#actually think this came from some text post or something

[knowinglewis]

Fading Lines

Part one/Part Two/Part Three/Part Four/Part Five/Final Part

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: The lines between friendship and something more start to blur between you and Lewis when after invites you to his first race weekend with Ferrari.

Word Count: 13,256

Warnings: ANGST, arguing, anxiety, yearning, overthinking. Some smut, but tooth aching sugar sweet FLUFFFFF! No use of Y/N.

A/N: WELP. Here we are my loves! This series has come to an end, and my apologies for the delay in getting the finale to you. It was a labour of love and I truly hope you all enjoy it! I'm really sad to finish this series, though I could be tempted to write an epilogue chapter too, but just unsure how I want that to look yet! From the bottom of my heart thank you all SO SO SOOOOOOO insanely much for reading this series and sticking with me through this journey! Please let me know your thoughts on it or if there's anything you'd like to see next! 🤍

Lewis said he needed to see you, that he was coming.

The words kept echoing in your head, looping louder than the doubts trying to creep in beneath them. You hadn’t asked questions, hadn’t asked if he was already on the way, or if he was still just making up his mind. You didn’t even know where he was flying from, but he sounded sure, as if he had already made the decision before the phone rang.

Still, a part of you couldn’t help it, hesitation had already settled somewhere beneath your ribs. What if he didn’t come? What if this was just another almost?

You blinked hard and pushed the thought away. You needed to move.

You stood up too quickly, your limbs stiff, and your breath shaky as you walked through your apartment. The place was a mess in that sudden, microscopic way where everything seemed messy when you knew someone else was going to be looking. You started in the living room, gathering the cardigan draped over the armrest, the pair of socks kicked under the coffee table, the half-finished cup of tea now gone cold. 

You moved on instinct, straightening cushions, gathering mugs, wiping surfaces. The kind of pointless cleaning you did when your body needed distraction, because your mind was already spiraling from the messiness of the morning.

You were halfway through wiping down the kitchen bench when your phone buzzed on the counter, a text from Lewis appearing across the screen.

Landing just after 8. Should be at yours by 9.

You stared at the message until the screen dimmed, before reading it again. He was actually coming.

You replied with a simple, "Okay. See you soon." But you held the phone in your hand for a long time after, like it was grounding you.

Then came the other part. Isabella’s voice had been sharp and clear when you called her later that afternoon: “Deactivate your socials. Or go private. Whatever you do, stop giving them access.”

You sat on the edge of your bed, your laptop balanced across your knees. Instagram was first, you scrolled through the flood of DMs and tags with your stomach twisting. People had already seen the photos of you at the airport, along with other photos that had surfaced of you at the Melbourne race with Isabella and Raye.

Some comments were kind, complimenting you and how cute you looked with Lewis. Some were curious, wanting to know more about your relationship. Others weren’t, others were horrified at the sight of their celebrity crush being spotted with his lips on some woman. Especially after only ever being spotted walking side by side with his past flings, or within groups with friends, since his public split from his long time ex. This time, it was right in all of their faces, your hands on each other and your lips connected.

You didn’t let yourself linger though, you went private. Turned off tags, disabled comments, deleted one or two posts without thinking too hard about it. You resisted the urge to scroll through your endless DMs, some with messages of support, while others sending all forms of threats and hatred towards you for stealing their dream man. Then, you moved on to your other socials with the same process. Lock it down, and delete anything you didn’t want seen, especially posts that included your family or your workplace. 

When you closed your laptop, the room felt quieter, less exposed.

The clock read 7:10pm.

You still had time before he arrived, though now that you had stopped moving, your hands had started shaking again. You stepped into the shower, turned the water hot, and stood under the spray for as long as your skin could stand it. It didn’t calm you completely, but it helped you feel a little more refreshed.

By the time you were dry and dressed, in soft track pants and a loose top, you felt like you’d done everything you could. The apartment was clean, you were clean, and your notifications were finally silent.

Yet still, doubt crawled its way back in.

What if something changed? What if he didn’t show?

You tried not to look at the clock again, but you always did. 7:52. 8:06. 8:19.

You lit a candle, then blew it out five minutes later because the scent made your stomach turn. You poured a glass of water, drank half, then sat on the couch with your legs pulled up and your phone resting in your palm.

It buzzed again just before 8:40pm with a text from Lewis.

I’ll be there soon

Your breath caught in your throat. The doubt didn’t vanish, but it softened with a flicker of hope.

You typed out an “Okay,” then deleted it and sent a heart instead. Something simple, and almost safer.

Then, you waited.

You must have closed your eyes for just a moment.

The TV played something you weren't really watching, just background noise to keep your mind from spinning too fast. You'd stretched out on the couch with a throw blanket draped loosely over your legs, your phone resting next to you, and the soft sound of the room lulling you into a light, uneasy sleep.

It wasn’t a peaceful sleep, not with your body still holding all that tension in your shoulders, your jaw tight even as you drifted off. You didn’t dream, you only floated somewhere between exhaustion and the heaviness of the day.

A knock on the door pulled you back to reality.

You blinked awake, heart fluttering in your chest for a split second, unsure whether you’d imagined it. Until another softer knock, like he didn’t want to startle you.

You sat up quickly, the blanket sliding off your lap as you scrambled to your feet, the room spinning for a second before settling.

He was here.

You crossed the apartment in a blur, your heart pounding in your ears as you reached for the door, fingers suddenly cold against the handle. You paused for half a breath, just to steel yourself.

Then you opened it, and he was there.

Standing under the low glow of the hallway light, his braids tied back as usual, eyes shadowed from the long travel day. He looked exhausted, but still his warm, calm self.

In one hand, he held a paper bag with the logo of your favourite local takeaway place printed on the side. In the other, a small bunch of flowers, your favourite kind, the same ones he’d once sent you for your birthday, you didn’t think he’d even remembered. They weren’t perfectly arranged or extravagant, but they were thoughtful and beautiful.

You froze in the doorway. All the noise, the doubt, the what-ifs from the last few days slammed into your chest in one wave. He had come, he was standing in front of you, carrying comfort in both hands and looking at you as though you were the only thing that mattered in the world. 

“Hi,” he greeted quietly, his voice rough, like maybe he didn’t trust his voice either.

You barely heard it though.

You felt your heart crack in your chest, a soft unraveling that started in your ribcage and spread all the way to your throat. You’d held it together all day, hours of silence, tension, of holding your breath against the noise online, the doubts in your mind, the uncertainty that had followed you like a shadow from the moment you’d stepped away from him at the airport.

Now, he was here, and that was all it took.

You stepped forward without a word, reaching for him before your mind could second-guess it. The bouquet crinkled at your side, the takeaway bag rustling quietly as he adjusted to keep them both from getting crushed. His arms came around you, the weight anchoring you instantly like it had been waiting for you.

Your cheek pressed to his chest, and the tears came silently, burning hot against your skin. You didn’t sob, didn’t shake. You just let go, letting yourself feel how much you’d needed him. How much you hated the space that had formed between you. How terrified you’d been that he’d stay away while you struggled with this pain alone.

“I’ve got you,” Lewis whispered against your hair, his voice gentle with an ache of its own. “I’m here, sweetheart.”

His hand rubbed slow circles between your shoulder blades, the warmth easing your pain. His voice was steady, but you could feel the tension in him too, his heart beating faster, his breathing uneven.

You didn’t know how long you stood like that, pressed against him in the doorway, the night quiet around you. However, for the first time since everything fell apart, you felt yourself start to breathe properly again.

Eventually, you pulled back, your cheek still damp, and your fingers trembling slightly where they clung to the front of his shirt. You stepped out of his arms with a soft inhale, brushing at your eyes even though he’d already seen you like that with a quiet apology. He let you go slowly, hand trailing down your back until it fell away completely.

“Come in,” you murmured, your voice hoarse. “It’s cold out here.”

Lewis nodded and stepped inside. The hallway light caught on the curve of his cheekbone, highlighting the exhaustion in his handsome features. His shoulders were heavy with travel, yet he always managed to look as perfect as ever. He set the takeaway bag gently on the kitchen bench, then placed the flowers down beside it.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry,” he remarked after a short moment, quiet as though unsure if it was safe to speak yet. “But I remember you said this place was your favourite.”

He remembered. It was only something you’d said offhandedly months ago as a recommendation if he ever visited. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. You could feel the pressure building again just beneath the surface, with grief, confusion, the ache of caring too much and not knowing where to put it.

You crossed to the kitchen slowly and helped unpack the containers, your movements automatic. He was close but kept a respectful distance, as if he wasn’t sure where your boundaries were anymore. You didn’t know either.

The food smelled good, but your stomach was still tight and unsettled, your appetite completely gone. You arranged the bouquet in a vase just to keep your hands busy from fidgeting anxiously. He watched you for a moment, but didn’t comment.

You sat on the couch with him, though it felt like a silent agreement rather than comfort. Lewis set the food down between you, and offered you a fork.

You shook your head gently. “I’m not hungry, thank you.”

His eyebrows creased together, just slightly in concern. Still, he didn’t push. 

You let your eyes trail over him, taking him in as words reeled in your mind of what to say. He looked tired, like been carrying more than just a long travel day. You wondered when he’d last slept properly, whether he’d eaten at all before this. Whether he’d sat on that plane wondering if you’d even open the door.

Neither of you spoke for a few minutes, but it wasn’t the good kind of silence this time. It wasn’t comforting or soft. It pressed in from the edges, heavy in a thick tension that drowned the words from your mouth. It was the kind of silence that existed between two people trying to find their way back to each other, but unsure if they were supposed to.

You pulled the blanket back over your legs, suddenly cold again. Not from the air, but from how close he was without being close enough. From how badly you wanted to lean into him again, but how afraid you were of what might happen if you did.

Lewis had picked at the meal for a while, then given up too. He sat with his elbows on his knees, staring down at his hands. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know how to begin.

Until finally, he cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Your gaze dropped to your fingers, clutching the fabric of the blanket at your thighs as he continued.

“I didn’t want any of this to happen to you.”

The apology landed softly inside your heart, but it didn’t settle anything yet. It didn’t ease your stress or diminish the fact that your entire life had been turned upside down overnight.

He glanced over at you, then back at the floor. “I know it’s bad right now.” His attempt at positivity fell flat. “But…things like this move fast. It won’t always be like this.”

You turned toward him slowly, disbelief building like a slow-moving wave.

“Bad?” You laughed bitterly, your voice sharp. “You think it’s just going to disappear? Something I just have to wait out until everyone gets bored?”

He hesitated. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No?” You sat up straighter, a sharp edge slicing into your voice. “Because that’s what it sounds like. You think this is just part of the deal?”

“I’m just trying to say it won’t always feel like this,” he replied carefully. “That there’s a way through it. I’m not saying it’s nothing.”

You stared at him, heat prickling at your eyes and your heart pounding in your ears. “No, Lewis. I’ve seen what happens to girls who get caught near drivers let alone kissing one. The vile comments, assumptions, death threats. Everyone turning your life into a spectacle out of nowhere. I’m not famous, I don’t have a team protecting me like you do. They’ve found so much of my life, they’ve posted photos of me from years ago and called me things I can’t even say out loud.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“You’re Lewis Hamilton. You’ll get a few questions from the media about being off the market or something, then everyone will move on like they usually do. Meanwhile, my entire life has been turned upside down.” You went on, your voice rising in sharp, uneven bursts. 

“I knew spending time with you came with this risk, but it’s different when it’s actually happening. They didn’t just see us hanging out, they saw a very private moment. It’s not a hypothetical anymore, it’s real now and it’s fucking terrifying.”

Your chest was heaving now, fingers curled in your lap. You couldn’t look at him after you’d spilled out the words you’d been holding in, the tears stinging your eyes slowly rolling down your cheeks.

Lewis leaned forward against his knees, running a hand down his face. “I didn’t realise it got that bad. That they found so much and people were-”

“Digging into my life?” you finished for him, your voice splintering. “Yeah.”

His gaze snapped up and guilt flashed across his face, but he couldn’t meet your eyes.

You didn’t look at him either, you couldn’t bring yourself to. You stared ahead like the air in front of you might break open and swallow you whole. “They found everything. People I haven’t spoken to since high school have messaged me. My parents called me in a panic. My boss called me. Do you know how humiliating that is?”

He didn’t speak, but you could feel him watching you. You wished he’d stop.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered. 

He rubbed his hand over his jaw. “I should’ve been here sooner. I called you as soon as I saw it.”

“I know,” you started, swallowing past the pain in your throat. “It doesn’t really change anything though, does it? Everything is already out there, you’re too late.”

“I’m here,” he spoke quickly, like it was the only thing he could cling to. “I got on a flight the moment I could. I-”

“But where were you the last five weeks?” Your voice wavered, but the anger underneath it didn’t as the question you’d been holding in your chest finally reached the surface.

His eyebrows pulled together as he explained, “I was working, my schedule was packed. The triple header, and every other second was just filled with something.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that.” You muttered in response. “That’s not what I mean. I barely heard from you, Lewis.” 

His mouth opened as though he was about to speak, but was cut off when you stood up abruptly. You couldn’t stand to be near him another second, you needed to move away and give yourself the space to breathe, to think your next words through. Moving towards the kitchen, you paced behind the island as though it were a barrier, splitting yourself from the situation for a moment.  

You didn’t want to have this conversation right now, but it was too late, you were already at the edge of the cliff and there was nothing left to do but take the leap. 

“I know that’s how your life is. You’re always busy, always travelling, I understand that.” You began, thumbing the edge of the counter to ground yourself. “But, we used to talk all the time. You always made time for me, even if you’d hardly slept. Then after China, everything just…”

Lewis stayed quiet, but you could feel the shift in the air and the subtle drop in his posture, like he knew what was coming. 

You forced yourself to keep going, knowing that it was now or never. “Everything changed. You hardly messaged or called. You’d take days to reply and when you did, it was just…nothing. I kept telling myself you were just busy, tried to convince myself that this was normal, but honestly, all you did was give me enough crumbs to keep hanging on to whatever this was.”

He stood from his seat and stepped towards you. “It’s not like that-”

“Isn’t it?” You cut him off again, swallowing back the choking feeling in your throat. “This is what you do, isn’t it, Lewis? You fly girls out, make them feel special so you can get in their pants, then keep them just close enough so they can’t move on and you can reach out to them again when you’re feeling lonely. I know all of that.”

He shook his head, as though he was about to deny it, but the slump of his shoulders betrayed him.

“It sounds stupid, but I thought this was different. Maybe you cared about me more than that, but it was all the same. You took me to China, made me feel like I was important to you, fucked me, then just…nothing. Like it meant nothing to you, I meant nothing.” Your voice broke at the last syllable, blinking away the tears in your eyes.

“Don’t say that.” Lewis took another step forward as you finally allowed him a second to speak. “Don’t ever say that, you know it’s not true.”

“Do I?” You snapped, backing away before he could get too close. “Because I’ve been sitting with this for weeks. Checking my phone like some idiot, thinking about our time together and wondering if you were already moving on to the next girl-”

“Stop.” He said abruptly, the frustration in his voice causing it to crack just enough that you would notice. “Don’t even think that. It was everything to me. I thought about you every single day.”

You felt unsteady on your feet at his words, your heart pounding behind your ribs. Still, your voice stayed sharp. “Please, Lewis, don’t say shit you don’t mean just to make me feel better.”

Lewis looked startled by the shift, pausing on his path towards you. “I mean it.”

“Then where were you?” You spit out finally meeting his eyes. “This whole time, you’ve been treating me like I don’t exist, like I’m just another one of your girls that you reach out to when it’s convenient. Some people might be okay with that, but that’s not me. You don’t get to treat me that way, then show up here when something goes wrong and act like you care now.”

He closed his eyes as he took in your words, then released a low, deep breath.

“I know I disappointed you. I know I hurt you. I don’t deserve to stand here and tell you what this should mean, or how you should feel. I messed it up. You didn’t deserve to be left guessing like that after everything we shared, everything I felt.” He looked down at the floor, jaw clenched. “You were never just someone I reached for out of convenience. That weekend wasn’t casual to me. Honestly, I never wanted it to end. I woke up next to you and thought this is it.”

He touched a hand to the kitchen counter like he was still trying to steady himself. “It meant everything, you mean everything to me. I’ve felt it for a long time, but I didn’t know how to handle it without ruining our friendship. I kept telling myself we’d figure it out eventually, we’d have this conversation next time, then the next, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I acted like a coward scared of my own feelings, so I distanced myself. Now, I’ve let you down and I am so sorry for ever letting you doubt what you mean to me. You deserve so much more than that.”

The sincerity in his beautiful, glistening eyes made your knees weaken, the wall around you slowly crumbling as he rounded the kitchen island, removing the barrier between you.

“I’m not here just because of the photos. I’m here because I care about you, more than you know. More than I’ve ever said, more than I’ve shown you, and I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.” Lewis admitted, standing in front of you and holding your gaze as though he had bared his soul to you.

The room felt quiet in the worst way, like everything had been said but nothing had really been settled. Your chest felt too tight, like your heart was caught between relief and devastation, as if it was trying to decide which way to break. He was saying everything you thought you wanted to hear, and somehow it wasn’t enough.

You had been falling for Lewis long before Shanghai. In every look, every late-night call, every moment he made you feel like you were the only person in the world. You told yourself it was just friendship, that he might never see you as anything more. Then, he took you halfway across the world, kissed you like you were made for him, held you like you were already his, and slept with you like the two of you had always been on this path. And after that, silence, distance, nothing but crumbs that left you starving for him.

Now here he was, saying everything you used to daydream about, standing in your apartment as if he hadn’t broken your heart by disappearing when you needed him most. Part of you couldn’t stop wondering if he’d just disappear again once the chaos faded. If he’d go back to his world, far away from you, and you’d be left holding the weight of this all over again. You didn’t know what was real, you didn’t know if he meant it, and you didn’t know how to forgive it.

Yet, even now with your heart torn open, you couldn’t stop wanting him.

“What are we even doing?” Your voice was shaky as you finally spoke through the silence. “Because we crossed a line, and I don’t know if we can come back from that. I don’t know if we could ever be friends again.”

The silence that followed wasn’t sharp, full of a deep ache and everything neither of you had dared to say. Then, Lewis lifted his hands between you with his palms open silently, offering them to you.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you glanced down, before hesitantly slipping your hands into his. His fingers closed gently around yours, as though he didn’t want to hold on too tightly. Slowly, he leaned closer until you could feel his breath, as the shield you’d been holding up in your mind gave way, not entirely, but enough to let the moment hold you.

“I don’t want to go back.” Lewis whispered with a small shake of his head. “I don’t want to pretend that nothing happened, like we didn’t feel what we felt.” 

His grip tightened lightly on your hands, squeezing them as he continued.

“I don’t want to lose you, ever. I want to be with you and I want to do it right.” His voice was steady now, declaring his intentions clearly.

Your heart ached at his words, your stomach stirring with butterflies and your shoulders dropping in submission. Even now, part of you still wanted to believe him, to fall into his arms and say that you wanted this too, like nothing else mattered.

However, the lingering fear in you resisted. You’d spent weeks trying to make sense of his distance, your heart circling back to him no matter what you distracted yourself with. Now, with everything laid bare between you, it felt like whiplash, as if you were finally being handed the thing you'd quietly dreamed of, only now it hurt to reach for it.

Your mind returned to the moments you’d shared with him on your trip together, the softness in his eyes and his affectionate touches. The way he made you feel like there was no one but you. The way this all fizzled out when you were separated by time and distance. Could you really believe his words, or was that all they would be? Just words and declarations that would mean nothing when the distance came between you. What did being with you mean to him? Could it truly be any different than the pain you’d been hiding in your heart the past weeks?  

“What does that even mean to you?” You mustered carefully through your breath. “Being with me? I can’t do this if it’s going to be the same as the past month.” 

There was no deflection in Lewis’ expression now, no calm mask to hide behind. Just a man stripped down by his feelings.

“It means no more grey area. No more dancing around what we feel or pretending to be something we’re not,” he explained, looking into your eyes as if he were speaking to your heart. “It means making time for you, every single day. It means I show up properly when I say I will, whenever you need me. That I don’t ever leave you wondering, that I show you how much you mean to me every chance I get. That I choose you, always.”

He paused, swallowing hard as he brought your joined hands to his chest.

“I know I can’t undo what’s already happened, but I want to make it up to you. All of it, if you’ll have me.”

There was no performance in him now, it was just Lewis, standing there with what seemed like a flicker of desperation in his eyes, like he didn’t know if he still had a place in your life. In that stillness, you saw it: the ache of a man who had already made space for you in his heart and was terrified he might have ruined it. Maybe that was what made it harder. 

“I’m not asking for an answer right now,” he added quietly. “Or even later. Not after how badly I’ve fucked this up. I just needed you to know how I really feel.”

The tight pull in your chest hurt more than ever. You hated how much you wanted to believe him, how badly you still wanted him, even after everything. But the war inside you was real too, and it wasn’t going to vanish just because the promises you’d dreamed about had finally arrived.

“I need time,” you replied, giving his hands a light squeeze. “I want to believe you, I really do…I just don’t know how to yet.”

He nodded with understanding, “Whatever you need, I’ll be here.”

Lewis stepped closer, lifted a hand to your face. His palm barely brushed your cheek, thumb smoothing just beneath your eye to brush away a stray tear that had slipped loose. You stayed quiet, leaning lightly into his touch.

His voice was soft when he finally spoke again. “You should try to get some rest.”

“Yeah.” You gave a small nod, feeling the exhaustion from all your emotions weighing on your shoulders suddenly.

The two of you remained in the kitchen, not wanting to move. There was no clock ticking, or distant city noise, just the low sound of the fridge and a silence that wrapped itself around you like a blanket too heavy to shake off. He kept his hand there for a moment longer, then slowly let it fall, but he didn’t step away.

“I can stay,” he added tentatively, as if he knew that you might say no. “Only if you want me to. I just don’t want you to be alone tonight.”

You hesitated before giving him another silent nod, not wanting him to leave, not wanting to be alone.

Neither of you said anything else, but a few moments later, after you'd quietly excused yourself and slipped into your room, you heard the faint rustle of him settling on the couch.

He was still here, and for now, that was enough.

Later, you lay in bed, but sleep didn’t come, not even close.

Your room was dim and still, the only light a soft glow from the moonlight outside slipping in through the edges of your curtains. You’d pulled the covers over yourself for comfort, but your body was tense beneath them, feeling too warm and restless. Your thoughts wouldn’t settle. Every time you closed your eyes, you heard Lewis’ voice again. You felt the warmth of his hands. You remembered the look in his eyes when he said he didn’t want to lose you.

It should’ve made things easier, simpler, but it didn’t.

You stared at the ceiling, willing yourself to sort through all the emotions that still rushed through you. The frustration, the disappointment, the lingering fear that everything he said would vanish the second he walked out your door again. Yet underneath it, was the quiet and persistent pull of having missed him so deeply it hurt.

He was just down the hall now, on your couch. A part of you couldn’t believe that he was actually there in your home, so close to you, yet so far. 

You shifted onto your side, then your back again. Your hand found the empty space beside you  where he could’ve been, but you knew if he had been, only a single moment of weakness would have led you to break.

I want to be with you. I don’t want to lose you.

He’d said it as if it had been sitting on his chest for a long time, waiting for the right moment to fall out.

For so long, being with him had felt like a dream you didn’t let yourself reach for. Then Shanghai happened, the trip, the kisses, the way it all felt like everything you had ever wanted, and afterwards, the silence had nearly undone you. Now, he was here, saying all the things you’d hoped and you didn’t know if you were more relieved or terrified.

What if he truly meant it? What if you wanted this too?

You turned onto your side, eyes fixed on the bedroom door. Your heart wouldn’t settle, knowing he was still out there in your living room. A small voice in your head wondered if he had secretly slipped out and left you behind, but you could feel his presence in the apartment.

