#trying to limit myself to an hour for each face

[sazand0ra]

started doing a 100 faces challenge!! here are the first 4....

[alohajix]

𝐍𝐨 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬… 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭?

Description: it was supposed to be one night—just sex, no feelings, no consequences. But the second Harry touched me, I knew I was lying. He’s my brother’s best friend. Off-limits. Dangerous. But he fucks me like he owns me, whispers things I’m not supposed to hear, and looks at me like I’m already his.

We said no strings. But we’re tangled in every way that matters.

Warnings: explicit sex, unprotected sex, brother’s best friend, possessiveness, praise, jealousy, choking, roughness, creampie, soft dom!Harry, emotional tension, and getting very caught. Readers +18.

Words count: TBK.

[A/N]: I'm so happy you all seemed to enjoy Part One as much as I did—it genuinely means a lot to me! Part Two is out now! If you like this one, please let me know in the comments babes.

@likea-silhouette this is for you, thanks for your support and your dm on this one ��

*****

PART TWO — It’s Just Sex

Description: We said it was no strings. But Harry’s touch still lingers long after he’s gone. We can’t stop. We don’t want to stop. But pretending it doesn’t mean anything? That’s getting harder—especially when he gets jealous, when I get reckless, and when we both forget how to breathe unless we’re under each other. We’re tangled, addicted, and dangerously close to falling.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, hair pulling, chocking, spanking, jealousy and possessiveness, praise kink, creampie & secret relationship. Readers +18.

Word: 6K

*****

TWO WEEKS LATER.

It was getting hard to lie. Not to myself. To everyone else. Like when my brother asked why I suddenly started going for daily walks in the middle of the night, or why I couldn’t look him in the eye when he mentioned Harry’s name. Or when I showed up to breakfast with fresh hickeys and claimed they were “just mosquito bites.”

The truth was, we couldn’t stop. After that first day, Harry and I hooked up again. And again. Then four more times. Then every time we were alone. It was supposed to be no strings. But it was getting tangled. Fast. Especially now—at the kitchen counter, pretending I wasn’t dying to drag him into the hallway and fuck him against the wall.

“You good?” my brother asked, pouring cereal like it wasn’t taking everything in me not to stare at the man sitting across from him.

“Yep,” I said, a little too quickly. Harry smirked behind his coffee mug. Dick.

He hadn’t touched me since he got here. Not even a glance that lingered. But his hand had brushed mine under the table once, and I felt it everywhere. My thighs were still sore from the night before. My stomach still fluttered when I remembered what he whispered when he came inside me. You’re mine even if you won’t say it.

Now I was trying to act normal while the guy who’d had his face between my legs less than twelve hours ago sat five feet away talking football with my brother.

“I’ve gotta head to the gym,” my brother said, checking his phone. “You guys good here?”

“Fine,” I said. Too fast again.

He narrowed his eyes but said nothing, grabbing his keys. The second the door shut behind him, the tension snapped. I didn’t even get a word out before Harry pushed back his chair and stalked toward me, slow and deliberate.

“You really gonna pretend you weren’t texting someone under the table?” he murmured, voice low, rough.

I blinked. “What?”

“You smiled at your phone like someone made you blush.”

“You’re literally the only one who makes me blush.”

He stepped between my legs, crowding me against the counter. “Prove it.”

I tilted my chin. “Jealous?”

He laughed, humorless. “Don’t push me.”

“Or what?”

And just like that, his hand slid into my hair and tugged my head back—not rough, but firm. His other hand slid between my legs under my shorts and found me wet.

“Christ. You’re soaked,” he growled. “You like knowing I’m pissed, don’t you?”

“I like when you fuck me like this,” I whispered.

His lips crashed into mine, and he lifted me onto the counter with one strong tug, yanking my shorts down, not even bothering with my shirt. He shoved his sweatpants just low enough to free himself.

“No prep?” I panted against his mouth.

“You’re already ready.” He wasn’t wrong.

He dragged the tip of his cock through my slick folds, nudged inside, and bottomed out in one smooth thrust. I cried out—head falling back, hands flying to his shoulders.

“Look at me,” he ordered, voice like gravel. “Wanna see your face when I remind you who this pussy belongs to.” I moaned, clenching around him as he started to move—deep, rough, punishing thrusts that made the cabinets shake. “You’re mine,” he said, again and again, voice tightening with each thrust. “Mine. Fucking mine.”

I was so close. So close. Nails digging into his arms, breath catching— Then he stopped.

My eyes flew open. “What—?”

He pulled out, tugged me off the counter, and turned me around, bending me over the cool granite. My shirt bunched up around my waist.

“Wanna see your ass bounce when I fuck you,” he muttered.

And he did. He slammed back inside, grabbing my hips with both hands, setting a filthy, relentless pace. I was a mess—moaning, whimpering, drooling onto the counter as he pounded into me like he’d lost control. I came so hard I saw white. My knees gave out, and he caught me, still deep inside, holding me there until he finished with a groan that echoed through the kitchen.

Silence followed. Heavy. Breathless. Then he pulled me against his chest, pressing a kiss to the back of my neck.

“I don’t want anyone else touching you,” he said softly. “I don’t even like the idea of it.”

I swallowed hard, still trembling. “It’s not just sex, is it?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then he whispered, “No. It never was.”

HARRY

I wasn’t supposed to stay. The plan was to fuck her, clean up, and leave before I did something stupid—like pull her into my arms and kiss her until the world stopped spinning. But the second I saw her face after she came—eyes glassy, lips parted, skin flushed—I knew I was fucked. This wasn’t just sex. It hadn’t been for a while.

I told myself I was doing her a favor. Giving her a safe place to fall after that asshole ripped her apart. But then I started texting her for no reason. Started dropping by when I knew her brother wouldn’t be home. Started sleeping better when she was in my bed. And today? Today nearly broke me.

Because the second I saw her smile at her phone, I wanted to smash it. I wanted to fuck the name out of her mouth—whoever it was.

I’d never been that guy. The jealous one. The one who needed to leave marks just to feel sane. But with her? With her, I wanted it all. I wanted to ruin her for anyone else.

Later that night, I was back in my apartment, alone, sitting on the edge of my bed with her scent still on my skin and my cock still aching for her again. I told myself not to text her. So of course, I did.

HARRY:

You asleep?

I stared at the screen like a man possessed. She didn’t answer right away. I should’ve taken the hint. But then—

HER:

No. Can’t sleep. Still thinking about earlier.

HARRY:

Me too.

Still hard, if you want the truth.

HER:

What would you be doing if I was there right now?

My jaw clenched. I could’ve said anything. But I didn’t want to flirt. I wanted her wrecked.

HARRY:

I’d lay you on your stomach and push your face into the mattress.

Spread you open. Slide in slow. Hold your hips and fuck you until you cried.

No talking. Just moaning. Just taking it.

HER:

Fuck.

HARRY:

Still want casual?

She didn’t answer. For two minutes, the dots blinked. Then disappeared. Blinked again. Then nothing. I threw my phone across the bed. Because I already knew. We were both lying.

I tried to sleep. Tried to ignore the silence in my apartment, the smell of her on my sheets, the ache in my cock that hadn’t let up since I left her earlier. But the second those typing dots disappeared, I knew I wasn’t staying away. I was already grabbing my keys.

I didn’t knock. Didn’t text. Didn’t even hesitate.

Her bedroom window was cracked, and the front door was never locked when her brother wasn’t home. I let myself in like I fucking belonged there. And when I saw her—sitting on her bed in one of my shirts, phone still in hand, looking up at me like she’d been waiting—I broke.

“You didn’t answer me,” I said, my voice low, dangerous.

She swallowed. “I didn’t know how.”

“Then let me show you.”

I crossed the room in three strides and crashed my mouth into hers, gripping her jaw with one hand, the other already sliding up her bare thigh. She moaned into my mouth, fingers clawing at my hoodie.

“You want casual?” I whispered against her lips. “Then why do you smell like me? Sleep in my shirt?” She didn’t answer. “Exactly.”

I flipped her onto her stomach, yanked her hips up, and dragged her panties down with one sharp pull. No foreplay this time. I wanted her desperate. I wanted her ruined.

“You were wet when I walked in, weren’t you?” I muttered, stroking the head of my cock between her folds. “Been waiting for me.”

“Harry—”

“Say it.”

“Yes,” she gasped. “I was thinking about your texts—about you—”

That was all I needed. I pushed into her in one smooth, brutal thrust, and her back arched like I’d electrocuted her.

“Fuck—yes—don’t stop—”

Her moans were ragged, helpless. She was clenching around me, taking every inch like she was made for it.

“Look at you,” I growled, bending over her back. “Letting me in whenever I want. Letting me fuck you like this. You think this is still just sex?”

“I don’t know—fuck—Harry—please—”

“I’ll tell you what it is.” I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, just enough to murmur in her ear. “It’s me owning you.”

I fucked her harder—deeper—until the bed creaked and her cries filled the room. Until she was trembling, gasping, legs shaking as I pushed her closer and closer.

“Come for me,” I ordered. “Right now. I want to feel it.”

She shattered around me with a scream, clenching so tight I almost lost it right then and there. But I wasn’t done.

I pulled out, flipped her onto her back, and pushed in again—eyes locked on hers now, not letting her look away.

“I don’t want anyone else touching you,” I said between thrusts. “I don’t want to fuck anyone else. I don’t even want to think about you with someone else.”

She grabbed my face and kissed me hard—fierce, filthy, messy.

“Then don’t,” she whispered. “You already have me.”

I came with a groan, spilling deep inside her, hips jerking as she held me close—her legs wrapped around my waist, her lips pressed to my jaw. We stayed like that, panting, trembling, locked together in silence. It wasn’t casual. Not anymore. And we both fucking knew it.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

My legs were still shaking. I was flat on my back, skin sticky with sweat and sex, chest rising and falling like I’d run a marathon. Harry was still inside me, softening slowly, his forehead resting against mine like he didn’t want to move. Neither did I.

The room was warm and quiet, except for the sound of our breathing and the low hum of my thoughts spinning too fast to hold onto. That wasn’t just sex. Not even close. It felt like something had shifted—like we’d crossed a line we couldn’t uncross. I let him in. Fully. Completely. I let him fuck me like he owned me, and worse, I let myself love it. I was falling.

He hadn’t said it. Not directly. But his eyes had.

I reached up, brushing a sweaty curl from his forehead, and whispered, “Harry…”

He pulled back just enough to look at me, thumb tracing my cheekbone. His mouth opened like he was about to say something—

Click. The front door. I froze. So did he. A voice followed.

“Yo! You home?” My brother. My blood turned to ice.

Harry scrambled out of me, both of us moving in a blur. I flung the comforter over myself as he stumbled around the room, yanking his hoodie on backwards, one sock missing, jeans halfway up, panic written all over his face.

“You didn’t tell me he was coming back tonight!” he whisper-yelled, dragging his fingers through his hair.

“He wasn’t! He said Sunday—shit—hide!”

“Where?!”

“I don’t know—the closet?!”

He dove for it without another word, slamming the door shut behind him just as I threw on the first oversized shirt I could find and sprinted into the hallway, heart racing. My brother appeared in the kitchen, duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hey,” I said, voice a full octave too high. “You’re back early.”

“Yeah—flights got switched. Figured I’d crash here tonight. You okay?”

“Me? Totally. Fine. Just… tired.”

He gave me a weird look, then opened the fridge. “You’re flushed.”

“I was, uh, working out.”

“At midnight?”

“Yeah. Night yoga.”

He raised a brow. “Since when do you do yoga?”

“Since… now.”

There was a crash from my bedroom. A loud thud.

My brother froze. “What was that?”

“Cat.”

“We don’t have a cat.”

“…Shit.”

My brother narrowed his eyes. “You’re hiding something.”

“Nope.”

He took a step toward the hallway. “Then you won’t mind if I go check.”

“Actually, I—” Too late. He was already walking.

I spun around, heart pounding, blood roaring in my ears as I bolted ahead of him.

“I think it was the wind,” I said, planting myself in front of my bedroom door like it was a crime scene. “Window was cracked. Maybe something fell.”

He crossed his arms. “You’re acting super weird.”

“I’m not—!” Then I heard it. The softest creak of the window. My eyes widened. No. No way.

My brother’s gaze flicked toward the noise. “Is someone in there?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I forced a laugh. “Why would anyone be in—” And then Harry’s hand appeared on the outside windowsill. Fingers. Then a forearm. Then his entire upper body, halfway out my window like a very dumb, very hot burglar.

My brother stepped forward. “Is that—?”

“SHOWER!” I yelled, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the bathroom like my life depended on it. “You’ve been traveling all day. You stink. Go. Now.”

He looked confused, suspicious, mildly offended. “I don’t stink—”

“Trust me. You do.”

I shoved him inside the bathroom, turned the shower on full blast, and slammed the door. Then I sprinted back to my room, threw the door open— And found Harry standing there, breathless, shirt twisted, hair a mess, one sock on, holding my potted plant like it might make him invisible.

“I’m gonna kill you,” I whispered.

He grinned. “You love me.”

“Shut up.”

I pushed him toward the window and he climbed out with zero grace, almost knocking the screen loose on the way down. I peeked out after him, watching as he jumped the small fence and landed behind the trash bins, blowing me a kiss before disappearing into the dark. I shut the window, locked it, leaned my forehead against the glass—and laughed. Quietly. Breathlessly. Like someone who was in so much trouble. Because I didn’t just want him again. I needed him. And I wasn’t sure how much longer I could pretend I didn’t.

*****

@cloudyluun @gem1712 @dipmeinhoneyh @idk199o

@harrrrystylesslut @sparxx27

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

PUT IT ON THE PLASTIC. 18+

tangerine x fem!reader — smut

summary. “the more you spend, the sweeter I fuck you tonight” prompt. requested here by @burneraccountbutiactivelyuseit tangerine wants to buy something for you, but you won’t let him. his offer changes your mind

word count. 1234

warnings. 18+ only! cunnilingus, pinv sex. tan being softly dominant and assertive (aka his best traits) minors dni

made the gif myself, that’s so embarrassing. that’s also why it looks like shit

Spending money isn’t something that comes naturally to you, especially when that said money is coming from the pocket of another. 

Earlier today, you and Tangerine began the quest of shopping – his one goal in mind to treat you. But as the hours pass and the list of available stores grows shorter, your hands are yet to be filled with luxury bags. 

You just didn’t want to spend his money, despite his persistent offerings.

“What about this one?” Tangerine asks from your right, nodding to the fancy shop up ahead. He was clearly exhausted from battling you and being on his feet all day, but he never let that show. He was too busy trying to get you to buy something. “Looks nice in there, no?”

“I don’t know,” you turn to look at him, face contorting in uncertainty. “I’m fine just getting a pretzel and going home.”

He shakes his head sternly. “That ain’t happening,” his palm slips from the small of your back and into your hand, his slight grip steering you into the luxury, high end store. “Let’s just have a little browse around, hm?”

This particular department store was far beyond the others you had stepped inside today – four internal floors filled with bedding, clothes, makeup, you name it. It had everything and it made those other rich, fancy shops look like shit.

“Right, where we going?” he asks, leading you towards the escalator – stepping on first, hand held tight onto yours as he helps you on. He steps down one so he’s behind to your side, his knee bending by yours like he was enclosing you – keeping you safe. “What do you fancy?

That same question he’s asked copious times today – what did you want?

You take a moment, trying to think of the cheapest thing you could buy to get him off your back. The thought of kitchen utensils coming to mind.

“We need a new spatula,” you suggest, looking over your shoulder to him.

“That’s need. Not want. That’s not the same,” he shakes his head at you. “What about some new shoes? A bag?”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“That’s a lie.”

You reach the next floor, and each of you step off – this floor just as extravagant as the one below, maybe even more so. 

He had been hounding you all day to buy something, that by now you were so fed up with shopping. And so, to put yourselves out of the inevitable misery, you guide him over to the rails of clothing and pick out the first thing you see. 

“I want this,” you lie, holding up a skirt that’s far from what you’d usually wear.

His head cocks to the side, eyes narrowing at you for a brief moment before they follow his hands – reaching into his pocket. He pulls out his wallet and steps closer to you, closing the distance. 

“Got a proposition,” he starts, and places his bank card below your chin – hooking it under to lift your face, making you look at him. “The more you spend,” he pauses, leaning in closer to speak against your lips. “The sweeter I fuck you when we get back.”

Your breath hitches at the thought, a small almost gasp muffling into his mouth.

“That’s right,” he smiles ever so faintly against you. He pulls back and picks up your hand, placing his card in the centre of it – wrapping your fingers over the piece of plastic. “What’s mine is yours. Now, knock yourself out, love.”

Before long, you had made up for the whole day of missed purchases, maxing out the transaction limit at the checkout. Filling your hands with bags like he so desperately wanted at the beginning – though, you weren’t allowed to carry them. That was his job.

You held up your end of the deal, now it was his turn.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Tangerine had you flat on the bed, your knees spread wide to accustom his broad shoulders. His face slotted between the inners of your thighs, tongue lapping leisurely at your cunt as if to prep you further for what's to come. 

He had been at it a while, making out with your pussy, kissing and loving on you in the way you deserved after your long, laborious day of shopping. 

The utter messy, wet state he had made of you purely from his mouth was all evidence of his care. All proof of his attentive nature.

He pulls away from between your thighs, his moustache and chin slick with everything he’s coaxed from you within your multiple orgasms. Placing a final kiss to your clit, he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and sits – adjusting on his knees between your legs.

Thick, large hand reaches into his boxers – his palm wrapping tight around his cock as he pulls it out over the waistband. He gives himself a few precautionary pumps, being careful not to blow his load there and then. Lining his dick with you, he swirls his head around your entrance, circling over your already sensitive cunt. 

He rests the heavy weight of his cock against you as he moves position, leaning over your bare body below, hovering over you in the way you always liked.

“Picked out a lot today,” he whispers to your ear, speaking low and hushed as he guides himself into you – using the tip as a plug almost, letting you accommodate him. “Weren’t so hard now, was it?” he teases, pressing a kiss to the patch of skin below the lobe.

“Thank you,” you murmur, voice wavering –nearing on straining– when he sinks further into you, the feel of him literally knocking the air from your lungs. You loosely wrap your legs around his lower back, ankles hooking at his sides as you tuck your face into the crook of his neck. “For today,” you add, words muffling into his skin. “I really appreciate it.”

He knew you were. You were always so grateful for anything he did for you. Maybe that’s why he loved doing things for you, loved taking care of you – it was always clear of how much it meant. 

“I know,” he hums, littering the length of your neck in soft, fluttery kisses. “You deserve it.”

And as those gentle, loving words leave his lips, he forcefully sinks the rest of himself into you – snatching a deep, breathy moan from the pits of your stomach. Like the act was so juxtaposing to his prior tender confession, that it almost undid his kind words.

He parts from the warmth of your neck, in which you do the same – mirroring his movements. Straightening his neck, he looks down at you below, watching those pretty, tiny microexpressions form across your features: knitted brows, soft eyes, parted lips. All of it ever so truly beautiful.

He bucks his hips experimentally, fucking into you for a brief, rough stroke, and when he sees that face, your face – he knew that’s what you wanted. But he doesn’t give it to you like that just yet, he’d never last. 

So for now, he keeps that same steady pace, cock slowly sliding in and out of you, his face mere inches from yours as if to close any distance. Swallowing each other’s moans and sounds, his hand clasped tightly to the side of your face – keeping you there to never part from your gaze.

so not okay I want him so bad

[just-some-random-blogger]

Seeing Green

Gwayne had enough of you and declared he would not be accompanying you on your travels to the town ever again. How glad you were to know Harwin would in his stead.

bodyguard!Gwayne Hightower x Lannister!Reader x Harwin Strong | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, enemies to lovers, forced proximity ig, im just a girl!reader, angst?, jealousy, typos, etc.

A/N: this is a p2 to seeing red but you dont have to read it to understand whats happening. I have made a next part!

Tagging: @lancedoncrimsonwings @targs-on-zorses @barbieaemond @arabellasleopardcoat

"GWAYNE!" I stick my head out of the carriage window. I scoff as I watch the armored man walk off, "you can not be serious!"

"Serious?!" he snaps, turning back to me with a raised brow and a tense jaw. He rubs his lips as he storms back towards me. His glare is so grave that I actually lean back into my seat and clench my skirt.

Gwayne stomps his foot on one of the steps up the carriage. A line forms between his brows, "you have WORN me!"

I grow tense as flails his hand around.

"I have done nothing but exact your cumbersome and frivolous commands with patience!" He snaps, "and now that I've met my limit yet you have the gall to ask me if I am being serious!?!"

Gwayne's eyes are wide and clearer than the skies. His pointed stare is piercing and I cannot deflect it as he speaks to me of my unreasonableness. Admittedly, my requests were some meant to annoy him, but I did not expect him to act so acridly. I mean, surely he was accustomed to it by now. Was I truly becoming too much to bear for him?

His face is flushed with rage. I stare at him, unable to speak, for in truth I did not know how to meet his apparently genuine frustration.

"Oh," he scoffs, chuckles bubbling out his throat, "she does not speak, for there is nothing else true to say." He grips the carriage door, "what? Have you realized you do work me worse than your own employed servants? That you ask of me more than what I am required of?"

"But it is my right!" I pipe up, though my voice is still small, "you must accompany me wherever I so wander."

Gwayne's jaw feathers, "I am tasked to protect you from peril and to prevent you from doing the unwise," he steps back, "not to carry your clothes and hang them in your wardrobes!"

I stare at him, dread building in my stomach.

"What?!" he quips, "do you truly not see the brunt of my frustrations?"

"... I do not think it unreasonable to-" I gaps when he closes the door with unnecessary force before storming away.

In truth, the gesture was harsher than it needed to be and bothers me more than it should. There is a tightness to my chest as I slowly open the door and watch the man so readily forsake me. Against myself, my eyes begin to prick with tears.

"Gw-" I shut my mouth at the sound of my voice breaking. I chew my lower lip and take deep breaths to calm myself.

I did not mean to make him cross— not like that. I feel my throat tighten as I replay what just happened. Guilt eats at me more each second and soon salt cascades down my cheeks. I sit there until the coachman knocks and asks if we should away. I dismiss him and tell him I will stay here for a little while.

I don't. It feels like an hour passed of me trying not to cry, crying, and calming myself. I start when someone knocks on my carriage door.

"My Lady Lannister?" a deep voice speaks, making me wipe my face in a panic.

I try to stifle my sniffle and use my skirt to dry my tears.

"Tis Ser Harwin Strong. You cannot leave your carriage here."

I clear my throat, but my voice still betrays me with a crack, "ap-ologies. I will have it m-" but my coachman is not here. I sigh and stare at my lap. My lips wobble as helplessness creeps up on me.

A prolonged moment of silence ensues before the man outside speaks again, "my lady... are you well?"

I huff and concede to simply opening the door.

I wipe my philtrum on my sleeve and feel twice as dreadful as I see the dark haired and bearded man outside my carriage. He is a beauty. His blue eyes narrow in concern, "my lady."

I shake my head and gather my skirts.

He instinctively reaches out a hand to me and assists me as I exit my ride. Once I am stood before him, I realize just how tall and broad he is. His brows tighten as he releases my hand. I offer him a smile, "I beg your pardon for the inconvenience. I do not have anyone to move the carriage."

Ser Harwin shakes his head, "one of the stable boys can move it." He turns over his shoulder and hollers for someone to do just that. A boy approaches us, nodding politely before climbing up the driver's seat to do what was instructed of him.

My stomach rolls when the towering man looks back at me. His demeanor is starkly juxtaposed to his stature. He ghosts a hand on my shoulder and raises an arm. He leads me off to the side and speaks softly, "is there anything I can assist you with, my lady?"

I shake my head, "I am well."

He nods and clutches his hands once we find ourselves standing just by the entrance of the Keep, "forgive me, but as a guard of the City Watch, it is my duty to uphold justice. I cannot stand idle in the face of trickery."

My brows quirk at his words. I tilt my head, "do you call me a liar, ser?"

"Yes," he answers simply.

My lips part as his brazen admission.

"True, it is not uncommon for one to weep with joy, but I recognize the distress laid upon your brow," he shakes his head, "would it not be simpler for you to say you require nothing of me than to pretend you are well?"

His words make me choke. I feel my eyes begin to fog with tears.

Ser Harwin's face falls. He raises his hands, "forgive me. I only meant-"

"No," I mumble, "you are right. I injure myself! I speak before I think and create inconveniences for entertainment." I scratch my tears away before they can fall. I look up to the man, feeling dread bite at me. I resist my instinct to slip further into my emotions and try to speak as evenly as possible, "the truth is... I had a... disagreement with my ward... we always get into disagreements, but... this time it was visceral."

The man shifts on his leg, "might I ask what the disagreement was over?"

"He says I work him like a dog, that I ask much more than what he ought to do," I sniffle, "and... perhaps it is true," I evade his gaze by turning to the sky. My lips quiver, "but I did not realize my presence was so heavily insufferable." I look back at him, "I am easy on the eyes, am I not?"

The man chuckles softly, "your features are quite comely indeed, Lady Lannister."

I nod once, "that is the only correct response, ser."

A rich chuckle fills the space between us. He hums and raises a hand, "have you expressed your orders were mere reasons to keep his company?"

My expression drops at his words. I laugh but it goes dry when I realize he spoke no jest. "Ser, my ward is Gwayne Hightower. He loathes me just as I loathe him."

"And do you normally weep for your enemies?" he tilts his head.

"I weep because he regards me so cruelly!" I snap in defense, "it is most twisted for one as he to raise his voice and show aggression to one such as I!"

Ser Harwin sighs.

I wipe my philtrum, feeling my body tremble with a mix of emotions.

"What was this errand you needed to be chaperoned to?"

I gulp as I bring my hands to my hips. I debate the sincerity of his words and decide he does not have the face of a man who would use my words against me. I huff, "the tailor's. I was to have a new dress made for me for-"

His brows quirk at my abrupt halt.

I feel blood rush up my neck, but I decide to ignore it and speak with as much scorn as I could muster, "Gwayne's nameday celebration."

I observe him carefully, ready to pounce and pound him if he so wishes to berate me for the honest admission. In truth, I am taken aback by the curtness of his reply. He nods and offers me an arm, "if it pleases you, I can accompany you to the tailor myself. I have finished my patrol and have nothing better to do."

My eyes dart from the curls framing his face to his meaty arm. My lips part as I find the words to say, "would you... rather not rest for the day?"

"My honor would not allow me after beholding a lady in her distress."

I stare at his arm for a few seconds and cautiously take it.

A good while passed until Gwayne returned to the stables to find his irritating lady. When he sees the Lannister carriage parked, he sighs and marches over, preparing himself to meet the rage of the woman that was still sitting inside in protest.

"Will you sleep-" he starts but stops when he opens the door to nothing. He raises a brow and closes the door. His attention falls on the passing servant, "you. Where is the lady of this carriage?"

The man looks at him then the carriage.

"Lady Lannister," Gwayne clarrifies.

He perks in recognition, "the lady Lannister and ser Strong headed to the tailor on horseback."

"On horseback," the knight scoffs in disbelief, "Lady Lannister?" his voice fades into a laugh. And he so enjoys himself laughing for a moment before sighing, "why, I applaud the good ser for his powers of persuasion."

