#she actively AVOIDS espresso

[cressidagrey]

Daylight

Pairing: Lando Norris x Emilie Abadie (Original Character)

Welcome to a short side story, featuring Emilie and Lando, set in the White Horse Universe. There are specific scenes copy and pasted from White Horse, so it’s easier to follow along timeline wise.

Summary:

Emilie Abadie hadn’t planned on caring about Formula 1. Until she saw a boy with curly hair win the Miami GP in 2024. 

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, toxic families

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Emilie Abadie hadn’t planned on caring about Formula 1.

In fact, she actively avoided caring about it— Mostly because of her best friend. 

Belle, with her soft green eyes and gentle heart, who had already survived too many years of being invisible in a family that only seemed to remember she existed when it was convenient. 

Belle, who was one of the best people Emilie had ever met, who had been born into a family that cared about podiums and trophies, about DRS and pit stops… and not about their daughter, their sister. 

Even Max Verstappen hadn’t changed Emilie’s dislike for everything Formula 1. 

Granted, of course, Emilie had googled him when Belle had first mentioned him to her. 

There had been some amusement somewhere in the back of her head that Belle had found a guy to date who had 2 World Championship titles and 4 dozen wins to his name, while Belle’s brother was still on his 5th career win after Austria 2022. 

Emilie didn’t care about Max’s wins. Or his podiums. Or whatever he did for a living. She’d seen enough of Belle’s face when she talked about him to know he was good—really, properly good—and that was enough.

But then came that Sunday in May, and Twitter exploded.

Emilie wasn’t even trying to pay attention. She was lounging on her balcony with an espresso, mindlessly scrolling between Vogue articles and TikToks of people organising their fridges. 

And then—suddenly—orange hats, all-caps screaming, and multiple photos of a grinning man half-drenched in champagne.

“HE FINALLY DID IT.”

“LANDO. FREAKING. NORRIS.”

Someone had posted a clip of him standing on the top step of the podium, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, trying to keep it together while the crowd roared. And God help her, Emilie had clicked it.

He wasn’t even her type.

Too boyish. 

Too chaotic. 

Probably smelled like Monster Energy and nerves.

But he’d smiled like it meant something. Like it had taken years. Like he couldn’t quite believe the universe had finally let him have this moment.

And something in Emilie’s chest—usually locked up tight behind snark and cashmere—shifted.

She frowned.

Closed the app.

Opened it again.

Googled him.

Lando Norris. 25. British. McLaren driver. Five seasons. No wins—until now.

She even found a quote: “It’s about damn time.”

And still, Emilie was deeply annoyed to find herself staring at photos of this Lando person and wondering what his laugh sounded like in real life.

And that was exactly when she opened her texts and messaged Belle.

***

Text Messages: Emilie Abadie & Isabelle Leclerc

Emilie: Okay so… Question

Isabelle: That’s always a dangerous start.

Emilie: Who is this Lando person And why is everyone crying because he won something

Isabelle: Oh my God. You really don’t know anything about F1, do you?

Emilie: Absolutely not. I know Max drives fast, and you’re too pretty to be emotionally stable, that’s it.

Isabelle: Valid.

Emilie: But seriously. My entire timeline is full of sweaty orange hats and people screaming “HE FINALLY DID IT.” What did he do? Did he climb a mountain? Invent a vaccine?

Isabelle: He won his first Formula 1 Grand Prix. He’s been in F1 for five years. Always came close. Never quite made it.Everyone’s been waiting for this.He’s a good guy. Deserved it.

Emilie: Huh. He’s the guy with the curly hair, right?

Isabelle: Yes.

Emilie: And the jawbones?

Isabelle: Yes.

Emilie: And the voice that’s suspiciously hot for someone named Lando?

Isabelle: …Why do you care?

Emilie: I don’t!!

Isabelle: You do. You’ve never asked me about a single driver. Not once. And now you’re googling him like a concerned historian.

Emilie: I’m just… doing research. You know. investigating the cultural phenomenon

Isabelle: Uh-huh. Is this cultural phenomenon wearing a papaya-colored race suit and has curly hair?

Emilie: Fine. He’s cute. He looked happy. The bar is so low.

Isabelle: He is cute. And he should be happy. He’s a good guy.

Emilie: You sound like you’re trying to sell me a family dog.

Isabelle: He’s very sweet! Loyal! Thoughtful! Max calls him chaotic sunshine. I call him emotionally transparent. You’d like him.

Emilie: So a golden retriever.

Isabelle: With slightly better hair.

Emilie: Does he bite?

Isabelle: Only when provoked. Or when Max makes a joke about his height.

Emilie: Hmm.

Isabelle: Oh no.

Emilie: What?

Isabelle: You’re thinking about him.

Emilie: Absolutely not.

Emilie: This is slander.

Isabelle: This is me knowing you better than you know yourself. And I’m telling you: he’s a good one. A little chaotic. But real.

Emilie: He smiled like…like he waited years for this. I noticed that. I hate that I noticed that.

Belle: Yeah. That’s why people cried. It wasn’t just about the win—it was about him. He needed it. And he earned it.

Emilie: …Okay maybe I get the hats now.

Isabelle: Give it three days. You’ll be watching fan edits on TikTok and pretending it’s research. I have been there. 

***

Emilie tossed her phone down onto her table, flopping back into her chair with a groan.

God, what was wrong with her?

She never did this. Never caught herself noticing smiles. Never cared about people’s stories. 

She’d always been good at getting the guy.

Usually, she saw a man she liked, decided she liked him, and that was it. 

If she wanted him, she got him. 

Easy.

The harder part—the impossible part—was getting them to stay.

Not that she ever admitted that out loud.

They got infatuated with the packaging—pretty blonde, sharp tongue, quick wit—but none of them wanted to know what was underneath. Or if they did, they ran.

So she never gave them the chance.

Emilie knew what she was. What she had been taught to be: polished, pretty, disposable.

Raised by grandparents who valued appearances more than affection, she’d learned early that emotions were a liability. Her family was a cold, glittering mess of old money and colder expectations. 

Emotionally unavailable parents who vacationed in the Alps more than they parented. Her grandparents had raised her—fierce, stylish people who taught her how to dress, how to argue, how to build walls no man could climb. 

Emilie knew how to play the part—how to be charming, captivating, just unattainable enough to keep her pride intact when everything inevitably crumbled.

Old money. Cold manners. 

And Belle—sweet, gentle Belle—hadn’t been raised in a world much kinder.

Emilie still hated Belle’s family for that. For making her believe she had to earn love, that she had to be perfect to deserve being seen. Even now, even after Belle had found Max—the only man who seemed to see her fully and without condition—Emilie’s chest still burned with protective rage whenever she thought about it.

She’d watched Belle spend her whole life being overlooked. Forgotten. Ignored by people who were supposed to love her. And now she had Max, who looked at her like she was the whole damn world.

She was happy for Belle. Truly. Because Belle deserved good things—finally. Especially after growing up in a family that prioritized podiums over people. 

And Emilie, for all her sass and designer boots, had never liked the Leclercs. Not really.

Belle was happy now. Radiantly, irrevocably happy. And Max—grumpy, blunt Max—loved her like it was the only thing that had ever made sense.

Maybe that’s why Emilie couldn’t look away from a stranger’s victory lap on Twitter.

 Maybe, deep down, she still believed there were people worth betting on.

Even if she didn’t believe it for herself.

God help me, she thought grimly, dragging a hand over her face.

She was absolutely going to end up watching fan edits.

In three days. Tops.

Maybe two.

Lando Norris had looked like someone who didn’t think the world would ever give him a win.

And for some reason… she couldn’t stop thinking about that.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Max and I are getting married tomorrow. City hall. Just something small. Just for us. Will you come?

Emilie: EXCUSE ME???? TOMORROW??? CITY HALL??? SMALL???

Isabelle: Yes. No fuss. Just us. That’s all I want.

Emilie: Oh my GOD. You are not getting married like you’re renewing a driver’s license. You need flowers. A cake. A moment, Belle.

Isabelle: I don’t need any of that. I just want him. That’s it.

Emilie: Yes, yes, eternal love, devotion, blah blah blah. BUT. You are still getting married. You will wear a dress. You will hold a bouquet. You will eat something that tastes like joy and sugar and victory.

Isabelle: I’m not even sure what I’m wearing yet 😅 We haven’t thought that far ahead.

Emilie: THAT IS WHY YOU HAVE ME. Do you still have the white dress we got a few weeks ago? The one that made you look like a romantic novel with legs?

Isabelle: ...Yes.

Emilie: Good. Wear that. It’s perfect. Simple. Elegant. You. I’ll take care of the rest.

Isabelle: Em—no pressure, really. Please. I don’t want a production.

Emilie: This won’t be a production. It’ll be a love letter. With flowers. And maybe a three-layer cake.

Isabelle: Emilie 😭 You really don’t have to—

Emilie: Belle. You’ve planned everyone else’s birthdays, surprises, parties, and holidays since you were like what, twelve?! Let someone do it for you this once. Let me.

Isabelle: ...Okay. But just a little. No spark machines. No confetti cannons.

Emilie: Deal. But I am bringing champagne. And I will cry.

Isabelle: I wouldn’t want it any other way. 💛

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Lando Norris

Max: You have a camera, right?

Lando: …yes?? What kind of question is that?

Max: Like, a real one. Not your phone.

Lando: Yes, Max, I own a camera. Why??

Max: I need you to document something.

Lando: What kind of something?

Max: Just be at Monaco City Hall tomorrow. 10:30. Bring your camera. Wear a suit. Preferably not orange.

Lando: MAX.

Max: Yes?

Lando: ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED TOMORROW???

Max: Yes.

Lando: YOU’RE JUST DROPPING THAT ON ME AT MIDNIGHT???

Max: It’s 11:43.

Lando: Oh, my mistake. PLENTY OF TIME TO PROCESS THE FACT YOU’RE SECRETLY GETTING MARRIED.

Max: Not secretly. Just quietly.

Lando: Max.

Max: What.

Lando: I’M HONORED BUT ALSO PANICKING. Do you want, like, pictures or VIBES?? Do I need a tripod?? Am I the witness?? Do I bring champagne?? WHAT’S MY ROLE HERE.

Max: Your role is “friend with a camera who knows how to shut up.”

Lando: I can be that.

 Wait—can I still cry a little?

Max: Only if it’s behind the camera.

Lando: Deal. Lando:I don’t even know what shoes to wear for a Verstappen emergency elopement

Max: Don’t overthink it. You’re just the photographer.

Lando: You’re getting married in Monaco city hall and I’m the photographer?? What the hell kind of fairy tale speedrun is this?

Max: The efficient kind.

Lando: Who else is gonna come?

Max: Just us. People we trust. 

***

Emilie Abadie had been awake since three in the morning. .

Not because she was nervous. She wasn’t the one getting married. 

It was Belle’s wedding. And that meant it had to be perfect.

Because Belle would never ask for perfect. Belle would shrug and say “just something quiet, just us” with that soft look in her eyes like she didn’t dare hope for more. But Emilie had spent the last seven years learning the difference between what Belle asked for and what she deserved.

And today, she deserved everything.

And perfection, as it turned out, required bribing a florist with a bottle of Dom Pérignon, whispering at a baker’s front door like a criminal, and coordinating a last-minute restaurant buyout with a maître d’ who still remembered Belle and Max’s first date like it had happened yesterday.

It was still early. The sun hadn’t quite cleared the rooftops of Monaco. But Emilie was already in motion—dressed, phone in hand, espresso in the other, a determined woman on a mission.

The florist had said it couldn’t be done. Snowdrops weren’t in season. They’d laughed—laughed—when Emilie asked.

Laughed. Emilie still remembered when Belle had told her about her favourite flowers. Fragile, quiet, perfect. Blooming in the cold, when nothing else did. Just like Belle. 

Emilie Abadie didn’t take no for an answer.

She made five calls. 

Then ten. 

Then offered double the price. 

Then triple. 

Someone from a specialty hothouse near Nice came through. A courier had arrived an hour ago, carrying a chilled box like it held diplomatic secrets.

Now, the bouquet sat in a vase on Emilie’s kitchen counter. Fragile white snowdrops, soft eucalyptus, and one or two sprigs of pale forget-me-nots.

Because Emilie was dramatic, and because Belle deserved to be remembered in every way that mattered.

The cake was next.

Not a tiered monstrosity. Just something beautiful. Elegant. White chocolate and raspberry with buttercream. The baker—an angel Emilie had gone to culinary school with for exactly three weeks—had rolled her eyes at the timeline and then agreed with a huff. “Only because it’s for Belle.”

Of course it was.

Emilie knew how much Belle had given. To her family. To her brothers. To Ferrari. To everyone except herself.

She’d watched Belle quietly shrink herself for years—make room for Lorenzo, for Charles, for Arthur, for Charles’ career, for the Leclerc family myth. 

Belle never asked for much. Never expected anything back.

So today, Emilie would give her everything.

The final piece fell into place just after sunrise: lunch at the restaurant where Max had taken Belle on their first date. The cozy one tucked behind the port with the ivy-covered terrace and the little hand-painted plates. Emilie had called the manager at 6:15 a.m.

“I need the whole place,” she’d said. “15 people. Three bottles of Perrier-Jouët Belle Époque. No fuss. No press. Max and Belle Verstappen.”

The Manager had paused and looked at Emilie:. “Ah,” he’d said, eyes twinkling. “For the couple who ordered the wine, then forgot to drink it because they were too busy falling in love?”

By 6:00, the venue was booked. The menu was set. The staff had already started laying out fresh linen.

Emilie checked the list one more time—flowers, cake, lunch, Max’s boutonnière, Belle’s shoes.

Everything was ready.

Emilie slipped her phone into her bag, gave the bouquet one last fond glance, and smiled to herself.

Because today—finally—was about Belle. Not Charles. Not their mother. Not a team or a trophy or anyone else’s spotlight.

Today was hers.

And Emilie Abadie would make sure not a single petal was out of place.

***

Emilie Abadie arrived with the force of a hurricane compressed into five feet and a few inches of blonde ambition and French fire.

She stood in the doorway like she’d conquered nations before breakfast, her icy blue eyes narrowing the moment they landed on him.

Lando’s stomach immediately did that stupid swoopy thing it did when he just knew he was fucked. 

She was Belle’s best friend. He had known that in an offhand way, had seen her make appearances on Belle’s Instagram and in stories Belle told…but Lando had never met her. 

“Why,” she said, voice crisp and imperious, “are half of you not wearing ties?”

Lando glanced around as if he might be able to blend into the cabinetry.

Too late.

“You,” Emilie snapped, pointing at him with all the grace and threat of a commander selecting someone for sacrifice.

“Me?” Lando squeaked.

She stalked toward him like a missile in heels. “You call that a tie? What is that knot? A shoelace? A cry for help?”

Lando glanced down at the pale blue mess under his collar. It did, in fact, look like it had lost a bar fight. “Technically… yes?”

Emilie sighed. Dramatically. Award-winningly. “Come here.”

He obeyed, despite every instinct screaming to flee. Blushing furiously, Lando stepped toward her like a man accepting his fate.

“You’re kind of scary,” he muttered.

“I’m not scary,” she replied, already undoing his tie with practiced hands, “I’m just French and disappointed.”

He stood still, heart hammering far too fast, hyper-aware of how close she was, of the way she reached up to fix the tie like she’d done it a hundred times. She smelled like roses and battle plans. Her fingers brushed his throat, adjusting the collar with delicate but precise movements, and Lando very seriously considered the possibility that this was what dying felt like.

“Can I breathe yet?” he whispered.

“When I say you can,” she said sweetly, tilting his chin. “Fashion is pain. Suffer with dignity.”

“I’m… terrified of her,” Lando muttered under his breath once she turned her attention elsewhere.

Max, still leaning casually against the counter, didn’t even blink. “You should be.”

And Lando was, but also… he was hopelessly in love with her. 

Or at least something very inconvenient and fluttery that made it hard to breathe when she was near. 

She was absolutely stunning in her sharply tailored outfit and meticulous energy, her blonde hair swept up, and her eyes laser-focused on whipping the room into shape. She’d turned wedding planning into a military campaign—and somehow made it look elegant.

But even as she herded grown men into order with eyebrow raises and verbal artillery, Lando couldn’t stop watching Max.

Because Max—who had never seemed interested in fanfare or spectacle—was getting married today. And he looked… happy. Genuinely, deeply happy in a way that made Lando’s chest go warm.

And Belle—sweet, gentle, quietly brave Belle—was the reason.

He couldn’t be happier for them.

Even if Charles was definitely going to kill him.

Lando had been trying not to think about that bit—the Charles-is-going-to-strangle-him-when-he-finds-out bit. Because once the truth came out, once Charles realized his little sister had married Max, and Lando had known, there was going to be hell to pay.

But he couldn’t bring himself to feel too guilty about it. Not when Max looked like that. Not when Belle had finally been seen the way she deserved.

The chaos in the room only paused when Emilie cornered Tom, who was valiantly attempting to pass off a cravat as formalwear.

“This is Monaco, not Pemberley,” Emilie said, already pulling a tie from her tote like Mary Poppins preparing for war.

Even Jos wasn’t immune. When Emilie raised her brows at him with military precision, he actually reached for the tie GP handed him—without protest.

“I like her,” Jos muttered, half to himself.

Yeah, Lando thought, hopeless and dazed. Me too.

Daniel’s cartoon tie didn’t stand a chance. Neither did his excuses.

“I have a lighter in my purse,” Emilie said, entirely too calmly.

And just like that, Daniel disappeared to change.

Only Oscar and GP escaped with their dignity intact. Emilie gave them a nod that could’ve launched ships.

Then Max—cool, unbothered Max—lifted his chin with the smugness of a man who had already tied his tie correctly.

“It’s crooked,” Emilie said, pulling him forward to fix it anyway.

Max didn’t even argue. Just let her do it, then shot her a crooked grin.

“You’ll do,” Emilie declared.

“You’re marrying my best friend,” she added. “You’re lucky I didn’t make you wear the floral pocket square.”

Lando snorted. Max only grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

And then the world stopped moving.

Because the bedroom door opened.

Belle stepped out.

And everything else just… dropped away.

Lando forgot about his camera. Forgot about his tie. Forgot about the fact he was probably about to die by Leclerc rage.

Because Belle was breathtaking.

She looked like she belonged in one of those old black-and-white movies—ethereal and quiet, in a dress that shimmered like water, snowdrops tucked gently into her dark curls. Her eyes swept the room until they found Max.

And Max—his friend, the fiercest driver he’d ever known—just stood there like the ground had been ripped out from under him.

“Hi,” Belle said softly.

Max walked toward her like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. And when he told her she looked like a dream he’d never let himself have, Lando had to turn away, just for a second.

His chest hurt in a good way.

Maybe love didn’t have to be loud or dramatic or perfect. Maybe it could just be this. A quiet kitchen. A white dress. A soft “Hi.” The kind of thing that made a man forget how to breathe.

Daniel sniffled. Oscar told him to shut up.

And Lando—caught somewhere between awe and a slight panic over Charles Leclerc’s eventual reaction—just smiled.

Because one of his best friend had everything he’d ever wanted.

And Lando? Lando might be crushing on the tiny French hurricane currently terrorizing everyone with her sense of style.

But he had hope.

***

The wedding luncheon was held at a small, sun-washed restaurant tucked into one of Monaco’s corners. 

It was perfect, of course. Belle perfect.

The place where Belle and Max had had their first date. Where they had fallen in love and forgotten to drink the bottle of wine they had ordered it. 

Emilie sat at one of the long wooden tables, a glass of champagne in hand, watching Belle laugh over something Max whispered in her ear, her cheeks pink and glowing.

And for the first time in a long time, Emilie felt something unspool in her chest—something fragile and aching.

Belle was happy.

Finally.

After years of being treated like an afterthought by people who should have fought for her, she was loved by someone who saw her. It made Emilie both stupidly emotional and faintly murderous when she thought about the people who hadn't.

Her fingers curled loosely around the stem of her glass.

She didn't cry at weddings. That was not her brand.

But if she were going to cry, it would’ve been for this.

Someone bumped her elbow, breaking the spell.

She looked up—and into the bright, apologetic face of Lando Norris.

"Sorry! Sorry," he said immediately, holding up his hands like a man under arrest. "Didn’t mean to—uh, interrupt. Or spill anything. Or—"

He was wearing a navy blue suit, rumpled already, tie askew again even after her earlier threats. His curls were fighting a losing battle against whatever product he’d tried to tame them with. There was a crookedness to him—a kind of chaotic, restless energy buzzing just under his skin.

He looked like a golden retriever trying desperately not to knock over a priceless vase.

Emilie raised an eyebrow. Cool. Appraising.

She knew boys like him. Bright smiles. Quick laughs. Attention spans like sparklers: burning hot, burning out.

He should’ve been easy to dismiss.

So why wasn’t she?

"You’re safe," she said dryly, tipping her glass toward him. "For now."

Lando's grin widened, lopsided and a little breathless. "Good. I was warned you might have a taser."

Emilie allowed herself a small, sharp smile. "Only for men who deserve it."

His eyes—bright greenish blue, annoyingly nice eyes—crinkled at the corners. He shifted from foot to foot like he didn’t know whether to stay or retreat. She could practically see the gears turning in his brain, second-guessing everything.

Cute, she thought reluctantly. In that maddening, boyish way.

And real.

There was something startlingly unguarded about him. No polished script, no careful charm. Just... all messy heart.

"Can I—uh, sit?" he asked, nodding toward the empty chair beside her.

Emilie could have said no. Should have, maybe.

Instead, she tilted her head and said, "If you must."

He practically collapsed into the chair with relief, bumping the table and nearly knocking over a bread basket in the process. Emilie caught it one-handed, setting it upright with a sigh that was more amused than exasperated.

"Smooth," she said.

"I try," Lando said, flashing another grin. "But usually it goes like this."

They fell into an awkward, oddly endearing silence. The lunch buzzed around them: clinking glasses, bursts of laughter, Belle’s voice lifting and carrying across the room like music.

Lando fiddled with the edge of the napkin, sneaking glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Emilie noticed.

She noticed everything.

And it made her want to fold herself back into the armor she wore with men. The one that said: you can look, but you will never touch anything real.

But he wasn’t looking at her like she was an acquisition to win or a prize to brag about.

He was looking at her like she was a puzzle he was trying—hopelessly—to figure out.

She sipped her champagne. Let him squirm a little longer. Then, finally:

"So," Emilie said, tilting her head just enough to make him sweat, "are you going to make conversation, or are you just planning to stare at me and hope it counts?"

Lando blinked, then laughed—a quick, surprised sound that made something warm spark low in her chest.

"I was thinking... both?" he said, scratching the back of his neck. "You’re kind of intimidating."

"Good," Emilie said, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. "I work hard at it."

He shook his head, still smiling, eyes glinting with something that might have been mischief-or admiration.

Probably both.

And Emilie—who got whatever guy she wanted but never trusted any of them to stay—felt the faintest, most treacherous flicker of curiosity.

Maybe Belle wasn’t the only one who deserved good things.

Maybe.

But not yet.

For now, she just raised an eyebrow, tore a piece of bread in half, and said, "You’ve got five minutes to impress me, Norris. Don’t waste it."

Lando leaned forward like a man accepting a dare.

"Oh," he said, grinning wide and unrepentant. "I’m definitely going to waste it."

And to her absolute horror—

Emilie found herself smiling.

Real and warm and helpless against it.

Maybe chaotic sunshine wasn’t the worst thing to let into her life after all.

Emilie watched him over the rim of her glass, amused in the way one might watch a golden retriever attempt calculus. She was prepared for the usual: some half-flirty line, some brag, something easy to roll her eyes at and dismiss.

Instead, Lando immediately, and spectacularly, fumbled it.

“So, uh,” he began, sitting up straighter like he was about to give a business presentation, “I have a driver's license.”

Emilie blinked. “I should hope so,” she said dryly, “given your profession.”

“Yeah, but like,” Lando forged on, waving a hand vaguely, “I passed my first test. No minors. No majors. Totally clean sheet. Instructor said I was ‘shockingly competent.’” He smiled at her like this was an accomplishment that should win him a Nobel Prize.

Emilie couldn’t help it: she laughed.

A small one, sharp and unexpected, escaping before she could stop it.

Lando lit up like a Christmas tree. Actually lit up.

Encouraged, he kept going, words tumbling out like he couldn’t stop them if he tried.

“And—and I can cook a bit. Like, real cooking. Not just the ‘put something in the microwave and pray’ thing.”

“What’s your specialty?” Emilie asked, playing along, one eyebrow lifted.

He considered this with deep, theatrical seriousness.

