#this took. a month and a half. proud of this model

[cheftsunoda]

hii my love, could i possibly request a poly with carlos and rebbeca? with reader being an architect/ archeologist studying in edinburgh?

redesigned— cs55 + rebecca

smau + blurbs

you always thought your life would be built in clean lines and quiet mornings. tucked away in edinburgh’s grey stone charm, buried under piles of models and sketches, you were content building your future from the ground up—brick by brick, draft by draft. loving quietly and living softly. until rebecca. model, muse, and your first real love—rebecca donaldson walked into your life like a thunderstorm in a glass house. she swept you into her world of fashion weeks and flights, of candlelit rooftops and cameras that never stopped flashing. and yet, somehow, she always made space for you. for the silence. for the stillness. for love that felt like breath. you both were never looking for more—until a gala in barcelona. until carlos sainz. he shouldn’t have made sense. but he did. he saw you. he saw both of you. and maybe, for the first time, your carefully drawn plans weren’t ruined. they were just… redesigned.

fc : julie knezvic

(a/n): hi angel!! i hope you love and i am sorry that it took so long, im just a little behind rn. love you sm.

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yourusername

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yourusername : random dump for you as i am too busy trying to survive my last few weeks of uni 😭

tagged : iamrebbecad

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yourbff : body is STILL tea tho. (so proud of you love) (you and rebe r so damn cute)

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↳ yourusername : we love and miss you SO MUCH.

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↳ yourbff : becs can you pls convince her to stop studying just for a night and we can all go out and have fun

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↳ iamrebeccad : babes i am working on it i promise. she is stubborn 😭

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↳ yourbff : trust me i KNOWWW

↳ yourusername : right here guys

↳ yourbff : we know. hopefully you see this and decided to let yourself have some fun.

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username0 : how long have her and rebecca been dating??

↳ username1 : around 2 years i believe!

↳ username0 : aw omg. they r so cute

yoursister : can’t believe my baby sis is about to graduate 😭

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↳ yourusername : you say ‘baby’ as if we aren’t a year apart

↳ yoursister : still a baby TO ME

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iamrebeccad : so proud of you baby! you deserve everything and more. love you 🩷

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↳ yourusername : love you even more. would not have survived w out youuuu

—

You’re on your third coffee of the afternoon, hunched over your desk, sleeves rolled up, graphite smudged across your hand like battle scars. The model in front of you is refusing to cooperate, and the sun is setting outside the Edinburgh flat you and Rebecca have half lived in for months. She leans against the doorframe—hair up in a loose bun, wearing one of your old hoodies that somehow still looks like a Vogue editorial.

“Babe,” she says, drawing the word out like honey, “how attached are you to your studies this weekend?”

You don’t even look up. “Deeply. Passionately. Borderline Addicted..”

She crosses the room, arms wrapping around your shoulders from behind, chin resting lightly on your head. “That’s cute. Unfortunately, I’m here to kidnap you.”

“Rebecca—”

“Barcelona,” she cuts in. “Sun. Sea. Minimalist wine bars. Me in a silk dress. You in that black jumpsuit that makes people fall in love with you. Come with me to the gala.”

You glance at her from the corner of your eye. “I have five boards to finish by Monday.”

“And I have one very stubborn girlfriend who hasn’t taken a break in weeks,” she murmurs, nosing against your cheek. “You’re starting to talk in floor plan metaphors in your sleep.”

You huff a laugh, trying to stay strong. “If I don’t finish this model, I’ll fail.”

“You’ll finish it. But not this weekend.” She pauses. “Because I have reinforcements.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Reinforcements?”

She grins like she’s won something. “Your best friend. She’s flying in. I booked her a flight this morning. She’ll be in Barcelona waiting for us with two Aperol spritzes and a disposable camera.”

Your mouth parts slightly. “You didn’t.”

You cave. Of course you cave. Because it’s Rebecca, because it’s Barcelona, because she’s looking at you like you hung the stars—and because part of you wants to be reminded that there’s more to life than models and deadlines.

You lean back against her, eyes closing for a second. “Only if you let me bring my sketchbook.”

She kisses your temple, smiling. “Deal.”

—

Your suitcase is open on the bed. And still, somehow, empty. Rebecca lounges beside it in a silky robe, legs crossed, sipping her oat milk latte like the world isn’t burning in the form of your wardrobe meltdown.

“Okay,” you say, flinging a pair of trousers onto the pile for the third time. “I have absolutely nothing to wear.”

She hums, unconvinced. “You have literally three garment bags of stunning outfits, and yet you are now debating between the same pair of linen pants and that ‘reliable’ black dress that’s one dry clean away from falling apart.”

“I don’t like being perceived,” you grumble, yanking open another drawer. “Especially not in Barcelona. At a gala. With your friends. Who are all supermodels.”

Rebecca slides off the bed and wraps her arms around you from behind, hands warm over your waist. “They’re not my friends. They’re acquaintances I occasionally make eye contact with at runways. You, on the other hand, are the love of my life. Which, I’d like to point out, is more important.”

You lean back into her, your voice softer now. “Still nervous.”

“I know.” She kisses just behind your ear, gently. “But you’ll be breathtaking. You always are.”

She pulls away slightly, rummaging through your closet and pulling out the slinky black jumpsuit with the open back that you wore on your first real trip together. “You’re wearing this.”

You blink. “That’s… from Paris.”

“Exactly.” She hands it to you with a wink. “Let’s remind the world who made me fall head over heels in the middle of a hotel hallway.”

—

The jet is quieter than you expected. Sleek leather seats, dimmed lights, and a tray of strawberries and champagne already waiting. You curl up against Rebecca in one of the oversized seats, your legs draped over hers, the hum of the engines low and steady beneath you.

“Is this a kidnapping or a honeymoon?” you ask, eyes closed as she runs her fingers through your hair.

“A prelude,” she says. “To your well earned escape from architectural hell.”

You laugh, half asleep, letting your hand trace lazy circles over the inside of her wrist. She leans down and kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips—slow and unhurried.

“You’re going to love it,” she murmurs against your mouth. “The city, the sea, the food. I’ll take you to that Gaudí museum you’ve been obsessed with since forever. And the gala… You’re going to walk in and ruin everyone’s night in the best way.”

You smile against her lips, dazed and warm. “Only if you’re holding my hand.”

She tangles your fingers together. “Always.”

—

The wheels touch down on the tarmac just after noon, and you blink awake to golden light pouring through the windows of the jet, warm and sleepy against your skin. Rebecca is already smiling at you, one hand stroking your cheek, the other holding her sunglasses by the frame.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” she murmurs. “We’re here.”

You stretch with a sleepy groan, her hoodie still drowning you as you sit up. Barcelona smells different already, even from the window — like heat and citrus and the sea in the distance. The flight felt short, maybe because you spent most of it curled up in Rebecca’s arms, half listening to her whisper soft, ridiculous commentary while flipping through design magazines with you. You’re halfway down the steps of the plane when you spot her—your best friend—bouncing on her toes near a sleek black car waiting on the runway, waving both arms in the air like she might take off.

“There she is!” you shout, already sprinting.

She crashes into you with the force of someone who hasn’t seen you in far too long, arms tight around your neck, both of you laughing so hard it echoes off the runway.

“Oh my god,” she says dramatically. “You’re real. You exist outside of voice notes and crying over thesis reviews.”

You mock glare at her. “I was not crying. I was… processing stress. Loudly.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, starchitect.”

Rebecca walks up behind you, smiling fondly at the chaos. “You must be the famous best friend who gets more good morning texts than I do.”

She shrugs. “Guilty. Someone had to emotionally support her through model glue disasters and coffee fueled breakdowns.”

“I can hear you both,” you deadpan.

Rebecca kisses your cheek in response. “Still adorable when you’re defensive.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warm.

The three of you pile into the car, luggage loaded, air conditioning on blast. Your best friend immediately hands you a disposable camera and a tiny bottle of sunscreen.

“For the photos,” she says, “and so you don’t get roasted again like last summer. I’m not dealing with lobster YN in every candid this time.”

Rebecca leans over and stage-whispers, “Did she tell you about the time she got so sunburnt in Capri that she walked like a 90-year-old for three days?”

“Rebecca.”

“Oh, she told me,” your best friend grins.

You groan, burying your face in Rebecca’s shoulder, who just laughs and presses a kiss to your hair. As the car winds through the narrow streets toward your hotel, Barcelona spreads out around you—sun-soaked buildings, palm trees, motorbikes weaving through traffic, balconies draped in ivy. And in that moment, with Rebecca’s hand laced in yours and your best friend humming along to the Spanish pop song playing through the speakers, it feels like everything is exactly where it should be. It doesn’t matter that there’s a gala tomorrow. Or that you’re probably going to trip in heels at some point. Or that Rebecca’s world still feels a little too fast, a little too beautiful. Right now, it’s just the three of you. And it’s perfect.

—

The hotel suite smells…well…sweet, the scent of Rebecca’s perfume curling through the air like a promise. The sun’s nearly down, casting that golden hour glow across the skyline of Barcelona, softening the sharp edges of the city outside your balcony. From inside, the room hums with quiet movement—heels clicking gently on marble, fabric brushing skin, the low murmur of music from the Bluetooth speaker on the vanity. Rebecca stands in front of the full-length mirror, slipping into a floor length silk dress the color of champagne. It clings to her in all the right places, light catching on her collarbones and the soft curve of her back. She catches your eyes in the mirror and smiles softly.

“You’re staring.”

You hum, still barefoot in your robe, curled up in the corner chair with your sketchbook half-forgotten in your lap. “You’re literally unreal.”

She turns slowly, gliding across the room until she’s kneeling in front of you, her hands resting gently on your bare knees. “And you, my love, are not allowed to hide in that robe all night. Come on. Let me help you.”

You let her pull you up, fingers laced. The black jumpsuit hangs neatly on the closet door, the same one she picked out. She helps you step into it, zipping it up with steady hands, smoothing the fabric over your hips.

When you turn to face her, something shifts in her expression.

“God,” she whispers. “You’re gonna ruin me tonight.”

You blush, looking down, but she lifts your chin with one finger, pressing a kiss to your mouth—soft, reverent. “I mean it. You have no idea how beautiful you are.”

Later, with heels on and lipstick applied and nerves starting to stir low in your stomach, Rebecca slips her hand into yours as you step into the waiting car.

“I’ve got you,” she says, as if reading your mind. “Always.”

—

The venue is even more dramatic than you’d imagined—an old Spanish estate turned event space, all arches and climbing vines and warm candlelight. The crowd buzzes with the kind of energy you’ve only experienced at fashion week: air-kisses, flowing gowns, and laughter that’s just a little too practiced.You stay close to Rebecca at first, your hand tight around her fingers as she introduces you to people whose names sound familiar from Vogue articles. It’s not your world, not really. But the way she keeps glancing at you—checking you’re okay, brushing your arm with hers when no one’s looking—grounds you. You’re mid-sip of champagne, standing just off to the side of the courtyard, when he walks in. Carlos Sainz.

The buzz ripples almost immediately—subtle, but tangible. He’s wearing a dark suit that fits like it was made just for him, open collar, hair a little windswept like he stepped out of a commercial. There’s something warm and relaxed about him, like he’s completely at ease in the chaos. And yet, the moment his eyes find you—you—his expression shifts. Like you’ve pulled his attention into focus.

He walks toward you, slow and certain, and for a second you assume he’s going to greet Rebecca. Everyone here knows her. You brace for it. But then—his gaze lingers on yours.

“Hola,” he says, smile soft but curious. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

You blink, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “Hi.”

Rebecca steps in, hand still loosely curled around yours. “Carlos, this is my girlfriend. The brilliant architect I’ve been talking your ear off about.”

Something flickers behind his eyes. “So this is the famous Edinburgh genius.”

You laugh nervously, cheeks hot. “Hardly genius. Just a tired student who got bribed into coming to a gala.”

Carlos grins. “Best bribe anyone’s ever pulled, then.”

Rebecca’s thumb brushes the back of your hand. The three of you stand there a moment longer—his gaze darting between you both, your body language, the way you lean into each other naturally. He doesn’t look surprised. He looks fascinated.

He tips his head slightly, voice lower now. “May I steal you both for a drink?”

Rebecca glances at you, eyebrows raised. Your heart thuds once, hard. You nod.

“Sure.”

And with that, something shifts—quietly, subtly, like the first breeze before a storm. You don’t know it yet, but tonight is the beginning of something. Something uncharted. Something beautifully complicated.

—

You’re seated between them. Rebecca on your left, her hand resting gently on your thigh beneath the tablecloth, fingers drawing slow, absentminded circles into the silk of your jumpsuit. Carlos on your right, nursing a glass of red wine, elbow resting casually on the back of your chair like he’s known you for years instead of ninety minutes. The gala is in full swing now—waiters weaving through tables with trays of Spanish tapas and champagne, a string quartet playing something low and romantic from the garden stage. Lights glitter overhead like a net of stars. And still, you can barely focus on anything but the energy between the three of you. It’s subtle but electric. Warm, blooming quietly under the surface of every glance and word.

Rebecca leans in, murmuring, “This wine is actually amazing,” as she reaches for her glass, brushing her shoulder against yours. You can feel the heat of her, the scent of her perfume still clinging to the air around you.

Carlos glances over. “You two are making everyone here jealous, you know.”

You blink. “What?”

He grins, nodding toward the rest of the table. “Look around. Half the people here are trying to figure out who you are and how you managed to make Rebecca Donaldson giggle like that.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Rebecca says, though she’s smiling into her glass.

“I’m not,” he replies. “I just think it’s rare. That kind of… ease. Most people in this room are trying so hard to look perfect. You two look like you already have everything you want.”

Your breath catches a little in your throat. Rebecca squeezes your thigh gently. “That’s because we do.”

You look between them—Rebecca glowing under the golden light, Carlos watching you with something softer than charm in his eyes. He doesn’t seem like he’s trying to impress you. He’s just curious. Present. Drawn in.

“So, Carlos,” Rebecca says lightly, turning the spotlight, “tell us—how does a Formula 1 driver end up at a fashion gala on a Thursday night?”

He shrugs, leaning back slightly. “I got invited. My manager said it would be good for me to socialize with people who aren’t constantly talking about tyre degradation.”

You laugh, surprising yourself with how easy it feels around him. “Fair enough.”

“But I wasn’t planning on staying long,” he adds. Then, without missing a beat— “Until I saw you two walk in.”

Rebecca raises a brow, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Is that so?”

He holds your gaze when he answers. “Yes.”

Your heart skips. The silence stretches for a moment—not awkward, just thick with something unsaid. Rebecca reaches for her wine again, then turns toward Carlos with playful curiosity.

“So,” she says, tilting her head, “what exactly is it that fascinates you?”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“She grounds you,” he says simply, looking at Rebecca. “You shine differently when she’s near.”

You feel the breath catch in Rebecca’s throat beside you. Her hand tightens on your leg, and when you turn toward her, her eyes are glassy with something unspoken. And then Carlos turns to you.

“And you… you look at her like she’s made of something holy.”

You stare at him, unable to speak. His voice is gentle, without expectation. He’s not hitting on you. Not in the way you’ve seen others try. He’s just seeing you—both of you—with a kind of quiet reverence that makes you feel… known. The moment is broken only by the clinking of silverware as dessert is served—some delicate Catalan cream and fresh berries—but the weight of it lingers. You eat in silence for a while, your thoughts buzzing.

Carlos turns slightly toward you as he dips a spoon into his dish. “So tell me something,” he says, tone light but curious. “Do you always design things with this much precision… or do you ever let yourself create something messy?”

You blink. “Messy?”

He shrugs. “Unplanned. Unbalanced. A little chaotic.”

You smirk. “I’m an architecture student. Chaos is my natural enemy.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But sometimes… chaos brings the best results.”

You glance at Rebecca. She’s already watching you with that look—the one that knows exactly what you’re thinking. That maybe… just maybe… this doesn’t feel like chaos. It feels like the start of something beautifully unexpected.

She leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You okay?”

You nod, eyes flicking between her and Carlos. “Yeah. I’m… just wondering what happens next.”

Rebecca smiles softly, hand resting over yours now on the table. “Whatever it is… I think we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Carlos clinks his glass gently against both of yours. “To figuring it out.”

And in the middle of that glittering courtyard in Barcelona, with Rebecca on one side and Carlos on the other, you realize: You don’t feel like you’re in between them. You feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

—

The morning starts with sunlight spilling through the gauzy hotel curtains, soft and golden. Barcelona wakes up slowly — a city that stretches before it rises, where the air smells faintly of sea salt and fresh bread, and conversations drift up from the streets like music. You wake with Rebecca curled around your back, still half-asleep, her hand resting lightly at your waist. Her breath is warm against your neck. You smile, eyes still closed. A knock sounds at the door.

Rebecca groans dramatically and pulls a pillow over her head. “If that’s room service and they forgot your croissant again, I swear to god—”

You giggle, rolling out of bed, slipping into one of the hotel robes. But when you open the door, it’s not room service. It’s Carlos.

Wearing sunglasses, holding three iced coffees and a brown paper bag full of pastries like it’s the most casual thing in the world. His smile is crooked. “I brought breakfast. And a proposition.”

Rebecca’s voice calls from the bed. “If the proposition doesn’t involve carbs, we’re not interested.”

He chuckles. “Good thing I know my audience.”

You wave him in and close the door behind him. Carlos steps inside, handing you your drink and then holding up a small envelope.

“What’s that?” you ask, sipping your coffee.

He grins. “Tickets. Gaudí House Museum. You mentioned it last night, remember?”

You blink, surprised. “You remembered?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Of course.”

Rebecca sits up in bed, hair messy and eyes still heavy with sleep, grinning at both of you. “Did you just ask us out on a museum date?”

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “If I did, are you saying yes?”

You glance between them, heart blooming.

Rebecca nods. “Let me put on a cute outfit and we’re in.”

