#where would the world be without excel guys

[doiefy]

ateez discography stats?? (preview lmfao)

(freak in the spreadsheets that's what)

work has been chill lately so I've taken to developing an excessively large and detailed spreadsheet that analyzes ateez's discography and line distribution from debut until present... will be posting my full summary soon because as a STEM and spreadsheet nerd I think this is super fun and interesting LOL (if you hate math get off my page (just kidding pls stay))

yes I went through ateez's entire fucking discography to record their total line time for this, shout out to the four line distribution channels I ripped shit from (HEXA6ON, random_k, k_line distribution and others doing the most for this fandom)

my favourite finding so far:

this is a trend most kpop fans know about but I'm showing graphically here. we see a lot of groups start out with line distributions that rely on one or two vocal powerhouses to carry the rest of the group (debate all you fucking want about this, I'm not getting involved in that shit I'm just saying it as it is); then the distribution becomes more "fair" as time goes on and members all get more experience.

in the graph above, there's a lot of variance in 2018, but all the lines have converged recently, indicating a more equal line distribution. the distribution was most equal in 2023 and we've diverged a little bit since then, but 2024 isn't over yet!

some other nerd shit:

hongjoong starts the most songs out of all the members, with 17 songs in which he sang the first line. he's closely followed by yunho, seonghwa, and then san.

yeosang's share of lines has increased by a net 76% since debut, while jongho's has decreased by a net 77%.

13.7% of ateez's total songs are remixes and 12.3% are a Japanese/Korean/English version of an existing song.

on average, ateez songs run for 3 minutes and 12 seconds

whenever a future song is teased in a previous song, we typically wait 3 months for the full song to be released... with the exception of "Sector 1," which was teased in "Outro: Long Journey" back in January of 2020, and wasn't released in full until almost 3 years later.

and a peak at the spreadsheet madness behind all this:

will be posting the rest soon, stay tuned ✌🏻

[floorpancakes]

i have no idea how to put this but other than the actual things they end up doing both halves of dough water have a really good resume of skills and personality traits you can imagine them doing all sorts of jobs or hobbies in AU scenarios. mostly i like to imagine them volunteering with animal shelters tho its like free serotonin

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fanfic idea: Farmer's Market Gossip

Bruce Wayne enjoys visiting the farmers' market, especially the one in Smallville. Something was refreshing about wandering stall to stall, looking over fresh fruit, baked goods, and little handmade nicknacks.

One of the best parts was realizing that almost no one recognized him. Maybe in a place like Gotham, where his face and his activities were always splattered on news outlets and gossip rags, it made it hard for him to go unnoticed unless he actively disguised himself.

That wasn't a problem in here.

People didn't follow the rich here in the same way they followed celebrities. Why would they care that Bruce made a fool of himself at a fancy gala in a random street they had never seen or heard of? Why would his donations to charities matter when the charities never reach this far out here? Why would they bother to look deeper in the thought of Don't I know that guy from somewhere? while he browsed the tomatoes.

Smallville was a pleasant, quiet place to retire or raise a family. But it lacked a night life, and to be fair a large amount of entertainment. There wasn't a whole lot to do out here. It was, in every sense of the world, a little rural town in the middle of nowhere.

Oh, Metropolis was a mere hour and a half drive away, or ninety miles, because Americans need to use actual measurements when speaking of distance, as Alfred once put it (Bruce just thought it was funny to see his father-figure get annoyed at the oddest things). It was a relatively easy drive, hardly out of the way, but it still felt like far too much to go for a mere night out, at least a constant one.

Commuting for work was a different matter.

So, really, Smallville had a limit to gossip, not because the neighbors weren't nosy - in fact, Bruce found them far more invested in each other's lives than they should be but because there just weren't enough people to hear new gossip about. They passed along the same story over and over again, until everyone and their mother had heard it, but after a day or two, that would be old news.

Maybe that's why the vendors all knew Bruce's face, and knew that when he strolled through, he would buy almost everything he paused to browse, but knew nothing else about him. He likes it that way.

Oh, there were whispers; however, those speculations were more about the fact that Martha Kent's boy brought around a city boy with him every other weekend. How suspiciously close that Clark fellow was to his friend.

Mr. Parr, who sold a rosemary sourdough bread that Bruce was addicted to, muttered to Miss Davis that he always knew Clark was on the more colorful side. Miss Davis then commented how Clark did well for himself because Bruce always seemed to have enough cash to walk back to his car, bags nearly spilling out of his arms.

Bruce thought it was hilarious and chose not to correct anyone. He knew Clark was aware of the rumors - it was hard not to, given the man's superhearing made him hyper-aware of everything all the time - but his friend had no idea how people got that impression and didn't know how to make them stop.

His parents' neighbors thought Lois was made up, even after Ma and Pa Kent talked about their son's girlfriend.

This week, he actually showed up without Clark. His friend was busy at work, but had been willing to fly him over so he could get his bi-weekly fix of relaxation. The kids knew they were always welcome to join him, but they also knew Bruce liked doing his little Smallville farmer's market alone.

As he was chatting with Mrs. Green, he noticed a new stall had been added to the usual lineup.

"That's Danny Fenton." Mrs. Green revealed after noticing his curiosity. "Sweet thing, just moved into town. He took over Mr. Jackson's old flower farm after Mr. Jackson became ill. You know the poor man is in the early stages of dementia, so his daughters wanted him closer to their houses, a state away. Anyway, Danny makes these excellent natural creams and lotions from his flowers. You should try his ointments too! Why, it helps clear up most of my arthritis aches and pains."

Bruce flashes her a boyish smile. "I'll go over and see his selection. If it's a recommendation from you, he must be fantastic."

"Oh, aren't you a charmer?" Mrs. Green laughs bashfully, swatting Bruce away. "Go now before you make an old lady faint from a severe big head."

"You big-headed? Never." Bruce laughs taking his fresh set of carrots and apples. "Have a good day, Mrs. Green!"

"You too, Brucie."

Strutting over to the new booth, Bruce made sure to wave at the regular vendors, who all smiled and greeted him back, except for Mr. Martinez, who Bruce had come to know had always had a bit of a hard time with eye contact. He didn't take it to heart.

The man's salsas were far too delicious to be upset over something small like eye contact.

Danny Fenton's booth was much like the others. A large pop-up canopy with a long foldable table was set up. Fenton had some wooden stands displaying randomly sized jars with a ghost-like logo stuck on them. He placed fake flowers around the wooden stands, making it appear as though the jars were sitting in a garden bed, and had soft, classical music playing from a speaker near the back of the booth.

Bruce realized that the closer he got, the more battery-operated fountains were placed around to grab people's attention and create the obvious soft, cottage-core ambiance Fenton was going for. Not only did it pull in customers, but it also let him influence their mood from the get-go for his sales pitch.

The man obviously had some experience in the field.

Fenton kept up his fantasy gimmick by dressing in a peculiar outfit. Bruce couldn't quite name the style at the top of his head, but he was sure that Fenotn wouldn't be out of place in a Renaissance fair among the fairy section that Tim and Damian loved so much. All he was missing was a mushroom-themed hat.

Since Fenton was currently chatting with a few customers, Bruce decided to browse the selections of hand salves. He dipped a spoon in a few of the sample jars and spread the salves on one of his hands, testing out the sensation with a critical eye. His many years of grappling across the city made his hands a bit rough, and it was always nice to find something to soften them again.

He couldn't be a proper gentleman if his hands weren't gentle after all.

Almost instantly, he realized he was going to be walking away with at least three jars: lavender rose, rosemary spearmint, and lavender chamomile. Not only did they feel great, but they smelled divine.

Bruce then truned his attention to some lotions, hoping to find some for Cass who always had a bit of a more pungent nose then the rest of his kids so she tended to look for more natural sents and came face to face with Fenton himself.

The man had finished with his other clients, moving behind the table to stand on the other side directly across from Bruce. He had a few small flowers braided in his hair, letting the rest of it fall loosly around his shoulders and he offered Bruce a smile as gentle and as pretty as the flowers he grew.

Bruce felt his jaw drop.

Never before had he seen such beauty.

"Hi there! Let me know if you have any questions." Fenton chirps, looking so darn happy to have someone standing in of his items that he was almost glowing.

"Um...No...I ...Just these." Bruce coughed, handing over the jars and a random lotion bottle. He didn't break eye contact, as Fenton happily rattles off the price and bags his things for him. But he can't find the will to push words out of his mouth, grunting in thanks and all but fleeing from the man.

Much later, he overhears Mrs. Lee giggling with a few ladies. "Mr. Fenton has to be the most attractive person to ever move to Smallville. I heard he was a supermodel."

"Well, I heard he has some siren blood in him. Miss Jackson said his voice was hypnotic."

"Siren blood? Really?"

"Hey, anything is possible; people like Aquaman are running around."

A siren.

That had to be it. No wonder Bruce had been so struck dumb. A magical creature of the sea had moved to a landlocked town to sell flower-based skin care goods. Not the oddest thing he has faced as Batman.

However, to be safe, Bruce should return next week. Just to make sure Fenton wasn't going to eat anyone.

(Three weeks later, Clark tries his hardest to assure everyone Bruce is not cheating on him with the new Beauty of Smallville because they were never a couple. He gets lots of baked goods to heal his broken heart in response, and Lois laughs.)

[kleem-o]

I can’t stop thinking about Obsessive Ex Boyfriend!Sukuna. You and him were together since highschool, which shocked people, but at the same time they kinda get it. Sukuna was your typical asshole, and you were a spoiled high maintenance princess. Oh don’t get me wrong though, you weren’t just all bark, you were all BITE too. Top of the class and excelled at sports (well it was passable). But the same also applies to Sukuna, both of you fighting for the top spot in academics (you always won) and sports (he always won). You guys were such an oddly cute couple, always bickering.

“Kuna go get me some snacks in the cafeteria please!”

“Damn brat go do it yourself!” *still proceeds to go buy you snacks without hesitation*

But you guys weren’t always bickering, behind closed doors he secretly LOVED being babied. You guys usually have cuddle dates in his room with his door locked (he learned to lock the door after his baby brother Yuji suddenly entered to borrow his switch)

You would lay on your back with him on top of you, burying his face on your neck.

“I love you so much, who’s my good boy?”

“I am.. ‘love you..”

You would let your hands play with his hair and caress his back, and he feels like he’s literally melting. He’d be damned if anyone else saw him like this, he’d rather die.

Now here’s where it gets tricky, you guys graduated highschool and are now off to college, unfortunately you guys are going to different colleges (which you both had a fight about) but are still in the same city.

The little bickerings became actual fights, not caring where you guys were (yours and Sukuna’s poor friends are traumatized).

But extreme lows comes with extreme highs, when you guys made up or behind closed doors, you and Sukuna act as if a fight never happened.

“I love you so much baby” Sukuna always makes promises of undying love, in hopes that you would understand that even though you guys fought a lot, his love for you will never change.

But then after one fight (shhh i might make a fic about this if yall want) you broke up with him.

His world was shattered. But being who he was, his pride was too high to give in (or at least in the outside)

He would pretend that he was fine when clearly… the voice messages he sends you at night says otherwise.

“Ha! Yeah, I don’t really give a shit anymore, ‘m too busy getting fucked over by exams anyway.”

“Hey baby, please can we talk? I really miss you and I’m sorry please, give me one chance please, I love you”

“Yoo bro, you okay? You’re pretty wasted” Gojo says as he tries to take Sukuna’s drink in his hand. “Fuck off, ‘m fine..” Obviously he’s not, he had way too many shots even for someone who had high tolerance, the lights of the bar was making him dizzy, and his empty notifications despite his numerous voice and text messages to you were starting to make his eyes blur with tears. Gojo saw this and threw their other friend, Geto, a look.

They both had a hard time trying to haul Sukuna in Gojo’s car, with Sukuna deadass crying talking about I need her back, she can’t do this to me, we aren’t over, I love her. He kept yelling too, about bringing him to your place instead of his. So they called you and you agreed to have him over because its dangerous for him to be alone in his state (totally not just because you miss him, and lowkey want to see him wasted and crying lol)

They brought him to your unit and left telling you to call them if you need help with anything. The moment the doors closed Sukuna hugged you tightly. “Please..please come back to me.. make me yours again please.. I-I love you please ‘m sorry..” He was literally sobbing on your shoulder, with you patting his back.

“Okayy big guy let’s go to bed” You did your best to clean him up and you both laid on your bed, with you staring at the ceiling and him staring at you.

“Are we back together?” You laugh and looked at him “Hmmm… I’ll think about it, maybe if you beg me in the morning.” Sukuna’s eyes teared up a bit and he smiled. “Can we cuddle for tonight?” You can sense how careful he is with his words, it would be very out of character for other people, but you, and only you, knew that this is how he always was. “ Of course, c’mere.”

