#where their parents’ couldn’t or wouldn’t

[pinkpurplesunrises]

Where the sun meets the flower (you'll always be my girasol)

4000 words - the long story - Alexia Putellas x Reader - This may be heartbreaking but I promise you it'll be okay - Angst and Fluff - Mentions of Reader being sick. Please read with care.

Life can be cruel, so let's just be kind.

You first met her when you were seven.

It was the kind of summer where everything shimmered. Hot pavement under bare feet. The scent of rosemary and jasmine in the air, and the distant hum of children’s voices echoing down the narrow streets of Mollet del Vallès. You’d just moved there with your family. A blonde girl from a quieter town, your Catalan clumsy. Your smile shy but constant.

The first time she saw you, Alexia was sitting on the edge of the pavement. Her scraped knees stained with dirt, a half-deflated football at her side. She stared at you like you were something out of a storybook.

“You look like a girasol,” she said, casually, like it was obvious. Sunflower. You blinked. “Why?”

She shrugged, pushing her tangled hair from her face. “Because your hair’s like gold. And your smile....” She paused, thoughtful. “It looks at the world like it's sunlight.”

You’d never been called something so strange. So lovely.

From then on, you were girasol to her.

You became fast friends in the way only children can. Without questions or reservations. She showed you the best places to climb trees, the shortcut to the bakery that sold the softest ensaimadas, and how to trap lizards without hurting them.

She played football like she was born with it in her blood, and you used to sit cross-legged at the edge of the gravel pitch watching her with awe.

She was bold. Messy. Full of fight, joy and confidence.

You were quieter. Always watching. Always listening.

But she brought something out of you. Like the sun coaxes flowers to open. And when she laughed, she’d always look to see if you were laughing too.

You were still the quieter one, the one who sketched things more than said them out loud, but when Alexia was around, you lived a little louder. She had a way of making everything feel less heavy.

You’d laugh at her ridiculous impressions of your teachers. At the way she’d try to speak with an exaggerated Madrid accent just to annoy people in town. And when she laughed. She’d always glance your way, just to make sure you were laughing too.

That was the thing about Alexia. Even then, even as a child, she noticed you.

Really noticed you.

You were maybe nine the first time the sickness took hold in a way that scared everyone.

It started like a flu. Fever, chills, a cough. But it didn’t leave. Your body grew slower. Your limbs heavy. Days passed where you couldn’t get out of bed, your golden hair sticking to your skin with sweat. Your parents hovered in quiet worry, doctors came and went, and the house fell into a kind of stillness.

Except for Alexia.

She came anyway.

She'd show up at your door, sometimes muddy from training. Holding a small bunch of sunflowers in her hand. Often stolen from her mother's garden. Not always fresh, not always symmetrical but always bright.

“For my girasol,” she’d say with that stubborn smile. “So you don’t forget what you are.”

She’d sit beside your bed, unbothered by the silence or the tubes or the pale version of you lying there. Sometimes she’d talk about her matches. About school. About her sister messing up the TV remote. Other times, she’d bring a board game. Clue, Monopoly, once even Twister which made you laugh so hard it hurt.

And sometimes, she wouldn’t say anything at all. She’d just hold your hand, thumb running lightly over your knuckles as if to remind you she was real. That she was staying.

Even when your voice grew weak and your eyes stayed closed longer than they were open, Alexia still came.

You once asked her, hoarsely, “Why do you keep visiting me?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Because flowers still need sunlight. Even when they’re wilting.”

And even though you were the one laying in bed, it was her who made you feel warm.

The doctors never found a name for it.

Your illness was rare. Strange and shifting. It came and went like a tide, leaving you disoriented in its wake. Some weeks you were fine, more or less. You’d run in the fields behind your house, feel the sun on your skin, laugh without coughing. Other times it hit like a storm. Your body would ache with invisible bruises. Your chest tight, head pounding. Limbs refusing to move the way you wanted them to.

The uncertainty was the worst part.

Your parents kept charts. Specialists were called. Blood drawn. MRIs scanned. But none of it gave you something to point to. You weren’t dying, exactly. But you weren’t living the way a kid should.

And still... Alexia came.

Even when football took her across the city and school pulled her in different directions. Even when she got taller, sharper and the world began to expect more from her. She never stopped showing up. Not for birthdays. Not when you missed a week of school. Not when you were just tired of pretending you were okay.

She always knocked twice on your window before sneaking in, sunflower in hand. Sometimes it was a real one. Sometimes it was drawn in the corner of her notebook and torn out just for you.

“You’re still my girasol,” she’d say like that nickname could keep you warm even on the worst days.

You were sixteen when you told her.

It was a cool autumn afternoon. The sun hung low, casting long shadows over the park benches where you sat side by side. Knees barely touching. She was telling you about a match in Barcelona, her face flushed with excitement. You listened, nodded, smiled in the right places. But your chest was tight with something unsaid.

“I like you,” you blurted, heart thudding hard in your ribs. “More than just like. I mean... like the way people in our class like each other. Like how the girls talk about boys.”

Alexia froze.

For a moment, the world held its breath. You could feel your face flush with heat, your throat tight with fear.

“I know it’s probably weird,” you added, voice shrinking. “Everyone else at school talks about boys. No one ever says...” You looked down at your hands. “No one says this.”

There was a beat of silence.

And then: her fingers found yours.

“No,” she said quietly. “It’s not weird.”

You looked up.

Her voice was steady now. Soft, but sure.

“I think I’ve felt it too. For a long time. I just didn’t know if I was allowed to feel it.”

You could barely breathe.

She smiled. Timidly this time. Not like the bold, fearless girl who stole sunflower petals and tackled boys twice her size on the pitch.

“For my girasol,” she whispered. “Of course I feel it.”

And in that moment, the park, the school, the world. It all fell away. There was only the warmth of her palm in yours. Only the gentle golden light between you. Only two girls sitting shoulder to shoulder on a fading afternoon. Beginning to fall into something neither of you had words for yet, but that had always... always been there.

You were 18 when you’d been thinking about prom for weeks.

It felt silly, maybe, with everything else going on. Your illness creeping up again. School coming to an end. The constant ache in your ribs and knees, but still… you wanted it.

You wanted to wear the rose gold dress your mother had bought you back in March. The one with the soft shimmer and the off-shoulder neckline that made you feel like a version of yourself untouched by hospital rooms and missed classes. You wanted to feel normal, even for just one night.

But mostly, you wanted to go with her.

With Alexia.

You’d rehearsed the question over and over again in your head. How to ask her. How to not sound like your heart was beating too fast just at the thought.

You said it one afternoon after her training. The both of you walking down to the bakery, fingers brushing.

“Would you maybe... if you’re not busy... want to come to prom? With me?” You paused. Swallowed hard. “I mean… as my girlfriend.”

Alexia blinked. Then smiled, slow and wide. “Pensaba que nunca lo dirías. Of course I will.”

The week of prom, you got sick.

Not the kind of sick you could ignore. Not the kind that passed in a day or two. Your body ached so badly you couldn’t stand without trembling. Your fever burned high, eyes glassy, skin too hot then too cold. Your rose gold dress hung untouched in the closet. Tags still on.

You didn’t say anything at first.

Didn’t want to ruin it. Didn’t want to admit the truth.

But Alexia always knew.

She came to your door that evening dressed in a tailored dark suit. No tie. Her hair loose around her shoulders. In one hand, she held a small bouquet of white sunflowers. In the other: your dress.

You blinked, barely able to sit up.

“I told you I was coming to prom with you,” she said softly, stepping inside. “I didn’t say it had to be their prom.”

While your parents quietly lit candles in the kitchen and brought out cold drinks and soft music, Alexia turned your living room into something out of a fairy tale.

String lights draped across the ceiling. A playlist of slow songs hummed from the speakers. A little banner with letters cut out by hand: GIRASOL’S PROM.

She helped you out of bed slowly, carefully, her arms strong around your waist. She let you rest your weight on her. No rush. No pressure. She brought you to the mirror and zipped up your dress gently. Brushing your hair back, eyes shimmering.

“You look like magic,” she whispered, her voice thick.

You tried to smile, even though your body felt like it might fold beneath you.

“I can’t dance much,” you said ashamed.

“That’s okay,” she said. Wrapping her arms around your waist. “I only need a little.”

So you swayed.

Slowly. Gently. Under the twinkle of string lights and the soft hum of your favorite song. Her arms around you, her chin resting on your shoulder. The warmth of her breath against your skin. The soft kisses on your lips.

And when your knees buckled. When your legs couldn’t take it anymore, she caught you. Without panic. Without a word.

She held you. Sat on the floor with you. Your dress crumpled, your body trembling. Her suit jacket around your shoulders.

“Still the most beautiful girl at prom,” she said, kissing your temple.

You closed your eyes against her, and for a moment, there was no pain. Only the weight of her hand in yours. The steady rhythm of her breathing. The love she never made you ask for.

And as the night slipped on, you leaned into her chest and whispered, voice breaking:

“Thank you for not giving up on me.”

She held you tighter.

“Nunca, my girasol. Nunca.”

You were twenty when you moved in with her.

It wasn’t some grand declaration. No dramatic scene of boxes and champagne and keys changing hands. It was slow, natural. Like everything between you and Alexia had always been.

You were spending most nights there anyway. Some mornings she’d wake up early to make you tea before training. Kissing your forehead and tucking the blankets tighter around you before slipping out the door in her cleats.

Other days, you’d be the one waiting at her kitchen table. Sketchbook in hand, while the sound of the front door closing signaled her return. Sweat still clinging to her collarbone, eyes lighting up the second they found you.

When she asked... when it finally became real, you were sitting on the couch with your legs tangled. Her arm around your shoulders. The sun melting through the blinds like syrup.

“I want you here,” she said simply, “for all the mornings. And the bad nights. And the good ones, too. I want to come home to my girasol.”

You looked at her. Eyes tired from another flare-up that week. Joints still sore. Heart heavy with fear of being a burden.

“You already have me,” you whispered. “Even when I’m hard to carry.”

She tucked her fingers under your chin. Her thumb brushing your cheek.

“You’re not a weight,” she said. “You’re home.”

So you packed slowly.

Your books. Your favorite oversized sweater. A mug she always stole when you weren’t looking. She cleared a drawer for your medicine, rearranged her bathroom shelf so your creams and balms and gentle soaps fit beside her perfume and hair ties.

There were good days. Whole stretches where your body forgot to hurt. Where you walked with her down to the bakery like old times. Where you danced in the kitchen with bare feet and no fear.

And then there were the other days.

The ones where your lungs felt tight. Where your skin buzzed with invisible pain. Where the whole world felt like it was pulling away from you, and you couldn’t get out of bed.

But now… you didn’t have to face them alone.

Now she was there.

Holding you through the pain. Reading aloud to you when your eyes ached too much to focus. Whispering, “T’estimo tant, girasol,” over and over until the trembling stopped.

On the worst days, you’d wake up convinced she deserved better. Someone healthier. Easier. Lighter.

But she never left. Never looked at you like you were broken.

Only like you were hers.

You were twenty-five when your body gave out in a way it hadn’t before.

The warning signs had been there. Fatigue that clung no matter how long you slept. Aches that bloomed into something deeper. Breathing that came in shallow, frightened bursts. But you tried to hide it. You always did.

Alexia was twenty-six then.

In the prime of her career. FC Barcelona’s golden girl. Captain with fire in her veins and her name chanted in stadiums loud enough to shake the sky. She was winning trophies, giving interviews, wearing the armband like it was stitched to her soul.

And still... she was by your side.

Every night. Every morning. Every hour she could steal.

The hospital room was sterile and quiet, but she made it feel like home.

She brought your sunflower mug. Your favorite lotion. And a blanket that still smelled like her. She taped drawings you’d made years ago to the white walls. A photo of the two of you smiling in the kitchen. Her hair wet from the rain. Your eyes sleepy but glowing.

You hated how small you looked in the bed. How the tubes curled out of your arm. How her eyes sometimes slipped over the monitors. Reading things she didn't want to understand.

She sat beside you in her Barça jacket, half-zipped, fingers curled around yours.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered once. You weren’t even sure why. For being here. For being sick. For not being the girl who danced in her living room anymore.

Alexia shook her head. Leaned in close until her forehead rested against yours.

“No,” she whispered, voice firm. “You don’t apologize for existing. You don’t ever do that, my girasol.”

You closed your eyes, the heat of her touch grounding you.

“They need you,” you said, weakly. “The team. Spain. Barça.”

Her fingers threaded through yours. “And I need you.”

She said it like it was the easiest truth in the world.

Like trophies could wait. Like nothing outside this room was more important than your hand in hers.

There were matches she couldn't skip. Champions League, El Clásico. But even then, she’d call you from the locker room. Her face flushed. Still breathing hard from the final whistle. She’d grin into the camera and say, “That goal? It was for you.”

She’d hold the phone up to the stadium noise, just so you could hear them chanting her name. And then, quieter: “One day they’ll say your name like that too, when they see your art. When they know your story.”

You tried to believe her.

Because when Alexia spoke, the world always seemed a little more possible.

