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goldsbitch · 17 days ago

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Home is where Dad's car is

One of Lando's twins dramatically announces she's running away from home. This turns his afternoon into a Monaco rescue mission.

this is inspired by a comment from @ynbutbetter on the Blink Once story and me completely misreading it

warning: none, domestic, light-hearted stand alone part of Norris Family Polaroids

Jumping back into work again has been a relief and burden at the same time. The ten-year-old twins are relentless and Y/N, with all the help she had due to Lando's comfortable financial situation, wanted to be part of both motherhood and career as much as she could.

She's received a lot of strange emails in her life. This one is about to rule them all.

From: Olivia Norris To: Mom & Dad CC: (no one, because traitors exist)

Subject: I Am Leaving. Do Not Try to Stop Me.

Dear Mother and Father,

by the time you read this, I will be gone. Away forevr. Please do not be sad (I know this will be difficult).

I have thought long and hard about this decision—at least ten whole minutes—and I have realized that I can no longer stay. I love you both (most of the time but Dad you really made me sad this time) but I have to follow my own path now

Do not try to find me.

Tell Maya that she is now the oldest child. This is a great responsibility. I hope she is ready.

Stay strong in my absence. -Olivia

Speed dial - Lando - and then two times more, since the Husband of the Year can't seem to pick up his phone. A text pops up after Lando reclines the call.

We're streaming, is it urgent?

Y/N knows this automatic message all too damn well. No matter how many years him and Max F. managed to pile up, streaming video games time stayed like a sacred constant. It's great when the husband has a hobby. It's not so great when it ends up in him losing one of the kids in the meantime.

She texts him back. Headache. That's what being a mother of two kids and married to an overgrown child is on a typical Wednesday afternoon is.

Lando is having a great time. Snack in front of him, controller in hand, headset on—he's in his zone. He's been carrying Max Fewtrell through a game for the past hour, and despite his teammate's absolute lack of skill, it's been a solid session. A nice off season afternoon.

"Bro, you're literally throwing," Max groans through the headset as his in-game character spectacularly fails to complete a simple task.

Lando snickers, eyes glued to the screen. "Nah, mate, you're just bad. Hold on, I gotta—oh, for f—" His phone vibrates on the table, lighting up with Y/N’s name.

He glances at it, sees the call, and immediately ignores it. Another call. Decline.

Third time. Decline again.

He hits the automatic reply. Y/N's reply is instant. CHECK YOUR EMAIL NOW

Lando frowns. What could possibly be so urgent that it requires an email check? His brain cycles through possibilities:

-Y/N booked them another family trip he forgot about. -She ordered something expensive and wants to justify it. -The school sent one of those "Just letting you know" emails about how the twins "express themselves too boldly" (which, in Lando’s opinion, is code for being just like him).

Still, an email? Seems excessive. Whatever. He'll check it.

"Oi, Max, gimme a sec," Lando muttera and opens his inbox app. He scrolls past junk mail, a McLaren PR update, some random sponsorship inquiry—ah, there.

Subject: I Am Leaving. Do Not Try to Stop Me.

Lando snorts. Classic Olivia. Then he reads the first line.

By the time you read this, I will be gone. Away forevr.

…Okay. He keeps reading. His eyebrows start to furrow.

I love you both (most of the time, but Dad, you really made me sad this time), but I have to follow my own path now

His stomach drops.

Wait. What?

Do not try to find me.

Lando launches forward in his chair, suddenly wide awake. Is this for real? He just saw her few minutes ago in their bedroom. Well, might have been like an hour at this point.

Panic is setting rent free in his brain. "Oi, Max—stream's over," he blurts out, shutting the game down.

"Huh? What? We're in the middle of a match!" is the last he hears of him. Lando kills the stream without another word. Email...His daughter has reached the point of sending him emails now. Parenting, it never stops surprising him. His hands fly over his phone as he immediately calls Y/N. She picks up before the first ring even finishes.

"Lando," she says, already exasperated.

"Remember when I said the girls are too young for emails?" he starts, trying to wrap his head around this.

"Lando, they need one for school, this is not up for discussion. But don't get sidetracked - any clue where she is right now?"

He's already on his way to the kids bedroom, wishing they'd bought a smaller apartment. "I'm checking now," he blurts out, trying to keep as much of his anxiety locked in. It's fine, probably nothing.

"I though you brought them home directly after school?" his wife asks and Lando is grateful that there is not a single drop of blame directed towards him. Team players. It was part of their vows and one of the most important aspects of their relationship.

"I did, we just made a quick stop at the mall to get some sweets and then we were off. No spoiling!" he retortes before Y/N has a chance to go on her usual don't-buy-them-things-just-because-they-ask rant. The fact that his wife does not laugh or comment suggests she's had enough time to bury herself in doubts about Olivia already.

Finally, he's at the girl's door, which eerily half-open. A rare instance since the time the twins managed to win over the right to owning a key to their own bedroom few months ago.

He steps in, carefully, phone still at his ear. "Maya?" The objectively calmer and less hot-headed daughter is sitting on her bed, unbothered and uninterested.

"What?" she replies without looking away from her game. It makes Lando bit infuriated, but he knows he's hardly the one to say anything about this topic.

"Maya, where is your sister?" he asks, loudly enough so that Y/N can also hear him.

Not even a glance. "Dunno."

Lando stares at her. "What do you mean, dunno?"

"She said she was running away." Tap, tap, swipe. Maya shrugs. "So I let her."

"You LET HER?!"

Maya finally looks up, confused and surprised by the change of tone. "Yeah? She was being dramatic. Again."

Lando runs fingers through his hair. "Maya, you’re supposed to STOP her from doing stuff like this!"

Maya shrugs. "She was really committed. Packed a bag and everything."

Lando’s brain short-circuits. His ten-year-old daughter ran away. And he didn’t even notice. He hears Y/N sigh heavily over the phone. "I’ll start calling around. You start looking for our child."

Lando, still in mild shock: "Right. Yes. Good plan."

First, he searches the whole apartment, every cabinet, every spot he remembers the kids using during their plays of hide and seek. He's not sure whether he's more mad at Liv, for bolting, or at Maya for being so chill about it. After few minutes, it's obvious, Olivia is not home. He calls the concierge. Nothing. How could they possibly miss a child strolling around with packed bag?

He retraces their steps back. Pick up at the school—short ride over to the small mall—they stopped at a bakery, looked in few shop windows, Lando had them give their opinions on few bracelet designs (The plan is to get everyone in the family one with a different stone color. It's a surprise for Y/N and the girls know it. A family gift, so technically not spoiling anyone.)—then they got home and Lando started streaming. What exactly made Liv run away? Flash of guilt washes him over. Did he say something mean? Maybe he should have called off the stream today. Is he being a bad father? Well, he is, he figures. His child ran away and sent an email specifically mentioning his name. Oh, god. Suddenly, he's regretting being the one to shut down the idea of having their kid's location on at all times. At the time, he argued since they're in Monaco, there wasn't a big probability of anything bad happening to them. Everyone knows everyone. He forgot to count in the fact his kids might one day have a mind of their own. He just wanted to give them some form of freedom.

Lando grabs his phone and starts scrolling through his contacts, heart pounding. Okay. Where would Olivia go? Who enables her nonsense? Who has snacks?

Who would let her rant dramatically without asking too many questions? He dials the first name that makes sense.

Max Verstappen pick up immediately. "Nope, she's not here, Y/N already called. Nice one though, how can you lose a child that loud?" Lando groans, this being the second time he's been beaten by one his family members today. "I didn't lose her, she left."

"Ah, so you’ve been out-parented by a ten-year-old?" he comments, like it's no big deal at all.

"Thanks Max, helpful as always. Let me know if you see her."

"Of course." Lando hangs up immediately.

He hopes he's the first one to call Oscar.

"Hey, Lando. What's up?" he's welcomed with moderately disinterested tone.

"Have you seen Olivia?" Lando blurts out, fighting the passage of time.

"Um. No? Not lately? Should I have?"

He figures that if she's been sitting on his couch right now, Oscar would probably not even notice. "Nah...She sort of ran away few minutes ago. She can't be far, but like..."

"Yeah, that's not good."

Lando thinks about finding new friends. "Excellent observation. Well, let me know if she shows up at your doorstep."

"Will do. Check the school? Maybe she went back?"

If Lando knows one thing, it's that wherever his daughter, his carbon copy, is, it's not back at school.

"Thanks. Once she shows up, I’m grounding her forever."

"Might not be the best way to convince her to come home, mate."

Lando hangs up after the unsolicited advice. He's getting desperate, so he starts dialing random people who are in Monaco. Carlos - does not pick up. His usual contacts end up being either completely useless or actively making the situation worse.

At this point, he's calling anyone in Monaco who might have even the slightest clue where Olivia could be.

And then - a message. Text from Carlos. Mate, drop everything and come by.

Eyes still glued to the text, his brain short-circuiting over Carlos’ cryptic message, and then the phone rings again. Y/N. He barely has time to process before he picks up.

"Tell me you found her." No greeting, no buildup—just straight to business. Lando rubs a hand down his face. "No. But Carlos just texted me. Told me to come over."

A pause. Then, suspicion. "Why?" "I don’t know." Lando waves a hand at the message like she can see it. "He just said ‘it's important.’"

There’s a beat of silence. He can practically hear Y/N narrowing her eyes. "That’s weird," she mutters. "I just called the school again—nothing. Also checked a few cafés, just in case."

Lando starts pacing the living room, running through possibilities. "And?"

"Guess twice." He hears her sigh. "She's not at her friends' houses either. At this point, unless she's living in the canals like some kind of feral child, I have no idea where she'd go."

Lando groans, dragging a hand through his hair. "I'm going to Carlos'."

Another pause. Then, firmly: "Okay. But if Carlos doesn't have her, we're calling the police. What if...." She does not dare to finish the thought and it's just then when Lando starts properly getting worried. Many crazy people are obsessed with him and in extension, his family. He does not dare to even imagine what could happen.

Lando exhales. "Yeah. Agreed." They hang up.

He stares at his phone for half a second longer, then grabs his keys and rushes for the door.

He's putting his shoes on when Maya's voice cut through the hallways, her tone all shy and contrasting her previous sassy responses. "Is she going to be alright?" Lando turns around to see the image of pure innocence, worried little ten-year-old, who looks a little too small for this world. A smile forms on his face, even though it does not match his current mood at all.

"Come here, honey," he gestures and waits for Maya to run over to his embrace. She hugs his legs and in return, he pats her head. "Of course. We will find her and it will all be fine."

"I'm sorry I let her go..." she apologizes and Lando is surprised that there are no tears in her eyes, given the sorrow expressed in her voice.

"I'm happy you're saying that," he replies, grateful to be spared of one parent lecture today. "Do you have any idea where she might be?" He searches for any hint of a clue in her face, but it's all blank as she shakes he head.

"She said she's going home. And then left."

Even though this does not help him at all, he nods understandingly, slowly letting go of Maya and reaching for his jacket. "And do you know why?" Guilt must be written all over his face. He had been too reckless, too focused on other things and neglecting his kids.

Maya's soft voice provides an answer, that opens up more questions. "She was upset about the bracelet. Said it was too much."

This stops his actions. "What?" Lando frowns, trying to wrap his head around whether his daughter entering some sort of preteen leftist phase. Aren't kids suppose to like things? Maya simply shrugs her shoulders, her face mimicking her father's. "You know how she is sometimes..."

Yes, he knows. Stubborn, hot-headed and in a world of her own. Once again, like a sarcastic mirror he has to look at everyday, to get reminded of his own mishaps. Maya, the somewhat more innocent, less conniving one, stares at him, as if he has all the answers. He just grabs his keys, reassures her once more and orders her to protect the house. It's an old trick that still seems to be working on her. It's clear though his kids are growing up faster and faster. More complex tactics will be needed. In order to prevent future runaway moments.

He's making sure to scan every street he passes by on the way to his ex-teammate's house. It would make sense for Olivia to be at his place, since out of all their family friends, Carlos lives the closest. And, Maya mentioned she's going home. So, unless she's on her way all the way back to visit grandma in England, this seems like the next best thing.

Lando is on edge and the elevator is being annoyingly slow. His daughter is missing, his brain is on fire, and he has exactly zero leads.

And yet—Carlos Sainz opens the door like Lando just showed up for a casual chat session.

"Finally," Carlos says, grabbing Lando by the sleeve and pulling him inside without a single question. "I need your help with something."

Lando blinks. "Carlos, what—"

Carlos does not wait. He marches toward the kitchen, muttering to himself while swiping through something on his phone.

"This is serious. I've been trying to decide this all morning," Carlos continues, completely unaware of Lando's rapidly declining mental state. "I need an outside perspective."

Lando follows, confused, frustrated, and five seconds away from yelling. "Carlos, I don't have time—"

Carlos spins around dramatically. "Should I grow a beard?"

Lando stares. "What?" Carlos gestures at his own face. "A beard. Do I grow one? Or will it look stupid?"

Lando rubs a hand down his face. "Carlos, I do not have time for this right now—" "But it's an important decision!" Carlos argues, like his life depends on it. "A beard changes a man, Lando. I need to know before I commit! I've been craving some change lately and this seems like a good step.“

Lando lets out a deep, slow breath. "Carlos." He almost makes it sound like a threat. Carlos finally notices something is off. His brow furrows. "What's wrong with you?" "My child ran away,“ Lando deadpans and crosses his arms.