Eventually, you pushed the blanket aside before you could talk yourself out of it and slid your feet to the floor, the ground cool beneath your toes. You didn’t bother with a robe or turning on the light. You just padded softly through the apartment, your heartbeat steady yet loud in your chest, as though it was tethered to him, coaxing you closer.

The living room was dark, save for the faint silver light sneaking through the windows. There he was, still there. Curled slightly on the couch, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting loosely across his middle. His chest rose and fell in the rhythm of sleep, peaceful, quiet.

You stood in the doorway, watching for a second too long. It didn’t feel real, not after everything. But there he was, he’d stayed.

You crept closer, unsure why you even needed to check. Maybe you just needed to see him, not on a screen, not in a message you re-read too many times, but here. 

Lewis shifted when he felt your presence, floating in and out of sleep. His eyes fluttered open and his lips curled into a small smile. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

You hesitated. “I couldn’t sleep.”

You lowered yourself to the floor beside the couch, resting your chin on the cushion near his arm. His cologne lingered on the fabric, faintly familiar, and almost dizzying. Your fingers toyed with the hem of the blanket, grounding yourself. Your stomach knotted and turned, unsaid truths hanging from the tip of your tongue, waiting to slip out, and you let them.

His hand reached out tentatively. He didn’t touch your skin, he just left it there, close enough that the invitation was clear. You looked down at his hand for a moment, then slipped your fingers into his.

“I hate how complicated this feels now,” you murmured, running your thumb along the side of his finger, the warmth of his skin sending a mild shiver through you.

“Me too, but we don’t have to figure it all out tonight.” He gave the slightest nod, voice quiet. 

He pushed himself up slightly, the blanket slipping off his shoulder as he lifted it just enough to offer you the space to crawl in and join him.

After a short few seconds of hesitation, you climbed carefully onto the narrow space on the couch. He opened his arms without a word, and you melted into them, tucking your head beneath his chin, your body curling into his like it had been waiting to do so for weeks. Despite the ache in your chest, every muscle in you relaxed in his arms.

“Take all the time you need, I’m not going anywhere,” he added.

This wasn’t how you had pictured your night. Not after the tears, argument, and weeks of uncertainty. However, his arms stayed around you, his hand occasionally brushing in slow, absent patterns over your shoulder like he couldn’t quite believe you were there either. 

Maybe that was a start.

You closed your eyes, letting out a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. His fingers stilled as you settled closer, your own hand lightly resting on the fabric of his shirt, just over his chest.

Neither of you spoke, but his hold on you didn’t waver. For the first time in a long time, you let yourself rest, knowing that whatever was coming would be dealt with tomorrow.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep.

The last thing you remembered was the gentle rise and fall of Lewis’ chest, the scent of his cologne lingering on his shirt, and the comforting weight of his hand on your back. At some point, your body gave in, lulled to sleep in his arms.

When your eyes opened slowly, the living room was bathed in early light. Pale gold filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow over your furniture. You blinked the blurriness from your vision, momentarily disoriented…until you felt the warmth beneath you shift slightly, and the memories of last night came flooding back.

Lewis was still there, you were curled against him, one leg draped over his, your arm tucked between you. His head rested against the back of the couch, tilted slightly, his braids loosened from his hair tie. His other arm still held you close, protective even in sleep.

You didn’t move, you didn’t want to, because even if things still felt complicated, even if your heart still felt sore in places you hadn’t known it could, this moment was real.

Your eyes drifted over his face, softened in rest sweetly, and your heart squeezed. All the frustration, the confusion, the pain hadn’t disappeared. It had shifted, as though the weight of it had moved, making space for what was to come.

You pulled back carefully, just enough to sit up. This made him stir slightly, his eyebrows creasing, before his brown eyes blinked open.  They were still bleary and tired, but when they found you, they warmed instantly.

“Hi,” he rasped, his voice deep and rough with sleep.

“Hey,” you whispered back, brushing a hand through your hair.

He sat up straighter, rubbing at his face. He looked at you for a moment longer, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to smile or not. Then he glanced away, adjusting his braids back into his hair tie, a quiet exhale slipping through his lips. 

The silence stretched for a short moment as you both sat on the sofa. You felt your stomach growl quietly, remembering you hadn’t eaten dinner the night before, and your appetite was catching up with you.

“You hungry?” you asked suddenly, rising to your feet. “I’ll make some breakfast.”

He blinked, surprised by the offer. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you replied, your voice gentler this time. 

You turned toward the kitchen, trying to hide the way your heart fluttered stupidly at the sweet smile of appreciation he’d given you. Your mind was still a storm of questions, about what came next, about what this all meant, but for now, you pulled out the pan, reached for the flour, and let yourself move through the motions.

Lewis got up a few minutes later and joined you, helping without being asked. He passed you the spatula when you needed it, peeled a banana wordlessly, and found the plates from the right cupboard. It was quiet between you, a fragile silence like the calm after a thunderstorm, when everything was still soaked through but the sky had finally cleared.

You made him vegan pancakes, like you always used to joke you would. When you took a seat next to him, still wearing yesterday’s clothes and with sleep marks on your cheek, he looked at you like you had hung the moon and dotted the sky with stars yourself.

You took a bite, barely tasting the strawberry you were chewing, your nerves alight again in your body. You knew you couldn’t stay in this soft bubble forever. You’d have to talk soon, to decide.

Lewis complimented your cooking and ate slowly, savouring every bite as the two of you settled into quiet again. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but both of you knew what was coming next, and neither of you wanted to be the one to say it first.

You glanced up at him just as his phone buzzed on the kitchen island.

Lewis sighed, looked over the screen, and muttered, “Sorry, I have to take this.” He stood, already swiping to answer as he disappeared into the hallway.

Your heart sank into your stomach, dropping suddenly the second he picked up that phone. You stared at the space he’d left behind, the warmth of the moment slipping away. 

Of course. You’d let yourself believe it might be different this time, yet here he was, being pulled back into that world again. You reached for your mug, trying not to let it show, but your hand faltered slightly.

Barely a minute later, his footsteps returned. You didn’t look up at first, cutting into your pancake meticulously as though maybe if you acted normal, the hollow feeling in your chest wouldn’t show. Maybe if you kept your head down, it wouldn’t hurt so much that he’d left you there while his life outside called.

“Sorry about that.” He returned to his seat beside you, reaching for a sip of his coffee.

“It’s okay.” Your voice was low, just above a whisper as your lips curled at the edges, hiding behind a small smile.

Lewis tilted his head towards you while he set his mug down, watching you push a slice of strawberry across your plate. He switched his phone to Do Not Disturb and set it on the counter, like it was the least important thing in the world.

“I told them I’m not coming,” he explained gently, noticing your quietness.

Your eyes lifted to face him, listening as he spoke.

He rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling slowly. “I had a shoot scheduled this afternoon, but I postponed everything for the rest of the week.”

You felt your heart skip with a tiny flicker of hope. “You did?”

“Yeah.” His voice was soft as his lips stretched into a smile. “Because I needed to be here with you. Nothing else matters if I don’t get this right.”

There was a part of you that didn’t expect him to say that, still waiting for disappointment. A part that thought maybe the phone call was the beginning of him slipping away again. That you’d find yourself once more standing on the edge of something that never fully became yours. Despite this, he was sitting across from you like nothing in the world could pull him away. Like you were the priority.

You blinked down at the table, trying to find your voice while Lewis’ hands rested on the edge of the counter openly. His body leaned in just slightly, elbows braced and, his eyes fixed on you with patience. He was waiting, holding space for you. Letting you come to him in your own time.

No phone, no rushing, and definitely no leaving. Just the two of you, there.

For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to really see it, to feel it. This wasn’t just pretty words or temporary affection. It wasn’t him checking in out of guilt or offering just enough to keep you close. It felt different, real, like he was actually here. He wanted to stay, regardless of his life outside of that moment.

Maybe this wasn’t another disappointment. Maybe this wasn’t another version of you hoping while he drifted further out of reach.

The ache in your chest didn’t disappear, but it softened just enough to let a sliver of hope in. The feeling you’d been trying to ignore because it felt safer to expect disappointment than to hope for something lasting.

The quiet kind of hope that didn’t rush in all at once but arrived slowly, gently, as if it were asking permission. Maybe it was worth giving this a chance.

But it couldn’t be like before. Not if it meant twisting yourself into someone smaller, someone more convenient. If this was going to be something, it had to be on your terms. It had to be mutual, with boundaries, balance, and a lot of care. With both of you in it fully, figuring it out side by side. All in.

You placed your utensils onto your plate carefully and drew in a breath, steadying yourself. Your pulse raced, thrumming in your ears while your stomach fluttered with butterflies. This was it.

“Lewis?” you began, scratching a nail lightly against the counter to distract yourself from the nervousness that coursed through your veins.

He looked up immediately, eyes soft and open as he gave you his full attention, the same way that always gave you butterflies.

“Let’s do it,” you said finally, breathless from the weight of your words.

Lewis’ posture shifted subtly, the tension in his shoulders loosening as if hope had started to slip in through the cracks. He didn’t interrupt or rush you though, only watched as you turned towards him.

“I want to try…us,” you spoke again, firmer this time, the words anchoring inside you. It almost felt as though you were dreaming as you continued. “But there’s a few things we need to agree on first for this to work.”

Lewis nodded, his eyes searching yours as if he couldn’t believe it either. “Anything.”

“I know what your life is like, but we need to be in this together. I need consistency,” you started. “I need to feel like we’re both all in, not like I’m chasing after you. No disappearing on me when you’re away.”

He gave you another nod, listening intently while you continued.

“Second, we always plan when we’ll see each other next. I hate uncertainty. It makes the distance more bearable if I know when I get to see you next.” Your voice trembled lightly as you finished. “And third, we keep things private. At first, at least, until we’re both ready. What happened with those photos…it felt like we lost control before we ever had a chance to figure things out between us. I can’t do that again, not without knowing we’re on the same page.”

His expression softened at that, his eyebrows pulling together with both guilt and understanding tangled into one. “Of course, I agree with all of it. We can take our time, we’ll figure this out together.”

This time, you believed him. There was no hesitation in his voice, just certainty that he wasn’t just agreeing for your sake, but because he meant every word too.

He held your gaze for a moment longer, then pushed back slightly on his seat. The metal legs scraped lightly against the floor as he shifted, knees parting just enough to make space in front of him. 

“Come here,” he whispered, his hands lifting, and arms opening in a quiet invitation.

You rose carefully, stepping between his legs and resting your hands on his broad shoulders. His own hands slid to your waist, holding you there like you were the only thing grounding him in the moment.

“I don’t want to lose you, Lewis.” You sighed, tracing your fingers along the neckline of his shirt. “We have to make this work.”

“We will, I promise,” he replied with confidence, his tone reassuring. “I don’t want to lose you either, ever.”

Your heart stuttered again as he repeated his words from the night before. It was everything you’d always wanted to hear, and he said it with so much sincerity swimming in his warm brown eyes. He would make room for you in his world and never ask you to shrink yourself to fit into it. You would work through it all together.

“So…” he started softly, sounding almost nervous, even now. His thumbs rubbed soft circles at your waist. “You’ll be mine?”

Your breath caught in your throat, a mild sting at your eyes while your belly filled with rushing butterflies. You didn’t hesitate though. You reached up, brushing your fingers along the smooth skin of his cheek before cupping his face with both hands. He leaned into your touch instantly, his long eyelashes fluttering shut, like you were the first thing that had calmed him in weeks.

“All yours,” you smiled, brushing your nose with his gently.

His eyes opened again, crinkling at the edges as his mouth pulled into a grin.

“Are you mine too?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

His arms wrapped a little tighter around you, pulling you in until your foreheads touched. “Always.”

Your lips met a second later, moving together while you both struggled to contain your smiles. You melted into the kiss, your shoulders relaxing in a sensation of relief, while your heart swelled with hope, and pure joy. Lewis held you close as your arms twined around his neck, breathing each other in as your mouths stayed connected, making up for every kiss you’d missed the past month.

“We’re really doing this,” you murmured as though the words surprised even you, when you eventually pulled back.

His breath brushed over your lips when he responded, his eyes sparkling with excitement and almost disbelief that this was your reality now. “We are.”

The two of you remained in the kitchen, sharing soft giggles and peppering kisses between breaths. It felt like home again. 

You stayed wrapped in each other for a while, as if neither of you could believe you were finally here. Truly together this time. When you finally pulled apart, it didn’t feel like you had run out of time. It was a comfort, like you both knew there’d be more moments like this, and you didn’t have to hold onto it so tightly anymore with that ache in your chest.

Eventually, the real world crept in around the edges of your bubble. The smell of cold pancakes and forgotten mugs of coffee on the counter. Neither of you was ready to move just yet, but you did. Together.

The quiet clatter of plates and cutlery was the only sound between you as you cleared the kitchen together, brushing shoulders and glancing over at each other when you thought the other wasn’t looking. The air still held the weight of everything that had happened in the last 24 hours, but it had softened now, a warm excitement settling in its place.

You’d agreed to take your time and rebuild this the right way, but the way Lewis kept looking at you, his big hands full of dishes, braids tied back, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal his muscular arms, made it all too tempting.

You bit back a smile as you rinsed the last plate, only for him to bump your hip gently with his. Not hard enough to startle you, just to remind you he was still there with his eyes locked on you.

“You’re staring.” You felt a flush spread across your cheeks, not meeting his eyes.

“Can’t help it,” he chuckled as he dried his hands off, handing you the towel once you were done rinsing.

When you looked up, you felt the air around you shift, a slow unfurling in your chest. A familiar flicker danced between you, electric and almost dizzying. You wiped your hands dry and placed the towel back on the counter, suddenly feeling somewhat shy under his gaze.

“Just wondering how I got so lucky,” he added, quieter now.

He reached for you, one hand curling around your waist, fingers splaying like he needed to feel you solid beneath his palm, to know this wasn’t just some dream he’d wake up from.

You could feel the warmth of him in every inch of space you weren’t touching, and the electric current coursing through your veins in the parts you were. You ran your hand up his forearm and over his flexed bicep, looping your arms around his neck. That small space between your lips and his that felt impossibly far, and you wanted nothing more than to close it.

Lewis dipped his head slowly, his lips brushing yours carefully as though you might disappear, and you replied without hesitation. Your knees weakened at the taste of him and your head spun when he drew your body to his. You clutched at the neck of his shirt, needing the anchor, needing him, and he exhaled against your mouth in relief, as though he’d been holding his breath all day.

His addictive lips kissed you deeper this time, like the floodgates had opened and neither of you knew how to stop. Your hands moved to his shoulders, fingers curling into the muscle there as if you still couldn’t quite believe he was real.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he breathed, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then back to your lips. “Every day, every night. You were on my mind, every second.”

You nodded against him, eyes closed and your breath shaky. “Me too, you have no idea.”

His thumbs stroked lightly at your side as he kissed you again, and again, each one felt like  reassurance, as though he was trying to rebuild what had broken with his presence.

Your heart swelled, your eyes burning suddenly with emotion you hadn’t expected. “I hated being away from you, felt like I lost you,” your voice trembled on your lips. 

He pressed his forehead to yours again, holding your waist like he didn’t want to let go. “You could never lose me, sweetheart.”

You touched your lips to his in response. There were no words strong enough for the relief rushing through you, no language deep enough to explain the way it felt to have him here again, holding you as though you were the most precious thing in the world, like someone he never wanted to risk losing again.

His tongue slid against yours, tasting your mouth, and you didn’t even realise your feet had left the ground until you were on the kitchen island, his hands firm around your hips, his body between your legs, fitting against you like it was the only place he wanted to be.

Your legs circled around his waist, pulling him closer, needing to feel him. His hands skimmed your thighs as though he still couldn’t believe you were letting him touch you like this again. You tilted your head back slightly when his mouth found your neck, his warm breath trickling your skin as he whispered your name. 

As you tugged at the fabric of his shirt breathlessly, he broke away just long enough to let you pull it over his head and toss it onto the floor. The light streaming through the kitchen windows reflected the pearls around his neck, and caught the lines of his fit torso, the slope of his shoulders, the glow of his bronze, tattooed skin, the soft curve of his defined lips when he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Still can’t believe you’re mine.” He spoke through his breath, his mouth capturing yours again while his thumbs traced the outline of the waistband on your trackpants.

“And you’re mine.” You giggled softly, lifting your hips to allow Lewis to slide the pants down your legs, as heat stirred in your stomach.

Your bare skin touched back down on the cold surface of the island while his hands made their way up your thighs. His fingers traced the curve of your underwear, before slipping beneath the fabric to run along your soaked core. 

“So wet for me already, baby,” he groaned against your lips, coating his fingertips in your wetness as he relished the feeling of your sensitive parts.

Your breath grew shaky, grasping onto the muscle of his shoulder and leaning back to allow him better access while steadying yourself with your free hand. He built you up slowly, almost teasingly, while his kisses trailed down your jaw to your neck and collarbone. Carefully, he slid a finger into you, followed by a second while his thumb continued to work at your clit, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“That feel good, sweetheart?” Lewis asked, enjoying watching you tremble deliciously at his mercy.

All you could do was dig your nails into his shoulder, your eyes falling shut as ecstacy coursed through your body, edging close to your peak. It wasn’t long before you began to tighten around his fingers, and he suddenly removed his hand from you, shocking you from your daze and drawing a whimper from your lips. You watched him in confusion as he quickly removed your underwear, pushed your legs further apart and lifted your feet over his shoulders.

His hot tongue dipped into your folds, licking and swirling at your clit in tantalising motions that worked you back up. Fingers still wet from earlier slipped back into you while his other hand gripped your thigh. You managed to lean back further, holding yourself up against the cold counter while he lapped at your core hungrily, your mind melting into a complete blur at his precise movements.

A hazed whisper of his name left you as your head fell back lightly, your hips grinding onto his mouth and nose. Your toes curled and your stomach tightened, you were so close now.

“Eyes on me, beautiful,” he demands against your clit, sucking gently while his tongue flicks. “You taste so fucking good.”

You obeyed, meeting his sparkling eyes with your face flushed as he watched you with hunger, devouring you until you came undone. You shuddered with pleasure crashing over you, sending you over your peak as a breathy moan left your lips. Lewis continued his movements, helping you ride out your high onto his tongue and holding you close to push your high further when the sensitivity that followed overwhelmed you, your body jerking away involuntarily. 

Once you had worked your way down, he removed himself slowly, as if he didn’t want to separate from your core if it weren’t for the ache in his pants. His lips glistened with your wetness coated over his chin and beard, his proud smirk making your stomach flutter. He licked the remainder off his fingertips as you chewed your lower lip, your frantic breaths slowing.

Sitting back up, you reached for his shoulders and pressed your mouth to his in a wet kiss, tasting yourself on him while he tugged you close to the edge of the counter, his warm hands gripping your ass. He lifted you off and moved towards your sofa, taking a seat while you straddled him. You let him undress you further, pulling your top off to reveal your bare torso and running his palms down your back. 

Gently, he cupped a breast and flicked his thumb over your nipple, before taking it into his mouth and swirling his tongue over the sensitive nub. The heat between your legs only grew hotter as you felt his hardness through his pants beneath you, and you wanted nothing more than to have him inside you. 

“Please, Lewis.” You pulled at the waistband of his pants desperately, breathless under his touch.

Lewis chuckled lightly, his voice low as he helped you slip them off. “Greedy girl.”

You gave him a look and grabbed his jaw, lifting your hips as he positioned himself at your slit. A gasp left you both in unison once you sunk down onto his length until he bottomed out inside you, relief and excitement rippling through your bodies. Slowly, you began your movements, grinding against him at first, before raising your hips and dropping down as you built a rhythm. 

He grasped your ass while you rode him, pressing his forehead to yours as his breathing grew ragged. The low groans from his throat only encouraged you further as you slammed back down on him over and over. He was somehow even more beautiful when you were the one making him feel good. The way his brown eyes glazed over in pleasure, his eyebrows knitted together, and his luscious lips fell open, made your heart race as you pushed further.

The friction of your clit against his pelvis sent waves of hot tension pooling in your belly, so you bounced harder and gripped the fabric of the sofa behind him, while your other hand held onto his shoulder. Your lips brushed together, his breath on your skin as you moaned into each other’s mouths over the wet sound of your bodies coming together.

“Baby,” he hissed roughly, his head falling back against the cushion and his face contorting in bliss. “Slow down…you’re gonna make…”

Lewis’ voice was music to your ears as you felt yourself clamp down on him, your clit pulsing and bliss rushing through your veins, leaving only a cry to rip from you. Before you could finish riding out your high yourself, you found yourself laying against the soft cushion of your sofa, under him as he took back his control. He pressed his thumb to your clit and snapped his hips into yours, heightening your pleasure as you ground back against him and clutched the fabric to your side.

Soon after, he lifted your legs higher in order to push deeper into you and tangled your fingers together with his. You squeezed his hand and tilted your chin up to kiss him again, aching to be closer. 

“I missed you so much, Lew,” you breathed, all the emotions of the day flooding you as you poured your adoration into his lips.

“I missed you more, baby, I missed you so much,” he whispered, the words almost broken with sincerity, caressing your hair with his free hand. “I swear, I’ll never hurt you again.”

His eyes searched yours as he spoke, full of care, affection, and commitment, even with his bare body pressed to yours. This time, you believed him. You trusted him. 

Your fingers found his bearded chin, drawing him close and brushing your lips to his while he slowed his rocking to deep, languid movements. His hard length stroked inside you, engulfed by your slick core as he built you both up. You moved together like two halves remembering how to be whole again. It wasn’t long before you felt him throb inside you, and you both gasped in bliss, letting yourselves release with shaky moans.

After a moment, you both eased back onto the couch, still wrapped around each other, the quiet afterglow settling like a soft blanket. Lewis’ hands moved slowly along your spine, drinking you in silently. All that existed in your bubble now was the steady rhythm of your heartbeats in sync, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin, and the sweet way your lips met again.

You traced your fingertips along the ink of the tattoo on his collarbone, your voice low and shy as you murmured, “You know…I’ve felt something for you for a while now too.”

A mischievous glint flickered in his eyes as he grinned.

“Really?” he teased, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Since when?”

A small smile stretched across your face, your cheeks warm when the memories bloomed in your mind.

“Hmm…honestly,” You began, pursing your lips as you thought it over. “Maybe that dinner in Austin. When we talked for hours, you told me about that space documentary you loved. Then you said you were planning to do astronaut training, which is just insane, by the way. But I’d never seen you like that before, that look in your eyes. I think that’s when it really hit me.”

Lewis’ gaze softened, his mouth curling as he recalled the memory. “I remember. You were so sweet, I didn’t want that night to end. I always loved talking to you.”

His fingers found your hair, threading through the strands as he tugged you just a little closer.

“Guess we’ve both been holding out on each other for too long.”

“Too long, yeah.” You laughed softly against his lips.

No more words were needed. The quiet between you filled with a calming sense of hope and relief, as those fading lines between what the two of you had been, and what you were now finally gave way.

And it was just the beginning…

Silverstone came soon after that.

The car had gone quiet as the gates of the paddock loomed ahead, only the low purr of the engine and the tense thrum of anticipation in the air. You sat to Lewis’ side, toying with the chain of your bag and watching through tinted windows as crowds of staff, guests, and media personnel entered the paddock.

Lewis was calm as always, a soft smile across his lips when you arrived at the VIP parking area. One hand rested on the wheel, the other was laced with yours, your fingers threaded together across the console loosely. Roscoe was seated in the back, panting away in excitement to step out of the car.

It had been months since the two of you had made the decision to be together. Life didn’t slow down by any means; Lewis’ race season continued with all the usual travel and pressure, while you found yourself immersed in your own projects. Despite the chaos, you’d spent more time together than ever, small moments of quiet between race weekends, following him to a few races discreetly, small trips and overnight stays that strengthened your bond as a couple.

