#I imagine this happens every other day with them

[harrysfolklore]

oscar piastri being obsessed with his girlfriend: a compilation

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON | oscar smau

Oscar Piastri was known as the introvert and reserved driver on the grid.

While other drivers basked in the spotlight and didn't shy away from sharing details about their personal life, Oscar often preferred to keep his privacy.

However, when it came to his girlfriend, it was a different story altogether.

Oscar was what people called "a total simp" when it came to his girlfriend, always bringing her up in interviews, promo videos and casual conversations, and fans couldn't miss the opportunity to make several compilation videos and tiktoks about it.

The most popular one was called "Oscar Piastri being obsessed with his girlfriend: a compilation" and the 15-minute long video was filled with moments that made fans both awe and laugh.

It started with the clip of the first time he publicly talked about her during a podcast interview, rumors about him not being single were spreading around but nothing was confirmed.

"I do have a girlfriend, yeah," Oscar said, a small smile playing on his face.

"You're not very public, aren't you?" the interviewer asked.

“We keep it to ourselves and try to be out of the spotlight and just live normal lives,” he replied, “We have been dating for over four years now, she has been there for me since the start of my career and I couldn't imagine my life without her. She's my biggest supporter and keeps me grounded.”

The next video showed Oscar and Lando sitting next to each other wearing their McLaren shirts, filming a game called "Green flag or Red flag."

"Picky eaters," the interviewer asked and Lando immediately waved the green flag.

"He's a very picky eater that's why," Oscar said, making Lando laugh, "But, what if they eat fish, cause you hate fish."

Lando dramatically raised the red flag, making everybody laugh again.

"You wouldn't date a pescatarian then," the interviewer said.

"No," Lando shook his head, "They shouldn't be here."

"My girlfriend's a pescatarian, actually," Oscar said, looking at his teammate with a raised eyebrow, "I'll pass that on to her.”

"Noooo mate!" Lando immediately shook his head, waving his hands in mock horror, "Don't tell her I said that, I don't want to be in trouble with your missus! She's a lovely girl."

"She is indeed, but I don't think she'll like you very much after this."

The next segment was from his "Day in the Life" video with Quad Lock, where Oscar gave fans a glimpse into his daily routine. In one particular clip, he was in the kitchen making breakfast.

"So, this is where the magic happens," Oscar said with a cheeky grin as he poured pancake batter onto a hot griddle, "My girlfriend loves pancakes, so I make them every Sunday. It's become sort of a tradition for us."

The camera then panned to a candid shot of his girlfriend, who was sitting at the kitchen island, sipping coffee and smiling fondly at Oscar. She blew him a kiss, which Oscar caught with a playful wink.

"There she is, sitting pretty while I play housewife."

The next clip in the compilation was from a press conference, where a journalist asked him how he manages to stay focused with such a demanding schedule.

"Having a supportive partner really helps," Oscar said earnestly, "She understands the pressures and the demands of the job. She’s my rock and makes everything a lot easier."

"Does it get hard for her when your schedule is too busy for your relationship?"

"My schedule is never too busy for my girlfriend, I always make sure to make time for her. That's why we've been going strong for four years now."

Another McLaren game with Lando was included, this time they were playing Finish the Lyric with Taylor Swift songs.

"Do you feel confident about this game, Oscar?" Lando asked his teammate.

"I do, actually," Oscar nodded confidently, "My girlfriend is a huge Taylor Swift fan so I know a lot of her songs."

"We should get your girl to come and play then," Lando teased.

"She'd probably beat us both, hands down. But I'm not giving up just yet." Oscar chuckled, shaking his head.

The compilation video then transitioned to a moment in the McLaren garage before the first quali of the Hungary Grand Prix. Oscar was off to the side, chatting with his girlfriend, who had joined him for the event.

They seemed to be in their own little bubble, Oscar's attention completely focused on her and his smile wide as he listened to her talk. The camera captured a sweet moment where he gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about their relationship and fans absolutely melted at the interaction.

The next clip showed Oscar at a fan event in Australia, hundreds of fans gathered to meet the drivers and see them up close, Oscar was answering questions from the interviewers when he suddenly addressed one of the fans in the front row.

"I've got a girlfriend, thank you," he said into the microphone, making everyone laugh but look confused at the same time, "For everyone wondering, she just asked what my number was," the crowd laughed again even louder, "But I'm a happily taken man. You're nice but I'm not interested."

In that same event, he got asked what did he miss the most from the UK when he was back in Australia.

"My girlfriend," he immediately said, "Other than that the food is better here, the weather is better here. So my girlfriend, that's it."

The following video was also a fan interaction, this time it was a fan recorded video while he was signing stuff for those waiting for him as he arrived to the paddock for the Austin Grand Prix.

Oscar was signing autographs and taking pictures, when a fan handed him a photo of him and his girlfriend from a race weekend.

"Oh, this is a great picture," Oscar said, grinning as he looked at the photo. "This was taken at Silverstone, right? It was her first time at a race with me. She loved it."

"What's her favorite part about the races?" The fan smiled and asked.

"Probably the adrenaline and seeing me in action," Oscar chuckled, "But she also loves hanging out in the paddock. She gets along really well with everyone here."

The next clip showcased Oscar during a Twitch stream, where he was playing a racing simulator. His girlfriend walked into the room, and the chat exploded with excitement.

"Hey, love," Oscar greeted her, pausing the game.

"Am I interrupting you?" she softly asked.

"Nope, come here," he encouraged to come closer, "Everyone, this is my girlfriend," she waved at the camera, and Oscar wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into the frame. "She's the reason I'm still sane," he joked, earning a kiss on the cheek from her.

The video included one of everyone's favorite interactions between the couple, captured by McLaren's instagram team.

Oscar had just finished a quiali, earning a P2 position, the camera caught as he reunited with his girlfriend who threw her arms around his neck as soon as she saw him.

"Hiii," he shyly said, a hint of a blush on his cheeks.

"You did such a great job, baby," she said, still wrapped around his arms, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"I couldn’t have done it without you cheering me on," he replied, his voice soft and genuine.

The final clip was from the FIA Prize Giving ceremony, Oscar stood on the stage, dressed in a sharp suit, the Rookie of the Year trophy shining in his hands.

"First of all, I want to thank my team, McLaren, for believing in me and giving me the opportunity," Oscar began, his voice steady but emotional, "But most importantly, I want to thank my girlfriend. She's been my rock through it all, supporting me every step of the way. This award is as much hers as it is mine."

The camera panned to his girlfriend, sitting in the audience with tears in her eyes, smiling proudly. The fans watching the livestream couldn't help but gush over the touching moment.

As the compilation ended, the screen faded to black with the text, "Oscar Piastri: The Ultimate Simp, and Proud of It."

[rizsu]

food for thought, except it’s unwanted jujutsu kaisen : fem-reader.

have you ever wondered about a scenario so much that you must ask? well that’s exactly the last thing they’d wish to answer.

+ love ‘su: gojo, geto, itadori + ‘live, laugh, love’ hater final boss ( sukuna )

gojo satoru ﾉ refuses to answer.

“do you ever think about how it’d be if we never met?”

“ha— no. don’t even go there.”

satoru stops you there. he doesn’t wish to hear another word from you— especially if it extends your former question. he thinks about it— daily, in fact. it's a scenario that crosses his mind whenever he finds himself drunk on the temporary love he receives from you.

you’ve sung the lyric ‘i’ll love you until there’s no more left’ almost every week for him, silently begging that he gets the concept of genuine love through his head.

“why not? imagine if my friends didn’t make that bet where i either hit on you or pay for the night.” you reminisced, remembering the very night you lost the last touch of shame.

he hums, drumming his fingers on your thigh.

“bet or not, we’d still be fated to meet. next question!”

“anddd what makes you so confident?” you threw another question at him. this time, it's lighthearted.

“mind you, i’m the second coming of an angel. i predetermined this since three years ago.”

glances were exchanged, an expression of a grinning fool met the expression of a glaring responsible person who’s the said fool’s other romantic half.

you should've been familiar with satoru’s ways. it’s your fault for expecting a deep-dive conversation with satoru. not quite his cup of tea!

geto suguru ﾉ expects it and tries to escape.

suguru's home was no new, unexplored area to you. you knew his home's blueprint like the back of your hand. if needed, you'd walk through his home blindfolded and still end up in the room you want to be in.

this isn't a good thing to suguru. there are days where the feeling of confusion as to who he is piles up on him, leading him to isolate himself.. until he forgets there's a spare key of his isolation cube in your hold so now the plan goes awry.

that is exactly what’s happening. after he sent the text ‘k bye’ and silenced his notifications, he felt an impending doom. the reason was unknown by then but he should've guessed it was you.

you marched into his home, readying yourself with suguru-loneliness-begone techniques and, of course, the question that's been wandering your mind since you woke up from a dream.

“babe, what if—”

“fuck,” he curses under his breath, too exhausted to put a hand over your mouth.

“what if we were the last persons on earth? would you recreate humanity with me or kill yourself?”

there it is: your special ‘what if’ questions that know no bounds when it comes to absurdity.

“when would that ever happen? please, stop this,” he groans, pleading with his eyes for you to stop.

“that's the thing— you never know! so, what option is it?”

“i'd kill myself a long time ago if possible.”

“so it's the second one?”

“i'm... not cut out to be a good father.”

“i hate an indecisive bitch, my goodness,” it's your turn to complain, a little let down at his grey answers.

suguru's equally offended. you're the one who jumped him with such a question— who even thinks about that?!

“(y/n), baby, has it ever crossed your mind that your thinking skills aren't quite normal?”

“are you calling me stupid?!”

itadori yuuji ﾉ just as stupid.

it's mango season— yuuji's most anticipated season of the year. mangoes are to yuuji what your lipbalm is to you. a necessity, a survival item, a lifesaver, an important part of his lore, something he worships.

peeling mangoes and slicing them to equal pieces has never brought him such satisfaction before. it immediately brightens his mood. this must be how his grandfather felt whenever he took a walk around the neighbourhood.

now you appear, yuuji's second most anticipated person. you to yuuji is what mangoes are to him. this causes yuuji's current happiness level to reach its peak today. such a great level of happiness can defeat any evil being with just being in its area.

“say, yuu,” you begin, stabbing one of the mangoe slices with a fork.

he nods, signalling that he's listening but still focused on his current activity. a true mulit-tasker.

“if one of your limbs happen to detach from your body, do you feel the pain or does the pain go with it?”

he stops, allowing the question to sink in. he's never been asked such a.. divine question before. what's the answer? does the pain go with the limb or does it stay?

“oh... i gotta ask nobara this, she'd know,” he suggests, placing the knife down. a question that'll haunt him if he doesn't act quick for the answer.

“yes, yes!!” you encourage his actions, mindlessly enjoying the mango slices. mangoes are truly a blessing.

sukuna ryomen ﾉ no. nice try, though! A+ for effort.

“ryo, have you ever wondered if—”

“no, i never.”

“you didn't even let—”

“i haven't learnt since two-thousand years ago.”

“you old fuck, let me finish—”

“it's truly been a while since i've wondered.”

“DAMN, BITCH!”

you threw the remote at him, ultimately fed up with him cutting you off before the peak of the sentence. it could've been the question of the year and he'd still dodge it.

sukuna invited himself over since he ran out of entertainment options and you're always there for him. unfortunately, you do not find him as entertainin. he's annoying, arrogant, and attractive so it cancels out the negatives about him.

of course, sukuna caught the remote. his athletic capabilities are its prime despite him being dormant for centuries. it'd be a white lie to say he's not interested in your question, however it is way more benefitting to push your buttons.

he throws the remote back onto your bed, drying his hands with your hand-towel before making his merry way to you.

“your bed's small.”

“well no shit. it's for ME.”

“you mad? you look mad.” his hand holds your chin, turning your head side-to-side to observe your expression.

you rolled your eyes, “i don't get mad that easily.”

“is this how people felt when i told them an obvious lie? i should repent.”

[suashii]

— 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝓌𝓁 ౨ৎ

boothill x f!reader. 2k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ vaguely suggestive bits ﾉ fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ pet names ( darlin’ + sweetheart :3 )

previous part ౨ৎ masterlist ౨ৎ next part

it’s late—you know so because the sky has turned to a deep navy. you can hear the crickets chirping through the open window, feel the cool night breeze whisper against your skin. beyond those telling signs, your eyelids are beginning to feel heavy. they’re screaming at you to close them but you know that if you do, you’ll fall asleep in a second. you can’t do that now, not when you’re on the phone giving your weekly update to your friend back home. 

“so,” her voice crackles over the line, “how are things in farmville?”

you snort at meg’s nickname for the little town you’ve come to know as a second home. as much as she pokes fun at the idea of having a ranch to run away to, she’s been supportive of your decision to retreat here for solace. she keeps you in the loop when it comes to the drama unfolding in the office and listens attentively when you tell her what you’re up to on the farm.

you have a feeling she might be offended that you didn’t tell her this bit sooner.

“fine.” you draw the word out, rolling onto your other side on the couch as if repositioning will give you enough time to stall. despite not being able to see her face, you imagine that the woman is wearing an expression that says something along the lines of i know you’re hiding something. even through the phone, she can see through you. “i might have gotten a concussion a few days ago.”

she gasps and you can hear her slap her hand over her mouth. you’re sure if she could, she’d reach through the phone and shake you by the shoulders before thinking better of it and rushing out a string of apologies. though, she can’t, so she settles on questioning you instead. “what happened? are you okay? why the hell are you just now telling me?”

you relay the series of events to her—how it happened, boothill finding you, your visit to the doctor, and boothill playing nurse since then. her worry seems to dissipate as you explain and by the time you’re done, she’s laughing.

“what are you giggling about?” you ask her, but a little part of you already knows. boothill’s name always seems to make its way into your conversations and since the start of these weekly calls, meg has held onto the belief that you’re harboring a crush on the farmhand. you brush her off every time she suggests that you like him but like a leech, the thought always latches on and lingers.

“probably hard to deny your feelings now, huh?” you can hear the smile in her voice. you pucker your lips in annoyance. you didn’t think telling her about the way boothill makes you feel would result in meg throwing it back in your face at any given moment. though, you suppose you can’t be surprised. she’s frustrated that you’ll admit those feelings to her and not him, that you won’t act on them. “he’s already taking care of you like you’re his girlfriend—how romantic!”

“it’s not romantic,” you tell her, shaking your head, “he’d do that for anyone.”

“even better!” meg squeals. the shrill sound makes you pull the phone away from your ear and you only return it to its former position when the woman lowers her voice. “if he’s like that with everyone, that means he isn’t trying to impress you. he’s just a compassionate, caring guy who happens to have a thing for you.”

you chew on your cheek as you contemplate her words. you’ve never doubted that he’s a good guy—you’ve seen too many instances of his big heart in action to think otherwise, though, the part about boothill having a “thing” for you is a bit harder to believe. sure, he’s called you pretty numerous times, unintentionally held your hands on a couple of occasions, but that means nothing, at least when it comes to whatever feelings he might have for you. you’ve convinced yourself that most of the things he does that make your heart flutter or your cheeks burn are simply to get a reaction out of you—a little embarrassment for the sake of his entertainment.

“ugh, when are you going to be brave and spill your guts to him?” meg’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“never! i’m not telling him anything.” you close your eyes and take a deep breath to ground yourself. “i don’t know how long i’ll be here and, more importantly, i have no idea if he even likes me.”

“and you’ll never find out if you keep running away.”

you’re about to tell her that you aren’t running away or avoiding anything but you press your lips together before the words can hit the air. because you have been—you can recall a number of times you have in the past and you’re even thinking about it now, leaving without coming to terms with your feelings or figuring out if boothill reciprocates them.

“i’m not—” not running away? not going to tell him? not ready to tell him? you huff out a sigh, one that’s a mixture of frustration and confusion. “not now, meg.”

“that’s fine,” she assures you, her voice soft. “i just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“i know.” you nod even though she can’t see you.

she’s right. you’ll regret it if you don’t say anything, if you go home without facing your feelings head-on. the what ifs and what could have beens will follow you there, mercilessly haunting your mind.

“it’s getting late,” you tell meg, “i think i’m going to go to bed.”

“sure,” she hums. there’s a brief pause like she wants to say more but she settles on, “good night.”

“g’night.” you pull your phone away to end the call and toss the device on the other end of the couch. you should go upstairs and get in bed like you planned to but all these thoughts so fresh in your head make you feel like falling asleep won’t come easy tonight. slumping against the arm on the couch, you let out a groan, one quiet enough to not wake your grandpa and boothill upstairs but loud enough to grant you the slightest bit of relief.

though, the sound is cut off by another. it comes from the kitchen and you sit up to peer over the back of the couch to see if you’re hearing things—you’d prefer it that way. your fantasy comes to an end when you see boothill standing at the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and closing the door once he’s finished.

he meets your gaze and shoots you a smile before uncapping the water and taking a few gulps. it’s strange seeing him at this hour; he usually sleeps early so he can wake up with the sun. you rarely ever see him wearing anything but his jeans and his top of choice but the look is traded in for pajamas now—if you can call nothing but a pair of boxers pajamas.

you gasp at the sight and turn around. he just wanders around the house half-naked? carelessly risks running into you while wearing nothing but his underwear? you might not have heard him but he certainly must have seen you stretched out on the couch or at the very least heard you talking to meg on the phone.

the call.

you quickly turn around to face him once more.

