#i went to one adult i trusted but when i confided in him- he just spouted bible bullshit at me instead of helping me get help

[cinnamon7girl7]

"WHEN THE FIRE BURNS TO INFINITY"

The sky was covered by a gray veil, cloudy but calm, as if the world held its breath in waiting. The air smelled like distant rain, though not a single drop fell. In the central courtyard of the Metropolitan Technical School of Magic, the banners hung like silent guardians of an old truce: the Kyoto school had arrived.

The annual meeting between both schools was always tense, a formality disguised as cooperation. This year, the excuse was more political: after the recent increase in special-class curse appearances, the higher committee decided to evaluate the true level of the young sorcerers… and, between the lines, measure strength. It was their way of observing without intervening.

The students were organized into individual fights. No teams. No tradition. Just neutral ground where each one had to prove if they could shine on their own.

Everything took place in an open field, bordered by tall trees and uneven terrain. The cursed energy floated in the air like invisible electricity.

The first duel was between Maki and Mai. It was quick. Mai tried to attack from afar with her cursed bullets, but Maki closed the distance in seconds. She won by sheer physical superiority and strategy.

Then, Panda faced Nishimiya. He endured her aerial technique patiently, waiting for the right moment to bring it down with a direct hit. He did so without hesitation, and without hurting her more than necessary.

Yuji fought Todo, to no one’s surprise. It was a storm of punches and shouts, as intense as absurd. Todo defeated him, yes, but ended up hugging him while declaring he was his new best friend for the fiftieth time.

Megumi fought Miwa. He used Nue to keep her busy from the air, while his divine dogs cut off her escape routes on the ground. Precise. Controlled. He won without boasting.

In the center of the field, the teachers watched. Some took mental notes. Others just crossed their arms, meditating silently. Shoko was prepared in case something went wrong. Utahime muttered under her breath while Director Gakuganji barely hid his boredom.

Then, almost as if it were a planned coincidence, one of the Kyoto teachers —one of those who always spoke with a smile that never reached their eyes— said:

—Since we’re witnessing such a promising display... wouldn’t it be interesting to see a demonstration between special-grade sorcerers?

There was a heavy silence. No one needed to clarify the names.

All eyes turned toward us.

Gojo raised his hand like a child in class.

—I volunteer, sensei —Satoru said with that confident, provocative smile of his—. And I also offer my wife. Although I don’t think she’ll hold a grudge if I win… or will she?

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms slowly, letting the black fire dance lightly around my fingers.

—You’re getting ahead of yourself, love —I replied, glancing at him—. Try touching me first.

Soft laughter faded just as we heard footsteps approaching from behind. I didn’t need to turn to know it was Megumi. He always approached like that, silently, but full of intention.

When I saw him at my side, I noticed he avoided looking directly at Satoru. Instead, he looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of worry and trust.

—Promise me you’ll be careful —he murmured, barely audible to me.

He said no more, but it wasn’t necessary. I took a step toward him and wrapped him in a quick but firm hug, like a code between us. I gently rested my forehead against his temple.

—Everything is going to be fine, Gumi —I said softly—. We’re special grade for a reason… and for a reason we teach you.

He nodded, with that seriousness of his that sometimes seemed adult, but which I knew still held tenderness beneath. As he walked away, I saw him step back with a slightly furrowed brow, as if not entirely convinced… but also as if he trusted enough not to intervene.

We stood face to face. Satoru smiled like this was some private game. I kept a neutral expression, but honestly, my heart was pounding with a perfect mix of adrenaline, challenge… and love.

The wind suddenly turned colder. A couple of dry leaves fell between us, spinning in the air like silent witnesses.

—Ready, beautiful? —he asked softly, just for me.

—I was born ready —I answered, releasing the energy I had been holding back.

Black flames ignited around my arms, spreading as if they had a life of their own. It wasn’t an ordinary fire; it was denser, heavier, more alive. In response, Satoru’s cursed energy shifted. I felt it wrap itself in that intangible layer of unlimited technique. The Infinity.

"There it is," I thought.

I advanced without warning. The first strike was aimed directly at his face, though I knew it wouldn’t touch him. His technique would make him step back a mere fraction of a second, nullifying any physical contact. The air between us vibrated. But that was enough for me.

Satoru gracefully twisted his body, confident. He snapped his fingers like he was marking the rhythm of a song just for us.

—You’re quick, love… but you know you can’t touch me like that.

—And who said I wanted to touch you now? —I replied.

A black explosion burst on the ground behind him. I had created a second flame from my shadow, diverting his attention just enough. He dodged it easily, but his smile twisted a little.

From the spectators’ line, I heard voices.

—Was that a double source of cursed energy? —Utahime murmured, half surprised, half worried.

—No… that was black fire channeled in two places at once —Shoko said, crossing her arms with interest—. That requires absurd control.

Gakuganji made a low throat sound.

—Pure arrogance… they’re playing like gods.

—They are —Megumi whispered. He didn’t say it loud, but I heard him anyway.

Satoru lunged forward and used his teleportation technique to appear behind me. I was already expecting it. I turned and slammed my palm into the air, creating a shockwave that pushed us apart again.

We stared at each other.

A dance between two different fires: his icy calm and my burning chaos.

—I still don’t understand how she does it —Miwa murmured from the Kyoto group.

—Does what? —Nishimiya asked.

—She… touches it. With the Infinity active. It should be impossible.

—It’s not that she passes through it —Panda explained calmly—. She cancels it. By instinct, by bond, or by technique. Nobody knows. Not even him.

Satoru licked his lips like he was enjoying this way too much.

—You’re not using your full potential, beautiful —he said mischievously—. Don’t you want to show off a little in front of your students?

I smiled.

—Want me to get serious, Satoru?

—Please.

I closed my eyes for a moment. I felt my energy descend toward the core, leaving the surface empty. The fire went out. At a glance, it looked like I was no longer channeling anything.

Utahime frowned immediately.

—Is she turning it off? Did she give up?

Shoko shook her head slowly.

—No… she’s about to do that.

Gakuganji tilted his head.

—Do what?

But it was already too late.

I moved.

I vanished.

To normal eyes, it was as if I had disappeared into thin air. Even Satoru frowned. I saw him search for me with his technique, his six eyes activated. But my energy was no longer on the surface. I had compressed it so deeply it became undetectable for a few seconds. A living anomaly.

And then, I appeared in front of him.

My fingers brushed his cheek.

A simple touch.

But it was enough for his Infinity to fail for less than a breath.

Satoru opened his eyes with genuine surprise.

—Sweet…!

—Too late —I whispered.

And I unleashed an explosion of black fire straight at his chest.

I wasn’t trying to hurt him. Just to prove it: I can touch you, even when no one else can.

The impact pushed him several meters back. He landed on his feet, brushing ash off his uniform with an incredulous laugh.

—God, I love you.

—I know —I said, reigniting the fire on my arms—. And I’m not done yet.

A collective murmur broke out among the watchers.

—Did… she touch him? —Miwa asked, eyes wide as saucers.

—That was a direct hit! She pushed him! —Todo exclaimed, shaking Mai by the shoulder.

—How did she get through Infinity? —Nishimiya asked, looking at their sensei as if seeking answers.

Utahime didn’t answer. Shoko, on the other hand, let out a small chuckle under her breath.

—She does it because she can.

—Is that all? —Gakuganji replied, unbelieving.

—She’s the only living person capable of neutralizing his technique with direct contact —Shoko explained, with an unusual calm—. It’s not a trick. It’s because they understand each other… on a level you can’t measure.

Some Kyoto students began murmuring that Satoru was probably letting her win. Others said it was all staged, that they were just doing it for show.

But those from Tokyo, especially Nobara, Yuji, and Inumaki, were silent. Or rather, in reverence.

—That flame isn’t normal —Nobara said, crossing her arms—. There’s no way to fake that.

—She never gets serious until she decides to —Yuji said, smiling respectfully—. And she made him step back.

—Salmon —Inumaki nodded, as if that confirmed everything.

The ancient black fire swirled around my hands. I knew it like the palm of my hand, but that intensity… it was different. No more jokes. Just the living spark of competition. The need to prove — not to the world, nor to those watching — but to him, to Satoru, that being married to the strongest sorcerer didn’t make me any less. Because I was strong too. And he knew it.

—Come on! —someone shouted from the crowd—. Do it again!

I pushed off again. Energy built up in my right leg while the fire wrapped around me from my waist to my fist. In an instant, I closed the distance between us and threw a diagonal strike that exploded with an infernal roar. I didn’t just touch him. I sent him flying.

Satoru shot forward several meters, his silhouette cutting through the air like a shooting star and ending up among the trees of the nearby forest, breaking branches and kicking up dirt as he went. Silence. Total. Unbelievable. Glorious.

—…Did she push him!? —Nishimiya stammered, eyes wide—. She pushed Gojo!? GOJO!?

—Am I the only one who saw that? —Momo said, covering her mouth.

—No, no, I saw it too! —Nobara shouted, standing from her seat—. She pushed him like a sack of potatoes!

—Is this still something you can bet on? —Panda asked loudly.

—THAT’S NOT NORMAL! —a Kyoto student called from the back—. GOJO IS INVINCIBLE!

—I always knew she was a goddess —Yuji said, clearly enchanted.

—Technically, she was the first to reach special grade —Shoko commented, as if we were talking about the weather while lighting a cigarette—. Satoru did it after.

—What do you mean, after!? —Utahime asked.

—Then why don’t they say it more often? —Aoi Todo complained, waving his arms—. That woman is the ideal!

—She gets married and still beats her husband! Inspirational! —Nobara shouted, on the verge of tears.

—A queen! A queeeeen! —Panda cheered, waving his makeshift banner made of a branch.

Even some Kyoto teachers applauded with a hint of resignation, as if they finally understood why it was said that your combined power was immeasurable… but yours alone was incomparable too.

And amid all that commotion, a sound cut through the air. The snap of Satoru’s fingers. From a distance, I could see his silhouette rising between the trees.

—Hollow Purple.

The explosion shook the forest as if the sky had split in two. You felt the air compress in your ears, a violent vibration that not only shattered the world around but also the silence Satoru had kept throughout the fight.

The Hollow Purple shot out from his hands. A perfect sphere, a mix of blue and red, collided with everything in its path. Trees uprooted, branches pulverized, the ground cracked… nothing survived. The attack carved a clean tunnel through the trees, deep, dry, devastating.

But you were no longer there. Your cursed energy vanished completely, as if it had never existed. It wasn’t simple concealment. It wasn’t camouflage. It was total nullification. You swallowed your own presence until you became a blank space, a clean slate that not even Satoru could read.

You saw it from afar. He stood still, his arm still extended. His expression—that confident smile—faded little by little. You knew him too well not to notice that slight twitch on his left eyebrow. He couldn’t find you.

—Love… —he murmured—. Where are you?

No one noticed the strange silence that started to form. No one understood. Everyone thought you were playing. Everyone except Megumi.

From his place, he stood up suddenly. His body tensed as if struck by a whip. He knew what it meant. He knew what you were capable of doing with your cursed energy. And above all, he knew what it meant that he couldn’t feel anything.

His lips pressed into a thin line.

—It can’t be… —he whispered.

Without waiting for anyone, he made a quick hand seal. His Divine Dogs appeared in a black flash and lined up beside him. Everyone watched him surprised, but no one understood why. No one saw what he felt.

He ran straight toward the hollow left by the Hollow Purple. He didn’t care about anyone’s gaze. Passing by Satoru, he glared at him and spat a threat without stopping.

—If anything happened to her, I swear I’ll never speak to you again.

His words were like a knife that sank without warning into the silence surrounding them. For a moment, Satoru froze completely, as if time itself had stopped around him. His eyes, which normally shone with confidence and arrogance, now showed a mixture of fear and denial. His breathing quickened, almost agitated, and his body seemed tense, prepared for the worst.

He began searching for you desperately, his pupils dilating as he expanded his technique. He opened the domain of his perception, throwing out his energy to try to detect any trace, no matter how faint, of your cursed energy. He extended his gaze beyond the visible, scanning every corner, every shadow of the forest.

But there was nothing.

The silence was absolute.

And that emptiness pierced his chest like a poison that seeps slowly, cold and deadly. He felt his throat tighten until it hurt, anxiety growing inside him.

—Please… —he whispered, his voice breaking—. Love, come out… say something.

Amid the smoke and debris from the attack still floating in the air, you appeared. You emerged from the void like a sharp shadow, like a blade cutting through the darkness. Your eyes shone with a determination that left no room for doubt, and over your shoulders trembled a new technique, powerful and fearsome, resting like a cursed crown promising destruction.

You didn’t say a word.

You moved with such speed that Satoru barely had time to react. In an instant, the impact hit his chest, and for a microsecond, your energy brushed the impossible: you broke the Infinity, piercing the barrier that always protected him.

Satoru fell to his knees, not from the blow, but from the certainty that settled in his heart: you had won.

—Did you really think I would leave without beating you? —you said, with a tired and defiant smile.

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he hugged you tightly, as if that embrace could hold you back, prevent you from disappearing forever. For a few seconds, it was as if his fear of losing you had destroyed him from within.

—You almost gave me a heart attack —he whispered close to your ear, his voice broken and full of contained emotion.

—Well deserved —you replied, without letting go—. For throwing a Hollow Purple in my face, idiot!

Soon after, Megumi appeared running. He said nothing, he just threw himself toward you and wrapped his arms around you, as if he wanted to make sure you were okay, that you weren’t just a mirage. His Divine Dogs lay down around you, forming a protective shield. For the first time in a long time, you saw real fear in Megumi’s eyes, a fear that wasn’t disguised or hidden.

—You’re okay —he finally said, clenching his jaw tightly.

—I am —you answered him—. Because I know you would look for me. Always.

The three of you returned together to the battlefield, walking with firm steps, although the silence between you still carried the tension of the moment. As soon as you crossed the edge of the forest, the silence was broken by an explosion of shouts and astonishment from those present.

The three returned to the field together, you in the center, flanked by Megumi and Gojo. They walked unhurriedly, but each step you took resonated with the force of a declaration. No one said anything yet, but the looks said it all. As soon as they crossed the edge of the forest, the silence was replaced by whispers growing louder.

—Did she win…? —asked Panda, turning toward Yuji.

—I think so! —exclaimed Yuji, eyes shining with excitement—. I saw it! She hit him directly!

—Not only that! —Nobara interjected, with an amazed smile—. She broke the Infinity. I saw it too! She broke it!

—It was only for a second… but her energy pierced it —added Maki, still frowning, as if trying to understand how you had done it.

—So… she won? —asked Miwa, her voice a mixture of surprise and admiration.

Yuji laughed loudly.

—Yes, Miwa! She won!

Everyone started talking at once, murmuring among themselves, turning to look at you, watching Gojo, trying to draw conclusions. They wanted an answer. They needed to know who had won.

You stopped for a second, took a deep breath, and calmly raised a hand. That gesture was enough to silence everyone. Eyes were fixed on you. Gojo stopped beside you, watching you with a smile that was both amused and resigned.

—I won —you said firmly and calmly, with no trace of arrogance. Only certainty.

For a second, no one moved.

And then, everything exploded.

Yuji was the first to applaud, as if he had just watched an epic movie. Panda shouted something like “Amazing!”, and Nobara let out a laugh.

—It’s official! She beat the strongest Sorcerer! —he shouted.

—This is historic! —exclaimed Maki— No one has ever done that before!

—I want her to train me! —said Miwa, laughing and holding her hands to her head— This was too epic!

Cheers grew louder, mixed with applause, shouts of admiration, and laughter. Some students looked at you as if you were a living legend. Others got excited as if they had been part of the battle.

Shoko, calmly leaning against a tree, crossed her arms and let out a soft laugh.

—And she wasn’t even seriously mad —she said aloud, letting the phrase fall like a prophecy.

Gojo opened his mouth, but you looked at him with a smile that stopped him. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and raised his eyebrows, accepting defeat.

—Yes —he finally said— She beat me.

The field erupted in applause.

Some students started chanting your name, others jumped or pointed at you as if they had just seen their heroine. But you weren’t paying attention to that. You didn’t care about the applause, the surprised looks, or the recognition that came in waves.

Only two things mattered to you.

Feeling Gojo’s arms around you again.

And seeing in Megumi’s eyes the certainty that everything was alright.

While the noise continued around them, you closed your eyes for a moment. The evening wind brushed your face, mixing the dust of battle with the familiar smell of earth and sweat.

Satoru took your hand without saying a word, intertwining his fingers with yours as if that could assure him that you were really there, with him.

Megumi, on your other side, walked in silence, but his gaze said more than any word.

And as the sun sank behind the trees, you knew that techniques didn’t matter, nor battles, not even having defeated the strongest sorcerer.

The only thing that truly mattered was that.

Being together.

This story is based on one I read and searched for a long time but never found again, so I decided to write it myself with some changes and in my own style. If you know who the original author is, please let me know so I can give credit. My requests are open!!!

[norristrii]

NOSTALGIA.

“Funny thing about nostalgia, didn't show up 'til I lost ya.” — You and Lando were childhood best friends until fate tore you apart in the most painful way. From that moment, you thought you’d never see him again—until you did. And suddenly, the past wasn’t forgotten, and the hurt still lingered.

pairing. Lando Norris x childhood friend! fem! reader.

warnings. angst, 12,8k words, hurt/no comfort, childhood friends to strangers to ??, huge timeskips, young asshole! lando, bitter reader (valid), drinking alcohol, I think that’s it ? PART TWO — I KNOW LOVE.

music. Nostalgia by Tate Mcrae.

IT STARTED AS SOMETHING INEVITABLE. You were always around each other, thrown into the same spaces, the same gatherings, the same long afternoons where the adults talked endlessly, leaving you both to entertain yourselves. At first, you hated it—hated the forced proximity, hated that your parents assumed you would automatically get along just because you were close in age. But there was no escaping him, no avoiding the way he always had something to say, always had some ridiculous idea brewing, always found a way to pull you into whatever chaos he was creating.

Lando Norris was too much—too reckless, too restless, too eager to push boundaries just for the thrill of it. He climbed trees that were too tall, ran faster than he could control, and seemed to have an unwavering confidence that made it impossible for him to ever admit when something was a bad idea.

And somehow, despite all of it, despite the way you told yourself over and over that he was annoying, that he was frustrating, that he was the kind of kid who made parents nervous—you started to follow him anyway.

Maybe it was boredom. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the fact that, even when he was pushing limits and doing things that should have gotten both of you in trouble, it was fun.

And before you even realized it, he had worked his way in.

You started hanging out even without your parents forcing you together, finding yourselves in each other’s orbit even when it wasn’t required. It was effortless, natural—the kind of friendship that just happened, without needing an explanation. You went to the same school, shared the same classes, sat together at lunch like it was expected, and walked home side by side, barely even questioning how normal it felt. It wasn’t a conscious choice—it was just the way things were.

Before long, there was no separating the two of you. He had become your constant, the person who had always been there, the one who knew you better than anyone else, the one who could read you without you saying a word. He could make you laugh with a single look, could drag you into some wild idea just by saying trust me, could fill the silence with whatever nonsense was swirling in his mind that day.

You never really decided to let him in. But somehow, he became the biggest part of your life anyway.

Life had been effortless for so long—filled with laughter, late-night conversations, and an unspoken understanding that no matter what, you always had each other. Every childhood sleepover, every ridiculous inside joke, every moment spent side by side had only strengthened the bond that had always felt unbreakable.

But then, racing became real.

Lando had always loved it—always talked about it, always dreamed about it—but when he got to F4, it wasn’t just something he loved anymore. It was something he had to commit to, something that took him away more often than not, something that started shifting the rhythm of your friendship into something unfamiliar.

At first, it was subtle—the missed hangouts, the postponed plans, the texts that came hours later than they used to. You understood, of course. This was his dream, and there was no way you’d ever resent him for chasing it. But then, the distance grew—not just physically, but in ways you hadn’t expected.

He was always traveling, always at a racetrack, always so caught up in training, in competition, in the next step that sometimes it felt like you were watching him from the outside, trying to reach through a window that kept getting harder to open.

And maybe that would have been fine—maybe the changes wouldn’t have felt so sharp—if it hadn’t started hurting.

If he hadn’t forgotten things he never used to forget.

─── October 2015

The anticipation had been building all week. A sleepover with Lando—something you hadn’t done in ages, something that felt like returning to the simplicity of childhood, to the nights spent laughing until your stomach hurt, to the effortless comfort of being around someone who had always been there. You had packed light, just the essentials, knowing you wouldn’t need much—just time, just space to breathe, just the familiarity of him.

When you reached his house, the front door swung open almost immediately, revealing Cisca’s familiar, warm presence. “Hey, sweetheart,” she greeted, her voice carrying the ease of years spent knowing you, spent welcoming you into their home like you were just another extension of the family.

You smiled, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Hey, Cisca,” you said, tone easy, comfortable, because it had always been like this—casual, effortless, familiar. “Is Lando home?”

And that’s when you saw it—the shift.

The way her smile faltered just slightly, the hesitation in the way she tilted her head, like she wasn’t sure how to say it without letting you down.

“No, he’s at training,” she said gently, shaking her head like she wished the answer had been different. “Had you something planned?”

Your stomach dipped, something heavy settling inside you before you even had the chance to process it fully. Wow. You hadn’t expected that. Or had you? Maybe part of you had known—had prepared for the possibility that things weren’t as simple as they used to be. Maybe you had just hoped this time would be different.

“Oh.” You exhaled, the weight of disappointment creeping into your voice, despite your best efforts to swallow it down. “We planned a sleepover.”

Cisca’s expression didn’t change—still warm, still understanding—but there was something in the way she sighed, in the way she noticed your disappointment, that made it clear she wished she had a better answer for you.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she said softly, her voice gentle, the kind that made it clear she knew. She knew how much you had been looking forward to this, how much it had meant to finally have time with Lando like before. “I thought he had told you.”

You swallowed, forcing a small smile, shifting the strap of your bag on your shoulder, suddenly feeling silly. Of course, he hadn’t told you. Not because he didn’t care, but because racing had consumed everything now, because his days revolved around training and competition and an entirely new world that didn’t leave much space for things like sleepovers, for things like you.

“No,” you admitted, the weight of reality settling in deeper than you wanted to acknowledge. “He didn’t.”

Cisca sighed, shaking her head like she wished she could fix this, like she could see exactly what you were thinking. “He’s been caught up in everything lately,” she said, her voice softer now. “It’s not personal.”

You nodded, even though it felt personal.

Because this wasn’t the first time.

It wasn’t the first missed plan, the first forgotten promise, the first moment where you realized that your place in his life wasn’t the same anymore.

Still—you weren’t mad. You weren’t even surprised. Just tired.

Cisca hesitated, watching you carefully. “Want to wait for him?”

You wanted to say yes. Wanted to believe that waiting would change something, that staying would make this sting any less, that he would walk through that door, grin at you like nothing had happened, and make everything feel normal again. But realistically? You weren’t sure how late training would go. And honestly—you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep waiting.

