank top if you could. You wish you had it in front of you now, though — wish you had anything to distract from the way your mouth goes dry at the smooth, muscular expanse of Lando’s chest, the white a brilliant contrast against his tanned skin.

He grins at you like he knows exactly what you’re thinking, the shirt settling around his torso with a lazy flourish. “How do I look?”

You swallow hard. “Like you’ll threaten to call daddy’s lawyer if the caviar on the yacht is lukewarm.”

He does a slow, exaggerated spin on his heels. “Admit it. Your husband is hot.”

“Eat your dinner,” you say fondly, tossing a fortune cookie at him. 

He catches it, cracks it in one hand as his eyes flick down to read the message. “Ooh. ‘Romance may be closer than it appears.’” He waggles his eyebrows at you.

“That is not what it says,” you laugh, getting to your feet to try to snatch the paper from him. He’s too quick, though, holding it above your head with one hand and grabbing your wrists with the other.  

“Maybe not on paper,” he grins, eyes flashing with amusement, “but definitely in the room.”

You have to admit, being a nepo baby’s wife isn’t so bad. 

You knew MI6 had money, but you’d never seen them spend it like this. When the taxi came to pick you and Lando up from headquarters, you thought they’d taken a wrong turn before they got to Heathrow. Instead, they directed you to a small terminal, ushered the two of you onto a literal private jet. Buttery leather seats, personal TVs at every angle, the works. Neither of you are new to the agency anymore, but you couldn’t help your excitement, playing poker and raiding the gourmet snack drawers for the entire flight. When you landed, a shiny silver exotic convertible was waiting for you at the hangar; you know next to nothing about cars, but Lando spent about five minutes circling the thing, telling you every spec, and you could have sworn you heard him squeal like a little girl when he finally settled behind the wheel. Even the clothes they’ve given you for the day aren’t nearly as bad as you expected — a pair of designer jeans, platform sneakers, and the softest sweater you’ve ever felt. Although there is the ring to contend with, a solitaire diamond that must be at least five carats ostentatiously set high on a silver band. It feels weighty on your hand; you keep spinning it around your finger like it’s going to ground you, a real reminder of how unreal all of this is. 

But the hotel trumps it all. 

When you first pull up to the historic building, you’re mostly just glad to be out of the car. Lando drove like a complete maniac, fast and fearless, and the roads from the private airport in Nice to Monaco weaved through the mountains in a way that made your stomach twist. You step out of the car, catching your breath, and let Lando lead you with a hand on the small of your back into the hotel, where you promptly lose it again. 

The lobby is stunning, low-slung red velvet couches scattered around the circular room underneath a chandelier that’s bigger than your apartment hooked to an intricate stained-glass domed ceiling. It feels like you’ve stepped into a bygone age, or a work of art, or maybe the drawing room from Titanic. You clutch Lando’s arm a little tighter as you walk together to the reception desk. This is it. The first test. 

“Normally I’d be all about you marking your territory, but your nails are kind of cutting off my circulation right now,” Lando whispers in your ear. You giggle and blush, playing it off as a sweet nothing from your husband, and loosen your grip. 

“Bonjour,” the front desk clerk welcomes you. “Name, please?”

“Sinclair. Shouldn’t you already know that?” Lando tosses off casually, with all the unearned arrogance of the idle rich, and you stare. He’s good. Better than you expected him to be, even. “We have the — it was the Diamond Suite, wasn’t it, baby?”

At the pet name, you step on his toes hard, and he somehow manages to turn the grimace into a smile. “I think that’s right,” you drawl poshly, not even looking at the poor desk clerk. “But the butler did the bookings.”

The clerk offers you a polite smile, white-gloved fingers flying over his keyboard. “Ah, oui. I see your reservation here,” he pronounces, Monagesque accent rounding the vowels in an unfamiliar way as he slides two keys across the marble counter. “Here are your room keys. Bienvenue à l’Hermitage.” 

“Baby?” you hiss under your breath as you thread Lando’s fingers with yours and make your way to the elevators, pulling your suitcase behind you. “What are you playing at, Norris?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, with the tone of someone who is absolutely not sorry, not even a little bit. “Would you prefer sweetheart? Muffin? Snugglebug?”

The doors slide open with a soft chime, and you yank Lando into the elevator. Lovingly, of course — like a newlywed who can’t keep her hands off her husband, not like a girl trained in six different martial arts styles. “I thought we said no pet names,” you say through a blinding smile as the doors click shut.

“It’s for authenticity,” he says, all innocence. “I’m newly married to my beautiful wife. It would be weird if I didn’t call you something sweet.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you relax against the velvet-tufted wall. “Baby is fine. Maybe love. But if you call me snugglebug during the gala, I will push you off the balcony.”

The soft smile that crosses his face is enough to make you instantly regret what you’ve agreed to. “That’s the spirit, baby.”

The hotel room is, predictably, absurd. Polished wood floors, expensive furniture, floor-to-ceiling French doors that frame the harbor like a million-dollar painting leading to a balcony that spans the length of the suite. There’s a fireplace. A grand piano that you know damn well neither of you can play. And in the middle of the room, the biggest, most opulent bed you’ve ever seen, stacked with pillows and enough throw blankets to outfit the entirety of your agent class. 

You both stand there in silence for a moment. Then you clear your throat, dropping your bag. “You’re sleeping on the floor.”

“No way,” Lando says, pouting as he runs a hand through his dark curls. “C’mon. We’re two ridiculously attractive, very emotionally mature adults. We can share.”

You snort, looking at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “Lando. What would give you the impression that I’m going to share a bed with you?”

“What if the room’s bugged?” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “Or what if DuPont’s got drones outside, or something? Doesn’t exactly sell the cover if you’ve got me curled up by the fireplace like a golden retriever.” 

You open your mouth to respond, then pause, because — well, he does have a point. 

“It’s for the sake of the mission,” Lando tries like he still needs to convince you, looking at you with wide eyes, and you promptly shut your mouth again. You don’t say anything, technically, but it’s like he can read you like a book, smiling triumphantly in the face of your silence. 

“You could at least pretend to be disappointed,” you say evenly. An admission of defeat if you’ve ever heard one.

He flops on the bed, starfishing his limbs over the expensive mattress and grinning up at you in a way that makes your heart do something annoyingly unprofessional in your chest. “I’m heartbroken, baby. Truly.”

“That’s it. We’re making a pillow wall tonight.”

The rest of the day is quiet, the kind of day you normally hate on missions. You’re a field agent — every second of inactivity feels torturous, precious time you could be saving the world that just slips through your fingers. You can tell Lando feels the same, if his relentlessly bouncing knee is anything to go by. So the two of you go over the mission plan until the words begin to blur together. Exit options. Likely locations of incriminating evidence. The note on the final page: In the event that any agent is compromised, retreat. Do not attempt rescue. 

Lando reads the note, promptly slams his dossier shut, and insists on ordering one of everything on the room service menu just to piss off Hale. You don’t argue, especially not when truffle fries and miniature cheeseburgers start showing up at the door every fifteen minutes. Somewhere in between the lobster and the lava cake, you admit you’d never seen the Mission: Impossible movies, and Lando, eyes bright, declares you have to have a marathon. You end up sitting on the bed for hours, pillows between you as you eat popcorn, mocking the ridiculous CGI and the fact that the movies get absolutely nothing right about your line of work just to annoy Lando. But he’s a good sport about it, even joins in after a while as the TV light flickers off your bare legs and the moon rises over the harbor. 

You must have drifted off some time during MI:3, because when you open your eyes next your side is pressed against the pillow wall, there’s a crick in your neck, and your head is resting on Lando’s shoulder. He’s still asleep, curls slightly mussed and lips parted, brows furrowed the way they are when he’s concentrating on a mission briefing. He must have slept that way all night, you realize, just so he didn’t disturb you. 

Something about the idea makes your heart ache in your chest. 

“Fifteen minutes before we need to leave for the gala,” you call through the door, applying your lipstick with a practiced hand. “Please tell me you’ve at least started to get dressed.”

You’d commandeered the bathroom nearly an hour ago under the pretense of complicated hair and makeup — costuming had left detailed instructions in your suitcase, and you were expected to pull them off effortlessly. Lando, of course, could probably start putting on his suit five minutes in advance and still be fine. It was infuriating sometimes how easy it was for men. 

Still, when you catch your reflection in the mirror, you can’t help but feel like the extra time was worth it. Your hair, normally pulled back neatly, tumbles in voluminous waves over your shoulders. The subtle hints of makeup accentuate your face, making your eyes more luminous, your cheekbones sharper. The delicate earrings and necklace catch the light, make you sparkle. And the dress. Oh, the dress — a floor-length, fitted black velvet creation with a shocking slit up the side, tailored to perfection on your curves, equal parts structured and sleek. 

You look dangerous. You look like someone else entirely. Or maybe like a version of yourself you don’t let out very often. 

“Almost ready. Can you help me with my tie?” Lando calls back through the door, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

“Yeah, one second,” you reply, grabbing your holster and snapping it around your thigh, just above the top of the slit. The perfect finishing touch. You blot your lips once in the mirror, then push the door open, heels clicking against the floor with a purpose. That is, until you stop short, breath catching in your chest. 

Lando’s standing near the window, half-turned towards the setting sun, pulling the bow tie around his collar. The tux fits him too well, all clean lines on broad shoulders and crisp black on white that makes his tan skin glow. He’s freshly shaven, jaw sharp, and his curls are gelled back in a way that makes him look older, more polished. 

You’ve always known Lando was attractive. It’s not news, but it’s not something you let yourself dwell on. Not in your line of work, when letting your guard down even for a second can cost more than you’ve ever been willing to give. But this — the tux, the hair, those eyes that can’t quite decide what color they want to be? The effect is striking. You sort of can’t stop looking at him. 

“Still need help?” you croak, voice hoarse for some reason, and when he turns at the sound of your voice he straightens so fast you think he might give himself whiplash.

His mouth opens, then closes again. “Whoa.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying not to look as pleased as you feel. “That all you got?”

“I just…” His eyes drag down your body for one excruciatingly slow moment. Then he blinks, shakes his head slightly like he got hit. “Shit. You look stunning.” There’s none of the usual flirtation or teasing in it. Just something quiet, awestruck, and it makes your throat tighten unexpectedly. 

“Don’t get sentimental on me now, Norris,” you say, voice as light as you can possibly make it as you cross the room, hands reaching up for his tie. It’s muscle memory at this point — the back-and-forth fold, the loop, the gentle tug. You’ve done it before for other missions, with other partners, but never quite like this. Never with his eyes tracing over your face like he’s trying to memorize it. Never when you’re standing so close you can smell his cologne, something spicy and ineffably Lando. It’s intolerable, really. You wish your heartbeat would calm down a little bit. 

“There,” you say, straightening the stupid tie slightly as you finally, blessedly pull the knot tight and step back from him. “Now you look somewhat presentable.”

His mouth quirks up at the side, like he can hear your thoughts. “High praise.”

You don’t respond, hands clammy as you turn towards the door. “Come on. We’ll be late.”

You should be nervous. It’s natural. In fifteen minutes, you’re going to walk directly onto the home turf of a very dangerous man, a man who compromised two of the finest agents in Britain. 

But you know your pulse is thrumming under your skin for an entirely different reason. 

The moment you and Lando step into the place, you kind of want to gag. The mansion is modern, clearly expensive, and a pantheon of bad taste — all ugly pop art and tributes to the genius that is Gabriel DuPont. After the third lifesize ice sculpture of the billionaire in as many rooms, you’re wondering how nobody has investigated him sooner. The place just feels dirty, illicit somehow. Like underneath the shiny exterior, there’s something rotten waiting to be unearthed.

You know what the two of you are looking for: offshore account statements, connections with other known underworld figures, money that disappears in your fingers like invisible ink. Lando’s meant to distract DuPont, keep him talking for long enough for you to make your way to the office and copy as much of the information as you can find. 

As you approach the door to the main ballroom, Lando rests his hand on the small of your back. “You ready?” he ducks his head, speaking into your ear, and your skin prickles at the sensation.

You nod. “Let’s do this.” 

His grin washes over you like the nicest kind of champagne buzz as he pushes the door open and guides you into the room. The place is teeming with Europe’s elite. You recognize several heads of state and at least three kingpins on the MI6 Most Wanted. Lando laces his fingers with yours, squeezes your hand tightly, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

You do your rounds, fake laughs bubbling from your mouths like the golden liquor in your flutes. Lando plays the room like he was born to it, that smooth, relaxed charm of his illuminating every conversation. He brushes your hair out of your face, dances close to you, rests his hand low on your back when you pose for photos. When someone asks how long the two of you have been married, he leans in close again, like it’s gravity. “Feels like forever, doesn’t it, baby?” he says lowly, in a way that makes your breath catch. 

It’s easy, pretending like this. Maybe a little bit too easy. You keep catching yourself smiling at him in a way you don’t have to fake at all.

“This isn’t working. We should split up. We’ll cover more ground,” you say quietly after your third turn around the room. After all, a girl can only take so many inane conversations with tech-bro CEOs who think NFTs are a personality trait before she starts to crave a little action. 

Lando, to his credit, doesn’t fight you. He just nods, taps his ear lightly, and a burst of static explodes somewhere near your temple. “Comms on, yeah?”

“Comms on,” you reply, tapping your ear back and nearly managing to tamp down your giggle when you see him flinch. 

“I’ll get you back for that,” he warns, but he’s grinning. 

You smile back, peeling off into the crowd without a backward glance. “I’d like to see you try,” you tease through the comms, making your way to the bar. 

You settle there, watching Lando thread his way through the crowd towards the east wing and DuPont’s private rooms. You’re just turning to order a drink when you see him. 

Gabriel DuPont is standing on the balcony, overlooking the back garden like he’s surveying his kingdom. His hands press against the railing with force, knuckles white. There’s an anger you recognize there, a rage that unsettles you. The other thing you recognize is that this is the best chance either of you will get.

“Target spotted. I’m going in,” you speak, walking purposefully towards the other side of the room. 

Lando’s voice is in your ear almost immediately. “What do you mean you’re going in? Where is he?”

“Balcony. South end, facing the garden. I’m fine. Just — execute Plan B. His office, now,” you whisper through your teeth as you approach DuPont. 

“Copy,” Lando mutters. There’s a pause, static echoing in your ear, then: “Be safe, yeah?”

“Always,” you murmur as you step through the double doors. Showtime. 

“Excusez-moi. You wouldn’t happen to be the host tonight, would you?”

DuPont turns, and for the briefest moment his eyes drop to your exposed leg. You hold your breath until he smiles, sharklike, and you know you have him fooled. To him, you’re just another bored housewife with a little too much money to spend. If only he knew. “Oui, c’est moi. Enchanté. Sinclair, yes?”

You blink, surprised he knows you enough to recognize you by face. Headquarters have clearly done their job. You laugh politely, stick out your hand to shake. “That is my better half, I suppose.”

“And where is your mysterious husband tonight?” he asks silkily, lifting your hand to his mouth and kissing your knuckles. You try to ignore the way your skin crawls. 

You inch closer, touch his chest lightly, fingers brushing over his lapel. “With all his time spent at the office, I stopped asking that question a long time ago.”

Lando’s voice crackles to life in your ear. “You don’t need to remind me. I’m already there. Got some stuff already.” He chuckles. “This shit is too easy.”

DuPont watches your face, cruel eyes darting over your features, and you school your expression into something neutral, presentable. “He is a silly man, to leave you alone looking like such a vision.” 

His hand falls heavy on your waist, and you manage not to recoil at the touch. You giggle, instead. “You’re too kind, sir.”

“Tell me,” he purrs, inching closer, “do you dance?”

You smile, sultry. “I used to, before I married a man with two left feet.”

“Please, allow me to prove myself,” he smirks, guiding you back into the ballroom. “I promise not to step on any toes.”

“I hope you didn’t intend that double meaning,” you say as he pulls you too tight to his body, waltzing slowly to the string quartet’s music. He merely laughs in response, a hoarse sound, like he’s not quite used to doing it. 

There’s a crackle of static in your ear. Then Lando’s voice, tight through the comms unit: “Well. Don’t you two look cozy.”

Your jaw ticks, concentrating on the steps. “I’m sure my husband would know it’s extremely valuable for us to make this connection. So he wouldn’t mind,” you add, like it’s an afterthought to your earlier comment. It’s for Lando’s benefit, of course, but DuPont can’t know that.

He smiles, eyes narrowed. “Well. You may want to keep him on a tighter leash,” he says softly into your ear, turning you so you have a perfect view of Lando at the bar. A gorgeous, leggy blonde in red is smiling a little too brightly at him, touching his arm like he belongs to her. Something hot and ugly coils in your stomach at the sight. 

You force a smile. “Oh, she’s just a shiny toy. I’d just hope he’s not too distracted to do what we came here for.” Lando looks up then, hearing your words in his ear, and your eyes lock for a moment over DuPont’s shoulder. The moment feels charged, electric — like you can’t be the first to look away, or something will snap.