Even from a hospital bed.

Even on May 25th, 2024. The afternoon of the Women’s Champions League final.

You weren’t doing well.

Your body was fragile in a way that frightened even the doctors. You hadn’t eaten properly in days. The machines were louder than usual. Your chest ached with every breath. The nurses came in gently, speaking in low voices. Their hands moving with practiced care.

Alexia hadn’t wanted to go. She’d sat by your bed the week before, her hand in yours, her eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.

“I won’t leave you,” she said.

“You have to,” you whispered. “You have to play.”

But she shook her head. “I’m benched anyway. Still not cleared fully from training. Some strain. Minor, but…”

“Then go,” you said. You gripped her hand. “And when they need you... and they will need you... you go out there and do what you always do.”

She pressed her forehead to yours, silent for a long time.

“Score for me,” you whispered. “If you can.”

Her voice cracked. “I’ll score for us.”

The TV buzzed softly at the foot of your bed, tuned to the final. Your parents sat nearby, quiet and still. The nurse dimmed the lights. Just enough so you could see the pitch glowing blue and white through tired eyes.

Barcelona. Lyon. On the winning end 1-0 in the 89th minute. But it was still nerve wracking. Anything could happen.

Your breathing was shallow. You could feel your heart working too hard. But your eyes stayed on the screen, even when it blurred.

And then...

90’+2: SUBSTITUTION – ALEXIA PUTELLAS ON.

Your chest fluttered.

There she was, pulling her jersey over her head. Armband tight on her sleeve. Her ponytail swaying with every stride. Jaw set with quiet fire.

The commentators barely had time to finish saying she was still recovering.

“Likely just a symbolic sub,” they said. “But what a symbol.”

They didn’t know her like you did.

90’+4.

A scramble in the box. A deflection. And suddenly, she was there.

Right place. Right time. One touch with her left. A second to steady. And then...

Goal.

A bullet into the top corner. The stadium exploded. So did you.

Something inside your chest lurched. Not from the goal, but from something deeper. Like your body had been waiting for that moment to let go. To release everything it had held for weeks. For Months.

The room tilted.

Your fingers trembled.

The sound of the commentators faded, replaced by the distant echo of your name being called. A monitor screaming. And then...

Stillness.

A long, cold nothing.

Somewhere. Far away. Alexia was on her knees, eyes lifted to the sky. Kissing the crest on her jersey. Hands forming a heart she pointed toward the camera. Toward you.

Because somehow, she felt it. The moment your heart stuttered. The moment it stopped.

Because you were hers.

And she was always listening for your heartbeat. Even across oceans of sound.

The darkness wasn’t black.

It was warm, at first. Soft. Like a room without corners. Like floating in something that didn't press or pull, just held you.

There was no pain here. No machines. No IVs. No body to ache in. Just quiet.

And then... A flicker. A breath of light. Not light like the sun, but something softer. Golden, like the reflection of it. Like something remembered.

You were in bed. Your bed, the one in the apartment with the slightly creaky frame and the cotton sheets you’d picked out together in a sleepy shop in Gràcia.

The window was open. The curtains billowing in the breeze, and Alexia was there. Naked under the sheets. Golden skin aglow in the late morning light. Her bare back to you, tracing idle circles on your thigh with her fingertips.

You knew this moment. Or maybe you dreamed it. One of those days after you’d made love and the world had felt bearable. Like your body might stay soft and whole forever.

She was talking, but her voice was distant. Like you were underwater. Trying to hear through the surface. And then it sharpened. “Girasol,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please come back.”

She turned to you. Her eyes were wet, hair tangled from sleep, lips swollen from kissing. But her face... her face was terrified. Her hand came up to cup your cheek, and you felt it. Somehow, you felt it. The warmth of her palm. The tremble in her thumb.

“Please,” she said again, mouth pressed to your temple. “Come back to me. Just… one more minute. One more breath. That’s all I need.”

You wanted to answer. You tried. But your voice was nowhere.

Your body, nowhere.

Still, something in the way she held you. Desperate and reverent. Like you were something holy and disappearing. Cracked the silence open.

It hurt.

The ache of wanting her, of needing to move, to touch, to live... it burned through the soft dark like a flare in the night.

And then...

You remembered her goal. You remembered her eyes looking up after she scored, lips forming your name.

You remembered that you hadn’t said goodbye.

A sound.

Beeping.

A high-pitched, regular rhythm.

Then voices... Shouting... A rush of movement.

And for a while nothing for a long time.

Until a week later.

The light was soft when you opened your eyes. Not the glaring brightness of the hospital ceiling, but a golden kind of hush. Late afternoon sun filtering through the curtains. A vase of sunflowers on the windowsill.

You blinked slowly.

It felt like the air had thickened while you slept, like time had melted and reformed in your absence.

And then... her.

Alexia.

Curled up on the small hospital couch. Barely asleep, arms wrapped around her knees. She looked like she hadn’t moved in hours. Still in sweats, her hair pulled back, face hollowed by days of holding her breath for you.

You shifted, and the soft rustle of sheets was enough.

She was at your side in a second. Eyes wide, mouth open like she couldn’t believe it.

“Hey,” you rasped. Your throat was dry, but your smile was real. “You’re here.”

Her face crumpled. A single sob broke out of her chest as she dropped to her knees beside the bed. Her hands in yours. Her forehead against your arm.

“I didn’t... I wasn’t here,” she whispered. “I was on the pitch. When it happened. I was scoring a fucking goal, and you...” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “I should’ve been here.”

You brushed your thumb across her knuckles.

“It was a perfect goal,” you murmured.

She looked up at you. Wet lashes. Disbelief swimming in her eyes. “You saw it?”

“I saw you come on. I saw the pass. You didn’t even look, just hit it like you knew. Like you felt it.”

Alexia swallowed hard, nodding slowly.

“I did,” she said. “I felt… something. Like everything in me told me to turn and shoot. Like you were right there.”

“I was,” you whispered.

Her hands trembled around yours.

“It wasn’t just a goal,” you said, your voice barely above a breath. “You brought me back.”

Alexia leaned forward, pressing her lips to your temple, lingering there like a prayer. “Girasol… I would’ve traded that goal. All of it. Just to hear you say my name again.”

You turned to her slowly, cheeks damp with tears neither of you had noticed falling.

“But you didn’t have to,” you said. “Because I’m still here.”

And in that moment, she held you like you were the victory.

Not the medal.

Not the stadium.

You.

Her girasol.

[gojosatoruhumper]

I’m worried | Yeon Si-eun x reader

Summary: Si-eun always was and will be afraid of something happening to Y/n.

Warnings: swearing, fighting, angst, fluff, comfort, parental conflict.

Wc:2.8k

Based on this request

Notes: Let’s pretend Si-eun didn’t get hit by the truck🥰🥰

˗ˏˋ �� ˎˊ˗

It all started when you were little. Your and Si-eun’s mom were good friends, so of course they would bring you to their house when they met up.

At first Si-eun didn’t exactly like you, he felt like he was forced to hang out with you. Your character was too much for him, always talking, always asking questions.

It always amazed you how Si-eun was so smart, way above his age kids in studies. As long as you have known him, he always had his head in his books.

And gradually, he started to engage with you more, answering your asked questions in detail, helping you understand questions you couldn’t get the hang of.

You started nagging your mom, ‘When can we go see Si-eun?’ ‘Can we go out with them today?’. As you both grew, you grew closer. He started opening up to you, little by little. At that moment you felt so close to him, how such a boy, who buried his emotions so deep in himself, could unbury them with you.

He sometimes talked to you about his parents, how they were always arguing and yelling at each other. In a way, he felt like it was his fault. Even if he didn’t show it, he was very sensitive and took everything to heart.

And with every deep talk with him, you would stay by his side, listening to him. He was always an observer, listener and not a talker so you would make him feel free to talk with you whenever about whatever.

And when his parents split up, your moms weren’t as close, not meeting up for their weekly coffee, only catching up once in a while. But you and Si-eun stayed close, the closest you have been.

He always cared for you, just as much as you did for him. You showed it more, but you could see right through him. When you were having a bad day, stressing over school he would always try to cheer you up somehow, or at least be by your side.

Even through texts he could sense something is wrong. You didn’t want to interfere with his studies because you knew how important it was for him. But at moments he didn’t even care. He even skipped cram school sometimes for you, which surprised even you.

You unraveled feelings from so deep in him that without you, he knew he wouldn’t have even know to feel them. You were the first one to confess, even though you were scared. Maybe you caught the signs wrong, maybe he felt like you were just a shoulder to lean on, and a person to laugh with, nothing more.

But you were so wrong. That day he asked you to be his girlfriend.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You couldn’t be happier, you didn’t know what would you do without him. Your parents were also happy, mostly because he helped you with school work, but also because they saw how much you cared for each other.

When you met his friends for the first time, they almost thought Si-eun was joking about having a girlfriend, it didn’t seem like him at all.

But with his new friends, he started getting into fights. You were worried for him. When he didn’t want to go home, dark and almost unwelcoming, he came to your house. Bruises were on his face, cuts on his lips.

You would take care of him. “Si-eun what happened now? Are you okay” you said, stepping aside to let him in. “I got into a fight again” he quietly said, looking down. “Come here” you hugged him hard.

You never scolded him for getting into fights, people were cruel and were asking for it these days. You understood where he was coming from.

You were now both on your bed, changed as he laid on it, head on your lap. You carefully cleaned his wounds, putting a bandaid on. “You know, I think I should study to become a nurse at this point” you said, laughing.

He also cracked a smile, he knew a medical degree would suit you, you cared for people a lot. You stood up, trash from the bandaids in your hand. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to take a shower” you announced, turning away.

He laid in your quiet room, his outside clothes neatly folded on your desk, your almost finished homework spread out beside it. He sat on your table, look down at it. He couldn’t help but smile, your homework was done perfectly, just how he explained it to you a couple days ago.

He felt your phone ring, who could be calling you at this hour? He took it in his hand as an unsaved number was on the screen. His guts told him to answer it, so he did.

“Y/n?” He stayed silent. “It’s Young-bin, tell your little boyfriend to not throw a fit like that again, you should teach him better, huh? You don’t want him hurt, do you?” The boy on the other line continued, Si-eun’s hand gripping the phone from anger. “Teach him better, you’re going to pay for what he and his friends did”

He listened, anger filling him. “Leave her alone” he said, hanging up. He blocked the number, deleting the call from the call history and putting the phone where it was.

At this point Yeong-bin knew Si-eun’s weak spots. Si-eun couldn’t shake off the fact that you were the next target.

You opened the door, him looking up at you. “You tired?” you asked him as he nodded, hands on his lap. You sat on your bed, pulling the blanket over you, of course making space for him.

He got in next to you, hugging you close. You smiled to yourself, whispering “goodnight” closing your eyes. He didn’t say anything back, just hugging you tighter. He was sleepy at all now, all he could think was punching Young-bin so hard he wouldn’t even think of you again.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The next day came, you were both in bed. The birds were starting to chirp, sun rays heating up your faces. Since it was sunday, you convinced him to spend the day with you.

You both talked, he helped you finish the homework that you didn’t get to yesterday. He felt joyful when he was with you, not showing it that much but you noticed.

He heard his phone buzz and he got nervous, what if it was Yeong-bin again? He looked at the message, relieved seeing Su-ho’s name come up. “Do you want to go get lunch with Su-ho and Beom-seok?” he asked, looking up at you as you were playing on your phone.

“Yeah, sure we can go. But I have to get ready first” you said, getting up. You picked an outfit, getting an opinion from him. He kept some clothes at your house for days like these, your scent on them.

At the diner, Si-eun still couldn’t stop thinking about that phone call. He held you close, from time to time looking around as paranoia filled him.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Monday came, he got up early. He put on his school uniform, leaving his house quickly. He knew the only way to get Yeong-bin alone was when he got out his house in the morning, since he transferred schools.

His feet brought him to Yeong-bins neighbourhood, he knew where he lived since he over heard him one time with his friends.

Si-eun stood behind a corner, waiting. When the guy came into view, rage filled him again. Si-eun took him by the collar, clutching it. Yeong-bin was a coward, eyes filling with fear.

“Leave her alone” he repeated his sentence from two days ago. Yeong-bin pushed him, trying to act all tuff. “Yeah? Or what?” he provoked.

He didn’t answer, just grabbed his now wrinkled collar again, smashing his face into the brick wall. “Or this” he said through gritted teeth as the guy tried to fight back but was unsuccessful. Si-eun kept hitting his face into the wall, blood splattering onto Yeong-bins uniform.

He finally let go, the guy dropping to his knees. Si-eun looked down, staring. He turned around as he heard him yell. “You asshole, you will regret this.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Beom-seok turned his back to Si-eun and Su-ho. Si-eun was transferring schools and moving in with his mom. Su-ho was in a coma.

Your heart broke at the sight of Si-eun, he didn’t want to leave Su-ho’s hospital room. He cried next to you, clutching your shirt.

But apart of Si-un was relieved that you didn’t get involved into this. Beom-seok left you alone. “Y/n, this is my fault.” he said, sitting up right, the room quiet. “If I got there in time, he would’ve been fine” he looked down.