Upon realizing that he no longer needed to be here, Gwayne grins and nods at him, "thank you my good man. Your news has made my day."

With that he walks off and heads to his quarters.

The next day, Gwayne has a spring to his step as he heads down the hall.

I am in the middle of having my hair fixed when I hear a knock on my door. I look at the reflection from the mirror before me, "come in."

I behold Gwayne and his grin as he struts towards my bed. He leaps into it, landing on his chest. He instructs one of my servants to get him a cup of wine. Each of these things would normally be cause to chew him up; all of these combined would make me unleash upon him the wrath due to his impertinence, and yet, I find myself uncaring of his blatant misbehavior. I merely instruct my servant to fetch the sapphire necklace that match my velvet dress and sit tight by my vanity.

Gwayne takes the wine that is served to him and sips before speaking out, "I hear Lord Harwin Strong was he who accompanied you to town yesterday."

I ignore him in lieu of twirling the baby hairs by my ears.

"And on horseback, no less," he takes another sip, "how ever did he get you to ride a horse by yourself?"

"I didn't," I turn to my servant who returns with my jewels, "we rode on the same horse."

Gwayne stills. He scrunches his face at the cup in his hand then looks at me, "what?"

I smile at myself on the mirror as the necklaces is clasped around my neck. I adjust the blue stone that sparkled between my collarbones and admire the look of it.

He sits up from the bed, careful not to spill his drink, "you rode the same horse?"

"Of course we rode the same horse," I roll my eyes, "he is not a fool who expects me to enjoy such sport."

The red haired man raises his brows. He waits for me to expound further, but finds I am distracted by my reflection. He scoffs, sipping again more before saying, "I pity the steed."

I grin at myself, pleased with my image.

"I pity the steed," he repeats, "that had to carry a knight, a brat, and her hundred dresses."

My eyes dart to him. He is already looking at me from the mirror. "He did not ride with me on the way back. He is not cruel like you."

"So he walked?" his forehead curls, "and on the way back, no less." He scoffs once more before drinking again, "well, the tailor is not that far."

I inspect my attire one last time before standing and heading to the bed. Gwayne lifts his eyes; the corner of his lips soon follow. He shifts on his spot and drinks deeply.

"You are dismissed, Hightower."

He licks his lips as his brows furrow, "what?"

I tilt my head and clasp my hands together, "you do so love making sport of me repeating myself."

Gwayne pulls his head back before standing. He lifts his nearly empty cup, "are you saying you— you have no plans for the day?" He purses his lips, "no errands you wish to force upon my being."

I clench my teeth but manage to pull a smile. Gwayne finds such endearment in the forced grins, not that he would ever admit so. I nod in agreement.

"So," he holds his cup with both hands, "I am free to do what I will for the day."

"Even more so to do it as far away from me as possible," I raise my hands before walking towards him to push him out of my room.

The man chuckles as he finishes what is left of his wine. He manages to hand the empty cup to one of the servants just before we both step out of the room. He licks his lips and tilts his head at me.

The smile that spreads on his face makes my stomach roll and I combat it with a glare, "do not wait on me. I will be promenading with a friend."

"Promenade?" he chuckles. The lines on his cheek remain as he raises his brow. He looks me once over, eyes lingering on the sapphire on my décolletage, "and pray tell, who in the Keep has merited the friendship of someone so high-nosed as you?"

"Ser Harwin Strong."

His grin falters.

I do not care to wonder why as I walk off and meet the man I named in the gardens as we had arranged.

Gwayne watches. He is left alone in the corridor. He chuckles to himself and heads off to the library to unwind. The closer he inched to his destination however, the more sour the taste in his mouth became. Before he even comes near the library, he finds himself marching off to look for gods knows what he'll find.

And it seems the gods do want him to find the source of his sourness. As he marched down one stairwell, he heard an unmistakable sound of laughter that made his ears perk. He heads to the hall and looks out the window.

There, he sees a man stood in front of a woman sat upon a bench, both of them giggling and both of them in blue. His eye twitches as the dark haired fool carelessly picks a flower from a bush and offers it to her.

Gwayne finds no relief when she does not take it, for instead it seems she instructed him to place the flower on the side of her hair.

"Ha," he scoffs, pulling away from the window, "promenade, says she? Ha!" Gwayne shakes his head as his feet take him back towards the library, "neither of them are walking. HA!"

Gwayne cannot help the way his hands clench and unclench as he storms off. He scoffs once again, "fucking Strong," the ire in his chest is molten, prickly, and painful as he adds, "fucking Lannister."

[lolxdswag123]

The Engine Room Scene

Leo Valdez x reader

Warnings: MoA spoilers, mentions of foster care, loneliness, a steamy makeout session

Author’s note: I’m actually really proud of this one so let me know what you think

———————————-———————————————

I quietly rocked back and forth on my heels, trying not to make any noise. If I let the floor creak even a decibel too loud, Coach Hedge would be out here in an instant.

I had been standing here for at least three minutes now, working up the energy to knock on my best friend’s door at this ridiculous hour. I knew he’d been feeling really down lately- something had been off since we left Camp Jupiter- even after Piper had coaxed the Eidolon out of him. I had kept myself awake all night so far, trying to figure out how I could help him.

I had originally decided to talk to him tomorrow, but my mind wouldn’t let me rest for even a second- so here I was.

Part of me wanted to just enter the room, as I had so many times before. But the other part of me wanted to turn back to my room, go to bed, and pretend that I hadn’t been standing out here for several minutes now. I decided on a third option of knocking as quietly as I could, to avoid stirring any of my other sleeping friends.

After the first knock, I took a tiny step back- listening for any movement in the room. There was none. I waited half a minute before trying again, slightly louder this time.

Still nothing.

Anyone else would’ve given up there, but I knew my best friend too well. If he’s not in his room, he’s either on the deck, working on the ship- or he’s in the engine room.

I tip toed as quietly as I could, my slippers being a soft cushion to silence the impact of my feet on the boards. I headed toward the back of the ship, and down to the lower deck to the engine room.

Before I even opened the door I could feel the vibration of the engine. It’s hum was quiet and relaxing, which gave me a feeling I was in the right place.

I slowly pushed open the door, trying to avoid any creaking. Of course with Leo’s excellent craftsmanship, the doors weren’t going to squeak anyways.

I took a soft step inside, and immediately spotted my best friend peacefully sleeping on the floor with only a pillow and blanket. It looked extremely uncomfortable.

I quietly closed the door behind me, stopping it before it clicked to limit any more noise that Hedge might hear.

I tip toed over to him, sitting down next to his sleeping figure, and reached down to run my fingers through his hair.

It wasn't unusual for us to be physically affectionate with each other. We had been best friends for almost a year now. We first met when we both ended up at the Wilderness school with Piper. The three of us had become close, but Leo and I shared a special bond. We understood each other in a way that no one had ever been able to before.

Both of us had grown up in foster care- so we never really had a permanent home. Being with Leo every day for the past year has felt more like home than I ever thought I could feel.

Things only started feeling off the past few days. With the Eidolon in Leo's head, he had fired on Camp Jupiter without knowing. He also had quite a few outbursts that left our friendship in an uncomfortable place. I knew it was just the Eidolon, but his words still stung.

Leo had never been anything but gentle and kind to me- aside from his targeted jokes every now and then- but that was how our friendship worked. When the Eidolon was possessing him he said some things about how my parents didn't care about me and that's why I ended up in foster care. He also had said something about how of course we are the only two single members of the quest because nobody cared about us.

I let the words pass over me in the moment, but part of me couldn't get the memory out of my head. And yet, I was more worried about him than I was about my own emotional wellness.

I brushed his hair out of his face, watching a sleepy smile settle onto his face at the feeling. I subconsciously started tapping Morse code on his head- the way to communicate he made me learn at the Wilderness School to talk during classes. It took a while, but I got the basics down. We hadn’t used it much since he’d gotten so busy with building the Argo ii, and we hadn’t used it at all since he’d been possessed by the Eidolon.

He stirred, and I immediately stopped tapping. I didn’t even realize until I’d stopped that I was tapping miss you.

I pulled my hand back, letting him blink his eyes open. I watched as he reached his arms up to stretch, a smirk crossing his face as he looked up at me.

“Well well well,” he said, looking up at me, “if I’d have known I’d be getting a late-night visit, I would’ve put on my good pajamas.”

I snorted at his attempt at a joke, rolling my eyes and smacking his arm gently with my hand.

His smirk widens as he rests his hands behind his head, “what can I do for ya, querida?”

I blushed lightly, breaking eye contact for a moment before saying, “I just wanted to see how you were doing…”

His smirk dropped slightly, looking uncomfortable, but his grin quickly returned as he said, “If you mean after having an evil spirit leave my body… I’d say I’m doing great, even better now that you’re here, estrella.”

I sighed, knowing his typical way of deflecting his feelings into humor. It would be hard to get around.

“Leo, I’m serious.” I prodded, “I know something’s been up lately.” I leaned back, allowing my arms to prop me up.

He scanned my face, his face becoming slightly more serious, but he didn’t let go quite yet.

“I think you’re just making up excuses to hangout with your charming best friend in the middle of the night,” he said, turning on his side to face me, resting his head on his hand and raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“Yeah, that’s it. I just was dying for some alone time with you.” I said with thick sarcasm in my voice, playing along to his game. The words were true, but that isn’t what I was here to talk about. That was a conversation for after I figured out what was going on with him.

“See, I knew it, mi amor,” he grinned, looking up at me, “come here.” He said, laying back and opening his arms.

I rolled my eyes, but obliged, moving forward until I was laying on the floor as well- our arms around each other and my head in his neck. Unfortunately the floor as uncomfortable as I anticipated. Although I hardly noticed that as I breathed in Leo’s scent. He always had a soft smell of camp fire, and I adored it. Nothing ever could make me feel so at home.

There had been many nights at the Wilderness School that Leo and I had spent comfortably laying on each other. There were even a few times we’d accidentally fallen asleep in each others dorms. It had always been purely platonic, although Piper had questioned us about it hundreds of times.

After we got to camp, we obviously weren’t allowed to sleep in the same cabin- or even lay together. And now with Coach Hedge on the look out… let’s just say I missed the times we got to spend together like this.

I took a deep breath, pushing the memories aside and bringing myself back to the present moment. I could feel Leo’s hands fiddling with the hair on the back of my neck.

“Leo?” I asked, exhaling.

“Hm?” He hummed quietly.

“Can you be honest with me?” I whispered, as I begun subconsciously tapping again on his side where my hand rested.

He was silent for a moment, still fiddling with my hair, before saying, “Of course, querida.”

I nodded, feeling the warmth of his neck against my cheek. “What’s been going on with you? I know the whole evil spirit thing was a lot… but something else has just seemed… off? You know?”

He took a deep sigh, hands moving to fiddle with something from the floor now instead of my hair. “The ‘whole evil spirit thing’ was definitely a lot…” he whispered, mocking the way I said it.

“But, I don’t really know.” He said, shifting slightly below me.

I lifted my head, looking up at him, and lightly tapping a word that I had learned very well on his side. Liar.

He shook his head, rolling his eyes at my gesture. “You just know me so well, huh?” He teased.

“Of course I do.” I nodded, now fully propping myself up to look at him. “And I know when something is off with you.”

He breaks eye contact, suddenly finding the wooden wall a lot more interesting than this conversation. “This just isn’t really what I expected… I don’t know.” He trails off.

He’s always had a hard time talking about his feelings. He didn’t open up to me about his mom until nine months into our friendship. I understood completely, but all I wanted was to help him.

The night that he finally opened up to me about her, I had helped him relax and then the words started flowing much more easily. I decided that I should do the same now.

I slowly reached my hands up to his head, bringing them to his hair and massaging gently. He leaned into my touch and closed his eyes.

“You don’t know?” I asked, not stopping my movements.

He hummed, clearly only half-paying attention now.

“It’s not what you expected?” I asked, repeating what he had just told me.

He opened his eyes slightly, gazing up at my face, but closed them again and leaned his head fully into his pillow. He gave a slight shrug, “I just feel…” he paused for a minute before continuing, “kind of like an outsider?”

I was taken aback by his words, but I didn’t show it. An outsider? And he’s saying this to the one person who gets him more than anyone?

I continued massaging his head, nodding at his words even though he couldn’t see me. “An outsider? Why?” I asked gently.

He shrugged again, and softly mumbled, “Everybody here just seems so useful to eachother. Percy and Jason have all their awesome powers. Piper literally saved me with her charm speak, Annabeth has her super smarts, you are just like all around perfect…” he trailed off, opening one eye to look at me.

I blushed, tucking my head into his neck again, but didn’t stop massaging his head.

He continued, “Hazel and Frank… actually I haven’t gotten to know them very well yet, but I bet they can do some awesome stuff too.” He finished.

The tone of his voice could’ve shattered my heart. When he finished talking, I pulled my hands away from his hair, propping myself up to get a better look at him.

“Leo?” I asked gently. He moved both of his hands behind his head again to look up at me.

“Yeah?”

“Who built this ship?” I ask.

“My cabin.” He answered.

“No Leo. Who is responsible for building this ship?” I asked again.

His eyebrows furrowed, before responding, “Me, but-“

“No.” I cut him off, “Stop that. None of us would even be here without you. You’re the most important one here. Seriously.” I said, confidently.

He let the corner of his mouth twitch into a slight smile, “Thanks, querida.”

I looked at him for a few moments, still not feeling like the air had been cleared. He wouldn’t make eye contact with me.

“Leo.” I said softly.

“Yeah?” He asked, still not meeting my eyes.

“That’s not everything, is it?” I asked, laying back down next to him and trying to catch his eyes.

He glanced over at me, before staring at the ceiling and giving his head a small shake.

“What’s going on?” I asked, reaching out a hand to rest on his arm and draw soothing shapes on it.

He pursed his lips, momentarily glancing at me again. He shook his head before speaking, “That’s not the only reason I feel like an outsider.”

I continued tracing shapes on his arm, “Then what is it?” I asked.

He gave a small chuckle, “You’re not going to let me joke my way through this one are you?”

“Never, Valdez,” I smiled through my words, shaking my head and scooting closer to him.

He finally turned his head toward me, looking into my eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again.

When he finally spoke, his voice was even softer than before. “Do you ever feel like… everyone’s got somebody and you’re just alone?”

I nod, recognizing this conversation as one we’d had before- particularly about when we were in foster care.

“You know I do.” I said gently.

“Well…” he said, rolling his head back toward the ceiling and throwing his arm over his face. “I just thought I was done feeling like that when we got to camp- and when I met you, Jason, and Piper- of course. But now that we’ve started this quest I’ve been feeling that way more than ever…” he trailed off, still covering his face with his arm.

I paused for a moment, considering his words. Could this be because of the Eidolon? Or maybe because we’re so far from all of his newfound brothers and sisters?

“Why do you think that is, Leo?” I asked, allowing my hand to rest now on his arm.

He removed his arm from his face, eyes directed toward the ceiling in silence for what felt like ages, before speaking, “…I don’t know how to explain it…” he paused again for several moments, “Like… Jason and Piper have eachother, Annabeth and Percy have eachother, Frank and Hazel don’t know it yet but they obviously are going to be together… and I just feel like… I don’t know…”

I processed his words, feeling the truth of them sink in. Almost everyone on our ship was paired off. But then again- so were we. The friendship that we shared did that for us. We had a connection between the two of us that we didn’t have with anyone else. We did all the same things as any of the other couples… we just weren’t a couple.

I start tracing my fingers along his arm again, softly saying, “Well, we have eachother.”

His eyes flickered to mine briefly, and then he fully turned on his side to finally face me, looking me directly in the eye.

I dropped my hand, feeling my heart rate pick up a little bit. I wasn’t sure why I was nervous, but it didn’t feel like a bad type of nervous.

“We have eachother.” He repeated, nodding.

“Of course.” I confirmed, nodding as well.

I watched as his eyes scanned over my face once, then again.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a q-tip and a plastic bottle cap and began fidgeting with them.

“That’s different though,” he said, now watching his hands work with the items.

“Is it really, though?” I asked, watching him fidget as well. “I mean, you’re my best friend. We tell eachother everything, and we do things like-“ I paused, gesturing between us, “this.” I finished.

He nodded slowly, not meeting my eyes.

“I mean how different is that really from what they have?” I asked, shifting onto my back so I could stare at the ceiling.

He paused his fidgeting, returning the items to his pocket. He took a deep breath in, exhaling slowly. I was familiar with this look on his face. It meant he was deep in thought. It was the same look that he had when he’d be working in bunker 9.

I studied his face, reaching a hand out to gently rest on his cheek. He leaned into my hand, pressing a quick kiss to it before meeting my eyes again.

“You really are something special, you know that?” He whispered, glancing behind me at the cracked door.

I blushed, shaking my head slightly, “You are, Leo.” I said, scooting closer to him.

I could feel his breath on my face, and he glanced again to the cracked door.

I turned my head to see what he was looking at. “Everything okay?” I asked, “Did you hear something?”

When he didn’t answer, I turned my face to look back at him. He was now inches from me, looking intently into my eyes, and I swear I could see his eyes flicker to my lips for just a millisecond. He shook his head, looking back into my eyes.

A swarm of butterflies filled my stomach, and I could feel my face getting hot, but I stared back at him.

“Want me to close it?” I whispered, watching his chest rise and fall with every breath he took.

He nodded.

I sat up, pushing the door closed as quietly as I could with my foot. It shut with a quiet click, and I paused for a moment, listening to ensure that no one else had stirred from the sound.

When I was sure that no one had woken up, I turned back around, laying next to him again. His gaze was heavy on my face, and this time I was sure I caught his eyes flicker to my lips for a second.

Neither of us moved, just scanning eachothers faces- and I knew mine was bright red.

After a moment I whispered, “you okay?”

He opened his mouth again, but the words didn’t find him. He shifted, reaching out his hand to rest on my cheek gently, his hand warm and comforting. Our eye contact grew even heavier, and I felt a stirring deep in my stomach.

He leaned closer, hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure what I would do. I immediately leaned in as well, closing the gap between us. We found eachothers lips in a hot, passionate kiss.

His mouth desperately moved over mine with a pent-up intensity. His hands tangled into my hair, ruffling gently to angle my face to move in sync with his. I gasped into the kiss, feeling his body against mine. The hand that wasn’t in my hair slid around my waist, his fingers pressing gently into my back as the kiss deepened, and I heard a low groan escape his throat. The sound made me feel like we were both on fire.

Each brush against each other sent shivers through my spine. I allowed my hands to move, finding his shoulders. The lean muscle was a familiar feeling beneath my fingers, but I gripped on him, bringing him even closer. I ran my hands down his back, silently encouraging him to press against me until I could feel every inch of him. His lips left mine, tracing down my jaw and grazing along my neck. I could feel waves of heat pulsing through my body. I gasped, tipping my head back as his mouth found a spot just below my ear, his lips burning against my skin.

He shifted, kicking my legs apart until his body was pressing me gently back against the wooden floor, and he was hovering over me. Both of us were breathing heavily, gazes intent on eachother as I felt his entire body against mine. He leaned down again, with more confidence this time, capturing my lips desperately. I could feel his hand shakily slipping beneath the hem of my shirt, hot fingers brushing the bare skin on my stomach.

My own hands followed his lead and roamed under his shirt, tracing the muscles along his back with my finger tips. I let out a quiet moan as he shifted his weight, pressing into me. His head dropped and his mouth returned to my neck, trailing a line of hot kisses and gentle bites that made me feel light headed. My fingers moved from his back to tangle in his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned against my skin. His hand continued moving up my side, leaving a trail of heat everywhere he touched.

As his hand traveled up, my shirt bunched up with it. His fingertips grazed my skin, and he lifted his head to look at me. “You’re so beautiful, mi amor.” He whispered, breathlessly.

He leaned in again, his lips trailing down my collarbone, pressing heated kisses against my skin as I tangled my hands in his hair again. He pressed his forehead to my collarbone, kissing all over. His hand resting on my side, and I felt the soft tapping of his fingers against my skin. He was using Morse code. He was tapping- love you. The realization sent a flood of warmth through my stomach, and I gripped his shoulders, pulling him even closer, feeling my eyes sting with pure love and happiness.

Then he shifted his weight again, his hips pressing into mine in a slow, intentional motion that left me breathless. I let out a soft gasp as I held onto his shoulders, feeling his heartbeat pounding against my own. His hands traced down my sides, his touch careful, as he pressed into me again, each movement full of longing.

We moved together, every touch and soft gasp saying what words couldn’t. His lips found mine once again, kissing more deeply, more fervent. I could almost feel his lips quirk into a smile against my lips as he took continued shifting his hips against mine. It was just us, our connection, tangled together, as everything else seemed to fade away.

The intensity slowly softened, and he cradled me in his arms, our foreheads pressed together as the room grew still. We were both panting, looking deeply into eachothers eyes and neither of us could fight the smiles overtaking our faces.

His fingers traced soothing patterns along my skin, and I reached my hand to his side. Gently tapping out the same code that he had earlier- love you.

Looking into his eyes, I could see them start to water a little bit too, as mine had before. It was just us. The two who never had a home, never had anyone who truly loved them- and now we were finding it all in each other.

The rest of the night was filled with soft whispered words, and several more gentle kisses. We were so completely wrapped up in our own little world that we didn’t even realize when we started to drift off together.

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of the door opening. I was immediately confused about where I was, until I felt his arms still wrapped around me, and smelled his soft scent of campfire. I looked up and he had a line of drool running down his chin. Adorable.

I heard someone clear their throat from behind me, and I instantly sat up, spinning around to see who it was.

My frantic movement had made Leo sit up as well, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Annabeth stood at the door, arms crossed, looking down at us with an amused look on her face.

“It’s not what it looks like-“ I began.

Annabeth cut me off, “It’s definitely what it looks like.”

I could feel my face get hot, as I turned to Leo for help- but he was just staring at her wide-eyed like a deer in headlights.

I exhaled, shaking my head, “I just wanted to make sure everything was okay after-“

She cut me off again, “The Eidolon? I won’t tell Hedge, don’t worry. Just get back to your cabin before anyone else finds you two down here.” She said, gesturing up the stairs to my cabin.

I nodded, standing up and straightening out my appearance. I glanced back down at Leo, who looked extremely relieved.

As I went to exit, Annabeth held out a hand to stop me. She glanced down at my neck, then back at my face and let out a loud laugh.

“What?” I asked.

“On second thought, go see Piper before you go back to your cabin. She has some makeup.” Annabeth said, clearly amused.

“Makeup?” I asked, confused.

“You’ll see when you get there.” She said, shaking her head and looking back down at Leo.

As I headed away to the stairs, I could hear Annabeth talking to Leo. She said something like, “I like the idea. How comfortable would you say the stables are?”

[doiliedaze]

Hold It

Warnings: reader pees on vi’s strap, cum play, piss play, overstimulation, praise, marking (r! & v! receiving), bondage (vi holds your hands above your head), mocking, vi gets pussy drunk (she would from strokes cause she can “feel it”), lip biting, reader squirts once, strap referred to as cock, spit swapping, aftercare

Genre: smut, fluff

A/N: I HAVE 302 DOLLS OMGGGG!! Thank you all so much!! I love all of you dearly and I hope y’all enjoy this as much as I did!! I’ve been thinking about vi bad and I wanted to introduce some of my more nasty kinks ig?? Intense may be a better word but none the less here y’all go!! I need this in my life ong ིྀ

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Vi’s thrust has speed up over the past hour. She prefers soft love making when it comes to you but after a stressful day she needs to let out her pent up frustrations.

From your past orgasms you can feel something building in your tummy. “Vi wait” you moan as you try to pull your hands from her grip. You two have a safe word, if you really wanted her to stop you’d use it.

“So close” she moans as she goes faster. Wanting you to feel it she adjust her free hand to pressing on your tummy. “Have to pee” you whisper feeling shame spread through your chest. That comment made her hips twitch in excitement, she’s all about pushing your limits. With the headspace she’s in it truly feels like she’s feeling you.

Vi moves her head from your neck and moves her lips across yours and whispers “hold it.”

That alone made you want to cum but you know that wouldn’t be wise. Tonight’s not a night to just do what you want.

“Pleasepleaseplease” you mutter as you feel your thighs strain. Slightly irritated vi bites your shoulder, not hard enough to drawl blood but enough to bruise. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” She groans as she moves her hand off your tummy to lift your thigh over her shoulder, lifting your hips some. “Take it. Fucking take it like the good girl you are.”

Her thrust becomes sloppy as she’s nearing her orgasm. She looks down at your face, seeing you trying to hold it for her. Vi adores how you want to please her, makes her heart race that someone loves her the way she loves them. “Let go f’me” she says shakily watching your every move.

Not taking a second later you release. Feeling the gush of the warm liquid slide out from around her cock to the bed sheets. Your eyebrows knit together with pleasure from the feeling of emptiness yet fullness. The shake in your hips makes vi let go of your hands and focus on forcing your hips into the base of her, desperate to pull your orgasm out of you. The force of her fingers indenting your hips. She knows how much you like to see yourself bruised.

“You’re so beautiful” she whispers as she pulls out. You whimper not having it in you to talk. You feel good, you also feel embarrassed that you peed…which is why it feels so good.

Her left hand moves from your hip and uses two fingers to push your cum back into your sore cunt, causing you to whimper her name. “Let me make you feel good” vi whispers as she leans down pressing her bare chest against yours. The position makes your hip burn as your thigh is still over her shoulder.

Slowly she slides back in, “fuck” she groans as she presses soft kisses against your neck. Violet was a mantra that bounces off the walls. She’s stretching you out as she kept her fingers inside you.

Her hips were sharp and slow and she used her thumb to circle your clit. “Got any more for me doll?” She whimpers as she feels you claw at her back.

“Yes” you gasp, your voice still pitchy since vi didn’t give you a chance to come down from the high of your last orgasm. The stretch of her fingers and cock making you out of breath. It didn’t take you long to squirt and for vi to reach her final climax.

For a second vi flops on you, as she’s overstimulated as well. The two of you catch your breath against each other and when you’ve calmed down from the high you say, “you’re heavy” and she laughs.

Slowly she slides out of you rubs your face, “ready to get up?”

Nodding she takes you by the waist and hoist you off the bed. The two of you shuffle to the bathroom together. Sit on the tub and you help unfasten her strap. Vi lazily bops your nose repeatedly because she already missed touching you.

The two of you settle into the shower eventually and lean on each other, rubbing the water and soap suds alike across the other.

“When we get out you don’t have to worry about cleaning the bed I got it.” Vi states. “Thank you” you mutter tucking your head into her neck.

Your body language said enough for her, “you don’t have to be embarrassed y’know…I love you pissy and all.” She couldn’t help but laugh and you hit her laughing a bit yourself. “Love you too asshole.”

Vi of course held her word and you sat idly by watching her replace the sheets and making sure nothing seeped onto the mattress. She sprayed a scent over the room and picked you up to toss you on the bed.

“A warning next time would be nice!” You giggle wrapping your arms around her, “that’s no fun for me.” She mumbles as she nuzzles her face into your breast.

The two of you lay tangled in each other taking in the moment of fresh sheets and the apartment settling. Albeit vi was sleepy she doesn’t fall asleep until you do. She waited a while staring at you with adoration, she’s found a home in you.

