#it reminds me a bit of me and my mum. okay

[straykats]

.

[p1astr81]

hii, i just wanted to say i love your fics, especially the way you write oscar. i'm not rlly sure if you're accepting requests rn and but was wondering if you'd write something like childhood best friends to lovers with oscar and reader, where they maybe fell out of touch with each other but then reunite? i'd love if you would write something like that but if not thats okay, please don't feel pressured to write it if you don't want to. <3

warnings: gets a bit suggestive near the end! Nothing explicit, though.

Everyone used to believe they would get married one day.

They swore they were just friends.

“Everyone always links my name with yours in wild, fantastic stories.” You complained one day when you were both just fourteen. The grainy sand shifted between your toes as you walked side by side with him. Cones of ice cream melted in your hands under the hot setting sun, dripping down your hands because you couldn’t eat them quick enough. Your shoulders would bump occasionally, but you just brushed it off as the uneven sand throwing you off balance.

Oscar laughed, knowing all too well that the claims you made were true. “They gossip about us. Saying we’re in love.” He shook his head. “Don’t they know people can be just friends?”

You laughed along with him, your head bumping his shoulder as the laughter folded you. “Well, I know what you can do to stop those rumors.” You took a couple steps away from him, towards the water. The cool, salty ocean cased around your feet momentarily before receding.

He turned his head towards you with a quirked brow. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“You could start by not pleasing my family so much.” You turned your body towards him, walking sideways now. “You always do whatever you can to make them like you.”

“I’m just being polite.” He protested.

You ignored it. “And don’t laugh at my jokes too much. Or too loud.” You recalled his laugh, how it always seemed louder whenever the joke came from your mouth.

“And don’t sigh and gaze at me.”

“I do not sigh and gaze at you.” He scoffed.

You hummed. “I have video evidence.”

“It was probably circumstantial.”

You moved on. “And don’t collect my things.” You tore your shoes from his hands, tucking them under your arm instead.

You’d both stopped walking by then. You faced each other fully.

“You’re as much to blame as I am.” He pointed. Your hand shot to your chest, right over your heart, acting hurt. “You go through all that trouble to bake my favorite cookies without me even asking.” He waited for a rebuttal. You didn’t have one. “And you asked me to carve our initials in that tree in my back yard, which I did.”

“Because that’s our climbing tree!”

He chuckled, stepping closer to you. “And you always hold my hand when you’re nervous.” To make a point, he took your hand in his.

“Because you ground me.” You confessed in a small voice.

He smiled soft. “Don’t dance with me all night like you did at my sister’s birthday party.” He spun you around.

“I didn’t know anyone else.” Your voice got quieter with each defense.

“People will say we’re in love.” He shrugged, moving closer to you to reclaim your shoes that you took from his hands.

“But I’m not in love with you.” You said. Not a single drop of uncertainty.

“Neither am I.” He replied. Equal amounts of certainty.

That was the last time you hung out with Oscar before he went away to Europe. After that, you drifted apart. You became just another person stored away in a filing cabinet in the back of his mind.

Or so you thought.

“Do you have your cookies, honey?” Your mum asked you as she stood by the front door, prepared to go down the street to the Piastri’s for a summer barbie.

You stumbled from the kitchen with a big container of them in your hands. “Yeah. I don’t know why you wanted me to make these, though. It’s been like ten years since I made these things.”

Oscar’s favorite cookies. After he left, they became a sore reminder of him. Made you too sad to ever make them again.

“Oh, Nicole just asked.” Your mum shrugged, waving a hand through the air.

The backyard was already lively when you arrived. A game of spike ball between the teens in one corner. The little kids running around playing freeze tag.

Nicole spotted you first and ran up on you. “Oh, it’s so nice to see you!” She gushed and squeezed you tight. She then spotted the container in your hands. “Good, you made the cookies! You can put them over on that table.” She pointed to the fold out tables on the patio.

“Perfect. Thank you.” You smiled.

There was already a designated desert area. Some brownies and cupcakes. You put your cookies next to them.

“Y/n— uh, hey.” Shock captivated their voice. It sounded familiar to you, but not at the same time.

“Hey,” you greeted before looking up. And when you did look up- “oh, hi. Hey. Hello.” You rushed and shook your head. He looked so… different. The really good kind of different. Same face, but more defined. He’d lost all that baby fat. He allowed his hair to grow out, framing his face in gentle waves. The sleeves of his t-shirt strained against his toned biceps. And- shit, you’d been shamelessly checking him out. “I didn’t think— why aren’t you in Europe?”

Oscar tilted his head. “Do you want me to leave, or…?”

“No, no, no.” You answered quickly, a hand out to stop him. “You’ve just been so busy is all. I haven’t seen you in like ten years.” You laughed, shifting on your feet.

“Yeah, I mean…” his hand found the back of his neck. “I was here last summer for two weeks but your mom said you were in Sydney.”

“Yup. Visiting a friend.” You rocked on your heels as the conversation stretched into silence.

Oscar spotted the container of cookies. “Are these my favorite?” He asked, already prying open the lid. He took a bite of one before you could answer. “God, these are better than I remember. How’d I go so long without them?” He gushed, taking two more from the pile.

“You better not let mum see you with deserts before dinner.” Mae warned. She was still at that age where she would tattle on him for the fun of it.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I will.” She paused. “Unless you buy my Amazon wishlist for me.” She shrugged.

“Ooh she’s good.” You laughed.

“Blackmail is illegal in most countries.” He deadpanned. Taking that as a no, she started walking away. “Okay, fine. Just send it to me. I’ll pay for it after the party.” He rushed.

You raised a brow. “Still scared of Nicole?”

“You don’t know her like I do.”

“You’re twenty four and a millionaire.”

“Which means nothing to her.”

Oscar had been following you around all day. It was like he would die if you weren’t at an arms length.

Not that you minded. He was Oscar, after all.

The sun had gone down not too long ago, taking the warmth with it. In shorts and a t-shirt, you were covered in goosebumps.

“I think I’m gonna go home for a minute. Grab a hoodie and warm up.” You tried to dismiss yourself.

Oscar was quick with a solution. “You don’t need to. You can just borrow one of mine.”

“I… are you sure? I don’t live that far.”

He nodded without hesitation. “Follow me, you can pick out your own.”

His bedroom was as you remembered it from years ago. Car posters still hung on the wall. His karting trophies still sat on a shelf. Clothes still littered the floors.

The closet door squeaked open. “Take your pick.” He laughed.

Many of his hoodies were team branded. Some of them prema, some alpine, and a ton of them were McLaren. But your eyes were drawn to a dark blue one from his own personal merchandise collection. You pulled the thick material over your head. It smelled like him.

“What’s that thing you said to me once? ‘Don’t collect my things?’ Does this count too?” He teased.

You scoffed. “I can’t believe you remembered that conversation.” You shook your head.

“Of course I do.” He took a seat on the bed. “It was the last time I saw you before leaving.”

You didn’t say anything, only sat on the bed beside him. The bed sheets became the most entertaining thing to your eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say in touch.” He said after a long moments pause.

You shook your head. “It’s my fault, too.” You sighed. “I was mad at you for leaving, so to punish you I never texted. Even though I really wanted to.”

He chuckled, the sound fading into silence.

“Do you think people still gossip and say we’re in love?”

You let the question linger before answering. “I doubt it. That was ten years ago.”

“I can start the rumors again.” He said. You raised a brow as if to ask him how. “I could hold your hand and dance with you all night.” He paused. “And then maybe as people start to disappear from the yard, I could kiss you.” He smiled.

Your heart stuttered, your breath hitched. You waited for him to laugh, for him to say how ridiculous the idea was. He never did.

He stared down at you, waiting for you to say something. When nothing came, he continued. “I got a girlfriend two years after I moved. But when we broke up, I realized it wasn’t my first breakup.” He confessed, his voice just above a whisper. Brows furrowed in confusion, you looked up and met his eyes. “You were my first heartbreak.”

You huffed a noise of disbelief, turning your gaze to the window instead of at him.

“I think I cried damn near all the way to England. I told my mom it was because I’d miss Australia.” He paused. “It’s cause I’d miss you, because everyone was right. I was in love with you.”

“Stop it.” You stood, wrapping your arms around yourself. He was hurt and confused at the same time. “You don’t get to say stuff like that. You chose to leave. I didn’t choose to be left behind.” You huffed. “And you couldn’t have been in love with me. We were fourteen.”

“I had to leave. Trust me, if i could’ve taken you with me, I would’ve.” He swallowed the ball of nerves in his throat. “I begged my mom for weeks to let you come with me.” Your head fell, eyeing the carpeted floor now. “And I didn’t know I was in love with you right away. I just knew I wanted to be around you at all times. That I wanted to be your favorite person. I only realized until later, and reach out to you because I knew it would hurt more trying to love you from a distance.”

You chewed on your cheek, his words running laps around your head. You loved him then too. And you loved him through a television screen for ten years after that. You turned around quickly, eyeing him from where you stood in front of the window.

You crossed the room to him in two steps, attacking him with your lips before he knew what was happening. Fireworks sparked from your connected lips. It was hungry—but not heated. Tender—but not hesitant.

Frantic hands searched each others bodies, trying to take each other in like it was the one and only time you’d ever be so close. Strong hands on the back of your thighs pulled you into his lap. He fell back as you leaned into him. Whatever, crashing down onto the bed didn’t stop either of you. You straddled his hips kissing him like it was bringing you life. His hands traveled from your thighs, up the sides of your body, and settled on your face.

You were the first to get adventurous, your kisses trailing to his jawline. Oscar peeked his eyes open to catch a glimpse of your face. He sighed. “Better than I ever imagined.” He confessed without thinking.

You broke away and sat up. You did your best to ignore how hard he was. “You’ve dreamt about me?” You asked, teasing. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, as did his.

Seeming to catch his mistake, he chewed on his lip. “Uh, a couple times.” He admitted.

You lowered yourself again. Slowly. Not speaking until you were chest to chest. Your lips hovered above his. He tried to lean in to kiss you again, but you pulled away.

“Only a couple times?” You raised your suspicions. “What else did we do in these dreams?”

Certainly he was dreaming again. Certainly this wasn’t actually happen. He wet his lips, failing to find his words. “Does it have anything to do with what’s pressing against my leg right now?” You tilted your head.

His hands ran under his hoodie and under your shirt, feeling your warm skin under his hands. “Fuck, you’re so hot.” He said after a moment, his voice shaky.

You laughed at that. “Am I making you nervous?”

His dazed gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips. “I-“

He was thrown off by the door flying open. “Oscar, mum- holy shit!” Hattie gasped. You did your best to roll off of him in time, but it was in vain. “Mum’s going to flip!” She darted out of the room.

Oscar jumped up, running after his sister. “Hattie! Wait, don’t!”

You hesitantly followed after them, and arrived on the scene after Hattie had already announced it to everyone. The yard was silent, everyone exchanging looks.

“About damn time.” Edie scoffed. “Does this mean we don’t have to suffer watching you two dance around each other anymore?”

[goldenroutledge]

i must be dreaming

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

word count: 1.2k

prompt: ❛ you’re lucky that you’re cute. ❜

a/n: for my wonderful moot @yearneir, thank you so much for the request! i had so much fun writing this <3

masterlist || be my valentine blurb event 💌

“Knock, knock!” Two knocks sound through the door of Lando’s hotel room, followed by the familiar cheerfulness of Alma, the hotel’s concierge. “Delivery for Mr. Norris!”

Lando’s muscles ache with a soreness that weighs him down into the softness of the duvet, having sprawled out face first onto the bed the second he got back from another long day of testing. The winter months are always the shortest, often flying by more quickly than the season does.

His mind is tired as well, struggling a bit extra to get back into the swing of things after months away from being in the car. He doesn’t recall ordering any room service but if he did, he’s more out of it than he previously thought.

With a sigh of reluctance, he drags his feet towards the door of the stylish hotel suite. His vision is blurry as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and instinctively checks the time on his phone that reads 8:03pm. Definitely way too early to sleep for the night, but a power nap has never hurt him before.

Sure enough, Alma is waiting on the other side of the door with a bright smile and a silver platter in hand. “Good evening, Mr. Norris. I was instructed to bring this to your room along with this letter.”

He takes a deep breath, as if the surprise delivery will make more sense when he gets some more oxygen flowing to his brain. “Oh, thank you. Who’s it from?”

Alma smiles coyly but won’t reveal too much. “I can’t say, but your answer is in the envelope. Can I get you anything else while I’m here, sir?”

“Just Lando is fine.” He politely corrects. “I’m okay, thank you though.”

“Have a nice evening.” Alma disappears down the hallway, leaving Lando to his letter and mysterious silver platter. He’s seen enough movies to know that there’s usually someone’s head under these. His first name is written neatly on the envelope and what catches his eye is the red heart stamped into the wax seal.

He remembers the date, February 14th, and blushes at the thought of you. The both of you had been corresponding on the phone like usual, of course confirming that you had received the bouquet of flowers, chocolates, and a few pieces from your favorite designer that Lando made sure to have delivered to your home, with a promise that he’d be able to properly wine and dine you in a week’s time. He carefully lifts the seal, a childlike grin spreading across his face at the sight of your neat handwriting.

-

My dearest Lando,

It pains me to be apart from you, but the distance will let our hearts grow fonder. I hope you enjoy the present I’ve prepared for you.

Yours truly,

Y/n.

P.S. Call me when you get this. XOXO.

-

His hopes are high for whatever’s underneath the silver dome, perhaps some comfort food like a classic Roast dinner that reminds him of home, just like his Mum makes.

Lando lifts the silver to find not a warm meal, but cold and slimy rolls of sushi making the shape of a heart, dipping cups of wasabi and soy sauce resting in the center.

“What the hell?!” He yelps, visibly startled by the sight. “She knows I hate this stuff.” He’s scrolling to the favorite contacts in his call log, instinctively clicking your name.

When you answer on the second ring smiling like the Cheshire Cat, Lando knows he’s been set up.

“Is this your way of breaking up with me? Sending a plate of fish to my hotel room on Valentine’s Day?” Your laugh pierces through the phone, and he’s still dumbfounded as to how you managed to pull a prank on him all the way from Monaco. “What did I ever do to you?”

“Nothing, I just wanted you to know that I’m soy into you. Happy Valentine’s Day, babe!”

“Aw, very clever. I hope you know that I’m gonna get you back for this. What fruit was it that you are mildly allergic to again? Starfruit, was it? I’m sending 50 starfruit arrangements to our house as we speak.”

“With all the risks you take at work, I’m amazed that sushi of all things has become your greatest fear. How is that?”

Lando scoffs, “I am not scared of sushi.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself? Sorry love, the proof is out there. But I wanted you to know that I love you anyway.”

“I love you too.” He grumbles, but there’s no bite behind his words. Lando finally takes a better look at you, but doesn’t recognize the wall in the background. He doesn’t recognize the wall behind you from your house, that is. He looks around his suite, now puzzled as to how your background matches the exact color of the hotel walls. Interesting. “Wait, where are you? You’re not at home are you?”

“I’m in a place that people temporarily call home?” You offer with a mysterious edge to your words and he subtly catches on. You can see the gears turning for him, the realization visible on his face when he moves toward the door once again.

“Wait a second… Are you HERE?! At my hotel?” His incredulous tone translates from the speaker on your phone to reverberating in your ears, behind his hotel room door that you’re standing in front of.

The door swings open and you’re reunited with those sparkling cerulean eyes you know so well. He takes a pause, glancing back and forth between his screen and you, now within arms reach. Wasting time would be a foolish thing to do. Without a care he drops his phone in exchange for cradling your face in his hands before smashing his lips onto yours. You don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his frame, relishing in how warm he feels against you.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He breathes out, as if his life depends on saying it.

“Surprise! I missed you too, clearly. I’ve been wanting to try my sushi prank for a while now and this gave me the perfect opportunity. Had to get you riled up with something you hate so you’d be extra happy to see me.”

“Not necessary.” Lando murmurs against you, peppering kisses to your lips. “I don’t need anything extra, you know that. It did serve as a nice surprise, though. Definitely better than the sushi.”

You giggle as he shudders at the thought. “Forgive me?”

“You’re forgiven,” Lando sighs, unable to resist your pleading eyes and the warm notes of amber in your perfume that captivate him, “but I hope you know that if anyone else did this to me, and I mean anyone else on this planet, I would not speak a word to them for the rest of my life. However, for you, I can make an exception. You’re lucky that you’re cute.”

You kiss him sweetly, holding hints of satisfaction behind your smile at how well your plan has been executed. “Don’t worry, I plan to make it up to you. It is Valentine’s Day, after all.”

“Just when I thought tonight couldn’t get any better, how did I get so lucky?”

You pinch his cheek teasingly. “You do look exhausted still, are you sure you’re not dreaming of me?”

Lando catches your wrist and presses a kiss to the skin, content with knowing that he’ll dream of you tonight and wake up beside you tomorrow. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

💌: thanks for reading, comments & reblogs are always appreciated!

psst… my requests are open :) be my valentine blurb event 💌

taglist: @marjorieswrld (add yourself here!)

[enwoso]

empty spot | alessia russo x child!reader

grumpy masterlist

the sleek black suv rolled slowly into st george's park, its tires crunching the gravel as the early morning sun broke over the training grounds. a light breeze rustled the flags hoisted along the fences — england's colors flying proud.

inside the car, you bounced in your booster seat, gripping your esme the elephant and plastic gold medal in the other. your curls were tied up in two puffs, slightly messy from all the jumping you'd done in excitement at home that morning.

"are we there yet?" you asked for the fourth time in the past hour, eyes wide with excitement. "are they all here already?"

leah glanced at alessia and grinned. "remind you of someone?"

alessia laughed as she turned in her seat to check on you. "yes. you, before every england camp. only you would do it just a little quieter.."

"hey, ‘m not loud!."

as the car came to a stop, you could barely wait for the doors to unlock. leah stepped out and helped unload their bags while alessia scooped you up into her arms.

"okay, lovie," alessia whispered, nuzzling your cheek. "you ready to show everyone your medal."

the training ground was already alive — teammates milling about in clusters, the coaching staff waving, the buzz of excitement still lingering from the arsenal girls recent champions league victory.

though it had been a scrappy hard-fought match, the celebrations afterward were even harder. alessia and leah had, had about eight hours of sleep since the final on saturday.

they were barely through the gate before ella spotted them. "finally! look who dragged themselves away from the confetti and sangria!" she called, jogging over.

keira followed, pulling leah into a hug. "congrats, you played amazing."

more players gathered quickly — georgia, lucy, alex — all offering back-pats, congratulations, and coos towards you.

"you brought my favourite little russo," ella announced, lifting you from alessia's arms and spinning her gently. "i've missed you!"

you wrapped your arms tightly around ella's neck, giggling. "auntie ella! mummy and mama beat barcelona!"

"i saw! they were amazing."

as the adults chatted and caught up, you began to look around the growing circle of familiar faces. you waved shyly at lauren, who waved back with a bright smile, then at lucy, who offered you a goofy thumbs-up.

but your brows slowly knit together as she scanned the group, there was one voice you hadn't heard yet. "where mazza?" you asked.

the question came innocently, softly, but it brought a hush that wasn't lost on alessia. ella paused, her arms still around you. "...oh i-, um..."

you looked up at your auntie ella, confused by the sudden silence. "mazza always comes. is she late?"

ella bit her lip and looked toward alessia, unsure. "less... you didn't tell her?"

alessia chest tightened a little as leah shifted beside her. "no" alessia said quietly, stepping forward. "we didn't think she'd notice this soon..."

but of course you had. mary was one of your favorite and had been there for a while — the one who gave you goalie gloves for your birthday, who taught you the ‘mary stomp’ celebration, who always snuck you chocolate bars even when your mummy had told you that you weren't to have one.

you turned back toward her mum. "where is she, mummy?"

alessia crouched down to meet your blue eyes, brushing a stray curl from her face. "come sit with me for a sec, lovie."

alessia lead you to a quieter corner, where there was a few blue couches, just out of earshot from the group. leah followed, placing a gentle hand on alessia's waist but letting her take the lead.

alessia held your hand, your mummy's voice soft. "baby, i need to tell you something kind of grown-up, okay?"

you nodded slowly, your legs dangling off the edge of the couch. "mary's not coming to england camp anymore. she's... she's decided to retire from playing for the national team."

you frowned. "what do you mean? mazza loves england."

"she still does. so much," leah added. "but sometimes, when you've been doing something for a long time, and it's taken a lot of energy, you need to make space for other things. things like resting, or being closer to family."

"she's not gone forever," alessia said quickly. "she's still going to play football, just not for england anymore. and she still loves you."

"b-but... mazza promised she'd come braid my hair before training. she promised."

alessia's heart cracked at the tremble in your voice. "i know, lovie. i think... i know she wanted to tell you herself, but i think it was just too hard."

tears began to well up in your eyes. "she didn't even say goodbye."

leah sat beside you and wrapping you in an arm, kissing you curls. "she'll get the send off she deserves after the euros, how about we call her now? i bet she'd want to explain."

you nodded, rubbing your eyes with your sleeve. alessia pulled out her phone and opened facetime. mary's name popped up with a little lion emoji next to it one you hadn't insisted that your mummy had next to her name. alessia tapped the screen.

it barely rang twice.

"ou oi! look at these champions!" mary's voice rang out, bright and familiar as her face filled the screen. but her expression softened instantly when mary saw you, teary-eyed in your mums' arms. "hey... hey, little one. what's wrong?"

you crossed your arms a frown appearing on your face. "i mad at you."

mary's face fell and she knew immediately why. "oh, little one."

"you didn't come. you didn't even tell me."

mary exhaled, her voice dropping. "i know, and i'm so sorry. i should've called you. i just... didn't know how to say it without crying, and you know i'm not very good at that stuff."

your bottom lip trembled. "but why? you're the best goalie. you save everything."

mary smiled softly. "that means so much to me, little one. really it does. but sometimes, even when your body is strong, your heart needs a rest. i've been playing for england for a long time, and i've loved every second. but now i want to make space for new things... maybe coach little goalkeepers. maybe go see more of the world. maybe just sleep in."

"but whose gonna sneak me chocolate now. i still need you. mummy needs you."

"i'm still here," mary said. "i'll always be here. you can call me anytime and i'll always answer. and i know someone who'll sneak you chocolate and i'll let them know there mission but i can't reveal my sources when grown up ears are around" mary smiled as she pointed to your mummy and mama, you nodding slowly.

you sniffled. "you do?"

"course i do. can't let the chocolate monster down?"

after a pause, you reached toward the screen and said softly, "okay. but i still a little mad."

mary grinned. "fair enough. you're allowed. i love you, little one."

"i love you too." as the call ended, alessia pulled you into her lap, holding you close. the two of you sat there in the quiet for a minute, just breathing, before you looked up. "do you think if i practice really hard, i can be the goalie one day?"

alessia smiled through the ache in her chest. "with mary as your coach? you'd be unstoppable."

[leyavo]

| I am my father’s daughter | 7 |

💖 Dad!Price & Daughter!reader, eventual Soap x reader

PART SEVEN: John Price hasn’t seen or heard from his daughter in over a year, but that changes when she calls him one night asking for help. 2914words

[18+] MDNI | TW: hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/ complicated father-daughter relationship

Previous parts > [Series Masterlist]

🔈Reader’s view of John is different, he’s come and gone in her life etc so she thinks he’s not that great. So don’t send me hate

Every fibre of your being is on edge, hair standing up on your arms, mouth dry and tongue heavy. You’re still laying on the floor, your finger trailing the grain of the wood. It’s cool beneath your touch, the subtle reminder that you are awake.

Your muzzy head trying to piece together everything after a second panic attack. All because your dad asked you if you were okay. Pathetic really, now that you’d calmed down a bit.

The Captain’s sitting with you, your cheek resting on his crossed legs. He hasn’t said anything since your breaths have evened out. No he just sits there, his hand on your back weighing down on your spine. It’s uncomfortable, the tough weave of his thick jeans and the bulky seam no doubt leaving a mark in your skin. You don’t want to move, not right now. Afraid to look at him and lose it all again.

Shards of broken ceramic litter the floor, much like you do. Broken beyond repair, even you don’t think you’ll be able to piece it all together. Telling the captain feels like breaking yourself all over again. Shattering everything in his past too and you don’t know if you can stomach the aftermath of doing so.

It also means facing your mother. You’re a grown adult, but in the presence of her you’re that little girl squeezing into small spaces and waiting for her to give up. Would there ever be a moment of peace? A life without raised voices or having to compromise your own needs for others? You see a spec of that with your dad. Glimpses of happiness, but you know they won’t last long.

Your mother’s voice on the phone a wake up call. A reminder that you don’t belong with the captain, he’s got his own family to look after and you’re just the latest project to make him feel less guilt. Another box to tick, a role to fill. No one sticks around, not in the way you need or want them to.