“how long have you been there?” the question comes out rushed but you’re frantic to know if he was around to hear you talking about him.

he shrugs and swallows, setting his bottle on the counter before leaning against it. “i don’t know. long enough to hear you’re having some boy troubles.”

the confession makes your heart jump into your throat. you choose not to expand on it, instead reprimanding him for eavesdropping. “it’s rude to listen in on conversations you aren’t part of.”

“my apologies.” he raises his hands in mock surrender. “i just didn’t wanna interrupt.”

you stare him down in an attempt to read his expression and the look in his eyes. his perpetual smile is in place like usual but nothing else about his countenance seems knowing. he’s either very good at hiding it or he didn’t pick up on the fact that he was the one you’re talking about.

“want some advice?” boothill speaks up, tilting his head in a question of its own.

you look at him for a second before a laugh bubbles up from your chest, permeating the air. boothill’s smile slowly falls and that’s the last you see of him before turning your back to him. it seems a little more polite to laugh at him if it isn’t in his face.

he doesn’t stay at his place in the kitchen, feet carrying him to the back of the couch. you’re still laughing when he gets there. he’s never heard you laugh like this before—not at anything he’s said or done. as captivated as he is by the sound, he’s a touch more curious as to what brought it about. a cushion in between you, he leans over the back of the couch to ask, “what’s so funny?”

“i’m sorry.” you try to clear the humor from your voice but it lingers with your explanation. you turn your head to look boothill in the eye. “it’s just—what do you know about problems of the male variety?”

“hello?” he straightens up and gestures to himself and it’s only then that you remember how…undressed he is. that’s enough to sober you up from your humor. “you’re looking at a man, sweetheart.”

you don’t need him to tell you that—you’re more than aware of that. you just meant that he doesn’t seem like the type to help people out of romantic hardships, rather, he’s the one who causes them. strangely enough, though, you consider hearing his perspective. after all, he is the subject of your “boy troubles” as boothill called them.

“so, how about it?” he rounds the couch and plops down on it beside you, leaving a safe amount of space between the two of you. you hold his gaze, light gray irises glowing like stars in the darkness of the living room. “wanna hear my opinion?”

your heart rate quickens and you can’t tell why. because he’s this close to you and practically naked? because those gray eyes are boring into you, urging you to hear him out? because his advice could be the courage you need to admit your feelings or the very deterrent to keep you from doing so? 

maybe you aren’t quite brave enough to spill your guts yet but it’s time for you to stop being so scared of the what ifs. “okay, go for it.”

that seems to be the answer boothill was looking for, if his growing smile is any evidence. he doesn’t waste any time sharing his insight. “i say throw caution to the wind, tell him how you feel. and if he doesn’t feel the same way, well then, that’s his loss. because you, darlin’, are a catch. any man would be lucky to have you.”

you know boothill isn’t one to sugarcoat his words. every word he says, he means. is that the case here, too? any man would be lucky to have you—would he feel the same if that man was him?

“i’m headin’ to bed.” he groans as he stands up, stretching his arms above his head, mouth falling open in a yawn. you watch him silently, pondering his words. he doesn’t comment on your silence, doesn’t bother to tease you about your staring. all he does is offer you a wink before telling you, “sweet dreams.”

just as quietly as he appeared, he’s gone.

you let out a shaky breath that you didn’t know you were holding. instead of following boothill’s lead and going to sleep, you rest your head on the arm of the couch and turn your eyes up to the ceiling. your heart is still beating wildly against your rib cage but it’s not bad nerves this time around, it’s anticipation.

courage it is.

thanks for reading! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

[sports-on-sundays]

Okay so 🤭 what if Y/N use to be with ( whatever Barca player you choose ) and they broke it off because they supposedly wanted to focus on their career and the reader was really heartbroken and omg to make it more better y/n is Carlos sister and then she sees or hear how they moved on already! And little by little she starts to be with lando and they announce their relationship when he wins in Miami!! Like full on hard launch. 😭🙌🏽

Also this got me motivated to think of more ideas ima write them down for the future 🤭

papaya girl / LN4

Summary: ex!Ferran x Sainz!baker!reader x Lando - After a devastating breakup with your footballing boyfriend, you think you'll never be able to date someone again.

Warnings: there's a golf scene and I don't golf so-!🤞, mention of sickness, foul language, sorry if some things are not accurate, headache, partying/dancing/drunkenness/clubbing, mention of getting so drunk you had no memory of what happened, implied getting drunk to dampen emotions, getting injured, vomiting, slight soulmate feel, a bit of suggestive talk, use of babe/baby/bae/baby girl/etc., I feel like every kiss I describe is exactly the same sooo- sorry about that! ✌

Requested?: YES! 😘

Author's Note: Do you ever write something so good that you wish you could make it into a movie? That's how I feel about this. I can imagine the scenes. Didn't plan it but I guess 24 is the magic number for this one. I made the request more dramatic because... I like doing that... 👉 👈 🥺 ALSO THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST. PERFECT MIX OF ANGST AND FLUFF. I LITERALLY LOVE YOU! If you do have any more ideas and you're up for it, let me know!

When you met Ferran Torres, you were a Madridista with a passion for Ferrari. Being a Sainz, you've always been rooting for Real Madrid, but your favorite Formula 1 team isn't as consistent. Because before that, you were a McLaren fan. And before that, Red Bull. And everything else before that, too.

Wherever Carlos is, you're a fan of it.

You, quite literally, on the day you met Ferran, were wearing a Cristiano Ronaldo jersey and a backwards Ferrari cap.

And, well, he, a new arrival from Manchester City, liked that, apparently!

And it was beautiful. They way you slowly became closer and closer, growing to know each other more and more.

And then, maybe you just hit a point. Hit a point in your relationship where you wanted more, and Ferran realized that if any more was given by him, it would be too far for him.

And he cut it off. Said he was doing well in Barcelona. He had high hopes. You, a sold out Madrid fan, had been wearing his number on the back of a blaugrana jersey. And despite that blaugrana jersey, he ditched you.

He said his work, his career, his passions, his dreams, were more important than you.

But you can't complain, Y/n. That's fair. He was gentle in letting you know. He made it clear he didn't want any malice between you and him.

You roll over in bed, staring vacantly at your wall. There's a large Real Madrid flag hanging in the middle. A smaller Ferrari flag on one side. A few posters of bands and teams you like or events you've been to, signed by different celebrities. People who are more famous than 'Carlos Sainz Jr.'s sister' or 'Ferran Torres's ex-girlfriend.' On one side, it seems silly to have a poster signed by Max Verstappen, but you do. On the other side of the flag, you have a peeling old McLaren poster, showing the younger versions of Carlos and his former racing partner, Lando Norris, looking just seconds away from breaking into a loud, hysterical laughter.

And next to that, you have a Barcelona poster.

You smile sadly to yourself.

I must look like such a conflicted sports fan.

You stand up, walking over to the wall. After gently peeling the Barcelona poster off the wall, you slowly trace the badge with your fingers, any hint of a smile now gone as tears begin to fill your eyes, threatening to fall.

"This is stupid," you murmur scornfully, your voice cracking softly. "This isn't even my team! It's not my city...!" You toss the poster across the room, leaving it in a place where you don't intend to pick it up anytime soon.

Let it gather dust and crumple. That's what Ferran did. He threw away our relationship like it was nothing but a worthless piece of paper. And now I'm suffering the consequences.

You sigh. You're trying not to let yourself be bitter. You want to look back on everything you and Ferran had and be happy. Appreciate it. You still love Ferran. You don't want to be angry with him.

Someone said to you once, Hurt heals with time, as long as you let it.

You grab a bold, red Sharpie from your drawer and your notebook from a dresser. You scribble those words in all caps, rip out the page, grab some tape, and hang the piece of paper where the FC Barcelona poster used to be.

You sigh, but nod, before turning to get ready for your day.

You hate winter. You never hated winter before this winter, but now you hate it.

With the breakup, you've been avoiding anything La Liga like the plague, even if it doesn't involve Ferran Torres. It just reminds you too much.

And with Carlos on winter break, getting ready for the start of the season, he's not around much. Going on different trips, he's quite busy. Which you don't like. You and your brother have a strong bond.

It's not like you don't have anything to do. You just don't have anything interesting to do. You have a shop that you run, but you have enough staff hired to not have to be there all the time.

Yes, in a family of racing, you were never too into it. Your strong spot is in baking and business running, so that's why you opened up a bakery in Madrid.

And being a Sainz, of course it was a success.

Same type of thing as Charles Leclerc's 'LEC,' except you're not the racing driver Charles Leclerc, you're not doing ice cream, and you've always been doing this, for five years now.

You watch as a young, excited couple walks in, jabbering away in English. You can just tell they're tourists as they get in line to order. Once they get to the counter, the woman immediately leans over the counter in excitement, saying, "Is Carlos Sainz here?" in English.

You chuckle. Sounds American. "Which Carlos Sainz?" you tease.

They look blankly at you as if you're just about the dumbest individual to walk planet Earth. You chuckle and say, "Why don't you get to ordering? There's a line."

Towards the afternoon, as things begin to quiet down just a little bit, you look up at the doorbell jingles and freeze.

When he reaches the counter, you snap at Ferran, "Why are you in Madrid?"

"Am I not allowed to be? Either way, hello to you, too."

You sigh, licking your lips as you study the Valencian boy. "What can I get for you?"

He shrugs and orders, before seating himself down at one of the seats at the counter. "How have you been, Y/n?" he asks.

"Fine," you swallow, staring down. "And you?"

"I'm good." From there, he begins just talking, as if we're old friends or something, and not exes.

He seems so happy. So content.

To not be with you.

Suddenly, mid-way through one of his many sentences, you slip your hand over his, almost on impulse. He stops, staring to your hands, and then to you.

You breathe softly, "Why? Why did you come here to just talk to me? Aren't you moved on? Ferran, this is torture for me."

Lines crease into his face. You can see him swallow, looking at your smaller hand on his. "I'm... I'm sorry. I am moved on. I'm doing well. I just thought maybe we could be friends. I'd never want to date you again; I'm not in the place to date anyone. I'm happy single. But I just feel bad. I know you're hurt, and... I'd be happy to still be friends with you, is all?" He slips his hand out from underneath yours and takes his cup of coffee with it, taking a sip as he watches you intently.

You drag a hand over your face. Though you didn't want to admit it, seeing him come in to the bakery gave you hope. That maybe he wanted to try again. But those words that came out of his mouth? They cut deep.

"Listen, Ferran," you barely whisper. "I'm still trying to work through what happened. Everything. It's hard for me. But I appreciate it, and when I'm ready, if I'm ever ready, I'd love to be your friend. O- Okay?"

He nods slowly, staring down. "Alright... Fair enough."

"What's wrong?" your older brother, Carlos, asks. You watch outside the window as the world travels by.

You sigh. "Ferran."

"Him, again?"

"Carlos," you sigh. "Stop. It's nothing new. I'm just missing him. He wants to stay friends, but I said I needed time."

"Ah. Well, you know, I did tell you never to date-"

"-a Barcelona player. I know," you roll your eyes with a little smile.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Hurt heals with time, as-"

"-long as you let it. I know," you comment, smiling a bit wider.

"Exactly. It'll come."

You sigh. "I hope so."

As Carlos pulls into the parking lot, you say, "So. Is that why you decided to take me golfing with your friends? Just wanted to check up on me, but you never have the time to sit down over dinner these days?"

Carlos smiles as he shuts off the car. "No. I could have made time. But I wanted your company golfing."

"You know I'm not big on g-"

"Shut up," he grins. "Yes you are."

"I suck."

"Not as bad as some people I know. In fact, you're actually pretty okay."

Soon, you meet up with a bunch of Carlos's friends. They're all chatting, and you're just kind of zoning off, looking out over the grassy hills, when suddenly you look up when Carlos says, "Ay! Lando!"

You blink in complete and utter shock. "Why is Lando Norris here?"

As Lando approaches, he eyes you, saying teasingly, "Well, thank you for the warm welcome, Y/n Sainz."

"Lando was just around, so he made the drive to meet us here," Carlos quickly fills in.

Soon, you're all off. After a round, as you're walking back to the cart to go get lunch, Carlos says, nudging Lando, "I think my baby sister is better than you."

Lando laughs. "You fucking muppet; what are you talking about?"

You grin, falling in step with Lando and Carlos. "I'm a better golfer."

"That is just wrong," Lando says, glancing at you. "Downright wrong."

"It's a Sainz thing," Carlos puts in. "There's no way for you to beat us, Lando. You can't. Winning runs in the family."

Lando rolls his eyes, reiterating, "Your baby sister is not better than me."

"You have no right to call me a baby," you put in indignantly. "I'm probably older than you."

Lando looks at you, his nose all scrunched up. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

"Hah! Same age."

"That still doesn't mean you get to call me a baby!"

"Her birthday is in January; different year than Lando's. Lando, you can call her a baby; you're older," Carlos says.

"Carlos!" you snap. "Don't give him permission!"

Carlos grins and shakes his head as he breaks off to chat with some of his other friends and get on the cart with them.

Lando grins, giving a discreet pat on your lower back as he murmurs, "Sorry, baby."

And for some reason, that makes you feel things. You decide to blame it on the fact that Lando's just good-looking.

Once you're all seated down with your lunch, you comment, "So what's with the whole..." your hand goes to your chin, referring to his facial hair, as you look at Lando expectantly.

Lando slams down his fork, saying lightheartedly, "Sick of people asking me that!"

You smirk. "Makes you look like you're forty."

"Whatever, baby."

"You know, I have a picture on my wall of you and Carlos when you were just babies, too."

As soon as Lando raises an eyebrow with a smirk, you know it was a mistake to word it that way. "You have a picture of me and Carlos on your wall?" he asks, mock condescendingly.

"No, no. I mean, I do, but- It's just an old McLaren poster." You immediately look down.

"What, are you a fan of mine?" Lando teases further.

"No! I'm a fan of Carlos, and you just so happened to be his teammate at that time. The point is that you two look like pipsqueaks in that photo! Lando, you looked so awkward, with all your acne-"

"What, Lando, you think she's a McLaren fan? She's sold out for Ferrari," Carlos interrupts.

"Literally! I deck myself out in red every Sunday!"

"Today's Sunday," Lando starts like the stupid idiot he is, "And I don't see you wearing red."

You groan, leaning back, covering your face in your hands. "Carlos, how are you this guy's friend? He's so annoying! Why'd you invite him for? How do you put up with him?"

Carlos just smirks, patting your shoulder, and says, "I'm used to having to put up with irritable people, after having to grow up with you."

You roll your eyes, fighting off a smile as all the guys around you at the table laugh out loud.

On the car ride back, you're mostly silent, your thoughts swimming with one thing and one thing only.

Lando Norris.

And there's a soft smile on your face as you think about your morning with him.

But Carlos can tell you're deep in thought. Usually, you'd be yapping away right now. "Anything on your mind?" he asks carefully.

You sigh. "Not much."

"You're bad at lying. You're staring out the window dreamily. What's on your mind?"

You sigh. "It's stupid. You'll make fun of me."

"I'm not stupid, though. I can already guess what it is."

You gulp. "How?"

"For the whole day, the only person you talked to was Lando."

You feel your stomach drop. "It's nothing serious, Carlos. He's just funny."

"You said something like that to me about Ferran Torres right before you officially started dating."

That makes you feel a bit sick. "Carlos, I won't let that happen again."

"Don't. And don't be getting interested in anyone until you're over your ex. And we both know you're not. And please don't be getting interested in someone like Lando."

"Why?" You eyebrows scrunch together. "I thought you two were buddies."

Carlos grins teasingly. "If you somehow got yourself with him, there would always be two annoying people in one place."

"You're intolerable!" you snap, laughing.

"You are too, hermana."

It strikes Carlos as strange when the first thing Lando says to him the weekend of Bahrain, before even a hello, is: "Is your sister here?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Lando shrugs. "She's nice."

"No... She'll be coming to Australia, though..." Carlos can't help but feel suspicion fill his chest. He's always been somewhat protective of you, being his little sister and all.

"Perfect," Lando grins, and he's off.

In Australia, like any other race, you're decked out in your red. Ferrari hat, Ferrari jacket, red jeans. Ferrari earrings. Even your black shoes have a stripe of red on the sides.

Carlos always tells you it's dumb. But it's become a part of your whole thing, since you spend a huge amount of your life following Carlos around and going to Grand Prixs.

It's fun sometimes, being Carlos Sainz Jr.'s sister!

But when you see a shock of papaya in your red world called Ferrari's hospitality, you squint, slipping your sunglasses up on your hat, and say, "Who said you could walk in like that uninvited?"

"No one," Lando grins, "but I'm only here to see you."

