#Because we expect something to happen to spark that change

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

some truman show au doodles on the @daycarefriendpickup magma and a singular fool cuz i think he'd let me ramble about western philosophy books

(fool by @/venomous-qwille)

[heartyluv]

Note: THEY’RE BACK!!! LOLLL I LUV THEM!! I desperately need to start doing some asks omg… Again, I’m doing them like this since it’s not glitchy when I save it and stuff, but if you’d like to go see the original or whateves, —click here— to check it out! Anywho, is it just me or has these two become comfort characters…? Like we already love Caleb but Camboy!Caleb and his wife…MY BAES!! I even feel like pink is their color. They exist somewhere out in the world, I’m sure 😏. Thank you for the request, luvly. I hope you enjoy!

Remember, HIS WIFE IS CHUBBY!!! LUV HER DOWNNN!!!

Creds to @/strangergraphics for the dividers!

Warning: Smut, sex is being recorded to publish online

Word Count: 2.5K

Camboy!Caleb/Reader - First Time

You were sitting on top of your husband, his hands hungrily gliding up and down your back as your tongues worked to taste each other. It was easy for him to get you like this—naked, in bed, and aching for his cock. But what brought you here this time?

The memories that surrounded your mind when you thought about the way he loved on you.

Only a few moments ago, you and him were relaxing and watching a movie together in the living room. Like usual, his head was on your lap as your fingers played in his hair the way he likes, and it was when you saw the diamonds of your wedding ring catch in the light of the media playing on the TV, that this surge of love sparked inside of you.

You began to think of all the moments you had with him. Like when he drove all the way to see you in person for the first time, when he called you every single day until you moved in together for him to somehow make it an occurrence that happens twice, and when he looked at you with such love and asked you to marry him.

He has single handedly changed your life for the better and you were so in love with him that it made your eyes water no matter when you thought about it. This man is the reason you see your body in a way you never did, why you now had a confidence that nobody could shake—why you were more than glad to have paid $30 for his monthly subscription, because it has turned into a lifetime of happiness.

After you leaned down and kissed the side of his neck, he turned to look at you with a smile. Once you whispered the words, “Can we…head to bed?” he already knew what you wanted and he was more than ready to give it to you.

So he took you where you wanted to go, stripped the both of you of your clothes and you climbed on top of him. The sounds of your sloppy kisses only made your pussy wetter the more desperate it became. Each time cock brushed against your stomach, your insides tingled with the need to have him inside of you. But you cherished the moments like this where despite how needy you or him could be, you didn’t rush. Savoring it was always important.

Your heart was pumping in your chest like his name was carved into it when you told him breathlessly in between kisses, “I wanna record it.”

Your husband pulled back, his face flushed and his soft hair messy from the way your hands found purchase within the strands. He licked his lips before answering you.

“Okay,” he grinned. “We can save it to look at it later like the other ones.”

You’ve filmed yourselves fucking before. That’s why he’s not thrown off by your request. But with those videos, they were private because you were in them. Caleb would never post them without your permission and he was 100% okay if you never wanted that. He kind of preferred it that way when it came to those. They were sacred to him.

With Caleb being a camboy, he is very comfortable with anything related to sex and his body. For a man like him, you’re far from surprised. But he made it very clear that there was never any pressure or expectations for you to film yourself with him just because you’re his wife. No matter how many comments begged for something with you two, if it wasn’t what you wanted, it wouldn’t happen.

You shake your head, giggling when he kisses your jaw. “I want to post it to your page.”

Caleb turned into a deer in headlights. Part of you freaked out about it, too. “W-we don’t have to. I didn’t mean to—”

“No, baby,” he soothes the worries he evidently sees swirling in your eyes. “Forgive me. I just…was shocked. I didn’t expect you to say that. But I’m definitely not opposed to it.”

“I think I’m ready. Obviously I trust you, and your fans seem really nice. And I think it’s hot.”

“Yeah?” he smirks, his hands grabbing your ass. “I think so, too. But I want you to make sure you’re absolutely certain. Your safety and peace of mind means everything to me. Once you’re up there, you’re there, pretty. Nothing to be ashamed of, just something to be positive about.”

It’s like there’s an angel sitting on your shoulder, staring at him with you like he’s the dreamiest man to ever grace the planet. And he is.

“I’m sure,” you nod after letting his words marinate. “You already take care of me. Should I not want to do it anymore or something, I know you’ve got me.”

“Of course I do.” His chest fuels with pride at how well he’s made you understand that he will always have your back—that he’ll always make sure you’re good.

“Let me get my phone.”

You climb off of him, watching how he leaves to grab his phone that he left in the living room. You’re happy to not feel any hesitation or relentless second-guessing in your mind when Caleb comes back, his still hard cock making you blush even if you’ve seen and had it in you too many times to count.

“Remember our safe word?” he gestures for you to stand and come to him.

“Apple,” you confirm, nuzzling your cheek in his hands when he holds your face.

“Good girl. At any point you want me to stop recording or you want to back out for any reason, you say that word and everything stops. Now, how do you want me?”

You press your lips together as you hum in thought, not even noticing how Caleb just stares. He’s so in love with you.

“Doggy? It’ll make a good angle and all that.”

“Then that’s what it’ll be.”

He opens the app he posts his content to so that he can make a quick announcement, showing it to you before he releases it.

Surprise video tonight. It’s a special one. Stay tuned.

“Gets them going,” he chuckles before tossing the phone on the bed. “Let me get you to myself a little bit.”

He leans down to kiss you delicately, your nipples tightening and your pussy desperate for him all over again. Even his cock never went soft.

You whimper against his lips, alternating between the bottom and the top. He lifts your leg to hook onto his hip and presses into you so hard that you’re certain he could slip inside of you with no hands in this moment if he wanted to.

“You still wet for me?”

“Mhm,” you mumble. His hands dig into your plush flesh like he’s addicted to the way that you feel in them.

“Get where I need you, baby.”

You can’t help but to sloppily peck his lips a few more times before you make your way to the bed and bend over it.

“You don’t have to do anything different, okay? Talk how we usually do, feel me how you usually do. This is still us.”

“Yeah…okay.” With that reassurance, you arch your back at the edge of the soft mattress, feeling how your pussy opens up for him like it obeys his presence alone. From where he stands, he reaches over from behind you to grab the phone and tells you he’s about to start before he presses the red button to begin.

It’s dim in the room besides the small lamp you have on, until the flash from the phone and the sound effect of a video in progress shifts the atmosphere.

He holds the phone in one hand and his cock with the other, inching closer to your waiting cunt. Caleb was already hard when he was prepared to fuck you nice and slow with you on top of him, but all the blood rushed to his dick when you told him you wanted to record and post it. He didn’t want to overwhelm you with his excitement, so he kept it casual and made sure you felt safe before anything. On the inside? He was elated.

“You really are soaked,” he says teasingly. Your body shivers when he takes his tip, rubbing up and down the slit of your puffy lips.

“C-Caleb…Fuck…” you shakily breathe out. You feel so much more sensitive for some reason—but you love it.

“Feels good?” He pushes forward so he nudges your clit to make you jolt. He can see the goosebumps pepper down your back and it makes him feel honored to bring your beautiful body such pleasure.

“So good…”

He tries to make sure the camera can see and hear how your slick clings to his cock like you do each other. Starting with your hole, he collects your juices and gingerly smears it up and down slowly. Sometimes he’ll make you think he’s about to slide inside so your cunt will clench in preparation to suck him in. He can never explain why he likes seeing you try.

“Look how badly she wants me,” he coos. “You want me too, baby? You want your husband?”

“I want my husband so bad,” you whine, pushing your ass back to make him give you want you want. “Please give me your cock, baby. I can’t…Please…”

“Push back for me a little more.”

Desperately, you follow directions. Then when you feel his cock right where you’re ready to beg him to be, you move your hips back at the same time he surges his forward. The sheets in your hands are balled up when he bottoms out.

“Yes…yes…” you cry and make your back bend more to take him deeper.

“We feel so good together, pretty.” Caleb won’t tell you how he nearly dropped his phone when your warmth covered him, but he’s sure the slight shakiness in the video will reveal that. When he moves back a little bit to see how your slick coats his length, the flashlight makes the beautiful sight glisten.

He can’t wait any longer than you can as he begins to fuck into you slowly to appease your aching pussy before his left hand grips your waist the harder he begins to pummel your heat. Your ass ripples off his pelvis with every purposeful thrust, making him slap it to watch his own personal tidal wave grow.

Your moans are far from exaggerated when his cock slides smoothly in and out of you. Caleb then takes his hand, sliding it up from your hip to move up and down your back. The simple band of his silver wedding ring with your initials engraved in the side with your arms splayed above your head and your giant diamond on your finger, is the perfect image of how much you own each other. Of how untied you are in your love.

The gentle sting of him rutting into you has you drooling unapologetically. The way he grunts and tells you how pretty you look, hardwires your brain to understand that you will always belong to him. There’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

“My pussy is so good to me,” he grinds into you, his voice ragged from the bliss taking over his body. “She’s about to come. I feel it.”

The mix of his precum and your wetness makes a mess between your legs the closer you get. Knowing that this something hundreds—maybe thousands— will be seeing, makes you feel unstoppable. And it’s all because of your man.

“Caleb…I’m gonna come, don’t stop…” Your forehead presses into the sheets that smell like you and him. “Right there…i’m gonna—” His cock curves up when he shifts his hips to hit that spot that has you feeling like he took the stars and moon from the skies to make it yours everytime he causes you to feel this good.

“Let them see, baby. Give me what I like.”

All anyone watching the video will hear—besides the praising and the exchange of love—is the continuously slapping of skin and the way your weeping cunt tells everyone what he does to you.

His breath grows heavier the closer his orgasm gets when you keep squeezing him after drenching his length. Once his hips start to stutter, despite your sensitivity, you force yours back to help push his cum out.

“Oh, fffuck…” he bites his lip at your actions, his breath hitching when his load abruptly shoots out to make itself at home inside your walls and womb. You squeeze every drop out of his thick cock, feeling the spurts pump into your used and pleased body.

Gently he pulls out after he lets himself catch his breath as you shudder beneath him. You feel his warm cum leak out of your hole when he’s separated from you, falling forward and down your lips before slowly dripping onto the floor from the angle you’re in. Caleb lowers the phone so everyone will be able to see something so fucking beautiful. He knows you’re tired, but he feels like he’s already getting hard again just looking at the way your pussy quivers.

He immediately ends the nearly seven minute video, trying to ignore the aching pulse in his cock again at how you sway your hips.

“We’ll watch it together and you tell me if you still want to post it, alright?” he comforts you, helping you stand and kissing your neck.

You nod. “Did I do good?”

“Baby,” he caresses your sides. “You were fucking perfect. The camera was made for you.”

You sleepily—on shaky legs—turn around to wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his sweetly. “I feel so safe with you. Thank you for giving me that.”

You can’t explain why you’re so sappy right now, but Caleb loves and appreciates it. “Thank you for letting me be the one to do it.” He kisses your nose. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

“Please.”

Two weeks later, the video amassed over 700K views—so far. It’s more than anything Caleb has ever gotten on a singular piece of content he’s posted on his own. Here are some of the comments:

chubbyluvr:HE’S MARRIED?!?

iluv2cum:this is the hottest video on the internet..

itsjust4fun:did you hear how he talked to her……

cumminwithnoregrets: i knew he talked you through it but holy shit…

im0pen4business: the way she cries for him…they’re so hot

imn0rmal1sw3ar: THE RINGS…THEIR RINGS…

acidicluva: i need a part two. and three. with me in between.

pu$$yfairy: and if i said i need that?

luckycUm: i don’t know who to be jealous of

c0ckadmirer: he’s so sweet with her…i’m gonna be sick

calebst0pspenda: if he’s this filthy when he’s being sweet, imagine when he’s rough

iluv2cum: @calebst0pspenda spectacular, i need this in 4K

sleepygurlll: THE CUM ROLLING DOWN. WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THIS.

iluvlove: chat, how do we gate keep them?

lifeis2$hort: please tell me she’ll be in more videos omg

imjustchillin: yall better speak right about his wife. we all know caleb is crazy

sunshinutterfly: this is my third time this week coming back to this video and i am not ashamed.

A/N: It’s always so fun writing for them, but this one kinda hit different. I LUV YOU GUYS!! BYE!

P.S. This song is SO them.

Tags 🏷️: @innergardentoadpony @teacupwaifu @mcdepressed290 @calebapplepie @xcelfer @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler @ajyoursgirl @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @honeycrispangels @dummiebunny @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @asiatic-apple @callads7 @caien @stargirlygirl @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @lazygelpen @floatinginaer @meadowinthesky @floatinginaer @grackerzzz @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @inutrasha94 @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @asiaticapple @ashirelle

[ssweetreveries]

Crush Catalog | The 𝒥 Files

introducing to you a 6-part series featuring nct’s ‘J line’

college au, interconnected standalones, afab!reader, will contain mature content (18+ mdni)

taglist (open!) @bluedbliss @rosakjs @lovesuhng @4nesu @skittyneos @yowmaman @luvlyrenwoo @wooyugta @yoonohswife @the-universe-in-you-jjh @wachimingox @ajaaaaayyyyy @jaemsprettygf @fancypeacepersona @hi00000234567 @cinneorolls @nctpjs @stormy1408

Part 1 | Where We Begin Again

☆ fwb!johnny x reader

trope → friends with benefits to lovers

synopsis You and Johnny are longtime friends who started hooking up out of convenience—no strings attached, right? Except now, you're both catching feelings but too scared to ruin the friendship. One night after an especially heated encounter, something shifts—a vulnerable moment slips out. Tension builds when one of you tries to pull away, but fate keeps throwing you back together.

Part 2 | Somewhere Between Us

☆ ex!jaehyun x reader

trope → exes to lovers

synopsis You and Jaehyun dated years ago—the kind of deep, youthful love that felt like forever—until life pulled you apart. Now you're back in the same city. A run-in at a mutual friend’s party reopens the door, and neither of you can ignore the tension. There's still hurt… but also lingering desire.

As you reconnect—cautiously, hesitantly—old sparks reignite. But there's pain buried under the surface. Can you forgive the past? Can he?

Part 3 | Underneath It All

☆ nerd!jeno x reader

trope → academic rivals/enemies to lovers

synopsis You and Jeno are friendly enemies—always neck and neck at school. You challenge each other, argue over ideas, and secretly admire one another, though neither of you admits it.

One night, you’re both stuck working late on the same project. Tension brews—academic snark turns into flirtation, and when you finally snap, it's a kiss… then a lot more.

After that, things shift. The teasing is more charged. You catch him staring. He lingers after meetings. But you’re both scared to cross that line again—is it just tension, or is there something real underneath?

Part 4 | Practice Makes Perfect

☆ fakebf!jaemin x reader

trope → fake dating/friends to lovers

synopsis You’ve been close friends with Jaemin for years— the kind who flirt without realizing, share late-night snacks, and never address the elephant in the room: you're incredibly compatible.

When a situation arises—your ex showing up in town—you ask Jaemin to pretend to be your boyfriend.

He’s way too good at it. Touches linger, pet names slip out naturally, and he looks at you like he means it. You both try to play it cool, but the tension builds until one night you can’t fake it anymore.

What neither of you expected? The fear of messing up the friendship… and how much it’ll hurt if this isn’t real.

Part 5 | Something Like Love

☆ bsf!jungwoo x reader

trope → best friends to lovers

synopsis You and Jungwoo have always had that kind of friendship—warm, easy, comfortable. You’ve been there through finals week breakdowns, bad dates, roommate drama, and everything in between. Everyone assumes you’ve hooked up. You haven’t. Not once.

But in senior year, things shift.

Maybe you're both single at the same time. Maybe one night, after a party, you end up in his bed—just to sleep, like always—but it feels different. The air changes. You start to notice the way he looks at you. How his hands hesitate when they touch your arm. How he doesn’t pull away anymore.

Then it happens. A kiss. A touch. A confession that slips out when you least expect it.

But it’s messy, because what if it ruins the friendship? What if it’s not the same after? What if he’s been in love with you longer than you knew—and what if you’re only realizing you’ve always loved him back?

Final part | Across the Hall

☆ neighbour!jisung x reader

trope → strangers to friends to lovers

synopsis You’ve just moved into a small off-campus apartment, and Jisung lives right across the hall. He’s quiet, polite, always wearing headphones, always buried in his own world. The two of you exchange casual greetings at first—but over time, that awkward “neighbor energy” turns into something deeper.

The first real shift happens one evening when you lock yourself out of your apartment—barefoot, holding laundry, feeling ridiculous. Jisung’s the only one home, and he offers to let you stay in his place while you wait for the locksmith. What begins as an awkward favor becomes a surprisingly easy conversation over ramen and reruns playing low on his small TV.

Slowly, you become friends. Shared study breaks, spontaneous grocery runs, nights spent half-laughing, half-whispering on the hallway floor.

He’s reserved, but you notice the subtle ways he starts opening up: leaving little notes on your door, offering bites of snacks he made too much of, brushing your hand and pretending it didn’t happen. It’s all unspoken… until it’s not.

an : spontaneously decided to start working on a series..! hehe, i’m excited to see how this goes!

probably will be slow updates—no fixed release dates yet!

[eu-nicola]

Morocco part 2

summary: Rafe says goodbye to Sofia and leaves her in outer banks while he goes to Morocco, where you are also and the danger that happens there rekindles the spark both of you thought had lost

warnings: mention of death, weapons, cheating, pregnancy, kidnapping, etc. only things of s4

word counter: 8530

author's note: spoilers of s4, many things have been changed but there are still spoilers, english is not my first language, this is long so get ready to read

The heavy silence of the room enveloped you as you sat there, sitting on the bed, staring at your hands as if you could erase what had happened. He had killed someone. You still felt it on your skin, the tension of that moment, the fear, the adrenaline, and in the end, the inevitability of the action. You knew you had done it in self-defense, that there was no other option. The guy was going to kill you or someone else, and you didn’t let yourself let that happen. But still, the feeling of having taken a life crushed you. 

Rafe had stayed close, always by your side, as if he knew what you were feeling without you having to say it. He had been there, watching, but he hadn’t said anything about it. None of the Pogues had said anything. In a world where survival was the only thing that mattered, everyone knew that the lines between right and wrong could become blurred. It had been an extreme situation, and in the end, only the weight of what had been done remained. 

You laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling feeling like you were trapped in your own thoughts, in a tangle of doubts you couldn’t untangle. Rafe was beside you, silent, but his presence was comforting. His words hadn’t come yet, but that didn’t matter. You knew you didn’t need him to tell you anything; not at that moment. What you needed was to be there, with someone who wouldn’t judge you, who understood that sometimes decisions weren’t so simple. 

“You did it because you had to,” Rafe said, finally breaking the silence, his voice low, but firm. As if he had read your thoughts, as if he had felt everything that was going through your head. He approached you, placing a hand on your right hand, giving you the feeling that, despite everything you had done, you weren’t alone. “I know you didn’t want to, but there was no other way out.”

You looked at him, searching for something else in his eyes. A word, a comfort, a way to make the weight lighten, even if just a little. But as you looked at him, instead of finding judgment or disapproval, you found something unexpected: understanding. Rafe understood what had happened, even without having to explain it.

“I know,” you whispered, feeling a lump in your throat. “I did it because I had to. But I didn’t want to. I don’t want it to haunt me.”

He nodded, his gaze locked with yours. “Sometimes you don’t have a choice. And I know that if you had stopped, if you hadn’t, you’d be worse off now. But that doesn’t make you any less… human.”

The words weren’t what you expected to hear, but they carried a different weight. In that moment, you felt like maybe, just maybe, the guilt wasn’t so absolute.

You felt him close to you, and before you could react, he sat next to you on the bed, his arm around you with a comfort you hadn’t expected. There was something about the way he held you that made you relax, if only for a moment. “We’re the survivors, you know?” he said softly. “What we’ve done, what we’ve seen, what we’ve had to do to get here… all of that makes us who we are. And if you ever ask yourself the question of whether you did the right thing, I want you to remember that it was always about surviving.”

Your eyes filled with tears, not from weakness, but from the intensity of everything you felt. The weight of the decisions, the inevitability of the circumstances, and the fact that sometimes, the only thing left to do was to keep going, even if the burden was heavy.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, barely a whisper. You didn’t know what else to say.

The Pogues hadn’t weighed in, nor had you asked them to. They had seen what you did, they knew. The truth was that at that moment, no one dared to judge, because everyone knew that in those kinds of situations, life or death wasn’t always in your hands. You had done what was necessary, what instinct told you to do to protect yourself, but still, you couldn’t escape what had happened.

Rafe lay down beside you, his presence giving you the space to breathe, to rest, to not think so much about how irreversible it had been. “It’s done,” he said, unhurriedly, without pressure. “Now, all that’s left is to move on.”

Little by little, you felt the weight lighten, although it didn’t disappear completely.

After that, you had recovered quickly. The guilt, confusion, and restlessness you felt after what had happened slowly faded away. It wasn’t easy, but you knew you couldn’t stay stuck in that moment. Time was still ticking, and you had to move on. 

What really helped you recover so quickly was the conversation with your father. Even though things between you hadn’t always been easy, hearing his voice on the other end of the line gave you the calm you needed. You told him what had happened, what you had had to do to defend yourself. You didn’t go into all the details, but you did tell him the gist. The silence on the other end of the line lasted a few seconds before you heard his voice, firm and calm.

“I’m proud of you,” he told you, and those words resonated with you more than you imagined. “You did what you had to do. There are no regrets that are going to change what happened. You’re my daughter, and I will always be your biggest support.”

Something in his voice, in those simple yet powerful words, made you feel like everything you had done was, in some way, justified. You had done the right thing, even if it wasn’t easy to accept. What you needed most at that moment was his support, and hearing those words from him gave you the strength to let go of the guilt. You reminded yourself that you had acted in self-defense, that you had done it to survive. It helped you regain control of your thoughts, to not get caught up in what had happened.

“Thank you, Dad,” you said, the words coming out with a calmness you didn’t know you had. “I really needed to hear that.”

When you hung up, you felt different. You knew the weight of what had happened wouldn’t go away completely, but something inside you had changed. Your father’s approval, his pride in what you had done, gave you a push to keep going without looking back. You didn’t want to stay stuck in guilt.

When Rafe saw you calmer, more focused, he asked if everything was okay. “It seems like something has changed,” he said, watching intently.

“Yeah,” you answered, a small smile creeping onto your face. “My father talked to me, I feel… good. More at peace, I guess.”

Rafe looked at you for a moment before nodding, as if he understood what that meant to you. He didn’t say anything else, knowing you didn’t need any more words at that moment. Your father’s had been enough. Now, you could move on.

In one of those calls with your father, which Rafe knew nothing about, you learned something that left you paralyzed. Sofia had betrayed Rafe. The news hit you like a blow, every word from your father reverberating in your mind.

Your father, as always, recounted the events with a calm that only he could maintain. He didn't go into unnecessary details, but he made the essentials clear: Sofia had betrayed Rafe. This was more than just disloyalty; it was an act that put not only Rafe at risk, but you and everyone else's as well.

The knowledge hit you hard, a mix of fury and pain that you tried to hold back. You couldn't help but feel protective of Rafe, despite how complicated their relationship had been in the past and still was. Watching him go through another betrayal, especially one this deep, made you question whether you should tell him or keep quiet for a while longer.

You decided not to tell him. Sofia's betrayal was a bomb that could make him explode and you didn't need that now. That night, Rafe was sitting on the edge of the bed, his profile silhouetted against the dim light of the room. His eyes settled on you with a softness you didn't see often.

“Are you okay?” His voice broke the silence, direct but with a hint of concern that he rarely showed. “You’ve been tense all night.”

Your heart raced a little, but you tried to stay calm. You had rehearsed in your mind over and over how to evade his questions without raising suspicion. You gave him a tired smile, one that you hoped was convincing enough.

“I’m just tired,” you replied, and though it sounded almost believable, you noticed his blue eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were trying to read past your words. Rafe was observant, and the thought that he could tell the lie made your throat go dry.