The taxi ride is filled with sunlight and soft laughter. You’re sandwiched in the back seat between them, Carlos’s arm thrown over the headrest behind you, Rebecca snapping candids of you both with the disposable camera your best friend gave you yesterday. At some point, Rebecca leans across you to steal a bite of Carlos’s croissant, and instead of pulling away, he just watches the two of you with that warm, unreadable look again — the one that says he’s taking this in like it means more than he’ll say out loud. By the time you arrive at the Gaudí House Museum, the three of you are humming with that easy sort of energy people only find when they’ve stopped pretending.

The museum is quieter than expected, cool and airy despite the heat outside. Everything inside is curved and intentional, dripping with artistry — from the mosaic tiles to the asymmetrical windows to the wrought-iron details that make the house feel alive.You pause in front of a set of floor plans and models, your eyes scanning the intricate designs like they’re secrets waiting to be solved.

Carlos leans in beside you. “So this is your world, huh?”

You nod. “It’s strange. I’ve studied this for years. But being here, in it… it’s different. It feels like touching someone’s dream.”

Rebecca takes your hand gently, her thumb brushing across your knuckles. “You do that too, you know.”

You glance at her. “Do what?”

“Build things that matter,” she says simply. “Even when it’s just in your sketchbook.”

Carlos watches the two of you with that quiet gaze again — soft, and maybe a little reverent. You keep wandering through the house, taking your time. At one point, you all stand in front of a massive stained-glass window that throws patches of color across the marble floor. Carlos snaps a photo of you and Rebecca bathed in the light, and when he shows it to you, your breath catches. Rebecca has her hand at your cheek. You’re smiling at her like nothing else exists.

“You really do light up the room,” Carlos murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You blush, looking away. Eventually, the three of you make your way up to the rooftop terrace. The city stretches out in all directions, hazy and golden beneath the sun. The famous chimneys rise like sculptural flames around you — surreal and magical. Rebecca presses her back against the warm stone, pulling you gently into her side. Carlos leans beside you both, arms crossed loosely, the breeze tugging at his curls.

“I get it now,” he says, voice low.

You glance over. “Get what?”

“How people fall in love with Barcelona.”

You can’t help but smile. “It’s beautiful.”

He looks at you when he answers. “So are you.”

The words hang there for a moment — not a line, not a flirtation. Just truth. You look at Rebecca. She’s already looking at you. And you feel it — that same undercurrent from the night before. Like the three of you are circling something unspoken. Something delicate. But real. Rebecca kisses your temple and leans her head on your shoulder. “This might be the best morning I’ve had in a long time.”

Carlos shifts slightly closer. “Same.”

And in that moment, high above the city in a house built from dreams, you think maybe — just maybe — you’re starting to build something, too.

—

several weeks later

carlossainz55

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carlossainz55 : 📸

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lando : i feel like the other woman’s other woman rn.

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username00: whomst???

↳ username1 : i believe rebecca donaldson and her gf yn ln. check @/yourusername’s recent post.

↳ username00 : oh that is def carlos in her post.

alex_albon : okay carlossss👀

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yourusername : life + baddies first day on the job;)

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username0 : is this the girl from carlos’ post??

↳ username1 : i believe so…that is def him in the dump.

↳ username5 : him and lando in the likes 😭

↳ username7 : we have lost ladies

↳ username11 : she is dating rebecca though…

↳ username7 : they were both on his ig post…maybe throuple?

iamrebeccad : i am so proud of you, angel! you are killing it. i love you so much.

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↳ yourusername : love you even more. could not have done it without you.

carlossainz55 : Congratulations hermosa! So proud! ❤️

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↳ yourusername : thank uuu carlitos ❤️

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↳ username7 : oh yeah we are cooked.

—

The apartment is quiet, sun filtering in through the linen curtains, the scent of fresh basil and lemon lingering from the pasta Rebecca made the night before. You’re at the kitchen counter, barefoot and glowing — still not entirely used to the fact that you’re done with uni. That you’re officially working as a junior designer at one of the most respected firms in Edinburgh. That the world is beginning, finally, to expand. Rebecca hums to herself in the next room, curled on the sofa with a fashion book open in her lap, glasses perched on her nose. Her hair’s up in a lazy bun, an old t-shirt  hanging off her shoulder. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Until the knock. You both freeze.

You raise an eyebrow. “Did you order something?”

Rebecca shakes her head. “No. Did you?”

You make your way to the door, curious, and open it—and there he is. Carlos. In jeans and a grey hoodie, holding a bouquet of wildflowers and a crooked smile that says he’s very pleased with himself.

“Hola,” he says, dimples deepening. “Surprise.”

You blink, stunned. “What—wait, are you—you’re here?!”

Behind you, Rebecca gasps and immediately darts to the door. “Are you kidding me?!”

Carlos laughs as you both wrap him in a hug, arms tangling. It’s warm and a little chaotic, the three of you practically swaying in the doorway.

“I couldn’t miss your celebration,” he says, pulling back just enough to hand you the flowers. “You graduated. You started your dream job. I figured that deserved something… dramatic.”

“You texted me ten minutes ago from Madrid!” Rebecca accuses, hitting his arm lightly.

“I was on the way to your place,” he grins, clearly unbothered. “Needed to keep the element of surprise.”

You’re still standing there barefoot, flowers in hand, heart pounding like you’ve just won something you didn’t know you were competing for. Carlos steps fully inside, glancing around like he’s been here before in his mind. “You two look like you’ve settled into something domestic and terrifyingly cute.”

Rebecca smirks. “We did. You just made it worse.”

“Good,” he says. “Because I’m here to ruin your cozy night in.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Oh?”

Carlos tugs two envelopes from the inside pocket of his hoodie. “I made a reservation at that rooftop place with the insane sunset view—Rebecca sent it to me weeks ago in a TikTok, so you’re both exposed. We’re leaving in thirty minutes.”

Rebecca bites back a grin. “You are unreal.”

“And then, if you say yes, I’m going to romantically kidnap you both.”

You pause, blinking. “Romantically… what?”

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, clearly enjoying himself. “I want you to come to my next race. I already booked the flights. There’s a suite. It’s hidden. Think sun, espresso, a lot of carbon fiber, and the three of us hiding from the media in style.”

Your jaw drops. Rebecca’s hand finds yours instinctively. “Carlos…”

He smiles, softer now. “Look. I know we’re not putting names on it yet. But I miss you. All the time. And if I can steal you for just a few days—to cheer me on, to kiss you under Italian moonlight, to pretend this thing between us is real for a little while longer… then I want to try. I want to keep trying. With both of you.”

You feel the words settle between your ribs like something sacred. Rebecca squeezes your hand. You look at her. She looks at you. You’re both already smiling.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whisper, heart racing.

Carlos steps closer, brushing your hair behind your ear, his voice lower now. “I know. But admit it… you love it.”

You do. God, you do. Rebecca leans up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thirty minutes, Sainz. If we’re late for our own celebration, that’s on you.”

He winks. “I’ll be waiting.”

As he steps into the living room to give you time to get ready, you turn to Rebecca, breathless.

“We’re going to Italy.”

She grins. “With Carlos Sainz.”

You bury your face in her shoulder. “What are we even doing?”

Rebecca laughs, kissing the top of your head. “Something new.”

And you smile, because it doesn’t feel like chaos anymore. It feels like exactly what you want.

—

From the rooftop, the city looks like it’s breathing — windows flickering to life one by one, cars crawling slowly through the narrow streets below. There’s a warm breeze drifting over the tiles, carrying the scent of wine and sun-warmed stone. You’re seated at a candlelit table nestled beneath a string of golden fairy lights, the linen tablecloth fluttering gently in the wind. Everything is dusky pinks and golds and the soft clink of wine glasses. The kind of setting people spend months trying to plan. Carlos didn’t even flinch when he called ahead.

You’re in a silky deep blue dress Rebecca helped you pick out in ten minutes flat, your hair pinned up with tiny gold clips, and Carlos hasn’t stopped looking at you since you sat down. Not in a showy way — it’s quiet. Constant. His eyes find you every time you laugh, every time you turn toward the view. Rebecca sits across from you, a soft backless dress in burnt orange clinging to her like it was made for her, one arm stretched over the back of Carlos’s chair, her other hand holding yours across the table. Her skin is warm and golden in the candlelight.

“This is completely ridiculous,” you murmur after the waiter pours the first round of wine. “Like, offensively beautiful.”

Carlos lifts his glass. “You deserve ridiculous.”

Rebecca clinks her glass lightly against his, then yours. “To our girl. For surviving sleepless nights, evil professors, thesis disasters, and becoming a full time grown-up.”

You laugh and duck your head. “You two are being weirdly nice to me. I’m suspicious.”

Carlos leans closer. “Fine. Let me balance it out. Do you remember when you tried to explain structural cantilevers to me and ended up drawing a sketch that looked like a sad giraffe?”

Rebecca chokes on her wine. “That was a cantilever?! I thought it was a palm tree.”

Your hand flies to your chest in mock offense. “Wow. I am under attack at my own celebration.”

But you’re smiling. The kind of smile that feels like it’s living in your ribs, spreading slow and wide and warm. The kind you don’t even try to hide anymore. Carlos reaches over and brushes something off your shoulder — a petal from the small bouquet resting on the table — and his fingers linger just a second too long.

“You’re glowing,” he says, so quietly you barely hear it.

Rebecca meets your eyes and smiles, soft and knowing. “She always does when she’s happy.”

The food arrives — shared plates and small bites, things you’ve never tasted before but love instantly. You end up feeding each other across the table, laughing through full mouths, brushing hands as you pass forks and spill wine and get far too invested in an argument about what the best dessert on the menu will be. Eventually, after the plates are cleared and the second bottle of wine is opened, the wind dies down. The city hushes just a little. You lean back in your chair, tipsy and warm, the scent of Rebecca’s perfume wrapped around you and the sound of Carlos’s low voice filling the space between stories. He’s talking about racing, about how everything slows down the second he’s in the car. How quiet it is, even with all the noise.

“It’s not adrenaline,” he says, eyes on the skyline. “It’s clarity. Like the world only makes sense when it’s going a hundred miles an hour.”

Rebecca rests her head against your shoulder. “Is that why you’re so calm all the time? Because you’ve already met chaos head-on?”

He glances at her, something soft behind his grin. “I think I’m calm because I know what matters now.”

You don’t ask what he means. You don’t have to.

—

Later, the three of you are the last to leave. The waiter brings out one final glass of vermouth and a tiny plate of dark chocolate, and you all sit there beneath the fairy lights like you’ve slipped into another version of the world — one where nothing needs to be defined, only felt.

Carlos helps Rebecca up, his hand settling low on her back with a kind of gentleness that surprises her. When he turns to you, you hesitate for just a second.

Then you reach for him. Your fingers slip easily into his, and he doesn’t speak — just smiles. You walk back to the car with your heels in your hand, your head resting against Rebecca’s shoulder, Carlos’s arm around your waist, his thumb brushing back and forth over your hip. Three shadows under the moonlight. Three hearts slowly, steadily aligning.

—

You’re nestled into a private jet again — only this time, it’s not a whirlwind trip to a fashion gala. It’s something slower. Sweeter. Yours. Carlos insisted. No press, no handlers, no chaos. Just you, Rebecca, and him, headed for Italy.

“Technically,” Carlos says, settling into the seat across from you as the jet levels out above the clouds, “this is a work trip.”

Rebecca raises an eyebrow from where she’s curled beside you, your legs draped over hers. “Your version of work includes flying two girls across Europe for moral support.”

He grins. “High performance drivers require emotional regulation. You two are my favorite kind of therapy.”

You laugh, tipping your head back as the sunlight pours in through the window. “Well, we are professionals.”

Carlos slides his sunglasses to the top of his head and watches you for a moment — like he’s memorizing you. The way your hair falls against Rebecca’s shoulder, the soft flush in your cheeks, the way your fingers trace idle patterns into the blanket across your lap.

“You look lighter—calmer,” he says, just quiet enough to be real.

You glance at Rebecca. She’s already smiling. “We are.”

The seatbelt light clicks off, and Rebecca shifts to face you more fully. “Okay,” she says, nudging you with her knee. “Tell him your Italian bucket list. She made one.”

Carlos perks up. “You did?”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “It’s not a bucket list, it’s just… a few places I want to see. Sketch. You know. Architect things.”

Carlos moves to sit beside you now, across from Rebecca. His knee presses gently against yours.

“Let me guess,” he says, hand held out expectantly. “Villas, vineyards, maybe a Roman ruin or two?”

You place your phone in his palm, unlocked with your Notes app open. He scrolls slowly, eyebrows rising as he reads.

“You want to see the medieval towers in San Gimignano?” he says. “That’s like an hour from the track. We can go.”

Rebecca beams. “I told you he’d say yes.”

He keeps reading, and then—“You want to sketch the pit lane?”

You blush. “I don’t know, it’s a cool structure. It’s like a weird blend of utilitarian design and showmanship.”

Carlos stares at you for a second, and then says, “You’re genuinely the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

Rebecca hums. “Right? She makes buildings sound like poetry.”

The next half-hour melts into comfortable chatter. You talk about the race weekend, about places they’ll take you between sessions, about what you’ll wear to the paddock. Carlos jokes about putting you both in matching Williams polos and parading you around like his secret weapons. Eventually, Carlos disappears into the back cabin to take a call with his engineer, and Rebecca uses the opportunity to pull you closer, kissing your cheek, then your jaw.

“I still can’t believe this is real,” she whispers, brushing her thumb over your bottom lip. “You, me, him. Italy. This whole… thing.”

You tilt your head, voice just as soft. “Does it feel right to you?”

Rebecca looks at you for a long moment. “It feels like it was always meant to happen. We just had to get brave enough to let it.”

Before you can say anything, Carlos reappears, flopping into the seat beside you with a groan. “Well. Apparently my rear wing isn’t cooperating. But I’m not thinking about that yet.”

You smirk. “We can distract you.”

Rebecca grins. “Gladly.”

Carlos rests his arm on the back of the seat, his fingers just brushing your shoulder. “I think this might be the best race weekend of my life.”

—

f1gossipgirls

liked by lando and 2,188,001 others.

f1gossipgirls : So… let’s unpack the situation, shall we? First, Rebecca Donaldson and her longtime girlfriend YN LN make their debut on Carlos Sainz’s Instagram a few weeks back — soft lighting, soft smiles, soft launch vibes. Fast forward—the trio is now very much in Italy. Very much in the paddock. Very much together. Rebecca and Carlos? Spotted on a bike ride together. YN and Carlos? Photographed at lunch with his race engineer. Then YN and Rebecca are seen strolling hand in hand through the paddock like nothing’s changed.…Except on Quali day, YN shows up with Carlos. Walking in. Side by side. And standing next to him during a live interview, casually repping a Williams polo. We’re not saying it’s a throuple… but we’re also not not saying it’s a throuple. 👀

—

The morning begins with sunlight spilling across the balcony of your villa, the kind that turns everything soft and golden. Carlos is still asleep, tangled in the sheets, his arm slung over your waist. Rebecca is already up, barefoot in one of Carlos’s hoodies, sipping espresso and sketching something into your notebook that you’ll find later — a cartoon drawing of the three of you, hearts drawn over your heads.

“Get up, sleepyhead,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “We’re taking you somewhere.”

You blink awake. “Where?”

She just smiles. “Italy is full of secrets. Get dressed.”

They won’t tell you anything, but an hour later you’re in the back seat of Carlos’s rental car, winding through the Tuscan hills — green and sun-drenched, dotted with vineyards and wildflowers. Rebecca holds your hand loosely across the center console, and Carlos hums along to an old Italian song on the radio, sunglasses pushed up in his hair. Finally, the car slows near the edge of a medieval town, quiet and ancient. You step out, confused — until you look up. San Gimignano. Your breath catches.

The towers — the ones from your list — rise above the stone walls like jagged fingers reaching toward the sky. Brutalist, elegant, stubborn in their geometry. You’d written about them in a thesis once. But this… this is different.

You stare in awe. “Guys…you didn’t have to.”

Carlos smiles, locking the car. “Of course I did.”

Rebecca laces her fingers with yours. “We thought you deserved to see the real thing. You’ve been talking about it for years.”

You laugh, teary-eyed despite yourself. They walk you through the town slowly, letting you stop to sketch little pieces — an archway here, a crumbling façade there. Carlos carries your bag without you asking, Rebecca keeps tucking hair behind your ear and stealing kisses when you’re not paying attention. At one point, the three of you sit on a low stone wall overlooking the hills, passing a sandwich between you, legs tangled. You lean into Carlos’s side, Rebecca tucked under your arm.

“Do you ever get tired of being adored?” Carlos asks, only half-teasing.

You glance at him. “Do you?”

He pretends to think. “Nope.”

Rebecca hums. “I think she deserves to be adored. Every version of her. The architect. The sleepy one. The one who can’t remember where she put her pencil but can recite Roman history like it’s a love poem.”

Carlos leans in, brushing your shoulder with his. “Agreed.”

You don’t say anything for a while. You just breathe. You let it settle. This is what love feels like — not loud or rushed or fragile. But steady. Expansive. Soft around the edges. Later, Rebecca takes your camera and snaps a photo of you standing between one of the towers — Carlos behind you, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder. You’re smiling, cheeks flushed, sun in your hair. And when you look at it later, you’ll think — this looks like a beginning.

—

Race weekend has a way of feeling overwhelming. But somehow, with Carlos, it feels calm. He meets you and Rebecca outside the paddock entrance, dressed in his full Williams kit, sunglasses perched on his nose, hair still slightly messy. You’re in one of his oversized team polos — partially on a dare, partially because it just smells like him — and Rebecca’s in all white linen and a pair of black sunglasses that make her look like she’s walking into the Cannes red carpet instead of an F1 paddock.

“Ready to be shown off?” Carlos teases, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and tugging you into a gentle side hug. He kisses the top of your head and then leans over to press another to Rebecca’s cheek.

“Bold of you to assume you’re the one showing us off,” she replies, linking her fingers with yours on the other side.

He grins. “Fair.”

