#race: 'where do you think i got all This from???

[vettelsvee]

Hi love! For your tortured poets department, can I request endgame from the reputation album, lando being the driver please please 🙏

END GAME | Lando Norris

Lando Norris x Friend with benefits Piastri!Reader

SUMMARY: You were used to have random hookups just for fun, including with Lando Norris himself. It's not until he decides to lock both of you up on his driver room and talk about your weird relationship that you don't realize that, deep down, you're willing to settle down your mind and start a dating him ↳ REQUESTED: Yes! Thanks for requesting and hope you like it 💖 Part of REPUTATION in MY TORTURED DRIVERS DEPARTMENT

WORD COUNT: 2745

WARNINGS: Slightly +18 at the end (sorry for leaving it there ☺️), mentions of friends with benefits, spelling with multiple people, angst, curse words

VEE'S NOTES: Haven't written Lando in a very, very long time, so hope you like this one! University and my mental health are killing me but you know what? Writing is what keeps me going (and specially your comments have been a boost of serotonin for me lately). Also... the 2k special is already living rent free in my mind and I can't wait to achieve the goal to post it 😭 I wanna give spoilers now so... you know 🤓 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

"You finally decided to show up at a race. I was starting to think you only liked having me naked in your bed behind your brother’s back."

You smiled at the screen, playing with your fingers as you thought how could you answer Lando. Your relationship was based purely on sex, moreover sexting, with barely any real conversations whenever you met, moans and orgasms speaking for you both instead.

You had never felt the need to go beyond that, to involve feelings in your relationship, or at least that’s what you had made clear to Lando before sleeping with him the very first time. You also let him know that, besides him, there were other guys with whom you had no commitments whatsoever.

However, it was with Lando that you spent most of your time. The others were nothing more than a safe escape, an easy way out when the Brit wasn’t around.

"Be grateful that I even came," you finally replied. "And don’t flatter yourself. I came to see my brother, not to make you come before a race."

You hesitated, wondering if your reply was harsh enough to keep him from getting any ideas and, more importantly, to stop him from insisting on meeting up. You weren’t sure how, but you wanted to end that strange relationship before it spiraled out of control because, whether you wanted to admit it or not, you had started to feel something for him.

Yes, just a few weeks ago, you had one of your usual encounters with a friend of one of your best friends. But everything fell apart when, right before reaching your climax, you couldn’t help it: you moaned Lando’s name instead.

That was what made you question what exactly you felt for Norris and why the label of friends with benefits seemed to be fading away.

"Don’t play dumb, Piastri. See you at the motorhome. You know exactly where."

You huffed. Of course, you knew exactly where you’d be meeting. After all, ever since your brother became a Formula 1 driver, you had visited his teammate’s personal room more than Oscar’s.

With a sigh, making sure neither your mother nor your sisters were nearby, you got up, grabbed the plastic cup that still had a bit of coffee left, and walked with as much determination as you could muster toward McLaren’s motorhome, finishing your drink along the way.

As you walked, mentally preparing a script in case things got tense with Lando, you greeted the people you knew, or at least those who knew you as Y/N Piastri. Lewis was genuinely happy to see you and even stopped to chat, but you excused yourself, saying you had already made plans. Fernando gave you a knowing look, as if trying to figure out what exactly you were about to do with a certain driver.

Even your brother crossed paths with you at the entrance to McLaren’s motorhome. You managed to lie to him, partially, saying Lando had asked you to take a few pictures of him before the race.

Oscar gave you a strange look, then rolled his eyes, offered a small smile and told you to enjoy whatever it was you both were about to do.

You said nothing, but you knew your twin brother well enough to realize he already had a pretty good idea of what you were up to with Norris. Not that you tried too hard to hide it.

When you reached Lando’s room, you didn’t even have to knock. The door opened instantly, revealing a slightly tired-looking Lando with a cup in his hand. His race suit was already on but zipped only to his waist, leaving the top half hanging loose. His team cap was still on, though it didn’t last long since he took it off and tossed it aside within seconds.

He grinned from ear to ear, like he had been waiting for you with far too much anticipation.

"Come in. Make yourself at home," he said with that mischievous tone you were so used to hearing, though something about it felt slightly different this time.

You walked inside without hesitation, crossing your arms and ignoring him, except for the occasional sideways glance to see if he would do or say something before you did. Unfortunately, he didn’t.

"If you wanted a quick fuck before the race you could’ve just said so, you know?"

"I don’t think today’s the best day to fuck you and let everyone hear," he replied. "At least, not yet. Today, we’re going to talk."

"We don’t talk, Lando," you shot back, feeling an internal alarm go off. "And when we do, it’s just to ask about the safe word of the day, what we want to do to each other, and how close we are to coming."

"Well, maybe it’s time we started talking, don’t you think so?"

His answer took you completely by surprise. Your gazes remained locked on each other, and you felt the atmosphere grow tense.

For the first time in a long while, there was no excuse you could use to avoid that conversation with Lando. Maybe the fact that you had been ignoring him for the past few weeks was enough to make him realize that there was a chance—however small—that things had changed between you two.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the growing sense of unease settling in your chest. Lando kept looking at you with that same intensity he always did, except this time… it was different. It wasn’t the first time you found yourselves in a situation like this, where there were a thousand unsaid things hanging between you, waiting to be voiced. But it was the first time, at least on your part, where feelings were involved beyond pure physical desire.

"I don’t think there’s anything to talk about," you said as nonchalantly as possible, but your tense posture betrayed you.

Lando set his cup down on the table beside him. Then, he sat on the edge, crossing his arms again, and reached for your hands only for you to pull away and take a step back.

"I think you know exactly what we need to talk about," he replied calmly. His voice was lower than usual, and you felt the heat grow between your legs. You shook your head, feeling guilty and doing your best to push away that sudden, but familiar, awakening in your body.

"You’ve been avoiding me, Y/N. And don’t tell me you haven’t, because you were in Monaco and never called me to meet up… to see each other," he added, his voice laced with something unreadable. "In fact, we usually sext almost every day, and you didn’t even bother to tell me what  new lingerie set you bought for when you came over."

"I didn’t tell you I was coming to Miami either."

Your reply, rather than making you sound indifferent, exposed you completely. Lando raised an eyebrow, as if he had caught you red-handed. That was when you realized you had seriously screwed up.

"I haven’t been avoiding you, Lando. I’ve just been busy," you insisted.

"Busy? You mean busy by ignoring me?" He scoffed, ironic. His expression turned much more serious now, and you started to worry about where this might lead. "Tell me the truth, Y/N. What’s going on? What’s happening with you?" he emphasized.

You averted your gaze, pretending to take interest in the room’s decoration, a room you already knew by heart. You knew you couldn’t keep dodging the topic, but you also had no idea how to confront it without changing everything you had so far. It was impossible to put into words what you felt for Lando, not when your relationship had always been purely physical. And especially not when there was a real chance you were just confused… and, well, you couldn’t forget the possibility that he might only see you as his hookup.

"Nothing’s wrong," you finally responded.

"I thought we were always honest with each other," Lando sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

You felt your throat tighten. It was hard to breathe. You had been honest, at least when it came to the unrestricted desire between you, to touching each other without attachments, to seeking comfort in one another without questions that went beyond your wildest fantasies. You had avoided anything personal.

But now, you were slowly breaking the unspoken rules that had kept you in perfect balance until this moment.

"I’ve been busy, Lando, and the last thing I wanted was to deal with you, alright?" you insisted, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "Things should have stayed the way they were until, according to you, I started ignoring you."

"No, Y/N, things aren’t like that," the Brit denied, shaking his head. He stepped closer, cornering you against the wall. "If you don’t want to face something because you’re afraid of rejection, just tell me. But, for fuck’s sake, don’t act like I did something wrong, because you’re killing me."

"Lando…"

"Stop insisting that nothing is happening between us, when that’s exactly what makes me think the opposite."

His confession caught you completely off guard. His words—clear, direct, and without a hint of sarcasm, threw you off… especially because you knew he was right.

You felt the urge to run, to disappear, to pretend none of this had ever happened. Most of all, you wanted to deny yourself any romantic thought you had ever had about Oscar’s teammate.

When you lowered your gaze, Lando moved back slightly, giving you space and making sure he didn’t overwhelm you more than you already seemed to be. You sighed, trying to relax once again, but before you could say anything, he spoke first.

"Tell me nothing’s wrong between us, Y/N Piastri," he said softly. "If nothing has really changed, if everything is the same between us… dare to look at  me in the eyes and say it."

Your chest tightened. You couldn’t run away, not when Lando had you emotionally cornered, teetering on the edge of an explosion. Your breathing was unsteady, heavy. Your mind screamed at you to find an excuse, anything that would let you stay true to yourself regardless of what happened next.

Lando waited, unmoving, his blue eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made you tremble for the first time in your life—without him even touching you. It was the first time he had shown himself to you like this: so vulnerable and yet so determined at the same time.

"Nothing is wrong between us, Lando Norris," you finally whispered, forcing the words out, ignoring both your heart and the boy standing in front of you.

"Say it again, but this time, look me in the eyes."

He didn’t move an inch. He knew you were lying; your posture gave you away—the way you avoided his gaze, the way your fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt and your accreditation pass…

You squeezed your eyes shut tightly. You had no choice… at least, not entirely.

Lifting your gaze, you met his blue eyes once again. Your lips parted slightly, ready to try and let out a lie convincing enough for both him and yourself.

But it was impossible. You couldn’t keep doing this, not when, deep down, and no matter how hard you tried to deny it, you felt something more than just pleasure for Lando Norris. The fear of rejection… it terrified you. The thought of him turning you away, of losing what you had with him, was unbearable.

"Lando…"

"You don’t have to say it if you’re not ready," he interrupted. "But please… stop pushing me away. Stop making this to us."

"It’s just…"

Nothing. No matter how much you tried to explain yourself, to find a logical enough reason for your sudden ghosting, you couldn’t.

"It’s just what, Y/N?" the Brit pressed. "Are you afraid to take a risk? To admit something because you’re scared of what might happen next? Because you don’t want to change the life you’ve had until now? Because you want to…?"

Lando forced himself to stop. He ran his hands through his hair, exasperated, turning his back to you. Guilt hit you immediately, your body trembling as the storm inside you began to break free. The driver rubbed his face, frustration radiating from him. This was exhausting him. You were exhausting him, to the point where he was starting to doubt his own feelings. Feelings that had started to grow the moment he realized it hurt when you ignored him, when you didn’t even send him a simple "Hey."

"I wish this were different, Y/N," he finally murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he turned to face you again. "I wish you didn’t make me feel like this. I wish I could just be content with what we had before and pretend none of this was happening…"

Your stomach twisted painfully. That was exactly what you had been thinking, the very reason you had pulled away from him and from whatever this was. You had ignored the fact that your feelings for Lando Norris had become something much stronger—maybe they had been there for far longer than you were willing to admit.

"Lando, listen" You tried to step closer, but he pulled away.

"No, Y/N, no," he said bitterly. "I tried convincing myself there was a reason you were ignoring me, acting like I was nothing to you, and then it hit me that I really want you as more than just someone to fuck."

"That…" you struggled to say, stepping toward him. This time, Lando didn’t stop you. The sincerity in your eyes, the way you looked both calm and nervous at the same time, made him realize he had to trust his instincts. And that was exactly what they were telling him.

"That’s what I wanted to tell you," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, but Lando still heard you. "That’s why I kept you on standby for two weeks… I knew this would change everything, that you’d react badly, that we’d end up fighting, and I… I didn’t know how to face the possibility of you rejecting… this."

Lando stared at you in surprise before a sad smile crept onto his lips.

"Y/N… I’ve always been good at reading signals, but this has been driving me fucking crazy."

"And you think it’s not been making me feel the same?" you shot back, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

Lando stepped closer, taking your hands in his. You didn’t resist, feeling how the both of you tensed at the contact. His lips inched toward yours, and when they finally met, the kiss was so fierce, so full of passion, that you ended up straddling him on the couch, moving against him, desperate to feel him. Even though you both knew there was still a race in two hours.

"I don’t want to touch you like this, Y/N," Norris whispered against your ear as you left small bites along his neck. "Y/N, stop it babe…"

"I don’t wanna be just another ex-love to you, Lando…" you murmured between kisses, still searching for friction between your bodies.

"And I don’t wanna miss you like your other lovers do, babe…"

This time, Lando gripped your waist firmly, flipping you onto the couch beneath him. His eyes never left yours as he carefully lifted your shirt and started massaging your breasts over your bra.

"I wanna be your end game, Y/N," Lando breathed, unable to tear his gaze away from you.

Your breath came out in shallow pants, and you felt like you were teetering on the edge. Your hands gripped the unfastened gear around his waist, tugging lightly to keep him close.

"Then prove it."

"I have a race in two hours, love…" he murmured, his voice rough as he pressed his forehead to yours, his arousal growing.

"Then you better be quick," you teased, running your hands over his abs beneath the fireproof. "Especially if you don’t want Osc to hear us…"

"You’re gonna be the death of me one day, Y/N Piastri," Lando groaned as he trailed his fingers up your thighs, lowering himself before you. "Now, open your legs for me... You deserve a punishment after being such a bad, bad girl these past few days…"

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Every Light

Summary: The reader is driving along a long stretch of highway when a mysterious stranger on a motorcycle shows up and decides to have some fun with her...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,600ish

Warnings: language, implied smut

A/N: This fic takes place post 15x20 (with some canon fixes adjustments). Also, we all know (including Jensen) Every Light is 100% Dean coded, right?