There was a moment of tense silence, where neither of you said anything. Finally, he relaxed a little and stood up to approach you. “Let’s rest then,” he murmured, placing a gentle hand on your back and guiding you towards the bed. You let yourself be led, relieved that he didn’t press any further.

You kicked off your shoes and slipped under the sheets, feeling the coolness of the fabric against your tired skin. Rafe did the same, moving beside you with familiar movements. The bed, though not the most comfortable, was a refuge at the moment.

When he turned off the lamp, the room was plunged into darkness, and the sounds of the night in the Moroccan city remained as a soft backdrop. You felt his body close to yours, the warmth emanating from it comforting.

You turned slightly, turning your back to him as you tried to calm your breathing and quiet the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind. However, Rafe, in his silent and protective way, noticed your uneasiness and moved closer. His arm went around your waist and pulled you towards him, pressing your back against his chest. The contact, so natural and comforting, made your worries fade away for a moment. You felt his warm breath against your hair, and a barely audible whisper escaped his lips.

“Whatever you’re worried about, we’ll take care of it,” he murmured sleepily, as if the words were an involuntary reflection of his thoughts.

You closed your eyes and swallowed the lump in your throat. You didn't know how long you could keep the secret, but that night, at least, you decided to hold on to the feeling of being safe in his arms. You responded to the hug, settling in a little more and allowing yourself a moment of peace.

Slowly, tiredness overcame anxiety, and you both fell asleep.

It wasn’t long before the truth came out. Rafe was cunning, too cunning, and even though you had done your best to keep it a secret, the built-up tension and the little clues you missed had him starting to put two and two together.

It was one afternoon, as the two of you were going over some notes at a makeshift table, when everything exploded. Rafe was focused on the papers in front of him, his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. There was something about his posture that made you feel a twinge of unease. Without looking up, he murmured, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

The seemingly casual question made you stop dead in your tracks. You knew he could read the subtleties, the changes in your behavior, and you understood in that instant that he already suspected something. You tried to keep your composure, keeping your expression from giving you away.

“What do you mean?” You asked, your tone trying to sound carefree, but the slight hesitation in your voice made him raise his head. His blue eyes caught you, cold and calculating, searching for answers.

“You know, right?” His voice was low, controlled, but charged with an intensity that made the room seem smaller. “About Sofia.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You didn’t need to answer; he already knew. The tension in his body turned into suppressed fury, and he slammed a fist on the table, causing papers to fly and some objects to fall to the floor.

“Since when?” he exclaimed, taking a step towards you. There was no physical aggression in his gesture, but the energy he emanated was enough to make you back off. “Since when did you know and decide not to tell me?”

“Rafe, I… I did it for you.” The words came out in a rush, clumsy and full of guilt. “I didn’t want to ruin what little you had. I thought it wasn’t the time…”

“The time?” His laugh was dry, humorless. “All this time I’ve been struggling, trusting someone who betrayed me, and you knew it! What kind of support is that?”

The hurt in his words was evident. You knew his trust, something so fragile and complicated, had been shattered once again, and this time, you were part of the reason. You tried to get closer, reach out to touch his arm, but he pulled away, as if your touch burned.

“Rafe, it wasn’t easy for me. I wanted to protect you.”

“You don’t need to protect me. I need you to be honest with me. I need you to tell me if you know something that affects me. How am I supposed to trust you now?”

The question cut through you like a blade. The pain in his voice, mixed with rage and disappointment, left you speechless. There was no justification enough to calm him down. All you could do was watch as the distance between you grew larger, deeper.

Finally, Rafe stepped back, putting a hand to his head and sighing in frustration. “This isn’t going to work,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He looked at you one last time, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions you couldn’t quite decipher, and before you could stop him, he turned and walked out the door. 

You knew Rafe better than anyone. You knew that when things got tough, he tended to walk away, to hide from everyone. You set off, visiting several places. But in all those places, the answer was the same: nothing. 

The heat of Morocco stifled you, sweat running down your forehead, and anxiety made the air feel thicker. Still, you didn’t stop. You asked around in shops and at street vendors, and though a few curious glances and vague answers tried to calm your search, nothing was enough. 

You decided to go check on the boys. If anyone might know something, they would have at least a lead. When you arrived, you found them gathered in a corner of a coffee shop with the windows fogged up from the heat. The atmosphere of the room, normally filled with humor, felt different when you entered. John B was the first to notice you, and his expression hardened at the sight of your countenance.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his brows furrowed in concern.

“Have you seen Rafe?” The question came out in a tone you couldn’t soften. Your voice, cracked with urgency, had everyone exchanging quick glances.

Sarah, who was sitting next to Kiara, looked away, uncomfortable with the subject. “No, I haven’t seen him since… since yesterday,” she admitted, her voice barely a murmur.

Pope, who had been quiet, nodded. “No one’s seen him. I thought he was with you.”

There was no sign of him, not a trace, not a word. You left the café before anyone could say anything else, frustration and worry fighting for control of your thoughts.

You were so focused on finding Rafe that concern for your own safety took a backseat. The city, with its narrow streets and maze of passages, had become a space where every shadow seemed to lengthen, and every sound multiplied into echoes. But you were so absorbed in your thoughts, so consumed by guilt and the need to find him, that you didn't notice what was happening around you.

The murmur of voices, the soft creaking of footsteps behind you, began so subtly that you barely noticed. The night was thick, the heat and sweat clinging to your skin, making you feel more tired than you were. As you walked down a dimly lit street, the streetlights cast your shadow against the walls of the buildings, a long, lonely silhouette.

It was only when you turned a corner into a darker alley that a cold sensation ran down your spine. A sixth sense warned you that something wasn't right. You paused for a moment, listening to the silence that seemed to breathe around you. You weren't alone. Confirmation came the instant you took a step back and felt a hand grab you tightly by the arm. 

You tried to get away, your first instinct was to fight, but you didn't have time to react. Another hand landed on your mouth, stifling the scream that choked in your throat. Three men surrounded you, their faces barely visible under the shadows of their hoods. One of them spoke to you in a low, threatening tone, in a language you barely recognized, but the message was clear: you weren't to resist. 

They pushed you forward, forcing you to walk as your senses went to full blast. Adrenaline pumped through your veins, making you tremble with rage and fear at the same time. You tried to observe, to memorize details, anything that might help you escape later: the tattoo on the neck of the man holding you, the smell of tobacco and sweat, the way they clenched their fists. But they were experts; there was no room for error.

The ride was short, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, they bundled you into a car, dark and dusty, and tied your hands with rough rope that bit into your skin. You felt the engine roar and the car jerk as it started, taking you away from familiar streets, away from any chance of help. You tried to stay calm, to control your breathing and not let fear paralyze you.

In the dim light of the car, one of the men spoke to the driver in a low tone, while another watched you closely, his piercing gaze searching for any sign of defiance. The city lights faded, and the landscape grew more arid, more lonely, with each passing mile. The idea that you were being taken to an unknown place, with no one knowing where you were, hit you with the force of a wave. 

What followed after that car ride was even more disconcerting. You were taken to an abandoned building, with weathered stone walls and broken windows that let in the dry night air. You were pushed inside, your feet stumbling over the threshold, and you fell to your knees on the dusty floor. You tried to get up, but one of the men's rough hands pushed you back down.

The space was large and dark, lit only by a dim light filtering in from a hanging lamp in the center. The men began talking to each other, their deep, rapid voices filling the room, but you couldn’t understand what they were saying. The language barrier made you feel even more vulnerable, like you were in a tunnel you couldn’t get out of. You tried to catch some word you recognized, something that would give you a clue as to their intent, but it was in vain. Desperation began to set in, digging into your chest like a thorn. 

As they argued, you took a moment to assess your situation. The ropes binding your hands were strong, but if you could find a weak spot, maybe you could break free. You watched the men’s faces carefully, trying to remember details: the eye patch on one, the scar on another’s cheek, the golden ring glinting on the third’s finger. But they showed no sign of empathy or doubt. Their cold, calculating gazes were diverted from you as if you were just an object, a pawn in their unknown game.

Far away from there, Rafe had returned to the place where they both stayed. The air in the room still smelled of you, a persistent memory that he tried to ignore as he moved through the space with firm steps. The rage and pain from the previous fight still burned inside him, and he repeated over and over what he had said, what you had said. However, not seeing you when he arrived, a subtle echo of worry tried to make its way into his mind. He dismissed it at first, convinced that, like him, you had only gone for a walk.

Rafe let himself fall into bed, closing his eyes as the night progressed. Dawn arrived, and with it a restlessness that he could no longer ignore. When he got up, he noticed that your side of the bed was still empty. He searched the small house for you, checking the kitchen, the makeshift living room, even the terrace where you sometimes sat to think. Nothing.

The initial annoyance turned into a shadow of fear that led him to look for the others. He headed to the place where the Pogues usually met, and found them having breakfast with tired and sleepy faces. John B looked up and saw Rafe approaching, his eyes reflecting the surprise of seeing him there so early.

“Have you seen Y/n?” Rafe asked, without preamble. His tone was firm, but there was a crack of anxiety that he couldn’t hide.

The others’ gazes met for a second before Pope answered, frowning. “No, not since last night, when she came to ask us if we had seen you.”

Rafe’s heart beat faster. Worry became a tangible weight, and he felt guilt begin to sink into him. You had been looking for him, and he, blinded by his anger, had done nothing for you. He ran a hand through his hair, breathing deeply as he tried to remain calm.

“What happened, Rafe?” Sarah asked, her eyes searching his face for answers.

Rafe gritted his teeth, his jaw set with tension. “I don’t know… but I have to find her.”

Back at the place where they had you held, the men had begun to lose patience. One of them approached you, his gaze icy as he examined you from head to toe. You tried to remain calm, even as the man crouched down to your level and issued a threat in broken, rough English. His words were fragmented, but you understood enough to know he was trying to intimidate you.

“Don’t move. Don’t… scream,” he said, his accent thick. “If you do, it will be worse for you.”

You tried to keep a neutral expression, but you couldn’t stop your hands from shaking, still bound tightly behind you. You tried not to make eye contact, knowing that any show of fear could only make the situation worse. However, he seemed to be enjoying your discomfort, a crooked, cocky grin on his face.

Just when you thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, another man entered the room. There was something about his bearing, the way the others looked at him, that suggested he was in charge. His clothes were neater, his posture more relaxed, but his eyes held a coldness that made your skin crawl.

He approached slowly, and as he stopped in front of you, you noticed that he spoke much clearer and more fluent English.

“Forgive my men,” he said in a calm but firm voice. “They don’t usually deal with foreigners, especially not a woman who butts into matters that don’t concern her.”

You tried to compose your expression, looking at the man firmly, although inside you felt how each word of his intensified the weight of your situation.

“What… what do they want?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, but clear enough to show that you still had some control left.

He smiled, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s up to you,” he replied, lacing their fingers together calmly. “We’re looking for something, and we think you might be able to help us find it… or at least lead us to the people who could.”

Your mind began to work quickly, trying to connect the pieces. You knew that your arrival in Morocco with Rafe and the search for the Blue Crown hadn’t gone unnoticed, but still, the speed with which you’d been found, threatened, and now interrogated caught you completely off guard.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried to say, but your voice betrayed a slight hesitation, and he noticed it.

“Don’t play naive. We know what you’re looking for… we know what you want. So, I’m going to make it easy for you,” he said as he leaned a little closer, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your skin crawl. “You give us what we want, or you’ll see how things can get worse.”

You felt a knot in your stomach, each second growing more terrifying. You knew your only option was to hold on and buy time.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic drumming of your heart as the man in front of you watched you with unsettling patience. You tried to keep your composure and buy time, knowing that each passing second increased the chances of someone, somehow, finding out where you were.

“What they’re looking for isn’t so easy to find,” you said, keeping your voice as steady as possible. “Even we’ve had trouble following the right leads.”

The man cocked his head, evaluating your words. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was trying to read between the lines. “We’ll see about that. I hope you have more to say when we speak again.”

As he retreated, leaving you alone for a moment, you tried to move subtly, searching for any hint that you could loosen the ropes holding you prisoner. Your wrists were sore, but you ignored the pain, focusing on the simple act of resisting.

Far away, Rafe was in a constant state of agitation. He had spent the morning searching for clues, moving quickly between contacts and temporary allies who might be able to offer him some information. Every second that passed without seeing you increased his worry, and though he tried not to let guilt take over, his mind kept replaying the moment he realized you had disappeared.

“Did you see her last night?” he asked for the umpteenth time to one of the contacts he had managed to track down. The man, a local merchant with connections in the underworld, shook his head, his eyes watching Rafe with measured interest.

“I heard there was some activity in the old part of town,” he finally answered after a pause. “Someone brought a girl, but I don’t know who they are or what they’re looking for.”

Rafe clenched his jaw, feeling a mix of frustration and renewed hope. It wasn’t enough information, but it was a start. With a quick “Thank you,” he walked away, his mind already calculating the next move, thinking about how to get to that part of town without raising suspicion.

Rafe didn’t stop until he found more answers. He had navigated through dark alleys, bustling markets, and bars where curious eyes followed his every move all day long. The night in Morocco brought with it a thick air, and Rafe knew how to play in that environment.

With a handful of bills and a steady gaze, he approached a group of men moving like shadows on a dimly lit corner. After a few words of exchange and the handing over of money, one of them, a young man with scars on his face, finally spoke.

“The girl was taken to a warehouse near the old part of town, where the houses are crowded together and the streets are like a maze,” he said, his accent thick. “I don’t know much else, but those who have her aren’t known for being kind.”

Rafe nodded, absorbing the information and processing it quickly. The gears in his mind were working tirelessly, calculating routes and strategies. He now knew who had taken you, and most importantly, where you were. Getting to you wouldn’t be easy, but for him, it would be a piece of cake compared to the idea of ​​losing you.

Rafe just nodded before turning away, already focused on what would come next. He knew he needed to act quickly and precisely. He imagined you in that moment, alone and scared, and the fire inside him grew more alive.

In your dark corner, the minutes passed with unbearable slowness. The distant sound of footsteps and murmurs kept you alert, your mind working on every possible way to resist and endure.

In the two days you were held, time became an endless torture. You were given nothing but a few drops of water, and hunger made you feel weak, almost ghostly. Your thoughts were intertwined between worry for your safety and the persistent question of whether Rafe and the others were looking for you. The blindfold kept you in constant darkness, increasing the fear and feeling of isolation. Every noise around you was a reminder that you were not alone, but neither were you in good hands.

The voices of your captors echoed through the space like menacing echoes, their words in a language you did not understand. You tried to stay conscious, clinging to hope and the idea that this would end soon, somehow. Your body was exhausted, every muscle shaking from the effort of staying alert, every breath weaker than the last.

As night fell on the third day, the air was filled with a distinct murmur, a whisper that slowly turned into screams and the rumble of combat. The sound of doors breaking, banging, and gunshots made you turn around in desperation, even with the blindfold tight over your eyes. Your breathing quickened, and a cold fear ran through your body.

Time seemed to stop as everything fell silent. You could hear the frantic beat of your heart as you waited, vulnerable and alone in the darkness. Suddenly, you felt firm, familiar hands on your shoulders, and the pressure of the blindfold loosened. The cloth fell from your eyes, and the light, though dim, made you squint. In front of you, Rafe looked at you with a mix of relief and desperation, his blue eyes shining brightly.

“Rafe...” you whispered, a weak smile forming on your lips. He wasted no time; He quickly untied your wrists, and before you could make any move, he lifted you into his arms, not asking if you had the strength to walk.

You looked around as he carried you out of the place, and your eyes landed on one of the men lying on the ground, motionless. Blood pooled around him, and the question left your mouth before you could stop it. “Did you kill him?”

Rafe didn’t stop looking at you as he answered, his voice low and full of a certainty that chilled your blood and made you feel safe at the same time. “I’ll do anything for you, do you understand?” His tone left no room for doubt, and although his words were harsh, something in them made you feel protected, as if, despite everything, you were safe in his arms.

The world began to spin around you, the strength finally leaving your body after days of suffering. The last image you saw was Rafe's face, a mix of determination and fear in his eyes, before darkness enveloped you and everything faded away.

Hours later, the first thing you felt was the soft rustle of the sheets. Your eyelids were heavy as if you had slept for days, but you finally managed to open your eyes and see the ceiling of an unfamiliar room, illuminated by the morning rays. Turning your head, you saw him: Rafe, sitting in a chair next to the bed, his face covered by a mixture of tiredness and relief. 

As soon as he noticed that you had woken up, his eyes lit up and he quickly stood up, approaching you. His fingers brushed your cheek, as if he wanted to make sure that you were really there, awake and alive. “I worried about you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and sincere. There was something in his words that carried all the weight of the last few days, of anguish and guilt. 

The silence that followed was heavy, but you couldn’t help it. “Rafe, I’m sorry… about Sofia.” Your words were a whisper. His expression changed slightly, his eyes darkening momentarily before he shook his head.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he replied, a slight smile trying to ease the tension. The seriousness faded a bit when, with a soft laugh, he added, “You need to take a bath. You seem… well, you’ve been through a lot.”

You let out a weak laugh, agreeing with him with a look. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever been worse in my life.” Your body felt heavy, muscles still sore from the lack of food and water, but you knew you needed to get up. “Help me, please. I need to get to the water.”

Rafe nodded without hesitation and put an arm around your waist, helping you stand carefully. Your legs shook at first, but with his support, you managed to stay upright. He slowly carried you to the other side of the room, where a tub of hot, steaming water awaited.

“You can go if you want,” you whispered, not looking at him directly, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks. But he shook his head, a lopsided smile appearing on his face.

“No, I’m staying,” he replied, and without adding anything else, he began to help you undress. His hands moved carefully, as if he were afraid of hurting you. When you finally submerged yourself in the water, a sigh escaped your lips as you felt the relief of the heat enveloping your battered body.

Rafe knelt at the edge of the tub and, with a damp cloth, began to gently run the water over your arms and shoulders. You couldn’t help but look at him, the attention and delicacy in his movements contrasting with the intensity of his gaze. Suddenly, he made a comment that made you smile, a joke about how no one would believe it if they knew he was taking care of someone this way. You laughed, even if it was weakly, and responded with something equally sarcastic.

His eyes met yours, more serious this time. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, not looking away. The air grew thick between you, and you felt the warmth of the water mix with the blush on your skin. “I told you once not to say it,” you said quietly, looking away.

“Why not?” he asked, and before you could answer, he took your hand, the same one he had been cleaning, and pulled you close to him, carefully encircling you. He leaned in and kissed you, a gesture that was gentle at first, almost a test, but soon became deeper, as if he wanted to make sure you felt what he felt.

You stood there, letting yourself be carried away by the warmth of his lips and the safety of his arms. For a moment, everything that had happened, all the hurts, faded away, leaving only the certainty that, in the midst of so much chaos, you had each other.

Once the bath was over and you felt clean for the first time in days, the tiredness seemed to fade a little, giving way to a sense of calm that you had almost forgotten existed. You put on a light white linen dress, which softly caressed your skin and made you feel freer and lighter. Rafe had left the room for a moment to give you space, but he returned shortly after, his eyes scanning your figure with a mix of concern and something deeper, something you recognized instantly. 

You settled on a chaise longue by the window, letting the soft evening breeze come in and caress your face. Rafe sat beside you, his presence comforting despite everything that had happened between you. For a moment, neither of you spoke; you simply stayed silent, sharing a breath of peace that you both needed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, breaking the calm with a low voice that was almost lost in the sound of the wind. There was a note of anxiety in his words, as if he feared the answer.

“Better,” you said with a soft smile, tilting your head towards him. “Thanks to you.” You didn’t add anything else, because you knew he understood everything those words meant. What he had done for you, what he had risked, was something you would never forget.

Rafe nodded, a shadow of a smile appearing on his lips before he reached out and gently caressed your cheek. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured. His eyes were a sea of ​​conflicting emotions: relief, remorse, affection.

He laid down beside you, and without thinking too much, you rested your head on his shoulder, letting a sigh escape your lips.

The silence in the room stretched on for a while longer, only broken by the soft whisper of the wind. You stared at the shadows cast by the sunset on the walls, trying to process everything that had happened in the past few days. Finally, you broke the silence with a question that had been burning on your tongue since you woke up.

“What happened to the men?” His words were slow in coming, as if he was carefully choosing what he was going to tell you.

“I took care of them,” Rafe said, his voice deep and firm. There was no room for doubt in his tone, but no trace of remorse either. “Your father… helped make any problems they might represent disappear.” There was a glint in his eyes at the mention of it.

You nodded slowly, letting the information settle in your mind. You knew what it meant when your father got involved; there were no loose ends, no mistakes.

Rafe seemed to pick up on your silence and let the words trail off, not forcing the conversation.

Rafe took care of you in a way you hadn’t expected. He made sure that every meal arrived to you on time, insisting that you eat and drink enough to regain your strength. Although you sometimes gently argued that you could get up and help in the search, he always answered you with the same firmness: “Leave it to me. I promise you that everything will be fine.”

The determination in his eyes and the conviction in his voice were enough to make you believe him. So, for the first time in a long time, you decided to let yourself go and do what he asked of you. You ate every dish he brought you, even if the appetite was not always present, and little by little you began to notice how your body regained its lost strength. Now you needed to eat more than before.

Meanwhile, Rafe moved around the house and the town like a ghost, always searching, always planning. Although you knew that the situation was much more complicated than he told you, you believed him. His confident and protective gaze left no room for doubt.

Your mind, which had been stuck in a constant state of alert, finally allowed itself a respite.

That same night everything was quiet, with a starry sky stretching out over the outskirts where everyone had gathered. The lights of the lanterns hanging in the trees and the crackling of the campfire provided a comforting warmth amidst the cool of the night. It was rare to find a moment of peace, and everyone appreciated it in their own way, laughing and sharing stories around the fire.

You were sitting next to Rafe, your gaze lost in the dancing and crackling flames. The boys were talking amongst themselves; JJ was dramatically telling an anecdote about one of his recent escapades, causing Kie to laugh and throw him a twig in mockery. John B, who was a little further away, was watching Sarah with an expression of complicity and tenderness.

Sarah stood up and ran a hand through her hair, a mix of nervousness and determination. Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, you wondered what she was going to say. 

“Guys, there’s something I need to tell you,” she began, and immediately the attention was drawn to her. The conversation died down, leaving only the sound of sparks from the campfire and crickets in the distance. Kie and John B exchanged a look, knowing what was coming, while JJ and Pope seemed surprised by Sarah’s serious tone. 

“I’m pregnant,” she finally said, her voice barely shaking, but firm enough to be heard by everyone. There was a moment of complete silence, and then JJ let out a low whistle as a smile appeared on his face. Pope blinked a few times, processing the news, and then smiled widely. 

You stood up and walked over to Sarah. Although your relationship with her hadn’t always been easy, at that moment you only felt sincerity in your words. “Even though we never got along as well as we’d like, I’m happy for you,” you said, looking into her eyes. “You’re going to be a good mother, I know it.”

Sarah looked at you with a mix of surprise and suppressed excitement before nodding and giving you a small hug. “Thank you,” she whispered, her smile reflecting both gratitude and relief.

Rafe, who had been silently watching the scene from where he stood, merely smiled sideways and nodded slowly, in a sort of silent approval that Sarah immediately picked up on. Their eyes met, and in that gaze they shared an understanding that only siblings could have. Sarah seemed to understand him and smiled back, softer, more sincere.

The night continued with a different energy. JJ joked about how they were going to teach the baby to sail before he could walk, which caused general laughter. Kie offered to make her a small seashell pendant for when she was born, and Pope said he would teach her to solve puzzles and understand ancient maps.

Rafe came up to you and put his arm around your back. “This is going to be interesting,” he murmured, a barely perceptible smile on his lips. You smiled back, feeling the warmth of his touch.

Several hours had passed since Sarah’s announcement. The atmosphere was still light, with a calm that was rarely present among everyone. Laughter and stories continued as the flames of the fire slowly dwindled. You and Rafe, feeling the need to be alone, decided to retire before the others. Night enveloped the outskirts in a blanket of tranquility, and the walk back was silent, accompanied by the crunch of grass underfoot.