Your eyebrows raise as you stand up. "Wha-"

"Come with me. I'm going to barf if I have to breathe Ferrari air any longer. Just your terrible get-up is making me nauseous. I guess I'll be free from seeing that stupid outfit next year when Carlos isn't in Ferrari-"

"Oh, shut it, you!" you snap, but follow him with a grin on your face.

"So you broke up with your Barcelona man?" Lando start, cutting straight to the chase.

"Uh-" you swallow. "He broke up with me."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

You're not sure why Lando wants to know, and he certainly doesn't have any reason to know, but still you say, "We had been dating for a while, you know? I wanted something more. You know, to go deeper. Someday, I'd love to even maybe get married. But, Ferran... well, he didn't want to go the step deeper. Said he wanted to focus on his career. He broke it off. We're on fine terms, though."

"Ah..." he nods slowly. "That sounds like a tough breakup."

"Yeah... Yeah, it was."

He continues nodding, and catches your eye before saying, "So I'm assuming you want to... you know, you won't be up for any more relationships any time soon? Lot to work through?"

You suddenly feel your face begin to heat up. "Uh, well- depends on who it is, I suppose," you blurt without thinking.

"Hm?" He raises an eyebrow. A little smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Well, considering the fact that your face is just about as red as that Ferrari hat on your head, I'm wondering what you think of me."

You swallow, feeling even more embarrassed. "Are you suggesting...?"

"If you're up for it, the night after the Grand Prix, you can meet me at my hotel room, and we'll go from there. Text me if you decide 'yes,' for the details."

"I don't have your numb-"

He gives a cute little smile and opens his hand to reveal a folded up piece of paper. "Now you do. See you later, Miss Sainz!"

You stand, dumbfounded, as he jogs off.

"Oh my God, Carlos! Well done! So well done! Oh my God!" you scream in the midst of your strings of excited swear words, in both Spanish and English. "Did you actually just win the Australian Grand Prix?!"

He grins as he kisses your cheek, patting your back and saying, "Yes, I actually just did."

You hug your older brother tight, resting your head on his shoulder. "Love you. You did amazing. After everything you've been through. You're going to be leaving Ferrari next season and with your surgery and everything and-"

He smiles a bit. "Want to let me go now? Can't squeeze me too tight, remember?"

"So you can drive a race car and win the race, but you're too fragile for me to hug you!" you laugh, but release him from the hug.

He laughs out loud. "Yes, pretty much."

Hours later, you stand in the lit, mostly empty hallway, knocking on the white-painted door. You've change out of your Ferrari red head-to-toe fit, and are now wearing a black t-shirt with the F1 logo in red on the left side, black sweatpants, and your hair held back by a headband.

Lando probably isn't here, you think as you wait. I look so stupid. He doesn't care as much as he acts like he does. He's probably out partying or something. He got a podium. Carlos won. There's no way he's just sitting around in his hotel room-

You look up in surprise as the door clicks and swings open to reveal Lando Norris standing before you.

You beam and say a bit too loud, "Lando!"

He laughs. "Hey..." He's dressed in a white button down, dark blue jeans, and his regular assortment of jewelry. "Want to come in for a bit?"

You nod. "Were you... just out?" you ask slowly.

He chuckles again, plopping down on the sofa. "If I were just out, I wouldn't be looking this neat."

"Oh... Oh?"

"Come on. Sit down next to me," he encourages with a wave of his hand. "Something funny- I've had my eyes on you for a while now."

You look up in somewhat shock. "That's why you're so confident about this?"

"That, and that I'm just the peak of all confidence," he jokes, clearly mocking cockiness.

You roll your eyes.

"But really. I've been flirting with you for a while."

This time your eyes widen. "No way."

"Just little. I knew you were dating that Torres-"

"How?"

He smiles. "Doesn't take much to find out. Anyway, I think you just blocked it out because you were dating someone else. Shows you're a loyal girl."

"Hm..." you nod slowly. "I... I suppose...?"

Suddenly, he takes your hand in his. "So, you like me?"

"I think I have for a while. Like you said- I blocked it out because I was dating someone else." You didn't even know that until now, hearing the words coming from your mouth.

He smirks. "Even better. So..."

"Yeah?" you ask, a little glimmer in your eyes.

"I'd like to know what the hell you're wearing."

Suddenly, your face falls. "Uh- I'm sorry- I- I thought we- Um-"

Lando laughs. "Y/n! I'm teasing!"

"O- Oh!" you laugh nervously.

"I was just thinking... Maybe you'd want to go out and celebrate with me?"

"Oh-" you nod. "Right."

"So, do you want to get changed? I'll text you where we'll meet in a half hour?"

You grin, standing up. "Sounds good."

"See you then."

"Holy fuck, man," are Lando's first words when he sees you. You're wearing sunglasses, a form-fitting sequin shirt, and flattering white jeans.

"What?" you ask anxiously. "Is it too much?"

"Too much? Y/n, you're gorgeous."

You sigh in relief. "Alright good... And- one thing."

"Hm?" Lando asks, an eyebrow raised.

"I don't know if we... could we say we're... that you're my..."

"Partner? Boyfriend?"

You swallow. "Sure. I think... I think I'm good with that. At least for tonight."

He nods.

"But let's not make it clear here. I don't want the way for everyone to find out about this being, you know, by nightclub pictures on the internet."

He smirks a bit, nodding. "Fair enough, then. Let's go."

"Rise and shine! Let's hit the grind, Y/n!" an unfamiliar voice wakes you up.

You roll over to see Lando's handsome face looking down at you. You're in his hotel room, in the one bed. He's all dressed and ready to go, and towering over you, looking like a giddy dog.

You sit up, rubbing your eyes. "I've got a killer headache. What happened last night." You feel disgusting, and wrinkle your nose as you get a whiff of the alcohol scent radiating off of you.

He grins. "I learned that you have no tolerance whatsoever."

You frown. "Unlike you, Norris, I'm not getting drunk all the time! Now, tell me what really happened!"

"Nothing much. Just a lot of fun," he sits down next to you, "and it's a shame that you can't remember any of it." He chuckles a bit, saying, "You got fucking wild. You were more fun though before you got absolutely drunk out of your wits."

"You didn't do anyth-"

"No, no!" he rolls his eyes. "Besides, Carlos was there. I wouldn't dare. You at least remember Carlos, right, being there?"

You roll your eyes. "Yes, of course I do."

"But you really did completely black out? You don't remember anything?"

You swallow nervously. "No... I don't really remember anything... I mean, I guess..." You close your eyes, thinking hard. "Just dancing... music was super loud, but... that's not anything specific. I don't feel well at all now, though..." You start to feel a bit dizzy at the energy you're putting into trying to remember.

You open your eyes and look at Lando.

He smiles. "Well, it was fun, nothing more. Want me to bring you back to your hotel now?"

"Yeah, I guess..." you nod, cradling your head in your hands. "That'd be great..." You see the wine stain on your jeans. You can feel an ache in your ankle. You just need to clean yourself up.

Lando helps you limp to the car, assuring you that you just tripped. Saying your ankle is fine; it'll feel better in a few days' time.

You're not so sure.

As Lando drives, he knows he should tell you the details, like Carlos said.

But it still feels like you'd be better off not knowing at all.

Nine hours before

Though every single one of Lando's molecules in his body told him not to, he had to keep pushing you off. He sat talking away with some other dudes, and you sat his side, drunkenly trying to wrap your arms around him.

You blubbered softly about all kinds of stuff, a strange mixture of being utterly devastated and overly romantic.

Lando knew. You didn't get drunk this often.

A part of him felt bad. A huge part of him. He didn't think he had pressured you into anything. Certainly not intentionally. And you were the one who kept drinking more. But maybe he did...

Maybe it was his fault you were the mess you were now.

"Lando..." you murmured, your hand gripping his bicep. You leaned closer. "You're so sexy in that shirt." You reached over to unbutton another button of his shirt.

He gently pushed you away for the millionth time. "Remember, Y/n? You don't want anyone to know you're into me this much," he whispered lowly to you, running a hand through his hair. "Remember that, baby."

You pouted. "Ferran broke up with me and made me sad. Can't you make me happy now."

"Not now. I won't be doing anything when you're this drunk."

"I'm not that drunk..."

Lando snorted. "Whatever you say, lovely."

All was going as fine as it could be going. But then Carlos showed up. "Hey, Y/n-" he had started.

But you had interrupted him by slapping your hand on Lando's shoulder, leaning into it, and giggling giddily, "Look at this pretty boy."

Immediately, Carlos's eyes flashed with shock. And then vague panic. And then anger.

"Lando, how drunk did you get her?!" he snapped, raising his voice even more than he already was. The flashing lights on the Spanish man's face helped Lando's anxiety no more.

"I didn't get her drunk at all! I tried to stop h-"

"Yeah, fucking right. Come with me Lando-"

"No!" you had snapped, standing up to grab Lando's sleeve before your older brother could drag him away.

You were clearly biting back tears. "Lan didn't do anything..." You stumbled drunkenly into the British man, who steadied you gently, before helping you sit down again.

Carlos's face remained hard and steadied on Lando, but he spoke no words, as if he was battling in his head what to do.

Lando sighed. "Listen, Carlos. She won't remember any of this tomorrow morning. Let's just not bring this up again, yeah? It was a mistake. Stuff happens. She got wild and had one too many. We've all had those nights."

But Lando genuinely didn't think Carlos had had one of those nights before.

Lando certainly had, though.

"She deserves to know."

"Maybe she shouldn't, though. She's gone through a lot with her ex breaking up with her and everything. And I'm sure your career up in the air isn't helping her cause much, either. She loves you more than the world. And think about how worrying it was for her to see you go into surgery like that, and race right afterwards? The good emotions just hit her, man. But it's probably a lot. She's just going through a lot. She doesn't need the guilt of getting too drunk and acting a little stupid, yeah?" Lando ranted, intently studying the older Spaniard's eyes.

Carlos's eyes slowly softened. "Alright... I won't tell her what's happening once she's sober. Only if I can make a deal with you."

Lando bit his lip, running a hand through his messed up hair. "What is it?"

"I won't say a word to her, as long as you promise to stay away from my sister. I know you're interested in her."

Lando's eyebrows creased together. "What does that men? Why?"

"Quit trying to get with my sister, and then it's a done deal."

Lando let out a shaky breath, slowly nodding. "Alright, then. Whatever. It's a done deal."

Of course Lando didn't intend on following through with his end of the deal.

But when Lando turned around to check on you on the couch, he froze when he saw you were gone. "Where'd Y/n go?" he immediately asked the other guys and girls sitting around.

"The hot Spanish girl?" one guy asked in a painfully slow Australian accent.

"Yes, her!" Lando demanded, his buzzed brain filling with irrational panic and overwhelming confusion.

He lazily gestured and responded, "Went to go dance, I reckon."

And before Carlos or anyone else could react any faster, Lando tore into the crowd, shoving people aside and squeezing through gaps that weren't there, in search of you.

She's drunk out of her mind! What the hell was she thinking!

That's right. She wasn't thinking.

And then, he spotted you, just for a moment. Moving your hips, stumbling about, thinking you were just about the sexiest thing in the room.

"Move out of my fucking way," was Lando's polite way of shoving two guys out of the way.

He could see the sweat glistening on your face. He could see the dumb smile on your face, your high giggles. He could see fresh wine spilled on your white jeans. He could see hands on you; he took no energy to see who they connected to as rage filled his entire being.

And he watched, almost in slow motion, as your ankle rolled on your black stiletto, and you stumbled to the floor with a brain rattling, painful cry.

Immediately, Lando shoved his way to your side, slipping his hands under your body. "My God, Y/n!" he nearly screamed over the music. "You idiot! You beautiful, fucking stupid, idiot! Tell me why I fell in love with you! You're going to be the death of me!"

"Hi Lando," you murmured through tears. "My ankle..."

"Yeah, yeah, I see. Let's get you out of here, yeah?"

You swallowed, nodding as Lando tucked your hair behind your ear. He lifted you to your feet and let you lean on him as he helped you limp out of the club.

"I'm sorry, Lando..." you had muttered hoarsely.

"Hey, don't worry," Lando had responded. "Never apologize for having nothing but a good time."

But he, Lando Norris, disagreed with the words coming out of his mouth. That was his motto, his excuse, all the time. But as soon as soon as he saw you, someone he genuinely really loved, really cared about, living like that?

It made him sick to his stomach.

Speaking of that, as soon as you were outside, you stumbled away from Lando. He steadied you with one hand and held your hair back with the other as you doubled over and vomited, your previously red face impossibly pale.

"Are you done?"

"Yeah..." you gasped after about a minute.

"Alright. Okay. Let's get to my hotel room now."

Lando could barely understand your slurred words as you responded, "As long as we're getting away from here."

Now

You were going to go to the Japanese Grand Prix. But you just wanted to stay home. With a sprained ankle that confines you to crutches and an illness you've picked up, there was no way you were going to fly across the world for a Grand Prix, especially with the potential jet lag.

You lay on your couch and text Lando. You've been thinking, and you let him know that though you really do want to go places with him, you want to go slower.

You still don't know what happened on that night in Melbourne. For some reason, you can't get anything of significance out of Carlos or Lando. But you know more than what they're saying must have happened that night.

You asked Charles, because he was there. He provided a bit more information, but not much. He said he wasn't really hanging around you that night, but that he did see you cuddling with Lando.

When you asked Lando about it, he said you were drunk, it was just you not thinking, and it only happened once. That you stopped after he pushed you off.

And social media shows no one caught it on camera, or anything that night, for that matter.

So at least there's no fans going crazy over anything.

Lando texts you back, saying that he thinks it's best to go slow. Just let yourselves ease into whatever your relationship is going to be.

It's a relief to see he agrees with you on that.

But then he sends another text, asking you to try to keep it a secret. Even from your family, including Carlos.

You ask why, and he responds saying he simply agrees it's good to be private, and he doesn't want Carlos judging.

Though you're not sure about it, since Carlos is not only your favorite (only) brother, but also your best friend, you still tentatively agree to it.

Lando probably has a good reason.

Right?

By the time the Chinese Grand Prix comes around, though your foot is still in a walking boot, you're over your illness, and decide you're going to go for it and make the trip halfway across the world. After all, you've never been to China!

It's true that your walking boot doesn't look the best with your shades, shining silver jewelry, and overalls, but oh well. The most annoying part is literally everyone who even half knows your name (the Sainz part) keeps asking you what the hell happened to your ankle.

And you have literally no response but, "I fell," because you have no more of an idea than them, and there's no way you're about to say, 'Hah I just got drunk with Lando and got so fucking crazy that I twisted my ankle and sprained it! Anyway!'

Yeah, no way.

So "I fell," is the best option you have.

But the most concerning thing to you is that you haven't even seen Lando yet, all weekend. Though you haven't seen each other in a while, you've been calling, texting, and face timing often, your relationship growing a lot.

You chew your lip as you limp towards the McLaren garage. You peek in, scanning for Lando, but only see Oscar.

You limp to him.

"Whoa- What happened to your-"

"I fell," you say, thoroughly exasperated with this. "Anyway, is Lando around?"

"Lando? Uhhh..." he looks around.

Dude, hurry up. I'm not supposed to be here, your thoughts practically scream.

But then he walks in himself, and you grin, waving, "Lando!" you call.

He walks over to you, smiling. "Aw. Look at my little injured girlfr- uh, uhm, mate. My injured mate." He glances nervously at Oscar.

But the Australian just smiles, "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

Lando nods gratefully, before leading you to a more private place. "Hey," he says softly once you're alone, his hands resting on your waist. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright... Ankle's getting better, slowly but surely."

"Oh, good," he almost looks relieved. "That's so good to hear. I'm so glad you made the big trip to be here, Y/n."

You smile softly. "I was starting to miss you."

He grins. "I was missing you, too, baby... I think I could make some time for you this weekend, too. We could just get take out, hang out at my hotel room, you know. No more partying, even if I win, right?" he teases gently, gesturing to your foot.

You snort. "Yeah. Yeah, no more partying for now for me."

Later that night, you lay next to Lando in his hotel room. His arms are wrapped around you, his hand rubbing your back. "Look at me," he murmurs sleepily.

You look up to see his soft eyes looking at you, with so much, tenderness, so much...

love.

You feel a flutter in your stomach. "Lando, how did we get here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Two months ago, I would lie awake in bed, dreaming about and missing Ferran. I was so lonely. Now here I am. Two months, and I'm laying here, in your arms."

He grins a bit. "I bet it's because we're meant for each other."

"That's cliché."

"No, it's not. I really mean it. You know, I had a crush on you even back when Carlos was in McLaren, you were around a lot more, in papaya."

"No, you didn't-"

"Yes, I did!" he laughs softly. "I really did. The day I saw you in the paddock. The day Carlos pointed you out as his sister. The day you flipped your hair and looked at me with those warm brown eyes. And then looked away from me, because in my first season in McLaren, I was the farthest thing from attractive."

You giggle at this. "You're kidding."