____________

Your fingers tapped against the wheel with one hand, your other hand hung out the window of your car, dancing in the wind. Music blasted through the speakers of your SUV, Ramblin’ Man pouring out as you drove down the long stretch of quiet highway on the bright summer day. The barren Texas flatlands stretched for miles before you, not a single car in sight.

You let your foot go heavy on the pedal, racing across the plains, the warm wind nice across your cheeks. Driving all day from Phoenix to Austin wasn’t exactly fun, but you were in a good mood. A great mood. One of those rare moments of peace and serenity where you just felt still and whole.

You happy little bubble popped when you drove past a crossroads, a slick black motorcycle turning onto the highway behind you. Fuck. It was probably a cop. You’d been making good time too.

You sighed as it came up on you fast, tension rising in your bones as you waited for a siren, lights, something. 

The motorcycle pulled up on your side, crossing the dotted yellow line and keeping pace with you. You turned your head, getting a better view of the bike. Okay, definitely not a police officer. Not unless Texas shelled out for jet black racing bikes with no markings. The rider was in head to toe sleek black leather, tight against his body with padding built in you were sure of. You couldn’t see past his black as night tinted visor. He, and it was most definitely a he based on those shoulders, turned his head toward you before raising his hand, giving you a wave.

You raised your eyebrows behind your aviators. The rider gripped the handlebars again, starting to weave his bike left and right ever so slightly before he straightened again. You tilted your head when he lifted his right hand and signed a simple gesture. 

“Hi.”

Okay…what were the odds some crazed person knew sign language? Probably lower than average and if worst came to worst, you’d just gun it until you hit a town.

You waved back to him, the man sitting up more and returning it. Then he was leaning back even more, popping a wheelie. Your heart skipped as he tore down the highway besides you, only setting the bike down when you flailed your arm for him to get it down on the ground. He finally did so, pointing at himself and looking around when you frowned at him.

“Behave down there!” You shouted out the window, even though he’d never hear it. He simply kept driving next to you, playing as he did so, doing something even more reckless each time he got you to laugh or smile.

But eventually you were coming up on a town and the roads were about to get busier. He made a quick gesture with his hand before taking off ahead of you, getting in front of you in your lane and disappearing down the road.

“Boys,” you mumbled, trying not to think of the last thing he’d signed.

“I had fun, sweetheart. Let’s do it again sometime.”

Six Hours Later

You’d wearily made it to Austin and after a quick shower at your hotel, you headed out to grab dinner at a local bar. 

“Hi,” said a handsome man when he took a seat next to you at the crowded bar top. 

“Hi,” you said politely, returning your gaze to scanning the menu. The stranger's eyes lingered though, your head turning slightly to find a smile on his face. “Can I help you?”

“No, just funny running into you again today.” You raised an eyebrow, the man chuckling. “You do that a lot, don’t you?”

“I’ve never met you before in my life.”

“Darn it,” he said, feigning a sigh. “Here I thought I made an impression. Did I not do enough wheelies?” Then he signed, “Sweetheart,” with his hand, flashing you a wink.

Your eyes went wide, the man smirking. “You! That was completely reckless.”

“So was going a hundred down the highway, rebel,” he teased. He turned his body to face you, smiling hard. “You’re telling me I wasn’t the best part of your day?”

“You’re a menace,” you said, picking up your drink.

“And that wasn’t a denial.” He waved down the bartender, pointing at your drink and holding up two fingers. “So. You like me better as the silent mysterious type with a helmet over my face?”

You rolled your eyes, taking the new drink. “It takes more than a pretty face to win me over, babe.”

“How about a ride on it?” You blinked. 

“A ride on your…” you swallowed, the man chuckling.

“My bike. Although you are more than welcome to ride anything of mine you like,” he said. You scoffed, ignoring the fact you hadn’t been with anyone in far, far too long and here was a man handsome as sin offering himself up to you. “Alright. I pushed too far. My apologies.”

“…Why do you know sign language?” you asked.

“My sister in law is deaf. I actually just became an uncle,” he said with a proud smile. “I had to finish up some work before heading back home for good. I’m going be a firefighter actually.”

He looked so…boyish for a moment that you smiled at his genuine pride.

“Good for you,” you said. “I’m just passing through myself. My old friend just had a baby up north.”

“So what’s to stop you from cutting loose tonight? I’ll even pay for dinner like a proper gentleman.” You glanced away, the man tilting his head when your eyes darted back. “I promise to be as well or badly behaved as you want.”

You looked him up and down, the man still sporting those boots and padded pants. 

Oh fuck it. 

“I ain’t getting on the back of that bike without a helmet.” His grin turned devilish, even when you held up a finger. “Calm down, big boy. Let’s see how you last through dinner.”

“You holding on tight?” asked Dean nearly two hours later when you were on the outskirts of the city. Only Dean. Tonight was a one time thing and that meant no last names, no histories, just plain old fun.

“Yeah, why?” you asked when he chuckled beneath you.

“Cause I’m gonna blow your mind, sweetheart.” He revved the engine and took off like a bat out of hell, going faster and faster, so fast your heart was in your throat. “Here we go!”

“What are you-“ You screeched when he popped a wheelie with you on the back, setting it down after only a few seconds. “Dean!”

“More you say?” Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

“Morning,” mumbled Dean, a kiss pressed against your temple. You groggily opened your eyes, the clock flashing that it was ten. You felt him pull the sheets up over your bare back, Dean running a hand over your head. “Wake up beautiful. You need a shower before you check out.”

“Yeah,” you yawned, sitting up in bed, watching him dress. He smirked as you openly eyed his body, Dean cupping your cheeks in his hands when he finished. “One night, right?”

“You deserve better than me, Y/N. You’ll find him someday. Until then though, just know you are the best I’ve ever had.”

“You say that to all the girls,” you laughed, Dean smiling.

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” he said, kissing you once more. “Careful driving today.”

“You too. And don’t flirt with girls like that anymore. You’ll kill yourself on that bike.”

“Only flirt with you, got it,” he said. You playfully punched his arm, Dean letting your hands linger one last moment before pulling away. “In a another life, sweetheart.”

“Bye, Dean.”

You hadn’t planned on getting such a late start to the day but your night with Dean had been worth it. In a way, you wished you’d forced the issue and gotten his number at the very least. Sure, the motorcycle ride and sex were great but he was good company, funny and silly but something grounded to him that let you know you were safe with him. Eileen was always on you about living a life more outside of hunting and now that you’d officially retired, you were about to start living it more.

Including telling her all about your wonderful hookup.

You pulled up outside a house in Lawrence in the suburbs just after seven, barely up the front steps before the front door opened and Eileen hopped out, pulling you into a big hug.

“I missed you too,” you laughed, giving her a big squeeze, holding on tight. While you’d talked, you hadn’t been able to see her in person since she came back from the dead and this reunion was long overdue. “Come on, let me see the baby.”

“He just went down for bedtime. But he will happily see you in the morning,” she said, taking your hand and dragging you inside. “We just got the grill going out back.”

“Good. I’m starving and miss your burgers,” you said, letting her have another round of hugs with you. “Well if I can’t see the babe yet, you gotta let me meet your husband.”

“You know he has a brother that’s single,” she grinned, taking you through the house and to the back deck where a very tall man worked over a grill. “Sam! Y/N’s finally here!”

“Well it’s about time,” he said, picking you up in a hug. He smiled gently as he set you down. “I’m so happy Eileen has a friend in town.”

“Maybe you guys can give me advice on how the whole retirement thing works. I’ve just been traveling around aimlessly the past few months,” you said, taking a beer when Eileen offered it.

“You’ll figure it out,” said Sam, the rumble of an engine on the street out front echoing through the yard. 

“That’ll be his very single brother,” said Eileen. You rolled your eyes. “Oh come on, he hunted too! You guys would so get along now that you’re both retired.”

“I’ve dated other hunters and it never worked out, thank you very much,” you said.

“You’re lucky I managed to grab the last bag of franks,” said an all too familiar voice. You spun around, Dean, your Dean from last night, standing right in front of you wearing jeans and a white plain t-shirt. He dropped the package of hot dogs, both of you staring at the other. 

“I told you he was good looking!” joked Eileen.

“You?” asked Dean.

“You’re Dean fucking Winchester?” you asked, raising your eyebrows.

“You’re Y/N Y/L/N, Eileen’s bestie?” You both nodded, Sam picking up the package and looking at you both like you were nuts.

“Uh, do you two know each other?” asked Sam.

“Some would say intimately,” said Dean. 

“We’ll be right back,” you said, grabbing his bicep, ignoring the strength in it as you dragged him down the steps and around the corner of the house. You stared at him, Dean running a hand through his hair. “I thought you were a fireman!”

“I’m about to start my training. I was in Phoenix, cleaning up one last job but…someone had already fixed the sigils,” he mumbled. “You?”

“Yes, me,” you said, closing your eyes, putting your hands on your hips. “I worked out of Washington mostly. Eileen asked if I would clean up a sigil on my way down here. I-I’m staying here for a bit to help with the baby while I find a place in town.”

“So you’re that friend of hers…” he trailed off, eyes darting around your face. His lips parted but no words escaped them. An unpleasant crack tore through your heart. Gone was the happy go lucky flirt from twelve hours ago. Instead a man filled with horrors beyond imagination stood before you, a desperation in his eyes that made your skin crawl. 

“You were wrong back at the hotel.” He shook off whatever thoughts were running through his mind, confusion entering the forefront of his mind. “This morning you said I deserved better than you.”

“You do,” he said without missing a beat. “I’m-”

“Dean Winchester. I’ve heard about you. We all have,” you said softly, taking one of his hands in yours. He swallowed, closing his eyes. “You deserve the world and I’m not just saying that because of last night. You more than did your part.”

“I’m not the guy from last night. I am severely fucked up-”

“Oh get in line, Winchester.” He blinked rapidly, brows furrowing. “You think you’re the only one with daddy issues and who’s died and seen the shit hunters do? No, you’re not. There’s plenty of us who have. I retired because of you. I retried because Eileen told me her friends the Winchesters saved us all and I could quit. I should quit. She told me to live my life. So you and me? We’re going to live our lives as fucked up as we are. And last night…fuck, I had fun. You had fun. I forgot about the nightmares and I think you did too. You think Eileen and your brother aren’t as screwed up as us? Of course they are but they aren’t scared to do the hard thing and move on. So why not us too? It doesn’t have to be together but-”

“Shut up,” he said, slamming his lips to yours. It was hard, rough. Something possessive underneath the surface that had you sucking in air when he pulled back, tugging your bottom lip along the way. 

“Kissing me won’t make me shut up, Winchester,” you breathed, Dean ghosting over your lips, cradling a hand against the back of your neck to keep you close. “We aren’t strangers anymore. You want more, you got to give me more.”

“You want a visitors pass to the insane asylum in my head?” he laughed dryly.

“Visitor pass? Honey, I live there, just a different ward is all.” He flashed his eyes open, green orbs hesitant. “I ain’t doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I’m screwed up too and you’re going to have to give as good as you get. I need that. You need that. So either walk away if you just want to be friends-”

“Odds are this crashes and burns,” he said. Your hands slid to his cheeks, smirking up at him. “What?”

“Good thing I got my own firefighter then.” He raised an eyebrow, smiling when you tilted your chin up. “Stealing my moves?”

“Just remembered you were warned, sweetheart.”

“We’re going to work on that self-talk.” You tiled your chin further, Dean meeting your mouth, a smile in it. For the first time in a long time, in years, you let yourself think about a future and what that looked like. Dean pulled away slowly when Sam called for you both, his thumb brushing your chin.

“I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it with some help,” he murmured, trailing his knuckles down your arm, stopping at your hand to lace your fingers together.

Yeah, the future was looking a little brighter these days.

_________________

[aspenmissing]

hey, first of all i want to say that i love your writing and style! could you please do arcane characters (jinx, silco, jaycee, victor, vander) with a reader who’s a mercenary? like what their reactions would be, would they accept it or not, the relationship dynamics

ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ᴋɪʟʟᴇʀ?

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 7291 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ (ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ! ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏ ɢʟᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴍʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ! <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ

JAYCE

The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the machines Jayce had been working on. The golden light of the sunset streamed through the window, casting long shadows across the room. Y/N stood by the door, her coat already on, fingers tracing the outline of the weapon at her hip.

“Where are you going?” Jayce’s voice broke the silence, heavy with suspicion. His eyes flicked between her and the door.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before speaking, her voice steady, but there was an undeniable tension in her posture. “I’ve got a job to do, Jayce.”

Jayce stood from his workbench, brow furrowed. “A job? At a time like this?”

Y/N met his gaze, but there was an air of detachment about her now, a barrier she’d put up without realizing. “I don’t have the luxury of waiting around, Jayce. I need to work.”

Jayce took a few steps toward her, confusion and concern written on his face. “It’s late, Y/N. What kind of job requires you to leave now?” He crossed his arms, unwilling to let her go without an explanation. “You’ve been so distant lately... What’s going on?”

Y/N looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes. The truth of it—whatever her job was—felt too complicated to explain, even to him. She hadn’t expected it to come to this, but she couldn’t back out now.

“I’m just doing what needs to be done,” she said quietly, her voice betraying no hint of vulnerability. “I’ll be back soon. You don’t need to worry.”