The next morning, the heat was overwhelming, and every movement seemed to require double the effort. You got up to find Rafe sitting near the window, lost in his thoughts. Her jaw was set, her eyes fixed on the horizon as if searching for answers in the distance. You knew she had been dealing with something since your kidnapping, something she hadn’t wanted to share, and you couldn’t help but feel the awkwardness hanging in the air.

That same day, when everyone gathered under the shade to escape the scorching sun, Sarah suddenly paled and swayed a little. John B quickly grabbed her, concern evident on his face.

“I’m fine, just a little dizzy,” she murmured, but everyone knew she needed more than fresh air.

JJ rummaged through the backpack and pulled out a half-beaten apple. “It’s the only thing there is, but it’s better than nothing,” he said, offering it to her. Sarah accepted it with a weak smile, biting slowly as John B looked at her with a mix of love and concern. 

Rafe watched the scene with the same distant expression, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. JJ, unable to contain his annoyance, uttered an acidic comment: “What’s the point of all your money if you can’t even help your sister with some decent food?” The tension cut like a knife, and Rafe, without a word, abruptly stood up and began to walk away. 

You looked at Sarah, who was avoiding her brother’s gaze. Driven by an instinct you didn’t even fully understand, you approached her and pulled a wad of bills from your bag. You placed it in her hands with a gentle gesture. “It’s for you to buy food, Sarah. You need to feed yourself well in your condition,” you said in a low but firm voice. John B looked at you, surprised and grateful in equal parts.

“Thanks,” he murmured, as Sarah gave you a genuine smile. “Seriously, thanks.”

Without saying anything else, you walked away in the direction where Rafe had gone. You found him at a makeshift market, where a few local vendors had gathered. He was standing in front of a stall, buying a basic-looking cell phone and other necessary items. You watched as he held the phone out, dialing a number and bringing it to his ear with a grim expression.

“Is it true?” he said, his voice filled with suppressed fury. “After everything I did for you… you betrayed me? Is it true?” There was a pause, with only the bustle of the market and your labored breathing to be heard. Then, in an icy tone of voice, he added, “Get your stuff out of my damn house. We’re done.”

He cut the call and stood still, tension drawn in every line of his body. You hesitated for a moment, but eventually approached. Just when it seemed like he was going to reject you, you noticed how his gaze softened at the sight of you. His lips moved, wanting to say something, but he only managed to murmur, “We have things to do.”

You had lost track of time since you had left that market following in Rafe’s footsteps. The hot afternoon breeze hit your face as you tried to keep up with him, not really knowing where he was taking you. One problem more or one less, you thought, it didn’t matter anymore. They walked through labyrinthine streets and narrow alleys, the echo of their footsteps resonating between the adobe walls. There was a latent tension in the air, something that made you lock your gaze on Rafe’s back, watching the stiffness of his shoulders and the way his hands clenched into fists.

Without warning, a group of men stepped out of the shadows. You recognized one of them, someone Rafe had had problems with before. It all happened so fast, the exchange of words was brief before the fists started flying. Rafe fiercely fought as if his life depended on it. You, without thinking, took a few steps back, your heart pounding, searching for something to defend yourself with in case it was necessary. 

The noise of the fight filled the narrow street, screams, the thud of fists, the sound of a body hitting a wall. Rafe won, as always. He never lost. When the last man fell to the ground, panting and cursing in his native tongue, Rafe turned to you, his face and knuckles marked by cuts and bruises.

Without saying a word, you took his arm and led him to a more secluded corner, your hands already shaking as you searched for a clean tissue in your bag. “Let me help you,” you said, your voice barely a whisper as you gently pressed a wound on his eyebrow. Blood dripped from it, tracing a trail down his cheek. 

He watched you in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he broke the silence, “You know, I should have known from the beginning. I should have chosen you… you never betrayed me.” His words, laden with a sincerity he rarely showed, made your hands freeze for a moment. 

You sighed, removing the tissue and looking at him with a mix of sadness and resignation. “It’s too late, Rafe. There are bigger things at stake now than choices of partner.”

He shook his head, a hint of desperation flashing in his eyes. “It’s not too late. I can choose you… if you let me.”

You felt your heart pounding against your ribs. You looked up at him, searching for any hint of doubt in his expression, but all you saw was determination. “Only if you get Sofia out of your life for good,” you warned, your tone more serious than you had planned. “Or I will kill her myself.”

A dark smile curved his lips, and he nodded, moving closer to you. “I know you would,” he whispered, before pulling your body into his. His lips sought yours, and the kiss was everything you had held back for so long. It was intense, passionate, a silent promise of all that could be and all that had been.

When he pulled back just a little, he tilted his head and whispered in your ear, “Future Mrs. Cameron.”

A shiver ran down your spine. Because, even though everything had been chaos, even though the decisions had been erratic and the wounds were still fresh, deep down in your heart, you hoped to be that: the future Mrs. Cameron. Because after all, you were expecting his child, and he, although he didn't know it yet, was already part of that future that you had begun to secretly imagine.

[esmedelacroix]

minors gtfo . i need y/n to step on toxic!sukuna's neck and not be a doormat for a sec .

Angry feminist bitch!reader who ghosted toxic!sukuna after they hooked up on their first date.

Don't be mistaken, it wasn't for no reason. Angry feminist bitch!reader was shocked by Sukuna’s lack of after care, she simply had to remove herself from the situation. I mean did you expect him to kiss you and tell you he loved you? Hell no. But after the delicious pounding you were given, a pat on the back or carrying you to the toilet would have been fine.

You realized then and there that Sukuna had lied. He didn’t want a genuine relationship. You didn’t know why you thought you would meet a guy who was serious about you on a dating app anyway. It was unfortunate because you had had the best sex of your life.

You were gripping the sheets as he pounded you from the back. He spanked you and pulled your hair and you were loving every second. You felt fireworks ignite in your stomach as he played with your clit which had you coming undone on his fat cock. The sexual attraction and his lust was perceived to you as a 'spark.' You promised yourself you wouldn't make that mistake again.

Angry feminist bitch!reader who left Sukuna’s apartment the moment she realized he was a piece of shit who didn’t know how treat a woman right. No after care was already a red flag. Then there was the multiple times in the bar he addressed you as ‘woman’ instead of your fucking name.

Toxic!sukuna who found himself randomly thinking about you whenever he went back to that same bar he took you to. His tastes had changed. You and that attitude of yours had blown him away. You ruined him in just one night. You and your tight, wet little cunt.

Convincing himself he wasn't hooked on you, he looked for women with your height, your eyes, or your hair; yet he couldn’t find one that was just right. They were beautiful but they weren’t you. Especially in the bedroom. You were a little brat. Not afraid to defy him. Fucking yourself back on him and misbehaving even after he slapped your ass just so he'd do it harder.

His dick jumped in his jeans when you told him off for ordering your food for you. "I'm perfectly capable of speaking for myself," you snapped. You then proceeded to order the exact menu item he had chosen for you. Or the time when he also tried to order you a fruity cocktail and you rolled your eyes just looking to the bartender who apparently knew you well and slid you a scotch and soda.

After failing his search for a carbon copy of you on the dating apps where he usually found women to fuck and ghost, he sat alone at the bar picking at a blooming onion. "Trouble in paradise, player?" the bartender asked sliding him a pint of Guinness(you called it liquid shit on your date).

Sukuna slightly smiled to himself at that memory of you. "Yeah, I fumbled man," he admitted.

"I figured, after your date with _____ went south and you kept comin' in with girls that somewhat looked like her," he chuckled.

"Why are you so observant?" he scoffed pouting to himself. Toji shrugged in response.

"Bartender thing. We know it all."

"You probably know how to win her back too," Sukuna assumed.

"Maybe."

"Tell me man, do me a solid," Sukuna insisted.

"I don't know dude, I see how you move. I just don't want you to break her heart. She's my friend you know," Toji explained. Toji had heard all the tales about Ryomen from the drunk women that would come in and wail about him. He heard about the no after care. He knew about the ghosting. He knew he only called the girls he 'dated' when he wanted to fuck. He knew he talked to women with zero respect. He didn't want you to get hurt(he knew you wouldn't let that happen) and wanted to be a supportive friend.

"Well she still went back to my place after. She must have liked something about me. You could argue I made her happy," Sukuna claimed with his arms crossed.

Toji chuckled at that, "That woman loves sex. She probably just wanted an orgasm outta ya. She's also getting closer and closer to misandry because of guys like you so just give up on her. She's too good for you."

"Hearing that from you, one would think you like her," Sukuna accused.

"Well of course I do. She's like a star. She's so far above me, I'm content with just watching her shine, hoping that one day I could be one too," he mused.

After hearing a big tough guy like Toji's poetic ass hogwash he knew he wasn't nearly man enough to be worthy of you. So he couldn't help be shocked when you answered one of his stupid spontaneous texts that night. Sukuna had begged you for a redo on your date again and you had finally answered, 'fine,�� after the 80th try. Angry feminist bitch!reader who just couldn’t help herself. So, he was a misogynistic shit head; the dick was too good. Besides, you could change him.

. . .

a/n: shall I continue ? lmk cus this was just word vomit .

[leahwllmsn]

good graces II

alexia putellas x reader

word count: 4.6k

part 1

You and Alexia are teammates. You still dislike her. So much.

Life at Barcelona was way better than you expected. It had only been a few months but it felt like you’ve always belonged here. 

The city was beautiful, you spent most weekends watching the sunset by the beach, a change from the gloomy England you were accustomed to. Sometimes a teammate would join you, mostly Kika or Jana, or you were on your own. You considered getting a pet cat, but you didn’t think they’d love being dragged to the beach. So you put that thought on hold.

Everyone at Barcelona welcomed you with open arms. You were playing better than you’ve ever played before. You and Alexia were… working well too.

After the first training session with your new team, you quickly realized that you and Alexia were better off as teammates instead of rivals. You two worked so well together, assisting each other’s goals and always finding each other on the field that even you were left feeling confused—what were the odds of having this type of connection with someone?

The only thing that didn’t change was the subtle acts of her trying to kill you, which now only happened during training. Pere would put you in separate teams, just because. You had a feeling it was because he liked to see you two fight, you overheard the other girls gossiping about it—how still having that spark of competition was healthy, or something. 

You didn’t know how it could still be considered healthy with every shove and every tackle your  way.

“Alexia, for god’s sake, that was your fifth yellow!”

“It was not!” The blonde had the decency to laugh. 

You laid still on the ground, Alexia having ‘accidentally’ pushed you again. No one batted an eye. 

“How is this fair?!” You groaned. “She clearly shoved me!”

“I didn’t! Princesa, get up!” 

You could only glare at your captain, still sporting that gummy smile of hers—how were you supposed to focus when she was smiling like that? All innocent as if she had no faults at all. You wanted to kill her back.

“C’mon, cariño,” Alexia offered her hand out for you to take, but you ignored her, choosing to lay still, staring up at the sky. 

“Go away.”

You glared at her again when all she did was laugh that addicting laugh of hers. You hated it so much.

“Can we take a short break?” Alexia told someone, you figured it was Pere. As the captain she sure could do anything she wanted. Like shove you around and not get a yellow card. Must be nice.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Your patience was wearing thin. It wasn’t the first time Alexia pushed you. Whether it was intentional or not (you would argue that it was definitely, one hundred percent intentional), you still fell because of it.

Alexia was strong. You didn’t need to see her defined biceps, how broad her shoulders were, those thighs—

You were smaller in frame compared to Alexia, of course she was much stronger than you. You’ve seen her lift weights as if it was nothing, she was so strong, sometimes you wonder if she could lift you up just as easily. That would be so hot. Not that you wanted her to lift you up in her strong arms, but it would be nice. 

Suddenly, you felt a warm body next to you. You furrowed your brows and opened your eyes to see Alexia mirroring your position.

“What are you doing?”

She simply shrugged, placing both her hands underneath her head and sighed. “Taking a break next to the prettiest girl on the field.”

You pushed her away from you, earning a laugh, but it only made your blood boil. When she didn’t bulge at all, acting like your shove was weak, you shoved her again, harder this time. “Go away, Alexia. I don’t want you here.”

Alexia scooted even closer to you. “But I’m comfortable here.”

You could only groan and cross your arms (secretly you enjoyed her warmth pressing against you). “My body will turn blue and you’re getting away with it. That was your fifth yellow!”

“We don’t distribute yellow cards during training, bonita.”

“What if I get hurt, huh? You never thought about that?”

“I would never hurt you. All my tackles are clean and I don’t push you to the ground on purpose! It’s all just part of the game, baby.”

“Don’t call me that.” (You liked it. Kind of.)

“Okay, sorry, amor.”

“You’re riling me up.”

You suddenly felt a finger poking your cheek. “What the-”

“Forgive me please, hermosa.”

“No, you’re annoying.” Alexia repeatedly poked your cheek, you had to swat her hand away. “Alexia! Go annoy someone else.”

“Give me a smile please, princesa, you’re prettier when you smile.”

You internally cursed yourself at the slight tug of your lips. You hoped she didn’t notice. Alexia annoyed you to death, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t crave her attention. You sat up and flicked the blonde’s forehead. 

“Ow!” you could see a couple of heads turning at Alexia’s shout. “That hurts!”

“No it didn’t, you’re so dramatic,” you looked at how she was still holding a hand over her forehead. “It was nothing.”

“It hurts,” Alexia pouted. She pouted and you felt that tug in your heart at the sight. You sighed, taking her hand away from her forehead, leaning down to inspect what she claimed was forming a bruise.

You didn’t realize how close your faces were, you were too busy focusing on finding any indication of a bruise to see her eyes flicking down to your lips.

“Stop lying,” you stated. “I doubt that hurt.”

“It does,” Alexia whined. “I’m fragile!”

You rolled your eyes at her. You knew the only way to get her to shut up was to turn the tables on her. So you did the only thing you could think of, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead.

The moment you heard her breath hitch, you knew you got her.

“There,” you whispered. “Now it won’t hurt.”

You flashed a smirk at her dumbfounded face and stood up.

Now it was your turn to offer a hand, raising an eyebrow when Alexia did nothing but gaped at you. 

“Stop looking at me like that, Alexia,” you took her hand and forced her to get up. “You look like a fish.”

When Alexia said nothing else and you had to drag her to where everyone was, you knew you won this round.

Looking at how red her face was, knowing that it wasn’t because of the heat (it was a cool day in Barcelona), you felt so smug the entire day.

—

“So… you and Alexia are a thing now?”

You spluttered your coffee across the table, Kika grimacing when she felt some of it on her face. “Gross.”

It was a Sunday before a match at home. Ever since the season started, you and Kika had developed a ritual where you would get coffee at this little café near the stadium.

“Then don’t ask me stupid questions when I’m drinking!”

Kika rolled her eyes at you, wiping your mess with some napkins. “It’s not a stupid question when everyone on the team thinks so. I saw you kiss her forehead last week!”

You felt the heat rising up to your cheeks. You thought no one saw that. “I didn’t,” you lied through gritted teeth. “Besides, I hate her. I can’t stand her. I want to kill her. Sometimes.”

“Wow,” suddenly you heard a voice from behind you. A very familiar voice you knew too well (you heard it in your dreams a million times). “I’m sad to hear that, princesa.”

“Alexia.”

You glared at her in greeting when she rested a hand on your shoulder. 

“Hola, mi amor,” Alexia grinned at you. Kika was grinning at you too, you wanted to smack your best friend’s face.

“What are you doing here? You’re ruining my pre-game ritual. It involves Kika, coffee, and not seeing your face for a few hours.”

“You wound me, cariño,” Alexia placed a hand over her heart and pouted. She saw the empty seat to your left and went to sit, placing her cup of coffee on the table. “Don’t act like you’re not happy to see me here.”

“I’m not,” you shifted your chair to your right, away from Alexia. It was futile though, because all Alexia did was smirk and followed suit, shifting closer to you every time you moved away.

“You two are so cute,” you were snapped out of your glaring contest with the blonde when you heard Kika’s voice. “I want what you two have.”

Before you could reply, Alexia beat you to it. “Gracias. We are cute, aren’t we, bebita?”

“I’m cute, yes. You? Not so much,” you drank your remaining coffee, wanting to get out of there. A part of you didn’t though. It was that conflicting emotions that resurfaced whenever Alexia was around.

You hated Alexia. You really did. Or at least, you thought you did.

But a part of you knew that you didn’t. You liked her. You liked her presence, you liked the way she looked at you—the stupid smirk always present on her face as her eyes twinkled with mischief—you liked the way her cheeks turned red whenever you flirted back, her stutters before she composed herself and returned that cool demeanour.

You liked how well you two worked on the pitch, how you were so sure that if you two played with a blindfold on, you would still be able to find one another. You liked when you two were the only ones left after a training session, both of you doing extra shooting practices in silence. You liked when Alexia came up to you a day after a match with her iPad, you two sitting down on the floor of the locker room as she showed you what she thought could be improved and you telling her your opinions.

You two liked to bicker, but other times, you two could act friendly too. You liked it a lot when Alexia wasn’t giving off major teenage boy vibes. 

(You would be lying if you said you didn’t like when she was purposely riling you up though. You secretly looked forward to it. But you wouldn’t admit it to anyone. Ever).

��Hey, earth to the prettiest girl on the planet,” Alexia waved a hand over your face. Great. You were daydreaming about her again. It was becoming concerning how often your thoughts drifted to her. “All good? We’ve been calling your name.”

Meanwhile Kika was looking at you and Alexia as if the two of you were the modern day Romeo and Juliet. You weren’t even together. You made a mental note to emphasize that to Kika. You and Alexia were colleagues at best. 

“I’m all good,” you averted your gaze away from her, hating that her eyes were searching yours, her hazel eyes showing a hint of worry as if she was actually concerned about you. 

“All good because I’m here?” Alexia wiggled her eyebrows. Kika’s grin became impossibly bigger. You rolled your eyes to the back of your head. 

You took your cup to your lips but realized they were empty. You sighed. Alexia being here made you feel like you need ten more cups of coffee. Before you could stand up and get yourself another though, Alexia took your empty cup and replaced it with hers.

“It’s almond milk,” she stated, her eyebrows raised as if urging you to drink it.

“You hate almond milk,” you said back. It was true, you knew for a fact that Alexia drank her coffee with oat milk. You heard it in passing once and your brain decided to store this fact somewhere. You remembered confronting Alexia about it, because you believed that coffee with almond milk was superior and you couldn’t comprehend how someone could dislike it.

Alexia shrugged at you and you narrowed your eyes at her. Things weren’t adding up. Alexia would never willingly buy this. You could only conclude one thing. “It’s poisonous, isn’t it? Must I remind you that we have a game tonight? I can’t get poisoned!”

The laugh your captain let out was able to make a couple of heads turn in your direction. You slapped her forearm with the hand that wasn’t holding the coffee. “Shut up, Alexia. What’s so funny?”

“It’s not poisonous, princesa,” Alexia rolled her eyes and took back her coffee. She took a sip and exhaled dramatically then put the cup back in your hand. “See? I’m still alive. That was disgusting, but I’m still alive.”

“Okay…” you dragged out, still confused why Alexia bought a coffee she would never drink. You got rid of the thought that she bought it for you. That she went to the café just to see you.

But that would be ridiculous.

…But very possible with the way Alexia let you have her coffee and ended up leaving the café without having drank anything else.

If it was true, it could only mean Alexia wanted something from you and you needed to find out what.

—

The game went fairly easy. You were playing against a team at the bottom of the table. With both you and Alexia starting, it wasn’t a shock that you were up 3-0 within the first fifteen minutes.

Everyone felt good about the game, there were smiles all over the pitch, even you and Alexia hugged after you assisted a goal for her. 

It was a calm Sunday night game. 

Nobody could predict that an opposing player would mistime their tackle, causing your legs to buckle from underneath you.

The next thing you knew, you were screaming out in pain.

It was your ankle. It hurt a lot. 

“Cariño, breathe, calm down, you’re going to be okay.” You heard your captain’s voice before you could see her, your eyes still shut from the excruciating pain you were feeling. “Princesa, you’re okay.”

You felt her hand wipe your tears away, causing you to slowly open your eyes.

Alexia was crouched next to you, you could spot the worry on her face clear as day. You didn’t know why that was, you didn’t think it was simply because she was your captain. Alexia was not usually this concerned when someone else was down. You felt that familiar tug in your heart again, the one present whenever Alexia did something unthinkable.

From the corner of your eyes, you saw the medic inspecting your leg, you heard the mutters of noticeable swelling and how you definitely sprained your ankle.

You tried to control your breathing, following Alexia’s instructions as she repeated over and over for you to breathe. You knew you fucked your ankle. You didn’t know how bad it was though. You hoped for a mild sprain but you doubt it with the way your ankle felt like it wasn’t connected to the rest of your body.

The medic mentioned a possible torn ligament, something you knew that if it was severe, it would take months to recover. Fresh tears appeared from your eyes again. Alexia was there to wipe them away before they fell. 

“Hey, hey, focus on me,” Alexia had her hands on your cheeks, she was kneeling now and you almost protested, always feeling that tiny fear whenever she put some type of pressure on her knee even though it was perfectly fine now—not that you cared about her, you just needed her to never get injured again—“Cariño, look at me.”

You focused your gaze on her. Her hazel eyes with so much concern swirling around in them that you felt overwhelmed. “Ale,” you croaked out. “This hurts like shit.”

Alexia let out a watery laugh. You couldn’t figure out why she was tearing up too. “I know, princesa. Just hold on. You’ll be okay.”

“Fuck,” you cursed. You didn’t feel like you would be okay, but you saw the confidence in Alexia’s eyes when she kept on telling you that you’d get through this and that she’d be there for you every step of the way. You could feel yourself starting to believe her.

They pulled out a stretcher for you. A protest was already on the tip of your tongue when you felt Alexia rubbing gentle circles on the back of your hand. “I know you want to walk off this field, but I think it’s better if you get on that stretcher.”

You looked at the blonde next to you and that was when you realized that Alexia knew you better than you thought.

“Being stretched off doesn’t mean you’re any less strong. I’ll see you after the game, okay?”

You could only nod at her, not sure where this Alexia came from.

Alexia kissed the palm of your hand before letting you leave. Despite the pain in your ankle, you felt a little at peace, replaying the way her lips felt against your hand.

—

The doctors confirmed that you had a grade 2 sprain in your ankle. The recovery was going to take a month or so, depending on your progress.

You were just relieved that you didn’t need surgery. You had always been afraid of the hospitals. The thought of staying there for more than a day was chilling. 

Now that the pain had subsided, you felt calmer. You were able to plan out what you were going to do to get yourself healthy and back on the field. You were able to replay the events on the field, how you went down and how Alexia was there to take care of you. 

Speaking of which, the moment the doctors finished speaking to you, the door opened and Alexia peeked her head in.

“Hola,” Alexia gave you a comforting smile. You noticed she was holding a bag of pastries from your favourite bakery. You raised an eyebrow at her.

“Are those for me?” you croaked out, your words were spoken above a whisper.

Alexia stood next to your bed, dropping the brown paper bag on your lap. “Figured you’d be hungry.”

“I don’t have the stomach to eat,” you tried your best to smile at her. You were so tired. “But thank you.”

“We can heat this up later.”

You looked at her in confusion. “We?”

“Yes,” Alexia answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m taking you home and I’m moving in.”

In your defense, your brain was still hazy from all the pain killers they pumped into you and from the information you had to hear from the doctors and the Barcelona staff. You could have sworn that Alexia, who you weren’t even sure if she was your friend, said she was going to move in. To your place, you assumed. 

You figured your brain was just playing tricks on you so you could only nod at her and let her take you home.

—

You were trying to get yourself comfortable on your couch, Alexia fussing over the way you sit and the way your ankle should be rested. It was ridiculous.

“Alexia, I’m fine.”

“Your ankle needs to be at the right angle, hermosa, or else it will hurt even more.” Now Alexia was puffing up the pillows behind you, then putting two more pillows on each of your sides. You were pretty much drowning in your throw pillows.

Once she was satisfied with her work, she flopped on the spot next to you and let out the longest exhale. “I’m glad you’re taking this well, Y/n.”