"No, I'm not! That was the day that I knew- I knew- that someday, I was going to make you mine," he murmurs, his eye half-lidded as his hand gently caresses your cheek.

"Lando!" you squeak, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. "Don't you dare make me cry for no reason!" You wait a minute, before saying softly, "Well, maybe, just maybe, back then, though you were a pipsqueak, you were kind of cute... And I've always gotten butterflies from your jokes and teasing, even all those years ago, before I was even dating Ferran."

He laughs. "Awww... So you've always had a little bit of a crush on me, too!" You can see by his blushing cheeks and beaming eyes that just this fact is making him feel warm inside.

You roll your eyes, giggling. "I guess, maybe...."

He flicks your nose gently, playfully, holding you even closer. You lay there in more silence, before Lando says softer, even more tenderly, "Hey, Y/n... can I talk to you about something...?"

"Of course, Lando..." Your eyebrows knit together.

You watch as he swallows. Nods. Sighs. "Okay... Something has been bugging me..." He pauses. "I... I feel like I never should have brought you out that night in Australia... you know? Like, beyond the sprained ankle."

Your eyes flash. "What do you mean?"

"Well... You just got so drunk, and... I feel so bad... Like, somehow, it's my fault... I didn't mean for you to get hurt, or to drink that much... I just thought we'd have fun. Like I always do with my friends. And you're my girlfriend; supposed to be my closest friend..."

"Lando," you murmur shakily. "Did you try to get me that drunk? You didn't encourage it, did you?"

He looks nervous. "I genuinely don't think so, but I'm nervous I did... I tried to tell you enough was enough, but maybe I should have looked out for you more... Maybe I should have worked better at keeping you from getting that drunk... But we were having so much fun and I figured you would know your limit... I shouldn't have assumed."

"Lando! Don't blame yourself! It was my fault. I got too drunk, I fell and sprained my ankle. The sentiment of you wanting to look out for me is nice, but when push comes to shove, I'm in charge of myself, just like you're in charge of yourself, and it was my fault. My mistake. M'kay, Lando...?"

He nods slowly, still looking a bit unsure. "Well, Carlos isn't mad at you about it. He's mad at me..."

"Carlos is what?!"

"Ah, fuck. Forget I ever-"

"Lando Norris, explain."

"Whoa, that's sexy," he laughs.

"What?!" you exclaim in exasperation, yet you're still unable to keep your stomach fluttering by Lando's sudden spoken intrusive thought.

He grins, his eyebrows raised. "I don't know. Full name, in such a firm voice? Like, yes, mommy, order me around. I'll do whatever you want me to," he says in a low, goofy, teasing voice.

You can't stop your face from heating up. "Oh, shut it, you!" you snap, your voice cracking awkwardly as you flick him in the nose this time. And you flick his stupid nose harder than he flicked yours earlier.

He giggles evilly, rolling over. "Look at yourself! You liked that! You're a blushing mess!"

"No, I didn't. What a stupid way to flirt."

"Oh, well, I can show you even more stupid ways to flirt. Because, apparently, it doesn't quicken your heart rate at all."

You groan. "You are so annoying."

He leans over, giving you a peck on your lips. "I know. And you know you love me for it."

You forget to ask him again about Carlos.

"Baby, c'mere," Lando says, nodding for you to join him in his driver's room.

"Dude, watch what you call me when there's listening ears around."

Lando shrugs. "It's only Oscar in the other room."

"So? What makes you trust Oscar so much, anyway?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. He's a good guy. And he's not gossipy, like me."

You laugh. "You are, are you?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm a fucking gossip girl."

You laugh out loud at this as Lando shuts the door of his driver's room behind you.

Lando grins. "Anyways, Oscar is trustworthy because he's not the type of guy to have any desire not to keep a secret."

You frown, crossing your arms. "Alright. Whatever. Anyways, why'd you bring me in here?"

Lando shrugs, sitting down on the one chair in the room. "Sit down, babe."

You blink. "Where? On the fricking floor?"

"Uh, no," Lando rolls his eyes jokingly, as if this is the most obvious thing. "On my fricking lap, Y/n. Come on now. Duh."

You can't help but find yourself blush at that as you slip onto his lap. He wraps his hands around your waist, giving you a kiss on the cheek. You smile, leaning into him as you ask softly, "So why'd you bring me in here? Just for kicks?"

He grins. "I need my Y/n fix before the race. You know, it'll make me drive better."

"Oh? Is that how it works?" Suddenly, though, before Lando can respond, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You slip it out and sigh. "It's Carlos, asking me where I am. I feel like I'm under surveillance."

Lando blows a raspberry before saying, "Just ignore it, bae. You're a twenty-four year old woman; Carlos needs to get over it."

"Get over what?" you ask, an eyebrow raised.

"You not being his baby sister anymore. You're my baby now," he murmurs into your shoulder, pulling you closer to himself.

You laugh. "I still can't decide whether you're the worst flirt I've ever met or the smoothest. But right now, I'm thinking the worst."

"Oh, well!" he says, looking up at you with innocent eyes, batting his lashes. "Doesn't matter to me, because either way, you like it! Anyway, back to before Carlitos had to interrupt-"

You giggle as he begins kissing your face and say, "Carlitos? I'm not even allowed to call him that without him going psycho man on me-"

"Mmm... Can you talk less? It's cuter when you do that giggle thing," Lando murmurs between kisses.

This causes you to laugh out loud. "Sometimes, Lando, I think you're so weird." You realize, in a strange way, though, Lando is right. Because of the giddy feeling of literally having your boyfriend shower you with kisses and love, you're just kind of trying to find anything to talk about.

But maybe you should just take one moment to shut up.

You lean into the kisses, exhaling slowly. Contently, despite your pounding heart and sweating neck.

Finally, you feel as though your face is absolutely, completely covered in Lando's kisses. You sigh, contented, as Lando kisses the tip of your nose, and then pecks your lips.

You giggle, opening your eyes to gaze into his.

But his eyes flutter shut as he leans in, his hand slipping to the nape of your neck. And his lips meet yours again, this time in a real kiss. You shut your eyes, enjoying those lips on your own, sending tingles throughout your whole body, causing your breath to grow heavier and heavier. Desire pulses in every beat of your heart, causing the passion in the kiss to build and build. Your right hand falls into his chest as the other knits itself in his curly locks. You feel Lando's hand on your hip as his fingers snake under to grip your ass gently. You can feel his hot breath on you, in you, apart of you, as his other hand gently stroking your neck, giving you little twitches of longing for more. Your tongues find an art of lingering exploration, Lando's hunger seeming to never be satisfied as his tongue and lips tease your nerves, the emotional and physical connections between you seeming stronger than ever. His hand slides down your neck to your back, pulling you closer to him, so your chests are pressed into one another.

Suddenly, though, there's a pounding on the door of Lando's driver's room. Your eye cracks open. Lando's squeeze tighter shut, his eyebrows creasing together, as if he wishes so much that this never has to end.

Lando grunts, finally pulling away. Oscar's voice on the other side of the door saying Lando's name seems to be in another, insignificant world. You're both gasping as you study each other's eyes in a certain awe.

A soft, mischievous smirk appears on Lando's lips. Those lips that now you can't stop staring at. "Was your first kiss with Torres that hot?"

You let out a breathy laugh. "Definitely not."

There's a pause, of just softly smiling, gazing into each other's eyes, before Lando breathes, his eyes half-lidded, "My fucking God," He gently, slowly strokes your warm, pink cheek. "Did I ever tell you how head over heels I am for you?"

Before you can respond, Oscar's voice says again from outside, "Lando, if you don't respond, soon, I'm coming in."

Lando groans again, leaning his head back, "You can't! The door's locked!" He then adds under his breath, "Fucking Osc, interrupting as soon as I was going to take it to the next step."

At this, you blush even deeper. "You were-"

Lando waves his hand dismissively. "I would have checked with you first."

You nod, breathing deeply.

"Alright, baby," he sighs, running a hand through his hair, ruffling it up a bit. "Let's go see what the hell Oscar wants."

When the door swings open, Oscar can't help but chuckle how how much, in that moment, you two look like some snarky super villian duo, about to give him some cheesy monologue. You both stand, arms crossed, practically back to back. Lando wears a scornful grin and you display a glare as hard as stone. Even your clothes- Lando's racing clothes and your head-to-toe Ferrari red, finish off the silly look.

"What's so funny?" you demand upon seeing the Australian's laughter.

"Nothing, nothing. But I hope you guys know: These walls are not soundproof."

"What are you suggesting?" Lando snaps. "You couldn't have possibly heard anything, you idiot!"

"Whoa, whoa! I didn't! I'm just saying!" Oscar says, going on the defensive, putting both hands up. "Me and my girlfriend don't lock ourselves in my driver's room before the race, losing track of time and forcing you to go get us!"

"You and your girlfriend are probably going to buy a house with a white picket fence and have 2.5 children and a golden lab! Oscar and Lily is bad enough, but I'm surprised it's not John and Emily!"

"Whoa," Lando says, laughing as you walk out of the driver's room together and he shuts the door. "Shots fired. Calm down, Y/n; jeez."

But Oscar's laughing, too, so you know there's no need to apologize.

"Lan... You know I wasn't kidding earlier when I said I won't go out, right?" you say nervously as you walk into his hotel room, rolling your suitcase from your own hotel room.

"Yeah, I know you weren't. I wasn't kidding, either."

"So... What?" you ask, sitting down on the edge of his bed, crossing your arms. "You're planning on going alone? Then why did you bring me to your hotel room-"

"Y/n," he suddenly says, leaning down to gently grab your chin and look you directly in your eyes. "I'm not going anywhere tonight. I'm staying right here."

Your jaw actually drops. "I'm sorry, but who are you and what have you done with Lando Norris? Because that man would never miss an opportunity to party."

This makes Lando let go of you and break into a fit of laughter. "Y/n!" he breathes. "What the hell are you talking about? Before that, I would never miss an opportunity to spend time with you."

You stare. "Okay, actually. I'm being serious now. What did you do with Lando?"

You watch as your boyfriend chuckles, sitting down next to you. "Baby. I'm not going to go out clubbing while you sit in a hotel room alone. And there's no way I'm taking you out again; my guilty conscience can't take that, and neither can your sprained ankle. So why not celebrate P2 here, just you and I, hm?" he says in a low tone.

Immediately, at this suggestion, you blush. "Oh, uh, Lando... I, uh... I don't know if I'm ready for something... you know... for that... right now... Not yet... You know, it's too early for me in our relationsh-"

Lando suddenly breaks into laughter again. Oh, that sweet, silly sound. "Y/n! My God, what a dirty mind you have! I wasn't thinking that at all-!"

"You, Lando Norris, are saying I have a dirty mind?! I bet you really are his doppelganger!"

He crosses his arms. "Only reason why I wouldn't suggest that is because I know you're not ready. Which is more than one hundred percent fine with me. I wasn't even thinking about that, anyway."

"What were you thinking, then?"

He smiles with his eyes. "Well, let's both get ready for bed," he begins pulling his shirt off over his head as you absolutely bear your eyes into him, "And once we're both ready, I'll meet you back... here...?" His confused face slowly turns to one of teasing nature when he sees your eyes trained intently on his bare chest. His perfectly toned abs. His perfectly shaped pecs. His strong, straight, tan back. The little brown beauty marks sprinkled all over his torso. You would love to kiss every single one of them. "Why don't you take a picture?" he smirks stupidly. "That way, it'll last longer."

"Oh, shut up," you murmur, licking your lips as you tear your eyes away from his bare middle. "You can shower first," you murmur.

Once you're both all clean and ready, you snuggle up under the blankets, only to find your arm brushing against Lando's bare skin.

You feel your heart flutter as you murmur, "Are you not wearing a shirt just to bother me?"

"What, no," Lando says, overly innocently. "I never wear a shirt to bed. Just like I'm sure you never wear a bra...?"

If you were embarrassed before, now it's ten times worse. You specifically decided to wear a bra, to avoid... that. And now here Lando is, bringing it up like it's the weather.

"Uh..." you begin.

"Anyway!" Lando says, apparently seeing the vaguely panicked look in your eyes. "Wanna just watch a show or something?"

"Yeah," you nod. "That sounds good."

Lando turns some stupid show on his laptop, and as you snuggle and it gets later, you become more relaxed. You lean your head on Lando's shoulder as he plays with strands of your smooth, wet, dark hair. Your hands begin softly feeling his chest, just drawing circles and feeling the shapes of his abs.

Everyday, you seem to get to know Lando more and more- inside and out.

He sighs, contented, and murmurs sleepily, "That feels nice."

You smile, nuzzling into him.

"I saw Barcelona and Madrid played today," he comments as your fingers continue stroking the abs under Lando's soft skin.

"Yeah... El Clásico..."

"You don't sound as excited as I thought you would. I thought you were big on Madrid."

"Yeah, I am... Just having been keeping up with La Liga lately, I guess."

"Hm... Well, would you like it if I could find some way to watch the game...?"

You smile softly. "Hm. Yeah, maybe that wouldn't be so bad..."

Lando nods, and soon, you're cuddled up with your boyfriend, watching your favorite team play against FC Barcelona/your ex's team.

It feels weird, but you like it.

You decide your bra isn't very comfy and slip it off under your shirt before tossing it across the room.

"You're finally over being embarrassed with me?" Lando teases.

You smile softly, shutting your eyes. "At least for now. Too sleepy to care."

He smiles back. "You're cute when you're sleepy. Cuter."

Soon, though, Lando is gently shaking you, murmuring, "Look. Your ex was subbed on."

"Hmmm? What about Fer?" you murmur with a yawn. You must have dozed off for a bit.

"Fer?" Lando asks, his nose scrunching up. "Yeah, Ferran Torres."

Your eyes flutter open to see your ex-boyfriend running onto the pitch. You feel a sudden, unexpected pang in your chest. When you and Ferran were still together, you watched him do that so many time, with a sense of pride and excitement.

But now, you don't feel much at all. It's no different from anyone else going out there to play.

But, like a train, memories of the past begin to hit you.

Going for walks with him. Cheering him on at finals. Hanging out with his teammates. Working out with him. Bringing him to the Barcelona Grand Prix. Exchanging gifts on birthdays and holidays.

Just all the little things you used to do.

Like snuggling with each other on late nights after Barcelona won.

Not unlike what you and Lando are doing right now.

Suddenly Lando's arm around you tightens, and he says, "You okay?"

"I- yeah..."

Lando leans forward to see you face. You try to turn it away. Lando doesn't let you.

You stare into each other's eyes.

"You're crying," he states softly.

"I guess..." you trail off, averting your eyes.

There's a few beats of silence before Lando states again, "You still miss him."

"I guess..." you repeat. "But... I'm happy to be with you... it just all happened so quick... It's a lot for me... I'm mostly over it- over him- by now, but sometimes things just... make me start to think. Reminsce of what's not anymore."

Lando slowly nods, and begins rubbing your shoulder. "I- Alright..."

"But don't worry. I'm way more happy to be with you right now than sad to not be with Ferran any longer."

"You're sure?" the Brit asks tentatively.

You nod, leaning into him once more. "I'm sure. One hundred and one percent."

"Hey, Lando," you grin giddily before the Miami Grand Prix. "Just drive your best out there, okay? Good luck, baby." You give him a high-five. You can sense he wants to give you a hug, but painfully knows he can't because of the ever-watching cameras and eyes all around you.

But he leans in close, until you can practically feel his breath on your face, and says softly, in just about the most heart-wrenching-in-a-good-way low voice, "Oh, baby... I'm going to go out there and win that race. For you."

"Oh, stop being such a romantic. You're going to make me cry."

He leans in, about to kiss your cheek, but you gently push him off, saying, "You better get going, Lan! Race is going to start soon!"

"Right! Bye bye, bab-"

"BYE!" you scream to overpower his stupid 'baby girl.'

And before you can even blink twice, it seems-

It's lights out....

And away we go!

"LANDO! FUCKIN'! NORRIS!" you scream as soon as you see him, running to him as fast as you can. Your eyes threaten to fill over their brims with tears as you leap into Lando's arms, immediately forgetting about hiding your relationship.

Right now, that just seems too silly to care about. It doesn't matter enough.

Your boyfriend is a race winner.

The racer winner!

He leans back with the most joyful, most romantic, most adrenaline filled, most glorious look in his eyes as they search yours. His hand slowly strokes your cheeks as he purrs, "I told you I would win it for you, didn't I?"

"Lando-" you begin in excitement, but are interrupted by Lando's lips on yours, aggressively, passionately leaning into yours, flooding all his emotions into you, sharing his dream coming true with you.

For some reason, you begin to cry. Flows of tears, flooding down your cheeks as you kiss each other, and your heart pounds at a million kilometres an hour. His hands grip your waist tight, and the moment-

It all seems so perfect.

Right now, you don't care about the fact it was supposed to be secret. You don't care about what Carlos will think or say or do, or what fans on social media will post. None of it matters.

In this moment, the only two people that matter are you and Lando, in a symphony of amorousness, standing on the top of the world.