Jayce’s gaze hardened, his frustration starting to bubble over. “I do need to worry, Y/N. You’re disappearing in the middle of the night, and you won’t even tell me why. I want to understand, but you’re shutting me out.”

The quiet tension between them deepened, his worry unmistakable. He wanted to keep pushing, to demand more, but he could see the look on her face—the quiet resolve that made him take a step back. She wasn’t going to tell him, not now, and she wasn’t giving him a choice.

For a long moment, they simply stood there, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. Finally, Y/N spoke again, softer this time. “I’m not asking for your permission, Jayce. I’m not asking for your approval.”

Jayce took a slow breath, his mind racing. He had never seen her like this, so closed off, and it gnawed at him. “I don’t want to control you. I just... don’t understand.”

Y/N looked at him one last time, her eyes softening slightly, but her resolve remained firm. “I’ll explain when I can. Just... trust me, okay?” Her voice was quiet but insistent.

Jayce swallowed, his frustration mixing with an overwhelming sense of helplessness. He nodded, though the knot in his chest remained tight. “Okay, Y/N. But I don’t like this.”

With a final glance at him, Y/N stepped out into the night, the door closing behind her softly. Jayce stood still for a long moment, watching the space where she had been, his mind spinning with unanswered questions. He didn’t know what she was doing or why she was leaving so late, but he knew one thing for sure—he wasn’t going to stop thinking about it.

=

The hours passed slowly, the silence in the apartment weighing heavily on Jayce. He had been cleaning, trying to distract himself from the ache in his chest. He picked up the stray papers and straightened the furniture, but his mind kept returning to the argument. Her words. The cold finality of it all.

As he moved into their bedroom, something caught his eye—a loose floorboard in the corner of the closet. It had always been there, but tonight, his curiosity got the better of him. He bent down, prying the board up with a creak. His heart raced when he saw what lay beneath it: a stash of money, far more than they’d ever had in the apartment. Along with it were weapons—blades, smoke bombs, and a few tools that looked disturbingly familiar. And then, the papers.

A hit list.

Names, dates, locations. His hand trembled as he skimmed through it. Some of the names were ones Y/N had mentioned in passing, but he’d never thought much of them. Now, seeing it laid out so coldly in front of him, the truth hit him like a punch to the gut.

She wasn’t just working. She was a mercenary. A killer. All this time, she’d been living a life of violence, and he had been blind to it.

Jayce’s stomach churned. He had known something wasn’t right, but this... this was beyond anything he’d imagined. His breath hitched as he placed the papers down gently, trying to steady himself. He felt betrayed, but not in the way he expected. This wasn’t about her safety—it was about who she was. The person he loved was capable of taking lives, and he couldn’t ignore that.

The door creaked open a few hours later. Y/N stepped in, her eyes immediately finding his. She froze at the look on his face.

“Jayce,” she began, her voice hesitant, as though she wasn’t sure how to face him after everything.

“No,” Jayce cut her off, his voice low but firm. His heart pounded in his chest, his fists clenched. “Don’t. Don’t lie to me anymore.”

Y/N’s eyes widened as she realized what he was talking about.

“I found it, Y/N,” Jayce continued, his voice thick with anger and disbelief. “I found everything—the money, the weapons, the list. I know what you’ve been doing. I know who you are.”

Her eyes flickered toward the floorboard, and Jayce saw the guilt flash in her eyes. She hadn’t expected him to find it. But now that he had... there was no denying it.

“I didn’t want you to see this,” she whispered, her voice small. “I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

Jayce stepped forward, his face twisted with a mixture of hurt and fury. “You’ve been lying to me, Y/N. All this time, you’ve been living a double life. And I—I thought I knew you. I thought we were building something real. But now I find out this? This is who you really are?”

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t look away. She didn’t deny it. “This is who I was, Jayce. This is what I’ve been trying to escape. But it doesn’t just go away.”

Jayce’s anger flared. “I’m not talking about what you’ve been trying to escape, Y/N. I’m talking about what you’ve become. You’ve been killing people. For money. How many have you—how many have you taken out for a job? How many lives have you ended?”

Her gaze faltered for just a moment before she steadied herself, her voice thick with emotion. “I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t want you to know. But this is my life, Jayce. This is what I do.”

“No,” Jayce shot back, his voice trembling with emotion. “This is who you’ve chosen to be. You could have stopped, Y/N. You could have walked away, but instead, you’ve kept it all a secret, lying to me the whole time.”

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, her shoulders sagging. “I didn’t want to drag you into this... I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Jayce’s chest tightened with frustration and disbelief. “How am I supposed to see you, Y/N? As the woman I thought I knew, or as a killer?”

“I’m still the same person, Jayce,” she whispered, her voice strained. “I’m still me.”

Jayce shook his head, his voice shaking now, though he tried to keep it steady. “I don’t know who you are anymore. You’re not the person I thought I was in love with. You’ve been killing people, Y/N. And I can’t—” He cut himself off, struggling to keep his composure. “I can’t be a part of this. Not like this.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and final. Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t look away. She had known this moment was coming, but now that it was here, she didn’t know how to make him understand.

“I never wanted to lose you,” she whispered.

Jayce stared at her for a long time, his heart breaking. He wanted to reach out, to hold her, to make everything right again. But he couldn’t reconcile the woman he loved with the reality of what she had done. How could he?

“I can’t do this, Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. “I can’t love a killer.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She simply stood there, silent, the weight of his words pressing down on her.

VIKTOR

Viktor sat at his desk in the quiet of his lab, the rhythmic sound of his fingers tapping against the surface of a mechanical device he'd been tinkering with. His mind, however, was elsewhere—always elsewhere, it seemed. Thoughts of Y/N had occupied more of his time recently, more than he'd care to admit. Their moments together were filled with a sense of warmth and intimacy, but beneath it all, a question lingered in his heart: How much of her life did I truly know?

It wasn’t the first time he had noticed the occasional bruising on her arms or the subtle weariness in her eyes. The absence of certain details made him wonder, but he never pressed her on them. She was strong, capable, and fiercely independent, but it was this same strength that left him both in awe and, admittedly, in concern.

That night, the truth came in a way neither of them expected.

Y/N had walked into his lab, a rare tension in her posture. She looked like she hadn’t had a decent night's sleep in days. She had a light wound on her shoulder, one she’d probably already cleaned herself, but Viktor noticed the way she winced when reaching for something on the shelf.

“Y/N…” Viktor's voice was soft, but his gaze didn’t leave her. He’d learned to read her well enough by now, knowing when something was wrong even if she didn’t voice it.

Y/N met his eyes with a slight frown, but she didn’t hide the fatigue. “It’s nothing, Viktor. Just a scrape.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice was firmer now, his steps carrying him closer to her. His gloved fingers gently traced the edge of her wound, inspecting it carefully, before his eyes lifted to hers again. “How did this happen?”

She hesitated, the weight of his gaze on her unsettling her for a moment. She’d always kept this part of her life separate from him, knowing how he would react. But she couldn’t lie anymore—not when he looked at her like that.

“I’m a mercenary, Viktor. That’s how.”

His body stiffened. The words hit him like a sudden blow, sharp and unexpected. Mercenary. He had always suspected there was more to her than the brilliant mind and the warm smiles she gave him, but to hear it out loud—mercenary—was a different kind of shock.

"You… you?" Viktor's voice trembled, not from anger but from concern and disbelief. The idea of her being involved in such dangerous work was foreign to him. “Why? Why would you—”

“Because I have to, Viktor,” she interrupted, her voice a little too sharp for his liking. She stepped back, brushing her hair out of her face, trying to hide the pain in her eyes. “Because I don’t have a choice. I can’t live off the kindness of others forever, and Piltover’s never exactly been kind to people like me, has it?”

Viktor wanted to argue, wanted to say something to take away the hardness in her tone, to remind her that she was more than just a survivor of the streets, more than just a weapon. But the words stuck in his throat.

He looked at her, at the woman he loved, the woman who had survived more than anyone should have to. His chest tightened with the realization that she was carrying burdens she had never shared with him, and for the first time, Viktor felt helpless. Helpless and afraid of what this meant for her, for them.

He reached for her hand, his fingers trembling as they clasped around her wrist. "I can't… I can’t stand the thought of you putting yourself in danger like this. You’re not just a tool or a weapon to be used. You’re—"

"Don’t you dare!" Her voice cracked, though she immediately regretted it. She pulled her wrist free from his grip, but there was no anger in her now, only the exhaustion that had haunted her for so long. "You don’t get it. I can’t just walk away from this. The world doesn’t let you do that, Viktor."

His heart clenched at the coldness in her voice. He’d always known she was strong, but now he understood the depth of her strength—how it had been forged in the fires of survival. He also knew that his love for her couldn’t change the past she carried, nor could it remove the life she had chosen.

But Viktor, in that moment, made a vow to her, even if she couldn’t see it yet. He would try. He would try to pull her out of that life, no matter how impossible it seemed. He would fight for her, fight to give her a future where she didn’t have to run through the shadows, a future where she could stand in the light.

“I won’t accept this, Y/N,” he said softly, his gaze intense with emotion. “I’ll find a way to get you out of this life. I swear it. I will not let you keep sacrificing yourself for a world that doesn’t care.”

Y/N’s heart raced as she met his gaze, the sincerity in his words cutting through the stubborn wall she’d built around herself. She’d always been alone in this, never allowing anyone to carry the weight of her decisions. But Viktor… Viktor was different. And in that moment, she realized something: Maybe she didn’t have to carry it alone anymore.

Tears blurred her vision, and she found herself leaning into him, her arms wrapping around his chest in a moment of vulnerability. “I don’t know how, Viktor. I don’t know if it’s even possible.”

“I’ll find a way,” he repeated, his voice firm with the resolve of someone who had never been afraid of the impossible.

And as he held her close, Y/N knew, deep down, that this was the beginning of a new chapter—for both of them. The road ahead would be uncertain, but with Viktor by her side, she felt the first stirrings of hope, something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.

"I believe you," she whispered.

JAYVIK

Viktor had always been the one to see the best in Y/N, always wanting to pull her away from the dangerous and destructive path she had walked. As a former Zaunite himself, he understood the world she came from but believed she deserved something better. His thoughts on her being a mercenary were never far from his mind, especially now that they had been sharing their lives together in Piltover.

But then there was Jayce. Jayce, with his idealism and his unwavering belief in what Piltover could become, had always seen things in black and white. To him, Y/N's role as a mercenary, her life steeped in violence, was something to be condemned. He had been pushing for a long time that she could do better, could be better, and when he found out the full extent of her work, he felt betrayed. His disappointment wasn’t just in her profession—it was in her choices, and more so in how those choices might affect their lives.

It was a particularly tense night. Y/N had just come back from a job, her hands stained with blood, and the weariness in her eyes spoke of the toll this life had taken on her. Jayce couldn't hold back any longer.

“Y/N, you don’t have to do this anymore,” Jayce said, his voice tight with frustration. “This mercenary work, it’s dangerous, and you—" He paused, glancing at Viktor. "—you kill people. I can't stand by and watch this. You’re better than this. We need to do something about it.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed, but his tone was measured. “Jayce, I understand your concern, but we need to consider all options. Y/N’s lived this life for so long, and forcing her to leave it behind might not be as simple as we want it to be.”

But Jayce, his passion for justice overriding everything else, snapped, “We could hand her over to the Enforcers! They can help her, clean her hands of all this blood.”

The words hit Y/N like a blow to the chest. She hadn’t been planning on it, but hearing Jayce's proposal—so cold and impersonal—was the breaking point. She couldn’t stay here if they were going to treat her like a criminal, especially not Viktor, the one who had seen her struggles and still cared.

Without saying a word, she stood up and walked into their shared room. Viktor tried to stop her, but Jayce’s anger and the guilt that washed over him paralyzed him in place. Y/N didn’t look back. She gathered a few belongings—some clothes, her weapons, a few trinkets that reminded her of better times—and stuffed them into a small bag. She wrote a letter, her hands trembling as she penned the words:

I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, but I can’t stay in a place where I’m unwanted. I’m sorry for not telling you, Viktor. You were my strength, but I can’t live in your world if I’m a constant reminder of the things I’ve done. Jayce, I know you think this is for the best, but I can’t be part of that world. Goodbye. – Y/N.

With the letter left on the bed, Y/N moved to the window. She’d grown used to escaping through the quiet and discreet ways of the streets, even in Piltover. She slipped through the window and disappeared into the night.

=

Back in the living room, the silence between Viktor and Jayce grew heavy. Jayce's anger had faded, leaving behind only worry and regret. He stood from his chair and began pacing, his steps sharp and restless. “Where did she go?”

Viktor’s voice was quiet but firm, tinged with sorrow. “She’s gone. And we’ve lost her... or perhaps, we never truly had her the way we thought.”

Jayce’s frustration flared up again. “Now she’s gone!” he snapped, his tone sharper now. “We can’t even find her.”

Viktor stood, his posture resolute but his gaze full of regret. He moved closer to Jayce, his hands tightly clasped in front of him. “Maybe... maybe we don’t need to find her. Maybe we need to let her go.”

Jayce’s head snapped up, disbelief in his eyes. “Let her go?” His voice cracked with emotion. “After everything we’ve done? After everything we’ve been through? You’ve spent years helping her, and you’re just going to let her walk away?”