You kept choosing each other, in the big things as well as the little. It wasn’t always easy though. There were long flights, late nights, and stretches of time apart, but what mattered most was that he always found his way back to you. No unfulfilled promises, but with his presence. In the way he held you when you couldn’t sleep, or how he never let a day go by without reminding you in any way he could, that you meant the world to him.

Lewis chose you, no matter how busy his world got. And every time he did, it made you fall in love with him all over again. 

Now, you were both ready to take the next step. You’d kept your relationship as private as possible, letting it grow and be yours only, but today was the day you stopped hiding. Now, it was time.

Lewis glanced over, stroking his thumb over yours gently. “Ready?”

Your fingers curled tighter around the chain of your bag, your heart thudding loud enough to drown out the noise outside. He noticed your hesitation.

“I can get one of the staff to take you in through the back if you’re not feeling it,” he offered, leaning closer to you, “No pressure, baby.”

His tone wasn’t just kind, it was understanding. He knew exactly how much this meant, how much you were giving him by even being here.

You turned to him, the butterflies in your chest fluttering hard against your ribs. He would never rush you or try to convince you into this. He was giving you an out, and trusting you to make your own choice.

You swallowed with a small nod, squeezing his hand. “No, I want to.”

Relief flickered across his face subtly. He pressed a kiss to your temple, then to your hand, before stepping out of the car. By the time he rounded to your side and opened your door, your palms had gone slightly clammy. Still, you climbed out slowly, blinking against the grey brightness of the British summer light. Lewis didn’t hesitate, lifting Roscoe out, then handing his keys to his assistant with a quiet word, and barely glancing back as the car was whisked away.

Then, you were walking in, together.

The crowd outside the paddock buzzed, your presence drawing attention even before you reached the gates. Scanning your passes, you both crossed the threshold into the Paddock and reconnected. You weren’t holding hands yet, but you walked closely with Roscoe on the other side of Lewis, his tail wagging away as you entered.

You were hyper-aware of everything: the upcoming wall of photographers and media, the buzz of cameras warming up, the click of shutters in rapid fire, and flashes popping as photos were snapped.

The outfit you’d carefully chosen after hours of indecision felt suddenly too noticeable. It was sleek, understated and perfectly tailored to balance the line between elegance and comfort for you. Lewis had helped you choose it, insisting it looked perfect on you. You trusted his eye, especially since he understood exactly what kind of scrutiny came with standing at his side.

As the two of you crossed into the heart of the Paddock, a pack of media swept past on the left, cameras already raised. As the wave of attention swelled, your breath caught and your spine stiffened instinctively. This was it, everyone around the world would know that you were the one who held Lewis’ heart. It was no longer just pictures of stolen, private moments in an airport, it was the two of you stepping into the light proudly, together. That was all it took.

Without a word, Lewis’ hand found yours. He didn’t look at you or make a show of it. Just held on, thumb brushing over your knuckles like a quiet I’m here.

You exhaled through your nose slowly, holding a small smile as you made your way towards the Ferrari motorhome. There were many calls of Lewis’ name around the Paddock, but he never flinched, offering a quick wave or nod when he caught the direction they were coming from.

At the motorhome, the team greeted him with nods and handshakes, a few heads turning toward you and Roscoe, who was enjoying himself being showered in scratches and pats all around. You greeted the team you’d become familiar with, before spotting Lewis’ parents and sharing hugs as you settled in. Lewis soon changed into his race suit once briefings had been completed and it was nearly time to get on the track.

The garage buzzed with motion and noise, tyre covers shifting, the clang of metal tools, voices calling over radios. The scent of asphalt and scorched rubber was one that had grown to feel almost like home.

Lewis emerged in his Ferrari race suit, helmet tucked under one arm. His hair was tied back as usual, revealing his handsome face, his jaw tight, brows drawn in the kind of laser-sharp concentration he wore before every race.

Yet, the moment his eyes found you again in the corner of the garage, everything about him softened. He crossed the garage without hesitation, weaving through engineers and mechanics as if nothing else in the world existed. When he stopped in front of you, his lips stretched into a faint smile.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice cutting through the chaos like it was only meant for you. “You okay?”

You nodded, but your throat was tight, too full of feeling. You’d never seen him look more like himself and yet so entirely in his element. Calm, sure, and brilliant as always, but now, yours.

“I should be asking you that, it’s your home race,” you shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper.

Silverstone was his home race. The one he’d grown up dreaming about, watching from behind barriers long before he'd ever stepped onto the grid himself. The race he’d won nine times already, and was surely on his way to a tenth after qualifying P2.

“You nervous?” you asked softly.

He paused for half a breath, then took a small step closer, close enough for his chest to brush yours, and you could feel the warmth coming off his skin, even through layers of fabric.

A faint breath left him, half a laugh, half an exhale. “Yeah, it just…hits different today.”

“Because it’s home?”

“Because it’s been a rough season, seems like so much keeps going wrong. But I'm hopeful for this one,” he admitted quietly. “And because now you’re here, just makes me want it more.”

You felt your heart ache with a small tug at his honesty and the weight of it all sitting just beneath the surface. 

“I believe in you, Lewis. You’ve won this race nine times before, you can absolutely do it again.” You ran your hand over his chest, his brown eyes lighting up at your confidence in him.

Lewis touched a finger under your chin, his thumb resting beneath your lips as he leaned in, brushing his over yours. “That’s all I need.”

Your fingers held onto the side of his suit lightly, grounding yourself as the rush of background noise faded around you. You wanted to say it, right then. The words were right there, lingering at the tip of your tongue, waiting to spill out. I love you. It caught in your throat, too heavy with meaning to just throw into the noise right now. You wanted it to land at the right time, to mean everything.

Instead, you placed another kiss on his lips. “Good luck, baby.”

He pulled away, warmth in his eyes, the corner of his mouth lifting in that way that always made you feel like he was letting you in on a secret. Placing a kiss on your forehead, he slowly drifted back as he was called over.

And then he turned, stepped toward the car, and disappeared into the heartbeat of the race.

The race was tense, with Lewis overtaking to lead the race throughout the second half. The final few laps blurred into a rush of sound and colour, your breath catching with every corner, every sector time, your heart in your throat even as the team around you shouted and cheered, willing Lewis across the line first. You thumbed the flower on your bracelet as the anxiety tensed through you.

Then, the explosion of noise. Lewis crossed first. Lewis won.

The garage burst into excitement, engines roaring outside, crew jumping into each other’s arms, radios crackling with congratulations. The team yelled, hugged, threw headsets in the air. The kind of joy that only came with victory, and this one had meant everything. He hadn’t won all season, until now. At his home race.

His voice over the radio made your heart melt, the gratitude and exhilaration as he thanked the team and his supporters for believing in him. Tears had escaped down your cheeks while you watched him on the many screens, waving the Union Jack flag as he pulled in.

You barely registered your own hands shaking until someone touched your arm, gentle yet urgent.

A soft voice beside you called your name, and you turned to see Lewis’ mother Carmen. Her eyes glistened with tears, her cheeks flushed from joy. She took your hand and led you quickly through the chaos and out into the sunlight.

The paddock heat hit you like a wave. The sound of the crowd, the thunder of music and announcements overhead, the crackle of static from race control, it all blurred around you. You could barely breathe through the happiness in your chest.

Below the podium, you saw the sea of red: the Ferrari crew lined along the barrier, arms raised, waiting for their driver.

You barely had time to find your spot as Lewis completed his post race interviews and headed to cool down, before making his way over to your crowd behind the barrier. He was beaming, that bright, boyish, stunned kind of smile that only came from something he thought he might never get back.

He ran past the cameras, past the media, past the security still trying to catch up. He sprinted straight for the team again as he had upon securing his win, laughing and shouting, pulling his engineers and mechanics into wild hugs while others patted him on the back

Then came his parents.

Anthony caught him first, wrapping him into a firm, almost bone-crushing hug, murmuring words you couldn’t hear over the roar or excitement into his ear as he nodded. Carmen threw her arms around him next, kissing his cheeks through tears, smoothing his braided hair as though he was still her boy.

Lewis’ eyes searched for you, and you didn’t move, because the second he saw you, standing just behind the barrier, eyes filled with tears and sunlight, he moved straight to you. His face was flushed, his beautiful eyes shining with more than victory.

When he reached you, he pulled you into him immediately. You didn’t even realise you were crying until his hands cradled the back of your head, dipping his head forward. He was breathless, wild with joy, and as the crowd around you erupted into further celebration, he kissed you. Deep and fast, full of adrenaline, his fingers curling into your hair like he needed to hold onto something solid.

The world around you blurred and you heard the cacophony of camera shutters flood your ears, everyone capturing the moment suddenly.

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours briefly, and his voice cracked with emotion. 

“I love you.”

The words hit you like a tidal wave, your heart skipping a beat as it raced behind your ribs. You didn’t have time to fully take it in, not with the adrenaline still thundering through your veins, the noise around you, and the cameras flashing. They sank straight through your chest anyway, sharp and soft all at once. Your lips parted, your breath catching, because you felt it too. You’d been feeling it, carrying it around with you, hanging from your tongue and aching to be let out.

You wanted to say it back, but before the words could leave your mouth, he was pulled away,  engulfed by a rush of red and celebration, the team wrapping him in hugs and shouts. You watched him leave, dazed as your fingertips still tingled from where he’d touched you, your mouth still parted with the words you hadn’t been able to give him yet.

He didn’t look back for a response, just saying it had been enough for him.

But for you, the moment hung in the air, because you knew, without question, the very next time you saw him, you were going to say it. You had to.

Before you knew it, there he was again.

Lewis was announced as the winner, and he stepped onto the top step of the podium, the number one painted bold beneath his feet, the crowd’s cheers swelling as he stood tall against the backdrop of flags and ceremony. The anthem hadn’t started just yet, that sacred pause before the world erupted in celebration. In that moment, before a trophy was lifted or champagne was sprayed, his eyes searched the sea of faces in front of him.

His eyes swept across the crowd, taking it in like he always did, until they found you.

Then, everything shifted.

His shoulders eased, his smile softened, love blooming behind his eyes. It wasn’t the usual, dazzling grin he wore for the world or the victory smile.

This one was yours.

He winked down at you and your heart squeezed in your chest, so tight it almost hurt. The tears that had been uncontrollably escaping since the moment he crossed the line welled again. You reached up instinctively, fingers brushing beneath your eyes, trying to ground yourself in the moment.

You blew him a kiss, lips trembling but sure, and mouthed the words that had been lingering on your tongue all day.

“I love you.”

They were three silent words across a sea of celebration, but when they reached him, you saw the way they landed. Somehow, his smile grew even further and you were sure he might pop from all the excitement, especially knowing that the woman he loved, loved him too.

Soon after, champagne burst into the air around him, painting the podium in silver and light. Music blared as he celebrated with everyone, spraying his champagne down into the crowd as you shielded yourself. You caught his eyes again, soaked with celebration.

In the middle of all of it, the history, the headlines, the high of another win, it was still just the two of you.

And this time, you weren’t hiding.

No more grey areas.

No more waiting.

Just you and him.

Out in the light, at last.

Together.

Taglist: @sltwins @ernegren @sher-ni @skzvibes-blog @rageshots @esw1012🤍🤍

[dontsaltme69]

Deltarune Post Chapter 3+4 Theories and Chapter 5 Predictions

It's been a few weeks since the amazing paid release of Deltarune, and with it came a lot of new information (as expected of the release of two new story chapters). Many theories died, and many new ones came about. We're at the stage where we can forecast much... but also without enough to speak with certainty.

MAJOR DELTARUNE SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

THE ROARING KNIGHT

The Roaring Knight's identity has been hotly debated for a while, since Chapter 2 dropped. I was all-in on Kris at the time, and amusingly I was right on most counts regarding the theory except for them being the Knight. Some were extremely into "Insert Undertale character here" (usually Papyrus), some thought there was no singular Knight, some thought it was Father Alvin, some thought it was Dess, some thought it was Carol (or Mayor Holiday as she was known at the time, though in hindsight Carol was obviously going to be her name).

Chapter 3+4 doesn't directly answer the question, but it gives us enough to narrow things down. Kris was directly taken out of the running, as demonstrated by the provided image. The Knight lacks any real association with any UT character (it has a handful of Sans-like attacks, but doesn't resemble Sans in any other meaningful way, and uses no other UT character's attack patterns or mannerisms). It looks pretty much nothing like Father Alvin, and Chapter 4's lack of any information indicating the Knight is Alvin pretty much takes him out of the running regardless (Gerson's entire presence should have given us some level of information indicating such, which didn't happen).

However, seeing the Roaring Knight in person and getting more info on our remaining candidates gives us two solid options. December "Dess" Holiday and Mayor Carol Holiday.

In favor of both, the Roaring Knight has antlers and its head morphs into a deer-like shape when it screams. The flavor text before the bullet box splitting attack makes reference to the north wind, which invokes winter (and thus the Holiday family). They're both unaccounted for in (almost, I'll get to that in a moment) every circumstance that the Roaring Knight was operating, and I think that either one would be narratively appropriate (ties together the themes and plot threads about just about perfectly either way).

Dess is conspicuously absent from the narrative, and it's clear something happened to her. The Tenna flashback heavily implies that it was the catalyst for Asgore/Toriel's divorce (on top of other information suggesting that it was something that happened while Asgore was police chief). The Knight's sword initially resembles a wiffle bat at the start of the battle (which Dess was mentioned to be proficient with), and both Dess and the Knight are left-handed (based on Dess' room in Ch4). Lastly, the 1225 capsule machine secret ends in a "black triangle" falling from the secret machine, which brings to mind the Black Shard that breaks off the Knight's sword if you 'win' the fight, and the actual item referenced is likely a guitar pick. Also the Roaring Knight heavily invokes the Masked Man from Mother 3, and being Dess would bring the reference full circle.

Carol, on the other hand, is almost certainly the Phone Person if nothing else. She arrives right on time to kick Susie out after Kris calls Phone Person. She says to Kris that "YOU" are always welcome, which is written in the same shade of red as the SOUL. Carol is known to be proficient with katanas (owning at least two, possibly more), and is almost unaccounted for in almost every instance where we know the Knight was active. She's also particularly hostile to Susie, though Susie's reputation is poor outside of exactly the Fun Gang (and Noelle+Berdly) and the situation was something that most parents would be pissed about anyway (so that's not necessarily a solid indicator).

However, while Carol fits in most ways, there is a frequent counter-argument. That Carol couldn't get back to the church after returning to the Holiday household. While it's definitely not good, it's not quite a smoking gun to clear suspicion from Carol. We don't know how long her scolding of Noelle was (it could have been exceptionally short, basically just "Don't bring people into the house without clearing it with me ever again unless it's Kris"), and the narrative expects you to head to Toriel's house first at the minimum (as Susie explicitly suggests heading there first after the Holiday house sequence is done). That's enough of a gap for Carol to make it back without us seeing her, on top of the idea she could've made it back after us (and then used her cool flying powers as the Knight to get ahead of us once in the Dark World).

Regardless of which one it is, I do firmly think that one of the two is the most fitting candidate. They tie together the Holiday's subplot with the main plot and tie into the themes well.

With Carol, her motive is certainly to find/save her eldest daughter at the cost of all else (paralleling Flint from Mother 3, as an aside, who drove his family away while trying to find Claus), which ties into the themes of escapism by Carol basically trying to cope with her daughter's loss in her attempts to fix the problem.

With Dess, her overbearing mother (presumably) drove her away and now she's become a 'thing' that fills a role in the prophecy (as the Knight lacks the 'Freedom' motif in the Black Knight battle them, and otherwise hasn't really done anything unrelated to their mission), losing the freedom she desired in order to continue the themes of predestination and choice.

I'm definitely being a bit inarticulate here, but I think either one fits the plot of Deltarune very well, so I will be on the train that it's one of the two.

Also Black Knife uses the motif from "Burn in Despair!", one of the themes from Asriel's boss fight in UT. What this means is unclear at present. It could be a simple reference; the same way the Power of Neo motif is used in Big Shot, or it could mean a connection to Asriel (like, say, Dess having a strong relationship with him), but we don't know yet what it means.

(as an aside, I think people are being hasty in labelling Carol an abuser, she's certainly cold but the way people are discussing her acts like we had a twenty minute unskippable cutscene of her beating Noelle, but we'll just have to wait for more information to confirm)

It's Raining (Somewhere Else?)

Sans has finally become a mandatory encounter, which means that he is no longer just a side character in Deltarune. His oddness must be acknowledged now.

The common theory posited is that this Sans is actually from before Undertale, native to the world of DR, and would migrate to the Underground through some transdimensional fuckery (of unknown variety). We're low on direct information to say for certain, but there's enough info that I think it's likely enough to discuss.

Sans Undertale mentions in his boss fight that "gave up on trying to go back a long time ago" and the Lost Soul Sans in the Asriel fight says that "you'll never see them again". Sans' workshop in Undertale (if you encountered Clam Girl, who foreshadows Deltarune in her dialogue) has a drawing of "three people" with the text "don't forget" written on it. Sans, unlike any other monster in Undertale, bleeds when killed (which Susie inexplicably does after punching the final prophecy panel). Lastly, "The place where it rained" (the theme that plays in the Light World after the Third Sanctuary is cleared) has the melody of "It's Raining Somewhere Else" with the difference being that the Sans motif is completely excised.

He's obviously tied to the metanarrative of Undertale, especially with his Gaster Blasters invoking everyone's favorite mysterious scientist, and that's a lot of little pieces of evidence that make it makes sense even if it's never explicitly stated. With the knowledge that Deltarune's concept existed before Undertale, it's not out of line for this to have been a decade-long foreshadowing to Deltarune.

Sans also feels less depressed than is Undertale counterpart, but we've barely seen the guy in Deltarune (and it's been a hot minute since I actually read UT's script, so I could be misremembering), so it's more a gut feeling right now than a real point of evidence in favor of the theory.

Sans also doesn't mention any of the scientific knowledge we're familiar with him for, but once again we barely know the dude so I can't use this to rule anything out. Maybe he only picked up his knowledge after being sent to Undertale, or maybe he just hasn't revealed it to us yet.

(though I should note that A: Sans' only familiarity with Toriel in Undertale is supposedly him telling her jokes through the Ruins' door, which is obviously not the case in DR, and B: Papyrus doesn't bleed when killed, despite ostensibly still being Sans' sibling under this theory. These don't kill the theory, a Hometown NPC implies that most monsters don't have blood and the context of UT Sans and Toriel's relationship is weird enough that he could either have not recognized her or chose not to reveal it to us, but they are points against it)

Kris and the SOUL

Kris has been a long-storied subject of discussion, as expected of the protagonist of this story. There's far too much to discuss, it's basically an entire post to itself to go over everything, but I'll go through a handful of notable things I wanted to mention.

Kris was implied to have been institutionalized, if we interpret the Chapter 4 Egg secret to mean more than just a strange secret. When this occurred is unclear, but with the knowledge that Kris was a very troubled child it's not exactly a surprise. The scene also mentions being "unable to wash it all away", which suggests Kris feels guilty about something.

Kris can operate without the SOUL for lengthy periods (the half-hour or so in real time that the Holiday house segment occurs for, and them sleeping with the SOUL in the cage at the end of of Chapter 4), which suggests they do not need the SOUL to live. They're fatigued by removing it, and are injured if they damage the SOUL (at least, their HP number goes down), but Kris doesn't need it to continue living.

Kris is mentioned to have interest in the occult, and one of their interests according to the Poppup enemy is "demon summoning". Remember that WD Gaster is heavily associated with 666 and other demonic motifs, and our heroes are opposed to an "Angel's Heaven" according to Ralsei's version of the prophecy.

The Chapter 4 Egg room is connected to an NPC who says "Lost where the forest would grow, the children followed the pointed tail.", which is scrambled up. Could Kris be one of the children mentioned?

Kris has a SAVE at the start of Chapter 1, which we overwrite.

I am told that the second voice in the Vessel creation introductory sequence has speech patterns similar to Chara's in the Japanese translation, but I cannot personally verify this. Considering that Kris bears direct resemblance to Chara (and Frisk), it's entirely possible that they talk like Chara does... but we can't verify this until Kris starts speaking in ways the player can hear.

Kris is also collaborating with the Phone Person, and by extension the Roaring Knight, though we don't know the exact nature of their relationship. Whether Kris is willingly collaborating, what their exact role is, how many others are involved, we don't know anything else outright yet. I can speculate, but there's too much left unknown right now to say with certainty.

More of an aside, but I'm 99.9999999% certain that the SOUL is not Kris' (since it represents the player and they have a rather adversarial relationship with us), and there's no evidence that Kris lacks a soul of their own. They are acting as a Vessel for us, but that doesn't mean they lack a soul of their own like Flowey did.

ASGORE and Chapter 5 Predictions

The prophecy depicted above is hidden in Chapter 4, and the internal filename uses the same nomenclature as those referencing Queen and Tenna, implying that Asgore will be the major boss of Chapter 5. This is corroborated by Gerson Boom's summary of Lord of the Hammer's fifth chapter "The Fields of Pink and Gold", which describes a garden being burned by flames of jealousy. The obvious answer is that Asgore is jealous of Sans and Toriel's budding relationship, though I should note that's so comically obvious to the point where I feel like that specifically is a red herring. I'm not against that turning out to be the case, but feels weirdly obvious for a secret boss' foreshadowing of the next chapter. (though I suppose Chapter 5 initially being planned to be part of the paid release before being delayed may be responsible for this, since obvious foreshadowing makes more sense if the initial plan was that you'd be playing right after Chapter 4)

Asgore himself makes mention of a "black shard" when you eavesdrop on him in the Holiday household, after talking about finding evidence to prove something to Toriel which will bring the whole family back together. Which likely means it ties back to Dess, and whatever happened to her that catalyzed Asgore/Toriel to divorce.

There's also a whole bunch of flowers in his shop under glass that directly resemble Flowery, colored in the hues of the SOULs from Undertale.

Asgore's entire character insofar is heavily rooted in nostalgia, a desire to return to the "Good Old Days" when he was still married to Toriel and everything was good.

From here on is mostly just speculative "What I could see the story turning out like" with limited evidence (like, thematic relevance or just general "This make sense"). Beyond objective realities like "The Festival is tomorrow" and "Asgore appears to be being foreshadowed as the next chapter main boss", there's too much wiggle room for anything certain.

My current best guess for what the "incident" was that caused Dess' disappearance goes as such: Kris performs some kind of ritual in an attempt to summon a demon, which creates a Dark World (presumably within the shelter, but the location doesn't matter in this instance). Dess is there for one reason or another, and both are trapped. Asgore enters the Dark World and manages to rescue Kris, but fails to save Dess and finds a Black Shard either then or on a later visit when attempting to rescue Dess again. Nobody believes Asgore's story, or he keeps the truth a secret for fear of nobody believing him, and the incident ends with Asgore resigning in disgrace. This would probably be revealed by Asgore during Chapter 5 at some point, either before or after the boss fight with him probably.

The actual start of Chapter 5 would be the Festival, as mentioned many a time prior. We'd meet Asriel, who would give us at least a kernel of information before ending up separating from us for one reason or another, and after some more festivities the party ends up entering the Flower King Dark World. I imagine it's something like Kris+Susie heading to Flower King because Asgore's been weirdly absent, and they end up finding the Dark World that way.

Sans joins the party in the Dark World. In order for the "don't forget" drawing to make sense, he has to be friends with the Fun Gang (three people are mentioned, so either Ralsei or Noelle has to be included) at some point, and Chapter 5 is probably the only place to reasonably fit him in. Whether he's an actual party member, a bonus ACT (like Gerson), or just a guy following the party around without contributing, I couldn't say, but I fully expect him to at least temporarily join the party. Could also be a good time to finally make direct verbal reference to Gaster (say, Gaster is indeed Sans+Papyrus father who mysteriously went missing while working in Hometown, and Sans moved to Hometown to investigate his fate), as well.

