#Rebecca doesn't play with words

[minxchester]

Fourth Wing Foreshadow Reread~Exes

Oho okay, I missed this before.

We know our girl played with Infantry before. Now we know there's two, unless that's including crushing on Dain. Wonder if these fellas will ever come up?

[inkandapex]

tides of change

Lando Norris x Y/N

Summary : Lando and Y/N’s not so situationship had become the talk of everyone around them. It was clear to everyone but the two of them that their connection was something worth fighting for. The question on everyone’s lips: When will Lando finally stop holding back and risk it all?

Words : 4.1k

Warnings : swearing, mentions of sex, poorly translated french

It was a rainy day in Monaco, the kind of weather that made everything feel a little slower. The usual buzz of the city was muffled by the constant drizzle, and the three friends—Lando, Max, and Charles—found themselves on a paddle court, looking for a way to pass the time during their break.

Sweaty and winded from their last round, the trio stood around, sipping on drinks, exchanging small talk about the upcoming season. Max, ever the competitive one, wiped his brow with a towel, giving Lando a smirk. "I think you might be getting worse, mate."

Charles finally looks up from his phone after being preoccupied for the past few minutes. "Lando, Y/N is here?"

"Yeah, she got in last morning. Why?" Lando nods, still catching his breath from the last game.

Charles grins and pockets his phone. "Alex just texted me—she just found out today. You should invite her to join us on the yacht. It's supposed to be a clear day tomorrow."

Lando raises an eyebrow. "Who else is coming?"

"Couple of other friends, Carlos and Rebecca too."

Lando smirks, glancing over at Max. "Max?"

"Nah, mate," Max chimes in, wiping his face with a towel. "Don't think being out at sea would help with Kelly's morning sickness." He laughs lightly, clearly trying to keep the mood light, but there’s a genuine care in his tone.

Lando’s grin softens, and he nods. "Fair enough. I’ll let Y/N know then."

"Speaking of which... what's ugh, going on with you two? Finally asked her out?" Max smirks, leaning back against the wall.

A small smirk crept up on Lando’s face, but he quickly took a swig from his bottle, picking up his racket as if the question never happened. "Are we playing another round or what?"

"Well, that’s a clear no," Charles laughs, crossing his arms.

Max raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this. "You idiot, how long has this situationship been a thing for now? Two seasons?"

Lando freezes for a second, then points a finger at Max. "First of all, don’t ever use ‘situationship’ again. Sounds weird coming from you." He shrugs nonchalantly. "And... we’re just friends."

Charles snickers. "Friends who kiss every now and then—"

Max jumps in. "And sleep together."

Lando's eyes widen slightly. "Hey, that’s not—"

"So you haven’t?" Max presses, his grin growing.

Lando bites his lip, trying to hide the grin spreading across his face. He glances at Charles, who’s trying to suppress a laugh.

"Oh, they definitely have," Charles chimes in, his voice teasing.

Lando glares at them, but it’s no use—he can’t help the flush creeping up his neck. "Alright, alright, enough."

"I've had a couple of friends ask me about her, mate." Charles pats Lando’s shoulder before casually walking back to his side of the court. "Come on, one more before we head home."

Lando blinks. "Wha— Which friends?" His grip tightens slightly on his racket, trying to sound indifferent but failing miserably.

Charles exchanges a knowing look with Max, the kind that screams look at this idiot, so oblivious. Max just smirks.

"Doesn't matter who" Charles shrugs, stretching his arms as if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell. "Just thought I’d let you know. Do with the information as you will."

Lando opens his mouth, then closes it, frowning slightly. His mind is already racing through the possibilities, but before he can press further, Max serves the ball, forcing him to refocus.

But even as they dive back into the game, the thought lingers.

------------------------------------------------------

The sound of Lando's keys hitting the table broke Y/N's gaze from the screen in front of her. She glanced over to see him standing by the door, bag still slung over his shoulder, hair slightly damp from a mix of sweat and rain.

"How was paddle with Max and Charles?" she asked, shifting her focus back to the movie playing in front of her.

"Good. Max lost, of course." Lando smirked, toeing off his shoes before flopping down beside her. He hesitated for a moment before clearing his throat. "Hey, uhm— you busy tomorrow?"

"Mmm, not really. Kinda wanted to walk around and shop for a bit. Why, what's up?"

Lando ran a hand through his damp curls. "Charles is inviting us on his yacht tomorrow with Alex and a couple of their friends. Carlos and Rebecca are coming too, I heard."

Y/N hummed in thought, eyes still on the screen, but Lando barely noticed. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as he forced himself to sound casual. He wasn’t sure why he was nervous—he was just inviting his best friend to hang out with their other friends. They all knew each other already.

So why did it feel like something more?

"Sure, yeah, that actually sounds fun. Haven’t seen them in a while," Y/N said, shooting Lando a soft smile.

Relieved, Lando let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He barely had time to react before Y/N’s fingers slid through his damp curls, her touch light and familiar.

"You should shower," she murmured. "You’re gonna get sick."

Lando smirked, tilting his head just enough to press a featherlight kiss to her wrist. "Join me?"

Y/N laughed, gently but firmly pushing his head away. "Dork. We both said no more, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah… I tried," he chuckled, pushing himself up from the couch. As he passed, he reached down to poke her cheek, grinning when she swatted at his hand.

It was true—what Charles and Max suspected. They’d kissed. And, yeah, they’d definitely slept together. More than once. But somewhere along the way, between shared hotel rooms, late-night confessions, and stolen moments, they both agreed that this—whatever this was—couldn’t be more. Not now. Not when Lando was constantly on the move, when their friendship was the one thing they both swore they’d never risk.

So they stayed just that—friends.

At least, that’s what they kept telling themselves.

----------------------------------------------------------------

"Cabrón! It's been too long! Have you grown taller?" Carlos' voice rang out, loud enough to make nearly everyone aboard the yacht turn their heads.

Lando laughed, shaking his head as he walked over. "You muppet, I saw you last week." He pulled Carlos into a quick hug before stepping back and motioning toward Y/N, who stood just behind him. "Look who I brought."

Carlos' face lit up. "Ahh… mi novia’s novia. Good to see you, Y/N." Without hesitation, he pulled her into a tight hug, rocking her slightly for dramatic effect.

Before she could fully recover, Charles appeared beside them, grinning as he leaned in to greet her with a cheek kiss. "She's also my girlfriend’s girlfriend," he added, giving Lando a teasing look.

"Y/N is the nation's girlfriend," Carlos announced, laughing as he patted her shoulder. Then, with a wicked smirk, he leaned toward Lando, lowering his voice just enough.

"Except yours."

Lando rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply through his nose, but the warmth creeping up his neck betrayed him. Carlos just smirked wider.

"Too much testosterone. Where are my ladies?" Y/N teased, glancing around the deck in search of her friends.

"Oh, they're inside getting changed," Charles said, nodding toward the doors leading into the yacht.

"Perfect. I’ll see you boys later then." She gave them a small wave before heading off, disappearing through the doors with an easy grace.

Lando’s eyes lingered on her retreating figure, something he wasn’t even aware of until he heard the soft chuckles beside him. He turned to find Carlos and Charles exchanging a knowing look before shaking their heads in amusement.

"What now?" Lando sighed, already bracing himself.

"I just don’t get it," Charles said, crossing his arms. "I really don’t."

"Get what?"

Carlos exhaled dramatically, giving Lando a pointed look. "Why you like punishing yourself like this. Like a fucking sadist."

Charles nodded in agreement. "You clearly like each other."

Lando shook his head, sliding his sunglasses on as if they could shield him from the conversation. "Not that simple."

"Oh, but it is," Carlos countered, arms crossed. "It’s not like you haven’t been in a relationship before, so I know for a fact it’s not commitment issues on your end."

Charles tilted his head. "She doesn’t want to?"

"It’s not that." Lando exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "It just… doesn’t work. We've tried"

Carlos narrowed his eyes. "Tried what, exactly?"

Lando hesitated, jaw tightening slightly. "Just the whole distance thing. Me being away all the time. And then there’s the hate she’s gonna get when people find out. I can’t do that to her." His voice was quieter now, but firm. "She’s already getting shit just for being friends with me."

Charles and Carlos exchanged a look, their teasing fading into something more serious. For all the jokes, they knew Lando wasn’t just making excuses. But still, Carlos shook his head with a sigh.

"You know, if you ever stop being an idiot, I think she’d be worth it."

Lando huffed a small, almost bitter laugh. "Yeah," he muttered. "I know."

"If not, I mean, I got friends that are interested," Charles shrugged, all casual, but the glint in his eye said otherwise.

Lando chuckled, but there was an edge to it, a slight tightness in his voice. "See, you keep saying that, but I think you're just doing it to provoke me."

Charles smirked but stayed silent.

Carlos, however, turned to him with a knowing look. "Who? Luca?"

Charles' brows lifted in surprise before he gave Carlos an approving nod. "Yeah."

Lando’s expression shifted in an instant. His sunglasses did nothing to hide the way his jaw clenched. "Who the fuck is Luca?"

"Like I said… a friend," Charles smirked, enjoying this way too much.

"Don’t fuck with me right now, Leclerc." Lando’s head snapped around as he scanned the yacht, shoulders growing visibly tense. "He’s here?"

Carlos chuckled, clapping a hand on Lando’s back. "Calm down, cabrón. Y/N is available, no?"

Lando shot him a glare before rolling his eyes. "You two are dicks."

Charles and Carlos only laughed, sharing a look before Carlos added, "Just saying, if you don’t want her to be, maybe do something about it."

-----------------------------------------------------------

The yacht had sailed further into the open ocean, the hours melting away in a blur of sun, salt, and laughter. Everyone had split into their own little group, swimming, chatting, drinking. But as lunchtime rolled around, they all gathered around the spread of food laid out on deck.

Y/N sat at a smaller table in the corner with Rebecca and Alex, the three of them deep in conversation. Lando strolled over, wordlessly setting a small pouch in front of her along with a glass of water.

"Medicine’s in there. Take one, okay?" He gave her head a light pat before turning on his heel and walking off to grab some food for himself, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Rebecca and Alex exchanged confused looks, both raising an eyebrow as they glanced between Y/N and the small pouch Lando had left behind. Neither of them knew what he meant by "medicine," and the whole exchange seemed a bit mysterious.

Y/N noticed their concerned gazes and let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. She pulled out a row of antihistamine pills from the pouch, holding them up. "Sometimes shellfish makes my allergies act up. It’s really nothing too serious, but it’s better not to risk it."

Alex’s expression softened in understanding, though she still looked a little taken aback. "Ah, makes sense," she nodded, her voice light "And of course... Lando is on top of it"

Rebecca let's out a soft laugh as she shakes her head "You're just as oblivious as he is you know, it's cute and funny at the same time"

"Guys... come on. We agreed to not talk about this"

Rebecca nods and holds her hands up in surrender "Mhmm alright, we'll let you figure it out on your own"

"What are you girls gossiping about this time huh?" Carlos walks over with Lando and Charles, plates of food and drinks in hand as their took their respective seats around the table

"Nothing you boys need to worry about," Alex smiles.

"Ah, donc rien à voir avec le fait que quelqu'un nie ses vrais sentiments pour quelqu'un, hein ?" Charles tilts his head, looking over at Y/N as he takes a bite of his food (Ah, so it has nothing to do with anyone denying their true feelings for someone, huh?)

"Espèce de bâtard sournois, Alex t'en a parlé ?" Y/N’s mouth dropped open, her eyes flicking between the two of them. (You sneaky bastard, did Alex tell you?)

"Non ! Je jure que je n'ai rien dit !" Alex quickly defended herself. (No! I swear I didn't say anything!)

"S'il vous plaît, c'est tellement évident. Je pense que tout le monde peut le dire rien qu'en vous regardant tous les deux," Charles smirked, making Alex chuckle beside him as she nodded her head in agreement, while the rest of the table fell into conversations of their own. (Please, it's so obvious. I think everyone can tell just by looking at the two of you)

"Il a pété un câble quand je lui ai dit qu’un pote était intéressé par toi. Tu sais que les potes normaux réagissent pas comme ça, hein ?" Charles goes on, raising an eyebrow as he watches Y/N’s reaction. (He freaked out when I told him a friend was interested in you. You know normal friends don't react like that, right?)

Y/N simply shakes her head and continues to eat, it wasn't until Charles continues to egg on his theory

"Il ne comprend pas un mot de ce que je dis, mais regarde ça." Charles straightens up, a mischievous glint in his eyes as if preparing to prove a point. "Tout ce que j’ai à faire, c’est dire le nom de Luca, et ça attire son attention." (He doesn’t understand a word I’m saying, but look at this.) (All I have to do is say Luca's name, and it gets his attention)

Right on cue, Lando’s head whips around, his conversation forgotten as his ears latch onto the familiar name. Confusion flickers across his face, caught completely off guard by the sudden mention.

"Dickhead" Y/N mutters with a laugh, shaking her head as she stands up, plate in hand, and makes her way toward the buffet table for more food.

Lando is on his feet almost instantly, trailing after her without a second thought. Whatever she and Charles were talking about, he needs to know.

"So, he told you about Luca, huh?" Lando leans against the table, arms crossed as he watches her pick through the food. His voice is casual—too casual.

Y/N sighs, shaking her head. Charles really wasn’t exaggerating. Of course Lando took the bait. "Lan, he was just fucking with you."

His eyes narrow slightly. "So you're not at all interested in this Luca guy?"

She pauses, glancing at him with a teasing smirk. "What if I was?"

Lando blinks at her, completely dumbfounded. His mouth opens slightly, but no words come out as he tries to process what he just heard. "What do you mean?"

Y/N shrugs, casually placing a piece of food on her plate. "What if I was interested? What’s it to you?" She glances at him, eyes challenging. "Like you said, we’re just friends, remember?"

His stomach twists uncomfortably. That is what he said. But suddenly, he’s not so sure he meant it.

Y/N simply tuts, a knowing smirk playing on her lips as she brushes past him. As she does, her fingers trail lightly along his arm, the touch barely there but enough to send a spark straight through him.

"Just something to think about," she murmurs before walking away, leaving Lando standing there—plate forgotten, mind racing, and heart pounding just a little too fast.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Lando lounged on a sunbed, sunglasses on, deep in conversation with Carlos when Rebecca’s voice cut through the chatter.

“Looking good, Y/N! That set is gorgeous on you!”

Mid-sentence, Lando sat up slightly, resting on his elbows as his gaze searched for her.

And then he saw her.

Not just in any bikini—no, a papaya one. His colour. He almost swore she wore it just for him.

Lando barely had time to recover from the way Y/N’s laugh sent a shiver down his spine before she sat beside him, all sweet smiles and knowing eyes. He saw right through her. She was playing with him, enjoying the way she had him wrapped around her finger.

And damn, was it working.

Before he could say anything, Charles strolled by, some guy trailing behind him.

“Y/N, this is my friend Luca. He’s been asking non-stop about you. Thought it was time I introduce the two of you.”

Lando’s jaw tightened, fingers twitching against the sunbed. You have got to be kidding me.

Y/N stood to greet Luca, and the guy wasted no time leaning in for a cheek kiss. Normally, Lando wouldn’t care—his friends did it all the time. But this? Some random guy he didn’t know? Absolutely not.

“Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard such great things,” Luca said with a grin. “I see you around a lot, just… not with the right team.”

Lando’s eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses.

Y/N laughed. “Ah, yeah! I’ve seen you with Charles and Alex a few times.”

“So how long are you in Monaco this time? For good, I hope?”

“I wish. This place is amazing, but I have to go back to England next week—work calls. I’ll be back by the end of the month, though.”

Luca smiled. “Then we have some time to go out before you leave?”

Lando sat up fully, sunglasses pushed to the top of his head. Was this some kind of sick joke? Asking her out—right in front of him? His blood boiled.

No. Absolutely not.

Lando didn’t even hesitate. “Actually, no, we’re busy. Got plans this week.”

Carlos, instantly catching on, barely held in his laughter—though his girlfriend didn’t bother hiding her amusement, giving him a light slap on the arm.

Y/N turned to Lando, eyebrows raised. “We do?”

“Yep,” he answered smoothly, leaning back like he hadn’t just pulled that excuse out of thin air. “Max and P are coming over to stay with us, remember? Got some activities lined up. Sorry, mate.”

The only problem? Now he actually had to find things to do and start booking these non-existent activities.

Luca frowned slightly. “Oh—well… when you come back from England, then?”

“Sounds good,” Y/N started, “I’ll ask Charles for your—”

“Naaah,” Lando cut in again, shaking his head. “Doesn’t work either, mate. We’re heading to Italy when she gets back.”

Y/N blinked. “We are?”

“Yes. Was supposed to be a surprise. Surprise!” Lando shot her a grin, ignoring the way Carlos was now openly laughing beside him.

Just off to the side, Charles leaned toward Alex, voice low. "S'il vous plaît, laissez-moi le sortir de sa misère." (Please let me put him out of his misery.)

Luca could only laugh, shaking his head as he held up his hands in surrender.

“Alright, got it, mate. All yours.”

Lando didn’t bother hiding his smirk, satisfied with the outcome.

Y/N narrowed her eyes, dragging Lando toward a quieter part of the yacht, away from prying eyes. His smug smirk only made her more irritated.

“What the fuck was that, Norris?” she snapped, arms crossed.

Lando barely flinched, still grinning. “What, you don’t wanna go to Italy? Greece more your style? Oh! How about Ibiza—”

She didn’t let him finish, landing a solid punch to his arm.

“Ow!” Lando winced, clutching his arm. “Forgot how strong you are.”

“Stop playing with me. I know there’s no Italy trip.”

“There is!”

“Bullshit.”

He exhaled, dropping the act. “Fine! I just… You can’t go out with him, Y/N.”

Her expression softened for a moment before tilting her head, arms still crossed. “And why’s that?”

Lando ran a hand through his curls, avoiding her gaze for a second before finally meeting her eyes.

“That’s so unfair, Lando, and you know it,” Y/N shot back, arms tightening over her chest. “You’ve gone out with other girls, and you didn’t hear shit from me.”

“No—that’s different,” Lando argued, shaking his head.

“Oh, it is different,” she scoffed. “Because I haven’t been sleeping around with other people since what happened between us.”

His eyes widened. “But I haven’t!”

“Oh, don’t give me that shit—do you want me to drop names?”

Lando opened his mouth, then shut it just as fast. He let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “…Alright, fine.”

“Doesn’t mean I have feelings for them,” he added quickly, voice softer this time.

Y/N let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “Awe, how fucking romantic.”

Lando felt his stomach drop. The teasing, the back-and-forth—it all came to a screeching halt the second Y/N let her emotions slip through.

She sank onto the sofa, fingers threading through her hair, exhaling like she was tired—tired of him, tired of this.

“We can’t keep doing this, Lan,” she murmured, voice quieter now. “This whole ordeal is fucking exhausting. If you really want this, you can have me. But you can’t just want some of it. Take all of it. The good and the bad.”

She finally looked up at him, eyes searching his face. “I can’t stand having just some of you. I need all of you.”

Lando swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs. Because the truth was, she already had all of him. Always had. He just needed to say it.

Lando dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands gently finding hers, squeezing them with a tenderness that spoke louder than words ever could.

“Hey… pretty girl, look at me, please?” he whispered, his voice soft but full of sincerity.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but despite herself, her gaze met his. The rawness in his eyes caught her off guard. For the first time in a long while, she saw him again—the guy she fell so deeply in love with, the man she’d been willing to risk everything for.

“You have all of me,” Lando said, his voice barely above a whisper. “This time, I promise… we’ll make it work. I’ll make this work. You deserve the world, Y/N. I’ll make it up to you... if you’d give me another chance.”

Her heart skipped a beat, but a quiet part of her still hesitated. It felt too good to be true. But his words… his honesty? It was enough to break through.

Y/N took a slow breath, searching his eyes for any sign of doubt. There was none.

Slowly, she squeezed his hands back. “You better not make me regret this, Lando.”

Lando nodded almost immediately, his eyes lighting up with a joy so pure it made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “I promise,” he said, voice full of conviction. “We’ll take it slow. We’ll do things right this time.”

Y/N let out a soft sigh, her emotions swirling as she processed his words. After a beat, she gave him a small, hesitant nod.

Without another word, Lando pulled her into his arms, locking her in a tight embrace. The way he held her felt urgent, like he was afraid of losing her again. They clung to each other as if the world outside didn’t exist, as if nothing mattered but this moment.