You looked to your right. Alexia had her eyes closed, she was wearing your hoodie because she complained that your apartment was as cold as the North Pole and she didn’t bring any more clothes with her. Alexia looked at ease and you couldn’t help but let yourself enjoy this view. 

This was a side of Alexia you hadn’t seen before.

“You’ve been too nice to me,” you stated. Your statement caused the other girl to raise her eyebrows, a coy smile on her lips. “First, you bought me coffee this morning—”

“I didn’t buy that coffee for you,” Alexia interjected. “Your coffee was finished so I offered you mine.”

You looked at her as if you didn’t believe her. She was lying, you could tell because her lips twitched when she told a lie. “You don’t drink almond milk so I know you bought it for me, hermosa.”

“Ah,” Alexia smirked at you. Your cheeks reddened. “You think I’m beautiful?”

You tried to play it cool, a shrug was your answer. Alexia scooted closer to you, until her body was pressed against the throw pillow on your side. “So you are attracted to me.”

You couldn’t help the scoff that escaped your lips. “No. I only called you that because you call me that all the time. Just making fun of you. Something like that.”

“Well, I call you that because you are beautiful.”

The way your cheeks heat up so quickly should be a crime, honestly. You knew Alexia enjoyed this whole thing.

“You’re… okay,” you shrugged. “You’re not exactly my type.” (A lie).

Alexia looked genuinely offended at your statement. You took great pleasure in the way the frown on her face deepend. 

“I’m not your type?” she asked incredulously.

“Nope,” you smiled sweetly at her. “The only person I would date on the team is Frido. Now she’s definitely my type.” You weren’t attracted to Frido at all, but it was fun to see Alexia getting worked up over this.

“Frido is straight!”

“Frido is tall,” you mentioned dreamily—for dramatics. 

Alexia crossed her arms. “She’s not that tall.” 

“Frido is blonde. All blondes are hot.”

You almost laughed at the way Alexia lights up. “I’m blonde too.”

“Well,” you sent her your best pitying look. “You’re not a natural blonde. It doesn’t count.”

Alexia shot out of her seat. “It does!”

This time you did laugh. Alexia looked like you just told her something so awful, like Barcelona is the worst club in the world. It was adorable. Kind of. “Relax, Capi. I’m not attracted to Frido,” you didn’t know why but you felt the need to clarify. 

“Oh,” Alexia sat back down, trying to act nonchalant. You could tell she wanted to ask more questions about your type, but you couldn’t exactly say that she was your type.

A conversation for another day.

“Can you make me something to eat?” you changed the subject before Alexia could say anything else. “I’m hungry now.”

Alexia didn’t say anything else, her face was set to a determined look as she went straight to your kitchen. This was the first time the blonde had stepped in your apartment, but she acted as if she owned the place with the way she moved around your kitchen, somehow knowing where everything was placed.

“I’m going to have to stop by my place to get a couple of clothes. I will be back in an hour.” Alexia handed you a plate. You inspected the sandwich, noting that it had mayo and tomato sauce, just how you liked it. You were too stunned that Alexia knew your sandwich preference that you didn’t catch her sentence until she was halfway out the door.

“Wait!”

Alexia jumped at your voice, immediately turning around. “What? What is it?”

“What… exactly did you mean?”

Alexia looked at you questioningly. 

“Why are you going home and coming back in an hour?” you clarified.

“I’m… going to my place because I need clothes? It’s a 20 minute drive.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And why… do you need clothes?”

Because Alexia was Alexia, instead of answering your question seriously, she threw you the biggest smirk with flirty eyes. “Do you prefer I walk around your apartment naked?”

Your eyes widened at her statement. It was ridiculous that you felt your face getting warm at the images of Alexia in your apartment—

“Okay, no! I don’t want you naked—”

“Sure, bonita.”

You groaned. “Can you explain why you’re coming back when you can just go home? I don’t mind. Really. Thanks for bringing me home and for the sandwich.”

“No way. I’m moving in.”

You stared at her, speechless. Neither of you said anything. Alexia muttered something underneath her breath that you couldn’t quite catch and walked back towards you. 

“I will take care of you,” Alexia stated, sitting down on the coffee table in front of you. “So the best way to do that is to move in.”

“Move in… here?” you were stunned. Genuinely. “To take care of me…?”

Alexia nodded. She looked so sure of this, it was the face she made when she knew she was going to win a match.

You looked at her as if she was crazy, which she was. So you told her just that. “You’re crazy. You are not moving in.”

“Princesa, I’m moving in,” Alexia said so casually, as if she was saying that she was making omelets for breakfast and not telling you that she wanted to live with you. “Which side of the bed do you prefer?”

You stare dumbfoundedly at her. Alexia wanted to move in because she wanted to take care of you. You felt like you were in some sort of fever dream. Did you get a concussion too aside from a sprained ankle? That was the best conclusion you could think of. 

But Alexia was actually in front of you, looking at you as she waited for an answer.

“Right side,” you replied absentmindedly, still not quite believing that this was real. “You're moving in.” You wanted it to be a question, but it came more like a statement.

Alexia flashed you the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. “Yes, I’m moving in,” she stood up and placed a gentle kiss on your temple. You were frozen. You died and this was the afterlife, perhaps. “I’ll be back in an hour, okay?”

“Okay,” you managed to squeak out. 

“Anything you need, you tell me, cariño.”

You nod slowly at her, trying to decide what to do next. 

Alexia, feeling satisfied that you somehow had agreed to her moving in, continued to sport a smile as she walked to the door. You swore you saw a red tint on her cheeks. She looked almost shy, you realized.

Suddenly, you felt a spark inside. You decided that you had enough and you weren’t going to be the only one flustered here.

“Hey, Ale?”

“Yes, amor?”

“I think… I know what will make me feel better.”

Alexia looked expectantly at you, one hand already on the door knob.

“You… walking around my apartment naked sounds pretty good actually,” you said with an air of pure nonchalance, you could give yourself an oscar. “It’s going to do wonders for my stress level. You know, having a pretty, hot girl tending to my needs.” You sighed dramatically. “Then I would like a massage. So if you have a massage oil at your place, that would be good. If not, I guess lube would work fine too.”

The way Alexia’s eyes widened with every word coming out of your mouth was downright hilarious. You probably broke her with the way she stood by the door, mouth agape, not moving a muscle. 

She was saved by Kika, who suddenly appeared, looking confused at the state Alexia was in.

“I’m…I will—” Alexia was stuttering, you were having the time of your life.

“You okay, Capi?” 

Alexia looked at Kika, then back at you. “Sí.” Then she bolted.

You heard a crash. Kika later told you it was Alexia who tripped on her shoelaces.

You had a feeling that despite being injured, you were going to enjoy the month ahead.

[moonstruckme]

Hiya love, I’ve got a little Carmy idea? If it makes it out the gulag, then brilliant. If not, then at least it’s a nice little thought for us, eh? So I was thinking, maybe it’s set in season one and the reader worked at the bear back when it was the beef. So when Carmy joins, the reader could be on holiday leave or time off to grieve Mikey or something, and when Carmy’s changing everything up Richie can be all ‘big dog won’t like this’ and everyone, even Tina keeps making comments about big dog (the reader). Then! Like a week later or something, the reader comes back to work and she’s all meek and mellow and lovely, and Carmy’s just petrified of her because she’s ’the big dog’ but it turns out everyone just calls her that because she quite literally just has a big dog? Feel absolutely free to ignore the ramble, but if it sparks any creative flow at all, I’d be barking like dog for ya (pun intended this time lol). Hope you’re well, love you lots, have a great day :)

Thank you angel, hope you have a great day too! <3

cw: mention of past death, grief kinda skimmed over but there

Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 932 words

Carmy is ready for a fight. He’s had to be ready every day since he started running The Beef, really, a fight always crops up whether he’s ready or not, but today he’s extra prepared. He hears the back door open as he’s doing inventory, and he gets all geared up. 

This is his restaurant now. His shitshow. Carmy can run it into the ground if he wants to—and he doesn’t want to, but he could, that’s basically what was happening anyway, and the point is that now it’s his. No matter what anybody fucking says, no matter how the back of the house rags on him, he’s—

“Oh. Hi.” 

You look surprised to see him. And Carmy thought he was ready for you, but he’s surprised too. You don’t…maybe he’s about to eat his words, but you don’t look like a Big Dog. You’re not what he was expecting. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“You must be Carmy.” He can see your eyes roving his face, looking for Mikey. A lot of people have been doing that lately. 

Carmy never thought they looked much like brothers. Some people said it was in their mouths, though Mikey’s smiled more. Some people said they sounded the exact same, but only when they were angry. Whatever you find, you offer a faint smile at the end. It’s confusing. 

“Yeah,” Carmy says awkwardly. “You’re early.” 

“I like to come in a little early,” you say by way of explanation. Feet taking you to your station as if by muscle memory, your eyes still on Carmy’s. “Used to be the only one. Is there anything I can help with?” 

“Uh, sure. Four cups of cheese.” 

“Oh it, chef.” You salute, heading towards the pantry. 

Carmy eyes you as you walk back to your station and start shredding. He was ready for a fight, but he doesn’t know what he’s getting into now. Is this some kind of fucking psychological warfare? 

All week, it’s been ooh, Big Dog won’t like that. Just wait ‘til Big Dog gets back. You really wanna fuck with Big Dog’s system? Digging your own grave, Jeff. Big Dog, Big Dog, Big Dog. Carmy doesn’t know exactly what he was anticipating, but it wasn’t you. He guesses appearances don’t mean everything. Tina can be fucking terrifying when she wants to, too. 

“So,” you say, shredding calmly, “how are you?” 

Carmy frowns. “Huh?” 

You look up. Something in his expression puts a worried pinch between your brows. “Sorry, was that too personal?” you ask, and though Carmy waits for the mocking tone he doesn’t hear it. “I just mean, with everything with your brother, and then taking on this place, and the total restructuring, it has to be a lot. I’m sure…” You look at him again, biting your tongue. “But, sorry, we don’t even know each other. I don’t mean to pry.” 

“It’s fine,” he finds himself saying. Which, it’s not really, but you keep fucking apologizing. It’s making him squirm. “Yeah, it’s…it’s been a fucking trip.” 

You nod compassionately. “I’m sure. Listen, I know it’s not the same, but Mikey was like family to a lot of us.” It’s something Carmy’s heard a lot recently. Sometimes in accusatory tones, usually making jealousy rise like bile in his throat, but something about the way you say it sounds different. It’s sincere, like an offering. Like company. 

“If there’s anything you need,” you go on, “you can let me know. I mean, it seems like you’ve already got this place running better than it ever did.” You look around the room appreciatively. Admiring the clean kitchen, which used to be spotted everywhere with rust stains and globs of old food. “But I’m always happy to take on more if you’ve got stuff.” 

Carmy looks at you. Your lips are curved in a faint smile, eyes soft and warm. He can’t find one thing about you that looks insincere. 

He’s about to say sure, the s a breath on his tongue, when the door bangs open. 

“Big Dog!” Richie shouts. 

“Hey!” Your grin widens. You allow yourself to be pulled roughly into a side hug. “Good to see you, Rich. How’re you holding up?” 

“Eh.” Richie shrugs, false insouciance twisting his expression. But his eyes are tender for you. “You know.” 

“Yeah.” You bump his shoulder lightly, careful to keep your hands clean. “I get it.” 

“Why Big Dog?” Carmy blurts. 

You and Richie both look at him in confusion. 

“What?” Richie asks. 

“Why…” Carmy shakes his head, baffled. “Why does everyone call you Big Dog?” 

“Oh.” You laugh. It’s maybe the best thing Carmy’s heard all week, which is just fucking disorienting. “You mean because of Gladys?” 

“Gladys?” Carmy echoes. 

“Fucking rottweiler, cousin,” says Richie. “Big fucking dog.” 

“I know what a rottweiler is,” Carmy nearly snaps. His gaze whips to you. It’s a common enough tone for him—Richie always brings it out—but he finds he doesn’t want to raise his voice so much with you around to hear. If you notice, though, you don’t seem to think much of it. “You aren’t a rottweiler.” 

“But she has a rottweiler, man.” Richie slaps him on the shoulder, scoffing. “Get over it. It’s a nickname!” 

“It’s a fucking stupid nickname.” Carmy does snap this time, regretting it when your eyebrows raise. 

He’s about to backtrack—you’re not stupid, obviously you’re not stupid, but Richie is the stupidest motherfucker Carmy ever had the misfortune of meeting—when he sees the smile playing on your lips. 

You shrug, light as anything. “Guess you’ll have to give me a new one then.”

[itsnesss]

𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 | sensei wolf × fem!reader

summary | at the sekai taikai, you reunite with your ex, the sensei of iron dragons. the tension between you is undeniable. after the competition, in a private moment, the attraction you both kept hidden for so long explodes

warnings | sensei!reader, smut, explicit content, masturbation, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex

word count | 2.0 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The air at the Sekai Taikai was thick with tension. The competition between the dojos was unstoppable, but for you, the real battle began long before the first kicks were thrown. The reunion with him was about to happen.

It had been months since you last saw him. After the breakup, there hadn’t been a call or a message. As if everything between you had been erased in one swift blow. Yet, despite the years, everything still lingered in your mind, like a wound that never healed. You knew that the Wolf's Path dojo, your dojo, and Iron Dragons would compete, but deep down, you weren't prepared for what you'd face when you came face to face with him.

You were in your zone, preparing your students, when you saw him. He was standing at the end of the room, watching his own group with attention. The moment was brief, but long enough for your eyes to meet his. That same damn arrogant gleam you hated so much, yet secretly made you shiver, was back. His gaze was a mix of challenge and something else, something only you could recognize: repressed desire. And somehow, that made you feel vulnerable.

You walked toward him without thinking, your steps echoing across the polished floor. You knew this wasn’t going to be easy. It never had been. But at least now, both of you were the leaders of your respective dojos, and that gave you both some control over the situation.

"Looks like you’re still leading your students like a dictator," he said, a sarcastic smile on his face.

"And you’re still with that arrogant attitude, huh? Still using your students as pawns in a chess game?" you replied, your voice a little firmer than you expected.

The conversation was tense, but not only because of the words. The air between you was thick with history, with passions that had never truly extinguished. The fight in the ring was just an excuse for the battle that was raging inside each of you.

"So, how have you been, really?" he asked, his gaze softening, as if looking for a crack in the relationship you once shared.

You stopped for a moment. You couldn’t show weakness, not now. "I’m fine," you said, even though you knew it wasn’t true. You couldn’t let him notice. "And you, still playing your dirty games?

He chuckled, that low, dangerous laugh that had once captivated you. "I’ve never changed," he said, stepping a little closer to you. "And I don’t think I ever will."

You felt trapped, but not by his presence. It was the attraction you’d always felt for him. The spark that, although you tried to extinguish it, was still alive. You wanted to push him away, shove him far, but desire had everything under control.

"So, you think this is the place to settle old scores?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, trying to maintain an air of indifference.

"Maybe not here. But I’m sure after all this... there are plenty of things we need to clear up."

The challenge was in the air. Neither one of you was willing to back down, but the eye contact was just as powerful as ever. The attraction was there, palpable, even if neither of you admitted it.

The tournament went on, and the heat of the competition grew with each round. When you finally found yourselves on the battlefield, the Wolf's Path dojo and Iron Dragons showed their best. The precise movements of your students met the controlled brutality of his. Sweat, punches, and adrenaline filled the air, but for you, there was something more important than just winning.

The match ended with Iron Dragons as the winner, but the real fight had only just begun. In the locker rooms, after the students had left, you found yourself alone with him.

"I think it was a tie," he said, slowly approaching.

"It was," you replied, trying to stay calm, though his closeness was starting to affect you. "Now what?"

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he moved close enough for you to feel his breath on your face. "I miss you," he whispered, his words almost lost among the distant noise of the dojo.

It was an unexpected confession. The emotions you had buried deep inside you began to bubble to the surface. Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward him. The tension that had been building all day exploded in that instant, and in one swift movement, your lips found his.

It was a fierce kiss, full of the frustration and desire both of you had been holding back for so long. It wasn’t gentle or soft. It was fiery, as if all the lost time between you was being consumed by the heat of the moment. You clung to him, letting your fingers trace his back, while he gently pushed you against the wall.

You felt lost in his touch, in his kiss. The contact between you two was electric, and you couldn’t fight it. Every inch of your body burned with the same desire you had felt from the first moment you met him. In that moment, everything else faded away. There were no rules, no rival dojos, only him and you.

"Do you know what I want?" he whispered, his voice deep and full of intent.

"I know," you replied, breathless, not wanting to stop what had just begun.

His breath was ragged, his fingers roamed your skin, searching for your soft skin. Your hand slid down, searching for his groin. You found it hard, ready for you, and your heart raced with anticipation.

"God" you murmured, as you approached him. "I'm sorry..."

"I don't need you to feel it," he said, caressing your cheek. "I need you to let me do it".

Her voice was serious, but her eyes sparkled with the same dangerous glint that had always attracted you. You bent down a little, allowing him to pull down your pants and underwear. In seconds, you found yourself sitting on one of the benches, with him between your legs, looking at you with the intensity that only he was capable of making you feel.

The anticipation had driven you to the limit. You needed him inside you. You felt it there, pressing against your wet lips. "Please," you said, barely able to speak.

"I want you to come closer".

He smiled. That damned smile that had always been able to make you forget everything else. "I won't do it," he said. "Not yet. Do you remember how we used to like it?"

His voice was a whisper in your ear, but you knew exactly what he wanted. You had longed for it for a long time, without admitting it. "Yes, I remember" you said. "But..."

"If I do this to you, if you like me like this, I promise I can be inside you for much longer," he said, as he began to kiss your neck. "And I can assure you that I will make you enjoy it a lot".

It was impossible to resist him. It never had been. You felt yourself falling into the abyss of his eyes, losing all ability to fight. You wanted the same thing as him.

You nodded, and he began to slide his index finger along the curve of your wet lips. That was all you needed to start moving towards him. His fingers found your clitoris and began to trace it with soft and precise movements.

"God..." you murmured. "That's incredible".

He laughed softly while kissing your neck, playing with your sensitive skin. "You could never forget me" he whispered. "Nor this..."

Your hips began to move up and down, towards him, seeking him out. His fingers had brought you very close to the peak, but you didn't want to end it that way. "I want you to be inside," you said.

"No," he murmured, increasing the pressure on your clitoris.

"Please...".

"Say that you need me," he said. "Say that I do what you like".

"Yes..." you replied. "Please, I need..."

"What do you need, huh?" he murmured. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to touch me like this," you said, starting to move your hips up and down.

"And what else?"

"I want to see you masturbate," you said, and your words seemed to surprise him. "I want to see your fingers on you while you make me enjoy".

That seemed to make him laugh a little. "I think this is new," he said.

"It's something I've always wanted" you replied. "I like seeing you like this".

"You are incredible" he said. "Sometimes I wonder how I could let you go..."

And before you could respond, he took your face in his hands and kissed you, deeply. His mouth slid over yours, his lips sucking yours. And in that moment, you felt yourself melt under his fingers.

"Go on..." you told him. "I want to see you like this".

He nodded and began to masturbate slowly, looking you in the eyes. His breathing was rapid, and you knew it wouldn't be long before he came. Your hips kept moving up and down over his fingers, while his movements became faster. At one moment, he stopped and stood up. He approached you, and without you saying another word, he penetrated you fully.

You felt it there, hard and big inside you, while his eyes met yours. It was exactly as you remembered. You felt it filling you, taking control of every inch of you. And as you began to move beneath him, his breath became a whisper that enveloped your entire body.

"You make me lose control," he murmured.

"That's what I want" you said, panting. "I want to feel you like this...".

His fingers caressed you, playing with the curve of your breasts. That was enough for you to start reaching the peak.

He paused for a moment, looking at you. His eyes shone, but he didn't respond. Instead, he slid out a little, just to penetrate you once more. That was all you needed to reach the peak, with a muffled scream.

He took you, penetrating you again and again, until he also reached his climax. He emptied himself into you, spilling onto your soft lips. And there they were, both of them, with their bodies intertwined, as the slow breathing led us into calmness.

When they finally separated, both were breathing heavily, looking into each other's eyes as if the reality of what had happened was still settling in.

"This doesn't change anything," you said, trying to regain your composure, even though you knew deep down that everything had changed.

"I know," he said, as he slowly let you go. "But I will never lose you again".

[revelboo]

Oh, no! I hope you feel better soon!

They called with my biopsy results today and it changed my diagnosis completely and I’m so damn relieved. Go back next week to talk treatment options

Sick

Metroplex x Reader

• Stressed watching you press a cool, damp cloth over your mouth, Metroplex slips into Scamper. Sliding the drone’s hand against your spine as you groan. How can one tiny, organic purge so much? Spark aching as you shift restlessly, he combs the drone’s servos through your hair. You’d been cold, so he’d piled your berth with blankets, but now you’re sweating again, stripped down naked with most of the sheets kicked off the berth as you roll onto your belly.

• Swallowing convulsively as you resist the urge to pull a pillow over your head, you feel the mattress dip as the drone stretches out beside you. Hoping he’s not about to again suggest an infusion of nanites to help with your recovery. Because you’re definitely not in a sexy mood even if it might help with the food poisoning. Resupplies pretty sporadic and sometimes you end up eating something a little older than you’d like. This is the first time you’ve paid for it with food poisoning, though. Breathing shallowly as Metroplex keeps rubbing your back, you hear the drone hum softly.

• Trying to remember an old Cybertronian lullaby, he sings bits and pieces of it, soothing himself as much as trying to help you. Doesn’t like you being sick when he doesn’t know what to do to make it better. “Tell me about the other Titans,” you whisper and he hesitates. Hasn’t thought of them in so long, still feels that ache at losing them. At learning that he’s likely it, the last of them. “You don’t have to,” you add quickly when he’s silent.

• “We,” he starts, trailing off and it’s not like him to be at a loss. “We were travelers once. Explorers.” Instead of living arsenals, mega weapons. Those are the things you’d heard about the Titans from the Autobots calling him home before you’d realized he was awake, trying to desperately reach out for help. “We’re all, were, interconnected. I felt when they faded one by one,” he adds, Scamper’s voice crackling with static and you see his massive spark ripple and churn high over head. ‘I’m sorry,’ you whisper, aware of how inadequate those words are as he curls the drone around you, tugging you onto your side with your back to him. And he’s humming again, voice wavering as he sings alien words you don’t understand and you try to imagine how lonely that must have been. Trapped and crippled, feeling his kind slowly just go out like dying stars and unable to reach them. Helpless.

• Palm splayed against you to feel your heart beating, he vents softly through the drone. Do you realize you saved him from that fate? Slowly fading away, his space bridge tearing him apart from the inside while the Autobots who called him home struggled to figure out what was happening. Unable to just tell them. Dying so slowly and every time he’d felt the missing connection of another Titan just slip away from him, he’d lost a little more hope. Knowing he was fading away, too. And then you’d started talking to him, this tiny organic. Given him something to focus on, grounding him with your voice when you told him about your day. Had started trying to help you, watching over you, protecting this fragile, short lived alien that showed him more kindness than he’d ever expected.

[harrywavycurly]

Summary: Harry has been single for so long that he’s come to the realization that maybe he’s just not meant to be with anyone, and while he’s fine with that it has become slightly concerning to some of the people in his life because they can’t remember the last time Harry was seen in the studio. His longtime friend and manager Jeff is worried the spark that keeps Harry inspired and motivated is gone and he thinks it’s mainly due to one thing, Harry’s lack of a love life. So what does he do? He takes matters into his own hands and gets Harry a companion bot, and that bot is you and while it’s not a total guaranteed love match Jeff is hoping you’ll at least get the creative juices flowing and help get Harry back in the studio. But what happens is something no one expects leaving Jeff with a choice to make.