───────┈ · ·

A/n: hope you all enjoyed it cause I did!! I’ve been having some Vi brainrot so I may post more about her not sure yet!!

Taglist: @manfuckthisimout @bambishaven @femme-historian @furrytaesss @milanyas @highnfemme @5seos

Dividers- @anitalenia

[sscieloz]

Low blow

stoner!Aeri Uchinaga x obnoxious!reader

Synopsis: Giselle's used to parties. She obviously enjoys drinking, smoking and singing with her friends. Although lately it seems like everything’s so boring… all the same, every weekend. Same place, same people, same music. That was, of course, before you showed up, all bored and irritated. Now, she has just the perfect source of entertainment for the night.

Warnings: use of substances. nsfw. smut. humiliation.

Word count: 4.4k

Notes: me to myself: “i’m gna write a y/n that is so oblivious. that makes no SENSE—” anyway smokers pls don’t get offended i js wanted to try writing smth different with a mc that was insufferable with 0 common sense

You hated many things. Crowded places, sweaty people, cheap drinks— like the one in your hand, nicotine... Most importantly, you absolutely despised drunk idiots who thought everything was hilarious.

Unfortunately, your cousin thought quite the opposite.

Ningning was eager to live her life to the fullest. She insisted on attending every social gathering, university event, and disgusting party in questionable places located hours away from your hometown.

Like all the others who thrived on such frivolous things, she was stupid; Naive, sinful, and so utterly dumb, eager to fill a space in her chest with a temporary thrill that would never provide the solution she truly needed.

It was your duty to guide her towards a clearer sense of mind. As her childhood friend and community sister, you'd never have her get into those sketchy situations alone.

You were always there, making sure her drunken self went home safely and lecturing Ningning on how stupid this rebellious, promiscuous phase of hers was. If only she were able to see past her desperate attempts to get attention and validation. Yizhuo’s pleas for help were pathetic, utterly shameful. She needed to get over this need of hers quickly; your patience was wearing thin— you wouldn't put up with her tantrums much longer.

Unfortunately, you feared such a sense of consciousness was only acquired through time and experience. Someday, she'd be mature enough to be embarrassed about such a dark era.

Meanwhile, you'd join Ningning in such awful places to make sure she wasn't being too reckless. Always disappointed, judgemental, and superior, but there for her nonetheless.

There was very little you wouldn't do for your cousin, within your own beliefs and limitations. She knew that. The two of you had practically shared the same womb, after all, being best friends ever since birth in the small, tight-knit community you've spent your life in.

Like every other weekend, you found yourself accompanying Ningning to another house party, located in the outskirts of town. The house was pretty decent, even though its neighborhood was dangerous and not at all aesthetically pleasing to look at.

Low-quality music blasted everywhere, vibrations echoing through your chest as you frown at the huge music speaker in the center of the house’s open area. Most people hung around the pool, swimming, playing, dancing, or being obnoxiously loud like this was the peak of their lives. Still, you'd rather look at their ugly faces than at the couples who made sure to swallow each other in public so everyone would witness.

They were all superficial, pitiful people who grossed you out.

“Hi, Y/n!” Ningning screamed, bumping into you. Although she was small and light, catching you by surprise made holding her by the shoulders difficult, so she wouldn't fall face off on the ground. Not that she realized, still jumping up and down excitedly. “Are you drunk?”

Cheap liquor didn't impress you. If only, the drink you held on your hands tasted like cleaning products. It took some good effort to gulp down your throat.

“No.” You frowned at your second cup of the night, unimpressed. “This thing tastes like shit.”

“Cool! I'm not drunk either. I'm totally cool.” Her movements were almost theatrical, explaining herself even though you didn't ask. Pointing at a random girl behind her, Ning added. “I'm going to be here, with… uhm, her. Okay? Where will you be?”

“Around.” Ningning's laughing fit grew stronger as she realized she had forgotten her poor hookup’s name, oblivious to how you didn't follow. “Stay where I can see you.”

Ningning's flushed face glowed even with the random lighting. An angelical being, she was— with hazy eyes, plump lips, and an easy smile. Your cousin always shines like a beacon, claiming attention almost as much as she attracts it.

Pure people, like you and her, shouldn't attend such dirty, disgusting places.

Yizhuo's clumsy hands gathered your cup and made sure to get it empty it in one go, shivering as the liquid burned down her throat. If not for you, she would get it from someone else, so you allowed it without further complaints.

Still icked from the awful taste, she smirked, squeezing your arm before walking away. “Yes, Mom.”

Yizhuo was so high on audacity, subtly mocking you as if she wasn't the pathetic one. Disregarding the older girl, you rolled your eyes, searching for a place to wait until she was done fucking around so you'll finally go home.

Patience has never been your main virtue. You were rotten of soul— a hater in its true sense. How were you supposed to act any different, when everyone was so annoying all the time?

Other than loud, drunken idiots, there was only one other thing you despised even more: smokers. The smell of nicotine invaded your nostrils and did nothing but irritate your lungs and impregnate your hair, making sure you’d carry such an awful smell for many hours further.

Naturally, the couch area was infested by them. You ended up taking a seat anyway; being trapped in a room full of stoners would only add to the endless things that have been grossing you out ever since you arrived.

There wasn't much to do. You couldn't text anyone— you and your friends were still under a rigorous curfew despite being of age; working and attending university for years, now. They were all asleep, safe and comfortable in the comfort of their homes. With Ningning lost in her carnal desires, you were left bored and irritated, looking around and counting the seconds until you'd return home.

“Do you want me to turn off the AC?” A gravelly, warm voice breathed in your ear, definitely too close to your liking. The girl watching you with stoned eyes was undeniably pretty, with orange—pinkish? Hair and big eyes.

Too bad she was also one of the rotten ones, resting a blunt in her hands like all the others.

You turned to her, leaning on the sofa to get some distance. “Excuse me?”

“Do you want me to turn off the AC, angel?” She repeated herself so casually, unbothered by your crossed arms, rigid posture, and disgusted pout. Instead, she pointed at your outfit. “You seem cold.”

Ningning was always big on losing stuff after getting drunk, so it was no surprise when she launched her jacket at you, the moment she fetched herself something to drink. You didn't mind; you were often colder than most, so the extra layer was a warm welcome on the breezy night.

You wrapped your jacket around yourself, rolling your eyes to suppress a shiver. The stranger, splashed occupying two seats on the biggest cushion, tilted her head before inhaling more smoke. Certainly studying, judging you with a faint smirk and critical, obnoxious eyes who observed your movements from head to toe.

You didn't wish to be perceived by any of the losers present, let alone this one.

“I'm good, thanks.” You muttered, sinking further onto your seat as some other guy squeezed his way onto the packed couch.

At least she was decent enough not to blow smoke onto your face, hitting her blunt to the other side instead, before adding, “Aeri.”

"What?"

“You said 'thanks'.” She explained, unfazed by the sharpness in your voice. Instead, Aeri spoke slowly, perhaps because of the substance's effects, but it annoyed you nonetheless. “Usually, the name of the person you’re thanking comes right after the thanks. So you'd say: ‘Thanks, Aeri.”

Unlike her, you weren't stupid; there was no need for her to explain things to you like a child. Did she not realize you weren't looking for a conversation?

It wasn't hard to miss, with the way you kept looking elsewhere and humming instead of paying her any attention. And it isn’t like she did anything to deserve it, anyway.

Aeri hummed, leaning back again to whisper, “And what would your name be, little angel?”

Going out with a white baby T-shirt and a white skirt had certainly been a choice. Ningning rang on your doorbell just as you were getting ready for a date, urging you out of the house before you had even canceled it. While it was perfect for a walk around in the movies, it made you stand out too much in the darkened place.

The quicker you answered, the quicker she'd leave you away. Mindlessly, you muttered. “Yizhuo.”

Ningning was most certainly out there giving so much of herself around. She wouldn't mind having her surname borrowed for a few hours. There was no way you were sharing any personal information with Aeri, whose jawline alone could cut half of the curious eavesdroppers' ears off. 

You've been warned about people like her: demons of the night, who'd obsess over something until it was ruined. Rotten, influential people who sponsored illegal fights, drugs, and drifts to make money and incite chaos around.

Based on the way she held herself and how people acted around her, it was clear that Aeri was at least something related to that. It was hard to not stumble upon any of them, in the places Ningning insisted on hanging around.

She lifted her brows. “Surname basis?”

“Oh, so you do have a few neurons left, after all.” You smirked back, crossing your arms over your chest.

Aeri was unbothered by your lack of enthusiasm. She merely shrugged, too high on dopamine to mind. She offered you her joint and you pushed her arm away, rolling your eyes. Not once did her devilish smoke cloud cease, surrounding her confident frame in an ethereal, ghostly aura. She didn't seem real.

And from the way she kept staring, you figured neither did you.

“Do you think you're superior, Yizhuo?” She blew the steam away, with a low, husky tone that made you shiver. No matter how much you shrinked under the cramped couch, she was still too close to your liking. “This little stuck-up act of yours will get you in trouble someday, angel...”

At least she gave good advice. Being lectured to keep your thoughts to yourself was part of your routine. Not that you could help it: you've always been too expressive, especially when something was pissing you off. And being trapped at a crappy place, with pathetic people for at least another two hours was surely something.

You should retreat. Aeri reeked of trouble— defying her would attune her curiosity, something you were not looking forward to. Acting like a smart ass surely wouldn't make her leave you alone.

Unfortunately, you were too stubborn to cower. Eyeing her frazzled, faded strawberry-blonde hair, you muttered, “The only thing I think is that you are in desperate need of a hairdresser, Aeri."

Aeri laughed, hard and genuinely, attracting even more attention as you squirmed under your seat, fighting a smirk yourself. Despite claiming to read people easily, this girl's reactions were always the opposite you’d anticipated. At first glance, you thought of her as someone obnoxious, bored, and easily irritated. Instead, you stared at a smooth-talking, chill girl who smiled at you like she'd won the jackpot.

If anything, she looked entertained. And you weren’t one for spectacles.

Snatching a new joint from a random person’s hands, Aeri turned to you again. “Try it, then.”

“I don't do things of the impure. Those are reserved for rotten, pathetic people.” You scrunched your nose at the burnt smell hanging around, even though the blunt in Aeri’s fingers hadn’t been lit up yet. “Nor do I need to prove you anything. I'll pass.”

Time seemed to pass faster the longer you talked to the mysterious girl. Only for that, you continued. And perhaps also because her big, blue eyes were as alluring as they were disturbing.

She definitely needed better contacts.

Aeri's presence alone was infuriating. The sickening scent of her perfume mixed with nicotine, weed, and alcohol made you dizzy, dripping with annoyance, disgust, and curiosity.

“Oh, but you do.” She spoke slowly, deliberately. No louder than a murmur, forcing you to pay extra attention to grasp her words amidst the noisy place. “You love to prove others wrong, don't you?It's certainly an accomplishment, being right all the time.” Lighting it up, she shrugged, “If you’re as superior as your little stuck-up ass claims to be, it won't make you feel anything anyway. Might as well just take it.”

This stupid, self-centered girl thought she had you all figured out. If there was anyone that certain and perceptive about others, it was you. Not Aeri, not anyone else.

Still, her words stung on your pride. Maybe you should allow yourself to be as shallow as others for a moment. Just to rip that easygoing smirk off from the girl’s face, nothing else.

Your hands took the blunt from hers without any care, welcoming the atrocious, vile substances into your lungs as you inhaled the smoke. It was awful— even worse than you imagined. Why did people even do this? Idiots, all of them. The smoke irritates your throat, making it hard not to cough uncontrollably.

Fuck her, for not missing even a blink of yours. You took one puff, then another, just so to prove her stupidity even further.

Aeri grunted, clearly pleased. One of her hands grabbed the back of your neck as the other gently retrieved the joint from between your fingers. “Stunning. And it didn't even hurt, right?” She joked, running her short nails against your jaw. “You’re good at following orders, Yizhuo. How does it feel?”

Bullshit. It did hurt. The smoke burnt down your throat and infiltrated your nostrils, but you didn’t feel much different. Maybe a bit lightheaded, but not slow or stupid like the people around you.

This time, you didn't cower. You simply smiled back at her, answering her with a fake, surprised voice, “Like I've been blessed with the grand knowledge of the universe.” Your smile dropped. “There is nothing to be felt, Aeri.”

She liked the way you pronounced her name. It was harsh, fast, impatient. Were it anyone else, she'd have shown them what it meant to disrespect her. But your little pout was so cute, as was the way you wandered around the party in such a cute outfit, shining like a beacon and so clearly out of place. Pretty, even when you stared at everyone like they were nothing but dust under your shoe, running your hands on your hair as if daring anyone to come close and spare you a word.

Aeri wanted to unravel you, curious to find out what someone so composed and haughty was doing in her place.

Not that it mattered to you. Everything you wished was to let Aeri know how pathetic she was, which you’ve done— you won the nonexistent competition, and there was nothing else to prove.

It takes more than something as horrible to get your pure, angelical soul cracked like those idiots. Regardless of how many times Aeri laughs at your petty answers, instead of being offended. You were superior, even when ruining yourself just like they do just to prove a point.

“Do this: just inhale deeply.” She commanded, after taking a deep hit herself. You didn't know why you obeyed without even questioning. Aeri then blew smoke right into your face, leaving you no choice but to breathe her in. “Just like that, good girl.”

This time, the world felt… light. Without the rational part of your brain working relentlessly, things had a different perspective, different meaning. What was the need of repressing yourself so much?

Your brain was fuzzy, making it hard to reason with your morals. They seemed so stupid, now. And you were so sensitive, both physically and emotionally; it felt wonderful. For a moment, Ningning didn't seem like such a pathetic girl, but more like someone trying to have a bit of fun out of your controlling, repelling community.

And it was fun indeed; much better than dressing a certain way, acting as expected, and thinking of yourself as someone superior to others simply because you fit in perfectly among your friends and superiors.

Maybe you were just as shallow as others. It didn’t matter; for now, there wasn't anyone known to you around. Certainly, you were allowed to let go of everything for a night, a few hours. No one had to know. You wouldn't tell.

And you'd only be intoxicated for so long— which was just the perfect excuse.

Your eyes dropped to Aeri's mouth, so red and inviting. Would she taste like the cigarettes she insisted on smoking? Or like the mint scent impregnated on her skin?

“Aeri?” You murmured, failing to realize your slowed speech. Ignoring the warnings in your head, you leaned in to kiss her. Aeri backed away just enough for your lips not to touch, toying with you with a bright smile. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed her tank top's collar to make sure she wouldn't run away, “You look much hotter with that fucking mouth of yours shut.”

It felt hard to process thoughts or proper orders. Your body was sensitive, and Aeri made sure you felt every bit of her touch. Even though you were the one who made the first move, she dominated the kiss, making sure to explore every corner of your mouth as her hand grabbed the back of your neck, bringing you even closer.

“Beautiful,” She praised, biting your lower lip as she urged you to her lap. Aeri grabbed your thighs, squeezing and carving her nails as you moaned into her mouth, the sound muffled by the girl’s lips. “Beautiful angel. I can't wait to fucking ruin you.”

Every sensation on your body was intensified, and she took some good advantage of it. You felt on fire, burning with such intensity you were sure to explode soon. Thankfully, Aeri didn’t treat you softly by any means.

This girl, this fucking menace was so addicting you couldn't stop kissing her.

You cupped her face, you rocked onto her thigh, urging her fleeting hands to grow closer to the place you ached for. Just a little more to the side…

It would've been wise not to throw yourself all over Aeri in the middle of a crowded living room. However, your self respect had vanished the moment you took that joint from her lips. Like a spell, she was all you could think of: her lean fingers, her skilled mouth, and all the filthy ways you wanted her to use you.

Aeri sucked on your neck, cupping your ass as she urged you up and pushed your panties to the sides. Instead of diving into your dripping, aching cunt, she stopped her fingers and laughed at your desperate squirming.

“Still feeling superior now, Y/n? Moaning like a bitch in front of so many people before I even touch you.” She murmured, delighted as she brushed her knuckles against your pussy.

At least your skirt still covered enough, despite your movements leaving little to the imagination. Not that you cared anyway. Your brain was so fuzzy, the only thing you could think of was Aeri— her touches, your release. Nothing else mattered.

Although her provocation left you pissed enough to stare at her, still moving shamelessly, desperately. “Fuck you, Aeri.”

She laughed so freely that those who were trying hard to not look at the obscenity unraveling couldn’t help but stare, now.

“Oh, Yizhuo.” She smacked her lips, pressing a kiss surprisingly gently on one of your shoulders. “Say it again.”

Pervert.

Two of her fingers invaded your entrance before you could think of a witty response, scissoring inside easily given how wet you were. Lustful moans escaped your lips as you started riding her fingers, allowing Aeri to thrust on your cunt at a hard, fast pace.

“Aeri…” You whined, as her free hand guided your hips up so you'd align with her finger’s movements movements without further effort. She was giving you so much, and it felt so good to be full. But you were greedy; always one to yearn. “More, please. M-more.”

“Fuck, angel,” She moaned, looking down at where her fingers worked on your sex as if she could see through your clothes. The girl grabbed your neck for a kiss, again. Messy, wet and so desperate you run out of air much earlier than usual as her fingers scissored inside your pussy. “You’re so wet. I can feel you clenching all over your fingers. Can't wait to ruin you even more.”

You've never felt like this before. So shameless, humiliated by the desire of reaching your peak. You ached everywhere— extra sensitive, begging to be used.

Each of Aeri's thrusts on your cunt sent electric shocks through your entire body, pressing onto your lower abdomen to create a familiar, tingly sensation that insisted on growing even more desperate as seconds went by. Sensing, your desperation, Aeri's fingers fastened their pace, pressing even harder as you tried hard not to scream.

All it took was a simple flicker of her thumb on your clit and your orgasm hit, white dots dancing in your vision as your entire body trembled with strong waves of pleasure. It felt like your 5th orgasm of the night— a stretch so good you felt like you were going to explode. Nothing else mattered: your sweet release had finally arrived.

Aeri hummed, clearly pleased with herself as she watched you calm down. Her wrist was soaked with your juices, and you couldn't bring yourself to look at the mess you've done with the place, growing red with embarrassment.

Ningning's voice beat you to starting an awkward talk with the pink-haired girl, coming high-pitched from behind your trembling frame. “Y/n?”

You closed your eyes in hopes she'd disappear. When it was clear her presence was still hovering over you, you turned around, asserted by Aeri’s strong grip on your thigh. Holding you close since your legs were still wobbly. “Hello, Ningning. Are you done?”

“Yeah…” She said, alternating her worried stare between Aeri, who sat as if nothing had ever happened, and yourself—gripping onto her shoulder with dear life so you wouldn't fall on the ground. “Do you need help?”

“Why would I need help?” You shot, rolling your eyes in annoyance while Aeri hissed at your nails, digging harshly into her skin. “Stay put.”

With wide eyes, Ningning took a step to reach for you, but you waved her away. There wasn't any chance you'd let her touch your sweaty, burning skin. From the way she gulped, you feared how disheveled you must look. With ruined makeup, tangled hair, and oh, your clothes…

Your pristine, perfect image would never be the same in her eyes. Throughout her entire life, Yizhuo had not once seen a single strand of your hair out of place. It was only natural  she’d stare like you've been possessed.

Which you obviously were. Possessed by weed, alcohol, and the devilish girl that stood right next to you.

Aeri had the nerve to smile like her fingers hadn’t been up in your cunt moments prior, humid and still caressing your inner thigh. “So you do have a name, Y/n. A pretty one, might I add. Just as angelical as yourself.”

It took everything on you to not punch her witty face. Instead, you ignored her entirely, sighing once, twice until you were no longer seeing red and your legs were able to function again.

“Well,” You clicked your tongue, distancing yourself from her while trying to fix up your clothes. “Those substances may have altered my sense of mind and made me do insane things based on lust. I was possessed by the evil spirit of weed, obviously. Still, my most insane self was saner than all of you losers around. I've won, of course.”

“Obviously.” Aeri didn't even skip a beat before confirming, not bothering to sound convincing at all. “You're right, my angel.”

Proud to have your point proven, you waved Aeri goodbye and promptly turned around, guiding Ning towards the exit from a safe distance. She didn't matter anymore. It was over, as if it had never happened.

Now, you just had to get rid of the intoxicating, impure substances that clogged your pores and clouded your sanity before sneaking back home.

—

“Are you sure you're okay?” Ningning asked, eyeing you for the nth time as you tried not to fall asleep on the table. She was pissing you off even more than usual, with the amount of questions she blurted as if you owed her any explanations.

Thankfully, you had an enormous hamburger and an extra big set of fries to entertain yourself with. Forcing Ningning to stop at the nearest fast food in your neighborhood before sneaking back home had been your most brilliant idea in ages.

You deserved the treat— for taking care of your cousin, for being superior to everyone in that party by staying perfectly fine and pure even after a few hits of their disgusting blunts… And simply because you were a pretty girl, too.

"I am 100% sure, Yizhuo.” You answered, with a big yawn as you stretched your arms to shake yourself awake. “Would you stop hovering around? It's fucking annoying. Have I ever asked for a report on what you do with those random girls you get lost with at every fucking party we go to? Do I ask what you've drank before holding your fucking hair while you throw up in the bushes? Get a fucking grip and stop being up in my a—”

“Okay!” She cut you off, looking around with an exasperated tone to check if anyone had listened to your rant. So dramatic; you'd barely whispered. “I was just curious, damn! I guess you really are fine, if you're back to bitching around like always.”

You paid her no attention, too busy drowning your food in ketchup to care. “Wonderful! Now, mind your fucking business.” Eyeing her half-eaten fries, you added, “Will you finish those, by the way?”

Ningning pushed her food tray in your direction with no further comments.

[starlightkyo]

𝐏𝐎𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐑

𝑺𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝑶𝒄! 𝒙 𝑹𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒓𝑶𝒏𝒚!

18+ MDNI | some plot, smut, o*al (f + m receiving), unprotected p-n-v,, b*ckshots, s*uirting, c*reaming.

She knew better than to fuck with someone like him. He was everything she didn't need in her simplistic life, yet his allure enticed her anyway.

Tall, darkskin, locs, pretty face, pretty smile.

Toxic too, but anyways.

They collaborated on a track for her newly released album, per her request. They even shared the studio where she witnessed part of his persona.

The 'mysterious' aura he exuded. Barely uttering a word the few hours they spent together. Barely even making eye contact.

The vibe of the studio session was awkward, at least to Ramona. But she summed the lack of interaction up to Ony probably being introverted or shy.

The next time they'd see each other was for the 'Video Vixen' mv shoot. He came in quiet and remained that way while following instructions.

They only had one scene together, filming it with limited verbal exchange. Only a smile here and some display of gratitude there when the shoot wrapped up.

Ramona knew it was just business, but a part of her wanted it to be more.

He piqued her interest without even trying.

She wanted to get in his head, and maybe his pants that hung below the round of his black briefs.

And normally sagging turned her off.

He did his part as a creative, so he had no reason to initiate post conversation. But he did just before he left the set. Much to her surprise.

It was small talk with some insight as they stood before one another. She got to hear the southern drawl in his voice as he murmured.

"Y'know i'm shy as fuck, so ion really be—" his hands motioned as she caught his drift.

"You shy?" her brows raised; a slight head tilt of curiosity he found endearing.

His smile peaked, lips parted just enough that she could see his grillz.

"Yea, I really just keep to myself forreal."

They spent more time than intended talking, afterwards they exchanged numbers with the hopes of meeting up. What Ramona didn't except is to be flown out by Ony to visit him.

One minute they were texting, then talking otp, then she was boarding a plane with the destination of Atlanta from Cali.

It happened so fast, just days after the mv shoot.

Now here she lay in his California king bed with him atop, kissing her exposed stomach. His lips planted to her skin repeatedly, exciting her surface nerves as she squirmed slightly. Her giggles were soft as they filled the air.

"St—stoppp, i'm ticklish," her hand gently palmed his face back. The slip of his tongue was subtle, but deliberate. He chuckled.

They were chillin' in his master bedroom, doing nothing in particular. Conversation was flowing a lot smoother, and Ony was showing a lot more of his personality.

Made him even finer if possible.

"Yo skin soft as hell shawty."

Her heat throbbed in response, teeth piercing her bottom lip.

A shared attraction was apparent, and the sexual tension was palpable, practically smothered them.

For Ramona's standards, she was moving entirely too fast. But something about Ony made her throw caution to the wind and let go.

"Whachu lookin at me like dat fa?"

More giggles seeped out as her chest rumbled. She covered her face that flushed warm from embarrassment.

"Onyyyy" she whined, making his dick jump. The sound was sweet and pleasant. So was the smile she revealed, her plump lips curved upward.

"Pretty ahh." He kept the compliments coming while showing all 32 teeth.

"You too" she cupped the side of his face, fingers stroking the course beard on his chin.

A comfortable silence fell over the room as they admired each other through hooded eyes.

"Can I eat it?"

She sucked her teeth, "boy—" her face fell before she rolled her eyes.

"Forreal shawty" his tone lifted desperately.

He needed her bad. Boy would damn near plead for it.

"Is that why you flew me out here?" she propped up on her elbows. Her playful tone held an edge.

She figured they would fuck, she just wanted to tease him first.

"Nah, i'on think you easy or nun—"

"Are you hard?" she abruptly asked. Confusion flashed across his face at her bluntness, but he answered truthfully.

"Hell yea, got a muhfucka brick right now."

"Then that's means your the easy one" Ramona quipped.

"Shit, i'a be dat," he had no shame admitting.

She smirked "oh really?"

"Really" he leaned in and smashed their lips together. The kiss was surprisingly sensual, as if they'd had history longer than a few weeks. They shared a familiar rhythm to be relatively strangers.

Their lips clashed methodically, smacking together. She moaned into his mouth, and he took that opportunity to shove his tongue in hers. Their tongues danced a bit before he broke away to attack her neck.

She whimpered as he targeted her sensitive area, lips suctioning around her skin while she held his head in place. The wetness of his tongue dragged lazily along her neck.

"Mmph—" she closed her eyes and relished in his possession. Content, she sighed.

She could feel her panties soaked, and her thighs pressed together. The ache between them was intense.

"O-ony.."

"Wassuh? Talk ta me" the flavor in his voice sent a thrill up her spine. She inhaled his expensive scent putting her under a spell.

"Eat it.. please" she begged breathlessly. He loved how needy she sounded.

He moved down to her shorts, her hips eagerly rose as his fingers slid them and her thong off her legs. She then spread as wide as possible, showcasing her moistened cunt.

He licked his lips at the sight, "damn, you wet fa me already?"

Ony then lowered his head, mouth inching closer and closer to Ramona's pussy. His hooded eyes stayed on her the entire time as his tongue rolled out, licking a stripe along her slit.

She gasped at the sensation, mink lashes fluttering in response.

Her arousal flooded his tongue as he began to lap away at her pussy. He french-kissed it, slurping up her juices. The lewd sounds blended with her airy moans that filled the room.

Ramona was floating on cloud 9, her soul being transported to the heavens by this mans blessed skills.

So damn blessed. She hadn't been eaten like this in ages.

The thickness of her mahogany thighs quivered under his grip, as her throaty hums escaped.

She struggled to stay still, to maintain eye contact. Her body writhed under his possession, especially when her clit was being stimulated.