So instead, you forced a smile, shaking your head. “No,” you said, pushing the glass she had offered away gently. “Just tell him I stopped by.”

The world felt different that evening—heavier, quieter, like the weight of everything had finally settled in your chest, making it impossible to ignore. You walked home with your bag slung over your shoulder, footsteps slow, aimless, as if dragging out the journey would somehow soften the disappointment curling deep inside you.

But it didn’t.

Your throat burned, your chest ached, and despite every effort to swallow it down, the tears still came. Silent, unbidden, slipping down your cheeks in a way that felt frustratingly inevitable.

You weren’t angry—not really.

Just hurt. A lot.

─── February 2016

The classroom buzzed faintly with background conversations—the low hum of pencils scratching against paper, the occasional shuffle of chairs, murmured exchanges between classmates—but none of it really registered. It all blurred together, distant and unimportant, as if the world had dimmed along with the gray sky outside. The day felt cold, the kind of dull, overcast afternoon that seeped into your bones, that made everything feel slower, heavier, emptier.

You lay on your desk, arms folded, cheek resting against the cool surface, phone loosely gripped in your fingers. There was no real purpose to your scrolling—just mindless motion, just a way to fill the silence, just something to look at to keep your thoughts from wandering. And yet, they wandered anyway, slipping into the past, into the memories frozen on your screen.

A collection of photos—moments that felt so effortless once, so simple. Lando grinning at the camera, mid-laugh, hair a mess from whatever ridiculous stunt he had just pulled. A blurry photo of the two of you, both smiling wide, caught mid-motion as if time itself had been too slow to capture you properly. A screenshot of a stupid conversation, filled with inside jokes that nobody else would understand.

He was supposed to be sitting next to you right now.

That thought clung to you, dug deep, settled in the pit of your stomach like a weight you couldn't shake off. He should be here—nudging your arm, making some dumb joke just to get you to crack a smile, distracting you from the mind-numbing monotony of the lesson in front of you.

But instead, the seat beside you was empty.

You stared at it—switched your gaze between the photos and the space where he should have been.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, hesitation pressing heavy against your chest. You knew you shouldn’t—knew that part of you expected silence, knew that this wasn’t the first time you were reaching out to him when it felt like things had already changed.

But still, you couldn’t help yourself.

The weight of the empty seat beside you, the ache of old photos, the way this felt different—it all pushed you forward.

So you typed.

yn sittin in mrs. evans class rn still sooo boring wish you were here i miss u

You regretted it the second you hit send.

The message felt desperate, like grasping at something that had already slipped too far away, like searching for reassurance where you knew there wasn’t any. And yet—you had sent it anyway, had let that flicker of hope push you forward, had let yourself believe, for just a moment, that maybe this time would be different.

But the response came too fast—too short, too simple, too distant.

lando yeah sorry

Silence would’ve been better, wouldn’t it? A clean break, a moment where you knew—without doubt—that things had ended, that you weren’t waiting anymore, weren’t lingering in the space between what you had and what you were slowly losing.

But this? This wasn’t closure.

This was uncertainty— not quite forgotten, not quite remembered, stuck somewhere in between where his absence loomed just enough to hurt, but never enough to make the pain feel worth confronting.

Because this wasn’t him saying goodbye.

This was him drifting, slipping further out of reach, making you question whether you should keep holding on or finally let go.

─── May 2017

The moment should have been perfect.

You had waited for this day for so long— had imagined it over and over, had pictured the ceremony, the walk across the stage, the applause that followed. You should have been smiling, should have been focused on the achievement, should have felt nothing but pride. But despite the celebration surrounding you, despite the cheers and the flashing cameras, your mind couldn’t quite settle, couldn’t quite accept the joy without feeling the emptiness lurking beneath it.

Because your eyes kept drifting—kept searching the crowd, scanning through the rows of chairs, looking for him.

And there it was.

The empty seat.

The one that should have held him, the one that was supposed to be yours together, the space where he had promised he’d be. It stood out among the rows of occupied chairs, a glaring absence in a sea of support, a reminder that no matter how much you tried to ignore it, this day wasn’t the same without him.

But he wasn’t there.

Because school had ended for him long before this day. Because racing had taken priority. Because everything had changed in ways that were impossible to ignore. You had known it, had felt it creeping in for years, had understood why things shifted. But today? Today, more than ever, it was undeniable.

You had asked him if he was coming, had heard the easy promise in his voice, the certainty in the way he had said it—like there was no question, no hesitation, no possibility of him letting you down. And for a fleeting moment, you had believed him. Had let yourself picture the way it was supposed to be—the two of you side by side, laughing at something stupid in the middle of the ceremony, making memories the way you always had.

But still—he didn’t come.

The diploma was clutched tightly in your hands, its edges slightly crumpled from how firmly you had been gripping it. The moment was supposed to be celebratory—loud cheers, flashing cameras, the rush of accomplishment filling your chest. But none of it felt right. None of it matched the image you had held in your mind for years—the picture of this day being yours and his, the two of you together laughing at something dumb during the ceremony, teasing each other over your gowns, making this milestone something shared.

But instead, an empty seat had stared back at you.

So you moved quickly, weaving through the crowds, heart hammering, breath uneven with frustration that had nowhere to go. You weren’t even thinking about where you were headed—you just wanted out, away from the suffocating weight of what should have been. Away from the reality of yet another promise broken. Away from the truth you didn’t want to admit.

Until—you crashed into someone.

The force of it made you stumble, steps faltering as you sucked in a sharp breath, ready to mutter an apology and keep moving. But then, your gaze snapped up—

And you froze.

Lando.

Lando?

Standing right in front of you.

Like he was supposed to. Like he should have been.

But it was too late.

Your anger surged before you could stop it, bubbling up, hot and unforgiving, spilling out before you had a chance to think.

“You’re late,” you said, the words cutting through the space between you like a blade.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, shifting uncomfortably under your glare. “I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, sincerity laced in his voice. “There was traffic.”

You scoffed, shaking your head, gripping the diploma even tighter, frustration burning through you with a sharp, undeniable sting. That was his excuse? Out of everything, that’s what he went with?

“Gosh, stop making these stupid excuses!” you snapped, the words coming faster than you could stop them, sharper than you meant them to be—except, no. You did mean them. You meant every syllable.

“You don’t understand, Y/n!” Lando’s voice came sharp, slicing through the air between you. His frustration crackled like static, his jaw tightening, his hands gesturing wildly as if trying to make you see the chaos he carried. “I have so much going on! I’m busy—constantly! It’s not just racing, it’s training, it’s meetings, it’s travel—it’s everything! If you haven’t figured that out by now, then I don’t know what else to say!”

His words crashed into you, each syllable pushing against the weight already pressing on your chest.

You blinked, your breath uneven, anger curling inside you like a flame that had been waiting too long to ignite. Waiting. That’s all you ever did with him, wasn’t it? Waiting for a moment, waiting for a reply, waiting for him to show up like he said he would. Waiting for him to put you first.

“Yeah?” you shot back, voice loud, unrelenting, carrying months—years—of frustration. “Always racing, racing, racing! That’s your whole damn life, isn’t it? Nothing else matters—no one else matters! Not me, not this, not today!”

Lando scoffed, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe where this conversation had gone, like you were the one making this difficult. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his messy curls, gaze flickering with something unreadable—frustration, guilt, exhaustion—all of it tangled together in a way that made it impossible to decipher.

Then, his next words shattered everything.

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice lower, tighter, more bitter. “That’s why maybe your graduation wasn’t really that important to me.”

The breath slammed out of your lungs.

Like he had taken all the air, all the warmth, all the pieces of hope you had left and crushed them in the palm of his hand.

You stared at him—at this version of him, at the boy who once made promises he kept, at the person who had once made you feel like a priority. But suddenly, he didn’t look like that boy anymore. He looked distant. Unrecognizable. Like someone you had spent years loving and now couldn’t even reach.

Your grip on the diploma tightened, knuckles turning white, heartbeat pounding so loudly in your ears that it drowned out the distant sounds of celebration around you.

God. He had really said it.

You swallowed hard, throat burning, refusing to let the weight of everything sink you down into the ache curling in your chest. But your voice still wavered when you finally spoke, softer, lower, but sharp.

“You know what?” you murmured, the words slipping through your lips like the last breath of something you hadn’t realized was dying. “That’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me in a long time.”

Lando inhaled sharply—so small, so brief, but you saw it. You felt it. Maybe he hadn’t expected you to say that. Maybe he hadn’t expected it to hurt this much. Maybe, for a split second, he realized exactly what he had done.

He had said your graduation wasn’t important—that the moment you had been waiting years for, the milestone that was supposed to be yours, wasn’t worth his time. And the second those words left his mouth, something inside you broke—not suddenly, not all at once, but slowly, like a fracture that had been forming for months, maybe even years.

So neither were his races to you, right? It wasn’t like you ever missed a single one. Every podium, every interview, every late-night live timing session, every pulse-pounding moment when he fought for position—you had been there for it. You had cared. You had celebrated his highs and sympathized with his lows because he mattered to you. You had tracked every result, known every stat, memorized the patterns of his driving like they were second nature to you. And maybe, foolishly, you had assumed that meant something. That even in the chaos of his world, even when the schedules got tighter and the obligations got heavier, you still mattered.

And yet, here he was, saying the worst thing he could have said. The worst part wasn’t just the words themselves. The worst part was that you didn’t even know if he actually cared. You waited—just long enough to see if there would be hesitation, regret, anything that hinted that he wanted to take it back. But there was nothing.

“Look, Y/n,” he muttered, exhaling sharply, shaking his head like you were the one making this difficult. “We’re not fourteen anymore.” Like that was supposed to excuse everything. Like growing up meant growing apart had to be inevitable.

You swallowed hard, forcing the lump in your throat down, refusing to let the frustration and heartbreak choke you. You thought of the years you had spent together—of the stupid inside jokes, the late-night conversations that stretched until sunrise, the times when you truly believed that no matter what, the two of you would always be there for each other. That time and distance wouldn’t change that. That his world of racing and your world of growing up side by side could exist together. But maybe you had been wrong.

“Yeah,” you said, voice lower, rougher, edged with something final. “Maybe not.” Your gaze flickered over him, this version of him, the boy you used to know so well but now felt like a stranger. He looked the same—same messy curls, same sharp, quick movements, same intensity burning behind his eyes. But something fundamental had shifted, something irreversible, something you couldn’t unsee now.

You had promised yourself you wouldn’t cry—not here, not in front of him, not when he had already taken too much from you. But the tears burned anyway, hot against your skin, slipping past the walls you had tried so desperately to keep up.

“Fuck you, Lando!” Your voice cracked, but it didn’t matter—you meant every word. Every syllable was weighted with months of frustration, disappointment, exhaustion. “I don’t wanna ever see you again!”

───

You never saw him again after that day. The moment graduation ended, you packed your things, left the town you had spent years growing up in, and disappeared without a trace—no messages, no explanations, no attempts to soften the goodbye that had already been said. Because why would you? He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to know where you were or how you felt or whether you ever thought of him again.

The only ones who did were Adam and Cisca—the two people who had been there, who had sat in the crowd, who had cheered you on when their son hadn’t. They were the only ones who deserved a proper goodbye, the only ones who had earned a place in whatever future you were heading toward.

And so, you left. The world beyond that town opened itself up to you, unfamiliar yet freeing, a fresh start wrapped in the quiet promise of never looking back. You settled into new routines, built a life that didn’t have his shadow lingering in it.

Some days, it was easy to forget—days when the weight of the past didn’t press quite so heavily on your chest, when laughter didn’t carry the bitter taste of memories, when moving forward actually felt like moving forward. And then, there were days when the past curled around you like a ghost, whispering its presence into quiet moments, slipping into your thoughts when you least expected it.

And then—two years later—you heard it. His name flashing across a news headline, appearing in an interview clip, mentioned briefly in a conversation you weren’t even part of. He had made it. Formula One. The dream he had been chasing since the moment he decided racing was the only thing that mattered.

For a split second—just one—you let yourself wonder what he was doing, where he was, how he felt now that he had everything he ever wanted. You wondered if, in the quiet moments between races, between podium celebrations and press conferences, he ever thought about you. If he ever regretted how things had ended. If he ever wished he had said something different, done something more, shown up when it mattered.

But it didn’t matter.

Because no matter how many times nostalgia grabbed hold of you, no matter how many times you found yourself wondering, the reality remained the same—you didn’t care.

You never checked his results. Never searched his name. Never let yourself linger in the world he now belonged to. Because that wasn’t your world. Not anymore.

Every time his face appeared on TV, every time his name was spoken like it was something larger than life, you switched the channel without hesitation. It was second nature now—like shutting a door you had long since walked through.

─── EIGHT YEARS LATER , march 2025

Monaco had been everything you had imagined—the yachts lining the marina like shimmering jewels, the streets humming with the sounds of expensive cars weaving through the winding roads, the very air thick with a sense of wealth and exclusivity. Fashion was everywhere, woven into the fabric of daily life, stitched into the essence of the people who walked past in designer coats and tailored suits. It felt like stepping into another world, one built from dreams and ambition, one you had spent years chasing, and now, finally, it was yours.

The apartment was still a mess. Boxes stacked on top of each other, half-unpacked belongings scattered across the floor, clothes draped over furniture in a way that made it clear you were still in the middle of making this space a home. You and your friend sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by unpacked memories, flipping through items that held pieces of your past. The smell of fresh paint mixed with the lingering scent of cardboard, and the distant hum of city life buzzed from beyond the windows. This was the start of something new—something separate from everything before. And yet, in the middle of the chaos, the past still found a way to crawl back in.

Your friend reached into one of the boxes, pulling out a framed photo. She studied it for a second, curiosity flickering in her expression before she turned it towards you. “Who’s this?” she asked, holding it up for you to see.

The moment your eyes landed on the photo, you felt it—nostalgia slamming into you like a wave, pulling you under so suddenly that you almost forgot how to breathe.

There he was.

Lando, grinning by the sea, sunlight catching in his messy curls, his arm slung around you like it belonged there, like it always had. You were laughing, caught in a moment of ease, the sky a breathtaking shade of blue behind you. The photo was from that family vacation—the trip the Norris’ had taken you on, the one where the days stretched lazily along the coast, filled with late-night talks, stupid jokes, and a kind of simplicity you hadn’t realized you would one day lose.

You blinked, forcing the lump in your throat down. You could tell her everything—about the friendship that had once felt unbreakable, the way he had always been there, the way you had been there for him, the way time had twisted everything into something that no longer resembled what you once knew. You could tell her about the laughter, the inside jokes, the trust that had felt like it could withstand anything. You could tell her about how it ended, about the fights, the disappointment, the realization that sometimes growing up meant growing apart in ways you could never prepare for.

But instead, the words stuck.

Your fingers hovered over the frame for just a second longer before you exhaled, shaking your head slightly, swallowing back everything you wanted to say.

“It’s just,” you started, voice quieter, the weight of the past pressing heavily against your ribs. Then, after a beat, you exhaled again, steadier this time, forcing yourself to move on. “Someone I used to know.”

Your friend raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing that your answer wasn’t the full truth, that there was more beneath the surface. “Really?” she said, flipping the frame in her hands, studying it closer. “You look so happy.”

Why did she keep asking?

You exhaled sharply, shrugging your shoulders in a way that you hoped looked effortless, casual, unaffected. “Really,” you said, forcing out the words, ignoring the way your chest ached. “Just an old friend.”

You knew it was anything but casual. You knew this wasn’t just some old friend. But that didn’t matter anymore.

Without another word, you reached forward, took the frame from her hands, and set it aside, facedown. You didn’t need to look at it. You didn’t need to remember.

And just like that—you moved on.

Or at least, you pretended to.

That night, boredom settled into your chest, heavy and unshakable, the kind that made your thoughts wander places they shouldn’t. There was nothing to distract yourself with—no texts lighting up your phone, no unread messages waiting for a response, no new shows to binge, nothing that could pull you out of the restless grip of your own mind. You paced for a bit, moving from the kitchen to the living room, opening and closing cabinets with no real purpose, sipping on a drink you barely tasted, mind still circling the same thoughts. And then, before you even realized it, your steps carried you toward the box.

It was still sitting there, untouched, exactly where your friend had left it—the lid slightly askew, revealing just a glimpse of its contents, like it was waiting. Waiting for you to give in. Waiting for you to finally sift through the pieces you hadn’t had the courage to throw away. You sank down onto the floor, back pressed against the bed frame, exhaling slowly as you stared at the mess of memories in front of you. Damn. You had a whole box dedicated to him.

Photos—some bent at the corners, some still pristine, all holding pieces of a past you weren’t sure you wanted to remember. You pulled one out, fingertips tracing the familiar image. You had been laughing, caught mid-motion, a blur of sun and saltwater, with Lando standing beside you, his own laughter bright, effortless, easy. It was so easy back then, before everything had changed, before life had twisted in ways that pulled you apart instead of holding you together.

The plushie he had given you sat at the bottom of the box, the soft fabric still familiar beneath your touch. You remembered the night he had handed it to you—some inside joke about always having something to hold onto, something that wouldn’t leave, even when everything else did. The memory made you scoff now. Ironic. But still, you hadn’t left it behind. Hadn’t left any of this behind.

His racing cap, worn and creased from years of use, was tucked neatly beneath the rest, the sight of it forcing a sharp inhale from your lungs. There had been a time when you had worn it all the time—flipping it backward, teasing him about his obsession with racing, pretending you belonged in the world he had immersed himself in. Back when you had cared about every race, every result, back when you had celebrated his wins like they were your own.

And the worst part?

You had taken them all with you.

Why?

If you hated him so much for what he did, if you had truly moved on, why had you packed these things alongside the rest of your life? Why had you carried them with you all the way here?

You sighed, shaking your head, bitterness curling in your chest as you flipped through the photos, fingers ghosting over smiles that didn’t belong to the person you knew anymore.

But shit—you used to be so close.

You pulled out another framed photo. The frame felt heavier in your hands than it should have, like the weight of the memories pressed into the glass, refusing to let go. You traced the edges absentmindedly, fingers skimming over the smooth surface as your mind drifted backward, pulled into a past that still sat quietly in the depths of your chest.

Karting. Your birthday. His laughter ringing out across the track, bright, effortless, teasing. You could still hear it if you closed your eyes, could still picture the way he had grinned at you from his kart, shaking his head as you struggled to control yours, the tires skidding slightly as you oversteered. You had been so bad at it— horrible, actually. But he had made it fun. He had made it feel like it didn’t matter, like failing wasn’t embarrassing, like it was just another thing to laugh about. The way he had looked at you that day—full of amusement, full of something warm—had made you believe it wasn’t about winning, wasn’t about proving anything. It was just about being there, about sharing something that was his, about letting him pull you into his world for a little while.

You exhaled slowly, the memory twisting something deep in your chest, something tangled between nostalgia and regret. It had felt so easy back then, so simple, so natural to believe that forever meant forever, that nothing would change, that no amount of time or distance could erase what you had.

But time had proved you wrong.

Your fingers tightened around the frame, the edges pressing sharply into your skin as you flipped it over, eyes scanning the back without thinking, without expecting anything more than a blank surface.

But there it was.

"Love you 4ever. Lando."

The words slammed into you harder than they should have.

Your breath hitched, a sharp inhale getting caught in your throat, emotions rushing up too fast for you to control, too fast for you to push away. Salty, bittersweet tears burned behind your eyes, threatening to spill, threatening to break past the walls you had spent years reinforcing.

Because back then, you had believed it.

Back then, you had thought forever meant forever, not just until life got too busy, not just until priorities shifted, not just until everything crumbled beneath the weight of not caring enough.

─── march 2025

The remote sat loosely in your grip, your movements slow and idle as you flipped through channels, letting the dull hum of background noise fill the space around you. The apartment finally felt like yours—no more boxes cluttering the corners, no more unpacking to distract you, no more mess making it feel like just another transition instead of a permanent home. Everything had its place now.

The couch was soft beneath you, the room dimly lit, the quiet settling in comfortably around you. For the first time since moving, you let yourself relax. You skipped through channels mindlessly, barely paying attention to the flickering images, letting them blur together without much thought. Nothing caught your interest—nothing held your focus—until something familiar slipped onto the screen.

The Australian Grand Prix. It wasn’t intentional. You hadn’t meant to land on it. But before you could even think about switching away, your gaze lingered. The podium ceremony was already underway, the celebration unfolding in bright lights and flashing cameras, the winner standing tall at the top, drenched in champagne, soaking in the moment of victory. You weren’t really paying attention at first. Not to the commentary, not to the energy radiating from the crowd, not to the excitement buzzing through the broadcast. Until you saw the name.

Lando Norris.

Your breath stilled. And then, slowly, your gaze sharpened, your focus narrowing in on the figure standing at the top of the podium.

It was him. But not the version of him you had last seen. Not the boy you had walked away from, not the friend you had left behind. No—this was someone else entirely. He had grown so much. His features were sharper, more defined, the youthful softness replaced by something stronger, more grown, more changed.

The messy curls had stretched longer, spilling into a mullet that framed his face differently, giving him an edge that hadn’t existed back then. His shoulders had squared, his stance more solid, more certain, the weight of experience shaping the way he held himself. He looked different—older, more weathered by time, by racing, by life itself. But his eyes. The green hadn’t changed. It was the only familiar thing left.

No matter how much you wanted to turn it off, to look away, to pretend like it didn’t matter, you couldn’t. You sat there, frozen, the remote resting in your hand, thumb hovering over the button, the familiar instinct urging you to switch the channel like you always had before. But something stopped you. Something kept your eyes locked on the screen, on the figure standing tall at the top of the podium, drenched in champagne, grinning like he had just conquered the world.

The cameras flashed, the crowd roared, the energy of the moment rippled through every pixel on the screen, making it impossible to ignore. This was his moment—his victory, the thing he had fought for, worked for, sacrificed your friendship for. And now, after years of avoiding everything that had to do with him, years of refusing to acknowledge his existence beyond old memories, you were watching.

─── april 2025

Monaco was made for nights like this—bright lights reflecting off the glistening streets, the hum of expensive cars weaving through the roads, the buzz of laughter spilling out from exclusive lounges. It was the kind of city that begged you to live in the moment, to let the night swallow you whole, to forget about anything that existed beyond the golden glow of luxury. And that was exactly what you and your friend had decided to do. Like any young woman in Monaco, dressing up and heading to the most electrifying party in town felt like the only reasonable choice. Who wouldn’t want that?

The club pulsed with energy, bodies moving in rhythm to the beat, music loud enough to drown out every thought, every worry, every lingering ghost of the past. You were lost in it, fully surrendering yourself to the moment, swinging your hips in time with the music, laughing carelessly between sips of your drink. Drunk, carefree, weightless—that was what tonight was supposed to be. Nothing but excitement, nothing but escape. Until your friend tapped your shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, leaning in closer, voice raised just enough to be heard over the music. “Isn’t this that guy from the photos?”