“Thank you for the dance,” DuPont murmurs in your ear, smile tight, and you nearly jump. To be honest, you’d half-forgotten he was there. Didn’t even hear the music stop, too busy staring into someone else’s eyes from across the room.  

“Of course,” you say, eyes fixed solely on Lando and the blonde. DuPont kisses your hand again and walks you off the dance floor to the bar, offering to get you a drink. You nod, and as soon as he steps away, you hiss into the comms. “Wow, Lan. Red really suits you.”

“You seemed busy,” he snarks back to you. “Practically on top of DuPont. Had to entertain myself somehow.”

“It wasn’t real, Lando. It’s the plan,” you say, voice clipped. 

“Yeah. Mine was, too,” he replies, all innocence.

You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see you. “Whatever. Do you have the drive or not?”

There’s a long pause. “Uh, yeah. But we may have a problem,” Lando says tightly. “Security guards by the main entrance clocked me, I think.” You scan the room, watching the way the guards are speaking low and urgent into their walkie-talkies, and swear under your breath. 

“Yeah, you’re burned. DuPont must have said something. Fuck.”

“Thought you had eyes on him?” Lando asks, voice low as he heads towards you. When he glances over his shoulder, the guards begin to follow him, walking slowly like there’s nothing wrong. 

You grimace, smoothing your dress. Glance over to the bar, even though you know DuPont won’t be there. “Got distracted.”

“Really? By what?” he says, and even though he’s walking full speed towards you trying very hard not to get noticed by several highly trained security guards, you can hear the smirk in his voice.

“You’re insufferable,” you say through a blinding smile when he reaches you, linking your arm around his. “Best exit’s the kitchen, I think. Through the north corridor.”

The two of you make your way there quickly but casually, guards following at a steady distance as if to avoid a scene. You push through the swinging kitchen door, and the second it closes behind you, Lando grabs a frying pan off a rack.

The first guard bursts through the door seconds after you. You take him low, sweeping his leg and smashing the butt of your gun into his temple when he loses his balance. Lando catches the second one in the jaw with the pan, then follows up with a right hook that sends him crashing into the prep table. Another crashes through a side entrance. You turn and kick hard at his chest, stiletto digging into his skin, and he staggers back with a wail.

The guards keep coming, but you’re holding your own. You and Lando move like a well-oiled machine, practiced and precise, backing each other in the carefully choreographed routine of combat. You’re steps from the back stairwell, from freedom, when a guard you’d taken out earlier comes charging forward, something silver glinting in his hands. You’re a second too late realizing it’s a knife.

You’re turning to the side, calculating the best place for you to take the hit and keep moving, when Lando shoves you out of the way, swinging wildly towards his temple. The guard falls hard, and Lando flinches backwards, something clattering out of his hand to the ground and skittering across the tiles. You barely have time to turn and lunge for the drive before the last guard is scooping it up, running full speed back down the corridor and disappearing through the swinging doors. 

“Fuck,” you say, running a hand over your face. “We lost it.”

“No time. We’ve got to get out of here,” Lando replies, pulling you down the back stairs and out the door into the quiet night. You run all the way down the moneyed gravel driveway toward the car, breath burning in your chest and ankles twisting beneath you. 

You don’t realize anything’s wrong until you round the corner, the silver car gleaming in wait for you, and Lando stumbles against you. You catch him like a reflex, and he exhales sharply. When you pull your hand away, it’s red with blood. 

“Yeah,” he grimaces sheepishly at the look on your face, cheeks pale in the moonlight. “I may have gotten a little bit stabbed.”

You limp back into the darkened suite, shutting the door quietly behind you and leaning against it to catch your breath. Lando’s already making his way to the bathroom, shrugging off his jacket as he goes. His dress shirt is sliced open where the security guard’s blade caught him — a clean slash to his right ribs, fresh blood still staining the expensive linen a bright crimson. 

“Counter. Shirt off,” you call over your shoulder, kicking off your heels and rummaging through the minifridge, cold fingers closing around one of the tiny bottles of vodka. You slam it shut behind you, follow him into the bathroom where he’s obediently stripped off the shirt. You kneel to inspect the cut, hands tracing delicately over the edges of the wound; thankfully, it’s shallow enough that your extremely limited medical skills can fix it.

“You know, if you wanted to see me shirtless, all you had to do was ask,” he grins down at you, voice thin but cocky as ever. “Didn’t need to nearly blow our covers to do it.”

It’s not funny. You don’t know why he’s smiling. You snatch a cotton pad off the counter, douse it in the vodka, press it to the cut hard. He hisses, jaw clenching, and something about the reaction eases a little of the tension in your shoulders. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you say, fixing your eyes on the cut so you don’t have to look at his face, the way his eyes are laughing even now. “Taken the hit for me.”

“Right, next time I’ll let you get stabbed, then,” he replies lightly. 

You slap the gauze to the cut more forcefully than necessary, just to make him feel the ache. “He was my guy. I could’ve handled it. You can’t put the mission in danger just to keep me from getting hurt.”

Lando flinches, and you can’t tell whether it’s from the pressure or from your tone of voice. You want to shrink away from it yourself when you hear it — the sharpness, the tender underbelly of it threatening to claw its way to the surface. “I get hit and I’m the one getting yelled at? Not even a thank you for my heroic sacrifice. Chivalry really is dead,” he sniffs.

You look up at him incredulously, tearing the bandage open with your teeth and smoothing it across the gauze. “Do you think this is funny?”

“I mean, a little,” he shrugs, smirking. You get to your feet, backing away from him like the separation will give your lungs the room they need to breathe. “I know we lost the drive, and I’m sorry, but we’ll get it back, and I’m fine. All’s well that ends well, yeah?”

“You don’t get to say that. You could have been killed. What, do you think if you bleed enough for me I’ll be impressed?”

“Dunno. Would you be?” he teases, eyes bright. 

“Jesus,” you hiss, cheeks burning, and his smile grows impossibly wide. 

“Relax. I’m kidding,” he rattles on, swinging his feet against the counter like he doesn’t feel the way the walls seem to be closing in around you, breath heavy and aching in your chest. “Honestly, I don’t know what you’re getting so worked up about, it was barely a scratch —”

“Because I thought I was going to lose you!” you snap without thinking, the uncomfortable truth scratching out of your throat like a shard of glass. 

The room keeps the words alive, sound echoing over and over off the tiled walls. At least they finally, finally knock the smile off his face. Instead he just stares at you, eyes wide like you’ve sucker punched him. And then, before you do something stupid like cry in front of Lando Norris, you storm out of the bathroom. 

You’re in your pajamas under the covers by the time he comes back to the bedroom a few minutes later, joggers slung low on his hips and toothpaste flecking the corner of his mouth. He walks around the bed without a word, grabbing the remnants of the previous night’s pillow wall off the floor. 

“It’s okay,” you say too quickly, and Lando just looks at you, something unreadable brewing in those stormy eyes. “We don’t need to. I don’t want it to crowd the cut,” you add, as if it’s purely logistical. “Medical exemption for one night.”

It’s a weak excuse, probably the worst lie you’ve ever told, and both of you know it. Lando drops the pillows in his arms, and you can see his soft smile even in the twilight darkness of the room. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

The adrenaline thrumming through your veins is wearing off, leaving exhaustion in the empty space it abandons. You tell yourself that’s why you don’t have the energy to roll your eyes at him, as he slips underneath the covers carefully, trying not to disturb the bandages. Despite the lack of pillows between you, the bed feels smaller than it did before, warmth radiating off his body. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, not touching him, trying very hard not to unravel the fragile composure you’ve managed to hold on to. 

“You know, people typically close their eyes as a prerequisite to going to sleep,” Lando’s voice sounds teasingly from somewhere beside you. When you turn to look at him, his eyes are already on your face. “You okay?”

“Fine,” you say, throat croaking for some reason. 

His face softens. “No, you’re not.”

He inches hesitantly toward you, like if he goes too fast you’ll bolt, and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you gently into his chest. You exhale shakily against his skin, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He smells like sweat and cologne and the unmistakable coppery scent of blood. You don’t cry, won’t allow it. But you let yourself lean into him a little more, enough to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest all over your body. Enough to remind yourself he’s still breathing.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs into your hair, fingers tracing small circles on your back soothingly. “I’m okay. ‘M not going anywhere, yeah? Gonna keep annoying you for as long as I can.”

You huff out a small sound, half laugh and half breath hitching in your throat. “You say that like it’s something for me to look forward to.”

“Come on. Don’t pretend you don’t love it,” he says as his fingers brush over your bare shoulder. 

You pull back just enough to see his face, eyes searching over the small, pleased smile you find there. “I could live without the stab wounds.”

“Couldn’t live without me, then?” he says, voice low, tongue pushing against the corners of his mouth the way it always does when he’s being cheeky. You wish your eyes weren’t following the motion. 

Your cheeks heat in the darkness, like he’s discovered something you should be embarrassed of. “Don’t push your luck, Norris.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, grinning that ridiculous grin as he rolls back onto his back. You stare back at the ceiling, pretending not to hate the space between you. “Just… glad you’re okay.” 

That should be the end of it. You should close your eyes, go to sleep, pretend his ridiculous flirting doesn’t affect you. Pretend you know exactly what’s been for the mission and what’s real. Pretend you never let the tiny part of your heart with his name on it crack open in front of him tonight.

“Lando?”

He turns back to you, and the look in his eyes nearly knocks the breath out of you. “Yeah?”

That’s when you kiss him. It’s hesitant at first, more of a question than anything, like all the uncertainty you’ve been carrying all evening has no place else to go. But then Lando sighs against your mouth, his hand coming up to cup your cheek in a gesture so sweet that it makes your heart ache, and assurance settles in your chest like it wants to make a permanent home there. He tastes like peppermint, mouth warm and soft against yours, tongue pushing at the seam of your lips. As your mouth moves slowly against his, your hand traces gently down his side, and he winces as your fingertips graze over the cut. But then you pull your hand away like an apology, and he fucking whines against your lips like he’ll die if your hands aren’t on his skin.

“Lando,” you breathe into the sliver of space between you, nose brushing against his. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

His pupils are blown wide, black bleeding into watercolor irises. “Please,” he whispers back, so reverent that it shatters something inside you. “You can hurt me however you want.” 

So you pull him on top of you like it’s something inevitable, like the mission was always leading here: to his hands braced on either side of you, to the low throaty sound he makes when you wrap your legs around his waist, to the way his breath hitches against your mouth as you roll your hips against his. You let him take you apart, all mouth and hands and an impossible sort of tenderness; let yourself fall to pieces underneath the warmth and the weight of him, over and over again. 

Afterwards, when the silence settles between the two of you like gunsmoke after a shootout, Lando falls asleep almost immediately, face pressed against your shoulder and arm flung across your waist like it’s second nature. You lie there perfectly still, your chests rising and falling in sync, letting the weight of giving him something you can’t take back settle into your bones.

You’re awake before the sun. Really, you’re not sure you ever fell asleep, hovering fitfully in that twilight zone where everything feels like a dream or maybe just a warped version of reality. You wish that was the case — you keep pressing your eyes shut like if you try hard enough, you can erase the entirety of last night, like you can just take back the biggest liability you can imagine. Like you can go back to a world where you didn’t admit that Lando Norris means something to you.

But when you open your eyes again, you’re still there, pressed to Lando’s side. His breath is warm on your neck, lashes brushing against your shoulder, the sunlight glowing golden on his bare skin. He’s beautiful. It’s terrifying. Suddenly, his arm around your waist feels less like care and more like another restraint you have to work your way out of. You slip out of the bed, extricating yourself from his embrace as delicately as you can. Put on your MI6 t-shirt and make coffee on autopilot. When you take the first sip, you wince at the bitterness. It tastes like punishment, the type you deserve for letting yourself want something you can never, ever have.

The sheets rustle lazily behind you, and when you turn, Lando’s already propped on his elbows looking at you, eyes crinkling at the corners with affection and something that looks a little like triumph. “Morning,” he says, voice still rough with sleep, and the grin he gives you is blinding. “Just checking — does this mean I get to kiss you without a cover story now, or do I have to call you Mrs. Sinclair to get you to come back to bed?”

You can hear the mattress creak as he shifts, sitting up a little more, and for a moment you picture what it could be like if you were a different girl. You could make him a cup of coffee, crawl back into bed, kiss him and let it mean something without risking his life and yours. 

“Funny,” you say instead, voice tight. “Just part of the mission, yeah?”

Confusion flickers over his features, and you force your eyes away. You can’t look at him. Won’t. “What are you talking about?”

You keep your eyes trained on the horizon, grip your mug tighter so he can’t see your hands shake. “I know it’s nothing special, so let’s not make a big deal out of it. You flirt with everyone, Lando. It’s, like, your thing.”

He laughs, sharp and disbelieving. It’s the worst sound you’ve ever heard. “I really, really don’t.”

His voice is heavy with the self-defeat you recognize from a particularly bad score in training, when he’d get in a mood so black he’d swear he wouldn’t make it to the agency. Back then you’d comfort him, help him train, get him out of his head. Anything to keep yourself from hearing the way his voice shattered around the edges. 

You don’t know what to do when you’re the one who’s caused it. 

The silence between you stretches for another long moment. Lando runs a hand through his messy curls, expression shuttered. “Is that what you really think of me? That I just — shag my way through missions?”

“I think it doesn’t matter what I think,” you say, trying very hard to keep your voice level. “I get it. We made a mistake, got carried away. It didn’t mean anything.”

“Maybe not to you,” he mutters, and it lands like a kill shot.

“Lando,” you try, but he interrupts you before you can finish. 

“I knew you would do this, you know? Knew the second it felt real you’d fucking — shut down, like you always do.” He laughs helplessly. “Couldn’t stop myself, though, could I? ‘Cos I’m such a fucking flirt that I just fall into bed with everyone who looks my way.”

You step forward, and he flinches away from you. “Lan, I didn’t mean to —”

“Yes, you did,” he snaps, eyes alight. “You freaked out and couldn’t handle whatever this is, so you decided to make it feel small for yourself. Make me feel small, too. Well, congratulations, agent. You fucking nailed it.”

He pulls his shirt over his head, not even bothering to turn it right side out, and gets out of bed. 

“Where are you going?” you say, voice small as you watch him move. 

“Anywhere but here,” he mutters back, stalking towards the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him so hard it makes the crystal in the chandeliers tremble. You stare at the door frame, listening to the shower run until the coffee goes cold in your hand. 

Wonder if when he said you could hurt him however you wanted, if he ever pictured this.

The invitation arrives a few hours later, a personalized summons on heavy ivory cardstock that feels like wealth beneath your fingertips. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, you are cordially invited to an exclusive dinner on the Kickback this evening, hosted by Gabriel DuPont in recognition of your generous support. 

And at the bottom, a note, inked in the cruel, thick penstrokes of your target himself: I truly hope to see you both there.

“It’s a test,” you say, pacing back and forth from one edge of the bedroom to the other, bare feet sinking into the rug like quicksand. Lando’s perched on the edge of the bed, running his thumb over the embossed lettering. “He suspects us.”

“Or a trap,” Lando mutters, tossing the card at the nightstand. “Yacht anchored in the middle of the harbor? No one to hear us scream?”

“It doesn’t matter which one of us is right,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “We have to go. It’s our only chance to get the drive back. We don’t have a choice.”

“We never do,” he says quietly. His hair is still damp from the shower, curls sticking to his forehead, and he looks exhausted. Not in a way that shows, not to anyone else. But you’ve known him long enough to know the tired set of his jaw, the red-rimmed eyes that make your chest ache to look at. 

You turn, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you going to be able to do this?”

He raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

You look out over the water, not sure you can face him when you ask what is sure to rank as the most pathetic question of your life. “I mean are you still mad at me?” you ask, biting the inside of your cheek until you taste copper. 

When he answers, it’s completely devoid of emotion. “Why would I be mad at you?”

It’s worse than if he’d shouted. You’ve screamed and bickered and fought over the years enough times to know Lando’s dramatic reactions down to the letter, know the way his moods rage intensely and then dissolve like a summer storm. This — the cool detachment, like you’re a stranger he happened to stumble into a mission with — this is new. It lodges somewhere behind your ribs like a lingering bruise. 

“Don’t worry,” he adds, standing up and grabbing his watch off the dresser roughly. You’ve seen him handle a Glock with more tenderness. “I’m not going to let you down.”

The words, unspoken, hang in the air between you two. Not like you did to me. 

When you pull up to the harbor, the yacht looms ahead of you, a sparkling vision of teak and chrome. Staff in creamy white jackets hand you champagne flutes the second you step off the dock and direct you to a table at the bow of the boat, where DuPont is holding court with the other couples. It’s a small party, full of people wearing designer labels and icy smiles, sipping expensive wine and pretending to be relatable. 

The two of you mingle. Lando kisses your cheek when someone makes a joke about newlywed bliss. You laugh and rest your hand on his chest — if the phrase includes sleeping with the best friend you have and then shutting down emotionally to keep you both safe, then sure, it’s newlywed bliss. Through it all, Lando keeps his hand wrapped together with yours, like he’s trying to remind you he’s not going anywhere. You’re grateful for the kindness, even when it feels like twisting the knife of guilt that’s already stuck in your chest. 

