#i say it every time but every time it's true:

[mwphisto]

“Happy Mother’s Day.”

You pause your scrolling, brows pinching together as you glance up at Sylus with both amusement and confusion.

“Do you know something I don’t?”

You had no children (yet) and you were almost positive you’d know if you were pregnant well before Sylus did. Still, Sylus seemed amused by your confusion. “No, not unless there is something you aren’t telling me.” He winked as he sat beside you, pulling you into a tight hug.

“So why are you wishing me — a woman with no children — a happy Mother’s Day?” You lean into him, laughing softly as he kisses the top of your head.

“Well, Luke and Kieran seem to think of you as a motherly figure from time to time… and you’re also very caring and sweet in nature.” He hums thoughtfully, twirling the ends of your hair. “You take care of me quite often.”

“So you’re saying I’m motherly?”

“…pretty much. I think it sums you up very well.” You sneak a glance at him, cheeks warming when you realize he’s been looking at you the entire time. “Is that even enough of a qualification to celebrate this holiday?”

“In my book it is.” You feel warm at that, a sheepish smiling tugging at your lips as you shake your head.

“You’re silly. I don’t think I’m all that gentle… not enough to be considered motherly…” your voice strains a little, as if you had just unleashed an insecurity you didn’t fully realize was lingering in the depths of your mind.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, kitten.”

Sylus didn’t flinch at the look of disbelief on your face, rather, he smiled instead. “You’ve always fussed over me, even though you know I can heal my own wounds.”

“The first few days of knowing you, you forced me to shoot you in the chest.” But Sylus shook his head. “That may be true, but don’t you recall what you did immediately after?” Of course you did, you panicking, scolding him like you’d known him for years and tried to stop the bleeding.

“The look on your face tells me you do.”

“What does that have to do with this conversation?” You still couldn’t understand where he was taking this. “You couldn’t stand me the first time you met me, you were scared and disgusted. Despite that, you still tried to save my life. That’s very telling of your character.”

“You bandage me up despite my ability to heal, you fuss over me all the time. You worry about the twins too, and ensure that they get their fair share. You may have callouses on your finger tips, but your hands are nothing but gentle and kind. Full of love and care.”

You’re not sure why, but you feel your eyes begin to brim with tears. “You’re strong, incredibly so. And yet you’re so soft, so sweet, so empathetic. The kind of soul that just wills you to open up even if you’ve never done so before. People feel safe when you’re around, me included. And not just because you’re one of Linkon’s best hunters.”

Sylus doesn’t stop, not even as you brush the tears from your eyes before they can slip down your cheeks.

“So, yes. You’re motherly, you’re a natural caregiver. And I know that one day when we finally have children of our own, our babies are going to be so incredibly blessed to be able to call you their mama.”

Your heart aches, a sniffle rumbling your chest as you lightly smack his arm. “You’re a sentimental jerk.” Sylus only pulls you closer, laughing softly as he kisses your head. “I love you so much, even though you made me cry.” The laughter grows a little louder, the hug a little tighter.

“I love you more than words can convey, and I meant every word I just said so don’t you dare doubt me.”

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

Xavier lies on the couch, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His hoodie is slightly rumpled, one arm dangling off the edge of the cushions.

You approach quietly, drawn by an irresistible urge to feel his warmth. Without hesitation, you slide into the space beside him, immediately seeking the comfort only he can provide.

Xavier stirs, his eyes fluttering open briefly. For a moment, his expression shifts—the corners of his mouth lifting slightly—before his arms instinctively wrap around you.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, voice thick with slumber. “You’re here.”

You press closer, burying your face against the soft fabric of his hoodie, inhaling deeply. His scent envelops you completely—familiar and grounding.

“You’re so warm,” you whisper, feeling the day’s tensions begin to dissolve. “I could stay like this forever.”

Your bodies fit together perfectly, the rise and fall of his chest gradually syncing with your own breathing. The world outside fades away as you focus on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

“I don’t mind if you do,” he replies quietly, his fingers finding their way to your hair.

His eyes close again, but that subtle smile remains—a sight that makes your heart flutter. Here, in the silence between you, words become unnecessary. When he adjusts his position, it’s only to draw you closer against him.

As consciousness begins to drift away, you tighten your hold slightly, unwilling to let go even in sleep. The last thing you register before falling asleep is Xavier pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his silent way of saying everything words could never quite capture, and his arms securing you against him—steady, reliable, exactly what you needed.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The sight of Zayne seated on the edge of the bed, still in his day clothes but with his collar unbuttoned, sends a wave of longing through you. Your body aches with the need to be held—specifically by him.

“I need fifteen more minutes,” he states without looking up, somehow sensing your presence. “Twenty, at most.”

You retreat to the bedroom, arranging yourself among the pillows, the wait almost unbearable. Every minute crawls by as you imagine the feeling of being gathered against his chest, surrounded by his warmth. The pull toward him is almost physical, a tightening sensation that only his touch can release.

True to his word, exactly fourteen minutes later, the soft pad of slippers against hardwood signals his approach. Relief floods through you at the sound.

He appears in the doorway, and you extend your arms instinctively, the need for his closeness overwhelming all other thoughts.

“You’re early,” you note with grateful surprise.

“Apparently, I can do my tasks faster when I know you’re waiting,” Zayne replies.

The mattress dips as he slides in beside you, and you waste no time pressing yourself against his chest, your arms wrapping around him with desperate need. His body is warm against yours, and you sigh with contentment as his scent surrounds you.

“I’ve been needing this all day,” you confess against his shirt, feeling the tension finally release as his arms encircle you.

Zayne shifts slightly, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers to study your face with the same intensity he gives his most complex cases. Whatever he finds makes him pull you closer, adjusting his position to maximize your comfort.

“Better now,” he murmurs, tightening his arms around you before you feel him press a kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

The urge builds throughout the day—a growing, insistent need to feel Rafayel’s arms around you. You find him by the window, humming softly as sunlight bathes his figure. The sight of him—so vibrant and alive—only intensifies your craving for his touch.

“Rafayel,” you call softly, arms already half-raised in anticipation.

The moment he sees you, understanding dawns immediately. He spins toward you with a flourish, meeting your unspoken need without hesitation.

“Perfect timing. I was just thinking of you,” he says as he closes the distance between you in quick strides.

You collide with him halfway, arms wrapping around his waist, face pressed against his chest. The contact sends immediate relief coursing through you—like cool water after a long thirst.

“You smell like the ocean and sunshine,” you mumble against the fabric of his shirt. “I couldn’t resist anymore.”

His arms encircle you completely, lifting you slightly as he backs toward the overstuffed couch in the corner, understanding your need without explanation.

“Then you shall have me,” he declares, falling backward onto the cushions and bringing you down with him in a tangle of limbs. “For as long as you need.”

You settle against him, fingers clutching at his shirt, drawing him closer still. He smells of turpentine and sea salt, of creativity and freedom. Your body relaxes completely for the first time all day, the desperate need that drove you to seek him out finally satisfied in his enthusiastic embrace.

You sigh contentedly, ear pressed against his chest to hear the steady rhythm of his heart. His fingers find their way to your hair, twirling strands around his fingers as your breathing synchronizes with his. Outside, seagulls call to each other, but neither of you makes any move to break the perfect connection.

“Stay just like this,” you whisper. “I don’t want to let go yet.”

His laugh bubbles up in response, the sound vibrating through his chest against your ear. “Then the rest can wait.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

The longing strikes without warning—an intense need to be held in Sylus’s arms. Nothing else will satisfy this particular craving; only him.

You make your way to his room, the journey giving you time to acknowledge how completely this need has consumed you. You find him standing by the window, the city sprawled below.

He turns at the sound of your footsteps, one eyebrow lifting slightly as he takes you in.

“Well,” he says, setting down a glass of wine, “this is a pleasant surprise.”

Words feel unnecessary as you approach him, arms already reaching for him, need written plainly across your face. You press yourself against him, inhaling his distinct scent, feeling your pulse steady at the contact.

“Don’t reschedule on my account,” you say, voice slightly muffled against his chest, though you make no move to pull away. “But I couldn’t wait another minute to see you.”

“Simply my company?” he murmurs against your hair, arms encircling you with practiced ease.

There’s something warm in his tone as he guides you to sit, arranging you both so you’re nestled against his chest, exactly as you’d been craving all day. His fingers trace idle patterns along your spine, releasing tension you hadn’t realized you were carrying.

“Tell me,” he says, tilting your chin up, eyes searching yours. “What brought on this sudden need for closeness? Not that I’m complaining.”

The city lights reflect in his eyes, catching on the edges of his features as he studies you with uncharacteristic patience.

You shake your head slightly, unable to articulate the bone-deep longing that drew you here. Words seem inadequate to explain how completely his embrace satisfies something essential within you.

“Just wanted to be close to you,” you answer simply, settling back against him, feeling the rightness of being exactly where you belong.

“Hmm… I wonder what you might demand next.” Yet his arms tighten around you. Outside, the city continues its evening pulse, but here, in this moment, his attention is focused solely on you, as though nothing beyond this room matters.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

Caleb tosses his uniform jacket over a chair, his face lighting up the moment he spots you lingering by the bedroom door. In an instant, his professional demeanor melts away completely.

“Caleb,” his name escapes your lips, arms already outstretched.

“There you are,” he says, voice warm with affection as he closes the distance between you in long, eager strides. “Best sight in the entire galaxy.”

His arms are around you before you can respond, lifting you slightly as he spins once, the movement playful despite the strength evident in his embrace. When he sets you down, he doesn’t let go, instead dropping his forehead to rest against yours.

“Please tell me you’re waiting for cuddles,” he breathes, already walking backward toward the bed, guiding you along. “Because after that strategy meeting, I’ve been thinking about holding you for approximately four hours and seventeen minutes.”

Your arms wrap around him eagerly, face pressed against his chest, breathing him in deeply. The contact sends immediate relief flooding through your system, like finding shelter in a storm.

“The entire room feels cold without you,” you confess, clinging to him. “Want cuddles.”

“Then you’re in luck,” he murmurs against your hair, already walking backward toward the bed, keeping you firmly in his embrace. “Because holding you happens to be my specialty.”

The back of his knees hit the mattress and you follow him down eagerly, arranging yourself against his chest, unwilling to allow even an inch of separation. His scent envelops you—warm and comforting.

His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining as he presses a kiss to your temple. Through the view beside the bed, stars streak by in ribbons of light, but his eyes remain fixed on you.

“I could hold you like this forever,” he whispers against your hair, his arms forming a protective circle around you.

In this moment, wrapped in Caleb’s arms, the rest of the universe fades away—leaving only the two of you, connected exactly as you needed to be.

Based on this request.

[seokmn]

⠀︵⠀STRAIGHT OUT OF THE MOVIES ⠀◌Ⳋ ✧ ── don't you love when you're a player and your crush has to pull out the ‘10 things i hate about you’ card?

pairing: mingyu x gn!reader wc: 1.2k words warnings: mingyu calls reader doll and gorgeous lua's note: happy late bday my sweetie @mi9yuz :))

ᯓ★ "so won't you smile? i'm shooting a movie"

“So it’s a deal.” Mingyu said as he took a bite of your ice cream.

You looked at him in confusion and surprise. “First of all, that was extremely rude. Don’t you ever eat my ice cream again, okay? Second of all, what are you talking about?”

“If you win the match, I’ll ask you to be mine.”

“So,” you take a bite of your cream while looking at him like he made an unfunny joke. “You’re saying that if I win the next game, we’ll become official?”

“That’s right. I mean, not you you, but if your team wins. I’ll finally ask you the question I bet you’re dying to hear.”

You laughed, and Mingyu smiled. “What? You’re about to tell me that you never wanted me asking you to be mine? I’m sure you already imagined me being your boyfriend, I’m such boyfriend material that you can’t help but think how good I’d be to you, am I right?”

He was right. You did imagine him being your boyfriend- countless times if you have to be honest. You really couldn’t help but think how amazing life would be if you had him as officially yours, if you could introduce him to your friends as your boyfriend and not as the famous long pause as if trying to figure out what to say before saying friend.

“I never imagined that I would hope to lose a match so badly,” you held back a smirk, but when you saw that Mingyu was looking at you like a lost puppy, pouting and clinging to your arm, you let out a choked laughter. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Do you hate me that much? Don’t you wanna be mine? My only one, the one I’ll cherish forever and ever?”

“Dramatic, aren’t you?” You took a large bite from his ice cream and stood up before he could even process your past action. “I have to go now, see you later?”

“Whe-where are you going?”

“Practice for the upcoming match. Maybe this match is the most important one of my life so far, but just maybe.”

Mingyu’s expression softened as he sat still on the bench, looking at you with shiny eyes. “Yeah, you really should go practice. I don’t date losers.”

“Noted. See ya!”

“See ya, potential future lover!”

You chuckled and walked away; your heart skipping a beat at the thought of becoming his significant other. You knew that your team had to win that match in a way or another - Mingyu had to be yours, and you had to be his.

When the day had come, you were listening to your coach’s words, but your eyes were fixated on where Mingyu was sitting with his friends. They were holding signs that showed their support for your team, but Mingyu’s sign wasn’t hyping up your team, it was hyping you up. You and you only.

“Did you hear me, Y/N?” Your coach’s voice made you stop looking at Mingyu and his friends, and that was when you noticed all of your teammates looking at you, worried that you weren’t paying attention to his words and could possibly screw up during the match.

“I did, coach. Don’t worry.”

“Alright then, you can do it. Let’s go!”

As the match started, your focus shifted towards the game and you promised to yourself to give your best, maybe even more than your best.

You watched your opponents and tried to guess their next moves, all that while running and helping your teammates out to pass the ball to each other.

During the breaks, you would look at the benches full of people, but your eyes always landed on them - Mingyu and his friends. Those were the only moments when you could hear their shouts, because once the game started again every sound that wasn’t your heartbeat or your teammates and coach’s voices would fade away immediately.

When the match was over, you were exhausted, but extremely happy; your team had won and your dream was about to come true.

You looked towards Mingyu’s direction with a huge smile on your face, only to be met with only his friends that were shrugging his shoulders and shaking their heads while mouthing that they didn’t know where Mingyu was. You frowned and looked around, trying to find him and failing miserably.

Your heart clenched at the thought of him losing the last minutes of the game, losing the announcement that said that your team was the winner.

Some of your teammates hugged you from behind, congratulating you and themselves for winning and you decided to play along. However, everyone’s attention turned to the crowd when they heard shouts:

“Go get her, dude!”

“Y/N, he’s coming for you!”

Not a minute after Mingyu’s friends shouts, you heard a voice on the speaker singing ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’, it was Mingyu’s voice.

You gasped and started to look around, trying to find him. When you did, he was wearing a dark blue suit and striped shirt; he was holding a small bouquet with white roses in one hand and a mic in another. He looked absolutely stunning.

He walked towards you while still singing. People in the crowd were recording and murmuring about the moment, but your focus was only on the boy in front of you, singing that beautiful song to you and making it seem like it was a moment straight out of the movies.

Once he finished the song, your cheeks felt sore from smiling so much. Mingyu put the microphone down on the grass and handed you the bouquet.

“I can’t believe you really did that.”

“Well, I had some lessons with the best, Patrick Verona,” He smirked and took your hand. “So, tell me. Don’t you wanna be my love? The owner of my heart? The reason why I breathe?”

“Are you always that cheesy?”

“Only when it comes to you. So, yes or no?”

“You know I want to.” Your smile got wider, something that you didn’t even know that it was possible.

Mingyu mirrored your smile and leaned forward to kiss you, but you leaned back and placed your hand on his chest. “I’m sweaty and probably stinky, are you sure you want to kiss me right now?”