In this moment, you and Lando, both in sync, know this is the right time. Though it's been merely three months of being in a real, serious relationship, it feels like several lifetimes.

You don't care about the shock of other people, or the cameras flashing and clicking and filming.

All the sudden, you're proud of it.

You want everyone to know, no matter how they'll react, that you're Lando's, and Lando is yours.

When you finally break away from each other, Lando's smile remains as he gazes into your eyes.

"Are you crying too?" you giggle softly as you spot a glint in his eyes.

"What? Me, crying? No, I'm not crying! Of course I'm not crying!" he says teasingly, hastily wiping at his eye with his thumb. "You're the one crying! But anyway-" He slips the papaya McLaren cap off his head and plops it on yours, saying, "Won't be needing this for the top step. Besides," he smirks, leaning in closer. "Enough with all this Ferrari stuff. I think it's finally time for you to admit: Papaya looks best on you. Papaya's your color."

As you watch him jog off after that, stunned, you feel pleased.

Finally, for once, content.

That's right. My color isn't white, or blaugrana. It's not Ferrari's red, either.

I'm a papaya girl.

His papaya girl.

[hyp3rf1xat10ns]

My Thoughts That No One Asked For!

Malleus is obviously very strong. We can only assume Malleus is stronger. It was easier to defeat the other Housewardens because to some extent, everyone fighting that Housewarden in on their level. Malleus is one of the top five mages in Twisted Wonderland. Fighting against him is practically impossible unless you call in another top mage. Oh wait! They're asleep like everyone else. So hear me out...What if instead of ending with an epic fight where the Prefect stands off against Malleus....The Prefect breaks the "spell" with a hug. Not a kiss, that's too Otome. A hug. One to let him know it's ok for him to be upset. It's ok for him to mourn what he is loosing and what he doesn't have. Malleus just sobs...into your arms. And giving into the sadness and accepting the reality of the situation is what snaps him out of his overblot state. Just imagine it like this.

"I am always left alone! At the end of the day I am destined to be alone! Everyone will leave me behind! I'll have no one! That is why...I need to keep you all here....happy in your dreams.....just the way you want your life to be."

Malleus' laughter echoed throughout the halls of Diasomnia. The people who were currently awake had a sense of fear embedded in them. He was too powerful to fight. It seemed impossible to take him down. Was this the end? The one overblot you couldn't defeat?... But then...you realized something....you were afraid of him...for the first time since you met him...you were scared....but why?...Yes he's overblotted and caused everyone to sleep for a thousand years and yet....you still can't help but see him as that weird horned boy who showed up at Ramshackle one cold autumn night...the man you dubbed Hornton because he wouldn't tell you his name...the man who gave you the courage to fight against Azul when he practically had Ramshackle in your clutches...the one who sent you the holiday card, the one you took nightly walks with, the one who helped to fix the stage, the one who was worried when you disappeared. There were so many things that Malleus was. You think back to when you told him you might have found a way back home. He looked so hurt you...He looked

Scared...

You had no idea what triggered it. With every ounce of strength left in your body. You approached Malleus, shakily. Staggering with each step. Exhausted and sore from fighting. Silver, Sebek and Idia stared at you like you were insane. Had the prefect ha one too many overblots???

"HUMAN!! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING???"

"Prefect! Wait!-"

"Th-This is l-like something o-out of some kind of m-manga o-o-or an anime...wh-why are they having a main ch-ch-character moment?"

You finally stopped when you were face to face with Malleus. You looked like a mess and he looked fine.

"Oya? Approaching me head on, Child of Man? Or have you come to accept your fate and give into slumber for-"

Before he can finish, you hug him. It's gentle and soft and just meant to be comforting and kind.

"It's ok Hornton..."

You whisper as you hug him. You brace yourself for him to shove you off with a blast of magic that would kill you...but it never happens...instead the young prince curls into you arms and begins sobbing into your arms...as the blot disappears and everyone awakes. Like some form of fairytale.

[axiina]

what about aemond x niece reader but aegon has always been in love with her? she is betrothed to aemond and they’ve always had a thing for the other but aegon has been head over heels for her since he can remember 👀

Always the last

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x niece!reader, Aemond Targaryen x niece!reader

Summary: The firstborn son, always the last. It was like a mockery of the gods. To give him birthright but take away the one he wanted more than anything in the world.

Words: 1k

Themes: angst, no comfort, basically aegon is obsessed with reader, kind of self harm? (too much alcohol to silence pain), addictions

Warnings: delulu fanon aegon, kind of self harm? (too much alcohol to silence pain), addictions, incest (it's targaryens so obviously)

Author's note: I'm back, and I hope for longer. At first, it was supposed to be a more aemond x reader, but I changed my mind, and it ended up as angst from aegon's perspective. I'm sucker for my delulu fanon aegon. if you want more, my asks are open!!

Aegon knew he shouldn't get his hopes up. The life he imagined with his niece by his side was simply not going to happen.

He didn't deserve her. And even if it were otherwise, nothing would come of it. He had already been married to Helaena for years.

It just didn't make sense, and Aegon was well aware of that. So why did it hurt him so much? Why then, when he heard his father's decision about the betrothals of Aemond and his niece, did Aegon feel as if his life had just been put to rest? Why did it hurt so much? The knowledge that it would be Aemond who would be able to watch her sleep blissfully, hug her, kiss her, and spend the rest of his life with her didn't allow him to function.

He is the first-born son, and yet always the last.

So he turned to drinking and whoring. Aegon was never a serious man. He was always more interested in pleasure than any duty and this time was no different either. He didn't want to think anymore.

He didn't want to think about her, so to silence those disturbing thoughts, he would get drunk to the point of unconsciousness, unable to get her out of his head.

He would do anything to forget, to silence the pain and the voice that reminded him that it should have been him all along.

Aegon drank day and night with no desire to stop it. In every spare moment, all he could think about was his niece. The girl whose smile could light up the darkest corner and whose touch made his heart beat faster.

He knew it was wrong. He knew he should forget her. After all, she was his brother's betrothed. But there was nothing he could do about it.

No matter how much he tried to push away thoughts of her, no matter how much he tried to hide his feelings, he couldn't.

He couldn't forget the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed or the way her hair fell around her face like a waterfall. He couldn't forget her scent and the smile that made his heart flutter. He couldn't forget the way her hand felt in his, or the way her fingers traced patterns on his skin. Even if it was years ago when they were children. When life was easier.

He couldn't forget her. He was completely and utterly infatuated.

And it was killing him.

Every time he saw her with his brother, every time he saw them laughing and joking together, it felt like a dagger in his heart. He knew he should be happy for Aemond, but he couldn't. He was too consumed with jealousy, too consumed with the thought that she should be his betrothed and not his brother's.

He knew it was selfish and even unreasonable. But he couldn't help it.

He couldn't bear the thought of her being with someone else. Not when he had wanted her so much for so long. Not when he had spent years admiring her from afar, unable to do anything but dream of what might have been if things had turned out differently.

No amount of alcohol could erase his memories, no amount of pleasure could dull the pain in his heart.

She was always there, on the edges of his mind, tormenting him with her sweetness, beauty and innocence.

The pain in Aegon's heart only grew when he saw them together.

The sight of Aemond's eyes brightening as he looked at her, the way he leaned in to listen closely every time she spoke, the small smile that appeared on his lips when she laughed, all of it made Aegon's insides twist into a knot.

He felt as if a cold, strong hand was squeezing his heart and squeezing it tighter and tighter with each passing moment.

He tried to look away, to divert his attention, but he couldn't. His eyes always returned to them, drawn to their sight like a moth to a flame. He tried to tell himself that he should be happy for Aemond, that he should be happy that his brother had found someone to make him happy, but he couldn't.

He was filled with a burning jealousy from which he could not shake.

He couldn't stand it.

He couldn't look at them together, see the happiness on their faces, the warmth in Aemond's gaze. It was like a thousand needles piercing his heart with every passing second. He wanted to scream, tear them apart, take her away from her brother, and claim her as his own. He wanted to sink his face into her hair and inhale her scent, to wrap his arms around her and never let her go.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't do any of those things. He was trapped, watching from the sidelines as Aemond, his younger brother, his other son, always the more loved one, was now the one who could be with her. The one who could hold her hand, kiss her, and share her life. Aegon could only stare at it, feeling the bitter taste of jealousy on his tongue.

She was like a drug, an addiction he couldn't shake off. Every time he saw her, his heart sped up, his palms sweated, and his throat tightened.

And every time she smiled at Aemond, her eyes shining with affection, his heart broke all over again.

He knew that Aemond deserved someone like her in his life. But he couldn't help it. Jealousy was consuming him. It was destroying him.

Aegon knew he was not the right choice for her. He was too weak, too selfish, too impulsive.

He was a drunkard, a lustful man, one who lacked discipline and self-control. He would disappoint her, hurt her, and ultimately break her heart.

But that didn't stop him from wanting her, from lusting after her like a drug. Every thought of her filled his mind, every memory of her haunted his dreams.

She was like a bright, shining candle in a dark, cold world, and he was drawn to her more and more because he couldn't have her.

He was the firstborn son, the eldest, the one who was supposed to get everything.

And yet he was always the last. Last in his father's eyes, last in his mother's heart and now last in the race to her heart.

It was like a cruel joke, a mockery of the gods, that they had given him the birthright but taken away the one thing he wanted, the one person he wanted more than anything.

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (36)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: hard sexual abuse, torture and starvation, angst, swearing, description of the murders ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After Prince Aemond and his wife flew off on their dragons into the skies to meet their destiny in the Eyrie, Alys knew what awaited her; Larys paid her a visit shortly after they left the fortress. Despite his light, dreamy smile, her brother's blank, dark gaze expressed everything he had to convey to her.

He was not pleased.

"I'm disappointed. I thought we had made an agreement." He hummed, walking slowly over to the table she sat at, watching him vigilantly, his hand reaching for one of the vessels in which she kept her herbs.

"Worthless objects are usually…thrown away. Do you agree with me, sister?" He asked calmly and smiled gently at her, as if he had just said something comforting. Her expression and grin did not change, although a cold, unpleasant shiver ran along her spine.

She knew what awaited her.

She had seen it in her dream.

The strange, drunken men, guards and servants who could use her body as much as they liked in the darkness of her cell.

She didn't pose or look at them – she just tried to think of something else. She imagined then her unborn child, her mother's face, the soft smile of the little girl who might already be dead, betrayed by her husband.

She tried not to exist, pretended to herself that this was not her body.

The only man who did not take the opportunity to humiliate her was the guard who had been her lover for years, the same one who had watched over her chambers.

She felt a kind of emotion when Ser Erwin came to her in the morning, before his service began, covering her bared, bruised body with a sheet, always bringing her a piece of bread, letting her drink the wine that soothed her pain.

She would not eat or drink anything Larys's servants brought her, knowing that she would die in agony afterwards.

"Forgive me. If I defy him, he will hurt my wife and my children." He muttered, pressing his lips together, his bearded, broad, masculine face contorted in a grimace of pain, his eyes red from tears of grief.

He really pitied her.

She touched his arm and he placed his wide, rough hand on hers.

"I know. Protect your family. I will survive this. I'm grateful to you for what you're doing for me and I'll never forget it."

The man nodded.

"There is something else." She whispered. Ser Erwin looked at her, surprised.

The same dream repeated itself again and again every night: a white deer in a sea of blood and a man standing over it, whose silhouette she knew very well.

"I saw a wounded white deer in the darkness. I saw you standing over him. Promise me that when Prince Aemond arrives here, you will watch over him and his wife." She said.

He stared at her as if considering her words, then nodded again and stood up, leaving her alone in her prison.

And then there was silence.

The men ceased to visit her, and there was an uneasy, dark emptiness in the fortress.

The next day he arrived.

She knew it would happen.

She knew he would come, seeking answers.

In his armour, he looked older and more mature – looking at him from afar, she thought with amusement that, indeed, he was a handsome man and, were it not for his sweet wife, she would have loved to play with him, if only for her own amusement.

So helpless, hiding behind the walls of his pride, filled with complexes and fears, like a little child craving only someone's warm word and praise.

"Why did you lie? I could have your head for this." He hissed, angry and tense, standing at a good distance from the bars as if he feared he might otherwise fall under the influence of her charms.

She laughed weakly at his words.

"If there were no capacity for treachery in you, my words would not frighten you, Your Grace. But it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve stabbed her in the back, would it?" She sneered, saying exactly what she was thinking, thus bringing him completely off balance.

"Why?" He growled, pale as if he was about to faint.

She couldn't believe how frightened he was.

Did he consider that his will as a man was so weak?

That he wouldn't control his members and would just fuck her?

"My brother reckoned that after what was going to happen in the Eyrie she would try to take her own life again. I don’t consider myself a good person, but I’m not heartless. I wanted you to be horrified by my words and get her as far away from here as possible." She said.

"How dare you manipulate me and my wife." He hissed, enraged.

"I didn’t manipulate her. There was no need for that. You. Your pride wouldn’t allow you to listen to the advice of a bastard woman, on top of the Strong line. A witch’s prophecy that could give birth to your bastard child would be a different matter. Wouldn’t it?’" She asked mockingly and noticed how something changed in the look in his eye, his brow arching in pain.

He was suffering.

But why?

After a moment, however, the expression on his face changed, replaced by fury.

"Whose fucking side are you on, you insolent whore?" He growled through clenched teeth, as if he felt like spitting on her.

She realised then that it wasn't himself he was afraid of, but her.

She liked that.

"I am on my side. But my cold heart supports your wife. She has broken deep into it and refuses to leave it. I’m certain you understand me. Such a sweet girl." She hummed, wanting to bring him out of his daze, and the effect she provoked was even stronger than she had anticipated.

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" He shouted low, hatred and madness in his eye, his jaw clenched as tightly as if it was going to burst – he took one step towards her cell as if he wanted to tear her apart but stopped, panting heavily.

Gods.

He was jealous of his little wife.

He was afraid she would take her away from him.

His rage and fear were indeed great, for it seemed to her that he really wanted her to die of hunger and thirst. It was only a few days later that the guards whom she did not know and who had probably travelled with him from King's Landing opened her cell, ordering her to rise.

She did so with difficulty, sore, hungry and thirsty, and moved slowly with them through the familiar corridors of the fortress of Harrenhal. She pressed her lips together as she noticed out of the corner of her eye a fair-haired man watching her vigilantly, one of her brother's spies.

What was he doing here?

Why hadn't the prince sent him away?

Only then did she realise that he certainly had claimed to be a completely different person, putting his guards' vigilance to sleep.

"I need to speak to the Prince." She muttered, sitting down on her bed without strength. The guard placed a plate of bread and a jug of apple juice on her table.

"Be silent, witch. Be thankful to the gods that you are still alive." Said the man through clenched teeth, looking at her with disgust and left, closing the door. She heard the sound of the key turning in the lock and sighed heavily, burying her face in her hands.

She thought that Larys would certainly not poison the prince, but would be watching him with the help of this boy.

Indeed, the man brought her food and drink several times. She sniffed the juice he brought her and then split an apple lying on a tray in half and poured the contents of her cup over it. She snorted under her breath as the apple instantly turned black and began to break into pieces.

The Last Breath.

A poison created from a decoction of several herbs that could only be found locally in the region of Riverdale, slowing the heart rate and making breathing difficult, in large quantities suffocating the victim, in small quantities causing slow agony.

For reasons she understood, Prince Aemond did not visit her throughout his stay in Harrenhal, thus earning her respect and affection – she recognised that since he wanted to catch her brother he felt guilty and wanted to reward his wife for his moment of hesitation.

One night she dreamt of a great stone fortress reaching up to the sky surrounded by clouds, around which she seemed to hear the sea. She looked down upon it, flying on a dragon she had never seen before.

She opened her eyes and swallowed hard, wondering what she had actually seen and what it meant.

The dragon she saw belonged to neither Prince Aemond nor his wife.

So to whom?

That she did not know, but she knew for a fact that she would be leaving Harrenhal soon.

And then she appeared in the doorway of her chamber.

She felt a pleasant warmth in her stomach at the sight of her, her heart pounding faster in the hope that perhaps this girl would forgive her for what she had done, understand that she wanted her good.

She swallowed hard noticing in her eyes sadness so deep and infinite that she felt a squeeze in her throat.

"You predicted my husband would give birth to your bastard child." She said in a trembling, breaking voice, betrayed, humiliated, distraught.

"I lied. I saw nothing of the sort neither in my dreams nor in the fire." She said calmly, looking her straight in the eye. The prince's wife pressed her lips together at her words and furrowed her brow, anger and frustration in her gaze that startled her.

"How dare you lie to my husband, and your Prince?" She asked dryly, standing up for her husband to her astonishment.

How dare you manipulate me and my wife.

She saw that her hand was stroking her lower abdomen in a gesture of nervousness, something she had not done before.

Two streams of blood finally merging into one.

"You are expecting his child." She whispered, but the girl didn't answer her.

Alys sighed heavily.

"My brother had plans for you. He ordered me to seduce the Prince. He wanted you to step aside and try to take your own life again. He knew that your husband would then fall into complete darkness."

Her eyebrows arched in pain, as if some part of her really wanted to believe her.

She was so innocent.

"You didn't tell me about this."

"No."

"You and my husband. You are identical."

She smiled sadly at her words, understanding perfectly what she meant.

They were both a dancing, aggressive fire that burned everything around them, lonely stars in the sky that could only devour each other.

"Yes. Yes, we are."

Her eyebrows arched in pain, her pretty, bright eyes shone with tears of disappointment.

"I believed you."

"I regret not telling you. I didn't want to destroy your already strained trust in him." She whispered, lowering her gaze to the stone floor, recognising, however, that there was nothing more she could do now.

It was already too late.

"Did you make an attempt?"

She blinked, snapped out of her reverie and looked at her, not understanding her question.

"Your Grace?"

"Did you try to seduce him?"

"No. I didn't go near him."

"Why?"

"Because he would have killed me. I just wanted your husband to make the right decision. For him to be scared of what might happen, to try to change the future. For him to tell you about what's happening here."

"I believed you. I opened my heart to you." She muttered in a breaking voice, from which she felt a cold sweat on her neck.

"I know."

The girl pressed her lips together – even though she was clearly trying to remain calm a single, lonely tear ran down her cheek.

"− there are still people in this fortress who will want to kill you − especially beware of the young, fair-haired man − don't eat or drink anything he serves you −" She said finally, wanting her to understand that hurting her was never her purpose or desire.

Like her husband, she could not express her feelings or affection other than through actions, even if they remained incomprehensible to her.

"− why didn't you tell my husband about this? −" She muttered in disbelief.

"− I saw this boy when I was moved back to my chamber − the Prince didn't want to see me anymore then − this servant brought me poisoned food several times, a gift from my brother −"

An uncomfortable, long silence fell between them − her gaze expressed horror, shock and disbelief, her small figure trembling all over in fear. She finally swallowed loudly and lifted her chin higher, trying to control herself and calm down.

"My husband gave Harrenhal to me to rule. That means I will decide what happens to the people who serve here, including you."

Alys didn't even flinch at her words, thinking only with her admiration that her husband did indeed have a great deal of remorse for what he had never actually done.

She thought that perhaps she had inadvertently contributed to something that helped them both.

Her husband had opened up to her, shown her his weakness and helplessness, and she hadn't pushed him away despite her disappointment.

"I saw it in a dream. A stone castle reaching to the skies. That's where you'll send me away." She said softly, and she nodded as if it was indeed as she had said.

"I will not forget what you have done for me, that you warned me. As an expression of my gratitude you will be given gold, and by my order all your belongings will be moved to the Eyrie. My cousin, after spies were discovered in his fortress, is indebted to my family and will receive you with honours. I will introduce you in my letter as a valuable medic who should work alongside the maester. You will not lack anything there."

The Eyrie?

She remained silent, wondering if there was a sea or river somewhere near this fortress, but she wasn't sure.

She decided it didn't matter.

And then what she had feared happened.

The boy had tried to poison her.

She wondered if Prince Aemond would come to her chamber and kill her too, but he didn't.

She heard the guards speaking with each other, saying that he had ordered the servants to try the poisoned wine, and they died one by one in agony in front of his eyes.

They said that looking at them the Prince was grinning broadly.

She swallowed hard at the thought and closed her eyes, already understanding why her brother cared so much about ending her life.

Larys was willing to sacrifice all these people just to get rid of this little girl once and for all and regain his power over her husband.

In keeping with his wife's wishes, she prepared to leave − she did not resent her for wanting to send her away, in fact feeling a peace in her soul at the thought that perhaps her life would now be better than it had been, and she would not have to worry about her welfare.

She looked towards her door, surprised when she heard someone turn the key in the lock. After a moment, it opened, and a young man with beautiful dark curls and bright eyes entered her chamber. She blinked, thinking he reminded her of someone, but she wasn't sure who.

Who was he that he could walk in here?

"My Lady." He said softly and bowed, as if she were a lady of great lineage and not a bastard. She smiled indulgently at the thought, folding one of her gowns, placing it in her trunk alongside the other things she wanted to take with her.

"My Lord." She replied, eager to hear what the young man was coming to her with.

The boy seemed ashamed and uncertain, as if he himself did not know what he was actually doing in her quarters. He began to look around her room, looking at the jars and vessels full of herbs, roots, liquids and other objects she used in her craft.

"I heard you're a witch. Is that true?" He asked casually, a light, wry smile on his lips, as if the thought amused him. She smirked involuntarily at his words, tucking her books into her trunk.

"So they say, my Lord." She hummed and sighed quietly, wondering whether or not a book on philosophy would be of use to her in the Eyrie.

"Did you know my father?" He asked finally, and she looked at him surprised, finally understanding who was standing before her.

He was her brother.

Yes, she thought.

They were so similar.

"Yes." She replied calmly, reaching for more books from her shelf. The boy shifted from foot to foot and swallowed hard, tense.

"Was he a good man? A man of honour?" He asked proudly, however his voice trembled, as if he feared her answer. She froze in mid-motion and thought for a moment.

"He was a compassionate man with a sharp tongue. He was cordial. He laughed a lot. He always treated me with dignity, and his father was proud of him." She finally replied, involuntarily remembering his face.

"Wasn't that your father too?" He asked uncertainly, and she smiled involuntarily.

"Indeed, but only formally. He put his seed inside my poor mother, nothing more." She said.

A long silence fell between them.

"I am also a bastard." He said finally and drew in the air loudly, as if the words were leaving his throat with difficulty. "And I regret that I came into this world."

She turned towards him, curious, wondering if he was looking for her support and advice. She cocked her head and hummed, running her fingers along the table top in front of her.

"From what I understand, you have become heir to Dragonstone. Would you rather be a bastard king? People don't forget someone's origins, even less so when that person rules a kingdom."

She saw that he lifted the gaze of his bright eyes to her, in his expression something similar to what she had seen in the face of Prince Aemond's wife.

They were both sensitive, warm, compassionate, empathetic and assertive at the same time, but what in her case as a woman was an asset, in his case was clearly the cause of his complexes and misery.

He felt too fragile, too weak, unable to be the kind of man that was expected of him − cold, brutal, threatening, mocking, ironic.

It was impossible to change his nature and he felt humiliated.

She thought she understood him.

"You also have a beautiful betrothed. I saw her arrive with your sister through that window." She said calmly, walking around her table and past him, reaching for one of the jars that stood on a bookcase against the wall. When she turned, he was looking at her in a way from which she stopped in half a step.

"I don't love her. And she doesn't love me."

She blinked and swallowed quietly, not taking her eyes off him. He gave up and lowered his head, his cheeks red with shame.

"Marriages are rarely created on the basis of true passionate, sincere affection." She replied, not intending to judge or rebuke him.

"However, my sister does not see the world beyond my uncle, and he spends every night with her." He muttered angrily and regretfully, like a small child who envied others for being able to play with better toys. She sighed quietly at his words and shook her head.

"Their affection was a gift to them from the gods." She said, walking back to her trunk, putting the jar of herbs inside.

"Are you leaving Harrenhal?" He asked suddenly, as if understanding that she was packing her belongings to set off on her journey.

"Your sister is sending me to your cousin in the Eyrie to serve him as a medic." She said calmly. Her nephew stepped closer to her, furrowing his brow.

"Why?"

Curious little thing.

"They don't want anyone associated with Larys Strong to remain in the fortress." She lied. "Thanks to her, Prince Aemond spared my life."

"When are you leaving?" He asked uncertainly, and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

"In a few days. I am to be accompanied by your uncle's troops and I must wait for his order."

The boy nodded, tense.

"May I also visit you tomorrow? To speak with you." He asked without looking at her, filled with shame, and she nodded.

Her nephew said a polite goodbye and left her chamber, leaving her in a state of confusion.

Indeed, he came to see her the next day and every day after, clearly in a better mood.

He walked around her chamber, asking her many questions.

"Have you ever seen a dragon up close?"

"No, my Prince."

"You don't have to call me that. You are my aunt."

Her lips twitched in a mocking smile at his words.

"Very well."

"Why have you never married anyone?"

"A bastard-wife is a burden. Unless it's your sister." She replied with amusement, and he gave her a drawn-out look.

Something in her words made him uncomfortable.

"You think you're going to be a burden to your betrothed? I don't think she pays attention to that sort of thing. She seems to be a strong woman." She said softly, and he swallowed hard, looking down at his feet.

"She is. She has an overwhelmingly strong character. I'm not able to…keep up. I get tired of how fast she lives, how many things she wants." He confessed with shame, once again exposing his oversensitive, fragile nature to her.

"Sometimes people just don't fit together."

He looked at her and furrowed his brow, as if he didn't understand what she had said.

"What do you mean?"

She sighed heavily, looking away, spreading herself comfortably in the chair. She smiled involuntarily when she noticed that, despite his efforts, his gaze escaped for a moment to her full, soft breasts, hidden only beneath the material of her thin gown.

"It is impossible to change human nature. Not at its core. You can be different, but marriage, it seems to me, is about complementing each other."

He lifted his gaze back to her eyes, his lips parted as if he had run out of words. He nodded his head and grunted, walking uncertainly over to the table, sitting down in one of the chairs. He began to play with his fingers, as if he was fighting with himself.

"I don't know what I could do to change. To be what everyone expects me to be.’

"Stop killing yourself."

He looked at her and she shook her head, furrowing her brow.

"What?"

"You're killing your sensitivity. Your calmness, your thoughtfulness. Your warm nature, which is the reason for your shame. You want to be like your uncle, but you're not. Maturity is about taking responsibility for your decisions, and you are running away from it. You become a man when you confront your desires."

Prince Jacaerys seemed completely surprised by her words, simultaneously distressed and filled with hope. He lowered his gaze, looking down at his fingers, silent for a long moment.

"Fly with me to Dragonstone."

She looked at him in disbelief, for a moment not knowing what to say, shocked.

This boy completely lost his mind.

"I don't follow." She confessed.

Her nephew looked at her with a gleam in his eye, from which she felt a squeeze in her lower abdomen.

"Fly with me to Dragonstone. You are my blood. I do not want you to be the servant of a lord who will be able to use you and…" He did not finish, his cheeks red with shame.

Something in his words, in the fact that he was concerned about her fate and welfare, touched her.

She thought this boy had a really good heart.

"Your sister has ordered me to set out for the Eyrie."

"My sister wishes you to disappear from Harrenhal. I desire you to accompany me on my journey back to Dragonstone."

She laughed at his words.

"Who will I be there? Your whore?"

The boy furrowed his brow, looking at her in shock.

"My aunt."

Her smile vanished from her face, her brow furrowed in anger.

"Truly you are still a little child."

"I want this."

"You don't know what you want. Who I am."

"You are just like me. Abandoned. Alone. Marked. Without purpose, without a chance to have the dignity you deserve. I seem to have finally understood my sister. What she and my uncle have in common. I felt something immediately when I saw you for the first time. I'm not speaking of lust − I'm speaking of a feeling that I've never before met a person who could accept me as I am. Some part of me believes that I was destined to meet you."

He whispered, as if he was referring to something he was ashamed of, desperate and embarrassed, his bright eyes full of hot emotion that frightened her, overwhelmed her and moved her at the same time.

Only then did she understand.

A stone fortress reaching up to the sky, with the sound of water all around it.

The dragon on whose back she flew, which she had never seen before.

Her destiny had come for her.

[silovsmenot]

Family Skate | Artūrs Šilovs

Requested by anon…

i love ur writing sm.... what if i suggest an imagine where reader and Arturs go on a skate date, like at an ice rink or something, and he teaches reader how to skate. i think that would be really cute idk that man is soooo beautiful and i want to hold his hand

WARNINGS: As usual, this is just pure fluff. PAIRING: Artūrs Šilovs x f!reader. NOTES: I would sell my soul to hold his hand, ngl. I haven't proof read this, so hopefully no major issues. WORD COUNT: 1792

The closing of the season was bittersweet. The team had fought so hard, but with the 3-2 loss in game seven, the Canucks were eliminated from the playoffs. You’d sat and comforted Artūrs all night, barely sleeping as he sat silently and over-thought every decision and move he made in that game.

The loss was nowhere near his fault, but he blamed himself — as would many of the guys, if you’d have to guess. The wives and girlfriends group chat was quiet for the first time in weeks, only the occasional message coming through about how proud each of the partners was of the players. Messages that you showed to Arty, but nothing could draw him out of his slump.

The next day was not easy, nor the day after that. All of the guys were second-guessing themselves and speaking little of what happened. The press-conference came and went, Arty and the boys answering every question that came their way with the lingering dark clouds above their head. But there was a light on the horizon, something that you knew that Arty was looking forward to — whether he’d admit it or not.

It was no secret that you couldn’t skate. Sure, you could stand on skates and, with knees bent and arms clinging to the side, you could shuffle around the boards. But that wasn’t exactly what you’d call skating. Artūrs had long spoken about taking you to the rink when things were quiet, of teaching you to skate and you were excited for the day.

And with the season now over, and the ice days from being lifted, the Canucks organisation would put on their annual private family skate. It would be your first with the team, and while you’d met and become close with the majority of the other wives and girlfriends, it was a daunting idea.

You’d smiled from ear to ear the night before when Art had appeared in the living room of the small condo beside the Rogers Arena with a pair of skates in your size. He’d had them sharpened and made ready all without you knowing that evening — if he was honest, it was a good escape from the weight that still rested upon him. And the sight of your smile was enough to lift a large amount of the sadness.

Unsurprisingly you were the first pair to enter the rink that morning, the short commute from the condo to the family area taking you only about five minutes with skates in one hand and the Latvian goalie claiming the other.

Weaving through doors, he held open the Canucks changing room door for you and followed close behind. There, you paused for a moment — even now, it looked so empty. It came with a solemn feeling in your chest, but the names were still above the stalls and you spotted his  name quickly. Art sat you down first, kneeling at your feet as he worked the laces of the new skates.

“Does that feel okay?” 

You quickly nodded in response, hands clasping yours as you pulled onto your feet. You wobbled lightly, but could stand. He led you a few steps, then back and finally nodded in success.

“They suit you.” Art whispered as he leaned in close, planting a tender kiss upon your cheek which still bought a pink flush to your cheeks. He always told you that you looked beautiful, and you’d never tire of hearing it. 

You stayed standing as he sat to tie his own laces, shifting on your feet to get to grips with the feeling — turning to smile and wave as the door would open for the first flood of players and their partners. Teddy Blueger and Monique were the first to come in your direction, Teddy giving you a playful and light nudge with a hand ready to catch if you stumbled. Both Teddy and Artūrs were quick to grab hands and pull into hugs, exchanging fast words in their native language while Monique rolled her eyes lightly to you.

“And they’re off.” She teased in a hushed voice, pulling you with her to sit. The changing room would soon buzz with life, and with the bare stalls, it was a welcome change. It wasn’t right when it was quiet and bare.

Bodies soon began filing down the corridor toward the ice, the busy chatter filling the silence nicely as you and Artūrs would intertwine fingers once more. It felt strange to him now, walking down the tunnel to an empty ice rink. Of course, it was no different to training, but everything had ended so abruptly… It still hadn’t quite sunk in for him.

But whatever he was thinking, he hid it well from you — the smile still firmly glued to his lips as he watched your face light up.

“Just take it slow, Art.” You quietly said as you neared the ice, your boyfriend stepping onto the ice without hesitation or any kind of shift to his stance. This was just like walking to him, but to you? You weren’t so sure.

He offered a second hand, ready to guide and balance you as soon as you stepped out onto the ice. With a steadying breath, you took the step — perhaps a little eager as your skates attempted to slip from beneath you immediately, the hands of Artūrs rescuing you before you lost your blades.

The soft sound of his laughter followed instantly, and it was so contagious to you. Any sense of embarrassment was lost in his laugh, the first signs of actual joy on his face since game seven. You didn’t care that it was at your expense, you were just so relieved to see it. And the fluttering would instantly return to your stomach.

“Are you alright?” He spoke through calming laughter, pulling you close to him with a soft thud of bodies. There, he could hold you tight as he made slow skating motions backwards. He wouldn’t spare a glance over his shoulder for he was too enraptured by your gaze, slightly shaken up but still entirely captivated by him.

“I’m fine, just go slow.”

And he would from that moment. You’d had your near-tumble-experience, and that was enough for him. He held both of your hands, skating backwards as you struggled on forwards. He’d give you tips with every movement, bending your knees, not leaning forward, keeping your head up and so many more. You were struggling to keep a note of each tip, but you were comfortable within his hands — Artūrs wouldn’t let you fall.

With every lap of the large rink, you felt more comfortable. The Latvian goalie gave a little raise of his brow as you released one of his hands, to skate side-by-side with a little confidence. You were less step-skating now, and more gliding. He was certainly pulling you along, but you were trying and he was thriving on the sight of you trying your best with this.

“Keep your knees bent, push forward with your skate — yes, just like that.” He encouraged with each passing moment, grin growing exponentially as you were doing well. 

Artūrs was a pretty good teacher and an even better balancing point. He did a good job of distracting you from everyone else around, skating with ease or children stumbling and giggling. You were in your little skating world with him, the occasional squeeze of your hand as silent encouragement from him.

You were enjoying yourself. Even when he released your hand with a playful wiggle of his brows, skating backwards in front of you, just out of reach — the look of mischief clear upon his face.

“Artūrs, come back here. Please!” You cried out through the lingering laughter, the confidence leaving your motion instantly. Your gliding movements turned back to awkward step-skating, with hands outstretched for him which only served to have you leaning forward.

“Straighten up, y/n.” He calmly said, stopping himself before you. He was close enough to grab you if you fell, but far enough that you couldn’t just hold onto him. “You can do it.”

You weren’t sure if you could, but you concluded that there was no harm in trying — as long as he caught you. You didn’t want the bruises.

Another heavy, steadying breath parted your lips as you straightened up. Your hands at your sides as you took the first step, pushing your bladed foot forward as he’d taught you. You clenched your eyes shut, half expecting the tumble into his arms or the ice, but you drifted. So you took the second step, skating gliding forward — you took the next step, and the next, until you were skating alone.

Artūrs looked simply triumphant as he watched you, weaving backward without even lifting his skates. He didn’t even try to hide the pride on his face from you as you sheepishly laughed to yourself, hands balled as you stopped yourself from dancing (knowing you’d definitely go tumbling with that).

“You’re a natural, y/n. Want to join the team?” The voice of Jack Hughes shouted as he neared, shooting a cheeky wink in your direction and was gone as quickly as he appeared. You batted his hands away with a dramatic swatting of your hand, gaze playfully narrowing in a glare toward him which only served to make the captain laugh.

Almost as soon as you were getting truly confident with it, the session was over. The honking of the zamboni turning all heads, and the rink staff standing ready at the gate. Couples and families were quick to file off the ice, till it was only you and Art making your way toward the nearest gate. He waited on the other side, hand ready to support you as you’d make the first step off the ice.

In comparison to your step onto the ice, you did it with grace. There was no tumble this time. And as they often did, fingers tangled together at the first touch of his hand — the smiles immediately upon both faces.

“Did you enjoy that?” Art was quick to ask. Your head nodding swiftly and truthfully. “You did really well, I’m very proud of you.”

You simply melted to hear him say that. And you’d only melt further as he leaned down, pulling you into him as lips would collide. His free hand softly playing with the strands of your hair, you could feel how he smiled into the kiss and it was intoxicating.

“Come on, lovebirds — we’re going for a drink!” A voice shouted from down the corridor, abruptly breaking the kiss with a shared laugh. You raised a hand to acknowledge the shout, foreheads resting together as you simply revelled in the moment together.

[mangowafflesss]

what do you think the 141 would do if they find out reader was ghosted by some guy she was talking with for a few months?

GHOSTED | 141 x F!READER

I do not like this at all. Please forgive this atrocity. CONTENT: MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE | SWEARING | SUPPORTIVE FAMILY-ISH DYNAMIC <3

Three months ago, you had met this guy, Joe. He was nice, handsome and someone you loved talking to. However, you could only ever talk on the phone but he didn't seem to mind what you did for a living.

So sweet and understanding.

One morning you woke up and when you checked your phone, you felt something was off. There were no text messages from Joe like usual, but you shrugged it off and sent him one before throwing your phone down and getting on with your day.

A couple of days later, still no texts or calls. It was unusual, he was always the biggest on communication. Always sending texts about his day but nothing.

When it turned the week mark, it came to your attention that he had in fact ghosted you. You had checked his social media and also found out he blocked you on everything.

Which was not so sweet.

You were a little hurt inside, after thinking he was the one you would want to date after years of nothing.

When you went to the gym the next morning, you felt annoyance seep into your workout. Why didn't he just say something to you? Why be an asshole?

You threw your fists at the punching bag and heard the sound of clapping sound behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you see Soap and Gaz standing there with amused looks on their faces.

"Whoever you're imagining that bag to be should be worried" Gaz chuckles and you smile softly before sitting down on the bench beside you "Sadly I can't hit the real thing" you murmured before taking a sip of your water bottle.

"Oh, so you are picturing someone. Who?"

Here we go. You rolled your eyes but the two biggest gossip mongers sit on either side of you with hopeful looks in their eyes, waiting for you to spill the beans.

Taking a deep breath, you run your hands over your thighs and groan. "You know that guy I was talking to for a couple months?"

"Mr. Nice guy?" they say at the same time and you feel them get closer to you, their faces rather close for comfort. You hated when they did this.

"Yeah well, he ghosted me" you deadpan and they gasp in unison while looking at each other.

"What a dick" you hum in agreement and feel them take one of your hands in theirs. "We got you, he can go die for all we care" "Good idea Soap"

You see them give one another a look and before you know it, you're hoisted off the bench and carried all the way towards what you know is the Captains office.

"What are you doing? Put me down!" you yell but your voice is useless.

You're sat in one of the chairs opposite Prices desk and he raises a brow in confusion, because you know for a fact they just busted their way inside without knocking.

"Tell him what happened" Gaz says breathlessly and you shake your head "Its not important-"

"The guy she was talking to ghosted her! Can you believe it?!" Soap interupted you and Price leant forward on his desk with his hands rested under his chin.

"Mr. Nice guy?" he asks and you sigh "Can we please stop calling him that" you groan while rubbing your forehead where a headache is starting to form.

"I'll get my knives" you heard a voice say and jolted your head up not realising Ghost was in the room.

"I don't think that's necessary"

Ghost shrugs while standing in the corner, backing down, for now.

"Oh come on! let ghost after him, it'll make him regret not seeing how amazing you are"

"Yes, shaking him to his core. Guys it's fine, I'll get over him" you say simply and Price smiles "We are here for you, if he contacts you. Let me know" you nod your head while standing from your chair and leaving the office.

"I want to every single piece of information on him, got it?" John commands and everyone moves around the room in sync.

"Already working on it"

"Lets go visit this bastard"

[moonlightazriel]

Chapter 19: It feels cold and empty /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: They try to adjust to a life where they don't have each other anymore.

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Angst, mentions of fighting and suicide.

Notes: if you're triggered by suicide scenes, please don't read this. If you're not, please enjoy..

Main Masterlist

Worlds Apart Masterlist

She nervously picked at the cuticles of her nails, every pair of eyes watching her curiously, not a word being said since she had been sitting in the council room of Aelin Galathynius’s castle for the last thirty minutes. The double doors burst open and she recoiled into herself further at the sight of Manon’s golden eyes, looking around the room until they landed on her. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Her queen’s voice reverberated through the chambers and she took a deep breath. 

“It’s a very long story.” Manon nodded, sitting on the empty chair by Aelin’s side. 

“We have plenty of time, I actually cleared my schedule for the day.” The younger queen winked at her, she could sense the curiosity pouring out of Aelin since her sentries had brought her there, Meraxes somewhere she didn’t know.

“I don’t even know where I should start..” She took a moment to recompose her breath and looked at the face of her own queen once more. “Let’s start with the golden eyes of a King.” 

Manon, Aelin and Rowan didn’t say a thing as she recalled everything that had happened on the time she was away, in too many details she described Velaris and the kindness of the faes she met there, she talked about the powerful wings and the bravery of a new type of people she met. The curses of this land in the hands of the middle born Valg King. She told them how Mantyx went there and how they, just like Elena once did, failed to kill him and sealed him and let the problem to those who would come after them. 

She told them how using the powers of Celeste and the cauldron, they broke the seal and killed him in his own home, preventing him from conquering Prythian like he intended to do since the beginning. She talked about the key and the gate, reassuring them that it would never be a problem as they didn’t have any interest in leaving their own world behind. 

She talked about the good friends she made, and how she would miss them dearly but she knew she had to come home. She didn’t say anything about Azriel to them, a selfish part of her didn’t want to share him with anyone, he was hers and hers only to keep tucked away in her heart forever, where he would never be hurt and unloved again. 

“We’re glad to have you back.” Rowan said after she was done, nodding his head toward the female, his trained eye on the tattoo on her arm, as she nervously rolled her sleeves up, revealing the drawing to them. 

“This world you described, it somehow feels familiar, when i close my eyes i can get a glimpse of beautiful stars and snow covered mountains.” Aelin stated, like a distant dream that bubbled in her mind, she had seen it when she was falling through the worlds, the male had helped her stop so she wouldn’t miss her home. 

“I can’t even imagine all of that, but as Rowan said, we’re happy to have you back, we should go back home.” Manon said, rising from her seat and thanking Aelin for having them there. Y/N did the same, following her queen outside. 

She almost laughed at the thought of calling this her home, as once someone said to her that home is where your heart is, and her was worlds apart from her, with the Shadowsinger she gave it to, the male she would love until the last day she walked this earth, maybe not even death would be enough to erase her love for him.

As she crossed the busy streets, she couldn’t avert her gaze from the statue built for them, their faces sculpted in stone, their swords raised together towards the stars, written in a beautiful handwritten at the base of the statue, she could read. 

“From now until the darkness claims us. In honour of the brave warriors that gave their life for this land.” Asterin in the middle of them, leading them to the battle. She hated it, she despised the reminder of the family she lost, the people she never stood a chance of saving, she hated the reminder that no matter what she did differently that day, she could not change their sacrifice. She hated it because it reminded her of how, late at night between sobs, she wished the darkness would claim her too just so all the pain would be gone. 

She found Meraxes sat by Abraxo’s side, his eyes distant, looking at where once a gap stood, like he too missed that land. But as Y/N climbed his leg, adjusting herself into the seat, she mumbled to him to forget that. They would never come back, and then, he carried them back to the Witch Kingdom. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“It’s been four months.” Feyre said, rubbing Nyx’s hair out of his eyes. 

“I guess locking him up at the House of Wind won’t work this time.” Nesta remarked, making Feyre roll her eyes at her. The inner circle sat at the dining table in the River House,worried about Azriel’s declining state.

Ever since she left, he had been sadder, angrier, snapping at anyone who dared to show a little bit of concern towards him. They could never imagine what it felt like, knowing your mate, getting to love her and having her falling in love with you too, just for her to be gone, to never come back. 

“What if he tries something?” Elain asked, Lucien held her hand in a reassuring grip.

“We won’t allow it.” He said, Lucien was the one trying the hardest to look out for Azriel, because his best friend would be pissed with him if he didn’t try, she would want her mate to be as fine as he possibly could, and Lucien would ensure that for her.

“We could kidnap her back.” Cassian suggested and the whole table turned to him, looking at him like he had three heads.

“Oh Mother, we’re not kidnapping someone, what are we? Hybern?” Rhysand said, eyeing his brother with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Azriel needs time, how much time he deems fit to get better, all we can do is pray to the Mother that he gets well soon, and show him that we’re here for him.”

“Talking about it..” Elain said getting up, fixing her skirts and nodding towards Lucien. “I’ll check on him.” She grabbed her mate’s hand, receiving an approving nod from Rhys, they winnowed to the House of Wind.

His room was dark and quiet, Azriel lay with his face pressed to his pillows, a dry trail of tears down his cheeks, his hair was messy, his shadows gathered around him quietly, like they too didn’t have the motivation to move. 

“Az.” Elain called, crouching in front of his eyes, those hazel orbs that had once radiated life once, were dull and glassy, he didn’t even greet her. “I brought something for you to eat, I’ll open the curtains and Lucien will help you shower, okay?” She said in a cheerful voice, but the male kept quiet. 

Elain did as she told, opening the curtains to let some sunshine enter his chambers, he hissed and she took it as a good sign that he could still feel something at least. She removed the covers from him, the blankets disappearing as the house helped her to get his room clean. 

“Okay, time to shower.” Lucien said, him and Elain supporting his body, dragging the defeated male towards the bathroom. Elain thanked Lucien for his help as she left the two alone. Lucien didn’t even bother anymore, he had done the same for Tamlin a while ago, so he stripped Azriel naked, letting the male soak in the warmth of the bath the house prepared. 

Lucien rubbed shampoo in his scalp, watching as slowly his shoulders started to shake and broken sobs parted his lips. He didn’t know what to say but he would wait if, for once, Azriel felt like talking today. Lucien almost gasped in surprise when the male, in fact, spoke.

“I feel pathetic.” He breathed and Lucien raised an eyebrow. “Four months depending on others because i can’t get a fucking grip.” He sounded angry, hurt. 

“There’s no shame in needing help.” Lucien gently replied, washing the bubbles from his hair. “When I lost Jesminda, I thought I would never recover from it.. The days blurred into months, the months into years of being stuck into a horrific void..”

“How did you get out?” He choked in his own tears. 

“I didn’t, not fully, and I don't think I ever will. My heart belonged to her, and a part always will, despite me loving Elain with all I have.” Lucien took another deep breath. “When I saw you and Elain together, I found myself back inside that void, sinking into it and letting it consume me.”

“I never apologised for what I did, you’re a good male, you didn’t deserve all the pain we both put you through.” Azriel turned his head to face Lucien, the male just shook his head. 

“You took care of her when I couldn't, you gave her a choice, you helped pull her out of that void. I’m not saying it didn’t hurt seeing you two, cuz it felt like my soul was being ripped away from me, I’m saying that I’m willing to look past all of this because she’s worth it, love is always worth it, and if it meant she would be happy, I would go through all of this again, even if she never chose me, just to ensure she would be happy.” 

“How would you live, knowing that you can’t have your mate?” Azriel dared to ask and Lucien seemed to think for a while. 

“I would just keep going, like I always did. And you should too, I never took you for the kind of male that would give up on life like this.” Lucien nudged him with his hand and Azriel allowed a barely there smile to appear in his face. 

“I should talk to you more often.” He snorted. “Thank you for looking out for me.” Azriel said with all the honesty he had in his heart. 

“It’s for her.” Lucien confessed and Azriel nodded. 

“Yeah, cuz she’s worth it.” He repeated and Lucien nodded. “I think I can assume from here.” Lucien nodded, getting up and leaving the bathroom to give him some time. 

“I would never allow you to sacrifice your happiness for me.” Elain said as she spotted him, her eyes filled with tears. Lucien pulled her close.

“We don’t have to think about it anymore, we’re together and that’s all that matters.” He gently kissed her temple and the female nodded, the two sitting in the window, waiting for Azriel to get out of the bathroom. 

When he did, she could swear he was a new male, freshly shaved and looking less tired, his cheeks were still hollow and he had bigger dark circles than ever, but she looked better, the talk with Lucien had really helped.

“Come eat something.” Elain gestured towards the plate in his study desk and he nodded, sitting down and eating like he hadn't done in months. 

“Thank you two, for everything.” He said, his voice muffled by the food.

“Just doing what you did for me all those months ago.” Elain winked and grabbed Lucien’s hand. “We’re going back to the River House, you don’t have to, but if you want, meet us there.” The male nodded, watching as his friends disappeared, he would go back to his life, he would learn how to live without her again. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Fenrys growled, holding an ice filled cloth to her swollen face. 

“He was fucking annoying.” She mumbled, wiping the blood on her sleeve. 

“And you had to start a fight with him?” He offered her a cloth, but she declined. 

“Asking gently didn’t work the first time, he had to learn.” She simply replied, her head throbbing, she was tired of that conversation. 

“I know you left some important people behind, but you can’t keep like this, you’re not even alive anymore.” He shouted, ever since she came back, she had stopped eating, every night she would go out, and find someone dumb enough to start a fight with her, or she would lock herself in her room, screaming as Gods knows what plagued her dreams. She never failed her duty though. Every morning she would appear impeccable, ready to do whatever she was ordered to.  

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She got up, face to face with him. Fenrys scoffed.

“Do you think she would be proud? Asterin would be ashamed of you.” He said, the anger getting the best of him, seeing his friend wasting her life like this. But at the sight of her defeated expression and tear filled eyes, he regretted it. “I didn’t mea…”

“FUCK YOU, FENRYS!” She yelled in his face, turning away from him and marching. She seemed to remember something, because she turned around, the fat tear streaming down her bruised face. “It wasn’t just some important friends that i left behind, i left my mate behind, maybe this means something to you.” 

Fenrys froze, mates were really precious in fae culture, for her to be here without him, having the strength to leave him behind, she was in so much pain, and he just made everything worse by throwing her biggest fear on her face, the fear of disappointing Asterin.

Y/N walked back to the castle, feeling her body numb, the pain in her chest too overwhelming to even feel the cold winds making her shiver. She marched towards her room, she opened the window, feeling the breeze messing her hair that had overgrown. 

She just wanted it all to be gone, all the pain, all the sadness, everything. She closed her eyes shut, climbing the railing of the balcony. Maybe he wouldn’t feel anything, so far away from her. The winds were stronger, like they tried to push her back to the safety of her room. She took a deep breath. 

“From now until the darkness claims us.” She breathed, feeling the air leave her lungs. That was when she allowed her body to lean forward, the sweet embrace that awaited for her and would bring her the relief she desperately wanted was all she had in mind. 