Sukuna hurriedly wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face beneath yours. He tangled his legs with yours and took a long breath. It smelled like home. He is home, and tomorrow everything will be okay again.

part 2 or how they broke up

a/n: idk what this is lol i really just needed to get it out of my system 😩 want to write more about this dynamic, the asshole x spoiled brat type shi, like finally someone rivals the energy of the asshole 😩 and also this might be insanely ooc but its ok bc its fun 😚 and also this is just how he is with reader! (totally not just an excuse)

[starmocha]

Oh oh oh since we're sharing pregnant mc hcs, how about one where they got a bit carried away, they did it, she got pregnant, he "died", by some miracle she didn't lose the baby, she's an excellent, doting, badass mom. then when he comes back he finds the love of his life with a little 1 year old baby girl that could be considered mc's perfect clone except for the eyes. the eyes are his. IMAGINE THE ANGST THE HURT THE TEARS THE LOVEEEEE!!!!!

🫵 are you guys using my Caleb-addled brain to sneak around my “I don’t take requests” condition. /lh 😔 this is who I am now, I guess. I see Caleb, I cave… 🥺

Endless Summer

It was an ambush, another attempt on his life.

It was the thirteenth time in three months, as a matter of fact. Caleb had thwarted all of the previous attempts with ease, always on guard, untrusting of those who claimed to have vowed their loyalty to him as their colonel.

As you learned, you couldn’t trust anyone in Skyhaven, much less the Farspace Fleet. Dark secrets surrounded this seemingly elite entity and though it appeared like the place ran like a machine with perfect precision and efficiency, there was still an insidious side that Caleb refused to let you see.

It wasn’t just his life they were after. They were after yours as well, using you as the ultimate pawn to get to him. Little do they suspect, while you may be his greatest weakness, you were also his strength, his sole reason to persevere.

This was to be a fatal lesson for many to learn.

It was supposed to be a celebratory banquet, thrown in honor of the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel’s latest achievements. There were no deceptions by the hosts, but a traitorous group seized this opportunity to trap the young colonel and all doors within the banquet halls locked, keeping many of the guests hostages in the process.

Within the center of the room, Caleb calmly eyed all of the familiar faces that loomed overhead on the second floor as all around, innocent guests rushed to the exits, banging and screaming for help. He tried to push you away, get you to safety.

They were after him, after all. You didn’t need to be in the crossfires.

You didn’t have time to react, hearing that first gunshot that led the way for the onslaught of bullets.

Something in Caleb snapped that night. The barrage of bullets that came at him and you from all directions would have taken down anyone, but they all froze midair only because of his Evol freezing them in their track and keeping them suspended as if time had frozen at this very moment. He soon, however, learned it was merely a distraction.

Ca…leb…

The moment he saw the crimson blood seeping from your side, that knife pulled out quickly, and you were falling, eyes closing, as he ran toward you yelling your name. His Evol flared out of control, the gravity in the room suddenly immensely heavy, as dozens of men were pulled to their knees in futile struggles.

Open your eyes, he pleaded, his uniform soaked with your blood. His face twisted in pain, a million thoughts rushing through his mind, all of the memories of the past resurfaced in quick successions. All of those years of smiles and laughter that transitioned to pain and distrust only to slowly return to some semblances of the past were now coming to an end before his very eyes. He couldn’t lose you like this, not when he had promised that he would make things right again, to be the man that you deserved. Please…please…

You struggled to breathe, the pain unlike anything you had experienced in your life. As he watched you teetered closer to death, he was filled with wrath, an anger that could not be calmed by any forces in this world.

Caleb held his hand out, and a gun laying on the floor levitated before it rushed into his grip from across the room, and without a thought or any remorse or even hesitancy, he fired bullet after bullet into each man’s head, a clean shot straight through the center, not flinching even as the surrounding guests screamed and huddled to the floor, covering their ears from that violent, horrid sound.

When the last traitor fell, Caleb dropped the gun with a clatter, and his arms wrapped entirely around you, pulling you closer to his body for warmth. Your breathing had weakened even more, but he could still save you. He hadn’t failed you. Not yet, not ever. You were going to live. He would make sure of it.

Even if he now realized you were safer away from him.

Colonel Caleb, you had only slept for four hours last night, the robotic voice of an OTTO said with some semblance of concern in its artificial vocal. It levitated after its owner as the young colonel adjusted his uniform. The robot continued, explaining, An adult man of your age requires ei—

“I’ve slept enough,” he interrupted firmly, ignoring the robot, whose monitor quickly displayed a digitalized look of concern. Caleb had thought often of shutting down the robot and dismantling it, but he could never carry through, remembering that he had purchased this robot for you.

In this cold, monotonous so-called-home of his in Skyhaven, Caleb had few things that reminded him of you. A few plushies you two had won together sat on his living room couch, some snapshots you two had taken together at a photobooth, and perhaps a few furniture pieces you had ordered to be sent directly to his home. You had been in the process of bringing warmth and life into this place when everything came to an abrupt stop.

If he hadn’t taken you to that banquet that night nearly two years ago, Caleb wondered how things would have played out. You wouldn’t have gotten injured that night, but he feared perhaps it would just delay that same outcome. That night, he found himself at a fork in the road, forced to make a decision that would change the course of both of your lives.

Keep you by his side, where he had foolishly believed you would always be safe under his protection, or, let you go, let you believe that whatever had happened that night, he was the one who had died, finally taken away by Death himself. It was better to let you believe he had actually died this time, to keep you from searching for him, to keep you far away from Skyhaven—to keep you from him.

Since that night almost two years ago, Caleb’s nightmares had worsened. He relived the dreadful night, but he had also had other terrifying dreams so horrendous, he would wake up screaming in cold sweats, completely disoriented, unsure if he was trapped within another layer of the nightmare, or if he was truly awake.

“She’s safe, she’s safe,” he would often mutter to himself, an attempt to convince himself that he had made the right choice, that setting you free was the only way he could keep you safe. As long as you lived, he would bear the weight of his sacrifice, even if it meant never seeing you ever again.

It was sunny in Linkon, not a cloud in the sky, and the weather warm and inviting, but to Caleb, it was a place he had forbidden himself from ever stepping foot in again, out of fear that your paths would cross. In all of those times since he had distanced himself from you, allowed you to believe he was dead, he had managed to avoid any reason to step foot in the place that was once his home.

When his adjutant, Liam, had informed Caleb that his schedule required him to attend a conference meeting in Linkon, the young colonel stiffened, the atmosphere in the room stifling almost as if he was using his Evol. He suppressed his initial instinct to yell, knowing Liam was well aware of Caleb’s situation and had in the past made the necessary arrangements to prevent him from having any reason to step foot in that city.

It seemed he couldn’t stay away from Linkon forever, so he resigned to this situation, still remaining vigilant in his stance. Linkon was a big city, and there was no reason for your paths to cross. He would make do with this troublesome situation for the time being.

Now, Caleb had intended to return to Skyhaven the moment the meeting ended, and yet, against his better judgment, he found himself wandering down familiar streets, lost in memories of happier times. As he walked, before his eyes, he saw the silhouettes of him and you as children running down the street after school to your favorite little vintage grocery store.

Caleb, you dummy, you can’t use your Evol!

Don’t blame my Evol because you can’t run fast on those short legs, pipsqueak!

Caleb chuckled. He couldn’t help it. The memories of those years seemed so much more carefree. He often wished to go back to that time when the only things that weighed on yours and his shoulders were school or silly childish arguments.

As he approached the old grocery store, closed just a few years prior, he was surprised to learn that it was now under new ownership. The familiar place of his childhood was now a small trendy café, popular with college students and young couples.

To his astonishment—and, perhaps, also relief—the vibrant hydrangea garden in the back remained. Bushes of the white, blue, and pink flowers bloomed in the garden, showing that its new owner took well care of the plants. They looked like the hydrangeas of his childhood, of those long summer afternoons that never seemed to end as he and you made this place just another secret hideout only you two would ever know. As he walked down a beaten path, distracted, he was stirred out of his nostalgic thoughts when he felt something bumped into his leg. He peered down, surprised to see a little girl in a light orange dress, the same color as the sunset he used to see in his airplane when he was a pilot, was clinging to his leg. He looked around, not seeing any adult in sight to indicate they were the child’s guardian.

He furrowed his brows, a little in annoyance, as he was not prepared to suddenly be grappled with the responsibility of a lost child. He knelt down lower, and immediately, he startled as he took in the little girl’s appearance, a near perfect carbon copy of you, but the eyes—he stared into sweet little violet eyes that mirrored his own, seeing his shocked face reflected in these orbs. The girl looked up at him with curiosity, the wind swaying her short bob while a little yellow chunky cartoon airplane hairclip held her side bangs in place.

Suddenly, she started tearing up, breaking Caleb out of his trance and for the first time in a while, he felt panicked, unsure of what to do. The girl started to cry and Caleb immediately lifted her up, her head resting onto his shoulder as he rubbed her back and soothed her.

He shushed her gently, his caregiver instinct reignited after years of dormancy. “Why are you crying, sweetheart?” he asked her gently, his soothing voice a complete opposite to the tone he used as colonel.

The girl sobbed. She looked so young, Caleb realized, surmising that she probably had barely started learning to speak.

“Are you lost?” he asked in that same tender tone despite knowing the child would be unable to answer him. He continued, “You miss your mommy, don’t you?”

He rubbed her back again, wondering with trepidation if this child’s mother was who he thought it would be. For just a second, his heart stopped when he felt the little girl gripping the fabric of his uniform with her small hands. Quickly, he recomposed himself.

“It’s alright,” he whispered, his hand smoothed the back of her hair. “Let’s go look for your Mommy, alright?”

“Ma...ma…” the girl struggled to say. She rubbed her face against Caleb’s shoulder, and he smiled gently, unbothered that his once pristine uniform was now covered in a child’s snot.

“Okay, mama,” he repeated, “I’ll help you find your mama, sweetheart.”

When he was just about to turn around to head back to the café, he froze again, hearing a familiar voice he hadn’t heard in years. He could feel his heart beating against his chest, actually feeling every heavy thump as the seconds passed and the voice grew closer, a name cried out—the little girl’s.

The child in his arms wriggled, and cried louder, seeing her mother over Caleb’s shoulder. “Mama! Mama!”

Stiffly, Caleb knelt lower and gently set the girl down to her feet, barely registering as the child toddled passed him to her mother.

A completely different feminine voice called out, angry. “Were you trying to kidnap a child in broad dayli—”

Caleb stood up and turned around, his face pale.

“Cale…Caleb?” You stared in shock, feeling like you were seeing his ghost again. Again.

“Mama…Mama…!” Your daughter nuzzled her face against your chest as you held her. You broke out of your trance and instantly redirected your attention to your child. You quickly soothed her, well aware that Caleb’s eyes were locked on you, his face just as shocked as yours but for entirely different reasons. Once the little girl calmed down you passed her off to your companion, saying, “Tara, take her back to the café.”

Tara looked at you worriedly, her eyes darting to Caleb with suspicion. One look into Caleb’s eyes, seeing that same, perfect shade of purple, and the young woman quickly understood the situation. She nodded quietly and took the girl from you. “Come on, sweetie, auntie Tara is going to buy you a cupcake, okay?”

You waited until Tara and your daughter were out of sight. You couldn’t look at him. You wanted to look at him, to make sure your eyes were not deceiving you, to make sure that this was not an illusion, not a cruel, mocking figment of your imagination. But you couldn’t. You felt cowardly in that instance, being afraid of the truth. Afraid of his reaction. Of everything.

“You were…you were pregnant?” he questioned, feeling a wave of guilt washed over him.

Just hearing those words made you realized this was him. This was Caleb, the man you thought was taken away from you. Again.

Suddenly, you broke down crying and you looked up at him with tears running down your cheeks.

“Caleb, you dummy,” you sobbed, “You fucking dummy!”

He gasped, unprepared when you rushed at him and started beating his chest half-heartedly with your small fists as you continued to sob and curse him over and over again. He let you carry out your anger, let you punished him as you saw fit in this moment, but when the punches weakened, he gently grabbed your wrists, lowering them to your sides before his arms wrapped around you in comfort, his apologies immediate.

“Yeah,” he agreed in that ever familiar soft and gentle tone reserved only for you, “I am a fucking dummy.”

You sniffled against his chest, gripping tightly the lapel of his coat.

The afternoon passed slowly, initially tensed and awkward, but eventually all of the missing pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and you both struggled to come to terms with the picture of the missing years. You peered at the man to your side, seeing Caleb hunched over, his cap in his lap, looking much like a sinner struggling to come to terms with his wrongs.

“You didn’t know,” you whispered after a while, wanting to break this stifling silence. You reached for his arm, but he tensed before his shoulders slumped again.

“That’s no excuse,” he said, looking up at you. He started to reach for your cheek, hesitating at the last second, as if he was afraid that you would recoil from his touch. He started to pull back but you grabbed at his hand, guiding it to your cheek. He stared in shock as you nuzzled your face against his palm, and you gazed at him with glistened eyes.

“You’re not allowed to die again,” you scolded him. “Promise me that.”

He nodded numbly, his voice clear and steady. “I promise,” he said, repeating in a more hushed, firm tone, “I promise.”

He leaned forward, guiding your lips to his, his words still repeating in between breath. You let him drown you in his kisses, let yourself dizzied and relent to his feverish promises. When your lips parted, just a few centimeters, his warm breath grazed over your trembling lips before he pressed another kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I... will you…”

You looked up, seeing the struggles in his violet eyes. He appeared to hesitate again, unsure of what right he had to seek your forgiveness, wondering if he was overstepping the boundary between the two of you.