“If what I should’ve been the one in a coma” his hands balled in fists. You put your hand on his shoulder as he looked into your eyes.

“Si-eun none of this was your fault, you should know it” “Neither of you deserved what happened” you glanced at Su-ho, feeling bad for both of them. “He will be okay” you reassured him, hand rubbing circles on his back.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You and Si-eun spent the summer together, every day. He wasn’t the same as he used to be. At first he didn’t even go out of his room, but you always stayed. You talked to him, brought him something to eat.

You both visited Su-ho every other day later on. Si-eun changed, but he tried to not push you away, he knew it would only make him feel worse.

Slowly he got a little better, but not quite. After all of this, he realised he should value you even more. He was moving to his mom’s house, and you helped him pack.

You and your mom had helped him move, Si-eun carrying the last box. “Hi Y/m/n!” “How have you been? It’s been ages” Si-eun’s mom hugged your mom as you and Si-eun went into his new room.

You helped him unpack everything, making it feel like home. Or at least you tried to. You sat on the bed, exhausted. Si-un sat next to you, looking around.

“Hey, it’s not so bad is it?” you look over to him. “I guess so..” he quietly said as he felt a kiss on his cheek. “And we won’t be that far away” you scanned his face, dark circles under his eyes.

You closed your eyes, resting your head on his shoulder. “Let’s take a nap” you murmured, yawning. You laid on the small bed, barely fitting both of you. He let himself close his eyes, feeling comforted and secure with you hugging him, he really needed this.

With closed eyes Si-eun softly spoke “I’m worried”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The school year started, and you still saw Si-eun every weekend, whether it was him coming over to you or you to him. The dark circles got worse, your heart ached. He did tell you he slept better when you were with him, so you always tried to be there as much as you could.

He still talked about Su-ho and you couldn’t lie to yourself, you missed him too. His jokes were funny and he always made you blush with his comments about you and Si-eun, he was a good friend to both you and him.

He got into a little trouble here and there but most importantly - he found friends. Little by little you could see the tiniest spark come back in him. You felt happy for him.

Until Na Beak-jin and his union started bothering him and his friends, Hu-min, Hyun-tak and Jun-tae. His fear grew. The fear of them coming to get you.

Every buzz of your phone caught his attention, what if the union texted you? When you were together outside paranoia was swirling in his head, looking around more than he should. He kept his phone close at all times, waiting for a message from you, what if you needed his help?

Unknowingly to him, one day his nightmare came true. It was tuesday, the sun was shining and it was beautiful day out. You said goodbye to your friends and headed home. You were walking on the asphalt as a guy with glasses stopped you.

“Hey beautiful” he said, hands in his pockets as he blocked your way. You stood there confused, looking up. “Can.. Can i help you..?” you asked unsurely. He came up close to your face, inspecting every detail. A sick smile spread onto his face. “Ah I can see why Si-eun took a liking to you”

You stood frozen, even more confused. His smile didn’t look welcoming at all. “Move, you’re in my way” you said, clutching your backpack straps. “No need to be so rude, Y/n” he calmly said, watching your reaction. You didn’t tell him your name.

“I’m Seong-je” he continued, putting a cigarette in his mouth. “I came here all this way to meet you, and this how you treat me?” he grabbed your hair roughly, bring your face up to his.

He took his phone out as he opened the camera app, putting his hand up, facing the camera so both of you were in frame. “Smile, for that boyfriend of yours” he said, snapping the picture. His hand was in your face, confusion, fury and fear printed on your face.

“There” he said, his hand leaving your presence as he took the cigarette. “As I said I only came here to say hello” “We will see each other soon” he smiled with that sick grin, turning around and walking away, who was he?

Si-eun’s heart sank at the photo he received. His eyes focused on you. He could see you were in your school uniform, picture taken not far from your house. Seong-je came to you.

He felt at fault, you were unsafe because of him. Na beak-jin sent him, Si-eun knew. If he didn’t take further action, he knew something worse could happen to you, his friends.

Si-eun quickly pulled his phone, calling you. “Y/n are you okay?” he asked once you picked up the phone. Your voice was shaky, quiet. “Yes, but what about you?? Is everything okay over there” you asked.

“Yes, do you want me to come over?” he raised his voice, he felt so guilty. “If you can, yeah” you smiled to yourself.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The day came. The big fight to finally end the conflicts, to put the union to an end. With Su-hos intelligence he came up with a plan, calculated the probabilities of them winning.

Si-eun came to the fight just on his planned time, when Hu-him was already on the ground, barely breathing. Anger filled him, those deep eyes now dark, face emotionless. He took the brass knuckles out of his pocket, putting it on.

“Yeon Si-eun” Beak-jin said, face bruised up. Si-eun’s fear of you getting hurt, turned into anger. “I’m here to fight, not talk” he contained himself, calm. Beak-jin was the first one to throw a punch, he dodged it.

Si-eun kicked him, grabbing his blazer with a strong grip. The taller one threw punches until one finally hit Si-eun. Face burning, he went to his leg, smashing it with the metal.

“Yeon Si-eun!” Beak-jin screamed, kicking him. Na Beak-jin deserved to suffer. Si-eun stood up, hair messy and uniform now muddy. He punched Beak-jin, him holding up his nose.

He took Si-eun by his tie, showing no mercy. He punched and kicked him, screaming with anger. Si-eun was knocked to the ground, eyes blurry and moves sluggish.

No. He couldn’t give up now, he had to stand up, for you. He got onto his feet, unsteady. His wet uniform stuck to his skin. He grabbed the other’s hand, twisting it. His face scrunched in pain as he felt a punch knock him onto the ground.

Si-eun strangled his body with his legs, repeatedly punching his open wounds. Beak-jin couldn’t even fight back anymore, eyes closed and barely any oxygen coming into his lungs.

Hu-min stood behind them, he didn’t even need to intervene as they planned, this was it. They won.

Unknowingly, you had came to see him, he wasn’t answering his phone and you had a gut wrenching feeling something was wrong. At first you texted Hyun-tak but when you were unsuccessful you tried contacting Jun-tae who luckily answered, texting you an address to go to.

Guys started cheering, though the union stayed silent. After a while they started leaving, Si-eun stopped. He stood alone, looking back.

Until he heard your voice. His head immediately turned to you, he felt relieved. You ran to him, as he opened his arms out for you. He has never hugged you so tight before, a smile spreading across his beaten up face, stinging.

He didn’t need to worry anymore, at least for a while.

[studiogrimm810]

Happy Birthday

// Est. Dean Winchester x birthday!you

summary: birthdays as a hunters kid have always sucked and let you to hate the celebration of yourself, but dean can’t help but at least try to show you how much he cares // ~700 // base content: birthday celebration!!, mentions of a neglectful childhood :/, happy ending, lovesick dean

A/N: this is for you, elle, happy birthday <3

Plastic bags crinkled as you turned the Impala back into the garage of the bunker. When Dean had asked you to go out, in his car, to get some ‘necessities’, you knew something was up.

Equal parts of you wished and dreaded the same thing.

Your birthday.

It’s stupid, really. Birthdays were a sore subject for any child of a hunter- slice of stale cake from a roadhouse or diner, thrifted gifts of toys or trinkets that went out of style years ago, and a potential guest appearance from your parent. Birthdays were no big deal, seriously.

Dean knew this. He knew your history with shoddy ‘parties’, if you can even call them that, and he wouldn’t throw some elaborate scheme behind your back, right?

You grabbed the bags and got out of the Impala, ignoring how no breath felt like enough, and walked back inside the bunker. It’s quiet.

If it’s a surprise party you swear you’ll turn right back around and leave.

All you can do is remain casual and walk down the hall and turn into the kitchen, so you do. You turn past the door frame and into the kitchen that is mellowly lit with string lights and dotted with fake flowers- replicas of your favorites to match the lush vase of the real thing on the island. There’s a small, handmade banner strung above the stove and a simple, round cake decorated with cherries and red sprinkles. One, single candle is settled in the center and it’s freshly lit by a careful Dean.

He hasn’t even noticed you yet.

There’s a gift on the table next to two fresh plates of that one meal Dean has been mentioning a lot lately and you realize he was trying to gauge if you’d like it or not in subtle conversation.

The bunker is still quiet and Dean pockets the lighter and finally looks up to see you. His face lights up in excitement but his eyes are unsure as you’ve just been standing there- completely still.

“You’re back!” He beams, scoffing nervously and rounding the counter. “I-,” he looked back at his popsicle stick party held with cheap kindergarten glue. It’s simple and effortless but meaningful and so goddamn sweet. “I know you’re not a big ‘birthday’ person,” he looks back at you. “I told Sam to get lost for the day and he doesn’t even know it’s your birthday, I promise. I just couldn’t let another year go by where you thought no one cared enough to put something on for you. Even if you hate it,” he shrugged, his face apologetic but stubbornly careless of what your reaction would be.

You look back over the room, the wax melting onto the cake in a forgetful puddle. You felt stunned and beyond loved.

“It’s vanilla, despite the cherries,” he clarified with a nervous smile. “So..,” he swallowed, flicking his right thumb over his other fingers nervously by his side. “Do you? Hate it, I mean,” his free hand scratches the back of his neck as he anxiously awaits your reaction.

“Dean-,” you start but the words get caught in your throat. As you stand here now, with love displayed physically, emotionally, materialistically, and vocally, you can’t help but think if maybe it wasn’t the birthday’s but instead the person. “I love it,” you whisper, keeping your eyes on the cake. The perfect, simple, small cake that is all for today. For your day. “It’s perfect,” you sniffled, unable to pull your eyes to look at him just yet but you can see the relief flood his face from your peripheral.

After all this time, you finally realized that birthdays aren’t a selfish endeavor for attention and forced love. It’s a day that the ones who love you want you to relish in the life you’ve made and the way you live it.

It’s a celebration of you.

And Dean never wants you to forget that he’d celebrate you every day, just like this, as long as you’ll let him.

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>>check out my other works here

tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere @bejeweledinterludes @funkenniffler @iamaslytherin0

[j2archives]

Salvation to be delivered.

Father Sam is left in shambles after your last encounter and he’s praying for the salvation he knows won’t be delivered. Not now, not for a long while — CW mentions of m!masturbation, sam’s pov, no dialogue, brief mention of the nuns, mentions of his vows, implied intimacy + mentions, mentions of arranged marriage + more. Proofread. 16+ wc 500

yet to be tainted (continued from)

You started coming more after that day, staying later than usual whether it was the morning or evening service. Your parents still had no clue and honestly, Sam didn’t either. He didn’t know what to think. He couldn’t think. You haunted him like the plague. Every thought he had always drifted towards you, whether it was sinful; derogatory. It would stick with him for the day, sometimes the night.

The nuns stopped coming by his room, now they just set out a fresh pair of sheets by the door and went about their business. Each one of them collectively agreed that whatever was going on with Father Sam— they didn’t need to add that weight to their shoulders. Esther, one of his best nuns herself, had stopped asking. Sam never gave her a clear answer, much less anyone.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how you felt, how you sounded in his arms— pressed up against his chest. He made you fall apart right there in the cathedral, up against the wall with his hand up your dress. The mere fact he’d done that drove him into insanity. Sam had broken every vow he had taken upon himself, he’d let himself be consumed by the flesh of his desire. And he didn’t even lift a finger to stop it.

Now, every time he thought to lay down for rest; he felt that same ache in his groin once again. He’d already given in, redemption was off the table.

Every time before service, where he knew you would be coming— he found himself lost in damp sheets again. With wet lashes as he writhed and cried with a tight fist around his shaft. God, he sometimes found himself in the same position right after he stood at that altar in front of his faithful.

Sam felt lost without you, helpless. All he could think about was how you looked at him with those sweet, doe eyes. How you gave him that sweet smile, a pink flush on your cheeks. How you jutted out your bottom lip when pleading for something that you already knew he wouldn’t deny. He couldn’t deny anything you asked for, it was one of his many weaknesses.

He knew your parents most likely had you planned to marry some church boy. A young, naive, catholic boy who met their expectations. Sam knew he had no right to feel jealous, to have some sort of envy. He had no claim over you, no control over you. But it still irked him. The thought of some inexperienced boy’s hands on you, clawing and kissing at your sweet flesh— it enraged him. Fuck, why was he so worked up about this? He wasn’t before, he swore.

Your voice was merely a siren’s song. He was sure you weren’t even aware of that. You didn’t know what you did to him, what depraved thoughts ran through his head every time you shot him a glance. It wasn’t your fault Sam couldn’t keep his hands to himself, you were just… you. And shit, that was the worst part.

It was driving him up the walls, and had him on his knees before the statue of Christ. Praying for forgiveness. Praying for salvation. But he knew both wouldn’t be delivered. Not now, not for a long time.