“I know we said to take things slow… but I’m dying to kiss you right now,” Lando murmured against her neck, his breath warm and shaky.

The words made Y/N laugh softly, her fingers tracing the side of his jaw as she pulled back just enough to meet his gaze.

She cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs gently grazing his skin, before she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. It was slow, a kiss that held all the passion, all the longing they’d kept buried. The world outside disappeared as they lost themselves in each other, the kiss a promise of what was to come.

Lando was the first to pull away, chuckling softly as he did. “We can’t… I don’t think I can control myself if we keep going.”

Y/N felt a blush creep up her cheeks, her heart racing from the kiss. She placed one last soft kiss on his cheek before pulling him back into another hug, as if holding him was the only thing that could steady her.

"Greece sounds good..." she muttered quietly, her words almost lost in the moment.

Lando pulled away slightly, brows furrowed as he looked at her, not quite catching what she said. “What was that, baby?”

“Greece,” Y/N repeated with a smile tugging at her lips. “I said Greece sounds good.”

Lando’s face lit up with a grin, the tension in his chest easing as he nodded. “Greece it is. Anything for my girl.”

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hii Can we do either a max or carlos one where reader is in her teens and only has her mom since Driver left when she was a kid and now that she's older he wants to be in her life again but she doesn't make it easy for him. Happy ending pls

The picture in his wallet

The soft hum of the paddock faded in the background as Carlos sat on a bench just outside the motorhome, staring at the worn edges of the photo in his hand. He’d looked at it so many times over the years that the corners had started to curl. In the picture, a newborn baby lay wrapped in a pale pink blanket, her little mouth forming a tiny ‘o’ and her eyes scrunched closed. The name Yn had been handwritten neatly on the back, along with the date and time she was born.

He hadn’t been there for any of it. Not the pregnancy, not the birth, not the first word, not the first step. Fourteen years of absence, only connected to her by this photograph—and the aching guilt he carried like a second skin.

"Hey," came a voice, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Carlos quickly slipped the picture back into his wallet and looked up. Charles stood beside him, arms crossed, eyes gentle.

"You're doing it again, aren’t you?" Charles asked, sitting down beside him.

Carlos sighed. "Just thinking."

"You were holding the picture."

Carlos rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "I don’t even realize when I do it anymore. It just… happens."

Charles didn’t say anything at first. He simply nodded, his expression unreadable.

"It’s been fourteen years," Carlos said eventually. "And I’ve never even heard her voice. I don’t know if she likes racing, or if she plays the piano, or hates spinach or—"

"Does she know about you?" Charles asked gently.

Carlos shook his head slowly. "I don’t think so. Alma and I agreed back then… it’d be better if I wasn’t around unless I was ready to really be there. I wasn’t. I was seventeen, Charles. I was a stupid kid who thought I could chase dreams and outrun responsibility."

"You weren’t stupid," Charles said softly. "Just scared."

Carlos gave a hollow laugh. "Still am."

Later that evening, Rebecca found Carlos sitting on the couch in their hotel room, the television playing a muted rerun of last season’s highlights. She walked over, placing a kiss on the top of his head before settling beside him, tucking her feet underneath her.

“You saw the photo again?” she asked gently.

He nodded.

Rebecca reached for his hand and intertwined her fingers with his. “You ever think about calling Alma?”

“All the time,” Carlos admitted. “But I always stop myself. What would I say? ‘Hi, it’s Carlos. I abandoned you both fourteen years ago. Mind if I drop in and ruin everything?’”

“That’s not what would happen,” Rebecca said firmly. “You’re not the same boy who left. You’re a man now. You’ve grown. And you still care.”

Carlos looked down at his lap. “I don’t even know what kind of father I could be.”

“You won’t know unless you try,” she replied. “But I think you'd be amazing. You’ve always had so much love to give. I see it every day—with your family, with your friends, with me.”

Carlos looked at her, eyes flickering with something unreadable. “I told you about her the day we got together. You could’ve walked away. Most people would’ve.”

Rebecca smiled. “But I’m not most people. And I stayed because I saw your heart. I know what she means to you, even if you’ve never met her.”

He leaned into her, resting his head against her shoulder.

“I want to meet her,” he whispered. “I don’t want to go through the rest of my life not knowing who she is.”

“Then let’s figure it out,” she said, rubbing slow circles on the back of his hand. “Together.”

The next day at the track, Carlos pulled Lando aside between sessions. They found a quiet corner near the back of the garage where the mechanics couldn’t hear them.

“I’ve been thinking about her again,” Carlos began.

Lando blinked. “Yn?”

Carlos nodded.

“She’d be… fourteen now, right?” Lando said, leaning against the wall. “That’s wild, man. Fourteen.”

Carlos smiled faintly. “Yeah. She’s probably taller than me by now.”

Lando chuckled. “No one’s taller than you. Except George.”

Carlos rubbed the back of his neck. “I think I want to reach out. Maybe just talk to Alma. Ask how she is. Ask how Yn is. If she’s okay.”

Lando’s smile softened. “About time, huh?”

“I’m terrified,” Carlos admitted.

“Good. Means it matters,” Lando replied. “But look, you’ve got us. You’ve got Charles, me, Rebecca. You won’t be doing this alone.”

Carlos nodded, but the knot in his chest remained.

That night, Carlos stared at the message on his phone screen for over twenty minutes.

Hi, Alma. It’s Carlos. I hope this isn’t a bad time. I was wondering if we could talk. About Yn.

His finger hovered over the “send” button.

Rebecca emerged from the bathroom, saw him frozen with the phone in hand, and quietly sat beside him.

“Need a push?” she asked.

“I’m scared of what she’ll say,” Carlos murmured. “Or worse—what if she doesn’t reply at all?”

Rebecca reached out and touched his face. “Then you’ll know you tried. And maybe, just maybe, she’s been waiting for you to do this too.”

Carlos looked down at the message again.

And then he pressed send.

Hours passed. They ate dinner in silence, and Carlos kept glancing at his phone every five seconds. Rebecca tried to distract him with stories from her day, but his mind was elsewhere.

It wasn’t until almost midnight that his phone buzzed.

Carlos nearly dropped it as he scrambled to read the notification.

Hi, Carlos. I was surprised to hear from you. Yn’s doing well. She’s incredible. If you’d like to talk, I’d be open to it.

His hands trembled as he read it out loud.

“She responded,” he whispered. “She responded.”

Rebecca smiled and wrapped her arms around him. “See? That’s the first step.”

Carlos didn’t realize he was crying until he felt Rebecca wipe a tear from his cheek.

“I don’t know where this is going,” he said.

“You don’t need to,” she replied. “Just take it one step at a time.”

Carlos looked at the photo in his wallet again. And for the first time in years, hope started to bloom in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, the day he’d finally meet Yn wasn’t so far away after all.

Carlos was quiet all morning.

Not the kind of quiet where he hummed to himself while making coffee or scrolled through his phone lazily. No, this was the kind of quiet where every movement seemed careful, deliberate—like his thoughts were louder than anything around him. He hadn't even finished his toast. It just sat there, untouched.

Rebecca noticed. Of course, she did. She always did.

“Babe,” she said softly, placing her hand on his arm. “It’s going to be okay.”

Carlos looked at her, eyes a little wide, his leg bouncing beneath the table. “I haven’t seen her in fourteen years, Rebe. What if she hates me? What if she doesn’t even want to know me? What if I say something stupid? What if—”

Rebecca pressed a gentle finger to his lips.

“Carlos. Stop.”

He exhaled. “I don’t know how.”

She smiled, cupping his face. “Then let me remind you. You’re kind. You’re honest. And you’ve wanted this for so long. Whatever happens today, you’re taking the first step. That’s brave.”

Carlos nodded, though his heart still thudded against his ribs. He was scared. Terrified, actually. But beneath it all, a flicker of hope had been growing ever since Alma replied to his message.

Her text had been short, but warm:

Hi Carlos,

Yes, I think it’s time. Let’s meet this Saturday? I’ll be at the café near the park at 3pm. Looking forward to seeing you.

– Alma

And now it was Saturday. Now it was 2:57pm.

They walked toward the small café together, fingers laced. Carlos kept rubbing his thumb against Rebecca’s hand like it grounded him.

“Do I look alright?” he asked, for the fifth time.

Rebecca chuckled. “You look perfect.”

The café was quiet. Not many people, just the hum of the coffee machine, soft chatter, the clinking of spoons against porcelain.

And there she was.

Alma.

She looked almost the same, but more mature—graceful, with soft brown hair pulled into a low ponytail, wearing a cream blouse and jeans. Her face lit up when she saw them.

“Carlos!” she said, rising to her feet.

He froze for half a second, then stepped forward. They hugged. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t weird. It was warm. Familiar, somehow.

“It’s been forever,” she said quietly against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he breathed, pulling back, eyes a little misty. “Too long.”

She turned to Rebecca and smiled. “You must be Rebecca. It’s so good to meet you.”

Rebecca stepped forward, smiling, and they exchanged the traditional two cheek kisses. “Thank you so much for agreeing to this. Really.”

Alma waved it off. “I always knew this moment would come. I’m glad it’s now.”

They sat down, the three of them. For a while, Alma and Rebecca talked like they were old friends. It was surprisingly easy. They chatted about the weather, Madrid traffic, how difficult it is to get a decent croissant in the city.

Carlos sat there, nodding occasionally, but mostly staring at the cappuccino in front of him like it held all the answers. He could barely speak, but his heart was roaring in his chest.

Finally, when their drinks were brought over, he cleared his throat.

“Can I ask about her?” he said softly, voice just slightly shaky. “About Yn?”

Alma smiled, warm and proud, and it was like someone turned on a light inside her. “Of course.”

Carlos leaned forward, both hands wrapped around his cup.

“She’s fourteen now,” Alma began. “Turning fifteen in November. She’s tall. Taller than me now, which she loves to point out every chance she gets. She’s got this wild, curly hair that she hates but everyone else loves. She’s obsessed with chocolate cupcakes. Like, genuinely obsessed. She bakes them twice a week.”

Rebecca smiled. “That’s adorable.”

“Oh, she’s full of surprises. She’s into fashion—like really into it. Always sketching, always cutting up old clothes to make new outfits. Says she wants to work for Vogue one day. She’s got mood boards all over her room.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened. “That’s amazing. Creative and determined.”

Alma nodded. “Yeah, she’s very driven. And oh—you’ll love this—she has a huge crush on Gavi. The football player.”

Carlos couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Seriously?”

“She insists she’s going to marry him. Says it with complete confidence.”

“Good taste,” Rebecca joked, and they all chuckled.

Then Alma reached into her bag and pulled out a small stack of photos. She held them like they were precious, handing them over one by one.

“Here she is at three,” she said, sliding the picture across the table.

A toddler in a cupcake-covered dress, frosting on her cheeks, big brown eyes sparkling with mischief.

Carlos stared.

“And here she’s five, at her kindergarten play. She was a sunflower.”

A smaller version of Alma, smiling shyly in a yellow costume.

“Here at eleven. That was during her ‘detective phase’. She wore that trench coat for three months straight.”

Carlos smiled wider, but his eyes were misting.

“And this one… this is her school picture from this year.”

Alma slid the latest photo to him with extra care. A fourteen-year-old girl with a confident, thoughtful gaze. Her curly hair framed her face. She looked like Alma, yes—but there was something in the eyes. Something familiar. Something Carlos couldn’t stop staring at.

“She’s beautiful,” Rebecca whispered, looking over his shoulder. “You raised an amazing young girl, Alma.”

Alma looked down, visibly touched. “Thank you.”

Carlos was still staring at the picture. His thumb grazed the edge of the print.

“Can I—?” he asked, barely audible.

“Of course,” Alma said, pushing it toward him. “It’s yours.”

He held it like it was made of glass, like it might disappear if he blinked.

The room blurred around him. All he could see was her. His daughter. The girl in the photograph. The one he'd thought about every day since that first message. Since the picture Alma had sent after her birth. The one that lived in his wallet, aged and worn.

He interrupted the gentle conversation between the two women, voice soft, yet determined.

“Alma…”

She turned to him. “Yes?”

“I want to meet her.”

Alma blinked, lips parting slightly. She looked at him, then at the picture in his hand.

“I know I should’ve asked sooner. Years ago. But I was scared. I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to confuse her or… I don’t know. But I want to now. If she wants to. I’d love to meet her. Talk to her. Just… see her.”

Alma didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes were thoughtful.

“I have to ask her,” she said honestly. “She’s old enough now to decide that for herself. But I promise you, Carlos, I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her everything. And I’ll write you.”

He nodded slowly, the weight of hope sitting on his chest.

“That’s all I can ask for,” he whispered.

When they stood to leave, Alma hugged them both. “I’m really glad we did this.”

“So am I,” Rebecca said, and she meant it.

Carlos didn’t speak much on the walk back. His hand never left the pocket where he had placed the picture. His thumb rubbed over the edge again and again.

“She’s perfect,” he murmured once, more to himself than anyone else.

Rebecca leaned her head on his shoulder. “She really is.”

And in the quiet of the Madrid afternoon, as they walked down cobbled streets with sunlight flickering between trees, Carlos felt something he hadn’t felt in years.

He felt like he was one step closer to finally meeting the girl who’d been in his heart since the day she was born.

He didn’t know what Alma would say, what Yn would choose. But he had hope.

And for now, that was enough.

It had been a few weeks since the café meeting, and Carlos had stared at that school photo every single day since. It had a permanent spot on the console table in their hallway now, framed with gentle care. Sometimes he picked it up and just looked at it in awe, as if his heart couldn't quite believe this was real—that this girl, this bright-eyed young woman with the softest smile, was his daughter.

So when the message from Alma arrived, his heart nearly stopped.

Hey, Carlos. I talked to Yn. She said… she’d like to meet you.

Carlos reread it five times, his eyes wide, hands trembling. Then he bolted into the kitchen.

“Rebecca!” he called, holding up the phone like it was some sort of ancient artifact. “She wants to meet me. Yn wants to meet me!”

Rebecca looked up from the fruit she was cutting, blinking before her face bloomed with a smile. “Oh my god, baby. Really?”

“Yes,” he breathed, already pacing. “I mean, Alma said she talked to her and Yn agreed. We’re meeting at their house. It’s—oh god, it’s happening.”

Rebecca came over, wrapping her arms around him. “You’re going to be amazing. Just… be you. Gentle, warm. She’ll see the person I see.”

Carlos pressed his forehead to hers, clutching her hands tightly. “I’m scared,” he admitted in a whisper.

“I know,” Rebecca said, brushing her fingers through his hair. “But this is your moment. And hers. Let it happen slowly.”

The drive to Alma’s house was the longest one of his life.

He had the radio on, then off. Then back on. Then switched to a podcast. Then silence again. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. His heart wouldn’t stop racing, not even for a second.

When he finally parked in front of the quaint two-story home with blooming flowers in the windows, his breath hitched. This was where Yn had lived all these years. This was her world.

Alma opened the door before he could knock.

“Hi,” she said gently, smiling with something kind in her eyes. “You made it.”

Carlos gave a weak chuckle. “Barely. I think I had five panic attacks on the drive here.”

Alma smiled warmly and stepped aside. “Come in. She’s upstairs. I told her you’re here. I’ll go get her.”

Carlos stepped inside, immediately struck by how homey everything was. There were drawings pinned to a cork board, a piano in the corner with sheet music half open, photos lining the walls—most of them of Yn. There she was at the beach. In the kitchen, covered in flour. On Halloween, in a cat costume.

It was like walking into a museum of her life.

Alma disappeared upstairs, and Carlos stood frozen in the living room, his palms sweating. His breath caught when he heard soft footsteps coming down.

And then—there she was.

Yn.

Fourteen years old, dressed in a simple pair of jeans and an oversized white tee. Her long, dark hair was half up in a clip, a few strands framing her face. She had the same green eyes he’d seen in the photos, but seeing them in person knocked the air from his lungs. Her expression was guarded, lips pressed into a thin line. But she didn’t look angry. Just… uncertain.

“Hi,” she said quietly, her voice soft but laced with a teenage edge. “I’m Yn.”

Carlos’s eyes welled up instantly, and he nodded. “Hi, Yn. I’m… I’m Carlos.” He swallowed hard. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me.”

She sat down across from him, folding her arms as she sunk into the couch, her legs crossed beneath her. “My mom said I could decide.”

“I know,” he said gently. “And I’m really grateful. You look—well, you look amazing.”

She raised a brow, her lips twitching a bit like she was trying not to smile. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

Carlos chuckled nervously. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe. Sorry. I’m a little nervous.”

“I can tell,” she said, tilting her head. “You’re all red and stuff.”

He laughed for real that time, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re sharp.”

A pause.

She looked down at her lap. “So… what do you do?”

Carlos perked up, grateful for the question. “I race cars. Professionally.”

“Like… in circles?”

He laughed again. “Sort of. It’s Formula 1. We race on tracks around the world. It’s… fast and a little dangerous, I guess. But I love it.”

“Huh,” she said, shrugging. “Sounds kinda cool, I guess.”

“I have friends in the sport,” he added. “They’re good people. And, um… I have a partner. Rebecca.”

“Mom told me,” Yn muttered. “She’s pretty.”

“She is,” he said with a fond smile. “And she’s really excited to meet you. She wanted to come today, but I thought maybe just us, for now.”

Yn nodded, fiddling with a thread on her sleeve. “That’s fine.”

Carlos watched her for a moment, drinking her in, every little movement. “What about you?” he asked. “Your mom told me you love fashion.”

Yn's face lit up ever so slightly. “I wanna work for Vogue someday.”

“Wow,” he breathed. “That’s amazing. You have big dreams.”

“I have mood boards,” she said, lifting her chin a little. “And sketches.”

“That’s… that’s really impressive, Yn. You must be really talented.”

She was silent for a beat, then looked back at him with a slightly narrowed gaze. “You talk a lot.”

Carlos blinked, then burst into a surprised laugh. “Guilty.”

Another pause. Then, shyly, she added, “It’s not… bad. Just different.”

He smiled. “I guess we’ll both get used to each other. Slowly.”

Yn studied him again, then looked at the floor.

“Can I go to my room now?” she asked after a few moments, her voice softer.

Carlos’s heart sank a little, but he nodded. “Of course. I don’t want to push you. I just… I’m really happy you gave me this chance.”

She stood, arms still crossed.

But then she hesitated. Reached into her pocket.

She held out a small folded piece of paper.

Carlos took it, his fingers brushing hers just barely. He looked at it, then at her.

“My number,” she mumbled. “Don’t call me. That’s cringe. Just text, okay?”

He swallowed hard, nodding. “I promise.”

She turned and left without another word, disappearing up the stairs.

Carlos just stood there, stunned, eyes fixed on the paper like it was a golden ticket.

Alma walked back in, smiling warmly. “She gave you her number?”

He nodded. “She said calling is cringe.”

Alma laughed. “Teenagers.”

“She’s perfect,” Carlos whispered. “She’s everything.”

Carlos couldn’t stop smiling the entire drive home.

He kept glancing at the piece of paper resting in the passenger seat, like it might vanish if he didn’t look at it often enough. A phone number—her phone number. Yn’s number. She had given it to him with that little flick of teenage nonchalance, like it wasn’t a huge deal. But to Carlos, it was everything.

He parked the car in the driveway, practically bursting into the house. Rebecca was in the kitchen, sipping tea and reading something on her tablet. She looked up at him with a curious smile.

“Well?” she asked, setting the tablet aside.

Carlos beamed. “She gave me her number.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened. “Really?”

He nodded like an overexcited child. “She said to only text though, because calling is ‘uncool.’” He made air quotes, mimicking Yn’s voice. Rebecca chuckled warmly and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.

That night, Carlos sent a very careful message.

Hey. It’s me. Carlos. Just wanted to say it was really nice seeing you today. Thanks for giving me your number. I won’t call, promise.

The read receipt popped up almost immediately, followed by a short reply:

U better not call lol. That would be embarrassing.

And just like that, they started texting. Slowly at first—short replies, some emojis, a meme here and there. But soon, her messages grew longer. She started sending him TikToks. Screenshots of conversations with her friends. Memes where she’d tag him: this is literally you—a joke about dads who try to be cool but totally aren’t.

Carlos didn’t mind. He loved every second of it.

A few weeks later, Carlos worked up the nerve to ask her if she’d like to hang out sometime. Just the two of them.

Beach day? I’ll bring snacks. You bring sunscreen.

Yn replied after a while:

Sure. But don’t bring like…weird snacks. I’m serious.

Carlos smiled at the screen for a full minute.