The first few minutes are a blur of cameras and whispers, heads turning as the three of you walk past in tandem. You feel it — the way people are watching, curious. Wondering. But Carlos doesn’t let go of you, not even when one of the Sky Sports guys gives him a very obvious once over. He walks you through the garage first, introducing you to a few engineers, showing you the car like it’s a favorite pet. He explains the updates they’ve made for the weekend, and you’re so genuinely interested — asking questions, tilting your head at the suspension setup — that one of the techs looks thoroughly impressed.

Rebecca leans over and whispers, “He’s going to marry you if you start talking about aero.”

You laugh and Carlos hears and just smiles.

“Alright,” he says after a moment. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

He leads you around to the Mclaren hospitality suite where, to no one’s surprise, Lando Norris is sitting on a bean bag, eating something from a takeaway box like it’s not Quali day. 

“Ah, finally!” Lando jumps up as soon as he sees you. “The girls! The internet is losing its mind over you lot.”

Rebecca raises an eyebrow. “And what does the internet say, exactly?”

“That Carlos has taste,” Lando grins, holding out a hand to shake yours and then immediately pulling you into a hug. “I’m Lando. You’re YN. You’re Rebecca. You both terrify me, and I love it.”

Carlos rolls his eyes. “Ignore him.”

“Never,” Lando chirps. “Do you know how long I’ve been begging him to bring you both here? It’s like… morale, Carlos. Atmosphere. He’s been smiling like an idiot for weeks.”

You glance at Carlos. He’s pretending not to blush. Failing spectacularly.

“And you’re YN, right?” another voice calls — and then Alex Albon appears, holding a coffee and looking far too cool for someone awake this early.

You nod, shaking his hand. “Hi. Huge fan of your girlfriend.”

Alex laughs. “Aren’t we all.”

He turns to Carlos, eyes twinkling. “So this is the famous architect slash girlfriend. And the supermodel slash dangerous mafia wife energy girlfriend. Stunning work, mate.”

Rebecca gives him a dangerous little smirk. “You get it.”

The five of you chat for a while — it’s easy, natural. Alex and Rebecca get into an unnecessarily passionate debate about oat milk. Lando and Carlos talk strategy, but every few seconds, Carlos glances at you, just to check you’re still smiling.

—

Later in the afternoon, when the paddock thins out a little and the media starts to shift into race prep mode, Carlos leads you both to the back of the hospitality lounge and pulls you into a quiet corner. He sits down first, tugging you gently into his lap and resting his chin on your shoulder. Rebecca curls beside you on the padded bench, fingers brushing over your knee.

“I’ve never felt this calm before a race,” Carlos murmurs.

You lean your head against his. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s the best thing,” he says. “I’m usually somewhere between tense and mildly homicidal on Saturdays.”

Rebecca hums. “And now?”

“Now I feel like I’ve already won something.”

You’re quiet for a moment, fingers playing with the edge of his sleeve. The paddock noise feels far away now. Just the breeze through the flaps of the tent, the low hum of passing mechanics, the occasional click of a camera.

Carlos sighs into your neck. “Can I say something dumb?”

“Always,” you and Rebecca say in unison.

He smiles. “If I could take you both with me in the car, I would.”

You tilt your head, half-laughing. “We’d make terrible co-pilots.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But everything makes more sense when you’re near me.”

Rebecca looks at him then — really looks at him — and something shifts behind her expression. Something tender. “You know… this started as something casual. Something fun.”

Carlos nods.

“But it doesn’t feel casual anymore.”

You don’t say anything. You just reach for both their hands — one on either side of you — and squeeze. No labels. No pressure. 

—

The sun is beginning to dip when Carlos crosses the finish line. P8. Not a disaster. Not what he wanted either. Not after how good race day looked. Not after how hard he pushed in quali. He doesn’t say anything on the radio after the cooldown lap — just a clipped, “Copy,” and then silence. His hands stay tight on the wheel until he’s back in the garage. The air inside is thick. No one meets his eyes. There’s too much noise and not enough at the same time — fans cheering in the distance, tires hissing, a metallic clang echoing from the back of the pit. Carlos doesn’t take off his helmet right away. He just sits for a moment. Letting it settle. Then, through the haze, he hears your voice.

“Hey.”

And just like that, the weight cracks. He looks up — and there you are, standing in front of him in the soft blue Williams polo you’d worn all day, eyes full of quiet warmth. Rebecca is beside you, sunglasses pushed into her hair, lips pressed together like she knows exactly what he’s feeling. You don’t ask about the race. You don’t say, what happened? or are you okay? You just hold your hand out. Carlos lets you help him out of the car. His gloves are still on, but your fingers fit between his anyway. Rebecca’s hand finds the back of his neck, grounding.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “We’re here.”

He nods once, blinking hard behind his visor before finally tugging it off. His hair is damp, cheeks flushed, eyes a little unfocused — like he’s still halfway between the car and the world.

Rebecca tugs him gently toward the back of the garage, away from the lights. “Come on,” she says. “Breathe.”

You sit him down on a flight case, crouching in front of him. “You don’t have to be on right now,” you whisper. “You can just… be. With us.”

Carlos closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

“It wasn’t a good race,” he admits. His voice is hoarse. Honest.

Rebecca kneels beside you. “That’s not why we’re here.”

You nod, smiling gently. “You are not your result.”

Carlos laughs, just barely. “You two are dangerously good at this.”

“At what?”

He glances between you, soft and overwhelmed. “Loving me anyway.”

And then he leans forward, presses his forehead against yours, and exhales. Rebecca wraps her arm around both of you, pulling you into a quiet little triangle of comfort — there, on the edge of the paddock, while the world buzzes just beyond the garage doors.

“I’d come to every race,” you say into his shoulder.

Rebecca kisses the corner of his mouth. “Even if you finished last.”

Carlos lifts his head, smiling now — small, real. “You know what? That might be my new strategy. Finish badly. Win anyway.”

And as the sky turns gold outside and the paddock begins to clear, Carlos sits between the two people who make it all feel okay — win or lose, podium or pit lane — and knows, with complete certainty—This is everything.

—

carlossainz55

liked by iamrebeccad, yourusername, alex_albon and 5,001,001 others.

carlossainz55 : may not have won the race but i am always winning off the track. i love you both so much.

tagged : iamrebbecad and yourusername

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

[soapygirly]

[capsyst]

Here’s my second big Procreate Dreams animation! Really challenged myself hard with this one!

Remember that storyboard I did for a Minecraft character meeting the Warden? The beginning of the storyboard involved several shots showing the character running away from mobs until they reached an area the mobs wouldn’t step foot into. I decided to make that chase scene into one continuous shot.

I modeled up a cave in a 3D animation program and moved the camera around to what I hoped would be an appropriate path. Once rendered I imported this into Procreate Dreams and began animating on top of it, using a grid to be my guidelines to help me keep the character proportional.

After a rough animation was done, I went back and refined it. Then I inked and colored it. Finally I added a shadow layer on top and a glow layer for the torch. Took me about half a month (15 days) to complete.

I’m really proud of this one. I thought I would animate it in Procreate like I did the last one, but because of the nature of needing to match the art with the background I found it was much easier to just animate it entirely in Dreams.

I’ll post a breakdown later when I have a chance.

Hope you fellow Minecraft Story Mode fans enjoy this!

(Fun little fact, all of the sound effects are from Minecraft.)

[lexirosewrites]

Ficlet idea, designer Eddie and model Steve

OH NO OMFG this prompt was from a year and a half ago (September 2023) because i apparently wrote this whole thing and then accidentally lost it in my drafts😭😭😭 might as well post it now!

A New Muse

Eddie can’t say how he went from the Indiana trailer park to having his own collection at New York Fashion Week without explaining that things like that don’t usually happen to people like him.

Maybe it was the luck of being born an alpha. Or maybe it was just stupid fate.

Who knows? Certainly not him.

And although he’s been used to the lifestyle of excess and glamor for a while now, sometimes the world he lives in now still manages to amaze him.

All it took was a lucky break and his work being seen by the right people. Then he’d been whisked away to riches and fame, his name becoming known by every young adult in a matter of months.

Suffice to say that by this point, Eddie wasn’t overly surprised when he was asked to do a feature piece in a big time magazine. The editor had specifically requested for him to design a few grunge menswear outfits to be modeled alongside the article about his rise to success.

Eddie spent weeks grueling over his designs, making sure all his pieces were representative of the kind of work he does, but it was a struggle to create something that he was proud of and that would explain his vision of fashion.

The interview itself was simple enough, just a handful of questions by someone who already knew far too much about his life. They skirted around his less than pretty past and played up the rags to riches aspect that everyone loved to oversell when it comes to alphas.

And then came the photoshoot.

Eddie had been given measurements of an up-and-coming model who would be showcasing all of the designs. Supposedly, the guy was fine modeling both masculine and feminine clothing, so Eddie was able to keep his sizing consistent across the board.

The only mistake was that he was never given a photo of the model. Or told that he was an omega.

He had no clue that the model would be the most stunning man he’s ever seen.

“Hi, I’m Stevie,” the angle introduced himself with a dimpled smile and wide eyes. His scent dripping with sugary sweetness. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Eddie almost forgets to shake his hand, too enamored with the beautiful omega being presented to him on a platter. He recovers enough to slip his hand into the waiting one.

“I’m an alpha.”

That’s definitely not what he meant to say.

Steve chuckles, a soft charming little thing.

“Good to know. Do you have a name, alpha?”

Eddie’s tongue feels too big for his mouth. He might be drooling. He’s definitely lightheaded.

The omega called him alpha. He could be his alpha.

“Um, I’m so sorry! Eddie! It’s Eddie!” he spits out in a rush, attempting to recover from his temporary lapse in sanity.

Another angelic noise of amusement.

“You’re sweet, Eddie,” Steve tells him, sounding slightly forlorn about it. “But I can’t date a coworker.”

Eddie can practically feel his ears pin back against his head in disappointment like a kicked puppy.

“Oh. Right, yeah, no that makes sense. Smart idea. Gotta be careful when you’re a professional.” His voice is thin and unconvincing.

Being rejected by a perfect angel hurts more than he thought it would.

Steve’s perfectly plump lips turn upward slowly.

“But if you find me after the shoot when we’re not coworkers anymore, you can buy me coffee. That is… if you let go of my hand so I can do my job first.”

Jesus Christ.

Eddie had never let go of his hand.

He loosens his grip long enough for Steve to make it through the shoot and then he vows to never let go again.

They’re mated a year later, right before Steve changes his modeling demographic to maternity photoshoots instead.

And Eddie finds his lifelong muse.

[fayeraa]

PAINTER! SUGURU GETO

painter! suguru geto who’s favorite muse is you.

♡ reblogs very appreciated <3.

the renowned painter of the city, Suguru Geto, was assuredly known for his taste in sophisticated goods: gouache of great price and pronounced pigments, mahogany easels coated by translucent varnish, generously quilted sofas that seemed to be made out of pure silk, but most importantly, delicate and enticing muses.

of course, there was the most crucial point. from his gracious models was coming his inspiration, his desire to create ever more cherished paintings which would soon get sold at exorbitant prices that would make a simple passer-by go crazy.

so many auctioneers would hear by word of mouth that The Suguru Geto created an another feast for their eyes and wallets. they wouldn't waste a single second to splash cash into the work of art they would be quick to call their prized possession.

but, what lured the eyes of anyone who’d walk by one of his masterpieces so much, that they'd have the feeling that they needed to stop a minute and admire?

well, thanks to his treasured and favoured muse. you.

oh, he loved you. You were his model, so perfectly fitting and in line with him, like two pieces of a puzzle that can only match together. you were his greatest source of creation, and he was forever grateful for that.

he loved the way you’d sit and put yourself in the fucking ideal pose he had in mind for you, a wisely chosen pose that would have the certitude of enlightening only your best assets, only if you had bad ones.

he loved the way you gazed at him when he was skilfully portraying your flawless figure, pupils dilated and full of passion he could only reflect in his own eyes, conveying the perpetual longing he had for you.

his love was nothing more than raw worship, making his heart sink to his stomach out of adoration. He truly thought he was a chosen one, a gods-favorite to whom we had sent a deity as a reward.

and to paint you was his way of expressing that indescribable feeling that tormented his wit so deliciously.

He always made sure to start his sketch with a pristine and high-quality canvas devoid of any charcoal stains or paint splashes. Next, he’d sweetly invite you to take place on the marbled dais covered by a white sheet and pose, like you always do for him.

And now, his favourite part ever, the sketch. he’d neatly choose his sharpest and most precise pencil to outline the curves of your body, so beautifully garbed in a burgundy lacy dress.

From then on, he’d drag the moment and relish in the sight before him. He would carefully choose his colours to get them to match the most, he would only take the softest brushes to get the softest result, and that process could last days, weeks and mostly months.

that was his saying, the longer it took, the better it looked, and that is true.

he could only be proud of the result of his hard work, and he’d never forget to thank you and praise you lots, as he deemed that he could only be able to do that by your grace.

Auctioneers may call his works of art their prized possessions, but he’d only considered them that because of you.

hey it’s me, the bitch that deserted for 5 months to come back with an half-assed story (actually it’s false i put my whole life into that)(yes into that shitty piece of a drabble)

[@ fayeraa. do not copy, steal nor claim as yours, and do not translate/repost on other platforms.]

[buckymarvelficss]

Beneath the surface

Chapter one

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X fem!reader

Dragged into a world she doesn’t belong to, y/n finds herself losing pieces of who she used to be. Each party, each smile, each bruise leaves a mark — until a stranger starts to notice the cracks. Bucky Barnes sees more than he says, and something unspoken begins to grow between them. But some truths don’t stay hidden forever.

> This story contains themes of emotional manipulation, toxic relationships, and physical abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

Slow burn. Angst. Comfort. Bucky Barnes x Reader.

AN: hey everybody, this is my first time writing again in about 5 years, I hope you like it🫶

The first time you saw him, it came at quite an unfortunate time.

Josh, your boyfriend, had told you that morning that you’d be attending another one of Stark’s lavish, over-the-top parties. “It’s a big one,” he’d said, brushing a kiss across your forehead before pulling on his jacket. “I need you to look... amazing tonight.”

That had been it — no please, no reason why, just a soft command wrapped in affection.

It wasn’t the first party, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Josh had been working for S.H.I.E.L.D. for about four months now. You’d never seen him this ambitious before. He’d always been confident, yes, but now it was sharpened — focused. He saw these events as stepping stones. Tools. And Tony Stark? He was the ultimate rung on the ladder.

You’d smiled at him that morning, pretending not to feel the pressure. “I’ll be ready by seven,” you’d promised.

And you were.

You wore your favorite dress — dark green, satin, with off-the-shoulder sleeves that made you feel elegant and just a little exposed. You styled your hair in a way that framed your face the way Josh liked, and did your makeup soft but flawless. You had to admit, when you looked in the mirror, you felt beautiful.

When Josh finally came to pick you up, he’d looked at you for all of three seconds and said, “Nice.”

That was it.

No smile. No compliment. Just that one word.

You didn’t say anything. You just swallowed the lump forming in your throat, told yourself you were overreacting, and followed him out the door.

---

The party was even grander than you expected — marble floors, glowing chandeliers, walls of glass overlooking the skyline. You were hit by a wave of sound and light and perfume the moment you stepped inside. People were laughing, flirting, dressed like magazine covers come to life. Even the waiters looked like models.

Josh seemed to light up the moment he walked in. “Told you this would be big,” he murmured in your ear, giving your waist a quick squeeze. His eyes were already scanning the room. Hunting. “This could be the one.”

You gave him a soft smile. “I’m proud of you, you know. No matter what happens.”

He smiled back — distracted. “Grab me a drink, would you? I see someone I need to talk to.”

You nodded, watching him disappear before you'd even moved.

You made your way to a passing waiter and took two glasses from the silver tray. Champagne, you assumed, though you couldn’t taste it past the tightness in your chest.

You found a spot near the edge of the room — not quite in the way, not quite invisible. Your heels already ached, and you suddenly wished you’d worn something with sleeves. It was cold, despite the heat of the crowd.

Josh knew these people. You didn’t.

You were a schoolteacher. Your world was parent-teacher nights, lunch duty, correcting essays until your hand cramped. This world — crystal glasses, practiced laughter, names you didn’t recognize but probably should — it felt like a stage play. And you hadn’t been given a script.

You took a sip of your champagne. It was dry. Too fizzy. You hated it.

---

That’s when you saw him.

He was standing near one of the wide marble columns, half-hidden by shadow, one hand tucked into the pocket of his black suit. His hair was pulled back, neat and low at the nape of his neck, and his eyes scanned the room with calm, calculated stillness.

James Buchanan Barnes.

Even if you didn’t know him, you knew him. The Winter Soldier. The headlines. The history. The mystery.

But he looked nothing like the man the media painted.

He looked... tired. And grounded. And maybe — just maybe — like he wished he wasn’t here either.

Your eyes met.

Just for a second.

And it shouldn’t have meant anything. You’d been making eye contact with strangers all night. But this wasn’t polite or fleeting.

This was... still.

You blinked, and he turned his head away.

And yet, even after the connection broke, you felt different. Like some invisible thread had been tugged between you and him — subtle, but real.

---

“Hey.”

Josh’s voice snapped you out of your daze. You turned and found him beside you, drink already gone, jacket slightly wrinkled from where he’d shoved his hand into the pocket.

“There you are,” he said, leaning down to kiss your cheek, though he barely touched you. “You wouldn’t believe who I just talked to.”

“Tony Stark?” you asked, forcing a smile.

Josh grinned. “Damn right. Brief chat, but I planted the seed. He knows my name now.”

You smiled and nodded. “That’s great, Josh. I’m happy for you.”

He gave a soft laugh and glanced around again. “You could’ve mingled a bit more. People notice when someone just stands around holding a glass.”

The words stung, even though his tone was casual.

“I didn’t really know anyone,” you said, voice barely above the music.

“You knew me,” he replied, not unkindly, but not gently either.

You looked away, pretending to admire the ceiling. “It’s just... a lot of people.”

Josh exhaled. “You’ll get used to it.”

---

The car ride home was quiet. Josh spent most of it texting. You leaned your head against the cool window, watching the lights blur past like smeared paint.

Your feet hurt. Your heart more.

You didn’t say much, and neither did he.

But somewhere in your mind — just under the surface — there were steel-blue eyes and a look that made you feel, for one second, like you weren’t completely alone in that glittering room.

You didn’t know it yet, but that one glance was the start of something.

Something slow.

Something dangerous.

Something true.

---

The second party came quicker than you’d expected.

You had barely recovered from the last one — the aching heels, the buzzing nerves, the strange, unreadable expression in Bucky’s eyes — when Josh brought home another invitation.

“Another one?” you asked, taking the thick envelope from his hand.

“Bigger crowd this time,” he said, shrugging off his jacket. “Stark’s opening that new satellite office or something. Everyone who’s anyone will be there.”

You turned the envelope over in your hands, the gold embossing glinting in the kitchen light.

Josh walked past you, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “Wear that black dress this time. The tight one.”

You hesitated. “The one with the slit up the side?”

He nodded without looking up. “You look good in it. Makes people notice you.”

You wanted to ask which people. You wanted to ask why it mattered. But instead you said, “Okay,” and tucked the invitation into the fruit bowl like it didn’t weigh ten tons.

---

The night of the party, you sat on the edge of the bed in silence while Josh finished tying his tie in the mirror.

The black dress hugged your figure just like he liked. You’d paired it with simple heels and a red lip, hoping the bolder look would make you feel stronger than you actually felt.

Josh looked at you for a moment. “Perfect,” he said, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. “You clean up so well.”

The compliment felt hollow. Mechanical. Like he’d practiced it.

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

He didn’t notice your tone.

---

This party was even louder. More crowded. The music pulsed through your chest as soon as you stepped inside. People were already half-drunk, laughing, shouting, clinking glasses.

Josh was swept up immediately — a firm handshake here, a backslap there. You followed him for a while, until he gave you the same look as before. That you’ll be fine on your own look.

He handed you a drink and vanished into the crowd.

You didn’t try to follow.

Instead, you wandered through the ballroom, trailing your fingers along the cool surface of the bar, letting the chatter and laughter wash over you. The room glittered with sharp edges — glasses, jewelry, voices too loud to be genuine.

You found a quieter spot near the back, where the lights were dimmer and the air wasn’t so thick with perfume.

That’s when you saw him again.

He stood near a set of French doors that opened onto a terrace, the cool evening breeze tugging faintly at the white curtains. He wasn’t trying to draw attention to himself — in fact, he seemed to be avoiding it — but something about him still pulled your eye.

Black shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal a glimpse of metal. Hair slicked back neatly. Posture relaxed, yet alert. He looked like he belonged and didn’t, all at once.

James Buchanan Barnes.

You didn’t know why your chest tightened at the sight of him, or why your feet carried you slightly closer — not directly toward him, but to a tall table nearby. Just close enough that the noise of the party dulled behind you, and the air felt clearer.

You glanced over at him once.

To your surprise, his eyes were already on you.

He didn’t look away this time.

There was something steady in his gaze — something calm and unreadable. Not flirtatious. Not curious. Just… observant. As if he was taking you in, trying to figure something out.

You looked away quickly, heat rising to your cheeks. You took a sip of your drink to cover the sudden fluster, heart picking up in your chest.

A few minutes passed in silence.

Then — footsteps.

Slow, deliberate. Soft enough that you barely heard them.

You turned your head, and he was there.

Not right beside you, but closer. Just a few feet away, standing with a clear view of the terrace behind the glass. He didn’t speak. Neither did you.

But then his voice, low and calm, broke the silence.

“You okay?”

You blinked. “What?”

He glanced at you, then back at the glass. “You’ve been standing here for a while.”

You swallowed. “Yeah, just… needed some air.”

He nodded slightly, like he understood. Like he really understood.

“I get that,” he murmured. “Crowds can be… loud.”

The corner of your mouth lifted — not quite a smile, more like a reflex. “That obvious, huh?”

He didn’t smile either, but something softened around his eyes. “Only to people who are looking.”

Before you could respond, someone called your name. Josh’s voice had cut through the air like a blade.

“Y/N!”

You’d turned toward it instinctively, the way you always did when he used that tone — clipped, impatient, like you were a child who had wandered off in the grocery store. When you looked back, Bucky was gone.

Almost like he hadn’t been there at all.

Almost.

But the echo of his voice lingered in your mind as you crossed the ballroom again, as you stood by Josh while he exchanged laughs and clinks of glasses with a few agents you didn’t know. You said almost nothing. You didn’t need to — Josh didn’t notice either way.

He was buzzing with adrenaline on the way home.

“You saw me with Stark, right?” he said as he pulled the car onto the highway. “I actually got a minute with him. Real talk. Think I made an impression.”

You nodded, keeping your gaze fixed on the blur of streetlights through the window.

“That’s good,” you said softly.

He didn’t seem to notice your tone — or maybe he didn’t care. “If I get invited again, I need you to do better next time.”

Your brows drew together slightly. “Do better?”

“You barely said anything to anyone. Just stood around like you were lost.” He scoffed. “You know how that reflects on me?”

Your stomach twisted.

“I wasn’t feeling well,” you said carefully. “I stayed back so I wouldn’t get in the way.”

“You were in the way,” he muttered. “You could’ve smiled a little. Talked to someone. You looked miserable the whole time.”

You didn’t respond. You weren’t sure you could without your voice shaking.

The car was quiet for a while after that, filled only by the low hum of the engine and the quiet storm inside your head.

But your thoughts weren’t with Josh.

They were on a man in a black shirt, standing beside a window like he didn’t belong either.

“Only to people who are looking.”

There’d been something in his voice — something solid. Kind. Real.

It had only been a few words, a few seconds. But the difference was blinding.

Bucky hadn’t looked through you. He hadn’t brushed you off. He’d seen you — not the woman Josh brought to shine up his image — you.

And that moment had felt safer than the entire night you’d spent clinging to Josh’s side.

You exhaled slowly, pressing your fingers against your temple as Josh continued to ramble about connections and rankings and opportunities.

You weren’t listening anymore.

Chapter two

[sailorstar9]

Step-Sister Plotted To Marry F/N To A Scumbag, Now She's Stunned F/N Married Someone Way Better

Warning: Modern AU

A/N: Zhongli is a simp for F/N

A/N 2: Happy belated birthday, Zhongli. I'm sorry this took so long.

At a high-class banquet, F/N's stepsister publicly accused her of lacking restraint.

F/N covered her neck and gave the CEO of Qixing Holdings a playful slap on the wrist. “I told you to be gentle, but you never listen, acting just like a dog.”

Instead, Zhongli broadly smiled and said, “Sweetheart, it's all my fault.”

This was F/N's fifth blind date that month.

Under the table, F/N used her purse to block the hand from her blind date. When she looked up, she met a pair of greasy eyes. Unable to hold back any longer, she stood up abruptly and said, “Since Wen Cheng is uncomfortable, I'll leave first.”

As soon as F/N spoke, her stepmother, Qing Ling, objected. “I know F/N has high standards, but Wen Cheng is also a young talent. Don't let the two kids miss out just because I introduced them.”

F/N's father frowned disapprovingly at Qing Ling's words. “F/N, what exactly do you want your aunt to do to make you satisfied? Your aunt hasn't been eating or sleeping well these days because of your blind dates.”

F/N's stepsister, Ying Tai, handed her a glass of wine and tactfully interrupted F/N's father. “Dad, F/N didn't mean it.”

“But I do.” F/N smiled mischievously.

For a moment, Ying Tai's smile froze and she handed F/N the wine in her hand. “F/N, represent our family in toasting Wen Cheng as a gesture of good will from our family.”

Upon hearing this, F/N's father's expression softened considerably. “Ying Tai is the sensible one.”

Wen Cheng, with a sticky look, said, “It's okay. I actually like when people aren't sensible.”

F/N snatched the glass from Ying Tai's hand and splashed every drop on Wen Cheng's face without hesitation. “What daydream are you having?” she mockingly sneered.

Not long after leaving the private room, F/N keenly sensed that something was amiss. She hadn't expected to escape Ying Tai's wine glass on the surface but she hadn't evaded the sinister tactics of the mother and daughter behind her back. Her thoughts spiralled out of control; her temperature rose rapidly and her blood boiled. Through the reflective decorations, she faintly saw her cheeks turn scarlet and she didn't need to guest that Qing Ling and Ying Tai were up to no good. They might have even conspired with that male model, dog-llke and scrupulous Wen Cheng.

F/N then dodged the security guard-like figures and stumbled into the elevator, slamming a palm on the close button.

It was only then did F/N realize she was not alone in the elevator.

A man in a meticulously tailored high-end suit, casting a tall and imposing figure. With the light enhancing his graceful and proud demeanour.

Most importantly, this man was F/N's college senior Zhongli.

F/N's mind was already spinning. “Save me.” she pleaded, feeling her body going slack. As her consciousness faded, she could feel Zhongli carry her in his arms.

When F/N woke up, she was in a hotel room. The symptoms on her body hadn't eased, but had worsened. Mutely enduring the discomfort, F/N was already planning on how to deal with Qing Ling and Ying Tai the next day.

Zhongli hovered over F/N's side of the bed, a glass of aloe vera juice in hand. “Drink. You have to take responsibility for me.” he sat down beside F/N. “My family has strict rules; we are not allowed to share a room with the opposite gender. If such a situation occurs , I am obligated to make the woman my wife.” he then asked F/N to marry him and make him her legal husband.

A notification then popped up on F/N's still charging phone; a document had been sent to her phone: Zhongli's asset list.

Zhongli, as the CEO of Qixing Holdings, had an impressive display of properties and countless investments that showcased his immense wealth. “After marriage, half of these will belong to you.” he informed.

That removed any hesitation on F/N's part, “Good morning, honey.”

Zhongli and F/N walked out of the marriage registry office with their marriage certificate.

A black Rolls Royce with three licence plates from different places quietly waited outside.

F/N then returned home for a visit; not to announce the joyous news of her marriage to Zhongli to the world. Such a big surprise was meant to give Qing Ling and Ying Tai a huge shock.

At the door of F/N's house...

“Dad, Mom, F/N finally back.” Ying Tai looked out from the glass window of the living room. “Where did you go last night? How come you changed your clothes? And it's a limited edition.” she started bombarding F/N with questions, undoubtedly trying to stir up F/N's father's anger.

“What's going on?” F/N father, on the sofa, turned to look at Ying Tai impatiently.

“It's nothing.” F/N just grinned. “I just came back to get some stuff.”

With F/N out of earshot, Qing Ling dutifully worried about F/N's marriage.

Angrily, F/N's father scolded F/N as an disobedient daughter, but couldn't mess with her position in the company. After all, F/N was his only biological heiress. Ying Tai was only a year younger than F/N; Qing Ling was one of F/N's father's secretaries before with Ying Tai being rumoured to be F/N's father's illegitimate daughter.

After F/N's mother's death in a car accident, Qing Ling quickly married F/N's father with Ying Tai, hoping to inherit the family's fortune. Qing Ling had spent years sowing discord between F/N and her father. After finding out that F/N's father had appointed F/N as deputy director with the intention of her taking over the company, Qing Ling, eager to bind F/N for her own interests, came up with the idea of blind dates to interfere with F/N's marriage.

However, both F/N and her father were not fools; on Ying Tai's first day at home, F/N had pulled out the DNA test she had kept secretly at hand and showing that there were no blood relation. In addition to ensuring F?N that she was his sole inheritor, F/N's father had also asked her to turn a blind eye to Qing Ling and Ying Tai,

When Ying Tai saw F/N pull her luggage down the staircase, she exaggeratedly covered her mouth. “Don't make dad angry again. If he finds out you're living with another man...”

F/N sneered, “If you have time to care about me, you'd better worry more about yourself.”

Seeing F/N was way too calm, Ying Tai grew suspicious and hurried to her room.

For some time, Zhongli's and F/N's martial life was relatively peaceful, until Ying Tai posted a group photo, with the caption screaming out about the breathtaking love story of Zhongli and Guizhong; Guizhong had been in love with Zhongli for many years. In the centre of photo, Zhongli and Guizhong gazed at each other from a distance as if an entire country had passed between them.

F/N's heart was immediately doused in ice cold water and she threw the cufflinks she had given the cheating Zhongli into the trash can.

Just then, a message came from Zhongli: I have reserved a table of two at a couple's restaurant; tonight at 7 Col 30.

That night, instead of directly confronting Zhongli, F/N lumbered into a host club where she was introduced to a newcomer.

The club's dazzling lights were suddenly blocked by a slender figure, casting a dark shadow in front of F/N and a familiar voice whispered into F/N's ear, “Is this how you accuse me of cheating, my dear?”

Zhongli stood in the backlight, his expression vague.

“Big Boss...” the young host stammered and got up, giving his spot to Zhongli.

“Let's talk about it when we get back.” Zhongli heaved F/N into a fireman's carry and carried her to his car.

In the Zhongli's car...

“F/N, regarding your accusations just now, I can only prove my innocence.” Zhongli assured. “I waited for you at the restaurant for two hours. When you didn't arrive, I had to use some means to find you.”

F/N pulled out her phone and saw a bunch of missed calls and unread messages from Zhongli and her assistant. Finding Ying Tai's social media and demanded, “What's the deal with you and your ex rekindling things?”

Zhongli immediately silenced F/N with a heavy kiss on the lips.

In Zhongli's house...

“Don't move.” Zhongli carried F/N into the house over his shoulder. “No infidelity, no moonlight tryst.” his deep, rational voice sounded in F/N's ear after he settled her onto the study desk. “Only you.” as tender kisses landed on F/N's neck, she turned her head away and met the gaze of the entire bookshelf; the entire wall was filled with photos from different periods of F/N's life.

t was then, everything clicked in F/N's mind and she cautiously asked, “Zhongli, you do like me?”

“I love you, F/N.” Zhongli replied without hesitation. “Now, I want to fulfil my husbandly duties with you.”

The next morning...

F/N was awakened by a phone call, her father's voice was roaring on the other end, but F/N just hung up, too exhausted to even answer.

A second call came in from Qing Ling; if she hadn't pulled that stunt, F/N wouldn't have remembered that today was her father's birthday. She went to great lengths to arrange the banquet.

Zhongli had already gone to work early in the morning, so F/N booked an appointment with the styling studio after informing Zhongli.

After doing her hair, F/N rushed to the banquet scene where Qing Ling was chatting with Ying Tai with various guests enjoying themselves.

Ying Tai was the first to notice F/N, “F/N, dad has been waiting for you for a long time.” her voice as exaggerated as her expression.

Many people around cast strange looks at F/N.

Amidst whispers and murmurs, F/N's father approached from not too far away. Pointing at her, he sneered, “If Ying Tai hadn't said, I wouldn't have known I had a daughter like you.”

Qing Ling tried to whitewash the situation, “What are you talking about? F/N works hard at the company and isn't often home.”

“Yes, dad.” Ying Tai chimed in. “F/N is so busy at work every day, unlike me, who just stays at home.”

F/N's father immediately made a decision, “Since you're busy with work, I've decided to let Ying Tai join the company as the Director of the Marketing Department.”

“Thank you, dad.” Ying Tai's eyes lit up with joy. “I will strive to be like F/N.”

F/N smirked mockingly; when she was initially placed in the company, she was only assigned to lead a small team in a business unit. She had rotated through various Departments in the company and worked hard to secure several major deal, before securing the general manager position. In F/N's father's eyes, she had no sense of belonging to the family, no respect for him as family head and her contributions to the company was merely expected. F/N knew with her father still at the helm, the company will not prosper; so she figured it was time for him to step down and let her take over.

“F/N, Wen Cheng is here.” Ying Tai suddenly grabbed F/N, excitement sparkling in her eyes. “The last time we met, Wen Cheng said he really liked you but you left too soon to get to know him better.”

F/N shrugged indifferently, “If you think he's so great, why don't go on a blind date with him? You can have this blind date prospect all to yourself. I think you two make a good match.”

Ying Tai grew green in anger, only to have Qing Ling pull her daughter away before the situation escalated. Qing Ling had intended to use the birthday celebration banquet to let Ying Tai select a desirable match for herself.

F/N was quietly nursing a cup of iced water in a corner when suddenly, there was a commotion at the entrance. She glanced at the door and locked eyes with the newcomer.

Zhongi, locating his wife, made his way to F/N through the crowd with his assistant in tow.

At the heart of the banquet where Qing Ling and Ying Tai were mingling with the guests, they saw the scene and their pupils contracted. Qing Ling knew her opportunity had arrived; the young man in front of her was the youngest person in power: even the status F/N's family had painstakingly achieved was a mere subsidiary in Zhongli's eyes. Most importantly, he rarely attended events; his presence here indicated something that interested him. No matter who he's interested in right now, it will eventually become Ying Tai's possession. Her face lit up with a brilliant smile as she took Ying Tai's hand and approached Zhongli to chat.

“Mr. Zhongli, your presence here truly honours us.” Qing Ling wasted no time in pushing Ying Tai forward. “This is my youngest daughter, Ying Tai. She has admired you for a long time. Would you honour us with a dance?”

“No time.” Zhongli's icy tone shot the mother-daughter pair down.

“What's this?” Ying Tai whined, pointing to F/N's neck with fake concern after Zhongli took F/N's hand to lead her to the dance floor. “Don't make dad angry again. The last time you didn't come home at night, dad ended up in hospital because of you. My friends saw you alone at the hospital last time. You should take care of yourself, even if it's a misunderstanding.”

Her declaration sent the guests talking and F/N's father stood on the side, his face turning ashen.

F/N held Zhongll's hand and boldly declaring in front of everyone, “Let me introduce you all, this is my husband. I told you to be discreet last night, but you didn't listen.” she smacked Zhongli's arm playfully.

“Honey, it's all my fault.” Zhongli admitted. “I believe there's no need to explain our matters to others.”