Mingyu seemed to think about it for a moment. “I remember talking about not dating losers, not about not dating sweaty and stinky yet gorgeous dolls.”

You chuckled. “You’re impossible.”

“That’s why you love me.” He said before pressing his lips against yours and kissing you in a slow pace as you kissed him back.

His friends and some other people started to shout praises at you. It not only seemed like the final scene of a movie, but it felt like one.

When you broke the kiss, he hummed and looked in your eyes. “Yeah, I’m not kissing you after any of your matches again.”

You hit his chest while laughing, making him let you an “ouch” in a mocking way. “I was kidding, I swear! But how about you go take a shower and then we go out, hm? Our first date as a couple.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice. But only if you pay me an ice cream and do not steal bites from it.”

“Now you’re asking too much, you know that your ice cream always tastes sweeter than mine, but I can try to not eat it if it means that much to you.”

[risskia]

MDNI 18+

────────────────────── .✦

Caleb is the kind of guy that gets hard everytime he sees you.

Anything can set him off. When you suddenly jump on him, gleefully tackling him onto the couch, all it takes is one slight glance at your chest (which is pushed up right in his face) for him to be shoving you back, one arm trying to hide his burning red face.

“Pips, you can’t be doing that!” He can already feel his dick throbbing in his pants, straining desperately against the fabric of his boxers. He has to excuse himself, quickly walking back to his room with his hands shoved in his pockets in an attempt to hide his straining boner whilst you just sit there on the couch, oblivious to the true reason as to why he’s suddenly leaving.

It’s particularly inconvenient whenever you two are outside. Caleb has to cover his boner with his hand whilst hobbling around for the rest of the time, his face scarlet.

Like that one time when you guys were at the supermarket. You two were at the drinks aisle, and Caleb stood there watching you pick out iced tea whilst berating you about how sugary drinks are bad for you.

“Caleb, can I have this? It’s less sugar.” You turn, clutching one of the slender bottles in one hand whilst looking at him expectantly. Caleb’s breath hitches sharply as his eyes fall to your hand. The way your fingers wrap around the bottle, the wide-eyed, questioning look on your face, and the way your soft pink lips are slightly parted… it would look so good around his cock.

Fuck. Caleb shuts his eyes, trying furiously to push away torrents of dirty thoughts and will his straining boner to go back down. Think about anything else. His hands grip the handles of the trolley so hard they turn white.

“Caleb?” You ask again, throwing him a quizzical look.

“Stop saying my name like that…” Caleb murmurs under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Caleb grits his teeth as he forces himself to focus back on the situation at hand. “Fine. you can get that.”

And every night without fail, Caleb would take out all his pent-up sexual frustration on his poor fist, hips furiously bucking into his closed fist whilst a string of “fuck” and your name fall from his lips. When he finally cums, embarrassingly quickly, he imagines his fist as your sweet cunt and the way you would call out his name. He thinks back to when your chest was all up in his face. He can so easily picture the way your tits would look under that shirt, and he gets off to that image too, as he completely milks himself dry.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

strawpage | m.list

────────────────────── .✦

[rexhya]

note — queue stuffs!

✦ ✦

yandere!prince who is keen on what your preferences are. (sometimes more than you yourself)

Anul watches as you pet the tiny beast, it's the affection he's ever seen you give willingly and of course he boils hot with jealousy. Your whispers coo at the kitten, you didn't realize he was there untill the crunching of a leaf scared tge poor animal away. You frowned and turned to see what had caused the disturbance. It was Anul, an almost cute pout on his face.

"What are you doing?" he asked you pulling your body into a hug, letting go to cradle your face.

"Nothing, my prince, I was tending to the gardens and it simply strolled along." you were cautious when you said it, nowadays anything would set him off.

"Do you love me [Name]?" he said suddenly, holding you tighter, your breasts pressed right up against his solid chest.

He didn't wait for an answer as he stared, "Because as you know very well, I love you. And if there's something wrong with me that's you don't like, you need to just say it. I would rather you be with someone you at the very least find attractive."

You blinked for a moment unsure of what to say, was Anul, next in line to rule a kingdom of over a million seriously jealous of a cat? "I, uhm, I don't find you unappealing in any way my prince." he was hooked on every word, huffing in dissatisfaction when you finally gave your answer.

"Really?" he asked, tilting his head slightly and you knew what was coming.

"Really."

"Then why don't you show me?"

And his lips were on yours before you could answer. It was hot, and selfish the way Anul kissed you. Like he knew your heart wasn't fully in it but still wanted more, he and you both were shaking by the time he was done, his eyes in a lovesick daze that made your stomach churn.

"I love you, [Name], more then anyone in this entire world could imagine." And that, you knew was true.

[cressidagrey]

So High School

Pairing: Andrea Kimi Antonelli x Chiara Battista (Original Character)

Summary: Chiara prints his worksheets. Kimi pretends to forget formulas just to talk to her.

It was all working—until she stopped helping, and he realized he might’ve already lost her.

Notes: It's Italian Grand Prix Week! I kinda felt like a cradle robber while writing this, because Kimi is a few years younger than me, but YA was and always will be my first love, so I felt like this was very much in my wheel house.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The school library was nearly empty that afternoon—just the low hum of fluorescent lights overhead and the steady scratch of pen against paper. Golden hour filtered through tall windows, softening the sterile white walls into something nearly warm. A lazy beam of light slanted across the long wooden table where Chiara Battista sat curled at the end, headphones in, highlighters fanned out beside her like a painter’s palette.

She was halfway through annotating a dense reading for their ethics seminar, blonde hair pulled back in a pencil-stabbed bun that had begun to lean to the left. She didn’t notice.

What she did notice was the sudden bang of the door slamming open.

She didn’t have to look up.

Only one person in their school had ever treated the library like a pit lane instead of a sacred hall of silence.

Kimi Antonelli.

She heard the sharp rush of his breath first—half-running, half-skipping steps echoing too loudly against the tile floor. He jogged toward her, slightly out of breath, sun-kissed and windblown from whatever race weekend he’d just flown back from. His backpack was hanging half-open over one shoulder, and there was a visible crease in the corner of his collar that said he’d either changed in the car or not at all.

“Hey,” he said, voice hushed but warm as he slid into her orbit like he belonged there. “Did we get that grammar packet? The one Mr. Rossi said he’d email?”

She didn’t even blink. “Printed you a copy,” she said, already reaching into her folder. “Figured you’d forget.”

He blinked, like he genuinely hadn’t expected that. “You’re actually a lifesaver.”

Chiara gave a small smile, sliding the neat stack of papers across the table. She didn’t say, I’ve been keeping a folder labeled “A.K.A.” for the last six months because you never remember anything and I never seem to mind. She just handed him the packet and returned to underlining a particularly obscure sentence about moral relativism.

Kimi didn’t move right away.

He stood there for a beat, fingers grazing the edge of the worksheet like it might slip out of his hands if he didn’t hold it gently. Like maybe he wanted to say something else, but couldn’t quite find the words.

Chiara glanced up from her notes.

“Did you win?” she asked, tone light, like this was all completely normal—like she didn’t secretly refresh live race trackers when she was supposed to be studying, heart pounding every time his name moved up the leaderboard.

“Huh? Oh—no.” He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “P6. But it was a decent drive. I think my engineer aged five years, though.”

Chiara smiled under her breath. “Poor man.”

“Yeah,” Kimi agreed, then added with mock gravity, “Pray for Bono.”

She laughed, and he lit up. Just for a second, like sunshine breaking through clouds.

“Thanks again,” he said after a moment, lifting the paper like a white flag. “You always think of stuff I forget.”

“You forget everything,” she teased, not unkindly.

His grin was all teeth, crooked and warm and just a little shy. “That’s true. But you don’t.”

There was something about the way he said it—soft and offhand but sincere—that made her glance up again. And suddenly they were just looking at each other.

It wasn’t new. But it was dangerous.

Because sometimes he looked at her like she was something steady. Something rare. And it made Chiara’s lungs feel too small for her chest.

She glanced back down, pretending to arrange her pens.

“Okay, I should—go,” he said, not moving. “Before Madame Ferragni starts hunting me down for Math homework I didn’t do.”

“You didn’t do it?”

Kimi immediately looked guilty. “I was a little busy driving a car at 300 kilometers an hour.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You had a week.”

“I was in Jeddah!”

“So was my cousin. She managed to post ten TikToks and finish the assignment.”

He laughed, short and surprised. “Right. Okay. I deserved that.”

She sighed but slid another annotated sheet across the table anyway.

He stared at it like it was a gift. “You even highlighted—”

“Don’t act surprised. You always forget the formulas.”

“I don’t forget. I just... deprioritize.”

“You forgot,” she said flatly.

“I forgot,” he agreed, holding up both hands. “But you didn’t.”

“You should go,” she said, more softly this time. “Library closes in ten.”

“Right.”

But he lingered.

“You coming to class tomorrow?” he asked, like he didn’t already know the answer.

“Unlike some people, I don’t fly around the world on weekends.”

He smiled again, that same quiet, unguarded thing he only gave her in empty hallways and between classes. The kind of smile that made her wish she could stop the moment and study it.

Then he nodded, tapping the edge of the worksheet against the table like a nervous tic.

“Thanks again, Chiara,” he said, voice low and sincere. “You’re kind of amazing.”

And before she could find anything to say—before she could ask him why he always came to her, why he always smiled like that but never acted on it—he turned and left.

The door shut softly behind him.

Chiara sat frozen for a moment, staring at her scattered notes, at the place he’d been standing. Then she exhaled slowly and picked up her pen again.

***

The courtyard buzzed with low conversation, the kind that floated lazily through the warm spring air alongside the scent of blooming wisteria and the occasional hum of a passing bee. A group of boys tossed a football across the far lawn. Someone played soft music from a cracked phone speaker. Birds chirped from the trees that arched over the stone pathways, as if even they were tired of studying.

Chiara Battista sat on the low stone wall near the edge of the flowerbeds, legs crossed at the ankles, sunlight warming the tops of her shoulders through her linen blouse. Her physics binder was open in her lap, pages fluttering in the breeze, her green highlighter spinning idly between her fingers like a coin she wasn’t sure whether to flip.

She wasn’t really studying.

Not in the focused, efficient way she usually did. Her eyes were on the formulas, but her mind kept wandering—to Miami, to engines, to a crooked smile and a hoodie that always smelled faintly like jet fuel and cinnamon gum.

Across from her, Giulia sat with her back against the wall, peeling a clementine with the kind of exaggerated slowness that said she wanted attention but was pretending not to.

The citrus smell was sharp in the air.

“So,” Giulia said after a beat, voice lilting and light in that deceptively gentle tone she always used when she was about to say something awful, “how long are you planning on being Kimi Antonelli’s personal secretary?”

Chiara blinked. “What?”

Giulia gave her a long, unreadable look, then popped a slice of clementine into her mouth with flourish. “Come on. You print out his notes. You remind him about tests. You keep spare pens for him like you’re part of his pit crew. It's kind of adorable. If it wasn’t so tragic.”

“I don’t—” Chiara began, heat creeping up her neck.

“You do,” Giulia interrupted, voice light and sing-song. “Which is fine. Really. He’s cute. I get it. He’s got the floppy hair, the whole baby-Mercedes-prodigy thing, the eyes. Honestly, I’d probably let him copy off my notes if he smiled at me the way he smiles at you.”

Chiara looked down at her highlighter, still gripped between her fingers, the green plastic suddenly too bright in the sun.

Giulia took another slow bite of orange and chewed, watching Chiara too carefully.

“But you’re smart,” she continued. “Like actually smart. You’ve got a shot at med school. Or engineering. Or politics, if you ever get over your allergy to speaking in public. And you’re wasting your time babysitting a boy who’s probably never even seen your handwriting on his own.”

Chiara’s fingers stilled. The highlighter slipped and hit her knee with a soft thud before rolling into the folds of her skirt. The green cap glinted in the sunlight.

Giulia leaned her head back, eyes squinting up at the sky like this was all just a mildly interesting observation, nothing personal.

“I’m just saying,” she added, quieter now, “he’s got his group. Enrico, Luca, all of them. You really think he’d still talk to you if you stopped printing out his worksheets?

Chiara’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her throat felt dry.

It wasn’t that the comment was harsh. Giulia wasn’t sneering or mocking her. That would’ve been easier to dismiss. No—this was worse. This was delivered like a kindness. Like honesty, served cold and sharp and gently poisonous.

The sun glinted off the green cap of the highlighter like it was mocking her. Chiara felt her fingers tense around it, her knuckles pale.

“I’m just saying,” Giulia said with a shrug, “I think he’s using you. Not, like, in a malicious way. Maybe he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. But he is.”

The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.

They slid in quietly. Like they were meant to stay. Like they belonged somewhere deep inside her chest, where they could unspool later in the quiet hours.

Chiara didn’t say anything. She didn’t argue. There wasn’t a scene. She just shut her binder with a soft snap and reached down to tuck it under her arm.

Her smile came a second later—small, brittle at the edges, and practiced.

She stood.

“Where are you going?” Giulia asked, frowning.

“Inside,” Chiara said, without turning around. “I forgot something.”

She didn’t.

She just couldn’t sit there anymore. Not with the heat of the sun on her shoulders and those words seeping into her skin like ink.

She walked steadily, not fast enough to show she was upset, not slow enough to linger. Her shoes crunched over gravel, and her binder dug into her ribs with every step.

By the time she reached the hallway, her throat felt tight.

Because now all she could think about were the times he smiled like he meant it. The way he lingered at her desk like he wanted to stay. The way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t looking back.

And how stupid she must’ve been to think it meant anything at all.

***

It started small.

Kimi Antonelli wasn’t the most observant person when it came to school—he could memorize track layouts and sector splits like his life depended on it (because sometimes it did), but remembering whether ethics class was in Room 2B or 2C? Not his specialty.

But he noticed people.

And he definitely noticed Chiara Battista.

At first, he thought she was just tired. Exams were creeping closer, and she had that furrow between her brows that usually meant she was deep in study mode. But then she stopped handing him things before he even asked. No more worksheets quietly left on his desk. No more “Hey, by the way, Mr. Russo moved the deadline” in the hallway.

Nothing.

She wasn’t cold, exactly. Just… distant. Like she’d taken a step back and pulled some invisible curtain between them.

And he didn’t know why.

Kimi sat in class and stared at the side of her face while she took notes, neat and precise, a different-colored pen for every category. He used to tease her about it. She used to roll her eyes and pretend she wasn’t smiling.

Now she barely looked at him.

She hadn’t sat next to him during ethics the day before. She’d slipped into a seat near the window before he arrived. And when he’d caught up with her after class, breathless from literally jogging across campus to ask about the project, she’d answered his question with the same tone she used when telling the barista her name for a coffee order.

Polite. Blank. Forgettable.

And maybe that’s what scared him the most—that she seemed totally fine.

Kimi fumbled with the strap of his backpack as he walked across the courtyard, barely noticing when Enrico shouted his name from the steps. He waved vaguely in response, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

Had he said something wrong?

Had she overheard him joking with the others and taken it the wrong way?

He ran through every conversation they’d had in the last two weeks like it was onboard footage. Looking for a mistake. A missed flag. Something he could fix.

But all he found was silence.

His stomach twisted the way it sometimes did before a wet qualifying session—the anticipation, the nerves, the uncertainty. Only this time, there wasn’t a helmet to hide behind or a lap time to chase. Just Chiara, sitting under a tree across the courtyard, her nose buried in a book he didn’t recognize.

And for once, he didn’t know if he was allowed to walk over.

He used to just know. That invisible thread between them used to feel real. Reliable. Like she’d catch his eye from across the room and there’d be a look—a shared joke, a spark, something warm.

Now, she didn’t even glance up.