You gently coaxed him, seeing relief washed over his guilty features. “Will I what?”

“Will you…let me make things right?” he asked, “Let me…earn your forgiveness. I…please…”

He almost wanted to say, I can’t lose you again but the words died at his lips. He, of all people, had no rights to utter such words in your presence. He looked so defeated, beaten down to the point he no longer recognized himself anymore.

You took his hand, just like you always seemed to do, and you pulled him to his feet, to his surprise. He gazed at you questionably, his heart stopping at your words.

“Caleb,” you said his name so sweetly, “I want you to meet…our daughter.”

The summer air was warm even as the sky darkened, and stars after stars appeared above to illuminate the world below. The gentle breeze ruffled Caleb’s hair as he stared down at the sleeping girl in his arms. Maybe it was because she was still so young and impressionable, or perhaps she could already sense who he was to her, but the girl clung to him immediately, already feeling safe and protected in his presence.

His heart felt heavy, overwhelmed by guilt, a feeling of failure, and also of self-loathing, but as he gazed down at his daughter, another feeling stirred, just as intense but much more forgiving. He didn’t think he could feel such love as he did now as he peered down at the sleeping girl, nuzzled against him on his lap, peacefully slumbering away.

He wondered what she was dreaming of as he admired how much she resembled her mother. Hesitantly, he let his finger caressed her cheek, in complete, silent awe at how soft and delicate her skin was. He was almost afraid of hurting her, feeling a need to protect her just as he protected her mother. He looked up at you, his cheeks and ears reddening when he realized you had been laughing at his expense.

“It’s alright,” you told him amid your giggles.

“You’re laughing at me.”

“You deserve it, you big dummy.”

He let out a huff, in mock annoyance, but he agreed with you. “Alright,” he conceded, “I deserve it.”

“Do you want to begin your path to seeking forgiveness from us?” you asked him, a playful, teasing lilt in your voice, unmissed by Caleb as he raised a brow in curiosity.

“Just like that?” he questioned, confused by your leniency with him.

You nodded. “You still love me, right?”

“I’ve never stopped,” he said, his solemn words had you blushing against your better judgment, your heart quickening when he looked at you so lovelorn. You quickly composed yourself, returning to your mischievousness from seconds ago.

“You love her, right?” you asked, your eyes shifting to your sleeping daughter in his arms.

He sighed, mesmerized. “So much already,” he whispered, and again, you found yourself softening, touched by his sincerity.

“Okay, we’ll forgive you,” you answered, catching Caleb’s attention as he looked at you almost bemused by your easygoing attitude. “First step.”

“Which is?”

“You have to make us your specialty,” you said, laughing at Caleb’s look of complete bewilderment unfit for a colonel of his status. Clearly, you had blindsided him completely with this first condition. You clarified with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes, “You have to make your braised chicken wings.”

He stared at you as if not comprehending your words. You laughed and leaned closer to him, your head resting on his shoulder. “I ate a lot of braised chicken wings while pregnant,” you said, reminiscing to that lonely period in your life without his presence. You reached over and brushed your daughter’s flyaway hair out of her face, continuing softly, “But they weren’t as good as yours.”

Caleb let out a huff of breath, a soft, resigned laugh as he readjusted his arm, letting it wrapped around you as he pulled you closer into his embrace. He leaned over and kissed the top of your head. “Okay,” he answered, “I take it she also likes braised chicken wings then?”

You leaned into him, nodding once. “She’ll love yours more,” you said, and then looked up, your heart quickening again as you gazed into his beautiful violet eyes, grateful that your daughter had chosen to inherit this sole feature from her father. Breathlessly, you uttered softly, your words for his ears only, “She’ll love you.”

“And you?” he whispered back, that same hesitancy still prominent in his tone. He looked at you expectantly as he asked, “Do you still love me?”

“I’ve never stopped,” you echoed his words back to him, continuing in that same hushed tone, “I’ll always love my dummy Caleb.”

“Alright,” he said, his voice resigned, holding you just a bit tighter, as if he was afraid this was a cruel, taunting dream he would wake up from.

As Caleb watched your eyes closed, he looked down, eyes darting from you to his daughter, and he wondered if he deserved any of this. In the warm summer night, surrounded by the blossoming blue and pink and white hydrangeas, he silently apologized for his mistakes, promising that for the remainder of his life, he would become a better man, deserving of both of you.

Just like the little boy from long ago, once he had made a promise to you, he would never break it.

He swore it on his life.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Real talk because you are THE resident Silco expert and all your headcanons are 100% correct: why does fandom think Silco would be good in bed? (Or good at sex at all?)

I've seen headcanons about him being a giver, and about his dick game being fire, and while he's a sexy, charismatic man, I feel like he's too... selfish, insecure, and just not a romantic guy. He's also a very bitter, lonely, and angry dude. Idk, it makes sense he would have some kinks but I feel like he'd be too much of a bitch to care for anyone else in bed. I guess he'd want it rough, and I've read some fics where he's a sadist, but I feel like it'd just be a quick fuck to satisfy himself, not a slow, passionate, sensual thing.

idk, do with this what you will.

I agree - with nuance 💗

Silco - at least as I write him in FNF - is principally a headfuck. If he's demonstrating an interest in you, then he wants something from you. If he's nice to you, there's a bottom line. No act of generosity comes without strings attached, and every small kindness comes at a terrible price. That aspect of cold-blooded calculus is never far away from his base nature, which splits the world into assets and liabilities, and his own actions into a transaction of cost versus reward.

With that in mind, he excels, not at sex, but at getting his partners to do what he wants them to do. For him, it's one of the many fluid ways of expressing power, and demonstrating his mastery over the subtleties of the human body and mind.

A few readers have noticed that he comes across as very detached and controlled during FnF's sex scenes - and that they read as weirdly voyeuristic. That always delights me, because it's an intentional choice. He doesn't really see his partner as anything beyond a medium to his goals, so his focus is entirely on their physical responses and his own actions. His narration is distant, observational and impersonal, because he doesn't experience sex as something that involves an emotional or empathetic connection. Rather, he's gauging how his target's responses play out on a physical plane, and he's calibrating his own actions to maximise their impact.

To give credit where credit is due, he's very intelligent, patient and observant. There is also some realistic backing to the running gag that Good D is invariably attached to Bad Men. More specifically, Bad Broke Men. Silco has not grown up in a position of privilege or wealth. He has been forced to make use of every available resource. He has survived by the skin of his teeth on a constant knife edge of deprivation, hunger and fear.

He's a scrapper. He's a survivor. He's an opportunist.

And to be any of those things, you need to know your way around people: their wants and weaknesses. That's the foundation for the idea that he's good in bed - that he can anticipate his partner's desires, and respond accordingly. The difference is, his actions have no romantic underpinning. It's a matter of pure pragmatism and self-interest.

In terms of technical skill, he's likely very good at finding his partner's pressure points, both literal and figurative, and exploiting them. But if it were up to him, he'd find a way to turn the thumbscrews with nothing more than a well-chosen word and a cold look. The sex is just a generality, and his enjoyment a function of their compliance.

When it comes to actual intimacy?

My friends, he'd be spectacularly bad.

Not just bad, but skittish, hostile and hopelessly inept. He'd feel like an accomplished stage actor who has to step out onto the boards for an improv class. He hasn't got the right lines, he isn't dressed for the part, and he isn't even sure what role he's supposed to be playing. He'd be so awkward, he'd actually have trouble looking his partner in the eyes. The sum total of his sexual ouvre would devolve into the following comedy of errors:

"What the fuck is this?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Don't touch me there."

"This is going well, right?"

"Why can't I get it up?"

"I can't do this."

"Leave me alone."

"Where are you going?"

"Don't leave me."

"They always leave me."

"Why does everyone leave me?"

And he'd only spiral deeper into self-loathing and isolation. To submit to intimacy is to open oneself up to the mortifying ordeal of being known, and the constant risk of rejection. To Silco, it is anathema. Actual emotional vulnerability during sex would be not unlike attending his own public execution.

But.

Silco is not a one-note villain, much less a one-trick pony. He has a human history riven in deprivation, bloodshed and betrayal. He's remade himself from a 'weak' man into the premier kingpin of Zaun, but that predatory bracing still hides remnants of the soft-natured idealist he once was. In fact, he's the product of a deeply embedded internal conflict between two distinct versions of himself. The one who seeks to burn his enemies, and the one who seeks to save his city. He's also, as demonstrated by his love for Jinx, capable of profound devotion, loyalty, and a deep-seated longing for companionship.

That means the potential for romance exists. It's just buried deep, deep, deep down beneath years of abuse, neglect, trauma, and self-imposed barriers. If he meets someone who can dismantle those barriers, or bypass them altogether and earn his trust, there is a ray of hope.

Sex would still be frightening and uncomfortable, and it'd involve a lot of trial and error. But it'd also have the potential to be deeply healing. Not because Silco would become a better man, but because his partner would make him want to try. He'd also bring the same intense focus, intelligence, and determination to the task that he applies to his criminal empire - which means that, once he does have his sea legs, Silco would have the potential to become a truly giving lover.

It's all about context.

And the context is always: will he take the gamble when he has nothing to lose, and everything to gain?

[yeonmuse]

CHROME HEARTS ──but I break them still

❪ CHROME HEARTS ❫ nishimura riki & fem!rea 118O ⋆♱✮ fluff/angst ༯ university au ꫂ ၴႅၴ synopsis──★˙nainais library !! @k-films

℘an᭪ : written, texts & social media threads included in this chapter, welcome to my new tag-list recipients thank you for joining us on this journey. Also this is the first time I’ve written one of my smaus in first person rather than third, let me know if you guys like this better or if I should go back to writing third person reader pov.

CHAPTER 4 | stop aura farming

The art room— the place where all the magic happened, or at least it had been in your eyes. you never much cared for anything that didn’t involve eating, sleeping and breathing art. Art was something instinctive to you, something that had consumed your life from a very young age. When all you knew to write were stick figures and blended colors on an empty white page. You never cared much for your studies– though you always excelled in them nonetheless, aside from bio which you ultimately sucked at. You never cared much for parties or gaining the socialite title that many your age seemed to strive for. Your life was about art, the thing that connected you to a world outside of just your reality that was all plain black and white. The one thing that had always made you feel alive even when life had gotten complicated and heavy.

──Other than the faint noise of a paintbrush dusting against a canvas and pencils scraping coffee toned test sheets, silence hung over the room like a suffocating blanket. To you the silence was gratifying and provided a subsistence needed when working in the artistic atmosphere. You’d always found comfort in silence, no matter how heavy it sometimes got. Many times you’d be so focused that eventually the silence had become so overbearing and weighed that it’d completely devour you. A beautiful yet agonizing thing the quietness could be, and Ni ki had been on the polar opposite of such a spectrum who absolutely hated the silence been the two of you.

The quiet had completely swallowed the room whole, as if the art room had drifted off into its own sector of the universe. Not a squeak in the hallway or sound of faint footsteps in the distance. Not a hum or a yawn from you who’d been completely locked in on your work, it had been completely undeniable quiet. The only sounds cutting through momentarily was the subtle scratch of pencils on paper and brush to canvas and it had remained that way for over fifteen minutes. Initially when class ended and the professor had granted the two of you permission to stay behind and work longer he’d thought it to be the perfect opportunity, alas it gave him the chance to move in, to finally get you to crack and show him what lies beneath your cold and poised surface. All he’d known about you was simply from having observed you over the course of the first semester– the way your brows furrowed when you were perplexed or annoyed, how you’d letyour art consume you as if it were the only thing that seemed to matter..you weren’t just beautiful, you were complex, like a puzzle fit for only him to figure out.

But Ni ki had done all but speak to you within those fifteen minutes you were both sat there. He just sat silently observing, every now and then his focus would shift to his art piece until he’d eventually given up on it completely. To him you were a mere distraction, his desire and hopes for you to spare him one glance, to hear the call of his name from your lips had completely blinded him and yet it had never happened.

Fifteen minutes had long gone and eventually time stamped at five fifteen, feet shuffled on the other side of the art room door and then it swung open, an odd group pouring in seconds later. A sigh spilled from your lips on the other side of the room and you immediately shut your sketchbook, understanding your peace had now been disrupted for the day.

“I told you guys to study without me.’’ you groan, slipping your supplies into your bag and resting your arms on the table as you gave them each a look of disarray.

“Yeah and we didn’t listen so now what.’’ your brother antagonizes, making you roll your eyes at him. You didn’t even have to cook up any responses or clap backs because within seconds mako had been pushing him out of the way to get to you.“Will you move.’’

One person sat in the back of the room every now and then watching the interaction between the seven of you. Ears perking up each time he’d heard you laugh or crack a joke and even though it hadn’t been towards him he found himself smiling. Little parts of you had slightly unfolded before his eyes in the form of your friendships, though just as quick as they’d all come flooding into the room they eventually left, taking you along with them and he was once again left alone to the silence.

“Maya was not lying it was completely dead in there.’’ Melody comments as they’d moved further from the room. “You could have at least said something to him. He did by you those 300 dollar crayons.’’