The thought of family turns your stomach, you don’t long for something you’ve never had anymore. You’re enough, it’s all you’ve known and you won’t let yourself down, not this time. No expectations and worrying about others actions.

You lift your head from his lap and sit up, the captain's hand pawing the hair out of your face. A little heavy handed, but it’s no slap in the face. His thick brow’s furrow, weathered lines of age and his forever scrutinising gaze settling in his forehead.

“Come on,” he says, fingers grasping your arm as he helps you off the floor. “Mind your step.” His palms on your hips as he lifts you over the sharp broken pieces and onto the bed.

The Captain’s side of the bed is neat, sheets tucked under the mattress with military precision that it barely creases as you sit down. His side table’s a little cluttered, crooked reading glasses on top of a crossword puzzle book and pen wedged between the pages. A sticker with his name printed on the front cover, as if anyone would take it.

He crouches down, sweeping the shards up and declining your offer to do it, since you made the mess. It’s second nature to him, you remember him cleaning broken glass off the floor as a child and how he carried you back to bed each time, telling you he dropped a cup. Silly daddy, you'd say and now you’re older you understand why his smile would falter. Why he’d rush to pull the blankets back over you and tell you to go back to sleep.

“Did mum ever hit you?” You say it without thinking, but it’s something you’ve wondered for years.

He freezes mid sweep, gaze darting up at you. “No. She hit you?” His head snapping to you so quickly, you winced.

“No,” you say, quick without missing a beat and on instinct. “You and mum always used to argue, was hard not to hear.” Seven year old you in your bedroom, head shoved under your pillow as you tried to drown out their yelling.

Their constant arguments always seemed to grow louder when you went to bed. Some nights you were herded into your room early, your mum telling you to get under the covers before she turned off the light. You hated the dark.

“You remember that?” He asks, scratching his moustache and waiting for your nod. “I mean she threw a glass at me every now and then, luckily ya’ mum’s a shit shot.” He laughs it off, but it doesn’t quite rubble from his chest like when you see him joking around with the guys.

The tiny scars curving his fingers look a lot more familiar now that he’d confirmed you were right. That you hadn’t made it up.

“Me and ya’ mum weren’t exactly good for each other. Both stubborn and just had different things that we wanted. We’re better apart,” he said, placing the brush in the dustpan to keep the ceramic pieces from falling out.

“And you never hit mum?” Adding the never to soften the blow, to try and convince him that you didn’t quite believe he would too.

“No,” he shook his head, the tic in his jaw tensing. “And I’ll never hit you either. Under any circumstances, understand?”

You nod, not sure if you’re able to trust your previous judgement when it came to most males or adults in your life. Mum always said you were easy to manipulate, that your dad only looked out for himself. He just won’t hit, so what exactly would he do if you were to earn his anger?

The captain’s eyes scan you head to toe, lingering on the twitch of your fingers playing with the hem of your shirt.

“You know if there’s something me or the guys said or did that triggered…” He’s so gentle, soft spoken as if he were going set you off if he spoke any louder. Those eyes searching yours, deep rims carved beneath them as if he hadn’t slept a wink since you’d arrived.

“No,” you snap, rising from the bed and retreating from his outstretched arm. “You said we didn’t have to talk about it now.”

His hand grasps your elbow, “hey, it nothing to be embarrassed…”

Except you were, you hated seeing the pity in his eyes. The way he treads careful and picks his words, you could see him going over what to say in his mind, because you have the same tells as him. Maybe you are your father’s daughter.

Push, that’s what you do. You push him away, retreat from any warmth knowing that you can’t stay. Hurt him before he hurts you.

“Because you’re suffocating me! God sake I can’t take the constant fussing. Just leave me alone.” You spat, yanking your elbow out of his hold. Why couldn’t everyone just leave you alone?

He froze, arms back by his side as he rocked on his heels as if he’s wanting to come closer but thinking better not. You hate yourself for it, but you can’t understand his need to be around so much. Just like your mother, pushing him away when he’s trying to help.

If he hates you, it’ll be easier to leave. If you’re difficult to love, then he’ll let you go.

“I’m sorry kiddo, I know I’ve been a bit full on.”

You scoff and in that moment you can't commit to the act of hurting your dad. Those damn eyes softening as they remain on you, "I'm sorry," you mumbled, toeing the edge of the curled rug. "He called me, on a different number and it just caught me off guard."

Yep, lyings so much easier than telling the truth. The way it fell so well crafted from your lips, just like your mother taught you.

A soft knock tapped against John’s office door, so light and quiet he almost didn’t hear it against the typing of his computer keyboard. He paused waiting for another tap.

“You can enter.”

The door creaked open, but he's too focused on the computer screen and the redacted words of whatever file had landed in his inbox. He assumed some new recruit had messed up his office with the sorting office. It wouldn’t be the first time a gangly teen accidentally entered and stuttered their way out with an apology.

He pushed his glasses back up his nose, clicking the mouse. “What do you need?” He mumbled, pen scratching the notepad as he made some notes and jotted down a number.

“Uh, dad.” His finger slipped the keyboard, not expecting to see you hesitating in the door way. He’s still getting used to you visiting his office, the same worn brown cord jacket hung from your shoulders. Still getting used to you calling him dad, which was rare these days as you preferred to call him the captain.

He makes a mental note to get you a decent winter coat and accessories.

John shut the window on his computer screen and leant back in his chair. “Everything alright, Kiddo?” That seemed to be a recurring question when it came to you.

No other way to figure out if you needed anything as you never asked much of him. You haven’t discovered that you can sign yourself out of the base yet, not even tried. That’s the first thing he thought you’d do.

John expecting to wake up and get a notification about you leaving, but you’ve stuck around. Given him a chance and he’ll do anything to make it right. Even if it does take time.

And that’s why he hadn’t told you that yet, he’ll wait until you’re fully healed. Then he’ll say you can sign yourself out, all he has to do then is trust that you’ll come back. He won’t force you though.

“I got the job.”

John’s stomach drops, well looks like you’ll be signing yourself out for the job. A little sooner than he hoped. “Ah, well done, kiddo.” He pushes out of the chair, raising his arms and wrapping them around you.

You’re tense, spine straight and hands glued to your side, but they slowly inch around his torso. Head leaning into his chest and shoulders loosening as you fall into his hold. John doesn’t remember the last time he’s praised you. Knows that you haven’t worked in over a year, abusers like to isolate their partners and John knows how much of a big deal this is. You doing something for yourself.

He pulls back, rough palms framing your face. “Proud of ya’ kid,” he said, lips pressing against your forehead. And your eyes flutter shut, body swaying as he steps back and releases you.

It’s been a couple days since your panic attack, he’s kept his distance and let you approach him. Allowed you space, privacy to sort through your head. You no doubt prepared yourself for his hug and touch, obviously not something you’re used to. It was like living with a cat, one pet and then he’s getting scratched. A step forward and three back.

“Thanks dad.” Your voice low, gaze scanning the floor. It’s not often that you hold his gaze, never did as a child either, but the more time he spends with you, he knows it’s a shield. Less attention on you, downplaying the good as if you’re preparing for something, someone to knock you down again.

John wonders if that’s your mother’s doing or the ex-boyfriend’s. Not that you’d confide in him, not yet. He knows he’ll have to gain your trust before that happens.

“How’s about we go to the pub for a few drinks, celebrate?” he says, frowning as your chest shudders and your body tenses at the mention of drinking. “The guys can come too if you want. No alcohol for us though as early start in the morning.”

He leans over his desk, turning the computer off and giving you space to think, to breathe. Without his influence and his gaze looming over you. Baby steps, he supposes until you get used to having the freedom to think for you and no one else in mind. Sure you’ve got a fiery temper, but that’s only when John’s fussing or you’re speaking of your mother.

“Sure.”

John bites his lip trying to hide his smile as his gaze flits to the rearview mirror. You’re squished between Kyle and Johnny in the back of the truck, elbows tucked in and knees raised. Talking to Kyle as he teases you about your driver license photo. He tosses it to Johnny and you punch his leg, snatching the license back. But you’re smiling, something John hasn’t seen in a long time.

The local pubs a little grimy and dingy, the type he’d wipe his boots on the way out instead of the way in. John and the guys have been there plenty, their usual booth in the corner with the flickering light free. The perfect spot to unwind and not get the traffic of people from the busier main area. That and the derelict dart board right beside it, little holes in the wall around it.

Simon gets the first round, giving you a separate congratulations as he hands you a vanilla float. You seem to fit in with Kyle and Johnny, playing darts and nudging whoever’s turn it is to throw.

John can’t help but notice the way you lean towards Johnny though, hand a little too comfortable on his arm as you smile up at him. The way he offers you a swig of his non-alcoholic beer and wipes the drip on your chin. John forgets that his sergeant’s around your age, four or five years older. You deserve someone softer, a person that hasn’t seen the things that he has.

He trusts Johnny, but he’s still going to pull him later and warn him of the boundaries.

You’re off to the toilets and John makes a beeline for the space you left next to Johnny. He plucks the dart out of the sergeant’s grasp and points the sharp tip at him. “Only gonna tell ya’ once, off limits lad,” he says leaning in for just him to hear, Kyle none the wiser as he collects his darts wedged into the board and wall.

“Just being friendly,” Johnny says, nudging his head in your direction. “He looks a lot more though.” He smirks as the captains gaze follows his and he spots you talking to a man by the bar.

Do you give out smiles to every man, but your dad? The twitch of your lips always falter in his presence as if it’s a painful act and you’re trying to please him.

Nah, this blokes too close for John’s liking. He walks over to the bar and steps between the two of you, “what do ya’ want kid?” He asks you, sliding the drink that man had offered you into his hands.

Kid, make it seem like you’re much younger than you look. He keeps his eyes on the shelves of whisky behind the bar, watching the man’s reflection in the mirror.

The man stutters out an apology, hands raised as he tells John he meant no harm.

Your fingers drum against the tacky bar, head tilting as you try to catch John’s gaze. “He was just offering me a drink.” You shrug, taking the soft drink from the bar maid and stirring the ice with the straw.

“You ain’t havin’ it,” John says, lifting the drink to his nose, swishing the liquid in the glass. “Could have put something in it.” He can smell the alcohol a mile away, more vodka than lemonade. Bastard. His head jerks to the side and he scans the bar, but a gentle tug of his sleeve steals his attention.

There’s something childlike in the action, he can see the pinch of fabric you pulled still sticking out on his sleeve. Little you always used to tug on the hem of his shirt or his belt loops. As if you were afraid to bother him for something silly.

“That and he’s a good ten years older than you.” The thought of someone around his age approaching you, he didn't want to think of it. Wasn't worth wasted breath or the spike of anger heating his skin.

“Isn’t that the typical thing with girls and daddy issues?” You say, casual as ever as you glance up at him. You bump your shoulder into his arm and he stumbles. “Relax, old man. Just teasing, it’s the mommy issues you gotta worry about.”

Some part of John knows that you’re being honest, but it’s like getting blood from a stone when it comes to you talking about your mother.

You're good at telling lies, John notices the little things. He should know, he lies to get the job done no matter what. How your phone was on the coffee table in the living room and your mothers recent call logged into his answered list. So whatever truth you're holding on to, he knows its your mother and not the ex.

God did he need a strong glass of whisky and a cigar when they got back to the res' house. He wished he'd kept the one in his pocket, the lighter no use on its own, might as well burn a hole through his jeans.

[PART EIGHT]

Thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed it :) John's starting to question everything now... There might be some errors/mistakes as I'm dyslexic, I do check my work a couple times, but I do miss bits and pieces. Sorry for the long wait I had a minor head injury and just getting back to editing - Leya

Taglist: @unclearblur @enfppuff @elita1 @tired-writer04 @kaoyamamegami @gallantys @leon-thot-kennedy @trulovekay @harley101399 @misshoneypaper @rpgsandstuff @tomatto1234 @lolyouresilly @madsothree @astrothedoll @grandfartvoid @delaynew @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @little-mini-me-world @exitingmusic @majocookie @elegancefr @jesskidding3 @thepowers-kat-be @frangiipanii @ye-olde-trash-panda

[from-izzy]

[08:52] | NCT LEE DONGHYUCK | HAECHAN

“I love how you cared for me after, especially last night.”

pairing » nct lee donghyuck (haechan) x fem!reader​

trope/au » ​established relationship au!, marriage!au, non-idol au!

genre » mildly (?; as compared to my latest one before) suggestive but mainly fluff, dad haechan and mum reader, fluffy aftercare morning, just a cute little scenario in the morning, husband haechan who loves you very much, gentle haechan who treats you well, haechan and you both get to be the little/big spoon

word count; estimated reading time » 1626; ~6 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » aftercare in the morning (continued from previous night), suggestive talk, reader wears haechan's clothes, reader has hair long enough to be tucked behind the ear, mentions of s*x; from previous night (no smut), haechan touches your lower body momentarily, abdominal cramps after s*x, (a ton of) kissing, pet names (baby girl, bubs), nicknames (hyuck), mildly (?) suggestive sentence at the end, haechan implied to be physically bigger, not proofread 😭

navi/masterlist!! 🤍

just a small little something because exam season got me going 🤸🤸🤸🤸

i have a feeling that the next story i release is going to be a long one and is going to be quite emotional (for me at least) so this is a little 180 before that happens!

The sun seeps through the small gaps between your curtain and the birds sing their songs too early for your liking; especially after what happened last night. Blinking your eyes open wasn’t effortful and so was satisfyingly yawning your sleep away. What your overused muscles did not like too much however was when you tried to sit up on the bed, your abdomen forcing your head to lay back on your pillow.

“Okay…” You chuckle to yourself, heat creeping onto your cheek when you remember the events of last night. A hand goes on top of your stomach, stroking your skin and remembering how someone else did the same thing to lull you back to sleep last night.

You turn your head towards that someone, an adoring smile on your face when you’re greeted with his messy morning hair and slightly gaped lips. You couldn’t help but lay on your side to admire Haechan’s features, his relaxed and light snoring making your heart beat faster. His eyelashes took your attention and you couldn’t help but brush the posterior side of your index finger along it, unfortunately stirring him into consciousness.

“Sorry,” You quickly apologised, scooting over closer to him to share some body warmth. You gently pulled his head to your chest, cradling and blocking the sun behind you from reaching him and playing with his black strands, humming a quiet song while your other hand patted his back.

Haechan satisfactorily groans at his wife’s loving touch, snuggling over to bury his nose between the pillow and the crook of your neck, “Morning, bubs.”

“Good morning, Hyuck,” pressing a kiss to the top of his hairline.

“How was your sleep?” His morning voice was still evident, deep and husky; almost like last night but in a more tame and most definitely more innocent way.

“Too good.”

You feel the smirk on your skin as Haechan leans into you to pamper kisses all over the curve of your shoulder, “Yeah?” Up towards your jawline to your chin. His tongue runs free a little bit when he reaches your bottom lip before lightly biting it. “You like that?” Asking after hearing you gasping and closing your eyes. “Baby girl, didn’t get enough action last night?”

A hand sneaks up past your waist, pulling his oversized shirt up and immediately finds its way on your lower body down to your ass. You couldn’t help but whine slightly when Haechan spread his fingers around one of your cheeks, his palm warmer than your body. He lightly grips your body, so differently from last night, and you can’t help but tilt your head down to kiss him as he reminds you of last night. 

You got lost in his lips treating yours so gently, making sure that he pours all his love into you. But as the intensity increased, you forgot about the lower body pain and your husband was alarmed by the way you pulled away suddenly, flopping over on your back with the crease between your eyebrows evident.

Haechan gives you space, backing away just enough to get a proper look at you. He props up to one elbow against the bed, a hand tucking your hair behind your ears, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You shake your head, a reassuring smile forming on your lips as soon as you see the worry in his eyes. A hand cups Haechan’s jawline, pulling him closer for a kiss. Just like before, Haechan didn’t stop giving you light reminders of his love around your face this time: the tip of your nose, forehead, eyelids and anywhere he could reach without hurting you. The hand that held your lower body moments before is now over the weighted blanket over you both, and he strokes the cotton to where your stomach is below.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, bubs.”

“You didn’t. Don’t apologise for that, Hyuck.” You immediately attempt to reassure his worries, “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

“You didn’t, bubs.”

But Haechan still couldn’t help but pout again and you mirror his expression more exaggeratedly in hopes of making the situation lighter; to make sure he knows that he took care of you well straight after as well and that last night shouldn’t be something he should apologise about.

“I love how you cared for me after, especially last night.” A light blush spread across his face and you giggled at the way he face dived into his cushion, red and shy. “Pulling me onto your lap, letting me rest on your shoulder while you dressed me and messaging my body.” 

“Were you okay?” You heard him over the pillow, “I tried to be as gentle as possible.”

“You were super gentle with me,” You nod, acknowledging him, “Non-stop kissing me and telling me that I’m beautiful.”

Haechan turns his head to you, a slight look of confusion on his face, “I’m just stating facts though?”

A push against his shoulder and a light melodic laugh is what you give him. Haechan joins in the laughter, and his hand over your stomach begins to move, his fingers rising and falling delicately. You both just stare at each other, commuting through your eyes the upturned corners of your lips. It wouldn’t be for too long though because this time, it’s your turn to be the little spoon, imitating exactly what you did before plus the addition of his whispers of sweet nothings against your ears. You indulge yourself in his warmth and his natural scent that reminds you of safety and home. The blanket is adjusted, Haechan pulling it up just underneath your eyes and you could swear you could slumber back to sleep at this moment. 

The door clicks open then and there, Haechan’s eyes lighting up at the sight of the little one. The younger girl runs to her parent’s bed like usual but stops in her tracks when Haechan puts a palm out towards her hurriedly, “Don’t jump on the bed, little bean.”

“Why…?” Sadness laced her voice.

“Mumma is in a little bit of pain at the moment,” you peek up behind your blanket, saying a quick greeting to what Haechan would say is a mini version of you. “Come over on this side,” tapping an empty spot on his side of the bed.

Soon, your child slumps over your husband’s figure, chin resting on his biceps as she looks over to you sadly, “Mumma, are you alright?”

“I am, baby, don’t worry.” You outstretched an arm towards your child, patting her head and successfully putting a smile on your face.

“Whoever hurts my mumma will have to go through me!”

Oh, if only she knew.

“You can’t beat, dadda, bean.” 

…oh my. 

You mentally face-palmed at the conversation unfolding before you. As your child lightly slaps your husband’s arm and asks for a reason why you’re bedridden, you can’t help but hide your face behind your blanket. You hear your husband panicking and stuttering, trying his best to go around the topic whilst also giving her a proper explanation that no, Haechan would never hurt you in that way.

“Dadda! You said you would always take care of mumma!”

“I-I do!”

“Then what is this?” She points at you, “Get away from mumma!”

You could no longer contain your laughter and it was the reason why your child stopped reprimanding her dad. Seeing you smile and laugh was the only reassurance that your child needed because she no longer gave her dad slaps and Haechan mentally thanked you for getting him out of that situation.

But seeing your child awake also reminded you of the time and the empty belly that she must have. Your mother instincts kicked in and your stomach cramp didn’t matter with her in your sight, “Alright, mumma will get up now.” 

“Hey, hey, no you’re not.” Haechan takes hold of your shoulder, grabs the corner of the blanket from the other side of the bed and pulls it to your chest. He hovers above you, heart-shaped eyes decorating his gaze on you. His arm stays there to lock you in, “I’ll take care of her. Just rest, bubs.”

“Hyuck, it’s fine.”

“No," he curtly responded. “Stay here. I’ll take care of the little gremlin.” 

“Dadda!” So maybe it wasn’t as quiet and subtle as he thought it was. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” Haechan pinches your daughter’s cheek, “Go to the kitchen. Dadda will meet you there with your favourite breakfast.” It didn’t take a second for her to jump out the bed, excited screaming and variations of ‘yay’s echoing your room, the hallway and soon, basically your whole house.

“Are you sure she’s not your mini me?” 

Haechan playfully scoffs, rolling his eyes at your question. “And what about my lovely wife? What breakfast do you want?”

“I’m not too hungry yet.” Feeling your eyelids becoming heavy once more as you exhale lightly from your lips, “I’ll make brunch later.”

Haechan hums at your thoughts and slips out from the shared blanket. The disappearance of the secure warmth and the weight of his hand on your stomach wasn’t the best but you’re aware of the parental duties that must be addressed first. As Haechan finally stands and stretches his limbs in the air, he doesn’t forget to give you a final kiss on the lips, staying there for a while, separating to look at you before planting another one.

“You shouldn’t want anything, baby girl,” Your slight eyebrow raise only made him smirk. And as you thought you would be able to go back to being sound asleep for another hour, Haechan just had to make your brain and heart go haywire, “Not with how I filled you up last night.”

navi/masterlist!! 🤍

tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here or removed!): @k-labels @k-films @kflixnet @neocity-net

[littlelovelunette]

SEVIKA FLUFF WE NEED MORE MA

I mean what about post!war Sevika being a concil member and meeting council!reader. What about about them working together to build a good future for Zaun and BOOM falling love. What about Sevika finaly being happy and safe in a relationship and finaly settling sown and enjoy life instead of fighting everyday ?

Please pretty please, our woman deserve a breakkkkk

Sevika's Little One (3)

Here's something similar, I didn't stick to the council!Reader thing because well, Sevika doesn't seem to have a lot of peers in there who like her, and it would be going against the original Sevika thing, so I combined it with another series, hope you like it!

Let me know if I should make more of these!

A few years passed ever since you'd given birth and Heather was now 4 years old. You were tired as it was dealing with your daughter's stubbornness which she most certainly got from your wife— Sevika.

You dusted the shelves, your daughter following you around as she imitated what you did with a small duster, hair in a hairnet and an apron a bit too big for her.

You straightened the photo frames, smiling at the one that reminded you of Sevika getting in the council.

Well, at least, things were sort of okay now.

“Mama!” Heather squealed, “When will mom get home?”

This was her way of acknowledging two mothers. Mumma/mama for you, mom/mum for Sevika.

“Soon, baby.” You replied, closing the shelf doors and walking to take the clothes out for the drier.

“Probably in an hour.” You added as you put the dry clothes in the basket and took them to the bedroom to fold.

“Mamaaaaaa!” Heather yelled in her tiny voice again.

You smiled at the sheer adorableness of your daughter.

“Can we have pasta for dinner?” She asked happily, pulling at the edges of her dress.

You pulled her hands away from the hem of her dress, “Sure, love.”

“Come help mama.” You said and put the clothes down on the bed.

Heather happily clambered over the bed and watched you intently, silently asking what you needed help in.

You started folding the dry clothes and Heather quickly followed suit however her pile of folded clothes were messier than yours.

A little messy would be an understatement. “Mama, look! Am I doing well?”

You looked at the pile of clothes, smiling a little, “Yeah, it's alright.”

“It's beautiful!” Heather urged indignantly. Your daughter was obsessed with the word ‘beautiful’— an adjective Sevika used to compliment her on a daily basis so now it was either beautiful or nothing.

“Yeah, baby, it's beautiful.” You laughed a little but before Heather could press any further Sevika's voice called out. “I'm home!”

Instantly, Heather made a beeline towards the door screaming at the top of her lungs, “MOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

“There's my little angel!” Sevika gasped a little as Heather flew into Sevika's arms, jumping and bumping her head against Sevika's chin. “Little—”

“Hey,” you smiled as you walked up to her and pressed a kiss where she just got head bumped. “How was your day?”

“Just got better.”

Sevika walked into the dining room with Heather in her arms who was chattering happily, talking about how she did her chores and how she'd been a good girl.

“I was just about to get started on making dinner. Heather wants pasta,” you took the ingredients out.

“Pasta, huh?” Sevika smiled down at Heather. “She took a shower?”

“No, I've been too busy, today's her hair wash day.” You looked back at Sevika briefly. “Think you could help her wash her hair today?”

“Absolutely.” Sevika smiled and got up, Heather in her arms.

“Yayyy!” Heather squealed and squirmed around, climbing Sevika's bicep and onto her shoulder.

“Careful there.” Sevika chuckled and walked into the bathroom.

Loud squeals and giggles erupted from the bathroom where you were sure Heather was giving Sevika a hard time while she tried to shower her little princess. You smiled to yourself, preparing dinner.

"Mamaaaaaa!" Heather giggled and yelled out from the bathroom, "Save meeeee!"

You knew they were playing around so you just laughed, and continued to cook. A while later small footsteps echoed around the house and Heather ran upto you. "Mamaaaaa!"

"Yeah, Heather? Whats up?" You asked not looking down at her but once you did, you broke in a fit of laughter.

Heather's hair was molded up with shampoo to form a shark's fin, you were sure this was Sevika's doing. "Sevika! What did you do to her hair?" You continued laughing barely able to catch your own breath. Your daughter looked positively ridiculous, not to mention she was soaking wet and running around the house naked.