You’re introduced to another couple, an American CEO and his third wife, very blonde and very surgically enhanced. She eyes Lando like he’s on the menu, makes a teasing comment about how lucky you are. You laugh and blush as Lando says he’s the lucky one. 

“How did you two meet?” the woman asks, and your stomach drops. You’re on thin ice already, DuPont’s security team watching your every move. You’re sure they’ve noticed the tension between the two of you already. If he hesitates, even for a moment —

“We met at a pub, actually,” Lando says casually, not missing a beat. “This place called Mother Kelly’s. It was the day before I started my job, and I wanted to scope out the neighborhood a bit. Walked in, and there she was — this girl sitting at the bar, hair pulled back, no makeup on, drinking a Guinness. Most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. I offered to buy her a drink, thought I was being really fucking smooth. And she looked me dead in the eyes, pointed at the pint and said ‘Open your eyes, mate. I’ve already got one, don’t I?’” He huffs out a laugh. “Cheeky as anything.” He pauses for a moment, and his voice is softer when he speaks again. “And then she smiled at me, and that was pretty much it. I’ve been gone for her ever since.”

The women at the table coo, marveling over the sweetness of the story. But you just stare at him dumbstruck, your heart hammering beneath your ribs. 

Because that’s not Claridge’s. That’s not Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair’s story. 

It’s you and Lando’s. 

You remember everything about that day. Lando, scrawnier then, a rush of dark curls and that heart-shaped smile, lounging on the barstool next to you after five minutes like you were the best of friends already. The London rain came down hard just as you were settling your tab, so you ended up staying for another drink — he could talk you into anything, even then. The two of you played darts for hours, and you won every time until the last game, when he suggested a friendly bet and then proceeded to hit six bullseyes in a row. He’d hustled you for hours, just for a tenner and to hear the surprise in your laugh when he beat you. 

I’ve been gone for her ever since. Suddenly, you feel dizzy, sick to your stomach at the way he’s steadfastly refusing to meet your eyes. 

“Excuse me for a moment, ladies,” Lando murmurs to the women beside him, color high in his cheeks, and you’re too slow to stop him. He slips away with the easy charm of someone who’s been doing it his whole life, like he didn’t just turn your entire idea of him — of the two of you — inside out without a second thought. 

You know in your bones what he’s doing. Playing the hero. Finishing the mission himself because he can’t bear to see your face after he bared his soul. You’d do the same, if you were him. Two sides of the same coin, always have been. 

You watch the door like a hawk. Ten agonizing minutes pass. Then fifteen. And Lando doesn’t come back. 

In the event that any agent is compromised, retreat. Do not attempt rescue.

Fuck that. You’re going in.

You push your chair back, ignoring the way it scrapes against the deck, and walk with purpose towards the cabin without even bothering to excuse yourself. You can hear the shocked whispers behind you, and a thought tugs at the rational part of your brain that it’s not how Mrs. Sinclair would ever leave a room. But if Lando’s been gone for as long as he has, your cover’s certainly been blown, anyway. 

You let the sliding door slam shut behind you, press your eyes shut for a moment. The yacht blueprints are still burned in your mind from the night the two of you watched movies together, as clear as the sound of Lando’s laugh. You have to press your hand over your mouth and stifle a gasp at the thought you might never hear it again. 

The yacht is labyrinthine, all twisting corridors going down multiple floors. If you were DuPont, and you’d caught Lando, you would put him in the engine room on the bottom floor, deep beneath the waves. You head for the emergency stairs, at the back of the ship. As you walk, you pass a nondescript door. You keep walking, glancing through the porthole as you go, and stop dead.

Clearly, you were wrong about what DuPont would do. Because Lando is inside, tied to a chair, arms behind his back, flanked by two guards. His nose is bleeding, one eye swollen shut and purpling rapidly. The billionaire stands facing him with his back to the door, calmly smoothing something at his breast pocket and swirling a tumbler of amber liquid, with a third guard standing ground behind him. 

“Where’s your wife?” he says mildly. Somehow, it’s more frightening than if he was screaming. “Not coming to save you?”

“She’s not involved in this,” Lando lies through his teeth, words slurring together slightly. Protecting you to the bitter end, even after everything you’ve done. “She’s not like me. She doesn’t know what I do.”

DuPont laughs, that strange, raspy sound again, and it sends a chill down your spine. “Agent, I didn’t think you’d lie to me.” He walks closer to Lando, fluidly pulls something out of his pocket. Blind fear envelops you when you realize it’s a gun, aimed at your partner’s head. “Tell me who she is, and I’ll let you walk.”

Lando turns, spits blood onto the floor. Then slowly, deliberately leans forward until his mouth is pressed against the barrel, the cool metal pulling at the plush pink of his bottom lip. “Go ahead. Kill me,” he grimaces, looking up at DuPont through his eyelashes. “I’d die before I let you hurt her.”

DuPont cocks the gun, and that’s when you strike. 

One guard crumples before the door swings open fully, your shot blasting cleanly through his forehead. You don’t wait to see him hit the ground; you’re already whirling around, a swift kick landing squarely to the chest of the guard backing DuPont. It stuns him enough for you to swing your arm around hard, cracking the butt of your pistol against his temple. He stumbles, back hitting the wall as he begins to slump. You grab for DuPont, but you’re off balance, and you only manage to pull his jacket off as he flees out the door. 

Regroup. Two down. One to go. You turn, but the other guard is already waiting for you, hands steady and gun aimed at your heart. You raise your hands, like you’re caught, and he relaxes slightly. Your eyes flick over to Lando, who kicks his legs out hard and knocks the guard to the floor. You don’t hesitate before you put a bullet in the guy’s chest. 

The room would be silent, if you couldn’t hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You scan the room, grab a pair of scissors out of a desk drawer and start hacking at the zip ties on Lando’s wrists. 

His head lolls towards you, blood spattered at the corner of his mouth. “You weren’t supposed to come back for me.”

You keep trying to cut through the last zip tie, but your hands are shaking too badly. “Don’t be an idiot,” you say, shaking your head. “I wasn’t gonna let you down.”

His smile is soft, trained on you. “You never have.”

You finally cut through the plastic, catching him just before he slumps forward entirely. Immediately, you know he’s worse off than you thought; your arms go around his torso on instinct to hold him up and he yelps, sharp and broken, like you’ve smacked him. 

“You okay?” you ask, trying to shift his weight carefully.  

He groans anyway, face pale. “No. But thanks for asking,” he grits out, somehow still flirting even with what feels like multiple broken ribs. “Let’s get DuPont.”

You balance him against the desk, pull out your walkie. “HQ, this is beta team. We need extract,” you say clearly, sliding it back into your pocket. Five minutes, and you’ll be on the first helicopter back to London. “We’re not getting DuPont. We’re getting you out of here alive.”

Lando coughs, and there’s something wet behind it. “We can do it,” he insists, stubborn to the end. “Walk me up to the upper deck.”

“Lando,” you sigh. “What’s the point? We need to cut our losses here. We don’t even know where the drive is.”

“Jacket,” he says, eyes catching yours, almost too sharp for someone who looks like death warmed over. “Inside pocket. Saw it when you pulled it off him earlier.”

You blink once, then dive for the crumpled clothing, hands raking over the fabric. Sure enough, there’s a little pocket stitched into the silk lining. You rip it open, pull out the unmistakable sleek black drive, stuff the thing in your bra for safekeeping. 

“Okay,” you say, convinced. “Let’s get that son of a bitch.”

He grins back at you, only the slightest bit unfocused. “Help me up, Mrs. Sinclair?”

You drag him back up the stairs one step at a time, his arm slung around your shoulders, your free hand gripping your pistol tight. The harbor air hits your skin like a slap, salty and electric. When you get to the upper deck, DuPont is at the bow, trying to activate the emergency launch controls on the tender. Trying to make a coward’s escape.

You prop Lando against the first railing you can find. “Stay here,” you warn. Then you run at DuPont, tackling him before he can lower the boat into the water. 

The fight is messy, brutal. Your gun clatters out of your hand as he backs you into the rail. The poles clatter against your skull, vision flashing white, but you hit back harder. He swings at you, wild, but you’ve been hit worse, by people better trained. You twist, knee him in the ribs, elbow up under his chin. He staggers. You drive him back with everything you’ve got.

And then there’s a pair of hands grabbing his arms from behind — not steady, not strong. But enough to buy you time.

Lando.

You snap the cuffs onto DuPont’s wrists and slam him to the deck, and it’s over. Or at least it would be, if your extraction team was here, and if Lando wasn’t collapsing on the deck in front of you like the effort might well kill him. 

“Fuck, did you hear me? Extract extract extract,” you scream into your walkie again, voice hoarse, then toss it aside, turning back to Lando. His skin is paling rapidly, breathing shallow. “Stay with me, Lan.”

“That takedown was pretty hot,” he rasps weakly, head lolling to the side. 

“Shut up,” you say, voice cracking in a way you can’t even pretend to control. “You just gotta hold on for a couple more minutes, okay?”

His fingers find yours, grip loose like he doesn’t have the strength left in his hands. “We got him.”

“Yeah,” you nod, sniffling wetly. “Yeah, we got him. And we got the drive. And you’re gonna be okay.”

He shakes his head, and you can see him fading. “Was a good last mission,” he says quietly, looking up at you through his eyelashes. “Liked being your husband.” His eyes slide shut, and you shake him slightly, but he doesn’t respond. 

“You can’t die, Lando, please,” you try to speak, but it’s interrupted by the tears that have started to pour down your cheeks. You press your forehead against his, let the warmth of his skin comfort you. “You stupid idiot pain in the ass, I love you. I’m sorry I was scared before, but I love you and you can’t die before I get to tell you that. Please. Just — don’t let me down. One last time. Don’t you dare fucking die.”

No answer. All you can hear is the soft sound of the waves crashing against the hull, drowned out by your own sobs. 

And then finally, finally, the sound of helicopter blades whirring above you. 

The fluorescent lights hum like the world’s most annoying hold music. 

You’re seated at one end of a long, steel table in a debrief room, a folder full of mission notes and clearance forms spread out in front of you. The same stale coffee is in a cup in front of you. You’ve let it go cold, same as your nerves. 

“All in all, despite the... irregularities, the mission was quite the success,” Hale says, looking incredibly pleased with herself. “Gabriel DuPont is in custody. The drive is secure, and the information you collected has helped us pinpoint several other arms dealers in the European market. Only three dead, no civilians injured.” She clears her throat. “We’ll discuss the breaches of protocol another time, given that your quick thinking likely saved each other’s lives.”

Across the table, Lando grins at you with the air of someone who narrowly escaped death and is prepared to make it your problem. The bruise on his eye has faded from brilliant purple to a sickly yellow. There’s stitches across his side and his arm is in a sling, but he looks unfairly good for someone who nearly bled out on a superyacht less than a week ago. “Thank me later.”

“I saved you last,” you counter, raising an eyebrow. “Technically, you owe me.”

“One near-death experience and suddenly she’s keeping score,” he says, shrugging his shoulders and smiling that stupid, ridiculous smile at you.

“I’m thrilled your trauma hasn’t impacted your ability to bicker like twelve-year-olds,” Hale says dryly. “But it will affect your working hours. For now you’re both on administrative leave. Two weeks’ recovery time, minimum. Please try not to cause any international incidents in that time period,” she sighs. 

Lando looks at her innocently. “No promises.” 

Hale dismisses you, and you focus your eyes on your folder, neatly stacking everything. You haven’t really had the chance to speak to Lando since the mission ended. The ground feels unsteady between you two, tension pulling taut like a trip wire. But he doesn’t seem to be interested in speaking, and you don’t want to push, so you head for the door after your handler. 

“So, about what you said earlier,” Lando pipes up, and you turn back.

“About owing me? I’ll take a pint, when you’re healed up,” you say as lightly as you can, eyes tracing over his face. 

“Actually, I was talking about on the boat when you said you loved me,” he replies casually, grin on his face, and your stomach drops. “But I’ll go for a pint whenever you want.”

“It was — I was trying to keep you conscious,” you stutter, unprepared and voice hoarse.

His smile grows. “Well, it worked. I’ve been very conscious of it ever since.”

“Oh, shut up,” you groan, but there’s a laugh behind it somewhere. 

He stands up, limping towards you until he’s close enough that you can see the raised pink scar by his lip. “So, did you mean it?” His tone is still light, teasing, but you can see the question in his eyes, the way something real hangs in the balance of your answer. 

You let your eyes flit over his face, one you know better than your own reflection. One that became your friend, your partner, your shield. One you nearly lost, that you couldn’t walk away from even when every protocol told you to run. 

You sigh, looking down. “I failed the mission.”

He scrunches his nose, and you fight the urge to kiss the wrinkle. “What do you mean?”

“You told me you’d accept it as long as I promised not to fall in love with you,” you shrug. “Really messed that one up, didn’t I?”

He beams at you like sunshine breaking through the clouds. “Well, it took you long enough.”

“Are you gonna kiss me, or what?” you tease, and he doesn’t say another word. Just steps forward, cups your jaw with his good hand, and kisses you like it’s the only order he’ll ever follow again. 

[rosie-posie1313]

Harry ‘W2S’ Lewis Fic Recs 2

06/28/2025

⭒ late nights after filming by @whore4wroetoshaw

⭒ Pillowtalk by @/whore4wroetoshaw

⭒ I’ll save you by @wroetoshaz

⭒ Polygraph by @pretendyoucantseeme

you somehow get talked into doing a classic lie detector test video with the sidemen, but your crush on harry has been getting worse every time you see him. you're worried simon is onto you -- and he's running the test.

⭒ Camping by @/pretendyoucantseeme

⭒ FOR YOU, I WILL by @fawnme1

harry always said weddings are a nightmare. overrated, dramatic, unnecessary. and yet, one night, in the quietest way possible, he asks you the biggest question of all.

⭒ THE ART OF HIDING (AND MAYBE FLIRTING) by @/fawnme1

⭒ You made it. By @buzzyb33

growing up together y/n dreamt day and night of being a musician, she played guitar and piano and adored everything about it, her and Harry went school together until year 8 when she moved all the way to Leeds, she never really left his mind.

⭒ Sweet Comfort. By @sdmnpact

⭒ Holiday. By @/sdmnpact

⭒ Mean. by @/sdmnpact

⭒ Complicated by @ldr13beaches

⭒ Mini Golf by @/ldr13beaches

⭒ 𝙱𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 by @wroetolando

the one where you and harry try baking together, leading to a kitchen disaster and cookies that are more chaotic than delicious, but still a lot of fun

⭒ rude boy by @georgeclarkeys

drunk harry is horrifically rude to everyone except for you

⭒ Surprise!! By @iheartsophie

Reader surprises Harry during the Sidemen’s “$20,000 VS $200 HOLIDAY” after not seeing eachother for a month

⭒ 10/10, by @w2sology

you try to do the 'rating my boyfriend throughout the day' trend with harry.

⭒ morning scrunches, harry lewis. By @/w2sology

mornings with harry and baby bog

⭒ Not just you, not just me. Us. by @octaneink

The Reader and Harry go golfing on Valentines, even though the Reader has never gone and isn’t really enjoy it but it ends on a high when they get some food and watch a film

⭒ Masterlist by @whoetoshaw

⭒ JEALOUSY HAS A SILVER LINING  by @wroetojaw

⭒ Frogs by @w2soneshots

you go to support Harry at his go cart race.

⭒ THE SONG OF OUR LOVE by @allywthsr

a normal day in the Wroetoshaw household

⭒ 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 by @tomsparkyr

jj knew, of course he knew. so the only way to make harry admit it is to submit an assumption of his own. only it was to be uploaded on youtube.

⭒ All In - Instagram AU by @lovelynikol7

⭒ VROOM by @ennkis

in which y/n and harry get invited to go to the silverstone formula one grand prix (2023)

⭒ Recharging by @slut-for-slutty-fictional-men

⭒ Stuck Like Glue by @whore4fanfics

Harry Lewis has never been shy about how much he loves physical touch , especially when it comes to his girlfriend, Y/N. Whether they’re watching TV, filming with the boys, or out running errands, his hands are always on her. It’s cute… until the Sidemen start teasing him for being “too clingy.” But when Harry tries to change how he acts, Y/N realizes just how much his affection really meant, and how much she misses it.

⭒ Six Matches, One Love by @the-internets-girlfriend

From sideline banter to stadium-wide declarations of love, follow Harry Lewis and Y/N through every iconic Sidemen Charity Match as their friendship slowly evolves into something unforgettable.

⭒ too drunk 4 you. By @livvymd

⭒ Island Boy by @insomniac4000

⭒ WROETOSHAW X GOLDEN RETRIEVER!READER HEADCANONS by @sykokilljoyy

⭒ We Belong Together. By @/sdmnpact

[kquil]

POLY MARAUDERS | HEROES IN TATTOOS PRT.8

08 : TONIGHT

CHPT. SUM. : you finally get to call them yours and they finally get to call you theirs and it's amazing! but something's missing...and it absolutely has something to do with the ache between your legs! 