The beach was warm and golden, the sea glimmering under the sun. Carlos had brought a small cooler with drinks and sandwiches (all thoroughly vetted by Rebecca beforehand to ensure they weren’t “weird”), and Yn showed up in denim shorts, a black tank top, and sunglasses that looked too grown-up for her age. Carlos’s heart skipped when he saw her.

“Hey,” she said, toeing off her sandals in the sand.

“Hey,” he replied, voice soft.

They sat on a beach towel, eating and watching the waves. Yn talked a little about school. Her friend group. A teacher she hated. The weird guy in math class. She showed him a selfie with her best friend, captioned chaos twins, and he laughed, genuinely interested in every word.

A few days later, he took her to Starbucks. She rolled her eyes when he ordered his coffee “like a dad.”

“You don’t need oat milk, Carlos,” she muttered. “You just think it makes you fancy.”

“Excuse me,” Carlos replied, placing a hand dramatically over his chest. “This is how champions drink coffee.”

She smirked, sipping her iced matcha latte.

“You’re so cringe,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said with a bow.

Their favorite day came when they wandered through the city together, Yn dragging him from store to store. She pointed out her favorite brands, showed him the exact pair of sneakers she wanted for her birthday, and even made him try on a ridiculous oversized hoodie.

“You look like a mushroom,” she said, stifling laughter.

Carlos posed in the mirror. “But a cool mushroom?”

“No,” she said flatly.

But she was smiling.

Carlos committed every single moment to memory.

Two months passed in a blink. Their bond grew stronger with every text, every shared meme, every inside joke. She still called him “Carlos,” but it didn’t hurt anymore. It was just her way—guarded, careful. But he could see the walls cracking.

Then, one day, out of the blue:

Hey. Do you think I could meet Rebecca sometime?

Carlos stared at the message, stunned.

Rebecca, sitting across from him on the couch, looked up from her book. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he whispered. “Nothing at all.”

He typed back quickly:

Of course. That would mean a lot to me. To both of us.

They met at a cozy lunch spot with outdoor seating. Rebecca dressed down to avoid being intimidating—jeans, sneakers, and a warm smile. Yn arrived a little late, phone in hand, earbuds slung around her neck.

“Hey,” she said, glancing at Rebecca.

Carlos stood, gently introducing them. “Yn, this is Rebecca. Rebecca, this is—well, you know.”

Yn sat down, crossing her arms. Rebecca offered a gentle, “It’s really nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Yn mumbled.

The first ten minutes were awkward, filled with clinks of cutlery and stilted small talk. But then Rebecca mentioned a TV show she liked—turns out, it was also one of Yn’s favorites.

And just like that, the ice broke.

“You actually like that character?” Yn said with disbelief. “He’s the worst.”

Rebecca laughed. “I know, right? That’s why I love him.”

Carlos just sat there, watching them with his heart full.

Six months later, things were different. Better. Yn came over for dinner often, stayed longer than she used to, even left a hoodie in their guest room once. Carlos refused to wash it. She was part of their home now.

One weekend, she asked to stay over. They ordered pizza and decided to watch a horror movie. Carlos wasn’t sure why he agreed—he hated horror—but Yn insisted it was “funny scary.”

They sat close on the couch—Carlos in the middle, Rebecca on his right, Yn on his left.

The movie started fine. Some cheap jump scares. Teenagers being dumb in the woods.

Then came a really good scare.

A ghost lunged at the screen, the sound design so loud Carlos flinched.

Yn gave a small scream and instinctively curled into Carlos’s side, burying her face in his chest, her hands fisting his shirt.

“Stop laughing, Papá” she mumbled, her voice muffled.

Carlos froze.

Rebecca turned to look at him, her mouth opening slightly.

Yn didn’t even notice what she said. She was too busy peeking at the screen, one eye open. Carlos just laughed softly, brushing a hand over her hair, holding her protectively.

“I got you,” he whispered. “Nothing’s gonna get you while I’m here.”

“You better not let anything touch me, I swear,” Yn muttered.

Carlos smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Never.”

Rebecca met his eyes over Yn’s head, smiling softly. Carlos reached out and took her hand, gently squeezing it.

His chest felt light. Whole. Happy.

In that moment, Carlos knew he had everything he ever wanted.

His daughter. His love. His family.

And finally, he was Papá.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you!

-♡○♡

[alloftheimagines]

jamie tartt | misery loves company

MASTERLIST

words: 3.2k warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, shared experiences of fatherly abuse, jamie being a dick for a while, but then making up for it, swearing, pain pain pain prompt: Can I request a Jamie Tartt angst where he snapped at the reader for asking/consoling him about his father, but only to know later that the reader has a similar daddy issue just like him?

You didn’t usually go out of your way to talk to Jamie Tartt… before tonight. Before this. Before you’d witnessed his father’s verbal onslaughts in the locker room, long after the rest of the lads had left to celebrate their victory.

Their victory. Anyone looking in would think Jamie had done the worst job of his life on the pitch tonight — not that that would justify all this shouting — but it had been the opposite. For once, Ted’s team player tactics had sunken in. Jamie had passed the ball, let Sam score the goal. He’d played like a true professional without any of his usual tendencies to steal the limelight. 

So why the fuck is he being reprimanded for it? Your heart leaps into your throat as you watch Jamie hunch over himself on the bench, clasping his hands together and squeezing his eyes closed as his dad keeps going. Telling Jamie he’d played shit, that he’d done all the wrong things, that he's a joke. 

You're about to go in, stop it, when Jamie snaps his head up and spits out: “Just stop it, will ya? We fuckin’ won, Dad!”

His dad sneers, then grips Jamie’s chin in his fist, forcing him to meet his blazing eyes. “And what does winning matter when you play like a fucking girl? Keep taking a backseat and you’ll be forgotten in weeks. You’ll be no one. And you’ll fuckin’ deserve it, too.” 

Tears well in Jamie’s eyes, and yours. The door is flung open, and you bolt aside before it hits you. You come face to face with his dad, but with your eyes bleary and your heart racing and that desperate instinct to recoil screeching through your bones, it might have been your own father standing there and you wouldn’t know the difference. You’d grown up with a man like this one: violent, cruel, someone who you would never be enough for. You would have loved to defend Jamie in that moment, but just like in the confines of your own broken home, your throat clogs with all the rage you'll never be allowed to express. 

Like Jamie, you remain silent. His dad looks you up and down. “Enjoyed the fucking show, did ya?” He storms off before you could reply, but his venomous words cut into you all the same. 

You give yourself a moment, just a moment, to take a steadying breath. And then you walk into the locker room, where Jamie is sniffling into his hands. He jumps when you clear your throat, wiping his cheeks with his sleeves quickly and turning his head to avoid you seeing him. 

It's too late for that. You sit on the bench opposite. “Are you okay, Jamie?”

“Fuckin’ fantastic,” he mutters. You wince against the sharpness of them. He sounds just like his dad, and just like yours. Still, you know it's a defence mechanism, one that won't stop you from seeing right through him. You’d always thought he was just an arrogant twat. It's dizzying to suddenly be reevaluating that after several years of working alongside him. He makes your job as Rebecca’s assistant impossible most of the time. On your first day, he’d requested an outlandish lunch you had to travel all the way across Richmond for. When you’d returned, flustered and exhausted, he’d laughed at your naivety and bitten into one of the cafeteria’s BLTs, throwing the order you’d hunted down yourself straight in the bin. 

You’ve hated him since then and would have gladly continued to. He loves playing games. Maybe, you think, it's just a way of regaining the control his father takes from him. Maybe he hadn’t been lucky enough to do what you’ve done and find your own support system, friends who taught you that love isn't supposed to be slamming doors and scathing insults. Maybe he just doesn't know any better. 

“Is he like that with you a lot?” you ask quietly now. 

Jamie scoffs, standing up suddenly. He rips off his football shirt, swapped it for a plain black one, always so uncaring about baring his muscular body — and yet he clearly isn't going to offer much else, lips pursed and eyes shuttered. “Have you got ‘nowt better to do than lurk round here all night? Go ‘ome, you sad git.” 

For once, his words don't touch you. They aren't quite as believable in the unlit locker room tonight, not with the tear stains on his face. You lean forward, tempted to reach out. “Jamie, I’m so sorry…” 

He cuts you off with a hand. “Do me a favour and fuck off, alright? I don’t need you to be sorry. In fact, ‘am the one who feels sorry for you. You’re a joke, love. Everybody ‘ere knows it.”

You shake your head, though your resolve is wobbly now. Your chin, too. “You can insult me if it makes you feel better. I get it, alright? I know what it’s like—”

He slings his bag over his shoulder, eyes narrowing. “You don’t know anything. You’re just Rebecca’s fuckin’ lapdog. If you tell anyone at the club about this, you won’t even be that anymore. You hear me?”

You freeze, heart pounding, gut churning. Is he threatening your job? 

Jamie is already marching out, not bothering to look over his shoulder as he calls, “If I wanted a therapist, I’d pay for one. Don’t need someone as pathetic as you tryna cheer me up.”

And that was it. The door slams, leaving you in the locker room alone. It sounds all too much like the loud noises you’d heard growing up, and you hug your torso tightly as the tears finally come.

You’d only wanted to be there for him. Help him. You’d put all of your humiliation aside in an attempt to try to communicate with him… and it had gotten you here. 

Jamie Tartt, you decide, is a prick, and he doesn't deserve an ounce of sympathy. 

Still, it takes months after to bury the dregs you still feel. That connection, the one that tells you you have something in common. The question it brings: is Jamie Tartt just as lost as you are, deep down?

***

Jamie was wrong about one thing, at least. You aren't just Rebecca’s lapdog anymore. The following year, you're promoted. No more coffee runs. Now, you help manage the club in more meaningful ways, and that means a lot of time spent with the team. Eventually, you earn their respect with your chirpy morning visits, and soon, you're friends with most of them. Jamie, of course, is not included. 

When your birthday comes around, the last thing you expect is a celebration, but the team have organised a secret dinner at your favourite restaurant across town, a fact you're still marvelling about as you eat your final bite of cake. You’ve spent a long time on your own, afraid of getting hurt, but tears of joy spring to your eyes as you look around the large candle-lit table at so many friendly faces. Ted’s silly toast earlier have already left mascara stains on your cheeks.

For the first time, you feel safe in this big, dysfunctional family. Even if Jamie is sitting on the other side of the table, as far away from you as possible, refusing to so much as look your way. When everybody sings "Happy Birthday", he moves his lips just enough to look as though he's joining in, but that's about the only acknowledgement he’s shown you all night. Since the incident in the locker room, he’s stopped teasing you, instead becoming straight up frosty. You almost miss the mean jokes about your incompetence at this point. The earring he wears tonight doesn't help. It's difficult to hate him when he looks so handsome.

“Mine!” Dani exclaims suddenly, stealing your last bite of cake before you can finish it. Chocolate frosting covers his mouth as he shovels it in with a cheeky grin and a hum of delight. 

“Now that’s not fair!” You laugh, trying to steal back your plate so you can at least enjoy the crumbs. 

But then a voice cuts through the joyful din of table chatter, and the smile falls from your face at the sound of your name being uttered by a familiar, rough voice. 

You look up slowly, half-convinced you're just imagining him. After all, your father had left you alone for the last few years, finally giving you a taste of peace. You should have known better than to believe it would last forever. 

“Dad,” you whisper at the man towering over you. 

His eyes lazily survey the table. “My invite must have gotten lost in the post. Along with my thank you for the card I sent.” 

The conversations around you turn hushed, the team’s attention burning into you. You try not to shrink in your chair, even when your sinuses begin to burn with tears that are altogether different from the ones you’d shed a moment ago. 

You hadn’t thanked your father for a card, because you hadn’t received one. You’d moved flats recently and decided not to share your new address. You want a haven, one he would never find. 

And yet, somehow, he’d found you anyway. How?

Behind him is probably your answer. His new girlfriend is almost as young as you and far more attractive. Your dad always made a habit of shacking up with models half his age. When he's sober, he might be mistaken for a good man, but it's all a mask. A manipulation. Your mother discovered that the hard way, and so had you. 

“Well?” your dad prods, raising a brow. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

You sip your wine for courage. Somehow, your eyes lock on Jamie’s as you do, and you see his expression. Mouth parted, eyes darting as he puts the pieces together. If he would have given you a chance, he wouldn’t have to work so hard to know what's going on. 

“How about we talk outside for a moment?” You paste as kind a smile as you can muster on your face and stand, smoothing the wrinkles from your clothes. When Ted stops you, concern in his eyes, you only nod with reassurance. At least here, your father can't yell or hurt you. It doesn't quell the fear inside, though.

Together, you step into the cool night air. Your dad sniffs, shoving his fists into his pockets. “You have a lot of nerve, trying to cut me out of your life like this. After all the things I did for you growing up, this is what I get? The cold shoulder? Am I not even worth being introduced to your little football friends?”

Your fingernails dig into your palms, jaw clenched. He's always been so good at the guilt trip. “I’m trying to have a nice night, Dad. How about we have this conversation another time?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re just like your mother. Cruel. Selfish.” He casts his gaze over your outfit, one Keeley helped you pick out yesterday. “You must think that you’re so much better than me, now you have your fancy job and a group of young lads to keep you busy. What do you do for them? Wash their socks?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, already done with the conversation. As you make to go back inside, though, his hand tightens around your wrist, rooting you in place. Your skin stings against his rough clasp, made worse when you try to pull away. 

As he leans in close, you smell alcohol and garlic on his breath. It makes you sick, makes you feel like you’d never left that house at all. When he touches you like this, you're still a helpless child, afraid and heartbroken that your father can't love you right. 

“You’re nothing,” he snarls. “I’m glad to be rid of you.”

“Then let me go,” you reply with more courage than you feel. 

He does, but only because the door opens behind him. From the buttery glow of the restaurant, Jamie emerges. “You coming back in, love?” he asks you, a cautious eye on your father all the while. “Keeley’s going on about presents. She’ll burst if ya don’t open ‘em soon.”

You step away from your dad and nod. “Goodbye, Dad.” 

He offers you a final look of scorn before beckoning to his girlfriend inside. She comes out and they disappear down the street together. Your dad doesn't look back, and you don't expect him to. 

Only when he's gone do you realise that you're shaking. You prop yourself against the wall, trying to let the cool air balance you again, but it isn't easy with your father’s words echoing in your mind and Jamie watching intently. 

“I need a minute,” you say. You want to thank him, ask him why he helped, but your chest is too tight to formulate many words at all. 

Instead of leaving like you expect, he inches closer, tilting his head. “Are you alright?”

It's instinct to repeat his words from the locker room. “Fucking fantastic.”

He bows his head, rubbing his chin slowly. “I deserved that, di’n’t I?”

You say nothing, only resting the back of your head against the brick wall, letting the cold seep into you. You can't help but imagine a life where it doesn't hurt this bad. Where your father loves you the way he's supposed to. This is the first birthday you've spent neither alone nor miserable, and he still found a way to ruin it.

“Look…” Jamie kicks an invisible stone on the pavement. “Don’t let him ruin your special night, yeah? Come back inside. It’s cold out.”

“I need a minute,” you repeat, angry this time. Why? Why has Jamie chosen now to give a shit?

“Alright.” He nods, moving to stand beside you. And then he unzips his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. The warmth and smell of his deodorant makes you feel safe, like you're back in the locker room with the team and the real world is miles away. Richmond had always been that for you: an escape. Even when you were a useless assistant full of coffee stains, reprimanded by Rebecca for doing everything wrong, it had been better than sitting at home with your father. 

You pull his coat tighter around yourself, frowning in confusion. “Look, I appreciate you coming out, but… what do you want, Jamie? I’m not in the mood for your bullshit.”

“Just thought you’d want someone around who gets it.” He shrugs. “I know that’s what you were tryin’ to tell me that day. I mean, I di'n’t know then because I was an ignorant prick who took out all my shit on you. But when I saw ya dad come over to the table, it all clicked.”

“Yeah, well, the time for daddy issue bonding has been and gone.” Your tone is bitter. You never quite let his cruelty go, and it rises to the surface again now.

“I’m trying to say I'm sorry,” he says, softer now. “You were tryin' to be there for me that day, and I was a twat. But I’m here for you now.”

Your mouth curls with doubt. As much as you want to believe that Jamie has suddenly developed a heart, you're waiting for him to laugh in your face. “Well, thanks but no thanks. Let’s not, alright?”

“Fair.” He rocks back on his heels, but doesn't take his jacket when you yank it off and shove it into his chest. He purses his lips as though trying to keep from saying more, which only makes you more uneasy. You barely recognise him like this, guards down, mood balanced, uncertain.

“Jamie.” It's a plea, because if he doesn't go back inside, you’ll break in front of him. The last thing you need is to have your scars used as the butt of his next joke. 

Finally, he takes the jacket, his warm fingers brushing your cold ones. He sighs, shaking his head slowly. “For the record, he’s wrong about you. You're not nothing. He is. He do’n’t deserve you.”

That's all it takes for the tears to spill over. Jamie softens. Whispers: “C’mere,” before tugging you into his chest. He smells just like his coat, like the locker room and overpowering smoky vanilla. “It’s alright, love,” he hums into your ear. 

You shake your head, because it isn't. It would never really be okay, and he must surely feel that, too. 

He rubs warmth back into your arms, holds you steady as a sob leaves you.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I know. Look at me, yeah?” He cups your jaw gently, catching your tears with the pad of his thumb. 

Sniffling, you try to look away, but his gaze pierces into you and you can’t. None of this makes sense, and yet you can’t walk away from whatever Jamie wants to say. Maybe that was always your problem: you never could. 

“I was a proper dickhead before,” he said. “The things I said to you... Fuck, you’re not a joke. Not one bit. You’re gorgeous, and you’re kind, and you’re more than he’ll ever be. More than I’ll ever be.”

“Stop, Jamie.” You try to pull away, but he's gentle in his insistence, taking your wrists instead. It feels nothing like the pain of your father’s grip. Soft enough that you can escape, if you wanted to. But you’re sad, and you’re confused, and he’s being careful with you, and you don’t want to break this moment. A part of you has craved it for a long time. 

“I mean it, love.” His knuckle grazes your cheek. “You have a whole family who loves you in there. D’you know how special that is?”

“Do you?” you retort. “You’re part of it, too, even if you choose to act like you’re not.” 

His throat bobs, eyes drifting to the restaurant. “‘Am starting to realise it, yeah.” He hesitates. “It’s hard, innit, though? Letting the good in when you’ve never had it before.”

Maybe that’s why he’s been so different with you recently. Not because he hates you, but because he’s just learning. It takes practice to open your heart again. You want to believe that, deep down, Jamie is a good person. The kind of person who deserved your kindness that day. 

All you can say is, “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“Maybe it’d be easier if… if we could be friends.” He’s timid, ducking his head like a schoolboy. 

It’s endearing, aggravatingly so. He could get away with murder as long as he keeps smirking at you like that. 

Defeated, you slump and take his hand. “I only ever wanted you to know that I understand, Jamie. That you’re not alone.”

“I know. Just wasn’t ready to hear it.” He pulls you close. “I am now, love. I promise.” 

You shiver, and he wraps his arms around you again, slowly leading you back into the warmth of the restaurant. For once, it feels like you’re leaving the hurt behind as you return to your friends. Jamie doesn’t sit down at the other end of the table this time, either. In fact, his hand stays in yours until the restaurant closes hours later.

[missmoonfrost]

Casual - a jegulus microfic

@into-the-jeggyverse - April 1: Fool - Words: 414

"Reg?"

Regulus doesn't answer. Just keeps staring intently at the stone wall of the secluded alcove.

"Is this where you're hiding?"

"Go away, Potter."

It comes out too rushed, too angry, lacking all the cool and composure he aimed for.

James doesn't go away. He sits down beside Regulus in one easy movement.

"What did I do this time?"

If he is going to play dumb, Regulus is not going to grace him with a glance, let alone a reply.

"I kind of missed you at the party." James tries.

Regulus hates the unsure tremble in James' voice. Hates how it pulls at his heartstrings. As if he hadn't just seen James with his arms around the neck of some girl, not seeming to be missing him the slightest. Why would he? James is fit, charming, popular. Everything that Regulus is not.

"Find someone else to fool!" he bites.

"Oh", James says and leans back against the wall with a soft thud, "you saw me with Rebecca."

James has the audacity to laugh, soft and a little exasperated. Regulus can't help but to turn around and glare at him.

"It was nothing, Reg."

"Lies!" Regulus hopes his unintended breathlessness doesn't reveal how much he hope it's not lies.

