#i remember how hard everything was the first time

[girlgenius1111]

not yourself

barcelona x teen reader your first international break does not go how you want it to. you're not yourself when you return, and your teammates make it their business to figure out what happened, and why you're so quiet and withdrawn.

—

You’d never been very good at making friends. You were quiet, and people often took that to mean you were aloof. The only reason you’d made friends at Barça was because you’d been so young when you started there. Young enough that almost everyone made an effort to try to get to know you. And while it took time, they must have decided you were worth knowing. 

Your club teammates would tell anyone who asked that you were the team’s baby. Sweet and kind. Even loud and outgoing around people you were comfortable with. Incredible on the pitch. Your teammates loved you like a younger sister, and had gained your trust. You absolutely couldn’t be described as shy around them anymore. 

So, your club teammates knew you well enough to know that if you were being quiet, it wasn’t because you thought you were better than everyone around you or because you weren’t interested in being social. You just had such anxiety when it came to social situations, especially new ones. 

No situation terrified you more than your first international call up. The weeks leading up to it, everyone kept telling you it would be okay. Whenever you fell quiet and looked like you were thinking too hard, there was always someone there to rest a hand on your shoulder or pull you into a hug and promise that everything would be okay. 

You just had to be yourself, Alexia said, and everyone would like you. 

Kika promised you had nothing to worry about, Cata said she was just a phone call away if she had to fight someone for you. None of them seemed very worried, somehow assured and convinced that you’d have no trouble making friends. 

For the first time in your career, you left when they did for the international break. You were your usual self, bubbly and smiley and excited enough that you could barely sit still. Or maybe that was just the nerves. 

You were yourself when you left, and none of them stopped to consider that you might not be when you got back.

—

Loneliness. It wasn’t a brand new feeling, but it wasn’t one you’d felt in a long time. 

Not since you were a kid, and watched the other kids play together at recess. Easily talking and laughing and having fun. Not since you were a kid and watched your parents joke and laugh with your much older siblings, only pausing to remind you to finish your homework. You’d been the outsider, then. At school and at home. 

The weird girl that tried to play football with the boys at recess, and was promptly shunned by everyone. The baby of the family that no one seemed to have any time for. Your parents had you, and soon after decided they were tired of being real parents. They were tired of spending their time with kids, only they’d realized that too late. You’d spent years eating dinner alone at the kitchen table, wondering if your parents would remember to come check on you when they got home from whatever event they’d gone to. 

So, loneliness was familiar. Perhaps you’d just forgotten how much it ached. 

Yet you were reminded, that first international break. Where once again you were the outsider, the odd one out. You weren’t very sure why. It started with the girl you were assigned to room with acting like you were the strangest, most unpleasant person she’d ever spoken to. Soon, it was everyone else doing the same. 

It was cruel little laughs when you messed up in training, and rolled eyes when you went down with an ankle injury during the match. It was assuredly not whispered overheard conversations. 

“She’s so arrogant, I don’t know how anyone puts up with her.” 

“They probably have to be nice to her at Barça, but it’s all pity, really. No one would actually want to spend time with her.” 

“I wonder if it’s in her contract, that everyone has to pretend to like her.” 

It was trying to keep your sobs silent at night as you buried your face in your pillow. It was ignoring every text you got from your club teammates asking how it was going because you were terrified that they didn’t really like you. It didn’t take much for you to be convinced you were some annoying burden on your teammates. The foundation had been laid throughout your life, and it took just a few perfectly worded comments from some of the meanest girls you’d ever encountered to shatter what little self confidence you’d managed to develop. 

It was the worst two weeks of your life. And now, somehow, you were supposed to go back to Barcelona and act normal, like you didn’t have a million doubts in your head, much more amplified than they ever had been before. 

Now, it wasn’t a small worry in the back of your mind that you were bothering Jana when you asked her to braid your hair before a match, or when Alexia drove you home from training that one evening. It had grown to a shout, drowning out any logical, reasonable competition. 

You were sure. Convinced. You were nothing but a burden. An annoying, arrogant, horrible person who no one actually wanted to be around, let alone your club teammates who had the world at their feet. 

Your lack of response to your teammates' texts was the first of many red flags. Many of them had texted you. First, your closest friends. Vicky, Sydney, Jana, Salma. But when word inevitably got around the Spain camp that you weren’t replying to your friends, more texts arrived. From Irene and Alexia, Patri, Cata, and Claudia. Almost everyone asked you some variation of how is it going, or alternatively, are you doing okay? 

Yet you were too in your head to believe they really wanted to know. This was only reinforced when the texts stopped. Though you didn’t know it, Alexia and Irene had decided you needed space for whatever reason, and told everyone to leave you alone. They didn’t want to suffocate you trying to figure out what was going on, though it was clearly something. 

So, the texts stopped, and any remaining shred of hope you carried that your national teammates were wrong, that your club teammates did care about you, disappeared too. 

—

You were pretty sure you’d never been more anxious than you were the morning you were supposed to return to Barça’s training. Every negative comment, every condescending look, every second you'd spent feeling alone and awful, had built up inside your head.

Every single thing you did prompted a flood of self deprecating thoughts. It didn't feel like you could do anything right. All you wanted was to shrink yourself down, become as small and unnoticeable as possible. If you could get through the day without anyone really looking at you, maybe you could do this.

Of course, your teammates, already worried about you after your unexplained silence, weren't going to let you be invisible.

It started with an arm slung around your shoulders the second you stepped into the locker room. Ona, a bright smile on her face.

"La pequeña is back!" She sang, pinching your cheek.

Her words didn't make you feel loved and cared for. Instead, you heart clenched, thinking she was being patronizing.

You had officially fallen off the deep end, and if you'd been in any less of a state of anxiety and self consciousness, you would have realized how wrong and unfair you were being.

You knew Ona. Ona was a good person. Ona would never hurt a fly, let alone be cruel to one of her teammates. These were all facts. Somehow, though, your sense of self had been so warped, so twisted, that you believed Ona could be a good person who wouldn't hurt a fly, yet she could also still be teasing you.

There was something to be said about how two weeks with a bunch of mean girls had completely destroyed your self confidence. Perhaps it hadn't been very strong to begin with, perhaps this deep hatred you felt towards yourself had always been inside you, just buried deep. Now, though, it had free reign. Logic could no longer control it, and it was left to run rampant through your body and mind.

You were bad. Arrogant, awful, impossible to like or care for. These feelings were the foundation of every thought you had. You were a burdensome disaster, and your teammates didn't need to be bothered with you. It wasn't worth it; you weren't worth their time.

You didn't think you were worth much at all, really.

So, you shrugged out from under Ona's arm, fixing your eyes on your cubby and hurrying over to it. No eye contact, no conversation with anyone else.

Ona was left behind you, confused. Brow furrowed, she looked at you, and then looked around the locker room. It seemed she hadn't been the only one to notice your odd behavior. Jana made eye contact with her, nodding her head slightly.

You were hyper aware of everyone around you, able to see Jana leaning closer from her spot in the cubby next to you out of the corner of your eye.

"Hey." She said quietly.

You managed some mumbled greeting in response, hands trembling where you tried to unfold your training top.

"Are you okay?" Jana inquired.

Immediately, you nodded your head. And immediately, Jana regretted her question. Of course you were going to say yes, even if it was obvious you weren't okay. She should have asked what was wrong, instead.

Someone cleared their throat behind Jana, and you let out a sigh of relief when she stepped away from you.

More concern being shown to you, yet you perceived it so differently. Jana was taking pity on you, probably. You needed to pull it together, take some deep breaths and put on a show, because you had no choice but to be fine today. No choice.

As you composed yourself, Jana and Irene exchanged quiet words.

"Something isn't right." Jana whispered, glancing back at you. Now, you were methodically trying your shoes, even a mere hint of emotion wiped from your face.

Irene was watching you, too, more concerned than she wanted to admit. Your silence while you'd been away had been odd; your behavior now, though, was downright worrying.

Yet taking one look at you told Irene that you were completely shut down. An impenetrable wall had put up, and Irene knew better than to force her way through. This wasn't the time or the place to get you to talk.

"Just leave her be for today. Whatever it is, she'll come to us when she's ready."

And maybe you would have, if it had been anything else. But when you were convinced you were a burden, the last thing you wanted to do was ask the people you felt like you were inconveniencing to reassure you that you weren't an inconvenience.

Those of your teammates that had an understanding of when to push and when not to push seemed to leave you alone. There were little things, pats on the shoulder and water bottles handed to you first before anyone else, that were supposed to send you the message that you were cared for. Yet all you could think was that your teammates saw you as an obligation.

However, some of your other teammates greatly lacked the ability to read the situation. When they saw someone being quiet and acting strangely, it wasn't in their nature to let it go. They pushed.

Teasing comments about being quiet or being too cool for the team followed you around all day. The weren't intentionally cruel, yet you couldn't seem to separate friendly teasing from what you'd endured with your national team.

Everything came to a head in the locker room after training. It was loud, everyone chattering excitedly about their breaks and getting to see their families. So loud that no one really noticed Cata and Vicky appearing on either side of you, pestering you to tell them why you were suddenly way too cool to talk to them.

“Out with it, chica!” Cata said teasingly. Maybe she was trying to lighten the mood, but you felt like she was laughing at you. “You’ve been acting like an alien all day.” 

“Were you abducted? Are you really an alien shape shifter?” Vicky laughed. 

The teasing felt cruel, though you should have known it wasn’t. The echoes of the girls from your national team still rattled around in your head, until you couldn’t tell the difference between their bullying and your teammates’ teasing. 

You shut your locker tightly, blinking hard for a second before turning around. 

“Please just leave me alone.” You said softly, voice cracking in the middle. 

Cata and Vicky froze, surprise flashing across their faces. 

“Chica, we were just–”

“I know, I know, I’ve been weird. Just make your jokes when I’m gone next time.” 

It was the closest you’d probably ever get to standing up for yourself, so maybe you were a bit proud as you headed out of the locker room. Mostly, though, you just felt pathetic. For ever thinking your teammates had cared about you when they had no reason to. For ever thinking you were fun to be around or fun to talk to. 

You’d been trying to be quiet and fade into the background. Not draw attention to yourself. It only confirmed in your head that your teammates saw you as a pitiful charity project they didn’t actually want to be around when they seemed to zero in on this change in your behavior. 

You couldn’t picture it coming from a place of worry or care. The girls your age hated you, and there was no reason why much more successful women wouldn’t feel the same way. 

Hastily, you made your way out of the locker room, ignoring every sideways glance from your teammates. You even ignored Alexia calling your name, not thinking yourself capable of holding it together for much longer. You needed to get home, where you could be pathetic by yourself and not bother anyone with it.

Yet behind you, every single one of your teammates, every single one of your friends, were left bewildered. Something wasn't right. And they were not the type of people to let something like this go.

—

It was Sydney that got to you. She’d clearly had a bad training session, a bad day. It surprised you when your phone lit up with a text from her, asking if she could come over. You said yes immediately, willing to help even while you were convinced you were the perpetual butt of some joke. 

Sydney been near tears when she knocked on your front door, and you didn't hesitate to pull her over to your sofa, wrap a soft cream blanket around her shoulders, and move the box of tissues on the coffee table ever so slightly closer to her.

"What's going on?" You asked, trying to keep your voice even and calm.

Sydney sniffled, burying her face in her hands.

"Everything," she said, voice muffled. "I just… I don't think I'm good enough to be here. Everyday at training, all I can do is doubt myself and rethink my decisions and then I play horribly. It's unbearable. I want to go home, I miss my parents and my sister and cold weather and—"

"Woah, slow down." You urged. "Take a breathe, you're spiraling."

Sydney inhaled shakily, and you reached out, resting a supportive hand on her forearm.

"It's just… really hard, being so far away from home and playing for the best team in the world. I should feel happy and lucky, and I do, but I'm so scared all the time that I'm not good enough."

You knew exactly how she was feeling. It was probably a rough time that every young player at Barcelona felt, a point everyone reached. You weren't even sure that you didn't still feel that way.

In that moment, you were glad you'd felt this way before, if for no other reason than being able to help Sydney more.

"Syd, you wouldn't be here if you weren't good enough. Having a crisis of confidence like this just shows you care, and you have the passion you need to play for this team."

Sydney looked up at you and sniffled, cautiously hopeful. "You think so?"

"Absolutely. What you're feeling is so normal, Syd, I promise. It's an adjustment and you just have to be patient with yourself. It's going to get better, I promise."

This time, Sydney nodded, wiping at her eyes. "Yeah, you're probably right."

You fidgeted with your fingers in your lap, wracking your brain for what else to say, what would have made you feel better when you'd felt like this. Sydney looked comforted, sure, but you knew that your advice was probably not very good, and she deserved more than you were able to give her.

“Do you want me to call one of the older girls, Syd? They can probably help better than me.” You suggested, biting down on your lower lip in worry. 

Sydney shook her head. “No, you’re helping. You always give good advice, and you always know what to say to calm me down. That’s why I’m here. I think I just needed to cry.” 

Her words shocked you, and it was obvious that she could tell.

"I actually didn't just come over here to cry on your couch." Sydney said, no longer looking quite as sad, concern flooding her features. "I wanted to check on you. Something seemed really off today."

You shifted uncomfortably, whole body suddenly tense. "No, I'm—"

"Do not tell me that you are fine. You seem… you seem really not okay. Everyone's noticed, and Irene has insisted we give you space, that you'll talk to someone about whatever is wrong when you're ready, but that doesn't feel right to me. You shouldn't let someone who is clearly hurting isolate themselves."

Sydney spoke with the wisdom of a much older woman. Her hazel eyes, too, seemed to study you in a way that pierced your soul. So much so that you suddenly didn't know how you were going to push this away, how you were going to convince her you were okay.

There was something else, too. The thing about Irene and space and you reaching out when you were ready. It tugged at your chest, maybe some very tiny remaining part of you that remembered how much you trusted your teammates.

Two weeks that felt like an eternity were enough to do a lot of damage on your psyche, that much was obvious. Those weeks, paired with your long standing tendency to fall into a pit of self hatred, were enough to have you questioning everything, your friendships most of all. You'd shrunk yourself down, trying to take up as little space as possible, as you always had when you were younger. When it was clear you were annoying your parents or your siblings, you shut down.

You were shutting down now, but there was some part of you, maybe some healed part of you, that couldn't stop thinking of tight hugs and reassuring words and movie nights and homemade dinners and rides home from training. None of that matched up with the way you were feeling, until all you were sure of in that moment, was that you were confused.

You were so confused. Sydney reaching out and checking on you didn't make sense. Irene telling everyone to give you space, and that you'd talk to someone when you were ready didn't make sense. Sydney saying you were clearly hurting didn't make sense; you weren't hurting, not really. You were just being realistic. Weren't you?

Sydney seemed genuine, though. And that was the thing that really tripped you up. She would have had to go very much out of her way to come over here and check on you, even if she apparently came also because she trusted you to make her feel better about her own terrible day.

Nothing made sense anymore. It hadn't since you'd left for the break two weeks ago, and realized you were existing in a bubble where everyone tolerated your presence because they had to.

"Did something happen over the break?" She probed, carefully watching the shift of your facial expression. Immediately, she knew she'd gotten it right. Your face had fallen for just a moment, before the wall was drawn back up. But she'd seen the devastation in your eyes at the reminder. "Okay, so yes. Tell me what happened."

Sydney could come off as a very quiet, soft spoken person. but when it came to the people she cared about, which you could no longer deny included you, she was a force to be reckoned with, and you found yourself opening your mouth to answer without even trying to fight it very hard.

"It's fine. Some of the girls were… they didn't like me. But it's okay, really. I'm okay."

Sydney raised one eyebrow, like she didn't believe you for a second. "Didn't like you? Why not?"

Her face was so genuinely confused, her tone baffled. She didn't seem to understand the idea of someone not liking you. And, you suppose, that's what made you break. Tears welled in your eyes even as you shook your head, trying to ward the emotions off.

"Because I'm annoying and arrogant and aloof and untalented and undeserving of my spot here." The words tumbled out of you, like you'd been bursting at the seams trying not to let them go until that moment.

"Is that what they said?" Sydney asked, eyes wide and angry.

You nodded, jaw locked so tightly it looked painful.

"Is that what you believe?"

This time, you shrugged. Yet, somehow, it was obvious what that shrug meant.

"That's absurd. Obviously they're just jealous of you because you're so much more successful than them."

The issue with that explanation was that you couldn't hear it without picturing a mother telling her spoiled teenage daughter with an awful personality the exact same thing. She didn't have friends because people were jealous of her, not because she was terrible. You couldn't envision yourself as anything other than the terrible one in the situation.

You shrugged again, trying to act like you didn't care, like none of it even mattered anyway. "Yeah, whatever. It's not a big deal."

Sydney looked at you for a long moment, considering. Her eyes were warm, her aura exuding gentleness. Still, you braced yourself for something hurtful.

"It seems like a big deal. It would feel like a big deal for me."

You bit your lip for a moment before shaking your head. "It's not."

It was a lie, and you both knew it. There was no part of you that was willing to let this conversation go any further, though. You couldn't talk about this, or you'd break, and that wouldn't be fair to put on Sydney. So, you changed the subject.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter. Do you want to watch a movie? To get your mind off things?" You asked, trying to appear relaxed as you leaned back into the sofa and uncrossed your arms.

Sydney knew she had two options; she could push, insist you talk to her, or she could let you shut the conversation down and watch a movie with you. She was fairly certain that the first option would end with you shutting down even further, and her leaving your apartment. And the second… well, you'd still be shut down, but at least you wouldn't be alone. So, for now, Sydney let you table the conversation, well aware that she had a few people to call on her way home.

"A movie sounds good." She agreed.

Yet even after you'd both agreed on a film, even as the room feel silent as the opening chords of the score flooded out of the speakers, you could feel the concern radiating off Sydney in waves. And you worried she wouldn't let this go.

—

The thing about having no self confidence was that sometimes, you could be really fucking delusional. Over the course of the evening and night, and into the following day, you'd somehow managed to convince yourself that nothing else would come of the conversation you'd had with Sydney the night before. Because, really, why would anyone care to follow up? It was one thing to be nice to you at training, but your personal issues were no one's responsibility but your own.

Maybe it was your brain trying to take the safe option. Maybe it was some part of you reaching out for help in a very backwards way, knowing that if you convinced yourself there would be no conversation the next day, no worried glances from your teammates, you'd be much more likely to be taken off guard, and much more likely to talk. Whatever it was, you walked into the locker room the next morning, 75% sure that nothing would come of the conversation you'd had with Sydney the day before.

And right back out the locker room you walked, head down, eyes fixed on the floor, following Alexia and Patri. Briefly, you wondered how Patri was chosen for this conversation. Likely, it had been her that Sydney had gone to talk to, finding the youngest captain to be the easiest to approach. If you knew Irene and Marta, though, you knew they'd be itching to talk to you, too.

You followed Alexia and Patri to the room the team used for watching match footage, slumping into a chair as they both pulled ones over to sit in front of you. It felt oddly like some kind of job interview, both of their gazes fixed intently on you. They looked upset, almost, and you honestly weren't sure how this conversation would go.

Maybe it wasn't about the break and what had happened. Maybe you'd actually done something wrong, and gotten yourself into trouble.

Before you could spiral any further, Patri cleared her throat and spoke.

"You haven't been yourself." She said simply, eyes trained on your face, ready to catch even a flicker in your expression.

You opened your mouth, though you weren't quite sure what you were about to say. Alexia spoke before you could, though, shaking her head insistently as if you'd spoken.

"No. Do not deny it. You left for the break normal, smiley and laughing and happy. And you came back sad and quiet and shy. You haven't been this quiet and this withdrawn since you first came here, so something clearly happened while you were gone. And I want to know what happened."

Alexia could come on rather strong when it came to the well being of the people she cared about. This was something Patri knew very well, having been on the receiving end of it enough times. Yet she didn't want Alexia to seem too harsh, and make you think that you were in trouble when they were really just worried about you.

"Why do you want to know? It's not your responsibility, I was away with my national team, it has nothing to do with Barcelona."

Alexia and Patri exchanged a glance, confusion written across both their faces.

"What? It's not about responsibility, chica, it's about you. We want to know because we care about you."

Shockingly, as you'd approached this conversation with such hostility, your lip began to tremble. You bit down on it, hard, looking anywhere but at your captains.

"You do?"

Alexia and Patri were both stunned into silence for a moment. They didn't understand what they could have possibly done to make you doubt that they cared about you. The entire team had spent a long time earning your trust, and now it seemed like that trust had evaporated.

You'd been so young when you arrived at Barcelona, you still were so young. And neither Patri nor Alexia could see anything other than a young girl who needed love and support when they looked at you.

Alexia reached out, putting one hand on your shoulder. She waited until you lifted your gaze to meet hers, eyes filled with tears. She hadn't seen you look this small and this vulnerable in a very long time.

"Of course we do. Of course. We want to know what happened because we want to help."

At this, you shook your head, wiping your tears with the hem of your training top.

"No, this isn't your problem, it's mine. You don't have to fix it for me."

"Well, maybe we want to." Patri said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Just tell us, chica. Please." Alexia asked, her tone of the verge of begging. They were both looking at you so intently, so pleadingly and so caringly, that you weren't really sure what else to do. Your options seemed like… telling them what happened, or running from the room and never looking back.

"It was just… some of the girls at camp. They didn't like me. They said some stuff I guess I let get in my head."

It was the vaguest, barest bones summary you could have come up with, and you could tell both the older women wanted to ask for more details, insist on names and exactly what was said so they could make it right.

But there you sat in front of them, arms crossed tightly over your chest, looking like you were physically trying to hold yourself together. And they knew they shouldn't push you.

Of course, you were worried that if you told them exactly what was said, they'd agree, however unlikely that was. But more than that, the things that had been said to you and about you weren't things you ever really wanted to repeat again. Even listing them off to Sydney the night before had been painful, like you were hearing them all over again.

"Niña, you understand why the girls were mean, yes?" Patri asked gently.

You shrugged, because you didn't, not really. All you could think was that you deserved it.

"Because you are 17 years old and playing for this team. You are so talented, and so promising, and so humble about it, too. Those girls have no idea how to handle that jealousy without being cruel, without trying to put you down to make themselves feel taller."

You had to admit, when Patri explained it, it made sense. Hearing those words from her took some of the weight off your shoulders, even if it was only a little bit for now.

Alexia hummed her agreement to what Patri said, nudging your foot with hers before she spoke. "We can't fix what happened while you were gone, nena. But we can tell you that you are not alone, and nothing that was said to you was true. You are good and kind and you deserve to be here. Okay?"

Again, all you could do was shrug. But Alexia could see the tears silently sliding down your face, and she knew that what she'd said had mattered, had been what you needed to hear.

"Ven," Alexia said, standing and opening her arms for you. You buried yourself into the hug, letting the warmth from Alexia calm you.

It wasn't magically better. You didn't suddenly, miraculously feel better about yourself and who you were as a person. It just didn't feel as heavy, in that moment.

Your captains had gone out of their way to check on you, to insist you talk to them, just like Sydney had. There was no obligation for them to fulfill, they'd done it because they wanted to. Because they cared about you. And whether or not you thought that care was valid or deserved, it didn't matter. It was there either way.

Patri hugged you, too, after Alexia finally let go, murmuring something about finding those girls and teaching them a lesson, and you laughed. The both smiled at your smile like they'd won a prize, Patri slinging an arm across your shoulders as she walked you out of the film room and back to the locker room.

It was just as loud as ever in there, music blasting from the speaker. Pina had commandeered Patri's phone in her absence, and was playing something that Vicky was calling an abomination. Jana grabbed your wrist as soon as you stepped foot through the door, pulling you over to the bench in front of your cubby and practically shoving you down onto it. She started braiding your hair without you even asking, and you knew then that everyone had noticed something up with you, not just Sydney, and not just your captains.

The volume of the locker room didn't feel like a party happening around you that you weren't invited to, anymore. It felt comfortable, the way it always had before.

You didn't realize you were sitting there, smiling, until Sydney caught your eye from across the room. She looked anxious, and you realized she probably expected you to be angry with her for going to Alexia and Patri about you.

Somehow, though, you weren't upset. You weren't really anything but relieved that your entire team didn't hate you. You smiled wider at Sydney, nodding your head once. Relief flooded her face, turning into amusement as Jana lightly slapped the top of your head, telling you not to move or you'd mess her up.

It really surprised you how much better you felt. How much a few people just caring and reaching out had done. You didn't really feel like questioning it, though. You didn't feel like ruminating in the thoughts and rethinking your every action.

You just felt like being there with your team, without overthinking anything. And that was a massive step in and of itself.

—

i know i throw this around a lot but i truly hate this. could not physically spend any more time on it thought without losing my mind, so i hope it's not too bad. don't tell me if it is thx <3

[amorwrld]

something more - clark kent.

-> summary: months after breaking up, new temptations rise after the two of you find yourselves together in the same workplace. despite loving him, is worth the same circle of events and feelings?

-> word count: 2.k! wanted to write some tension and angst for mr. clark kent, more specifically exes to lovers with him...

-> tags and warnings: mentions of y/n, mild cursing, mild violence, jealous clark, reader knows about his secret, some talks about insecurities with both characters. lmk if i missed any, please reblog and comment, us authors appreciate it! mwuh! ❤️💙

if clark knew coming out here tonight, would lead him to see his current scene. he would’ve never stepped foot outside. to make matters worse, he couldn’t get drunk to avoid the pang in his chest. the hurt and knot building in his throat, just watching you with him. 

maybe it was serious, maybe it wasn’t. but it didn’t change the fact that despite it all, his feelings for you hadn’t changed, they grew and grew more, more intense. for months, he continuously thought of you. it wasn’t anything specific, just you as a whole. and yet despite knowing how he felt, it didn’t get better, and the sun wouldn’t be able to heal the ache in his heart.  

“is this a new thing?” he yelled over, pushing his glasses up with his finger while holding the glass. “i guess it is? this is the first time we’ve seen her like this. gotta say that guy doesn’t give me good vibes,” jimmy shrugged, dancing along to the house music that played in the background. 

clark knew you were watching him. with his crazed eyes, not being able to tear away from you the moment he walked in. he had to push away the urge to slit the throat of every man who laid eyes on you. he could only just push away the jealousy and pretend. pretend it didn’t hurt him. pretend you didn’t know each other. pretend you were strangers. 

but you were far from strangers. 

“when did she start with you guys?” clark asked, leaning against the bar. “two months ago, she came all the way from texas,” jimmy yelled loudly. “she’s a amazing journalist and she has so much potential, but it seems like something or someone from her past haunts her,” he continued. 

clark stood quiet, knowing he was the reason for that being. 

that night still haunted him. in his wake and sleep. how he left you thinking he didn't love you. watching tears run down your cheek as you found the correct words to yell at him. maybe a part of you knew clark was lying, but it didn't help the ache and burn inside you when you heard him say it. 

you felt naive and in a daze, believing a man like clark, would be capable to love you. to cherish you. it felt like everything surrounding you was crashing apart, and it hurt so much you couldn't control the fury and despair you discerned. not only did it feel like clark lied to you, you felt used. 

when you saw him again two weeks ago, you laughed so hard at how fate and the universe worked. you ignored him. the glances. his attempts to talk. his stupid coffee and notes he left for you. his attempts to get you alone to try and talk. how he whispered to jimmy and asking small details. you wanted nothing to do with him, just like he didn't with you.  

perhaps you were an evil person, but you wanted to feel the exact pain he felt, watching his world come apart. 

nevertheless, the temptation was so excruciating. it was pure and raw. and it would quickly break at any given moment. 

“maybe that’s enough?” clark leaned down to whisper coming back up to see your the outraged look on you. “you don’t decide when is enough for me,  i’ll say when it's enough,” you ignore him, pecking the guys cheek before walking away to the bar. you felt tipsy but not drunk to where you would blackout. 

“what games are you trying to play here huh? getting drunk and fuck the first guy you meet at the club tonight?” clark said pissed off, his voice and tone laced with pure rage and jealousy. “i don't remember asking if it was any of your business. last time i remembered, i'm single and i can kiss, fuck, marry whoever i want. you won't be able to stop or control that,” you replied with the same tone. 

why the hell did he have to look so good like this. his curly hair in the perfect mess. his skin glowing and glistening with a small layer of sweat. his cheeks are slightly flushed. his black button-up fitting correctly in all the right places. the stupid sluttly glasses on his eyes. those damn blue eyes that made you feel like you were under a spell. 

“i promise i'm only trying to look out and protect you,” you laugh at his words. “protect me? i don't need your protection, you tried to do it once, and look where that got us. you can't pretend to actually care when you did what you did? feel the need to look out for me, when you're the person who hurt me the most. take that bullshit far away from me, because i'm done with your games.”

clark grows quiet. he was thinking carefully about what to say. his chest heaved, nose slightly flared, trying to bite back the jealousy that still ran through him. he knew you were right, that he had once promised the world but did the opposite and hurt you. but that was far from the truth. clark would never stop loving you, and he wouldn’t move on from what you had. 

if he lied, it was to protect you. he just wished it wouldn't hurt this bad, in his being and his soul. being superman came with a price, he loved being able to protect and help, but it also had its downfalls to where he had to make decisions like life or death to fend those he loved.

you scoffed and turned away, playing with the straw in your cup, swirling around the ice before hearing an unrecognizable voice behind you speak. “still up for that dance gorgeous?” you offered a small smile, ready to decline because you were getting tired, but were cut off by the 6’4 man behind you, “she's not interested bud, fuck off.”

“who are you talking to?” the man quickly tried to make himself look stronger and taller. 

“you. now turn around and go back to wherever you were at. leave us alone,” clark replied back, feeling your small hands in attempts to push him back to avoid further conflict. clark could hold his temper, but when he was tested and compelled, he would show his true colors. especially when it came to something that was his, and his only. 

