#i wish more people would write good breakups

[georgiaswarr]

laimondi win the best breakup in fiction award by miles

[dorkszn]

7 MINUTES IN HELL + satoru gojo

SYNP — getting stuck with your ex-boyfriend during a dumb game of seven minutes in hell heaven

WARNINGS — amab reader, dom!top!reader, sub!bottom!gojo, brat gojo, porn w plot, forced proximity, pet names, dunk sex, drinking, smoking (weed), closet sex, fingering, orgasm denial, anal sex, college au, implied commitment issues, implied toxic relationship, gojo’s kinda an asshole, degradation, creampie, minor feminization | 3.8K words

A/N — my first time writing top reader i think 🥹🥹 I’m actually so proud of this

Everyone knows when and why the two of you broke up. If you can even call it a breakup. It was more of a tear-filled yelling session between a pair of friends with benefits. That’s how he described it. One where Satoru ended up walking out your front door and you dropped onto your couch with angry tears in your eyes.

Nobody questioned you guys afterward though. Suguru kept quiet, listening to Satoru whenever he ranted. Shoko sat beside you, sharing a cigarette and takeout with you. Haibara kept his usual self, forcing everyone into group activities. And Nanami who kept to himself, per usual.

The house was full to the brim of loud, drunk college students. Music blaring and the stench of alcohol intoxicated every inch of the air. Your typical party. Some people play beer pong in the basement of the home you knew all too well, some make out in the corners and crevices, and some dance with their friends in the middle of the living room you’d hung out in many times.

Haibara wasn’t particularly known for his parties but he had thrown a few good ones in the past few months. Some you had attended and some you decided to miss out on. You couldn’t miss this one though. No matter how badly you wished you could. Shoko dragged you here because she couldn’t say no to Haibara’s invitation. Which for some reason meant that you couldn’t say no either.

Currently, you stand in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as a girl you recognize as a lower classman speaks to you. “But yeah, Mr. Yaga is just—“ her words are interrupted by a small hiccup. “Such an asshole, you know? And I don’t even have his class!” She’s been stumbling and stammering the whole conversation but for some reason, she’s one of the only bearable people here.

“Ain’t that the truth,” You blandly chuckle, sipping at your drink and emptying your red solo cup. “Be right back.” You tell her through the boisterous tune playing through the house. You slide past a few people to make your way to the fridge.

You open it and let the cool air abduct you. A nice break from the stuffiness of the crowd. An arrangement of alcohol sits in front of you. Your gaze runs through it, trying to pick whatever stands out. A singular white claw catches your attention. You reach for it only to be interrupted by another’s hand grabbing it.

“What the he—“ you whip around to face the thief. Of course, it’s this bastard. White hair and black, circular sunglasses greet you along with a stupid signature grin.

“Oops, did you want this?” Satoru hums. He cracks the can open and takes a dragged-out sip of it. You roll your eyes at his typical antics, shutting the fridge.

“Fuck off, Gojo.” You scoff.

“Ow, last name basis, baby?” He hums, drinking from the can once more. You feel your blood beginning to boil in your veins. You push past him, knocking him back ever so slightly with the force.

“Don’t call me that.” You grumble. You make your way to the basement where you know Haibara would have more alcohol. Gojo chuckles and trails behind you.

“We’re playing some games upstairs if you wanna join.” He offers. You glance back at him with narrow eyes.

“With you? No thanks.” You hum, jogging down the stairs. A cup pong game runs in the large basement, a crowd building around it. The well-known jocks stand in the middle, being hyped up by their teammate.

You hold a prolonged stare at one of the jocks. He’d always caught your eye. “Really? Jocks don’t give a good fuck. I know they seem like it but they don’t.” Gojo suddenly speaks up again.

“Do you ever stop and think that some people want more than a fuck-buddy?” You hiss, turning to look back at the man. He gives you a softer look. Your past flashed through his mind. He sits in silence. You sigh and continue to the box of beer in the corner of the room. You grab a can and crack it open.

“Go find something to do, Gojo.” You mumble, leaving him in the basement.

An hour or two and a few more drinks in, you find yourself watching a UNO game running at Haibara’s dining table. Utahime sits in front of you, holding three cards in her hand. She might be the only other person that Gojo irritates more than you. A focused aura surrounds her, keeping you just a foot away from her.

“You got money on this game?” You ask her, glancing over her cards through slightly hazy eyes.

“Of course she does. As do I,” Another voice speaks up. Mei Mei sits just one seat away from Utahime, she holds just two cards in her hand. You can’t help but chuckle. Of course. Utahime is too competitive for her good and Mei Mei is one of the freakiest gold diggers ever.

Suddenly a hand lands on your shoulder. You turn at the weight and see Shoko. She holds up a plastic ziploc bag, with a small bundle of green inside of it. “Holy shit, Sho.” You slightly gasp with a grin.

The woman smirks back at you. “Found out my guy was here. Plus it was free, beat him in Smash Brothers for it.” She explains. If there was anyone to count on to find something to smoke, it was Shoko.

“Wanna go up? I hear Yu’s room is open.” She questions, gesturing to the stairs. You nod and give Utahime an encouraged pat on the shoulder. You and Shoko find your way through the crowd, squeezing past people kissing, and dancing. You finally make it to the stairs where two students sit at the bottom, one sitting in the other lap. Everyone’s gonna feel like shit on Monday.

You somehow make it up the stairs and follow Shoko’s guide. You find your friend’s room but Shoko stops you before you can open the door. “Don’t freak out, okay? I know that’s unlike you but still.” She murmurs.

You shoot her a confused look before shrugging. “Okay?”

Shoko nods and grabs the knob, opening the door. Haibara’s bedroom looks how it usually does. Suguru and Gojo sit on the bed, sharing a bag of chips between the two of them. Haibara is on the floor beside Nanami, running a game of shogi. You look over at Shoko and she furrows her brows. You sigh.

“Hey, I found y/n.” She hums to the group before closing the door behind the two of you. You awkwardly wave to your group of friends and join Shoko on the floor against the wall.

“Y/n, will you tell Kento that this can't move diagonally?" Yu huffs, showing you one of the game pieces.

“You know I don’t know how to play shogi.” You reply. Yu facepalms before nodding and turning back to the blonde. You watch as Shoko quickly works to roll the weed into the paper. You think she could do this in her sleep if she tried.

When done, she passes you the blunt and reaches for her lighter. “Shit.” You hear her mumble.

“Suguru, got a lighter?” You ask, focusing your gaze on him and only him. You see Gojo watching you out of the corner of your eye but ignore him. Suguru digs through the pockets of his baggy sweatpants, finding his old-fashioned flick lighter. He tosses it to you and you catch it in your right hand.

Shoko cups her hand around the flame as you hold it to the paper. It lights and you shut the lighter. Gojo’s staring at you, you can feel it. You place it between your lips and tuck the lighter in your pocket. You look back at him as you take a drag of the drug. You pass it to Shoko and gently blow out the smoke.

Gojo’s face flushes a soft pink before he turns his attention back to Suguru.

“Oh my god!” Haibara suddenly outbursts. You all turn to look at him. “Ok! Ok! Let’s play something else.” He seethes, frustration written on his face.

“Jeez, grab a beer, dude,” Shoko says, blowing smoke out from her lips.

“What d’you wanna play?” Gojo hums, clearly amused by the idea. Haibara ponders for a moment before his eyes settle on a hat on top of his dresser.

“I have an idea,” he smirks. He stands and grabs the hat then a piece of paper and a marker.

“I don’t like this.” Nanami groans, dragging a hand down his face. While Yu begins ripping up the photo, the door bursts open. An angry Utahime and a grinning Mei Mei enter.

“How’d the game go?” You hum, turning to the two girls. Utahime simply glares at you and you smile back.

“I ran her pockets of course,” Mei answers with a smug grin. Before Utahime can remark, Yu calls out.

“Ok! Everyone write their name on a piece of paper and put it in the hat,” Haibara tells you all, handing everyone a small piece of paper and Suguru a pen.

“We’re not children, Yu-Bara,” Shoko scoffs.

“Exactly. That’s why we’re playing big games,” he says excitedly. “Spin the bottle and seven minutes in heaven.” Everyone groans or sighs at his antics, except for Gojo. He laughs.

Reluctantly, you all scribble your names down and drop the folded papers within the hat. You all form a circle in the middle of Haibara’s room floor. Shoko on your right, Kento to your left, and the white-haired bastard across from you.

An empty beer bottle is placed in the middle of the circle. “Let’s keep this fun, guys. No fighting or arguing, alright?” Yu hums. You all nod and he grabs the bottle. It spins rapidly between you all. Everyone’s eyes trained on it. The bottle comes to a slow before stopping, the mouth of the bottle pointing at you.

A cloud of smoke leaves you with a sigh. “Of course.” You mutter. Yu then replaces the bottle with the hat of names. You look at the antsy expressions on your friends' faces before closing your eyes. Your fingers shuffle through the papers then grab one.

A combined “ouuuu” from Haibara, Gojo, and Mei Mei fills the room as you open your eyes. You roll your eyes at their childishness. Slowly, you open the small piece of paper.

‘Satoru ;)’

You’ve got to be fucking kidding. Your facial expression must’ve given away your thoughts because everyone stares at you oddly. Shoko leans over and reads the sheet. “Oh shit.” She gasps slightly.

You look up to meet blue eyes then flip the paper around for everyone to see. Numerous reactions leave the group. But you focus on the grin that covers Gojo’s face. “Well, isn’t it your lucky day?” He quips. He stands and holds his hand out to you. You take one last drag of the blunt before standing and ignoring his assistance.

“Sure is,” you mumble, smoke flowing through your words. Yu trails behind the two of you to the closet. You walk in first, Gojo following.

“Be nice guys! Have fun!” He waves with a taunting grin before shutting the door. You hear him push a chair up in front of it, preventing your escape. “Your seven minutes start now!” He yells, his voice slightly muffled by the door.

You hesitate through the darkness, trying to space yourself away from Gojo. “Just stay on your side for the next 7 minutes and we’ll be fine.” You sigh. Gojo pulls out his phone and turns on the flash, shining the bright light at you.

You wince at the light and put a hand up to shield your eyes. “You see the space we got? There aren’t any sides, sweetheart.” He scoffs, showing you the minimal space of the closet. He stands just about a foot and a half away from you. The proximity almost made your skin crawl.

“Why are you such an asshole?” You question, dragging a hand over your face.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Most people disagree with you, y’know?” Satoru hums, flashing you a grin.

“Don’t call me that,” you hiss again. “Plus, most of those people don’t know you.”

“You didn’t seem to mind it the first time,” he snickers and you glare at him. “Besides, are you implying that you know me?”

“No, I thought I did but clearly not.” You grumble, folding your arms over your chest. Satoru ever-so-slightly frowns at this.

“C’mon man, it was just a misunderstanding,” Satoru sighs, pushing his snowy hair out of his face. A misunderstanding was a severe understatement. You couldn’t tell if it was the closet or the alcohol in your system but anger began to fuel your body. “And it’s not my fault you were naive.” He adds.

Before you can think about it, you’re grabbing his shirt and shoving him against the closet wall. His phone falls to the floor with a soft thud, the light illuminating the closet from the ground. Satoru swallows and looks at you with wide eyes. His hand grips your wrist.

“Sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to get you all worked up,” he apologizes with a smirk, gently tapping at your wrist. This bastard.

“I can’t fucking stand you, Satoru.” You seethe, bringing your face close to his. You didn’t want the others to hear and think something was going on.

“You say that and you still haven’t found anyone better than me,” The male replies, putting the two of you just inches apart. A sudden warmth surrounds you, your heart pounding in your ears. “You know you love how I make you feel.” He whispers.

He wasn’t wrong there. Every fuck after him just felt dull and you were left feeling bad for whoever you were with. And nobody pushes your buttons quite like Satoru does. Nobody makes you feel like he does. And you hate it.

“Fuck you,” you finally stammer out with a shaky breath. He lets out a low chuckle.

“You miss that, don’t you?” Satoru murmurs, his grin just inches away from your lips. You’d like to blame the alcohol for your next actions. But both of you know, your mind and body were craving the man in front of you. He was addicting.

You finally took him into a rough kiss, pulling a small sound from him. His lips feel so natural against yours. They feel no different than a few months ago. The two of you move so knowingly with each other, lips in sync. Satoru’s hands grip your shirt, slightly pulling at the fabric. One of your hands finds his waist while the other makes its way to his hair.

You tug on the snowy tufts, pulling a wince from the man’s throat. You slip your tongue past his lips, taking in every inch of him for the first time in a while. Your mind has every part of him engraved in it but your body longs to re-explore him once more. The taste of alcohol lingers on his tongue, matching yours.

You want to breathe him in more. Use him as your oxygen source instead of the small air supply of the closet. However, you pull on his hair once more and pull away from him. A string of saliva connecting the two of you. Your chest heaves up and down, pressing against his. You wonder if he can feel your racing heart.

“Missed you too, baby—“

“Shut up.” You say, voice stern. You pull at his belt with one hand, the other wrapping around his throat. Satoru lets out a weak groan as you undo his belt buckle. You move to his pants until they’re both loose around his waist. The waistband of his boxers reveals itself, as well as the slight bulge in the cotton.

You don’t loosen your grip on his neck when you lift two fingers to his lips. “Get 'em’ wet.” You mumble to him. Your fingers slip past his shining, pink lips and into his mouth. His tongue pressed against your fingerpads before swirling around your digits.

Satoru’s eyes stare straight into yours over the edge of his sunglasses. You feel your dick slightly twitch in your pants, making you swallow harshly. “So you do listen,” you hum. You pull your fingers out with a small ‘pop’ from him.

“When I want to—“ his words are interrupted again when you turn him around, his back facing you. You make quick work of pulling down his pants and boxers. Satoru’s back naturally arches when the cold air hits his skin.

You snicker in response with a small hiccup. “You’re such a slut, Toru,” you tell him as you reveal his hole to you.

“Shut the hell up.” He replies, his words breaking down into a moan when you spit on his entrance and push two fingertips past the ring of muscle. You push your fingers further, prodding at his walls.

“Shit, has anyone stretched you out since me? You feel exactly how I left you.” You grin cockily. Satoru grumbles curses in response and rolls his eyes. You scissor and part your fingers inside of him, stealing lewd noises from the man.

“Yeah… tons, guys way better than you.” Satoru pants, a faltering smile on his face as he glances back at you. You lean forward and bite down on the sensitive spot of his neck. His cry is like music to your ears, making you smirk against his skin. Your tongue laps over the reddening spot as your hand moves to his mouth, covering it with your palm.

“Quiet down, will you? Everyone already knows you’re a whore,” you hiss. You feel Satoru tighten around you, making you groan and his eyes roll. He’s close. “Gonna cum already?” You hum, quickening the pace of your fingers. Your digits curling inside of him.

“Ngh— fuck off,” Satoru mumbles, slightly moving his hips to fuck himself on your fingers. But you pull away, watching his entrance clench around nothing. A small gasp escapes the man. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He examines, turning his head to look back at you with a deep glare.

You scoff before reaching for your belt. “Nothing nearly as bad as whatever is wrong with you.” You reply, undoing your belt buckle and your pants zipper. You pull down your boxers that are slightly stained with your precum. Satoru swallows as he looks down at your growing erection, mouth practically salivating at the sight. A hungry lustful look in his bright blue eyes.

You tease Satoru’s entrance with your tip, just barely pushing into him and pressing kisses to the ring of muscle. Satoru lets out an annoyed whine, his hips squirming and pushing back against you. You groan when he desperately grinds against your length. “C’mon, just put it in.” He pleads.

“Such a needy boy,” you murmur. You push into him and his eyes roll back in his head as your cock fills him. Your breath shakes as it passes your lips, his walls tighten around your length. So warm and holding you just right. “Fuck Toru, you’re so tight.” You hiss in his ear, pressing a kiss against the skin.

“Just fuck me already.” He scoffs weakly, his chest slightly heaving against the closet walls. You wrap a hand around his throat and grip his hip with the other, your fingertips surely bruising where they sit. You pull out of him agonizingly slowly, taking inch by inch away from Satoru.

You then slam back into him to the hilt, a choked whimper leaving him. “Not such an arrogant bastard anymore.” You murmur before picking up your pace again. His muffled sounds don’t go unheard as you focus on the way your cock disappears into the plump flesh of his ass.

A harsh clap echoed throughout the closet with every collision of your hips. “agh— sweetheart, s’too good.” Satoru pants, hands clawing at whatever fabric was closest to him.

“Yeah? Who fucks you the best?” You hum, relentlessly as you buck your hips forward. Your leaking tip punctuating every time you hit that certain spot inside him. A spot you’d never forget.

“Shit, you do. You fuck me the best.” The snow-haired male whimpers. You shift your hand around his throat, pulling him right against you. A pornographic moan erupts from his throat. A noise everyone outside the closet definitely heard. Two of your fingers find their place in Satoru’s mouth again, pressing down on his tongue.

“Shh. Don’t want everyone to hear how much you love my dick, right?” You coo, running your tongue along the exposure of his neck. A muffled “mhm-mhm” leaves Satoru as his tongue focuses on your fingers occupying his mouth.

However, this can’t distract from the feeling of slamming into him. Spreading him apart and filling every centimeter of his insides, reaching sensitive spots he never knew even existed. The feeling of Satoru’s hand pushing against your abdomen doesn’t even register in your mind for seconds as you get lost in his cunt.

You take hold of his wrist and move it off of your flushed skin. “Take it, Toru. You know you can.”

“Can’t, m’fucking— gonna cum.” He babbles.

“Yeah? Go ahead, cum around my cock. Make a mess for me.” You tell him through a smug grin. Your hand drags down from his mouth to his dick, wrapping around it and pumping him to the rhythm of your thrust.

“Fuck, baby, missed you so so much.” Satoru groans before ropes of cum spurt from his tip. His eyes squeeze shut so tight and his body trembles against you. His seed coating your hand and fingers.

“So fucking sloppy.” You mewl, feeling your balls clench as you stuff yourself into Satoru to the hilt. You bite down on his neck as you release in him, stuffing him to the brim with your cum.

A weak whine pulls from Satoru when you finally pull your teeth out of his neck and lap your tongue over the spot.

The two of you sit in your mess, the smell of sex and sweat intoxicating the small space. You can feel Satoru’s heart racing in his chest. You just sit for a moment until you go limp within him before pulling out. Satoru leans against the closet wall, lips glossy with spit and eyes hazed over with lust.

Suddenly, he gives you a weak grin. And you can’t help but drunkenly smile back. Idiot. You glance down and see your cum beginning to dribble out of him. Satoru grunts when you push a finger into him, assuring your seeds place inside of him.

“Missed you too, baby.”

[whimsiwitchy]

Controversially Young Girlfriend (part six)

Hugh Jackman x popstar!reader 

series masterlist & main masterlist

summary: y/n is a globally beloved pop star. She is known for her talent and dedication towards her craft. Recently, she has also been known for her preference for older men. After a breakup with her former older boyfriend, she had a run in with the hottest dilf right now, Hugh Jackman. Y/n tried to warn him, but what can she say, she has an effect on hot, older men. 

warnings: age gap (23/55), cursing, y/n used, implied shorter reader, afab reader, she/her pronouns, sexual themes.

warnings will change as the story progresses! all descriptions of real people in this story are FAKE. I do not know these people and this is purely fiction. Please let me know if I missed anything!! <3

authors note: y'all this part absolutely drained me. Idk what it was but I felt so stuck when writing this. I got it to a point where I can start part seven fresh, so fingers crossed whatever happened here doesn't happen again. I hope you all still enjoy it lol <33

part six: because I love you

Waking up in Hugh’s arms was heaven. He was still asleep when you first opened your eyes, his soft snores tickling your ear. You were grateful that he didn’t have those loud old man snores like some of your past lovers had, though you were sure you wouldn’t mind if he did. Gently lifting the arm that was wrapped around your waist, you carefully rolled over to face him. As you studied his resting face, you felt overcome with a deep sentiment of gratitude. He was just as handsome asleep as he was awake. The face that almost always carried a smile was at peace, lips slightly ajar. You adored his face, the deep lines showing a life of joy and laughter. Each nook and cranny aging him beautifully over the years. It made you sad in a way. You wished you could have experienced life with him, wanting nothing more than to have the ‘right’ life with him. A life where your relationship with Hugh made sense and was accepted- but you would gladly take whatever time you could get with him. 

You placed your hand on his cheek, sliding your fingers delicately over the course hairs that covered his jaw. Your chest felt warm. The feelings you had for the man who slept so deeply before you had grown stronger than you’d anticipated, but Hugh made it so easy to fall for him. And you had fallen for him, you knew that now. If one thing for certain came out of this time you’d spent with Hugh, it was that you were unbelievably in love with him. You had always found yourself falling too fast for the wrong people but you had good faith that for once it would be right. For once, you wouldn’t get hurt. You trusted him to protect your heart and to do right by you. You knew he would. 

As much as you wanted to stay and count every wrinkle that laid upon his face, you had to pee really bad. You gave him a soft kiss on the tip of his nose and wiggled slowly out of his grip. You gave him one last look over before heading down the hall to the bathroom. As you sat there, memories of the night before danced around your mind. The way he kissed you, touched you. He made you feel like you were worth something. It was a feeling you weren’t used to, always feeling used by other men and deep down you know that all you were to them was just some young girl to fuck. You never actually meant anything to them. Hugh was different. Being with him felt right. You couldn’t find any other words to describe the feeling. He hadn’t brought you here to have sex,  for once it was you who had made that decision. He bought you flowers and a cake to congratulate you on an achievement that no one else cared to celebrate with you. He cared for you in some capacity and it made you feel horrible, because even with all this confirmation, you still had doubts.

You’ve been fighting a secret battle since the moment he kissed you, the moment everything between you changed. Putting what you were feeling into words felt impossible. What you did know though, is that you were terrified that you wouldn’t be enough for him. Scared that he would snap out of whatever daze he was in and miss the life he had with his wife and kids, the life that didn’t involve you. The life that made sense. 

When you walk back to the bedroom you find Hugh sitting up with his back against the headboard, scrolling through his phone. His glasses were perched on the lower bridge of his nose, threatening to fall off any moment. His eyes peaked over the frames as he turned to look at you. “Morning baby. I was just about to text you, thought you left.” He sets his phone down on the bedside table as he speaks. “Mhm, just had to pee.” You walk over to the bed and climb up, straddling Hugh’s lap. “Why didn’t you use this one?” He jerks his head to the bathroom that’s attached to the room and you shrug. “I don’t know. The vibes of the thirst trap bathroom just feel different.” You joke. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, huh?” He asks, smirking slightly. You shake your head. “Absolutely not.” You affirm and it makes Hugh chuckle. “I was wondering if you had any plans for your last day in the big apple?” His hands rest on your exposed thighs and you become all too aware that you’re still butt ass naked under his t-shirt. “Uhh, not really. I was actually gonna ask if I could hang out with you today…” Your voice is shy. “I was really hoping you’d say that. I might have planned a few things for us.” Hugh smiles and you could feel excitement flood your body. “May I have insight on said plans kind sir?” You put on a posh voice that Hugh mimics. “I’m afraid not my lady, for each destination today is to be undisclosed until further notice.” You drop the bit but not without letting out a deep belly laugh at Hugh’s impressively good accent change. “Can I at least have a little hint so I know what to wear?” He thinks for a moment. “I’m giving you the proper New York tourist day, so wear something comfy.” He pauses. “Maybe wear something incognito. It might be harder to hide than it was the other day.” You hum in acknowledgment. “Do you think I could borrow some underwear or something? I’m feeling a little exposed.” Hugh laughs. 

Your fingers picked at the basketball shorts he let you borrow, tying the strings over and over again as Hugh made breakfast. Small conversation filled the large space and the domesticality of the situation made you flustered. “I’m kinda nervy about the tour. Are you gonna come support me on opening night?” He’s whisking the eggs in a small bowl with a fork and it was oddly attractive. “As long as my schedule allows it, I'll be there. I'd be at every show if I could be.” He looks up and sets the bowl down. “I’d do a lot of things for you, probably anything.” He adds before he turns around to start one of the gas stove burners. It ticks a few times before it catches. “That’s a lot of power to hold and you definitely messed up by telling me that.” You hold your hands up, each finger touching, as you wiggle them in an evil manner. Hugh looks back at you from where he’s moving the eggs around in the pan and smiles. “Don’t get too excited. I said probably anything.” You drop your hands and shrug. “That’s a lot more than I'm used to.” He turns back to the eggs. “Has anyone ever treated you the way you deserve?” The question takes you aback. “I’m not trying to be mean…After hearing some of the things you say and seeing how Pedr-..how he treated you, I’m not seeing anything good. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm confused on how a girl like you has never had anyone treat you right.” He plates the eggs and oils the pan to drop the turkey bacon as if he didn’t drop such a big observation onto you. 

“I uh-...I’m not really sure what to say…I mean I guess I haven’t really had a guy care about me all too much.” He turns to you, staying close to the stove. “I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have said anything.” You shrug. “I mean you’re not wrong. Everyone always seems to give up on me before anything serious happens…but hey that’s the price of being famous and having my taste in men I guess.” He flips the bacon. “I don’t know how I feel being your taste in men then. They aren’t really setting a good reputation.” He jokes but it stings a little. “Eh. I think you’re doing a lot better than any of them ever did. You’re sweet and kind…and unbelievably sexy.” You tried to steer the conversation away from its original content. It works, Hugh laughs. “You should go take a picture in the mirror again and post it. Your fans would love it.” He takes the bacon off of the pan and sets the pieces on a paper towel lined plate. “I didn’t post that for the fans babe. I posted that for you.” Your jaw drops and you draw a dramatic gasp. “I knew it was a thirst trap. Y’know next time you can just send it to me instead of posting it on instagram. I’d love a few more to add to my collection.” 

“Your collection?” He cocks an eyebrow up and you ignore his question. “Do you need my help with anything? I feel kinda useless just sitting here.” You ask as Hugh pulls out a container of strawberries. “It’s okay baby, I got it.” You hum, fingers going back to the strings on your shorts. Hugh washes a handful of berries and dries them one by one. “You’re good at changing the conversation.” He mumbles and lets out a small huff of a laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You look at him with an innocent face. He’s silent for a moment, the only sound being the soft knocks of the knife hitting the cutting board. You watched as each slice of the strawberry fell over as Hugh worked. His hands stop for a moment and you look up at him, catching his eyes. “I just want you to know that I’m here for you and that I truly care for you.” His eyes focus back onto the cutting board. “I know that.” You mumble. “Then let that be a reminder. I want to hear the things you’ve been through. I want to know everything about you so I can be the best version of myself for you.” You didn’t know what to say, so instead you hopped out of the chair and hugged him.

–

After breakfast and after you followed Hugh around like a lost puppy while he got ready for the day, he drove you back to your hotel so you could do the same. You were frantically walking back and forth as you got ready, packing your suitcase as you went along. Hugh was sprawled out on the bed, scrolling through his phone. You picked out a pair of baggy black denim cargo pants to wear but you couldn’t decide between the classic ‘i love new york’ t-shirt you bought your first day here or a maroon turtleneck. “Which one should I wear? I’m leaning towards the new york one but I feel like that’s too touristy you know?” You start speaking as you walk out of the bathroom and hold up both shirts. “If I wear the turtleneck then I can probably get away with not wearing a jacket and I can also wear the converse I have that are in the same color.” You stand at a mirror that is in the hallway, putting each shirt over your chest, comparing them. When Hugh doesn’t answer, you turn to see him staring at you. “Hugh did you hear anything I just said?” He’s sat up on the bed now, no longer in the starfish position he was once in. “Wear the new york one baby. You won’t be a tourist forever. There’s only a matter of time before the city becomes familiar.” He explains. “Mm. Good point. Thank you babe.” You throw the turtleneck on your open suitcase and just as you're about to throw the simple graphic tee over your head, Hugh speaks. “Wait..don’t put that on yet. C’mere.” The last part is mumbled as he holds his hands out for you. 