Carlos blinks. "Oh."

There’s a pause. Then, his eyes widen. "Oh!"

"Yes!" Lando gestures wildly. "That’s why I’m here! I thought maybe she came to you—" Carlos gasps, like he’s just uncovered a great conspiracy.

"She’s on a boat."

"...What?" Carlos nods, suddenly deep in thought. "Sí. It makes sense." Lando shakes his head. "No. It does not."

Carlos, ignoring him entirely: "When I was a small child, I often ran away when I was unhappy with my parents. I would go to the sea. The sea is mysterious. The sea is freedom. And Olivia knows that, I remember telling her.“ Lando pinches the bridge of his nose. Why, pray tell, would his friends instruct his children to ran away from home. "Well, thank you for that. Carlos, the sea is also full of very real dangers." Carlos waves him off. "Oh wait no - it was Maya," he says, like that solves the problem. "So, never mind."

"You do realize the girls talk to each other, constantly sharing bad ideas, right?" Lando snaps, unable to comprehend how quickly his calm afternoon had turned so sour. "Please, refrain from giving them bad ideas from now on, thank you." "Ay, cabron, come on. She’s just probably sitting on a yacht somewhere. You know how many boats there are in Monaco?"

Lando does, unfortunately, know. Too many. Way too many.

Carlos is nodding to himself now, fully convinced. "Come on. We go to the harbor, check a few docks. Maybe yell her name a few times—"

"I am not yelling my daughter’s name across Monaco like a lunatic—"

Carlos grins. "I will do it."

Lando groans. "We are not going to the harbor." Carlos tilts his head. "You sure? Because I think—" Lando’s phone buzzes, saving him from this tragedy of a conversation. He glances at the screen. His manager. Since he does not have a time for a lecture on not missing meetings just because they're on Zoom–just like he is missing one right now–he hits decline and puts this on future Lando to deal with.

Then—a text.

Lando. We found your daughter.

He freezes. Carlos immediately notices. "What? What happened?" Lando, staring at his phone in disbelief, exhales sharply. "They found her." Carlos claps his hands together, triumphant. "On a boat!" Lando glares. "Not on a boat!" Carlos snaps his fingers, looking genuinely disappointed. "Damn. That would’ve been so good."

Lando ignores him, already texting Y/N. Because wherever Olivia is, she’s about to get the lecture of a lifetime.

And if Carlos mentions boats one more time, Lando is never speaking to him again. One intrusive thought enters his brain before he gets to dialing his manager. A beard–there is probably nothing worse Carlos could do to destroy his look so quickly and efficiently. Lando turns towards him. "I think a beard is an excellent idea. You should do it," he says, pretending to take this seriously. A small revenge for his best friend feeding his kids ideas about running away from home. A wide smile grows on the Spaniard's face and he squeezes Lando's shoulder. "Knew it. Thanks, mate!" Lando nods a little too enthusiastically.

Home is where the heart is. Some say home is where your story begins. Others say it’s not a place, but a person. For Olivia Norris apparently, for her, it's a place where they sell luxury cars, keep a an endless stock of hoodies with her father's name and probably walk around her on eggshells. Because while most kids would run away to a friend’s house or a secret fort in the woods, Lando's child—his stubborn, dramatic, terrifyingly smart child—ran away to the McLaren showroom.

And honestly? He would have never seen that coming.

He's used to people rushing to take selfies with him whenever he's on the main streets of Monaco, so it's not much of a surprise that when he parks in front of the McLaren showroom, he's circled by enthusiastic fans immediately. Honestly, right now, when he's searching for his runaway child, having visual proof of this afternoon is the last thing he needs. Sadly, he understands that making a scene and refusing would bring even more attention online. Five photos later, he finally gets to enter inside.

It's not like Lando goes around to roam around McLaren stores on his free days, unless PR obligations order him too. His presence would raise eyebrows and freeze employees even on a regular day, without his daughter taking a refuge there. It's obvious from the moment he steps in - all the staff members are on edge, holding their phones like weapons to use to call supervisors and doing a bad job at pretending everything is fine. He walks in and awkwardly waits for the frontman to approach him.

"Mr. Norris," he speaks, barely hiding his nervousness. "I believe you'd want to speak to the manager?" Lando just nods and gives him one angry smile. If there is one thing he's not in the mood for, it's speaking in corporate codes.

"Sure," he says and swiftly walks away.

The front desk employee looks like he’s preparing for battle. Lando watches as the poor guy takes a deep breath, straightens his shoulders, and puts on his best customer service smile before cautiously approaching. "Mr. Norris," the man greets, voice a little too high-pitched. Lando tilts his head. "Let me guess," he says, folding his arms. "You have a small, dramatic, ten-year-old hiding somewhere in here?" The employee lets out a nervous chuckle. "Well… we wouldn't say hiding, exactly."

Lando raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"She, uh…" The man glances at his coworkers for support, but they all pretend to be very busy. He clears his throat. "She told us she works here now. Said that Zak Brown himself approved it.“

Lando closes his eyes for a moment. Has this person never talked to a lying child before?

Of course she did.

"And you… just let her?"

The employee start looking scared. "Um, well, we were not sure how to proceed. She was very convincing."

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose. "Where is she?"

The man gestures toward the back of the store, where the more exclusive merch is displayed. "She, uh… had us set up a 'desk.'" This is a new level, even for her. "She what?" The employee nods gravely. "Sir, she brought a clipboard." That actually stuns him into silence for a second. Then, before he can even process it, he hears it—

A tiny but authoritative voice from behind the display racks. "Excuse me, sir! Can I interest you in our new McLaren papaya collection?" Lando whips his head around. And there, seated behind a neatly arranged stack of McLaren hoodies, holding a clipboard and looking entirely unbothered…

Is Olivia.

His runaway daughter.

His child.

He watches her talking to a grown man, ignoring his minor confusion and doing what could be only described as skillfully pitching this specific line of merch. No shame or hesitance. Just as she almost has this man trying on a bright orange hoodie, Lando decides to step in and intervene.

"This shade of papaya," she says smoothly, flipping a page on her clipboard for dramatic effect, "It is the best color, because it’s the brightest one. It will make you stand out like no one else."

The man, who clearly only came in for a casual browse, now looks deeply invested. He nods thoughtfully, holding the hoodie up to his chest. "You think it suits me?"

Olivia tilts her head, analyzing him like she’s Zak Brown finalizing a sponsorship deal. "Absolutely. You give off McLaren energy." The man looks genuinely touched. And that is when Lando decides enough is enough. "Olivia Norris," he calls out, voice firm, authoritative, and 100% Dad Mode. His daughter freezes mid-sale. Her eyes go wide. The poor customer looks between them, clearly confused. A second later, he’s got the star-struck face on, probably finally recognizing Lando, who steps forward, hands on his hips. Glances apologetically at the man and gives his full attention to his daughter. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

Olivia plasters on a casual smile, like she wasn't just caught selling merch to a stranger in an attempt to start a new life.

"Uh, working?" she tries, tucking the clipboard against her chest like that makes it official.

Lando raises an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

She nods, fully committing. "Mhm. First day on the job. Big things happening for me." "Liv,“ he speaks a warning, the fact they’re out in public with interested witnesses working in her favor. She holds up a finger, turning back to the man. "One second, sir, my old manager's here." Lando nearly chokes. "I'm your father." "Same thing," she shrugs. Lando blinks at her. Then, at the clipboard. Then, back at her. "Pack it up," he says, gesturing toward the exit. "Your shift is over." Olivia sighs dramatically. "Does this mean I don’t get paid?"

"Olivia."

"Fine," she huffs, setting the clipboard down like this is a tragic career-ending moment. Lando turns to the man, who still looks entirely too amused. "Sorry about that," he sighs. The man chuckles. "No worries. She’s good." He pauses, then holds up the hoodie. "I am gonna buy this, though." Lando groans. Of course she made a sale. As Olivia grins proudly, clearly aware she's the winner this afternoon, Lando grabs her by the shoulders and steers her toward the door, preparing for the conversation of a lifetime. He waves apologetically at the store employees, who are all trying very hard to pretend like they're not watching them.

They walk out from the store, calmly and collected. He's carrying the bag she must have packed and questions her planning skills, as the bag seems to be full of dresses and random selection of snacks. After all, even with the stunt he's just seen, ultimately. he is grateful that authorities didn't need to get involved in this. He guides Olivia to his car, opens the door and makes sure she’s locked in before he starts the car.

He’s driving home smoothly, monitoring her face in all the mirrors available. Dark sunglasses she put on probably to prove a point hide her eyes, but the body language betrays her. She's upset and while he does share her emotion and has to fight his urge to start his lecture about safety, fans and most importantly, not running away from home, he decides to do the adult thing and sets his goal on figuring out the cause of this all.

"So. Running away from home, huh?" he asks and tries to keep his tone as casual as possible. No reaction. Fine. "Your mom and I were really worried. Maya too, by the way," he tries to play it on the more emotional side. It's only when he mentions Maya, that Olivia shifts uncomfortably. Lando notices the slight movement immediately. A tiny shrug in her shoulders, like the weight of what she did is finally sinking in.

Good. She should feel a little guilty.

Still, she says nothing, arms crossed tightly over her chest, the ridiculous slightly oversized sunglasses making her look far too dramatic for a ten-year-old.

Lando sighs, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

"She thought you might be gone forever, you know," he adds, throwing a quick glance at Olivia through the rearview mirror. "She even got promoted to ‘oldest child.’ Big responsibility."

That gets him something—a twitch at the corner of her mouth. He presses on. "And I don't know if you realize this," he continues, keeping his voice light yet firm, "but your ‘home’ today was a McLaren store. Not even the factory, Liv. A store."

Olivia adjusts her sunglasses like a celebrity avoiding paparazzi. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Lando raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

She shrugs. "Well. You always say that McLaren is your home. And if it's yours, why could it not be mine?“

Lando’s heart sinks and he’s not sure whether he's proud to know Olivia listens to what he says or if he's terrified of the strange, most likely unhealthy, relationship his kid is developing towards a global corporation. "I do say that, you're right. But there is a difference between a job and a home. It’s a...Different kind of home," he says it and wonders if anyone had ever told him that when he was young.

Olivia seems to be deeply in her own thoughts. "I'm sure some of the employees would take me in."

Lando scoffs. "Oh, well, in that case—fantastic life decision."

A small huff. "Better than where I was gonna go."

Lando narrows his eyes. "And where exactly was that?"

Silence. If she says "a boat", Lando's going to convince Carlos to also shave his hair off. He waits, watching her in the mirror, not pushing—just letting the silence do the work. And after a few moments, Olivia finally caves, shifting in her seat.

Surprisingly, she ignores his question entirely. "You and Mom were gonna put braces on me so you could tell me and Maya apart."

Lando almost swerves into the wrong lane. "Wait, what?!" He glances at her, then back at the road. "Braces?"

Olivia nods solemnly. "I heard you. In the store. You said it will be easier," she says, sounding genuinely disturbed. Then, her childlike anger builds up. "But, I don’t even have all my adult teeth in! It sounds dangerous, dad! Also - why would you and mom need them too? Do you realize everyone is going to laugh at our family?"

Lando stares straight ahead, completely dumbfounded. For a second, his brain refuses to process this level of nonsense.

Braces. BRACES?!

Of all the things she could've misheard, this is what led to her dramatic escape?

"Olivia." He exhales, shaking his head. "I said bracelets. I was getting us bracelets. Matching ones, with different colors, so that other people won’t mix you and Maya up so much, I know how you hate it."

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Olivia slowly lowers her sunglasses. "...Bracelets?"

"Bracelets," Lando confirms, dead serious.

More silence.

Then—a quiet, barely-there mutter:

"...Oh."

Lando lets out the loudest, most exhausted sigh of his life. "Oh?" he repeats, glancing at her in disbelief. "OH?! You ran away because of a bracelet misunderstanding?!"

Olivia slouches further into her seat. "I was not going to let that happen to me."

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose. "Liv. If you just asked—"

"You said not to tell mom!“ she interrupts, as if this is somehow his fault.

Lando groans. "That's not the point!"

"I panicked!"

"You panicked? So instead of clarifying, you packed a bag full of dresses and snacks and started a career in retail?!"

Olivia crosses her arms again, defensive. "It was a solid plan."

Lando lets out a short, incredulous laugh. "Liv, it was the worst plan."

She pouts. "It worked for a while."

Lando tilts his head. "Did it?"

"...No."

"Exactly."

A long pause.

Then, softly: "Maya really thought I was leaving forever?"

Lando nods. "Yeah. She acted all chill about it, but I could tell she was worried."

Olivia twists the hem of her hoodie, suddenly looking much smaller than before. "...I didn't mean to scare her."

Lando softens.

"I know," he says, glancing at her in the mirror again. "And I know you like being independent, but Liv—" He sighs. "You don’t need to run away over stuff like this. Just talk to me, okay?"

She nods slowly, still fiddling with her hoodie. "...Okay."

"And maybe next time, instead of running away, just... go to your room dramatically like a normal ten-year-old?"

Olivia snorts. "No promises." Lando chuckles, shaking his head.

This kid.

They pull into the driveway, and Olivia takes off her sunglasses, letting out a deep breath.

"Hey, Dad?" Lando raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?" She smirks. "Did you bring my clipboard?" Lando laughs, unlocking the car. "You're grounded."

"So, you're telling me Liv ran away because of no reason?" Y/N asks for the third time, as she sits across from her husband and two suspiciously quiet children.

Lando's got his PR smile on, it's clear as a day. When and how he managed to teach both of the girls the same is the real mystery. Y/N cut her day at work short to rush home. Even with the news of Olivia being back at home, she found it hard to focus on anything else. She expected to walk into a battlefield, at least one of the girls crying and flustered Lando. But no—one would never have even guessed anything strange had happened that day. They're all sitting there, like some sort of picturesque scene from a school issued guidance book.

"Mom," Olivia speaks up slowly, accidentally looking at Y/N like she is stupid for repeating the question. "It was a bad decision on my part. I accept being grounded for a week. We will be able to explain everything in few weeks," Olivia says confidently at first, but still turns towards her father, as if for confirmation she said all the right words. It's hard to believe a single word she says. Still, he gives her a small, but proud, nod.

"We have a surprise for you and if we tell you everything, it will be ruined!" Maya's comment is cheerfully enthusiastic, like she's telling Y/N the best thing that has ever happened.

Without a clue on what to say, Y/N turns to Lando for any hint of answers. He looks at her like he's some divine angel. "It's a funny story, but we can't tell you now."

Y/N hands fly up at the weird logic of this all. "What?"

"Patience, love. It's a virtue," Lando says simply and it's clear none of them are going to spill anything about today.

Maya follows the lead with a comment dripping with excitement. "Yes, mom. Patience!"

Y/N exhales sharply, dragging a hand down her face. She stares at the three of them—her clearly rehearsed, suspiciously well-behaved family—then lets out a dry laugh.

"You know what?" she says, standing up. "Fine. But when this ‘surprise’ inevitably turns into another disaster, I am not the one handling it."

She grabs her bag and heads toward the kitchen, muttering under her breath.

Behind her, Lando leans closer to his kids and ruffles both their hair. "That went well. Good job, she's going to love the bracelets."

Olivia, smirking proudly, follow his lead. "Told you we could sell it. I have experience now."

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0omillo0 · 3 months ago

Text

Minho x Reader

Calling you clingy

angst/comfort

inspo from @ seungfl0wer!! I love their works!

You had always been the talkative, affectionate type. From the moment you met Minho, your bubbly personality had been a constant in his life, a stream of warmth and light he found himself drawn to. You loved sharing every little detail of your day with him—the funny things your coworkers said, the way the sun hit the park on your way home, or the recipe you wanted to try for dinner.

Minho had always been receptive, listening intently, laughing at your stories, and teasing you when you got overly dramatic. It became a routine, a rhythm you both cherished.

But recently, things had shifted.

Minho had been stressed, you knew that. Between his busy schedule, endless rehearsals, and looming deadlines, the pressure on him was immense. At first, you tried to give him space, being a little quieter when he came home, offering to massage his shoulders or make him his favorite tea. But when he seemed indifferent to your efforts, you couldn’t help but feel… replaced.

One evening, as you were rambling about a funny interaction at the grocery store, you noticed Minho wasn’t responding. He was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone, his face blank.

You waited for his usual chuckle or comment. But there was nothing.

“Minho?” you tried again.

“What?!” he replied curtly, not looking up.

You blinked, caught off guard. “I was just saying—”

“Omg can you stop?” he interrupted sharply, finally looking at you, his brows furrowed. “I don’t need to hear every little thing that happens to you, Y/N. I’m tired. Just… give me some peace, okay? You’re so damn clingy.”

The words hit you like a slap. You stared at him, your throat tightening as the weight of his tone settled over you.

“…Oh- Okay.” you whispered, turning away before he could see the tears brimming in your eyes.

“Y/N, wait—” he started, but you were already walking out of the room.

The next few days were a blur.

You didn’t stop caring for him—that wasn’t who you were. Every morning, you dragged yourself out of bed earlier than usual, even though you despised waking up before Minho. You made him breakfast, carefully plating it on the table before leaving for work. You barely ate yourself, your appetite gone, but you didn’t want him to feel neglected.

When you got home in the evenings, you prepared dinner in silence, eating alone and leaving his portion on the table. By the time he came home, you were already in bed, curled up on your side and staring at the wall.

Minho tried to break the silence.

“Y/N,” he said softly one night as you lay beside him. “Can we talk?”

But you didn’t respond. You stayed still, pretending to be asleep, your heart aching at the tremor in his voice.

By the fourth day, Minho felt like he was losing his mind.

He missed your voice, your laughter, your stories. The quiet house felt oppressive, and the sight of you avoiding his gaze cut deeper than any harsh word ever could. He had tried apologizing in small ways—offering to help with chores, brushing your shoulder as he passed—but nothing worked.

That night, as you lay next to him, your back to him as usual, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Y/N…” His voice was barely a whisper, but you heard the crack in it.

You didn’t move.

“Please,” he said, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch your hip. “Please look at me.”

Still, you stayed still, your breathing steady but your heart racing.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice raw. “I’m so sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. I swear, I didn’t mean it.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you bit your lip, unwilling to give in so easily.

“I love the way you talk to me,” Minho continued, his voice shaking. “I love your stories. They… they make me feel like I’m part of your world, like I’m home. And I ruined that. I ruined us. I don’t know why I said those things. I was tired, I was stressed, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry, Y/N. Please… forgive me.”

You felt a tear land on your shoulder, and your resolve crumbled. Slowly, you turned to face him, your eyes meeting his for the first time in days.

His face was a mess of guilt and desperation, his eyes red and glistening.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I’m not good with words. I just… I lashed out, and I hate myself for it. I love you, Y/N. I love everything about you. Please don’t shut me out.”

Your tears spilled over, and before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him close.

“Minho,” you sobbed into his shoulder. “You hurt me.”

“I know,” he murmured, his hands trembling as they wrapped around your waist. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never do it again. I’ll never take you for granted again.”

For a moment, the only sound was your quiet crying and his whispered apologies. Then, he pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears.

“I love you,” he said again, his voice steady this time.

And then his lips found yours.

The kiss was slow at first, hesitant, as though he was afraid you might pull away. But as you responded, it deepened, filled with a mixture of passion, regret, and unspoken promises.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads rested against each other, your breaths mingling in the quiet of the room.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

“I missed you too,” he replied, his voice soft but resolute.

That night, Minho held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you, and for the first time in days, the silence between you was replaced by the warmth of reconciliation.

@intartaruginha @hannamoon143

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heartysworld · 3 months ago

Text

Lovely coincidences // L. Norris x Fem. Reader

A/N: There was no way I was gonna miss the opportunity and post something about today's events, which, by the way, made me jump out of bed with a gasp at 8am.

W.c: 1.2k

MASTERLIST

You sit cross-legged on the couch, your phone in one hand and Lando’s head resting in your lap. His curls tickle your fingers as you absentmindedly play with his hair, scrolling through Instagram. Your draft post stares back at you, nerves fluttering in your stomach. The picture is perfect—Lando’s hand protectively resting on your bump, your fingers intertwined, both of you glowing in the soft light of the sunset.

You've been trying to do this all week but always ended up backing out right before you hit the "post" button. Every time it fel as if you were about to expose the most private part of your private life to the public. However, at some point you came to the realization that it's better to do it yourself before a media outlet ratted your secret out first.

The caption reads:

"Plot twist of the year: Lando and Y/N +1 coming soon 🍼❤️."

“Do you think it’s too cheesy?” you ask, looking down at him.

“Cheesy?” Lando scoffs, twisting so he can meet your gaze. “Y/N, the fans love cheesy. And let’s be real—this is huge. They’re going to lose their minds.”

“They already think you’re the chaos driver,” you tease. “Now they’ll think we’re bringing another tornado into the world.”

“Exactly!” Lando sits up, grabbing his phone with a grin. “It’s perfect. Our little chaos baby.” He pauses, looking serious for a moment. “Are you ready, though? This makes it real, you know?”

His sincerity warms you, and you nod. “I’m ready.”

“Alright then,” he says, holding up his phone like he’s at the starting grid. “On three. One… two… three—post!”

The moment you hit post, your phone buzzes like a swarm of bees. Likes, comments, and DMs flood in at a dizzying pace. Lando’s laugh fills the room as he scrolls through the comments.

“Look at this,” he says, showing you Carlos’ reply: “Mini Lando incoming? Poor Y/N. The grid’s not ready for this!”

“Carlos has a point,” you quip, nudging him.

Before you can reply to anyone, Lando’s phone buzzes again. He freezes, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he reads the notification.

“No way,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What?”

“It’s Max.” He turns his phone toward you.

You squint at the screen. Sure enough, there it is—Max Verstappen and Kelly Piquet’s baby announcement, posted mere minutes after yours. The picture shows Max and Kelly in a cozy living room, her bump visible under her flowy dress, and the caption:

"Baby Verstappen loading… can’t wait to meet you, little one ❤️."

Your jaw drops. “You’re kidding me.”

Lando’s already dialing Max. The phone rings twice before Max picks up, his calm voice a stark contrast to Lando’s giddy disbelief.

“What’s up, Norris?”

“What’s up?” Lando exclaims. “What’s up is that you just stole our baby thunder!”

There’s a beat of silence, then you hear Kelly laughing in the background. “Oh no,” she says through her giggles. “Did we steal their thunder?”

“Steal our thunder? You drove right through it!”, Lando replies, though his grin betrays his faux outrage.

“Not my fault you have bad timing,” Max says dryly.

Lando groans. “I cannot believe this. First you steal first place on teack, and now you’re trying to win the baby race?!”

“First place is first place,” Max says smugly.

The banter continues until you grab the phone from Lando, laughing. “Alright, thays enough. Max, congratulations to you and Kelly. But I think we all know who the real winner is.”

“Who?” Max asks.

“Me,” you reply, smirking. “Because I have to deal with Lando’s reaction to this for the next nine months.”

The delivery room is a whirlwind of emotions, but through it all, Lando is by your side, holding your hand, cracking jokes, and whispering words of encouragement. When the nurse finally hands you your baby—a tiny, wriggling bundle swaddled in white—you’re overwhelmed with love.

“She's perfect,” Lando whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Absolutely perfect.”

Later that night, Lando posts the first photo of Baby Love Norris: a close-up of their tiny hand clutching his finger. The caption reads:

"Our greatest Love. Welcome to the world, little lady ❤️."

Two days later, your phone buzzes with a notification. You open Instagram to see another post from Max. It’s almost identical—a photo of his baby’s hand holding his finger, with the caption:

"Our little Love has arrived. We’re so in love ❤️."

Your eyes widen. “Lando!”

He rushes into the room, disheveled but alert. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Max and Kelly named their baby Love.”

Lando stares at you for a moment, then bursts out laughing. “You’re joking.”

“Look!” You show him the post, and his laughter grows louder.

“Of course they did,” he says, shaking his head. “I swear, Max is doing this on purpose.”

By the next race, the entire paddock is buzzing about the two Baby Loves.

“You sure they're not twins?” Oscar asks one morning, his grin as wide as ever.

“Must be something in the water,” Charles adds with a smirk.

Max and Lando handle the teasing with their usual banter.

“They’re basically the same kid,” Lando says during a press conference, leaning back in his chair.

Max nods. “Mine’s faster, though.”

“Oh, please,” Lando shoots back. “Mine’s already smiling. Yours just cries.”

“They’re newborns, Lando. What do you expect?”

One afternoon in the paddock lounge, Max walks in carrying Baby Love Verstappen, who’s swaddled in a pastel yellow blanket. Lando immediately perks up.

“Look who finally showed up!” Lando says, grinning as he leans over to get a look at the baby.

“She’s beautiful,” you say, smiling warmly.

“Of course she is,” Max replies smugly. “She’s a Verstappen.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando mutters. “But I bet she’s not as cute as our Love.”

“Are you seriously competing over babies?” you ask, rolling your eyes.

“They compete over everything,” Kelly says, sitting beside you. “It’s like having two toddlers already.”

By the end of the weekend, people start reposting a meme of the two baby Loves photoshopped into tiny F1 cars, complete with helmets and matching “Love” liveries. Both Lando and Max share it, each captioning it:

"Team Love: P1 and P2 ❤️."

Life is hectic, chaotic, and overwhelming, but as you watch Lando cradle your baby, his face lit with pure joy, you know it’s exactly how it’s meant to be.

MASTERLIST

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flwrkid14 · 5 months ago

Text

The Tim Drake Heartthrob Conspiracy

It started as a slow, creeping suspicion. A few throwaway comments here, a couple of odd interactions there. At first, no one thought much of it.

One day, Dick was grabbing coffee near Wayne Enterprises when he overheard two interns chatting in line. “I saw Tim Drake today, and let me tell you, I think I’ve developed a new celebrity crush,” one of them said, giggling.

Dick nearly choked on his iced latte. Tim? Celebrity crush? He shook it off, chalking it up to the occasional corporate crush, nothing out of the ordinary for someone who runs a massive company. But then he heard it again the next week at a Titan’s briefing. Garfield leaned over to him during a meeting, nodding toward Tim across the room.

“Man, Tim’s really come into his own, huh? Guy’s kinda a looker now,” Gar commented.

Dick blinked, then frowned. “Wait, what?”

“Oh, come on, Nightwing,” Gar teased, “you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed! The quiet broody thing is working for him. I bet half of Gotham has a crush on him.”