You could hear Sevika laughing from the bathroom. You turned the stove's heat down, picking Heather up and going to the bathroom to give her back to Sevika. "Complete shower, you both."

Sevika grabbed Heather, tickling her making the little girl squirm and jump into the bathtub with a giggle.

Sighing and shaking your head you left the bathroom, these two were menaces. But you loved them eitherway.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Different: Christmas

Katie McCabe x Teen!Reader

Summary: Christmas with Clover

"Coopurr...Coopurr, man, knock it off!"

Your mum's cat continues to try to attack your feet under the safe covers of your bed.

"Coopurr! Come on!"

"You can just kick him off the bed," Your aunt Ella says from the doorway and you finally sit up in bed.

"I can't because he's the only sane person in this house! Do you know what it's like leaving with you two?"

"Amazing?"

Your mother pops her head through the door. "The most perfect thing in the world?"

You let out a bark of laughter. "You wish."

Katie winks. "I don't have to wish for something that's already true."

"The most perfect thing in the world is you leaving me here for Christmas."

It's Katie's turn to laugh now, pulling down your blankets and allowing Coopurr to bat at your now exposed toes.

"No chance," She says," Come on, up! We've got the flight back home this evening."

"Just leave me here to rot!" You say dramatically and Katie laughs again.

"You know, if you're here alone then you have to cook for yourself," She points and you sigh, finally sitting up in bed and scooping Coopurr into your arms.

"Fine," You say," But don't think I'll be happy about it."

"You're never happy about anything."

"Kim'll tell you that it's because I'm a teenager."

Katie cracks a smile. "You know what? Kim's onto something."

You roll your eyes as you get out of bed as Katie's eyes narrow.

"You haven't even started packing yet, have you?"

"I was still banking on us staying here."

Katie plucks Coopurr from your arms with an eye roll, trying to push you along with her foot. "Go and pack. And make sure to bring lots of jumpers! You know my parents don't like turning on the heating in Winter!"

You rolls your eyes as you go rummaging around in your wardrobe for your suitcase.

It's not like you don't enjoy going back to Ireland. On the contrary, you love going back to Ireland. You just didn't enjoy how big of a family you have.

Certain members of the family seemed to delight in reminding you that you weren't actually Katie's daughter. It didn't seem to matter to them that Katie had been a mother figure to you all your life. It didn't seem to matter to them that you barely even remembered your biological parents.

All that seemed to matter to them was pointing out that you were technically, biologically, Katie's little cousin.

You stuff whatever's clean and visible into your suitcase with little regard to what clothes you're actually packing before practically throwing the suitcase down the stairs.

"Stop trying to break stuff!" Katie yells.

"Ella's the one that broke the hallway table!" You yell back with a laugh," She came in drunk and fell over it!"

Ella gasps in horror from her room. "You said that you wouldn't tell her that!"

"And you said you would get me ice cream. But here I am...Ice creamless!"

You don't actually get your ice cream, even at the airport when you very pointedly show a selection of ice creams to Ella and she promptly ignores you.

Pulling up to your grandparents' house has always been a bit daunting to you. Before Katie adopted you, you lived in that house too, once upon a time.

Now though, it feels you with trepidation.

Most of the family is probably already there and you just know you're going to have to end up sharing a room with more people than just Katie.

You're right, of course, when a few other aunts and uncles arrive. Katie's aunts and uncles, of course, but also kind of yours. But you'd never really considered them that.

They were related to your biological parents and, again, you barely remembered them. You'd grown up with Katie as your maternal role model so it made sense to you as you got older that her siblings ended up filling the roles of aunts and uncles to you.

"You feeling okay?" Katie asks, hand gently covering yours as you sit on the squished sofa and pick at the Christmas Eve meal that her mother made for everyone.

"I...Yeah, I just..." You look up at one of the older men in the room, the one that always insisted on calling you anything but Katie's daughter. "I'm just going to the toilet."

"You feel sick?" Katie sits up properly, eyes narrowed as they flick over your face, searching for a flush or anything that shows you're feeling under the weather.

"No! No...I...I just need a bit of a breather, you know?"

"Yeah, kind of overwhelming around here, huh?"

"Yeah...I'm just gonna..."

"Yeah, you go ahead."

The mirror in the bathroom clearly hasn't been cleaned in a while, covered in little water droplets but you don't really mind as you splash your face with water a few times and stare at yourself, gripping the sides of the sink in a white knuckle grip.

It takes you a while to psych yourself up, enough time that you're pretty sure dinner has been finished and people have moved onto dessert.

It's usually loud in the McCabe household and on Christmas Eve, it's no different.

Lots of people fighting over the remote and someone singing a horrific Christmas carol and someone else lecturing someone on the correct way to cook a turkey even though everyone knows that no matter how a turkey is cooked, it always comes out dry.

But this yelling is different and you definitely recognise the voice of one of the people yelling.

"Get your bag!" Katie yells, finally spotting you lingering in the doorway.

"Wh-What?"

"Your bag!" Katie snaps before sighing and softening her voice," Can you go upstairs and grab our bags? Wait for me by the door."

You know better than to try and ask her things when she's like this so you leave to grab everything, coming down to catch the tailwind of her yelling.

"-She is my daughter and she will always be my daughter, no matter what any of you people think!"

"Katie-"

"No! I won't hear it! She's my daughter and I love her and it's none of your business anyway!"

"You can't just leave, it's Christmas tomorrow!"

"Yes! And I will be spending Christmas with my daughter! I don't care if it's just the two of us. If it has to be that way then it will!"

Katie looks surprisingly calm when she joins you at the front door.

"I don't think we'll get a flight at this hour," She says," But I reckon we could still catch the ferry and then we'll take a cab back home, sound good?"

You smile at her. "I might have accidentally left your present at home anyway."

She laughs. "That's 'cause you're psychic. You knew we were spending Christmas at home this year."

[nerdygirlramblings]

I've got a hc in my mind.

Simon doesn't want children. At least that's what he promised himself due to his trauma, childhood etc.

And that leads to thoughts:

When he sees reader with one of Jonny's baby nieces in their arms, he is whipped. He can't imagine getting you not pregnant anymore. Like the baby fever's hitting hard af.

The twist. Since he got a vasectomy when he was like 20/25 he isn't able to get you pregnant. So, desperate and horny, Simon asks Jonny. (Noone can tell me Jonny doesn't have high fertil sperm. He's the reason why the pill is only 99% safe.)

Jonny wouldn't be Jonny if he didn't try at least. After maybe the third try, he's kind a part of their marriage now and stays after reader got pregnant.

It's up to you if you wanna do a kind of baby trapping- thing (because not everyone if comfortable with it and that's okay) or with consent

- May your sleeves never slide down and get wet when you wash your hands

Hi, anon! This was a delicious, devious ask, and I had thots. I know it's not quite what you suggested, but I hope it works anyway. (I also may have misread the hc the first time and saw John not Jonny and completely missed the niece bit too.)

cw: baby trapping, unprotected PIV, dubcon

When you and Simon started to get serious, he told you he didn't want kids. He'd learned from others that kids was a deal-breaker, so he wanted everything out in the open early.

He couldn't have been more thrilled when you said you didn't think you wanted kids either. He mentioned his vasectomy and you casually replied that if things ever changed, you could always adopt, give a kid without a home someplace to belong rather than bring an innocent life into a world that constantly felt like it was one mad ruler with a fiddle away from total collapse. He couldn't agree more.

Everything was fine. You loved Simon and he loved you. He was married to you and the job, and you kept him grounded, reminded him life wasn't a battlefield. It helped that he was close with his unit even off the field. Johnny was a staple at your place, and when they weren't deployed, the whole team did Sunday dinners at the Prices, which is where Simon first saw it. Saw you. And his entire worldview cracked.

He knew, abstractly, that Price's wife was pregnant. The belly was hard to miss. But she'd given birth during his last solo mission, and he hadn't met the baby. You though, you were one of the few people Price deemed safe enough to be around his missus and kid, and with Simon away, you'd spent a lot of time with them. You'd do the shopping for Mrs. Price or watch Baby Price while the Captain wooed his wife.

That Sunday, Simon was completely unprepared for the sight of you cradling Baby Price against your chest, rocking him so his mama could eat her meal while Price was grilling. Simon's heart lurched, and he unconsciously palmed his growing erection. Johnny, sitting next to him, noticed the movement and said, "Ain't nothing more lovely than a mum with her baby, yeah?"

Of course Johnny knew Simon didn't want kids, but he didn't know Simon was shooting blanks. And he wasn't unaffected by the sight of either you holding the kid either. He loved the idea of getting a pretty woman pregnant, her body working to grow his kid.

Simon decided in that moment he needed to get you pregnant any way he could.

Your sex life had never been vanilla, and you'd both had your share of all kinds of partners before, but you'd never had a third. Never expected Simon to ask. And you definitely never thought he'd ask for it to be Johnny. You weren't outright opposed to the idea: Johnny was charming, a flirt. You saw how he sometimes looked at Simon, the feral glint in his eyes when he talked with you one-on-one. It might be fun to see Johnny slip the leash he had on his control.

"'E's clean. An' 'e's snipped like me," Simon said. "Never wan'ed ta 'ave a baby outa wedlock. Too much Catholic guilt." You weren't on anything because with Simon you didn't have to worry about a pregnancy, so you didn't push for condoms for Johnny either. While Simon was telling you Johnny shot blanks, he told Johnny you had your tubes tied, so his swimmers could play in the pool with no consequences.

Sex with them was indescribable. The push and pull between them, the way their awareness of one another on the field translated to the bedroom meant you were constantly on a knife's edge, dangling over the precipice of "too much." But they always caught you.

Apparently you weren't the only one who enjoyed the night, as Simon requested a repeat performance several more times over the next few weeks. Johnny, who never had a steady girlfriend, had no qualms slotting himself into your and Simon's bed whenever his lieutenant asked. He'd been a constant presence at your house throughout your relationship. Having him in bed with you almost felt like a natural progression.

Two months later you found yourself dragging. Every day was a struggle to get up, and you were constantly tired. Your favorite foods didn't stay down anymore. Every time you complained, Simon looked at you. There was something in his eye that you couldn't place. Something greedy, knowing.

He finally suggested you see the doctor since you weren't getting any better. The appointment started like they always did for women of a certain age: "Are you pregnant? Or could you be pregnant?" You laughed. Pregnancy is preposterous. Your husband had a vasectomy over a decade ago, and the new lover you've had in bed is the same. There's no way you could be pregnant.

The doctor nodded as you talked and insisted on running a pregnancy test anyway. The positive result shocked you. How would you tell Simon, who never wanted kids? How could it be his? Or Johnny's?

It never occured to you your husband lied to you.

That night, Johnny's over, cooking as you're sat quietly on the couch. You knew you needed to say something, but you didn't know if it was only Simon you should tell or if Johnny needed to know too. It all came out during supper after you took two bites before rushing to the loo to vomit.

Crying, you told the men you're pregnant. "But I'm not sure how when you're both safe," you wailed.

Johnny spluttered. "Wha? I'm no snipped," he said. "But ye cannae be pregnant if yer tubes 'er tied, lass."

"My what?" you breathed, turning horrified eyes on your husband who had the good sense to look mildly ashamed.

Johnny looked between you, realization dawning on his face too. "Lt, wha'd ye do?"

He looked at you both and admitted, hardheadedly, "What I 'ad to."

main masterlist

[revelboo]

You works are awesome, but i also wanna remind you not to overwork yourself! :) Have a nice day/night! ;3

Honestly, considering this blog is only 24 days old, it’s you guys I’m a bit worried about. Y’all good? Cause holy crow…

The Weakends Pt 5

TFP Ratchet x Reader- argument

• Putting a tool away, Ratchet glances over at the empty counter, the medbay quiet around him. Who’d have thought he’d miss your questions and companionable chatter? Need it to work. That silence drives home the fact that you’re avoiding him. Have been for days now and it’s worming under his plating, a disquiet that sparks through him, because you belong here. Your loss making him snap at everyone, because it’d be one thing if you were just skulking about the base, but no. Since you got upset with him, you’ve kept far away. Sulking like a sparkling.

• Setting the little trowel aside, you drag one of the mums you’d bought closer and wiggle it free of its little plastic pot. It’s warmer today, sweat slicking your skin as you work. Really, you’re just keeping busy. Trying to distract yourself, because you’re so frustrated you want to scream. Mostly at a certain white and red moron. And yourself. You know you’re both too proud to bend now. Neither one of you willing to back down no matter how silly the argument actually was. Even if staying away feels like you’re punishing yourself more than him.

• The sound of gravel popping under tires lifts your head and you squint in the sun. Bumblebee and the kids back again to pester you into coming in? Lips pressing into a thin line when you spot the ambulance, you yank off your gloves. Surely, he isn’t going to actually apologize? Blowing out a breath, you stand and stretch the kinks out of your back. Your little house is far enough from town and the main road that Ratchet can transform without worrying about being spotted and he does, walking the rest of the way over with a scowl like he tastes something foul. Cocking a hip, you cross your arms and wait for the apology. “Well, you’re not dead or dying,” he growls, optics narrowing at you.

• “Yeah, doing great,” you say, tone tight with anger as your fingers dig into your upper arms. “So, I don’t need a medic.” The ‘I don’t need you’ coming across loud and clear. That open hostility in your stare ramping up his own irritation that you’re so petty you’d made him drive all the way out to retrieve you. And you turn your back to him, bending to roughly seize a potted plant. Ignoring him. After he came to get you? His servos close around your middle, hearing your startled gasp as he lifts you. And then you whip around, chucking that plant at his head. It bounces off, scattering dirt all over him as you glare at each other. “Put me down. Right now.”

• Your heart’s racing, the adrenaline souring inside you as you realize you just hit him with a mum. And he’s not just going to let that slide. His optics shutter, jaw clenching as he vents angrily and you tense for the yelling. The fury. Instead, one of his servos slides over your torso as he adjusts his grip. That servo settling against your breast where your frantic heart is pounding away. Grabbing that servo, you mean to shove at it, but just hold on. Slowly his venting evens out.

• He can feel your heart thumping against his servo, frantic with fear. Of him. He can’t move, snared by that rhythm, knowing he’s causing it. As he remains still, that too quick beat slows. Calming. Your little hands shift on his servo. “There’s work to do. I need my assistant,” he says. Can’t make himself apologize, but isn’t leaving without you either, even if he has to just take you. You’re coming home. And you whisper okay so low he almost misses it, that tension winding through him just unraveling.

Previous

Next

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Evenfall

Imagine you wake up in Twilight as a random side character. (Part 6)

Nullification!reader Human reader! Fem reader! SideCharacter Bella! Isekai au! Edward Cullen X reader. Eventually Jacob Black x reader. (2 endings.) (All characters will be written less creepy and one dimensional than the ones in the books.)

Previous - Next

That night, Edward’s golden eyes and the green meadow made an appearance in her sleep. The warm dream of the meadow in the day was cut short by her alarm, blaring at 6:30AM. Y/N had wanted to wake up early to surprise Bella and Charlie with pancakes.

Rubbing her eyes after slamming her hand onto the reset button of her alarm, she stumbled blindly into her bathroom to begin her morning routine.

The first one up surprisingly was Bella. Y/N had been flipping a pancake over as she stepped into the kitchen.

‘Morning! Do you take syrup or butter on your pancakes?’ Y/N smiled welcomingly.

‘Hi, uh, syrup is okay.’ Bella smiled shyly. Her skin was pale, her eyes were wide and brown, just like Charlie’s.

Huh. She wasn’t anything like Kristin Stewart. This girl was… Exceptionally ordinary. Not that of course there was anything wrong with that. But in a way, her ordinary features came together to make an easy on the eyes face.

Y/N could see the appeal. Bella somehow reminded her of an animal that she would want to protect. Like a lamb.

‘I’m Y/N by the way! I’ll be here for the rest of highschool.’ She grinned, setting down a stack of warm perfectly circular pancakes onto a porcelain plate.

‘I’m Bella, I’m Charlie’s uh, daughter. I don’t know how long I’ll be here.’ Bella trailed off, cutting into her breakfast.

‘Wow, these are.. Really good!’ Bella’s brown eyes darted up to Y/N’s pleased face.

‘I’m glad you like them! Let me know if you want more!` She turned back to the stove, turning down the heat and pouring more of the beige, vanilla smelling mixture into the pan. Y/N was glad that Bella liked her food. She was even more happy that Bella was being rather friendly to her. Maybe the story line really could play out normally!

‘I knew taking you in would be a good idea. Pancakes for breakfast, who woulda’ thought?’ Charlie rubbed his eyes as he walked into the kitchen, his uniform already on. His hair was slightly unkempt but it only added to an appeal that Y/N squashed down.

‘Morning! I’ve got a stack over here with your name on ‘em.’ Y/N handed him a plate and gestured for him to sit down.

‘How’d you sleep Bells?’ Charlie asked tentatively, poking at his pancakes. 

‘Pretty good actually! Dad I actually have something to talk to you about.’ She looked guilty. Oh dear.

‘What is it?’ Charlie cut into his pancake with a fork, shovelling a piece into his mouth.

‘Well, I was thinking about going back to Floria. Mum could travel with Phil and I’m old enough to live on my own. I’m seventeen years old dad I can handle it.’ Bella said without empathy.

‘Bella, why don’t you give it a week? You can see if you like the town and the school.’ Y/N interrupted, seeing Charlie's distressed look. It seemed as if Bella was more adamant to go home than she was in the book.

‘If you make breakfast for the entire week I might consider it.’ Bella joked, standing up with her plate. ‘But I'm quite certain I want to stay in Florida. I’ll stay the week though, don’t worry. She placed her plate in the sink.

Y/N gave Charlie a subtle wink, to which Charlie gave a quick grateful smile. 

‘You want a ride to school?’ Bella gave Y/N a cheerful grin, sitting back down at the table.

‘Oh, that’d be really nice actuall-’ Y/N was cut off by the ringing of the door bell. ‘Huh, are we expecting anyone?’ Y/N blinked, digging into her breakfast. The pancakes were warm and fluffy with just a bit of crisp at the edges. Charlie stood, pushing his chair back. He absentmindedly rested one hand on his utility belt.

‘Edward?’ Charlie’s gruff voice came from the front door. He sounded surprised, irritation seeping through his tone.

‘Morning Chief Swan. I just wanted to drive Y/N to school if that was okay.’ The sweet voice of Edward filtered through the house.

‘Who is that.’ Bella’s eyes narrowed. She sounded… annoyed?

‘Oh, that's my friend Edward! He uh-’

‘Morning Y/N/N. You ready to go?’ Edward’s brilliant smile greeted Y/N from the doorway. ‘Cute apron.’ He chuckled, grabbing Y/N’s backpack from the kitchen floor.

‘I was gonna give her a lift today.’ Bella stood up, her tone was ice cold, freezing the room’s tension.

‘Who might you be?’ Edward gave a fake smile, his jaw clenched in disgust. Y/N stood quickly, placing her arm on Bella’s shoulder.

‘I’ll ride with you! Edward I can ride home with you, is that okay?’ She walked forward, tentatively grasping Edward’s arm and squeezing reassuringly. The leather jacket he wore did well to cover his bitterly cold skin. This seemed to calm him down. Edward shifted his golden eyes down through his eyelashes, fixing Y/N with a soft look. 

‘I want to show Bella around, it's her first day of school. Besides, we have pretty much all our classes together Ed. Just for today, hm?’ Y/N didn’t want things to escalate. Seeing as for some reason it looked like Edward was ready to tear off Bella’s head and Bella was ready to shoot Edward’s off.

‘I’ll see you soon okay?’ Edward relented, placing this time, a kiss to the crown of her head before she could react. His eyes were glinting with a smug amount of pride to which Bella was rolling her eyes at. 

Huh, it seemed like they hated each other? That was strange. 

‘Friend huh?’ Bella snickered, nudging Y/N’s shoulder teasingly, picking up her bag and walking toward the front door.

‘Yep! He uh, he's a little overprotective?’ Y/N winced, not knowing how to specify their particularly complicated relationship. ‘He’s the first friend I’ve made since coming here I guess.’

‘Well, you’ve got me too now! Hopefully we’ll have at least one class together!’ Bella opened the front door for Y/N, gesturing for her to walk out.

Edward was still waiting there, sitting inside his car with it running.

‘Is he going to follow us to school?’ Bella frowned, looking irked.

‘Uh.. probably I mean we all go to the same school!’ Y/N rubbed her neck sheepishly.

Bella opened the passenger side door for Y/N. ‘Hm, I don’t like that guy. He feels toxic.’ Y/N was stunned. She swore she could hear a noise of indignance come from Edward’s car. In fact, she could see the way Edward had rolled his eyes, his lips curled into a snarl.  

-

The drive to school was filled with Y/N and Bella’s constant flow of easy conversation. When they got to the school, Bella had been able to get her documents and papers swiftly and Y/N had walked her to her homeroom.

As Y/N walked back to her own homeroom she was met at the doorway by a disturbingly calm Edward.

‘Hey, did you wait long?’ Y/N walked through the door, heading to the back of the room.

‘It felt long.’ Edward murmured, sounding content. ‘Thank goodness her stink didn’t rub off on you.’

‘You said you hated white chocolate? That was kind of random.’ Y/N laughed, sitting down dropping her bag onto the floor.

‘It’s overly sweet, it was only really made to use up the remaining stock of milk powder and cocoa butter in the nineteen thirties and there isn't even any actual solid cocoa in it.’ Edward shuddered, sitting down next to Y/N.

The classes came and went. They were studying Wuthering Heights in English Lit just like the original plot. They breezed through their morning classes before lunch came.

‘Y/N!’ Bella’s voice called out from behind Y/N and Edward.

‘For goodness sake.’ Edward grumbled.

‘Edward.’ Y/N shoved him. ‘Hey Bella! How were your classes!’

‘They were good! I made a friend. Her name is Angela Weber! She invited me to come sit with her and her friends during lunch!’ Bella caught up to Y/N grinning broadly. 

‘Thats amazing! Did you also meet the guys?’ Y/N gave her a knowing grin.

‘Nope, they all ignored me thank goodness. Do you think they can tell I like girls?’ Bella gave Edward a sly look.

‘Hm, I’m not sure but honestly most of the boys here aren’t really worth noting.’ Y/N smiled, stepping toward the cafeteria. She could feel Edward, closely pressed to her side. His face was contorted into scowl that was somehow still beautiful.

‘Did you wanna come sit with us Y/N?’ Bella smiled, nudging Y/N slightly with her hip.

‘I think-’

‘Y/N!’ Rosalie appeared before her looking excited, Emmet next to the blonde haired girl. ‘Who's this?’ Rosalie’s stunning smile dropped as she noticed the brown-haired girl in the mix. It seemed as if they wouldn't get along in this plot line either.

‘Oh this is Bella! She’s Charlie’s daughter!’ Y/N smiled, placing an arm behind Bella’s back.

‘Yeah, we live together.’ Bella smirked, resting her head on Y/N’s shoulder. 

‘Huh is that so.’ Rosalie set her perfect lips into a thin, unwelcoming smile. ‘Well, Y/N/N’s promised to sit with us so-!’ Without finishing her sentence she whisked Y/N away, leaving Bella, Edward and Emmett behind.

‘I’ll see you Bella!’ Y/N called from over her shoulder, feeling sorry for her but Rosalie had superhuman strength (literally) and she could not leave.

‘Don’t take it personally, she doesn’t like to share.’ Emmett said, shrugging before turning to follow the two girls whereas Edward had already left without a glance.

‘Man she smells kind of funky.’ Emmett wrinkled his nose, giving Y/N a small smile. ‘Nothing like our Y/N/N huh?’ The three sat down, Y/N sandwiched between Edward and Rosalie.

‘Don’t be mean to her. She’s nice. Please?’ Y/N pleaded, sighing as she slid down the back of her chair. ‘She’ll be here the whole week but I’m not sure if she’s staying.’ Y/N got up to head towards the lunch line when she was interrupted by Alice.

‘Hey! Me and Jasper decided to grab you a tray! We’ve never been in the line so it was kind of exciting!’ Alice set down the tray of food on the table and ushered Y/N back into her seat. Y/N flashed a grateful smile to Alice and Jasper before sitting down.

‘Thank you so much. I was dreading standing in line to be quite frank.’ Y/N popped a piece of fruit in her mouth.

‘No problems Y/N’ Jasper said in his signature southern drawl. It looked like Jasper was a true gentleman through and through

‘Honestly I hope she doesn’t stay for the entire week.’ Edward grumbled, resting his head on his fist. ‘She stinks up your house and I have to be extra quiet.’

‘Extra quiet doing what?’ Emmett joked, earning a smack from Rosalie.