"She had this overly insistent guy after her that wouldn't take no for an answer, so I agreed to dance with her for a bit just to give her a break. Apparently played the part too good."

James still smiles, but his voice vibrates with sincerity. "I wouldn't have done it if I had known it would hurt you." There is an amused glint to James' eyes when he continues. "But it is you who have kept insisting this is all casual, no strings attached."

He is right. Regulus hates that he is right. But that is exactly why he left instead of confronting James. He knew he had no right.

Yet James cared to come looking for him and that has to count for something.

Regulus looks into James' unbelievably kind eyes. Against his will, his cheeks start to burn and his mouth twists in an embarrassed smile.

James gently takes his hand. “I care about you, Reg. I promise.”

“Prove it,” Regulus pouts, all hostility drained from his voice.

James kisses him. Long enough, tender enough, passionate enough that Regulus starts believing every word whispered between the kisses.

And Regulus starts thinking that maybe, maybe, it’s time to stop insisting this is all casual.

[sanguinesky-if]

Sanguine Sky

DEMO [Public] [Updated 07/12/2024] genres: romance, modern-fantasy, supernatural, mystery, dark-fantasy.

Sanguine Sky is a work-in-progress modern dark-fantasy interactive novel. The story is heavily focused on romance, characters, and relationships.

The story rated 18+, contains mature and distressing content that may be triggering to certain individuals. It is recommend to check the full list of warnings before you proceed to the story. Please exercise caution and take care of yourself.

Total word count: 197k words [excl. code] | 227k words [incl. code].

You are a detective, tasked with investigating mysterious murders that have taken place in your normally quiet and peaceful hometown, Fallenmor. 

With two victims confirmed already, the initial one being your former mentor, Detective Bergmann, the situation couldn't seem more dire. Or so you thought until you received the news of another body, a possible third victim, discovered at the police station. In your very own office. 

An accident, a mere coincidence, a straightforward warning, a looming threat, or something entirely else… Whatever is happening, you feel it affecting you, awakening something both significantly familiar and distinctly foreign inside of you.

If only you knew that this was just the beginning… Things could have been different. 

But back then, in your ignorance, your singular concern lay with a pressing question: if you failed to find the murderer, who would become the next victim?

➤ Play as male, female, non-binary or trans; straight, gay, or bisexual.

➤ Customize your appearance and shape your personality.

➤ Take on the role of a detective, immerse yourself in the work of the police station.

➤ Embrace the mystery of your existence, or reject that inner sight of you.

➤ Seven romance options to choose from. Select their gender, be assertive or reserved, or focus on your goal without pursuing anyone.

All ROs are player-sexual and gender-selectable [M/F].

Kyle / Keira Moreno

Your colleague, a police inspector, and one of the rudest people you have ever met. Sharp and stern, K is surprisingly perceptive, and they use it to really see you. The good, the bad. Everything. Appearance: icy blue eyes, dark red hair, very pale skin.

Alexis 'Lex / Lexie' Conlan

Your best friend, and also your former partner from times when you were just a patrol officer. With a heart of gold and an approachable attitude, L always chooses you over the others. Appearance: forest green eyes, copper hair, beige freckled skin.

Morgan Schoivell

Your other colleague, a highly-skilled lab technician. M is rather reserved when it comes to emotions, and after almost a year of working together, M is still a walking mystery for you. Appearance: dark brown eyes, ash blond hair, light skin.

Roderick / Rebecca Reyes

The commanding agent of the Criminal Investigative Division (CID) team sent to catch the killer. Overbearing and ruthless, R has their own way of getting things done. Appearance: gray eyes, blond hair, pale skin.

Theodore 'Theo' / Theresa 'Tess' Vazquez

Another member of the CID team. With a cocky smile, T is full of flirts and sneering comments, regardless of the occasion. T has no doubts about what they want and isn't afraid to vocalize it. Appearance: dark green eyes, black curly hair, rich brown skin.

Isaac / Iris Brailsford

I looks the most mature and approachable of CID's fellow agents. Looks can be deceiving, though. Working behind the scene and watching from afar, I carries all the scars within. Appearance: hazel eyes, dark brown hair, olive skin.

Sebastian / Selena Goldstein

Someone new and temporary, S has a velvety voice and a perfect smile that doesn't reach their eyes. You're not sure if your paths will cross in the future, but something tells you S can't be trusted. Appearance: black eyes, long black wavy hair, bronze skin.

Other notable characters:

Your twin-sister: Your sweet, kind, caring, and gentle twin sister. She always tries to be there for you, and show how much she appreciates you, no matter what. Chief of Police, Kendrick Nash: Your boss, who is not handling his job so well after the recent death of his husband, Klemens Bergmann. Detective Klemens Bergmann: Police chief's husband, who happened to be a senior detective and your mentor. He was the first victim, murdered under mysterious circumstances.

A full list of warnings is available in the demo before beginning of the story. I recommend to check it before you proceed to reading.

Links: DEMO | CoG Forum | Q&A | Romance | Tags & Links | Patreon | Ko-Fi | Error Reports |

Thank you for your interest ♥

[f1cflcfic]

The Prophecy (SMAU ft. Lando Norris): Epilogue

pairing: lando norris x singer!reader (fem!y/n)

summary: what happens after the break-up that noone saw coming? as Y/N L/N gears up to release her next album, each song reveals a little bit of the past, present and future of her relationship with Lando Norris. Inspired by a curated playlist built around "The Prophecy".

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons. also, this chapter contains some (implicit) references to sex.

genre: social media au (with written parts), angst, exes to lovers, happy ending

[A/N: hehe it's never really over, this is for my bff who just got engaged over the weekend <3]

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

♥･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♡･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♥

June, 2027

[Excerpt from Y/N L/N's Buzzfeed Playing with Puppies Interview]

Y/N is sitting down on the floor, enthusiastically chatting to someone off camera. “Listen Roz I’m so serious, you’re going to have to physically incapacitate me when I want to take them all home. It will happen, and you will need to stop me.”

Someone from the crew giggles, as they instruct Y/N to readjust her lavalier microphone.

“Alright, so it’s super easy – you just sit there, and we bring the pups to you!”

“Oh my god. This is my dream. I always say to my friends that I’d just really love to be in a puppy pile, and it’s finally happening. The pinnacle of my career. This is why I became a singer,” she chatters, then gasps as the first puppies are brought out.

“Oh hiiii,” she almost whimpers at the sight of them, some a little more active, others a little sleepy. One immediately snuggles into her lap, and Y/N looks off-camera to someone meaningfully. “I am taking him home.” Someone can be heard laughing and saying “no, you can’t” in response, to which Y/N sighs in defeat.

“So, can you tell us who you are, and what you do”

“My name’s Y/N L/N, and I’m a singer-songwriter. But today I’m a professional puppy cuddle buddy.”

“Here’s your first question – you mentioned recording a song in Taylor Swift’s studio for the Prophecy. What does it look like?”

“Oh my – oh they smell so good I swear, I’m so sorry I didn’t hear a word you said.” The interviewer repeats the question, as Y/N tries really hard to maintain eye contact with them instead of the puppies roaming around her.

“It’s a really beautiful space, a sanctuary, really. And it’s just amazing to think that so many iconic songs and albums have been partially written and recorded there as well. Taylor is a wonderful friend to have in this industry, and – oh just look at this little guy. He’s so cute!!!”

“Second question: You’re in the middle of a world tour right now. What was your own first tour that you remember going to?”

“Oh look at this one, he’s just playing around, such a little goofball. Sorry, sorry – the question. My first concert? You know it was probably some type of children’s act? My parents aren’t super into music, so the first time I went to see someone and paid for the ticket myself, it was probably Taylor actually.”

“Third question: You said you’re into reading. What’s your latest recommendation?”

“I try to read, yeah! It’s so easy to get sucked into my phone, but I always bring books and an e-reader. Oof, careful little guy, those tiny teeth are sharp,” she disentangles her finger from a puppy’s mouth, then hugs him close to her chest and kisses his head. “I love you, don’t worry. So, yeah, what was I saying? I think with reading I’m always in two minds about it. I enjoy literary fiction, but I also love fantasy. So I recently started There Are Rivers in the Sky from Elif Shafak, and then I’ve been re-reading the Fourth Wing series by Rebecca Yarros. Love that dragon. Maybe we should name you Tairn, or Xaden,” Y/N points at a puppy with dark fur and brown eyes.

“Do they all have names already? All of them are up for adoption, right? But surely these personalities – ah okay. His name’s Lewis?” She smiles cheekily, but doesn't comment further.

One of the dogs lets out a pitiful little whine, and Y/N immediately looks down. “What’s up little pup? Are you unhappy? Can we get them some water, some snacks?”

Someone steps in with a bowl of water, then asks the next question. “What’s something you do to relax on your days off?”

“Hmm aside from reading? Honestly, I love to just hang out with my family. Go do minigolf, something fun together.”

“Not actual golf?”

Y/N snorts, her fingers absentmindedly petting the puppies that have since fallen asleep in her lap. “My partner has tried to get me into it, and I love how much he enjoys it, but it’s not for me. So I’ll happily drive the golf cart and cheer him on instead.”

“Are you not competitive?”

You scrunch your nose at the word. “I think I am, but I’m more scared of others thinking I’m not good enough – so then I abandon serious pursuit of victory. If it’s just a laugh, then it’s fine if you’re not great at something. It’s something I’m working on!”

She kisses one of the pups that’s woken up from its nap on his tiny nose. “I love you, you, you’re such a tiny little angel aren’t you?”

“Alright, next question: If you were in an emergency situation, who would you call to bail you out?”

“Probably Lando. He’d be fast, you know?” Y/N smiles at the camera. “By the way, he’s going to be SO jealous of me for getting to hang out with pups all day.”

“If you weren’t a singer-songwriter, what do you think you’d be doing?”

“Hmm, I’d probably have gone to university – maybe literature, or maybe political science. Then I’d go work for an NGO? I’d love to know I was making a difference in people’s lives I think.”

“Last question – what are you most looking forward to?”

“Aside from the new, upgraded tour? I can’t believe I’ll be playing stadiums. That feels very surreal. Apart from that, we’re getting some renovations done on the house right now and I’m super excited to see my library fantasy come to life. I want to have a ladder on wheels.”

You quietly stroke the fur of a red and white puppy that’s been curled up in your lap since the beginning. “I’m going to cry having to give these back. But I’m going to, I will. It’d be irresponsible to adopt a dog right now, maybe next year we’ll get on that. Please, if you are able and willing, adopt these sweet little puppies – and I will personally come by and hangout with your pup and you.”

The screen fades to black, and then there’s a shaky camera that follows Y/N as she laughs while talking on the phone. “I know! I said you would,” she’s overheard saying. “There’s one in particular, I just – ” she trails off, listening to whatever’s being said on the other end of the line. “Do you really think so?” Her smile widens. “I love you so much, you have no idea,” she nods excitedly at her assistant and starts walking towards the animal shelter representative. “Yeah I’ll keep you posted, say hi from me to your brother and Sav please. Ok, see you. Bye.”  

August 14th, 2027

December 8th, 2027

June 18th, 2028

♥･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♡･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♥

You can read the previous parts & access various bonus content by going here

♥ likes, comments, reblogs are always very much appreciated ♥

taglist (open) : @charlesgirl16, @linnygirl09, @hoeforsirius, @motorsportloverf1, @sarx164, @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff, @formulaal, @tvdtw4ever @sadiemack9 @seonghwaexile @screamingwines

[controld3vil]

chaotic duo

pairing(s): dune cast x actor!reader (platonic), oscar isaac x actor!reader

synopsis: requested by this ask!

⤷ alt: even your on-screen son can't deny how delightful his on-screen parents were.

notes: absolutely no shade to rebecca ferguson i adore her too much. reader is considered to have fem pronouns. ALSO ive been feeling iffy about trying to write for dune characters?? personally, although i love writing these actor!reader stories, writing for the actual characters i feel would be more challenging. dune's still pretty new to me but i kinda wanna give it a shot if i can make a good storyline T-T

It all started with the Dune Cast Q&A brought together by Nerdist. Timothee Chalamet and Denis Villeneuve had just finished chatting with the host, Stephen Colbert about their perspectives on Paul's character. Much emphasis had gone on the young actor's performance. And Denis's decision to cast such a well-experienced one.

After finishing up their last question together, Stephen decides to introduce two additional members. "Timothee let's bring out the man and the woman who play your parents, Duke Leto Atreides and Lady Jessica." A transition between screens to display your camera view and Oscar's. He introduces both your names.

"Hi!" You grin at the camera, comfortably leaning against one of the arms of your chair. Similar to everyone else's backdrop, yours was pitch gray, covering all but your silhouette and chair.

"Hey Stephen," Oscar greets at ease, as you proceed to wave to each of the people seen onscreen.

It cuts immediately to the host gesturing in continuation for a question. "Tell me and the audience about Duke Leto Atreides. What do we need to know?"

"He's the father and human. I think that's the biggest thing and uh under incredible pressure to save his family. Save his house but to adapt to this new existential threat situation which is moving to this strange planet," Your fellow costar puts into short. Short and concise was what was expected.

Content with his answer, Stephen moves the attention to you. He calls out your name, eagerly. "Rereading the books uh- right now, I am struck by how much of the story- uh the backstory and the action story is driven by the decisions Lady Jessica makes." A smile grows on your face, knowing how much fun was a character to play for you.

Along his last few words, you find yourself nodding in agreement. "I'm impressed with that you, Stephen actually read the books again!" An instant grin comes from the said man. "But it's all applause to Denny- he highlighted this from the book. In the film, her decisions basically create, fractures and disrupts everything."

"Best parents ever," In a low whisper, Timothee murmurs and the five of you burst into short chuckles and snickers.

"The best you could ever have!" You clapped your hands together, shaking them above your head in victory. And when the screen expands to show everyone's reactions, the audience can noticeably pinpoint Oscar's playful eye-rolling.

Another fun interview you had the pleasure of sharing was with Grazia UK. It was in a more comfortable setting. With you and Oscar in a lounge room, with the Zoom camera on. While the female interviewer complimenting a kind smile.

"Can I ask you something," Not within a second of the conversation, you rose up with a peculiar question. "Do you remember his beard?" Your costar beside you, looks away in disappointment. Even raising his hand to emphasize his discouraged state.

"A bit yes..."

"Yeah,"

"Yes!"

"Why? It was an impressive beard," Sort of clueless really, the interviewer says, of why you wanted to the topic up.

"Yeah, it was impressive!" Oscar looks back and forth between you and the camera, directing towards the woman on the other side. While you shriveled in embarrassment, leaning your head behind his shoulder, with a few snorts of laughter. "She doesn't even remember if I had a beard or not in the movie! She just saw it."

"Quite a prominent beard!"

"Yes yes, well I can remember so much," You chaste, leaning closer, locking eyes with your costar. Threatening really in a playful way.

"We shot together for a few months! How could you not remember?!" He exclaims, raising both his hands in the air in exasperation. You puff, adorning a pouty-like look.

"I work with what's in front of me," you turn to address the interviewer, pointing at Oscar accusingly. Because much contrast to what he looked months ago, he no longer had that impressive beard. He was clean-shaven, much to your display.

Next to you, Oscar scoffs. "Apparently not!" Bumping shoulders with you as you fought back, poking him many times obnoxiously.

You both later discussed a provoking quote referenced multiple times from Dune posters. Fear is the mind killer. Truly a simple yet intriguing phrase that fitted well with the film. And in generally, you and Oscar compared each others quotes from personal experience.

"I guess you could combine them together," Taking a sip out of your glass, you eyed at Oscar. He hums back and smooths his hands comfortably down his hips.

"It will pass and love prevails!" He cheerfully expresses. Even from afar, the interviewer can notice how much fun you two were having with the question.

"Right and, it plays perfectly with the film," You add onto your little spiel, nodding as you go, "Besides the fact that- you know, fear is the mind killer."

The male actor lets out a long sigh. "Makes you forget how violent the movie is."

On the other side of the screen, the blonde interviewer shrugs her shoulders. "Well- it's only included in small parts in the movie."

It was your turn to hum, dragging out the M sound. "I think maybe the film focusses too much on romance."

A caught off cough comes from Oscar as he tries to his best to dismiss his your sarcastic comment. "I feel like there should've been more of it."

"Really?!" The shot pans to your exaggerated shocked gaze. You then turn to look at the interviewer. "He has no idea how to write a movie." Instantaneously the male actor bursts out laughing, shaking his head back and forth in little denial. Even you couldn't hold it together and giggled a little.

"You play Timothee's parents so spent a lot of time with him. What is the most interesting thing we do not about Timothee Chalamet?" The interviewer prompts, having their arms supported on top the their desk with pure keenness.

Pursing your lips together in concentration, your attention turns towards your partner. "Well coming from me- I mean I don't know if people know this about him or not- but he's very open hearted." Oscar continues, "And me, having to play his father- hence the beard!"

"Ah!" Giving more emphasis, you raised your brow in recollection.

He goes on comparing the analogy of having to play Duke Leto as a powerful leader of a House. Without his people and court, he wouldn't resemble much of an prestige leader. However Oscar later mentions that Timothee's performance was the catalyst to their relationship look authentic. He is young yet incredibly sympathetic towards what's to be done for the film. His time with both of you really sold your relationship as a family, you'd think.

"So that's a very generous thing to do for a young actor. And I was impressed and admired that," In the background, you can be heard mumbling in agreement. Your partner shifts his posture, facing and expecting you to go next.

Licking your lips, you took one last glance at him before focusing strictly at the Zoom camera. "I think for me, to have a young actor like him- he's very driven about it all. When he's on and off screen, Timothee's just focused- he's very serious and concentrates heavily on what Denny says- and I can say I respect that." You punctuate your point, tapping lightly on your knee. "And I play his mother you know, and I try to accommodate with that. I play along and we work until we find a good rhythm with each other." The older woman on the screen seemed enamored by your compliments regarding your costar. Yet her eyes quickly makes it's way to Oscar, sitting quietly and listening to you ramble.

His laidback posture showed how greatly he took your words in. You grab your glass and take a quick sip before hearing him say, "We raised him well." Taking your hand in both of his as a sign of pride.

A delightful chuckle comes from both you and the interviewer while your partner gives a satisfied grin. "We really did!"

The media did not need proof to know of your enjoyed time during the production of Dune. In fact, multiple vlogs and documentaries about the film had fans and viewers alike become fond of your positive and laid back attitude about it all. Despite playing a calculating character such as Lady Jessica, you were nothing of serious when on screen with your costars.

"Welcome to Arrakis!" You popped into frame, wearing an exquisite dress, costumed by one of the designers. It was golden yellow with chains running down from the bottom half of your face to your chest. A faint veil covered your head but for right now, you had it placed on your hair. You spread your arms with anticipation for the cameraman to pan around your surroundings. "It's sunny today so I think we'd be out here for some time." You moved extremely close to the camera, before moving out of the frame to the side.

Abu Dhabi was bliss. The production and crew worked diligently day and night working in the deserts. And on this particular day, most of the cast had been present as well for the introduction of House Atriedes on Arrakis.

A few shots slowly pans from the crew's tents and Denny far into the sandy mountains as he speaks with Timothee. Another shot slyly captures you showing Josh Brolin an unknown video, sideways. Which somehow made him cackle very enthusiastically, holding his stomach to air as you quickly pat his back multiple of times. In all, everyone of the cast members were having a blast in the dry outskirts of the unknown.

"Hello," Brolin pops in another clip where he stands, wearing the Atreides armor. Under a massive shade area, a few people can be spotted in the background, moving equipment and conversing with others. From afar, the people filming the documentary can be heard presenting a few questions for him to touch upon. "Ah what do I think about Lady Jessica being played by," He says your name sincerely.

The video cuts to you having a conversation with your on and screen husband. A hand covering above your face to shield yourself from the sun, while Oscar tries to move where the light is hitting you as the best he could.

"I mean a phenomenal actor like her playing in that kind of role is guaranteed to have an amazing performance. She's- We've known each for a long time since Sicario and with Denny," The male actor softly grins, staring at where you were. "But Oscar on the other hand, eh- not so much." His tone becoming monotonous, as if the shift in topic was distasteful to the touch.

"Whatcha say, Gurney?!" A scream echoes and it's Oscar, cupping both his hands into an O.

The older actor couldn't keep it together before breaking into frivolous giggles. "Nothing, my lord!" He takes one last glance back before seeing you give him two big thumbs up with a silly smirk. "No in all seriousness, those two are just the best! You can never have a bad day with them."