“Oil pastels not crayons..and what would I even say to him. He asked me out remember it’s still pretty awkward.’’ you respond in defense

“To be honest you’re the only one that’s making it awkward because you have the social capabilities of a mouse. He doesn’t seem like he’s being awkward about it, even if he still likes you. You’re the only one still dwelling on it.’’ Hunter shrugs before taking a long swig from his coke can and tossing it into a nearby trashcan once he’s completely emptied it out.

“For fucks sake can we talk about something other than this guy?’’ Mako complained, turning to face them all and back stepping as you all walked along the hall. “Please i’m begging anything..’’

“We can talk about Chlo and the fact that she’s trying to spend her birthday sleeping and wasting away.” Maya moves in with a swift change in subject and now all eyes are on Chloe.

“What do you mean don’t you want to go out and celebrate with us?’’ you question, brows furrowed and lips shaped into a confused pout.

“It’s not that I don’t want to spend it with you guys i’d just rather sit this one out after all the quizzes and studying and work i just want to sleep.’’ she huffs, a look of exhaust shading over her face.

“Well if that’s the case we’ll all come over and we can sleep and not do anything together. You aren’t allowed to spend your big 20 alone.’’ you inquire, linking your arms with hers and resting your head on her shoulder as the two of you walked.

“Sounds good to me as long as I can sleep.” Chloe responds, resting her head on top of yours and closing her eyes.

“So it��s settled then this saturday we stay in and rest and next saturday we go out to celebrate.” Melody says, her voice bouncing off the walls with how loud she’d been.

“No one said anything about going out next saturday?” Jongseob looks at her through half lidded eyes, brows knit together in confusion.

“No shit, I’m saying it now dipshit.” She responds, starting and endless back and forth between the two of them that seemed to last until they finally reached their destined area for study group.

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[soft4changbin]

Accidentally yours

Ateez Mingi x reader (fake dating)

Summary: Mingi asks you to fake date him for a week, but the lines blur fast—and it turns out, he was never pretending.

Word count: 1,559

You weren’t expecting your phone to ring during your shift, especially not with Mingi’s name lighting up the screen. Your thumb hovered for a second before you accepted, pressing it to your ear and ducking into the storeroom.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Mingi breathed, and there was something about his voice—strained, anxious—that made you straighten. “I need a favor. A big one.”

“…How big?”

“Can you pretend to be my girlfriend for like… a week?”

You blinked, staring blankly at the shelves of inventory. “I’m sorry—what?”

“I’ll explain later,” he rushed. “Just—please. Say yes. I’ll owe you forever.”

There was silence as your heart did a weird little twist. He sounded nervous—really nervous. Not the kind of casual, teasing Mingi you were used to. You weren’t sure if that made it better or worse.

You sighed, already knowing you were going to say yes. “Fine. But this better be a good story.”

It turned out to be about an ex. A messy, gossipy, very public ex who had just flown into Seoul and managed to get seated at a high-profile dinner next to ATEEZ’s table.

“I panicked,” Mingi muttered as you adjusted your borrowed heels and smoothed down your dress. “I said I was dating someone now. And when they asked who… I blurted your name.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” you muttered, but there was an edge to your voice you didn’t quite know how to hide.

He grinned sheepishly, lips twitching like he knew. “Really lucky.”

The moment you walked into the room with him, his hand sliding around your waist like it belonged there, the air changed. His fingers were warm against the small of your back, his palm solid and grounding. And when he leaned in to whisper something funny in your ear, the scent of his cologne wrapped around you like a trap.

You laughed—genuinely. It surprised you, how easy it was to melt into the act. But what really startled you was how he looked at you in that moment.

Like he wasn’t pretending.

Later, after you managed to survive the evening without tripping over your own tongue or giving away the fact that your heart had been racing for hours, Mingi walked you home.

“You were amazing tonight,” he said softly, standing outside your door. “I think they bought it.”

“Of course they did,” you replied, shrugging one shoulder. “I’m an excellent fake girlfriend.”

His smile faltered—just slightly. So fast you nearly missed it.

“…Right. Fake.”

You thought it would end there.

It didn’t.

The next day, he texted you: Lunch? I owe you.

Then it was, Movie night? The guys want to meet “my girl.”

Then, Walk with me? Just… I need air. And maybe your hand.

And just like that, your life twisted sideways.

He held your hand too naturally. He bought your coffee without asking for your order. He sent you memes and voice notes and photos of clouds that “looked like your hair.”

He was always near. Always warm. Always Mingi.

And you couldn’t tell where the line between fake and real blurred.

You should have clarified the rules. You should’ve set boundaries. Instead, you let him take your hand and wrap an arm around your shoulders and whisper in your ear like you were something precious. You let him pull you into his world—slowly, softly—until you didn’t know how to escape.

When he posted a photo of your matching coffee cups with a tiny heart emoji, your phone blew up.

San texted: Wait. Are you guys actually dating?

Yeosang: Tell me this isn’t a joke, I like romance arcs.

And worst of all, Wooyoung: If this is fake, one of you is gonna get hurt.

You read that one three times before locking your phone.

Three days in, you realized you were in trouble.

It was after dinner. You were sitting across from him in the dim light of your favorite noodle shop, sharing side dishes and stories. He was smiling at you like there was no one else in the world, and your laugh had come a little too quickly, your gaze had lingered a little too long.

Your chest hurt. You liked him. Really liked him.

Not the shallow kind you’d always brushed off before.

This was real. And terrifying.

Because as far as you knew, this was still an act. A performance for his pride. A temporary arrangement.

You hadn’t signed up to fall in love.

The breaking point came at the concert.

You were supposed to stay backstage—watching from the shadows. But just before soundcheck, Mingi pulled you aside, his eyes bright and mischievous.

“Come with me.”

“Mingi, what—?”

But he didn’t explain. He just took your hand and dragged you into the light.

The fans screamed. Cameras flashed.

And he turned to you, grinning like a fool, before slinging an arm around your shoulders and shouting into the mic, “This one’s mine!”

Your heart nearly stopped.

Later, when you cornered him outside the dressing room, you hissed, “You’re unbelievable.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I thought this was supposed to be lowkey.”

“Why would we keep it lowkey?” he asked, confused.

You stared at him, mouth dry. “Because it’s fake.”

That one word landed like a slap.

He didn’t respond. He just looked at you. Quiet. Wounded.

And that was the first time you saw him falter.

That night, after everyone left and the city had gone quiet, you sat on a bench near the dorms. The streetlamp overhead buzzed softly, casting golden light between you.

Mingi sat beside you, bouncing one knee. “You’ve been… weird today.”

“I’m always weird.”

He didn’t smile. “Did I do something wrong?”

You hesitated. “No. You’re perfect.”

His head tilted. “Then why are you pulling away?”

You looked down at your hands, wringing your fingers together. “Because I don’t know what this is anymore.”

He was silent for a beat. “It’s us.”

“No. It’s a lie,” you said, voice tight. “You asked me to pretend to be your girlfriend for a week. That’s what I’m doing.”

He turned to you slowly, expression unreadable.

“…You think I’m pretending?”

Your throat dried. “Aren’t you?”

He let out a soft breath. “I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“I only asked you to fake date me because I didn’t know how else to be close to you without scaring you away.”

His voice was barely a whisper, but it echoed loud in your chest.

“I’ve liked you for a long time,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “I just… I didn’t know if you felt the same. So I figured, if I could just have this—have a taste—I’d be okay.”

Tears burned the back of your eyes.

“You idiot,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said, smile bitter. “I should’ve just told you.”

“I was pulling away because I thought none of it meant anything.”

“It meant everything.”

He reached out then, brushing your cheek with calloused fingers.

“If you tell me it’s still fake, I’ll walk away. I won’t pressure you. I just… I needed you to know the truth.”

You stared at him, heart pounding.

And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t perfect. It was desperate and messy and clumsy with the weight of everything unsaid. But when his arms closed around you and he kissed you back—like he’d been waiting years for this moment—you knew.

This wasn’t pretend anymore.

Two Weeks Later

The guys didn’t stop teasing.

“So… it was fake dating until it wasn’t?” Seonghwa grinned, sipping his tea.

“She kissed me first,” Mingi said proudly, draping himself over the couch.

“You pulled me into a concert spotlight!” you protested, flicking a cushion at him.

“Details,” he said, catching it with a wink.

Wooyoung sighed dramatically. “This is the worst fake-to-real romance I’ve ever seen. Where’s the slow burn?”

Yeosang offered, “It was a slow panic. That counts.”

But you just smiled, curled up under Mingi’s arm, your fingers laced with his.

You’d started out pretending.

Now you couldn’t imagine going back.

Because somewhere between fake smiles and real ones, between playful touches and aching ones—you’d both stopped acting.

And started falling.

[athenasdaydreams]

pairing: jack wilder x wife!reader

summary: It had been nearly two years since you last saw Jack Wilder, and though you’d always known your relationship would be different, nothing could have prepared you for the distance that had grown between the two of you. After your whirlwind romance in high school, both of you had taken very different paths. You had been the high-achieving, college-bound student, one of the top students in your class. Harvard had been your dream, and now you were living it. Jack, on the other hand, had pursued the high-risk, high-reward world of the Horsemen—a life full of heists, danger, and magic. And though your worlds seemed completely different, you had both promised each other that the love you shared wouldn’t fade, even if the distance grew.

chapter warnings: use of y/n, other than that not any to my knowledge!!

A/N: lowkey i need to do my homework and guess who got more homework because she failed advanced math like half of the cohort... it's okay i got an A+ for english while everyone else barely passed... just channelling my ivy league dream here

It all started in high school, when you first crossed paths with Jack. You were the quiet, studious girl—always focused on your grades, determined to make your parents proud, and destined for the Ivy League. Jack, on the other hand, was the charismatic troublemaker, the one who always seemed to be in the middle of something exciting, whether it was pulling off a prank or slipping away from the clutches of authority.

It wasn’t love at first sight, not exactly. Jack wasn’t the type of guy to catch your eye with a single glance. But he did have a way of making everyone notice him—his confidence, his ability to charm his way out of anything, and his natural flair for magic. And somehow, you found yourself drawn to him.

You didn’t expect it to happen, but one day, Jack pulled you aside after class.

“You’re way too smart to be wasting your time with these guys,” he’d said, his grin mischievous but genuine. “Come hang with me for once.”

You were taken aback—no one had ever said something like that to you. But Jack’s wild energy was contagious, and soon you found yourself spending more time with him. You couldn’t explain it, but his reckless charm, his infectious laughter, and the way he could talk circles around anyone, all of it was something you couldn’t resist.

In the months that followed, you grew closer. Jack, for all his boldness, had a vulnerability that you saw through. And you, the overachieving student with her nose always buried in books, found something thrilling and liberating in his world—a world where you didn’t have to be perfect or measured. He made you see life differently, even though you knew you were on completely different paths.

By the time graduation came around, your connection was undeniable. Jack proposed to you on a whim, one late night as the two of you sat on the roof of your high school, gazing at the stars. You both had no idea what the future would hold, but in that moment, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“I don’t care what we’re doing, as long as we’re doing it together,” Jack had said, his voice serious for once.

And you, without thinking, had answered, “Yeah, let’s do it.”

You’d gotten married right after high school, a spur-of-the-moment decision that surprised everyone—including your parents—but both of you knew that this was your path, your journey. It wasn’t conventional, but your love had always been anything but ordinary.

Now, two years later, you found yourself far away from that chaotic, passionate life you’d shared with Jack. You had thrown yourself into your studies at Harvard, where you excelled in everything you did. But you also missed Jack—his spontaneous energy, his excitement for life, his love that never felt like it could be contained.

You hadn’t seen him in weeks, but you kept in touch through sporadic texts and calls. Every time you’d hear from him, there was always that sense of both longing and excitement. You knew Jack’s world was dangerous, unpredictable, and that he couldn’t always be around, but somehow, you made it work.

Tonight, though, you hadn’t expected to see him. You were working at a high-profile gala, overseeing the exhibit as part of your internship, and everything was running smoothly—until you got that message.

You were backstage, adjusting the last few details of the event, when your phone buzzed in your pocket. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

"Jack?" you whispered as you pulled the phone out, a mix of excitement and nerves fluttering in your chest.

"Stay where you are," his voice crackled through, full of that same intensity. "Just trust me, okay? Don’t move."

"Jack, what’s going on?" you asked, concern edging your voice.

"I’ll explain later. Just stay put. I’ll find you."

Before you could respond, the call dropped.

You stared at the screen, unsure of what was happening. But you trusted him. You always had. So you waited, trying to push away the confusion gnawing at you.

Minutes later, you found yourself scanning the crowd of the gala. The chatter of the high-society guests blended into the background as you looked for any sign of Jack. That’s when you saw him—slipping through the crowd in a sharp black suit, looking effortlessly out of place among the fancy attire, but somehow, right at home.

Your breath hitched as his eyes locked onto yours. "(Y/N)," he said, his voice carrying through the room. Without thinking, you rushed toward him, the world around you blurring as you reached him.

Jack pulled you into his arms, and for a moment, nothing else mattered. It was as if the entire room disappeared.

"I missed you," Jack whispered, holding you tighter than you thought was possible.