He pulled out his phone and opened their messages. The last few were short. Blunt. He scrolled higher, to when they used to send stupid memes or homework reminders with four exclamation points. Her little typing bubbles had always come fast and familiar.

Now they didn’t come at all.

Kimi sat down on the edge of a low wall and stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard like it might offer some kind of answer.

Then, impulsively, he typed:

Kimi A.: are you mad at me?

He watched the “Delivered” stamp appear.

Then… nothing.

No typing bubble. No reply.

Just the quiet weight of not knowing what he’d done, and the uncomfortable realization that, for all the times he’d texted her for help, he might have never really said the things that mattered.

The things he meant.

And now it might be too late.

***

Chiara told herself it didn’t matter. She told herself it didn’t hurt.

That it was fine, really. Normal. Temporary. That people grew out of things like school crushes and imagined connections. That Giulia hadn’t said anything cruel—just honest.

Blunt, yes. But not wrong.

Because when she thought about it, stripped down past the little moments she’d been hoarding like secrets, what did she really have? A handful of library smiles. A few text messages. Some inside jokes about French grammar and his inability to remember his own locker code.

It wasn’t a relationship. It wasn’t even friendship, not really.

It was habit.

And maybe it was better to know now, before she got in any deeper. Before she built something out of glances and half-grins and the way he said her name when he was tired. Before she mistook kindness for something more.

So she stopped being proactive.

No more reminders. No more extras printed and labeled in neat folders with his name in the corner. No more nudging him in the hallway to say, You missed this, or, He changed the deadline. She didn’t ignore him—Chiara wasn’t cruel—but she was quiet.

Polite. Distant.

Unmistakably different.

And of course, that was when Kimi Antonelli started texting her more than ever.

Kimi A.: hey, did Mr. Russo say what the final project deadline is?

Chiara B.: Next Thursday.

Kimi A.: right. thanksKimi A.: do you know if we’re supposed to use the same groups as before?

Chiara B.: No, new groups. He said so in class.

Kimi A.: oh. I wasn’t there lol

Chiara B.: I know.

The “Read” receipt sat on the screen like a silent accusation. Four minutes passed.

She didn’t move. Just sat at her desk in her bedroom, textbooks spread in front of her, phone in hand, the quiet pressing in too tightly.

She should’ve been used to this by now—the ghosting, the silence, the slow burn of realizing someone was thinking about you less than you were thinking about them. But this was Kimi.

And Kimi was different.

Wasn’t he?

Her phone buzzed again.

Kimi A.: are you mad at me?

Chiara stared at the message until the screen dimmed and locked. Then she pressed the side button and brought it back again, as if the words might have changed in the dark.

Am I mad at him?

She wasn’t even sure.

Not exactly.

It wasn’t like he had done anything. He hadn’t broken her heart. He hadn’t stood her up or lied or made a promise he didn’t keep.

But he also hadn’t stayed.

He hadn’t noticed how much she gave. How quietly she rearranged her life around his chaos. How she’d memorized his schedule, his absences, his patterns.

He hadn’t noticed when she stopped.

And maybe that hurt more than anything else.

Not the rejection—but the realization that she was so easy to replace that he didn’t even notice when she disappeared.

Chiara glanced around her desk, at the binders and notebooks and that one stupid green highlighter he’d returned to her months ago after she dropped it in the hallway. It still had a faint smudge of oil on the cap. She still used it.

And every time she did, her heart did that annoying stutter.

She thumbed a reply.

Chiara B.: No. Just busy.

It wasn’t exactly true. But it wasn’t a lie either.

Final exams loomed. Graduation was a red circle on the calendar. Everything was ending—school, schedules, this weird little tether between them. And she had other things to worry about. College. Her future. Finding somewhere she belonged that didn’t hinge on how well she organized someone else’s life.

She had to stop wasting time wondering if every “you always think of stuff I forget” actually meant something.

She set her phone face down and tried to get back to her reading. But the words swam, rearranged themselves, refused to sit still.

The next morning, just after first period, her phone buzzed again.

Kimi A.: can I be in your project group?

Chiara read it. And read it again.

She should’ve said no.

She knew she should’ve said no.

But some part of her still ached to believe in him. Still wanted the version of Kimi who lingered after handing her a worksheet. The one who smiled like she was the only thing in the room worth looking at.

So she typed slowly.

Chiara B.: If you actually show up this time.

His response came faster this time. Too fast, like he’d been waiting.

Kimi A.: I will. Promise.

She stared at the screen.

Then locked her phone before she could respond.

Because even now, even after everything, even with doubt wrapped tight around her ribs—

Part of her still wanted to believe him.

And that part?

That was the most dangerous of all.

***

​​Kimi Antonelli was supposed to be having lunch.

 Instead, he was having a crisis.

“She’s not mad,” he muttered, arms crossed, pacing back and forth behind the table like he was walking a qualifying line he couldn’t quite stick. “She just… shut down. Like—quiet. Polite. It’s worse than yelling. She doesn’t even send me emojis anymore.”

Ollie Bearman, lounging like the human embodiment of ‘this is not my problem’, was leaned so far back in his chair he was practically horizontal, chewing absently on a pen cap. His Haas polo was wrinkled, and there were granola bar crumbs clinging to his collar, but he looked entirely unbothered by Kimi’s spiraling.

“You mean,” Ollie said, “she’s treating you like a classmate and not a potential boyfriend?”

“Exactly!” Kimi threw his hands up. “She used to send me PDFs with color-coded annotations. Now it’s just… black text. Periods. Not even an exclamation point! She used to remind me about class changes. Now she lets me walk into the wrong room and doesn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, no, that’s horrifying,” Ollie deadpanned. “Have you tried talking to her like a normal person?”

“I am talking to her,” Kimi snapped. “She’s just only replying about school stuff. Like, cold. Precise. Linguistically devastating. I asked if we could work on the physics project together and she just said, ‘if you actually show up this time’. That’s lethal.”

Ollie winced, cringing like he’d been personally struck. “Oof. That’s—yeah. That’s girl-code for ‘you’re on thin ice, bucko.’”

Kimi dropped into the chair next to him, slumped dramatically with his face buried in his hands. “This is hell. Actual hell.”

There was a pause, long enough for Ollie to sip from a sports bottle with exaggerated slowness.

“I still don’t get why you haven’t told her you like her,” he said, not for the first time.

Kimi looked up, hair flopping into his eyes. “Because she’s smarter than me. Because she has beautiful handwriting and  perfect grades and probably thinks I’m just an idiot in fireproof overalls who forgets his own password and uses ‘vibes’ to explain physics.”

“You punched her ex-boyfriend for cheating on her,” Ollie pointed out.

Kimi groaned. “That was your idea!”

“My idea was defend her honor, not uppercut the guy into next week!”

“You said, ‘make it clear he can’t treat her like that.’”

“Yeah! With words, not fists!”

“I panicked!”

“You panicked,” Ollie echoed, nodding like a therapist scribbling on a clipboard. “Because you’re in love with her.”

“Exactly!”

“I said to say something,” Ollie continued, exasperated, “not commit assault outside chemistry class.”

“I didn’t assault him! It was one punch!”

“One punch that required ice and a parental meeting!”

“I panicked!”

“You keep saying that like it’s a defense and not a personality trait!”

Kimi let out a strangled sound. “I don’t know how to do this! I know how to defend in Turn 1. I know how to nail a flying lap. I don’t know how to tell a girl that I remember her favorite pen color and I highlight things in green just because she does and I save her texts even when they’re about grammar exercises.”

There was a beat.

Then a voice cut through the chaos, dry and mildly horrified.

“…I don’t get paid enough for this.”

Both boys froze.

They turned simultaneously.

Toto Wolff stood in the doorway of the Mercedes junior debriefing room, espresso in one hand, jacket draped over his other arm, and the expression of a man who had walked into a live-action soap opera during what was supposed to be a technical meeting.

Kimi immediately sat up straighter, trying to brush his hair out of his face. “Hi, Toto.”

“Hello, Kimi.” A nod. Then: “Bearman.”

“Sir,” Ollie said, suddenly very upright, as if his posture might erase the incriminating conversation still echoing in the air.

Toto took a long sip of his espresso and closed his eyes like it might give him patience.

“Alright,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose with the kind of weariness that only came from mentoring teenage boys with fast cars and faster hearts. “First: no more punching. You are supposed to be a functioning adult, not an F1-themed vigilante.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Second…” Toto looked between the two of them, gaze settling on Kimi. “Tell her how you feel.”

Kimi blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“But what if she—”

“If she doesn’t feel the same,” Toto interrupted coolly, “you’ll survive. It will hurt. But you’ll get over it.”

Kimi swallowed. “And if she does?”

Toto raised an eyebrow. “Then you’ll stop spending engineering meetings texting her instead of listening to race strategy. Win-win.”

Kimi opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked mildly betrayed by logic.

Toto gave him a long look. “You’re not the first young man to like someone smart and good and feel like you didn’t know how to deserve her. Tell her. Before someone else does.”

He pointed at Ollie without even looking. “And don’t take advice from him.”

Ollie gasped like he’d been personally wounded. “I’ve been offended by a team principal. That’s going in my memoir.”

Toto turned to leave. Then paused in the doorway and added, without turning around:

“And if you must punch someone, do it off school property. Less paperwork.”

Kimi gaped. Ollie choked on laughter.

“I’m joking,” Toto said flatly.

(He was mostly joking.)

As he walked away, they heard him mutter to himself:

“I manage race strategy, investor relations, and now teenage hormones. God help me.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence.

Then Kimi looked at Ollie. “…Did Toto Wolff just tell me to ask out Chiara?”

“I think you just got father-figure pep-talked.”

“That was terrifying.”

“Yeah,” Ollie nodded. “He’s weirdly good at it.”

Then, a beat later, Ollie grinned.

“So… are you gonna tell her?”

Kimi stared at the wall, like he might find the courage in the pattern of the plaster. “…I might actually die.”

“You might actually kiss her.”

“…I might throw up.”

“You’ve driven Eau Rouge in the wet.”

“That was less terrifying.”

Ollie grinned and clapped him on the back. “C’mon, lover boy. Time to make Toto proud.”

***

They met at her house.

Neutral ground.

Safe ground.

Her mother answered the door in an apron dusted with flour, squinted at Kimi for all of three seconds, then said, “Is this the racing boy?” with a bright, knowing smile.

Before Kimi could respond—still half in his jacket and caught between alarm and confusion—she turned and disappeared into the kitchen with the ease of someone who had already decided she liked him. “There’s biscotti on the tray. Help yourselves.”

The scent of lemon zest and almonds lingered in the hallway like some kind of warm welcome Kimi wasn’t entirely sure he deserved.

They settled in her room—Chiara cross-legged on the carpet, laptop propped on a cushion, and Kimi sprawled beside her, shoulders brushing the edge of her desk, legs half-folded like he couldn’t quite figure out how to sit in one place for more than five minutes.

They’d been working for over an hour.

On paper, it looked productive. Slides moved. Notes typed. Bullet points organized.

But it wasn’t real.

A few awkward comments about font sizes and slide transitions. Some neutral territory filler like “do we need another diagram?” or “can you move that image left a bit?”

Nothing real. Nothing honest.

And it was unbearable.

Chiara had always been good at pretending—smiling through awkward dinners, nodding during group projects, making herself useful. But this was different. This was him. And the quiet between them wasn’t peaceful. It buzzed. Sharp and heavy, like static before a storm.

So, eventually, she broke.

“You know,” she said, still typing, not daring to look at him, “you don’t have to keep pretending.”

Kimi paused, glancing up from his phone. “Pretending?”

“That this matters to you.” Her voice was steady, but it was too practiced. Too careful. “The project. School. Me. You don’t have to keep texting. Or asking me for things. I’m not going to print your homework anymore.”

She said it like it didn’t cost her something. Like her throat wasn’t tightening and her chest didn’t feel like it was caving in around her words.

He blinked. His whole body went still.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she finished, and even though she tried to sound nonchalant, her fingers curled tighter around her laptop, like she needed something to hold her together.

Kimi’s brow furrowed, confusion washing across his face. “Chiara—”

“I’m serious.” She finally looked at him, and the effort it took not to let her voice shake made her jaw clench. “It’s fine. I get it. I was convenient. You needed someone to keep you afloat while you were flying around the world winning races. I was just… useful.”

The words hung there.

The silence that followed wasn’t quiet. It rang. It roared in her ears.

Kimi sat up slowly, eyes wide, his whole body shifting like she’d hit him in the chest with something he hadn’t seen coming.

“You really think that?” he asked, and his voice was quiet, but not soft. It was stunned. Raw.

Chiara held his gaze even though it hurt. “What else am I supposed to think?”

Kimi leaned forward, disbelief written all over him. “I never used you.”

“You say that now—”

“I never used you,” he repeated, louder this time. The desperation in his voice cracked something inside her. “You are the only part of school I like! The only reason I didn’t drop out three months ago.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Because I printed things for you—”

“Because I like you,” he said. It burst out of him like a snapped chord. Breathless. Raw. Unpolished and real.

“Because I look for you in every hallway. Because I come to class after red-eye flights and brutal back-to-backs just hoping maybe you’d say hi. Because I have no idea how to talk to you without sounding like a complete idiot! So I asked about worksheets. I pretended I don’t understand physics! Because that was the only way I could keep talking to you without blowing it.” 

He kept going, voice lower now. “Because I saved every worksheet you gave me, even the ones I didn’t need. Because I still have the dumb green highlighter you let me borrow that one time. Because I thought maybe if I asked you enough questions, you’d start to like me too.”

Chiara froze.

Then she stared at him. Not blinking. Not breathing.

Kimi ran a hand through his hair and let out a shaky laugh, like he couldn’t believe he’d actually said it. “I thought if I said anything real, you’d look at me and realize I’m just… some guy who memorizes apex speeds better than grammar rules. That you’d stop talking to me completely.”

She stared at him.

Then blinked.

Then said—very softly, very brokenly—

“…Then why didn’t you ever say something?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t angry anymore. Just small. Frayed at the edges. “Why did you let me believe I didn’t matter?”

Kimi opened his mouth. Closed it again. Looked so impossibly helpless it nearly broke her.

And then—he didn’t answer.

And Kimi—stunned, frustrated, helpless in the way only a teenage boy in love can be—did the one thing he could think of.

He kissed her.

No warning. No hesitation. Just leaned in and kissed her like she was the finish line and he’d been chasing her all season.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t practiced. It was a little clumsy, a little off-center, his hand curling into the fabric of her sleeve like he was afraid she’d pull away.

Chiara didn’t.

Her heart stuttered, brain blank. And then—melted.

She froze, breath caught—then melted into him.

Her fingers curled into the hem of his hoodie before she even realized what she was doing. Her other hand slid to his cheek. 

He kissed her like he was terrified she’d disappear the second he pulled back. Like she was something he’d been waiting to find and never thought he’d get to hold.

When they finally broke apart, her forehead rested against his. They were both breathing too fast.

Chiara blinked, dazed. Her voice came out smaller than she meant.

“…That was new.”

Kimi gave a short, nervous laugh, cheeks flushed pink. “Yeah. Sorry. I panicked.”

She stared at him for a beat longer.

Then smiled—soft, surprised, and entirely real. “Do it again.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 | 𝐛𝐨𝐛 𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬

Pairing Robert “Bob” Reynolds x Female Reader Summary On a slow morning, away from the pressures of the city, Bob helps quell your fears about the future [contains fluff, mild angst, the nickname ‘Robby’, cute superpower usage, wc 2.6k]  A/N I fell in love with Bob during Thunderbolts, and the events of this fic take place two years after the movie. A bit of maturing and healing have taken place—mentally and in terms of his powers. It’s my first time writing for him, so let me know what you think! 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Sunlight, bedsheets, and skin. Reality itself dawned with the visage of a dream. With a lone fingertip, you trace the line of his spine from the space between his shoulder blades to where the soft linen pools at his hips. Tiny hairs rise on his bare skin as he shivers. Bob envisions your soft smile and slow-blinking eyes before he tips fully into wakefulness. When he does, your touch stills midway along his back as you venture upwards. 

