#these guys are always a good time to draw

[reignpage]

The Other Woman

Pt 1

The doctors and psychologists said it’d be great for your husband’s well-being to be with friends and family. And for the most part, that’s proven true. 

Insisting on welcoming Satoru back properly, his students organised a party and invited anyone who had a remote connection with their teacher. Even Nanami had taken time off from work to be here and had given a polite pat on his shoulder and a genuine greeting. 

That brought a huge smile to the white-haired man who pounced on the poor guy without remorse, giggling about how he knew he ‘always liked him really’. It felt great to watch him be surrounded by and showered with so much love and support, the kind he deserves; you could tell it was bringing life back to him. After all, it must have been painful for him to have been cooped up in the house trying to reconcile his new reality with the one he remembers. 

You keep reminding yourself of that. 

Satoru needs this. 

He needs normalcy. The normal he remembers, the normal he went to sleep thinking about and not the one he had suddenly woken up to, years passing him by. 

Everyone knows this. He knows this. Just as you do. 

So why is every person in the party sneaking you pitying and concerned glances?

Sure, no one could possibly think this is easy for you, to be the stranger that Satoru still gets surprised to see in the morning. The one he hesitates to say goodnight to, unsure of the boundaries, the etiquette, the right thing to do. He sometimes forgets to text you if he’s going out, shocked and annoyed, you’re sure, to see the many missed calls and messages from you. And you know he studies the picture frames all over your house like a textbook that would give him all the answer he needs.

All he gets, you’re willing to bet, is the realisation that you’re both the tether he needs to keep grounded, that guides him through the sea of memories he cannot touch, and the leash that binds him to a role he doesn’t remember signing up for. 

Are they looking at you with worry because of the inevitable toll this sudden shift has taken on your mental health or because your husband is talking to his ex-girlfriend the way he used to talk to you?

It can’t be the latter, right?

Because there’s nothing to be worried about. 

Satoru is simply catching up, trying to stitch up the crater-sized hole in his memory with a familiar face. There’s no reason for your hand to shake as you sip your drink or for your eyes to keep darting back over to them, sat alone at a table like they’re the only people in here. 

He’s laughing, throwing his head back and making that obnoxious cackle you love to hear. Loved. Because this one isn’t for you. It’s for her. The woman he shouldn’t be near, the woman he shouldn’t even think about, shouldn’t let touch his arm. 

You’re the wife. 

You’ve got the ring to prove it. 

He’s wearing it. Just not on the hand attached to the arm strung over the back of her chair like he’s protecting her from the rest of the world. Hell, maybe he is. Maybe his infinity is on and covering her. But you don’t have it in you to throw something at them to find out. Either result would be just as humiliating as the other. 

There’s nothing to be done. 

You can’t interrupt. 

Because Satoru needs to know what he said goodbye to all those years ago to know what he says ‘hey, pretty lady’ and ‘good morning, gorgeous’ to now. Or used to say. Now, you’re lucky if he even looks at you without shuffling his feet. 

Eventually, the night draws to its natural end. 

People bid their farewells twice, once to him and her, and then to you. Each time breaks your heart even more until you feel it crumble inside, little shards falling to pieces he won’t pick up. She stands before you, a small, shy smile, like she knows what she’s done. And says it’s ‘lovely to meet you’, and of course you can’t say it back. 

Not when you had been introduced by your name, ‘my beautiful wife’ going nowhere near the tip of his tongue as if those words had never been uttered by your husband. And not when she had been introduced in a hastily withdrawn, stuttered freudian slip of hell. 

“This is my girlfr— Sorry, I mean, my friend. From high school. Yeah, high school.”

Satoru blushes, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he waves goodbye to her. And you can tell he finds the act lacklustre, an uninspired, unnatural way to say goodbye to the woman you woke up to and slept beside. 

“Did you have a good time?”

He nods, a soft smile playing on his lip as he casts his gaze across the room, sweeping by the empty hall like he can still see every single person that came. “It was nice to see everyone and catch up.”

You’re thankful he doesn’t ask if you enjoyed the evening because you can’t lie to him but you also can’t tell the truth, can’t burden him anymore with the reminder that he doesn’t fill the shoes of your husband, that he continues to stumble with every step, dragging you down with him. 

So, instead, you fill the silence with a question that is so harmless, so normal it slips out before you can even think to anticipate the devastating crack that goes through your very soul. 

“Ready to go home?”

Satoru nods.

But he’s looking at a seat in the back. 

A seat that’s probably still warm. A seat you could never fill because you aren’t the woman he thought, hoped, he would marry. 

You’re just the woman he did. 

[itneverendshere]

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (eight)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: mentions of domestic violence; unhealthy relationships;

It takes another week for your bruises to disappear entirely and for you to get comfortable enough to join Rafe downstairs while he’s working away with Jerry.

He didn’t mind though, he liked watching you heal, loved seeing you devour whatever he cooked for you. It was almost like he was healing himself too.

Rafe glances up from under the hood of the Chevy, the clang of metal on metal breaking the heat of the afternoon.

He isn’t sure what draws his attention, but there you are, sitting on the porch steps with sunlight catching in your hair, watching him and Jerry work like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

It devastates him—how much happier you look. A week ago, you'd barely let him leave your side without that haunted look creeping back into your eyes. 

You sit there comfortably, legs stretched out, looking eerily like the girl he remembered from so long ago. Almost.

He wipes his hands on the rag tucked into his pocket, taking a moment to breathe you in. Seeing you there, in his space, still feels unreal.

Somehow, the universe had given him a second chance when he’d never thought he’d get one, hee wants to keep you that way, safe, comfortable, smiling.

“Rafe,” Jerry’s voice pulls him back to work, and he tears his gaze from you reluctantly, not before he catches the way your lips quirk just a little more when you realize he’s been watching.

He ducks his head back under the hood, focusing on the busted engine. At least, that’s what he tells himself, but the truth is, he’s already planning what to make you for dinner. Maybe spaghetti?

You’d eaten three helpings of it the other night like you couldn’t get enough. He’ll make extra.

He grins to himself, a small, private thing, as he tightens the bolt on the alternator. He isn’t usually one for kitchen work but he’d been experimenting ever since you got here, he'd been cooking more than ever.

Figured out how to make pancakes the way you liked them, even if it meant burning the first couple batches, learned the trick to getting mashed potatoes just right, and spaghetti? He can make that blindfolded by now, if it means seeing you sitting, all full and satisfied, looking at him like he’s doing something right for once.

He peeks your way again, can’t help it.

God, he could write poetry about you if he had the words, if he was smart enough for that shit. Something about how your skin soaks up the sun like it’s meant just for you, or how you make the whole world quiet just by sitting there, looking at him.

You stretch, raising your arms over your head and his chest hurts so good. You don’t know what you’re doing to him, do you? You have no idea how much he wants to drop this wrench, cross the yard, and pull you into his arms, just to feel you against him, like the good old days.

“Rafe,” Jerry calls again, this time a little more assertive.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” He mutters, running a hand through his hair, smearing grease. The old man shoots him a look but says nothing.

He blames you, how is a guy supposed to focus with you sitting there like that? Looking all pretty and sweet, like you belong nowhere else but on his porch, waiting on him to finish up.

He wonders if you’d blush if he told you.

Maybe later, at dinner, he’ll get you talking about something—something that makes your eyes light up and your hands move like they always do when you got excited. Not the whole thing, of course, not the part about how he wants to keep you here forever, how he spent the last week falling asleep next to you, scared out of his mind to wake up and you’d be gone.

He can’t say that, not yet.

He still doesn’t feel deserving, the years haven’t dimmed you a bit—if anything, you’re brighter, and stronger, especially after what had happened, after you showed up on his doorstep with bruises and trembling hands, you’re still here, looking at him like he’s someone worth trusting.

He can’t stop thinking about what your parents said, all those years ago. How they’d made him feel like the scum on their shoes, but he isn’t that same kid anymore, is he? He built a life here, fixed cars, learned to cook, stayed out of trouble. You came back to him.

The sound of pawsteps across gravel draws his attention before he even realizes he’s been listening for it. A familiar shadow pads around the corner of the garage—a big mutt with a patchy brown coat, floppy ears, and a wagging tail that never quits.

Rafe chuckles under his breath. “Look who finally decided to wake up,” he drawls, wiping his hands on his jeans as the dog, Ace, makes his way toward you, bypassing him completely.

Traitor.

You sit up straighter on the steps, blinking at the unexpected visitor, “Who’s this?”

“That’s Ace, the one I told you about,” He explains, leaning against the Chevy, arms crossed. “Sleeps in the garage most nights. Jerry feeds him scraps when he thinks I ain’t lookin’.”

“Bull,” Jerry mutters from under the hood, but Rafe just grins.

Ace stops a few feet away from you, his tail still wagging but slower now, careful, he sniffles the air, head tilting as if he’s sizing you up.

You extend a hand tentatively, and Rafe’s heart damn near fucking stops when Ace leans forward, his big nose brushing your fingers like he’s been waiting all his life to meet you.

“Oh,” you breath, your lips curving into a blinding smile as you tenderly scratch behind his ears. Ace practically melts, pressing his head into your palm like you’re the best thing that had ever happened to him and Rafe feels like someone punched him, at least a hundred times, square in the chest.

Even the fucking dog is in love with you.

“He’s sweet,” you coo as you stroke Ace’s scruffy coat. “Aren’t you, boy?”

The dog lets out a contented huff, flopping onto the ground at your feet like he’s ready to stay there forever, Rafe can’t blame him.

“He doesn’t warm up to folks like that,” He finds himself admitting, “Usually takes him a while to trust people. Guess he’s got good taste.”

You look up at him, and there it is—that little spark in your eyes that makes his knees weak. “He must take after his owner, then.”

He lets out a noise, between a laugh and a swallow, scratching the back of his neck, looking down at the ground because he knows if he looks at you too long, he’ll probably do something stupid, maybe kiss you right there in front of Jerry and the whole damn yard.

“Nah,” he concedes finally, “Dog’s got way more sense than me.”

You laugh, that sound was always better than any song he ever heard, even if you haven’t laughed like that in a long time.

“You’ve got your moments.” You tease, still scratching the mutt behind his ears.

“Moments, huh?” He smirks, slow and lazy, the way that always makes you blush. 

Your cheeks are still flushed, just like he hoped they would, and you shake your head, but he doesn’t miss the way your grin only grows.

God, you’re so beautiful it hurts. He wants to bottle this moment up and keep it forever—the sun on your skin, Ace curled up at your feet, and that look in your eyes.

Jerry clears his throat loudly, and Rafe drags his attention away, turning back to the engine with a muttered, “Don’t you got somethin’ better to do, old man?”

Jerry snorts. “Not when you’re makin’ moon eyes at her like that, might as well sell tickets.”

He shoots him a glare, his ears turning pink, and you cackle again, a little louder this time. It’s worth the ribbing, worth all of it, just to hear that sound. Rafe sighs, long and dramatic. "Don’t you have a crossword or somethin' to keep your mouth busy?"

The old man sniggers, his laugh scratchy and full of life as you look between the two of them, enjoying the show.

“So,” you pipe up, resting your chin on your hand, comfortable enough around Jerry to finally ask, “How did you two meet? Officially, I mean.”

“Cameron didn’t tell you?”

He groans, already regretting everything. “Oh, come on—don’t—”

“Shut up, kid,” Jerry clicks his tongue, waving him off, turning turned to you, his eyes already sparkling with mischief in the late afternoon sun. “It was, what, five years ago? Somethin’ like that. I was in the middle of the hardware store, cussin’ out a kid who bagged up the wrong screws for me.”

Rafe ducks his head, mumbling, “It wasn’t that bad.”

Jerry ignores him, his hands moving as he speaks. “And here comes this scrappy little punk, all long limbs and attitude. He’s hanging around the counter, lookin’ like he’s ready to swipe somethin’. I figured, well, either he’s desperate or he’s an idiot, so I hollered at him.”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing at Rafe. “Scrappy little punk? I remember that.”

He sends a faux glare your way, “Don’t gloat him on.”

“Could’ve called the cops on him,” Jerry goes on, enjoying himself. “But I didn’t. Somethin’ about him looked...he just needed a break. I handed him a sandwich instead. Figured, worst-case scenario, he’d run off and I’d be down a couple bucks.

“But he didn’t.”

Jerry beams, “He sat right there on the curb and ate the whole damn thing like he hadn’t had a meal in days. Then, after he was done, he asked me if I had any work for him.”

You try to keep your expression even, but your throat tightens a little as you take a peek at Rafe’s reaction. He isn’t looking at you, his hands are busy wiping grease from a bolt that needs no more attention.

Your mind paints a picture you don’t want to see: him, still just a teenager, sitting alone on a curb in a strange town, starving, with no one to turn to. You remember the boy you’d known back then—the one who laughed loudly, talked too big, and held your hand like you were the only thing he had in the world.

The thought of him losing all of that, of losing you and ending up so desperate, breaks something inside you.

Jerry isn’t oblivious; he sees the flinch when he mentions Rafe’s first meal here. He catches how your shoulders tense, how Rafe avoids looking at you, the old man has a knack for reading people, so, still with a knowing smile, he pivots.

“Speakin’ of this kid’s early days,” Jerry claps his hands, “Y’know, I had half a mind to send him back to whatever dock he washed up from.”

His free hand dragged down his face. “C’mon, Jerry—”

“No, no, she’s gotta hear this,” Jerry insists, grinning again now. “You ever heard the phrase, ‘bull in a china shop’? That was this one.” He jerks his thumb toward him. “I handed him a wrench, told him to take off the oil pan on an old Ford. Figured, simple job, even he couldn’t screw it up.”

You tilt your head, curious despite yourself. “And?”

“The next thing I know, I hear this god-awful bang—like a car had fallen off the lift. I run over, and there’s Rafe, sittin’ on the ground, oil pan in one hand, half the damn exhaust in the other.”

You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle, your eyes widening. “No!”

“I was new!” he defends, albeit childishly, his neck turning a faint shade of pink. “I didn’t know cars back then, alrigh’? Boats are different.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jerry chaffs, “Different enough that I had to spend half my day puttin’ that exhaust back together.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, but there’s a sheepish tilt on his lips. “You’re lucky I didn’t quit after that.”

“You?” Jerry cackles, slapping his knee. “You were lucky I didn’t fire you!”

“Alright, that’s enough outta you,” Rafe grumbles, though his tone is more affectionate than annoyed. “She doesn’t need to hear every stupid thing I did.”

Jerry winks at you, “Stick around long enough, and I’ve got plenty more stories where that came from.”

Rafe sighs dramatically, shaking his head, he turns back to the car, he doesn’t mind being the butt of the joke if it makes you laugh.

You’re still petting Ace, murmuring something that he can’t hear, but it doesn’t matter. The way your lips move, the gentle tilt of your head—it’s enough to send his heart hammering.

He doesn’t know what he did to get you back in his life, but he’s sure as hell not going to mess it up. Not this time.

Ace moves at your feet, rolling onto his back, his tail thumping against the ground and you laugh again, that heart-wrenching melodic sound.

He doesn’t even care that Jerry caught him “makin’ moon eyes” earlier—because this is what love looks like, he’ll gladly wear the fool.

“Everything okay over there?” you call, a teasing tilt in your voice.

He clears his throat, coming up with something to say,  “Yeah, just—uh, makin’ sure Jerry doesn’t mess up the alternator.”

Jerry barks a laugh from behind the car. “Kid, I’ve been doin’ this since before you could walk. Go ahead, tell her about the time you tried to put windshield wiper fluid in the oil tank.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rafe mutters as your snort spills out, unrestrained and perfect. He wants to record that sound, keep it for the nights when his demons get too loud.

Jerry pops back up, smirking as he wipes his hands on a rag. “She oughta know what she’s dealin’ with.”

He shakes his head, the faintest grin on his lips. “She knows enough. Don’t you, darlin’?”

The nickname slips out without him meaning to, but it feels right. 

“Yeah, I do.”

Jerry slaps him on the back, pulling him out of his head. “Alright, kid. Let’s fire her up, see if she’ll run.”

He nods, tossing the wrench onto the workbench. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”

He steps around to the driver’s side, sliding into the worn seat, the key turns in the ignition, and the old Chevy grumbles to life, sputtering a little before settling into a steady rumble.

Jerry whoops, giving the hood an affectionate pat.

You’re clapping, beaming brighter than the sun dipping low on the horizon, the pride in your eyes, you’re looking at him like he just moved mountains instead of fixing an old truck—it’s overwhelming.

He kills the engine, stepping out of the car, wiping his hands on his jeans as he crosses the yard, Jerry mutters something about grabbing a beer and heads inside, leaving the two of you alone with the fading light and the lazy wag of Ace’s tail.

Rafe stops, suddenly nervous, scratching the back of his neck, his attention flickering between you and the ground. 

“I like watching you work. You look happy.”

Happy, such a simple word, but hearing it from you feels monumental, you’re giving him something he didn’t even know he was missing.

“Yeah, guess I’m not used to having an audience,” he murmurs, his lips twitching into a small, sheepish grin.

You tilt your head, studying him and he feels completely exposed, knowing you remembre all the cracks, every scar, every damn thing about him, but instead of turning away, you lean forward slightly, resting your chin on your hand.

“You’re good at it, y’know.”

“At what?”

“Everything.”

He looks away, swallowing hard, “Already promised I’d make you that pasta again, don’t need to butter me up, princess.”

You roll your eyes, as you wave him off. “Don’t let it go to your head, country boy.”

He chuckles, the sound wrapping around you. “Too late for that.”

Ace stirs at your feet, letting out a happy huff as your hand absentmindedly scratches his belly. Rafe watches the way you’re with the dog, so effortless and full of love, and his heart swells.

“Y’know,” he says, his voice more serious, “it’s nice, havin’ you here. Feels... right.”

You brush a strand of hair out of your face, glancing down at Ace before looking back up at him. “It feels right to me too,” you admit.

Rafe’s breath catches, his hand twitching at his side like he wants to touch but doesn’t know how. Instead, he clears his throat, tilting his head toward the garage. 

“Guess I should, uh, finish cleanin’ up.”

You nod, smiling a little. “Don’t let me stop you, grease monkey.”

He gives you a tongue-in-cheek smirk, the side of his cheek puffing out slightly, shaking his head as he stands, but not before he leans down, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, and whispers, “Keep callin’ me that, and I might start likin’ it.”

He knows exactly what he's doing when your lips part in a gasp as he leans in, how your eyes widen before you try act unaffected—it’s like you’re both teens again. He didn’t mean to flirt, not at first, but the way you look at him, it’s impossible not to. 

He pulls back, letting his smirk settle into place, giving you that lazy, self-assured grin you always pretended to hate when you were younger.

By the time you think of a comeback, he’s already halfway to the workbench, his smug grin unmistakable even from a distance.

Jerry returns with a beer in hand, catching the tail end of your flustered expression. “What’d he say this time?”

“Nothing,” you reply quickly as you scratch Ace behind the ears again.

“Uh-huh,” Jerry says knowingly, settling into his chair and shaking his head with a chuckle.

Dinner comes slow but is worth the wait.

The sun's long since tucked itself away, and by now, the house smells like garlic and tomatoes, the scent that makes you feel like you’re right where you belong. 

Rafe stands in the kitchen, his back to you as he plates up the spaghetti he promised. He’s in a worn t-shirt and jeans, the grease scrubbed from his hands but still faintly streaked along his forearm.

He’d gone all out—spaghetti with his homemade sauce, garlic bread, and even a side salad, though he figured that would mostly be for show. 

“Hope you’re hungry,” he calls, leaning on the doorframe as you appear from the hallway, fresh-faced and relaxed after cleaning up from earlier. You smile at him, and his heart stutters like it always does when you stare at him like that, turning with two plates balanced in his hands, “One gourmet pasta dish, comin’ up.”

You laugh, sitting cross-legged at the table. “Big words for a guy who learned how to boil water when he was seventeen.”

“Now, that’s just mean.” He sets the plates down with mock offense, but there’s a light in his eyes, the kind that only shows up when you’re here.

The first bite is heaven—simple, hearty, comforting.

You can’t help the little sigh that escapes as you twirl more noodles around your fork. He watches from across the table, leaning back in his chair, one hand loosely gripping his beer. He’s not subtle about it either, letting his eyes wander over you like he’s cataloging every detail.

“This is amazing,” you say after swallowing. “Seriously. You’ve been holding out on me.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes a bite of his own. “Nah, just figured if I burned a few meals first, you’d lower your expectations. Keep the bar manageable.”

“If this is you being ‘manageable,’ I’m almost scared to see what happens when you’re trying.”

“Careful, princess,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair. “Might start thinkin’ you’re tryna keep me in the kitchen.”

“Well, you do look good in an apron,” you bite back a shit-eating grin as his face warms ever so slightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes, stabbing a piece of garlic bread and pointing it at you playfully. “Keep it up, see what happens.”

He takes a sip of his drink, watching the way your shoulders relax, and how you reach for another piece of bread without hesitation. It’s everything he wanted when he planned this—just to see you like this, comfortable, at home.

“You’ve gotten good at this,” you say after a moment, gesturing toward the food. “It’s kind of... surprising.”

Rafe shrugs, his lips twitching into a crooked smirk. “Figured it was time I learned somethin’ useful. Can’t live off fast food forever, y’know?”

You tilt your head, studying him. “You’ve changed.”

He doesn’t look at you right away, focusing instead on twirling his fork through his pasta. “Time does that, I guess. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it ain’t.”

“I think it’s good,” you say, and the sincerity in your voice makes him glance up. Your eyes meet, and there’s something there—something that makes his chest feel all empty and full at once.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you confirm, “I like this version of you. Feels like you’re where you’re supposed to be.”

You talk about the past like as if it’s something distant, like it doesn’t still linger in the cracks of who you’ve become. He hates it—hates the way your voice wavers. Hates that, for five years, you’d been fighting to survive while he wasn’t there to stop it.

He should be grateful for the words, for the way you look at him like he’s the version of himself you can believe in. But all he can think about is how wrong you are. How he was supposed to be there—not here. If he says it out loud, the mood will drop, and the hope in your voice will disappear. He can’t take that from you—not when you’ve fought so hard to get here.

So instead, he swallows the words.

You’re still smiling and he lets himself pretend that this is how it’s always been—that you’ve never known anything but moments like this, safe and warm. The corner of his mouth twitches upward as he watches you, but that tightness in his chest refuses to ease.

“You’ve got something...” He gestures vaguely, and when you blink at him in confusion, he reaches for his napkin. “On your lip.”

You laugh, startled, and quickly swipe at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Did I get it?”

“Nah,” he says, smirking as he leans forward slightly. “Other side.”

You try again, this time swiping with your thumb, but it’s no use.

He chuckles low, shaking his head, his heart squeezing as he watches your eyes crinkle at the edges. He’d give anything to go back and rewrite the past, so you’d never know the pain you went through.

“C’mere,” he says softly, his voice warm like the honey he used to sneak into your tea.

Before you can whine in protest, he’s reaching across the table, thumb brushing gently against the corner of your lips. His touch stays a second longer than it should, his eyes locked on yours and he doesn’t pull back. 

Instead, his hand moves to cup your jaw, his thumb tracing the edge of your cheekbone.

You don’t pull away, and that quiets the voice in his head screaming at him to back off, to give you space. The last thing he wants is to upset you. Your breathing hitches slightly, your attention flickering to his lips, and that’s all it takes to shake whatever restraint he has left.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, feeling a desperate need for your permission. “I’ll stop.”

You shake your head, just barely, the motion subtle but enough, “You don’t have to.”

Five years. Five years of silence, of distance, of trying to live in a world that didn’t feel like home without the other. He leans in slowly, giving you every chance to turn away. But you don’t—you couldn’t if you tried, not with the warmth of his palm against your skin, the way his breath ghosts over your lips.

And then, finally, his mouth meets yours.

The kiss is not as gentle as he expected.

It’s desperate like the years apart have snapped every ounce of longing into something unbearable. His lips move against yours with a reckless abandon, the kind that whispers I’m sorry  I missed you and I never stopped loving you all at once. It’s messy and clumsy in the best way—you’re both trying to relearn the map of each other, chasing something you thought you’d lost forever.

The kiss deepens, the world falling away until all you can feel is him, and you wonder how you ever survived without this.

But as suddenly as it began, he pulls back. 

Rafe’s breathing is uneven, his forehead resting against yours, his thumb still brushing over your cheek as if to soothe, his eyes searching yours.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for everything. For not being there. For—”

You cut him off with another kiss, softer this time but no less meaningful. It’s your way of telling him there’s nothing to forgive, that every broken piece led you back here, to this moment.

“You’re awful quiet,” he says, “That’s never a good sign.”

You glance back at the remnants of dinner. “Just thinking,” you reply, deliberately neutral, but it doesn’t fool him.

“About what?”

You hesitate, “About the first time we met.”

That catches him off guard. His eyebrows knit together, and he straightens slightly, “What about it?”

You huff out a chuckle, “I was just remembering how much of an ass you were. You were so mean.”

“You make it sound like I wasn’t justified.”

“You were so angry that day. You had this scowl—like you wanted to scare me off.”

“I did,” he admits, his hand dropping to the table, fingers brushing yours, “Didn’t work, though. You figured me out pretty quick.”

You're studying him like you’re reading the pages of an old, familiar book. Your fingers curl around his, “It’s easy when you find your soulmate.”

Rafe’s breath catches, his eyes searching yours like he’s looking for a sign that this is another one of your teasing remarks. But when he sees the sincerity in your face, the way your lips curve into a gentle, knowing smile, he feels a warmth spreading through his body. 

“Yeah?” 

You nod slowly, your fingers gently brushing his. “Yeah, don’t think I ever really had to figure you out. I just had to see you.”

He’s quiet, a little stunned, he knows you’re not just talking about the past, about that first meeting when he was all bitterness. You’re talking about the now, about who he’s trying to be, who he’s becoming. He presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes for a second, just soaking in the feel of you—real and here and his.

He swallows hard, unsure how to express himself.

“You’re… you’re the love of my life,” he admits. It’s not a grand confession, there’s no dramatic buildup, no orchestrated speech, it’s just a simple truth, spilling from his heart like it’s always belonged there. His heart races under the look you’re giving him, “I know I screwed up. I know I’ve been a fuckin’ mess, but I never stopped loving you, don’t think I ever could.”

Your lips tremble eyes shining with something tender, as you reach out, your hand brushing against his clothed chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart beneath your palm.

“I’ve always known,” you say, your voice carrying every ounce of emotion you’ve kept buried. “I’ve always known, Rafe, even when we were apart. You’ve always been it for me.”

The words, the honesty in them, he’s suddenly overcome with a flood of emotions so intense, it’s almost overwhelming. He leans in, his lips pecking yours gently, over and over again, until you’re grinning from ear to ear again. 

“You’re it for me, too,” he murmurs against your skin, “Always.”

Rafe doesn’t let you move far after dinner, you’re not even halfway to the sink with the plates before he takes them out of your hands, his skin brushing yours, lingering just long enough to make you shiver all over again.

“Don’t,” he scolds.

“You cooked,” you protest.

“I always cook,” he retorts lightheartedly as he sets the plates on the counter. “Doesn’t mean I’m letting you clean up. Sit.”

You fold your arms, leaning back against the counter instead, the stubborn tilt of your chin making him laugh. It’s not mocking—but he still shakes his head, muttering something about “always gotta have the last word”, you still let your elbow bump his every so often.

The simple domesticity of it catches you off guard, you never had it before, so it’s not something you would’ve associated with him back then—but here he is, sleeves pushed up, completely at ease. Five minutes later, he pushes off the counter and takes a step closer, 

“C’mere,” he’s guiding you toward the couch with a hand at the small of your back.

Ace follows, tail wagging lazily as he flops onto the rug near Rafe’s feet. He usually doesn’t let him come up here, but you’d begged to prettily earlier, and he couldn’t say no to that face. You settle in first, tucking your legs beneath you, and he sits beside you, his arm draping over the back of the couch.

The night winds down slowly, and by the time you’re both settled, Ace is already sprawled across Rafe’s legs, you’re warm with spaghetti, affection, and a sense of belonging. He moves, his arm slipping around your shoulders as he tugs you closer, his cheek resting against your temple.

“This feels right, doesn’t it?” 

You nod, leaning into him, “Yeah, it does.”

[capquinn]

how would quinn react to reader doing that prank about when he says “goodbye/goodnight i love you” and you don’t say “i love you” back just to mess with him

omg this guy avoids tiktok like it’s the plague so there is no doubt in my mind that he has absolutely no idea about this trend so he’d be SO confused and wouldn’t know what to do with himself except pout and stay close until he gets to the bottom as to why you hadn’t said it back 😭

Quinn’s brow furrowed the second the words left his mouth and yours didn’t follow.

“See you soon. I love you,” he had said, as casually as ever, tossing his backpack over one shoulder, leaning in for his usual goodbye kiss.

But instead of the automatic, almost musical "love you too," that always followed, there was… nothing. Just you, standing there, watching him with the faintest glimmer of mischief in your eyes. At first, he paused, waiting like you’d simply forgotten. Maybe you were distracted. Maybe you didn’t hear him. He glanced back at the door, then at you again, the crease between his brows deepening.

“You good?” he asked, his voice light but tinged with the slightest bit of uncertainty, like he wasn’t entirely sure if this was normal or if he’d just entered a parallel universe where you suddenly forgot how this whole goodbye thing worked.

“Yeah,” you said breezily, smiling just enough to make him squint.

“Okay,” he said, drawing the word out as he shifted his bag higher on his shoulder.

He moved toward the door, opening it halfway before pausing again. And you could see it — really see it now — the way his mind was spinning, trying to figure out what he’d done, if he’d done anything, and why you weren’t playing along.

He half-turned, his hand on the doorknob, giving you one last expectant look.

“You, uh…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, his voice quieter now. “You sure everything’s okay?”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“Yep.”

And that’s when the full force of Quinn’s what-the-hell-is-going-on face hit you. He didn’t look mad — not even close — but the confusion was written all over him. His mouth opened, closed, and then opened again like he was about to ask a question but didn’t quite know how to phrase it. His hand fell from the door as he took a step closer, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You didn’t… You didn’t say it back,” he pointed out, almost cautiously, like maybe it wasn’t something you’d realised. “I said 'I love you.' You usually…” He trailed off, his lips pressing into a thin line as he waited for some kind of explanation, one that you weren’t giving because you were too busy pretending you had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. You tilted your head, your expression perfectly blank except for the big, wide eyes you fixed on him.

“Do I not say it enough?” he asked, softer this time, like the words came with a little sting. “Is that what this is?”

And now you felt guilty because, of course, he’d think this was some kind of message, like you were trying to make a point instead of just pulling a dumb prank for no reason other than your own entertainment.

“Quinn,” you started, the smile breaking through despite yourself.

But he cut you off, shaking his head slightly, the tiniest bit of exasperation creeping in.

“Because, like… I mean it every time. You know that, right?”

And now you couldn’t hold it in anymore. The laugh bubbled out, loud and sudden, and you reached for his hand, tugging him closer. “Oh my God, Quinn. I’m kidding. It’s a prank.”

His brow shot up. “A prank?”

“Yeah,” you said, still laughing as you slid your arms around his waist.

He huffed, but there was relief in it, his hands settling on your hips as he gave you a halfhearted glare.

“Not funny,” he muttered, though his lips were already twitching. “I was about to cancel my flight.”

“Sure you were,” you teased, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw. He didn’t move, but you could feel the smallest twitch of a smile forming despite the way he was still obviously trying to stay mock-annoyed. “See? You’re too sweet. That’s why I had to mess with you.”

Quinn let out a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head like he was already filing this away as one of the countless pranks he’d endure over a lifetime with you.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his voice gruff but too soft to be anything but affectionate. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You couldn’t help it — you started laughing again, the sound spilling out as you tucked your face against his chest, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“I love you,” you said through your laughter, your voice muffled.

His smile finally broke free, slow and warm and just so Quinn.

“I love you too,” he said, his tone soft now, steady, like those words were always going to be there no matter how much you tried to mess with him.

[ultravi0lence14]

Butterfly

sam winchester x angel!reader

1k | fluff, fem pronouns

summary: you and sam were complete opposites of each other, and sam had no idea how a gorgeous, pure girl like you could even chose him in the first place.

sam sometimes just stared at you when you weren’t looking, wondering how he got so lucky in finding a girl like you.

you were so sweet, someone sam thought his wretched soul wasn’t worthy of. he’s got demon blood running through his veins, the vessel of lucifer himself. why would you — an angel as pure as snow — even remotely look his way.

that was the funny thing with you angels though. you guys always saw the best in people.

before you touched down from heaven, you had learned the copious stories of the winchester brothers lives. how their mother died, springing them into the hunting life. their tragic upbringing, and how their father raised them poorly. but most importantly, you learned about the youngest.

sam winchester. the boy with demon blood. every angel you spoke to said he was an abomination, but you thought differently.

this wasn’t sam’s fault. he was a defenceless baby, having this curse brought forth onto him by his mother’s actions long before his conception. sam was a victim, a child forced into this life with no say whatsoever; and you felt like the only angel who truly saw it like that.

when you had made it to earth, cordially meeting both sam and dean for the first time, you wondered why your brother’s and sister’s talked so poorly about the man.

he truly was a friendly giant. too sweet for his own good. he cared. about people he didn’t know, his brother especially, and all the strangers he came across on hunts with dean.

watching him console a victim for the first time tugged on your heart strings. he was so kind, so thoughtful and unlike anything said about him up in heaven. it was at that moment you felt your first human emotion. a surge of fondness rushing up your body like bile coming up your throat.

for a fleeting moment, you experienced what human love was truly like.

as time moved forward, you and sam got closer and closer. more often than not, you decided to stay back and research with him instead of going out with dean and cas. you talked with him, learning about his childhood from his mouth and truly understanding the full truth and severity of his life growing up.

the day that he kissed you for the first time was magical, better than the feeling of all angel grace combined. he was nervous, hands shaking as the cupped your face and shyly asking if this is what you wanted.

of course you wanted it. you wanted sam winchester since the moment you saw him, and now you were finally getting what you hoped for.

just as you believed, sam truly was the perfect boyfriend. he was caring and considerate, always willing to drop anything and everything to make sure you were okay. though he was also tough and protective, turning full hunter mode whenever someone bothered you or made you uncomfortable.

one thing you loved was how he spoke to you. he held you at the highest point in his mind, addressing you with the upmost love and respect that he could muster.

because that is how he really saw you. sam in his heart believed that you were possibly the most gorgeous being he’d ever laid his eyes on. you were truly the apple of his eye, and he wouldn’t dream of letting someone as perfect as you go.

he even called you his butterfly. a gorgeous creation of God that flys around and somehow always lands somewhere on him. which was true, because you were a very clingy person.

you two were always holding hands, arms linked, or sam’s arm wrapped around your waist or shoulder. dean had to stop himself from hurling 24/7, and you had to stop yourself from getting cartoonish hearts in your eyes whenever you looked at him.

the peace and serenity that you brought to sam’s life was all he could ever ask for. when you decided to take up drawing and painting, he cherished the times you two would find an empty space, setting down a picnic blanket and drawing whatever your heart desired surrounded by nature.

when he joined you for the first time, and you handed him over a intricately detailed drawing of him sitting down at that very moment, eyes opened and staring woefully at the large trees and flowers surrounding him, he couldn’t help but let a couple tears fall.

“oh no,” you had exclaimed, sitting up on your knees so you could get nearer to him. “you don’t like it, do you?”

he instantly snapped his head towards you, watching as tears filled your bright coloured eyes. his heart shattered staring into your glassy irises, and he cursed himself for ever making you feel like that.

shaking his head and putting down your sketchbook so he could cup your face, sam pulled you over to him so you were delicately perched in his lap. eye’s boring into his as he delicately stroked your cheek.

“i love it butterfly. that is the prettiest drawing i have ever seen. even prettier cause it was made by you.” his cheesy words made you blush, not caring in the slightest how silly you two probably looked to on lookers. with your finger reaching out to trace the slope of his nose, you looked at him with a soft smile on your face, pouring your heart into one look. “you mean that?”

“of course i do.” his eyes held that glossy puppy dog look you loved so dearly, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. “i am not trying to sound cheesy when i say this, but you truly are the best thing that ever happened to me, butterfly. you’re the one of the only one’s who believed in me.”

his words brought a gleeful smile on your face. and as the midday sun trickled across his, you thanked your father for whatever he did to make you and sam come together.

[mrsfancyferrari]

Want You

Summary: LN4 + "But I don't want them, I want you." 🥧🏈

Song: Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 10.8k

You stand in the mirror, pacing back and forth as you fix your hair for the third time. Tonight is one of those nights where the universe feels electrically charged, a perfect blend of thrill and anxiety swirling in your gut.

Layla, your best friend, has just finished getting ready and is practically beaming with excitement beside you.

Her skin glows under the soft lights of your apartment, and her dress hugs her figure perfectly. You can’t help but feel slightly overshadowed by her beauty.

"Do I look okay?" you ask, biting your lip, your eyes darting from her to your reflection.

"Are you kidding? You look amazing!" Layla exclaims, twisting a lock of her hair, her eyes sparkling. "But you really need to get out there more. You’re gorgeous in your own right!”

You chuckle, brushing off her compliment with a wave of your hand. "Yeah, well, even if I am, who's going to notice when you're around? You’re the one who gets all the attention. "

"That's not true! But anyway, tonight we’re supposed to have fun, not talk about that,” she says, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you lightly. “Now, remember the plan?”

You nod, though your heart feels heavier with those words. “Right. We’re meeting Lando and the guys at the club. I just hope he doesn’t think I’m some awkward third wheel. He’s popular.”

Layla rolls her eyes playfully. “You say that every time. You two are friends. Besides, I think he likes you more than you think.”

“Whatever you say,” you respond, your mind racing back to the day Lando had randomly entered your life during a charity event you were volunteering for.

He was charming, funny, and incredibly humble for someone so famous. But the thought of anything romantic blossoming between you seemed absurd, especially when Layla was practically the embodiment of what everyone desired.

At the club, the bass vibrates through the floor, and colorful lights dance around the crowd like fireflies in the night. It’s an atmosphere alive with energy, but you feel your heartbeat quicken at the thought of seeing Lando.

You spot him near the bar, a bright smile on his face as he talks to some friends. Dressed casually, Lando is effortlessly cool, like a magnetic pull that draws everyone’s attention.

“There he is!” Layla exclaims, her excitement infectious. You watch her eyes grow wide like a child spotting a shooting star.

“Go! Go talk to him!” you nudge her, unable to keep the urge to play matchmaker at bay.

“No way! I’m not going without my wingwoman,” she whispers urgently, grabbing your wrist.

With a resigned sigh, you stride forward, Layla trailing closely behind. The moment Lando sees you, his face lights up, and he waves enthusiastically.

The way his presence commands attention is almost intoxicating.

“Hey! You made it!” he greets, pulling you in for a quick hug. You can smell his cologne, fresh and invigorating. Suddenly, your shyness mellows into warmth, though a tiny inner voice reminds you that you’re about to play cupid.

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you reply, your demeanor suddenly a mix of confidence and nervous fluttering. “Lando, this is my best friend Layla. You should hang out with her more—she’s awesome!”

Layla’s cheeks flush, and a playful smirk spreads across her face, but you can’t help but feel anxiety gnawing at you.

“Nice to meet you, Layla,” Lando says, his bright green eyes sparkling with genuine curiosity. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Only good things, I hope!” Layla giggles, twirling a strand of hair around her fingers as if she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands.

“Yes, definitely,” he chuckles lightly, shooting you a glance that feels a bit mischievous. “I always wanted to meet the friend who keeps you so grounded.”

You fight to keep your composure, trying to bury the layer of jealousy creeping in. “Well, tonight’s all about celebrating. We should hit the dance floor!”

Hours pass with drinks flowing and laughter echoing. You dance, reveling in the rhythm while keeping a watchful, almost possessive gaze on Layla and Lando. They banter, and you notice how easily they connect, the chemistry undeniable.

A part of you feels satisfied, hoping for the sparks to ignite. Yet, another part steals glances at the way Lando laughs—could he truly like her?

“Hey,” you hear a familiar voice call, pulling you from your thoughts. Lando approaches, his brow slightly furrowed. “I was looking for you. Want to join us?”

You swallow, glancing at Layla, who is leaning against her car, her smile bright. “Um, sure. Just one moment.”

He watches you, a look of concern crossing his face. “Everything alright?”

You smiled, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “Yeah but you know, Layla really lights up the floor.”

“She does,” he nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “But I think you’re just as fun. It’s nice having both of you here.”

“Nice being here with you.” The words spilled from your mouth before you could bite them back.

Before you nerves could take over, you added, “You know, if you’re interested, Layla would love to get coffee or something. She’s crushing on you.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Lando’s face, followed by an understanding nod. “Yeah, I picked up on that. But honestly?” He paused, searching for your eyes. “I think I’d prefer hanging out with you instead."

Your breath hitched, and you felt a giddy thrill dance in your chest. “Really? You mean that?”

“Definitely,” he said, leaning forward with a grin. “You’re fun to talk to, and we have a great vibe. I really like spending time with you.”

“Wow, I… I wasn’t expecting that,” you stammered, a mixture of confusion and excitement swirling inside you. “I mean, Layla is great and all, but—”

“Look,” he interrupted gently, his eyes softening. “I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but I’d love to get to know you better. Just you. No Layla.”

The morning sunlight peeked through the curtains, casting soft golden rays across the small living room where Lando and you sat. Your head ached, pounding in rhythm with your heartbeat, and the remnants of last night's festivities loomed over you like a heavy cloud.

Lando chuckled softly, shaking his head. “It wasn’t anything too wild, don’t worry. Just that you really like spending time with me… and that you might like me in a different way.”

Your face burned even hotter, a mix of embarrassment and panic flooding your senses. “Oh my god! Lando, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to… I don’t remember any of that! It’s embarrassing.”

“Hey, don’t stress,” he said, a warm smile crossing his lips. “It’s not like you announced it to the whole party or anything. Just me, your trusted partner in crime. Besides, it's actually kind of sweet.”

His words were laced with a sincerity that calmed the storm brewing inside you, just a little. “You really think so?”

“Definitely,” Lando nodded, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I mean, how often do you get to hear someone’s true thoughts when they’re tipsy? It made my night a lot better.”

“Are you serious? I was a mess!” You tossed a pillow at him, your heart still racing from the earlier confession. “I can't believe I let that slip.”

“You were not a mess, you were just… liberated,” Lando smirked, leaning back on the couch and folding his arms behind his head. “And honestly, I don’t think it’s a bad thing. In fact, it kind of makes me happy.”

“Ugh, Lando, you’re just saying that to make me feel better,” you replied, your voice wavering as you tried to muster a hint of displeasure.

“No, I’m not.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I mean, how often do you get to hear someone’s true thoughts when they’re tipsy?”

“Are you serious? I was a mess!” You tossed a pillow at him, your heart still racing from the earlier confession. “I can't believe I let that slip.”

“No you weren't.” His face lit up with a smile that was infectious. “First things first, though—let’s get you over that hangover.”

You chuckled softly, grateful for the shift in energy. “Right.”

“Exactly,” Lando said, standing up and moving to the kitchen. “How do you feel about greasy food? Because I believe that’s the primary cure for hangovers.”

Your lips curved into a smile. “Always a solid choice. I could go for some toast or maybe even pancakes.”

“I can whip up something interesting,” he called back, a hint of mischief creeping into his voice. “But it might not be traditional breakfast food. I’ve been experimenting a little.”

“Oh boy, this should be good,” you said, following him into the kitchen, the earlier tension still lingering, but now more like a hopeful promise than a cloud of uncertainty.

Lando looked back over his shoulder with that charming grin that made your heart race. “Just trust me. You’ll love it.”

As he rummaged through the cabinets, you felt a flutter of excitement amid the remnants of your embarrassment. Maybe today wasn’t just about curing a hangover. Maybe it was the start of something new—something sweet and just a little bit wild.

The kitchen filled with the aroma of sizzling ingredients, laughter, and casual banter, the gravitational pull of your connection drawing you closer.

And for the first time that morning, as the sunlight spilled in and the soft music played, you felt truly, undeniably alive. . . .

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden hue over the McLaren paddock as the roar of engines filled the air. You had arrived earlier than expected, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Lando had invited you specifically to watch him race, and you had decided to bring Layla with you, thinking it might make the day more enjoyable.

But now, as you watched the interactions unfold around you, you began to regret that decision.

“Look at them,” Layla said, nudging your arm and pointing toward the racing cars as they zipped around the track. “Isn’t it incredible? I still can’t believe we’re here!”

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to suppress the tension knotting up your stomach.

Lando was on the other side of the paddock, surrounded by his team, engrossed in the pre-race hustle. He looked effortlessly cool in his race suit, flashing that signature smile that made your heart skip, and exchanging laughter with his crew.

You could see the admiration in Layla’s eyes, the way her gaze followed him, almost too fondly.

“Do you think he’ll win today?” Layla asked, her voice bright with enthusiasm. “I mean, he’s been so on form lately. This might be his season!”

“Yeah, I hope so,” you managed, but your heart sank a little at the way she spoke about him, as if Lando was already hers, as if you didn’t even exist in the context of their perfect relationship.

As the anticipation built, Lando finished up with his team and made his way over to you both. With a warm grin, he wrapped you in a tight hug, his comforting scent of fresh cedar and sunlight enveloping you.

“Hey, you made it!” he exclaimed, pulling back to look into your eyes. He waved cheerfully at Layla, who returned the gesture with a beaming smile.

With a playful tap on my shoulder, he kept his attention locked on you. “I bought your favorite snacks in case you get hungry. Just ask anyone in hospitality and they'll give them to you.”

“Oh, Lando, you didn’t have to,” you said, touched by his thoughtfulness.

“I knew you didn’t eat much,” he replied, with a hint of teasing in his tone. “Gotta keep you energized, right? What would the fans say if they saw you fainting in the stands?”

You chuckled, the lightheartedness of his comment managing to ease some of the tension in your chest. “I appreciate it, really. Thanks, Lando.”

“Of course!” He flashed that dazzling smile again, and your heart skipped yet again, wishing it wouldn’t betray you so. “Are you excited for the race?”

“Absolutely,” You said with a grin. “I can’t wait to see you speed past everyone. You’re going to crush it!”

Lando’s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. “I’ll do my best. And if all goes to plan, maybe we can celebrate afterward?”

“Definitely!” you replied a little too quickly. “That would be amazing!”

As Lando left to get ready for the race and you walked to the garage, Layla nudged you playfully. “Haven't you seen the way he looks at you?” she said, a teasing smirk on her face.

“How do he… look at me?” you asked, a hint of confusion in your voice.

“Like he's helplessly falling in love,” Layla teased, her tone light but with a touch of sincerity.

Your cheeks heated. “Oh, come on. He’s just friendly. You know how he is.”

“Friendly? Girl, he’s practically glowing when he sees you! It’s more than friendly.”

You didn't reply but her words were replayed in your head for most of the day. . . .

The roar of the engines and the excitement of the crowd filled the air as you settled into your seat, your heart racing along with the cars on the track.

You had been eagerly watching Lando drive with impressive precision, your admiration mixed with nerves as he expertly navigated the twists and turns of the circuit.

But as the laps dwindled down, your stomach began to rumble louder than the cars. You leaned over to Layla, who was just as engrossed in the race aside from the occasional glance in your direction.

“I'm going to grab some snacks Lando got for me. Want anything?” you asked, trying to mask your growing hunger with a light-hearted tone.

“No, I’m good! Can’t believe you have personal snacks from the Lando,” Layla teased, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

With a playful roll of your eyes, you made your way to the hospitality room, the bright lights and lavish decor a stark contrast to the rawness of the track.

You felt a rush of nostalgia thinking about all the times Lando had surprised you with silly little gestures, like snacking during breaks or rescuing you from long queues at events.

As you entered, the atmosphere abruptly shifted. A tall, undeniably handsome man leaned casually against the bar, a cocky smile on his face that could light up the room.

He had perfectly styled hair and a confidence that was palpable. You instinctively felt your pulse quicken, but not in the way you were used to with Lando.

“Hey there,” he drawled, his voice smooth like velvet as he turned to face you. “What’s a gorgeous girl like you doing all alone?”

You blinked, taken aback. It was the first time someone had openly flirted with you in public, and the realization made your cheeks flush.

“Um, just grabbing some snacks,” you stammered, glancing back toward the snack table. “Not much to see here.”

He moved closer, leaning forward on the bar, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, I’d hardly call you ‘not much to see.’ You definitely stand out from the crowd. What’s your name?”

“Uh, it’s…” you hesitated, almost forgetting your own name for a moment. “It’s Y/N. And you are…?”

“Ethan,” he replied, extending a hand with an air of confidence. You hesitated but eventually shook his hand. “So Y/N, do you come to the races often?”

“More often than you’d think,” you answered, forcing a smile.

Your mind kept drifting back to Lando, his curly hair bouncing with every turn, his infectious laugh, his enthusiastic spirit. You couldn't help but mentally compare every detail of Ethan to Lando, a habit you couldn’t shake off.

“What do you think of the race so far?” Ethan asked, diverting your thoughts back to the present.

“Oh, it’s exhilarating! Lando’s doing really well,” you replied, your voice faltering slightly as you mentioned his name. “He’s a great driver.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Lando? The Lando?”

“Yeah, we’ve known each other for a bit. He’s… well, great,” you added sheepishly, not wanting to divulge too much about your friendship.

“Sounds like you’re a bit smitten,” Ethan teased, his eyes sparkling with playful banter.

You cut him a look, a blush creeping up your neck. “No! It’s not like that. We’re just friends!” The resolve in your voice felt weak against the wistfulness laced in your words.

Would Ethan ever understand the depth of what Lando meant to you?

The race continued, and Ethan shifted his attention from the track to you. “While I might not have curly hair or that… infectious laugh, I can still try to impress you,” he said with a smirk.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “I can’t deny you’re charming, Ethan. But the thing about Lando—”

“Is that he’s Lando,” Ethan interrupted, his voice low as though the name itself held some power. “I get it. You’ve got this history that I can’t compete with.”

He looked down, running a hand through his hair. The gesture seemed so reminiscent of Lando, yet distinctly different.

You couldn’t shake off how much every flick of Ethan’s hair and every smile he flashed felt in stark contrast to Lando’s bouncy curls and radiant grin. He smiled, sure, but it felt like a shadow of something brighter.

Just then, a staff member waved at Ethan from the other side of the grandstand, beckoning him over for photographs. “I’ll be right back!” he said, throwing you one last flirtatious grin before he slipped away.

You decided to take the chance to get back to your seat, curious as to why the cheers around the paddock were getting louder.

“Did you get your snacks?” Layla asked, her eyes still glued to the screen where the race was unfolding.

“Yeah,” you replied absentmindedly, still feeling the flutter of excitement from Ethan's attention. As you focused on the race, your thoughts danced back to him intermittently.

The atmosphere was electric; Lando was still in the lead for qualifying, much to the delight of the crowd, and your heart raced not just from the race—but from the momentary thrill of flirtation.

“Come on, come on, Lando!” Layla shouted, her enthusiasm infectious. You mirrored her excitement, your eyes following the sleek McLaren as it whizzed around the track.

When Lando crossed the finish line, securing pole position, the roar from the team was deafening. Everyone in McLaren was ecstatic, their cheers echoing the adrenaline that surged through the air.

"Yes, Lando," you said, smiling as the cameras captured the jubilant scene.

With Lando’s triumph, you watched as the team swarmed to congratulate him. You couldn't help but chuckle at his signature grin, the way he seemed to glow with the thrill of victory.

But as you looked closer, you realized that despite the chaos around him, Lando’s gaze was searching the crowd.

“Do you think he’ll spot us?” Layla asked, her eyes narrowing, trying to catch a glimpse through the throng of people.

“I doubt it. I mean, look at him! He’s the star of the show right now,” you replied, attempting to downplay the hope that fluttered in your stomach.

Still, your thoughts were interrupted as Layla suddenly grabbed your hand, pulling you through the crowd.

“C'mon! We need to get a closer look!” she shouted over the noise. Your heart raced for a different reason now, excitement growing as you maneuvered through the ocean of fans, team members, and media.

You just managed to catch a glimpse of Lando standing on his car, fist raised triumphantly in the air. “Look at him! He’s on top of the world!” you exclaimed, your voice barely audible over the cheers.

“I know! He’s incredible!” Layla responded, beaming at Lando’s joyous display.

Amidst the clamor and celebrations, you decided to yell out, “Lando, over here!” hoping he might hear you.

To your surprise, he turned in your direction, a radiant smile breaking across his face. He scanned the crowd, and for a heartbeat, your eyes locked. His smile grew broader, and you felt warmth flood your cheeks.

Then, without a thought for the crowd around you, you made your way over to him. You squeezed through a chaotic throng of jubilant fans, the buzz of celebration swirling around you, until you reached the area near the barriers.

There he was, laughing and exchanging high-fives with the team. You couldn't help but grin as you approached.

“Lando!” you shouted over the noise, arms open wide.

He spotted you immediately, and a look of pure joy washed over his face. With almost immediate instinct, he lunged toward you, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace.

The strength of his excitement was palpable, and you squeezed him back, your heart racing.

He chuckled as he lifted you slightly off the ground. “I did it! I can't believe it!” he cried, setting you back down gently. “Did you see that last lap?”

“Are you kidding? It was amazing! You were so fast!” you exclaimed, your voice rising above the cacophony.

As he pulled back, he looked down at you with his bright eyes sparkling in the fading light. “I couldn’t have done it without all your support. You were here every step of the way.”

“You’ve worked so hard, Lando. You deserve this,” you said, your gaze drifting for a moment as you felt the warmth of his presence envelop you.

But then, staring at him with the backdrop of the ecstatic crowd, your heart felt odd. Being so close to him, you suddenly found yourself stammering. “I—uh, I mean… you really did great.”

Lando tilted his head slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You alright?” He took a small step closer, his arm still around your waist, making you acutely aware of the physical closeness between you, which felt both comfortable and electric.

“Uh, yeah, totally fine,” you replied quickly, but your voice was barely above a whisper. You caught a brief glimpse of Lando's gaze flitting to your lips, and it sent a jolt of connection rushing through you.

“I just… I mean…” You struggled to finish your thought, the reality of your best friend stepping into the limelight making you feel both thrilled and ridiculously nervous.

“Just what?” he teased gently, his smile unwavering but those eyes—oh, those eyes were searching, digging deeper.

“Just… I didn’t think you’d get pole position! I mean, I thought maybe, like, third or fourth?” You laughed nervously, but his gaze didn’t waver.

“Hey, you should always believe in me!” Lando said, but there was a soft intensity behind his words that made your heart race all the more. “If I can get here today, then you have to promise you’ll always believe in me, no matter what.”

You paused, looking earnestly into his bright eyes, biting your lip. “I promise. But you’ve gotta promise me too; no matter how famous you get or how many trophies you win, you won’t forget about me, okay?”

“Never,” he said softly, but the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine. He lowered his voice, his teasing demeanor fading slightly.

“You’ve been my constant through all of this, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Lando’s words lingered palpably in the air between you. You felt like the entire world had faded away, the crowd’s roars dimming into background noise. “I just… I could never replace what we have.”

“Exactly,” he said, moving a fraction closer, eliciting butterflies to flutter chaotic within your stomach. “Remember that time you thought I’d mess up in Monaco, and then I didn’t? I was convinced I could do it because you believed in me.”

You laughed, flushing at the memory. “Yeah, and you laughed at me for just being realistic.”

“Realistic is boring! You should know that by now. In racing, and in life, you gotta dream big,” he said, voice lightening as humor returned to the moment.

Just as you were about to respond, Zac approached. “Hey! Lando! Congrats, mate!”

He clapped Lando on the back, breaking the synergy you had created. “That was an incredible race! You crushed it!”

Lando’s hand left your waist as he turned to engage with Zac, his infectious excitement pulling him into the conversation. “Thanks, man! I can’t believe it! I was so nervous the entire time!”

You stepped back slightly, allowing the two of them to revel in the adrenaline of the moment. Lando beamed, his eyes sparkling as he spoke animatedly with Zac about the race strategy.

You watched as he made his way to get weighed and interviewed, your heart fluttering with a mix of pride and something else you weren’t quite ready to admit.

“Really, though, I don’t understand why you’re still on the fence about it,” Layla said, stepping beside you as you discreetly observed Lando.

Her voice was laced with curiosity as she nudged your shoulder. “He’s been so into you these past few weeks. Did you see how he looked at you when he saw you?”

You sighed, leaning back against the wall, your gaze still fixed on Lando. “Yeah, well, I saw that. But just because he looks at me a certain way doesn’t mean he likes me. He’s excited about the race, Layla. I’m just… there.”

“You’re not just ‘there.’ You’re practically glowing in his vicinity. It’s like he only sees you when he talks!” Layla insisted, her tone shifting to teasing. “You could light up an entire stadium with the way he smiles at you.”

“Okay, maybe he enjoys spending time with me,” you conceded, your cheeks warming at the thought. “But that doesn't exactly scream ‘I like you.’”

“Maybe not,” she replied, tilting her head as she watched Lando waving at fans and signing autographs, “but you’ve got to admit, there’s something more. I mean, look at him! The energy is off the charts!”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep the conversation light. “You know how he is. He’s a charismatic guy. He’s like that with everyone.”

“Maybe. But wouldn’t it be amazing if he was like that with just you?” Layla’s voice softened, and she nudged you again. “Take the leap! Ask him how he feels—it doesn’t have to be a grand declaration.”

The sun was beginning to set over the racing circuit, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky as Lando settled himself into a high-backed chair in the paddock lounge.

It had been a day filled with adrenaline, the thrill of achieving pole position lighting up his thoughts.

The victory celebrations had been electrifying, but they were quickly overshadowed by a single purpose that surged through him like fuel to an engine—he wanted to see you again.

After the debrief, he had scanned the crowd, searching for you, his excitement building with each passing second. He had been talking about trying a new restaurant in town, and he couldn’t wait to explore it with you.

But the moment he stepped into the bustling lounge, he spotted you, and his heart sank just a little.

You were laughing.

Not just a polite chuckle, but a full-bodied laugh that lit up your face. You were engaged in conversation with Ethan Smith, the American actor who had been brought in as a special guest to support the race.

Lando could see the chemistry between you two—it was glaringly evident in the way Ethan leaned in slightly, his playful jokes coaxing out laughter and smiles that made your eyes sparkle.

“Hey, you look like you’re going to kill Ethan,” Layla, your best friend, teased as she sidled up to Lando, noticing the tense atmosphere that had suddenly enveloped him.

“Who?” Lando asked, tearing his gaze from you for just a moment.

“Ethan Smith? One of the most famous actors in the US? You don’t know him?” Layla's voice was filled with disbelief.

“Nope, and I don’t like him either,” Lando grumbled, eyes narrowing as he watched Ethan wink at you.

You giggled, and Lando felt a twinge of jealousy in his chest. He stood up properly, unable to resist the pull any longer.

As he stormed over, Layla rolled her eyes, giggling softly in amusement. “Good luck, hero.”

Lando approached, trying to keep his expression neutral even while he could feel a competitive spark igniting within him.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” he said, forcing a smile as he sidled up next to you, “but I thought we were going to check out that new place together.”

You turned to him, your smile blossoming even wider. “Lando! You were amazing out there today! I still can’t believe you got pole position!”

“Thanks! It was a good day, but I’ve got even better plans,” he added, shooting Ethan a pointed look. “I’m taking you out for dinner remember.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered and amused by Lando's sudden intrusion. “Oh, is that so? Looks like you’ve got some competition, Norris.”

Lando’s jaw twitched slightly. “I don’t see any competition, honestly. You’re just a—”

“Just a what?” Ethan interrupted with a smirk, leaning back casually. “Just a huge star who happens to be having a lovely conversation with someone he finds incredibly charming?”

You giggled again, a sound that made Lando’s irritation simmer down just a fraction. “You guys, come on. I’m just trying to enjoy the evening here.”

“Exactly,” said Ethan, flashing you a disarming smile. “And you deserve it! Besides, I was just giving her some advice on how to handle the media.”

“Media?” Lando questioned, crossing his arms. “I didn’t realize you were running a media workshop.”

Ethan shrugged, unbothered. “Hey, just sharing the wisdom I’ve gained. It can be tough, huh? Like staying out of the limelight while everyone’s watching you, waiting for you to slip up.” He shot a harmless smile, but Lando felt the jabs in his stomach.

You frowned, sensing the tension. “You guys, let’s not make this into a competition. Lando, you were the one who wanted to go out tonight.”

Lando looked at you, and then back at Ethan. “Right,” he said, softening his tone as he fixed his eyes solely on you. “I just wanted to celebrate with you a little, that’s all.”

Ethan grinned, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! Looks like you’ve claimed your prize, my friend. I was just enjoying the company. I’ll step back.”

Lando glanced at Ethan with a nod, appreciating the concession, but still feeling a little victorious as he turned back to you. “So, are you ready to go eat? That new place is supposed to be amazing.”

You looked back to Ethan, and then nodded, a sweet smile curling on your lips. “Yeah, I’m ready. Sorry for taking up your time, Ethan.”

Ethan waved it off with a playful wink. “No problem! Have fun out there, you two. Just remember, she was laughing with me first!”

As you and Lando began to walk away, he turned back to you with a raised eyebrow. “You know, just for the record, I think he was flirting with you.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh please, he’s just a friendly guy! Besides, I already have someone I’m interested in.”

“Good,” Lando muttered, feeling a rush of relief and warmth flooding his chest. “Just making sure.”

He smiled down at you, his heart feeling a little lighter now. “Let’s go enjoy our dinner and make some headlines of our own, huh?”

“Sounds perfect,” you said, linking your arm through his as you both made your way out, leaving the tension behind you.

Lando couldn’t help but smile at the thought of spending the evening with you, feeling that maybe the only competition that truly mattered was the one he could embrace.

The evening air was cooler than expected, igniting a small thrill of anticipation as you stepped out of the car. You looked up at the restaurant’s glowing sign, your heart fluttering a little.

This place was newly opened, a fusion of modern and vintage charm, and you were eager to see if it lived up to its reputation.

As you adjusted your jacket, you glanced at Lando, who was standing beside you with an easy grin, his eyes sparkling like the city lights around you. Ever since he came into your life, each moment felt a little more vibrant, a little more alive.

“Have you seen the menu?” you asked, looking up at him, excitement bubbling in your voice.

He nodded, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “I did, and I can tell you right now, I’m going for that pumpkin risotto. It sounds incredible.”

You laughed. “Pumpkin risotto? It seems a bit heavy for someone who just came off a race, doesn’t it?”

“Hey, I need my carbs!” he retorted playfully, nudging your shoulder with his. “Especially after that race last week. I burned more calories than I could count, you know.”

“Fine, but I’m holding you to it. If you fall asleep in the middle of dinner, we might have a problem,” you teased back, stepping inside the restaurant.

The atmosphere enveloped you like a warm embrace—soft lighting, a hint of herbs wafting from the kitchen, and laughter echoing from nearby tables. You felt a buzz of excitement in your veins as you and Lando were led to a cozy corner table.

“So, what are you going to have?” he asked, picking up the menu and scanning it with genuine interest.

You shrugged, pretending to gauge the choices with utmost seriousness. “I think I’ll try the seafood linguine. It’s been ages since I’ve had good pasta.”

Lando’s expression softened, and he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “You know, I love when you get excited about food. It’s one of those little things that makes you… well, you.”

A warm blush crept onto your cheeks. “I didn’t realize you were so observant, Mr. Norris.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I notice the important things. Like how you scrunch your nose when you’re thinking, or how your eyes light up when you talk about your favorite books.”

“Okay, now you’re just getting mushy.” Your voice barely hid your embarrassment, but the fluttering in your chest was unmistakable.

You loved how easily he could make you smile.

Their server arrived, and you both ordered. As you waited, the conversation flowed easily, moving from playful banter about Lando’s racing experiences to sharing your dream travel destinations.

“I really want to visit Japan,” you said, your eyes dancing with the thought. “The culture, the food, the cherry blossoms… it seems magical.”

Lando leaned back, an amused smile plastered on his face. “You’re a romantic at heart, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you admitted, biting your lip. “What about you? Where would you go if you had the chance?”

He paused, his expression thoughtful. “Probably somewhere quiet. Racing is intense, so I think I’d like a peaceful beach. Just to sit, reflect, and maybe learn to surf.”

“Surfing, huh?” You quirked an eyebrow. “You? I can already picture you wiping out spectacularly.”

“Oh, I’d definitely faceplant! But I’d get back up,” he said, his laughter infectious. “Just like on the track. That’s what makes it all fun, right?”

Before you could respond, your food arrived, and the divine aroma filled the air. You both dove into the dishes eagerly, enjoying the burst of flavors that danced on your tongues.

“This is amazing!” you exclaimed, savoring a mouthful of your linguine. “You have to try this.”

Lando took a bite of your pasta and nodded approvingly. “Wow, that’s really good! But I’ll stick to my risotto for now.”

As dinner continued, the conversation turned more personal. Lando shared stories of his childhood, his dreams, and the pressures of being in the limelight, while you opened up about your own aspirations and the challenges you faced.

“Sometimes, it’s overwhelming,” he confessed, a hint of vulnerability lacing his words. “I mean, I love racing, but it can feel like everyone’s expectations are just weighing down on you.”

You reached across the table, placing your hand on his. “But you’re doing something incredible, Lando. You’re following your passion and inspiring people along the way. Just don’t lose sight of what matters.”

His gaze locked onto yours, lips curving into a smile that reached his eyes. “You always know what to say to make me feel better. I’m lucky to have you around.”

In that moment, you understood something deeper was blossoming between you—a connection that transcended the thrill of racing. It was a shared dream, a mutual understanding, and an undeniable chemistry that lit up the evening.

As the night wore on and the plates were cleared, you felt a mix of contentment and longing. The restaurant buzzed with laughter and conversations, but in your little corner, it was just you and Lando, caught in your own world.

“Next time, we should pick somewhere even more adventurous,” he suggested, a playful gleam in his eyes.

You leaned back, thinking of the possibilities. “That sounds perfect. Let’s make it a tradition.”

Lando grinned, and in that moment, you knew this was just the beginning of something beautiful. You just hope that your feelings won't get in the way. . . .

Layla’s coughs echoed through the empty hall as she wrapped herself tighter in a soft blanket on the couch, trying to drown out the sound of the outside world.

It felt bitterly unfair that her body had rebelled against her just when she’d been looking forward to watching the race with you.

“Hey, Layla,” you called from the kitchen, where you were prepping a few snacks. “I’m heading out now. Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

She turned her head slightly, her hair tousled and her cheeks flushed. “No, really, you should go. I’d just be a downer. Besides, I’d hate to get Lando sick. He’s got that race this weekend!”

“True, but…” you hesitated, feeling the weight of the unspoken words. “I mean, it would have been nice if we could all hang out together. I was kind of hoping you'd be there.”

Layla's smile was faint but brightened her pallid complexion. “I think you’re hoping for more than just ‘hanging out.’ You like him, don’t you?”

You sighed. “Maybe? I mean, after last night’s dinner… I just can’t tell if it was all in my head.”

A soft laugh escaped her lips, quickly followed by a cough. “You actually thought he was, what? Just being polite? You guys were practically flirting all night.”

“Flirting? Really?” You raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “I thought he was just being friendly. Charming, even. He’s always like that.”

“Yeah, but that look he gave you? Come on! It was like, 'how do I impress you?’ and 'you’re amazing’ wrapped in one.” She coughed again, and you felt guilt worming its way into your chest.

“Maybe he was just being a nice guy. Or he was bored...” you trailed off, unsure.

“Or maybe he’s into you, and you just don’t want to see it,” she countered, her voice softening. “You should go talk to him. Tonight could be your chance!”

You ran a hand through your hair, pondering Layla's words. What if? What if that spark you felt between you was mutual?

You took a deep breath as you nodded. “Okay. I’m going. Just to check in on him.”

“Good! Now go knock his socks off!” Layla replied, her enthusiasm cutting through her congestion. As you waved goodbye, a quiet mix of excitement and apprehension simmered in your stomach.

You arrived at the paddock, the unmistakable hum of excitement buzzing in the air. The energy of fans waving flags and donning their favorite team colors could be felt all around; it was palpable and infectious.

You took a moment to soak it all in, engaging with the fans milling about, sharing smiles and snapshots that captured the thrill of race day.

But amidst the joviality, you couldn't shake off the knot in your stomach. Lando had been acting differently lately, receiving an outpouring of negative comments and disproportionate criticism on social media.

It made your heart ache to see someone so talented being torn down and misunderstood, especially when he had always been so kind and considerate.

Today was supposed to be about racing, but you had a growing worry that Lando might not be able to shake off the weight that was pressing down on him.

Once you greeted the last group of fans, you made your way through the paddock with purpose. The noise faded slightly as you approached Lando's garage—his sanctuary, where he would armor up for the battles on the track.

The energy there was different; it was practically electric, the team buzzing around, making final adjustments to the car and going over the last-minute strategies.

Still, your focus was solely on Lando.

You searched for him in every nook and cranny, peeking into the bustling pit area and checking around the hospitality suites. But a feeling of dread began to take root when you couldn’t find him.

“Maybe he’s in his driver’s room,” you murmured to yourself, trying to push down the worry that lingered like a shadow.

At the door, you hesitated, your heart racing. You knocked once, then twice, listening for the sound of his voice.

When no response came, you slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open, half-expecting him to be absorbed in some last-minute race preparation. Instead, the scene that greeted you was far from it.

Lando was curled up on the small, worn sofa, hands wrapped around his knees. He jumped slightly at the sight of you, his eyes wide, a mix of surprise and vulnerability.

“Oh Y/N, I didn’t hear you come in,” he said, forcing on a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You frowned at the sight of him, the dim light casting shadows across his face, revealing red-rimmed eyes. Your heart sank. “Lando… what’s wrong?”

You lowered yourself onto the sofa next to him, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapping around you like a comforting embrace, but it did little to ease your concern.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he replied too quickly, the practiced lightness in his voice clashing with the heaviness in the room.

You could see the slight tremor in his hands, and your worry deepened. You reached out, tentatively placing a hand on his knee.

“You’re not fine,” you said softly, searching his face for the usual spark you loved. “I can see it. Talk to me?”

He looked away, glancing out the window at the racetrack where the cars were roaring around the circuit.

You followed his gaze but quickly turned back to him, determined to break through the wall he had put up. “Does it have to do with the race? Is it the pressure?”

Lando shook his head, something between sad and grateful passing over his features. “It’s not that. Just… a lot on my mind, you know?” His words were heavy, like anchors sinking in deep water.

“That’s okay,” you said, shifting closer to him. “I’m here. You don’t have to go through it alone.”

He chuckled softly, though there was no humor behind it. “You’re always here, Y/N. That’s what I like about you. You make it easier.”

“Then let me help you,” you insisted gently, nudging him with your elbow while you tried to coax out a more genuine response.

“Can I get a hug?” you asked, knowing that physical closeness might be the best way to pull Lando out of the shell he’d crawled into.

He hesitated, eyes darting around the room like a deer caught in headlights. Then, hesitantly, he leaned into you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

The warmth of his body was comforting, but as he buried his face against the curve of your neck, you felt the tell-tale signs of him holding back. You hugged him tighter, hoping he could feel the strength of your support.

“Let it out,” you whispered, holding him as he exhaled deeply, searching for words that seemed stuck in his throat. “Please.”

You rubbed his back in soothing circles, the silent rhythm cocooning you both in a bubble of softness. You didn't care if you were basically sitting on his lap; all you cared about was Lando.

“It's just... a lot,” he murmured finally, his voice muffled against you. “The media, the fans—they're relentless. I don’t think I can do it today.”

“Shhh…” you soothed, leaning back slightly to bring his gaze toward you. His big, dark eyes looked lost, a storm brewing behind them. “You’re stronger than they think. You love racing, remember? You belong out there.”

He looked away, swallowing hard. You could see the emotions swirling within him, battling between fear and desire, doubt and determination. “But what if I mess up again? What if…”

“Lando,” you interrupted gently. “What if you do great? You can’t let fear write your story for you. You have to give yourself a chance.”

His fingers found your waist as he held you closer, the intensity in his grip conveying everything words could not. “I just don’t want to let anyone down,” he confessed finally, his breath warm against your ear.

“You won’t,” you assured him, your heart racing with the intimacy of the moment. “Not with me by your side. You have me, Lando; I believe in you.”

With every squeezed breath, the hug felt too tight, arms closing around you, squeezing you, pressing together, inch by inch. You could feel his hesitance melting into something else, something deeper, something that felt like your very own electricity.

Lando was the unpredictable force that set your heart aflame. Those arms wrapped tightly around you felt intoxicating, like a drug that sent your pulse racing when the rest of the world faded away.

His phone buzzed, jolting you both back to the reality of the upcoming race.

“It’s Oscar,” he muttered, annoyance tugging at his features. “I don’t want to go; I can’t face the pit or the cameras.”

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze fully. “Well, I can’t do this for you, but I can be right there with you. You need to let them see how you feel. It’s okay to show vulnerability, Lando.”

He took a deep breath, and you could see the gears in his mind turning. “What if it’s not enough?” he muttered, but the fire in his voice was finally wavering.

“Enough for who?” you pressed. “You don’t have to perform for them. Just do your race, and I’ll be right there cheering for you.”

“Really?” He looked at you, the hope flickering in his gaze almost enough to make you lean in and kiss him.

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You grinned, feeling the air shift between you, filled with the promise of something more.

Suddenly, Oscar’s voice boomed from the other side of the door, urgent and loud. “Lando, it’s time for the race!”

Lando groaned, clearly annoyed at being forced back into reality. “I guess I can’t hide in here forever, huh?”

“Nope. Now come on, let’s get you out there and show them what you’re made of.” You smiled, standing abruptly and holding out your hand to him.

He hesitated for a heartbeat before taking it, and you felt that warm pull between you. The brief moment of intimacy melded into something more solid as he clasped your fingers. He rose to his feet, tilting his head slightly to find your gaze once again.

“Thanks,” he said softly, his voice clear and stronger now. “For everything. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Probably get a lot more nervous,” you teased lightly, nudging him playfully. “But seriously, let’s go. You’ve got a race to win.”

As Lando Norris crossed the finish line for the fourth time that season, the entire track erupted in a symphony of cheers and celebrations.

You could barely contain your excitement, adrenaline surging through you as you pulled off your headphones, the sounds of the race still echoing in your mind.

All that mattered was Lando—your brilliant, talented Lando.

You joined the staff, a vibrant mix of engineers, mechanics, and strategists, who were all equally charged up. The atmosphere was electric, the air thick with the scent of burnt rubber and victory champagne.

You barely noticed the chaos unfolding around you as everyone rallied around the pit area. The crew, those unwavering supporters who had helped you get closer to Lando before, ushered you closer, their enthusiasm infectious.

“Come on! Right this way!” one of the crew members shouted over the noise, grabbing your hand and leading you through the throng.

You felt your heart race as the crowd’s energy swirled around you, anticipation making you giddy.

“Lando! Lando! Over here!” you shouted, waving your arms above your head like a lunatic.

A couple of crew members pointed in your direction, assisting the chaotic dance of the crowd.

And then it happened. His eyes met yours—green and bright like emeralds sparkling in sunlight. Time seemed to slow as he brightened at the sight, a genuine smile breaking across his face.

Without hesitation, he tore away from the crowd, sprinting toward you. The world blurred around you, the cheers fading until nothing mattered but the two of you.

When he reached you, it was like everything else faded away. He enveloped you in the biggest hug, his head tucked tightly against your neck.

Warmth washed over you, and you couldn’t help but laugh with pure joy.

“You did it! I knew you could!” you shouted, the excitement lacing your words as your arms wrapped around his neck.

His grip tightened as he pulled back to look into your eyes, the sexual tension thick between you. Lando's gaze lingered on your lips momentarily, and something about the way he held his gaze left your heart racing.

“I couldn’t have done it without you cheering me on,” he confessed, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re my good luck charm.”

“I think it’s the other way around,” you teased playfully. “You’ve got the talent, but I like to think I add a bit of magic.”

Lando chuckled, a sound like music that echoed around you, making your heart flutter. “Well, keep that magic close then, okay?”

Before you could respond, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, just a breath away from your lips. Your breath hitched as the world fell away again, your cheeks flushed with warmth and perhaps a bit more than embarrassment.

“I—I should let you go celebrate with everyone,” you said, almost feeling shy as you took a step back, the rest of the team rallying around him with congratulations.

“Hey,” he said softly, his gaze never wavering as he reached for your hand, holding it tightly. “You’re coming with me, right? We have to celebrate together after!”

You blinked, surprised. “Really? Don't you want to celebrate with only your team?”

“I want to celebrate with you too!” He smiled, an infectious grin that made your heart skip a beat. “We’ll carve out our own little celebration. Just us after.”

Your heart soared. You nodded eagerly. “Okay!”

After the podium celebrations ended, the crowd dispersed, and the atmosphere filled with the crackling excitement of victory turned to an afterglow.

Lando Norris, with his signature grin and a trophy held high, had basked in the limelight, soaking up the roaring applause of the fans.

But that was only a moment for him; now, he was dragged away to the media center, leaving you standing at the edge of the pit lane, heart fluttering with the kiss he had planted on your cheek moments before.

You leaned against the pit wall, watching as he disappeared behind a barrage of cameras and reporters.

The warmth of his fleeting affection lingered on your skin, and a smile crept across your face despite the noise around you.

“Thinking about him, I see,” a voice interrupted your thoughts. You jumped slightly, caught off guard as you turned to see Ethan approaching.

He wore a knowing smirk, one that made your stomach twist of embarrassment.

“Oh, hi Ethan, what are you talking about?” You feigned nonchalance, crossing your arms.

“Lando, I’m talking about Lando,” Ethan replied, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Look, it’s clear you’ve got this enormous crush on him, but let’s not kid ourselves. He doesn’t like you like that. He’s just being friendly.”

Your heartbeat quickened for a different reason now—a mix of frustration and hurt. “What do you mean he doesn’t like me? He just won a race, and he kissed me, it was sweet.” You tried to sound more confident than you felt.

“Sweet?” Ethan scoffed. “That was just a celebratory peck. You know how he is with his fans. He flirts with everyone. It doesn’t mean he has a thing for you.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing back against his doubt. “But it felt different. The way he looked at me before he left… Ethan, we’ve talked, we’ve laughed.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Look, you’re a great person, and I get that you want to believe he’s into you. But do you really think he’s capable of liking someone with all of this fame and pressure around him? He’s got a busy life, and girlfriends are just more trouble in that world.”

The frustration bubbled in your chest. “You sound like my mom,” you shot back, unable to hide the sharpness in your tone. “You don’t even know him like I do.”

“Fair enough,” Ethan said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But you’ve got to admit, you’re setting yourself up for a huge disappointment here. Just... don’t get your hopes too high. I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

His exasperation was genuine, but it only deepened your resolve. “And I wouldn’t want to live my life scared to try because of what ‘might’ happen.”

Ethan sighed. “Okay, I’m not trying to ruin your fantasy. I just want you to be realistic.”

“Realistic or pessimistic?” you countered.

He laughed softly, the tension in the air easing just a bit. “Alright, let’s call it realistic, then.”

“Lando doesn’t like you that way,” Ethan had said, concern etched on his features.

Those words replayed in your head like a broken record, setting a tight knot in your stomach every time you thought of the charming driver.

Just as you attempted to shake off the lingering doubt, a staff member materialized out of thin air, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “Lando wants to see you now.”

“Thanks!” you called out, excusing yourself from Ethan’s company. 

You felt a mix of anticipation and anxiety as you navigated through the hubbub of the garage, pushing aside doubts that had lingered since your morning conversation with Ethan.

Finally standing before Lando’s driver’s room, you raised your hand and knocked gently. “Come in,” his voice called out, warm and inviting.

You opened the door to find Lando leaning against the wall, a genuine smile lighting his face, so different from the frown of earlier that day. “Hi, champ!” you greeted him, a spark of joy igniting within you.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, standing upright as he approached you. “I’m really glad you’re here.” His eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint, and you could feel an electric tension crackling in the air between you.

You both settled into a rhythm of lighthearted conversation, laughing and reminiscing about the week’s events, but underneath every playful jab and shared joke, there was an unspoken acknowledgment of the chemistry that simmered between you.

Lando’s gaze felt heavy on you, filled with unexpressed words that lingered just beyond reach.

The air crackles with an unspoken tension as you stare into Lando's eyes, a mix of confusion and yearning coursing through every nerve in your body.

You can feel the warmth of his presence enveloping you, a fire igniting in the pit of your stomach as you try to decipher the myriad emotions swirling between you.

“So,” Lando began, his voice almost a whisper, eyes glistening with something serious, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

His voice quivers with uncertainty, the weight of his unexpressed feelings hanging heavily in the atmosphere, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

Your mind raced back to Ethan’s words: “Lando doesn’t like you, Y/N. He’s just playing around.” You shook your head slightly. You wouldn’t let yourself believe that.

You couldn’t allow the confusion between friendship and something more to blur in your mind; it was too painful.

He said, his tone firm yet tender. “I like you, Y/N.”

“You don’t, you can’t,” you protest meekly, recalling the stinging words Ethan had casually tossed your way, words that left a lingering ache in your chest.

The notion that Lando might not harbor genuine feelings for you feels like a betrayal, an unwelcome specter haunting the edges of this beautiful moment.

“Y/N—” His voice was earnest, but you shook your head, biting your lip to keep the tears at bay.

“Please don’t joke about that. If you don’t like me—if you’re just messing around—then don’t joke about it.” Each word felt like a dagger, piercing through the bubble of hope forming in your chest.

“Why do you think I’m saying this?” he asked, his voice low and laced with emotion. “Why would I bother if I didn’t mean it? This isn’t just some casual fling for me. I care about you, and it’s driving me insane keeping it all bottled up!”

You took a step back, your back hitting the closed door. “Lando, please, you can’t say that!” Tears began to stream down your cheeks unbidden.

“Why not?” he challenged softly, moving closer again, his gaze intense. “Why can’t I? Are you really going to deny what’s been between us? You feel it too right?”

The truth in his words shattered your defenses. “Lando, I—” Your voice broke, and the words tumbled out, heavier than you imagined.

“I’ve never been someone’s first choice before. It’s hard to believe that you actually want me.”

“Then believe me,” he urged, his hand gently cupping your cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

Lando’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he whispered, “You deserve to hear it, and I mean every word.”

You melted into him, your head resting against his chest while he held you tightly—firmly yet gently, a safe haven amidst your unraveling emotions.

He didn’t flinch as the tears soaked his shirt.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, sniffling against his shoulder. “I don’t want to lose this.”

“You won’t lose me. Not ever,” he promised, pulling back slightly so he could look into your eyes. “Just give us a chance. I won’t hurt you.”

After a long while, you managed to calm down, your heart still racing but your breaths a little steadier. Lando pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes; the concern etched on his face warmed you.

“Can I kiss you?” Lando asked, his voice laced with just a hint of uncertainty, as if he feared this moment would evaporate into thin air.

Time seemed to stand still as you considered his question. You could feel the heat radiating between you, a magnetic pull that drew you closer.

This was the moment you had both been dancing around, the very reason for the tension that crackled in the air.

You felt a flutter in your stomach at the question, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. “Yes,” you finally breathed out, the single word filled with yearning.

His eyes sparkled, and he leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted. But you didn’t; if anything, your heart raced as he brushed his lips against yours, soft and hesitant at first.

His lips met yours in a soft, tender kiss that spoke volumes of the feelings you both had kept hidden for too long. The world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in a warm embrace, filled with the promise of love and acceptance.

As the kiss deepened, you felt an overwhelming sense of relief and joy. It was as if everything you had fought against—the doubt, the fear—melted away, replaced with the certainty of Lando’s affection.

You knew, right then and there, that you had finally found someone who would stay, who truly wanted you for who you were.

When the kiss finally broke, you rested your forehead against his, your hearts still racing from the intensity of it all. “I’m sorry I pushed you away,” you murmured.

“Don’t be,” he replied softly. “I’m just glad I finally got to you.”

And in that moment, surrounded by a haze of newfound love and vulnerability, you both knew that this was only the beginning of something beautiful.

Something that you both deserved. . . . .

[lulusaquariumm]

Fluffy Hcs that I’ve been thinking about all day since I’ve had a bad day with anxiety

ft: Natsu, kisuke, suguru, katsuki, shoko and kakashi

Natsu if he has a partner who sews would have them make his vests and some of his outfits every now and then because he likes their little hand embroidered fire they put on the edges for certain garment’s

Kisuke and his partner like to tend to a garden because it’s easy add ins for medicine they make together snd things to help Ichigo and his friends heal better without using their powers 24/7 for small wounds

Suguru as a piercer would give his partner free piercings and in return if his partner was a artist they would draw him new designs for his tattoos

Shoko and her partner on bad days would sit in the windowsill of her apartment and share a cigarette and if u didn’t smoke she would just hang out with you in the windowsill music playing in the background while you play on a little game console or have a craft ur working on

Katsuki is the type of guy who it doesn’t really matter if your doing anything important or if ur just in his room while he does paperwork he has to have some sort of contact with you like having your legs resting in his lap while you do your own thing if you already did your work that needed to be done for your agency

Kakashi is the type of dude to get bad nightmares sometimes so when you are sleeping on nights he is not up late reading a new volume of his favorite book series he likes to cuddle and always checks on u every now and then to make sure ur still okay

kisuke is the type of guy to ask you to help him with unpacking and then it ends up in a makeout session 20 minutes later because you guys got bored

a/n: ill try and get to requests tomorrow night since ill be back home and have time to actually think and write out some drabbles for em ^.^ I hope you all are drinking water and having good days/nights

[dragonfirerogue-writes]

Could you do a Quinn Fabray shot that she's feeling jealous of Y/N with Santana and end up with Y/N ​​doing her best to calm Quinnie down? Like, with affection, or otherwise

Red Light, Green Light

Who knew Rachel could be louder than she normally is? Apparently, with a little bit of alcohol, anything was possible.

Everyone was a little bit tipsy here at Rachel's little 'Glee house party' and the noise was getting a bit much for you. You found out that you were the 'quiet, chill drunk' of the group. That's why you were quite comfy on the couch while everyone was fighting over the microphone. Your eyes travel across the basement, amusement dancing in your eyes at the drunken antics of your friends. The only other person not amongst the fray mirrored your actions on the other side of the room.

Quinn.

The blonde sat on top of the washing machine with a soft smile on her lips. She was nursing a drink, not keen on getting as drunk as the others. Her smile widens when you meet eyes and a silent conversation happens.

"How ridiculous are these guys?"

"Is that Tina trying to sneak the mic away?"

"Aaand tackled by Rachel. That didn't last long."

The two of you share a quiet giggle before suddenly, Quinn's smile falls from her face. You're confused until you feel a pair of arms wrap around your neck. A soft cheek nuzzles against yours before you even register who it is.

"Santana. 'cha doin'?" You ask in a fond voice. You were never shy with affection and Santana always liked to try and toe the line. Especially when she wanted something.

"Can't I just love on you a little?" Her voice was low and husky. While a different, specific, person may have affected you more, the Latina's use made you suspicious. Infinitely moreso as she plants little kisses along your face.

"You can, but you don't without a reason." Knowingly, your eyes travel to Brittany who was preoccupied with Artie. "And I see your reason over there. She's not lookin', San."

The girl huffs and drops her head into your shoulder. "I knoooow. I've been trying all night. So help me."

You reach back to pat her head with a smile. "You want her eyes on you? Get everyone's eyes on you."

You point towards the karaoke machine, currently abandoned while people argue. Santana thinks for a moment, letting the hand on her head rake through her hair. You don't feel her smile until you start humming a tune to get her brain started.

"You're a fucking genius," she says, giving you a solid kiss on the cheek before dashing towards the microphone. Before you can search for Quinn, sensual music fills your ears and draws your attention.

As it plays, Santana is swaying her hips to the beat, letting the movement bring everyone's attention to her. Those who recognize the song begin to bop their heads and tap their toes.

Take a good look at it

Look at it now

Might be the last time you

Have a go round

The boys (and Brittany) move towards Rachel's tiny stage, eager to get closer to the performance. The girls (and Kurt) move to provide backup vocals. You stay put and notice that Quinn also hasn't moved. Her eyes are narrowed slightly, as if she's trying to figure something out.

Before you could consider grabbing her attention, Santana is upon you, dragging you out of the couch and against her swaying body. Brown eyes plead you to help with the performance. When you give her a smirk, she turns so her back is to you and places your hands on her waist. Suddenly you find yourself dancing and grinding against her.

Baby, it's yours if you want it tonight

I'll give you the red light special

All through the night

You can see Puck practically drooling on himself. You can also see Brittany staring intently at Santana, biting her lip.

But Quinn? Quinn is nowhere to be seen. Your heart squeezes in panic, worried that this display made her think the wrong thing. Thankfully, Brittany hopped up onto the stage to take your place by Santana's side, allowing you to make your exit to search for your own blonde.

As soon as you make it up the stairs and into the Berry house proper, you start your search. It doesn't take long with Quinn despondently leaning against the kitchen counter with a glass of water. With a relieved sigh, you take the spot next to her.

"Was wondering where you went."

Quinn lets out a soft scoff.

"It was getting too thirsty down there. I had to get a drink."

The unexpected joke makes a laugh burst out of you. Quinn breaks into a smug smile as a result before it falls into a frown again.

"What about you? Why are you up here and not dancing with Santana?"

"Britt took my place," you reply. "Besides, I'd rather be next to you"

Quinn turns away but you catch a glimpse of a light blush. "You were pretty comfortable with her being handsy with you." There's a slight snark in her voice. You grin knowingly.

"You know how we are. It's nothing, really." You take the glass from her hands and set it on the counter. "It's just a lot of affection."

"But you're only like that with her," she retorts. You just shake your head.

"As far as we ever get are cheek kisses. And maybe the occasional suggestive dance if the mood arises." You shrug. "I'd give cheek kisses to anyone who wants 'em."

"What about regular kisses? What's the criteria for that?" Quinn was actually curious now.

"Dating, I'd say. That's a privilege I don't give out freely."

"Oh, so anything else is free game for you?"

An idea pops into your head and you smirk. "I mean, if I'm allowed. For example..." You take her hand and lay a soft kiss along the knuckles. You meet her surprised eyes, and move to kiss the back of her hand. You continue your path up her arm and Quinn can't keep her eyes off you. A soft gasp escapes her lips when you reach her shoulder and slowly make your way to her neck.

"Y/N..."

Immediately, you freeze and draw back.

"Too much?"

Her body is tense. The hand not in your possession is gripping tightly on the counter. Her face is turned away from you and her blush is up to her ears. You gently pull her hand to draw her attention back to you.

"Hey, hey. I'll stop. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." Your thumb runs across her knuckles, as if trying to erase the initial kiss. You see her shoulders slump down, easing the tension and it makes you smile.

"Seriously, I'm sorry. I won't do that again. Promise."

Quinn looks down at your joined hands, almost lost in thought. When she feels your hand slip from hers, she holds on tighter.

"I..." She chews on her words a little. "I... Wouldn't be opposed to you doing that again."

Your eyes widen and your mouth gapes a little. "Oh."

"Yeah."

There's an awkward moment before a smile spreads on your face. You gently nudge Quinn with your shoulder. "You... Want me to do it again?"

The blonde looks at you, slightly baffled before letting out a laugh. She shakes her head fondly. "Actually, I have a better idea."

With a swift, smooth move, she leans in and plants a kiss on your lips. When she pulls away, you're absolutely stunned.

Quinn Fabray just kissed you.

Said smug girl is now making her way back downstairs, forcing you to scramble after her towards something new.

[moonperil6]

Blessed by a Trickster

Chapter Nine: I Never Thought my Last Words Would be That Stupid

Prev/Next

A/N: Guys this chapter is so short 😭

Warnings: I changed so many of the lyrics of this song to fit the storyline better

Word Count: 750

Listen to: Ruthlessness

“Poseidon,” Odysseus breathed.

The man standing on the rocky shore of the island raised his trident, grey hair billowing in the leftover wind that was released from the bag.

“In all my years of living, it isn’t very often that I get pissed off.” Even from the ship you could still hear the voice of the imposing god. “I try to chill with the waves, but damn you crossed the line.”

You watched, frozen as Poseidon floated through the water toward your ship. “I’ve been so gracious, and yet you hurt the son of mine.” He smiled at your fearful expression. “That’s right. The cyclops you made die, was mine.”

“No,” you and Odysseus said in unison, both your voices laced with disbelief.

It was like that single word summoned the god, because he appeared right in front of you. You scrambled back as Poseidon continued in his booming voice, “I’m left without a choice, and without a doubt. Guess the pack of wolves is swimming with the shark now.” He swept his trident to the right, and several figures rose above the ship- six wolves made out of water, trying to swim while a shark circled the pack.

“I gotta make you bleed, I need to see you drown.” The god’s words cut through the visual, and you raised your forearm to block the water droplets that rained down. “But before you go, I need to make you learn how ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves.”

You took another step back, and then there were two, quite solid things- going shoulder to shoulder with you.

You looked around wildly and breathed a sigh of relief when you realized it was Polites and Eurylochus, both pointing their swords at the god that stood before you. 

Poseidon only sneered at the sight of the blades. He turned his attention to Odysseus, who was now unprotected.

“You are the worst kind of good, ‘cause you’re not even great,” Poseidon said, circling the captain. “A Greek who reeks of false righteousness- that’s what I hate! ‘Cause you fight to save lives, but never get the job done.” He raised a hand and curled it into a fist. “I mean you totally could’ve avoided all this, had you not killed my son. But no.”

Polites could see you shaking and turned you toward him gently. “Open arms,” he told you softly.

“No,” you replied in the same low voice as him. “That won’t work here.”

Your attention was jolted back to Poseidon as the god said, “Now it is finally time to say goodbye. Today, you die. Unless, of course, you apologize for my son's pain and all his cries.”

“Poseidon, we meant no harm,” you tried. “We only killed him to disarm him.”

Odysseus, nodding, added, “we took no pleasure in his pain. We only wanted to escape.”

Poseidon stopped and narrowed his eyes at the both of you. “The line between naivety and hopefulness is almost invisible. So close your heart the world is dark.”

The god raised his trident. “Die!” He screamed, bringing the butt of the trident down on the floor of the ship.

Almost instantly, geysers of water shot up and around the other ships of the fleet. You stumbled to the railing, knees weak from the thought of the deaths you might have caused. You could hear panicked screeching coming from the helms of the ships. “Captain! Captain! Captain! Captain!”

Poseidon waved his hand and all went quiet.

“What have you done?” Odysseus whispered, looking out at the destruction. The only thing left of the rest of the fleet were a few sinking sails and floating floorboards. 

“Forty three left under your command.” You could practically see the proud smirk on Poseidon’s face without turning around.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, and you glanced behind you, shocked; the hand belonged to Poseidon. “I am your darkest moment,” the god murmured. “The monster that always draws near.”

He raised his voice and took his hand off of your shoulder. “Any last words?” He asked grudgingly.

You had been eyeing the bag for a while, and now you lunged forward. “All I gotta do is open this bag!” You said triumphantly, untying the rope and flinging it open.

“What?” Poseidon thundered, but you were already speeding off on the newly summoned winds, leaving the god and his island behind.

You slumped back, closing your eyes and releasing a sigh of relief.

You wondered if you imagined the, “remember me…”

[princessmoms]

Updates & Thank you's!

Hello to all 3k+ of you lovely people! Wanted to take a moment to give some thanks, updates and promotions again.

Huge thanks to the latest two Patreon supporters for helping to keep this blog up and running! As always, here's a link to anyone else that would like to support the artist and get to see letters and art before anyone else. [LINK]

You can also commission the artist to help support the work here. I love to draw your ocs and ships,. As a fair warning: Prices will be getting a slight increase at the end of this year. Patron supports always get a discount on commission prices! [LINK]

Traffic on the blog has been great and I just appreciate how much everyone is enjoying my OC. It's the best motivation to get so many interested questions about my characters as well as the canon ones! To help myself in streamlining the process, I've even made a dedicated spreadsheet to tracking all the letters received here from now on, including ones that unfortunately have to get discarded for one reason or another. Sorry guys, questions from your own OCs is fine but I'm not willing to take questions from people roleplaying as canon characters, even from other ask blogs/universes. It's just not the vibe here.

I have been considering using the good traffic here to promote other ask blogs I enjoy. It could be a fun way to spread the attention around.

Recently managed to upgrade my drawing tablet so you'll be noticing an upgrade to the quality of the comics from now on. And recently went into progress of buying new parts to build a dedicated workstation for art from now on. (I've worked from the same laptop I've had for a decade now so it will be like going from a flintstones car to a jet engine.) You can expect some delays once the parts arrive in December as I will need to build it and transfer many important files over to the new rig. That's all to say for today, thank you all for your time and love over this past year and here's looking towards the next one!

-Neon Yo💜 @overlordneon

[toopimpabutterfly]

mouthwashing headcanons and important NOTE. Being mentally ill/experiencing trauma doesn't equal it's okay you do horrible things / be a horrible person. You got that?

TW for certain headcanons and subject matter.

Jimmy

-CSA survivor, lived in a low income household, unstable life growing up

-This leads him into trouble in his younger life before Pony Express, IE violent outbursts , theft, ect. He didn't commit any acts of SA till onboard (Seriously guys one of the games points is capitalism is horrible but they're not going to allow a convicted sexual deviant onboard, especially not without informing his crew+Curly knew Jimmy before)

-The trauma of his childhood left him as aggressive, having violent outbursts, and undiagnosed schizophrenia and BPD, turns into the psychosis he experiences during the events of the game

-Speaking of Curly he is aware though that Jimmy is not well mentally but tries to see the best in Jimmy, believes Jimmy is more than what he was on Earth and whatever happened in his childhood (this doesn't work out obviously)

-Tried to off himself in early life multiple times (the reason why he was quick to try and kill himself the first chance he got when caught, and in the end)

-The way he grew up leaves him to not eat a lot, mostly to drink liquids or things on the cheaper side/off brand, he sees most things as luxury's one must earn, but at the same time sees them as not helpful in his situation

-malnourished and has been since childhood and growing up but has a beer belly tbh

-Jimmy is jealous of Curly as he lived the ideal life he wanted, went to school, had connections, went to University, got a high paying job, ect. Jimmy sees this as unfair for all the suffering he went through growing up

-Also he's Mexican don't ask

-His favorite movies are the Matrix Trilogy (the others suck and that's just true) ,Mysterious Skin, The Talented Mr Ripley, and Akira

Curly

-Grew up upper middle class, met Jimmy in elementary school

-He tries to see the best in everybody, a true everyman, believes everyone can let go of their past/can be rehabilitated

-His favorite movies are Starship Troopers, Back To The Future, Alien II, and Avatar

-Used to watch those true crime YouTube videos growing up and always thought they deserved souch better

-Bro has WAYY too much empathy and sympathy

Anya

-Favorite moves are Girl Interrupted, Good Will Hunting, Jennifer's Body, and The Shape of Water

-Grew up lower middle income, wanted to further her career to help people back on Earth

-Didn't have the cash to go to a proper university though

-She has the best movie recommendations 100%

-Really good at boardgames

-The SA leaves her split, her mind slowly cracking more and more

-She feels a hate towards Jimmy and Curly, Jimmy for assaulting her, Curly for enabling it almost

-Obsession with cleanliness after the SA and up to her death

-Had violent outbursts on the ship in the last months of her death

Daisuke

-Youngest of the crew

-Wanted to make his family proud

-I feel like he's a middle child tbh

-Really loves racing simulators

-Favorite movies are Clerks, Jay and Silent Bob Rebooted, Cheech and Chong, Mallrats, Idiocracy, Adam Sandler movies, and Lords of Dogtown

-Skater backhome

-LOVES to hosts movie nights

-Comic nerd, he's a DCU forever, Dark horse branch his shit specifically

-Loves techno and rave music

-Draws short comics

Swansea

-Favorite movies are Django Unchained, Hellboy, No Country for Old Men, From Dusk Till Dawn, Kill Bill, ect. Huge Tarantino fan tbh

-Was in ROTC in highschool, ran that shit like the navy

-He watches requiem for a dream to remember his alcoholism isn't worth it, trainspotting too maybe.

-He loved to get handmade gifts over bought ones, letters, arts and crafts, drawings, ect

-Woodcarver

-Former Red Cross Worker/Salvation army worker tbh

[normal-enderman]

My interpretations of people in the Life Series, as someone who is a very casual viewer and has no emotional investment in the series and barely knows any of the fandom knowledge below surface level.

Jimmy - stupid. so stupid. he barely has two braincells to rub together. but unfortunately for me i find it adorable. hes also blonde and young and pretty and im a basic idiot who likes young pretty twinks. he also has a really pretty smile. but hes so stupid. he sucks at minecraft. he dies all the time. his editing is also mid.

Joel - my second favourite after Jimmy. did I mention Jimmy's my favourite? no I didn't. im not basic. shut up. Joel is really cool. he's very funny and i love the overly-aggressive persona he puts on, he's one of the people who gets the most into roleplaying (it's basically his default for whenever he's on camera, he has a very defined cc persona that he never breaks out of), so it's easy to get immersed watching him. his editing is also seamless and brilliant. and he has good music taste. just a cool guy. i like the green streak in his mc skin.

Lizzie - usually when people call women quirky, they're being cringe incels who want a manic pixie dream girl. but i swear i mean it in the most sincere, old-fashioned use of the word way when i say Lizzie is quirky and i fucking love it. her aesthetic is cutesy pink kawaii, but the more you watch her the more you realise there's something delightfully strange about her. she's also incredibly fucking funny. the way she delivers lines just cracks me up. the way she speaks and phrases things and approaches the situations she finds herself in in general is awesome. despite her cutesy aesthetic, she's surprisingly tough as well. her editing is also a seamless, immersive delight.

Scott - master manipulator who gets violently mischaracterised by the entire fandom. he's definitely one of the smartest members of the Life Series SMP, he's always planning everything out, he always has a backup plan, he always seems to be three steps ahead. And again, a master of maximising his income of social capital. He's an expert at utilising his connections with the people around him, and always seems to be able to use his relationships to manouvre himself into an advantageous position. i don't understand why people make soft flower husbands art because Scott just seemed like he was taking advantage of Jimmy to me. in fact I dont understand why yall make scott soft in general, he's one of the most ruthless players from what I've seen. bit weird to mischaracterise "the gay one" as the soft guy, no? also why do you draw him as thin when he is chubby. why is his intro so fucking loud.

Bdubs - i have never watched this guy's POV because his editing is bad but he's always appearing in the corner of other player's POVs being adorable. he's like a little bug. he's always yelling and it's so incredibly unthreatening. why is his face all beat up like that what happened to the little guy.

Etho - he's friends with Bdubs and he's Canadian and he lives in the woods and fights moose and he's good at redstone and also some sort of cryptid. i have heard this. i have, however, not watched this because i have ADHD and the way he edits (or rather doesnt edit) his videos is so boring that i cannot watch them for longer than five minutes. which annoyed me because i really like his chill badass vibe and would like to see more of him, but alas. get better at editing etho. i also love the fan designs people make for him very much, especially when they make him into some sort of wolf or beast. makes sense since he's hunting all those moose.

Grian - HOT TAKE HERE. I'm not the biggest fan of Grian. His POVs are not very interesting. I guess people like him so much because he has a mad killer instinct and watching him hunt people down and get kills is fun. And this is true! I also like watching this! However, before it gets to the killing spree part, he's very self-contained and doesn't take much interest in what the people around him are doing (unless he is managing / leading them), which is boring for me because i'm interested in people's interactions with each other. Grian is actually far more interesting from other people's POVs, because from there you can see how his self-contained nature, tendancy to lead and thirst for blood and chaos affect everything around him, something which he himself seems to not notice because he is too focused on only dealing with the stuff that's immediately relevant to him.

Scar - what a charming man. oh my god. holy shit. sir. sir. what the fuck. he's also so funny. and has a little bit of the nature of a wet cat surrounding him. why does he love roleplaying being some form of scam artist so much that he choses to do it literally every single season. its like he cant stop himself. he has a scam artist disease. he also likes Starwars also one time he mentioned that he can't stand on twitter and everyone yelled his name. actually he does stuff that makes people yell his name in shock/exasperation a lot and its like a greek chorus. i also love the way he speaks in his voiceovers, his voice is very smooth.

Pearl - she has wolves apparently. this is a thing that i have heard about that has happened at some point. yes.

Cleo - they speak in a mocking tone and it makes me feel like i am being bullied in secondary school so i do not like them.

Impulse - this person does, in fact, exist, and may have done things at some point.

Geminitay - people draw her with antlers and that is cool

BigB - i have never seen this guy a single time in anyone's POV but apparently he is there! he keeps to the shadows.

Ren - there is a larper in this SMP. which is not a bad thing at all! I love hardcore minecraft roleplay! i am a Dream SMP fan, incidentally. which is related to nothing. The way he roleplays so intensely and in such a distinct style is a bit of a weird clash with the almost zero roleplay from everyone else, though. You have to all be into the roleplay and outputting the same amount of commitment to the bit, or it doesn't work and i just get secondhand embarassment watching. But I appreciate it nonetheless!

Other people who i've forgotten because i dont care about them - they sure do exist and are doing cool things yep

Thank you for reading my useless list, from a "fan" who isn't really invested enough to be a proper fan. I love minecraft men kissing. peace.

[marisoil]

𝑪𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒

summary: ꪆৎ (1920s au) a cop with a badge too heavy for his shoulders, a socialite too bright for anyone's sanity, they’re both absolutely doomed.

an: i was ovulating during the writing of whatever this is (you can tell). i feel like itʼs lowk giving booktok,, feedback on this would be much appreciated!! (◞‸ ◟) might do some more depending on how this one goes [blink]

trigger warnings: power imbalance, jealousy, emotional turmoil, risky relationships, tobacco use, manipulation (if you squint), emotional vulnerability

genre: mostly fluff

word count: 3.5k

bertholdt hoover was a man made to endure, a man made for carrying things, for bearing heaps of what others could not. the kind of fella who kept his head down and his hands busy, broad-backed and quiet, shoulders like stone slabs meant for bearing things no one else could handle. the city of paradis didn’t have much patience for soft men; in the gilded chaos of the roaring twenties, the streets were thick with jazz, smoke, and dirty politics. amidst flappers with rouged knees, dapper men tipping their straw boaters, he did what he was supposed to; put on the uniform, took the oath, and kept his nose clean. a lawman through and through, his uniform was neat enough to draw eyes but never hold them.

but you were no burden. you were conflagration in satin stockings, burning through every oath he’d ever sworn to uphold. a socialite draped in silk and scandal, with the kind of laugh that turned heads and left men (him, most of all) wondering if mortal ears were ever meant to hear music so sweet. your name was always on the lips of cigar-chewing barkeeps and parasol-clutching harpies, you were grotesquely lavish, a kitschy cathedral built to indulgence and made purely out of another soulʼs restraint. mornings found you sipping spiked tea on sun-drenched balconies, while afternoons slipped away in the folds of boutique dressing rooms, where clerks bent over backward to find the perfect shade of temptation for you.

in every sense of the word, you were excess. too much money, too much charm, too much of a good thing stretched to itʼs breaking point. a chandelier swaying just before the fall, a glass of merlot filled to overflowing, a secret too loud to be kept.

at some juncture in your life, between the empty noise of their promises and the heavy silence of the mornings after. you began to believe no, that no one could stomach entire spoonfuls of you. perhaps only the undemanding aspects of your existence, the ones they admired from a safe distance, the ones they praised like dilettantes, unsure and shallow in their admiration. men, in their infinite optimism that could easily be mistakes for arrogance—insisted they could handle you; they threw their hats into the ring with all the gall of gamblers who think the house will finally lose. and for a while, they played the part: offering love as if it were currency instead of an unexamined reflex. but inevitably, as night follows day, they faltered, overwhelmed by the intensity of you and your contradictions, your needs, your refusal to be contained. “you don’t have to call me every time something happens.” “you’re something else, doll, but maybe take it down a notch, huh? no need to shout the house down.”“you’re amazing, but i don’t know if i’m the right guy for all of this.”they treated you like a puzzle, or worse—a nuisance. so you began to wonder if the problem lay with you: a creature too large for the paltry cages they called love, too restless to settle for what they called enough.

of course, that was before you met bertholdt.

he first saw you on a call, a routine disturbance at one of those upscale speakeasies masquerading as tea rooms. the kind of place where old money rubbed elbows with new money, and no one dared whisper the wrong names. you’d been sitting at the bar, cigarette holder poised in one gloved hand, with your manicured fingers curled around a coupe of champagne. reiner had nudged him toward you with a knowing smirk, but it was you who made the first move, as was your routine, your lips curved into a smile that could ruin a man. you’d looked at him, not through him, like most people did. something about the way your gaze lingered made his heart stall beneath his ribcage, and from there he knew he was sunk.

he hadn’t meant to take you home. hadn’t meant for your dress to pool on the floor of his apartment or for his hands to learn the heat of your skin. but you unraveled him like you’d been born for it. the morning after, he’d stood at the window, his shirt rumpled and his resolve liquefying as you stretched across his bed like trouble itself had learned to walk upright in silk stockings, a wry smile tugging at your lips when he stammered, “this can’t happen again.”

but then, days later by means of despicable coincidence, there you were, turning his world sideways once more, pulling him into the shadowed alcoves of ballrooms, your gloved hands gripping the lapels of his coat as if you’ll die without him like you insist you would. “you shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, his breath warm against your neck, but his hands betray him, slipping around your waist and pressing you closer like he once had during the night he couldnʼt forget even if he tried. you tilt your head, lips grazing the shell of his ear as you purr, “neither should you, officer.”

you were nothing he was supposed to have. not in this life and especially not in this city. it should have been easy to walk away, to stay away, but you’ve always had a talent for taking what you want and bertholdt, poor fool that he is, didn’t even try to stop you.

you’ve made bertholdt hoover an accomplice to his own undoing. his uniform feels heavier when you’re near, like the badge on his chest knows he’s betraying everything it stands for just by breathing the same air as you. it seemed, and to this day still does seem absolutely proposterous at first—you and him. he was just a flatfoot, after all, pounding pavement while you lived a life of velvet and champagne. you were the kind of woman who could get a man fired, and bertholdt knew it. but you had a way of making him feel like you were meant for him, and worse like he was meant for you. in his eyes, you were a grace-given gift. through some unseen kindness from a life he could not recall, he had been repayed in the form of you, sweetly cocooned in a douceur adorned with ribbons and bows just for him. all for him, every inch of you. only ever for him.

you adored him, he was completely enamored with you, and you don’t apologize for any of it, for the mess you make of him.

you’re a thief, he thinks. you take up all the space in his mind and in his pockets, where the little pieces of you collect. loose pearls from your necklaces, ribbons from your wrists. you leave a trail behind you that only he bothers to follow, like you know he’ll pick it all up. he keeps your earrings in a little dish by his bed, ones you claim to forget every time you’re over. one of them is missing its backing, and you said it doesn’t matter because “it’s just an excuse to come back.” you said it so flippantly, throwing the words over your shoulder as you twirled out the door, but bertholdt thinks about it every night. wonders if it’s true, if you’ll keep leaving pieces of yourself behind like breadcrumbs. wonders if one day, you’ll leave too many, and there’ll be nothing left of you except the trail.

he keeps a picture of you, folded neatly into the soft belly of his jacket, he can feel it even now as he walks behind you, his fingers brushing absently over the hidden pocket. it’s old, creased from being folded and unfolded, touched and caressed when the real you is not around for him to hold. it’s not much, just a snapshot really, but it’s enough.

and you have one of him, too, though yours is much, much larger than his, a little dog-eared from being tucked into your clutch, covered in those maddening lipstick marks of your affection. when he’d asked you about it you said, “well, it’s my favorite picture.” you never hide it. in fact, you brandish it like a trophy, waving it at him in public just to watch him turn pink all the way down to his collarbones and he swears he can feel his ribs bending to make room for you.

your lipstick leaves ghosts everywhere: on crystal rims, on the necks of champagne bottles, on the stark white collar of his shirt you stole one lazy morning. he can still see it there, smudged and pink, a ridiculous, infuriating claim you left behind like a signature.

you like to touch him, your affection spilling over in unmeasured handfuls, and bertholdt takes it all, always unsure how to give it back without breaking it. your foot hooks over his under the table, dragging lazily until he jolts, his knee banging against the wood with a sharp, graceless sound. your hand slides beneath his glove, fingers cool against his warm ones, your thumb pressing into the creases of his palm as if you’re trying to read the lines of his life. a flick at his ear when he’s being too quiet, too bertholdt. sometimes you’ll poke his chest like you’re trying to find the exact location of his heart, grinning when he finally relents and catches your wrist, his thumb circling over the thin bones there. bertholdt isn’t used to being wanted so openly, so carelessly, but you make it feel natural, like this is just how the world works: you touch, and he catches fire.

over time, you make him comfortable enough to reciprocate those affections but you still have progress to make. his hands, so large they feel almost grotesque to him, were built for things like restraint, utility, the cold grip of a gun. but when he touches you it’s like he’s terrified the world might break. you laugh at him for it sometimes, draping yourself across his chest, your perfume threading itself into the fabric of his uniform, and say, “bertholdt, you hold me like i’m a cracked egg.”

it frustrates you to no end. you’ve always been shameless when it comes to bertholdt hoover. maybe it’s the way his shirt strains against his shoulders, seams groaning under the power of him. you notice everything: the dip in his throat when he swallows, the faint press of his veins just under his skin, the way his jaw clenches when he holds an anger thatʼs never directed at you. he smells like smoke, sharp and bitter, but when you kiss him, his mouth is sweet, tinged with a faint metallic tang. but he holds back. doesnʼt give you all of which you want, which is all of him. so you push harder—pulling at his tie, sliding your fingers into his hair, nipping at his neck just to hear the low, shuddering breath he can’t quite suppress. he’s maddening, the kind of man you want to press against until he forgets himself completely, and you’re determined to make him forget.

you love him so, so much. you love him for the way he never makes you feel small, for the way he lets you be yourself without apology. and you’ll be damned if you ever let him go. bertholdt hoover belongs to you now, and you’ll fight the whole damn city if it means keeping him.

he lets you win every argument. always. even when you’re wrong, which you rarely are. your words are sharp, but they always soften when it’s him. instead, you tease and provoke, and he lets himself be provoked because he loves the way you grin when you think you’ve gotten the better of him. and you have entirely. there’s no part of him you don’t own, no corner of his mind you haven’t occupied.

he’s jealous, though he’d never admit it outright. he thinks you’re too radiant to belong to anyone, and yet he burns at the sight of other men circling you like moths to a flame. their hands hover too close to your backside. he tells himself it’s not his place, that he has no claim on you, but then you glance at him from across the room, your eyes daring him to say something, to do something. you’re playing a dangerous game, and bertholdt’s never been one for risks. until you.

“you’re angry,” you say one night, he’s standing too close, his jaw tight, his hands shoved into his pockets to keep from dragging you away from the room full of prying eyes. “you let him touch you,” he murmurs, the words barely audible, and your smile stretches, wicked and knowing. “oh, bertholdt,” you coo, your fingers trailing along his sleeve. “are you jealous?”