Taglist @laceyvelvetcake @mccartneyqp @xoswiftieprincess @starzify @adorifyy @ambiguous-avery @rositaslabyrinth @bejeweledinterludes @insensiblelimerence @immodestly-marina @samlou @mostlymarvelgirl @ultravi0lence14 @wa1ks @h8aaz

[jupitersfall]

Friends to Lovers | L. Matthew Headcanons

Lottie who, in third grade, came up to you and cautiously asked if you’d like to kick a soccer ball with her. When you said yes, the two of you played for the entirety of recess, and then everyday after.

Having sleepovers at her house all throughout your childhood. Going swimming during summer, playing tag around her house every time her parents were gone.

The two of you were inseparable, to the point that if someone saw you alone, they’d ask where Lottie was.

Middle school was when the two of you began to grow crushes. Gushing to Lottie about different people, even though you knew you’d never try anything.

Lottie would get unreasonably upset when you’d mention liking another girl, though. She didn’t wanna lose her best friend!

Middle school was also when Lottie tried out for Soccer. She was good, really good. She’d always ask you to go to her games, and you’d joke about how she didn’t need to ask because you’d want to go to all her games in the first place.

Lottie who started to secretly wish you’d wear her jersey number while you were in the bleachers.

Every time she did anything remotely cool looking, she’d search for you in the crowd to see your reaction. And of course, you’d always be cheering for her.

High School, things had gotten a little more complicated. You knew you liked Lottie, because you’d get that same butterfly feeling in your stomach that you’d get with all your other crushes.

It didn’t help that Lottie was so touchy. If you couldn’t be hugging, you’d be holding hands. If you couldn’t be holding hands, you’d be linking pinkies. Not like you were complaining.

Lottie who was also your first kiss. The two of you had wanted to get it over with, because all your other friends had been kissed.

“It’ll be just a quick one,” Lottie said with a reassuring smile, her hand gently rubbing your shoulder, “And it’s not like it means anything.”

When Lottie got into her first relationship, you thought you’d have gotten over your crush but it only made things worse.

Instead of spending everyday together, it was every other day. Then, every two days, until you’d only ever see her some weekends.

It’s not like Lottie liked that. She missed you like hell, but her partner was a little possessive, that’s all. It didn’t help that you and her were always rumored to be dating.

“They’re jealous, y’know,” Lottie said, “Like, they probably think we’re making out right now. Isn’t that funny?”

“Yeah. Real funny, Lot.”

But when she got dumped, she was running back to you. All teary eyed, knocking on your door. She looked small, and all you wanted to do was take her into your arms and hold her until she felt better. So, that’s exactly what you did.

She sniffled a little, head in your lap while your fingers ran through her hair. Watching reruns of twins peak, and friends.

You were thrilled, though you wouldn’t admit that. Of course, you felt bad. But now, somebody else wasn’t gonna be kissing her, which was awesome.

Lottie had spent every day with you for weeks, ‘making up for lost time’ as she’d put it. And about a month after her breakup, she’d asked you to come with her to a movie.

So, of course, you went. Lottie had spent several minutes debating what candy to buy, and what soda flavor to get, and whether she wanted a large popcorn or a medium.

Lottie who was incredibly nervous for some reason, rambling about how she’d seen advertisements for this movie, how she’d heard it was really good and she thought you’d like it.

She was so stiff in her seat, barely eating any of the popcorn. Halfway through, she’d gotten the courage to hold your hand.

Which seemed a little weird to you because if she’d wanted to hold your hand, she could’ve. It wasn’t like you hadn’t done it before.

Lottie had kept your hand in hers the whole time, until after the movie was over and the two of you were outside.

“So,” Lottie said, hand gently squeezing yours to get your attention, “did you like the movie?”

“It was pretty good. The soundtrack was cool.”

Lottie hummed a little, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, totally. I missed hanging out with you, you know. I was thinking…maybe, you know…dinner, or something. Like, after my game next friday.”

“Dinner?” you questioned, trying to push away the excitement that was beginning to bubble up inside you, “I mean, sure. We’ve never gone out to dinner before.”

Lottie looked a little sheepish at that, shrugging as nonchalantly as she could. “Yeah, yeah. Yeah, I know. But, like, it’s good to try new stuff.”

So, the two of you went to dinner. Lottie had done her makeup, though she had tried her best not to make it obvious that she was doing good for you.

It was a little awkward at first because neither of you were sure what to talk about, but once the two of you had begun eating, conversation started.

Lottie who, near the end of your dinner, had reached across the table and took one of your hands in hers. Cautiously mentioning how she’s been thinking about your friendship for awhile now, and how she’s cared about you a lot.

And to be honest, you thought she was about to say she didn’t want to be friends anymore.

But then the words ‘I want to be with you’ left her mouth and the two of you were staring at each other for at least fifteen seconds. Pure silence, except for the clinking of silverware on plates, and soft chatter coming from the other people in the restaurant.

Not even bothering to reply, just leaning over the table to kiss her.

Being incredibly annoying after that. Like, touching 24/7 and kissing and giggling to the point that your guys’ friends would tell you get a room.

Lottie lowkey being romantic as hell…if you pass by a store, and you happen to eye a shirt for a second too long, best believe it’ll be in your room, wrapped in a nice package by the next day. She can’t help it, she’s a giver! It’s her love language! Not to mention, her dad has so much cash that he wouldn’t even notice if she was blowing it on you.

Planning fun dates together. Going to the aquarium, or the arcade, or renting a bunch of movies and just hanging out at one of your houses. Blasting music throughout her house and singing along at the top of your lungs (even if you’re not very good, Lottie doesn’t judge) and dancing together.

Anyways! Lottie would be a 10/10 girlfriend. Like, super sweet, and super understanding. If you’re having a bad day, she’s having a bad day. If you’re mad at someone, she’s mad at them. If you made a new friend, she’s made a new friend.

And she definitely stays up late, gigging to herself while daydreaming about your guys’ life together.

[contacthigh520]

messy nuca time travel thoughts

i’ve been thinking about what a nu carnival time travel fix-it might look like (the thoughts happened mostly before chapter 16, i should preface so no huey stuff (although would any huey stuff really be a fix-it if it would eliminate the existence of eiden??)). anyways. the thing with nu carnival is there aren’t an abundance of ‘key points’ or like Singular Terrible Events. things tend to happen in a slow collapse that are hard to circumvent.

for example, you can’t really ‘fix-it’ quincy because his big problem is that everyone he has ever loved (plus, in his eyes, will ever love in the future) will die before him. and the cause of that problem, him becoming a clan member to defend his tribe, is difficult to get around. even now, we can tell that he stands by that decision, to some extent, because unlike other older clan members, he hasn’t chosen to die. (i think maybe i’d read it as a sort of what-if path rather than a fix-it? a bittersweet thing where he died surrounded by family that loved him, lauded for his feats of strength and protection.)

(in going through the process of rethinking what might be a ‘fix-it’ option for everyone, i’m realizing it might just be eiden giving any given clan member a friend while they struggled through their lives. because really, the biggest absence most of them have is a friend that could stand by their side. anyways, that’s not what i initially thought of— so i’m tucking that away for another time.)

ok. so. right. thinking about a Big Event that caused a Lot of Cascading Stuff that could be changed via time travel (i love time travel). who would be sent back? what would the event be?

well… (<- guy who has a very strong bias), there’s the riot that killed dante’s parents…

the thing is, the initial issue is still there: the riot was caused by numerous decisions from dante’s parents that they really stood by! like dante, they had very strong convictions that would be difficult to sway, even with the interference of a time traveller.

if dante was sent back in time into his puny kid body before the riot happened, he probably couldn’t convince his parents to fight off bandits or not waste money on his happiness. like, they might fortify the palace or make contingency plans for their safety, but they wouldn’t stop being Really Committed Pacifists in the Bandit-Death Desert.

so like… what would dante do? he’d be in a very similar situation to his original kid self where no one would listen to him and he had no power.

well, he’d try to get back to his original solaria.

though there are numerous things he’d probably like to change, his ultimate commitment is to his Solaria. it’s what he built, what he knows, and what he wants to protect. there’s no telling what changing the past would bring and there’s the very real chance that this is all just… magical shenanigans.

it’s kind of obvious that no one in solaria can or will help him. his parents love him, which is a problem, because that means they won’t let him leave the palace (an age-old problem). and dante is still Super Sick.

but, hey, he stopped being ill after he went through the trials of the elemental spirit of fire so… that’s one piece of the puzzle

and! he has a rough idea of the people who could potentially help him: the other clan members. the level of sorcery that this time travel nonsense would take is probably beyond the average magic user, so clan members are his best bet. plus, there’s a chance he wasn’t the only one impacted by whatever is going on.

(this is also my ploy to make it a group adventure…)

so, like, dante sneaks out with a horse and, with a whole lot of difficulty, manages to get to and pass the trials of the elemental spirit of fire. (i imagine it’s easier because he knows where he’s going. it’s potentially harder because there’s no riot to distract the bandits around town. cest la vie. the trials are probably as difficult as before but!! i imagine the content would change because time travelling dante doesn’t have the same concerns baby dante had.)

dante running off leaves solaria in a panic (despite the note that dante thoughtfully left behind) and dante in better health with his trial markings.

so where does dante go from there? aster, maybe, since he knows that aster is connected to the grand sorcerer, even if eiden isn’t around…

i didn’t actually come up with a plan for how dante got back to the present or what sent him back.

in my initial planning, i thought it would be very funny for dante to go to quincy. quincy’s a good option because he’s strong (dante kind of needs that) and he’s reliable (unlike many of the other clan members).

the idea of pre-eiden quincy (incredibly tired + depressed) having to deal with an pompous, demanding baby foreign prince is a fun image, esp. because its so baffling to quincy.

looking at the map of klein… dante probably picks up blade and garu (and maybe even gramps!) while he passes through the dead zone? he’s probably pretty blatant about picking up clan members. it would be difficult to override huey’s ‘orders’ to blade, but maybe blade could be convinced to come on the basis that it was ‘for the grand sorcerer’? and gramps would probably not leave this rambunctious child on a horse to travel alone.

man… and baby karu would still be fully hidden in garu… (also i wonder how gramps feels about potential future knowledge that garu’s ‘master’ actually does come to be?)

so blade + garu (+ gramps(?)) and then quincy.

kuya probably comes along uninvited because its not his circus, not his monkeys, but he is an intrigued audience member.

from there maybe they put together some puzzle pieces about needing all the clan members?

going in map order, that’s like: yakumo (baby snake!) -> aster, morvay, edmond (baby edmond!) -> olivine (baby…) -> rei (rei!)

tbh, they probably bullshit to get baby yakumo along, if his grandma and grandpa even let him go with the strange group of people. gramps probably does a lot to help smooth things over.

a big bid in their favor is that they know about yakumo’s gem and tell him about it? let him know that he’s not so alone in the world…

aster and morvay are probably the MVPs in letting the group progress in their research. dante leverages his knowledge about aster and the grand sorcerer Super Hard. plus, aster and morvay wouldn’t let any remotely trustworthy lead about their master fall through.

i think aster would maybe help them get into the sorcerer’s trials? for the library or w/e…

and that’s how they meet baby olivine

laying out the ages:

dante: ~8-10 years old

garu: ~15-16 years old or ~5-7 years old(?) (he doesn’t get a younger looking sprite in his flashback since they just use n-r rarity sprites for those. and he doesn’t act much younger? so i’m leaning towards him being pretty similar to how we see him in canon) (of course, i might be fudging the timeline a lot to even have him be around at all instead of in kolt’s clutches. ah well…)

yakumo: ~9-11 years old (he have a kid form iirc? and that’s how his grandparents picked him up)

edmond: ~11-13 years old

olivine: ~12-15 years old

and then this is fun because of Conflict!! dante doesn’t really know much about the past of the others to have any real insight on them during these time travel shenanigans. BUT! he does know about olivine cutting himself which makes things Interesting

honestly, i think it would be super cute if olivine acted as their guide during the group’s visit because he has a gemstone? and he also turns out to be pretty helpful because he’s pretty deep into technical and theoretical magic.

and then they whisk olivine away for their group adventure because 1) he’s a clan member and 2) they need his brain. (dante’s pretty informed on essence and elemental spirits but i wouldn’t say magic is his forte)

and then, finally, around the water territory, they meet up with rei, who comes to them because what are garu and gramps even doing there??? and then we get some semi-rare olivine and rei discussion as they discuss The Situation…

it’s just so fun to see how different these half-formed versions of everyone are before the present…

- quincy’s so much sadder (but hey! he still has topper… who is not named topper yet)

- blade is still quirky but much harder to communicate with (unless it’s with other members of the old guard who are kind of used to him)

- yakumo’s a nervous baby (but maybe has his anxiety less in-grained in him? less convinced that all these people like him would reject him thoroughly? esp since they came to see him)

- edmond is still prickly but more transparently because he’s been hurt before? i feel like he makes pretty fast friends with the other kids (he shores up yakumo’s shyness (little knight behavior), he responds well to dante’s taciturn but earnest nature), and well… garu is garu).

- kuya is probably pretty mean but less mean than i would expect, esp w/ the promise of curiosities and the novelty of (ahem) getting the band back together.