You set your shirt down as you walk over to him. Both his arms snake around your waist as soon as you step between his thick thighs. “You look delicious right now.” His arms loosen as he pulls you back, taking in your appearance. “Is me not wearing a shirt, turning you on Hugh?” You tease. You almost forgot that you were only walking around in a simple black t-shirt bra. It lifted your boobs surprisingly well for the style and you could tell it was getting to Hugh. “What if I said it was?” He asks, eyes moving from your chest to your face. “If this gets you going too easily, you’re gonna struggle when you see the outfits I perform in.” You laugh. “Mhm. I’m excited.” He growls with a smirk before plunging his head towards your cleavage, kissing up and down the exposed skin. “You’re such a hornball.” You let out in your fit of laughter. He rests his face in the crook of your boobs. You can hear him mumbling something but you can’t make out the words. “Babe, I have no idea what you’re saying right now.” He reluctantly pulls his face back. “I said that we could always stay in today instead…Wanna get another taste of you.” His hands grip your waist and you feel a pulse between your legs from his words. 

“As tempting as that is…and it’s really really tempting. I wanna go out with you today, have some normality before life goes back to normal tomorrow. Maybe we’ll have time before my flight…for what you said.” He smiles and pats your butt. “Okay baby. Finish getting ready so we can go.” You lean down with puckered lips, meeting Hugh’s in a sweet kiss. “I’ll be ready in like fifteen minutes.” You promise as you pick your shirt up and run back into the bathroom. 

Somehow in the short time it took you to get ready, Hugh convinced you to let him take you to the airport. You tried to refuse since you already had accommodations made for the early 3:30am flight but he fought back. He said that it would be easier and we could spend more time together before I left. You agreed, wanting to spend every single last second with the man you loved. He threw your suitcase in the trunk of his car and the two of you were off on whatever adventure Hugh had planned. 

The first stop was at Battery park to see the Statue of Liberty. Hugh surprised you with a ferry ride that took you from the park to Liberty island, then Ellis island. You thanked Hugh non-stop as you boarded the ferry. You were a big history nerd and being able to be around objects and buildings that have existed for many generations of people before you, excited you to your core. Hugh was watching your thrill with a smile, sneaking pictures of you when he could- you never noticed. You did ask him to take a few pictures of you as the ferry moved right in front of lady liberty herself. Your smile was wide, eyes crinkled behind your sunglasses. Hugh held you close the entire time, kissing the top of your head every now and then. He would take you all over the world if it meant he got to see you this happy all the time. 

The whole exploration took about four hours. You were very thorough in your wanding, not wanting to miss a single detail. You apologized to Hugh every time you felt like you were taking too long but he never seemed annoyed or upset, just happy to be with you. Once you were back on the mainland, the two of you were starving and started to discuss places to eat. “I think that Stardust place would be fun but I heard it’s almost impossible to get in.” You don’t mean for it to sound like it was something you really wanted to do. You were just thinking out loud. “I can get us in there baby.” Hugh says, shrugging his shoulders. “Hugh Jackman…are you telling me you’d name drop yourself for me?” You smile. “I told you, anything for you sweetheart.” He raises your intertwined hands to his face, leaving a kiss on yours. “As sweet as that is, I could probably name drop myself and get in.” You smile. “It’s probably not smart for you to go into a place full of theater nerds anyway since you’ve been on Broadway multiple times or whatever.” You joke. “You’re probably right. I am quite the Broadway star.” He jokes back. “Fuck it. Let’s just get pizza again. I've only a tourist for so long, remember?” “Fuck it.” He agrees. 

You find a different pizza shop this time, waiting in the car while Hugh goes in to order. You spent the time looking through your phone. You saw a few texts from Ashley and it made your heart ache. She was a terrible friend but you still grieved the good times you did have. Once you got back home, you knew it was probably for the best to talk to her, settle everything, and get some closure. You thought a lot about loose ends you needed to tie as you entered this new chapter of your life, Pedro being one of them as well. You wanted as clean of a slate you could get as you moved forward with Hugh. 

“God I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I walked in there.” Hugh says as he opens the driver door, sitting two styrofoam cups in the center console drink holders. “Do you mind holding this for a moment sweetheart?” He asks, holding up a small box that had a large brown paper bag sitting on top. You grab it and Hugh climbs into the car. “Would it be too cliche if we ate this at the great lawn?” You ask with a lazy grin. “Maybe a little bit but it sounds like a great idea darling.” He smiles back. 

The drive to Central Park was a short one. Finding a parking spot however, took awhile. Hugh drove through one of the nearby parking garages, going up and down until he finally caught someone pulling out. When the two of you finally reached the lawn, you were a little nervous at the amount of people there but you put it aside, hoping that your sunglasses would be enough to hide you from any possible fans. You found a spot, farther away from the larger crowds. It was peaceful for the most part, both Hugh and yourself to engaged in conversation and eating to care about anything else. When you were both done eating, you scooted closer to Hugh, who then offered you to sit between his legs as he leaned back. Your back was against his chest, lifting with every breath he took. “This is nice.” You say, looking up at Hugh. “It is.” He agrees, kissing your forehead. When you look forward again, a girl catches your eye. She’s sitting not too far off and she’s staring. It makes your heart stop, afraid that she might have recognized you or Hugh. Your suspicion is proved right, her eyes go wide and she lifts her phone, pointing it directly in your direction. “Babe, I think that girl is recording us.” You nudge Hugh slightly to get his attention. He looks in the girl's direction and sighs. “Let’s get out of here.” The two of you walk back to the car, hand in hand. 

“Do you wanna go home or are you still up for one more adventure?” Hugh asks once you’re both settled in the car. The way he says ‘home’ makes your heart flutter. You know it’s probably out of habit but it makes you wonder what sharing a home with him would be like, how being with him officially would be. “I’m down for more touristing.” You smile, trying to let go of the bitter mood that girl had put you in. You didn’t mind fans recognizing you but it always sucked when a good moment was taken away because of it- a moment that would have been normal if you and Hugh were ‘normal’ people. 

The sun was starting to set as Hugh drove and it was beautiful. Seeing the city lights take over was a sight to see. “I thought we were going somewhere else?” You ask in confusion as Hugh pulls into the parking garage of his apartment building. “We are but I thought we could walk, if that’s okay with you love. It’s not too far.” He parks the car in his designated spot. “Yea that’s fine.” His hand squeezes your thigh, a place it often sits as he drives. “Let’s go then.” 

You were convinced there wasn’t anything more beautiful than walking through New York at night. You were never fond of big cities, only living in Los Angeles because you had to for work, but something about nyc brings a sense of home you’ve never felt before. Almost like a sense of nostalgia, a longing for a place that felt right. 

The last stop happened to be Times Square. The second you found a good spot, you passed your phone over to Hugh to take pictures of you. It was a little over stimulating the longer you stood there, admiring all of the giant screens and billboards. You tried to tough it out as long as possible but your last straw was when some guy in a janky super hero suit tried to come up to you. Hugh was quick to grab you and lead you away. “I can’t make up my mind on what’s worse, the con artist in Hollywood or the ones here.” You joke, Hugh laughs agreeing. The streets started to empty the further away you got from the square and you were thankful for that. As you walked hand in hand with Hugh, you started to hum the melody of ‘New York, New York’ by Frank Sinatra. Hugh smiles down at you and releases your hand to pull you closer, his arm resting over your shoulder. “Ooo. Can we go in there real quick?” You ask, pointing at the small grocery market across the street. “Sure baby.” You can tell he’s confused so you answer his question before he can ask. “I wanna make dinner for you.” You look both ways down the street before crossing. “You don’t have to do that sweet girl.” The sliding doors open and you’re hit with the cool air. “I want to.” He doesn’t say anything else as he follows you around the store. When you hit the produce section, you lift the sunglasses that had been sitting on your face for most of the day, creating a makeshift headband. You gather a mix of yukon gold and baby red potatoes, as well as a few carrots and a stock of broccoli. “What are you making?” Hugh asks as you walk towards the meat shelves, grabbing a pack of two chicken breasts. “A spicy, maple chicken sheet pan dinner.” You explain, walking towards the next aisle. “A sheet pan dinner?” He questions. “You throw everything onto the same pan, shove it in the oven, and boom, you have dinner.” He laughs. “I guess that makes sense.” 

Hugh insisted on paying for everything but you refused. He had paid for almost everything else since you’ve been in New York and you had to remind him that you too had too much money than you knew what to do with. He complained about it the whole way back to his apartment, it was kinda cute. When you finally got back, you asked Hugh to gather everything you’d need: a cutting board, a large bowl, a peeler, a colander, etc. You wanted to make sure you had everything so he could sit and watch, just as you had with him this morning. “I could get used to this.” You look up from where you're mixing the veggies and seasoning in a bowl. “What, me cooking for you?” You ask, sarcasm present in your voice. “No, you being here with me.” Hugh smiles. “Oh..” You whisper as you dump the prepped veggies onto the parchment lined sheet pan. “Was that too forward?” You’re patting the chicken with a paper towel and placing them in the same bowl as he asks. “No. I like when you say stuff like that, it just makes me all nervous.” You drizzle the chicken in olive oil and add your choice of seasonings. “Why does it make you nervous?” His elbows are on the counter, hands resting in his hands. “Because someone like you likes someone like me, it’s crazy.” You place the chicken on the sheet pan before placing it into the already heated oven. 

Hugh stands up and walks behind you. His arms wrap around you as you wash your hands. “Is it really that hard to believe that I like you?” He asks, giving light kisses to your neck. “Sometimes.” You wiggle out of his arms to dry your hands on a towel that rests on the oven handle. “I must not be doing a very good job at showing it then.” You walk back over to him, where he’s leaning back on the counter. “It’s not you babe, it’s the voices.” You point to your head. “What are they saying?” You think for a moment. “Do you want the default answer or the real answer?” “The real one.” He responds without a second thought. “I think I’m just scared that all of this is temporary.” You say motioned your arms around. “I’m scared that one day you’ll snap out of whatever it is you feel for me and just…just leave and not want me anymore.” He pulls you into his chest. “I don’t know what I can say or do to break you free from that but I can promise that I won't just leave you. If there ever comes a time where I don't want to be with you, which is very unlikely, I’ll tell you.” You don’t say anything as he holds you. The two of you stay like that until the twenty five minute timer you set is going off. 

—

“Do you really have to leave today?” He asks, rubbing his hands up and down your back softly. After dinner, Hugh went down to fetch your suitcase out of his car. Both of you took showers, separately this time. Now you were straddling his lap, laying forward with your head resting in the crook of his neck. “Unfortunately..” You sigh out. “You can’t stay just a few more days?” He practically pouts and you can hear the sincerity in his voice.  “I really wish I could but duty calls. I jump right into work once I’m back.” This time he sighs. “I’m gonna miss you.” “I’m gonna miss you too.” You give his neck a few small kisses before speaking again. “When are you coming back to LA?” You lift your upper body and rest your hands on his bare chest. “I’m not sure. Got some stuff to deal with here, might take a while.” He lifts himself up, sitting up straight against the headboard, putting you both in the same position as this morning. “Hm. What stuff?” You ask, hands trailing down from his chest to his abs. “Divorce stuff. Ex-wife stuff.” He shrugs slightly and leans forward, his lips meeting your neck as he leaves his own kisses. “Oh..” It comes out more as a moan, Hugh’s teeth nipping at the skin right below your ear. “That must be hard, divorcing after so long together.” His lips falter for a moment. “Doesn’t matter.” He leans back against the headboard. His response made you feel weird. Hugh’s voice was distant. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” You apologize, letting your hands fall to his shoulders. “It’s okay, it would’ve come up eventually.” 

“We don’t have to talk about it Hugh, it’s okay.” 

“It’s something we should talk about though. It’s not fair to you. You’ve opened up so much to me, I should do the same for you.” You’re silent, not sure what to say. “Does it bother you?”  Hugh asks.

“Does what bother me?” You know what he’s asking but you weren’t sure how to answer. 

“That I was married?” He’s looking at you, but you're looking down at his hands. 

“No.” It wasn’t a lie. Him being married isn’t what bothered you. “Look at me baby.” His voice is stern, a tone that you haven’t heard before. When you look at him his eyes are quick to line with yours. “Does it bother you? Don’t lie to me.” You sigh, hands sliding from his stomach. You rest them on top of his own where they are placed on your thigh. “I wasn't lying. It doesn’t bother me that you were married.” 

“Then what’s up sweet girl? I can tell there's something going on in that pretty head of yours..” The way he’s looking at you makes your heart race. He’s looking at you like you're the most important person in the world, like you mean everything to him. 

“I don’t care that you were married…it’s just..this is gonna sound stupid but..I’m scared of how long you two were together and how recent your divorce was.” 

“What do you mean baby?” 

“Like I said earlier, I’m scared of this being temporary. That I’m just some…god I don’t know…that I’m a rebound or something. That the two of you will realize that being separated wasn’t the right decision.” Your posture breaks as you slump forward slightly. “I knew that she would always be in your life and I’ve been trying to make peace with that…but the thought of you leaving is too much.” You confess. 

“Y/n…What Deb and I had has been over for a long time. It was over years before we finalized anything. Everything now is purely about our kids. I’ll always hold love for her in my heart but it isn’t a romantic love anymore. That love is reserved for you sweet girl, all for you.” His fingers delicately lift your chin. “I’m a devoted man y/n. Once you have me, I’m yours. I promise.” His thumb rubs along your jaw. You lift your pinky and he chuckles slightly. He lifts his own and links it with yours. “Does that mean you’re finally gonna ask me to be your girlfriend?” His eyes widened slightly. “Are you ready to be my girlfriend?” Hugh asks, seriousness fills his voice. “I really want to be.” His eyes soften. “What’s stopping you from being all mine baby?” 

The question is loaded. The answer was full of worries you shoved deep down, hoping they wouldn’t come up as soon as they did. From the moment you walked into his home, you tried your best to ignore the family photos that littered his walls. Photos of him and his wife with wide smiles, their kids standing between them, smiles just as wide. You pushed down every feeling you had as he showed you the rooms he kept for his kids for when they would visit. His daughter's room hurt the most. You saw glimpses of your own teenage years that you’d excited only a few years earlier. His son’s room reminds you that that was the room of a man whose age was more appropriate for you. You’d been reminded non-stop that what you had with Hugh was wrong in the eyes of others, so wrong that you were starting to feel it too.

“Does it ever worry you that our relationship isn’t practical? That it doesn’t make sense?” He makes a face and he looks almost offended.“How doesn’t it make sense? I like you, you like me. You’re happy, I’m happy. What more is there to it?” 

“That’s the thing Hugh. When it comes to you, it will never just be you.” His eyebrows scrunch up. “I'm confused baby.” You sigh. “Hugh, you were married for decades, with kids. What is your ex-wife going to think about you dating a girl that’s thirty three years younger than you? Hell, better yet, what will your kids think Hugh? What are they going to think about you dating a girl that sits right in between their ages?” You rant. “What Deb thinks about us doesn’t matter. She’ll get over it.” His hands give your thighs a small squeeze. “And your kids?” He sighs. “I’m not sure what they’ll think but I’m sure that if I explain it to them they’ll understand. They’re old enough to where you won’t need to be a big part of their lives.”

“I know that babe but I don’t know how I’m supposed to fit into your life as it is. I can’t just show up to the family Christmas parties as your girlfriend. Do you know how fucking weird that will be for me, for them?” His face falls and you know he doesn’t take your words the way you intended. “It would be weird to be my girlfriend?” 

“Hugh, that’s not what I meant.” He goes to move you off his lap but you tighten your thighs to stand your ground. “Babe, you have to understand what I mean. I don’t wanna hide from your kids and Deborra. I want to be a part of your life completely and that includes knowing them.” He stops moving and sighs. 

“This isn’t going to be easy y/n. I know I have baggage and I’m sorry that this wasn’t something we talked about sooner. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave and have nothing to do with me.” Hugh lowers his head slightly. “Hugh, I don’t wanna leave you. I’m used to older men, just not ones with ex-wives and kids.” You try to make it lighten the mood, hoping to make him laugh. It doesn’t. 

“Everyone’s gonna hate us if we do this. The fans, your family, probably even my family if I’m being honest. The crazy thing is that I don’t care if everyone hates me but I don’t want to be the reason everyone hates you.” 

Those last words felt like a weight coming off of your shoulders. The words were so simple but had been so hard to say all this time. They were true. You didn’t care if fans turned on you, you didn’t care if your family disapproved, though you couldn’t imagine them disliking Hugh. Selfishly, you also didn’t care that much if Hugh’s family hated you. These were all miniscule issues when it came to you loving Hugh. As long as he was happy, you were happy. But the thought of Hugh experiencing any of that made your skin crawl. You didn’t want him to lose fans he’s had over the long course of his career, you didn’t want to put him through the burden of his family not approving of you and him having to feel the awkwardness every time you were around them. You couldn’t imagine him jeopardizing the life he had built all because of you. You were still building a career. Everyone around you has already experienced you dating men that have no business dating someone your age. You didn’t want to hurt him with the implications that came along with your name and age. 

“That’s not fair to say.” Hugh squeezes your hand. “You can’t put the weight of everything on yourself. If you decide that you want to be with me, then that’s how it’s going to be. You and me. We’ll figure everything out together.” You look off to the side because you know if you look at him the ache you’d been feeling in your throat will betray you. “Look at me.” The hand that isn’t holding yours reaches for your cheek as he attempts to move your face to look towards him. You refuse, already feeling a tear slip down involuntarily. “Baby please.” He tries again and you let him turn your face. A sob escapes, the pain in your neck finally relieved. “What’s wrong y/n? You gotta talk to me.” His voice is sweet and patient. All this man does is care for you in a way that you’ve never experienced before. 

“I don’t wanna hurt you and your family Hugh. I don’t want them to suffer, all because I love you.” You sob. “You what?” His hands drop down to your knees. “I love you, Hugh.” You try your best to get the words out through the steady stream of tears. “Do you mean that baby?” He asks softly as one hand comes back to your cheek, wiping a few tears away. “Of course I mean it, that’s why I can’t leave you. I feel so selfish because the smart thing would be to walk away so no one gets hurt but I can’t. I love you too much to let you go.” 

“I love you y/n, so much.” He pulls you in for a kiss. “Really?” You ask with sad eyes. “I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you the moment I met you baby. You looked so pretty that day and your voice was like a siren's call. I tried to fight the attraction but when you invited me to your album party, I didn't care anymore. I wanted you.” You grabbed his face at the confession, pulling his lips to yours. You both let every emotion spill into the kiss. “Does this make you my girlfriend now or are we still friends that hook up and love each other?” He asks jokingly with a dopey smile. “As much as I want to say yes, talk to your kids first. Please. I think it would make me feel a little better about everything.” He kisses you. “I’ll talk to them tomorrow.” 

—

Leaving Hugh felt impossible. Not knowing when you’d see him next and him being around his ex-wife without you here to distract him made you nervous. You trusted him but when it came to you or the woman he was married to for twenty seven years, it was hard to say he'd choose you. Even after his reassurance, you had a feeling she would always come first. 

“Are you sure you can’t come with me?” You ask as you hug him, the two of you in the same hidden room from when he picked you up. “I really wish I could baby. I’ll try to get back out there as soon as I can.” He kisses the top of your head and the two of you stay there for as long as you can. “I should probably go.” You say reluctantly. “Yea, you should.” You give him a few quick kisses. “Don’t leave me waiting too long. I’ll be waiting for you.” You smile at him before giving him one last kiss. “I won’t, sweet girl. Text me as soon as you board and when you land okay?” You grab the handle of your suitcase. “I will.” You start to walk towards the door that leads out to the public but before you go out, you turn towards him one more time. “Bye Hugh.” You give him a small wave. “Bye baby. I love you.” The words make you smile. “I love you Hugh.” You give him one more wave before you walk through the door.

thank you for reading!

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[azulpitlane]

i wish you would I ln4

pairings: lando norris x reader, exbf! mason mount x reader summary: part two of got love struck notes: kinda dragged making this but finals are finally over so send me some requests pls🤸‍♀��� this ones kinda angsty and there's lots of miscommunication sorry hehe part three, masterlist

yourusername posted a story 2h ago

The night was full of partying, drinking and dancing as you celebrated your best friend's 23rd birthday. The night quickly turned into a mess when you went to the bar to get everyone more drinks. When you came back your friends were nowhere to be seen, you assumed they were in the dance floor but when you went to check, they weren't there either. To make matters worse, you had put your phone in your friend's purse for safe keeping so you had no way to contact them. The panic quickly sobered you up as you looked everywhere for them but instead you found different a familiar face.

"Mason?"

"Y/n! Hey, I didn't realize you were here."

Your ex-boyfriend went for a hug as he greeted you. You and Mason ended your relationship over a year ago, and though you felt no animosity towards the football player, the breakup had been hard as everybody on the internet seemed to have an opinion on it. It was mutual breakup, you both were in different stages in your life and it just seemed like it wasn't your time.

"Yeah, I was celebrating y/bff/n's birthday with a few other girls, but I have no idea where they are and they have my cell." You were starting to get frustrated as you felt like they left without you.

"Oh no, I would help you look but I'm about to head out. Let me give you a ride home, I would hate for you to be here by yourself."

You knew if somebody saw you and Mason alone it would cause chaos all over again, but you had no other choice at the moment and you just wanted to go to bed. You agreed and as you left you both were oblivious to the cameras taking pictures of you leaving through the back door together.

As you pulled up to your hotel you smiled at Mason and thanked him.

"You're a lifesaver Mase seriously, I don't know what I would've done if I never found them or you."

"You don't have to thank me y/n. I will always look out for you even if we're broken up. I still care for you."

"You're a great friend, I'll always look out for you too."

"And um I have to ask,"

You could tell he was nervous as he scratched the back of his neck and his cheeks flushed slightly.

"What is it Mase?"

"Do you love him?"

You were surprised by the question, not expecting him to bring up Lando.

"Um yeah-yes. I love him so much, I can't even find the words to describe it to be honest. I don't think any song I write can even measure to how strong my love is for him."

"That's good, yeah, that's great. I just, I'm happy you found your person y/n. You know, I thought that person would be me, but if you're happy, than I am too. I guess we just weren't meant to be."

"Mase, you're one of the most amazing people I've met, seriously. I don't think it was ever in the cards for us, but you've taught me so much and you'll always have a special place in my heart. You will find your person one day, I promise."

You smiled at Mason as you spoke, not realizing you had given him the closure he had been needing for a year.

Lando was freaking out.

He had been sent the article of you and Mason over 5 times already and you hadn't answered your phone in over 2 hours. His mind was reeling as he was thinking about what you could possibly be doing right now. Even though he trusted you more than anything, he couldn't help but let it get to him. Why aren't you answering?

He knew your phone was charged and turned on considering he can still see your location. As he checked it again, he realized you were no longer at the club. You were at someone's apartment. Why weren't you at your hotel? Who's apartment was this?

Before he let himself jump to conclusions, he called y/bff/n knowing you two went out together.

"LANDOOOO! HI."

"Y/bff/n, hey is y/n with you?"

"Y/n? Oh nooooo. Aw I miss her Lan, is she with you?"

"What? No, how could she be with me? I'm in Monaco right now."

"Oh. Then I'm not so sure."

Lando could feel himself getting frustrated as he spoke with the clearly intoxicated girl.

"Okay, did she go home with you? With anyone else?"

"I don't know, you should probably call her or something."

"I did, over 10 times in the past hour."

"Oh maybe she's busy! Let me know how it goes, bye!"

"Wait-"

She hung up. Lando was going to throw up. He was never considered himself as an insecure guy, but he couldn't help but feel there was something going on. He's seen those tweets and comments saying how much everyone loved you and Mason together. What if those comments made you realize they were right? What if you were with Mason right now? Lando wanted to cry, scream and throw up all at once.

Three loud knocks woke you up from your beauty sleep. You were still in last night's clothes as you were too tired to even change after the nights disaster. You opened the door and your best friend ran in and hugged you.

"Y/N! I'm so so sorry for leaving you all by yourself. I was completely blacked out and I guess I was acting sloppy because y/f/n said we got kicked out of the club! I was acting too drunk and they got mad im so so sorry, this is all my fault and we tried to tell security to get you but they were so mean and-"

"Y/bff/n stop. It's fine, it was your birthday, you deserved to act a little crazy."

"Still babe, I'm sorry. Now that article is being spread like crazy and it's all because of me."

"What are you talking about? What article?"

"Shit. I forgot, here's your phone. But I have to warn you, people saw you leaving the club with Mason last night and the rumors have already begun. Im sorry hun."

Oh god.

Lando🧡 15 missed calls 5 unread messages

YourPublicist 2 missed calls 1 unread message

Danny Ric🤠 2 unread messages

Y/f/n 8 unread messages

The notifications were endless as you scrolled through your phone but there was only one that you really cared about. You immediately called Lando, afraid he was angry at you for this mess.

"Lan, baby, I'm so sorry for worrying you. I just opened your messages, y/bff/n had my phone all night." You immediately gave him a run down of the night as you knew what it was like to be in his position. The media has circulated so many rumors about your relationship overnight and you knew how hard that was. You had dealt with it all throughout your career and you were heartbroken it was happening to Lando because of you.

"That's weird because I actually called y/bff/n last night and she did not mention she had your phone."

"She was so out of it last night, she probably forgot she even had it. Oh god, she was downing shots I'm honestly not even surprised she got kicked out, she was so crazy-"

"Y/n, you don't understand, I have not slept all night. I was worried and everyone is talking about this. I look like an idiot in this situation."

You knew Lando was going to be upset but after your explanation, you didn't expect for him to still be angry at you.

"I know, the night was a mess, but nothing happened with Mason. He just dropped me off and I'm grateful it was him and not some random taxi."

"You're grateful it was him? You're grateful these pictures are all over the internet?"

"That's not what I meant! I meant he was the safest option at that moment, I had nobody else."

"Yeah. Half of the internet is happy it was him. People are actually celebrating thinking you guys are back together."

"Don't listen to them Lan, me and Mase are never getting back together. People will accept it over time and this will blow over."

"Why are you being so casual about this? Do you even know how I felt last night when you weren't answering. I was going to be sick thinking what you could possibly be doing with him."

"Lan, I told you nothing happened. Why aren't you believing me?"

"This is just all too much." Lando knew he was overreacting a bit. Your story made sense and it all lined up, but he had spent the entire night overthinking and reading the rumors about you two that he couldn't get them out of his mind. He loved you so much and last night made him realize how easily he can lose you and that thought terrified him. You were everything to him, but did you really feel the same way?

"Are you breaking up with me? Seriously? Over a stupid tabloid, I can't believe this." You felt betrayed. Did he not trust you?

"I dont know, it's just hard for me wrap my head around this right now."

"Lan, my flight to Monaco leaves in a few hours, how about we just talk about this in person when our heads are clear?"