Instead of car engines, birds sing outside. Rather than the sweeping windows of the Avengers tower, floral wallpaper and simple curtained panes allow the sun’s rays to paint the room. There’s no agenda, no meetings, no need to rush. This is the Catskills, and Manhattan is miles away. 

You were grateful the team granted you two the weekend away at one of Bucky’s old safe houses. It’s a secluded rural farmhouse surrounded by oak trees—a scene fit for the silver screen. 

“There you are,” you lilt. 

Bob huffs a shy chuckle. “Hi.”  He swallows when you comb your fingers through his hair. “Have you been up long?” 

“Ages.” He frowns at that. “I’m kidding.” 

A small smile breaks across his face. If you had been waiting long, he’d consider telling you that he’d had one of the best sleeps of his life. Then it’d make sense why he wanted to cling to it just a little longer. 

He’d almost lost track of all his luck since he met you. A part of him feared it was bound to fade away, but even then, he’d be alright with life having given him time with you at all. It’d been a year since you met, and he couldn’t remember goodness ever prevailing this long. As far as he knew, there was a crash after every high. 

But not all people were like vices he was once used to seeking: there one minute and gone the next. You’d stumbled into Bob’s life one chilly night on West 43rd and bonded over cheap slices. Sometime between then and him walking you home, you realized you liked having him around. Without so much as trying, he made you lean in closer, laugh too loud, lose track of time. 

When your fingers pass through his hair yet another gentle time, a small sound rises in his throat as your nails scratch against his scalp. 

“That feels good,” he sighs. 

For someone who’d never quite be able to break, you treated him as though the opposite were true. Every touch was so thoughtful and careful that even he began to believe it might be possible after all. Maybe you saw that he was a bunch of tiny pieces held together by a renewed will to live. Maybe you were the glue. 

“It’s getting so long.” You playfully rake some soft strands of hair into his face, and the feathery sensation makes him scrunch his nose. “You’re gonna disappear on me pretty soon.” 

Bob combs his hair back to see you again, chest filled with a warmth that refuses to stay in one place. 

“I promise I won’t.” The dual meaning of his words translates through his deep, blue eyes. “Gonna come find me if I do?” 

You pretend to think, as if you hadn’t already done your share of saving each other. 

“Maybe,” you say. 

When his lips twitch with the threat of a smile, you poke his ribcage a couple of times to coax it out. It works like a charm. Before you know it, he rolls onto his back and pulls you to lie on top of him. Your legs fall on either side of his body. 

“Robby, careful,” you chuckle in surprise.  

He likes the pressure, the proximity. After a few seconds, you finally relax on top of him, scooting down his body enough to rest your head against his chest. His skin is warm beneath your cheek, and you can feel the rise and fall of each steady breath. One of his hands slips beneath your shirt to draw shapes across the small of your back.  

Your eyes slip closed, and like a light switch, you’re transported back to the night you first met. Fluorescent lights shine above as the two of you sit across from each other near the front window of a pizza place. The steady buzz of chatter fills the air along with the rich scent of tomato sauce and oregano. Outside, pedestrians flutter by. 

It’s a memory. 

You can see your present selves too, standing over the shoulders of the yous forever bound to the past. You meet Bob’s gaze, taking in his boxers and muscled torso as his own eyes rove over you. 

That night, the team had let him leave without Bucky or John tagging along. The independence wouldn’t have been a big deal in another life, but it felt like a rite of passage. They were finally beginning to trust in his ability to control the multitudes he contained. He could’ve gone anywhere in Manhattan, somewhere more bustling and lively, but he’d decided to take a walk and grab a greasy bite.  

As Bob looks between your past selves, he can see the nerves in his gaze and the intrigue in yours. It was possible you had seen him on TV back when the city turned void. If you did happen to know who he was, you were sensitive enough not to mention that fateful day. 

The real reason you’d struck up a conversation with him was because he’d held the door for you when you first walked into the pizza place, two strangers crossing paths in the city that never sleeps. There was a certain allure you couldn’t quite pin down, a palpable energy. Something behind his eyes.

It was no secret that those who wandered at night were often looking to feel a little more alive. Perhaps you’d met for a reason written somewhere amid the invisible stars. 

Upon opening your eyes, you’re back in bed with him. You prop yourself up on his chest to study him.  

“You took us back,” you say. 

“Sorry,” Bob murmurs. “Wasn’t trying to.”  

Sometimes, when he feels safe and thinks about you, his mind will pull you two into a lifelike memory. It wasn’t a matter of control; he simply allowed it to happen without fighting against it.  

You run a light fingertip down his nose. “I don’t know if I believe you.” 

Bob takes your wrist and kisses the heel of your palm. “But you liked it.” 

“Says who?” 

“The smile on your face.” As soon as he says that, you purposely flatten your expression. A chuckle rumbles through him. “Guess I’ll stop if it’s so unbearable.” 

You could easily call his bluff, but the thought still stirs a small flicker of worry within you. Bob sees it in your eyes and squeezes you to quell it. There wasn’t a single part of him you hated. Not even the scarier, messier parts that often scared people away. It was their loss. It’d be hard to come across someone quite like him again.  

••• 

As the record player plays a jazzy instrumental, the sound of the spatula scraping against the bottom of the pan is a gentle accompaniment. Bob’s back muscles shift as he continues scrambling the eggs. It feels like you’re a koala bear with the way you’ve secured your arms around him, but he doesn’t mind. Not when it feels like this moment was handcrafted by tranquility itself. 

You didn’t get many moments like this in Manhattan. Now that you’re seeing what it’s like to have him all to yourself with no check-ins, you realize you wouldn’t mind having this forever. Except, forever seemed to stretch like an empty void waiting to be filled. And it was up to you to do the shaping. 

“Do you ever think about…” you trail off.  

Bob waits for you to continue, but you don’t. “About what?” he encourages. It almost hurts how patient he is with you. 

You tuck your nose into the space between his shoulder blades to inhale the scent of his shirt. “Thought you were a mind reader,” you accuse in a gentle attempt to deflect. “I want a refund.” 

Laughing, Bob turns off the stove and faces you. “It’s your mind we’re talking about.” There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he speaks. “Not even I can get a read on that thing.” What he means is that he’d never invade your thoughts. He never had. 

He tilts his head in that disarming, attentive way of his. “What were you gonna say?” His eyes remind you of the dark stare of a fawn, ever curious and searching. 

You redirect your attention to the floor. “Stop looking at me like that.” 

Bob lifts your chin back up with his index finger. “Like what?” It’s a painfully genuine question. “Like I value what you have to say?” 

When you remain quiet, his eyes darken, and bright ribbons of molten gold swirl through his irises. It’s beautiful in an intimidating way that makes your stomach flutter; an attempt at levity. A small smile plays on his lips as his gaze returns to normal. You bite back a reaction because you know he’d done it on purpose, knows you like it.  

“Tough crowd,” he playfully mumbles. “Talk to me, sweetheart, c’mon.” 

“After breakfast,” you say. “The food’s gonna get cold.” 

•••

Bob hums under his breath as he flips through a box of Bucky’s old vinyl. The house itself is even older, and the way the wooden floors creak tells the tale. He studies the cover art of the albums as you sit and watch from your place on the couch. You break your silence when you’ve had enough of the distance. 

“Hey, Robby?” He redirects his attention to you. “Maybe we can pause the music browsing for a sec.”

With how quickly he steps away from the box, you’re convinced he’d been waiting for you to say that. The cushions dip as he joins you on the plush sage couch. 

The entire living room is cozy. It reminds Bob of visits to his grandparents’ house as a boy. He remembers weekends and summers being dropped off when his parents claimed to need a break. It became a safe space that he never wanted to leave. 

With his grandparents, there was no constant clamoring, shouting matches, or phone calls from the electric company threatening to cut the lights off. He played outside in the sun with the older kids and came back inside to homemade lemonade and playful comments about him having worked up a good sweat. 

When he got older, and his grandparents passed away, his escape became the dingy basements of questionable acquaintances and back alleyways that never turned a lost soul away. 

Bob reaches over to squeeze your thigh. “I’m all ears whenever you're ready.”

“It feels kinda stupid now,” you admit. 

“Stupid and I go way back.” He’s sincere even as he jests. “Try me.” 

You play with your fingers and bite the inside of your cheek. It feels like you’re a scared kid standing on a diving board at the deep end of the pool. All attention is on you. It’s time to jump. 

“Do you ever think about the future? What it looks like?” you ask, pausing for a few seconds. “If people like us get a happily ever after?” 

You meet each other’s gaze. 

“People like us,” he repeats slowly. You can see the gears moving in his mind. 

“I’m me, and you’re… you,” you say. “There’s no such thing as normal.” 

Bob hums, not agreeing or disagreeing.

You exhale. “Everything’s starting to feel so perfect.” Bob waits for you to continue. “But it feels like I’m waiting for the rug to get ripped out from under me.” 

“I hear you,” he says, reaching out to interlock his fingers with yours. He's quiet for a few thoughtful beats. “I don’t know what’s down the road, but I know what’s in front of me right now,” he says. 

A silence stretches between you until he breaks it again. “Back when I tried the whole therapy thing, there was this idea called dress rehearsing tragedy,” he says. “It’s when you think of the worst so much that it gets hard for the good to shine through.” 

You nod as you soak in every measured word. 

“That was me every time things started to look up,” Bob admits reflectively. “I’m not saying that’s you right now—hell, you practically are the sun to me.” Your lips twitch upwards when he squeezes your hand. 

“What I’m saying is we get this whole weekend together.” Bob leans in closer. “So let’s just be here.” 

“And when the weekend ends?” you murmur, just to see what he says. 

“I promise I’m in this for the long haul,” he assures. “Whatever it takes.” 

Those last words linger in the air. Bob gives you his full attention when you shift as if you’re about to speak up. Instead, you brush your thumb over the back of his hand. His eyes never leave you. It’s a glimpse into what it must’ve felt like for him to be under your watchful gaze the night you met.  

“Whatever it takes,” you echo. 

So much in life seemed far away for you. Falling in love was for other people, marriage was for other people, buying a house and building a life was for other people. Not for you. 

Bob offers a solemn smile. “I used to be scared all the time.” He thinks for a moment. “Now I refuse to be. Out of spite mainly.” 

You huff a laugh, partly amused, partly in admiration. “I swear you’re not real sometimes. Like this is all just a dream.” 

Bob chuckles. “I swear I am.” He kisses your cheek to prove he’s real. “Need me to pinch you? ‘Cause I can do that too.” 

A small squeal escapes you as he reaches for your side, but he lets you push his hand away. You blink up at him in surprise when he stands and extends that hand to you. 

“Let’s go,” he says. 

You let him pull you to your feet, a spark of excitement stirring. “Go where?”

“The lake.”

•••

There’s a breeze that complements the warmth in the air. Grass crunches beneath your shoes as you follow Bob down to the shoreline. The still water shimmers in the light of the sun. Across the way, you can see somebody paddling in a canoe. There’s a bench beneath a cluster of birch trees, but Bob walks up to the water, and you stop by his side. Leaves rustle, birds chirp. 

He snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. You rest your head on your shoulder. It’s so still and quiet that your thoughts begin to settle. Bob was right. Neither of you knew the future. But in this moment, you at least know the feeling of standing beside someone you love. You know you’d be willing to fight for it. And maybe that was enough. 

Bob looks at you after a while, cataloguing your features like it’s the first time. He closes the distance between you just as you’re about to jokingly ask if he’s looking for something. A pleasant warmth spreads through your body as his lips find yours. He kisses you tenderly, hands settling on your waist as you reposition yourself in front of him. Your fingers find their way to the nape of his neck, where you gently tug his hair. 

Bob smiles into the kiss. Not for any particular reason, more like a culmination of things. 

You pull away. “What?” you whisper against his lips, beginning to smile. 

Bob’s cheeks warm as he shakes his head. “I’m just happy.” 

“Me too.” 

“We’re gonna be okay,” he promises. 

Your lips find each other’s again.

-

Thanks for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all! 

BOB MASTERLIST

ALL MASTERLISTS

[3liza]

after meaning to get around to it for years i finally listened to almost the entirety of Sold a Story and it is as groundbreaking as everyone says it is. it's also the most confusing, to me, single event in American culture in my lifetime and my reasons for thinking that are pretty complex so im not sure theyre fully formed yet. there's a list of shit in this podcast that made me feel like i was going insane

i KNEW something was going on at a population level, i've been noticing it for years, people kept telling me i was imagining things, but i was RIGHT, two generations of kids have been reduced to barely-literate levels of language function because of this shit and you CAN see it and hear it while talking to people in the world!

the entire adoption of the Calkins programs in the first place were based on the majority of people responsible for American child education deciding basically overnight that "children don't need to learn phonics in order to become strong readers" which is literally and not figuratively equivalent to saying "children can learn algebra without learning what numbers are". it is so self-evidently false i dont even know how to respond to such an assertion. you have to be fundamentally devoid of common sense to think this is true. language is comprised of sounds (phonemes), sounds are represented by letters, letters make up the alphabet, the alphabet makes up words, and words make up sentences. you cant just skip over the parts of this you dont like, it's the basis of our entire civilization. "i dont need to learn individual notes i just want to play to saxophone" okay well. too bad? you cant

american primary education apparently has no communication whatsoever with the scientific fields of human behaviorism, pediatrics, neurology, linguistics, the science of learning generally, and there is next to zero communication between teachers who are actively responsible for educating children and the entire research field of educating children. they just dont talk to each other, at least in huge swaths of the country. in retrospect this is obvious, i just have been assuming incorrectly this entire time that maybe, surely, some aspect of how our public schools are administered is in some way being guided by scientific evidence and research. this has apparently not been the case for 20+ years. Lucy Calkins herself claims she "didn't know" that the research on how children acquire language had been essentially settled by the 1990s, she just wrote her stupid book based on her own self-assurance that what she THOUGHT children were doing when they learned language was correct. she ddin't check, she didnt ask about research or studies, she didn't test her hypothesis, she just told everyone she had figured out how to teach kids to read based on nothing but her own untested assumptions. and everyone was like "okay sounds good". every single person involved in this process is or was in a position of responsibility for educating american children. and almost none of them thought to ask "okay, but have you tested it? does it work?" because they didn't test it, and it doesnt work, and for some reason that was never even brought up

teachers kept being interviewed on this podcast who kept saying things like: "they never taught us how to teach children to read" and "they didn't teach us how children learn so i had no idea how it worked" and then explaining this was why they were so easily hoodwinked by the Calkins program. i don't understand this. what is actually taught during the two year degree programs at teaching colleges? if it's not child psychology, pedagogy, neurology, and actual techniques for teaching children, what are they teaching you to do there? one of my friends who went to a teaching college told me they mostly provided classes on lesson planning.

individual teachers apparently are not reading books or articles or papers on any of these subjects either. so having graduated from a teaching college knowing nothing about children, teaching, or even basic english literacy ("i didn't know how to teach phonics and no one told me" is another thing actual teachers kept saying on the podcast. girl, SESAME STREET can teach basic english phonics, and it does), almost none of them actually do any investigation on their own. they just show up to their workplace (the school) and "teach" whatever admin hands them. ?????????????? how is this possible?

i realized last night in a fugue of post-exertional malaise that the three-cueing method of teaching reading is training children to approach language very similarly to how a large language model does it. they laboriously instruct the children to guess what the next word in a sentence will be, often by actually covering the word with a post-it note and then cajoling and badgering the child until he guesses the word under the post-it, based on the vibes on the sentence he's reading. this doesnt teach you to read, it teaches you to act like youre reading

this isnt directly addressed in the podcast but we used to just teach everyone english like it was an actual system that has parts and rules and structures, because that's what a language is. everyone would start with phonics and the alphabet, then later do stuff like sentence diagramming and grammar, neither of which have been taught in primary schools in decades. i think i was probably the very last generation of kids to get ANY of that stuff unless they went to an exceptional school, and it was only because my 8th grade teacher knew it was important and went against school admin's instructions in order to teach it. the couple days of sentence diagramming and grammar he gave us, out of SPITE, have been more useful to me in reading and writing than the entire rest of primary english education i received in public school, and i didn't even go to a school that had adopted three-cueing stuff yet.