The words barely registered at first, your mind too fogged by alcohol and the blur of flashing lights to process what she was saying. Confused, you furrowed your brows, turning slightly to follow her gaze, not expecting anything, not preparing for what came next. And then your eyes landed on the DJ stage.

You almost fainted.

Everything around you seemed to slow, the world tilting slightly under the weight of your shock. For a moment, you thought your mind was playing tricks on you, that the alcohol had distorted reality, that there was no way—absolutely no way—this was happening. But as you stared, as you focused, as you took in every detail, you knew. You knew exactly who it was.

Lando?

Lando.

You knew him very well, all too well.

The realization hit hard, stealing the breath from your lungs, sending a wave of emotions crashing into you too fast to control. He looked different—sharper, older, changed—but there was no mistaking him. The same green eyes, the same familiar presence, standing right there when he wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near you. You swallowed hard, pulse thudding loudly in your ears, shaking your head quickly in an attempt to shove the moment away, to deny the reality of it.

“Definitely not,” you said, dismissing the thought, waving her off as if the words would make it true.

But God, it was him.

And no matter how badly you wanted to convince her otherwise, the person you really needed to convince was yourself.

“I may be drunk, but I’m not dumb,” she said, rolling her eyes with exaggerated patience, her hand outstretched expectantly. “Give me your phone.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face, already regretting handing over your phone. Your friend was relentless—too relentless.

She wasn’t about to let this go, not when she knew damn well that the truth sat right there, in your gallery, in your past. You should have known better. Should have made up a more convincing lie. Should have walked away, pretended like you hadn’t heard her, redirected her focus to something else, anything else. But instead, you hesitated just for a second. And that was enough for her to pounce.

You sighed, already knowing how this was going to end. Begrudgingly, you handed it over, bracing yourself for the inevitable. She wasted no time—her fingers flew across the screen, tapping, scrolling, searching. And then, just as you had dreaded, she found it. The photo. The one you should have deleted years ago but hadn’t. The one that still sat there, preserved in pixels, a reminder of something you had tried so hard to forget.

Your breath hitched as she held it up, comparing the image on the screen to the man on stage, flicking her gaze back and forth between them like she was studying two versions of the same reality, like she was dissecting proof of something that had long been undeniable. Like it wasn’t just some stupid coincidence. Like it meant something. Like it mattered.

“That’s definitely him,” she said, voice firm, confident, staring at you with an expression that made it clear there was no point in arguing.

And you just stood there, frozen, unable to speak, unable to deny it, unable to pretend like seeing him—like knowing he was here, so close, so real—hadn’t completely thrown you off. Because it had. And no matter how much you wanted to push it away, to pretend it didn’t affect you, the truth sat heavy in your chest, refusing to be ignored.

“Let’s go say hi,” she offered, her voice bubbling with excitement, like this was some ordinary encounter, like it wasn’t the exact moment you had spent years avoiding. Absolutely not. The second the words left her mouth, you shook your head, firm and unwavering. No way. No chance. You were not doing that. “Old friends reunion,” she added, grinning, nudging you like this was just some fun little moment that needed to happen. But you weren’t falling for it. Not even a little. Blah blah blah—whatever she wanted to call it. You were not going up there, not seeing him, not acknowledging whatever twisted fate had thrown him into the same room as you after all these years.

She sighed dramatically, clearly exasperated with your refusal, the kind of sigh that told you she wasn’t going to drop this easily. “C’mon, Y/n,” she whined, her fingers tightening around your wrist, tugging on you like she could physically drag you towards him. “He’s hot, at least.”

Yeah. He was. So annoyingly hot.

But also an absolute asshole. At least, that was what he had been when he was eighteen. That was the version of him you knew—the version that had made you walk away, that had made you promise yourself that you would never deal with his bullshit again. And sure, maybe time had passed, maybe things had changed, maybe he wasn’t the same person anymore. But you weren’t someone who judged purely on appearances—except, God, look at him.

White button-up, half undone like he was starring in some careless, effortless, look-at-me-I’m-perfect movie. Backwards cap, messy curls sticking out just enough to add to the whole I don’t care but I look good anyway vibe. Confident stance, lazy smirk, body language screaming that nothing in the world could touch him. Every bit of him exuded the same energy he had back then—like the years hadn’t done much more than make him hotter, like he was still the guy who thought life would always bend in his favor, like he had never needed to grow up at all.

Fuckboy.

Through and through.

And you had zero intention of dealing with that again.

“Y/n, seriously, you have a chance to shoot your shot.” Her voice was teasing, playful, as if she didn’t understand the storm brewing inside you, as if this was just some harmless fun. But shoot your shot? With him? With the boy who had forgotten your graduation, who had ghosted you when you needed him most, who had taken you for granted like you’d always just be there, waiting, unshaken?

Maybe you should tell her the whole story. Maybe you should make her understand that this wasn’t some game, that he didn’t deserve this moment. But before you could even blink, before you could form the words to stop her, you were standing under the stage.

The music pulsed through your chest, the energy of the club drowning out every rational thought, every bit of logic telling you to run. Lando leaned forward slightly, his stance easy, his presence effortless, bending down just enough to hear your friend, completely unaware of the way your body had gone rigid, completely unaware of the way your mind was screaming for an escape. “Hey, can you play this song?” she asked, sweet, casual, unbothered by the fact that she had just dragged you straight into hell.

You hardly listened, your ears ringing with everything except the conversation in front of you, your gaze flickering toward the exit, toward anything that wasn’t him. You tried to act like you didn’t know them. Tried to pretend you were just another person lost in the crowd, just another passerby in a place you didn’t belong. But she was smart. Too smart. And too cruel.

“For Y/n.”

Your stomach dropped. Your pulse stopped.

His reaction was instant. The way his body stiffened, the way his head snapped toward you, the way his mouth parted just slightly in disbelief. His eyes widened, searching, recognizing. “Y/n?” The way he said your name—like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming, like you weren’t supposed to be standing there, like this wasn’t supposed to be real. Everything came back.

And then, as if the universe wanted to twist the knife deeper, as if your friend wanted to ruin your life entirely, “yea, Y/n L/n,” she confirmed it. Loud. Clear. Unmistakable.

Your whole name. Given to him so easily, so casually, like she hadn’t just shattered the fragile distance you had spent years crafting between you and him. Omg. Why did you friend an idiot like that?

His brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his face even as his eyes locked onto you—wide, searching, unbelieving, like he couldn’t quite piece together how you were standing in front of him. “Y/n? She’s here?” he asked, the words sounding almost stupid the second they left his mouth, carrying just enough disbelief to make it nearly funny. If you weren’t too busy fighting off the urge to scream, maybe you would have laughed.

Because yes, you are here.

And maybe if his eyes weren’t staring right at you, he could have asked that question to someone who wasn’t standing right in front of him. But no—he was looking straight at you, drinking in the sight of you, the reality of you, like his brain just couldn’t quite accept that this was happening.

You didn’t move, didn’t react, just stood there, letting the weight of the moment settle, letting the air between you grow heavier with something unspeakable. Everything felt slower, stretched out, too thick with unspoken words, with the unbearable past forcing its way into the present.

And honestly? He looked so stupid for asking.

“Y/n, don’t act like you don’t know him,” she said, tugging you forward with way too much force, her grip firm, unrelenting, dragging you closer to the one person you wished you never had to see again. You barely had time to process, barely had time to resist, barely had time to breathe before you were suddenly there— closer than you wanted to be, closer than was safe.

And then, as if the universe wasn’t already mocking you enough, Lando spoke.

“What about you guys going up here?” he asked, referring to the stage, his voice casual, like this wasn’t the most surreal, earth-shattering moment imaginable.

Your stomach twisted. Your pulse hammered against your ribs. Your friend lit up beside you, clearly entertained, clearly loving every single second of this disaster.

But all you could do was wish you didn’t know him at all.

You barely had the chance to protest before she cut you off entirely, jumping in with way too much enthusiasm, her grip tightening around your wrist as if she had just won some personal victory.

“Sorry, we need to—” you started, voice tight, desperate for an escape, desperate to pull yourself out of the disaster unfolding in front of you, desperate to disappear entirely before anything got worse.

But she didn’t let you finish.

“That’s a good idea,” she answered instead, flashing a grin, fully committing to the mess she had just created, fully ignoring every ounce of panic rushing through you, fully pushing you into a moment you never signed up for.

You stepped onto the stage, the energy of the club pressing into you from all directions, the flashing lights making everything feel just a little too surreal, like you had just walked into some alternate reality that wasn’t supposed to exist. Your friend wasted no time, seamlessly folding into conversation with Lando’s friend, her body language open, animated, comfortable—like she had belonged here all along, like this was exactly what she had been planning from the second she dragged you into this mess. She was talking, laughing, exchanging words that you barely registered, already adapting to the situation in a way that only she could. It was effortless. It was unfair. It was everything you couldn’t do.

And you, on the other hand, stood there stiffly, caught between the suffocating heat of the room and the overwhelming weight of him, standing way too close, way too present, way too real. The music thumped beneath your feet, the beat vibrating through the soles of your shoes, pulsing through your chest, drowning out everything except the thoughts racing through your mind at a pace you couldn’t control. You could feel the tension settling thick in the air, could feel the invisible force pulling your attention toward him, toward the quiet way his presence still managed to fill every inch of space around you. It was unbearable. It was unavoidable.

And you did what anyone would do in this situation—nothing.

Just stood there, frozen in place, staring down at nothing in particular, refusing to meet his gaze, refusing to acknowledge him, refusing to entertain the idea that this was happening, that you were here, that he was here, that time had twisted itself cruelly enough to bring you back to this moment, back to this person, back to whatever mess had been left unresolved all those years ago. You could feel him there—watching, waiting, probably trying to figure out the words to say, probably wondering if he should say anything at all.

And you?

You were just waiting.

For someone, for something, for anything to save you.

Your chest tightened, pulse hammering beneath your skin as the space between you disappeared far too quickly, dissolving into something suffocating, something unavoidable, something you had spent years ensuring would never happen again.

Oh hell no.

“Y/n?” His voice was cautious, uncertain, dripping with something unspoken, something fragile, something that made your stomach twist violently. He rubbed the back of his neck—a nervous habit, one you hadn’t seen in years, one that somehow still belonged to him, one that made the moment too real. No way. No way was this happening. No way was he standing here, looking at you like that, speaking to you like nothing had happened, like time hadn’t stretched between you like an unfixable wound, like he hadn’t made the choice to let you slip away.

And then, as if things couldn’t possibly get worse, as if the universe truly had no mercy, he added another layer to the disaster unfolding before you.

“You changed since we last saw each other.”

The words hung in the air, soft, hesitant, laced with something just shy of regret—or maybe curiosity. Maybe nostalgia. Maybe something else entirely.

Your stomach twisted again, the weight of it pressing deep into your bones.

Had you? Had you changed? Or had you simply become the version of yourself that no longer had space for him? That no longer had room for the kind of heartbreak he had carelessly handed you all those years ago? That no longer needed the version of him standing in front of you, pretending like this conversation wasn’t drenched in every painful, unresolved moment he had left behind?

And why the hell did he care?

What exactly was he hoping for?

You narrowed your eyes, skepticism laced in your stare, your tone still tangled with the bittersweet remnants of everything that had come before. The years had stretched long, had pulled at the edges of old memories, had tried to reshape the hurt into something manageable, something distant—but it was still there. Lingering. Settled deep beneath the surface. It had never truly disappeared, no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much effort you had put into convincing yourself that it didn’t matter anymore.

“And did you?” you asked, voice steady, yet laced with something just shy of accusation, something that made it impossible to pretend like this was just casual conversation, like it was just two old friends catching up, like it didn’t hold the weight of every unanswered question you had let rest for years. The words slipped past your lips too easily, too naturally, as if they had been waiting for their moment to finally be spoken.

Lando hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing into him, making him pause just slightly before he finally answered. The seconds stretched thin between you, the silence pressing against your ribs, forcing your pulse to quicken. You watched him, studied the way his expression flickered between uncertainty and something else—something unreadable, something you weren’t sure if you wanted to name.

“Pretty much, yes,” he shrugged, his words careless, simple, like they didn’t hold the gravity they should have. Like they didn’t mean as much as they should have. It was an answer, sure, but it wasn’t a real answer. Not the one you wanted. Not the one you needed. It felt hollow, like he had tossed it out into the air just to have something to say, just to fill the space between you before it became too unbearable.

And then—he added it.

“I think.”

Two small words, dangling at the end of his sentence, uncertain, hesitant, a mistake.

Because if he wasn’t sure—then what was the point of saying it at all? What was the point of answering if he didn’t know what he was even saying?

Your pulse spiked.

Had he changed? Had he grown? Had he actually become a different person, or was this just some empty attempt at convincing you that things weren’t as bad as they had seemed? That maybe, just maybe, you weren’t justified in holding onto the bitterness that still lingered in your voice?

─── one hour later

It had taken about an hour—just enough time for the alcohol to settle into your system, just enough for the world to feel a little softer around the edges, just enough for decision-making to become questionable at best.

You weren’t drunk enough to forget things, not enough to completely erase history or drown out the quiet truths that still lurked in the back of your mind. But you were definitely drunk enough to agree to stupid decisions. The kind of choices you wouldn’t have considered under the harsh light of sobriety. The kind of choices that felt too easy when the world was buzzing and blurred, when the weight of the past didn’t seem quite so suffocating.

And that stupid decision?

A late-night walk with Lando. Drunk. Alone.

Something absolutely absurd. Something that didn’t quite fit with the carefully crafted distance you had spent years maintaining between you. But you hadn’t argued. You hadn’t fought against it. And now, somehow, you had ended up here—sitting cross-legged on the ledge of a stone wall, overlooking the vast stretch of the Mediterranean Sea, the moonlight reflecting against the gentle waves below like some impossibly perfect painting. The air was warm, the city behind you humming softly in the distance, the quiet of the night settling against your skin like an old, familiar embrace.

And despite everything—despite the mess of unresolved history, despite the tension still lingering between the moments of silence, despite the sheer ridiculousness of finding yourself in this exact situation—you were sitting there, eating McDonald’s with Lando Norris.

Your childhood best friend.

Lando glanced over at you, a smirk already tugging at the corner of his lips, like he knew exactly what he was about to unleash. “Do you remember how I took you karting?” he asked, voice dripping with amusement, clearly ready to relive your humiliation.

You barely had time to process his words before laughter burst out of you—loud, uncontrollable, instant, like the memory had slammed into you at full speed, just as violently as you had crashed that day.

“Don’t even start,” you gasped between fits of laughter, shaking your head, barely holding yourself together as you tried to take another bite of your hamburger. The second the ridiculousness of it all fully hit, you had to physically fight to avoid spitting it all over yourself.

Lando grinned, his eyes lighting up with amusement as he watched you dissolve into laughter, the memory hitting you full force, crashing back into your mind with all its chaotic, humiliating glory.

“Oh, come on,” he teased, shaking his head as he took a bite of his own burger, smirking like he had been waiting years to bring this up again. “It wasn’t that bad.”

You barely managed to swallow before shooting him a sharp look, still breathless from laughter. “Not that bad?” you scoffed, eyebrows raised, voice coated in disbelief. “I crashed so hard that the guy running the place had to come check if I was still alive, Lando.”

He snickered, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Okay, fine,” he admitted, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Maybe it was a little bad.”

“A little?” You nearly choked on your food, shaking your head as you wiped at your mouth, still struggling to contain the laughter bubbling inside you. “I’m scarred, Norris. Scarred.”

He laughed loudly, the sound unfiltered, genuine, slipping through the easy rhythm of the night like it belonged there—like it had never left.

Lando shook his head, laughter still lingering in his voice as he watched you struggle to compose yourself. The memory was too good, too vivid, too perfectly disastrous for him to let go.

“You were so bad,” he teased, shoving a handful of fries into his mouth like he wasn’t about to single-handedly ruin your night with humiliation.

You groaned dramatically, wiping at your mouth, still trying to stop yourself from choking on your own laughter. “Yeah, well, excuse me for not being a child prodigy in motorsport.” You shot him a look, eyes narrowed, but the smirk he threw back was unbelievable.

“That’s not what I meant,” he insisted, though his grin didn’t falter for a second. “You just had, like, zero concept of turning. It was literally a straight line, and you still managed to crash.”

You gasped, slapping his arm in mock outrage, though the memory did technically support his argument. “It was a complicated turn!” you defended, though the absurdity of the statement was immediate.

“A complicated turn?” He nearly choked on his drink, eyes wide. “Y/n, it wasn’t even a turn. You drove straight into the barriers like the track just disappeared in front of you.”

You huffed, crossing your arms, shaking your head, but the laughter bubbling in your chest was uncontainable. “Yeah, well, maybe I just wanted to give everyone a good show.”

Lando snickered, throwing a fry at you. “Mission accomplished.”

And somehow, in the warmth of the Mediterranean night, with laughter spilling between shared bites of fast food, it felt almost like nothing had changed at all.

You looked at him, really looked at him for the first time that night, and something inside you shifted.

His smile—so easy, so natural, so completely him—pulled at something buried deep in your chest, something you hadn’t let yourself think about in years. It was familiar, painfully so, a reminder of everything that had once made this friendship effortless, everything that had once made him yours.

His humor hadn’t changed—still sharp, still quick, still laced with that dry British edge that made everything just a little bit funnier, a little more ridiculous. And in that moment, between the laughter, the shared food, the warmth of the night curling around you, you remembered.

You remembered why you were friends.

You remembered why you had loved him.

You turned to Lando, the memory slipping through the cracks of the night, resurfacing with all its chaotic, hilarious glory. A smirk tugged at your lips as you nudged him lightly, already knowing he’d try to defend himself. “Do you remember how we got kicked out of Mrs. Evans’ class?” you asked, voice laced with nostalgia, with amusement, with just the slightest hint of accusation. “Because you couldn’t stop making me laugh.”

Lando grinned, his eyes lighting up the way they always did when mischief was involved, when trouble was just a little too tempting to resist. He shrugged, casual, completely unbothered, like he wasn’t single-handedly responsible for one of the most chaotic moments of your academic history. “And what should I have done?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, feigning innocence with absolutely no sincerity. “It was so boring!”

You scoffed, shaking your head, though the laughter bubbling under your breath gave away the fact that you weren’t actually mad—just exasperated. “Boring enough that we almost got detention,” you reminded him, leveling him with a pointed stare, though the ridiculousness of it all made it impossible to sound truly scolding.

Lando only laughed, stretching his legs out in front of him, like he had no regrets. “Key word—almost,” he teased, throwing a playful wink your way, fully basking in the chaos like it was some kind of badge of honor.

The words hung between you, soft yet unavoidable, stretching across the quiet, sinking into the space where the past had been tucked away for too long.

“I’m glad I had you by my side growing up.”

So simple. So soft. So undeniably true.

And yet, something inside you twisted at the sound of it, at the weight of it, at the way it should have felt warm but instead carried a sharp edge—an unspoken ache buried beneath nostalgia. It was honest, sure, but honesty didn’t erase the years, didn’t undo the mistakes, didn’t rewrite the nights you had spent wondering where things had gone wrong. Because he could have had you by his side for more than just childhood. He could have had you always—if he hadn’t been careless, if he hadn’t let things fall apart, if he hadn’t made the choices that had cracked the foundation between you until it was barely holding together. If he hadn’t been such an idiot.’

Your jaw clenched, bitterness surfacing before you could push it back down.

Because the truth was, it wasn’t just about growing up together. It wasn’t just about the laughter, the memories, the late-night conversations that once felt like they’d stretch on forever. It was about everything after—the parts where he wasn’t there, the parts where silence replaced friendship, the parts where the absence was louder than anything he had ever said before.

And yet, despite all of that—despite the anger that still lingered beneath the surface—you couldn’t bring yourself to say what was truly pressing against your ribs, couldn’t let the words spill out, couldn’t tell him that he could’ve had you forever if he had just chosen to keep you.

The words slipped out of his mouth softly, like he had been holding onto them for far too long, like they had been sitting heavy on his chest for years without escape. “I’m sorry for the graduation.”

Simple. Direct. Honest. And yet, the weight of them hit harder than you expected, settling deep into your ribs, pressing into the space where that memory—where that absence—still lingered.

Graduation. The day that should have been filled with celebration, with excitement, with closure that never really arrived. It had been a day of transition, of stepping into something new, of leaving behind childhood and stepping forward into a future that had felt both thrilling and terrifying. And yet, despite all of that, despite the bittersweet nature of endings and new beginnings, he wasn’t there.

You had told yourself it didn’t matter. You had convinced yourself it didn’t change anything. And yet, standing there, waiting for that familiar face to show up, for him to be there—he never came. And suddenly, it had mattered a lot.

Now, years later, with the ocean stretching endlessly in front of you, with the night settling warmly around you, with the past creeping in between bites of fast food and nostalgia, he was apologizing. Your chest tightened, something complicated twisting inside you, something bitter yet soft, something that wanted to hold onto resentment but wasn’t sure if it could anymore.

“You should be,” you murmured, voice steady, not cruel, not sharp—just honest. And Lando just nodded. Slowly. Thoughtfully. He didn’t argue. He didn’t make excuses. He didn’t try to talk his way out of it like he had done in the past, like he had done with so many other things, so many other moments.

Lando exhaled slowly, shifting slightly, gaze fixed on the waves, the silence stretching between you in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable—but was definitely heavy. He had never been the type to sit with things like this, never been the type to let the weight of past mistakes settle into his chest without some quick distraction, some clever deflection. But this time, he didn’t try.

“I should’ve been there,” he said finally, voice lower now, less casual, less teasing. Just honest. “I should’ve shown up.”

You stared at him for a moment, studying the way his fingers drummed lightly against the stone ledge, the way his posture wasn’t as relaxed as it had been earlier, the way his words carried something real—something that felt less like an empty apology and more like remorse.

“Yeah,” you murmured, voice steady, simple. “You should’ve.”

Another beat of silence. The kind that wasn’t awkward. The kind that just existed.

Lando sighed, running a hand through his curls, shaking his head lightly. “I was a bit of an ass, wasn’t I?”

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “A bit?”

He shot you a look, but his grin—small, hesitant, almost self-deprecating—surfaced anyway. “Alright, fine. A lot.”

You smirked, though there wasn’t malice in your expression—just nostalgia, just something soft wrapped in the edges of lingering hurt. It wasn’t like everything could be fixed with a single apology.

It wasn’t like words could erase the years apart, the way things had splintered without resolution, the way wounds had settled so deep you had forgotten what it was like to exist without them. But maybe—just maybe—this was the beginning of something new.

Something better.

The conversation had shifted—still warm, still easy in some ways, but laced with something deeper now. Something that wasn’t just nostalgia, wasn’t just laughter over childhood chaos, wasn’t just revisiting memories like old photographs tucked away in forgotten drawers. This was different. This was real in a way that it hadn’t been for a long time.

“I wanted to reach out,” he admitted suddenly, voice quieter, more careful. Like he wasn’t sure how the words would land. Like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to say them at all. “After graduation. After—everything. But I didn’t know how to fix it.”