Viktor’s expression softened, and he shook his head. “What choice do we have, Jayce? We can’t force her to stay. She’s not our prisoner. She has to choose her own path, just as we’ve had to choose ours.”

The weight of Viktor’s words settled over them both, like a heavy fog. It was then that they realized the truth: they hadn’t just lost her to the conflict between Piltover and Zaun, nor to the violence of her mercenary work. They had lost her because, in their desire to protect her, they hadn’t understood her. They hadn’t truly seen the burden of the choices she’d carried for so long. In the end, they’d tried to control her when all she needed was the freedom to choose for herself.

VANDER

Vander wiped down the bar with a steady hand, the faint smell of sweat and smoke lingering in the air. His gaze flicked across the dimly lit room, watching as the last few patrons stumbled out of the door, their laughter and slurred words echoing as they disappeared into the streets of Zaun. The soft creak of the door swinging open caught his attention, and there, standing in the threshold, was Y/N. She had become a permanent fixture of his bar over the years, the kind of person who didn’t need an invitation—she just showed up, like an old friend he’d always known.

He poured a drink into a glass and slid it in front of her. She didn’t acknowledge the gesture, her eyes still focused on the space in front of her, lost in thought. But he noticed her hands, clenched tight around the glass, the way her knuckles were bruised, the way her fingers were still a little stiff from a fight she’d probably won, but at a cost.

"You're looking worse than usual," Vander finally said, his voice rough with concern as he set down the rag he’d been using to wipe the counter. His eyes narrowed on the bruise stretching along her arm, just above her elbow, a deep shade of purple that looked fresh. It was darker than any of the ones he’d seen before, and that alone made him worry more than he wanted to admit.

Y/N didn’t look up from her drink. Her fingers slid across the glass, tapping absently, but her gaze never wavered. She exhaled slowly, a puff of air that barely disturbed the stillness in the room.

"You worry too much, Vander," she replied, her voice light but not dismissive, the kind of response she always gave him when he made these observations. "It's not that bad."

Vander’s frown deepened. He leaned in, his massive frame towering over the bar, the weight of his years in the business bearing down on him. He knew what kind of work she did. He knew the dangers. But this was different. The cut on her jawline—there was a jagged, almost careless edge to it, like someone hadn’t bothered to finish the job. And the bruises were too frequent now. Too visible. He’d seen mercenaries take a beating, but not like this. Not every time. Not in the way it wore on her.

"Where the hell do you get these bruises from, love?" Vander asked, his voice rough but gentle, as he reached out to lightly run his hand over the dark marks on her arm. His touch was hesitant, tender, a stark contrast to the hardened mercenary she had become.

Y/N didn’t immediately answer. She took a slow sip of her drink, savoring the burn of the liquor, as her fingers lingered on the edge of the glass, like she was trying to steady herself. Vander didn’t rush her. He never did. She would talk when she was ready. Or not at all.

After a moment, she set the glass down with a soft clink, her gaze flickering to his but never meeting it fully. Her voice was flat, emotionless, as she spoke.

"Alright," she said, like she was finally letting something spill out, but the words didn’t come easily. "The bruises? They’re from the people I kill."

Vander’s hand froze. For the first time in years, his heart skipped a beat. He looked at her, his brows furrowing as he tried to make sense of her words. His chest tightened with disbelief, but he forced himself to steady his breath. This was the reality she lived, but hearing it from her—it hit differently. "You're kidding, right?" His voice was hoarse, more vulnerable than he intended.

Y/N met his gaze then, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp, almost cold. There was something in them that made him take a step back, like he was finally realizing just how far gone she was, how far she’d slipped from the girl he used to know.

"Would you rather I lie to you?" she asked, her voice almost too calm, a touch of bitterness under the surface. "I go into places where people don’t just roll over and let me take what I need. Sometimes it gets messy. But the job’s the job. And I’m good at it."

Vander’s heart sank. He’d always known she had her battles, but hearing her speak so matter-of-factly about killing—it gutted him. The weight of her words pressed heavily on him, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He’d seen her fight, seen the deadly precision she had, but this wasn’t just about skill. This was a life that left scars. Deep ones.

"And you don’t mind?" Vander asked, his voice softer now, tinged with genuine concern. "Living like that, taking lives... what’s it all for?"

The question hung in the air, and for a long moment, Y/N didn’t respond. She seemed lost in her thoughts, her gaze distant as her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of her glass. Then she spoke, quieter now, almost like she was trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

"I don’t mind. Not really," she said, the words heavy with resignation. "It’s what I’m good at. What I’ve always been good at."

Vander exhaled slowly, trying to push down the knot that had formed in his chest. He knew. He understood. It wasn’t the answer he wanted, but it was the truth of her world, one he couldn’t change. He’d seen too many people lose themselves to this life, and it pained him to know that Y/N, of all people, had gotten caught in its web.

"You might be good at it," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, "but you don’t have to live like this forever."

Y/N chuckled softly, though the sound was bitter, the corners of her mouth twitching but not quite forming a smile. "Maybe not forever. But for now? It’s what keeps me going." Her gaze met his again, this time filled with a quiet sadness, a resignation that she wore like a second skin. "You’re right, though. It catches up to you. But what else is there? What else is there when you’ve spent so long down this path?"

Vander didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t. She wasn’t asking for salvation, wasn’t seeking redemption. She was just surviving. And that reality hit him harder than any punch she’d ever taken. She was caught in a cycle, one he had no idea how to break, even though he wanted to.

"One of these days, it’s gonna catch up to you," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of all the years he’d spent watching people slip through his fingers, knowing they’d never find peace. "You can’t outrun it forever."

Y/N didn’t flinch at his words. Her gaze remained steady, as though she had already accepted it all. She didn’t look afraid, didn’t look like she was trying to escape the inevitable. She simply nodded, her face unreadable. "Maybe. But when that day comes, I’ll be ready."

It was the answer he had feared, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from hoping. Vander let out a long, defeated sigh, his heart heavy with the weight of her words. He knew she wouldn’t change—not like this. Not unless something finally made her stop.

"Just be careful, kid," he said softly, the concern in his voice undeniable, the ache of a man who had seen too much loss. He rested his hand on the counter, his fingers tapping lightly as his gaze followed her every move.

Y/N gave him a small, fleeting smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes but was enough to let him know she appreciated his concern. It was there for a moment—just a flicker of something human before it was buried beneath her usual tough exterior. She slid off the stool, her movements efficient and practiced, like she had a thousand places to be.

Vander watched her, knowing this wasn’t a goodbye. She always came back.

As she reached the door, her hand resting on the handle, she glanced back at him over her shoulder, her expression softening just for a moment. "Thanks for the drink, Vander. I’ll be back tomorrow."

And then, like a shadow swallowed by the night, she was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The bar was eerily quiet now, save for the soft clink of glass as Vander wiped the counter once again, his mind heavy with the conversation that had just passed. He wondered if there would ever be a day when Y/N’s past wouldn’t haunt her, when the blood she had spilled would finally stop following her.

But deep down, he knew—she had already made her peace with it. And all he could do now was wait, hoping that someday, she would find a way out before it was too late.

SILCO

The air was thick with tension as Y/N and Silco walked down the darkened streets of Zaun, their boots echoing against the damp concrete. They were out on business, making a quiet exchange of information and goods, but the unsettling feeling that always accompanied the underbelly of the city lingered in the air. The smell of rust, oil, and the faint odor of decay was a constant in the heart of Zaun, but to Y/N, it was nothing new.

Silco walked beside her, always keeping a few steps ahead, his sharp eyes scanning their surroundings. There was something about the way he carried himself, the dangerous aura that surrounded him like a shield. He was a leader, the face of Zaun's rebellion, but in moments like this, away from his empire, there was something softer, more personal in the way he interacted with her. He was kind, in his own way, though he never let his guard down fully.

"You always know how to make an exit," he said, his voice a low murmur as they turned a corner, heading toward a less familiar part of Zaun. "I can't say I'm not impressed."

Y/N smiled, her lips curling up slightly. "I’ve been doing this long enough to know how to keep people from getting too close."

The light from the street lamps cast long shadows, and Y/N couldn't help but notice how they highlighted the contours of Silco’s face. The sharp angles of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows as he scanned the area—it was the face of a man who was constantly at war, both internally and externally. But tonight, there was something different about him. His gaze lingered on her longer than usual, and for a fleeting moment, she felt an unfamiliar warmth in his eyes.

She quickly shook the thought away, dismissing it as just the danger of the city making her mind wander. But even as she tried to focus on the task at hand, something about Silco’s presence affected her in ways she couldn't explain.

Before she could process the thought, a noise broke the silence. Heavy footsteps and muffled voices. The kind of sounds that signaled an ambush. Y/N’s instincts kicked in immediately, her hand reaching for the dagger at her belt. It was too quiet, too calculated. Whoever they were, they had been waiting for them.

“Stay close,” Silco murmured, his posture shifting as he prepared for the inevitable. His voice had changed, quieter now, but still commanding. The tone he used when he wasn't giving orders, but when he was preparing for something personal.

Y/N gave a small nod, her fingers now wrapped tightly around her blade. There was no need for more words. They had worked together long enough to know their roles—her as the silent predator, him as the strategist, always watching from the back with a plan already forming in his mind.

A group of men, cloaked in shadow and armed with crude weapons, emerged from the dark alley ahead, blocking their path. They had been expecting trouble, but the sight of these men still made Y/N's stomach tighten. They were too many, too brazen.

"What’s this, a little surprise party?" she asked coolly, her voice calm, almost playful. It was a tactic, a way to keep the attackers off balance. But it also helped her hide the cold calculation that ran through her veins in moments like this.

The men smirked, their confidence growing at the sight of Silco standing there, calm but still very much a threat. They probably thought they could take both of them, with their numbers on their side. But Silco’s eyes flicked to Y/N, sensing the change in the air. He had always known her reputation—how deadly she could be—but tonight, there was something more. Something darker.

=

Without warning, Y/N moved. She was a blur of motion, swift and efficient. In seconds, she was upon the first man, her dagger slicing through his throat before he even had time to react. Blood splattered across the ground, painting the pavement in an ominous red. But Y/N didn’t flinch. She was a force of nature, her movements fluid, practiced, like a deadly dance she had performed a thousand times. Her strikes were precise, never a wasted motion. She never hesitated.

The remaining men charged, but they were no match for her speed and precision. One by one, they fell. Y/N was everywhere at once, her blade cutting through the chaos like a whisper of death. She had no time for their weakness, no patience for their feeble resistance. A twist of her wrist sent another attacker crumpling to the ground, gasping for breath as the life left his body.

The last man, his face pale with fear, tried to flee. But Y/N was faster. She caught him by the arm, spinning him around before slamming her knee into his stomach. The air left his lungs in a strangled gasp. She didn’t let go, keeping him close as she gave him a final, merciless twist of her wrist. His body went limp, his eyes wide in shock.

Silco stood back, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the entire exchange with a detached sort of interest. His eyes never left her. He had always known she was dangerous, but seeing it firsthand—the ease with which she killed, the beauty in her efficiency—it unsettled him in a way he hadn’t expected. There was something about her that seemed untouched by the violence she wrought, a calmness in her cruelty that intrigued him. It wasn’t just that she was effective—it was how she moved through it all, as if it were second nature. He couldn’t help but wonder, with a flicker of unease, if she had become too accustomed to this life.

Y/N wiped the blood off her blade, her expression unreadable, but there was something colder in her gaze as she surveyed the bodies. The adrenaline was still coursing through her, but she held it in check. She knew how to remain controlled, how to mask the fleeting emotions that bubbled beneath the surface. It was what kept her alive.

Silco took a step closer, his boots clicking lightly on the pavement. He was no longer the cold, calculating leader. There was a quiet admiration in his eyes as he took in the aftermath.

“You’re... quite the sight, Y/N,” he said, his voice laced with something that was neither admiration nor fear, but something deeper—something that went beyond the mercenary he had always known. “I didn’t expect this, not from you.”

Y/N met his gaze, her heart still racing from the fight. She didn't respond right away, her focus still lingering on the men who had dared to cross them. She had learned long ago that silence spoke volumes. But this time, the silence between them was heavier. It was as if she had revealed more of herself than she ever had before.

Silco's voice softened, his tone lowering in a way that felt oddly intimate. “I always knew you were capable, but to see it like this... I didn’t expect you to be so... cold.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked to him, and for the first time, she allowed herself to meet his gaze with something more than the icy mask she usually wore. “Cold, huh? Maybe. Or maybe I just know how to handle myself,” she replied, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of her lips. There was a quiet confidence in her voice, the kind that came from years of surviving the worst of Zaun.

Silco was quiet for a moment, his eyes searching hers as if trying to understand something he had never noticed before. It was as though a door had been opened, revealing a side of her that he hadn’t seen. He had always known she was strong—her reputation alone was enough to prove that—but this... this was something else entirely.

He took a step closer, his voice soft but steady. “You are more than you let people see, Y/N.”

Her heart skipped a beat. His words lingered in the air between them, hanging like a heavy fog. She met his gaze, her breath catching for a moment as she sensed the weight of his words. There was a vulnerability in his eyes now, a crack in the armor that she had never seen before. Something unspoken passed between them, a shared understanding of the darkness that each of them carried.

Before she could respond, he stepped back, his mask slipping back into place with an ease that made her wonder if he had ever let it fall. He gave a small nod, his usual cool demeanor settling back into place.