“Pasta,” he said finally. “But, like, real pasta. I once made fresh tagliatelle for a girl I liked.”

Emilie smirked. “And did she survive?”

“She did,” Lando said solemnly. “She even asked for seconds. Probably because I didn’t tell her I dropped half the dough on the floor and had to start over.”

Emilie shook her head, sipping her champagne to hide the curve of her mouth.

God, he was awful at this. And somehow—somehow—it was working.

Not because he was slick.

But because he wasn’t.

He was throwing everything out there, a whole messy human open on the table, with no polish, no angles, no agenda except: please like me.

And it was dangerously, horribly endearing.

Emilie, who had been courted by men with yachts and family names older than democracy, who had been wooed with Cartier and poetry and private jets, found herself genuinely, terrifyingly charmed by a boy who thought shockingly competent driving was an acceptable conversation starter.

“You’ve got two minutes left,” she said lightly.

Lando gasped in mock horror. “Pressure’s on.”

He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking.

Then he leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was telling her a state secret."Okay. Here's the real selling point: I'm friends with Max, and you know what that means?"

She gave him a look that said choose your next words very carefully.

"It means," Lando said solemnly, "I have survived approximately fourteen near-death experiences involving go-karts, jet skis, and very questionable Red Bull stunts. So I'm basically immortal."

Emilie snorted into her glass.

"And," Lando added, beaming now, "I'm very good at getting bloodstains out of clothes. Just in case."

"You expect me to believe you're domestically capable," she said, eyeing him skeptically.

"I can use a washing machine," he said proudly. "Mostly."

"Terrifying."

Lando grinned wider, basking in the fact she hadn't told him to go away yet. His foot accidentally bumped hers under the table, and he yelped, jerking back like he'd been electrocuted.

"Sorry! Sorry—" he spluttered, flailing slightly. "Didn’t mean—"

"Relax," Emilie said, amused despite herself. "I don't bite."

She paused.

"Unless provoked," she added sweetly, echoing Belle’s earlier words.

Lando looked half in love already.

The realization hit Emilie like a cold glass of water poured down her back.

No.

No, no, no.

This wasn’t how it went. She flirted. She played. She walked away before anyone got the chance to look at her like that.

But Lando didn’t seem to be strategizing, didn’t seem to be measuring her up like some glossy prize. He just looked... happy. A little awestruck. A little proud of himself for surviving her.

It was stupid. And messy. And probably a terrible idea.

But when Belle caught her eye across the room and gave her a tiny, knowing smile—the same smile Belle had worn when Max had first reached for her hand like it was instinct—

Emilie thought, maybe, just maybe, she could let herself enjoy this. For today. For a minute.

For herself.

She set her champagne down and looked at Lando, who was still watching her like she might vanish if he blinked.

"Alright, Norris," Emilie said, sitting back with a mock-sigh. "You've survived the first round."

Lando brightened so much it was almost dangerous.

"And what’s round two?" he asked eagerly.

Emilie smirked.

"You’ll find out," she said, standing up, brushing invisible crumbs off her sleek dress. She leaned down, just enough to whisper near his ear:

"If you're lucky."

And when she sauntered off to steal a slice of cake before the toddlers got to it, she didn’t even have to look back to know Lando was grinning like he’d just won the Miami Grand Prix again.

***

It started innocently enough.

At least, that's what Lando told himself.

It was late, he was jetlagged, and he was lying in bed with one arm slung over his face, phone glowing much too brightly against the dark hotel room ceiling. He should’ve been asleep.

Instead, he was... scrolling.

Specifically, scrolling through Emilie Abadie’s Instagram.

In his defense, she’d posted a new story earlier that day—something about a bookstore in Paris—and he’d swiped up without thinking, curious. From there, well... it was a slippery slope.

He clicked on her profile. Scrolled a little. Then a little more. And a little more. Until suddenly he wasn’t just seeing today's cute coffee shop photo; he was deep in 2019 territory, where the grid looked different—less polished, more chaotic.

And there it was.

The Bikini Picture.

Emilie, standing on a beach somewhere impossibly blue, wearing sunglasses, a tiny black bikini, and a smirk that could have started wars. Hair loose, skin sun-kissed, hand holding some drink with a tiny paper umbrella in it.

She looked effortless. Untouchable. Dangerous.

Lando, because he had the survival instincts of a drunk moth around a flame, stared at it for too long.

And then, as if his thumb had a mind of its own—

He liked it.

The screen flashed red.

Hearted.

The panic hit instantly.

"NO—NO, NO, NO—" he yelped, scrambling like he'd just touched a live wire. He frantically unliked it—smashed the heart again until it turned back to grey—but it was too late.

He knew how Instagram worked.

She got the notification.

He sat there, paralyzed, mortified, vibrating with shame.

He had liked a bikini photo from five years ago.

He was that guy.

The type of guy who accidentally cyberstalked someone so hard he time-traveled.

Lando buried his face in his pillow and groaned loud enough to scare himself.

At some point, he gave up and texted Oscar.

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Oscar Piastri

Lando: Mate. I just liked a 2019 bikini pic on Emilie’s Instagram. Kill me.

Oscar: 😂😂😂

Lando: I’m actually dying. This is fatal. I’ve died.

Oscar: How did you even GET to 2019??

Lando: I was just looking!! And then scrolling!! And then it happened!! I didn’t MEAN TO.

Oscar: Famous last words.

Lando: I hate you.

Lando: I'm gonna throw myself into the sea.

Oscar: Before you do, serious question. You like her, don’t you?

***

Later, when Lando had the courage to crawl out from under his metaphorical rock, he found himself sitting in Oscar’s hotel room, tossing a mini water bottle up and down, trying not to look like he wanted to crawl into the mini fridge and hide.

Oscar just sat on the bed, arms folded, regarding him with the amused patience of someone who had absolutely seen this coming.

“So,” Oscar said, grinning slightly. “Emilie, huh?”

Lando groaned. “It’s not like that.”

Oscar raised a brow.

Lando dropped the water bottle onto the floor with a thunk. “Okay. Fine. Maybe it’s a little like that.”

Oscar didn’t say anything, just nodded sagely, like he was some ancient wisdom god instead of a 23-year-old who still ate cereal for dinner sometimes.

“She’s just…” Lando floundered for words, pushing a hand through his hair. “She’s scary. And beautiful. And scary.”

“You said scary twice.”

“It felt necessary.”

Oscar snorted. “Sounds like you’ve got it bad, mate.”

Lando slumped. “I don’t even know if she likes me. She could crush me like a bug if she wanted.”

“Would you be mad about it?” Oscar asked.

Lando considered it. “…No.”

Oscar laughed, then sobered slightly, watching him.

“You ever just know?” Lando asked suddenly, voice quieter. “That someone’s different? Like—you’re still kind of terrified, but you don’t want to run away?”

Oscar leaned back against the headboard, thinking for a second.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “With Lily, I knew.”

Lando glanced at him, genuinely curious.

“I mean, it wasn’t like lightning bolts or fireworks or anything,” Oscar said, shrugging. “It was quieter. Like... I realized I was happier when she was around. And when she wasn’t, it felt like something was missing. She made life easier. Not harder. You know?”

Lando nodded slowly.

“People talk about love like it’s supposed to be this huge, dramatic thing,” Oscar continued. “But honestly? The real thing’s just... peace. Trust. Someone you want to tell stupid jokes to at 2 a.m.”

Lando swallowed.

He thought about Emilie.

The way she made fun of him mercilessly, but smiled when she thought he wasn’t looking.

The way she laughed—not a polite, reserved laugh, but a real, from-the-gut laugh—when he told the world’s dumbest jokes.

The way he felt when she was near. Like maybe he could stop trying to be impressive and just... be.

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be easy.

Maybe it was just supposed to be real.

“You think I’ve got a chance?” Lando asked, half-joking, half-serious.

Oscar smiled.

“You’ve already got one,” he said. “You’re just too scared to believe it.”

Lando sat back, heart thudding a little too fast, a little too hopeful.

Maybe he’d make an idiot of himself.

Maybe Emilie would laugh him off.

Maybe she’d crush him like a bug.

But maybe—maybe—he’d survive it.

And maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it.

***

Instagram Direct Messages: Lando Norris & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: So.

Emilie: I noticed you liked a little throwback.

Emilie: From 2019, no less. Deep cuts.  Impressive research skills.

Emilie: You know, you could’ve just asked me to dinner.  Would’ve been less creepy than liking my bikini photos at 2 a.m.

Emilie:  (But I guess this way was more entertaining.)

Emilie: You still can ask, by the way. If you’re brave enough.

Lando: Would you maybe want to have dinner with me? Without bikinis. I mean you can wear one if you want but not like a requirement— This is going badly.

Emilie: I’m free Thursday. Pick somewhere good.

Emilie: And try not to like any more photos from my past while you’re planning it.

Emilie: Or do. It’s cute. In a tragic way.

Lando: Bold of you to assume I won’t.

Emilie: Bold of you to assume I’ll say yes if you like the duck-face selfie from 2017.

Lando: Challenge accepted.

Emilie: Challenge lost.

***

Text Messages: Max Fewtrell & Lando Norris

Max Fewtrell: BRO. You saw it, right??  Charles fully crashed his soul mid-interview??

Lando: Unfortunately, yes. It was like watching someone remember they left the oven on... and also their sister.

Max Fewtrell: Iconic. Karun was like “her birthday, right?”  And Charles just downloaded a full panic attack.

Max Fewtrell: I screamed. Like—out loud. In public.

Lando Norris: It was kind of beautiful tbh. Like watching karma arrive with a mic and a production crew.

Max Fewtrell: Is his sister okay though? Do we know? Does she have a burner Twitter? I feel like she would.

Lando Norris:  She’s fine. Emilie’s with her.

Max Fewtrell: Who’s Emilie?

Lando Norris: ... She's Belle’s best friend.  Sharp. Dangerous. Possibly psychic. Says terrifyingly accurate things about my emotional state and then walks away in heels

Lando: She’s terrifying. Also brilliant.  And she’s like…scarily beautiful. 

Max Fewtrell: You have a crush on her, don’t you.

Lando: …I didn’t say that.

Max Fewtrell: YOU ABSOLUTELY DO OH MY GOD YOU DO This is the best gossip of the day and Charles had a meltdown on live TV

Lando: Shut up Also can we go back to Charles??

Max Fewtrell: No Because now I want to know why you know where Belle is And how you know Emilie’s with her And why you’re being so weirdly calm

Lando: …because I went to the wedding?

Max Fewtrell: THE WHAT

Lando: ...

Max Fewtrell: LAN THE WEDDING

Lando: Yeah. Belle and Max Verstappen. They got married. I was invited. Very small. City Hall. No media. Emilie picked the flowers

Max Fewtrell: MAX. VERSTAPPEN?!

Lando: Yes

Max Fewtrell:  YOU MEAN TO TELL ME CHARLES IS HAVING A BREAKDOWN ABOUT FORGETTING HIS SISTER’S BIRTHDAY AND DOESN’T EVEN KNOW SHE’S MARRIED TO HIS RIVAL???

Lando: Correct

Max Fewtrell: I need to lie down. And then I need popcorn And possibly therapy But also more of this

Lando: Same. Group chat is chaos Do not ask to be added It’s war in there

Max Fewtrell: This is better than Drive to Survive You’ve been sitting on this gossip for HOW LONG?

Lando: Long enough to know I value my life And Max Verstappen would kill me if I leaked it before they were ready

Max Fewtrell: Fair

Lando: You think Charles is spiraling now… Wait until he finds out Max is family now

Max Fewtrell: My god. This is better than Netflix.

***

Text Messages: Emilie Abadie & Lando Norris

Lando Norris

hey is belle okay?

Emilie: She will be. She’s hurting, but she’s strong. And she has Max. That helps. (And me, obviously. I threaten people on her behalf.)

Lando: yeah i’d be more scared of you tbh Lando:  but good Lando: she doesn’t deserve to feel that way Lando:  no one does

Emilie: this is very rude. I was not prepared for sincerity. Please warn me next time

Lando: sorry next time i’ll open with a meme but i meant it

Emilie: I know. That’s why I’m weirdly touched. Ugh. Gross. I hate this. Emotions are banned after 10pm.

Lando: it’s 9:58

Emilie: you’re on thin ice, Norris.

Lando: wouldn’t be the first time but thanks for telling me and tell her i said… i don’t know that i’m rooting for her and that she deserves  better brothers and maybe a pony idk what people say in these situations

Emilie: you’re doing fine she’ll appreciate it and so do I

Emilie: you’re a good guy, Lando.

Lando: 😳 wow ok i’m printing this and framing it

Emilie: Don’t push it. ***

The restaurant buzzed softly around them—quiet conversations, clinking silverware, candlelight glinting off glasses. It was the kind of cozy, tucked-away Monaco spot that felt private even when it was packed, the kind of place that made Lando loosen his shoulders for the first time in days.

Or, at least, it should have.

But honestly, Lando was too busy trying not to screw this up to relax.

Sitting across from Emilie Abadie��in a dim corner booth, with a bottle of wine between them and a shared plate of something fried—was more nerve-wracking than qualifying on a wet track.

She was devastating.

Not just in the obvious way, with her wild blonde hair and sharp mouth and the way she sipped wine like she was judging the entire country of France—but in the way she looked at him. Like she was trying to decide if he was worth the effort of knowing.

And God help him, he wanted to be worth it.

He was halfway through trying to come up with something clever when he saw her expression shift. Just a flicker—something hard and tight slipping across her face.

Lando followed her gaze.

Across the restaurant, standing up too fast, was Charles Leclerc.

And he was coming right for them.

"Uh," Lando said, sitting up a little straighter. "Is that...?"

"Unfortunately," Emilie said under her breath, setting her wineglass down with a soft clink.

Charles didn’t even hesitate. Just stormed across the room, panic practically pouring off him. He stopped at their table, ignoring Lando completely, and zeroed in on Emilie.

"Emilie," Charles said, voice tight, "we need to talk. About Belle."

Emilie didn’t even blink.

"I’m having dinner," she said coolly. "Sit down or leave."

Charles didn’t sit. He stood there, vibrating with panic and guilt and about four too many emotions for the room they were in.

“She posted a horse,” Charles burst out, voice climbing. “A horse! She never said anything! She’s still not answering me. You’ve seen her. You know. Why won’t you just—just tell me what’s going on?!”

Lando, still frozen in his seat, watched Emilie set her napkin down. Slowly. Precisely. Like she was a surgeon preparing for a very delicate operation.

Her smile disappeared.

And then—God help him—she destroyed Charles.

"You think you're owed answers now?" she asked, voice so sharp Lando actually felt it across the table. "After months of ignoring every warning sign? After standing in the same garage with her and looking through her like she wasn’t even real?"

Charles flinched.

Emilie leaned in slightly, not loud, but lethal.

"You want to know why she’s not answering you? Because you only want her when it’s convenient. When it fits your schedule. When it doesn’t mess up the perfect story you tell yourself about your family."

Lando sat back, eyes wide, utterly mesmerized.

He had seen Emilie be sharp before—sarcastic, teasing, merciless with Daniel’s cartoon ties—but this was something else.

This was fierce.

This was loyalty turned into a weapon.

And it was, without a doubt, the moment he realized he was completely screwed.

Because he wasn’t falling for her because she was pretty (although, let’s be honest, that wasn’t exactly hurting). He was falling because of this.

Because of the way she fought.

Because of the way she protected the people she loved like it was breathing.

Because he could see, in every word she threw like knives, how much Belle meant to her.

He had never wanted anything more in his life than to be someone Emilie Abadie fought for like that.

Charles opened his mouth, desperate, and Emilie cut him down again.

"You forgot her birthday," she said, each word a bullet. "And you think a few panicked phone calls are enough to fix that?"

Lando couldn’t even feel sorry for Charles at that point. Not really.

He was too busy being completely, absolutely undone.

"You don't love Belle the way you should," Emilie said, voice low and devastating. "You love the idea of her. The safe, quiet little sister who never asks for anything. Who never demands too much. Who lets you shine without ever threatening your light."

And there it was—the fatal blow.

Charles stood there like he had been hollowed out.

Good, Lando thought savagely.

He didn’t deserve her.

He didn’t deserve Belle’s softness—or Emilie’s fury on her behalf.

Emilie, calm as anything now, lifted her glass again like she hadn’t just torn him to pieces.

"Now," she said, "go back to your table. Apologize to Alexandra. And maybe—if you’re lucky—figure out how to be someone your sister actually wants to let back in."

Charles didn’t even argue.

He just turned and walked away, a shell of himself.

The moment he was gone, the restaurant buzzed back to life like nothing had happened.

And Lando just sat there, staring at Emilie like she’d hung the moon.

Because this was what undid him, completely and without mercy:

Not the beauty. Not the sharp tongue. Not even the way she teased him into laughing at himself.

It was this.

It was the way she loved.

Fierce. Loyal. Uncompromising.

It was the way she stood her ground, sword drawn, in defense of someone who needed it.

It was the way she made it absolutely clear that you didn’t get to hurt people she loved without consequences.

God, he was in trouble.

Emilie caught him staring and arched an eyebrow, setting her wineglass down with practiced grace. "What?"

Lando blinked, scrambled for something to say, something that didn’t sound like I might be in love with you.

"That was," he said, voice a little hoarse, "the most badass thing I’ve ever seen."

A faint, real smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "He needed to hear it."

"He did," Lando agreed. Then, quieter, "And Belle’s lucky to have you."

Something flickered across Emilie’s face at that—something small and vulnerable and quickly hidden.

She picked up her glass again, studying him over the rim. "Careful, Norris. Say too many nice things and I might start thinking you mean them."

"I do," he said simply.

And this time, she didn’t roll her eyes. Didn’t mock him.

She just held his gaze, steady and assessing, like she was weighing whether he was telling the truth.

Whatever she saw must have satisfied her, because after a long beat, she said lightly, "Good."

She took a sip of her wine. Then, smiling like she hadn't just broken and remade his entire world in under five minutes, she leaned in closer.

"Now," Emilie said, "where were we before the drama?"

Lando couldn’t even remember.

All he could think about was how wildly, desperately he wanted to kiss her.

***

Emilie sat back in her chair, wine glass light between her fingers, and tried to act like her heart wasn’t pounding against her ribs.

Like Lando’s words hadn’t just cracked something wide open inside her.

Belle’s lucky to have you. I mean it.

She didn’t know what she had expected—maybe some teasing, maybe a joke to defuse the moment—but not that.

Not sincerity.

Not him.

She should’ve brushed it off. Should’ve quipped something scathing and easy, should’ve knocked the moment off balance before it could land. But she hadn’t.

Because something about the way Lando looked at her—steady, certain, real—had made her hesitate.

Careful, Abadie, she warned herself. You know better.

Boys said things they didn’t mean. Boys fell in love with ideas, not people. Boys liked her because she was shiny and sharp, not because they saw her.

And yet... Lando hadn’t looked at her like she was shiny.

He’d looked at her like she was something solid.

Like he saw the messy, brutal, fiercely protective parts of her—and didn’t want to flinch away.

It was terrifying.

It was worse than terrifying.

It was hope.

"Now," Emilie said, forcing her voice back into familiar, teasing steadiness as she leaned across the table, "where were we before the drama?"

Lando blinked at her, like he needed a second to remember where he was. It made something traitorous and warm flicker in her chest.

"Uh," he said, a little breathless, "I think I was telling you about the time I accidentally set a microwave on fire?"

Emilie let out a real, surprised laugh. "You did what?"

He grinned—wide and messy and self-deprecating—and just like that, the intensity between them loosened into something lighter. Still charged. Still humming just under the surface. But lighter.

"I was fifteen, okay," Lando said, leaning in, elbows on the table. "And I thought you could microwave foil. Spoiler alert: you cannot."

"Oh my God," Emilie said, actually laughing now. "You’re lucky you didn’t set the whole house on fire."

"Almost did," Lando said proudly. "My mum nearly murdered me."

He told the story with his whole body—hands flying, eyes bright—and Emilie listened, smiling in spite of herself, feeling the last shards of her ice defenses start to melt.

He’s dangerous, she thought distantly. And not for the reasons you’re used to.

He was dangerous because he wasn’t pretending.

Because he didn’t want her to be less. Or smaller. Or easier to love.

He wanted this version of her—the messy, complicated, fierce version—and it felt so new and so scary she almost didn’t know how to hold it.

Halfway through his story about the microwave (and the resulting three-day grounding), Emilie caught herself staring.

Caught herself wondering what it would be like to lean across the table and kiss him.

Idiot, she thought, draining the last of her wine to kill the impulse.

But even as she set the glass down, her hand brushed against his—just lightly, just by accident—and Lando froze.

The air between them tightened again. Not heavy. Not sharp. But electric.

His hand stayed where it was.

Waiting.

Not grabbing. Not pushing. Just waiting.

An invitation.

An if you want to.

Emilie’s chest squeezed so tight she could barely breathe.

She wasn’t used to boys who waited.

She wasn’t used to being wanted without being hunted.

Slowly—so slowly she barely let herself think about it—she turned her palm up and let her fingers brush his.

His hand closed gently over hers, warm and callused and careful.

And Emilie, against every rule she had ever made for herself, didn’t pull away.

***

The night air was cooler than the restaurant had been, crisp against Emilie’s skin as they stepped out into the narrow Monaco street.

 The world felt smaller out here—quieter, sleepier. The kind of night you could almost believe was magic.

Their hands brushed once, then again. And then—without speaking—Lando laced his fingers through hers.

Just like that.

No fuss. No dramatics. No careful maneuvering.

Like he’d been waiting for permission, and now that he had it, he wasn’t letting go.

Emilie let herself be pulled along, hand in his, heart hammering an unfamiliar rhythm against her ribs.

It was terrifying.

It was wonderful.

Neither of them said much as they walked. The occasional motorbike buzzed by; laughter floated out of the bars they passed. But between them—just a quiet hum of something new.

When they reached a corner where the street narrowed and the light hit just right, Lando slowed.

Emilie slowed too, their joined hands swinging slightly between them.

Lando glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

She caught the look—shy and reckless all at once—and her heart gave a traitorous thud.

"You’re quiet," he said, voice soft, like he was afraid to scare her off.

"Maybe I’m enjoying the peace," Emilie said lightly.

He smiled at that. Real and crooked. The kind of smile that made her want to hand over every sharp piece of herself without a second thought.

"You were incredible tonight," he said, after a moment.

Emilie huffed a laugh, looking away. "I was brutal."

"You were brilliant," Lando corrected. "You were exactly what Belle needed."

The words were so unexpected, so easy and true, that Emilie almost stumbled.

God, stop, she told herself. Stop falling faster.

But it was already too late.

When she looked back at him, Lando was still watching her with that same maddening, open expression. Like he liked her exactly as she was. All fire. All teeth. All soft, bruised, careful heart underneath.

They stopped under a streetlamp without meaning to.

It pooled gold light around them, softening the edges of everything. Making the world feel like it had shrunk to just this. Just them.

Lando’s hand tightened slightly around hers.

"Emilie," he said, and the way he said it—half a question, half a prayer—made something inside her crack open.

She should have said something sharp. She should have laughed it off.

Instead, she just lifted her chin and looked at him.

"Are you going to kiss me, Norris," she asked, voice deceptively cool, "or are you going to keep holding my hand like we’re on a third-grade field trip?"

Lando made a small, strangled noise that might have been a laugh—or a whimper—and then he was stepping closer, so close she could feel the heat of him.

"I’m working up to it," he muttered.

"You’re slow," Emilie said.

"You’re terrifying," Lando shot back, grinning.

And then—finally, finally—he kissed her.

It wasn’t perfect.

It wasn’t smooth or practiced.

It was messy and a little desperate and so real it nearly brought Emilie to her knees.

Lando kissed like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to. Like he wanted to be sure she knew she could push him away at any second—and like he was praying she wouldn’t.

And Emilie—fierce, guarded Emilie—kissed him back with all the reckless, terrifying hope she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying for years.

It was a soft, stumbling collision of mouths and laughter and fingers tightening on jackets—and it was, without a doubt, the most dangerous, precious thing Emilie had ever let herself have.

When they finally pulled apart, Lando rested his forehead lightly against hers, still holding her hand.

"You scare the shit out of me," he whispered, grinning.

"Good," Emilie whispered back.

But when he kissed her again—this time slower, sweeter—she let herself believe, for just one dangerous, dazzling second, that maybe she didn't have to be scary forever.

That maybe someone had finally seen her.

And wanted her anyway.

***

Text Messages: Max Fewtrell & Lando Norris

Lando: Bro. BRO. I’m going to throw up.