- rei is similarly intrigued by the gathering of clan members and is even more intrigued by dante’s issue and the possibility of time travel… (he probably has some things he’d like to time travel about but the canon i’ve read for him so far is vague enough that i couldn’t pin it down). (im also maybe fudging his timeline bc idk if he’d even be in klein with father 10-13 years ago…)

[marvelskies1969]

Infinity

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader / Loki x Fem!Reader

Premise: Y/N Rogers was sent away as a child, her powers deemed dangerous. After years of brief summers with Steve and Bucky, she returns for good when their mother dies—just as war begins.

As her abilities awaken, she draws the attention of Loki, the trickster god, and faces growing fear from those around her. Caught between destiny, war, and forbidden ties, Y/N must decide who she truly is—and who she’s willing to fight for.

Warnings/content: slight angst, brief mention of death/dying, jealousy, fluff, swearing, unstable parental relationships, follows the plot of the MCU timeline, with small changes.

[Masterlist]

[Part 3]

Chapter 83

Only Him

The Avengers Compound was suffocatingly quiet. Too quiet. Y/N and Steve had returned barely an hour ago, but it felt like a lifetime. The air was thick with everything unspoken.  They couldn't go back to their shared apartment after all that had happened. This was their home now.

Steve had barely said a word after their escape. He stood in the hallway now, rubbing a hand over his face. “He saved me,” he finally murmured.  

Y/N stiffened. She knew who he meant.  

“Bucky,” Steve clarified, his voice low, almost reverent. “He pulled me out of the water.”  

She swallowed hard. She had felt it—the hesitation in him, the second where the Winter Soldier had faltered and Bucky Barnes had resurfaced. And now… now she didn’t know how to feel.  

Because she *should* have felt something more than this aching void in her chest.  

But she didn’t.  

And that terrified her.  

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Steve muttered. “Try to get some sleep.”  

Y/N nodded, though they both knew she wouldn’t.  

She waited until he disappeared down the hall before turning toward her room, her hands trembling at her sides.

The moment she stepped inside, she froze.

She wasn’t alone.

His presence was a pressure in the air—heavy, magnetic, undeniable. Loki wasn’t projecting himself this time. He was here.

He sat at the edge of her bed, a shadow against the dim light, hands laced together, posture rigid. His eyes, cold and unreadable, followed her every move like a predator watching its prey.

She didn’t have to look at him to feel the intensity of his gaze. It coiled around her like smoke, filling her lungs until breathing became a conscious effort.

“Darling,” he murmured, low and calm—but there was a sharpness beneath it, something brittle and barely restrained. “You’re wound tight enough to snap.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

He didn’t know what had happened. Not exactly. But he knew her—knew when her world had shifted on its axis. The distress radiating off her was impossible to ignore. And Loki, despite his infuriating tendencies, was attuned to her in ways she couldn’t explain.

“You ignored me when I called out to you.” He remarked.

She turned her back to him, fighting for composure. Words felt too sharp on her tongue. Her fingers twitched at her sides, then curled inward, and that’s when she saw them.

Bucky’s dog tags.

They’d been on her dresser the whole time, left there since the last time they caught her attention. She couldn’t help but notice the dust that had began to gather around them.

The anger surged before she could think.

With a sudden, furious motion, she hurled them at Loki.

The tags clattered hard against his chest before he caught them mid-air, barely flinching. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing at first—just stared down at the chain coiled in his hand.

She stood there, chest heaving, fury burning through her skin. Rage at the past, at fate, at herself.

She had finally found some kind of peace. Stability. Maybe even happiness.

And now it felt like it was being ripped away from her.

Loki’s fingers ghosted over the engraving on the tags. His jaw tensed as he read the name etched into the worn metal. When he looked up, his gaze pinned her in place.

“Barnes,” he said, voice clipped.

It wasn’t a question.

She nodded, slow and stiff.

Silence stretched thick between them, heavy with unsaid things.

Loki’s grip on the chain tightened. “And this has caused you distress because…?”

Her head snapped toward him, eyes burning. “Because I thought he was dead, Loki. I watched him die.”

“And yet here he is.”

His tone was neutral, but the edge was undeniable. He might as well have slapped her.

“Don’t,” she warned, voice shaking.

Loki stood slowly, rising to his full height, the chain still dangling from his fingers. “Don’t what?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Don’t speak the truth?”

“Don’t act like this is something more than it is!”

“Isn’t it?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

She didn’t move. “He was mine. Was. That ended the day I saw him fall. I let go of that life.”

“But you didn’t let go of him.” He held up the tags. “You kept this.”

“I didn’t even realize I still had them,” she snapped. “I shoved them away, Loki. I met you weeks after I lost him. You think I had time to sort through memories?”

“And yet here they are.” His voice was low, venom-laced. “Buried like a secret. Like a thread you never cut.”

Her heart pounded. “You’re twisting this.”

“Am I?” Loki stepped closer, and she could feel the heat rolling off him, his anger masked under icy control. “I have never asked for your past, but now that it stands between us, I must ask—do you still love him?”

The question cracked through the air like thunder.

She blinked, stunned by its weight—and the vulnerability beneath it.

“I did,” she said quietly, her voice steady—but only just. The ache in her chest pulsed with every word. “I loved him with everything I had.” She paused, the weight of it pressing down like a storm. “And then... I lost him.”

She wasn’t talking to anyone now. Not really. Just the silence. Just herself.

“He’s not the same man anymore,” she whispered, like saying it out loud might finally make it true.

Loki’s expression faltered. For the briefest second, something wounded flickered across his face.

She took a slow, deliberate step forward. Then another. Until she was standing directly in front of him.

Her hand reached out, gentle but certain, and closed over his—still clutching the tags. Her skin brushed his, warm and grounding.

“But I love you now.”

His lips parted. His eyes searched hers, desperate for something to anchor him.

She brought her other hand up to his face, cupping his jaw, her thumbs brushing across his cheekbones. “It’s only you,” she whispered. “Only you, Loki.”

The tags slipped from his hand and fell to the floor with a soft metallic clink.

His hands moved to her waist, gripping tight—possessive, trembling with everything he wasn’t saying.

“I despise how much I need to hear that,” he said, voice low and raw.

She leaned in, forehead resting against his. “Then I’ll keep saying it. As many times as it takes.”

He exhaled sharply—and then his mouth crashed against hers.

There was no hesitation, no restraint. It was hungry, desperate, laced with anger and longing and something far more dangerous: love.

The past still lingered like smoke—but it didn’t matter.

Not in this moment.

Not when he had her in his arms, and she was clinging to him like he was the only thing tethering her to the earth.

Because right now, he was.

[void-tiger]

…wHY do y’all feel the need to mention where someone’s at when they’re not around! Sure I have a crush on that idiot but I’m never going to admit to it, and actively avoid bringing them up myself ‘cause it’d feel like a freudian slip and it’s not my business anyway.

How often do I even come up in y’all’s home conversation. Is it out of pity? Or is this idiot just as insufferable as I am to my friends who are WELL AWAY from this and therefore Safe to repeatedly try spring-cleaning my demiromantic acengst with.

Are y’all pressuring them about me, too, or has that FINALLY, finally eased off.

(And what value can I possibly have, anyway. I’m unemployed and just shy of a shutin from severe anxiety/moderate depression and cptsd, adhd, and a smorgasbord of muscular-skeletal issues that just keep creeping up and staying and moving the goalpost to even TRY getting a job. The idiot has other friends when they have time to spend on them. All I am is stubborn enough to stick around and wait if I’m not actively being chased off IF the other party seems to really want that connection.)

[goblins-and-gloves]

Angry at parents hour!

Undiagnosed autistic fuckers are delulu.

[jocelynships]

I’m trying not to let my bad feelings take over rn but hoo boy I am. Really angry/upset/sad/whatever at everything right now

[bilboyagathechickenfootedhobbit]

“Hi I get my kids names mixed up and I’m not really sure how old either of them are and I *think* one of them has a nut allergy? Or it may be strawberries……or penicillin? Anyway, someone has an allergy to something, I’m sure it won’t matter. After school activities? I dunno, the missus usually brings them home around 5pm, that’s when school lets out, right? Oh, one of them is in band and the other does track? Oh….uh…..huh. They have meets and competitions? Oof….wait, one of them volunteers at the local daycare? And I have to pick them up and drop them off? And the other volunteers at the animal shelter on the weekends and needs me to drop them off and pick them up??? But that’s when I drink and watch sports!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO TAKE THEM TO THEIR DOCTORS APPOINTMENTS??? I didn’t even realize they HAD a doctor!!

But yes, I am perfectly qualified to raise my children wholly on my own and should be given all the custody.”

Men cannot complain about women getting custody most of the time while also thinking it's quirky to not know things like where their kid goes to school or what they're allergic to 😭🤚

[the-bluestreak-cat]

My extremely personal red flag is if you’ve never lived independently.

Do not open tags it’s just a personal vent and I hit the tag limit (30) and that’s never happened to me before ajskdlf

[tonycries]

Madam Zenin - T.F.

Synopsis. There’s nothing that rouses Toji, the infamous head of the Zenin clan, nothing that will make him lose control - until they take what’s most important to him. You.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, arranged marriage, clan leader! Toji, kídnapping, the elders súck, Toji goes INSANE, BRÉEDING, talks of an heir, oraI (fem), fíngering, Toji’s powers, FÉRAL Toji, créampie, spítting, overstím, AU if Toji didn’t leave the clan, slight misogyny from Naoya, slight bIood, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 6.2k

A/N. Didn’t realize how much clan leader!Toji made me quake so…Hope y’all have a good day <3

“Who took her?”

“M-master?”

There wasn’t a single individual in the Zenin Estate that didn’t think Toji Zenin wouldn’t kill them in the blink of an eye. Happily, at that. 

It was rumored he was cursed, ruthless. And out of everyone - elders, servants, children - not one didn’t look over their shoulder behind every corner of the sprawling Zenin house, flinching at his mere shadow. Broad, towering, wrenching out nothing but hushed apologies and deep bows - they never dared to look into his devastating eyes. 

And right now, that pale-faced attendant of yours could only tremble - pray - she won’t be next on Toji’s long, long list of victims when the looming man himself bends to meet her lowered gaze. And oh-

Fuck. 

No one ever saw the vicious head of the Zenin clan smile - no one. 

Except you.

And here he had the most dangerous grin gracing his features, darkened olive eyes wide - crazed, when they halt on that slightest drop of red sinking into the tatami mats.

“My wife.” The other woman jumps when he loudly kicks your chamber door open. Abruptly barking out a deep, humorless laugh at the disheveled emptiness inside, “Who took my wife?”

---

Young master Zenin - Toji Zenin. Your husband.

It’s only been a few months since your stiff, lavish wedding ceremony to him - part of an arranged deal made between his clan and your own. Your parents practically leapt at the chance to marry into such an esteemed jujutsu name, forgetting all those dark rumors swirling around the young head at the first golden glint of the Zenin family’s massive treasury.  

Sure, they promised to treat you well, to prime you into becoming the new madam of their distinguished household. But you knew better - it wasn’t your upbringing or your cursed technique that brought you here, they couldn’t care less - no, it was because of an heir. 

The one thing that the Zenin family didn’t have. 

And the one thing Toji Zenin refused to give them.

That much was obvious when just minutes after exchanging vows and the ceremonial sake, a group of todgering elders had thrust a heady antidote for conception into your hands, smiling smugly as if they’d just given you the wedding gift of the century. Of course, your all-new husband didn’t even look at you properly on your wedding night - opting instead for a short, husky goodnight and to sleep in a separate bedroom down the hall from the newly-weds’ chamber. 

He wasn’t a cruel husband, you think, and he was attractive - painfully so - and felt more like a gruff acquaintance than anything. But the only problem was that he didn’t embrace you, not even a fleeting kiss.

Even when you really wanted Toji to.

“-T-Toji?” you’re breathing shallowly, eyes blinking up hazily at the dim lighting. It comes out small, cracking so pathetically at the end.

“---Toji--even----”

“No use--- had--months---”

“---keep her to myself--”

Instantly, you’re sitting upright in a cold, wooden chair. Heart thumping wildly against the ribs of your body, it bangs at the thickly digging rope wrapping around your body.

Shit shit shit - where were you? The last thing you remembered was chatting with your attendant in your room, and she’d handed you a brand-new perfume to smell- Fuck. Where was-

“Ah, you’re awake.” There’s a high, sing-song voice from somewhere on your right, and your blood runs chillingly cold when you recognize that voice. “Honestly, I hoped you wouldn’t be around for this part but-” Naoya Zenin claps his hands to get the attention of every other elder hunched around the traditional Japanese room. “-that just makes it all the more fun, right?”

With the one tiny lantern being lit overhead, you could make out those scraggly smiles, the sharp glint of the Zenin Clan’s famed katanas. A tear stumbles down your trembling cheek, tasting salty on your lips.

“Aww, not the tears.” Naoya guffaws, “You know m’not good with the tears.” Those ropes pinning your hands behind your back rub raw with your frantic movement, creaking and unstirring despite your best efforts. “Try and try all you want, sweetcheeks, but a failure of the Zenin clan will only be met with the appropriate consequences.”