[likeabxrdinflight]

#fork found in kitchen#confession has ALWAYS been this fucked up#it's the secular law that has changed#and made it necessary for the church to remind people of this canon law#priests have and will continue to go to jail (or even die) to protect the seal of confession#and priests have and will continue to be excommunicated and defrocked for breaking the seal in favor of the law#also. there's a lot of people surprised that priests are not already mandated reporters#thats not true. in most places (in the US) priests ARE mandated reporters and always have been.#but most of those places have an exception for confessor-penitant privilege

Prev's tags felt important to include. It also feels important to note that in any other context, a priest is a mandated reporter. Catholic school teachers are mandated reporters, and all clergy, staff, and teachers affiliated with a catholic church will undergo a child abuse protection training called "protecting god's children" which will include information about mandated reporting. Confession, however, has also been the one exception. It shouldn't be, but this is the way it has always worked.

I will say this though, as someone who is a mandated reporter and has had to make calls to child protective services- in theory, the law makes sense. In theory it is in place to protect children and keep them safe. In theory we should all want that, right? We should want abuse to be stopped and children to be kept safe. But in practice? That just doesn't happen. I agree that priests should be bound by the same laws and limits to confidentiality as any helping profession- if I have to break the therapeutic relationship to report suspected child abuse or neglect, so should a priest. Churches shouldn't be above the law in this way. Especially the catholic church, which has a pretty notorious history of abusing children itself.

But it is worth acknowledging the nuance that in reality, child protective services are almost always dead fucking useless. I hate when I have to call them, nothing fills me with more dread as a clinician, because I know what's almost inevitably going to happen- families get upset with me, everyone's freaked out and anxious, if I'm treating a child they're going to be scared about being taken away from their parents, if I'm treating an adult they're either going to be pissed off with me or anxious or both. Often the opportunity to actually help the family is compromised. And then CPS will either hear my report and say "we can't do anything sorry" or they'll visit the family one time and then close the case. It is rare, in my experience, that they actually intervene in a way that anyone finds helpful. It is rare that they provide the kinds of supports and services that actually do prevent child abuse. And it is rare that a child is actually removed from an abusive situation. And in the circumstances where they are, it's usually traumatizing for the entire family system. Anyone who's worked adjacent to the foster care system will know how badly this can go.

It is also worth noting that this system can be exploited, and it certainly can be racist. Black and brown parents are significantly more likely to be reported for child abuse, and black and brown children are significantly more likely to be removed from their homes on the rare case that CPS actually does decide to intervene. The system is often punitive, not supportive, and it frequently upholds white supremacy. And I think, very often, the thing CPS is supposed to do- protect children from abuse- doesn't actually happen. Maybe every once in a while a child's life is saved. But many more children are only further traumatized. Many many more are not protected, and abuse continues to happen behind closed doors. Many who are removed from their abusive families end up in equally if not more abusive foster homes. Around and around it goes.

So I am not saying that priests deserve some special exception to the law just because they're priests and just because they work in a religious setting. A mandated reporter is a mandated reporter, there should be no exceptions. But it is worth having a conversation about whether or not mandated reporting itself actually helps anyone. It is worth having a conversation about whether or not CPS actually does any good, and it is worth having a conversation about how this system more often than not fails to protect children and families and is instead used as an extension of the police force. Is this really the best way to help prevent or stop child abuse? I certainly don't think it is.

in case anyone was forgetting what the church was all about

[ohnoitstbskyen]

What are some resources for people who want to better get into and analyze character design? I’ve been seeing posts in relation to a franchise I enjoys character design, and unlike a lot of people, I’d like to have my opinion be a bit more informed.

I always struggle to answer this kind of thing because my answer is "read a lot of criticism and maybe get a humanities degree in something."

This is art, so it's not really... there isn't really a handbook for this stuff. Everything in character design is utterly contextual, basically every rule that's true in one place is reversed in another.

I wish there were some books I could recommend, but the trouble is every time I've tried a book claiming to be "about character design" they tend to devolve into art tutorial books, or only speak to one very specific genre, or are more like personal treaties from specific artists outlining their specific approach.

All of these can be useful, to be clear! I'm not saying they're not worthwhile books. But I've yet to find something that addresses what people usually seem to be asking for, which is something like a learner's guide, or a kind of "introduction to character design."

ngl about five minutes away from deciding to write a book on character design myself, at least the very, very basics, it bothers me that somebody smarter than me hasn't done it yet

Most of what you need in order to understand and critique character design, though, you will find in art and literary history and in media studies of various forms. Learning a bit about semiotics is useful, learning a bit about media criticism and critical scholarship is useful.

Character design is a big complicated soup of things, so there's a big complicated list of ingredients that go into it. Read broadly, study broadly, the more things you understand and are familiar with, the more complex your thinking about design can become.

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Collision 12/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : SMAU, Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : SMUT (MDNI)

CHAPTER 12 :

Serie Masterlist

After the sun-drenched beach day, the golden glow of Brazil shifted into dusky pastels, warm oranges melting into lavender skies, soft shadows stretching over cobblestones. The group had retreated to the villa just long enough to shower off the salt, toss on some linen and perfume, and reemerge looking like they belonged in a vacation ad. 

They were headed out for dinner, not just any dinner, but the kind of magical, open-air seaside restaurant that only existed in memories and movie scenes. The table was long and candlelit, the ocean close enough to hear, and the air still smelled like coconut and sea salt. 

Lando was the first to walk down the cobbled street, flanked by the guys. 

He wore a white linen shirt, open just enough to show his chest, light-wash jeans slung low on his hips, a couple of chains glinting around his neck. He looked tanned, confident, and completely relaxed, until the moment she stepped out. 

Ariana wore a flowing, blush pink halter dress that danced around her ankles with every step. The fabric floated like air, cinched just slightly beneath her chest with a silver brooch. Her hair was down in loose waves, a single flower tucked behind her ear. 

And when she looked at him, cheeks a little flushed from the heat, barefoot sandals on her injured foot, Lando felt like the entire world tilted toward her. 

“You,” he said under his breath, barely audible. 

Ariana smiled softly. “Me?” 

“You’re not real.” 

She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Don’t start. I’ll blush.” 

“You already are.” 

He took her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Let’s go, love.” 

The restaurant was alive with music and laughter. 

Everyone ordered cocktails, too many, probably. Max started a round of shots before the appetizers even landed. Kika and Pietra shared a fruit bowl cocktail so huge it came with a ladle. Charles insisted on picking the wine and somehow mispronounced the name so dramatically it became the night’s running joke. 

“Did you say Pinot Grisssssio?” Alexandra asked, laughing so hard she spilled her drink. 

Carlos leaned toward Ariana. “You know, Lando hasn’t stopped talking about you.” 

Lando gave him a death glare across the table. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Carlos grinned. “The man’s been walking around like a puppy with your name on his collar.” 

Ariana chuckled, eyes flicking to Lando’s. “That true?” 

Lando raised his glass. “No comment.” 

Pietra winked at her. “I’ve never seen him like this. It’s disgustingly adorable.” 

Eventually, full of food and warmth and far too many sugary drinks, they left the restaurant and wandered toward the beach. 

The group splintered, some skipping ahead, some linking arms, others leaning on each other. The moon had risen, casting silver across the dark waves, and the sand was soft beneath their feet. 

Lando stayed behind with Ariana. 

She walked slowly, barefoot, dress trailing along the sand, her arm looped around his for balance. 

“You okay?” he asked, watching her carefully. 

She nodded. “I’m great. Just… tired.” 

He smiled, shifting their pace. “Let’s take our time.” 

The others were distant shadows ahead, laughter echoing faintly. For a long while, they walked in quiet, only the hush of waves and the breeze in her hair between them. 

Ariana looked up at the stars. “Do you ever think about how lucky we are?” 

“All the time,” he said. “Especially right now.” 

She paused. “I was really scared, you know.” 

“When you got hurt?” 

She nodded. “It felt like everything I was built around disappeared. I didn’t know who I was anymore. And then… you answer my call.” 

He stopped walking. 

Turned to face her. 

“I didn’t just answer your call.” 

She looked up at him. 

“I answer because I missed you,” he continued, voice quieter now. “Because nothing felt the same after I left. I kept hearing your voice in my head. Seeing your face. I didn’t want this to be some short thing that ends with a flight.” 

Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak. 

“I know we didn’t define it,” he added. “But I want to. I want us to mean something. Even if we’re in different countries. Even if life gets messy. I’ll figure it out. If you want me to.” 

Ariana blinked once. Twice. 

Then said, almost whispering, “I want that too.” 

A soft smile grew on his lips. 

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m completely, stupidly, utterly into you.” 

She laughed, stepping forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

And under the stars, toes in the sand, she kissed him. 

Not like the other kisses. 

This one was slow, reverent. Like she was thanking the universe. Like she was finally allowing herself to fall. 

His hands found her waist, then her back, then her jaw, tugging her closer with the kind of desperation that came from days of restraint. Her body pressed into his, the cool breeze brushing between them, the sea singing its soft lullaby. 

When they broke apart, both breathless, he rested his forehead to hers. 

“I love this dress,” he whispered. 

She smiled. “You should see what’s under it.” 

He growled softly, half-laughing. “That’s dangerous talk.” 

“Walk me back?” she asked. 

“Anywhere.” 

And together, hand in hand, they walked slowly back along the moonlit shore, the others still distant ahead of them, their world tucked inside one quiet, perfect night. 

They didn’t speak the whole way back. 

They didn’t need to. 

Lando carried her in his back for the last few metters after she loose balance too many time on her injured feet. Ariana curled up against him, her cheek tucked into his shoulder, the blush pink dress whispering against his skin with every step. The sand clung to their feet, and the humid Brazilian night made her skin warm and soft in his arms. 

When they reached the villa’s gates, a few of the others were still lingering on the patio, Kika and Pierre tangled in a chair, Max nursing a beer and a sunburn, Carlos and Charles deep in some chaotic debate about who finished the shots first. 

The second Lando stepped through the garden path, with Ariana in his arms, the noise shifted. 

“Ayyyyy,” Max called, raising his bottle. “Here they are!” 

Pierre laughed. “He’s literally carrying her. Are you kidding me?” 

Rebecca clutched her chest dramatically. “True romance.” 

Kika grinned. “Don’t drop her, Norris.” 

“Shut up,” Lando said, but he was smiling, because he didn’t care. Not one bit. 

He didn’t pause. Just walked right past them all, Ariana tucked in his arms like she belonged there, her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt. 

When they reached their room, someone whistled low behind them. 

“I hope the walls are thick!” Charles shouted. 

The moment the door slammed behind them, Lando caught her against it, mouth crashing into hers in a kiss that was more hunger than grace. Hands roamed wildly, her waist, her back, his fingers tangled in her hair, like he couldn’t decide what he needed to touch first. 

He kissed her hard, reckless, pulling breathless moans from her throat as he ground her body to the wall, his cock already straining desperately against the denim of his jeans. 

“God, I missed you,” he groaned against her lips, biting gently at her jaw. 

"Show me," she whispered, voice already shaking. 

Lando practically lifted her off her feet, carrying her the few stumbling steps to the bed. He set her down at the edge, but didn’t back off. His hands were already at the knot of her dress, yanking at the silky fabric like it offended him. 

“Is this okay?” he panted, breathless. 

“Yes," she gasped. "Please, Lando." 

The dress hit the floor in seconds, leaving her in just a wisp of lace panties, flushed and trembling, already breathless. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, falling to his knees between her thighs without hesitation. 

He didn't tease. Didn't waste a second. 

His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her open. He buried his face in her pussy, licking one long, filthy stripe through her folds before sealing his mouth around her clit. 

Ariana let out a broken cry, her head falling back, fists tangling in his curls. 

He groaned into her, the vibrations making her hips buck, grinding shamelessly against his mouth. 

"You taste so good, my love," he murmured against her, then dove back in — lapping at her like he was starving, like nothing else existed but her. 

He slid two fingers inside her at the same time, pumping them deep, curling up into the perfect spot, while his tongue flicked relentlessly over her clit. 

It was overwhelming. 

She was already soaked, trembling, helpless against the onslaught. 

“Lando—fuck—I’m—” she sobbed, thighs squeezing around his head. 

He grunted and sucked harder, fingers working faster. 

She shattered, loud, wild, crying his name as she came on his tongue, thighs quivering, pulling his hair so hard he moaned against her. 

He didn’t stop. 

He worked her through it, drawing every last spasm from her until she collapsed back onto the bed, panting, too sensitive and dizzy to think. 

Only then did he finally lift his head, chin shiny, eyes dark and wrecked. 

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning darkly. 

He stripped fast, shirt, jeans, boxers, his cock flushed and thick, slapping against his stomach. 

Ariana reached for him, wrapping her hand around him, and he hissed, hips jerking forward into her palm. 

"You're trying to kill me," he muttered, grabbing her wrist and pushing her back onto the bed. 

He grabbed a condom from the nightstand, ripped it open with trembling fingers, and rolled it on fast. 

Then he was on top of her, body heavy and solid and hot against hers, kissing her hard again as he lined himself up and pushed inside in one brutal, perfect thrust. 

They both cried out, Ariana clawing at his shoulders, Lando gasping like he was drowning. 

He set a hard, punishing rhythm, fucking her deep and fast, grinding into her clit every time he slammed back. The bed rocked, the headboard slammed rhythmically into the wall, and neither of them cared. 

"Harder," she begged, nails raking down his back. 

Lando growled and pinned her wrists above her head, thrusting even deeper, until her breath was ripped from her lungs with every movement. 

But after a while, she shoved at his chest, panting, desperate. 

"Let me," she gasped. "I want to ride you." 

His eyes went wide, feral. He flipped them instantly, collapsing onto his back and dragging her on top of him. 

Ariana wasted no time, grabbing his cock, lining herself up, and sinking down onto him in one slow, devastating slide. 

Lando howled, a raw, broken sound, hands flying to her hips, grabbing hard enough to bruise. 

"Fuck, Ari—" he choked out, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. 

She started moving, slow, grinding rolls of her hips, dragging her clit perfectly against his pelvis. 

Lando’s hands flexed on her hips, trying to stay still, trying not to lose it. 

"You like this?" she teased, voice wrecked and breathless. 

He just groaned, loud, desperate, the sound tearing straight from his chest. 

He thrust up into her involuntarily, hips jerking, chasing her heat like he couldn’t help himself. 

"You’re so fucking good," he gasped. "Gonna fucking come if you keep doing that." 

Ariana laughed breathlessly, riding him harder — bouncing in messy, frantic thrusts that had Lando clawing at her waist, totally wrecked under her. 

But her thighs started shaking, muscles burning, her rhythm faltering. 

"Lando—my legs—" 

He kept his hands tight on her hips but didn’t flip her again. 

Instead, he thrust up into her, hard, deep strokes from underneath, slamming into her again and again. 

Ariana sobbed, body rocking helplessly, her hands grabbing at his chest for balance. 

He pounded into her, panting against her skin, whispering her name like a prayer. 