Max: ok congrats on what?? nervous breakdown? race win? what are we celebrating

Lando: i kissed her

Max: who

Lando: her

Max: MATE WHO

Lando: EMILIE

Max: WAIT wait wait wait BACK UP u kissed her??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN "I KISSED HER"???

Lando: we had dinner and i didn’t die and then she LET ME HOLD HER HAND and THEN SHE LET ME KISS HER

Max: mate i need a minute

 since WHEN were you even going on dates with her??? this is like finding out ur mate moved to another country and got married without telling u what do u mean you just had dinner casually WHEN WAS THIS PLANNED

Lando: it just happened kind of after i liked her 2019 bikini pic at 2am

Max: what the fuck

Max: YOU DID WHAT

Max: YOU DUMB IDIOT LEGEND

Lando: she slid into my dms after told me i could just ask her out next time instead of stalking her like a creep

Max: i’m crying i’m so proud u’re still an idiot but like a victorious idiot

Lando: i’m literally shaking bro like i kissed her and she kissed me BACK

Max: wtf and she didn’t mace you or slap you??? mate she might actually like you

Lando: i think she might

Lando: i’m gonna marry her

Max: ok buddy let’s aim for a second date first

Lando: i’m so fucked

Max: in the best way

[xothatnerdykid]

read your mind

You’re a newly minted pro-hero with a quirk that lets you to read the mind of anyone you touch. So imagine your surprise when you accidentally read a certain stoic, brooding hero's mind and find out he doesn't hate you like you thought, but rather, something dangerously close to the opposite.

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead x fem!reader. NSFW but not very explicit. 5,002 words.

“Your form was sloppy,” he says in lieu of a greeting.

You used to cringe when he’d tell you things like that, become sheepish and apologetic. Now, after months of knowing him, you'd simply smile and quip, “Awww, you watching my saves on the news again?”

You hated bumping into him. He was the reason you tended to leave mission briefings early: the ever-stoic, perpetually unimpressed Pro Hero Eraserhead.

As a relatively new hero working in the same city, you were thrilled at the chance to learn from someone as experienced as him. But your excitement quickly dimmed the first time you met as you noticed his gruff demeanor and critical, scrutinizing gaze.

You knew he was tough on everyone, but there were times when it felt like his criticism was directed at you more than anyone else. And no matter how hard you tried or how much praise everyone else gave you, he always found something to correct.

So, for the sake of keeping your self-esteem intact, you’ve resorted to treating his criticism like a game, teasing him back whenever he dropped one of his classic deadpan remarks. It was either that or crumble under the weight of his seemingly endless disapproval.

But today, all you can muster is a grunt in response, head throbbing from fatigue and chronic sleep deprivation.

“That’s my line,” he says flatly. Because apparently, someone always has to be the cheeky one between the two of you.

“Can we just…” You rub your temple, wincing as the pain spikes. "Can we just not do this today?”

“Are you feeling alright?” His voice loses a bit of its usual sharpness as he steps closer, eyes narrowing in concern. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you huff, waving him off. "Just tired. We can't all function on only ten shots of espresso a day."

"Seven actually. I'm not a maniac. And you don't sound fine."

You roll your eyes, feeling too drained to banter with him. "I said I'm fine. Can you spare me the lecture?"

You mean to walk past him when you feel his hand wrap around your wrist, startling you. Suddenly, there’s that familiar buzz in your mind — your quirk activating with the skin-to-skin contact. The headache momentarily takes a backseat as his thoughts flood in.

Is she really okay? She looks like she’s about to collapse.

Why does she always push herself so hard?

You look up at him, eyes wide and unblinking.

He yanks his hand away as if he’d been burned, the flood of his thoughts abruptly cut off. His dark eyes flicker with something—surprise? Guilt? He takes a step back.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice rougher than usual. “Didn’t mean to…”

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. How are you supposed to respond to that? All this time, you thought he was just cold, that he only ever saw your flaws. But just now, he…

He was worried about you?

“I—” you start, but your voice falters. He’s still staring at you, his expression carefully guarded again.

“I’ll see you around. Feel better." His voice is clipped, betraying none of the thoughts you just heard. The words sound so casual, so dismissive, that for a moment you wonder if you imagined it all.

You want to say something to break the tension between you, but you're suddenly nervous. Your heart races, pounding with the weight of this new knowledge. Before you can compose yourself, another hero calls his name, and he mutters a quick response before leaving.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

You promised yourself you were going to avoid him like the plague.

Later that day, when you were tossing and turning in bed, still overthinking your last encounter — you promised. You even came up with (what seemed to you) a solid game plan: You were going to focus on hero work so much that you won’t even have the time to think about him, much less see him.

But the mission had gone from bad to worse in a matter of minutes.

What was supposed to be a simple recon had turned into a full-on chase through the streets when the criminal you'd been tracking for weeks unexpectedly showed up at the deal you were sent to bust. Orders be damned, you vaulted over the rooftop ledge and ran after them.

You leaped across buildings, adrenaline spurring you on. Your mind was focused, heart pounding in rhythm with your footfalls. You’d chased this villain twice before, and both times, they’d slipped through your fingers. You weren’t about to let that happen again.

The villain was fast, but so were you. With each bound, you closed the gap, watching as they darted into a narrow alleyway below. This was your chance. Your heart surged as you prepared to drop down and cut them off.

Suddenly, a figure descended from the shadows, blocking your target from your sight. Your stomach dropped.

Of course it was him.

"Stay back. This is too dangerous for you to handle alone.” His voice was firm and authoritative. Even with the goggles on, you could feel his dark eyes trained on you with that same stern expression you’d come to dread.

"Dangerous? I've been on this case longer than you have!”

You stepped forward but so did he.

“I said stay back,” he warned you. “Don’t be reckless. He’s already evaded you twice, and now he’s cornered. Desperate villains do desperate things.”

“He’s getting away! You’re ruining my chance to finally catch him!”

“And you’ll get yourself killed,” Aizawa snapped. “I’m not going to let a rookie run into a trap.”

Anger flared in your chest. You knew he didn’t respect you, hadn’t from the start. Always criticizing, always watching with that disapproving scowl. You try to push past him, but it’s no use. He’s stronger than you, and maybe even more stubborn.

“Wait here and let me handle it,” Aizawa growled, his voice low and commanding. His scarf moved like a serpent around him, a silent warning that he wouldn’t hesitate to use it if you pushed any further.

You clenched your fists but did as you were told. Much to your frustration, the villain was apprehended quickly after that. You watched from the rooftop, fuming as Aizawa cornered them with ease, his scarf tangling around the villain's limbs like it was second nature. Within minutes, the situation was over, and backup arrived to escort the criminal away.

You stayed put, your heart still racing with the adrenaline of the chase and the frustration of being sidelined once again. The cool night breeze did little to calm your heated emotions. It wasn’t fair. You’d been so close, only for him to swoop in like you were some rookie who couldn’t handle their own mission.

Now, you watch as he finishes giving his statement to the police and then make his way towards you.

You cross your arms tightly, readying yourself for whatever critique he’d throw your way this time. But when he stops in front of you, he doesn’t say anything right away. He simply takes off his goggles and looks at you.

His silence is almost worse than his usual condescending remarks. When he finally speaks, his voice is gravelly, strained. More measured than you expected.

"Are you okay?"

You blink. "I…I'm fine," you answer, maybe a bit too defensively.

Aizawa's eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think he’s about to call you out for your tone. But he just stares at you, his expression as unreadable as ever.

You shift on your feet, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. The silence stretches between you both, heavy and awkward, until he exhales and rubs the back of his neck.

"Good," he mutters, his voice softening just slightly, but there’s something behind his eyes—a flicker of something you can’t quite place. His hand lowers back to his side, and as it brushes yours for the briefest moment, something happens.

Skin contact.

Before you can stop it, his thoughts are bleeding into yours, loud and clear.

I should’ve handled that better. She probably thinks I hate her…

Dammit, I don’t want her to hate me.

Your breath catches in your throat. A rush of emotions flood your mind: frustration, concern. Genuine fear.

She doesn’t need to prove herself to me. She’s already good enough. More than good enough.

Heat floods your face, your pulse quickening. He… cares? Before you can process it fully, the connection snaps. A sudden coldness washes over you as your quirk is forcibly erased.

Aizawa’s eyes lock onto yours, his irritation visible in the sharpness of his gaze and the tight line of his mouth.

"I…I didn't mean to," you tell him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Something like uncertainty flickers in his expression, and his hair falls down in waves as he shuts off his quirk, too. His jaw tightens but his brow furrows as though he’s trying to decide what to say.

“I...know you didn’t,” he finally says, his voice low and rough.

You flinch, guilt bubbling up in your chest. “I’m sorry,” you murmur again, dropping your gaze to the ground. You didn’t want to invade his mind, but now you couldn’t unhear what you’d discovered.

Just like before, he turns to leave.

“Wait—” you blurt out, reaching for him instinctively. You don’t know what you’re going to say, but you can’t just let him leave like this. Not again.

He pauses, half-turning to glance at you over his shoulder. Your heart is pounding in your ears. The words are there, but they feel jumbled in your throat, tangled up in the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling through your mind.

“I—I didn’t know. About any of it.”

Your eyes search his face for any sign of what he’s thinking, but his expression remains impassive. You fight back the urge to touch him.

“I thought you couldn’t stand me,” you admit in a small voice.

Aizawa heaves a sigh. His hand rises to pinch the bridge of his nose, and for the first time, you notice how tired he looks; exhausted, worn down in a way that makes him seem more human, less the untouchable figure you’ve always seen him as.

“I’m not trying to be hard on you,” he says after a long pause, his voice softer now, the anger draining away. “But you don’t always think things through, and that’s dangerous. You’re talented. You don’t need to prove anything to me or anyone else.”

His words surprise you, and you look up, meeting his gaze again. There’s no scowl, no biting critique, just honesty. You swallow hard, feeling an odd mix of warmth and discomfort settle in your chest.

Before you can think better of it, your hand moves instinctively, brushing against his arm. You freeze, realizing what you’ve done, but this time, he doesn’t pull away. And though he has every opportunity to, he doesn’t erase your quirk either.

I’m too close to her. The thought is faint, hesitant. She’s already in my head… and it’s getting harder to push her away.

Your breath catches in your throat. He’s not just frustrated with you — he’s frustrated with himself.

You pull your hand back, not wanting to intrude further.

You don’t know what you expect to see on his face; surprise maybe, or even anger. But for the first time since you’ve met him, you see something warmer in his eyes — something that sends a flutter through your chest.

Aizawa takes a half-step closer and your pulse quickens at the proximity. Then, in a voice so soft it’s almost a secret, he murmurs, “Don’t make me worry like that again.”

“I won’t,” you manage to whisper, your heart caught in your throat.

He takes a step back, as if remembering himself, and his usual stern demeanor slips back into place.

“Go home. Get some rest.”

You nod, still too flustered to speak. The warmth of his touch lingers long after he's gone.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

It’s well past midnight, the city quiet except for the soft hum of distant traffic and the occasional sound of wind rustling through the streets. Your patrol route brings you to the edge of a quiet park, where you catch a familiar figure standing in the shadows, keeping watch.

“You really like brooding in the dark, don’t you?" You smile at him from over your shoulder, though your usual sarcasm is gone.

“It's my favorite pastime,” he deadpans, but you don't miss the way his dark eyes hold yours a beat too long.

“Right,” you snicker. “The city’s most stoic hero. I bet you even scowl in your sleep.”

Aizawa’s lips twitch, the tiniest of smirks threatening to break through. “You can’t prove that.”

"Oh?” You smile sweetly, batting your eyelashes for good measure. “Something tells me I can.”

His gaze sharpens slightly, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s about to call you out on your teasing. But instead, he steps closer, his tall frame looming over you.

“You’re bold tonight,” he says, his tone somewhere between amused and intrigued. “Careful, I might start thinking you’re actually enjoying my company.”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling any wider. “And what if I am?”

He steps just a fraction closer, and you can feel the heat radiating off him in the cool night air. His voice is low and smooth when he says, “Then I’d have to wonder what it is you think you’re getting yourself into.”

The air between you thickens, the playful banter now laced with something a little more dangerous, a little more exciting.

“You know, I could buy you a coffee sometime,” you offer, hoping to diffuse some of the tension, keep the conversation light. “To say thanks for helping me out with that last mission.”

He pretends to mull it over but, before you can react, he reaches out and grabs the coffee cup you’re holding. He takes a deliberately long sip, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle.

When he lowers the cup, he meets your gaze with a half-lidded look that sends your pulse racing.

“Consider it done.”

Your face feels impossibly warm now, and you’re sure your blush is painfully obvious, but you manage to keep your voice steady as you quip, “An indirect kiss? Maybe you’re the one who needs to be careful, or else other people will start getting the wrong idea.”

With a low laugh, he hands the cup back to you, and the subtle brush of his fingers against yours sets off another wave of his thoughts.

I wonder if she realizes how much I want her.

Your breath catches.

For a split second, you think you might’ve misheard it, but the heat in Aizawa’s gaze as he watches your reaction tells you otherwise. The cup is back in your hand, but your fingers are numb. Your focus is entirely on him, his thoughts still rattling around in your mind.

His lips twitch again. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden,” he teases, his voice low, almost a purr. “What’s going on up there? Something I should know about?”

You swallow hard, trying to gather your composure. He’s looking at you like he’s daring you to admit what you heard.

You take a deep breath and decide to play along. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering if you always flirt this shamelessly.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see how you’d react.”

Your heart is racing now, fingers trembling around the cup in your hand. His gaze is dark and intense. Unwavering. He's looking at you like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you and he’s enjoying it.

Your quirk had always been a double-edged sword; sometimes it revealed things you wished you hadn’t known, and other times it brought clarity to situations that seemed hopelessly opaque.

This time, it left you with a dilemma.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs, as if sensing your thoughts. He’s close enough now that you can feel the warmth of him, his presence overwhelming but not uncomfortable. “Since you’re already in my head…why stop now?”

Your breath hitches. His invitation is dangerous, yet impossible to resist. There are a dozen reasons why you shouldn’t — you work together, it’s an invasion of privacy, you hated his guts just a few weeks ago — but the temptation is too strong, his presence too intoxicating.

Hesitantly, your fingers brush against his once more, and his thoughts flood in again, more intense and vivid this time.

She’s braver than I thought. I like that.

I shouldn’t be doing this. But damn, I can’t stop thinking about her. The way she looks at me…

“Good girl,” he cooes, his voice a low rumble that sends a flutter of excitement through you.

You feel lightheaded, dizzy with the weight of his thoughts, the tension between you at a boiling point. You swallow hard, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the way Aizawa’s eyes are fixed on you — dark, intense, hungry — it’s making it hard to think straight. He wants you to know. He wants you to feel what he’s feeling.

And you do.

You feel everything.

His desire is a palpable thing, hanging in the air between you, electric and heady. You can see it in the way his gaze lingers on your lips, the way his breath hitches ever so slightly when you lean in.

“Hardly seems fair. I don't get to know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.” His voice dips lower, enough to send another wave of heat crashing over you. “Are you going to keep me guessing?”

Your voice wavers slightly, but you manage to respond, “I’m not sure you’re ready for what’s in my head.”

He chuckles, a dark, low sound that makes your stomach flip. “You might be surprised.”

You can barely breathe as he brushes the back of his hand against your jaw, his thumb pressing lightly on the corner of your mouth. You feel his thoughts ripple through you again, even stronger this time.

I want her. God, I want her so badly…

Your knees feel weak, and it takes everything in you not to lose yourself completely in the moment, in him. The tension between you feels unbearable now, as if one wrong move could send you both over the edge. And you’re not sure how much longer either of you can hold back.

Aizawa smirks, just a hint of satisfaction flickering in his expression.

I could kiss her right now. It would be so easy.

The thought lingers between you, thick and heavy, and you can’t tell if it’s yours or his anymore. All you know is that just the idea of his lips on yours is making your entire body hum with anticipation.

Aizawa watches you carefully, as if waiting for your reaction. He knows you heard him, and he’s not backing down.

You swallow hard, the weight of his gaze pinning you in place. “Go ahead then,” your own voice sounds small and distant to your ears, but it’s enough to tip the balance.

His lips are on yours in a second.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if he’s testing the waters, but it quickly deepens as the tension that had been building between you finally breaks. His other hand slides around your waist, pulling you closer, and you feel his thoughts rushing through you again.

God, she tastes even better than I imagined.

Your knees nearly buckle, and you can barely focus on anything except the way his lips feel against yours — firm, warm, demanding yet tender. He’s kissing you like he’s been holding back for far too long.

When you finally pull back for air, your heart is pounding, your breath shaky. Aizawa’s forehead rests gently against yours, his eyes half-closed as he catches his own breath. His thumb brushes lightly over your cheek, a small, affectionate gesture that has you smiling up at him in a tizzy.

“Still think I hate you?” he murmurs, his voice low and full of heat as he slides his hands into the curve of your waist.

You laugh softly, pulling him closer by his scarf. “I think I might need a little more convincing.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

The days that follow your little late night tryst at the park are deliciously unbearable.

It’s as if you don’t know how to be around him anymore. There's tension during training sessions. The gym hums with its usual energy, but you can’t focus. Not with him in the room. You’re sparring with someone, half-heartedly dodging and throwing punches, but your mind is elsewhere, replaying the feel of Aizawa’s lips on yours, the heat of his body pressed against you.

Across the room, he’s speaking to a group of trainees, the same unreadable, stoic expression in place. But there's a flicker of something else in his eyes when they briefly meet yours, a look only you recognize.

Your opponent lands a hit on your shoulder and you nearly stumble. You grit your teeth and bring yourself back to the present moment. When the sparring session ends, you grab a bottle of water and try to catch your breath.

He walks over to where you’re sitting off to the side, seemingly doing the same. His voice is low enough so only you can hear. "You're distracted."

You flush, struggling to keep your expression impassive. “And what if I am?”

“Focus, or I’ll have to give you some private training later.”

His words are a promise, dripping with intent, and your blood sings. You can’t find a response quick enough before he’s already pulling away, leaving you flushed and even more distracted.

It’s not much better during night patrol, when the city streets are dimly lit and mostly empty. Although the two of you are supposed to be overseeing different sectors, you know when you turn a corner into a dark alley that he's following silently, closely behind.

You walk deeper into the alley, pretending to scan the area, but the quiet crunch of his footsteps has your heart racing. Just as you’re about to turn back, a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you into the shadows, away from prying eyes.

You open your mouth to say something, but he’s already on you, crashing his lips against yours.

“You’re making—it hard—for me—to concentrate,” he murmurs between kisses, each word punctuated by the soft graze of his mouth against yours. His hands press against your hips, pinning you gently yet firmly to the wall, and a wave of heat spreads through you.

Suddenly, an image flashes in your mind: him trailing his mouth downwards until he’s on his knees, hooking your leg over his shoulder and eating you out. A thought that isn’t your own.

“You’re one to talk,” you shoot back, though there’s no real bite to it. If anything, your voice is barely steady. “You’re supposed to be patrolling your own area.”

He runs his fingers along your jaw. "And let you wander into dark alleys alone?" He leans in, lips brush against your ear, nibbling. "Not a chance."

He crooks a finger under your chin and tilts your head up, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, his teeth and lips lingering just enough to make you gasp.

I want to taste you. All of you, he thinks. I want you to make a mess on my face, on my fingers, and then lick it clean.

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug. He presses you harder against the wall, and it’s dizzying, intoxicating—

Until the sharp crackle of comms cuts through the haze.

“Report. Any activity?”

You both freeze, breaths mingling, still pressed close. His eyes flick to yours, and there’s a hint of amusement dancing in them.

“Nothing to report,” he says, voice calm and collected as if he hadn’t just been kissing you senseless a moment ago.

You look up at him, dazed and wanting, heart pounding. He tilts his head at you and you realize they’re expecting a response from you, too.

“N-no activity here either,” you manage despite the tightness of your throat.

The comms fall silent once more. Aizawa is looking at you through half-lidded eyes and a self-satisfied smirk. You hate him as much as you really don't.

“We should get back to our routes before someone decides to check on us," he murmurs.

“Oh, so now you’re concerned about protocol?” You arch an eyebrow at him, though you’re sure your flushed cheeks betray any semblance of teasing bravado.

"For now." He leans down to brush the shell of your ear with his lips. "But if you keep looking at me like that, I might just break a few more rules.”

A few days later, you find yourselves seated across from each other during a mission debriefing. The room is full of other pro heroes, but it might as well be empty for all the attention you’re paying to anyone else.

Your thoughts scramble every time Aizawa's knee brushes against yours beneath the table. He, on ther hand, is the picture of composure, listening to the debrief with his usual detached focus.

This meeting’s dragging. I can think of better ways to pass the time with you.

You try to focus on the mission details, but half way through, he moves his hand atop your thigh and you shiver.

How long do you think it’d take if we just slipped out, right now?

You steal a glance at him, and there’s the barest flicker of amusement in his eyes when they meet yours.

You force yourself to look down at your notes, but your mind is elsewhere, his presence impossibly distracting. Fuck it, you think before you slide your foot up his calf.

He sputters a cough, a rare crack in his usually unshakable composure, and you feel a surge of satisfaction. Under the table, his hand tightens on your thigh, his grip firm, almost possessive, and the thrill of it has you biting the inside of your cheek.

Keep doing that and I won’t be responsible for what happens after this.

As the meeting draws to a close, everyone rises to leave, and Shota gives you a barely perceptible nod toward the hallway. You follow at a careful distance until you reach his office, entering a good few minutes after he does so as not to arouse suspicion.

He backs you gently against the door as he locks it behind you, his gaze pinning you in place. His eyes are dark and stormy, with that half-focused look you’ve come to love so much. When he speaks, his voice is soft, a murmur meant only for you. “You’re going to get us caught, you know that?”

You smile up at him sweetly then tip-toe to give him a soft, lingering kiss. "You’re the one who can’t seem to keep things professional,” you coo, your fingers tracing along the collar of his shirt, teasing.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Is that so? Funny, I don’t remember you objecting."

“Of course not,” you confess breathlessly, head thrown back in pleasure as you tug at his hair. You can’t make out the sound of your own voice over the blood thumping in your ears. “Do you know how many times I’ve imagined us doing inappropriate things in your office?”

Your words seem to snap the last of his restraint.

A low growl escapes him, and before you know it, he’s gripping your hips and lifting you just enough to press the hardness of his length against you. You gasp. His mouth finds yours with a raw, pent-up hunger that has you clinging to his shoulders, heart racing wildly.

“And here I was, thinking I was the only one losing sleep over this,” he murmurs between kisses, tugging your bottom lip gently between his teeth.

He pulls you flush against him as his tongue explores your mouth, and you trail your hands down his chest and the ridges of his abdomen just as eagerly. You grind your hips down on his erection and he lets out a deep, guttural groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, his warm, rough hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. “You’re lucky we’re alone.” His tone is half-warning, half-promise, and you can feel his heartbeat racing beneath your hands.

"I know somewhere we wouldn't have to worry about being interrupted," you tell him breathlessly. “My place. Tonight. If you’re up for it.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "I'll clear my schedule.”

[hearts4sturn]

CAUGHT IN A LIE – MATT STURNIOLO

pairing: heartthrob!matt x fem!reader synopsis: y/n was forced to attend a fraternity party after losing a bet to her friend. she was awkward—never quite sure how to handle parties like this. when a guy (who clearly couldn’t take a hint) kept flirting with her, she found herself unable to say no. matt, thinking he was doing her a favor, stepped in and claimed they were dating. but word spread fast around the university, leaving them no choice but to keep up the lie. warnings: lowercase intended, angst, alcohol, mentions of sex

masterlist | series masterlist

TWO: LIES

the following days after were absolute hell. no exaggeration. everywhere i went, i could feel eyes on me, hear the murmurs that never quite faded, always lingering just out of reach but loud enough to remind me that people were talking. and the worst part? they weren’t even subtle about it.

if i turned my back? whispers. if i walked by a group of people? whispers. if i so much as existed in a room for more than five seconds? whispers. it was exhausting. seriously, what the hell? we’re literally seniors in university, grown adults on the verge of entering the real world, and yet they still find joy in gossiping like we’re stuck in some high school drama. grow up.

but what really got to me—what really settled into my bones like an uncomfortable itch i couldn’t scratch—was the fact that i hadn’t seen matt since the night of the party. not once. before that night, he was just one of those people i’d run into from time to time. whether i was studying at my usual spot in the local cafe or making my way across campus for class, he was always just... there. sometimes alone, sometimes surrounded by his friends, but always there. and now? nothing. it was like he had vanished into thin air.

at first, i told myself it was a coincidence. campus was big, and it wasn’t like we shared classes or anything. but as the days passed, the absence started to feel intentional. like he was actively avoiding me. like maybe—just maybe—he was ashamed to be caught up in a rumor with me.

that thought made something in my chest twist uncomfortably. not that i cared, obviously. it’s not like i wanted him to be around. it’s not like i kept looking for him in places i knew he usually was. not at all.

with a sigh, i snapped my notebook shut, stuffing it into my backpack and swinging the strap over my left shoulder. i needed to stop thinking about this. matt didn’t matter. the rumors didn’t matter. i just needed to focus on school–to study and get my degree.