His chuckle vibrated against her flesh, amused at her undoing. He kept up his oral assault, ravaging her pussy with an appetite.

"Uhn!─" her breath hitched, back arching off the bed as her eyes shut. "Fuuuck!"

She can't estimate how long he ate her out, it felt like forever. His lips remained attached to her folds for a while. Her juices ran down his chin and onto his goatee. She'd already come once and was approaching her second orgasm.

"Shiiiit" she cried, face fixed in a permanent pout.

Ony upped the stimulation by sliding a long slender finger in her pussy, she gasped at the introduction before feeling another one.

Two digits pumped inside her wetness with haste as her angelic moans bounced off the walls. She gripped the back of her knees for support.

It didn't take long for her walls to convulse around his digits. That pit in her stomach was deepening. Her core tightening.

And he had the nerve to suck on her clit simultaneously.

"Uuuhn! God!"" she couldn't hold back anymore. Her wetness spurted between his fingers still pumping. She released a guttural cry up to the ceiling.

Ony unplugged his fingers, rapidly rubbing her pussy that kept squirting. He stuck his tongue out and caught whatever droplets landed on his tastebuds.

She drenched her inner thighs squirting nonstop like a sprinkler.

Ony was amazed at how much he could coax out of her.

"Shit" he hissed, "pussy wet as hell."

His fingers smeared her essence across her lips before sliding into her mouth. She hummed as she sucked them clean, tasting herself.

"Freak ahh" Ony chuckled.

Ramona smiled lackadaisically.

She watched in bliss as he got off the bed and unclothed. Every piece discarded on the rug until he was naked.

Her cunt throbbed at the sight of his erect dick- sizable with a nice length.

"C'mere" he beckoned her.

Ramona took her shirt off, revealing she wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were c cups, with big areoles and perky nipples.

She got off the bed and approached Ony before dropping to her knees. Her fingers grasped the weight of his flesh, wrapping her plump lips around his mushroom tip.

"Suck dat shit baby."

Her eyes batted up at him innocently, as she bobbed her head back and forth. Her hand stroked what couldn't fit down her throat.

His breathing was labored. His fingers tangled in her hair, clutching tight.

"Look so pretty like dis" he whispered, admiring Ramona with a mouthful.

She made a gawking noise every time his dickhead met her uvula. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked his skin.

She wasn't the most skilled but judging by his reaction she was doing good enough.

"Move yo hand baby."

She did as told. Ony's hands guided her movements as he fucked her face. Her nose was gracing his pelvis, dick clogging her throat.

Ramona's watery eyes batted up at him, seeing his eyes closed and mouth agape.

His grunts and groans filled the room as he twitched between her stuffed cheeks. He abruptly ripped her head back, letting his dick slip out before he nutted. Ony speedily cranked his tip as his semen spurted out onto Ramona's face.

"Aah, sss─aah."

Ony didn't stop stroking until he was completely emptied, finally halting.

Ramona erupted in giggles, licking her lips and tasting his nut. This was her first time getting a facial.

Little did she know, Ony would be her first time for a lot of things.

"Lemme wipe yo face, hollon" he said before making his way to the bathroom.

She rose to her feet and sat at the end of his bed, feeling rug burn in her knees.

It was worth it though.

Ony came out with a warm rag he used to clean her face as he held it. She was humored for some reason, chuckling.

"What?" he asked, chuckling too.

She shrugged cutely, "nothing...it's just- I've never had a man cum on my face before."

"I'm turnin you out" he joked, making her laugh.

He tossed the rag on the floor, "face down ass up" he motioned for her to reposition on the bed.

She hesitated, "wait..you have condoms?"

"I'mma pull out."

"Ony" her brows furrowed. She knew better than to play that game.

"I promise, put dat on my life...c'mon" he urged her.

She huffed, rolling her eyes as she got into position anyway. Her face was against the sheets with her ass heightened and back arched.

"Muhfucka fat" he admired her ass from behind. He smacked it sharply, earning a hiss from Ramona. His hands manipulated her ass, spreading her cheeks apart, making them jiggle.

She whined impatiently, "ony put it innn."

He laughed, "I gotchu baby."

He held his tip and lined it up at her entrance, prodding before sliding in. She moaned at the stretch of her walls as he buried himself to the hilt.

"Tight ahh pussy."

He gripped her ass, thrusting slowly to start off. Creating a torturous friction with every stroke of his flesh inside hers. The roll of his hips was calculated, with precise aim for her g spot.

It was something about Ramona that made him wanna take his time and not rush like he would with other women.

"Mmm, mmm."

Ramona hummed erotically, fisting the sheets. He felt so good inside of her, like he belonged there.

"Fu-uuck" she shakily cursed under her breath as he picked up the pace.

Ony was barely pulling out, ramming into her pussy. His balls slapped against her sensitive clit.

He gazed at her ass bouncing against his pelvis. The way her flesh rippled like waves was mesmerizing.

Ony was beating Ramona's pussy in as her moans grew louder and frantic, bouncing off the walls. Her lips couldn't even meet to formulate words.

"You takin dat dick like a pro" he praised.

"H-harder!" she choked out.

"Bet not run" he warned before pounding her relentlessly. Her body jerked from the acceleration in his thrusts.

Her mangled screams could probably be heard from outside.

"FUCK YES! FUCK YES!"

"RIGHT THERE DADDY!"

"UUHN! UUUHN!"

Expletives and praises flew from her mouth wildly.

She stroked his massive ego, urging him to fuck her as hard as he could, to the point where he was groaning. His bottom lip slipped between his teeth to trap the sound.

Ony was in control yet vulnerable at the same time.

He twitched within her gummy walls, threatening to release.

He promised he wouldn't, but it was so tempting, he didn't wanna pull out even for a second.

"Shit!─"

He grunted, twitching again. Left with no choice he quickly ripped out of her as she whimpered. He jerked off, head bent back, groaning as he nutted on her lower back.

"Fuuuck" his tight grip milked slower and slower until there was nothing left. His hand then dropped to his side.

Ramona's chest heaved, winded as she looked back at him. She giggled at his exhausted expression.

"Oh you laughin at me? I'mma see if you gon be laughin when I wea yo ahh out. Flip ova."

His palm roughly met her ass cheek again as she moaned, twerking for him.

This was no where near done. and tonight wouldn't be the last time they saw each other.

[sightseertrespasser]

Sunny Side Screw-Up part 2

Me: Hey, what if Bluestreak was a great sniper because Tacnet enabled him to view the world in slow motion, kinda like bullet time?

Later me: Wait, what if he experienced Bullet Time All the Time and THAT’s why he’s like that?

The mecha AU was spawned by @keferon, go check ‘em out!

———————————————————————

For hours, Prowls processor continued to spiral well after Jazz disconnected the drift bond. The steady crackle from Bluestreaks currently inactive comm lines did little to settle him.

Individually, Prowl curled each of his digits, then released. The fingers Ratchet replaced were still numb. But the phantom pains stayed sharp.

“Hey.” A hoarse whisper at his hip got Prowl to online his optic.

“You should be resting, Jazz.” The Praxian whispered back. If Ratchet saw them both up the doctor would likely make good on some of his threats. Or Deadlock would.

“I’m gonna.” The human leaned against his side, shoulders wrapped in a spare blanket.

“You’re lying.” Prowl stated as flatly as if he’d pointed out Jazz was bipedal.

“Hmm, just getting it out of my system so you know I’m gonna be serious next.” When the pilot moved to climb up Prowl’s thigh, he gave him a slight boost with one servo. Weak as Prowl was, Jazz still weighed basically nothing.

“Ratchet said you already pushed past your limits for the day. I do not think it’d be wise to reconnect right now.” Prowl watched Jazz for every minute tremble, delicately adjusting the plane of his servo to support him as evenly as possible.

“We pushed it today. And s’alright. Wasn’t going for that.” Jazz laid back in Prowls palm, getting comfortable.

Given the pattern of their past interactions, Prowl preemptively readjusted to lay down on as well, before Jazz could begin guilting/bargaining/tricking him into resting properly.

Jazz, knowingly, smiled.

“I know you’re scared for him. But Bluestreak is gonna be fine Prowler. He’s got you, and you’ve got us.”

“I had myself and you and I still got vivisected.” It was a low blow and still a raw wound for the both of them. His missing platting stung.

Jazz closed his eyes. Prowl could still hear the echos of what thoughts that would be racing through his head.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. This is a nightmare scenario and I can’t believe you aren’t completely loosing your shit right now.” A sour note came through his field. “I just don’t want you to fry yourself with worrying.”

Prowl sighed, “I have come to terms with our current limitations. The plan currently underway is definitely the best chance we can possibly give him.”

“I do not have enough information to predict how the Twins will conduct themselves..” Prowl briefly paused to send a scheduled Check In ping to Bluestreak. Continuing once he received the Return ping.

“But I know my brother, and that’s what has me worried.” Despite himself, Prowl felt his face almost twitch a smile when Jazz’s EM field chimed against his palm. He could feel the human silently laugh.

“Little brothers are something else, but have a little faith in him okay? Bluestreak just needs to play it cool until we can debrief the Twins. He doesn’t even have to actually lie. All he needs to do is walk and shoot, and I’ve seen him shoot.”

Jazz rolled onto his side to face Prowl, who still frowned but was coming around.

“Look, it took me nearly two days to figure out I was literally surrounded by aliens who weren’t even trying to hide it.”

“You had a concussion.” Prowl grumbled.

“And I’m a very clever fucker.” Jazz raised a pointed finger.

The human snuggled back into his blanket, “Never in a million years is anyone just gonna guess he’s an alien shaped like a mecha.”

Prowl hummed in assent, choosing to let his systems wind down, save for his Comms.

Yawning, Jazz finished his thought, “The only way they’d find out he’s from space is if Bluestreak straight up told them.”

———————

“And that star cluster is about where Cybertron is!”

The fading red-gold of the sunset had given way to dusty dark blue twilight. This far from any civilization, the stars did not shy from taking the stage early, casting the desert in a cool toned glow.

Sideswipe looked where he was pointing and nodded along. Sunstreaker likewise examined the sky for a moment before continuing their trek.

“You guys are good listeners.” The Praxian smiled.

Bluestreak shifted how he was holding his rifle for the nth time that afternoon. “I wish I could just subspace this but Jazz said that would be too openly weird and you guys might try tearing my hip apart.”

Unsurprisingly, Sunstreaker showed no sudden comprehension of Bluestreak’s native language. The yellow mecha was too preoccupied with digging out a quint fang from his plating. Similarly unaware, Sideswipe had found a small boulder and played an improvised game of how long he could kick it along their path.

Bluestreak checked his Tacnet Dilation: 25%.

“Did you know I taught Prowl and Smokescreen how to use Tacnet to shoot better? Cause I did. They taught me pretty much everything else though about how to function. They’re my brothers by the way, which is kinda funny to think about since you guys are brothers too but ‘organic brothers’ are kinda different from ‘Cybertronian brothers’. We’re all Cold Constructs designed by the same people but that doesn’t actually have anything to do with being brothers.” With family on his processor, the Praxian flicked a ‘Hey guys!’ out of habit without thinking. He didn’t notice the twins simultaneously pause for a second beside him.

“The word translates directly into English but I think the origins are totally different. A literal translation of “Brothers” in Cybertronian would be something like “Those who are most familiar to me.”

He counted the decimal points of each passing click to pace himself. Making sure he was talking at a socially acceptable level. After 4 clicks, his will broke down and the gap of silence was filled.

“Hey want to hear how we met?” Bluestreak looked up at the hulking mechas with wide optics, questioning tone riding through the air.

The twins looked at each other briefly before shrugging.

Aside from his brothers, mechs that knew his particular reputation would take that pause in his chatting as an escape route from the conversation.

Bluestreak understood. It’s why he tried to leave gaps in. He scuffed his peds in the dirt while waiting for a response.

A curled servo came into his peripheral vision. With a little difficulty, Sunstreaker gave him a crude thumbs up, his mecha not really built for fine motor controls.

“Really?” Bluestreak beamed, checking in with Sideswipe as well who was also nodding in the positive.

The Praxian began his tale, “So it happened a little under two million years ago.”

——————

The crowd around the train station moved in a tightly packed slow motion torrent.

“-taken at specified slots-“

“-one hundred and fifty shanix is-“

“-consult the map if she really-“

Words, sentences, broken paragraphs and contradictory orders buzzed across his processor. His internal dictionary pulling up definitions and explanations almost too fast to keep up with.

Tacnet Dilation: Increase to 75%?

Huh?

[Yes]?

Oh!

That’s so much better.

If he picked out one voice at a time, he could decipher each glyph as they came and string it together. Mildly entranced by how they interlocked and changed the information they carried as it dripped into his echoing memory banks.

For example:

“Get out of the way you useless cop!”

An upward swing from behind struck him, jamming his doorwings at the apex of their mobility.

The mech would have fallen forward if the density of the crowd allowed it. They stumbled, struggling to stay upright as the mass of mechs around him pushed inexorably toward the trains.

New information came through. Bright boxes burst across his vision and new words wrote themselves on his processor. This new sensory input was competing with every other piece of stimulus for his immediate attention.

He didn’t like it.

What is it?

[Pain]

Oh, is this a setting that can be changed?

[Pain - Repair - Reset- Doorwing (1)]

[Pain - Repair - Reset - Doorwing (2)]

How? How do I fix them?

[Pain - Repair - Reset]

I don’t understand?

[Pain - Repair - Reset]

The logic branch repeated incessantly, almost as bad as the distraction of the pain itself.

The praxian began asking every mech who passed nearby how to reset his doorwings. Sometimes, they’d kindly tell him they couldn’t help. Other times they’d push him off harshly, fields flashing with hostility. One even told him to go jump on the tracks. Before he could actually consider how that’d help, an orange mech scolded the harsh one and pulled the praxian to where they could speak into his audial.

They told him they couldn’t fix his problem, but if he found other mechs with doorwings like his, they would help him.

“How do I find them?”

The orange mech adjusted a pair of spectacles, smiling, “Just listen to your wings young one, you’ll get there.”

It was then he realized something else was coming through the sensor net of his doorwings. A muffled, irregular pulsing, coming from one of the train cars.

He forgot to thank the skinny mech and pushed through the crowd, past the overwhelmed conductor.

Reduced Sensory Input, Tacnet Dilation: Decrease to 25%?

[Yes]

The inside of the train car was packed, no one would be leaving without numerous scraps and dents by the end of their journey. He tried not to flinch every time a passenger bumped into his back with very little success. Spurred on by pain and desperation, the Praxian pushed rudely past the other passengers who each added new and exciting expletives to his steadily growing lexicon.

He followed the signals like a lifeline to the back of the train.

Two Praxian enforcers sat side by side, doorwings flicking intermittently. Both of them leaned forward with their elbows on their knees, either from the exhaustion clearly written across their faces or simply because the bench they sat on wasn’t made to accommodate the extra limbs on their backs.

One was blue with a yellow chevron, lazily leaking smoke to pool against the ceiling. Seemingly absorbed in people watching.

{ ···· · -·--     ·--· --··--     ··· · ·     - ···· ·     --- -· ·     ·-- ·· - ····     - ···· ·     ···- ·· ··· --- ·-· ··--·· }

The other was monochrome save for a bright red chevron, scanning the crowd with a critical optic, locking onto his approach.

{ ··     ·-· · --· ·-· · -     - · ·-·· ·-·· ·· -· --·     -·-- --- ··-     ·- -· -·-- - ···· ·· -· --· }

{ ·· ’ --     ···· · ·-·· ·--· ·· -· --· }

{ ··- -· -·- -· --- ·-- -·     · -· ··-· --- ·-· -·-· · ·-·     ·- ·--· ·--· ·-· --- ·- ---- ·· -· --· }

The praxians straightened, the blue one offering a casual smile and a welcoming field.

“Hey there! Can we help you?”

He almost crashed to the floor, stumbling to stand before them.

“Yes! Yes! Hello! I need help! I’ve been trying to find someone to help with my doorwings for what feels like forever but everyone I’ve talked to has told me to go away or go frag myself or go ask someone else and then somebody told me to come in here or really they actually told me to follow my doorwings which was actually kinda hard because they hurt a lot and all the warnings I’m getting are making it kinda hard to focus on anything and nobody has let me finish talking the entire time!”

The optics of the black and white praxian got steadily wider as he spoke, taking in the information with an otherwise motionless posture.

The blue one took it in stride, waving him to get closer, “Alright, c’mere and turn around real quick.”

Gratefully, he followed the clear instructions and did just that.

The blue one hummed, “Oh that’s an easy fix.”

His doorwings twinged in their slots at the feeling of the mechs servos on his back. “Sorry, this’ll pinch a little.” And with two practiced twists, the mech braced one servo against his back and popped the hinges back in place.

He hissed at the initial sting but relief immediately flooded his sensor net.

“Is the Doorwing injury related to why you are covered in ash?” The monochrome mech spoke for the first time.

“Hmm? Oh no, someone just ran into me from behind. He was yelling something about useless cops?” He could see the irises of the praxians optics cycling as he spoke. The mechs mouth thinned to a line as his brow furrowed.

The other didn’t seem to notice, laughing heartily, “Oh trust me that’s not the last time you’ll hear that. Next time call your squad in to book the guy for assault on an officer. You new here?”

He smiled, doorwings fluttering involuntarily at being asked a non clinical question for the first time ever. “Yes! I’m very new! Everything is so new! Who are you two?”

Something clicked for the other mech. Doorwings drooping, “Um, Smokescreen?”

The blue mech, Smokescreen, ignored him. Instead, he wrapped an arm around the mechs shoulders and pulled him in, “Well this here is my little brother Prowl, I promise he’s slightly less of a stick in the gears than he first appears. We’d show you around our precinct, but it kinda burnt down this morning.”

“Smokescreen.” Prowl hissed.

“So what’s your designation and your placement new guy?” Smokescreen beamed at him with a sooty grin.

“My designation is P-E 2102. Aaaand the building I was being tested in caught fire, so I have no idea!” He rocked on his peds.

Smokescreen gave him a slightly curious once over.

Meanwhile, Prowl crossed his arms and looked unimpressed with his older brother.

Prowl turned back to him, “A follow up question, if you are able to answer, P-E 2102. When were you constructed?”

He checked his memory banks, “Two cycles ago!”

Smokescreen choked, coughing up a small cloud of exhaust. Prowl automatically thumped a servo against his back to help.

“Right.” The elder Praxian recovered, coughing into his fist and straightening up again. “So you’re two cycles old huh? That explains.. some things.”

Unconsciously, P-E 2102 pulled his doorwings in, not yet knowing what to call the awkward energy that spilled into the train car. The only mech seemingly unaffected was Prowl.

“Typically, once you make it through Quality Control a mech is assigned to act as your mentor to answer questions and bring you up to speed on how to function in society.” Prowl glanced at his brother. “Their designation should be tagged with your factory designation. We’ll assist in contacting them for your retrieval.”

Internally, P-E 2102 pulled his factory designation back up, and did indeed find what Prowl was talking about.

“Oh okay, it looks like I’m assigned to someone named Barricade?” He smiled again, happy to have a clear path forward after so much uncertainty. The two older Praxians immediately, silently looked at each other.

Optics wide, Smokescreen gave him a massive showman style grin, announcing loud enough for the whole train to hear, “Nooope!”

“Um, what?” He new forge looked confused, optics flitting between the two of them.

The eldest praxian nudged Prowl to scoot over. “Nope!” He clapped his servos on his knees for emphasis. “That is not happening. You’re actually going to be my ward now. Last minute update. You know how office work gets.”

“This is a terrible idea.” Prowl grumbled but still moved to make room. “You aren’t qualified to mentor more than one ward. You wouldn’t even be my mentor if the Council hadn’t lowered the age requirement.”

Smokescreen patted the new space between them, “Go ahead and take a seat newbie. And Prowl? C’mon. You haven’t needed me for literal vorns.”

He squeezed into the space between them. It took a bit to figure out how to overlap their doorwings, but once they folded together, the new forge felt more secure than he’d ever been in his life.

Which wasn’t very long but still.

“First things first, you need a proper des.” Smokescreen poked him in the chassis. Briefly frowning at the grime left on his digit. “And a proper paint job.”

“Oh can I be red? I think I like red. And orange. And yellow. I like warm tones in general really. But I think just red for now.” He pointed up at Prowls chevron for reference.

“It is a striking color.” Prowl nodded sagely. “It will suit you fine, though I request you do not completely copy my appearance to avoid future confusion.”

He hummed, already considering the ash grey covering his plating. He didn’t think it looked too bad actually.

“We’ll get the paint sorted later, now how about a proper name? I don’t believe in assigning one over your own choice, so you gotta pick.”Smokescreen leaned back, not giving away any clues of what options laid before him.

“Hmm.” He studied the signage outside the train. “Something with blue in it?”

“Blue?” Prowl raised an eye ridge. “Didn’t you just say you wanted to be painted red?”

“Well yeah. I like the color red but I like the word blue.” He said rationally and sensibly.

Prowl could find no argument and accepted the information for what it was.

Smokescreen tapped his shoulder. “Gonna need something a little more complex than just Blue, buddy. It’s a pretty popular des.”

“Oh how about Blueline!”

A few eavesdroppers snorted at the announcement, a small wave of mirth echoing around the mostly reserved fields of the crowd.

There was a long pause.

“That.. is the name of the train we are currently riding.” Prowl slowly pointed out.

“Ah.”

Voice an octave higher, Smokescreen gave a slightly pained albeit encouraging grin. “Yeeeah. Maybe try one more time?”

The young mech rested his chin on his servos, rapidly tapping his digits. “Is Blue streak taken?”

Prowl and Smokescreen considered the name. Internally, Prowl scanned over something for a moment. “I do not see any other registrations for that designation. It is indeed available.”

“Then Bluestreak it is!” Proclaimed Smokescreen, who clapped a servo around Prowls far shoulder, squishing Bluestreak between them.

Bluestreak whooped, sirens he didn’t know he had briefly going off before Prowl rushed to teach him how to turn them back down.

With a sense of finality, the train at last closed its doors and pulled out of Praxus. Bluestreak watched the skyscrapers dance in streams of gold and red.

Tacnet Dilation: 125%

The sounds of the train car moved treacle slow. Bluestreak turned to his new brothers and in a voice that sounded strangely deep to his own audials, asked them “Why is Praxus burning?”

They glanced at each other again, passing silent communication born of familiarity. When he eventually spoke, Bluestreak could hear the buzz of Smokescreens vocalizer activating the click before the consonants of his words rumbled forward like distant thunder, “There’s a war, a civil war. We’re still deciding where to go.”

“Can I come?” The question came so easily.

A pause that lasted a thousand years crawled by, as the train swept into a long dark tunnel with no clear end.

“Yeah.” Smokescreen said, “You can come.”

——————

“And to make a long story short, we ended up joining the Decepticons because well, the Functionalist Council kinda claimed all surviving CC Praxian Enforcers as ‘Government Property’.” Bluestreak made quotations with his digits.

Not for the first time, Bluestreak glanced at his audience. It was difficult to read the twins, Sunstreaker especially, but Bluestreak thought he was starting to get a hold of their personalities.

He vaguely remembered Jazz saying he had an unusually high affinity for piloting mecha, and hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Now that he was spending time with “regular” pilots, Bluestreak couldn’t help but stare at the stark difference.

Jazz made it work, easily translating laid back body language and a friendly demeanor through several tons of non living machinery.

But the twins? There were times when the Twins reminded him of Empurata victims, their fine movements unnaturally stunted and their incredibly restricted means of self expression coming off as awkward at best. Drone like at worst.

And yet, like clouds passing through an Uncanny Valley, Bluestreak would see bits of their true selves slip out.

For example, the three of them had just come up to a broad shallow stream running across the sandy earth. Sunstreaker stalked right up to the shore, knelt down to dip a cupped hand into water and wasted no time in splashing it across his plating. While his brother attempted to clean himself of the filth they’d accumulated from the day, Sideswipe pointedly looked Bluestreak in the optics and raised a single finger to his visor.

Bluestreak tilted his helm, understanding the meaning of gesture but not the why.

Casually admiring the scenery, Sideswipe tiptoed behind his brothers back, hands clasped in the picture of nonchalant innocence.

And then kicked him square in the back.

Tacnet Dilation: 50%

BLUESTREAK: [Uh Prowl?]

Abruptly flattened face first into the sand, Sunstreaker raised one arm and punched into the earth beneath the stream. He rose with a measured, predatory speed.

BLUESTREAK: [Not an emergency. I think.]

Regardless, the Praxian still backed away from the beach. Tacnet stretching out the clicks for Prowl to answer into wisp thin strands of time.

BLUESTREAK: [But please still respond.]

Sideswipe made a show of pointing a finger at his brother while almost doubled over. Frame absolutely shaking with silent laughter.

PROWL: [I’m here. What is it?]

Whip fast, a clawed hand fisted itself around Sideswipes collar, yanking him off his feet. The red mecha vanished, reappearing on the opposite bank, laying prone in a brand new crater.

BLUESTREAK: [So the twins are fighting.]

Tacnet Dilation: 100%

Bluestreak watched as Sideswipes arms rotated backwards, punching off the earth with explosive momentum and launching himself towards the yellow mecha.

In a clear display of practice, Sunstreaker caught him with a shoulder to the chest, slamming his brother back first into the water with enough force to make it rain.

PROWL: [Each other?]

BLUESTREAK: [Yep.]

Sideswipe twisted his waist around almost 90 degrees and suddenly had the leverage to dig his clawed feet into the ground, flipping Sunstreaker back into the water.

Tacnet held steady at 100% dilation, slowing the fight to a pace that Bluestreak could actually follow. To anyone else, it’d be a blur of red and yellow plating churning through indecipherably dense sprays of water droplets.

Once, back on the Lost Light, Bluestreak had asked Prowl what was it that drew him to Jazz. Prowl, naturally, gave a highly clinical answer, “Jazz is highly competent. Tacnet likes competence.”

Of course, Bluestreak made fun of him at the time for hiding his feelings behind his battle computer.

But uh.

He was kinda getting it now.

Every awkward gesture, every stilted performance at normal body language from before evaporated instantaneously. There wasn’t a hundred feet of separation between their hands and their brains anymore, the pilots filled their mecha out to the very finger tips. Swift and precise and alive.

To Tacnet, these weren’t machines anymore, but men.

Very competent men.

PROWL: [This is apparently normal behavior for them. Keep your distance and wait it out.]

Bluestreak nearly dropped his rifle, juggling it in slow motion as his frame struggled to move as fast as his processor.

BLUESTREAK: [Yep got it.]

BLUESTREAK: [Will be observing closely.]

BLUESTREAK: [From a distance.]

BLUESTREAK: [I’ll be observing closely from a distance I mean.]

BLUESTREAK: [I am completely fine.]

By the time he’d pinned the stock against his chassis, he’d sent Prowl about half a dozen more messages, all following in a continuously self correcting pattern.

PROWL: [Bluestreak. Paragraphs please.]

He reeled Tacnet back to the standard 25% dilation and watched the fight continue at normal speed. Occasionally, Bluestreak noticed one of their visors would turn his way before snapping back to focus on pummeling each other into the ground

Are they watching to make sure I didn’t leave? Or… are they watching to make sure I’m watching?