Ying Tai who had just shed a few tears, froze, whilst Qing Ling's face turned unpleasant.

“F/N is my lawful wife and I won't want to hear any slander or defamation against her from others.” Zhongli announced. “This is just a warning and I hope there won't be a next time.”

“We hope you cooperate with our work.” Zhongli's assistant stepped in. “If there's a next time, our Legal Department will fully defend the Lady's rights.”

“Uncle,” Zhongli turned to F/N's father. “Rest assured, I will always treat F/N well. She hasn't been treated well under your care and I don't have the grace to call you anything else but uncle. As for the collaboration you mentioned before, I suggest you manage the right people. You're getting old and it's time to pass the baton to the younger generation.”

After the banquet...

F/N's father was admitted to the hospital after the shocking revelation; he had been too indulgent in his younger years and his body revealed many hidden illnesses as he aged.

F/N slammed down any chances of Qing Ling and Ying Tai's vying for power hard; even before Qing Ling was appointed Director, she was escorted out by security. She even made sure the evidence of Ying Tai not being his biological child was placed by her father's sick bed.

Seeing that their former Director was done for, the company shareholders began siding with F/N and allowing her to take over the company smoothly.

[narcjsistx]

𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 | kaiser x reader

— part fourteen, penultimate chapter

plot: kaiser comforted you after a bad and slow breakup, but what will happen now considering what you two shared? is everything still unexpected or is there something you both simply have yet to realize?. fluff shit 'cause yeah!!

words: 3.3k (3329)

extra: it will probably become a multi part story, tell me if you're interested in the final part!

At least two months had passed since that famous TV appearance, in front of all of Germany and even in front of the whole world, since your revelations had reached people worldwide. Everyone, to your great surprise, was waiting for nothing but your version of the story, which had finally arrived. You had publicly spoken so badly of Gabriel that everyone, connecting the dots, had come to the conclusion that your version was the truthful one, and that Gabriel's words had been nothing but nonsense from the very beginning. He had made it all up to make you look bad, just like his plan had envisaged, but he hadn't predicted that you were smarter than him

And so, while the whole world was loving you again and you were finally reaching the peak of a new life, Gabriel was sinking into the abyss he had created for himself. The hatred that they had previously directed towards you was now entirely towards him, who strangely had disappeared from the scene for a few weeks already, after his dismissal from the TraumLaufsteg. The agency was now in the hands of a female assistant of Ursula, who had also disappeared and was presumably in another country. The new director was lovely, however, after your statements you had resigned from TraumLaufsteg, deciding to take a big step: to open your own modeling agency and continue with your same job, model. You would have debuted as director in less than six months, but the world had already heard about your project, and several models had already sent you their resumes to join the team, both famous women and others still at their first steps. But it made you happy, you weren't afraid to dedicate yourself to something anymore now that you knew no one was trying to ruin you

The only thing that continued to be ruined was your makeup, which Kaiser loved to remove every time you got ready for work or when you came home at night. Since that liberation on live television, the relationship between you and Michael had improved so much that it didn't seem possible, even though you had known him all your life. You loved each other, maybe too much, but you didn't see the problem in that: you had spent too much time apart, so it was a way to make up for lost time. Since the truth had come out, both of you had paid less attention to the cover-ups you had imposed on yourselves, and many had realized that you were living in his house again. Photos of you and him holding hands had also surfaced, and by now for many you were an official couple, even if you hadn't confirmed it yet

It didn't bother you or Michael, but you didn't want to make it official to the world yet, you wanted to wait a little longer, just to completely dispel the idea that Kaiser was just a replacement for Gabriel, which was absolutely not true. You were fine with being seen in ways as a couple, since you had been secretly together for about half a year now. You would have left it to fate, a bit like you had always done

This time you didn't have to worry about anything at all. It would all have gone very calmly

Today is a big day, both for you and your boyfriend. It's the first time you've gone to watch one of his games since rumors began that you're a couple, and for Kaiser it's the first time he's played as captain, which is usually given to another member of Bastard Munchen. He took the role after years on the team, and only you know how proud he is of it, it's always been a dream of his, since the early days in the team. The stadium is full, and tight in your jersey with his number, you look for a place in the VIP section of the players, the seats dedicated to family or partners. You had insisted on taking a simple seat in the stands, but Kaiser had insisted on giving you the VIP seat, a seat that was usually always empty since he never had any family members to come and watch him. You couldn't say no to him, so you just accepted, while being happy

There was still a little while to go until the start of the match, which was to be played in one of the biggest stadiums in Berlin against a French team, whose name you had heard several times but could not remember. The players were all already on the field to warm up, the coaches were sitting on the benches together with the possible substitutes, studying and confirming the positions of the players. The VIP seats were quite full with family members and partners, who greeted you even though they didn't know exactly who you were there for, even knowing the rumors about you and Kaiser. You appreciated that they didn't know exactly who you were for, since you were also very friends with Ness, who you had known since your brother was coaching the team

Surprise effect, that's what you called it

As you took your seat, many of the fans noticed your presence, also noticing the jersey you were wearing. You smiled and greeted all the people who were screaming your name, trying to reciprocate all the love they were giving you

"They want you, huh?" says a voice behind you, a few meters away. You turn around already knowing who it is, smiling as you approach the boy, crossing your arms with an amused smile "Obviously the only star today is not just you" you say meeting the already slightly sweaty face of Kaiser, who had taken a small break just to greet you. The stadium erupts in a powerful roar seeing you and the captain interact, even though you don't know what you were talking about. You laugh to yourself as you hear the scream, while this time the one smiling is your boyfriend "I don't know whether to be happy or sad, you know how much i love being the star. But wow, maybe seeing you wear my jersey makes me think I should be happy" he says, amused

You roll your eyes at his comment, even though it amuses you to see him so sarcastic “Anxiety?” you ask, genuinely curious, but he shakes his head “Anxiety, match and Michael Kaiser don’t go together in the same sentence. You should know that” he says, and you nod “You’re not entirely wrong” you say, agreeing with him. Kaiser hardly felt anxious when it came to soccer, which for a long time had been his only reason for living. You knew how attached he was to this sport, which not only gave him fame, but also made him feel alive. It was his job, after all

The two of you look at each other for a while, hearing only the words in the wind of the people in the stadium. Seeing you, feeling you, knowing that you are finally free to do the same things you have always done makes you so proud of yourself, a feeling that you no longer had inside you for a long time. It was nice to be able to do again what you had been used to all your life, including cheering for Kaiser. And now, in front of so many people watching you, it was even more satisfying

"You know..." Kaiser says, breaking the silence between you, taking a few steps forward. You come back to reality, paying attention to your boyfriend "I have several goals to achieve today, one is a little more complex. If you see me doing strange things, don't pay attention. That's what I have in mind" he says, and you tilt your head "What do you have in mind?" you ask curiously, but the referee's whistle makes you understand that the match is about to begin. You remain in doubt, waving to Kaiser who returns to the center of the field, flanked by his faithful Ness, who greets you with his usual genuine smile. You sigh, taking your seat as the game officially begins: in an instant the ball starts moving all over the big field, a bit like the thoughts in your head. What is Kaiser up to? You know perfectly well how unpredictable he can be, but you know for a fact that he would never do something that would bother you or break some of your limits. But he said it was something strange, or at least he thinks so. What is going through his mind?

You try to focus on the game, leaving aside what's on your mind, which never ceases to give you a hint of annoyance mixed with curiosity. Bastard Munchen today seems to be playing better than usual, with their new captain who stands out as he normally would, but today with an added regality. The ball often passes under his feet, however for now no goals, from either team, seem to end up in the net, leaving many wasted assists. The first 45 minutes of the game pass quickly, with short pauses and an offside. A few yellow cards are also thrown around, but the German team doesn't seem the least bit worried about the lack of goals, or at least that's what you see on your boyfriend's face

The break between the first and second half begins. You get up, grabbing the water bottle and a towel for Kaiser, while he and his other teammates approach the VIP seats. Kaiser arrives sweaty, while you throw him the water bottle that he catches in flight, starting to drink voraciously due to the lack of hydration. You are about to pass him the towel too when he lifts the edge of his shirt to rub it on his face, exposing his abs.

The scene doesn't go unnoticed by you, and he seems to understand it when he comes closer to you smirking "Is something wrong?" he asks innocently, and you throw the towel in his face "Ask this to all your fangirls who will have died after seeing you lift your shirt" you say teasing him "It's not that there aren't photos of me without a shirt online, thanks to the ads. Although the only one who has seen me with nothing at all is you" he says in such a casual tone of voice that only after a few seconds of realization you look up, completely embarrassed "Could you repeat that?" you ask with red cheeks, but he shrugs "You heard perfectly" he says chuckling

You ignore the blush, when Ness appears behind Kaiser's back, greeting you with a smile. You've always had a good relationship with him, certainly different from the one you have with Michael, but Alexis was actually your very first friend among all the players your brother trained. You don't get to see each other very often, but you still love him a lot, also because he's a good friend of Kaiser "Hey!" he says, and you greet him happily "Hey! We've been talking for a while" you say, clasping your hands in your lap, while Michael looks at you "You're right. I preferred to wait before talking to you... you know..." Ness says, looking a little embarrassed, but you shake your hands "Don't worry, Alexis. I understand, it's no problem. I'm fine now" you say, smiling at him, and he seems to breathe a sigh of relief. He probably meant that he wanted to talk to you about the matter with Gabriel, but that he couldn't for some reasons. You wonder if he actually knows the truth between you and Kaiser, since they are so close and he wouldn't tell anyone anyway. Who knows

The break ends, the ball starts rolling again between the feet of the players, who all seem to be trying a little harder than in the first half. Every now and then Kaiser's voice can be heard, as he shouts out things to do to his teammates, but everything seems to be under control. The minutes tick by again and you often find yourself on your feet as a goal is about to be scored, but no one gets in the net due to the good defense of the opposition. An irritated frown seems to form on your boyfriend's face, one you've seen on his face so many times you know it by heart. As the clock reaches 90 minutes no one seems to be scoring, neither Bastard Munchen nor the French team. The anxiety among the coaches and members is starting to set in, while some in the VIP seats start saying that there probably won't be any additional time, since they are perfectly on time. Yet, Micheal Kaiser's overly proud face seems to finally show which team is already the winner of the match, even though it's 0 - 0

The whistle blows, less than two minutes left in the game. Kaiser steals the ball with a quick move, pushing ever closer to the enemy net, occasionally passing the ball to Ness who passes it back to him when he has the chance. The defense slowly melts away and goes into disarray as God's chosen emperor arrives, leaving no escape for anyone. The team seems to be so excited that they don't notice that they have left a hole in front of the net completely undefended, giving free access to Kaiser, who positions himself in the center and prepares for his iconic shot, the kaiser impact, which with a precise and elegant arc ends up in the net in the 89th minute

The stadium explodes in a powerful roar, almost annoying due to too much shouting. The goal is confirmed by the referee with the whistle, which also marks the end of the hard fought match. The teammates cheer against Kaiser, who with a cheeky smile shows his iconic tattoo, the blue rose of the impossible that is possible. You get up from your seat screaming and clapping your hands, confirming once again that you are proud of the boy you love more than yourself and who has done so much for you. Thus, in his natural habitat, the field, Kaiser Micheal seems to shine under the lights of the stadium and the sweat due to the continuous running. He shines so bright that you wonder if you really deserve someone like him by your side, so spectacular. While everyone is around him and the stadium is still in a frenzy, his eyes search for you. Almost immediately you both look at each other, as if you were congratulating him like this, promising him to do it better when you were alone

But apparently, he seems to have other plans

Pushing his way through his teammates, Kaiser starts running toward you, an expression on his face that you can't quite read: he looks happy, but as if he's about to do something you don't expect. As he approaches, a voice calls you from the stands placed a short distance from the VIP seats. You think you misunderstood, that you thought wrong, but when the same voice calls you back for others times, you can do nothing but turn around in horror, hoping you're wrong

Gabriel, standing against the wall of the stands, is calling you loudly. He seems visibly thinner, his eyes dull and dark circles surround his eyes. Seen like this you struggle to recognize him, but you know it's him and it's not your mind that's playing a nasty trick on you. He's been gone for a while, yet now in this beautiful moment, he reappears as if nothing had happened, calling you as if he hadn't tried countless times to swallow you once and for all, making you choke on the same poison he gave you. Even as another person, he's here

As if they had taken away all the air around you, you can't breathe anymore. Seeing him like this, so bad but free, seems like a blackmail of fate, which perhaps really wants to destroy you like your ex. You don't even know why he's calling you, you don't even care, the important thing is that he's here and for the umpteenth time he hasn't let you go, even after everything you've done to him. Maybe there's no parallel universe where he's leaving you, maybe you really need to accept that you'll never get rid of the person who hates you the most in the world. Maybe you really should accept that there's no way to start a new life

No. You started again

This time you won, not him

He is part of your past life, one full of regrets and too much pain, one that destroyed you but made you strong, even if you didn't want to

You glare at him, sighing before turning, running towards Kaiser. The blond takes you in his arms, lifting you up as if you were a feather. You laugh at the gesture, ignoring the people watching you fascinated, ignoring Gabriel. You both laugh because you have no reason to be sad; you laugh because you know that you are each other's love now; you laugh because there will never be nothing in your life as painful as it has been lately

There's Kaiser now. There's no Gabriel anymore. And if that means running into your boyfriend's arms all the time, you're more than happy to do that a hundred thousand times. As the stadium screams his name, the two of you look at each other like only a couple could, a couple who knows what they've been through. You hear Gabriel's screams as he's escorted away by security, and he's probably going to be put in some sort of prison now because of everything he's done to you. If this is a new point, like a start point, you are more than happy

"Stop me now, because you know exactly what I'm about to do. If you don't want to stop me, just tell me. Because if I start, I won't stop" he says still holding you up, his arms holding you without any problems. You nod at his words, feeling truly happy for the first time "Do it, Kaiser"

And so, in front of millions of people between the stadium and the television, Kaiser throws himself on your lips, your hands framing his face while you return the kiss with a genuine smile. The scream from before amplifies to unimaginable levels, while you can't help but be happy. It's a kiss that tastes of many things, but above all, of victory, a victory achieved with pain and commitment. In front of the people watching you, you have just confirmed that you love each other, that the person who is now in your heart is the best friend who has always been by your side, that finally a person who knows how to treat you right has your heart in his hands, and you don't have to be afraid of coming out sad or destroyed again. When you pull away, still in his arms but now with your feet on the ground, you can't help but smile at each other. If that's not a good way to remove the cover you've put on each other, you have no idea what is. If this isn't finally the love you deserve, you have no idea what is. You didn't think you'd get to this point, in fact, you never imagined it. You didn't think you could get to the point of finally having your life in your hands again, this time with lots of future projects and a person who really cares about you. Maybe suffering was a good way to get here, maybe that hotel room was the stage for something you couldn't define, except with one word

unexpected.

tag(s): @rroxii ; @kittenish0 ; @bungoustraydogsno1fan ; @sabrina-senpai ; @vannilaa16 ; @kaz-0e ; @tamashithe2nd ; @x3nafix ; @sleepycatswise

[lazycats-stuff]

I had read a fic of yours where Batson was Australian, I don't know if you have other requests like this but if you accept, make one with Batson being Brazilian and he likes football, carnival and who likes to listen and dance to music by the great diva Anitta

Okay, that's cool. I never really knew a lot about Brazil, but I love learning more about it. Bruce is really mister worldwide lol.

Summary: (Y/N) is Brazilian.

Warnings: none

According to Jason, Bruce has become mister Worldwide. Why, I might hear you asking? He, as a playboy, sleeps with a lot of women. One of those women was a Brazilian model and the two had a son together. Bruce took a DNA first because he didn't want to take any type of chances.

It wouldn't be a first time that a woman tried to claim that a kid was his, but wasn't. Turns out, DNA came back telling him that (Y/N) was his son. Thankfully, the woman was very understanding and Bruce sent her money every month and he would visit when he could.

Unfortunately, (Y/N)'s mom passed away when he was a teen and he came to live in the USA with his father and half brothers. It was a little bit weird at first, a new city, a father who is a vigilante, his brothers too, a butler who is their handler so to speak...

Either way, it was weird, but he was happy to be here with his family. That was something that he thought that Americans were lacking sometimes. That feeling of tight nit love and family. His family, including grandmas, grandpas, aunts and much more lived within a walking distance from him.

Okay, that may sound like Americans don't share that same sentiment about family, but (Y/N) didn't really see it. It may that in Brazil that is just amplified by 10 or it could be something else of course. However, his family is tight knit and very loving.

(Y/N) didn't think that he would have that here in America, but hey, he can't really complain can he.

However, there is a single thing he will fight until the day he dies. His fellow Brazilian men and women, his brothers and sisters would agree. Soccer is not football. Football is football, you play with your feet. That's why is so popular.

And that's why Europeans and Latinos went nuts for it. Honestly, (Y/N) watches every game with Brazil's national team, even if Bruce had to pay more for the program. He has the money. He can't let his son suffer, can he?

Also, American Football should be named American Soccer, because the ball is never on the ground. (Y/N) will die by that statement and he will fight everyone he needs to fight with to prove it.

Until his last breath and last drop of blood.

One thing he loves more than anything, alongside the football of course, is the famous Rio de Janeiro carnival. He made Bruce and the rest of the family go every single year with him. Thankfully, he still has his Brazilian passport with him.

And the family has a translator for when they go, because not a lot of people speak English, only in bigger cities and popular tourist sites. It's fun to see (Y/N) speak his native language with so much passion and everyone has decided to learn it to talk to (Y/N).

(Y/N) was proud and nothing but supportive, even though at times they were butchering the language, but it's always the thought that matters. And Portuguese is an easier language to pick up. (Y/N) even had some rewards for them.

Every time they could hold a some what correct conversation when it comes to grammar and vocabulary, they would get a dish from the Brazilian cuisine. It's the famous Feijoada and it's just (Y/N)'s favorite. Everyone loved when (Y/N) made it and it was with his grandma's recipe.