“maybe not tonight, but i have your number on standby, and i can call you for a next time offer?” you attempted to calm the situation, clark laughed in disbelief, scratching his temple not believing what he was hearing. “sounds good darling, i'll be waiting,” he winked before walking off. 

“give me your phone,” clark said dismissively. 

“what? no.”

you didn't know how you ended up tripping, but all you saw was clark’s face inches away from yours, and before you knew it, the temptation broke, closing the gap by kissing him with urgency. tasting the mint and whiskey on his lips, hearing the heavy breaths and groans he let out, feeling the soft licks of his tongue on yours, and the tight grip on your waist from his hands. 

you needed and wanted more. you were a madwoman, and the least of your worries right now was the past. the sole focus right now was how big his hands felt as he kneaded your ass walking into his apartment, kissing every crevice and inch of your skin as he slowly took your clothes off, hearing how bad he needed you. just one good night, and you could go back to pretending like he never happened or existed. 

───〃★ ───

your muscles ached, your hair was probably a mess, and don't get started on your makeup. you rose up, checking the time in the unknown room, a little after seven. you turned around to see a familiar back facing you, drawing the dots, and realizing you were in his apartment. clark’s apartment. 

a hand went to your forehead, feeling the pain and shivers of a hangover, covering yourself with his blanket as you muttered a quick ‘shit’. you quietly got up, checking your back every other second to make sure he wouldn't wake up as you found and changed into one of his loungewear sets. 

you didn't think twice before grabbing your dead phone and black purse, walking out, and back to your apartment. ignoring how your heart twinged, and the regret creeping up on you. 

you kept yourself busy the entire weekend, ignoring everyone's calls and texts after telling them you were safe and alive, including the random number you figured was clark, who called and called the whole weekend. you deep-cleaned your entire apartment, finished up research deadlines, including getting started on your rough draft, and did some retail shopping. 

you walked in monday morning to the daily planet as if nothing had happened. you played off with jokes and smiles to everyone who came up to you. clark watched as you fell back to the same person you were before friday. it was like it had no effect on you whatsoever. that what happened between you and him was just a casual hookup, nothing meaningful. 

the more clark began to think, the more his urgency grew and grew to get you alone. to finally tell you the truth. 

clark felt on a mile high, feeling your lips once again on his, not being able to resist your soft touches and whimpers, your pleas to fuck you, and the neediness. when clark woke up that saturday, he expected you to still be there, but was met with a cold and empty bed. just traces of your sweet scent and your shoes you left behind. no note, no other belonging, just the quiet air and space for what had happened.

“miss y/n can i talk to you about your article, it seems like there is a small confusion,” clark interrupted the small conversation you were having with lois and rachel. you refused to look at him, giving him your back as you spoke, “i’m sure the article is fine, we’re currently discussing that-”

“miss y/n, those weren't my orders. they’re perry’s, and he insisted on helping you out… so shall we?” he waved one hand, directing the way you would walk. you forced a fake chuckle, whispering a small ‘i’ll be back’, twisting clark suit and dragging him. “what the hell are you doing? you can’t meddle with my work clark,” you declared. 

“you gave me no other choice! we need to talk about what happened and what changed. you can’t continue to ignore and pretend, i’m done with those games,” clark expressed, closing the door with a smal thud and locking it. he wasn’t going to leave until he finally heard answers. 

“nothing changed clark! we’re still broken up. newsflash, exes can still have sex and it can mean nothing-” 

“you and i know that’s pure bluff, you’re the only one telling yourself that. i have been trying to talk to you. like a mature and normal adult, but you keep running away,” clark distressed, removing his glasses. you almost forgot how much of a difference it made. small but very much distinct. “clark, you did this to us. you told me you no longer loved me. what could’ve possibly changed that you need to tell me,” you reminded him. 

“i’m done hurting you and me. i can’t take it anymore. i can't stand how you can’t even look at me, direct a word, or just be in the same room. i know i fucked up. I was stupid and said stuff i regret and don’t mean. If only you know how much i’ve also suffered, how much i miss you. you deserve the right to know the truth, and i’m going to tell you,” clark exposed, his voice full with sincerity and seriousness. 

“what truth, clark? i can’t take any more heartbreaks, my heart can’t handle one more, especially from you…” clark takes a step closer, cupping your face with his hands. His pupil widened staring at your gaze, at your teary eyes blinking away. noting the small hesitation on you. 

“do you trust me?” he asks once. and for some reason, that temptation breaks again. if he was being honest as he claimed, you were intrigued to find out the truth. it would finally put some peace in your head, no matter how brutal or nice it was. 

“yes. what truth are talking about, clark?”

───〃★ ───

[hearts4hughes]

— darling!reader and clark kent meet !!

clark kent x darling!reader warnings: lovesick clark (once again) note: so excited to introduce this au! send in reqs for blurbs or one shots!

the open sign is still flickering to life when you start tying your apron. pale yellow light spills in through the front windows, catching dust in the air like gold flecks. the bakery smells like rising dough and powdered sugar, warm and familiar, and you’re humming in that mindless and angelic way as you portion out raspberry jam into tiny thumbprint cookies. your voice barely breaks the silence. just a soft, melodic hum, like honey slipping over porcelain. it fills the space between clinks of metal trays and the slow thud of the oven warming up. your hips sway a little as you work, cotton skirt brushing your thighs, lips sticky with the sugar you just taste-tested.

the bell above the door jingles as the first costumer of the day arrives in, but you don’t glance up. you’re focused, wrist flicking as you pipette filling into a tray of buttercups. behind you, a man barrels in. tall and broad and so obviously flustered. clark kent stumbles as he regains his balance. his sleeves are rumpled, tie askew, hair a mess like he ran a hand through it ten times before stepping inside. there’s a smear of ink on his thumb, and his glasses are fogging up from the indoor warmth.

he was running late this morning after chasing krypto (his menace of a dog) around the house trying to retrieve his glasses. when he finally got ahold of the thick, black frames, he glanced at the clock—ten minutes until his shift begins and he was a twenty minute walk away. after hastily grabbing his things, he practically sprinted down the street and stumbled into the bright bakery. it wasn’t his usual choice for pastries and coffee, but the pink building neighbored the daily planet.

the door shut behind him with a soft thud and a jingle of the bell. when he finally wipes the sweat from his forehead and looks up, his eyes find you. you’re wearing a a pastel mini skirt and a pink top with a white, ribbon apron tying the outfit together. and your scent, he swears it alters something in his body because suddenly he’s breathing not just for sole purpose of oxygen, but to smell your aroma.

he swallows and blinks. his throat runs so dry that he cannot speak. then, he glances down at the floor like it’ll give him directions on how to not make a fool of himself. “uh—sorry, I, uh…” he coughs into his fist. “didn’t mean to interrupt.”

you finally look up. the corner of your mouth lifts, bright and open. “you didn’t.” you nod toward the counter. “we just opened. you’re right on time.” god, even your voice was something close to ethereal. you don’t know it yet, but he’s going to remember that forever. you’re right on time. he’s been late all morning. but somehow, here, with you, he isn’t. “how can i help you?”

he just stares for a moment. the thought of coffee and baked goods is far from his mind. he blinks again—hard—like that might reset something in his system. like maybe if he hits ctrl-alt-delete on his own brain, he’ll stop staring at the way your gloss catches the light or how your apron bows in the back like it was tied by someone who wanted to be gentle with you. “coffee,” he finally croaks. “please. i mean—yeah, just coffee.”

you nod, already moving toward the espresso machine. he watches as you tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, fingers delicate and precise. your nails are painted, soft and pink. everything about you is soft and pink, and he’s a walking stormcloud with mud on his shoes and a deadline in twenty-two minutes, standing here like he has nowhere else in the world to be. you hand him the cup a minute later. “cream and sugar’s on the side,” you say, smiling again. that same city-flattening smile. “unless you take it black?”

“i’ll drink it however you made it,” he says, a little too fast. he kicks himself mentally when you raise a brow. “i mean—whatever’s fine.”

you cock your head, amused, and he swears it almost kills him. “not very decisive for a man in a tie.”

he glances down, startled, like he forgot he was even wearing a tie. “yeah, well…you kind of scrambled my brain the second I walked in,” he says softly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it aloud. but he did and you heard it. your fingers pause, just briefly, on the edge of the pastry case. you don’t say anything, but your cheeks go warm, and there’s a flicker of something shy in your lashes when you turn away again. “so, um,” he tries again, voice clearing. “did you just open? i don’t remember ever seeing a bakery here before.”

you hum, the sound light and sweet, like a bird fluffing its feathers. “mhm. just a few weeks ago.” you twist toward a nearby tray, adjusting a row of frosted cupcakes with delicate precision. “but it took a lot of work. this place used to be hideous,” you say with a little crinkle of your nose, your disgust soft and endearing. “the walls were this muddy shade of brown and the floors had these awful green tiles. it felt like a dentist’s office in the ‘70s.”

clark smiles, watching you with the kind of quiet reverence people usually reserve for miracles. you run your finger along the glass case like you’re drawing stars. “but after a lot of paint, glitter, and sugar,” you continue, your voice warm, “here we are.”

thank god—he thinks. because suddenly, this entire block has a different atmosphere. clark sways where he stands for a beat too long, eyes trailing the movement of your hands as you adjust a swirl of whipped cream on a cake like it’s an art piece. he should probably say something else—ask for a muffin, maybe, or give you his name—but all he can do is look at you like you’ve tilted his entire day off its axis.

you glance up again, catching him in the act. “did you want to order something else?”

“oh! yeah. yes.” he nearly jumps. “i’ll just, um—i’ll take one of those.” he points vaguely toward the croissants, even though he’s not actually hungry. you wrap one up carefully, nestling it into a pale pink paper bag. when you pass it over the counter, your fingers brush his again. it’s brief, but it happens and it makes his stomach twist. “thanks,” he murmurs, gripping the bag like it might float away otherwise. then he hesitates. “i’m clark, by the way.”

“hi, clark,” you say, voice lilting like a song. “i’m y/n.”

he swallows hard. your name sits on his tongue like spun sugar. how can everything about you be so perfect? your voice, your smell, your complexion, even your job is. “right. uh, well…i should get to work before lois murders me.”

your brows lift. “lois?”

“coworker. scary. very punctual.” he shifts, bumping his hip into the door on the way out. “i’ll see you—uh, maybe…again. probably if you’re—still open. not that you’re closing. i mean, you just opened, so of course you’re open-”

you giggle, soft and bright. “bye, clark.”

he opens his mouth, then closes it. finally, he stutters a well thought out, “b-bye.” the bell jingles as the door swings shut behind him. you watch the empty space for a second longer, your smile still tugging at the corners of your mouth. then you return to your cupcakes, quietly humming, a little sweeter than before.

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[musingsofheaven]

MOUTH HABIT

summary: Johnny comes home to find you already overstimulated and curled up on the couch with a popsicle in your mouth. He knows what you need before you can say it and knows exactly how to take care of you. He just has to put his fingers in your mouth and his tongue between your thighs.

pairings: johnny storm x afab!reader

warnings: 5.5k words. mature themes. oral fixation. oral sex. (f!receiving) fingering. dacryphilia undertones. emotional dysregulation. praise kink. body fluids. (drool/cum) d/s dynamics. overstimulation. read responsibly.

note: in honor of my ongoing oral fixation smuts… i wanna add johnny to the growing collection. this is very soft dom!johnny and i love how it turned out. hope you will like it too. (reblog to support me!)

It started on Monday. One small thing after another, stacked and silent. A forgotten class quiz. The weird look from your professor when you asked to reschedule. Your phone screen cracked. Even when your shampoo ran out, it pissed you off and maybe it’s your fault because you didn’t remember buying new stock in the first place. When you walk in the hallway, you couldn’t forget the way someone hit your shoulder and didn’t even apologize. You also almost cried when the bus left five minutes earlier than the practiced and memorized schedule you already knew. Your charger sparked when it plugged in. A guy catcalled you while you were walking with groceries.

Tuesday didn’t give you time to recover. Neither did Wednesday. By Thursday, you were sucking the sleeves of your hoodie again. Biting the plastic spoon from lunch until it split down the middle. Swapping it for a straw that left soft welts in your lip when you clamped down too hard. Everything started buzzing- skin, scalp, joints- like your body was trying to say something but you wouldn’t let it. Couldn’t.

Friday brought the storm. He was gone again, called away two nights earlier. Something about being him in the Fantastic Four. You already know what it means. No updates. No text. No voice note, even though he always sends one. But not when he’s on the mission. You were left pacing the apartment like it could summon him. Fingers twitching. Gums sore. Too afraid to bite your nails again. Not with how raw your skin already felt.

Now it’s late. You lost count of the hour after the third shower. The last popsicle is already half-melted, clenched between your lips while you curl into the couch cushions, legs pulled up loosely and a blanket slipping off your knee. You keep sucking. It doesn’t help. He finds you like that. The door unlocks with the quiet click you’ve trained yourself to hear. You don’t turn your head. You don’t move at all.

“Hey.” His voice is rough. Not like something’s wrong- just tired. Just used. There’s a bag drop, a zipper tug, keys sliding into the table, and then the creak of old floorboards as he moves closer. Your eyes stay fixed on the carpet. One sticky drip from the popsicle rolls down your wrist. “Baby…” You flinch when his hand touches your shoulder. It’s not because you are traumatized by him or he’s hurting you. It’s also not because you don’t want him. It’s about your body being sensitive and turned up too high for days. You’re overstimulated and don’t know how to turn it down yet.

“I didn’t get a chance to text.” He says to assure you that it was not his intention to ignore you. His fingers gently trace across your back and it’s warm through the thin shirt you wore since last night. “Sorry, baby,” Your tongue shifts the popsicle further in. It scrapes the roof of your mouth too hard. “Hey. Look at me,” he mutters before he drops to his knees in front of you. His white tee is fitted enough to cling to his chest and a little damp at the collar because of sweat and wrinkled at the hem. There’s soot smudged across his jaw, and a faint gash near his knuckle that looks fresh.

One hand is placed on your knee while he moves closer to you. His eyes look down at your lips as his voice turns lower. “Baby. Come on. What’s going on in that head?” You try to answer. Something stutters behind your teeth, but the popsicle muffles it. Your jaw feels so sore you don’t even want to open it to answer him. He reaches forward to take it out of your mouth gently. Slide it from your mouth with two fingers. Clear saliva stretches, then breaks.

“You've been like this when I’m gone?” That’s when your face crumples. No sound. Just the kind of cry that folds everything inward. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t freak. Just set the popsicle aside and lean in, palms on your thighs. His voice is soft and even now. “Want me to help you?” Your head jerks in a nod before your brain can catch up.

“You wanna feel good?” His thumbs trace lazy circles over your legs. “Let me help, baby. Just let me.” No answer leaves your mouth. Not right away. Not even when he tilts his head and waits for one. The popsicle’s long gone, set aside somewhere near the table, but the stickiness still lingers on your lips. He can tell. You haven’t blinked much. Haven’t breathed right in maybe hours.

The blanket shifts under your palms. One slow push downward and it falls off your legs completely, folding over the cushion beside you. You don’t break eye contact. Don’t say a word. The edge of your shirt lifts with the motion, and suddenly it’s all skin- your bare thighs, your stomach, the curve of your hip showing under the band of thin cotton. Just your panties. Nothing else. Because what for? You’d been alone and anxious.

This was comfortable. This was all your body could handle. Johnny takes a deep breath as if he saw the most softest thing in his life. Hand sliding higher from the knee up to your thigh. Knuckles are brushing the soft flesh inside. He doesn’t even look smug, considering he always looks smug. Doesn’t even look turned on. Just focused. Careful. One finger lifts the hem of your shirt, then lets it fall again like he’s checking if you’re still. “You want my help, baby?”

The question’s barely above a whisper. His thumb strokes your skin once. Then again. “I can make it better,” he adds, eyes tracking the lines under your eyes. “You don’t have to think. Just let me.” Still nothing from you. But your legs shift. Just enough. Not spread, not yet, but parted enough to breathe easier. Enough to let him fit his hands there without question.

He reaches for you again, this time higher. Two fingers lift toward your face. It’s slow and easy. His palm open. He waits. “You need somethin’ in there, right?” His voice stays low, coaxing. “It’s okay. Just this. I got you.” Lips part around his knuckles before he touches you. They slide in like it’s instinct, like your body’s been waiting for this exact shape. The moment they press against your tongue, your jaw trembles again- but this time, the tears don’t come.

Warmth seeps back into your mouth, your cheeks, your chest. “That’s it,” he murmurs, already pushing in further. “There we go.” His fingers move gently between your lips, never too fast, never choking. He watches you with that look again- not hungry, not impatient. Just still. It’s like he’s enjoying studying you- this very version of you today that welcomed him home. He also checks how deep he can go with you and how gentle he needs to be.

And then his free hand starts to trace the waistband of your panties and tugs it slowly. Not rough. Not rushed. Just curling his fingers under the side, soft and slow, sliding them down your hips, inch by inch, until the cotton peels away from your cunt. He doesn’t even look yet. Keeps his eyes on your mouth, the way you’re sucking his fingers like you’ll shatter without them.

“You’re okay,” he says. “I got you, alright? Gonna take care of it now.” Fingers stay hooked inside your mouth even as the waistband is tugged down and off completely. Damp cotton clings for a second before peeling from your skin, leaving a faint string of slick stretched between the gusset and your cunt. His hand doesn’t leave your lips. Still pressing into your tongue. Still curled against it like he knows you’d cry if he stopped.

Both hands wrap around his forearm just to make sure it stays. Nails bite in. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to show it matters. Your mouth sucks around his fingers harder than you mean to, like they’ve replaced breathing. The taste of salt and faint soot lingers in your throat. Between your legs, he shifts. Thighs fall open as his palms guide them, spreading you wide enough to let him fit.

His eyes lift- just once, just long enough to check if you’re still there. That you’re still with him. Then he dips his head and presses his mouth to your inner thigh. Warm lips drag over skin still trembling from hours of tension. He placed a kiss just above the curve of your knee first. His breath warms it before he moves higher. It’s slow and steady, he’s taking his time. It’s also like a silent thing between the two of you that you already did before.

The scrape of his stubble leaves your legs twitching. His mouth never breaks contact, like each inch of untouched flesh is a wound that needs sealing. Another kiss. Then another, higher. Tongue flicking at the crease just beside your cunt. It’s so close where you want him but it’s also enough to make your hips jerk forward. Fingers fall away from him just for a few seconds to brace yourself. You whimper around the ones still in your mouth.

His thumb presses under your thigh to hold it higher. His other hand slides under your ass for leverage as he leans closer, lips grazing the inside of your upper thigh before finally nosing between your folds. Mouth opens, tongue slipping out to taste you slowly. The first lick is lazy. He doesn’t rush. Just a flat drag from bottom to top, soaking you with spit, letting your pussy twitch under it. Then he does it again, slower. A warm breath follows right after, cooling the slick he left.

The fingers in your mouth curl just a little. Your eyes flutter shut. Knees try to close, but his broad shoulders pin them apart. When he kisses your clit, it’s gentle. Almost sweet. Barely a press. Then the tip of his tongue traces it in a circle, patient, like he’s memorizing the shape. The muscles in your belly tighten on instinct. A soft “mmphh” escapes with the next suck on his fingers. He grunts low when you squeeze around him again, like he feels every flutter.

One hand keeps you open. The other dips back down. His middle finger teases your hole without pushing in, just slicking up the entrance. Tongue flattens over your clit again, firmer now, sliding side to side. The pace builds slowly- too slow, really- but you can’t form a sound to complain. His mouth covers you completely, sucking just enough to make the nerves spark and sizzle, then pulling back again like he’s keeping count.

Tongue flicks fast- once, twice, then slow again. It makes your back arch. The fingers in your mouth get wetter the more you drool, the more your throat tightens around the weight of them. He never pulls them out. Just lets you keep them there like a pacifier. A tether. You hold his arm with both hands again, anchoring him in place. Like you’re scared he’ll stop if you let go. He doesn’t stop.

Keeps licking. Keeps kissing. Keeps tasting you like it’s all he’s thought about since his boots hit the apartment floor. When his tongue dips down to your hole again, he groans softly into it, tongue pressing forward like it wants in. Then he drags it back up with a hum that makes your clit throb. Another low sound escapes you- wet, desperate.

Your hips roll against his mouth without thinking. One more lick. Then another. Then a kiss, deep and open-mouthed, tongue pressing hard into the same spot until your whole body tenses, but still, he doesn’t let you come. He just keeps going. One hand stays in your mouth. Warm fingers resting heavy on your tongue, wet to the knuckle now, almost too deep.

Your jaw’s already started to tremble from the pressure, and he can feel it. That little shake. That soft, tired flutter of muscle while your lips stay wrapped, trying to keep him in. There’s drool starting to slick his wrist, and you don’t even try to wipe it. He’s never pulled away when it happens like this. Never once told you to stop. Below, his other hand works between your thighs.

Sticky, swollen, dripping so much it’s hard to stay still on the couch. Every pass of his fingers through your folds sounds wet, filthy. There’s no space to breathe down there- not with the way he moves. Not with how slow his tongue is, how he doesn’t rush. Just sucks so soft, circles the tip of his tongue around that throbbing knot like you’re not already crying from how long you’ve been waiting.

“I know, I know,” he mutters, voice muffled against you, a little rasped at the edges. His tongue flattens, slides up, and presses hard just under your clit before wrapping around it. “I know it’s too much.” A few more sucks. Slow ones. Languid, focused, greedy. His mouth stays latched while he talks. “Couldn’t get back sooner,” he says between licks. “Wasn’t allowed.”

Your hips twitch under his grip, and he drags two fingers down your inner thigh to hold you steadier. Doesn’t stop eating you. His lips are slick. The sounds echo inside your apartment- mouth on cunt, fingers in mouth, soft breath hissing between your teeth every time your throat tightens around the need to moan.

Another slow lick. Then another. “You waited for me?” he asks, more of a murmur now, the heat of it spilling straight into your pussy. “Didn’t fuck yourself once?” You blink hard. His hands are holding his forearms tighter. Nails digging into it that will leave moon marks. Not rough, but desperate. It’s the only way you can keep his hand up near your mouth. You’re not sucking anymore- you’re just holding him there now. Letting him press down on your tongue like he owns your mouth.

He groans low, just from seeing it. Shifts a little closer on his knees, enough to press his chest against your calves where they hang off the couch edge. Then he mouths at your clit again. “This is what happens when I’m gone, huh?” The question’s slow, almost cruel with how softly it comes. Every word makes your chest cave a little more. Not from pain- just from too much. You’d already been dripping when he came in.

Already overstimulated before he even opened the front door. “You wait right here, suck your popsicles, and cry for me?” He lifts his mouth to breathe, fingers slipping lower to rub just around your entrance, teasing. “And I wasn’t even here to watch.” Your pussy clenches, but he doesn’t push inside yet. Just strokes his fingers there, so slow it makes your toes curl against the cushion. Then he lowers his head again.

His tongue presses flat again. Stays there. Lips suck right around your clit while he rubs two fingers just beside your hole, never giving more than that. The pressure is thick, cloying, a little maddening. You make a tiny noise around his hand, and he moans against your cunt. “Don’t stop,” he says low, voice sliding down your skin. “Keep my fingers in, pretty girl. I need that.”

Your chest jerks up again, like air doesn’t want to stay inside. He feels it. “Don’t hide your sounds.” One more lick. Then a slow suck. Then a kiss right against your folds like he missed them. “Let me say sorry properly.” His tongue doesn’t stop after that. Tongue dragging slow, heavy, wet- he sucks on your clit with his lips slack around it, mouth lazy like he’s drinking from it.

One hand remains underneath your thigh to hold it up and keep pushing it open so you won’t close your legs. He’s pinning you down while you threaten to close your legs around his head. He groans straight up into your cunt every time your thighs twitch and squeeze together like he wants his head to be crushed. Like the pressure turns him on more.

But the hand there didn’t stay for long enough. He sneaks it between your legs to slip his finger inside without giving you any heads up. You know how thick his fingers are so it makes you jumpy when you feel it. The pace is just slow and sliding effortlessly to your pussy like it belongs there. No buildup, no teasing, just in and it stretches you open, warm and full, his knuckle curling shallow on the first thrust. Then again. Then deeper. “You’re dripping,” he mumbles against you, tongue circling in tight, wet strokes. “Still fucking leaking.”

Suction pulls hard at your clit when he says it. He keeps licking even when he talks, mouth not stopping, like the words are just coming out through it- tongue messy, lips shining. “Missed how this tasted. Didn’t even get to-” He swirls his finger deeper and hooks it inside. “-fuck you properly last time.” Saliva coats his fingers as you keep sucking them. Lips stretched around his middle and ring, jaw sore and mouth warm.

Your tongue moves around the knuckles, sloppy now. Not neat anymore. Not teasing. Just needy. His forearm flexes under your grip when you tighten your hold on him. It’s not about balance anymore- you’re not steadying yourself. You need him to keep his hand up, or you might cry if his fingers slip off your mouth. The need to keep him stay there and to keep fucking your mouth like this is beyond measurable. There's a drool at the corner of your lips that keeps leaking out of your mouth. It slips down to your chin down to your covered chest. You don’t care at this point if it will get soaked.

Your eyes are barely open. Knees twitch every time his lips close around your clit and suck, and you choke around his fingers each time his finger curls inside your pussy a little harder. “Don’t close,” he mutters, voice low and thick as he pulls back just enough to talk clearly. “Let me- let me see.” A breath lands warm against your inner thigh. “I like when it’s open.”

Tongue presses flat against you again. He doesn’t waste time, just drags it up the full length of your slit, slow and deliberate, finger pushing in deeper like he’s guiding himself with every lick. Another groan slips out when your legs threaten to snap shut again, but he shoves your thigh higher, forces it wider, and plants a kiss right above your clit like a reward.

“Still so fucking pretty,” he breathes. His voice sounds almost lazy now. Wrecked, but in control. Like he’s just settling in. “You gonna stay still for me? Hm?” The finger inside you moves again, gentle this time. His tongue presses down with it, and your whole body jolts. Every nerve keeps lighting up brightly like electricity that is plugged directly into his mouth and hands. You don’t stop yourself from moaning- you don’t even try to silence yourself when your mouth is already full. It’s full enough to get muffled, let out wet sounds, and hum that pulls out from your throat. Your hips are bucking twice and desperate for something harder, but you know this is what you can take right now.

Your pussy clenches down hard around his finger. “Mmph- fuhhck…” It’s barely a sound with how wide your lips are stretched, but it’s there. It’s needy. It’s messy. He hears it. Hears you struggling. And laughs once, dark and low, before sucking hard on your clit again, tongue flicking fast underneath.

“Can’t stop now,” he says to you. His breath is wet, voice coming through your cunt like a vibration. “You’re close.” Finger still pumping slow inside, curling each time like he’s looking for something deeper. The drag of his knuckle makes you twitch again. Your legs lift. Toes curl. “Let me stay here a little longer, baby.” Another kiss against your folds, mouth lingering. “Don’t close. Keep her open for me.”

The more you try to keep your legs open for him, the harder it shakes and the muscles harden. They’re refusing to cooperate. You could feel how it clenched up tight like instinct. It’s too much, too fast- your cunt squeezing around his fingers again while your thighs twitch around his head. Every small shift only smears your slick higher onto his wrist, every squeeze of his knuckle-deep fingers pulling a sound out of your mouth that isn’t even a real word anymore.

“Mm-hm. Try to keep ‘em open for me,” he says, voice rough against your clit, lips grazing it as he speaks. “Come on. Thought you wanted to be good.” Your eyes roll the moment he pulls his fingers back until they reach the tip of his nails just to thrust them deep again. Drool didn’t stop slipping past the corner of your mouth as you kept his other hand’s fingers on your mouth. Lips stretched enough to fit his two fingers, and your chin feels wet but hot and stringy at the same time. It’s slicking his wrist too.

A wet patch darkens your shirt where it soaks in. “Still suckin’? Even like this?” he murmurs. His breath cools your skin when he lifts his head just enough to watch your face. “What the fuck am I gonna do with you?” Thighs press tight against his cheeks, crushing in when his tongue flicks fast and steady at your clit, tip dragging back and forth while his fingers curl hard inside you.

The pressure makes you clamp down so suddenly that your body jerks forward, shoulders curling in while you fight to keep your hips from escaping the pace. But he doesn’t stop. A fresh gush leaks out of you when he fucks his fingers deeper, and all you can do is moan around his hand. “Mmfh- nnnhg- ah-! fuck, fuhh-”

You’re drooling too much to breathe through your nose, wet and messy and shaking all over as you try to speak through it. “Please- please don’t stop- don’t- hahhn, I’m- I can’t, I can’t-” His mouth stays locked over your clit, tongue stilling just enough to suck on it like he’s trying to bruise it, then flicks again when your hips jump under him.

Your thighs twitch like they’re going to close again, but this time, he presses them apart at the knees with one wide palm, holding you down as you start to tremble harder. “Let it out,” he says low against you. The heat of his mouth returns so quickly you flinch. “C’mon. Give it to me. Let me feel you do it.”

Pussy tightening around his digits and there’s a sudden snap in your stomach that sends heat climbing up to your spine. Wet pulses grip him as your clit throbs between his lips. The orgasm punches through your stomach like it’s tearing something open, and your whole body locks up back arching, legs clenching, jaw slack around his soaked fingers. You don’t even realize how hard you’re crying out until your throat burns from it.

Every breath afterward is broken. You’re shaking, moaning, sucking air in through spit-slick lips as you ride it out, hips grinding into his face like your body’s forgotten what to do without him. Tongue stays buried against your clit. Not flat anymore. He’s fucking into it now- short, thick motions, tip stiff and flexing like he’s trying to push in, like he thinks he can make you feel filled there too. That soft flicking you could almost ride has turned brutal, all hips and thrust, and he’s still fingering you while he does it.