By the time Dick got back to Gotham, the gears were turning in his head. Did half of Gotham have a crush on Tim?

Then it happened again. This time it was Damian’s turn.

He had been sparring with Jon in the Batcave, when their conversation drifted, as it often did. “You ever think about what it would be like to date someone like Tim?” Jon asked, completely out of the blue.

Damian froze, mid-punch. “What?”

“I mean, he’s smart, right? Responsible, kinda low-key. Would probably make a great boyfriend,” Jon continued, completely oblivious to the growing horror on Damian’s face.

“Grayson and Todd, are enough. I refuse to let another sibling of mine become Gotham’s romantic fascination!” Damian exclaimed later that night at the dinner table. The others laughed, assuming Damian was just being overly dramatic, as usual.

But the seed had been planted.

It didn’t take long for the other Batfamily members to start picking up on the signs.

Steph first noticed when she logged onto a Wayne Enterprises fan forum (because yes, those exist) and saw a thread that was simply titled, “Tim Drake’s Glow-Up Appreciation Post”. The page was filled with comments fawning over him—talking about his “sharp jawline,” his “dark, mysterious aura,” and how “charming” he was during interviews.

Naturally, Steph sent the link to Cass with a laughing emoji. “Look at our boy, growing up into Gotham’s next heartbreaker,” she joked.

But as more and more of these comments popped up in the oddest places, Steph’s joking tone faded. Was Tim really the next heartthrob?

The realization hit Jason last, as most things concerning Tim usually did. He was scrolling through his usual online haunts, browsing forums that discussed Gotham’s vigilantes, when he stumbled on something unusual.

A post titled: Top 10 Reasons Why Red Robin is the Best Looking Vigilante in Gotham.

Jason almost clicked out of it immediately, assuming it was some kind of joke. But no. There were paragraphs. Analysis. Photos that somehow made Tim look like a damn model, even in his ridiculous Red Robin cape.

Jason scrolled through in disbelief, not sure what he was more stunned by: the fact that people were thirsting after Tim, or that someone had gone to this much effort to explain why he was hot.

“That’s it. The internet is officially broken,” Jason muttered to himself, before sending a screenshot to the family group chat with the caption: Since when did Tim become a fashion icon?

The real kicker, though, was Alfred. After weeks of the Batfamily casually throwing around jokes about Tim’s newly discovered “status,” Alfred finally made his observation one morning over breakfast.

“Master Timothy has always had a certain quiet charm about him,” Alfred said as he served coffee, completely unbothered by the ensuing chaos.

Dick, nearly spilling his coffee: “Wait, you knew about this? Why didn’t you say something?”

Alfred raised a brow. “It hardly seemed necessary. I assumed you all were already aware of Master Timothy’s appeal.”

Appeal. Appeal.

Jason was laughing so hard he had to leave the room, while Steph and Cass exchanged glances that said everything: they needed to re-evaluate everything about their little brother.

The whole Batfamily was still coming to terms with it. They joked, they teased, but there was an undeniable shift. When they looked at Tim now, they saw what others had apparently been seeing for years—a quietly confident, strikingly intelligent young man who had somehow grown into one of Gotham’s most eligible bachelors.

Of course, the moment that really sealed the deal came when Tim rode into the Batcave one evening on his Red Bird bike, wearing hastily thrown on stylish outfit—a black leather jacket, perfectly fitted jeans, and a shirt that gave him a casual, yet effortlessly cool look. Running a hand through his still damp hair, a look of mild annoyance on his face.

“Sorry, I’m running late. Got a date.”

For a moment, the Batfamily just stared.

Holy. Shit.

And then, as if on cue, Dick, Steph, Cass, Duke, Jason, and even Damian had the same thought at the same time: Oh my God, Tim Drake is the Batfamily’s biggest heartthrob.

The realization was almost too much to handle.

#tim drake #batfam #tim drake is gothams most eligible bachelor #tim drake is also a huge heartthrob and i think that needs to be addressed more #his date was totally with danny btw #ofc the bats would be the last ones to realize how saught after tim is

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sweetshuga · 4 months ago

Text

Give me head ✰ MS

───~𓆩♡𓆪~───

bf!matt! Giving him head after making fun of him for what he accidentally said on stream. "Yeah—pretty, fuckin’ choke on my cock, look at you taking me so well."

You were lounging on the living room couch, watching your boyfriend’s stream with headphones on and a can of soft drink in hand. "Yes, that’s much better, I’ll let you know, give me– give me head, I mean—Oh my god." Your eyes immediately snapped onto your phone screen and a loud burst of laughter slipped through your lips.

Your shoulders shaking with laughter as you saw Matt put his face in his hands, caught off guard by his own words. "Jesus, what is this kid saying?" You mumbled to yourself as you scrolled through the comments, seeing their fans bombarding them with comments about what he said.

𓆩♡𓆪

After what felt like years, they finally ended the stream and Matt walked out of his room—only to find you staring at him from the couch, a wide grin on your face and shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles. "Don’t–" you cut him off with a hearty laugh. "What–what was that? I can’t believe you just said that on stream nonetheless," you laughed, obviously finding it amusing but your boyfriend on the other hand—not so much.

"Give me– give me head," you mimicked his voice, laughing at how accurate it sounded. His eyes narrowed, a scoff leaving his lips, "you think you’re so funny huh? Go to my room." Your laughter died in your throat when you heard his tone, "Matt I was just teasing yo—" you tried to backpedal but the damage was already done when he cut you off, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Now."

You stood up and walked to his room, confused, and yet, you couldn’t help the heat pooling in between your legs at his demeanor and tone. Matt walked right behind you, closing the door when you both got inside; the soft click of the lock echoing in the quiet of his room.

You turned to look at him, "Matt—" he cut you off with a searing kiss, eliciting a soft gasp from you. And after kissing you senseless, he pulled back, a smirk playing on his lips, "get on your knees." You complied without a second thought, not like you could really think anyway – your mind fogged from the kiss.

He unbuckled his belt with expert ease, letting his pants pool down to his ankles, already straining against his boxer briefs. Your hands tentatively pulled down his briefs, letting his hefty length spring free, beads of precum leaking from the tip. You gulped softly, and looked up at your boyfriend, "c’mon pretty, wrap those lips around it," he held his shaft with one hand, the other holding the back of your head.

You obliged and opened your mouth, wrapping your lips around his throbbing cock. He groaned at the sensation, his hips bucking shallowly – feeding you more of his length – the tip of it hitting the back of your throat. "Yeah—pretty, fuckin’ choke on my cock, look at you taking me so well."

𓆩♡𓆪

wc. 480

note. English is not my first language!

Isa's notes. That time on stream when he tried to say "give me a hat" or something and accidentally said "give me head" instead.

Chris version!

xoxo 𓆩♡𓆪

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sayruq · 6 months ago

Text

In February, Adham, a 20-year-old Palestinian, was visiting his family’s home in the West Bank. One night while scrolling through Grindr, the gay messaging app, he received a message from an anonymous user “hey,” the user wrote, before “tapping,” the platform’s function for expressing interest. The user, like Adham’s, had a blank profile that included only minimal information about his interests and whereabouts, specifying only where he lived. (Drop Site News has changed his name to protect him from retaliation.) They hit it off and were chatting for a few hours before Adham shared that he was a university student in the West Bank. That prompted the user to share his thoughts on several professors at the university who had recently drawn attention for voicing pro-Palestine views. “He wanted me to be disgusted by them,” Adham told Drop Site. “Why are you trying to convince me that this doctor is a bad person just because he's against the occupation? It feels weird at first. Just bizarre.” Adham chalked it up to a difference of opinion and the two continued to chat. Eventually Adham sent the user his number so they could message on WhatsApp. Once the conversation moved off-platform, the user revealed his identity to Adham. “That’s when he said he worked with Israeli intelligence,” he said. Using Adham’s number, the user had identified him and began sending him messages with the names and photos of his family members he had found on their Facebook profiles. Adham hadn’t even shared his name with the user, much less anything that could point him to his family members—he’s not out to his family. “I started crying and I didn't know what to do,” Adham said. Adham blocked the profile on Grindr, but soon began receiving SMS messages repeating the same threats. “It was a whole night from 12 to the sunrise,” Adham said. “He kept threatening me, saying he will expose me.” The user told Adham he sought intelligence on Adham’s cousins who, at the time, were in an Israeli prison, awaiting trial on suspicion of their involvement with the al-Qassam brigades, Hamas’s military wing. “He told me that I should go to their homes, search and question their parents and get as much information about them as possible,” Adham recalled. “He said that you can't run away from us. We, you know where you live,” Adham said. “So I just get the SMS card, I throw it, I turned off my phone.” In the morning, he checked his mother’s phone continuously to make sure she hadn’t received any messages. One of his friends had his Grindr chats and images sent to his friends and family after receiving similarly threatening messages from a user who claimed to be an Israeli intelligence official. Drop Site could not verify the messages to Adham came from an intelligence official. But a former official with Unit 8200, Israel’s signals-intelligence agency, confirmed the involvement of Shin Bet, Israel’s internal security agency. The Israel Defense Forces declined to comment.

#yemen #jerusalem #tel aviv #current events #palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #news on gaza #palestine news #news update #war news #war on gaza #west bank #free west bank #homophobia #lgbt rights #pinkwashing #palestine genocide

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s4kura-tr3 · 2 months ago

Note

Could you make a crybaby reader with JJK men? Like just an overly sensitive/nice reader? It’s okay if not! Have a good day!

Sensitive!

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna, Megumi, Yuji

Gojo Satoru

Gojo Satoru never meant to upset you—he rarely ever did. But today, his usual playful teasing hit you harder than usual.

You were sitting on the couch together, scrolling through your phone while he flipped lazily through the channels on the TV. Out of nowhere, Gojo chuckled and said, “You know, you’re so dramatic sometimes. It’s kinda cute, but it’s like everything’s the end of the world for you.”

You froze, his words hitting a nerve. Dramatic. That’s how people had dismissed your feelings for years. You tried to brush it off, but your chest tightened, and your vision blurred slightly as you blinked back tears.

Gojo didn’t notice at first, still flipping channels and humming to himself. But when you didn’t respond with your usual witty comeback, he glanced over and saw your downturned face.

“Wait,” he said, sitting up immediately. “Did I say something wrong?”

You didn’t answer right away, biting your lip to keep your emotions in check.

“Hey,” he said more gently now, setting the remote down. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

Finally, you looked at him, your voice quiet. “You called me dramatic. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? It’s like every time I feel something, people just… dismiss me.”

Gojo’s eyes widened as realization dawned on him. “Oh no. No, no, no, that’s not what I meant,” he said, scooting closer to you on the couch. “I wasn’t trying to dismiss you. I swear, I just—ugh, sometimes I don’t think before I speak.”

You didn’t reply, still feeling the sting of his words.

Gojo reached for your hands, holding them in his warm, large ones. “I’m really sorry,” he said softly. “You’re not dramatic. You just feel things deeply, and I love that about you. It’s one of my favorite things about you, actually. You care so much, and that’s rare. Honestly, I wish I was more like you sometimes.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

“I mean it,” he continued. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that wasn’t a good thing. It is. You’re amazing, and I’m lucky you put up with my dumb jokes.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, despite your lingering hurt. “You really think that?”

Gojo grinned, his usual playful energy returning as he kissed your knuckles. “I think you’re perfect. And I’m perfectly terrible at saying things the right way. Forgive me?”

You sighed, the weight in your chest easing. “Okay. But maybe think before you speak next time?”

“Deal,” he said, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll even let you pick the movie tonight as a peace offering. But only if it’s not boring.”

You laughed softly, and just like that, Gojo had you smiling again, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close.

Geto Suguru

It was late in the evening, and you and Geto Suguru were sitting together in a cozy café. He had insisted on taking you out to unwind after a long week, and for a while, the warm atmosphere and his gentle company had done just that. But then, the conversation took an unexpected turn.

You were talking about a project you’d been working on—how much effort you’d put into it and how nervous you were about how it would turn out. Somewhere in the middle of your rambling, Geto chuckled softly and said, “You really overthink things sometimes, don’t you?”

His tone was light, and you knew he didn’t mean it maliciously, but the comment stopped you in your tracks. Your heart sank, and your chest tightened as those familiar insecurities reared their heads. You looked down at your tea, your appetite for conversation disappearing.

Geto immediately noticed the shift in your mood. He tilted his head, his dark eyes softening with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently, leaning closer.

You shook your head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly not nothing,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “Did I say something wrong?”

You hesitated, but his steady gaze encouraged you to speak. “It’s just… when you said I overthink things. I know I do, okay? I hear it all the time, and I hate that about myself. It feels like no matter how hard I try, it’s never enough, and people just see me as… too much.”

Geto’s expression shifted immediately, a flicker of regret crossing his face. “Hey, no, that’s not what I meant at all,” he said softly, his voice full of sincerity.

You looked away, but he gently reached across the table, his hand brushing against yours. “Listen to me,” he said, his tone warm and steady. “I wasn’t trying to say that in a bad way. I know you overthink because you care. You care so much about everything, and that’s not a flaw—it’s a strength.”

You blinked at him, his words catching you off guard.

“You put your whole heart into what you do, and yeah, sometimes it makes you nervous or unsure, but that’s only because you want things to be perfect,” he continued. “And honestly? That’s one of the things I admire most about you. I could never think of that as a bad thing.”

The tightness in your chest began to ease as his words sank in. “You really mean that?” you asked softly.

Geto smiled gently, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Of course I do. And I’m sorry if what I said made you feel like I didn’t. I’ll be more careful with my words next time.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thank you.”

He chuckled softly. “You don’t have to thank me. It’s my job to remind you how amazing you are when you forget.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and the tension that had settled between you melted away.

“Now,” he said, his tone lightening as he leaned back in his chair, “how about I make it up to you with dessert? I hear they’ve got a mean matcha cheesecake here.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “Fine, but you’re paying.”

“Always,” he said with a playful smirk, raising his hand to call for the waiter.

Nanami Kento

Nanami Kento had had an exhausting day. Every step he took up the stairs to your shared apartment felt heavier than the last, and all he wanted was to come home, see you, and let the warmth of your presence melt away the stress.

When he opened the door, you greeted him with your usual enthusiasm, rushing over to pull him into a tight hug. “Kento! You’re home!” you exclaimed, your excitement practically radiating off you.

He managed a small smile and placed a hand on your back, but the weight of his day still hung over him. “Hi,” he said softly, his voice tired.

You didn’t seem to notice his exhaustion as you began talking a mile a minute. “I missed you! You won’t believe the day I had—oh, and guess what? I tried that recipe you love, and I think it turned out amazing! Oh, and Louis did the funniest thing today—”

“Can you give me a second?” he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended.

The room fell silent, and the warmth in your expression dimmed instantly. You stepped back, your arms falling to your sides. “Oh,” you said softly. “Sorry.”

Nanami immediately felt a pang of regret as he saw the hurt in your eyes. You weren’t upset because he was tired—you were upset because he’d made you feel like your excitement didn’t matter to him.

You turned away, mumbling something about letting him settle in, but he quickly reached out and gently grabbed your hand. “Wait,” he said, his voice softer now.

You hesitated, looking at him but avoiding his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s not your fault I had a hard day. I… I was looking forward to seeing you all day, and then I let my frustration get in the way.”

You blinked, your lips trembling slightly. “I just wanted to make you happy,” you admitted quietly.

“And you do,” he said immediately, stepping closer to you. “You’re the best part of my day. Always.”

Your eyes met his then, searching his face for the truth in his words. His expression was soft, full of remorse and affection.

“I don’t deserve to have you greet me with so much love after the way I acted,” he said, gently pulling you into his arms. “But I promise I’ll do better. You’re everything to me, and I should have treated you like it.”

You rested your forehead against his chest, feeling his arms tighten around you. “I just got too excited,” you murmured.

“And I love that about you,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Your excitement, your energy—it’s what makes this place feel like home. I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate it like I should’ve.”

For a moment, you stood there in his embrace, his warmth and steady heartbeat easing the lingering hurt.

“Do you want to sit down and tell me about your day?” he asked after a moment, pulling back slightly to look at you. “I want to hear everything.”

You hesitated, then nodded, a small smile creeping onto your face. “Okay. But only if you let me heat up dinner for you first.”

He chuckled softly. “Deal. But don’t rush—just being here with you is enough.”

And as you led him to the table, the weight of his day began to lift, replaced by the comfort of knowing he was home—with you.

Toji fushiguro

Toji Fushiguro wasn’t the type to watch his words. His bluntness was just part of who he was—sharp, quick, and sometimes careless. Most of the time, you brushed it off, knowing he didn’t mean to hurt you. But tonight, it cut deeper than usual.

The two of you were in the kitchen after dinner. You were putting away dishes, humming softly, while Toji leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, watching you.

“I’ve been thinking about trying something new,” you said, your tone excited. “Like a cooking class or maybe painting—something creative. I think it could be fun.”

Toji grunted in response, not looking up from the dish he was drying.

You hesitated but kept going, trying to draw him into the conversation. “What do you think? Would you want to try something like that with me?”

Toji sighed and set the dish down a little too hard, the sound making you flinch. “You don’t stick with stuff like that, do you?” he said, his voice flat. “You get all excited and then drop it a week later. What’s the point?”

You froze, his words hitting harder than you expected. You knew he had a point—sometimes you did lose interest in things quickly. But hearing him say it so bluntly, so dismissively, made your chest tighten.

“I…” Your voice wavered as you set the plate in your hands on the counter. “I just thought it’d be nice to do something together.”

Toji finally looked up, his brows furrowing when he saw the way your shoulders slumped. “Hey, don’t get all upset about it,” he said, his tone softening, but it didn’t help.

“I’m not upset,” you said quickly, though the slight tremble in your voice betrayed you. “I just… never mind.”

You turned away, trying to hide the tears that were already welling up, but Toji wasn’t one to let things go.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter now as he stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled, but when you tried to brush past him, he caught your wrist gently.

“Look at me,” he said firmly, his tone still low but insistent. You hesitated, and when you finally met his gaze, he could see the hurt in your eyes.

“Damn it,” he muttered, his grip on your wrist loosening. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You didn’t have to say it at all,” you whispered. “You make me feel like I’m… not good at anything.”

Toji’s jaw tightened, guilt flashing across his face. He wasn’t good at this—at saying the right things or fixing mistakes—but he hated seeing you like this, especially when he was the one who caused it.

“You’re good at plenty of things,” he said, his tone softer now. “And… I’m an idiot for saying that to you. I wasn’t trying to put you down. I just… I don’t know how to say things without sounding like a jerk sometimes.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice.

“I think it’s a great idea,” he admitted after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “The cooking class or whatever. And I’d do it with you if that’s what you want.”

“You don’t have to just say that,” you murmured.

“I’m not just saying it,” he said, stepping closer until he could wrap his arms around you. “You’re trying to do something fun, and instead of supporting you, I ran my mouth like an idiot. I’m sorry.”

His arms around you were warm and steady, and you could feel the sincerity in the way he held you.

“You’d really go with me?” you asked, your voice still small.

“Yeah,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Even if I suck at it, I’d go. For you.”

Your lips quirked up into a small smile, the sting of his earlier words starting to fade. “Okay,” you said softly, leaning into his chest.

Toji smirked, holding you a little tighter. “Good. But don’t expect me to wear an apron or anything. That’s where I draw the line.”

You laughed, the sound lightening the room, and he sighed in relief, grateful to see your smile again.

Sukuna Ryomen

The Heian era was a time of beauty and chaos, and life with Sukuna Ryomen was no exception. Known as the King of Curses, Sukuna was feared across the land, but to you, he was something else entirely. His presence, though intimidating, had always been a source of strange comfort. However, his sharp tongue often betrayed him, and tonight was one of those nights.

You had spent the entire day crafting something special—a delicate embroidered cloth featuring patterns of crimson and gold, colors you knew he favored. Each stitch was precise, your fingers aching by the time you finished, but the thought of presenting it to Sukuna filled you with anticipation.

When you brought the finished piece to him that evening, you entered his chambers with cautious excitement, kneeling before him as he sat on his throne-like dais. “My lord,” you began softly, holding out the cloth, “I made this for you. I thought you might like it.”

Sukuna’s four crimson eyes flicked to the offering, and for a brief moment, there was silence. Then he spoke, his tone as sharp as ever.

“You spent all day on this?” he said, his voice laced with disdain. “What use do I have for something so… trivial?”

The words hit you harder than you anticipated. You had poured your heart into the gift, hoping to please him, and now your efforts felt meaningless. You lowered your hands, clutching the cloth tightly as your vision blurred with tears you desperately tried to hold back.

“I… I just wanted to give you something,” you murmured, your voice trembling.

Sukuna’s brows furrowed at the shift in your tone. He could sense your emotions as clearly as the tension in the air, and the sight of you so visibly upset stirred something in him—something he wasn’t used to feeling.

“Tch,” he muttered, leaning forward slightly, his gaze fixed on you. “Why are you crying? I didn’t tell you to do something like this.”

You shook your head, your voice breaking. “I know. I just… I thought it would make you happy.”

Sukuna let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t good at this—at softening his edges. But seeing you like this unsettled him in a way that battles and curses never could

“Look at me,” he commanded, his tone firm but quieter now.

Reluctantly, you raised your eyes to meet his. His gaze wasn’t as harsh as before, and for a moment, the room felt less heavy.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “I’m not good with… things like this.” He gestured vaguely at the cloth in your hands. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it.”

Your breath hitched slightly. “You… you do?”

“Yes,” he said, almost impatiently, but his tone lacked its usual edge. “I’m just not someone who knows how to handle… thoughtful gestures. But that doesn’t mean they’re wasted on me.”

You blinked, the sting of his earlier words starting to fade. “I just wanted to give you something that reminded you of… us. Of me.”

Sukuna’s lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “And you think I could forget you?”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and he chuckled lowly, clearly pleased with your reaction. He reached out, taking the cloth from your hands, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

“It’s well-made,” he admitted, running his thumb over the intricate stitching. “Better than I expected.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and Sukuna leaned back, his gaze softening just slightly. “Next time, don’t exhaust yourself for my sake,” he said. “You don’t need to prove anything to me.”

“I just wanted to make you happy,” you said softly, your earlier sadness melting away.

“You do,” he replied, his voice quiet but steady. “Even without this.”

The warmth in his words made your heart ache in the best way, and as he set the cloth aside carefully, you knew that, in his own way, Sukuna was trying.

Megumi Fushiguro

Megumi Fushiguro was in a foul mood. Gojo had been pestering him all day—constant teasing, unnecessary tasks, and endless comments that pushed his patience to the brink. By the time he walked through the door, his mind was racing, and he felt like he was ready to snap at anything that moved.

You had been waiting for him to come home, your excitement bubbling as you thought about sharing the small surprise you’d planned for him: his favorite snacks arranged neatly on the coffee table and a cozy spot on the couch waiting for him to relax.

When he walked in, you greeted him with a bright smile. “Megumi! Welcome home! I set up—”

“Can you just give me a second?” he snapped, not even looking up as he kicked off his shoes and dropped his bag with more force than necessary.

You froze, startled by the sharpness of his tone. “Oh… I didn’t mean to bother you,” you said softly, your voice already trembling slightly.

Megumi sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not about you, okay? I just need some space.”

Your chest tightened at his words. He didn’t even glance at the effort you’d put into making his evening better. The snacks, the cozy setup—it all felt meaningless now. “I just wanted to help,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you turned away, your shoulders slumping.

The sound of your soft, hurt tone stopped Megumi in his tracks. He looked up and finally noticed the care you’d put into the room—the snacks, the cozy setting, and the clear effort to make him feel better. Guilt hit him like a wave.

“Wait,” he said, his voice gentler now as he stepped closer to you. “I… I’m sorry.”

You didn’t turn to face him, your hands nervously fiddling with your sleeves. “It’s fine,” you said, though the crack in your voice betrayed your true feelings.

“It’s not fine,” Megumi said, his tone firm but remorseful. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

You glanced back at him, your eyes glistening. “I was just trying to make you feel better,” you murmured, “but if you don’t want me here, I can—”

“No,” he cut in quickly, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to leave. Please.”

He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “It’s been a rough day, and I let my frustration get the better of me. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You were trying to do something nice for me, and I acted like an idiot.”

You stared at him for a moment, his rare vulnerability catching you off guard. “You mean that?”

“I do,” he said, stepping closer and gently taking your hand. “I see what you did here. It’s thoughtful, and it means a lot to me. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

Your lips trembled as a small smile broke through. “I just wanted you to relax after your day.”

“And I’m lucky to have you,” he said, squeezing your hand gently. “Let me make it up to you.”

You hesitated before nodding, letting him guide you to the couch. As the two of you sat together, Megumi reached for one of the snacks you’d prepared, a small but genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“Thank you,” he said softly, glancing at you.

“For what?” you asked, tilting your head.

“For being patient with me,” he said. “And for always knowing how to make things better—even when I don’t deserve it.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned against him, letting the tension of the evening fade away. Megumi might not always get it right, but moments like this reminded you why you loved him so much.

Yuji Itadori

Yuji Itadori wasn’t the type to snap at people—he was always upbeat, kind, and quick to laugh things off. But after a long day of missions, training, and dealing with the stress of being Sukuna’s vessel, he’d finally managed to steal a rare moment of relaxation, engrossed in a video game he’d been trying to beat for weeks.

You, excited to share some news with him, entered the room without realizing how deeply focused he was. “Yuji! Guess what happened today?” you said cheerfully, walking over to him.

“Not now,” he muttered, his eyes glued to the screen, fingers flying across the controller.

You hesitated, unsure if he’d heard you properly. “It’ll only take a second! You won’t believe—”

“I said not now!” he snapped, his tone sharper than you’d ever heard before.

The sudden harshness of his voice made you stop in your tracks. Your excitement vanished, replaced with a sinking feeling in your chest. You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, before mumbling, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Your voice was so soft, Yuji almost didn’t catch it. But when he heard the hurt in your tone and turned to see the way your expression had fallen, his stomach twisted with guilt.

“Wait, no, I didn’t mean—” he started, but you were already backing away. “I’ll just… leave you alone,” you said quietly, heading toward the door.

Yuji quickly paused the game and jumped to his feet. “Wait! Don’t go!”

You stopped but didn’t turn around, your arms crossed tightly as if trying to protect yourself from the sting of his words.

Yuji rubbed the back of his neck, his face filled with regret. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softer now. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. That was really uncool of me.”

You glanced over your shoulder, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I just wanted to tell you something. I didn’t think it would make you so mad…”

“I wasn’t mad at you,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “I was just so caught up in the game, and I got frustrated. But that’s not an excuse. You didn’t deserve that.”

You bit your lip, unsure if you should say anything, and Yuji reached out, gently touching your arm. “Hey,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. “I’m really, really sorry. You’re way more important to me than some stupid game.”

His words made your heart ache in the best way, and you finally turned to face him fully. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” he said, giving you that familiar, boyish grin that made it hard to stay upset. “Tell me what happened today. I want to hear everything.”

“You’re sure? I don’t want to interrupt…” you trailed off.

Yuji shook his head quickly. “Forget the game. I want to spend time with you.”

The sincerity in his voice melted away the last of your hurt, and you let yourself smile again. As you started sharing your story, Yuji sat beside you, listening intently, determined to make up for his mistake.

And when you laughed at one of his playful comments, Yuji silently promised himself to never let a moment like that happen again. You were his safe place, his reason to smile, and no game—or anything else—could ever compare.

688 notes · View notes

merrybloomwrites · 4 months ago

Text

When You're Lost, Just Look For Me

Summary: You’re not always good at asking for what you need. Luckily your bandmates know when you need a little extra love and are there to support you.

Word Count: 2.5K

CW: mentions of: neglectful family, periods, little bit of online hate

This story is set in the 1D days, and therefore Liam is a main character just like the other boys. Wanted to give a heads up in case anyone wants to avoid stories with him in it.

AN: When the news broke last week I wasn’t sure if I was going to continue writing, and really didn’t know what I would write about if I did. But then Passing Contact doubled in notes so I took that as a hint that it’s what people might want to read right now. So I decided to write a part 2 in hopes that it can help people in any way.

I have a couple other ideas for stories of reader x one direction that would also take place back when they were touring, but if you have any requests please let me know

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It’s a day off in a random hotel room in a random city in the United States. Of that you’re sure. But you're not sure of much else at the moment.

You’re thinking back to the past few days. You’d messed up your backing vocals on stage, and had to re-record your parts for the next album because you just could not get it right. Numerous rumors were being spread about you being spotted with random boys, leading to renewed comments calling you all kinds of nasty things.

You’re still in your pajamas, which you realize somehow consist of a pair of Louis’ sweatpants, one of Zayn's t-shirts, and a sweatshirt Liam had given you a week ago that you have yet to return. You think about texting one of them to come hang out, but you don’t want your glum mood to bring them down. Instead you turn on the TV and wrap yourself in all your blankets.

It’s what you always did as a child when you were sad. Your family was never open with their emotions, and affection made them uncomfortable. From a young age you knew that going to your parents for comfort would end with rejection. So you’d learned how to comfort yourself.

The blanket nest barely does its job today, and you’re still lost in your thoughts of self doubt when a knock at the door startles you.

For a second you think about ignoring it, but odds are the person knocking wouldn’t just go away. So you pull yourself up and open the door, seeing Niall there waiting for you.

“Hey, haven’t heard from you today, wanted to see what you’re up to,” he says.

You’re hit with a wave of embarrassment, not wanting to admit that you've been wallowing all day.

“Just taking it easy,” you reply, “Catching up on sleep.” It’s believable enough, none of you sleep too well on the bus and this is your first hotel bed in over a week.

“I hear ya, think I slept twelve hours straight,” Niall says with a laugh.

Knowing that he’s hoping for an invitation you step aside and motion your arm, silently asking him to join you in your room. You glance around quickly, glad to see everything is neat except the bed. You hope that he doesn’t judge the mess of blankets, and considering he just kicks off his shoes and climbs into your bed, you assume he’s fine with it.

“What are we watching?” Is his next question so you sit on the other side of the bed and pass him the remote, allowing him to scroll through the channels until he finds some nature show that looks mildly interesting.

You stare at the screen but you’re not focusing on it. You’re more focused on Niall just a couple feet away from you.

During a celebration after the first tour, where you’d all indulged a bit with some drinks, you’d let slip about your family and your reluctance when it comes to physical affection. They listened and then made it a goal to help you be more comfortable with hugs, and hand holding, and all kinds of friendly contact.

And it was nice. You’d always known that babies could be touch deprived, but you’d learned that adults can be starved for human touch as well. There was no doubt that you fell into this category, so getting random bouts of touch and affection from your band members had been healing in a way.

But lately things have been so crazy that everyone has been focusing on themselves. Plus you’re older now, not the teens that you were when you started the band. As people in your early twenties, the casual physical affection has dwindled.

The boys seem to be coping with this, as though they haven’t even realized that the group hugs and cuddle piles have stopped. But you’ve noticed. And you’ll be the first to admit that you miss it.

Now especially, with all this stress and disappointment weighing you down, you can’t help but desire a hug, one so tight that you can just burrow into one of the boys for a little while and feel safe and loved.

But even though Niall is right there, you can’t bring yourself to ask. You can’t even move closer and get rid of the space between you. Because it was always the boys initiating the contact. You’re nervous to try, terrified that you might get rejected.

Niall can tell something is going on with you, but he’s not sure what. He’s never been the best at navigating other people’s emotions so he calls in backup by sending a text to Harry who arrives a little bit later. He brings lunch with him, and you’re grateful for that since you’ve barely eaten all day.

The three of you sit together at the table to eat. The food is good, and you’re grateful that Niall and Harry are talking to each other because you don’t have much to add right now. You don’t realize the way they’re watching you, communicating their worry through pointed looks.

When lunch is done you all head back to the bed and put on a movie. You’re sitting against the headboard, Niall on your left and Harry on your right. And somehow, they’re still not touching you. At this point you’d take a brush of their arm against yours. Anything to help you feel less alone. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to lean closer to either of them. It’s maddening.

“Y/N,” Harry says, catching your attention.

“Yea?”

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, not even sure why you’re lying to him.

“We know something is bothering you,” Niall adds.

You take a breath before spilling everything that’s been going on. They listen and reassure you and while you do feel better after talking with them, there’s still that part of you that’s so on edge.

“What do you need?” Harry asks.

You think about it for a moment and say, “What I need is for people to stop judging me.”

“That’s a fair point. But I want to know what you need right now. From us.” Harry says.

The thing is, he knows the answer. He’s already aware of what would make you feel better. But he wants you to say it. He wants you to be comfortable to voice your needs with him and the other boys.

Finally you blurt out, “I just need a hug.”

“That’s not it,” Harry says.

Now you’re confused. It’s what you want. You tapped into all your bravery to even say that. And now he’s telling you that’s not right?

“You want something more than that. Need something more than that,” he adds.

You think about it for a moment and you realize that he’s right. A little hug isn’t going to cut it.

“I need someone to hold me,” you say quietly. “I need to be held.”

Neither boy hesitates now, and you end up tucking into Harry's side with Niall wrapping around you. They hold you tight, hands gently rubbing your back or arms to soothe you.

It’s not often that you allow yourself to cry, but you do now. You heave out a sob and feel their arms tighten around you. They stay like that until your sobs turn into tears before finally drying up.

“Thank you,” you say quietly once you’ve calmed down fully.

“Of course, YN,” Niall says. “We’re always here for you. Whatever you need.”

“We’re in this together,” Harry adds. “And we take care of each other. Always.”

Their kindness, and comfort has you feeling so much better, but you remain in their hold just a bit longer. It feels so nice to have this type of physical contact after so long without it.

The three of you eventually get cleaned up and join the rest of the boys for dinner. You end the day feeling so much better than you did at the start, and you know it’s thanks to these boys you call family.

But despite how nice it felt to be held, thoughts of doubt and embarrassment fill your mind in the weeks that follow. When you look back at that afternoon you first think about how good it felt. And then you begin to feel weak that you even needed to be babied in the first place.

You vow to be stronger in the future and not ask for that again. They have their own things, they don’t need to be taking care of you too. At least, that’s what your parents had always said.

Tour continues, and one night you all have to stay at the venue for a while after the show. Security said something about it being unsafe to travel just yet, but you were too tired to listen to the details.

After more than an hour of hanging out backstage you finally get the all clear to head out. But in that time you’d practically fallen asleep on the sofa. You have zero desire to get up so you sleepily raise your arms and look at Liam who’s standing before you and say, “Carry me.”

He chuckles, and a sweet smile appears on his face. Without even saying a word he leans down and slides an arm behind your back, the other under your knees to scoop you up bridal style. You sling one arm around his neck and hold on as he adjusts his grip to make sure you are secure.

Once back on the bus he tucks you in, straightening your extra blanket and placing your stuffed cat in your arms. He runs a gentle hand through your hair until you fall asleep, once again feeling so safe and loved.

A couple weeks later your period hits, and for some reason this month is especially bad. It’s day two of non stop cramps, and as much as you try to keep this a secret from the boys, they always know when you’re feeling particularly bad.

Louis is the one to find you curled up on the couch. He brings chocolate, pain relievers, and some tea that’s supposed to help. You’d never heard of it before, but apparently his sisters swear by it.

When nothing helps right away he lays down with you. His hand goes to your stomach and begins to rub, somehow soothing more than just the pain. Once your cramps finally go away you turn so that you're facing Louis. You tuck your head under his chin and he puts his arm around your waist to keep you close.

It should be strange, being so close to him. But it just feels right, just like it does with the other boys. You let yourself enjoy the comfort as Louis’ hand rubs gentle circles on your back.

Not only are your cramps gone, but the feelings of sadness and anxiety that usually come with your period are gone too, all thanks to Louis’ compassion and gentleness.

A few days later you're sleeping in your bunk when a nightmare hits. It’s one that you used to get all the time, but now only comes when you’re extra exhausted or stressed. And with it being the last couple weeks of tour, you’re both of those things.

You wake up gasping, adrenaline coursing through your body. You hoped that you were quiet and didn’t wake anyone else, but a moment later Zayn appears and asks if you’re alright.

“I’m fine,” you reply. “Just a dream. I’m good now.”

But of course these boys can read you like a book. And Zayn immediately knows you’re not fine.

“Scooch over,” he says, and you listen. As soon as there’s room he climbs in the bunk with you. He lays on his back and pulls you so your head is resting on his chest.

You get comfy but you can’t help but feel bad. These bunks are small, uncomfortable for just one person. Definitely cramped with two.

“You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine,” you say.

“Nonsense. No one should be alone when they don’t have to,” he replies.

You can't argue with that. The two of you hold each other close and fall into a peaceful sleep. He’s still there when you wake up in the morning and you snuggle closer, taking advantage of his comforting touch.

When tour ends you’re a weird mixture of relieved and sad. It had been exhausting, but so wonderful.

And you have to admit to yourself that you’re going to miss the boys. It’s only a couple of weeks apart before you come back together, but you’ll be back home with your family during that time.

And you’re realizing that they’re not really family to you.

Zayn, Niall, Louis, Liam, and Harry are your family. They care for you in ways your own parents never did. And you’re going to miss that while you’re all back home.

The boys know how you feel about going to stay with your family. That’s why they plan a night in rather than going out to party. You have some drinks and pizza, and spend the evening reminiscing about the past months you had together.

The later it gets, the more glum you feel. You know the goodbyes are coming soon, and that puts a damper on your mood.

Liam’s the first to notice how quiet you’ve gotten. He sits next to you on the couch and gently nudges you with his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

You don’t want to bring down the party, but you can’t ignore his pleading eyes so you reply, “I’m just going to miss you guys.”

He nods but continues to look at you, knowing there’s more to it. Sighing you add, “And you guys are so happy and so warm. At home everyone’s cold and distant.”

“What can we do to help?” He asks. A memory pops into your head. Another hotel room when you were feeling down. You know exactly what you need. And you’re no longer scared or embarrassed to ask for it.

“I need to be held,” you say.

“I think we can do that,” Liam says before once again picking you up and announcing, “Cuddle party on the bed!”

He gently tosses you onto the plush king bed and in no time you’re surrounded by your boys. That’s how the six of you sleep that night, all snuggled together in one big pile.

You’ve never before felt so safe, so loved. And you’ll forever be grateful for the opportunity you received that brought you close to these boys. Because they are the ones who taught you what love truly feels like.

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

AN: While I was working on this a butterfly landed next to me and stuck around for a while. Brought me a bit of peace.

To my readers, I hope you’re all doing okay, and if you need someone to talk to know that I’m here and willing to talk!

#harry styles x reader #louis tomlinson x reader #niall horan x reader #liam payne x reader #zayn malik x reader #one direction x reader #one direction fanfiction

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megalomaniacz · 3 months ago

Text

SWEET CHERRY 🍒

camgirl!reader x toxic actually loserish really pathetic!vi

diva mode activated halfway through writing this…guys idk i’m gay okay and if it isn’t good i never wrote it…okay? erm nsfw!! listened to tate mcrae and charli while writing this if that means anything to u. also, my birthday is tomorrow!! might drunkenly pump out a toxic!cait one shot OMG WHO SAIDDDD THAT

PART ONE: $EX. LIE$. UGLY. TRUTH.

the time on her computer screen read 11:07 pm. you were two minutes behind schedule. every regular viewer, including vi, was on the edge of their seat. licking at chapped lips and rubbing lotiony hands together. eyes wide with wonder, refreshing the site every 10 seconds until you popped onto screen.

you were wearing your signature cherry red lingerie, flawless makeup, soft pop music playing in the back. nails sharp and adorned with cherries. you held a sucker that read eat me in your hand, slowly unwrapping it for the camera. “hi cherries, guess what flavor this is.”

vi was foaming at the fucking mouth, adjusting the computer in her lap. eyes glued to the screen while she bit her lip and held onto your every word.

you moved closer to the screen. “grape? chat what do you mean? cmon guess and you get a prizeeee.”

the way you spoke, singing your words. ending the sentence in a suggestive tone. your sultry manner and bedroom eyes. everything was driving vi up a goddamn wall. you were all that and bag of fucking chips. she couldn’t stop thinking about you since she found a video of you fucking yourself with a dildo on an adult site. lezgetbusy or something fucking stupid. scrolled through the comments (5,000) until someone alluded to the fact that you cammed.

then she followed your profile and immediately paid your $50 messaging fee.

in all honesty, she was talking to herself in there half the time. the rare moments in which you did respond gave her a euphoria she couldn’t contain. she wanted to fuck you. no, she needed to fuck you. with her fingers, her tongue, her strap, and whatever the hell else will fit up there. it was driving her crazy.

grandSurpass: grape lol

justmyego: strawberry?

Several_means: lick it again please :(

she rolled her eyes at the screen. “idiotic men, it’s fucking cherry.” she begins to tap in the chat. she presses send, and when she sees you reading it? mouthing her comment? she nearly chokes, feeling her face flush.

“very good, vi? violet22. very good.”

her hands were stuffed into her pants now, legs spread while she toys with herself. you said her name. you said her fucking name! she throws her head back, thinking about how easily it fell off your tongue.

“since you guessed right, you get, drumroll pleaseeee.”

she was close now. pool of wetness filling her boxers. legs shaking, mouth wide open. please keep talking, please keep talking…please…

“a chance to chat with me personally! this stream, and others, will be a bit shorter as i’ve decided i’ll be doing one on one chats with some lucky cherries. congratulations vio-“

she slams her computer shut, takes her hand out of her pants, and jumps off her bed. stumbles into her bathroom, washes her hands and splashes water on her face, then stumbles back to her room. reopens her computer, runs a hand down her face, types in the website url again. logs in. clicks watch stream. and checks under her ass for shit because she swears she just shat herself. just now.

“oh, vi is back. okay guys.” you swish the lollipop around in your mouth a bit before continuing to speak. “i’m going to send you a link in private message, violet22. see you soon!” a toothy and cheery smile spread across your sweet face.

the second the link shows up in her inbox, she clicks it. hits the $200hr pay wall. fumbles in her pockets for her wallet, fuck she left it in the bathroom okay she’s got it dammit she’s shaking. can barely put the card numbers in. she’s making you wait she’s making you wait fuck.

after payment is secured, you in all your sweet glory, pop up on her screen. you’re sat on your bed, sucker hanging from your lips, fiddling with your freshly manicured nails. you hear the ding, realized she’s joined, and lay on your belly. tits squeezing together on the bed.

“hi! violet22? is that you? i can’t see you, turn your camera on!”

oh fucking fuck the fuck fuck fuckity FUCK FUCK. she has no time to fix her face up for you, or change out of her 2 day old t shirt. atleast you can’t smell her through the screen. she clicks on the small camera icon in left corner of the screen, and puts on an awkward smile.

“hi. there you are.” you smile, kicking your feet.

“hi sweet cherry. fuck. i’ve come to your videos so much nothing gets me so worked up. fuck. sorry.”

you giggle a bit and her face visibly becomes 3 shades redder. looks like she’s got some sort of filter on.

“it’s okay. thank you so much, your support means the world to me. do you have any personal requests while you’ve got me? clocks counting down.” you pucker your lips.

the time on the right corner of the screen is counting down 4:56…4:55…

vi’s eyes widen, and she gulps. finding it hard to think of anything to say. she was in complete shock. you’re looking at her. talking to her. you’re talking to her,,,oh fuck you’re talking to her.

“i-i’m- hmmm.” she stutters, picking at a hangnail. the clocks on 4:01 now and her heart seems to damn near be beating out of her chest.

“how about we play a quick game, okay? and next time, maybe you’ll have something thought of. maybe we’ll have more time…” your smile melts her heart. next time? GEE WILLIKERS!!! someone check this bitches pulse.

“okay.” she nods, barely present. still unsure if this is some sort of orgasm induced illusion.

“if you can guess the word i’m thinking of, i’ll take an extra special picture just for you. kay?”

you wink and she feels like the wind has been knocked out of her. she gives you a small nod, and it makes you laugh. she’s so cute and pathetic.

3:48…3:47

“okay. it’s a type of flower.” you lick your sugar ridden lips, putting the entire sucker in your mouth then pulling it out slowly.

vi’s about to piss herself. or is that come? man these boxers are gonna need a deep clean.

“is it a rose? a tulip?”

you shake your head, taunting smirk on your face. “try again, cutie.”

oh she’s so gonna ride a pillow with your picture on it tonight. might even get the picture all wet with her slick, imagine her sweet pussy on your perfectly plump lips. wait what was the question?

“ummm lillies? dandelions? sunflowers?”

you shake your head, sticking your tongue out and directly swiping it over the fading words. eat me do you know how bad she wants to?

“hint, please?” she looks at you with sad eyes. feels like she’s being edged or something. pussy growing wetter by the minute FUCK 2:49…2:48

“cmon, you’re smart. use that big brain of yours.” you follow with a taunting laugh. she’s too fucking horny for this, and you look so good. she wonders how you feel. your skin. bet it’s warm and soft. bet you’d grip the sheets when nipped at your thighs. back arching-

“daises? did i say that already?”

you shake your head and look over at the small timer taking a bite out of the sucker, now it reads at me.

“lavender is a flower? right?”

you sit up on the bed, and she watches the way you widen your thighs. pretty little red bow right above your pussy. you arch your back, ass in the air, chewing on the candy. “close.”

the money she’d spend to have one night with you. ass up face buried in your silky red sheets. cock buried so deep in your pussy it’s kissing your stomach. WHAT WAS THE QUESTION AGAIN?

“aww your time is up.” you pout. there’s five seconds. vi’s drooling, all over herself. like actually. she wipes her mouth, slow blinking, taking mental pictures.

“the word was violet, silly! see you next stream.”

fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck

#sorry to edge you all #my mouth watered writing this #i’m just gay ok idk leave me alone #vi x reader #toxic!vi #?#vi x you #vi arcane #arcane fanfic #vi smut #bumpin that that that that #TWO HANDS ON ME BABY #when i go to the club i wanna hear those #should i make them meet in pt2 and have vi actually pee herself lmao #piss kink?#violet arcane

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o-batll3 · 4 months ago

Text

hands - a.putellas x reader

warnings : none !

summary : alexia and reader are in a relationship hidden from the media. reader is a famous singer and asks alexia to have a small feature in the music video of her worldwide hit.

masterlist

you were sat in your studio with your management team , discussing options for your latest hit ‘i’m yours’. the song had gone insanely viral, reaching number one across the world.

‘what ideas do you have for your music video’ your manager asks.

‘i want someone in it’ you say, picturing the scene in your head.

— —

you had shot all of the scenes you needed in the music video except from one clip that would be split into two and repeated throughout the music video. the rest of the clips consisted of clips of your bare back in the shower, hands raking through your hair, as well as clips of you lip syncing in a pool in the nighttime. it was needless to say that the song was a suggestive song, and you knew as soon as your team started discussing a music video that you wanted her in it.

— —

you had been spotted at one barcelona women’s game, dressed in a barcelona shirt with a puffer coat on top layered with a scarf, no one knew what was on the back of your shirt.

your appearance at the game had been out of nowhere and fans were slightly confused why your were there, since you were born and lived in england.

— —

‘ale i want you in my music video’ you say, straight up. as soon as you say it you are terrified for the reaction of your girlfriend.

alexia slightly raises her eyebrows, your stomach is slightly uneasy.

‘you want me in your music video?’ she repeats back as you nod.

‘i need your hand to be in it, nothing else, just your hand.’ you day, watching her face shift with curiosity.

‘what will i be doing with my hand?’ she says, unsure of what to say.

‘i’ll show you the inspiration.’ you say, swiping through your phone to a video you had seen which had sparked an interest in you.

alexia furrowed her eyebrows as she watches the video.

it was a short clip.

just a hand moving lightly up a neck, with the collarbone visible.

‘si, i will do it.’ she says, smiling as she sees your eyes light up with happiness as you hug her.

you knew that alexia was not quite ready to fully announce their relationship, but the both of you had been having discussions of how to make subtle hints and hidden messages in posts, and this was one of the most perfect ways to do it.

— —

pretend there are rings xx

yourinstauser : go watch my newest music video for my latest hit im yours! 🖤

liked by alexiaputellas and others

view all comments

y/nfanpage - IM IN LOVEEE

mrsy/l/n - damn i have this playing on REPEAT

alexiaputellas - me encanta

marialeon16 - where was my invite?

reply | yourinstauser - sorry 😞 |

wosooy/n - a woso and y/n linkup?? my worlds colliding?? what is happening

lareinaaaa16 - am i going insane or is that alexia’s hand…

— —

you smiled into alexia’s neck as you lay on the bed on top of her whilst scrolling through social media.

alexia made a weird grunting noise, making you laugh.

‘are you okay?’ you ask, lifting your head up so you can see her face.

‘how do they know it is my hand amor?’ she said, frowning.

you tilted you head to the side, picking up her hand and pressing a gentle kiss to it.

‘i don’t know baby.’ you say, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she lets her head flop forward into your chest.

she then place a kiss on your neck.

‘te amo’

‘i love you too ale’

#woso #womens football #oneshot #oneshots #woso imagine #woso x reader #alexiaputellas #alexia putellas x reader #barcelona femeni

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goldfades · 19 days ago

Note

hi sweet pea, could u write smth for Joe comforting his girl when she’s feeling insecure :( he has such a calm aura and grounding energy and I could rlly use some comfort rn

hiiii jojo, i hope you feel better sweet girl:( i hope this fic cheers you up!

You don’t mean to let it get to you.

You tell yourself that over and over again—like a quiet mantra, like a plea.

It’s just noise. Just people talking. Just opinions from people who don’t even know you.

But that’s the thing about insecurity. It seeps in through the cracks, finds you when you’re tired, makes a home in the quiet parts of your mind. You don’t even realize it’s there until it’s too late. Until it’s already gnawed away at you, leaving you feeling raw and exposed.

Tonight, it’s hitting harder than usual.

You’re curled up on Joe’s couch, legs tucked underneath you, scrolling aimlessly on your phone, even though every part of you knows you should stop. That little voice in the back of your head—the one that still craves validation, the one that wants to prove something—keeps urging you to keep looking.

And there it is. Again. The comments. The pictures. The comparisons.

It’s not new, not surprising, but somehow, it still manages to sting.

"She’s cute, I guess, but Joe could do so much better." "Why do athletes always go for mid girls?" "This is the best he could pull?"

You swallow hard. It shouldn’t matter. You know it shouldn’t. But suddenly, you feel small. Insignificant. Like a shadow of yourself.

You don’t notice how quiet you’ve gotten. How your posture has shifted—how your shoulders have curled inward, how your fingers have tightened around your phone. You don’t even notice Joe watching you from the other side of the couch, gaze steady, a crease forming between his brows.

He knows you. Knows when your mind starts spiraling, when you start retreating into yourself.

“Babe.” His voice is soft, low, cutting through the silence like a steadying force.

You don’t respond right away, blinking rapidly like you’ve just been caught doing something you shouldn’t.

Joe shifts closer, his warmth immediately surrounding you. He reaches out, carefully tugging your phone from your grip, setting it aside before threading his fingers through yours. His touch is gentle, grounding.

“What’s going on?” His voice is calm, but there’s a weight to it, like he already knows. Like he’s just waiting for you to let him in.

You hesitate, teeth pressing into your bottom lip. Because how do you even say it out loud without sounding ridiculous? Without sounding weak?

Joe waits. Patient. Unwavering. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push. Just sits there, his presence steady and sure, like an anchor.

And maybe that’s what makes you finally break.

Your throat tightens, and suddenly, you’re not sure if you want to brush it off or if you want to just let it all out.

You let out a slow breath, staring down at your hands where they rest in Joe’s. His thumb moves in lazy, absentminded circles against your skin, like he’s trying to pull you back to earth—back to him.

“It’s stupid,” you say finally, voice barely above a whisper.

Joe doesn’t react right away. He just watches you, waiting, because he knows you well enough to know that this isn’t where it ends. That there’s more.

You swallow hard, exhaling sharply before forcing the words out. “People online. Talking about me. Saying I’m not… enough.” The last word feels like a weight in your mouth, like it takes up too much space.

Joe’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, but his grip on you stays soft. His calm doesn’t waver, but there’s something in his eyes now—something sharp, something protective.

“Enough for what?” he asks, and it’s not rhetorical. He really wants to know. Because to him, there is no logical end to that sentence.

You shake your head, feeling the sting in your eyes. “For you.”

Joe exhales through his nose, and for the first time, his composure shifts just slightly. Not angry, not irritated—just frustrated. Not with you, but with the idea that this thought even exists in your head.

“Who the hell decides that?” His voice is still calm, but there’s an edge to it now. “Some random people on the internet? They don’t know anything about us. They don’t know you.”