You studied him for a moment, the way his expression had shifted from mischievous to contemplative, the way he actually seemed hesitant—like he had spent years thinking about this exact moment, about how he would say these exact words if he ever got the chance.

And part of you knew that if he had tried back then, if he had sent that text, made that call, said something when it mattered—you wouldn’t have ignored it.

You wouldn’t have been able to.

But he hadn’t. And time had stretched between you, pulling everything apart until you weren’t sure if there was anything left to hold onto at all.

“Why didn’t you?” you asked, and it wasn’t bitter, wasn’t sharp—it was just curious. Because after all this time, after all the years spent wondering, you deserved an answer.

Lando’s lips pressed together for a brief second before he exhaled again, shaking his head. “I was scared you wouldn’t want to hear from me,” he admitted, voice raw, honest. “And maybe... I thought I deserved that.”

And for the first time, since the distance had formed, since the resentment had settled, since the laughter had faded—his regret felt real.

Lando’s voice was steady, careful, carrying something unspoken beneath it—something raw, something real, something fragile enough that it almost felt like it didn’t belong in the easy rhythm of the night. “I really want to be your friend again, Y/n,” he said, and for the first time since this conversation had begun, since nostalgia had crept in and laughter had softened the edges of old wounds, you felt the weight of every single moment that had led up to this one.

It wasn’t a lighthearted remark. It wasn’t just words tossed into the sea breeze without meaning. It was something deeper, something intentional. And then, like he realized that saying it once wasn’t enough, like he needed to make sure it landed the way he intended, he added—“and I want you to be my friend again.”

Not just that he wanted to be yours.

But that he wanted you to want it, too. That he wasn’t just asking for forgiveness, wasn’t just trying to smooth over years of absence and missteps and hurt—he was asking for something real, something that required more than just words.

He was asking for a chance. For the possibility that this wasn’t just reminiscing, wasn’t just two people revisiting a past they had lost, but maybe—just maybe—the beginning of something new. And suddenly, after all this time, after all the years apart, you held all the power.

The tear slipped down your cheek, warm against the cool night air, but you didn’t wipe it away. You let it fall, let the weight of emotion settle deep into your chest, let the moment exist without hesitation, without restraint. “I miss you, Lan,” you said, voice raw, uneven, laced with something fragile—something true. “I missed you over the years. Nonstop.”

Lando inhaled sharply, like the words had knocked the breath out of him, like hearing them out loud made them real in a way that thoughts alone never could. His fingers curled slightly against the stone ledge, his posture tense for just a second before he exhaled, slow, measured. When he spoke, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty—just honesty, just everything he had been holding back.

“I miss you too,” he admitted, and it wasn’t rushed, wasn’t just a response for the sake of filling silence. It was real. It was heavy. “I always thought about you. In the car, before sleep.” His voice dipped slightly at the end, quiet but steady, carrying the weight of years, of regret, of something so much bigger than just missing someone. He glanced at you then, expression softer, more exposed than you had seen it in a long time. “And I also thought about how much I fucked up.”

"I can't hate you, Lando," you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them, before you could think too hard about what they meant.

Because it was true.

Even after everything.

Even after the hurt, the silence, the years of unspoken apologies—you never could.

Lando’s breath hitched, just slightly, just enough for you to notice. His fingers curled against the stone ledge, his posture rigid for a moment before he exhaled, letting the weight of your words sink into his chest. He nodded once, barely, his gaze flickering toward the waves as if searching for something—some kind of grounding, some kind of steadiness in the moment that was suddenly too real.

“I thought you did,” he admitted, voice quieter now, less controlled, less confident. “For a long time, I thought you hated me.”

You swallowed, lips pressing together, letting the truth sit between you, because maybe—back then—you had tried to. Maybe you had wanted to. Maybe it would’ve been easier if you had.

But you never did.

“I was angry,” you said finally, voice steady but soft. “I was hurt. But I never hated you, Lan.”

He turned toward you then, fully, eyes searching yours with something raw, something desperate—not in a selfish way, not in a way that begged for more than you could give, but in a way that told you this moment meant everything to him.

Your voice was steady, but there was something fragile underneath it—something you hadn’t meant to admit out loud, something that had been sitting in your chest for years, tangled up in old resentment and unspoken frustration.

Lando’s expression flickered, something shifting in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or understanding, or both. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to laugh it off, didn’t do anything except wait, letting you say the thing you had never really let yourself process before.

“I wanted to be happy for you,” you continued, inhaling slowly, like the words were harder to say now that they were actually being said. “But every time I saw you winning, every time I saw you smiling on that podium, every time I saw you getting everything you wanted, I just… I was bitter, Lando.”

He swallowed, his fingers curling slightly against his knee, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “Because I wasn’t there?” he asked, voice careful, like he didn’t want to assume—but like he already knew.

You nodded, lips pressing together, letting the truth settle between you. “Because you weren’t there,” you echoed. “Because I wanted to be part of it. Because I wanted to be your friend, but instead, I was just—just some person watching it all happen from a distance.”

Lando exhaled, slow, measured, like he was absorbing all of it—like he wasn’t just hearing your words, but feeling them, carrying them in the space between past and present. He shook his head lightly, eyes dipping downward before meeting yours again. “I should’ve reached out,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, less certain, more vulnerable. “I should’ve had you with me. Should’ve made sure you never felt like that.”

And for the first time, since this conversation had started, since the past had resurfaced, since the years of distance had finally been acknowledged—you felt like he understood.

“I didn’t want to feel that way,” you admitted, voice quieter now, more careful. “I wanted to be proud of you, wanted to celebrate with you. But instead, it just felt like proof that—" You inhaled, pressing your lips together for a brief second, steadying yourself before letting the words slip out. "Proof that you didn’t need me anymore.”

Lando’s expression flickered, something deeper shifting behind his eyes—something that looked dangerously close to pain.

“No,” he murmured immediately, shaking his head, his fingers curling into a fist for a brief second before he exhaled, forcing himself to breathe. “It was never that. It was never because I didn’t need you, Y/n.” He looked at you now, really looked at you, like he needed you to understand, like he needed to make sure there was no space for doubt, no space for misinterpretation.

“I was an idiot. A selfish idiot who didn’t know how to deal with everything changing, so I—” He sighed, running a hand through his curls, his voice dipping lower, carrying something raw, something heavy. “I handled it badly. And I let everything slip away, because I was scared to—scared to admit that I couldn’t do any of it without you.”

Lando was quiet, until he broke the silence with one, short question.

“Do you think I deserve a chance?” he asked, voice softer this time, like he was bracing for whatever came next. His fingers drummed lightly against his knee, his posture just a little too rigid, his expression just a little too careful. He wasn’t asking lightly. He wasn’t expecting an easy answer. He was giving you the space to decide.

You inhaled slowly, letting his words settle, letting yourself really think about them. It wasn’t just about whether he deserved it. It was about whether you wanted to give it. About whether you were ready to step into something new, to let go of the bitterness that had clung to the edges of the memories you had tried to hold onto for so long. And maybe, just maybe, you were.

“Yeah, you do.”

© norristrii 2025

babsie radio ! For my dearest @haniette and for all the lovely people reading this !! This is my longest and favorite fic I have ever written. This is literally asking for part 2!! Let me know if u are interested !<3

[darnell-la]

MADE THE FIRST MOVE

pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x reader

summary: y/n knew her job as a hero would be difficult, and most people don’t look after Bob like she does. somehow, she enjoyed it, and couldn’t help but fall for the guy. sadly, his depression kept her back from showing any feeling. that was until he surprised her with the first move.

warnings: smut, depression mentioned, mutants, etc

———

Bob has always been an insurance guy. Ever since y/n got to know him, she’s tried to build his confidence. Even after he almost wiped out everyone in New York a few mo the ago.

The Avengerz live in the old Tony Stark tower, helping each other out in life, even after saying multiple times how they couldn’t stand each other.

Y/n and Bob were the only ones who loved being around each other. After a while, they’ve became close, so close Bob could barely function around y/n. It’s almost like his heart would stop any time she’d come around.

“I’m sorry about like this — Usually I’m fine, but he’s just being difficult right now,” Bob said, speaking above the Void who had started getting to close to taking Bob over again.

For the past month, Bob grew a huge heart for y/n, and Void began taking the chance to make Bog over think every possible detail about y/n and him being anything but friends.

“It’s fine, Bob — Really,” y/n said as she slipped off her house shoes and got under the covers. Y/n had been staying with Bob for the night to make sure he felt needed and wanted. Not in any sexual way, but as a friend.

She would be lying if she said she had no feelings for Bob. She just couldn’t bring herself explain it to him or anyone. She felt like it was wrong, especially with that Bob had going on with himself.

“Why do you do this? I know you see something in me, but y/n- I’m a grown man. And, adult, and I can’t even control my emotions. I suck so bad at it that if I feel too down, I could get rid off the whole city in seconds,”

Bob wouldn’t stop speaking down about himself, as y/n switched the TV off to have something going on in the background as they rested for the night.

“Bob, look — We’ve all got our problems, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve help. Why would I watch you and ignore you when u can help? You’re not bothering in any kind of way. Trust me,” y/n said as she turned to look at Bob.

Y/n’s stomached filled with butterflies at the way Bob was looking at her. “I appreciate you, y/n, you know that, right?” Bob asked as he scanned her face, falling in love with her for probably the thousandth time today.

“And, why is that?” Y/n asked, knowing why, but wanting him to speak about her in a way that may make her fall for him harder. “I mean- Just look at you. A gorgeous girl wanting to take care of me — That sounds like a dream,”

“I think you’re over exaggerating just a little bit,” y/n said as she went to tuck under her covers but Bob stopped her by moving closer to put his hand in her cheek. “Not even a little,” Bob said, feeling some courage to show her how much he appreciates her.

“I don’t know what to say,” y/n spoke low, now feeling shy. “You never have to say anything to make me happy,” Bob said as his eyes sprightly glowed yellow. “You’re perfect no matter what you do or say,” y/n was at a loss for words at the moment.

Bob has never been then type of man to have confidence and show it. This was very new for him and her, and she didn’t know how to react. She was happy, yet too shocked to say anything.

“I think I’m actually happy,” was the last thing Bob said before he leaned into y/n, connecting his lips onto hers. Before either of them could settle in, Bob deepened the kiss as he moved on top of her.

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable, and I’ll stop — I promise,” Bob pulled back to make sure he wasn’t ruining anything by his quick decisions. “I would never tell you to stop. Ever,”

That’s all it took for y/n and Bob to be sweating, moaning, and shaking underneath the covers. They both weren’t to experienced, or had a great person to do this with. Now, they finally do.

“I swear, I love you, y/n — I really do. You’ve changed my perspective on life — On living,” Bob said as he softly, but same time roughly thrusted down into y/n. “I-I’m glad I could h-help,” y/n stuttered as her back arched.

“I want you to — I need you,

[tj-is-down]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy (Tyler Owens x Reader)

Back again with another random fic for y'all. This is not proofread, so don't hate me!

Summary: Tyler and the reader have been on and off "together" for years now, keeping it secret. Until, suddenly, one of them decides they might want more.

Word count: ~2.1k

Warnings: None except some swearing, and reader is described femininely in this one.

Here’s the thing about Humble Creek: everybody knows everybody. A small town made up of just under five thousand, there was nothing that anybody could do in secret, because if one person knew, then it was just as if they’d taken a bullhorn and announced it to the entire town.

Which made Y/N’s life all the harder. See, she did have a secret, and although it hadn’t gotten out yet, its secrecy was held in the hands of a monster. A tyrant, a tool, a pain-in-the-ass douchebag with a cowboy hat and a Texas accent.

Tyler Owens.

Y/N had known he was trouble since they were kids. Growing up on rival ranches, they were destined to be enemies, and even more so, to blur the lines. Y/N had never trusted him. Not because their families were constantly fighting, as she believed everybody deserved their own chance to prove themself, but because he had fucked his up, royally. 

In elementary school, middle school, high school, Tyler was always the talk of the town. Always with a girl on his arm, Tyler was confident, and everybody else was just putty in his hands. Y/N told herself she didn’t understand what people saw in him. 

She lied.

It started in eighth grade, when Tyler showed up in a too-big tux and a bouquet of flowers he’d handpicked from his family’s garden.

“You wanna go to the dance?” He asked, grinning cockily. Even then he knew how to charm, before he even knew what charm was.

Y/N’s dad had said no, absolutely no way, but Y/N was in her rebellious phase and so this only pushed her to say yes. She went out right then, in her mud-stained t-shirt and jeans, and they’d walked to the school together at seven p.m. and walked home together at nine. He’d kissed her cheek goodnight and she’d wiped it off, embarrassed.

“You’re annoying, Owens.”

“And you’re pretty, L/N.”

On the next Monday he came to school with Cherry Lee.

Y/N tried to be mad. She tried to hate Tyler, to swear that she’d never talk to him or think about him or even look at him ever again. But two months later, when Tyler and Cherry broke up, he’d knocked on her door when he knew her parents weren’t home and, against her better judgment, she’d let him inside.

They’d been on-and-off “together” ever since.

Now, Tyler wasn’t single for long intervals, usually just a couple of weeks here and there, and he would never cheat, nor would Y/N let herself become a homewrecker (no matter how fragile the relationship), but when Tyler showed up on her doorstep, bouquet in hands and that look in his eyes, she knew she couldn’t say no. 

She was an adult now, but still, she couldn’t resist those eyes. Tyler had been single since before leaving for college, and when he came back it was like he’d never left. Sure, now he had a truck, a big name, a crew, and a YouTube channel, but he still had those eyes, and his family still had a garden with a never-ending supply of flowers.

He showed up on her door one morning, after her parents had left for church.

“Can I help you?” She asked, opening the door. As always, a t-shirt and jeans, dirty from the morning’s work on the farm.

“You’re not at church?”

“You knew I wouldn’t be.”

“Well, maybe the two and I can practice praying on our own? I think the first step is kneeling down; you wanna start?”

Y/N went to close the door, but Tyler’s hand reached out to prop it open.

“Come on, Darlin’,” he said, laying the accent on thick. “You want to go for a drive? I’ll buy you a coffee.”

“Hold the coffee,” she said, walking past him. “I’d rather not have anyone see us together.”

He grabbed her waist and stood behind her, kissing her neck. “We’ve been doing this for years, babe. No one’s gonna find out, I promise.”

She leaned her head towards him, breathing in the scent of firewood mixed with his cologne. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“You gettin’ sappy on me?” He asked. Though his voice was soft, she could feel his smirk.

“Nope.” She pulled out of his grasp and got into the passenger seat of his truck. “We going, or are you just gonna stand there looking all doe-eyed?”

“For you, I’d stand here all day, sweetheart.”

“Just get in the car, Romeo.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

*** 

They drove for a while, to the outskirts of town, when Tyler stopped the truck and leaned over. He kissed her lips, hard and slow, putting his hand on the back of her neck to pull her closer. She reciprocated, holding his bicep, moving her mouth in tandem with his and letting herself fall into him.

“Why are you being so love-y today?” She asked after they separated.

“I can’t show my girl some love?”

“Is that what I am? ‘Your girl’?”

He shrugged. “Is that so bad?”

“You’re annoying, Owens.” She pushed his shoulder.

He mock-pushed her back as he said, “You’re pretty, L/N.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Seriously, though, there is something I wanted to talk to you about—”

Y/N scoffed. “Are you about to ask me out?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Okay, good.”

“Would that be so bad of me?”

“Kinda.” Y/N breathed a laugh, but when she saw Tyler’s face, serious and a little upset, she stopped. “I mean, it’s not like we have the best thing going on here anyways, and I just don’t want to be—” She paused, about to say heartbroken, or used, or a placeholder for when you find someone better, but Tyler cut her off.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He started the truck, engine roaring to life. “It was dumb, nevermind. I’ll take you home.”

“Tyler, you know what I meant—”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re just messing around, right? That’s all this is, just messing around.”

He didn’t say another word on the ride home. 

He dropped her off, barely waiting for her to shut the truck door before he drove away.

***

Tyler didn’t answer any of Y/N’s calls or texts for the next few days. Y/N was upset, barely leaving her room checking her phone obsessively for any sign of Tyler Owens. She even started watching his YouTube channel, but there hadn’t been any uploads for over a month. Nothing on Instagram or Facebook, either.

Her mother yelled up the stairs to her one night, calling her down.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” Her mom said upon seeing Y/N.

“This is what I always wear. Why?” Y/N was suddenly self conscious, confused as to why her parents cared what she wore in the house.

“Tonight’s the fair,” her mother responded, attempting to jog her memory.

“You’re helping us run our booth?” Her father tried.

“Ah, shit,” Y/N mumbled, remembering. “Do I have to go? I totally forgot.”

“Of course you have to go!” Her father said. “We need the three of us there; it’s a family ranch, remember?”

“Besides,” her mother added. “The Owens’s will be there. We can’t let them get a leg up on us! If you’re not there, Tyler will be running the show for sure.”

“Well, maybe not,” her father said. “He’s doing the kissing booth, remember?”

“The what?” Y/N said. “Tyler’s doing a kissing booth?”

Her father nodded. “To raise funds for his family’s ranch. He and his whole ‘team’ will be there, whatever they’re called.”

Y/N paused for a moment, trying to wrap her head around it all. Was that what Tyler was trying to talk to her about the other day? The kissing booth? But why would it matter what Y/N thought about it?

Her mother ushered her up the stairs. “For Pete’s sake, change into something nice, and quickly!”

Oh, shit.

***

The Humble Creek Fair was bustling with energy. People from nearby towns came to see what it was all about, and it was always the most popular time of year.

Y/N sat at her family’s booth, eyes peeled for Tyler. She kept checking her phone to see if he’d answered, but when she didn’t get any notifications she decided to take matters into her own hands.

“I’m going for a walk,” she said to her parents.

They both nodded, and her father added, “Make sure to see how the Owens’ booth is doing. I want to make sure we’ll still be in business next year.”

Y/N looked around for the kissing booth, and when she saw a long line of women, she followed it to the front. She walked around to the back of the attraction, but didn’t see Tyler anywhere. It wasn’t until she’d nearly given up entirely when she heard a voice behind her.

“What are you wearing?”

She whisked around, coming face-to-face with Tyler, who was holding some sort of weird meat on a stick.

“What are you eating?”

“Pork leg, fried and marinated in pickle juice,” he said, shrugging. “I’m hoping it’ll make my breath smell bad so less people come up. Now, back to you.”

“What about me?”

“You’re wearing a dress. You never wear dresses. ‘Jeans and a t-shirt, that’s me,’” he says, doing a poor impression of her.

“I don’t sound like that.”

“Yes you do, but that’s besides the point. What’s your deal?”

Y/N shrugged uncomfortably. “I wanted to, I guess.”

Tyler looked at her dead-on. “You look nice, Y/N.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been texting you for days. No response. But now that I’m here, all I get is, ‘I look nice’?” 

“What else do you want from me?”

“An answer, Tyler. What’s your deal? Why didn’t you tell me about the kissing booth?”

“I tried to, but then you came at me with all that ‘this is a bad idea’ crap, and I figured you didn’t want me to tell you. Or you didn’t care if I told you or not.”

“Okay, so—”

“Wait.” He stops her. “Do you care?”

Y/N kicks the ground. “If I did?”

“If you did,” he said, stepping closer to her. “I’d drop the pork leg and kiss you.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’d eat the pork leg, and I’d kiss a bunch of people who aren’t you, and I’d feel like shit about it.” He took another step closer to her, nearly closing the gap between them. “Please say you care.”

“Ugh,” she scoffed. “You’re gonna make me say it? You can’t just, like, infer from the situation?”

“I’m really bad at inferring things,” he said, a cocky grin on his face. “So, I’m gonna need to hear you say it.”

“You’re annoying, Owens.”

“You’re pretty, L/N. Like, so pretty. But I do need to hear you say it, and I’m also gonna need you to—”

“I care, Tyler. Now shut up and kiss me, or I’m gonna take it back.”

“Can’t take it back, babe. It’s set in stone.”

In one fluid motion, he dropped the pork leg, grabbed Y/N by the waist with his other hand, and pulled her into a kiss. It was deep and passionate, not like any of the other times they’ve kissed. They kept it going for as long as they can, holding their breath until they couldn’t anymore, and then they pulled apart, gasping for air with their foreheads touching.

“Will you go out with me?” He asked her, still struggling for air. “Like, on a real date, not just driving in the truck?”

“I guess,” Y/N said, teasingly. “If I have to.”

“I mean, you don’t have to. But if you do, I’m gonna need you to wear this again.” He grabbed her and pulled her closer to him, if that’s even possible. “Because, if I’m being honest, L/N, this is the hottest I’ve ever seen you. Like, I didn’t think you could get hotter, but here we are. Speaking of, can we go? I really want to go somewhere with you. Like, privately.” He winked at her, and she scoffed, rolling her eyes again.

“Don’t you need to raise money for your farm?” She asked him, gesturing to the booth behind them.

“Fuck the farm,” he said. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy, yeah?”

“Fuck off,” she said, pulling him into another kiss.

“Seriously though, can we go?”

[arlos-warm-drpepper]

When I think Derek Hale I think insecurity. Unstable. Unhinged. Derek Hale.

I don’t think “got his shit together” at all!! So in this Ted talk I will explain why I prefer when authors write him as the insecure one, and Stiles as the secure one.

Derek Hale was 19. Truly he was a kid in charge of a bunch of slightly younger kids. A kid who hadn’t had any responsible adult in his life since he was 15 (16?) y/o. I do not know how you can look at this kid and think “oh yeah he’s got his shit together”

The guy who went around biting teenagers the second he became an alpha with NO hesitation. As if that was a totally rational and responsible decision to make. The guy who fell for any woman who gave him the slightest attention. Even if they were evilness.

Because ultimately Derek just wanted someone. A pack. A family. Whether that was in the form of a bunch of teenage werewolves (teen wolfs full name hurhur) or an evil girlfriend. He just needed SOMEONE. Because he was lonely. He was lonely and insecure and probably felt like everything he touched went wrong. Because it did!!! And he probably hated himself for that. Probably blamed himself for everything. For Paige (even though that was peters fault), for Kate (Kates fault. Grown ass woman), for Boyd and Erica (NOT DEREKS FAULT!!!), for everything. Hell, probably even for Laura. And it doesn’t help that Scott and Stiles ALSO blamed him for Laura at first.

Stiles on the other hand, he was pretty secure. Sure, at first he was a little insecure when Scott had just became a werewolf and he felt a little less-than. But he got over that quickly. Over it enough that he rejected Peters offer for the bite. He was hard headed, stubborn, and smart. And he knew he was smart. He knew what he had, his skills. He trusted his instincts ten times out’ve ten. He was secure with himself. He knew when something was off, and he was persistent in trying to get everyone else to listen to him. Because if everyone just listened to him, they would be fine. Because ten times out’ve ten, he was RIGHT!!! And he knew it!!! And he was secure enough with himself to go after the most popular girl in school, despite her having a boyfriend (which I NEVER even questioned the morals of, because he didn’t. Because he seemed so sure in that decision. Because he was SECURE in himself!!!)