“We should go,” he said, his voice now colder, as if the moment had never happened. But Y/N knew better. She could feel the shift, the unspoken bond that had formed between them in the heat of battle. It was a quiet understanding, a recognition of the darkness that existed in both of them. And for the first time, it seemed like Silco wasn’t the only one who had seen it.

Y/N nodded, her eyes lingering on him for just a moment longer than she intended. There was a connection between them now, something deeper than friendship, but neither of them was ready to acknowledge it. As they turned to leave, their footsteps in sync, the bond that had been forged in blood and violence grew just a little bit deeper, like a secret neither of them was ready to share.

But as they walked off into the night, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder just how long it would take before the truth between them would finally come to light.

JINX/POWDER

Y/N’s boots hit the cold concrete of the alleyway as she moved swiftly, her breath visible in the cool night air. A job was a job, and this one was no different. The target was a high-ranking official from Piltover—a man with more than enough dirt on him to make his life miserable. Y/N had learned to ignore the whispers of morality, focusing only on the coin and the fact that she needed to survive.

But the night was anything but quiet. She had known that Jinx would be nearby. The chaotic girl was always lingering around the edges, always popping up when things were about to go sideways. Y/N wasn’t worried. Jinx was a friend, albeit a strange one, and she’d learned to expect the unpredictable from her.

She crouched down behind some crates, eyes trained on the man in question. One clean shot—that was all it would take. But as she readied herself, a faint giggle echoed from somewhere behind her. Without turning around, she sighed.

“Jinx, you’re not supposed to be here,” Y/N muttered, still focusing on her target.

“Oh, come on!” Jinx’s voice rang out, gleeful and full of energy as she swung around a corner, wearing her usual psychotic grin. “What’s the fun in sneaking around if you’re not going to let me play?”

Y/N turned her head just as she pulled the trigger, the silenced shot ringing out before the target crumpled to the ground, dead.

Jinx’s wide eyes sparkled with pure excitement. She bounced over to Y/N, crouching beside her as she inspected the fallen man’s body. “Holy crap! You really did it! You just… killed him! Just like that! Boom! POW!”

Y/N wiped her hands off, watching the target’s life slip away. It wasn’t her first, nor would it be her last. “Yeah,” she said calmly, standing up. “That’s the job. And you're not supposed to see this.”

Jinx didn’t seem to hear her. Instead, her eyes gleamed with pure enthusiasm as she flitted from one side of Y/N to the other. “So, how many people have you killed? Like, a million? A hundred? A thousand? Ooooh! Do you do it with knives? Or guns? Or bombs?” She grinned wickedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Is it like a game for you? Do you get all excited and giggly like me?”

Y/N paused for a moment, unsure how to respond to the wild questions coming from Jinx. But the girl's curiosity was as boundless as her chaos, and she had to admit, it was kind of refreshing. She’d been living this life for so long, and nobody had ever really asked her about it like this.

“Not a million,” Y/N said, shrugging slightly. “More than a hundred, though. Sometimes I use knives—close range. Sometimes guns—long-range. And sometimes I use explosives, but that’s only for specific targets. I try not to make a mess. It’s easier that way.”

Jinx let out a squeal of delight, clapping her hands together. “Oooh, messy or clean, it’s ALL fun!” She paused, thinking, before peering up at Y/N with wide eyes. “Do you do it for fun, or is it like, a job? Do you ever feel bad about it? You know, like, ‘Oops, did I really kill that guy?’ or is it just like… BOOM! That’s what happens when you mess with me?”

Y/N thought about it for a second. “It’s a job. And no, I don’t feel bad. People who need to die usually don’t leave much room for second thoughts.”

Jinx seemed to take that in, then tilted her head. “Yeah, I get that! I’m the same way! You can’t just play around with people who don’t deserve it, right?” She grinned, clearly relishing the thought. “But still, it’s so cool that you just… do it. Like, you make it look easy. You’re like a real-life hero in your own story!”

Y/N chuckled darkly, shaking her head. “I’m no hero, Jinx. Just a mercenary.”

Jinx pouted for a moment, then bounced on her feet again, full of excitement. “Well, you’re my hero! You know that? You’ve got all the cool moves and make it look all smooth! I wanna be just like you when I grow up—except with more explosions! BOOM!”

Y/N’s lips curled into a smile despite herself. “Maybe you should leave the explosions to you. But if you ever need a lesson in making it clean…” She raised an eyebrow. “I could teach you a thing or two.”

Jinx’s eyes widened like saucers, and she nodded eagerly. “YES! Teach me, teach me! I wanna be a mercenary! We’ll be a team, Y/N! You and me, taking down bad guys, making things explode, and making everything go KA-BOOM!”

With that, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a bit lighter than she had in a while. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who lived in this world of violence and chaos after all.

[mrspiastri]

I would like to request a desi girl x lewis fic

desi munda 🪅

pairing: lewis hamilton x desi!reader

cw: fluff, lewis being a bit negative etc etc

wc: 2k words

an: thanks anon, hope u like my first lewis fic!

.° ｡𖦹˚ 𓇼 ｡𖦹° ｡. .° ｡𖦹˚ 𓇼 ｡𖦹° ｡. .° ｡𖦹˚ 𓇼 ｡𖦹° ｡. .° ｡

“The last time I felt like this before a race was probably in 2008. It’s madness,” Lewis lamented in his driver’s room as he put on his fireproofs, getting ready to review the final data before hopping into the car.

“Well, it probably has to do with the fact that you’re racing in India after more than a decade. Unfamiliar track and all that jazz,” Y/N responded from where she was seated on the couch, filing her nails and adding the final touches to her makeup.

“I think it might be more because my gorgeous girlfriend won’t even look at my face,” he commented with a slight grin as he shimmied into his race suit.

She playfully rolled her eyes, snapping her compact mirror shut and stuffing it into her purse before looking at him. “There, now I’m all yours.” She smiled up at him as he walked across the room, towering over her.

“I think you’ve got a lot of pressure on you today, and not just from Fred and the team,” Y/N stated, making Lewis groan before plopping down next to her on the couch in a less-than-graceful manner.

“If you’re talking about your family, then yes, it’s probably that. I think I saw all your cousins and your aunts in the first three rows of the grandstands,” he muttered pitifully, pushing his face into the crook of her neck. She took pity on him, wrapping her arms around him as he continued ranting.

“I know they’re excited to see their future son-in-law doing what he does best—” Y/N let out an incredulous grunt at this—“but this is INSANE! I might die of stress, honestly.”

She laughed at him before holding his chin and making him look up at her. “You’re going to do wonderful, Lew. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone. They all know you’re the best damn driver on the grid; they’re just excited to see you in your element.”

“But if I don’t win, they’re going to think I’m useless. A washed-up, no-good idiot who can’t even win a stupid race,” he sighed, slumping further down, letting his negative thoughts take over.

Y/N sat up straighter at this. “I know you’re not talking about yourself like that. Lewis, you are an amazing driver, and you know that very well,” she said firmly, leaving no room for hesitation.

“Besides, my whole family loves you! You could come dead fucking last, and they’d still cheer. Heck, you could DNF, and they’d cheer as you brought your car into the pits to retire from the race.”

Lewis let out a dry laugh at that. He couldn’t exactly deny it.

“I just... I don’t want them to think I’m a loser. I want them to see me as a part of their family—as your future husband. If they see me lose, they’ll think I’m not good enough for you,” he finally admitted, revealing what had been weighing on him ever since Y/N told him her family would be attending the race.

Y/N was silent, emotions warring inside her. On one hand, she was shocked he thought so lowly of himself and his reputation in front of her family. But on the other hand, the fact that he had thought so far ahead about their future made her want to grab his face and kiss him until he forgot every single doubt in his head.

“Lew, I promise you—whatever happens today won’t change their perception of you. To them, you are the coolest, most enigmatic person ever. And you’re *definitely* the best catch out of all the other partners my family members have brought home. I mean, come on, who can beat a seven-time Formula One World Champion?”

A knock at the door interrupted them, a staff member reminding Lewis that he had to check the final corrections made to the car after qualifying before the formation lap started in 15 minutes.

“I’ll meet my parents in the garage; you go on ahead,” she said, standing up and adjusting the red dress she wore, showing her full support for the Ferrari driver.

Lewis got into the car, checking if the throttle and steering were working fine. “Seems good. Wanna start the lap?” he asked his engineers, receiving an affirmative response.

Y/N leaned down and kissed his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark on his skin. “A kiss for good luck—and to remove the stupid thoughts in your head.”

“I was hoping for a proper one,” Lewis playfully pouted up at her.

“That’s for after the race. You gotta have something to look forward to, na?”

He simply laughed before putting on his helmet. The sound of his car revving up echoed in the garage as he exited. Y/N, meanwhile, made her way to the back where her parents waited for her, smiling at the conversation she had just had with Lewis.

“He seems stressed. Hope it doesn’t affect his performance,” her dad pointed out, making her sigh in worry.

“He is. Honestly, he’s more worried about disappointing the family than he is about losing,” she confided.

“I hope you told him he’s crazy for even thinkingthat,” her mother gasped.

Y/N winked while putting her headphones on. “You know it.”

🪺🪺🪺

It was the final lap of the race. Lewis had overtaken Max at the start of lap 37, after tailing him for more than half of the race. In the Ferrari garage, tensions were high, with both drivers in podium positions.

As the checkered flag waved, Lewis soared past it, clinching victory in front of his girlfriend’s home crowd and further cementing Ferrari’s Constructors’ Championship title contention.

The announcers’ voices boomed throughout the grandstands, the crowd erupting into cheers. Everyone at the Ferrari garage ran out to celebrate with Lewis and Charles in parc fermé, the latter having placed third. Y/N and her parents were escorted to where the podium finishers had gathered their cars.

Lewis stood on his car, bowing to the roaring fans with his palms pressed together in a namaste pose—just like she had taught him.

The team cheered him and Charles on, with pats on the back and massive hugs. Lewis was all smiles, scanning the crowd until his eyes found Y/N, waving at him from behind the barriers.

He ran up to her, lifting her off the ground in the biggest hug he could manage without hoisting her over the barrier. She hugged him tighter, his helmet getting in the way.

He pulled it off, handing it to a team member before pulling her in again. “Now, about that kiss you mentioned earlier...” he grinned.

“You are impossible!” Y/N laughed, playfully pushing his chest.

“Good thing you love it.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t let him suffer for long. She leaned in, closing the distance between them. Her lips met his in a kiss that was slow and lingering, as if they wanted to memorize the feel of each other. His hand slid to the nape of her neck, fingers threading into her hair, while his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

She melted into him, gripping the front of his race suit, anchoring herself in his warmth.

The crowds, the cheers, the cameras—it all faded into the background.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, their foreheads rested together, the air between them thick with unspoken words.

She let out a soft, breathy laugh. “I forgot we were in public for a second.”

He chuckled, fingers tracing her back. “Me too. Hope your dad doesn’t beat the shit out of me.”

Her parents decided to turn a blind eye to the couple, instead focusing on congratulating Lewis on his win. However, he couldn’t help but notice her father slapping his back just a little harder than necessary, a certain look in his eye that made Lewis straighten up.

🪺🪺🪺

Later, in the Ferrari hospitality, Y/N groaned as Lewis reached for her.

“Please shower! The champagne and sweat combined make me want to puke.”

Lewis, of course, ignored this, chasing her around until he finally caught her in his grasp—sweat, champagne, and all.

“You’re so disgusting. I just washed my hair, yaar.”

Her smirk, however, gave her away.

“Well, Lewis,” her cousin quipped, “you’ve definitely earned your spot in the family now.”

Lewis grinned. “Well, I’d hope so. It was very nice of you all to come out today—really motivated me. And scared the living shit out of me.”

The whole room burst into laughter. Her father cleared his throat, eyeing the two of them. “You’ve done well today, beta. You’ve got speed, skill, and determination—but most importantly, you make my daughter happy.

Lewis straightened slightly, sensing the weight of the moment. “That means the world to me, sir.”

Her father studied him for a beat before nodding approvingly. “Good. Now go shower before you suffocate us with that champagne stench.”

The room erupted into laughter, and Y/N rolled her eyes fondly. “I told you.” Lewis laughed, pressing a quick kiss to Y/N’s temple before heading off. “I’ll be back—don’t have too much fun without me.”

🪺🪺🪺

The afterparty was in full swing by the time Lewis and Y/N arrived. The upscale venue was buzzing with energy—team members, rival drivers, and VIP guests mingled over glasses of champagne, the hum of conversations blending seamlessly with the music playing overhead.

The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, celebratory drinks, and the undeniable electricity of victory.

When the doors opened, all heads instinctively turned toward the couple making their entrance.

Lewis Hamilton, still glowing from his win, walked in with Y/N by his side, her right arm slotted in the crook oh his left one. They were well dressed as always — Lewis in a well-fitted, deep blue kurta, a nod to Y/N’s heritage, and Y/N in a breathtaking red saree that shimmered under the golden lights. The rich fabric draped over her in a way that left little to the imagination, her bangles softly jingling as she adjusted her hold on his arm.

“Well, don’t we look like a power couple?" Charles teased, raising his glass as they approached.

Y/N smirked. "You’re just jealous, Charlie."

“Of the matching outfits or the fact that you two have already stolen all the attention?" Carlos chimed in with a grin.

Lewis chuckled, placing a protective hand on the small of Y/N’s back. "Can’t blame them. My girl does clean up pretty damn well."