Still fucking you open down there like his mouth isn’t already dragging everything raw. You buck up into his face, thighs shaking, cunt leaking. The mess is loud now. Wet noises every time his fingers pump in deep, then curl. His wrist rolls to chase your spot with every thrust and you don’t even realize you’re grinding down harder, letting him push in all the way just to keep feeling full. His fingers don’t stop. They slip faster, twist, spread inside you when you clench too tight.

He groans low like he feels it in his mouth- tongue shoving hard against your clit as he holds you still by your thighs, his hand gripping down so firm your leg jumps. Heat rises up your chest again. You’re still sucking on the fingers in your mouth, wet and glossy from drool, barely tasting skin through the pulse in your throat. You can’t breathe right. Can’t stop moving. His tongue won’t let up.

He lets out a low grunt against your cunt, hot and rough, then pushes his face in deeper like he wants you to cum again. Like he knows you can’t, not yet, but he’s gonna ruin every second trying. “Mmf- shit-” You break around the fingers in your mouth, words falling apart in your throat. “Too- fuck, Johnny, too much-”

Doesn’t slow down. He just curls his fingers deeper inside you like he’s trying to scrape the high out of you early. Tongue still thrusting against your clit, wet and stiff and relentless, hips barely moving now except for the small grind of his face against yours. He’s hungry. Eyes half-lidded, breathing heavy through his nose, lips slick with spit and cunt.

Your leg kicks. Doesn’t matter. He shoves your thigh back open, forces it wide with his arm so he can stay right there. All you can do is sob around his fingers while cumming. It feels like a drop off a cliff. Your thighs twitch and lock in midair, feet sliding down the bed with no grip, toes curling against the sheets, and he’s still- fuck, he’s still- he’s still sucking and fingering and licking you like you didn’t just gush on his face thirty seconds ago.

Shudders rack your hips in quick, wet jerks while your pussy clenches down on his fingers. They keep moving. One curls hard, stroking along that sweet spot that’s already sore and swollen. The other presses just under your clit, not rubbing it but keeping it trapped, stuffed, filled so deep you feel him all the way behind your belly button.

Muscles spasm from the inside out, dripping slick around his knuckles, and it just won’t stop. Warm gush pushes out again, thinner now, messier, pattering between your thighs while your pussy tries to squeeze it back in. But he pulls out. Pulls out with a wet suck and a slap of his palm flat over your inner thigh to hold it open.

Then his tongue replaces his fingers. It dips right in, mouth sealing over your hole like he wants to kiss the cum back in. Nose smushed tight to your clit while he slurps and swallows everything you spill. The sound is obscene. Wet, hungry, like he’s starving. Tongue curling as deep as he can force it, licking into the center of every twitch while more slick leaks down the curve of his chin.

Something breaks in your throat. Not a cry. Not a moan. Just a thin, cracked ahhh- lost halfway out of your chest. Teeth bite down hard on his fingers still inside your mouth, just to keep yourself from screaming. “Mmf- ngh, fuck,” slips past anyway, drooling around the knuckles you’re trying to suck through it.

Drool keeps flowing out of your mouth like a waterfall. It goes straight to your neck and sticks to your wrist where your hand is pressing tightly against your face. It even lands in the collar of your shirt. It’s warm and slick, and soaking the fabric. He groans into your cunt. That low sound from his chest sends another pulse through your pussy, another twitch of your thighs, another roll of your hips like you’re trying to hump his face even though your muscles aren’t working right anymore.

Still licking. Still swallowing. Still sucking your hole like it’s feeding him. You clamp your thighs around his head and whimper into his fingers, still biting down hard, not to hurt him- just to keep from falling apart again. Tongue glides through the mess he made, slow now. Not teasing, not hungry- just gentle, warm strokes to catch the last of your cum and drink it down.

He kisses your pussy like he’s calming it, sealing over your folds with one last soft suck that makes your hips flinch again. Everything’s still twitching, sticky, wet, and swollen. Too much. When he finally pulls away, your legs don’t uncurl. They stay loose over his shoulders, knees bent and trembling. Breath comes thin and shaky. The space between your thighs feels raw, slippery, stretched open too long. His face is soaked. Mouth swollen. Chin slick with the wet that’s still dripping down from your cunt.

He looks up and gives you the softest hum, lips parting so you can watch him swallow all of it. Then he climbs up your body. Palms brace on either side of your waist as he moves over you, slow and careful like he doesn’t want to press too hard. The moment his face gets close, your hand reaches up on instinct. Fingertips smear against the wet on his cheek while your eyes meet, and then he leans down and kisses you.

Mouth warm. Tongue lazy. He likes the taste of you. It’s salty and sweet, just right for him. Your thighs are squeezing against his sides as he kisses you deeper. It’s slow like he doesn’t want to stop. Like this is the after. Not the cleanup, not the end just this, the kiss. You whimper into it when he starts to pull away. “Shh,” he breathes against your lips, brushing hair off your forehead. “I’m just getting something to clean you up. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Still makes you whine. Makes your fingers curl in the sheets where he used to be. The second his weight leaves the bed, your body feels emptier, colder, too bare. Cunt still wet and throbbing with leftover sensitivity, lips fluttering like they don’t know if they’re done being used. He moves fast. Crosses the room, grabs tissue off the desk, then glances around like he’s mentally taking stock of everything he needs. Comes back with water, too, a small bottle already uncapped.

One of his hands wipes clean the slick from his mouth as he sits beside you on the couch. “Lift your hips a little for me,” he asks you in a low and soft voice. It’s like he’s talking to a patient. The tissue’s warm from his hand. He dabs between your thighs first, being careful not to touch your clit. Cleans the mess dripping from your hole, the slick sticking to your inner thighs, the smear near your ass. Switches to a fresh one and folds it carefully, using the clean edge to blot around your folds.

Each motion is slow, delicate, respectful- but it still makes your breath hitch when the paper drags over the most tender parts. “Doing okay?” he asks while working. “Mm,” is all you manage. Lips sticky. Throat dry. Muscles useless. He smiles. Leans over to press a kiss to your hip while he finishes wiping you down, then tosses the tissues aside and holds the water bottle to your mouth.

“Drink a little,” he says, thumb brushing under your chin. “Just a sip.” Plastic touches your lips. Cold water slides into your mouth, and you swallow with your eyes closed. A second sip. Then a third. He lets you go slow. “You were amazing,” he says after a beat. “I mean it. I’ve never- fuck, I’ve never seen anyone fall apart like that. So pretty, baby. You made a mess all over me.”

Your hand tries to cover your face to hide your face, but he’s faster and catches your wrist before pressing a kiss there. Moves it away just so he can see you better. One last tissue is used to gently clean the edge of your mouth where drool had dried during your orgasm. Another soft wipe across your cheek. Then he tosses the rest aside and leans back in to kiss your forehead.

“Come here,” he whispers, arms curling under you to help guide you upright. He doesn’t let you do anything. Just pulls you into his lap, sits you between his legs, and wraps his arms around your waist like you’re breakable. Chin rests on your shoulder while your cheek presses against his. You can feel his heart under your hand. Still fast. Still thudding, even now.

“I’ve got you,” he says, kissing your neck. “You did so good. Just breathe. Take your time.” Warmth blooms in your chest. Body still weak, mind still floating, but everything starts to settle. His voice makes it easier to come down. His arms, his hands, the soft rock of his lap while you lean into him- everything feels safe here. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs again, right next to your ear. “Every time.”

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀twenty-twenty-five © addie / musingsofheaven.

⠀⠀⠀

[emotionalrodent]

Batboys X Reader Headcanons!

Prompt: Do they enjoy loving or being loved more?

Characters: Jason, Bruce, Dick, and Tim

CW: None

———————————————————————————

Jason

Being Loved

Jason often has a hard time truly seeing his own worth. His death and the aftermath surrounding it is often a factor that contributes to his complex self image. From his perspective, Bruce didn’t care about or love him enough to choose him. You seeing him, understanding him, and looking out for him as him head over heels for you. Jason also isn’t the best at expressing his affection at times so you showing him that he doesn’t need to do anything to earn or deserve your love has had him in tears a few times now (even though he won’t admit it). Jason relishes in being loved by you because of the security and comfort you bring. He does everything he possibly can to replicate the warmth your affection brings him for you.

———————————————————————————

Bruce

Loving

Despite what most people will believe, the death of Bruce’s parents had a profound impact on his growing mind. Bruce was just a child when he lost his parents. He didn’t just lose them though. He lost opportunities as well. He lost the opportunity to love them for as long as he was owed, the opportunity to look to them for support, to grow alongside them. As a result, Bruce doesn’t waste a second of his time with you. He shows you the importance you hold in his life each opportunity he gets, even if his time with you is short. Of course, Bruce indulges you in anything you want or need as well, having more than enough money to do so. He never wants you to worry for a second about anything at all and will do his best to make you the happiest possible. He adores your laugh and the way your personality mingles with his own, so he’ll do everything in his ability to express that fondness.

———————————————————————————

Dick

Loving

Dick loves the feeling of being in love, being able to give himself completely to you knowing you’ll act as his safety net is all he needs. He enjoys the chase too, of course. Dick loves the banter, the stolen glances and the flush of pink on both of your faces before you’re even his. Though, similar to Bruce, there isn’t a moment with you that goes unappreciated. He too experienced loss at a young age and strives to never feel like he didn’t enjoy you while he had you. Above all though, Dick loves being able to make you happy. He’s over the moon each time he gets so much as a smile from you and will do anything to make sure it doesn’t fade.

———————————————————————————

Tim

Being Loved

Tim likes having someone to care for him when he needs it most. He’s so used to doing things for the good of others and burning himself out that the small moments of your company mean the world to him. He loves the small things you do to show your concern for him. The days you cook for him, remind him to care for himself, attempt to help him with his most troubling cases and listen to his ramblings are everything to him. He’s an incredibly observant person which makes your surprise and appreciation when he remembers the smallest aspects about you worth all his attention to detail. So when you do the same for him, he finds it adorable and incredibly flattering. Tim loves seeing the effort you put into loving him and the extent your care is shown.

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Hey everyone, this is my first time writing headcanons and I really liked it so I think I’ll be doing more like this soon! I also had an idea for Damian but I’ve never been able to find a definitive answer on how old he is so I’m not sure if I’m comfortable writing for him yet. If you guys would like that then let me know his age so I can decide if I’ll write for him. I hope you guys liked this as much as I did making it. Thank you for reading!

[luvs4haechan]

oscar piastri with one of his sister’s best friends!

always there

✮ - genre: fluff, slow burn kinda

✮ - pairing: oscar piastri x sister's bff!reader

✮ - warnings: none!

✮ - word count: 2,6k+

f1 masterlist. main masterlist.

✮ - hanna yaps!

we are so back gng 🌹❤️‍🩹 this was written with a part 2 in mind, but plssss lmk if i should do one. first f1 fic!!! kinda nervous 😬 i finally got all the design thingies to my liking and i'm so so happy. anyway send requests, asks, opinions anything i love hearing from you 💋💋💋 also big apologies to anon who had to wait AGES for this im so so sorry hope the story compensated the wait you cooked with this one 🙏🏻

it was august when he told you he was moving away. well, not you.

that night stretched endlessly, the way summer nights do when you’re thirteen and everything feels infinite. you and hattie gossiped under a mountain of blankets, watched movies, whispered secrets you promised not to repeat. by morning, you padded downstairs together, half-asleep and hungry, to find her family already gathered around the kitchen table. her siblings. her parents. and him - her older brother. god, her brother.

he was there - leaning against the counter, already looking like he belonged elsewhere. always off in his head, even when he was right there with you. and then it came. oscar casually announced that he was leaving.

"i got an offer from a boarding school in england," he said, his voice a little flat, like he'd already said it a thousand times. "full scholarship. they want me to focus on racing, possibly formula renault next year."

for a moment the whole kitchen was silent. hattie didn't say anything. no one did. it wasn't the kind of thing your thirteen year old minds could easily digest. you could see it in your best friend, the way her smile faltered and she straightened up a little. but you couldn't see it in oscar. he was already somewhere else, thinking about the future - about racing, maybe.

you wanted to say something, anything, to stop him. to ask him if this was a joke. but instead, you sat there, trying not to look at him too much, hoping no one would notice how much you were affected. while oscar hoped you hadn't noticed longing glances of his own.

for as long as you could remember, you had been friends with hattie. preschool, you were probably 4 years old. ever since then, you and hattie were attached at the hip. along with that, came her family. hattie introduced you to her brother the day you first came over to the piastri house. simple 'hello's were exchanged, and you and hattie went to play in her room. however, as your friendship with her blossomed, oscar always seemed to be around. numerous family holidays, trips, dinners, you name it. and somewhere along that line, you began to see oscar as more than just your best friend's brother.

the rest of your winter break was spent with hattie, doing everything you've always done. watching movies. sneaking into each other's rooms to gossip about boys you'd never have the courage to talk to. sharing secrets you'd swear you'd never tell anyone else.

but there was something different about it. something under the surface. every time you looked up, oscar was there. at first, you chalked it up to him just being around more than usual. but the more he lingered, the more you realised you couldn't quite let go of the fact that he was the one you were thinking about. you couldn't even bring yourself to talk to him properly, much less tell him what you were feeling.

still, you caught yourself sneaking looks at him when hattie wasn't paying attention. every time he walked past, or sat down next to you, your heart raced. even if you didn't speak, his presence sent something wild in your chest.

the day before his flight came sooner than either of you expected. you decided to give your best friend the day to herself and her family, knowing this was hard on them. in the evening, your mum called you down, saying there was someone at the door for you. expecting hattie, you rushed down the stairs, ready to console your friend. your eyebrows shot up when you saw oscar standing in the hallway of your childhood home.

"oscar," you breathed out. "what are you doing here?" despite your best efforts, the surprise could be heard in your voice.

the fourteen year old boy before you shrugged, "didn’t feel right, leaving without saying goodbye,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, eyes flicking up to yours and away again. he hadn't thought this through, all he knew was in his heart he felt like he was leaving you behind along with his family.

hearing his words, your lips twitched up slightly. taking a deep breath to calm your racing heart, you closed the distance between the two of you and enveloped him in a hug. between his surprise and delight, oscar managed to wrap his own arms around you. he just hoped you couldn't hear how fast his own heart was beating.

"i'll miss you, piastri." you mumbled into his chest. when had oscar grown so tall?

the brunette boy chuckled at your words, squeezing you a bit tighter. "i'll miss you too, y/n."

that was the last you'd seen of him for a while. sure, you kept in touch. kind of. mostly through instagram likes and the occasional dm. it wasn’t much, but it was enough to know he was still there, just a few taps away. and through his family.

chris and nicole were always talking about him. the framed photos. the race tickets. the way they talked about oscar’s accomplishments like they were their own. you heard about his f3 and f2 victories through their proud smiles, their excited chatter. you watched his career grow through a screen.

every now and then, you’d see him when he was back in melbourne. family dinners. holiday get-togethers. the longing was still there, buried deeper now. you weren’t sure if he felt it too.

somewhere along the years that passed, your conversations developed from comments on posts, to discussions about his upcoming races. oscar would update you as soon as he got out of the car, and you would tell him how every test went as soon as you left the classroom. your relationship evolved. and you could only hope it would be in the best way.

formula 1. the ultimate dream for every kid that once sat in a kart. it was oscar's first home race, the third race of the season. oscar invited you, personally, to come to his first ever home race. you hadn't told hattie, and when she brought up the topic of the papaya garage, you had to act surprised.

"you know, oscar's first home race is coming up." she mentioned one day, as the two of you were sat on her bed scrolling aimlessly on your respective phones.

you took a deep breath, "yeah, he told me. you all going?" you froze. so much for acting surprised. hattie sent you a look, one that said 'spill'.

you sighed, cheeks warm. “okay. so maybe we’ve been talking, what's the big deal?"

"the big deal is that the two of you never talked much before. what changed?" hattie said, sitting up, now curious as to your relationship with her brother.

you looked away, shrugging. "we've been messaging a bit." your best friend gave you a pointed look. "fine. a lot."

"i knew it! you're totally into my brother." she exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting up and a wide grin spreading over her face. while you just blushed, embarrassed by her words.

"is that okay? i mean not me being into him, because i'm not," hattie gave you a look, to which you just rolled your eyes. "but me messaging him. i didn't mean to hide it from you."

"of course it's okay, i'm just glad you're getting along." she gave you a smile, you returned an even wider one. "i'm guessing this means you'll be at the race?"

you nodded, "yeah, he invited me." hattie smiled even wider at your words.

"this means you could totally be my real sister now!" you laughed at her words and buried your face in the pillows. sure you liked oscar, you had known that for a while. but that didn't mean that he liked you back, did he?

the race weekend came sooner than you thought. despite the melbourne heat dissipating, the paddock was still buzzing with people. some making important phone calls, others rushing to the garages. you, however, managed to find peace in the chaos.

free practice one. oscar's whole family was in his garage. they all stood with big headphones on, listening and watching intently. you found a small space in the back, a few screens still visible. you took out your sketchbook and began drawing - it always calmed you down. not only was the paddock overwhelming, but everytime oscar got into his car you breathed a little less and your heart beat a little faster.

the session finished as quickly as it started. you noticed only when a shadow blocked the light on your sketchbook.

"what are you doing back here?" he said, now crouching down to be level with you. oscar was sweaty. his face red, fading lines from the helmet still visible.

you smiled a little when you saw him, your heart automatically doing flips in your chest. to answer his question, you flipped your sketchbook so he could see. a black and white drawing of his, usually, papaya car. it had all the details, the front and back wings, the soft tyres he just used in his free practice session.

"you like it?" you said, looking at him now. you'd shown oscar your drawings before. going to art school meant that's all you pretty much did - draw. however, he'd never seen one so personal to him.

"it's beautiful, y/n," he replied softly, his eyes switching between the paper and you.

you both stood up, now almost level with him, and smiled wider. you carefully ripped the page out, before handing it to him.

"good, keep it." oscar’s brows furrowed. his heart did somersaults in his chest. you couldn't help but notice the slight blush on his cheeks. but that was probably still from the session he just did. right?

"are you sure?" he said, carefully taking the paper from your hand.

"don't say i never gave you anything," you said playfully, leaving to join his family in the front of the garage.

oscar watched you go, a smile spreading on his face. he felt like the fourteen year old boy standing on your doorstep every time he watched you walk away from him. he also felt the familiar tug on his heart every time you smiled - it hadn't changed since you were a kid. neither had your laugh. he could listen to that for hours.

the truth was, neither of you had changed as much as you thought. oscar was still as oblivious as he had been almost all his life. he was still quiet and collected, until he had to face the music and brave the world. and you were still caught in, what you thought was, unrequited love. smiling your way through heartbreak, pretending it wasn't affecting you.

the next day brought tears and disappointment. oscar was out in q1. he would start his first home grand prix in p16.

the brunette got out of the car and went straight to his driver room. he didn’t speak to his engineers, team principal, or family. just slammed the door and the whole garage went silent. you and hattie exchanged and understanding look.

"you should go talk to him," she said, seeing her parents walk over to the hospitality suite - clearly giving oscar time to breathe.

"no, he should have some space," you dismissed her, but hattie was stubborn.

"no, what he wants is for you to go over there and listen. trust me, he always used to do this when he was younger." she was relentless, you had to give her that.

you sighed, preparing for the worst. "alright, i'll see what i can do." hattie smiled slightly at your words, giving you an encouraging nod, before leaving to join her parents and sisters.

you were prepared to be turned away. oscar really looked like he wanted to be alone, in the way he simply stormed over to his room without a word. nevertheless, rejection therapy might be good for you. who the fuck made that up?

you knocked. three times. at first there was silence, then you heard his voice. "mark, i really don't want to hear it right now." his words were clipped, you could tell he was angry.

"actually, it's not mark. just me." your voice contrasted his, soft and careful. when oscar realised it was you at the door, he quickly got up to open it.

"hi," he said, looking at you. there was a crease between his brows, that you so badly wanted to reach out and smooth over. you'd take all his pain and make it yours if that was possible. "sorry, i didn't realise you were here."

you shook your head, waving your hand dismissively, "it's okay."

the two of you looked at each other. no further words exchanged. oscar moved aside, opening the door further to let you inside. you stepped into the small room. there was a couch, small closet and desk. a larger window let in some of the remaining melbourne sun into the room.

you took a seat on the couch, looking at oscar who stood by the door, not making eye contact with you.

"are you okay?" your voice was barely above a whisper, careful and collected. the polar opposite of what oscar was feeling right now. you really didn't need to ask. you saw it in the way his shoulders were tense, and his eyes dull.

he took a deep, shaky breath, "honestly?" you nodded, now that he was looking at you. "not really," oscar gave a something between a scoff and a chuckle after his words. he sat down next to you, leaning over and putting his head in his hands. you didn't say anything. just let him get all of his emotions out - god knows it doesn't happen often.

"i just feel like i've disappointed everybody. not only the team and fans, but you and my family too." you nodded, not in agreement but in understanding.

"oscar," you hesitantly placed your hand on his back, hoping to bring him some comfort. he finally looked at you. his eyes red, breathing uneven and shoulders tense. "they couldn't be more proud of you," you said as you drew circles on his back. "remember when you moved away? to pursue your dreams. sure, your parents were sad you were moving halfway across the world, but in their eyes i only saw pride. they've always only been happy for you. whether you went out in q1 or didn't finish the race. they've put so many pictures up, your house almost looks like a shrine," you laughed softly, hoping to lighten the mood. oscar shared your laughter, albeit his slightly quieter.

"and you?" he looked at you. really looked. it was like his eyes were taking mental photographs, hoping to map out your face in his mind.

"well... my house does not look like a shrine," he laughed again at your words, causing you to smile softly. "but i'm always proud of you, you know that. whether it's racing, or just you, developing as a person. i don't think you've ever given me a reason to be disappointed," your words were quiet but calculated, hoping to bring some comfort to the boy before you.

oscar nodded, seemingly more relaxed now. "thank you," he whispered, eyes locked on yours now. you shrugged, waving his words off like you haven't done anything to help. "no really," he took your hand in his. you just hoped he couldn't hear your suddenly hammering heart. "you're amazing, you know that?" oscar spoke quietly, like every word said could break this calm moment. shatter the illusion that right now the two of you weren't just friends. and in that moment, you let yourself believe - maybe he'd felt it all along too.

[samcarter34]

So, there's someone in the reblogs who who compared this to Kingsley, and I've been mulling over whether or not to do a follow up (btw, just because the internet is the way it is lately, if you feel the urge to be rude to this person, don't.) Because, suffice to say, I very much do not agree that Kingsley as a character is remotely similar to Vax coming back.

First of all, the obvious. Vax didn't even come back in the same campaign he died in, whereas Kingsley did come back in the same campaign Molly died in.

But in terms of narrative, Kingsley's existence was justified by the entire concept of Molly's character. Molly outright states in Fleeting Memories that who Lucien was doesn't matter because it isn't him, Molly started existing when he dug himself out of the grave. That's the entire character concept, that Molly is a person with no past whose persona is informed by his surroundings. The only way to maintain true to that character concept was that the person resurrected couldn't identify as Molly.

And on some level, this was definitely known because I remember people 'joking' about him coming back but not as Molly. I distinctly remember one post about the Mighty Nein coming across him and him not recognizing them. So the idea that he would get 'reset' was even acknowledged in the fandom. I suspect, though, that the assumption was that the Mighty Nein would encourage him to remember and embrace his identity as Molly rather than accept his new identity. However, given how much identity had become a theme with the Mighty Nein, ultimately it would make sense for them to try to force an identity on someone else.

Also, I do feel like it's worth pointing out that player decision has always had veto power of dice rolls when it comes to resurrection. We know that from campaign 1 from Percy, ironically also a Taliesin character. Regardless of what the rest of Vox Machina rolled, left the decision to Taliesin on whether or not it would work. It's just that the cast was able to avoid all of the hard nos, and Laura inadvertently found a hard yes by having Vex confess her love to Percy.

Now honestly, had the entire last arc not been about Lucien, I would have a problem with them randomly deciding to resurrect Molly 100+ episodes after he died. However, the narrative put Lucien in the spotlight, so it made sense for Molly to be on their minds, and so I feel the resurrection felt earned (especially with the divine intervention success) and I don't believe Taliesin* undermined the actual resurrection because 'who I was before isn't me' is baked into the character concept

Compare this to Vax's death. Scanlan/Sam literally cries because he has to give up his ninth level spell slot to stop Vecna from escaping. Further, when the Raven Queen comes for Vax, Scanlan tries to beg for 1 single more night with him so he can get his spell slots back. Because there is an understanding all but explicitly stated that if Vax goes with the Raven Queen, he's gone. Nothing, not even Wish can bring him back. This is further reinforced by everything that's come after. In the Wedding oneshot, Scanlan does finally cast Wish for Vax (and loses it!) he only even tries for a few moments, because the chance to get him back wholesale is gone. And Liam's acting decisions reflect that too. Vax acts distant and remote because the Vax they loved and lost is gone. Hell, here's what the Tal'Dorei Reborn Campaign Guide says:

The Champion isn't even Vax. He's literally an angel of death born from Vax's oath to the Raven Queen. Yes, there is still an aspect of Vax within him**, represented by the antlers growing out of his shoulder, but everything Critical Role put out made it clear that Vax was gone. Until he randomly wasn't, because 'blah blah bad times feel good blah'.

I'm sorry but that is not at all comparable to a character being resurrected after being brought back into narrative focus and the player making a decision that held true to both the resurrection and the core character concepts. All of which happen in the character's actual campaign

*I would also like to take this time to acknowledge that in the year 2025 I am still seeing people say that if Jester hadn't cast Greater Resurrection than it would have been Molly, and her doing that is the only reason Kingsley exists. With such confidence, like it's a known thing that was revealed by the cast directly and not a piece of bullshit someone pulled out their ass because they didn't like the narrative decision. The person whom I responding to I'm fine with, the people who earnestly believe this I have nothing but disdain for.

**I've always felt that Vax would remain the Raven Queen's Champion until Vex died. His initial oath was his life for hers, so once she passed, she would be the last soul he acted as psychopomp for and then they'd pass on together (well, them and Trinket since his life is bound to hers)

At this point I'm largely 'it was what it was' vis a vis campaign 3.

But occasionally I'll think about how the climax of campaign 1 is Scanlan having to sacrifice his one chance to save Vax's life in order to stop Vecna from escaping, how the cast has multiple times acknowledged how strong the story of the tragedy of Vax is. Then I'll think about they consciously made the decision to undermine that, and I get a little annoyed again.

[missadangel]

⊱ AMOR MEUS AETERNUS ⊰

(Marcus Acacius x Ofc)

VIII. Sol et Luna

prev chapter series masterlist next chapter

Chapter Summary:  As you and Marcus settle into married life and strengthen your bond day by day, the shadow of Folliero uncovers hidden truths about your family. In the middle of all this, Katie gives you something your dad passed down that tells you everything you need to know. Chapter W. Count and warnings: 11k (sorry for the delay; SMUT (+18) Angst, shameless smut, lust, kissing, regrets, mention about death, cum eating, rom-com, romance, fluffy, sci-fi stuff, intrigue, secrets, needy and greedy reader (who can blame her?) authors note: Part of the reason this chapter took a while to get out was that I was on vacation, plus I wanted to sprinkle in a bit of sci-fi without going overboard. Hope that works for you! I’ll share more answers in the next chapter so this one doesn’t drag on too long. Thanks for hanging in there and for sticking with the story! Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI, Smut my masterlist

...Chapter theme...

“Where is the parchment?”

In that moment, it hit you just how dire your circumstances were. Mr. Folliero had a tight grip on your shoulders, his eyes locked onto yours, searching for any hint of the truth—he knew about the parchment and, even more troubling, he seemed to know everything else as well.

Your heart raced, constricting your throat and making it hard to gather your thoughts, yet you fought to hold back your tears, using sheer will to mask your feelings and keep yourself composed. You desperately hoped he wouldn’t see through your facade.

“I don’t understand. What do you mean by parchment?” you asked, raising an eyebrow and keeping your tone calm and neutral. Then you stood up, gently but firmly pushing his hands away. “I think I just felt a little dizzy; it must be the fatigue,” you said, avoiding his gaze.

He seemed taken aback by your abrupt shift in demeanor. His shock was evident, the corners of his mouth betraying a hint of a smirk. “Unbelievable. You’re acting like what just happened didn’t happen at all.”

You tugged at your dress, smoothing it down to your knees. “As I said, I lost my balance. What’s the big deal? I don’t get it.”

But the way he looked at me was really intense, almost creepy. “Rose, we both know you have that damn parchment.”

You swallowed hard. “Mr. Folliero, I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about. Why did you even bring me here and show me all these things?”

“You know exactly what I’m referring to. Can’t you see what you’ve done and what you're capable of? That parchment you have...  that object... and all the—"

Crossing your arms defensively, you cut him off, “Are you accusing me of stealing a historical artifact? Do you have any evidence?”

He burst into a fit of laughter, the sound sharp and eerie. “You’re quite clever, Rose. I’ll give you that. But the game you’re playing is incredibly dangerous. You have no idea what you're up against.”

You shrugged, pretending his words didn’t faze you. “Look, Mr. Folliero, you invited me here to view your private collection, and I did just that. What are you talking about with ‘game’?”

He sighed heavily and stepped closer. "Alright, let’s play. But remember, every game has its winners and losers, and I don’t like to lose."

You held your ground, maintaining your composure. “You can keep playing alone. I think it’s time for me to leave; my husband is probably worried about me.” Your voice carried a subtle warning as you turned toward the exit.