When they were younger, Smokescreen would sometimes get a hold of fuzzy holovids of old gladiator fights, (or questionably sourced security footage) and drag Prowl and him to his hab suite to watch. On a purely superficial level, he claimed it was for “Tacnet training” and taught them both how to zero in on hundreds of little tells that’d determine who’d the winner of the match would be right from the opening move.

They played a game where whoever correctly guessed the outcome of the match first would be the winner. Bonus points for predicting the correct finishing move. Prowl and Smokescreen would get ridiculously competitive. Or rather, Smokescreen always won and it drove Prowl up the wall. Years later, Smokescreen would whisper what the secret was to him over a bottle of high grade: Prowl never considered not all mechs fight to win.

This was a performance.

Every blow the twins traded landed on the thickest parts of their armor. The flashing exposures of their most delicate components were brief but frequent, always left untouched.

His digits twitched where he held the rifle.

Two targets (moving, distracted) within close firing range. Estimated reaction time: 2.2 clicks. Estimated time between shots: 1.4 clicks.

Tacnet Dilation: 100%

Manual Override, Tacnet Dilation: 25%

Bluestreak turned up his ventilations and stamped down on Tacnet, blocking out anymore suggestions by tunelessly humming some random jingle he’d heard about a million years ago.

Eventually, the fight wound down on its own without a winner. Sunstreaker helped Sideswipe up, and that was that.

Watching the two stomp out of the water, Bluestreak raised a thumbs up, “You guys good?”

The twins responded in the affirmative, each giving the other one last shove before resuming their flanking positions beside the sniper. Setting out once more.

Several hours later, the stars had dimmed as the sky turned powder blue.

The broad flat expanse of the rocky desert begged to be raced across. The variation in the terrain with its short stoney shelves and dried river bed roads would have been fantastic tracks for a spur of the moment race.

If I was allowed to that is.

The sand and grit from the environment was starting to grind uncomfortably in his joints. His peds ached more from the knowledge that he didn’t need to walk than from the physical exertion of the hike itself.

“On a scale of one to ten, how badly would you guys react if I turned into a car right now?” He panted, keeping careful watch of his coolant levels as the sun rose over the horizon. “Like a five maybe? A five seems about right for the situation.”

The twins simultaneously stopped.

Bluestreaks doorwings flicked nervously, “Is this your way of saying it’s a three?”

Steadily, Sideswipe lowered into a low crouch, vents hissing steam and visor going dark. There was a subtle click of joints locking into place.

Sunstreaker picked a rocky shelf and sat, keeping both of them in his line of sight

BLUESTREAK: [The twins are doing something weird and new. Sunstreaker is just watching but Sideswipe is squatting for some reason and it looks like he just went into recharge?]

While Bluestreak worried the inside of his cheek, Sunstreaker waved at him and patted the stone by his side.

Hesitantly and not wanting to potentially offend the alien hunter, Bluestreak took the offered seat. Thankfully, Sunstreaker seemed mollified by this and went back to staring at the horizon.

PROWL: [Ratchet says it sounds like they’re taking shifts resting. Given the length of time you’ve been traveling together, they may expect you to “power down” for a while as well.]

BLUESTREAK: [So what you’re saying is I have to fake being in recharge while sitting upright, outdoors in the sun and in heavily implied to be quint infested territory?]

PROWL: [Yes.]

BLUESTREAK: [Great. Awesome. Thank you. This is totally fine.]

PROWL: [I’m sorry.]

Okay now that was a red flag.

Angry Prowl meant “There is a problem and I will not physically stop until it is obliterated.”

Apologetic Prowl meant even he couldn’t deal with the problem.

The sheer scale of how fucked he was finally set in.

Tacnet Dilation: 125%

Tacnet Dilation: 150%

Tacnet Dilation: 225%

Time curled up into a little ball on the floor.

The only thing that stopped Tacnet from going past 300% was a wedged in bit of coding Bluestreak had forcibly added after a truly nightmarish near death experience at 500% dilation.

Logically, he knew he still had control over his frame, but the sheer delay in response felt like he was paralyzed.

Don’t force it. Don’t force it. Don’t force yourself to move, everything you try to do will add to the queue and it’ll hit all at once.

He wished Sunstreaker could talk, Bluestreak couldn’t deal with silence. Silence was like trying to keep track of passing time by staring at a blank wall. At least when there was noise, the pitch could clue him in and keep his mind semi tethered to the actual rate of things happening around him.

The dinks of his digits curling against his servos finally registered from when he started the motion all the way back when Prowl said he was sorry.

The faint pressure just was enough to start his thought process again.

Manual Override, Tacnet Dilation: 200%

Manual Override, Tacnet Dilation: 150%

Manual Override, Tacnet Dilation: 100%

Feeling spread back into his frame as sensory input raced back to his processor. From Bluestreaks perspective, it felt like he’d just lunched forward, helm between his knees. From the outside it probably just looked like a slow miserable curl.

He tried not to purge.

When his doorwings picked up on movement from Sunstreaker, he froze. Hyperaware of how bizarre his behavior must look.

A heavy hand not designed for anything other than ripping and tearing settled between his doorwings, lightly patting.

Bluestreak chanced a glance at the yellow mecha. Sunstreakers visor was as impassive as ever but with his unoccupied hand he raised an “OK” symbol, tilting his head inquisitively.

Letting his vents run at max, Bluestreak swallowed, raising an “OK” back.

“I’m gonna go ahead and pretend to be unconscious now. Thanks for not killing me so far.”

Bluestreak crossed his arms and dimmed his optics, flaring out his doorwings to compensate for the drop in input.

To execute his performance as an unfeeling empty husk of machinery, Bluestreak clenched his jaw and vowed not to speak or move for the next several hours.

Tacnet Dilation: 50%

Or however long it felt like.

———————————————————————

Jazz: “So if you use Tacnet to crunch the numbers on crazy complicated battle simulations, and Bluestreak uses his Tacnet to pull off insane sniper moves, what does Smokescreen use his for?”

Prowl: “Gambling.”

——————

Cybertronian ages are weird and don’t really align to human developmental rates but I do roughly equate 1 millennia to about a decade in human years.

So Prowl is in his late twenties, Smokescreen is in his thirties and Bluestreak can legally buy alcohol, depending on the country.

Also, Prowl and Smokescreen don’t know about the constant time dilation Bluestreak lives with. It was an experimental feature that got turned on for testing and when Bluestreaks factory got blown up there was nobody around to disable it.

Sometime after they started living together, he asked Smokescreen what Tacnet Dilation actually was, and Smokescreen basically just went “Oh yeah that thing. Yeah just don’t touch it and you’ll be fine.” Not knowing it was already on.

As far as Bluestreak is aware, 25% is “normal speed” because that’s the lowest setting.

-SSTP

[valeriele3]

Rewind Venti x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Meeting a young bard may have sealed your fate to a never-ending journey through Teyvat. Forever wandering and rewinding time. Fluff/Angst(?) Words: 700

"Hey, how many times have we looped time now?"

"Hmm... This is the 10,039th loop…"

"That much, huh…?"

"Yes."

"How much more do you think we'll need?"

"Possibly a few thousand more, but hopefully this is the last."

"No, this has to be the last."

"Barbatos, if this attempt fails yet again, please take care of things for me."

"Alright. You can rest now. I'll take care of things."

"Ah! Y/N! We meet again"

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Ah—I—I mean, it's fair if you don't"

"After all, the last time we met was way back when we were kids, remember?" He sheepishly says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Ah, I see…Oh! Could you perhaps be...Lar...Larka...? Yeah, Larka.." you pretended to remember. If you were being honest, you couldn't remember this man or anyone from your past.

All your memories from when you were aged 12 and below were eerily blank.

You wondered if you'd suffer from a head injury, but apparently you hadn't. It felt weird at first.

Like you just woke up from a long slumber. But...ah, how rude.

You've accidentally been staring at the lad while lost in your thoughts.

You look away, embarrassed. "S-Sorry…"

"It's alright, you can stare longer if you want." He playfully winks, making your already red face turn redder.

'Geez, we just met, and I already embarrassed myself.'

'But...strangely, I don't mind it much.'

That was how you "first" met the young lad named "Venti."

He had beautiful turquoise eyes that seemed to hold the winds within, beautiful double-braided hair positioned on each side of his head, a voice that sounded as if it could grasp your heart warmly, and a touch that brought a sense of warmth, comfort, and familiarity.

He was an anomaly to you.

Suddenly appearing in your otherwise bleak life, brightening your world, and filling it with the brightest and most pleasant colors.

Time seemed to pass by slowly, like a glacier. Seemingly frozen in time but moving.

And like glaciers, your life changes, albeit sometimes imperceptibly.

You don't know when it began, but you now often find yourself recollecting memories and experiences that you' swear you've never experienced before.

You felt like you were delusional. Crazy even.

But, if there was one thing you've noticed with these new memories resurfacing, it's that they always seem to predict the future. Like a prophetic dream.

So you've labeled it as that. A power to predict the future. A Prophecy.

Things had been going well. So well, even. And maybe that's why you're in a terrible situation right now. As a payment for all your fortune.

You were trapped in a cave with monsters pouring out endlessly from a hidden domain inside the cave.

How long have you been fighting?

You couldn't count the hours anymore. It felt like hundreds of years had passed already.

Picking up your sword once more, you ready yourself, clinging onto a sliver of hope that maybe, maybe someone would come to your rescue soon.

You just need to hold out for a bit more.

Seeing a mitachurl begin to swing its giant axe at you, you try to dodge, but alas, your tired body had reached its limit.

You couldn't move anymore. Even just holding your sword was draining the last of the energy you had.

'I guess this is it for me…' Closing your eyes, you await the feeling of an axe coming down to slice you in half, but it never comes.

Instead, you felt a calm, gentle breeze.

Opening your eyes, you see what seemed to be the gentle breeze brutally slicing the monsters to pieces. Like a gale.

'Someone..Someone found me..'

'I did it…I survived…' The thought of being saved after long, brutal hours of nonstop fighting hit your body with a wave of exhaustion. Unable to keep yourself up any longer, you collapse on the ground

'Where am I...? '

"Barbatos…! Catch it, it's escaping!"

'Huh? Barbatos...? The Anemo Archon? '

Just then a headache struck you. Like a needle pushing itself further inside you.

'Agh…My head…It hurts…'

"Flowers? For me? Aww, thank you!"

"Barbatos, look! Look! I made you a flower crown and...a matching flower ring just for the two of us."

"Barbatos, what is that?"

"What did you do?!"

"｢⟄ v⟃⟔⟔⋖"

"I'm sorry... Please... Let me turn back the time once more."

"I'll do better the next time!"

"Ah...Ah...No...Not again…I don't want this ending."

Whirr

Click-click

Zzzziiip

"This time, I will save this world from destruction."

"B̷̌̈a̸̓̄ŕ̴̅b̸̑̕a̵̦͛t̷̿̾ó̵̀s̵̎̂will you join me in my perpetual journey?"

Whirr

"Hey, how many times have we looped time now?"

"Hmm... This is the 10,0....."

[thef1diary]

While It Lasts | L. Norris - 2

Summary: Lando expected nothing more than relaxation and fun for two weeks during his summer break. What he didn’t anticipate was meeting you, someone who felt like a perfect match in every way. As the days quickly passed, he found himself falling deeply for you, only to be confronted with the heart-wrenching reality that your time together was far more limited than he ever imagined.

Part 1

PLEASE READ: This story contains themes of loss, morality, fear, death, relationship strains, mental health struggles, including significant emotional impact related to the reader’s journey with a chronic illness and some scenes are set in hospitals. Reminder that this is simply a work of fiction, please don’t take it to heart.

wc: 16.5k

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate or repost any of my work.

You woke up to the faint clattering of dishes in the kitchen. Groggily, you opened your eyes, feeling the stiffness from sleeping awkwardly on the couch. Stretching, you realized Isaac was already up, making breakfast. 

“Isaac,” you called out, your voice hoarse from sleep. 

He didn’t seem to hear you, the noise of the kitchen drowning out your voice. With a sigh, you decided to hobble over to him, each step a reminder of your twisted ankle and the awkward position you’d slept in.

Reaching the kitchen, you leaned against the doorway for support. “Isaac,” you said a bit louder.

He turned, surprise and concern crossing his face. “You should be resting.”

“I know,” you replied, wincing slightly as you moved closer. “But we need to talk.”

Isaac set down the pan he was holding, his expression turning serious. “Alright, let’s talk.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the words you were about to say. “Isaac, I’m sorry for yelling at you yesterday. I know you’re just trying to take care of me.”

He shook his head, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and pain. “Every single day for the past four years, I have this fear that you’ll leave me at any moment. Yes, it is selfish, very selfish because I truly don’t know what you’re feeling, what you’re going through. But while you might’ve accepted that you’re dying, I didn’t! I just wanted to make sure you’re taking care of yourself, so you can live another day, so you can see me graduate college, see me – I don’t know – find the love of my life or get married. I’m sorry. You’re my sister, you are the last person I need to act like I’m on eggshells around you.”

Your heart ached at his words, the depth of his fear and love hitting you hard. “Your fear is valid, Isaac. Just because I’ve accepted it, doesn’t mean that I like it. But it won’t change fate, will it? It won’t change the fact that I’ve been dealt a shitty hand at life. All I know is that when I’m taking my last breaths, whenever it is, I don’t want to regret anything. I don’t want to regret not living enough because of the fear of dying. Just because I have a stupid countdown doesn’t mean I should be afraid to live.”

Isaac looked at you, his eyes moist with unshed tears. “I just want you to be here, to live as long as possible.”

“I know,” you whispered, reaching out to engulf him in a hug. “I’ll try to take better care of myself.” 

He nodded slowly, his grip tightening around your body. “And I’ll try to be less overprotective, I promise, I’ll try.”

You smiled, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Thank you, Isaac.”

As you stood there, holding onto each other in the quiet morning light, you felt a sense of peace. When he pulled back, he scrunched up his face. “But it’ll be harder to explain that to mum and dad.” 

You shrugged, “they’ll get it, one day, hopefully.” 

After breakfast, Isaac announced he needed to run some errands in town. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he said, grabbing his keys. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. Take your time.”

As the door closed behind him, the house fell into a quiet lull. You settled back on the couch, trying to get comfortable and rest your ankle. Just as you were starting to drift off, the doorbell rang.

With a sigh, you swung your legs off the couch and hobbled toward the door, wincing with each step. When you finally reached it and pulled it open, you were greeted by Lando’s mischievous grin that quickly turned into worry.

“Hey,” he said, his brow furrowed as he took in your hobbling form. “You shouldn’t be up and about. How’s the ankle?”

“Hey, Lando,” you replied, leaning against the doorframe for support. “It’s sore but I’ll survive. Come in.”

He stepped inside, immediately reaching out to steady you. “Here, let me help you back to the couch.”

You nodded, grateful for his support. You leaned against him and held his hand as he guided you back to your spot on the couch. You couldn’t help but notice the warmth of his touch and the genuine concern in his eyes. 

“Thanks,” you said once you were settled again. “What brings you here?”

Lando shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “I wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re not getting into any more trouble.”

You chuckled softly. “Well, I did manage to twist my ankle pretty badly.”

His expression turned serious. “I know. I felt terrible leaving you like that last night.”

“It’s alright, I was already sleeping before you left,” you waved off his concern. 

“Speaking of falling asleep…” Lando began, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I couldn’t resist stopping by the bookstore you mentioned. Figured I’d pick up a couple of books to keep us entertained.”

You grinned, appreciating his thoughtfulness. “You went to the bookstore? You really are determined to explore every corner of this town, aren’t you?”

Lando nodded enthusiastically, pulling the books out of the bag he carried when he entered. “Of course! And since my favorite tour guide is out of commission,” he said, gesturing to your injured ankle, “I had to take matters into my own hands.”

He revealed two identical books, holding them up with a grin. “Thought we could have a reading competition. Winner gets bragging rights.”

You chuckled, shaking your head in amusement. “It’s always a competition with you, isn’t it?”

Lando shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “What can I say? I’m a competitive guy. Comes with the territory. Oh, and by the way,” he added casually, “did I mention I’m a Formula 1 driver?”

You blinked, surprised by the revelation. “Wait, seriously?”

Lando grinned, “yeah, been racing for quite a few years now.” 

You nodded, a smile spreading on your face when he delved into the details, and it’s evident that he loves talking about his passion. 

“That actually makes so much sense, that’s how you know the Sainz family, right?” 

Lando’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Yes, but how do you know them?”

You laughed softly, and it quickly became a sound Lando loved hearing. “I live next to the villa, remember?” You teased jokingly. 

A sheepish smile grew on his face, “oh, right. So what, you’ve met Carlos too? And here I thought I was the first F1 driver you’ve met.” 

You nodded. “Yeah, in passing. We never really talked much, but I’ve seen him and his family around often.”

Then you leaned closer and whispered, “but don’t tell him that he may no longer be my favourite.” 

He quirked up an eyebrow, leaning in as well and responding with the same amount of energy. “Then who is?” 

You shrugged, leaning back with a small smile and a faint blush covering your cheeks. “I think I might have to watch a race to decide.” 

As you continued chatting with Lando, the pain in your ankle seemed to fade into the background. His enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself drawn into his stories about racing, the thrill of waiting for the lights to go out, and the camaraderie between his fellow drivers. 

Eventually, you decided to start the reading competition. Both of you settled into the couch with your respective books, determined to see who would finish first. But as the minutes ticked by, Lando found it hard to focus on his book. His gaze kept drifting to you, watching the way your eyes moved across the pages and the little expressions that flitted across your face as you read.

He couldn’t help but want to talk to you, to hear more about your thoughts. Finally, he put his book down with a sigh, unable to concentrate any longer.

“So, what’s next on the agenda once your ankle’s better? Something less adventurous, perhaps?”

You placed your book down after marking your page, chuckling as you looked at him. “Can’t focus, can you?” 

“Not with you around,” he shrugged casually. 

Trapping your lip between your teeth to prevent a smile from growing on your face, you chose to focus on the question he asked. 

“There’s this amazing seafood restaurant nearby. It’s a local favorite, and the food is incredible. Fresh catches of the day, and the chef’s specials are to die for. You’ll love it!”

As you spoke, you didn’t notice Lando’s face pale slightly. He wasn’t a fan of seafood, but he couldn’t bring himself to dampen your excitement by telling you the truth. The way your eyes lit up talking about the place made him want to experience it with you, even if he never wanted to be around any sort of fish. 

“Sounds great,” Lando said, forcing a smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

You clapped your hands together, beaming. “You won’t regret it, I promise. The view from the restaurant is amazing too. It’s right by the water, and you can see the boats coming in and out of the harbor. It’s a perfect spot for a relaxing evening.”

Lando nodded, matching your enthusiasm as best he could. “That sounds perfect. I can’t wait.”

“How about we go there for dinner tomorrow?” you suggested, your excitement bubbling over.

“Tomorrow night it is,” Lando agreed, his smile genuine due to your smile despite his seafood reservations. 

The next evening came around too quickly for Lando’s liking. Instead of stressing over what to wear this time, he was worried about the food itself. The prospect of seafood was daunting, but he didn’t want to let you down. As he rummaged through his closet, Max walked into the room with a teasing grin.

“Mate, you like her so much that you’d willingly eat seafood for her?” Max said, leaning against the doorframe.

Lando looked up, a mixture of nerves and amusement on his face. “Yeah, well, it’s not just about the food. It’s about the company.”

He chuckled, “you’re a brave man.” Then he sighed exaggeratedly, “oh the things you do in love.” 

Lando’s back straightened suddenly. “It’s not love… yet. We’re just hanging out.” 

Max’s eyes widened since he didn’t expect such an answer, “wait a second, ‘yet’? Do you actually like her?”

Lando shrugged, trying to play it off, but the slight smile on his face betrayed him. “I don’t know, Max. Maybe. It’s… complicated.”

Max studied him for a moment, then a grin spread across his face. “I should’ve seen it coming, but she’s great! Maybe even a little out of your league,” he spoke with a teasing grin, that only made Lando roll his eyes when he saw his best friend’s face. 

“She’s beautiful,” he said softly, not denying Max’s words.

Max's teasing grin softened into a more serious expression. "Hey, I'm serious though. You don't have to go through with this if you're not comfortable. You shouldn't feel like you have to force yourself to like something just to impress her."

Lando appreciated Max's concern, but he shook his head. "It's not about impressing her. I want to spend time with her, Max. She's... she's different."

Max raised an eyebrow, a knowing look in his eyes. "Different, huh? Well, just be careful, okay?"

Lando nodded, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty and anticipation. "Of course."

As Max left the room, Lando took a moment to collect his thoughts. He knew Max was just looking out for him, but there was something about you that made him want to take the risk. With a determined smile, he finished getting ready and was about to head out to meet you, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement building inside him.

Right as he was leaving the villa, Max’s voice rang out. “If you need an excuse to skip out, I can come up with something. No need to torture yourself over fish.”

Lando shook his head, appreciating the concern. “Thanks, Max, but I’ll be fine. I just… I don’t want to ruin this. She’s really excited about the place.”

A very short drive later, Lando knocked on your door, and when you opened it, his eyes widened appreciatively as they swept over you. You wore a simple yet elegant dress, the color complementing your features perfectly.

“Wow,” he breathed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You look amazing.”

Blushing slightly at his compliment, you thanked him and closed the door behind you as you left your cottage, walking towards Lando’s car. “Thanks, Lando, you don’t look too bad yourself.”

He fell in step beside you, still admiring your outfit. “So, do you have a hot date or something?”

You chuckled at his question, shaking your head. “Nope, no dates, just going out with some racer guy, not sure if you know him.” 

Sitting in his car, he instantly looked at you with a raised eyebrow and a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “Hmm, sounds like a great guy! Is he interesting?” 

You laughed, nudging him as he drove. “Very.” 

When you arrived at the restaurant, the sun was just starting to set, casting a golden glow over the water. It was nestled right by the harbor, with a perfect view of the boats coming and going. Lando parked the car and helped you out, his hand lingering a moment longer than necessary as he offered support for your still-healing ankle. Even though you could walk without needing support again, you didn’t mind holding onto his hand. 

“Wow, this place is beautiful,” he said, genuinely impressed by the picturesque setting.

“I told you,” you replied with a satisfied smile. “Come on, let’s get a table by the window.”

The interior of the restaurant was cozy, with soft lighting and a gentle murmur of conversation filling the air. A small fish tank adorned one corner of the room, the colorful fish swimming lazily in the water. Lando couldn’t help but chuckle nervously as he glanced at the tank.

“Kinda cruel, isn’t it?” he joked, nodding towards the fish tank. "Having live fish in a seafood restaurant," Lando remarked with a wry smile. 

Still, you laughed, nodding in agreement. "The owners think it adds to the ambiance."

As you were seated and handed the menus, Lando took a deep breath, steeling himself for the seafood-heavy options. But when he looked across the table and saw your excited expression, he hoped it would all be worth it. This evening was about enjoying your company, and he was determined to do just that, and perhaps if everything went very well, he might casually mention that he’d like to take you out on an actual date. 

As the waiter took your orders, you couldn't contain your excitement, eager to indulge in the fresh seafood the restaurant had to offer. Lando, however, seemed a bit hesitant, but he eventually settled on a dish, trying to mask his apprehension with a smile.

Once the food arrived, you dug in eagerly, savoring each bite of the delicious seafood. However, as you glanced over at Lando, you noticed something was off. His attempts to conceal his discomfort were evident, and you could see the struggle on his face as he hesitantly bit into a shrimp, his expression revealing disgust as he tried to swallow it. 

Concerned, you leaned closer to him, your voice soft with worry. "Is everything okay, Lando?"

He hesitated, clearly torn, spitting the piece of shrimp into a tissue before finally admitting, "I'm sorry, I just... I can't do seafood."

Surprised by his confession, you felt a pang of guilt wash over you. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Lando shrugged, looking sheepish. "I didn't want to ruin your plans, you looked so excited to come here and I thought I could handle it, but..."

Without hesitation, you reached out, taking his hand in yours. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Leading him out of the restaurant, you felt a mix of disappointment and concern. Disappointed that he didn’t feel comfortable sharing such a simple detail with you, and concerned that he attempted to eat a shrimp, knowing he disliked it, all for your sake.

But as you walked together, you were determined to salvage the evening because you didn’t want the night to end just yet. "How about we find a burger place? Is that something you'll enjoy."

Lando's gratitude was evident in his smile as he nodded, and together, you set off to find a new spot to continue your evening, determined to make it memorable for all the right reasons.

You and Lando ended up sitting in his car, munching on takeout burgers and fries, the mood was light and laughter filled the air. Lando was in the middle of telling a funny story from his racing season, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he recounted the antics of how multiple of his fellow drivers tried to convince him to try seafood but failed. 

You couldn’t help but laugh along, enjoying the animated way he described each moment. You playfully nudged Lando, a grin spreading across your face. “Well, it seems like all those F1 drivers couldn’t get you to try seafood, but I did, even if it was just a bite!”

Lando leaned back in his seat, a lighthearted smile playing on his lips. “You know, for you, I’d try anything… except seafood.”

As you heard Lando's words, a soft realization came to you that his remark held a hint of flirtation.

“Why don’t you like seafood anyways?” you couldn’t help but ask, especially since this town was full of loads of seafood options and now you had to think of other restaurants for him to try. 

Lando shrugged, taking another bite of his burger before answering. “I guess it’s just not my thing. I’ve never been a fan of the taste or the texture.”

As you indulged in your burger, a smear of sauce found its way to the corner of your lips. Lando's eyes caught the small detail, and with a gentle smile, he pointed it out. "You've got a little something right there."

You chuckled, raising your hand to wipe it away, but before you could, Lando's fingers grazed over the corner of your lips, wiping away the sauce. His touch was gentle, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary as he leaned in close.

A subtle warmth spread through you at the intimacy of the gesture, and for a moment, time seemed to slow as you met his gaze. There was something unspoken between you, a silent acknowledgment of the growing connection that seemed to deepen with each passing moment.

His fingers lingered at the edge of your lips, and you could feel his breath, warm and inviting, mingling with yours. The world around you faded, leaving only the two of you in that fleeting instant.

“Lando…” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. The space between you grew smaller, your faces inching closer together.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes flicking down to your lips and back up to your eyes. The anticipation was electric, a charged moment that seemed to stretch on forever.

But then, he pulled back, a faint blush tinting his cheeks. “I don’t want our first kiss to be like this,” he murmured, his voice soft but resolute. “You deserve a proper date first.”

A mix of disappointment and warmth washed over you. His thoughtfulness, his desire to make things right, only made your heart ache more with affection. Amidst the laughter and shared stories, his words hung between you, a promise of something more.

As quickly as the thought arose, the weight of your illness pressed down on you, reminding you of life's fragility and the uncertainty of tomorrow. Your thoughts lingered on wondering if you even had a future in general. To entertain the idea of a future with him would only cause your heart to ache, knowing that you might not live to see those dreams come true. 

The thought of a future, a proper date, a real kiss—all of it seemed so painfully out of reach.

It was a bittersweet realization, knowing that even the simplest of dreams could be overshadowed by the reality of your condition. While he would return back to the fast paced world of racing, you would remain in this small town, wondering how many more dreams you would have to crush because fate decided to take away your life, inch by inch. 