"I missed you, too," you said, your heart racing. The distance between you had been hard, but in that moment, everything felt perfect.

But then, just as you were soaking in the moment, the Horsemen appeared—Merritt, Danny, and the rest of the crew, all wide-eyed and staring at the scene in front of them.

Merritt was the first to react, his expression faltering for a second before his eyes flicked between you and Jack. His gaze dropped to your hand, where the gleam of your wedding ring caught the light. He blinked in disbelief and looked up at Jack.

"Wait… Jack… this isn’t just your girlfriend, is it?"

Jack stiffened but didn’t try to hide your ring. "Yeah, Merritt. She’s my wife."

Merritt’s eyes widened. "Wife? What? Wife?"

You smiled lightly, squeezing Jack’s hand. “Yeah, his wife. Sorry, I guess we didn’t exactly have a big ‘announcement’ for you guys.”

The rest of the Horsemen exchanged confused glances. Danny, still processing, raised an eyebrow. “Wait, wait. You’re married? But you’re—what—twenty-one?”

Jack shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, I guess I don’t fit the typical ‘lone wolf’ persona you all seem to think I have.”

Merritt blinked rapidly, as if he couldn’t quite compute the new information. “But… wait. How? You’ve been married the whole time, Jack? And you never… mentioned this?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Didn’t think it was important to share. But yeah, we’ve been making it work.”

Merritt let out a breath, still trying to make sense of it. “Okay, okay. But you’re married? To her?” He gestured at you, still looking you up and down with a new kind of surprise in his expression.

"Yeah. This is (Y/N)," Jack said, his voice finally softening. "My wife. She’s studying at Harvard. She’s... different from what you all might expect."

The crew exchanged skeptical looks. “Wait, Harvard?!” Danny blurted out. “How is this... her? She’s so smart and…”

“I know,” Jack said, grinning. “She keeps me on my toes. Someone’s gotta keep me in line, right?”

You chuckled and gave Jack a playful shove. “You make it sound like I’m the one doing all the work around here.”

The Horsemen’s jaws dropped as they exchanged glances. “So, you’re really married to him?” Merritt asked, still in shock, as if the entire thing had blown his mind.

Jack pulled you close again, holding you like no time had passed at all. “Yeah. We’ve been making it work. College, heists, whatever. We’re good.”

Merritt scratched his head, clearly still processing. "I guess I thought you were a lot more of a ‘free spirit’ type, Jack. But, damn... a married guy? This is… news."

“Guess that’s why I kept it under wraps,” Jack said with a grin.

You leaned into him, the warmth of his embrace washing over you. As the rest of the Horsemen processed the revelation, you felt more grounded than ever. In a world full of chaos, your love for Jack Wilder remained a steady anchor.

wc: 1.3k

[ghstyles]

Lint | FWFW Oneshot

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WC: 3.5K

FWFW Masterlist

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Friday nights were typically reserved for movie night. No homework, no studio, and no outside world.

Tonight was an exception.

The charity gala was exactly the kind of event Harry typically enjoyed. Elegant without being stuffy, populated with familiar faces from the industry, and benefiting a cause he genuinely cared about. The children's hospital had been one of his preferred organizations to support for years, and he'd performed at their annual fundraiser three times before.

This time, however, his attention was decidedly not on the charity, the excellent champagne, or the acoustic set he was scheduled to perform in forty minutes. Instead, his eyes kept gravitating to a corner of the ballroom where Y/N stood in animated conversation with a man Harry didn't recognize.

He watched as she laughed at something the stranger said, her head tilting back slightly, the elegant line of her throat exposed. The man who stood tall, dark-haired, and conventionally handsome in a boring suit, leaned closer, placing a hand lightly on her arm as he spoke.

Harry's jaw clenched so hard he could hear his teeth grinding.

"You might want to ease up on that glass before you shatter it," came an amused voice from his left.

Harry turned to find Mitch watching him with poorly concealed humor.

Harry looked down at the champagne flute in his hand, surprised to find his knuckles had gone white from the force of his grip. He deliberately loosened his fingers, setting the glass on a nearby table.

"Don't know what you're talking about," he muttered, straightening the cuffs of his suit jacket. A deep green velvet that Y/N had helped him select, claiming it made his eyes look "unfairly gorgeous."

"Right," Mitch drawled, his gaze following Harry's previous line of sight. "You're definitely not about to commit homicide over there."

Harry shot him a dark look. "I'm fine."

"Clearly," Mitch agreed with mock seriousness. "That's why you're standing here glaring holes through that poor bastard's skull instead of, I don't know, joining your wife in conversation?"

"Ex-wife," Harry corrected automatically, the word still strange and bitter on his tongue despite the three months that had passed since they'd decided to end their arrangement.

Three months since they'd admitted that what had begun as a business deal had evolved into something much more complicated.

Mitch raised an eyebrow. "Is that what we're calling her this week? Because last Thursday at rehearsal, you referred to her as your girlfriend. Twice."

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It's...complicated."

"When isn't it with you two?" Mitch asked, not unkindly. "But complicated or not, you might want to stop looking like you're planning his murder. People are starting to notice."

Harry glanced around and realized Mitch was right. Several guests were casting curious glances in his direction, no doubt wondering why the evening's headliner was standing alone, radiating tension like a storm cloud.

"Who even is that guy?" Harry asked, his tone aiming for casual interest and landing somewhere closer to barely restrained hostility.

Mitch shrugged. "No idea. Some doctor, maybe? This is a hospital fundraiser."

Harry's scowl deepened. "Great. A doctor. Perfect."

Mitch's lips twitched with barely suppressed amusement. "Would you prefer he was something less impressive? A professional clown, perhaps? Tax auditor?"

Harry ignored the attempt at humor, his attention drawn back to Y/N as she accepted a fresh glass of wine from the man, their fingers brushing in the exchange.

"He's standing too close," Harry muttered, more to himself than to Mitch.

"Yeah, it's a real tragedy," Mitch agreed dryly. "Someone should call security."

Harry shot him another glare. "You're not helping."

"Not trying to," Mitch replied cheerfully. "Just enjoying the show. It's not every day I get to see Harry Styles having a jealous meltdown in public."

Harry stiffened, his gaze snapping back to his friend. "I'm not jealous."

Mitch's expression made it clear he wasn't buying it. "Sure. And I'm not planning to play guitar in about forty minutes."

Harry sighed again, his shoulders slumping slightly as he admitted defeat—at least to himself if not out loud.

The truth was, he could recognize his own faults when forced to. While Harry liked to think he had many positive qualities. He was generous, loyal to those he cared about, and hardworking. His jealousy had always been a trait he wasn't proud of. Especially when it came to Y/N.

Even during the early months of their arrangement, when they could barely stand each other, he'd felt a possessive surge whenever he saw her talking to other men at events. Back then, he'd justified it as concern for their public image, they were supposed to be happily married, after all.

But now, three months into whatever this new phase of their relationship was, he could no longer hide behind that excuse. The pure jealousy simmering in his chest at the sight of some random doctor talking to her was unreal, and entirely his own problem to deal with.

"Look," Mitch said, his tone softening slightly, "why don't you just go over there? Say hello, introduce yourself. Be charming instead of...whatever this is."

Harry ran a hand through his hair again, a nervous habit he'd never quite managed to break. "She's having a conversation. I don't want to interrupt."

Mitch rolled his eyes. "Since when has that stopped you?"

"Since things are finally good between us," Harry admitted quietly. "Since I promised myself I'd stop being a controlling arsehole."

Understanding dawned on Mitch's face. "Ah," he said. "So instead of being a controlling arsehole, you're going to stand here radiating hostility from across the room. Much better."

Put like that, Harry had to acknowledge the absurdity of his position.

"I'm working on it, alright?" he said defensively. "It's not like there's a manual for how to handle seeing your ex-wife-turned-girlfriend talking to attractive doctors at charity events."

Mitch snorted. "Pretty sure the manual would just say 'don't be a dick about it,' but what do I know?"

Before Harry could respond, a waiter approached with a tray of champagne. Harry waved him off, but Mitch took a glass, using the momentary interruption to scan the room.

"We should probably start heading backstage," he said, checking his watch. "Sarah wanted us to run through the set list one more time before we go on."

Harry nodded absently, his attention once again drawn to Y/N. The doctor, if that's what he even was, had moved even closer, his head bent toward hers as he spoke. As Harry watched, the man reached out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek.

Something hot and dangerous surged through Harry's veins. Before he could think better of it, he was striding across the ballroom, weaving between clusters of well-dressed guests with single-minded purpose.

He imagined storming over there and punching the guy. The satisfying crunch of knuckles against jaw, the shocked gasps of the crowd, Y/N's eyes widening in surprise...

Harry forcibly reined in the fantasy. Violence wasn't the answer, no matter how appealing it might seem in the heat of the moment. He was an adult, a public figure, and most importantly, someone trying to be worthy of Y/N's trust and affection.

So instead of throwing a punch, he plastered on his most charming smile as he approached, determined to be civil despite the jealousy still churning in his gut.

"There you are, love," he said, his voice warm as he reached Y/N's side. "Been looking all over for you."

Y/N turned, surprise and something warmer flashing in her eyes as she registered his presence.

"Harry," she said, her smile genuine in a way that eased some of the tension from his shoulders. "I thought you'd be backstage by now."

"Heading there soon," he assured her, before deliberately turning his attention to the man at her side. "Harry Styles," he introduced himself, extending a hand. "Y/N's husband."

Ex-husband, a small voice in his head corrected, but Harry ignored it. The legal distinction seemed unimportant in the face of the possessive instinct thrumming through his veins.

The man blinked, clearly taken aback by Harry's sudden appearance, but recovered quickly. "Dr. James Mitchell," he replied, shaking Harry's hand with a firm grip that Harry matched and perhaps exceeded slightly. "Chief of Pediatric Surgery at London Children's. I was just telling your wife about some of the new equipment her donation helped us purchase for the oncology ward."

Harry's smile became slightly more genuine as understanding dawned. Not a potential rival, then, just someone connected to the charity.

"That's brilliant," he said, his arm sliding around Y/N's waist in a gesture that was both natural and deliberately claiming. "Y/N's always been passionate about children's causes."

Y/N leaned into him slightly, her body warm against his side. "Dr. Mitchell was giving me a virtual tour of the new facilities," she explained, a hint of amusement in her voice that suggested she wasn't entirely unaware of what had prompted Harry's appearance. "The imaging technology they've developed is remarkable."

"I'd be happy to give you both a real tour sometime," Dr. Mitchell offered, his gaze encompassing them both now. "The children would be thrilled to meet you, Mr. Styles. Many of them are big fans."

Harry felt a twinge of guilt for his earlier hostility. "I'd like that," he said sincerely. "And please, call me Harry."

Dr. Mitchell smiled, then glanced at his watch. "I should circulate a bit more before the performances begin," he said. "It was lovely meeting you both. And thank you again for your generosity, Mrs. Styles. The new equipment will make a real difference for our young patients."

With a polite nod, he moved away, leaving Harry and Y/N standing alone in their corner of the ballroom.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Y/N turned in Harry's arms, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation.

"'Y/N's husband'?" she quoted, raising an eyebrow. "I could have sworn we signed divorce papers three months ago."

Harry had the grace to look slightly abashed, though he didn't remove his arm from her waist. "Force of habit," he muttered unconvincingly.

Y/N's lips twitched. "Mmhmm. And I suppose it was also 'force of habit' that had you glaring at poor Dr. Mitchell from across the room for the last fifteen minutes?"

Harry winced, caught out. "You noticed that, did you?"

"Half the room noticed," Y/N informed him dryly. "Subtlety has never been your strong suit, Harold."

Harry sighed, finally releasing her waist to run a hand through his hair. "Sorry," he said, meeting her gaze directly. "I know I promised I'd work on the whole jealousy thing."

Y/N's expression softened, her hand coming up to straighten his bow tie, an unnecessary gesture that was more about physical connection than actual adjustment.

"You were jealous of a pediatric surgeon discussing hospital equipment?" she asked, her tone gently teasing.

"In my defense," Harry replied, capturing her hand and bringing it to his lips, "I didn't know that's what you were talking about. I can't read lips…and he touched your hair."

Y/N rolled her eyes, though her smile remained. "He was removing a piece of lint, you ridiculous man."

"Still," Harry insisted, not quite ready to concede the point entirely. "He was standing very close."

"It's a crowded room," Y/N pointed out reasonably. "And you're changing the subject. We were discussing your apparent inability to remember we're divorced."

Harry's expression turned more serious, his thumb tracing small circles on the inside of her wrist where he still held her hand.

"Does it bother you?" he asked quietly. "That I called you my wife?"

Y/N studied his face for a moment, her own expression thoughtful. "That depends," she said finally. "Was it just a territorial thing because you were jealous? Or was there more to it?"

Harry hesitated, weighing his words carefully. They'd been taking things slow these past three months, rebuilding their relationship on a foundation of honesty and genuine affection rather than contractual obligation.

"Both," he finally admitted. "I was jealous, yeah. But also...I miss it sometimes. Being able to call you my wife."

Something vulnerable flickered in Y/N's eyes. "Even though our marriage was fake?"