This series shows how Harry’s life changes the moment he “accidentally” runs into you at a party and how he makes you feel things you don’t think you’re supposed to be feeling, maybe it’s a glitch or maybe it’s just you’ve found your match.💗

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!bot Reader

A/N: This series is based on the movie Companion, you don’t need to watch it to understand this series because I am changing things a bit. Also this series is going to be angsty just a warning, now it will be fluffy as well but don’t say I didn’t warn you when you’re going through it for a bit. And if this isn’t your thing that’s fine! We don’t judge over here my loves!💗

CW: Language, manipulation (Jeff is a bit of a dick is this), drinking, angst, bit of gaslighting, controlling behavior, possessiveness, jealousy, a smidge of emotional abuse, tension and possible smut(don’t quote me lol).

Tag List: Open

Posting Schedule: Every Other Friday💗

Extras: Here

Part 1: Does She Know?

Part 2: Wrecking Ball

Part 3: What Do You Mean?

[bumblequinn]

hi @sourpatchsquids! thank you for your question.

as an artist with ADHD, i know this struggle very well. unfortunately offering advice on this kind of thing can be tricky, because what works for me may not work for you (and vice versa!). nonetheless, i can try; take whatever works for you, forget the rest, or reshape any part of it as you see fit. :)

but before i offer any actual tools, i have one caveat. i want you to take a moment to reflect and consider if you should be:

changing expectations

the timing of this question seems fated, because just the other day i had a therapy session wherein i expressed my grief and frustration over struggling to work lately due to my seasonal depression. it's not fair that i'm struggling just because it got a little darker outside! i just want the spark i had in the summer! i was so much more consistent!

my therapist's response: nothing about human beings is consistent. we get sick, we get tired, we get hungry and thirsty (and thirsty) and sad and lonely and restless and stressed and overwhelmed. this all gets amplified for folks who are atypical in some way or another.

when my therapist compared our seasonal cycles to those of plants and other animals, who wilt and slow down and hibernate, i protested aloud that i wanted to be a perennial instead. at this she said: even perennials change with the seasons. rose bushes have to be pruned, sometimes down to half their height! it was a dose of perspective i didn't particularly want, but really needed.

so when you're struggling to work through executive dysfunction, burnout, or brain fog, it can help to first check in with yourself about a few things. what do you have the capacity for right now? do you need any accommodation? and if so, what changes you might make to accommodate yourself?

with practice and self reflection, i've learned a handful of specific routines that help me when i'm struggling with creative work, which i'll detail next. note that while your question is specifically about music and i am specifically a musician, i believe that all of these suggestions can apply to most any form of digital creative work.

with that in mind:

#1: work slower

when i'm at the top of my game, i can get a LOT done in a day. but when i'm depressed, fatigued, or distracted, i just can't go full steam. sometimes i'll try to convince myself that i can if i just push harder, but what actually ends up happening is that i'm just fiddling with settings and going in circles rather than moving forward.

instead of that, when i want to work a lot but can't, i try to work slow. how slow? however slow i need to. take four hours to figure out the melody for a single verse. take all day to figure out that drum groove. yeah, i take a lot of breaks in between. who says i have to be my Absolute Most Productive Every Day Or Else? that's the puritan work ethic talking. kill it. be kind to yourself.

i'm reminded of advice i once read about some super successful and prolific author (gaiman? king? pratchett?) who said they wrote only four hundred words every weekday. that's already less than the word count of this post, and i'm only—[travels into the future to check my final word count]... 22.8% of the way through writing it!

now, i don't think i could function that way, because ADHD means some days i'm hyperfocused like crazy, and other days i just have no steam at all (more on that in #4-6). but it seems to me that if even someone highly respected in their profession can achieve what they have with only a little bit of work on a regular basis, maybe i don't have to punish myself for not pumping out a finished work every single week.

doing less work per day means you're much less likely to burn out, which does a lot for working more consistently. if that consistency still doesn't look like a five-day work week, that's okay! as long as it helps you work even a little more often when you want to, it's something worth doing.

however, if you're still feeling truly stuck, all hope isn't lost. you can still try:

#2: switch projects

sometimes the reason i'm moving slow is because of a bad brain day, but sometimes the reason is that i just cannot muster the motivation to do the specific task i'm trying to do right now. ADHD is fueled by novelty and interest, and if i'm not interested in what i'm doing, or it's feeling stale, that's a sign that i need to switch gears.

this is why first it's helpful for me to have more than one project going at a time. this might mean completely unrelated works, or it might just mean related tracks as with the music for a game like SLARPG or susan taxpayer.

the idea here is not to start a dozen different projects and bounce around them like i'm playing whac-a-mole—though i have done that. (i don't recommend it.) the idea here is to have a manageable number of different projects i can be working on so that if i get bored or stuck on something, i have fallback options.

what that number of projects is depends entirely on the week. maybe right now it's two, maybe another time it's three. i would probably be getting carried away if i tried more than that, but that's just my own limit. maybe yours is different. that's something for you to think about.

but it doesn't have to stop there.

#3: switch focus

maybe there is this one project that i just HAVE to work on, but the task i'm trying to do at this stage just isn't coming to me. okay, well, why don't i try working on a different task?

let's say i can't figure out what i want to do with the melody in one part of the song:

what if i try jumping ahead to a different part of the melody? ...no, i'm stumped on melodies today. okay, how about working on the drums instead? ...hmm no, i think i'm just completely tapped out on writing parts right now. alright, what if i organized my tracks, making sure they're all grouped and named in a way that i can work with easily? what if i did a rough volume balance for the mix?

and so on. if that's not enough to shake the off stuckness, i might consider: what can i do to make this project more interesting to me?

what happens if i try using an instrument or effect that i almost never reach for? what if i try sampling something obscure? what if i bang out the drums using my midi keyboard instead of drawing it in on the piano roll?

any approach that breaks me out of my usual habits is bound to get that feeling of novelty and fun back when i need it.

or maybe i can't do any of that right now, and so i take the time to answer a question from a fellow musician instead. i consider that part of my work, too, in a broader sense. check in with yourself and figure out what you can do right now. the rest will still be there later.

but okay, let's say you try switching gears, and switching again, and again, and nothing is moving. you try new approaches, but that wall of awful is insurmountable in this moment. it happens! the next thing you might try is:

#4: learn something new

when you aren't able to make progress on your projects, you can still make progress on your knowledge and craft. i often find this stokes a flame of inspiration in me where there wasn't one before. and even when it doesn't, it still gets my brain out of that feeling of stuckness and dread and into one of thought and action. learning also benefits in the long term because it adds to the well of knowledge from which you draw for all your future works.

for all the awfulness that exists on the internet, it remains an absolute treasure trove of teaching. there's an endless ocean of videos, blog posts, and articles from which you might learn something about your craft. (and if you sail the seven seas, plenty of book PDFs as well. 🦜🏴‍☠️)

it's true that the quality and depth of information out there can vary wildly, but in my experience most resources get at least some things right. and the more you research, practice, and figure out what works for you, the better you will learn to differentiate between the advice worth keeping, and the advice to forget. (that goes for all of what i'm saying here, too!)

that said, since our shared focus is music, a few resources i would highly recommend are:

music theory and composition music matters, 12tone, charles cornell, music with myles, 8-bit music theory, and this introduction by andrew huang

mixing and production dan worrall (especially this series for fabfilter), kush after hours, red means recording, andrew huang, alice yalcin efe, in the mix

general inspiration nahre sol, ben levin, david hilowitz, game score fanfare, posy, jerobeam fenderson, open reel ensemble, and ELECTRONICOS FANTASTICOS!

(if any readers have their own helpful resources for creating music or any other media, feel free to share in the replies & reblogs! 💓)

of course, on an especially bad day, it might be a challenge to seek out information, let alone retain it. that can feel pretty bad, but remember: be kind to yourself. the next thing you might consider trying is:

#5: consume art you love

not just music. books. shows. movies. games. illustration. animation. whatever moves and inspires you.

but do it intentionally. don't just pull up some random thing the algorithm suggested! check in with yourself about what you want (or are able) to engage with right now. choose accordingly. if you get a little way into it and realize it's not scratching that itch, hit the bricks. check in with yourself again. wash, rinse, repeat, until you find whatever it is that speaks to you right now.

and do it actively, if you can. don't just let it go in one eye and out the other! really pay attention to the work. what do you like about it? what are its themes and motifs? what makes it work so well? what are its flaws, and how much do they matter? what might you do differently? you can write notes as you do this if it helps, but even simply noticing and thinking goes a long way.

what you don't want to do is come at this with a lens of shame or envy. you're not here just to say to yourself, "ugh, if only i could do THAT." it's okay if it happens. use that thought as a springboard for curiosity: "well okay, how DID they do that? do i have the resources for it? if so, how could i apply that to my own work? if not, how can i adapt it, or what do i need to learn?" keep your mind open and approach the work with a sense of wonder.

as a creative person, it's very easy to think, "i should be making something right now, not watching a movie!" but that thought forgets something vital: your art is a response in a conversation. of course the "language" you use is your own, and maybe if you're lucky you'll invent a new word. but most of the words you use have been around long before you were born. you're just one voice in a dialogue that spans continents and generations, and that's okay. it's even the whole point.

none of us is an island. we are profoundly social animals. just as we can't live without eating, we can't make without learning. so half of making art is consuming it. consider this part of the process as well.

and finally,

#6: rest, and live your life

let's say you're in really dire straits. you've tried working slower. you tried changing focus, you tried changing projects. you want to take in new information or actively engage with your favorite art, but you're not in the headspace for it. what now?

take a nap. take a walk. take a shower. eat a nice meal, or an okay one. talk to a friend. maybe even do that chore you've been putting off (you know the one).

it's human to always crave making, but you're not a machine—and even if you were, machines need regular maintenance, too! you wouldn't drive a car that's completely out of gas, and you won't do yourself any favors treating your body that way either.

i know that when you take a break it feels as though you're not accomplishing anything, but you are: you're taking care of your animal self. and while you do that, your creative brain doesn't stop working! much like windows, it has countless background processes running at any given moment, with inscrutable names like "cbdhsvc_692da" or "Microsoft Edge Update Service." it's true, i checked.

when you're stuck on a project and you step away to rest, your brain is still chipping away at your ideas unconsciously. i like to tell people, "it's percolating." much like waiting for a pot of water to boil, that idea is still heating up, even when you take a step away. just be sure to check in on it once in a while. the time will pass, and it'll be boiling again before long. :)

before i go, i'll leave you with one last thing to keep in mind as you try all of these strategies:

be kind to yourself.

being human is just about one of the hardest things you can do. let alone being a human trying to survive capitalism while living with disabilities! the last thing you need on top of that is to overwork yourself, talk to yourself negatively, or treat yourself harshly. there are plenty of other people in the world who do that to you—don't be one of them.

i'm not saying that you shouldn't try to challenge yourself, to test your limits and go above and beyond your ambitions, if that's what you want to do. just remember that hard work and self compassion are not mutually exclusive. so be careful not to bully yourself. take pride in the progress you make, even when it seems small. encourage yourself like you would a friend who's going through a hard time. and when you challenge yourself, be your own cheerleader.

i hope you find this advice helpful! remember, this is just what helps me, so don't feel like you have to follow any of it exactly. maybe taking time to learn new information helps break you out of your rut more than working slowly, so you reach for that tool first. maybe having multiple projects going at once is too distracting for you, so you prefer to stick to one at a time. whatever your needs are, feel free to alter and adapt these ideas to fit you.

thank you for reading, and i wish you the best of luck in your creating.

with care, bee 🐦

[loving-barnes]

EVAN BUCKLEY - MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR

Author's note: I have something new for you. Because I have a crush on Evan Buckley from 911, I have decided to write a fic. And it might not be the last. Yes, I know it's easter, but I was feeling a bit more festive. So, enjoy. I hope some of you will.

Summary: Y/N was invited to the Christmas dinner with the 118.

Pairing: Evan Buckley x female reader

Warning: none

Rating: 15+

Words: 4200+

Masterlist | Evan Buckley Masterlist

EVAN BUCKLEY - MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR

This year, the Christmas celebration was held at the 118 station. The “A-shift” was working through the most wonderful day of the year. With that, or a few weeks before, came the idea of having a Christmas party at the station. Everyone was invited—everyone who was somehow related to each member of the fire station. Many people were expected, including kids. 

Bobby was happy to cook the turkey and ham at the station. His wife promised to make mashed potatoes, and bring peas and baked vegetables. Other firefighters brought food to the table - some sweet, others savoury. They wanted to be sure that there was plenty of food for everyone invited. 

Maddie drove with Y/N to the station. Both women wore Santa hats for the occasion and dressed casually as requested. The brunette kept eyeing her, grinning. “Are you excited?” she asked. 

Y/N squinted. “What’s with that face? What’s going on behind those eyes, huh?” 

Maddie parked the car at the station. “Nothing, nothing,” she shook her head, still grinning like a maniac. There was a silence for a good five seconds. “Just, thinking that you’ll be under the same roof with Buck.”

There it was, again. “Oh, that’s what’s happening,” she glared at her friend. “Listen, just because I confessed I have a tiny crush on your brother, doesn’t mean you get to have a field day with this.” 

“It’s cute, actually,” she said. “And the thought of you and my brother is appealing.” The brunette turned to her friend. “Okay, I have a confession.”

“Oh no.”

“There were two reasons why I brought you that night to meet everyone,” said Maddie. Before Y/N could send her to hell, she continued. “Yes, I wanted you to meet other people. You were new in the city and had no friends. But I wanted you to meet my little brother.”

“Meddler,” Y/N glared at her. “That’s what I’m gonna call you.”

“You two have so much in common! Exercising? Video games? Cooking / baking?!” she said excitedly. “Besides, there is a spark between you two.” 

They got out of the car and headed to the trunk to get the baked goods they brought. “I don’t know what you see, Mads, but I don’t see any spark. I don’t think your brother is interested in me at all. He’s just friendly. So, please, just drop it, okay?” 

Once the truck was locked, they walked inside the station. Maddie held a big box with sugar cookies and regular cookies. She decided to change the topic. “This year we are so lucky to have Christmas and New Year’s off,” the brunette said, cheerfully. 

Y/N carried a tray with a punch cake. It was heavy, but she was proud she could bake it on time. Everyone would get a piece or two. “You have plans for New Year’s?” she asked. 

“Athena and Bobby are having a New Year’s party at their house,” she said. “Chim and I are going. Didn’t they tell you?” 

Y/N looked at her friend, shaking her head. “N-no. But, that’s okay. I’ll just have a nice evening on the couch, watching TV and-”

Maddie stopped and turned to Y/N. “No, you are coming with us. Besides, they decided about three days ago. They will let you know about it, I’m sure of it.” 

“I don’t want to intrude,” Y/N sighed. “So, if they don’t say anything to me tonight, I’ll know I am not invited and that’s fine. I have a rule: don’t go anywhere you are not invited.” 

Maddie was about to protest, but they just landed on the last steps of the upper level. The place was nicely decorated. Ornaments hung around the bannisters and the ceiling. A Christmas tree was shining with multiple colours. And, of course, there were mistletoes. It was magical.

With the big boxes, it took both women a second to walk up the stairs. Many people were present, so they greeted everyone with a loud “Merry Christmas!” 

Cheerful greetings started from every side. Bobby was the first to appear, taking Maddie’s box first, then hugging her once he put it away. Athena jumped in, taking Y/N’s tray of punch cake. “Oh my god, you baked that?” she asked. 

Y/N nodded with a smile. “I did. We bake it every year on Christmas - also, a non-alcoholic version. There is only a punch scent,” she explained. “Otherwise we put rum in it.” 

“You have to give me a recipe and show me how to bake it,” Athena smelled the cake through a plastic wrap, her eyes rolled back. “Damn, that smells delicious. It’s gonna be hard putting off those extra holiday pounds when I see all these goods.” 

Athena served the cookies and punch cake. She put half and half on plates and set each on one side of the narrow table. 

Chim greeted Maddie with a deep kiss. Hen came to hug Y/N as well as Karen did. At this point, they knew Y/N well. The moment Maddie brought her to the bar that fateful night, she became part of this family. And it was nice, having this many people in her life. They looked for one another, they cared for each other. It was nice. It was special. 

“Y/N!” She heard Christopher’s cheerful voice. He slowly walked to her, a big smile plastered over his face. Her arms wrapped around him in a tight hug. “Merry Christmas, Chris. Maddie and I brought sweets,” she winked at him. 

“What kind?” 

“Sugar cookies, regular cookies and I made a punch cake. It’s a Christmas cake I make with my family during Christmas,” she explained to him. “It’s really good.”

“Can’t wait to try it,” he said excitedly. 

That kid was amazing. Even with cerebral palsy, he could do so much stuff. And he made everyone’s day better. His attitude was always positive. Y/N admired him and Eddie. 

Speaking of Eddie, he approached them, sweeping his son into his arms. It made Chris laugh. “Hey, Y/N. Glad you could make it,” he smiled at the woman. 

“Y/N.” Buck approached the young woman with a smile on his face. His hands spread wide. He was ready for a hug. “Merry Christmas.” 

There he was. The man who made her head spin. The man who made her heartbeat speed up like a race car. Buck was her Christmas wish. Somewhere deep in her fantasies, she imagined coming up to Santa and wishing for Buck to like her back. 

“Buck, Merry Christmas,” she greeted him, hugging the firefighter. 

This wasn’t the first time they hugged. They did it a couple of times. It turned into a causal thing between them. And damn, he smelled nice. Those strong arms around her; his body pressed against her… No, don’t go there. 

“I saw you brought a big tray,” he wiggled his brows. 

“I made a punch cake,” she said. How many times did she say it already? “So, I hope you’ll take a piece and tell me what you think since you’ve dipped your fingers into the culinary world.” There was a teasing grin on her face. 

“It’ll be my pleasure,” he bowed his head a little. “You accept criticism, right?” 

She made a face. “I do, don’t worry. You can go all Gordon Ramsay on me. I won’t mind. But I bet you’ll say only nice things about my baking skills.” 

Buck looked around, his eyes landing on a plate with sweets. He reached for a piece of punch cake and took a bite. Y/N watched him chew. He hummed, made a face and then swallowed. 

“Fuck, that’s one good cake,” he cursed and shoved the rest of the piece into his mouth. More humming came out of his throat. It made Y/N giggle. “Very on theme, very well baked from a pretty, skilful baker.” 

Pretty and skilful or pretty skilful, she wondered. Don’t get your hopes high.

“Is everyone here?” They heard Athena call. Buck and Y/N looked at her, wondering what this was about. “If you could all gather for a Christmas group photo on this side of the table.” 

People started to move around, walking to one side of the table for the photo. “Who’s gonna take the picture?” Chim asked. 

“Self-timer,” Bobby replied as he set the camera on a tripod. 

Y/N wanted to stand on the very edge of the photo. That’s where she belonged even when she knew these people well. It was only fitting. But a hand reached for her, pulling her. Her eyes found Buck pulling her more to the middle. He made her stand next to him. His arm wrapped around her lower back, pushing her closer to his body. Maddie was slightly bent forward with Chim. Eddie was next to Buck with Christopher standing in front of him.

It was a simple gesture. This proved she was part of the brave family that saved lives - 911 dispatchers, Firefighters, Paramedics and Police officers. First responders. 

“Everyone, say ‘Merry Christmas’!” Athena called. 

“Merry Christmas!” The whole group shouted as several photos were taken thanks to a self-timer. 

This was the first Christmas that felt nice. Last year, she was alone, back in her hometown, sad and depressed. She would laugh at people if someone told her that Christmas could be magical again. Look where she was now. 

Y/N took a deep breath to suppress her tears. This was not the time to cry. It was time to be joyful. 

“The camera will be available for anyone who wants to take a picture after dinner. Now, let’s eat before the bell rings,” Bobby ordered with a big smile. 

People started to mingle around, finding a place to sit. Maddie sat down next to Chim and called Y/N to sit beside her. Eddie, Chris and Buck walked around and sat across them. 

“I am starving,” Buck called. 

Peas were passed around. Mashed potatoes and a bowl of other vegetables and then cut portions of turkey and ham. People put anything they wanted on their plates. Laugher echoed around the firehouse as well as the sound of clinking dishes. 

The food was delicious. Y/N had to admit she had never had mashed potatoes that were this creamy and rich. The meat was juicy and perfectly marinated. Bobby did an excellent job, as she learnt from the people around her. 

“I’m gonna be in a food coma,” she commented after finishing her plate. “It was delicious.” 

“I told you. Bobby is like Guy Fieri,” Buck looked into her eyes.

Y/N felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She glanced at the screen. A sigh escaped her lips. It was a text from a relative who wrote to her for Christmas. The last thing she wanted was a message from them. She licked her lips and put the phone back. 

Maddie’s eyes were on her. She noticed the shift of energy from her friend. “Everything okay?” 

“Yes,” Y/N put a smile on her face. “Just got Christmas wishes.”

No more questions were asked. Good. She didn’t need people to feel sorry for her. She didn’t want to dwell on the past, no matter how hard or sad it was. 

As the party continued, and without any calls, people formed groups and talked. They eat the cookies or the punch cake. They drank water, juice or other non-alcoholic beverages. Now was the perfect opportunity to find a secluded spot to think for a moment. And that’s what Y/N did. 

She walked to the other side of the upper floor where no one was present. It gave her the space to be alone but not leave the party. All she needed was five minutes, maybe ten. Y/N took her phone out and looked at the text. It made her stomach twist and turn unpleasantly. No, she won’t react to the text. She won’t do anything about it. 

“Hey.” 

Her head snapped up from the phone. She quickly put it in her pocket again. “Hey, Buck.” 

“Y-you okay?” His steps stopped by her side. He leaned against the wooden bannister. His eyes looked around the firehouse. The engines were parked, waiting to be taken on a call. Boy, he hoped they wouldn’t have to leave anytime soon. 

“Uh, yeah,” she smiled at him. “I’m just checking with my relatives. That’s all.” It was a half-truth. 

“Come on, we’re friends. We’ve known each other for months. You don’t have to pretend or lie. Is everything okay, Y/N?” His body turned to face her. 

She opened her mouth, then closed it. How could she tell him about her life? She hated going back in the past, reliving the memories that had happened. “Uh, it’s a little complicated,” she said. “Last Christmas, I spent it alone, back in my hometown. It was a challenging year. Tragic, I dare to say.” 

Buck’s hand appeared on her shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “Okay, I’m not gonna push-”

“It’s okay,” she jumped in. “My father passed away 2 years ago - prostate cancer. It happened after Christmas.” 

“Oh, sorry about that,” he sighed. “You and your mom must-”

“I’m not in contact with my mother,” she said. “Or I’m not trying to be. Our relationship is bad. Let’s leave it like that for now.” 

She could see in Buck’s eyes he wanted to ask. His lower lip trembled. One nod of his head, he decided to let it go. “You’ve spent last Christmas alone?” 

“Yeah, I didn’t feel like celebrating. I felt lost and not festive. Now, it’s different. I feel like I belong somewhere again.” Y/N looked at the people at the table. They laughed, chatted and enjoyed the rest of the food. 

“You are with us, now. You are part of this big heroic family. We get to save lives, some of us risk our own and feel like heroes for a moment,” he laughed. 

“Like I said before, I like I’m doing something meaningful. No matter how mentally challenging this job is. I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you.” Y/N turned to him. Her elbow rested against the bannister. Her head tilted to the side. “You go in the field, risk your life. Hope to survive and then do it again.” 

He chuckled. “Yeah. Some days it’s easier than others. But, I wouldn’t change this work for anything. I love my job. I love what I’m doing.” 

She nodded. “I get it. I do. I love my job, too. It was the best decision to…” Her speech faltered when her eyes noticed Maddie on the other side of the room, making weird faces at her. At first, she made kissy faces. Then she pointed with her finger up. 

Y/N’s eyes lifted just as Buck turned his head to see what was happening behind his back. There was a mistletoe above them. It was one of the many that hung around the firehouse. Buck looked back at Y/N and saw her attention above them. Now, he too discovered the mistletoe. 

He chuckled under his nose. “I don’t think I’ve noticed that.” 

She shook her head in disbelief. “I didn’t either.” Her cheeks got warmer and she bit her lip nervously. “But I recall I’ve seen a few around the place when we arrived.”