"eve? i’m gonna head to class now! i’ll be back in a couple hours!" i called out, slipping on my adidas sambas and adjusting the strap of my bag.

"alright! don’t let the gossipers get to you too much!" evelyn called back, her voice light but knowing.

"yeah, yeah," i muttered, rolling my eyes before stepping out of our dorm room, bracing myself for another long day of ignoring the noise.

as i made my way across campus to my anatomy class, the crisp morning air did little to shake off the exhaustion weighing on my shoulders. i had stayed up way too late the night before, cramming for my biochem test next week, and now, i was running on nothing but willpower and the promise of caffeine.

so, naturally, i made a detour to my favorite coffee shop, the one place that had fueled countless late-night study sessions and saved me from more than a few academic breakdowns. the smell of freshly brewed espresso and vanilla hit me the moment i stepped inside, a welcome comfort against the chaos of my schedule.

as i slid into the line, my mind wandered, my fingers absentmindedly tapping against the strap of my backpack. but then, just as i was settling into the peaceful rhythm of the cafe, i heard it—whispers.

not just any whispers. my name. and matt’s.

“…they’re still together?”

“probably, but i still haven’t seen them together since the party…”

i exhaled sharply, rolling my eyes as i shifted my weight from one foot to the other. seriously, how had this rumor gotten so out of hand? it had started as a tiny spark, something barely worth acknowledging, and now it had spread like wildfire. the whispers followed me around campus, no matter where i went, as if my personal life had somehow turned into everyone else’s favorite mystery to unravel.

eventually, the line inched forward, and i finally reached the counter. the moment i locked eyes with the barista, a familiar grin spread across her face.

“y/n! you’re back!” scarlett, one of my favorite baristas, greeted me warmly. “let me guess—your usual?”

this coffee shop had become my second home during exam season, and after countless hours spent hunched over textbooks and laptop screens in the corner booth, i had gotten to know the staff pretty well. scar, in particular, always seemed to be working whenever i came in, and over time, we’d built a sort of friendly rapport.

“hey, scar!” i greeted, returning her smile. “actually, can i get a medium iced white chocolate mocha with whip today?”

“switching it up, huh?” she teased as she tapped my order into the register.

“figured i’d live a little,” i joked, pulling out my wallet.

“love that for you,” she chuckled. “is that all?”

i nodded, and she spun the screen toward me.

“$5.48.”

i tapped my card against the reader, the soft beep signaling the transaction had gone through.

“you’re all set!” she said cheerfully.

“thanks, scar,” i replied before making my way to one of the tables, sitting down in the wooden chair.

i scrolled mindlessly through my phone, my thumb moving automatically as i tapped through the endless parade of instagram stories. some of my classmates were out at parties, their nights filled with loud music and flashing lights. others posted funny reels, the kind that always seemed to go viral no matter how many times you’d seen them. and then there were the perfectly curated photos—overexposed, with soft pastel colors and just the right amount of "effortless" aesthetic. it was all noise, just a blur of images and videos. but for some reason, i couldn’t stop watching, couldn’t pull myself away. my brain was numb, absorbed in the flickering images on the screen, none of it real. none of it felt like it had anything to do with me.

i was so caught up in my scrolling that when i felt a tap on my shoulder, the sudden touch startled me, and i jumped, my heart thudding in my chest.

"y/n?" a voice asked from behind me.

i froze for a second, blinking up in surprise, and turned around to see matt standing there, his expression a little hesitant but familiar.

"matt? you scared me!" i said, my hand instinctively going to my chest, as if trying to calm the racing heartbeat he’d just triggered.

he chuckled, his lips curving into a soft, apologetic smile. "sorry," he said, his voice light, though i could see the awkwardness creeping into his eyes.

the air between us felt thick, like we were both waiting for the other to say something—anything. i tried to smile, but it came out more nervous than i intended. "sooo…" i started, the word hanging in the air like an awkward balloon.

he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes briefly dropping to the floor before meeting mine again. "we should probably talk… shouldn’t we?" he said, his voice low, like it was more of a statement than a question.

i nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond. what was this about? why now? why was the world suddenly so loud, so heavy with this unspoken tension between us?

just as the silence stretched on, i heard a voice calling from across the room. "for y/n?"

i turned to see scarlett standing there, a cup in her hand, her eyebrow quirked with that familiar playful look she always had when she was teasing me.

"thanks, scar," i said, grateful for the interruption, even if just for a moment. i grabbed the drink from her hand, offering a smile that i hoped looked less strained than i felt.

i checked the time on my phone: 10:47 am. crap. i was going to be late if i didn’t leave soon.

i looked back at matt, still feeling the weight of the conversation hanging between us. "um, i have to get to class," i said, my voice awkward as i tried to break the tension. "but… do you want to put your number in my phone so we can talk later?"

he didn’t hesitate. he nodded, taking my phone from my hands without a word. his fingers moved quickly, typing something into the screen with the same fluid confidence he always seemed to have. it was like he was used to these kinds of exchanges, while i was overanalyzing every second of it.

he handed the phone back to me, his eyes locking with mine for a moment longer than necessary. 

"i’ll text you when i’m free," i said, taking the phone back from his hand, feeling a slight warmth spread across my face. "see you later."

without waiting for a response, i turned quickly, already feeling the pull of time and the pressure of getting to class before i was officially late. the door swung open in front of me, and i stepped outside, trying to shake off the strange feeling in my chest. my mind raced, thoughts tumbling over each other. what did it all mean? why had he come over and talked to after he “went missing” for like a week? was this just some casual exchange, or was there something more to it?

but right now, there was no time to think. class was waiting. and i had to face whatever this was when i had the chance.

finally, my last class of the day ended. the usual shuffle of students filled the hallways, some rushing out to get to their next class or head home, others hanging around, lingering in small groups as the day slowly wound down. i should’ve been relieved that the day was finally over, but instead, i felt like the hours had stretched on too long. maybe it was because i’d known all day that i had to text matt.

it wasn’t a matter of whether or not i should reach out—it was more like i had no choice. there was too much noise building up, too many whispers circulating between us. the rumors had started, and i’d been avoiding the inevitable. no one had said anything outright, but i could feel the weight of their looks, the hushed tones whenever we crossed paths. people talked. it wasn’t that they were saying anything terrible, but the implication was clear. no one really understood what was going on between us, and honestly, neither did i.

i pulled out my phone, scrolling through my contacts. matt’s name was toward the top, and for a moment, i just stared at it. i’m not sure why, i just felt hesitant to text him. eventually, i finally grew the courage to text him.

(ignore the time stamp !!)

thirty minutes. that’s all i had until i was meeting matt again. i checked the time on my phone and sighed. it was probably best to put my things down, maybe take a breath before i saw him. i grabbed my bag from the chair next to me and swung it over my shoulder. yeah, i needed to get back to my dorm.

the walk back didn’t take long, just about fifteen minutes, but it felt like the world was moving in slow motion as i made my way down the sidewalk. the usual buzz of campus was still there, people walking between buildings, chatting in small groups, but i felt disconnected from it all. it was like everything had quieted down, and all that was left was this one conversation hanging over me.

when i finally made it back to the dorm, i let out a quiet sigh as i dropped my backpack on the floor. the sound of the door shutting behind me seemed louder than usual, and it only reminded me of how much i had been avoiding this all day.

"y/n! you’re back!" evelyn’s voice called from the kitchen, her cheerfulness cutting through the tension in the room.

"yeah," i replied, pushing my shoes off. "but i’m gonna leave again soon. meeting matt."

she appeared in the doorway with a smile, setting down the mug she’d been holding. "oh, good luck!" she said with a playful salute, her grin widening.

i couldn't help but laugh at her dramatic pose. "thanks, eve. i think i’ll need it."

i walked over to my vanity, running a brush through my hair, feeling the weight of the day settle into my bones. nothing too major, just a quick touch-up. i wasn’t trying to look perfect, just not like a hot mess.

"m’kay, i’m gonna head out now," i said, standing up and grabbing my wallet, keys, and phone. "i’ll be back soon."

"bye, y/n! good luck again!" evelyn called after me, and i waved over my shoulder as i stepped out.

the air outside was cooler than i expected, but it was still a nice change from the warm dorm room. as i walked to the café, i couldn’t help but replay the conversation in my mind. we hadn’t really talked since the rumors started. not directly, anyway. he’d avoided me, and i’d done the same. we were both guilty of letting things get weird.

when i finally reached the café, i was about five minutes early. the place wasn’t crowded, just a few people typing away on their laptops or chatting quietly. i scanned the room, and then i saw him—matt, sitting in the corner with his back slightly turned to the door. he looked up as i approached, catching my eye for just a moment before he smiled and waved me over.

i made my way to the table and sat down across from him.

"hey," i said, offering a small smile.

he nodded, his expression neutral but still somehow friendly, like we were both trying to figure out how to pick up a conversation that had been paused for too long. "hey," he replied. his voice was calm, but there was something in the air between us—something unsaid, something that lingered.

we sat there for a second, neither of us speaking, and it felt oddly like the first time we’d ever met. all that tension from before, the rumors, the weirdness—it was all right there, and we both knew it. but neither of us had the perfect words to start.

finally, he broke the silence, his gaze a little more serious now. "so," he began, rubbing the back of his neck, "about all the stuff people are saying..."

i nodded, my fingers tapping nervously on the edge of the table. "yeah. i figured we should talk about it. clear the air, or whatever."

"well, about that," matt said, his lips curling into a cheeky grin. "i was actually thinking of something else..."

something else? my mind immediately went into overdrive, trying to figure out what exactly he meant. this wasn’t the conversation i’d expected. i was sitting here, nervously shifting my leg under the table, waiting for him to say something along the lines of ‘no, we’re not dating, it’s all a misunderstanding’. honestly, that would’ve been so much easier. we could’ve just brushed it off, cleared the air, and gone on with our lives. no one would be any the wiser.

but matt didn’t look like he was about to say that. no, he was looking at me with that look in his eyes—the one that said he was about to say something totally unexpected.

"what are you thinking of?" i asked, my voice a little tighter than i wanted it to be. i couldn’t help it. this whole situation was starting to feel like a slow burn, and i wasn’t sure if i was ready for whatever was coming next.

he leaned forward a little, his hands resting on the table as he gave me a look that was almost too casual for the situation. "okay, hear me out. the rumor’s already spread so much—i mean, legit, everyone is already whispering about it, right? it’s gonna be nearly impossible to shut it down now. and, honestly, ever since the rumors started, i’ve had so many girls stop bothering me. which, not gonna lie, is pretty peaceful."

i blinked, a little taken aback. this was… not what i expected. what did he mean, "stop bothering me"?

but before i could process it, he continued, the hopeful look in his eyes not fading even a little. "so, i was wondering..." he trailed off, leaving the words hanging between us. i could feel my pulse quicken, my brain trying to keep up. "if we could just... keep up the rumor?"

i stared at him, certain i hadn’t heard that correctly. keep up the rumor? what was he talking about? was he asking me to go along with it?

he leaned back in his chair slightly, watching me closely, waiting for some kind of reaction. it felt like everything had stopped for a moment, and my mind couldn’t seem to catch up.

"wait," i said, finally finding my voice. "you want us to... keep pretending? that we’re actually dating?"

he shrugged, his expression casual but his eyes still holding that same hopeful intensity. "well, yeah. i mean, it’s already out there, right? why not take advantage of it?"

take advantage of it? the idea felt wrong on so many levels, but at the same time, i couldn’t deny that there was a strange logic to it. the rumor was already so out of control, there was no way to shut it down now. and if it made matt’s life easier—if it made people stop bothering him—maybe it wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.

still, something didn’t sit right with me.

"you’re serious?" i asked, my voice quieter now. "you think this is a good idea?"

he nodded, a little too eagerly for my liking. "yeah. think about it. it’s a win-win. no one bothers us, we get some peace and quiet, and maybe people will stop whispering." he paused, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "and maybe we can have a little fun with it. i mean, no one’s gonna know, right?"

i stared at him for a moment, trying to process it all. he was asking me to go along with something fake. something that didn’t exist—except for in the minds of everyone who had heard the rumors. but the more i thought about it, the more i realized that maybe it wasn’t such a simple question of what was right or wrong. it was more like—what was the harm?

"so, we just keep this going? like we’re actually a thing?"

he raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying my hesitation. "yeah, exactly. it’s just a little act. no one needs to know what’s really going on between us. we can keep it low-key, but it’ll keep the peace. you don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. just... play along."

his words left me in a strange place, torn between the part of me that wanted to put a stop to the whole thing and the part that thought maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. it wasn’t real, but it felt like it would give us some breathing room.

i let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of the decision settle over me. could i really do this? could i go along with a lie—just to make things easier for both of us?

"i don’t know, matt," i said, shaking my head slightly. "this feels… weird."

he nodded, understanding in his eyes. "yeah, i get it. but think about it. we won’t be the first people to fake something for convenience. it could just be temporary. and when it blows over, we can drop it."

i didn’t answer immediately. part of me was still skeptical, still not sure about the idea of playing along with something that wasn’t real. but another part of me—one that was tired of the rumors, of the awkwardness—felt like it might be worth considering.

"i need to think about it," i said, finally. "this is a lot to take in."

he smiled, a bit more relaxed now. "yeah, of course. take your time. i’m not going anywhere."

wc: 3.4k author's note: hai i’m bored dividers: @toastray

taglist: @courta13 @tits4matt @backwardshatnick @emely9274 @mattspillowprincess

© HEARTS4STURN 2025

[llalloyd]

NINJA BEVERAGE HCS YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH

im doing all kinds of writing except the writing i actually have to do for school what has become of me

lloyd

green tea. need i say more

this boy lives off pokka green tea and got mad when the price went up and the volume of the classic bottle shrunk. but, occasionally, he will have a mocha.

but before he goes to sleep each night he'll pour himself a hot cup of milo. or hot chocolate milk.

jay

brewed latte with extra sugar. he can't take the bitterness of espresso, but he wants the caffeine for staying up late to do late-night projects.

otherwise, coke or hot chocolate. i don't think he'd drink milo though.

he is the same before and after merge.

kai

coke boy, because it's red. but i also feel like he'd be an iced lemon tea guy! (the pokka one.)

in all seriousness he's the type of guy to actively avoid drinking water and will drink anything else.

cole

this Rocker likes to drink water, weirdly enough. but ribena and root beer is definitely on this man's guilty pleasure.

he drinks milo with lloyd occasionally. he's a good bro.

zane

...

okay yes he needs oil, but he can drink soda. i think he would enjoy slurpees.

nya

her own element, duh!! but she likes bubble tea with 0% sugar and instead of boba it's konjac....

sora

fanta. all the flavours. she built the machines after she left imperium and sold them for a high price, but she built another one after lloyd took her in!!!! and i firmly believe in this theory.

she's TIRED of drinking water because that's all imperium ever supplies their citizens. however, she does like coffee occasionally!

arin

he loves loves loves chocolate milk. he's a chocolate milk guy for sure!!! unfortunately he is probably lactose intolerant, plus drinking it reminds him of the time his parents would give choccy milk to him every day before school starts, so he stopped drinking them after the merge. but he started drinking it again when lloyd took him in and then he stopped again after he left the team. wow okay sorry i didn't expect this to be sad

riyu

a fireball??? water??? probably??????

BONUS:

lord ras

pure rage. that's it thank you!

[aussie-cipher]

G'day Mate!

Watch out for the spiders. Seriously, they just appear someti-

OH GOD THERE'S ONE RIGHT THERE-

(ooc: here's the ref,, thank you @miiraclepaint my bestest bestie who does all the arting for meeee)

(ooc shit under cut,,)

Mod is @pest-control-jerp!

Warnings for Aussie Falls AU: Body horror, spiders (like, an excessive amount of spiders), derealisation (mostly previously), depictions of trauma that could be too realistic for some, implied lack of consent for certain activities (fuck you @jolly-billy (just the character not the mod)).

Aussie's pronouns are he/him but mod uses any/all (excluding she/her). He will now be human most of the time (bro got comfortable like that,, self-acceptance and all that).

Aussie Falls Cast: Aussie Cipher Oliver Eucalypt ( @oliver-eucalypt ) Henry Eucalypt Noah Eucalypt ( @noah-eucalypt ) Issa Eucalypt

In Aussie Falls, Aussie (or just Oz for short) accidentally destroyed Euclydia, but crash landed in the Australian outback, rather than.. America. He was taken in by a family who were residents of the town of Alice Springs (real location); the Eucalypts. They were never really family, as he had not concept of family, and they never really fully saw him as such, hence why he kept the last name 'Cipher'. He remembered nothing else about where he came from, and because it's Australia, nobody questioned anything about it. Until the 2010s, when Oliver got a little too curious, and accidentally caused Oz to have one of his signature mental breakdowns, in the form of Austrageddon. After killing Oliver, he made his Fearamid... with fuckass spider legs (because I have the power to make that canon, fuck you). Noah and Issa (who were children at this point) enlisted the help of emus to defeat him, and successfully scared him off. He moved to America. (...fuck, i thought we had avoided america *sighh*) Since then, Jolly Bill has been a nuisance, Oz has held a failed event (barbie party :D) that ended in a breakdown, he has also been bullied by Hench Ford so he had another breakdown, and then watched 80s movies until he felt better. Also, I (Jerp) got hired to kill him (me). ...I got hired to kill m-

Please hold

Important things to note: - He doesn't have any human neurodivergences (word? yes?), but he is very.. special. - His coping mechanisms are his Hello Kitty socks, 80s music, other forms of 80s media, and excessive espresso martini consumption. - Wilhelm and Oliver are his fps. - Certain topics are sensitive to him. I'm sure you can guess which ones those areeee,, :D

ALL ART WILL BE PRIED FROM THE GRUBBY MITTS OF @miiraclepaint BECAUSE I CANNOT DRAW GOOD :]

My old intro posts are so cringe. Please don't judge me...

Original intro post:

Elsa arc intro post:

[deadly-espresso]

(OC: Twisted Anastasiya)

Yep, here's Anastasiya's Twisted. She's looking like the World's Least Okay Dentist right now...

As for an explanation on her mechanics, Anastasiya seems to possess just enough willpower to hold herself back, although whether she's doing a better or worse job than Twisted Glisten is for you to decide. Her stats are usually bad enough that even a Toon with 3* Movement Speed can reasonably distract her, but if you eat something, her chasing speed and attention span go up and your Stealth drops to -10 around her (both for 15 seconds). The Stealth drop is fixed and can't even be counteracted using non-edible sources of Stealth such as the "Beginner's Luck" active ability or the Diary trinket. Therefore, all you can really do is avoid Anastasiya and wait it out. Oh, also, the Stealth debuff is actually WORSE if you're playing as Shrimpo, where his Stealth will drop to -109 if he eats something.

Note: The "eating something" condition can be triggered in two different ways. The first and more common scenario is to use an item that is edible. These items include Gumballs, Chocolate, Pop, Speed Candy, Protein Bar, Stealth Candy, Skill Check Candy, Enigma Candy, Bottle o' Pop, and Box o' Chocolates. The second and less common scenario is the result of Toon abilities that involve consuming something. Abilities that trigger it include using "Tea Time", using "Shot of Espresso", or being the recipient of "Sharing is Caring", "Baked with Care!", "Shot of Espresso", or "Baked Sweets". Cosmos, Gingers, Teagans, Essas, and Sprouts beware.

Note: My concept for this Twisted was originally going to be a more straightforward take on the trope of evil doctors/dentists, but later I thought... wouldn't it be sadder if Anastasiya actually wasn't completely turned to the dark side by the Ichor, and instead she's ended up a prisoner in her own body, almost helpless as the Ichor twisted her desire to protect and take care of her friends into wrath and carnage? So... that's why Twisted Anastasiya looks terrified and even looks to be shaking and trembling.

Twisted Anastasiya's Research Description is as follows:

"Unintended exposure to Ichor has turned this once friendly doctor into a vicious adversary. While she's usually able to restrain herself to not be too much of a threat, those twisted feelings take over completely when she sees someone doing what a dentist hates the most- consuming things that are bad for one's teeth. Be wary and abstain from sugar while she's around!"

[0fbabylon-a]

coffee, tea, milk or juice? sweet or savoury breakfast?

𝐢.  𝐕𝐎𝐃𝐊𝐀.   NOT  KIDDING,   she taught Abra how to make the perfect bloody mary when they were living together  ( perfect when donna made it,  watery when abra tries her hand ).  If she could have a bloody mary for breakfast every morning of her life,  she'd look forward to the morning a bit more.  That being said,  she's still queen lazy and hates making her drinks herself.  In a desperate event where she is requiring something to drink,  she'll get a black iced coffee and make at least two people cry while drinking it through the day.  Truthfully,  I think she'd like a sweeter espresso drink  —but sometimes I think she actively avoids what she knows she would like,  settling for the bitter and grim alternative.  Weird psychology.  Can someone get her a bloody mary?

𝐢𝐢.  𝐒𝐇𝐄  𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘  𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒  𝐓𝐄𝐀.  Her disdain only grew as a result of Abra often trying to push her different brews on her day and night.

𝐢𝐢𝐢.  𝐅𝐎𝐑  𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓?  ...  Truthfully,  Madonna doesn't eat breakfast every day unless she's especially hungover  ( notably in her pre-verse ),  Madonna prefers a savory breakfast almost all of the time.  Fat strips of bacon and runny eggs,  crispy hash browns doused with hot sauce and ketchup.  Sometimes she'll ditch breakfast and go straight for the greasiest burger she can find.  Massive box of takeout from her favorite Chinese place.  It's not uncommon to catch her eating a corn dog at 10 a.m. while waiting to cross the street.

mundane headcanons.

[carchaseonacarchase]

tête de femme —final part 🤍🍸🦪

hey there! i'm saving this here on my blog in case of broken link, this is part of the journals in the elusive carmen sandiego site, all credits to cj & prudence :D

Somewhere between San Francisco and Los Angeles.

Chase woke at 6:00 AM and immediately read the previous day’s reports. He reviewed the news, checked messages from international contacts, and completed a 2-hour morning routine.

A double shot of espresso later, he was driving down the highway from San Francisco towards LA for an evening conference.

An ‘unknown caller’ activated his in-car Bluetooth.

He pressed to pick up, “Devineaux.”

“Secured line please,” the contralto request wasn’t unusual.

“Hold on,” he smiled and tapped a code on his linked communicator, “Right, we’re good.”

She waited a few seconds more.

“The weather in Buenos Aires was amicable,” she started.

He processed her clue, raised his brows and countered, “I see you did the thing.”

“I did,” a laugh was in her voice, “Thank you.”

Chase nodded at the ‘thank you,’ despite knowing she would be blind to his action, “So what happened?”

“I gave him the locket,” her tone remained steady, “Only one of us knew the woman in it, and it wasn’t me.”

Devineaux exhaled with some relief, she seemed happy, "Glad this ends well."

“…And I was thinking,” her topic shifted, “Meet me in Nice? Let’s race down the Upper Corniche to Menton.”

“This weekend?” The weekends were busy along the Corniches and it was wiser to race either at night or before sunrise. He wanted to avoid traffic. The mention of Menton also reminded him of limoncello, and he could use some to restock the bar. He suggested, “I can do Saturday night, predawn Sunday, but I need to be in Brussels Monday afternoon.”

“Airport, Saturday night, I’ll have a car ready,” she ended the call.

With voice command, Chase connected to Renee Grovesnor.

“Renee, free up my weekend? I need to take a flight to Nice, I’ll find my own way to Belgium.”

“Certainly,” she affirmed, “You have a redundancies meeting with Organized Crimes this Friday morning, I’ll cancel?”

“Move it to next week.”

“Friday afternoon, a conference call with Milan?”

“I’ll take that mid-trip.”

“Saturday afternoon reviewing cadet performance at the airfield?”

“Send Euge an apology, please.”

“Yoga with Dr. Weller and his wife early Sunday morning?”

“How… did I get invited into that?”

“Last week’s dinner conversation,” Thankfully, Renee kept notes.

“Cancel politely and send him a box of that gluten-free stuff he likes.”

“Done, and…,” his assistant trailed, “Chase? There’s a Malcolm Avalon calling you, this is the second time in an hour, should I patch him through?”