Derek Hale might have been aware that he was beautiful on the outside, but that doesn’t mean he was secure within himself. That man is filled to the brim with guilt. Guilt over things that aren’t even his fault. There’s no way he doesn’t absolutely hate himself.

Stiles might have guilt over void, but he knows that wasn’t him. That he tried everything to stop void. He knows he isn’t a killer, and that everything he’s done has been for the greater good. He is secure in every decision he makes. And I know that because that’s practically what he told Scott. Some people are human, some people have to get their hands a little dirty sometimes. He knows that. He is secure in that thought process.

Stiles Stilinski is secure, hard headed, persistent. Derek Hale is insecure, unstable, and uncertain. These are facts. So why are you all writing it the opposite???? I don’t want it the opposite. I want Derek to be pathetic and wet. I want Stiles to be fucking confident, assured, SOLID. Because that’s what Derek needs. He needs someone solid, because he hasn’t had that since he was 15. He deserves that.

[ichigo-plasma]

Let Me Us Help You

Milgram ❤︎ Haruka Sakurai x Reader x Mikoto Kayano

Synopsis: Haruka has had a crush on you ever since he met you in Milgram but he never had an example of a healthy relationship growing up so he isn’t sure how to confess. He gets the help of one of the few adults he trusts, Mikoto. But after watching Haruka stumble over his words humiliating himself while he confessed to you, Orekoto/John decides the blue hair boy needs a push.~

On the menu: yandere, smut, multiple personalities (John referred to as Orekoto but I might change that), non-con~❤︎, one swear word (Orekoto is angyyy), kinda-poly if you squint (but Orekoto and Haruka don’t get each other off…), uhhhh manhandling, double penetration?, just yummy smut~~~, Orekoto is freaky af (but it’s hot so he is forgiven), Haruka lied about his age, he is actually an adult, uhh Orekoto is also toxic and rude, reader is referred to with fem pronouns

Guide: Smut only starts after the pink hearts ❤︎❤︎❤︎ you can stop there to skip smut.

A/N: I added a BONUS next day AFTERMATH! Where Mikoto comes back and doesn’t remember anything his other personality did!

Amongst the prisoners in Milgram, you were different. You were the first to notice Haruka. First to talk to him. Asked him simple things—Did you eat today? Do you need help with that?—things no one else bothered to ask.

The attention was addicting.

The way your voice softened when you spoke to him. The way you didn’t laugh when he fumbled with tying his shoes or struggled with writing his name. The way you always waited for him. The way you forgave his crimes, seeing his regret…

You weren’t just nice.

You were perfect.

Soon, Haruka found himself watching you more than he should. Memorizing your schedule around the prison. Finding excuses to be near you. Walking the same prison hallways you did, sitting at tables where he knew you’d pass by. Even when you weren’t looking, he was always there—lurking in the background, watching from the corner of his eye, his heart skipping a beat whenever you smiled.

You were perfect for him. Even if you thought your we’re doing nothing more than showing simple kindness due to the scary circumstances in Milgram, he saw it as way more.

He needed to make you his but he had no idea how to confess. He never saw his parents get along well in a loving relationship so he had no example of how it worked. So he went to one of the adults in Milgram he thought might know how to help.

“Just t-tell her…?” Haruka’s face burned as he fidgeted with the hem of his oversized prison uniform sleeves, avoiding Mikoto’s amused gaze.

The older guy leaned against the wall of the prison common area, arms crossed, watching Haruka with a smile. “Yeah, Haru-kun. You like her, don’t you? Then tell her.”

Haruka squirmed. “B-But what if she s-says no?”

Mikoto chuckled. “Then you have to accept that. I’m sure you two can still be friends!”

Haruka paled like the idea was unthinkable. “B-But I—”

Mikoto sighed, ruffling Haruka’s hair like an older brother. “Listen, Haru-kun. Confessing isn’t about making her say yes. It’s about being honest. If she doesn’t feel the same, then that’s how it is.”

Haruka bit his lip, eyes darting away. That’s NOT an option. You had to feel the same. You had to.

Still, he nodded, pretending to take Mikoto’s advice to heart. “O-Okay… I’ll try it.”

Mikoto grinned. “Atta boy.”

It was supposed to be romantic…

Haruka had practiced in front of his rabbit plush a hundred times in his cell—how he’d stand tall, how he’d look you in the eyes, how he’d say your name in a deep, confident voice.

None of that happened.

Instead, he was a stuttering, shaky mess.

“I-I—I w-wanted to s-say—”

You blinked at him, tilting your head in confusion. “Haruka? Are you okay?”

Oh god. You looked worried. Not flustered. Not excited. Worried.

Haruka’s breath hitched. This wasn’t going right. This wasn’t going right at all.

From around the corner, Mikoto crouched and watched, his expression twitching with secondhand embarrassment. “Oh, my—!” His fingers scratching through his scalp in stress. “Haru-kun, you’re killing me here…”

Suddenly a flicker of something dark passed over Mikoto’s face.

Then he stilled and closed his eyes.

When his eyes opened again, they weren’t the same, the previous gleam lower in his pupil.

A smirk curled at his lips, his posture shifting into something far more domineering. “Tch. You really can’t do anything right, huh, Haru-kun? That’s ok, I’ll help you out.”

This wasn’t going to be just Mikoto helping anymore.

Before you could process what was happening, a strong arm wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you flush against a broad chest. The scent of Mikoto’s usual cologne was still there—but something in his demeanor was off.

It was oddly aggressive compared to the Mikoto you’d known. And it was terrifyingly forceful.

Your breath hitched. “Mikoto—?”

“Tch-” Orekoto mouthed in annoyance. His arm around you tightened, his smirk widening as he turned to Haruka, who was staring in shock and embarrassment. “You were taking too long, so I decided to help out Haru-kun.”

Haruka’s lips trembled. “B-But—”

Orekoto rolled his eyes. “What? You wanted her, didn’t you?” His fingers trailed along your shoulder, making you shiver. “Then take her.”

You tensed, trying to figure out if this was some prank the two men were playing on you. “W-Wait—”

Orekoto ignored you, his grip on your wrist tightening as he started walking. “Come on. We need somewhere private for you two, come one Haru-kun.”

Haruka hesitated for half a second before following, his heart hammering in his chest. His confession hadn’t gone the way he planned.

But maybe… maybe this was better. He couldn’t help the shy grin he had as he followed behind Orekoto and your smaller body being pulled along.

❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎

With a sudden, forceful motion, Orekoto grabbed your wrist and dragged you towards Haruka’s prison cell. He threw open the door and shoved you inside, causing you to stumble and fall backwards onto the narrow prison mattress.

"Mikoto, what are you- ah!" Your protest turned into a gasp as he crawled over you, pinning your wrists above your head. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours with a hunger that made your heart race.

"Be quiet!" he said, his voice a low, dominant growl. One of his hands released your wrist to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Right now, I'm going to help Haruka claim what's his. I'm going to teach that fucking virgin exactly how to make a girl feel good."

Haruka stood nervously at the foot of the mattress, his cheeks flushed a deep, mortified red as he watched Orekoto manhandle you. His hands fidgeted and twisted on hem of his uniform, unsure of what to do with himself.

"M-Mikoto, is this okay?" Haruka asked, his voice small and hesitant. "Aren't you being a little too rough with Y/N?"

Orekoto shot Haruka an exasperated glare over his shoulder. "Rough?! Haruka! Do you want her or not?!?! Earlier you were a blabbering mess and she couldn’t take you seriously. You need to assert yourself, show her that she belongs to you."

Turning his attention back to you, Orekoto gripped the bottom of your top and yanked it up and off in one swift motion, exposing your bare skin to the cool air of the Milgram prison cell. His calloused hands skimmed over your flesh, leaving tingles in their wake.

"First things first," he purred, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. "Get her worked up. Touch her like she's the only thing that matters. Like she's your whole world."

Haruka took a small step closer to the mattress, his eyes wide and uncertain as he reached out a shaking hand to cup your breast. He squeezed softly, marveling at the supple weight of it in his palm.

"L-Like this? Mikoto? Is this right?" Haruka asked, his voice pitching higher with nervousness. His thumb brushed over your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

Orekoto smirked as he watched Haruka's hand explore you. "Not bad Haruka. Now, don't be shy. Really touch her," he growled, his voice a low, dominant rumble. "I want to see you slide your fingers inside her tight little cunt. Get her dripping wet and desperate for your cock."

Haruka's breath hitched at the crude words, his face flushing an even deeper shade of red. With a shakey nod, he trailed his hand down your stomach, his fingertips dipping teasingly beneath the waistband of your panties. He could feel the heat from your core showing how ready you were.

"I-I'm going to put my fingers inside now, Y/N... Okay?" Haruka said, his voice barely audible. He hooked his fingers into the side of your panties and tugged them down your legs, baring your glistening sex to his hungry gaze.

Orekoto grunted in annoyance. "Stop asking for permission, Haruka. Take what you want. Claim her."

With a deep breath, Haruka pressed a finger against your slick folds, feeling your wetness coat his digit. He slowly pushed forward, watching in awe as your tight walls stretched to accommodate him. He couldn't help but let out a soft moan at the incredible feeling of your silky heat enveloping his finger.

"Y-Y/N... you're so tight," Haruka gasped, slowly pumping his finger in and out of your clenching sex. He added a second finger, then a third, stretching you open as he curled them inside you, stroking along your inner walls.

Your back arched off the mattress, a loud moan escaping your lips as Haruka's fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. Your hips bucked against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction.

"That's it, Y/N. Take his fingers like the needy little slut you are," Orekoto taunted, his voice a dark, dominant growl. He could see how close you were to the edge, could tell your body was tensing and quivering with impending release. "But don't you dare come. Not yet."

Haruka looked at you with wide, worried eyes, his fingers stilling inside you.

Orekoto's eyes flashed with dark intent as he watched you teetering on the brink of climax, your velvety walls clenching desperately around Haruka's buried fingers. He could see the needy, almost painful desire etched into every line of your body, and it only fueled his own growing arousal.

“Stop," he commanded, his voice a low, authoritative bark. Haruka froze, his fingers still knuckle-deep inside your fluttering sex. "Don't let her come, Haruka. Not yet. You need to mark her first, claim her as yours properly."

Haruka whimpered, he felt his dick twitching in his pants, holding back his own desperate need. With shaking hands, he withdrew his fingers from your dripping core, ignoring your whines. He fumbled with the fastenings of his pants, his cock already straining against the confines, eager for freedom.

"I-I need to...I need to put it in, Y/N?" Haruka asked, his voice high with nerves and anticipation. His cock sprang free as soon as he tugged down his pants and underwear, slapping against his stomach. It was flushed a deep, angry red, the tip super leaky with need.

Orekoto smirked at the virgin Haruka struggling to hold back his desperation. "Yes, Haruka. Claim her cunt. Bury yourself inside her and don't stop until she's overflowing with your seed. Until everyone knows she belongs to you."

Haruka nodded, positioning himself between your spread thighs. The head of his cock nudged against your entrance, slipping through your slick folds to catch on your opening. He looked down at you, his eyes wide and pleading. Though he kept hesitating… afraid to hurt you…

"I-I'm going to...AH!" Haruka gasped.

Growing impatient with Haruka's hesitant pace, Orekoto had moved over to behind Haruka and placed his hands on the small of Haruka's back, pushing the nervous boy forward so he smashed into you. The force of Orekoto's actions drove Haruka's cock deep into your tight channel, forcing you to stretch to take in his girth.

"A-Aah! W-Wait..." Haruka gasped, his eyes widening at the sudden tightness of your walls.

“Shut up and fuck her already," Orekoto growled, his hands gripping Haruka's hips tightly as he helped to drive the boy's movements.

Once he started to get a pace going for himself and Orekoto slowly backed away. Haruka could feel the way your velvety walls gripped and fluttered while his cock split you open.

"Don't hold back. Ravage her cunt until she can't walk straight. Until she's dripping with your cum and everyone knows she belongs to you." Orekoto instructed.

Orekoto's dominant words spurred Haruka on, and he began to move with more urgency, his hips slapping against yours as he drove his cock in and out of your dripping sex. The lewd sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small Milgram prison cell, mingling with your needy moans and Haruka's increasingly desperate panting. Thankfully everyone else was enjoying their food in the dining area and had no idea what was happening in prisoner 001’s cell.

To keep you from trying to get away, Orekoto reached out and grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head with a grip that was just shy of painful. He leaned down, his lips curling into a smirk, his breath hot against your skin. "That's it, take Haruka’s cock like a good little slut. Don't you dare try to run away from Haruka's dick."

Haruka moved his hips slamming against yours with increasing force. The head of his cock kissing your cervix with every powerful thrust.

Watching the erotic scene unfold before him, Orekoto couldn't help but grow harder by the second. The sight of your restrained form writhing on the prison mattress, impaled on Haruka's desperate cock, was almost too much to bear. He could see the tears of pleasure streaking down your face, hear your needy moans and cries as Haruka pistoned in and out of your soaked cunt.

With a low, almost feral growl, Orekoto reached down and freed his own aching erection from the confines of his pants. It sprang out, long, hard, and already leaking with need. He grasped your chin with his free hand, turning your head to face him as he tapped the leaking crown of his cock against your tear-stained cheek.

"Open your mouth, slut," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "Put that pretty little mouth to work."

As if in a trance from the undeniable pleasure, you parted your lips, allowing Orekoto to slip his thick length into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. Your tongue swirled around the head, lapping up the salty essence leaking from the tip. Orekoto groaned at the sensation, his fingers tightening in your hair as he began to slowly thrust his hips, fucking your face with shallow pumps of his cock.

The lewd slurping sounds of the blowjob seemed to drive Haruka wild, spurring him to pick up the pace of his own thrusts. He pounded into you with renewed vigor, the force of his movements causing your body to slide up the mattress with every snap of his hips. The new angle allowed him to drive his cock even deeper, the thick length kissing your womb with every pass.

Haruka's breathing grew ragged and shallow, his rhythm faltering as he rapidly approached his peak. With a strangled cry, he slammed his hips forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt inside your spasming cunt as he found his release. Thick, hot ropes of his seed painted your insides, filling you with his essence as he shook and shuddered above you.

“Y/N! I love you so much! You always gave me attention and I haven’t been able to get out you out of my mind. I won’t let you leave me or deny me ever. I only need you and you only need me!” Haruka whined as he came.

The feeling of Haruka's cock pulsing and throbbing inside you, pumping you full of his cum, was enough to push you over the edge as well. Your inner muscles clamped down around him like a vice, milking every last drop of his release as your own intense orgasm crashed upon you and you passed out.

Orekoto groaned low in his throat, the erotic sight of you and Haruka lost in passion pushing him over the edge of his own release. He yanked his throbbing cock from your slack mouth, aiming it at your face as thick, hot ropes of his seed erupted from the tip. Pearly strands of cum painted your unconscious cheek, marking you as a possession, a toy of their shared use.

With a satisfied grunt, Orekoto wiped the last drops of his essence from his softening cock, smearing the excess over the swell of your breast. He tucked himself back into his pants with a smirk, the evidence of his debauchery written all over your peaceful, sleeping face.

Turning to Haruka, who was still buried to the hilt inside your limp form, Orekoto patted his shoulder. "You did well, Haru-kun. I'm happy you were able to confess your feelings to Y/N. If you ever need any more…’help’…with your relationship in the future, don't hesitate to come to me. I’m sure I will gladly be able to help you again."

Haruka looked up at Orekoto, his face flushed and glowing with happiness. He couldn't stop smiling, reveling in the knowledge that you were finally, truly his. "Thank you Mikoto" he said softly, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face.

With a satisfied nod, Orekoto turned and walked out of Haruka’s cell, leaving you and Haruka alone together in the aftermath of your shared arousal. As the door swung shut behind him, Haruka curled his body around yours protectively, holding you close as you both drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

BONUS Next Day!:

The next day, Mikoto woke up in his own cell as he blinked awake with a soft yawn, his mind foggy and confused like he had forgotten something... He could feel a strange, unfamiliar dampness in his pants, and he wiggled uncomfortably on the mattress in his cell.

Rising from his mattress, Mikoto stretched and got himself out of bed. He went to brush his teeth and got on a fresh pair of pants and underwear deciding to discard the previous wet ones embarrassed that Es or Jackolope might comment if they saw the obvious wet patch during an interrogation.

Mikoto decided to head to the cafeteria to grab a bite to eat. He made his way out of his cell and towards the communal dining area.

As Mikoto entered the dining area, he spotted Haruka sitting alone at a table, snacking on a fluffy mound of cotton candy.

"Hey there, Haru-kun! Mind if I join you?" Mikoto asked in his usual cheerful tone as he approached the table where Haruka sat, completely oblivious to what his other personality had done the previous night. He pulled out a chair setting down his tray and sat down across from Haruka.

Haruka's head shot up at the sound of Mikoto's voice, his eyes wide and anxious. He seemed to tremble slightly, a flicker of uncertainty and guilt in his expression. It was clear that he was wondering whether Mikoto remembered the details of their shared encounter with you the previous night.

"U-Um, h-hello Mikoto..." Haruka stammered nervously. "You... you want to sit with me?"

Mikoto tilted his head in confusion at his nervous voice. "Huh? Of course, Haruka. Why wouldn't I want to sit with you?" he asked with a soft chuckle. "We're friends, aren't we? By the way how did your confession with Y/N go yesterday?"

Haruka told him it went fine and you accepted thanks to his… advice. And Mikoto hummed satisfied with himself, having no clue of what Orekoto had forced upon you, or the role he had played in your defilement…

Now your sleeping body is hidden, tucked under the blankets of the mattress in Haruka’s cell hugging his rabbit plush, for him to now be able to enjoy all of your attention.

A/N: YANDERE HARUKA SAKURAI. KINDA POLY MIKOTO KAYANO. OREKOTO IS FREAKY. MORE MILGRAM SMUT SINCE NO ONE WANTS TO WRITE IT. Like serrrrrriously we have a series about criminalsssss and noooo one wants to write dark content? Fine. I will make it.

[puppetwoman17]

You know, i wanna expand a bit on Billy’s relationship with Ebenezer, because I feel like it’s so important to dissecting Billy’s character.

⚠️If you don’t wanna read about my thoughts on Billy’s mental abuse by his only adult relative, then please click away⚠️

My mind went back to the fact that Billy couldn’t go with his family to Egypt solely because of his lacking grades. I wondered, E must know, right? Maybe he was told in passing, maybe Billy told him and asked him for help studying, whatever. And I just know that he made fun of and ridiculed him. He likely called him dumb, moronic, any name in the book.

Ebenezer constantly relayed to him and validated the notion that Billy stopped HIMSELF from being with his family in their last moments. That he was too stupid to be with them.

With that in mind, he would have had to be solely dependent on his uncle. Unfortunately, that’s not possible. He’d have no choice but to trust him, but we know that backfires. His only reprieve is school, so when he gets home, Ebenezer would tell him to put his stupid brain to good use.

Anyone can sneak and buy beer. Even an idiot like him.

The basis for their entire relationship is that Billy looks like his dad. Hell, he practically worships him. But because Ebenezer can’t very well scare his younger brother(height mixed with a strong personality), he goes for the closest thing. A spitting image of his half-brother who still hasn’t developed mentally and barely exhibits any traits.

It will take years for Billy to realize that Ebenezer is a coward. Until then, that man is his worst nightmare. He’s the thing he fears most in this world. Forget Black Adam, Darkseid, and Mr. Mind. Merely thinking of Ebenezer Batson, the man who belittled him so much that he has trouble trusting himself, causes him to shut down or divert away from those thoughts.

Just like his dad, Billy is everything Ebenezer isn’t. He’s young. He’s talented. He’s charming. He has opportunity. And he believes in himself because his parents made sure he did. So the worst possible thing Ebenezer could ever do to his nephew is mess up all that careful development.

“Are you sure they loved you?”

“Are you sure you can do this?”

“You’re the only one who stopped you from being with them.”

“When are you going to realize that you can’t do anything right?”

Ebenezer Batson is the only person in the world who knows the one other way he could crush his nephew’s spirit. Ruining Captain Marvel’s image.

Because he definitely “knows” knows. CC’s face on Marvel tells him everything he should know.

The one thing, above all, that could crush his nephew’s spirit into dust, is ruining Captain Marvel’s image. Because it’s genuinely all he has left of his dad. He’s the only way he can see his dad talking and moving on screen. It’s like he’s still here, and Billy never wants to ruin that.

But he’s an idiot. That’s what E used to tell him. What if he makes a mistake and no one likes Cap anymore? What if he’s ruined the image of CC Batson(his face, his ideals, his hopes) forever?

Just the fact that it’s not these cosmic beings of mass destruction or mad scientists bent on world domination that shakes Marvel/Billy to his core. It’s this evil old man who knows him better than anyone. Knows how he thinks. Knows what buttons to push to get him angry and look bad. Knows how to lower that self-confidence.

[americanwh0rerstory]

KINKTOBER DAY FIVE

Brainwashing and Manipulation - Kai Anderson

kai anderson x f!reader

SUMMARY: becoming infatuated with a politician didn’t seem too bad, not until you joined his cult…

CONTENT WARNING: adult grooming, manipulation, sex, condescension, degradation, oral (m!receiving), abuse? i mean he slaps you around a bit so i guess, LONG INTRO+ANGSTY ENDING

A/N: after realising that the jpm fic wasn’t as bad as i thought it would be, i decided to make this one darker in a more emotional sense. hope you all enjoy

MDNI. CONSUME MEDIA AT OWN RISK

A politician. cold, calculating, and manipulative. they all were, there wasn’t a single politician who wasn’t corrupt in one way or another; you were a firm believer of this. However you found yourself at one of kai’s rallies, completely captivated by him. so captivated that you completely forgot how corrupt politicians could be, how selfish they could be

the way he carried himself: confident, determined, assertive, as though he had been born for the job. There wasn’t a crinkle in his suit, not a single hair was out of place in his tightly pulled man-bun, his posture was perfect as he addressed the crowd. It was impossible to deny how he got you a little hot under the collar.