“Your husband, Acacius,” he called out just as you reached the door.

You hesitated.

“You know who he is, don’t you?”

What did that imply?

You turned back to him, curiosity piqued.

"Don't you know? It might be time for you to refresh your memory on history or reach out to your friend Katie. I heard she's occupied with some newly uncovered artifacts."

“What are you—”

“I’m playing, Rose. And I just made my first move,” he said, closing the distance between you. “Now it’s your turn.”

When you stepped into the garden, your heart raced in your throat. The music seemed to drift from someplace distant. It felt like the swirl of sensations you had just experienced was spreading throughout your body, blurring the lines of your memory. You couldn't see, couldn't clearly think, and your senses felt dulled, yet you managed to make your way outside, driven by one urgent need.

All you wanted was to see him.

You needed him.

You craved to hear his voice and to feel his hands in yours. It was as if he sensed you; his hands found you before you even looked up at the partygoers around you, who were unaware of your turmoil.

“Rosa?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself before meeting his gaze. He recognized your unease right away, but the last thing you wanted was for him to get upset.

"Are you well? What’s wrong?"

His voice was laced with nervous energy more than concern, and the way his large hand rested protectively on your back wasn’t a good sign yet you were grateful to feel his touch on your skin. You took a deep breath, met his eyes, trying your best to keep your expression neutral.

“I feel a bit tired. Let’s head home,” you said, taking hold of his hand and moving toward the exit.

But Marcus didn’t budge; instead, he pulled you back, tilting his head to get a better look at your face.

“Did that man do something to you?”

In his eyes, you saw a fire that you’d never encountered before. It was raw anger—the same fury he had shown when he broke Nicolo's fingers—but this time it was deeper, more intense.

Before you could respond, Mr. Folliero appeared right behind you, closing the distance. As soon as he approached, Marcus instinctively shielded you, his eyes fixed on Folliero with a fierce intensity.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked, his calm demeanor belying any hint of surprise, as though the earlier events hadn’t fazed him at all.

You felt Marcus stiffen at your side, his grip on your hand tightening. Tugging at his jacket, you urged, "Let’s go now."

One of the crew members approached, noticing the two of you. “Guys? Heading out already?” 

“I’m not feeling well,” you explained, managing a forced smile. “Probably just the heat from earlier.”

Marcus and Mr. Folliero continued to stare each other down. You tugged at Marcus again, this time more insistently, while your friend from the set said his goodbyes and rejoined the others.

“My love,” you whispered, Marcus finally turned his attention back to you yet his eyes remained on him. “Let’s go, please,” you urged again.

“See you again, Rose,” Folliero said, a cryptic smile playing on his lips.

In the crowd, you shot him a glare. When Marcus turned toward you, Folliero quietly called out from behind the two of you, "Good night... General."

You both halted and turned to face him. Surprised, you exchanged a look of disbelief, while Folliero raised a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter, as if toasting you. Marcus glanced at you, and seeing your apprehension, his expression shifted again.

That same fury returned, but now it was measured.

Yet you could feel his restraint, as if he were on the verge of lunging at Folliero.

“You too, Mr. Folliero,” he managed to reply, his jaw set tight, his voice edged with a cool intensity, before he took your hand and led you away from the party.

The car ride was filled with an oppressive silence, and you could sense Marcus's uncertain, probing gaze on you. How could you possibly respond to the questions weighing on his mind when you didn’t even have the answers yourself?

"He knows my name, my title, and my true identity," Marcus finally spoke up, unable to tolerate the heavy silence that hung between the car and the house any longer. Actually, he was patient as always, waiting for the right moment for you to explain. Sometimes, his ability to wait felt almost superhuman. But seriously, how could you stay quiet after everything? Perhaps your thoughts were already a chaotic jumble, much like a bustling market street, filled with questions and potential answers.

“How could he possibly know?” he muttered.

“I don’t know,” you replied, avoiding his eyes as you stumbled into the house. As you struggled to pull off your high heels, Marcus caught you and helped you sit on the pouf by the coat rack. He knelt in front of you, gently grasping your ankle as he unfastened your high heels, one after the other. His hand lingered on your leg as he set aside the shoes and looked up at you. “Thank you,” you said, biting your lip.

He reached out and caressed your cheek, his expression a mix of tenderness and curiosity.

“Rosa, I need to know what that man said and done. Don't keep it from me; speak, please.”

“What makes you think I’m hiding anything?” you challenged, though the question hung heavily in the air.

He tilted his head slightly, maintaining eye contact. “Tonight, you were quieter than ever—that is why.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “So you prefer the talkative Rosa, huh? Fine then, I’ll never shut up, and you can’t blame me when you end up with a headache.”

Marcus chuckled, but his tone was serious. “Stop changing the subject. Just answer me. How could that man know all of this?”

“Not only did he know everything, but he also seemed to have collected it all, keeping it like a twisted museum in his house. I can’t wrap my head around it. I wonder if he’s some sort of vampire. Does he live forever?”

“Vamp-what?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

You sighed, realizing you sometimes forgot he was still figuring things out and there are still a million things he doesn't know yet. “Whatever, that last sentence was pretty nonsensical anyway, even for me.” 

“And you’re admitting that you can be nonsensical,” he said, playfully expressing his disbelief.

You gave him a look. “Okay, maybe that happens sometimes. Nobody’s perfect, alright?”

“You are,” he said, his voice deep and steady, brown eyes locked on you.

When you met his eyes again, you were caught off guard; they appeared dark and intense.

You swallowed hard, a familiar nervous habit that his eyes caused in you. “Me? What do you mean?”

His hands slid to your upper thighs. "Perfect," he murmured, tilting his head slightly toward you. A wave of warmth enveloped the space between you as the familiar scent of the perfume you had both chosen for him intertwined with his alluring, masculine aroma, filling your senses completely.

It was powerful enough to blur your perception, sending shivers coursing through you.

“You’re perfect for me, Rosa,” he murmured, his fingers gliding down from your thighs to your legs and back up as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Instinctively, your hands found their way to his shoulders. “So perfect,” he whispered, pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours.

You gasped at his sudden yet fervent kiss, the sound soft and feminine, he replying to it with a rough masculine groan that had you melting in his palms.

Instantly, you wrapped your arms around his neck and closed your eyes, surrendering to the kiss, feeling a dizzying rush from his taste—a blend of wine and caramel lingering on his lips. Naturally, his drink of choice at the party was wine; he had never been one to venture into other liquors. When you recalled the look on his face the first time he tried champagne, you nearly giggled and broke the kiss. But Marcus, never giving you that chance; grasping your hips with the hand that had been resting against your back, lifted you effortlessly onto his lap and stood up, still keeping you entwined around him. His other hand roamed your bare leg, his fingers dancing from your ankle to your knee. Each time he scooped you up with such ease, it ignited a thrill within you; his strength was irresistibly overwhelming, and you found yourself entirely at his mercy.

It happened once more.

You melted into his big hands like ice cream dissolving in the sun, willing to let him take control. He could do anything he wanted with you; you were utterly his. Without breaking the kiss, Marcus kicked off his shoes, sending them flying to the side. Though the movement startled you slightly, you knew deep down he would never let you drop.

You felt completely safe in his arms.

Alive.

In need.

Placing one hand on the back of his head, running your fingers through his curls, while your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you into the room. You couldn’t help but be grateful that Liz was in Milan; your intimate moments with Marcus were frequently intense, and you were certain the entire house could hear the sounds you made together. Luckily for you, the elderly landlady downstairs had poor hearing.

With your eyes still shut, you grasped Marcus's jacket, and he allowed you to slide it off. As you both moved in unison, the fabric slipped from his shoulders, drifting to the floor and forgotten in the hallway.

The moment you entered the room, everything shifted. You gasped as you found yourself on your back on the bed, with Marcus leaning over you, one hand fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, struggling as he always did. You couldn't help but chuckle softly and lend a hand. He smiled sheepishly, allowing you to take over as his free hand grazed your legs while you worked on undressing him. As you unfastened the final button, he delicately eased your lace panties down your legs, handling them with unexpected tenderness, before tossing them aside.

But then, with a sudden burst of intensity, he pushed you back onto the bed, and you instinctively grabbed the edges of his open shirt for support, feeling a thrill at being under his control like this.

To bring his face closer to yours, playfully tugged on his shirt, leaning in to plant a kiss and teasingly licked his chin, sucking his hairy skin. You couldn’t help but laugh at the way he groaned, feeling his palms tighten around you just a little more.

You adored that reaction; it made you smile mischievously, realizing how even the lightest brush of your lips and touch of your tongue could have such a powerful effect on him.

Going even further you pressed first your lips against his, then your hips against him, humming softly in his mouth. A thrill shot down your spine as you felt his thick, rock-hard bulge with your bare sex, sending delightful shivers through you.

He traced your jawline with his thumb, and as the passionate kisses resumed, you eagerly slid his shirt down off his shoulders, revealing his perfectly toned torso. You sighed at the sight, fingers exploring every curve of his strong arms. Then, Marcus leaned down, burying his face in the curve of your neck, showering your collarbone with kisses. He found the zipper of your dress and, having learned that well now, skillfully freed you from the outfit he had earlier deemed too short.

His discontent simmered just beneath the surface—he couldn't shake the annoyance at the way the other men at the party eyed your figure.

You.

His wife.

As a man, he was all too aware of those longing looks, and a fierce urge to confront them surged within him, a struggle more intense than facing ten opponents in battle. He couldn’t help but think how easy it would be to eliminate these men if they were in his time.

To him, it felt like a rightful instinct as your husband.

But not in this time.

The contrast between the two worlds was unbearable.

However, for you, he found the strength to endure. His love for you outweighed the inherent challenges of being the husband of a modern woman. Being unable to assert the authority he once wielded as a general was difficult, yet you were worth every struggle. You were precious to him, a balm for his long-standing wounds that had never quite healed. You were his air and his reason to breathe.

You made him stronger than ever.

In this life, this time or this world, he was no longer the Glorious Roman General Acacius; he was simply Marcus, the sword trainer. He couldn’t help but smile at the contrast—experiencing joys he never thought possible, even if he were to be born a hundred times. And in that moment, he felt happier than he had ever been, more fulfilled than he had been with Rhea.

It dawned on him slowly, but now he was certain: his past was behind him.

What lay ahead were the days he would share with you.

His beloved wife.

With these thoughts swirling in his mind, he explored your body, his fingertips gliding over your flawless skin. Shuddered when he felt how delightfully wet and ready you were for him, and this knowledge made him burn all the more. His lips were more eager than his fingers, eagerly tracing their way to your womanhood. He couldn’t help but smile as he heard you moan with delight when his lips found your most sensitive spot. In response, his impossibly hard cock twitched with need, almost in pain, but he was patient as always. First, he would make you drip with desire, driving you insane until you climaxed against his mouth.

"So sweet as always..." Marcus whispered against your sex. His mouth was hungry, matching the darkness gleaming behind his eyes and the throbbing ache down low. He kept staring up at you from between your thighs, groaning into your molten core as you grew restless and your moaning, louder. He paused for a moment, marvelling at the sight of you but you grunted and pleaded and begged. Begged him not to stop, to make you come.

"Yes, mea vita," he hummed, "Cum for me."

Your head swam with pleasure with the ebb and flow of his caress, this man was a dangerous, heady drug, his masculine scent filling your nostrils and waking your every sense. The hunger grew more urgent as pleasure rippled through you and pooled in your belly, making you roll your hips against his tongue as you climbed towards the climax, shouting his name to the heavens.

“Such a good girl..." He whispered with a triumphant grin, kissing your inner thigh. Still feeling lightheaded from ecstasy, you didn't notice him slipping off his underwear, but the shifting of the bed springs made it evident. Opening your eyes to see him settling between your thigs and feeling him easing himself into you inch by inch.

You bit your lip hard at sensation of him stretching you out so perfectly. He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, while you kept the other wrapped around his waist, your heel digging into the small of his back, urging him to go faster, deeper into you. He leaned down to press his forehead against yours, his brow furrowed as he tried to keep his focus while thrusting harder into you.

"Marcus, please..." You begged as you dug and raked your nails down his back, making him hiss.

"What was that, mei amor?... I can't hear you,"  He teased while leaning forward to lick your ear. "Tell me what you need…”

“Please, I need.." You panted, nails digging into his skin.

"My Rosa, you’re always so impatient," he smirked, finally giving you what you begged for. “Still, it’s that very passion that makes you so perfect for me.”

The thrusting sped up, and kissing became way to much for to handle, so instead you screamed his name into his mouth as his movements changed, walls tightened as the edge was near.

Any second now.

"I want you... to ... C-come... W-with me," Your retort broken and punctuated by gasps of pleasure. "Please," You whimpered once more. 

He obeyed, losing all his sanity in the process, surrendering himself to his ravenous need for you.

Gripping your ass almost painfully, his thrusts became brutal, his mouth more demanding of your own, skin burning against skin. The slapping sound of wet flesh echoing through the room, your hot core so sweet and honeyed, your walls tightening around him as your hips met his every thrust as the crescendo of your delight rose and together you reached your peak. He then let himself go, letting out a deep, resonant growl as he spilled inside you and buried his face in your hair as he did, resting his chin on your shoulder, inhaling your scent as you both are drunk with raw pleasure.

"Quintus!"

You jolted awake to a high-pitched familiar, female scream, desperate and seemingly begging for help. Blinking your eyes, you took in your surroundings—an eerily dark and desolate forest. Instinctively, you called out for Marcus, hoping he could help. But to your bewilderment, your voice was trapped; your lips moved, yet no sound escaped. 

What the fuck?

Where was he?

How did you end up here?

What was this place?

And who on earth was Quintus?

You were certain you had heard that name before but where?.

As Quintus appeared suddenly, it struck you that you'd seen him before in your memories. The image of Folliero showing you Rhea's belongings suddenly flooded back. This wasn’t a dream or a distant memory; it felt all too real—absurd yet undeniable. When Quintus hopped off his horse and stepped closer, you involuntarily took a step back, examining your hands and body. You were dressed in your usual attire—short shorts and a halter top, sneakers ready for action—while Quintus, in stark contrast, was outfitted as a Roman soldier, complete with a galea, a sword at his waist, and sandals on his feet.

"Rhea, I told you to leave. Now. Acacius is awaiting your arrival at the harbor, as we previously discussed."

You opened your mouth to explain that you should be nestled in bed with Marcus in 2025, that this had to be some silly dream, when you suddenly heard a voice from behind you.

“What about you?”

It was your voice—Rhea’s voice.

Quintus walked past you as if you were invisible. Following his gaze, you spotted her standing behind you—your younger self, wearing that fearful expression when you feel scared too. She looked the same, yet somehow different; around sixteen, you recalled being in high school at that age. She wore the white outfit of a Vesta priestess, the similar design you had created for a movie during your days on the design team.

A gasp escaped you as you heard the unmistakable sound of Quintus drawing his sword. Neither of them seemed aware of your presence.

Yes, you were truly invisible.

It wasn’t like staring into a mirror or stepping into it to meet another version of yourself; it felt completely different.

You were the same, yet distinctly altered.

It was odd—very odd.

Suddenly, the distant sound of galloping horses resonated through the trees. Quintus stepped protectively in front of Rhea, took the reins of his horse, and helped her to mount.

"Go now! I’ll hold them off while you make your escape! You know the way!" he shouted, giving the horse a firm slap to send it galloping away.

Turning to her, you noticed tears streaming down Rhea’s face as she rode off on Quintus’s horse. He watched until she disappeared into the woods, then braced himself as soldiers emerged from up the path, gripping his sword tightly.

Your heart raced with fear upon seeing the soldiers advance. Instinctively, you stepped back, recollecting the night Julius had told you. A shiver ran down your spine.

You were witnessing that night, reliving it in your flesh.

No, it must be a dream, a nightmare.

Panicking, you scanned your surroundings, desperate to wake up. You should be with Marcus right now, but he wasn't there. The sound of clashing swords echoed behind you, followed by Quintus’ cry of pain.

You froze—could the soldiers see you?

Would they come after you?

As a few of them moved in the direction Rhea had taken, a wave of panic began to rise within you, signaling an oncoming anxiety attack. What could you possibly do?

You couldn’t change what had already transpired, could you?

Yet you didn’t want to witness it unfold either.

So why were you here?

Why couldn’t you wake up?

Was there something you needed to see?

And what was it exactly?

If there was anything worse than being stuck in this incredibly vivid dream, it was the inability to break free from it. You needed to wake up; you had to wake up right now. Yet, despite that urge, you found yourself longing to see what would happen next.

Gradually, you moved toward the voices, and the first figure you spotted was Rhea.

Then you noticed another familiar face, one you didn’t recognize at first—this was a younger version of her. Balbina stood beside a man who obviously commanded the praetorians, both of them gazing down at Rhea, who was forced to kneel on the ground.

Your heart nearly stopped.

Balbina handed a pouch to the commander, who accepted it with a nod to his soldiers. They seized Rhea by the arms, but she fought back valiantly. When Balbina glanced at her, it was the same contemptuous look she reserved for you, tinged now with a sense of triumph. You couldn’t fathom what was happening.

Balbina betrayed to Marcus?

How could she do this to him?

And why?

It dawned on you that either Marcus or Julius must be unaware of this. You were astounded by her betrayal. But the worst was yet to come. One of the soldiers placed a sword at Rhea's throat, following the commander’s orders.

Trembling with fear, you dared to inch closer.

Balbina stepped forward. “Where is Acacius?”

Rhea didn’t even glance at her or blink. You were struck by her composure and bravery.

"I know you plan to run off with him; tell me where he is!" she demanded.

“Are you asking me about your son's whereabouts, my lady?” Rhea's reply was met with an angry slap from Balbina, as if the sword at her throat weren’t enough.

Rhea flinched, and you held your breath, feeling as though the slap had landed on you instead.

"You little whore! Don’t toy with me! Where is he? Where were you supposed to meet? Speak now!" she shouted. “Do you honestly think they’ll let you live? Roman law is clear: the moment your illicit affair is uncovered, you're a dead woman. You’ll both pay for this.”

A shadow flitted across Rhea’s face. She knew the grim reality; she realized it was too late for her. A tear escaped her eye before she managed to respond. “Acacius is a friend. He has nothing to do with this. The man I love... is... Quintus,” she stammered, her voice trembling in spite of her efforts to remain strong.

The sword hovered dangerously close to her neck, barely grazing her skin. Balbina stared in disbelief at the blood seeping from the wound, taken aback by Rhea's boldness, and so were the soldiers. It seemed Rhea had just grasped that Quintus was already dead—a brilliant maneuver, yet an enormous sacrifice.

In that moment, you realized how deeply she -or you- loved Marcus.

"I'm ready to face the consequences; I'm not afraid of death. My body may perish, but my soul will be free, simply like my love. I will find him again in another life, in another body—despite you, despite all of you. In spite of Rome!" she cried out to Balbina, tears brimming in her eyes—and yours, too.

"Take her away!" Balbina grumbled, signaling to the soldiers.

You stood frozen as they dragged Rhea away amid her protests and cries. It was nearly unbearable to witness, and you felt a wave of anxiety wash over you, making it hard to breathe. You instinctively placed a hand over your chest, which felt constricted as if being squeezed tight. Closing your eyes, you focused on calming your breathing. When you opened them again, you felt the familiar touch of a hand on your back, but you were still panting.

“Rosa?”

Finally.

It was his voice, the anchor you desperately needed.

You turned toward it in bed and wrapped your arms around his neck. Your chest continued to rise and fall rapidly, the rush of your breaths stirring the damp, curly hair at the nape of his neck.

“My love, are you alright? Let me get you your medicine—”

You clutched him tighter, shaking your head vigorously. “No. Let’s just stay like this for a while, please. That's all I need,” you whispered.

Relief flooded through you as he wrapped his strong arms around you. One hand cradled the back of your head while you began to take deep breaths, his fingers gently running through your hair.

Gradually, you felt some of the tension ease.

As you rested your chin on his shoulder, your breathing slowly returned to normal. He quietly stroked your hair, waiting patiently without asking questions. Your whole being was still under the influence of the harrowing scene your dream had shown you; everywhere you looked, images of that moment replayed in your mind.

When your breathing finally steadied and you felt recovered enough to engage fully with reality, you glanced around the room. It seemed to be early morning; the darkness was fading, and the sun was on the verge of rising. Lying on the bed, both of you were as naked as the day you were born. You clung to Marcus, your breasts brushing against his strong, slightly hairy chest.

He trailed his hand slowly down your back. “Are you well now?”

You pulled back slightly to meet his gaze. “Yes, I think I am. Sorry, I had a nightmare.”

He gently stroked your cheek. “A nightmare? What could’ve scared you so much?”

You swallowed hard and looked away, instinctively drawing the sheet over your breasts with one hand. “Never mind. Let’s just go back to sleep; it’s still early, and we have two hours left.” You turned to rest your head on your pillow, but he grasped your chin to guide your gaze back to him.

“My love,” he said, his tone leaving no room for evasion. “I sense a connection between the details you've withheld about that man and the haunting nightmare that troubles you. Am I mistaken?”

Damn.

What were you going to tell him?

Should you spill everything all at once?

Balbina, what Folliero showed you, and everything he said—keeping it all inside was tough, and you felt it triggering your anxiety. Yes, he had to know; it was about him too, after all.

“Marcus,” you began, tucking your hair behind your ear. “That man, Folliero, he brought me to a private room. At first, I thought it was part of the collection, but when he mentioned that it was a place only a few were allowed to enter, I became curious…” Marcus frowned, listening carefully. “Inside, I saw something. There were many glass display cases, and in one of them…”

You let out a deep sigh. “A hairpin. From the ancient Roman period, your time, you know.” Marcus’s brow furrowed even more. “It’s engraved ‘tibi mea Rhea,’ which means ‘to you, my Rhea.’” As you spoke, Marcus parted his lips, but you continued, “Folliero looked me right in the eyes and said, ‘Rhea,’ and in that moment, I sensed it again and found myself reliving her memory. It came alive before me, feeling both like a memory and incredibly vivid at the same time.” You bowed your head, pushing back the hair that had fallen over your face.

“That moment...?”

"The moment you gave me that hairpin, Rhea, and the moment I gave you this necklace." You reached around his neck and held his bulla in your palm. "It is meant to protect you from all harm, including the danger of death. Please make sure you never remove it.'"

As you spoke, Marcus’s mind drifted back to that day, and he trembled. “‘It will be as if you are always with me,’” he said, echoing the words from that moment, his gaze fixed on the necklace in your hand. Then he took your hand and kissed it. "I knew you would remember; it was a significant moment for me. For years, every time I looked at this, I found myself reflecting on that moment repeatedly, striving to etch it into my memory.  In the midst of fierce battles, during long, solitary nights, it became my beacon of warmth, a flame flickering softly against the chill of despair. On my most wounded days, it acted as a soothing ointment, easing my pain and revitalizing my spirit, remained a constant presence amidst various hardships. As I promised, I have never parted with it."

“That day... you were heading off to war, weren't you?”

He nodded and said, "It was the first time Quintus and I fought side by side. We spent five long months away at war. When we finally returned, I had hoped to take you to the village where General Maximus lived. But then Commodus killed his father, the emperor, and took the throne for himself. Those were dark and troubled times for me and for all of Rome."

“General Maximus,” you murmured. "I've seen his bust and tomb. History remembers him as a good Roman commander, so he should be at peace."

"He was an honorable man who deserved that title. I learned everything I know from him—how to be a good soldier, how to fight, how to endure pain, how to lead, and so much more."

You touched his shoulder, letting your fingers trace along the sculpted muscles of his arm, pausing at a couple of scars. "You and your commander were quite close, right? Would you like to visit his tomb? We could go together if you wanted."

"Maybe. But you still haven't clarified Folliero's purpose."

"I'm not entirely sure; he’s peculiar. But he asked me about the parchment. Do you think he might know more about this time travel thing than we do?"

"It’s possible. Rosa, he could be dangerous; it’s not safe for you to work there."

"It’s not like he’s going to do anything to me on set. In fact, being close might help me uncover his true intentions—"

"Rosa—" he interrupted, amost growling.

“Marcus,” you cut in. "We're not going to dig into this. I put a lot of hard work into my designs for this job, and you know that. Besides, he won’t be around every day. And don’t forget, you’re on that set now too."

He frowned, and you leaned over to kiss his cheek gently. "And you will protect me, won’t you, husband?"

His expression shifted instantly, softening at your words. "Do you doubt me, wife?"

"Never, but I love hearing it from you. Your protective side drives me a little crazy, yet it turns me on too," you said, giving your shoulders a playful shake, winking at him.

Marcus chuckled, then leaned closer, brushing his lips against your cheek near your ear. "I’ve waited decades to reunite with you. I've destroyed armies and conquered cities; what do you think I would do to that man if he dared to hurt you?"

You smiled sweetly. “Mmmm, you’ll take him down?”

He remarked with a smile, “That wasn't quite a question, Rosa.”

“I know, but I still want to hear you say it, so what’s the harm?” you said, your hand gliding over the sheet that covered his thigh. “Please?�� you added, using the same soft, intimate tone you reserved for when you made love. Your hand slipped beneath the sheet to rest on his most sensitive spot, causing Marcus to swallow hard.

"I would have taken him down, breaking every bone in his body. Are you pleased now?” he said, his jaw clenched tight, a hint of anger in his voice that only served to provoke you further.

“Hmm… almost,” you said as you cupped and stroked his rock-hard cock, giggling cheekily as you felt it was pulsing in your palm, growing even harder.

A deep rumble built in his chest as he angrily threw the sheets off both of you, pushing them aside with rough urgency. “Gods,” he growled as he leaned over you and you reached up hold his face in your hands, and parted your knees for him, so he automatically settled between them, "You indecent woman. You will surely be the death of me.”

While you parked the car close to the movie set, Marcus was savoring his fifth and final croissant. He had quite the appetite, and sometimes you felt guilty for not having prepared him a proper breakfast. “Sorry for always having you snack on the go,” you said, glancing in the rearview mirror as you settled next to the other vehicle.

He looked up at you, chewing away, and you couldn't help but smile at his expression. “What if I made you breakfast tomorrow?”

He swallowed with a hint of hesitation and shook his head. “Rosa, you don’t have to. Croissants are delicious; I could eat them every day.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Are you saying I'm a terrible cook?” you teased as you turned off the engine and pulled out the key.

“No, not at all. I’m just saying it’s really not necessary.”

He was using "just" and "really" to skirt around giving a direct answer, probably to avoid hurting your feelings. Now he was doing it again, which made you chuckle.

“Sure, I’m no master chef, but I feel bad that I can’t cook for my husband. We always end up eating out or grabbing takeout,” you mumbled, pouting a little. “When you were in your Rome, you were having amazing food every day like including lamb, pork, duck, and seafood, along with a variety of fresh fruits. Don’t you miss them? I, for one, missed chocolate and coffee the most while I was there.”

Marcus smiled and took your hand in his. “I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss those meal. I had access to the best food and wine as a patrician, but honestly, none of that made me happier than this croissant. Even that pancake you made that day was better than the finest meal I've ever had in there.”

You rolled your eyes. “Really? That awful thing?”

“You made it for me,” he said, kissing your hand softly.

“Wow, who would’ve guessed that the great General Acacius could be such a romantic husband?” you teased.

“Even he never anticipated this,” he said, referring to himself in the third person before leaning in to kiss you on the lips.

After breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his thumb grazing your lips softly. As another car pulled in nearby and some passersby noticed you two, they chuckled. Marcus ignored them, but you felt a twinge of embarrassment and instinctively pulled away. “Alright, time to get to work,” you said, looking outside then turned to him. “Are you ready for your first official day as sword instructor?” you asked playfully.

“I’m not the one who needs to be ready; they do,” he replied, almost too seriously, as he got out of the car.

“Ooooh, cocky and sexy. That’s my man!” you laughed, following him out.

The day on the movie set was hectic. Your designs had all been approved, and the head designer had chosen you as her right-hand person for this project. You couldn't help but chuckle at her compliment on your designs. “It’s as if you took a trip to ancient Rome and took note of all the clothing styles there.”

Well, funny fact; you actually did.

It felt great to be the first designer to achieve that but it was a secret you had to keep. Yet, it nagged at you that someone else knew about it. Folliero.

To your luck, he wasn’t on set today, which made everything more relaxed for you and Marcus. Still, you couldn't shake off what he had said about Katie. You needed to visit her, but her busy schedule had made it difficult. The nightmarish dream you had lingered in your mind all day, overshadowed by a jumble of thoughts and a sea of fabrics and patterns.

Suddenly, a text message jolted you back to reality. It was the first text Marcus had ever sent you.

"My Rosa. This texting thing is harder than I thought. I'm done here. Where are you? Marcus."

You found yourself laughing for a good few minutes; the message had an adorably childlike quality, so innocent and unrefined, resembling a letter.

You sent back a laughing emoji, but there was no response, although he had seen your text. Poor Marcus, he’d need to adapt to this modern world, and it was clear he was struggling. With a deep sigh, you called him.

You had saved him in your contacts as "My General 🫡 ❤️‍🔥🗡," and he had saved you as "My Rosa🌹," thanks to your suggestion, of course. You knew, It was a bit cheesy, but it put a smile on your face every time you saw it. The love of your life was an extraordinary man from another time, and now he was yours; you felt you deserved every bit of it.

When you stepped out of the trailer, you hit dial.

The phone rang a few times before Marcus answered.

"Rosa? Where are you?"

"I just left the trailer. What about you?" you asked, noticing him back turned, scanning the area for you.

However, he spotted you instantly as you approached him quietly from behind—his intuition was impressive. Before he could turn around, you reached out and kissed him on the cheek. He smiled in surprise as he ended his call. "I told you not to sneak up on a soldier," he quipped.

"A soldier with a sword, you said," you replied.

He lifted his prop sword. You rolled your eyes. "That’s not real, and nobody carries one around anymore, Marcus."

"True," he said, bowing his head as he returned the prop to its sheath. A shadow crossed his expression, and you nearly regretted your comment. Despite his claims of not missing his time, you knew he did sometimes.

Wrapping your arms around his, you gazed at his face, hoping to lift his spirits. "So, how was the training?"

"Effortless. It hardly feels like I'm working."

You traced your finger down his arm to his shoulder. "That’s because you’re just so perfect."

He smiled slyly and leaned in closer, aiming for your lips.

"Rose!"

A girl from the set called out, rushing toward you with excitement.

"Alice," you smiled, acknowledging her.

She glanced at Marcus and then turned her attention to you, holding out a file. "Those designs you created when you disappeared last time."

"The unfinished ones?" you asked, curious.

"Not really. I mean the ones for the extras."

"Oh, right, I remember those." How could you forget that strange first meeting with Marcus right after you finished those costumes?

"After you had those costumes on the extras—since you vanished— they needed to go elsewhere, and we couldn’t reach you for approval. Now you have to sign this paper. It states you give your permission, and then you’ll get paid."

"Okay," you said, taking the pen she offered you. "Where are they sending the clothes? If it’s not to another film set—"

She opened the file for you to sign. "Cinecittà."

Your brows shot up. "That famous theme park?"

She grinned. "Exactly! You're making great strides in your career, Rose. Congratulations!"

You smiled as you signed the paper. "Thanks, Alice. I’ve really worked hard to get here."

"I'm your witness, girl," she said, giving you a friendly nudge and laughing. She stole one last glance at you two before heading back to the other trailer. "See you tomorrow!"

"See you," you replied, waving, then turned to Marcus, who was beaming at you.

"My Rosa is an auspicious seamstress," he said proudly.

"Costume designer," you corrected him.

"Right," he conceded.

"But yes I am," You chuckled and glanced in the direction of your parked car. "Some things are tough to get used to, huh? Like texting—you're still getting the hang of it."

He raised his eyebrows. "Have I made an error in my spelling?"

"No, it’s just—it's funny how you sign your name at the end of your text. It’s like writing a letter." You pulled out your phone and showed him your chat screen. “Look, your name is already there, so there's no need to write it again.”

He shrugged. "A habit, I suppose. I must admit that texting is not my... thing." He said that word with a frown.

"True. Maybe we should update your online status to 'emergency calls only.'" You continued the playful banter about texting until you reached your car.

The following day, you found yourself heading to the sewing studio to have the costumes designed, and you felt a bit anxious about being apart from Marcus for the first time. He was nervous as well, but you both needed to get used to it; that's just how life goes. Thankfully, he had figured out how to use his phone, even though he wasn’t a fan of it. You knew he wouldn't bother with it unless he had to, especially since you were always the one charging his phone.

After breakfast, you dropped him off at the set and exchanged your goodbyes.

He insisted he could find his way home now, and this was a good chance to test it out.

Before diving into costume making at the sewing studio, you reached out to Katie to set up a visit. It was a great way to catch up with her while Marcus was busy on set, especially since you had to stop by the hospital anyway. During your time at the studio, you had a long chat with Lizzie, who was still happily vacationing at your Aunt Victoria’s mansion in Milan. Although she sounded cheerful, she confessed that she missed Rome and was eager to return. You both exchanged stories about Aunt Victoria’s advice for your sister, reminisced about Beatrice’s flirtatious antics despite being married, and shared experiences from your work, along with insights into how your marriage to Marcus was evolving. Before hanging up, you promised to chat again soon.

That afternoon, as you contemplated calling Marcus to see what he was up to, you spotted Folliero visiting the stuido, which took you by surprise. He claimed to be there to check on the designs, but the way he looked at you hinted at something more. “Congratulations on getting the Cinecittà job,” he said, while you worked on the embroidery machine near the costume you were focusing on.

As you scanned the studio and noticed that you were the only ones present, you met his gaze with narrowed eyes, a silent yet firm response.

"Yes, I know evrything about you, Rose," he said confidently. "Well, almost everything. There are still a few mysteries I’m curious about."

Your irritation flared, and you stood up. "What the hell do you want from me?"

"It's quite simple," he said, leaning in closer. "We need your help."

"Need help? With what? And why would I want to help you?"

"The reason is clear; I have many things that belong to you. Explaining the details, however, is a bit trickier."

"What on earth could you have that belongs to me?"

He flashed a knowing look and you fought to remain unfazed. "For starters, I could reveal the truth about your family."

You narrowed your eyes, intrigued yet wary. "What truth? What are you talking about?"

Drawing a deep breath, he leaned against the table, his expression serious. "I’m referring to the fact that your father and mother are not your biological parents."

You froze at his words.

Denial washed over you as your instinct kicked in. "No, that's impossible. That can't be true. You're lying."

Folliero crossed his arms defiantly. "What if I can prove it?"

"What kind of person are you to speak such things about my family? Who do you think you are? Don’t you have any decency? I don’t know what you’re plotting, but—"

As your questions tumbled out, he pulled a photo from his inner pocket and handed it to you.

You hesitated before taking it.

The picture featured your father and mother alongside Folliero, all three in white lab coats, looking like they were in a laboratory of some sort, smiling at the camera. They appeared younger, perhaps in their thirties—this must have been taken a year or two before the accident. "We were colleagues back then," he said, casually tucking the photo back into his pocket.

"My parents were archaeologists," you murmured, grappling with the implications.

"Oh, believe me, there's much more to this, Rose. I’ll share everything with you—if you come with me. This isn’t the right place to discuss it," he urged, glancing around the room. Just then, someone entered the studio, seated themselves at their desk, and briefly glanced your way before returning to their work. They were too far to overhear your conversation, engrossed in their tasks, while Folliero straightened up. He tilted his head to catch your eye, which was fixed on the floor. "Rose? There’s so much you don’t know. About yourself and other things."

Looking up, tears began to blur your vision. Folliero lowered his voice. "Don’t you understand what you’ve done, what you’ve achieved, what you’ve triggered?"

"A-am I r-reincarnated?" you stammered, staring back at him, realizing he held answers you needed.

"It’s complicated," he responded, seizing the moment of your emotional turmoil to grasp your arm and pull you along. "Come with me. I’ll explain everything."

Although distrust gnawed at you, something compelled you to follow. You let him lead you to his car. Doubt nagged at your mind—clearly, you shouldn’t have put your faith in your parents either. They had deceived you all along, it seemed. Except for Lizzie, who you believed might be innocent of these revelations. But how could your father and mother not be your true family when they had shown you so much kindness?

Then it struck you: Katie.

She had always been a loyal friend to your parents, always ready to lend a hand. Perhaps she knew everything that was going on, and she was certainly more trustworthy than Folliero.

As you stepped outside, one of Folliero’s men spotted you and swung open the door of his luxury car. "Get in, dear," Folliero said in a gravelly, grating tone, grabbing you arm.

Who did he think he was, calling you that?

And how dare he lay a hand on you?

You yanked your arm away from his grasp. “Let go! I’m not going anywhere with you!”

Folliero glared at you, his expression turning hard as stone. "Get in the car, now."

His voice was stern and menacing, and his man moved in closer behind you. You glanced between him and Folliero, and when his hand reached for your arm again, you pulled back defiantly. "We're standing right in the street, you asshole. If you touch me, I’ll scream at the top of my lungs, do you understand?"

"Rose, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. If you refuse to get in today, I’ll make sure you have no choice but to do it tomorrow."

“Oh really? You think your pathetic threats will scare me? You can’t do a damn thing. My husband will break your jaw if you touch me. You know him, right? Oh, yes, you do. So you know what he’s capable of," you shot back, turning on your heel and walking towards your own car.

Folliero was fuming with rage, yet he couldn’t help but chuckle at your unexpected defiance.

"Should I catch her and bring her back, sir?" his man asked, primed to spring into action. They both watched as you shot them a fierce glare from a distance while you climbed into your car. "No, let her go. She’ll come back on her own two feet," Folliero replied with a sneer, before getting into his car as you pulled away.

You felt a bit relieved knowing that Folliero hadn’t followed you when you parked the car near the building of the Museums General Directorate. Every word he uttered lingered in your mind, like a heavy pile of debris anchoring you down, leaving you to struggle to break free. As you walked toward the building, you decided to call Aunt Victoria, even though she wasn’t really your aunt anymore, but the conversation had to happen.

“Rose? Honey?”

You hesitated, trying to keep your anger in check. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” she replied, but panic surged through her, you could sense it; of course she knew.

“I felt guilty about lying to you, even when I thought you were unfair on some issues. But you told me the biggest lie of all—along with my father and mother.”

There was a long silence on her end. “Rose… My dear. Look, I don’t know how you found out, but let me explain…”

“Don’t bother. I’ll figure it out myself.”

“Don’t be silly! Just listen! Rose—”

You hung up, cutting her off, and walked inside. As you made your way to Katie’s office, you bumped into her in the hallway. A commotion in the corridor caught your attention, and upon seeing you, she seemed to panic and rushed toward you.

“Rose, come, please,” she said, grabbing your wrist and tugging you toward her office. Once inside, she closed and locked the door.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

She had a strange look on her face, a mix of worry and sadness. "Go ahead and sit down," she said, pointing to a chair as she walked over to her desk. You took a seat. "Katie, you knew everything too. But about the other thing... what did you mean when we were on the phone?"

“It's something your father left for you. He wanted me to give it to you when you discovered the truth,” she explained, standing up and moving toward a drawer. “Wait a second,” she said then, and disappeared into a small room. Moments later, she returned, holding a small, locked wooden box, and placed it on the desk. “I’ve known your father for my entire life—he was an important archaeologist, as was your mother.”

“They still lied,” you muttered, feeling the weight of betrayal.

“Please, take this,” she said, handing you the key. “If you want, I can step out and give you some space.”

You took the key from her. “No, please stay.” The key turned easily in the lock, and you opened the box. Inside lay a USB drive and an item wrapped in fabric. You picked up the USB and exchanged glances with Katie. She carefully unwrapped the other item, revealing what looked like a small historical artifact, sundial. It was round and golden, with Roman figures etched around its circumference, counting up to twelve. A pointed triangular protrusion sat in the middle. The symbols next to the figures felt familiar; they resembled those on Marcus's bulla and the parchment.

“I remember that,” Katie said quietly. “Horologium. A Sun and Moon Dial from the excavations led by your father.”

“Sun and Moon Dial?” you asked.

“That’s what it was thought to be. But no one has solved its mystery yet. This item is very very rare. But what really matters is—why did your father…?”

You cut in, asking, “—Put it in the box and hide it?” Then, raising the USB, you added, “Maybe there’s an answer in this?”

She nodded, intrigued, opening her laptop and plugging in the USB drive.

“You’re right; there’s a video here,” she said as her finger glided across the touchpad. She turned the laptop toward you, revealing the file name, and your heart sank.

“For Rose. 06.09.2015.”

You tremble as you press the play button. It’s your father appearing in the video, recorded long before the accident. He’s seated in a chair in his study at your old home, wearing the same t-shirt you gifted him for his birthday. Taking a deep breath, he smooths his shirt, looks seriously into the camera, and begins to speak.

It’s the voice you’ve been longing to hear.

“Rose, baby, since you’re watching this video, I'm probably not alive anymore.”

Tears well up in your eyes, and your hand instinctively covered your mouth to stifle a sob. He wasn’t dead yet, but he wasn’t himself either — caught in a coma at the hospital for a decade. It struck you just how much you missed him. Taking a deep breath, you fight to keep your focus on the video. “I’ve meant to tell you this one day, of course, but due to the danger I faced, I had to prepare this recording just in case. Starting with this." He showed the sun and moon dial that you were currently cradling. "As you know, we’ve shared many excavations with your mother, but I had to keep this one hidden. Let me explain why this item is in the box you’re now holding." He took a deep breath, looking at it.

“This is what I call the portal provider.”

You exchange nervous glances with Katie, then turn back to the horologium as your father continues talking. “I never could have found this information on my own; tracking down the parts took years, and it sounds utterly ridiculous.” Then, he started to reveal the Folliero family, explaining Secret organization of scholars who research the supernatural, paranormal and collecting artifacts for centuries—since the 1200s. He described meeting Mr. Folliero after archaeological digs and the deals they struck together, how the noble family profited from selling artifacts through generations, and how, with heavy remorse, they made money from those illegal transactions. To escape their grasp, he moved from USA to France, then Spain, and finally to Italy, Rome—all part of a story of fleeing danger.

Then he reached the heart of the matter: how he adopted you. "The Folliero family is powerful, with hundreds of operatives, including scientists, working under their influence. They operate in secrecy, concealing their true purpose from both the state and society, masking themselves as historians, archaeologists, antique dealers. Their contributions to human history are immense. Together, we managed to extract DNA from the first ancient tomb remains using modern technology, creating genetic maps and family trees. They applied this technique to nearly every ancient tomb. As a researcher I was eager to explore while they were driven to achieve their own goals. Eventually, we stumbled upon something extraordinary: an ancient, unmarked tomb near the Pantheon.”

As your father continues, you sensed the tension rises. “Inside, we discovered the remains of a young woman from the ancient Roman period. Everything we found defied the ordinary appearance of the tomb; the clothes she wore, though torn by time, had survived for centuries. It appeared she belonged to a Vestal Virgin who had been condemned to death and... probably buried alive.”

You swallow hard, your heartbeat echoing in your ears.

“We unearthed something else buried alongside her remains. Later, during a separate excavation, we found a parchment that was linked to this object, which thrilled Folliero. Yet, he still didn't possess what he desperately sought. This relic, whatever it was, had no meaning in isolation. Folliero was obsessed with time travel, and he and his workers, meticulously investigated every clue related to this device, the vestal virgin, and that parchment. Over time, they pieced together a few crucial details. They even identified a living descendant from the ancient tomb's DNA. The individual likely has no idea about their ancestral connection to such a distant past—how could anyone on the street know who their ancestor was thousands of years ago anyway right? But Folliero and his team developed a system, and they succeeded. What I’m about to reveal is likely known only to a handful of people worldwide, while the rest wouldn’t even grasp its possibility. Most wouldn’t believe it if they heard it—neither would I have, had I not witnessed it.”

You share another anxious glance with Katie. Your father, leaning closer to the camera, lowers his voice, almost in a whisper. “Memory transfer with a relic or artifact,” he says, his tone laced with urgency, as if afraid someone might overhear. “But only a descendant of that person can achieve that.” He pauses, then reveals, “That was Folliero’s burning hope—to find a portal that would allow him to access memories through that relic and travel through time. I know you’re wondering, ‘What does this tomb and its remains have to do with time travel?’” He takes out the parchment then, and you can't help but feel a jolt of surprise—it’s the exact parchment that you have in your bag right now. “It’s all connected to what’s written on this.” You share a tense look with Katie once more, the gravity of the situation sinking in deeper.

“This is the same parchment you brought then..."

You nodded, your attention fully on your father as he spoke.

"It looks like a prayer, but it’s actually a sacrifice."

Both of you hung onto his words. For Katie, this was amazing to listen. For you however, it was overwhelming, your thoughts and emotions were in turmoil; you still hadn’t come to terms with the news of your adoption, but this topic grabbed your interest more. "The priestess who wrote this parchment penned a heartfelt plea to the god Janus: "If that person is in distress or danger, grant him the chance to rise to another life, another time. Give him my remaining years; if you take my life, please bestow it upon him. Accept the sacrifice of this helpless servant of yours."

"So, that's the literal and true translation," Katie murmured.

You didn’t meet her gaze, trying to understand, relate, and keep your sanity all at once.

In an instant, you spotted Rhea, a fleeting image that flashed through your mind before you could fully grasp it, leaving you momentarily shuddering as it vanished just as quickly.

"If this person were to come to our time, a portal would open somehow. Foliero must be after that," he continued, your ears ringing. "Now, Rose," he sighed, looking troubled, "you must be feeling very confused. I apologize for the rapid-fire revelations, but I had to tell you this first. Folliero has been tracing the family tree of the priestess; he located this family—the descendants of her. He used his power to seek out the last remaining relative, who turned out to be just five years old. Strangely, her parents had died on the very day she was born, leaving her all alone in an orphanage. I was there when Folliero brought her to the lab. In that instant, something inside me broke. This innocent little girl had no clue what was happening; she was about to become a test subject. I felt overwhelming shame for every deal I’d ever made with Folliero. My heart ached. When I looked into her beautiful, innocent eyes, all I could think about was to protect her—whatever it took.

I had to get her away from there."

Your father's tears began to flow freely, and you and Katie were no better off. After a moment of sobbing, he sniffed, wiped his face, and turned toward the screen. "That girl is you, Rose." his voice crecked. "My rosy-cheeked daughter, my beautiful child. From that moment on, your mother and I did everything we could to protect you from all harm. We gave up our work as scientists and took up lives as ordinary history researchers. Even your aunt didn’t know the truth until yesterday. That’s why she and your mother had their falling out; she thought you were her mother’s child from another man. In truth, it was a cover to keep you safe from Folliero. But it wasn’t long before that filthy man discovered us. We fled America, settling in Europe. When your aunt married Vincenzo, he invited us to join them, and we hid in Milan for a while. He and she only knows about the adoption part; no one knows the complete story. How could I even tell them anyway? I hope you can forgive me, Rose. I tried to shield you for as long as I could." You sobbed as Katie gently patted your back, the only thing keeping you sane. "Now, I need you to listen to me—not just as your father but as the man who protected and raised you. Stay far away from Folliero; if necessary, leave the city. Reach out to your aunt and Vincenzo, and should things take a turn for the worse, I have some final instructions. Call the number I’m about to show you. I didn’t write it down because it’s a last resort.”

You paused the video, noted the number displayed on the screen, and took a deep breath before resuming.

“Rose, I don’t know if time travel is real, but if it is, Folliero will do anything to find it and will want to use you to achieve his goals. No matter what, this groundbreaking discovery must not fall into the hands of those with ill intentions. That could disrupt the flow of space-time and trigger a butterfly effect—do you understand what that means? Now promise me you’ll keep this sun and moon daial safe, ensuring that it never ends up in Folliero’s possession. Katie will be there to assist you.”

Suddenly, something shifted in the video as the door opened. You nearly gasped when you saw your 15-year-old self, excitedly sharing news about a design competition you had won. You watched in a daze as your father let the video keep playing. It was a good thing; the memory warmed your heart, allowing you to relive that moment. The footage soon transitioned to you leaving the room, and your dad leaned closer to the screen, saying, "I'm proud of you, Rose. I love you so much, and I always will. Don’t you ever forget that."

Then, the video ended.

Instinctively, you reached out to caress your father’s face on the laptop screen. Katie wrapped her arms around you, and for a while, you just cried. Once you regained your composure, Katie handed you the USB and the strange object. You carefully placed both into the box back and locked it.

"I think you should keep this safe,” you said.

"Are you sure? After everything you’ve heard about how dangerous that Folliero guy is?”

"That's why I'm saying this. My house—or anywhere else—just isn't safe, Katie. Let's keep this here."

"Okay," she replied, taking the box again and placing it where she had kept it hidden all those years.

Silence hung heavy for a moment as both of you processed the video and your father's unsettling words. "Rose," Katie said hesitantly.

You turned to face her.

"The parchment," she continued.

You understood her inquiry. "I have it."

"So, those things you told me? They were real, weren’t they?"

You nodded, and as you explained everything, you noticed her surprise only deepening. Still, a wave of relief washed over you; sharing these unbelievable events felt liberating. You were exhausted from keeping it all in and spinning tales to convince her otherwise.

"Look, I know you’re having a wild day, but you need to see this," she said. Together, you walked down the hall and made your way downstairs.

"When I first saw him with you, I couldn't believe my eyes." She murmured as he entered a room with a private key, inviting you in.

"Marcus?"

"Yes."

"Why?" You scanned the room, noticing it was filled with various historical artifacts, busts, sculptures.

Katie moved behind a curtain and gestured for you to join her. "Because I spotted this," she said, pulling back the curtain to reveal a bust. It was an ancient Roman bust, strikingly similar to Marcus's own features.

Shit.

It was him.

"Oh my God."

"Exactly."

You both gazed at the bust in amazement. "Just last week, it was excavated from the ruins of an ancient Roman structure. Experts were astonished, having only just realized it had been undiscovered. There’s something odd about it, and I think it ties into what your father was warning us about."

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the bust; its beauty captivated you, yet it also sent a chill down your spine. The sheer number of coincidences and similarities felt too unsettling to ignore. "Could this be disrupting the space-time continuum?"

"Yeah. Do you think Marcus’s arrival might have caused it?"

"I don’t know," you sighed, pulling the cover over the bust again. "I really need to head home. This is becoming too much." That’s when thoughts of your husband, the real Marcus, flooded your mind. You hadn’t called him all day, nor had he tried to reach you, and now it was almost evening.

A wave of concern washed over you. This was the longest you’d been away, and with the looming threat of Folliero—whom your father had warned you about, and whom you were getting to know all too well—anxiety gnawed at you.

"Come on, Marcus, pick up the damn phone," you muttered, your nerves on edge as you approached your car, but he didn’t answer. You opened the GPS tracking app, and at that moment, a video call from Marcus popped up. You were taken aback; he had never reached out this way before. While he was still trying to get the hang of texting and video calling, you answered. However, your smile quickly faded when you saw Folliero’s ominous grin on the screen.

"You? How? Where's Marcus?" you wailed, your hands shaking so badly that you nearly dropped your phone.

"Right here," he said, gesturing from the phone to Marcus, who was tied to a chair with his hands behind him. Two armed men flanked him, and panic began to wash over you.

"Marcus! Are you okay?" you cried out.

"Rosa, calm down," he replied calmly, though a hint of concern crept into his voice. "Are you alright?"

You nodded, feeling a rush of emotions. "You silly man, even in this situation, you're still asking about me," you said, tears welling up.

"Alright, alright. Everyone is fine. We’re all just fine—at least for now," Folliero interjected sarcastically, turning the camera back to himself. "But now it’s up to you to change that. You’d better head over to the address I’m sending you, Rosa, or you might just have to find yourself another husband. I mean, you won’t find anyone quite like him out there; he’s one of a kind, isn’t he?"

"Do anything to him, and I swear I’ll kill you!" you shouted in fury.

"No, Rosa, don't come here!" Marcus warned you.

One of Folliero’s goons pressed a gun so close to Marcus's head that you almost screamed. "Marcus! Have you forgotten how dangerous these modern weapons are? Just sit tight until I get there," you warned him.

As Marcus struggled to break free from his restraints, Folliero glanced back at the screen with a smirk. "How touching. Anyway, I’ve sent the address. Hurry up, dear," he said, then abruptly hung up.

"Wait—” you began, but the call had already ended. You stared at the screen for a moment, guilt creeping in. “It’s my fault. I should have gone there to pick him up,” you muttered. Checking the address, you jumped into your car.

When you called Katie on the way, she warned you not to go; they were after you, and your dad had advised against it.

But you didn't care.

They were unaware of one vital truth: you cared for Marcus more than anyone or anything else, perhaps even more than for yourself.

You could never allow anything to come to harm him.

If you interest with space-time continuum you can check here And for the Sun and Moon dial check here

hope you enjoyed the chapter babies, thanks for reading ❤️ Your thoughts are important to me, so please share them with me.

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[star-bitten]

through the weather, with the tide

How easy it is, to forget that you are not alone.

relationships — all ghouls & gn! mc! reader (no explicit romance)

contains — hurt/comfort, depression. no gendered pronouns. written with mc struggling with the effects of the kyklos curse in mind but can technically be read as a reader grappling with depression & ptsd in general

wc — 1.8k

The days pass slowly.

You wake up. Get changed. Don't look at yourself in the mirror. You close the cathedral door behind you, body on autopilot, squeezing your eyes shut at the burn of sunlight that greets you once you step outside. Your hands itch beneath your gloves.

You set your things down quietly once you reach the classroom, pretending not to notice the glances Luca and Kaito exchange on either side. Lessons are a blur of inaudible voices and blank papers and things you ought to know but don't. You contact your professors with clipped requests for extensions. Some of them take pity, knowing your situation. You thank them for their understanding and agree to new deadlines you know you won't meet.

A week after, Professor Hyde calls you in.

You didn't hear it from me, but a lot of people are pretty worried about you. He leans forward, something secret tucked into the corner of his smile. Hodge and Podge type away to your right. You remember your first visit to Darkwick all those months ago, when you thought you'd still be going home.

I'm fine, you reply. Just had a lot of stuff going on lately.

He hums. You have, haven't you? Inspector gig and all. You nod, hair falling over your eyes. Mm. And it adds up, doesn't it? Takes quite the toll. We're here to help.

(Help. Bullshit if you ever heard it.)

You blink once, the room swimming in your peripherals.

I'm fine, you repeat. The Sage Ring sears into your finger; the knot of your tie is pressing up against your throat. I don't have anything else to say. You stand up. Sorry. I have somewhere to be, if you don't mind.

You're making your way to the exit without a second glance. The air feels foreign. Your blood is thundering and so, so still.

(Hyde watches you leave, the line of his mouth tinged solemn.

"Needs some time, huh?" He murmurs. Hodge and Podge type faster. "That's alright.")

By the time you make it back to the cathedral, every face you passed a smear in your memory, you are wondering if it was always so hard to breathe. You stumble to your bed, pull the covers overhead until the world is shut out, and you are your only witness. You're just tired, you tell yourself. You just need to sleep it off. You are fine. You are fine. You are fine.

You squeeze your eyes shut, ignoring the prick of tears threatening to fall, and drift into darkness.

The world moves on.

You're asked if you'd briefly like to take a step away from your inspector duties. You decline before the sentence is finished and hate yourself for it. You shunt reports between houses, staying as little as possible, offering the ghouls tight smiles that never reach your eyes and ducking away when their faces flash with confusion. Internally, you thank the lack of missions. You wait for the sun to set day in and day out so you can curl up on your mattress and pretend that there is nothing outside until your alarm beeps again. Everything blurs together.

But some things change.

Jin calls you up one afternoon. He sits you down on the balcony, hands brushing your shoulders with a muted sort of gentleness before he retreats back in and the soft tune of a sonata fills the crisp air. Tohma leaves a package at your door - an assortment of tea bags, complete with a fluffy, neatly folded blanket. Kaito slips you a handwritten note lined with cartoonish doodles mid-class. I know you're going through a lot right now. We're always here if you ever need anything! Below it in Luca's neat script is a you will always be important to us. Please take all the time you need. I believe in you.

Alan hesitantly offers you a can of coffee when you go up to Vagastrom for his signature. Once you take it, he quietly asks if you want to go for a drive. You decline; he nods, and his hand lingers on your head for a fraction longer than usual. The next day, you find Sho at your door with a stack of meals in his arms. I'll be back in a week, but call me whenever. I don't care what time it is, he says as he tucks them into the freezer and affixes a note of preparation reminders to your fridge with a basketball magnet. Not long after comes Leo, who sets a basket stuffed to the brim with items - blankets, fidget toys, more hygiene supplies than you can count, fuzzy socks, snacks, a teddy bear - in front of you before taking his leave. There's a note when you look down: get well soon, small and elegant.

Haru comes over with Peekaboo in tow. The anomalous bunny snuggles up to your chin, cooing softly as he rubs the back of his head. Cuddle up to him for as long as you need! He loves being with you. His smile softens. We'll be back. Just hang in there, 'kay? Towa slips you flowers every morning: daisies, lilies, peonies. Remember to look at the stars, dandelion. I'll be looking at them, too. Ren shows up with an armful of snacks and DVDs. If you want me to go, I'll go. But if you want someone just to sit with, or watch crappy movies with… I guess that's good, too.

You forget your gloves once while dropping off a report at Sinostra. Taiga holds your wrist up, remarking about how you, "decided to match, huh?" through his signature toothy grin as his fingers wind into your own. Romeo stuffs a gilded basket of supplies into your hands once you're readying yourself to leave. I doubt you know how to properly use any of this, so I'm offering you my time. Contact me. I'll be there. Ritsu begins drawing up your business contract, very clearly enunciating the part where your health and wellbeing are equal priority to his, and that if there is any service to be provided, he will endeavour to do so at your earliest convenience.

Subaru's eyes are glossy when he greets you, hands folded over his front. I brought some tea, he says, smiling gently, if painfully. If you'll have me, I'd be happy to prepare some while you rest. He asks if you'd be okay with Zenji visiting later that evening. You nod, and as the moon is cutting through the clouds your ears are filled by the strum of a biwa and a voice that calls you my dear and makes something old and raw swell up in your chest. Haku smells like the rain when he invites you out for a short walk, if you're up to it. It's close to home, and no one else'll be there. You soon realise that you'd forgotten what the fresh air feels like. If he notices the sheen over your eyes, he doesn't mention it; he just stays.

Rui brings a small gift store with him, accompanied by a vase of anomalous plants and a grin worthy of the heavens. Always thinking of you, cutie. He smiles something soft but fierce, tapping the nose of a bright balloon animal against your own. You'll get through this. I'm sorry it took us so long. The look in his eyes is heartbreaking, but you know that if there was ever anyone who could understand, it's him. Lyca rubs the back of his head as he grumbles out an invitation to sit outside with you in the grass, letting the breeze wash over you as he talks. At the end of it all, he passes you a folded sketch that makes the knots inside you unravel slightly - if only for a moment. You don't expect to see Ed, but the flapping of bat wings at your window one night says otherwise. You shake your head at him. He complies, but you wake up to a short note slid underneath your door the next morning. Do get well soon, my dearest.

Jiro's checkups have been clinical as ever, and in some ways, you've been glad for it. There is nothing that says you have to smile with him, nothing that says you have to pretend. At the end of his next visit, he straightens. It's our belief that you will recover, he says quietly. Something inscrutable flickers in his eyes. I suppose it would not be incorrect to say it is our hope as well, though. Yuri crosses his arms when you make one of your mandatory visits to the lab, the corridors suspiciously deserted. Of course I directed them elsewhere, he huffs. Exposure to crowds is against our recommendations for your treatment plan. You are in my care, after all; as if I would let anything happen to you.

It isn't a cure-all. Sometimes, you think that inside you is a hollow - an eternal reminder that you have nothing to give, anymore. Sometimes it is a weight that drags you to the floor like lead. Sometimes it hisses, snapping teeth and ash-stained hands, smelling of blood and rot as the sickly scent of citrus clouds your perception. You clutch the sides of your head as the memories flicker in and out of the storm - claws digging into your shoulder, an eye peeling open, talons swiping over your face-

No.

You breathe in. Out.

Your vision is blurry when you open your eyes. In your peripherals, you can see pieces of remembrance scattered around your room. The pawprint on your window left by one of the messenger cats; the plushie Leo gifted you, sitting by your pillow with Rui's balloon dog; the notes all your friends had penned scattered across your desk. You remember: there are good people out there, good things you have left to see. When you look at yourself in the mirror, you do not always recognise your face - but one way or another, the people you love do. So maybe one day, you will instead recall Haku's touch as he guided you aboard the Galaxy Express, and the sunset flash of Luca's amethyst hues when he swept the veil up for the very first time, and the brush of Kaito's hand against your face when he pointed out the whipped cream on your cheek at the crepe stand in the city.

It all feels so far away, now. So seemingly insurmountable. Still, you think-

One day. There are tears brimming in your eyes. You blink them back.

One day.

thank you for reading!

i love our mc and this was very largely inspired by my own experiences with depression; despite this blog's track record lmao i do love some nice hurt/comfort. obviously there is still a ways to go in terms of a healing narrative but we're getting there :)

take care of yourself!

[neighborhood-dilly-dallies]

⋆˚࿔ Contamination Of The Soil ⋆˚࿔

Part 1: Something False

❮Eddie's hidden illness becomes public knowledge, and as the community rallies around him, he struggles to come to terms with his condition. Through it all, Frank tries his best to be there for him..❯

Parts ❯ [1] [2]

The word spread quicker than a letter being sent out on a non busy morning. Frank didn’t mean to accidentally slip about Eddie’s sickness, and Eddie of course didn’t blame them for it, but everything escalated pretty quickly after that.

The word first got to Julie.

Then Julie got to Sally.

Sally got to Wally.

Basically; the word spread around pretty quickly. Much to Eddie’s dismay.

The thing is, Eddie knew he would have to tell everyone the news eventually. Eddie had been keeping his illness under wraps for some time, hoping he could deal with it on his own without causing any worry or fuss among his friends. But as the news continued to circulate through the tight-knit community, he realized how serious everyone was beginning to take it. It was a nice gesture, but…

So now, for the first time in ages, Eddie was taking a day off from work.

Of course, it wasn’t exactly his decision, but the neighborhood didn’t really give him much say in the matter. Eddie found the entire ordeal rather embarrassing, wishing that he didn’t let his friends see him in such a pathetic state, even though they seemed to have no hard feelings. For now, he was confined to rest, sitting in the dining room with a needle and pin, swirling around in his mind like a hazy fog. It was like he was just sitting there waiting for something, anything to happen.

“Will you tell me a story,” Eddie asked. His voice didn’t lilt at the end; he said it like it was already a given.

“Something true or false?” Frank asked.

“Don’t matter none,” He shook his head. He brought the thin needle down to the blue fabric that rested the table and stabbed it through. After another second, he added, “Somethin’ false.”

“False it is, then.” Frank nodded and thought for a moment, “Ever heard of entomology?”

“You sure ‘bout that bein’ false, Lovebug?” Eddie shot him a quick smile, a raised eyebrow.

“I thought you wanted me to tell you a story.” The other responded, resting an elbow on the table. “But if you don’t want to hear about it, then frankly, I will ramble about something far more boring.”

Eddie chuckled and shook his head lightly. “Nah, you’re right. Tell me the story.”

“Mm. Okay. Far away from here…”

Frank’s voice was soothing, like a gentle stream flowing through the forest. He could tell the story was one from a book that Frank owned; but he didn’t mind. He hummed in contentment and continued sewing, all the while keeping his focus on the other. He found himself captivated by the imagery and the distant lands described in explicit detail.. Frank was always so good at giving that.

The room around him seemed to fade away, and he was lost in the story, drifting further from the reality of his own situation. Eventually, even Frank’s own voice became a distant hum in the background as Eddie’s thoughts wandered elsewhere.

His gaze turned to the sunset’s streaming through the window, casting warm patterns on the floor. Outside, the trees danced gracefully to the rhythm of the wind, their leaves descending with grace to join the quilt of clouds overhead.

His eyes then darted down to the tiny garden in the back. Amongst the vibrant purple and yellow roses dusted across the yard, he noticed that they had started to become overgrown, reaching a more neglected state than usual. Their preoccupation with Eddie’s health must have diverted their attention. The two should probably start attending to that again soon, he thought.

He blinked and returned his gaze at Frank. He… didn’t remember what the other was talking about. It seemed like Frank was really into whatever he was telling though. He didn’t want to be rude and interrupt, so he tried to listen again; picking up any clues of what the story could be about.

He let the story carry him away again, if only for a little while.

The needle he once held had slipped from his grasp, and it wasn't the fabric it pierced this time – it was Eddie’s own finger.

Blood welled up around the tiny wound, staining the blue fabric with the color.

“Eddie!” Frank’s eyes widened with concern, and instantly reached out for him.

Eddie hissed in pain, instinctively pulling his injured finger back, away from the sewing needle.

“Oh! Hah, my bad, I-“

“Let me see." They carefully examined the cut on his finger, their worry evident.

His face grew a light pink shade from embarrassment. “I-I’m fine, Darlin’, it’s just a little cut. Nothin’ t’worry about. I guess your story was so intriguin’ that I lost track of everythin’ else..”

But Frank, always the worrier when it came to Eddie, wasn't so easily reassured. “Let me go grab the first aid kit–”

“No!” Eddie cleared his throat, “No, I can.. I can handle it myself. You’ve been doin’ so darn much for me already.” He was quick to respond, pushing himself upwards to go fetch the equipment. “I’m fine. Finish the story for me. About the… uh…”

“Entomology.” Ew, bugs.

“Right, that. In fact – mind tellin’ the whole tale to me one more time..? Just so I can get a proper grasp on it.”

Eddie didn’t want to admit it out loud, but he had already forgotten the story. It wasn’t a surprise, really, and Frank was quite used to that.

Frank hesitated, torn between his desire to protect Eddie and his respect for his partner’s wishes. Finally, he nodded reluctantly. “Alright but please be careful. I’ll be right here if you need any help.”

“Thanks, darlin’.”

The grumpy neighbor then carefully resumed his storytelling. As the other listened, he couldn’t help but smile, despite the throbbing pain in his finger. Frank’s soothing voice provided a welcome distraction from the harsh reality of Eddie’s illness. It always did.

For a while, it seemed like nothing else in the world mattered except for the tale unfolding in the cozy room.

But it was rather pointless, really. As Frank was about to reveal the story’s climax, Eddie’s mind betrayed him. Again. It was as if a curtain had fallen, shrouding his thoughts.

But that’s okay, it’s not like the two had anywhere to go. Frank would retell the stories many times, if he had to.

As the yellow starthistle, as bright and blinding as the sun in the sky, was grabbed at the base of a thorny stem – Eddie nearly fell backwards as the weed came loose. With a groan, he wiped his forehead with his dirty gloved hand, drops of sweat rolling down his face. He felt his energy drain from him.

He had been up working since dawn with determination rushing through his veins, but now the sun was beginning to sink in the sky and he felt his hands ache with soreness.

He didn’t mind though. Honestly, he would've kept working into the night if it weren’t for Frank interrupting, greeting him by laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Mr. Dear, it’s almost time to… Oh!” Frank gasped softly as he looked around. “You’ve… cleared all the weeds.”

“Eh, most of ‘em are gone, but there’s still some stragglers I’ve gotta tear out. Stubborn fellas, they are.” His voice was a bit raspy from lack of water, and he let out a dry cough.

“It’s such a lovely day out, though, so I don’t mind any. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“No it isn’t.” Frank protested. “But… I will admit, it looks much better out here than it did before. Good job.”

It’s been a week since the secret has been revealed. Eddie wasn’t allowed to leave the house much, which meant the sending out letters had been mainly postponed. Yet, his compassionate neighbors have stepped in, leaving heartfelt ‘Get well soon!’ notes or flowers at his doorstep daily. While he deeply appreciated their kindness, it stung him in an unexpected way. Delivering letters had been his purpose, and not being able to fulfill that duty left him feeling somewhat inadequate. The neighborhood seemed to be getting by just fine, and he was just… here. Waiting.

As the days stretched on, Eddie’s restlessness grew. Without his daily rounds of delivering letters and connecting people, he found himself at a loss for how to spend his time. The idle hours seemed to drag on, and he yearned for a way to regain a sense of purpose and contribute to his community once more.

“You’ve done more than enough today,” They said softly, “You need to rest. The doctor said pushing yourself will only make it worse.”

Eddie turned his gaze to his partner and mustered a faint smile. “I know, lovebug, but y’know I can’t just sit here and do nothin’. It’s not in my nature to.”

“And I understand that. However, I will have to ask you to clean up a bit. Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Ah,” Eddie replied blankly, having forgotten about dinner. Or eating. Has he eaten today? His stomach growled horribly at that thought.

“Well, we better get movin’. I’m hungry as a bear before hibernation, and bein’ in this heat sure ain’t helpin’.” Eddie gave a tired chuckle and pushed himself upwards.

And as the realization came to him, his exhaustion and dizziness only seemed to increase, and so he pushed his mind away from the topic. He was going to eat very soon, and so he shouldn’t focus on his hunger.

So, he did the next best thing. Eddie reached out, cupping Frank’s face in his hands. His eyes locked with Frank’s surprised, but welcoming gaze.

“Oh my- hello there!”

“Howdy, there-“ Eddie chuckled. For a moment, the world around them faded into insignificance. Eddie leaned in slowly, their lips meeting in a gentle, loving kiss. It was a kiss filled with all the unspoken words. It was a kiss that spoke of gratitude, of cherishing every moment, and of the profound love they had for each other.

As they pulled away, their foreheads touched.

“I love ya, Darlin’. More than words can express.”

“I love you, too.” Frank’s voice was equally hushed as he replied. “..How are you feeling..?” He asked, bending down to pick up some of the gardening supplies to prop up against the house’s wall.

“Doin’ just dandy! I, uhn.. ” There came the sound of a throat clearing. The reminder of his state immediately hit him again.

His head moved in something of a nod. “Yeah, fine,” He paused for a slightly shaky breath. “Just need to sit down for a minute..” He stepped away from Frank, doing his best to steadily lower himself to inside.

“Dizzy?” Frank offered to wrap an arm around him to help him keep balanced.

Eddie forced out another flow of air. “I’m sure it’ll pass. Just hungry.”

Frank’s worry deepened as he helped Eddie to sit down. He couldn’t ignore the signs any longer, and he knew they needed to have a serious conversation about Eddie’s health. But for now, he decided to focus on the immediate concern; getting Eddie something to eat.

“Let’s get you some food, and then we’ll talk, alright?” Frank said softly, trying to reassure him while his own concern weighed heavily on his heart.

They did their best to keep Eddie’s plate full, hoping that a good meal would help alleviate some of the exhaustion and dizziness that had plagued him throughout the day. They shared a quiet dinner, but the unspoken fears hung heavy in the air.

Eddie picked at his food, his appetite still not fully returning, and his thoughts increasingly preoccupied with the topic he had been trying to avoid. Frank watched him closely, concern etched on his face. Both of them knew that they couldn’t keep ignoring the elephant in the room.

After a few more bites, Eddie finally put down his fork and looked at Frank.

“Listen, I know we need t’talk about this. But can we please do it ‘nother night? I... I don’t wanna ruin tonight with all that heavy stuff. I want t’cherish the time we have together, just like we always have.”

The sudden conversation caught Frank off guard, but they quickly regained his composure and insighted in on the prompt, “I… understand, and I want to enjoy tonight too. But we can’t keep putting this off. Your health is too important.”

Eddie lowered his gaze, his fingers gently tracing the rim of his empty plate. He knew Frank was right, but he didn’t want to admit it. “I know, I know. It’s just… I ain’t goin’ anywhere anytime soon, right? We have time.”

“Well, yes-“ Frank frowned. He reached across the table, taking Eddie’s hand in his own, their fingers intertwining. “But we can’t keep avoiding this forever..”

“And we won’t! In fact, it’s all that gets brought up around the neighborhood, honestly...” Eddie sighed. He honestly hated thinking about it any more than he hated thinking about bugs. And trust him — he hated bugs.

“Listen, We’ll, ah, talk about it ‘nother night. I really want t’enjoy this moment with ya, just for tonight. If that’s alright with you.”

Frank squeezed Eddie’s hand gently, a mix of emotions swirling within him.. “Frankly, I want nothing more than for you to be well,” they whispered, “But I won’t push you. We’ll talk about this when you’re ready, but promise me you won’t keep pushing yourself like this.. Your health matters too much to me. Please.”

Eddie managed a weak smile and nodded. “I promise. We can talk about everything tomorrow. A long, nice conversation about it, kay?”

…

“…Tomorrow it is.”

Death was supposed to be peaceful, at least that’s what Eddie hoped for, and the rest of humanity who were equally as afraid of what the afterlife might bring. He hoped it would be calm and quiet, like the low thrum of a fan on a hot afternoon, or the rain’s pitter patter at the window, maybe even just a deep sleep after a long day.

But he was beginning to realize it was the exact opposite of that.

He by no means wanted to die, of course, even if he didn’t really have a say in the matter. He tried everything to be okay in front of everyone, especially his partner – the love of his life. The thought of leaving Frank behind terrified him more than anything else. It was a never ending nightmare for him. So, he tried not to think about his illness. Avoid it. Pretend it wasn’t there.

But Frank was not anybody’s dummy. He knew Eddie wasn’t doing well. Eddie was drastically getting worse, and they both knew it.

“Eddie Dear?”

With a slow creak, Frank pushed the door open, practically inviting themself into the room. He probably shouldn’t have, but he knew Eddie wouldn’t mind it, he wasn’t supposed to be working anyways. The faint scent of school glue lingered in the air, and the low hum of the fan proved comforting background noise that Frank was all the more used to by now.

What he found, inside, was a passed out Eddie at his desk. His large arms were used as his pillow as heavy, dry snores escaping from his lips. Frank stood at the spot right at the door, unsure of what to do.

Today was supposed to be the day the two discussed Eddie’s health, and where to go from here. It was promised. Yet, there sat Eddie, knocked out, his vibrant pink hair tousled and wild. It wasn't even three in the afternoon. His position looked really uncomfortable, too.

“Oh, Eddie..”

Frank gave a small sigh, and put a hand on the other’s shoulder to try and wake him. But before he gave a shake, he remembered the bags under the other’s eyes that morning at breakfast. He didn’t even know if Eddie got any sleep the night before.

Frank was really trying to ignore the worry about his partner right now that had kept creeping up for the past several weeks. Eddie was working way too damn hard, even for his measures.

He could see the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest, the soft and rhythmic sound of his breath filling the air. His gaze wandered to the scattered freckles, like stardust on Eddie’s body. His eyes, green with hints of brown, remained closed, their usual droopy allure hidden, while his thick lashes rested peacefully. It was a good thing that he seemed to have finally given into his sleep deprivation.

Maybe it would be best to let the other sleep. He seemed beyond waking anyway. If Frank were stronger, they would carry Eddie to the bed. But that option was most definitely out of the window… unless he wanted a broken back.

He shook his head and quickly went to retrieve a blanket and pillow. Gently, he covered Eddie with the blanket, being careful not to wake him. They then placed the pillow under his head, hoping he would be more comfortable. It was the least they could do. He fidgeted with his bowtie as he glanced over at the things Eddie had been working on. It was a bunch of littered notes, mostly. It looked like a personal tracker of his growth, reminders or daily chores he needed to do, amongst a few doodles of some of his objects scattered around the room. He decided to leave his noseyness there.

He flinched when he heard a sigh that came from Eddie, who was now laying more relaxed and seemed to have slipped into a completely comfortable state of sleep.

He sighed in relief when the other didn’t wake up. Any sleep was better than none. Though, it would be nice if he could sleep on a bed. Still. Frank watched Eddie for a moment, gently brushing a strand of pink hair away from his face.

“You always did work too hard..”

Of course He knew that avoiding the conversation about the sickness wouldn't make the problem disappear, but seeing Eddie like this, worn out and exhausted, made it even harder to bring up. Eddie might be asleep for just a few minutes, as he realized that was a common pattern the other was suffering with as of lately, but with how exhausted the other looked; he assumed he was going to be sleeping for a good while.

They decided to pull up a chair and sit beside the desk, quietly keeping watch over the love of their life. Time seemed to slow down in that room, the only sounds being Eddie’s soft breathing and the occasional creak of the chair as Frank adjusted their position. Their heart was heavy with worry, but there was also a glimmer of hope that perhaps, with time and support, they could find a way to navigate this difficult journey together.

Even in a deep slumber, Eddie’s arm began to move. Slowly, it found its way toward Frank. He instinctively wrapped his arm around their shoulders, pulling them closer.

He was surprised but didn’t resist. He leaned into the embrace, feeling the warmth and security that came from being held by the person he loved.

In the stillness of the room, they both found comfort in each other's presence. The weight of the unspoken words hung in the air, but for now, they could simply be together, drawing strength from the love that had brought them this far.

Just before Frank closed his eyes, he turned to glance out the window, noticing the vibrant hues of the yellow and purple roses apparent again. He hummed slightly, and shifted closer to Eddie.

Very well. We can wait another day.

Frank quietly accepted to himself.

Maybe tomorrow.

That conversation didn’t come tomorrow, though.

The days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. As the seasons changed, so did Eddie’s condition. He had good days and bad days, and Frank was always there to take care of him. Each day brought new challenges and small victories, but the weight of the issue hung over them like a cloud.

The neighborhood continued to thrive, even without Eddie’s daily rounds of letter delivery. Life went on, but for Eddie, time felt fragile.

One evening, as Eddie sat in the garden, weak and tired from another day’s futile attempt to maintain normalcy, Frank approached him. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow on the scene.

“Mr. Dear,” Frank began, his voice gentle but firm.

“We need to talk.”

[engelofthelord]

"you get me so high"

sorry if this doesn't sound like her idrk billie yk?

warnings/swear, light angst, flirtation, slowburn, implied attraction

pairings/billie eilish × reader

wc/2.1k

you didn’t expect to get picked

not really.

thousands of screaming fans, and somehow your name ended up on the screen for VIP backstage access at the end of billie’s set. you froze when the lights came on, stunned, clutching your phone like it was the only thing tethering you to this planet.

Is this real life?

you barely remembered entering the contest. It was a blur some late night Instagram giveaway, repost, tag a friend situation that felt more like wishful thinking than reality.

and yet… here you are, security lets you through with the golden lanyard swinging at your chest, the noise of the crowd dimming behind you with every step. your stomach’s a knot of nerves and sweat-slick anticipation you’re about to meet billie eilish. billie fucking eilish.

the hallway’s dim, cool. smells like citrus and backstage anxiety you breathe shallow, adjusting your hair in the reflection of a shiny equipment case as a woman in a headset ushers you toward a private lounge. velvet couch, low lights. her.

she’s perched casually on the edge of the sofa, sipping water and scrolling on her phone her black nail polish glows under the mood lighting, her black hoodie half zipped to reveal layered chains and a glimpse of pale collarbone

billie looks up, your eyes lock.

you forget how to breathe "oh, shit,” she says, grinning. “you’re the VIP, huh?”

you nod, smiling way too hard. “yeah… um, I think I forgot how to speak english.”

she laughs, low and real. “same after that show, my brain’s like... 50% sweat and 50% adrenaline.”

you sit when she gestures, a little too carefully, like you’re afraid you’ll knock something over. everything feels loud inside you, your pulse, your thoughts, your god, her eyes she leans forward, elbows on her knees, and just looks at you.

you try not to combust. (no literally)

“what’s your name?”

"y/n"

she repeats it, like she’s tasting it rolls it around in her mouth once, smiles. It’s a slow curve, a secret kind of smile, and it makes you feel like you’re being seen and undressed at the same time.

you make nervous small talk, and she plays along. she asks about your favorite song of the set (you stammer out Oxytocin), and then she teases you for liking the dirtiest one her eyebrow even lifts when you don’t deny it, bold of her

bolder of you to hold her gaze and say, “you looked… really good up there.”

It slips out before your brain can veto it, but you don’t regret it not when her smile turns into something sly something softer and a little dangerous.

“you too,” she says, quieter now. “you’re cute.”

your face goes thermonuclear. you laugh it off, but her gaze doesn’t drop it lingers warm and aware. there’s a heartbeat of silence where she just watches you, her fingers idly tapping the side of her water bottle.

“I’m not supposed to do this,” she murmurs, tugging her hoodie sleeve down like it’s a nervous tic. “but… can I get your number?”

your soul leaves your body.

you nod so fast you might get whiplash, fumbling for your phone she puts hers in your hand, waiting while you type it in. there’s a faint pink in her cheeks when you hand it back.

“cool,” she says softly, saving it. “I’ll text you.”

you float out of the lounge ten minutes later, heart thundering like a bass drop you keep replaying every look, every word, you can’t quite believe is real.

the text comes that night.

you stare at it, type erase then type again.

three dots then nothing for two minutes, you panic.

until, finally

(fuck ass screnshots)

weeks pass in a whirlwind of late-night texts, inside jokes, and casual selfies she sends when she “accidentally” wakes up cute your phone lights up more often than not with BILLIE 💚 and you’re quickly, stupidly addicted to it, to her.

the first date’s a quiet one, coffee shop tucked in some artsy part of town. she shows up in a beanie and sunglasses, but the moment she sees you, her smile goes bare.

you talk for hours, she’s magnetic and messy and so real it’s jarring you fall in love with the way she listens her head tilted, mouth soft, like everything you say matters more than the noise in her world.

by the third date, you’re sitting in her car outside your apartment, music low, rain on the windshield like a heartbeat.

she doesn’t kiss you, not yet atleast

she just looks at you like she wants to like she’s waiting for a green light you’re too afraid to give.

“I don’t wanna fuck this up,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.

you don’t answer right away, you just rest your hand over hers, and she squeezes once.

a promise, not yet but soon.

and it is slow. a glacial pull between you the space between texts gets shorter the glances linger longer. she shows up for your birthday with a handwritten card and a stupid inside joke drawn in the margins. you spend the night curled up on her couch watching horror movies, neither of you really paying attention.

she falls asleep with her head in your lap, forcing yu to stay as still as possible

you finally kiss two weeks later.

It’s after a show. you’re backstage- again, watching her from the side with her sweat damp hair in a loose ponytail and adrenaline still in her veins. she sees you and her whole face shifts goes soft, relieved, yours.

you don’t talk she just walks over, takes your hand, and pulls you into the dressing room.

and she kisses you.

you melt into it, Into her her hands cradle your jaw like you’re fragile, like she’s scared you’ll disappear if she blinks, you taste lip balm and nerves and billie

It feels like your riding a roller coaster

when she pulls back, your forehead rests against hers you’re both out of breath.

you whisper, “what now?” she smiles, eyes fluttering closed.

“now I fall for you.” and you do to you fall hard, and real

[cosmiclily]

❝ First Love/Late Spring ❞

(part three)

• vi x f!reader

summary: y/n rebuilt her life in piltover, burying the trauma—and the love—she lost in the undercity.

but when vi reappears, alive and changed, the memories she buried begin to claw their way back.

some ghosts don't stay dead. and some wounds never heal.

wc: 4k

cw: canon type of violence, talking about injuries, blood etc.

notes: 🕺🏻 how are you guys? hope everyone is okay !! part four is already on the way!

masterlist - part two

You couldn’t breathe.

It was like you were back in that burning building—smoke filling your lungs, blood trickling down your temple. Caitlyn was speaking, her lips moving in front of you, but the sound didn’t reach your ears. Everything was muffled, distant, like the world had slipped underwater.

“This was a waste of time. Let’s go, Y/N” she said, placing a hand on your arm.

You didn’t resist. You just let her guide you away.

“Couldn’t have put it better” Vi muttered from behind the bars. “Hey—give Silco a kiss on that winning eye of his, will you?”

Her voice sounded like it came from miles away.

Your head spun, like when you were a kid and used to twirl until the world blurred around you. But there was no laughter now—just nausea and dread bubbling in your throat.

Then Caitlyn stopped, flipping open the folder she’d brought, and turned back toward the cell. “Does this mean anything to you?” she asked, holding it up.

In the blink of an eye, Vi was at the bars, gripping them tightly—her face inches from Caitlyn’s… and yours.

She didn’t even look at you.

What is going on? Does she not remember me? Is she just pretending because I’m with an Enforcer?

“Where did you get this?” Vi asked, her voice low and sharp. There was anger in her tone—but confusion in her eyes.

“My question first,” Caitlyn replied coolly. “Did he work for Silco?”

Vi scoffed. “Uh, they all do. How can anyone not know that? Even your weird mute friend over there probably knows it.”

She nodded in your direction—finally acknowledging you—and it snapped you out of the trance you'd been stuck in.

“Where did you find this?” She asked again.

“There was an attack,” you answered before Caitlyn could. “This was part of the evidence left behind.”

You didn’t know what this was anymore—what any of this meant. But you couldn’t just stand there and be useless.

So you swallowed the bile rising in your throat, ignored the aching pit in your chest, and kept your voice steady.

“Oh, so she speaks” Vi drawled sarcastically.

You rolled your eyes. “We need proof of what you’re saying about Silco.”

“I could get it for you,” Vi said with a smirk. “Just not from in here.”

You recognized that tone immediately—the snarky, manipulative charm she used when trying to get her way.

And for a flicker of a second, you almost smiled. God, you missed her voice.

Caitlyn scoffed. “In what mad world would we trust someone like you?”

“Someone like me?” Vi’s voice sharpened, her brows drawing together. “You Enforcers are all the same. Just assholes in fancy uniforms pretending you’re better than the rest of us.”

You saw Caitlyn flinch. That one landed—because if there was anything she prided herself on, it was not being like the others. She wanted to change the system from the inside.

And Vi had just called her bluff.

“You know what? Find Silco yourself” Vi said flatly, stepping away from the bars.

“I will. Thank you” Caitlyn snapped, turning to leave and tugging you along.

“Hmm… Undercity’s gonna eat you alive” Vi called after you.

The elevator ride back was silent—tense. Caitlyn was already flipping through her notes, planning the next move.

But you weren’t there.

You were stuck in the past, hunted by memories you’d tried so hard to bury.

“Do you really think Silco has something to do with this?” Caitlyn finally asked, glancing at you. Her folder sat open in her hands, full of scribbled notes and arrows.

“If he does…” You hesitated. Then forced yourself to lie. “I think it’s even more dangerous to keep digging. We should just go home. Let it go.”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on with you? You don’t sound like yourself. And you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You looked away. “It’s nothing, Caitlyn. I just… I don’t think this is safe.”

“Well,” she muttered, closing the folder with a sharp snap, “that’s a shame.”

Talking to her felt like trying to reason with a wildfire—stubborn, determined, and impossible to contain. You weren’t going to change her mind. Not now.

So you focused on what you could control: making sure she stayed safe.

“Stay here” Caitlyn said, heading toward the guard at the front desk.

You didn’t argue. Any chance to step away and process this was a mercy.

You pinched your arm, hard—just to make sure.

“Okay… this is real” you whispered to yourself.

If this was real—if Vi was really here—then why was she acting like she didn’t know you?

Did she… forget?

Had you spent the last seven years mourning someone who didn’t care? Someone who could just erase you from her memory like you meant nothing?

“He gave me the keys. Let’s go get her out,” Caitlyn said, suddenly reappearing at your side, a ring of keys in one hand and her folder in the other.

──────────────────────

In broad daylight, there was no denying it—that was Vi.

Older. Taller. Broader. But still Vi.

She stood at the edge of the city, wind tugging at her pink hair, her expression calm—so unlike the wild anger you'd seen back in the prison cell. She looked peaceful. Free.

And all you could do was stare, desperately trying to piece together the girl you once knew with the woman standing in front of you now.

“Do you…” you started, your voice barely audible—but before the words could fully form, Caitlyn cut in.

“I heard the bathysphere has a good view,” she said, nodding toward it. “Might be a smart way to get a lay of the land.”

But before either of you could move, Vi was already vaulting over the ledge, sprinting across the rooftops like she’d never stopped.

“Wait!” you shouted, taking off after her without thinking.

You didn’t check if Caitlyn was following, or even if she knew where to go.

You just ran.

You caught fleeting glimpses of Vi’s silhouette ahead, her shadow dancing over rooftop edges and vanishing behind crumbling walls. For a moment, it felt like you were kids again—racing through the Lanes, competing to see who could climb faster or laugh louder.

“Vi! Wait!” you yelled again, lungs burning, legs aching.

And for the briefest heartbeat, she hesitated—just long enough to glance over her shoulder.

But then she kept going.

By the time you caught up, she was standing beside a rusted trash can, shrugging on a red jacket as a low groan echoed from somewhere inside it.

She looked infuriatingly calm, not even out of breath.

You doubled over, panting hard. You’d almost lost your touch.

“Didn’t think you’d keep up,” she said, smirking as she leaned back against the wall. “The other Piltie sure couldn’t.”

Other Piltie?

“You…” you began, voice shaking as your brows drew together. “You really don’t know me?”

Vi straightened, the smirk faltering. “Should I?”

Her tone wasn’t mocking. It was cautious. Genuine.

Like she truly didn’t recognize you.

And your stomach dropped.

Because it wasn’t denial.

It wasn’t a game.

It was the truth.

She didn’t remember you.

You blinked at her, the words caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat.

Should I?

You wanted to scream at her.

Yes. You should. You should remember the nights we curled up together in your too-small bed, whispering secrets in the dark. You should remember the way you looked at me when you asked if we should run away together. You said I was the only thing that made the noise in your head stop.

But you didn’t say any of that.

Because the Vi standing in front of you now looked at you like you were just another stranger in the crowd.

And maybe… to her, you were.

“I—I guess not,” you whispered.

Vi shrugged, like it meant nothing. Like she didn’t keep cracking open the box you’d spent years burying.

You felt it all rise—the ache in your throat, the sting behind your eyes, the pressure in your chest. Every feeling you’d locked away in the darkest part of yourself came clawing back to the surface once again.

But you clenched your jaw, swallowed hard, and held your breath.

You’d already fallen apart once today.

Not again. Not in front of her.

Vi glanced sideways at you but said nothing, her jaw tightening.

A loud thud broke the silence, and Caitlyn landed awkwardly beside you, dirt streaking her skirt and frustration all over her face.

“There you are,” she panted, brushing herself off. Her gaze bounced between the two of you, instantly picking up on the tension. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly—too quickly.

Vi tossed a bundle of clothes at both of you, cutting off any further questions. “Welcome to the Lanes.”

She stepped off the wall and walked toward you. Caitlyn gave you a sharp look before turning to Vi.

“You almost got me killed,” she snapped.

Vi scoffed. “My little sister could do that when she was seven. All us fissure folk can. Don’t you want to blend in?”

Then, with a tilt of her chin, she nodded toward you.

“Besides, your little friend here got the hang of it pretty fast.”

Caitlyn stiffened. “Well, yeah. That’s because she’s from here,” she said, like it explained everything.

And maybe it did.

Vi’s eyes narrowed, her focus shifting to you fully now. You could almost see the gears turning behind her eyes, like she was trying to solve a puzzle she didn’t even know she had.

After a pause, she said flatly, “Go change.”

You swallowed hard and took the clothes without a word.

──────────────────────

As you followed Vi through the Undercity, you finally had the chance to take in your surroundings. It had been seven years since you'd last walked these streets, and somehow, everything had changed—and yet, nothing had.

The buildings still leaned at odd angles, pipes still hissed from every direction, and the air still smelled like smoke, rust, and desperation. But there was something different now. A heaviness. Like the soul of the place had shifted.

Caitlyn clung to your side, wide-eyed and stiff, like a deer dropped into a wolf den. You couldn’t help but snicker.

“What?” she whispered, catching your smirk.

“Nothing. You just look terrified. It’s kinda funny.”

“It’s not funny. Where is she even taking us?”

Before you could answer, Vi made a sharp turn and stopped at Jericho’s—some hole-in-the-wall food stall that looked like it might collapse if you sneezed too hard. She claimed she needed to “gather information,” but really, she just shoved food into her mouth, grinned at the greasy owner, and mumbled something about how she’d missed “this slob.”

You rolled your eyes. Typical Vi.

As you kept going, you passed near the Last Drop. And just like everything else, it was familiar and foreign all at once. The same chipped walls, the same drunk regulars slumped on the steps—but the vibe was wrong. Muted. Empty. Even with the new bright neon sign glowing, it felt hollow. Like something important had died here and no one had noticed.

Caitlyn threw a suspicious glance at the building, then turned to Vi. “Well, that place looks like it has bodies buried in the basement.”

Vi stiffened. “You don’t know anything,” she muttered before storming off, putting distance between the three of you.

You recognized that tone.

And judging by the look on Caitlyn’s face, she was starting to connect the dots.

“So,” she whispered, voice low, “are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to figure it out myself?”

“There’s nothing going on,” you said quickly, arms crossing in defense as you stared straight ahead.

“Y/N…” Her voice softened. “The moment you saw that board in my room, you looked like you’d seen a ghost. At first I thought it was the explosion—trauma, or something. But ever since we got her out of prison, you’ve been different. And now this?”

She gestured vaguely toward the Last Drop.

“The way she reacted. The way you reacted.”

You looked at her—and all you saw was concern.

“It’s complicated, Caitlyn,” you murmured. “If we have time, I’ll explain.”

Before she could press further, Vi stopped in front of a tall, garishly lit building.

A brothel.

On any other day, Caitlyn’s expression alone would’ve been comedy gold—horrified, scandalized, deeply uncomfortable. But you weren’t in the mood to laugh.

“The one place all the secrets spill” Vi said casually, making her way into the building like she owned the place.

The scent of incense, sweat, perfume, and cheap liquor hit you all at once. Laughter echoed from somewhere deep inside. Music played, low and pulsing, like a heartbeat.

You walked through the dim hallway, past open doors and soft voices, some moaning, some laughing. Caitlyn looked like she might bolt at any second.

“How exactly is a brothel supposed to help us?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at Vi.

Vi turned on her heel, surveying you both before her gaze locked onto Caitlyn.

“Let 'em think she works here.”

“Excuse me?” Caitlyn gasped, drawing herself up indignantly. “I will not!”

Vi just smirked.

“You know what your problem is?” she said, circling Caitlyn slowly. “You expect everyone to give you what you want. But if you really want people to talk, you have to let them think you’ve got something they want.”

“And what do I have?” Caitlyn asked, confused and visibly offended.

Vi stepped in close, crowding her space, one hand braced beside her head as she pinned Caitlyn to the wall. “You’re hot, cupcake.”

Caitlyn’s jaw dropped, scandalized.

“So,” Vi smirked, voice low and teasing, “what’ll it be—man or woman?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t pretend it didn’t sting.

The way Vi looked at her and how Caitlyn looked dazed, flustered in a way you didn’t want to think too hard about. That bitterness coiled in your chest like acid. You wanted to walk away, leave them both there, but instead you just snorted, forced a laugh, and turned your eyes to the hallway.

After a short, awkward transaction with a man in a clown mask and “Matilda”, Vi disappeared into a back corridor—and, of course, you followed without question.

“She’s not a bad person, you know?” you said softly, your voice echoing in the dim hallway. “She’s genuinely trying. You could cut her some slack.”

Vi didn’t slow down. “She’s an Enforcer,” she said with a shrug. “Doesn’t really matter how much she’s trying.”

You frowned but didn’t push it further.

The conversation fell quiet as you reached the door to the back office. Babeth, the brothel’s madam, looked up from behind her cluttered desk. Her painted eyes widened in surprise, and a slow, knowing smile curled her lips.

“Would you believe it?” she said with a chuckle. “The two of you. Together again.”

Vi shot you a look—confused, almost wary—but didn’t say anything.

──────────────────────

The conversation with Babeth was brief. She talked about how much had changed since you’d left—How Silco now ruled the Undercity with an iron grip. Vi asked about Powder, her voice strained with something between hope and fear.

You didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth. That Powder was gone. That she went by Jinx now. That she worked for Silco.

Babeth either didn’t know—or pretended not to. She kept it short and to the point, finally telling you that Silco’s second-in-command had been visiting the brothel regularly. She promised to have her runner, Miguel, find out where the woman had gone next.

“I owe you” Vi muttered to Babeth before you turned to leave.

As you made your way back through the hall, you passed one of the open rooms. Caitlyn was still inside, lounging confidently beside a masked woman who looked thoroughly entertained. Her posture was relaxed now, her earlier panic long gone.

You couldn’t help it—you giggled.

“So,” Vi said as she fell into step beside you, shooting a glance your way. “What did she mean by ‘the two of you together again’?”

Your smile faltered.

There it was—the door you weren’t sure you were ready to open.

You kept your gaze ahead, feet moving even though your chest tightened with every step.

“When we first got here,” Vi continued slowly, her voice softer now, “you asked if I really didn’t know you. And now this?”

She stopped walking.

You turned, and found her watching you closely—eyes narrowed, brows drawn.

“Who are you?”

The hallway felt smaller now, like the walls were pressing in, waiting for you to answer.

“We knew each other,” you said quietly. “Before…”

Your voice trailed off. Knew was too small a word for what the two of you had been. But saying the truth—what it really was—felt like standing too close to a flame you’d spent years trying to put out.

“I worked at the Last Drop,” you continued, forcing your voice to steady. “Back when Vander was still alive. At first, I was just another kid trying to get by—cleaning tables, scrubbing floors. But toward the end, it wasn’t really about working anymore. It was just… spending time with you.”

A small, sad smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

“And Claggor. And Mylo. And Powder.”

Vi’s expression shifted at the mention of her sister. Her brows drew together, lips parting slightly, like she was trying to summon a memory she couldn’t quite grasp. You could almost see it—the flicker of something behind her eyes, just out of reach.

“Why don’t I remember you?” she asked, more to herself than to you.

“I don’t really know,” you said, a quiet sadness in your voice. “At first, I thought you were messing with me. That I showed up with an Enforcer and you were pretending not to know me just to piss me off.”

You gave a breathy, humorless laugh.

“But… you’d never be that cruel.”

She stared at you, face unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of it hung between you, heavy and brittle.

“Seven years,” you whispered. “That’s a long time to forget someone.”

Vi’s jaw tensed. She didn’t speak—just watched you like she was willing herself to remember. Like the truth was on the tip of her tongue but refused to come out.

“I was there that night,” you said, your voice soft but steady, despite the weight of the memories pressing on your chest. “When everything went to hell. When they died.”

The shadows of that night flickered across your eyes like ghosts.

“I thought you were dead. I woke up in the rubble. I found Claggor… and Mylo. Just their bodies. I thought maybe you were buried underneath the debris. I looked everywhere. I looked for hours before I even dared to leave.”

The tears burned, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall.

Vi’s brows furrowed, a deep line forming between them. She looked… lost. Not just confused—haunted.

“I remember that night,” she said slowly. “I remember the smoke. The panic. Vander. Powder. All of it. But you…”

She shook her head, almost angrily.

“If everything you’re saying is true—if you were there—how can I remember everything else and not you?”

The ache in your chest twisted like a knife. You didn’t know the answer. Maybe you never would.

Before either of you could say another word, Miguel appeared at the end of the hall, slightly breathless but eager.

“She’s at the Last Drop,” he announced. “Sevika. She's there now.”

The atmosphere shifted instantly. Vi’s confusion melted away, replaced by something sharp and deadly. Determination. Purpose.

Her body tensed, fists already clenched at her sides.

She didn’t say anything else.

She didn’t need to.

You could see it in her eyes—she was going after Sevika, and if she had to rip through half of Zaun to get to her, she would.

And you would follow. You always did.

──────────────────────

Things could’ve gone worse.

Well—technically, they also could’ve gone way better. But if Caitlyn had shown up even three seconds later, you weren’t sure Vi would still be breathing.

So yeah… definitely could’ve gone worse.

Your fighting skills were rusty—too many years spent lurking in shadows, dealing in whispers and favors instead of fists. You used to be better than this. Used to be sharper, quicker. But that part of you had dulled with time. And Vi… well, Vi had always been the fighter. That was her role.

“You don’t need to learn how to throw a punch,” she used to say, smug and soft in the same breath. “I’ve got you. Always.”

And once upon a time, you’d believed her without question.

Now she was bleeding out in your arms, and all you could do was try to keep pressure on the wound and curse under your breath.

“Goddamn it, Violet,” you muttered, jaw clenched as your shaking hands pressed against her side. “Still charging into shit without thinking. Still reckless.”

Vi winced, coughing weakly as she tried to shift. “Nice to know my near-death brings out your sunny side.”

“I’m serious,” you snapped, your voice raw with fear and frustration “This wasn’t a bar fight. Sevika gutted you.”

Vi groaned again, eyes fluttering. “I’ve had worse.”

You looked down at her, torn between disbelief and heartbreak. “You always say that.”

She blinked slowly, unfocused. “How would you know?”

You hesitated. Your hands didn’t.

You keep forgetting she doesn’t know you anymore.

“Lucky guess,” you muttered, avoiding her gaze.

Caitlyn dropped beside you, eyes quickly assessing the wound. “We need to move. Fast. She’s losing too much blood.”

Vi’s head lolled toward her. “Why’d you let Sevika go?”

“I had a choice,” Caitlyn said, sounding more tired than angry. “Chase her—or save you. You’re welcome.”

Vi tried to push herself up, groaning, but you shoved her back down firmly. “Stay still, for fuck’s sake.”

“Do you ever say thank you?” Caitlyn muttered, more to herself than to either of you.

Vi let out a weak, breathy laugh, blood on her lips. “He’s gonna know we’re here now.”

“And whose fault is that?” Caitlyn shot back, already holstering her gun.

Vi’s bravado faded as her strength drained. Her body slumped against you, the weight of her heavier now. You adjusted your hold, steadying her, and for a moment—just a moment—her eyes met yours.

And something flickered there.

“Why do you look at me like that?” she asked suddenly, her voice fragile, almost afraid of the answer.

You swallowed, the lump in your throat nearly choking you. “Because I knew you. Before all this.”

She frowned, studying your face like she was still trying to solve a puzzle but the important pieces were missing. “I feel like… I should remember you.”

“I know,” you whispered, brushing a blood-matted strand of hair away from her cheek. “I wish you did.”

You didn’t dare say more. Not now. But Caitlyn glanced at you then, something shifting in her expression—like maybe she’d finally figured out why you’d been acting so strange. Why the way you looked at Vi wasn’t casual. Why your anger and fear had bled into something more personal.

“You’re an all-right shot, cupcake,” Vi mumbled, voice slurred, trying to lighten the moment even as she drifted in and out of consciousness.

“I’m an excellent shot,” Caitlyn replied, looping Vi’s other arm around her shoulder. “And stop calling me that. My name is Caitlyn.”

Vi groaned as the two of you began to lift her out of the alley. “But you’re so sweet… like a cupcake…”

You let out a tight laugh—sharp, breathless, laced with exhaustion and something that hurt far more than the cuts on your skin.

“Let’s get her out of here,” you said quietly, steadying your grip on Vi’s side.

“I know a place... just take me there” Vi mumbled, still mostly out of it.

“God, here we go again” Caitlyn muttered, but she followed Vi’s directions anyway.

──────────────────────

part two - masterlist - part four

🏷️: @riotstemple29 @ellielover69 @autisticratbagtm @alex-thegiraffeboyy @arahiraaai @vxtanne31 @culuvr @luvg1s3l1e

[saintescuderia]

pancakes (pt. 8)

AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.

series masterlist here :)

the pancakes recipe here :)

A/N: hello! apologies for such a hiatus. here we go, finally kicking things into gear! enjoy (it's 6.7k lol) (also i rewrote some of the earlier chapters so check them out!)

P8 - active rest

“Look for quiet moments, times where you can be still and present.”

That was the advice of one Louise, the infamous therapist who had helped you survive the tumult of the past few years. Considering everything, you could at least take the silver lining of all the shitty years bringing you to therapy helping you learn how to make the most of a Grand Prix weekend.

Because man they are busy.

Even when you weren't working in Hospitality, it was hard to be present. To be still. Everything was always in flux, a chaotic busy schedule of this and that and rushing to and fro and doing this and sorting this out and it seemed to never end.

When you tried to explain that to Louise, the endless media, fans, noise, debriefs, trainings, updates - the Formula 1 bit of it all, she merely shrugged and seemed unfazed.

"Force it. Find time to be quiet and still. Make it happen." You remember the smirk that came onto her face with her next words. "Engineer it."

And so you would engineer it.

This weekend, you were sitting on the rooftop of some ridiculously expensive Hospitality suite. Your feet were dangling over the edge, black and white Cortez for the day. You had chosen them as a way to make yourself feel slightly better at being shifted from Haas to Ferrari.

Guenther had just sworn in exasperation and then said this was probably Fred's doing to get on the mini pizzas. You wondered if --

No. You stopped the train of thought. You were here to be still.

You spooned up another serving of your overnight oats into your mouth. You had made it with chia and this new type of protein powder. You grimaced at the taste - it evidently was not good. It tasted like... well, like protein powder. You were unsure if the added 15g of protein was really worth the taste.

It was the very reason that you were having breakfast that you could sit on the rooftop ledge of a Formula 1 Hospitality suite, sneakers dangling over the edge. You watched the slow trickle in of mechanics from various teams. You also spotted a few F3 and F2 drivers coming in with their trainers. You smiled down at the next generation of drivers. They were so young.

The sun was just rising over the lake, just behind the city scape of Melbourne's CBD skyline. You smiled at the colour of the clouds and how they were mirrored on the still water. You took a deep breath - and then ate some more of the protein mess.

By the time you were done, some Ferrari workers had arrived. You closed the glass tupperware container - there was about a quarter left of but you had eaten all the berries and without the fruit to sweeten it, you couldn't do it - and made moves to the motorhome.

Last night had bought home pistachio ice-cream and it had given you the idea to make cannoli as a nice Race Day treat. It also meant you would be busy making the shells and the filling would be self-serve. As in, you could hide in the kitchen while everyone served themselves.

It wasn't like you hadn't worked in Ferrari in the past five years. However, it was the first time you'd been here since Oscar Piastri had entered the picture. And since Oscar Piastri had entered the picture, Daniel had drunkenly screamed at you, the Team Principals had all met to discuss your contract and Charles had looked at you. Somehow, the latter was the most daunting.

Either way, you weren't taking chances.

You greeted some Ferrari staff and took some coffee orders. While the machine turned on, you tied a bandana around your head and apron around your waist.

Then you got to work.

"Y/N can you make the coffees for the debrief?"

"Yeah sure no worries." You had just done the finishing touches for the dough and were just sitting on the table, scrolling through your phone killing time anyway. You walked over to the machine and turned on the grinder?

"Grazie! Oh, and can you then take them to the meeting room?"

The intern delivering the news immediately dipped after that, unaware of the bomb they'd just dropped in your lap. You blinked after them and wanted to call out but they were already gone in the business of the Race Day craziness. Your eyes were bulging in shock - since when were you walking into important meetings such as race debriefs? If it weren't for the fact that you recognised this intern from last year - and to be related to Fred - and you would've thought it a careless instruction that would have them immediately fired and banned for life.

You went about making all the respective coffees. You prepped Carlos' piccolo, a strong latte for Charles, the engineers coffees. And a double espresso for Fred. Just in case.

Even though he was nothing like Mattia, you had PTSD from TPs in red. You liked Fred but the whole environment still had you on edge.

You set the coffees on a tray and looked around in case you could pass them to someone else to deliver, maybe a lowly intern or an engineer about to walk in?

None.

You sighed and gave yourself a moment. You dusted your hands on your apron - and then promptly took it off once you realised the massive egg/flour mishap stain at the front. But then you looked down at your legs bare in a pair of Adidas shorts and wondered if the apron covering was better.

You took a steading breath, feeling the nerves rise up. Suddenly you felt the sensation of the bandana wrapped around your head too tight and took that off. When you felt slightly, even if incrementally, slightly better, you grabbed the tray and made way to the third door beside the two Ferrari driver rooms.

You knocked twice and entered when you heard the call. You walked in and saw the small group of people, mainly comprised of Charles and Carlos, their respective engineers of Xavi and Adami. You also vaguely noticed Morena, the PR manager and were mildly confused at that oddity.

"Oh, let me get that for you!" The closest person to you stood up to help you. It was Carlos and you thanked him. You ducked your head and were immediately half way out the door when Morena was already calling out.

"Perfect timing! I need a woman's opinion on this!"

"Uh - what?"

"A woman's opinion!" Morena repeated but clarified nothing. "We have some model options coming in today to pair up with our boys and they seem to not care much for this."

You stared at her. You blinked twice. It took you a few seconds to understand what she was saying. Suddenly pictures, looking like head shots, were slid across the table.

You stared down at the incredibly gorgeous girls and the reality of the situation you were in. Suddenly, taking off the apron seemed like a good call.

They were each more beautiful than the other. Faces perfectly symmetrical, hair styled by the gods and a waist that no type of cut would ever get you.

"Is this really appropriate?" Charles voice drew you back from the models photos. You didn't look at him but at Morena who was frowning at him.

"Considering they will be here in an hour and no one has given me an answer, then yes. Y/N is known for her discretion, no?" Morena looked at Fred who looked like he would literally be anywhere else but here.

"Bah, if it means we can get a decision sooner." Fred shrugged. "I'd like to get to racing."

"And I won't choose for you!" Morena asked. "And Xavi has not helped."

"Xavi is my race engineer. Not my match-maker." Charles said, tensely. "And neither is some hospitality worker."

Oh.

Oh no.

You felt your ears go warm. You felt the need to swallow whatever was bubbling up in your throat. Your eyes were on some random models face but she was nothing but parts of a face to you. Charles had just referred to you as 'some hospitality worker' and you wanted to die.

How - how did you guys get to this? Never in a million years would you have imagined that the first time you would be both be in a race day debrief for Ferrari would it go like this.

Still, you would steel yourself. You would not be shaken like this.

"Charles is right." You said, hating how hoarse your voice sounded. You cleared it and then spoke again. "Even if it's for PR, more thought that this should go into it. As much as modelling agencies are discreet, this particular one has had controversy selling secrets when some footballers consulted them." You thought of Jude's ex-girlfriend's manager from this agency and how they'd sold 'secrets' about him for some extra quick cash. "I would suggest finding… more local participants to make life easier and for the genuine aspect of it.” You winced at how that sounded. But it was true. “I would also suggest doing this after the race as both F2 and F3 have finished their feature races reporting increased tyre degradation from yesterday."

"How do you know?" Adami asked, frowning at you.

"About the modelling agency or the tyre degradation?" You shrugged and grabbed the tray. "Who knows? I am just a hospitality worker."

You gave Charles a look. His eyes were down, looking at his lap. You know he was clenching his fists.

You went back to the kitchen but you were too hyped up. You found yourself pacing back and forth, unable to process it. He called you a what? Charles. Charles Leclerc. The same boy you shared a crib with had referred to you as just some fucking hospitality worker?!

It wasn't like you were ashamed of the type of work you did. You know that, considering the elitism of F1, there was definitely a lack of being in touch with the reality of people who work the 'menial work' and wait on and serve those with the million dollar watches and matching boat. You had first-hand experience of going to having the lanyard to serving the people with the lanyard.

But you hadn’t expected Charles to be like that. You had expected him to be better than that.

Suffice to say, you had lost respect for Charles Leclerc. The fact that it came from him made the anger, hurt and shame all the more inflamed and you knew there was no way you could pretend to give a shit about cannoli anymore.

You stalked out the Ferrari motorhome, unable to think straight but needing to just get out.

However, it just so happened that the universe really wanted to screw you over because as luck would have it - you just had to bump into a familiar face in Red Bull gear.

The car was good. Really good. He came out on top in all three Free Practice sessions. Max Verstappen had pole position and he was beyond confident he would convert that into a win today.

And yet, he felt like he might actually throw up.

Staring down at his phone, Max let the Instagram reel keep replaying automatically as he watched you and that fucking McLaren rookie in your old Supra.

Initially, it hadn't come up on his feed. Max saw no need to follow any of the other teams and he had zero desire to befriend the new kid. Sure, Oscar Piastri’s resume was already quite impressive but Max was already wary of him since he was the reason Daniel, one of his best friends, had been forced out of F1.

And now it seemed like Piastri felt like he could take more than Daniel’s seat.

"Yo, Maxie!" Max looked up to where the man in question was walking out. Daniel had just finished doing some PR bullshit Horner had him doing as the third driver. Whilst Max could appreciate it being nice to have Daniel again around in Red Bull - and elevate some of the PR demands - Max didn’t appreciate all the rumours and unnecessary drama brought up between Daniel and Checo.

Because Max would win either way. Whoever was in the other seat didn’t phase him all that much. It couldn’t.

"Hi Daniel." Max said, looking back down at his phone once more and then pocketing it.

"What you watching?" Daniel asked casually.

"Oh nothing." Max dismissed. "Something Kelly sent me." Technically, that was true. Kelly had been the one to message him the reel.

"Ah, the missus. How is she?"

"Good, good." Max nodded, looking down for a moment. Then he looked back at his friend. "What happened between you and Y/N?"

"What?" Daniel blinked, his smile faltering at the question. "Er - where is this coming from?"

"No where. Kelly asked me and I realised I never knew the full story. She - she was gone before I could ask her." Max said, referring to your evident distance from him due to what had happened with Jos.

It was something Max had always felt conflicted about. Could he be happy that you had defended him even though it meant someone close to him got hurt? It was his father so why did it feel wrong to stand by Jos? Was it because it meant it was against you?

Either way, none of that really mattered right now. All that Max knew was that Daniel didn't break up with you because of what happened with Jos.

So what? Max knew things weren't always rosy with you and Daniel but he'd just assumed it was F1 pressures or the usual woes of relationships. Then you both broke up and knew that there was something else.

"We just, uh, I don't know. Didn't work. Fit." Daniel shrugged and looked away. It was the same line he'd always used. Max was about to give it up when Daniel finally added something new to the story. "Fucking Charles always got in the way."

Max considered this and thought about Charles and you for a moment.

He remembered always seeing you at the circuits growing up, fussing over Leclerc. He'd met you the same time he'd met Charles for the very fact that Where ever Charles was, you wouldn't be too far off. Initially, Max was confused about your relationship. You were too young to be dating but had vastly different features to be related. However, over time, he'd just come to accept that you and Charles were, well, you and Charles.

Admittedly starting in Formula 1 before Charles meant Max had been nervous when they were finally racing against each other and where your loyalties would lie. However, for the short period where that was the case (before everything crumbled, that is) it seemed to, oddly enough, actually work.

Max looked at his friend who had lost his easygoing smile. "I never felt that with her." He said, running through his memories of their time at Toro Rosso. "We thought it would cause problems with her being my trainer. But it never was."

"Yeah, well, you weren't dating her." Daniel said with a shake of her head. There was a finality to his tone that, frankly, Max didn't give a shit about. This was the most amount he'd ever gotten out of Daniel about what happened between the two of you.

For a second, Max wondered if Daniel was over this breakup as much as he said he was. "...Do you think Charles was in love with her?"

Daniel threw his head back in a laugh. Not his usual one. No, this was more sarcastic, sardonic even. "Oh, definitely. Always throwing it in my face." Now it was Daniel's time to be inquisitive. "Do you know what happened between them? Like I heard all the rumours - "

"No. I don't." Max reached across to pull a can of Red Bull to him and crack it open. Daniel didn't say anything even though they both knew that was a lie.

Because Max did know. It was why Max and Charles stopped speaking. It was why they came to blows that one night in Imola.

Daniel knew Max was lying about what happened with Charles. Just like Max knew Daniel was lying about what happened with you.

"Anyway Maxie, I have to -- oof!"

Both men turned around to see the very girl in question fall back. You were clearly running from the Ferrari motorhome - it was right next door - and judging by your face, you were very much not okay.

"Woah, you okay?" Daniel reaches his hands out to steady you and Max notes the way you immediately recoil from his touch. Your eyes darted quickly to meet his and Max felt himself want to reach out also and make sure you were okay. Daniel's observation was correct: you very clearly weren't okay.

"Yeah, excuse me." You made a move to step around but Daniel immediately ran his mouth.

"You don't look good, Tez." He looked behind you at the red building. "Trouble in paradise?"

"I'm honestly not in the mood for your shit."

"What shit? I'm just pointing out the facts." Daniel said. Max glared at his friend. Daniel could be a dick when he wanted to be. "Just be careful. McLaren's next door and it could look like you're violating your contract."

"Daniel." Max couldn't help but warn his friend. It was clear you were not okay and this was not the time.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" You spat back. "Have you been waiting outside the Ferrari motorhome to make these digs? What? Liking some fucking tweets wasn't enough for you?"

"Y/N." Max now warned you.

"Max, with all due respect, I'm this close to losing it. And you have lost the right to care about me."

"Yeah, don't want to add another Verstappen to your list."

That was too far, even for Max. He stepped in front of you before you could react and gave Daniel a very clear shove. "Don't you fucking dare." It was at this point the Australian realised he had probably gone too far. He shoved Max's hand off and turned around with a "yeah whatever" before stalking off.

Max turned around and saw something he'd only witnessed once before in the ten years or so that he'd known you.

You, on the verge of tears.

"Fuck, Tez." Max immediately wrapped a hand around your shoulder and guided you to the shared loading zone space of the Red Bull and Ferrari motorhomes. "Are you okay? He lowered down to meet your eyes. You were staring at nothing behind him, guiding your attention there as your tears pooled and fell down your face.

"Do - do you want a hug?" He asked, feeling awkward since it wasn't exactly like he was your closest friend right now and had the right to offer you any comfort. Max also had never seen you like this.

Vulnerable. You were always the rock in a time of chaos. You had always kept him level-headed and reminded him to curb his anger and how to properly channel it. You were the calm in any storm. You were always stronger that way. Nothing ever seemed to get you down.

So to see you like this... it was almost like seeing a parent cry. You had always been the one to comfort him. Never the other way around.

He was about to put his arms around you when that seemed to awaken something in you.

"Get the fuck off me." You immediately shoved him back.

"Woah, I'm just trying to help you."

"And why would I need your help? Especially since you never offered it when I really fucking needed it."

Max faltered. You had a point. He should've said something when you defended him - when you protected him. Not throw you under the bus and lie because his dad told him to do so. Because everyone knew you were protecting Max from his abusive father but the official records were that you attacked Jos since Max's testimony went that way. His mother had cried, Jos had given him the silent treatment and even Helmut told him to think of his career.