Y/N turned to him, eyes dancing with amusement. "Only fair, considering I dressed you."

Lewis leaned in slightly, voice low and teasing. "And here I thought I was doing you a favor by looking this good." She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Instead, she tugged him toward the bar.

"Come on, Mr. Race Winner, let’s get you a drink before you get too cocky." The bartender barely had a chance to ask before Charles called out, "A whiskey for the champion and—Y/N, what are you drinking?"

"White wine," she replied.

Lewis took the glass from the bartender and handed it to her before raising his own in a silent toast. "To surviving your family’s initiation," he joked.

She laughed softly, clinking her glass against his. "Oh, you’re not done yet. This is just the beginning. But let’s talk about that later, because the only thing I’m focusing on is how good you look in this kurta.”

He laughed, “Well you’re the one who said I should wear this instead of the red one I wanted to go with.”

“It’s called contrast, and we’re pulling it off well. Besides, you look much more handsome in this, like a proper desi munda.

Lewis narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "That sounds both adorable and terrifying. Should I be worried?"

Y/N smirked, "Don’t worry about it.”

Before he could question her, the music shifted to something slower, more sultry, and Lewis took that as his cue. Handing his glass to Carlos, he turned to Y/N with a familiar glint in his eye.

"May I have this dance?" Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You? Dancing at a public event?"

Lewis smirked, pulling her toward him without waiting for an answer. "For you? Always."

And just like that, in the middle of the celebration, the world shrank down to just the two of them—spinning, laughing, and getting lost in each other, a champion on the track and in love.

never written for lewis before so hope this is nice anon. honestly not very proud of this one but like fuck it we ball <4

[sunshinemoonrx]

Hey There Sure Was A Lot Of International Espionage In The Funny Car Robot Show

AKA Boonboomger overall thoughts!

...it was kind of a weird one?

Like, odd helmet designs aside, when it was first coming out the main reaction was "oh hey, a relatively normal sentai after a few years of out-there experiments". And then it...kind of was that, and kind of wasn't? Compared to an anniversary season where 4 rangers are suit characters, Toshiki Inoue's 50 episode dick smasher, and 2.5D soundstage romance of the three kingdoms for baby, it is much more like a normal sentai.

But then the second half of this show ostensibly about a bunch of racing car drivers fighting a bunch of evil racing car drivers is increasingly about even the ostensibly benevolent powerful in society's willingness to collaborate with evil to squeeze more out of the people, and our heroes fighting the police, the government and major corporations, all while, let's not forget, still fighting the main threat this is all revolving around, which is gay alien Michael Jackson and his gang of evil racing car drivers (although to be fair, none of this would be out of place in a Fast & Furious movie at this point).

This is...more cohesive than it should be--at least, as a tokusatsu fan, I'm more than the usual level of primed to expect serious pathos from a silly car robot named Boondorio Boomderas--but I definitely was more excited about the show early on when it was in full silly baby chaos show mode than later on, as much as I think it's extremely sick when your sixth ranger is dropkicking SWAT guys. But that might be less to do with the tone change itself and more character-related?

Like, I see what they were going for with Taiya. He's kind of aloof and catty but with a heart of gold, he's got this unconventional hands-off leadership style where he gives his team a lot of independence and freedom...but they needed to go way harder on either the aloof bitchiness or the supportiveness because it all ends up a bit weak and muddled. He never gets close to the full potential of a tsun hero who needs to open up a bit more because he's also, like, an angelic friend to all children; and if he's just nice with a little sarcastic/soft-spoken tinge...look, the whole "supporting his team by being hands-off and subtly doing things for them in the background while letting them run free" idea is inherently harder to do in a show of this level of writing complexity (low!) than just, you know, showing he cares by having him obviously do things for them, and support them, and be there for them, and not just sorta stroll in at the end like ah! it all worked out just like I thought! sorry I was busy cranking it

So, I enjoyed the early episodes where he was still just kind of a funny weird cat, and equally Mira was so much fun early on. She was doing all kinds of genki red ranger bits, making weird noises, bashing things with the wrong end of the sword, loved all that. And she didn't stop being like that later on, but that stuff felt kinda crowded out by the plot and (relatively) more serious tone, so she just becomes more generically peppy. I think another thing that made it hard for them to pull off the serious stuff is. okay. this might sound like nitpicking, but the "having your own hands on your own steering wheel" metaphor catchphrase thing. I get it, I get what it means, it's a theme, it's cool. but it's kind of long enough that it's not just a word you flexibly throw into a sentence, it becomes the whole sentence, so now when you're trying to recall iconic lines and moments, half of them are just "the time they dramatically said 'I've got my hands on my wheel now'", and it becomes hard to distinguish between them. Scale it back a bit!

With all that SAID I still happily tuned in every week. Even if it was a bit less dynamically rocket-powered, I still like when we're fighting the government. I love Robot Team Rocket (I love Yarucar being a little toy they wiggle around to emote for dialogue so much), I love the world's most pathetically whipped househusband blue ranger, I love all the yaoi between cars, I love the robotfucker secret agent, I love the funny ending dance.

So yeah! It's pretty good! I liked it! But either I think they could have thought out a couple elements better to make it really support the epic serious plot stuff, or those could have not been such an issue if they just went full-on for being funny silly antics car show of all time.

oh yeah hey what was up with the literal plastic disco ball taiya dug out of the ground that was the manifestation of the earth's energy or whatever

[serickswrites]

would you do an alternate ending to “whumpee, the hostage”? where whumpee survives and caretaker gets to apologise to and comfort whumpee? pleaseeee

Hello, Anon! I think you are wanting a sequel to this piece? (At least I hope you are). Please enjoy!

Part 1

Warnings: hostage situation, gunshot, blood, wounds, bleeding out, temporary character death, cpr, hospital, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hurt/comfort, caretaker and whumpee

"WHUMPEE!" Caretaker screamed again as their knees gave out. "NOOOO!" They cried as the two uniformed officers held them. Caretaker clutched at their sleeves. "NO!" They were too late. They were right there. Whumpee was right there. They had failed.

Chaos erupted around Caretaker. Multiple shouts and gunshots rang out. People ran around Caretaker and into the bank. But it didn't matter. Caretaker had failed. Caretaker had failed when it had counted the most.

"GET EMS!" Someone shouted. "WE HAVE AN OFFICER DOWN!"

Officer down? Caretaker's head jerked up, their heart pounding. Did that mean?

"EMS STAT! OFFICER DOWN!" The voice repeated.

Caretaker didn't hesitate. They got up on wobbly legs and surged forward. No one stopped them from running into the bank, everyone was too distracted with managing the hostages and bank robbers. They froze as they saw several medics crouched around a prone figure. Whumpee.

"Pressure's dropping," one medic called out.

"I can't get the bleeding to stop." Another replied.

"We're losing them!"

Caretaker stumbled forward. Whumpee. This wasn't happening. Whumpee hadn't died. Whumpee couldn't die. "Whumpee," they said softly as they could finally see Whumpee's face.

Whumpee's features were slack, their face pale. They lay in a pool of their blood, surrounded by medics and other officers. Caretaker could see the bullet wound in their chest. Had the wound been any further to the left, Whumpee would have died instantly when they were shot. As it was, Caretaker wasn't sure how Whumpee was still alive.

"Starting compressions," the first medic said as they began to pump Whumpee's chest.

"Please, Whumpee," Caretaker whispered. "Please don't leave me."

"Give them space," someone said, grabbing Caretaker's arm.

"This is Whumpee's partner. Let them through," someone else said.

Caretaker suddenly found themself just outside the circle of medics, staring down at Whumpee's body. "Please, Whumpee, please don't leave me," they repeated.

"Gotcha!" The first medic said triumphantly. "Let's get them to the hospital before they crash again."

Caretaker was pulled along by one of the medics as the others raced Whumpee out the door. "You're their partner, right? Come with us. You can fill the hospital in on all the information they'll need."

The world felt like it had tilted on its axis and it was all Caretaker could do to keep upright. Some part of them distantly recognized that they were probably in shock, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Whumpee stay alive.

Somehow, Caretaker found themself sitting at Whumpee's bedside hours later. Whumpee was alive. And would live. The sounds of the heart monitor was a comfort to Caretaker. Whumpee had died. And had nearly stayed dead. And would have died with the last thing Caretaker said to them being horrible.

"I'm sorry I said all those things to you, Whumpee," Caretaker whispered as they took Whumpee's hand in theirs. "I didn't mean it. I'm so sorry. You're not incompetent. You're brilliant. You're amazing. You're the most wonderful person I have ever met. And I was terrified to lose you. I am terrified to lose you.

"I'm terrified to lose you, Whumpee, because I love you. I love you so much. I love you so much and I haven't said anything in case you don't feel the same way. In case you don't love me. But," Caretaker's voice broke, "seeing you lying there on the floor, I realized I never said anything. And I couldn't stand the thought of you dying without knowing how loved you are. So, even if you don't feel the same way, Whumpee. I love you. With every fiber of my being."

Caretaker brushed Whumpee's bangs off their forehead. "And I realize that it's easy to say this while you're unconscious. But, I'll never stop saying this to you. I'll never stop telling you how precious to me you are. How much I need you. Because I love you.

"And so, love, I'll wait here as long as it takes for you to wake. Because I don't want to spend a moment away from you. Not when you were nearly ripped from me before I could tell you how much I love you."

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@pepeniascat @hostagesituations @whumperofworlds @swift-perseides @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

@edutainer2022

[tackytigerfic]

Writer interview game

Thank you to my pals @arminaa8, @citrusses, @garagepaperback, @houndsinhades, @sorrybutblog, @sweet-s0rr0w, @wholahoop for tagging me - as always i'm deeply late to the party, due to an anxious few weeks/horridly busy work month! so love being tagged in these things though, i appreciate you all and loved reading yours.

how many works do you have on ao3? 69 😏 under tacky and 2 under BrassTacks (the account I set up when I was going to migrate all my fics over to a new name for some reason)

what's your total ao3 word count? 679,422 (nervous laughter) (also this is just the tacky account)

your top 5 stories by kudos? (a clear indication that kudos count means fuck all imo, three of the five of these are very much not my best imo - but which three?!)

If It Takes All Night (E, 11k)

A Lick and a Promise (E, 55k)

Modern Love (E, 62k)

And One To Play (E, 22k)

Through the Window, Clear Skies (M, 1.4k)

do you respond to comments? I used to reply to all, then i fell hugely behind with Modern Love, and then life got exceptionally busy and for ages it was either reply to comments or write new fics. i am currently working my way through comments on my new long fic though - really trying to catch up, albeit slowly.

what's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? People might say my MCD fic Last Offices. I would say The Quiver of a Heartstring.

what's the fic you've written with the happiest ending? First Watch, imo - i think they really had to work for their happy ending, and also it's a double Drarry happy ending

do you write crossovers? I have a rough idea for an F1 crossover based on the Grosjean fiery crash/coming back wrong trope

have you ever received hate on a fic? a few times, that stuff doesn't really bother me though. personal unpleasantnesses are much harder to deal with but luckily don't happen often.

do you write smut? yes i do! it's something i've been actively working on improving, in fact. my most recent fic Standing in the Way is probably my best (though the sex scene at the end of First Watch was the one I found most satisfying in terms of the resolution of the fic)

have you ever had a fic stolen? yes, had a few put on that AI voice-recorded site recently.

have you ever had a fic translated? yes, a few - always a great honour as i see translation as an art in itself

have you ever co-written a fic before? yes! and it was very fun. Body Electric with @shealwaysreads and the Dreaming Skies Dronarry fics with @sweet-s0rr0w

what's your all-time favorite ship? look i've been reading drarry since around 2002 so...

what's a wip that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? Dudley with a magical baby/forced marriage/drarry on the run after Muggles find out about magic. MoD Harry who keeps dying but not for good having to go retrieve Draco from death. Draco going through the Veil to get Sirius back. Vicar Harry that I started years ago and would probably need a full rewrite. Caravan park worker Draco in a holiday camp in France. Seer Ron. I have lots. Though I do hope to finish them at some point!

what are your writing strengths? probably immediacy of emotions/ a strong visual style?

what are your writing weaknesses? sloppiness, sameiness, trying to be concise but just making it dull. getting discouraged at never being as good as the writers i really admire.

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? i... don't really have many? if someone in the story speaks a foreign language and doesn't speak english then I'd find a native speaker to help me translate their dialogue. I would never write an accent/dialect phonetically a la JKR though (RIP Fleur and Hagrid, you deserved better)

what's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to? F1!! I have two WIPs, a Maxiel non-racing AU where Daniel owns an organic farm shop and Max is a finance bro who makes friends with him and joins his 11-a-side amateur footie team and they hook up on a stag do while dressed as mariokart characters, and a Galex fic with Vicar!George.

what's your favorite fic you've ever written? First Watch! I think it's a really good fic (relative to my writing i mean), it does exactly what i hoped it would, and the people who like it seem to really genuinely love it, which is the best feeling. Also I do love the Voldemort-Wins trope and we don't have a huge amount in Drarry so I'm happy I wrote one.