You went to more of his rallies after that day, at every rally you were there. front row, eyes trained on kai. he seemed to know how charismatic he was, but also how powerful he was. he’d occasionally make eye contact with you, and look away as though nothing happened. day by day, week by week this continued with your infatuation growing worse; Until the day he finally spoke to you

“wanna grab dinner later?” his direct and authoritative tone rang out as you turned to leave the now finished rally, obviously you accepted, why wouldn’t you?

he asked about you, listening intently with his neutral expression. whenever he spoke it was empathetic to whatever you were talking about. all you could think about was how perfect he seemed, so perfect that you accepted his invitation back to his house. he seemed so perfect that you ignored the strange pinky ritual he had you do, so perfect that you ignored the small warning given to you by his silver haired sister about how he wasn’t the best person to be involved with.

weeks passed. you saw kai often and whilst you thought it was innocent dates he knew that he was merely indoctrinating you into something much more sinister; you, the trusting lamb, fell right into his trap exactly like flys in spider webs and moths to flames

——————————————————————————

“suck harder” he grumbled harshly, pushing your head down on his spit-covered dick. you gagged, feeling his balls against your chin with his entire length down your throat. you didn’t dare disobey him though, hollowing your cheeks and using your tongue on the underside of his member whilst you deepthroated him

tears pricked in the corners of your eyes, your gag reflex being put to the test by taking kai this deep. you didn’t dare object though, continuing to suck him off. after all, last time you disobeyed it didn’t end well for you. mindlessly obeying, you just continued to suck his dick. It brought you a strange sense of belonging when you pleased kai, knowing that you was helping his cause. he told you that it helped him de stress, and it became your job to keep him satisfied.

he gripped your hair with one hand and began to use your throat like his personal fucktoy, which was exactly you were. you felt his length hit the back of your throat with every forced movement. his nails dug into your scalp, urging you to keep up with the pace he was setting with his rough movements. the stinging sensation only fuelled the tears in your eyes, you hoped he’d assume it was just from the extensive gagging.

“you’re fucking pathetic when you cry like that. keep going. you wanna make me happy don’t you? want your divine ruler to be a bit gentler?” he scoffed, his tone filled with condescension as he spoke down to you. you were worthless, insignificant, and he would remind you of such.

you obliged nonetheless, taking as much of kai as you could and as fast as you could. with glassy and tear filled eyes, you silently served kai’s needs. the taste of his precum overwhelmed your senses, the bitter taste slipping down your throat

his words made you think for a moment, you wanted to please him. you had to please him, you felt like you wanted too but deep down in your subconscious you knew that it was just his manipulations and indoctrinations that he had carefully crafted ever since he saw those doe-eyes full of wonder in the crowd at his rallies.

he continued to force you down on his dick, his eyes glued to whatever political thing was on the news. the familiar voice of trump echoed in your ears which only reminded you of kai’s radical views. the thought of being with someone who actively supported these views disgusted you, but he was too good to leave.

your mind continued to drift whilst you sucked him off, thinking about how different kai was from the man you had become infatuated with previously. you never took the kai you met as a misogynist, racist, trump-supporting cult leader.

you looked up at him with eyes full of devotion, hoping to please him so he’d give you mercy. he payed no attention to you and just forced your head back into his crotch without taking his eyes off of the TV. his stoic expression never faltered nor moved from the TV. his nails were still planted in your hair, gripping you and forcing you to keep up with his movements; treating you like a ragdoll

your pace slowed slightly, not meeting kai’s expectations which caused you to be met with the sharp stinging sensation and the whiplash of your face being slapped. “what the fuck is wrong with you? i give you ONE job and you can’t even do that. why do i even keep you around? you’re just wasting my time with your bullshit”

he pushed you to the floor, standing up and pulling his boxers up with him. “worthless. fucking worthless. maybe i should find someone else who would appreciate being able to worship my cock” he huffed before leaving the room, with you still on the floor

the tears that formed earlier due to the gagging now silently spilled, this time for that guilty feeling of failure that overcame yourself. you felt disgusted with yourself for letting kai use you like this, but it felt so right to be his. you couldn’t leave though, no, despite all this treatment you still loved him. you were still infatuated with him and it would always be that way.

A/N: angsty ending? manipulative sex? sounds great. hope you all enjoyed this <3

[momo-minomo]

Fic Fairy Friday: Young Justice

I had time this week to finish the rec list early so you get it while the sun is still out today. Hurray it's a miracle! lol

There are no words for how much I love Young Justice 98. It's so goofy and unhinged but with so much trauma just underneath the silliness. Most of these fics are just fun times that will cheer you up if you had a difficult week. MOST of them. A few have some angst but the last fic in this list deals with some heavy themes and if that's triggering to you or you've had a really crappy week, maaaybe skip that one. All trigger warnings are in my notes. All the love to everyone and happy reading!

The Fic Fairy Friday Masterpost

Golden sunsets by siren_of_the_ocean

Summary:

Cassie Sandsmark is on her way to Olympus for a visit. The rest of Young Justice ask to go along. Young Justice has a well-deserved reputation. Tim is already bracing himself for this to go off the rails

Momo's Notes: This fic is still being worked on (with regular updates, yay! The latest chapter was posted just a few days ago.) but it's so damn good I've read it multiple times while waiting for the next part to post. Cassie is nearing her 18th birthday so she brings the Core Four to Mt. Olympus to meet her godly family. Tim is determined the team will make a good impression and NOT do anything stupid like challenge the gods to a contest or catch the attention of any of the big names. Everyone knows how petty and dangerous the Greek gods are, after all. So, with Tim's typical terrible luck, he steps one foot onto the mountain and immediately as the full attention of FIVE OF THEM.

Tim Drake: Bisexual Awakener Extraordinaire by PrinceJakeFireCake

Summary:

I think Tim deserves to give his friends sexuality crises. As a treat.

The Inevitable Results of Being People’s Bi-wakening by PrinceJakeFireCake

Summary:

It all began when Wonder Girl approached Batman to ask him for his son’s hand in marriage. Things only got worse from there.

Momo's Notes: I'm putting these two together because the second one is a direct sequel and they are both just silly Young Justice chaos. The first has Tim continuing the Robin tradition of giving his entire team their bi awakenings when they catch him in disguise wearing a dress. The second is Bruce having to deal with the consequences of having a pretty son with unhinged (but respectful) admirers.

The Case of the Missing Kryptonite by Mouse_in_this_house

Summary:

The Kryptonite ring in the Batcave has gone missing. When such a dangerous weapon is in the wind, the Bats have to collaborate to track it down. Meanwhile, the former Young Justice team obliviously enjoys their piercing party.

Momo's Notes: I have a huge weakness for Young Justice being feral badasses with insane loyalty to each other. The more co-dependent they are the better! This series (Where Bats and Birds Roost) has a quite a bit of the Core Four taking care of each other and just being in each other's spaces. If even one of them needs something the others don't give a damn about rules, social norms, or expectations. They will cause unbelievable chaos for each other. So when Kon decides he wants piercings the entire group gets together and has a piercing party. If it also causes the entire Batfam and Superman to panic that someone broke into the batcave and stole Kryptonite well… that's a them problem lol

If The Original Stops Working, Found Fathers Are Fine by PrinceJakeFireCake

Summary:

Robin is a mystery wrapped in an enigma, and the other members of Young Justice don’t always know how to deal with him. But they’re learning. AKA: when Tim’s dad hits him, he goes to his friends for help.

Momo's Notes: It's nice sometimes to see the Young Justice kids actually be kids rather than soldiers. This one is set early in YJ98. Tim confides in Young Justice that Jack Drake hit him and, like children do, they went to trusted adults for help. In canon they didn't really have a lot of adults that cared about them like they should so this is kind of a fix it fic for how neglected and sometimes abused YJ was in canon.

Into the Brighter Night by shoalsea

Summary:

When an unknown enemy threatens Robin, Gotham's vigilantes come together to keep him safe. Unfortunately, they're protecting the wrong Robin. Or: Tim Drake plans his own rescue. Things get complicated.

Momo's Notes: I think I rec'd this one on the Tim and Damian rec list but I'm putting it here again because it's full of Young Justice chaos. Tim lets himself get kidnapped by space mercenaries to save Damian and the Batfamily has to deal with the fact that he didn't trust them to save him, he called the Core Four of Young Justice. We get to see a lot of their shenanigans through the Batfamily's eyes, especially when they return from the rescue mission and Young Justice throws a reunion party with the a bunch of the YJ98 team.

Never Meet Your Heroes by 12pt_timesnewromanfont

Summary:

Tim’s not snooping, not really. Or, he doesn’t mean to be snooping. But then he hears Superman say the words 'Experiment 13' and he's out of the Cave like a bat out of hell. He has just enough time to tell Kon to get the hell out of dodge before Batman finds him, and a furious Batman is not something he wants to face alone. Meanwhile, Kon is totally panicking. He, Cassie, and Bart have lost contact with Robin, have cut themselves off from their mentors, and have absolutely no idea what to do. Superman has turned his back on Kon, and the League will always stand with Big Bastard Blue. He's desperate, and Kon only knows of one other person who might give a damn about him. He'll take what he can get, even if the man is a supervillain on occasion.

Momo's Notes: Okay, let's bring in some more angst! The way the Justice League treated Young Justice in the early days was super sketchy and this fic kinda explores their tendency to treat these actual children like dangerous weapons that could explode at any moment unless strictly controlled when taken to the extreme. Tim overhears Clark and Bruce talking about containing Kon and immediately rallies Young Justice to follow one of his many, many emergencies plans in order to keep him and his team safe. This has some good dad Lex Luthor, bad parents Bruce and Alfred, the Justice League suffering consequences for how they treat their child soldiers, Dick being a bit of a bad brother but trying to be better, and some sweet bonding between Jason and Tim.

Put a ring on it by Miss_Choco_chips

Summary:

"You’re gonna freak out so badly over this when you actually wake up", she informed Tim’s fluffy hair. Said vigilante only released a cute little snore, face buried on her lap, legs thrown over Kon’s, one hand that had fallen from the couch resting on Bart’s head where he sat on the floor in front of them. "Well, they were going to find out one way or another. And this was probably among the best scenarios." "How? This was probably out of Tim’s ‘worst case’ nightmare list." "I was there and saw their faces. I didn’t even know Batman could express any emotion other than ‘cold’ and ‘overflowing with rage’. That image will bring me joy in future distressing times, I’m sure. My patronus memory, if you will."

Momo's Notes: I love how unhinged this one is. Kon, Bart, and Cassie are all unhappy with how the Batfam treats Tim so they decide to make their little found family more official so they can have the legal right to take care of their bird boy without Bat interference. They're gonna marry their Robin and be the best platonic life partner polycule the world has ever seen. Assuming the Batfam don't kill them for stealing Tim right from under them, that is.

What if we were kidnapped (and we were both boys OwO) by Tht0neGal666

Summary:

"Oh? But I can, Timothy, you know that. My resources are more bountiful then even Wayne's, and my rules are much less…unreasonably restrictive. If you joined me, the world would be at your finger tips. There's nothing I couldn't do for you." A foreign voice responded and, wow, that was an evil monologue if Bart had ever heard one, and his grandfather was Thawne.

Momo's Notes: Okay, let's keep the non-Tim pov rolling, shall we? (I love Tim, he's my fav but we need more YJ fics with the others' pov too) Here's a fic in Bart's POV of him being snatched up too when Ra's is doing his creepy recruitment speech on Tim for the millionth time. You can view this one as being Bart/Tim at the end if you want or just see it as the usual YJ devotion towards each other.

four is not a crowd - it's just the right amount (of chaos) by CassandrasDreamworld

Summary:

Tim and Luke, the only two vigilantes currently in Gotham, are undercover on a mission to retrieve a smuggled magical item before it can wreak havoc in the city. Of course, because it's Gotham, the simple mission turns from simple to complicated fast, featuring a supervillain with a not so ice plan and some outside help getting called in. “Red Robin and Batwing are currently stuck in an undercover mission that is going to turn sour in about ten minutes. They cannot compromise their identities and there is no one I can send as back up. Red Robin created a contingency for a situation like this and has me call you in as their back up.” Bart’s mouth drops open as do the other’s. “He’s calling us into Gotham?”

Momo's Notes: How about an actual core 4 polycule shipping fic? Tim and Luke Fox are on their own on an undercover mission and run into trouble. All of their normal backup is unavailable so Tim has Oracle call in his team. Kon, Bart, and Cassie suit up for a mission in Gotham but are completely unprepared for the hotness that is Tim being a badass in a dress. It's fun and silly mission fic.

you'll never have this life by iquirms

Summary:

It's a fact of life that Tim has money. Between being a Drake and then a Wayne, the normal standard for how much to spend on friends and family has never been, well, normal to Tim. And besides! It's not like Kon 'my dad doesn't like to acknowledge me and therefore won't pay child support' Kent can pay for his stuff. Or Cassie 'my dad is Zues and my mom is struggling as is' Sandsmark can afford a new pair of shoes every few weeks. Or Bart 'I literally don't have a social security number let alone a bank account' Allen can. It's the right thing to do. That's what he tells himself, at least. That's certainly what he's going to tell anyone who's brave enough to ask.

Momo's Notes: Here, have another Core4 polycule fic, as a treat. Tim becomes their platonic sugar daddy to ensure his friends have food, clothing, and things that make them happy. Kon, Bart, and Cassie, meanwhile, would very much like to do away with the 'platonic' part of that. They've been crushing on their bird for ages but Tim is as oblivious as usual to people hitting on him.

This One's for the Misfits and Outlaws by StarryKitty013

Summary:

Jason will deny that somehow a pack of feral teenagers managed to get his entire team(including him) to adopt them. Because it’s not so much adoption as it is making sure these kids don’t get more fucked up than they already are.. which was already him giving way too much of a shit but whatever. He’s also in denial about the fact that the feral teenagers adopted THEM, but he thinks they’ll let him have the illusion that he had some semblance of control in the matter. Seriously, who was supervising these kids?

Momo's Notes: What happens when a group of feral, unwanted kids adopts a group of unhinged 20 something misfits? This fic feels unique because it almost feels like it's written by an unreliable narrator. It's post Red Robin but the YJ crew feel much younger because it's written in the Outlaw's POV. They're constantly being thrown off guard because they look at Tim, Kon, Bart, and Cassie and expect them to act and think like kids but YJ haven't ever been allowed to be children. Their mentors threw them into the deep end to sink or swim at a young age so they grew up quick and feral. So YJ kind of seem like wild, unfathomable fae creatures through the eyes of Artemis, Jason, Roy, and Kori. As the two teams grow closer the Outlaws soften towards YJ and the Core Four start to show some of the vulnerabilities they've always hidden from outsiders. I especially loved how YJ bonded with Lian and Tim's heart to heart with Biz.

You're as Cuddly as a Cactus, You're as Charming as an Eel by Shleapord

Summary:

Slowly, ominously, melodically, the opening notes of All I Want for Christmas filtered in. Kon shrieked. Cassie leaped up, or at least attempted to, and was slammed back to the floor by Kon’s iron grip on her hair. Tim, on reflex, grabbed a Batarang and prepared to fight the speaker, but before any of them could act, Bart had already sped back over to the console, ripped out the wire, and held the torn cords aloft like the head of Medusa. “Killed it!” he announced breathlessly. His hair was poofed like an electrocuted cat.OR Young Justice goes on a merry quest to fulfill the final wish of a past mistake.

Momo's Notes: Short and extremely silly but it captures the feeling of those early YJ98 comics so well. You guys remember that time Young Justice accidentally killed Santa? And then found out Santa was hand delivering coal to Darkside every year like a fucking boss? Good times lol. In comics Santa some how respawns the next Christmas if he dies but in this fic he's apparently slacking off in the afterlife and YJ is faced with yet another Christmas taking over for the big guy.

Tim Collects Last Names Like Infinity Stones by zetarogue

Summary:

“If we got married, you’d be Tim Allen.” Tim didn’t look up from his computer as he spoke. “Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t just add another hyphen.”

Momo's Notes: This fic is straight up adorable. Young Justice bonding leads to a joke about Tim adding his found family's last names to his already hyphenated surname snowballs through their entire team (past and present), through the Batfamily, and even into the hero community at large. Even when they aren't present the chaos Young Justice sparks is unstoppable.

TRIGGER WARNINGS in my notes for this next one!

Sticks and Stones by Solemini (SoleminiSanction)

Summary:

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can cause lasting psychological damage." The Core Four stage a long-overdue intervention. Or, in which Steph's abusive tendencies are finally addressed.

Momo's Notes: Okay, as you can probably tell by the summary this fic is not very kind to Stephanie. It also deals with some pretty heavy stuff so I'm going to throw away avoiding spoilers for the sake of giving trigger warnings. This fic depicts Stephanie being emotionally abusive towards Tim, she slaps him once, and later reveals she unknowingly had sex with Tim when he was drugged and unable to consent. Nothing is shown on that, it's just talked about. Steph wasn't aware he'd been ruffied and takes responsibility for her actions and tries to become a better person. I personally like Stephanie as a character and view fics like this as elseworld stories similar to how the comics have non-mainline canon stories with evil Batman, murderous dictator Superman, or vampire king Dick Grayson. They're interesting stories with alternate, evil versions of the character we love doing things their canon version never would. I like this story for it's portrayal of the Core Four's friendship. The way they come together to support and protect Tim. It's mostly in Wonder Girl's pov, too, which is kinda rare. I also like that it respectfully addresses the fact that men can be abuse victims and women can be abusers, a fact that is often ignored irl.

This list is longer than normal but I've been forgetting to add the playlist suggestions. EDIT: The Tumblr gods have decided not to embed Spotify playlists properly today so I changed them to regular links. Lame.

Young Justice Playlist

Superboy | Kon-el Kent Playlist

TimKon Playlist

[detectivesvu]

Sharing Secrets

Mike Dodds x Fem! Reader Tags: Brief mentions of child abuse. Word Count: 3.6k "I just...hope I haven't completely messed things up."

The air of the SVU victim interview room was completely still.

It wasn’t uncomfortable per se, but it was definitely quiet and not much conversation to fill the air. After all your years at SVU, talking to victims and hearing their stories still stung just as much as your very first day on the squad.

Of course, as time went on and you had more experience under your belt, you were more confident and comfortable talking to victims. You knew that in some cases, you were the only person in their corner. You were the only person who understood what they were feeling and what they were going through. Work experience helped, but it didn’t put even a dent in the way it still made your stomach turn to hear such traumatic events day in and day out.

And certainly, adults were one thing…kids were entirely another.

Too often, SVU was handed cases of kids being assaulted and abused…traumatized and scarred for life. With the adults, you always managed to move on, but kids? Kids’ cases stuck with you forever. Hearing small, meek children tell you that they had been touched or beaten…almost always by someone they knew and trusted. It was impossible to get used to hearing and seeing that every day…it was inconceivable to believe that anyone could lay their hands on a child.

Today was no exception.

He hadn’t hardly said a word since he sat down. He was practically trembling with anxiety as he did everything he could to avoid looking at you and your detective partner sitting directly across from him. If he did sneak a glance, his eyes tended to go to Detective Dodds, who only returned a quick soft smile each time he locked eyes with the 5-year-old.

His eyes were trained on the numerous pieces of paper strewn in front of him, a variety of different colored crayons scattered there as well. He was doodling away with the different crayons, silently dreaming up and sketching multiple pictures as a way of entertaining himself…and distracting himself from the two of you attempting to speak with him.

You and Dodds had been trying to get through to him for nearly half an hour. Each question you asked only earned a meek response and an uncomfortable body movement.

He was scared to death no doubt. Confused as to why two police officers were asking him so many questions that he didn’t want to answer…and even more confused about the situation that landed him here in the first place.

“That’s a really nice picture,” Your voice — soft and full of warmth — spoke to the young boy sitting across from you. “Do you like to draw?”

He said nothing. His eyes — full of fear and yet still so full of innocence — only flickered to you for a moment as a physical show that he had indeed heard your question. His left eye was swollen and a grisly shade of black and blue…evidence of what he had endured that landed him at SVU. His head barely nodded up and down as he set the crayon in use down, his cheeks tinting pink under your gaze.

Mike studied the picture that the child was currently working on. It was no Picasso masterpiece by any means…but even Mike could put together what it was supposed to be.

“Are these your favorite foods?” Mike asked, noting that he could spot a variety of foods that were universally kid friendly.

The child gave another small nod. Eyes now focused on his hands fiddling in his lap. This boy had been through hell and back, so it was no surprise he wasn’t interested in chatting about what foods he liked with two adult strangers. If that boy knew anything for sure, it was that the adults that were supposed to love you could hurt you beyond comprehension…so trusting an adult he didn’t know was not an option unless they gave him a reason to.

It was odd though. The boy had been much more talkative when Sonny picked him up and brought him into the precinct. He hadn’t been a chatterbox by any means, but according to Sonny — the kid wasn’t so clammed up like he was now. Something was making him uneasy.

“Pizza, ice cream, sandwiches…all really good stuff. I like all of that too,” Mike said, trying to establish some kind of common ground with the kid. Mike pointed to one particular image on his picture, a rectangular shape with a symbol on it that he identified to be a certain type of fruit. “Is this a juice box?”

The boy nodded once more, shrinking down into his seat as Mike continued.

“If you want, we can get you a juice box. We have some around here.”

For the briefest moment, the boy perked up. His eyes glimmered just long enough for you and Mike to catch it and know that you were making some progress.

He cowered and shrank into himself again when he locked eyes with you, and that’s when it clicked for Mike.

“Detective,” Mike turned to you, a small, reassuring smile on his face. “Would you get my friend here an apple juice?”

Mike had a look on his face, a look that let you know he had something in mind. You and Mike — a dynamic duo as work partners — understood one another. Your thoughts often flowed together smoothly and with ease. In many ways, your bond went well outside of work. The two of you didn’t just blend together as partners…but as people. If Mike needed you to leave, then you trusted him.

“Sure thing,” You retreated from your chair. “I’ll be right back.”

Mike kept his eyes on the kid, who allowed his own eyes to follow you as you exited the room and disappeared behind the wall. He released a long breath once you were gone, unbeknownst to him that you would be watching from the other side once his promised juice box was retrieved. Mike let the silence simmer for a few minutes, not wanting to immediately start asking more questions.

It wasn’t until the boy snuck another glance at Mike that he decided to try and press further.

“So…let me ask you something. Does Detective [L/N] make you nervous?”

The boy’s wide brown eyes locked with Mike’s for only another moment as he nodded, fiddling with his small hands.

“Can you tell me why she makes you nervous? You didn’t seem to like her being here," Mike asked. "I'm your friend. You can tell me."

The boy was clearly wrestling with himself. Not wanting to give in to Mike’s question…but deep down knowing that he wasn’t here to do anything other than help him. The boy then spoke for the first time in half an hour. The tiniest bit of comfort filled his senses as he finally began to answer Mike’s questions.

“She’s pretty…” He gave the tiniest, shyest grin with a small voice.

Mike couldn’t help himself. His laugh was light and surprised, but genuine. This was the first time he had said anything, and he chose to say that.

You yourself gave a small laugh, cradling the beloved apple juice in your hand to be delivered once Mike made some decent headway in this conversation.

“He’s getting through to him.” Olivia, who was standing to your immediate right, said aloud. “Even if it’s at your expense.”

You shook your head and shrugged, completely unbothered.

“I don’t mind,” You answered. “Mike knows what he’s doing.”

Mike could tell the kid was warming up. He didn’t want to lose momentum now while he was on a roll.

“Is that why you didn’t want to talk with her in the room?”

The boy nodded and surprised Mike by posing a question of his own.

“Do you think she’s pretty too?”

Suddenly, the questioning at your expense was getting a bit personal. Mike shifted in his seat a bit -- he wasn't going to lie to this boy, but he also knew you were listening. Right now, this kid was his priority.

“Yeah, bud. I do.”

The boy brightened up, clearly interested in this ordeal. Mike didn't mind. If it distracted him from what he had been through, then he was more than willing to dish out his personal business.

“Are you boyfriend-girlfriend?” The boy straightened up, now having no trouble keeping eye contact with Mike.

“No, we’re not boyfriend-girlfriend.” Mike chuckled again at the phrasing of the youngster's question.

“Why not?” He tilted his head slightly with curiosity.

Mike's eyes widened at that question, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He wasn't expecting that question, and it caught him off guard. Mike was too far down the road of this conversation to turn back now. If he lost this kid's trust, they might never really know what was happening to him. He turned his attention back to the child, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Mike admitted, trying to maintain his composure. "We're partners...but not the kind that dates."

It seemed that suddenly the boy was very invested in your and Mike’s relationship because he continued to press on like he needed to know for his own personal reasons.

“But if you think she’s pretty, why don’t you date?” He asked. “You like her don’t you?”

Mike chuckled again, amused by the boy's curiosity and keen eye for detail. He leaned back in his chair, contemplating his answer for a moment before speaking.

"Well...you're right. I do like her," he admitted, a smile on his face. "But it's not always that simple. We work together every day...and sometimes," Mike said, hesitating for a moment, "Work can get in the way of things."

“Oh…” The boy said quietly, thinking for only a moment before continuing. “So you don’t like her more than a friend?”

Mike pondered on the question. It really was a difficult one to answer. Because the feelings he had for you weren't just that of friendship. They were stronger, deeper, but he didn't know how to articulate it to a 5-year-old child. He leaned closer to the boy, his voice serious but still friendly.

"I do like her more than just a friend. A lot more," He confessed, his smile still on his face. "But it's a bit tricky when we work together. Does that make sense?"

The boy picked up on Mike’s quiet tone, and he matched his whisper when he spoke next.

“Yeah but…why don’t you tell her you like her?”

Mike was caught off guard again by the boy's insightful question. He shifted in his chair, feeling a pang of guilt and regret in his chest. The simple truth was, he had thought about expressing his feelings to you more times than he could count. But there was always a reason not to.

He sighed, his voice low and conflicted.

"It's not that easy. If I tell her how I feel...it could mess up our friendship."

Mike realized he was probably oversharing with him. In no way was his feelings for you the child's responsibility...but the boy didn't seem burdened in the slightest -- this was the most interested he had been in talking all day. A slight smile appeared on the boy’s face as he leaned over the table, whispering even quieter to Mike.

“I think she likes you too.” He grinned.

Mike kept his expression unchanged, but his heartbeat was beginning to quicken in his chest. He knew there was no turning back from this now. He leaned in toward the boy, mirroring his whispering tone.

"What makes you think that?" He asked in a hushed voice.

The boy shrugged, but his eyes were completely lit up at this conversation.

“I don’t know…” He giggled. “I can just tell.”

Mike knew this conversation was getting way off track. The purpose of this interview was to get this boy to tell him about what he had endured at his daycare center, and how he ended up bruised and beaten — but at this point, Mike figured it was valuable to finish it out.

“You’re a smart kid,” He said. “You can tell me. How can you tell?"

Mike was impressed at how observant and perceptive this kid was. At such a young age, he had an astute sense of things that many adults didn’t even pick up on in their own relationships. The boy scrunched his eyebrows, thinking hard. Mike chuckled at the sight and waited patiently for his answer.

"Well," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "She smiles at you a lot. And she listens when you talk. Like...she really listens."

Mike was speechless. He could tell this kid was observant, but this was beyond impressive. It seemed that this five-year-old was beyond smarter than he was.

“But I won’t tell her if you don’t want her to know you like her,” The boy said. “I promise."

Mike knew that it wasn't a secret anymore, given that you were probably watching from the other side and had heard this entire conversation. Still, Mike admired the kid's loyalty. He leaned forward, a conspiratorial smile on his face.

“Thanks, kid. Let’s keep it just between us for now, okay?”

Mike knew you had to have been watching and listening this entire time. His stomach was in knots knowing that you had just heard him spill his liking for you to a child. He hoped and hoped that this kid was right, and that your friendship and partnership wasn’t over.

As if on cue, the door to the room opened — revealing you with two small boxes of the promised apple juice. The boy shrank into his seat slightly when you entered, but shared a knowing glance with Mike.

Mike's eyes darted from the boy back to you, trying to keep a casual demeanor despite the wave of nerves that washed over him. He could sense the boy's slightly timid behavior as you entered the room, and the knowing glance the boy shared with him was both reassuring and foreboding. He tried his best to act natural, standing up to take the juice box from you and set it on the table in front of the boy.

"Perfect timing, thanks." Mike said, his voice betraying a hint of tension underneath.

She knew Mike was going to try and continue the conversation with the boy now — and get the full story of the abuse he had endured. She wouldn’t be sticking around - just long enough to give him his juice.

“I brought you a second one…just in case you were extra thirsty.” she smiled at the boy, her heart pounding at the new knowledge of Mike liking her so much more than she ever realized. “If you want anything else, let Mike know, okay?”

The boy took one of the juice boxes, unwrapped the straw and punched it into the hole.

“Okay,” He gave her a shy smile. “Thanks.”

The thought of you potentially knowing Mike's feelings for you — the fact that he may have given away his secret to you via a 5-year-old — was almost overwhelming. But he pushed it aside, needing to focus on the task at hand.

As you excused yourself to leave the room, he shot you a quick nod, a silent thank you for the juice and giving him and the kid some privacy.

“Okay, buddy…” Mike said calmly, trying to shift gears. “Can you tell me about your daycare teacher?”

For the next hour or so, Mike and the boy talked back and forth. The boy told Mike all the details of how his daycare teacher abused him and other kids in his class — and gave SVU enough reason to question and potentially arrest her.

Through the boy's detailed and sometimes-heartbreaking account of the abuse he and others had suffered, Mike listened intently, his heart breaking a bit more with every new piece of information. He jotted down notes as the boy spoke, making sure to capture as much information as possible for the investigation. The more Mike learned about the daycare teacher's treatment of the children, the more determined he was to bring her to justice.

When the boy was out of things to say and SVU had enough information, Mike stood from the table and held his hand out to the boy.

“You’ve been very brave and helpful to us,” He said, smiling once more when the boy walked around the table and took his hand. “Thank you for helping us.”

The boy nodded, walking out of the room hand-in-hand with Mike — entering Olivia’s office where you, Olivia, and Carisi were waiting. Olivia wore an expression of curiosity, Carisi looked as if he was about to explode to go tell the entire squad room what just happened, and you were looking at Mike...purely in awe as he stood in front of you.

Mike squatted to meet the boy’s height, gesturing toward Carisi with a grin.

“I need to get back to work now. Detective Carisi is going to take you now, okay?”

The boy nodded again, leaning in to whisper one more thing to Mike before going with Carisi.

“I won’t forget our secret.” He said, and Mike patted his shoulder affectionately.

Carisi took the boy with him, leaving Mike alone with her and Olivia. As Carisi led the boy out of the office -- no doubt going to tell Fin and Rollins about this -- Mike stood up and stood stoically, now facing you and Olivia, his nerves mounting. He avoided your gaze, focusing instead on straightening out the notes he had taken during the interview. The silence in the room was deafening, and Mike's heart was hammering in his chest.

"I'm going to call Barba," Olivia said, which was Olivia's way of saying she was leaving the room. “I'll send Fin and Rollins down to that daycare center."

Mike nodded in acknowledgement as Olivia relayed the news about the teacher, his heart racing even faster at the impending prospect of being alone with you. He swallowed hard, bracing himself for the conversation that was to come. Olivia swiftly left the room, closing the door behind her.

Mike stood frozen for a moment, mustering up the courage to finally look over at you. He took a deep breath, his gaze meeting yours. It wasn't like Mike to be so nervous. Mike was always confident...super focused on work. But right now, he was terrified that your partnership and friendship was ruined.

He could tell you weren’t angry with him or anything of that nature. If anything you looked…relieved.

“So…” You couldn’t help but flash a small grin, his chest fluttering at the sight. “You think I’m pretty?”

Mike let out a nervous laugh, a mix of relief and anxiety coursing through him. Seeing your small grin made his heart skip a beat. He couldn't deny it now - he was about to see the outcome of his confession.

"Guilty as charged," he admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "That kid wasn't wrong."

He paused for a moment, the weight of his feelings for you heavy in his chest.

"I just...hope I haven't completely messed things up."

“Come on, Mike…” You took a step closer. “You know it would take way more than that to mess things up between us.”

Relief washed over him as you took a step closer. The distance between you guys was shrinking, and he could feel the tension in the room growing. He studied your face, searching your eyes for any hint of rejection.

"I was worried that you'd think this completely changed everything." He said, his voice quiet but firm.

"Well…it certainly does change things…in a good way." You smiled.

Mike's head was spinning. This was certainly not how he expected his day to go...and for the first time ever, he was distracted from the current case at hand.

He took a cautious step forward, closing the distance between you guys even further. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of doubt. He saw nothing but genuine hope.

"The kid was right after all," You said. "But this is a conversation we can have when we get this case figured out. We need to get him taken care of."

He gave a slow nod, his gaze locked on yours. As much as he wanted to blurt out everything he was feeling, he knew you were right — there was work to be done first.

"You're right," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "We need to focus on the case. But when this is all over…"

"When this is all over..." You finished his sentence for him. "We will see where we go from here."

The promise of "what's to come" overwhelmed him like no other. It had been so long since he had something other than work to focus on. He took another step forward, the urge to be closer to you nearly overwhelming him. But he stopped himself, knowing that until the case was closed, he couldn't act on any impulses.

"Right," He agreed. "How about dinner at my place?"

Your smile grew, and a slight heat rushed your cheeks.

"It's a date."

The matter was put to rest for now. They had work to do and a case to solve. But neither of you could deny that it sat in the back of your minds for the rest of the day. The day had taken an unexpected turn after all, and a most welcome one at that.

Mike was patient, and he knew with a little more time you would be able to see where this would lead.

Although, you both already had a pretty good idea of what that would be.

[meanderfall]

Been watching the 2003 tmnt show, and obviously I went in with some knowledge of who the turtles are and their roles and personalities, but it's been kind of fascinating to notice how Leonardo is actually pretty restrained in acting as a leader, at least in the more traditional sense (and from what i've seen so far in the first 2 seasons).

The moments where he actually directly takes charge of a situation and tells his brothers what to do, or puts his foot down on what he thinks is best, are actually few and far between. It usually only really crops up in life-or-death situations, or if his brothers are arguing over a course of action and he has to intervene.

To be honest, I think his more common leadership moments are understated to the point of barely being noticeable, and it's whenever they have a problem or situation to deal with and he turns to his brothers for suggestions on what to do. And the reason i consider this to be leadership moments are threefold:

First, by doing so, he's actually helping direct their focus on possible solutions or weak points, because his questions to them are never "what do we do" but more like "how can we distract the guards" or "is it possible to take down this machine", and like, listen. Listen. As someone who works with the general public and is one of the "leaders" of my department and has to guide my co-workers, the ability to assess a situation and even just know what kind of questions to ask to reach a solution is genuinely an underrated skill that far too many grown ass adults have not cultivated.

Second, he's actually keeping the line of communication open between him and his brothers. Sure, Don is usually the turtle who provides an answer, but Raph and Mikey are always welcome to speak up too and sometime they go with their ideas! I also think this makes them comfortable enough to speak up during more high pressure situations that aren't going great when they have a plan, bc they have full confidence that Leo and the others will back them up bc Leo really is always encouraging them to think and help him figure out what to do,

Which brings me to my third reason. By asking them for their thoughts and advice, it shows that Leonardo is willing to admit that he doesn't know something and he isn't afraid to look for them for help (at least in this regard lmao). And idk about yall but I'm much more willing to follow someone who won't pretend he has all the answers and is willing to seek advice, over someone whose ego is so big they can never admit to being wrong or humble themselves to ask for help.

And, like, I don't really know what came first, if, growing up, they were so close and good at working together that it never occurred to Leonardo to be more authoritative with his brothers now that they're a team, or if because Leonardo spent so much of their childhood more concerned with running after them and bailing them out of whatever scraps they get into and low-key knew telling them what to do wouldn't work that he just naturally fell into a more communicative and "we're all in this together, let's figure out what to do together" style.

But it does give off the impression of the brothers being a tight-knit team that pretty much work as one unit. Any friction between them is minimal at best (with most of it actually being between Mikey and Raph who take any opportunity to mess with the other). They don't really need to outline plans bc they're usually on the same page in the first place, and they have complete trust and faith in one another in getting the job done. No one is really in charge until it's necessary.

And, finally, all of the above combined is why I think his brothers usually listen and respect Leo on the rare occasions he does put his foot down on something. They know he wouldn't do it unless he was serious about what he's saying. Pretty much the only times they don't are when all 3 of them are united on wanting to do something and Leo was already kind of wavering on what to do, so they know they can rush ahead and big brother will rush after them to make sure they're okay. Or if they are also absolutely serious and fully believe in their own opinion on an issue (see the City at War arc where Leo and Raph are on complete opposite sides of the issue at hand).

but i still got 2 and half seasons to get through so maybe that changes!

[morallygreychaoticneutral]

Evolution of Passion: Hedonistic Debauchery .

Hmmm...I think..Sangria will do nicely for this sip session. Same ingredients as the booze, just minus the booze and plus some hibiscus tea.

The final chapter of the ask from danmeiljie. "Do you have any specific headcanons about the way Astarion historically had sex and how that effects the sex he has during all three acts of the game and throughout your romance with him (including i think a brothel scene you can have even if you did not romance him)? Meaning, initiation, positioning, control, diassociation versus engaging, one on one sex versus group sex, etc? Thank you!

I know there is a lot of shade being thrown around at players who went down the orgy path. But I am not going to do that. There will be no bell, and no words of "shame" shouted within these sentences. G.O.T. is over there. Go play.

Now, let us get into this hot steaming pot of sexual misadventure. Shall we?

WARNING: Game Spoilers, Topics of Sex, Abuse, and Adult themes/Language. Not underage appropriate.

This is not fact, just opinion based off my own and game experience. As always, how anybody cannons their relationships or behaviors is perfectly right! No blame, no shame, it's your game!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ahhhh, there is nothing more rewarding than sex as payment for a job well done (laughs in ridiculous). But, in all fairness, you are in a brothel. What else would they pay you in if not poles and holes.

So, to make sense of the second half, lets look at the first half.

If Tav tries to engage in group activities before Cazador's demise, Astarion is not up for it.

He very clearly, but reluctantly, expresses this after the twins suggest adding him to the mix. His refusal starts out strong, but then disintegrates into a frown.

One thing I have picked up on for this complex Elf, is that he clears his throat when expressing a vulnerable emotion. Such as telling Tav what they are to him or his devotions towards them. "I have the upmost confidence you would do the same for me. Now excuse me while I go and regurgitate the sap rankling in my throat."

And he clears his throat here.

"Ahem. Sorry , pet, I'm not quite comfortable with doing this again yet."

(watching him assert boundaries gives me the same feelings as cute aggression. It makes me want to chew on him. I love it! Grrr rawwr nom nom nom.)

And of course he is not interested. He is not even having sex with Tav at this point in time. And Tav is someone he is in an established relationship with. Sharing intimate thoughts with everyday and trancing skin to skin with every night. Why would he suddenly be interested in having sex when strangers are involved? That would make no sense and be pretty disrespectful to Tav honestly.

To me, the tentativeness is not from a worry that Tav will force him into it, because they can't. He has already regained his ability to say no to situations involving his body and won't be swayed. It's from the subconscious worry that something else negative might happen for saying no.

The word NO was probably banned in Cazador's house and he was more than likely punished severely and often for saying it. It would be expected for him to still have those fears as boundary setting is still very new and difficult for him.

So it makes sense he could be concerned his refusal might create a negative consequence. Such as Tav choosing to sleep with the twins out of spite for withholding.

"You wont sleep with me so I will find someone who will."

Or belittling him for being precious about it.

"The one thing you are good at and you can't even do that? Pathetic."

(pardon me while I go wash my hands after typing that awful shit.)

This is apparent if Tav tries to hire one of the twins on their own.

"Enjoy yourself, of course, but I dearly hope you aren't only having sex because we haven't in awhile. hum? "

Remember, he is counting the days until midnight chimes and it all ends between them. He is still not fully trusting of Tav's feelings for him. (that pout..I can't.)

Also, does the party know that Astarion and Tav are not going bump in the night? If not, they do now. That question would have completely blown his cover as the insatiable hedonistic rake forever in search of top shelf debauchery. Awkward pause anyone?

But, he need not worry because Tav is incredible! And like Moonrise towers, if you did it that way, does not make him do anything he does not want to. Again. In fact, Tav supports his boundary by saying "Don't worry, I wouldn't ask such a thing of you." Which makes him uncomfortable.

Wait.. What?

Oh yeah, but don't fret, he's not disrespecting your respect.

"Eugh, don't be so nice to me! It makes me want to be nice back."

Ah the good ol' shield of sarcastic humor. A piece of armor Astarion wields like a master. Capable of deflecting uncomfortable situations and bashing incoming feelings.

Astarion is very private when it comes to his inner world and Tav has just publicly supported him with kindness and respect after he just admitted to something vulnerable in front of EVERYONE. Could anybody else hear him internally yelling at himself? "Fuck! You just gave up the game you idiot!"

Had they been alone I am sure he would have been a puddle of appreciation, but, there are people around. Quick! You look weak! Do something! Woosh!! Out comes the shield of sarcastic humor.

"Stop it. When you talk like that it makes me want to be nice. Gross!"

Possible looking weak disaster averted.

If Tav chose the "I would have like to, but I understand." he says nothing. Because its not a show of real support. It's very, I'm only not doing it because you have a problem with it. It sounds more like blame then understanding. And it's probably what he expected anyway. Better to be belittled than pitied. Eh?

Meh..

Now, on to the main event! I hope you brought snacks! Oh. Wait. you were the snack. HA!

When Tav suggests group actives after Cazador's well deserved, overdue, satisfying obliteration, the answer is vastly different.

"I'd like to try doing things like this again now that I'm free to find my own desires. And don't worry, Ill dart out if I don't enjoy it faster than I used to run from the sun. Ha ha."

We have already established that he cannot be manipulated into engaging in activities that involve his body when he does not want to. So I really believe he is being honest here. There is no "I'm lying out my fangs" face. No glancing at his nails or attempt to deflect reasonability by trying to put the want on Tav. "Id like to try since YOU want to".

To me, this reads as genuine interest in wanting to try. There is an undercurrent of doubt and anxiety given that the delivery is a bit overdramatized, and his expression shifts a bit. But that is to be expected. People are a bit skittish to get back in the proverbial saddle after being thrown off and trampled.

But why would he agree to it if he didn't feel solid about it?

Why do any of us do that?

Curiosity. Have you met this man?

Perhaps he is curious to see, like the first bite, if it truly is something he can do. He may think that a lot of how he felt about such things was tainted by Cazador's views and feelings and they were not fully his own. Cazador was able to control his body, why not his mind? But now he is truly free he may think that his feelings and reactions towards these activities will be different. Sex with his partner was beyond amazing that first night of freedom. Maybe this will change too? He can finally be the debauched hedonist he always claims he wants to be. Right?

But, as in life, sometimes what we hope happens vs what does happen can be quite different.

He has slipped the old persona back on and is playing the "professional". Putting himself in a position of servicing rather than receiving with them by saying "tell us what YOU want."

"It was easy. Instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in"

A clear indication that he has separated his main consciousness from this event.

And honestly, trying to please three to four people all at once is a lot to process. So many moving parts. Literally.

"That's it! He was a million miles away. That is what makes it an evil choice!"

At first glance it can seem that way. But look again.

He doesn't react negatively afterward. He doesn't break up with Tav like he did when they made him bite the drow or push sex on him. And there is no deduction of approval. He accepts that it was his choice.

One thing to remember is that disassociating is not just a coping mechanism exclusive to extreme trauma. It can be triggered in everyday life. Daydreaming, highway hypnosis, or getting lost in a book or movie are all examples of mild dissociation. Your body is on autopilot. You are relying on muscle memory and the base of your brain to do the processing.

How many times have you been lost in a book for hours only to blink and realize your ten chapters in and its 3 am? You still sipped your tea, still turned the pages, you still lost your socks, but do you really remember doing it?

How many times have you been at your job doing that same repetitive task for the hundredth time just to realize its lunch time and the task is complete without you being fully aware of what you just did?

Right?!

I think it's the same here. Astarion is once again behind the wheel of a sexual situation he has been the star of over and over and over again and is , I think, zoning out out of habit. He did the same thing with Tav in the woods and Tav wasn't hurting him. So its not pain triggered.

Now, a conversation about it afterward would have been nice.

"But, that seems unfair. In his origin run or if you ascend him, there is no mention of him mentally stepping out. It just with Tav and Tav loves him. Why? "

The content of his experience is different.

Ascended Astarion doesn't care about anybody but himself and his consort. So he indulges without reciprocating.

Origin Spawn Astarion initiated the encounter himself. He made the decision to hire the twins for his own pleasure so he is more engaged. (I may or may not have had to pause when he asked Halsin to pin him against the wall. Spicy. )

I think Spawn Astarion is servicing more than participating because then encounter was initiated by Tav. So he sees the encounter as being more for them than for him. His thoughts may have been something like..

"Hmm, Tav wants to try this. Maybe, with them, it will be different for me too. We can be hedonists together! That sounds like fun! I'll need to make sure this is a good experience for them. And I need to keep them safe."

So even though he takes control of the situation by driving it.

"Alright sweethearts, you dare to dance with a professional."

He unintentionally defaulted into old habits due to the familiarity of the situation. He is not receiving here, he is seducing Tav and the twins. He did the same thing in the woods. He is in control, yes, but he is "working".

The take away, for me, is that the experience is neither "good" or "evil". We just learn that he tried something and he is not as ready for it as he had hoped. And that happens! And its OK.

Sometimes we jump into things we think we might be up for only to find out it is not our cup of tea. That's how we learn and that's how we discover who we are. The "good" or "evil" of it is found in what you do with that knowledge.

Do you continue the behavior with its consequences? Or do you accept it is not for the you that you are at this point in time and move forward?

"But that first rush of freedom can be intoxicating. I didn't always make the best decisions when I first tasted it."

The choice is yours.

Now, as living breathing NON NPC's we know, I would hope, that taking your real world partner, who was a known sex slave, to a brothel to engage in an orgy after six months of freedom, is an emotionally unintelligent and objectively stupid thing to do. Unless, it is their desire and for reasons that serve them in an enriching and positive way. There are always exceptions to things. But, for the most part, we all know its wise not to stick our hands in fires we know will burn us, right?

Play stupid games, you win stupid prizes.

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go find my elf and accept my "punishment". He thinks he pulled a muscle from pouting so hard. And since that was somehow my fault, he demands I make it right by letting him lay his head in my lap and massage his cheeks till the "soreness" goes away. * eye roll * delightful repentances are the worst.

[tanzakukun]

CC, Kallen, and Shirley want something from Lelouch while Lelouch has only wanted something from one person: Suzaku. This isn’t a shipping post, but another observation in the theme of Code Geass and how it’s been woven into Lelouch’s complicated relationships.

The three love interests of Lelouch represent his three masks that he has compartmentalized to calculate his behavior. He is the vengeful partner-in-crime around CC. He is the charismatic leader around Kallen. He is the kind and loving brother around Shirley. Lelouch fits himself to these molds separately because he understands that by playing the role, he can succeed. He won’t make mistakes. He would be accepted.

After having been rejected by his father, and then losing the short-lived happiness when his family invades the country he was in, practically saying he was abandoned, Lelouch was forced to become dishonest. He had to live a lie, and this lie became his strength. His power. His specialty. Lies protected Lelouch, but lies also protected anyone. People lie for the sake of their happiness for they lived in a world where being weak was a sin.

Lelouch knowingly navigated his life of lie transanctionally, because he could neither live truthfully nor shamelessly. He had to appease the contradictions of not behaving like the people he hated, yet not showing altruism and trust in fear that it would be his death and downfall.

So for Lelouch to seek others, to seek someone as a request is enormous. It is a matter of pride he had managed to build while he feeling great shame with his life of lies. And it is also a matter of faith, with no rationality or deception. Lelouch believed in something as vague as friendship, and the recipient has always been Suzaku.

He wants something from Suzaku and even throughout their fallouts, he never felt like he had something to give him in return. And this is because he knows Suzaku will honor it. He will do the right thing. He will betray his beliefs if it’s for his friends - as he had killed his own father for them. Suzaku isn’t cunning like him. And Suzaku knows Lelouch. Suzaku knows every side of him. The good and the terrible.

And the biggest part of why is this: Suzaku doesn’t want anything from Lelouch.

Ever since he and Nunnally entered in their lives, Suzaku had nothing to gain. He only had something to lose by risking his neck for two abandoned royals of the most hated country. Lelouch, who had just been blindsided by people who made him feel safe, realized how special this was. That a foreign stranger who had every reason to hate him, a child surrounded by powerful adults, would be the one ready to die for him and Nunnally.

It isn’t that CC, Kallen, and Shirley would do any less for Lelouch. They do love him, but the ironic problem is: they want to be with him and for Lelouch, this is a problem. He has struggled with how organic and human relationships are supposed to be. But because of the summer spent with Suzaku, Lelouch still remembers how that bond is supposed to be. One that isn’t about pleasing others, but on relying on others.

Lelouch doesn’t want to get hurt, but he also doesn’t want to hurt others. He knows he is more likely to cause pain than comfort.

He sees Suzaku as someone strong and, plainly speaking, his hero. He wants to be like Suzaku who was both honest and strong.

And I think that also added to Suzaku’s spiral. Lelouch didn’t see how deep his scars went. After finding out Suzaku killed his own father, Lelouch merely provided strong approval, thinking the validation would give him confidence. He points out that Suzaku’s actions did indeed to a more peaceful end to the war, exactly what the other smartest character, Schneizel says. He didn’t understand that it was never about the results. It was the deep unhappiness of having to live in a kind of world where killing your own father could be a right thing. Suzaku says this outright when he goes after Charles so that Lelouch wouldn’t have to kill his own father. He knew the pain, and he didn’t want the world to continue working on this tragic and sad rationality.

Code Geass really is about Lelouch and Suzaku. Lelouch’s other relationships are important, but the one he has with Suzaku is the clearest look into his character. Lelouch was woefully starstruck with Suzaku, who was struggling to find a reason to live in a cruel world - one that he blatantly rejects very early on when Zero first made his appearance by rescuing him.

[hoffmannwrites]

You Better You Bet

Previous - PART TWELVE - Next - Masterlist

Author’s Note: Holy shit y'all. It's been a hot minute, huh? I have spent a lot of time thinking about finishing this fic and I just simply must be done with this. I've got a few more chapters coming your way, and then I must bid au revoir to YBYB. It's just been so long. I love you guys so much and thanks for sticking around.

Pairing: Riverdale, FP Jones, and 19-Year-Old Reader

Description: A bet with Jughead leads to so much more than winning.

Warning: Language, Adult themes, Age Gap,

Song Inspiration: Everybody (Backstreet's Back) - Backstreet Boys (Get it?)

By the time Thursday came around, you were doubting everything. Your mind changed every five minutes. You shouldn’t tell Jug. You should have told Jug from the beginning. Well, better late than never, right? You shouldn’t even be with FP. You should be with FP and not tell Jug outright, but not hide it either. Your head cycled through every possibility all day long. You barely accomplished anything other than going through the daily motions, as you were too preoccupied with worrying over how tonight was going to go. No matter how anxiety ridden you were, you never texted FP. For one thing, you didn’t want to freak him out. He was probably already worried and didn’t need your freak out on top of his. But more than that, you trusted him. You knew this was important to him and the right thing to do overall, so you let him take the reigns. It was comforting to know that whatever ended up happening, at least you and FP would have to deal with it together.

You weren’t sure when Jug was heading over to the trailer, so you sent a text to FP after you got out of school simply asking him to keep you updated. He texted back quickly saying Jug was coming over now and he’d let you know how it went as soon as he could. You thought about doing something to preoccupy your mind while you waited, but knew that trying to do anything would be useless. So you just went home. And waited. And waited.

It felt like decades had gone by when your phone finally chimed with a text from FP asking you to come over for dinner. Was he serious? No context, no update. Just a dinner invite? You typed back furiously “uhhhh what am I walking into here, Jones?”. Fuck, it went bad. You knew it was a bad idea. Fuck.

His response came quick, but not quick enough to calm the rising anxiety in your stomach.

“He took it good. Invited Betty over too. Figured it'd be nice to get everyone on the same page right off the bat”

Oh. Okay. So Jug didn’t hate your guts. That was promising. You’d have to feel out exact how he was taking it when you got there, but knowing Betty would be there too was promising. You got yourself ready, texted Betty to see if she wanted a ride, and then you went on your merry way.

Betty had a lot of questions in the car ride over. She knew you had seen FP again because of your sleepover text escapades and you’d made some casual comments about how it was going here and there, but nothing of any substance. You kept FP from Betty mostly because you didn’t want to have to ask her to lie to Jughead. She kept the little information she had known to herself, but now that it was out in the open, she was ravenous for details. Between her and Jughead’s thirst for knowledge and inability to leave anything alone, you were shocked it had taken this long honestly. She asked how serious things had gotten and how often you saw each other and if you’d discussed any future plans. And you told her everything. Honestly, it felt nice to be able to confide in someone about your relationship.

By the time you got to the South Side, Betty was fully clued in on your life. You walked up to the trailer, letting Betty enter first. You ambled in behind her nervous as all hell. It was like telling Jug about the bet all over again, except with way more than 50 bucks at stake. FP greeted Betty with a warm hug and then turned to you. “How’s my girl?” he asked with a grin, throwing his arms around you and kissing the top of your head before you could even get a word out.

“Oh you know, living the dream,” you responded angling your head up so he could plant a quick kiss on your lips.

“God, it’s so much worse seeing it. Like I knew it was happening but- fuck, that’s just off-putting” said Jughead, with no real malice in his voice and just a dash of pure disgust.

“Aw, stop it; they’re cute!” Betty gushed. Your cheeks turned pink at the attention, but FP made no move to let you go which comforted your anxiety.

You hadn’t really thought about the whole “my boyfriend can’t cook anything that isn’t microwaveable” thing when you had originally made dinner plans, but thankfully he had taken the initiative to order in at some point. And Chinese food was bound to make anyone agreeable to even the most uncomfortable of situations.

But luckily, things were mostly normal at dinner. Jug and FP caught up on Serpent news, while Betty filled you in on Riverdale’s mystery de jour. (She was 100% convinced that there was something funky up with that new girl and her weirdly blonde dad, but everyone else thought she was crazy. You believed her, but knew better than to get involved. You were NOT going to be the next girl knifed to a musical background because you sniffed around too hard at the insanity that followed B around). Somehow, the conversations got intertwined when FP and Betty connected the dots that maybe this weird girl’s “Farm” was where Fangs had been disappearing to, and you found yourself extremely out of the loop. You excused yourself to start dinner clean up, and, to your surprise, Jughead volunteered to help you. Not that Jughead was a necessarily unhelpful person, you just assumed he would be of more help with the discussion at hand. And that he would probably want to give you a wide birth while he processed the news that you were dating his father. Either one.

You started to silently put away leftovers and wash dishes by hand, as you couldn’t think of anything to say to each other. Silence with Jug had always been comfortable before- a time to think and write and not have to fill the void with mindless bullshit. But for the first time it felt fragile- like one loud noise and the whole trailer would blow up. You just had to say something. Anything. But before you could decide on whether or not it was stupid to talk to your best friend about the weather, he decided to point out the giant leather-clad elephant in the room.

“I’m trying really hard to not be weird about this,” he admitted while drying the plates you were washing. You blinked at him, afraid to cut him off. “I mean, logically, i’m not…opposed. Dad and I have never been particularly close and it’s not like I even live here. You’ve just always fit into a particular space in my life and now I have to find a way to fit you into a very different space.”

“I get that. And I’m not asking you to change anything for me. I know we’ve always had a bond over growing up the way we did. Independent" - i.e. neglected- "and rocky." - i.e. unstable- "And I don’t want this to change that.”

He looked mildly incredulous, “Of course it changes that. I can’t-“

You cut him off. “Yes you can". You lowered your voice and turned to look Jughead in the eye for possibly the first time in weeks. “Yes, FP is my boyfriend. Yes, I have incredibly strong feelings for him that I’m still trying to work out. But I was your friend first. And he was your dad first- a shitty one! And you’re still trying to repair that relationship. You can still talk to me about him, even the bad stuff. I’m not going to automatically take his side in everything. I knew who he was when I started seeing him, don’t think I don’t know.”

Jughead studied you like one of the boards with red string and different clues he has set up. He just stared at your with those unwavering eyes and you refused to look away, not even once. He finally found whatever he was searching for. “Okay,” he sighed. “Yeah. You’re right. It’s just going to be an adjustment period. But if you’re both happy then…” he trails off and shrugs, but you can tell there’s more thoughts in that always one-step-ahead brain of his. You wait for him to form them into a sentence. “I don’t want you to get hurt either. He wasn’t always particularly good with my mom. Or Alice. Once things settle, he gets... complacent. Stops caring.” Jughead's gaze found a point in the distance to fixate on while he thought, surely, about his own relationship with FP Jones and how once things got hard, he stopped trying with him too.

“I know. And this has only been a few weeks, I’m not expecting anything at this point. I’m not saying he’s changed because I don’t know. I wasn’t there for the before and I can’t be sure if we’re in the after. i just know that I believe he has the capability to be a good guy, and that’s enough for me to give him a chance. I see it in the way he tries now. Please don’t think I would ever date a man believing he’s still shitty.”

Jug snorts at that. “You do love to put men in their place.”

“I really, really do.” Jughead bumps his shoulder into yours and it feels good. Normal. Feels like acceptance.

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

By the time Jughead and Betty left, you’d decided it was late enough to warrant you staying the night. You and FP flopped down onto the couch, coming down from a joint anxiety wave that you hadn’t even really noticed.

"That went well,” he stated to no one in particular. “I think,” he added, scrunching up his face just the tiniest bit.

“Very well,” you responded, turning towards him and tucking yourself into his side. “Jug and I talked for a little. He’s okay with it.”

FP just twisted his head to look and you and quirked it to the side, looking for more details. “It'll be an adjustment period for him,” you continued. “But nothing he can’t handle. I think he knows that this makes sense. We make sense.” You laced your fingers in between his as he kissed the top of your head.

“Good. That makes this so much easier,” he admitted, resting his head on top of yours. You sat like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, breathing slow, enjoying the silence, and sharing small kisses and light touches.

Eventually FP scooped you up and carried you to bed, where light touches became heavier and kisses became feverish, until you were both so warn out that you passed out, wrapped up in each other again.

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Author's Note Pt 2:

I will never get over the Chad Michael Murray Organ Harvesting Incest Cult plot line.

Why are you, as an adult man, blonde, CMM?

Trying to get back into the flow of writing this as a full blown adult is crazy because I lack the suspension of disbelief that I had when I started writing this. Why are you dating that child, FP Jones? But for you all?? I will suspend my life if you asked.

Tags under the cut:

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@ragweed98 @reblogserpent @cassidyiscool @cyberbadman @ohhmyexo @anondunar @colie87 @scintilla-morningstar @princess-east @xxghostnappaxx @ee17s @prettyinpunk85 @popcrone818 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @shittylittleweirdo @notquitecannon @startwiththeridingcrop @derangedcupcake @what-the-hap-is-fuckning @castixlswings @abrunettefangirlnerd @nijiru @mochionly @shskyem @missirenlove @bxtchopolis @feywildwolf @djarinsblaster @nhavs-bhat @chloe-skywalker @mrsmacherloomis @decodedlvr

[nomatterwhatnomatterwhere]

What a (Not so) Strange World XIX

(Don't just) Wait and Trust to Fate

A.N: I'm really sorry this is so short compared to the others chapters, I tried, really, but I didn't like where it was headed - honestly I'm not even really satisfied - but I felt that If I kept on re-writing it I would be forever stuck on this -more than I already was I mean . There's still a little bit of world building, because I like that, so let me know what do you think

Part XVIII Part XX

As a teacher, Crewel was used to not fully understanding the actions and reasoning of his students.

Most of them were puppies who did not yet fully understand how the world worked outside school - no matter how much many of them needed a leash to mitigate the damage of their walks.

Sometimes he found himself thinking that even some adults needed someone to teach them manners, given how some of their actions didn't make the slightest bit of sense.

Crowley did not really fall into this category: it was rather common knowledge that the role of HeadMaster was awarded not to the person with the greatest magical power, but to the person who had demonstrated an extraordinary ability to reason.

It went without saying that these people were often peculiar in the way they did things, and their motives were not always clear, but there was usually reasoning behind their decisions.

Crowel had proved to be that kind of person, so despite everything, it was hard to question what he did.

You didn't have the slightest confidence in him, you'd made that clear from the start, you'd made no secret of it, from the time you'd arrived at the NRC to the unpleasant situation Mr Roseheart had found himself in, there had never been a situation where you hadn't complained about the HeadMaster's manner.

Crewel had found it amusing at first, your obvious displeasure - and probable disappointment - in Croweley, but neither he nor Trein had really given too much thought to the situation.

The Headmasters were also involved in matters outside the school, increasing the burden of responsibility.

It hadn't been that strange that he'd forgotten to escort you to the room they'd prepared for you, plus there was also Yuu's situation to consider in all that.

But this was the first time in a very long time that Crewel found himself wondering what exactly was going through Crowley's mind

"So, you're telling me" he began, running through his hair, as if trying to see if he understood "That the Headmaster appointed Yuu and Grim to investigate all these incidents, you and a few other Heartslabyul students decided to join them, looking for possible targets and possible clues…"

"The Headmaster didn't appoint Yuu and Grim, he threatened them! How… this is…", shaking his head, irritated at the mere recollection. Puffed " Riddle and the others decided to help after what happened to Trey, but it seems that Riddle had already noticed that something strange was happening, so Cater had already noted down some possible targets. But we still don't know who the culprit might be."

"But you're working on something, I assume’"Your eyes had lit up. Crewel knew that light, it was the one that came on when you learned something new, when you got an idea ‘Is that why you came here?’

You felt yourself blush on your face. It wasn't as if you were trying to hide the reason for your visit, but the fact that it was so clear embarrassed you.

(But Crewel knew you, he knew how to react to certain things, and it wasn't as if you were so difficult to read.

You just had to observe carefully)

"Kind of…" you looked around at the various books, ledgers and filing cabinets in the room ‘ There is an archive for Unique Magic that I could use?…’

Crewel weighed your words for a moment, before heading towards an inlaid wooden bookcase.

" Every country does have a register of Unique Magic, but as far as I know you cannot see them without a permit. If you want to know more you should ask Professor Trein".

He levitated a pair of registers towards you.

" Some students develop their Unique Magic before enrolling, but some others do actually develop it here, and when they do, it gets written in here."

"And I can… have them?"

"Usually not. A Unique Magic is something personal to a Mage, and while for some it's not a problem to make it known, for others it is. But this seems to me to be a situation where an exception can be made. If your student has developed his Unique Magic during his schooling, you will find it written down".

He messed up your hair, advising you to get to class before you were too late.

(On the way you peeked, to see if the deer was still where you had seen it, but it was already gone).

You had felt a little guilty during the lesson.

Trein was going over the concept of magicpens, explaining their importance to a wizard, but you hadn't followed a single word: you were too busy trying to get something out of what Crewel had given you.

You had concentrated on the students of Savana Claw, following what Rook had told you, but you hadn't been able to find much.

The roster Azul had given you listed the players who possessed Unique magic, so you went to check which of them had developed it at the school, but none of their spells seemed likely to cause the incidents that were taking place.

All that remained was for you to investigate what the Unique Magic of those you hadn't yet eliminated from the list might be.

To think that the Housewarden was among them was already giving you a headache.

From what you remembered they hadn't been very hospitable the last time you'd shown up in their territory.

(When the lesson was over, Trein sent you an admonishing look, probably knowing that you hadn't followed his lecture at all and that this would affect your schooling.

It was no mystery, you knew that Trein always marked who attended the lesson).

You were near the courtyard when you heard Grim's shrill voice shout something, forcing you to turn in the direction his voice came from.

You were not surprised to see the three Problem Child and Yuu. What surprised you was seeing a third person with them.

You only realised who it was when he walked past you, moving away from the first years, while you did the opposite: it was Savanaclaw's little hyena.

While Deuce was worrying about how Riddle might react to the fact that “they'd let him get away”, you went to get the magic pens that had been - very kindly - left on a nearby wall.

Yuu filled you in on what had happened as Ace and Deuce - and Grim, especially Grim - got into a fight with Jack, who, honestly, you hadn't even seen coming.

Still, it certainly wasn't hard to notice.

The scene must have been funny from the outside: three students and a cat having a fight and two other students not far away chatting as if nothing was happening.

The fact that they had managed to find out that Ruggie was the culprit before you had mildly irritated you: sometimes you really complicate your life.

The fact remained that what Ruggie said was true: there was no proof that he had caused those incidents

(Semantics; if you had managed to organise things well you would have been able to find something, you were sure of that, but first it was better to listen to what Jack had to say)

"Cowardly tricks make me sick! There is no meaning in such a victory! I wanted to use my power to claim victory at the summit!"

"Ah" you heard Ace sigh "This guy is a pain in the ass."

You couldn't help but smile "You'll find that Jack here cares a lot about honour."

("I get it! I really get it! That feeling!"

‘We have our nuisances too’).

The information Jack had was extremely interesting - although the part where he talked about Leona made you smile: you remembered how he used to talk about Vil when you were younger - and had somewhat confirmed your suspicions

( and what Rook had told you. Now that you thought about it, you were ready to bet that the blond knew exactly who was behind this plan. )

You were astonished when the wolf said he didn't want to take part in the plan that Riddle - who had arrived with Carter - was about to explain, but you had to hold back a laugh when Yuu pointed out to him that he wouldn't be able to do much on his own

"I-it's back…' Prefect, blunt insight."

As you listened to Riddle's plan you couldn't help but think, amusingly, that Ace reacted to Jack's way of being, the same way you reacted to his

It had been a while since you'd found something funny.

As always let me know if you wanna be tagged

@jessiegerl, @mewchiili

Divider by @sweetmelodygraphics

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

Yanno something I don't think is explored nearly enough? Ambrosius's relationship with the Director, and I'm referring to both versions here because they're both interesting in both similar and different ways

For the movie version (I will talk about the comic version on this post too, don't you worry) first of all my pal @walrus150915 wrote an incredible fic exploring this for the NBB please go read it right fucking now, but moving on from that, Ambrosius arguably saw the Director as his mom, or at least a stand-in for his mom.

She was (or seemed to be) a nurturing but authoritative adult who guided him in the role he was supposed to fill. A lot of people like to write her as an overtly nasty bitch in pre-canon fics, and while I completely get that, let's not forget that Ballister, at the beginning of the movie, found it potentially believable that he was her favorite student. He was dumbfounded and devastated to see she had been the one to frame him, he couldn't believe it and never suspected her for a second. I'll talk more about Ballister's relationship with her in another post, but the point is this is an Oscar-winning actress, people!

Ambrosius had every reason to look up to her and believe she cared about him. And she went from (in his perspective) treating him with patience, kindness, sympathy and respect, to trying to MURDER HIM.

You don't just get over a parental figure doing something like that to you (then oh yeah, promptly fucking d y i n g). The pain, the loss of realizing someone you loved and trusted was never who you thought they were (after he'd been battling those same feelings about Ballister) and never really cared about you as a person, it would be devastatingly traumatic. Like poor guy what the fuck. He had to cope with that WHILST trying to repair his broken relationship Jesus Christ

And that's not even getting INTO the comic version, which I will be getting into now. There's a big difference between the two and I think that's in no small part due to the timeframe. C! Ambro has been under the Director's thumb a full 15 years longer than his counterpart. This gave her time to exert more control over him, and also gave him time to grow more aware of her behavior. M!Ambro and the Director have the relationship of a person and their (non-sexual) groomer, while C!Ambro's relationship with her is more overtly that of a person and their abuser.*

She's regularly seen threatening him, threatening to have his loved one (Ballister) killed if he doesn't obey her thereby forcing him to do things against his will (like murder a child), insulting him, and showing him absolutely zero sympathy or kindness, even when he's seriously harmed. I think Ambrosius would, by this point, know that the Director isn't a good person and that she doesn't love him, but she's had much more time to sink her claws into him.

He's not going to leave her. This life, being the Champion, working for her, it's all he knows, and it's all he has. Where is he going to go, back to Ballister? Ballister hates him (because the Director took measures to isolate Ambrosius from him) and he's worked for the Institution his whole life. He knows the Director is bad, but he still trusts her. This is the devil he knows, at least, so by the time the story takes place he at least feels confident that they have a mutual understanding.

I imagine it took time to get to this point. He saw her as a mentor and spent most of his life desperate for her approval. After the joust, I can only imagine this got worse. She was all he had, and he'd do anything to prove himself worthy of the championship title he knows deep down that he stole. He probably saw her as a real friend for a long time, no matter how obvious she made it that the feeling wasn't mutual, and that he'd have to try ever harder to earn her praise.

What I'm saying is this man spent fifteen years under the boot of his abuser, then after fifteen years of grooming and psychological abuse she threw him in the trash, stripped him of his title and everything he'd worked for, tried to have his lover executed, then fucking died. And NOBODY TALKS ABOUT IT??? HELLOO?????

*this is not to say that M! Ambro's relationship with the Director was not abusive, it was, or that C! Ambro wasn't groomed, he was. Simply that for him, the grooming had more time to develop into overt, recognizable abuse.