LENGTH : 6.1k

TAGS. : very suggestive chapter ; boys and reader being horny for each other ; but do we blame them? no. we. don't! ; james being a pest ; sirius being a hot biker ; remus being a gentleman ; reader being a brat ; remus not being a gentleman anymore ; prologue to nsfw chapter

← PREV. : 07 | APOLOGIES & COMFORT | SERIES M.LIST

You don’t know what you expected when the boys slowly began integrating you into their already-established relationship. In the beginning, you were worried about feeling like an outsider. From what they’ve shared with you, the boys have been best friends since their secondary school years, meaning that their history with each other was deeply rooted and you were intimidated, to say the least. You’re just a simple girl they helped protect from a creep a year or so ago. You couldn’t possibly stack up to the type of love they have with each other.

This was a reasonable insecurity to have, the boys understood that and were always there to reassure you of its negligible influence. And when their words weren’t enough, they happily showered you in affection, from loving kisses to warm embraces. They flirted shamelessly, left lingering touches scorched along your exposed skin and pulled you into kisses that ranged from feather-light to deeply passionate, they were eager to kiss and squeeze that vulnerability away until it no longer remained in your beautiful eyes. And you appreciate them so much for their efforts.

Not a second goes by when you don’t feel loved by them, or underappreciated. The love you reciprocated, although much softer and, somewhat, apprehensive, always made them melt into your arms. It was quite the trial considering how much bigger these men were compared to you. But you didn’t mind. Their warmth and weight against you only reinforced the realness of the situation, your situation, your relationship.

This was a dream come true – the best-case scenario for the mounting love you were amassing for each of the three tattooed and pierced men working at the parlour. If you told yourself this would be the outcome months ago, you wouldn’t have believed your ears.

“You’ve got that starry look in your eyes again, dollface,” Sirius chuckles as he presses a loving kiss to your fluttering eyelids, “what are you thinking? Hmmm?” The tattooist currently had you in his lap, disregarding the clock face on the wall. He was supposed to be preparing for a client who would be arriving soon but, instead of being a responsible tattooist, he had himself preoccupied with you.

“Sirius, you’ve got a client coming soon,” you pout, appearing more stressed over his appointment than he is.

As dramatic as always, Sirius put on a big show of missing you, his arms flailing about with his voice fluctuating in his theatrics, “But I’m feeling very deficient in vitamin ‘you’, sweetheart! I need to get my necessary second dose,” you roll your eyes at his playfulness and quietly argue about how this wasn’t his second dose.

“Rather, it’s been your fourth or fifth dose already,” giggling, you endeavour to kiss his pout away before trying to leave so he could have the time to prepare for his appointment while you caught up on your university assignments. Next thing you know, he has you nestled into his lap with your coursework papers set aside and your laptop closed shut. All your attention needed to be on him; he wanted it all.

“We have eight minutes,” he wagered deviously.

You’ve come to find out that Sirius was pretty spoiled when it came to affection. The distinction becomes even more apparent when you compare him to Remus and James. Thankfully, that translated into Sirius happily initiating affection as much as he pleads for it. He’s just this handsome, broad man with the most beautiful grin and the prettiest grey eyes separated by his perfect nose – he’s irresistible, really. And you know that he knows it too; all he has to do is pull those puppy-dog eyes and he gets anything and everything he wants. It’s almost frustrating how he wins your favour each time but you never regret giving into him.

No. Never for Sirius.

…Or Remus. Or James. God, you love these men so damn much!

“Doll?” he tilts his head adorably, a habit he’s picked up from the personified golden retriever himself – James.

“It’s nothing,” you hum, combing your fingers through his hair and pressing a kiss to his slightly scratchy jaw. His stubble was growing out ever so slightly and began to cast a light shadow across the lower half of his handsome face.

“Can’t be nothing,” he protests, delivering a loving nuzzle into the crown of your hair, “are you falling for me?~ Tell me the truth, beautiful girl,” he’s as playful as ever, an expert in heating up your cheeks for his own entertainment, “I know you’re shy but you’re also very honest, hmm?” you don’t respond and keep your focus trained on the rose tattoo creeping up his neck, with its expertly shaded thorns and petals. “I might just give you a reward if you’re honest with me,”

With a small smile, you peek up at him from beneath your lashes. The shadows they cast over your vision distract from the obvious pink hue exploding across his cheeks as soon as he catches your gaze, god! Could you get any more beautiful? You need to stop looking at him like that but also, please keep looking at him and never look away again! “I’ve already fallen for you, Sirius Black,”

Sirius’ jaw goes slack as his playful demeanour collapses under you. The prettiest smile he’s ever seen stretches across your plump lips, so kissable and laced with a shy playfulness he’s fallen in love with.

You drive him absolutely mad…

… and he loves it!

James adores scooping you up into his arms. Not only is your resounding squeal the most adorable thing he’s ever heard but he just cherishes the feel of you tucked up in his embrace. For the first time, he fully understands the expression of describing one’s significant other as their whole world. Because when he has you giggling in his arms, clinging to his neck and nuzzling your face into the space under his jaw, James feels as though he’s got the entire world in his arms – he can accomplish anything and everything he sets his mind to. With you in his arms, he’s invincible; there’s a power that surges through him, a little like adrenaline but not quite so. It’s more powerful. He doesn't know what it is or how exactly to articulate its distinctions but he feels its fullness and capabilities like no other. He is the ruler of an empire, a conqueror with his perfect queen ruling beside him.

He is the leading character of a poignant Shakespearean play with you as his equally established partner. He is one half of a star and you are the other. Each is a ridiculous example but each also feels so fitting.

Of course… Only you could have ignited such an unfounded emotion within him.

“You feel it too, right Moony?” James whispers whilst he and the tall body piercer observe your happy movements gracefully puttering about their upstairs office, organising stacks of paperwork for them.

“Love?” Remus asks. It should be the obvious answer – you’re the protagonist of their conversation after all – but astute to James’ unique expressions for the natural and mundane, the brunette knows it’s going to be one of those times when James strongly feels a certain way and finds it hard to put into words. It makes Remus smile knowing that it’s about you – it’s surely something he can sympathise with James on.

“I guess but… it's different, somehow,” he doesn’t quite know how to articulate it, he just feels it. In his chest, in his fingertips, in his throat, in his stomach, even in his toes – he feels it everywhere. How could he not? Just looking at you, James can already justify that what he was feeling was perfectly admissible, whether he could put it into words or not. What he feels is true, it’s real and it gets stronger (almost achingly so) whenever he looks at you. The apple of his eye… never had an expression fit so well.

“I understand,” Remus voices after a deep, rumbling hum. His gaze soon turns to the tattoo artist beside him, fond eyes softening and stepping much closer to him, “I feel it too — for her and you, and Sirius,”

“That’s a given,” James grins boyishly up at his best friend and precious lover before he’s pulled into a loving kiss.

Tucking your chin a little over your shoulder, you glimpse the inviting image of your two lovers locking lips. It was heartening to see that their love for one another hadn’t changed because of your recent entanglement with them too. There was always a little corner of worry in your heart for potentially breaking their bond due to your interference.

The last time you let that same emotion control you, the aftereffects were explosive and unnecessarily wounding to all parties so you keep the emotion in check often, the boys too. But there was no complete dismissal of it. As much as you adore the boys and their love for you, you also adore their love for each other. It was incredibly inspiring to see what they had built together. Their parlour, their love, their quaint, shared flat.

But now, you also had the privilege of seeing them share more intimate acts of love and it was leading to a bad habit, a bad staring habit. So much so that you didn’t notice the two breaking away from each other until their devious smirks were solely directed at you.

“Care to join us, my dear?” Remus calls his voice like a hypnotising whisper, pulling invisible strings to shift your feet forward and lure you in. In no time at all, you’re close enough for the two to lock you between their strong, tattooed arms and finally launch their attack. You’re not complaining.

You’re so grateful to be able to join in their love and be with them like this. And you’re curious about what the four of you would end up building together one day. Rather than a small flat, maybe a house? A family? With kids? Fur-babies? A cat or dog? Maybe both? Regardless, one promise was absolutely certain: a happy life that’s bursting at the seams with love – it was a very compelling thought.

Finally winding down for the night, you separate from the boys and remain tucked away in their neatly prepared spare bedroom. James and Sirius were proud to announce that they had tidied the place up for you; Remus would have contributed as well if it weren’t for him being the main man who handled the paperwork for the parlour.

You thanked the two for their thoughtfulness with a kiss but also kissed Remus for his hard work in ‘keeping their business alive’. It was a cheeky remark but one that got an adorable pout from James and Sirius along with a well-humoured laugh from the tall brunette himself. There was a love in his eyes that made you weak in the knees, his chocolate pools staring down at you, threatening to drown you in their warmth, his fingers ghosting the skin of your chin and ever so gently tilting your face to admire your features better. He moved as if he were propping up a delicate art piece, not wanting to press too harshly but enough to warrant a sensitive and lingering touch.

“You spoil us,” he utters as a heat blooms across your cheeks and a small peep pushes past your lips. Mistaking your incoherent squeak for verbal thought, Remus bends down at the waist with curious and furrowed brows, “What was that, my dear?” James and Sirius lightly snicker to themselves from the interaction. You would have scolded them for their childish behaviour if Remus didn’t have you melting into a puddle from doing absolutely nothing!

“I-It’s nothing, Rem,” thankfully, he didn’t need much convincing. Having him that close was intimidating – you just can’t believe that this beautiful, soft-spoken, loving and gentle giant of a man is yours.

The boys had allowed you to use the bathroom first and followed after you for their night routine. From where you sat at the vanity, you often catch yourself smiling and sometimes even giggling when you hear their antics echoing through the hallway. It was all very amusing and you had to bite your lip when thoughts of normalising this scenario into a nightly routine materialised in your head. It was still early on in your otherwise unconventional relationship and you didn’t want to risk anything. An eagerness for more was healthy but over-eagerness wouldn’t be worth potentially commencing an accelerated rate of negative interactions.

Going through your nightly skincare, you hum a soft tune to yourself. It felt like you were at your own flat, getting ready for bed as if it was any other night and the familiarity was surprising. You didn’t feel out of place at all despite the new environment. Although, you wouldn't expect anything less from your boys. They really knew how to make you feel welcome. At least you know that you’ll be sleeping restfully tonight.

“Almost ready for bed, Angel?” James’ sudden appearance in the doorway makes you tense before playfully pouting at him, especially when he has the gall to giggle at your startled reaction, “Awww~ don’t be like that, love~” he coos, walking up to stand behind your seated form. He, too, bends at the waist to kiss behind your ear and trail loving pecks down your neck to the slopes of your shoulder.

“My night routine is meant to be relaxing, Jamie,” you huff but he can hear the smile in your voice and looks up with his beautiful eyes, meeting your gaze in the vanity mirror. Slowly, he pulls his lips away from your exposed shoulder.

With a devilish smirk, he brings his lips to your ear and whispers, “I can help you with that…” You feel his feathery touch tracing the curves of your waist, coming up from your hips, “Relaxing, I mean~”

“James!”

He throws his head back with a laugh that makes his shoulders shake and his pretty curls bounce ever so slightly. He’s risen to his full height now and resists the urge to caress the skin of your cheek, respectful of your freshly applied skincare — he’s had to put up with Sirius’ grumbles and whines after mistakenly kissing his still dewy, moisturised cheek on previous nights. And James wouldn’t want to ruin your first night here like that. He’s no amateur. Instead, James concedes to caressing your hair and placing a loving kiss onto your crown. He loves the combined smell of your hair products and natural scent. It’s solely you; a fragrance that could never be contained in a bottle, which is, both, a pity and a relief. A pity that he can’t carry a small bottle around whenever he’s missing you horribly bad. But a relief that something so intimate about you couldn’t be shared beyond him, Sirius and Remus. James would rather set the world ablaze before that ever came to fruition.

“Alright, my love, I’ll leave you be…” you begin to sigh in relief until, “-for now~”

“James!” you giggle sweetly, and he joins you not too long after, “You’re such a pest!”

He cackles adorably as he walks back to the door, making his exit swift and injury-free – he, just barely, evades your swatting hands. The two of you gradually allow your shared merriment to fade into a comfortable silence. You return to completing your skincare routine while James remains at the doorway.

From afar, the tattooist quietly admires your figure, elegant and so… so girly as you go through your nightly regime. It wasn’t a bad thing seeing your femininity shine through was refreshing. Sure, Sirius partook in the same self-care religiously, at the start of every day and the beginning of every night but you, with your cosy pyjamas, fuzzy slippers, panda ears headband and prettily laid out products, have James bewitched; entranced in the most blissful way. He likes seeing and observing you like this. So comfortable that there isn’t a single change in your routine; so comfortable that you’re humming to yourself; so comfortable that you look like you belong here. Truthfully, he’s wanted to ask you to move in for quite some time now but understands the importance of going at a steady pace and one that everyone agrees on.

You all finally have each other to call your own, that’s what truly mattered at the end of the day. So he holds himself back.

The routine you have is quite thorough so you’re not one to exclude your neck area or chest. As you adjust your clothes to prep your neck and chest area, James glimpses more and more of your skin each time. Naturally, his cheeks colour a soft pink while his thoughts are gradually consumed by all the things he wants to do to you — bending you over every piece of furniture in the flat, not discounting the walls or the carpeted floor, even atop and inside his beloved car. Every hot and crude detail is uncensored, the images that flash in his head are dangerously explicit and encompass you wholely. Your pleasure is his top priority. He’ll have you moaning in his ear, panting for breath as he goes faster, harder, whatever you want, as long as you keep singing for him. Singing until you’re screaming and reaching your peak over and over and over—

“The door locks, y’know,” James mentions casually, not surprising you as much this time. Although his random comment does make you raise a brow.

“Oh?” you apply your berry-flavoured lip mask and smile at him through the mirror with a hint of curiosity, “Okay, thank you for telling me, Jamie,” it still wasn’t clear to you what he was trying to get at with his casual but warning remark.

“Are you going to lock it for the night?” his question makes you stop for a moment, what was he trying to say? “I think you should lock it, angel… you don’t want any surprise visitors — it’s hard resisting you this long,” he had a teasing smile on his lips but there was a dark look in his eyes that made you shudder. That’s what he meant…

“A-alright,”

He pauses, appearing to contemplate something as he leans forward but ultimately decides against his earlier intentions and straightens his posture accordingly, “that’s my good girl,” you watch his sly smirk disappear from the vanity mirror. It takes you a few moments longer to return to your skincare routine.

Sirius smirks at you with an amused glint in his eye, “do you want to sit on it?” he asks, his big hand gently patting the seat of his bike. Being able to see right through you and read your inner thoughts was one of Sirius’ many talents. It amazed you but also made your cheeks flush in embarrassment. Were you really that transparent and readable? To Sirius, you were, but that’s only because he’s grown to have a keen eye for you and your little quirks; he finds them adorable and adores being able to read your thoughts, so that he knows he’s catering to you well.

Your hesitation is obvious. It’s not like you haven’t ridden on his motorbike before; you’ve ridden on it plenty of times. However, it was usually with you seated behind Sirius. For a while, you contemplated whether or not it would feel different to be the actual biker. You didn’t know how to ride a motorbike so you were secretly hoping that Sirius would allow you to hop on after he did his routine motorbike maintenance. It was common to do these checks and services every 6 months, but because Sirius used his motorbike so often, he tracked the regular services based on the miles he covered. He’s already crossed 4000 miles so his bike was due for some maintenance already.

“Are you sure?” you ask in a voice that’s so soft and sweet, Sirius can’t help but temper his smirk into a warm smile.

“It’s safe, sweetheart, and I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t okay with it,” the bright grin you gifted him made Sirius question why he hadn’t thought to make such an offer sooner. It was clear that you were interested in his bike but he didn’t know whether or not he was deciphering your intentions correctly, until now. With a skip in your step, you make your way over as Sirius chuckles to himself.

You’re just too cute~

“Thank you, Siri,” you reach up to cup his jaw and gently guide him down to press a loving kiss against his cheek.

“Anything for you, Doll,” he kisses your cheek as well, just before you get the chance to pull too far away from him. Sirius then guides you onto his motorbike, offering to stabilise you with his hands on your hips as you get settled on the seat. With his strength alone, he takes the bike off his kickstand and straightens it from the back so that you can experience what it’s really like without the bike being slanted to the side. The tattooist is much taller than you and so you aren’t able to fully flatfoot your feet, instead your toes barely brush the ground. Seeing that you’re able to just swing your feet back and forth, a quiet giggle escapes you – music to Sirius’ ears.

“This is fun!” you cheer softly, still quite shy as you glance over your shoulder with a flutter of your lashes, meeting eyes with the inked-up biker, who was grinning brightly at you. His strong arms are on full display, tattoos and all, as he holds the bike straight and steady from behind. He’s dressed in a simple black tank top and loose grey joggers. It’s a style that James often wears around their flat but you’re not surprised that Sirius was able to pull off the look too. With a face like his, you can easily determine that he’d suit any style he tries on.