Another prominent section in the video fans adored was with the actors that played Duncan Idaho and Dr. Liet Kynes. This time they are situated in what looked like the structure of Arrakeen. Where all ornithopters were supposedly stationed and the introduction of Dr. Kynes.

"They're so mom and dad," Jason Momoa shaking his head playfully with his hands clamped together. Both him and Sharon Duncan-Brewster wore still suits unlike many other extras who wore Atreides armor. "I mean- they're playing Paul's parents- but in real life it's just so different."

"Definitely more chaotic," Brewster jumps in, earning a hum from her costar. "They act nothing like them."

A cool shot from different location displays you in a dark with Timothee. It was the scene after Paul is put to test to by the Reverent Mother. It was a chilling scene yes, but in post production, many realize how unprofessional you sometimes were even in the most serious times.

The cameras were not live however the film crew were about to pan to you gesturing back and forth with your on-screen son. It was a interactive and intriguing conversation you both were having. You looking in purely engaged with what the French actor was saying. After a few sentences being spoken, it looked as though you chided a teasing joke which gave the reaction of Timothee slightly snickering, backing away slowly.

"I mean do they look like my parents? No," The young actor states shortly. It looked as though the clip was shot right after capturing your cute moment togehter. "But I'd say- yeah Oscar Isaac's a great actor and- to be able to play my dad is pretty cool. Even though we look nothing alike." Nervous laughter spouts as he clears his throat.

"I feel like I get the resemblances from my mom though," Affectionately stating your name, "You can tell where I got my powers, good looks from." Momentarily readjusting his collar as he takes a quick look from behind, knowing your footsteps.

"See? I'm the favorite parent!" In hushed squeal, you wrapped your hands around Timothee's shoulders, earning a lovable grin back.

[squoxle]

Hello can u make smthing like heeseung and Yn having s3x in the movie or smthing?

I wasn't sure if you meant at home or in public, but I chose public bc it's just more fun that way. Who doesn't love a little risky play?

Now or Never ~ L.HS

𐙚pairing: bf!heeseung x gf!reader | 𐙚wc: 500 | 𐙚plot: during a movie date with your boyfriend, you desperately felt the need to be filled, but going home would take too long so it had to be Now or Never... | 𐙚cw:🔞MDNI!! blow job, mutual masturbation, kissing, public sex, insinuated second round

Maybe it was the way he styled his hair today or the cologne he was wearing, but whatever it was made you think nonstop about fucking him.

To be fair, nothing made you happier than feeling your boyfriend inside you.

You didn't care what hole he used, you just wanted to be filled.

A large tub of buttery popcorn sat between Heeseung's legs as the movie played. His eyes were glued to the screen and you couldn't care enough to pay attention to what was happening.

You reached over to place your hand on his thigh, and his eyes jumped at your sudden touch. "Are you okay?" he asked looking over to you.

"I'm so horny right now, babe," you hummed, giving him a little squeeze.

"Right now?!"

"Mhm," you nodded.

"Did you wanna leave now? We can go straight home."

"That'll take to long."

"We can do something in the car if you want."

"I wanna do it right here, right now," you whispered, leaning in to kiss his lips.

"But--"

"Please," you knew how much he loved to hear you beg for him. This was exactly what you needed to do to get what you wanted. "It's now or never..."

You watched as he sat back in his seat, pushing the popcorn forward a bit as he one-handedly unbuttoned his jeans, zipping them down before worming his dick out of his boxers.

He stroked it with one hand as you adjusted your position in the seat next to him. You leaned over the arm of the chair and wrapped your lips around his tip, quietly sucking as he grew in your mouth.

Other than being filled, this was one of your favorite feelings, his dick hardening against your tongue. You felt him throbbing in your mouth as you slowly bobbed your head up and down.

You could hear him taking deep breaths as you sucked him off.

"Hold on," he muttered, readjusting his position. "Put my hoodie over your lap," he said handing you his hoodie. You placed it on his lap as he reached his hand underneath to stimulate your clit through your panties.

You hummed at the warm sensation burning inside of you as he played with your wetness. He slid his fingers between your lips as you went back down on his cock.

He groaned, gripping a handful of your hair as you satisfied him. Though it was becoming increasingly difficult, you somehow managed to contain yourself as he fingered you.

You felt him jerk in your mouth as he yanked his fingers out to shove his dick down your throat. He held you down as he emptied himself in your mouth.

"How about a round two in the car," he whispered in your ear as he leaned over your head resting across his lap.

You didn't say a single word to him, you just gave him that look that told him everything he needed to know.

❀ Thank you all so much for reading! Make sure to check out other works on my masterlist!

❀ 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @chlorinecake @mimikittysblog @nikisvanillaccola @wonbinisbabygurl @mrswolfhard3 @laylasbunbunny @sussyjake @furious-eagle @cherrriesss @abbyizzy @weyukinluv @addictedtohobi @thatonenoona @wavykook @givemeyourtmihyun @jaeljn @hoonmywk @valennshit @19-yunalyn @hoonbby @frostedblankets @hoonsyo @no-mannerism @perfectxserendipity @chubbibish @ihrtlix @bunniesforsoobin @thereadersparadise @thatbooknerdfr @aiden2001 @belongstoheeseung @jakeybabe @donut-crazs @rizzhee @nikimeows @woonieees @uarmyxtae @rebecca-johnson-28 @they2luv1naia @isa-2007 @silcry @riverscafe @pearlwhitesoul @nikohiroshi @thatbooknerdfr @wonniewonwon @sughoonieeee @babyy-bambii @adrika04 @sehunsharpasseyebrows @wtfyangjungwon @fr-3-akn-4-stymf @rikiloversworld @shawyle @sunoosrightbuttcheek @uarmyxtae @lovesickxmina @urfavberry @urauntiefaye @breadlover01 @taehyunsfavmoa

[delusionalalien]

[Embrace You, Devour You] [Chapter 2]

YANDERE!Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader x YANDERE!Variant!Invincibles

Forgot to mention that you are a a few months older than mark, so you are 13 while mark is 12

I lied about it focusing on you and mark </3 drag me to the asylum now.

Garbage ass chapter, idk what to tell you guys

prologue

previous chapter , next chapter

T.W / Tags: Slow-burn, Soft yandere, Pining, mark is bat shit crazy but he good dw, baby-trapping, teen pregnancy, yandere variants, mark a lil pushy, breeding kink, prob need more tags

Mark is a little jealous, but he thinks its just him not liking the idea of you having a crush on Todd (In other words, he IS jealous).

Mark didn't know what to say to you. You, who reads comic books and loves eating more than the average kid, love Todd?

The kid who picked on you with Rebecca in every recess?

The same kid who pushed you from the swings just because you were on it for no longer than a second.

The SAME kid who said means things to him and William?

That Todd???

and you LOVE him?

it confused him.

and it angered him all at the same time.

Mark stares up at the ceiling from Williams bed. Williams room was, girlish, some pink here and there, sparkled with his interest littered around the room. Posters of band boys and popstars on his walls. Mark didn't mind it, not at all- but he needed something, anything to distract his thoughts, away from Todd and away from you.

Mark groans and William, who was sorting out his photocards had enough of his friend bitching about something he wasn't even telling him about.

"Look man, if you're not sharing what's troubling you, how about you leave. You are infecting my space with your yucky sulky feelings."

Mark sat at the edge of the bed, feet dangling just a few centimeters off the ground as he stares at William and thought for a second. How can he say it without William freaking out? It was Todd after all, same kid who called him gay in front of entire school.

Looking at William, Mark concludes he didn't have enough time to fully think about it before William kicks him out his room and simply blurred it out.

"(Name) likes Todd."

William's jaw dropped, eyes widen and a hand slapped over his mouth.

"No way."

"Yes way."

William jumped at Mark, shaking him violently whilst screeching in his face.

"What do you mean she likes Todd?! Todd is like, number one douchebag! Same with that Rebecca bitch!"

Mark was let go and William began pacing around the room, trying to wrap around the idea of you liking Todd of all people.

"Maybe, like, she's lying or something, or maybe there's another guy at school named Todd!"

Mark fell back into the mattress, drained out of energy just thinking about you and Todd.

"Why would she lie about this, William? i mean, what does she even see in Todd that makes him attractive?"

What does he have that Mark doesn't?

William paused, and thought deeply about it.

"Well, first of all, I hate the guy. But i think (Name) is really into tall dudes and lets be honest with ourselves, Todd is like, the tallest kid in our school and he's got a bit of muscles."

Mark snorts, "William ewww."

William raised both his hands, "Hey i'm just being honest here!"

"William, how do we talk her out of this, i'm going crazy thinking that maybe after summer ends she's going to confess to him and, it just makes me-"

Mark paused, he balled his hands into a fist before he ran his fingers through his hair. Trying to find reason, trying to ground himself from the anger that was rising to his head.

"It makes me so, mad."

William squints his eyes at him and crossed his arms.

"You sound jealous, Grayson."

Mark shot up, shaking his head at William, denying any feelings he has for you, and he, William, was starting to piece the puzzle together in his head.

There are times where Mark never simply pass by whenever you played with someone else other than them, inserting himself to whatever game you and whoever you were playing with and making the other party uncomfortable enough to leave. He even gets mad on your behalf when something doesn't go your way, and he was always the one first to be by your side after class.

William even saw him deliberately miss his bus home, just to wait for you and walk home together.

Oh god, William needed to get is eyes check because he never felt so blind in his entire life. It was right there in front of him the entire time, Mark's affection in broad fucking daylight, always with you, always by you. Always looking like a sick puppy whenever you were away.

"William, i don't like her like that okay!"

William only responded with a dragged out 'sureeeee' as he giggled into his hand. Shit, he can tease the fuck out of him and never get bored of it for years to come.

"Sureeeee, Mark, I'mnotjealousbecausemycrushhasacrush, Grayson, i'll believe you."

Mark, red from the neck up, threw a pillow at him.

-

Okay, perhaps he is jealous but not in a way William makes it out to be.

You like boys who are taller than you, unlike him who was shorter by an inch, you like boys with muscles and not like him who was literally the definition of fish and bones, you like boys with blue eyes, why couldn't he been born with blue eyes too...

There will be a day that you'll hang out with cooler friends, friends that are the opposite to his interest and Mark will one day see you drift away from him.

Away from him.

He sat in your living room, mindlessly munching away at your snacks as your father and his mother converse. You were sleeping in your room with the AC on, the low hum of the machine reaching his ears. He had seen you watch shows from his bedroom when he woke up in the middle of the night, binge watching anime before you fell asleep.

Mark wanted to come join you in your marathon of shows, but fought against it.

Mark kept recalling your confession in his head like a broken music disc, it makes it awkward for him to greet even you in the morning that he shuts his curtains the moment you stir in your bed, and its been a week since it happened.

Debbie and Nicolas nudged each other, waiting for the other to do something as they watch Mark absentmindedly chew on the same cookie he had grabbed the moment he sat on the couch 30 minutes ago.

Both adults vibrates, holding in their laughter as it was obvious that Mark is clearly avoiding you as you are avoiding him. Earlier that weak, Debbie immediately noticed the change when Mark didn't just ran out of the door to wake you up for your summer class and hang out with you.

the normal mornings where she had to drag him back to the house so he looks at least presentable and fed.

With one quick phone call to Nicolas, she couldn't stop grinning the entire day.

It was cute, how you two obviously like each other, and Nicolas having seen enough cleared his throat. Elbowing Debbie as she sniffle down a laugh.

"Mark, be a dear and spend some time with (Name) upstairs, she's probably already awake with the volume down watching shows."

"C-can I?" Mark's eyes sparkled, waiting for your father's approval.

"Yeah, just make sure she shuts the AC as you go in. It probably feels like Antarctica in there."

Mark didn't waste a single second before he was bolting towards your bedroom.

Nicolas and Debbie waits until his footsteps cease before bursting out in laughter.

"Our kids are doomed Debs, i can't take it anymore."

"Oh please, wait until i tell you how Mark was acting in our house the entire week-"

[makeyoumine69]

Till Death Do Us Part (Chapter One)

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Innocent!Fem!Reader; [no y/n]

SUMMARY: After moving in with Patrick Bateman in his luxurious Upper Manhattan apartment, it didn't take long for you to get into trouble, as your future husband couldn't stand anyone being bossy in his own home.

CONTAINS: Arranged marriage & enemies to lovers trope, explicit sexual content, violence, mild gore, dub-con, Patrick being a dick, drugging, toxic behavior, dirty talk.

WORDS: 3.3k

A/N: Here's the first chapter of the writing project I've been working on for the past few months! I hope you enjoy the journey!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [AO3].

Life is such an amazing thing.

Sometimes it can bring us challenges that seem impossible, but what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Do people always say things like that? Well, maybe they do, but in your case, that was exactly what your family told you the day you found out that you had to marry Patrick Bateman—a ghost from your past, a boy who used to bully you, then an arrogant Harvard student best known for the number of girls he fucked.

Not to mention how much you hated him and everything associated with him whenever your mother tried to start a conversation about the good old days when you were a kid playing with Patty, ah, the childhood nickname you used to call him. It all felt like memories from your past life, not your present one.

How you were going to survive it all now, only God knew.

1987, New York.

Patrick stared down at your sleeping form on his couch, a plastic cover over the expensive fabric you slept on. It had been a few days since you had moved into his apartment. The man remembered clearly when his mother told him about the arranged marriage. It had happened a few days after she had told him about his breakup with Evelyn. The whole situation made him angry. Patrick never wanted to get married, and if he had to, it certainly wouldn't be to a girl like you. Memories of your moments together during childhood and high school flashed through his mind. They were pretty blurry—just like any other memory of his, but he knew that there weren't any positive memories. 

Patrick ran his hand over his face, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips. He tore his eyes away from you and moved quickly into the kitchen, tying his robe tighter around his waist. 'She's not even blonde,' he thought bitterly as he began his routine of brewing a fresh pot of expensive coffee.

The sudden sound of the coffee maker made you jerk back onto the couch, but the moment you opened your eyes, a bitter realization washed over you like a tidal wave—this was not a dream and you were really in Patrick Bateman's apartment. And you were about to marry him, which was actually the worst thing that could happen to you.

Carefully, you got up from the soft furniture and went to the kitchen to check on your future husband, trying to pretend to be a good fiancée, just like your family wanted you to be. "Good morning," you mumbled as you watched him take the ice mask out of the fridge. "Did you sleep well?"

You bet he did, because unlike you, he slept in the big comfortable bed while you slept on the couch, although it was your choice, but at least you expected him to be a gentleman and offered to take his bed, which never happened.

Slightly annoyed, Patrick kept his focus on the coffee pot, his gaze fixed on the way the coffee grounds turned to liquid. He tensed noticeably when he heard a second voice and turned to look at his future wife. Blegh. 'Actually, I didn't sleep at all, Rebecca. I spent all night chopping up a hard body in the back alley of Barcadia,' he thought to himself, his face stoic. "I slept well." He spoke, his voice steady with a hint of annoyance. 

The pot banged, letting him know it was ready. He mechanically grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured himself one, dropping two Xanax pills into it before taking a sip. The bitter liquid slid down his throat, calming his nerves and replacing the usual mask he wore. The man spun around to face you. "There should be some oat bran in the top cupboard…but I think you could stand to skip a few meals." He smiled, his eyes remaining empty as they bored into you.

Frowning, you rolled your eyes at his comment and turned to leave the kitchen. "I'm not hungry."

‘What a fucking arrogant bastard,’ you cursed and went back to the living room where you noticed a magazine with wedding dresses. God, now you remembered that you probably fell asleep reading that stupid magazine with the ugly dresses—they really were ugly and you didn't care if they were high fashion.

When you saw him join you in the living room, you tried to ignore him at first, but then you heard the sound of clothes being taken off—the sight of Bateman's perfect body clad only in white underwear embarrassed you, but you still didn't move.

"I had a thought—maybe we can postpone our wedding a little?" You asked suddenly, looking at him as he began to stretch out on the floor. "I have exams in my internship and I need to prepare for them."

For a while, the only sound in the room was Patrick's heavy panting as he began to do crunches, the way his muscles tensed with each movement, stirring something strange in your core that made you claw at your skin to distract yourself.

"No, negative." Bateman spoke, not bothering to look at you. "Your family and my family were very specific about the date," the man said before moving onto his back and doing crunches. He huffed as he moved, his abdominal muscles tensing and flexing. As he worked himself up, he suddenly stopped and huffed, moving to sit on the floor. "Why don't you make yourself useful and put in that Texas Chainsaw Massacre tape?" He asked, pointing at the TV; his eyes then drifted to the magazine. "You might as well pick something. If you don't, we'll just dress you in a cinched garbage bag. An expensive garbage bag."

With a wry smile, you scoffed at his statement about the wedding and dressing up in an expensive garbage bag. But the last thing you wanted to do was argue with him when you had to work and study today.

"Garbage bag doesn't sound bad from what I've seen in this magazine," you commented briefly, getting up to turn on the TV. "I don't understand why this wedding is even necessary. I'll survive if I don't get my picture on the front page of the Times." Your muttering was soon interrupted by the sound of the movie.

You looked at the cover of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre tape for a while—it looked pretty scary, but cool, and you were genuinely curious why Bateman was so obsessed with movies like that.

"Do you watch anything else besides horror movies?" Your tone was artificially friendly because inside you didn't really care. "I mean…I don't think it's weird, just…asking."

Bateman watched you move before quickly grabbing the remote from the table. He started tapping the forward button and watched as the scenes on the TV flashed by. Frowning, the man sighed when you started complaining again. "The wedding is necessary because both our families want it. Why is that so hard for you to understand?" He asked condescendingly, his focus shifting from the TV to you. You were attractive, he supposed—nice tits, a full ass, an…okay face. But he knew he could do better. 

Patrick looked back at the TV before it played his favorite scene—near the end of the movie where the final girl screamed bloody murder as Leatherface wielded a chainsaw over her head. The sound was like music to him. He paused the tape to answer your question. 'Porn,' he wanted to say, but instead he said, "I don't know…maybe…not really." Then he turned off the TV and got back on the floor. 

Something about the scene seemed to rile him up, because he started doing his stomach crunches much faster. Small beads of sweat ran down his temples as he groaned softly until he finished—doing 50 in just one minute. Then Bateman moved over to start doing push-ups, the muscles in his back rippling through his skin. He paused for a moment before sighing and stopping his routine. "Price and Daisy," he paused again, unsure if that was the name of Price's new girlfriend. Maybe it was Carmen? Dalila? He couldn't remember and frankly, he didn't give a shit. "Um, they have reservations for four at Barcadia…tonight at 7:00. So…you know…try to wear something nice."

Abashed, you almost dropped the pencil at your fiancé's request. "Something nice?" You repeated, looking down at your medical book. "You mean wear something that makes me look like a slut?"

With a muffled chuckle, you put the book down on the coffee table and lay back on the white couch. You were completely indifferent to social life, in your opinion it was just a waste of time and money, and you never understood why your family was so obsessed with it.

"Who is Price? I don't even remember all your 'friends'," you grimaced at the last word and kicked your legs in the air. "You can take Courtney instead of me or any of those other chicks you always hung out with."

Memories of the Harvard years flooded your mind without permission. Patrick, surrounded by an endless number of girls, walking in front of the main building. Damn it! Why did you even remember all that shit? But then another memory came to your mind, there was a charity banquet your family attended where you finally met Bethany, the girl Patrick had been dating since they were at Harvard. Bethany was so beautiful and slim, just like the model. 

Caught up in your thoughts, you seemed to miss what Bateman was saying. "If you said something, could you please repeat it?"

Patrick furrowed his brow, the lines in his face creasing slightly as he frowned. "I'd rather have a slutty wife than someone who looks homeless." He scoffed and stopped working out, deciding that he was done with his exercise routine. His face suddenly felt very heavy, as if the small amount of oil was wearing him down. He had to wash up immediately.

"Timothy Price-" Bateman spoke as he quickly walked into the bathroom, leaving the door open to answer any more tedious questions you might have. He casually opened his medicine cabinet and began to scrub his face with his expensive ointments. "A dress will be here in a few hours. I want you to try it on. If it doesn't fit, call my tailor. His number is on my nightstand." The man shouted, put the mask on his face and let it sit for a few minutes. 

When Patrick heard your ranting again, he groaned in exasperation. He quickly stormed out of the bathroom, the shiny mask still on his face. Bateman grabbed your hair in his fist and pulled it, tugging your head back so you could make eye contact with him. "You…get…dressed." He spoke slowly, slowing it down for you. "If the dress doesn't fit, call a tailor." Patrick pointed to his bedroom door and let go of your hair.

Bateman's sudden anger scared you to death, but you didn't even make a sound. It was only after he released you and returned to the bathroom that you allowed yourself to sob barely audibly, covering your face with your hands.

‘I don't want this marriage. Fuck, I should have accepted to marry Vincent when I had the chance, but my stupid family would never allow me to marry an ordinary man, not a fucking billionaire.’

Crying, you stood up on shaky legs, wanting to wait for Patrick to leave and call your ex-boyfriend or maybe your brother. You hugged yourself before slowly sneaking into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Unfortunately, your hands were shaking so badly that you splashed water all over the kitchen counter and floor. A paralyzing fear of his rage made you panic, and you had to quickly find something to clean up. When you couldn't find anything and heard his approaching footsteps, you decided to act desperately and before you knew it, you took off your top, leaving yourself exposed as you were not wearing a bra. Then, you crouched down to clean the floor with your fucking shirt. You didn't care because it was just a piece of cloth; his anger was much more frightening.

Irritated as hell, Patrick went back to the bathroom, his angry expression returning to his stoic one. He hardly thought about his sudden act of violence. It was the only way to get you to listen, but he couldn't deny that he got a little thrill out of it. 

As the man peeled off the mask, he thought about what would happen if he pulled a little harder. If he broke your fucking neck and chopped you up and threw your parts in a river. Or maybe he could nail you to the ground and let a bunch of hungry wild pigs eat you until there was nothing left. He soon finished peeling off the mask, crumpled it up in his hand, and threw it away. 

A short time later, Bateman came out of the bathroom and made a beeline for the kitchen. He noticed that you were no longer on the couch, which annoyed him. The thing that annoyed him most about you living with him was the lack of control he had. You could just do whatever you wanted and go into any room. Touch all his possessions. Patrick stopped in the doorway, his eyes widening slightly at the sight; his eyes trailed down your body, your curves. The man felt a sudden heat between his legs, his boxers suddenly feeling tighter. 'Damn it,' he thought. Aroused, Patrick ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, deciding what to do. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he had an idea. Maybe now he could show you who was really in control. Smirking, he stepped closer to you, his crotch in your line of sight. He stepped on your shirt, stopping your movements. "Worry about that later…if you're going to strip in my house, you should do it in the bedroom." Bateman spoke quietly, pulling up his boxers. "Go." He pointed to his bedroom again.

As soon as you heard his voice, you instinctively covered your breasts and glanced up at his almost naked form—he looked even bigger from that angle.

"Don't touch me," you whimpered suddenly, crawling back a little. "Say what you want, but please don't touch me." You used Bateman's confusion to slowly get to your feet, leaving your wet top on the floor as you didn't dare ask him to let you take it. 

'Gosh, his eyes are literally glowing with rage. Or maybe it's not anger?' A brief thought flashed through your mind as you retreated into his bedroom without turning around.

In the bedroom, you sat carefully on the edge of his large bed, picked up a random robe and tried not to think about how many women had been fucked here, as you were about to throw up from such a realization. Patrick didn't follow, so you sighed with relief, thinking that he would probably leave you alone—finally. And that meant that your plan to call her ex-boyfriend was still relevant.

Meanwhile, after watching you leave, Bateman quickly opened his cupboard, grumbling as he shoved food away. "Where's that…" he muttered before grabbing the drugs he was looking for. Ecstasy. Perfect. Patrick then took out a flute-shaped wine glass and poured his most expensive champagne, placing two pills inside and watching them dissolve. The man knew that you probably wouldn't be very… willing with what he wanted to do—not without help. 

Soon Bateman walked into the bedroom and saw you on the bed. With an artificial affection, he handed you the glass, a warm smile on his face. "Here. It's my most expensive brand. It's a... peace offering for what I did to your hair." The man purred, touched one of your locks, twisted it around his finger and pulled away. "My behavior can be…erratic at times." 

There was something strange about his sudden tenderness, but you felt too upset to think clearly. Scared of his recent rage, you took the glass and before you decided to try it, you gazed at him, knowing that something bad was going to happen, but you didn't really have a choice.

"It's very…very sweet," you commented, looking at the glass and licking your lips. "Is it supposed to be that sweet?" Frowning, you studied him with your big doe eyes before closing them for a moment. The taste of this chapmange was very strange, even after you drank more. "Aren't you going to drink as well?" You asked, feeling your head start to spin.

Snickering mischievously, Bateman watched you drink and nodded. "Of course, but I'm sure you've never had this brand. It's quite high-end." He confidently turned away from you and walked over to the camera on the tripod, pointed directly at the bed. The man pressed the record button, a tradition he had for every session. It didn't matter if it was a random prostitute or his future wife. 

Then he moved to a dresser on the other side of the room and opened the drawer. His finger brushed against the objects inside: three different knives, a bent coat hanger, matchsticks, dildos, vibrators, lube, and a box of condoms. He took the box out, leaving the drawer open for later. "I'm not thirsty," Patrick remarked. "Besides, I have to be at work in a few hours. I really can't get drunk." He smiled and sat down beside you again, running his fingers down your back, feeling your spine through your skin. "You have a really nice body."

Stunned, you shivered at his sudden touch. "W-what are you doing?" You asked, but didn't flinch.

'God, how many times did I imagine us like this in college? How many times had I imagined being his wife? And now my life had decided to punish me in such a cruel way because the boy I'd fallen in love with since childhood was a completely different man, and now I had to marry him.'

Bateman sneered suddenly, his warm expression turning to one of annoyance. "Nothing. Can't I touch my fiancé? Or are you one of those…after-marriage women?" Patrick smiled again. He didn't think he'd ever want to be intimate with you, but you really did have a nice body. Besides, he'd have to get used to it.

"Mmh, I shouldn't drink too, because I have to go to the hospital today…" you mumbled and turned to face him, only to gasp at how close he was. "Patrick…what's in that box?" You pointed at the small box in his hands.

The man laughed and jabbed his finger at the glass in her hand. "You've already drunk half of it!" Patrick murmured in an amused tone. "I'll call for you. I'll tell them you have a cold. Then he looked down at the box in his hand and shook it. "Condoms. You probably don't want to look pregnant at the wedding. It'll ruin the photos and stretch out your dress." Bateman leaned closer to you. "I think you and I should…you know…get it on. What do you think? If you're going to marry me, you might as well get used to my cock."

"Did you say…cock?" You almost choked on your drink. "We...we didn't even share a bed, and you're suggesting we have...sex?"

The champagne seemed to begin to cloud your mind and you didn't even notice that you had finished your glass. Then, all of a sudden, you tried to get up, but almost fell to the floor.

It was over. It was so fucking over.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Chilling

Masterlist

Pairing: Henry X Reader

Synopsis: You were in love with the blacksmith's boy since you were both children. One day, he stumbles into into the apothecary, covered in blood and wounds, asking for you. As the last survivor of the hunting party, you start to suspect what has changed him.

Tags: fluff, eventual smut, werewolves, friends to lovers, mutual pining, angst, danger, some death, gore,

Chapter 1

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the village into a shroud of cold shadows. In the dimly lit apothecary, you moved with purpose, tending to the sick under the warm glow of flickering candles.

The room smelled of herbs and remedies, a comforting scent that enveloped the two children and their mother nestled under thick furs. Your hands moved carefully, wrapping the children tightly as you spoke to them in a soothing tone.

"You see, this medicine is made from a special herb. It's like a little helper for your body," you explained, your eyes meeting the curious gaze of the youngest child.

"Why does it smell sour?" the girl asked.

You chuckled, “To me, it smells like oranges. Trust me, after a few sips, you'll feel much better and be playing with your siblings again."

Turning your attention to the reluctant boy, you's smile remained unwavering. "I know, it doesn't taste like your favourite sweets, but it is still good stuff. Drink up, and you'll be back to your adventures in no time."

The boy eyed the tea suspiciously and reluctantly took a sip.

As you comforted the children the mother's discomfort became apparent. Her forehead is damp with fever. You placed a damp cloth on her forehead and she sighed.

"You'll be alright," you assured before ushering the kids into another room, telling them to drink their tea.

Returning to the mother, you reassessed the situation. The bucket beside her bed was full, and she was wiping her mouth. A realisation dawned on you. You delicately asked, "Have you been intimate recently?"

The woman nodded, and understanding swept over. She was with child.

In that moment, the door creaked open, revealing the figure of Rebecca, the village healer, and your mentor.

Rebecca entered the apothecary, shaking off the snow from her cloak and depositing a basket of herbs and roots onto a table. "The cold has arrived sooner than expected this year," she sighed, eyeing the flickering candles that cast shadows on the walls.

Her gaze shifted to you, engaged with the now cleaned-up woman. A knowing smile played on Rebecca's lips as she assessed the situation. "Congratulations, Lucy. Wonderful news,"

As you helped Lucy with a wash basin, you made small talk about breaking the news to Michael, Lucy's husband. In the midst of their conversation, you couldn't resist asking, "How do you do that? Can you read minds?"

Rebecca snorted, not confirming or denying the accusation.

After everyone was cleaned up, children tucked back into bed, and Lucy given a herb to induce sleep, Rebecca noticed the weariness in your eyes. "The night has almost fallen. You should get some rest,"

"What about you?" You asked.

Rebecca dismissed you with a wave, "Don't worry about me. You've been working too hard. I can see it in your eyes. You shouldn't have to do the work of five people."

You chuckled, "Especially with winter colds."

The howling wind outside and the distant howl added an eerie soundtrack to their conversation.

"Sounded louder," Rebecca commented cryptically.

Perplexed, you asked, "What are you talking about?"

"The howling," Rebecca replied, your tone filled with a solemn warning. “One was louder than the rest…”

Oblivious to the ominous undertone, you shrugged and packed your things. "I haven't noticed. If you're okay here, i'll take that offer to go home."

As you opened the heavy wooden door, Rebecca cautioned behind you, "Be careful, y/n. No shortcuts."

With those words echoing in your mind, you donned your cloak and stepped into the biting night, leaving the apothecary behind, the wind carrying with it an unsettling howl.

As you ventured through the village on your walk home, the air grew colder, and darkness descended. Winter's biting cold pierced through your cloak, urging you to quicken your pace. The villagers had retreated indoors, leaving the streets eerily quiet, only the sounds of your footsteps echoing and the wind whooshing through the creaking, naked trees. The quietness was haunting, a stark contrast to the usual lively hum of the village.

Passing the dressmaker's shop, you glanced into the window, where a distorted reflection of a beautiful dress beckoned. You cast a brief glance down at your own worn garment. You've worn it almost every day for three years. The fabric clung tightly, showing your growth over the time.

A sudden snap to your right shattered the silence, and you spun. In the shadows, a pair of glowing eyes seemed to stare back at you. A gasp caught in your throat, and you broke into a run. The chilling wind whipped at your hair as you sprinted toward your brother's farmhouse at the edge of the village.

Reaching the safety of the familiar door, you stole a glance over your shoulder, heart pounding. There was nothing but the winter night. You hurriedly entered the house, shutting the door with a shiver, leaving the cold and the unsettling encounter outside.

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You closed the heavy wooden door behind yourself, and the warm glow of the farmhouse kitchen welcomed you. Your brother, his wife, and their three children sat around the sturdy wooden table, eating a hearty stew from a pot placed at the center.

Will, holding the twins and little Mary devouring your small bowl, greeted you with understanding smiles. "Sit, eat."

As you filled your plate, your brother's wife picked at the sleeve of your worn dress, the dirt from the day's work evident.

"Can you mend this for me, Sophie?" you asked her.

Sophie nodded, "Of course! Leave it with me tomorrow, and I'll have it done by the morning. Can you wear something else in its stead in case it takes me some time?"

You pondered your dress options while taking a scoop of the stew. "I have my festive dress, but there's also my grandmother's old work dress. It's a bit big, though."

Sophie grinned mischievously, "Festive dress it is, then. Remember the harvest festival? The butcher's boy couldn't take his eyes off you."

Blushing, you chuckled, gaze drifting to the window. Your mind lingered on Henry, the blacksmith's nephew. You secretly had a crush on him since you were both children

He lost both his parents and older brother to cholera. Had to grow up fast, becoming the first to apprentice at his uncle Jen’s smithy at the age of ten.

You, only seven years old at the time, found him captivating, though your friends didn't share the sentiment.

You were quite chubby as a child but harsh winters and harvests have made it difficult to stay that way. The same applied to him, although unlike you, who became thinner, Henry bulked. As the years passed, he transformed from a lanky, sickly boy into a broad and capable young man, drawing lots of attention from the village girls with his tall build, strong arms, constantly covered in veins and dirt from working at the smithy.

Despite the two of you being friendly enough, Henry hadn't seemed to notice you much, always engrossed in his important errands at the smithy.

Sophie's voice brought you back to the present. "The butcher's son is handsome and well-off. Perhaps think about it?"

"Perhaps." you considered.

As Sophie departed for bed, you cleared the table before removing your dress, leaving it for Sophie. You settled down on your bed in the kitchen in your night dress, covering yourself in a heavy wool blanket and turned your head to the side.

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In the midst of the night, you found yourself in a dream.

You wandered through a frost-covered forest, shadows dancing beneath the moonlight. Distant howls of wolves echoed, and Henry 's figure emerged from the mist.

As you approached, he turned, revealing the handsome face you often found herself dreaming of.

Henry 's deep brown eyes held a warmth.

"Y/n, my y/n" his words muffled in your dream but you still found your heart beating loudly.

"Yes, Henry." you gasped.

Henry 's arms enveloped you, pulling you closer in a tender embrace beneath the moonlight. He lifted your chin up to meet his lips in a soft, tender kiss that lingered minutes after he pulled apart and trailed kisses along your jaw, and down your neck, where he lingered, playfully nipping at your collarbone.

You gasped.

"I want to sink my teeth into you..." He whispered. You felt your cheeks burn, along with the rest of your body.

Suddenly, the dream shifted. The forest darkened, and the wolves' howls intensified. A giant figure, cloaked in shadows, appeared. Your heart raced as you recognized the glowing eyes from your earlier encounter.

"I want to sink my teeth into you." The figure whispered. Your pulse picked up as the dream twisted into a chaotic dance of uncertainty.

You woke up with a start.

The farmhouse was silent, bathed in the soft glow of the hearth. you lay in the quiet darkness, the dream fading.

Unable to shake off the disquieting feeling, you slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb your family, and donned your warmest attire. The creaking floorboards betrayed your departure, and as you stepped outside, the winter night embraced you once again.

The village slept peacefully, shrouded in a blanket of snow. Your breath formed visible clouds in the frigid air as you made your way to the apothecary. The flickering candlelight within revealed the familiar shelves of herbs and potions.

Rebecca, already awake, greeted you with a knowing smile. "The threads of fate weave a complex tapestry," Rebecca mused. "Your dreams may hold clues to the challenges ahead. Stay vigilant, you, and trust your instincts."

[slinkythecoffeekid]

Chapter Three || How Hard Is Rock Bottom?

Update: When I originally watched season two, I had a hard time with S2.10 because it's supposed to be a rough, emotional episode. However, as someone who relates to Rebecca in this episode, I forced myself to watch it because that's what I needed this week. I do appreciate the way they show how everyone processes their grief so incredibly deeply, and that is so fucking powerful to me. Also, I apologize for the late upload. I was very sick this past weekend. HOWEVER, It's here!! Chapter Three of "Standing Again" Pairing: Jamie Tartt x Reader Rating: T for teens word count: 6.9k Warnings: swearing, Talk of injury, Injury-related trauma, PTSD behaviors, Reader has multiple panic attacks, some have coping mechanisms, one does not. Synopsis: three weeks have passed, and the game you've been anxious about has rounded the corner. You'll see your brother, his wife, and maybe your nephews. An excellent idea when you're not sure if you are ready yet. Rebecca comes to you with a proposal. You and Jamie talk about your feelings.

Three weeks. Three weeks since you moved to Richmond, three weeks since you started working for A.F.C Richmond, three weeks since you started watching their practices, three weeks since you began to befriend the team. Three weeks of coffee with Keely in the morning, three weeks of Ted giving you random nuggets of insight you didn't know you needed, three weeks of Roy making sure you hadn't done something stupid to your leg, three weeks of Jamie Tartt bugging you every chance he had. Three weeks of normalcy. 

Three weeks of staring at the same text message over and over again.  

You argue that you've been doing fine. But the only person who would believe that doesn't even stare you back in the mirror at night. Your sleep schedule has been shit; between waking up late or not sleeping at all, you only eat when your body violently remembers you need to eat. Your runs in the mornings have progressively gotten longer since you've been using it as a way to help relax. However, it doesn't help calm the tiny voice in your head. Or the anxious face that is staring you dead in the eyes. 

"hey- Earth to (y/n)???” 

Ted was in front of you, forcing you to focus back on the conversation in the coach's office. Ted, Beard, Leslie, Roy, and Nate looked at you in concern as you cleared your throat. “Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts. What are we talking about?” 

“Well, we were talking about play options. But we have been asking you if you're okay. " Beard leans back in his seat, raising one eyebrow. 

You shrug, stretch, grab your drink from your side, and take a sip. “I'm fine, just a little tired. I didn't get much sleep last night.” You look around you, and all five men look like they didn't buy it or knew you were lying. Especially Roy, he had the worst Don't you dare lie to me, Dad look you'd ever seen? His eyebrows raised at you and everything. 

Sensing the discomfort amongst his team of coaches and friends, Ted cleared his throat. " Alright, then, make sure you get some sleep after the game tonight (y/n). But hey, since we are all here, let's talk about Sunderland! What do we know?” 

“They are a well-rounded team, playing in a 1-4-2-3-1 formation,” Nate pipes up; as he mentions, Ted moves the magnets on the play whiteboard to mimic the formation. “It's usually seen as a defensive play tactic.”

“Yeah, but give them a well-time pivot, they can become a strong offensive team,” Beard mentions, flipping a book page. 

“So we have to keep up with them,” Ted comments offhandedly as he's writing names on the board. 

“If the midfielders are too close on the change-up, it leaves some opening,” Roy states, arms crossed.

“Keep them on their toes and hope they trip up.”

You watch the board, “or you could overpower the midfield, like a 3-5-2.” You were not expecting everyone to turn to look over at you. “What? You overpower the midfield line and force them to change up, keeping Danni and Jamie free to score too.” everyone looks at you with either a raised eyebrow or a confused look, Roy had the silent, non-visible Roy Smirk (™)

Everyone looks to Ted, who's still looking at you. He smiles as if he's proud of you, and you can see the glimmer of pride in his eyes. “I think that might be the game to play. I'm all in favor of (y/n) plan, say, Ey?”

The men give an eye, and you just shrug, and Ted nods. “Alright, 3-5-2 it is then,” he slaps his knees before forcing himself out of the chair. Well, then we should let the team know the plan.” The other coaches nod, Beard and Leslie walk out of the office, Nate pokes back into his own, and Roy walks out after Beard. 

Throwing away your takeaway cup, you go to leave. 

“Hey, (y/n), can I ask you a question?” Ted asks from over by his desk. 

You stop, look over, and shrug. " I mean, you just did, but sure, what's up, Ted?”

“How would you feel about joining us on the pitch? Since technically you are support staff? I think the other coaches would like your insight.” He had the biggest puppy dog eyes, and you sighed. 

“Are you going to pout if I tell you no?” you ask with a chuckle. 

Ted shrugs, “perhaps. Is that a yes or no?”

You think momentarily and nod in defeat, “Yes, but only because I'm not sure I can handle a pouting coach lasso for more than 20 minutes at a time.” 

Ted's smile was contagious. " Well, then, we will see you soon, " he smiled before leaving the office to give the team the pregame lecture. 

You smile, looking out the glass to watch, before walking through the assistant coach's office door and heading towards Rebecca's office. You'd have to inform your lovely boss that you could not sit with her and Keeley for the game. 

On your way out, you could see all the fans coming into the stadium, many Sunderland loyalists and far more Richmond faithful, people from young and old, friends, families, rivals, and enemies; it made you smile thinking about all these people excited to watch a match. 

Too bad you let them down before 

You stop for a second, hearing the voice in the back of your head, and clench your fist, nails biting into your palms, and shake your head, trying to get the thought out of your head, trying to focus on anything besides the mental tormentor that you'd left unchecked. You look around, trying to find something to focus on, and head towards the elevator to the upper floor and make your way over. 

You waited in the queue with several other people, primarily shareholders and their families. No one you recognized; you did overhear a young teenage girl whispering to her mother about you, though. Primarily recognizing who you were but nothing else. Everyone was quiet in the elevator until the door dinged, and everyone got off. You included. 

The owner box was off of a social area where everyone was before the start of the game; people mingled and chatted, catching up with one another, talking business, and the like; Rebecca and Keeley are, of course, no different as they are both women of business and one happens to own the club. You sneak into the circle that Rebecca is chatting with and gently tap her arm. Perhaps you startled her, but not that she would have let on ever; she turns and looks at you with a smile, “Ah, (y/n), Keeley was wondering when you'd show. Are you joining us in the box?” That dazzling smile could charm the entirety of parliament. 

You return the smile, but more mildly: “Nah, Ted invited me to sit with the coaches. I just came to let you know.” You shrug. “Next time, though, promise!” You expected Rebecca to be slightly more disappointed in this, but that sneaky smirk came into place. 

“Oh no, it's quite alright! If Ted wants you down there, I'm sure it's with good reason. Have a good time (y/n).” She squeezes you on the shoulder and returns to her conversation with some shareholders. 

You smile and head out, but not before Keeley can stop you.

“(Y/N)!” you barely even turn around before she's got you in a hug tighter than a boa, and you wheeze her name out, barely. “Where are you going?” Keeley looks you over and smiles, “That coach polo works on you, god you're fit!” she turns you around to get a good look at you.

You cannot help but laugh at her antics and smile. “I'm headed down to the pitch and sitting with the team today.” You look Keeley over in her fur jacket, earmuffs, and comfortable pants. “I must say you make everything look fashionable, Keels.”

She pouts, hearing you won't be sitting with the girls, “boo, I thought we’d get to finally gossip about you and your love life. But if you're gonna be with the boys, best be with the boys.” she then smiles looking at her outfit, “awe thanks babes, you are the sweetest! Alright, the boys are waiting for you- oh, hi!” Keeley was starting to turn you around to push you back towards the elevator when you both turned to see a woman behind you looking as if she was nervous to approach. 

The woman was about 5’6 "tall. Her black hair hung past her shoulders in light waves, her eyes dark green, and her complexion pale. She was wearing a black puffer jacket and a Sunderland scarf and holding a Paw Patrol backpack. She looked nervous, making eye contact with you. And you were equally uncomfortable, but you couldn't run. And sure as hell couldn't hide. Your heart pumping filled your ears, your jaw clenched, and you felt like you couldn't move. You could hear the words being spoken around you but struggled to cling onto any of them to formulate the conversation in your brain. 

The woman smiled at Keeley, and they seemed to introduce themselves. You heard both Keeley and her exchange names.

Jennifer, Keeley

You watched them shake hands, and Jennifer told Keeley why she was there. 

Husband, coach 

You knew Keeley was told she was here with her two sons by the way Jennifer gestured to two young boys talking to other kids who were there with their parents or grandparents. You knew all of this, but your tongue felt swollen in your mouth. Your jaw felt almost wired shut, so when the conversation turned back to include you, why couldn't you move? The feeling of cold rushed up your spine, reminding your body and mind that you didn't feel safe here. And that was enough for you to force your jaw to unclench. Your legs unlocked, and you quickly walked out without a word.

You don't know what kind of concerned looks you received when leaving, but you didn't want to acknowledge it either. It meant owning your anxiety, and you couldn't do that. You took the stairs back down to the bottom floor of the locker room, practically running down the stairs. You make it down and slam into the door of Roy and Nate's office, sliding down it, trying to catch your breath. You look up to the fact you are indeed alone in the room and sigh. What were your grounding exercises again? You dig through your pocket, pull out a piece of gum, and start chewing on it. 

5: the blue carpet of the coach's office, the grey paint of the office walls, the yellow wording of Gradarius Firmus Victoria, the bookshelf full of binders to your right, the clipboards hung by Nate's desk.

4: the carpet at your feet, the fabric of the polo against your neck, the cool temperature of the door against your back, the feeling of your hands against each other to help relieve your anxiety

3: the sounds of the coaches talking through the plans of today's plays, the team listening and asking questions, the sound of the heating system above you.

2: the bland air of the office and the mint on your breath

1: your gum you are chewing.

You take a deep breath and stand, dusting yourself off and rubbing your face. You hadn't been crying, but you wouldn't have been surprised if you had. Taking a moment to compose yourself, you finally walk into the locker room just in time for the huddle-up. 

“Hey, just in time (y/n)!” Ted smiles at you but gives you that concerned look, as does the rest of the team.

You shake your head, “Sorry, I was talking to the boss.” you put your hand in the pile, and everyone looks at Isaac. 

Isaac looks at everyone and nods. “Richmond on three. One. Two. Three.”

“RICHMOND!!” The locker room erupted, and the boys headed out the door.

You decided to hang back to clear your mind for a second, but I'm still unsure if you have the mental capacity to join them in the lineup yet. You fail to see Jamie hung back. He walks over to you and waves a hand in front of your face, looking at you. “Ello, earth to (y/n)?” His face is scrunched up in concern and confusion. 

You startle out of your inner thoughts to look at Jamie and force a smile: “Hm? Yeah, I'm okay. " However, you were unsure if he'd be kind enough to accept your obvious lie or corner you since you'd only known him for a few weeks. You shrug and look at the door: “Don't keep them waiting, Jamie; they will leave you.” 

Jamie frowns, looking at the doorway, too, and looks at you. You can't tell what he’s thinking, but he clenches and unclenches his fist a few times before letting out a pent-up breath. “Ted only let me come back because they needed a win, but the team didn't want me back, you know?” he says rather abruptly, catching you completely off guard. 

“I sorry Jamie-”

“No, let me finish,” cutting you off, he shrugs, “I’m working really hard to get their trust back, and I also want to be someone people can trust- so if you ever want to talk or shit- I'll do my best to listen… I know I bother you a lot, but it's because I want to be friends.” he extends his arms out, almost as if offering a hug, “Also, you look like you might start crying. I don't know what to do in these situations.” he mutters, unable to make eye contact. 

You stop briefly, steeling your emotions by pushing them down so no one can see them. A smile creeps to your face, startling him, and you push him towards the door.

“Woah-hey-what are you doing?!” Jamie was very surprised by the sudden shoving.

“You have a game to play, Tartt. Don't get sappy on me now!” you push him out into the hall where the rest of the team is waiting. Everyone looks at Jamie, but no one says anything about it. They head towards the entrance to the pitch, where the other team is waiting to walk onto the field.

The hall became silent as the teams awaited the announcement and music to play; you hung back at the end of the line for your team but looked up at the older gentleman approaching you. Actually, an older gentleman would be a horrible way to describe him, your brother, a 6’ft plus man in khakis and a Sunderland Manager jacket and oxford shoes. He stood beside you for a moment, not that anyone noticed his presence next to you. 

The feeling from before flooded your body, and your jaw clenched tighter than before. Your nails dig into the sides of your arms, and even your toes clenched in a vain effort to ground yourself. The blood pumping could be heard in your ears again, and you felt like your blood had left your body. 

Your brother knew better than to touch you in this state of panic, but could he even tell you were this anxious? Apparently so. You look down at the hand extended to you. It had a pack of gum in it, unopened, and your favorite flavor. You took it, of course. When you looked up at your older brother, meeting his gaze. The look on your face must have been ridiculous because he smiled at you. 

“Jenni texted me already. We can talk after the game.” Archie hesitated like he wanted to give you a pat on the back. Thinking better of it, he walked away from you and back up to where the rest of his staff was, leaving you alone. You put the new pack in your pocket and walked up to where the rest of the coaches were. 

Roy looked over at you, “you good?” 

You shrug in response, “As good as I'm gonna get.” 

With the timing of divine intervention, the team's Anthem started playing, and the two teams walked onto the pitch.

“Good afternoon, everyone, and welcome back to Nelson Road; today's match is between AFC Richmond and AFC Sunderland; what are we expected to see today, Chris?”

“Well, Arlo, With the Roy Kent Effect Vs Sunderlands all-rounded play style, I’m sure the two teams will be evenly matched.”

“I adore your enthusiasm, Chris; there seems to be a bit of a play style change to meet Sunderlands 1-4-2-3-1 strategy. Richmond has gone with a 3-5-2 approach for this match. This is a new lineup I've never seen before.”

“Yes, well, it keeps the midfield line overpowered and the strikers able to do what they do best.”

“Macadoo to Obisanya, Obisanya to Rojas- and a steal away from Sunderland-”

“Quite a long ball from Collin- up to Rojas- to Tartt and- GOAL for the Greyhounds!”

“And Richmond takes the half. Hopefully, this will continue in the second.” 

You stand up, waiting for the team to all head in for the half-time halftime break, the coaches quietly talking amongst themselves, and you follow in after everyone. One of the unwritten rules of football was not to break the focus. And this was their focus. 

Heading down the hall, you wait in the open area where the halls meet in a circle. You'd made it through half the pack of gum by this point and were unsure if the rest would last the next fifteen minutes. The team was going over strategy, so you couldn't just walk in. from the other side of the hall, though; your brother walked out; he didn't seem too frustrated, mainly because there were another 45 minutes to go. It was far too soon to call the game. You watch as he is typing on his phone, clearly talking to someone important. You decide to catch his attention. 

“Thanks for the gum,”... that was it? That's how you open a conversation with your brother, whom you haven't seen in three years, much less talk to? You started by thanking him for a pack of gum he probably had in his possession. You were beginning to spiral to thinking the worst things about yourself, but his response cut those off. 

“It's your favorite flavor. Unless that changed, it is still worth a shot,” Archie looked up, putting his phone in his pocket. Standing there, arms crossed, looking at you. “How are you?”

How are you? Honestly, you had no idea; you worked yourself up so badly that you thought he would hate you, and that option was still viable based on how you answered him. You could be honest and say you are having a rough go at life right now, and maybe he understands. Or he wouldn't and say it's not his job to coddle you. You could lie, and he would buy it, or press you for answers that you'd crumble on the floor. While honesty is the best policy, it's not when you haven't seen that person in three years. So you shrug and give a small smile.

“I've been worse.”

It wasn't a lie; you had been worse, but you had recovered this far, and you were mad, proud of yourself for that. There were dark days, but things have gotten a lot better for you as of late.

Archie nods, looking at the door to the locker room, then back to you. “I'm glad to see you doing better,” he says, looking back down at his phone, not looking at you. “Jenni texted me, said she saw you.”

You nod, looking at your feet, “I did… look, I want to say sorry-”

“I know you are,” he sighs, shaking his head and cutting you off. “Look, I don't think this is the time for this conversation (y/n).” he looks at you with a hurt expression. “I want us to be able to sit down and chat, but this just isn't the time.” Archie gives you a rueful smile. “I have to get back. The boys would love to see you before we leave. If you want, of course, no pressure.” with that, he gave you a pat on the shoulder and then walked back into the visitor's locker room, leaving you alone in the hall. 

You stood there dumbfounded, you wanted to cry, but you couldn't, pride? Arrogance? The way you were raised? All of these could be to blame. You'd gotten so worked up and in fear of your family pushing you out the way you did them. But maybe this wasn't something you needed to worry about. It was far too soon to tell. 

You hadn't realized the fifteen-minute half-time had even passed; the hall had erupted with noise as the two teams busted out of their locker rooms to return to the field. The only reason you even walked with them is because Jamie assured you along. You couldn't make out anything being said to you as your ears felt like all they could hear was static.

The second half of the game was mostly a stalemate, with heavy defensive and offensive shifts and about 10 shots on goal, all either blocked or wild misses, and the crowd was getting antsy. Yes, Richmond still had a point lead, but a draw wasn't in the cards, at least if anyone could do anything about it. It was about 20 until the final whistle, and the coaches talked amongst themselves. 

“We can switch back to 2-4-4-2, which will even out the squad a bit better.” Beard's suggestion was plausible but not suitable.

“Don't be fucking ridiculous we should stick with what we are doing; they can keep defending as long as we fucking need” Roy wasn't wrong, but it would exhaust the defense, and something would slip.

“Park the bus is always an option,” Nate recommended, but it was also not great for defense.

Ted thought, but there was no great option. 

The four coaches standing there huddling, unable to come up with a good idea, was worrisome, and the team could feel it. You, on the other hand, watched each second, analyzing the team and thinking from your chair. The four coaches almost seemed to start bickering ahead of you. 

“Let Jamie, Sam, and Dani try to score. Switch them back to a 4-3-3 formation. Keep the wings open, and the strikers can be more offensive,” you pipe up from your spot. 

All four coaches approach you with either a raised eyebrow or genuine contemplation. Besides Nate, he almost looked at you like you might be daft.

“That's a terrible idea; it leaves our midline weak for center field control,” Nate quips at you, looking at the other three coaches who seem to be considering it. “You three can't seriously think it's going to work?”

“If we want to keep a point lead, we must start playing more defensively.” Beard nods while stroking his chin, though.

“How sure are we that this is going to work?” Ted asks the coaches around him, but he is looking directly at you. This was a trusting moment, and he needed to know he could trust your gut. 

You nod, “it will work. I trust them.” 

Ted nods, looks over to the field, and lets out a sharp whistle, “Hey Isaac!” 

Isaac turned to look at Ted, who just mouthed 4-3-3 letting the wings fly.

Isaac nodded and returned to the field, relaying the message, and the team understood quite quickly and changed up the formation. 

“What a game! The score is one-nil, Richmond. Though I wonder how much longer they can hold their lead.”

“I say they might win the match this way, Arlo.”

“Always the optimist Chris, however- it seems to be a bit of a formation change- Jan maas with the pass, to Cumberbatch, to Obisanya, Obisanya to Tartt, and another goal for Richmond! A beautiful switch to a 4-3-3 formation and a beautiful goal from Tartt!”

“I must say that some guts to switch up this late in the game.”

“Yes, but it has secured Richmond the victory!!”

The clock hit zero, the score was 2-nil Richmond, and the crowd erupted into loud cheers. The crowd was a mix of “We Are Richmond Til We Die” and people singing Jamie's name to the Babyshark rhythm. The teams all shook hands, and the coaches exchanged good sportsmanship. 

But you? You were stuck in your chair, staring directly forward to the pitch. Your mouth was dry, and you were clawing at your arms through your jacket. Your ears were buzzing, it was all too loud, and everything was just far too bright; it wasn't always this bright. Your jaw was clenched far tighter than it had ever been previously today. Someone was talking to you; you couldn't tell where the voice was coming from or who it was coming from, but something about the voice talking to you forced you right out of your seat and practically running away from the area. However, since you were a person who understood social normalities, a brisk walk was the pace at which you moved. Weaving through people, probably muttering excuses and pardons on your way, you made it into your office in one human piece. You sat in your office chair, closing your eyes and squeezing them shut to keep the voices out and push back whatever tears might try to escape. Trying to grasp onto your reality- everything was just too much. 

Suddenly, you felt pressure; it was tight and warm. It reminded you of a blanket. You stiffened at the contact, but the pressure you felt strengthened, and you realized you were being hugged. You didn't know who, but it didn't matter right now. You just held onto the person tightly. They gently began to rock you and rubbed your back soothingly. Even if you were not the biggest fan of personal touch, you relaxed. Even as your breathing evened out and your tears slowly came to a stop, besides the occasional hiccup, they didn't let go of you yet. The body attached was firm and toned, so it couldn't have been Ted or Beard, not that you expect a hug from Beard. Roy wasn't this skinny, and he wouldn't know what to do if you started crying. They also smelt like expensive cologne, the good smells, you know? Unfortunately, it is with a little too much of it. 

When you finally decide to look up, it was who you expected, Jamie fucking Tartt. 

As soon as you two made eye contact, he let you go, hands at his sides, looking at anything that wasn't your face. To be fair, you had just spent at least the past five minutes crying, so you knew your face looked a mess. You also couldn't look him in the eye. You were embarrassed. When was the last time you cried in front of anyone? Had you had a panic attack you couldn't control? 

“So-” you both started, “No- you first.” Now, the two of you looked at each other, and you began to laugh. Jamie looked terrified like he had just watched a kitten get kicked, or someone die. Here you are, laughing at his expression because you don't know how else to respond to his reaction. 

“Why are you laughing? I followed you because I was worried!” Jamie seemed to get over the terror and was genuinely upset with you. 

It took you a second to compose yourself because you would start crying again if you didn't, “I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you… okay, yes, I am, but I promise I'm okay!” 

Jamie frowned before looking serious and nervous again. “You bolted, and I got worried—I mean, everyone got worried, and I thought maybe you were having a panic attack like Ted did that one time, and I mean, I've never seen one, so I was worried and I followed you here,” he said. I don't know if that was the right thing to do—I've never had anyone in my life like this before.”

You were amazed. You'd never guess that Jamie Tartt would be so worried about you and your mental well-being, but here you are, and you cannot help but give him another hug, this time squeezing him tightly. “Thank you.” 

Jamie couldn't comprehend the fact that you were now hugging him. He had only reacted to your panic from the concerned look everyone had as you passed the entire team, and no one seemed bothered enough to follow you, and it reminded him of when Ted had his panic attack. He found himself worried that you could get hurt if you were left alone. In truth, he didn't know how others handled these kinds of things. However, you are his friend now, so he needed to support and comfort you. When did you two become friends? Was it some unspoken bond you two built? Or was this a one-sided affection, and did you only see him as a co-worker? He couldn't tell, which seemed to frighten him more; his embrace tightened on you in a fleeting moment of his anxiety. Those fears sunk into his bones as you broke contact first, aggressively wiping at your eyes to hide any traits of tears that might have shown their faces. Jamie did not attempt to keep you there, but he did lean in to check your face. 

“Feeling better?” his face painted in concern for you. 

You shrug and straighten out your jacket, and you look down at your feet, far too embarrassed to look him in the eye, “I think I will be…” you look up and give the best smile you can to ease his concerns, albeit it was not much of a smile. “Go celebrate with the team. We can talk later, okay?” you didn't leave much room for argument as you walked out of your office into the hallway. And Jamie exited after you but walked back to the locker room.

No more than 30 feet away from you, Rebecca stood at the end of the hall talking with Ted and Beard. You couldn't hear what they were talking about, but the second the sound of your office door opening and shutting again alerted them to another person in the vicinity. All three of the members of the huddle at the end of the hall look up and smile at you; Ted and Beard take this moment to excuse themselves as Rebecca approaches you. You hadn't realized how intimidating she could be, yet here you are, scared of the tall,, beautiful woman you know as your boss.

“Are you alright (y/n)? You don't look well.” she peers at your face with deep concern but you shake her off like it was nothing. 

“I'll be alright. Is there something you need?” You couldn't look her in the eyes, let alone anyone at this moment, but she gently placed a hand on your shoulder. " Let's go talk in my office. I think you'd feel more comfortable in there.” She led you up to her office, and you followed like a lost puppy in a storm.

The two of you enter her office, you taking a seat on the couch and her grabbing herself a cup of tea. " Anything to drink? Water, whiskey, tea?” she asks you before looking back at you. 

Unlike Keeley, you always kept your shoes on in the office. Here, you sat on the couch, knees tucked against your chest, hugging them close, with your shoes off. You were not responding to Rebecca; you were just watching the pitch from the window as people still were leaving the stadium. 

Rebecca frowned, sitting down next to you with her cup, and followed your gaze, “Keeley told me that you two seen your sister-in-law… are you alright? Seeing your family, I mean.”

You shrug and smile tiredly. " It'll be okay. I'm working on it. Anyway, what's up?” You turn your attention wholly to Rebecca. 

Rebecca nods before clearing her throat and turning fully, facing you in return. “I need assistance. Ted and Beard told me that you came up with today's formation that the team used. Roy is an amazing player and knows the game inside and out; Nate has amazing ideas, Coach Beard keeps Ted Tamed, and Ted is… he's Ted, and that team loves him. With Roy back, our tie streak has been broken, but I worry about the long run.” she takes a sip of her tea, studying your expression. 

You didn't give her much to go on, your face stoic as you listened. You knew this was going one way, but you wanted to let her pitch her idea before you answered.

Rebecca sighed quietly, “I'm asking for your help; you know how to be a goalkeeper, and the team likes you, even if you are only a consultant of such. Oh, (y/n) don't make me beg.” Rebecca gave you a pitiful pout, allowing you to crack a smile. 

You shrug and adjust so you're sitting crisscross apple sauce. You shrug, “I don't have an answer for you, and if I tried to answer you now, I'm sure that would be a horrible idea.” You stand up from the couch. " Don't get me wrong. I'm not telling you no. I'm just saying I don't know.” You respond, putting on your shoes. 