“Who?” Chase knew the answer to that question, but he was buying time.

“Malcolm Avalon,” Renee repeated, this time clearer, “He’s not a previous contact, I can relay —”

“No, it’s fine, let him through.”

As signals from Argentina rerouted through ACME and into Chase’s calibrated communicator, the indicating tones beeped an eternity.

Then came the silence.

“Devineaux,” Chase reluctantly greeted.

“Director Devineaux,” there was a pause.

“Yes, Mr. Avalon,” the detective apprehensively offered, “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve been told, Mr. Devineaux,” Avalon was more forward, “that you are the man to contact if I want to find my daughter.”

Some things never end, Chase suddenly realized, they only get more complicated.

— from the findcarmen site uwu

[luthordamnvers]

8 & 18 & 19 & 24 & 30

👀❤️

8. if you had to write a sequel to a fic, you’d write one for…

A sequel itself, I think I would love to explore medieval AU fic. I have no idea what about, but I loved that little world. Also, 23'sSupercorptober, also same thing. I could keep writing on that world, I'm just not sure what about 😂 ALSO ALSO, for mayhem fic @snowydragonscave and I had to actively stop ourselves because we could have kept writing and adding details, but we felt that we were running out of time.

18. if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic

This was from mayhem's fic, I did include part of it (i think, it's a blur) but think I rewrote it. I don't tend to keep many deleted scenes. This was my first draft of the start of the fic, but it felt confusing and disjointed, so back to the chalkboard i went, lol. She loves a routine. She wakes up at 6:10 AM, takes a quick shower and hits the building’s gym. She stretches and uses the treadmill for 10 minutes, before hitting the rowing machine for 20 minutes, in 1-minute intervals training, and then she does some stretches to cool down. She returns to her own penthouse, to take a more relaxing shower, painstakingly apply makeup over her body and face, and dresses herself for the day. Sometimes, she even has a quick breakfast; most of the time, she drinks a cup of espresso, and runs towards the door. It works for her. Once upon a time, she would do some extra squats and deadlifts at the gym, to keep up with her fencing training, but that was when she was a too young college kid and didn’t have a company to run. Now she can dedicate no more than 35-minutes daily to her workout, to make it to the office before 8:00 AM.  She’s still getting used to her new routine, after years of avoiding LuthorCorp, now it’s been almost a year since she had to face the reality of taking over the company. In all honesty, no one was happy about it. Not the board, not Lex, definitively not her, but the Luthors have majority Lillian just put her name forward, for only God knows what reason, when Lex was arrested.  Everything just piled up and was what made her take the decision to move an entire company to the other side of the country. Because her brother went into a murderous spree, to kill one single being. Her first move as acting CEO was to move headquarters. The next one was to rename the company, separate it from the Luthor name, maybe it could survive whatever sentence Lex was about to get. The move has been in the works for almost a year, and Lena has been traveling to and fro the west-coast since the decision had been made and she assumed the charge of her family’s company.

19. the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

I really liked the research about witchcraft, actually. it was very superficial, of course, but all the meaning of flowers and intention was really fun. I do really superficial research, tbh, especially when I realized that I was doing pretty deep research and never using it, or it was like A LINE in the fic, and that took so much time that I figured I just needed to check if I could get away with it 😂

24. how do you recharge when you’re not feeling creative?

In all honesty, part of my brain is always thinking about creating something, it's not something i can turn off, but, when i'm in no writing mode, I read fics, watch movies and tv. Go for a drive. Lowkey always watching youtube. Recently i've been trying to draw more, tho, i think that counts as a creative thing???

30. share a fic you’re especially proud of

Will forever be proud of my first one [D.E.B.S. AU]

Thank you for asking, darling 💜

[Ask Game]

[sidhewrites]

Chapter 11! We got hot plot! I am so keenly aware that this is a first draft and going to be edited so heavily once it's all on the page! One of the major notes I Have for myself consistently is to make Kaz more active in causing the plot to happen overall. Right now she seems to be a bit more of a pinball protag, so I'm going to have to do a lot of fixing in later drafts.

I also realize I'm seriously lacking tertiary/background characters? Kaz and Josie need friends lol. Now taking suggestions for other weird gay college kids that live in generic college town usa

Project Info

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

For the record, this is every bit as always as we both thought it would be. Josie and I sit at a very deliberate distance from each other on one of the brightly colored benches in the university’s student lounge. It’s a thoroughly modern building with glass walls and a wealth of amenities, but there aren’t many students to be found on a Friday afternoon, likely preferring to spend the start of their weekend having fun, or at least away from school. 

As a peace offering, I get us both cans of coffee from a vending machine, and hold one out for her as I flop down onto the bench across from her. 

“Do you drink anything other than coffee?” She asks, but takes the can anyway. Her fingers brush against mine, and we both freeze for a moment. 

I employ my usual method of smoothing out an awkward moment by saying something very smart and witty: “Sure. Sometimes I drink pure espresso like it’s a vodka shot.” 

For the record, I’ve only ever did that three times in my life, and every single time I told myself I’d never do it again. 

I push myself as far away from her on the small bench as possible while she sets up her laptop on the table in front of us, carefully avoiding looking at me. 

Half of me wants to call the whole thing off. I say I have to be somewhere else that I forgot about until just now, or just say fuck it and outright apologize for agreeing to meet in the first place. But the other, louder half of me is determined to be civil and polite and prove that we can get through a single half hour video like adults. 

I am keenly aware of the space my body takes up as she pulls up the Haunted Archivist’s website. My fingers grip the cold aluminum of the coffee can, my feet sweat in the socks I’ve worn all day and the work boots I wear everywhere. The sports jersey I’m wearing rubs against my skin, and I try to focus on that instead of the way Josie’s choker bobs with her throat when she swallows or the way her auburn hair falls over her shoulder. I don’t look at her stomach hanging over her waistband or think about how much I want to grab her, and how easily I could pull her towards me and lose myself in her. 

Before I know it, I’ve downed the whole can of coffee. 

“This was a mist—“ I say, right as Josie says, “Got it! Ready?”

She flushes for a second then, and leans back. “Oh, sorry. What was that?”

“This was a mistake,” I say again before I can help myself. 

A flash of fear and pain darkens her expression, so I act without thinking, and hold up the coffee. “This. I’m gonna regret it in about an hour.”

Relief floods Josie’s body and I see her almost sag with relief as she nods. “That’s for certain. Ready?”

She starts the video, and the Haunted Archivists begin with their usual affair. Shots of past videos flash across the screen as they introduce themselves and what they do, followed up with talking heads of Lourdes and Mick introducing this month’s subject. 

I glance over at Josie as they run through a list of noted ghosts in town, and she mumbles under her breath when she forgets a few that only a small group of locals know. 

Elitist, I think fondly. 

They start with the Barkeep, then the Kramer twins and the Librarian, running down the list until it’s time for their last and most exciting overnight investigation in the graveyard. 

Mr. Ngo appears on the screen, doing an interview in his office as he introduces the graveyard and its history.

“Yeah, boss!” I say, pointing at the screen. “If he’s not watching this right now, I’m going in tomorrow to show him.” It’s my day off, but I don’t even care. He looks great, even if he did ultimately forego the cowboy hat. 

They show my interview next, and I immediately want to crawl into the nearest hole as it plays. 

“Aw, you look great,” she says, which does nothing to help. 

It’s a mercy when they finally move on to the actual investigation of the graveyard, and we watch as they set up various tools and equipment to detect ghosts all over the graveyard. The entire event looks much more interesting on camera than it did in real life, and I wonder if [something about the magic of movie editing]. From my point of view, they had wandered about, spent a lot of time not talking, and wrote down a lot of notes. But in the video itself, [something else]. Even the ouija board session looks cool and dramatic in the video, and I’m half lost in the story, ridiculous pad it is.

And then Josie pipes up: "Wait. Rewind a bit?" Her face is pale as she presses the arrow keys back to the moment right before Renfield knocks over the ouija board, and presses play.

"Is anyone there?" Mick asks again. "Anyone want to talk to us?"

The planchette moves to YES.

"Who are you? Is this Lucille Blue?"

The planchette circles the board senselessly and moves back to YES.

They ask Lucille a few more questions before the voice over narrates, "It was at this time we heard yelling off in the distance. Fortunately, nobody was hurt. Unfortunately..." Renfield bursts through the scene, knocking over the board, with me hot on his heels.

Josie taps the space bar again. The video pauses, and she looks up at me with wide eyes.

"What?"

"Didn't you see the video?"

"Yeah. Millions of people just saw me embarrass myself on camera. What's your point?"

"They didn't say goodbye."

"What?"

"The Archivists. They didn't say goodbye before ending the session."

I snort, taken aback. "Well, they didn't exactly have a choice."

"That's bad. If they don't say goodbye, then the ghost is released into the world. It's not tied to the ouija board anymore."

I press my lips together, fighting hard not to laugh. She knows I don't believe in this stuff, but she still seems to expect me to react to this like it's a life-changing calamity. "Josie...

"No, Kaz, I'm serious. They opened a door into the afterlife by inviting anyone to the session, and then didn't close it properly."

"You realize how you sound right now, right? There's no door -- or a metaphysical door," I rush to add before Josie can interrupt. "They were moving the planchette on their own. You know that, don't you? It wouldn't be good content if they don't have something to show for it."

She shoots me a glare.

I feel my jaw tighten, and my brows raise in disbelief.

[They argue.]

"Enough. I don't want to hear it," she says, and stands. "I've got to do some research."

"I'm not letting you into the graveyard after closing," I call, and huff as Josie all but slams the door behind her. I don't mean to antagonize her like this, but we've had this argument a hundred times over. Josie believes in the supernatural as much as she believes in the weather app on her phone. I, meanwhile, have a bit more common sense, and know that a 30% chance of rain means nothing in the middle of summer when we don't see a single cloud for weeks on end. [Find a way to make this less clunky]

[Transition. Something happens. Josie corners Kaz at work. Josie is bringing up the idea of reaching out tot he HA, bringing them back, then...]

I don't even let her finish. "Absolutely not."

"But--"

"I know you're a fan, but this is so wildly inappropriate. I could lose my job over this, and Mr. Ngo would lose any chance of follow ups. Do you know how much they paid for film permits here?"

"Seriously? You're worried about money?"

"A lot, Jo."

"Come on--"

"That money is helping us pay for [something important.] We can't risk losing out on future [whatever]."

Josie shot me a look. "You're just saying no because I'm the one asking you."

"Josie." I mean, she's a little right. I don't want to admit it, especially because I would never agree to this kind of thing anyway unless it was directly from Mr. Ngo, but there's a special sort of vindication in being allowed to refuse Josie this thing that's so incredibly important to her, and is so incredibly out of the realm of realistic expectations.

[Arguing.]

I storm off, leaving Josie in the student union alone, and make a beeline for home. I don’t even think about the route I take until I’m halfway through the graveyard, fists clenched and half blind as the sun sinks further below the horizon.

I can’t help but notice a flower pot besides a grave. The flowers are wilted. I’ll have to replace them on my next shift.

Tag List

@adaughterofathena

@ambreeskyewriting

@carnelianflames

@feather-dancer

@halfbloodlycan

@nadunacreates

@serenanymph

@vigilantdesert

[wellsinvesting]

general information.

full name harry theodore wells

preffered name tad

age 33

date of birth august 5th

place of birth southampton new york

zodiac leo

gender cis male

pronouns he/him

nationality american

religion agnostic

orientation bisexual

personality.

positive traits energetic, active, capable, charismatic

negative traits self occupied, braggart, gossip,

likes karaoke, espressos, spirituality, animals

dislikes rudeness, bigotry, paying taxes, cheaters, red meat

hobbies surfing, traveling, yachting, fine dining, tennis, ultimate frisbee

moral alignment tbd.

headcanons.

tad's mom gave birth to him in a water birth at the family's beach home in the hamptons, right at the beginning of summer. this led to a long standing joke about tad yearning for the sea as spends every summer on the water.

tad is a level three reiki healer. he takes it very seriously.

doesn't eat red meat. he's pretty health conscious and tries to avoid processed food.

sometimes has his nails done because it makes him feel 'cunty'

his lucky underwear is a pair of hello kitty boxers

was a brown belt in akido before sada insisted he learn something more 'useful' with 'real world applicability' and began learning krav maga.

biography.

Tad and his siblings were second generation immigrants from the Philippines. Thanks to their parents and grandparents Tad, Becky, and Doug were damn well guaranteed an easy life. Grandpa had worked in corporate finance with a number of big name companies and dad had continued the work during his own lifetime. Their family name had become respectable within the circles they worked and there was clear intention for Tad and Doug to carry the family business on. Doug was several years older and had already been working in dad’s shadow by the time Tad was graduating college.

He still isn’t sure if it was greed or the need to prove himself to the family, but Tad made a very stupid choice that cost his family almost everything they’d worked for. A rival company had made Tad an offer--a damn good offer--and he made the mistake of thinking that just because he had a finance degree he knew anything about the world of money management. The reality was cutthroat, dangerous. When that much money was on the line.. People.. Companies.. Were willing to do just about anything to protect their investments.

Doug and dad were left dealing with the mess Tad had made and he was all but excommunicated from the family. He spent a few years doing nothing jobs and going nowhere before Sada finally wore him down and he accepted the offer to work for her. He figured he’d already lost the things that were most important to him, going to jail for white collar crime didn’t really scare him anymore.

The last thing he expected was for things to actually work out. He began making more money than he knew what to do with and his loyalty to Sada only deepened. She became the only family he had, some fucked up aunt who offered him blow as a reward for successful investments. Ria had been the jewel in his crown. He’d been in love with her from the moment they met and he was willing to spend all the money in the world to make her his.

Tad got stuck in the chaos of the winter supply runs and ended up on the far side of the city with a broken ankle. He was lucky enough to find a kind stranger who helped him survive the winter by taking him back to her farm. With his ankle now healed, Tad was finally able to make the journey back home and bring some interesting supplies thanks to the famer.

[stickysimsyt]

femininomenon 4

~ generation 1, chapter 4 ~

The best kind of surprise is the one where a new friend drops by on the weekend because they just happened to be in the area. Elia was on her way to an appointment with a realtor as she is actively looking for a new apartment since her lease will be up in a few weeks. Chelsey was busy working on her next blog post but was more than willing to stop and make some lunch, but Elia insisted that Chelsey not stop what she was doing because of the unexpected stop-in.

What's strange to Chelsey is the subtle boundaries that were set by Elia, without it feeling forced. Chelsey remembers that in her previous relationships, the emotional connection was electric from the start. But this seemed to be every time, so it's probably something else that's contributing to this aside from every new person being the "right one" until proven otherwise. If love is a burning flame, then it's important to pay attention to how quickly the fire started because the flame can be extinguished just as quickly.

Chelsey dug back into her blog. She's trying to not get too entangled in this thought flow... it's becoming a lot of what-if's and maybe's. When we want things to work out, we will ignore certain things that kill the vibe, right? Maybe this is where the electrified emotional connections come from. Maybe Elia just wants to avoid being the moving-truck lesbians of the neighborhood. That is a thing everywhere, she believes. The thing where lesbian relationships seem to catch fire with haste and then the lovers move in together before ever experiencing like a disagreement or argument.

Now that Chelsey has some posts queued for her blog, she decides to take care of her needs. With a low social meter, Chelsey realizes this new place has that empty-home feeling. She's only lived alone once before and at least had a cat then; but she doesn't want to bring a kitty into the picture until she's sure that she's in her permanent home. Finding a roommate is not an easy task, plus it can be quite the risk. People are crazy. She still wants to start a girlies club so she knows she needs to get out there and meet some more neighbors.

Chelsey heads over to the local nightclub and invites a few new friends that she met earlier this week. The first gal she spots outside is Zoe. Being the youngest of the group, Zoe never fails to start with the age jokes. It's nice that she's feeling comfortable enough with Chelsey already to kid around. To be honest, Chelsey did have an espresso before heading out tonight. Didn't want to be sleepy when trying to meet new peeps. After all, we are still working on our romance skill. Gotta be super ready when Mrs. Right comes along.

Zoe started to head inside but Chelsey noticed a gal sitting outside by herself and decided to join her for a chat. We wouldn't want to be left outside alone, even if waiting on friends to arrive. Turns out, this new friend we made, Marisa, is actually a chess champion. She had a tournament in Sulani yesterday where she met a dreamy guy who was from Cuidad Enamorada too. They really hit things off and even had their first kiss, but she's been sitting here waiting for about 20 minutes now...

Shocked at the time spent, Chelsey wants to drive the conversation in a different direction. If this guy turns out to be a piece of shit and stand Marisa up, she needs to set this up so she can just rope Marisa in on this night out. Chelsey told Marisa this embellished story from her last visit to Sulani where she was chased out of her bungalow by a family of crabs who then found her swimming at the beach. The locals recommended swimming out to the dolphin buoy, and sure enough the crabs did try to follow and quickly became dolphin snacks.

Chelsey assured Marisa that this guy would most likely be able to recognize her when he showed up, so they might as well get the party started and head inside. They walk in the door and the only thing you can hear are the several chats across the room. Strange that no music was playing at the time...considering the time and place... It seems that a group of university students were hogging the bar, purchasing happy hour drinks, and barely tipping. The bar help was not too happy about it. Maybe this is why the music was off; an effort to get the students bored enough to leave. In defense of the nightclub management, it was a weeknight so finding a DJ to work wasn't always possible.

The girls did an obligatory visit to the ladies' room and then found a little corner with some loveseats to call 'base' for the night. Like a fish to water, Chelsey noticed the gorgeous classic-black piano across the way and walked right up to it. There were no ropes or anything hinting that playing the piano was prohibited. Her stronger talent is in singing and playing guitar, but she wasn't passing up the opportunity to play a grand piano. Once she is settled in this world a bit more, maybe Chelsey could pick up some gigs here and there to help promote nightlife on days outside of the weekends.

Stereotyping, while not ideal, can sometimes be helpful when trying to navigate a new world, new club, new community. There sat on a rouge chaise was a very well-groomed gentleman chatting away with some other patrons. Honestly, Chelsey was having a gaydar moment and just couldn't ignore the flamboyant and energized body language from this man. Convinced this was a queer man, she went to introduce herself, but the conversation turned out to be so incredibly heated.

Apparently, home boy was a diehard Christian and refuted any idea that aliens exist, yet his buddy was an entomologist and could swear that insects did NOT originate on the same planet we reside. Suddenly, she didn't want to be a part of this conversation and questioned the accuracy of her gaydar. If he was that diehard about Christianity, he wasn't going to be an ally.

Religious trauma is a very real thing, especially when you come from a rural area and a country small town. Nothing against Christians, but there is something that just leaves Chelsey very unsettled when meeting them. She instantly started remembering the last boyfriend she ever had, back when she was still on-fire for God. In many sermons, it was taught that following the path laid out by God would open all kinds of doors for the 'man of the household' but would close even more doors for the 'wife of the husband.'

Fuck that noise.

Chelsey went out tonight to have a good time, not to get worked up remembering the terrible. She went up to the roof to hopefully get away for a moment and found a telescope! It's been a minute, but she used to be able to pick out her zodiac constellation when she was younger. Turns out, she is in the PERFECT position to view Sagittarius. The beautiful centaur as a great reminder that she always has to take the shot, better to miss the shot than to have never tried.

Nostalgia is a funny thing, it can bring down the mood and then in the same breath, elevate your spirits.

"That is quite enough," thought Chelsey.

A stretch of the imagination but will help get her back into the mindset, this whole spiral spurred from trying to start a conversation with godforsaken men. She needs to get back out there to continue gravitating to the girlies and building the community she deserves.

Made her way down the stairs and back onto the nightclub floor. Given that her romance skill is steadily growing, she decided to try out some romantic gestures on this gorgeous gal sitting across the way.

Unfortunately, we didn't get a name nor a phone number. We can't win them all, but the silver lining is that we pulled ourselves out of the funk and back into the game. We also don't even know if the blonde lady was even attracted or romantically interested in women so there's no need to let it get us down.

And then, the idea struck Chelsey. What if we were able to create a queer corner? She's envisioning a place where she could live and other sapphics could rent from her too maybe. And then, oooooo. What if we opened an LGBTQIA community center or possibly a gay bar?

There are plenty of what-if's for Chelsey but that comes with adventuring into a new place. The nightclub was enjoyable, but very subdued compared to what she experienced previously. To be fair, she only went out clubbing on vacations before so living in the city is a different animal, especially on weeknights. She's sure the weekends will be more lively. C'mon Friday!

[knmaskitten]

Espresso

Pairing: Hinata Shouyou/reader.

Summary: In which you encounter your old love, Hinata, one random day walking down the street. This takes a huge impact on you. You reminisce all of the good old and nostalgic days alongside Karasuno, but specially algonside Hinata.

warnings / tags: Afab/female reader. No use of y/n. Reencounter after breakup. Oikawa Tooru hits on you. A little bit of a physical description at the end, I avoid mentioning stuff like hair color or skin color so it shouldn’t be that much of an issue.Reader wants to be a pro volleyball player. Reader has a huge academic validation (it is kind of part of her personality). A lot of fluff. Hinata avoids his feelings ergo avoids reader. Huge confession at the end. I did not proof read this. You basically are Karasuno’s third manager.

notes: This little reader insert was written in one sitting so I vehemently apologize if I made any grammatical mistakes or punctuation. Also, not very important but still good to know, english is not my first language so read this with that in mind. I first posted this on AO3 so if you want to read my stuff first here it is.

wc: 5,348.

One afternoon, you were walking down the street when, all of a sudden, you saw Hinata Shouyou walking by. He looked exactly the same as he did when you were teenagers (perhaps almost the same; he had a lot more muscle now). He was all alone, shopping at a nearby coffee shop. You were startled; you hadn't seen him since high school, and now he was just standing there. He looked very focused while reading the menu, probably thinking of his order while he waited patiently in a very large line of clients—at least twenty—who looked very annoyed at the pace of the girl at the register.

It was a very well-known fact that you couldn't work under pressure; even your friends mocked you for it. "You are so easy to break!" your best friend liked to say. "You look so cute when you're a flustered mess!" and so on and so forth. Despite all of that, you played volleyball professionally, which meant being pressured all the time. You were a spiker, so that meant following the setter's leads, sometimes being a blocker, and saving the ball. You had to be versatile, all of this in a very short amount of time—fractions of seconds even. But this? This was a different kind of pressure; you had absolutely no idea what to do. And you had your grounds for stating this.

Four years ago, when you were in your first year of high school, when you were sixteen,. You joined the men's volleyball team at Karasuno. You knew this was probably going to take up a lot of your time, but you needed club activities for credits and, well, distraction. You were engulfed in your studies and your desire to be one of the top students at school. Your head professor encouraged you to take breaks and see life in another light, to study a little bit with more ease, and to practice a sport (you quite literally sucked at sports). She said balance was the key to a happy and fulfilling life (or so she said). So you ended up as a helper for the team—not quite a manager but also not a player—and specifically for Kiyoko and Yachi.

Naturally, you were nervous. People kind of gave you the ick; you weren't that much of an extrovert but also not a full introvert. At the end of class, you waited a little bit more just to avoid bumping into any of your classmates on the way home. You also liked to eat lunch alone at your desk. Peaceful and tidy. That’s how you liked it. So this is why it also did not make sense why you chose the volleyball team when you knew how messy and loud things could get. And you absolutely did not know how to handle the situation.

You already spoke with Kiyoko Shimizu, a very stoic girl, and Hitoka Yachi, kind of shy but very lovely. Both were managers of the team (well, Hitoka-san was just kind of a manager in training), and they knew them very well. They talked about the activities you will have to perform if you join the team. They were both very welcoming to you, so you felt a little bit pressured to accept, which, at the end, you ended up indeed accepting.

Standing in front of the school’s gym, you were frozen in place. Unable to actually open the gates and confront your fears, which, you thought, were just unreasonable, people were not going to murder you, humiliate you, or anything like that. It was simply an irrational fear that was tormenting your poor self. Practice had already started with the sound of the ball hitting the court and multiple men shouting stuff like “Nice serve!" “Nice receive!” “One more!” or, seldom, "Hinata, you idiot!”. It sounded like they were having a good time doing what they loved, and that made you feel a little bit more at ease. Volleyball was for them what acing a test was for you; these two very different poles had the same feeling in common. So, you took a very deep breath and opened the doors. Mom did not raise cowards.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt; I’m the new helper.” You spoke in a very low tone, almost faint but hearable. Almost instantly, as if you had a magnet, a guy who was about to hit the ball looked at you. He had his head shaved and looked spellbound the moment you walked in, so he didn’t calculate where the ball was heading and just hit it without noticing its direct trajectory towards you. Squeaking, you placed your hands in front of your face, receiving the ball with your arms. Wobbly, you fell to the ground, your knees hitting the hard wood floor. 