You don’t say anything. Not because you don’t believe him, but because insecurity doesn’t work like that. You can know something isn’t true and still feel it wrap itself around you, still let it sink into your bones.

Joe studies you for a long moment before sighing, running a hand over his face before leaning forward. His hands find your thighs, warm and steady, and he tugs you closer—so close that your knees knock against his.

“You know what I see when I look at you?” he asks, voice quieter now, rough around the edges.

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “What?”

Joe tilts his head slightly, considering you like you’re something worth studying. “The person I choose. Every single day.” His fingers tighten ever so slightly, grounding you. “The person who makes me laugh when I’ve had a shit day. The person who keeps me sane when everything else gets overwhelming.”

Your breath hitches.

Joe doesn’t look away, doesn’t let you. “I don’t care about what people say. I don’t care what they think they know. None of it matters. You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

The simplicity of it, the certainty—it makes your chest tighten, makes something deep in you ache.

Joe lets his hands trail down your arms, stopping when his fingers find yours. “And if you ever forget that,” he murmurs, voice dropping lower, “I’ll just have to keep reminding you.”

You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until Joe gives your hands a gentle squeeze, pulling you back into the moment.

His words hang in the air, soft but heavy, like they’re still settling into your skin. You feel raw, exposed—but not in the way that makes you want to shrink away. No, this is different. This is Joe pulling you back to yourself, reminding you of things you’ve always known deep down but sometimes forget when the world gets too loud.

Your throat feels tight. “Joe—”

“I mean it.” His voice is unwavering, his grip steady. “I’d tell you a hundred times if I had to. A thousand. Whatever it takes for you to believe me.”

You don’t doubt that for a second. That’s the thing about Joe—he doesn’t waste words, doesn’t say things just to say them. If he says something, he means it.

He leans in just slightly, so close that his breath fans across your skin, and suddenly, your whole world is narrowed down to just him.

“You’re the best part of my life,” he says, and it’s not dramatic, not over-the-top. Just a simple, undeniable truth. “And I don’t ever want you questioning that again.”

Your eyes burn, and when you try to look away, Joe just tilts your chin back up with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. It’s unfair, really, how easily he unravels you. How he looks at you like you’re something precious, something irreplaceable, like there isn’t a single doubt in his mind that you belong right here with him.

“I just…” You exhale shakily, shaking your head. “I don’t get how you’re always so sure.”

Joe’s lips twitch slightly, like he almost wants to smile, but there’s too much sincerity in his face for it to fully form. “Because it’s you.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s all I need to know.”

Your chest tightens, and for a moment, you don’t trust yourself to speak.

Joe watches you carefully, fingers tracing absentminded patterns along your wrist. He’s always been like this—so patient, so steady, like he knows exactly when to push and when to just sit with you in the silence.

And then, just when you think he’s going to let the conversation settle, he tilts his head, studying you. “Come here.”

You blink. “I’m right here.”

Joe huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head before reaching for you, pulling you right into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His arms loop around your waist, his chest solid and warm against your back, and just like that, everything feels a little quieter. A little smaller.

His chin rests against your shoulder, his lips brushing your temple. “There,” he murmurs. “Better?”

You nod, sinking into him, letting his warmth settle into your bones. “Yeah.”

“Good.” His fingers slip beneath the hem of your sleeve, tracing slow, soothing lines against your skin. “Because I’m not letting you go until you get it through your stubborn head how much I love you.”

You let out a watery laugh, tilting your head slightly to look at him. “So this is your plan? Holding me hostage until I have better self-esteem?”

Joe grins, and this time, it reaches his eyes. “Exactly.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted, and he knows it. He knows he’s won, that he’s already pulled you out of your head, out of that dark, suffocating space.

After a beat of silence, he shifts slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your neck, voice dropping lower. “You’re the only one I want. The only one I’ve ever wanted. And no opinion from some faceless people online is ever gonna change that.”

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around his forearm where they rest. “Joe—”

“I love you.” He says it so simply, so effortlessly, like it’s a truth he never even has to question. “And I don’t want you wasting another second of your life wondering if you’re good enough. You are.”

You turn in his lap then, facing him fully, and the second your eyes meet his, something inside you finally settles.

Joe watches you closely, waiting, giving you space to say whatever you need to. But you don’t think there’s anything left to say.

Instead, you lift your hands to cup his face, fingers brushing against the sharp edges of his jaw, the warmth of his skin. You hold him there for a second, just taking him in, before leaning in and pressing your lips to his.

Joe melts into you instantly, his grip tightening just slightly around your waist, like he never wants to let go. He kisses you slow, deep, like he’s making a promise without words. Like he’s telling you again and again, I’m here. I’m yours.

And for the first time that night, you finally believe it.

#joe burrow #joe burrow bengals #joey b #jb9 #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe shiesty #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x oc

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skylin-files · 2 months ago

Text

girl code ⋆ na jaemin

pov: your best friend's former situationship started hitting you up. what could go wrong?

pairing: college student!jaemin x college student! yn

featuring! winter of aespa, nct members

note: this is my first work here. there will be three parts; this is part one. i hope you like it; your comments will be highly appreciated. ♡

check part two here: part 2 | part 3 (final)

── .✦

You and Winter have been best friends for as long as you can remember, inseparable since high school. Back then, you were the duo everyone recognized, always having each other’s backs. But now, in college, life has taken you to separate universities.

You’ve remained a consistent dean's lister and an active member of the campus newspaper, carrying the title of "no boyfriend since birth." Your focus has always been on academics, firmly believing that boys would only be a distraction.

Winter, on the other hand, has been part of her university’s cheer team since her freshman year. For her, cheer takes precedence over academics, and she’s had more talking stages than actual relationships. She’s the embodiment of "pretty privilege."

A classic pair of opposites, perhaps a little cliché. Despite your differences, your bond has always been unbreakable—until a boy enters the picture.

Speaking of the boy, there’s Jaemin, Na Jaemin.

“Na Jaemin!” Jeno, Jaemin’s best friend, yells from outside his apartment, accompanied by the relentless blaring of his car horn.

“I’m not leaving until you open the damn door, Jaemin!” Jeno laughs, still pressing the horn.

“Are you insane? It’s almost midnight. Stop honking the car,” Jaemin grumbles over the phone, peering out his window to spot Jeno grinning, clearly amused. Jaemin shakes his head, slipping on his jacket and grabbing his keys before heading out.

“What took you so long? I told you we’re going to Johnny’s party. You don’t have a say in this,” Jeno remarks as Jaemin climbs into the car. “What were you doing anyway?” he adds.

Jaemin takes a moment, lighting a cigarette before replying, “Homework.”

── .✦

“He looks good—flawless. God’s favorite child,” Winter remarks, scrolling through Instagram as she admires a boy on her screen.

“Who?” you ask, leaning in curiously.

“Oh, just my failed talking stage,” Winter replies casually.

“It’s a failed talking stage for a reason, yet you’re still simping over him,” you tease with a smirk.

“You should get a boyfriend,” you suggest for the thousandth time, genuinely concerned by the growing list of Winter’s failed talking stages and situationships.

“No, you’re the one who needs a boyfriend,” Winter fires back.

“No boyfriend in high school, and now we’re in college, still no boyfriend!” she complains dramatically. You roll your eyes, amused by her antics.

“Boys would do me no good,” you counter.

“Yeah? What about Mark and Haechan?” Winter quips, referencing the two boys you’ve been close to since the start of college.

“They’re different—exceptions,” you retort firmly.

“Whatever,” Winter mutters, waving you off.

── .✦

As the typical college student you are, you decided to pull an all-nighter. Currently on a Discord call with your college friends, Mark and Haechan, what was meant to be a study session had derailed—Mark was already fast asleep, lost in his dreams.

While typing up a draft for an article for your campus newspaper and listening to Haechan’s playlist, your phone buzzed with a text from Winter.

Winter: “Please pick me up. I’m at the local club near your university.”

You frowned, puzzled as to why Winter was partying near your campus and not somewhere closer to her own. A quick glance at the clock showed it was already 2:00 a.m.

“I stayed up all night to be productive, not to fetch an alcoholic from a club,” you muttered under your breath. Still, you knew you couldn’t leave Winter stranded, so you began saying goodbye to Haechan. Winter could be a handful, but you weren’t about to let her fend for herself.

“Want me to come with you?” Haechan offered as you started to log off. “It’s late, and I don’t mind. We can just leave Mark here,” he added, the two of you laughing at Mark’s sleeping figure still visible on the screen.

“Sure, so are you driving?” you teased.

Haechan rolled his eyes playfully. “Yeah, yeah, like I have a choice,” he quipped, grabbing his keys.

── .✦

You felt the strange stares as you walked into the club, clad in a hoodie and sweats, phone pressed to your ear as you called your best friend. The line was picked up almost instantly.

"Winter, where are you?" you asked, only to hear a man’s voice reply.

"This isn’t Winter," he said.

"Who are you? Where’s Winter?"

"Smoking area. Come quick," he answered before hanging up, leaving you no time to respond.

When you reached the smoking area, you were greeted by the sight of Winter hunched over, puking. Beside her stood a boy casually scrolling through his phone, holding her bag like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Winter!" you called, drawing the boy’s attention.

"It’s a school night," you muttered in frustration, moving to help your best friend.

"Right," the boy murmured, barely audible but clear enough for you to hear.

"I ran into her inside," he explained, finally looking up from his phone. "She said she felt like she was going to throw up."

You froze momentarily, caught off guard by his appearance. He looked good—like God’s favorite child, visuals with no imperfection in sight.

"Do you two know each other?" you asked, not directing the question at anyone in particular.

"Yes!" Winter chimed in, her voice still tipsy.

The two of you exchanged a glance as Winter wiped her mouth, straightened up, and grinned as if she hadn’t just been throwing up moments ago—far from her usual composed self.

"Please take me home," Winter slurred, swaying slightly.

── .✦

“Who’s that?” Haechan asked, leaning casually against his car as he spotted you and Winter, who was currently being carried by an unfamiliar boy.

You shrugged. “No idea, but apparently, they know each other.”

“He looks fine,” Haechan remarked, his eyes trailing over the boy. You couldn’t argue with that, but you stayed quiet.

The boy gently helped Winter into Haechan’s car, her giggles filling the air as she pinched his cheek. Haechan grimaced at the interaction.

“Stop being a hater,” you said, nudging Haechan lightly.

Turning your attention to Winter, you asked, “Are you okay? Do you need water?”

Winter cooed dramatically, “You’re such a sweetheart!” Her voice was loud enough to make you, Haechan, and the boy flinch simultaneously.

Winter’s attention shifted back to the boy as she poked his cheek. “You’re a sweetheart too. You should date my best friend,” she said, her words slurring slightly.

Haechan snorted at the comment. “She’s been single since forever,” Winter added with no filter, causing Haechan to burst out laughing.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Shut up,” you muttered, placing Winter’s bag beside her in the car.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, which didn’t escape the boy’s notice as he smiled at the scene. His smile didn’t go unnoticed by you either.

── .✦

“Where were you?” Jeno exclaimed as he approached Jaemin outside the local club. Jaemin flicked his half-smoked cigarette into the trash as Jeno arrived.

“I ran into Winter,” Jaemin replied casually, prompting a frown from Jeno.

“Winter? As in Winter, your former... situationship?” Jeno asked, his tone laced with curiosity. Jaemin nodded in confirmation.

“Good thing her friend showed up to pick her up,” Jaemin added, earning an understanding nod from Jeno.

“You're lucky because if her friend hadn't shown up, you’d probably have been the one stuck taking her home,” Jeno teased with a chuckle.

Jaemin nodded. “Exactly what I was trying to avoid. You know I don’t want to have anything to do with Winter anymore.”

── .✦

It was just another day on campus when you entered the lab room, which was unusually crowded as your professor had combined your class with another.

“I wonder who my lab partner will be. Will I be paired with someone from the other class?” you mutter as you sat down and got comfortable, but almost immediately, a voice from beside you interrupted.

“Is this seat taken?” a deep voice asked.

Looking up, you were met with a familiar face—the same guy from last night, the one you suspected knew Winter. Once again, you were struck by his looks. He seemed even more handsome now, his features more defined under the bright lighting.

“Oh, it’s you,” the guy said, sitting down next to you without waiting for you response, his neutral expression replaced by a playful smile.

“I didn’t say the seat was free,” you remarked, watching as he settled into the chair.

He ignored your comment, instead glancing at your university ID. After reading your name, he wrote your name and his on a piece of paper.

“What are you doing?” You asked, watching him scribble.

The boy gestured toward the whiteboard at the front of the room, where it read:

"Look for a lab partner—by pair only! Write your and your partner's name on a sheet of paper. " You were momentarily taken aback as he casually wrote your name next to his on the paper, "Na Jaemin," it read, before standing up from his seat and walking to the front of the class to submit it.

As Jaemin walked back to his seat, you felt your cheeks flush for no apparent reason. Clearing your throat, you muttered softly, "I guess we're lab partners now."

Jaemin sat down and glanced at you, his head tilting slightly as a charming smirk appeared on his face. He thought your sudden shyness, which wasn’t there when you were picking up Winter, was quite adorable.

"I guess we are," he says, his smile widening slightly as he looks at you.

This was definitely going to be an interesting lab class for Na Jaemin.

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