"It didn't feel fake at the end," Harry said softly. "You know that."

Y/N nodded, her gaze dropping to their joined hands. "I know."

A brief silence fell between them, weighted with all the things they'd never properly discussed. How their arrangement had slowly transformed into something real, how they'd both been too scared to acknowledge it until it was already falling apart.

"Mr. Styles?" A voice interrupted the moment, belonging to a harried-looking woman with a clipboard. "We need you backstage in five minutes."

Harry nodded acknowledgment, waiting until she moved away before turning back to Y/N.

"Save me a dance after the performance?" he asked, his thumb still tracing patterns on her skin.

Y/N smiled up at him, the warmth in her eyes easing something tight in his chest. "Of course," she agreed. "As long as you promise not to glare at any more doctors who have the audacity to discuss medical equipment with me."

Harry laughed, the jealousy that had been simmering in his chest dissipating in the face of her teasing. "I'll try," he promised. "But no guarantees if they start touching your hair again."

Y/N shook her head in fond exasperation. "Go," she urged, giving him a gentle push toward the backstage area. "Your adoring public awaits."

Harry caught her hand again, pressing a quick kiss to her palm before releasing her. "The only adoration I care about is yours," he told her softly, his eyes holding hers for a moment longer before he turned to make his way through the crowd.

As he headed backstage, Harry caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the ballroom's ornate mirrors. He looked...lighter somehow, the tense set of his shoulders from earlier relaxed, the scowl replaced by a small, private smile.

He still had work to do on his jealousy—he knew that. It wasn't a trait he was proud of, and it wasn't fair to Y/N to indulge it. But knowing she understood, that she could tease him about it rather than resent it, made him feel like maybe they were on the right track after all.

And if sometimes he still thought of her as his wife rather than his ex…

Well

That was a problem for another day. For now, he had a performance to give and a dance to look forward to afterward. With the woman who, legal documents aside, still felt very much like his in all the ways that truly mattered.

---

The performance had gone well, better than well, judging by the enthusiastic applause that followed Harry and the band offstage. He'd chosen a mix of his more upbeat hits and a couple of slower, more emotional tracks, ending with a new song he'd been working on that the audience seemed to particularly appreciate.

As he made his way back into the ballroom, accepting congratulations and well-wishes from various guests, his eyes scanned the crowd for a particular face. He found her near the dance floor, deep in conversation with a woman he recognized as one of the event organizers.

Y/N looked stunning tonight, her  hair swept into an elegant updo that exposed the graceful line of her neck. Her dress, a deep burgundy that complemented her eyes and complexion, clung to her curves before flaring slightly at the knee, the fabric catching the light as she moved.

Harry felt a familiar warmth spread through his chest at the sight of her. It still amazed him sometimes, how thoroughly his feelings for her had transformed from resentment to something so much deeper and more complex.

As though sensing his gaze, Y/N looked up, a smile breaking across her face when she spotted him. She said something to the woman beside her, who nodded and moved away, leaving Y/N free to make her way toward him.

"That was incredible," she told him as she reached his side, her eyes bright with genuine admiration. "That new song especially. I hadn't heard it before."

Harry felt a flush of pleasure at her praise. "Still working on it," he admitted, his hand coming to rest at the small of her back. "But it felt right tonight."

"It was beautiful," Y/N assured him, her expression softening. "Though I'm not sure how the lyrics about being 'chained to a love that feels like drowning' will play with your more romantic fans."

Harry's lips quirked in a half-smile. "Good thing I don't write songs to please other people, then."

"No," Y/N agreed, something knowing in her gaze, "you never have."

The orchestra, which had been playing softly in the background, segued into a slower number, one that Harry recognized with a jolt of surprise.

"They're playing our song," he said, a note of wonder in his voice.

Y/N's brow furrowed in momentary confusion, then cleared as she recognized the melody. "The first dance at our wedding," she remembered, her tone softer. "I thought you hated that song."

"I pretended to," Harry admitted, taking her hand. "Seemed safer that way. Dance with me?" He asked, already leading her toward the center of the floor where other couples were beginning to sway to the music.

Y/N nodded, allowing him to guide her into position, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder as his settled at her waist. They moved together with practiced ease, their bodies remembering the rhythm they'd established during countless public appearances as husband and wife.

"I meant what I said earlier," Harry murmured, his lips close to her ear. "About missing it. Calling you my wife."

Y/N's fingers tightened slightly on his shoulder, but her expression remained calm. "We agreed to take things slow this time," she reminded him gently. "To build something real, not just convenient."

"I know," Harry acknowledged, guiding her through a gentle turn. "And I'm not trying to rush things. I just...I want you to know where my head is. That I'm in this for real, Y/N. Not because it's good for my image or because we signed a contract. But because I want to be."

Y/N's gaze softened, something vulnerable flickering in the depths of her eyes. "I want that too," she admitted quietly. "To be with you because it's what we both choose, not because it's what we agreed to."

Harry pulled her slightly closer, their bodies moving in perfect synchronization to the music. "I'm sorry about earlier," he said after a moment. "The jealousy thing. I know it's not attractive."

Y/N's lips curved in a small smile. "It's not unattractive either," she confessed. "In small doses. When it doesn't cross the line into controlling."

Harry raised an eyebrow, surprise evident in his expression. "You don't mind that I get jealous?"

"I mind when you act like an idiot because of it," Y/N clarified. "But knowing you care enough to feel jealous? That's...not entirely unpleasant."

A slow smile spread across Harry's face. "Is that right?"

"Don't let it go to your head," Y/N warned, though her eyes danced with amusement. "There's a big difference between finding it flattering that you're a tiny bit possessive and enjoying when you glare at innocent doctors."

Harry laughed, the sound rich and warm in the space between them. "Noted," he agreed. "Though in my defense, he wasn't that innocent. No man touches a woman's hair just to remove lint."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile remained. "If you say so."

They danced in comfortable silence for a few moments, the familiar melody wrapping around them like a shared memory.

"Do you ever wonder," Harry asked suddenly, his voice thoughtful, "what would have happened if we'd met differently? If there had been no contract, no arrangement, just us, meeting as people?"

Y/N considered the question, her head tilting slightly to one side. "Sometimes," she admitted. "But then I think...would we have given each other a real chance? Or would we have let our preconceptions get in the way?"

Harry nodded slowly, understanding her point. "I was pretty determined to dislike you at the beginning," he acknowledged. "Based on nothing but my mother's opinions and my own prejudices."

"And I was equally determined to see you as nothing but a spoiled, entitled celebrity," Y/N countered with a rueful smile. "Maybe we needed the contract to force us to look beyond those initial impressions."

"Maybe," Harry agreed, his hand splaying wider against her back, drawing her imperceptibly closer. "Though I like to think I'd have recognized what was special about you eventually, contract or no contract."

Y/N's expression softened, her eyes warm as they met his. "You're a romantic under all that brooding, aren't you, Harry Styles?"

"Only with you," he told her, the simple honesty in his voice making her breath catch.

The music began to fade, signaling the end of the dance, but neither made a move to separate. Instead, Harry's hold on her waist tightened slightly, keeping her close as the orchestra transitioned into another slow number.

"One more?" he asked, though he was already beginning to move to the new rhythm.

Y/N nodded, her hand sliding from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through the hair there in a gesture that was both familiar and intimate.

"One more," she agreed softly. "Though people might talk if we spend the entire evening dancing together."

Harry's smile turned slightly wicked. "Let them," he said, his voice dropping to that low register that never failed to send a shiver down her spine. "Maybe it'll keep the doctors at bay."

Y/N laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "Incorrigible," she accused fondly.

"You like it," Harry countered, his confidence not entirely unfounded given the way she was looking at him.

"God help me, I do," Y/N admitted with a mock sigh. "Though I'm not sure what that says about my judgment."

Harry's expression turned more serious, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her heart race. "It says you see me," he told her quietly. "All of me. The good and the bad. And you're still here."

Something in Y/N's chest tightened at the vulnerability beneath his words. "I'm still here," she confirmed softly, her fingers gentle against his skin. "And I'm not going anywhere."

As they continued to move together, lost in their private world despite the crowded ballroom, Harry felt the last of his earlier jealousy and tension melt away. He still had his faults, the jealousy chief among them, but with Y/N, he was learning to face them honestly rather than hide behind them or let them control him.

And that, he thought as he guided her through another turn, her body warm and trusting against his, was progress worth celebrating.

Taglist: @mysunflowerposts @lydiasfalling @panini @ell0ra-br3kk3r @donutsandpalmtrees @sunshinemoonsposts @angeldavis777 @fangirl509east @maudie-duan @indierockgirrl @harryssunflower17 @lizsogolden @daphnesutton @spinninc @behindmygreyeyes @wheredidmyeyesgo @matildasatellite @drewrry @inlikea-coolway @jerseygirlinca @nosebeers

[king-goober]

Squirrel Girl, Mantis, and Emma Frost x Male Reader

Squirrel Girl

Doreen treats you like her whole damn world. Doesn’t matter what kind of day either of you have had, she’s gonna tell you that you’re her everything and more. If she could tell you how much she loves you every second of every day without it coming off as annoying she would.

Movie nights are a must with her. Just you, her, and Tippy-Toe wrapped up in a warm blanket with a bunch of snacks in front of you. Definitely the type of girl to build a pillow fort just for the hell of it. You’ll just come home one day to find all the pillows and blankets missing only to find Doreen putting the finishing touches on her master piece. Snuggles in the fort are nonnegotiable.

Speaking of which, good luck getting up in the morning. Because if she’s got a good grip on you, you aren’t getting out of bed.

Her tail is really soft. You’d think given her profession as well as her allies her fur would be all matted and dirty, but no. She takes pretty good care of it.

On the topic of her job, expect to receive a bunch of selfies of her and any bad guys she’d just beaten up.

*Doreen just sent you an image*

*you open the image to find a selfie of Doreen holding up a peace sign for the camera with Thanos face down on the floor in the background* HOW IN THE HELL?!

If you’re a hero like her, she’ll pester you to join her on patrol, comparing the 2 of you to a buddy cop movie.

Mantis

A relationship with Mantis is one you can describe in only one word. Transparent.

Given her abilities, it’s not easy to keep secrets from Mantis. Had a bad day? She can tell. Got a surprise for her? She can sense your excitement. Want a hug? She’s already got her arms open.

In turn, since you can’t keep secrets from her, she out right refuses to keep secrets from you. It just doesn’t seem fair to her. Why keep stuff from you if you are literally unable to do the same?

Mantis is a cutie to the highest degree. She’ll do this thing where if she discovers something incredible she’ll get this excitement look on her face that is simply infectious. The way her eyes light up and a huge smile grows on her face is simply irresistible.

Praise! Praise! Praise!

This lady loves to praise you whenever she can. “Excellent” is something you’ll hear literally everyday. If you come home after an off day she’s already on the couch, waiting to lay your head in her lap and praise you till the cows come home.

“It’s alright, my beloved. You are doing just fine. Everything you do is enough.”

Emma Frost

Definite sugar mommy vibes from this woman. I mean, she’s literally made of diamonds. Lady’s got more money than she knows what to do with, and what better reason to use it than to spoil you.

Gifts are abundant with Emma. Doesn’t matter if it’s your birthday, Christmas or any other special occasion, she’ll get you something just because she felt like it. And it doesn’t matter if you’re boujee or not, she likes to look at price tags before anything else.

And don’t try to refuse any of her presents because there’s no way in hell she’s returning them.

“Darling, I’ve got a gift for you.” *she hands you a small box with a bow on it*

*you open the box to find a watch that costs more than your average suburban home. You sweat a bit.* “th-thanks, Emma.”

Appearance means a lot to her, and you’re no exception. If you don’t have any particular style when you start dating her you’ll have one by the end of the day. She’ll buy you new clothes, get you a haircut, anything she thinks you need. All on her dime of course.

At first it felt like she only kept you around to be arm candy. A pretty face for her to show off at events. However, it doesn’t take too long for her more comfy side to show.

She absolutely loves testing makeup on you. Whether it’s a new nail polish or a brand of press powder she hasn’t tried yet, you’re her test dummy.

Speaking of which, expect to have a mark of blue lipstick on you at any given time. She loves pressing her soft lips against your neck, hands or cheek only to leave behind a little bit of evidence for you to wash off later. If you’re going out somewhere without her she’ll leave one on the back of your hand and call it a “good luck charm”.

[pascaloverx]

ENCHANTED

Summary: You have no desire to marry, yet your family insists otherwise, pressuring you to believe that you should. Amidst it all, you find yourself drawn to Guy Thwarte, who proves to be rather good company.

Author's Note: My slight fixation on Matthew Broome led me to create this fanfic, but I can’t guarantee it will be good. So, dear reader, if you enjoy it, please interact and comment.

two

ONE

Hiding from the crowd is the wisest course of action. You are in no mood to feign happiness—at least not tonight. Slipping away into the duchess’s garden, you hope no one has taken notice. You settle into a secluded patch of grass, gazing up at the star-strewn sky.

"When will this ever become easier?" You hear Guy Thwarte murmur to himself before turning back toward the ballroom, where guests are either prying into one another’s affairs or twirling across the dance floor.