Awkwardness filled the car on your end, your emotions shifting to cold and stoic, like they were before you met him. The warm connection you had felt only moments ago was replaced by a wall you erected to protect your heart. Lando noticed the change, his cheerful demeanor faltering as the silence grew heavy between you.

Soon enough, you both finished your burgers, and Lando started the car to drive you home. The ride was quiet, the earlier laughter and easy conversation now replaced by a tension that neither of you acknowledged. When he pulled up to your house, he turned off the engine and looked at you, a hint of concern in his eyes.

“Do you want me to walk you to the door?” he asked softly.

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “No, it’s fine. Thanks for the evening, Lando.”

He watched as you climbed out of the car, a confused and worried expression on his face. As you walked to your door, you could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t look back. You shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment as a tear threatened to slip down your cheek.

Lando sat in his car, staring at the closed door, wondering what he had done wrong and why the evening had ended on such a somber note. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something important had changed, but he had no idea what it was or how to fix it.

— 

Over the next couple of days, you don’t acknowledge the thoughts that are bubbling up in your mind, instead choosing to tread carefully and immerse yourself in your daily routine. You’ve lived a lot more than you have over the past couple of months, and felt the joy that it brings. But now, you had to face the consequences causing you to distance yourself away from Lando before you got too attached to the happiness that came with being around him. Once you realized that you truly wanted to kiss him that night, everything changed. You had to take a preemptive measure, a self-imposed boundary designed to shield your heart from potential pain. 

Your health deteriorated significantly. Your energy waned, and simple tasks like walking around the house left you breathless and exhausted. Fortunately, you have a doctor’s appointment scheduled, a simple routine checkup. However, it coincided with plans you made with Lando. Determined to distance yourself from him, you don’t tell him about the change of plans. 

At the doctor’s appointment, you sit in the sterile examination room, the familiar scent of antiseptic mingling with nerves that coil in the pit of your stomach. These appointments, routine yet crucial, serve as a barometer of your ongoing battle against your illness.

As the doctor enters, his expression is professional yet compassionate, his eyes scanning through your medical history with a practiced ease. You recount the recent symptoms you’ve been experiencing, the fatigue that seems to seep into your bones, and the persistent ache that lingers despite treatment.

With a sympathetic nod, the doctor orders a series of tests, his urgency palpable as he reviews your file. The minutes stretch into an eternity as you wait for the results, each passing second filled with a silent plea for a glimmer of hope.

When the test results finally come back, the doctor’s demeanor shifts subtly, his tone measured yet grave. “I’m afraid the results are not as we had hoped,” he begins, his words heavy with significance.

Your heart sinks at the confirmation of your worst fears, the reality of your illness casting a shadow over your hopes for improvement. Despite your best efforts, it seems that the tide of your health is turning against you once again.

A sense of dread fills you as he explains that the illness has advanced more rapidly than expected. “We need to keep you overnight for observation,” he says gently. “Your vitals are unstable, and we need to adjust your treatment plan.” 

You nod, too emotionally tired to object, allowing a nurse to lead you to the hospital room, one that you became too familiar with over the past few years. You would spend yet another night under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital, experience another round of tests and treatments, and take another uncertain step into the abyss of your illness.

You lie in the hospital bed, hooked up to various machines, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over you like a heavy blanket. The familiar beeps and hums of the medical equipment provide a disconcerting backdrop to your thoughts, each sound a reminder of the precariousness of your health.

As you drift in and out of consciousness, your mind wanders to Lando, the plans you had made together now nothing more than distant dreams. Guilt gnaws at the edges of your consciousness, knowing that he waits for you, unaware of the sudden turn your day has taken.

Just as the shadows of doubt threaten to overwhelm you, a soft knock on the door interrupts your thoughts. Startled, you turn to see Isaac's familiar face framed in the doorway, concern etched into his features.

"Hey," he says softly, crossing the room to sit beside you. "I got your text. Are you okay?"

You manage a weak smile, grateful for his presence amidst the sterile confines of the hospital room. "Yeah, just another setback," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Isaac reaches out to squeeze your hand gently, his touch a comforting anchor in the sea of uncertainty. "You’ll get through this," he says, his voice steady and reassuring.

As Isaac settles into the chair beside your hospital bed, he observes the flurry of activity around you—the nurses bustling about, the doctors conferring in hushed tones, tweaking the machines, their purpose still a mystery to him after all these visits.

When there's a lull in the commotion, Isaac hesitates before speaking, his voice soft with concern. "Hey, I wanted to let you know... Lando stopped by the cottage today."

“What’d he say?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. 

"He asked about you today," Isaac begins, his tone gentle. "Said you had plans but you didn't show. He mentioned he hasn't seen you in a couple of days. Is everything okay between you two?"

You nod weakly, offering a small smile to reassure Isaac. "Yeah, everything's fine. I just... I don't know, I guess I realized that I've been enjoying his company a lot more than I should, given my condition."

He frowns, “what’s wrong with that? You’re both happy around each other, so why are you distancing yourself away from him?” 

You scoff, “have you seen me?” You raise your arm that has an IV inserted, along with the other wires connected to you. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Isaac insists gently. “He cares about you. You deserve happiness too, regardless of what’s going on with your health.”

You shake your head, a hint of frustration in your voice. “You don’t understand, Isaac. I don’t have a guarantee of how I’m spending the next week, let alone the rest of my life. I don’t want to hurt Lando by snatching away his happiness one day too. I’m just… preventing myself, and him, from getting too attached to each other.”

Isaac sighs, his expression softening with understanding. "You're not scared of getting too attached, are you? You already are, whether you admit it or not. But by staying away, you're only hurting yourself and him more."

You avert your gaze, feeling the weight of his words sinking in. "I know," you admit quietly. "But I don't know what else to do."

"He deserves to know if he's falling in love with you," Isaac says gently, his voice filled with concern. "And you deserve to have someone by your side, especially during the tough times."

You let out a heavy sigh, knowing he's right but still unsure of what to do next. "I guess I did find someone that fate hates more than me."

"So you agree, that he's in love with you?" Isaac probes, searching your eyes for confirmation.

"He's only in love because he barely knows me," you reply, your voice tinged with sadness.

“Maybe you should give him a chance to know you, the real you,” he responds. 

You bite your lip, unsure of how to respond. Deep down, you know Isaac is right, but the fear of hurting Lando is overwhelming. Yet, the thought of pushing him away hurts just as much.

Before you can dwell on it further, a nurse enters the room, breaking the momentary silence. Isaac gives you a reassuring smile before standing up to give you some privacy. As he leaves, his words linger in the air, leaving you to contemplate the complexities of your situation.

The next morning, you’re discharged, feeling even more drained. The doctors have adjusted your medications, but the prognosis remains grim. 

You left the hospital, walking in step beside Isaac for a moment until he headed towards the parking lot to bring the car around. As you were blinking in the bright morning sunlight, you nearly collided with Max, who was just outside chatting with someone on his phone.

“Hey there!” Max greets you with a wide grin, sliding his phone into his pocket. However, his expression quickly turns into a frown as he notices the hospital wristband adorning your wrist. “Wait, were you in there?” he asks, concern lacing his words. “Is everything okay?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, not wanting to worry him unnecessarily or dive into the complexities of your recent hospital stay. “Oh, it was just a routine checkup, some bloodwork, you know how that goes, nothing to worry about,” you assure him with a tight-lipped smile.

Max’s eyes narrow slightly, clearly not entirely convinced by your explanation, but he decides not to press further. 

He glances over his shoulder, then back at you. “I was just at the café right down the street.” 

You nod, “good choice, they make the best coffee in town.” 

He smiled as his choice was approved by you. “Do you need a ride? I’m heading back to the villa.”

You shook your head, “no it’s alright, Isaac’s bringing the car around.”

“Alright, I guess I’ll see you around, only a few more days left before we leave this paradise,” he reminds you. 

You offer him a grateful nod. “Yeah, time flies, doesn’t it?” you reply with a forced smile since you were hoping to return home soon. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

As Max nods in agreement and starts to walk away, you can’t shake the feeling that he suspects something isn’t quite right. But you push the thought aside, determined to focus on the present moment and put on a brave face as you step away from the hospital and back into the world outside.

As Isaac parks in the driveway, you notice Lando pacing back and forth by the front door, his brows furrowed in concern. The sight of him fills you with a tumult of conflicting emotions. Isaac’s words echo in your mind, urging you to be honest with Lando, to tell him how much you care about him, to share the burden of your illness. But fear gnaws at your insides, whispering that revealing the truth will only drive him away. 

His expression changes from relief to frustration as he sees you approaching.

“Where were you?” he demanded, his voice tinged with worry. “I’ve been trying to reach you.” 

As you and Lando stand in front of each other, locked in a tense silence, Isaac takes a step back, sensing the need for privacy between you two. With a subtle nod, he heads inside the cottage, leaving you and Lando alone on the doorstep.

The weight of unspoken words hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you both with its palpable intensity. You struggle to find the right words to break the silence, to bridge the growing chasm between you, but fear and uncertainty grip you like a vice, paralyzing your tongue.

Lando shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flickering between you as if searching for answers in the depths of your eyes. His expression is a mix of hurt and confusion, mirroring the tumultuous storm raging within your own heart.

You want to tell Lando the truth, to let him in, but the thought of exposing your vulnerabilities terrifies you. You can’t bear the idea of him seeing you as fragile, of pitying you. So, holding your head up high, you decide to make him hate you before he realizes that he loves you. 

You force a nonchalant shrug, trying to play it off. “I had some errands to run, and I forgot we had plans.”

“Forgot?” he repeats, incredulous. “We made those plans a while ago. Forget that, I haven’t seen you for days. What’s really going on?”

Annoyed, and wanting to distance yourself from him before your feelings grow even stronger, you let a hint of irritation seep into your voice. “I don’t owe you an explanation for everything I do, Lando. It’s not a big deal.”

He’s taken aback by your rudeness, his face falling slightly. “Not a big deal? I’ve been worried sick about you.”

“Well, you don’t need to be,” you say curtly, avoiding his eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

An awkward silence falls between you two, the tension palpable. Lando’s expression shifts from hurt to confusion. He takes a step back, clearly stung by your words.

“Fine,” he says quietly, his voice pained. “If that’s how you want it.”

You nod, turning away from him and heading inside, each step feeling heavier than the last. Lando stands outside for a moment longer, staring at the closed door. He can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to your abrupt change in behavior, but he respects your wish for distance. With a heavy heart, he turns and walks away, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the echo of the door closing between you

You lean against the door, quickly sliding down and sitting on the floor as you cover your face with your hands, fighting back tears. 

Pushing him away is probably the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but you convince yourself it’s for the best.

Isaac spots you sitting on the floor, and quickly rushes towards you. Moving your hands away from your face, he notices the tears staining your cheeks and has an idea of how the conversation went with Lando. 

"You're still as stubborn as ever, aren't you?" he remarked rhetorically, but then he enveloped you in his arms, holding you close as you trembled with sobs. 

You pulled back slightly, sniffling as you tried to compose yourself. "I can't tell him," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rush of emotions.

Meanwhile, Lando trudged back to the villa, his mind heavy with thoughts and his heart weighed down by the encounter with you. When he arrived, Max was idly sitting around. 

“Hey, mate,” Max greeted but his expression turned serious as he observed Lando’s demeanour. “You okay?” 

Lando shrugged, sitting next to Max as he tried to brush off the weight of his emotions. “I saw her today.” 

He nodded, “how’d it go?” 

Lando frowned, furrowing his brows. “I don’t know, Max. That’s the thing. It’s like I saw a completely different person today. Someone I thought I knew, but now… she’s like a stranger.”

Max furrowed his brow, concerned. “What do you mean?”

Lando shook his head, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like she was pushing me away, Max. Acting cold and distant, like she didn’t want anything to do with me.”

Max nodded in understanding. “Well, mate, maybe she’s just having a rough day. I mean, she was at the hospital earlier.” 

His words caught Lando off guard. He blinked in surprise, his brows furrowing as he processed the information. “Wait, she was at the hospital?” he asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice.

Max nodded solemnly. “Yeah, I saw her leaving earlier today. Said it wasn’t serious, just a routine check up but she looked very tired, like she hadn’t slept properly in days.”

Lando’s concern deepened as he absorbed Max’s words. “Why didn’t she tell me?” he murmured, a mix of worry and frustration evident in his voice.

Max placed a comforting hand on Lando’s shoulder. “Maybe she just needs some space, mate. It’s not easy opening up about personal stuff, especially to someone you care about a lot.”

“You think she cares about me?” Lando asked, his tone almost a mumbling mess. 

Max scoffed, “see I knew you were an idiot but not to this extent that you don’t even see the obvious. Of course she cares about you, mate!” 

“Well I know that, it’s just I don’t wanna read into something that’s not there, you know?” 

Max squeezed Lando’s shoulder reassuringly. “Trust me, mate, it’s there. Sometimes, we just need a little nudge to see what’s right in front of us.”

Lando nodded slowly, his mind still swirling with doubts and questions. “I guess you’re right,” he conceded, a faint glimmer of hope starting to flicker within him.

Max grinned, clapping him on the back. “That’s the spirit! Just give her some time, and I’m sure things will sort themselves out.”

The cottage exudes a somber atmosphere, suffused with memories of those initial days when you sought refuge from your parents' house, just across town. After your diagnosis, living with your parents became unbearable, evoking memories of your tumultuous teenage years, always feeling scolded and misunderstood. With persuasion and determination, you relocated to the cottage, that has always acted as a second childhood home, with your brother, longing for respite from the tumult of your parents' home. Eventually, your parents themselves moved to the next town over, seeking their own fresh start, leaving you and your brother to navigate the challenges of your illness in your quiet abode.

Now, as you sit in the same kitchen where you once grappled with the harsh reality of your illness, the mood is eerily similar. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you as the silence in the cottage seems to press down, a stark contrast to the vibrant conversations and laughter that once echoed within these walls during your childhood summers. Even more palpably, you recall the warmth of recent memories, the shared laughter with Lando when you had twisted your ankle, filling the space with a joy that now feels distant and elusive. The air is thick with unspoken words, the tension palpable as if one wrong move could shatter the fragile peace you carefully built. 

Isaac sits across from you, his presence comforting amidst the somber atmosphere. He watches you closely, his gaze filled with concern and understanding.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breaking the silence that hangs heavy between you.

You force a smile, but it feels hollow on your lips. “Just tired,” you reply, the words barely audible over the quiet hum of the refrigerator.

While Isaac may be aware of some of the pain you feel, he doesn’t know the full extent of what you’re enduring. You want to shield him from the worst, hiding just how much it hurts. The pain has been relentless, gnawing at you day and night, with only a brief sense of comfort for a few hours after taking your medication. Every movement feels like a struggle, every breath a reminder of the fragility of your condition.

Isaac studies your face, his eyes narrowing with concern. “You should call Mom and Dad,” he says softly, breaking the silence. “They need to know what’s going on. Your health is getting worse.”

You shake your head, the thought of burdening your parents with more bad news twisting your stomach into knots. “They’ve been hoping I’m getting better.”

Isaac sighs, reaching across the table to take your hand. “They’re gonna find out soon enough and they’ll want to be here for you, to support you. It’s better they hear it from you than from anyone else.”

You look down at your hands, Isaac’s warmth a stark contrast to the cold dread settling in your bones. “I just… I don’t want to shatter their hope again.”

Isaac squeezes your hand gently. “They love you. They’re not going to be disappointed in you. They’ll be worried, sure, but they need to know. You need all the support you can get.”

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. “Okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I’ll call them.”

Isaac gives you a reassuring smile, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Good. We’ll get through this together. You’re not alone.”

You manage a hint of a smile, looking at Isaac. “You know,” you say softly, “you’re such a good older brother especially for someone who’s younger than me.”

Isaac chuckles, a warm, comforting sound in the quiet room. “Age is just a number,” he says, squeezing your hand gently. “Besides, someone has to keep you in line.”

“Keep me in line? I think we’ve switched roles, remember how I used to keep you out of trouble?” You remark. 

You can feel the tension ease in the room as Isaac laughs at the memory before standing up to prepare dinner, allowing you to pick up your phone. 

The thought of hearing your parents’ voices fills you with a mixture of fear and relief. You know Isaac is right, but the conversation ahead feels like another mountain to climb. Taking a deep breath, you dial the familiar number, bracing yourself for what’s to come. The phone rings, and with each passing moment, you feel the weight of the upcoming conversation pressing down on you.

Finally, your mother answers, her voice warm and familiar. “Hello, sweetie. It’s been a while since you called. How are you?”

You hesitate for a moment, trying to keep your voice steady. “Hi, Mom. I… I need to talk to you about something.”

There’s a pause, and you can hear the concern in her voice. “What is it, honey? Is everything alright?”

Before you can respond, she quickly switches to a video call. Her face appears on the screen, eyes wide with worry. “Tell me what’s going on,” she says, her voice trembling slightly.

Seeing her face makes it harder to hold back your emotions. You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “Mom, I’ve been trying to stay strong and not worry you and Dad, but… my health has been getting worse.”

Her expression shifts from concern to fear and then to a hint of anger masking hurt. “Worse? How worse, dear? Are you not taking care of yourself properly?”

You wince at her words, knowing they come from a place of worry. “I stayed a night at the hospital,” you continue. “They said if it doesn’t get better with the new medication, I’ll have to go back. The pain has been relentless. I can barely move without feeling it, and the medication only helps for a few hours.”

Your mother’s face pales, her eyes filling with tears. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner? We’ve been hoping you were getting better.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you admit, your voice cracking. “I wanted to protect you from the worst of it.”

Your mother shakes her head, wiping away a tear. “We’re your parents. We want to be there for you, no matter what. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I know,” you say, your own tears starting to fall. “It’s just so hard. Every day feels like a struggle, and I didn’t want to burden you.”

Isaac rounds the kitchen table and speaks up, his voice steady and supportive. “We’re all in this together, Mom. We need your support now more than ever.”

Your mother nods, her expression determined, though the hurt still lingers in her eyes. “We’ll be there for you, sweetheart. Every step of the way.”

Just then, she turns her head and calls out, “Honey, come here. It’s important.”

A moment later, your father appears on the screen, his face etched with concern. “What’s going on?”

Your mother explains quickly, her voice trembling. “She’s not doing well. She had to stay overnight at the hospital, and she might have to go back soon. We need to be there for her.”

Your father’s expression hardens with resolve. “We’ll come over soon. Don’t worry, just be careful.”

Hearing his firm, supportive words, you feel a sense of relief and hope. “I will, thank you, Dad. I love you both.”

“We love you too,” he replies, his voice full of emotion. “We’re here for you, no matter what.”

After exchanging goodbyes and promising to see each other soon, you hang up the phone, feeling a slight sense of relief wash over you. Though it's only temporary, the weight on your shoulders lifts ever so slightly.

As Isaac reveals dinner, the aroma of his culinary creation fills the air, tempting your senses with its savory goodness. But as you take a closer look at your own plate, disappointment washes over you. The food in front of you is bland and uninspiring, reminiscent of the tasteless hospital meals you’ve grown accustomed to.

You poke at your food with little enthusiasm, knowing that the increased dosage of medication has left your taste buds dulled and unresponsive. “I can’t eat this,” you mutter, pushing the plate away with a sigh.

Isaac looks up from his own meal, concern creasing his eyebrow. “Come on, you need to eat something,” he urges, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s important for your recovery.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “But it tastes like nothing,” you protest, the monotony of the hospital diet weighing heavily on your spirit.

Isaac nods sympathetically, understanding your struggle. “I know it’s tough,” he says softly. “But remember what the doctor said about avoiding spice. It’s all part of the plan to help you get better.”

Reluctantly, you take a small bite, forcing yourself to chew and swallow despite the lack of flavor. The effort feels futile, but you know Isaac is right. You need to keep up your strength, even if it means enduring tasteless meals for the time being.

As you pick at your food, Isaac’s voice breaks through your thoughts, his tone lighthearted but determined. “Hey, once you’re feeling better, we’ll have a hot chicken wing contest,” he suggests, a playful twinkle in his eye. “Just like old times. And I promise, I’ll make them so spicy, you won’t be able to taste anything for a week.”

Despite yourself, a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips. The idea of a hot chicken wing contest brings back memories of happier times, when your biggest worry was who would win the next round.

“Deal,” you agree, the idea of better days ahead spurring you on. But deep down, you know the truth that you can’t bring yourself to voice aloud in front of him again. You’re not getting better, no matter how much you wish you could.

The next day, you wake up with a sense of urgency gnawing at your insides, an inexplicable feeling pulling you towards the lighthouse. It’s as if an invisible force is guiding you, compelling you to make this journey one last time.

As you slip out of bed and prepare to leave the house, a mixture of determination and trepidation fills your heart. You know deep down that this might be the last opportunity you have to climb those stairs, to feel the wind on your face as you stand at the top and gaze out at the vast expanse of the ocean.

Isaac notices your movements and steps forward, concern etched into his features.

“Hey, where are you off to?” he asks, his voice gentle yet probing.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should share your intentions. But then, you meet his gaze and find solace in his familiar eyes.

“I’m going to the lighthouse,” you reply, your voice steady despite the weight of your words. “I just… need some time alone.”

Isaac’s expression softens, understanding dawning in his eyes. He reaches out to squeeze your shoulder gently, offering silent support.

“Take all the time you need,” he says softly. “And if you need anything, call me.”

With a grateful nod, you offer him a small smile before turning to leave, the weight of your decision heavy on your heart.

You make your way up the stairs to the lighthouse, each step feeling heavier than the last. The climb feels like an uphill battle, and you find yourself pausing every few steps to catch your breath.

Your chest heaves with the effort, and a wave of dizziness washes over you as you reach the halfway point. You lean against the railing, willing yourself to continue despite the fatigue that threatens to overwhelm you.

With each step, the distance between you and the top of the lighthouse seems to stretch on forever. Your muscles ache with exertion, and your breath comes in ragged gasps.

But you refuse to give up. You grit your teeth and push through the pain, focusing all your energy on reaching the summit. With each step, you draw closer to your goal, fueled by the determination to see the view from the top one last time.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you reach the top of the lighthouse, gasping for air, only to find Lando already there, leaning against the railing and gazing out at the horizon. He turns as he hears your footsteps and ragged breaths, surprise flickering across his face. 

He takes a step back, clearly intending to give you some space. “I’ll go down,” he mutters awkwardly, gesturing towards the stairs. “This place is your spot.”

But before he can move away, you reach out and grab his hand, stopping him in his tracks. “No,” you say firmly, your voice stronger than you feel. “Stay.”

He hesitates for a moment, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, but then he nods and settles back against the railing, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart as you lean against the railing beside him. Despite the exhaustion that weighs heavily on you, being close to him brings a sense of comfort that you can’t quite explain.

“Thanks,” you murmur, grateful for his presence beside you.

He offers you a small, tentative smile in return, his hand tightening around yours in a silent gesture of support.

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you turn to Lando, feeling the weight of the unspoken tension between you two like a heavy blanket.

"Listen, I owe you an apology," you begin, your voice soft but sincere. "I've been acting... differently lately, and I want you to know that it's not because of anything you did. That day, I was at the hospital for a routine checkup, and it just tired me out more than I expected. I’m sorry about ditching our plans."

You technically didn’t lie, but also didn’t tell him the whole truth either. You pause, searching his face for any sign of understanding or acceptance. His expression softens, and you feel a flicker of relief.

"I shouldn't have been so rude to you," you continue, your tone earnest. "I appreciate your patience, and I'm sorry if I made you feel unwelcome."

Lando nods, his eyes reflecting empathy. "It's okay," he says gently, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "I understand. And I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable by showing up here."

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "No, you don't need to apologize. I'm glad you're here."

With that, the tension between you starts to dissolve, replaced by a sense of mutual understanding and acceptance as you stand side by side, watching the waves crash against the shore below.

Taking a moment to admire the breathtaking view from the top of the lighthouse, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. But as the adrenaline of the climb begins to wear off, your legs start to tremble beneath you, threatening to give out at any moment.

Recognizing the warning signs of exhaustion, you carefully lower yourself to the ground, your muscles protesting with each movement. Sitting down with a heavy sigh of relief, you lean back against the cool stone wall of the lighthouse, grateful for the brief respite from the physical strain.

Lando joined you as well, sitting side by side on the floor of the lighthouse. You continue to hold onto his hand, your fingers tracing patterns absentmindedly. However, despite your attempt to clear the air, he still seems hesitant, his brows furrowed with confusion. 

Finally, unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, Lando breaks the silence. “Hey, can I ask you something?” he begins, his voice tentative. 

You turn to him, meeting his gaze with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. “Of course,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the weight of the conversation.

He hesitates for a moment before plunging ahead. “Did something happen the night we went for burgers?” he asks, his words carefully measured. “I mean, you seemed off after… and I’ve been wondering if I did something wrong.”

Realization dawns on you that he’s talking about the almost kiss. The memory of that night floods back, the charged moment in his car when he had pulled back. You had admired his restraint, his desire to do things right, but it also made your heart ache with longing.

Your heart sinks at his words, the guilt weighing heavy on your chest. “No, Lando,” you assure him, squeezing his hand gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

You glance at him, seeing the earnest concern in his eyes. How you wish you had the courage to pull him in by his collar and kiss him then, to let him know just how much he meant to you despite everything. 

But he doesn’t seem convinced, his gaze searching yours for any sign of dishonesty. “Don’t lie,” he says softly, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration.

You hesitate, grappling with the weight of your own emotions and the truth you’re desperate to conceal. Part of you wants to tell him how much his presence means to you, how his laughter lights up even the darkest corners of your world. But fear holds you back, whispering cruel reminders of the inevitability of heartbreak both of you will experience. 

Instead of answering his question, you take a deep breath and change the subject. “So, when are you leaving?” you ask, trying to divert his attention away from your own turmoil.

He furrows his brow, clearly surprised by the sudden shift in conversation but decides not to push for an answer. “Tomorrow,” he replies, a hint of sadness in his voice.

You offer him a small smile, “well, I hope you had a good time despite my lackluster tour guide skills,” you quip, attempting to lighten the mood.

He chuckles softly, the sound warm and genuine. “Meeting you was my favorite part,” he admits, his gaze unwavering as he meets your eyes. “Spending time with you, even if it wasn’t every day, made this trip unforgettable.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks at his admission, the warmth of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. There’s a playful glint in his eyes that ignites a natural spark of flirtation between you. 

In the quiet solitude of the lighthouse, you find yourself caught up in the moment with Lando, the days missed due to your own fear melting away with each shared smile and genuine laugh. Despite the lingering weight of your illness and the uncertainty that shadows your future, you're finally able to let go of the constant worry and embrace the present.

You realize that constantly dwelling on the unknown, on whether you'll have more time together or not, only serves to rob you of the joy of the moment. So instead, you allow yourself to be fully present with Lando, savoring each precious second together.

Yet, beneath the surface of your newfound acceptance, there still lingers a trace of fear. You know that distancing yourself from Lando won't protect either of you from the inevitable pain that lies ahead. His genuine smile, the way his eyes light up when he's with you, speaks volumes, and you can't deny the pull you feel toward him.

Despite the uncertainty of what the future holds, you're willing to take the risk, to open your heart to the possibility of love, even if it means facing the inevitable heartache that may follow. Because in the end, the fleeting moments of happiness you share with Lando are worth every ounce of pain.