“Tanaka! you dumbass!”

“Oh my god, are you alright?”

“Im so so so so so so so so so sorry, oh gosh.”

You stood there, feeling queasy and blinking slowly, as if this wasn’t really happening. Noticing a lot of eyes on you, you forced yourself to focus on something, anything. Your first reaction was the hot feeling where the ball hit your arms; your veins were pumping blood swiftly, reminding you that you were indeed alive. And also, oh god, that feeling of adrenaline that hit you like a tempest—it felt so weirdly good.

“We might need to call an ambulance; she is not responding. Tanaka-senpai, you broke her.”

“I’m—I’m fine—” You decided to focus your eyes on the last voice you heard; it belonged to a ginger who looked like the bubbliest of them all. He was too short for him to be playing volleyball (you knew how much height mattered in this game) but it had a strange quality you couldn’t decipher either “You guys don’t need to call anything; I’m alright. Better than ever, hah.” laughing it off, you shrugged and stood up with the help of a white-haired dude who exuded gentleness.

“We are really sorry this happened; our teammates react poorly to...girls, in general.” The alluded reacted very hurt by this; they looked fiercely offended. Squinting your eyes, you looked at the guy who almost blew your teeth off (it actually wasn’t that bad, but you will always keep saying you almost died that day). He stopped looking apologetic and started looking a lot more like someone who was about to flirt with you, gesturing towards you with his hand. He spoke his next words with a tone similar to honey.

“I’m so sorry, you beautiful, beautiful girl. Darling, accept this apology I bestow upon you.” He took both of your hands in his, and when he was about to kiss the area where When the ball met your skin, Kiyoko slapped him at the nape of his neck. She looked fierce, severe, and even enraged.

“Guys, this is the new helper on the team. Please give her a warm welcome.” Her tone stayed the same throughout the whole sentence, except at the end, where she raised her tone just a bit: “And do not flirt with her because I will foresee a proper punishment for anyone who dares to do so.” 

“Well said, Kiyoko-san! There’s nothing else to see here; she’s fine; let’s pick up where we left off.” You knew he was the captain just by looking at him.

“Yes! Daichi-san!”

Karasuno’s volleyball team was quite literally full of eccentric people. You turned towards Hitoka and Kiyoko. You felt oddly safe around them; they behaved like sisters with you even though you were a mere student. As of right now, you were just a stranger to them, and they were warm with you; it was the kind of warmth you sought out on rainy days and stormy nights. It felt like home.

“I’m really sorry I made such a fuss; I just wanted to introduce myself.” You apologized as you walked closer to them. By making weird gestures with your hands, you tried to ease the tension that was forming right now.

“Do not worry, please. I’m very adamant when it comes to the girls here."  Kiyoko replied, moving her head up and down full of resolve. Hitoka did the same thing, but she looked a lot more expressive than her Senpai; she even messed her hair doing so. “By the way, you have good reflexes. That was a nice save.”

“Thank you,” you said while feeling flustered. “So who is everybody?”

“I’ll introduce you to them.”

And so she did; you met every single tenacious member of the team. And you worked alongside them as your duties required. They welcomed you with open arms and hearts, considering you part of the team, as if you were even a player. You must admit you did not expect this, not this kind of treatment, nor how they saw you as one of them. You got close to various members, especially Sugawara and Daichi; they behaved like parents with you. Sugawara looked after you a lot; he asked if you ate or how you did on your tests. Since you were a perfectionist when it came to grades, he usually congratulated you and gave you a warm hug. Daichi wasn’t that expressive, but he started seeking you out at lunch time so you could eat with them (even though you were just a first-year).

This shone through whenever Tanaka or Nishinoya tried to compliment you on your looks or on how good the uniform looked on you. Sugawara scolded them like a mother and Daichi yelled at them angrily. Both Tanaka-san and Noya-san were very captivated by you (or all of the managers of the team, for that matter), and they quickly gained confidence in you. You learned to laugh those comments off. As you started to realise it was just an innocent and playful game they had, they did treat you with a lot of respect and good manners at the end of the day. 

Asahi had a hard time warming up to you. He really intimidated you for the matter; he was almost seventeen centimeters higher than you, and he was so broad and big. You thought he had a personality that fit his physical appearance, but you were so wrong. You had to gulp down all of your fears and walk up to him, and with that, you started a friendly relationship. It took some time, but you managed to get him to ask you to hang out with him or correct his spikes. That felt amazing to you.

Tsukishima and Yamaguchi became very close to you; they treated you as their equal, and for Tsukishima, that was quite a lot to ask for. He often asked you questions about homework and even asked you to study with them, which you happily accepted. This was your area of expertise, so of course you would say yes. You could help and teach people all day if you could do so; it was one of your many passions.

As for Hinata and Kageyama, you were only close with the latter, as you were in the same class as him and even sat next to his desk. You usually offered to help him study since you knew he had a hard time when it came to academics, and you also felt that it was a little bit of a help to the team since they had to keep their grades up. You almost cried when Kageyama got a 70 on an English test, all because you both had spent the last three weeks studying very intensely. 

You managed to keep a good relationship with the team as the weeks went by, but you still did not know how to get close to Hinata. Everyone warmed up to you except the most extroverted of them all. You felt a little bit bad because of this, but you were able to overcome a lot of obstacles to get to where you are with the team. First of all, speaking with them was terrifying at the beginning because they all had such marked and strong personalities; everybody was also different and unique in their own ways. Secondly, they were very serious about volleyball, so you had to learn the sport very well to actually get close to them. This proved to be very good for you; something in your heart tugged whenever you saw or read about volleyball. Something started to bloom in you slowly but surely, all thanks to them. And finally, you had to open yourself up to them; you had to actually show them what you were made of—your fears, passions, and personality. And that definitely was not peaceful and tidy; on the contrary, it was messy and complicated, but it felt like being alive for the first time.

So, with all of that behind you, you still did not manage to understand why Hinata didn’t gravitate towards you or show interest in knowing you besides his usual "Hello, smartie!” or his wide, toothy smiles. You knew this was just shallow; it was something reserved for everybody; it wasn’t something you two shared together, only the two of you. You also did not understand why you always paid a lot more attention to Hinata than the rest of them. You held your breath every time he scored a point with one of his fast spikes or how high he jumped; you were always mesmerized when you saw him play. At the beginning, you judged him by his height, and he managed to prove you wrong. With his speed and jumps, he is able to fight in the skies alongside all of the tall guys. This fact alone had you on the clouds; you never saw someone fight this hard for something, not even yourself, so it lit something up within yourself. You couldn’t decipher what it was, but you felt the warmth there, tingling.

Hinata slowly filled your head with him. Whenever you went to practice, you couldn’t avoid looking his way or paying attention to what he said when he missed a point or whenever he drank water. You felt your hairs crisp up when he asked something of you—towel, water, what time it was, anything. It just didn’t matter what it was; he had you in a freaking chokehold.

Today was one of the days you had to clean up the gym. The team didn’t practice today, so it was your labour to tidy up. When you came in, you did not expect to see Hinata practicing. He looked a little bit annoyed with himself. Kageyama was nowhere to be seen; it looked like he decided to practice all by himself today. So naturally, a brilliant idea crossed your mind, and you couldn’t rationalize when the word came out of yourself.

“Hey Hinata! Do you want help?” You were wearing your PE class uniform so nothing was really stopping you (besides the fact that you did not know how to properly play volleyball outside of theory). He looked taken aback, almost surprised to see you there. Before he could say anything, you added, “I have time.”

“But you don’t play volleyball.”

“Teach me.”

“Huh!? but I’m not that skilled to do so.” He replied, frustrated.

“Teach me, Hinata-kun! I want to learn how to play. I want to be a great spiker!” You shouted, feeling a little bit overwhelmed. You felt your cheeks warm up as they got coloured with a bright pink color. Hinata observed you silently; he looked surprised by your little demonstration of feelings.

“Alright.”

And so you spent the next 4 hours practicing with him. Time flew by and you had to do your cleaning duties in a hurry and clumsily. Hinata showed you how to control the ball and spike. You practiced until you got at least a perfect spike, and at the end of the day, you were a perfectionist. This weirdly made your heart skip a beat; this felt so close and intimate that you were having trouble believing it happened. So, before you had to leave, you stopped Hiinata at the entrance. Something changed in you today—the feeling of the ball in your hand, the view of the court. Something clicked.

“I want to be a pro at volleyball.” You confesed. You saw how his eyes focused on you and how slowly a frown appeared in his face. Something burned in his eyes and in yours too. Passion flew in the night air. “Help me, Hinata-kun; I want to achieve my dream.”

“Let’s meet up after school on the days where we don’t have practice.” He replied sternly. He meant it; you knew just by looking at him. This was your opening, finally something that you both shared.

And so you did; you both met up every day when you didn’t have practice. You slowly started to get better at volleyball, and you also started to practice by yourself, including training with weights and cardio. With Hinata’s teachings, you could at least get a grasp on how things worked. And each and every day, as you both walked home together, you would chat about anything, slowly growing closer together. Until today,  when he stopped you. 

“I’m very glad we can be teammates on the court,” He shook his head and gave you the most sincere smile he could give you. “But I think its time you asked for the help of the others as well. You are getting extremely good, and I want you to push your limits.”

You would lie if you said it didn’t break your heart a little. You understood where it came from, but at the very same time, you despised every sentence of it and the fact that you got better at volleyball. But you were proud as well; there is a reason you hid your feelings.

“Yeah, you’re right.” That was all you said before waving with your hand and saying, “I’m in a hurry today; I’ll see you tomorrow at practice. Get home safely; goodbye, Hinata,” and with that, you ran. Very fast. Since you were training, you had the ability to run a few meters before you got tired. Little streams of tears ran down your cheeks. Everything was just going so well. What changed? Did you do something? You definitely feel awful right now.

And so, when you showed up to practice the next day, you beamed at everybody and declared that you wanted to practice with them. They refused at first, but with Hinata backing you up (this made your heart ache), you were able to convince them and start practicing with Karasuno as a spiker. Noya-san taught you how to receive and dive, and you learned in no time. Tsukishima helped you with your block, and everybody helped you with your serve. In no time, you were a worthy rival for the team. You had speed and good reflexes; Kageyama loved to be your setter. 

All of this had a very big downside: you grew apart with Hinata; it didn’t matter how good you got; without him, you felt empty, as if someone took the blankets out of your bed, as if someone gave you cold pizza. It was a lonely, empty feeling. You knew he started to avoid you; it all started with your gaze, then the amount of beaming smiles he gave you, then the amount of high-fives he started, and then the amount of compliments he gave you. He started to frown whenever you were around and started to avoid you. All of this did not make any sense to you. 

You decided to brush past every single interaction with Hinata and focus on the important thing: your job as a team helper and rising volleyball player.

For the first one, you had to start planning stuff alongside Kiyoko and Hitoka because the team was going to go against Aoba Johsai, against the fearable Oikawa Tooru. You have heard stories about him, and you heard from Kageyama that he learned thanks to him, so naturally you feel a very strong desire to meet the guy and analyze every move he has. And well, you’ve also heard that he is very handsome. 

And well, for your career, you started going to the women’s volleyball club (they made a very big exception for you because they were in strong need of a spiker) even when it was very late in the year. It was very nice how your itineraries match; your practice with the women’s team was just the day the guys didn’t have. Everything was going great. 

Today you had practice with the women’s team. You were wearing the uniform (it felt really cool) and joking with your teammates, given the chance. Today your practice was positioned on the same day as the guys, so as soon as it finished, you rushed off to the men’s gym to see the guys.

“Heya!” You saluted while entering.

“Your uniform!” Tanaka screamed; he looked head over heels at the way you looked. Noya-san approached you and got down on one knee.

“Noya-san, stand up! Stand up!” You warned.

Sugawara came close to you and looked at them very disapprovingly. He shushed them. “You always disrupt our practises,” he joked lightly.

“Tanaka’s and Noya’s fault.” You looked accusatory towards them. “Is the practise over?”

“Yeah, we were just stretching. You came to discuss tomorrow’s game?” Daichi replied to you.

“Yes, I was investigating the team, and I have information. I went to one of their matches a few days ago, and I have some notes to share.”

And so you commented on everything you had to, every little detail you were able to grasp. How they served and what they needed to reinforce. Everybody paid attention to you very closely, except Hinata. You ignored the feeling in the pit of your stomach—how acidic and wrong it felt. When you finished, everybody applauded your hard work on the topic of tomorrow’s game. Given the fact that you were as busy as ever, you still managed to be present. And you felt proud about that because you were juggling so much at the same time and doing it well. Everything was going great, and you never felt like this before.

With those feelings over your head, you went home to sleep and got ready for the game against Aoba Johsai. It was hard falling asleep; you couldn’t reconcile your sleep. Everything came crashing at you. You thought about the possibility of them losing, which haunted you. You thought about Hinata, how he preferred not to have you in his life, and how that hurt. You thought about your future—about your dreams, your hopes, and your fears—until you fell asleep.

When you woke up at six in the morning, you got ready in fifteen exact minutes. You were acting on a whim, all because of nerves. You even put on some makeup for the occasion. Today you decided to wear a black sport shirt and your jet black leggings, pairing them with the Karasuno jacket. For comfort, you picked your volleyball shoes.

 You were very confident in Karasuno and his teammates, but nevertheless, you still felt jittery. Your legs felt wobbly and weak, even though you were training to gain muscle on them. Today was the day you saw Oikawa on court. You longed to see Hinata play at his fullest and to see his super-fast spike attacks. You decided to study for a little bit before you went out, and it also helped calm your nerves.

When you left your house, it was still very early in the morning, but you went walking so it was going to take you some time to get there. Your mom kissed you on the forehead, saying how proud she was and how much the club has helped you, and you thanked her and ran off before you could start to bawl your eyes out.

Aoba Johsai was a private school, and it showed. The building was beautiful and their gym was big and wide. The court looked pristine and well-taken care of. You came early to inspect the enemy’s terrain. To your surprise, you encountered the volleyball team.

“Karasuno High School,” said a brown-haired guy. You recognized him as Oikawa.

“Oikawa Tooru.” You stated that you were looking serious.

“Don’t be so harsh on me; you scare me!” He pleaded. He looked really handsome, as everybody kept telling you. When you observed their match, you were not able to be this close to him. You must admit it, he deserves his rumors of having millions of fangirls.

“I’m one of the managers of Karasuno’s team. I came early.”

“You came to observe while we practised? or to meet me?” He smiled arrogantly.

“Actually both. I want you to teach me how to serve.” You said bluntly, “I’m on the women’s volleyball team, and I’ve been observing you; teach me, please.”

“Ah, you are quite the interesting manager.” He chuckled and frowned. “Alright, with one condition, you have to look at me when we go against your team. Look at me and learn.”

“Alright.”

You spent the next half hour playing with Oikawa; he was so tough, you could tell. He showed you his power serves and how he managed to always get them right. You knew this kind of precision and technique could only be the result of years and years of practise.

“Look, Miss Manager, you are a good volleyball player, but you lack confidence. That is the first thing you should consider when you put your feet on the court. ” He gave you genuine advice, to which you did not reply. You just gave him a glance and a huffed yes.

When the team arrived, you and Oikawa had already finished. You learned a lot from him, and you would lie if you said he wasn’t very skilled. You went straight to where Kiyoko and Hitoka were. You listened carefully how coach Ukai gave them instructions and words of encouragement. And as that happened, you three went to get a good place to sit and watch the match while cheering Karasuno up.

The match was very hard; you focused on how they all played, and you felt a tug at your heart whenever the blocked Hinata or  his spikes didn’t score. You cheered whenever they scored, blocked, or served successfully. You yelled encouraging words towards every member of the team, and you shouted even harder when it was Hinata’s turn. At this point, you didn’t care about your appearance, how you behaved, or how well you hid your feelings. You just needed to express yourself. And, as you promised, you saw every move Oikawa made—how he moved, his gestures and mannerisms, the way he clutched the ball. Everything. And you learned technique, and you also learned that you should definitely be practicing more because its the little details that make the whole game change.

When the match finished and they won, you felt full. Oikawa looked more fueled than ever, and the team looked as happy as one can be after beating such an enemy as Aoba Johsai. You, Kiyoko, and Hitoka hugged each other and chanted "Hurray.” Together. It was very close, though, so you still took notes on your little agenda. Some tactics that you made up in your mind while watching the game or little mistakes that cost us various points.

When you were leaving with the team, Oikawa stopped you. “I enjoyed teaching you, Miss Manager. If you ever want some help, call me.” He handed you a piece of paper. You were a little bit perplexed and taken aback. Was he hitting on you? For real? You couldn’t form a single thought at this. It was unforeseen and weird, so, when you were about to reply, an angry voice erupted from behind you.

“She doesn’t need your help, great king! Leave her alone!” And as Hinata was saying that, he took your wrist and pulled you out of there. You caught a glimpse of the confused faces of everyone while Hinata took you far, far from Aoba Johsai.

“Hinata. What’s going on?” You asked confusedly. He first ignores you, then marks territory when a guy asks you out. That makes zero sense. “Hinata, answer me.”

He stopped abruptly and turned around to look at you. His eyes were a little bit glassy and his cheeks flushed, and while he prepared to say his next sentence, you observed him closely, as close as you could, since you hadn’t seen him like this in weeks.

“Fine!” He shouted. “I like you! You confuse me a lot, and something inside me tells me to avoid you, but at the same time, I long for the time when we both practised together, just the two of us.” 

You inhaled some air to reply, but he was faster than you. “You really needed to be trained by other people and other playstyles; be fair with me. I’ve always wanted what was best for you. Whenever I am with you, my heart goes, Pam! Bam! Kaboom! Waaaaaam!” He really looked like he was hurting. “So sorry, sorry, but I couldn’t let that Great King get his way with you! Imagine—”

“Hinata.” You said.

“Imagine he did something to you; I would absolutely never forgive myself because—” He started rambling.

“Hinata!” You shouted.

“Huh?” He stopped talking and looked at you, more teary-eyed than ever.

“Can I kiss you?” You spat.

“Ah?! but—don’t you hate me? “ He asked.

“Yes or no.”

“Yes.”

And so you did. You crashed your lips with his in  a very messy but sweet kiss. Hinata’s lips tasted like a sweet and soft marshmallow; his kiss tasted like honey; and you felt as if this was what you needed for a long time. This was the root of your longing—this kiss and this moment with Hinata. You placed your hands on his sweaty hair and started caressing him in very careful circular motions. The kiss in reality didn’t last long, but for both of you, it lasted an eternity.

“Be my boyfriend.”

And after this incident, you and Hinata really did hit it off. You both were a good couple; you helped him with his exams, and he helped you with your jump (although you were already good at it). With the passing of months, you had to leave your position as manager to become a full-time volleyball player. That day, when the match against Aoba Johsai happened, you discovered that if you were not going to dedicate full time to volleyball, you better quit. Nevertheless, you still supported Karasuno; hell, you went to cheer up on your boyfriend every time he had a match.

You and Hinata lasted three years, then you both broke up to follow your careers in volleyball. You knew this was going to happen, but you both bid your farewell and went to different parts of the world to learn and practise volleyball. He was admitted to a great first-league volleyball team, and so were you.

Until today, four years later, when he stood in front of you. You still didn’t know what possessed you that day when you asked him for a kiss or what it was that was possessing you now, but you walked towards him. Just when the cashier asks for his order.

“I’ll have... a melon pan and...” He started saying:.

“And an espresso.” You completed.

He instantly turned around, and as if he saw a ghost, his eyes scanned you with surprise and fear. He didn’t really process what was happening; he only knew that he saw you. And you looked as pretty as he remembers, with your lovely hair that frames your face, your intense gaze, and your lips that looked like they needed him and only him. Meanwhile, the cashier looked perplexed.

“So the espresso goes or...?” She asked expectantly.

“Yeah, the espresso goes.” He replied, looking at you, “Actually, make those two, please.”

Thank you for reading <3

masterlist and more.

[more-than-a-princess]

Sonia had been rather puzzled at the counter. She'd hoped her order hadn't been too particular, too fussy, for the shop to fulfill. It was a sensitive topic for her, being perceived as finicky and snobbish because she was a princess instead of the fact she was terribly attune to sour and bitter flavors to the point of nausea. Not that the staff of Glitch Coffee knew what she was, or if they did, they didn't make a fuss over it. She appreciated that.

Still, it was Shinobu whose sensitivity to the whole situation proved to be the most disconcerting. That too had confused Sonia until they'd sat down: surely all friends were special. But Shinobu seemed terribly disturbed by it all, and it wasn't until they'd found a table that she'd made it clear what precisely had unnerved her.

"Awkward?" Sonia repeated as she scooted her chair closer to the table. Not that the cafe was particularly bustling with activity at this hour, but it was still a conversation she preferred discretion when conducting. "Well, you are right: I live my life in rumors and gossip, most of it unkind. But if I am to be whispered about, to have morals and traits about me assumed rather than inquired directly, I would hate to be called a racist, or a bigot, or a homophobe, or a transphobe. Even to be called someone unsympathetic to the working class, or a snob, or greedy. I would loathe to be rumored to be any of those things, which is why your friend Iida-san upset me so that time we met."

"But to be rumored as gay?" She continued with an exhale. There were plenty of people she knew who believed it to be either a dirty word, or one that could never possibly apply to them and therefore they thought little of it. Rules for the Novosonian citizens didn't exactly apply to the royal family, and vice versa. Common citizens only faced religious prejudice at times, rather than politics, as barriers of marriage. "Well, that is an identity purely about love, right? And love is the opposite of unpleasant. No, if someone, including myself, is rumored to be gay, then they are being accused of the capability of feeling genuine love and affection for another. Not quite the attack people believe it to be, I think."

She left out, in true political style, all of the details: that members of the royal family, particularly those in direct line of succession, weren't permitted to have homosexual relationships or marriages. It threatened the royal line, though many aristocrats were willing to turn the other way if someone engaged in an extramarital affair after bringing the requisite heirs into the world. So Sonia never really considered being gay: it simply wasn't a choice made available to her. She figured that if she brought it to, say, the likes of Anzu, the other girl would vehemently protest that she always had a choice in the matter. With Shinobu and the familial responsibilities they bore, they would understand her lack of freedom in the matter.

Sonia hoped that would assuage their concerns, giving the manager of the cafe a smile as he visited their table, tray in hand. But her eyes lit up at the description he gave as he set her order in front of her. "Chocolate? Oh, that is the best flavor indeed!" She insisted. She wanted to say that the combination of chocolate and red wine were superior, but considering Japan's alcohol laws were far stricter than Novoselic's, she refrained. The looks, if not the questions, as to why a teenager was so familiar with wine were things she'd prefer to avoid. "I must admit I have never considered coffee through the eyes of a sommelier, but you will have me considering the beverage differently in the future. I thank you for your keen eye and comprehensive descriptions, sir."

After assuring him that she'd let him know what she thought of it, Sonia reached for the small espresso cup once he'd left the two to enjoy their drinks at their table. "Well, I shall give this a try! What is the phrase, 'cup up?'" She chuckled as she brought it to her lips. She'd meant 'bottoms up' but hopefully Shinobu understood what she meant.

At least, Shinobu would understand what Sonia's facial expression meant. She'd taken a third of the espresso cup in one sip, letting the flavors settle on her tongue as her eyes widened and her mouth pressed into a fine line. As soon as the drink had cooled enough for her to tolerate, she swallowed the rest of the sip in one gulp. "I-" she began, coughing before reaching for her napkin to dab at her mouth. "Can taste the chocolate and wine fo' sho', but it is still a bit on the bitter side." A lot on the bitter side, to her. Sonia was being modest. Or respectable, more the latter than the former. "What flavors does your coffee embody, Yaguchi-san?"

It seemed Sonia knew more than she let on, and that made Shinobu feel a bit embarrassed to have spoken at such length about things she surely already knew. She'd mentioned something about having seen some of the Godzilla films with someone before, so perhaps she was simply humoring Shinobu, or maybe she just enjoyed hearing a friend's passion. Embarrassing...

Softly, they cleared their throat as they followed Sonia up towards the counter. The barista was one of the regular workers - a woman she'd seen on a few different occasions. She peered over Sonia's shoulder, looking down at the menu. Surely the staff could handle her requests, but as for Shinobu themselves, they'd need to think carefully about what they'd prefer to try on the day. Sonia would likely get some kind of larger drink with additives, so simple espresso wouldn't provide a similar drinking experience for Shinobu herself. Besides, the atmosphere was nice, so sitting and enjoying it might be pleasant enough.