Since I'm so late I'm not sure who's done this already (will try a few F1 pals too in case this hasn't reached you yet) @beloved-child-of-the-house @boxboxlewis @disarmd @elskanellis @epitomereally @faiell @kendra-vendetta @maesterchill @magicalrocketships @powerful-owl @saxamophone @skeptiquewrites

[worstqueerbaittournament]

Submission message for Klance: howdy, would like to submit keith and lance from voltron (lmao)

Submission message for Bechloe: Beca and Chloe from Pitch Perfect (mainly Beca but Bechloe was the ship they baited the most)

Additional propaganda Klance: Now Keith and Lance on the other hand was a whole fucking mess that they then shoehorned in an hetero romance to try and "fix it" but by lord it was bad, everything about voltron is so fucking bad

Anyway this is my Klance propaganda : They were actually bait

Klance's queer baiting by the team was the worst!! We had to deal with NETFLIX ALSO GETTING IN ON THE QUEER BAITING!! If you searched up Kkance during the times for season 6-8, the SHOW WOULD POP UP. The directors would make jokes about it being canon, even Lance's VA got in the joke!

Their queer baiting was the worst for anyone who was even looking for an ounce of queer rep in that show. The only queer rep we got was a man who died after not even 5 minutes on screen, and shoehorned in the credit scene of a gay wedding of a character that was neither Keith nor Lance.

I do not know Agatha and Sophie, so I can't argue that klance was bigger bait or not, I just know voltron was mean lmao. the creators said stuff like "lance will be someone's first choice!" (meaning NOT ending up in a relationship with allura bc she very much chose another guy over him) and heavily implying he would be Keith's 1st choice (or a guy in general bc of point number 2). point number 2: they also released official art showing how super cool and diverse the main cast was! race! gender! LGBT - they had shiro (who was......canon gay but that's a whole other can of worms) and lance hold the sign with LGBT on it and then did absolutely nothing with that w lance at all (he hit on allura, so obvi he's not gay, but at least bi or smt) (UNLESS you count the scenes where he's flirty with keith). I just remember going into the last few seasons being like "klance probably won't be happen be honest with yourself there's like no queer kids shows!! but damn like it so could tho!!! because of how much it's been teased both in the show and by showrunners like I can't have no hope with the way the producers talk about it!" lmao I should have had no hope, but i genuinkey believed there was a possibility it could happen. and actually I discovered after the fact that i think one of the writers for the show who was the main advocate for klance (they had a lot of diff writers for eps, which led to lots of character butchering but ANYWAY) left not terribly long into the show I believe bc he didn't like the direction it was moving in and didn't want to be tied to the show anymore. so it's not like fans just made klance up either - it was written into earlier episodes with the hope and plan to continue developing later, and then just nothing ever happened with it besides INTENSE teasing it to keep queer fans around. esp after shiro's relationship was literally only a flashback and then his fiance thing or whatever got blown up before we even got to watch him interact w shiro as we knew him in present time in s7, so I think they kept being like hmmm klance and the stuff about lance being a first choice before s8 to keep ppl around. also esp bc klancers made up such a big portion of the fan base. then they made a horrible szn and ended it w a flashforward to shiro marrying some random background character who maybe had 1 line? I just remember hitting the flashforward and being like uhhhh who is this dude??? but they did that to hit those diversity points wow first gay marriage in a cartoon or smt idk it doesn't count to me really. so anyway voltron in general is queerbait lol but klance is because it started out as a legit possibility and then they said sike! but only maybe sike bc u guys are mad at us burying our guys in s7 so maybe klance could still happen haha okay now we're serious no it's not happening. anyway I think klance is p bad queerbait and a vote for them is a valid vote, not just u liking the ship.

Here is my really boring and incredibly dry argument for #KLANCESWEEP:

There are countless examples of the Voltron showrunners queerbaiting when it comes to Klance. I will leave that argument and discussion to others. Instead, I would like to focus on why/how I believe Klance is the more significant instance of queerbaiting, despite Johnlock's queerbaiting being markedly more famous.

Queerbaiting is when a shows teases/hints at a character(s) being queer, but then never actually follows through on making the character LGBTQ+. Queerbaiting is, above all, a marketing technique; the show dangles the possibility of a queer romance in order to "bait"  a queer/ally audience into watching, and then continues to dangle or drag out the possibility of a same-sex romance in order to keep their audience hooked and continuously profited off. Queerbaiting takes advantage of peoples' hope and optimism, and that's why the betrayal stings so deeply once the queerbaiting is realized.

I argue that one of the major components of queerbaiting is that the show/writers must never explicitly confirm that there will NOT be queer romance. Queerbaiting is only sustained so long as the illusion of possibility persists.

Now, there are plenty of nuances to this.

If a showrunner comes out and explicitly states that there will be no queer representation in the show, this statement alone does not absolve the show of any queerbaiting it previously did. But, it DOES blur the lines for what can reasonably be defined as "actual" versus "willful" queerbaiting and subtext in the show going forward.

okay let me drop the pseudo-academic tone and just put it bluntly. what i'm trying to say is that, if a showrunner explicitly says "NO GAY ROMANCE," but the show's audience continues to insist and read for gay subtext anyway, and then the audience feels betrayed when the show ends with no queer romance --- at a certain point, wouldn't you argue that it's the fans that are actually baiting themselves, and not the show itself? this is what i mean by "willful" subtext.

As early as 2010 (this article/interview was posted the day of the first episode), the Sherlock showrunners explicitly stated that there would be no romantic relationship between Sherlock and Watson. Between 2010 and 2016, the showrunners repeatedly stated in multiple interviews that Johnlock would never happen.

I am 100% aware that I was drinking nothing but Kool-Aid while Voltron aired. I absolutely baited myself with desperate hope each season. But, in my weak defense, the flames of my Klance delusions were very much flamed by the promises made by the Voltron showrunners, who repeatedly floated the promise of queer representation in the show and spoke about Klance in the same breath. Klancers didn't bait themselves out of thin air; they desperately clung to the rope the Voltron writers threw us, and we were pulled in: hook, line, and sinker.

-

TLDR:

Queerbaiting involves willful deception and deliberate misinformation on the part of a showrunner/show.

If a showrunner encourages a queer ship, or makes vague promises of queer representation, then it reasonable for the show's audience to assume that a queer romance will happen. When a queer romance does not happen, this is clear-cut queerbaiting.

But if a showrunner explicitly states that a show will not have a major queer romance, then the show's audience should reasonably assume that the show will not have the queer ship they favor. If shippers continue to insist that their ship will come to fruition, and continue to pin their hopes on their ship, then the lines between who is actually baiting whom become very blurred.

Johnlock fans knew going into the show that John and Sherlock would never have an explicitly queer relationship. Fans continued to read for subtext, and maintained hope. The lines of queerbaiting become blurred, as it was not entirely clear if the show was actually baiting its shippers, or if fans were the ones baiting themselves.

In contrast, Klance fans were repeatedly encouraged by the showrunners, Netflix's marketing, and to some extent the VAs that Klance was possible (and that queer representation would firmly happen), and so Klance shippers were repeatedly strung along each season, up until the final season when Lance and Allura started dating and the Klance ship was torpedoed once and for all. (Do not talk to me about post-canon Klance, I am willfully defiant.) This is a firmly clear-cut case of queerbaiting.

In summary, Klance is the more textbook case of queerbaiting. It matches all the elements of queerbaiting: there was the willful deception by the showrunners, which encouraged Klance shippers specifically to hang onto the show, allowing Voltron to profit off its Klance audience. It's true that Klance shippers also continuously baited and deluded ourselves; but in our defense, we were following the example and promises set by the show itself.

Additional propaganda Bechloe: Ok for a little propaganda, since you may have forgotten pitch perfect, I want you all to know I first saw it as a 16-17 year old at gay youth group and can you imagine my fucking surprise and bafflement when they werent lesbians. Like basically thru the whole movie I was like “fun lesbian film nothing out of place just waiting for them to actually be gay” I know this was mostly the youth group organizers fault but I still think pitch perfect should have to answer for their crimes

I could talk so much about this but I want to point specifically to this promo for pitch perfect 3:

Bechloe - Pitch Perfect 3 Promo

Bechloe is REAL!

YouTube

and they then proceeded to give chloe an absolutely godawful love interest and like really overdid it (they also tried to give beca one too but anna kendrick was having NONE of that)

IIRC, Beca and Chloe were supposed to be lesbians but Universal vetoed it and made them give Beca a male love interest. Whether that changes things is up to you.

Even more Klance propaganda under the cut:

@klanced pretty well summarizes why Voltron was *more* queerbaity, but I think we should also consider what it means to be *worse.*

Make no mistake, the Sherlock team was.... for lack of a better term.... almost gaslight-y in their press, by disregarding the subtext that they themselves had written. But they were consistent. And their messages as showrunners did bear through, even as they were being cruel. Most importantly, Sherlock never needed the people they were baiting, so they could act aloof. That distance was horrible, but nothing like Voltron.

The relationship between Voltron and its fans was toxic, parasitic. Voltron couldn't have stayed around for that long without dragging its queer-baited audience behind it. It was a Netflix show, and those are always so close to the hangman's axe. It was the online fervor that sustained it.

And so, they had to appease the fans, pay the piper. But they had their own ideas for how the story would bear out, and each creator wanted something differently. In the end, they consistently used marketing tactics to imply something that could have been possible, if not for distinct creative voices that instead weakened the queer stories until they were watery piss.

Anyway, this was rambling. Vote Voltron for dangling queer alignment and ambiguity. Vote Voltron for pretending to be an ally. Vote Voltron for the stupid fucking LGBTQ banner that has Lance on it. Johnlock hurt, in a distant way, but Klance was worse.

I actually said this earlier on a different post, but I'll say it here too:

Its completely reasonable to think Klance was originally planned. Their interactions in the early seasons seemed a little too romantically coded to be something completely made up by fans. Thats why Klance was so popular, because it seemed all too possible.

However, when Dreamworks forced the creative team to change the story in order to keep Shiro alive instead of permanently killing him off like they originally planned, their entire story got fucked over. Seasons 3 and 4 were too far into production to stop and completely redo them, it would have been too expensive, even though it was the logical course of action. Instead, the producers had to make serious last minute changes to the story in order to keep Shiro in the picture. As a result, Shiro and Keith's switched places in the show, and Keith was almost completely written out of seasons 4-6 because Shiro was never supposed to be there. Any and all possible plans for any sort of development between Keith and Lance were thrown out the window because Keith wasn't there.

But as previously said, Voltron wouldn't have survived until the end without the rabid and feral online Klance fandom. The writing was very rapidly going to shit because there wasn't enough time to properly rewrite seasons 3 and 4 in order to meet Dreamworks' demands, and every season that followed suffered because of the decisions made for seasons 3 and 4. Everything was being improvised, and the storyboards for season 8 weren't finished until MARCH 2018 because of how behind schedule they were.

(I feel like the creative team don't get enough credit. Sure the show was a MASSIVE flop but their working conditions were less then ideal. Its impressive they got anything done on time due to the constantly changing ideas.)

The VLD producers knew that the Klance fandom was the only thing keeping the show alive, and continued to use Klance as bait until the very end. The VLD producers willingly enabled the notoriously toxic and violent Klance fandom with thumbnails and HotTopic merch, and allowed it to reach a point that the lives of their cast and crew were being threatenedby the rabid Klance fandom, just to get the ratings they needed to stay afloat.

THATS the disgusting part of all this. Whether Klance was originally planned as endgame or not, the producers used its popularity to keeping their already declining show running at the expense of the safety of their cast and crew.

I know next to nothing about BBC's Sherlock and Johnlock and whatever, but what the VLD producers did was sinister. Putting their creative team through both production and online HELL for some ratings, and it blew up in the most humiliating way possible. They did alllllll that, just to get one of the worst endings to an animated series of all time. Literally everyone hates them for what Voltron became, putting the lives of their creative team in danger was for nothing.

And obviously the producers can't completely blamed for the show's outcome, Dreamworks ruined their original plans. But continuing to use Klance as a marketing tactic while your fans are getting out of control and your creative team is being put in danger is just appalling. It was in their power to tell the Klance fandom Klance wasn't endgame, and that probably would have quelled the fire, but instead, with every season, they threw more and more gasoline into the dumpster fire.

So if you haven't already, vote Klance in this poll.

(I'm linking my source for all this info here. Its a video essay that I totally recommend watching. Super duper interesting.)

[w0rmss]

Hi hi!!

I'm wondering if you could do something domestic with Jason and an anxious! or maybe something to do with stress baking? I'd really like if it were mostly fluff but ultimately it's dealer's choice.

Have a great Day/Afternoon/Evening/Night!!!

Thank you for the request i did two one with just general anxiety and one including the stress baking hope you enjoy.

(The anxiety is heavily influenced by my own just waning)

tw anxiety panic attacks/ anxiety attacks stress baking.

Work was stressful right now and your shared apartment with your boyfriend Jason was a mess. Everything was just getting two much and your head was racing a million miles an hour. ‘you’ll never finish the project in time and pull get fired.’ ‘Jason will hate you for messing up the apartment while he’s gone.’ ‘Everything is a mess and it’s your fault.’ All these thoughts race through your head. You know they’re not true but your logical brain isn’t working and everything is too much. Your chest gets tight and your head spins. Your hands fidget with the cloth in them and you cant think straight. Everything is loud and you cant focus on your breathing no matter how hard you try.