A failure.

The words would’ve cut deep had they not been the very same ones spat at you at every clan meeting - the exact reason you didn’t accompany Toji to the one today. Toji, you think. Fuck, how you wished you’d have gone just this one time. 

Straightening your spine the best you could in this binding chair, you ask - firm, pretending for all the world to be as confident as you’re not. “What do you want from me?”

It’s as if your question is the biggest joke that every scowling man in this room had heard, and they all burst into wheezing, riotous laughter. Some even slapping their knees - even Naoya gives you a cold, leeringly gleeful grin, “Just as mouthy as he is, huh?” He turns back to the elders, “She’s asking what we want!”

You bristle at another bout of cackles, struggling to hiss out a strangled, “Well- well if you bastards just fucking told me-”

“An heir.” 

Fuck, you had a feeling it was this.

“What? You pussies get your rocks off by wondering about mine and Toji’s sex life?” you let out shrill laughter, mouth moving before your brain because fuck, if it was all going to end now, might as well spew out everything you’ve wanted to since you walked in here. You shake your woozy head, “Oh fuckin’ grow up, if the man himself wanted an heir then you’d know-”

Eyes enraged, he takes a heated step towards you, “You little-”

“Naoya.” The strained drawl of an elder you’d seen around the corridors stops him straight in his tracks, and Naoya gives the man a hasty, reluctant bow. “Finish it. Before he gets back.”

Those last few words splatter a few drops of panic into your words, and a few more exhausted tears stream down your face. 

“Heh, whatever.” he’s taking one last greedy lookover down your rattling figure. “Would’ve taken y’for myself if I didn’t think he’d kill me, sweetcheeks. What a shame.” Trailing off airily, he turns back towards where you spot another spiking glisten in the dark, a metallic twang! rings through the thick, musty atmosphere. “Who knows, maybe his next wife will actually listen to a thing or two.”

Next wife. 

You’re not sure why but the thought made your heart clench. And you’re gasping when he turns back around - silver katana in hand - trying to scream, yell, anything for help. But no sound comes out. 

Instead, all you can do is gape when Naoya crowds in menacingly closer, you can just hear the smile in his voice when he coos mockingly, “You’re much better when you shut up, doll.” You press your lips tightly together at the same, sullied use of Toji’s nickname for you - wondering how he would react to all of this. Wincing at the cutting whoosh! of the katana being raised up, up, up- “Any last wo-”

BANG!

You’re grimacing at the loud crashing of wood and panels, sliding doors ripped to shreds. And in the hazy cloud of dust you could make out the outline of a tall, heaving figure. Big arms swaying with his choppy breaths, he’s standing still - dangerous.

And even in the soft darkness, your unblinking gaze caught on his gleaming, feral smile, sharp canines bared like some beast. Eyes carnivorous, widened as he assesses the room like a predator lurking in on its prey.

The drop of fear hits you before the realization - Toji.

Letting out a strangled yelp, “T-Toj- mmpf!” Before cold, wrinkly fingers come up from behind to cover your mouth. But even the slightest sound of your voice has Toji’s form jolting - fingers twitching on the handle of his blade, like electricity zapped through his entire body, and you can hear the elder behind you take in an obvious gasp when his eyes lock onto the two of you. 

Finally. 

Toji’s lips part silently, and abruptly, you’re being let go of as if you burned. “You.” 

It happens so fast that you’re not even sure you imagined it, in a split-second, the long, jagged dagger in Toji’s hand is being flung right at his shivering target. . 

And you knew he won’t miss - he never will, because you’re not even blinking when a drawn-out groan of pain echoes from behind you. Followed by an echoing thud!

“My wife.” Toji’s rasping baritone sends goosebumps racing down your spine, you’re puffing in a quick inhale at just how close he sounds. Sure enough, when you look up, you’re met with softened sage eyes, and crooked beginnings of a smile. “My wife.” he breathes out, as if he still couldn’t really believe it. But any and all tenderness in his body bleeds away when Toji abruptly looks over his shoulder at the men crowding around the entrance with a thunderous glare, “Next.”

Naoya is the first to dare to speak - to even move. Yelling, “Y-y- do you even know who that- the crime it is to kill one of the elders-”

Fuck, you swear Toji looked elated at that, that savage grin still plastered on his face, he grits through clenched teeth, “Next.” 

Next. Next. Next. Next. 

It’s all that kept being laughed - laughed - out when Naoya activated his own cursed technique, absolutely nothing against Toji’s rampant ravaging. The thrum of jujutsu makes your head throb, and Toji’s steps sound deafening. Pressurized lunges towards the man himself, and before he can think - before he can even breathe - Naoya’s being pinned face-down on the tatami floor. Face stinging with the force of the stronger man’s foot on his head, pressing it underneath his wooden sandals. He speaks softly - as if talking down to a child - over the strained pop! pop! pop! of joints. “For taking my wife, for insulting the very soul of my soul.”

Toji wasn’t done, he wasn’t even stopping. He was out of control. Ready to kill. To break. 

And none of the elders could do anything - in fact, they fall fatally still onto their knees at Toji’s growing smile, the slow turn of his head. All knowing they were on the very brink of death himself. “Who’s next?”

Fatigue and relief hits you like a semi-truck - five of them, in fact. And you can feel your body drooping lower, vision tinging with black at the corners. Over the grotesque crunching of limbs, you think you could hear a faint, gruff laughter of, “Yeah, ya might wanna sleep this one out, doll.”

---

Toji never wanted to let you out of his sight. Never. 

And with you so vulnerable like this - dozing off gently on his silken bedsheets, body curling subconsciously into his benevolent hold - he thinks he never will.

Mellow, rounded tips of his thick fingers glide down your skin, sensitive from the hot water and the way he’d washed away every evidence of the blood and pain from just a few hours before. 

“I’m sorry.” Toji breathes, hushed, a thumb gliding away a stray droplet of water on the apple of your cheek. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” He connects his forehead with your damp one, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m sorry. If I hadn’t come to see you early from the meeting- just knew something felt wrong.”

“Sorry for what, Toji?”

Your teasing tone of voice shocks him to his very core, and yet he can’t find it in himself to pull away - fuck, he can’t even dare open his eyes to look. “All of it.” he’s spitting out, tormentingly.

It takes you a while to find the words, “It’s- it’s not your fault.” you nod, a wet hand coming up to comb through Toji’s soft black tresses. “It’s neither of ours.”

There’s a few seconds of silence, in which he’s scrubbing non-existent beads of water off of you. Long strokes - slow, and purposeful - and you have to hold back your sudden yelp when it hits you that this was the first time that he saw you naked.

“But-” he falters, shaking his head - before thinking better of it. And you take the moment to appreciate just how gorgeous he is up close, every spike of pink in his worried lips, dark lashes kissing his high cheekbones. “But it’s over now, you can- you can go back to your clan.” he grimaces, still looking like he wanted to rip something - someone - apart. “The Zenin family is done.”

Done. 

“Toji.” you exhale, luring in your face so close to your husband’s. Too close. “Come with me. Fuck this Estate, fuck having an heir- and fuck the elders, if they’re not dead by now anyway.” They were - every single one - bodies piled high in the same room you were carried tenderly out of, you find out later. You steady onto your elbows on that unfamiliar mattress - Toji’s, you distinctly realize. And his brows crinkle upwards into an expression you’ve never seen on him before.

“I…”

“And-” A hand of yours wraps around his throat, nails digging into the racing pulse of his at the side of his milky neck. “-kiss me.”

Then he’s raising his eyes to look at you and fuck-

You were fucked. 

You might as well have just signed away your own will because here was the man that was covered in blood not too long ago, here he was with his lids hooded, pupils blown. “My wife.” he repeats that same mantra from before, lips parting like something so dark, visceral, was poked dangerously awake. Like he couldn’t quite believe it. His eyes flicker in a lingering triangle across both of your eyes, your lips. Just a hair’s breadth away. Straining out a raspy, “Oh fuck.”

Depraved - Toji’s lips are so depraved . And he’s drinking you in like all his bloodthirst from before had liquidated into pure need. 

You’re mewling when a large palm brushes over to cup your cheek, tilting that pretty head of yours to deepen the kiss. “Toji.”

You shouldn’t have done that - oh, you shouldn’t have done that. Because the sound of his own name in your syrupy sweet tone makes him jolt. Jolt. His entire body rumbles with a deep, wrenched-out growl, followed very closely by a loud slam! of Toji’s fist banging down on the nearby bedside table. Only later will you find that perfectly indented hole in the shape of his hand, splinters scattered across the floor. 

Like wanted to keep in control - needed to keep in control. But was failing - miserably. 

“F-fuuuuck-” he draws out huskily into your mouth, that tiny scar always at the corner of his mouth catching on your lower lip when he takes it between his. Sucking on that slick-glossed seam harshly, it almost hurt - but it hurt so good. “You have no idea- absolutely no fuckin’ idea how much I’ve wanted to do this.”

And suddenly you’re so painfully aware of the way your robe hadn’t been tied up properly, feeling the cinch of your sensitive nipples against his rich yukata, the warmth of all five of his long fingers splaying out just below the curve of your tits. 

You can feel his needy hips rutting into yours - such raw strength in the way he holds your own still so easily. Pushing right into the bullseye between your legs with the outline of his massive, heated bulge. Languid, delicious drags.

“Fuck we shouldn’t-” he cries out when you’re reeling him back in with his plump lip tucked beneath your teeth. “You need to-” Before he’s being tugged back in again. And again. And again and again like one taste of your candied lips and he was addicted. Barely able to choke out a single syllable before mashing them back onto yours. Gruffing out a deep rumble from the depths of his sculpted chest, “Shit- y’know why I didn’t do this sooner? Why I didn’t just fuck you right then and there in front of hngh- everyone whenever I wanted to? Because I knew-”

He cuts himself off with a convulsing shudder, pulling away just enough that you whine disappointedly. “I was gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

“Couldn’t- hngh-” you’re mewling at the delicate little strings of syrupy spit snapping. Spying down at the way his yukata was disheveled now, displaying such delicious panes of warm skin for you. “Couldn’t have guessed.”

Toji’s brows raise at your slightly bratty tone, lips curling into such a sinful smirk that it makes your cunt throb so hotly, despite the slowly cooling water. His eyes darken - as if something snapped. “Oh- you’re gonna fucking regret that, ma.”

And something did -  maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this.

In an instant, you’re seeing a flash of that man- that monster from before. Baring you the most vicious grin inhumanly possible, if you didn’t know any better you’d have wondered how high the death count would be. The hundreds? The thousands?

He’s worshiping down your body like an apology for all that transpired before, hot, wet brandings of his mouth across each and every inch of skin he could reach. It made you whimper, it made you feel the powerful hum of his strength at his fingertips, it made you need more more more-

All you can let out is a drawling moan when he unapologetically snaps! the hem of your panties onto your heated skin, “Don’t be such a t-tease.”

Oh, you were so weak against the dark head of the Zenin clan, against the way he circles his two hands around your ankles. Easily pulling - hauling you across the plush mattress like some ragdoll. 

Not even hesitating before ripping your poor yukata off your body, until you’re left spread so shamefully underneath him, Toji knocking down hard onto his knees before you. 

“Well- whatever my wife wants…” the same dangerous grin grows along his face, glinting white teeth bared where they held your flimsy excuse of panties between honed canines. He murmurs the final few words hovering over where you needed him the most,  “...no elder or god themself could stop me from giving you.” 

RIP—! 

It’s the last thing breathed out of his heaving lungs before your poor underwear is being torn off of you by his very mouth, not wasting a moment before spitting them out, and burying his face between your trembly thighs. Not even taking in one last gulp of air, not even thinking because all Toji Zenin knew was that he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste your sweet sweet cunt right now. 

“Oh f-fuck-” he’s musing, sharp tongue stuttering for once in his life. “Fuck fuck fuck- fuck-” You’re yelping when your jelly-like legs are pliantly thrown over Toji’s broad shoulders, digging into the muscles of his deltoids. “Can’t believe you’ve been-” He trails off so deliriously, planting a hot, thick glob of spit on your spread pussy lips once. Twice. Smearing that glistening coat along your puffy folds with the fat of his thumb, “-been holdin’ out on me like this.”

“Shit- s’too much.” you’re whining at the slippery gloss of the mess he’s made down below leaking down your slit. Threading your fingers through his silky locks, “I wasn’t holding out on anything, y’know-”

His wide-eyed gaze was locked on your sloppily winking hole, circling the rim of that needy ring of muscle with his pointed index. “God…” his hot breath fans your dripping cunt, “You might just be my god. Didn’t wanna bring a kid into this family but you’re so- so sweet m’thinking it might not be too bad.”

Those words are barely even registered in your mind before his pretty pink lips wrap themselves around your throbbing clit. Handsome cheekbones hollowing, droopy eyes rolling to the back of his head when Toji sucks. Whirling his tongue erratically around the sensitive nub, such lewd little squelches ring in your ears. 

“T-Toji—” your purring moans only make him bury his face even deeper, nose pressing up against the edge of your sopping slit. And each thorough drag of your slobbering cunt down his face makes you knock against the end of his chin, so thirsty with the way he was making out with your cunt. Like he couldn’t get enough - never will. “Y-you were the one-” the heels of your feet move up higher to loop at his neck. “-holding out.”

And you knew that Toji the strongest of his clan - you knew it took more than a mere, barely-lucid tug to have him clashing even deeper into your pussy. 

But he does for you anyway. 

“Fuck- fuck you little-” Toji’s own heavy tongue betrays him with a throaty moan, and he looks so furious. Seething at the way he was pussydrunk already. Greedy gaze so crazed that you’re back to wondering how high the kill count would be- would they all even fit on the Zenin Estate? “-f tha’s what you fuckin’ want.”

“Wha- oh!” you yelp at the sheer burning stretch of your legs being pushed up, up, up until your knees were knocking against your tits. And Toji takes the shamefully spread opportunity to bully one rummaging finger past your swollen folds. “Oh fuck- you’re reaching so- so-”

“Finish it.”

It takes you a second to realize that Toji’s addressing you, his tone so jagged. Words muffled when he pants them out into your weeping cunt. 

He’s pulling out his finger - intentionally curving exactly against all those sweet spots mushed into your velvety walls - only to brand your poor clit with a sharp smack! “Finish that fucking sentence, ma.”

“-deep!” your hips are bucking up at another hefty intrusion, Toji’s fingers relentless inside your elastic wall. Molding out your insides to memorize every bump of his knuckles, every neat curve of his short fingernails. “So so- deep, Toji.” you whine, your shaky hands coming to rest at where you could feel him pumping in and out feverishly into hidden nooks and crannies of your sopping cunt. “C-can feel you right- here!”

This earns you another smack! gifted once again on your awaiting clit, but any and all irritation is swept away when he’s clashing his lips with yours down below in such a messy kiss. Meshing around the bulge of his own large fingers, tongue rolling placatingly over your glisteningly ravaged clit. Flicking, “Yeah- definitely my kind of fucking goddess.” His own free hand dances up to rest about midway up your stomach, pressing down. “M’gonna be in even deeper soon, y’know. Trust me.”

It’s at this moment that Toji’s exploratory fingers find their greedy way to your bulbous g-spot, immediately crashing into it - hard. 

There. There there there, you want to say - but you don’t have to, because he could tell. Could feel the vice-like grip of your slicked walls, the way it’s almost difficult to hammer back into your cunt. 

“Yeah yeah I got it-” he’s humming cockily, back to dragging his lips all over your clit senselessly all over. “All you hafta to do is- hah-” He’s being cut off by his own ravenous thirst, slurping mouth grinding even faster into your pretty pussy. And all you can hear are those syrupy squelches and the smacking of Toji’s mouth, your whining ah! ah! ah! following with every push of his fingers forming around your gummy walls. Curling deftly to massage all your sweetest spots he’s already mapped out so scarily well. “-ahh fuck- can’t get enough. Would kill them all over again just for a single taste of this. Would kill everyone- burn down this entire fuckin’ city.”

You didn’t doubt it, and Toji didn’t let you - not for a single second. 

Because he was almost violent in his approach, bruisingly pushing apart your legs further and further with each sloppy, stumbling second. Looking up at you with his wild gaze, with such a feral grin you could feel along every crevice of your overwhelmed cunt. 

“Can tell ya liked that-” he’s huffing out a surprised bout of laughter, “Ohhh- ya like that very much, huh?”

His tongue was alternating between ravaging your clit and brushing against the teasing edge of your entrance now. Over and over. And you’re gifted with another imprinting smack! onto your quivering cunt - and another and another and another until you’re all but sobbing out such a broken, “Toji- m’so close, fuck- m’gonna cum, m’gonna cum–”

“Then cum f’me, my wife.”

It only takes a few more messy rams of Toji’s fingers knuckle-deep into your eagerly swallowing pussy until you’re crashing so aggressively into your high. Wave after wave of white-hot pleasure running down, down, down your spine and into where he was relentlessly stuffing your convulsing pussy. 

Fucking you over and over through your orgasm, the pretty sight of you so splayed out and ruined makes Toji’s mouth water. He feels like a damn dog with the way his tongue lolls out, grin widening, he murmurs absent-mindedly, “Yeah- wouldn’t be bad at all. Swear you’re gonna be the end of my sanity.”

Fuck, you shamelessly ogle the way his dark robe falls down his broad shoulders, revealing so many dips and curves of muscle after muscle. He was so large - so meticulously sculpted that your restless legs fasten around Toji’s slenderly toned waist, drawing him close until your bare chests were rubbing up against one another. “Heh- you don’t get to hold out on me anymore, doll.”

It sounded almost like a threat - but your bleary, orgasm-drunk mind only has the chance to wonder what exactly he would do if you did. If you didn’t give him - the one head of the Zenin clan that didn’t get everything he wanted handed to him on a silver platter since birth - the one thing he would kill for. Die for. 

You. 

So you’re smiling drunkenly, head tilted to one side, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Toji doesn’t answer - doesn’t even bother to. And the only response you’re getting is a strained laugh - delirious almost, like the mere thought of that was enough to shred away whatever was left of his sanity.

And yours - clearly - because in that very moment, Toji lets his throbbing cock finally spring out, smacking against his abs to leave a glisteningly wet smear of precum. So so angry, his fat weeping tip lets out another wave of syrupy precum at the chill of the heady air. 

Shit - he was big. 

Long, long shaft blending so prettily from a feverish red at his tip to the tan skin behind those tufts of black at his happy trail. Veins pulsing, girthy enough that you’re wondering back to his kill count, thighs twitching nervously to a close. 

“No- no no-” you could tell his tone was trying to veer into scolding, but you caught the way it cracks with so much raw need. “Don’t you fuckin’-” His hands just wrench your knees back open, green eyes just aflame at this point. “-dare.” 

His pointed smile was so dripping wet with your sweet sweet juices from before, trickling in a sloppy trail all the way from the glossy corners of his lips, down to his chin. And his eyes follow the splattering, thick puddle on your collarbone. 

“Oh-” Toji’s mouth falls into a wicked gasp, immediately, he’s surging forward to pool the syrupy mess on his hot tongue. “Heh- guess we really are just now consummating our marriage, huh?”

The movement causes his painfully rock-hard cock to just kiss at your puffy pussy lips, just mashing the fat round tip of his length between your slit. Teasing. So fucking filthy. 

“Toji-” you’re wrenching him by his dark hair to pant into his open mouth, like a mantra. “More- need more- fuck I need-”

“More?”  His shuddering rap is barely even audible, ringing straight to your very heated core, because he sounded so wrecked. So fucking utterly ruined. Voice a few octaves higher in disbelief, “My pretty girl wants my cock? Fuckin’ want-” And then it’s like all the air is being knocked out of your lungs - literally. Feeling as if you’re being split apart so sinfully so, “more?”

You couldn’t have answered if you’d wanted to - because Toji Zenin was fucking ruthless. Just as mean as those greedily lingering juts of his hips, pushing and pushing his massively rotund length past your first snug channel of muscle. 

But that didn’t matter, because your slutty cunt was speaking more than enough for the both of you - or at least that’s what Toji mutters, over and over when he pushes in jutting, unrhythmic jabs to squeeze himself deeper inside you. 

“Oh- oh my god–” you’re batting your heavy eyelids open to take in the way your overstuffed pussy just bulges around him. Lips spread so widely it was like they were conforming to each ridge and vein down Toji’s fat cock, beading a glossy sheen down every inch by fucking inch you were being fed. “So much- fuck, don’t know if I can take it.”

Toji Zenin would rather die than not have his pretty wife all overfilled with cock if that’s what it takes him. 

And by the way your teary eyes grow wider, he suspects his pussydrunk mind might’ve just babbled that out loud. “Heh…didn’t I tell ya, ma?” His low whisper puffs hotly against your ear, tugging tensely on your earlobe. “M’gonna fucking ruin ya.”

And it’s times like this that it’s so clearly impossible to forget that Toji is inhumanly human - that you are so unfairly nothing in a match up against him.

CRACK!

Because with one, harsh ram of his sharp hip bones smacking against the globes of your ass - every solid inch of his intimidating cock is slammed against your tightly cushioning walls. It’s such a ravaging intrusion and you swear you could feel him everywhere. Feel him thrumming hotly against sweet spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed. Finally, buried all the way to his thick hilt, yet still nuzzling his hips upwards for more-

“S’broken.” Toji muses, and for a second you didn’t know if he was talking about you or the suspiciously sagging bed. “Plan B.” 

It takes only two seconds for his beefy arms to pick you up as if you were weightless - god, he was treating you like some object. And the only time he’s not enveloped by your heavenly cunt is when you’re being shoved down like some slut onto the cool mahogany of Toji’s work desk, his firm front pressing up against your arched back.  

“Plan C is to just fuck you into the floor until it breaks.” he snorts throatily into your ear. 

And you wondered whether it was a joke - you hoped it was a joke. You almost half-believed it until he was back to bulldozing his plump tip back into your briefly-neglected cunt. Stretching the clingy rim of muscle to bend to his round length, fully. Oh, he’ll never get used to this sight. 

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

“F-fuck you really are-” One hand of yours scrambles to blindly white-knuckle the smooth wood beneath you when Toji’s bludgeoning your pussy with powerful, long thrusts. Feeling every minute flex of his thick thighs behind your own, shuddering with each forceful hammer of his sweeping cock inside you. “-you really are in so deep.”

As if to confirm, the man himself glides down an open palm to your stomach. Pressing down hard with all five splayed-out fingers until Toji could feel the same incessant slam of his thumping cockhead, the cascading ripple of his heavy, cum-filled balls smacking against your ass. 

“Told ya- hah told ya so.” his cocky groans are whirling all throughout your mind, such a hot, melty mess with the sheer fucking stretch of Toji’s cock. “Y’know…I can’t help but imagine just how pretty you’d hngh- look all stretched out n’ swollen as a momma.”

You’re nodding deliriously, and the way his crashing thrusts were just bruising against your spongy cervix, bouncing off onto every sweetly hidden sensitive spot inside your elastic walls. “Shit- ya jus’ got wetter- ya like that? The thought of me fuckin a baby into ya?” he spits, long sloppy tongue coming up to taste the dredges of tears streaming down your face- shit, when did you even start crying? 

“Shh shhh- don’t cry–” he’s cooing, rewarding you with another heavy smack! right onto your poor clit. Every steady clash against your over-sensitive g-spot only sends a fresh wave of big fat tears for Toji to kiss at. “-don’t cry, don’t cry. Never f’me, m’never hah- gonna kill off anything that makes my pretty wife cry-” A soft, salty peck on your lips, “-n’ that includes me. If ya asked me to, ma. I’ll give ya anything you ever want.”

There’s a creaking slam! on the wooden surface, and a hasty look over your shoulder shows that Toji has hiked his knee up onto the desk. For a second, you wonder whether it hurt - whether the throbbing shaft of his cock wasn’t rubbed raw by now, whether his abs weren’t just burning with movement. Fucking you so recklessly into the desk.

But oh, you think Toji Zenin would care?

You think he would give a fuck about anything other than rutting riotously into your gripping cunt? Drilling into you again and again until your tip-toes don’t even reach the ground at the force of his pressurized thrusts. The change in angle has his leaky tip glide glossy lines right across the bottom of your dripping pussy and pressing down harshly onto your g-spot. So rough. So mean. You’re scrambling further and further up the desk and-

“Now now-” Toji hoists your weak hips up ever-so-slightly back to him, before pinning you to the desk with his full, heavy bodyweight. “No running away. Heh…how funny would it be if I actually did jus’ hngh- fuck a baby into ya right now?” His fingers get so sloppy on your clit, “Fill ya up- rub an heir right in everyone’s faces?”

“Shit- m’so close- again-” Your ears are popping at the pure saturated stimulation when his hand down below rolls over your clit. Desperate. Depraved. Glossing up the curve of his thick thumb with all the sweet slick beading out with each broken thrust. It’s like he was out of control - losing his fucking mind. And your delirious mind wondered whether you’d be next, that faint cracking of joints certainly not boding well for either of you. “Toji, m’gonna-”

He’s so erratic - sloppy. And so it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same - fuck, you didn’t even realize it at first.

So hard that your vision flashes red and white, breathing raggedly gasping in lungfuls as you rock your sticky hips back into Toji’s so greedily. Your voice is shot - because you’re moaning Toji’s name so loud that it almost felt disrespectful, echoing across the sex-thickened air. “Tha’s right- scream as loud as you want, ma. It’s just us in this house.”

And maybe it was that - maybe it was the feeling of your velvety walls clamping down hard around his achy length - maybe it was just the way you’re whispering out such saccharine sweet, “Cum inside.”

Because Toji’s fractured sanity can only handle a few more unkindly bullying drives into your gushing cunt before he’s cumming and cumming so much he thinks he might die. 

Doesn’t know if he can - if he wants to - stop.

“Oh- ohhh fuck- didn’t think I’d actually-” You feel a branding bite inside the crook of your neck as his sloppy white seed splatters at your inner thigh with each rummaging thrust forward. Oozing down in messy, thick dredges. “-hngh- gonna fill you up so good- until you can’t take it anymore.” You didn’t know if you already could - because you felt so full. Toji’s syrupy cum sloshing around with each ram of his hips, coating your walls in a creamy, slick-like sheen on the inside. 

“Yes–” you sigh over another splintering crack! from somewhere, “Fuck fuck fuck- need you to- hngh, wanna make you a daddy- give you an heir, To-”

It’s as if he couldn’t bear to hear your swollen lips part with his name, because Toji’s shutting you up with a sweltering kiss. Still mounted and rutting into you so animalistically, “the best- the best momma, you’re gonna be the best momma-” he hushes into your mouth. Pliantly kneading your body into a sinful arch for him, you barely even register it when he’s carrying you away. Two thick fingers pooling his glistening cum, inching them back into your stretched-out cunt - “Don’t waste a single drop now- hngh- fuck, you’ll look so pretty all full.”

Before you know it, you’re being sprawled out so easily on the clean tatami mats below, face down, your hips being propped up by one of Toji’s. And in your bleary peripheral vision, you could just about make out how ruined that desk was - how broken. How the fuck haven’t either of you broken any bones, yet?

Or maybe you have - you wouldn’t even know at this point, because Toji was still slamming into your poor, overspilling pussy again. His harsh grunt puffs out in a feverish breath against your ear, “Told ya I was gonna ruin you, doll. Better get ready-” He’s punctuating each word with a sloppy, sold thrust, pace picking up to fuck you so thoroughly into the floor. “Because I have a Plan D and a Plan E until m’sure you’re givin’ me an heir.”

A/N. Ooo what if I made a clan leader series? Thoughts?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[terrestrialnoob]

Gut Feeling

DPXDC

Commissioner Jim Gordon meets an odd kid in the precinct.

--

“Come on, you really don’t have a way to directly contact Batman?”

Jim smiled. Kids came to the station and asked that all the time. Usually, it was just curiosity and showing them the signal was enough to get them to sign up for the Junior Police program. This one looked a little older than most, teenagers were often “too old” to believe in Batman, but again, give them a little faith now and they’ll never loose it.

“Lookin’ for the Bat, kid?” Jim asked, knowing he was about to make this kid’s –

Jim froze. The kid turned to face him and it was Bruce Wayne. Not playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne, but freshly a teenager Bruce Wayne. The Bruce Wayne who Jim had checked in on time and again from age eight until he ran off on a globetrotting trip to find himself. The little Bruce Wayne with too pale skin and dark bags under his eyes, and not enough love to make up for all the grief weighing him down. And he didn’t look like Damian either, where Bruce was obviously his father but there were distinct traits from his mother. This was a carbon copy of a boy Jim remembered vividly.

“I am.” He even sounded like teenage Bruce. All business, like he was on a mission.

“I might be able to help you, but it’ll take a while.” Jim said and the officer the kid had been talking too gave him an odd look. He waved her off and told the kid to follow him to the commissioner’s office. Normally, he’d be more dramatic, put on more of a show for the kid, but his gut told him this was different, this was important. He offered the kid a styrofoam cup of water then closed the door behind him. “So, what do you need to talk to Batman for?”

“It’s personal. I need to talk to him in person.”

Jim took a sip of coffee from his cup. “He doesn’t appreciate me calling for no reason in the middle of the day.”

“So you do have a direct line?” The kid nearly jumped out of his seat. “If he’s upset, it’ll be my fault, just call him, please.”

“Who should I say wants to talk to him?”

The kid hesitated. “He doesn’t know me, but I have to talk to him.”

Jim frowned. “What’s your name, kid?”

He swallowed and looked like he wasn’t going to answer for a moment. “Danny.”

“Danny…?” Jim wanted a last name but Danny kept quiet. Jim sighed, “He’s likely not going to show up until sundown.”

“I can wait, as long as you guarantee he’ll show.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why you need Batman?” Jim just got a glare in response. “What about one of the other heroes?”

“Only Batman, no one else can help.”

“You sure about that? Not even Superman?”

“Not unless Superman can get me in the same room as Batman.”

“Why’s it so important that you meet him in person?”

“It’s personal.”

Jim liked this less and less by the minute. “Do your parents know you’re here?”

Danny looked away but right when it looked like he wouldn’t say anything he mumbled. “They wouldn’t care anyway.”

After another moment to give the kid time to reconsider, Jim pulled out the Bat-phone. It was a normal Wayne-Tech cell phone, but Jim had been given very specific instructions on how and when to use it. The phone listed all the Gotham Vigilantes without visible numbers so they couldn’t be copied and handed out. He pressed the one for Batman.

“Stand outside, would you?” The kid gave him a look, but followed the request. Jim could see his shadow in the door’s window, not so subtle eavesdropping.

It rang a few times, and Jim sat there awkwardly with a teenager listening to his every move. Finally, a familiar voice picked up the other end of the line. “Commissioner Gordon.”

“Sorry to call you out of the blue Batman, but I’ve got a kid here who needs your help.”

“Who?”

“Says his name is Danny, that you’ve never met him but you’re the only one who can help him.”

“Why?”

“Refuses to tell me.”

“What’s your best guess, Commissioner?”

Jim looked at Danny’s shadow, it looked like he was straining his ears to try and hear what he was saying. Danny had given him almost nothing to work with. Just his name, that he’s never met Batman but needs to talk with him in person. But Jim was here because he listened to his gut. A feeling like when you see a random rock on your neighbor’s doorstep but you’d never go in without an invitation. A feeling like you know what’s in the present and are preparing your surprised face. A feeling like when you cheated on your wife and you know she knows.

“He looks like Bruce Wayne.”

A beat of silence. “What?”

“Danny looks exactly like Bruce when he was a teenager. Exactly the same.” Jim hoped Batman would get it, feel in his gut what Jim felt.

“And he wont say why he’s there?”

“No, and he demands to see you in person.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

“10-4.” The line cut off before Jim had finished saying it. He called Danny in again. “He’s on his way.”

Danny glared at him. “If he’s not, if you called some social worker or something, you’ll regret it.”

“I’m sure.” Jim sighed and downed the rest of his now cold coffee.

The sun hadn’t set, but only just barely. Jim ended up taking Danny up to the roof in the end after all, if only to save his window from being broken into. The kid had a red hoodie on, but he was still shivering in the autumn chill and it was just going to get colder by the minute as the sun made its way behind the horizon.

Jim checked his watch and, at exactly an hour from when he called, he acted surprised when Batman and Robin appeared out of nowhere. “Bats.”

“Commissioner.” Batman greeted but his eyes went straight for Danny. “Danny, I assume.”

“Yeah, I…” Danny hesitated, looking at Jim and Robin.

All it took was four words from Batman. “What do you need?”

The kid held out his hand with a flash drive in it. “I’m your clone. My par- The people who made me wanted to make a stronger version of you, but they got ahead of themselves. My DNA is degrading and I’ll die if I don’t get your DNA to stabilize me.”

Holy cow.

“You don’t expect us to believe that, do you?” Robin sneered at him.

“The flash drive has all the info on it. All the data about the cloning process and the, uh, relevant experiments after that.” Batman gave the kid a look. “I didn’t want to waste time on unnecessary data.”

“If what you’re saying is true, why are you here, alone? Are they working on a different solution?”

Danny’s shoulders hiked up. “I’ve been a failure for a while now, I’m not worth the resources and they’d learn more from an autopsy.”

Oof, kid. Jim looked at Batman who seemed to feel the same… if Jim was reading him right.

“So, you wont object to a DNA test?” Robin asked with a cocky head tilt, at least he was relatively easy to read.

“You can try.” Danny said, and then realized what that sounded like. “I mean I wont stop you, but my DNA degrades faster outside my body. You’ll have to take me to whatever lab you plan on using.”

“Then we will.” Batman said and jerked his head towards where they’d probably parked that ridiculous car of his. But then he looked at Jim with a nod. “Commissioner.”

“Batman.” Jim returned the nod. “You’ll tell me how things turn out, yeah?”

“I’ll give you a report.” Batman joked – Jim could tell, it was gut feeling.

[lvrclerc]

✶ BETTER THAN THE NOVELS

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

F1 MASTERLIST | LN4 MASTERLIST

pairing: lando norrisﾉf!reader

wc: 11.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a stupid question. Of course, you did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorted.

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

“Uh─” you started. “I'm still─”

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oof, looks like you need help again.”

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

Lando Norris stood before you. Again.

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

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

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

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

A pause. You had serious issues.

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

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

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

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

But Lando was smiling.

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

“Soo… what event are you attending?”

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

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

Well, you couldn't blame him for that.

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

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

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

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

Huh?

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

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

“Y/N as in WhoisY/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What even is my life right now.”

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

“That exists?” He asked, breathless.

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

“And you read that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh shit. “... I don't have a car.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hesitantly, you turned around.

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

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

Lando smiled at you. “Next time.”

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

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

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

@.lando started following you.

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

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

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

It made you smile.

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

lando: just ate the biggest fucking sandwich today

lando: [1 picture attached]

lando: scooby-doo type shit

whoisy/n: i'm so hungry actually

lando: did u get sidetracked reading again

whoisy/n: it's LITERALLY my job

lando: go get something to eat you muppet

whoisy/n: yessir

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

lando: he cheated on her right

whoisy/n: …

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

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

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

lando: they're all the same

whoisy/n: RITEEEEEE QUEEN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why wouldn't it be?”

“You never call before race day.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, yeah. Never.”

“You're shitting me.”

“No?”

“I can't believe it.”

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

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

Oh. Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmh?”

“Thank you. For what you said.”

“... I meant it.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He hung up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hoped he thought of you just the same.

Then, breathlessly, “Wow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Such an ecologist soul,” you teased.

“They call me Father Nature at McLaren.”

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

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

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

For you.

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

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

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

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

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

“You…?”

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

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

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

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

Because a goddamn flash stopped you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ciscanorris: heyyyy

ciscanorris: ik we never talked

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

ciscanorris: but heyyyyyyy

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

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

ciscanorris: great!! hbu?

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

ciscanorris: rest well then!

ciscanorris: i’m going to be honest tho

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

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

ciscanorris: are you going to the race this weekend?

whoisy/n: what do you think

ciscanorris: can’t blame you

ciscanorris: my brother’s an ass

That made you chuckle.

whoisy/n: i was thinking worse

ciscanorris: so am i

ciscanorris: but he wants to make up for it

ciscanorris: really

ciscanorris: he insists you should go to the race

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

ciscanorris: doesn’t want to spoil the surprise apparently

ciscanorris: idk what he’s planning

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

ciscanorris: just check your mailbox and think about it

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

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

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

Yet, there was no sign of Lando.

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

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

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

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

But Lando had started on pole position.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All of it was for you.

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I think you know it by now.”

And just like that, his lips crashed onto yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Even if it’s a romcom?”

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

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

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

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

“What about the interviews?”

“They can wait.”

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

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

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

[flowercrowncrip]

Are we really doing the bus arguments again? The vast majority of people who give wheelchair users grief over use of the wheelchair space are not doing so because they have a disability buggy. They’re doing it because they don’t think wheelchair users should have access to public transport if it means they have to spend a moment moving their child’s pram. Believe me, we can tell the difference.

I got on a bus once and asked a couple to please move their buggy to the other side of the bus so I could use the wheelchair space (the only space a wheelchair user can travel in, and with a huge yellow sticker explaining that it’s legally reserved for wheelchair users and anyone else will be asked to move is a wheelchair user needs the space).

I wasn’t even asking them to get off the bus, just to move their child a few feet to the space on the other side of the bus, that was also closer to where they were sitting. Somehow they felt that was unreasonable and yelled at me that I shouldn’t have boarded the bus, and couldn’t I see the space was taken, was I stupid blah blah blah

After that didn’t make me go away, they then tried to pretend like it was never actually their child and said I’d have to ask the “real parents” because they wouldn’t move a baby that “wasn’t theirs”.

Unsurprisingly no one else claims the child (who is very obviously travelling with the yelling couple), so the bus driver has to get involved and say he can’t move the bus with a wheelchair not in the wheelchair space and that if there’s an unaccompanied toddler on the bus then that’s a very serious situation. After the weirdest five minutes ever the couple eventually realise the bus driver is being very serious and no one is moving until this is sorted. So they have to admit that actually it was their child all along and move them to the other side of the bus which takes all of five seconds.

They would literally rather temporarily disown their own child than take five seconds to allow a wheelchair user access to the same public transport they take for granted.

Compare that to another time I got on the bus, went to ask the person in the wheelchair space to move their buggy only to see that the buggy is adapted to carry an oxygen tank (and probably other stuff) and has one of those “my child is disabled, please treat this buggy as a wheelchair” tag on it. I let the parent/ carer know that I didn’t realise it was a disability buggy and hope she has a good day before asking the driver to let me off because there’s already a wheelchair user on board and it’s first come first serve.

Just, please don’t use hypothetical disabled people to invalidate and talk over real disabled people talking about the real issues we face.