Buck made a small step to her, a smile never leaving his face. He cleared his throat. “You know the rules, right?” 

“Uh, enlighten me,” she said. 

“Well,” he licked his lips. “It’s all just superstition, but it is said that if the people don’t just kiss under the mistletoe, they’ll get one year of bad luck.” 

That made her laugh. “Oh, is that right?” 

He took another step closer. The gap between them closing. His eyes travelled around her face - her eyes, her nose and then her lips. “You don’t want a year of bad luck, do you?” 

“I don’t.” 

“Good.” His hand lifted to her face and he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. He was so close now. She could feel his body heat radiating from him. “Well, now you’re gonna have to kiss me then.” 

She made a face, trying to hold back her laughter. Her eyes locked on his. “Or maybe you’ll have to kiss me,” she dared back. 

He was surprised by that response, by her boldness. “If that’s what you want,” he whispered. One of his hands found the back of her neck as he gently pulled her closer to his body. Slowly, their lips connected in their first, gentle kiss. 

They tested the waters. At first, it was light as a feather, lips barely touching. Then, the second time their lips pressed together, it was bolder, proper. Her hands slowly crawled up his chest and wrapped around his neck as the third kiss got more heated. His tongue swiped over her lower lip, asking for entrance. She did. Their tongues collided, explored and danced together. 

Y/N didn’t want the kiss to end. His arms, the hold he had on her was what she needed. His kisses were what she secretly dreamt of. However, a higher power, or in other words, his co-workers had a different plan. 

Shouting and clapping echoed from the other side of the level. Their kiss broke when they heard the cheering. Y/N pressed her forehead against his uniform, blushing. With that scene, everyone was looking at them now. 

Buck turned his head, glaring at everyone. “Way to ruin the moment,” he huffed. 

When Y/N pushed her body from him and looked at the people, she noticed Maddie giving her thumbs up. “Your sister is gonna be insufferable now and I mean it affectionately.” 

“Uh, what now?” Buck looked at her. 

She shook her head, laughing awkwardly. Y/N waved a hand. “So, no bad luck now, huh?” 

His hand moved to her warm cheek. A thumb brushed the skin under her eye. “Yeah. I guess the bad luck was avoided, thanks to me.” 

Y/N snorted. “So, you are basically taking the credit, huh?” 

“It was me who kissed you,” he teased. 

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Of course, what was I expecting?” This silliness between them was adorable. 

Buck leaned in some more. He inhaled her scent, enjoying the vanilla perfume she wore. “Maybe you should thank me for saving you from a year of bad luck,” he hummed. His nose brushed against her. 

A gentle nod. A whisper of “okay”. She leaned more, their lips meeting again in another kiss. One of his hands appeared on the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. The kiss deepened. A soft moan escaped her lips.

The bell began to ring again. It was another call and the firefighters had to respond. Buck pulled away. “Wait till we are back?” 

“O-okay,” she nodded eagerly and watched him run downstairs with the rest of his team. Christmas or not, they were at work and were needed somewhere more. 

Y/N licked her lips. Her eyes were locked on the fire engine until it was out of sight. Her mind was clouded by the feeling of Buck’s lips on her. The way he held her, how he made her feel. This was a dream, right? 

“Y/N,” Athena’s voice brought her back from the cloud. There was a smirk on her lips. “I’m not gonna ask questions about what happened here, but I’m gonna do is invite you to our New Year’s party. Bobby and I decided to leave this year with a bang.” Before Y/N could reply, she added, “Buck’s gonna be there.” 

Her cheeks warmed up again. “Thank you for inviting me. I guess I can change my traditional plans for a party with you all.” 

Athena raised a brow. “What are your traditional plans?” 

“Watching TV, eating food and falling asleep before midnight,” Y/N chuckled. 

“My kind of evening,” Athena patted her shoulder. 

Together they walked back to the table where the friends and family members talked. “I used to party when I was younger,” said Y/N. “That changed with age. The moment I turned 21, it was like the magic disappeared. Since then, I’m not a party girl.” 

Athena handed her a phone. “Give me your number. I still want the recipe for that delicious punch cake. Plus, I want you to show me how to bake it.” 

Two hours later, half of the people left. Karen took Denny home with Christopher and his aunt. Michael took May and Harry to his place. Maddie, Athena and Y/N cleaned up the place. They put the remaining food into the containers. Y/N cleaned the dishes with Maddie and Athena cleared the table. 

“So,” Maddie grinned at Y/N. “Everyone saw you kissing my brother.” 

“Your brother kissed me,” she fought back with a smile. “It was the mistletoe.” 

Maddie rolled her eyes. “If it were just the mistletoe, you wouldn’t be making out like that. It was the push you needed.” 

“Maddie, let the girl be,” Athena chimed in. 

“Come on. Don’t say you don’t support this,” Maddie sighed. “It’s adorable.” 

“Oh, I’m rooting for Buckoo and Y/N. But everyone saw this intimate moment between them which can be a bit embarrassing. So, let them figure things out first.”

Y/N sighed. “You are talking as if I’m not here.” 

After the place was clean and all three women remained at the station alone, Y/N checked the time. “I promised Buck to wait for him, but I should get going. Will you drive me home, please?” she looked at Maddie. 

The brunette nodded. They said goodbye to Athena, who was already on her way out of the station. Both women grabbed their belongings just as the firetrucks returned to the station. 

Maddie smiled at Y/N. “We’ll meet in the car, okay? Take your time. I’m gonna grab Chim for a minute too.” 

Y/N stood on the lower floor, watching as they parked all the vehicles. Bobby was already out, coordinating the parking. He raised his hand to signal the drivers to stop. His head turned to the woman. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he smiled. “You still here?” 

“We just finished cleaning the kitchen to take some work off your shoulders,” she said. “Leftovers are in the fridge, as well as the punch cake. It’s better when it is chilled. Cookies are on the counter.” 

Eddie and Buck left the engine together. Smiles were plastered over their faces until they noticed Y/N and Bobby talking. Well, Buck’s smile got even bigger. “You still here?” Eddie asked. 

“I was just about to leave.” 

“Thank you for coming here and celebrating Christmas with us,” said Bobby. He hugged her. The gesture was sweet. 

Eddie came in next, wrapping his arms around her. “Loverboy wants to talk,” he whispered. It made her laugh. “Merry Christmas.”

Once she was free, Buck approached her. His hand reached forward. Y/N grabbed it and let him take her to a secluded part of the firehouse. They didn’t need any more eyes on them. 

“I guess I came just in time,” he smiled. 

“Everyone already left and it’s getting late,” she replied, holding his hand. Buck never let go.

“Listen,” he pulled her closer to him. “I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me tomorrow evening if you are available?” 

“I’d love that,” she nodded. The smile on her face was the brightest Buck had ever seen. God, could he get any more smitten with her? His heart wanted to escape out of his chest. “My shift ends at 6 PM. Where do we meet?” 

“Your place,” he said. “I’ll be the perfect gentleman. I’ll pick you up at eight. You’ll have enough time to get ready after work. I’ll take you to a nice restaurant where we’ll wine and dine. Then, we can take a walk and after I’ll safely bring you back home.” 

She bit her lower lip, trying to keep herself composed. “Sounds lovely. I can’t wait.” 

“Great. Great,” he nodded.

They stood there, eyes staring into one another. For a few seconds, they didn’t do anything. It was a bit awkward. Buck decided to take the step. His right hand pressed gently against her cheek. He stepped towards her and leaned to kiss her lips. It was simple and sweet. Her hands brushed against his chest. 

Buck pulled away first. “Damn, you should go. Otherwise, I won’t let you.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, grinning. “Okay, firefighter Buckley. I’ll see you tomorrow at eight. I can’t wait.” 

“Me too.” 

Reluctantly, their touch disconnected and Y/N walked away from the station. Again, the smile that decorated her face signified nothing but pure happiness. Her head was again on cloud nine, thinking about his lips. She almost bumped into Maddie’s car. 

Y/N hopped into the car, meeting Maddie’s curious eyes. “What?” she asked. 

Maddie made a face. “Well? How did it go?” 

“We…” Y/N took a deep breath. “We are going on a date tomorrow evening.” 

“Yes!” Maddie shouted excitedly. “I’m so glad things are finally moving between you two. Ah. And I am not feeling bad that I meddled between you,” she clapped her hands. 

Y/N shook her head in disbelief. “Do I wanna know what you mean by that?” 

“I’ll tell you some other time,” Maddie giggled. 

She started the car and drove Y/N back to her apartment. Looking back at the day, it was indeed the most wonderful time of the year. 

[bernardsbendystraws]

Fresh Air

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Check out my pinned post for more of my writing.

00 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 FINAL

Summary: One night at a party seems to change everything. A strange man with a friendly smile and a sleeve of patchwork tattoos seems to make you feel at home for a change. You're finally happy to have made a good friend to lean on - especially when it comes to your not-so-great relationship with your boyfriend. But what happens if you lean too much...what happens if you fall?

Warnings: 18+. This series contains mature themes, read at your own risk. (SMUT, angst, parental troubles, financial hardships, and more. Don't like, don't read.) This warning is made for all parts.

A/N: To be added to the taglist, send a request in my inbox or comment on the pinned post. I'm far more likely to see requests sent to my inbox.

With love and big tits, Rose.

07: Smoke and Fire 

Matt’s POV

| From Y/n: We can’t be friends. I’m sorry. |

The text message on my phone haunted me even after the screen dimmed. That night, I woke up, I felt what had happened, I got up as quietly as possible, changing pants and hoping that she didn’t know. 

She most definitely did. 

I knew how she was. Her mind worked similarly to mine and there was a clear statement that echoed with warning, telling me to back away, let her come to me after Hayden’s out of the picture. But I couldn’t keep myself away - not from her. It was like every part of me ached to be close to her in any way I could. 

I wanted her to be mine. Now we couldn’t even be friends. All because I lacked any and all self control, wanting to be there for her after whatever shitshow Hayden would put her through. I don’t know what I expected, really. 

This was always gonna happen. You get too close playing with fire, you get burned. And I let her get spit on by the sparks. 

It’s been three days, only three days and I couldn’t swallow the fact that I couldn’t just talk to her. I know what happened, I know everything could’ve been avoided. If only I had the slightest bit of control. 

But I didn’t. My heart won over my mind every single time I thought of her. 

I imagined the dates I’d take her on, the things I’d do just to see her smile - even if it was a dumb toothbrush, I didn’t care. I just wanted to make her happy because it made me feel happy. 

She loves long drives. And even though she won’t admit it, she loves trying to play my Pokèmon game. Even though she hates being touched sometimes, if you rub her ear, she’ll fall asleep within an instant. I loved being the one who would take out her earrings, running my finger along her ear and watching her eyelashes flutter with a lazy drowsiness. 

One day I wanted to be able to do that without any guilt, knowing it wasn’t wrong at all because she’d be mine. That day wouldn’t come anymore. And…I just couldn’t stomach that.

“Matt, we need to film, bro,” Chris knocks on my door, huffing. 

Him and Nick were starting to pick up on something being wrong, but I didn’t have the energy to even tell them. The thought of saying it outloud felt like death. And I wasn’t ready for that. I’d never be ready for that. 

_________

Y/n’s POV

It was the right thing to do. My heart felt like it was churning in my stomach, but this had to be done. It had to really be done. 

Hayden’s door felt like a shock wave to my clenched fist as I knocked softly on the wood. My feet shifted balance on the ground, almost as if I was on a boat swaying in the ocean from how dizzy I felt. As I hear his steps start to bounce closer to the door, my eyes furrow - why do they sound so light? 

The confusion only grows as I see a wave of silky red hair come into view, piercing green eyes glancing at me with a soft smile as a girl tilts her head to the side with curiosity, “Hi, can I help you?” 

Who is this?

My eyes shift to the numbers along the side of the door - his address number. I glance back towards the woman, rolling onto the balls of my feet as I take a look over her shoulder. “Um…where’s Hayden?” I ask. 

Her eyes furrow, an uncomfortable giggle falling from her lips as her hand pulls at the hem of her oversized shirt that barely covers the shorts from peeking underneath. But, I know that shirt - I’ve worn that shirt. It’s Hayden’s favorite shirt, the one he begged for me to give back after I stole it for a day, but the weird part is, I didn’t even see him wear it after I gave it back.

Not until now. 

“Babe, who’s at the door?”

Babe. That stupid name in his stupid voice. 

His arm wraps over the girl’s shoulders, his eyes flattening on me before bulging with panic. 

He calls her babe. She’s in his home, wearing his clothes. How long has this been going on? I’ve been putting in effort, feeling shitty, all for a guy who went out of his way to make another girl feel special? Why did she get to keep his shirt? Did he ask for it back for her?

“We’re over.” I puff, squinting my eyes with disgust before pivoting on my feet and turning around. The anger coils in my chest, the guilt and sadness fading to complete fury. 

Matt. 

Fuck.

The reason I came here, the reason I was so destroyed - I was no better than him. 

Tears of frustration cloud my vision as I sit in my car. I angrily wipe the salty drops sliding down my cheek, starting to drive slowly as I bite down on my lip hard. 

Why does it have to be like this? Why does it have to feel like this?

The sun seems to mock the ache in my chest, a clear sky pummeling a dark envy inside of me.

“Moon or stars?” 

Memories of his words infiltrate my thoughts as I let my car roll to the side of the road, shifting into park as I let my forehead rest against the wheel, a sharp cry muffling through my lips. 

I’d do anything to go back to that night, stay a little longer. 

Why couldn’t things be different? 

Why couldn’t it be us? 

A/N: Thank you for reading. Any interaction is appreciated!!! I am hoping to get out weekly updates of this series. Let me know your thoughts !!!

[unclewaynemunson]

After Eddie and Max were brought into the hospital, the waiting room was packed with people. But as time passed by, it got quieter. One by one, worried parents came by to pick up their kids.

“Are you sure you don't wanna come with me?” Robin asked Steve when her mother arrived.

Steve nodded. “Go home, Rob, it's okay. Just wanna make sure Max's mom and Eddie's uncle get here.”

She shot him a worried look, but she knew him well enough to recognize when she wouldn't be able to persuade him – and Steve in turn knew that there was no way Mrs. Buckley would leave the hospital without Robin, after all that had happened that night.

So Steve stayed and waited with Lucas in Max's room for Mrs. Mayfield. When she arrived, he decided to give them some privacy and wandered over to Eddie's room a couple of doors down the hall.

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if Eddie would already have returned from the operation room – and if so, if it would be good or bad news waiting for him on the other side of the door.

He swallowed. Waiting motionlessly in the corridor wouldn't change what he'd find. So he raised his hand and slowly pushed the door open.

Eddie was inside, leaning against a pillow in his bed. He was as white as the sheets around him and he had large stitches in one of his cheeks, but other than that, he looked – alive.

“Eddie,” Steve breathed out while an overwhelming wave of relief washed over him.

It was only then that he noticed the other people in the room and stopped in his tracks.

Eddie's uncle was sitting at his bedside, wearing sweatpants and only an undershirt underneath his denim jacket. He looked exhausted, but just as relieved as Steve felt.

But that wasn't what had sparked Steve's surprise. No, the thing that Steve couldn't make sense of, was the man who was sat in the chair next to Wayne Munson. It was Steve's old middle school science teacher, Scott Clarke. He was dressed in a plaid flannel that seemed more Mr. Munson's style than his own, buttoned askew on top of a pair of striped pajama pants.

“Mr. Clarke? What are you doing here?” The question tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“Who are you?” Mr. Munson asked Steve before Mr. Clarke could say anything. It sounded defensive on the verge of being aggressive, but Steve couldn't really blame him for that, considering what the majority of Hawkins currently thought about Eddie.

“Steve Harrington,” he said, holding out his hand.

The lines on Mr. Munson's forehead deepened.

“He's my friend,” Eddie said. His voice sounded hoarse and weak, but Steve still felt a rush of warmth course through his whole body because of the words he said. “He saved my life.”

“Oh.” Mr. Munson's eyes widened slightly and he finally took Steve's hand. “Wayne Munson. Eddie's uncle. Pleased meetin' ya.”

“It's good to see you again, Steve,” Mr. Clarke remarked. “You've grown a lot since the last time I saw you.”

“I didn't expect to see you here, Mr. Clarke,” Steve noted, still trying to make sense of what exactly his old science teacher was doing in this room.

“Uncle Scott is also my uncle,” Eddie explained.

Steve looked back and forth between Mr. Munson and Mr. Clarke, trying to find any kind of resemblance between the two of them.

“You're brothers?” he couldn't help but ask, unable to keep the astonishment out of his voice. He would never have guessed that those two men were related to each other.

“Steve, no...” Eddie's voice was almost a whisper and had an undertone of something that sounded an awful lot like exasperation. Steve knew that tone all too well; he had never been good at restraining himself from asking stupid questions, after all.

He noticed how the two men exchanged some kind of meaningful glance with each other.

“Um, I think we should go get some coffee, Wayne,” Mr. Clarke said. “Leave the boys to catch up.”

Mr. Munson nodded, but before he got up, he looked at Eddie. "You'll be alright?" he asked, a worried frown on his face.

Eddie nodded. "It's fine, Uncle Wayne." He said it softly, like he was trying to reassure his uncle, and only after Eddie gave him another emphatic nod, Mr. Munson started following Mr. Clarke out of the room.

Just when Steve realized Mr. Clarke must be Eddie's uncle from his mom's side while Mr. Munson had to be his dad's brother, Wayne let his hand linger on the small of Mr. Clarke's back. It was a tiny moment, that only lasted a second right before they went through the door, easy to miss if one weren't paying close attention. But it was still enough for Steve to understand the exasperation in Eddie's voice and the unease on his uncles' faces. That one touch told Steve all he needed to know: there was this casual, easy kind of intimacy behind it that only long-term partners shared. He had seen his parents act like that, and Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair...

“No fucking way,” he breathed out at the moment the door quietly shut behind Mr. Munson. He turned back to Eddie with wide eyes and his jaw dropped.

“Your uncle is – and he's with Scott Clarke?”

Eddie's jaw clenched. “You got a problem with that?”

In his pure astonishment, Steve barely even registered Eddie's question.

“That's impossible!” he all but exclaimed. “Here – in Hawkins? How?!”

Eddie looked slightly past Steve's face, to the bare white wall behind him. “Jesus Christ, Steve,” he said. “You've seen dozens of hell monsters and walked through an alternate dimension to fight an evil sorcerer, and this is what you decide is impossible?”

“Well, it is,” Steve stubbornly said.

He remembered how he once felt about his teammate Thomas, back in his freshman year, remembered the ache in his chest exactly because of how impossible it was. He remembered Robin talking about Tammy Thompson in that bathroom stall filled with the scent of their puke. But Tammy Thompson is a girl, he had said, in his instinctive and perhaps naive confusion - not because he deemed it impossible for Robin to feel that way about a girl, but because up until that point, he had deemed it irrelevant. He knew better than anyone that those kind of feelings would flare up from time to time around certain people, but as far as he was concerned, it didn't matter. There was no way to act on it, no point in lingering on something that was impossible to have anyway.

“They've been together for over a decade,” Eddie said. His voice suddenly lacked its usual warmth; a warmth that Steve had gotten used to over the past few days; a warmth that left a weird feeling of loss behind in Steve's chest now that it wasn't there. “They make each other happy. They don't hurt anyone with it. So don't fucking tell me it's impossible, man. They love each other, and if you're gonna be a dick about that, I'm gonna have to kindly ask you to fuck the hell off.”

“Woah, woah, woah, wait,” Steve hurriedly sputtered. “I'm not – I didn't-” The words got stuck in his throat, somehow. He didn't quite know how to explain the storm that was raging inside of him, the many emotions he felt upon discovering that there were two men happily sharing their lives together, who lived in the same town as he did. Two men who were just like him, who had figured out a way to not hide away, who had somehow found their way to each other, and who had fallen in love without it being something they needed to repress.

“I didn't know – that it could be like that,” he finally managed to stutter. “I never even imagined a future like that for myself. I didn't know – I thought we were just supposed to pretend like those parts of ourselves don't exist and marry a woman. I never met anyone who did it differently.”

Finally, Eddie averted his gaze to look at him again. His eyes were a little bit wider and he was staring at him so intensely that Steve felt something stir deep in his stomach.

“Stevie,” he said, his voice quiet and so much warmer than before in a way that sent a shiver down Steve's spine. “Jesus, I'm sorry, I had no idea. I thought you were saying..." He cut himself off and inhaled deeply, slightly shaking his head. "Listen, man, there's always a choice. I'm not saying it's easy; my uncles have to hide a lot of what they mean to each other when they're in public. They're risking Scott's job, and maybe even a whole lot more if the wrong people find out about them... But there is always a choice. They're much happier together than they would've been if they had chosen to hide and marry a woman, or if they'd spent their whole lives alone.”

Steve had to take a moment to let Eddie's words sink in. Eddie merely kept looking at him, not making a single sound, patiently waiting for him to get his thoughts straight again.

“Are there more people like them, here in Hawkins?” Steve finally asked.

“Not many,” Eddie answered. “Most people who are different move to the bigger cities, where you're a bit more free to be yourself. But they're friends with this lesbian couple who lives a few streets over. And they know some people in Indy, but Wayne refuses to move there. He's too much of a small town boy, he says.” Eddie rolled his eyes at that last part, as if he could in no way comprehend the thought of preferring Hawkins over a big city like Indianapolis.

But Steve did comprehend it. Hawkins was his home. Even after everything that happened to him here, it was where he belonged. It was where everyone he cared about was. He wasn't naive, he knew that that was bound to change at some point, but he had never dared to dream about going someplace else himself. He had never even dared to dream about being someone else. Yet here he was, sitting at the bedside of a boy whose eyes he hadn't stopped thinking about for days.

Maybe it was about time to change his perception of what was possible and what wasn't.

“I know one person who's like – like me,” he admitted. He wanted to tell Eddie about Robin. He knew that there was nothing to worry about – but he also knew it wasn't up to him to share her secret. “I don't know if this is a weird idea," he continued, "but maybe we could all, like, get together sometime. Your uncle, mister Clarke, their lesbian friends...” The idea of it made him feel weirdly excited. He couldn't really imagine what it would be like, to spend a whole evening surrounded by people he had this one thing in common with.

“Not a weird idea,” Eddie told him, that soft look still shining in his big brown eyes. “Sounds awesome, actually.”

“If we do something like that...” Steve hesitated for a moment. “Would you be there too?”

Despite the stitches in his cheek, Eddie managed to smile, dimples and all. He raised a pale hand and pulled a strand of his hair across his face, like he was trying to hide something written on the skin around his lips. “I thought that was obvious,” he said with a chuckle.

Steve chuckled as well. “Just needed to be sure,” he admitted.

He stretched out his hand and put it on top of Eddie's, where it was resting on top of the sheets. It only took a few seconds: he gently squeezed Eddie's hand, then pulled back again, still nervous and not quite knowing what exactly they were headed towards. But no matter how short, the touch still sent sparks through his whole body.

“I'm glad you're alive,” he said, softly.

Eddie's smile became just a little bit wider, and a faint blush colored his pale cheeks. “Me too, big boy. Believe me, me too.”

(I wrote this bc this post by @boldlyvoid refused to leave my brain for literal months)

[imagine-it-was-us]

where we land || Lando Norris

Inspiration: Ed Sheeran where we land

Author's note: These are getting out of hand. Started as the creative outlet and ended as sleepless nights where you can't go to bed until you let our mind bleed out on the keyboard. Ed Sheeran and his music will always have a special place in my heart. And this particular song makes me miss the relationship I never had. So enjoy, I am really proud of this one. Hopefully you will find it bearable.

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Warnings: none, just angst.

Summary: do I love you? do I hate you? || I can't make up my mind || so let's free fall (and part ways for the year I guess??) and see where we land.

Word count: 6.8k+

“Lando, this isn’t working”, she sighed. It was obvious that this short sentence took every last bit of energy she had. After this, there was nothing left – no emotions, no desire to fight, just nothing. A blank expression followed.

He looked up from his computer, unphased. 

“What’s not working?” 

“Us.” 