“stop it,” he snaps, and it’s so unlike him that you pause, blinking up at him with something almost resembling surprise. then, quietly, he adds, “please.”

bertholdt knows this can’t last, knows you’re everything he’s not, bold where he’s reserved, reckless where he’s cautious. he knows it’s wrong, knows he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be sneaking into your estate under the cover of darkness, but he can’t stop. not when you greet him at the door in something entirely inappropriate, your smile bright and mischievous as you drag him inside. “i missed you,” you say, your voice soft, and it undoes him. every single time.

you kiss him like you’re trying to devour him, and he lets you. his hands are trembling as they slide over the silk of your dress, his breath ragged as you tug him closer. “what would your captain say,” you tease, your lips brushing the edge of his jaw, “if he knew where you were right now? what you’re doing?”

“donʼt,” he breathes, his hands tightening on your waist, but you don’t stop. you never do.

the city has no place for love stories like yours. it chews men like him to the bone and spits them out without ceremony, while women like you slip between its teeth, too clever to be caught. bertholdt knows this. he knows the weight of a badge, the weight of duty, the crushing inevitability of a city like paradis. but for you, he’d bear it all a hundred times over. all he knows is that for as long as you keep leaving pieces of yourself behind, he will pick them up and hold them close, even if it means losing himself entirely.

bertholdt hoover is a man made for carrying things, for bearing what others cannot. but for you, he has learned to let himself be carried, too.

you are the only thing that feels real. and bertholdt, for once in his life, is not strong enough to let go.

[echonidae]

:"D an assortment of pagedolls, as examples for a new commission option, to be available from Dec. 2nd onwards!! will be posting more info on the upcoming batch in a moment!! :3c

but yes, from left to right we have my boyfriend's @struikbeheerder lil' goat-persona, my own vaguely-bat-looking Creature™, his character Grimm, and then good ol' Oliver :')

([psst!! go check out his art]!! :3ccc) some info and musings under the read-more!! :3c

these were suggested long ago as options (Sibbi! thank you again!!), the issue at the time being that it wasn't really something i was used to drawing, lil' stylized full-body portraits like those– that's changed this last year or so, particularly with all the doodles :'3c

these were already really fun to work on, and i hope folks will like the pagedolls as an option as well!! :')c

they're going to be $15 USD each ($20 for the very very intricate characters, which is always discussed case-by-case), static images with transparent backgrounds, always full-body and just the one character (and the usual pet/familiar allowances!!), clean lineart with flatcolors and a teensy bit of highlights here and there c': the .png files are always sized with a minimum 1000px of width or height, and can have the lil' floating bits and bobs or not, outlines and other little visual effects, bits of background of any sort, and so on!! :')c

they also have their own queue, since these don't take too long to finish much like doodles, but they also are meant to follow the usual feedback process of larger orders (updates at sketch, lineart, coloring, and before finalizing), so they'll get their own list :')c no set amount of slots, and no limit to how many any one person can order!! but i will be working on those two orders at a time :')c

but yeah, there you go!! pagedolls!! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

hoping in the future i can offer them with little animations too :'3c for now, just wee lil' guys floating about… :'3c

[ultravi0lence14]

Rhiannon

dean winchester x hippie!reader

1.4k | fluff, fem pronouns

summary: as stevie nicks once said; wouldn’t you love to love her. dean could agree with that statement. one hundred percent.

*based on this request

the early morning sun shined in through your window, arrays of pinks, purples and blues mixing in from the multiple coloured crystals and little stained glass designs you had bought. this is why dean loved coming to your apartment. the atmosphere. all the comfort and peace the you had brought into it.

you were the calm that dean needed in his hectic life. the anchor the held him down when things got too much.

he met you when sam had left for stanford, the wounds fresh as he threw back shot after shot in a dingy bar. you were just passing through, a couple of miles away from your apartment and needing to quickly stop somewhere to use the bathroom.

dean’s eyes caught you moving across the bar, the way your jeans hugged your lower half and the flower pattern on your tank top drawing him in. when you retreated from the ladies room, dean was on you like a predator on prey, attempting to elicit a little one night stand.

but you politely declined. though when you tried to walk away from the beaten down man, you saw something else entirely in his eyes.

he looked sad, and you couldn’t help but a feel a bit of empathy for the guy in front of you.

that is how you were raised. your parents telling you to always look for the good in people, being aware of emotions. you weren’t stupid, you understood when people were trying to take advantage of you. but you just liked to be helpful, wanting to make an impact one person at a time.

for the rest of the night, you sat with dean in a booth as he rambled on about his brother and what had happened. he told you that he understood why sam wanted to go on to get a higher education, but he just couldn’t understand why it had to be so far away; why it made their father so angry.

you comforted him the best to your ability. explaining that sometimes people needed a change in their life, and just because his brother left for university doesn’t mean he stopped loving him.

when you both went your separate ways in the parking lot, you couldn’t help but notice the stumble in dean’s step. he knew he was too intoxicated to drive, and was fully prepared to sleep in the impala stationed in the parking lot of the bar.

something inside of you believed that you needed to be of help to this man. and in hindsight, you did the stupidest thing you possibly could’ve done. the one thing parents always warned their kids not to do.

you invited dean to crash at your place.

it was dumb, you knew that. you had just met dean, and he could be an axe murderer for all you know. but the guy was really going through it. and he was so drunk, that you believed the weight of any harmful object in his hands would probably knock him down.

that night, dean slept on your couch, peaceful snores leaving his lips as you slept comfortably in your bed. when he woke up in the morning, dean completely forgot where he was. and then it all came back to him. seeing you in the bar, trying to sleep with you, you turning him down, which then turned into a therapy session that landed him to crash on your couch.

dean was fully planning on leaving, but he couldn’t help himself in taking a peak around your place.

from the couch, he could see the multitude of plants and flowers the covered your living space. it was like a garden, a comforting vibe that also warranted a lovely smell to the home.

there was colour all over the place. from the stained glass lamps on coffee tables to the rows of crystals hanging on string in front of your window. everything was so bright and colourful, and dean couldn’t help himself but stare at the moving colours across the wall.

he also smelt a lingering lavender smell, which was then over powered by the aroma of bacon and pancakes coming from somewhere else in your home. dean couldn’t help himself, he loved bacon. so like a man hypnotized, he followed the debilitating scent of bacon that lingered throughout the air.

as he made his way into the kitchen, he found that the rest of your home was just like the living area. adorned by breezy light pink curtains was a small window over your sink, housing mini plants a crystals alike. there were flowers everywhere. an arrangement by the stove, on the counter, even in the sink. it was overwhelming, but in a good way.

“wow,” he mumbled, groggily slumping into one of the bar stools in front of your counter. “that’s a lot of flowers.”

dean’s voice brought a laugh from your lips, making him look over to where you stood by the stove, stacking pancakes possibly as tall as he was. to this day, dean doesn’t know what it was in the room. all the flowers and greenery, the slight breeze from the open window, maybe it was just your intoxicating beauty. but at that very moment, you looked absolutely ethereal.

you just looked so pretty. the long white skirt falling loosely on your hips. the simple black t shirt that made a perfect canvas for the two braids you put in your hair. he looked down to notice that you were wearing crazy coloured striped socks on your feet, and dean couldn’t help but smile at the little pop of colour that you added to your otherwise basic outfit.

bringing over two plates of breakfast, you sat beside dean at the counter and ate together, just talking and getting to know one another.

it was a simple morning, filled with laughs and weird fun facts that you two threw each others way. when you told him you planned to go to the farmers market, dean couldn’t help himself in taking your offer to come with.

he had never even been to one, not even caring in the slightest for what they had to offer. but some part of dean didn’t want this day to end, and in his heart, he knew he wanted to get to know you more.

you two spent the late morning walking around the farmers market, you grabbing some fresh produce and more crystals as dean took in his surroundings. some of the people he saw looked a little weird, but he knew they probably meant well, and that everything here honestly wasn’t so bad.

when you had grabbed a couple assortments of flowers, telling dean you planned to make some flower crowns at home, he also couldn’t resist in coming back to your place and weaving the stems together by your side.

you two were in a comfortable silence, weaving the crowns in synchrony when dean couldn’t help but break it. “why do you like flowers so much? i can’t help but notice how many you have in your living room alone.”

his words elicited a gorgeous smile from you, and you then went on to explain why you held them so dearly to your heart. “there is just something so beautiful about a flower. they start from a simple seed, then grow into something amazing. i know that probably sounds dumb and i might sound insane, but i just love the whole ideology of it.

“that isn’t dumb, and you most definitely don’t sound insane.” dean had placed his flowers on the ground, slowly reaching out to grab your hand. “in my life, i have to look for the good things at any chance i can find. it’s sometimes nice to have a flower grow out of a bad situation.”

his words brought a soft smile to your lips, and you squeezed his hand before going back to your weaving. “you know, i didn’t expect you to go so philosophical on me there winchester.”

dean grinned back, grabbing his flowers again and following your motions. “well, i’m just full of surprises, flower.”

after that, you and dean spent so much time together. and when dean finally got the courage to kiss you for the first time, it was like everything was more clear to him.

he understood sam’s leaving, and he even tried to reach out to him. he started coming into his own, becoming his own person and even fighting back to his father when he called you a temporary distraction.

that was all years ago. and now, as dean laid beside you, checking his phone to see if sam texted him about any cases, he couldn’t help but silently thank you for all that you’ve done for him.

with a kiss on your cheek, and a mumbled, “i love you, flower,” dean peacefully fell back asleep with you in his arms, completing him in ways he never knew he needed.

[birdaquarius]

What's So Special About Them?

Summary: Ekko has always been the steady presence in your life but lately, he’s been distant and irritable, retreating into himself whenever you talk to someone else. What you don’t realize is that Ekko’s consumed by jealousy, quietly fuming every time someone flirts with you or makes you laugh—terrified that one day, you’ll see them the way he sees you.

One night, after drowning his frustrations in alcohol, Ekko finally confesses how he feels.

Currently taking requests!

Word Count: 5k.

Pairings: Ekko/Female Reader.

Warnings: None.

The first time you notice Ekko's jealousy, it’s fleeting. Barely there. A twitch of his jaw, the way he pulls his hoodie tighter as if to disappear into its folds. You think nothing of it—after all, why would he be jealous?

You’re sitting at the Last Drop, balancing on one of the bar stools while chatting with someone from the Firelights. A scout, maybe. Or just a guy who’d wandered into the bar looking for a break from Zaun’s chaos. He laughs at something you say, a low, warm sound that ekes out of him like he’s genuinely having a good time.

And then there’s Ekko, lingering in the corner like a storm cloud.

You catch his gaze just once. His brown eyes glint under the dim neon lighting, narrowed slightly, before he looks away. His jaw tenses again.

You wonder if something’s wrong, but by the time you think to ask, he’s already disappeared.

It happens again. And again.

Every time you chat with someone—anyone—it’s like Ekko vanishes into thin air, leaving only the faintest traces of irritation behind.

You don’t understand it at first. Ekko has always been someone you could rely on. Whether it’s planning heists, scouting terrain, or even just sitting on rooftops and watching Zaun glow in its broken brilliance, he’s there. Steady. Confident.

But lately, he’s been… distant. Quiet.

Or maybe not quiet, because he’s still Ekko. But there’s something in the way he cuts off conversations mid-sentence, mutters excuses to leave, or avoids your gaze when you call his name.

It’s a slow realization.

You notice it in the way his eyes linger too long when you laugh at someone else’s joke. The way his shoulders hunch when one of the Firelights leans a little too close to you, like he’s trying to fold in on himself. The way his hands curl into fists when someone compliments you, openly and brazenly, as though it’s their right to do so.

You don’t know why it hurts to see him like this.

Maybe it’s because you care about him. Because no matter how many people flirt with you, no matter how many guys or girls try to catch your attention, you always end up looking for him. His crooked grin. His warm, infectious laugh. His sharp, clever mind that always seems one step ahead of everyone else.

He doesn’t see it, though. Doesn’t see the way your gaze lingers on him when he’s not looking.

The night it all comes to a head, Ekko’s a mess.

He’s drunk—not entirely gone, but drunk enough that his words slur and his steps falter as he stumbles into the room. You’re alone, tucked into a corner of the Firelight base with a book in your lap. The sound of him nearly knocking over a table draws your attention.

“Ekko?” you call out, setting the book aside.

“Don’t,” he mutters, waving a hand as if to shoo you away. “Don’t start.”

You blink, confused. “Start what?”

He stumbles toward the couch across from you, dropping into it with a heavy thud. The bottle in his hand—half-empty and likely stolen from one of the scavenger runs—clinks against the metal armrest.

“Y’know,” he says, gesturing vaguely. “The thing. Where you… talk to me. Like everything’s fine.”

His words sting more than you expect them to.

“Ekko, what’s going on?” you ask, softer this time. You lean forward, searching his face for answers.

He doesn’t look at you. Instead, he takes another swig from the bottle, grimacing as the alcohol burns its way down.

“I’m fine,” he mutters.

“No, you’re not.”

“Why do you care?” he snaps, his voice sharper than you’ve ever heard it.

You recoil slightly, taken aback. Ekko’s never spoken to you like that before.

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “That was… I didn’t mean that.”

You wait, giving him space to continue.

“It’s just—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

“Ekko.”

The way you say his name—gentle, firm, unyielding—makes him finally meet your gaze. For a moment, he looks like he wants to run, to disappear like he always does when things get too close, too raw.

But something stops him. Maybe it’s the way you’re looking at him, like you won’t let him hide this time.

“It’s stupid,” he mutters, leaning back against the couch.

“Let me decide that.”

He hesitates, swirling the liquid in the bottle absently. “I hate it,” he says finally. “I hate seeing you with them.”

“Who?”

“Them.” His voice is sharper now, tinged with frustration. “Every guy who looks at you like you’re—like you’re the only thing worth looking at. Every guy who makes you laugh, or smile, or—” He breaks off, exhaling harshly. “I hate it. Because they’re not me.”

The confession leaves you stunned, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Ekko…”

“I know, okay?” he says, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I know it’s dumb. I know I don’t have any right to feel this way. But I do. And it’s killing me.”

He looks at you then, his golden eyes filled with a vulnerability you’ve never seen before.

“They don’t see you like I do,” he says quietly. “They don’t know you like I do. And it scares me—scares me that one day, you’ll look at one of them the way I look at you.”

You feel your breath catch, the weight of his words sinking into you.

“Ekko,” you say softly, leaning forward. “You’re the one I look for.”

His eyes widen slightly, like he doesn’t believe what he’s hearing.

“What?”

“You’re the one I look for,” you repeat, your voice steady. “It doesn’t matter who I’m talking to or laughing with or whatever. You’re the one I care about. You always have been.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, like he’s trying to process your words.

And then, before you can say anything else, he leans forward and kisses you.

It’s sudden, urgent, like he’s been holding back for far too long. His lips are warm against yours, tasting faintly of alcohol and desperation.

You kiss him back, your hands tangling in his hoodie as you pull him closer. The world around you fades, leaving only the heat of his mouth, the press of his body, the sound of his breath mingling with yours.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“I mean it,” you whisper. “It’s always been you.”

He smiles then—a real, genuine smile that lights up his entire face.

“Good,” he says softly. “Because I don’t think I could let you go.”

The rest of the night is a blur of whispered confessions, stolen kisses, and the quiet certainty that no matter what, you’ll always find your way back to each other.

Because for all his doubts and fears, Ekko is yours. And you are his.

[siena-sevenwits]

Goodness of the day:

Insomnia was terrible last night, but I did have the joy of finally letting myself get up in the middle of the night to drink herbal tea just before three o'clock, and read Mimus by Lilli Thal. Not the cheerfulest book to read in sleepless night, but I felt comforted in that I, at least, was not a captured and mocked prince forced to become a jester's apprentice.

My mom and I had a great time carpooling. We gabbed and went out for pasta after my school day and end-of-day stuff were done.

Two of my middle schoolers brought me a cupcake, because it was leftover from a bake sale.

Final day of auditions for "Twelfth Night," which is always fun because the kids who sign up for the last slot are, with no exceptions, absolutely incredible or really audacious in their lack of preparation. (Seriously - two upper high school boys came to me an hour before their audition, an audition they signed up for in September, an audition on the very last day, and tried to tell me they deserved an extension because they were sick last week so they couldn't begin learning their lines. .... Sorry, guys. I would have had mercy on you if you'd emailed me even yesterday.) Now that I've seen everyone, I can begin the casting process (I never, ever pre-cast, even mentally - my brain just doesn't go there.)

I told my tiny niece I loved her. She said, "I love you," back. !!!!!!!!

I think I now have the courage to start drawing scenes I really love, instead of avoiding them because I can't do them justice. I can't, but apparently I don't need to and the process is fun enough on its own.