Lando was getting angrier as the call went on. He knew his insecurities were getting the best of him right now but he felt like you weren't listening to him. You were trying to brush this off when the whole world was going against you two right now.

"Wow Y/n. My heads pretty fucking clear right now. You know what? Maybe it's best if you don't come, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay."

one week later

liked by user 1, user 2, masonmount and 3,593,304 others

yourusername life atm. p.s all new music released from now on is coming from the comfort of my own bed <3

comments on this post have been limited

yourbff love u. coming over rn🏃‍♀️

yourusername pls dont forget snacks

taylorswift need this new album right now

danielricciardo ❤️‍🩹

liked by user1, user2 and 231,583 others

dailymail Singer Y/n Y/l/n spotted once again with Manchester United star, Mason Mount, leaving a restaurant with a few other football players. Are the two officially back together? Rumors of her breakup with Formula One driver, Lando Norris have been circulating for over a week now after Y/l/n and Mount were seen leaving a club together. Read more on this new love triangle in our article linked in our bio.

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user1 im so excited for this album HAHAHA

user2 team mason idc

user3 funny how the last song she dropped was titled slut, if the shoe fits :)

user4 slut shaming in 2023? disgusting.

user5 i refuse to believe her and lando broke up sorry

user6 delulu is the solulu atp😁

notes: another cliffhanger!!!🤸‍♀️also this isn't proofread at all my bad heh

tags: @jayrami3 @whoselly @roseseraj @saturnbloom77 @landowecanbewc

[sports-on-sundays]

Okay so 🤭 what if Y/N use to be with ( whatever Barca player you choose ) and they broke it off because they supposedly wanted to focus on their career and the reader was really heartbroken and omg to make it more better y/n is Carlos sister and then she sees or hear how they moved on already! And little by little she starts to be with lando and they announce their relationship when he wins in Miami!! Like full on hard launch. 😭🙌🏽

Also this got me motivated to think of more ideas ima write them down for the future 🤭

papaya girl / LN4

Summary: ex!Ferran x Sainz!baker!reader x Lando - After a devastating breakup with your footballing boyfriend, you think you'll never be able to date someone again.

Warnings: there's a golf scene and I don't golf so-!🤞, mention of sickness, foul language, sorry if some things are not accurate, headache, partying/dancing/drunkenness/clubbing, mention of getting so drunk you had no memory of what happened, implied getting drunk to dampen emotions, getting injured, vomiting, slight soulmate feel, a bit of suggestive talk, use of babe/baby/bae/baby girl/etc., I feel like every kiss I describe is exactly the same sooo- sorry about that! ✌

Requested?: YES! 😘

Author's Note: Do you ever write something so good that you wish you could make it into a movie? That's how I feel about this. I can imagine the scenes. Didn't plan it but I guess 24 is the magic number for this one. I made the request more dramatic because... I like doing that... 👉 👈 🥺 ALSO THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST. PERFECT MIX OF ANGST AND FLUFF. I LITERALLY LOVE YOU! If you do have any more ideas and you're up for it, let me know!

When you met Ferran Torres, you were a Madridista with a passion for Ferrari. Being a Sainz, you've always been rooting for Real Madrid, but your favorite Formula 1 team isn't as consistent. Because before that, you were a McLaren fan. And before that, Red Bull. And everything else before that, too.

Wherever Carlos is, you're a fan of it.

You, quite literally, on the day you met Ferran, were wearing a Cristiano Ronaldo jersey and a backwards Ferrari cap.

And, well, he, a new arrival from Manchester City, liked that, apparently!

And it was beautiful. They way you slowly became closer and closer, growing to know each other more and more.

And then, maybe you just hit a point. Hit a point in your relationship where you wanted more, and Ferran realized that if any more was given by him, it would be too far for him.

And he cut it off. Said he was doing well in Barcelona. He had high hopes. You, a sold out Madrid fan, had been wearing his number on the back of a blaugrana jersey. And despite that blaugrana jersey, he ditched you.

He said his work, his career, his passions, his dreams, were more important than you.

But you can't complain, Y/n. That's fair. He was gentle in letting you know. He made it clear he didn't want any malice between you and him.

You roll over in bed, staring vacantly at your wall. There's a large Real Madrid flag hanging in the middle. A smaller Ferrari flag on one side. A few posters of bands and teams you like or events you've been to, signed by different celebrities. People who are more famous than 'Carlos Sainz Jr.'s sister' or 'Ferran Torres's ex-girlfriend.' On one side, it seems silly to have a poster signed by Max Verstappen, but you do. On the other side of the flag, you have a peeling old McLaren poster, showing the younger versions of Carlos and his former racing partner, Lando Norris, looking just seconds away from breaking into a loud, hysterical laughter.

And next to that, you have a Barcelona poster.

You smile sadly to yourself.

I must look like such a conflicted sports fan.

You stand up, walking over to the wall. After gently peeling the Barcelona poster off the wall, you slowly trace the badge with your fingers, any hint of a smile now gone as tears begin to fill your eyes, threatening to fall.

"This is stupid," you murmur scornfully, your voice cracking softly. "This isn't even my team! It's not my city...!" You toss the poster across the room, leaving it in a place where you don't intend to pick it up anytime soon.

Let it gather dust and crumple. That's what Ferran did. He threw away our relationship like it was nothing but a worthless piece of paper. And now I'm suffering the consequences.

You sigh. You're trying not to let yourself be bitter. You want to look back on everything you and Ferran had and be happy. Appreciate it. You still love Ferran. You don't want to be angry with him.

Someone said to you once, Hurt heals with time, as long as you let it.

You grab a bold, red Sharpie from your drawer and your notebook from a dresser. You scribble those words in all caps, rip out the page, grab some tape, and hang the piece of paper where the FC Barcelona poster used to be.

You sigh, but nod, before turning to get ready for your day.

You hate winter. You never hated winter before this winter, but now you hate it.

With the breakup, you've been avoiding anything La Liga like the plague, even if it doesn't involve Ferran Torres. It just reminds you too much.

And with Carlos on winter break, getting ready for the start of the season, he's not around much. Going on different trips, he's quite busy. Which you don't like. You and your brother have a strong bond.

It's not like you don't have anything to do. You just don't have anything interesting to do. You have a shop that you run, but you have enough staff hired to not have to be there all the time.

Yes, in a family of racing, you were never too into it. Your strong spot is in baking and business running, so that's why you opened up a bakery in Madrid.

And being a Sainz, of course it was a success.

Same type of thing as Charles Leclerc's 'LEC,' except you're not the racing driver Charles Leclerc, you're not doing ice cream, and you've always been doing this, for five years now.

You watch as a young, excited couple walks in, jabbering away in English. You can just tell they're tourists as they get in line to order. Once they get to the counter, the woman immediately leans over the counter in excitement, saying, "Is Carlos Sainz here?" in English.

You chuckle. Sounds American. "Which Carlos Sainz?" you tease.

They look blankly at you as if you're just about the dumbest individual to walk planet Earth. You chuckle and say, "Why don't you get to ordering? There's a line."

Towards the afternoon, as things begin to quiet down just a little bit, you look up at the doorbell jingles and freeze.

When he reaches the counter, you snap at Ferran, "Why are you in Madrid?"

"Am I not allowed to be? Either way, hello to you, too."

You sigh, licking your lips as you study the Valencian boy. "What can I get for you?"

He shrugs and orders, before seating himself down at one of the seats at the counter. "How have you been, Y/n?" he asks.

"Fine," you swallow, staring down. "And you?"

"I'm good." From there, he begins just talking, as if we're old friends or something, and not exes.

He seems so happy. So content.

To not be with you.

Suddenly, mid-way through one of his many sentences, you slip your hand over his, almost on impulse. He stops, staring to your hands, and then to you.

You breathe softly, "Why? Why did you come here to just talk to me? Aren't you moved on? Ferran, this is torture for me."

Lines crease into his face. You can see him swallow, looking at your smaller hand on his. "I'm... I'm sorry. I am moved on. I'm doing well. I just thought maybe we could be friends. I'd never want to date you again; I'm not in the place to date anyone. I'm happy single. But I just feel bad. I know you're hurt, and... I'd be happy to still be friends with you, is all?" He slips his hand out from underneath yours and takes his cup of coffee with it, taking a sip as he watches you intently.

You drag a hand over your face. Though you didn't want to admit it, seeing him come in to the bakery gave you hope. That maybe he wanted to try again. But those words that came out of his mouth? They cut deep.

"Listen, Ferran," you barely whisper. "I'm still trying to work through what happened. Everything. It's hard for me. But I appreciate it, and when I'm ready, if I'm ever ready, I'd love to be your friend. O- Okay?"

He nods slowly, staring down. "Alright... Fair enough."

"What's wrong?" your older brother, Carlos, asks. You watch outside the window as the world travels by.

You sigh. "Ferran."

"Him, again?"

"Carlos," you sigh. "Stop. It's nothing new. I'm just missing him. He wants to stay friends, but I said I needed time."

"Ah. Well, you know, I did tell you never to date-"

"-a Barcelona player. I know," you roll your eyes with a little smile.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Hurt heals with time, as-"

"-long as you let it. I know," you comment, smiling a bit wider.

"Exactly. It'll come."

You sigh. "I hope so."

As Carlos pulls into the parking lot, you say, "So. Is that why you decided to take me golfing with your friends? Just wanted to check up on me, but you never have the time to sit down over dinner these days?"

Carlos smiles as he shuts off the car. "No. I could have made time. But I wanted your company golfing."

"You know I'm not big on g-"

"Shut up," he grins. "Yes you are."

"I suck."

"Not as bad as some people I know. In fact, you're actually pretty okay."

Soon, you meet up with a bunch of Carlos's friends. They're all chatting, and you're just kind of zoning off, looking out over the grassy hills, when suddenly you look up when Carlos says, "Ay! Lando!"

You blink in complete and utter shock. "Why is Lando Norris here?"

As Lando approaches, he eyes you, saying teasingly, "Well, thank you for the warm welcome, Y/n Sainz."

"Lando was just around, so he made the drive to meet us here," Carlos quickly fills in.

Soon, you're all off. After a round, as you're walking back to the cart to go get lunch, Carlos says, nudging Lando, "I think my baby sister is better than you."

Lando laughs. "You fucking muppet; what are you talking about?"

You grin, falling in step with Lando and Carlos. "I'm a better golfer."

"That is just wrong," Lando says, glancing at you. "Downright wrong."

"It's a Sainz thing," Carlos puts in. "There's no way for you to beat us, Lando. You can't. Winning runs in the family."

Lando rolls his eyes, reiterating, "Your baby sister is not better than me."

"You have no right to call me a baby," you put in indignantly. "I'm probably older than you."

Lando looks at you, his nose all scrunched up. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

"Hah! Same age."

"That still doesn't mean you get to call me a baby!"

"Her birthday is in January; different year than Lando's. Lando, you can call her a baby; you're older," Carlos says.

"Carlos!" you snap. "Don't give him permission!"

Carlos grins and shakes his head as he breaks off to chat with some of his other friends and get on the cart with them.

Lando grins, giving a discreet pat on your lower back as he murmurs, "Sorry, baby."

And for some reason, that makes you feel things. You decide to blame it on the fact that Lando's just good-looking.

Once you're all seated down with your lunch, you comment, "So what's with the whole..." your hand goes to your chin, referring to his facial hair, as you look at Lando expectantly.

Lando slams down his fork, saying lightheartedly, "Sick of people asking me that!"

You smirk. "Makes you look like you're forty."

"Whatever, baby."

"You know, I have a picture on my wall of you and Carlos when you were just babies, too."

As soon as Lando raises an eyebrow with a smirk, you know it was a mistake to word it that way. "You have a picture of me and Carlos on your wall?" he asks, mock condescendingly.

"No, no. I mean, I do, but- It's just an old McLaren poster." You immediately look down.

"What, are you a fan of mine?" Lando teases further.

"No! I'm a fan of Carlos, and you just so happened to be his teammate at that time. The point is that you two look like pipsqueaks in that photo! Lando, you looked so awkward, with all your acne-"

"What, Lando, you think she's a McLaren fan? She's sold out for Ferrari," Carlos interrupts.

"Literally! I deck myself out in red every Sunday!"

"Today's Sunday," Lando starts like the stupid idiot he is, "And I don't see you wearing red."

You groan, leaning back, covering your face in your hands. "Carlos, how are you this guy's friend? He's so annoying! Why'd you invite him for? How do you put up with him?"

Carlos just smirks, patting your shoulder, and says, "I'm used to having to put up with irritable people, after having to grow up with you."

You roll your eyes, fighting off a smile as all the guys around you at the table laugh out loud.

On the car ride back, you're mostly silent, your thoughts swimming with one thing and one thing only.

Lando Norris.

And there's a soft smile on your face as you think about your morning with him.

But Carlos can tell you're deep in thought. Usually, you'd be yapping away right now. "Anything on your mind?" he asks carefully.

You sigh. "Not much."

"You're bad at lying. You're staring out the window dreamily. What's on your mind?"

You sigh. "It's stupid. You'll make fun of me."

"I'm not stupid, though. I can already guess what it is."

You gulp. "How?"

"For the whole day, the only person you talked to was Lando."

You feel your stomach drop. "It's nothing serious, Carlos. He's just funny."

"You said something like that to me about Ferran Torres right before you officially started dating."

That makes you feel a bit sick. "Carlos, I won't let that happen again."

"Don't. And don't be getting interested in anyone until you're over your ex. And we both know you're not. And please don't be getting interested in someone like Lando."

"Why?" You eyebrows scrunch together. "I thought you two were buddies."

Carlos grins teasingly. "If you somehow got yourself with him, there would always be two annoying people in one place."

"You're intolerable!" you snap, laughing.

"You are too, hermana."

It strikes Carlos as strange when the first thing Lando says to him the weekend of Bahrain, before even a hello, is: "Is your sister here?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Lando shrugs. "She's nice."

"No... She'll be coming to Australia, though..." Carlos can't help but feel suspicion fill his chest. He's always been somewhat protective of you, being his little sister and all.

"Perfect," Lando grins, and he's off.

In Australia, like any other race, you're decked out in your red. Ferrari hat, Ferrari jacket, red jeans. Ferrari earrings. Even your black shoes have a stripe of red on the sides.

Carlos always tells you it's dumb. But it's become a part of your whole thing, since you spend a huge amount of your life following Carlos around and going to Grand Prixs.

It's fun sometimes, being Carlos Sainz Jr.'s sister!

But when you see a shock of papaya in your red world called Ferrari's hospitality, you squint, slipping your sunglasses up on your hat, and say, "Who said you could walk in like that uninvited?"

"No one," Lando grins, "but I'm only here to see you."

Your eyebrows raise as you stand up. "Wha-"

"Come with me. I'm going to barf if I have to breathe Ferrari air any longer. Just your terrible get-up is making me nauseous. I guess I'll be free from seeing that stupid outfit next year when Carlos isn't in Ferrari-"

"Oh, shut it, you!" you snap, but follow him with a grin on your face.

"So you broke up with your Barcelona man?" Lando start, cutting straight to the chase.

"Uh-" you swallow. "He broke up with me."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

You're not sure why Lando wants to know, and he certainly doesn't have any reason to know, but still you say, "We had been dating for a while, you know? I wanted something more. You know, to go deeper. Someday, I'd love to even maybe get married. But, Ferran... well, he didn't want to go the step deeper. Said he wanted to focus on his career. He broke it off. We're on fine terms, though."

"Ah..." he nods slowly. "That sounds like a tough breakup."

"Yeah... Yeah, it was."

He continues nodding, and catches your eye before saying, "So I'm assuming you want to... you know, you won't be up for any more relationships any time soon? Lot to work through?"

You suddenly feel your face begin to heat up. "Uh, well- depends on who it is, I suppose," you blurt without thinking.

"Hm?" He raises an eyebrow. A little smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Well, considering the fact that your face is just about as red as that Ferrari hat on your head, I'm wondering what you think of me."

You swallow, feeling even more embarrassed. "Are you suggesting...?"

"If you're up for it, the night after the Grand Prix, you can meet me at my hotel room, and we'll go from there. Text me if you decide 'yes,' for the details."

"I don't have your numb-"

He gives a cute little smile and opens his hand to reveal a folded up piece of paper. "Now you do. See you later, Miss Sainz!"

You stand, dumbfounded, as he jogs off.

"Oh my God, Carlos! Well done! So well done! Oh my God!" you scream in the midst of your strings of excited swear words, in both Spanish and English. "Did you actually just win the Australian Grand Prix?!"

He grins as he kisses your cheek, patting your back and saying, "Yes, I actually just did."

You hug your older brother tight, resting your head on his shoulder. "Love you. You did amazing. After everything you've been through. You're going to be leaving Ferrari next season and with your surgery and everything and-"

He smiles a bit. "Want to let me go now? Can't squeeze me too tight, remember?"

"So you can drive a race car and win the race, but you're too fragile for me to hug you!" you laugh, but release him from the hug.

He laughs out loud. "Yes, pretty much."

Hours later, you stand in the lit, mostly empty hallway, knocking on the white-painted door. You've change out of your Ferrari red head-to-toe fit, and are now wearing a black t-shirt with the F1 logo in red on the left side, black sweatpants, and your hair held back by a headband.

Lando probably isn't here, you think as you wait. I look so stupid. He doesn't care as much as he acts like he does. He's probably out partying or something. He got a podium. Carlos won. There's no way he's just sitting around in his hotel room-

You look up in surprise as the door clicks and swings open to reveal Lando Norris standing before you.

You beam and say a bit too loud, "Lando!"

He laughs. "Hey..." He's dressed in a white button down, dark blue jeans, and his regular assortment of jewelry. "Want to come in for a bit?"

You nod. "Were you... just out?" you ask slowly.

He chuckles again, plopping down on the sofa. "If I were just out, I wouldn't be looking this neat."

"Oh... Oh?"

"Come on. Sit down next to me," he encourages with a wave of his hand. "Something funny- I've had my eyes on you for a while now."

You look up in somewhat shock. "That's why you're so confident about this?"

"That, and that I'm just the peak of all confidence," he jokes, clearly mocking cockiness.

You roll your eyes.

"But really. I've been flirting with you for a while."

This time your eyes widen. "No way."

"Just little. I knew you were dating that Torres-"

"How?"

He smiles. "Doesn't take much to find out. Anyway, I think you just blocked it out because you were dating someone else. Shows you're a loyal girl."

"Hm..." you nod slowly. "I... I suppose...?"

Suddenly, he takes your hand in his. "So, you like me?"

"I think I have for a while. Like you said- I blocked it out because I was dating someone else." You didn't even know that until now, hearing the words coming from your mouth.

He smirks. "Even better. So..."

"Yeah?" you ask, a little glimmer in your eyes.

"I'd like to know what the hell you're wearing."

Suddenly, your face falls. "Uh- I'm sorry- I- I thought we- Um-"

Lando laughs. "Y/n! I'm teasing!"

"O- Oh!" you laugh nervously.

"I was just thinking... Maybe you'd want to go out and celebrate with me?"

"Oh-" you nod. "Right."

"So, do you want to get changed? I'll text you where we'll meet in a half hour?"

You grin, standing up. "Sounds good."

"See you then."

"Holy fuck, man," are Lando's first words when he sees you. You're wearing sunglasses, a form-fitting sequin shirt, and flattering white jeans.

"What?" you ask anxiously. "Is it too much?"

"Too much? Y/n, you're gorgeous."

You sigh in relief. "Alright good... And- one thing."

"Hm?" Lando asks, an eyebrow raised.

"I don't know if we... could we say we're... that you're my..."

"Partner? Boyfriend?"

You swallow. "Sure. I think... I think I'm good with that. At least for tonight."

He nods.

"But let's not make it clear here. I don't want the way for everyone to find out about this being, you know, by nightclub pictures on the internet."

He smirks a bit, nodding. "Fair enough, then. Let's go."

"Rise and shine! Let's hit the grind, Y/n!" an unfamiliar voice wakes you up.

You roll over to see Lando's handsome face looking down at you. You're in his hotel room, in the one bed. He's all dressed and ready to go, and towering over you, looking like a giddy dog.

You sit up, rubbing your eyes. "I've got a killer headache. What happened last night." You feel disgusting, and wrinkle your nose as you get a whiff of the alcohol scent radiating off of you.

He grins. "I learned that you have no tolerance whatsoever."

You frown. "Unlike you, Norris, I'm not getting drunk all the time! Now, tell me what really happened!"

"Nothing much. Just a lot of fun," he sits down next to you, "and it's a shame that you can't remember any of it." He chuckles a bit, saying, "You got fucking wild. You were more fun though before you got absolutely drunk out of your wits."

"You didn't do anyth-"

"No, no!" he rolls his eyes. "Besides, Carlos was there. I wouldn't dare. You at least remember Carlos, right, being there?"

You roll your eyes. "Yes, of course I do."

"But you really did completely black out? You don't remember anything?"

You swallow nervously. "No... I don't really remember anything... I mean, I guess..." You close your eyes, thinking hard. "Just dancing... music was super loud, but... that's not anything specific. I don't feel well at all now, though..." You start to feel a bit dizzy at the energy you're putting into trying to remember.

You open your eyes and look at Lando.

He smiles. "Well, it was fun, nothing more. Want me to bring you back to your hotel now?"

"Yeah, I guess..." you nod, cradling your head in your hands. "That'd be great..." You see the wine stain on your jeans. You can feel an ache in your ankle. You just need to clean yourself up.

Lando helps you limp to the car, assuring you that you just tripped. Saying your ankle is fine; it'll feel better in a few days' time.

You're not so sure.

As Lando drives, he knows he should tell you the details, like Carlos said.

But it still feels like you'd be better off not knowing at all.

Nine hours before

Though every single one of Lando's molecules in his body told him not to, he had to keep pushing you off. He sat talking away with some other dudes, and you sat his side, drunkenly trying to wrap your arms around him.

You blubbered softly about all kinds of stuff, a strange mixture of being utterly devastated and overly romantic.

Lando knew. You didn't get drunk this often.

A part of him felt bad. A huge part of him. He didn't think he had pressured you into anything. Certainly not intentionally. And you were the one who kept drinking more. But maybe he did...

Maybe it was his fault you were the mess you were now.

"Lando..." you murmured, your hand gripping his bicep. You leaned closer. "You're so sexy in that shirt." You reached over to unbutton another button of his shirt.

He gently pushed you away for the millionth time. "Remember, Y/n? You don't want anyone to know you're into me this much," he whispered lowly to you, running a hand through his hair. "Remember that, baby."

You pouted. "Ferran broke up with me and made me sad. Can't you make me happy now."

"Not now. I won't be doing anything when you're this drunk."

"I'm not that drunk..."

Lando snorted. "Whatever you say, lovely."

All was going as fine as it could be going. But then Carlos showed up. "Hey, Y/n-" he had started.

But you had interrupted him by slapping your hand on Lando's shoulder, leaning into it, and giggling giddily, "Look at this pretty boy."

Immediately, Carlos's eyes flashed with shock. And then vague panic. And then anger.

"Lando, how drunk did you get her?!" he snapped, raising his voice even more than he already was. The flashing lights on the Spanish man's face helped Lando's anxiety no more.

"I didn't get her drunk at all! I tried to stop h-"

"Yeah, fucking right. Come with me Lando-"

"No!" you had snapped, standing up to grab Lando's sleeve before your older brother could drag him away.

You were clearly biting back tears. "Lan didn't do anything..." You stumbled drunkenly into the British man, who steadied you gently, before helping you sit down again.

Carlos's face remained hard and steadied on Lando, but he spoke no words, as if he was battling in his head what to do.

Lando sighed. "Listen, Carlos. She won't remember any of this tomorrow morning. Let's just not bring this up again, yeah? It was a mistake. Stuff happens. She got wild and had one too many. We've all had those nights."

But Lando genuinely didn't think Carlos had had one of those nights before.

Lando certainly had, though.

"She deserves to know."

"Maybe she shouldn't, though. She's gone through a lot with her ex breaking up with her and everything. And I'm sure your career up in the air isn't helping her cause much, either. She loves you more than the world. And think about how worrying it was for her to see you go into surgery like that, and race right afterwards? The good emotions just hit her, man. But it's probably a lot. She's just going through a lot. She doesn't need the guilt of getting too drunk and acting a little stupid, yeah?" Lando ranted, intently studying the older Spaniard's eyes.

Carlos's eyes slowly softened. "Alright... I won't tell her what's happening once she's sober. Only if I can make a deal with you."

Lando bit his lip, running a hand through his messed up hair. "What is it?"

"I won't say a word to her, as long as you promise to stay away from my sister. I know you're interested in her."

Lando's eyebrows creased together. "What does that men? Why?"

"Quit trying to get with my sister, and then it's a done deal."

Lando let out a shaky breath, slowly nodding. "Alright, then. Whatever. It's a done deal."

Of course Lando didn't intend on following through with his end of the deal.

But when Lando turned around to check on you on the couch, he froze when he saw you were gone. "Where'd Y/n go?" he immediately asked the other guys and girls sitting around.

"The hot Spanish girl?" one guy asked in a painfully slow Australian accent.

"Yes, her!" Lando demanded, his buzzed brain filling with irrational panic and overwhelming confusion.

He lazily gestured and responded, "Went to go dance, I reckon."

And before Carlos or anyone else could react any faster, Lando tore into the crowd, shoving people aside and squeezing through gaps that weren't there, in search of you.

She's drunk out of her mind! What the hell was she thinking!

That's right. She wasn't thinking.

And then, he spotted you, just for a moment. Moving your hips, stumbling about, thinking you were just about the sexiest thing in the room.

"Move out of my fucking way," was Lando's polite way of shoving two guys out of the way.

He could see the sweat glistening on your face. He could see the dumb smile on your face, your high giggles. He could see fresh wine spilled on your white jeans. He could see hands on you; he took no energy to see who they connected to as rage filled his entire being.

And he watched, almost in slow motion, as your ankle rolled on your black stiletto, and you stumbled to the floor with a brain rattling, painful cry.

Immediately, Lando shoved his way to your side, slipping his hands under your body. "My God, Y/n!" he nearly screamed over the music. "You idiot! You beautiful, fucking stupid, idiot! Tell me why I fell in love with you! You're going to be the death of me!"

"Hi Lando," you murmured through tears. "My ankle..."

"Yeah, yeah, I see. Let's get you out of here, yeah?"

You swallowed, nodding as Lando tucked your hair behind your ear. He lifted you to your feet and let you lean on him as he helped you limp out of the club.

"I'm sorry, Lando..." you had muttered hoarsely.

"Hey, don't worry," Lando had responded. "Never apologize for having nothing but a good time."

But he, Lando Norris, disagreed with the words coming out of his mouth. That was his motto, his excuse, all the time. But as soon as soon as he saw you, someone he genuinely really loved, really cared about, living like that?

It made him sick to his stomach.

Speaking of that, as soon as you were outside, you stumbled away from Lando. He steadied you with one hand and held your hair back with the other as you doubled over and vomited, your previously red face impossibly pale.

"Are you done?"

"Yeah..." you gasped after about a minute.

"Alright. Okay. Let's get to my hotel room now."

Lando could barely understand your slurred words as you responded, "As long as we're getting away from here."

Now

You were going to go to the Japanese Grand Prix. But you just wanted to stay home. With a sprained ankle that confines you to crutches and an illness you've picked up, there was no way you were going to fly across the world for a Grand Prix, especially with the potential jet lag.