“Why don’t you try pretending you’re actually riding it by grabbing onto the handles,” he encourages, excited. Having James, Remus and you as his loves were heaven on earth, but being able to share one of his favourite hobbies and his beloved motorbike fostered a different kind of haven in his heart. It’s overflowing and shows easily in his voice.

“Okay!” eagerly, you lean forward to grasp onto the handles and, with a feverish buzz, pretend you’re actually riding the bike out on the road. From backpacking behind Sirius so often, imagining the shift in positions and being the actual biker was quite easy. What a thrill! No wonder Sirius makes up any excuse to be out on his bike.

Yes, you’re still stationary but it’s just too easy to imagine everything, from the wind in your hair to the adrenaline pumping through your veins, encouraged by the rapidly passing views on either side of you. A view of the seaside at sunset is very appealing but winding country roads also offer great scenery. You can hear your heartbeat rising to match your vision and you have to bite your lip to contain an elated laugh. There’s no need to embarrass yourself even more, especially with Sirius behind you.

So stuck in your pretending, you miss Sirius’ partially restrained groan of frustration from behind your leant-over figure, “Fuck. Me…” he has the perfect view of your ass. And when you’re bent over his bike like this, his joggers tighten up around his crotch alarmingly fast. Never mind that the joggers were already very loose-fitting, he can’t help himself when you’re offering him such a spectacular view. And to have it be on top of his motorbike too…

The things you do to him… the things he would do to you.

Suppressing another groan, Sirius hurries to free his kickstand and lean his bike over before you realise what’s happening. It takes a lot of strength and agility but his focus has narrowly concentrated on you and nothing was going to get in his way. He has to resist going all the way – for now – but that doesn’t mean resigning himself to zero contact at all.

“Siri–?!” you squeal in surprise when he lifts you off his bike and positions you in a way that forces your legs to wrap around his hips from fear of falling, while his arms circle your hips, “what’s this all about?” you give an adorable tilt of your head as you look down at him, perched a little higher on his torso so that your hands could place themselves on his sturdy shoulders while his arm provides a sort of seat for you underneath.

“I’ll show you what this is about,” his voice is several octaves lower, barely recognisable from where they resonate at the far back of his throat. His big hands grab the globes of your ass and lower you down from your upper perch so that he grinds your covered pussy lips against his erect cock. Even through the fabric of his joggers, the sheer size of him is obvious and it’s mortifying how wet you get. He keeps you pressed against him as he swallows your shocked gasp, prying your lips apart with his tongue so he can explore your sweet mouth.

“...you can’t be showing your perfect ass like that – so pretty on top of my bike – without facing the consequences, dollface,”

“But!” you manage to protest between his eager lips, “but you said–!”

“I know what I said,” he bites at your lower lips and grinds against you, “I guess we’re both at fault that I’m like this right now, huh, baby?” he pulls away to suck and nibble on your neck, loving the moans he draws from you, “Nothing a little loving can’t fix, right?”

He won’t go too far… just a little grinding here and there while he devours your pretty little mouth. That’s all he’s asking for. And, being the lovely, kind princess that you are, of course, you oblige him.

“A-alright…” you conceded, finally trying to match his level of eagerness when his lips connected with yours once more.

“That’s my girl~”

The initial week everything came to a head, where all was revealed and you ended up spending the night at the boys’ flat, only for disaster to hit in the form of your period the next day was weeks behind you now. You're surprised that a week after that – when you had finally gotten off your dreaded period – Remus didn’t pounce on you. Nor did James. Or Sirius. Now an entire month has passed and still nothing. James and Sirius have been more impassioned than Remus but it appears as though they’re more united than ever on the simple fact of ‘going easy’ on you.

The tall brunette insinuated such provocative things that night. Thinking back to that moment makes butterflies explode in your stomach, all while a ravenous heat spreads chaotically throughout your body. That same heat then stubbornly settles between your legs and in your lower belly. You’re ashamed to admit that you were really looking forward to what Remus planned on doing to you…

But now he’s being the perfect gentleman again and you don’t know what to do!

You love how gentlemanly he is, kissing you sweetly on the cheek, whispering loving, poetic words only for you to hear, listening to anything and everything you wanted to say with the utmost attention and interest, pulling doors open for you, doing little favours that made your days go by smoother and so much more. It felt incredibly unreasonable to complain when there was nothing to complain about! Though… were you really complaining? If you think about it, all you would be doing is expressing your opinion and providing some constructive criticism for what you want out of the relationship – there’s nothing wrong with that, is there?

When you officially became theirs and them, yours, it was established and emphasised heavily by Remus, himself, that communication was key to having a successful and loving relationship. If something was wrong, you could go to them without any hesitation; they promised to never disregard your worries or dismiss them apathetically. And you made the same promise to them, in return. If they were ever feeling insecure about something in the relationship then they could communicate any concerns they have to you without feeling an ounce of fear. By verbalising your, somewhat, embarrassing internal torment, you’d be keeping your promise and prioritising communication — just like you all promised each other!

So you have nothing to worry about…

It’s just a little hard to verbalise that’s all…

…maybe you should wait until after dinner tonight? Remus looks a little busy right now…

“Don’t look at me with those eyes, pretty girl,” Remus’ low, bordering seductive, voice tenses your nerves, pulling a lazy chuckle from the back of his throat at the adorable sight of your surprise, “you’re distracting me,” he emphasises his statement with the tap of his pen onto the papers laid out before him. Despite his comment, however, he doesn’t sound angry and he’s not frowning either. Instead, Remus has his chin in the palm of his hand and tilts his head at you, smiling fondly at your visage.

“You look like you don’t mind it,” you shot back, voice shy but quippy, parallel to the defiant folding of your arms.

Remus throws his head back with a laugh before shaking his head at you. His smile widens and he bites his lower lip to force it down just a little bit. As you put on a playful pout, your earlier thoughts slipping from your mind, the tattooed body piercer rolls over to you on his wheeled office chair.

Reaching you in a few long strides, knee to knee, he disregards your sassy comment and simply asks, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

A heat crawls up your neck and settles on the apples of your cheeks as your earlier contemplations return. It’s a little hard to muster up your courage to speak right now. And, conveniently, the carpeted floors look very interesting all of a sudden.

“I-It was nothing,” you unfold your arms and fidget with the hem of your pleated skirt; your gaze still fixed onto the office’s dark grey carpet.

He quirks a brow but doesn’t say anything despite the question evident in his chocolate-brown eyes. His gaze holds onto your own, the small smile on his lips calming your earlier taut nerves. In your peripheral, Remus slides his fingertips over the skin of your thighs, his movement careful and feathery until he hears you suck in a sharp breath. As soon as your eyes widen, shocked by his unexpected touch and you release a sharp gasp, Remus throws all care out the window. He proceeds to slide his grip under your thighs and, hoists you up and over to sit on his lap. Thankfully his office chair doesn’t have any armrests so he’s able to comfortably seat you there, pretty as can be.

“You’re sure you can’t tell me?” he asks in a murmur, muffled by the skin of your temple as he presses a soft kiss there.

“It’s really nothing!” you squeak, avoiding his eyes and missing his fond smile as he watches you fumbling with your hands. He keeps you perfectly seated on his lap from where he firmly grips your outer thighs. Your skin is so soft and smooth with the perfect amount of fluff, to fill it in – he loves all of you but if he had to choose, he’d say your thighs were his favourite feature.

“You can be honest with me,” you don’t answer, tucking your flustered face into the crook of his neck instead. Fondly, he begins to caress the back of your head with one hand, the other still on your thigh. He lowers his voice into a quiet murmur so only you can hear, “Why don’t you whisper it to me instead?”

Funnily enough, his suggestion, no matter how simple, was convincing. It was meant for his ears only and you didn’t want to risk anyone else hearing your inner thoughts out loud. Also, the idea of whispering your carnal contemplations felt… safer somehow. Intimate too but you ran with it, your thoughts begging to be released.

Leaning up, you place one hand on his broad chest, the other on his shoulder so as to position your lips beside his ear with enough stability, “I was just thinking about…umm,”

“Hmm?...” you feel his thumbs caressing the skin of your thighs — a comforting gesture that you feel embarrassed for being unsuited to your pending admission.

“About you…”

Something flashes in his eyes, “...What about me, my love?” he hopes to god he hasn’t upset you.

You pause to muster up enough courage, “...about what you said you would do to me that night…” Hopefully, he knows what you’re referring to because you don’t think you’ll be able to articulate his exact words or the entire situation properly. You’re already far too sheepish.

Holding your breath, you wait for some sort of reaction, maybe a spoken word? Something… But Remus’ lips are sealed shut and there’s only silence. Your heart hammers in your ears as you slowly pull away from the safety of your lover’s neck and peek up to gauge his reaction, only to find that his face shows no emotion at all. You’re tempted to whisper his name, a soft prompt and an indirect request for some sort of answer when he’s suddenly pulling you into a deep kiss. One hand cups your jaw as the other explores your curves. His movement and the feeling he imbues in the kiss – all of it points to an impatience and a vicious need, the need to have you in every way possible.

Remus explores the lines of your shape but makes a small sound of displeasure when his hands are unable to sneak up the AC/DC graphic shirt you stole from Sirius as it’s tucked into your pleated skirt. Quickly, he moves his large hands back to your exposed thighs. You hold your breath as you feel his warm touch move up your warm skin, far enough to sneak past the hem of your pleated skirt.

“Please…” Remus relishes in the moan that parts your delicious, bruised lips, “I can take it! Please please please,” you gasp and pant, your shaking voice emphasising your desperation for more. You’ve waited so long, you’ve been so patient, you’re ready for this! The feel of his lips against your skin is addictive but your addiction is insatiable from that alone and you beg for more.

“Are you sure about that?” Remus’ lips make it to the shell of your ear, where his husky voice whispers as he grabs at your ass. With his hands full of you, he pulls you in to grind his bulging hardness against your puffy, lower lips and dampening panties. He relishes in the moans that you can’t contain behind trembling, kiss-bitten lips and smirks when he hears the click of the office door opening.

“She’s ready for us then?” James asks, the smirk on his lips obvious through the smug tone of his voice.

“It’s about damn time,”

Remus smiles as you tuck your flustered face into the crook of his neck and gives your ass a reassuring squeeze beneath your skirt, “Tonight, sweetheart,”

You pout at his remark and pull away with a huff, “No!” you protest defiantly, “Now!” You’re tired of waiting! And what’s the use of their upstairs, private office space if you can’t do private things in it?

“Don’t be a brat, dove,” Remus warns, the usual warmth leaving his eyes as Sirius and James step into the room and close the door behind them but don’t step an inch closer.

“But I’ve waited so long, please Rem, I promise I can take it—” you squeal loudly when a harsh slap hits your ass. So caught up in your needs, you completely missed how Remus used one hand to lift your skirt while his other prepared to deliver penance.

“Rem–!” ignoring your whining, he sits down to bend you over his lap and continues beating your ass despite your shrieks of pain. It wasn’t until you were a whimpering tearful mess that Remus finally relented, his big hand returning to their gentle touches as he comfortingly palms your sore ass. He’s sorry. But you were being a brat.

“Brats don’t deserve to get what they want, even if they say please, do I make myself clear?”

Unable to vocalise properly through your tears and pitiful whimpers, you simply nod your head but squealed when Remus cupped your tender asscheek and gave it a firm squeeze of displeasure, “Y-yes sir,”

“Good girl,” Remus hums softly,

NAVI. | SERIES M.LIST | NEXT : 09 | THE NIGHT... →

A/N : next chapter will be where everything goes down my loves! i hope you're prepared and i'm sorry for making you all wait this long; what can i say? i love a good slow burn smut hehe~

again, i'd like to remind everyone that i have discontinued all my taglists but made a side account for you to follow so you can be notified whenever i post something new, just turn on notifications @thekqipond

please like, comment and reblog to show your support, i'd really appreciate it! property of kquil ; all written content is mine and no one else's unless stated otherwise ; do not steal, plagiarise, modify or translate to other sites

[starlostjisung]

hi! can i request stray kids 9th member au, where the reader has been feeling down and the boys plot to make her feel better?

hiiii!!!

i loved this idea, thanks for sending it and i hope you like this 🩷

learning to breathe again

PAIRING: skz x 9th!member (platonic)

GENRE: angst, comfort

WC: 2.1k

CW: reader is overworked

SUMMARY: with a new comeback just around the corner, you felt everything: the pressure, the chaos, the anxiety. you pushed yourself through it but you needed the guys to help you breathe again

you had known from the start that being in a co-ed group would be difficult, especially when that group would consist of 8 boys and just 1 girl. this had never happened before.

however, you had known the boys for a long time, after being a trainee for almost as long as chan. that’s why when chan told you that he was choosing the members for a group and he wanted you in it, you agreed. immediately. there was no doubt in your mind that you could do this with the boys, and that you wanted to do it.

fast forward to almost a decade later, you had it all. or at least a lot of things you had dreamed about when you started. you had debuted, released a lot of albums, won awards and went on tours many times. you still had a lot of things that you wanted to achieve as a group, but there was also a lot of pride in all of the things you had achieved already.

it was thanks to the love and support of fans, family and friends. you knew that of course. but it was also thanks to the hard work that all 9 of you put. because you worked. a lot.

you loved your job, you would never change it for anything nor would you take it for granted. but there were times when it could be suffocating. when instead of motivating you to go on, it would only push you to the ground and make you think this wasn’t meant for you. that you didn’t fit in this world. especially when you felt like the world was demanding more of you just because you were a girl in a group full of boys.

the good thing about being in a group is that whenever one of you was feeling down, when that person felt the weight of the world on their shoulders, there would be 8 other people taking that pressure from their shoulders and grabbing their hands to walk the same path together, not leaving anyone behind.

and that was the case for you at the moment.

you were working on your next comeback, which was coming very soon. this is always an exciting time but it’s also really stressful and tiring.

comebacks meant recording sessions, dance practices, shooting music videos, photo sessions for the album, interviews, promo, travels… and right now, you were not feeling it.

you had been in the studio all evening recording with bang chan and changbin. the three of you were recording some parts that were missing in a couple of songs. you were all exhausted but you had to do it.

“okay, y/n, you ready?” chan asked you as you went inside the booth to record

“yeah, ready”

he played the track and you got ready to sing your lines. the first time you did it you came in late, so you started all over again. the second time, you were early. the third time, was good but you felt you could do better.

this went on for some time until you finally hit it right, “okay, this is perfect, we got it”, chan said

however, you were not completely sure, “you sure chan? i think i could do better with another try”

“i-i mean, it was perfect y/n, but if you’re not happy and want to do it again, it’s fine, there’s no problem”, changbin said

you looked at them and saw how exhausted they were, not because of you, but because of all of the work you had been doing these last few weeks or months, you didn’t even know at this point

“well if you’re both happy with this take we’ll leave this one, yeah, let’s go with this one”, you told them and left the recording booth

“right, so we have to mix the harmonies of this part and then add the chorus, and this one would be done” you heard changbin and chan talking with the producer so you took that as your cue to leave

“guys, if you don’t need me anymore, i’m going to go home, if that’s okay”

the boys shared a look because this wasn’t normal, you would always stay with them and watch them work on the songs once you were finished recording your parts. it was like a tradition you had with 3racha

“mmm, yeah, if that’s what you wanna do you can go home y/n” chan said

with that, you said your goodbyes and left the studio, leaving the boys a bit worried about you

“okay let’s go from the top, ready? 5, 6, 5, 6, 7, 8” the choreographer said

the music started and you all got into positions. you were practicing the choreo for the title track of the comeback. you were going to shoot the video for it next week, so now you were all immersed in learning the choreo and different movements and positions you would have to do throughout the video.

your choreos are always demanding and need a lot of energy, but you had never had any problems remembering or learning them.

of course you would slip here and there, but that was expected, you were human. but your brain was not cooperating with you today. at all.

you saw the moves, you tried to learn them and do them, and you did. but you felt like you weren’t doing them right. that you were late with the music. that you moved the wrong way. that you went to positions that weren’t yours.

the boys could see that. they could see that even though you were giving your all today - just like any other day- something was wrong with you, and had been for a while, ever since chan and changbin first realised it that day in the studio.

the song finished and you felt like you were going to collapse, “okay, let’s rest for a bit, we’ll be back in 5”, the choreographer said

as soon as he left the practice room, a bottle of water was firmly placed in your hand

“drink it, you look like you’re going to faint”, it was lee know, always looking out for you

“i feel like i’m going to”

“are you okay? you look a bit out of it today”

“i don’t know, i feel like even though i’m trying, i just don’t get there. i’m late with the movements, i mix the places where i have to be, i’m confused with everything”

“y/n, it’s normal, we’re still learning the choreo, this is new”

“but this has never happened before minho”, you were getting really frustrated now

“not every choreo is the same, nor do we learn everything easily y/n, you should know this by now”

“i know but it’s just-“

“just nothing, y/n, don’t beat yourself up for this. we still have time before we shoot the video. take it easy, don’t push yourself too much”, and with that he left to get ready to start practice again

“okay, everybody ready? let’s start the track”, as soon as the choreographer was back, you all got into position and started again. you tried to remember what lee know had told you, but you just couldn’t do it. you had never had this type of problems, you had always been perfect, so why weren’t you perfect now?

this went on for a couple of weeks and all of the boys noticed this. they noticed the mistakes during dance practices, the many takes you wanted to do each time you recorded, the early morning and late nights you would spend at the company practicing alone, whether it was the choreos or the lines you would have to record that day.

they knew they had to do something before you broke down completely.

that’s why they decided to spend the day off with you, trying to cheer you up and make you forget everything that was pushing you down. hopefully their plan would work out.

they decided you would all have a lazy and quiet day at home, you were all exhausted and that’s what you all needed. they knew you weren’t going to wake up early - you were definitely not an early bird - so all of the guys went to the dorm you were sharing with seungmin and felix and started to get everything ready.

they were going to cook some cupcakes because they knew they were your favourite - well chan and lee know were going to cook, seungmin and felix weren’t allowed anywhere close the kitchen even though it was their dorm.

the rest of the boys were in charge of the living room. they had to prepare the sofas, blankets, snacks, tv ready with your favourite show. everything you would need for a day when you didn’t have to leave the couch, unless it was to go to the bathroom.

surprisingly, they were able to prepare everything on time, cupcakes included, so when you finally woke up and went to the living room you were surprised to say the least.