“Come for me, love,” he gasped. “Come with me.” 

And she did, hard, clenching around him with a cry, body locking up, eyes squeezed shut. 

Lando followed almost instantly a wrecked, desperate groan tearing from his throat, thrusting deep and grinding hard as he spilled into the condom, body trembling under hers. 

They collapsed into a sweaty, tangled heap, Ariana sprawled over his chest, both of them gasping like they’d run a marathon. 

Lando’s arms wrapped tight around her, holding her against him like he physically couldn’t let go. 

He kissed her hair, her shoulder, the side of her neck, small, dazed kisses between every ragged breath. 

"You okay?" she asked, teasing gently, still panting. 

He just moaned weakly against her neck. 

"Lando," she teased, laughing softly. "You’re suffocate me right now." 

He groaned again, louder this time and flipped them onto their sides, tucking her under his chin like a blanket he refused to give up. 

"Can't’ help myself," he mumbled against her hair. "M’serious. You’re perfect." 

Ariana curled into his chest, her fingers drawing soft patterns over his heart. 

Lando kissed the top of her head. 

“I didn’t know it could feel like that,” she whispered. 

“Me neither.” 

“I think I’m in love with you.” she confess. 

His arms tightened. 

“I know I’m in love with you.” Lando answers. 

And beneath the stars still shining through the window, they held each other. 

Not just after sex. 

Not just after the high. 

But after the start of something real. 

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @knivesdoingcartwheels, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12

Let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist !

[zoyaspoetry]

I know that you guys could be surprised cuz last few posts were about Halsey. Ah, i knew that this moment will come here one day and basically i should explain why i like her so fking much.

I'm gonna do this in 2 versions - polish and english cuz i know that i have both types of readers here. ;-)

There we go - english at first (polish later, after my shift at work).

I was 19 when I discovered Halsey here on Tumblr. I was 19 and depressed, so Tumblr was some kind of med for me. First her song - Young God, which i reconized cuz of this post. I was looking for a new music anyway, so maybe that was a sign, huh? It was something new, something magic... And i was like "wtf, it can't be true, why is she so fking great?" - i swear, i was shocked for next few days. Finally i found someone who understands me in 100%. This is how i discovered BADLANDS - her 1st album. Now i just feel tears in my eyes, cuz i didn't expect then that her music is gonna save my life... like 665734 times. She was first person, who understands what i had in my head and what i wanted to say. Do you know how is it when you don't understand yourself, when people around you don't understand you and then you discovered artist, who FINALLY KNOWS WHAT DID YOU MEAN? I was devastated. Her music shocked me at first and broke me into small, tiny pieces. So many memories i have in my head right now. I posted a video from her yesterday's concert where she's singing "Drive" and i just felt like Im 21 again and all what i can see is colorful sky, 5 a.m, and my ex-boyfriend sitting with me in his car and we are sooo tired, happy, even when Im manic again and Im gonna break him. This song is about him, i swear. It's about every fking moment, when we were drinking raspberry tea, smoking cigarettes at 3 a.m, talking and laughing. I think BADLANDS changed something in me. This is one of my favorite albums EVER. All of this is about my roots. About being a Tumblr princess, colorful hair, glitter, tiny dresses, heavy shoes (I should focus on my job right now, but all what i can do is being crushed cuz i feel like 19 again).

Halsey is a great lyrics creator. Her words every fking time resonate with me (maybe cuz she's bipolar as well, which i realized few years later). Sometimes she's just singing something what i can't even describe. She's brave and in simply way saying everything what i wanted to say, but sometimes i just couldn't. Today, almost 10 years later, I can't imagine what could happen with me without her music. I'm so grateful that i could discover her music. This is one of many good things Tumblr gave me.

I believe that one day I'll meet her at her concert and I'll be able to say how grateful I'm. She was my support in almost every moment of my adult life. When i was broken, depressed, crazy, insane. When love sucked for me, when i felt misunderstood, when i needed power and being sure that i'm doing right things. Even when i didn't understand myself. SHE LITERALLY SAVED MY LIFE. When i was sure I'm gonna die soon, i just listened her music and i was better.

This is one of the most personal thing in my life, more personal than things i did when i was manic. I wish that everyone can discover her music and her as a person. Everyone should be grateful cuz without her... I would be fking dead long time ago.

(polish version later, so stay tuned and sorry for my being emotional lol)

Thank you @tiredandlonelymuse for everything. You're my queen since you started your music adventure and it's not gonna change, like never. You have saved many, many lives. Mine as well.

hold me down x roman holiday x young god

halsey + swimming pools

do not remove caption

[oneofstarkskids]

redemption

THUNDERBOLTS* END CREDITS SPOILERS:

genre; angst with a splash of fluff

summary: bucky knows that even when he feels like there's no one he can rely on, nobody who's willing to stay, you'll be right there beside him.

"it went poorly," bucky tells yelena about his call to sam. part of bucky wanted to be angry with sam.

how could he sit there, knowing this was what bucky's always wanted- purpose, redemption- and try to take it away from him?

at the same time, bucky felt almost guilty. like it was his own fault. he should've done something. said something. told everyone it was another one of valentina's scams.

but he couldn't. not when there were so many people cheering and chanting for him. they weren't calling him the winter soldier. a monster. not a criminal, but an avenger.

a true hero.

he went home to you, heart feeling heavy.

"hey sweetheart," you greeted him at the door, wrapping your arms around his neck.

you ran your hands through his blown out curls, brushing them out of his pretty face. you noticed the tired look in his eyes. "everything okay?"

he sighed before pulling you into him, caging you against him in a crushing embrace.

you didn't push the matter. you just let him hold you like that for as long as he needed, and eventually he sat down and confided in you.

"sam called," he started, but paused. you smiled a bit at the mention of your friend. he'd been there countless times for both you and bucky.

bucky had gone to visit him about a year ago, but it had been awhile since you had talked to him without having to dial his number.

"how is he?" you asked.

"he's suing me," he said flatly. you furrowed your brows and shook your head, trying to wrap your mind around it. "well, not just me, the new avengers. for copyright."

it suddenly made sense.

"oh, bucky," you sat down next to him, interlocking his metal fingers with your flesh ones.

he kept his gaze on the floor, "he was pissed. and maybe he has every right to be."

you didn't say anything. what could you say?

you could see it from sam's point of view. he was an avenger. and he'd lost so many of his teammates.

bucky had even told you that sam was planning to rebuild the avengers a while back. you were so sure that he would've asked bucky to join.

but it looks like he never got the chance.

and bucky. your bucky. this meant so much to him. it's not like he went out searching for it. this team, these lonely, messed up people, just happened to fall right in his lap.

they were just like him. people who'd fucked up beyond redemption.

but here they were, getting the clean slate each of them had only ever dreamt of.

he was supposed to throw that all away?

he rested his forehead on your shoulder, "i don't know what to do. you know, after steve..." you waited for him to finish, knowing it was a rough topic.

"after steve left, i thought i would never have that kind of bond with anyone else," he whispered.

"besides you, of course," he looked up at you with a lopsided grin.

you smiled back, softly.

"but then sam and i...we really started to understand each other. we were forced to work together, and despite him being an annoying pain in my ass... he's filled the emptiness that steve left behind." his face contorts with pain.

you took his face into your hands, thumbs brushing across his cheeks.

"what if he never forgives me?" he asks the question that leaves the room thick with the loss and pain he's lived with his entire life.

you shook your head once more, "buck, don't say that. he's sam. he's pissed off, probably hurting, but he loves you."

"a brief argument over the phone is never going to change that. you two will work this out," you said confidently. it helped that you truly believed the words coming out of your mouth.

there were some bumps in the road of bucky and sam's relationship, but ultimately, they were the captain and his sergeant. inseparable.

bucky was in awe of you. your unwavering faith in him. your never-ending love and support. his blue eyes shined with affection.

"i'm glad that it's you by my side, doll," he whispered. "even if nobody else is."

you pressed your forehead against his and frowned, "which they are."

he couldn't help but chuckle at how adamant you were.

"c'mere," he lifted your chin slightly and kissed you tenderly, his love for you evident in the way his lips lingered against your own.

[graywaynewriter]

Between Graysons

Warnings: threesome, unprotected sex (wrap it!), a bit of jealousy?, dirty talk, oral (m & freviving), fem! Reader, mark is kinda cocky??,

☆

You weren’t expecting them here.

Not tonight. Not like this. And certainly not both Grayson!

You’d just gotten out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, steam still clinging to your skin. A knock at the door made your heart jump, and before you could answer, it opened—first Mark, pacing like he’d been standing outside for hours.

He looked… flushed. Agitated. Like he had something boiling in his chest.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, voice low and tight. “Now.”

You barely had time to respond when another knock—sharper this time—came at the still-open door. And in walked Dick, casual in a dark t-shirt, his arms crossed, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

“Oh,” he said, glancing between you and Mark. “You didn’t tell me you were expecting company.”

Mark’s body went rigid. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Dick stepped closer, his tone smooth, but there was heat behind it. “Thought you were busy saving the world, Grayson.”

You blinked, caught between the two. “Wait—Grayson?” Your stomach dropped. “You two know each other?”

“Oh, we do,” Dick said, not taking his eyes off Mark. “And I know a lot more now. Like how you’ve been sneaking around with my girl.”

“She’s not—” Mark turned to you, eyes wide. “Wait, is that true? Are you with him?”

“I didn’t know you two—” You swallowed hard, backing up slightly. The tension in the room was electric, unbearable. “This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

“So it’s true,” Dick said flatly, stepping forward. “You’ve been sneaking around with both of us.”

Mark’s jaw clenched. “You’re not exactly innocent either. I didn’t realize you were such a goddamn hypocrite.”

“You’re not mad because I touched her. You’re mad because she liked it.” He gave

“Don’t act like you know what she wants.”

“Then maybe she should choose,” Dick said, his voice darkening. His eyes flicked to you again, burning. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Tell us.”

Two sets of eyes. Two bodies taut with tension, chests rising and falling. One sweet, one sharp. Both possessive. Both desperate to be the one you wanted. You clutched the towel tighter, pulse pounding.

“…What if I don’t want to choose?”

Silence.

Mark blinked. Dick raised an eyebrow.You took a step closer, voice barely above a whisper.

“What if I want both?” You admit. You felt your body tremble and your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you confessed your feelings. You had never imagined saying these words, especially not in front of the two men you had been hoping would be shocked and speechless. At this point, you were at a loss for words.

Mark’s lips parted slightly, eyes wide and full of disbelief, but not denial. His gaze dropped to the towel still clinging to your curves, throat working hard to swallow whatever thoughts were flashing through his mind.

Dick, on the other hand, stepped closer, slow, deliberate, like a predator stalking prey. His voice dropped low, velvet and dangerous.

“You want both of us?” he murmured, tilting his head. “You sure you can handle that, sweetheart? Handle us?” he asks as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. His finger gliding down to trace your jaw and down to your chin.

Your heart thudded in your chest. Biting your lip you utter something that seals your feet

“Try me.”

Your towel was gone, and their hands were all over you. But it was Mark who moved first.

“Fuck—look at you,” he growled, eyes raking over your body like he had every right to. “Bet you’ve been thinking about this. Thinking about me.”

Before you could answer, he was on you—his mouth crashing into yours, one hand gripping your jaw, the other sliding down to your thigh. His kiss was filthy, hot and dominant, tongue demanding.

“You’re already so wet,” he muttered, fingers slipping between your legs. “You get like this when you’re caught between two guys, huh? You like being the center of attention?”

You whimpered as his fingers found your clit, rubbing in slow, tight circles.

And then there was Dick, stepping forward like a storm cloud breaking into soft rain. He touched your arm gently, eyes locked on yours. He gave you a smirk and asked

“Are you ready Princess?”

You nodded—desperate, trembling—and Dick kissed you like you were breakable. His lips moved slowly, as though memorizing the curve of your mouth. His hands were gentle, brushing over your waist and stomach, soothing while Mark was all fire behind you.

“You’re beautiful,” Dick whispered, forehead resting against yours.

Dick sank to his knees in front of you, kissing down your stomach, hands steady on your hips. “Just let me take care of you.”

Mark moved behind, tugging you into him. You could feel his cock pressing against you—thick, hard, ready. His mouth grazed your shoulder.

“You’re mine tonight,” he murmured darkly. “He can have a taste. I’m giving you the real thing.”

Dick’s mouth met your core, slow and skilled. He licked you like a man devoted—thorough, passionate, eyes closed like he was savoring every second. His tongue moved in slow circles, soft groans vibrating against your heat. His blue eyes looking into yours so soft and warm. He gave a long lick up your slit, his lips coming to suction your bundle of nerves again.

Mark grunted behind you, watching. “You’re fucking soaking. You like his tongue that much?”

His lips come to your ear as they brush against the skin and whisper “Imagine how good my cock’s gonna feel, baby.”

You cried out—overstimulated already, clinging to Mark as Dick worshipped you from below and Mark filled whispered sweet, dirty nothings to you. His hands cupping your breasts and tweaking your nipples

“Get on the bed,” mark ordered. “On your hands and knees.” You obeyed, dizzy with pleasure.

Mark grabbed your hips, lining himself up. “Beg for it.”

“Please—Mark—”

“Louder.”

“Please, fuck me!”

He slammed into you in one smooth thrust.

“God—fuck—” you moaned, back arching. He was so deep. So full. Mark held your hips and thrust hard, each movement confident and rough. “That’s it, baby. Moan for me. Let him hear it.”

Dick was beside you, kissing your face, stroking your hair as Mark fucked you senseless from behind. His lips touching every trace of skin that they could coming down to suck on your nipples. His hand wandering down to his own belt, buckle where he loosens the article. His cock is freed as he goes to himself.

“You’re doing so good,” Dick whispered, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “So perfect. Can I…?”

You nodded, mouth slack knowing what he meant. He gave you a soft smirk and moved to his knees and knelt in front of your mouth—and he slid into your mouth with a hiss.

Now you were filled at both ends. Mark pounding into you, filthy and possessive. Dick in your mouth, soft and praising. slow, deliberate, sinking down until he hit the back of your throat. Dick’s head fell back with a moan, his hand came to tangle into your hair as his hips buck into you slowly

“God, you feel incredible,” he choked out, hips twitching slightly.

You bobbed your head, swirling your tongue around his tip, tasting every drop of him. His thighs trembled beneath your hands, muscles flexing as he tried not to thrust.

Mark couldn’t stop watching. “Holy shit…”

He crawled closer, eyes locked on your mouth working over Dick’s cock. “You look so good like that….almost as good as when she was sucking me off,” Mark comments recalling those days where he had you in the position

“God, you feel incredible,” he choked out, hips twitching slightly.

You bobbed your head, swirling your tongue around his tip, tasting every drop of him. His thighs trembled beneath your hands, muscles flexing as he tried not to thrust. Dick couldn’t help the moans and grains that slipped past his lips as he twitched in your mouth

“O-oh fuck! I’m coming!”

With a strangled grown, he studies his hips into your mouth as he finishes down your throat his pants fill the room as you look up at him and swallow the contents in your mouth. Pulling his cock out of your mouth carefully, a string of saliva still connecting you,

Mark couldn’t stop watching. “Holy shit…” you could feel Mark stutter his hips. A clear sign he was coming to his end, one that you knew all too well. You couldn’t help but moan around his cock as your back started to arch feeling your orgasm come closer and closer

“Good….good girl…” he said, slamming into you harder. He can feel you constricting around him, pulsing around his cock, and he’s had enough times to know when you were going to come “Let it happen. Let me have you….come for me…”

Your orgasm tore through you like a wave, thighs shaking, hands gripping him for dear life as he fucked you through it, hips never slowing. The sound of skin on skin, your moans, and Marks growls filled the room.

Dick kissed your shoulder softly, murmuring, “That’s it… so good for us…”

Mark followed with a strangled groan, pushing into you and filling you to the brim, panting like he’d just flew around the world in mere seconds. He pulls out and dropped beside you, one arm slung across your waist, the other brushing your cheek.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, possessive and soft. “You hear me?”

Dick’s hand slid over your hips and caress the skin. “Ours.” He corrected the hero

-🧚🏼

🔖: @dazedin2d @kindred2000000 @ryngzmn @stars-eclipsing

[33forthew1n]

⋆.𐙚˚ bent out of shape ⋆.𐙚˚

🏎️❣️ charles leclerc x pilatesyoutuber!reader 🏎️❣️

trope: fake dating

SMAU- faceclaim: alexandra st mleux

synopsis: due to recent rumors swirling around about charles's relationship ending due to infidelity, ferrari's pr team is scrambling to fix his image. enter: yn, a popular pilates youtuber in need of more subscribers. whose to say they aren't a match made in (pr) heaven?

WARNINGS: swearing

a/n: hope you enjoy 🥹 interact however you please!

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

everyone in the paddock knew how it went with charles and his relationships. he dates a girl for a few years, gives her a bullshit excuse that ends the relationship, then runs to their best friend. it was a tried and true method, really.

so, why was this time so different? well, his ex-girlfriend alexandra amassing over two million followers meant she had become popular both in the paddock and online. with popularity came fans and with fans came the inevitable hive mind. said hive mind was now commenting on every one of his instagram posts with hate.

now, did charles really care about the hate? no, not really.

on the other hand, ferrari's pr team made it quite clear they did care.

after all, the prancing horse had an image to maintain and it wasn't one of two timing and scandal.

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

"we saved your ass the last two times this happened, charles. what the hell do we do now?", exclaimed mia, charles' pr manager.

"is it even that big a deal? so what, they took pictures of me and her friend kissing? like you said, it's happened before. we can just wait a few weeks and everyone will have forgotten about it by then", replied charles in exasperation, clearly not seeing the big deal the team did.

"you know how popular she has become, charles. she has serious brand pull and we can't lose out on any sponsorship money at all", mia said, rolling her eyes at his idiocy.

now the team were at a stand still. what do they do regarding charles' image and the team's brand pull?

"e-excuse me?", a pr intern interjected, raising her hand as if she was still in grade school.

"uh...yes?", mia asked.

"how about we bury this scandal by faking a relationship with someone popular and well liked. not an a-lister, but someone that the press would be more interested in than a nobody", said the mystery pr intern.

"you know what...that's not half bad."

"wouldn't be the first time you've started dating an hour after breaking up with your previous girlfriend", said mia, dragging charles as if it was a pastime. "geez, thanks. i don't know how i feel about dating someone random just for likes. what do i tell my family?? my friends? i don't think this is a great idea at all", charles said, obviously hesitant to participate in the intern's master plan.

"it's either this or we put you on a strict no dating ban. you pick", mia threatened.

"ooook, looks like we're being extreme. fine. fake dating it is".

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

throughout the next few days, charles' pr team looked for a possible "girlfriend".

yet, they struggled to find someone perfectly suited to the job.

that was until charles jokingly suggested a pilates influencer with a steady 5 million subscribers on YouTube (in hindsight he should have known better than to even jokingly suggest anything to help). a 24-year-old spanish woman who goes by "ynlates" on all social media.

ynlates

Liked by 865,537 users

ynlates hey angels 💕 long time no workout so...new video's up on on my channel @ynlates! 30 mins of full-body pilates for all my baddies 🧘‍♀️

view comments ⬇️

madfit LOVEEE what a good sweat 😅💦

^❤️ by author

fitwithjojo bbg what a bod ❣️ good one!

^❤️ by author

randomuser092 the only workouts i'll do :)

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

and so the ferrari pr team went through all her social media profiles; from looking for a sketchy background to seeing if she had been in any public controversies. after a 2 day long search, yn came up clean.

now it was time for them to contact her.

To: ynlates@business.com

Cc/Bcc, From: mia@ferrari.pr.com

Subject: PR Opportunity

Greetings, Yn Ln. This is Mia, Charles Leclerc's head of PR. If you are unaware, Charles Leclerc is a Scuderia Ferrari Formula One driver and we would be pleased to see the two of you collaborate together on a project. With this project we aim to boost your following and improve Charles' image. We would like to see you in person on 26/1 at Maranello, Italy. If you are interested we will send you plane tickets, book your hotel, and pay all expenses. Sinceretly

Mia (Head of Scuderia Ferrari PR)

and so Ferrari waited. and waited. six days after mia had sent that email, she got a response.

yn was more than happy to. if mia was just 1% more pessimistic, she'd question yn's sanity. but, whatever. she had to get charles out of these murky waters and fast.

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

yn had never been much of a sports fan. her best friend, hannah, on the other hand never stopped yapping about formula one. lando norris this, DRS that. yap yap yap.

so when she got an email from a mia individual she clicked on it and to her suprise it was f1 related. ok, maybe not "here are some race tickets from a mysterious sugar daddy" but it was still about the motorsport. just seemed like a scam, but she still decided to respond by accepting the offer to go to italy out of sheer curiousity.

when the "mia" lady sent her the tickets and all the information she started panicking. "what the hell is this "pr opportunity" and how is it worth a whole ass italy trip?" yet, before she could truly freak the hell out, she called hannah. "han. i think i'm going to meet CHARLES LERCLERC in a week??", she stressed into her phone.

"h- WHAT THE HELL?? CHARLES FRICKING LECLERC??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?", hannah yelled into her ear.

there goes her hearing.

"his pr lady sent me an offer for a collaboration of sorts, i don't know!!! i mean, what can a pilates youtuber have to collaborate with a formula one driver for?"

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

turns out, a lot.

a whole fake relationship lot.

after a tour of ferrari headquartes in maranello, mia got right down to it in a conference room.

"liking italy so far?", mia asked yn innocently.

"oh, yes. thank you so much by the way! it's all wonderful, i'm not quite sure how i can pay you all back", yn responded, wide-eyed and confused at how this even happened.

"by dating our driver for a few months and helping us clean up his image? haha, just an idea!", mia said, throwing the idea out there as if she was asking for a simple favor.

dating their driver....as in charles?

she hadn't even met the guy.

she must have said that aloud as mia's next words were "we can arrange a meeting tomorrow if you accept our offer".

and so the next day, yn arrived at a little ristorante by the seaside. she wore a casual letterman jacket and jeans to meet her new potential boyfriend. "God, this is so strange", she thought to herself.

"ciao. are you yn?", she heard a male voice ask her as he sat in the chair opposite to hers.

"ciao, yes. yn ln. you're charles, i assume?"

"oui. uh- so my team told you about their offer? what do you think of it?", charles asked her.

"it's certainly an offer. may i ask though, what does a formula one driver gain from being seen dating some youtuber?", yn asked him in return.

"i have sponsors willing to pull out because of this stupid scandal. my team can't afford it and it is not fair of me to not do anything i can to keep the sponsors happy. not after all they have done for me and my career", charles said with all the genuinety a man could have.

now she sees why he's her best friend's favorite driver.

"look, i'm willing to help you out. but, in return i just ask that you protect me from hate. i've seen how badly sportsmen's girlfriends are treated and its unfair to them. can you do that for me?"

"yes, of course. would you like to order?", charles offered.

and so they ate dinner in lighthearted chatter under the moonlight.

then, as charles offered to drive her to her hotel they both heard the unmistakable sound of cameras clicking pictures. "fuck", said charles.

"let's go before they catch your face", charles whispered to her.

deuxmoi

Liked by pierregasly, cl16hq, and 3,016 others

deuxmoi New WAG? Charles Leclerc spotted in Maranello eating dinner with a smiley woman. Looks like someone's getting over their ex quite quickly. Who do you guys think @charles_leclerc 's new girl is? Another friend of an ex's? view comments ⬇️

user1644 already? damn he's faster than the SF25...

charlesfan16 what an invasion of privacy 😬 yikes...

f1fangirl092 "liked by pierregasly" WHAT DO YOU KNOW THAT WE DONT FRENCHIE 😞❌🥖

leclercfanboy09 bet this one won't last the season

randomuser0286 why does she look like @ynlates??

randomynfan09 omg...ur not wrong 😅

𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

yn had barely met the guy and already she was the talk of social media. every new story she posted, she got dozens of replies about charles and if they were dating.

at least, she got tons of new eyes on her page.

on charles' side of the equation, he was panicking. he wasn't over his ex and he worried if this was too fast for him to be moving on (though his subconciousness kept reminding him she was his FAKE girlfriend).

yet, charles knew this must have been much scarier for her than for him. after all, he was used to the crazy attention from fans and yn was certainly not. and since a few eagle-eyed fans had put two and two together, he knew she must have been getting DMs about their "relationship" already.

Charles Leclerc

charles_leclerc

Bonjour, Yn.

How have you been since the paparazzi pictures?

Hey, Charles. It's been scary but not horrible. Just something to get used to I guess, haha.

I've been meaning to ask you something.

Uh-oh. Already breaking up with me?

Lol, no. 😅

Would you like to come with me the Monaco Grand Prix?

Monaco? As in the crazy rich place?

Monaco as in my home country. It's a big deal for me. It would mean a lot if you came to see me race.

Oh! I see. I could try to move some things around. Could I stay with you?

Yes! I'll send you the details when we get closer to the date.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

leading up to the race weekend, yn and charles got much closer. they texted, called, and sent each other little gifts. yn sent charles some music sheets she found at a vintage shop while on a brand trip once while charles sent yn a new pilates set from a sponsor brand.

next thing they knew it was the weekend of the monaco grand prix.

yn arrived in monaco shortly before charles' media day duties began. he picked her up at the nice airport and drove her to his apartment in monte carlo.

"oh wow, charles. this is stunning. thanks for letting me stay with you this weekend. i know your probably overwhelmed and have to be laser focused, but you still took the time out of your week to tend to me", she smiled through her words.

"it's nothing, really. thanks for coming and supporting me. you'll have lots of fun at your first grand prix," charles promised her.

and that she did. come friday, yn made her paddock debut.

kymillman

Liked by ynlates, charles_leclerc, and 7,892 others

kymillman YN LN, CHARLES LECLERC'S NEW LADY?

Today, at the Monaco Grand Prix (evidently also Charles' home race) we have the pleasure of seeing Charles Leclerc's rumored new girlfriend stun the paddock. Yn Ln is a 24-year-old Spanish fitness influencer who Charles was recently photographed with. Would anyone like a video on her?

view comments ⬇️

annapetra902 very pretty 💕😍

f1fan02834 why is everything about their partner's these days?? so annoying and tabloidy

asmleuxfan0283 LOL she's trying to be alex 😬

overall, she was well recieved by charles' friends and coworkers. yet, how his family reacted to her was what truly interested her. though she wasn't his real girlfriend, something deep inside her heart wanted to be loved by his family.

at the ferrari hospitality, she saw a man around her own age that looked strikingly like a blonder charles. she heard charles call him over to where they were sitting, "thur, c'mere".

"oui. hello. and you are?"

"hi. yn...uh charles'...."

"my girlfriend. thur, meet yn ln. she's a fitness youtuber and we've been together for a few months", charles said, smiling all throughout his reveal.

the shock on arthur's face was evident. "had he not mentioned me at all to his family?", was the only thing yn was able to think at that moment.

then an older lady walked up to charles and snuck in a quick hug, "cha, ça va? (how's it going) qui est ton ami? (who is your friend?)"

"yn, this is my maman (mom). maman, this is my girlfriend- yn ln", charles said introducing the two most important women in his life. well, hypothetically the most important women of his life.

"oh! dear, sorry tor assuming. how are you, dear? cha didn't mention a girlfriend to us, but i'm glad to meet you", his mother said, fumbling over her words a bit.

charles blushed, clearly embarassed. in that moment his engineer called him over and he left yn with his family. he sheepishly smiled and mouthed a "sorry" to her as he was forced to go prepare for the race that starts in just a few hours.

yn herself felt a bit awkward too but decided there was no better time than the present to spread her social butterfly wings. and so during the lead up to the race she got to know charles' mother and younger brother.

she learned his mom, pascale, was a hairdresser in monaco and that she was the kindest soul she could ever meet.

she learned that his younger brother, arthur, was also in motorsport and that he was very much like charles but much snarkier and bolder.

she very quickly got on with the both of them and they told her it would be their pleasure for her to stay with them to watch the race together.

she texted charles, "good luck. you can win this one!! 😌❤️" and put her phone away promptly to go back to their conversation.

honestly, yn didn't know what to expect from the race. she hadn't watched a full race ever, but she does know enough to not make a complete fool of herself. her best friend had quizzed her on basic facts and little tidbits she should know before she left to monaco so she hoped that would come in handy.

yet, she hadn't expected to see her "boyfriend" win his home race. arthur and pascale were overjoyed and she could see charles' pure bliss when he was up at the top step of the podium.

after media duties, she congratuled charles and gave him a hug. maybe not the type of hug that established couples give, but it was a hug that gave her butterflies and charles another reason to smile.

"dinner, mon chéri (my darling)? i can get us in anywhere tonight. you say it, we go there", he said with the biggest grin on his face.

yn hadn't really expected a dinner invitation, instead thinking he would go party with his mates. "really? you wouldn't prefer to be with your friends at a club tonight?"

"pfft. as if. i have the prettiest woman in my monaco on my arm during the best day of my life. why would i spend it without her?", charles said, looking into her eyes like they were oceans he could drown in. the moment was intimate, that much they both knew. their relationship went from one of favors to friendship to...whatever this was. they weren't official but it was obvious to the both of them that they cared for each other so much more than they ever meant to.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

dinner was marvelous.

if yn wasn't already falling for charles, she certainly was now.

he pulled her chair out for her, ordered her favorite wine (how did he even remember that??), complimented her more times than she could count, but most of all he listened. he would ask her questions about herself that would leave her talking and talking and talking, yet he never once complained or made her feel like she was too much.

it was as if they were actually dating.

as they walked out of the restaurant, arms so close she could feel his jacket on her skin, she said to him, "you know, charles. this is like my ideal date. nice restaurant, good food, and even better company. you really know how to make a girl feel special."

"it's not hard to make an already special person feel their worth", he replied with sincere honesty in his eyes.

"if you keep saying things like that i'll think what we have is actually real", she mumbled, more to herself than to him.

"and what if i wanted us to be real?"

"i wouldn't say no", she said, now looking into his eyes.

"then, yn ln, would you like to be my real, not at all publicity stunt, girlfriend?", charles asked her with the biggest smile on his face.

"don't have to ask me twice. yes, cha, a million times yes", yn replied.

then charles leaned closer and held her face with both hands. he smiled down at her and then kissed her with the most beautiful amount of emotion and passion that yn had ever experienced.

though they may not have been actually dating the past few months, there was no doubt in either of their hearts of where they stood together. they were in love. through all of his bad race days, media speculation, her burnout, and their joint support for the other; they had grown to care for each other in a way neither of them had ever expected.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

the next day, yn woke up in charles' bed unexpectedly alone. she had been staying with him for the past two weeks, ever since she had arrived to see the grand prix.

then, when she rubbed her eyes to get the sleep out of them charles appeared.

"mon ange, good morning", charles smiled to her.

"good morning, cha. you're quite happy for morning time", she giggled.

"of course. i'm with you, why wouldn't i be?"

"charmer. what are we doing today?"

"well, before we do anything, could you check your phone for me?"