You lay on your couch and text Lando. You've been thinking, and you let him know that though you really do want to go places with him, you want to go slower.

You still don't know what happened on that night in Melbourne. For some reason, you can't get anything of significance out of Carlos or Lando. But you know more than what they're saying must have happened that night.

You asked Charles, because he was there. He provided a bit more information, but not much. He said he wasn't really hanging around you that night, but that he did see you cuddling with Lando.

When you asked Lando about it, he said you were drunk, it was just you not thinking, and it only happened once. That you stopped after he pushed you off.

And social media shows no one caught it on camera, or anything that night, for that matter.

So at least there's no fans going crazy over anything.

Lando texts you back, saying that he thinks it's best to go slow. Just let yourselves ease into whatever your relationship is going to be.

It's a relief to see he agrees with you on that.

But then he sends another text, asking you to try to keep it a secret. Even from your family, including Carlos.

You ask why, and he responds saying he simply agrees it's good to be private, and he doesn't want Carlos judging.

Though you're not sure about it, since Carlos is not only your favorite (only) brother, but also your best friend, you still tentatively agree to it.

Lando probably has a good reason.

Right?

By the time the Chinese Grand Prix comes around, though your foot is still in a walking boot, you're over your illness, and decide you're going to go for it and make the trip halfway across the world. After all, you've never been to China!

It's true that your walking boot doesn't look the best with your shades, shining silver jewelry, and overalls, but oh well. The most annoying part is literally everyone who even half knows your name (the Sainz part) keeps asking you what the hell happened to your ankle.

And you have literally no response but, "I fell," because you have no more of an idea than them, and there's no way you're about to say, 'Hah I just got drunk with Lando and got so fucking crazy that I twisted my ankle and sprained it! Anyway!'

Yeah, no way.

So "I fell," is the best option you have.

But the most concerning thing to you is that you haven't even seen Lando yet, all weekend. Though you haven't seen each other in a while, you've been calling, texting, and face timing often, your relationship growing a lot.

You chew your lip as you limp towards the McLaren garage. You peek in, scanning for Lando, but only see Oscar.

You limp to him.

"Whoa- What happened to your-"

"I fell," you say, thoroughly exasperated with this. "Anyway, is Lando around?"

"Lando? Uhhh..." he looks around.

Dude, hurry up. I'm not supposed to be here, your thoughts practically scream.

But then he walks in himself, and you grin, waving, "Lando!" you call.

He walks over to you, smiling. "Aw. Look at my little injured girlfr- uh, uhm, mate. My injured mate." He glances nervously at Oscar.

But the Australian just smiles, "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

Lando nods gratefully, before leading you to a more private place. "Hey," he says softly once you're alone, his hands resting on your waist. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright... Ankle's getting better, slowly but surely."

"Oh, good," he almost looks relieved. "That's so good to hear. I'm so glad you made the big trip to be here, Y/n."

You smile softly. "I was starting to miss you."

He grins. "I was missing you, too, baby... I think I could make some time for you this weekend, too. We could just get take out, hang out at my hotel room, you know. No more partying, even if I win, right?" he teases gently, gesturing to your foot.

You snort. "Yeah. Yeah, no more partying for now for me."

Later that night, you lay next to Lando in his hotel room. His arms are wrapped around you, his hand rubbing your back. "Look at me," he murmurs sleepily.

You look up to see his soft eyes looking at you, with so much, tenderness, so much...

love.

You feel a flutter in your stomach. "Lando, how did we get here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Two months ago, I would lie awake in bed, dreaming about and missing Ferran. I was so lonely. Now here I am. Two months, and I'm laying here, in your arms."

He grins a bit. "I bet it's because we're meant for each other."

"That's cliché."

"No, it's not. I really mean it. You know, I had a crush on you even back when Carlos was in McLaren, you were around a lot more, in papaya."

"No, you didn't-"

"Yes, I did!" he laughs softly. "I really did. The day I saw you in the paddock. The day Carlos pointed you out as his sister. The day you flipped your hair and looked at me with those warm brown eyes. And then looked away from me, because in my first season in McLaren, I was the farthest thing from attractive."

You giggle at this. "You're kidding."

"No, I'm not! That was the day that I knew- I knew- that someday, I was going to make you mine," he murmurs, his eye half-lidded as his hand gently caresses your cheek.

"Lando!" you squeak, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. "Don't you dare make me cry for no reason!" You wait a minute, before saying softly, "Well, maybe, just maybe, back then, though you were a pipsqueak, you were kind of cute... And I've always gotten butterflies from your jokes and teasing, even all those years ago, before I was even dating Ferran."

He laughs. "Awww... So you've always had a little bit of a crush on me, too!" You can see by his blushing cheeks and beaming eyes that just this fact is making him feel warm inside.

You roll your eyes, giggling. "I guess, maybe...."

He flicks your nose gently, playfully, holding you even closer. You lay there in more silence, before Lando says softer, even more tenderly, "Hey, Y/n... can I talk to you about something...?"

"Of course, Lando..." Your eyebrows knit together.

You watch as he swallows. Nods. Sighs. "Okay... Something has been bugging me..." He pauses. "I... I feel like I never should have brought you out that night in Australia... you know? Like, beyond the sprained ankle."

Your eyes flash. "What do you mean?"

"Well... You just got so drunk, and... I feel so bad... Like, somehow, it's my fault... I didn't mean for you to get hurt, or to drink that much... I just thought we'd have fun. Like I always do with my friends. And you're my girlfriend; supposed to be my closest friend..."

"Lando," you murmur shakily. "Did you try to get me that drunk? You didn't encourage it, did you?"

He looks nervous. "I genuinely don't think so, but I'm nervous I did... I tried to tell you enough was enough, but maybe I should have looked out for you more... Maybe I should have worked better at keeping you from getting that drunk... But we were having so much fun and I figured you would know your limit... I shouldn't have assumed."

"Lando! Don't blame yourself! It was my fault. I got too drunk, I fell and sprained my ankle. The sentiment of you wanting to look out for me is nice, but when push comes to shove, I'm in charge of myself, just like you're in charge of yourself, and it was my fault. My mistake. M'kay, Lando...?"

He nods slowly, still looking a bit unsure. "Well, Carlos isn't mad at you about it. He's mad at me..."

"Carlos is what?!"

"Ah, fuck. Forget I ever-"

"Lando Norris, explain."

"Whoa, that's sexy," he laughs.

"What?!" you exclaim in exasperation, yet you're still unable to keep your stomach fluttering by Lando's sudden spoken intrusive thought.

He grins, his eyebrows raised. "I don't know. Full name, in such a firm voice? Like, yes, mommy, order me around. I'll do whatever you want me to," he says in a low, goofy, teasing voice.

You can't stop your face from heating up. "Oh, shut it, you!" you snap, your voice cracking awkwardly as you flick him in the nose this time. And you flick his stupid nose harder than he flicked yours earlier.

He giggles evilly, rolling over. "Look at yourself! You liked that! You're a blushing mess!"

"No, I didn't. What a stupid way to flirt."

"Oh, well, I can show you even more stupid ways to flirt. Because, apparently, it doesn't quicken your heart rate at all."

You groan. "You are so annoying."

He leans over, giving you a peck on your lips. "I know. And you know you love me for it."

You forget to ask him again about Carlos.

"Baby, c'mere," Lando says, nodding for you to join him in his driver's room.

"Dude, watch what you call me when there's listening ears around."

Lando shrugs. "It's only Oscar in the other room."

"So? What makes you trust Oscar so much, anyway?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. He's a good guy. And he's not gossipy, like me."

You laugh. "You are, are you?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm a fucking gossip girl."

You laugh out loud at this as Lando shuts the door of his driver's room behind you.

Lando grins. "Anyways, Oscar is trustworthy because he's not the type of guy to have any desire not to keep a secret."

You frown, crossing your arms. "Alright. Whatever. Anyways, why'd you bring me in here?"

Lando shrugs, sitting down on the one chair in the room. "Sit down, babe."

You blink. "Where? On the fricking floor?"

"Uh, no," Lando rolls his eyes jokingly, as if this is the most obvious thing. "On my fricking lap, Y/n. Come on now. Duh."

You can't help but find yourself blush at that as you slip onto his lap. He wraps his hands around your waist, giving you a kiss on the cheek. You smile, leaning into him as you ask softly, "So why'd you bring me in here? Just for kicks?"

He grins. "I need my Y/n fix before the race. You know, it'll make me drive better."

"Oh? Is that how it works?" Suddenly, though, before Lando can respond, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You slip it out and sigh. "It's Carlos, asking me where I am. I feel like I'm under surveillance."

Lando blows a raspberry before saying, "Just ignore it, bae. You're a twenty-four year old woman; Carlos needs to get over it."

"Get over what?" you ask, an eyebrow raised.

"You not being his baby sister anymore. You're my baby now," he murmurs into your shoulder, pulling you closer to himself.

You laugh. "I still can't decide whether you're the worst flirt I've ever met or the smoothest. But right now, I'm thinking the worst."

"Oh, well!" he says, looking up at you with innocent eyes, batting his lashes. "Doesn't matter to me, because either way, you like it! Anyway, back to before Carlitos had to interrupt-"

You giggle as he begins kissing your face and say, "Carlitos? I'm not even allowed to call him that without him going psycho man on me-"

"Mmm... Can you talk less? It's cuter when you do that giggle thing," Lando murmurs between kisses.

This causes you to laugh out loud. "Sometimes, Lando, I think you're so weird." You realize, in a strange way, though, Lando is right. Because of the giddy feeling of literally having your boyfriend shower you with kisses and love, you're just kind of trying to find anything to talk about.

But maybe you should just take one moment to shut up.

You lean into the kisses, exhaling slowly. Contently, despite your pounding heart and sweating neck.

Finally, you feel as though your face is absolutely, completely covered in Lando's kisses. You sigh, contented, as Lando kisses the tip of your nose, and then pecks your lips.

You giggle, opening your eyes to gaze into his.

But his eyes flutter shut as he leans in, his hand slipping to the nape of your neck. And his lips meet yours again, this time in a real kiss. You shut your eyes, enjoying those lips on your own, sending tingles throughout your whole body, causing your breath to grow heavier and heavier. Desire pulses in every beat of your heart, causing the passion in the kiss to build and build. Your right hand falls into his chest as the other knits itself in his curly locks. You feel Lando's hand on your hip as his fingers snake under to grip your ass gently. You can feel his hot breath on you, in you, apart of you, as his other hand gently stroking your neck, giving you little twitches of longing for more. Your tongues find an art of lingering exploration, Lando's hunger seeming to never be satisfied as his tongue and lips tease your nerves, the emotional and physical connections between you seeming stronger than ever. His hand slides down your neck to your back, pulling you closer to him, so your chests are pressed into one another.

Suddenly, though, there's a pounding on the door of Lando's driver's room. Your eye cracks open. Lando's squeeze tighter shut, his eyebrows creasing together, as if he wishes so much that this never has to end.

Lando grunts, finally pulling away. Oscar's voice on the other side of the door saying Lando's name seems to be in another, insignificant world. You're both gasping as you study each other's eyes in a certain awe.

A soft, mischievous smirk appears on Lando's lips. Those lips that now you can't stop staring at. "Was your first kiss with Torres that hot?"

You let out a breathy laugh. "Definitely not."

There's a pause, of just softly smiling, gazing into each other's eyes, before Lando breathes, his eyes half-lidded, "My fucking God," He gently, slowly strokes your warm, pink cheek. "Did I ever tell you how head over heels I am for you?"

Before you can respond, Oscar's voice says again from outside, "Lando, if you don't respond, soon, I'm coming in."

Lando groans again, leaning his head back, "You can't! The door's locked!" He then adds under his breath, "Fucking Osc, interrupting as soon as I was going to take it to the next step."

At this, you blush even deeper. "You were-"

Lando waves his hand dismissively. "I would have checked with you first."

You nod, breathing deeply.

"Alright, baby," he sighs, running a hand through his hair, ruffling it up a bit. "Let's go see what the hell Oscar wants."

When the door swings open, Oscar can't help but chuckle how how much, in that moment, you two look like some snarky super villian duo, about to give him some cheesy monologue. You both stand, arms crossed, practically back to back. Lando wears a scornful grin and you display a glare as hard as stone. Even your clothes- Lando's racing clothes and your head-to-toe Ferrari red, finish off the silly look.

"What's so funny?" you demand upon seeing the Australian's laughter.

"Nothing, nothing. But I hope you guys know: These walls are not soundproof."

"What are you suggesting?" Lando snaps. "You couldn't have possibly heard anything, you idiot!"

"Whoa, whoa! I didn't! I'm just saying!" Oscar says, going on the defensive, putting both hands up. "Me and my girlfriend don't lock ourselves in my driver's room before the race, losing track of time and forcing you to go get us!"

"You and your girlfriend are probably going to buy a house with a white picket fence and have 2.5 children and a golden lab! Oscar and Lily is bad enough, but I'm surprised it's not John and Emily!"

"Whoa," Lando says, laughing as you walk out of the driver's room together and he shuts the door. "Shots fired. Calm down, Y/n; jeez."

But Oscar's laughing, too, so you know there's no need to apologize.

"Lan... You know I wasn't kidding earlier when I said I won't go out, right?" you say nervously as you walk into his hotel room, rolling your suitcase from your own hotel room.

"Yeah, I know you weren't. I wasn't kidding, either."

"So... What?" you ask, sitting down on the edge of his bed, crossing your arms. "You're planning on going alone? Then why did you bring me to your hotel room-"

"Y/n," he suddenly says, leaning down to gently grab your chin and look you directly in your eyes. "I'm not going anywhere tonight. I'm staying right here."

Your jaw actually drops. "I'm sorry, but who are you and what have you done with Lando Norris? Because that man would never miss an opportunity to party."

This makes Lando let go of you and break into a fit of laughter. "Y/n!" he breathes. "What the hell are you talking about? Before that, I would never miss an opportunity to spend time with you."

You stare. "Okay, actually. I'm being serious now. What did you do with Lando?"

You watch as your boyfriend chuckles, sitting down next to you. "Baby. I'm not going to go out clubbing while you sit in a hotel room alone. And there's no way I'm taking you out again; my guilty conscience can't take that, and neither can your sprained ankle. So why not celebrate P2 here, just you and I, hm?" he says in a low tone.

Immediately, at this suggestion, you blush. "Oh, uh, Lando... I, uh... I don't know if I'm ready for something... you know... for that... right now... Not yet... You know, it's too early for me in our relationsh-"

Lando suddenly breaks into laughter again. Oh, that sweet, silly sound. "Y/n! My God, what a dirty mind you have! I wasn't thinking that at all-!"

"You, Lando Norris, are saying I have a dirty mind?! I bet you really are his doppelganger!"

He crosses his arms. "Only reason why I wouldn't suggest that is because I know you're not ready. Which is more than one hundred percent fine with me. I wasn't even thinking about that, anyway."

"What were you thinking, then?"

He smiles with his eyes. "Well, let's both get ready for bed," he begins pulling his shirt off over his head as you absolutely bear your eyes into him, "And once we're both ready, I'll meet you back... here...?" His confused face slowly turns to one of teasing nature when he sees your eyes trained intently on his bare chest. His perfectly toned abs. His perfectly shaped pecs. His strong, straight, tan back. The little brown beauty marks sprinkled all over his torso. You would love to kiss every single one of them. "Why don't you take a picture?" he smirks stupidly. "That way, it'll last longer."

"Oh, shut up," you murmur, licking your lips as you tear your eyes away from his bare middle. "You can shower first," you murmur.

Once you're both all clean and ready, you snuggle up under the blankets, only to find your arm brushing against Lando's bare skin.

You feel your heart flutter as you murmur, "Are you not wearing a shirt just to bother me?"

"What, no," Lando says, overly innocently. "I never wear a shirt to bed. Just like I'm sure you never wear a bra...?"

If you were embarrassed before, now it's ten times worse. You specifically decided to wear a bra, to avoid... that. And now here Lando is, bringing it up like it's the weather.

"Uh..." you begin.

"Anyway!" Lando says, apparently seeing the vaguely panicked look in your eyes. "Wanna just watch a show or something?"

"Yeah," you nod. "That sounds good."

Lando turns some stupid show on his laptop, and as you snuggle and it gets later, you become more relaxed. You lean your head on Lando's shoulder as he plays with strands of your smooth, wet, dark hair. Your hands begin softly feeling his chest, just drawing circles and feeling the shapes of his abs.

Everyday, you seem to get to know Lando more and more- inside and out.

He sighs, contented, and murmurs sleepily, "That feels nice."

You smile, nuzzling into him.

"I saw Barcelona and Madrid played today," he comments as your fingers continue stroking the abs under Lando's soft skin.

"Yeah... El Clásico..."

"You don't sound as excited as I thought you would. I thought you were big on Madrid."

"Yeah, I am... Just having been keeping up with La Liga lately, I guess."

"Hm... Well, would you like it if I could find some way to watch the game...?"

You smile softly. "Hm. Yeah, maybe that wouldn't be so bad..."

Lando nods, and soon, you're cuddled up with your boyfriend, watching your favorite team play against FC Barcelona/your ex's team.

It feels weird, but you like it.

You decide your bra isn't very comfy and slip it off under your shirt before tossing it across the room.

"You're finally over being embarrassed with me?" Lando teases.

You smile softly, shutting your eyes. "At least for now. Too sleepy to care."

He smiles back. "You're cute when you're sleepy. Cuter."

Soon, though, Lando is gently shaking you, murmuring, "Look. Your ex was subbed on."

"Hmmm? What about Fer?" you murmur with a yawn. You must have dozed off for a bit.

"Fer?" Lando asks, his nose scrunching up. "Yeah, Ferran Torres."

Your eyes flutter open to see your ex-boyfriend running onto the pitch. You feel a sudden, unexpected pang in your chest. When you and Ferran were still together, you watched him do that so many time, with a sense of pride and excitement.

But now, you don't feel much at all. It's no different from anyone else going out there to play.

But, like a train, memories of the past begin to hit you.

Going for walks with him. Cheering him on at finals. Hanging out with his teammates. Working out with him. Bringing him to the Barcelona Grand Prix. Exchanging gifts on birthdays and holidays.

Just all the little things you used to do.

Like snuggling with each other on late nights after Barcelona won.

Not unlike what you and Lando are doing right now.

Suddenly Lando's arm around you tightens, and he says, "You okay?"

"I- yeah..."

Lando leans forward to see you face. You try to turn it away. Lando doesn't let you.

You stare into each other's eyes.

"You're crying," he states softly.

"I guess..." you trail off, averting your eyes.

There's a few beats of silence before Lando states again, "You still miss him."

"I guess..." you repeat. "But... I'm happy to be with you... it just all happened so quick... It's a lot for me... I'm mostly over it- over him- by now, but sometimes things just... make me start to think. Reminsce of what's not anymore."

Lando slowly nods, and begins rubbing your shoulder. "I- Alright..."

"But don't worry. I'm way more happy to be with you right now than sad to not be with Ferran any longer."

"You're sure?" the Brit asks tentatively.

You nod, leaning into him once more. "I'm sure. One hundred and one percent."

"Hey, Lando," you grin giddily before the Miami Grand Prix. "Just drive your best out there, okay? Good luck, baby." You give him a high-five. You can sense he wants to give you a hug, but painfully knows he can't because of the ever-watching cameras and eyes all around you.

But he leans in close, until you can practically feel his breath on your face, and says softly, in just about the most heart-wrenching-in-a-good-way low voice, "Oh, baby... I'm going to go out there and win that race. For you."

"Oh, stop being such a romantic. You're going to make me cry."

He leans in, about to kiss your cheek, but you gently push him off, saying, "You better get going, Lan! Race is going to start soon!"

"Right! Bye bye, bab-"

"BYE!" you scream to overpower his stupid 'baby girl.'

And before you can even blink twice, it seems-

It's lights out....

And away we go!

"LANDO! FUCKIN'! NORRIS!" you scream as soon as you see him, running to him as fast as you can. Your eyes threaten to fill over their brims with tears as you leap into Lando's arms, immediately forgetting about hiding your relationship.

Right now, that just seems too silly to care about. It doesn't matter enough.

Your boyfriend is a race winner.

The racer winner!

He leans back with the most joyful, most romantic, most adrenaline filled, most glorious look in his eyes as they search yours. His hand slowly strokes your cheeks as he purrs, "I told you I would win it for you, didn't I?"

"Lando-" you begin in excitement, but are interrupted by Lando's lips on yours, aggressively, passionately leaning into yours, flooding all his emotions into you, sharing his dream coming true with you.

For some reason, you begin to cry. Flows of tears, flooding down your cheeks as you kiss each other, and your heart pounds at a million kilometres an hour. His hands grip your waist tight, and the moment-

It all seems so perfect.

Right now, you don't care about the fact it was supposed to be secret. You don't care about what Carlos will think or say or do, or what fans on social media will post. None of it matters.

In this moment, the only two people that matter are you and Lando, in a symphony of amorousness, standing on the top of the world.

In this moment, you and Lando, both in sync, know this is the right time. Though it's been merely three months of being in a real, serious relationship, it feels like several lifetimes.

You don't care about the shock of other people, or the cameras flashing and clicking and filming.

All the sudden, you're proud of it.

You want everyone to know, no matter how they'll react, that you're Lando's, and Lando is yours.

When you finally break away from each other, Lando's smile remains as he gazes into your eyes.

"Are you crying too?" you giggle softly as you spot a glint in his eyes.

"What? Me, crying? No, I'm not crying! Of course I'm not crying!" he says teasingly, hastily wiping at his eye with his thumb. "You're the one crying! But anyway-" He slips the papaya McLaren cap off his head and plops it on yours, saying, "Won't be needing this for the top step. Besides," he smirks, leaning in closer. "Enough with all this Ferrari stuff. I think it's finally time for you to admit: Papaya looks best on you. Papaya's your color."

As you watch him jog off after that, stunned, you feel pleased.

Finally, for once, content.

That's right. My color isn't white, or blaugrana. It's not Ferrari's red, either.

I'm a papaya girl.

His papaya girl.

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART VII

—forever winter

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 6.8k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). angst!!! cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol and covid. feelings of hopelessness, anxiety. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello again, here's the next part!! also here are a few songs i listened to while writing this one: salt in the wound - boygenius, flume - bon iver, the gold - phoebe bridgers, for emma - bon iver, forever winter - taylor swift and calgary - bon iver.

happy reading <3

masterlist!

January 19, 2020

Los Angeles, CA

There have always been two versions of you: the person you once were and the person the world has decided you are. The first is the one who existed long before the spotlight, the one with a bit of adolescent angst, dreams bigger than herself, and a heart still learning to shield itself.

This version was taught by her parents that she was special, but the world hadn’t yet caught on. She was the girl who felt small and out of place, who wrestled with who she was and where she belonged.

And then there’s the second version, the one who stands in the center of magazine covers, on the glossy side of fame. She is everything you once dreamed of becoming—and more. You’ve spent the last decade perfecting her image, carving her out of raw ambition and countless hours under the hot glare of cameras. Her Wikipedia page reads like an epic: awards, accolades, achievements—flawless. She’s a masterpiece.

This side of you is never tired. She never shows frustration. She knows how to angle her face when the camera flashes, to smile when the questions sting, and to cry beautifully when accepting awards. She can gracefully discuss the sexism she’s faced in the industry, yet she knows better than to name names or point fingers.

She always sticks to the narrative.

For the longest time, you hoped you wouldn’t need to split into two people. That the version of yourself from years ago would be good enough for the world. But the divide wasn’t gradual—it was sudden. It happened four years ago, the day your ex decided to make you the centerpiece of a bitter, ugly breakup that splashed across every tabloid in the country. Since then, you’ve been caught between these two identities, juggling the woman you once were with the image the world expects of you.

As you sit in the back seat of the car, your eyes linger on your reflection in the tinted window. Tonight is the SAG Awards, another high-profile event where your public persona will take the lead. You watch yourself in the mirror, a familiar stranger, and wonder: Does anyone truly know you? Do you even know yourself anymore?

“There's a line of press when you get out of the car,” Taylor, your manager, says without looking up from her phone. “You know, the usual stuff.”

“Got it.”

You nod, trying to focus on the task ahead, but your thoughts are far away. You look out the window, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of color. No matter how many of these events you attend, it never gets easier.

The car slows to a stop, the muffled sounds of the crowd growing louder through the windows.

“Why isn’t Daniel here?” Taylor asks, breaking the silence.

“He had to fly back to Enstone,” you reply, a pang of disappointment in your chest. “The season starts soon. He’s prepping.”

Last year was a challenging one for Daniel—his racing season wasn’t what he hoped for, and he’s determined to make up for it this time around. His commitment to his craft mirrors yours in so many ways, but tonight, you wish he was here with you.

“Oh, that’s too bad, babe,” Taylor says, her hand resting on your knee in a gesture of sympathy. “When will he be back?”

“I’m not sure; he didn't say,” you murmur. “Hopefully soon.”

The door opens, and the roar of the crowd hits you like a wave. Flashing cameras, the shouting of photographers, and the glittering red carpet stretch out before you. “Looks like we’re here,” Taylor says, stepping out and extending a hand to help you.

You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves. It’s always easier with someone by your side, but tonight you’ll have to do this alone. You follow Taylor’s lead, plastering a smile on your face as you step out into the chaos. The cameras flash, posing and waving, but inside, you feel detached—like you’re watching yourself from afar.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally make it inside the venue, your body relaxing slightly as the noise of the red carpet fades behind you. You’re greeted by familiar faces and smiles, but the exhaustion from keeping up appearances lingers.

“I thought I was going to be the coolest person here, but clearly, you've beat me to it.”

The voice pulls you from your thoughts, deep and teasing. You turn and find Pedro standing there, dressed in a sleek silver suit jacket with black pants, his expression warm and playful.

His presence doesn't faze you; you've been filming for the Mandalorian since November last year, seeing each other here and there, not really spending time together between takes, and not acknowledging what happened at the wedding. You didn't hear from him since production stopped mid-December, only to get back on set early January. Although with everything else he's doing, you barely see him there anyway.

“You look amazing,” he says, his eyes lingering on you.

You glance down at your outfit—a sharp, stylish suit you picked for the night. It fits perfectly, giving you an air of confidence even though, inside, you feel anything but. “Thanks,” you say. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Pascal.” You gesture to his getup, offering a kind smile.

Pedro smirks, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I came over to congratulate you.”

"Yeah?"

“The Achievement Award. That's huge.”

You laugh softly, a little self-conscious. “That sounds like an overstatement for someone who’s only 28.”

He studies you for a moment, his gaze piercing. Pedro has always been able to see through you in ways that others can’t. You can hide from the world, but not from him.

“Don’t do that,” he says quietly, his voice firm.

“Do what?” you ask, but he cuts you off before you can finish.

“Don’t invalidate your accomplishments. You deserve this.”

There’s something in the way he says it—a weight to his words that makes you pause. Part of you wants to argue, to downplay everything like you always do, but his sincerity stops you.

Instead, you nod, offering a small smile.

“Thank you, Pedro,” you say softly. “That means a lot.”

Does it?

He sees right through and holds out his arm, a silent invitation. “Wanna walk in with me?”

For a moment, you hesitate. There’s an unspoken tension between the two of you, a history that neither of you has fully acknowledged. But as your eyes meet, the air shifts. You loop your arm through his, holding onto his bicep as the two of you make your way into the theater together. A camera flash goes off, and you smile. But this time, with Pedro by your side, it feels a little less lonely.