“wh-what’s all this?”, you looked around, surprised to see not only felix and seungmin, but all of the guys there, and your living room turned into a… well you didn’t know what it was but there were blankets and pillows everywhere. and snacks. and cupcakes.

“we’re having a day off all together!”, han told you

“yeah, just like we did just after we debuted”, hyunjin continued

it’s true, whenever you had a day off after you debuted - a rare occurrence to be honest - you would just lay around in your shared dorm and do absolutely nothing. just being together and talking and joking was enough. you were happy with that and you missed it.

“but why? why did you do all this?”, you asked them while pointing at the food, the living room, everything

felix grabbed your hand and guided you to sit down next to him, “y/n, we know you have been feeling down for a bit, you know you can always come to any of us and we will always help you, we are a family, and we will always be there for each other”

you looked him in the eyes and felt yours watering, “i know it’s just… i don’t know what’s wrong with me, i’m usually not like this. comebacks are always stressful for all of us but i never have any problems with them but this time around… i don’t know, i feel like i can’t do it and i just didn’t want to put more in your plates, so i thought that i would just push through it and it would go away but i can’t do it anymore”

and that’s when you broke. you let it all out. the stress. the fear. the exhaustion. you knew you were in a safe place to fall, the boys were there to pick you up. but you just needed to let it all out. you needed to breathe.

“hey, y/n, look at me, it’s okay, we got you, we’re here”, it was chan’s now, who was sat on your other side. he pulled you to him and hugged you, “it’s completely normal to go through difficult times, but please, let us know when this is happening. you’re always there for us, and we want to be there for you the same way, okay?”

you nodded against his chest

“pinky promise?”, you saw changbin placing his pinky right in front of your face

you laughed at his antics, “pinky promise”, you told him while lacing your fingers together

“you’re one of the strongest people i know, you’re gonna get through this, i’m sure of it”, it was han this time

you saw all the boys agreeing with him, and felt chan hugging you a bit tighter

“okay, it’s time for breakfast now, come on everybody let’s eat those cupcakes and don’t worry y/n, seungmin and felix didn’t cook any of this so there’s no risk of suffering indigestion or something like that” i.n told you and you saw seungmin getting up to hit him, “ouch”, he said while rubbing his arm

“you deserved it”, seungmin told him

you laughed at the two maknaes of the group and felt truly happy for the first time in a long time.

you looked around the room and saw all of the boys eating, joking and playing with each other, and that’s when you knew everything was going to be fine.

you could finally breathe again

[royalarchivist]

Phil briefly talks about QSMP, the admin situation, Quackity, the new team, and the harassment both Quackity and the admins have been receiving.

Please listen to the clip and read the transcript in its entirety. Keep in mind that things can easily be taken out of context (even this clip, though I did try to include everything he said).

If you'd like to see the full unedited conversation, Phil started talking about last week's interactions with YD and Bad ~1h 57m into today's VOD, which led into this conversation about QSMP.

[ Complete Transcript ↓ ]

—

Phil: Yeah, she's great. Another- another reason why QSMP is just like... fuckin' incredible. That was like, not even ever going to happen without QSMP. Like, obviously it's had its problems, it's go– it's had its problems. Those problems are being rectified. All the people that were wrong'uns have been fired [Laughs] And Quackity's put a new team together. So like, I'm so happy that I'm like– that Q is doing everything he can right now to make it like, right.

But I am still just sad that Chayanne and Tallulah are just asleep, that is just making me real sad. So I've been like, logging on whenever I can to just like, hang out and stuff and just, you know, be around. But I am- I am just sad boy now. [Laughs] I've like– throwing all those penguins into the- the Spawn area was like, my limit. And the like, laughing with YD and Bad kind of cheered me up a bit.

But yeah, I'm sure most of you can agree. It's like, once- once you've been making content on a server a certain way, it's- it's been like, 6 - 8 months of like, the same like type of content I've been making on that server. It's been very lore-heavy, it's been very Egg hanging out with the Eggs and just chilling. Like, not even like doing anything crazy. We would just hang out. But yeah, I'm sure everyone's in the same boat. Like, we all just like, miss that, you know?

So... just gotta wait around. Just gotta wait. Wait for things to get better. Trust in Big Q.

But yeah, moments- moments like the other day, Chat, where me, Bad, and YD were just hanging out just like kind of... you know, it just kind of like... What's the word I'm looking for? Like, drills home how important the QSMP is and can be for connecting people. Not just now, but in the future. And like, that- I feel like that is something that's definitely worth protecting, or something that's worth like, seeing happen in the future with other people. Not even thinking about like, if I'm gonna be interacting with anyone like, thinking about like other people interacting with other people in the future. It's fucking- It's so cool.

Like, imagine seeing like, brand new streamers that you might've not have heard of interacting with people that you know right now. Not necessarily me or people that I know, but like– like, the connections that we've all made.

Dude, Me and Kristin went to fuckin' Switzer-France to hang out with these people! [Laughs] Cellbit and Lore traveled from fucking Brazil to Switzer-France to hang out! The- these connections are like, mental. Just never would have happened without the server, and that's definitely something worth protecting. And like, ensuring it is done the correct way in the future.

That means a lot to us Chat, it does– [Briefly responds to Chat] It means a lot to us and like, obviously the admins being well-taken care of is like, at the fore-front.

And Quackity speaks very highly of this new team. He's like- he's chatted to us like, in calls and stuff. He's been keeping us up to date on everything that's been going on behind the scenes, everything that he can tell us anyways. And like, he is very happy with this new team. He pretty much said that they are like, very passionate about the project, and we can like, trust that he trusts them to do a very good job. So...

Yeah, I'm excited but like, we just have to kind of like, wait. Like, there's a lot being changed around, there's a lot of plans. But the good thing to know is that the people that caused harm have been removed. And now the people that are like, in charge are like, very passionate about the project and just want to see everyone happy and succeed and be taken care of. But these things take time. So we just have to hang about, we have to wait.

[Responding to someone asking about what happened with QSMP and the Admin situation] I'm not going to go into too much detail, you can find out exactly what has gone on, and it's not as simple as black and white. It's- there's a lot of gray areas in there, and it's like very complicated, so you can go look it up yourself, but ultimately, all you need to know is that the initial admin team, the like, head people at the top that Quackity put in charge like ages ago when the server first started were making decisions that were like, not good for the health and also the well-being of the actors, and like, admins and like, the staff. So like, some staff were fine, other staff had a shit fucking time, and it was unfair and terrible and went unnoticed for a while, and then it all came out and Quackity's been like, fixing it since.

Most recently, he stepped down from the team because of like, how serious shit was getting. Like, people online have been fucking awful. And it's very dangerous at the minute for like the ex- like, members of the team, and also him. It's like- it's terrible.

So it's very heated, very– it's– again— and it's not as simple as just like "This- this is– this is right, this is wrong." It's like- it's very- there's a lot of muddled areas, and it's not as easy as just saying "This is exactly what happened." I'm summarizing. I'm literally just summarizing. But all you need to know right now, the latest update is that the team that are in charge are very passionate about the projects and are like, much, much better and will take care of the new people and the admins and all the actors and stuff a lot better than the last fucking team because the initial problem was that Quackity kind of like, took a bit more of a step back and he wasn't like, overseeing every single thing that was going on behind the scenes, but now he's had to- he's had to take a step back, he's been forced to take a step back, but he's left it in the hands of a team that he truly trusts this time. Like, he's actually fully-vetted.

So HOPEFULLY– again: there's more things that need to be done behind the scenes, and I'm not an official spokesperson, I'm just a person playing on the fucking server that my friend has made, and I'm very happy to support him, and I trust that he will do and continue to do the right thing.

But yeah. Not as simple as just [Snaps fingers] "This is this." It's like– there's so much fucking like, middle ground and shit that's gone on. And that's all I'm gonna say on it! 'Cuz otherwise it's just gonna go on and on and on, and people are gonna be like, "What do you know?" and be like "I don't know shit!" And the stuff that I do know, I probably can't talk about right now. There's like, certain things that like, can't be said, for legal reasons and stuff.

[accio-victuuri]

April 2025 CPNs round-up ❤️💛💚

the start of the month was actually quite eventful, celebrating april fools with the best clowns in chinese domestic entertainment. lol. it started with a double fake rumor which was bits of old rumors pieced together. then as usual for this day, fansite team building happens. meaning, fs for specific celebrities will post about other people. so we supported ones that posted about our boys. a good summary of those are here and there is a good number. whether that’s bjyx or them as individual.

that led to bojunyixiao being on top of the hot search list. this is so fitting for april fools! knowing how much we clown! lol. but seriously, it’s so nice to see how active the fandom still is. the whole fandom has been summoned by the photos shared. there is really nothing new — but we all got excited. that’s how great cpfs are! so sorry ( not really ) to our haters cause we are not going away anytime soon. 💅🏻💅🏻💅🏻

okay, now let’s go to the actual cpns we enjoyed this month! ⬇️⬇️⬇️

• there is a repo from a kid yibo worked with for the bananain shoot. he mentioned that wyb does not smile much, but he does when he looks at his wechat. lol. so we gotta clown all the times you can him smiling down while looking at his phone, probably talking to xz.

• the very lucky ones who already got their WM vinyl noticed how the design is written looks like an 8 and 3. that’s them. Bo and Zhan. 🥹🥹🥹🥹 we know how XZ likes to hide things in plain sight when it comes to his art. so this is a classic example.

• this comparison! they are twins! i wish they could have had this kind of hair at the same time.

• croissant in lacoste ad 🥐🥐🥐

• At the time of writing, GG has not been officially announced to be a part of this rumored drama. @rainbowsky made a really good primer for it over here so you can go ahead and look. but it’s basically screaming the same timeline as yibo’s war of faith. lol. so of course, whoever this character is will be wei ruolai’s husband in the yizhan multiverse! i’m looking forward to it! 🙌🏼

• video “proof” in zhuhai race last year where someone mentions zhan ge + the plot thickens that xz was actually there that time

• this went on HS 4/13 for some reason. there may be some context that i missed lol. but tbh, who cares. they are both successful in their own way in the age they are in. there is no “catching up” to do because they are in different tracks. 💛💛💛

i personally get defensive when it comes to their careers and achievements, i hate tying them up in that aspect. or wanting both to have the same exact things. it does not work that way. i believe in supporting what they do and i accept the fact that sometimes one has more than the other in certain aspects and how that’s okay. i could write up a whole thing on this topic and my thoughts on it but i don’t think the fandom is ready that for that conversation. lol.

• WMWM clothing brand x WM album - another example of the universe conspiring to give them some obscure connection.

• THIS. We are so blessed to have them in Magazine Issues that show their long hair 😍😍😍

how can you not love them both? talented and beautiful creatures!

• WYB’s May Vogue 2025 issue candies

• there is some buzz around xz being spotted passing by Wuhan and him going home immediately. of course we think it’s because Bobo is in Beijing. So he has to be with him 🤡🤡🤡

• our boys greeting sina for their 25th anniversary 🫶🏼

• On 4/20 xz was spotted attending a concert in Beijing with his parents. the “empty” space there is being filled with WYB by us clowns. lol. we don’t have facts but more of wishful thinking since they are both in Beijing. personally, i think people WYB is there because of how happy XZ is. not saying he cannot be happy without WYB, it’s just that there is something more of it’s related to WYB. 🤡🤡🤡

• revisiting an old rumor of them having a skiing show together

• XZ arrives in Shanghai while WYB is there for a race and the next day WYB goes MIA and can only be seen during practice - finally, a timeline of sorts and cpn interpretation of what happened during the weekend✌🏼 on 0428, both Lele and Dabo were seen by chance and people are saying their staff seem to be on holiday. so maybe that’s because the two lovebirds are chillin at home in Beijing. yes please! or maybe they gave their staff some time off after a busy weekend 😋

• WYB is interested in Vinyl record

• WYB saying an expression that is common in Sichuan/Chongqing

see you next month! 🫶🏼💕

<< previous post

[luvvixu]

mind over matter pt. 8

synopsis: witness how your marriage was bound to fall apart with you on the front seat and your husband gojo had missed the show—now, he gotta figure out the story on his own.

content: arrange marriage au, angst, husband!gojo, mean!gojo, mention of blood, mention of drugs, strong languages, some unsettling scenarios, emotional trauma, read at your own risk.

a/n: i kinda liked this chapter.

previous / masterlist / next

today was the day where kazuki was finally set to get out of the hospital. your cute baby boy is now very strong and can live without those horrendous tubes and machines in his body. you can also finally hold him whole in your hands.

you watch the nurses prepare the discharge of your baby while satoru was also here with you, holding your baby's documents on his hand as he couldn't tear his eyes away from your son.

the two of you had been waiting for this time. satoru even bought a new house for the three of you, all in complete furnished and ready to live in.

after some time, the nurses finally presented your son. kazuki lay bundled in a soft, pale blue blanket—no more tubes in his nose, no more wires taped across his delicate skin. just his tiny chest rising and falling peacefully, his eyes fluttering open every now and then as if sensing the change in atmosphere.

you were already crying—you're trying not to, but you failed terribly. the sight of your son without a single machine attached to him felt like a miracle sewn together by prayers and stubborn hope.

one of the nurses gave you a warm smile. “he’s good to go. he passed all his vitals overnight. you can finally take him home.”

you nodded, biting your trembling lip, and reached out to take him.

for the first time, your arms wrapped around your son with nothing in between—no glass, no cords, no barriers.

just skin to skin. warmth to warmth. mother to child.

kazuki is much heavier now. not by much, but enough for you to notice. his small body sank perfectly into the curve of your arms, his head nuzzled gently against your chest like he knew exactly where he belonged.

meanwhile, satoru stood at your side, silent.

he’d been holding the discharge documents like they were something sacred, like they might crumble if he didn’t hold them just right. but the moment he saw kazuki in your arms—free, healthy, and alive—he blinked hard and cleared his throat.

you looked at him, and his gaze never left kazuki.

“he looked like me,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion.

you chuckled through your tears. “i swear, my genes didn't even put up a fight.”

a beat passed, and then satoru exhaled shakily. “i bought the softest baby mattress i could find. and the safest car seat. and a whole stash of pacifiers—like twenty, because i wasn’t sure which brand he’d like. i know i probably went overboard…”

you glanced at him, warmth blooming in your chest.

“overboard is okay,” you whispered. “he’s all worth it.”

satoru nodded and leaned closer. gently, he cupped kazuki’s head and kissed his tiny temple.

“i’ll protect him,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. “no matter what.”

“we'll protect him.” you paraphrased.

the nurse returned with final instructions, but the moment she handed you kazuki’s tiny hospital bracelet as a keepsake, it hit you again.

you made it.

he made it.

you, who almost died from placenta abruption. kazuki, who was born at six months, too early, too small. and even satoru, who had nearly lost everything before realizing what he truly had.

now, the three of you are going home.

as satoru carried the diaper bag and opened the hospital doors for you, the sunlight outside greeted you like an old friend.

you looked down at kazuki, smiling through the tears.

“let’s go home, baby.”

and this time…it really was home.

the new house was quiet.

but not with the awkward kind of silence that used to hang between you and satoru; tense, cold, and heavy—but the kind that came with peace. the kind that made everything feel slower, gentler…warmer.

kazuki’s nursery smelled faintly of baby powder and lavender-scented wipes. the walls were a soft sky blue, hand-painted with clouds and little birds that seemed to dance around the ceiling. a mobile above his crib spun slowly, playing a lullaby that had already become his favorite in the nicu.

you stood beside the crib, gently rocking kazuki in your arms. his little fist curled around your finger as he drifted off to sleep, breathing softly, the rise and fall of his chest bringing a strange ache to your heart—one of overwhelming love.

satoru entered the room quietly, holding a small bottle of warm milk and a pacifier in his other hand. he paused in the doorway, just watching you.