The mood slightly shifted, yet nothing too shocking. It felt like this conversation was overdone way too many times. They have been here before. That's why he didn’t even take a second to think about what sparked this conversation. It felt like it was a casual chat between an old married couple. 

“Yeah,” Lando muttered, exhaling sharply. “Let’s take a break. We’ll make up anyway.”

That was it. No argument, no hesitation. Like it was routine. Like she had just told him she was stepping out for a moment, and he expected her to come back.

When you think about it, it was devastating. The level of indifference was what hurt the most.

They had known each other their whole lives – friends by proximity before choice. Their families lived in the same neighborhood, close enough that their bond felt inevitable. Even as kids, they were opposites. He was the reckless daredevil, climbing trees and riding his bike at full speed down the steepest roads, while she was the quiet dreamer, lying on the grass for hours, lost in her thoughts. But somehow, they worked. They always had.

As they grew up, their lives took different directions, but they never drifted too far. When Lando got into karting, and later, into the high-stakes world of racing, she wasn’t his biggest supporter in the traditional sense. She didn’t attend every event or cheer the loudest. But she cared. She always asked how he was feeling, if he was okay. She avoided getting too involved, not because she didn’t believe in him or was not interested, but because she couldn’t shake the fear of what could happen. The crashes, the risks, the reality of what came with high-speed racing. Maybe that fear had even shaped her, pushed her toward a career where she could save the ones who weren’t as lucky. And yet, no matter how different their paths became, they had always made time for each other.

Then came that one Christmas. The night everything changed. He was on the brink of signing with McLaren, and she had just over a year of school left, set on studying medicine, becoming a paramedic. They spent the whole evening talking – about dreams, about the future, about everything. And the one constant in all their scenarios? Each other. They didn’t officially get together until months later, when the butterflies finally settled in. What started as something gentle and fragile grew into something more. Something that should have been unbreakable.

But it wasn’t.

Between her relentless studying and his deep dive into the world of Formula 1, the distance between them grew. The small sacrifices they used to make for each other became harder. At first, they convinced themselves it was just a rough patch. They had fallen in love as teenagers, blindly, without knowing what love truly required. Clashes were inevitable, but they always told themselves it was just temporary. That love would always outweigh the tension.

Until it didn’t.

The fights became more than just stress-fueled bickering. Trust started to crack. The rumors, the online hate she received for simply existing in his world, the missed races, the missed plans, the days of unanswered calls. The moments of doubt that neither of them wanted to admit were growing stronger.

They had tried. God, they had tried.

The guilt would always swing between them like a pendulum – one of them messing up, the other one forgiving too easily, hoping that this time would be different. And when it wasn’t, they’d take a step back, hoping the distance would fix what being together couldn’t. Then, like clockwork, one of them would cave. One apology, one touch, one whispered „I miss you“ would pull them back in.

The boat had been rocking for years. But at least before, there had still been waves. Now, sitting in their Monaco home, she wasn’t sure if they had finally reached the calm, or if they had simply drifted so far apart that the water didn’t even touch them anymore.

And that was worse than all the fights combined.

“That’s it?”

He lifted a shoulder in an infuriating half-shrug. “What do you want me to say? We take a break, we come back. It’s what we do.”

“That’s exactly the problem, Lando. I don’t want to pause on this empty shell we still call the relationship. I just don’t think I can.” 

Deep down, words coming out of her hurt her. Yet she was just so tired of this game, then at the end there was no happy ending.

Lando exhaled, closing his laptop and putting it away, jaw clenched. Maybe he thought she was being dramatic. Maybe he was just waiting for the inevitable moment when she’d take it back.

But she wouldn’t, not this time. She just stood up from her end of the couch and exhaled. 

“It will take me a couple of days to gather everything I own from this apartment. I will do it once you leave for Las Vegas, so I won’t disturb your calm before the GP. I will just grab my essentials for now,” she said like she was reciting a groceries list. 

Lando didn’t respond right away. He just sat there, eyes fixed on the coffee table like it held all the answers he couldn’t find in her face. Maybe he was searching for something to say – some magic combination of words that would break the cycle, that would make this easier. But there was nothing left to say.

Finally, he nodded. “Okay.”

She felt her stomach twist. Part of her had wanted him to fight – really fight – for this, for them. But wasn’t that the whole point? They were tired. Exhausted. Running on empty, pretending they had more to give when they didn’t.

She swallowed, shifting on her feet. “I think we should do it properly this time.”

His eyes flicked up to hers, guarded. “What do you mean?”

“No breaks. No texts, no calls, no checking in. Not even a happy birthday or Merry Christmas.” The words came out steady, even though her heart was hammering against her ribs. “We give it at least a year. If we’re happier – truly happier – then we’ll know. We’ll let it go for good.”

Lando stood up, facing her. “And if we’re not?”

She exhaled, forcing a small, tired smile. “Then we’ll see where we land.”

He let out a breath, running a hand down his face. For a moment, he just studied her, like he was trying to commit every detail to memory. Like maybe, deep down, some part of him was realizing that this was the last time he’d get to see her like this. Here. His.

Finally, he gave a slow nod. “Alright,” he murmured. “One year.”

One year to figure out if this was really love, or just a bad habit neither of them knew how to break. One year to see if they could be whole without each other. Or if, after everything, they still made sense together.

She was about to turn toward the bedroom, ready to start packing, but he moved first. His arms wound around her, and she didn’t hesitate before wrapping hers around him just as tightly.

And that was what made it hurt the most. Because after six years give or take, after all the fights and make-ups and everything in between, this was still the safest place each of them had ever known. His heartbeat against her ear. Her scent wrapping around him like home. The way neither of them wanted to be the first to let go.

But they had to. So, after one long, lingering moment, she forced herself to step back.

Lando’s arms fell away slowly, reluctantly, like he was holding onto the very last seconds of whatever this was.

And just like that, they let go. Not with a bang, not with a fight. Just a quiet understanding that, for the first time in years, it was time to stop holding on.

______

Remember the “No Merry Christmas” part? Well, that was their first slip up. 

At first, no one questioned it. 

When they said their goodbyes, when she packed up the last of her things, when they let go without a fight – no one questioned it. Not their friends. Not their families. Not the people who had known them as a unit for years.

Because this was just how they were. Messy. Cyclical. A little dramatic but never final. Everyone assumed that, in a few weeks, they’d find their way back – like they always did.

Yet red flags were being waved when she showed up on your parents doorstep and asked them to let you crash at theirs for the time being. 

And when the world around you was lighting up, getting ready for the most wonderful time of the year, she was really feeling dead inside. That was when the questions started.

As she had to find a new job outside Monaco, she landed in the local hospital, in her parents' area. Her new coworkers, who knew her family, would try the small talk, asking how he was doing as the season went to the end. Sometimes even her patients would recognize her and ask her about F1 and her used-to-be boyfriend. A friend, who you haven’t talked to for weeks, would bring an article and ask for you to comment on it. It was even from her own aunt – the one she only ever saw at Christmas– who asked, completely oblivious, “What size are Lando’s feet again? I want to knit him those socks I promised last year.”

And just like that, he was everywhere. Like an echo of a life she wasn’t living anymore. Like a mistake she wasn’t sure she had actually made.

Because wasn’t that what everyone kept implying? That they had been stupid for doing this? That this break – this “proper” break, this one-year promise – was just a long, drawn-out way of making them both miserable?

And if so—was Lando feeling it, too?

Was he being ambushed with casual mentions of her in conversations that had nothing to do with her? Did he hear her name in places he wasn’t expecting it? Did it catch him off guard, did it sting, did it make him wonder if they had just ruined something they were always meant to fix?

She stopped herself from wondering. After all, she could dwell in these thoughts forever and never move forward. She knew she had to. This break was not only about figuring them out. It was also about figuring who you are outside the relationship you grew up in. 

So for now, she did the thing she knew the best – threw herself into work. That’s why when Christmas Eve rolled around, she had her life line to escape hushed voices and petty looks, asking about her life. Also, Norris' family would always eventually roll around for a quick cup of tea – it was a tradition started by their parents even before the both of them were around so she for sure believed that them being on break would not stop their parents from interacting. Never did on any other break. 

She did what she always did when the walls started closing in. She grabbed her coat, threw a scarf over her scrubs, and braced herself for the short, freezing walk to her car. A twelve-hour shift awaited her, filled with last-minute holiday accidents and bad luck, and she was oddly grateful for it. A perfect excuse to be anywhere but here.

She said her goodbyes, wished everyone a Merry Christmas, and stepped outside.

And nearly crashed straight into Adam Norris. Her hand shot out to steady herself, boots skidding slightly against the icy porch. “Oh – I’m so sorry,” she blurted, barely catching her breath before –

Her stomach dropped.

Because it wasn’t just Adam. It was all of them.

His entire family stood there, wrapped in warm coats and holiday cheer. And Lando – of course, Lando – was in the middle of it all, hands stuffed into his pockets, gaze locked onto her like he hadn’t been expecting this either.

She barely let her eyes flick to his before looking away, heart hammering.

“You’re always in such a rush, aren’t you?” Cisca asked, her voice as warm as ever.

“Yes, I’m working tonight, unfortunately,” she added, making them hear what she wanted rather than expressing her feelings. 

“Oh, your mother told me about the shifts you’re taking and they still make you work during the day like this? That’s so sad,” she said, empathetically. His mother was always the angel and they had a great connection before this break. 

She gave a light shrug, desperate to keep the conversation surface-level. “What can I say? Gotta work if I ever want to give my parents a break.”

It was the lie she’d been telling everyone. That she was saving for a down payment. That the extra shifts were a means to an end. A practical excuse for why she spent more time at the hospital than at home, drowning herself in work instead of drowning in the what-ifs of a relationship that no longer existed.

But it didn’t matter. Not when she could feel Lando’s eyes on her. Not when it took every ounce of strength to keep her own from slipping back to his.

“Well,” Cisca sighed, stepping aside to give her space to pass. “Stay safe, darling.”

She hesitated. A half-second, barely noticeable. And then, before she could stop herself, the words slipped out.

“Merry Christmas, fam.”

The moment she said it, she regretted it. The slip. The weakness. The betrayal of her own rules.

And then there was Lando.

For the first time since she stepped outside, she met his gaze. A brief, fleeting glance. A quiet acknowledgment of everything that still lingered between them.

She barely made a sound when she whispered, “Merry Christmas, Lando.”

Then, before she could give herself time to second-guess it, she turned on her heel and walked away, pulling her coat tighter around herself.

She didn’t wait for an answer. She couldn’t. Because she knew if she did – if she heard his voice, his words – her carefully built defenses would crumble.

But as she made it to her car, something soft, something broken, floated through the cold December air.

“Merry Christmas, love.”

And somehow this moment stung Lando more than anything else ever had.

______

Spring was warming up the air, shaking winter from the trees and stretching daylight just a little longer each evening. She had always hated this time of year – hated the way it pressed against her chest, thick with stress and expectations. First, it was the exams, the all-nighters, the anxious flipping of textbooks. Then, later, it became Lando’s schedule. The season kicking off, his world spinning faster while she tried to hold onto the edges.

This year, though, spring was something different. Unusually dull. Unnaturally calm. But it was for her to figure out if it was the kind of calm that comes before or after the storm.

By all accounts, she was doing well. She was thriving at work, getting used to the rhythm of long shifts and fast decisions. She had found herself a new apartment – small, but cozy, a space that was hers and hers alone. She even picked up jogging and pilates, things she used to roll her eyes at but now clung to as some kind of personal victory.

Some days were perfect. She would wake up, stretch in the morning light, sip her coffee in silence, and almost – almost – forget why her life looked the way it did now.

Emphasis on ‘almost.’

Because when you spend six years wrapped around someone else’s life, untangling yourself doesn’t happen overnight. Their friend groups overlapped too much, their histories bled into too many places, and avoiding him completely was impossible.

They had been careful, though. Calculated. She planned around GP weekends, making sure to show up to gatherings when he was halfway across the world, and skipping the ones when she knew he’d be visiting the home town. It worked. Until, inevitably, it didn’t.

That night, she hadn’t planned to see him. It was supposed to be a quiet evening. Just a handful of friends, drinks, some music humming in the background. Nothing major. Nothing painful. But then, sometime between her second glass of wine and the last lazy notes of an old song drifting through the air, she felt it.

That awareness. The way her skin prickled before she even turned her head. He was there.

Just across the room, laughing at something, his head thrown back, the sound of it familiar enough to sink straight into her bones. He looked... good. Relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen in a long time. And for a second she let herself wonder if she looked that way too. If he saw her and thought, ‘She’s okay. She’s moved on. She doesn’t miss me the way I miss her’.

It was unbearable. The way it made her stomach twist, the way it pulled something raw inside of her. It wasn’t just the sight of him, it wasn't just the proof that he still existed outside of her world – it was the realization that she still felt it. That she still felt everything.

So she left. Quietly. Without goodbyes. Without looking back.

By the time she got home, she was already peeling off her jacket, kicking off her shoes, slipping beneath the covers in the dark. Sleep would fix it. Sleep would dull the sharp edges, smooth over the crack in her chest.

Morning light bled through the thin curtains, painting soft streaks across the room. She stretched, rubbing at her puffy eyes, the lingering ache of last night still pressing heavy against her ribs.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he got to be fine. That he got to laugh and exist so easily in a world without her while she sat here, caught in the ghost of something that refused to fade.

Yet there was a surprise waiting for her when she picked up the phone.

A missed call at 3:48 am. And a voice note from him on her Instagram DMs followed.

Then, for just a second, something fluttered in her chest. A spark of something she didn’t want to name. Because maybe he had seen her last night. Maybe he had felt it too.

But reality was quick to sink its claws in, dragging her back down. No. This wasn’t that. This was probably drunk Lando. This was ‘bad decisions wrapped in nostalgia and gin’ Lando.

She should ignore it. But her thumb was already moving before her brain could stop her.

Click. Play.

“Heeeeeeeyyyy pretty girl.”

She sucked in a sharp breath.

He was drunk. The kind of drunk where words ran together, loose and careless.

“I’m so sorry for the call, I realized that you are probably working or worse – asleep – and just canceled it. Like I know that you would stab anyone who would dare to wake you up if it’s not important, and since I guess I no longer am, I—”

A hiccup. A pause.

Her stomach twisted. She should stop listening. But she didn’t.

“I just don’t know… Whenever I see you, you seem so fine, so moved on… And then there’s me, stuck between fake and being down. And you know what I do when I feel down? I go to the bar, the club. You name it. I scan a crowd looking for you. I never find you, because duh, why should I? You only went to these places for me.”

Her chest tightened. She had hated clubs with all her heart. The noise, the people, the way she never really fit into that world. She only went because he loved it. Because Lando loved the music, the energy, the thrill of it. And yet… after all this time, he was still looking for her in places she never truly belonged.

“So, I get the random girl and imagine it is you. I imagine you still care, laugh at my pick-up lines, take me home with you. I even moaned your name one time and the lady was pissed off, I got smacked, lol. Could you imagine…”

A sharp exhale left her lips.

God, he was an idiot. Saying things he had no business saying. Telling her things she shouldn’t know. She wanted to be mad. To roll her eyes, to call him out for being reckless, for dragging her back into the mess they were supposed to be untangling.

But she wasn’t mad. She was something else entirely. Because there, tangled between the words and the drunken confessions, was something she wasn’t ready to face. Regret. And worse – feelings that she thought was lost during all this. The kind that made the edges of her world blur for a moment, tilting just enough to make her wonder…

What if?

And then – 

“I should have fought for you, you know? When you asked for this break. I was an idiot for letting you walk out the door so easily. Screw the ‘let’s see where we land’ thing. I already know where I’m landing. Now the ball is in your corner or whatever. So yeah, good chat. See you around.”

Silence.

Her heart was pounding.

She stared at the screen, her mind racing.

This wasn’t just some drunk butt dial. This wasn’t some half-hearted message he would brush off in the morning.

This was a line drawn in the sand. This was him saying, ‘I know what I want. Do you?’

She swallowed, her hands shaking as she locked her phone and pressed it to her chest.

She needed to breathe. She needed to think.

But later that day, when she opened the chat to replay the message and dissect every word it was gone.

Not even a trace of it ever existing.

And just like that, she was left with nothing but the weight of what could have been.

__________

She didn’t want to be here.

That much had been clear from the second she stepped onto Silverstone’s pavement, a familiar hum in the air, the smell of petrol and rubber hitting her in a way that made her stomach twist.

It wasn’t just the track – it was everything it represented. The years spent here, the routines, the nerves. The way she used to pace behind the pit wall, hands shoved into the pockets of a McLaren hoodie that wasn’t even hers, chewing on her bottom lip as she watched Lando push the car to its limits.

It was muscle memory to be here, and yet, it had never felt more foreign.

She had almost backed out, too, with the kind of last-minute excuse that wouldn’t fool her mother but might have been enough to let her go on with her weekend and avoid the inevitable. But the tickets had been a Christmas gift – from the Norris family, as per usual – and her parents had been so excited.

“It’s been too long since we all did something like this together. You used to go with him all the time while we were watching from the sidelines. Now we can switch places, you will be fine” her dad had said. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Fun. Right.

So she had caved. And when it was time to leave for Sunday GP, she still wanted to blend in the crowd. She knew there would be plenty of McLaren fans, so if you can’t beat them – join them. She took out a random t-shirt that was probably used way too many times. It was only after pulling it over her head that she realized which one it was.

His.

One he had left in her drawer ages ago, one she had slept in more nights than she could count.

It smelled like fabric softener instead of him now. That should have been a relief. It wasn’t. For a split second, she had almost taken it off. Almost buried it back in the drawer like it was some kind of cursed relic. But then she exhaled. It’s just a shirt. No one will even notice.

And at first she was perfectly flying over the radar. Her parents visited the paddock, while she stayed behind, blending in the crowds. She had perfected the art of blending in – cheering when appropriate, clapping at the right moments, never once letting her gaze wander too long in the direction of the papaya garage. And it was working wonders. 

But then she ran into Emma. The fellow paramedic, who she had known both from the medical, and sports field, as she was a couple years older and worked with Papaya for a few years. One second, she was keeping her head down, avoiding anything orange, and the next, she was being pulled into McLaren hospitality because “It’s dead quiet before the race, and you have a paddock pass, so why not?”

She should have said no. Instead, she sat with Emma, catching up over bad coffee, pretending she wasn’t hyperaware of exactly where she was. Yet every time footsteps neared, her body tensed, anticipation coiling in her stomach like a reflex she hadn’t quite unlearned. It wasn’t that she couldn’t see him – it had happened before, and they had managed to be civil, distant in a way that felt almost rehearsed. But being here, surrounded by everything that made Lando Lando, made her feel too exposed.

Don’t get it wrong – she would always be a fan. Even if life took them further apart, even if one day they became nothing more than a distant memory, she would still admire him. The raw talent, the skill, the way he could take a car and make it his – that would never change. 

But it had been eight months, and for the first time, she was starting to find a rhythm outside of them. A clarity she hadn’t thought possible. And yet. Eight months, and still, his drunken voice note rattled in her head like an echo trapped between her ribs. Eight months, and the thought of seeing him in his element – seeing him – made her stomach twist in ways she couldn’t quite decipher. Would it set her back? Or would it confirm that she was finally past it?

Five minutes into chatting, laughing like she wasn’t standing in the center of everything she had left behind, Oscar Piastri appeared, cradling his arm like it was more of an annoyance than an injury. It was impossible for her not to know or like Oscar – they would always lightly catch up and laugh whenever she visited a paddock. And she sure as hell knew that he was aware what was the reason behind her being absent recently. 

“Hey, do me a favor,” he said, surprised to see her in the paddock, but not making a big deal out of it. “Tell me I’m being dramatic.”

She raised a brow. “You’re being dramatic.”

Oscar grinned. “That’s what I needed.”

They fell into easy conversation – nothing deep, just lighthearted jabs about how McLaren clearly needed her back on call, and how she had ditched them for something far less entertaining.

And then, as she was mid-sentence, Oscar’s eyes flicked to her shirt.

Her stomach dropped. She glanced down, realizing how obvious it was now, when she dropped her jacket off. The faded Lando Norris on the back. The small details only a real fan – or someone owning a similar t-shirt – would notice, proved this shirt wasn’t just merch, but his.

“That is not just any McLaren shirt.”

Her face went hot. “Oscar –”

“You’re both so full of shit,” he cut in, laughing.

Before she could protest, before she could even think, he was pulling out his phone.

“Oscar,” she warned.

“Relax,” he said, snapping the picture. “I’ll make it tasteful.”

So when later that day, after the GP was done and gone, her phone buzzed, she wasn’t surprised to see that Oscar had tagged her in a story, meant for a close friend's circle. At least he had decency not to post it publicly, sparing her from the speculation of people online.

A casual shot – Oscar grinning, arm still wrapped in tape, her beside him, mid-laugh. The caption?

“I’m here catching up with a friend, being all nice and all, and she’s still in his corner.”

She rolled her eyes and locked her phone, pretending she saw nothing. Lando rarely if ever checked other driver’s stories, so she thought that maybe she was safe. 

What she didn’t know, that Lando was also tagged in it. 

It was late by the time the high of his first home win finally started to wear off. It should have lasted longer. It should have been everything. And for a while, it was. The roar of the British crowd, the Union Jack wrapped around his shoulders, the feeling of standing on the top step at Silverstone – his Silverstone. It was a dream he’d had since he was a kid, a moment that was meant to feel like an ending and a beginning all at once.

But the thing about dreams is that you never picture them alone. And she wasn’t there. Not where she should have been, anyway.

He’d looked for her. Not consciously, not obviously, but when he turned toward the grandstands where his family sat – where she used to sit – his eyes found nothing but an empty space. And it was stupid to expect anything different. They weren’t that anymore. They weren’t anything, really.

But for the first time since she walked out, he let himself admit it. It still felt wrong doing this without her.

Later, exhausted but unwilling to sleep, he opened his phone, torn between drowning in nostalgia or holding onto the adrenaline of the win. He chose the latter. Scrolled through the tags, looking for a story to share. When he saw the notification from Oscar, he barely thought twice. Probably some congratulatory post, maybe something teasing him for taking so long to win here.

But when he clicked it, the world narrowed to a pinpoint.

Because there she was.

Not in the stands. Not in his family's section. But she had been there. And she was wearing his shirt. An old one, something he barely even remembered giving her, but she still had it. Still wore it.

His stomach tightened. She hadn’t wanted to see him. Hadn’t let him see her. But maybe he wasn’t the only one still looking for pieces of the past.

And maybe she wasn’t quite ready to let them go either.

______

There were still three days left until their one-year mark. Not that she was counting. 

362 days had passed. 362 days of learning how to be her own person again. And, honestly? She wasn’t half bad at it. 

She had figured out how to be alone without feeling lonely. She’d chased things she never made time for before, threw herself into work, into new routines, into a version of herself that wasn’t just an extension of him. And she liked who she was becoming – someone stronger, more driven, more sure of herself.

But did she still feel a pit in her stomach every time she thought about the fact that he wasn’t there to see it? Absolutely.

And maybe that was why she had convinced herself she just had to make it to a year. A clean number. One final milestone to tell her that they had really done it – walked away, stayed away and allowed them both to breath.

But then came the invitation. Max, persistently begging her to come. It’s his birthday, he’d want you there. And also, it was hard to lie to herself that three days would make her change her mind. 

Before she knew it, she was standing in the middle of the chaos, clutching a drink she didn’t want, in a room that felt too damn small. The music was loud, the air thick with laughter and voices overlapping in that familiar, comfortable way. She had spent years in rooms like this, at parties just like this, orbiting the same people, the same circles. But tonight, she felt like a stranger.

And then she saw him. Across the room, back turned, laughing at something Max had said. Easy. Effortless. Like nothing had changed.

The last time she saw him, Lando was leaving Silverstone with his name echoing through the crowd. A winner. A hero. And she had watched from the screen of her phone, watching him have everything he ever wanted. 

That realization made her stop in her tracks.

Because here he was, months later, standing in the center of a world that kept spinning without her. With only three GPs left, he was still a contender for the whole damn championship. He had managed to dodge all major drama, kept his head down, thrived. And now, surrounded by friends, by people who cared for him, cherished him, celebrated him – he looked free.