‘Yeah, why did he rush home to change his clothes?’ Jasper chimed in, sharing a cheeky smile with Alice.

‘Oh, we were just hanging out! There isn’t really much space in my room so I let him sit on my bed.’ Y/N wrinkled her nose at the watery mush of rice that was next to her vegetables.

‘You don’t have to finish that, we can go get some food after school.’ Edward whispered, his breath grazing her neck suddenly.

‘With what money.’ Y/N laughed, rubbing at her ear.

‘I’m rich, handsome and young, remember?’ Edward snickered, leaning back in his chair. ‘We’ll get something to eat.’

‘We?’ Rosalie smiled excitedly.

‘We, as in me and Y/N.’ Edward huffed, shooting Rosalie a dirty look.

‘Rose can come! Everyone can come, right? They're your siblings Ed.’ Y/N rambled eagerly. ‘Oh, is it okay if I call you Rose?’ Y/N turned back to Rosalie who was nodding animatedly. 

‘Yes! Yes. That's so cute!’ Rose enveloped Y/N in an unexpected hug. Just like Edward, she was cold to the touch, but the gesture was warm enough.

‘She knows that we’ve all called her Rose for decades right?’ Edward rolled his eyes.

‘Yeah. Guess you have to be a cute girl for it to have any effect.’ Emmett chuckled, gazing lovingly at his mate.

‘Can we Edward?’ Y/N took a page out of Edwards book and gave him a wide eyed, hopeful smile.

‘How about this, the dance is soon I believe. We’ll go shopping together, all of us. But tonight, it’ll just be you and me, hm?’ Edward ignored the loud protests of Alice and Rosalie whilst tucking a strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear.

‘Well, I-’

‘We can get pasta.’

"Guys, can I go?’ Y/N turned quickly, looking at the two girls with an innocently imploring look. Alice sighed and nodded, turning to Rosalie

‘Yeah, they'll end up hanging out without us anyways.’ Alice grumbled, sliding down in her chair and crossing her arms, face pulled into a pout. Edward grinned, seeing the way the night would play out in Alice’s vision. 

‘Y/N/N really likes pasta huh?’ Emmett chuckled, patting Rosalie’s shoulder in consolation.

‘Er, just a little.’ Y/N could feel her face get warm. ‘Right, speaking of pasta. Can you guys still eat? Is that a thing?’ 

Y/N just realised she had forgotten how that process worked. 

‘We can eat, we just can’t digest it.’ Jasper answered, taking a bite from the pizza that was on her tray.

‘So, what does it do, just sit in your stomach?’ Y/N raised an eyebrow, looking at her now bitten pizza, puzzled.

‘Well it means it’ll have to come back out. We don’t have to excrete so it’ll come back up the same way it came.’ He replied, leaning back and putting an arm around Alice’s shoulders.

‘Okay, thank you for letting me know that you’ll vomit up my pizza at some point…’ Y/N mumbled, eying the slice tentatively. Thankfully Edward took notice and silently slid Y/N’s tray away from her and grabbed her backpack with his other hand. Y/N said her goodbyes as Edward led her gently by the small of her back towards her next class.

Of course, the rest of the day went by with little to no mishaps other than Y/N tripping over a ball during P.E. In her defence, it was the same colour as the ground. Other than that and Edward fussing over her for the rest of the day, she was glad to say the school day was over. 

As she and Edward walked into the parking lot, Edward’s grip tightened a fraction. 

‘Y/N! Did you wanna-’ Bella started, running up behind the duo.

‘She and I will be heading to Port Angeles for dinner. She’ll see you when you get home.’ Edward bit, continuing to usher Y/N towards his Volvo. Bella was left fuming, her face pulled into a frown.

‘I’m sorry Bella! I’ll see you at home?’ Y/N called apologetically, waving as Edward all but dragged her to the car.

‘Edward, what was that?’ Y/N pouted, spinning around in his hold.

‘What?’ He gave her a smirk. ‘Didn't you wanna get pasta for dinner?’ Edward tilted his head still giving her a mischievous smile.

‘Hmm?’ Y/N raised a single eyebrow unamused, her arms crossed.

Edward sighed, ‘I don’t like sharing.’ He looked at least somewhat remorseful. ‘I’m sorry.’

Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately, ‘You scared I’ll like Bella or something?’ She joked, nudging him with her elbow.

‘I’ve waited almost a hundred years to find you. I’m not sure how much more waiting I can take.’ He whispered out with his eyes closed, lifting Y/N’s hand to his lips. ‘You have no idea the restraint I’m showing right now.’ His eyes flitted open, gaze flickering from Y/N’s lips to her eyes.

‘A hundred?’ Y/N mused.

‘Well technically I am a hundred and four chronologically.’ Edward laughed, manoeuvring Y/N by the waist to open the passenger side door.

‘If you didn’t stay mentally seventeen I would be rather concerned.’ Y/N teased, sliding into her seat.

‘Yeah well-’ Edward stopped, standing still. ‘Are you calling me immature.’ He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a wicked grin. 

‘Maybe.’ Y/N poked Edwards cheek, feeling the smooth skin refuse to dent. ‘Man you’re actually made of diamonds aren't you?’ 

‘If that's what you like then sure.’ Edward gave a lingering kiss to Y/N’s fingers before stepping back and closing the car door.

‘You should call Charlie and let him know you’ll be home a little late. It takes around an hour to get to Port Angeles.’ Edward started the engine.

‘Um, actually how would you feel if we were to have the pasta that your family made last night?’ Y/N fiddled nervously with a loose thread.

‘I don’t mind. The rest of the family are out tonight. The sun is out tomorrow so they’ll be heading out to hunt for the next day and a half.’ Edward rested his right hand on the steering wheel, putting his left hand in the centre console.

‘Huh, I thought they wanted to go get food with me.’ 

‘They would have cancelled for you. Alice was ready to buy out a whole dress store to persuade you into hanging out more.’ Edward pulled out of the parking lot, heading toward a familiar road through the dense forestry.

‘She doesn’t need to do that. I like both of them enough to hang out with them in general!’ 

‘I’m pretty sure she’s just worried I won’t be able to convince you to join the family on my own.’ Edward smiled wryly.

‘You’re not doing too bad on your own Edward.’ She gave him a bashful grin before swiftly casting her eyes back onto the road. Edward’s boyish charm was slowly drawing her in. It was hard not to reciprocate his affections. 

If Edward’s undead heart could skip a beat, it would have.

[81pastrys]

Hi! I want to say I love your dad!lando fics! Could I request something along the lines of 3/4 year old Lila being invited on Charles yacht with her parents? I would love to see more interactions between Lila and y/n but also lots of lando! Thank you!

Yacht Adventures

Summary— 3 F1 drivers take their families out for a fun boat ride on Charles’s yacht

Warnings— none…?

A/N— I thought this idea was fun, I added a bit more Lila and mum scenes too!

Dad Fic List

Lando and Charles would pass in the paddock and Lila would say hi from the French words he taught her, her little ‘bonjour’ or ‘salut’ was the highlight of Charles day. There was a break soon and Charles stopped Lando this time, little Lila getting shy.

“Do you want to come with me, Carlos and your dad on a boat adventure?” Charles asked her. She looked to her dad and nodded.

“Please daddy please!” She was excited and Lando smiled. The two stayed in touch, both living in Monaco. Lila asked every day, at every hour when they were going. The day came quicker than expected and she was so giddy and excited.

Carlos brought his two little ones, Carlo and Vivi. While Charles also had his little girl, Juliette. “There she is!” Charles said, Juliette would not shut up about seeing Lila again. Charles didn’t bring her around the paddock, his team not as fun or interactive.

“Papa, Lila and uncle LaLa!” Juliette said, her little French accent was to die for. The four little kids went off to play and their parents talked. The boat sailed for a while until they were just wading in the water. There was a shallow part near a beach for the kids to be able to stand up.

“Lila, sweetheart come see.” Lando said. Lila padded her feet to get to him and he kneeled down. “Mama is going to put sunscreen on so we don’t get hurt from the sun okay?” Lila nodded and ran up to her mum. Rebecca and Alex doing the same for their kids.

“Lila I love your swimsuit.” Alex commented, her little girl squirming at the cold sun lotion. Lila giggled and her face went red.

“Say thank you my love.” Her mum reminded her, beginning to put the cold lotion on her body. She flinched away at the cold and her mum stopped. “What’s the matter?” She asked.

“It’s cold mama!” She yelled. Her mum knew it was cold, so she rubbed her hands together to warm it up and then continued to lather it generously. The little girl was pale from the winter, but could tan better than Lando if she had the right amount of sunscreen on.

“Better?” Her mum smiled. Lila gave her a smile back. Her mum grabbed a different bottle and used it on Lila’s face. Lila hated it. She screamed again and held her mums wrist while stomping her feet.

“Why are you screaming sweetheart?” Lando asked from behind her. Her mum looked to Lando and he giggled, realizing why. “Lila it’s so the sun doesn’t hurt you, if mama doesn’t put it on your face, it’ll be red.” He wasn’t lying and Lila knew it. She calmed down at his words and her mum picked her up.

“All done!” Her mum said smiling at the upset toddler. Lila giggled, she loved when her mum would say that when she was done putting something on Lila. Lando wiped a tear away and pointed to her friends already on their way to the beach.

They got in the water and headed towards them, the kids having their fun in the water. Lila joined and splashed water, made sandcastles, and her favorite was learning French from the Monegasque. “Château de sable.” Charles said slowly.

“Chat-oh dee sable!” Lila tried. Juliette said it and Lila giggled. Saying it over and over until she got it right. “Daddy! Mama! Look at my château de sable!” She said, running up to them.

“That’s awesome sweetheart, what does that mean?” Lando asked, unaware Charles and Juliette were teaching her French. Lila ran off again leaving Lando speechless. “What is that?” He asked his wife.

“Fuck if I know.” She laughed, the kids didn’t hear her curse. Lando laughed and Charles told them it meant sandcastle. “Don’t go teaching her another language, she’ll start cussing us out in French.” She laughed.

“Jules already does that.” Charles said. “I don’t know what Alex is teaching her.” Alex playfully swatted at him and the little girl came up to them.

“Papa, can we go back on the boat?” She whined. Charles redirected her to go play with Vivi, the little girl only playing with her brother most of the time.

“Carlo is mean.” She said innocently to him. “He stepped on my sandcastle!” She made a new one, but still.

“He’s just a boy Jules.” Lando said. Charles sighed and walked with Juliette over to the Spanish pair of kids.

“Carlos what’s this I’m hearing of Carlo being mean?” Charles asked. “Juliette is not happy.” Charles looked to his daughter who didn’t look the part of unhappy. Splashing Lila and Vivi like nothing happened

“Mate, he’s been mean to me today, I think he’s mad it’s only girls his age.” Carlos chuckled. “Carlo! Do not throw the sand son!” He yelled. Luckily Rebecca stopped the hand before it tossed sand.

Lila ran back to her parents upset, Juliette and Vivi stopped splashing her and played by themselves further off. She was whiny and tired for sure. The sun mixed with her nap time was not ideal. “Oh my baby, come see mama.”

Lila crawled onto her mums chest and relaxed. Tears no longer present. Her mum rubbed her back and cooed sweet nothings to her. Lando took off his hat and placed it over Lila’s head, blocking the sun.

“Lan.” His wife said warningly. “Leave her alone.” Soon the others also started complaining about stupid things and they all headed back to the boat for a group nap time. Charles showed them the room under the deck and the girls slept soundly on the bed together. Carlo refusing to take a nap on the same bed, so his mum put him on the couch across the room.

“Lila seems like a handful no?” Rebecca asked. Truth be told yes, she was daddy’s little princess and mamas little helper, she was clingy and they loved it.

“Sometimes, she’s just very clingy, gets it from Lando.” Her mum laughed. “I don’t know what I’ll do when she finds out I’m pregnant and she doesn’t get all my attention.” The others all knew a second baby Norris was expected, but Lila hadn’t had the courage to ask why her mums belly was getting bigger yet.

“When you start showing more she’ll be more inclined to ask I’m sure.” Alex said. “Jules already asked me why.” She giggled. The little girl swapped languages to ask Alex why. “I told her everyone has different body types, because kids repeat that kind of stuff you know?” Props to Alex because Rebecca would’ve told her two the truth.

Btw Alex and Rebecca were added to make it easier to write! If you submit a request for them to be in it by all means but they don’t have to be

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @pandabiiissh @kallanfiona @itznotsophia @chertik-007vvv

[jijournal]

I SEE YOU | H.P

Summary: As a Muggle-born Hufflepuff, you were taught to always be kind—even when it hurt. Years of people-pleasing left you exhausted and invisible, until Harry Potter reminded you that your worth isn't tied to how much you give. Now, you're learning that kindness includes being kind to yourself too.

Word Count: 2.1k+

Warnings: Angst but a happy and comforting ending. Muggle-born!hufflepuff!reader x Harry Potter

A/N: Let's just say that I'm a people pleaser as well. Hope everyone loves this! 🫰

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

"Yes, I understand—he shouldn't have done that to you." "WHAT?! Aww, come here. You don’t deserve that." "Oh! Here, let me help you!"

Those were the kinds of words that always left your mouth. They slipped out so naturally, it was like breathing. Because as a Hufflepuff, everyone just expected you to be nice.

The nicest person, really—because that’s what your house is known for.

When you first walked through the towering doors of Hogwarts, wide-eyed and unsure, all the other kids your age were whispering about which house they might end up in.

Gryffindors were brave. Slytherins, cunning. Ravenclaws, smart. And Hufflepuffs? They were nice.

Nice. Kind. Generous. Gentle. Compassionate. Loving. Sympathetic. Every kind-hearted word you could think of, wrapped up in a yellow and black scarf.

As a Muggle-born with no real knowledge of the wizarding world, you followed the rules like they were gospel. So when the Sorting Hat placed you in Hufflepuff, you didn’t question it—you just assumed this was your role now.

Be nice. Always.

Even to the ones who didn’t deserve it. Even to the ones who made fun of you. Because your eleven-year-old self truly believed that’s what being a Hufflepuff meant.

You slipped into the role easily after a while. Too easily. You became the dependable one. The fixer. The one everyone turned to when they needed a kind word or someone to sit with.

You learned how to soothe others, even when you didn’t know how to soothe yourself.

You gave everyone your sympathy.

Everyone but you.

In short—you became a people pleaser. A pathological one.

You didn’t love it at first. But it grew on you, like a second skin. One you forgot how to take off.

It started your very first week at Hogwarts.

You and Susan Bones had only just become roommates. She was usually chatty, warm, always smiling—until that one evening when she returned to your dorm with red-rimmed eyes and trembling hands.

“Susan... What’s wrong?” you asked gently, startled by the change in her.

She didn’t answer right away. Just sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the crumpled letter in her hands.

Finally, in the smallest whisper: “It’s my mum. She sent a letter… My dad’s in St. Mungo’s right now.”

You blinked in surprise, your heart aching at the tremble in Susan's voice. You had only known her a few days, but the pain in her eyes struck something deep in you—like a string inside you had been plucked.

Without thinking, you moved across the room and wrapped your arms around her, gentle but firm.

“Oh, Susan… I’m so sorry,” you murmured, letting her cry quietly into your shoulder. “That must be so scary. Do you want to talk about it? Or… or maybe just sit here for a bit?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what to do… What if he—what if he doesn't make it?”

You pulled away just enough to meet her eyes, brushing away a tear from her cheek with your sleeve. “Hey, listen to me. You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m right here. And I’ll stay right here as long as you need.”

Her bottom lip wobbled, and more tears spilled down her face. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you cut in gently but firmly, your voice soft but steady. “You're my friend. And when my friends are hurting, I don’t just walk away.”

That night, you stayed up late with her, even after the lights went out. You whispered small jokes to make her smile, told her stories from your Muggle school days just to distract her for a while. You offered every piece of kindness you could find in yourself, until she fell asleep curled up in bed, breathing more evenly.

And that was the beginning.

From then on, it became second nature. A classmate tripped and fell? You were the first to rush over. Someone looked lost during a lesson? You offered your notes before they could even ask. A younger student cried in the hallway? You’d sit beside them until they could smile again.

Everyone saw you as the Hufflepuff stereotype—so sweet, so caring, so good.

But no one ever asked if you were okay.

No one ever noticed when you cried quietly into your pillow at night, wishing someone would see past the smile.

But that was okay… wasn’t it?

That’s just what Hufflepuffs were supposed to do.

Or at least, that’s what you believed.

It happened during your fourth year.

You were walking back to the common room late one evening when you spotted a first-year Slytherin huddled against the wall of an empty corridor, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. You paused, the sight tugging at something deep inside you—the same ache that always stirred when someone was in pain.

Without hesitation, you approached him. Carefully, you lowered yourself into a crouch so you could meet his eyes, your voice soft with concern.

"Are you... okay?" you whispered gently, hoping to comfort him.

But instead of opening up, he looked at you with pure annoyance—like your presence was somehow making things worse. His expression twisted into a sneer.

"Does it look like I'm okay?" he snapped.

You flinched at his tone, caught off guard. “Oh! Well, no! No… of course not,” you stammered, unsure how to respond.

He rolled his red, tear-streaked eyes and scoffed. “What a dumb Mudblood, as expected.”

You gasped, stunned by his words. “Excuse you? That wasn’t a nice thing to say, young man.”

“Whatever, Mudblood. Stop trying to be perfect all the time. Get a life!” he shouted, then turned his back on you and stormed off, leaving you frozen in place.

You stood in the middle of the empty corridor for a long while after the boy had disappeared around the corner. His words echoed in your ears, sharp and cold like the breeze that sometimes blew through the castle's drafty halls.

“What a dumb Mudblood.” “Stop trying to be perfect all the time.” “Get a life.”

You swallowed hard. Your throat ached like you’d just been hexed, but there were no spells—just words. Words that cut deeper than any jinx ever could.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. But instead, you just… stood there. Frozen. Because deep down, he had said the one thing you were too afraid to admit to yourself:

You were trying too hard.

You always had.

Trying to be nice. Trying to be good. Trying to be the Hufflepuff everyone expected. You convinced yourself it was the right thing to do, that being selfless and kind would make you worthy. That if you gave enough, if you were helpful enough, maybe people would like you. Maybe they’d keep you around.

Because what if… what if you stopped? What if you said no? What if you stopped offering your heart on a platter to everyone who walked past?

Would they still care?

Would anyone?

It was your fifth year when you joined Dumbledore’s Army.

Of course you did. The second Hermione mentioned it, your hand shot up. You were always the first to volunteer. Not because you were particularly brave or daring—but because it felt like your duty. Your unspoken job. Be the helper. Be the healer. Be the one people could rely on.

So when practice started, and people needed someone to test spells on—Disarming Charms, Stunning Spells, even minor hexes—you always stepped forward.

“I’ll do it.” “I’m fine!” “No really, it didn’t hurt!” "Try again—harder this time!"

Your voice became a script. Your smile, a mask. Your bruises—well hidden. You were covered in little aches and sore spots by the time the snow started falling outside.

But no one noticed. Because you were always okay. Always smiling. Always kind.

Until Harry did.

One evening during practice, when you got flung back by a particularly strong Stunning Spell from Ginny, you hit the ground hard. People laughed nervously, “Blimey, sorry! You alright?”

You sat up quickly, rubbing your shoulder with a tight smile. “I’m fine. Really—just a bit off balance.”

Everyone chuckled and moved on.

Except Harry.

He didn’t laugh.

Instead, he walked over quietly while the others paired off again. He knelt beside you as you tried to stand, gently placing a hand on your arm to steady you.

“You don’t have to keep doing this, you know,” he said, eyes searching your face. “You don’t have to let yourself get hurt just to be helpful.”

You blinked at him, startled. “I—I’m okay. Really. I don’t mind—”

“But I do,” he interrupted softly, but firmly. “I see how often you volunteer. I see the way you flinch sometimes when you think no one’s watching.”

Your throat tightened.

“I see you,” he said. “And I just… I think someone should remind you that your happiness matters too. That it's okay to put yourself first.”

You looked at him, eyes stinging suddenly.

Harry offered a crooked smile. “You’re allowed to take up space. You’re allowed to rest. You don’t have to earn love by setting yourself on fire to keep everyone else warm.”

You didn’t know what to say. For the first time in years, someone saw past the smile.

Saw you.

Really saw you.

And in that moment, something inside you cracked open—not broken, but healing. Slowly. Like sunlight through fog.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. But Harry just gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

And for once, you let yourself be comforted. Not because you had to… But because you needed to be.

You didn’t talk much the rest of that meeting. But Harry stayed close.

When practice ended and everyone began to pack up, you felt a strange pull in your chest—not quite sadness, not quite relief. Just… something new. Something that said maybe, just maybe, you were allowed to feel something other than helpful.

That night, back in your dormitory, you didn’t offer to help someone with their Potions essay. You didn’t give your last Chocolate Frog to a roommate who “needed a bit of cheering up.”

Instead, you lay in bed and thought about Harry’s words. Replayed them over and over again like a spell you were trying to master.

“You don’t have to earn love by setting yourself on fire to keep everyone else warm.”

You hadn’t realized how tired you were until then.

The next DA meeting, something changed.

When Hermione asked for volunteers to practice Stunning Spells again, your hand didn’t go up.

You braced yourself for the awkward silence, the disappointed looks, the "What’s-wrong-with-you?" stares.

But no one noticed. Not really. They just moved on.

And you sat down beside Harry, your arms wrapped around your knees, your heart pounding in your chest. Not from fear—but from freedom.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, nudging your shoulder.

You gave him a soft smile—real, this time. “Getting there.”

He smiled back. “That’s all anyone can ask.”

Over the next few weeks, you started changing in small, quiet ways.

You still offered to help—but only when you wanted to.

You started saying no when your heart wasn't in it.

You cried once, in the bathroom, when someone made a snide remark about Hufflepuffs being “just there to cheer the others on” but this time, you didn’t spiral into a need to prove them wrong.

You just let yourself feel, and that was enough.

You still wore the badge of kindness, but now it wasn’t armor—it was a choice.

And Harry? He stayed.

Sometimes you studied together in the common room. Sometimes you walked to DA meetings side by side, not saying much, just… existing together. Like he was quietly telling you: You matter. Even when you're not fixing things.

There was one evening near the end of the year, after a DA session, when he caught you lingering behind again, cleaning up parchment and putting away cushions.

“You don’t have to clean up every time, you know,” he said, teasing gently.

You grinned. “Old habits die hard.”

Then, more seriously: “But I’m learning. It’s… hard. I still feel like if I’m not helping someone, then maybe I’m not enough. Maybe I’m not worth liking.”

Harry looked at you with something soft in his eyes. Something kind.

“You’re not liked because you help. You’re liked because you’re you.”

You blinked. Your throat tightened again, but this time you didn’t push it down.

Instead, you let it rise.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He nodded. “Anytime.”

And that’s where things started to shift. Not instantly. Not dramatically. But slowly.

You were still kind. Still a Hufflepuff. Still you.

But now, you were learning to be kind to yourself too.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

[mischievousmoony]

𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜' ⟡ 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟹

⟢ james potter x black!reader (fem)

⟢ summary: after your parents cross the line, you and your older brother sirius find sanctuary at the potters'. your first day goes very poorly . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 5.1k

⟢ warnings: there is talk about the reader's previous hostile home environment, although it's not pictured. walburga black is implied to be mentally unstable. a theme here is the lasting impact growing up in that environment has on a person: reader fears becoming like her parents, longs for a more loving environment, doesn't handle her emotions very well, and picks fights. both anger and sadness are dealt with unhealthily by different characters. if there is anything i should add here, please please let me know.

⟢ part 1 ⟡ part 2 ⟡ part 3 ⟡ part 4 ⟡ masterlist

note: well! yikes! angst! i'm not sure i like the vision but i’m trying to remind myself this is a hobby and doesn’t have to be perfect <3

“A walk?” You questioned with a raspy voice.

“Mhm,” James nodded, “Just around the yard. Think it’ll help you feel better.”

You let James lead you to the back door, hand and hand. When he opened it, you discovered that “yard” was a bit of an understatement. The Potters’ property was larger than you knew— enormous, really. Lush garden beds thrived nearest to the house, and the grassy green beyond was surely where James practiced quidditch over the summers. The large trees scattered around the outskirts of the property made you picture a younger James climbing them.

James led you into the grassy landscape, taking notice of your awestricken expression as your eyes fall on Euphemia’s garden.

“I knew you’d like it out here.”

“It’s beautiful,” you mused, stopping to admire a bed of flowers. James dipped down and plucked one from the ground.

He fit it behind your ear and winked, “Don’t tell my mum.”

You frowned, reaching up to remove the flower from your hair. You twirled it inbetween your fingers.

“Your mum must think so poorly of me now,” you muttered, staring down at the flower.

“What? Why would you say that?”

“The first thing Sirius and I did after we were invited to stay is have a screaming match in the dining room. We sure know how to make ourselves feel at home,” you laughed bitterly. “And now she knows we’re together. Didn’t even get to properly tell her. I can’t imagine what she thinks of me.”

“Hey, look at me.” James said in a stern but gentle voice. You wonder how all the Potters can sound so kind even when they’re working up to a lecture.

You peered up through your eyelashes. James sported a pretty smile, and that alone made you feel a little better.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he said, “My mum’s not one to jump to any conclusions. She trusts me, alright? And don't worry about your fight with Sirius. No one's expecting this to be easy for you. For either of you."

James continued, “Besides, we all let our emotions get the best of us sometimes, yeah? We’re human. My parents will understand.”

James could tell you over and over again that it’s okay to be angry and it’s okay to slip up, but you didn’t think any amount of it would ever make it feel okay. You wondered how he could even believe it.

It surprised you, actually, how mature and level-headed James could be. We’re human so it’s just okay if our emotions get the best of us sometimes? Who actually thinks like that?

At your house, you had to be nothing short of perfect at all times. Now that you’ve seen Fleamont and Euphemia in parent mode, you can see where James learned it all. You never had anything like that, and it was difficult to wrap your mind around it.

Especially because it wasn’t too long ago that James was one of Hogwarts’ biggest trouble makers—his pranks were the epitome of immature. Evidently, he's grown up a lot recently.

Stupidly, you felt bitter about it. Which was completely absurd, you thought. Because surely you were not jealous of your boyfriend because he learned how to regulate his emotions better than you did. Because he was growing up, maturing? And you… well you don’t know what you’re doing. You felt stuck, like you’d always be a scared little kid who needs her older brothers’ no matter how old you got.

“Maybe you’re right,” you said, not really knowing what else to say. You were compelled to change the subject, “I’m worried about Regulus.”

“I know,” James began leading you around the garden again. You dropped the flower back where it came from, not wanting to be caught red handed with a freshly murdered flower from Effie’s garden.

“We have to get him out of there,” you sighed.

James looked at you through the corner of his eye. Apprehensively, he said, “From what Sirius told me, you guys barely got out of there.”

“Yeah, so we’ll need a really good plan so that we don’t get caught.”

James turned his head to look straight at you. He looked at you like you had two heads.

“What, you want to break him out or something? You want to go back there?”

“We have to. Regulus–“

“Regulus made his choice.” James interrupted warily.

You felt your heart sink into your stomach, “Please, not you too.”

“You heard what Sirius said. Regulus was given the option, and he chose to stay behind,” James tried to reason.

James knew how much your twin meant to you, it wasn't a surprise that you'd be worried about him. But to go back to that house? That was a step too far for his comfort. The moment that Sirius admitted exactly what his mother had done to him, James knew he'd never let either of you near her again. Something must've snapped in Walburga Black— she has been teetering on the edge for years, but she has unmistakably gone from being a cruel mother to an outright unstable woman.

The though of Regulus still being around her made him sick. Even though James didn't know him that well, he still found himself caring about him. It was likely an extension of your love for Regulus manifesting in James, who cared for you so deeply that your concerns became his. But that's just it— you're the one who he really cared for. Above all else, it's you he wanted to protect.

“He did not choose to stay behind,” you raised your voice, offended that James could ever think so.

“Love...”

James didn't mean to, but he looked at you with pity in his eyes, as if he thought you were in denial.

Anger flared up in your chest when you registered his expression, “No, don’t do that. Just because Sirius said so doesn’t mean it’s true. Regulus wouldn’t just choose them over us. Sirius– he doesn't have his facts straight.”

James didn’t say anything. What could he? It sounded like you were implying that Sirius was lying and James knew Sirius wouldn't do that.

For the record, you didn't think Sirius would lie either. But he was absolutely capable of missing something.

“You don’t believe me,” your mouth hung open after your words.

“It’s not that.” James rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, “I believe you, but I believe Sirius too. And Sirius said that Regulus refused to come. Whatever the reason, that's the choice he made. I’m not going to let you put yourself in danger for a– a lost cause.”

His words stopped you in your tracks.

“A lost cause?"

You had never been so affronted by James. He might not know Regulus nearly as well as he knows you or Sirius, but the fact that he could easily tag him as a lost cause was unbelievable.

"Don’t be an idiot, James. How could you say that?”

James had kept walking for a couple more paces, so he had to turn to face you. He tried to cover the way the venom in your voice made him flinch.

“You can’t force him to leave,” he said, sounding as understanding as he could muster, but he needed to get through to you.

Phantom alarm bells were ringing in his ears, his desperation for you to hear him growing. You were stubborn and you'd do anything for your brothers, James knows this all to well. But not this. He couldn't let you do this. He wouldn't let you go back there.

“Merlin, you’re siding with Sirius!” you accused, giving in to the anger burning in your chest.

James tried to remain calm as he spoke.

“I’m not siding with anyone.”

“Yes, you are! How could I be so stupid? Of course you’d choose Sirius over me!"

James features twist in anguish, "Love–"

"This is what I get for falling for my brother’s best friend. When there's a choice, it will always be him, won’t it?” You spat, glaring at James in a way that almost knocked him off his feet.

He was completely taken aback; you two had never fought like this. He tried to take some semblance of control over the situation, “Okay, you’re angry right now, and that’s okay–“

“Oh, would you stop that!” you shouted. A small part of you hoped the sound wouldn’t travel back to the house, but a bigger part of you was consumed with a growing rage. That part didn’t seem to care.

“Stop what?” James knitted his brows.

“Being some master of emotions all of a sudden! I’m accusing you of picking Sirius over me! I’m raising my voice at you! I’m calling you names! Why won’t you fight back? Yell at me, do something!”

James took a deep breath, “I’m not going to do that.”

He sounded completely calm and collected. Somehow, that pissed you off.

“Oh, you’re so perfect, aren’t you?”

“What?” James felt like he was going crazy, unable to decipher what he could possibly be doing wrong.

“Perfect James Potter, wouldn’t hurt a fly these days! You could never–! never lose your cool, could you?” you shouted.

James gaped at you. He couldn't be mad even if we wanted to; he was just confused. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? You yourself didn’t even seem to know what you were saying, your words tumbling out awkwardly as you said things even you knew weren’t true.

It’s not like James never lost the reign on his emotions. He throws his quidditch gear around when he loses a match, he can’t control his frustration when he doesn’t do well in class, he isolates himself when he’s sad instead facing it, he does a whole lot of things that he’s not proud of.

And you’ve seen it all before, but for some reason, you’ve chosen not to remember those moments. All you can think about is how you were so angry and scared, and he was so understanding and level-headed. And how you grew up with screaming matches and unfair punishments, and he probably got to grow up with calm discussions and soft spoken apologies. And it all felt so unfair.

“Are you–? Sorry, you're mad at me because I'm not getting mad at you? I’m sorry, I guess?”

“I don’t want you to be sorry I want you to yell at me! Be mad at me, fight with me!” You felt the familiar sensation of tears welling up in your eyes.

James looked shellshocked. Truthfully, he didn’t know how to deal with you like this, he’s never seen this before. Sure, sometimes you bicker— all couples do— but this was reaching an uncharted territory.

"I'm not going to yell at you for wanting to keep your brother safe–"

"Then yell at me because you think I'm naive for thinking I can get him out of there. Fight with me because I think you're an idiot for thinking Regulus is a lost cause!"

You were trying to rile him up, James knew this, and he so badly wanted to not let if affect him. Not because it was making him angry, no, it was making him sad.

But he couldn't fight it.

And James always does the same thing when he's sad.

“I think we need to take a step back from this conversation. Why don’t we go inside?” James offered.

He sounded like he stole that line from some therapist's book on navigating conflict. It made you want to scream.

“You go inside! I’m going to keep walking.” You pushed past him, deliberately letting your shoulder collide with his as you stormed away.

James let the blow knock him back a step, too thrown off to do anything else. He listened to your receding footsteps and he wanted to be the type of boyfriend who runs after you when you’re upset. Who holds you and listens to you until you can work out the problem. Instead—

“Just stay by the house, okay?” he called over his shoulder.

“Yeah, whatever.”

A few hot angry tears slid down your face. You aggressively wiped them away and willed any more tears to dry up. You were tired of crying.

You stomped around the gardens and grass, thinking of Regulus and how he deserved better than siblings who left him behind to find refuge with a boy who wouldn't think twice about rescuing him too.

Leaving that house was something you'd always dreamed of. But you had imagined both of your brothers by your side. No one was ever supposed to be abandoned.

Sirius just didn’t understand how horrible being alone in that house was. You and Regulus had already experienced a taste of it when he went off to Hogwarts a year before you two. Not to mention, Sirius was always the strongest of you, so without him, navigating that house was a whole new terrain.

Maybe that’s what Sirius senses is different about your relationship with Regulus. Those nine months were probably the worst of your life, and Reg is who you went through them with.

And maybe that's why you were so adamant that Regulus can’t be left there alone while everyone else seems ready to abandon all hope. Your parents had never been more furious than when Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor all those years ago. You suspected that they would be worse, angrier than ever after the departure Sirius orchestrated for you and him. You couldn’t let Regulus face that alone.

Somewhere along the line, worry for Regulus took precedence over the anger that held your gentle love for James hostage. By the time you came to a large trees on the outskirts of the lawn, the anger from the previous argument had simmered.

As you plopped down in the dirt and sat against its trunk, you tried not to be annoyed that taking a step away from that conversation really worked.

You took in your surroundings to distract yourself. It was to no avail, as a nearby shed caught your eye. Through its open window, you could see James’ broom and other quidditch gear.

“You idiot,” you chastised yourself aloud. You let your head fall into your hands as a million nasty thoughts about yourself raced through your mind, the most prominent being you’re just like your mother.

It was just like her to pick fights. You couldn’t breathe in that house without her telling you that you were doing it wrong. She always found something to yell at you for.

How could I act like that, you winced as you recalled the fight you just walked away from.

Poor James, who you yelled at for not being mad at you. It really was just like her to get upset over something so irrational. You felt ill over the similarity, and you were overwhelmed with a sense of impending doom.

You couldn't let yourself be doomed to your parents' fate. You wanted to be kind, reasonable, rational. So, what wouldn't they do in this situation?

A safe assumption would be that they wouldn't feel bad, so you're already on the right track it seems.

They also wouldn't apologize.

Okay, yeah. Apologize. You could apologize.

You have to apologize.

Just go apologize.

But you just couldn’t get yourself to move. You were frozen in shame for your behavior, the only movement was the rise and fall of your chest from your labored breath.

James Potter did not like feeling sad. It was unsettling, uncomfortable, so utterly unlike him.

Whenever it happened, he tried to hide from it. He'd lock himself away somewhere before he'd dare face it head on— or admit that it's there at all.

The last time he was sad, he let himself fall asleep in the common room just so he wouldn't have to face his friends back at his dorm. And when his childhood pet died, he didn't mention it for months, only alerting his friends to his cat's passing when Peter asked how old his cat was again.

It's not that James thought there was anything wrong with being sad. He definitely didn't believe in any of that nonsense that real men don't cry. In fact, he was always the first to offer his shoulder if any of his friends were upset, back pats and let-it-all-outs at the ready.

But when it was him, when he was the one with the lump in his throat and a pit in his stomach, he couldn't handle sadness anymore. It made him feel vulnerable, and he wanted to be the strong one, the brave one. The one who lights up a room with the force of the sun and brings humor and fun into everyone's days.

So, when he couldn't be that, he'd rather be alone. He'd rather sit isolated in a dimly lit room where the darkness can't touch anyone but himself.

His bed creaked under his weight as he shifted in place, the only movement he has made in several minutes.

He was trying to be still and let his mind focus on nothing but his breathing. He was especially trying not to think of your argument.

He counted out his inhales and exhales, just as he had learned years ago in divination class.

James took divination for one year only. It wasn't for him, but one thing from that class did stick with him— the lesson on mindfulness. Something about mediation and a clear head opening your mind to frequencies you may not normally be able to comprehend.

James wasn't sure about all that, but he quite liked the calmness of the exercise they did in class that day, even if he felt a bit silly doing it.

He finds himself repeating the meditation from that class when he's down. He much prefers a clear head to one with racing thoughts that give him that choked up feeling in his throat.

He was broken out of his feeble attempt at a meditative state when there was a knock at his door.

Hope swelled in his stomach. Maybe you've come to talk. Maybe he could smooth things over with you. And then he could stop feeling like this.

He tried not to look disappointed when Sirius walked through the door.

Sirius gave James a once over as the door clicked shut behind him, "What's wrong with you?"

"Me?" James forced a chuckle, "Nothing's wrong with me."

"You're sitting at the foot of your bed, starin' at the floor, shoulders slumped," Sirius' hand swept towards James' hunched form, "I know what upset looks like, Prongs."

"I'm not upset," James insisted still, "I'm just thinking. Is being lost in thought a crime these days?"

Sirius shrugged, plopping down on the bed next to James. His legs hung over the edge as he let his back hit the sheets, his arms sprawled at his sides.

James listened as Sirius puffed out a long, exhausted breath.

"You alright?" James asked, not bothering to look back, letting his sad eyes remain fixed on the floor.

"Ah, I see. Worried about me, are you?" Sirius guessed.

James seized the opportunity to excuse his demeanor. Besides, he wanted to talk about what Sirius had said earlier anyway.

"You did have a pretty nasty spat with your sister. And then you nearly collapsed."

There's a lull in the conversation for a moment as Sirius thinks.

"Your parents fixed me right up again. Gave me some nasty potion to help with the dizziness. Tasted like sewage but 'm good as new. They're off now, by the way, picking up some herbs they want to steep and feed me for these spasms I keep having in my hands."

James winced. Spasms, a potential side effect of being under the Cruciatus Curse.

"Sirius... about what you said happened. Your mother–"

"I don't want to talk about that," Sirius spoke quietly, somberly.

After a moment, Sirius added, "I don't want to think about any of them ever again."

James felt a pang in his heart, knowing Regulus was included in 'them'. You wouldn't have stood for it if you'd heard Sirius say that.

James' mind wanders back to your earlier argument, his earlier attempts to avoid these thoughts futile now. You were so adamant that you needed to go back for Regulus, ready to dive into some sort of escape plan, and that still scared the hell out of James.

He considered telling Sirius about what you wanted to do. One on hand, he knew Sirius would be on board with keeping you the hell away from there— keeping you safe. On the other hand, it felt like tattling on you to your brother.

James thought about the betrayal written across your face earlier. How hurt you were when you suspected James was choosing to believe Sirius over you. Confiding in Sirius now would surely, surely make it worse. And James didn't want to hurt you.

And yet—

"Thing is... I have to talk to you about something. About your sister... and about Regulus."

A flinch finally broke you out of your statue-like state when a sudden and distinct fluttering sounded above you. You expected to see any mundane bird when you looked up, but there was nothing there. You leaned around the tree to try to locate the source.

Instead of any random creature of flight, it was a familiar owl. And he was not in the tree, rather next to it, in a designated perch located on the other side of the thick trunk.

"Oh. Hello," you greeted the owl. He stared at you blankly, of course.

You've met this owl before. His name was Glory. You didn't know why, but James had named him, and you supposed that it was a name that James would have thought of.

You've received countless letters from James, all delivered by Glory. There were the long ones, which you mostly received during the times you were apart. Glory was good at discretely delivering them to your window. And if James also had mail for Sirius, he knew to deliver yours first.

James was always checking up on you over the holidays, making sure you were okay and telling you stories of his own time at home that would take your mind off of whatever horrible things were going on at Grimmauld Place.

When you were together, back at Hogwarts, James still sent you little notes whenever you weren't near. He knew how much you loved receiving notes from him, so he made it a habit. He would send notes about things he saw that reminded him of you, expressions of how much he missed you even if he'd seen you mere hours prior, declarations of love that he couldn't keep inside until the next time he'd be alone with you.

Oh, your sweet boy.

"I really messed up, didn't I?" You asked Glory. You chided yourself for continuing to try to talk to an owl. Not that owls weren’t smart. In fact, they were very intelligent, especially the magical sort. Glory could understand you, but it’s not like he had the ability to respond. 

You imagined that Glory would tell you that you messed up big time if he did, though.

You pushed yourself up to your feet, wiping dirt and twigs off your pants when you rose. As you walked back towards the house, you wondered if your mother ever felt sorry like this, if she ever wanted to apologize sometimes. Surely, at some point she did. James' words come back to you about how we're all human, and you want to believe that maybe there was a memory lost in your mind of her apologizing to you.

You'd have been a wide-eyed little kid at the time, snot-nosed and teary-eyed after she yelled at you for spilling milk or leaving a toy in the middle of the floor. She'd wrap her arms around you and apologize for raising her voice. Then she'd shush and coo soothingly until your tears dried up and you could show her all of your baby teeth in a wide grin.

It was unnatural, the image of her in your mind like that, but your heart burned for it to be real. As sick as it was, you still yearned for your mother's love, even if it was a thing of the past.

Maybe your house really was a poison. Because if she had ever been gentle, one way or another, Walburga Black got colder and harsher over the years. She spiraled so deep into darkness that she seemed to want to be cruel. After all, to cast the Cruciatus Curse, you do have to really want it.

Each step you took was invigorated with a new sense of determination. Apologizing to James now, owning up to your mistake, it was only the first step of doing everything in your power to never be anything like that woman.

It felt like no time passed at all by the time you arrived outside of James' door. You didn't feel ready to face him, but you raised your fist anyway. Just when knuckles were about to meet wood, you heard a muffled voice from inside.

"What do you think?" James' voice asked softly. Then, after a beat of silence, "Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, James, I heard you," Sirius said. He had that far away kind of tone in his voice he gets when he's trying to distance himself from his emotions.

"And?"

"And I'm bloody tired of talking about him!" Sirius barked. Even from the safety of the other side of the door, you flinched.

"She doesn't get it. She'll never get it because it's him," your brother continued. "If she had known he wasn't coming she probably wouldn't be here either. If it's a choice, it'll be him over me in a heartbeat. He could've done the bloody spell on me himself and she'd still choose him. Merlin, she could've done the bloody spell if he asked her to."

If felt like the wind was knocked out of you. You bit your tongue until you drew blood, fighting the urge to cry out, as if Sirius' words physically wounded you.

Rationally, you knew that Sirius was just angry, that he didn't mean it. But the rational side of your brain hasn't been winning many battles today.

You vaguely heard James tell Sirius not to say things like that as you backed away from his door until you met the wall behind you with a thump.

There was silence from inside James' room for mere seconds before the door was ripped open. Sirius stood in the doorway, James behind him. You couldn't read your brother's expression, there barely was one. How typical of him to hide behind a blank stare.

You, however, were wide eyed with a hand clamped over your mouth, leaning against the wall behind you, sure you'd collapse without its support.

Sirius began to say your name and suddenly your hand was gone and the words were tumbling from your lips.

"How could you say that?" Your voice was strained, "I wouldn't ever do that– He wouldn't ever do that!"

Sirius' eyes bore into yours but he didn't say anything. You wished you could tell what he was thinking under that stupid mask of his.

"I shouldn't have to tell you over and over again that I love you both. You are both my brothers, you both mean the world to me. It's so irrational and– and foolish to worry about a choice that I'd never–"

You cut yourself off. The irony of being so hurt by Sirius' words were not lost on you. You had only just been accusing James of choosing Sirius over yourself.

"No, that's not true," Sirius bit back, "because that choice is upon you now. So, go ahead. Let's see if you can surprise me."

"What?"

"Choose me, stay here where it's safe. Choose Regulus, go right ahead and try to be his jailbreak. But when you can't convince him to leave, when he refuses, I won't be surprised when you choose to stay there too."

Your eyes flashed to James, who looks way too shameful for you to not put two and two together. You were conflicted; feelings of regret over accusing James of choosing Sirius over you were mixing with feelings of betrayal that James had ran right to Sirius with your words.

You'd let the guilt and betrayal sink in and shred you to pieces later. You had Sirius to deal with first.

"What is wrong with you?" you hissed. "How could you be so dim? Wanting our brother to be safe does not mean I'm choosing him over you."

"Color me unsurprised!" Sirius yelled, looking smug.

Your eyes began to burn, "Fuck you, Sirius!"

James tries to interrupt, "Er, hey, maybe we should–"

"Don't you dare tell me we need to take a step back from this conversation, James!"

James' mouth clamped shut.

"Don't yell at him!" Sirius squawks.

"You want to talk about choosing one person over another? Let's talk about it. Don't pretend you haven't given up on Regulus ever since you met his shiny new replacement!"

You'd feel real shitty about saying that in front of James later; the look on his face at your words was already burned into your memory.

"Don't turn this on me!" Sirius shouted.

"You're such a hypocrite. And an imbecile for thinking I care about you any less than Regulus. Of course I care about you both the same. And you may not believe it, but Regulus cares about you too!"

"That's–"

"I don't want to hear it," you interrupted, "I'm done. Say it James."

James looked like a deer in headlights, "What?"

"Say the thing!" you shouted.

"We need to take a step back from this conversation?"

Your arms flew up, gesturing towards James as you stared Sirius down with an exasperated look on your face. Your brother scoffed and stormed down the hall, disappearing to anywhere else in the Potters' home.

For a moment it was just you and James in the hall. Your eyes met and he looked anguished and far too apologetic. You knew that you were supposed to be the apologetic one, and you felt your heart begging you to let the sorrys loose.

It was too bad that the betrayal started settling in before the guilt.

"Sirius was right before. You are a snitch."

With that, you slipped back into your room and let the door slam shut behind you.

James remained in the hall for a moment longer, not knowing who to follow. He should follow one of you.

Instead, he decided to retreat back to his bedroom.

James wanted to be alone again.

next part

[maxlarens]

sidewalk rule and george!! idk I think it would be cute 🫶

i was writing a logan thing but this took over my brain. never fear logan girlies it’s still coming. also first time writing george 🤔🤔🤔 hope it’s okay. and also a bit shorter than what ive been typically doing for drabbles but i needed to kind of warm up my george writing

You’re holding a sizeable bouquet of wildflowers picked from community street-side planters. A mix of purples, pinks, blues and white— it reminds you of being a kid in the England countryside. The stone cottage your grandparents owned before you all made the move to the outskirts of London. You’re excited to put them in the little glass vase that your Mum used to own, set it on the windowsill in your kitchen.

But it’s not complete quite yet, there’s always room for more and the flowers are just so pretty.

You keep letting go of George’s hand, ducking in front of him and carefully picking stems from the greater plant. Before rejoining his leisurely stroll, again and again.

“Sorry, Georgie,” you apologise for what feels like the millionth time, “I can’t resist.”

He smiles at you, toothy and bright. Shakes his head to say it’s not a bother. Lets you take his hand again.

You do it a few more times before you sigh and switch the hand you’re holding the bouquet in, “We need to swap sides. I keep cutting you off.”

George laughs, “I have almost tripped a couple of times. But it’s fine, don’t worry. Keep doing what you’re doing.”

You frown, grabbing at his right hand, “We need to swap then.”

He shakes his head again, a crease forming between his eyebrows. He dodges your reach for his hand, slips behind you and slings an arm around your shoulder. It keeps him on your left, on the road side. You frown a little more at that—

“Georgie, what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he hums, “It’s just the sidewalk rule.”

“The sidewalk rule,” you roll your eyes, a little exasperated but not quite meaning it.

“Yeah,” he squeezes your shoulder, presses you against his side, “I stand on the car side so if we get hit you’ll live.”

A laugh bursts out of you, “Well I think if a car comes barreling at us it’s not going to make much of a difference, hun.”

He shrugs, you can see him smiling, growing wider by the second, “Yes, well, I’m being chivalrous and all that. So just shush.”

“Ah,” you concede, “I see. How upstanding of you, Georgie. Putting your life on the line for me.”

He laughs, giggles at the absurdity of it, “I try, sweetheart. I try.”

send me a prompt/req + driver and i’ll write something. pls make sure my requests are open first 💖

[thef1diary]

While It Lasts | L. Norris - 2

Summary: Lando expected nothing more than relaxation and fun for two weeks during his summer break. What he didn’t anticipate was meeting you, someone who felt like a perfect match in every way. As the days quickly passed, he found himself falling deeply for you, only to be confronted with the heart-wrenching reality that your time together was far more limited than he ever imagined.

Part 1

PLEASE READ: This story contains themes of loss, morality, fear, death, relationship strains, mental health struggles, including significant emotional impact related to the reader’s journey with a chronic illness and some scenes are set in hospitals. Reminder that this is simply a work of fiction, please don’t take it to heart.

wc: 16.5k

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate or repost any of my work.

You woke up to the faint clattering of dishes in the kitchen. Groggily, you opened your eyes, feeling the stiffness from sleeping awkwardly on the couch. Stretching, you realized Isaac was already up, making breakfast. 

“Isaac,” you called out, your voice hoarse from sleep. 

He didn’t seem to hear you, the noise of the kitchen drowning out your voice. With a sigh, you decided to hobble over to him, each step a reminder of your twisted ankle and the awkward position you’d slept in.

Reaching the kitchen, you leaned against the doorway for support. “Isaac,” you said a bit louder.

He turned, surprise and concern crossing his face. “You should be resting.”

“I know,” you replied, wincing slightly as you moved closer. “But we need to talk.”

Isaac set down the pan he was holding, his expression turning serious. “Alright, let’s talk.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the words you were about to say. “Isaac, I’m sorry for yelling at you yesterday. I know you’re just trying to take care of me.”

He shook his head, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and pain. “Every single day for the past four years, I have this fear that you’ll leave me at any moment. Yes, it is selfish, very selfish because I truly don’t know what you’re feeling, what you’re going through. But while you might’ve accepted that you’re dying, I didn’t! I just wanted to make sure you’re taking care of yourself, so you can live another day, so you can see me graduate college, see me – I don’t know – find the love of my life or get married. I’m sorry. You’re my sister, you are the last person I need to act like I’m on eggshells around you.”

Your heart ached at his words, the depth of his fear and love hitting you hard. “Your fear is valid, Isaac. Just because I’ve accepted it, doesn’t mean that I like it. But it won’t change fate, will it? It won’t change the fact that I’ve been dealt a shitty hand at life. All I know is that when I’m taking my last breaths, whenever it is, I don’t want to regret anything. I don’t want to regret not living enough because of the fear of dying. Just because I have a stupid countdown doesn’t mean I should be afraid to live.”

Isaac looked at you, his eyes moist with unshed tears. “I just want you to be here, to live as long as possible.”

“I know,” you whispered, reaching out to engulf him in a hug. “I’ll try to take better care of myself.” 

He nodded slowly, his grip tightening around your body. “And I’ll try to be less overprotective, I promise, I’ll try.”

You smiled, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Thank you, Isaac.”

As you stood there, holding onto each other in the quiet morning light, you felt a sense of peace. When he pulled back, he scrunched up his face. “But it’ll be harder to explain that to mum and dad.” 

You shrugged, “they’ll get it, one day, hopefully.” 

After breakfast, Isaac announced he needed to run some errands in town. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he said, grabbing his keys. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. Take your time.”

As the door closed behind him, the house fell into a quiet lull. You settled back on the couch, trying to get comfortable and rest your ankle. Just as you were starting to drift off, the doorbell rang.

With a sigh, you swung your legs off the couch and hobbled toward the door, wincing with each step. When you finally reached it and pulled it open, you were greeted by Lando’s mischievous grin that quickly turned into worry.

“Hey,” he said, his brow furrowed as he took in your hobbling form. “You shouldn’t be up and about. How’s the ankle?”

“Hey, Lando,” you replied, leaning against the doorframe for support. “It’s sore but I’ll survive. Come in.”

He stepped inside, immediately reaching out to steady you. “Here, let me help you back to the couch.”

You nodded, grateful for his support. You leaned against him and held his hand as he guided you back to your spot on the couch. You couldn’t help but notice the warmth of his touch and the genuine concern in his eyes. 

“Thanks,” you said once you were settled again. “What brings you here?”

Lando shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “I wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re not getting into any more trouble.”

You chuckled softly. “Well, I did manage to twist my ankle pretty badly.”

His expression turned serious. “I know. I felt terrible leaving you like that last night.”

“It’s alright, I was already sleeping before you left,” you waved off his concern. 

“Speaking of falling asleep…” Lando began, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I couldn’t resist stopping by the bookstore you mentioned. Figured I’d pick up a couple of books to keep us entertained.”

You grinned, appreciating his thoughtfulness. “You went to the bookstore? You really are determined to explore every corner of this town, aren’t you?”

Lando nodded enthusiastically, pulling the books out of the bag he carried when he entered. “Of course! And since my favorite tour guide is out of commission,” he said, gesturing to your injured ankle, “I had to take matters into my own hands.”

He revealed two identical books, holding them up with a grin. “Thought we could have a reading competition. Winner gets bragging rights.”

You chuckled, shaking your head in amusement. “It’s always a competition with you, isn’t it?”

Lando shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “What can I say? I’m a competitive guy. Comes with the territory. Oh, and by the way,” he added casually, “did I mention I’m a Formula 1 driver?”

You blinked, surprised by the revelation. “Wait, seriously?”

Lando grinned, “yeah, been racing for quite a few years now.” 

You nodded, a smile spreading on your face when he delved into the details, and it’s evident that he loves talking about his passion. 

“That actually makes so much sense, that’s how you know the Sainz family, right?” 

Lando’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Yes, but how do you know them?”

You laughed softly, and it quickly became a sound Lando loved hearing. “I live next to the villa, remember?” You teased jokingly. 

A sheepish smile grew on his face, “oh, right. So what, you’ve met Carlos too? And here I thought I was the first F1 driver you’ve met.” 

You nodded. “Yeah, in passing. We never really talked much, but I’ve seen him and his family around often.”

Then you leaned closer and whispered, “but don’t tell him that he may no longer be my favourite.” 

He quirked up an eyebrow, leaning in as well and responding with the same amount of energy. “Then who is?” 

You shrugged, leaning back with a small smile and a faint blush covering your cheeks. “I think I might have to watch a race to decide.” 

As you continued chatting with Lando, the pain in your ankle seemed to fade into the background. His enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself drawn into his stories about racing, the thrill of waiting for the lights to go out, and the camaraderie between his fellow drivers. 

Eventually, you decided to start the reading competition. Both of you settled into the couch with your respective books, determined to see who would finish first. But as the minutes ticked by, Lando found it hard to focus on his book. His gaze kept drifting to you, watching the way your eyes moved across the pages and the little expressions that flitted across your face as you read.

He couldn’t help but want to talk to you, to hear more about your thoughts. Finally, he put his book down with a sigh, unable to concentrate any longer.

“So, what’s next on the agenda once your ankle’s better? Something less adventurous, perhaps?”

You placed your book down after marking your page, chuckling as you looked at him. “Can’t focus, can you?” 

“Not with you around,” he shrugged casually. 

Trapping your lip between your teeth to prevent a smile from growing on your face, you chose to focus on the question he asked. 

“There’s this amazing seafood restaurant nearby. It’s a local favorite, and the food is incredible. Fresh catches of the day, and the chef’s specials are to die for. You’ll love it!”

As you spoke, you didn’t notice Lando’s face pale slightly. He wasn’t a fan of seafood, but he couldn’t bring himself to dampen your excitement by telling you the truth. The way your eyes lit up talking about the place made him want to experience it with you, even if he never wanted to be around any sort of fish. 

“Sounds great,” Lando said, forcing a smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

You clapped your hands together, beaming. “You won’t regret it, I promise. The view from the restaurant is amazing too. It’s right by the water, and you can see the boats coming in and out of the harbor. It’s a perfect spot for a relaxing evening.”

Lando nodded, matching your enthusiasm as best he could. “That sounds perfect. I can’t wait.”

“How about we go there for dinner tomorrow?” you suggested, your excitement bubbling over.

“Tomorrow night it is,” Lando agreed, his smile genuine due to your smile despite his seafood reservations. 

The next evening came around too quickly for Lando’s liking. Instead of stressing over what to wear this time, he was worried about the food itself. The prospect of seafood was daunting, but he didn’t want to let you down. As he rummaged through his closet, Max walked into the room with a teasing grin.

“Mate, you like her so much that you’d willingly eat seafood for her?” Max said, leaning against the doorframe.

Lando looked up, a mixture of nerves and amusement on his face. “Yeah, well, it’s not just about the food. It’s about the company.”

He chuckled, “you’re a brave man.” Then he sighed exaggeratedly, “oh the things you do in love.” 

Lando’s back straightened suddenly. “It’s not love… yet. We’re just hanging out.” 

Max’s eyes widened since he didn’t expect such an answer, “wait a second, ‘yet’? Do you actually like her?”

Lando shrugged, trying to play it off, but the slight smile on his face betrayed him. “I don’t know, Max. Maybe. It’s… complicated.”

Max studied him for a moment, then a grin spread across his face. “I should’ve seen it coming, but she’s great! Maybe even a little out of your league,” he spoke with a teasing grin, that only made Lando roll his eyes when he saw his best friend’s face. 

“She’s beautiful,” he said softly, not denying Max’s words.

Max's teasing grin softened into a more serious expression. "Hey, I'm serious though. You don't have to go through with this if you're not comfortable. You shouldn't feel like you have to force yourself to like something just to impress her."

Lando appreciated Max's concern, but he shook his head. "It's not about impressing her. I want to spend time with her, Max. She's... she's different."

Max raised an eyebrow, a knowing look in his eyes. "Different, huh? Well, just be careful, okay?"

Lando nodded, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty and anticipation. "Of course."

As Max left the room, Lando took a moment to collect his thoughts. He knew Max was just looking out for him, but there was something about you that made him want to take the risk. With a determined smile, he finished getting ready and was about to head out to meet you, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement building inside him.

Right as he was leaving the villa, Max’s voice rang out. “If you need an excuse to skip out, I can come up with something. No need to torture yourself over fish.”

Lando shook his head, appreciating the concern. “Thanks, Max, but I’ll be fine. I just… I don’t want to ruin this. She’s really excited about the place.”

A very short drive later, Lando knocked on your door, and when you opened it, his eyes widened appreciatively as they swept over you. You wore a simple yet elegant dress, the color complementing your features perfectly.

“Wow,” he breathed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You look amazing.”

Blushing slightly at his compliment, you thanked him and closed the door behind you as you left your cottage, walking towards Lando’s car. “Thanks, Lando, you don’t look too bad yourself.”

He fell in step beside you, still admiring your outfit. “So, do you have a hot date or something?”

You chuckled at his question, shaking your head. “Nope, no dates, just going out with some racer guy, not sure if you know him.” 

Sitting in his car, he instantly looked at you with a raised eyebrow and a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “Hmm, sounds like a great guy! Is he interesting?” 

You laughed, nudging him as he drove. “Very.” 

When you arrived at the restaurant, the sun was just starting to set, casting a golden glow over the water. It was nestled right by the harbor, with a perfect view of the boats coming and going. Lando parked the car and helped you out, his hand lingering a moment longer than necessary as he offered support for your still-healing ankle. Even though you could walk without needing support again, you didn’t mind holding onto his hand. 

“Wow, this place is beautiful,” he said, genuinely impressed by the picturesque setting.

“I told you,” you replied with a satisfied smile. “Come on, let’s get a table by the window.”

The interior of the restaurant was cozy, with soft lighting and a gentle murmur of conversation filling the air. A small fish tank adorned one corner of the room, the colorful fish swimming lazily in the water. Lando couldn’t help but chuckle nervously as he glanced at the tank.

“Kinda cruel, isn’t it?” he joked, nodding towards the fish tank. "Having live fish in a seafood restaurant," Lando remarked with a wry smile. 

Still, you laughed, nodding in agreement. "The owners think it adds to the ambiance."

As you were seated and handed the menus, Lando took a deep breath, steeling himself for the seafood-heavy options. But when he looked across the table and saw your excited expression, he hoped it would all be worth it. This evening was about enjoying your company, and he was determined to do just that, and perhaps if everything went very well, he might casually mention that he’d like to take you out on an actual date. 

As the waiter took your orders, you couldn't contain your excitement, eager to indulge in the fresh seafood the restaurant had to offer. Lando, however, seemed a bit hesitant, but he eventually settled on a dish, trying to mask his apprehension with a smile.

Once the food arrived, you dug in eagerly, savoring each bite of the delicious seafood. However, as you glanced over at Lando, you noticed something was off. His attempts to conceal his discomfort were evident, and you could see the struggle on his face as he hesitantly bit into a shrimp, his expression revealing disgust as he tried to swallow it. 

Concerned, you leaned closer to him, your voice soft with worry. "Is everything okay, Lando?"

He hesitated, clearly torn, spitting the piece of shrimp into a tissue before finally admitting, "I'm sorry, I just... I can't do seafood."

Surprised by his confession, you felt a pang of guilt wash over you. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Lando shrugged, looking sheepish. "I didn't want to ruin your plans, you looked so excited to come here and I thought I could handle it, but..."

Without hesitation, you reached out, taking his hand in yours. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Leading him out of the restaurant, you felt a mix of disappointment and concern. Disappointed that he didn’t feel comfortable sharing such a simple detail with you, and concerned that he attempted to eat a shrimp, knowing he disliked it, all for your sake.

But as you walked together, you were determined to salvage the evening because you didn’t want the night to end just yet. "How about we find a burger place? Is that something you'll enjoy."

Lando's gratitude was evident in his smile as he nodded, and together, you set off to find a new spot to continue your evening, determined to make it memorable for all the right reasons.

You and Lando ended up sitting in his car, munching on takeout burgers and fries, the mood was light and laughter filled the air. Lando was in the middle of telling a funny story from his racing season, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he recounted the antics of how multiple of his fellow drivers tried to convince him to try seafood but failed. 

You couldn’t help but laugh along, enjoying the animated way he described each moment. You playfully nudged Lando, a grin spreading across your face. “Well, it seems like all those F1 drivers couldn’t get you to try seafood, but I did, even if it was just a bite!”

Lando leaned back in his seat, a lighthearted smile playing on his lips. “You know, for you, I’d try anything… except seafood.”

As you heard Lando's words, a soft realization came to you that his remark held a hint of flirtation.

“Why don’t you like seafood anyways?” you couldn’t help but ask, especially since this town was full of loads of seafood options and now you had to think of other restaurants for him to try. 

Lando shrugged, taking another bite of his burger before answering. “I guess it’s just not my thing. I’ve never been a fan of the taste or the texture.”

As you indulged in your burger, a smear of sauce found its way to the corner of your lips. Lando's eyes caught the small detail, and with a gentle smile, he pointed it out. "You've got a little something right there."

You chuckled, raising your hand to wipe it away, but before you could, Lando's fingers grazed over the corner of your lips, wiping away the sauce. His touch was gentle, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary as he leaned in close.

A subtle warmth spread through you at the intimacy of the gesture, and for a moment, time seemed to slow as you met his gaze. There was something unspoken between you, a silent acknowledgment of the growing connection that seemed to deepen with each passing moment.

His fingers lingered at the edge of your lips, and you could feel his breath, warm and inviting, mingling with yours. The world around you faded, leaving only the two of you in that fleeting instant.

“Lando…” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. The space between you grew smaller, your faces inching closer together.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes flicking down to your lips and back up to your eyes. The anticipation was electric, a charged moment that seemed to stretch on forever.

But then, he pulled back, a faint blush tinting his cheeks. “I don’t want our first kiss to be like this,” he murmured, his voice soft but resolute. “You deserve a proper date first.”

A mix of disappointment and warmth washed over you. His thoughtfulness, his desire to make things right, only made your heart ache more with affection. Amidst the laughter and shared stories, his words hung between you, a promise of something more.

As quickly as the thought arose, the weight of your illness pressed down on you, reminding you of life's fragility and the uncertainty of tomorrow. Your thoughts lingered on wondering if you even had a future in general. To entertain the idea of a future with him would only cause your heart to ache, knowing that you might not live to see those dreams come true. 

The thought of a future, a proper date, a real kiss—all of it seemed so painfully out of reach.

It was a bittersweet realization, knowing that even the simplest of dreams could be overshadowed by the reality of your condition. While he would return back to the fast paced world of racing, you would remain in this small town, wondering how many more dreams you would have to crush because fate decided to take away your life, inch by inch. 

Awkwardness filled the car on your end, your emotions shifting to cold and stoic, like they were before you met him. The warm connection you had felt only moments ago was replaced by a wall you erected to protect your heart. Lando noticed the change, his cheerful demeanor faltering as the silence grew heavy between you.

Soon enough, you both finished your burgers, and Lando started the car to drive you home. The ride was quiet, the earlier laughter and easy conversation now replaced by a tension that neither of you acknowledged. When he pulled up to your house, he turned off the engine and looked at you, a hint of concern in his eyes.

“Do you want me to walk you to the door?” he asked softly.

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “No, it’s fine. Thanks for the evening, Lando.”

He watched as you climbed out of the car, a confused and worried expression on his face. As you walked to your door, you could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t look back. You shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment as a tear threatened to slip down your cheek.

Lando sat in his car, staring at the closed door, wondering what he had done wrong and why the evening had ended on such a somber note. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something important had changed, but he had no idea what it was or how to fix it.

— 

Over the next couple of days, you don’t acknowledge the thoughts that are bubbling up in your mind, instead choosing to tread carefully and immerse yourself in your daily routine. You’ve lived a lot more than you have over the past couple of months, and felt the joy that it brings. But now, you had to face the consequences causing you to distance yourself away from Lando before you got too attached to the happiness that came with being around him. Once you realized that you truly wanted to kiss him that night, everything changed. You had to take a preemptive measure, a self-imposed boundary designed to shield your heart from potential pain. 

Your health deteriorated significantly. Your energy waned, and simple tasks like walking around the house left you breathless and exhausted. Fortunately, you have a doctor’s appointment scheduled, a simple routine checkup. However, it coincided with plans you made with Lando. Determined to distance yourself from him, you don’t tell him about the change of plans. 

At the doctor’s appointment, you sit in the sterile examination room, the familiar scent of antiseptic mingling with nerves that coil in the pit of your stomach. These appointments, routine yet crucial, serve as a barometer of your ongoing battle against your illness.

As the doctor enters, his expression is professional yet compassionate, his eyes scanning through your medical history with a practiced ease. You recount the recent symptoms you’ve been experiencing, the fatigue that seems to seep into your bones, and the persistent ache that lingers despite treatment.

With a sympathetic nod, the doctor orders a series of tests, his urgency palpable as he reviews your file. The minutes stretch into an eternity as you wait for the results, each passing second filled with a silent plea for a glimmer of hope.

When the test results finally come back, the doctor’s demeanor shifts subtly, his tone measured yet grave. “I’m afraid the results are not as we had hoped,” he begins, his words heavy with significance.

Your heart sinks at the confirmation of your worst fears, the reality of your illness casting a shadow over your hopes for improvement. Despite your best efforts, it seems that the tide of your health is turning against you once again.

A sense of dread fills you as he explains that the illness has advanced more rapidly than expected. “We need to keep you overnight for observation,” he says gently. “Your vitals are unstable, and we need to adjust your treatment plan.” 

You nod, too emotionally tired to object, allowing a nurse to lead you to the hospital room, one that you became too familiar with over the past few years. You would spend yet another night under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital, experience another round of tests and treatments, and take another uncertain step into the abyss of your illness.

You lie in the hospital bed, hooked up to various machines, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over you like a heavy blanket. The familiar beeps and hums of the medical equipment provide a disconcerting backdrop to your thoughts, each sound a reminder of the precariousness of your health.

As you drift in and out of consciousness, your mind wanders to Lando, the plans you had made together now nothing more than distant dreams. Guilt gnaws at the edges of your consciousness, knowing that he waits for you, unaware of the sudden turn your day has taken.

Just as the shadows of doubt threaten to overwhelm you, a soft knock on the door interrupts your thoughts. Startled, you turn to see Isaac's familiar face framed in the doorway, concern etched into his features.

"Hey," he says softly, crossing the room to sit beside you. "I got your text. Are you okay?"

You manage a weak smile, grateful for his presence amidst the sterile confines of the hospital room. "Yeah, just another setback," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Isaac reaches out to squeeze your hand gently, his touch a comforting anchor in the sea of uncertainty. "You’ll get through this," he says, his voice steady and reassuring.

As Isaac settles into the chair beside your hospital bed, he observes the flurry of activity around you—the nurses bustling about, the doctors conferring in hushed tones, tweaking the machines, their purpose still a mystery to him after all these visits.

When there's a lull in the commotion, Isaac hesitates before speaking, his voice soft with concern. "Hey, I wanted to let you know... Lando stopped by the cottage today."

“What’d he say?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. 

"He asked about you today," Isaac begins, his tone gentle. "Said you had plans but you didn't show. He mentioned he hasn't seen you in a couple of days. Is everything okay between you two?"

You nod weakly, offering a small smile to reassure Isaac. "Yeah, everything's fine. I just... I don't know, I guess I realized that I've been enjoying his company a lot more than I should, given my condition."

He frowns, “what’s wrong with that? You’re both happy around each other, so why are you distancing yourself away from him?” 

You scoff, “have you seen me?” You raise your arm that has an IV inserted, along with the other wires connected to you. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Isaac insists gently. “He cares about you. You deserve happiness too, regardless of what’s going on with your health.”

You shake your head, a hint of frustration in your voice. “You don’t understand, Isaac. I don’t have a guarantee of how I’m spending the next week, let alone the rest of my life. I don’t want to hurt Lando by snatching away his happiness one day too. I’m just… preventing myself, and him, from getting too attached to each other.”

Isaac sighs, his expression softening with understanding. "You're not scared of getting too attached, are you? You already are, whether you admit it or not. But by staying away, you're only hurting yourself and him more."

You avert your gaze, feeling the weight of his words sinking in. "I know," you admit quietly. "But I don't know what else to do."

"He deserves to know if he's falling in love with you," Isaac says gently, his voice filled with concern. "And you deserve to have someone by your side, especially during the tough times."

You let out a heavy sigh, knowing he's right but still unsure of what to do next. "I guess I did find someone that fate hates more than me."

"So you agree, that he's in love with you?" Isaac probes, searching your eyes for confirmation.

"He's only in love because he barely knows me," you reply, your voice tinged with sadness.

“Maybe you should give him a chance to know you, the real you,” he responds. 

You bite your lip, unsure of how to respond. Deep down, you know Isaac is right, but the fear of hurting Lando is overwhelming. Yet, the thought of pushing him away hurts just as much.

Before you can dwell on it further, a nurse enters the room, breaking the momentary silence. Isaac gives you a reassuring smile before standing up to give you some privacy. As he leaves, his words linger in the air, leaving you to contemplate the complexities of your situation.

The next morning, you’re discharged, feeling even more drained. The doctors have adjusted your medications, but the prognosis remains grim. 

You left the hospital, walking in step beside Isaac for a moment until he headed towards the parking lot to bring the car around. As you were blinking in the bright morning sunlight, you nearly collided with Max, who was just outside chatting with someone on his phone.

“Hey there!” Max greets you with a wide grin, sliding his phone into his pocket. However, his expression quickly turns into a frown as he notices the hospital wristband adorning your wrist. “Wait, were you in there?” he asks, concern lacing his words. “Is everything okay?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, not wanting to worry him unnecessarily or dive into the complexities of your recent hospital stay. “Oh, it was just a routine checkup, some bloodwork, you know how that goes, nothing to worry about,” you assure him with a tight-lipped smile.

Max’s eyes narrow slightly, clearly not entirely convinced by your explanation, but he decides not to press further. 

He glances over his shoulder, then back at you. “I was just at the café right down the street.” 

You nod, “good choice, they make the best coffee in town.” 

He smiled as his choice was approved by you. “Do you need a ride? I’m heading back to the villa.”

You shook your head, “no it’s alright, Isaac’s bringing the car around.”

“Alright, I guess I’ll see you around, only a few more days left before we leave this paradise,” he reminds you. 

You offer him a grateful nod. “Yeah, time flies, doesn’t it?” you reply with a forced smile since you were hoping to return home soon. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

As Max nods in agreement and starts to walk away, you can’t shake the feeling that he suspects something isn’t quite right. But you push the thought aside, determined to focus on the present moment and put on a brave face as you step away from the hospital and back into the world outside.

As Isaac parks in the driveway, you notice Lando pacing back and forth by the front door, his brows furrowed in concern. The sight of him fills you with a tumult of conflicting emotions. Isaac’s words echo in your mind, urging you to be honest with Lando, to tell him how much you care about him, to share the burden of your illness. But fear gnaws at your insides, whispering that revealing the truth will only drive him away. 

His expression changes from relief to frustration as he sees you approaching.

“Where were you?” he demanded, his voice tinged with worry. “I’ve been trying to reach you.” 

As you and Lando stand in front of each other, locked in a tense silence, Isaac takes a step back, sensing the need for privacy between you two. With a subtle nod, he heads inside the cottage, leaving you and Lando alone on the doorstep.

The weight of unspoken words hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you both with its palpable intensity. You struggle to find the right words to break the silence, to bridge the growing chasm between you, but fear and uncertainty grip you like a vice, paralyzing your tongue.

Lando shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flickering between you as if searching for answers in the depths of your eyes. His expression is a mix of hurt and confusion, mirroring the tumultuous storm raging within your own heart.