"If you happen to discover the answer, do let me know," you reply, realizing he has yet to notice you. A hedge conceals your hiding place.

"What exactly are you doing there?" Guy asks, stepping nearer, his gaze sweeping over the foliage in search of you.

You smile—surely, it is obvious. "Not to be painfully clear, but I am attempting to escape the crowd," you reply, smoothing the fabric of your gown.

He studies you for a moment, as though trying to make sense of your retreat. "I am fairly certain your mother is looking for you," he remarks, tilting his head toward the lively chaos unfolding inside the duchess’s residence.

"Then, I beg you, be discreet and do not betray my whereabouts," you say, pressing a finger to your lips in silent entreaty.

He hesitates, deliberating. "Might I have the honor?" Guy finally asks, his uncertainty laced with curiosity.

You pat the empty space beside you and murmur, "By all means." You have known Guy Thwarte for some time, but never have you been quite this close to him.

"And what brings you out here?" You decide to pry into Guy’s affairs, as there is little else to occupy you. You know that Theo, the Duke of Tintagel—one of Guy’s closest friends—is absent, having embarked on a journey.

"I am not in the mood for revelry, which is a shame, as the wine was excellent," Guy replies, though there is a certain restraint in his voice, as if withholding the true reason for his departure from the festivities.

"If it was that good, you ought to have brought a bottle for us to share," you remark in an attempt at levity. To your relief, it seems to have the desired effect.

"A grave oversight on my part. My apologies, Miss Y/L/N," he says, his gaze meeting yours. For a moment, there is an unspoken understanding between you, a quiet recognition of this unexpected closeness as you converse beneath the stars.

"You asked me before why I am here," you begin, turning your gaze skyward. "I suppose it is only fair to be honest—I came because I feel suffocated in there. It is as if I am nothing more than an ornament, without soul or purpose beyond what society dictates. And that, as you well know, is to secure a husband and bear children." Your eyes remain fixed on the heavens, longing, for just a moment, to be a drifting cloud—free to admire the vastness above without a single care.

"And what do you envision for yourself?" Guy Thwarte asks, his gaze drifting to the clouds as they veil the stars above. It is a question you have never truly allowed yourself to consider.

"If my fate were mine to command, I would sail from one country to another, taste unfamiliar cuisines, and discover whether the sky looks the same in every corner of the world," you reply, imagining what it might be like to soar as freely as a bird.

"And you wish to do all this alone?" Guy inquires, a note of curiosity in his voice.

"I do not oppose the idea of companionship," you admit, shifting your gaze from the heavens to him. "But I do object to belonging to someone. To be frank, I have never heard a single person suggest companionship without it being a veiled proposal of marriage." You turn fully now, studying him, eager to gauge his reaction. He appears to be truly contemplating your words.

"The notion of belonging is often entwined with marriage," he muses, his tone carrying a weight of something unsaid. "But I do not believe it is something to be feared." There is something in the way he speaks, in the way his expression darkens slightly, that makes you certain—he is thinking of someone.

"Easy for you to say, Guy. In most marriages, the husband is treated as the superior," you reply, your tone more serious now.

"I know it may sound foolish, but in my parents’ marriage, I saw a couple who treated each other as equals, fighting every day for a shared future," Guy says, his voice steady, as if speaking of something deeply significant to him.

"The way you talk about marriage—it seems to be an important matter to you," you observe, watching him closely, wondering what thoughts are turning in his mind. Perhaps he is thinking of the person to whom he belongs, imagining what it would be like to marry them.

"But do not misunderstand me," he adds gently, turning his gaze back to you. "Your plan to explore the world sounds perfect, with or without a companion."

"Wait, stay still. There is something on your face," he says, reaching out to brush his fingers against your cheek, removing a stray leaf. For a brief moment, panic flutters in your chest at the unexpected closeness, but before you can react, he has already plucked it away. At last, you both rise to your feet.

"Look over there! It seems a star is falling from the sky," you exclaim, pointing toward the streak of light. Guy squints, trying to catch sight of it, though you suspect he might not have seen it at all.

"Make a wish. A secret one. Then press it to your heart with the palm of your hand," you say, drawing in a deep breath and willing fate to be kind. Though you are uncertain what exactly you are wishing for, you feel the weight of it all the same. To your surprise, Guy follows suit, humoring your whim by silently making a wish of his own.

"Ah, there you are! I have been searching for you all night," your mother’s voice rings out, startling you both. You turn to find her beaming, though the way her gaze flits between you and Guy suggests she suspects there was more to this moment than mere conversation.

"Am I interrupting?" she asks politely. "Not at all, Lady Y/L/N. Your daughter and I were merely keeping each other company," Guy replies with effortless charm.

"Mama, what was so important that you needed to find me?" you ask quickly, hoping to steer her thoughts away from any premature conclusions.

"The duke and some Americans, as well as the Marables, are on their way here. It will be wonderful for all of us! I cannot wait to choose your gown for the duke’s welcome fête," she announces, brimming with excitement. Meanwhile, you can feel yourself spiraling into quiet dread. Something tells you that everything in your life is about to change—for better or for worse.

[forzarma]

world’s best teacher

lewis hamilton x fem! Reader x students

A/N: i couldn’t stop thinking about this so i had to do it😭(not proofread)

10 years ago, you found out you were pregnant. You were buzzing, but your happiness unfortunately didn’t last long as you discovered you had a miscarriage. Your life was miserable, but thank God, Lewis was with you through your ups and downs. After 12 years of marriage, you’re still together, stronger than ever.

After 3 years of your miscarriage, you decided to go back to work as a school teacher. After you got pregnant with twins in 2017, it lightened up your life.

You can’t say being a teacher is an easy thing, if you’re being honest, but you love your students to the moon and back. You even treat them as your kids.

Of course, they know that their teacher is married to one of the best F1 drivers in history, if not the best, and they love it. They don’t go a day without mentioning how you are their favorite.

They even met your kids multiple times before, during school events where you brought them with you.

“Good morning, everyone,” you say as you enter the classroom.

“Good morning, Ms.,” they say back.

You greet them as you wait for the others to enter the class.

“So, I want to discuss something with you guys,” you’ve said.

“As we all know, last exam, you guys really disappointed me with the results,” you continued.

“Hmm,” they hummed.

“And we all know the next exam is in one month, so I want you to prepare as best as you can. And I have a surprise for you: if you score above 90, you can pick any reward you want. It could be anything, for example, a concert ticket of your favorite artist, a paddock pass that comes with meeting the drivers, etc. Which means you’re going with me, or a football game ticket to watch your favorite team.”

Your students buzz with excitement.

“Really, miss?”

The room erupts with chatter, feeling their energy and determination.

A month later, you’ve already graded the exams. You stand in front of the class with a stack of papers.

“I’m really proud of all of you,” you begin. “You’ve worked really hard, and you guys did not disappoint this time, so let’s see the results.”

“First, Livvy, you’ve got a 92. What would you like as your reward?”

Livvy beams. “I want to go to a Raye concert.”

“Done,” you replied, making a note. “Jason, you’ve got a 95. What about you?”

Jason grins. “I want the paddock pass.”

“Excellent choice,” you wink at him. You always knew he was a die-hard F1 fan.

You continued down the list. “Olivia, 89, so close but still great job.”

Olivia nods, smiling. “Thank you, miss.”

“Finally, Nick, 91. What’s your pick?”

Nick thinks for a moment. “I think I’d pick the football match.”

“Alright,” you agree. “We’ll make it happen.”

After everyone has chosen their rewards, you gather them together.

“I want you all to know how proud I am of each one of you. You’ve worked incredibly hard, and you deserve these rewards. Remember, this is just the beginning. Keep striving for excellence, and you’ll achieve great things.”

After saying goodbye to your students, you head home, still feeling excited. When you walk in, you see Lewis, and you can't wait to tell him about your day.

You give him a big hug and say, "Lewis, today was amazing!"

Lewis smiles and asks, "What happened?"

You tell him all about it, from the rewards you gave to the happy faces of your students. Lewis listens carefully, proud of you the whole time.

"Wow, that's awesome!" Lewis says, giving you a kiss on the forehead. "I'm really proud of you."

You feel warm inside, knowing he's there for you. You spend the evening talking and enjoying each other's company. As you go to bed, you feel grateful for your life together with Lewis and the twins.

theycallmelivvy has posted

Liked by yn,lewishamilton and 3,268 others.

theycallmelivvy: MS y/n appreciation post🙏🏼

See 350 comments

jasonthecoolest: hail my glorious queen

whatthesigma: oh how i love her

yn: i love you guys🥹💕

f1.wags has posted

liked by f1.paddock,ynupdates and 350,679 others

f1.wags: apparently yn hamilton. Lewis Hamiltons wife has made some incredible promises to her students sources say she said if they got above 90 she’d reward them with whatever they like and some of her students chose the f1 race choice what an incredible teacher💕

view 78,572 comments

ibelieveinlestappen: oh my teacher could never

ilovelewishamilton: how i love her omgg

F1updates: god bless my queen

theylovejackey: THATS MY FREAKING TEACHER EVERYBODY

f1fantasy: that’s why there were some people we’ve never seen makes sense now!

[alacants]

The "a thread of order" blog recently referenced something Carlos said after the 2024 RG final: “In the fifth set of the final is the time to give it all, fight until you can’t fight anymore. That’s what makes you a warrior, and I consider myself a warrior.” That quote, together with his constant references to the movie "300", his on-court histrionics and the supernatural big-final-moment level of tennis he can produce, made me spiral into an idiotic sincaraz fan-theory (OBVIOUSLY inaccurate and fictional.) So here it is:

I personally suspect that Carlos perceives matches (especially important ones) as if they were movies/plays and he's the one playing the hero & warrior archetype. It's partly why he needs the crowds: they're all part of the scene, and also big reactions feel more epic. And it's also why he can sometimes reach an unbelievable level at the acme of big matches, something that would require inhuman amounts of confidence and self-belief: that's because in that moment he's not just Carlos the excellent tennis player-normal guy, he's not just himself (that would cause some amount of insecurity) but he's actually embodying The Heroic Warrior archetype! And he knows that there's a divine narrative script in place for heroes in stories (matches) which will make him prevail at the end. It's basically a narrative archetype/role he tries to live up to and embody in matches, because he needs to see the matches and himself as "something more" in order to then get more from himself on court. And when the opponent is weak or the match isn't exciting the illusion of being the Hero-Warrior is obviously harder to maintain obviously.

On the other side we have Jannik, who tries to block out the crowd and be composed, and only communicates with his team and his opponent. Where Carlos tries to see the whole stadium as part one big scene that's enacting something more than a tennis match, Jannik tries to shrink his world to the strict permiter of the singles court plus his own box. For him it's a competitive pro game, it's his career and his public role, it's exciting and fun and terrible but it's not a big metaphor or an archetypal flight of fancy. He's competing against his opponent and trying to play the best tennis possible. He's "just" himself on court, the player-version of himself.

[I wonder if this maybe would have something to do with Jannik not focusing on tennis until he was 13 (and having a more gradual and setback-prone rise) while Carlos has been immersed in tennis from birth basically (and has obviously had a more sudden and easier rise in the scene.) I don't think that can be the reason though, it's too superficial.]

op this essay is awesome. i was just answering an unrelated ask and coming to the same conclusion that carlos thrives on the narrative import of big moments. he is Aware of them in a way that not every athlete can let themselves be aware, he is Aware of what it means to rise to the occasion. classic advice is "pretend it's just another match" but carlos demonstrably performs better in Big Moments than in just another match.

also think this contributed to the post-olympics crashout. not just defeat, not just a match he could have won, but failure at the ultimate climax of the ultimate stage of the biggest theater in sport, the global superevent literally created to propagate the idea that Sports Is More Than Sports. all that, and here's where he finds out that sometimes sheer protagonism just isn't enough. narrative of choice trumped by other, bigger narrative. i'm sure that was wildly destabilizing to experience for the first time, lol, good (????) thing he's got the protagonism back on track now.

this all just boils down, again, to the question of ego and self-made mythos and can you achieve greatness without storytelling. (© user radelulu.) it is sooooooooo fun to see absolute black-and-white photonegative-inverses in a direct clash for our entertainment. tho bc the clash is taking place in the theater of sports the table is rigged and the house, aka storytelling, always wins—the only way to beat it is to remove yourself from the table.

[ririblogsss]

Damian and the strays

ok look we all know the de aged dani (Danny and Dan). But what if we have siblings/ triplets, and I mean what if we take them all the same age (15/16) and make them into the most powerful trio in school . I mean you have 3 good looking individuals all siblings and in the same way, they all excel in different things (Dan-world history, Dani/Ellie- science Sports, Danny physics), but they are all so easy going and charming plus they are all jacked af.

Like tell me if i'm wrong but they would be beloved maybe popular on the downlow until they do something only fentons would risk doing. For example, orchestrating that every monday at 12:30 am the fire alarms would start and lunch would be extended for an hour more. No one can prove it, but none of them have doubts either. The triplets have their own groups but they mainly hang out with each other if you see one the other 2 are close by. 