Lando straightens up, his movements fluid and confident, as he leans in closer, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. "Hey, do you mind giving me your number and surname?" he asks casually, but there's a hint of mischief in his tone.

You raise an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. "What are you going to do with that information?" you inquire, your curiosity piqued.

His smile widens, a charming grin that could melt anyone's heart. "Well, first so we can still stay in touch even if I’m on the other side of the world, and second so I can send you a pass for one of my races," he replies smoothly, his voice laced with playful charm.

You can't help but chuckle at his response, shaking your head in amusement. "And why would I come to your race?" you tease, enjoying the banter between you.

Lando's gaze softens, a warmth in his eyes that catches you off guard. "I think you might be my lucky charm," he admits, his tone sincere.

You pause, feeling a flutter of excitement mixed with uncertainty. "You believe in lucky charms?" you ask, a hint of skepticism in your voice.

He nods, his smile unwavering. "I didn't," he confesses, "but now it seems like a good time to start believing. Why are you asking so many questions?" he adds playfully, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You can't help but smile at his lighthearted demeanor, appreciating the way he effortlessly lightens the mood. "You don't want me as a lucky charm," you reply, a touch of self-doubt creeping into your voice.

Lando's expression softens, his gaze filled with genuine warmth. "Why not?" he counters, his tone gentle yet determined.

"It won't last long," you murmur, a pang of sadness tugging at your heart as you glance away.

He reaches out, gently tilting your chin to meet his gaze. "It'll last as long as you're by my side," he insists, his voice sincere and unwavering. "That is up to you, don't you think so?"

His words catch you off guard, stirring something deep within you. "Now who's asking lots of questions?" you tease, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Still you," he replies with a chuckle, his eyes twinkling with affection.

You shake your head, feeling a surge of warmth at his playful banter. "You're something else, Lando."

"So are you," he replies, his smile soft and genuine. "In the best way possible."

You oblige Lando’s request, typing your phone number into his phone and saving your full name in his contacts. It’s a small gesture, but one that feels significant in the moment, despite the fact that you know you’ll never take him up on the offer for a pass to his race.

As the sun casts its golden glow across the rugged coastline, you and Lando sit side by side, taking in the breathtaking view from the top of the lighthouse. The air is filled with the sounds of seagulls circling overhead and the distant rumble of waves crashing against the shore below.

Lando’s arm around your shoulders feels like a lifeline, grounding you in the present moment amidst the tumult of your thoughts and emotions. You find solace in his presence, a sense of calm washing over you as you soak in the warmth of the afternoon sun.

The playful banter and teasing remarks give way to a comfortable silence, allowing you both to simply be in each other’s company without the need for words. It’s a moment of quiet intimacy, where the weight of the world fades away and all that matters is the connection between you and Lando.

You lean into his embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing and the reassuring strength of his arm around you. In this moment, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the warmth of Lando’s presence, you feel a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that whatever the future may hold, you’re grateful for this moment of shared serenity.

As you both prepare to descend the stairs, Lando pauses, noticing your reluctance to leave the view behind. "Shouldn't I be the one lingering back to admire the horizon? After all, I'm the one leaving, not you," he quips with a playful smirk.

You chuckle at his remark, shaking your head in amusement. "Come on, Lando, don't act like you're the only one who appreciates a good view," you tease back, nudging him lightly.

He grins, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before turning back to the scenery. "Fair point," he concedes, his tone light and playful. “I’ll wait for you downstairs then.” 

You nod, watching him make his way down the stairs. The gentle breeze ruffles your hair, and you take a deep breath, committing the scene to memory.

With a sense of purpose, you scan the area, searching for the perfect spot to leave your message. Your eyes alight on a small alcove tucked away in a corner, sheltered from the wind and hidden from plain sight. It’s a secluded nook, easily overlooked by passersby, but will be found if it’s searched for. 

Slipping something into the alcove, you ensure it’s nestled securely among the shadows, a subtle gesture meant for only the most observant of visitors. With a satisfied nod, you turn to follow Lando down the stairs. 

—

The following day is a whirlwind of activity as your parents arrive at the cottage. They come bearing an array of supplies and comforts, ready to pamper you with their love and attention.

"Sweetheart, we brought some of your favorite homemade meals," your mom chirps, bustling into the kitchen with bags of groceries in tow.

Your dad follows closely behind, a stack of freshly laundered blankets in his arms. "And I made sure to pack extra blankets in case you get chilly," he adds with a warm smile.

Isaac turns to your mother, his expression gentle yet concerned. “Just a heads up, she can’t have any spicy food because of the doctor’s orders,” he explains, hoping to avoid any culinary mishaps.

“Isaac, don’t ruin it,” you mutter, holding the tupperware filled with your favourite dishes. 

Your dad, overhearing the conversation, interjects with a reassuring pat on Isaac’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, son. Your mother has spent many hours in the kitchen cooking up a storm for our girl here,” he says with a fond smile. “A little taste of home can work wonders for the soul.”

You can't help but smile at their fussing, feeling a mixture of gratitude and guilt at their doting gestures. "How long are you planning to stay?" you inquire, trying to gauge the extent of their visit.

"Until you're better, of course," your mom replies without hesitation, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Throughout the day, your parents dote on you, attending to your every need with unwavering devotion. They fluff pillows, brew tea, and fuss over you as if you were a child again, and despite the sadness that tugs at your heart, you find solace in their presence.

As evening falls and the cottage is filled with the aroma of home-cooked meals, you can't help but feel a pang of bittersweet nostalgia. These moments of familial closeness are precious, and you savor each one, knowing deep down that they may be fleeting.

Amidst the cozy atmosphere that had filled your cottage, a sudden realization dawns on you. Today is the day Lando is leaving, and with the flurry of activity happening throughout the day, you had almost forgotten. 

Abandoning your dinner mid-bite, you quickly put on a pair of shoes, your heart pounding with urgency. As you rush towards the door, your parents pause in their fussing, exchanging puzzled glances as they notice your abrupt departure.

“Where are you going?” your mom asks, concern etched in her voice.

You pause in the doorway, a sense of determination driving you forward. “I have to see Lando,” you reply, your words rushed and breathless.

As you disappear out the door, your parents turn to your brother, confusion evident in their expressions. “Who’s Lando?” your dad asks, his brow furrowed in bewilderment.

Isaac sighs, shaking his head as he meets their gaze. “He’s the one she’s in love with,” he explains softly, a hint of sadness in his voice. “But I’m not sure if she’s ready to accept it yet.” 

As you reach the villa, your breath comes in ragged gasps, each inhale becoming a struggle. Pain pulses through your chest with every heartbeat, but you refuse to let it slow you down. Adrenaline surges through your veins, driving you forward with an urgency born of raw emotion.

Your eyes scan the scene before you, taking in the sight of Max hurriedly loading the car with his and Lando’s bags. The trunk is nearly full, a testament to the impending departure that looms over you like a storm cloud. You feel a knot form in your stomach, a sense of panic seizing hold of you as you realize that time is slipping away.

Then, amidst the chaos, you spot Lando emerging from the villa, his expression one of surprise and concern as he catches sight of you. His brow furrows in confusion, his eyes searching yours for an explanation.

Without hesitation, you push yourself forward, your feet carrying you towards him with a desperate urgency. With trembling hands, you reach out to him, your fingers brushing against his arm before wrapping around him in a tight embrace. His warmth envelops you, a comforting anchor amidst the storm raging within you. For a fleeting moment, the pain in your chest eases, replaced by a sense of peace that only he can provide.

For a long moment, you simply hold onto each other, the world around you fading into insignificance as you find solace in each other’s arms. The weight of unspoken words hangs heavy between you, the truth lingering on the tip of your tongue, waiting to be unleashed.

As you finally pull away, a silent understanding passes between you, a shared acknowledgment of the depth of your connection. Lando’s gaze searches yours, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and affection, silently asking if you’re okay.

You manage a faint smile, though it feels fragile on your lips. “I just had to see you before you left,” you confess softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His expression softens, a warmth in his eyes that speaks volumes. “I’m glad you came,” he replies, his voice gentle and reassuring.

You linger for a moment longer, drinking in the sight of him, committing every detail to memory. Then, with a heavy heart, you reluctantly release him, knowing that time is running short.

As Lando returns to help Max with the bags, you watch him go, a sense of longing tugging at your heart. 

Once everything was packed up, Lando and Max walked towards you, their footsteps echoing on the gravel driveway. Max reaches you first, his face lit with a warm smile. Without hesitation, he pulls you into a brief, friendly hug. 

“Thanks for the good company,” Max says, his voice full of genuine gratitude. “And for keeping Lando’s mood up throughout this trip. You’ve been a real lifesaver.” He chuckles, the sound infectious, and you can’t help but laugh along with him.

“Anytime,” you reply, your smile widening. “It’s been fun having you both around.”

Max steps back, giving Lando space to step forward. Lando’s eyes meet yours, and there’s a depth of emotion there that makes your heart skip a beat. He takes your hands in his, holding them gently as if afraid you might disappear.

“This isn’t goodbye,” Lando says softly, his tone filled with a mixture of hope and determination. “Just a ‘see you later,’ alright?”

You nod, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “See you later,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

Lando pulls you into a tight embrace this time, his arms wrapping around you protectively. You breathe in his familiar scent, the comfort of his presence grounding you in the moment.

He pulls back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he searches your face. “Don’t think I forgot about giving you a pass,” he says with a small, teasing smile. “I’ll be waiting for you at the race.”

You smile through the tears that threaten to spill over. “We’ll see.” 

Max claps Lando on the back, breaking the emotional moment. “Come on, mate, we’ve got a plane to catch.”

With one last look, Lando releases you and heads towards the car. You watch them drive away, a mix of sadness and hope swirling within you. The ache in your chest grows, but you try to push it aside, focusing on ways to fulfill the promise of seeing him again.

As you start walking back home, the exertion from earlier catches up to you. Your breath becomes labored, each step feeling heavier than the last. A sharp pain radiates through your chest, and you find yourself struggling to stay upright. Determined to make it back to the cottage, you push on, but every movement is a reminder of your body’s limitations.

By the time you reach the door, you’re barely holding on. You collapse onto the porch steps, gasping for breath, the world around you blurring as you fight to stay conscious. Moments later, the door swings open, and Isaac is there, his face pale with worry.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, rushing to your side. His voice sounds distant, echoing in your ears.

You try to speak, but the words get caught in your throat. Instead, you manage a weak nod, though it’s clear you’re far from okay.

Isaac doesn’t waste another second. He scoops you up in his arms, carrying you inside. “Mom! Dad!” he calls out, his voice frantic. “Something’s wrong. We need to get her to the hospital.”

Your parents appear almost instantly, their faces a mixture of fear and determination. Your dad grabs the car keys while your mom hurries to gather your things, her hands shaking.

In the car, you drift in and out of consciousness, the pain and exhaustion overwhelming you. Your mom holds your hand tightly, whispering soothing words that barely register. Isaac drives with a grim focus, the worry in his eyes reflected in the rearview mirror.

At the hospital, the staff quickly takes over, whisking you away on a stretcher. Your family is left in the waiting room, their anxious faces a blur as you’re rushed through the halls.

As the doctors and nurses work to stabilize you, you catch fleeting thoughts of Lando, Max, and the brief, bright moments you shared. The reality of your condition settles in, and you realize just how fragile your hope had been.

The doctors stabilize you for now, but you wake to the sound of your mother's soft cries in the room. Her face is buried in your father's shoulder, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Your father is holding her close, his eyes red and puffy, a grim expression etched on his face. Isaac stands nearby, his jaw clenched, trying to hold himself together.

You blink, the fluorescent lights above casting a harsh glow on the stark white walls. A doctor stands at the foot of your bed, looking somber. You catch bits and pieces of his words, the clinical detachment in his voice contrasting sharply with the raw emotion in the room.

"...best if she doesn’t return home... too weak... last days in the hospital..."

The full weight of the words crashes over you, and a sense of helplessness fills your heart. You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and the words come out as a rasp. "Mom? Dad?"

Your mother's head snaps up at the sound of your voice, and she rushes to your side, taking your hand in hers. "Oh, sweetheart," she whispers, tears streaming down her face. "We're here. We're right here."

Your father moves closer, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "We won't leave your side," he promises, his voice steady despite the tears in his eyes.

Isaac approaches the bed, his usual bravado stripped away. "Hey," he says softly, trying to muster a smile. "We’re all here for you."

You swallow hard, trying to process the reality of the situation. "How long?" you manage to ask, your voice barely a whisper.

The doctor steps forward, his expression compassionate. "It’s hard to say for certain," he admits gently. "But we’ll do everything we can to keep you comfortable."

You nod, a mixture of fear and resignation settling over you. Your mother's sobs have quieted, but the sorrow in her eyes is unmistakable. "I’m so sorry," you whisper, feeling a pang of guilt for putting them through this.

"No, don’t apologize," your father says firmly, squeezing your shoulder. "This isn’t your fault. We’re just grateful to be here with you."

Your family’s presence brings a small measure of comfort, but the reality of your condition is a heavy burden. You look around at their faces, trying to memorize every detail, every expression. The room feels both claustrophobic and infinite, the moments stretching out like a fragile thread.

As the night wears on, you find solace in their presence. Your mother hums softly, stroking your hair, while your father reads to you from a book you loved as a child. Isaac sits by the window, watching the night sky, his expression pensive.

You know that the days ahead will be difficult, but for now, you take comfort in the love that surrounds you. The hospital room, with its sterile walls and beeping machines, becomes a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you can hold on to the precious moments with your family, no matter how fleeting they may be.

—

The sterile scent of the hospital room is overwhelming, the beeping of the machines a constant reminder of the deteriorating state of your health. The wires and tubes attached to your body are a constant presence, their weight both physical and symbolic. The medication dulls the pain, but it also leaves you in a fog, half-aware of the world around you.

Isaac sits by your bedside, his expression a mix of forced cheerfulness and hidden sorrow. He tries to make you laugh, telling stories and cracking jokes, but there’s an underlying tension in his voice.

You take a shaky breath and glance at Isaac. “So, this is it, huh?” you say with a dry laugh, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the sadness in your voice.

He looks at you, the forced cheerfulness slipping from his face. “Still laughing?” he asks, his voice quivering.

“If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t want that to be the last expression you remember me by.”

Isaac’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Remember when you said that you weren’t able to be a proper older sister to me ever since you got diagnosed?” he asks softly. “That’s wrong. You still were because you powered through every moment of pain on your own. Even now, you’re as selfless as ever.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you swallow hard. “I got a taste of how it feels to be selfish recently,” you confess, your voice trembling. “To see what you want right there in front of you, waiting for you to take it, but I almost got too attached to it that fate had to rip it away from me again.”

“Are you talking about Lando?” Isaac asks gently, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, the memories of your brief time with Lando flooding back, a bittersweet ache in your chest. “Life is so cruel, so fickle,” you say, your voice barely audible. “When I finally accepted my fate, it flipped and gave me a chance to be happy, to fall in love, to live like I’ve never done before. When I experienced it all, it just made me greedy. I wanted to keep living like that. But I won’t be able to because in a moment, it’s taken away again.”

Isaac squeezes your hand, his grip warm and reassuring. “You deserved every moment of happiness,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “And you brought happiness to those around you, too. Remember that.”

The days pass in a blur of medical checks, whispered conversations, and the quiet hum of machines. Your parents come and go, their faces lined with worry but always offering words of comfort and love.

Then comes Sunday, one that’s special for you because it’s also race day. 

The hospital room is dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the television screen mounted on the wall. The muted hum of machines and the occasional beep provide a constant backdrop to your labored breathing. Your family surrounds you, their presence a source of comfort even as your strength wanes. The room is filled with an unspoken tension, a fragile hope that somehow, you might find the strength to hold on a little longer.

Earlier in the day, you had pleaded with the nurses to let you watch the race. “Please,” you whispered, your voice weak but determined. “I just want to see him race one last time.”

The nurses had exchanged glances, their expressions softening. “Alright,” one of them had said gently. “We’ll make sure you can watch it.”

Now, the vibrant colors of the Formula 1 race contrast sharply with the sterile white of the hospital room. Lando’s car, resplendent in its sleek orange design, zips around the track with an elegance and speed that seems almost otherworldly. The commentator’s voice crackles with excitement as they describe the race in vivid detail.

“And Lando Norris takes the lead! He’s showing incredible skill out there today, really pushing the limits of his car and his own abilities. The crowd is going wild!”

You try to focus on the race, on the laps ticking by, the thrill of each turn, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult. Your vision blurs, the lines between the real and the surreal beginning to merge. Every breath is a struggle, each one more labored than the last.

Your mother sits by your side, her hand gently stroking your hair, her eyes red-rimmed but determined to stay strong. Your father stands at the foot of the bed, his face etched with lines of worry and sorrow. Isaac holds your hand, his grip firm and reassuring, his eyes never leaving your face.

You gather your remaining strength, turning your head slightly to look at Isaac. “Can you give him a message for me?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper, each word a struggle.

Isaac leans closer, his face etched with concern and determination. “What do you want to say?” he asks gently, his eyes locked onto yours, ready to carry your words to Lando.

You pause, the weight of the moment settling over you. With great effort, you manage to form the words that have been in your heart. “Tell him… tell him that he made me believe in living life again. That he gave me something beautiful in my last days. And… and that I’ll always be cheering for him, even if I’m not there.”

Isaac’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, and he nods, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. “I will. I promise.”

On the television, Lando navigates the sharp turns of the track with precision and grace. The roar of the engines and the thrill of the race create a stark contrast to the quiet, somber atmosphere of your room. The commentator’s voice booms with excitement.

“Norris is extending his lead! This could be his race if he keeps up this pace. The team must be thrilled with his performance!”

On the Formula 1 track, the atmosphere is electric. Lando sits in his car, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He can feel every vibration of the engine, every nuance of the track. The pit crew buzzes with activity, their movements synchronized and efficient. Over the radio, his engineer’s voice provides updates and encouragement.

“You’re doing great, Lando. Keep this up and the win is yours.”

Lando nods inside his helmet, his focus razor-sharp. The crowd’s cheers blend into a singular wave of energy that propels him forward. He pushes the car to its limits, every fiber of his being dedicated to the race.

Back in the hospital, your breathing becomes more labored, and your family’s concern deepens. Your mother’s voice breaks as she hums softly, a lullaby from your childhood. Isaac squeezes your hand, his own tears finally breaking free.

“I love you,” you whisper, the words a final, heartfelt goodbye.

“We love you too,” Isaac responds, his voice choked with emotion. “More than anything.”

On the track, Lando crosses the finish line, the checkered flag waving triumphantly. The crowd erupts into a frenzy of cheers and applause. The commentator’s voice is almost drowned out by the noise.

“Lando Norris wins the race! What an incredible performance!”

In the paddock, Lando is overwhelmed with joy, the culmination of his efforts and dedication. He pulls off his helmet, his face breaking into a wide smile as he celebrates with his team. He can’t wait to share the victory, to tell you about the race, to see the look of pride in your eyes.

You watch from the hospital room, as Lando stands on the podium, lifting the trophy high, a sense of accomplishment filling him. A smile graces your lips, noticing the pure joy on his face. Then, you close your eyes, the vision of Lando’s smile still fresh in your mind. 

Time stands still. As the world fades around you, your family holds you close, their whispered goodbyes blending into a chorus of love and sorrow. The light in your eyes dims, and with one last, labored breath, you slip away into a place beyond suffering.

As soon as the machine flatlines, the piercing sound of the monitor cuts through the room, signaling the end. Your mother's cries shatter the silence, raw and heart-wrenching. She grips your hand with desperate strength, her knuckles turning white, as if her hold on you could somehow bring you back. 

"No, no, please!" she sobs, her voice cracking with each word. Tears stream down her face, her body trembling with the force of her grief. She shakes you gently at first, then more insistently, refusing to accept the finality of it. "Wake up, please wake up!"

Your father stands by her side, his own face etched with anguish. He places a hand on her shoulder, trying to offer support, but his own tears betray his stoic exterior. Isaac, standing a little apart, is frozen in shock, his eyes wide and uncomprehending as he watches the scene unfold. 

The room is filled with the oppressive weight of sorrow, the air heavy with the collective grief of your family. The nurses, having done all they could, step back to give your family space, their own expressions somber and respectful. 

Your mother’s cries grow louder, a desperate plea to a reality that feels too cruel to be true. She holds your hand to her cheek, her tears wetting your skin as she rocks back and forth. "Please, don’t leave us," she whispers, her voice breaking. "We need you."

The doctor steps forward, his face grave, and gently places a hand on your mother’s arm. "I’m so sorry for your loss," he says quietly, his words sincere but powerless against the tidal wave of their grief.

The only reality that matters is the unbearable pain of losing you, and the impossible task of trying to say goodbye.

On the top step of the podium, Lando basks in the glow of victory, the thrill of the race still pulsing through him. But amidst the celebration, a nagging feeling tugs at him, a sense that something is missing. A bittersweet undercurrent flows through his triumph.

Unbeknownst to him, a message of love and gratitude is on its way, bridging the distance between the track and the hospital room, connecting two hearts in a moment that transcends time and space.

Suddenly, your phone rings, the shrill sound cutting through the flatline beeping on the monitor. Each ring echoes through the room like a mournful dirge. Isaac’s hand hovers over the device, his heart pounding in his chest as he hesitates to answer. But when the call comes again, he knows there’s no escaping the inevitable.

With trembling fingers, he accepts the call, the voice on the other end sending a shiver down his spine. “Were you watching the race? I told you that you are my lucky charm.”

Isaac’s breath catches in his throat, his eyes welling with tears at the bitter irony of Lando’s words. He struggles to find the strength to respond, his voice choked with emotion. “Lando… it’s Isaac.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line, followed by a tremor of uncertainty in Lando’s voice. “Isaac? What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

Isaac’s heart clenches at the desperation in Lando’s voice, his own grief threatening to consume him. “She’s gone, Lando,” he manages to choke out, his voice breaking with sorrow. “My sister… she’s gone.”

The words hang heavy in the air, a painful reminder of the cruel twist of fate that has robbed them of their happiness. Lando’s breath hitches, his voice barely a whisper as he responds. “No… no, that can’t be true. Tell me you’re lying, tell me this is some sick joke please”

Isaac’s heart aches as he hears the disbelief and anguish in Lando’s voice. He wishes he could erase the truth, to shield Lando from the devastating reality they now face. But there’s no escaping it, no denying the painful truth that hangs between them like a heavy shroud.

“I wish I could, Lando,” Isaac murmurs, his own voice choked with sorrow. “I wish this was just a sick joke, but… but she’s really gone.”

There’s a long, agonizing pause, broken only by the sound of Lando’s ragged breathing on the other end of the line. Isaac can imagine the turmoil raging within him, the crushing weight of grief threatening to overwhelm him entirely. He relays the message that you had for him, only hearing Lando breathing heavily in response. 

As Lando stands there, clutching the phone that brought him devastating news, the world around him seems to blur into a haze of incomprehensible grief. The congratulations from his fellow drivers fall on deaf ears, their voices distant and muffled as if coming from a far-off place. Daniel, Carlos, George—all of them offer their heartfelt congratulations, their smiles genuine, but Lando can't bring himself to respond. 

He feels disconnected, as if he's merely a spectator watching his own life unfold from a distance. The cameras flash around him, capturing the jubilant celebrations of victory, but Lando feels nothing but a hollow emptiness gnawing at his soul.

Unable to bear the facade any longer, Lando excuses himself from the crowd, retreating to the sanctuary of his driver's room. Once alone, the weight of his grief crashes over him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him in its depths.

With a gut-wrenching scream, Lando releases the pent-up anguish that has been building inside him since the moment he received that fateful call. He falls to his knees, his body racked with sobs as he grapples with the cruel twist of fate that has torn his world apart.

In that moment of agonizing despair, Lando feels utterly alone, lost in a sea of grief with no shore in sight. The victory he had worked so hard for feels meaningless now, a hollow triumph overshadowed by the devastating loss of someone he held dear.

As the echoes of his cries fade into the silence of the empty room, Lando finds himself consumed by a profound sense of despair. In the midst of his greatest triumph, he is confronted with the harsh reality of mortality, and it is a bitter pill to swallow.

Alone in his hotel room, Lando’s victory feels hollow amidst the empty silence that surrounds him. Instead of celebrating with the fanfare of music, alcohol, and camaraderie that would be expected after such a result, he finds himself throwing his belongings haphazardly into his suitcase, his movements mechanical and devoid of purpose. 

The room feels suffocating, the weight of grief pressing down on him like a physical force. With a sense of urgency, Lando hastily gathers his things, his hands trembling as he zips up his suitcase. 

As he exits the hotel, he fires off a text to his manager, explaining the situation briefly, typing through his clouded vision full of more unshed tears. 

Lando chooses not to drive, the mere thought of operating a vehicle feeling like an insurmountable task. Instead, he hails a taxi, his mind consumed by thoughts of you and the gaping void left in your absence.

The taxi driver casts him a curious glance as he climbs into the backseat, his tear-streaked face a stark contrast to the typical fare. But Lando pays no mind to the stares, his thoughts consumed by the overwhelming grief that threatens to consume him.

Throughout the journey to the airport, Lando’s tears continue to flow unabated, his heart weighed down by the magnitude of his loss. He feels adrift, lost in a sea of pain and sorrow, unsure of how to navigate the tumultuous waters of his emotions.

Lando finds himself grappling with conflicting emotions as he boards the plane back to the town filled with memories of you. Despite the overwhelming pain of revisiting every corner suffused with reminders of your presence, he knows deep down that he cannot stay away.

The thought of pretending that everything is fine when it's not feels like a betrayal of the love you shared, a denial of the profound impact you had on his life. And so, with a heavy heart and a mind clouded by grief, Lando embarks on the journey back to the place where his heart still lingers, knowing that he must confront the pain head-on in order to find a semblance of peace.

Lando’s return to town is marked by exhaustion and dishevelment, the toll of a sleepless night evident in the shadows beneath his eyes and the weariness etched into his features. He barely manages to greet Isaac before retreating to the solitude of the lighthouse, seeking solace in the familiar embrace of its quiet sanctuary.

As Lando stands at the top of the lighthouse, his gaze fixed on the horizon, he can't shake the feeling of déjà vu that washes over him. The flickering beam of the lighthouse casts eerie shadows against the walls, the only sound the mournful cry of seagulls in the distance. It's as if he's been transported back in time, to a moment frozen in history, when tragedy and loss hung heavy in the air.

Tears stream down his cheeks, his sobs echoing in the empty space around him as he allows himself to surrender to the overwhelming tide of emotion.

In the stillness of the lighthouse, Lando is consumed by a sense of profound loss, his heart aching with the absence of the one he longs for. He sits there for hours, his thoughts consumed by memories of you, his soul yearning for the warmth of your presence.

In the dim light, Lando recalls the story you once shared with him, of the tragic love that had unfolded within these very walls decades ago. A woman, waiting faithfully for her lover's return, had spent countless nights standing vigil at the top of the lighthouse, her heart filled with hope and longing. But as the years passed and her lover failed to return, her hope turned to despair, her love transformed into bitter regret.

Now, as Lando stands in the same spot, he can't help but draw parallels between that long-ago tragedy and his own situation. Like the woman of the story, he finds himself clinging to a glimmer of hope, praying for a miracle that may never come. In his heart, he still holds onto the belief that you'll come back to him, that the news of your loss is just a bad dream from which he'll soon awaken.