Asgore's seven flowers will likely reference to Flowey. They could be purely antagonistic (say, highly jealous and possessive of their 'father', and considers Kris to be an obstacle in the way of receiving Asgore's love) or genuinely nice, or both since there's seven of them. Maybe they're the "Flames of Jealousy", rather than Asgore?

(maybe the cowboy puppet show that Asgore likes, per the unused 3rd Legend of Tenna board quiz, gets manipulated/possessed by the Floweys, forming a "Your Best Friend Inside Me")

Much of this is probably completely distorted in the Weird Route, and would likely be when Noelle returns to the party in that story path. Beyond the expected "Iceshock spam", I couldn't really tell you the specifics. Strong chance that Noelle is made to Snowgrave Asgore in that route, simply because it would be the cruelest possible thing to do.

I can't really speak to any greater specifics, too many variables to speak with any reasonable certainty. I have a strong suspicion that the Chapter 6 Dark World will be the Holiday household (if nothing else, we have to come back to go through the door behind the tree in the kitchen), but that's more or less just a gut feeling. I think everything I've suggested for Chapter 5 is reasonable, perhaps a little too reasonable, but I'm also entirely liable to wrong.

[poorlydrawnandroids]

…

Unfortunately they did not get burgers for Hank, but Connor at least learned a valuable lesson. I guess Nines suffers from Amelia Bedelia Syndrome.

———

Hi guys, this is actually a comic I drew and basically finished 11 months ago. And it’s been just about then since I’ve last really opened my iPad and did any drawing. There’s a ton of half-completed works on there and they’re pretty cute, so I’ll try to post them as I get the motivation. My therapist says posting to this blog will probably improve my mental health and he’s right but >:3c

So yeah! Let’s see what I can toss out this year, wooo!!

[hirazuki]

how about "shiro + lotor 2" from your WIPs? (sorry for making you VLDpost in 2024)

Lmao it's my own damn fault for admitting to VLD WIPs in my folder in 2024 XD

So this is supposed to be another missing scene, along the same lines as my one VLD fic I do have published, this time between Shiro and Lotor when they're on their way to the Kral Zera.

Lotor shifted again, braced against the cool metal, careful not to let the back of his head bump against the edge of the dashboard he was leaning on.  Senses honed by almost ten thousand years of persecution insisted that he remain standing, behind the pilot, in case something -- anything -- were to go awry; smooth sailing after the turbulence of take-off did not by any means imply that safety was guaranteed. The prince, however, had forced his body into a sitting position. With wrists propped up on bent knees, he had chosen a spot to the right of the pilot’s chair. Not only could he use what respite he could get before they arrived at their destination, but the man that had expressly -- and covertly -- gone against the wishes of his team deserved that courtesy. Shiro was risking his very position within Voltron to aid him, and had been open-minded and supportive of him from the start; the very least Lotor could do as thanks, he reasoned, was not hover over the man’s shoulder, behind his back, suggesting not only a lack of trust but possibly sinister intentions. He looked up at the paladin. The man had his hands on the controls, occasionally making some adjustments on the screen in front of him. Probably skirting patrols.  The slight veering off-course of the mechanical lion had increased in frequency the longer they were in flight.  We must be getting close. Neither of them had said much, beyond going over the details of the plan, but it was not uncomfortable. The soft whirring of the Black Lion’s engine and beeping of her controls was pleasant enough that the half-Galra found himself thinking that flying like this for the rest of his life would not be so bad. Soothing. That was the word.  “I apologize,” Lotor said, eventually, breaking the silence. “For what?” “I am aware I have caused a rift between you and the rest of the paladins. That was never my intention.” “Oh,” Shiro replied. “Actually, I don’t think it was you, specifically. It’s… been a long time coming. You were just a convenient subject.” “Ah, convenience. It does always seem to come down to that, doesn’t it?”

[ms-demeanor]

How to avoid sharing Social Media Scams in the Wake of a Disaster

The world is full of disasters. It is also full of people who have learned to profit off of disaster. It is an unfortunate fact of life in the modern social media/online environment that in order to avoid spreading scams, you have to make a continuous effort and you have to be cynical.

There are a lot of wonderful, well-meaning people in the world who want to help everyone who asks for it. Unfortunately, those people are easy to scam.

These are some rules to prevent you from either falling victim to scams or from passing scams along to other people.

These are not suggestions, these are not things to take into consideration, the rules listed here are RULES that you need to adopt in order to keep from spreading scams on social media.

Rules:

Never, ever share screenshots of fundraisers or resources that you haven’t verified yourself. If you see a screenshot of, say, the Antelope Valley Fairgrounds Instagram announcing that they will be accepting evacuees with RVs, you go find the Antelope Valley Fairgrounds website, you find the social media linked on their website, and you check that the post you’re seeing actually came from the entity it’s claiming to. Once you have proved that the post actually came from the entity it’s claiming to, double check that entity with a couple of verifiable sources. So, for instance, if I was checking on the Guitar Center Music Foundation I’d check Guitar Center’s website and maybe I’d look for news articles about donations from the foundation. If I was looking up the Antelope Valley Fairgrounds, I’d look for a local newspaper calendar of events that linked to the fairgrounds or would check the city websites in the area and search “fairgrounds” on them. I would not share a link to a social media page for an organization until I was 100% certain that it was actually associated with the organization. You shouldn’t either. If you see a post that claims to come from a specific group but all you have is the screenshot of the post, go find the group’s website and if it all checks out you may share it IF AND ONLY IF you add the link to the post. And if a post has a link already, click through it and STILL check that everything looks okay.

Never give money or information to someone with a free email address. This sucks. I know. But if the group you’re looking at only has a gmail address or a protonmail you have no way of knowing if they’re legitimately associated with the organization at a glance. And even if they ARE associated with the organization, the free email account demonstrates a lack of planning/commitment that has troubling implications for the handling of your money or data.

Do not share screenshots of “resources,” headlines, social media posts, or news articles. I’m done with screenshots. Screenshots are easy to fake and almost always remove context from the discussion. A standalone screenshot isn’t information, it’s a trap to get you to share something without thinking. Do not *trust* screenshots of “resources,” headlines, social media posts, or news articles. Always assume a screenshot is faked unless you have found the original post yourself. A screenshot isn’t a “resource” it is an un-source, it is intentionally removing information from the viewer and we are well past the time when people should have understood that sharing screenshots without a link to the original text in context is never, every trustworthy.

Do not give money or information to accounts without a history. This may mean individual social media accounts, or it may mean a shiny new mutual aid project that popped up near your house. It’s unfortunate that people have their accounts deleted, it’s unfortunate that new orgs have trouble finding support, but the likelihood that a new account is a scam is simply too high to trust your money or information with it. If someone is asking for money or offering help on an account that hasn’t posted for years, or that suddenly changed all its content, or that has only existed for a month with no links to other, older sites and socials, you shouldn’t trust that account.

Okay, those are the RULES. Those are the lines you draw in the sand. The TL;DR version is this:

Don’t share posts you haven’t personally verified

Don’t give money or information to accounts with generic email accounts like gmail

Don’t share or trust screenshots that have no links or further context

Don’t give info or money to brand new accounts

I absolve you of any guilt you have surrounding this. You want to share that post to help a stranger but they have only had an account for a week. You want to spread that resource, but unfortunately it is only available as screenshots of an anonymous instagram account. You think that perhaps that mutual aid group really can help people, but the only way contact them is to put your info into a google form and send an email to their gmail account. That post seems really helpful, but actually you can’t find anything that suggests that the Mt. Pacifico Aquatic Center exists outside of this twitter account. No more guilt! Guilt be gone! You do not have to feel bad for not sharing these things, or not reaching out, or not giving money because doing so would be irresponsible and would put other people at risk of being tricked by scammers or wasting what money they can donate on a potential fraud.

Now, some tips:

Always, always, always take at least ten minutes to think about giving someone money or your information online. Read the post that moved you, then re-read it, then go sit away from it for ten minutes and think about it. There’s a good chance you will still want to give, or sign up, but ten minutes away will give you a chance to consider if there are any red flags in the post that inspired you.

Independently search everything you’re going to share. Go outside of social platforms and check on search engines. Check Wikipedia. Look up the website and send a while clicking around. Go on a *different* social media platform and check their account.

Just straight up search “[SUBJECT] Scam” before you do anything. See if this thing you’re looking at is actually an old scam that’s revamped for a new disaster. See if you can find an explanation of how something might be a scam or risk in a way that you didn’t understand before.

Get used to getting away from social media. Go check websites.

Learn domain name syntax. “musicfoundationguit.arcenter.com” is a bullshit scam. “guitarcenterfounditaon.org” is a bullshit scam. “guitarcenter-foundation.org” is a bullshit scam. The actual domain is “guitarcenterfoundation.org” and the link to the correct page isn’t going to be “guitarcenter.foundationfires.org” it’s going to be “guitarcenterfoundation.org/fires”  

Tips for Orgs:

If you do not want your org to look like a scam you are going to have to put some effort into it. Unfortunately this will probably also require at least a little bit of money; I know it’s hard to get money together at the beginning, but it will pay off in the long run.

Invest in a domain and hosted email. You can get relatively inexpensive hosted email through most domain registrars and even if you only get one email address for your domain you can forward it to all the free gmail and protonmail accounts you want. But buy a domain, set up a simple website, and get an  info@[yourdomain].com email set up because you don’t want people emailing “MyOrgInfo@gmail.com” because it’s super fucking easy for a 1337 hax0r like me to set up “YourOrgTeam@gmail.com” and scam the people who want to reach out to you.

Make a blog on your actual website, not on a social media site. A blog means that you can make regular posts and establish a history to prove that you are real and you do real stuff; it will also help with SEO and help to ensure that when people search for your org YOU are what comes up. Keeping up calendars of previous activities with links to those activities is also good.

Set up social handles on all the sites you use, make a “socials” page on your website, and link to your handles so that people can verify if you’re the one posting something. If you don’t make it extremely easy to find your socials, that means it’s extremely easy to set up fake accounts claiming to be you. Then put the link to your website in the bio on your socials.

If you are offering something or holding a fundraiser or doing anything on your social media page, link it back to your website. If you have an IG post offering resources, you should include a url for your site in each image. If you share a photo on twitter with the info for a march, that should link back to your website with more info about the march. If you post a fundraiser on tumblr you need to link the fundraising page of your website on that post.

If you absolutely positively cannot set up a website and a real-ass email address, set up a linktree, choose a primary social media to post on that all the others refer back to, and very explicitly state what your email address is and that you do not have other email addresses somewhere that's difficult to miss. Build a history of posts and link to other orgs that you work with or any writeups or stories about your events or projects. The point of all of this is making yourself easy to verify. "northfullertonfnb@gmail.com" sucks but it sucks a lot less if it's in the bio of "@northfulltertonfnb" and that page has a two year history of posting meal share schedules and menus.

In conclusion, don't share things that you haven't personally checked. When in doubt, it is always safer not to share.

[chunkofchange]

i think im gonna have to put them down ..

[mwphisto]

LaDs Men and the nicknames they love

Pairings include: Xavier x Reader | Rafayel x Reader | Zayne x Reader | Sylus x Reader | Caleb x Reader

Warning, this post contains: very light smut, nothing super detailed but definitely suggestive! Also fluff! Read at your own risk!

A/N: all moving banners in the post are by @cafekitsune + please be kind, as these are just my opinion / nicknames I have for them in game and in writings I’ve done. I had fun with this one! I def have more to write so you’ll be seeing more of me soon, thank you for the support!

Xavier

🐰Baby

Xavier isn’t sure what it is about the nickname. It’s so popular, so widely used, almost cliche. Some couples even find it cringy, and for him? It’s pretty damn modern. Maybe that’s why he loves it so much. Something about the way you sound when you call him baby, the tone of your voice, the caress of your fingers. That soft and sleepy “good morning, baby.” Sends his heart into a frenzy. It sparks kiss, then two, then three, and suddenly you’re making out and he’s shoving down his sweats to get inside of you.

“Keep calling me that, please. Need you to keep calling me your baby… I love it so much… fuck!”

🐰Xavi

Simple, sweet, playful. The first time you uttered the shortened version of his name, blood rushed to Xavier’s face. It wasn’t expect it, and for some reason it gave him cuteness aggression. He felt the need to tug you close, suffocate you with his hugs and kisses and maybe slip a nibble or two in there. However, the nickname could be used as a weapon against him. You’ve become prone to using it when he’s mad or jealous. “C’mon, Xavi! He was just giving me bread.” Yeah sure, just bread. That’s the first step, next is getting into your bed. Still, there is nothing he loves more than that nickname.

“Xavi, he’s just giving me bread!” His tone is higher, mocking you as he pounds you into the mattress. Xavi being the only name you can utter as he fucks you utterly senseless.

🐰Bunny

A classic. He just… he’s so… you know? How can you not? He’s your little bunny boy, your sweet, totally innocent bunny boy. You usually call him bunny through text, sending him selfies with the bunny plushie he won you in the claw machine (seems he had a new enemy). Bunny has also become a dual nickname, he’ll call you bunny right back whenever you’re excited or… riled up. It just suits him, suits you, makes perfect sense. “we also tend to fuck like bunnies.” A prompt slap to his bare shoulder sent him into a giggling fit.

“Tell—ha—tell me I’m wrong, my lil bunny…”

Rafayel

🐚 Bub or Bubba

This nickname just came so naturally once you and Rafayel had officially began dating. It just slipped out one day and Rafayel didn’t point it out — simply because he didn’t think you noticed. Then, it happened again, and again, and again. The variation between bub and bubba and sometimes both came out within the span of a minute. Eventually he teased you about it, but you claimed you couldn’t help yourself because he was just too cute. “If you can call me cutie, I can call you bubba.” Rafayel wasn’t complaining though.

“My sweet girl.” A gentle coo in your ear as he hugged you tighter from behind, lips ghosting the shell of your ear as his hips grind forward. “Let your bubba take care of you.”

🐚 Guppy

Rafayel had a huge love hate relationship with this chosen nickname. Initially he had gotten a little defensive, pouting his lips and puffing his cheeks and accidentally reinforcing your love for the nickname in the process. Now? He actually had to admit he thought it was pretty cute. Especially when you’d waltz into his studio, arms wrapping around his neck as you peck his cheek. “Is this your latest piece, guppy? It looks beautiful already!” The nickname was sweet, so sweet it made his cheeks warm every time you used it.

“You like this, huh guppy?” He was going to lose it, tugging against the silk restraints with a frustrated whine. “C-course…” but you fixed him in place with a cool stare “I mean… yes!”

🐚 Raffie

It came out while play fighting one night and Rafayel made you repeat it three times before bursting into a fit of giggles. He’d never heard anyone make his name cute before, so it was only right that his cutie was the one to do it. Though, there was also the argument that he had never let anyone get as close to him as you were. So, in a sense, the shortened and cute-ified version of his name was yours for the taking. It always had been, he was certain of it. “Raffie, what are we gonna do today? Wanna walk on the beach?” Or “Raffie, you’re wiggling too much I’m trying to sleep” no matter the context, Rafayel loved hearing the little nickname from you.

“R-Raffie! Feels so… good please don’t stop!” Your hips jerk against his lips, a fist full of his hair in your fingers: still, the nickname slipped past your lips. You weren’t far gone yet.”

Zayne

❄️ My Love

Just like all of your nicknames for him, none of them really shone through until after the surgeon and you made things official. So, it should be no surprise that Zayne’s face turned a shade of crimson the first time you said it. “My love, where did you put my reusable cup? I need it for training tomorrow.” Poor thing, he short circuited for a good two minutes before finally telling you where the cup had been moved to. Once he was used to it? Zayne started using the nickname back at you. “My love” became a common phrase.

“My love, I’ve missed you—“ a kiss “—so damn—“ another kiss “much…!” You were all over each other, two weeks apart due to surgeries and missions really caught up to you both.

❄️ Sweetheart

You picked it up from the man himself. Every time Zayne called you sweetheart, you found yourself calling it back. Turns out you were both creatures of habit. Whatever one did, eventually the other would pick up. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Don’t stay too late, those files can always wait for the next shift.” Your voice filled this ear, a gentle sigh leaving Zayne’s lips as tired eyes scanned over his computer screen. “Don’t worry, I’ll be mindful of the time. I just have to do one more round and I’ll be on my way home. Don’t wait up for me.” The sweet nickname was the mood boost Zayne needed to finish his shift.

“Hi, sweetheart.” It was groggy, a kiss on your brow was all you needed to know your lover was home. “Hi, my love.” You shivered at the cool sensation of his hands slipping under the covers, roaming your skin in search of some much needed warmth.

❄️ Zaynie

A nickname that you had used on him since childhood, and yet it never failed to make his heart beat just a little faster. As cute as it was, it carried a level of intimacy and domestic nature that made Zayne smile. “Zaynie! It’s your day off, what do you want to do?” And — astra help him — he could think of serval things he wanted to do that didn’t so much as involve leaving his bed. You were just too cute for his heart to handle, so sweet and beautiful and— well it is his day off after all.

“How about this, my love… does this work?” Your mind is reeling, a quite plea if “zaynie…” leaving your lips out of habit.

Sylus

🍷Handsome

Sylus could have fainted the first time you called him handsome. You had done it so nonchalantly, so genuinely too, for the first time the leader of Onychinus didn’t know what to do with himself. You noticed, of course, the little hitch in his breath and the widening of his eyes. And you didn’t say a word, just tucked it in the back of your mind for later. Eventually he got used to you calling him handsome, but it didn’t stop the flutter in his chest when you did. “Morning, handsome. Are we going to go for a walk?” Sure, a walk works, but he can think of way better things to do to… warm up.

“S-so handsome, my ha-handsome boy—“ Sylus groaned, hips swiveling against yours. “Still praising me? What a good girl…”

🍷My Beloved

He thinks you got the nickname from him, considering he’s called you it a handful of times himself. So, it becomes a shared nickname for eachother, and Sylus finds himself grinning like a fool whenever he hears you calling him. “Are you ready to go, my beloved?” Your hand is extended towards him, you’re both dressed to the nines, and he swears the butterflies in his chest are about to break through his damn rib cage. “Course I am, beautiful.” With a shaky little breath, his fingers intertwined with your own. Now? It was time to get the job done… hopefully he could focus for that long—

“Couldn’t help yourself, beloved?” This wasn’t exactly your first time getting pressed up against a wall by your lover while on a mission. And it certainly wouldn’t be your last… “you know I’m insatiable.”

🍷Sy

It was so effortless falling from your lips that Sylus barely noticed it the first few times you had used it. It wasn't until the twins had begun to chuckle that Sylus picked up on the key detail his brain had been glossing over. "So domestic, boss!" to which the two of them were banished from the kitchen. All you could do was laugh, a dopey grin on your face as your lover approached you with mock disdain. "Using a nickname in front of those two... what a dangerous game you're playing, kitten." You could only continue your giggling, even as he picked you up and placed you on the marble countertop. "Naughty naughty..."

"S-sy! Sylus! Shit- slow down!" But he could feel you thrusting your hips backwards to meet his erratic thrusts. "You're so indecisive -ha- kitten."

Caleb

🍏 Honey

Caleb had been cheeky back when you pretended to be his girlfriend, using the pet name as frequently as he could to really sell the act. But, somewhere along the way after things became official, you had begun to use the term genuinely. "Hi honey." Here and "honey, where did you put the laundry detergent?" there and suddenly he was doing it too. It made him feel warm and fuzzy every time you uttered the phrase, and he didn’t dare tease you about it in fear that you’d stop using it all together. He could be your honey any time.

“You like that, honey? Like when I do this?” His lips are all over your chest, nipping and sucking and licking. “Bet you do, you’re as sweet as honey… how about I give you some of my honey too?”

🍏 Lover Boy

It had started as a joke, you even changed his name in your phone to the silly little name. Then? It was something that stuck. He’d say something to you with hearts in his eyes and you couldn’t help but chuckle, a fond smile on your face as you whisper “okay, lover boy, whatever you say.” Other times, you’d come home from work with a tired expression on your face and sleepily mutter it. And fuck did it drive Caleb wild. Sometimes he’d even use it against you, just to see your face fall apart as he pressed his body against yours, whispering the beloved nickname in your ear.

“This is what you want your lover boy to do, huh? Fuck this pretty pussy stupid with his cock? Yeah, good girl, I bet.”

🍏 Kay (pronounced like a shortened version of his name)

You’ve used the nickname since childhood, a shortened version of his name that he’s become damn near trained to respond to. “C’mon, Kay, please?” Anytime you’d want him to cook for you, or do your share of chores, or when you needed help with your homework. The list goes on and on, but Kay was such a special term to him. He loved how sweet and natural it felt coming from your mouth. Even if you were whining a majority of the time you used it.

“Kay! C’mon! Harder!” You’re flushed and drooling, nails biting into his shoulders as you plead with him to fuck you just a little rougher.

[beloveds-embrace]

AND ALSO POLY!141

joking around and calling them your brothers and they go deathly silent because what do you mean tou don’t see them romantically? doesn’t matter if they’re already involved with each other they want you to be just as involved too.

also this is toxic but threatening your various dates, stalking them and taking them out (not in the romantic way) so they have an excuse to hold you close. you get comforted, and they get to embrace your warmth #win-win

Friendzoned? Nah, it’s bro-zoned now 😭

The one good thing about grueling and long missions- were the post-missions.

Without fail, each time, you’d be invited to their house where Price would grill up something delicious and juicy on the barbecue, and everyone would be able to unwind. You enjoyed that time, spending it and relaxing with them.

The dynamic you all shared was easy, comfortable, and fun- at least for you.

You rolled your eyes and tossed a fry at Johnny, who caught it in his mouth with a proud grin and wagged his eyebrows, daring you to try again. “You’re like an annoying big brother, you know that?” you huffed at last, a matching grin on your face.

Johnny froze mid-chew, but you didn’t notice, too busy thinking. “Actually… all of you are like annoying big brothers, now that I think about it.”

You chuckles at your own thought, grabbing another fry from your plate and popping it into your mouth without once realizing the shift in the atmosphere. You didn’t catch the way Soap’s grin had vanished completely or how Price’s hand tightened around the armrest of his chair. Gaz’s usual easy smile was gone, replaced with a cold, unreadable expression, and Ghost… well, Ghost’s dark stare had become a touch more menacing.

The silence hung heavy, but you were blissfully unaware, waving your hand dismissively when no one responded. Your focus was on your phone, scrolling through your social medias. “What? You all went quiet on me.”

Soap cleared his throat, but it came out strained, his voice low. “Brother, huh?”

You hummed absently. “Yeah, you know- family. You guys are my family. Like brothers, watching each other’s backs and all that.”

Price exhaled slowly, sitting back in his chair and running a hand over his beard. “Family.” He repeated, almost under his breath, his voice calm but tight.

Gaz tapped his fingers against the table once, then twice, before stopping abruptly. “Is that all we are to you?” he asked casually enough, though his tone carried an edge you didn’t catch.

“Of course,” you replied with a shrug, not bothering to look up from your food and phone. “I mean, it’d be weird to think of you any other way. You’re my team, my brothers-in-arms.”

You missed the way Ghost’s hands curled into fists on the table, his knuckles white, or the way Soap’s jaw clenched, demeanor replaced with something far darker. Price exchanged a look with Gaz, silent communication passing between them while you obliviously chewed on your steak, still oblivious to the storm brewing around you.

If you’d glanced up, even for a second, you might’ve noticed the way their gazes lingered on you- too intense, too sharp. But you didn’t. And they weren’t about to correct you.

Not yet, anyways.

The first time it happened, you didn’t connect the dots.