Her deliberations were interrupted by the timely arrival of another figure - a middle-aged man in a pressed black shirt and matching apron, his long, silver-flecked hair pulled back into a neat bun. "Yuko-san," he started, "why don't you take a short break? I'll handle this order." He was one of the managers - Shinobu didn't actually know his name, though they'd talked a few times about the tastes Shinobu preferred.

After the girl nodded and stepped away from the counter and the man took her place, he smiled to Sonia and Shinobu. "I can accommodate that request - certainly for Yaguchi-san's special someone." He was surely teasing, in the way that certain adults who were frankly too casual could, but it didn't do anything to keep Shinobu's ears from burning with embarrassment. "It isn't that sort of situation," she explained, face flushed, keenly aware of the fact that her hand had slipped back into Sonia's when standing beside her.

"Oh, no?" The manager was still teasing her, and Shinobu imagined that were she alone, or the topic anything else, she'd be able to summon some cool sharpness in her gaze. Instead, she was so flustered. "Well, rather, she's a close friend, so she's special in that way, but it's nothing like what is being implied." She flicked her hair back, then repeated it when it didn't fall as she liked. "Anyway, if you're done having fun at my expense, Manager-san, I'll have whatever is new and you think I might like, as an Americano, double, please."

With Sonia's hand taken in her own, Shinobu guided the both of them to a small table. Those kinds of jokes truly should have rolled off her without much impression. Instead, she could only think about Sonia more and more - what it would be like to take her on dates to places like this, or be able to introduce her as her girlfriend. These weren't appropriate thoughts, but they flooded her mind whenever she looked to her. Shinobu had resolved to keep a handle on their feelings - to remember Sonia's sexuality, and their own inability to be with someone - and yet it only took one smile from her to shatter that resolve into pieces.

"It must be rather awkward for you, Miss Nevermind," Shinobu murmured, scratching lightly at her still-reddened cheek. "I'm sure, regrettably, that you're no strangers to rumors or ill-informed assumptions, but I imagine it must be unpleasant to be assumed gay when you aren't." This wasn't even the first time Shinobu had heard something like this, Anzu notwithstanding. At least a few times at school, Shinobu had heard such murmurings from other students. "I regret that our friendship invites that sort of speculation." Perhaps it made a certain kind of sense, when one considered Shinobu's own romantic popularity.

"If you'd prefer that I-" Whatever she was about to say, Shinobu was interrupted by the arrival of the manager. To Shinobu herself, he simply placed her Americano with the small explanation card, then turned to Sonia. "I hope I'm not imposing," he said with a small smile, "but I think I've found the right drink for you, Miss. After all, Yaguchi-san is a valued customer, and yet she's always been here by herself. I'd hate to disappoint her guest." To Sonia's side of the table, he sat down a small shot glass of espresso, and a latte in a larger cup. "Here at Glitch Coffee, we serve single-origin coffee - that is to say, rather than a blend that encompasses beans from many different sources, ours are made coffee from one yield at one farm each. This allows for more unique flavors."

Shinobu knew all of this already, but she kept quiet. For his attitude, the manager was highly knowledgeable, and nothing she could say would add to it. "Good coffee shouldn't be especially bitter, and much like wine, there are tasting notes. For you, I've prepared a Colombian coffee with tasting notes of chocolate, red wine, and a hint of blackberry, and you'll find the aftertaste far less bitter than most. I find knowing what to expect can help one place the flavors." He gestured to the small glass. "You're not obliged to try the straight espresso first, or at all, but it might give you a better understanding of the flavors. Though, if you don't like it, I'm sure Yaguchi-san would be happy to finish it for you." He gave a gentle laugh. "Other than that, I think you'll enjoy the latte. It's more mild, though sometimes it has enhances the natural flavors. I hope you enjoy, but please do give your honest thoughts once you've finished."

With a small bow, he left the two at their table. Shinobu looked down at the explanation card left with her own drink. Ah, an Ecuadorian coffee lent a bit of sweetness from notes of honey and apple, but with blood orange as the defining characteristic. She was a bit less familiar with the typical traits of an Ecuadorian origin, but if the manager thought it suited her, she wouldn't argue. "Colombian coffee is likely my favorite, so, I do hope you find it agreeable, Miss Nevermind. Ah, but, if it still isn't to your taste, please don't force yourself. I wouldn't want you to drink something you dislike simply on my account."

[broodynotte]

how about 47 through 49 of that oc meme ? (^":

OC questions! || @shimaniya​

47: Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle?

Bella enjoys drawing! Whether it looks good or not purely depends on the viewer, but she’s pretty decent. Has quite a few really nice pieces. However, she doesn’t draw people often. It’s mostly scenery she really enjoys doodling. Flowers, herbs, bumble bees, insects. Elemental symbols and different sigils of her own design. Sometimes her own interpretations of certain beasts of myth that you only hear of through description.

But every now and then when she’s in the park, or in a shop in town, she’ll see a very pretty girl and instantly feel the need to draw her. So among tons of drawings of fields and beasts, you’ll find portraits of random girls doing daily activities. 

49: Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush?

Bella has a huge sweet tooth lmao. I guess that’s kind of expected when your grandmothers make a world entirely dedicated to the theme of Halloween. If you’re from this family, you’re more than likely to end up with a love for sweets and treats. But! Yes. She always keeps like, a huge crystal bowl of candy in her room and is instant to proclaim to the household that she’s run out when it’s almost on empty. “Has anyone been taking candy from my bowl without asking??”

&& she does get sugar rushes and she actually is quite bashful about them because she never notices them, but other people sure do. She’s highly energetic and all over the place doing fifty things at once, talking too fast and getting very impatient when no one answers her quickly enough and just being like, “oh, nevermind”.

That only happens when she has a lot of candy, though. And she does binge on candy when she’s studying, so you’ll usually see her foot tappin’ and nails clickin’ on her books. She just can’t sit still lmao. She’s rocking back and forth and, by her magical nature, is radiating this very infectious energy that is giving everyone in the room the jitters if they’re sitting still - especially for a long duration of time. YOU GOTTA MOVE, GOTTA DO SOMETHING. GOTTA GO GOTTA GO GOTTA GO.

honestly, it makes me laugh. bella gets a sugar high and thus make everyone around her get a high without doing ANYTHING if they’re exposed to her for too long kdsfgkskfdg. WITCHES AND THEIR ENERGY.

[watchmegetobsessed]

BLIND EYE

A/N: i've had this idea stuck in my head for a while and im kinda satisfied with how it turned out! hope you guys will like it too!

WORD COUNT: 10k

WARNING: sexual content, lots of misscommunication, its an emotional rollercoaster

SUMMARY: Harry thought everything was going well in his marriage. Right until one day his wife left with no explanation and not he is stuck in the dark, waiting to find out how he can fight for what matters the most to him.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

 “Will this bloody rain ever stop?” Harry grumbles under his nose as they finally reach the front door of the townhouse that’s covered from the pouring rain. His hands are buried deep in his jacket’s pockets as he impatiently waits for Mitch to open the door so they can finally escape the monsoon that’s been nonstop pouring for the past three days. Mitch chuckles softly as he turns the key in the lock.

“Aren’t you supposed to be used to the rain? You spent way too much time away from here.”

“Just because I’m British it doesn’t mean I have to like this shitty weather,” he scoffs, following his friend into the home Mitch and Sarah are renting for the upcoming weeks. Harry and the band are now located in London to record as much new material as possible before they need to get on the road again soon. 

“If you say so,” Mitch huffs out a small laugh as he kicks his wet boots off his feet, Harry doing the same with his trainers.

“Sarah’s not home?” he questions, hanging his jacket up. Mitch grows cautious at his question, though he made sure his wife would be out by the time they get here. It’s not that Sarah is trying to avoid Harry. It’s impossible, since they work together, but she has made plans with someone who is actually actively working on not running into the singer. 

“Uh, no. She is out with James,” he says, picking up a toy on his way to the living room, dropping it into the basket next to the couch. “I’ll put my phone on the charger, can you make us coffee? You know how the machine works, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry nods and as Mitch heads upstairs to the bedroom, he walks into the kitchen, moving around like it’s his home. 

For a bit, the espresso machine’s noise cancels out everything else, Harry stands by it, staring out into the pouring rain through the sliding door that leads out to the small, lush green backyard. The townhouse is well-kept, Mitch and Sarah have rented it out several times when they had to spend more than just a few days in London and Harry thinks it suits the little family perfectly. 

Looking around in the kitchen he finds little reminders of the baby they welcomed not long ago, the bottles on the drying rack, the portable highchair they usually bring on tour as well and toys left scattered here and there. James has been a true blessing and Harry’s chest swells with pride every time he sees the little lad, knowing that he brought his parents together by recruiting them into the same band. 

When the machine stops working, Harry hears muffled voices coming from upstairs. Voices, as in not just Mitch’s.

He grabs his black coffee and curiously walks over to the bottom of the stairs, only to hear Mitch talking to his wife somewhere upstairs. So Sarah is home.

“Mitch?” he calls out, taking a small sip of his coffee. He hears footsteps and his friend appears on the stairs a few moments later, rushing down to join him, but he looks tense this time. “What’s up? Did I hear Sarah?”

“Yeah, she had to come back for something, but she’ll be leaving any minute. Come on, let’s settle in the kitchen.” Mitch gently grabs Harry’s arm and pulls him away from the stairs, but he resists, yanking his hold off of himself.

“What’s happening? I can’t see Sarah?” He chuckles with a puzzled look. 

“No, no, it’s just–”

And then he hears it. 

Harry would recognize her voice from a million others, it’s burnt into his mind and memories, and though it’s been a source of happiness and joy for long years in his life, now it makes his stomach drop and his throat goes dry.

“She’s here?” Harry frantically asks his friend.

“H, don’t. She doesn’t–”

Harry doesn’t let him finish, he rushes up the stairs without a second thought, looking for her. The door of the master bedroom is open, Sarah is standing there with James in her arms and when she spots him, her eyes widen.

“Harry–”

“I want to see her,” he pleads, slowly approaching the drummer, who is now walking towards him. She places a hand to his chest to stop him and he comes to a halt, though he is constantly trying to look over her shoulder, hoping to get a glimpse of the person in the bedroom.

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Sarah, I haven’t seen her in a month. I need to… Please!” he begs as panic is spreading through his veins from the thought of missing the chance of stealing a glimpse of her. It’s been the longest he had to spend apart from her and given the circumstances of how they parted the last time they saw each other, he is desperate to win some time with her.

“But she doesn’t–”

“It’s fine,” comes a voice from the bedroom and a moment later she steps out into the hallway and Harry’s vision blurs out everything around her.

One month felt like an eternity. After being joined by the hips for years, Harry lost contact with the person who means the most to him: his wife.

Sarah looks back at her friend, who just nods to reassure her she can leave them alone, though she glances back one last time before going down the stairs and giving them some privacy.

Harry feels like it’s the first time he is seeing her all over again. She is still just as gorgeous as he remembers, wearing a simple pair of jeans with a red knitted sweater. She is barely wearing any makeup, so he notices the circles under her eyes and his heart breaks all over again. Has she been having trouble sleeping? Was she recently sick? Is she not taking care of her? He has so many questions, but he knows he can’t just spill it all on her.

“Hey,” he breathes out instead, taking a hesitant step towards her, though they are still several feet apart. He is fighting the urge to reach out and touch her, caress her cheek, pull her into his arms and kiss her…

“Hi. Sorry, we weren’t supposed to be here, but James was a little cold so we came back for an extra jacket for him,” she explains, nervously crossing her arms over her chest and Harry feels like it’s her way of keeping him away and locked out of her private space. It hurts, seeing her act so cold towards him and knowing that he can do absolutely nothing about it.

“Don’t apologize for running into me. I’m glad to see you,” he softly says, taking another step forward, but this time she backs one too, hinting that she wants him to stay right where he is.

Harry clenches his jaw and bites his tongue, knowing that commenting on her cold act would just worsen his situation and it’s bad enough already. He fists his hands, but then forces himself to loosen the grip, not wanting to look like a threat in any way.

“How… How are you?” he asks, ignoring the millions of questions he wants to ask her.

“I’m fine,” she nods, but her voice is flat, lacks the brightness he is used to and it concerns him. “How are you?” she asks, more likely only out of politeness.

“I’m good. Just… working, you know.”

“Yeah, the usual,” she nods with a weak smile. 

There’s a few moments of awkward silence, something that never really happened between the two of them, not even when they were just getting to know each other back in the day. 

“Alright, I’ll just go–” she moves to walk past Harry, but he stops her, placing a hand on her arm, the touch taking both of them by surprise. 

“Wait, Y/N,” he pleads and her eyes look down at his hand on her. He moves it right away, hoping he didn’t overstep the boundaries that have been quite blurry lately. “I just… I don’t understand,” he admits, exhaling sharply.

“Harry…” she sighs. “I told you that I need ti–”

“Time, I get it. And I respect that. But I want to know what’s happening. You left me in the dark and I’m just…” he breathes out, so lost and desperate to find answers. “I want to know what’s happening. I can wait and give you time and space, but I need to at least know what I’m waiting for. What I can expect.”

She closes her eyes, a tortured frown plastered across her face as she bites into her bottom lip to stop her from crying. The past month has been tough for her as well, not just for Harry.

“I-I don’t… I don’t know what to say,” she shakes her head.

“Tell me a reason, Y/N. There has to be a reason behind this, right?” he demands, but she just shakes her head again.

“I can’t do this now. I’m sorry,” she blurts out before running past him and down the stairs. He immediately regrets for pushing her and though he goes after her, she is fast and out of the house before he could catch up with her and when he reaches the end of the stairs he is met with Sarah.

“Don’t go after her, okay?” she pleads with a gentle hand on his chest. Harry wants to ignore her and just chase after Y/N, but deep down he knows he should stay back.

“Sarah, I can’t fucking do this. She wouldn’t say a word to me,” he breaks down, his throat closing up from the wave of emotions that are washing over him.

“I know, but she needs time. She will come around, just be patient.”

“I would be patient if only I knew what I’m waiting for! Don’t you think I deserve to know why she suddenly wanted to be separated from me? She is my wife, Sarah.”

He is a mess, has been since one day he came home and found Y/N’s suitcase gone with some of her stuff, a note on the fridge.

“I need some time to think things through. I’m staying at my brother’s.”

That’s it, nothing more. When he frantically called her, she could barely get a few words out, just told him that she needs time and she wants to be separated for a while. She didn’t say why, she didn’t say how long and Harry could barely get him to accept it, but he wanted her back, so he knew he would have to do what she asked.

It’s been one month and Harry barely heard from Y/N. They exchanged a few occasional texts about technical things, but nothing more. Harry has been in the dark ever since and he is reaching the end of his limit.

“I know and I’m sorry,” Sarah softly says as she takes James from Mitch. “She’ll tell you when she’s ready.”

Harry’s eyes snap at her.

“So you know why she’s doing it?” he asks with wide eyes. Sarah opens her mouth and closes right away as she realizes how she just gave herself away. “Sarah, you need to tell me.”

“I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“Please, I’m begging you.”

“H, stop,” Mitch places a warning hand to his shoulder as Sarah takes her bag and heads towards the door.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” she sighs before walking out.

Harry stares at the door for long moments, as if he was waiting for Y/N to come back, but it remains closed. When he turns around to face Mitch, he looks like just the shadow of his old self. He is not himself without his better half and that’s Y/N.

“It’s gonna be alright. You trust Y/N, right?” Mitch asks, as he gently ushers Harry back into the kitchen.

“With my whole life,” he answers without missing a beat.

“Then trust her now too.”

Harry can’t say a word to that. His mind is racing, memories with Y/N and anything that could possibly drive her away from him occupy his mind, but he can’t bring up anything. He thought things were going great, they even talked about trying for a baby soon. She took a 180 out of nowhere and she is like an enigma now, when Harry thought he knew his wife better than anyone.

He keeps telling himself that he needs to keep his faith and believe that she’ll come back. But at times when she can barely speak a few words with him he can’t help but think that his marriage is falling apart right in front of his eyes and he can’t do a single thing about it.

The days pass by painfully slowly and Harry finds himself sitting on an emotional rollercoaster. Some days he can barely keep himself from calling her or showing up at her brother’s place to talk to her. Some days he fully accepts that he needs to wait it out and she’ll return to him eventually. And the day between the two might be the worse, when he can’t decide how he is feeling or what he wants to do.

He only hears about her from Mitch and Sarah, though they only throw crumbles of information about her. Harry hates that they are so good friends to her as well, because now it’s not in his favor. Though Sarah keeps it from him most of the time when she goes to see Y/N, Harry is not stupid. He knows they meet up regularly and he’s never been more jealous of anyone.

Harry plans out a birthday dinner for Anne and sends the details to Y/N as well. After all, she is still his wife and he knows how close Y/N and Anne are. His mother would have been disappointed if he didn’t even invite her.

He doesn’t get an answer though. Harry is tempted to ask her whether he should be expecting her on the morning of the dinner, but he talks himself down at last.

He invited all of his mother’s friends, his bandmates and anyone that matters in his mother’s life. It’s a bit of a surprise, because Gemma brings her to the restaurant, but she doesn’t know who’s gonna be there, so when she sees all the guests she is shocked and touched.

“Thank you so much!” she hugs Harry, tight and warm before kissing him on the cheek.

“Of course, mum,” he hums with a small smile.

He catches her looking around, as if she was searching for someone and his stomach drops when he realizes that she is probably looking for Y/N. She doesn’t comment on the lack of her presence when she doesn’t see her, but Harry can see the disappointment in her eyes.

Anne is still making her rounds of greeting everyone when Harry goes to the bar and checks up on the first round of drinks. The bartender is already finishing up the last few cocktails when Harry sees a familiar figure walking into the restaurant and his stomach drops before he even looks at her.

Y/N looks around hesitantly before she spots the group in the back, only after that does she see Harry standing by the bar and she stops in her tracks.

Harry is frozen, he wasn’t expecting her to come, not after she left him on read, but here she is, wrapped in her fuzzy coat and a black dress underneath. She shoots him a tight-lipped smile before approaching Anne who jumps into her arms when she sees her. He watches his mum hug his wife and a few months ago, this would be a lovely scene, but now it just pains him, knowing he doesn’t have the privilege to do the same.

He can’t hear what they talk about and he fights the urge to lurk closer as he returns to the table and takes his seat next to his sister.

“You’re not gonna make a scene, right?” Gemma leans over to him.

“Why would I?”

“I don’t know, you’re staring at her like a maniac.”

“Oh, piss off!” he rolls his eyes at his sister. “I haven’t seen her in weeks, of course I’m gonna stare,” he mumbles, just when the waiter places his cocktail in front of him. He grabs the drink in an instant and chugs down half of it at once. “I’m watching my own wife like a stalker. Pathetic,” he whispers, more to himself than to Gemma, but she catches his words clearly. Reaching over he gives his hand a squeeze.

“It’s gonna be alright.”

“Are you a traitor too and you know why she is doing it?” Harry scoffs.

“She didn’t tell me. But I know you both and I know that she loves you,” Gemma says.

“So then what do you think is happening? If she loves me, why can’t she tell me—“ Harry cuts him off when he realizes that he is talking a bit too loud. He clears his throat, making it sure no one was listening, but everyone seems too busy to pay attention to the siblings. “She is not talking to me, so I must have done something, but if she doesn’t tell me, I can’t make it right,” he continues, keeping his voice down.

“Maybe… you can’t make it right.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” he frowns. “If I did something so terrible, I would know about that, don’t you think?”

“Then maybe it’s not something you did,” she shrugs. “She asked for time, just give her that.”

“I’m fucking done with everyone telling me the same thing,” he growls and stands from the table and steps out to the back area that’s reserved for smoking, feeling several stares on his back as he exits.

He knows he shouldn’t have left like that, but he was losing his temper and he truly didn’t want to cause a scene, not on his mother’s birthday. If he smoked, he would be lighting a cigarette vigorously right now, but he is just staring up at the dark sky as he is waiting for his anger to die down. He hears the door open close and when he looks behind him, he sees Anne approaching him.

“Hey baby, everything alright?” she asks and as she reaches him she brushes a few curls out of his forehead.

“M’sorry, just needed some air.”

Anne nods, knowing well what he meant by that. She hates to see him like this, so broken and lost, but she can’t help him this time. Not in this fight.

“I think it’s a first step that she came. She knew you’d be here, but she still came. Why don’t you come back and show her that you appreciate her presence. That you’re happy she’s here.”

“I am happy that she’s here, but it’s still hard to be around her,” he exhales tiredly.

“I know, baby,” she nods. “But you have to be strong. I know you can do it. She needs you.”

“Does she? She is shutting me out, mum,” he scoffs.

“She needs you to support her by giving her time and space. I know it’s hard to do it, but she told you what she needs.”

Harry sighs and nods.

“Let’s go back,” he mumbles. Anne smiles up at him and kisses his cheek before the two of them return to the table.

Harry tries his best not to stare at Y/N for the rest of the dinner. She sits on the opposite end of the long table between two of his cousins. She seems less bubbly and lively than usual, but that’s all Harry can notice from the handful of stolen glances he allows himself throughout the evening. He’s heard the same thing so many times from different people that he just needs to give her what she asked for, but hearing it from his mother it finally sinks in. His patience that’s been shortening with every day spent apart suddenly becomes never ending and he realizes he’ll just have to wait for as long as she needs him to.

When the guests are starting to leave one by one, Harry can’t help but keep an eye on Y/N. When he sees her getting ready to leave he decides it’s time to get moving as well. He approaches her, making sure he doesn’t get too close so he is not scaring her away.

“Hey,” he softly says and she looks up with doe eyes.

“Hi,” she breathes out as she grabs her coat from the rack behind her.

“Let me help,” he offers and she hesitates before letting him take the coat and help it onto her.

“Thanks. And… for inviting me as well. I’m sorry I didn’t answer, I just—“

“You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m just glad you came. My mum too,” he adds with a tiny chuckle. “Are you heading home?”

“Yeah, I have to be up early tomorrow. It’s great that I can just walk home from here.”

Harry chews on his bottom lip, trying to decide whether to ask her what he’s been planning all evening and at last he just shoots his shot.

“Can I walk you home?”

Her lips part as she stares back at him and Harry knows she is about to reject him, but he speaks up first.

“We don’t have to talk. Just let me make sure you get home safe. Please, Y/N. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

She clenches her jaw and stares back at him for what feels like forever and Harry is already bracing himself to get rejected, but then she nods.

“Okay. But I really don’t want to talk.”

“No talking. Not even a word,” he agrees eagerly, feeling like on top of the world. “Let me just pay the bill.”

He practically runs to settle the check, paying for everyone’s dinner and drinks. He keeps looking back to check if she’s still there and hasn’t left without him. She’s talking to Gemma, patiently waiting for him.

He grabs his coat too and then returns to her as fast as possible.

“It was nice seeing you, Gem,” she smiles. Gemma’s eyes move from her to Harry, a curious, questioning look, but she doesn’t comment on why Y/N’s leaving with him.

“You too. Take care,” Gemma smiles before returning to the remaining few guests.

They say goodbye to Anne as well, Harry tells his mum to stay for as long as she wants with her girlfriends, he paid for a few more drinks in advance. She thanks him everything and Harry doesn’t miss the smile on her lips when she sees him leave with Y/N.

It’s tempting to break his promise, but Harry keeps his mouth shut as they walk next to each other. Y/N’s brother’s apartment is just a few blocks away from the restaurant. It could have been a mere coincidence, but Harry would be lying if he said he didn’t think about how she might be more likely to come if she didn’t have to travel too far.

He is nervously fidgeting in his pockets as they are walking in silence. The walk is about fifteen minutes and he feels like a clock is ticking above his head, counting down the time he gets to spend physically close to her. When he spots the building that’s their destination, he is trying his best to push down his panic at the thought of not seeing her again for weeks. They’re almost there when he breaks his promise.

“You looked beautiful tonight, by the way.”

He awaits his punishment for speaking, expecting her to tell him off or just speed walk into the building, but her actual reaction is a total shocker.

She laughs, shaking her head.

“I knew you wouldn’t make it,” she sighs, but doesn’t sound upset.

“You know me too well,” he chuckles, but his heart drops when he realizes that they arrived. Taking a deep breath he just continues to talk. “I’m sorry for the scene last time. I was just not expecting to see you and I panicked.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t handle it too well either, so… I’m sorry too.”

Harry waits a few seconds, hoping that she might tell him more, but he is out of luck again. Tonight won’t be the one where she finally explains it all to him and he needs to accept it.

“I’ll give you the time and space you asked for under one condition,” he says. She inhales shakily.