You want to tell Lando the truth, to let him in, but the thought of exposing your vulnerabilities terrifies you. You can’t bear the idea of him seeing you as fragile, of pitying you. So, holding your head up high, you decide to make him hate you before he realizes that he loves you. 

You force a nonchalant shrug, trying to play it off. “I had some errands to run, and I forgot we had plans.”

“Forgot?” he repeats, incredulous. “We made those plans a while ago. Forget that, I haven’t seen you for days. What’s really going on?”

Annoyed, and wanting to distance yourself from him before your feelings grow even stronger, you let a hint of irritation seep into your voice. “I don’t owe you an explanation for everything I do, Lando. It’s not a big deal.”

He’s taken aback by your rudeness, his face falling slightly. “Not a big deal? I’ve been worried sick about you.”

“Well, you don’t need to be,” you say curtly, avoiding his eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

An awkward silence falls between you two, the tension palpable. Lando’s expression shifts from hurt to confusion. He takes a step back, clearly stung by your words.

“Fine,” he says quietly, his voice pained. “If that’s how you want it.”

You nod, turning away from him and heading inside, each step feeling heavier than the last. Lando stands outside for a moment longer, staring at the closed door. He can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to your abrupt change in behavior, but he respects your wish for distance. With a heavy heart, he turns and walks away, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the echo of the door closing between you

You lean against the door, quickly sliding down and sitting on the floor as you cover your face with your hands, fighting back tears. 

Pushing him away is probably the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but you convince yourself it’s for the best.

Isaac spots you sitting on the floor, and quickly rushes towards you. Moving your hands away from your face, he notices the tears staining your cheeks and has an idea of how the conversation went with Lando. 

"You're still as stubborn as ever, aren't you?" he remarked rhetorically, but then he enveloped you in his arms, holding you close as you trembled with sobs. 

You pulled back slightly, sniffling as you tried to compose yourself. "I can't tell him," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rush of emotions.

Meanwhile, Lando trudged back to the villa, his mind heavy with thoughts and his heart weighed down by the encounter with you. When he arrived, Max was idly sitting around. 

“Hey, mate,” Max greeted but his expression turned serious as he observed Lando’s demeanour. “You okay?” 

Lando shrugged, sitting next to Max as he tried to brush off the weight of his emotions. “I saw her today.” 

He nodded, “how’d it go?” 

Lando frowned, furrowing his brows. “I don’t know, Max. That’s the thing. It’s like I saw a completely different person today. Someone I thought I knew, but now… she’s like a stranger.”

Max furrowed his brow, concerned. “What do you mean?”

Lando shook his head, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like she was pushing me away, Max. Acting cold and distant, like she didn’t want anything to do with me.”

Max nodded in understanding. “Well, mate, maybe she’s just having a rough day. I mean, she was at the hospital earlier.” 

His words caught Lando off guard. He blinked in surprise, his brows furrowing as he processed the information. “Wait, she was at the hospital?” he asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice.

Max nodded solemnly. “Yeah, I saw her leaving earlier today. Said it wasn’t serious, just a routine check up but she looked very tired, like she hadn’t slept properly in days.”

Lando’s concern deepened as he absorbed Max’s words. “Why didn’t she tell me?” he murmured, a mix of worry and frustration evident in his voice.

Max placed a comforting hand on Lando’s shoulder. “Maybe she just needs some space, mate. It’s not easy opening up about personal stuff, especially to someone you care about a lot.”

“You think she cares about me?” Lando asked, his tone almost a mumbling mess. 

Max scoffed, “see I knew you were an idiot but not to this extent that you don’t even see the obvious. Of course she cares about you, mate!” 

“Well I know that, it’s just I don’t wanna read into something that’s not there, you know?” 

Max squeezed Lando’s shoulder reassuringly. “Trust me, mate, it’s there. Sometimes, we just need a little nudge to see what’s right in front of us.”

Lando nodded slowly, his mind still swirling with doubts and questions. “I guess you’re right,” he conceded, a faint glimmer of hope starting to flicker within him.

Max grinned, clapping him on the back. “That’s the spirit! Just give her some time, and I’m sure things will sort themselves out.”

The cottage exudes a somber atmosphere, suffused with memories of those initial days when you sought refuge from your parents' house, just across town. After your diagnosis, living with your parents became unbearable, evoking memories of your tumultuous teenage years, always feeling scolded and misunderstood. With persuasion and determination, you relocated to the cottage, that has always acted as a second childhood home, with your brother, longing for respite from the tumult of your parents' home. Eventually, your parents themselves moved to the next town over, seeking their own fresh start, leaving you and your brother to navigate the challenges of your illness in your quiet abode.

Now, as you sit in the same kitchen where you once grappled with the harsh reality of your illness, the mood is eerily similar. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you as the silence in the cottage seems to press down, a stark contrast to the vibrant conversations and laughter that once echoed within these walls during your childhood summers. Even more palpably, you recall the warmth of recent memories, the shared laughter with Lando when you had twisted your ankle, filling the space with a joy that now feels distant and elusive. The air is thick with unspoken words, the tension palpable as if one wrong move could shatter the fragile peace you carefully built. 

Isaac sits across from you, his presence comforting amidst the somber atmosphere. He watches you closely, his gaze filled with concern and understanding.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breaking the silence that hangs heavy between you.

You force a smile, but it feels hollow on your lips. “Just tired,” you reply, the words barely audible over the quiet hum of the refrigerator.

While Isaac may be aware of some of the pain you feel, he doesn’t know the full extent of what you’re enduring. You want to shield him from the worst, hiding just how much it hurts. The pain has been relentless, gnawing at you day and night, with only a brief sense of comfort for a few hours after taking your medication. Every movement feels like a struggle, every breath a reminder of the fragility of your condition.

Isaac studies your face, his eyes narrowing with concern. “You should call Mom and Dad,” he says softly, breaking the silence. “They need to know what’s going on. Your health is getting worse.”

You shake your head, the thought of burdening your parents with more bad news twisting your stomach into knots. “They’ve been hoping I’m getting better.”

Isaac sighs, reaching across the table to take your hand. “They’re gonna find out soon enough and they’ll want to be here for you, to support you. It’s better they hear it from you than from anyone else.”

You look down at your hands, Isaac’s warmth a stark contrast to the cold dread settling in your bones. “I just… I don’t want to shatter their hope again.”

Isaac squeezes your hand gently. “They love you. They’re not going to be disappointed in you. They’ll be worried, sure, but they need to know. You need all the support you can get.”

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. “Okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I’ll call them.”

Isaac gives you a reassuring smile, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Good. We’ll get through this together. You’re not alone.”

You manage a hint of a smile, looking at Isaac. “You know,” you say softly, “you’re such a good older brother especially for someone who’s younger than me.”

Isaac chuckles, a warm, comforting sound in the quiet room. “Age is just a number,” he says, squeezing your hand gently. “Besides, someone has to keep you in line.”

“Keep me in line? I think we’ve switched roles, remember how I used to keep you out of trouble?” You remark. 

You can feel the tension ease in the room as Isaac laughs at the memory before standing up to prepare dinner, allowing you to pick up your phone. 

The thought of hearing your parents’ voices fills you with a mixture of fear and relief. You know Isaac is right, but the conversation ahead feels like another mountain to climb. Taking a deep breath, you dial the familiar number, bracing yourself for what’s to come. The phone rings, and with each passing moment, you feel the weight of the upcoming conversation pressing down on you.

Finally, your mother answers, her voice warm and familiar. “Hello, sweetie. It’s been a while since you called. How are you?”

You hesitate for a moment, trying to keep your voice steady. “Hi, Mom. I… I need to talk to you about something.”

There’s a pause, and you can hear the concern in her voice. “What is it, honey? Is everything alright?”

Before you can respond, she quickly switches to a video call. Her face appears on the screen, eyes wide with worry. “Tell me what’s going on,” she says, her voice trembling slightly.

Seeing her face makes it harder to hold back your emotions. You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “Mom, I’ve been trying to stay strong and not worry you and Dad, but… my health has been getting worse.”

Her expression shifts from concern to fear and then to a hint of anger masking hurt. “Worse? How worse, dear? Are you not taking care of yourself properly?”

You wince at her words, knowing they come from a place of worry. “I stayed a night at the hospital,” you continue. “They said if it doesn’t get better with the new medication, I’ll have to go back. The pain has been relentless. I can barely move without feeling it, and the medication only helps for a few hours.”

Your mother’s face pales, her eyes filling with tears. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner? We’ve been hoping you were getting better.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you admit, your voice cracking. “I wanted to protect you from the worst of it.”

Your mother shakes her head, wiping away a tear. “We’re your parents. We want to be there for you, no matter what. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I know,” you say, your own tears starting to fall. “It’s just so hard. Every day feels like a struggle, and I didn’t want to burden you.”

Isaac rounds the kitchen table and speaks up, his voice steady and supportive. “We’re all in this together, Mom. We need your support now more than ever.”

Your mother nods, her expression determined, though the hurt still lingers in her eyes. “We’ll be there for you, sweetheart. Every step of the way.”

Just then, she turns her head and calls out, “Honey, come here. It’s important.”

A moment later, your father appears on the screen, his face etched with concern. “What’s going on?”

Your mother explains quickly, her voice trembling. “She’s not doing well. She had to stay overnight at the hospital, and she might have to go back soon. We need to be there for her.”

Your father’s expression hardens with resolve. “We’ll come over soon. Don’t worry, just be careful.”

Hearing his firm, supportive words, you feel a sense of relief and hope. “I will, thank you, Dad. I love you both.”

“We love you too,” he replies, his voice full of emotion. “We’re here for you, no matter what.”

After exchanging goodbyes and promising to see each other soon, you hang up the phone, feeling a slight sense of relief wash over you. Though it's only temporary, the weight on your shoulders lifts ever so slightly.

As Isaac reveals dinner, the aroma of his culinary creation fills the air, tempting your senses with its savory goodness. But as you take a closer look at your own plate, disappointment washes over you. The food in front of you is bland and uninspiring, reminiscent of the tasteless hospital meals you’ve grown accustomed to.

You poke at your food with little enthusiasm, knowing that the increased dosage of medication has left your taste buds dulled and unresponsive. “I can’t eat this,” you mutter, pushing the plate away with a sigh.

Isaac looks up from his own meal, concern creasing his eyebrow. “Come on, you need to eat something,” he urges, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s important for your recovery.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “But it tastes like nothing,” you protest, the monotony of the hospital diet weighing heavily on your spirit.

Isaac nods sympathetically, understanding your struggle. “I know it’s tough,” he says softly. “But remember what the doctor said about avoiding spice. It’s all part of the plan to help you get better.”

Reluctantly, you take a small bite, forcing yourself to chew and swallow despite the lack of flavor. The effort feels futile, but you know Isaac is right. You need to keep up your strength, even if it means enduring tasteless meals for the time being.

As you pick at your food, Isaac’s voice breaks through your thoughts, his tone lighthearted but determined. “Hey, once you’re feeling better, we’ll have a hot chicken wing contest,” he suggests, a playful twinkle in his eye. “Just like old times. And I promise, I’ll make them so spicy, you won’t be able to taste anything for a week.”

Despite yourself, a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips. The idea of a hot chicken wing contest brings back memories of happier times, when your biggest worry was who would win the next round.

“Deal,” you agree, the idea of better days ahead spurring you on. But deep down, you know the truth that you can’t bring yourself to voice aloud in front of him again. You’re not getting better, no matter how much you wish you could.

The next day, you wake up with a sense of urgency gnawing at your insides, an inexplicable feeling pulling you towards the lighthouse. It’s as if an invisible force is guiding you, compelling you to make this journey one last time.

As you slip out of bed and prepare to leave the house, a mixture of determination and trepidation fills your heart. You know deep down that this might be the last opportunity you have to climb those stairs, to feel the wind on your face as you stand at the top and gaze out at the vast expanse of the ocean.

Isaac notices your movements and steps forward, concern etched into his features.

“Hey, where are you off to?” he asks, his voice gentle yet probing.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should share your intentions. But then, you meet his gaze and find solace in his familiar eyes.

“I’m going to the lighthouse,” you reply, your voice steady despite the weight of your words. “I just… need some time alone.”

Isaac’s expression softens, understanding dawning in his eyes. He reaches out to squeeze your shoulder gently, offering silent support.

“Take all the time you need,” he says softly. “And if you need anything, call me.”

With a grateful nod, you offer him a small smile before turning to leave, the weight of your decision heavy on your heart.

You make your way up the stairs to the lighthouse, each step feeling heavier than the last. The climb feels like an uphill battle, and you find yourself pausing every few steps to catch your breath.

Your chest heaves with the effort, and a wave of dizziness washes over you as you reach the halfway point. You lean against the railing, willing yourself to continue despite the fatigue that threatens to overwhelm you.

With each step, the distance between you and the top of the lighthouse seems to stretch on forever. Your muscles ache with exertion, and your breath comes in ragged gasps.

But you refuse to give up. You grit your teeth and push through the pain, focusing all your energy on reaching the summit. With each step, you draw closer to your goal, fueled by the determination to see the view from the top one last time.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you reach the top of the lighthouse, gasping for air, only to find Lando already there, leaning against the railing and gazing out at the horizon. He turns as he hears your footsteps and ragged breaths, surprise flickering across his face. 

He takes a step back, clearly intending to give you some space. “I’ll go down,” he mutters awkwardly, gesturing towards the stairs. “This place is your spot.”

But before he can move away, you reach out and grab his hand, stopping him in his tracks. “No,” you say firmly, your voice stronger than you feel. “Stay.”

He hesitates for a moment, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, but then he nods and settles back against the railing, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart as you lean against the railing beside him. Despite the exhaustion that weighs heavily on you, being close to him brings a sense of comfort that you can’t quite explain.

“Thanks,” you murmur, grateful for his presence beside you.

He offers you a small, tentative smile in return, his hand tightening around yours in a silent gesture of support.

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you turn to Lando, feeling the weight of the unspoken tension between you two like a heavy blanket.

"Listen, I owe you an apology," you begin, your voice soft but sincere. "I've been acting... differently lately, and I want you to know that it's not because of anything you did. That day, I was at the hospital for a routine checkup, and it just tired me out more than I expected. I’m sorry about ditching our plans."

You technically didn’t lie, but also didn’t tell him the whole truth either. You pause, searching his face for any sign of understanding or acceptance. His expression softens, and you feel a flicker of relief.

"I shouldn't have been so rude to you," you continue, your tone earnest. "I appreciate your patience, and I'm sorry if I made you feel unwelcome."

Lando nods, his eyes reflecting empathy. "It's okay," he says gently, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "I understand. And I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable by showing up here."

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "No, you don't need to apologize. I'm glad you're here."

With that, the tension between you starts to dissolve, replaced by a sense of mutual understanding and acceptance as you stand side by side, watching the waves crash against the shore below.

Taking a moment to admire the breathtaking view from the top of the lighthouse, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. But as the adrenaline of the climb begins to wear off, your legs start to tremble beneath you, threatening to give out at any moment.

Recognizing the warning signs of exhaustion, you carefully lower yourself to the ground, your muscles protesting with each movement. Sitting down with a heavy sigh of relief, you lean back against the cool stone wall of the lighthouse, grateful for the brief respite from the physical strain.

Lando joined you as well, sitting side by side on the floor of the lighthouse. You continue to hold onto his hand, your fingers tracing patterns absentmindedly. However, despite your attempt to clear the air, he still seems hesitant, his brows furrowed with confusion. 

Finally, unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, Lando breaks the silence. “Hey, can I ask you something?” he begins, his voice tentative. 

You turn to him, meeting his gaze with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. “Of course,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the weight of the conversation.

He hesitates for a moment before plunging ahead. “Did something happen the night we went for burgers?” he asks, his words carefully measured. “I mean, you seemed off after… and I’ve been wondering if I did something wrong.”

Realization dawns on you that he’s talking about the almost kiss. The memory of that night floods back, the charged moment in his car when he had pulled back. You had admired his restraint, his desire to do things right, but it also made your heart ache with longing.

Your heart sinks at his words, the guilt weighing heavy on your chest. “No, Lando,” you assure him, squeezing his hand gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

You glance at him, seeing the earnest concern in his eyes. How you wish you had the courage to pull him in by his collar and kiss him then, to let him know just how much he meant to you despite everything. 

But he doesn’t seem convinced, his gaze searching yours for any sign of dishonesty. “Don’t lie,” he says softly, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration.

You hesitate, grappling with the weight of your own emotions and the truth you’re desperate to conceal. Part of you wants to tell him how much his presence means to you, how his laughter lights up even the darkest corners of your world. But fear holds you back, whispering cruel reminders of the inevitability of heartbreak both of you will experience. 

Instead of answering his question, you take a deep breath and change the subject. “So, when are you leaving?” you ask, trying to divert his attention away from your own turmoil.

He furrows his brow, clearly surprised by the sudden shift in conversation but decides not to push for an answer. “Tomorrow,” he replies, a hint of sadness in his voice.

You offer him a small smile, “well, I hope you had a good time despite my lackluster tour guide skills,” you quip, attempting to lighten the mood.

He chuckles softly, the sound warm and genuine. “Meeting you was my favorite part,” he admits, his gaze unwavering as he meets your eyes. “Spending time with you, even if it wasn’t every day, made this trip unforgettable.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks at his admission, the warmth of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. There’s a playful glint in his eyes that ignites a natural spark of flirtation between you. 

In the quiet solitude of the lighthouse, you find yourself caught up in the moment with Lando, the days missed due to your own fear melting away with each shared smile and genuine laugh. Despite the lingering weight of your illness and the uncertainty that shadows your future, you're finally able to let go of the constant worry and embrace the present.

You realize that constantly dwelling on the unknown, on whether you'll have more time together or not, only serves to rob you of the joy of the moment. So instead, you allow yourself to be fully present with Lando, savoring each precious second together.

Yet, beneath the surface of your newfound acceptance, there still lingers a trace of fear. You know that distancing yourself from Lando won't protect either of you from the inevitable pain that lies ahead. His genuine smile, the way his eyes light up when he's with you, speaks volumes, and you can't deny the pull you feel toward him.

Despite the uncertainty of what the future holds, you're willing to take the risk, to open your heart to the possibility of love, even if it means facing the inevitable heartache that may follow. Because in the end, the fleeting moments of happiness you share with Lando are worth every ounce of pain.

Lando straightens up, his movements fluid and confident, as he leans in closer, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. "Hey, do you mind giving me your number and surname?" he asks casually, but there's a hint of mischief in his tone.

You raise an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. "What are you going to do with that information?" you inquire, your curiosity piqued.

His smile widens, a charming grin that could melt anyone's heart. "Well, first so we can still stay in touch even if I’m on the other side of the world, and second so I can send you a pass for one of my races," he replies smoothly, his voice laced with playful charm.

You can't help but chuckle at his response, shaking your head in amusement. "And why would I come to your race?" you tease, enjoying the banter between you.

Lando's gaze softens, a warmth in his eyes that catches you off guard. "I think you might be my lucky charm," he admits, his tone sincere.

You pause, feeling a flutter of excitement mixed with uncertainty. "You believe in lucky charms?" you ask, a hint of skepticism in your voice.

He nods, his smile unwavering. "I didn't," he confesses, "but now it seems like a good time to start believing. Why are you asking so many questions?" he adds playfully, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You can't help but smile at his lighthearted demeanor, appreciating the way he effortlessly lightens the mood. "You don't want me as a lucky charm," you reply, a touch of self-doubt creeping into your voice.

Lando's expression softens, his gaze filled with genuine warmth. "Why not?" he counters, his tone gentle yet determined.

"It won't last long," you murmur, a pang of sadness tugging at your heart as you glance away.

He reaches out, gently tilting your chin to meet his gaze. "It'll last as long as you're by my side," he insists, his voice sincere and unwavering. "That is up to you, don't you think so?"

His words catch you off guard, stirring something deep within you. "Now who's asking lots of questions?" you tease, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Still you," he replies with a chuckle, his eyes twinkling with affection.

You shake your head, feeling a surge of warmth at his playful banter. "You're something else, Lando."

"So are you," he replies, his smile soft and genuine. "In the best way possible."

You oblige Lando’s request, typing your phone number into his phone and saving your full name in his contacts. It’s a small gesture, but one that feels significant in the moment, despite the fact that you know you’ll never take him up on the offer for a pass to his race.

As the sun casts its golden glow across the rugged coastline, you and Lando sit side by side, taking in the breathtaking view from the top of the lighthouse. The air is filled with the sounds of seagulls circling overhead and the distant rumble of waves crashing against the shore below.

Lando’s arm around your shoulders feels like a lifeline, grounding you in the present moment amidst the tumult of your thoughts and emotions. You find solace in his presence, a sense of calm washing over you as you soak in the warmth of the afternoon sun.

The playful banter and teasing remarks give way to a comfortable silence, allowing you both to simply be in each other’s company without the need for words. It’s a moment of quiet intimacy, where the weight of the world fades away and all that matters is the connection between you and Lando.

You lean into his embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing and the reassuring strength of his arm around you. In this moment, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the warmth of Lando’s presence, you feel a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that whatever the future may hold, you’re grateful for this moment of shared serenity.

As you both prepare to descend the stairs, Lando pauses, noticing your reluctance to leave the view behind. "Shouldn't I be the one lingering back to admire the horizon? After all, I'm the one leaving, not you," he quips with a playful smirk.

You chuckle at his remark, shaking your head in amusement. "Come on, Lando, don't act like you're the only one who appreciates a good view," you tease back, nudging him lightly.

He grins, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before turning back to the scenery. "Fair point," he concedes, his tone light and playful. “I’ll wait for you downstairs then.” 

You nod, watching him make his way down the stairs. The gentle breeze ruffles your hair, and you take a deep breath, committing the scene to memory.

With a sense of purpose, you scan the area, searching for the perfect spot to leave your message. Your eyes alight on a small alcove tucked away in a corner, sheltered from the wind and hidden from plain sight. It’s a secluded nook, easily overlooked by passersby, but will be found if it’s searched for. 

Slipping something into the alcove, you ensure it’s nestled securely among the shadows, a subtle gesture meant for only the most observant of visitors. With a satisfied nod, you turn to follow Lando down the stairs. 

—

The following day is a whirlwind of activity as your parents arrive at the cottage. They come bearing an array of supplies and comforts, ready to pamper you with their love and attention.

"Sweetheart, we brought some of your favorite homemade meals," your mom chirps, bustling into the kitchen with bags of groceries in tow.

Your dad follows closely behind, a stack of freshly laundered blankets in his arms. "And I made sure to pack extra blankets in case you get chilly," he adds with a warm smile.

Isaac turns to your mother, his expression gentle yet concerned. “Just a heads up, she can’t have any spicy food because of the doctor’s orders,” he explains, hoping to avoid any culinary mishaps.

“Isaac, don’t ruin it,” you mutter, holding the tupperware filled with your favourite dishes. 

Your dad, overhearing the conversation, interjects with a reassuring pat on Isaac’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, son. Your mother has spent many hours in the kitchen cooking up a storm for our girl here,” he says with a fond smile. “A little taste of home can work wonders for the soul.”

You can't help but smile at their fussing, feeling a mixture of gratitude and guilt at their doting gestures. "How long are you planning to stay?" you inquire, trying to gauge the extent of their visit.

"Until you're better, of course," your mom replies without hesitation, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Throughout the day, your parents dote on you, attending to your every need with unwavering devotion. They fluff pillows, brew tea, and fuss over you as if you were a child again, and despite the sadness that tugs at your heart, you find solace in their presence.

As evening falls and the cottage is filled with the aroma of home-cooked meals, you can't help but feel a pang of bittersweet nostalgia. These moments of familial closeness are precious, and you savor each one, knowing deep down that they may be fleeting.

Amidst the cozy atmosphere that had filled your cottage, a sudden realization dawns on you. Today is the day Lando is leaving, and with the flurry of activity happening throughout the day, you had almost forgotten. 

Abandoning your dinner mid-bite, you quickly put on a pair of shoes, your heart pounding with urgency. As you rush towards the door, your parents pause in their fussing, exchanging puzzled glances as they notice your abrupt departure.

“Where are you going?” your mom asks, concern etched in her voice.

You pause in the doorway, a sense of determination driving you forward. “I have to see Lando,” you reply, your words rushed and breathless.

As you disappear out the door, your parents turn to your brother, confusion evident in their expressions. “Who’s Lando?” your dad asks, his brow furrowed in bewilderment.

Isaac sighs, shaking his head as he meets their gaze. “He’s the one she’s in love with,” he explains softly, a hint of sadness in his voice. “But I’m not sure if she’s ready to accept it yet.” 

As you reach the villa, your breath comes in ragged gasps, each inhale becoming a struggle. Pain pulses through your chest with every heartbeat, but you refuse to let it slow you down. Adrenaline surges through your veins, driving you forward with an urgency born of raw emotion.

Your eyes scan the scene before you, taking in the sight of Max hurriedly loading the car with his and Lando’s bags. The trunk is nearly full, a testament to the impending departure that looms over you like a storm cloud. You feel a knot form in your stomach, a sense of panic seizing hold of you as you realize that time is slipping away.

Then, amidst the chaos, you spot Lando emerging from the villa, his expression one of surprise and concern as he catches sight of you. His brow furrows in confusion, his eyes searching yours for an explanation.

Without hesitation, you push yourself forward, your feet carrying you towards him with a desperate urgency. With trembling hands, you reach out to him, your fingers brushing against his arm before wrapping around him in a tight embrace. His warmth envelops you, a comforting anchor amidst the storm raging within you. For a fleeting moment, the pain in your chest eases, replaced by a sense of peace that only he can provide.

For a long moment, you simply hold onto each other, the world around you fading into insignificance as you find solace in each other’s arms. The weight of unspoken words hangs heavy between you, the truth lingering on the tip of your tongue, waiting to be unleashed.

As you finally pull away, a silent understanding passes between you, a shared acknowledgment of the depth of your connection. Lando’s gaze searches yours, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and affection, silently asking if you’re okay.

You manage a faint smile, though it feels fragile on your lips. “I just had to see you before you left,” you confess softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His expression softens, a warmth in his eyes that speaks volumes. “I’m glad you came,” he replies, his voice gentle and reassuring.

You linger for a moment longer, drinking in the sight of him, committing every detail to memory. Then, with a heavy heart, you reluctantly release him, knowing that time is running short.

As Lando returns to help Max with the bags, you watch him go, a sense of longing tugging at your heart. 

Once everything was packed up, Lando and Max walked towards you, their footsteps echoing on the gravel driveway. Max reaches you first, his face lit with a warm smile. Without hesitation, he pulls you into a brief, friendly hug. 

“Thanks for the good company,” Max says, his voice full of genuine gratitude. “And for keeping Lando’s mood up throughout this trip. You’ve been a real lifesaver.” He chuckles, the sound infectious, and you can’t help but laugh along with him.

“Anytime,” you reply, your smile widening. “It’s been fun having you both around.”

Max steps back, giving Lando space to step forward. Lando’s eyes meet yours, and there’s a depth of emotion there that makes your heart skip a beat. He takes your hands in his, holding them gently as if afraid you might disappear.

“This isn’t goodbye,” Lando says softly, his tone filled with a mixture of hope and determination. “Just a ‘see you later,’ alright?”

You nod, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “See you later,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

Lando pulls you into a tight embrace this time, his arms wrapping around you protectively. You breathe in his familiar scent, the comfort of his presence grounding you in the moment.

He pulls back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he searches your face. “Don’t think I forgot about giving you a pass,” he says with a small, teasing smile. “I’ll be waiting for you at the race.”

You smile through the tears that threaten to spill over. “We’ll see.” 

Max claps Lando on the back, breaking the emotional moment. “Come on, mate, we’ve got a plane to catch.”

With one last look, Lando releases you and heads towards the car. You watch them drive away, a mix of sadness and hope swirling within you. The ache in your chest grows, but you try to push it aside, focusing on ways to fulfill the promise of seeing him again.

As you start walking back home, the exertion from earlier catches up to you. Your breath becomes labored, each step feeling heavier than the last. A sharp pain radiates through your chest, and you find yourself struggling to stay upright. Determined to make it back to the cottage, you push on, but every movement is a reminder of your body’s limitations.

By the time you reach the door, you’re barely holding on. You collapse onto the porch steps, gasping for breath, the world around you blurring as you fight to stay conscious. Moments later, the door swings open, and Isaac is there, his face pale with worry.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, rushing to your side. His voice sounds distant, echoing in your ears.

You try to speak, but the words get caught in your throat. Instead, you manage a weak nod, though it’s clear you’re far from okay.

Isaac doesn’t waste another second. He scoops you up in his arms, carrying you inside. “Mom! Dad!” he calls out, his voice frantic. “Something’s wrong. We need to get her to the hospital.”

Your parents appear almost instantly, their faces a mixture of fear and determination. Your dad grabs the car keys while your mom hurries to gather your things, her hands shaking.

In the car, you drift in and out of consciousness, the pain and exhaustion overwhelming you. Your mom holds your hand tightly, whispering soothing words that barely register. Isaac drives with a grim focus, the worry in his eyes reflected in the rearview mirror.

At the hospital, the staff quickly takes over, whisking you away on a stretcher. Your family is left in the waiting room, their anxious faces a blur as you’re rushed through the halls.

As the doctors and nurses work to stabilize you, you catch fleeting thoughts of Lando, Max, and the brief, bright moments you shared. The reality of your condition settles in, and you realize just how fragile your hope had been.

The doctors stabilize you for now, but you wake to the sound of your mother's soft cries in the room. Her face is buried in your father's shoulder, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Your father is holding her close, his eyes red and puffy, a grim expression etched on his face. Isaac stands nearby, his jaw clenched, trying to hold himself together.

You blink, the fluorescent lights above casting a harsh glow on the stark white walls. A doctor stands at the foot of your bed, looking somber. You catch bits and pieces of his words, the clinical detachment in his voice contrasting sharply with the raw emotion in the room.

"...best if she doesn’t return home... too weak... last days in the hospital..."

The full weight of the words crashes over you, and a sense of helplessness fills your heart. You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and the words come out as a rasp. "Mom? Dad?"

Your mother's head snaps up at the sound of your voice, and she rushes to your side, taking your hand in hers. "Oh, sweetheart," she whispers, tears streaming down her face. "We're here. We're right here."

Your father moves closer, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "We won't leave your side," he promises, his voice steady despite the tears in his eyes.

Isaac approaches the bed, his usual bravado stripped away. "Hey," he says softly, trying to muster a smile. "We’re all here for you."

You swallow hard, trying to process the reality of the situation. "How long?" you manage to ask, your voice barely a whisper.

The doctor steps forward, his expression compassionate. "It’s hard to say for certain," he admits gently. "But we’ll do everything we can to keep you comfortable."

You nod, a mixture of fear and resignation settling over you. Your mother's sobs have quieted, but the sorrow in her eyes is unmistakable. "I’m so sorry," you whisper, feeling a pang of guilt for putting them through this.

"No, don’t apologize," your father says firmly, squeezing your shoulder. "This isn’t your fault. We’re just grateful to be here with you."

Your family’s presence brings a small measure of comfort, but the reality of your condition is a heavy burden. You look around at their faces, trying to memorize every detail, every expression. The room feels both claustrophobic and infinite, the moments stretching out like a fragile thread.

As the night wears on, you find solace in their presence. Your mother hums softly, stroking your hair, while your father reads to you from a book you loved as a child. Isaac sits by the window, watching the night sky, his expression pensive.

You know that the days ahead will be difficult, but for now, you take comfort in the love that surrounds you. The hospital room, with its sterile walls and beeping machines, becomes a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you can hold on to the precious moments with your family, no matter how fleeting they may be.

—

The sterile scent of the hospital room is overwhelming, the beeping of the machines a constant reminder of the deteriorating state of your health. The wires and tubes attached to your body are a constant presence, their weight both physical and symbolic. The medication dulls the pain, but it also leaves you in a fog, half-aware of the world around you.

Isaac sits by your bedside, his expression a mix of forced cheerfulness and hidden sorrow. He tries to make you laugh, telling stories and cracking jokes, but there’s an underlying tension in his voice.

You take a shaky breath and glance at Isaac. “So, this is it, huh?” you say with a dry laugh, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the sadness in your voice.

He looks at you, the forced cheerfulness slipping from his face. “Still laughing?” he asks, his voice quivering.

“If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t want that to be the last expression you remember me by.”

Isaac’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Remember when you said that you weren’t able to be a proper older sister to me ever since you got diagnosed?” he asks softly. “That’s wrong. You still were because you powered through every moment of pain on your own. Even now, you’re as selfless as ever.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you swallow hard. “I got a taste of how it feels to be selfish recently,” you confess, your voice trembling. “To see what you want right there in front of you, waiting for you to take it, but I almost got too attached to it that fate had to rip it away from me again.”

“Are you talking about Lando?” Isaac asks gently, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, the memories of your brief time with Lando flooding back, a bittersweet ache in your chest. “Life is so cruel, so fickle,” you say, your voice barely audible. “When I finally accepted my fate, it flipped and gave me a chance to be happy, to fall in love, to live like I’ve never done before. When I experienced it all, it just made me greedy. I wanted to keep living like that. But I won’t be able to because in a moment, it’s taken away again.”

Isaac squeezes your hand, his grip warm and reassuring. “You deserved every moment of happiness,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “And you brought happiness to those around you, too. Remember that.”

The days pass in a blur of medical checks, whispered conversations, and the quiet hum of machines. Your parents come and go, their faces lined with worry but always offering words of comfort and love.

Then comes Sunday, one that’s special for you because it’s also race day. 

The hospital room is dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the television screen mounted on the wall. The muted hum of machines and the occasional beep provide a constant backdrop to your labored breathing. Your family surrounds you, their presence a source of comfort even as your strength wanes. The room is filled with an unspoken tension, a fragile hope that somehow, you might find the strength to hold on a little longer.

Earlier in the day, you had pleaded with the nurses to let you watch the race. “Please,” you whispered, your voice weak but determined. “I just want to see him race one last time.”

The nurses had exchanged glances, their expressions softening. “Alright,” one of them had said gently. “We’ll make sure you can watch it.”

Now, the vibrant colors of the Formula 1 race contrast sharply with the sterile white of the hospital room. Lando’s car, resplendent in its sleek orange design, zips around the track with an elegance and speed that seems almost otherworldly. The commentator’s voice crackles with excitement as they describe the race in vivid detail.

“And Lando Norris takes the lead! He’s showing incredible skill out there today, really pushing the limits of his car and his own abilities. The crowd is going wild!”

You try to focus on the race, on the laps ticking by, the thrill of each turn, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult. Your vision blurs, the lines between the real and the surreal beginning to merge. Every breath is a struggle, each one more labored than the last.

Your mother sits by your side, her hand gently stroking your hair, her eyes red-rimmed but determined to stay strong. Your father stands at the foot of the bed, his face etched with lines of worry and sorrow. Isaac holds your hand, his grip firm and reassuring, his eyes never leaving your face.

You gather your remaining strength, turning your head slightly to look at Isaac. “Can you give him a message for me?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper, each word a struggle.

Isaac leans closer, his face etched with concern and determination. “What do you want to say?” he asks gently, his eyes locked onto yours, ready to carry your words to Lando.

You pause, the weight of the moment settling over you. With great effort, you manage to form the words that have been in your heart. “Tell him… tell him that he made me believe in living life again. That he gave me something beautiful in my last days. And… and that I’ll always be cheering for him, even if I’m not there.”

Isaac’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, and he nods, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. “I will. I promise.”

On the television, Lando navigates the sharp turns of the track with precision and grace. The roar of the engines and the thrill of the race create a stark contrast to the quiet, somber atmosphere of your room. The commentator’s voice booms with excitement.

“Norris is extending his lead! This could be his race if he keeps up this pace. The team must be thrilled with his performance!”

On the Formula 1 track, the atmosphere is electric. Lando sits in his car, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He can feel every vibration of the engine, every nuance of the track. The pit crew buzzes with activity, their movements synchronized and efficient. Over the radio, his engineer’s voice provides updates and encouragement.

“You’re doing great, Lando. Keep this up and the win is yours.”

Lando nods inside his helmet, his focus razor-sharp. The crowd’s cheers blend into a singular wave of energy that propels him forward. He pushes the car to its limits, every fiber of his being dedicated to the race.

Back in the hospital, your breathing becomes more labored, and your family’s concern deepens. Your mother’s voice breaks as she hums softly, a lullaby from your childhood. Isaac squeezes your hand, his own tears finally breaking free.

“I love you,” you whisper, the words a final, heartfelt goodbye.

“We love you too,” Isaac responds, his voice choked with emotion. “More than anything.”

On the track, Lando crosses the finish line, the checkered flag waving triumphantly. The crowd erupts into a frenzy of cheers and applause. The commentator’s voice is almost drowned out by the noise.

“Lando Norris wins the race! What an incredible performance!”

In the paddock, Lando is overwhelmed with joy, the culmination of his efforts and dedication. He pulls off his helmet, his face breaking into a wide smile as he celebrates with his team. He can’t wait to share the victory, to tell you about the race, to see the look of pride in your eyes.

You watch from the hospital room, as Lando stands on the podium, lifting the trophy high, a sense of accomplishment filling him. A smile graces your lips, noticing the pure joy on his face. Then, you close your eyes, the vision of Lando’s smile still fresh in your mind. 

Time stands still. As the world fades around you, your family holds you close, their whispered goodbyes blending into a chorus of love and sorrow. The light in your eyes dims, and with one last, labored breath, you slip away into a place beyond suffering.

As soon as the machine flatlines, the piercing sound of the monitor cuts through the room, signaling the end. Your mother's cries shatter the silence, raw and heart-wrenching. She grips your hand with desperate strength, her knuckles turning white, as if her hold on you could somehow bring you back. 

"No, no, please!" she sobs, her voice cracking with each word. Tears stream down her face, her body trembling with the force of her grief. She shakes you gently at first, then more insistently, refusing to accept the finality of it. "Wake up, please wake up!"

Your father stands by her side, his own face etched with anguish. He places a hand on her shoulder, trying to offer support, but his own tears betray his stoic exterior. Isaac, standing a little apart, is frozen in shock, his eyes wide and uncomprehending as he watches the scene unfold. 

The room is filled with the oppressive weight of sorrow, the air heavy with the collective grief of your family. The nurses, having done all they could, step back to give your family space, their own expressions somber and respectful. 

Your mother’s cries grow louder, a desperate plea to a reality that feels too cruel to be true. She holds your hand to her cheek, her tears wetting your skin as she rocks back and forth. "Please, don’t leave us," she whispers, her voice breaking. "We need you."

The doctor steps forward, his face grave, and gently places a hand on your mother’s arm. "I’m so sorry for your loss," he says quietly, his words sincere but powerless against the tidal wave of their grief.

The only reality that matters is the unbearable pain of losing you, and the impossible task of trying to say goodbye.

On the top step of the podium, Lando basks in the glow of victory, the thrill of the race still pulsing through him. But amidst the celebration, a nagging feeling tugs at him, a sense that something is missing. A bittersweet undercurrent flows through his triumph.

Unbeknownst to him, a message of love and gratitude is on its way, bridging the distance between the track and the hospital room, connecting two hearts in a moment that transcends time and space.

Suddenly, your phone rings, the shrill sound cutting through the flatline beeping on the monitor. Each ring echoes through the room like a mournful dirge. Isaac’s hand hovers over the device, his heart pounding in his chest as he hesitates to answer. But when the call comes again, he knows there’s no escaping the inevitable.

With trembling fingers, he accepts the call, the voice on the other end sending a shiver down his spine. “Were you watching the race? I told you that you are my lucky charm.”

Isaac’s breath catches in his throat, his eyes welling with tears at the bitter irony of Lando’s words. He struggles to find the strength to respond, his voice choked with emotion. “Lando… it’s Isaac.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line, followed by a tremor of uncertainty in Lando’s voice. “Isaac? What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

Isaac’s heart clenches at the desperation in Lando’s voice, his own grief threatening to consume him. “She’s gone, Lando,” he manages to choke out, his voice breaking with sorrow. “My sister… she’s gone.”

The words hang heavy in the air, a painful reminder of the cruel twist of fate that has robbed them of their happiness. Lando’s breath hitches, his voice barely a whisper as he responds. “No… no, that can’t be true. Tell me you’re lying, tell me this is some sick joke please”

Isaac’s heart aches as he hears the disbelief and anguish in Lando’s voice. He wishes he could erase the truth, to shield Lando from the devastating reality they now face. But there’s no escaping it, no denying the painful truth that hangs between them like a heavy shroud.

“I wish I could, Lando,” Isaac murmurs, his own voice choked with sorrow. “I wish this was just a sick joke, but… but she’s really gone.”

There’s a long, agonizing pause, broken only by the sound of Lando’s ragged breathing on the other end of the line. Isaac can imagine the turmoil raging within him, the crushing weight of grief threatening to overwhelm him entirely. He relays the message that you had for him, only hearing Lando breathing heavily in response. 

As Lando stands there, clutching the phone that brought him devastating news, the world around him seems to blur into a haze of incomprehensible grief. The congratulations from his fellow drivers fall on deaf ears, their voices distant and muffled as if coming from a far-off place. Daniel, Carlos, George—all of them offer their heartfelt congratulations, their smiles genuine, but Lando can't bring himself to respond. 

He feels disconnected, as if he's merely a spectator watching his own life unfold from a distance. The cameras flash around him, capturing the jubilant celebrations of victory, but Lando feels nothing but a hollow emptiness gnawing at his soul.

Unable to bear the facade any longer, Lando excuses himself from the crowd, retreating to the sanctuary of his driver's room. Once alone, the weight of his grief crashes over him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him in its depths.

With a gut-wrenching scream, Lando releases the pent-up anguish that has been building inside him since the moment he received that fateful call. He falls to his knees, his body racked with sobs as he grapples with the cruel twist of fate that has torn his world apart.

In that moment of agonizing despair, Lando feels utterly alone, lost in a sea of grief with no shore in sight. The victory he had worked so hard for feels meaningless now, a hollow triumph overshadowed by the devastating loss of someone he held dear.

As the echoes of his cries fade into the silence of the empty room, Lando finds himself consumed by a profound sense of despair. In the midst of his greatest triumph, he is confronted with the harsh reality of mortality, and it is a bitter pill to swallow.

Alone in his hotel room, Lando’s victory feels hollow amidst the empty silence that surrounds him. Instead of celebrating with the fanfare of music, alcohol, and camaraderie that would be expected after such a result, he finds himself throwing his belongings haphazardly into his suitcase, his movements mechanical and devoid of purpose. 

The room feels suffocating, the weight of grief pressing down on him like a physical force. With a sense of urgency, Lando hastily gathers his things, his hands trembling as he zips up his suitcase. 

As he exits the hotel, he fires off a text to his manager, explaining the situation briefly, typing through his clouded vision full of more unshed tears. 

Lando chooses not to drive, the mere thought of operating a vehicle feeling like an insurmountable task. Instead, he hails a taxi, his mind consumed by thoughts of you and the gaping void left in your absence.

The taxi driver casts him a curious glance as he climbs into the backseat, his tear-streaked face a stark contrast to the typical fare. But Lando pays no mind to the stares, his thoughts consumed by the overwhelming grief that threatens to consume him.

Throughout the journey to the airport, Lando’s tears continue to flow unabated, his heart weighed down by the magnitude of his loss. He feels adrift, lost in a sea of pain and sorrow, unsure of how to navigate the tumultuous waters of his emotions.

Lando finds himself grappling with conflicting emotions as he boards the plane back to the town filled with memories of you. Despite the overwhelming pain of revisiting every corner suffused with reminders of your presence, he knows deep down that he cannot stay away.

The thought of pretending that everything is fine when it's not feels like a betrayal of the love you shared, a denial of the profound impact you had on his life. And so, with a heavy heart and a mind clouded by grief, Lando embarks on the journey back to the place where his heart still lingers, knowing that he must confront the pain head-on in order to find a semblance of peace.

Lando’s return to town is marked by exhaustion and dishevelment, the toll of a sleepless night evident in the shadows beneath his eyes and the weariness etched into his features. He barely manages to greet Isaac before retreating to the solitude of the lighthouse, seeking solace in the familiar embrace of its quiet sanctuary.

As Lando stands at the top of the lighthouse, his gaze fixed on the horizon, he can't shake the feeling of déjà vu that washes over him. The flickering beam of the lighthouse casts eerie shadows against the walls, the only sound the mournful cry of seagulls in the distance. It's as if he's been transported back in time, to a moment frozen in history, when tragedy and loss hung heavy in the air.

Tears stream down his cheeks, his sobs echoing in the empty space around him as he allows himself to surrender to the overwhelming tide of emotion.

In the stillness of the lighthouse, Lando is consumed by a sense of profound loss, his heart aching with the absence of the one he longs for. He sits there for hours, his thoughts consumed by memories of you, his soul yearning for the warmth of your presence.

In the dim light, Lando recalls the story you once shared with him, of the tragic love that had unfolded within these very walls decades ago. A woman, waiting faithfully for her lover's return, had spent countless nights standing vigil at the top of the lighthouse, her heart filled with hope and longing. But as the years passed and her lover failed to return, her hope turned to despair, her love transformed into bitter regret.

Now, as Lando stands in the same spot, he can't help but draw parallels between that long-ago tragedy and his own situation. Like the woman of the story, he finds himself clinging to a glimmer of hope, praying for a miracle that may never come. In his heart, he still holds onto the belief that you'll come back to him, that the news of your loss is just a bad dream from which he'll soon awaken.

With each passing moment, however, the harsh reality of your absence becomes more pronounced, the weight of grief bearing down on him like a leaden cloak. Yet, despite the pain that threatens to consume him, Lando refuses to give up hope. He remains steadfast in his vigil, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of your return, his heart yearning for the moment when he'll finally see you again.

His gaze sweeps over every corner of the lighthouse, wanting to etch every detail into his memory. The soft glow of the fading sunlight filters through the windows, casting a warm golden hue over the space. He takes a deep breath, trying to imprint the scent of saltwater and sea breeze into his mind.

As he moves around, his eyes fall upon a small alcove tucked away in a corner, hidden from plain sight. Something tugs at his instincts, urging him to investigate further. With cautious curiosity, he steps closer, his heart pounding in anticipation.

Reaching into the alcove, his fingers brush against something smooth and delicate. He pulls out a folded piece of paper, his breath catching in his throat as he realizes what it is. With trembling hands, he unfolds the note, his eyes scanning the words written in your handwriting.

Lando, I hope this note finds its way to you. It's strange how emotions can turn even the fearless into cowards. I couldn't bring myself to give you this letter in person, so I'm leaving it here, hoping it reaches you. I'm guessing you already know the truth, and that I'm no longer here by your side.

As he reads those words, he can hear your voice in his mind. The acknowledgment that you couldn't face him in person fills him with a mix of sadness and understanding. He feels a pang of guilt, wondering if there was something he could have done differently to make you feel more comfortable sharing your feelings with him. 

I don’t think a mere ‘I’m sorry’ is enough for keeping the truth from you. The reason why I did is because every moment with you felt like a dream, and in my dreams, my illness never existed. I’ve always cursed fate for the shitty hand it dealt me but I never would’ve gotten a chance to live something close to the perfect life if it wasn’t for fate. 

A melancholic smile tugs at his lips as he reflects on the sentiment expressed in your words. Each moment spent with you had indeed felt like a dream, a precious respite from the relentless demands of the racing world.

Before you came to town, I felt like a living corpse, waiting for my illness to take me under, but when I met you, it gave me a purpose to look forward to the next day. Being your tour guide, although I think it was because you just wanted to spend time with me, was probably the most I’ve lived ever since I was diagnosed. While I used your presence as an excuse to live like I used to, I didn’t ever imagine falling in love with anyone, much less a British racing driver. 

A wave of emotions wash over him as he reads your heartfelt confession, his own heart aching with a mixture of sadness and longing. Tears blur his vision as he continues reading, slightly tracing over your words with his finger. 

I wish I had the courage to say this to you face to face, to witness your reaction and perhaps hear you say the words back. But one thing I admire about you is your ability to live in the moment. So, in this moment, I want to tell you that I love you, Lando Norris, even though I'm no longer by your side. I hope our memories bring a smile to your face, just as they did to mine. 

Please, don’t blame yourself for any of this. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. You're the reason I found joy again, laughter again. Lando, you brought me back to life. Thank you. I'll love you always.

- Your favourite tour guide

As he reaches the final words of the note, he clutches it to his chest, feeling your presence close to him. In that moment, amidst the quiet solitude of the lighthouse, Lando finds a fleeting sense of peace amidst the storm of his emotions. He knows that no matter what the future holds, your love will always remain a guiding light in his heart.

With tears streaming down his cheeks, he whispers a silent promise to you, his beloved tour guide, into the salty breeze surrounding your favourite place. “I’ll never forget you. I’ll carry your love with me, always.” 

Then he adds with a sob wracking through his body, “I love you too.” 

As he sits in the lighthouse, Lando no longer waits for your return. Yet, he feels your love enveloping him, every word of the note etched into his heart. Though you may be gone, your presence lingers, filling the space around him with warmth and tenderness. In that moment, he finds solace in the memories of your love, knowing that you'll always be with him, no matter where life takes him.

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