Jason walks through the front door after a mission. He’d been gone for a few days and hoped you’d be fine without him. When he walked in he found you curled up hyperventilating on the couch. “Baby.” He dropped his bag and rushed over to you kneeling in front of you. “Hey hey it’s okay. Can i take your hands.” You let him take hold of your shakey hands. “Deep breath okay. In.” He takes a deep breath and you do the same. “And out.” You breathe out. “Again.” His voice is soft and loving his presence calming. He sits with you walking you through breathing exercises till you’ve calmed down and your breathing is normal and your head somewhat cleared.

Jason sits next to you with you curled into his side. “Wanna tell me what happened. I not it’s fine.” He asks finally breaking the silence. You sigh and curl into him further. “Everything got to much and the thoughts took over.” You fee silly, even if you know you shouldn’t you’d been working on this with both your therapist and Jason, yet you still let the thoughts take over. “Hey it’s okay. I know we talked about starving the thought gremlins but sometimes he’s extra hunger and wont stop. And thats okay too.” He rubs your hip lovingly. The thoughts are gone for now and all you focus on is being with Jason.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The whole place smells like bake goods when Jason gets up from his nap and the kitchen is covered in said good along with the ingredients and you. You stand backing in the middle of the small kitchen muttering about deadlines. Jason sighs. He’s been with you long enough to know when you get stressed you bake and then you dont stop because you’re so stressed. “Baby?” Jason walks further into the kitchen. “Mmm” you hum in respond not looking up from where you’re beating egg whites like they killed your dog. “How long have you been at this.” He asks picking up a cookie and taking a bite. “Not that I'm complaining i love your baking this is just a tad much no.” That gets your attention and you look around seeing the mess and the cookies cakes and croissants in the kitchen. “When did i make croissants.” You mumble realising you went a bit over bored. “Umm… some to the neighbours?” You smile sheepishly looking at the mess you made. Jason nods taking another bite from the cookie. “Good idea. I’ll help clean up.

It doesn’t take long for you both to clean up the kitchen and you give most of the baking to the kids in the complex. Finally you and Jason sit down together on the couch. “Next time you’re that stressed, tell me so you dont go that overboard again. I’m here to help baby. I love you.” He kisses your forehead. “I know im sorry works just ugh, I didn’t think it was that bad.” Jason reaches over and turns on the tv pulling you closer. “Love you Jay.” You smile. “Love you too baby”

Hope you enjoyed keep request i will get to them eventually. Thank you so much for all the likes on my stuff i really appreciate it and thank you so much.

also if you suffer from really bad stress or anxiety there are some great free resources online and on YouTube. Please stay safe and take care of your mental health guys it’s so important.

Have a wonderful day night afternoon etc ❤️

[m-jelly]

Hey jelly! I hope you're having a lovely day, so I was listening a song and I got an idea! Levi and y/n are childhood friends, Levi start to develop Crush on her but too scared to confess to her, y/n loves for songs since she was child, Levi sometimes sees her with headphones bobbing her head, one day Levi was taking a walk at the forest until he heard someone singing, he sees y/n singing 'come and get your love by redbone' and doing her little dance

@ladycheesington <3

A few firsts

Levi x fem reader

Modern AU, teen romance, fluff

Levi catches you dancing in the woods as you sing along to your music. Levi's feelings bubble over and you share a few firsts.

Levi kicked a small stone on the woodland path as his thoughts raced. Soon school would be over and you'd be moving on to university or working. He tried to live a life where the choices he made he'd regret the least, but he wasn't really living up to those words.

He was deeply and madly in love with you, his childhood friend, and has yet to confess. Every waking moment was spent fixated on you, all his choices were linked to you and everything he liked. He adored you and you'd become such a massive part of his life. Before he knew it, he'd fallen hard for you.

Soft singing broke his messy thoughts and made it clear. He followed the pleasurable singing until he reached the most beautiful view. You were in the middle of an opening of the trees lined with flowers and a small creek. You were dancing and singing to yourself as you enjoyed your little world.

You twirled around as you sang and noticed Levi watching. You squealed before stopping and yanking your headphones off. "Levi! Hi!" Your heart raced. "Was not expecting you." You gulped a little. "Kind of embarrassed."

He moved closer to you. "I liked it."

"R-Really?" You shifted as Levi got closer. "I-I'm not the best dancer and singer."

"It was cute."

You looked up at him. "C-Cute?"

He nodded as he played with your hair. "It was cute. You're cute."

"I ah." You felt dizzy, this was a dream coming true for you. Your childhood friend, whom you loved more than a friend, was calling you cute. "Th-thank you."

"Can I dance with you?"

"S-Sure."

He took his jacket off. "Could we use your phone for music?"

You placed your headphones on his jacket and played some softer music. "Here. This okay?"

He pulled you close and started slow dancing. "Yeah...ummm." His cheeks burned. "S-Sorry if I'm not good. I've never done this before."

"First time slow dancing?"

"Mm."

You smiled at him. "Me too." You nibbled your lip. "If it means anything, I think you're really good."

"Th-thanks." He danced with you but kept gazing at your lips. Everything within Levi was telling him to kiss you, but he wouldn't dare just do it. "Hey, um...can...could...uh." He cleared his throat as nerves prickled his body. "I want to kiss you." He looked away from you as a blush consumed him. "I want to kiss you so bad 'cause I've liked...loved you for so long. It's okay if you don't want to."

You cupped the side of Levi's face, turned his head so he looked at you and then you kissed him lightly. You pulled back and whined. "I love you too. I've wanted to kiss you for a long time. I'm sorry if that was bad, it was my first kiss."

His heart raced. "It was mine too."

You gripped his shirt and hummed. "Do you want to do it again?"

He wrapped his arms around you. "Fuck yes. I ah...I mean, yes please."

You giggled. "Don't ever change, Levi."

He tilted his head and leaned closer. "I'll do my best."

The two of you kissed in the middle of the clearing, and the world around you faded away as you shared a clumsy kiss that soon became filled with love and confidence. The kiss went from sweet and innocent to something more passionate causing your bodies to tingle with delight.

Finally, you were together.

Tags under

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08 @levistealeaf @pelicanpizza @hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird @searriously @dreamerofthewest @abiatackerman @minminroie

[super-ion]

I turn on the faucet, splash some water on my face, look up and-

“Fuck!”

Instinct takes control, spinning me around to look for the intruder that isn't there. My elbow bangs painfully on the wall of the cramped washroom.

“Sorry,” Libby mumbles from somewhere over my left shoulder as far as my brain can tell.

I flinch slightly, resisting the urge to search for the source of the phantom sound.

A different instinct tries to kick in, detached and rational, trying to let my panicked lizard brain know that there is no one who can possibly be in the room with me.

Both voices are wrong. Libby is definitely in the room with me, she just isn't hunched over by the door like when I spotted her out of the corner of my eye in the mirror.

I rub my smarting elbow and try not to think about the itch that has started up where the chitinous mass of her shell has grafted itself to my spine.

But trying not to think about it has the opposite effect. My stomach sinks in response to an emotion that isn't my own.

“I'm sorry,” she repeats.

“Can you please stop apologizing?” I sigh.

“I'm…”

A tingle of frustration jitters through her, tingling through the ganglia that are currently wrapped around my brainstem.

I look back at the mirror, focusing on my own face to let the apparition of her appear again in the corner of my vision. I still can't decide exactly who my brain decided it wanted her to be. I can only ever see her in the periphery. She's just a sort of vague out of focus figure. A random stranger in a cafe I saw once maybe. A curtain of hair and an oversized sweatshirt.

I still don't know why I named her Libby.

“Something on your mind?” I ask her as I pick up the razor.

I set it down again. I haven't needed to shave at all in six days.

“This is like the scorpion and the frog thing? Isn't it?” she asks after a moment.

“The what?” I ask, somewhat befuddled

“I heard Carson and Reggie talking about it when you were asleep,” she explains. “Some kind of story about being unable to resist our nature. I'm the scorpion, aren't I?”

I feel my lips tug slightly into a frown. Her species can't hear, at least not in the way humans do. And I was also not previously aware that she could actually understand spoken Engelsk. I don't know what it all means, but it leaves me disquieted.

She senses my mood and I feel another apology coming on.

“Do you even know what a scorpion is?” I ask, heading her off.

“I…”

Her frustration becomes somewhat bemused.

“Well no,” she admits. “I thought it was kind of like a…”

I don't have a word for the mental image she sends me. Some kind of nightmare arachnid from some unnamed alien desert.

“Yeah, close enough,” I say, somewhat terrified.

“I can't escape my nature,” she says. “I can't stop my biology from changing you. But you aren't a typical host for my species. What if I'm killing you?”

I sigh.

“You're not killing me.”

“But the medications-”

“Are for you as much as me,” I interrupt. “Auto-doc doesn't know shit about how to handle this situation. It doesn't want my body rejecting you before we get to a real medical facility.”

Gods below, but I am tired of the nasty cocktail of immunosuppressants.

“Why did you decide not to go into stasis for the trip back?” she asks in a small voice.

I knew this question was coming. I had been asking myself exactly the same thing constantly since I chose to stay conscious and ride out whatever Libby was doing to my body.

I studied my face in the mirror, the softness of the jaw, the smoothness. My eyes wandered down to my chest, where soft aching mounds were taking shape. I thought about the very real possibility of her repurposing my reproductive system, filling me with her eggs and-

No. Nope, I was definitely not thinking about that outside of the privacy of my own quarters.

Regardless, the thoughts had my heart racing.

“What if…”

Fuck, could I even say this aloud?

“What if we got to Persephone Station and we… didn't go through with the extraction procedure?”

“What?”

“What if we stayed together and… I don't know, tried to work something out?”

I saw that post about that one kind of barnacle that forcefemmes crabs and it may have planted a plot bunny in my head.

Human ship responds to distress call from alien ship. It's critically damaged and the crew is mostly dead. Human MC gets exposed to parasite, but their ship lacks a medical suite capable of extracting it safely and since it is technically sapient they can't legally remove it

MC has to cope as "his" body starts changing and he starts hallucinating an avatar of the very apologetic parasite

[cecoeur]

How do you sleep at night? No one to hide behind Betrayed every alibi you had You had every chance to make amends instead you got drunk on bitterness And you still claim that you're innocent, it's sad

[skitskatdacat63]

2010 Bahrain Grand Prix - Fernando Alonso

[bayetea]

seeing non-black people critique rick's portrayal of black characters is interesting sometimes. only like 30% of the critiques I see make any sense to me to be honest

[rubiscodisco]

@clova-nova @communist-mannyfesto

The more that I think about it the more I realize this probably wasn't a USA only problem it's more of a nuclear arms race problem but let's be honest at least half the blame for that is because of the USA.

So basically you know how when you're in high school chem you come across the concept of Average Atomic Mass, which you might also know as Atomic Weight? Each chemical element has one - you'll find it in the periodic table. It tells you how heavy an atom of Hydrogen is compared to that of, say, Carbon. (On average of course. An atom of ¹²C isotope is gonna be lighter than one that's a ¹³C isotope. We'll get to that)

Well, if you look up the atomic weight of Lithium in any up to date periodic table, you'll see a difference between it and other elements.

That's right, it's weirdly so imprecise compared to other elements. Just 3 digits, while for the others, even though they abridge them to 5 digits here, they can usually narrow it down way more. So why do we have such an imprecise idea of what the atomic weight of lithium is? That's because of the Nuclear Arms Race.

So basically when the US, followed by other countries, were developing and stockpiling hydrogen bombs, they realized that they can utilize that One Weird Trick™ that Lithium does where it's particularly good at absorbing neutrons and making Tritium (...I think? don't quote on this, i didn't really grasp the nuclear physics of it). But the thing is, this only works for the isotope, ⁶Li.

So the people who were making these bombs got a lot of Lithium. Then, they used separation procedures to make their desired samples enriched with ⁶Li. Now they have what they need to make enough god damn bombs to end civilization hundreds of times over. Hooray.

But what do they do with the wasted Lithium? The lithium which is now sans a lot of ⁶Li and has more ⁷Li than normal? Well, it's still pure lithium, so we'll just distribute them to be sold as chemical supplies. Without telling people where they came from. Cause making world ending bombs was Top Secret.

So now there's this huge supply of Lithium being used by everybody which unbeknownst to anybody has been depleted of ⁶Li, and thus doesn't have the right atomic weight anymore. We eventually found out about it, but by then it had gradually made its way everywhere and now you can't tell just by looking how much of your Lithium is from an old stock that's been depleted of ⁶Li.

And that's why we can't really have a very precise figure on the atomic weight of lithium. It could be ⁶Li-depleted, it could be not, could be half and half. Who knows. You better buy the overpriced ones from the fancy chemical supplies store so you can ask how they sourced it.

So now, we're CURSED with having only 3 digits in the atomic weight of Lithium. All because people wanted to make world ending bombs. Smh

My source for this is the DeGruyter article by Norman Holden. You can download the PDF for free here.

The US military has done thousands of unconscionable things, each one more evil than the last, but on top of all of those things, on a minor but more spiteful level, I'll also never forgive them for what they did to Lithium

[lord-squiggletits]

Part of why I hate this fandom's take on Autobots vs Decepticons is ppl (mainly 'con fans honestly) who can't have any nuance of the situation whatsoever and love to write plots like "oh the humans are racist and abusive towards Cybertronians so this is how Megatron is right" no actually I don't think colonialism/imperialism and racism are justified so long as you can point the finger and say "they were the aggressors first" or "their hands are no cleaner than ours bc their society sucks too" sorry. Please come up with better sociopolitical narratives in your war story.