“What’s the condition?”

“Promise me you’ll talk to me when you’re ready. I need to know that I will get my answers. It doesn’t matter when, whenever you want to.”

She curls her lips into her mouth as she looks to the side, folding her arms on her chest. When she looks back at him he holds his breath until she finally speaks up.

“I promise.”

Harry feels like he is breathing for the first time ever since she left. It’s a short relief, but he will probably think about this feeling for the next week.

“Okay,” he breathes out. “I’ll be waiting, Y/N. For as long as you need me to.” Chewing on her bottom lip she just nods. “Alright, I’ll go now. Thank you again, for coming tonight.”

“Bye, Harry,” she quietly says, walking up the stairs to the door.

“Bye, Y/N.”

Trouble in paradise?

Harry Styles tied the knot with Y/N Y/L/N just a little over a year ago. The couple had been going strong for five years when the singer popped the question and the intimate wedding was held exactly a year later. They’ve been praised as everyone’s favorite celebrity it couple, but their marriage might not be as strong as it appears from the outside.

A source close to Styles said the ex 1D member and his wife have been separated since the end of august, but there’s no talk of divorce yet. It’s unknown why the lovers decided to spend time apart, but fans have noticed that Y/N hasn’t been spotted anywhere near the singer lately. The couple is known to keep their private life hidden from the public, but they’d been spotted strolling around, running errands every once in a while. However, the last time they were seen together was back in July on their trip to LA.

While there hasn’t been any confirmation about the alleged separation, speculations have been thriving about the possible reasons behind the issues. Some even go as far as accusing either the singer or Y/N with cheating.

Thunderclouds are gathering over London when Harry is heading home from the studio. It’s been a long day, but they got a lot done and they might be able to finish with recording earlier than they planned so everyone can have some time off.

As he walks into the empty house he gets rid of his mask and kicks his trainers off, padding his way into the kitchen to get a plate for his dinner he picked up on his way home. He used to eat at the kitchen counter, because Y/N liked to bake or cook so she spent a lot of time in the modern kitchen that was formed entirely to her taste. He loved sitting on a stool and watch her work, they talked about their day and then Harry asked to help, but eventually, she would just tell him to leave, because he could never keep his hands away from her.

Now the kitchen reminds him of her way too much so he avoids spending time there. He pours the pasta to a plate, grabs himself a fork and takes his dinner to the living room, hoping to find something to watch on TV so the house is not entirely silent. He has barely dug into the food when his phone starts ringing on the coffee table. For a second he thinks about ignoring it, but then he catches a glimpse of the caller ID.

Y/N’s smiling picture is displayed on the screen and he barely drops the plate as he snatches the phone and answers the call.

“Y/N, hi!” he breathes out, his heart hammering in his chest. There’s a sniffle on the other end of the call and he switches into alerted mode in an instant. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“Harry, can you… Can you please come over?”

He is already up from the couch, the pasta abandoned on the coffee table as he’s running to get his keys and put his shoes back on.

“What happened, talk to me! I’m on my way, just talk to me, alright?”

“Mason is out of town a-and I’m alone and the lights went out,” she explains and Harry doesn’t even need more. He knows she hates the dark and scared to even touch the electrical fuse, she always fears she would get electrocuted. The power used to go out all the time in their previous home and it was always Harry who had to check the fuse while she stood behind him, scared as if he was dealing with a bomb.

“Okay, do you have candles? A torch?” he asks, jumping on one leg as he pulls his trainers back on.

“J-Just my phone.” A thunder is heard from the other end of the call and she exhales shakily.

“Alright, put me on speaker, turn on the light on your phone and sit down on the couch by the window. The lights are on outside on the street?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then it’s not entirely dark. Great, just hold on and I’ll be there soon.”

They stay in call while Harry jumps into his car and speeds over to her brother’s place that’s your temporary home now. Halfway there the sky opens and rain starts pouring down. Arriving at Mason’s place he jumps out of the car and soaks to the bone in an instant as he runs up to the front door. Y/N opens the door right away and lets him into the dark house.

“I’m sorry f-for calling you, I just didn’t know—“ she starts apologizing immediately, but he just shakes his head, ridding himself of the wet jacket.

“Y/N, it’s okay. I’m glad you called me,” he smiles softly, even though she probably can’t see it in the dark. When he’s kicked his shoes off he runs a hand through his wet curls before turning on the light on his own phone. “Alright, where’s the fuse box?”

“Here, let me show you,” she says and holding her own phone she leads him to a little nook underneath the stairs. It holds a few brooms and cardboard boxes and the fuse box is on the wall across from the door. “Please be careful,” she says as Harry leans closer to take a look at it, holding his light next to his face.

She watches him fumble with the switches, turning back on several ones before the lights finally come back on in the house, relief washing over Y/N.

“There. It’s all good now.” Harry closes the door of the nook and turns off the light on his phone before facing Y/N again. Now he has the chance to look at her, she’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that was once his, but she stole it from him a long time ago. It makes his heart flutter, knowing that she is still wearing his clothes.

“Thank you,” she breathes out relieved, but then her expression changes. “I’m sorry, I feel so helpless,” she says with a wobbling bottom lip and Harry acts without even thinking.

Stepping closer he takes her face in his hands as he shakes his head at her words.

“You’re not helpless, Y/N. A lot of people are scared of electricity, it’s a dangerous thing.”

“It’s not just about the fuse box,” she whimpers, tears rolling down her face, but he wipes them off right away. “I-I don’t… I hate it…”

“Come on, let’s sit down. It’s okay.”

He pulls her into the living room and they settle on the couch, Harry has wrapped his arms around her and she’s buried her face in his chest. He feels selfish because part of him is enjoying holding her like this, it’s the most physical touch they’ve had in a long time, but then he remembers how shaken up she is and his joy quickly gets pushed into the back of his head.

“It’s okay, baby. Just take a deep breath,” he gently soothes her, running his hand up and down her back and arm until her breathing slows down and she is not fisting his shirt anymore. “Tell me, what got you so upset, hm?”

She remains silent and Harry patiently waits for her to speak up.

“Do you think I’m helpless on my own?” she asks in a weak, quiet voice without lifting her head up from his chest.

“Of course not. Why would you think that of yourself?”

“Because… I can’t even switch the lights back on by myself and I’m an adult.”

“That doesn’t make you helpless. Everyone has things like this, I promise.”

“What’s yours?” she asks, finally lifting her head and looking him in the eyes. Harry hums as he thinks about what he should bring up.

“I don’t use matches, because I’m always afraid the fire might get to my fingers too fast and burn me.”

“Really? You never told that to me,” she says with raised eyebrows and he just shrugs his shoulders.

“Because it’s not that important. Like I said, everyone has fears like this, it’s okay.”

He dares to brush her hair behind her ear and run his fingertips down the side of her face. He can’t believe there was a time when he took these tiny touches for granted, when he could touch her whenever he wanted to without overanalyzing what could go wrong.

She looks him in the eyes and holds his gaze for long moments. Harry is continuously expecting her to move away, to take the privilege of holding her away, but it never comes. He feels like he is the closest to her he has been since she left.

Placing a hand to his thigh she pushes herself up, her nose almost brushing against his and he stops breathing for a moment, thinking it was just coincidence. She’s still looking at him, one hand on his chest, the other one on his thigh while his arms are circled around her frame.

And then she kisses him.

They freeze for a second, both of them caught by surprise by the action, but then time keeps moving and Harry doesn’t waste a second of it as he opens up his lips and kisses her back fiercely, as if he was trying to make up for every missed kiss from the past months.

She moves up, never breaking the kiss, devouring her husband after the starving. She moves around until she is finally straddling his lap and he loses his control, his hands finding her ass, grabbing it hard and making her grind against him. She moans into his mouth and he swears he could come just by the sounds she is making. Her heavy breathing, the soft whimpers, he missed her so much, it’s a miracle he could hold out for this long without her.

He can feel how needy she is, how much she is seeking relief, but his conscious is still there in the back of his mind, telling him to be careful and he knows that if they had sex now, that might trigger her and she would end up pushing him away even more. They can’t take this step until there are so many unsaid things between them, but he wants to please her still.

Holding onto her hips he guides her until her core is pressed against his thigh and he urges her to grind against it.

She moans loudly at the sensation, her head falling back and he takes the opportunity to kiss down the column of her neck, tasting her like she is his last meal. She starts moving on her own and Harry lets her use him however she pleases, all he wants is to satisfy her. His hard cock is bulging in his pants, but he is ignoring his own desires, this moment is about her.

“Feels good, baby? Hmm?” he murmurs into her ear as she keeps grinding against his thigh.

“Yes,” she answers breathlessly, curling her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him tight.

“Use me, I’m all yours,” he growls, feeling satisfied already just by watching her.

The time spent apart seems to have one perk, Y/N’s orgasm comes fast and hard after months of drought, she comes gasping for air, clawing at Harry’s chest and shoulder, her face pressed against his, lips mushed together as he steals a few more sloppy kisses.

There’s a few minutes of bliss, she’s like jelly in his arms, his heart slowly getting back into its normal rhythm. He prays to stay in this moment for as long as possible, it’s the most he has gotten with his wife in months and he doesn’t want it to end.

But the cloud of passion slowly clears out of her head and she realizes what just happened. He can almost see the switch in her as she pushes away from him and climbs off of his lap, moving to the far end of the couch.

“Y/N, don’t shut me—“

“You should leave,” she cuts him off dryly, staring ahead of her.

“Let’s just talk, I can’t—“

“Harry, leave!” she raises her voice, jumping up from the couch, rubbing her face with her hands. “I need to be alone.”

“Don’t shut me out, Y/N. It’s not the end of the world, we’re okay, let’s just talk, please!”

“No,” she shakes her head vigorously. “I-I need to be alone. That’s what I want, I need to figure it out,” she says, but it sounds like she was talking to herself rather than to Harry.

“Figure what out? Just talk to me!” Harry begs her, standing up from the couch, but as soon as he takes a step towards her, she backs away, keeping the distance between them.

“Not now, please not now!” she whispers, a tortured frown on her face.

“If not now, when? I’m trying to be patient, but we just jumped at each other five minutes ago and now you can’t even look at me! I really am trying, but fuck!” he growls, running his hand through his hair that’s got messed up by her finger in the heated moments. “Y/N, we’re married! And you wouldn’t even talk to me anymore! How long are we going to do this?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers, shutting her eyes tight.

Harry takes a few deep breaths, calming himself down and regaining composure before he speaks up again, this time with a lot more control over his voice.

“I’ll go now. But I want answers soon, Y/N. Do you understand me?” She nods.

Harry sigh, rubbing his chin as he walks out of the living room to put his shoes on and leave while Y/N keeps standing in the exact same spot. When he’s got his trainers and jacket on again, he is almost out of the house when he turns back.

“We’re married, I vowed to fight with you. But I can’t do that if I don’t know what I’m supposed to be fighting. I still love you and I would do anything for you, Y/N. Let me be your partner or… Or have the guts to leave me. If you want to divorce just say it. Anything is better than being in the dark.”

And with that, he walks out into the storm, leaving Y/N alone, just like she wanted.

It’s no surprise that Harry doesn’t sleep that night. He doesn’t even go near the bedroom, because he knows it would make him lose his mind. Sleeping there on his own has been hard enough these past months, but after last night… he knew he couldn’t take it.

He paces the floor, fills up dozens of pages in his diary vigorously, leaving notes he can’t even make sense out of minutes later. He turns into a hot mess and when he thinks about the last things he told her, he almost throws up.

Divorce.

He’s been ignoring this word like crazy since Y/N has left, because he simply couldn’t accept it was an option for them. She was and still is the love of his life, there was no chance for him to let them end up with ending their marriage.

But the way she’s been pushing him away actively probably broke something in him after having her so close and then losing her just seconds later. The words left his mouth before he even thought them through and he regretted them the moment he stepped out into the rain. Almost turned around to go back and beg her to forget what he said, but he just left.

By the time the sun comes up Harry feels like he has lost all of his sanity and he knows the only thing that would bring him even just the tiniest bit of peace is if he tells her that he will fight for their marriage and won’t just accept defeat that easily.

It’s barely past seven in the morning when he is throwing on a hoodie he found on the floor of the bedroom and he’s frantically looking for his keys that he angrily threw somewhere upon arriving last night, but his search is interrupted by hearing the front door unlocking. He sprints out into the hallway and almost trips in his own feet when he sees that Y/N just walked in with her own keys.

“Uh, I’m sorry, I thought about ringing the bell, but… it felt weird,” she explains, holding up her keys that still has that pink, fluffy keychain Harry bought her years ago.

“No, of course. It’s your home too,” he nods, still taken aback by her presence. “What—Uh, what can I… Are you…”

“I came to talk,” she says, dropping the keys to the side table and then nervously fidgeting with the sleeves of her jumper.

“Great! Amazing, I was… I was actually about to go over to you as well. Come on in, let’s… I’ll make us tea,” he stutters, heading into the kitchen with Y/N following right behind.

He puts on the kettle and she looks around before settling on one of the stools, watching him move around, grabbing her favorite mug and the kind of tea she loves the most.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, when he hands her the warm drink and takes the stool next to hers. Harry decides to just blurt out everything he’s been piling up since the last time they met, starting off with what he said before leaving.

“I don’t want to get a divorce, Y/N. I’m sorry for what I said, I was just… mad and couldn’t think straight. I hope you don’t want it either, whatever we are going through, I hope we can work on it first before we call it quits.”

He is talking fast and he’s nervously fidgeting with his nails and she sees that they are completely bare. Reaching out she takes one of his hands and takes a better look at them.

“Your nails are not painted,” she observes.

“Because you’re the one who paints them. I don’t want anyone else to do it for me,” he softly says and she seems stunned by his words. Letting go of his hand she clears her throat and drops her own hands into her lap, staring down at them.

“I don’t want to get a divorce,” she then says and Harry feels like he can finally breathe for the first time in months. “But… I need changes.”

“Okay, what kind of changes?” he asks, ready to hear her out and do anything just to have her back. She exhales shakily and he can tell how heavy whatever it is that’s weighing down on her.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” she admits, her eyes tearing up.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, we can figure it all out.” He slips off his stool and stepping closer he takes her face in his hands, his touch gentle and soft. “Tell me what you know.”

She nods, wetting her lips before taking a deep breath and speaking up again.

“I realized that… I don’t know who I am.” She is talking slow, thinking her words over carefully. “I’ve been Harry Styles’ girlfriend and then wife for so long, I slowly… started to lose myself.”

Sniffing she rubs her eyes before continuing.

“I have been struggling with this for a while, but I couldn’t figure out what exactly this feeling was, I just knew that something was off. We were on the move all the time, traveling the world and don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for everything I got to experience with you. But… It’s all I’ve been doing and… I had plans.”

“Plans?” Harry asks.

“Like, before we met, I wanted to go to college. I wanted to learn and get a degree, but then I met you and we became serious so fast that I felt like I had to follow you to make it work. And… I got stuck in it and put everything else on hold. Now it’s been over seven years and I’ll be thirty soon and didn’t do anything that I wanted before. But then I thought about it… and I realized that I’m not even sure I want them anymore.”

Harry can feel a whirlwind of emotions raging inside him, listening to her, but he keeps his mouth shut and lets her tell everything at once before he speaks.

“I started to question everything. I had to realize that I have no idea what I want, I’ve been just going with the flow for years and I couldn’t even tell anymore who I was. I was the mysterious girl Harry Styles was dating and then I was known as your girlfriend and then your wife… I wasn’t my own person. I was always just Harry Styles’ someone.”

She takes a deep breath, wiping away a tear that escaped her eye before she carries on.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love being with you, I love you, more than anything. But I started to feel like I was just a… carry-on luggage, someone added to you and not an individual above all. Then you brought up trying for a baby and I think it triggered me. I was afraid that I would just become the mother of your child and lose the last pieces of myself, so I did the first thing that came to my mind. I ran.”

She looks up at him and sees how broken he is over her words, finally hearing what you’ve been struggling with all this time.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Y/N? Why didn’t you talk to me about all of these?” he asks in a whisper.

“Because I felt ashamed,” she sighs. “I’m living this amazing life, I travel the world with you, anyone would be lucky to live a life like ours and I’m here…” Her voice dies down and a sob escapes her lips. Harry moves out of instinct, cradling her in his arms as she buries her face into his chest. “I’m here whining about it. I hate myself for this,” she cries into his hoodie.

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs softly, holding her tight in his embrace.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I don’t know what’s happening to me,” she sobs uncontrollably, fisting his hoodie, holding onto him for dear life.

“I know. It’s alright. Come on, let’s lie down, I bet you didn’t sleep much either, hm? Let’s just get you to bed, you’re barely holding yourself up.”

He softly helps her off the stool and the two of them head up to the bedroom he avoided all night long, but returning with her in his arms feels more right than anything ever before. He sits her to the edge of the mattress and then helps her get comfortable before walking around the bed and taking his usual side. She moves over to him in an instant, her whole body gravitating towards his warmth and he welcomes her in his embrace again gladly, holding her wrapped tight in his arms, right where he thinks she belongs.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” she croaks out, her head lying on his chest that’s rising and falling in a soothing rhythm.

“No. Not at all. I just wish you talked to me instead of fleeing.”

“I thought I had to think things through away from you,” she admits.

“Why? Are you scared to talk to me?” Harry asks, his heart breaking at the thought of his own wife not trusting him enough to tell him what’s been bothering her.

“I’m not scared. I just… I honestly don’t know. I was afraid I would just talk myself out of it and dig myself deeper into this hole… I was afraid that I would want to please you so badly, I would agree to anything.”

“Like having a baby,” Harry adds, mostly disappointed in himself that he didn’t notice a thing of what was happening right in front of his nose.

He should have thought about her, she’s been bending her own life around his since the very beginning, always the one to work her schedule to fit his and he never even questioned it. He’s been a selfish bastard. He remembers her telling him about wanting to go to college when they first met, but then she didn’t mention it again and he just assumed she changed her mind. He assumed way too many things. That traveling around the world is all she wanted, that she was fine with the way she’s been perceived by the public, that she was fine with living the life he chose but she was just pushed into. So many things that he just turned a blind eye to, only because he loved having her with him all the time.

He feels like he failed as a husband, a partner, a lover.

“I do want to have a baby with you, Harry,” she speaks up, pulling him out of his self-deprecating thoughts. “But I don’t think I could be a good mother when I’m so lost about myself.” Her words turn into another sob as she starts crying again and Harry tightens his hold around her.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. You need to rest, we can talk more when you wake up,” he breathes out, placing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. She doesn’t protest or tries to talk more, and only minutes later Harry notices her body relaxing, her breathing evening.

She fell asleep.

Though Harry could use some sleep himself too, he can’t get his eyes to even close. He lies awake for god knows how long until he carefully gets out of bed, tucks her in and heads downstairs to let Y/N get some rest while he is raking his mind for an excuse why he let all of this happen knowing well he won’t find any.

He has never felt more ashamed in his life and it’s been like several slaps across his face, listening to everything Y/N just shared with him. He let his wife suffer alone and didn’t notice a thing for so long, while he happily lived his rockstar life and dragged her along without second guessing.

Hours pass by and she is still asleep when Harry decides to call Sarah. He sits by the kitchen counter, leaning onto the countertop as he holds the phone to his ear with a permanent frown on his face.

“Hey, what’s up?” she answers the phone and he immediately hears James’ playful babbling in the background.

“So you have a minute to talk?” he asks, not wanting to interrupt on precious family time.

“Of course, give me a sec.” She tells something to probably Mitch before moving to a different room where she can talk comfortably. “Alright, I’m listening.”

“I fucked up, Sarah, and I didn’t even notice a thing.”

Sarah stays silent on the other end of the call before speaking up.

“She told you.”

“Yeah. We had… Some things happened last night and in the heat of the moment I told her to have the guts to tell me if she wants a divorce. I didn’t mean it, so I was getting ready to go over and talk to her in the morning when she showed up here and told me everything. Now I feel like the biggest idiot in the world and I have no idea how to make it right.”

“Do you want my honest advice and opinion?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. Don’t make it about yourself. Yes, you made mistakes, she did too by not speaking up, but this is about her. What you just said, I only heard you talk about yourself. Focus on how you can help her finding herself and getting comfortable in her own life again instead of putting yourself into the spotlight.”

And just like that, it’s another slap across his face again. He knows Sarah is right and that she just gave him a pill that’s probably the hardest to swallow. He can’t turn this on him, he needs to put all his energy into helping Y/N find her peace again.

“You’re right,” he whispers, closing his eyes.

“I know it’s hard. She is going through a crisis where she is questioning all of her decisions, even the ones she made about you. But it’s normal and you’ll just have to support her through it, let her figure it all out without bringing yourself into the equation. You’ve been the center of her life for almost a decade, you have to accept that might change a little, but that doesn’t mean she won’t love or need you anymore.”

“Fuck, Sarah, when did you become a therapist?” he chuckles sadly, her words weighing on his chest heavily. “Did you go through something like this too?”

“Kind of. It’s hard to keep in touch with yourself when so much is happening around you. I had my own doubts about Mitch and our life too, but here I am, happily married with a baby. You’ll get through it too, you love each other and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Sarah.”

They talk a little more before her mom duties call her. Harry takes some time to reflect on everything he’s learned and tries his best to get himself into the right mindset to start this long process he is facing.

When Y/N wakes up he is right next to her, sitting against the headboard, scrolling on his phone. When he sees her sleepy face, he puts the phone aside and lies down on his side to face her.

“You didn’t sleep?” she asks groggily, rubbing her eyes.

“No. I had a lot to think about.”

She opens her mouth, but then closes, scooting closer to him.

“I’m so sorry, H. I didn’t react the right way and should have talked to you instead of running away.”

“Don’t apologize. We… we both made mistakes. We should talk about how we could move forward, yeah?”

She nods.

“First of all… Do you think you’re ready to come home? I really… I miss you, Y/N.”

“I miss you too and I want to come home. I thought I would be able to think clearer if I’m away from you, but it’s been hell.”

“Alright,” he nods relieved. “We can get your stuff today and move it all back.”

“That would be amazing,” she smiles weakly.

“I talked to Jeff while you were asleep. I can’t cancel the upcoming tour, but we talked about a longer break afterwards.”

“How long?”

“However much time we need, baby.”

“I don’t want to keep you away from your career.”

“You are my priority, Y/N. You spend years of your life dedicated to me. If I have to take time off from my career to make sure you’re okay… I won’t hesitate for a moment.”

“B-But I still don’t know what I should do…”

“It’s okay. We will figure it out and then I’ll make sure we can do whatever we have to do.”

She is touched by the way Harry is treating her. She was afraid she did irreversible damage to their relationship by leaving, but here he is, being so patient and accepting with her even after she shut him out so violently.

Moving closer she kisses him to show her gratitude, they wrap around each other, feeling contented that they are finally reunited. It’s all they both have been yearning for and this is where they belong.

“I love you,” she whispers against his lips.

“I love you too,” he hums back. “I want to make you happy Y/N. That’s all I want, let me make you happy.”

“I’m happy when I’m with you. I just need to be happy with myself too.”

“Let me help you with that. You’re my everything, baby. Let me take care of you the way you always take care of me. I will always love you and nothing can change that.”

She just quietly nods, swallowing back a few of her tears before pressing her lips against his again and again and again, making up for all the time they lost.

Harry Styles is making a comeback!

The thirty years old singer is finally back in the business after spending two years away from the spotlight. When Styles announced his break from work in 2022 fans were terrified it’s going to be another never ending hiatus that ended One Direction back in the days. The singer wrote a heartfelt note to his dedicated fans that was posted on his Instagram, which has been silent ever since, talking about taking time to focus on his private life, family and friends. The announcement came right after he finished touring his third studio album and rumors were spreading about his marriage before he hit the road, talking about alleged cheating and a possible divorce from his longtime lover, Y/N Y/L/N.

However, the couple debunked those theories when Y/L/N was caught joining Styles on the first part of his tour. A source close to them confirmed that she returned to London earlier than her husband to enroll into King’s College London and start her bachelor studies.

The couple was caught several times during the singer’s hiatus strolling around London alone or with friends, seemingly making the best out of their time off duty. Styles has not made any official appearances since his last show and word has been traveling around the internet that even when he comes back, he will be slowing things down, making more time for his family.

At midnight last Monday a countdown showed up on his official website, followed by his first ever post on his Instagram since his break. It has not been confirmed, whether it’ll be a new album or just a single, but it’s been enough for fans to wake up from hibernation and pull out their colorful boas from their closet. The countdown is expected to hit zero at four pm on Friday. Stay tuned to find out more about the latest news about Britain’s number one man!

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!