“do you want to hold him?” you asked softly without turning around, knowing he was there.

he stepped closer, setting the bottle down before reaching out. you carefully transferred kazuki into his arms. satoru’s movements were hesitant, like he was holding something made of glass—but once kazuki settled against him, satoru smiled.

“i still can’t believe he’s now here.,” he whispered, staring at kazuki like the baby boy was holding the entire universe.

you sat on the edge of the rocking chair, watching them with quiet fondness.

“shoko said she's going here tomorrow.” you watch his expression and you caught him swallowing.

“okay,” he mumbled as his finger reached into kazuki’s palm.

“still on bad terms?” you remember that shoko tells you her grievance and resentment towards him during your time at the hospital, specifically at the nicu.

“i guess you could say that…” he paused. “i mean, it's valid, knowing what i did to you.”

you nodded slowly, watching the way kazuki’s tiny fingers curled around satoru’s. even in his sleep, your son responded to touch like he knew he was safe now—cradled in the arms of someone trying to do better.

“she was angry,” you murmured. “angrier than i’d ever seen her.” you remembered her expression when she was attending you at the hospital. sure, she was careful with her hands and actions, but her face tells so.

satoru gave a soft, bitter laugh. “she told me to my face that i didn’t deserve you. that if something had happened to you or kazuki… she would never forgive me.”

his voice cracked at the end, and you glanced over, surprised to see his eyes glistening. he looked down at kazuki again, like anchoring himself to the child was the only thing keeping him from drowning.

“i didn’t know what i was doing,” he said, barely above a whisper. “i was scared. not of you—but of what being with you meant. of being forced to feel responsible for someone i didn't choose. and then i kept lying to myself… trying to act like you weren’t my wife. like this life wasn’t mine.”

this conversation again…he must've felt really guilty for continuing to bring this up.

not that you don't mind, you'd actually take these kinds of chances to voice out your thoughts too.

you let the silence settle for a moment before responding, your voice even.

“i didn’t choose it either, satoru. but i accepted it. for our clans, for peace, and eventually… for kazuki. i was terrified too, but i didn’t run from it.”

he looked at you now, really looked at you. and you could see it—guilt etched deep into his expression, guilt mixed with awe and something heavier: remorse.

you were quiet for a long while, eyes back on your baby, who let out a soft, sleepy sigh.

“you still have time to make it right,” you finally said. “not by words, but by staying. by trying. every single day.”

satoru swallowed again, and nodded. “i will. i promise.”

“please don't let me down like you always did before, satoru.”

just then, kazuki stirred with a soft coo, his mouth twitching into what looked like the beginning of a smile. you both leaned in instinctively.

“did he just smile?” satoru whispered, eyes wide.

you chuckled. “he’s probably dreaming about milk.”

satoru let out a quiet laugh, and for a second, it felt like things weren’t so broken after all.

you reached out and gently brushed Kazuki’s soft hair. “shoko’s going to tell you off again tomorrow, you know.”

“yeah,” satoru sighed dramatically. “she might even slap me.”

“she won’t,” you smiled. “well… maybe. but i can talk to her.”

the both of you shared a look. it was the first time in a long while that you weren’t just coexisting—but understanding each other.

maybe this wasn’t the fairytale beginning most people had.

but it was real. and it was yours.

and from the crib, kazuki slept peacefully—his tiny presence a reminder that something beautiful still came from all the pain.

—©luvvixu2025

taglists: @ginginha @funicidals @numblytemporary @miizuzu @khoiyyu @ropickle @mashtura @labelt-san @lwxsty

[lynzishell]

🎶Ready to Start by Arcade Fire

Prev // Next

Reference Post: 8 Years Ago

I have to give a HUGE shoutout to my dear friend @honeyjars-sims who not only helped me with the Goode Boys Gaming logo, but also with the cover art for the boys' first game: Oneironaut I am forever grateful to have such a talented and generous friend who is always willing to help me bring these little details to life!! I can't tell you how much I appreciate you, T!!! Thank you so so much!! 😭💖

Oneironaut cover art + Transcript below the cut:

SFX: Ambient bar sounds 🎶Ready to Start by Arcade Fire

The businessmen drink my blood Like the kids in art school said they would And I guess I’ll just begin again You say, “Can we still be friends?” And if I was scared, I would And if I was bored, you know I would And if I was yours, but I’m not

Asher: Yeah, I mean, you could always move to San Sequoia. I’d make you a hell of an offer to have you on my team again. Evan: It’s tempting. But, um, I think I’m gonna stay in the city for now. I’ve been seeing someone new, and I kinda want to see where it goes.

Asher: Damn. Rejecting me for some guy you barely know. That’s fucked up. Evan: [smirks] Consider it payback. Asher: [laughs] Wow. Been hanging on to that one for eight years, have you? Evan: Nah. You obviously made the right choice.

Charlee: We’ve actually been talking about moving out that way. Jensen: Yeah, I don’t know what your plans are, but if you’re looking for a developer…? Atlas: Yes, absolutely. Let’s talk next month. We have to get a few things sorted before we can start hiring people, but— Lex: [dramatic gasp] Is that THE Atlas Goode?!

Atlas: Oh my god, Lex, finally! Lex: I know, we’re late. I’m so sorry. Atlas: It’s alright. How are you? Lex: I’m good.

Lex: Congratulations! I knew you guys would kill it! Atlas: Thank you. Lex: Is Ash around? Atlas: He’s back by the bar with Evan. Will you go get them? I want to say a few words. Lex: Ooh! I’m on it.

Atlas: Alright, everyone, listen up! I fucking hate speeches, so I’m gonna make this quick.

Atlas: It was eight years ago, at that table in the corner over there, when Ash first told me about his idea for a video game and asked me to work on it with him. For me, this dream was born on that night, but for him, it was years in the making. He’d already spent countless hours building incredibly vast and detailed worlds, creating compelling characters and storylines. His passion for this project was contagious. It reminded me why I got into gaming in the first place, and it has been an honor to be a part of bringing his vision to life.

Atlas: Ash, you are the most incredible person I’ve ever met. Not a day goes by that I’m not in awe of how brilliant your mind is, and how big your heart is. And I’m so proud to stand next to you, to build this company with you, to share my life with you, and pretty soon, to raise two little gremlins with you.

Atlas: To Asher - The love of my life, the father of my children, and the genius behind Oneironaut! Everyone: [cheering]

Everyone: [cheering louder]

Asher: Can we step outside? Atlas: Sure.

Atlas: Was that too much? Asher: No, I just needed a minute. I’m starting to feel a bit sentimental, and I didn’t want to get emotional in there.

Asher: I’m gonna miss this city. And our friends. Atlas: Me too. Asher: And our family. Atlas: I know.

Asher: Promise me we’ll still come back to visit? Atlas: Of course. Why wouldn’t we?

Asher: You know why. And I get it, I can come visit any time I want, and if you choose not to join me then that’s your prerogative. But I’ll want to bring the twins with me, which means they’ll be around Ezra, and I don’t know how you’ll feel about that, but like, our kids and his are going to be cousins and I’m not going to keep them apart. There’s no detangling him from our life, and I just worry that this whole thing is going to get worse over time. Atlas: No. I won’t let that happen. Asher: How?

Atlas: Would it make you feel better if I called my old therapist to see if I can get an appointment? Asher: Yes. It would. Atlas: Good, because I already did. He’s going to get back to me on Monday. I promise I’m dealing with it. I just need a little time. Asher: Okay. Yeah, you’ve got it.

Asher: Y’know this is the spot where we had our first kiss. Atlas: I remember. Asher: That will always be the most memorable part of that night for me. Atlas: For me too.

Asher: We should probably head back inside. Atlas: Or… we could get outta here. Asher: Nice try, but we are not bailing on our own party. Atlas: Worth a shot. Asher: Come on. We don’t have many of these nights left. I don’t want to take it for granted.

Atlas: If it helps, it sounds like we won’t have to say goodbye to everyone. Jay and Charlee are thinking about moving to San Sequoia too. Asher: No shit? Atlas: Yeah, Jay’s interested in working with us, and with Charlee out there, you may be able to convince Evan to join us too. Asher: I already tried. They’re not ready to leave the city.

Atlas: Are you ready to leave the city? Asher: We haven’t lived in the city for a while. Atlas: I know, but you know what I mean. Asher: Yeah. I’m ready.

[bruciemilf]

Bruce’s first love punches him in the face when he’s 6 years old.

Silver St Cloud is power on two feet and her hair glows like sunshine lemonade. Her silk white shirt clashes with Gotham’s darks, greys, and blues.

“Why did you push him?!” She picks up the small boy Bruce shoved out of the swingset. He feels bad. It wasn’t meant to hurt that badly. “Just cause you’re a Wayne doesn’t mean you can do what you want!”

“…Because you wanted a turn.”

She looks beautiful, full of fury, but she’s divine when she blushes.

He buys the boy ice cream with his allowance money, and Thomas doesn’t give him anymore for the next 4 months, but there’s still pride in him.

Their friendship lasts until he’s 8. After that, he’s not friends with anybody.

Bruce is 18, and for Gotham Academy. That means something.

They all graduate when they’re 15, max. Silver stays behind a few years. Her family undoubtedly know it’s on purpose, but they don’t care enough to mention it.

She doesn’t know why he has so many bruises. But, she’ll find out. Hot hell or tall water.

“Sunshine?”

She’s been crying in the girl’s bathroom for an hour. Her white lamb wool stockings are ripped at the knees, her blood is still drying the floor, and her mouth hurts.

There’s a deep groan on the other side, pained like a dying dog. When she comes out, finally, their math teacher lays butchered on the bathroom floor. Not dead, but probably wishes he’d be.

Silver stomps on his face until her mouth stops hurting.

And the, when their 20s blossom, Bruce vanishes. No shadow, no traces, no goodbye.

She’s still there. When he comes back, she’s still there. “Are you gonna give me a Best Secretary Award, Mr. Wayne?”

He doesn’t smile, not really. But there’s always a faint grin there, when they talk, little and sweet and Silver will never regret him.

—

She doesn’t like the Bat.

He’s big and scary and his hands are cold and he’s too much Gotham and too little Bruce. But then again, she never liked anyone BESIDES Bruce.

His little birdie IS cute, thought, when he beams up at her, “Hi, Miss Sunshine!”

Silver looks at the Bat, and he looks back at her, and Silver’s mouth presses in a thin line.

“…You gonna take Jason and I out to dinner and explain this?”

“…Yes ma’am. “

[landossnorriss]

never stop racing || ln x she.

Pairing: lando x she.

Summary: travelling to the singapore grandprix at 8 months seemed like a great idea. until it wasn't.

Word Count: 2.1ishk

Warning: pregnancy & mush.

AN: i started this after the grand prix and just found it and decided to finish it. it hasn't been proof read or edited really so sorry for any errors, finishing this was purely a self service.

she absolutely, should not have come to the track today. at 8 months pregnant she shouldn't have been travelling all but given the level of tears that had been shed when he had tried to leave her, lando felt like he would have moved heaven and earth to get her the all clear to fly with him. she still had a month left at this point so he wasn't sure what the drama was , there was plenty of time for her to be returned safely to monaco after they had finished this race.

they had agreed that she would be shipped straight to the garage and that is where she would hide all weekend, no traditional media walk ins together , no stopping to be nice , lando wasn't playing when it came to her and for most of the weekend , a smug feeling settled on him at just how easy it had been to have her here. she had smashed the long practice days, quali hadn't seemed to unsettle her all that much, everything had seemed calm as she had kissed him good luck and he had settled into his car before the race. everything was fine the way that he had said it was going to be.

he was wrong.

the radio was quiet , too quiet. he didn't think much of it at first , it was usually a good thing that the radio was quiet and that there wasn't much for will to say but when he called for a tire update and wills response was so slow? he knew something was wrong.

" tires are good. " wills short reply came and that was enough for lando's panic to really set in. will always had more to say, he was a yapper even when lando had begged him not to be. " what's wrong? " he asked his engineer, fighting back the urge to pull into the pits as he passed them to check himself, he couldn't afford to give up this win if everything was okay but why - " hello? why is no one talking to me? " he called again before he heard the radio open once more and this time , will wasn't quick enough , lando heard it just as he was quickly closed again. " why is she screaming! " his baby , something was happening to his love and no one was talking to him.

" so lando , we don't want you to panic, but we may have a water breaking situation happening here in the garage, just a little labour but she told us not to tell you. " will offered and lando could hear the nerves in his voice. over the years they had promised to not to lie to each other , to keep each other honest and he knew his race engineer was likely in a tough spot.

"what do you mean shes in labour and you didn't tell - fuck i hit the wall, check for wing damage boys. " lando cursed as he made his first hiccup of the race. how could they just drop that on him. sweat was pooling around his eyes, everything in him ached in the heat , he was so far out ahead he didn't even know what point in the race he was even at any more and his son was about to be born?

" box, i'm gunna box this lap." lando called because no championship was worth him missing the birth of his son, not when he was so close. will turned to look at her from where she had been laid out at the back of the garage given she hadn't wanted to move anywhere else. "he's going to box." the engineer called and maybe they always asked too much of her, but today she understood what they wanted, what they needed. " give me a fucking radio right now. " she groaned through another contraction.

she had thought about asking jon to drive her back to the hotel quietly when she had felt her water break. women's births took hours all the time, especially their first, lando could join her when she was done , but everyone had been busy and she was sure her contractions could be hidden once they started. turned out , lando wasn't the only one wrong about everything being fine. " lando norris , you do not need to box."

" but he's about to be here and i don't want to miss him. "

"you're not missing anything other than the damage i'm currently doing to jons hand."

" i want to see you. "

" i want you to stop nearly crashing into the wall, i have a baby to hold off for another 20 minutes and you have a fucking race to win and a championship to win got it muppet? "

" baby... "

" i'll hold off as long as i can lan, but i need you to drive okay, ow shit, i promise, i love you so much now fucking drive. "

" i need to box to check the wing. "

" then box but if you get out of that car i won't deliver this baby out of pure spite. "

" what if i miss him?" lando didn't want to miss the birth of his first son , " whose with you? " he knew that it was likely she was surrounded but he needed to know exactly who was at her side.

she couldn't help but smile, one of the hardest races of the year and he could take the time to ask about who was holding her hand. god she loved him so much. " if you miss , fucking hell that one hurts. " she groaned as another contraction rolled through her and lando swerved, ever so slightly. " okay being on the radio is a bad idea , you're gunna crash , i'll hold off lan and if i can't , we will tell him his dad was winning a race just a few minutes away whilst his team welcomed him into the world okay?" she cried through the radio.

" you mean more to me than this. "

" and your future , your dreams ? they're mine to protect lando norris , box this lap for fresh tires. i'll see you at the end of the race. " she nodded , pulling the headset off of herself before she could change her mind and beg for lando to join her.

lando was sure he and will hadn't spoken this much during a race since he had been a rookie , reminders to drink and bring the car home, the urge to box every time he heard even a muffle of a sound in the background. will gave him the updates he could without distracting him too much.

as soon as he took the chequered flag he had one mission , get weighed, get to the garage. press could honestly go fuck itself , he would take all the fines in the world to make it back to the safety of his garage without being stopped but as he arrived, pulling his balaclava off, he heard the distinct cry he had been waiting for over the last several months. his son.

"i missed him?" lando breathed as he came to a halt next to andrea, his eyes landing on the love of his life and the tiny bundle in her arms, jon faithfully at their side.

" are you gunna believe me if i tell you i had to push one more time just as you crossed the finish line?" she beamed as she looked back at the man who was no doubt facing some serious fines given the lack of time it had taken him to get here from parc ferme , he couldn't have waited to do a single thing other than get weighed.

lando stood frozen as he took in them , she had never looked more beautiful to him in the years that he had loved her. she was surrounded by tires, blankets , her cheeks were as red as his own from the heat. way too many people surrounded her and yet every bit of her looked perfect. " you did it. " slowly finding his feet again lando moved the small few steps to kneel next to her , zak moving out of his way so that the young family could take each other in for the first time.

" careful , we're still attached whilst we wait for the ambulance. " she urged lightly as lando reached to cup his sons head, watching as big blue, green eyes looked up at him. he looked just like him , he was a dad. " meet your son race winner. " feeling a hand clap on his shoulder, lando lifted his head for a moment looking at zak with tears in his eyes.

" congrats kid. " zak offered , words failing him for seemingly the first time in forever. he had known lando since he was a boy. now as he looked at him , for the first time it was clear to see the man he had grown into. with a boy of his own. nodding lando flashed him a smile before his gaze looked back at his baby and the woman holding him.

" you did it , i'm sorry i wasn't here. " he mused , leaning to offer her a soft kiss despite their audience , oscar now having also joined the party. " god hes so perfect look at him. " he couldn't believe that he was here , what had he ever done to deserve his life being this good?

" alright everybody , let's give the new parents some space and let the medical professionals get in here , oscar to interviews , we have some answers to give for landos absence." andrea called, moving the crowds along, only a select few staying close by, not many willing to push the boss.