“Promise you think on it?” she asks you one last time.

You head to the door, “Goodnight, Rebecca.”

Outside the office, you check your phone seeing a new notification.

Jamie Tartt

Hey, want a ride home?

You peer over the railing, seeing Jamie looking up at you and giving you a wave. You chuckle to yourself and nod. Heading down the stairs to join Jamie by his side, you say, “Yeah, actually, I don't think I could walk myself home right now.” 

Jamie nods gently, rocking his shoulders into yours as you two walk, “about earlier-”

You shrug and walk outside with him, “Something you'll learn, Jamie, is that I'm not emotionally vulnerable. I don't like making people worry about me, and I sure as hell don't like people seeing how I feel.” you follow after Jamie to his car. You knew Jamie was one of those I'm rich because I'm an extraordinary person, and his Aston Martin Rapide didn't change that view of him one bit.

Jamie nods, unlocking his car so you can get in, and he opens the door for you. “Right.”

You frown at his short answer, but you get in and buckle yourself into your seat. Waiting for him to get in the driver's side, you say, " Right… that's all I'm getting out of that?”

He shakes his head, buckling up, “Ted said I should just let you talk if you want to talk; if you want input, then ill give it but ill be pretty shit at it.” he turns the engine over and puts the car into reverse so he can pull out his spot. “I asked for advice.” 

You nod, looking down at your hands, “Oh- right.”

He nods, “Also, I'm going to need directions.” He doesn't look away from the road, but you can feel his full attention on you. 

You nod, “Hang a left out of the park and drive straight until I tell you to turn. “I'm fine, though, I talked to my brother, and he wants to chat when I'm ready- I ran into my sister-in-law, and it scared the crap out of me, and we won. Everything went pretty well. Even the panic episodes could have been worse.” you look out the window. “I dunno… I feel like I'm waiting for something to happen. I couldn't tell you what it is- hang a left,” you gesture to the street. 

Jamie turns the corner, “like something bad?” he peeks over at you before turning his eyes back to the road. 

You nod, “Yeah, like if I get involved in anything again, I might get hurt.” You stop for a moment, letting your own words sink in, and you let out a shaky sigh, “Hang a right.” “I don't want to push people out, but I can't let them in if something bad happens again.” 

Jamie nods, turning right where he's told, and he looks over at the buildings on the street and drives slower since it is a pedestrian-heavy area. “You let your brother back in a bit, and you've got friends on the team; Keeley loves you; she loves everyone, but a wins a win.” 

You nod, pointing to your apartment building, “That one." You quietly sink into your seat. The tears finally escaping you no matter how hard you fight, “I miss the pitch, I miss the box, I miss my family and my squad mates, I miss the wins, the losses, the workouts, all of it, but I'm too big of a fucking coward to want to even attempt to get back in it, I know I can, but I do not want to get hurt again, I don't want to get peoples hopes up that ill come back, because if I do and I get hurt, I'm again just letting everyone down. I'm letting myself down.” you take a sharp breath and wipe at your tears aggressively as you realize the car has been parked for a while, and Jamie isn't to your right anymore. 

Instead, Jamie got out and opened the car door for you, reaching out his hand. “Do you want another hug?” 

You nod, unbuckling yourself from the seat, and take his hand. Jamie pulls you up and hugs you tightly. Allowing you to feel your feelings in earnest for the first time in a long time, you sob into his shoulder, hugging him as tightly as you can. There was no rush to pull yourself together, and Jamie didn't speak; he just made sure you felt safe and secure. When you finally pulled away, you felt exhausted and embarrassed. 

“I'm so sorry, Jamie-” you started apologizing before Jamie cut you off. 

“Don't apologize. You should get some rest, though. You can call me if you need anything.” He looked at his feet, hands in his pockets. 

You think for a moment, before throwing rationality to the wind, “Come on.” You pull him along after you, unlocking your door and leading him inside. You kick off your shoes at the front door and take off your coat. “Put the kettle on. I'm gonna go get changed.” And you head off to your bedroom. 

This was the first time you had anyone over in a long time, let alone a guy you found attractive. There was a slight alarm in your head that your apartment was not clean for guests to come visit. Still, that thought was put out of your mind when you finally returned to the living kitchen area when Jamie turned back to face you with two cups of hot cocoa and a bowl of popcorn,. He had a second unopened bag of crisps under his chin as not to drop it on the floor. The TV was on in your living room, and you realized it was some sort of reality TV show, The Great British Bake Off. You stood in the doorway as Jamie set everything down on the coffee table and turned to you with his hands on his hips and a smile proud of himself and his work. “I think you deserve a calm night in,” he looked around your flat. “Got any fluffy blankets?” 

You chuckle and nod, returning to your room, grabbing a spare few blankets from the cupboard, and bringing them back out. Jamie was sitting on the couch watching the episode without you, so in any good fashion of friendly fire, you threw the blankets over him and hopped over the couch to sit next to him as he wrestled the blankets off his face so he could see again. You hunkered down on your couch to watch TV alongside Jamie. 

Jamie, freeing himself from the blankets, sat close enough to you that you could feel his body heat but not too close to make you uncomfortable. The two of you spent the night talking, watching TV, eating snacks, and just enjoying each other's friendship. 

It was late into the evening, and you had settled down from your chatting. Jamie had fallen asleep on the couch a while ago. Standing up, you tuck Jamie in on the couch and leave him to sleep out there and you in your room. You clean up the mugs and snacks, setting them in your dishwasher, and looking back out to the living room one more time, you walk back out to the living room and rustle Jammie's hair while he sleeps comfortably on your couch. 

“Good night, Jamie.” 

TAG LIST @shephard17895 @grandfartvoid @inkwell-isles @esw1012 @gaia-is-sucktastic @shadowyhologramlady @zoleea-exultant @laurens0 some of those who wanted the tag list I couldn't tag I'm sorry

[inchidentally]

Inchie we need your words of reason again 🙏 Newer fans have bled over from other hockey rpf and keep crossing lines 🫥

babe idk how wise I am ?? at all but I'm a firm believer in using common sense about rpf. and I haven't personally seen the stuff you're alluding to but! I've seen posts referring to it and I heard smth about another ship suffering a containment breach… so can't hurt to throw my 2c in as well ?? idk?

tl;dr that landoscar is NOT the ship for you if you 're going to try and force it to be "real" in a l*rry way*. this ship adores the real life friendship without having it compete with the guys' other many friendships - and we do NOT hate women and women partners or pretend they're beards/fakes/conveniently open relationship. and we absolutely do NOT push rpf outside of fandom. you'll get blocked/reported if you do. this is NOT the space for you to find your next "omg what if they're actually fcking" ship. Lily and Oscar are basically forever, Lando is rightfully loving his life sharing his beautiful body with people, and the fan fiction for the ship is staggeringly amazing so we're very very happy w the status quo <3

and we do NOT share rpf content with Lando, Oscar, anyone in F1, the families - basically if they're not someone you know solely in fandom, you don't share rpf with them. again, you will not find support for that here.

I "officially" joined landoscar fandom around Silverstone 2023 and these have been the hard lines taken for as long as I can remember and from all of the OG people in this fandom. esp from people who've been here since Oscar's Alpine tweet bc landoscar is unique in not having led with a PR image and we've all gotten to see every nervous, stumbling and authentic progression of their partnership and friendship along the way - at no point feeling the need to cross the boundary between fic and reality. it truly is charming and intriguing and rewarding as it exists in reality!

as far as the 'why' essay I'll drop all that where it can be ignored easily aslfgjalgf

like I said - landoscar has always been the exception of no one ever slipping over into trying to "make it real" in large part bc Lando and Oscar don't do the PR bromance/fake gay/fan service stuff which !reminder! is content in other ships I absolutely eat up and is 100% targeted to me but !! I'm also aware is connected to a lot of inappropriate fan behavior from ppl who blur the lines between amusing PR content and reality. trust me, I had to basically abandon carland0 which was my very first f1 ship bc to this day - fully out in the open - I see casual misogyny thrown around about Rebecca and ppl truly loudly thinking Lando and Carlos - who have always referred to each other as brothers and who laugh at the "gay" stuff they do precisely bc it's not real - genuinely fcked and/or dated. I will never care enough about an rpf ship to willingly encounter that shit on a regular basis. I know there's a lot of good ppl in the ship who don't engage in that stuff but I have such a hard line about wag hate that it's not worth it for me.

ironically or maybe because of, Lando and Oscar are the only drivers to NOT engage in playing gay for laughs BUT also who hit multiple progressive bullet points in things like discussing romance and dating in gender neutral terms and not making a big deal out of consuming or discussing queer media etc. they actually walk the walk in not pushing gender identity or sexual orientation on hypotheticals or on each other. they also don't do any macho/tradmasc behavior with each other or even bro-ey stuff like rough-housing or loud, aggressive humor (nothing wrong with loud bro stuff tho as long as it doesn't veer into toxic territory! I come from hockeyblr originally so it can be really sweet!)

and landoscar is also the exception in that we all ADORE Lily and have zero interest in trying to erase her let alone anyone be hostile toward her. in straight people culture they're basically already married and that's how they were when landoscar started as a ship! a lot of us have regularly made posts similar to this for newer fans to remind them that Lily (and whoever Lando ends up with as a steady partner) are NOT pawns in an rpf game. Lily is a real human woman with a real life relationship with Oscar and while no one is obliged to engage w wag content, respecting her existence is the bare minimum expected.

the last point I should make is that there's a very clear difference for instance on my blog where I see fanservice ship content about say charl0s or frand0 or n0rtrell and lose my mind over it and love it etc. but then there's Alex or Rebecca or Pietra on my blog! bc I can have fun without erasing women or losing common sense!!

whereas whenever I post stuff about a friendship that rly does make me Feel Things and write my insane essays, it's bc of what the relationships verifiably are and not what they aren't. Max F truly has a complexity and level of depth in his relationship with Lando that is unique and special to each other's lives. in the same way, Lando and Oscar truly do have a particular charm and fondness for each other that's made them approach each other unusually tentatively and slowly - while also having such intense blushing fondness as well as a uniquely intriguing maturity to their professional partnership. this stuff is fascinating and those two examples in particular swim around into all kinds of social/emotional territory.

in ways that do not require conspiracies and fan theories of them fcking or dating to make them compelling.

(and tbh the fact that Lando has some form of "crush" on a lot of handsome men and subconsciously/consciously "flirts" is absolutely fine to enjoy... as long as none of it gets outside of fandom.)

and the fan fiction for landoscar is truly TRULY staggeringly prolific and immensely talented so that's where we go for imagining them in any other type of reality <3

*do not get mad or whatever abt this - if you did or still do just want to ship l*rry privately then whatever but that's the like terrible gold standard for horrific real life repercussions of taking rpf seriously and why fandoms should never ever allow that to happen. there's no debate about that.

[devotioncrater]

"no hints were dropped" ok not to be that person but here are the hints that were dropped regarding Colin and Trent being gay:

1. Colin mentioning Grindr in a joke

2. Trent touching the arm of a man in the background

Here is one of the hints that Keeley was bi (even though I do believe she's been canonically bi since season 1, but not everyone sees it this way)

1. Her desktop background was in the colors of the bisexual flag

Here were some of the hints that Ted was bi:

1. Bisexual flag colored triangles above his head in the hallucination sequence

2. Inverted pink triangle next to him in that same sequence (and you can't tell me the creators didn't know, when the Homomonument is based on that symbol)

3. Countless (countless!!!) comments about men's physiques ("huge muscular thighs all caked in mud", whistling at a picture of Pep, "look at that head of hair", "he's strong", "he looks like a Rodin sculpture in cleats", etc.)

4. About a man (Higgins) and a woman (Rebecca), he had to say: "that's a crowd I don't mind being smack-dab in the middle of"

5. Him checking Trent out in the pub in 2x07 (his eyes are up there, Ted!)

6. "It could go either way", "I contain multitudes" and other comments in this vein

7. Bi lighting as he entered the Yankee Doodle Burger Barn

8. Giving similar looks to the female waitress and the male waiters in that restaurant (including a waiter in a cowboy costume that looked like he belonged in a gay club, who tipped his hat at Ted when greeting him)

9. "That's cause you were put into a box", "That box ceases to exist today", the box in the hallucination sequence breaking into triangles (as in the bi triangles and the inverted pink triangke), "we've been playing too rigid", "our guys need freedom", "fast, fluid, free, with full support", the "box that one needs to break out of" being a prominent motif in season 3

10. Wishing Beard called him pet names ("Honey, is that an ingredient or something you just called me?")

11. His crush on Pep

12. The connection between Ted and Colin: "my whole life is two lives, really", both wearing orange in Sunflowers, "I just want to kiss my fella" (Colin doesn't say "fella" , but Ted says it all the time), Ted just needs to get inspired and Colin's play is "inspirational" after he comes out, as per the commentators

And so much other stuff that, had Ted not self-identified as straight (*cough* put himself into a box *cough cough*) , you could make the case that he was canonically bi.

Here are some of hints that there was a romantic connection between Ted and Trent:

1. They hit a lot of romantic beats, and not in the jokey self-aware way in which Roy and Ted hit them in "Rainbow", but in an organic and sincere way

2. They both checked each other out: Trent checked Ted out when Ted was changing in front of him, Ted checked Trent out when Trent came up to him in a pub and hit him with a pick-up line while his date that looked a lot like Ted waited for him outside

3. Did I mention that Trent was on a date with a moustachioed man who dressed in a similar style to Ted? Let's mention it again

4. In that very bar, during a 50 second long conversation, Trent managed to say the word "love" three times. I searched the word "love" in the transcripts of the episodes. There's no other instance in which its frequency is this high

5. "Love our chats" incomplete rule of threes

6. "Sport, it's quite the metaphor" (implied: a metaphor for love; see also "love's a beautiful game" from the song Ed Sheeran wrote for Ted Lasso), "Also makes for a heck of a nickname", "Good night, Ted", "Good night, sport"

7. The soft, romantic, melancholic song playing in the background of this scene, while Ted and Trent are the last ones left in the office, with lyrics such as "When your words begin to crumble like the sidewalks all around this crummy neighborhood / From the chalky cliffs of Dover / I'd come over, I'd start over if I could"

8. Trent wearing sunflower colors in the episode "Sunflowers" and in the finale; sunflowers symbolize Ted's home (it's not subtle). He's the only character dressed like that. I'm still looking for any other explanation other than "Trent is Ted's home"

9. Their constant flirting and the way they look at each other with incredible fondness

10. The entire episode "The Strings That Bind Us". It's structured around Ted and Trent's relationship, and the way Trent changed because of Ted (in season 2, Ted defined a soulmate as someone who changes your life forever). The red string metaphor. Ted points out that soulmates are connected by a string tied to their little fingers. Ted and Trent both extend their little fingers out in similar shots. They are connected by a huge block of red in their last scene of the episode. Ted makes several comments about other men that apply to Trent ("Look at that head of hair", "Frames his face nicely", "My favorite one, he was clean shaven"). Many more details that lead back to Ted and Trent: Nate tells the restaurant owner to tell Jade he said "Hello". Immediately after, Ted and Trent say "Hello" to each other. The map that Nate's father used to ask out his mom has the number 1.3 written on it and an illustration of two people at a table in a restaurant. Ted and Trent went to a restaurant together in season 1, episode 3. The last scene of the episode mimics a "Race for Love" scene from a romcom, with Trent chasing after Ted. Trent also does not say a word to anyone other than Ted in the entire episode. He is completely focused on Ted

11. "Trent, what do you love? Is it writing?" and Trent ends up writing a book about Ted and naming the manuscript after Ted and he only cares about Ted's opinion on it (he leaves the room when Beard starts reading, but stays in the office after hours just to watch Ted read. "I just wanted you to like it.")

11. Trent's crush on Ted, confirmed by Jimmy Lance (and also obvious in the show, if you ask me)

Now, why would I believe that none of these hints were intentional? Maybe some could be explained away, but all of them? The hints we got for Colin, Trent and Keeley were so much smaller than this, and those turned out to be intentional.

anon i wish i could offer you the response you deserve, but i cannot stop rereading this masterpiece & focusing on the portions of evidence you provided that i didn't even pick up on until you laid them out. holy shit

[deliciousdetectivestranger]

We as a society don't talk often about how the ending given to My Fair Lady by Hollywood is absolutely rubbish.

Eliza Doolittle from the start is shown as an independent woman who only wants to gain skills to further her career. Yes for a brief moment there she is attracted to Professor Higgins but I like to attribute it to proximity for a long period of time (6 months according to the wager) but after the Embassy Ball she calls Higgins out for his highhanded, misogynistic personality. Then why is she shown to go back to him to in the end?

George Bernard Shaw, writer of Pygmalion from which the plot of My Fair Lady is drawn up, protested the ending till 1938 that Eliza going back to Higgins is unacceptable to him and he gives a marvelous explanation for it

"When Eliza emancipates herself – when Galatea comes to life – she must not relapse. She must retain her pride and triumph to the end. When Higgins takes your arm on 'consort battleship' you must instantly throw him off with implacable pride; and this is the note until the final 'Buy them yourself.' He will go out on the balcony to watch your departure; come back triumphantly into the room; exclaim 'Galatea!' (meaning that the statue has come to life at last); and – curtain. Thus he gets the last word; and you get it too."

According to Shaw Eliza and Freddy get married and are happily running a green grocery-cum-flower shop. Freddy is truthfully a much better choice, yeah he is a himbo but he is kind, doesn't look down on Eliza and loves her for who she is unlike Higgins whose goal is to mould her into what a perfect woman is according to him.

Two well known versions of My Fair Lady are

Rex Harrison plays Professor Higgins in both.

1) The Broadway version in 1956 starring the magnificent Julie Andrews (of Sound of Music, Mary Poppins, Victor Victoria, Princess Diaries, etc.) and John Michael King (from various musical theaters)

And

2) My Fair Lady 1964 starring the iconic Audrey Hepburn (of Sabrina, Breakfast at Tiffany's, Roman Holiday, Charade, etc.) Hepburn's father was a Nazi sympathizer but she danced to secretly raise money for the Dutch Resistance against the Nazis even though she was literally starving. Her mother and she also denounced their royal heritage because of the Nazis in the family. She was a UNICEF ambassador and continued to do humanitarian work even while diagnosed with cancer.

Not sorry for getting sidetracked, I am sick of people remembering her as just a pretty face.

and the dynamic Jeremy Brett (of Dracula, Rebecca [In this Mrs. Danvers played by Anna Massey; she and Brett had divorced by then], various Shakespeare plays, and most popularly known for Granada's The Adventure of Sherlock Holmes, etc. [More famously known as the most faithful adaption of Sherlock Holmes where Holmes isn't a condescending know-it-all but an empathic, cheeky, genius. It also does justice to other character such as Dr. Watson {Victorian Husbands}, Mrs. Hudson {Not just a character for laughs}, and most especially Irene Adler who is often portrayed as a notch on Holmes' bedpost and not the brilliant woman she was and for whom Holmes had immense respect] He has also played both Dorian Gray & Basil Hallward as well as Sherlock Holmes & Dr. Watson). Also well known for his work in mental health

Sorry, got distracted a huge Holmes aficionado and it is a wonderful series

In both Eliza returns to Higgins and while yeah actors didn't have much sway in the plot direction but I do wish someone had stayed true to Shaw and if not him then at least to Eliza.

Metamorphoses a poem by the Roman poet Ovid is the basis for this story. In it the sculptor Pygmalion is disgusted by prostitutes and decides to remain celibate but then creates a statue of a woman whom he deems perfect and falls in love with her, and yes he does the deed with it. Later Venus brings the statue to life and they live 'happily ever after'.

This is awful beyond measure 'cause what is this other than society and patriarchy shaping women into what they think is right. Not that I am surprised that Ovid is the creator of it. His other famous story of Medusa is that she was raped in Athena's temple by Poseidon and then Athen cursed her, is a well known to all. Few know that in the Greek version she is the daughter of Phorcys and Ceto and her and Poseidon get together in a field. Athena is nowhere in the Greek story but of course Ovid just had to go ahead and butcher it and put two women down.

Honestly, why don't we follow Shaw's version more or if that is unacceptable then let Eliza remain what she is at the start an independent woman who takes good care of herself.

It galls me that fanfiction fails here with all the stories being of Eliza and Higgins pairing. Why are we doing this?

Now I am going to add as many tags I can for maximum reach, sue me!