•••

You were sitting at a table when a fellow actor and friend started talking about you on stage. It was surreal, like time had slowed down, and you found yourself lost in thought. You’d been to countless awards shows and accepted more than your share of accolades, but this one felt different. A recognition of not just a role or a single performance, but a lifetime of work—or at least, a decade of it. And you were still young. Too young, part of you thought, for this kind of tribute. Yet here you were, about to be honored in front of your peers, the people who had seen your highs and lows.

The screen flickered to life, and a montage of your work began to play. Scenes from movies that had shaped your career, close-ups of moments that had shaped you. A smile here, a tear there, moments of triumph and vulnerability.

It was oddly like watching your life flash before your eyes—a strange out-of-body experience, as if you were looking back at someone else's journey. The montage moved through the years, capturing not just the characters you played but the changes in you—subtle at first, then more pronounced. The younger you, still full of raw hope and untamed energy, compared to the more seasoned version, who had learned how to navigate the treacherous terrain of fame. It felt like a snapshot of your life in fast-forward, as if you were witnessing your own eulogy.

You breathed in deeply, trying to stay present. It wasn’t the end, you reminded yourself.

The applause was thunderous as the montage ended, and it wasn’t until your name was called that reality snapped back into focus.

You stepped out into the blinding lights, the weight of the moment settling in as you approached the podium. The sea of faces before you blurred slightly in the brightness, but you could make out familiar ones. Peers you respected, younger actors looking up at you with wide eyes, veterans who had paved the way before you. And somewhere out there, you knew Pedro was watching.

With trembling hands, you held the award, the metal cool against your palm. You took a breath, steadying yourself before speaking.

“This is... overwhelming,” you began, chuckling, your voice breaking slightly from the emotion of it all. “I don’t even know where to start. Thank you to everyone who believed in me and to the people who supported me through the ups and downs. This means more than I can put into words.”

You paused, scanning the room, catching sight of Pedro for just a second, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that grounded you.

“When I started this journey, I was just a kid with big dreams and very little understanding of how hard this industry could be,” you continued, feeling the words flow more easily now. “But I learned early on that dreams don’t work unless you do. It’s not just about talent—it’s about determination, grit, and pushing through even when everything seems impossible.”

Your eyes drifted toward the younger faces in the audience. “To the younger actors out there, keep going. I know it can feel like the world is telling you no at every turn, like you’re not good enough or that you’ll never make it, but don’t stop dreaming. Don’t stop working. This industry can be brutal, but it can also be beautiful. Find the beauty. Hold onto it. Work for it.”

A wave of applause broke out, but you weren’t finished yet. You felt a pull, a need to say more, something from the heart. Something real.

“And through all of it,” you said, your voice softer now, “keep the people who truly love you close. In this business, it’s easy to get lost in the noise, in the hundreds of things that try to tear you down or make you feel like you’re not enough. But the people who love you for who you are, not what you can give them, are the ones who will keep you grounded. I’ve met some of my forever people in this industry, and for that, I’m grateful. Despite all the bad and all the heartache that comes with this life, it’s those relationships that make it worthwhile.”

Your gaze wandered again, unconsciously searching the crowd for Pedro, and when your eyes met his, something inside you softened. He knew what you were talking about. He knew the weight of those words better than anyone.

“I’m grateful,” you continued, your voice a little more vulnerable now, “because I’ve been able to hold on to those people. Even when things get complicated even when it feels like the world is pushing us apart. You have to fight for those connections. They’re what make this crazy, beautiful life worth living.”

You felt a lump in your throat but pushed through it, finishing with, “So thank you. To the people in my life who have stuck with me through the good and the bad. This is as much yours as it is mine.”

March 5th, 2020

Calgary, Canada

Life after the awards ceremony didn’t feel much different than before. It was still the same relentless rhythm—work, events, travel, more work. The brief moments of peace in between became rare and fleeting, like whispers in the storm of your career. Daniel’s season was supposed to start soon, and though you’d seen him twice after he flew to France for preparations, something between you felt... off. His distance was palpable, but you hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell on it too much. It was easier to stay busy, keep moving, and brush it off as a phase. After all, the both of you were pulled in so many directions—when was the last time anything felt normal?

A quiet dinner in your NYC apartment, one of the few times Daniel managed to swing by in between training sessions. The table was set with takeout boxes instead of a home-cooked meal—neither of you had the energy for anything more.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said softly, watching him as he absentmindedly poked at his food with a fork. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I miss this,” you added.

“Yeah, me too,” Daniel said, but the words were like dust on the air—insubstantial, weightless.

“Is everything okay? You’ve been quiet," you trailed off, unsure of how to breach the distance you felt growing between you.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, just a lot on my mind with the season coming up. It’s…you know, a lot of pressure.”

You reached across the table and placed your hand on his. “You’re going to be great. You always are.”

He gave you that familiar smile, but it still felt like something was slipping through your fingers.

•••

By March, you had flown to Calgary to shoot a horror-adjacent film. The setting—a desolate cabin in the snow, miles from anywhere—was perfect for the kind of chilling atmosphere the director was aiming for. You’d always loved working with indie directors; their stories had depth, innovation, and a sense of grounded reality that the big-budget productions sometimes lacked. It was a reminder of why you fell in love with acting in the first place.

On set, things moved fast. Between takes, you found a quiet corner of the cabin and pulled out your phone to FaceTime with Taylor. She was mid-ranting when she answered.

“There’s a potential shutdown happening, babe. Something about a virus…COVID, or whatever they’re calling it. Have you heard anything about it?”

You’d heard whispers from the crew, but nothing had been confirmed. “I’ve heard some talk around set, but no one knows what’s happening yet.”

“Well, I’m telling you now, it’s serious. This might be the last project you get to work on for a while. Everything else is likely to be delayed. Keep your eyes open.”

You sighed, looking around as the crew moved around with their usual buzz of energy.

“Guess I’ll enjoy this last bit of freedom while I can.”

Taylor chuckled. “Yeah, enjoy it while you’re in the middle of nowhere. Call me if you hear anything else.”

You ended the call and pocketed your phone, the unease settling into your chest. Everyone around the set seemed unfazed, but the air had undoubtedly changed.

By the final days of production, the world was different. Everyone wore face masks, and hand sanitizer became the reigning deity on set.

•••

Reality hit hard. Flights were cancelled. No one could leave. You were stuck in the cabin, snow piling up outside like a barricade against the world, while the virus barricaded you from returning home. You made a grocery run the minute things got a little hectic, filling the place with more supplies than you’d ever seen yourself buy—just in case. The panic in the air was contagious, and chaos reigned for those first two weeks.

You FaceTimed your mom as you unpacked. “I’m stuck in Canada,” you said, laughing softly despite the anxiety that gnawed at your insides.

“Are you serious?” her voice was a mix of worry and exasperation. “You should’ve been back by now. What about New York?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to get back. Airports are closed.”

She sighed heavily, the sound crackling through the phone. “Just take care of yourself, honey, alright? Don’t be reckless. Are you alone?”

“Yeah, but I’ll be fine."

Her voice softened. “Be careful, okay?”

“I will, Mom. I promise.”

•••

It was a particularly dark, cold afternoon. The kind where the sky hung low with thick clouds and the cold crept in through the cracks of the cabin no matter how many layers you wore. You had wrapped yourself in a blanket, the silence of isolation pressing down heavier than usual when your phone buzzed on the table.

Daniel’s name appeared on the screen.

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the answer button, but you couldn’t ignore him. Not yet. So you swiped to answer and brought the phone to your ear, forcing a soft, casual, “Hey.”

His voice on the other end was calm, but there was an undercurrent to it—a kind of distance that had been growing for months. "Hey," he replied, his Aussie accent tinged with something heavy. "How’s it going over there?"

You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. “You know… same. Snowed in. A lot of waiting.” There was an awkward pause. You filled it with a half-hearted laugh. “How about you? Everything alright?”

He cleared his throat, and you could feel the shift before he even said it. “Actually… I don’t think we should keep this up.”

The words hit you like the cold outside, seeping into your bones, but not with shock—just a kind of muted inevitability. There it is, you thought, the final crack in what was already falling apart.

Your brain hummed with white noise after that. You don’t remember what you said in response, something vague like, “Yeah, I get it.” The words came out on autopilot, and you weren’t really listening anymore. It wasn’t traumatic; it wasn’t the kind of breakup that destroyed you. It was like slowly waking from a dream and realizing it had already ended before you even opened your eyes.

His voice was kind, soft—too soft. “You’re so great, you know that, right? This just… it wasn’t working anymore. For either of us.”

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it. Your mind was elsewhere—on the conversations with Pedro, on the way your heart leaped when you heard his voice instead of Daniel’s. You had known, deep down, for a while now where your heart really was.

“I guess we knew this was coming,” you finally managed, voice steady, as if you were discussing something as simple as the weather.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But still… I didn’t want it to hurt.”

The niceties and the polite words that followed hurt more than any fight ever could have. It was the kindness of it that made it sting—the acknowledgment that neither of you had it in you to fight for something that had already drifted away. There was no anger, no raised voices, no accusations.

Just two people who had loved each other briefly, now saying goodbye like they were parting ways at an airport terminal.

“Well, take care of yourself, alright?” Daniel said softly.

“You too,” you whispered, already feeling the weight of finality.

And then it was over. The phone went silent in your hand, and you stared at the screen as if it could offer you some kind of closure that you weren’t sure you needed.

•••

The days began to bleed into one another. You were alone in that cabin—snowed in and quarantined from the world. The only connection you had was through your phone, through calls with Sarah and Oscar, who checked in on you daily.

Most days, you found ways to pass the time. You read, you cooked—burned some things, too—and found yourself sitting by the old piano that had come with the cabin. Your fingers brushed against the keys, unsure at first, after so much time spent focusing on acting. But the music came swiftly, like muscle memory. The songs poured out of you, stories in lyrical form, shaped by the silence and solitude around you.

But some nights, the quiet was too loud.

The breakup with Daniel lingered in the back of your mind like a dull ache. You had been okay with it for the most part; you knew it was coming, and neither of you were in it anymore. But there were nights, like tonight, when the weight of it crashed down and the loneliness felt too heavy to carry. You lay in bed, tears wetting the pillow, thinking about how everything had ended in polite goodbyes when maybe you needed the screaming.

•••

One day, in the middle of baking—flour dusting your hands and a bowl of half-mixed batter sitting on the counter—you received a text: “I hope you’re doing okay.”

You stared at it, your heart skipping a beat. You had thought about him every single day and wondered how he was coping and whether he was safe. Anytime Sarah called, you asked about him, telling yourself that it was enough to know from a distance. But now, with that simple text, you caved.

“I’m okay. Are you?”

His reply came almost immediately. “Not really. Mostly lonely.”

Your heart broke for him. You knew how hard it was for him to be alone. He thrived off people, off energy. And now, the world had gone still.

“Wanna talk?” you typed, holding your breath.

“Would love to hear your voice,” came the reply.

So you called him, and the hours melted away as you both talked about everything—about the virus, about work, about how isolating it all was. He asked, finally, “How’s Daniel?”

You hesitated. “We’re no longer together. Haven’t been for a while.”

There was a pause, then a soft, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

You quickly changed the subject, but it lingered between you, the unspoken acknowledgment of what that meant. After that, you spoke almost every day. The isolation became less suffocating, and with each call, you both felt a little less alone.

•••

On Pedro’s birthday, you baked a cupcake in his honor, lighting a single candle before FaceTiming him. When he picked up, he laughed, “You made me a cupcake?”

“Of course I did,” you said with a grin, holding up the tiny treat. “Now, pretend to blow out the candle.”

He played along, puffing his cheeks and making a ridiculous show of it. “Thank you for this. It’s not much of a birthday without people.”

“Well, you’ve got me,” you said, singing an off-key version of Happy Birthday. His laughter filled the space between you.

Later that night, he posted a screenshot of your call on his Instagram story, and the internet lost its mind. Comments flooded in—"Omg, she baked him a cupcake!"—“My favorite best friends!”—and you laughed at the attention it brought.

•••

One evening, as you sat at the piano again, your phone propped up with Pedro on FaceTime, he listened quietly as you played a new melody. “I think the lyrics need work,” you said, biting your lip.

He smirked. “Let me hear them.”

You hummed the first few lines, fumbling over the phrasing. “See, it doesn’t quite flow.”

“Let’s try this,” Pedro suggested, offering a line.

By the end of the night, the song felt whole, and you felt lighter.

The days passed—isolated and cold—but your connection with Pedro was alive and warm again. And as the weeks stretched on, you couldn’t help but wonder: How long until you fucked this up again?

October 5, 2020

Budapest, Hungary

Pedro had always known loneliness. It was a quiet, persistent companion, but in Budapest, it had taken on a new form. The city was beautiful, its streets old and layered with history, but none of it could distract him from the hollow ache in his chest. The early mornings on set, the long hours of filming—the work was steady. But outside of that, the hours stretched endlessly.

He had been filming in Europe for months, and though he loved his job, the thrill of creating something special—the distance—both physical and emotional—was wearing him thin. He had been keeping in touch with you, his constant thread of connection. The texts, the occasional FaceTime calls, were easy and comforting. But he could never shake the weight of what he hadn’t told you. What you didn't allow him to say. It felt like a brick in his stomach.

You lived strangely in his head.

He still hadn’t found the courage to say the words. I love you. They haunted him—a truth he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Every time he thought he was ready, he backtracked, swallowing the confession whole. His cowardice infuriated him. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been in love with you for years, the feelings growing stronger and deeper, but now… now you were thousands of miles away, and he was stuck in this self-made purgatory.

His thoughts often drifted to his mother lately. She had always known how to comfort him, her voice soothing, her advice simple but profound. What would she have said about you? About his inability to speak the truth? He could hear her in his head, telling him to stop being such a fool, to just go for it. But she wasn’t here anymore, and he felt lost without her, more than he ever let on.

The days on set were repetitive but engaging. The crew was tightknit, and the project was exciting. He threw himself into work, hoping it would distract him. He laughed with the cast, bantered with the director, but when the camera wasn’t rolling, his mind was elsewhere. It was with you.

•••

A few weeks later, after wrapping up in Budapest, he found himself in Switzerland alone again. He didn’t know why he’d come. The scenery was breathtaking, the mountains vast and quiet, but the isolation magnified the emptiness he felt. It was as if everything had come to a standstill.

The stillness weighed on him. The quiet, once a solace, now felt oppressive. He spent his days wandering the small towns, drinking coffee in hidden cafés, trying to convince himself that the solitude was a gift. But he felt shattered, more broken than before.

One night, the loneliness became too much, and he called you. Desperation tightened his throat as he waited for you to pick up, his mind screaming at him to just tell you. The phone rang, and when you answered, your voice was soft, familiar, and full of comfort.

"Pedro," you said, and it was enough to stop him in his tracks.

His breath caught, and the confession lodged itself in his throat again. He had been ready, so ready, but hearing you—he thought better of it. What could he say that wouldn’t ruin everything?

"Hey," he replied, his voice rougher than intended. "Just wanted to hear your voice."

You chuckled softly on the other end. "You good?"

"Yeah, I’m good," he lied, the words heavy on his tongue. "Just…miss talking to you, that’s all."

"I miss you too," you said, and it broke him a little more. The call went on, but he had already retreated into himself, too afraid to say what needed to be said. He listened to you talk about your day, your laugh filling the silence on his end, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was failing—failing himself, failing you.

•••

The next day, he went for a walk. The air was cold, biting, but it didn’t bother him. He needed to clear his head. He walked along the cobbled streets, past quaint houses with shuttered windows, and let the weight of his feelings wash over him. It was overwhelming. His history with you, all the unsaid things, all the moments when he should have acted and didn’t. It crashed over him like a wave, leaving him breathless.

He found a bench and sat, his head in his hands. One day, he thought. One day, I’ll tell her.

December 31st, 2020

New York, NY 

The phone call from Oscar came two weeks before New Year's Eve. His voice was warm, as it always was, but there was an unmistakable edge of hope in it, the kind that crept in after months of isolation.

“It’s just something small,” he had said. You could hear his smile through the phone, that charming grin he always wore. “Not a lot of people, you know. Just family and close friends. After the last few months we've had… I think we need this.”

You hadn’t seen Oscar in person in what felt like forever, and the idea of being with people—Oscar’s people, your people—sounded like a balm to the soul. You agreed before he could finish the invitation, the excitement bubbling up despite the world still not feeling quite right.

You got tested later that week, making sure you were safe to attend the gathering.

When you arrived at Oscar’s apartment, the city had an eerie quiet to it. New York was never still, even during the pandemic, but tonight it felt subdued, like it was holding its breath for something more. You headed for the entrance, and the soft sound of music spilled out the moment the doors opened.

Oscar met you with his arms wide open, pulling you into a tight hug. “Look who finally made it,” he teased, his face lighting up in that familiar way. “You look good.”

“You too,” you said, stepping back and taking in the warmth of the room. It was intimate—just the right amount of people to make you feel at home, but not so many that it felt overwhelming.

Before you could take another step, Sarah swooped in, stealing you from Oscar’s embrace with an exaggerated squeal. She enveloped you in a hug so tight you could barely breathe.

“I missed you so much!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with delight. You hadn’t seen her in ages, and the reunion felt like a weight lifting off your chest. The two of you spent the next few minutes catching up, your laughter blending in with the soft chatter around the room.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him. He had arrived a little late, typical of him, but the sight of him sent your heart into a dizzying spin. It had been almost a year since you last saw each other in person.

He moved through the room, and when he finally made his way toward you, your breath hitched. He wore a simple black t-shirt, the fabric clinging to his toned chest. His hair was longer, fluffy from the months of lockdown, and his big brown eyes—usually so full of light —looked tired.

But when he saw you, the weariness seemed to lift for a moment.

He said your name softly, stepping close. His arms opened, and you fell into them without hesitation, wrapping yourself around him in a way that felt too familiar, too safe. He held you tight, his grip lingering longer than necessary, like he was afraid to let go.

“Hey,” you breathed against his shoulder, inhaling the scent of him—pleasant, familiar, grounding. The world seemed to fall away for a moment, leaving just the two of you. You pulled back slightly, looking into his face, wanting to say something—anything. You couldn’t live without thinking about him. He consumed your every thought, and somewhere along the way, you had come to terms with how you felt about him.

But the words stuck in your throat.

“At last, we see each other,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, his hand still on your back.

“At last,” you repeated, your heart pounding against your ribs.

You both opened your mouths to speak, then laughed in unison.

"You first," Pedro said, his eyes twinkling with amusement, though there was something deeper there—something lingering just beneath the surface.

But before you could say anything more, Sarah reappeared, her arm hooking through yours as she dragged you away. “Sorry! I need to steal her for a sec,” she said with a laugh, oblivious to the quiet intensity of the moment she’d interrupted.

Pedro smiled at her, though his eyes flicked back to you. "What I wanted to say can wait," he said softly, his voice carrying a promise that sent a jolt through you.

You promised yourself you’d find him later.

•••

In the kitchen, you and Sarah were rummaging through cabinets for more drinks when you heard Oscar’s booming laugh. Turning, you spotted him and Pedro, who now had a ridiculous pointy birthday hat perched on his head. You burst into laughter at the sight, unable to resist.

“Cute hat,” you said, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “Let’s document this moment.”

He grinned, grabbing Oscar by the shoulder and pulling him in for the picture. Pedro tilted his head, drinking from his beer, and Oscar looked up at him with a puzzled expression as you snapped a photo.

“Perfect. That’s going on Instagram for sure,” you teased, and Pedro groaned.

Before anyone could respond, Oscar’s wife walked by, eyeing the hat on Pedro’s head with mock suspicion. Pedro took his cue, unlocking from Oscar and jokingly attacking her with the pointy hat, poking her side with the plastic tip. You snapped another picture, laughing as she swatted him away.

“Send that to me,” she called over her shoulder, and you nodded, tucking your phone back into your pocket just as Sarah handed you a drink.

•••

The night continued, the energy in the room bubbling up as the countdown to midnight approached. Karaoke had started in one of the rooms, and you couldn’t resist.

Pedro avoided it at all costs, standing in the doorway with a bemused expression. After your rendition of Losing My Religion, he caught your eye.

“That was something, huh?” he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I was extra terrible just for you,” you shot back, walking over to him. “I know how much you hate this.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” he said.

Just as you were about to respond, a woman’s voice broke through the moment. “Oscar said you were in here,” she said, stepping forward. “Hi.”

You turned to see her approach Pedro, and before you could fully register what was happening, she leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips. A casual, intimate gesture that sent a shock of realization through your entire body.

You blink, dumbfounded, as Pedro shifted slightly to make introductions. “This is Julia,” he said, his voice a little too calm for the turmoil suddenly spinning inside you.

Your mind raced, trying to place her. And then it hit you—she was in the group photos he posted from the crew of the movie he was filming in Budapest. One of the producers, you think.

Oh.

Julia greeted you happily, oblivious to the terrible ache now pooling in your chest. You felt your throat tighten, the words you had wanted to say earlier were now swallowed by this unfamiliar wave of jealousy and disappointment. You went mute, unable to find words that wouldn’t betray how much this hurt.

Pedro’s voice broke the silence again, almost too nonchalant. “This is what I wanted to talk about earlier.”

Your stomach twisted. “Oh, great,” you managed to say, forcing a smile that you didn’t feel.

“And you?” Pedro asked, clearly trying to keep things light. “You said you wanted to talk, too.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, and your mind screamed for you to say something—anything—but all you could muster was, “No, um, it was nothing, really.”

Something stung deep inside you. It was a dull ache, gnawing away at your resolve. You needed a way out. Fast.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” you said to her, your voice tight. “If you’ll excuse me…”

And before either of them could say anything more, you slipped away, making a beeline for the kitchen where Oscar stood.

“Hey,” you blurted, pulling him aside. “He’s fucking dating someone? And you didn’t say a thing?”

Oscar looked at you, taken aback. “I—it wasn’t my news to share.”

You pressed your fingers to your forehead, trying to swallow the embarrassment. “I know. I know, I’m sorry. I just… I can't believe I was about to confess my love for him and make a fool of myself. Again.”

Oscar stared at you, his eyebrows raised. “You were what?”

You laughed, though it was tinged with bitterness. “Yeah. But now? I mean, clearly, it’s just another sign. The timing’s never right. Never.”

Was it punishment? you thought.

Oscar opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly uncertain of what to say. Instead, he walked over to the counter and grabbed another drink. “Here,” he said quietly, offering it to you.

You took it, staring at the liquid swirling in the glass.

"It’s fairly new, you know," Oscar said softly, his voice tinged with hesitation. "Like two weeks or something. It’s not serious yet."

“I just don’t get it,” you muttered, almost to yourself. “I don’t.”

Oscar sighed, his hand finding your back, a comforting weight that helped ground you. “I know. I know.”

You knew there was else nothing you could do right now, so you poured the drink down your throat, feeling the burn as it went down.

•••

“There you are,” Pedro called softly, his voice muffled by the cold air as he stepped through the glass doors onto the backyard patio. The wind hit him immediately, sharp and biting, but the bitter cold felt fitting, almost poetic.

You stood there, your back to him, a silhouette against the frozen horizon. For a moment, he was transported back to the first time he saw you in this very spot, under a much different sky. That night, the air had been warm, filled with the kind of anticipation that crackled with every glance exchanged. You had stood just like this, dressed similarly too, arms crossed against the world, hair cascading down your back like a curtain he desperately wanted to pull aside.

But tonight was different. Tonight, your shoulders were tense, hunched against more than just the cold. When you turned around, your face wasn’t full of curiosity. It was distant, your eyes heavy with an emotion he couldn’t quite name, but that he knew he was responsible for.

"You bolted out of there," Pedro said, his voice strained as he tried to sound casual, but the worry leaked through.

You gave a soft, bitter hum, a sound he couldn’t decipher but felt in his bones. "I was a bit shocked, honestly."

He swallowed, suddenly nervous, fumbling with the words he had rehearsed in his mind so many times but never managed to say. "I know. I wanted to tell you about her, I just... I don’t know. It’s new. I didn’t think it was important enough yet. I thought I’d find the right moment, but it never felt... appropriate. And I didn’t want to make things weird, you know?"

Pedro kept talking, words spilling out as he tried to explain. He mentioned her name—Julia—said they had met on set, that it wasn’t serious yet, that it had barely even begun. His voice grew quieter, more unsure with every sentence, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

See, Pedro hadn't planned on getting into a relationship, not when his every thought was consumed by you, not when he knew he loved you, and yet here he was. He didn't know what he was doing anymore.

But your expression had already changed. He could see the way your face shut down, the way your gaze hardened, and it twisted something deep inside him.

“Don’t apologize to me about your relationship,” you said, the words sharp and cutting. “That’s the kind of thing that makes me feel like I’m some kind of Machiavellian villain.”

Pedro winced, his breath catching in his throat. He hated this. But before he could say anything, you spoke again, your voice lower, more controlled.

"Our time never seems to align, does it? It never has, and it never will. It's funny, even.” You paused, looking away, your voice a strained whisper.

Pedro wanted to scream. He wanted to tell you that he felt trapped between his own heart and the razor-sharp edge of what was right, what was fair. The guilt and longing were choking him, twisting his insides until all he could feel was the jagged ache of wanting something that was always just out of reach.

You took a deep breath, the cold air clouding in front of you like smoke.

"Are you happy?" you asked, your voice barely audible. A mirror of his very own "Do you love him?" from last year.

Pedro looked at you, his heart hammering in his chest. “I’m trying,” he said quietly, the truth in the words landing hard.

You nodded, your lips pressed together in a sad, resigned smile.

“Then that’s good enough for me.”

It was an unspoken agreement—a quiet acceptance that, once again, you were not meant to be. That your lives had written this story long before you’d ever had a say in it.

a/n: enough sadness, their time will come soon ;)

a like, reblog or comment, anything is very much appreciated <3

[thalfbloodloser]

i wish we had alloaro representation in media. a charming character who fucks - both literally AND aesthetically. one that makes other characters go "wow! they're so cool and good in bed, but ultimately un-datable, because as soon as they sense any romantic intention on you, they flee" (kinda like lucifer morningstar from "lucifer". he's aroallo in my heart)

a character who's funny and has a horrifyingly 80's sense of fashion (they have a curly combed-out mullet and mismatched earrings. you'll find them at pride wearing a corn costume because it "matches the aroallo flag" and they're "being subtle") or one who's the embodiment of a 60's greaser (their motorcycle helmet is themed after the aro flag and the back of their leather jacket says "LOVELESS / LOVE LOSES") or one who's a girly fanfiction writer that has more ships than a star wars movie (their fics are muntifandom-ly famous and most their stuff is covered in yaoi/yuri patches and stickers. everyone thinks they're a hopeless romantic because of it, but that's exactly why they're so big on the fiction ≠ reality discourse) or...

anyone else, really. just ultimately a HUMAN who's casually aromantic. one who doesn't make it a parade but isn't subtle about it, either. will they hold other character's hands? maybe. kiss their cheek? perhaps. hang out with them, on picnics and walks along the river? can't see why not! but platonically. or maybe have them be genuinely romance-repulsed & not so eager to participate in anything socially perceived as romantic. that would also be amazing.

let them express themselves sexually! let them fuck. give them a..."fuckbuddy", if you must. or a best friend who's sexually involved with them - classic romcom material, i know - but without it being "complicated"; because there's no romance involved to complicate it.

give them funny scenes. another character tries to kiss their lips or ask them on a date? they laugh nervously, the scene cuts and we get a hilarious shot of them escaping through the bathroom window. or audibly saying "ew" and then regretting it. another character is struggling to write a romcom/romance book without it being corny? we get a scene where our character casually describes the most romantical (and, to them, unappealing) plot ever - because, much like aces acing the smut department, they're far from misunderstanding what is or isn't heartstopping for alloromantics - only to have the other character stare at them like "?????????? HELLO????". give us a scene of them being confused as to why their hookup is yelling at them for acting "so casual" and responding with a quotable shitty line ("just because we had sex last night i can't call you "bro"? / "what? expected me to marry you or something? get off my bed, it's 9AM" / "would you rather have me mad? sad? what's happening here. give me a hint")

but give them complicated scenes too. scenes portraying the loneliness that comes with being aromantic but not asexual, the lack of community. them talking about how hard it is to maintain sexual relationships just sexual. the painful "breakups" because one of their friends declared their undying love for them but they cannot possibly match that energy, even if they wanted to. have them weep because somehow that keeps happening. the unfairness in being accused of heartlessness and selfishness by other queers. the shame on being told they're fetishistic and the reason why queer men/women/people are seen as sex-crazed or impure.

...anyways, i'm rambling- do y'all have any aroallo ocs? or ideas for alloaro characters? maybe aroallo headcanons? i'd love to know what you think! :)

(don't tag as #ace / #asexual / #asexuality)

[writers-potion]

Suggestions for a body swap story? They seem harder to write

Body-Swapping Stories: I Understand You In A Particular Way

The high-concept of a body swap story is versatile, with endless possibilities. The main factors of a body-swapping plot would typically be comprised of:

Two people whose souls are being interchanged (the catalyst)

Awkward/funny/dangerous things they encounter by living the life of the other person (main premise of the story) 

A resolution brought about through insight gained by the protagonist about the other person’s perspective/secrets, with a promise to act differently once they’re returned to their original body. (the moral of the story)

Why are body-swapping stories appealing? Among many reasons, the central premise of such a story is to address the theme of: how much do we really know about others? 

As souls living in one body only, we encounter problems due to our lack of understanding about others around us, including external conflict, jealousy, misunderstanding, etc. It is a universal human experience to be curious about what’s in another person’s head and want to be somebody else sometimes.

By forcing the protagonist to experience “thinking inside another person’s shoes” in the literal sense, body-swapping stories tend to be versions of the characters growing up by breaking out of their old worldview to widen their intellectual horizons. 

Here is a list of common story components and patterns for a body-swapping story.

A Body Swapping Mechanism 

The body swap happens out of the blue as a one-time occurrence: a lightning strike, electric shock, supermoon, weird potion, etc. In this case, not much justification is required as there is no magical system or follow-up about why this happens.

A higher power conducts the body swap: a fairy, a disgruntled God trying to teach a lesson, a reputable couple therapist, etc. The rationale here is that this higher power is trying to redeem/punish the protagonists. 

One character actively wishes to have their body swapped: the school nerd who envies the prom queen, a daughter who wants to be a grown-up, a poor man wanting to be the rich man next door, etc. 

A character has the ability to “infiltrate” other people’s bodies. They use this ability in an attempt to solve a mystery, espionage, disguise a murder, etc. 

Only “destined pairs” can swap bodies. In this case, a bit of justification/worldbuilding would be good to convince the readers how these people are paired (bloodline, soulmates?).

Body swaps are conducted through a specific ritual or potion. This can be a candles-and-pentagon type, a magical notebook, a specific dance, etc. 

Body swaps are common in the story world, and everybody (with certification/practice/of age) can use this ability. 

The character(s) do something wrong which sets the swap in motion.

The Relationship Between Two (or more) People Getting Swapped

Relationships with long-standing misunderstanding: busy parent & unhappen child; couples on the brink of breakup; siblings with beef; strict teacher & irresponsible student, etc. 

In a romantic arc, a potential couple who are now going to fall in love as a result of this body swap

A human and an animal/supernatural creature 

Enemy relationships: the head of rival companies; a murderer and his victim, etc. 

If you have a magic system, your choice of people would depend on what the magic system dictates. Ask the question: is this someone my protagonist must learn about? 

Things to Explore

Protagonist(s) exploring each other’s bodies

Them arguing over how the other person should/shouldn’t use their bodies

Them trying to keep secrets from each other.

Them teaching the other person about how they should/shouldn’t act so that the body swap goes unnoticed by others around them. 

Them snooping around each other’s lives and secrets without the other knowing.

Them trying crazy stuff they’ve always wanted to do but couldn’t due to physical constraints.

The Purpose of the Body Swap

Providing the entrance into a new (fantasy) world. Ex) Human swapping bodies with a witch, forcing them to learn about the secret society of magicians.

Teaching the protagonist a hard-earned lesson. Ex) An ungrateful child gets to live a day in the life of her mother which humbles her. 

To resolve a long-standing (romantic) conflict. 

To provide a tool for crime, with unexpected consequences. 

Interesting Ideas

Writing these here just because I can. 

The Living Realm and the Dead Realm are like parallel universes. When someone meets an untimely death, their body gets swapped with their doppelganger in the parallel universe.

The protagonists are living in two separate story worlds. The author who’s in charge of writing stories for them is highly indecisive and keeps switching protagonists mid-story. 

The protagonist and her friend swapped bodies to cheat in an exam. But the protagonist’s friend dies – in the protagonist’s body. 

A magical agency offering to swap bodies for trans people who wish to have the body of the opposite sex. But their services come with a huge price tag…

Hope this helps <3 Let me know if you guys have more questions/ other ideas/ helpful resources below in the comments!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! Also, join my Tumblr writing community for some more fun.

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2 

[nowiminexileseeingyouout]

short n’sweet (1/?)

kate martin x popstar!reader

contains: flirting (bad flirting)

a/n: nobody talks about how embarrassing writing fanfic is but anyway pls send me feedback or requests!!! also next part coming soon cause this was supposed to be longer im just lazy EDIT: just read this back guys are so fake bc none of the 17 of you who read this and liked it wanted to tell me i posted the unedited version full of mistakes i see how it is ANYWAY it’s all fixed now

Finding musical inspiration isn't always simple for you, for other artists it seemed to come easy all of them having catalogs of unreleased works to release whenever they seem fit, it especially hurts when you feel like you’ve exhausted and exploited every relationship you’ve ever been in, and so naturally you frequently find yourself wishing you could go through a terrible breakup only to write a few words, which was definitely a normal thing people do of course.

So after several hours cooped up in a studio in Vegas, feeling like you're drowning in wasted paper, you decided to gracefully accept the invitation to attend the season's first Las Vegas Aces game. Sports weren't your thing normally, but right now you'd do anything to get a break.

During the game, the camera may occasionally focus on you in an attempt to capture a reaction for an Instagram post or whatever but throughout the forty-minute game, you were so captivated by number 20 you didn't give much thought about anything else, you couldn’t take your eyes off her when she started playing, even though she didn't start until after the first half. Her braided ponytail swung as she moved, and she had total control over the ball as she dribbled up and down the court she had you in the palm of her hand and she had no idea.

After the game your only goal was to meet Kate eyes scanning the whole court after press was done but unfortunately for you kate was gone so the next best thing you could do was the epitome of modern flirting, follow her on instagram it probably made you look desperate considering it was only seconds after the game but it was fine nobody would notice right?

Well Kate did because not long after a notification pops up on your phone.

@/katemartin has followed you on instagram

________________________________________________________

After the game then after doing press and getting changed Kate finally made it to her car ready to head back to her apartment, not before checking her notifications, most of which were boring just her friends checking in with her or congratulating her on the aces win tonight but then she sees you followed her.

She can’t help but smile to herself of course she saw you during the game. How could she not have noticed you when you looked so good? and maybe she did put in a little more effort she was subbed in, call it the Jordan Poole effect. following you back, then taking it upon herself to scroll through your account, pictures of all of your performances and music videos you’ve done, your album cover and a few pictures of you. she likes a few of them before dming you.

@/katemartin

hey thanks for coming to the game !

and for the follow lmao

ahhh youre welcome for coming to the game and for the follow

you played really good btw

showing off??

maybe just a little?? i’m a big fan btw

ohh yeah sure a fan who doesn’t follow me

maybe i’m just a casual fan 💔💔

i guess you could say im a casual fan of you now

cause casual fans follow someone right after the game ends SURE..

Working up the courage, Kate sent you one last message before the conversation naturally halted as she felt she had to take action before this turned into just another lost opportunity.

you looked good court-side btw maybe you should come again if you liked the way i played so much

Before you could even read the message, she launched her phone onto the passenger seat with her nerves at an all time high. All she wanted to do was turn back time so you’d never get a chance to read it.

________________________________________________________

you looked good court-side btw maybe you should come again if you liked the way i played so much

You were blushing, blushing from a message, a message from someone you haven’t even talked to in person.

thanks you looked good playing ON the court ill definitely come to another game

You needed to send one last message before turning off your phone.

idk your game schedule but if your free tomorrow do you wanna grab coffee or something?

Now it was your turn to lose it. You were flirtatious, and it was evident in your music, so normally you wouldn't mind doing this sort of thing, but with Kate, it was different; you wanted to impress her because she was special. So with your Uber driver staring at you in the mirror, as you smile to yourself like an idiot you switch off your phone and relax into the backseat of the car.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Ur writing is so easy to dive into I desperately need more!!! Is there more???? What happens to this awful wet cat of a woman next?????????????

uuuh. this.

in reference to this, for anyone who finds this just incomprehensible.

It turned out that she wasn't going to be left alone to rot in peace.

It turned out that she wasn't going to be left alone to rot in peace.

On Jessie’s disgustingly cheerful, rainbow-spangled doormat (an impulse purchase from a previous June that currently pissed her off every time she looked at it) a cupcake, a birthday card, and a note torn from a yellow legal pad were waiting for her.

The cupcake was chocolate topped with a mountain of blue buttercream frosting and edible glitter, and if Jessie's day kept going this badly it was probably going to end up being her dinner.

The card, also coated in glitter, wished her a happy birthday and was signed with a flourish from Uncle Ray. Ray wasn’t related to her in any biological sense of the word, but he’d been a friend of Jessie’s father since before Jessie was born, and that had to count for something. It was like her brother always said: family wasn’t about who you were related to, it was about who was there for you.

Uncle Ray was also, unfortunately, the owner of the building Jessie currently lived in and therefore her landlord, which was currently counting for way too much.

On the note he’d left her a hurried, shaky-handed explanation: he was sorry to miss her, hoped she was having fun on her birthday, and as a gift he’d be waiving May’s rent, which they both knew perfectly well was extremely overdue. However, he warned, he expected the money for June right on time at the start of the month, and if she failed to deliver they were going to need to have a very serious talk about Jessie’s status as a tenant moving forward.

And then, because Uncle Ray was Uncle Ray, he’d given her a little wiggle room: a PS, informing her that Mrs. Hoang said her dishwasher was acting up again, and that he’d happily credit the repair towards Jessie’s account if it meant he didn’t have to call in his idiotic repairman. Jessie didn’t understand for the life of her the psychological warfare that was going on between the two of them, or why Ray didn’t just fire the poor dunce if he hated him so much, but she wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to get paid for hanging out with Mrs. Hoang. Jessie loved old people, and Mrs. Hoang was a hoot. 

She pretended not to see the second maintenance job he offered her, fixing up a dryer and a washer in the basement that had both started spitting people’s quarters back out at them when they were done running. It had taken Jessie a long time to figure out how to make them do that, and she wasn’t one to foul up her own handiwork. 

Alright. Alright. This wasn't good, exactly, but she had somewhere to start, something to keep her occupied instead of completely falling apart. If she didn't give herself a little task right this second she would probably do what she had been doing for days at a time ever since Jonas left: wallowing in her own misery, eating weed gummies and jacking off, listening to true crime podcasts and shopping online until it was time to microwave something for dinner. If the morons in the Brig could see her like that they would cream their standard issue sweatpants. She decided to implement a new rule of personal conduct: whenever she found herself doing something that would make Whirligig feel like she was winning their friend breakup, Jessie had to cut that shit out immediately.

With that in mind, Jessie dragged herself to the bathroom to shower off the morning’s disgrace and wash her hair for the first time in, arguably, too many days. When the hot water ran out, something that she would be holding her uncle accountable for, she toweled off and crawled into a ratty tank top and snowflake-patterned pajama pants. A laundry day outfit for sure, but a.) it actually was laundry day, thank you very much, and b.) she deserved some time in soft clothing after spending the night packed into her catsuit like a can of spam. Then came the first of several trips up and down too many flights of stairs, because despite the criminal lack of an elevator Jessie was determined to throw all of her heaps of laundry into the wash at once. It was sort of a dick move, monopolizing all the washers like that, but she couldn’t wait around all day and her neighbors would forgive her when they realized that all of the machines would spit their change back out now. What, like Jessie had enough quarters for that many loads of laundry? In this economy?

Then she shuffled to the second floor to see Mrs. Hoang, who didn’t care that she was in pajamas and insisted that Jessie stay to have some soup before she started fiddling with the dishwasher. It was a damn good soup, extra spicy bún bò that filled her up so well that she was glad she’d neglected to eat her cupcake. Jessie ate it without saying much, offering a sympathetic ear and supportive scoffs while Mrs. Hoang talked about the convoluted feuds she kept up with various shopkeepers and other elderly women in the neighborhood.

As usual Mrs. Hoang left the TV on while she talked, the news turned down to almost nothing. She hardly seemed to notice it was on, but Jessie’s eye was caught when the puff pieces dissolved into a scene from downtown earlier that day. Nothing too shocking, by Rustbelt’s standards: Ricochet, red and self-righteous, duking it out with some new nobody on the scene, disrupting downtown traffic earlier that afternoon. Jessie ran the numbers, and figured this must have taken place not long at all after she was ingloriously dispatched from N.E.X.T. Had Ric already known? Was that why she was in such a hurry to send Jessie packing? It was nice to imagine there was a reason rather than her archenemy being an asshole, but she knew it was more likely the latter. 

In any case, the new kid hardly seemed like he was worth it. Sure, he was putting on a show. Whatever his trick was, he managed to shatter every pane of glass out of the sparkling facade of the Van Houten Charitable Foundation, a window virtually made of buildings, and send the shards surging across Central Square straight at Ricochet. She was fine, of course, boinging away to safety like the world’s bitchiest little frog, but the cars and businesses around her were definitely going to need some TLC. Hopefully they had powers insurance; you’d have to be a fool to live in Rustbelt without it. And this was a crystal clear claim, in Jessie’s inexpert opinion, caught on camera from multiple angles and everything.

But the actual so-called villain? Pathetic. Amateur hour. Nobody knew his name, for one, because he hadn’t bothered to announce himself, so the chyron at the bottom of the screen could only refer to him as “mystery criminal.” Hardly inspiring stuff; nobody was going to be shelling out for merch of Mystery Criminal. And he hadn’t even bothered to get a decent outfit together, instead showing up in ratty black skinny jeans and a green hoodie like he was fresh off a shift at Hot Topic. He was wearing a backpack, for fucks sake! The only points Jessie would give him were for the fact that he’d at least had the presence of mind to keep the hood up, which was concealing his face to an impressive degree. None of the security cameras or cell phone footage seemed to have gotten a clear look at his face, so at least that was something.

Still, she wasn’t impressed.

“I can’t stand it when these wannabes come crawling out of the woodwork with no direction, no goals, no panache, no nothing,” she said to Mrs. Hoang. “Like, you’re not a villain just because you have powers. If you’re not going to put any artistry into it, you might as well just put your hand in your pocket to pretend you have a gun and go rob a 7/11.”

“Well, not everyone can be as professional as you. You’ve got the passion for it, more than anybody I’ve ever met in my life.” Mrs. Hoang said from beside the kitchen window, where she was on her second cigarette and blowing smoke rings. She was a pack a day kind of broad with a voice to match, and Jessie admired the old-school panache even if she shuddered to imagine the state of Mrs. Hoang’s lungs.

The compliment made her blush. “Thank you. You really mean that?”

Mrs. Hoang shrugged. “I’ve met every type of criminal they make, right? And nobody’s having more fun than you. There are kingpins living in palaces on their own tropical islands who don’t like what they do as much as you do. I think you’re made for this.”

“God, thank you. I’ve been kind of, like, second-guessing myself lately.”

“What? Since when?”

“I don’t know. Like, this morning?”

Jessie gave Mrs. Hoang the abridged version, leaving out details here and there that made her seem extra pathetic—namely, the thing about Ricochet’s secret identity. Jessie didn’t mind painting herself as a victim of N.E.X.T.’s bullying, but she didn’t want to implicate Jonas in anything. The two of them had to present a united front always; that was one of their rules. Still, she was pretty sure she got across exactly how fucked she was, which was why it surprised her when Mrs. Hoang simply shrugged her bony shoulders again.

“You’ll figure it out,” she proclaimed.

“Yeah but, like, how?”

“Well, that part’s not my job. What, you think I’m going to train you? You think I’m trying to be your fucking Mr. Miyagi?” Mrs. Hoang cackled so hard at her own joke that she made herself cough, pounding her chest until she got it back together. “Look, you’re a great girl. I’d let you marry one of my grandsons.”

“You said you’d disown them if they married white people!”

“Eh, I’m getting desperate with this one. He’s a good boy, smart, but he’s got no direction. No ambition. All he does after work is go home to play his video games. I think girls scare him.” She looked at Jessie meaningfully. “He’d be an easy husband, is all I’m saying. He works in tech, makes lots of money that you could spend however you want. And a tough girl like you could really sort him out.”

“I really appreciate it, but I’m not marrying your cringefail loser grandson. That feels wrong, somehow. Like, extremely wrong. I feel like you’re trying to sell him to me.”

“See? You’re a good girl,” Mrs. Hoang said. “But you’re also an eel. That’s the point I was getting to. You’re slippery. You’ll wiggle around and bite whoever you need to so you can survive, because you have to. What else would you do? What is there for you, if not being a villain?”

That wasn’t a rhetorical question; she had a hard look to her face like she actually expected answers. So Jessie scrambled, trying to come up with anything else she might feasibly do to pay the bills.

“I mean, sales? I used to do that.”

“Where’s the last place you were a salesgirl?”

“This snooty-ass jewelry place in the mall. Mostly selling engagement rings and stuff. I kind of hated it, and they ended up firing me for, you know. Stealing an engagement ring with a big honkin’ diamond in it.” 

“You can’t work sales, girl. You love to steal.”

“Okay! But what about, like, waitressing?”

“You’ve done that before?”

“No, but I know how restaurants work. I can hold things. I’m good with people. How hard can it be?”

Mrs. Hoang waved her cigarette scoldingly in Jessie’s direction. “First of all, you apologize to waitresses. That’s skilled work. You can hold things, but what are you going to  do when some tight-ass starts yelling at you for not bringing her shitty kid enough chicken strips? And your feet hurt, and half your dipshit coworkers didn't show up for shift, the head cook is on meth, and nobody's tipping worth shit?”

Jessie tried and failed a few times to come up with what was probably the right answer, and ultimately landed on something a lot closer to the truth. “I don’t know, call in a bomb threat and go home early? Jesus Christ, that sounds like a nightmare.”

“Apologize to waitresses!”

“Sorry, waitresses.” She rolled something around in her mouth, unsure if she should say it at all, then figured it couldn’t hurt to dig herself in a little deeper. “There’s this other place that’s, like, super shady and hires girls who don’t even have to serve the wings, they just walk around in costumes. So like models, basically. It’s superhero themed, and they just have all these girls there to hang out dressed up as the slutty Halloween costume version of heroes and villains and stuff. I figure they might hire me on the spot if they realize who I am, because having the real Frostbite is kind of a get, right? And then I get paid to just, like, hang out with other cute girls and take pictures with people like a character at Disneyland.” Not that Jessie had ever been to Disneyland, but she gets the idea. 

“Okay, so what’s stopping you from doing that? Go apply right now.”

Jessie groaned. “But, like, I know that the first time some guy gets too grabby I’m going to break his fingers and get turbo fired. And also there’s a chance that they’ll tell me I’m too fat to play Frostbite, which is, like, you know. Obviously I’ll just have to burn the entire restaurant down, which is probably illegal.”

Mrs. Hoang nodded like this was all going about as well as she’d expected. “Anything else?”

“Well, like, I have the crafting thing, right? Like, I take some commissions and stuff. I could pivot to do that full time?”

“No. Never try to make a hobby your whole life. You’ll end up hating it.” Mrs. Hoang nodded to the soup simmering on the stove, making a face. “I like to cook. You know what happened when I tried to start a restaurant?”

“You ended up having to burn it down, change your name, and leave San Jose forever.”

“And kill my second husband.”

“You killed your… I don’t know if you’ve ever told me that part before.”

Mrs. Hoang shrugged, as if to say that sometimes second husbands had to die and there was nothing that could be done about it. “He was more of a business partner than a husband, really. Not a lot of love. Sometimes it’s the partner that’s the problem, you know what I mean?”

“I’m not killing my brother,” Jessie said flatly.

“No, no. But you don’t need him, either. You’re smart, tough, quick-thinker. Go find someone else to do crime with you. You want to hang around with pretty girls in costumes so much, go find some yourself. Every big villain I see on TV, he’s got some lay sidekick in a sparkly little outfit. Why not you?”

“I mean, those girls are all union. I can’t afford moll rates.”

“So don’t hire a professional, dumbass. Get a friend,” Mrs. Hoang said. She flicked a little ash off her cigarette derisively. “You remember how to do that?”

“Yeah,” said Jessie, who wasn’t actually sure of that at all. When was the last time she’d made a friend? There was Whirligig, which had obviously been an ass-shattering disaster. Even before it broke really bad, there had never really been a lot of love between them. Then there was Xochitl, who Jessie actually liked and had still managed to completely blow her chances with. That one was still so raw that she couldn’t even joke about it. God, why couldn’t Xo have just yelled at her like a normal person? It would be so much easier if they could just hate each other now. And she’d made a hell of an effort with Night Noir when they did that little crossover job in the fall, but all that had gotten her was the worst ghosting of her life. 

Maybe she didn’t actually know how to make a friend. Maybe she could start by finding a henchperson and figure it out from there. She didn’t really need a friend friend, right? A partner would suffice. Anyone to fill the Jonas-shaped void while Jessie figured out how to go it alone. Sure, she and her brother had been a team. But anyone could watch her back, right? That was hardly skilled labor.

“You really think I can do it? Run my own shit?” 

It was a question for herself as much as for Mrs. Hoang, one of the biggest things that had been pinning her into inaction for the past few months even as it became increasingly clear that she needed to do literally anything. The solution was obvious, really; there was no other path Jessie could take. But the prospect of figuring out how to do it all alone, of having to stand without Jonas’ support for the first time in her life, was scaring her shitless. 

Mrs. Hoang sighed. “What do you like about it? Being a villain?”

Jessie hadn’t expected another question, but this time she was immediately ready with an answer. 

“It’s fun. I mean, it’s hard and stressful and it's kind of scary, but it’s never boring. Every job is a different challenge, and I really like that. And things actually happen. At most jobs you do the same thing over and over again every day to try and keep everything the same forever, right? If you do everything right, nothing really changes. Best case scenario, some months you sell more stuff than last month. But if I do my job right I get to go home with a diamond the size of my ass cheek, because I was smart enough and tough enough and ballsy enough to take it when nobody else was. And there’s no CEO or boss or board of directors who get to take a cut or give me a bad performance review or anything. Nobody can fire me. Nobody can tell me what to do. I’m free to do whatever I want.”

She stumbled a little on the last part, because it wasn’t exactly true anymore. Ricochet very much had told her what to do, had even taken away her freeze ray to really rub it in, and Jessie had no fucking idea what she was supposed to do about that. She had spent years thinking of Ricochet like a yappy little dog, irksome but easy enough to kick away when she got too annoying. And now it turned out she wasn’t scared of Jessie and never had been, and Jessie’s head was still spinning.

Mrs. Hoang cleared her throat, snatching Jessie’s attention back. “You know how you look, when you talk about it?”

“What?”

“You talk about being a villain like you’re in love. You get this look on your face like my third husband used to get, back when we were falling in love.”

“The one in Rikers?”

“God bless him.” Mrs. Hoang crossed herself in the wrong order, cigarette trailing a smoky crucifix across her chest. “Listen to me: you look happier talking about crime than most people do talking about their own children. We all have to work until we die on this bitch of an earth, so if you can make money doing something you don’t hate, why would you let that go? Because your brother’s not around? Your brother’s a bastard. You don’t need him.”

“Hey.”

“I know you love him, but you’re a smart girl. You can love someone and know they’re a bastard. That’s my third husband, too. You’re tough. You’re a survivor. And you never take no for an answer. So why the hell are you waiting for an old woman to tell you that you can do it?”

“You’re right. Oh my god, you’re so right.” Jessie stood up, awkwardly smoothing out her pajama pants. Suddenly she was feeling hideously underdressed, embarrassed to have even gone outside of her apartment like this. She had a reputation to maintain. “Thank you so much for this. What time is it? I need to get moving. I have to get my life together.”

“Eh eh, hold on.” Mrs. Hoang snapped her fingers impatiently. “You need to fix my dishwasher first. It’s making that noise again. I can’t stand that shit.”

“Oh, fuck. Sorry. Hang on.” Jessie immediately redirected that energy back into the kitchen, yanking open the dishwasher and dropping straight to the floor. “Seriously, thank you so much. I really appreciate it when you let me pick your brain like this. You don’t happen to have a cringe pushover granddaughter, do you? I’d marry her in a heartbeat.”

“Nice try. All of my granddaughters are brilliant and mean.”

“God, that’s hot.”

“I’m very proud. I’ll pack up some leftovers for you, okay? I know you’ve been sad without your bastard brother around. It’s hard to eat when you’re sad. You should have come to see me sooner, so I could feed you.”

“I’m really sorry,” Jessie told her, and meant it. “I’ve been in kind of a funk, you know? But I’m trying to shake it off now. I promise.”

That was an understatement. What remained of the afternoon passed in a blur, with Jessie cramming in as much as she could to make up for lost time. She actually put away all of her clean clothes when they were done drying instead of leaving them to rot in the laundry basket, got dressed in a proper functioning outside outfit, and styled her hair and slapped on a little eyeliner and lip gloss for good measure. Then she went to see Isaac, the sweet Zimbabwean grad student across the hall. She’d been letting him use her Wi-Fi since he moved in and had knitted him a scarf to get him through the winter, and he’d always sworn he owed her a big favor for it while Jessie swore that he didn’t owe her anything at all.

Well, the times were a-changing, and Jessie was coming to collect. 

He was surprised to see her but didn’t refuse when she asked to go to the grocery store, or ask questions when she insisted on going to the fancy one that was well outside of their neighborhood. Jessie recommended, as delicately as possible, that he stay in the car while she shopped, and if he suspected that she’d stolen every single item in her overstuffed cart then he was polite enough not to say anything about it. It was a risky move, for sure, but if Jessie had learned anything as a child it was that even the worst circumstances seemed a little better when you at least had a full pantry, and she needed to save the last of her dwindling cash for bigger and better things. 

One-Eyed Polly’s was cash-only, after all, and somehow it always came back to One-Eyed Polly’s.  