Your date, some charming guy you met at a café off base, canceled on you last minute, claiming he “didn’t feel safe” after someone left a threatening note on his car windshield. You shrugged it off as a weird coincidence- maybe it was the universe looking out for you, even. You didn’t want to be dragged into whatever that guy was stuck in.

The second time, a woman from the gym you’d been chatting with stopped replying to your texts entirely after she mentioned being followed home one night. You’d honestly tried to call and check on her, but she just… blocked you. Weird.

By the third time, when a guy you’d met on a dating app ghosted you entirely after his apartment was mysteriously broken into, you started to suspect something was up.

You mentioned it offhandedly to the team one evening, voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t know what’s going on, but every time I try to date someone, something weird happens. It’s like the universe doesn’t want me to find someone!”

Soap hummed, a little too casually, but you simply discarded that thought. “Maybe the universe knows what’s best for you, bonnie.”

Gaz leaned back in his chair, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Or maybe these people weren’t good enough for you anyway.”

“You’ve got us to look after you. Don’t need anyone else mucking things up.” Even Price added in his own two cents, making you pause.

You laughed, thinking they were joking, but Ghost’s silence was unsettling- actually, none of them were laughing. He just stared at you, his eyes glinting in a way that made your stomach twist. But that was normal for your L.T… even if it’s been quite a long while since he’s made you feel like that.

The fourth time, it wasn’t just a weird incident. It was a full-on assault.

You were on another date- though even you had to admit this one was just… not going well. He was too dismissive, too loud, and the first thing he’d said before you even sat down was that you’d split the bill, and then he made a comment about you eating too much.

You’d sent a simple text to the team groupchat, telling them you really weren’t enjoying this one, and they’d left you on read. Bastards.

But then you date had been walking you to your car when someone stepped out of the shadows- a big, familiar hulking figure in a balaclava. Your date didn’t even have time to react before they were on the ground, unconscious.

“Come on,” Simon said, gently but firmly clasping his hand around yours. You were too shocked to even say anything- what the fuck? “Let’s get you home.”

You didn’t argue. Your heart was pounding too hard, and Simon took advantage of that to guide you to his car.

“Simon-“

“No.”

And thus the silence continued.

When you got back to their house, the others were waiting for you. Price immediately pulled you into a hug before you could demand answers, his hands firm but gentle on your lower back. “You’re safe now.” He murmured, as if soothing an angry kitten lashing out at him from fear. Despite your confusion and the flurry of emotions swirling in your chest, the tension in your body began to melt anyways, always so trusting of your Captain.

Gaz’s hand brushed against yours as he handed you a steaming cup of tea immediately once Price let go of you. His smile was kind, but his eyes seemed… off. Too sharp. “Drink this, yeah? It’ll help.” He said, his fingers lingering a second too long before retreating.

Before you could question the strange atmosphere, Soap tugged you down to sit beside him on the couch. His arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close as though you were on the verge of breaking. “You’ll be alright,” he murmured, tone light yet firm. “We’ve got you.”

Simon remained silent, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. His presence loomed heavy in the room, his gaze never straying from you. It wasn’t comforting exactly- more like being caught in the sights of a predator lying in wait. Is this what the enemy soldiers thought and felt? You pitied them- but more than that you pitied yourself.

Your hands tightened around the warm mug, your confusion bubbling up like a shaken-up fizzy drink. “Okay, what the hell is going on?” You glanced between them, searching for answers. “Simon knocked out my date! What if he presses charges? And what’s with all this- this hovering?”

“Hovering?” Soap echoed, his arm tightening ever so slightly. “We’re making sure you’re alright, bonnie. That’s all. You said your date wasn’t good, no?”

Price leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke calmly, like he was explaining something obvious to a stubborn recruit. “That man wasn’t worth your time. None of your dates have been. They can’t protect you- not the way we can.”

“What are you even talking about?” you demanded, finally pulling away from Soap’s hold. Yet the feeling of being a bleeding sheep surrounded by wolves didn’t abate. “You’ve been acting so weird lately- ever since I mentioned dating. If there’s something you’re not telling me, just spit it out!”

Gaz sighed, his tone carrying a note of exasperation as he leaned against the couch. “We’re trying to keep you safe, love. Every time you step out with someone, you’re putting yourself at risk. You don’t know these people like we do.”

Your stomach churned. “What do you mean-?”

Gaz chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, and you did not laugh. “Do you think we’d let you go out with someone without knowing everything about them first? Their names, their jobs, their pasts…” His voice dropped, a edge bleeding into his words. “How to get rid of them.”

Your blood ran cold, and you stared between them. They were dead serious, you realized. “That’s… You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking.”

No one answered.

Simon pushed off the wall, his massive frame closing the distance between you in just a few steps. He crouched down in front of you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. You were essentially boxed in from all sides. “We’re not joking. You don’t need anyone else. You’ve got us.”

“…This isn’t normal.” You whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to process what you were hearing. “This- I don’t-“

“It is normal,” Price’s voice was steady and calm, eyes dark. “For us. For the people who care about you most.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as the implications of their words sank in. They weren’t just being overprotective or overbearing. They were sabotaging your dates, controlling who could get close to you, and now- God, had they hurt people? How many had they hurt? All those people- you-

Your hands trembled, though you braved on even if bravery was the last thing you felt. “You can’t just decide this for me. I’m not some possession you can keep to yourselves.”

“We’re not keeping you from anything you need,” Gaz spoke so softly, you could trick yourself into believing he was saying you could leave and this was all just a mean prank. “We’re protecting you from what you don’t.”

“You should be thanking us,” Proce sighed, pulling out a cigar to smoke. Yet his eyes did not leave you even once, not even for a single second. “We’re the reason you’ve been safe so far.”

Simon’s gloved hands rested on your knees, pinning you down to the couch. “We’ll take care of you,” he said, his voice low and almost soothing. “Always.”

You wanted to argue, to push them away, but the realization- the full weight of what they had done hit you like a freight train. You stood abruptly, pushing past Simon and cutting through the tense silence in the room. Their eyes followed your every move, like predators watching prey.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” you stammered, stepping back toward the door. “This isn’t normal. None of this is normal. You can’t just- control my life like this!”

“Sit down, love.” Price said, his voice calm, but the edge in it was unmistakable.

“No, no,” you shot back, shaking your head as you took another step toward the door. “I’m leaving. I need some space. This- this is insane.”

Gaz rose from his chair, moving to block your path to the exit. His expression was so deceptively soft, but his stance was firm, unyielding. “You’re not thinking clearly, love.” He said, low. “Just sit down. We’ll talk it through.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you snapped, your voice rising with panic. “You’ve been stalking me- sabotaging my life! That’s not protection. That’s obsession!”

Soap stood then, and his expression made you flinch. He stepped closer, effectively boxing you in again as he joined Gaz. “We’re not letting you walk out that door.” He said simply, but his words were anything but.

You turned toward the only other way out, but Simon was already there, his massive frame looming in the doorway to the hall. He didn’t say a word, just stared, his presence alone enough to make your stomach twist.

Your breathing quickened as you turned back to Price, the only one still seated, though his gaze was sharp and calculating. “You can’t keep me here, Price,” you said, your voice trembling but still clinging to the traces of defiance. “You don’t have the right-“

“We do have the right,” Price interrupted, standing slowly. The sheer authority- the sheer finality in his voice made your knees weak. “Because we’re the only ones who care about you the way we do. The only ones who’ll keep you safe. Your team, remember, darling?”

“This isn’t safety,” you hissed, backing toward the wall. “This is prison.”

Price mouthed the word, then huffed a humorless laugh. “We’re not locking you up. But we will stop you from running into danger. Even if you don’t understand it now, you’ll thank us later.”

“You can’t just-“

“Enough,” Simon cut in, sharp and blunt, his voice cutting through your protests like a knife. “You’re not leaving. Not now. Not ever.”

Your back hit the wall, your escape routes blocked on all sides. Your chest heaved as you looked at each of them, searching for even a sliver of remorse. But all you saw was determination, faces set in stone…

Much like your fate.

[peanutpinet]

Can u create a sylus x reader where she is doing errands while sylus is in a meeting, and she finds sexy undergarments and thinks about buying them. Without her knowing, mephesto is watching her and sylus is distracted?

Also I re downloaded this app just bec of your posts!!! Love it

Confidently Shy (Sylus x Fem Reader)

Request: Can u create a sylus x reader where she is doing errands while sylus is in a meeting, and she finds sexy undergarments and thinks about buying them. Without her knowing, mephesto is watching her and sylus is distracted?

A/N: hi reader, thank you for your request. I think this will actually be the first-ever actual suggestive content that I’ve written. I apologise in advanced for not writing smut as I’m still uncomfortable writing but maybe one day

Warnings: illegal business, slight stalking (Sylus using mephisto and checking the bills that went through his card), makeout, suggestive content

Disclaimer: This work is completely fiction. I do not own the images nor the characters or you (the MC). All images were taken from Pinterest.

It was a quiet evening as Sylus was in the midst of his meeting, a meeting that bored him to the point he was getting sick of the facade that his business partner was making and decided to go over his tabs on his investments, his other business streams, and even bills that were charged under his card; specifically the ones that were made by you.

As the meeting continued on, Sylus sipped on his wine, scrolling through the tabs of what you were purchasing with his cards. Some groceries that cost only 100 dollars, several books that cost about 30 dollars and about 50 dollars for a set of undergarments?

“Well, this is something different” Sylus chuckled as he saw the amount that recently was charged to his card and what it was

Sylus decided to go a little further and looked at his other tab, which was linked to Mephisto. He knew that it was wrong to stalk you especially ever since you two were together, Sylus had ever paid attention to the recordings Mephisto had of you but he still had Mephisto keep an eye on you just in case.

As Sylus was playing the recording, he saw you walk into the undergarment store, eyeing on a few pieces until your gaze seemingly lingered on a black lace pair. It wasn’t a black show through kind of lace but it still covered what he felt you didn’t have to cover. It was a black full-cup bralette with a matching pair of bikini-style underwear.

Just imagining you in the undergarments made his breath hitched and felt a strain in his pants. It doesn’t help that his business partner keeps on rambling things that he knew were all fake and he already had Luke and Kieran prepared with the necessary proofs.

But he didn’t have to stay longer because he heard the little ring when someone enters the penthouse and he knew that it was you. The only other person to have access to the apartment were Luke and Kieran; meaning that it was you that just came into the door.

Without thinking, Sylus stood up and held his gun towards his business partner who was immediately confused but held their arms up nevertheless. “Mr, Mr Sylus, is so-something wrong?” his business partner stuttered

“I’m going to give you some time to get out of my personal space before I tip the press regarding your corruption issue and how you’ve been leading on to your clients on high-graded protocores when you so clearly don’t have any real protocores”

Without saying anything, his business partner knows that they shouldn’t cross the lines. That the tone Sylus was using was already a warning of ‘get out or I’ll show you another way out’.

His business partner scrambles out of the other door that he brought him in rather than the regular door that is connected to the rest of his penthouse because that is reserved specifically for you (ehem, Luke, Kieran, and Mephisto).

Sylus texted Luke and Kieran to handle his business partner and try to not return until later in the night which they got the hint and left the penthouse for you and him alone.

Sylus put his phone away and went out of his office to see you were cooking, the groceries you bought were already put away, and some of the chores were being done like laundry. But he was most curious of the undergarments that you bought.

Sneaking up slowly, Sylus wrapped his large arms around your waist while he lightly kissed your near down to your neck; making you giggle at Sylus’ sudden clingy attitude.

“Someone’s getting clingy” you giggled, making Sylus smile by your shoulder where he rested his chin. “Well, you left too early in the morning sweetie. I was still asleep yet my personal bed warmer was gone. Quite unfair when I always cuddle you to sleep, sweetie”

Hearing Sylus’ clingy self, you chuckled and turned off the stove before turning around. “I take it that your meeting didn’t go as planned?” you lightly cup his cheek, your thumb gently caressing the undereye circles underneath while he hummed against your hand and kissed it

“You can say that” Sylus grumbled, inhaling your scent that he has grown accustomed to

“Alright then, good thing I made one of your favourites. Creamy potato soup with steak and…” you didn’t even get to finish listing of the wine you bought for Sylus when he suddenly pressed his lips onto your, connecting you both.

Sylus was being particularly eager but he made sure to put one of his hand behind your head as he directed you away from the stove and onto the kitchen counter. Sylus gently lifted you onto the counter but never once did his lips part from you. In fact, Sylus tried to deepen the kiss even further which made you gasped; allowing Sylus’ tongue slip pass through and explore your tongue while his hand snaked underneath your shirt and lightly rubbed your exposed skin while your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist which made Sylus pull you even closer, his hand now snaked up to where your bra was; his fingers lightly toying with your bra.

You on the other hand was feeling a bit overwhelmed with Sylus’ sudden physical behaviour because normally he was able to control himself unless it was in the safe space of your share bedroom. Luckily enough, when you tapped Sylus’ shoulder to catch your breath, Sylus reluctantly pulled away and wiped your now smudged lipstick while you were trying to catch your breath, steadying your hands on his shoulders.

“Forgive me, sweetie. I went too far, didn’t I?” Sylus apologised, this time gently kissing your forehead, his lips lingering longer until your breathing was finally stable

“It’s just…” you started talking and Sylus put a distance between you two, ensuring your comfort first, trying his best to not give in to temptation

“Go on sweetie. Tell me if I was wrong” Sylus stated but you shook your head, lightly tugging on his hand so we would come back closer which he did and you hugged him, laying your head on his chest

“It’s just, it’s not like you to suddenly kiss me. Is something wrong that made you quite eager? Did you have a nightmare or something?” you asked, worried about his well-being

But instead, Sylus shook his head, chuckling at your worried tone. He gently cup your cheek and kissed the top of your head. “Nothing sweetie. Can’t I be clingy to the love of my life?”

Hearing Sylus say that made you blush which made Sylus chuckle even more, leaning into your ear and whispered, “Well I supposed it’s because a certain mechanical bird told me that you were shopping today and I was hoping to see what you bought in the last store you went to considering it’s not the regular amount you would spend on things you wear”

Immediately you know which store he was talking about and what you bought. Was he checking his tabs? Or was Mephisto snitching on you? Either way, you couldn’t help but blush and shyly buried your face in his chest.

“I’m teasing sweetie. If you don’t want to show me it’s completely fine. I respect your wishes. A man can only envision what the love of his life wears but I am a man who respects your comfort above all so I’m alright sweetie. Don’t worry about me” Sylus hugged your body against his, his touch were gentle

“I was just a bit distracted when I saw the store you went to and the piece you bought. That’s all. I promise” Sylus admitted, hoping you don’t find him creepy or weird

“I know you were just keeping tabs for your accountant and I know Mephisto spies on me to ensure my safety. I appreciate you taking care of me Sy” you replied, feeling grateful that even though you were sometimes nervous going out alone when who knows what trouble might be lurking around, you knew that Sylus would always ensure your safety no matter how busy he was

“I umm actually…I bought it for our trip. When we’re going to spend time together in the late-night breeze by the beach” you admitted, shyly looking away again

Certainly, this information caught Sylus off guard. Had you wanted to surprise him later on during the trip which he almost forgot he planned? But Sylus quickly regained his composure and gave you a soft smile, gently holding your cheeks to face him.

“Aren’t you the most adorable and thoughtful person I’ve ever come across in my life? Tell me kitten, were you planning on surprising me with this new piece?” Sylus teasingly asked while you playfully smacked his chest, making him laugh

“I’m kidding. I promise I’ll wait whenever you’re ready to show it to me” Sylus softly reassured you

As you lifted your head off his chest, you shyly looked away for a moment before replying him. “Well, if you’re that eager, I supposed you can have a look…”

Hearing your response, Sylus’ ears perked up but he calmed himself first and shook his head. “It’s okay sweetie. You bought it for a surprise then I’ll wait for the surprise. I’m not going to let you ruin my surprise until we’re at the resort for our trip”

“Then, I can show you something else that I have that’s similar…” you looked away as you were replying to him, making Sylus chuckle again

“Only if you want to, sweetie. But first, we should eat the food you prepare before it gets cold then if you really want to show me, I wouldn’t mind seeing it and having my dessert” Sylus teased, helping you down from the kitchen counter while you smack him again making him laugh but both of you knew that Sylus is a man of his word.

No matter how much teasing and anticipation he has, he would always prioritise your comfort and consent first. Period.

A/N: I tried to make it a bit spicy but of course, fluffy at the same time. I'll say this once, Sylus is a man of consent and every woman deserves a man like him. period 💅

[16wolke11]

Actual Girlfriend - Lando Norris

A/N Okay, okay you guys convinced me to post it! I am not hating on any the drivers girlfriends/friends/situationships or whatever, and this shot was written before the GP on Sunday, just updated slightly (:

WORDS: 2529 _____

I knew what I had signed up for when I started dating Lando Norris. Late-night calls due to different time zones, meeting in secret, and trying to stay out of the media's focus. He is a public figure and I am just about to graduate from university. Keeping our relationship private felt safe at first, romantic like in a novel, but the downside came around quicker than I thought it would. 

Monaco was the downfall. The weekend, I couldn’t even attend if I wanted to. My final exam was coming up in the following week, and as much as I wanted to be there for Lando, I needed to sit this race out. Lando was understanding, even encouraging me to stay home and ace my exams, but the distance hurt deep down in my chest. 

Lando made the effort to keep in touch with me. He texted me in the morning, between the sessions, and I tried to reply to him and keep things light, but it felt harder and harder with every short message or blurry picture he sent over. 

Good morning, Love. Quali is today. Wish me luck?

I smile softly at his message, him acting like I might forget how important today is and I can only think about that smile on his lips when he asks for some luck. 

Stay out of the barriers (:

It feels cold-hearted even to me, but I can’t bring myself to write anything else. My chest feels hollow, and I am unable to display the affection he deserves, but I hope all of this will fade when we are back together. 

By the time qualifying came around, social media was buzzing. Usually, I try to keep myself away from gossip pages, but some pictures draw me to them. There is Magui, laughing in the paddock with some friends, even spotted with Lando’s parents and my heart sinks. The pictures aren’t overly confirming, but they bring on even more speculations. Fans are picturing things with the crumbs they collected over the last months. 

Oh god, Magui is with McLaren!

They are so soft launching.

This is a hard launch for their standards. 

May I present to you Lando “Magui is just my friend” Norris.

Guess the rumours were true for once. 

Every comment feels like a knife being dragged over my heart. I know that it is just fan theories, Lando being the one loving me, but it still gnaws at me. This is what comes with dating someone famous: rumours and everything I should keep my distance from. But as much as I want to ignore it, every time I open any social media, it gets worse. 

The algorithm is laughing at me while showing me more pictures of Magui around the paddock. Being in the team hospitality, lingering around Lando’s crew and even more pictures with Cisca and Adam. I stare at the last picture for a whole minute before locking my phone, throwing it face down on my bed. 

I didn’t say anything to Lando, not wanting to seem jealous, insecure or clingy. But the ache is real, and it doesn’t fade during the day. It doesn’t fade when Lando gets pole, breaking the lap record in Monaco and even though a smile comes to my lips while seeing him celebrate, it doesn’t soothe anything. 

That night, my phone lights up, a FaceTime call from Lando and I answer it, managing to put half a smile on my face. 

“Hey there stranger.” Lando greets me, grinning widely, but his eyes are tired. Curls still damp from the shower, and it looks like he is ready to drop onto his bed and sleep until the race is about to start tomorrow. 

“Look at you, breaking records and snatching pole.” I tease him, feeling genuinely happy, no matter how much my heart aches. 

“You should be here.” Lando says, not accusing me of something, just simple honesty. “It's not the same without you.” He adds and it doesn’t help the aching feeling in my chest. 

“You have company.” I say, tilting my head slightly, trying to indicate his parents being around him all the time, but it comes out way too bitter. Lando’s smile drops and my stomach twists, knowing he can sense my discomfort through the phone. There is a pause, dreading and long enough to sting. 

“She is just around because of mutual friends and stuff. You still know that.” Lando speaks up quickly, before a sigh leaves his lips. “Right?” His eyes scan my face, like he is trying to figure out through the screen if I am serious or not. 

“Yeah.” I just hum and we look at each other for a moment. 

“I miss you.” Lando whispers and I hate it even more that I can’t be with him. That this dam exam has to be this week and not when there is no upcoming race weekend. But I worked so hard for this degree, and I will finish it. After that, I can go to more races, hopefully, being right by Lando’s side. 

“I miss you too.” I admit, I feel the urge to explain something to him. “It just feels so hard this weekend, Lando. Seeing and reading all of this. It makes me feel like a dirty secret.” I feel bad for my feelings and know I shouldn’t be, but the pressure on my shoulders does get less with telling Lando. 

“You’re not a secret.” Lando rubs the back of his neck. “You are mine and I like to keep you safe.” My heart flutters softly. Lando always had a protective side. When it comes to his family and when it comes to me. No harm through the media and the fans, especially after what happened with his previous girlfriend and every girl he just looked at for a little too long.

“Just…just do well tomorrow, okay?” I whisper, not wanting to keep this topic any longer. We will have to speak about it again, but not now. I don’t want to pull his attention away from his race and Lando’s face softened.

“For you? Always.” Then he grins softly, and everything feels like it's going to be okay. We hung up not long after, the screen going black again, drenching me in silence. 

I wake up early on race day, even though I don’t want to. Having way too much time now to cover before the race starts. Revising for my exam doesn’t help, wandering around in the apartment makes waiting even worse and even though I usually don’t even watch it, I put on the prerace coverage, hoping it will help me to be distracted. Celebrities walk over the grind, Monaco shining in all its glory and then the race is about to start. 

Part of me doesn’t even want to watch the race, but in the end, I didn’t move from the TV or shut it off. Curled up on the couch, cameras showing the grid for the last time, before the lights go out. Just in the first corner, I fear the race is over for Lando when he locks up, but manages to keep his car safe. My heartbeat is way too quick, but slowly the nerves die down. 

Monaco isn’t the most exciting race when it comes to overtakes, but every little mistake can cost the people on the grid everything. Lando drives around with ease and with every lap nearing the end, lets a proud feeling rise in my chest. He is going to nail it. 

The day would be great if it weren’t for two sentences from the TV commentators that stick with me. 

“And there is Lando Norris' girlfriend.”

“Lando Norris' parents and his partner.”

All the happiness that was building up falls apart when Magui is displayed on the screens and the commentators are calling her Lando’s girlfriend. It feels like betrayal and tears rise to my eyes. I don’t even want to cry, but it seems to be the only thing that soothes the ache in my chest. 

Lando wins the Monaco Grand Prix for the first time, and I cheer at the screen, softly, not as loudly as I usually would. I feel broken, but still full of pride, with a mixture of disbelief and joy. He did it. 

The camera follows him when he jumps out of the car, when he is hugged and kissed by his parents. Loving to see them so affectionate, but still, heart-aching about what happened. The podium ceremony went by like a blur and I can’t bring myself to turn off the TV, just staring at it, until my phone buzzes. 

It's Lando. 

Please watch the post-race interviews.

I sigh, eyes focusing back on the screen, making the sound a bit louder, when Lando appears on the screen, still grinning widely. Curls damp by sweat and champagne, but he bubbles with happiness. 

“Hi Lando, congrats on the race win here in Monaco.” Nathalie Pinkham starts, sounding like a proud mother while speaking to Lando. 

“Thank you, Natalie.”

Then they talk about the race, making me zone out, until I hear one particular question. 

“Is there anyone particular whom you would like to thank?” Lando pauses for a moment, eyes flickering to the side to his PR, before he starts to answer. 

“I want to thank so many people.” He laughs softly and starts his list. „My parents, I love you; they gave everything for me, and they are the reason I am where I am.” It's sweet to see Lando’s love for his parents, and not just because of the cameras, but also in private. 

“McLaren, my team and everyone believing in me.” Lando continues and then he hesitates, like he has to think about his next answer.

“Well, and of course, thank you to my love, who unfortunately couldn’t be here today, but supports me every second, no matter where she is.” My heart stops, before softly fluttering at his words. Without saying much, Lando just revealed that Magui is, in fact, not his girlfriend. I need to blink a few times, reminding me that this is reality. 

“She probably screamed at the TV for a bit today.” Lando laughs and I snort softly. Usually, I do scream at the TV for a bit, but it wasn’t so bad today. 

“Your girlfriend couldn’t attend today’s race?” Natalie asks after a short pause, like she had to sort her head, probably thinking the same as everyone else. Lando is taken, but not to whom everyone thinks he is. 

“No, she is busy with preparations for her final exam at university next week and being at the racetrack isn’t exactly the perfect environment for learning for something so important. So, we decided she will sit this one out to ace her exam.” Lando explains willingly and for the first time this weekend, I feel warm again. A few happy tears slip down my cheeks because now it feels like everything is going to be okay again. 

By now, my social media is flooded with pictures from Lando’s win. Him being hugged by his parents, cheering with the team, and celebrating with Oscar and Charles on the podium. It is like the grey clouds have been blown away by celebrations, showing the happy sun again. And I do come by one of the gossip pages again, slightly hesitating to click on the comments, but open them anyway. 

Lando is silencing all the rumours about Magui by dropping an even bigger bomb.

He seems to be so in love!

If I was his girlfriend, I would be so pissed at the TV commentators right now. 

A bit later, my phone buzzed again with an incoming call from Lando. and I take it without hesitating. 

“Hi.”

Lando’s face fills up the screen, eyes still sparkling with happiness, hair messy and him still in his race suit. I can hear the music nearby, cheery voices and people in the background. 

“Hey.” Lando says, voice tired in the best kind of way. 

“Hi.” I say again, quieter this time. “You did it.”

Lando just grins, “We did it”, making me frown. This is his big moment, his big win. 

“I didn’t do anything?”

“That's not true.” Lando’s gaze is soft on me and even though there are celebrations for him, his attention is fully on me. 

“You were the one driving 300km/h. You are the one who won Monaco.” I remind him that it was all his effort. Steering precisely around the track, not crashing, not losing his nerves. 

“And I was only able to do it because of you.” Lando hums, and just when I want to protest, he continues. “You think our late-night calls didn’t help me sleep? That your texts before quail don’t help to clear my head?” I doubt that I have that much of an effect on him, but if it makes him feel better, I believe him. 

“I watched everything, couldn’t move.” I admit how my eyes were drawn to the TV, not willing to let any bit slip by without my attention. 

“I felt you.” Lando promises, “I mean my engineer was yelling at me to stay focused, but it was your voice telling me not to crash over and over again.”

I laugh softly, remembering that I told him that before the qualification, “Sounds like something I would say.” Lando hesitates for a moment, eyes flickering around and I tilt my head to the side, waiting for him to speak up. 

“And I meant everything I said in that interview. Keeping you private was safe, but at this point, it hurt you more than it protected you.” I blink slowly, trying to keep the tears back this time, but one still rolls down my cheek. My heart, which has been aching the whole weekend, feels like it is being hugged by Lando’s words, making the harsh cuts heal bit by bit. 

“I love you.” I whisper with my whole heart and Lando’s smile gets just a bit brighter. 

“Says that again.” He mutters and I gladly follow. 

“I love you.”

Lando sighs, “Oh, I love you too.” We look at each other for a moment, both faces filled with adoration and happiness. 

“Are you going to get any sleep tonight?” I ask him, already doubting it. He won Monaco, many of the drivers live here and partying after Monaco is kind of mandatory. 

“Probably not, too many people want to drag me to a club.” Lando says, hand gesturing around and I can only imagine how many people want to party with him tonight.

“Are you going?” 

“Forcefully,” Lando grins, “But I show my face and then sneak away again, back to the hotel.” He explains, making me tilt my head to the side. 

“To do what?”

“Call you again, talk till the sun rises.” His soft voice, his words, the love in his eyes make all the pain go away. Cause in the in the in I am the one he loves with his whole heart. And just like that, the distance between us doesn’t feel so wide anymore. 

[postracehair]

fracture

max verstappen x reader | 3.5k

max breaks his wrist during the first week of the off-season.

cw: max breaks his arm, r is a bit rattled, some blood, a naked shower, intimacy, mentions of sex

a/n: c'mon. you know he'd be so annoying. good thing we love him. [i wrote this before the season ended and then...never posted it. so, here, have it before we start all this shit over again in a few weeks.]

__

You are not there when it happens.

You're asleep, actually, curled up on Max's couch with the cats while he enjoys the first week of the off-season. The celebrations have ended and there is a great deal of work to be done in the next few months, but everyone gets a little bit of respite.

Vacation will come after the holidays. That's the plan, anyway. The last few days have seen you in Monaco, mostly inside Max's place. Just spending time together, relaxing, watching movies, rumpling his sheets. Today, though, he and Danny decided to go on a world-class-athlete-level bike ride.

Which is why you're on the couch. They've been gone all day and you don't expect Max to get home until later. You ran errands, cleaned a little, and then took an afternoon nap.

As you rouse from it, you fumble for your phone to check the time. The screen lights up and you're greeted with --

35 texts. 4 missed calls.

"What the hell?" you mutter, sitting up and opening everything.

DR: sorry for the three calls don't freak out but i think max broke his arm

DR: he says you're probably napping but i'm going to document this for when you wake up

DR: he's fine but yeah that shit is fucked

DR: he says not to tell you he fell off his bike but he fell off his bike

DR: he braked for some animal in the road and went over his handlebars

DR: oh he also scraped his face but he's still pretty, don't worry

DR: his palms are fucked though which is why he's not texting you

DR: we're on the way to the hospital, btw

DR: you're gonna be so pissed when you wake up

It goes on like that. Daniel, to his credit, has given you a play-by-play of the whole situation. You've only been asleep for about an hour and based on the time stamps this started right after you fell asleep.

You get up as you read, grabbing your things and trying to find your shoes as you read. You need to -- you need to go and be wherever they are. You need to help. Heart racing, chest tight, you need to be near Max as soon as possible, even though Danny said he's okay. If this was you, Max would already be there. God, why did you take a nap?

According to the texts, they got to the hospital and he was seen immedietly, x-rayed, and bandaged up. Broken right wrist, Danny had said. He's pissed more than anything.

You're about to call him back when your phone rings in your hands.

"Danny," you say as soon as you accept it.

"Oh, thank fuck," Daniel exclaims. "I thought I was going to have to surprise you in person with the whole thing."

"I'm about to leave, just give me 15 minutes to get there--"

"No, no, no," he interrupts you. "He just got discharged. I'm bringing him home."

You stop in your tracks, one foot shoved halfway into your sneaker. "Really?"

"Yeah, we'll be there in like, 20 minutes?" You can hear Max saying something in the background. "He wants to talk to you," Danny sighs. "Mate, you'll see her soon--"

He's cut off and there's some muffled noises and then Max is saying your name.

"I'm fine," he says. "I only made him tell you so it wasn't a surprise when I came home."

"Max," you sigh, shoulders creeping away from your ears at the sound of his voice. "I'm so sorry, I was asleep!"

He laughs. You feel a bit weepy, which is both an overreaction and cathartic. "Good," he says. "The whole experience has been a pain in the ass."

"You're coming home now? Are you in pain?"

"Eh," he says, dragging out the sound. "They gave me something while they set it so I don't feel it much. Daniel says we'll be home soon. Oh, hold on --" There is some muttering, Danny's voice in the background. "Okay, I'm going to give you back. See you soon, liefje."

"Okay," you say softly.

"Be there in a flash!" Danny says brightly. "Seriously, don't worry."

You hang up and just stand in the hallway, at a loss. Something bad happened to Max and you weren't there. It feels wrong. Not that he's in poor hands with Danny -- quite the opposite. He's probably the only person aside from yourself that you'd want there for Max in a crisis. But, god. You wish you had been there.

The cats weave around your ankles as you pace, waiting for Danny to call or for the door to open or, anything at all to happen. Your mind is running a million miles a minute. Objectively, it's the best time for Max to break something. There isn't even a car for him to test right now and he had at least another week of time off before needing to go back to Milton Keynes. This might throw a wrench in your holiday plans but you couldn't care less about that. How long will he be in a cast? You assume he's in a cast. What kind of help will he need? Will you be enough to provide it? What if he --

Noises in the hall make you freeze and then you hear Danny's voice. You bolt to the door, unlatching the locks and pulling it open. You're greeted with the sight of the two of them -- Danny looking down at Max's keys in his hands, both of their backpacks on his back. They've both changed out of whatever ridiculous bike outfit they must have been wearing for the ride, but you devote your attention to your boyfriend.

You can see the bandages on Max's knees and forearms where he must have scraped himself up on the road. His wrist -- it's in a black cast that runs the length of his forearm. He cradles it to his chest in a sling they must have given him and then you make your way to his face. A few scratches along one cheek, hair a mess, mouth drawn into a frown. A frown that relaxes slightly when you meet his gaze. Your eyes well with tears.

"Max," you breathe. He steps in front of Danny and meets you in the doorway, his cast-free hand cupping your face through the bandages on his palm.

"I'm fine," he says. "You're looking at me like I'm in a coma."

"Sorry," you whisper. "I just --"

He tugs you to him gently, pressing your face into his neck and rubbing your back. You try to be careful of his arm as you breathe deep and will yourself not to actually lose it.

"Guys, can we at least go inside?" Danny asks.

Max huffs and you pull away. He drags his thumb under both of your eyes but doesn't comment on the dampness he finds there. "Inside, liefje."

Danny drops Max's stuff and passes along the documents from the hospital. He's quite the personality but he's all business when he needs to be. "Pain killers in his bag. Call me if you need anything, guys."

You step away from Max long enough to throw your arms around Danny. "Thank you," you whisper. "For looking after him." For calling. For bringing him back to me. For doing what I should have been there for.

He chuckles. "Alright," he says. "Max should break something more often."

Once Danny leaves, it's just the two of you. Max has settled on the couch, head leaning back into the cushions.

"Come sit with me," Max calls. "God, I forgot how much I hate hospitals."

His eyes are closed and he holds his arm gingerly. It's not the first time you've seen him injured -- you've been at his side in the medical tent before after watching him careen into a wall at 190mph. And yet, right now, you're still so upset.

You settle into the cushions on his left side and just watch him.

"I'm sorry," you say again. Max's eyes open. "I can't believe I was asleep when Danny called."

Max shakes his head. "What would you have done?"

"I could have come to get you and take you to the hospital, or just met you there, or--"

He puts his hand on your knee. "Come on," he says. "Don't be silly."

How do you explain it to him? How do you tell him that something happening to him feels like it happened to you? That not being there feels like a personal failing?

"Will you tell me what happened?"

He sighs and you pull his palm from your leg to hold it in your hands.

"It's stupid," he grimaces. "You don't need the details."

"Max."

He folds. Other people in his life have called this your superpower -- Max's will is iron clad. It is very difficult to get him to do something he does not want to do. But one word from you, one soft look, one gentle touch, and he often relents. It's like you can peel back that layer of him that has hardened out of necessity. To protect himself and his heart, to make sure he's taken seriously, to stop things from hurting.

It's like you remind him that it's okay to feel, even when it's hard.

"Daniel summed it up," he grumbles. "We were biking down a hill outside the city and something ran out into the road in front of me. I stopped. Or tried to, at least." He mimes squeezing the breaks, fingers curling in towards his bandaged palms. You stroke his unbroken wrist with your thumb.

"And you went over," you finish.

"And I went over. Got my knees, my forearms, my hands. My wrist, obviously. Just landed badly."

You reach for his face ever so gently, dragging the pad of your thumb over the shallow scrapes on his chin, his cheek. He allows it, knowing that you need to touch him to be sure he's okay. Whenever he has a crash on track you have trouble letting him out of your sight for hours. You just need to look at him, feel him warm and alive under your hands.

"I'm going to write a letter to your helmet manufacturer," you say, not entirely kidding. You slide your hand over his temple and into his hair. It's dirty, you can feel it, but you cradle his skull all the same. "Thank them."

He laughs once, amused with your sincerity. "I need to shower," he says. "But I can't get this wet." You finally direct your attention to his broken wrist, the entirety of his forearm and hand encased in the cast under the sling.

"Does it hurt?" you ask again. Max would tell anyone else off for badgering him so, but he keeps his face soft and reassures you.

"It's strange," he says. "I'm sure I'll feel it later."

"Did it hurt?" you whisper. "When you broke it?"

You know that Max has felt a great deal of pain in his life. His day job requires it -- physical, mental, emotional. He knows how to handle it and get over it. But he's also honest with you, always.

He wrinkles his nose. "It wasn't nice," he confesses. "I knew right away."

You grimace. In the silence, you match your breaths to his and just sit together for a little while.

And then Max's stomach growls.

"Whoops," he says, grinning crookedly. Still an athlete, still a boy with a fast metabolism. You can't help but laugh.

"How about this," you begin, unfolding yourself from the couch and standing in front of him, hands on your hips. Max looks up at you like you're the best thing he's ever seen. "I order some food and then we get you showered while we wait for it. Let the scrapes breathe and keep your cast dry, then we eat and watch a movie and go to bed. Okay?"

"We get me showered?" He sounds skeptical.

"You think you can wash your hair on your own?"

He smirks. "I can do a lot with one hand."

You roll your eyes. "So you're turning down an opportunity to shower with me, is what I'm hearing."

Max gets himself off the couch and rests his palm on your hip. "No," he says softly. "I'm not that stupid."

He kisses you lightly and heads for the bathroom.

"I guess we can wrap it in a plastic bag, or something?" you call after him. It takes a few minutes of opening and closing cabinets for you to find one. You put in a delivery order and make your way to the bathroom. Max has already turned on the shower and you find him shirtless and peeling off his bandages in in front of the mirror.

"Let me do that." He doesn't put up much of a fight, not even wincing when the tape pull at his skin. You see the gashes on his forearm, the raw skin of his palms. "Arm, please." The plastic bag goes around his cast and you tie it at his elbow.

"You planning to wash my hair while wearing your clothes?" Max asks with a straight face.

You stare at him, trying to seem unimpressed. He breaks first, mouth pulling up at one corner before he shucks off his soft shorts and briefs in one go. He pecks you on the cheek and gets in the shower, still smirking at you through the glass door.

"Alright, alright," you mutter. "So dramatic."

You feel Max's eyes on you as you undress, leaving your clothes on a pile on the floor.

The shower is unnecessarily big but Max does not give you much space. The hot spray is at his back and he keeps his plastic bag-clad arm mostly out of the way.

"Feel good?" you ask. Max sighs but nods. You'll bet he's aching but hasn't admitted it. He turns to the side so you can catch some of the spray, too, fighting off the chill outside the warm water.

"I might fall asleep in here," he mutters.

"That'll be the painkillers, darling," you tell him. "C'mon, get your hair wet."

Max tips his head back. You readjust so that you can card your hands through it. You shampoo him gently, taking your time and massaging his scalp. It's a miracle he stays on his feet, but he does. You hum as you work and Max's breaths get deeper, slower.

"Head back," you say softly. He obeys. You do the same with some of your conditioner because you know he likes how it smells.

This shower feels more intimate than the countless hours you've spend in his bed, tangled up in one another. He's been inside you and yet this feels more vulnerable. He's totally ceding control, trusting you to take care of him. You're naked, slick bodies brushing, always touching whether it's your hands in his hair or Max's own fingers reaching for your skin just to feel.

One time, when you were sick, you couldn't muster the energy to take a shower. Max ran you a bath and washed your hair for you, talking all the while because you asked to hear his voice. It's obvious that you'd do the same for him, as you're doing now. It's just how you love each other -- all the way, all the time. When it's easy and when it's hard.

"Danny was right," Max says, words slurring half from bliss and half the fatigue of the day catching up to him. "I should break bones more often."

You finish rinsing him and just stand there in the spray for a few moments.

"Please, no," you groan, brushing wet strands back from his forehead. "If you want me to wash your hair I will, Max. You don't need to break anything."

His eyes flutter open and find yours. He smiles lazily and you turn off the shower.

"If you say so," he says. "Can we take this off, now?"

Bag removed, skin patted dry, comifes on. The food comes when you're settling Max on the couch with a pillow for his arm. In all likelihood he'll manage a few bites of take out and fall asleep 15 minutes into the movie. But he needs the rest, you think. And besides, he'll have you to watch over him.

__

It becomes clear remarkably quickly that Max is an awful patient. You sort of knew this -- he's been sick a few times when you're around, but you figured that was just man-disease. Whining, refusing to sit still. This is 10x worse. He won't let you do anything for him until he's proven that he can't do it himself. You consider locking him in your bedroom to keep him from trying to do things he shouldn't do.

Max just wasn't made to sit still.

But you can empathize -- it's frustrating to not be able to do any of the things he really likes to do. Drive, use his sim, even play regular video games. It's a lot of movies and long walks and leg days with his trainer.

And then there's the way he just won't ask for help. That's a Max Verstappen original and you know it gets worse when he's frustrated. You do it too -- everyone does. But Max wants to do everything himself, wants to prove that he can.

You try to sit back and let him work it out. About a week after he comes home with his arm in a cast, he calls your name. You're in the kitchen, staring into the open fridge and wondering if you should order more groceries or just go to the shops yourself.

"You okay?" you call back. "Where are you?"

"Bathroom,"he shouts.

Ah, you think. Here we go.

He hasn't shaved yet. You've always loved when he keeps his facial hair a little longer. You love the feel of it on your skin and how it lightens along with his hair when you're on holiday somewhere nice. It's more likely that he keep it long in the off-season. Hot races are a nightmare with a beard, he's said. It itches like mad.

"Coming," you call.

Sure enough, you find him in front of the sink, razor in hand and frown firmly in place. He makes eye contact with you in the mirror and even though you can feel his annoyance from here, the set of his jaw softens.

"Do you think you could help me shave?" he asks. No lead up, no hem and haw.

"Of course, Max."

You quickly work out that sitting on the counter next to the sink while he stands between your knees works best. His broken wrist hangs at his side, the other hand resting on the counter next to your leg.

You lather him up, carefully applying the white foam of his shaving cream on his cheeks, his chin, his neck. He's got a fancy razor, one that will probably make it hard to cut him. Still, you feel the way he's basically handed you a blade and asked you to use it on him. In so many ways it's one of the most intimate things you've ever done. Even more than the showers you've had this week, just chatting and washing his hair.

"I'll be careful," you say softly.

"I know." He tilts his chin up, showing you his neck. "Go on, then."

It's quiet work. You're focusing hard and Max seems content to allow you. Stroke after stroke, rinsing the razor in the sink. You keep one hand at the base of this throat as the other works, gliding it over his skin. Cheeks, jaw, upper lip. Chin, neck.

"I like your beard, you know," you say when you're almost done. He waits until you're rinsing the razor again to reply.

"I do," he says, smirking. "You aren't quiet about it."

The last patch comes off as easily as the rest and you grab a damp towel to clean the rest of the shaving cream. Max appears to have relaxed enough to become pliant, leaning into your touch as you finish. He lets you rub moisturizer into his cheeks, eyes fluttering closed. His hand ends up on your leg, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thigh.

"Cheeky," you mutter. He smiles, boyish and easy. You take your time, pleased that he's letting you, but also because you could touch him forever. "Schatje," you whisper, trying to make it sound like it does from his lips. "All done."

Max doesn't move. You frame his face with your hands and lean in until your lips touch. You feel his smile against yours, but he dutifully tilts his head to deepen the kiss. His freshly shaved skin is so soft. You've kissed thousands of times by now, but you can never get enough of him. The way he responds to your every move, meeting your pressure with some of his own. Your tongue with his, swallowing your moans and giving you his own like a gift.

It's Max who pulls away, dragging his lips over your cheek.

"Dankje," he whispers. It means more than that, you know. From Max, it means thank you for dealing with me, for taking care of me, for loving me.

He doesn't think any of that is easy for you. But he's wrong. It's the easiest thing in the world.

[sugusama]

hii, i loved your Katsuki fic and wanted to submit a request. katsuki x american gf reader, where he’s never met her but they try to talk throughout the day by texting or calling despite time difference. then they meet at the end of the fic as a surprise for katsuki (still UA au please). tyy :)

꒰🫧꒱﹒ 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ﹒⟢ featuring: katsuki bakugo ‧₊˚ . ꣑୧

sypnosis ☆ bakugo never expected to fall for a girl halfway across the world… especially one with a six-hour time difference and a laugh that lives in his head rent-free. between classes at ua and her busy days in america, they text, call, and fall a little deeper with every message. but what happens when time zones and screens aren’t enough anymore? ⸝⸝ ᰔ ̫ ᰔ⸝⸝

content warnings ☆ fluff, comfort, a little angsty, ua based, black female reader, she/her used, lowercase intended, not proofread, bakugo has broken english, italics = japanese ๑•́ ₃ •̀๑

word count ☆ 1.1k

authors note ☆ hello hello! thank u so much for ur kindness 🌼 here you go! i hope you like this one just as much! if u would like anything else let me know!!

katsuki didn’t want to be part of any dumb online chat.

he hated talking for no reason. hated random people. especially hated wasting time when he could be training or doing something that mattered.

so when denki shoved his phone in his face during break and said, “bro, you gotta try this,” katsuki’s immediate response was no.

“it’s a server,” denki explained, grinning. “for, like, international hero fans. some of them are trying to get into schools like u.a. and they ask the weirdest shit.”

“not my problem.”

“c’mon. you can mess with them. they’ll lose their minds when you answer.”

“fuck off.”

but that night, katsuki couldn’t sleep. his shoulders ached from drills. his head was too loud with thoughts he didn’t want to think. and his phone, tucked under his pillow, kept buzzing with notifications from that stupid server denki added him to.

he stared at the screen for a while. thumb hovering over the app. then—he opened it.

a flood of posts. some boring. some weird. some flat-out wrong.

and then one message caught his eye.

|“so like… do students at u.a. really spar? like actually hit each other?”

the username was unfamiliar. your profile picture was a blurry sky—probably taken from your phone. and your bio just said “sleepy. always.”

he stared at your message longer than he meant to as he tried to decipher it.

then typed, slowly:

|“yes. we fight. real hits.”

a full six minutes passed.

he didn’t think you’d respond.

but you did.

|“wait WHAT. like actually?? is that even allowed???”

he snorted, eyes narrowing with a half-smile.

| “yes. is real. allowed. strong hits.”

your response came quicker this time.

| “dude! i’m american. our schools make us wear helmets to run in gym class. this is unfair.”

he let out something close to a laugh—just a small huff of breath—but it surprised him.

he didn’t answer. didn’t need to.

he already bookmarked your name.

he didn’t expect to hear from you again.

but the next night, just after dinner and before study hour, you were there.

| “hi again, explosion boy. (you got a better name?)”

he stared at the screen for a second before replying:

| “bakugo.”

| “ooh. that sounds cool. you sound cool. are you?”

he hesitated, then typed:

| “yes.”

you sent back the laughing emoji. then:

| “humble too.”

he didn’t know why it made his chest feel tight.

from there, it became… a thing.

late-night messages. voice notes. pictures.

you sent him one of your lunch—a sandwich and chips, nothing fancy—but you added,

| “i ate thinking of you. does that make me weird?”

he didn’t answer for a full hour.

then wrote:

| “no. i like that.”

you replied with a blushing emoji.

he stared at it too long.

he never liked phone calls. they were too much. too close.

but your voice was—soft. kind. playful in a way that made his chest ache.

your first voice note was just:

“hi. it’s weird hearing myself talk to you, but i wanted you to know what i sound like.”

and he listened to it.

three times.

the first time just to hear your tone. the second to understand every word. the third because… he missed it, even if it had only been a minute long.

his reply was rough. hesitant.

“hi. uh. i… don’t like talk. much. but… i like yours. voice.”

you sent back:

| “that was the sweetest thing ever, actually.”

after that, you started calling.

not every day. not long.

just enough.

he’d lie on his bed, staring at the ceiling, half-listening to your rambles about work and siblings and the weather. he didn’t talk much. didn’t know how to say all the things he was feeling in a language that always made his tongue trip.

but you didn’t mind.

you’d say, “you don’t have to talk. just stay on.”

so he did.

it happened slow.

your voice became part of his routine.

your good morning texts came while he was getting ready for class. your “i’m heading to bed, katsuki” messages always landed when he was on patrol.

you started sending pictures of things you loved. a book. your porch light. a sunset from your window.

he started sending them back.

once, he sent you a picture of his hand after training—bandaged, calloused, rough. and you wrote:

| “ i hope you rest, even when you think you don’t need it.”

and that line just… stayed.

for days.

he reread it during class. during silence. during nights when his head was too full and nothing felt steady.

he didn’t say he missed you.

but he did.

quietly. constantly.

time difference was cruel.

he hated that you were waking up when he was falling asleep.

he hated how sometimes he’d send a long message and forget what he wrote by the time you answered.

he hated how his chest twisted when he saw your name and couldn’t respond.

but you always made it easy.

“ i know you’re tired. you don’t have to talk. i just wanted to say i’m thinking of you… i’m still here. still cheering for you. always.”

you made it feel like you were closer than you were.

and yet, the space between you ached more with every week.

he didn’t notice when he fell.

not until kirishima asked him why he was smiling at his phone.

not until his chest ached when you didn’t text.

not until he caught himself learning english phrases just to tell you things the right way.

he didn’t tell anyone.

not even you.

but he sent you a voice note at midnight, after a long day, voice hoarse and quiet:

“i… i like talk to you. always. i wait for you. even when late. just so you know.”

you didn’t reply with a voice note.

you replied with a text:

| “me too, katsuki. every day.”

he didn’t sleep that night.

it came suddenly, the text message read:

| “if i ever came to japan… would you wanna meet me?”

he sat up in bed like he’d been punched.

heart pounding.

he typed.

deleted.

typed again.

finally, he sent:

| “yes. i want. i wait for you.”

and then he waited.

one hour.

then two.

you didn’t reply that night.

and he told himself it was okay.

even if it wasn’t.

two weeks.

that’s how long it took.

two weeks of silence. of almost texting you. of wondering if he’d said something wrong.

then—midnight.

his phone buzzed.

| “come outside kats <3 ”

his hands shook.

he ran.

didn’t care who saw. didn’t care that he was barefoot.

and there you were.

standing at the gate. hoodie on. suitcase by your side. scarf he mailed you wrapped around your neck.

you smiled.

“hey.”

he didn’t say anything. just stared.

you stepped forward. nervous.

“you’re taller than i thought,” you teased.

he swallowed hard. voice rough.

“you’re… real.”

you laughed. tears in your eyes.

“told you i’d come.”

the aching, the quiet missing, the longing—

and then he held you.

and everything he’d been holding in— spilled into the way he buried his face in your neck and breathed like he could finally exhale.

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt 2 forever teen Danny adopts post-JJ Tim. Tim accepts he has a new dad.

[Pt 1: here][pt3: here]

Tim has known Danny a month, and he can say it has had a positive effect on his life. He's super understanding and accepting of all Tim's weird quirks. And when he ran away back to the Bats (which was a train wreck. B and Dick seemed relieved for 2 seconds, then tried to throw him in Arkham. Between him not selling out "Phantom" and still having JJ traits, they found him unacceptable.), Danny let him go, understanding, before accepting Tim back as easy as breathing when he came crawling back. He helps Tim break into Drake Manor directly after, revealing the invisibility and intangibility Tim thought he hallucinated to get clothes, toiletries, his phone (there's 20 missed calls, 5 are Dick, 2 are Bruce, 2 are Barbara, 1 is his parents, and the rest are his school.), his photographs, camera, and the card linked to the allowance his parents send every 2 weeks. Tim took the last thing because he doesn't want Danny to suffer for taking him in and help with expenses, Danny frowns before giving him a lecture about that not being Tim's responsibility when he finds out. Tim still buys groceries and gets them both new laptops when Danny isn't looking.

Danny modifies any electronics to be untraceable, showing Tim the whole process, so that Tim can contact his school with a fake doctor's note, a fake kidnapping story (some thugs heard what Joker tried to do with Robin and tried their own hand at it. Harley squawked about the JJ thing and how a new meta called Phantom killed Mista J, so it's all over the news. (A fake police report magically appears in the GCPD)), and how Tim won't be able to physically be at school for a while and if they could please send his schoolwork over. Tim holds off on contacting his parents, curious to see if they notice anything, and can't find it in himself to be disappointed that they don't (not even when they stopped by the manor a few days ago, they texted him exactly 1 time to scold him about the lack of food in Drake Manor).

When Tim's physical injuries are mostly healed, Danny moves them from the shitty 1 bedroom apartment to an equally shitty 2 bedroom apartment, still in Crime Alley. Tim feels slightly guilty about Danny refusing to let him sleep anywhere other than the bed, taking the floor or couch before he moves a second bed into the new apartment. Tim isn't sure what to do with the level of care Danny showers him with, but he loves it.

Danny, while disapproving and disliking Tim wanting to continue being a vigilante, doesn't actually stop him (something about being a hypocrite if he says no?). Tim designs a new costume since he can't be Robin, and Danny helps create it! Tim isn't sure how Danny got the nearly indestructible materials that need specialized cutting and sewing materials, but it's awesome!

The costume's base is black. Black cargo pants, an armored turtleneck, black domino mask. But he decides that since he unfortunately can't get rid of all his JJ traits (the laughing fits, the scars, his hair is growing green??, the (bipolar depressive/) manic episodes, etc.) and the Bats won't accept him anyways, so why not lean in. Over the black base, he adds a gothic tailcoat vest. It's very dark purple with bright Kelly green lapels and buttons. The lenses on his mask and his combat boots are the same shade of green. He feels like the green ties his new vigilante look to Danny's ghost form. He also finds the whole fit awesome and a giant fuck you to both Papa J and the Bats.

This does lead to his current dilemma. He needs a new name before he debuts his new vigilante identity.

"I refuse to be Joker Junior!" Tim huffs at Danny, who's calmly making dinner.

"Like I've said before, then don't be."

"But what should I call myself? I can't use a bird or bat name either. I've never had to think of a name for if I was an independent before!" Tim flops on the floor. The kitchen and frontroom is basically one room, so Danny can still see him being dramatic without Tim getting underfoot.

"Name yourself a ghostly name."

"Huh?" Tim sits up to look at the slightly blushing man trapped in a child's body.

"I mean, you're already connected to my ghost form, since everyone is going to connect you to your old vigilante identity, so why not pick something ghostly or supernatural." Danny turns to do something Tim can't see, but Tim knows he's just trying to hide how embarrassed he is about sharing the suggestion. "You don't have to. You could pick something more personal, like Shutterbug or Mania or something."

"Huh... That would work. It'd really rub in the Bats' faces that they basically killed 2 Robins." Tim mutters before twisting himself into a pretzel. "Any suggestions?"

"Depends. What do you want people to get from your name? And what annoyed do you want people who know both your IDs to be? Phantom was a literal pun off my lastname."

"How is Phantom a pun off of Kronokori?"

"Kronokori is Jazz's last name, mine's Kronoyios."

"Huh??"

"And those are our lastnames because Clockwork, or I guess Kronos, adopted us. Our original lastname was Fenton."

"You got adopted by a god?"

"Basically, yeah. Don't worry about it. It's probably one of the least weird things to happen during that time, but that's for a different time. What do you want from your name?"

"Uhhh..." Tim takes a moment to really think about it. "It should be something loud and chaotic, but not necessarily good or evil? I don't really care if it would make people eye roll or groan if I share my ID. Maybe something that is angry? I definitely feel angry."

"As you should." Danny affirms and thinks a second. "Wraith? It's a vengeful spirit seen shortly before or after death."

"Mmm... No."

"Sprite? It's a-"

"No way!" Tim pauses and thinks on his violent reaction. "... Sorry.. It just feels childish and like I'm a 2 dimensional game sprite. Not something that can grow with me or demand respect."

"It's fine, Tim." Danny flashes a reassuring smile. "How about Bashee? They scream to warn someone death is near."

"Aren't they all women?"

"Not necessarily. Kinda like selkies, there's more myth about the women, but there's men too." Danny starts plating the food he made. "Apparition? They're closer to an after imagine of the dead."

"But are they loud?"

"Not usually...hmmmm" Danny hands Tim his plate while scrunching his face in thought. "Let's see, Dullahan, Kelpie, Sphinx, Shade- Oh! Oh! I know! Poltergeist! They're loud, chaotic, usually malicious, they bite and scratch and slam things! It also doesn't sound childish, so you can keep it for as long as you need."

Tim munches on his dinner while thinking it over. "I think that would work. Hehe! A Poltergeist under the care of a Phantom."

Danny smiles, "Glad to help, kiddo."

Tim sets his mostly empty plate down and launches himself at Danny. Danny used to the behavior, quickly gets his own plate out of the way and catches him in a hug.

"Thank you, Danny." His tone indicates he's thanking him for more than just the name.

"No problem." Danny kisses the top of Tim's head. They stay like that for a moment before Tim pushes himself up.

"I think I should talk to your sister." He grabs his plate and sits near Danny on the couch. "I don't want someone to trigger me with a dumb comment or something."

"I'll tell her tonight." Danny says, "She's been wanting to meet you. Mostly because she wants to know her new nephew, but also because she likes to psychoanalize hero types. She finds us fascinating, but is still usually chill about it. Unlike when we were teens."

"What happened when you were teens?" Tim asks curiously.

"So Jazz has always wanted to be a therapist, and unfortunately, that means she knew a lot on the topic, but had none of the tact in implementing the knowledge." Danny looks absolutely fond. "She'd corner me to try and force me to talk about my feelings. "You can't keep it all bottled up, Danny." "You're hurting yourself and others by not talking." It was very annoying for an angsty teen to hear. She was right, but her methods needed work. And she's definitely put in the work since then."

"Any chance she's going to be anything like Harley?"

"Not a chance. She hates clowns and isn't one for jokes that aren't well thought out. You have to be really clever to even get a chuckle at a pun." Danny explains, taking their empty plates to wash them. "She isn't opposed to dark humor, but only if she knows the reason for it and knows it's not your only coping skill."

"So you got in trouble with her a lot, didn't you?" Tim teases, knowing Danny still uses dark humor as his main coping mechanism.

"All the time, but I started listening to her advice when I was.. 30? 32? Somewhere in my early 30s." Danny admits. "I got really tired of wanting to die all the time. And her advice has definitely helped minimize the want, unfortunately, mental illness doesn't truly go away."

Tim thinks about that. He knows you can't cure the types of mental illness he has, and Danny has been very open about his own issues, but he can't help his disappointment.

"Hey, on the plus side," Danny speaks up as if sensing Tim's thoughts, sometimes Tim is positive the man can. The man isn't facing him currently, so it's definitely not because Tim was making a face or something. "You're legally a person, so Jazz can get you meds. At least for your bipolar. I know you've been struggling with the whiplash between your extreme emotions."

"That's good..." Tim stares at the back of Danny's head. "You're not legally a person?"

"Nah. In the eyes of the government, I'm dead. It's why I've been hiding out in Gotham. The government has no place here, and as much as I hate the guy, Bats keeps the people hunting me down away." Danny pauses. "You know, I wonder if they think I faded? I haven't made an appearance in nearly 20 years. Then again, Harley snitched to everyone in existence, so I might have to start dodging ghost hunters again. At least the Anti-Ecto Control Acts got repealed, so I won't be taken to a secret government lab to be experimented on again. Shout out to Amity Parkers for clawing their way into office."

"The dad lore of your life is extensive." Tim jokes.

Danny chuckles. "Being a lab accident made ghost child vigilante with a portal to the infinite realms in his basement and ghost hunter parents and the government after you and the other ghosts visiting your town will do that. You'll have your own out of pocket stories to tell your kids one day, well, if you want kids. Otherwise, shocking friends is just as fun. Just imagine telling someone about the last 2 months. "Yeah, hi! My name's Tim! I was the 3rd Robin because a furry couldn't get his act together and then the Joker kidnapped me and I got adopted by the dead guy who showed up and killed him!""

Tim giggles. "I don't sound like that!"

"Maybe, maybe not, but it's still something you could say." Danny grins at him, drying his hands. "Do you need any help with your homework?"

"Yeah, there's a chemistry problem I don't understand-"

Tim loves living with Danny. It's everything a Tim pre-Batman would daydream about. Just a dad taking interest in his life and interests and taking care of him.

[baigepueckers]

Paige Bueckers X Reader

Practice Girlfriend

Bright, white hot, and relentless like they’re trying to peel her skin back, layer by layer, until all that’s left is something for them to dissect. Paige smiles through it. She’s good at that now.

“Paige! Paige! Over here!”

“Looking gorgeous tonight, who styled you?”

“Paige, are you seeing anyone?”

That last one sticks.

Her expression doesn’t flicker, doesn’t even flinch. She’s been trained for this. Smile, nod, say something witty if it’s not invasive and deflect if it is. She’s wearing a tailored navy suit and sneakers, the sleeves pushed up just enough to flash her wrists and the internet will eat it up.

“Nope” she says easily. “Just me, the gym, and my jump shot.”

A few reporters laugh. Cameras flash. The next question comes. But you catch it, the way her shoulders hitch, just slightly, as she walks away.

You’re close behind her on the red carpet, press pass swinging from your lanyard. Your job isn’t glamorous, you’re technically part of her “personal digital content team,” which basically means following her around with a camera and trying to keep her from melting down under pressure.

You’re also her best friend. Or something like it.

It’s gotten blurry lately.

Inside the car after the event, it’s quiet. Paige sits back in the black SUV, scrolling through her phone. You watch the way her brows pinch together, the faint crease between them that never used to be there.

She exhales a long, tired sigh and turns the screen toward you.

#PaigeBaeWatch trending on X. Again.

Some fan account had zoomed in on a photo of her standing too close to a teammate at warmups and captioned it: “idk guys this feels a little too friendly 👀👀👀”

“God” she mutters. “I can’t breathe without someone thinking I’m dating someone.”

You offer her the second Diet Coke from the mini fridge, cracking the tab open and placing it gently in her hand. “To be fair,” you murmur, “you are very photogenic.”

She lets out a half laugh, but it dies quickly. “It’s just… distracting. I don’t even care what people think. It’s that I can’t do anything without it being a story.”

You watch her for a second. Her face is tired. Pretty, still. But tired.

Then she mumbles it under her breath, more to herself than to you.

“Maybe I should just fake a relationship or something. Give them what they want so they shut up.”

It’s supposed to be a throwaway line. Something sarcastic. But something about the way she says it quiet, resigned…makes your heart clench.

You look at her from across the car.

And before you can stop yourself.

“Want me to be your practice girlfriend?”

Her head turns so fast you’re sure she didn’t expect that. Her eyes flick to yours, wide but unreadable, like she’s trying to gauge if you’re serious. You’re not even sure if you are. It came out too naturally. Like it’s been living in the back of your throat for months.

You try to save it with a smile, make it seem light. “I mean, I already know your angles. I’m basically your emotional support assistant. We could absolutely pull it off.”

She’s still staring.

“You serious?”

You shrug. “I’m just saying. It’d be easy. Post a couple photos, let people freak out, and boom mystery solved. Everyone gets off your back.”

Paige leans her head back against the seat, exhaling like she’s actually considering it. You didn’t expect that. You expected her to laugh, roll her eyes, make some joke about how you’re the worst fake girlfriend on the planet because you’d forget to text back.

Instead, she says, “I trust you.”

Your throat goes tight.

She glances at you again, more tentative this time. “You wouldn’t think it was weird?”

You force yourself to shake your head. “Nah. I mean unless you make it weird.”

She smiles at that. Not the big, media ready grin. A small one. The kind she only gives you when it’s just the two of you.

Then she says, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

And for a second, your heart stops.

“…Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” she says, voice calm, but her fingers fidgeting slightly with the Coke can. “Let’s fake date.”

You try to swallow the rush of adrenaline, the stupid hope buzzing in your chest. It’s fake. This is fake. You offered this. You don’t get to panic.

“I’ll need a contract,” you say, aiming for lighthearted. “Weekly coffee payments. One forehead kiss per game day. Access to your closet for oversized hoodie privileges.”

She snorts. “Done. But I get plus one rights at every event and I’m picking the first Instagram post.”

“God, you’re already drunk with power.”

Her laugh lingers in the small space between you. Then quiet again.

You sit back, let the city lights flash across her cheekbone as she stares out the window. You don’t know what she’s thinking. But you do know this:

This won’t be easy. You’ve liked her for a long time. Maybe too long.

And now you’ll have to pretend to be the one thing you’ve always wanted to be for the whole world to see.

Just pretend, you remind yourself.

You can handle pretend.

Then Paige turns toward you again, eyes soft and unsure.

“You know this might… get messy, right?”

You nod. Your voice is steady, even if your pulse isn’t.

“Only if one of us falls in love.”

And then she says it…quiet, teasing, but her gaze lingers too long.

“No promises.”

[arcadia-smith]

New territory.

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: intimacy is completely new territory for you, but you are willing to explore it with Simon. Feelings and connecting is new for Simon, but he'll get into it because of you.

Word count: just under 2k

Warning: 18+, sex.

Note: This was a request. And I am sad that it was made anonymously, so I cannot tag the person. Idea was great and I have like three different versions of this in my notes, so I might be posting all of them at some point. This one I had trouble with the ending actually. Also, not proofread or anything, so I'm sorry if it's messy, but I couldn't let this idea go to waste.

"Still on for tonight?"

"Yeah, Si. Pick me up at 7"

"It's a date then."

You tossed your phone onto the bed, shifting your attention back to the mirror.

Black lace bra, matching panties. Your eyes flicked to the red set draped over the chair.

You were overthinking this. Did Simon even care if your underwear matched? If it was expensive? The books said he would, so you’d gone out and bought multiple sets—delicate, pricey, and, if you were being honest, not the most comfortable.

Your boobs felt squished, lifted too high, and the panties clung in all the wrong places, riding up betweed your ass cheeks every time you moved. But then remembering how his eyes widened and a little comment spilled out of his mouth "Love the flowers, luv" when he saw your other panties the first time you let him undress you, even now, thinking about it, made you blush and get embarrassed.

You couldn't stop thinking about it for weeks. Even cancelled a few dates with Simon, thinking he'd make fun of them every time he saw you, but he never mentioned your flower pattern panties again.

You met him about seven months ago. In a bar. You weren’t sure what made him cross the room and sit beside you, but conversation came easy—lighthearted banter, a little flirting. When he offered to walk you home, you panicked. Played up your drunkenness, hoping he’d lose interest.

He didn’t.

Instead, he called a cab, made sure you got in safely, and asked for your number.

The next morning, you woke up to a text from him. And just like that, you started talking.

This—whatever it was—was uncharted territory for you. The touches, the teasing, the way he looked at you. And the intimacy that followed.

Pretty soon you found out that Simon wasn't a man for softness.

Sex, to him, had always been an outlet—nothing more than sweat and heat, hands grasping without tenderness, a way to escape his own head for a while. He was used to bodies tangled together, voices rough and demanding, the kind of urgency that burned fast and left nothing behind.

But months spent getting to know you made him experience new things too. He developed a need to be careful, to handle you like something precious.

And fuck, he wanted to.

He wanted to be gentle, to savor every shaky breath you gave him, every soft sigh against his skin. He wanted to be good for you.

By the time seven rolled around, you were ready, though your hands fidgeted against your thighs as you waited. The sound of a truck pulling up outside had your stomach flipping, and you grabbed your purse, smoothing your dress before heading out.

Simon leaned against the hood of his truck, arms crossed, his ever-present balaclava pulled up just enough to show the curve of his mouth. His gaze flicked over you, slow and deliberate, before he pushed off the hood and opened the passenger door for you.

"You look nice," he murmured as you slid into the seat.

Your heart stuttered a little at the low timbre of his voice.

"Thanks, Si."

The evening had been nice—dinner, easy conversation, and the kind of quiet moments that never felt awkward with Simon. The weather was mild enough for a walk afterward, his hand warm around yours as you strolled side by side.

Then came the question.

"Wanna crash at my place?"

Simon gave your fingers a gentle squeeze, his voice steady but softer than usual. "I mean... I leave in two days. Another month gone. Wouldn’t mind spending as much time with you as I can."

You knew what he was really saying. What the night would likely lead to. And just like that, your mind started spinning, already getting ahead of itself.

Kneeling in front of you, his hands found your thighs, thumbs brushing slow, soothing circles

Simon kissed your knee, an innocent touch, but he felt the way your breath hitched, how your fingers curled into the sheets. Every little reaction you had made his stomach tighten with something foreign, something deeper than just want.

He guided you through each step, letting you explore, letting you learn.

The first time you kissed him with intent, it stole his breath. The first time your hands hesitantly traced the scars on his chest, he had to fight the instinct to pull away. And the first time you let him undress you—slowly, carefully, with whispered reassurances—he realized he had never truly been with someone before.

Not like this.

He had never felt someone’s trust settle so heavily against his skin. Never known what it was like to be needed in a way that wasn’t just physical.

You were beneath him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he moved over you, inside you. Everything was new to you, and he had been patient, slow, careful. He tried to keep his hands gentle, but his patience frayed when you let out a soft sound of pleasure. His grip tightened, his kisses grew rougher, and he flipped you onto your stomach before you could even react.

"Stay just like that," he murmured, the authority in his voice instinctual.

You froze beneath him.

It wasn’t fear, but uncertainty. He didn’t notice—not right away. He was too caught up in the heat of it, too used to doing this with someone who already knew how rough he could get.

He guided himself to your entrance, his broad chest pressing firmly against your back, pinning you into the plush mattress beneath you.

The moment he pushed inside, he didn’t grant your body much time to adjust before his hips began to move, each thrust deep and unrelenting. His teeth found your shoulder, biting down- hard.

Then he hit that one spot, the one that sent a sharp, twisting sensation through you—not the kind that made your toes curl in pleasure, but something else entirely. A cry tore from your lips before you could stop it.

One moment you were on your stomach, the next you were on your back, now facing him.

“Thought you wanted this. You can take it.” he muttered, the words slipping out without thought.

It was something he might have said to someone else before. To someone who didn’t care how impersonal it sounded. But you weren’t someone else.

It was instinct, the way he shifted, the way his grip tightened just a little too much, the way his teeth caught against your throat with just a bit too much bite. His voice dropped into something darker, rougher, a sharp contrast to the tenderness he’d started with.

The way you stiffened, the way your breath hitched in a way that wasn’t pleasure. And then—

“Stop.”

It was soft, barely above a whisper, but it was enough to cut through the haze in his head.

His heart stopped.

Your hands were on his chest now, pushing lightly. Not frantic, not afraid, just firm. A boundary.

Fuck.

He moved off you immediately, sitting back, giving you space. His pulse pounded in his ears, a sharp rush of self-recrimination. He ran a hand over his face, breathing hard, stomach twisting at the thought that he’d hurt you.

You were breathing just as heavily, pulling the sheets up around yourself. Your eyes weren’t filled with fear—thank God—but there was something hesitant there, something uncertain, and it gutted him.

"Shit," Simon rasped, scrubbing a hand down his face.

You didn’t say anything right away, just curled into yourself slightly, the sheets gathered around your body like armor. You weren’t scared—he could see that, could feel it—but the hesitation in your eyes cut deeper than any blade ever had.

"I’m sorry." His voice was hoarse, rough. "I—fuck, I didn’t mean—"

"I know." You exhaled, slow, controlled. Not placating, not brushing it off. Just... steady.

That steadiness was the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

His jaw clenched as he forced himself to look at you, to meet your gaze instead of looking away like a coward. "I shouldn’t have—"

"I just... need a minute." Your fingers twisted in the sheets, knuckles going white. "It was just... too much."

He nodded, throat tight. Too much. Not rejection. Not fear. Just a line he’d crossed without realizing it.

Simon had never had to think about these things before—never had to learn softness. He'd spent years taking what was offered, using, being used. This—you—were different. And he’d fucked it up.

He nodded and shifted back further, giving you as much space as you needed. He’d wait. However long it took.

Because you were worth it.

You stayed like that for a while—silent, the weight of the moment hanging in the air. Simon didn’t push, didn’t say a word, just kept his distance, watching you with an intensity that seemed to strip away every last bit of pretense.

Finally, you shifted, drawing in a slow, steady breath. The sheets rustled as you pulled them tighter around you, but your body language softened, just a little.

"I’m okay," you said, your voice a little shaky but grounded. "I just... I need to feel like it's me you want, not just...” You paused. “Not just... whatever you’re used to.”

The air in the room seemed to shift. The words hit Simon like a hammer to the chest, the weight of them settling deeply in his stomach. He had spent so long in a world where everything was physical, where touch had no meaning beyond the moment—it was a reality he’d never questioned, until now. Until you.

"I want you," he said, his voice more vulnerable than ever before. "I want you, not... anything else. I fucked up, and I’m sorry."

To be honest, Simon had no idea what to say, how to make you understand, how to reassure you that you weren’t just another fleeting thing in his life, at least not anymore, not since he'd gotten to know you.

You quietly slipped out of bed, wrapping the sheets around your body. "I'll just... be a minute," you whispered, picking up your clothes as you made your way toward the bathroom.

As the bathroom door clicked shut behind you, Simon buried his face in his palms. "Great job, Riley," he muttered to himself.

What felt like an eternity to Simon passed in silence before you finally emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed. His gaze locked onto you, waiting for something — anything.

"You want me to take you home?" His voice was uncertain, a trace of fear creeping in.

You shook your head slowly, realizing just how this must look like to him. "No... no, I still want to spend time with you... just not... doing that."

Simon nodded, but it wasn’t the relief of understanding that he felt. Instead, for the first time in his life, he was gripped by an overwhelming fear — the fear that you might leave, that no one would be waiting for him when he returned from deployment. That after this night, once you're out the door in the morning, you might never want to see him.

[alohajix]

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

Description: when Nora finds out her best friend Harry makes adult content, curiosity turns into something much more. One video leads to another, and soon they’re filming, posting, and falling into something hotter—and deeper—than either of them expected.

Warnings: this one-shot series contains explicit sexual content, oral sex, vaginal sex, rough sex, dirty talk, light spanking, voyeurism/exhibitionism, filming of sexual acts, and public sharing of adult content. Readers +18.

Words count: 6.2K.

I NEED HOLY WATER AFTER THIS ONE 🔥

also if you guys want a request you can hit me up

*****

I never thought I’d catch my best friend in bed with someone—not like that, anyway. Technically, Harry was alone. But he wasn’t exactly just lying there.

I only meant to grab my hoodie. I’d left it at his apartment the night before, and he told me to swing by whenever—I had the code, I always did. We’d been best friends since freshman year, and by now, walking into his place felt like second nature. But I wasn’t expecting the soft, rhythmic moaning drifting from his bedroom.

I froze. I wasn’t sure whether to knock, run, or just melt into the floor and pretend I didn’t exist. But curiosity—my most dangerous trait—kicked in.

It was faint, but familiar. Not the voice. The sound. Video. It was coming from his laptop. Relief washed through me so fast I almost laughed. Of course Harry wasn’t hooking up right now. He was watching something. But then I heard his voice.

“Yeah? You like that?” Low. Smooth. Just cocky enough. My stomach flipped.

I stepped closer. Just a little. His door was cracked open, the way it always was when he was alone. And yeah, it was his voice. Confident. Teasing. Definitely not acting. He wasn’t watching the video. He was in it.

I stood there a second too long, heat flooding my face, unable to look away from the shadow of him on the screen—shirtless, his mouth curved in that same smug little grin he used on me when he was winning at Mario Kart or stealing the last slice of pizza.

Then I turned around and left the apartment like it was on fire.

I didn’t bring it up for two days. He texted like normal. Memes. Random photos of his dog. A video of some guy skateboarding with a gallon of milk. I ignored them all.

Then finally—finally—he called me.

“Nora. Did I do something?”

I stared at his name glowing on my screen, thumb hovering over the answer button. My heart thudded like I was guilty of something, like I was the one who’d been caught moaning into a camera.

I answered. “Hey.”

“You’ve been weird.”

I bit my lip. “Have I?”

He sighed. “You’re doing the thing where you pretend everything’s fine but you’re actually spiraling and probably making a pros and cons list about whether I’m still your friend.”

I let out a small laugh. “That’s… specific.”

“Because I know you. So tell me what I did.” There was a long silence.

Then I said, “I came by to get my hoodie. A couple days ago.” Pause.

“Oh,” he said. Then again, softer, “Oh.”

“Yeah.” More silence.

Then, casually—like we were talking about what to order for dinner—he asked, “Did you watch the whole thing?”

“Harry!”

He laughed, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. “I’m kidding. Kind of.”

I groaned. “I didn’t mean to walk in on your… work.”

He went quiet again. Then, gently, he said, “That’s what it is, you know. Work.”

I sank into my bed. “I’m not judging. I just didn’t know you were… doing that.”

“You never asked.”

“I didn’t think I had to!”

He chuckled. “It’s not exactly a secret.”

I hesitated. “So… how long have you been doing it?”

“A little over a year.”

My mouth went dry. “Like… just solo? Or—”

“Mostly solo,” he said. “Sometimes not.” Oh.

I tried to picture him filming like that with someone else. I shouldn’t have. But I did.

“And… you’re okay with people watching you like that?” I asked, quieter now.

He waited. “Would it bother you if I said yes?”

“I don’t know.”

His voice dropped just enough to make me shiver. “Did it bother you when you saw me?”

I didn’t answer. But he must’ve heard it in my silence.

Then he said, “I’ve been thinking about asking you.”

My breath caught. “Asking me what?”

“To make a video. With me.”

I swallowed. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Harry…”

“You don’t have to say yes,” he said quickly. “I’d never push. But you asked if it bothers me when people watch—and no, it doesn’t. Not if I’m with someone I actually want.”

My heart was pounding.

“And you’d want that,” I said, my voice smaller. “With me?”

He exhaled into the phone like I’d asked the dumbest question in the world. “Nora. I’ve wanted you since sophomore year.”

My cheeks burned. “You’ve never said anything.”

“You’ve never looked at me the way you did after you saw that video.”

I felt dizzy. Like I’d just stepped off a cliff and wasn’t sure whether I’d land or fly.

“Nora,” he said, softer now. “I’m serious. If you’re curious… if you want this… we could try it. Just us. No pressure. No posting. Just… see what it’s like.”

I didn’t say yes. Not yet. But I didn’t hang up either. And that silence? That was my maybe.

I didn’t sleep much after that call. Not because I was uncomfortable—but because I couldn’t stop thinking. About what he said. About the way he said it. I kept replaying his voice, that calm, confident tone like he wasn’t just throwing out some wild suggestion, but offering me something I didn’t know I wanted until it was right in front of me. And the worst part? I did want it.

I wasn’t sure what that said about me, but I was sure about that. So the next night, I texted him:

Nora: If we did it… just us. No camera. Just to try it. Would that be okay? He called me almost immediately.

His voice was softer this time, slower. “Yeah. That’d be more than okay.”

*****

It didn’t happen right away. He came over like it was normal—pizza, sweatpants, a dumb movie we both knew we wouldn’t pay attention to. But the air between us had changed. Everything felt closer. More charged. He was watching me. Not in the way best friends did. Not like Harry. Like someone who wanted to take their time peeling me open, layer by layer, just to see how I’d fall apart.

“Still okay?” he asked when the movie was barely halfway done, his fingers brushing my knee like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch me yet.

“Yeah,” I breathed. “I just… I’ve never done something like this before.”

“With me,” he said, leaning closer. “You’ve never done something like this with me.”

I smiled, nervous and warm all over. “Is that supposed to make it better?”

“God, I hope so.”

I didn’t even realize how close we were until his hand slid over mine. Until I felt his thumb tracing the space between my knuckles like it was the most natural thing in the world. My whole body lit up like it was suddenly tuned to just him.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” he said softly. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”

“I know.” I hesitated. “But I want to.” That was all it took.

He kissed me like he’d been waiting forever. Slow at first, like a question. Like he was giving me space to change my mind. But I didn’t—I couldn’t. I melted into him, his hand tilting my chin just enough to deepen it, just enough to make me gasp when his tongue slid against mine.

He pulled back only a breath. “Still okay?”

“I’m never going to say no to that again.”

His grin was cocky and devastating. “Then come here.”

We barely made it to my bedroom. He tugged my hand, pulling me into him, our mouths crashing again with more hunger this time. Every step we took felt like something unspoken breaking wide open. My back hit the door. His hands framed my waist. And then I was on the bed, heart pounding, breath caught somewhere between anticipation and need.

“I’ve pictured this,” he murmured, crawling over me, his mouth brushing my jaw, my neck. “Too many times.”

“You’re not the only one,” I whispered, fingers curling in the hem of his shirt. “Take this off.”

He grinned and peeled it over his head, tossing it to the floor. I dragged my hands down his chest, slow, tentative, until he leaned down and kissed me again—deeper now. His hips pressed against mine, and I could feel how hard he was already, even through his sweats. Clothes slipped away between kisses and soft gasps. He undressed me gently, his fingers teasing the straps of my bra down my arms, lips brushing my skin as he bared it. I felt stripped down in more ways than one—every look, every touch, like he was discovering something he didn’t want to rush.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, thumb grazing the underside of my breast before taking one into his mouth. I moaned, arching beneath him, my fingers tangling in his hair as he sucked, then switched sides, lavishing slow attention that sent heat rushing straight between my legs.

His hand slid down my stomach, fingers slipping beneath my underwear. I inhaled sharply as he found me—already wet, already aching.

“God, Nora,” he groaned. “You’re soaked.”

He circled my cl*t with slow, steady pressure, drawing a whimper from me. I couldn’t stop moving, hips tilting into every stroke as he leaned in to kiss me again, his mouth swallowing the breathy sounds I couldn’t hold back.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against my lips, two fingers sliding inside me with an ease that made me moan.

“You,” I whispered. “I want you.”

He pulled his hand back, kissed me once more, then sat up just long enough to shove his sweats off and roll a condom on. I couldn’t stop staring—flushed and panting, wanting him more than I’d ever wanted anything. When he lined himself up and pushed into me, it was slow. Gentle. His eyes locked on mine as he stretched me open inch by inch, giving me time to adjust, giving me everything.

“F*ck,” he groaned, settling deep. “You feel so good. Better than I ever imagined.”

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, breath catching as he started to move—each thrust building, deeper, smoother, more insistent. My legs locked around his waist, dragging him closer. My name fell from his lips like a prayer, over and over.

The room blurred around us—heat, skin, breath, sound. He filled me completely, his hips rolling into mine, our bodies meeting over and over until I was gasping his name, nails digging into his back.

“I’m close,” I whispered.

His thumb found my clit, rubbing tight circles as his rhythm picked up. “Come for me, baby.”

And I did—my whole body tightening, then unraveling in waves as I clenched around him, crying out his name. He followed right after, burying his face in my neck as he groaned and thrust deep one last time, his whole body shuddering with release.

After, we lay tangled in the sheets, the silence full but not awkward. He looked over at me, hair messy, eyes soft. “So…”

I turned my head. “So.”

“Was that a one-time thing?”

I smiled, heart thudding again. “I don’t think I want it to be.”

His grin returned—easy, sweet, smug as hell. “Good.”

Then he rolled on top of me again, warm and familiar, but now with a spark I knew would never go back to innocent.

“I meant it, you know,” he murmured. “If we do ever want to make something… I’d want it to be with you.”

I kissed him, just once, slow and deep. “I’ll let you know.” And judging by the look in his eyes, he knew I would.

*****

It took me a week to say yes. Not because I didn’t want to. I did. I thought about it every night—what it would be like to let him touch me again, to do it with his camera watching. I thought about how his voice sounded when he got serious, how gentle he was even when he moved like he was starving for me. But this time was different.

This time, someone else would see it—could see it. Even if we said no one would. Even if it stayed between us. It was the idea of being seen that lingered in the back of my mind. And the part I couldn’t ignore? It turned me on more than it scared me.

So when he came over, kissed me like he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it either, and whispered, “You still want to try?”—I whispered yes into his mouth like it was the answer I’d been holding onto since the moment I walked in on that video.

He didn’t set up a whole production. It was just his phone on a tripod, angled carefully, lighting soft and natural from the string lights around my room. No pressure. No performance. Just us.

“You good?” he asked, kneeling next to the bed, watching me with a look that was all reassurance and heat.

“I’m nervous,” I said, glancing at the phone. “But… kind of excited too.”

He leaned in, his voice low against my lips. “You’re allowed to be both.”

I gave a shaky breath and looked back at the lens. “So that’s really recording right now?”

Harry smiled. “Yep. You want to say hi?”

I laughed—nervous, breathless. Then I turned to the camera with a slow smile and said softly, “Guess we’re doing this.”

Harry’s eyes darkened instantly. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

I bit my lip. “I didn’t even do anything yet.”

He kissed me, and it was slow and deep, like he was warming me up from the inside out. He peeled off my shirt, then reached behind me to undo my bra, tossing it aside. “God, look at you,” he murmured, glancing at the camera, then back at me. “You’re gonna drive them insane.”

“They’re not watching yet,” I whispered.

“No,” he said, mouth brushing my neck. “But I am.”

His hands moved over me, slow and sure, cupping my breasts as he kissed down to them. He took one nipple into his mouth and sucked lightly, then looked up at me while doing it, watching the way my lips parted and my back arched.

“You wanna show them how good it feels?” he asked.

I looked into the lens, cheeks burning, and whispered, “He’s really good with his mouth.”

Harry chuckled low and wicked, switching to the other side. “Keep talking like that and I’m not gonna last.”

He moved lower, dragging my shorts and panties down in one smooth motion, his hands stroking up my thighs.

“Open up for me, sweetheart,” he said.

I did—nervous, turned on, and very aware of the camera now capturing every second. He lowered his mouth to my center, his tongue flicking over my cl*t in slow, teasing circles. I moaned, grabbing the sheets, but he didn’t let up. If anything, he licked deeper, more deliberately, humming softly against me.

“F*ck,” I gasped. “Harry, that feels—”

“Amazing?” he offered, glancing up, his lips shiny. “Tell them how good I’m making you feel.”

I looked at the lens, dazed and breathless. “I’m gonna come just from his mouth.”

He groaned, like he needed to hear that, and then slid two fingers inside me, curling them perfectly. My body seized up as the orgasm hit—hot and sharp and all-consuming. I cried out, riding it out against his mouth, his name falling from my lips over and over. When I opened my eyes, Harry was watching me, completely focused.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded, still breathless. “Better than okay.”

He kissed me—slow, filthy, sweet. I tasted myself on his lips and moaned softly into his mouth. Then he grabbed a condom from the drawer, rolled it on, and positioned himself between my legs.

“You wanna look at the camera while I f*ck you?” he asked, teasing.

I smiled, flushed and bold. “Maybe.”

He nudged the tip of his c*ck against my entrance. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

He slid in with one long, slow thrust, filling me completely. My eyes fluttered closed, and I let out a shaky moan.

“Look at them,” he whispered.

I forced my gaze open and found the camera. “He’s inside me,” I said, voice soft and shaky. “And it feels so f*cking good.”

Harry groaned above me and started to move, each thrust smooth and deep. His hands gripped my hips, dragging me against him as he rocked into me.

“You’re perfect,” he said. “So tight. So good for me.”

My legs wrapped around him. I couldn’t look away from the lens now—I wanted to be seen. I wanted to show how wrecked I was for him.

“You gonna come again?” he asked, fingers finding my clit.

“Yes—Harry, please, don’t stop—”

“Let them see it.”

I moaned louder as the orgasm built again, my body tightening, hips grinding into his.

“Right there,” he growled. “Come for me, baby.”

And I did—hard. Crying out, trembling under him as I clenched around him, eyes locked on the lens like I wanted them to feel it. Harry thrust harder, chasing his own release, eyes flicking between me and the camera.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he groaned. “I’m gonna come—fuck—”

He pulled out just in time, stroking himself fast as he spilled across my stomach, chest heaving. The lens caught it all.

After, he turned off the camera and collapsed next to me, sweaty and smiling.

“You did so good,” he murmured, brushing hair from my face.

I laughed breathlessly. “That was insane.”

“You like being watched, huh?”

I bit my lip, still breathless. “Apparently.”

He leaned over and kissed me again. “Want to see how it turned out?”

I smiled, lazy and flushed. “Only if we’re naked again while we do.”

He groaned and dropped his head to my shoulder. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

It started with the comment. Well—another comment. We were sprawled across his bed, phones glowing, scrolling through the chaos we’d unleashed online. The video was climbing faster than either of us expected, and the comments weren’t slowing down.

“Y’all got me feral. If she ever lets you f*ck her from behind, I need it filmed immediately.”

“Imagine her riding him with those little gasps—yes please.”

“We need to see her beg next time. She looks like she could be so filthy.”

I read that one twice. Then I passed him my phone. He blinked, read it slowly, then looked at me.

“You okay?” he asked, lips twitching.

I shrugged, biting back a grin. “I mean… I could be filthy.”

His brows lifted. “You could.”

I tilted my head. “You saying I haven’t been?”

He leaned in, lips brushing my jaw. “I’m saying… if you’re ready to go there, I’ll follow your lead.”

There was a moment of silence. Tension. Awareness. That subtle shift where something playful becomes serious—charged. Then I said, “Okay. Let’s film something else.”

Harry’s pupils blew wide. “You want to right now?”

I nodded. “But I want it different this time.”

“Tell me.”

“Less sweet. More…” I swallowed. “Rough. I want you to talk to me. Use me. I want to look into the camera and know they’re gonna lose their minds.”

He stared at me for a full beat, chest rising.

“Jesus, Nora,” he murmured. “You really are gonna ruin me.���

We set it up together this time. The tripod went higher, angled downward toward the bed. He adjusted the lighting, brought in a second soft lamp, and checked the shot while I peeled off my hoodie and climbed onto the sheets in just my matching black lingerie set.

“Holy fuck,” he said, just staring.

I smirked at the camera. “They wanted filth.”

“You’re giving it to them already and we haven’t even started.”

I crawled back toward the pillows, legs parted, head tilted. “So start.”

He hit record. He stripped as he walked over—slow and confident, his c*ck already thick and heavy as he climbed onto the bed.

“You look like a dream,” he murmured, settling between my legs. “You know that?”

I smiled, glancing at the camera. “Then stop staring and touch me.”

His hand wrapped around my neck—not hard, just firm enough to still me, to make me look up.

“You want rough?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You want them to see how pretty you look getting ruined?”

“Please.”

He leaned down and kissed me hard—open-mouthed, demanding. His hand slipped between my thighs, fingers stroking my soaked underwear. “You’re already wet.”

“You haven’t even done anything,” I whispered.

He tugged my panties aside and slid two fingers in without warning. I gasped.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re dripping, baby.”

I whined and bucked my hips. “Harry—”

“Shh.” He sat up on his knees, yanked my panties off completely, and spread my thighs wide. “Look at them,” he said.

I looked into the camera, breathing hard, legs open and trembling.

“Tell them how badly you want it.”

“I want him to f*ck me,” I said, flushed. “Hard. From behind. I want to feel him everywhere.”

He hissed. “Keep talking like that and I’m not gonna last.”

I rolled onto my stomach, arching my ass into the air, cheek to the sheets. “Then don’t wait.”

He groaned low in his throat, grabbed the condom from the nightstand, and rolled it on fast. The moment he lined up behind me, his hands gripped my waist, and he slammed into me with one hard thrust.

I cried out. “F*ck—yes.”

“That’s it,” he growled, pulling out and slamming back in. “Take it, baby. Just like that.”

His hips hit mine over and over, fast, brutal, perfect. I was gasping, panting, shaking.

“You hear those sounds?” he said. “That’s what you do to me. You hear how fucking wet you are?”

I moaned as he reached down and smacked my ass, once, then again, each one leaving a stinging warmth.

“Say something,” he panted. “Talk to them.”

I turned my head toward the camera, eyes half-lidded, voice shaking.

“You guys wanted to see him ruin me?” I moaned. “He’s fucking me like I belong to him.” Another hard thrust.

“You do belong to me,” he growled. “This perfect little p*ssy is mine.”

My orgasm built fast—hot and wild, dizzying as he drove into me, one hand wrapped in my hair now, the other gripping my hip like he needed me closer.

“I’m gonna come,” I cried out.

“Then come. Come with me deep inside you.”

And I did—my whole body spasming, collapsing forward into the sheets, mouth open in a silent moan as he f*cked me through it. Harry followed with a loud groan, pulling out to finish on my ass, chest heaving as he stroked himself through the last few spurts. The camera caught it all. We stayed like that for a beat—panting, messy, wrecked.

Then he leaned down and kissed my spine. “You just made the filthiest, hottest fucking video I’ve ever filmed.”

I turned my head, dazed. “You think they’ll like it?”

He smirked. “They’re gonna lose their minds.”

*****

They posted it the next morning. No warning. No teasing. Just a title—“She Wanted to Be Ruined.” It blew up within hours. By noon, Harry had over ten thousand new followers. By dinner, my DMs were full.

We laid in bed again, wrapped up in each other, reading the comments between kisses and bites of takeout.

“The way she says ‘I belong to him’? Ruined me.”

“Bro. That arch. That ass. That moan. That everything.”

“The way she talks to the camera like she knows she’s a fantasy? Obsessed.”

“That’s not porn. That’s art.”

“I’ll never recover from the way she looked back at the camera after he came on her.”

I buried my face in his chest, laughing, flustered, completely high on it.

“Think they liked it?” I teased.

Harry kissed the top of my head. “They worship you.”

“I kinda like it.”

“You love it.” I didn’t argue.

A notification popped up on his phone.

“Wanna go live?” he read aloud, then glanced at me. “We don’t have to talk about everything. Just… check in. Say hi. Let them see us.”

I raised a brow. “You think they’re ready for that?”

He smirked. “I think you’re their new obsession.”

I rolled onto my back, stretched, and grinned. “Then let’s give them a little more.”

The live Q&A was chaos. We propped the phone against the lamp, climbed under the blanket together—me in one of his oversized shirts, Harry shirtless with the most unapologetic grin—and hit “Go Live.” The chat exploded in seconds.

“THEY’RE ALIVE.”

“Nora you are a goddess what the hell.”

“Did she really come twice??”

“How does it feel to break the internet?”

I giggled and leaned into him. “You’ve created a monster.”

“She created herself,” he said to the chat. “I just helped bring it out.”

“Will you make more?”

“Is this just content or are you two together??”

“Please collab again I’m begging.”

“How did you stay hard while she was saying that stuff?”

Harry laughed, fingers brushing my thigh. “Barely.”

I looked at the camera. “We’re figuring it out. But I think it’s safe to say… there’s more coming.” The chat lost it.

We didn’t stay live long—just enough to tease, enough to connect. Enough to promise that whatever we were turning into, it wasn’t over yet. We didn’t say what it meant for us—what we were now. But I didn’t need to define it just yet. Not when I had his arm around me, my name on their lips, and the next idea already forming in the back of my mind.

After all… There’s always a next video.