So Max gave the final line needed that would see you always see you a premeditated court agreed amount of space away from his family. And him by extension.

It wasn't lost on him that the last time Max had been this close to you had been when you were mopping up vomit in Abu Dhabi 2021.

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

"A few too fucking years late, Max." You wiped at your tears. You never liked to be seen as weak. He liked to think he got that from you.

"Then let me just help you out this one time." He wasn't sure why he started this - maybe it was the guilt of not doing something in the past and wanting to rectify it, but he added. "Horner's onto you. He's got lawyers on your case."

You stopped crying for a moment, thrown at this. "What?"

"That Piastri kid. I know you're close to him." Max couldn't help the annoying feeling when he said that aloud, "But Horner is worried since he has a good record with F3 and F2 but McLaren have a shit car so I'm not too worried but - "

"Oh my God." You breathed and turned around, looking at the wall. "Oh my God." You repeated.

"What?"

"Oh my God I'm actually going to move to Madrid and start with football because I am so fucking done with you drivers."

Max stared, unsure what was going on with you right now. What had he said? Why were you so angry?

"Is that seriously what you're worried about right now?"

Max blanked. How had he gone from trying to help you out by letting you know what Horner was doing to somehow pissing you off even more. "No, I - I'm just saying that I don't care if you're training Piastri but the point is that Horner - "

"And say, Max, why should it matter if you care or not?" You snapped at him, all the tears suddenly gone. You were fuming. "What? I need your permission as my old driver to train someone new?"

"No, it doesn't matter because I'm better than him."

"Yeah but I haven't trained him yet."

"Well go ahead and train him then! We'll see who wins with your rookie in that McLaren tractor."

"You know what, Max? Bet. By the end of this year, both you and Horner will regret fucking me over for Jos."

"Good luck doing that when you're also making him coffee."

At that exact moment, the sound of a door flinging open broke the tension and out came a man dressed in red. Neither you or Max were sure where Carlos Sainz had come from but there he was. He bounded down the steps and came between you and Max before you had anytime to say or do anything.

Max, immediately filled with regret, started apologising. "I didn't mean that - "

"Shut the fuck up Verstappen." Carlos' harsh curse cut out of nowhere. He didn't look at the driver once and Max watched as you let Carlos tug you back and up the steps back into the rear exit of the Ferrari motorhome.

Max turned to the side of the building and, despite knowing he has a race in a few hours, threw his fist right into it.

Usually on your rest days, you opted for active rest. Walks. Yoga - or just stretching in general. Swimming if possible was also a go.

Today was a rest day. You had planned to go for a walk around Albert Park when the track closed up for the day. That had been the plan. Make it through the day, enjoy the race, go for a walk and then start making plans for Azerbaijan. You had discussed getting there early to have a few days to settle and get into a routine with working out and training.

That had been the plan. And if life had gone according to your plan, you would currently be smiling at the sun that was setting over the skyline reflected on the lake and think to yourself about how much you loved Formula 1.

However, right now you were in bed, no form of exercise attempted as you watched the Liverpool game. The race had finished a few hours ago and you had watched Max win on Dia's old TV. It just added fresh salt to the wound and he lifted the trophy and celebrated as if you were nothing in building him to be the driver who was standing on that podium.

As such, you were under two blankets and hadn't left the space on the living room couch since you'd arrived earlier today. You had also apparently given up on your cut as you accepted Dia's Nutella sandwiches and glasses of red wine.

When she asked what had happened you just said, "2018 hit me in the face again."

She didn't say anything more about that. She said a gentle, "I'm here if you want." But then just sat by you on the couch and knitted. She commented on Oscar's driving style. She also kept making jokes about Stroll. That lifted your mood slightly.

The race, admittedly, had been an interesting one. Dia didn't say anything when Charles went off but her loud snort made you smile. Him getting beached the first lap felt karmic to you and for the first time ever, you would allow yourself to feel vindication seeing Charles go out of a race.

However, it wasn't the Ferrari with the black T cam that had your attention this race. Carlos was starting 5th and anytime he was on screen, you found your attention drawn to his car. Especially since the first half of the lap he was fighting with Pierre and when he finally overtook him on lap 25, you found yourself wanting to cheer for him.

Oscar drove pretty well and finished 8th. It wasn't too bad but with the amount of cars that went out, it was a lucky result. Especially since most of the time, both the McLarens were fighting with Haas.

Especially after the second red flag and he got into 3rd place after he was forced into Alonso who spun out. Unfortunately he didn't keep it and finished 12th. It was evidently not a good result and you almost wished you could reach out to him.

In another life.

You were done with drivers and Formula 1 for the day - for the week. You hadn't been serious before with Max but now, in the space or your living room watching the Liverpool game Carlos had spoken about before, you couldn't help but think that football would be better than F1.

The doorbell rang and you looked at your aunt.

"Did you order Uber Eats?"

"In my house? Don't insult me." Dia tutted and lifted your feet off her lap to get up and answer it. You kept watching the game and watched as Mo Salah went in for the assist but missed. Your thoughts continued to mull over it as the offhanded angry comment became more and more concrete as the night wore on.

For one, taking your uncle's offer meant you'd get to train athletes again. You wouldn't get to travel as much, sure, but that also meant you'd get more consistency and having a routine wouldn't be so much of a headache with all the jet-lag. You were friends with most of the boys on the squad and they all usually came from diverse backgrounds - meaning less of the elitist snobbery of the rich upper class that ruled F1.

And since Christian Horner was apparently calling his lawyers - his very, very good lawyers - it would probably be for the best. Maybe she could coach Oscar online or something. He'd understand. He was a good kid and she'd miss him, sure but was it really worth it if --

"Oh dearest, sweet niece of mine! You have a guest!" Dia's voice rang from the hallway and you frowned, sitting up. You weren't sure who might come to visit you. The only feasible option was Oscar and so you stood up, not caring about your dishevelled, ratty pyjamas. Maybe it was a good time to tell him he was going to Madrid.

"Hey bro, sorry for not messaging you. Shit hit the fan and I think I'm gonna move to Madrid - "

"My hometown? That's nice. I can show you around."

Oscar Piastri was not standing in your door frame.

It was Carlos Sainz.

"Carlos? What - what are you doing here?" You pulled at the large jumper you wore above the Spider-Man boxer briefs that completed your nightwear look.

Unfortunately this just made him look down at said boxer briefs. Carlos' lips twitched but he said nothing and just smiled warmly at you. "You weren't at the circuit." Was all he said, as if that explained anything. Then he held up a brown paper bag. "I brought you ice-cream."

Not sure what to do, you just welcomed him in. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Come in." You noticed Dia quickly dip down the hallway to give you space. Not before she made a show of wiggling her eyebrows at you. You gave her an unimpressed look and waved at her.

And so you sat at Dia's cluttered kitchen table with Carlos Sainz who brought you ice-cream from a gelato shop near the hotel he was staying at.

"I wasn't sure what flavour you liked so I got a few." He opened the styrofoam tub and you saw three different colours. "Pistachio, hazelnut and tiramisu. It was their weekly flavour."

"All sounds good." You brought some spoons and cups to the table. Carlos brought a cup to him and began serving himself. You went to the other cup but Carlos tutted your hand away. He then finished scooping some of each flavour before passing the cup to you.

It was a small gesture but after the day you had, it meant a lot. You smiled and muttered a quiet thank you. You waited until he had served himself before you tried the pistachio.

"Hmm, that's good." You commented. Pistachio was one of your favourite flavours and this was pretty good.

"I agree." Carlos nodded. "Do you have a favourite flavour?"

"Usually go for pistachio."

"Ah, good for me!" Carlos smiled and held out his spoon with pistachio ice-cream. It took you a second but you clinked your spoon against his. "Cheers! You know, if you move to Madrid I can show you all the good ice-cream shops."

"Thank you. It's not confirmed, just a thought I'm having on a bad day." It was then that you realised that you probably weren't the only one who might be having a bad day.

Technically, with eight cars out, Carlos' 12th place meant he had finished last today.

And had been told he needed to get into a PR relationship.

"I'm sorry." You said. He looked at you, spoon in mouth and frowned. "I - uh, about today. The race."

His face became a bit more solemn and he sighed. "Thank you. It wasn't exactly my best result but I know Charles - " He stopped and you thought it was because he named your former best friend. But then he shrugged and scoped some more ice-cream into his mouth. "I bet Charles so I'm fine."

Your mouth fell open.

"You're not a reporter, I don't need to lie." Carlos elaborated and it took you a second to process the honesty.

"I... yeah. Fair enough."

"Oscar did well."

"Not well enough."

"I heard what you said to Max."

You bristled at his comment. Admittedly you hadn't had a lot of interaction with Carlos but you were unused to him calling things so straightforward. So, you deflected. "Was this after you were let out of choosing a PR relationship?"

"Yes. And thanks for that by the way. By bringing up the locals bit, Morena decided we can pick our own girls." He rolled his eyes. Then he looked at you and grinned. "Let me know if you decide to move to Madrid."

"Ha. Funny." You then decided to use his same tactic. "Carlos, I'm sorry I'm gonna be blunt."

"That's fine. I prefer that."

"I noticed." You said. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Do you want to go to the Real Madrid game next week?"

What? "What?"

"The game?" Carlos repeated, seeming very indifferent to the immediate change in conversation that was throwing you for a loop. He had brought you ice-cream and come to your personal home to ask you about a football game? "I can get us private flight tickets to Bernabéu. My dad has a box."

You stared at him. He continued to eat ice-cream. Innocently.

"Again, Carlos, I'm gonna ask... what?"

He put down the ice-cream and turned to you fully. It made you sit up a little and he stared at you. "I'm stuck at Ferrari. I thought it would be the next step up but I feel more stuck there than when I was with McLaren. My first season I went without a win and I knew Charles was going to be their priority but I didn't realise how bad it was going to be. I'm not going to stand out to them unless I really work for it."

"Okay." You said, trying to understand where he was going with this.

"And I don't want to be stuck in some PR relationship with someone I have nothing in common with. I heard you with Max. You want to get back at Red Bull and it looks like he's going to be the one to beat this year."

You were starting to see an angle here... but it was an angle that seemed far too ludicrous to accept.

"Carlos..." You were hesitant to ask, "what exactly are you saying?"

"Let me date you. Be my chosen PR girl. Come with me to Madrid and watch the game."

"And train you?" You added. "That's kind of what we're getting at here."

"Yes." He nodded. "And train me to beat Red Bull."

"And prove to Ferrari you're better than Charles." You reminded him. "It sounds like you get all the benefits. I mean, I'm training you and helping you out of a PR relationship."

"Yes but you forget Lando is my best friend. He can help us get you to still work alongside Oscar."

"Max told me Horner's got lawyers on my case."

"Yes but doesn't it say family? Romantic grounds? You'll be my girlfriend. And Horner can't say anything if my friend and his teammate happen to use the gym the same time as I'm there with my girlfriend."

You had to stand up. You couldn't sit there and think about this. You ran a hand through your hair as you thought over what Carlos was asking you, what he was offering.

Seeing you consider this, Carlos continued to speak, to sweeten the pot. "You can finally work in F1 without making the coffee."

Considering the day, this pissed you off. You stopped your pacing and glare at him. "I enjoy making coffee."

"I know you do." Carlos didn't skip a beat, "but you'll finally be able to do what you're really passionate about and prove everyone wrong."

"By making you win." You reminded him of that key part.

"Exactly." He grinned. "It's a win-win. If Oscar is going to break Charles' rule, then I might also." Carlos said it with a shrug but that caught you more than anything.

"What rule?" Carlos looked at you for and grimaced. "Out with it Sainz."

"Leclerc kind of put out a general ban on you. No one's really allowed to come near you."

For the second time tonight, you were floored. Except this time, you had to sit down. You put your head in your hands, elbows on the table as you processed this. This.

Charles had banned other drivers from engaging with you. That's why Alex stopped cracking jokes with you, it's why George stopped giving you the updates about Carmen, why Lando stopped saying hello and why Pierre all but pretended you didn't exist. Logan Sargeant had gone from always chatting with you in F2 to avoiding you like the plague when he arrived in F1. You found it off he refused your Congratulations! cake you'd sent to Williams.

For the first time in your life, you found yourself rooting for Charles to lose.

Because you had decided that you would do anything to make the man beside you win.

"We're versing Sevilla." You spoke.

Carlos' smile grew. He understood what you meant. "I know."

"You'll organise the tickets."

"Of course." He licked his spoon clear. Your ice-cream had since melted at all the revelations of the night. "I'll send someone to pick you up for the flight."

"My uncle will want to meet you." You added, thinking now about the reality of all the logistics.

"My dad also." Carlos added. "He might be there."

"That's fine." You had met Carlos Sainz Sr before when you worked in Torro Rosso. "Just please don't tell my uncle I have a Liverpool jersey."

"As my girlfriend, I do think we're going to have to do something about that. I may take the Don's side on that one."

Girlfriend. That was a word you hadn't had in a while. How long had it been since you were someone's girlfriend?

To think you had woken up thinking about the shitty protein powder in your breakfast to now going to sleep as Carlos Sainz' girlfriend.

"You look like your head is spinning." Said driver commented.

"That's because it is." You said. Needing something to do, you picked up the ice-cream contained and went to put the lid back on and put in the freezer. Carlos had brought the cups and spoons to the sink and you immediately reached for them.

"I can get that."

He tutted at you again and turned on the tap. "This is how a man treats his woman." You had to snort at the line.

"What corny romance novel did you get that from?"

"My father, actually." He said which made you tilt your head. You knew Carlos Sainz' dad played a big role in his career, a former rally driver himself, but you were starting to understand the level he played in Carlos' life.

By the door as he was putting his shoes on, you asked him. "Are you going to tell your dad, by the way, that you and I are PR." Suddenly, however, another thought arrived to you - one that took precedence above all. "Wait, if you and I are going to be in a relationship does this mean I have to attend all those Ferrari events are your WAG?"

"Yes, but fake boyfriend or not, I'm not going to allow today to happen to you."

"What?"

"Ricciardo, Verstappen, Leclerc." He listed. "No one will disrespect you like that again. I promise you. I won't let them."

You stared at him, stunned. "I... um. Thanks, Carlos."

He smiled at you. "Anytime, cariña." He reached up his hand and tucked a hair behind your ear. You blinked. Wasn't this the behaviour he was supposed to do when cameras were around. You said this and his smile grew. "Just getting my practice in. Sleep well."

You closed the door behind him and rested your head against it. Before you could process anything, you heard laughter behind you.

Dia stood there, an amused look on her face with her arms crossed. "Fake relationship with the hot Spanish driver? Yeah that doesn't sound a like a rom-com plot. I give it 6 months."

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[epicbuddieficrecs]

Epic Buddie Fic Rec | March 31st-May 15th 2025 (PART THREE)

Hey guys!! Long time no see!!

Sorry I haven't been around, you guys know the drill... The usual excuses, work, real life, been busy, yadda yadda yadda... But I'm on vacation now so I finally had time to work on a fic rec! Unfortunately, many many weeks have passed which means I have many many weeks of fics to go through to catch up 😆 oh well. We'll start with this!

parent trap by rizcriz (Post-S8E12: Disconnected | 6K | T ): Or, Buck goes to El Paso.

❤️there it is again, sitting on my chest (makes it hard to catch my breath) by Elgney (Post-Eddie moving, Angst, Getting Together | 27K | T): “She wants my kidney. That’s what fucking happened, okay? My dad needs a kidney donor and they remembered why they bothered having me in the first place. Is that what you wanted to hear? That my parents finally found a use for me after all these years?”

rack ’em up, big blonde by markofalover/ @markofalover (Getting Together | 3K | T): ...or, Eddie has a crush on Orville Peck, who totally does not look like Buck.

might as well be drunk in love by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (Buddie Roommates | 1,3K | T): OR: buck comes home drunk, and tells eddie something he didn't quite mean to.

all of my life, it's been all for you by staticsilencee (Soulmate AU, Getting Together | 10K | T): Occasionally, people’s names wouldn’t match up. It wasn’t common, and the only cases Buck had ever personally heard of had involved literal criminals, but it did happen. The other option– well. Either Buck was secretly a killer without knowing about it, or Eddie had taken one look at him and decided he wanted nothing to do with him. In some ways, Buck couldn’t even blame him.

i told my sister about you by rizcriz (Buck&May | 4K | T): “Eddie kissed me last night,” he says, quietly, carefully—it feels a bit like it’s being pulled from him, like if he doesn’t say it right here, right now, he might actually explode, but he doesn’t know how to say it, because it doesn’t make sense. Or: Buck highjacks his and May's weekly breakfast.

on a hot summer night by glorious_spoon/ @glorious-spoon (PWP, Phone Sex | 4K | E): There's another silence, a brief one. Eddie's stomach swoops like he's in freefall. Then Buck says, even lower, "What would you do? If you were here?"

Say you were made to be mine by scarmaddiewrites (A/B/O AU, Post-Eddie moving | 44K | E): Buck starts to feel sick after Eddie leaves for Texas, Eddie starts to feel sick after leaving for Texas…the two aren’t connected, right?

(someone who loves you wouldn’t do this) by justhockey (Post-Eddie moving | 7K | T): Every time Eddie steps through this front door he feels like a little kid again. But he’ll do this for Christopher. He’ll grit his teeth and he’ll grin and bear it, taking every underhanded comment and every brazen insult like a man who knows how it feels to be shot. Who knows what it takes to survive it.

Three Phone Calls by CourtepointeClementine/ @courtepointeclementine, sunlight/ @justonebigbee (Post-S8E8: Wannabes | 8K | T): Buck calls Maddie. Maddie calls Eddie. Eddie calls Buck. They get there.

And what is this? Everything by scarmaddiewrites (Post-S8E11: Holy Mother of God, Getting Together | 4K | T): Eddie and Buck’s first night as roommates…who get the room and who gets the couch?

Assigned Gay by Targeted Advertisements by sunlight/ @justonebigbee (Post-S7E10: All Fall Down, Getting Together | 11K | T): At first, Eddie thinks nothing of it. He lives in LA: there are plenty of ads specifically for queer people all over the place, so it’s not like he’s never seen a billboard with a rainbow on it. Then Buck starts talking about data privacy and the ads just keep coming, so Eddie starts to wonder if the advertising companies know something about him that he doesn’t.

im not angry anymore for what you did by staticsilencee (Post-Eddie moving | 18K | T): Eddie makes his return to Texas, determined to win his son back over- only to find that maybe his parents have been the real problem all along.

Unexpected Desires by Charlesburg (Post-S8E12: Disconnected, PWP | 6K | E): OR Buck accidentally sends Eddie the link to his anonymous erotic baking OnlyFans and Eddie loses his mind over an apron.

Holding Pattern by glorious_spoon (S8, Alive Bobby, Friends to Lovers | 2K | M): Or: kitchen scene, redux.

[illumoria]

SWEET FACE, SOUR TASTE !

pairing: season 1/2 rafe cameron x influencer!reader

summary: internet celebrity y/n comes back to her hometown, leaving the city that never sleeps for a little reunion with her friends, but a certain someone ends up convincing her to stay a little longer than she intended...

a/n: !!! this part has a written section which includes smut, the appropriate warnings are listed below. if you don't feel comfortable reading it, you don't have to! it affects the story but details aren't spoken about it in future chapters. thank you!

cw: !!! fingering, power imbalance/manipulation, coercion, dub-con, toxic "relationship" dynamics, language, aggressive intimacy, implied oral (m receiving) @ the end

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09. 10. 11.

You heard your front door's knob shake louder as you got closer, your hands balled into fists by your sides as if you were preparing to fight him–which was something you may have thought over...once. Maybe twice.

You had to open it. You played out everything. And in each scenario he always ends up inside, so what's the point of doing things the hard way?

At least that's what you'd told yourself. Convinced yourself that maybe this was the tamest way to handle this. But you knew nothing was ever even remotely close to tame when it came to Rafe Cameron.

Your hand twisted the door's knob, the wood creaking as it slowly opened, revealing him. Standing there. Drowning in his own self-confidence and cockiness.

"Thought you'd forgotten about me." He smirked, letting himself in with his hands shoved into his pockets, eyes wandering around the white walls of your home.

"You're hard to forget."

"You're so sweet." He laughed, his gaze finally landing on you, focused on the way you avoided his eyes, your own glued to the floor.

"You wanted to talk."

Finally breaking the awkward tension with your voice, loud and clear, direct. He didn't say anything at first, just cocked his head to the side as if examining you. That stupid smirk never leaving his face.

"Yeah I did–'

"Talk then."

"Feisty." He cooed, invading your space as he stood right in front of you, holding your chin between his fingers. He knew he was getting under your skin, right where he wanted to be–just on the edge of going too far but still in his limits.

It killed you. In more ways than one. How the fuck was this the same boy you thought you felt something for?

"You caught me off guard."

"What?" Your eyebrows furrowing in confusion at his words, your expression only causing his smirk to widen.

"That's what you said to me, wasn't it? Remember? When you kissed me back."

"Rafe–"

He made a low "tsk' sound, dismissing your protest as he made you look up at him. Made you look into his eyes.

"I know you remember."

"If you came all the way over here to try and recreate what happened or just to fucking mess with me, you're wasting your time, Rafe. And honestly–"

You didn't get to finish before he was kissing you. Abrupt, harsh, unapologetic. It was different than the first time, he was...quicker, hungrier, moving against your lips like it was the first time. He wanted this to be the kiss you remembered. Not the mistake. Not what you thought was a mistake. This one.

You hated him for initiating it. You hated yourself more for letting him. But it felt too real to fake, too urgent to ignore and in between the moment you kissed him back.

You wanted to yell at him. Scream "what the fuck" and push him away but you didn't and you wished you knew why you couldn't.

Because–fuck maybe deep down you wanted it.

He slid his hands down your waist, pushing you back until the cushion of your sofa hit the back of your knees.

You fell back with him on top of you, his body caging you in like a predator to it's prey.

"Did this catch you off guard too, huh?" He murmured against your lips, dragging his fingertips down your sides, snaking his palms beneath your shirt.

"Rafe–"

"No. No you don't get to pull away from me this time, princess." He whispered, squeezing the soft flesh of your chest through your bra, his free hand working off the buttons of your shorts.

A soft moan left your lips as he dipped his ring and middle finger down the waistband of your underwear, not even bothering to fully get you out of your pants. He was desperate. Needed to prove himself. And it showed. God forbid you said it out loud though.

"Come on, say you want me."

"W-what?"

"Say you want me." He mumbled, his tone a mix of annoyance–and maybe you were imagining it...but a little hint vulnerability. Though it was gone as fast as it had came.

"I want you, Rafe." You whispered, and that was it. That was all he needed. More so, wanted to hear.

He ran his fingers through your folds, your slick coating his fingers in a thin sticky layer.

"Fuck.." he muttered under his breath, dipping one thick finger into your cunt, his thumb simultaneously rubbing slow circles against your clit.

You bit your lower lip, your head hitting the back of the sofa as your hips jolted upwards into his touch, your body speaking for you before your brain could–begging for him without even knowing it.

"You're such a fucking liar...I knew you needed me "Mistake" my ass." He chuckled, the noise teasing and low as he curled his fingers, pressing against that little gummy spot inside of you that made you see stars.

"I'm not–Hah–"

"Gonna go lying again? Even now? When I have you like this?" He taunted, catching your lips with his own once more before you could even answer.

It was all teeth and tongue, messy, just like the both of you. And he fucking loved it.

His rhythm grew rough but not uncoordinated. Each thrust of his fingers inside your cunt was deliberate. Careful. Like he knew your body better than you did, knew every button to press that could make you cry.

He knew you were close. It was hard not to–not when your thighs were shaking, your pussy sucking his fingers in like you never wanted them to leave.

"Y'gonna cum." He laughed, a statement. Not a question. His signature smirk on his lips. It was his trademark expression at this point. Something that would usually irk you, but now? It really fucking turned you on.

"Y-yeah." You whined in response, rolling your hips into his touch, just right there–and then he rubbed the heel of his palm against your clit and that little coil in your belly just snapped.

"Oh–!" You whined, fluttering around nothing as he slid his fingers out of the soft material of your underwear, his lips latching onto his middle and ring fingers. His tongue swirled around his fingertips, licking away the cum like a cat cleaning itself.

"See how easy this could've been if you just admitted all this earlier?" His voice as mocking as ever as he leaned back down, kissing your cheek and neck.

You wanted to bite back, say some stupid snarky quip that was buried in the back of your mind–but you'd gone soft. Just for this moment. Just this once.

He rolled over beside you, one hand over your middle while the other slid behind your back, gently stroking your arm.

"Are you tired?" He whispered, his voice surprisingly soft. Gentle. It almost made you whip your head around–go "where the fuck is Rafe?" Because this couldn't be the same guy who just fucked you with his fingers. Mercilessly.

"Not really." You replied, scooting closer to him, resting your cheek against his chest. It was peaceful for a little bit, even to an outsider it'd look like a cute couple just laying together–

"Good. Then you have some stamina in ya, yeah?"

And then the perfect picture shattered. God, of course he only asked about you–how you felt to get something in return. How stupid were to think something else. To think he could've actually wanted to know how you were.

"Yeah." You choked out, shifting a little so you could meet his eye.

He pressed his thumb against our lower lip, and when you didn't pull away...when your gaze dropped down low for just a split second, he smiled like he'd already won.

"Good girl," he praised, sitting back just enough–spreading his knees slightly.

"Make it up to me."

1½ hours later...

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[meganwrld]

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ Anyone but You .ᐟ 09. lunch

wc: 900+

You look in the mirror, far longer than you should. Nervous is an understatement to describe the feeling building up in your stomach. Your outfit is casual, but you don’t want to seem like you aren’t trying. Then again, would it be too much if it did seem like you were trying?

You shake your head in an attempt to get rid of all of the irrational thoughts and finally grab your belongings to make your way out the door. You make your way down the stairs of your apartment building and spot none other than Lara Raj leaning against her dark gray car.

“Hey!” A warm smile spreads across Lara’s face as you walk towards her. It takes everything in you not to trip on air.

“It’s nice to see you,” You let out an awkward giggle. You both stand in front of each other for a couple of seconds, unsure of what to do. Surprisingly, Lara leans in for a hug. It takes you a moment to process that it’s even happening, but you wrap your arms around the taller girl nonetheless. Lara is the first to pull back, she reaches behind you to open the car door.

When you step in, a wave of nostalgia crashes over you hard. Suddenly, it’s one year ago again, when Lara would pick you up for a late night drive across the city. Long before you were signed to a record label and long before Lara had debuted.

Though the car feels and smells the same as it did a year ago, the new decorations and trinkets do not go unnoticed. A bundle of friendship bracelets, you assume were given to Lara by fans, hang from her rearview mirror. Katseye related stickers cover her dashboard, and she has a small stack of papers and envelopes tucked away into the sun visor above your head.

“Sorry about the mess,” Lara apologizes as she settles into her side of the car, “I’ve been pretty distracted lately,” she lets out a deep breath.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m not exactly the most organized person either,” You replied as you pull on your seatbelt, “I mean, a fake girlfriend is a lot to have on your mind.” Lara giggles at your joke, and you swear your heart skips a beat.

Besides the low humming of the radio and the occasional direction from the GPS, the car ride is mostly filled with awkward silence. It’s not that you both don’t know what to say, it’s that both of you are too nervous to say anything. How couldn’t you be?

When you finally reach the small restaurant, it takes little time to walk in and be seated. A waitress approaches and takes your orders before leaving you both to your own devices.

Lara is the first to break the silence, “So, you got anything big coming up?” She asks before taking a sip of the ice water in front of her.

“Oh, well, I’m hoping I can announce my second single soon,” you answer, “Then release day, promo, and so on,”

“Ah ok!” She nods and stays silent for a couple beats, “Is that one about me too? Your next single I mean,” The smug smile on her face almost drives you insane.

Almost.

You let out an uncomfortable laugh, but you refuse to let her throw you off. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” Lara’s eyebrows raise at your response.

“I mean really Y/N, I’m flattered,” The playful tone in her voice makes you roll your eyes.

The banter continues until your food arrives. You’re glad the tension has been broken, and you fall into a familiar rhythm of conversation. As you both work on your meals, you spot a woman pointing a camera towards you and Lara. Suddenly, you are thrusted back into reality, and remember the reason why you are having lunch with your ex-girlfriend in the first place.

Lara seems to notice you tense up and scurries to find a way to distract you. “Take a picture of me.”

You look back at her with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

“So you can post your super adorable fake-girlfriend later, duh,” She adjusts her hair and sits up straight.

“Right, duh,” You say sarcastically, you pull your phone out of your pocket and snap a quick picture of Lara holding her drink up. You smile at the result sitting in your gallery, “cute,”

“Shut up,” she lets out a scoff. However, you do notice the tint that spreads across her cheeks. “Anyways, I’m full, what about you?”

“Mhm, me too,” you agree. You both walk up to the front to pay the bill and begin to make your way out of the restaurant.

As you step outside, you feel Lara’s arm wrap around your shoulders. “Is this okay?” She asks, making sure you're comfortable.

You remember that there are probably some weird paparazzi people watching from a distance and nod as you wrap your arm around Lara’s waist. Lara smiles gently and continues walking you both towards her car.

“The whole ‘random people taking photos of you’ thing is weird, trust me I know, but if something that you dislike ever gets out, I won’t hesitate to cuss someone out publicly on social media for you ok?” Lara deadpans.

She’s not joking, you think, her tone was confusing. Despite that, you let out a laugh that sounds like a car engine turning on and Lara is quick to follow.

A/N pretty please ignore the inconsistency with the photos, my Pinterest can only do so much 😞. Anywayss tysm for all the support as always i love writing this smau so much. pls point out any mistakes its appreciated!

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