According to family legend, everything had actually started there for Jessie, specifically in the middle stall of the women’s bathroom where her mother’s water broke. Yes, her mother really was the kind of bitch who was still hanging out at the local bad guy bar shooting the shit and hustling people at pool while she was nine months pregnant. Explains some things, doesn’t it? 

Anyway, Jesie spent her childhood obsessed with the idea of the place. It was a mythical location in her little kid brain, like the White House or the North Pole. God only knew what actually went on in there, but her imagination was filling in the gaps in the most lurid way possible. Polly’s was where Dad went to find work when every other lead dried up and the family was getting desperate, their saving grace. Dad would slink off to Polly’s when the power was about to get turned off, and he’d come back flush with confidence and enough money that the family wouldn’t have to worry for a few more months.

He never told Jessie much about Polly’s when she pressed, or anything else about his work. From Jonas she had gathered that their dad, gentle and bumbling as he was, had been an enforcer once, what Jonas scathingly called dumb muscle. It made sense, physically; Jonas and Dad were built exactly alike, tall and broad and sort of looming huge no matter what they did to seem smaller. But Dad didn’t do that anymore, not in years. These days he kept his head low, mostly serving as a driver, but he still wasn’t sharing any details. 

In young Jessie’s mind Polly’s was a nightclub like the ones on cop shows, dark rooms with throbbing music where sexily-dressed people writhed through smoke and neon lights. The villains would lean up against the walls, watching the crowd with a sharp gaze until they found just what they were looking for, and then they’d smile and beckon the lucky hench who’d caught their eye. You. And the crowds would part to let the chosen one through, everyone envious of whatever trait had been enough to deem them worthy. 

Admittedly it was hard to picture her deeply uncool dad in such a setting, but it must have worked out somehow. 

She didn’t actually get to see what Polly’s was like until she was thirteen, and that was still too early as far as Jonas was concerned. Before they went in he’d given her a whole lecture in the car, his knuckles white on the steering wheel even though they were parked.

“I’m going to walk you up to the bar and have you sit with Maudie, alright? She’ll take care of you.”

“Will she make me a drink?” Jessie asked. She was avoiding looking at her brother because she didn’t want him to see how excited she was, or that she’d been experimenting with eyeliner and mascara. He wouldn’t care that she was wearing makeup, but he would want to know where she got it and he’d probably guess that she’d also been experimenting with shoplifting. Best to annoy him on purpose so he had something else to be grouchy about.

It worked perfectly, and he made a sound of deep distress like he thought she was being serious. “You can’t drink. She’ll find you a chocolate milk or something, and then you’ll hang out with her until I’m done with my meeting. Don’t talk to anybody else, okay?”

“Why not?”

“Stranger danger, Jess, come on. People are freaks in here.”

“You’re here.”

“Because I have to be, alright? I don’t like it.” Jonas rubbed his eyes, looking tired. He’d looked tired since he moved out of their parents’ house, so much that Jessie worried about his health. She swore he was starting to get gray hairs, even though he’d only just turned twenty-one.

“What am I allowed to do?”

“Have a nice conversation with Maud. Tell her about how good you’re doing in school.”

“I’m not doing good in school.”

“Then you better come up with something nice to talk about, because you’re not doing anything else. Don’t even look at anybody too much, people get twitchy if you start doing that in case you’re a snitch.”

“Am I allowed to piss?”

He looked strained, the way he always did when she swore for no reason. “Have Maudie go with you.”

“Seriously? I’m not a baby, I can go to the bathroom by myself.” Jessie couldn’t even imagine what kind of trouble he thought she would get into there. In health class they’d said that people hung out in strange bathrooms to offer kids drugs, but that seemed stupid to Jessie. She would probably take a drug if it was free, just to see what it was like, but someone giving something away for no money seemed like a stupid idea to her even though she’d gotten detention for saying it.

Anyway, Maudie wouldn’t let something like that happen in her bar.

“I know you can wipe yourself, doofus, but you’re also gonna meet someone and start talking their ear off,” Jonas was saying. “Don’t do that.”

“Gaaaaawd. Why don’t you just leave me in the car if you’re so worried about it?”

“Because that’s child abuse. Any more questions?”

She could have asked questions forever, if he’d let her, but she was getting antsy and didn’t want to make him late, so she zipped her lips and shook her head. 

Jonas steered her inside with a big hand on her shoulder, his skin a little chilly even through his stupid little driving gloves. When they stepped through the door Jessie’s hopes momentarily soared, then immediately crashed and hit the ground like a dead seagull. Where was the pounding synth and the sex appeal? This was just a boring room with worn-out furniture and a pool table and completely normal lighting shining down on a scratch-up wooden floor. The most notable features were a jukebox blasting old people rock that made Jessie think of her dad and an ashtray smell that made her think of her mom.

Her brother steered her straight back to the bar, where a graying butch was waiting with a dusty can of grape soda that had clearly been dug up from somewhere deep in the bowels of the basement.

“Heya, tyke,” Maudie said, unsmiling.

“Heya, dyke,” Jessie said, with a shit-eating grin. She swung herself up onto one of the barstools, kicking her legs eagerly. “How’s it hanging?”

“Same old.” Maud turned to Jonas, somber. “Recluse is already waiting for you in the corner.”

Jessie swiveled all the way around her stool to have a look, and was delighted to see a menacing figure occupying the big booth jammed into a corner at the back of the room. She was wearing a lengthy trench coat that was bulging in the back, with long, bristling black spider limbs poking out at angles that didn’t seem like they should work. 

“Holy shit,” Jessie said, right before her brother spun her forcibly back around to look at Maud.

“Do not,” he said. “Please. I’ll be right back.”

He patted the top of her head and left, hunching his shoulders the way he did when he wanted to look even bigger and wider. Maudie sighed, long and slow.

“How’s school, kid?”

“Stupid. I wish it was summer.” 

“Yeah? What are you going to do when school’s out?”

“I don’t know. Watch TV. Who’s Recluse?���

“Trouble. Mind your own business.”

“Why’s Jonas talking to her?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“Does she owe him money?”

“How about I put this pop in a margarita glass, huh? Would that be fun for you?”

“Can I have a little paper umbrella?”

“We don’t do those here. You get the fancy glass, take it or leave it.”

“Take it.”

The grape soda tasted musty, the carbonated fizz warm on her tongue, but Jessie sipped it anyway to be polite, swirling it the way she saw women do with wine glasses on TV. Her eyes were swiveling over the glass, trying to get a look at anyone else inside without being obvious about it. There was mostly nothing to see except a lot of sad, slouchy men who looked like her dad, but over at the dartboard there was a woman that Jessie wanted to look at forever.

There were some men with her, too, but she was clearly the center of the situation. Tall and leggy (in the normal way, not like Recluse), pale and dark-haired, face filled with all kinds of exciting piercings that Jessie hadn’t previously realized were even possible. Her outfit was all black, shiny black boots and a black cropped t-shirt and tight black pants that rode low enough to show off a skeletal stomach and jutting hips. God, even her belly button was pierced. Her whole body was like a knife, nothing but sharp edges and bits of metal. As Jessie watched, the pointy woman flipped a dart backwards over her own shoulder and hit a perfect bullseye, never even glancing at the board.

“Stop,” Maud said sharply.

“Stop what?”

“Looking. Thinking. Whatever you’re doing.”

Jessie leaned across the bar, conspiratorial. “Who is she?”

“Too old for you.”

“Maudie! That’s not what I meant!” Jessie said, blushing in a way that strongly suggested otherwise.

“Like hell it’s not.” Maud rolled her eyes, cut a glance over at the sharp woman, and spoke out of the corner of her mouth. “She calls herself Flechette, like machete. You’re not supposed to pronounce it like that, it’s French, but she’s mangling it on purpose. Dumbass. She’s been hustling those saps for the last fifteen minutes, taking them to the cleaners, and if I was dumb enough to gamble I'd say they’re about to start catching on.”

“Hey,” said one of the saps, right on time. “How the hell are you doing that?”

“She’s a freak!” one of his friends declared, which was followed pretty immediately by sounds of terrible pain.

Jessie didn’t turn around fast enough; hardly anyone could have. By the time she could see what was happening Flechette was already twirling a pool cue like a weapon and pulling off a series of improbably high kicks and sharp elbow jabs. The guys she’d been soundly beating were hardly amateurs—they all had the look of professional enforcers, dumb muscle to the bone—but their lumbering punches never had a chance to land.

Maud whistled, loud and sharp enough to split right through the fracas “That’s enough. You know there’s none of that bullshit in here.”

Flechette froze at once, except to deal one more swift kick to a man trying to drag himself up from the floor. She dropped the pool cue and held her hands up, wide open to show that she was done being a threat. It was a choice though, Jessie thought; this woman was entirely in charge of how and when she was dangerous. Maudie had always seemed unshakeable to Jessie, stubborn and stern as a stone statue, but what could she have actually done if Flechette didn’t want to leave? The baseball bat beneath the bar wouldn’t be much use against someone like that. 

It didn’t matter. Flechette flashed a smile like a shark and made for the door, pausing to throw a wink back at the bar. Maybe that was meant for Maud, a final little taunt to remember her by, but Jessie liked to imagine that it was meant for her. She was watching with her jaw dangling to the floor, not trying to make any secret of it. When Jessie told the story later she would always editorialize, hinting that Flechette must have sensed a kindred soul in her that day, spotted another villain’s star rising. 

In any case, nobody ever saw Flechette around Rustbelt again. From there on out she started climbing the ranks as a mercenary and assassin for hire, eventually working for A-list baddies all over the world. She upgraded from darts to razor-thin daggers that could find their mark from nearly any distance, thanks to her superhuman aim, and her services were sufficiently in demand that no prison could keep her contained for long. Somebody more powerful was always eager to break her out and have her killing in their name.  

In the meantime, the door of One-Eyed Polly’s slammed shut at the exact moment a giant hand gripped Jessie’s shoulder and made her jump.

“It’s time to go,” Jonas said, low and urgent. “Come on, Jess. Say thanks to Maudie.”

“I didn’t even finish my drink,” she said, knowing immediately that it was a stupid thing to say.

“Maybe next time.” Maud’s face was tight, and she was already whisking the margarita glass away. “Take care, kids.”

Jonas steered Jessie straight to his awful van, completely silent until he was back in the driver’s seat and gripping the steering wheel. He hadn’t taken off his gloves, but Jessie could imagine his knuckles turning white. That was a bad sign, considering the van wasn’t even running.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said quietly.

Which confused Jessie for a moment, because she had assumed that she was in trouble. An apology was unexpected.

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “It was cool. She’s badass.”

“She’s not a role model. Nobody in there is.”

“What about Recluse?”

Jonas groaned, lowering his head to the steering wheel as well. “You shouldn’t even know her name. No, she’s not a role model. She’s a psychopath.”

“What about Maudie?”

“She’s on thin ice,” he said, which would normally make Jessie chuckle and point out haha, ice, but he clearly wasn’t in the mood. And she wasn’t either, because Jonas was treating her like a baby and that ticked her off, so she did something rude.

“Well, what about you?”

That made him raise his head, at least, and she immediately regretted pushing him, because Jonas looked more exhausted than she’d ever seen him in their entire life. He was getting dark hollows under his eyes, and he seemed skinnier and more raw beneath his baggy clothes every time she hugged him, and that hair that was going gray. 

“I don’t want to be there either, Jess. Don’t think for a second that I do, alright? This is pragmatism.”

“What does that mean? Come on, I’m failing English. I don’t know words.”

He reached into his jacket and withdrew a fat wad of bills clipped together, slapping them down on the center console. It wasn’t forceful, not enough to make Jessie cringe or scare her in any way—he was always careful about that, conscientious to be gentle with her since he had always been so much older and bigger. But she could tell he wanted to make a point about it.

“It means that I’m being smart and doing the thing that will make me the most possible money, even though it sucks.”

“Why, though?” Jessie pressed. “You don’t have to do it if you hate it so much.”

“Jess, come on. I’m trying to take care of you, okay? Dropping off groceries every week is expensive, and driving you around is expensive, and I’m…” He paused, rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Look, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this. I didn’t want to bring it up too soon, in case it didn’t pan out, but what if you came to stay with me instead of Mom and Dad?”

Her heart skipped, and she immediately clamped down on that feeling before she could get too excited. She had to play it cool. “But you said I’m never allowed to visit your place.”

“Well, I’d have to get a new place. With no housemates, so I’d have to pay the rent and security deposit and everything by myself because it would be just me and you. But I think I could do it.”

Jessie swallowed hard. “Do Mom and Dad know?”

“No. But I think I could make them understand, if it was what you really wanted. And that’s another thing I’m saving up for, getting a lawyer if they try to fight about it. So that I could legally adopt you or something, if I have to. If you want me to.”

“Adopt me?” Jessie repeated. It sounded silly, thinking of Jonas as her parent instead of her brother. He was too young to be her dad. But it made sense, didn’t it? Mom made sure she had food and clothes and all that, but Jessie had never felt like her mom loved or even her. Dad loved her plenty, but he was responsible for losing all their money and getting the lights shut off at least as often as he was responsible for fixing it. Jonas was the only one who had ever managed to love her and take care of her. 

“If you want,” he said again. She’d never seen him so nervous. “You don’t have to. But I know Mom and Dad have been getting worse, and I don’t want you to have to stay there if you don’t want to. You should feel safe at home. And I’ve never forgotten what you said that night at the park. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

She knew exactly what he meant; there was only one night at the park for them. The night they’d been eating ice cream sandwiches and watching fireflies when the sky opened up, when time slowed to almost nothing and snapped back to a different world, a world where her brother was a walking blizzard. 

“It’s okay,” Jessie told him, even though it sort of wasn’t. She’d gotten used to it. “But I would. I’d live with you. It’d be cool.”

Jonas didn’t smile often or easily, but right then he looked happier and more relieved then she’d ever seen. Maybe even excited, like he had been worried she would say no and pick their parents over him. “Okay. Yeah. We’ll make it happen, Jess. I’ve been saving up as much as I can, and I think I’m close. We won’t be anywhere very nice, but I’ll find us somewhere. We’ll make it happen, okay?”

Jessie’s heart was racing, all the excitement of One-Eyed Polly’s already forgotten in light of this new development. She had to make sure this was for real, had to make this as close to legally binding as she could. “You promise?” 

He extended a little finger and she grinned, tied their pinkies together to seal the promise like they had since she was little.

“I promise,” he said. “You and me against the world.”

[kaeyas-beloved]

four sides and a bottom

Character: Kaveh

— a box full of your things, that’s it, that’s all

CWs: gn!reader (you/your), ANGST, hurt/no comfort, aftermath of a breakup

val’s no sympathy november masterlist

gonna apologize for dipping for so long but i'm also warning you that it could very much happen again <3 also i'm a little rusty with writing pls be nice to me :(

Kaveh wishes your relationship could’ve ended on good terms. He wouldn’t be able to kiss you or cuddle up to you with a glass of wine after a tough day, but at least you would still be his life. That and that alone would be good enough for him.

On rougher days, the words you spoke echo in his head, disrupting him as he goes about his day. When his mind isn’t occupied it’ll wander to the last day he was able to call you his, making even simple tasks like working or making a cup of coffee painful. A pang in his heart followed by an uncomfortable weight on his chest, throat blocked, barely able to breathe.

“We’re done Kaveh. No more, I can’t keep doing this!” The architect squeezes his eyes shut, willing away the repeat of the past. Without thinking, he takes his almost forgotten glass and downs a greedy gulp of the dark red liquid, the sweet yet bitter drink coating his throat and stomach, making his head spin and his heart beat just the way he likes it - stuttering and skipping as if to stop and bypass the thoughts he’d rather forget.

As much as the deadline loomed over him, Kaveh couldn’t, for the life of him, work on his latest project. Instead, his eyes kept trailing to the box pushed against his closet, the contents overflowing and peeking out for the world to see. By the fourth glance he groans and stands up, chair dragging along the wood floor and nearly toppling over from the force.

Some days he doesn’t know why he keeps this box of reminders around, other times he knows exactly why. People will cling to the last things they own when it affects them so greatly in life. You, by far, were one of the greatest effects on him.

There’s a clink and a thud as Kaveh sets the box of your things on the table, and it’s almost sad how he’s able to identify exactly what made each noise. He’s only memorized everything in it a dozen and a half times after all. A pocket watch, a picture frame, a scarf, a sketchbook, a ring. Meaningless things on their own or to the outside eye, but to you and Kaveh, they meant the world.

Clear as water he could remember when he gifted each of these to you, save the frame and picture. That was your own doing, something you had set on your desk because you liked looking at how happy you both were that day (or so you said - he thinks it's just because you liked looking at him specifically).

He’d given you the scarf to stay warm one night, the watch because you said it had a pretty design (you scolded him a little after finding out he almost spent all his mora on it for you as a gift. You were still touched nonetheless though). The sketchbook was given after you let slip that sometimes you liked to doodle. You always said you didn’t feel as talented as he was, but he’d always shoot back and say that as long as you appreciated the art of it all, the process, and you drew with a smile, then anything you drew was perfect (you were perfect).

The ring was a promise, one that he hadn’t intended to break. This gift you were too speechless to get on his case about financially because the words of love, dedication and loyalty that he added along meant the world to you. The promise to love you forever, to always take into consideration your feelings, and to one day make you his.

In some poetic, way maybe each item was an accumulation of things he was willing to give, when the reality was that you only needed him. Thinking on it now, it hurts more knowing that his absence was what caused your split in paths. Then again…

“Everything hurts when I’m not with you… I miss you.”

Tag list (both regular and event exclusive): @spoopy-fish-writes // @that-enby-alien // @xenuuu // @kaeyaloml // @mariposa666haruka // @quackquackmfs // @kunikuzushiii // @genshin-impact-writings // @ventisweetheart // @lordbugs // @leena-shi // @ari-the-wr1ter // @xiaos-wife // @milkwithspiceyicecubes // @stygianoir // @francisnyx // @leemidnightmoon // @bisexuawolfsalt

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@kaiserkisser // @multipleshadesofblue // @moloteco-real // @kithewanderingme // @scaramood // @ii-lily2 // @esuz // @kochothehoe // @cindywasneverhere // @kaeyastittysucker

[therealcocoshady]

Recovery - Chapter 1

Eminem x Reader (Y/N) fanfiction

Summary : Y/N is getting sober and trying to rebuild her life after a hard breakup when she meets Marshall Mathers.

Tags : mention of SA ; Miscarriage ; Addiction

Author’s note : this is my first shot a my writing a fanfiction. Hope you enjoy it x

Chapter 1

- Thank you for having me, you said to Talia.

- No problem, baby. You stay as long as you need to, she answered while giving me a hug.

You looked around, taking everything in. In a matter of days, you had lost nearly everything. It all started when you woke up in the hospital, several tubes attached to your body.

FLASHBACK

Apparently, you had been in a coma for three days. Simon, your boyfriend of two years was sitting in a chair next to your bed.

- I can’t believe you did it again, Y/N.

- It’s not what you think, Simon.

- It is exactly what I think. You need help. You need to get yourself together. Next time you might not be so lucky. You might actually die, he said.

Dying. To be fair you hadn’t really tried to kill yourself. It was more complicated than that and Simon knew it.

- I’m sorry, you said, trying to hold his hand.

- No, he simply answered, taking his hand off yours.

He looked at you with a piercing gaze, not saying a word for what felt like forever. He didn’t need to, anyway. You already knew it was over.

- I love you, Y/N. I really do. But I can’t go on like this. You need to seek treatment, he said with tears in his eyes.

- I just wanted to sleep, you know, you tried to explain.

- By taking over 100 pills of Xanax ?! Are you fucking kidding me ? He asked, fire coming from his eyes.

- I…

Tears started rolling on your cheeks. As much as you knew you had done something terribly stupid, you wished he wouldn’t break up with you. You wished he would understand.

- Simon, don’t do this, you pleaded.

- I’m sorry, he simply said, getting up and grabbing his jacket. You have a problem and I cannot deal with it.

He walked towards the door and faced you for the last time.

- Your stuff will be packed when you get out of here.

And there it was. Shortly after moving in with your boyfriend, you were homeless.

END OF FLASHBACK

- Are you ok, Y/N ? Talia asked.

- Yeah. Sorry. I just… I can’t believe it’s over, you said. I really screwed up.

She gave you a big hug again.

- What’s done is done. Now you need to focus on getting better, she said.

- Thank you for being here for me. And allowing me to move in with you. And not judging me.

- What you need now is not judgement. It’s support. I am a bit mad though, she explained. I wish you had come clean to me about all those prescription pills.

- I thought I could manage, you tried to explain.

- Well you thought wrong.

Your best friend was being hard on you, and she had every right to be. For months, you had been lying through your teeth to everyone in your life. You had pretended that you were this happy-go-lucky girl who had it together. On the outside, you had everything : you were successful in your PhD research at university of Michigan, a loving boyfriend you had just moved in with and a tight-knit circle of friends who loved you unconditionally. But deep down, you had been unable to handle the pressure of your studies and, the hardest thing of all, you had lost your baby, going through a miscarriage at 13 weeks of pregnancy.

- You should rest before I take you to your meeting, Talia said. And then, we’ll go to the studio. Jamal invited us.

- Do we have to ? I think I’d rather come back here right after the meeting, you pleaded.

- Meeting new people will be good for you, she said. And I won’t lie : I don’t think you should be alone in here.

She was making it clear that she didn’t trust you. After all, how could you possibly prove that you weren’t going to be popping pills as soon as you were alone ?

- Right, you said.

She left you to your new room. Thank God she and Jamal, her boyfriend, were living in a big house with plenty of room to spare.

Jamal was a beat maker and producer and had made quite a name for himself. He was now starting to work with famous people. One of them was Eminem. You weren’t a big fan, although you did enjoy some of his most well-known music. In fact, this man was to be credited for you learning how to swear in English, as you’d learned the language by watching movies and listening to music. You hadn’t listened to him in a long time though and you were kind of wondering what he was up to, now.

Talia sometimes went to the studio with Jamal and she was getting along with everyone. According to her, “Em” (as she called him) was a great guy and she was pretty sure the two of you would get along.

FAST FORWARD

You had officially made it through your first NA meeting. It had been emotional but you were glad you went. Now was the time you dreaded : meeting everyone at the studio. As much as you appreciated Talia’s efforts to help you clear your head, you weren’t exactly the social type.

As the two of you entered the studio, you were greeted by half a dozen people. As soon as he saw you, Jamal got up and have you the biggest hug.

- How did it go ? He asked.

- Uh… it went well, I guess, you answered.

You weren’t particularly intent on talking about it, especially in front of people. Fortunately, Jamal was wise enough not to elaborate. The two of you were close and he knew better than to embarrass you. Still, you were thankful for his concern. From the moment he learned you’d be moving in with them, he had been nothing but supportive. « I know you’ll get through it », he had said.

Talia introduced you to everyone.

- So, this is Y/N, our new roommate and my very best friend, she said.

- How come we never met you before ? Somebody asked.

- Well, Y/N is a scholar so she doesn’t have a lot of time for people with lesser minds, she said jokingly.

You blushed immediately. Your best friend was the most supportive person of your work and she never stopped telling you how proud she was.

- Nice to meet you all, you said a bit awkwardly.

You shook everyone’s hand and you kind of had a shock as you introduced yourself to Eminem. You remembered him from at least fifteen years ago, blonde hair and clean shaven. He was now sporting brown hair as well as a well-trimmed beard. You would never have recognised him, had the two of you crossed path in the street. You couldn’t help but think to yourself that he was rather good looking. And in pretty good shape for an older dude who was in his early fifties. In fact, he did look at least ten years younger.

- Call me Marshall, he said as soon as he shook your hand.

- Ok, Marshall, you said while looking in his deep blue eyes.

He wasn’t as cheerful and smiling as the others, but he wasn’t distant either. You had always pictured him as a loud person, but the man you had in front of you was far from it. In fact, he seemed like the quiet, rather serious type. He looked like he was staring at you as if he was trying to read into your soul.

You joined Talia and sat on one of the big leather couches while everyone got back to working. You looked around and noticed that the studio seemed like a very comfortable, soothing space. For the first time today, you eased a little.

After some time, the group decided to take a break. Most of them went outside to smoke a cigarette and get some air, but you stayed inside. You did indulge in the occasional cigarette but you had been told it would be easier for you to refrain from taking any substance. You tried to be reasonable and not get tempted by the smell.

At some point, you were left with only Marshall, who was listening to the tune they just recorded in his headphones, pushing buttons on the mixing desk.

- So, how long have you been sober ? He asked as he looked at you.

- How do… how do you know ? You asked in shock.

- I was with Talia and Jamal when they got the call about one of their friends behind in the hospital after an OD. And you playing with your NA chip kind of tipped me off, he shrugged.

- Oh. Right. Actually, today was my first meeting, you said and blushed a little.

- Recovery is hard, he pointed out. Congrats on taking the first step.

You didn’t say more and he got back to mixing, as you stayed silent and watched him being extremely focused. As you studied him, you couldn’t help but notice an AA necklace dangling from his neck.

- So you’re in recovery too ? You asked.

- Yeah. Been sober for fifteen years now, he said with a smile.

- Wow. That’s impressive.

- Doesn’t mean it’s always easy, though, he confessed. But it’s 100% worth it.

There were a hundreds of questions going through your mind, but you clearly did not know him enough to ask them. Instead, you just smiled.

- Want to give me your opinion on the track ? He offered with a smile while handing you the headphones.

- I know nothing about music but sure, why not, you said, taking place in the chair next to his.

You placed the headphones on your ears and he played the song. You closed your eyes, in order to concentrate on what you were hearing. You were amazed at how fast this man was able to rap. Yet, you could hear and understand every single word. You particularly enjoyed the rhyming schemes. And, as ever with Jamal, the music was on point.

- it’s good, you said. It’s really good.

- Good to hear, he said with a smile.

The others came back to the room and Talia seemed extatic at the sight of you and Marshall talking. She knew how shy you were and every time you talked to someone new, she saw it as some sort of victory.

- So, people, Jamal said. How about y’all come to our place after ?

Everyone cheered and agreed. From what you gathered, it was usual for the group to meet at Jamal and Talia’s after a long day at the studio, so that they could kick back and get their mind off work. Talia held your hand in hers.

- I forgot Jamal wanted to have people over, I’m so sorry she said.

- It’s fine, you reassured her. But I’d rather stay in my room, if you don’t mind.

As everyone was arriving at Talia and Jamal’s, you said your goodbyes decided to hide in your room. Not that everyone hadn’t been super nice, but you highly suspected that there would be alcohol involved, if not weed. While you were climbing up the stairs, Talia grabbed your arm.

- Are you going to be ok ? There won’t be any hard liquor or anything like that, Y/N. Just a few beers, she said.

- I know, but… it’s been a long day. Meetings, people… I’d rather rest, you reassured her.

- Sure, she said as she gave you a peck on the cheek. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.

As soon as you entered your room, you changed into some comfier clothes : a cream-colored, cashmere set. You removed your makeup and put your hair up in a bun. You weren’t going to see people anyway so why bother ? You decided to watch Friends (your favorite show on Earth) and snuggle under a throw that reminded you of the place you shared with Simon.

After a couple of episodes, you heard a unfamiliar knock.

- come in ? You said.

The door opened and you saw Marshall standing there.

- So, are you hiding ? He asked with a smile.

- Kind of, you admitted.

- You have nothing to be scared of, he said. It’s very chill, downstairs.

- There’s still booze, right ?

- Just beer.

- I don’t really trust myself, you admitted.

- You had a drinking problem too ? He asked.

- Nope. Just pills. But now that they’re gone, I swear I’d take anything just to feel remotely… whatever.

- I feel you, Marshall said.

- Do you ?

- Yes, he simply said, showing his AA necklace.

- How do you feel so comfortable in a setting like this then ? You asked, wondering if you would ever get to the same point.

- It’s been 15 years, he explained. It gets easier with time. Plus, I’ve come to value the person I’ve become much more than the person I used to be when I was using. No money in the world could convince me to come back to that.

- It’s hard, you know. Hiding here when I know what’s going on down there, I said.

- Talia already gave Jamal so much shit about it, he said with a laugh.

This made you smile. Deep down, you knew Jamal didn’t mean harm, so you were kind of hoping Talia wasn’t giving him too much of a hard time.

- Thank you, you whispered. I don’t want to deprive you of your own fun, though.

- It’s fine. I don’t think I’m gonna stick around for long. I wanted to see if you wanted to go for a drive. You know, change your mind …?

- Uh… sure, I replied. Give me 5 minutes so that I can get dressed ?

He left the room and you quickly put together an outfit with a pair of dark wash jeans, a black turtleneck, a pair of knee-high boots and a blazer. You put your hair in a sleek ponytail and added some mascara for good measure. You weren’y trying too hard, but I definitely wanted to make an effort. After all, you had just met him - and he was extremely attractive.

- Ready to go, you said as you emerged of my room.

- Some sweats would have been enough, you know, he said joking.

- Oh. I started blushing.

- You look great though.

He didn’t say a word more and you got downstairs.

- Y/N and I are going on a drive, Marshall announced.

- Wait a minute, Talia said before you got the chance to get through the door.

She looked at both of you.

- No messing around. No drinking. No smoking. Nothing illicit or illegal. And you’d better be back home before midnight.

- Yes, Marshall noted with a chuckle.

- Yes Mom, you said jokingly while giving her a peck on the cheek.

As you got ouf of the house, you got to an impressive car. You were never good at recognising the brands or models, but this one was huge and it seemed like it was really expensive. It was also a bit contrast with Marshall, who did not look like the over-the-top stereotypical rapper. In fact, he was wearing normal clothes - jeans and a hoodie, no luxury logo to be seen.

- Where are you taking me ? I asked.

- You’ll see, he said with a voice full of mystery.

Normally, you wouldn’t have agreed to a car ride with someone you barely knew, but you were so eager to leave the house that you did not really care.

You took place in the car and Marshall started driving.

[euhla]

To you, who have lost yourself:

aventurine x gn!reader. a/n : guess who just broke up w their first ever bf 🤓☝️ tags. light angst, (not rlly) hurt/comfort, breakups, mainly just aven’s letter 4u. might add p2 but idk

Everything went like a dream at first; everything tastes sweet, all of Aventurine's demeanor and words always leave an impression on your mind. He was born to be a gentleman, you think.

But you should know more than anyone, that every sweet attitude and speech is a trap. A trap that pushes you over the edge of a cliff.

The cliff is that will lead you to an endless darkness.

“You look breathtaking, Ves'tacha.” and his hand always guides you.

You always loved it when you woke up in the morning, and looked at him still asleep in awe. How can there be a human who looks so stunning?

Stroking his hair, you always say good morning as soon as you see him start to open his eyes. The birds are chirping, and you both are still rotting in bed.

But saying goodbye was never in your vision. The ‘in the end, everyone you’ve ever loved will became a lesson’ was never be your wish. But you can't deny that not falling for sweet words is a lesson for you.

“This is not your fault, but mine. I.. i just need some time alone.” you are now reluctant to hear the words that came out of his mouth.

“But not breakup!” You can’t help but try to hold back your tears. But all you heard next were excuses coming out of his mouth.

How many days have passed since that day? You don't remember it anymore. You start to overworking yourself to forget it.

Forgetting how to eat on time, and how you miss sleeping with someone in your arms.

That first week was like hell, all you remember is crying. Staring at the letter you were holding, you just listened silently to Topaz—your ex's friend—excuse herself.

You ignore the letter for eight days, reluctant to open and read it. Or maybe you are afraid that you will remember everything again?

Day nine, you try to read it. Aventurine's handwriting that you've been missing all this time is clearly visible on the letter.

The “For you, who have lost yourself” writing is clearly visible on the front of the letter, written a little large by purpose.

‘Dearest,

I hope this letter is delivered safely to you.

I don't want to take back my apology. I also don't regret knowing you all this time. I can be happy and finding out about happiness all this time thanks to you. I can feel what love is thanks to you. I can live and love this life thanks to you. The other side of my heart desperately seeking for you, but it’s all too late now..

I can’t change the fact that i’ve hurt you— someone who loved me, also who’s important to me.

After spending a lot of time thinking and asking Topaz for advice, I decided to write a letter of apology—or rather the words I wish I could have said to you sooner:

Your presence always brings calm to me. I don't know how I can describe all the things you make me feel. And you are appreciated, please remember that well. You must love yourself more than you love other people.

I’m very proud of you. You are enough just as you are.

And I never lie when I praise you. I never lie when I say 'I love you'. I didn't lie when I confessed my feelings to you at that time. I never lie about everything I do and say to you.

I'm sorry I couldn't say this sooner.

I'm sorry I didn't have the courage to tell you everything, especially my past.

I'm sorry for being such a coward hiding behind my words.

I'm sorry I didn't say this directly because I knew you would hate me

I’m sorry for all my mistakes.

It was while writing this letter that I realized the real reason I asked to break up; I want you to find someone better than me. Who doesn't just rely on his words even though he is actually a coward.

All my apologies are not enough to replace your feelings which were hurt because of my actions and words.

‘To love is to let go.’ That's the advice Topaz gave me. And it took eight days for me to understand it.

So please, find someone better than me.‘

[skateordiebitch]

SHAMPOO BOTTLES || D.F x READER

'i've been leaving your shampoo bottles

over in the corner there,

sitting empty on the bathtub rail,

wishing they could wash your hair'

summary: in which you and dominic struggle with your relationship as his rising fame causes him to shut you out. after the breakup, dominic is haunted by remnants and memories of you.

word count: 2.8k (geez)

inspired by the song 'shampoo bottles' by peach pit! it's so so so good. this one was so fun to write tbh. i actually really like it. (rare) i hope you guys enjoy! serving angsty realness.

Dominic had always had big dreams, and you’d loved that about him. Watching him rise in his career, achieving things he’d worked so hard for, had been one of the most inspiring parts of your relationship. 

But as his fame grew, so did the walls he started to build around himself. 

The late nights and the constant phone calls became routine, and even when he was with you, his mind was somewhere else, lost in the endless demands of his new world.

It had started with small things. 

At first, he’d be too tired to spend time with you after long days on set or long nights in the studio, brushing off plans or canceling dinner dates at the last minute. 

He’d apologize with a quick smile, sometimes even joke about it, saying, “Next time, I’ll make it up to you.” 

But, next time always turned into weeks, then to months.

Every promise to spend time together became hollow, and you felt yourself slipping further into the background of his life.

One night, you sat at home, waiting for him to come back from an event. You’d dressed up, hoping he’d keep his word to take you out afterward. 

But when he finally came in, smelling of champagne and laughter from the party, his eyes were glazed with exhaustion. 

He barely acknowledged you, drunk and slumped on the couch. Scrolling through his phone and answering texts, already tuned out of the moment you’d been waiting for.

“Did you have fun?” you asked, trying to hide the bitterness in your voice.

“Yeah, it was chill. Just the usual,” he muttered, barely looking up. 

Silence stretched between you, tense and uncomfortable. You were tired of waiting for scraps of his attention, tired of feeling like a stranger in your own relationship. 

But when you tried to talk to him about it, he brushed you off, assuring you it was just a “busy phase” and that things would calm down soon. 

Yet weeks passed, and nothing changed. 

It was as if the more he gained in the public eye, the less he had to give to you.

The night of your breaking point, you were supposed to meet him at an after party for fashion week—  he was the face of the brand. 

You’d dressed up, feeling a rare glimmer of excitement at the thought of spending time together. But when you arrived, he was already lost in a sea of flashing lights and adoring fans. 

You tried to catch his eye, tried to share a moment just between the two of you, but he was swept up in the whirlwind, smiling for photos and mingling with people you’d never even met. You felt invisible, like you were standing on the sidelines of his life, watching him drift further and further away.

After the event, you’d argued in the car, your voice barely holding back the hurt and frustration that had been building for months. 

“Dominic, it’s like I don’t even exist to you anymore!” you said, your voice shaking. “I’m here, but you’re somewhere else entirely. I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending this doesn’t hurt me.”

He’d stared out the window, visibly annoyed, brushing you off as if your concerns were just an inconvenience. 

“You knew this was my dream. To do what I love and to be able to provide for the people I love,” he replied, his tone defensive. “This is what I’ve been working all my life for, and I thought you understood that. Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

“Because I miss you, Dominic,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I miss us. I feel like I’m losing you to all of this, and you don’t even see it.”

That night, he’d gone quiet, dismissing you with a final, tired sigh. 

“Maybe we just need a break,” he’d said, his words cutting through you like a knife… 

And that was it. You walked away, feeling as if the person you’d once loved was already a memory.

Days turned into months, and silence settled between you like a heavy weight. You told yourself that you were moving on, but every small reminder of him—the way your clothes still smelled faintly of his cologne, the texts you still reread late at night—kept him painfully present in your mind.

Meanwhile, Dominic’s life seemed to carry on as usual, the public eye unable to see the cracks in his crafted image. 

Weeks passed, and Dominic struggled to adjust to the silence of his apartment. Everywhere he looked, there were remnants of you—your empty shampoo bottle on the edge of the bathtub, a half-read book on the nightstand, the sweater you always borrowed from him draped over the back of the chair. Each item was a sharp reminder of your absence, of the hole he’d carved into his life by not being honest with you.

Every time he saw your things, he felt like they were taunting him, reminding him of the life you’d once shared. 

Friends had told him he needed to let go, but he couldn’t. It was like he was keeping the pieces of you close, as if they’d somehow bring you back.

One night, he sat alone in the dark, running his fingers along the edge of your shampoo bottle, remembering the times he’d watched you shower, laughing as you flicked water at him, blowing suds in his face. 

Those small, ordinary moments had been his favorite—no crowds, no noise, just you and him. The emptiness of the apartment now felt like a punishment he couldn’t escape.

He’d tried to date again, to distract himself with new faces and empty conversations, but every time he came home, it was like he was haunted by you. 

He’d stare at the bathroom, at the last remnants of your routine, and wonder why he hadn’t fought harder. 

You’d wanted all of him, but he’d been too scared to give it. He’d spent so long keeping a distance that he’d lost the one person who’d seen through every barrier he put up.

One night, he was pacing in the kitchen, trying to drown out the guilt with another drink, when he finally broke down and picked up his phone, dialing your number. He didn’t expect you to answer, but when you did, he froze, the words caught in his throat.

“It’s me,” he said softly, almost afraid you’d hang up. “I… I know I’m the last person you want to hear from, but… I can’t keep pretending that I’m fine without you. I’m not. I never was. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You hesitated, your voice tired but tinged with curiosity. “What are you sorry for, Dominic?”

He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his mistakes. 

“For shutting you out. For making you feel like you weren’t enough, even though you were everything to me. I… I was afraid. I didn’t know how to let you in, and I didn’t even realize it until you left.”

“Dominic, you didn’t just shut me out. You made me feel like I was crazy for wanting more from you. Do you have any idea how hard it was to feel like I was always waiting on you to show up?” Your voice cracked, a painful reminder of the heartbreak he’d caused.

He swallowed, the guilt overwhelming. “I know, and I hate that I did that to you. I thought that if I kept things light, kept some space, it’d be easier. But, all I did was push you away.”

There was a pause, and he could almost feel the weight of your disappointment through the phone. “I don’t know if I can go back to that, Dominic. It hurt too much.” You begin to cry, “And seeing these paparazzi photos of you, you and other girls… You look like everything is fine. Like nothing changed. Like you’re better without me.”

He closed his eyes, gripping the phone like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. 

“Y/N, I’ve tried to ignore the feeling without you, but everywhere I look, there are reminders. Your favorite mug is still on the counter, right where you left it. I haven’t moved your shampoo bottle from the edge of the tub… I just keep thinking, one day, you’ll come back for it.”

You were quiet on the other end, letting him talk, letting him unravel.

“And the blanket on the couch… it’s the one you always used,” he continued, his voice softening. “I haven’t touched it, you know? It’s stupid, I know it is, but I can still see you curled up with it, watching whatever ridiculous show you’d put on to make me laugh.”

He laughed weakly, the sound brittle. 

“You know, I tried to pack up your things once. I thought it’d make it easier. But… every time I started, I couldn’t do it. I’d pick something up—a sweater you left behind, a book you were halfway through—and it was like… letting go of that would mean letting go of you.”

You exhaled, the weight of his words sinking in, but you didn’t interrupt, letting him spill what he’d kept bottled up.

“It’s like you’re here, but you’re not, and it drives me insane.” His voice wavered, a raw honesty bleeding through. “I want to move forward, but I keep going back, replaying everything I should’ve done differently, and the more I try, the more I realize… it was all right there, and I didn’t see it. I didn’t see you.”

There was a pause as you absorbed his words, feeling them pull at something tender and unresolved inside you. 

He sounded different—vulnerable in a way you hadn’t heard before, like he was finally saying everything he should have said back when it could’ve made a difference.

“Dominic,” you started, your voice cautious, “I don’t know if saying this now is enough to change anything. I… I was always there, waiting for you to notice, to care enough to make space for me. And you didn’t. It hurt, every single time I tried to get close and you shut me out.”

You could hear his sharp intake of breath, as if he hadn’t expected to hear the truth so plainly. 

“I know,” he said, barely above a whisper. “And I hate myself for it. I thought I could handle everything on my own—that you’d understand somehow without me having to say it. But I was wrong. I see that now. And… I’d give anything to go back and do it differently.”

The quiet on the line was thick, heavy with everything unsaid between you. 

You wanted to believe him; you wanted to think this was real, that he could be the person you needed, but there was still a part of you that was wary, still hurting from the times you spoke only to be met with silence.

“Why should I believe you, Dominic?” you asked softly, your voice tinged with a cautious bitterness. “What’s different now?”

He hesitated, and you could feel him grappling with the answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, laced with an honesty you hadn’t heard before.

“Because I lost you,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “And now I can’t escape the empty space you left behind. I see you in every part of my life, and it’s like… it’s like my whole world lost its color without you. You were what kept me grounded, even when I didn’t realize it. And I’m not asking you to just forgive me and forget everything that happened. I know I have to earn that. I just… I don’t want to be this person anymore. I want to be better—for you, for myself. Just… give me the chance to try.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his words, the way they stirred up both hope and pain. 

A part of you wanted to fall back into the familiar comfort of what you once had, but another part was screaming at you to be cautious, to protect yourself from the same heartache all over again.

After a long silence, you spoke, your voice soft but firm. 

“I need more than promises, Dominic. I need actions. I need to see that you’re willing to change, to really let me in this time. I can’t keep going back to an empty relationship just because we can’t let go of each other.”

“I know,” he said, and you could hear the resolve in his voice. “I’ll prove it. I don’t want this to just be words. I want to show you. I need to show you.”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the last bit of resistance in you waver. 

“Alright… but just know, this is it, Dominic. This isn’t going to be a repetitive cycle. I’m not gonna keep going through this over and over. If you’re going to prove it, then it has to be real… I have to know that this won’t happen ever again.”

“I promise, Y/N,” he said, the desperation in his voice raw, unfiltered. “I’ll make it real. I want to be the guy you deserve, someone who shows up, who doesn’t make you feel like an afterthought. I don’t want to keep doing this from a distance. I need you to know that I mean it. Just… thank you for giving me this chance.”

You stayed quiet, letting his words sink in, unsure if this new beginning could really work, but feeling a glimmer of hope all the same. 

The weight of the past still lingered between you, but now, there was a possibility—a chance that maybe, just maybe, this time, things would be different.

As he hung up, he felt a strange mixture of relief and resolve. 

The apartment, once filled with reminders of what he’d lost, now felt like a place where he could begin again. 

He knew it would take more than apologies and empty promises; it would take showing up, being vulnerable, and proving that he was willing to put in the effort. But for the first time, he was ready. He had lost you once, and he wasn’t going to lose you again.

Over the next few weeks, Dominic showed up—every time, without fail.

He didn’t just fill the air with promises this time. He showed up. Every text, every phone call, every little act was a reminder that he wasn’t going to let you down. He didn’t back away when things got hard, and instead of leaving you to guess how he felt, he let you in, talking about his fears, his struggles, and, more importantly, his hopes for a future with you. 

With every conversation, every moment he chose to open up instead of shutting down, he proved that he was willing to do the hard work, to put you first this time.

It was a long road, but day by day, he showed you that he was serious. The fame, the parties, the distractions—they had lost their appeal. All that mattered to him was rebuilding the connection he’d carelessly fractured. And in time, you saw the sincerity in his eyes, the quiet resolve that told you he was finally ready to let you in.

One rainy evening, after a quiet dinner he’d prepared himself, the two of you sat on the couch, wrapped in the same blanket you’d once claimed as your own. 

The air was filled with the quiet hum of the storm outside, but inside, there was a calm you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Dominic turned to you, his eyes soft but determined.

“I know I have a lot to make up for,” he said, his hand reaching to take yours. “But I’ve missed you every day, more than I knew was even possible. Being with you like this… it feels like home. This is the one thing fame could never compete with.”

You looked at him, taking in the rawness in his gaze, the way his hand trembled just a bit in yours. 

He’d done the work, brick by brick, to rebuild the trust he’d broken. And standing here now, you felt the last bit of that wall crumble between you.

With a hesitant smile, you whispered, “I missed you, too… You know, you really have shown me that you care— And I can’t thank you engouh for that.”

Without breaking eye contact, he leaned forward, pausing just inches from your face, his breath warm against your skin. 

“Well… thank you for giving me that chance.”

Slowly, he closed the space between you, his lips soft, gentle, but full of emotion. It wasn’t like the kisses from before—the rushed, half-hearted pecks where his mind was miles away. 

This time, he was fully present, pouring every ounce of himself into that kiss as if trying to tell you, without words, that he was here and he was staying.

When you finally pulled back, his hand brushed along your cheek, his eyes filled with a new kind of warmth. 

“This is where I’m meant to be. With you.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling a calm settle over you that you hadn’t felt in ages. 

And as the rain tapped softly against the windows, the two of you sat there, together at last, knowing that this time, it was real.

[thisismeracing]

LEWIS HAMILTON MASTERLIST

✦ LEWIS HAMILTON ▶ LH44

All my Lewis posts here

▸ main masterlist | patreon guide ▸ taglist ▸ who I write for & guidelines ▸ subscribe to Patreon for exclusive content ▸ tip me on ko-fi

KEYS: s: smut f: fluff a: angst ✷: Patreon exclusive

― ✦ SOCIAL MEDIA AU

it's just us against the world (f): Some fans noticed how Leiws is constantly listening to Y/n’s songs and decided to back him up and make it happen a bit faster. Will their cupid play work?

jealousy, jealousy (f): After a red carpet interaction, people are shipping Yn with Chris Evans without knowing that she’s dating a pilot. What will Lewis do when he sees the fuss internet is making about it?

a friend of a friend (f): After a friend in common introduced them, Lewis and Yn can’t seem to stay away from each other, and the fans are quick to catch and manifest a relationship.

part of your world (f): What happens when Lewis goes to the theater with his nephews and realizes he now has a new favorite Disney movie. The princess? Ynl Yln and she’s definitely fairytale-worthy outside the screens as well.

she's that girl (f): Lewis would never imagine that something, or rather someone, could take his attention off Beyonce during her own show, but one of her dancers did

sunshine (f): In which Lewis starts dating an earthy/spiritual girl who just loves nature and good energy.

moonshine (f): In which Lewis is sunshine, but dates a grumpy!reader and fans start noticing how different they are.

food baby (f): Yn is used to posting her belly after meals, claiming it’s her “food baby”, but fans are hell-bent on waiting for the reveal of a real baby Hamilton.

mó paz (f): It’s time for the Interlagos GP and fans are excited to see how Lewis’ Portuguese sounds after becoming a citizen AND dating Yn.

after the afterparty (f): Fans have been watching Yn and Lewis interact since she first started attending races. Nothing seemed enough for them to pinpoint what was going on between the two until the Las Vegas Gran Prix happened, and contrary to the belief, what happens in Vegas doesn’t always stay in Vegas. Yn and Lewis are about to find out.

your time (a): A couple months after the biggest breakup in the F1 paddock, your song gets leaked, and the internet uproars about your relationship again. This time they have more ammunition than ever to feed the narrative that Lewis Hamilton cheated on you. Are they right though?

more than friends (f): You’re friends with Lewis, but fans don’t buy the “just friends” discourse - for them, you and Lewis make the most powerful couple, even if you’re not famous. And maybe they’re right, maybe you’re supposed to be more than friends.

― ✦ BLURBS

Home (f)

Essays and cuddles (f)

More than friends (a)

― ✦ REGULAR IMAGINES

the phantom of miscommunication (a): Dating a professional athlete is hard, and it’s even harder when you are famous too, and your schedules just keep crashing. How will their love beat their insecurities? 

haunted (s): Lost in the years, lost in the days, Lewis Hamilton haunts the house that once was his. The house where he was killed. And the house that now has new inhabitants. He was used to blowing candles, breaking chinas, and it being enough for the curious newbies to leave. However, it was the first time he met someone who wouldn’t act terrified by his presence. Yn was curious, and that curiosity had a price. Lewis was the one who would collect the debt.

bad religion (s)✷: He used to be a sinner, maybe that’s why nowadays he has so much compassion for those. Your kindness, however, can be your downfall. Especially when directed towards a demon. A breach and a hand to hold were all that Yn needed to complete the Devil’s wish. Lewis should have crushed the snake’s head before she swiftly bit him.

this love is ours (f): Relationships aren’t usually easy. Add to it the fact that you date a world champion racing driver, and your dad doesn’t really like said driver and the media is ready to dissect every move you make. At the end of the day, the stakes are high and the waters can be rough, but what you share with Lewis is true love, and it’s yours

heartdresser (f): When Lewis finds himself just a couple days away from a racing weekend and without his usual braids he desperately searches for suggestions of available hairdressers in the area. As the saying goes, love can come from the most unexpected places, and Lewis is about to discover that this is, in fact, true.

falling (in love) (f)✷: When your kid found a new friend in his new school, you did not expect that would mean you would find yourself friends too. And sure enough, you weren’t expecting to fall for his friend’s uncle.

falling (asleep) (f)✷: You had dinner with a few friends, and Leo loved the fact that Lewis was included - so much so, that he wanted his new favorite pilot to tuck him in bed and read him to sleep

― ✦ HEADCANONS

♡ lewis dating a korean girl ♡ lewis marrying a desi girl ♡ lewis as a dad ✷

©thisismeracing do not copy, steal, or translate my work. do not repost on a different media platform.

[reysdriver]

Behind The Venue | J.P.

(part 1 to this fic) you discover rockstar!james is cheating on you through a fan's social media post — modern!rockstar!james x fem!reader angst

warnings: james being a cheater

words: 1k

warnings: umm just to let y'all know, a lot of my writing is gonna be angst for the time being cus i'm going through a breakup lol and also let me know if you want me to write a part 2 to this cus i can defo see it already

James was currently on tour with the boys; last night was Berlin, tonight was Vienna. Although you both wished you could join them as they visited almost every European capital, you couldn’t leave everything for two months. 

Well, you could. James had made it clear you didn’t need to work, that he would buy you anything you ever needed or wanted, but you didn’t want to be completely dependent on him. So while he travelled all around the continent, you stayed home to wait tables and keep your flat warm. 

But it wasn’t like you were completely away from your boyfriend for the whole time; you called each other every night—even the ones where the boys got blackout drunk in foreign hotels, and you constantly stayed updated on everything regarding the band. 

The little bits of connection were how you found yourself on Austrian social media scouring the hashtags related to The Marauders. You scrolled through selfies of fans in front of the empty stage, waiting for the boys to start. Some people brought posters and gifts for them, which always made you smile. Some of the fans even mentioned you in their posts and you commented on a few of them, wishing them a fun time at the concert. 

Then, you sent James a good luck text and went to make yourself dinner. You’ve learned that the best concert pictures and videos get posted a day or two after they’re taken, so you know you don’t need to stay online all night. Instead, you take your food to the couch and put on a movie while the concert hall in Vienna was electric with excitement. 

Near the end of the second movie of the night, you almost fell asleep in your living room, but your heavy eyelids shot up at the feeling of your phone buzzing shamelessly against your thigh. 

It had been going off periodically before, but the notifications increased exponentially in the last few minutes. 

Although you were half-asleep, you couldn’t just let your phone explode with activity. Scary thoughts that something happened to James at the concert overtook your mind and you quickly reached for your phone while attempting to hope for the best. 

It was about James, just not what you were expecting. Someone had caught a video of your boyfriend making out with Lily Evans, the lead singer of their opening band, outside behind the venue. 

The clip was short but inarguable. That was obviously James and Lily, and there was no debate on what they were doing. 

It showed them quickly, then the teenage girl who took the video flipped the camera to herself and said something in German. The only thing you could understand was your own name, and you weren’t sure you wanted to know what the rest meant. 

The video was just posted, but it was already spreading. There were so many comments and reposts; everyone seemed to have something to say on the matter. 

It ranged from ‘you should take this down, imagine how humiliating it is for (y/n)’ to ‘I mean, we’ve known this was coming lol look at their constant flirting’, and you weren’t sure what hurt more. 

And even though every single take felt like a slap in the face, you kept scrolling through them all. You were careful not to interact with any of them so as to not encourage drama, but it seemed like the fans were doing fine on their own when it came to stirring the pot. Eventually, it just became all too much. You took a screenshot of one post and sent it to James. 

But despite that, you weren’t staying up any longer. You shut off your phone, plugged it in across the room, and started getting ready for bed. You didn’t care if the only other thing to do was cry yourself to sleep, you weren’t spending any more time watching your boyfriend kiss his coworker. 

✦✧✦✧✦

The night barely consisted of sleep. There were periods where you calmed down enough to sleep, but you woke up several times in a pool of emotions. You managed to stay asleep for long enough that you’d be adequately rested, and that was good enough for you. 

When you opened your phone in the morning, you were sure that any limits to messages and mentions must have been hit. So not in the mood to hear anyone else’s opinions on your relationship, you didn’t even bother opening social media. 

You saw that James had sent a string of texts and tried calling you several times, and your heart ached. He was the only person who you would listen to about this, but you didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. What could he say over the phone to fix this? 

Then, as if on cue, your phone vibrated with an incoming call from him. 

You were torn on what you should do. Answer and listen to him begging for forgiveness, decline and ignore everyone? If you answered and he asked for mercy, would you forgive him? You even thought about airing out all his secrets online in a petty act of revenge. But none of those really seemed like something you would want. In this fragile state, you wondered if anything could help. 

Then your attention snapped back to the picture of him on your screen, letting you know he wanted to talk. 

Compromising between all the ideas that had just been running through your head, you declined the call and opened your messages. ‘come back home and we’ll talk.’ was all you sent James before tossing your phone aside.