That's what motivated them to learn, because even Damian swore by that dish and he loved it the most. Bruce and the rest loved it, it was different then the rest of the American cuisine. Of course, (Y/N) introduced them to another dishes, but everyone loved the Feijoada.

(Y/N) knew it.

One thing he loves is listening to Anitta. He loves her music and they would often find him dancing while he was cleaning, dusting, vacuuming and other times. It made him happy and Bruce found (Y/N) humming the melody and the lyrics every day.

Everyone soon knew the lyrics to the songs and the melody. And besides, they are all learning Portuguese and it was fun to learn it that way. Dick found her songs great and listened to it during his workouts and Dick loved it.

And one thing that Bruce was proud of was the fact that (Y/N) didn't decided to assimilate. He still has his values and he wasn't afraid to say that he is Brazilian. If he has an interview he is often found correcting people and he is not afraid to say it.

Due to the fact that he is not afraid to say he is from Brazil, people of Brazil have claimed him and whenever he comes, they just shower him with love. He is extremely popular and Bruce knows he shouldn't worry about it, but still.

Bruce worries about his children all of the time, especially when they are in another country, especially on vacation. (Y/N) often told him not to worry and did Bruce listen?

No.

One thing more thing that made Bruce love Brazil more than anything in this world is the fact that they take their hygiene more than some Americans do. (Y/N) said to everyone that during the summer he would take 3 showers per day sometimes.

Damian found that interesting. Brazil is a humid and hot country, considering that it's a tropical country and the heat is often unforgiving.

(Y/N) said that the shower made him slow down and think about relaxing. He often clears his head and feels less stress afterwards. He has explained the shower routine, but still, the family they don't really understand it, but hey, as long (Y/N) is happy.

And one thing that Brazilians love doing that Bruce found nice was the way that they are affectionate. Kisses, hugs and touching. Of course, with consent. (Y/N) understood that not really liked it, but his family loved it.

Damian would often get picked randomly and hugged from behind. Damian would often grumble about it, but he loved it. Bruce loved the hugs and the rest loved the hugs too.

Bruce was just happy that one of them was normal emotionally. (Y/N) was trained in martial arts to protect himself, like everyone, but decided to not be a vigilante. He just couldn't be and Bruce respected it.

(Y/N) was their safety net and nobody would have it any other way.

[aechii]

Idk if this like sounds weird but can you write a fic where musician!Jude and model!reader broke up and Jude is mad petty about it and writes a song about her, and everyone knows it’s about her cause he’s not hiding it?😭🏃🏾‍♀️

₍⁠₍ BLUE ₎⁠₎

A/N ?! dearest anon, this is not weird at all!! i'm actually excited for this since it's different to what i usually get requested for. i changed it up a bit, so instead of a song, it's a whole album... but enjoy my luvss xx

judebellingham

liked by jobebellingham, gioreyna and 2,990,238 others

judebellingham 'BLUE' out now x

~

jobebellingham proud of you 🙏❤ liked by judebellingham

judebellingham ❤

user1 OMG!!!!!!!!??????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!

user2 AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

user3 AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA X2877813819

user4 TOOK SOME DAMN TIME.

gioreyna only took like.... 6 months. what if i died?

user5 gio 😭 judebellingham but you're still here, pissing me off. say ty gioreyna thanks 🙄

user6 new music after a half year. pigs must be falling from the sky

user7 i'm looking at the songs and........... uh........... is this what i think it is???? 😃

user8 OH! user9 it's the 5th song for me. i am SO READY (i am not) user10 the first album we get after allllllll this time 😭

alexanderarnold66 💪❤ liked by judebellingham

user11 ohhhh he is shady for this. soooooooo shady

user12 this is jude............. what else are we expecting

user13 guys! what if we're just jumping to conclusions!

user14 bffr girl..... look at the tracklist-

user15 TO SEE THE STATE OF TWITTER AFTER A FEW HOURS WILL BE A DREAM

user16 REAL user17 i've already seen people talking about one song called 'ifhy'... y/n what did u do to my bby 😭 user15 @/user17 UH OH 😯

user15 LOSING MY SHIT, THIS IS GONNA BE AOTY

user16 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

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y/n_l/n posted on their close friends' story.

caption: no coz why does this album hit so much, and it's dragging MY ass?? 😭

~ replies ~

your_bff i will have to agree with you on that one 😭

y/n_l/n he had no right tbh

your_bff he has ALL rights

y/n_l/n fairs 😞

-

y/n_l/n

liked by your_bff and 1,899,230 others

y/n_l/n 2:28

~ comments ~

your_bff i give up with you 😭

y/n_l/n i truly apologise

your_bff anyways 😭 gorgeous 😭 girl 😭

y/n_l/n ty babe xx 😭😭😭

user1 so cryptic, yet so OBVIOUS

user2 oh she definitely texted jude as soon as he released blue

user1 SHE DID 100000000000%

user3 she is feeling it fr 😭

user4 i'm so sure she's streaming blue like her life depends on it

y/n_l/n caught lol user4 NSLDNLAKFA user5 not an ounce of shame 💀 user6 may i not get the lack of self control y/n has, amen 🙏 user7 at least she has good taste your_bff I GIVE UP.

user8 if me being delulu is correct, and the caption is about the first song on the album, 'azure', at 2:28..............................

user9 NUH UH user10 at this point, she's all the coloured flags but green, confusing as hell 😭

[1000roughdrafts]

hey! if you take requests, i’m just wondering if you’d consider a sister winchester one? maybe her at 18? i love your writing so much, and i’d really love something like a hurt reader/dying reader?? something super angsty ahaha

Oh, for sure! Angst is my favorite! (as I'm sure you can tell by the word count lol) sorry it’s taken me like 3 years to get to this 😞

A/N: this was meant to post 2/28/24 because I wanted to ease into coming back with an every other week posting schedule BUT I’m just too excited and antsy for that lol also it’s set in Season 1, Episode 1

Thank you by the way!

Title: Please Wake Up

Warnings: swearing, graphic description of injury and illness, blood angst, hurt/dying reader, depiction of medical procedures, takes place in season 1 episode 1 :)

Word Count: 5.8k

Being third born after two boys, Y/N always felt like she had big shoes to fill. Despite her best efforts to impress the man, she never really formed a bond with John. Her next role model was Dean, who became more of a father to her than John ever was or could be.

Until her eleventh birthday, Dean did her hair into pigtails every day, partly because he hadn't learned to do any other hairstyle but mostly because he thought it was the cutest on her. He'd pack her and Sam's lunch with snacks he'd bought from vending machines and even pretend to take her on hunts because he knew she wanted to be exactly like him.

When she wasn't learning about monsters and guns with Dean, she spent time with Sam. He'd help her with her homework or play board and card games. They have as much in common as Y/N and Dean. Neither Sam nor Y/N got along with John, and neither remember their mothers. 

Y/N's mother was a woman John met in Nebraska three years after the boy's mom died. The affair only lasted a night, but to his surprise, he heard from her again six months later with the news that they had a baby girl on the way. John was shocked and heartbroken. He couldn't bear the thought of bringing another child into the life of hunting.

John kept his distance, adamant that Y/N would be better off without him, and when another three months of silence went by, he figured that Y/N's mother came around to see it his way. Unfortunately, her pregnancy was complicated, as was the birth, and it turned out that having Y/N is what killed her. 

When John got the call, he had half a mind to let the state take custody of little Y/N. Indeed, they would provide her with a better life than he could. John decided to meet her at least, and when he laid eyes on her perfect little face, he couldn't bring himself to abandon her. 

Y/N was barely sixteen when Sam left for college. While she was proud of him for putting himself first, it broke her heart for him to go the way he did. She missed him more and more every day, often keeping Dean up at night with her sniffling and crying. After a while, he would get into bed next to her when the tears started and sing Hey Jude while playing with her hair to help her fall asleep. That went on for another six months before she finally started to fall asleep without crying. 

For her seventeenth birthday, Dean came across a necklace he'd wanted to get for her since Sam left. From his wallet, he took out the only picture he had of the sibling trio, representing the single moment of their life where John treated them like regular kids, and using his pocket knife, he carved around their heads and bodies to match the exact size of the locket, smiling proudly at himself when it fit perfectly. 

Now at eighteen, she stands next to the Impala while Dean lugs their bags out, drops them into the trunk, and slams it shut. He heads for the driver's door but stops when he realizes Y/N hasn't opened hers yet. Eyebrows raised, he twirls a finger in the air as if to say, 'Let's get a move on.'

"Are you ever gonna teach me how to drive, Dean?" she asks. "I mean, you've got to, you know?" 

"No, I don't. Get in," Dean says. She does so with a huff. Dean checks the mirrors before backing out of their parking spot. Turning to Y/N, he says, "Besides, as long as I'm around, you don't need to," but softens his face into a smile when he looks at her. "Cause there's no way in Hell I'll ever let you drive my car." 

Y/N lets out a soft chuckle. "It doesn't have to be this car, Dean!" She rolls the window down, letting the cool breeze hit her face. "What happens if we get separated and I'm being chased by… I don't know, something that has super speed, and my only way back to you is to steal a car and -" 

"Stop. First of all, you should know that I'd never put you in that kind of danger," Dean says, disgusted by the mere thought. He lets out a long sigh. "I'll teach you," he says, looking at her gleaming smile. He tries his damnedest to see her for the adult she's becoming, but he only sees the happy baby in pull-ups he used to feed marshmallows and jello to on a motel room floor. "Just… not yet, okay?" 

She scoffs, "Most people learn to drive when they're only fifteen. I mean, you took me to freaking Vegas with a fake ID for my birthday, for fuck's sake!" 

"I said not yet, Y/N!" he says, shooting her the 'dad look' he's been perfecting since she was four. 

"Fine," she grumbles. She clasps her hands, "So I was looking through news articles, and there seem to be vamps in the next town. Should we be on that?" 

Dean clears his throat and needlessly adjusts the rear-view mirror. "Actually, kiddo, we're on something else right now." He keeps his head straight but glances at her out of the corner of his eyes. Whispering, he says, "We're gonna go get Sammy." 

Y/N's eyes widen as her head whips to look at him. "What?" 

He keeps his eyes on the road, "yeah, uh, with Dad missing... we could use the help," he says, gripping the steering wheel tighter. 

"But Sam's at college!" Y/N scoffs, "he wanted out!" 

"He abandoned us!" he shouts, shaking his head at himself when he notices her shoulders tense. Her eyes peer into her lap, where her hands lie folded. “Look Y/N/N, I just… I can't shake this awful feeling that something is wrong." He waits for a response from her, but she only nods with thin lips. She tunes him out and focuses on the wind hitting the window. "I gotta make sure they're okay," he says softly. 

Over the years, Y/N has learned to trust Dean's intuition, but right now, it just feels like he's being selfish. She opts to stay quiet, even if it makes a long drive longer.

Y/N jolts awake at the sound of the trunk slamming shut. She takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She doesn't see Dean next to her, so she scans her surroundings through squinted eyes, hoping for a clue about her whereabouts. She finds a gas station receipt in her lap and flips it over to see the scribbles of Dean's handwriting telling her to 'stay put or else.' She rolls her eyes, crumpling it into a ball to throw it into the backseat.

She hears the voices of two familiar men, one of whom she hasn't heard in two years. Her heart races, and she fumbles with the seat belt, trying to unhook it with shaky hands. She jumps out of the car and turns in time to see Dean leaning on the back of the Impala.

"It's a law school interview," Sam says, "and it's my whole future on a plate," he glares.

"Law school?" Dean asks with a smirk. Y/N walks over to stand next to Dean. He shoots a quick, acknowledging glance her way. Sam's eyes shift between Dean and Y/N, softening when they land on Y/N, "so we got a deal or not?" he asks flatly.

Dean says nothing but lightly nods his head. Y/N runs towards Sam, nearly knocking him over with a hug.

"Y/N/N," he smiles. Pulling her even closer to him, he wraps his arms tightly around her back and kisses the top of her head. "I missed you," he whispers.

"I missed you, too," she says, her eyes welling up with tears. Sam looks at Dean just in time to see him press his lips together with an 'I told you so' in his eyes. Sam shakes his head, squinting at Dean just before he lets go of Y/N.

"Kay, I gotta put a bag together," he sighs, "I'll be right back."

He turns to head for the door, and Y/N doesn't take her eyes off him until he disappears into the building. She blinks her eyes and turns to face Dean. He pushes himself off the back of the car and silently heads for the driver seat.

Sam and Y/N sit in the car at a gas station while Dean heads for snacks. Sam opens his door but quickly looks over his shoulder to check on Y/N. This is when he notices the box of tapes sitting next to her. Intrigued, he shifts in the chair and asks her to hand them to him. Y/N is hesitant because it's hard to say how Dean would react, and she's always hated being in the middle of their fights but does so anyway. Sam rests his tongue between his lips as he takes the box from Y/N. Stretching his legs out of the car, he rests the box in his lap to filter through them.

"Hey," Dean says from behind the Impala, his mouth wrapped around a candy bar, "either of you want breakfast?" he asks, holding a soda and a bag of chips.

Y/N waits for Sam to answer first. "No, thanks," he says, glancing Dean's way momentarily.

"I do," Y/N smiles.

"So how'd you pay for that stuff? Three of you still running credit card scams?" Sam says, going back to looking through the cassettes.

"Yeah, well, hunting ain't exactly a pro ball career," Dean says, putting the gas nozzle back into the pump.

Y/N chimes in, "Besides, all we do is apply," she shrugs, "it's not our fault they send us the cards."

"Yeah? And what names did you write on the applications this time?" he asks, swinging his legs back inside the car and closing the door behind him.

"Uh, Burt Aframian," Y/N answers. Dean gets into the seat, handing Y/N the drink and chips. "Thank you," she chirps.

"And his son Hector," Dean adds, "scored two cards out of the deal."

"Sounds about right. I swear, man. You've gotta update your cassette tape collection."

Dean frowns, nearly offended. "Why?"

"Well, for one, they're cassette tapes, and two," Sam holds one up, "Black Sabbath? Motorhead?" he says, dropping them to grab another, "Metallica?" he laughs, "It's the greatest hits of mullet rock," he says as Dean rips the Metallica tape from his hand with a glare.

"Well, house rules, Sammy." Dean pops the tape into the player with a tight smile, "driver picks the music, shotgun shuts their cake-hole," he says, dropping the empty case into the box. "Isn't that right, Y/N?" he smirks into the rear-view mirror and smiles when he sees her roll her eyes.

"You know, Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old," Sam scolds, "it's Sam, okay?"

Turning the volume up, Dean cocks his head to the side, "sorry. I can't hear you. The music's too loud," he says with a slight chuckle.

Crashing a crime scene where police are still investigating is just another Saturday with Dean for Y/N, but seeing Sam's eyes widen at the box of Dean's fake IDs calls attention to how out of the norm this life is. Dean makes wise-ass comments to the cops, as usual, and Sam stomps on Dean's foot. Dean responds by smacking Sam's head as they bicker on the way back to the car, but Y/N can't help but grin from ear to ear.

Even when her brothers are arguing, Y/N couldn't possibly be happier. Today is her first hunt with both of her brothers and the first time in far too long since the three of them had been together for any reason.

They make their way to find Amy, who they learn is the girlfriend of the victim from listening to the cops on the bridge. They stop her while she's putting up missing posters, and after lying about being distant relatives of her boyfriend, they ask if she'd be willing to answer some questions to find him.

… "It's kind of this local legend," Amy's friend says after a few minutes of chatting. Massaging her thumb with her other hand, she continues, "This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago." Dean glances over at Sam and Y/N, who listen intently, "Well, supposedly, she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever."

At a local library, Dean searches the archive page for any murders on Centennial Highway with no results. Sam shoves Dean's chair, and when it rolls back, he scoots his chair to the computer to take over, earning him a slap from Dean. After replacing 'murder' with 'suicide,' a news article pops up.

"This was 1981. Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river," Sam reads.

"Does it say why she did it?" Y/N asks, scooting her chair closer to Sam to try and read the screen.

"Yeah," Sam says.

"What?" Dean says with raised eyebrows.

"An hour before they found her, she calls 911. Apparently, her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren't breathing." Sam lets out a breath, "both die," he says in a whisper.

The air grows thick around them, and Y/N frowns. "That's terrible," she says, shaking her head.

"'Our babies were gone,'" Sam reads, "'and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband Joseph Welch."

"Hmm," Dean points to the picture on the screen, "that bridge look familiar to you?"

They hit the bridge at nightfall. Crickets sing to water drumming against the rocks as it rushes under their feet. The clouds hang low in the sky, giving the air around them a haze.

"So," Dean says, peering over the bridge at the water, "this is where Constance took the swan dive," he says, leaning against the rail next to Y/N. 

"So you think Dad would have been here?" Sam asks in disbelief, looking over at Dean. 

"Well, he's chasing the same story, and we're chasing him," Dean shrugs, turning to walk down the bridge. 

Sam turns to follow. "Okay, so now what?" he says, forcing a breath through his nose. Y/N walks right next to him, still scared to let him out of her sight. 

"Now we keep digging until we find him. Might take a while," Dean grumbles. 

Sam stops walking, "Dean," he says, raising his hands before dropping them. "I told you. I've gotta be back by Monday." 

"Monday," Dean says, pivoting to make grueling eye contact with Sam, but only turns his body enough that he's still facing the bridge's railing. "Right," he says, shaking a finger, "the interview." The bridge creaks under him as he turns the rest of the way. 

"Yeah," Sam nods. 

"Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you?" Dean says, shifting his weight between his feet. "You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?" Dean asks, the animosity growing with each word. 

Sam shrugs, "maybe. Why not?" 

Dean's voice roughens, "Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know the things you've done?" 

Sam takes a few threatening steps toward Dean, "No, and she's not ever going to know," he scowls. 

"Well, that's healthy," Dean sneers. "You can pretend all you want, Sammy, but sooner or later, you're going to have to face up to who you really are," he says, turning around to continue walking. 