With each passing moment, however, the harsh reality of your absence becomes more pronounced, the weight of grief bearing down on him like a leaden cloak. Yet, despite the pain that threatens to consume him, Lando refuses to give up hope. He remains steadfast in his vigil, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of your return, his heart yearning for the moment when he'll finally see you again.

His gaze sweeps over every corner of the lighthouse, wanting to etch every detail into his memory. The soft glow of the fading sunlight filters through the windows, casting a warm golden hue over the space. He takes a deep breath, trying to imprint the scent of saltwater and sea breeze into his mind.

As he moves around, his eyes fall upon a small alcove tucked away in a corner, hidden from plain sight. Something tugs at his instincts, urging him to investigate further. With cautious curiosity, he steps closer, his heart pounding in anticipation.

Reaching into the alcove, his fingers brush against something smooth and delicate. He pulls out a folded piece of paper, his breath catching in his throat as he realizes what it is. With trembling hands, he unfolds the note, his eyes scanning the words written in your handwriting.

Lando, I hope this note finds its way to you. It's strange how emotions can turn even the fearless into cowards. I couldn't bring myself to give you this letter in person, so I'm leaving it here, hoping it reaches you. I'm guessing you already know the truth, and that I'm no longer here by your side.

As he reads those words, he can hear your voice in his mind. The acknowledgment that you couldn't face him in person fills him with a mix of sadness and understanding. He feels a pang of guilt, wondering if there was something he could have done differently to make you feel more comfortable sharing your feelings with him. 

I don’t think a mere ‘I’m sorry’ is enough for keeping the truth from you. The reason why I did is because every moment with you felt like a dream, and in my dreams, my illness never existed. I’ve always cursed fate for the shitty hand it dealt me but I never would’ve gotten a chance to live something close to the perfect life if it wasn’t for fate. 

A melancholic smile tugs at his lips as he reflects on the sentiment expressed in your words. Each moment spent with you had indeed felt like a dream, a precious respite from the relentless demands of the racing world.

Before you came to town, I felt like a living corpse, waiting for my illness to take me under, but when I met you, it gave me a purpose to look forward to the next day. Being your tour guide, although I think it was because you just wanted to spend time with me, was probably the most I’ve lived ever since I was diagnosed. While I used your presence as an excuse to live like I used to, I didn’t ever imagine falling in love with anyone, much less a British racing driver. 

A wave of emotions wash over him as he reads your heartfelt confession, his own heart aching with a mixture of sadness and longing. Tears blur his vision as he continues reading, slightly tracing over your words with his finger. 

I wish I had the courage to say this to you face to face, to witness your reaction and perhaps hear you say the words back. But one thing I admire about you is your ability to live in the moment. So, in this moment, I want to tell you that I love you, Lando Norris, even though I'm no longer by your side. I hope our memories bring a smile to your face, just as they did to mine. 

Please, don’t blame yourself for any of this. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. You're the reason I found joy again, laughter again. Lando, you brought me back to life. Thank you. I'll love you always.

- Your favourite tour guide

As he reaches the final words of the note, he clutches it to his chest, feeling your presence close to him. In that moment, amidst the quiet solitude of the lighthouse, Lando finds a fleeting sense of peace amidst the storm of his emotions. He knows that no matter what the future holds, your love will always remain a guiding light in his heart.

With tears streaming down his cheeks, he whispers a silent promise to you, his beloved tour guide, into the salty breeze surrounding your favourite place. “I’ll never forget you. I’ll carry your love with me, always.” 

Then he adds with a sob wracking through his body, “I love you too.” 

As he sits in the lighthouse, Lando no longer waits for your return. Yet, he feels your love enveloping him, every word of the note etched into his heart. Though you may be gone, your presence lingers, filling the space around him with warmth and tenderness. In that moment, he finds solace in the memories of your love, knowing that you'll always be with him, no matter where life takes him.

Taglist: @lochnoch @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @hiireadstuff @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @xjval @namjoonswaifu @isabellewinchester @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @mehrmonga @nikfigueiredo @wonnou @jointhehunt67 @sya-skies @dreamingonbed @oliviah-25 @heylookwhoitis @unabashedkoalawasteland @inejghafawifesblog @poppyflower-22 @charizznorizz @booksandflowrs @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @randomnessis-mine-me @whatever7justchillin @kagome45 @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @timmy-wife1 @writtenbykirs @lew444 @kansas-kisses @barackosteaa @hellof-1 @itsbwokenln4 @nixily @reengard @candyeollies @customsbyjcg-blog @heeseungthel0ml @sweate-r-weathe-r @mattymybeloved @saturnbloom77 @ltotheucyy @ironmaiden1313

[anne-bsd-bibliophile]

The Beggar Student by Dazai Osamu

"I could feel the hands of fate upon me. I'd been caught. In his heart of hearts, the student is a thirty-two-year-old drunken poet."

"Not even the wisest reader knows the anguish of the writer who has sent a truly awful piece of writing to a magazine in order to survive. Here goes nothing, I told myself, pushing that heavy envelope into the mailbox. It hit the bottom with a thunk. And that was that. Another crummy story. On the surface, it pretends to be a mirror to my soul, although I know as well as anyone the slimy worms of compromise are wriggling in the muck at the bottom. It's a work in which the work is far from done. ... It makes me so ashamed I want to scream and run around in circles. I promise you, it's terrible. A lousy piece of trash. I have no right to call myself a writer. Such is my ignorance. No insights to impart. No illuminating views."

"I wish I could just cut my belly open and let all of the words come spilling out. No matter if it's gibberish, as long as it's my flesh and blood doing the talking."

"My work will disgrace bookstore windows all across the land. Critics will sneer; readers will give up. That hack writer has outdone himself again, they'll say, setting a low bar for writers everywhere. Tough to beat."

"I'll have you know, I may look like an ass, but I'm not a total moron, and when I say I lack conviction, I only mean it relative to my own high standards."

"You ought to try this out sometime, dear reader. Sit yourself down on the sofa of a coffee shop or bar, facing the fireplace beside the madam of the house, so that both of you are staring at the flames, and talk as if you're speaking to the fire - I promise, up against even the dullest mind, you'll be able to sustain a lively conversation for hour after hour. But take heed, reader: you must not look into each other's eyes, not even once."

"I couldn't shut up if I tried. The only way I can stand being alive is if I'm playing the buffoon."

"One might call reason the glue that holds society together. In that sense, the order we enjoy is artificial, but we need this artifice if we want to go on living."

"Even if I feel bad for a person, I'm certain of the cold hard fact that I can't do anything for them, which leaves me feeling even worse."

"Growing up, I found the name incredibly embarrassing, so despite being a string bean, I've been publishing as Osamu Dazai, a name that makes me sound like a street fighter who might break your neck."

"...This guy's a good person. Not egotistical like you." "Hold on," I said, bristling at being labeled a good person. "I'm plenty egotistical..."

"When something pushes me over the brink of fear, I have a nasty tendency to begin laughing like an idiot. A disturbing, wild laugh. I lose control, can't hold it in. An expression not of brazenness, but extreme cowardice that takes me to the limits of delirium."

"Truth is that grownups are the same as kids, except a little worse for wear. Kids ask a lot from grownups, but grownups ask at least as much from kids. It's a real mess. But it's the truth. We count on you to hold it all together. ...To put it gently, we're always one step away from being overwhelmed. To put it harshly, we're all babies who cant' take a word of criticism."

"Next time life gets you down, curl up in a blanket in your rented room and open a good book."

[just-jordie-things]

Hey ! Was wondering if you’re taking hc/blurbs could you do jjk boys with a clingy GF? We always see them being clingy but they deserve someone to love them and be clingy too 💖🤞🏻 (Megumi, Yuji, Gojo, Inumaki, Yuta) If that’s okay???

a/n: YES as a clingy gf myself i am kissing this ask thru my laptop screen :3 ___

GOJO SATORU

... have fun trying to out-cling the Cling King. spoiler alert you will NEVER outdo the do-er. but satoru is so glad to have a crazy clingy gf. it's important to him to know you love him just as much as he loves you, and that you don't mind showing him. whether it's spamming his phone with texts or memes that made you think of him, or koala-ing yourself around him to keep him from getting out of bed in the morning, satoru is so content to see you at your clingiest. that soft spot that he has for you grows a little more each time you tell him to quit jujutsu and stay here with me forever. and each time you do, he considers it just a little longer than the last.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

... is shocked by your clinginess. hell, he was amazed you ever agreed to go out with him. but now you're so in love with him that you come across a little obsessed? him? for a while it makes him a bit bashful, even more so when other people are around. the few times you'd jumped into his arms or planted a kiss on his face around his friends made him red. not that he was mad- no of course not. that sort of treatment is just so new to him he never knew how to take it. he's not the greatest at returning the affection, he's a shy boy after all. but you don't mind. seeing him blush and stammer out how he missed you too (even though you'd only been apart for an hour) was all the confirmation you needed to know that he returned your love.

ITADORI YUUJI

... omg he loves your clinginess so much. please text him you miss him two minutes after he leaves the room. please call him because you're bored even though you have nothing to talk about. please wrap your body around his so tight that he could mistake your cuddles as an attempt to crawl right into his skin. he swoons every time you show off your clingy side. from the pout on your face when he leaves to the overexcited joy when he returns. yuuji never has to question how much love you have for him. and the clingier you get, the more he'll mirror the behavior, and now you're both the most lovesick fools in the world.

OKKOTSU YUUTA

... is so used to your clinginess that he doesn't think twice about it anymore. he's sitting on the couch and you walk in the room? he's moving his book off his lap so you can crawl into it and cuddle him while he continues reading, barely batting an eye as he murmurs a gentle "hi baby" while you wrap yourself around him. you find him while he's cooking? he's maneuvering his arms before you wrap yours around him to snuggle into his broad shoulders, just to be sure you don't bump into the hot contents on the stove. there's a domesticity of it all. he's so used to it that he will maneuver his position in his sleep to accommodate to the way you want to cuddle him. you roll over after spooning for too long and you need to switch sides? he's unconsciously sliding onto his back so you can lay on top of his chest. and he will never complain for a second. he wouldn't have it any other way, he just loves having you close to him.

INUMAKI TOGE

... there's not a limit to how clingy you could be to him. a lot of your relationship relies on physical touch, quality time, and acts of service. so whenever you're spamming his phone, or following him around to help him clean his room, or wrapping yourself around his arm as you wander the shopping district for date night, toge's over the moon. he hates when he doubts your feelings for him, but sometimes he gets a little insecure. so the more you throw yourself at him, the more elated he feels. one time you ran at him and hugged him so hard after he'd come back from a mission that you both fell down. he won't lie, it hurt a bit, but no one could've known, not with how much he laughed while you nuzzled into him and proclaimed how much you'd missed him in front of all your friends. you're his everything, and while he may struggle to tell you, you both have an unspoken clinginess to one another that was undeniable.

[sunsetsover]

i wish i wasn't so exhausted because i want nothing more than to sit here and properly pick apart the inherent but unconventional ways their dom/sub dynamic presents itself between kant and bison. bc it's definitely always been there esp in these last few episodes but in episode 10 it was in everything. everything.

the pool scene was obvious. i already pulled that apart. but it was also in the way kant's reaction to being told off for being distracting during the mission was so different from the way bison reacted when kant told him off - bison basically looks like he's indulging a pouting child, while kant's face drops and he gets all sad looking. and it's in how different their reactions were to the being distracted too, how kant whined about how bison had promised not to distracted while bison firmly tells kant off for even trying.

and it's in how pissed and hurt kant when he finally saw bison in that car park - imo not so much because bison had told him they needed to stay away from each other, but because bison had been sneaking around watching kant when kant had no way of seeing bison or knowing he was alright at all, and that was so unfair to him, because that's not how it was supposed to work between them. they had just found their equilibrium and here bison was knocking it off kilter by giving and receiving while simultaneously withholding kant's ability to give and receive back. and that's not how they were supposed to work.

and it's in how silly kant was. how rambly and cute when he talked about the titanic experiment he saw or when he tried to get bison to reenact the king of the world scene. but also the way kant was just a brat the entire episode - going kinda rogue while on mission and mentioning the narc thing when he knows it pisses bison off and constantly pushing and pushing and pushing bison to find where the line is where bison will stop indulging him and start reprimanding him.

and it's the way bison does reprimand him and how kant listens. and it's in the way kant's eyes got all big and pleading when bison got all pissy and asked him if he wanted another scratch - and dare i say that and the pool scene were the first real little glimpses we see of what kant's like in actual subspace. and it's in the way you see bison notice that and realise kant's reacting positively, and how he reacts to that reaction with clear desire, but also decides to store that info away as opposed to acting on it bc it's not the time or place.

and most of all it's in kant asking bison to teach him to be like him. in kant handing himself over to bison the assassin and going 'use me. please please make use of me. mould me into a weapon you can wield.' and bison refusing to do that. refusing to make a killer of the boy he loves. in bison knowing kant's limit when kant doesn't and not crossing it. of protecting him from himself. but also making use of him anyway. knowing kant well enough to know that that's what he needed. to be used. because being used is being useful, and being useful is what kant has learned will have him kept around. and bc right now they don't have the time or spare energy to start unpicking that knot, bison meets it where it is: he finds uses for kant while also doing everything he possibly can to give kant agency and control: you don't have to do this. i can take it from here. will you help me with one more thing?

i know i've missed so much that i will kick myself for later. i also know this is incoherent. i've got maybe 10 hours of sleep in the past week. but i can't stop thinking about this fucking dynamic. it's so unique and yet so well defined in what it is. and i know the people that don't get that dynamic won't get what i'm trying to point at with this post. and tbh i get it! as obvious as it is there's also something elusive about it! it reminds me of that kaveh akbar quote where he's says trying to describe god is like trying to imagine a bladeless knife with no handle. the more language you try to put to kant and bison's dynamic, the more it recedes from view.

[greenwitchfeeder]

Royalty

Cw: weight gain, clothes ripping, soft feedism

*knock knock* “Princess, may I come in? I got what you asked for.” Hellen, my hand servant, said as she stood outside my room. I had an important court meeting in a few hours so I was dressed up in my formal dress, but it meant I had to skip second breakfast so I was starving. After my hangry outburst at the last meeting, I was threatened to be put on a diet. I had put on some weight in the past couple years

“Yes, please come in!” I eagerly replied.

Her slender frame gracefully entered in her maid uniform carrying a tray of food. “It took a little bribery of the cooks and the guard, but I was able to get what you asked for. I hope it is up to the standards you expect.” She explained while I was visibly bouncing in my seat with excitement.

“I’m sure it’s going to be delicious, just give it to me already!” I said teasing. She knows how excited I get about food. She took the cover off the tray to reveal my favorite foods, steak with buttery mashed potatoes and gravy, asparagus, bread rolls with even more butter, and a strawberry shortcake for dessert. I was salivating just looking at all the delicious food. Eagerly, I grabbed the utensils and started cutting my steak.

“Princess, if I may. I am concerned that your usual…eating habits may result in that dress being unacceptable for the court. You have a tendency to drop food when you’re excited. Would you prefer if I fed it to you.”

I got a little embarrassed, and I couldn’t feel my face flush red, but she was right. This dress was already tight and hard to move in, and I had a hard time being tidy in the best of conditions.

“Yes, I believe you’re right. Thank you.”

Hellen picked up the utensils and began preparing my food. As she presented me the first bite, I couldn’t believe how delicious it was. The juicy meat paired perfectly with the gravy and mashed potatoes and felt warm and comforting as it warmed my belly. I closed my eyes and squealed a bit in excitement before opening my mouth for another bite. Every bite was divine, not just because of how the food was prepared, but how she was serving it to me. After a few bites of steak, she would change to the veggies or the rolls so I wasn’t eating the same thing all the time. The contents of each fork full was perfectly balanced, severing containing too much of one thing. Slowly, my belly started feeling full and pressed against the tight fabric of the dress. I probably outgrew this one, I’ll have to ask the seamstress to make me a new one, a bigger one.

“Thank you Hellen, I’m lucky to have a servant as thoughtful as you,” I said, when I finally broke out of my food induced daze.

“Thank you for the praise, my princess. It is an honor to serve your excellency.” A slight blush broke out over her face. She tends to be reserved with me but I know how much she enjoys the praise. “Are you ready for your cake now?”

“Yes, please!” I said enthusiastically. In reality, I was starting to reach my limits, but the cake looked so delectable that I couldn’t help myself but to try it no matter how full I was.

The first bite melted in my mouth with creamy, sweet, tart goodness. I couldn’t help but let out a small moan as the treat passed my lips then open my mouth for another. I mindlessly rubbed my bloated tummy as she kept feeding me bite after incredible bite. There was about a quart of the cake left when I heard a loud *RIIIP* emanate from my side.

The seams of my dress split on the side, revealing my stretch mark lined love handles. “Oh my goodness, my princess, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to…”

“No, don’t stop!” I exclaimed. “Keep going! I want you to feed me the rest! Please don’t stop now!” I could see on her face how shocked and embarrassed she was. She was hesitant at first, but picked the fork back up and got back to work. By this point my stomach hurt from how stuffed it was, causing me to moan a little louder with every bite. Every so often I would hear a little rip as the tear in my side got bigger, letting more of squishy body push out of the side.

I opened my mouth to receive another bite, but was met with a pair of soft lips and a tongue. Gentle hands caressed my sides and bloated tummy and she kissed me deeply and passionately. I opened my eyes and to see my adorable servant lost in her own actions. Without thinking, I reached out and pressed her narrow frame against my soft body and kissed her back. Her hand massaged its way from my jiggly love handles, under the rip in my dress to my back, and gradually lower, grabbing and squeezing my fat ass.

When I finally came to my senses, I was able to mutter under the waves of pleasure, “Thank you Hellen, never stop treating me like this”

[strniohoeee]

reader is down bad for matt, like she blushes, giggles, goes mute whenever he's around and he kinda enjoys it and one day he finally asks her to go an a date and it ends super fluffy

She’s Got It Bad

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Y/N was out of her mind in love with Matt, but she was shy. Which left her in awkward silent situations until one day Matt puts his foot down! 🌷

Warnings⚠️: None?? Writing kind of sucks also sorry if there’s grammatical errors I never proof read till two days later after I post lolll😭

Song for imagine: This Is How It Feels- D4vd, Laufey

So this is how it feels

To fall in love with you

To always think of you

To always dreams of you

You know when you’re reading or watching a romance book or movie, and one of those super cheesy slow mo scenes happen? Where an 80s love song is queued and the two love interests stare at each other while their hair oh so dainty blows in the wind? And you’re curling your toes as your heart beats for the next scene to happen? Just thinking “I need more! Give me more!” And then it goes back to reality and they end up walking right past one another….

And it wraps you into this hour and a half or 230 page book/movie about the girl wanting the guy….but the guy not really wanting her or simply seeing her as a sister or painfully shoving her in the friend zone? And you’re itching for more. Tired of this back and forth of who will get one another first?

And if you said yes to any of those questions then you are sure looking at my life right now…stuck painfully stuck in the friend zone. Mainly because I put myself there. Let's face it, I'm deeply afraid of rejection. Why ruin something that is virtually perfect.

I had it bad for Matt and I’m not so sure he felt the same way, but I’d never in a million years ever jump at that. I’d rather rip my ears off and tape them to the concrete and then run them over consistently for an hour… okay a bit graphic and a bit over the top but you get the point. He’s off limits and I’ve got it bad for him…

Most of our interactions consisted of short conversations, me blushing like an idiot and even sometimes going silent..offering a nod here and there. It’s even gotten to the point of having to leave the hangout because I was so nervous around him. I mean what if I said something that he found cringey? What if I embarrassed myself which I tend to do a lot might I add? Or even worse…what if he didn’t find me funny?

All these terrible instances bounced off my brain like a bullet ricocheting off of metal walls. As I sat chewing my lip, suddenly my thoughts were interrupted

“Helloooooo” I heard loudly from the other end of the phone call

Blinking out of my trance I soon realized I had been on the phone.

“I’m sorry Nick I got side tracked” I replied gripping the phone again

“Yeah I can tell you went rogue for like 3 minutes there, did you even hear what I asked you?” He asked laughing

“Uhhh yeah and I think you should go with the yellow shirt” I replied praying I wasn’t so far off from what he was talking about

“That was like 10 minutes ago, I asked are you coming or what?” He said huffing

“I’m sorry? Coming? Where?” I asked again as I furrowed my eyebrows

“This is why I don’t call you, you have the attention span of a fly” he said laughing which caused me to laugh

“I’m sorryyyy I was thinking about something” I replied to him

“Aren’t you always… I was asking if you were coming over tonight for movie night?” He said shuffling around

“Ohhh duhh of course I never miss Saturday nights with you” I said getting up to pack my overnight back

“Even though Matt and Chris are joining us this time?” He asked

This is where I hadn’t been listening previously and I almost choked on my saliva trying to form a proper answer.

“Uh.. *ahem* yes of course they can join us” I replied trying to seem chill

“Wow sooo nonchalant about that” he stated sarcastically

“Oh will you shut up” I replied stuffing my duffle bag

Nick opened his mouth to speak but on the other end it sounded like someone walked in his room

“Matt get the fuck out I’m on the phone” Nick said which made me laugh a bit

“Who are you talking to?” I heard Matt ask his brother

“Your girlfriend now fuck off” he said almost hissing at Matt

“NICK STOP” I squeaked over the phone

“I don’t have a girlfriend you sicko” Matt stated sounding annoyed…. I looked up at my imaginary camera (hmm how do I take that response) I thought.

Shaking that feeling off I returned to the call

“Okayyy bye nickkkk see you in a bit” I replied rushing him off the phone

Hanging up the call I sighed deeply… if I wasn’t already nervous to possibly run into Matt then oh boy was I in for a treat

Usually, Saturday nights were for Nick and I and I rarely ever ran into Matt or Chris. Usually it was Chris and him and I had a cool bond. We’d stop to hug and chat for a bit before Chris left to go out. And if I ever ran into Matt it was him leaving with Chris which prompted me to wave slightly and avoid all hugs. Rambling on about Nick needing me for something upstairs each time and not even giving them the chance to respond.

I usually shut my eyes and shook my head when I turned away from them and even muttered a few unkind words about myself to myself….

But tonight…tonight Matt was joining us which meant I couldn’t be awkward around him or else Nick would for sure point it out.

I had gotten to their house with dinner for all of us which we landed on chilis…. Good thing I was 21 I needed a to go drink…preferably strong!

Sitting in their living room as we all began to eat, Nick scrolled through Max as we sat on the floor with our food on the coffee table.

“We should watch Silver Linings Playbook I heard it was good” I said looking over at the tv as Nick had just passed the movie

“I’m down” Chris said shrugging his shoulders

Nick and I usually watched action movies where we’d see a bunch of sweaty hot men fighting bad guys. And most of those movies we’d just yell out if we’d smash the guys or not. I don’t know that Matt and Chris would want to take part in that so a rom-com was for the win!

Max was playing a few ads before the movie and as I was sipping my margarita in a styrofoam to go cup (how niche) Matt had called my name

Looking over at him I raised my eyebrows at him.

“Do you like rom-coms?” He asked me

I felt my ears getting hot and my face too….good thing I’m drinking and I can just blame it on the alcohol.

“I do, I love them actually” I replied nodding at him

“I love them too” he said smiling at me as he ate a fry

“Nice” I said nodding my head and looking over at the tv…why the fuck were their ads still playing? Squinting I turned back around to face him

“Uhh what’s your favorite?” I asked him clearing my throat

“I’d have to say 10 things I hate about you” he replied wiping his hands

“SHUT UP! Me too” I replied getting really excited and loud (blaming it on the alcohol once again)

“No way” he replied laughing

“No! like I swear! I have all the romance movies I’ve ever seen ranked in my notes app and 10 things I hate about you is number one, look see” I replied rambling as I opened up my app and showed him

His brows raised…an impressed look might I add

“Wow Y/N didn’t know you were such a hopeless romantic” he said winning at me

This made my heart flutter and my voice disappear? Sinking into my skin I nodded at him before turning to watch the tv

Throughout the whole movie I kept catching Matt looking at me but he’d look away quickly. This made my skin crawl in a good way though

The movie finished and I found myself emotional. I mean it wasn’t a sad movie but rather beautiful. Nick and Chris had gone to lay on the couch at some point in the movie.

So to no surprise Matt and I turned to find them fast asleep. Shaking our heads we cleaned up the living room and headed to the kitchen to place everything in the trash.

The hallway light illuminating the kitchen as I washed my hands

“I almost feel like Silver Linings Playbook is my number one rom-com” Matt and I both stated at the same time

Laughing I shut the water off and turned towards him

“I guess we really are similar” I said to him as I crossed my arms over my chest

“I suppose so, but I wouldn’t know you’re always running away from me” he said quietly

“Am not!” I replied standing up straight

“You’re always running away from me as fast as possible, you don’t hate me do you” he stated as he wiped down the table

“No” I replied watching his every move

“Then why do you run away? Do I stink?” He asked laughing

“No! You just happen to catch me when I’m busy” I say lying through my teeth

“Right…I suppose so, I do know how to get you at the right time though” he stated throwing the paper out

“Do you?” I asked cocking an eyebrow

“Yeah…when I take you on a date and have all your attention so we can really get to know each other”he says

“Well we’re friends so I do know you” I reply rolling my eyes

“No…know me on a different level that’s not…friends” he says smiling at me sweetly

“Not friends?” Was all I could mutter

“Just say yes to the date you loser” he replied shaking his head

“Yes..sorry yes I will go on a date with you” I replied shaking my head and giggling

“You’ve ever seen Notting Hill?” He suddenly asks me

“I actually haven’t” I stated

“Want to watch it?” He asked me

“But Chris and Nick are sleeping” I replied pointing over my shoulder

“You miss queues don’t you?” He asked cocking an eyebrow

“They don’t call me a ditz for nothing” I replied jokingly

He looked at me with adoration in his eyes for a moment before opening his mouth

“I mean with me…just me” he replied with soft eyes

“Oh....yeah” I replied breathlessly as I shook my head…am I that fucking stupid? I thought to myself

We shut off the tv and the hallway light. Matt led me to his room as I followed behind. It felt so foreign being in a room with a new undertone to it….more than friends

“You can sit closer I won’t bite” he says as he looks over at me

“Right, sorry” I say sitting closer to Matt against the headboard

The air felt awkward as we watched the movie, but Matt slid his arm over my shoulder and pulled me in

“I’m not a stranger” he replied as he snuggled me closer against him

Smiling against him I melted into his touch as we fell asleep to a romance movie. I guess being shy does work out in the end and I’ve always had it bad for Matt but after today? You’re for sure thinking

She’s got it bad!

The End

I wasn’t sure how to end this…it’s so HARD TO END A STORY WTFFFF. Anywho we’re almost at 2,600 followers🥹🥹. Yall I could cry this means so much to me I remember when I had hit 100 followers and I never thought I’d make it this far. I’m so eternally grateful for you all😩🖤🖤. I know I don’t update three times a day everyday like I used to, but I’m so glad yall are sticking around till this day when I post once to twice a week every two weeks. I don’t deserve you, thank yall so much🥹💕💕💕. Stay tuned for more work baes

-J💅🏽