"you're acting suspicious, cha", she said, jokingly side-eyeing him.

charles_leclerc

Liked by ynlates, maxverstappen1, and 2.2 million others

charles_leclerc With my girl ❤️ @ynlates

view comments ⬇️

ynlates my love 🥹💕

^❤️ by author

charles leclerc mon ange 😘

scuderiaferrari loveliest couple in the paddock ❤️

user1644 they've only been in the paddock once??

scuderiaferrari ok and? point still stands 🙄

pascaleclerc 🤩🤩 un si charmant couple

^❤️ by author

"oh, cha. you didn't have to", yn said happily.

"non, i did. now that we are really together, i feel like screaming your name over the rooftops", charles insisted.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

two months later, it was the summer break and yn and charles had decided to spend it in monaco.

very recently, yn had started spending time with lewis and roscoe at the garage and loved every second of her time with the pup.

every day she would say to charles, "cha, you know you looove roscoe. wouldn't you like one of those?"

just last week he had said, "mon ange, i think YOU want a puppy. but, you know i'm not home often and taking care of it would end up just being your responsibility which i don't want to put that on you."

"charlie, i would be okay with caring for it! i need a friend for when your not around", she begged with puppy dog eyes of her own. they left the conversation there but little did she know that charles' masterplan had just begun.

he got in contact with the local rescue center and visited them on an off day. he hadn't really felt a connection to any of them until he saw a miniature long haired daschund with the name "leo" on the cage.

after signing the papers, he took little leo home to surprise yn.

"baby, close your eyes. you remember how you kept asking about a dog and i said no?"

"yes. sheesh, way to rub salt in a fresh wound, cha", she answered.

"non. open your eyes", he said with a smile on his face.

upon opening her eyes, she instantly fell in love with the pup in front of her.

"charles, oh my God. he's so cute! what's his name?"

"the rescue named him leo but we can change it if you want", he said, happy with her happiness.

"oh, leo leclerc. it's perfect. thank you, thank you, thank you charles!"

"you're welcome mon ange. he's worth the smile on your face", charles grinned.

ynlates's new story posted

ynlates

lando HES SO CUTE

charles_leclerc proud dog mom 🤩

monacorescue thank you for adopting this doggo!! ❤️🐾

lilyzneimer omgggg hes the cutest 🥹🥹🥹

𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

the season had been...eventful to say the least. charles and yn got together but also ferrari finally got their shit together. when the drivers got back from summer break, the grid quickly realized that ferrari's latest upgrades worked like a wonder and turned their dumpster into a rocket. and as if just he was just waiting for the moment to arrive, charles seized that opportunity and began to build a decent gap in the championship.

now that it was abu dhabi weekend, charles was 15 points ahead of oscar who was valiantly fighting to get ahead.

charles qualified first that weekend and oscar was just .006 seconds behind in second.

he knew he had to give it his all to win to this race and take home the championship.

yn was at the race, too. he wanted to show her that all her support wasn't for nothing. all the nights away from each other and the late days he spent training were worth it.

and that he did. oscar and lando in third had decided that fighting between themselves was more fun than getting the win so he went ahead and built a gap that he couldn't lose.

and once brian told him there was just one lap left, tears built up in his eyes. memories of countless laps in go karts as a kid, sleepless nights where he wanted to just fall asleep instead of go on the sim, and the heartbreak of missing that top step all came to mind.

most of all, yn came to mind. all the support she gave him and the love she showed him was what got him through all the rough times in the past year.

yet, now his moment to shine had come.

brian's voice came up in the radio, "CHARLES, SEI CAMPEONE DEL MUNDO. FERRARI IN CIMA!"

"YESSSS. FERRARI IN CIMA. GRAZIE A TUTTI", charles yelled into his radio in utter bliss.

in the garage, yn was in tears. she had heard charles go on and on about what it would mean to him and his family if he would win a championship. but, to come home with both the constructors and drivers' championship was a dream he hadn't let himself imagine that year.

in parc fermé, charles ran up to yn and she placed a kiss on his helmet. "i knew you could do it, my love. world champion!!!!"

"i couldn't do it without you, mon ange. é tutto grazie a ti", he said with tears as big as his smile in his eyes.

ynlates

Liked by f1, charles_leclerc, and 300,893 others

ynlates 🥹🥹❤️ MY LOVE DID IT. Number One in the world! In red! World class act @charles_leclerc

view comments ⬇️

charles_leclerc ❤️ could not have done it without you

^❤️ by author

scuderia ferrari our champion has never looked so good ❤️🏎️

f1 2025 WDC in red! 🏎️🏎️🏎️

lewishamilton Mighty year, mate. Congrats 🙏🏾

it may have all begun with a pr stunt, but it ended with a relationship that had as much love as it did good publicity.

[chimerafeathers]

#i don’t go here but i think mirabelle had every right to react the way she did #how was she supposed to know siffrin cared at all if they were acting like he didn’t? #secret goodness only gets you so far if you aren’t willing to be honest about it with the people you love (via @kaiju-lightning)

i don't know to what degree you "don't go here" (what context or information you have or don't have outside of what's in this post) but, if you didn't know, Siffrin isn't like. some asshole with a secret ultra-hidden deep-down heart of gold that no one can see. they're just kind of quiet a lot of the time, and when they do speak up, it's usually either lightly jokey or very sweetly supportive. Mirabelle doubting his motives is VERY much fueled by her anxiety; none of the others (including Bonnie, a pre-teen) sincerely think that Siffrin doesn't care about them, even after Siffrin spends a day burning all their bridges.

more specific spoilers ahead!

there's a flashback in the very beginning of the game where Siffrin remembers Mirabelle checking in with them, trying to make sure he's really willing to be on a dangerous quest with her, and he tells her point-blank that traveling with them all is the happiest he's ever been. they're being completely honest, but Mirabelle doesn't really know that! because like! how could that possibly be true?? they're on a dangerous quest that they may not survive, for a country that he has no ties to, AND THEY JUST LOST AN EYE??? it doesn't make sense that nothing in his life made him happier than they are right now! maybe they're teasing her, or just trying to make her feel better, or something that would make more sense than that.

Siffrin's also in the habit of reminding Mirabelle not to bite her nails too much when she's feeling anxious. they start visibly panicking whenever they think someone is upset (especially if he thinks it's his fault or it's aimed at him). they lost their eye protecting Bonnie and only really cared that Bonnie was safe afterwards. he spends a lot of time trying to be quietly reassuring or keeping people happy with his jokes. Isabeau at one point calls them nice, and says he "always listens to what everyone has to say, and always tries to give advice even though they're not always very good at it"—that's all specifically about pre-time-loop behavior!

it's really not a secret AT ALL that Siffrin cares about the party in general. the "secret" part is how MUCH and how DEEPLY they care. it's the difference between "yeah, we had a great time together! i really enjoyed hanging out with you. we should keep in touch and hang out again sometime" (where everyone thinks everyone else is at, emotionally) and "i care about all of you more than anyone else i've ever known and the thought of you leaving is painful, but i can't bear to ask you to stay with me when you all have lives and homes and jobs and families to get back to and i don't want to keep you from your goals. i'm fine with just 'keeping in touch.' it's FINE"

it's also worth noting that the "secret" part is also kiiiiinda a secret even to Siffrin himself? as in, they're trying so hard to accept the fact that everyone will leave, that it's completely normal and natural for them to go back to their own lives, that they're shoving all their feelings about that into a tiny box and burying it in the back of their mind.

all of this to say, yes, Mirabelle absolutely has a right to be upset when Siffrin hurts her! but the reason she reacts so strongly is that she struggles much more than the others to consistently read Siffrin's behavior as sincerely friendly, because of her own anxiety and hangups. it's NOT because Siffrin is outwardly cold, callous, rude, flippant, or anything like that at a baseline.

hope that clears things up!

i really love how intensely Mirabelle reacts to act 5 Siffrin botched friendquest.

Isabeau is mostly operating out of concern and, eventually, hurt. he already knows something’s up before Siffrin gets to him. he knows something truly awful must be wrong for Siffrin to be lashing out like they are, and as soon as he can’t handle the situation anymore, he leaves and asks (with strained cheer) for time apart to cool off.

most of Bonnie’s anger comes from being upset and afraid that Siffrin would willingly put themself in danger for no reason, when that’s exactly why they’ve been so unsettled since the eye incident. they hate that Siffrin values their own life so little, they hate that they’re the cause of any pain or loss for him, and here he is, putting himself in that situation AGAIN. on purpose. it’s loud and explosive, but it’s familiar, too, being “hated” by Bonnie for this reason.

Odile pushes, and keeps pushing, until her concern overwhelms Siffrin and they strike where they know she’s most vulnerable. she gets physical, just for a moment, grabbing his collar before controlling herself and letting go. her fury shuts down into cold detachment, and she walks away.

but Mirabelle—dear, sweet, gentle, loving Mirabelle, “the most wonderful being on earth,” with her secret “ruthless side” that largely involves lightly badmouthing people behind their backs and then apologizing—slaps them. immediately.

and then COMPLETELY RENOUNCES THEIR FRIENDSHIP.

not just “we’re not friends anymore,” but “we were never friends in the first place.”

that’s!!! pretty extreme!!!!

of course, she ALSO starts by asking what’s wrong. something must have happened for him to act like this. but as soon as Siffrin brushes her off, she jumps past that line of questioning and dives headfirst into re-evaluating everything she thought she knew about them as a a person.

if he could say something like that to her and not see anything wrong with it, then she was wrong to treat him as a friend, wrong to read camaraderie into his teasing, wrong to think they must care about them all under their aloof demeanor.

that’s how Mirabelle phrases it—“I was wrong about you”—but i think that there’s a hidden layer of I was right about you, too.

she talks about the way they tease her like she had to convince herself that he was doing it in a friendly way. she says they talk like they “know better than her” like that’s a thought she’s had for a LONG time.

“Always soooo mysterious, Siffrin, always talking as if you're better than me! As if you know me!!! But you don't, Siffrin!!! You're just as lost and useless as I am!!! So stop!!! Talking!!! As if you know me!!!!!!”

none of this comes across as a new, sudden way to view Siffrin for her. it doesn’t shock or confuse her. it makes her angry, defensive, almost like she was waiting for something like this to happen at some point. the feeling of resentment, frustration, jealousy, being patronized and condescended to—this is something she’s been actively pushing down and rejecting this entire time, but they’ve given her ample reason for it all to boil to the surface. violently.

Mirabelle’s kindness is not inherent or easy. it’s a choice she’s making. she treats Siffrin warmly because she gives him the benefit of the doubt—refusing to act based on anxiety-fueled, cynical speculation, and reassuring herself that his actions are driven by care and friendship even if she can’t quite see it.

“I was wrong about you” doesn’t mean she always and without question believed them to be a fundamentally kind, caring person from the beginning—it’s that her first, colder instincts were right, and she was wrong to convince herself otherwise.

never mind that she asked what was wrong at first. she barely gives them time to speak in their own defense, to explain what they really meant by what they said. all of her suppressed doubts and frustrations are getting aired out now, now that all the trust she’d so deliberately placed in him has been betrayed. her pain feels bigger than this singular moment, so when she hurts him back, she makes sure it extends back through the entirety of their relationship for him, too.

“You're awful. You're not my friend, not my ally, not anything. You never were.”

like the others, she goes back to the clocktower and tells Siffrin not to come back until later. but there’s a finality to the way she ends this confrontation that isn’t quite there with the others. Isabeau and Odile reach their breaking point and remove themselves from the situation, asking for space to cool off but still somewhat leaving the door open for Siffrin to tell them what’s really going on at some point. Mirabelle is the only one who tries to fully cut ties—after everything else she says, her “I don’t want to see you until tonight” reads to me somewhat as “I don’t want to see you anymore unless I have to.”

I can’t wait to never see you again.

even back at the clocktower, Mirabelle doesn’t really defend Siffrin’s place in the party when Odile suggests leaving them behind out of concern for their trustworthiness on the most important day of the journey. Isabeau and Bonnie protest out of sentimentality and faith in Siffrin’s abilities and connection to them, and Mirabelle agrees, but…

“I agree, but... B-But would he even agree to come with us, still? Maybe they won't even come back tonight...”

she doesn’t say much outside of that. maybe the stutter and hesitation here are signs of regret about how things happened, but she lacks Isabeau and Bonnie’s confidence that Siffrin even wants to come back to them in the first place. she doesn’t trust that their bond was real anymore. maybe it never was in the first place, or maybe she broke whatever was there herself.

and she’s still mad when they finally catch up to Siffrin at the King! and she makes sure Siffrin knows that—after saving them, assuring him that he no longer needs to fight, that they’re all there for him. she still cares, of course she still cares—she’s still hurt, too, but they can figure that part out once there’s less world-ending stuff going on.

she’s the first to say that they all reserve the right to still be angry at Siffrin later—and that they’ve already forgiven him.

she’s also the first to say we want to stay with you, too. it’s not just you.

she was wrong! she thought they didn’t care but they care so much, it’s overwhelming, it’s world-ending.

i think she’s gonna be wallowing in guilt post-canon the moment she remembers what she said and did TO SIFFRIN and not just what Siffrin said to her. especially now that she knows Siffrin’s exact hangups, and especially especially if she figures out what Siffrin was trying to say.

they put themself through hell out of loneliness and fear that none of the others cared about him the way he cared about them, he was going insane from repetition and exhaustion and hunger and trying to keep them all safe and together, and all they did in the midst of all that was say something kind of mean to her one time (that turned out to not even be MEANT to be mean it was supposed to be HELPFUL they just SAID IT ALL WRONG) and she SLAPPED THEM? and told him that they WEREN’T FRIENDS AT ALL??? how could she!!! she should have known better!! what they said hurt a lot but still!!!

so when they eventually manage to try to talk about it, they end up almost in, like, a guilt competition.

Mirabelle apologizing for how she reacted, that she shouldn’t have yelled or hit him, that she doesn’t want to be the kind of person who acts that way out of anger and she’s sorry that she made Siffrin expect that reaction from her, she should have known better and believed in him more and they only messed up like that because they were losing their mind in a time loop but what’s HER excuse—

and Siffrin going nononono stop I deserved it—(HUH DON’T SAY THAT NO YOU DIDN’T)—and that he should never have said such awful things to her, ever, and she was under so much pressure already with the weight of the country and everyone’s lives and futures and her religion and their whole party counting on her to do this impossible task because she’s the only one who can, all this unbearable expectation and hope crushing her, and they KNEW that but they thought they could skip to the ending as though her feelings didn’t matter at all, like helping her wasn’t as important as saving a little time—

until they’re just. in tears together, apologizing for all the horrible things they did in between complimenting each other’s strength and kindness and resilience and how much they admire each other and saying that no, everything you did was completely understandable, actually, the only one who sucks here is me. which neither of them will accept coming from the other!!

they’re so similar, in ways they couldn’t really understand, before.

warm, affectionate, perfect Mirabelle, the resolute hero, a beacon of compassion and hope for all those around her, who wears her heart on her sleeve, her fear making her courage shine all the brighter—nothing like the insignificant, forgettable Siffrin, too terrified to be known, too fragile to touch, too selfish and disgusting to bear letting go.

cool, mysterious, unflappable Siffrin, the worldly traveler, as charming and silly as they are confident and skilled, who brushed off losing an eye like it was nothing, accepting the risks of this journey with barely more than a shrug—nothing like the anxious, stagnant, underserving Mirabelle, a fraud and a nobody crumbling under the weight of a mission too important to be entrusted to someone like her, doubting herself, doubting her friends, doubting her mentor, doubting her faith, too weak and brittle to bend and change the way the world needs her to without breaking.

not worth bothering others with their problems. they should be able to handle this alone. stay positive, stay calm. breathe in, and out.

they’ll struggle with it, still—the hiding, the minimizing—but now, they understand each other a little better. they can hold each other accountable for what they leave unsaid.

it’ll get easier, eventually. they have plenty of time.