Happy.

And just like that, the thought hit her like a punch to the ribs. Maybe this should be it. Maybe this night should be her closure. Because if this past year had proven anything, it was that he didn’t need her. And as much as it twisted something deep inside her, maybe she was okay with that.

Maybe she could give up the what if in exchange for the freedom she had convinced herself he deserved. Even if her heart didn’t waver. Even if she was still his in ways she wished she wasn’t.

She turned on her heel, ready to leave this place. She knew that he was aware that she was here. So the checkmark ticked for their friends – she was here, she had cheered for him. Now it was time to leave all this behind them. Just as she was about to put the empty glass on the table by the door, she heard a familiar voice:

“Leaving so soon?”

His voice cut through the noise like a blade. She could barely hear it, but somehow, it still sent a shiver down her spine.

She didn’t turn back, not right away. She let out a breath, eyes shutting for half a second, before finally facing him.

“I was just –” She cleared her throat, finding it suddenly dry. “I was just stepping out.”

Something flickered in his eyes. He didn’t call her bullshit. Didn’t need to. Instead, he simply gestured toward the door.

“Me too.”

As they stepped outside, the air outside was crisp, a quiet relief from the overwhelming heat of the party. She crossed her arms over her chest, less for warmth, more for something to do. Lando stuffed his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he exhaled, long and slow.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

And then–

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

She let out something between a laugh and a scoff. “I wasn’t going to.”

His lips twitched. “Max?”

“Max.”

Silence again. But this one wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t unfamiliar. It was them. The kind of quiet that only came after knowing someone for years. The kind that held more weight than words.

Lando rocked back on his heels. “You didn’t have to come.”

She let out a breath, steadying herself. “I know.”

“Then why did you?”

She shifted on her feet, gaze flickering toward the door, toward the party she could easily slip back into. Away from this. But she didn’t move.

Instead, she sighed, voice softer now. “Because it’s your birthday.”

Lando exhaled through his nose, looking away for a moment. “I thought maybe you were done.”

“I thought so too,” she admitted. “I was trying to be.”

His gaze snapped back to her, something sharp behind his eyes. “Trying?”

Her stomach twisted. This was exactly what she had been afraid of – this conversation, the one she wasn’t sure she was ready to have. The one where she had to admit that all the time, all the space, all the growing hadn’t undone a damn thing.

“I didn’t want us to slip back,” she confessed. “Back into something that wasn’t healthy. Back into us, but wrong.”

Lando nodded, slow. “And do you think we would?”

She looked at him. At the way he was standing now, steadier, stronger, more him. At the way his face, older in ways that had nothing to do with time, still softened at the sight of her. At the way she still felt it. That pull. That certainty.

She swallowed hard. “No.”

He stepped forward. Not much. Just enough. And this time, he was the one to break the silence.

“You know what I realized?” His voice was quiet, careful. “That I could have the best day of my life, and it still wouldn’t be quite right.”

She stiffened.

“Because it’s not about someone seeing it,” he continued. “It’s about someone being there. It’s about looking over and knowing –” he broke off, shaking his head, then tried again. “I didn’t need you to see me win at Silverstone. Hell I didn't need you to witness any of this. I just –” his voice dropped even lower – “needed you. And then I saw you in that damn picture with my t-shirt on. It took everything in me not to drive to Bristol, looking for you.”

Her throat tightened. “Lando.”

“I know we did the right thing,” he said, brushing it off. “I know we needed time. I know we needed to fix things.” A pause. Then he looked dead into her eyes. “But tell me. Right now. That if we part ways now that you will be the happiest version of yourself.”

Now, she was standing in front of the person who had been both her greatest love and her hardest lesson. Now, she was staring at him, the weight of their history pressing in from all sides, and she still couldn’t imagine a life where she didn’t look for him in every crowd. Now, she was tired of pretending.

“I don’t regret what we did,” she whispered. Something flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t pull back. “I think we needed it,” she admitted. “I think we needed the space. The time. I think we needed to figure out who we were without each other.”

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue. “And I did. I figured it out.”

Lando didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. “And?”

She hesitated, because saying it out loud made it real. Made it true. But after all the turmoil she owed him that much.

“I had good days,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Really good days. Days where I laughed so hard my ribs ached. Where I felt strong. Where I was proud of who I was becoming.”

Lando’s jaw tensed. She inhaled sharply. 

“And then there were the other days. The ones where something amazingly good or amazingly bad happened, something I wanted to share, but I’d reach for my phone and realize – ” Her voice cracked. “Realize you weren’t there.”

Lando shut his eyes for a second, like he needed a moment to steady himself. “Yeah.”

Her chest tightened. “And you?”

His lips parted, but for the first time all night, words didn’t come so easily. So he exhaled, rubbed a hand over his jaw, and met her gaze with the kind of raw honesty that left no room for doubt.

“I had the best day of my life, and it still felt wrong because you weren’t there to see it.”

She blinked, chest tightening, but he wasn’t done.

“I had the worst day of my life too. And every instinct told me to go to you. And I couldn’t.”

Her throat burned.

“I used to think what we had was everything,” he murmured. “And then we broke apart, and I thought – maybe I was wrong. Maybe we were just young and caught up in something that was never meant to last.”

She held her breath.

“But then I lived without you. I learned how to be on my own. I grew. And I still came to the same conclusion.”

His fingers twitched at his sides, as if he was holding himself back.

“You are the only thing in my life that I’ve ever been sure of.”

Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she forced a watery laugh. “That’s funny,” she whispered. “Because I was just about to say the same thing.”

Lando’s shoulders fell, something breaking apart and putting itself back together all at once. And then he stepped forward. And so did she.

And when he kissed her, it wasn’t about picking up where they left off.

It was about choosing each other again. And they landed exactly where they needed to.

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

It’s getting hotter outside, and you know what that means — summer is just around the corner.

Beaches, parks, picnics, amusement rides, street fairs, dining outdoors under the golden sun, breezy evenings, long bike rides, road trips — we’re stepping right into it.

But this summer?

It’s not just heating up — it’s sizzling with romance.

Will it be the spark of a new flame?

An old flame reignited?

Or a fire that burns out before it ever catches?

What does your summer have in store for you?

Will it lead to passion — moonlit kisses, warm beach cuddles, and unforgettable nights? Or will it leave you with heartache, confusion, and a story you never saw coming? Will it be true love, a fleeting fling, or a lesson in disguise?

Whatever it is, it’s waiting for you now.

✨Pick a picture — the one that pulls your eyes, that your spirit feels drawn to.

✨ Take a deep breath — in… and out.

✨ Trust your intuition.

Pile 1

This summer is going to change your life. But not in the way that’s easy or comfortable. These are changes that challenge you—changes that force you to adapt, to reevaluate, and to learn how to live with new truths. The kind of change that reshapes you from the inside out.

When it comes to your romantic life, this summer is bringing grief, not love. It’s not giving stability or sweetness—it’s giving turmoil. Tumultuous. You may want things to go smoothly. You may hold onto hope, and yes, there will be moments that feel like things are finally going to get better. You’ll feel a spark of promise, a glimpse of grace. But it’s just that—a glimpse. A fantasy. Not the reality.

In this connection, someone is the chaser. Someone doesn’t feel secure in their own magnetism. They don’t feel confident enough to wait or to trust the timing of the connection. Patience makes them feel powerless, so they pursue. They chase. They try to conquer. They convince themselves that with enough effort, they can win this person over.

But the person they’re chasing is withdrawn.

The one doing the pursuing isn’t subtle or spacious about it. They’re intense. They’re direct. They’re confrontational—not necessarily in a negative way, but they want to talk, to fix things, to make it work. The problem is, the other person doesn’t meet that energy. They don’t lean in. They pull back.

So it becomes a dynamic of pressure and retreat. One person pushes, the other evades. There’s tension. There’s longing. There’s hope. But the romance itself becomes more of an idea than a reality. It exists in thought—in daydreams about dates that never happen, or fantasies of a future that remains just out of reach.

The lack of reciprocity begins to dissolve the initial momentum. What started with excitement and emotional charge begins to dissolve into silence. And the silence isn’t peaceful—it’s avoidance. Avoidance of conflict. Avoidance of the truth.

This is what leads to grief. When expectations unravel. When emotional investment doesn’t bear fruit. When the idea of a person or a connection proves more fulfilling than the actual experience of it.

You’re left with questions: Why isn’t this working? Why doesn’t this person take me seriously? Why can’t we meet each other halfway?

This summer, love may not be in your favor—not in the way you want it. But that doesn’t mean it’s without value. In fact, it may be one of the most important seasons for your inner growth.

Because whether you’re the one who’s chasing or the one withdrawing, this experience will reveal something essential about who you are in love. It will reshape your values. It will teach you how to love more wisely, more truthfully, more in alignment with your worth.

There is beauty in the grief, even if it feels unbearable at first. There is clarity in the collapse of fantasy. There is wisdom in the wound.

This summer may not bring romance in the way you hoped. But it will bring you back to yourself—stronger, more whole, and more discerning about what love really means to you.

Pile 2

For many of you, this summer may bring a fleeting romance or a temporary romantic moment—but nothing long-lasting. I don’t see anything that extends into autumn or winter. What I see is brief. Momentary. It might be a friends with benefits situation—something casual with someone you’re already friends with, where occasional sexual encounters happen, but neither of you seeks more. It’s a mutual understanding: you’re both here for pleasure, for release, for companionship without depth.

It could also be a summer fling—fun, lighthearted, and clearly limited to the season. You meet up, you hang out, you enjoy each other’s company, but there’s no commitment. No future plans. Or perhaps it begins as something that feels promising, something that carries the energy of a budding relationship, but it never grows beyond the moment. There’s intensity, but not intention. Passion, but not purpose.

This connection feels more physical than emotional. More about filling a personal need than building anything substantial. There’s pleasure here, yes—but it’s shallow-rooted. There’s a charged energy between you, but much is left unsaid. Emotional truths remain unspoken, tucked beneath the surface, or maybe acted out in the bedroom instead of being discussed. There’s tension—tension that doesn’t get addressed, only expressed through the body.

In this dynamic, one person feels more. One person begins to catch feelings. They want to speak up, to reveal what’s growing inside them, but they hold back—because they already sense that the other person doesn’t feel the same. One heart deepens; the other remains detached.

And because of this imbalance, the connection begins to falter. It may have started quickly, maybe even impulsively, with a sudden spark—but it fizzles just as fast. There’s no true foundation. No strings. No plans. And eventually, someone—likely the more emotionally invested person—feels abandoned.

One of you will likely ghost the other. Whether through silence, withdrawal, or simply losing interest, the connection will fade. But the ghosting isn’t mutual—it leaves one person feeling used, dismissed, and hurt. And what’s even harder is that the person with deeper feelings might not say a word. Instead of speaking up, they internalize it all. They absorb the grief, swallow the disappointment, and walk away quietly. Not because it doesn’t hurt, but because they already know: the other person isn’t serious.

The emotional weight becomes too heavy. The absence of reciprocity becomes unbearable. So they leave. They block. They withdraw—not as a game, but as self-preservation. They know they gave more than was safe, and they can’t continue pretending it didn’t mean something.

So this summer, while you may hope for romance, it’s important to be discerning. What appears to be love may actually be longing. What feels like connection may only be chemistry. You may find yourself craving more than what another person can give.

Pay close attention to your body and your boundaries. Respect them. If you’re someone who feels deeply, who catches feelings quickly, this is not the time to engage in connections that are clearly casual. Protect your heart. Don’t compromise yourself for a fleeting high.

This summer is teaching you about your boundaries, your needs, and your relationship with emotional intimacy. It’s not about finding “the one”—it’s about finding out what you truly want, what you can and cannot settle for. It’s about realizing that physical pleasure without emotional safety can sometimes bring more grief than joy.

So be careful. Be honest—with yourself and with others. Let this summer be a time of growth, not regret. Let your choices come from self-love, not loneliness.

Pile 3

For many of you, this summer will be action-packed—filled with both exhilarating highs and challenging lows. When it comes to romance, the season will likely teach you a powerful lesson about balance and moderation. Sometimes, what starts off intense and passionate isn’t always sustainable. There’s a need to build a bridge, to lay a solid foundation before diving headfirst into something—or someone—you don’t fully understand.

This summer looks like it begins with a bang: a hot flame, a bold spark. A connection ignites quickly, perhaps with someone you meet while you’re out adventuring—at a festival, concert, picnic, or even just out in nature. You could be jogging, hanging with friends, or engaging in a hobby when your eyes meet. It’s an environment that feels spontaneous, social, vibrant. And the connection? It feels magnetic.

Things start fast. There’s chemistry, boldness, sexual tension. The energy is daring and charged. Talk of long-term commitment might come up surprisingly early—discussions of marriage, children, or moving in together could be floated around in the heat of the moment. But this quick momentum is where the trouble begins. What moves fast can also collapse fast. And without moderation, without emotional pacing, the connection begins to unravel.

There are unresolved wounds that creep into the connection. These wounds may not even stem from past romantic relationships—they could come from broader emotional struggles, mental health challenges, or general chaos in one’s personal life. This budding romance, instead of grounding someone, begins to exacerbate their stress. One of you becomes thrown off by the pressure, the speed, or the emotional demands.

As the flame flickers, confidence in the connection starts to wane. One person still deeply desires commitment and wants to explore a future together. But the other begins to freeze—indecision takes over. They feel unsure, unsteady, emotionally foggy. And this uncertainty starts to dominate the dynamic.

Eventually, the relationship enters a destabilized state. It may not erupt in outright arguments, but the tension is palpable. Communication starts to deteriorate. One partner remains anchored in their desire for long-term love, while the other retreats into ambivalence. They’re overwhelmed, unsure of how to proceed, and struggle to give clear answers.

What results is a kind of emotional battleground—not in the explosive sense, but in a quiet, inner standoff. Both people are firmly planted in their own truths, unable to fully understand or empathize with the other’s perspective. It becomes less of a shared experience and more of a tug-of-war between desire and resistance, clarity and confusion.

Eventually, this relationship may fizzle out into something that feels frustrating, murky, and ultimately unnecessary. What began as thrilling ends as a drain. Not because it lacked potential, but because it lacked balance, timing, and emotional grounding.

So, romance for you this summer might feel like a whirlwind—a storm that teaches you more than it satisfies. One of the biggest takeaways will be the importance of pacing. You’ll learn that love can’t be used to escape life—it must be integrated into it. A healthy connection enhances your world, it doesn’t replace your responsibilities or distract you from your personal growth.

This summer invites you to explore how to be passionate without becoming consumed. How to fall in love without losing yourself. And how to allow romance to complement your life, not eclipse it.

Ultimately, this connection—however brief or intense—will teach you how essential balance, discernment, and emotional maturity are. Let it guide you, not break you. Let it refine your understanding of love, not destroy your faith in it.

Pile 4

For this group of people, your romantic interest this summer may emerge through travel and vacationing. You might meet them while on a road trip, during international travel, or even just visiting a different city. This person could come into your life while you’re out and about—partying, clubbing, hanging with friends, or adventuring. Simply going places this summer opens the door for this love to enter your life.

This love will be intense—obsessive, even. It’s a strong, potent connection that forms quickly. The magnetism between you is undeniable, charged with sexual energy and mutual attraction. You may find each other physically irresistible, deeply drawn to each other’s presence. It could feel like love at first sight, or at the very least, fate—like you’ve finally found the one you’ve been yearning for.

There’s a lot of warmth and affection in this relationship. It feels romantic in the most classical, storybook sense. Think: love letters, cute dates, ice cream at dusk, bike rides along the beach, picnics in golden fields, visits to that dreamy restaurant you’ve always wanted to go to with a partner—now experienced hand-in-hand with them.

You might spend time together lounging by the pool, sipping fruity drinks, painting at a picnic, or exchanging flowers and small, meaningful gifts. It’s touchy, tender, physical—a lot of sweet, lingering affection. You’ll likely spend much of your time outside, soaking in moments, making memories, and sharing pieces of yourselves.

The intimacy between you runs deep. You may talk openly about your childhoods, past relationships, life stories—there’s a strong emotional bond that builds quickly. This person will feel like home to you, deeply comforting and familiar. They’ll feel special, like someone who entered your life for a reason.

However, at the time you meet, one or both of you might be going through personal difficulties—perhaps financial instability, a sense of aimlessness, or uncertainty about your life direction. You may be in a period of transition, trying new things without a clear path forward. While this connection might feel like a saving grace, it could also further destabilize you emotionally, especially if you’re already in a vulnerable place.

This person may help soothe you, bring joy, and offer emotional support, but the relationship could also stir insecurities. They might make you feel beautiful, desired, and seen—but their presence could also awaken unresolved self-worth issues. You may find yourself over-giving, trying to prove your value, or feeling anxious about not being “enough.”

This summer romance is here to teach you an essential lesson: to love yourself without conditions. To know you are worthy—not because of how someone sees you, or how much you give, but simply because you exist. This love will mirror back to you where you still doubt yourself and give you the opportunity to heal those parts through conscious awareness.

At times, either you or your partner might begin to second-guess the relationship. There could be a tendency toward self-sabotage, rooted in internal struggles that are projected onto each other. One of you may unintentionally make the other feel unappreciated or inadequate, not out of cruelty, but from your own emotional confusion.

That’s why learning self-love, trust, and emotional resilience is vital this summer. You need to become your own anchor, your own safe space. Because this is a good romance. Of all the love energies that have shown up, this one feels the most genuinely romantic—the most available, affectionate, and real.

So allow yourself to soak it in. Let yourself experience the sweetness, the adventure, the softness. Just remember: don’t let your insecurities sabotage the love you’ve been calling in. This summer, you’re not only being invited into a beautiful connection—you’re also being asked to meet yourself fully, with grace and compassion.

Pile 5

For many of you, I’m sensing that you’ve recently experienced heartbreak. It feels like you’re not in a stable place emotionally to dive into romance or enter a deeply romantic connection. Your heart is still healing—you’re still moving through grief, pain, and betrayal. This summer is about rebuilding your trust in yourself, and learning to trust again that things can work out without needing to be hypervigilant because of past wounds.

Many of you have undergone significant transformation recently, and I sense that for a lot of you, this came through a breakup or a relational rupture that left you feeling unworthy or ungrounded. So I’m going to split this message into two groups, though they are related.

The first group feels like the “heartbroken romantics”—the “sad girls,” “sad boys,” lover girls and lover boys gone wrong. You wanted love, you cared deeply, you craved it, and maybe you even had it for a while. But then something shifted. The sweetness turned bitter. The love turned into betrayal, or a breach of trust, or a breakup that shattered you.

As a result, many of you aren’t doing well emotionally right now. You’re feeling everything intensely, but haven’t had the space or support to resolve the emotional residue from that last romantic experience. Your heart feels closed. Even if you develop feelings for someone new, you’re not ready to admit it, much less talk about it. You’re not ready for commitment—maybe even actively avoiding it. The idea of committing to someone stirs fear within you. It reminds you of what you went through, and you’re not willing to go back there.

This summer, you’re clear: you don’t want to be tied down. You crave freedom. You want to live, to breathe, to explore. If you do want anything romantic, you want depth—you want a commitment that holds real emotional safety, real trust, real intimacy. You’re not interested in shallow connections or commitment for its own sake. You’re being selective now, discerning—maybe even a little romantically “stingy.” You’re no longer allowing just anyone access to your heart. You’re guarding it, not out of bitterness, but out of wisdom.

And honestly, I don’t see you committing this summer. I see you having fun, letting loose, dipping into lighthearted connections, even flirtations. You may distract yourself with adventures, try new things, go out, meet new people. I can see friends-with-benefits situations forming, maybe a fun fling or two—something impulsive or spontaneous, done for the moment, not meant to last. You might get the urge to act on a craving, and you do it, but you’re not holding yourself to a follow-up. You’re not planning the second date—you’re just living in the now.

This summer, the real focus is on you. You’re learning to love yourself in new ways. You’re realizing that your standards are there for a reason—and you’re learning not to let anyone shake them. You’re anchoring yourself deeper in your own values. Instead of letting someone drag you out of the sand, you’re letting your feet root into it, becoming solid, sure, and self-contained.

Because you know how it feels to have your heart broken. You know how it feels when someone says one thing and does another. You’ve felt the sting of broken trust. And you’re not going back. You’ve outgrown the version of yourself that ignored red flags or settled for less.

So this summer, your romantic life is more like a hot sizzle—brief, bold, and fun—but not meant to carry lasting weight. You’re not looking for something deeply entangled or overly romantic. You’re redirecting your energy toward yourself, your freedom, your joy, your growth. You have better things to focus on now, and your lust for life is no longer tied solely to love or relationships. It’s tied to your own liberation.

Pile 6

For many of you who are either currently in a committed relationship or in some kind of emotionally involved connection—where it feels like a relationship, or at least where the topic of commitment has already been brought up—your summer romance is already playing out. If you’re not yet in something official, there may be a strong bond or a sense of anticipation around becoming committed. Either way, this summer feels like a turbulent one in matters of the heart.

Summer is usually a time of warmth, freedom, beauty, and social energy. People want to dress up, go out, feel good, feel alive. But for you, I’m not sensing that kind of lightness. I’m not sensing the feeling of freedom. Instead, there’s a sense of emotional confinement or weariness.

Let’s divide this into two groups: those who are in committed relationships, and those in undefined or ambiguous connections that feel like commitments.

For those in committed partnerships, it feels like there’s a lack of effort on both sides—perhaps a lack of willingness to truly do for each other. You may be in a place where you or your partner (or both) don’t feel confident within yourselves, which makes it difficult to connect deeply. The relationship may feel stagnant. The passion seems to have faded. The romance feels hollow. The intimacy is missing. It’s like you’re waiting to see if things improve, but deep down, you’re doubting it. You may be questioning the longevity of the relationship, and considering whether a breakup is inevitable.

It’s as if your commitment is hanging by a thread—a thread that’s fraying more with each day. There’s effort to endure the hardships, but the more you try to hold on, the more exhausted and emotionally drained you feel. Instead of feeling vital, this summer feels repressive. Instead of passion, there’s obligation. Instead of play, there’s labor. You’re working at something that feels more like a job than a relationship.

There’s also a sense of mistrust. Perhaps someone betrayed the other—not necessarily through cheating, but through broken promises or emotional negligence. Trust has been fractured. Both of you may be guarded now. There’s defensiveness in the air. And neither of you seems willing to change for the other. It’s like you’ve silently surrendered, but neither of you is walking away. You’re still together, still coexisting, but not connecting.

If you’re not officially in a relationship but are entangled in a deep connection, the energy isn’t much lighter. The bond feels weak, distant, inconsistent. Communication may be sparse, and even when it happens, it feels flat or forced. The connection doesn’t feel secure—it’s riddled with doubt, confusion, and emotional coldness.

You may feel bitter just interacting with this person, like every exchange costs more than it gives. There’s likely a sense of being pushed to move forward with something your heart no longer wants. You may feel like you’re pretending, accommodating, or trying to keep something alive that no longer brings you joy. Reciprocity feels off. You may have put up walls to protect yourself, and you may be perceived as cold—or the other person might be. Either way, it feels like you no longer want a future with them. The vision of “us” has faded.

It’s a confusing space to be in—because nothing is fully broken, but nothing is thriving either. It’s like a building that hasn’t collapsed but is visibly crumbling. There’s still a connection, an attachment, but it’s withering. Emotionally, it feels like you’re stuck inside a shaken bottle—you want release, you want excitement, but you keep the cap on. Everything is boiling beneath the surface, but no one’s addressing it.

There’s avoidance. Silence. Emotional self-protection. You or your partner may be choosing to keep things “as is” to avoid confrontation, but that avoidance is slowly eroding the connection.

So for you, this summer’s romance may not feel like romance at all. It may feel like a scorched emotional sunburn—a burning reminder of discomfort, not warmth. Rather than being pulled out into the world to laugh, dance, and love freely, you may find yourself wanting to retreat inside, into your own emotional shelter, to rest, reassess, and protect what’s left of your energy.