Anyways i'm thinking that one day they will actually see why the Fenton siblings are observed closely by the teacher and try to make sure they don't cause mayhem.  One guy, a chad of sorts, decided he wanted to pick a fight with Dante, the more violent of the siblings. Chad didn't even finish his first insult before he was slammed through the door by Danny, who was arguably the pacifist of the 3. But the student body kind of got it. The thing is no one expected Dani (preferred name Ellie) to freaking pummel the guy.

No one saw them at school again. 

It went on like this: the trio would move to one school.Would play pranks on the administration and have fun. Then someone would try something on one of them and the other 2 would pummel the person into the ground. The next day they would be gone never to return. They became an urban legend in some of the schools. 

Until they came to Gotham Academy when they tried their pranks a kid would come and stop them. It was getting on their nerves. All their freaking plans down the drain all because of a snobby brat that didn't know how to mind his own.  Eventually they start pranking the kid instead of the school as a revenge for ruining their fun. This leads to an all out prank war between all 4 of them (Dan backstabbed Danny and Ellie first they just followed the lead). 

Soon enough the 3 of them became friends with Damian (they learned his name 4 weeks after the prank war started). The school body was half convinced that Damian and the triplets were actually long lost siblings. I mean they all have black hair, anger issues and green bluish eyes. Damian knew for a fact that he wasn't related to the Fentons; a DNA test concluded this. But that didn't mean that Damian didn't perceive the triplets as family. 

Damian concludes that even if they aren't adopted into the family the Fentons belong. So that's why one day Damian brings Ellie, Danny and Dante to the family reunion. Where every relative and not so relative is there. Damian is showing them around, pointing at things around the house as a mini tour, and people are starting to notice that there are 3 new faces that they have never seen before. 

there are whispers like: ‘really?! AGAIN?!?’ or “WOW im gone for 5 days and he got 3 more”  and even  ‘Damn so black hair, teen and probably sad backstory is the type’

The triplets looked at eachother looked at Damian and smiled like starved piranhas that have just been served a pound of meat and are ready to devore. Damian reflects it with his own devilish smile.

 So all four of them start saying things out of context such as: 

“I'm so glad to be here now” 

“Yeah same we wouldn't have survived that hell of a chamber without you Dames”

“As long as we're no longer hunted for merely existing I don't mind staying for a while”

“Good things there weren't any actual bazookas that could have gone worse”

All four knew that out of context it seemed like the 3 siblings had been hunted and captured by some unknown person and Damian had rescued them and brought them home, but in reality they were just talking about the past paintball match they had earlier that morning. 

So Bruce wanted to know some more but the rhetorical bullet, and asked “Damian… who, who are these kids” Damian proceeded to scoff and say “Why our new family members, truly father, are you incompetent. This is a family reunion hence only family or perceived family is invited” Damian tried to channel his inner 10 year old self whilst trying not to laugh. Danny and Ellie were on the same boat except they made their faces look devastated with tears in their eyes and everything looked pitiful, but on the inside they were laughing their asses off. Dante feigned indifference but he had teary eyes, from trying to stop himself from hitting the floor laughing at the devastated faces around. 

Danny played his act up clearing his throat “we- we can leave if I mean we didn't know, yeah Dami said it was fine but we understand” he purposely made his voice crack to show how ‘hurt’ he was. 

Ellie made herself look small so she could seem self conscious and uncomfortable with the situation. 

Dante solidified them with the small sniffles he let out every few seconds. 

Damian was looking to the ground to avoid being read, because right now he was shaking from laughter, and it would be clear in his face but if he angled himself right (which he did) it looked like he was silently sobbing. Danny put his arm around his shoulder, also looking towards the ground, also shaking from laughter. Dante and Ellie joined in. From an outside perspective it looked like they were extremely upset not being able to be family. 

Bruce panicked seeing his younger child and 3 other kids the same age all begin to cry he just blurted out “NO no that not what i meant Damian I ment their names what are their names, and does Babs have to get involved so we can have documentation”

Damian cleared his tears and looked up at his father trying not to smirk “He is Dante, that one is Dani with an I but she prefers Ellie and that lanky one is Danny” Bruce nodded and went out the room to see if he could get started on the documents. 

Once Bruce was out of the room all 4 of them burst out laughing, falling into a pile some were heard wheezing, others having maniacal laughter. 

Once they finally stopped and looked at the rest of the family all four of them eerily said “he won't ever believe you” And everyone in the room shuddered. This quartet was going to bring wayyyy too much mischief into the family. 

(if you're wondering where jazz is. She's in college living her best life. I mean she is a highly independent person she thrives of off living alone with a clear schedule set)

—

Also i didn't put any specific names for the previous schools or the family members bc I thought it would be better for u guys to decide who witnessed the beginning of the end. 

[cheriladycl01]

It’ll come eventually, promise! - Lando Norris x Driver! Reader

Plot: You are there for your boyfriends first race win!

Starting in Miami was always a great feeling. But what was even better was having been promoted to F1 for the 2024 season and getting to drive it as one of the top 20 drivers in the world.

When Lawrence Stroll dropped Aston Martin to bankroll a new team at the end of 2023, Lance moving was without a doubt a thing happening. But that left a free seat open at a high mid field team. Which they were more than happy to get you on board with considering your racing history.

Fernando in the few races you’d got to know him had became an excellent mentor and had taught you lots and you were thankful for him. He was like your on grid dad.

You’d had a decent season so far.

P10 in Bahrain - your first race and you were in the points only a few seconds behind your teammate.

P6 in Saudí - where you were able to drive with your old Prema teammate Oliver Bearman who was just behind you in P7.

P5 in Australia - where you got to celebrate your boyfriends first podium of the season.

P12 in Japan - some unforeseen issues in qualifying leaving you in P16 and having to climb your way up.

P6 in China - happy to celebrate both your points finish and your boyfriends first P2 podium of the season.

And you didn’t want to disappoint in Miami, not when there was so many people riding on your going well. F1 Academy where there looking up to you, and all of the stars that normally attended Miami.

Thursday came around and you were in the paddock messing around in TikTok with Fernando. Everyone loved you guys as the ‘dad and daughter duo’ where everyone could see how much he genuinely cared for you and wanted you to succeed. He always would praise you and boost your confidence when talking about you in interviews like many others making your have a huge fan base after only being in F1 for a few months.

Friday came around and you were still feeling great, the Miami heat was blazing and you and Fernando had been making TikTok’s to the Will Smith song that had been trending on F1 TikTok with the build up and anticipation for the weekend ahead.

Getting in the car for FP1 and you were flying. P5 … Alonso down in P19. He was too stressed though. But you were beyond excited knowing you got P5 without pushing too hard as your engineers had just asked you to get used to the track in an F1 car.

It was your boyfriend who you’d snuck into his hospitality just to give a massive cuddle when you text you saying he needed you, that wasn’t having a great weekend.

Despite the vast amount of upgrades brought to his car he’d only come in P16 where as Oscar who had half the upgrades he did was cruising up in P2 and he was frustrated to say the least.

Next was the Sprint Qually which you’d actually been doing well in for the other in China the previous week.

You went coming in a measly P10, not enough for points.

Lando was even more annoyed with starting in P9 on the same row as you, not that he thought he was the better driver or anything but right now he definitely had the better car and he just couldn’t work out why it wasn’t performing.

“Baby, it’ll come eventually I promise” you sighed that night as you held him closely in your shared hotel bed. His head was rested in your chest as all of his worries and woes were let out.

He always thought so negatively of himself and you hated it, in your eyes he was the most amazing person ever.

“But what if it doesn’t, what if I never win and … I’m just a wash out of podiums and missed opportunity” he said looking up at you, and his eyes made you cave. He looked so sad and helpless.

“Lando… I promise you. When the time is right, you’ll get that win. You’ve worked so hard for this and it’s something you deserve. Baby, you are the most driven and ambitious person I know and you will be a world champion. In my eyes you already are” you told him softly and he just pulled you tighter to him as he nuzzled into you more, so thankful for you being in his life.

Come the next day, and it was the sprint race. You managed to get yourself into the points coming in P6 having overtaken Lando and those ahead. Once Lando saw you going for it he knew he had to get up there with you!

He started to push it a little too much and ended up with a DNF. It was a very disappointing weekend thus far considering the amount of upgrades McLaren had brought to the team.

Qually begun and you were all the way down in P11 after your car malfunctioning in Q2 meaning you didn’t get into Q1.

Lando had a better qualifying coming in just ahead of his teammate. He felt a lot better going to bed with you that night and it was more him comforting you than the other way it had been the other night.

“Baby, you got all you could out of that car. You literally couldn’t do anything else your engine shut down!” He exclaims as you hadn’t really spoken to him all night. You’d been silent at dinner and once your got back to the room.

He pulled you into a hug as you let out a sigh thinking things over in your head before smiling at Lando and kissing his neck and up his jaw.

“Thank you, for the pep talk. And just being you” you smiled at him.

Then came race day.

Oscar had an incredible start going from P6 all the way to P2 and was really increíble. Your also had a fantastic start, deciding to be aggressive and managed to go from P11 into P8. You managed to get the inside line overtaking Yuki, your teammate Alonso and then Hamilton.

“Amazing driving Y/N. It’s looking good, we going to try for the 1 stop. Manage those tyres for now” your race engineer explains. And you did, slowing your pace for a little bit. You abused the safety car for you pit stop, just like Lando did, leaving you coming out in P6.

“Is Lando still in P1?” You ask, knowing he would be ahead of Max and Charles right now.

“Yes, Lando, Max, Charles Oscar and Carlos ahead” he explains. Right now you were defending from Perez when all of a sudden he swung round the outside knocking Sargeant into the gravel and into the race.

“Yellow flag for Sargeant!” You say clearly into your radio for the severity of where Logan was.

“Yellow flag and safety car released” your engineer informs you. You were stressing now, you knew that Lando would be fighting Max once the safety car is released.

“Is Logan okay? Is he out the car!” You ask.

“Yes, it’s all fine”

You focused on closing the gap to Carlos, who you knew would be fighting Oscar hard to try and get up into the podium positions so he can celebrate with Lando if he can hold of Max.

You were 0.076 seconds behind Carlos but before you could overtake him, he clipped the back of Oscar as he goes for an overtake nearly sending the Australian into you.

He pitted, leaving him down in a lower position out of points by the time he had come out, meaning that you and Carlos were battling it out with each other and Sergio Perez behind both of you.

“If you can get within 5 seconds of him, he has a time penalty for the incident with Piastri” your engineer explained to you.

“And Lando, is he still P1?” You ask.

“Yes Lando is P1 with a 6 second lead on Max” he answers and you feel as though you could cry.

“Today is the day Marcus” you smile as you speed up catching back up to Carlos. With the laps left you manage to overtake him getting into your highest finish of the season in P4. You couldn’t share a podium with your boyfriend but, part of you didn’t want to.

“Race finished, P4 amazing job today Y/N congratulations” your engineer exclaimed.

“What about Lando? Did he win?” You ask immediately not too bothered about your result.

“With a 7 second gap to Max, Lando won” he says and you let out a scream of happiness for him. YES’s whooping and a lot of swear words came from your mouth into the radio.

You knew later it would be aired and you get in trouble for your language but you really didn’t care.

Today was Lando’s day and you didn’t want to damper that. He’d just won his first F1 race after 110 of them. And you couldn’t be prouder of him, you were so happy and you were sobbing for him as you pulled up into where all the cars were.

You went over to your team, in Aston who had all come out to congratulate you on your best race so far. P11 to P4 on one set of tyres.

You were hugging them before one tapped you on the back, showing you Lando who was just getting out of his car. You rushed over to him pulling him into a massive hug.

“And there is Y/N Y/L/N driver of Aston Martin congratulating Lando on his first win with a huge hug! She’s crying, he’s crying! It’s a beautiful sight really, just two young drivers congratulating each other … wow what a day for both of them” the sky sports presenter admits on the tv watching the interaction down in park ferme.

“I love you so much! You are incredible Lando Norris” you smile gripping his helmet and flipping up his visor so you could see his tears rolling down onto his balaclava.

“Omg I won! I can’t believe I did it! I WON!” He cries and you just grin.

“Believe it Lando Norris because you are now an F1 race winner!” You smile and he does a cheer. You let him walk off, watching as he jumps into his team to celebrate.

You rush with the team after they’ve let Lando go, to go watch the podium. You were so excited and it definitely wasn’t something you were going to pass up!

As you watch him lift up his trophy it feels like your falling in love with him all over again, and it’s a feeling taking over your whole entire body. There is nowhere else and no one else you want to be or be with right now.

He can’t stop smiling at you and you can’t stop the happy tears from rolling down your face. Your cheering with Bianca who you’d grown close to and started to mentor a little bit even though you had Tina and Jessica around a little bit more as your Aston Martin girls.

Once the anthem starts you can’t help but see just how radiant he looks, the way the lowing Miami sun was beaming on him and making his already golden skin glow.

That was your man, your boyfriend and your future husband because in this moment you were sure you would do anything and everything to keep him by your side.

He was your soulmate and you were his, and as he was looking down at the way your face had tear stains and was a little puffy from rubbing away the tears he couldn’t agree more.

Clubbing for sure wasn’t the only celebrations that happened that night for you and Lando, that’s for sure.

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul l @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall l @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount