#primary bad high

[princesscatherinemiddleton]

The Princess of Wales’ Year in Review: September

September 8th - The Prince and Princess of Wales undertook engagements in St David’s, Wales. First, William and Catherine attended a Service in St David’s Cathedral to mark a year since the death of the late Queen and afterwards met members of the local community. Then, they visited Câr-y-Môr Seaweed Farm. Finally, they met volunteers from the Royal National Lifeboat Institution at the Royal National Lifeboat Institution St David’s Lifeboat Station September 9th - The Prince and Princess of Wales and the Princess Royal joined Mike Tindall, James Haskell and Alex Payne on an episode of 'The Good, The Bad and The Rugby' released today. The Princess of Wales, Patron of the Rugby Football Union, attended the Rugby World Cup Pool Match between England and Argentina at Stade de Marseille September 12th - The Princess of Wales, Patron of the Forward Trust, visited HM Prison High Down September 13th - The Princess of Wales, Joint Patron of the Royal Foundation, held an Early Years Meeting September 14th - The Prince and Princess of Wales visited Stirling Lines. The Duke and Duchess of Cornwall then visited Madley Primary School's Forest School. Finally, William and Catherine met Members of We Are Farming Minds at Kings Pitt Farm September 18th - The Princess of Wales, Commodore-in-Chief of Fleet Air Arm, visited Royal Naval Air Station Yeovilton September 19th - The Princess of Wales visited Streets of Growth September 20th - The Princess of Wales, Joint Patron of the Royal Foundation of The Prince and Princess of Wales, held a meeting at Windsor Castle September 21st - The Princess of Wales, Joint Patron of the Royal Foundation, held an Early Years Meeting September 22nd - William and Catherine were seen attending Prince George's football match at Lambrook School September 26th - TEXTILES! The Princess of Wales visited A. W. Hainsworth and Sons Limited - which owns a woollen manufacturer once owned by her father's ancestors - in Leeds, and later visited Standfast and Barracks in Lancaster. Catherine was also seen at Leeds West Academy September 27th - The Princess of Wales, Joint Patron of the Royal Foundation, visited the Orchards Centre September 28th - The Prince and Princess of Wales received Mr Timothy Cook (Chief Executive Officer of Apple Incorporated) at Windsor Castle September 29th - The Princess of Wales, Joint Patron of the Royal Foundation, held a meeting at Windsor Castle

[kitconnor]

trying to be the better, nicer person to reach out or do right by others is such a scam because literally nobody gives a fuck

[arsen1cs4ng0]

to the people whove been sending me kind words over the past few days, just know i really do appreciate them, even if it seems like i don't

[wawek]

Was talking with my mom about how stressed about meeting new people at uni I was and she was like "but you used to be so good at making friends!!" "When?" "In kindergarden..." 😭

[spicysucculentz]

naturopaths are SO hit or miss. some of them are crazy anti vax folks and some of them are normal. you never know till you get there and there’s like posters warning about 5G in the waiting room💀

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[robinsnest2111]

really don't like the way I wake up from hyper-realistic fever dream flavoured nightmares like a sopping wet drowning rat gasping for air :/

[sdrnv]

The lying contest

Yesterday, School 2045 came together for the wildly entertaining Lie & Pie Charity Challenge! 🥧✨ Our brave young teachers, including the ever-charismatic Kolesova Margarita Romanovna, took the hot seat, testing their bluffing skills to avoid getting pied—but the students were sharp and relentless! 😅 It was a day filled with laughter, shaving cream, and community spirit, all for a great cause. Huge thanks to everyone who participated and supported this event! 💙👏 Margarita may not have dodged the pies, but she was definitely the winner of our hearts (and the most pelted teacher award)! 🏆🥧💥

Commentary of Rita: Oi… aaah… my poor HAIR 😭! Who knew lying would be this hard?! For a professional liar??! One pie, two pies… I lost count after 72. I seriously overestimated my ability to dodge pies and underestimated the power of shaving cream pies in my hair. 😩👀 I got officially crowned as the most pelted teacher of 2045. Shaving cream in my hair and probably in my soul now.

I came in thinking I’d be untouchable. 💁‍♀️ And I made everyone laugh (at my expense, of course). But hey, all for charity, right? 💖 Next time, I’ll remember: lying might be my best skill, but dodging pies is clearly not in my skill set.💀

[cakesexuality]

I've been disabled for almost 29 years. Here's what I've learned.

Tablets sink and capsules float. Separate out your tablets and capsules when you go to take them. Tip your head down when taking capsules and up when taking tablets. Liquigels don't matter, they kinda stay in the middle of whatever liquid is in your mouth.

If your pill tastes bad, coat it with a bit of butter or margarine. I learned this from my mom, who learned it from a pharmacist.

Being in pain every day isn't normal. Average people experience pain during exceptional moments, like when they stub their toe or jam their finger in a door, not when they sit cross-legged.

Make a medical binder. Make multiple medical binders. I have a small one that comes with me to appointments and two big ones that stay at home, one with old stuff and one with more recent stuff.

Find your icons. Some of mine include Daya Betty (drag queen with diabetes), Stef Sanjati (influencer with Waardenburg syndrome and ADHD), and Hank Green (guy with ulcerative colitis who... does a bunch of stuff). They don't have to be disabled in the same way as you. They don't even have to be real people. Put their pictures up somewhere if you want; I've been meaning to decorate my medical binders with pictures of my icons.

Take a bin, box, bag, basket, whatever and fill it with items to cope with. This can be stuff for mentally coping like colouring books or play clay or stuff for physically coping like pain medicine or physio tape.

Decorate your shit! My cane for at home has a plushie backpack clip hanging from the end of the handle and my cane for going places is covered in stickers. All of my medical binders have fun scrapbooking paper on the outside. Sometimes, I put stickers and washi tape on my inhalers and pill bottles. I used my Cricut to decorate my coping bin with quotes from my icons, like "I've seen enough of Ba Sing Se" and "I need you to be angrier with that bell".

If a flare-up is making you unable to eat or keep food down, consider going to the ER. A pharmacist once told me that since my eye flares can make me so nauseous that I cannot eat, then I need to go to the hospital when that happens.

Cola works wonders for nausea. I have mini cans of Diet Pepsi in my coping bin.

Shortbread is one of the only things I can eat when nauseous. Giant Tiger sells individually-wrapped servings of shortbread around Christmas or the British import store sells them year-round. I also keep these in my coping bin.

Unless it violates a pain contract or something, don't be afraid to go behind your doctor's back to get something they are refusing you. I got my cardiologist referral by getting in with a different NP at my primary care clinic than who I usually saw. I switched from Seroquel to Abilify by visiting a walk-in.

If you have a condition affecting your abdomen in some way (GI issues, reproductive problems, y'know) then invest in track pants that are too big. I bought some for my laparoscopy over a year ago and they've been handy for pelvic pain days, too. I've also heard loose pants are good for after colonoscopies.

Do whatever works, even if it's weird. I've sat on the floor of the Eaton Centre to take my pills. I've shoved heating pads down my front waistband to reach my uterus.

High-top Converse are good for weak ankles. I almost exclusively wear them.

You can reuse your pill bottles for stuff. I use my jumbo ones to store makeup sponges and my long skinny ones to hold a travel-size amount of Q-Tips.

Just because your diagnostics come back with nothing, it doesn't mean nothing is wrong. Maybe you were checking the wrong thing, or the diagnostic tool wasn't sensitive enough. I have bradycardia episodes even though multiple cardiac tests caught nothing. I probably have endometriosis even though my gynecologist didn't see anything.

You can bring your comfort item to appointments, and it's generally a green flag when someone talks to you about it. I brought a Squishmallow turkey (named Ulana) to my laparoscopy and they had her wearing my mask when I woke up. I brought a Build-A-Bear cat (named Blinx) to another procedure and a nurse told me that everyone in the hall on the way to the procedure room saw him and were talking about how cute he was. Both of those ended up being positive experiences and every person who talked to me about my plushies was nice to me. If you don't feel comfortable having it visible to your provider during the appointment, you can hide it in your bag and just know it's there, or if you're in a video appointment, you can hold it below frame in your lap.

Get a small bucket, fill it with stuff, and stick it in your bed (if you have room for it). I filled a bucket with Ensure, juice boxes, oatmeal bars, lotion, my rescue inhaler, etc. in October 2023 in anticipation of my laparoscopy and I still have it in my bed as of January 2025.

If your disability impacts your impulse control (e.g. ADHD, bipolar disorder), you should consider setting limits around your spending -- no more than X dollars at a time, nothing online unless it's absolutely necessary, and so on. Or, run these purchases by someone you trust before committing to them; I use my BFF groupchat to help talk sense into myself when I buy stuff.

Feel free to add on what you've learned about disability!

[floral-hex]

So this is my thing now, I’m afraid to go to sleep. This is kinda bullshit, brain.

[drgnsfly]

✶ BETTER THAN THE NOVELS

summary: you're a romance novel influencer that has never actually experienced romance. ironic, right? and when f1 driver lando norris accidentally becomes a constant presence in your life, he decides he can't possibly let that slide.

F1 MASTERLIST | LN4 MASTERLIST

pairing: lando norrisﾉf!reader

wc: 11.2k

cw: reader is a ferrari fan and is said to wear feminine clothing (dresses, skirts etc), reader has a race taking place in her home country but it's not precised where, takes place during a fictional season (w the 2025 grid), cussing, inspired by nick and cassie on tiktok, slight angst near the end for plot reason, otherwise just tooth-rotting fluff!

a/n: first fic who cheered! this is so self-indulgent and cliché but who caresss also its a long one so buckle up (editing was hell, ending is a bit rushed too sorry)

THERE WAS NOT ONE day in which @.whoisy/n, book influencer extraordinaire, did not pass her day with her head inside a romance novel.

You always liked reading. The passion struck you in late primary school when you first opened Percy Jackson and before you knew it, you finished the entire series in three days and begged your parents to buy you Heroes of Olympus. There was no going back after that. You couldn’t spend a day without your thirty minutes to an-hour reading session.

Like every girl raised with the idea of being a strong, independent female lead in the novel that was your life ─ at the sweet age of thirteen, dare I be precise ─ you never dabbled too much into romance. If it ended in a book you were currently reading, so be it, but you wouldn’t outwardly enjoy it. Why would you need someone in your life? You were so not like the other girls, you didn’t waste your time on boys or parties or things like that ─ you didn’t even wear pink!

Except that now that you have grown up, at the age of twenty-two, you liked wearing pink and bows, and because you spent most of your life buried in books with this idiotic, sexist idea of the “not-like-other-girls”, you never had kissed or dated anyone. Damn Rick Riordan.

I mean, you went on dates, sure, but they never went anywhere further than a “that was fun!” text and radio silence right after. It made you feel used, sometimes, but at that point, it was just something you expected whenever you took an interest in an individual.

The only thing that stuck with you as you got older was your passion for books. So after you resigned yourself to it, you dived into romances. Bad idea, really, because you started living vicariously through them.

Everything was so perfect: the storylines, the female leads, the guys and the girls and what they whispered into the other’s ear, and when they noticed small things nobody else would’ve noticed, proclaimed their love high and loud in heartfelt speeches, the awkwardness of a first love and the tenderness of a first kiss. A part of you, whenever you tapped your Kindle or rushed through the pages, ached a little in the middle of your incessant giggling. Something that yearned for a story like that - but you’ve learned against your will that nothing in the real world could compare to the stories or the movies.

You were doomed to die an old maid with many, many cats and a thousand bookshelves. It didn’t sound that bad, of course, but come on. You still held hope that maybe, one day, something like that would happen to you. Maybe.

One of your favorite subgenres was sports romance. There was something so romantic about running into someone’s arms after a well-spent game ─ you devoured the hockey ones, the basketball ones, even the football ones. More recently, though, you got into the motorsports ones ─ more specifically, Formula One.

There weren’t many, mainly because of the work that had to be done to dodge plagiarism: you couldn’t use the actual drivers or team, so you had to reinvent everything down to every detail. But for those that existed, you simply couldn’t let them go. You liked Formula One, it wasn’t a proper passion like reading was but it still was a nice pastime: you’d turn on your sketchy website that streamed F1 TV Pro to watch the Grand Prix and became impatient during the overly long summer and winter breaks. While you were more partial to drivers than to teams, you grew very fond of Ferrari as the years went by.

You were very vocal about your interests in your accounts. Obsessing so much over books gave you access to fandoms at a young age and a desire to have your own space within them. You quickly became a staple presence on BookTok, BookStagram, and BookTube after your first posts and videos went public. People found you funny, endearing, and relatable… not to throw yourself flowers, but you were. It’s that transparency about your Sahara-desert dry love life and your contagious excitement about your hobbies that made you so popular, reaching millions around multiple platforms.

People liked you, so people were kind to you. An advanced reader copy of a new F1 romance novel was on another level of kindness, though.

You hadn’t expected it, but it came in your mailbox with a sweet written word from the author, Leandra Moore ─ she was pretty influential and had written multiple New York Times-acclaimed New Adult romances. You didn’t even process everything she was saying, only that she liked your videos and your personality and ‘thought you might like her new work���.

What a stupid question. Of course, you did.

You devoured the 430 pages in a sitting. The sky, awfully bright when you got the package, was pitch black by the time you turned the last page. You were breathless, flushed, and smiling so hard your cheeks were beginning to hurt. “Silver Spring Race” was a wonder of brother’s best friend, secret exes, and second chance rom-com goodness, mixed with the adrenaline of the perfect F1 season, five out of five stars on Fable and GoodReads. You didn't waste any time: tripod, lighting, and you were already filming a review video in your almost ecstatic state, giggling away with the camera knowing full well you were sharing with a few thousand.

It was a simple review as you always did. Yet, it did way, way better than your normal videos ─ so much so that the book had to be released early. So much so that Leandra had the means to host a release party after the goddamn Miami Grand Prix. So much so that she invited you, personally and free of charge, as multiple other book influencers to attend the Grand Prix and the release party the day after.

Someone had to pinch you because holy shit, this couldn’t be your reality. You never confirmed something as fast as you did for that. Honestly, who wouldn’t?

The race had been an exceptionally good one. The sun was bright and hot but the slight breeze made up for the extreme Miami heat. You and your book influencer friends and acquaintances had amazing seats at the Beach Grandstands - some on the North and some on the South. You quietly wondered just how much money did Silver Spring Race generated for Leandra to get those sought-after seats.

There had been a few technical difficulties during the race, causing Pierre Gasly to DNF, and a narrowly avoided crash on Albon's part which cost him to lose standing. Ferrari was going strong, though, which kept you breathless from screaming until the checkered flag. Norris ended in pole position, with Verstappen following suit in P2 and Leclerc in P3. While it was not the outcome you hoped for due to your bias toward the latter's team, you had to cheer when faced with the radiant smile of the first-placed.

Now, the thing was to get out of the stands. That was a harder task, the Beach Grandstands were filled to the brim and before you could process what was happening, the flow of people separated you from your friends. No matter how much you fought against the current you couldn't help but be brought down to wherever they were going: guess you'll have to find a way out by yourself.

By the time people scattered, you were in an unknown setting with multiple staff members, all wearing different colors ─ pink, orange, red ─ and running around. You would have liked to stop one of them to ask where you were, or at least how you could access the parking area from here, but all passed you as if you didn't exist. You couldn't blame them, the Grand Prix had just ended, and they probably had ten thousand other things to do. You were on your own. Great.

You just wandered off and hoped you'd stumble upon a miraculous exit sign amidst the long and confusing hallways.

You definitely didn't expect to crash into Lando Norris.

You didn't realize it was him at first. The only thing you knew was that as you were looking around, finally finding somewhere open from where you could see the stands (but still not anywhere that looked like it could lead you to the parking lot), you back bumped full speed against someone.

You turned around, heart skipping because of the shock. Soon enough, though, your astonishment turned horrific when you gradually noticed the full can of Monster energy drink spilled on an orange tracksuit, staining it deep brown.

It couldn't get any more embarrassing. Until your eyes darted up and you saw a mess of curls and wide, green eyes. That's when your horror became panic. Holy fuck, you didn't just─

“Oh my god!” You exclaimed, after a few seconds of stunned silence. “I'm so, so sorry─ I didn't─ I was looking for the exit and I didn't see─ holy shit─”

You started aggressively looking in your small handbag, hoping─ no, praying, you brought some tissues with you. You spilled an energy drink on Lando Norris. His energy drink. Lando Norris was in front of you, staring at you like you were some wild, erratic animal. He was probably furious. You wanted to bury yourself six feet deep underground. “I'm sorry, I can't find any tissues I─”

He snorted.

You froze in your tracks, interrupting your rambling. A glimmer of amusement shone in the driver's eyes. “It's chill, don't even worry about it. It's not as if that was like, the only suit I owned.”

“Uh─” you started. “I'm still─”

There was something about your expression, maybe the fact you were opening and closing your mouth searching for something to say like a fish out of the water, that made him reiterate. “Really, it's cool. You can stop panicking.” After a pause, he continued, in a more reassuring tone. “Plus I'm already all sweaty and dirty, so not much of a difference.”

He was…? Heat furiously rose up to your cheeks and you couldn't tell if it was because of embarrassment or his words or how painfully aware you were of the situation. “What?”

This time, Lando's face was graced with a shit-eating grin aimed right at you. “From racing and champagne, you know.”

Oh.

Now you wanted to be five feet under. What was wrong with you? “Right.” You took a deep breath. You bump into Lando Norris, an F1 driver you admired for years no matter your loyalty to Ferrari, and spill an entire energy drink on him before accidentally stepping right into borderline sexual harassment. Get a grip, Y/N. “I saw. I mean, I was in the stands. Beach Grandstands. I saw you. Win the race. Congratulations, by the way!”

You sounded like a robot. Oh my god. You couldn't act less natural even if you tried.

Lando arched an eyebrow. “Thanks a lot. But uh, if you were in the stands─ what are you doing in staff quarters?”

Your heart lurched in your chest, realizing the impression you probably gave. “Shit. I promise I'm not a weird fan or anything, I'm not a stalker! Which is definitely what a stalker would say. But I'm not. I was dragged by the mass of people and I couldn't find the exit and nobody would tell me─”

Another laugh from him interrupted you and what surprised you was the absence of mockery: he sounded genuinely amused. You didn't know how to react to the fact he found your distress funny. “Are you always this anxious?”

“See, this whole…,” you made a circular hand gesture, “... situation is not helping my anxiety. So the answer would be maybe.”

Lando chuckled again and this time, an awkward smile found its way to your lips. “I wasn't trying to blame you, it was just a question. You can breathe. But the exit's not there.”

“Yeah, I think I noticed,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“It's through there,” Lando turned around and pointed to a slightly hidden door, but right above was a bright green exit sign. You were blind. “You just go straight and the parking lot shouldn't be that far.”

“Oh, uh. Thanks. I didn't see it,” you simply answered. Dusting off invisible dust from your clothes, you looked at him again. “Again, I'm sorry about the drink. Really.”

“I told you it's nothing, just go before a team member calls security on you, ‘aight?”

You aggressively nodded, which stole another breathless laugh from him that you decided to ignore. Right as you went through the door, the curly-haired driver called: “Hey!” You turned around, frowning in incomprehension.

“Next time you decide to sneak into McLaren's quarters,” Lando said, “at least wear the right colors.”

You quickly glanced at your Ferrari shirt, slightly cropped to go with your jean skirt. That's when the words echoed in your brain. “I wasn't sneaki─!”

Before you could finish your argument, he closed the door on you.

Walking back to your car, the realization of everything that went down the last 10 minutes slowly dawned on you. What the fuck had just happened? Was it real? Did you hallucinate? Did you just humiliate yourself like that in front of Lando Norris?

Most importantly: novels made meet-cutes seem so simple and easy, how did you manage to mess it up that bad?

A day later, you tried to push that interaction to the back of your mind, mainly because of how embarrassed you were about how you acted but also because otherwise, you wouldn't be able to think about anything else.

Once the night had comfortably settled, you confidently walked into the venue Leandra rented. It was an immense room in an even bigger hall, and so elegant you couldn't help but feel a bit out of place. You guessed that’s what you were supposed to expect when you partied at the same place the drivers usually did ─ at least that's what one of the girls told you: it was where they would throw after-parties when they had time after races. Fits the theme, you thought.

The decor was tasteful and themed in a way that didn't feel cheap, which was surprisingly hard to do, as you discovered as you mingled with Leandra Moore and her entourage. The buffet was delicious, the champagne was flowing, and there were professional photographers and signed illustrations of the two main characters of Silver Spring Race, along with a Fairyloot exclusive edition of the book. You could have died right here and there: the details were to die for.

Right as the music was getting louder, the conversations grew more deconstructed and the alcohol less diluted, you decided to step out for some fresh air ─ as much fun as it was, being socially involved for so long was tiring you out. If you wanted to last the night, you needed a little break.

The exit was notoriously hard to find, which gave you war flashbacks from yesterday you had a hard time pushing away, but you didn't spend as long finding it ─ just enough to regret the aesthetic choice of wearing high heels for the night.

By the time you got outside, your feet were aching for freedom. You quickly rushed to the stone stairs leading to the party hall and sat on the first step. The scenery was quite stunning: a fountain throned in the middle of the place leading to stairs, lightly illuminated by the white neons in the water and the warm hall light, and tall trees surrounding the square. You could have probably appreciated it more if you weren't so preoccupied with detaching those fucking straps of your ankles: why weren't they coming off, those little─

“Oof, looks like you need help again.”

Your hand froze on your shoe as the voice and accent hit a familiar spot in your brain. It took you a second to catch up, and around a minute to realize. Your heart dropped and you turned around, slowly, like the main character in a horror movie.

Lando Norris stood before you. Again.

Who exactly was controlling your life? Because the odds of this happening a second time were really, really low.

His hair was usually messy, and yet tonight they seemed more contained and professional. He wore a white shirt, and a few buttons popped open at the collar gave you an open view of a small gold chain around his neck ─ you had to drag your gaze away. Straight-legged black pants finished the look, topped off with black loafers. He looked miles away from the Lando Norris you accidentally ran into after the race. He probably showered.

He looked gorgeous, too. It would be a blatant lie to even ignore it, and that realization slightly took your breath away.

Yet, the only thing coming out of your mouth was a strangled, “I swear I'm not stalking you.”

A pause. You had serious issues.

And still, Lando laughed. Hard and loud, like the ones you saw in a few selected interviews when you were bored and scrolling on YouTube during the breaks. It made you feel slightly self-conscious. He breathed in as he walked toward you, a chuckle still in his tone when he spoke up. “I mean, I'd believe you this time but the coincidence's pretty big.”

An offended scoff escaped you and suddenly, all the thoughts about him being a celebrity, a renowned driver, a trust fund kid flew out the window right into the fountain. 

“I'll let you know I was invited to an event here, thank you very much. I have other, more important things to do than follow someone around.”

When you realized what you said, your eyes widened. “Sorry, I didn't mean─”

But Lando was smiling.

“Nah, you did.” Right now, he stood right next to you on the stairs and you quietly wondered if he was going to sit down or keep looking down on you like that. Then you realized that you were, again, in the most improbable situation known to man. Anxiety swirled in your stomach.

“Soo… what event are you attending?”

You squinted your eyes up at him. “...Is this an interrogation?”

Lando simply shrugged. “Can never be too sure.”

Well, you couldn't blame him for that.

“A book release party. The author, Leandra Moore, happened to invite me and other people. She was the one that got us tickets for the race yesterday, too. I just went out to get some fresh air.”

He hummed in response. “Oh yeah, heard something about that. I guess you're legit, then.”

“Yes, I am!” When you looked up again, there was that shit-eating grin. You rolled your eyes to the high heavens.

“... Wait. Is your name Y/N?” He suddenly asked.

Huh?

You never mentioned your name to him. You don't think it was even brought up in the 15 minutes you two talked. A frown scrunched up your eyebrows. “Uh, yes? How'd you know?” Silence. “And I'm the stalker?”

Lando laughed a bit at that. He finally sat down next to you, and the heat of his exposed forearms somewhat close to your own made you panic again.

“Y/N as in WhoisY/N?”

The gasp you let out could have landed you a role in The Young and the Restless. There was no fucking way. Absolutely none. This is where you drew the line. “You can't possibly be watching my videos.” Your tone was resolute.

“Nah, not me. My little sister though, Cisca.” That made more sense than to imagine Lando Norris, McLaren's golden boy, giggling and kicking his feet in front of your last romance review. Still, it felt unreal. “She eats up every single one of your posts. You’re the reason why we have so many cartoon covers at home, that's why I thought you looked familiar at first. The book release party confirmed it.”

You didn't know what emotions you should let transpire first. The fact that you were a celebrity in the Norris family was enough to make your jaw drop, but the mention of cartoon covers added heat to your cheeks ─ you hoped he never opened his sister's books.

“She's so gonna freak out when I tell her I met you,” he said between laughs.

“She's going to freak out?” You asked in disbelief. “You're in Formula 1. She can't freak out because of me. I'm freaking out because of you!”

He didn't point out your statement, thank god, but his eyes didn't seem to miss it. “I'm her older brother, she uses that to make fun of me now. But no, definitely, she's going to freak out.”

“What even is my life right now.”

That, at least, made you both erupt in an unstoppable fit of laughter. When it died down, you finally had the space to ask the question sitting in your mind since he appeared behind you. “What are you even doing here?”

Lando arched an eyebrow at you. “Is this an interrogation?”

“Yes.”

He exaggeratedly rolled his eyes, clearly mimicking you. “There's a race after party in the hall. McLaren special. Also went out to get some air, DJ-ing was becoming suffocating.”

“Oh,” it clicked, and you started thinking out loud. “I guess the girls weren't lying when they said that's where the drivers partied. It makes sense Leandra would rent out this hall.”

“Why?”

You were pretty sure smoke could be escaping from you right now just by how flustered you were. “Uh. For promoting her book?”

“Yeah, I got that, but like… why would our parties have anything to do with it?”

Lando was becoming suspicious again. Somebody kill you right now. How do you keep messing it up? “Because… it's… an F1 romance?”

Blank stare. You were just as red as the dress you wore and ready to go home to cry yourself to sleep. Then he laughed, hysterically, and you couldn't feel more ashamed.

“That exists?” He asked, breathless.

You turned your face away from him. “Yes.”

“And you read that?”

“Leave me alone,” you added, “if she follows me, your sister does too.”

That seemed to make him stop, at least, to your devious satisfaction. “I think I'll need to take a look at her shelves when I go home.”

“For the good of the girl and mine, please don't.”

The cold night breeze brushed your arms and you were now very mindful of how thin the material of your dress was. You shivered, rubbing your arms with your hands. Lando was quick to notice. “Shit, sorry. I don't have a jacket. I would have landed it to you otherwise.”

You don't know what came over you, but you bumped your shoulder with his. “Wow, that was almost gentleman-like.” Where did this familiarity come from, you didn't know ─ you have known the man for no longer than an hour. But there was something about the easy-going conversation, the late night, and the champagne buzzing in your blood that made this scene… just like the ones you read about, in your favorite books.

As soon as that idea slithered into your mind, you forcefully pushed it out. That was another level of delusion, Y/N. Those novels fried your brain.

You got up before Lando could answer. “It's fine, I was going to go back to my hotel anyway. The party drained my social battery and my flight takes off early tomorrow, so it's better if I go to sleep.”

“Okay, sure. Let me walk you to your car at least.”

Oh shit. “... I don't have a car.”

He blinked slowly. “What do you mean? How'd you come here, then?”

“I carpooled with some girls who are not going home right now.” That was a very dumb idea now that you look back on it.

“So… how are you planning to get to your hotel?”

You didn't bring your wallet with you, so no chance of getting a taxi. “... I'll walk?”

“... Yeah, no. No chance. At night? Dressed like that?” He took you in, making you hyper-aware of the high slit and the almost sheer material of your dress. “I'll take you.”

You were stunned. So much for avoiding delusion or further embarrassment. “I can't possibly ask you─ I mean, you have a party─”

“If you think that after-party is going to end anytime soon, you're so wrong,” he chuckled.

In all honesty, you could have argued more, but Lando already seemed settled on his decision. He stood up, not before grabbing the heels you took off during the conversation and decidedly headed toward the parking lot. You hummed and followed suit as he started walking toward his car, your comments dying on your tongue. The improbability of what was currently happening was just too much for you to grace it with a thought, so a sentence would be crossing the limits.

The car ride was spent in comfortable silence as soon as you typed the address of your hotel in his GPS. Your eyes widened when his car came into view: a black 2018 McLaren Senna, with red accents, you hadn't seen so beautiful with your own eyes in a while. You had to bite back a gasp when you got in.

Lando rolled the windows fully down. The wind whipped strands of hair around as you watched the scenery roll by at a dizzying speed, making you wonder if he knew what a speed limit was. Soft bass music played on the radio, one you didn't know the lyrics to, but Lando did as he whispered-sang them. He looked calm behind a wheel that didn't belong to a Formula One car, the contrast was drastic. The driver met your eyes with a smile, and that was only then you realized you'd been staring. You turned your head as he laughed.

When your hotel came into view, you quietly thanked him for dropping you off and stepped out of the car. You didn't know what to do after that. Some part of you tugged at your mind ─ it was too good to be true, those things only happened in books. He was probably waiting for something in return. After a small wave to him, you were ready to disappear behind the doors and leave this night behind.

“Wait!” Lando called out from his opened window. Your stomach dropped. You knew it.

Hesitantly, you turned around.

“You're still wearing the wrong color,” he simply said, “I better see you in orange if you want my services next time.”

Relief washed over you and no matter how hard you fought it, a smile broke your carefully impassive facade. “Next time?”

Lando smiled at you. “Next time.”

And when he drove away, you couldn't help the butterflies in your stomach either.

As you lay in bed that night, you didn't push anything away. You processed what happened, today and yesterday. You didn't know how to feel or what to feel exactly, many emotions were contradictory, but maybe it was alright ─ not to know. To just let yourself feel without having to put a name on it.

When you grabbed the phone in your handbag, an Instagram notification caught your attention before you could even unlock it.

@.lando started following you.

A disbelieving, loud laugh escaped you. He did say there would be a next time.

After that it was safe to say, even though a little wild, Lando Norris had become a staple in your daily life.

The moment you got back home, you had received a DM by the driver himself asking if you traveled safely to which you couldn't help but reply with a “Stalker much?”. He simply answered that there was only a single flight going back to where you lived today, so it was easy to find on Skyscanner. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

It made you smile.

The texts continued. What first started as small conversations every two days, reacting to each other's stories or silly tweets with not much depth behind them gradually grew, over a month, into useless life updates, every day with no exceptions.

lando: just ate the biggest fucking sandwich today

lando: [1 picture attached]

lando: scooby-doo type shit

whoisy/n: i'm so hungry actually

lando: did u get sidetracked reading again

whoisy/n: it's LITERALLY my job

lando: go get something to eat you muppet

whoisy/n: yessir

whoisy/n: u'll never guess what happened in my book

lando: he cheated on her right

whoisy/n: …

whoisy/n: you WILL guess what happened in my book

lando: LMAOOO that was so obvious from what you told me

whoisy/n: i had sm faith in him. men!!!

lando: they're all the same

whoisy/n: RITEEEEEE QUEEN

Lando always asked about what you were currently reading. It didn't take a genius or an Oxford diploma to notice how much you loved it, not when your entire social media presence was built around it. You knew it wasn't performative and he enjoyed hearing you talk about it ─ he often sent texts during the week asking about your favorite character, at what page you were, and if they kissed yet. It was harder during weekends due to races. Somehow, he still made time.

Similarly, Lando took the habit of sending you long vocals at the end of his days, explaining what happened, what Oscar and him were up to, and how annoying the different media were. He still refused to tell you much about his team, because your allegiance to Ferrari was simply “outrageous” according to him. You gladly landed a listening ear, chiming with a helping comment whenever you could. The late evenings got later and the vocals longer and longer each passing week, and before you knew it you two were calling almost every night.

It was a normal occurrence. He would get ready for bed and you would drop your Kindle for an hour or two, even longer the rare times he didn't have anything planned the next day. You would talk about anything and everything at the same time ─ sometimes he'd rope you into downloading a game and playing it with him, sometimes you'd just remodel the world until one of you was too exhausted to keep playing God. Most of the time, it was Lando.

Due to its sudden start, this growing friendship of yours quickly attracted the attention of your entire following base as well as his. Lando commented on almost all your new Instagram posts and TikToks with random things that either had a link with what you were talking about or none at all ─ most often alluding to the many inside jokes that stemmed from your conversations. Every interaction succeeded in making everyone crazy, especially your followers: apparently, you were finally getting the sports romance you were dreaming about for years.

The thought crossed your mind, how could it not with the amount of allusions under your posts? The fan edits on your For You page? But you never let yourself linger on it for too long.

You and Lando were friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

The call you got that night was unexpected. Tomorrow was race day, the Canadian Grand Prix more specifically ─ and Lando never called before a race. You understood perfectly, something about being well rested and focused, so you usually sent a good luck paragraph he'd read in the morning and answer after the event. So why did his caller ID light up your phone screen as you were getting ready to go to bed, you didn't know. 

You picked up without a second thought. “Everything's alright?”

“What happened to hello?” He chuckled, his voice grainy through the speaker.

“My God,” you sighed. “Hello, Lando. Is everything alright?”

“Why wouldn't it be?”

“You never call before race day.”

Silence. “Hello?” You called. “You're still there?”

“Yeah, sorry. Uh, it's just─ your books are so unrealistic.”

Your heart skipped a bit, and you sat a little straighter against your pillow. “What?”

“I couldn't sleep and I didn't have anything to do, so I picked up one of your F1 romances you recommended in your last video─” No. No, he didn't. “Throttled? By Lauren Asher? And I just─ it's so dumb.”

Your mouth dropped open and instead of letting out words, a small screech left your lips. “You─ you read─? Why?”

“Like I said, I couldn't sleep. Whatever, it's─”

“Embarrassing!” You interrupted Lando. “You read one of my─ oh my god. This is not the family-friendly kind either. And it's F1. Next time just punch me in the face, I’ll be less humiliated.”

A wheeze came from the other side of the phone. You buried your head in your pillows, trying to put out the fire in your face. “Oh yeah, definitely not family-friendly.”

You groaned in response but that didn't stop Lando from continuing. “As I was saying before you rudely interrupted me, it got most of the sport right but otherwise it's so… it took all the competitiveness out! That's, like, the entire point of F1! I thought you were a fan, how can you willingly enjoy that?”

“I mean, I know it's not the most accurate representation of F1,” you flopped on your back, “but it's kinda like Drive To Survive, y'know? Most people watch it for the drama. I read those for the romance plot.”

Lando scoffed at your words. “Even the romance plot isn't that good, Y/N. The whole part in which he throws a race to make her happy? That's such bullshit.”

“How so?”

“If you love her, you win a race for her.”

You couldn't put the words on it once again, but the way he said it constricted your chest with such tightness you had to take a long, calming breath. You had to concentrate to get out your next sentence. “Well, I don't know, it's not like I know anything about romance. I thought that was pretty romantic.”

“What do you mean, ‘don't know anything about romance'? You read this shit all day long.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, but that's not the real thing. I've never actually dated or kissed anyone, so actual romantic gestures are like… foreign languages to me.”

A beat. Until you suddenly heard a mess of covers moving around, reverberating right in your eardrums. You hissed, and Lando spoke up again.

“You've never kissed anyone? Or dated?” He sounded stunned, which surprised you. It's not like you've tried to hide it. It grew to be your brand over time.

“Uh, yeah. Never.”

“You're shitting me.”

“No?”

“I can't believe it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, jeez, thank you for making me feel so great about being a twenty-two years old virgin, Lando.”

“No! No! I didn't mean it like that,” he screamed at his speaker. “You're just… you're you. You’re too nervous for your own good, true, but your cheeks get darker when you laugh, you fiddle with your sleeves when you don’t know what to say, and you constantly hum songs when it’s too quiet for you. You're smart, you're beautiful, you're passionate, you're funny…” He got quiet before continuing. “I don't get how anyone could pass up the chance to kiss you, that's all.”

Oh. Oh.

The fluttering in your stomach flew its way up to your throat, and for a little moment, you thought you were going to throw up. The silence stretched as you basked in Lando's words, left hanging in the thick air. Suddenly the screen didn't seem like enough space between the two of you.

Lando ended up breaking the stillness. “I just─ I think I should hang up. The race's tomorrow and it's getting─” A pause. You glanced at the time: 00:23. “Shit, the race is today.”

“Don't worry. Go to sleep, get those hours in and win tomorrow,” you answered in a shaky breath.

“Yeah. Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do.”

Still, neither of you clicked on the red button. “Lando?”

“Mmh?”

“Thank you. For what you said.”

“... I meant it.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He hung up.

You desperately tried to fall asleep, tossing and turning, fighting with your pillow and covers to get comfortable but the only thing your mind could focus on was the end sentence he uttered, the inflections of his voice a ghostly whisper in your ear. I don't get how anyone could pass up the chance to kiss you.

How did you successfully act as if that call never happened? You didn't know. You never were a good liar, less of a good actress. Maybe it was the way Lando carefully sidestepped the subject every time you nearly alluded to it that made you so good about ignoring it altogether.

It was nothing. You just blew it out of proportion, like you usually did. Maybe you should try self-help books instead of romances for the next few months.

No matter how bittersweet your feelings were about this whole situation, you chose to put them aside, simply because Lando had two free weeks starting today and he chose to put a few of his days aside to fly out to your town. For the first time in almost three months, you were going to see each other face to face. And under normal circumstances! That would be a first.

When he came out of the airport, with a gigantic suitcase for just a few days and his characteristic grin adorning his lips, all questions just vanished into thin air. You resisted the urge to jump into his arms but you didn't miss how tight Lando held you when he initiated the hug ─ you melted into him like snow in the sun.

Lando had rented a hotel room for his short stay, a good thirty minutes ride from you. He used it once before you both silently declared your home was way better than a five-star Hilton. He squatted on your couch and you'd sleep in your bed, the rare times you slept as most nights were spent playing video games and marathoning movies. Most of them were romantic comedies. Lando would complain about the lack of realism and you'd smack him over the head, and the movie would be watched in between snarky commentaries and heartfelt comments on your perception of love, sneaking glances at each other.

You tried not to let the latter get too much to your head.

However, Lando's trip had to end at some point. Too soon, it was the evening before his plane ride home and you were helping him gather the stuff he left all over the place ─ the state of your living room was deplorable, but you could cry about it tomorrow morning. In any case, you had to get ready since Lando established earlier there was no way in hell he was going to go back without going out at least once. You replied by saying you already went out a couple of times but according to him, visiting was not considered “going out.”

A good thirty minutes later, you crossed the threshold of your house, heels clacking on the pavement as you approached Lando. He was waiting next to your own car, black shirt half buttoned and messy curls hastily tamed. You had forced yourself not to stare too much ─ friendship established or not, you were still the same girl he found on the stairs in Miami and he was still undeniably beautiful. His eyes raked over you in silence, his lips parting slightly, and you found your normally confident walk faltering.

You hoped he thought of you just the same.

Then, breathlessly, “Wow.”

That's all it took for fire to flame up your face, drowning the blush you so carefully applied. You graced him with a little spin, which he applauded. “Well, you're not so bad yourself,” you added. Understatement of the year.

You walked to the driver's seat, but Lando's hand on the handle stopped you going further. “Nah, I'm driving tonight. I got a surprise for you.”

“What do you mean, surprise? Weren't we supposed to go to the movies?” You raised your eyebrows, confused.

“We watched, like, 30 movies and I've been there 5 days - I’m starting to overdose. Trust me and get in the passenger seat.”

“... You being so ominous is making it very hard to trust you, Lando.”

“I’m an F1 driver, I can drive your car.” He sounded offended you doubted him, even though you weren’t alluding to his driving skills at all. Still, the tone he employed when mentioning your car was almost offending you. Not everyone had a McLaren salary.  “I meant the surprise,” you clarified.

“Ah. Well. Have a little faith in me, c’mon.” On these words, he climbed into the driver’s seat and closed the door on you. The audacity of that man, sometimes you couldn’t believe it. It didn’t leave you much choice than to take the seat next to him and watch the landscape go by. Quiet conversation was made as the sky tinged with dark, navy blue, and before you knew it Lando was parking in front of one of the most reputable ─ and expensive ─ restaurants in your town. It was safe to say you never put a foot in it before.

When you got out of the car, you almost jumped at him. “That’s your surprise?!” You whispered-exclaimed under his amused gaze. “You’re crazy. Downright mad.”

“I’m inviting you!” Like it was the most natural thing in the world, to just indebt yourself by inviting a girl to dinner. The smile he flashed at you was a mix of hesitation and enthusiasm, so bright that any protests and remarks about how you just couldn’t let him pay died in your throat. Instead, you thanked to which Lando answered by giving you his arm. You took it and entered the restaurant.

You couldn’t describe the meal as anything but luxurious, whether it was taste-wise or the plate’s presentation. Your surroundings were gold plated and yet the only thing you could focus on was how hard Lando was trying to make you choke on your food ─ the jokes were flowing just as much as the wine in your glass, any awkwardness you may have felt stepping into this place disappeared into thin air as soon as Lando started occupying the conversational space, like he could sense how tense you were.

Before you could even look at the dessert, he stopped you. “We’ll skip that,” he said. You threw him a strange look. “I have another thing planned, just go with it.”

How many surprises were in store for you tonight? You didn’t know, and your Excel-spreadsheet-on-vacations self was getting panicky. But if there was one thing you learned with Lando was that your incessant worrying was needless, especially with him. You left after he took care of the bill, being very careful about not letting the numbers in your sight, and climbed back into the car. The sky was now an inky black and the air was lukewarm on your bare arms. Lando rolled the windows down like he usually did, but this time let you be in charge of the aux ─ considering it still was your vehicle. Frank Ocean’s “Moon River” resonated in between hushed giggles and the chime of the wind in your hair. Flashbacks of that fateful night, three months ago, crept through your memories. You still couldn’t believe what it had come to. 

You drove longer than you did before. This time, Lando parked on a cliff you had no idea existed, even though this was your town. And this time, when you got out of the car, your breath was taken away by just how many stars contrasted with the darkness of the night, the lights of the town too far away to blind them and instead joining them in a faraway source of light.

Marveling in front of the scenery stopped you from noticing Lando’s shenanigans behind you. He was awfully quiet, which wasn’t like him, so you turned around. 

You found him on the roof of your car. Literally. With plastic goblets, the half-empty bottle of wine you had at the restaurant, and ─ you weren’t joking ─ a plate of pancakes. Your jaw dropped open, nearly hitting the floor. “What? How─ huh?” No full sentence could come out of your mouth at this moment, no matter how hard you tried.

“Don’t tell me you don’t like pancakes,” he pleaded, “I woke up way too early to make them not be eaten.”

You thought you dreamt yourself climbing on the top of your car to sit next to him, but it was all very real: you were wholly stunned, which he seemed to notice. Sheepish, he prompted a proper explanation, “I just thought I should, uh, properly thank you. For letting me stay at your house and all. This seemed less impersonal than the restaurant.”

“You stole the wine,” was the only constatation you were able to get out, barely. Emotions constricted your throat too tightly for you to utter anything else.

He laughed. “Took it when you weren't looking. ‘S not like they're going to reuse it so I took care of the waste.”

“Such an ecologist soul,” you teased.

“They call me Father Nature at McLaren.”

“How'd you…” Words weren't coming out easily. Your eyes darted from the bottle, to the pancakes he probably woke up at an ungodly hour of the morning to make, and Lando ─ who was waiting for you to speak like you were his saving grace. Nobody ever looked at you like that, you thought, like you meant something more than what you were. “How'd you get this idea?”

Your question seemed to fluster him a little. He ran a hair through his curls, eyes darting to the side. “Uh, that's what he did. The male character in your book. Nothing Like The Movies I think? I thought that'd be something you like, y'know?”

Your heart thumped against your chest like it threatened to burst out of it. He read a romance novel, one of the most recent ones you reviewed. He took note of your favorite scene, in which Wes was supposed to take Liz to a restaurant but ended up eating on the roof of his car. He reproduced it.

For you.

“I…” There was a sentence threatening to spill out that you're not sure you quite mean yet, but you were feeling it so deeply it was hard to keep it in check. “I don't know what to say.”

“Then just eat the goddamn pancake before they get harder than they are. Turns out, they're not really durable.” It surprised a chuckle out of you.

The conversation carried on after that. The slow hum of Frank Ocean's discography escaping from the car made the perfect soundtrack to the vast discussions about racing, books, and life in general. The longer Lando and you went on, the quieter your voice got until they were reduced to a little more than a whisper, almost into each other's ears. Your cheeks hurt from laughing, your pinkie was intertwined with his, and the bottle was empty by the time the clock on your lock screen showed midnight.

“How did you even find this place?” You looked around once more, taking in the city lights, the tall trees, and the numerous stars above you.“I've been living here for years and I never knew you could get such a good view. Plus, it's not like you sneaked out during the night to scout places out. Unless?” You gasped exaggeratedly.

And there it was again, the pinkish tint at the end of his ears and the avoiding looks. “Nah, no sneaking out. I… I mean, what I did was─”

“You…?”

“I googled ‘date idea’ in your city and this is one of the places that came up.”

All of the sudden, the reality of the situation slapped you in the face. How Lando's thumb was lazily drawing circles on your hand, the romantic lyrics of the song playing from the car, the wine and the restaurant and how your eyes have been switching from his eyes to his lips a bit too often ever since you parked.

“Is this…?” You could kiss him right now. According to how transfixed he was by your mouth, you didn't think Lando would mind much.

You leaned in ever so slightly. He never answered your half-question, and even if he did you don't think you could have heard it through the hammering in your ribcage. However, his lips were but a brush of air against your own.

Because a goddamn flash stopped you.

You both jumped in surprise, the harsh light blinding you for a split second. The other half of it was enough to realize what you were faced with. Lando was the first to voice it, in more of a hiss than a sentence. “Fucking paparazzis.”

He got off the car in a jump, but a flurry of hurried footsteps told you that by the time he reached the spot the light came from, there would be no one left. You jumped off as well, dusting off your dress. “Lando?” You were shaking. Somehow, you couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment, panic, cold, or the brutal withdrawal of the high you were in not even a minute ago.

“The fuckers ran away.” His voice betrayed the palpable anger radiating off him. “I should’ve known. They’re always fucking there.”

The mood was gone, replaced by the static of the cold night air and the missing warmth of each other. By a silent, common agreement, you both cleaned up your car’s rooftop and climbed back in your seats soon after. The soft music was gone, the windows rolled up and Lando’s hands were tense on the wheel. When you got home, nothing more but a small “goodnight” was exchanged ─ apart from a glance, as you crossed your bedroom’s door, but it was too dark for you to interpret what it could mean.

When you woke up a few hours later, Lando was already gone.

You knew it was too good to be true. Things like that happened to the type of girls in the novels, not to you. But when Lando wouldn’t answer your texts, or carried on his vacations and his first Grand Prix back without a care in the world, you still couldn’t be asked to describe the terrible ache in your chest. You should have known.

You couldn’t wrap your mind around it ─ that all the late night calls, the comments, the texts, the rooftop of your car and the soft sweep of his breath on your lips was so easy to brush off for him. Not when it was the ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ of what could have happened that night that kept you up for so many sleepless hours. It left you wondering if any of it was real: the friendship, the sweet words, and everything in between, or if you were just the new mystery girl to toy with and give up when it became too complicated.

The heartbreak and betrayal weren’t even the worst part of the situation. You didn’t expect the photo to come out as quickly as it did, after McLaren had a good PR team and would be able to at least intercept it, right? Wrong. It came out two days later. The picture was slightly blurry but clear enough so you could perfectly see your face and Lando’s, dangerously close to each other, and your hands intertwined together.

The flurry of comments, DMs, and interview requests sent to you after was unbelievable. Your community did the best it could to try and get the tabloids off your back, bless them, but all the other sides of the internet were either begging for more information or calling you names. Still, Lando and McLaren chose to ignore the whole situation. Swallowing your pride and deciding to take the high road, you did the same. You read romance books, you reviewed them, you exchanged a little bit with your followers on social media, you watched movies ─ you carried on with your day-to-day life, even if it was with a little less vehemence and a growing dislike for the romantic genre you adored.

It was the first year a Grand Prix would take place in your city. A brand new circuit, with brand new challenges. Taking place in the middle of the season, you were ecstatic when it was announced a few months back. Now, seeing people walking down your street with bright orange shirts and a number 4 on their back on a Friday morning, the only thing you wanted to do was to close your blinds and crawl back into bed for the weekend.

Your plans were thrown in the wind not even an hour later by none other than Cisca Norris. With an Instagram DM. You started following each other a few days after your friendship with Lando had been noticed by the public eye, but you’ve never really spoken to each other. She looked like a sweet girl nonetheless.

ciscanorris: heyyyy

ciscanorris: ik we never talked

ciscanorris: and that might not be the bestest moment to get friendly

ciscanorris: but heyyyyyyy

Your eyebrows rose at the notification, but you weren’t about to let your situation with Lando get in the way of interacting with his sister ─ who had nothing to do with it in the slightest.

whoisy/n: hey cisca! dw at all, hows it going : )

ciscanorris: great!! hbu?

whoisy/n: tired, but apart from that nothing much

ciscanorris: rest well then!

ciscanorris: i’m going to be honest tho

ciscanorris: i’m not just texting you to ask how you’re doing

It should have surprised you yet it didn’t. The timing was too spot-on to be a coincidence, but you chose to live in ignorant bliss.

ciscanorris: are you going to the race this weekend?

whoisy/n: what do you think

ciscanorris: can’t blame you

ciscanorris: my brother’s an ass

That made you chuckle.

whoisy/n: i was thinking worse

ciscanorris: so am i

ciscanorris: but he wants to make up for it

ciscanorris: really

ciscanorris: he insists you should go to the race

whoisy/n: and he couldn’t text me and ask himself because…?

ciscanorris: doesn’t want to spoil the surprise apparently

ciscanorris: idk what he’s planning

Another surprise. Knowing how the last one amazingly ended, you were a little doubtful. Lando sent his sister to ask you to come as if she was the one racing, and now he had something planned ─ again.

ciscanorris: just check your mailbox and think about it

This was enough to pique your curiosity. You went out immediately, opening the little white mailbox next to your front door. There was only a small, brown letter with your address hastily written in black ink ─ you recognized Lando’s handwriting. There it was: a paddock pass, classic McLaren colors, with your name on it. With it? A note, same brown paper, same handwriting: “Please”.

That’s all it took to convince you to go. After all, you still had to get a proper apology. 

This time, you entered the McLaren’s side of the paddock with purpose. The staff member at the entrance knew your name and even showed you the way ─ a sharp contrast with your experience a few months back. You stood above the garage, right in front of the track and near a decisive turn, though the number didn’t come back to you. It was a good spot, excellent even, it could be said to be better than the Beach Grandstands in Miami.

Yet, there was no sign of Lando.

You walked past Oscar in the hallways and the quiet driver just flashed you the tight-lipped smile you give to acquaintances in the street. You walked past his girlfriend, Lily, and you even passed by Lando’s dad, whose eyes widened in recognition but was clearly too busy to offer you anything more than that. Everyone but the man you came to watch the race for. You started to absentmindedly fidget with the bottom of your orange shirt ─ if that was his version of an apology, he was pretty shit at it.

The race started soon after your arrival, and the pit in your stomach dug deeper and deeper as you watched Lando do the formation turn. You suppose you were to wait until the end of the race, which made sense in a way, but you didn’t appreciate being put on standby like greenery on a windowsill.

The animosity dimmed when the sound of motors rang in your ears at lights out.

The circuit was brand new, and two days of preparations were not nearly enough to get acquainted with an entire novel track. Risks were high, and the probability of winning was evened out for everyone, which justified the cacophony of cars bumping into the others during the first lap as everyone found their footing. You believed Lando would have a good chance of ending P1 and snatching a victory in your city ─ it was the type of track and weather that favored him.

But Lando had started on pole position.

From the years you spent watching races and your general knowledge of him, Lando Norris didn’t do well when he started a race on pole. Most often, pressure got to him and he lost one or two places during the first few laps, which made you curse at the TV more than you’d like to admit. Unfortunately, it was exactly what was happening right now: you gripped the railing for dear life as Hamilton passed him, then almost broke your nail on the metal when Verstappen followed suit.

By the last lap, Lando had managed to stay P3 and keep his place on the podium, much to your relief, but the bitterness of pole escaping him was obvious in his behavior: champagne was sprayed all over him by his colleagues but he wouldn’t even look up from the ground, his traits disfigured by disappointment. Maybe some would see it as tiredness, but you knew better.

That’s why as soon as he walked down the podium to head to his team and to his garage, you darted downstairs to meet him.

It didn’t take long to spot Lando. His team surrounded him, clapping his shoulder and congratulating him with a bright smile. He barely returned them, scratching his neck in embarrassment. He was looking around like a lost puppy and you stood there, amidst the mess of elated people, unsure of what you should do or say. When Lando’s eyes set upon you, his expression went from disappointment to remorse in a split second.

He acted before you could. Rushing toward you, his voice was broken when he spoke up, trying to make himself clear above the surrounding noise.  “I’m so, so sorry. I fucked it all up. I was─ that was shitty. My race was shitty.”

You blinked. “What?” You couldn’t understand the link to the race and your situation to save your life. “Lando, you’re P3.”

Lando ran a hand through his hair, gripping his curls. His eyes bore into yours, cutting off anything you might have wanted to add. “No!” He continued. “It’s not─ it’s not good enough. I should have been P1. It should have been me, up there. I worked… I worked so hard so I could…” He was breathless now, searching your face for something, even though you couldn’t tell what exactly.

“What are you even talking about?” Frustration elevated the tone of your voice.

“I was supposed to win the race for you!”

That shut you up. Incredulity coursed through you and your mouth, half-opened to say a sentence, couldn’t manage to get out a sound. His words didn’t make sense, and somehow you didn’t need to know more. Lando took your stunned silence as a sign to continue.

“I was supposed to win the race for you. I wanted to give you your book moment. You’re, you’re the type of girl that deserves to get swept off her feet, the grand gestures and all that!” He threw his arm in the air. “When you told me you never had that when we called that night, and the fact I could be the first one to do that for you… I never wanted something, someone, as bad.”

You felt yourself flush. “Everything else failed,” he kept on going, almost erratic, “I tried the heartfelt confessions but bailed right after, I tried to impromptu date but I forgot all about the fucking journalists. So I thought that- that maybe I could give it to you the way I knew best, by racing.”

His words, two months back, echoed in your mind. If you love her, you win a race for her.

“But I had to fuck that up too. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”

All of it was for you.

The way Lando looked at you, desperate and miserable, the way your feelings were overflowing out of you and him… it was almost too much for you to process. Your mind and heart were an unintelligible tangled mess you couldn’t make sense of, and in classic you fashion, the first sentence that spilled out of your lips was a teary-eyed, broken, “You’re so stupid.”

“I know.”

You quickly wiped the tears that started spilling down your cheeks. “Not in that self-deprecating way you’re thinking of. Don’t you think it would have been easier if you just told me all this instead of ghosting me for almost a month? Making me think nothing about all this was real? Is that why you weren’t texting or answering me, you were figuring out how to go about this circuit?”

Lando nodded bashfully. You let out a dry laugh. “You’re unbelievable. I don’t care about- that! I don’t care that you didn’t get pole position, I don’t care about your ‘failed’ attempts. I couldn’t care less. What I care about is you. If you had told me that instead of leaving…”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he apologized again. “I just─ I wanted─ I know I acted like a moron and I should’ve done better but I thought that if I─”

“I understand. I know.” Gently, you took his hands, furiously fisting the pans of his tracksuit, into yours. Apparently, it acted as an ice bucket dropped right on Lando’s head. He stared at you as if it was the first time ─ in a way it was. He was sweaty, dirty, and covered in champagne, his curls falling onto his forehead and you were standing there, almost as surprised as your first meeting. Except everything else had changed, and the man in front of you wasn’t just a guy driving in a fast car you liked watching on Sundays. “But I didn’t need it. You’re plenty enough all by yourself, without the grand gestures and book-worthy moments. I’m not a book heroine. I need something real.”

The space between the two of you suddenly seemed too vast for the emotions inside of you. One of Lando’s hands carefully slithered on your waist, as if to test the waters. The gentleness of his movement, its implication, stole the breath out of you. “How real are we talking?” He was trying to make light of the situation, but the underlying seriousness in his voice betrayed him. 

“I think you know it by now.”

And just like that, his lips crashed onto yours.

It was an electric shock as if lightning struck you and spilled in your entire body. When he pulled back, you didn’t waste a second wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him right back in.

If his hands were considerate, never unraveling further than your waist and cheeks, his mouth was the complete opposite: hungry, intense. He kissed you like he had been holding back for so long it pained him not to touch you, and you kissed him back with the same vigor because you had been waiting just as much. He tasted like expensive alcohol and you were drunk on it, on the feeling of his lips on yours, his hands on your body. You couldn’t get enough. You don’t think Lando could either. It was messy, somewhat clumsy, his mouth wet and firm moving in sync against your own in haste and impatience.

But it couldn’t have been more perfect. Not for your first kiss.

“Really, right here? Get a goddamn room.”

You recognized Oscar’s voice, even though you couldn’t see him, which was an acidic reminder of where Lando and you both were. You broke the kiss first, and he let out a breathy laugh against your lips, sending shivers through your whole body. “That… was a long, long time coming,” he whispered.

“Whose fault is that?” He chuckled again. You did too.

You gave each other a bit of space, mainly for some well-needed air but also for the comfort of the staff around you. Still, Lando’s hand went up from your waist to your forearms, taking you in like it was the first time he saw you. His smile, wide and bright, brought the trademark heat to your cheek. “You wore the right color this time.” You were now hyper-aware of the shirt you wore, bright orange with a 4 printed on the back. “Good, I would've hated kissing you while you were wearing red. That equals cheating now, by the way.”

“Oh, really? You know, you still technically haven’t taken me out on a proper date,” you teased. “Don’t think you’re forgiven just yet.”

“Don’t even worry about that, I’ll take you out on the best dates ever. No paparazzis this time. You’ll even choose the movies.”

“Even if it’s a romcom?”

“I kinda grew attached to them because of you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Before you could get another comment out, a squeal replaced it as you felt the floor give up under your feet. It took you too long to realize Lando had swept you up in his arms, bridal style and was currently heading down a hallway. Your arms went up around his neck, this time for support. “What are you doing?” You asked with a giggle.

“Taking you to the driver’s room.” Even though you couldn’t manage to see his face, you could practically hear his grin, proud and cocky. “Going to give you reasons to forgive me, we can talk date ideas here.”

“What about the interviews?”

“They can wait.”

Playful protests escaped you under the incredulous eyes of the staff members who saw you disappear behind the white door. You didn’t care. At all. Anxiety be damned, as well as everything that held you back before. Because of this, what you had with Lando, felt perfect. Right. It might be too soon to call it love, but you had no doubt it would come to that sooner than later.

Because the way he held you, the way he kissed you, the way he looked at you, was undoubtedly better than any romance novel you ever read. Because it was real.

©drgnsfly 2k25. do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

[witherby]

*raises hand* more littlest Wayne please 🥺

You got it!

The Littlest Wayne: Jason's Experience

You're a weird baby.

At least, that's what Jason thinks. You don't really cry about anything, you don't whine much except when you're maneuvered uncomfortably or rudely woken up from a nap before you're ready. But even then, it's almost a complaint for the sake of complaining, and not really a full-blown fit.

( It's great for allowing your new, vigilante family to sleep through the night. Horrible for their collective paranoia, which makes them get up to check and make sure you're still breathing through the night anyway. )

You're not deaf — Bruce had you taken in for a full examination and health screening while the ink on your adoption papers were still drying — so that's not why you're quiet, either. Aside from being a touch underweight, likely from whoever cared for you before, it seems like you just don't have much to be upset about.

Jason thinks that weird as fuck. Nobody is neglecting you or anything, but there are times where the lack of hunger cues make one of your brothers realize you haven't eaten since breakfast, or that nobody has checked your diaper in four hours and you've just been chilling in a wet nappy. This makes his monitoring of your general well-being increase ten-fold, to the point that he's the one that spends the most time with you aside from Bruce.

Dr. Leslie insists that some babies are just Like That. Alfred does, too. Their lack of concern helps him be less concerned. But it's still there. Surely there's something a baby would cry about; you're a fuckin baby, and that's, like, your primary job besides eating and sleeping.

He finds out that there is, in fact, something to cry about when he comes back from a week-long job as the Red Hood, having needed to leave the Manor to track down a criminal organization quickly gaining traction that he didn't like the looks of. When he wraps up the last of those loose ends, he steps into his apartment in Crime Alley and digs out his personal phone, switching it on to find dozens of messages from Bruce and his brothers.

Replacement: Dude, u need to get back here ASAP when ur done. The babe is straight tweakin

Eldest Daughter Syndrome: Heyyy lil wing 👋 no rush no rush, but swing by when you've got a sec! Our newest member misses you 🍼

Ninja Wannabe: Todd, your presence is required. Father's newest ward is screaming incessantly without you to entertain their mindless brain. I've retreated to Bludhaven to spare my ears until your return.

B: Stay safe, Jaylad. Adjusting to you being gone is a little tough for the baby, as I'm sure your brothers already told you. I just want you to know that there's no obligation to hurry back. They're okay, and the screaming isn't as bad as everyone is making it out to be.

Alfred: Good day, Master Jason. There is an entire batch of double-fudge brownies with your name on it upon your safe return. Best wishes.

You must be screaming the manor down if Alfred is bribing Jason with junk food, let alone a whole tray of it. He hurries out of his armor with half-concern, half-amusement, showers, then speeds off. In less than an hour, he's pulling into the driveway and parking his bike, and Tim was not fucking lying when he texted him.

Turns out it was good that you weren't a huge crier, because you had pipes that put opera singers to shame. When Jason steps inside, the faint, high pitched whines he heard through the door turn into full-fledged wailing. It's just a matter of following it down a couple corridors before he reaches the day room, which was recently repurposed into one of your play areas. He locks onto the image of one very distressed Dick, face flushed and cotton stuffed in his ears as he desperately jangles a set of plastic keys over your body.

"C'mon, baby bat," he croons, sounding near tears himself, "I dunno what you need. Calm down, honey, please."

You lie on a playmat in front of Dick, paying the toy no mind. Your eyes are squeezed shut, tears are running down your cheeks, your face is ruby red, and your tiny fists are clenched as tight as possible as you kick your legs and wail, and wail, and wail some more. It would be impressive if it weren't concerning.

"Whoa," Jason blurts, stepping fully into the room. Dick spots him and slumps with visible relief, like a puppet with cut strings. "They've been like this the whole time?"

"They were completely fine the first day! But next morning, we saw them looking around for you, and...well." Dick gestures helplessly to your thrashing form. Jason tuts and scoops you into his arms, wincing a bit at your shriek, and starts to gently bounce you.

"Hey, there," he mutters, "what's all this now, weirdo? You didn't have me around to spoon feed you gross baby mush or wipe your butt, and now you're making it everybody else's problem? Huh? That's rude as hell."

Your cries continue a little while longer. Jason continues to talk to you, to call your antics silly, to soothe you, until you finally crack an eye open and register just who it is that's got you in their arms. You stare at Jason kinda like he's an alien, brows furrowed and nose scrunched, but then your wails dissolve into sobs, then little hiccups, then just the occasional sniffle. One of your hands unclenches to latch onto his shirt instead, and you mush your face into his chest.

And you just. Completely stop it. Bruce, Dick, Tim, Alfred, and Damian had fallen all over themselves for days trying to soothe you, and a couple minutes of staring at Jason had completely eliminated the problem.

"You gotta move back to the Manor," Dick blurts from where he remained on the floor, wide-eyed and hands clasped together. "Please come back. Please. I am begging. On my hands and knees if you need it. I will do all your chores for the next year. Do not leave again."

"Not my fault I'm the favorite," Jason huffs, but the protective way he holds you, the concerned way he's checking over your face and throat to see if you hurt yourself crying for so long, the continued bouncing he does for you, all points to him moving back home. He makes the arrangements the next day.

And if Jason makes sure future missions he has to go on don't last more than two days, well, that's no one's business but his own.

You're still a weird baby, though. Even if Jason being your favorite is pretty cool.

[soysaucevictim]

Oi. I like the Baskin Robbins Flavor of the Month, "Game Night".

But I think I've consumed too much salt through it and I'm a lil dizzy after eating probably a little too much of it tonight. orz

It's tasty as all hell tho. :,D

[charliemwrites]

Hybrid AU with Ragdoll!Reader and Siberian-mix!Konig

Reader is a rescued cat hybrid that Laswell's sister in law has been taking care of for the last 3 months. When she meets this little ragdoll kitty, so bright and friendly and curious, she immediately thinks of the 141. Hybrids have a lot uses in the government. Sometimes combative, sometimes therapeutic. The 141 could use a companion animal, given the close call Soap recently had and the general trauma the whole squad has.

With the kitty's permission and cooperation, they assess her as a possible therapy placement. She tests so well and so high that Laswell (again, with consent) immediately starts paperwork to place her with the 141 before even bringing it up to Price.

He's a bit skeptical at first. Even without being a combat hybrid, their jobs are high stress, very dangerous, and not very stable. But Laswell convinces him to at least meet Ragdoll.

They do introductions at the sister-in-law's house, where the kitty will be most comfortable. Ragdoll takes one sniff of him and starts purring like a little engine. He's visibly surprised, and Laswell can barely hold back her grin as the kitty climbs into his lap. They spend the rest of the afternoon discussing arrangements while his new hybrid naps because obviously he can't say no now.

Price becomes her primary handler. They move her to his barrack and give her a week to settle in, but she's not a skittish thing by any means. Wants to follow him everywhere, curls up in his bed, meows sadly at the door when he leaves her alone. It becomes clear very quickly that the usual introduction manuals are too slow for her.

Kitty meets Kyle next. Again, instant purrs. She presses her cheek into his palms, then wriggles her way closer to brush up against his cheek. Lets out a little "mrrp!" when he stutters out a pleasantly surprised, "hello there." She nibbles at the brim of his hat and grins when he gently redirects her, chirping at this fun new friend.

Two for two, Price and Kyle decide to introduce her to Simon and Johnny. They let her explore the common room first, get comfortable, and then call the other two in. Kitty watches from behind Price as Simon and Johnny enter.

Johnny is a dog hybrid with Simon as his primary handler. Price has faith that his sergeant will behave well with the new kitty, but he's not sure of what her reaction will be. Johnny's obviously, visibly excited, tail wagging, but Simon gets him to sit and wait while she makes the first move.

It takes absolutely no time at all for her to pad out from behind Price and approach. Simon goes first, offering a hand. But she barely even sniffs him before cuddling up to him, pawing curiously at his mask. He lets her, clicking his tongue when she dislodges it a bit, but then he gently nudges her towards Johnny.

His ears are perked forwards, tail still swishing. Kitty's ears are twitching, eyes big and curious. But her tail is up and curved curiously, not even a little fluffed. She gets in real close to his face, sniffs, then bumps her forehead against his chin. Which is when he loses patience and licks a big stripe up her cheek. She mews indignantly, ears going airplane mode, but thankfully doesn't swat at him.

It literally couldn't go better. She's a perfect fit.

Over the next few months she settles in with them happily, an absolute dream of a hybrid. Not very verbal, at least through human speech, but perfectly communicative and incredibly friendly.

She chirps whenever one of the 141 enters a room, has a different tone for each of them. Purrs if one of them so much as looks at her, all slow blinks and little smiles. Chitters when she sees them running outside through the windows.

Even grooming is relatively easy. She lets them brush out her floofy tail without much fuss, only trying to retreat if they catch a tangle. Readily gives up her hands to trim her claws. Even opens her mouth for them to brush off her fangs after raw meals.

She curls up with Simon on bad days, warm and purring, breathing little puffs of air against his collarbone. Lounges with Kyle after hard missions, nuzzling against him while he pets her soft ears. She spends hours upon hours in Price's office, curled up on his lap while he does paperwork or talks over the phone, kneading biscuits into his stomach.

Her friendship with Johnny is maybe the most surprising. They play wrestle just about every night, rolling around on the rough carpets in the common room and nipping at each others ears. She'll pounce on him, little teeth flashing, but almost always get bodied by his larger stature. The others will let them play until one of them - usually Johnny - gets too excited and makes the other yelp. At that point, Price or Simon will usually scoop one of the hybrids up and tsk at them for getting rough.

She's the 141's precious kitty, sweet and friendly and outgoing. The whole base knows her, though she's never far from one of her boys. And they know what it means if Ragdoll doesn't like someone.

It's rare, which is why it raises neon red flags. The first time is a new recruit that reaches to pet her without introducing himself first. She twists around on him, but usually even that would be recoverable. Except when he keeps trying to touch her, she gets a whiff of him and hisses, scrambling away.

The guy doesn't last long.

It happens again a few weeks later with a nurse meant to be giving her checkup. She gets low to the table, tail poofing up, and growls low in her throat. When the nurse rolls her eyes and tells Price to just hold his hybrid still so they can get things over with, he knows instantly that his little ragdoll was right to react that way.

With that in mind, it's no surprise that no one trusts Philip Graves when he visits their base and she takes an instant dislike to him. He introduces himself correctly, but she still hard reverses away from him, nose scrunched up. Ears back, tail fluffing up, she slips behind Price and glares from around his arm.

Problem is, Graves is used to dog hybrids. He's great with them. Kitties... not so much, even with a manual. Ends his week at the base with a couple of proper bite marks and an itchy scratch on his hand.

Given her reaction, Simon and Johnny aren't too shocked when he betrays them in Las Almas.

When a team from KorTac is scheduled for a joint assignment, the 141 is bracing for a similar reaction. Especially because they have their own cat hybrid - some big mixed breed.

Kyle even suggests keeping Ragdoll inside for initial introductions on the tarmac, but they all know that's not actually viable. Their kitty wouldn't talk to them for the rest of the day if they left her out like that.

So Price double checks that her little bell-collar is on and brings her out to meet the KorTac team.

Their cat hybrid is even bigger than expected - no wonder he's a combat placement despite being a domestic breed. He keeps his face hidden behind a big black hood with cutouts for his ears, fluffy tail slightly tangled-looking.

Price hasn't even finished introductions with the KorTac team when she makes a rolling little chur noise, bright and curious. The bigger hybrid zeros in on her instantly, ears flicking. She pads out from behind the captain and slips away before he can catch her. Any calls for her to come back are fully ignored.

She trots right up to the Austrian and mrrps again, pausing mid-step, waiting for a response. The other hybrid doesn't respond - at least he doesn't seem to.

"Sorry, kitten, but he doesn't really do the cat noises," Declan tries to tell her. But he's also ignored, and no sooner has he spoken than she's getting into the other cat's space, continuously making little "brr" noises.

And then to everyone's shock, he's bending down to greet her in return, nuzzling her cheek and forehead through the hood. She starts to purr, pressing up close, tail swishing lazily. A noise erupts from him, deep and rough, rattling in his chest. Johnny jumps and snatches at her shirt, dragging her back to the safety of their team.

She mewls sadly, arms extended to reach for him.

"He's growling, Doll," Johnny corrects, arms curling around her middle. For the first time ever she starts to wriggle. "He's too big for you to mess with."

"I... wasn't growling," the Austrian pipes up. "I apologizes if I caused alarm."

Johnny shoots him an incredulous look.

"Then what was that?" Kyle asks, confused.

"I don't... often purr."

Price takes one look at their still-wiggly kitty and the Austrian leaning towards her, as if wanting to follow, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Shit."

[lifeasadorkwithnolife]

Protect You

Word Count: 3200

Azriel has always gone out of his way to keep Y/N out of harms way, but Rhys sends her on a mission anyway.

-------

Azriel and you weren’t exactly on the best of terms, despite the fact that you had been a part of the inner circle for centuries- he rarely spoke to you. At first it really hurt your feelings, was it something you did? But after the years passed you learned that sometimes you can’t change a male’s opinion, no matter how many times you tried.

               It was just another normal day at the house, you and Nessa were occupying chairs across from each other, reading in silence. Although your primary job was writing down Prythian’s true history, you still loved the library and reading all the books the house had to offer. You were never really adept for the front lines, no matter how much training Rhys put you through.

 The library was aglow from the setting sun from the large windows, and you felt the warmth on your face as you read. You could honestly stay like this forever. You and Nessa had a unique friendship- despite her forceful resistance to joining the inner circle and stubbornness to admit that sometimes she was wrong, you two had gotten along well.

               “Sometimes, I wonder if I will ever find a male like the ones we read about.” Nessa sighs, dropping the book in her lap. ��They are just so…. In tune to their lovers’ feelings- I’ve personally never witnessed that before.”

               “I’m sure there are some males like that.” You smiled, meeting her dark eyes. The thought of Cassian crossed your mind, and the love for her that he wore openly on his shoulder. “At least you have a few centuries to find it now.”          

               “Yes, thank the cauldron.” Nessa rolled her eyes, pulling her book back up to eye level. After a few moments, she lowered it to meet your eyes. “Have you talked to the shadow singer lately?”

               Your eyebrows rose, and you set down your book, sitting up a bit. “You know me and Azriel don’t talk- what do you mean?”

               You were right- you and Azriel did not talk, if anything, he actively avoided talking to you at every opportunity. “I just feel at times- that you two might be a good couple, but I could be wrong.”

               “I promise you- you’re wrong. Azriel is the last person I could ever imagine being with.” You laughed, picking up your book. “I don’t believe he even has feelings- much less for me. But speaking of males- what about you and Cassian, have you ever thought about it?”

               “I’ve definitely thought about Cassian, but I am not sharing those thoughts with you.” Nessa laughed, throwing a pillow towards you. “He’s insufferable, but I can’t help who I’m attracted to-“

               “Y/N, the high lord has requested you.” You heard a deep voice behind you and nearly jumped out of your chair. Azriel was standing in the doorway, shadows slowly snaking up his arms. You had never seen him in this light, his skin was almost glowing, he was breathtaking. You froze in place, admiring the swirls of tattoos up his arms and leading into places that you wish you could see. Caldron, why couldn’t you control yourself. “Did you hear me?”

               “Yes, yes Az I heard you. Sorry, I’ll be right there.” You sighed, moving the blanket and getting up to slowly stretch. You had anticipated spending the whole day reading, so your outfit wasn’t exactly…. appropriate. You reached up to stretch, feeling the fabric of your shirt lift up past your navel. You heard the loud footsteps of the male walking away, and you sat back down.

               “You are down so bad for him, Y/n.” Nessa muttered, “I don’t know who you’re lying to, but it’s definitely not me. You should have seen the way that male looked at you just now...like he's starving."

               “I’m not lying to anyone- and I’ll be back as soon as I find out what our ‘high lord’ requests of me.” You laugh, throwing her pillow back and placing your bookmark. "And there is no way he looked at me like that, you've been reading too many of those books."

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

               “Would you feel comfortable going to the Spring Court?” Rhysand asks, tapping his finger against his chin as he stares at the excessively large map on the table. “I feel like it would really be helpful to get a sense of the…attitudes of the population there. I don’t feel like our high lord of the spring court is doing a great job with moral.”

               “Of course, anything you need.” You replied, “When do you need me to go?”

               “I was thinking today, if possible.” Rhys looked at you, “if that’s okay with you.”

               You nodded, looking at the map. “It should only be a couple days- but you’re well known here. You should probably wear a disguise and make this as discreet as possible. The last thing I need is you getting caught.”

               “I can handle that,” You smiled at Rhys, you two had been through so much over the years. When he went under the mountain, you were sure that you were going to lose your mind, Azriel and Cassian had lost theirs. “I promised you when you came back- I will do anything it takes to keep you here and keep Velaris safe.”

               Rhys nods, then his head perks up. “Go pack your things.” You nodded, turning and leaving the room. After a quick walk down the hall, you remembered the book that you had left sitting on the desk. You quickly turned to grab it, but as you placed your hand on Rhysand’s door handle you heard the hush voices of Rhysand and Azriel.

               “You cannot send her out there.” Azriel growled, his voice low. “We have spies for this very reason.”

               “Y/N will be just fine Azriel, she’s a big girl and can handle herself.” Rhysand chuckled; you could hear the smirk in his voice.