Sam huffs, "Who's that?" 

"You're one of us," Dean shrugs, a hand gesturing towards Y/N. 

"Hey! Leave me out of this," Y/N grumbles from ahead. 

"No," Sam says, speed walking towards Dean, "I'm not like you," he says, turning around as he stops in front of Dean. "This is not going to be my life."

Dean keeps his jaw tight. "Well, you have a responsibility to..." 

Y/N feels the tension rising and tries to plead with them to stop arguing, but they ignore her. "Guys!" she shouts again. 

"To Dad? And his crusade?" Sam scoffs. "If it weren't for pictures, I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like! And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her," he shakes his head, "Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back." 

Dean grips Sam's shirt and swings him around and against the bridge's railing with a clunk at Sam's weight against it. 

Y/N flips around and runs to their side, "Dean, what are you doing? Are you crazy?" She panics. But Dean continues to ignore her as he glares at Sam. 

After a long, breathless pause, Y/N shouts again, "Dean!" 

The misty air is still between them, and even the wind seems too frightened to move. It's as if the world is put on pause.

Dean's eyebrows raise, and he keeps a firm grip on Sam's shirt. Under his breath, he says, "Don't talk about her like that." 

He throws Sam's jacket from his hands and takes a few stabilizing steps backward in one movement. Y/N runs to check on Sam, who shakes her off with an "I'm fine" that sounds muffled compared to the pounding of her heart. A few tears escape her when she looks over at Dean walking away from them, but she doesn't realize she's crying until the taste of salt hits her lips. 

Her eyes return to Sam, shaking her head in disgust that Dean would treat him like that. She knew it had been rough for Dean since Sam left for college, but hell, it's been hard on her, too, and she's not throwing anyone against the side of a bridge!

Dean halts, “Sam. Y/N!” he calls. Y/N turns with a full-body glare, but her eyes widen when she sees a woman in a long, white dress standing on the bridge's railing. The woman looks over at them, and Y/N can see the resemblance to the picture of Constance. The woman's hair and dress sway in the wind, and she keeps her eyes on them as she allows herself to drop from the ledge. 

With a grunt, Sam rushes to the railing to look over it for her, Dean and Y/N not far behind him. 

"Where'd she go?" Dean barks. 

Breathless, Sam pushes out an "I don't know." 

The roar of the Impala's engine turning on startles them, their bodies whipping around just in time to see the headlights flick on. 

"What the-," Dean says. 

"Who's driving your car?" Y/N asks. 

Without taking his eyes off of the car, Dean pulls his keys from his pocket and jingles them, stealing Sam and Y/N's attention to them in unison. The engine revs, drawing back their wide eyes to the Impala. The tires squeal as the car begins to speed towards them. 

"Y/N, go! Go!" Dean says with a hand on each of his siblings, spinning them around to run in the opposite direction. Dean presses his hand firmly on Y/N's back as they run, keeping himself between her and the car. They run as fast as they can until Dean can feel the Impala's breath on his ankles, and he guides them towards the bridge's railing. 

Y/N's heart feels like a brick in her chest, weighing her down at the thought of jumping over. "I can't," she says in a breath, and all in a split second, she feels like her feet are cemented into the bridge's planks as Sam jumps over. "No!" she screams as Dean grips onto her arm, pulling them both over the bridge. 

Sam hangs from the ledge of the bridge, shouting for Y/N as her screams are washed out with a big splash. "Y/N!" he calls again from the back of his throat, climbing up the bridge to get on his knees. He looks over the bridge, scanning for Y/N and Dean, calling out when he sees his brother, "Dean! You alright?" 

"I'm super," Dean grumbles with an outstretched thumbs up. Lying on his back, half submerged in the muddy water. 

"I can't see Y/N! Where's Y/N?" Sam panics, and when the words hit Dean's ears, he springs to his feet in a second. He whirls around in a circle as he searches for her. 

"Y/N!" Dean shouts, wiping mud from his face. He paces around, "Y/N, where are you?" he yells, half-expecting her to pop out from behind a bush to scare him. 

The world spins around him for a moment, utterly void of sound aside from a ringing in his ears as Dean tries to comprehend what is happening. He closes his eyes tight, shaking his head to clear away the fog that covers him. They open onto the water, catching the moon's glimmer reflecting off something. He runs towards it, hopping from rock to rock until he finds Y/N's broken locket stuck in algae. Dean picks it up with shaky hands, recalling how her face lit up when he first gave it to her. She'd be devastated to see its state now. Fear spills down him in an icy chill.

His head swivels around in search of her. Tears, that he refuses to let fall, poke at his eyes when he sees her lying face down in the water, a bloody rock next to her.

“Y/N!” He shouts, rushing to her. He kneels to pull her out of the water by her shoulder, turning her over so that her back rests against his knee. "Y/N!" he yells again, and when she doesn't respond, he grabs her by the waist and hoists her over his shoulder. He grunts, shifting his weight before jogging for the shore. "Sam! I got her!" 

"Dean! Is she okay?" He calls out as he sprints down the side of the hill to catch up to them. The brothers reach the shore simultaneously, and Dean drops to his knees to gently set Y/N on the ground in front of him, Sam following suit. 

"Come on, be okay, be okay, be okay, be okay," Dean pleads softly, placing two fingers on her neck. His heart is beating so hard that he can't tell if it's her pulse he's feeling or his own. "Sam, I can't feel anything," he says. Dropping an ear to her mouth, he adds, "And I don't think she's breathing." 

"Call 911," Sam demands, ripping his jacket off to tie around Y/N's bleeding head wound. He quickly inspects the rest of her body for any bleeding before placing a hand on her chest. Looking up at Dean, who stands frozen, Sam puts his free hand on Dean's shoulder, "now, Dean!" he shouts, shoving him. 

Sam tilts Y/N's head back, checking again for a pulse, a breath, a twitch, a shudder, anything that meant he wouldn't have to perform CPR on his baby sister. He places his hands on her chest, one over the other, pausing in case her heart miraculously started again, but all he feels under his palms is the stillness of Y/N's wet and cold chest. 

Sam begins chest compressions, and the tears he'd been holding back rush out uncontrollably when he feels her ribs break under his palms. It makes him want to pull away, but he forces himself to continue. Dean watches in wide-eyed horror as he gives the 911 operator their location when asked, keeping his free hand pressed against his forehead. 

"Anything?" he shakily shouts at Sam after what feels like hours. Sam ignores him, counting out loud until he hits thirty again. He stops compressions to blow a shuddering breath into Y/N's mouth, watching her chest rise and fall before delivering another. "Hello! Is anybody on the way? My sister is dying here!" Dean shouts into the phone, but all that meets his ears is static. 

"Dean," Sam says with a heavy breath, beginning compressions again. "You gotta take over," he says between breaths. 

Without question, Dean drops his phone to the ground as he falls to his knees next to her, "come on, Y/N," he pleads, ignoring the burning in his knees as he places his hands together on top of Sam's. Sam leaves his hands under Dean's for just one compression before pulling away. 

"Okay, that's ten. You've got twenty more before breaths," Sam says before they count out loud together with every push into Y/N's chest. 

Dean is growing tired by his third round of compressions, but the sirens in the distance electrify him, giving him the energy he needs to continue. 

His face scrunches up as he musters the emotional and physical strength to keep going. Sam hurries to his feet, "don't stop, Dean, you're doing great!" he says with a palm at him. 

"Don't stop," Dean repeats mindlessly, "don't stop." 

Sprinting towards the paramedics, Sam waves his arms, shouting, "Down here! We're down here!" before he knows it, a group of professionals sprint down the hill, the gurney in tow. One takes a story from Sam as one tries to pull Dean away so the other two can take over caring for Y/N. 

"No, I can't stop!" he cries, which grabs Sam's attention, "don't stop," he nearly whispers, hands pumping into Y/N's chest. 

Sam rushes over and lowers himself to Dean's level. "Dean, let go. It's okay, they'll take it from here," he says, grabbing onto Dean's hands to pull him off of Y/N. They watch the paramedics in shock as they cut the shirt, bra, and pants off of Y/N, inspecting her skin. The first responders put what look like stickers with wires attached to them onto her chest and pull out the AED, telling everyone to stand clear before delivering a shock with a beep. Then, there was a pause and the silence that follows is deafening. Nothing. They check for a pulse and call clear again, shocking her. Then, nothing. Again. 

In the hospital's hallway, Dean tries to tune out the surround sound of constant beeping. His elbows rest on his scraped and bloody knees with his head held in his hands. He rocks back and forth, battling with himself. He sheds tears both out of fear for his sister's well-being and of guilt that he did the very thing he promised her he wouldn't: put her in danger.

The clacking of Sam's shoes pulls Dean from his homemade mental Hell. Dean lifts his head, quickly wiping his eyes before grabbing the cafeteria coffee. Sam's familiar smell of motel soap and deodorant washes away the torturous smell of hand sanitizer.

"Thanks," Dean mutters, taking a sip of the coffee before placing it next to him on the cold tile floor. 

Sam's eyes are red and puffy. Dean struggles to comprehend how Sam doesn't even try to hide the tears coming down. He often admires his brothers ability to wear his heart on his sleeve, though he'd never admit it. He wonders who he's being 'strong' for in this moment because it's certainly not himself.

Clearing his throat, Sam pulls his pants up slightly at the thighs before sitting on the bench next to Dean. He glances up at the ceiling momentarily, waiting for the announcement to end before asking, "Any news yet?"

Dean shakes his head. "No," he says in a raspy voice, forcing his eyes to look up and down the hall. "Excuse me," he says, standing to interrupt a nurse before she can enter a different room. "Would you mind helping us find whoever we need to talk to for an update on room 221?" he asks, gesturing to the door he hasn't been able to even look at since arriving.

Her eyes flutter to Sam, then the door, and back to Dean before she somberly nods. "Of course," she says, setting her pen back onto the clipboard as she turns to head in the direction she came.

Dean wants to return to his seat, but his body feels like an anchor. He sucks in a sharp breath. His shoulders tighten into his neck and with weak arms his hands fall to his hips. He hangs his head, clenching his teeth and pulling his face to suppress the tears. Sam jumps up to Stand with Dean, placing a hand tightly on his shoulder.

"She'll be alright," Sam says, not fully believing himself, "she's a Winchester; she has to be." 

Dean quickly straightens himself out because damn it, he's the one that's supposed to be taking care of his younger siblings - not the other way around.

"Sam and Dean Winchester?" a deep voice echoes the hall and they whirl around to greet the doctor. Dean quickly slaps the tears from his face. "I'm Dr. Ferguson," he says, holding his arm up to shake hands with Sam, then Dean. "Let's go somewhere more private to talk."

"We're good here," Dean spits. 

"Very well," the doctor sighs, looking down the hall behind him. He shuffles them closer to the wall and out of the traffic flow. "Well, while we were able to restart her heart, I'm afraid your sister has sustained a substantial injury to the head," he says, "the trauma caused the tissue around her brain to swell quite rapidly, and well, we have her on a ventilator, but," he lets out a breath, "we haven't seen as much progress as we were hoping for. She's technically in a coma right now, but we hope to see her come out of it in the coming weeks." 

"Weeks?" Dean bellows.

"Yes, I'm afraid that's standard recovery time for an injury of this magnitude. Although, we'd be having an entirely different conversation if not for your quick thinking in the field," he says with a tight-lipped smile, eyes jumping from Dean's to Sam's, "it's a long road to recovery, but this is a good start." 

"And what happens if she doesn't wake up?" Sam asks. 

"We will do everything in our power to ensure that doesn't happen," the doctor nods. 

"Thanks, doc," Sam croaks. "Can - can we see her?" he stutters. 

"Of course," he says, pushing the door open with his fingertips, "go on in," he says.  

Sam immediately notices Dean's hesitancy when they exchange a glance, so he nods before taking a few steps into the room. He covers his mouth to stifle a sob when he sees his little sister with a tube down her throat and one in her nose. When he's close enough, he reaches for her hand and sits in the chair beside her, startled by the sound of the door shutting. Dean slowly enters the room, but keeps his distance.

Dean feels like the air is void of oxygen and tells himself to pull it together enough to stand by her bed. "Hey kiddo," Dean says to Y/N with a shaky breath. "God, please be okay," he says, forcing a smile as he grips onto her hand.

The two sit with Y/N for days, only leaving for bathroom trips and snack runs, but when one goes, the other stays, and when one is napping, the other is awake. Dean has grown slightly more self-composed but is still anxious as they stay by her side, even when the nurses come to deliver medications, chart vitals, or empty her catheter.

"Hey, Dean," Sam says, clearing his throat. 

"Yeah," he replies, keeping his eyes on Y/N. 

Sam looks down into his hands, "about my interview-" 

"Wait, what?" Dean says, cutting him off, "you're still gonna leave after all this?" he shouts through a clenched jaw. The chair scoots back in a screech as he quickly brings himself to his feet, "you don't wanna be here when she wakes up?" he asks, aggressively gesturing at Y/N. 

"Dean, we don't even know if she'll wake up," Sam quivers. 

"Man, you are a piece of work," Dean shouts, shaking his head. 

"If you would've let me finish," Sam growls with narrow eyes, "I was going to say that I called earlier… to reschedule it," he sighs, looking back at Y/N, "they were very understanding of the situation." 

"Oh," Dean says, turning on his heels to face away from Sam. He swipes a hand down his face, shaking his head when his eyes open to the white walls of the hospital's room. "Look, man, I'm sorry," he says, palms open and facing Sam. "This just has me on edge." 

Taking a few steps towards him, Sam holds back the urge to get nasty with Dean, telling him he's not the only one feeling 'on edge' about their sister's condition. Instead, he raises his palms and softens his face, "Me too. Believe me." 

By Thursday, Y/N had graduated from a ventilator to an oxygen mask. Though still needing the feeding tube, she's shown glimpses here and there of the Y/N they know and love, but overall, she struggles to remain conscious. The doctors are calling it a 'Minimally Conscious State' and "completely normal with this type of recovery."

On Saturday, Sam heads out for food from a local restaurant at Dean's request - something about them having good pies - but Sam has a sneaking suspicion that Dean needs some time alone with Y/N, and Sam could use the fresh air anyway.

Sitting in the chair beside her bed, Dean holds one of Y/N's hands in both of his, bringing it up to his lips and kissing the back of her hand. "I'm so sorry I failed you, Y/N," he cries. "I should have been protecting you," he whispers, letting the tears fall freely now, "but instead of doing that, I got you into this mess."

Looking up at Y/N's face, he swears he sees a tear slip down her cheek. Despite being convinced he's imagining it, he reflexively draws his hand to wipe her tear away, gasping when it comes back wet. His heart races as he gently stands to get beside her in the bed. "Shh," he coos, wrapping his arm around her.

His eyes fall shut, and he's transported back in time to the almost seven-month period where she would only fall asleep if Dean were right there in bed next to her. Through tears and voice cracks, he sings Hey Jude in a whisper, occasionally reaching over to wipe her tears away.