" i can't believe i gave birth at a grand prix , how did we even let this happen. " she chuckled as she looked back at lando , who had yet to take his eyes off of his son.

" i can't believe you wouldn't let me box. " he muttered , they still hadn't agreed on a name , they had none of his stuff and yet everything felt oddly calm in this moment.

" never stop racing lando , we never stop racing. " she whispered hand reaching out to run through his race worn curls.

" huh , i like that , might have to steal that one. " zak chuckled behind them as he continued to watch on. they weren't paying attention to him and that was fine , he was happy to watch as they spoke in hushed whispers, fawning over their new born. he knew as lando had grown into himself, lots of people had questioned who he was but they would have had needed to see this , the two of them so in love with each other it was obvious in every small movement. his eyes followed lando who never moved from her side as they were moved into an ambulance, who climbed alongside her in his race suit without a thought. there would be questions to answer come tomorrow morning , statements to release, he'd given them as much time as he could together before it was on to the next one .

feeling a presence at his side as he watched the ambulance drive off, zak smiled at his team principle, giving off a small laugh as he did . " you think any race is going to top this one? "

" i'm not so sure , but our family just grew by one , so wins all around."

________________________________________________________

at the hospital , lando found himself wide awake. looking to the hospital bed he found the love of his life still sound asleep, the day had finally caught up with her once everyone had been checked over. jon had dropped him his normal clothes in but the rest of the visitors had been put off till tomorrow.

the nurse had told him it was important to learn to sleep whilst the baby did but all he could do right now was hold him , take in every perfect piece of him. he could feel the tears well again if he thought about the fact he was here and he had just missed him arriving but there had been plenty of assurances that neither mum nor baby would have had it any other way and lando couldn't believe his luck , a mclaren baby through and through was just a little too on brand for the young racing driver.

" hey little man , just me again , i can't believe that you're here and you're mine and that your mum did such an amazing job with you. " he whispered to the sleeping infant in his arms , little milo , milo maxwell norris. " i know you're sleeping , but i just wanted to promise you that i'm going to give you the world, you and your mum , even if i'm racing , even if it gets hard, you will always be my number one milo, always. "

[rhineztonepearlz]

Hey! I’ve got a request for you!

Reader takes Jack clothes shopping and it’s learned this will be his last year in little boys clothes. Aaron comes home to Reader putting away the new clothes in absolute tears over little man growing up. So, Aaron asks “what if it’s not the last year we have baby clothes in the house?” and they decide to try to get pregnant.

Can be fluffy or fluff ending smut, wherever you want to take it!

When a door closes, a new one opens.

Warning: Soft sex, Jack in the story, breeding, mentions of getting pregnant, pet names (Baby, honey, sweetheart, etc.) crying, Aaron giving R comfort, p in v sex, R is the mother of Jack. Lmk if I missed any!

Jack and I walk through the aisles of Walmart, looking at the boys clothes. He points at a shirt that he saw he wanted for school; a black shirt with a plain white smily face on it. Interesting choice for a 4th grader, but hey, who’s to judge.

“You want this one?” I ask Jack. He nodded, reassuring me.

“Yeah! All my friends are getting it so we could all match! And then the teachers won’t know who is who!” He answers, a look of excitement in his eyes.

I smile and shake my head, picking out the shirt he liked. In the largest size in the kids section. Pretty soon he will be the smallest size in the big kids section. I look at him and my eyes soften before I put the shirt in the cart.

I remember when I first held him in my arms in the hospital. It was a day I could never forget. And when me and Aaron first found out we were pregnant. How it went by so fast.

I shake my head, trying to think about something else.

“Do you want anything else?” I ask him.

He looks around and shakes his head.

“Do you want something, mama?” He asks me, already knowing my answer. He grabs the cart and leads me to the makeup aisle. I laugh and I pick out my lipgloss and concealer.

We walk to the cashiers and we check all our stuff. I buckle him into the carseat, and I close the door. I walk to the drivers seat and start the car.

As we leave the Walmart parking lot, I look back at him in the rear view mirror.

“You excited for 4th grade, bubs?” I ask.

“Yes!! I hope my teacher is really nice and my friends and I are all in the same classes! I so excited for recess and art class! And then I can make you and daddy pictures!” He answers, kicking his feet in the backseat.

“That’s good. And remember, if your teachers are mean or friends, tell me and daddy and we will handle it, okay?”

“Yea mommy.”

We make it home, and I bring the bags in. I take all the tags off of the clothes, and start hanging them up.

I put Jack to bed once it hits 8:30, and I take his baby clothes down. Something I’ve been avoiding to put away. I look at the tiny clothes, and I start sobbing.

My sobs drown out the noise of the front door opening, signaling that Aaron is home from work. He takes his shoes off and puts the keys away. He takes his jacket off and walks to the room where I’m crying in.

“Sweetheart, whats wrong?” He asks in that deep, handsome voice I always go weak at the knees for.

“Bubs… clothes.. i cant believe he grew up so fast! I wanted him to stay this small forever…” i say between sobs.

He walks up to me and crouches down, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me up.

“It’s okay, honey. You know.. this doesn’t have to be the last year we have little kid clothes.” He says in my ear. I wipe my tears, looking back at him.

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

“I mean, we could have another baby. I mean, if you want to. It’s all your choice, honey.” He answered.

I went silent for a moment. Do I really wanna go through all of the months of being pregnant again? Constantly being emotional? Being so sensitive to smell that even if something reeked in the slightest, I would throw up? Having to get up early in the morning due to morning sickness? Do I really want to go through the labor process all over again? I thought about it for a bit.

The reward made it worth it, though. Having the feeling of holding the baby I was spending months to make. Finally being able to kiss and love the baby I’ve been longing for.

“I wouldn’t mind another baby..” I finally answer, looking up at him. He smiles and kisses me, gently wrapping his arms around my waist as he guides me to the bedroom.

As we make it into the shared room, he closes the door with a soft kick. He starts to take my clothes off, before setting me onto the bed and undressing himself.

He sits on the bed, his back resting against the headboard, and he places me on his lap. He slowly kisses my breasts and collarbone, leaving gentle love bites. He lines his cock up with my entrance, and looks me in the eye. I nod, and he gently pushes himself in.

I gasp, grabbing his shoulders as he bottoms out. I take a moment to adjust to his size, before slowly moving up and down. I let out small moans, and he lets out occasional grunts.

“Aaron.. I love you so much..” I moan quietly into his ear. He groans, and grabs my hips, starting to speed up the pace.

“I love you more.” He looks into my eyes, and I can feel myself fluttering around his cock. I kiss him, as he brings my hips down on his.

I feel myself getting close to the edge, and I reach down to rub my clit. But he moves my hand away, rubbing it himself with his rough fingers.

I grab his wrist and moan, coming undone. Aaron grunts softly as he cums inside, making sure every drop isn’t wasted. We stay still for a moment, savoring the feeling of him being inside of me.

He slowly pulls out, and cleans me up. I lay on his chest, as we both slowly drift off to sleep.

“I love you…” Aaron whispers before falling asleep.

[emskryptonite]

Colors

a/n: First soulmate series fic letsgooooo!! also first jaybird fic which is so much fun!! i can't wait to write more of this series and to explore writing for new characters!! next prompt will be posted tomorrow 7/8 so keep an eye out and get ready to give me suggestions as to which character should get the fic!! happy reading! - Emmy ❤️

Summary: When you lock eyes with your soulmate for the first time, your world explodes in color, but only three days later, everything goes back to black and white when you lose him forever. What happens when a masked vigilante gives you back your rainbow?

Pairing(s): Jason Todd x soulmate!gn!reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Content/Warnings: slightly angsty, major character death, mugging, reader is mentioned to be wearing a dress at one point, that's all i can think of, if i missed anything let me know!

Masterlist | Emmy's Soulmate Series Masterlist | Jason Todd/Red Hood Masterlist

You thought you were lucky, meeting your soulmate at just fifteen years old. It took some people half their lives to find their soulmate, yet here you were, finally seeing color in the ballroom of Wayne Manor at just fifteen. 

You had been gifted the Wayne Foundation Scholarship, a scholarship to help your parents pay to send you to Gotham Academy. The gala Mr. Wayne was hosting tonight was in honor of the scholarship recipients, so you had been forced to attend. Now, here you were, pretending to enjoy this shindig, but there wasn’t a single kid your age around, or you thought so until you saw him.

You thought about approaching the boy. He seemed kind enough, laughing loudly with his head leaned back, his raven hair beginning to fall from its slicked-back style. When he straightens back up, you’re entire life changes. The two of you lock eyes, and suddenly, the world isn’t black and white anymore. Suddenly, you can see how beautiful the white details in the ballroom are. Suddenly, you can see how pretty the blue of your dress is. Suddenly, you have a soulmate, and neither of you wastes any more time, briskly walking toward one another, trying not to draw too much attention to yourselves.

“I’m Jason,” he smiles when the two of you finally meet near the doorway to the gardens.

“I’m Y/N,” you smile back. Now that you’re so close to him, you can see just how handsome he is. You decide that you like the blue of his eyes better than the blue of your dress; they have just enough green in them to set off the blue.

The two of you spend the rest of the night causing a ruckus, running around and giggling loudly. He was just so happy; it was contagious, really. He’d gotten your phone number before the night ended, and nothing could’ve stopped you two from messaging one another. It was constant, and Bruce had to scold him more than once on patrol. 

Everything was perfect. Well, everything was perfect for three days because three days after that gala, after you met the person you’re destined to spend forever with, you lost your color. You woke up that morning, and everything was black and white again, which could only mean one thing. Your soulmate had been taken much too soon, and you’d never get the chance to know him, not fully.

Bruce was at least kind enough to invite you to the funeral. It didn’t help much. It was a closed casket, so you couldn’t even see his face one last time. That might have been for the better, though. You’re not sure that you would’ve been able to handle it. 

After the funeral, you return home, but you lack the will to do anything. What kind of cruel joke is this? You’re only fifteen. He was only fifteen. You shouldn’t have lost him already; he shouldn’t have already been taken from you. You deserved a long life together. He deserved anything but a death that came so early.

It took days for you to return to school. It took weeks to start eating normally again. It took months for you to truly accept that he’s not coming back. Eventually, though, you’re living a somewhat normal life. You’re twenty-two now; you’d just graduated from Gotham University and had a great job lined up. You even had your own place in the city. You were doing okay, really. 

Except for tonight, anyway. Of course, someone would try to mug you tonight. The one night you were running slightly behind, all because you just had to stop by the library for a new book, some random guy decides that your purse looks just good enough to steal. You were fighting him off the best you could, but he was a lot bigger than you and much more relentless. You were beginning to lose hope, coming to terms with the fact that, at the least, you’d be losing your cash, ID, and your favorite lip gloss tonight, but that’s when you saw the shadow.

It wasn’t the bat. It was too violent, too emotional. It moved just as quickly, though. For a split second, you’re just as scared of the shadow as you are of the mugger, but something tugs inside of you, telling you that the shadow wouldn’t harm you. It couldn’t harm you. So, you just backed away, let the shadow do its job. It’s only after the shadow has fulfilled its purpose that you speak.

“Thank you. For saving me. I- I don’t have much, so it means a lot,” you stutter, nerves still shooting up your spine. He turns then, and you lock eyes through his red mask. A shock echoes through your body, and you feel like you can’t move. This is exactly what you’d always been terrified of.

Sometimes, when two separate people each lose their soulmate at a young age, fate will give them someone else to share their life with, a new soulmate. Most people romanticize it, thinking that it’s wonderful that these people still get a chance to feel that love. But, you? No. You only knew Jason for three days, but you knew for a fact, even now, that you could never love anyone the way you love him. So, why can you see color after locking eyes with this masked vigilante?

“No-”

“Maybe we should go somewhere quieter…” he trails off, his voice mechanical through the mask, inhuman.

“You can’t be-” You’re cut off once more as the masked man gathers you into his arms, grappling you away until you’re both on some random rooftop, away from prying eyes and listening ears.

“I know how this looks,” he starts.

“No! I don’t want another soulmate! I didn’t ask for this, for you?”

“Wait, what?”

“That’s what this is, right? My soulmate died too young, so I get you as a replacement. Well, I’ve got news for you, buddy. I don’t need a replacement! He’s the only person I’ve ever wanted.” You sound hysterical; you know you do, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You never wanted to lose your soulmate, and you definitely never wanted a new one. 

“You don’t understand. Just let me explain-”

“Explain what? There’s nothing to explain.”

“I am your soulmate. Not a replacement. It’s me. It’s Jason.” Slowly, he removes the helmet from his head, and as it reveals his face, inch by inch, you feel your heart slow to a stop. He looked different, matured in a way that was all too harsh, but you would know his eyes anywhere. You’d dreamed about that specific shade of blue-green too many times not to know when you’re looking right at it.

“Jason? But- But you-”

“I know I did-”

“How are you here?” Tears are rolling down your face in waves now, but you don’t care to hide them. “How long?”

“Three years now.”

“Why- Why did you tell me sooner?” You deflate a bit, heartbroken at the fact he hadn’t chosen to seek you out when he came back.

“I wasn’t sure that you’d still want me.” He looks away, deliberately ignoring your attempts to catch his eye.

“Jason, of course, I want you. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” You step toward your soulmate, laying a gentle hand on his cheek, right over a scar resembling a ‘J’.

“I’ve been through a lot, done some things that I’m not proud of.” You can see the disdain in his eyes, the regret for so many wrong decisions made, but you don’t care. You finally have him back, and you refuse to lose him again.

“And I’m sure you had completely valid reasons for that, Jason. Please, please, don’t think I would love you any less for how you responded to something so incredibly traumatic. You’re it for me, and you always have been.”

“So, you’re not… scared of me.”

“Scared of that loser who made me giggle the night away at the one and only gala I’ve ever been to? No way. Not in a million years.”

“So, I guess that means you wouldn’t be too mad if I kissed you right now?”

“I’ve only been waiting seven years for it, big guy.”

Taglist: @heartsforjh @alexxavicry @cosmixstar

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~ Emmy

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hiya! Do you know any Sterek fics where Derek rejects the mate bond with Stiles and just ignores it all, leading to Stiles feeling the strain or pain of an ignored/incomplete bond? I've read one before where Derek just moved away cuz he didn't think it was a big deal and Stiles really took the brunt of it. But any fics that are similar would be perfect. P.S. Thank you for everything that you do and I hope that you're having a great day!

Oh yes. I love this kind of angst.

soulmates tbh by bleep0bleep

(1/1 I 1,423 I Teen)

"It’s been five months," Derek says darkly. "Why am I still getting these proposals? You know these are probably all fake marks."

Five months since the paparazzi had snapped that photo of him with the overzealous fan tugging at his shirt, five months since millions of people on the Internet realized that the birthmark revealed was in fact, the mark, five months Derek was inundated by claims from people who desperately wanted him to believe that they were his soul-mate.

Second Chances by rootbeer

(1/1 I 2,624 I General)

"A lot of times the ‘markings’ were common, simple things you said to strangers all the time. 'Excuse me'; 'thank you'; 'hello'. Some got extremely romantic things like 'it’s you isn’t it? I’ve been waiting for you' or 'Wow you’re really pretty'. And they were always the first words their soulmate would ever say to them.

Of course, having 'You are the fucking worst kind of person in the world' tattooed down your side, didn’t bode well. How fucked up was Stiles Stilinski that even his fucking Soulmate hated him? High School had been a special kind of hell when all the kids learned what his tattoo said—despite his best efforts to keep it a secret."

Three Marks by sanam

(8/8 I 113,736 I Mature)

"And then there was pain again, but this time it was in only three places—his arm, below his clavicle, and next to his heart, all on the left side. It felt like the skin was being sliced apart, ripped open, flayed off— And suddenly it was done. Derek looked across the room and saw the boy on the floor, looking about as bad as Derek felt."

Derek and Stiles learn that bonding is probably best done with ridiculous amounts of video games and maybe a little bit of time.

I Hunt For You With Bloody Feet by CharWright5

(26/26 I 200,462 I Explicit)

“Mates don't always mean happy ever after.”

When twenty-year-old born omega werewolf Stiles Stilinski received that cryptic email from his twin brother—who'd been missing for two years exactly—in a language the two of them had made up, his drive to find Stuart is doubled. The search leads him to Oak Creek, the most secured and heavily fortified city in all of California, where he finds that not only is his brother dead, but also the literal alpha of his Dreams in Derek Hale—who just happens to be his twin's Mate and the main suspect in Stiles' eyes. Despite an agreement to fight mutual feelings, the two are still drawn to each other as they try to solve the case themselves, uncovering a plot that goes deeper than the murder of just one wolf.

Blue Monday by ExpectNothingGainEverything

(19/? I 535,709 I Explicit)

Stiles would have never guessed that the star player of the lacrosse team and presumably the hottest guy in school who everyone wanted a piece of and one of his most hated bullies would turn out to be his soulmate.

Derek would never have dreamed that fate would be so cruel to pair him up with a freak like Stilinski.