               “She’s going to get herself hurt out there, just let me handle it.” Azriel insisted, but Rhys didn’t reply. “it’s going to drive me crazy out, you know that right? Knowing that she’s out there in the spring court, and I’m stuck here and can’t do a thing about it? She’ll ruin everything!”

               You shook your head, ire filling your veins. How dare he? You rarely, if ever, go on missions. Sure, you weren’t as strong as Cassian or Azriel, and sure, you weren’t as experienced at combat or using your powers as them, but you were still useful- especially at reading emotions. You hesitated, removing your hand from the handle, torn between throwing open the door and ripping Azriel a new one, or going back to your room to cry.

               The decision was made for you when the door was opened, and Azriels dark eyes bore into yours. “Eavesdropping now?”

               “Fuck you.” You spat, looking between him and Rhysand. “I know that you think I’m weak- that I’m incompetent, but I can assure you I’m not. I can handle myself just fine.”

               “That’s not what I’m saying Y/N,” Azriel tried to interrupt, but you held up your hand.

“I’m going, and I’m not going to ruin anything okay? I will die before I ever let Tamlin get his hands on me or give up anything about this court. Despite the fact that you don’t seem to think I can handle myself.” He went to speak again, and you stopped him, “I’m packing my things, I just came back to grab this.” You stormed past him, grabbing your book off the desk.

               An emotion quickly crossed Azriel’s face, which he quickly concealed. “You’re right- I don’t believe you can handle it. Just stay here in that little library with Nessa and I’ll get this handled. The first time danger comes your way- you won’t be able to handle it. Let me handle it.”

               You stared at him, dumbfounded. “I’m glad I know how you truly feel Azriel, but I don’t care.” You walked away, storming down the hall, a middle finger pointing back at him.

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

               The spring court was… and absolute disaster. The territory was chaos, fae ran rampant and there seemed to be no order- even Tamlin’s guard was nowhere to be found. You sat in the attic of one of the only buildings that wasn’t burnt down and wrote in a journal that you would be bringing back to Rhysand- hopefully all the details would help.

               “Whos’ up there?” A gruff voice shouted, and you heard a loud bang as the floor from under you collapsed. You fell, crashing to the lower floor in a pile of hay. The breath left your lungs in a whoosh, and the pain from the fall echoed across your back. “Who are you? Why are you hiding?”

               You couldn’t respond, still waiting for the breath in your lungs to return. “Who are you?” The man shouted, sending a kick towards your stomach. You rolled over, coughing up whatever air was left. A gasp escaped your mouth as you tried to breathe in whatever your lungs would allow.

               The notebook was ripped from your hands, and the male started to read. You looked up at him through the haze of dust that floated around you due to the ceiling falling in, and although you could not read his facial expressions super clearly- you understood that you were screwed. You tried to quickly get up to make a run for it, but after one step you found that your ankle was severely bent in the wrong direction. The pain shot up your leg and you winced.

               “Well well well…” The man stated, “I’m sure my high lord would love to see you, the friend of the high lord who stole his bride.”

               You shook your head, but he pulled you up, and another male took your other arm. They tugged you out of the building, into the open clearing outside. Fae froze in their tracks, either holding baskets of vegetables, linens, or whatever else could be traded, they all froze to stare at you.

               You tried to remember whatever moves Cassian had showed you, but with a bad ankle, even if you could get out of this hold, there would be nowhere to go. You couldn’t give up any information, that was just not an option. The words you had told Azriel only a few days before came back to you- you would rather end your life, than give away any information about the night court.

               You knocked your head back, feeling the pang as your head hit the man in the lower jaw. His grip loosened ever so slightly, and you were able to turn and throw a punch at the first man, right in the eye. You felt the warmth around your hand and knew that you had severely injured him, possibly puncturing his eye. You tried to run, but your ankle wouldn’t allow it and you fell to the ground. The male came running back towards you, his eye shut and already swelling.

               You took the knife out of your sack, knowing what you had to do, there was no way that you would win this fight. You held the knife out, aiming it towards your chest, when a gust of dark wind picked it up and tossed it aside.

               One minute the men were coming towards you, the next they were backing away, hands in the air as they nearly tripped over themselves. You felt the air change around you, a familiar scent entering your nose, and you knew who it was- it was Azriel.

               Two knives flew towards the men, entering each of their chest with no issue. You sighed, leaning back into the ground and placing your hands over your face, not being able to help the tears filing your eyes. You felt two strong hands pick you up, and start walking you towards the forest.         

               “Did Rhys send you out here?” You sniffled, not being able to help it. “Did he assume I couldn’t do it?”

               “No, of course not.” Azriel replied, looking down at you, an expression you didn’t recognize on his face. “Please- don’t cry.”

               “Don’t tell me what to.” You mumbled, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. “Just take me home- please.”

               Azriel nodded, winnowing you both back to the winter house.

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

               Your ankle was healed, but you refused to leave your room. You told Nessa you just didn’t feel well, but it was the shame in the pit of your stomach that you had afraid to leave. Rhys sent you on a secret mission, once of the most basic missions he could have asked, and you still fucked it up. Azriel was right.

               A knock sounded on the door, and you grumbled, turning over in bed. “Go away.” You mumbled, but the door opened anyways. “Nessa, please I’m not in the mood.”

               The door shut, and you turned to see… Azriel standing in the doorway. He had a book in one hand and a glass in the other, filled with water. “Are you here to rub it in? To tell me you were right?” You turned back over, slumping in bed.

               You felt the end of the bed sink as he sat, and placed the book and water on your nightstand, the book that you were reading when Rhys sent you off. “Y/n- I just want to talk.”

               “I don’t want to talk to you.” You whispered, staring at the setting sun outside the window. “You have had literal centuries to talk to me, but you haven’t, what’s changed?”

               “I came to say I’m sorry.” Azriel sighed, “I’m not very good at admitting that I’m wrong, but it’s something I’m working on.”

               “No Azriel, you weren’t wrong.” Tears stung your eyes again, and you sat up to face him. “You’re never wrong, and that’s the problem. You said I couldn’t handle it, you said I would ruin everything, and I did.”

               “No, you didn’t.” Azriel grabbed your hand, squeezing it. You froze, you had always wanted to feel him like this, always wanted to grab his hand, but had always been too scared- he would have never had welcomed it. “I need to be honest with you, and I’m going to say this once. You can reject me or push me away and I will never ask again- but please just hear me out now.”

               “Fine.” You whispered, wiping the tear from your eye. He stared earnestly at you, his eyes open and unguarded for the first time. He shook his head, looking away. “Just tell me.”

               “I can’t tell you when you’re crying- I can’t stand it.” He released your hand, standing up and turning towards the window, his back to you. “Y/N, I never believed you couldn’t handle it, I never believed that you would fail- but I just could not stand the possibility that it was a possibility.”

               “What are you talking about Azriel?” You asked, but he refused to turn around.

               “The reason Rhys doesn’t send you on missions, the reason he doesn’t put you in danger, is because he owes me one.” Azriel said, his hands folding behind his back. “Knowing that you are in danger, knowing that you are somewhere I can’t protect you- I can’t get anything done, I can’t be productive, and my shadows don’t agree with it either. It literally drives me fucking crazy Y/N.

               He turns to you, his eyes wide open, almost crazed. You could recognize his expression now, it was fear. “The whole time you were there, I watched those men watch you. It wasn’t any fault of yours, it was just pure luck. You did so well.”

               “Wait- you were there? The whole time?” You shouted, ripping off the covers and revealing your pajamas. “Wow- you must really not have trusted me, you just assumed I would fuck it up.”

               “Are you not listening to what I’m saying?” Azriel shouted, running his hands through his disheveled hair. “I cannot live knowing that you are in danger! Rhysand knew full well that I would not be able to sit here idly by as you risked your life out there, without me there to protect you in case things went wrong. Y/N, I can not live without you, you must see that.”

               The bed groaned under your weight as you sat back down, unsure of the words. “Y/N, please. I told you I would tell you once. I cannot ever- ever- put you in a situation where you are unsafe. If it were up to me, you would be in this fucking house all day reading your books, and I would work twice as hard just so you wouldn’t have to.”

               “I know its unreasonable, I know it’s crazy, but some instinctual part of me just can’t let you put your life at risk.” He whispered, moving to the floor and kneeling, grabbing your hands. “Your work here is important, just as important as fighting on the front lines. Please- for me, just stay here.”

               “Why do you feel this way Azriel?” You asked, pulling your hands from his. “no offense- but you have spent the last 2 centuries avoiding me at every opportunity. I have tried to be friends, I have bought you books I thought you might like- hell, I still even go to that stupid bakery and buy you a cake on your birthday every year- but you still don’t talk to me. And now you come around and ask me to keep myself out of danger? I need a good reason Azriel.”

               “I love you, Y/n.” Azriel shouts back, grabbing your hands back. “From the day I met you, I have loved you. I love you when I watch you read your books, I love you when you laugh with everyone BUT me, I love you when you stare at the night sky. And how was I supposed to tell you when you’ve made it so painfully obvious you could never love me?”

               Azriel stopped, clearing his throat and backing up. “But now I understand, you don’t feel the same. Just please keep yourself safe- if not for my sake, then yours.”

               “Azriel- stop, please.” You whispered, more tears coming to your eyes. “I…I have always hated when you left too.” You looked at him, and he turned to look back at you. “I have looked at other males and found myself comparing them to you- every single time. It hurt me so much when I overhead what you and Rhys said about me. I’ve always known that I’m not as strong as you or Mor, but hearing my worst fears confirmed-‘

               “I didn’t mean what I said.” Azriel interrupted, giving you a small smile. “I was trying to find any reason for you not to go- or at least send me with you. You can handle yourself- but I can’t handle myself while you do. I heard what you said about me and you never working out, I was angry about that and angry at him, I just wasn’t in control of my emotions.”

               “Please don’t accept any more missions from that asshole.” Azriel grew serious, his eyes darkening with anger. You grabbed his hand, squeezing it slightly, nodding. “I know you feel like you can’t say no, but just tell him to fuck off.”

               You laughed, choking on the tears. “I’m not going to tell him that Az.” You whispered, you went to touch his face, then hesitated a couple inches away. He moved his face towards your hand, and you cupped his cheek. His stubble grazing your palm, and butterflies filling your chest. “You…really feel that way?”

               “I swear it to you.” Azriel, covered your hand in his. “If you let me, I will spend every day protecting you for the rest of my life.”

               You nodded, and you felt the relief in the breath he exhaled. “I love you too Azriel.”  

[the-fever-pitch]

I see many little princes around here who need the strong hand of a soldier to teach them manners.

Of course my primary job is to ensure that nothing bad happens to you in my presence, but as a faithful servant of the crown, I am obliged to... Educate you, whatever the means.

A prince like you can't strut around the castle fondling the sighs of all my troops, the only cock you're going to need from now on is mine. The next time I see a leer during our dueling lessons, I'll make sure no one sees me sneak into your chambers at night to punish you. Don't worry, your highness, no one is going to hear your moans. I'm sure your beautiful silk underwear will work as a great gag.