"I love you so much," he whispers. "I don't know how to live without you," he says, his tears turning into sobs. "Please wake up," he cries, arm wrapped tightly around her, "I promise I'll teach you how to drive if you just please wake up."

~~~~ If you liked my story, please remember to heart, comment or reblog. Or if you'd like, you can add yourself to a tag list here if you wish :) Thank you for reading!! :)

Everything Tags <3

@wayardblueshun @81mysteriouslyme @drakelover78 @soab1967 @shutupandfeedmethings @pollywantacracker666 @sonnierae26 @obsessed5sosfreak @tlovescoffee @noodledoodlebug @hobby27 @cluz1babe @emptycanvasposts @suckmyapplejacks @signrunsavestheday @flamencodiva @roseblue373

Dean <;3 @akshi8278 @squirrelnotsam @laxe-from-outer-space @ellewritesfix05 @cluz1babe @lyarr24 @mrspeacem1nusone @idksupernaturl @fandom-princess-forevermore @stoneyggirl @chaospossum @nachofriess

Sam <3 (not including the tags already above :) ) @fangirlxwritesx67 @immafangirlmess @sizekinkshawty

[badkatdesigns]

B A D K A T D E S I G N S

YEAR IN REVIEW 2024

Did a ton of animation and VTuber models this year! I'm really proud of how much I've grown as an artist/designer over the past 12 months!

I've added a little breakdown below the cut :)

January 2024 : Scott Pilgrim Takes Off! month My favorite piece from this collection was Envy Adams's funeral fit from the anime. The look really spoke to me, and I enjoyed pushing the more stylised look of the textures. Available for Patrons.

February 2024 : Sakizo month Both designs I chose from Engraved Witch for this month are really good, but I think this one of Julietta as the Fire Element x Archer turned out just that little bit better. Available on Patreon and Ko-Fi.

March 2024 : March of the Faeries / Voyage of the Unicorn 1 I wasn't a huge fan of either of my models for this month, but I was immensely proud of the custom VTuber avatar I made to present the video! I really enjoyed painting all the textures and getting all the wings on her face to move. Available on Ko-Fi.

April 2024 : Mythological Creatures / Voyage of the Unicorn 2 I always do a serious set and a Homestuck set for April, and even though my Eridan model fucking rocks, I had to pick this gorgeous sphinx as my favorite of the month. I had a lot of fun researching her, and I think she came out looking top tier. Available on Patreon and Ko-Fi.

May 2024 : Mermay / Voyage of the Unicorn 3 I redesigned an older concept off the clock to better work in a short animation I was planning, and this gif was part of the proof of concept. I love everything about it, from the color grade shift to the new textures and character design.

June/July 2024 : Elden Ring Shadow of the Erdtree / Pride Special Another case where the VTuber model turned out better than the finished animation-ready models. They didn't turn out bad per se - I just didn't like them as much. Available on Ko-Fi.

August 2024 : No Theme I took August off to focus on animating Reefside Rumble, the short I started working on at the tail end of May. By this point some of my actresses had gotten back to me, so I was experimenting with facial animation and lip sync. I spent most of the month blocking and animating around half of the shots.

September 2024 : The Band With Rocks In / Soul Music 1 I decided to do another 3-month seasonal theme for autumn, this time choosing to focus on the Discworld novel Soul Music. In September I worked mostly on The Band With Rocks In, the band that forms when the power of rock music suffuses the Disc. This was my first real success with custom built facial rigs, and essentially added facial rig building to my character pipeline. Available for Patrons.

October 2024 : Death's Domain / Soul Music 2 To be seasonally appropriate with Halloween, I worked on Susan Sto Helit and her two animal sidekicks. I had a lot of fun working on these characters, especially Susan and Quoth. Susan's facial textures were a breakthrough for me in terms of using the layer paint add on I have on Blender, and I used what I learned with Glod's texture work to inform how I painted the layers on Quoth's wings. Available for Patrons.

November 2024 : Unseen University / Soul Music 3 For the final set of the Soul Music themed season and the final set of the year, I wanted to design some rocker wizards. The full final animation I made with them actually features all 3 wizards, but the gif centres on the Dean. I got to take a break in between working on the wizards to design some fake band merch, and that was super fun. Available for Patrons.

December 2024 : No Theme I took the final month of the year off to work on my portfolios, look for jobs and celebrate the holidays with my husband. In between all that, I managed to design two new characters - this one, Bellona, is a barbarian. To close out the year I spent an afternoon animating her swinging her giant battleaxe.

[thefandomlesbian]

Hello hello!!! Your posting about typing up (or rather, procrastinating typing up, lol) your notebook has me curious: what's your writing process like? 👀

Process? We're supposed to have a process?

In all seriousness, my writing model has more or less stayed the same since middle school, where I didn't have access to any devices but a pen and paper were always within reach. I've been a fast touch typer (~90-100 wpm) since sixth grade, so when I had downtime at school, I would write in a notebook and type everything I had written when I got home.

At that age, I generally just typed exactly what I had written down. But as I got older, I started revising as I typed, even going over my drafts with a red pen and a highlighter to point out things that were inconsistent, overdone, unnecessary, or just didn't fit with the narrative. It wasn't (and still isn't) unusual for me to axe multiple pages, hundreds of words, when I realize that a scene doesn't work or I don't want to keep it.

I did go through a phase early in college where I skipped the notebook. Frankly... You can tell. I wrote an AHS fic over half a million words (and I'm proud of myself for it--but if I had stuck to tried and true, I would've told the same story with the same themes and symbols at a much more readable length). It took a few years for me to realize the reason I was struggling with being so verbose, unable to cut anything, was because the act of staring at a document on a screen forces me to skip a vital step in my storytelling.

For me, typing is revision. If I don't like the direction a scene is going, I skim it to get the point of what I need to communicate, and then I close the notebook and rewrite without looking at the original, generally with a better notion of what is going to flow with the final draft. The original doesn't interfere with my thought process because I'm not staring at it. It's something I haven't been able to do on a document. With the existence of copy and paste features, I cheat myself and keep too much. Handwriting also forces me to slow down, since I can't churn out 90+ wpm by hand, so I can't vomit every purple prosey nonsense that crosses my mind, and by the time I catch up with what NEEDS to be on the page to communicate my point, I'm ready to move on. The overall quality of my work improves dramatically when I force myself to take the second step instead of writing directly into my document.

Obviously I still use a lot of tech features--Ellipsus has been a total game changer for me. And depending on the story, some things I do write directly in a doc, usually if it's going to be short or if it's something lighthearted and unserious where I don't inordinately care if it's not perfect. But for the stories that I churn out with the intention of having some quality, I always do the overwhelming majority of it by hand, and then revise by typing.

Which is all fun and games for stories <100k, but for stories like JOY (which is currently 188k, about 2/3 finished in my doc, with an entire notebook-and-a half not yet typed), it becomes extremely cumbersome. I wouldn't want to handle a story like JOY without the revision process, as it would be prohibitively long. But with my process, it's also unsurprising that it takes me months or years to get things straightened out in a way that satisfies me.

And it doesn't help that I've got this habit of simply *skipping* a scene that isn't interesting me in the moment, so like the picture of my notebook, scenes are scattered in non-chronological order, tabbed by post-its with the label of what is happening in the scene and, according to the outline, what chapter the scene is supposed to occur in. With the dynamic nature of things, it's par for the course for me to move a scene to a different area of the story, rewrite it beginning to end, swap POV characters, or strip it of the original context to give it a different thematic implication for the overall narrative. And since I often go 6+ months before I double back to do my typing and revising... By the time I get around to it, I don't remember jack diddly shit about the changes I intended to make (hence margin notes, post-it notes, different colors of ink, highlighted areas, often with few clues so I still wind up confused as hell).

So that's the process, if you can even call it that. It's confusing as hell, but it works for me, at least a significant portion of the time. Needless to say, I am a true believer in writing by hand for rough drafts, and I encourage all writers to give it a try--not for a few minutes, but for a few hours, with NO tech available, with an analog clock nearby if time is important. Put the cell phone in another room on silent. Turn off the TV. Don't listen to music with lyrics; if silence is disturbing, white noise, instrumental music, or sometimes music in an unfamiliar language. I very sincerely think most writers would have an entirely different relationship with their work, their writers' block, and their overall creativity if they spent even a small amount of time disconnected for their work.

[sakurachan7734]

My new and creepy boss

I am going to make off of story’s about my scp fan kids kids and OC secrets 

Jane: did you hear our new boss is James denson?! The most well liked boss in the modeling world

Aristotle: yes I did I had to find my best clothes

Jack: everyone he’s here! Places!

James denson: hello everyone I am your new boss now everyone tell me what your names are

Aristotle pov

Everyone said their name but he would say something mean about us normally about our weight or our acne but once he got to me he smiled weirdly

Aristotle: hello sir my na-

James denson:* caress Aristotle’s hair* oh you don’t need to tell me what your name is pretty bird I already know who you are Aristotle polonoi I am a huge fan of your fathers work

Aristotle:* moves James hand away* uhhh thank you but please don’t touch me it took forever to get my hair like this. 

James: oh I’m sorry polonoi now everybody getting the places for your photos for a magazine!! 

Three months later

Aristotle: James I can’t pose seductively in a swimsuit like this

James denson: why? you don’t wanna do your job?

Aristotle: no I do but didn’t my parents email you that I can’t pose in a seductive way or wear inappropriate clothing because I’m still a minor? 

James denson: yes but do you wanna keep your job right? *grabs Aristotles chin* you want to be famous? Do you want to make you dads proud?

Aristotle:…..y-yes but that doesn’t mean I get to pose with my butt out….. and please let me go…

James denson:* Tightens the grip on Aristotle chin* you want to keep your job RIGHT?!

Aristotle: yes please I do!!! It took me a long time to get to where I am now

James denson:* let’s go of Aristotles chin and starts caressing their cheek* good that’s what I want to hear now do what I told you to!

Aristotle: y-yes sir

The next day

Aristotle: hay dad?

Dýo: yes?

Aristotle: can I skip work today?

Dýo: why? Do you feel sick?

Aristotle: no but my new boss is kinda creepy to me

Dýo: how?

Aristotle: well he touches my arm in a weird way all the time I caught him sniffing my hair a few times and remember when you and father talk to my boss about me not doing any seductive, posing or clothing or any swimsuit pictures?

Dýo: yes

Aristotle: well he is making me do all those things and if I refuse he would threaten me with losing my job

Dýo: ok I will talk to your boss today after work

Aristotle: thanks dad

A half hour later Aristotle answered a call from James denson

Jane denson: why are you 17 minutes late for work?!

Aristotle: I’m feeling sick today 

James denson: oh I’m sorry to hear that I hope you get better my favorite model *hangs up*

Aristotle; I hate that guy…..

End



[bluejaysandblackbats]

The Flames That Burn The Brightest

Fandom: DC Comics, Titans (Fab Five), Arrowfam

Summary: Donna Troy is working as a teacher at a high school, and to her surprise, she comes face-to-face with an old flame who just so happens to be the new guidance counselor.

Chapters: 3/?

Characters: Donna Troy, Roy Harper, Jade Nguyen, Lian Harper, Garth of Shayeris, Dick Grayson, Wally West

Relationship(s): Past DonnaRoy, Past CheshRoy

Additional Tags: Teachers AU, No Powers AU, Donna Troy-centric, Platonic Soulmates Dick & Donna, Parent Roy Harper, Lovers to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Romantic Fluff, Reunions

Chapter Three: First Day of School (Donna's POV)

I started my day an hour earlier. Waking up before the sun gave me time to think. Introduce myself to my students, reviewing the roster, and my lesson plans for the first week. It was all I could think about. High school. I was in my late twenties, struggling to redefine myself, and Garth mentioned something about a shortage of instructors at his school. He made the kids sound so sugary-sweet. I told him to count me in before I had time to think. But I’ve done nothing but think about it since then.   I used to photograph models for a living. Teaching teenagers wouldn’t be anything like that. 

I fed Figaro dry cat food and a little bit of raw salmon before I made my breakfast. He looked up at me with his big gold eyes, probably confused about our early breakfast time. “Eat up, Figgy. Today’s a special day,” I whispered. I tried to hope for the best, but I was frightened. 

He rubbed his cheek against my ankle. It’d been the two of us for a while. The tea kettle whistled, and I poured the hot water over my silicone tea bag. I made the blend the night before—hibiscus and orange with tiny tinges of green tea. I didn’t take sugar in my tea. I used a spoonful of honey and a drop of lemon. I twirled my tea with a spoon before taking it to my bedroom. I lay my outfit out on the bed before taking my towel and caddy to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth and showered. My morning routine was strict. I did everything in the same order for over a decade. Make my tea piping hot, brush my teeth, shower, moisturize my face, check my emails, curl my hair, get dressed, and do my stretches while I watch one of my VHS tapes. I watched the same ten movies on VHS in my living room. Dick hates it. This morning, it was the 1996 Romeo and Juliet . I rarely watched the whole movie in one sitting, but this morning I had extra time.

A fitting choice, because I’d be teaching first and fifth-period freshman English classes. My main subject was Photography. Garth said the principal would let me structure the class however I wanted to. My alarm went off shortly after the credits rolled, and I grabbed my bag, camera, and keys. It was a fifteen-minute drive across town, and it took every second of those fifteen minutes to prepare myself for the walk to the front office. Garth was on the phone when I arrived, so I checked my mailbox and headed to my classroom. I spent the better half of two months decorating it and rearranging my seating charts, so I was proud to see my vision perfectly actualized. I placed a syllabus on every desk along with an icebreaker worksheet. Garth stopped by and knocked on my door. “Hey, Donna. I had a little something for your first day. It looks great in here by the way,” Garth smiled as he hugged me and set a little box on my desk. 

“Can I?” I asked. Garth nodded excitedly as I opened my gift. It was a little blue walkie-talkie that hung from a lanyard. It was a lot like the one I had when we were kids. “Oh, Garth, you’re too much.” I laughed as I put it around my neck. 

“Just a reminder that you’re among friends,” Garth smiled, “It works. Oh, and—.” He plugged in the charger and set it on my desk. “I almost forgot to give it to you.” 

“And look… Here’s the best part. You can change the settings depending on the range you wanna reach,” Garth explained as he showed me on his walkie-talkie. “Have you seen Roy yet?” 

Roy? Garth never said anything about Roy being there. Not once. “You didn’t say Roy would be here,” I whispered.

“I didn’t? Do you guys have a problem with—?”

“No, I just—. I had no idea he worked here. Did you mention it to him at least?” I questioned. I loved Garth. Don’t get me wrong, but… How could he glaze over something like that?  

“Um… No… I meant to, but we had summer tryouts for sports and conditioning… He’ll be here late today. Are you guys gonna be okay working together?” Garth asked. 

“Uh-huh. Yeah, we work—. We’ll work great together,” I stammered. Garth nodded. 

“Dee wants to have you for dinner this weekend if that’s okay,” 

I nodded and smiled. “I’d love that,” I answered. 

Garth left me to set up. The first bell rang half an hour later. A few freshmen poured in, instinctively looking at the board for the seating chart. “Good morning, I’m Ms. Troy… And like most of you, this is my first day here,” I smiled, “Welcome to English 9.” 

One of the boys in the front started poring over the first few pages of the syllabus. I nodded. “Ms. Troy, what is your policy on food in the classroom? It doesn’t say anything about it in the syllabus.”

“It’s first period, so I’m sure some of you missed breakfast. Don’t make a mess and there won’t be any issue… Oh, and no nuts,” I answered, “Great question, Luca. That being said… Do you guys want to do the syllabus first or the icebreaker? Show of hands. Everyone who wants to get the syllabus out of the way raise your hand.” 

I had an alright group of kids for the first class. The kids seemed like they were half-asleep, but they did their best to participate. “Okay… Icebreaker it is! Feel free to walk around—.” 

One of the girls came up to me and asked me if I had a pet. It was one of the questions on the worksheet. “Yeah, his name is Figaro,” I answered. She smiled and nodded as she wrote ‘Ms. Troy’ on her worksheet. 

The icebreaker perked them up while I set up the slideshow for the syllabus. “Pass them up and return to your desks,” I gently commanded. After we settled, I explained the classroom rules, and we wrote a journal based on a prompt. Some of the kids read theirs aloud. One of the girls wrote a compelling short story about a bird that people-watched. It was a solemn tale of loneliness and miscommunication. It was a beautiful start to my teaching career. 

The dismissal bell rang, and I let them leave. During that time, I immediately set up the next class’s syllabi and seating chart. Photography . My wheelhouse. I looked through my photographs and smiled when I came across a photo of Garth, Roy, Wally, and Dick when we were kids. A candid picture of their happy faces from a simpler time. I had several copies of that photograph. It was one of my favorites. The guys had the same picture. We’d been through so much together. A few of my students poured in. All different ages and one of them entered holding a teddy bear. I quietly sat in the seat in front of them and tapped their desk. “Hi, I’m Ms. Troy… You must be, Adrian. How are you today?” I whispered. They nodded.

“D—? Do I have to put him away?” they whispered. I shook my head. 

“I’m nervous today, too… The icebreaker isn’t graded. It’s just something you can do if you’re comfortable. It’s not for everyone,” I reassured them. They handed me a note. 

“I’m a boy… My dad’s still getting used to it, so he calls me a she a few times… But—.” 

I looked at him and nodded. “Understood… Should I read it now?” I questioned. 

“Mhm,” Adrian whispered. I smiled and nodded. 

“I’ll give you some space while I read your father’s note at my desk. Is that alright?” I asked. Adrian nodded.

[malevolententity]

PROJECT 14!! I TOOK A BREAK FROM PATTERNING RICHAS!!

oh boy!! this took all of quarentena part 1 to make!! its been a few years since i made anything mesh so whipping up this hat in? what 5 and a half hours? maybe 6? i have not checked the vod time and i was also Cooking Dinner during a portion of it so time is hard to judge on how long this actually took. but it was fun! it Did reawaken my urge to crochet a mesh shirt even tho i would never wear it because it would be so uncomfortable. but making mesh is just so very mindless in a way thats good for me. maybe i should make a mesh blanket to scratch that itch.

we have an array of models for this item! to try and show off the mesh say hello to the bobby i made back in? oh the beginning of april i believe? i dont think any of you have actually seen bobby he might have been a twitter exclusive, say hi to bobby. we also have green garlic my bulbasaur showing off the mesh the best i believe!

QUARENTENA SEASON THOUGHTS! YES I AM CALLING IT A SEASON THERES GONNA BE 2 EPS. SEASON 1 ONLY HAD 3 EPS. THIS TOO CAN BE A SEASON!

i am blown away by how fun this group is and the skills they all have to roleplay in a second or third language for like 6 hours with basically no breaks to speak their natural languages. that is taxing to do and to deliver a story on top of that? i am so proud and impressed with all of them. also holy shit????????? no one fucking died???? i was convinced when the oneshot, now season, was announced that it was going to be a dungeon crawl that ends in everyone dying. i cant believe theyre all still alive after that?? AND THEN THERES ANOTHER EPISODE IRL NEXT WEEK?? i cant wait for the tpk next week!

i love this entire cast of characters theyre all such weird fucking guys in the most complimentary ways. I LOVE THAT WE BASICALLY GOT A SAW MOVIE??? THRIVING!! in a move that shall surprise no one. diego is my favorite. look at him. he is guy of all time to me. BUT OKAY THEYRE ALL WEIRD and usually when you have a cast of weirdos theres always someone who doesnt gel but they all did!! they all fought each other!!! but they all still complimented each others insanity and. this is what the party comp is To Me

i am too lazy to open photoshot for this tonight. maybe you get it proper tomorrow<3

i loved the ending. i loved the slow realization on everyones faces that in saving themselves they might be killing the world and still themselves!!!! also i cant wait to see the fall out next week. i am so fucking upset my dnd game is scheduled for around the same time so i am going to miss probably the first 2ish hours but i know my dash and the official!!!! twitter updates account!!! will catch me up on those two hours so i can jump back in. but AAAA oh i loved this. i dont know if it was on purpose that this felt like a zero escape game at times but oh man the production quality in this vs where m at in season 2 is just mind blowing. i knew it got better once they started being in the studio but this was so great for a home game. ALSO YALL GO CHECK ON AMY??? GO GET THE KID??? YOU CANT JUST LEAVE THE TRAUMATIZED BABY ALONE AFTER EVERYTHING U DID TO KEEP HER ALIVE??? GO GET HER?????

AND ALSO?? STUDIO NEXT WEEK?? BRAZIL MEETUP??? OH I AM SO PLEASED TO SEE IT ALL AND WHAT HAPPENS. this is def my longest update for this silly crochet project i started just a few months ago and i apologize but also. i dont because this show does mean so much more to me than i know how to put into words. and its been a long time since i fell in love with a tabletop universe this quickly. and i feel so grateful that i got to be introduced to this ttrpg earlier this year, and got to pull some friends into watching quarentena tonight because theyve heard me gushing about how good this universe is and how i trust this to be satisfying horror which is so hard to do in ttrpgs, but thats another post for another day.