She didn't register the loud horrific roar that ripped the skies, awakening the whole castle. She just felt her body being violently pushed backwards, the air getting knocked out of her lungs as her back hit the stone wall with full force. She opened her eyes, feeling her head spin, the whole room with it as dizziness set over her. 

Someone grabbed at her, checking up on her head that bled due to the impact. She heard voices, but the consciousness slipped away from her grasp rather quickly. Until she let it claim her, pulling her into a soft embrace.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆ 

“What’s wrong, Elain?” Lucien asked as he saw the white orbs of his mate. The female shivered. 

“She tried to kill herself.” She mumbled and the whole table went still, turning towards her. Azriel felt his heart squeeze in his chest. “And she will try again.” Elain said, her voice laced with sorrow. Two more months had passed since she departed, Azriel was better, back to training and to his duties, but this had dragged him back to that void. 

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Rhys said, he truly was, but they couldn’t do anything.

“We need to go get her.” Nesta replied, already ready to jump through the gates to get her friend back.

“We can’t, remember that she chose to go.” He stared at the angry frown on Nesta’s face, he could feel it pouring out of her but she didn’t say anything to him, he should’ve known better than this. 

Cassian watched as everyone finished dinner, going back to their rooms and houses. He watched as Nesta prepared herself for bed, he almost laughed at her antics, she thought she was sneaky, but he knew her better than herself, so as she pretended to be asleep. He got their bags ready. 

Later that night, he heard her, slowly lifting from bed, shuffling through their things, quietly mumbling a curse, he kept pretending he was sleeping. He was quick to change into his leathers, sheathing his swords and walking to the living room, sitting in the dark, waiting for his mate. 

Nesta gasped when the lights flickered on and she spotted her mate, sitting with two bags at his feet and a big grin spreading across his face. From behind him, surprise filled her at the sight of Elain in pants, her hair braided behind her back, a bag strapped to her shoulders, flanked by both Lucien and Azriel. 

“We know you.” She had said and Nesta smiled at her family. 

“How are we getting the key?” Lucien asked, and his sister in law just closed her eyes, focusing on that call, pulling it towards her, the same way she had done with the troves. The key appeared in her hands and she grinned. 

“Like calls like.” She winked at them, strapping her bag on her shoulder before they winnowed away to Ramiel. As they opened the balcony door, to get easier to go, they spotted Rhysand. He was wearing his sleeping clothes, and was rubbing his temples.

“You’re all so predictable.” He sighed. “I’ll close my eyes for five seconds, and you all better be gone before I open them again. I don’t want to see you here, not without her.” He heard Nesta cheering, feeling the winds change around him as they all winnowed back, to get her home. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

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[twitteringnerdsneverfly]

Am I the only one that hates when this fandom tries to make doumeki the bad guy every chance they get? Like some people blame him for every single bad thing that has happened to yashiro since he entered his life and as someone that is really emotionally attached to doumeki I can't help but feel sad anytime I see them slandering him.

People are saying that he should stop pretending not to care that it's damaging yashiro's mental health more but what about his? I don't think people are being realistic about what's happening like imagine getting shot at and abandoned by confessing your feelings in the first place, even if you do manage to forgive that person you would never wanna do that again especially knowing how sensitive they get to that, yes I admit I hate what's happening between them and I wish they just talk it out but that's not happening anytime soon.

I honestly just want doumeki's pov I want to know what his thinking, how his feeling, is he still angry, what his next move is, how he really feels about the whole fuck buddy thing.....people are saying his caging yashiro but is he really? They are caging themselves, yashiro not willing to let go of doumeki again that's why he willingly gives himself to him and doumeki just wanting to be near the man he loves even if it means just sex it's sad.

Sorry for the long text😭 What do you think about this? I may be just sensitive because I really feel for doumeki

Hi Anonymous! 👋🏼 I wonder if you're the same Anonymous who asks me questions or if you're a different Anonymous every time? Either way, I'm happy to be asked questions, thank you for asking me for my opinion 🤗

So I also really feel for Doumeki. I fortunately have not come across the posts you've referenced. I will say however that everyone is entitled to their own opinion. So if people don't like Doumeki that's their choice and that's OK.

So people saying every bad thing has happened to Yashiro since Doumeki entered his life: I mean tbh a shit tonne of bad things have already happened to Yashiro without Doumeki. And that whole arc with Hirata wanting to take Yashiro out, had nothing to do with Doumeki. People targeting Yashiro is part of the Yakuza life, Doumeki or not.

Re: Yashiro's mental health - this is already fucked tbh. Doumeki or not, Yashiro has convinced himself he loves his trauma and almost died post timeskip in how brutal and messed up his sex has become. Yashiro is not OK. He never has been. I see no evidence for Doumeki in just coming to Y for sex having any detriment to Yashiro's mental health.

The only thing this is going to do, is make Yashiro question what he wants and this is a good thing.

I personally think Doumeki is a fucking genius. He has completely understood how fucked up Yashiro is, that any indication of sentiment of love, spoken or expressed in any way other than sex, will repulse Yashiro (in fact the tender sex already repulses him). Yashiro hates and wants the tenderness. Yashiro wants to be loved but can't let himself be loved because what is love? Doumeki has found the sweet spot: a way of being together without being together.

Doumeki is in love with Yashiro but any hint of this or pressure from Doumeki's side, as you rightly said, could lead to Yashiro shooting him or doing something reckless.

At the very least, Doumeki knows now that Yashiro's body reacts to him and only him. Y's body knows love and tenderness and now craves to taste more, though he isn't used to this new sweet taste when he's had such bitter experiences.

I can't see at all how Doumeki is caging Yashiro; in fact the opposite is true - Doumeki is on the cusp of setting Yashiro free. But Doumeki can only open the birdcage. Yashiro needs to choose to fly. Yashiro needs to choose to accept this tenderness, this devotion, this love and accept the rough punishing sex isn't actually what he wants.

Doumeki is the necessary catalyst to make Yashiro question. But at the end of the day, the only person who can save Yashiro is Yashiro.

I'm fortunately unbothered by others' negative opinions of Doumeki. If people don't like him that's OK.

I trust my own opinion here and I love both Doumeki and Yashiro. I want both to receive the love that each other can give more than just the sex.

Yashiro needs to accept that he is in love with Doumeki and right now, Doumeki has accepted that for now, Yashiro can't love him.

But in the unspoken plains of sex, both can love and hide their true feelings at the exact same time.

[seiya-starsniper]

Dreamling Week Day 5 & 6 (Soulmates/Monochromatic)

This one is more of an idea for now, versus a full on fic, but when I saw the prompts for Days 5 and 6, my brain ran away with this concept. I honestly don't know if I'll ever get around to writing it myself, so if someone else wants to give a go, be my guest 😄

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

Soulmate AU where Hob sees color for the first time when he meets Dream in 1389. 

In this AU, due to their initially short lifespans, nearly all humans believe that you can only have One Soulmate. When you meet your soulmate, you'll immediately know, because that is when your vision goes from black and white to seeing in color.

Immortal beings however, such as the Endless, along with gods, the fae, etc., know that a "soulmate" is just a person with whom you can form a deep and life changing bond with. Most beings have multiple soul bonds, sometimes simultaneously, though only the first one grants you the power to see color, while any subsequent soul bond grants its own gift, depending on the nature of the relationship.

Because humans have such short lifespans at first, most humans don’t even meet someone with whom they can form a soul bond with before they die. There is also religious rhetoric that claims soulmates must be romantic in nature, or at least married.

When Death takes Dream to the White Horse, Dream senses his potential connection with Hob immediately. He is disinterested in forming a bond at first (his last human soul bond was Nada, and that left a poor taste in his mouth for obvious reasons), but then he hears Hob brag about never dying, and suddenly Dream is interested in his new potential soul bond.

Hob, at this point in time, has been told his entire life that his soulmate would be his future wife, so imagine his utter SHOCK when Dream appears. At first, he thinks he's going to Hell for having a man as a soulmate, but then he stops caring as they talk more, and then he's hopelessly charmed. They agree to meet in 100 years as normal, but then Dream leaves without giving Hob his name, and Hob's too drunk to notice he just let his soulmate get away.

Hob spends the next few years looking for Dream, mourning that he was too drunk to really have a properly conversation with his soulmate, but then 100 years go by, and now Hob thinks he's soulmates with the Devil so 1489 goes something like this:

“Why can I see color? Am I really soulmates with the devil?” “I am no devil.” “Then what are you? And why aren't I long dead?” “You said you wanted to live forever. So you shall. And I am interested.” “In me?” “In your experience.” “My…experience?” *lightbulb moment* “You want to know what it's like.”

Their meetings go much the same way, with Hob thinking for a bit that in order for him to continue being immortal, he has to prove himself "worthy" of his soul bond with Dream, whose name he still doesn't know. He meets his other soul bonds (Peggy, Eleanor, etc) over those centuries, and he loves each and every one of them, but Dream, the one who gave him colors, will always be the one that means the most to him. He realizes that maybe he no longer needs to prove himself to his first soul bond, maybe they can have something more than just a conversation one every 100 years.

Dream naturally, gets upset at the very notion (he's still reeling from how poorly everything with Nada ended) and so he storms out in 1889 as usual. When he gets capture by Burgess in 1916, Dream is not only cut off from The Dreaming, but from Hob as well, and so Hob loses the ability to see color. Hob, not knowing what's happened to Dream, thinks that somehow, Dream has died, even though soulmate gifts don't leave upon death. His fears are confirmed in 1989 when Dream doesn't show up for their meeting. Hob mourns, but he can't forget Dream, so when the White Horse is shuttered, he buys out The New Inn anyways, so that there's always some sort of memorial for Dream near the place where they first met.

Then 2022 rolls around and Dream walks into The New Inn and BOOM, Hob can see colors again. Cue a very romantic reunion 💖

[antianakin]

Satine is one of the most frustrating characters of all time because she seems like she should be an enjoyable, interesting, complex character. She's got one of the most interesting backstories of any character I've ever met, and I'd LOVE more of THAT story (not the on the run with Obi-Wan bit, that bit can get left out, but the bit where she has to somehow bring together an entire population of warring people who just nearly destroyed their own planet due to years of fighting and a civil war that just killed her father and she managed to convince them into a peaceful, pacifist lifestyle while she was only a teenager). The level of strength and competency that this would require of her is INSANE.

I want to know more about where this prime minister came from, whether he was ACTUALLY elected or if Satine chose him, whether the position existed prior to Satine or if she created it, and what the actual difference is between Satine's role as a ruling duchess who inherited her role through birth and the prime minister. I want to know more about Satine's relationship with her father and with Bo-Katan. I want to know more about where the fuck Korkie came from and how Satine ended up with him and what happened to this mysterious third Kryze sibling that is presumably Korkie's parent.

And the concept of Satine as this person who was raised in a culture of war and violence and who, at a pretty young age, insistently chose to follow the opposite ideology of pacifism, and how these two very differing things impact her as a leader is INTERESTING. Satine as someone who struggles with an instinct towards violence and arrogance because it's how she was raised but who WANTS to be calm and reasonable and peaceful and strives towards this ideal as much as possible even though she doesn't always achieve it is INTERESTING. Satine as someone who clings to her pacifist ideology so hard that it becomes a fault of its own sometimes (by causing her to REFUSE to see nuance in anyone else's situation) is INTERESTING.

And yet, that's never the character we get.

There's no real nuance to Satine. There's never any real discussion of Satine making MISTAKES or being WRONG. When she condemns Obi-Wan and the Jedi, the narrative supports her. When her choice to remain neutral cuts her planet off from all trade, the consequences of it aren't attributed to HER choices but to literally EVERYONE ELSE'S as they struggle to deal with the ramifications without her ever bothering to find a solution to a problem SHE CAUSED. She threatens an innocent man with imprisonment for wanting to save a warehouse full of evidence from being blown up and it's just brushed off as Satine being passionate about her cause instead of a dangerously incompetent and arrogant asshole. And somehow she was strong enough to stand up to a bunch of Mandalorains who had just been at war with each other and force them into being at peace, but when Death Watch shows up with a few criminals she immediately rolls over and surrenders without even bothering to fight back in any way, but this is represented as Satine giving the people what they want instead of Satine just being weak.

Believe me, I WANT to like her. The version of Satine that is implied by her backstory is so interesting, but the version that exists in the present day is one of the worst political leaders we're introduced to in Star Wars. At least most of the other terrible political leaders have the decency to be openly lazy or selfish or evil. Satine is presented as this perfect benevolent intelligent leader and then every action she takes is the stupidest, most arrogant bullshit imaginable that constantly just makes her and her people's lives worse. What is there to enjoy about that?

[morerawerbreath]

EVEN MORE Fictional Men Ranked Least to Most Likely to Eat Pussy

Pleased to say that since the positive reception of Part 1, I have had way more people than I would have ever imagined in my inbox asking me to weigh in on various other fictional men!!! If this is my legacy on tumblr.edu so be it

Corrections to Part 1 first: Many feel that Mr Rochester was unjustly assessed:

Thank you scholars for your input, I am listening and learning!!!!

Without further ado:

9. Ashley Wilkes — Gone With the Wind

No. no. you guys. Beau was born via immaculate conception as far as i’m concerned but if i HAVE to get more specific I’d say Ashley and Melanie do nothing except missionary. I know he’s devoted to her but that doesn’t necessarily translate to eros and being in touch with the body!! Holy wet blanket purity complex. Even if he and Scarlett ever managed to get a room together and she asked him point blank to go down on her he would start shaking like a wet lapdog and leave the room.

8. Jay Gatsby — The Great Gatsby

I HATE that you all made me think about this. Gatsby has no relationship with real bodies. I think he would cast Daisy’s pussy in wax and put it on his wall. He would buy her whatever sex toy she wanted. He might even watch her use them. But there are way way WAY too many weird repressed currents for this to happen.

7. Andrei Bolkonsky — War and Peace

Andrei isn’t thinking about pussy, Andrei is thinking about Napoleon I. He might be inclined to take a woman in a manly fashion once in a while but she’s definitely not a real person to him and odds are he’s thinking about military maneuvers and his horse while it’s happening. Oral sex does not once cross his mind.

6. Pierre Bezukhov — War and Peace

Pierre is ranked in the middle because I honestly can’t decide. On the one hand I get huge fedora m’lady reddit vibes from him but on the other hand his reading is extensive, he’s thoughtful, and he’s lowkey devoted to Natasha without ever really asking for recognition?? On the other other hand if he was into going down on women maybe Hélène would hate his guts less, but on the OTHER other other hand she seems like a women with a lot of internalized misogyny who might simp shame him for trying to eat her out so maybe it's not his fault? Despite initial awkwardness I think he and Natasha might be able to figure this out and if he had weird freemason-y ideas about sex (? not sure what these would be but I bet they exist) she would probably tell him to stop being a freak and they’d get on with it (i hope)

5. Colonel Brandon — Sense and Sensibility

If Colonel Brandon was with a different woman I would have doubts, or guess that he probably has affectionate/polite but perhaps not very x-rated sex. (Can he give himself over to true carnal abandonment? I don’t know.) HOWEVER, Marianne is so DEEPLY erotic and so obviously deserves/needs to have someone go down on her every day — he knows this and he loves her and he will do whatever she needs to be happy, so!!!

4. Captain Wentworth — Persuasion

Frederick undoubtedly would go down on Anne but would she let him?!? Would she be able to allow herself to be the sole object of attention and devotion? For him to stare at her fully between the legs with the lights on? I feel like she could get there eventually but it might take a few years. He would be patient and not rush her and probably be good at it when it finally happened!

3. Henry Tilney — Northanger Abbey

Henry would give the sweetest long-term-relationship/Sunday morning head to Catherine. Probably the kissing your stomach and your thighs before predictably doing exactly what you like thing. He would say something funny when he has to stop to fish a pube out of his mouth. He’s comfy, he’s relaxed, he nails it — Catherine giggles and everyone goes home happy

2. D’Artagnan — The Three Musketeers

Absolutely 100% will this guy eat pussy. He may not know exactly what he’s doing but by god, the will is there. Constance might have to give him some pointers but this is a man who will look at you with moony eyes and take the fucking note. Probably sloppy at first but would ask to practice every day until he can make someone come in 30 seconds. Then he would brag to his mates about it.

Henry Crawford — Mansfield Park

Henry fucks. If he lived today he would have a tiktok account for fingering techniques. if mirrors on the ceiling were a thing in 1810 he would have one. he’s a player and everyone knows it but it’s almost worth fucking him to see if it’s as good as he claims it is. not only would he eat pussy but he would hold your hips down and wouldn’t let you move until you come. he has 4 different kinds of lube. like, it’s trashy but respect the game i guess.

Bonus: Mary Crawford — Mansfield Park

Mary can shoot a single look across the sitting room at girls who think they're straight and they'll suddenly have an overwhelming urge to have sleepovers with her. She'd be like "it's okay, we're just experimenting darling" and then satisfy them sexually in a way they never will be again. I don't know what's in the water where Mary and Henry grew up but jesus christ. She has everything that Henry has PLUS staying power.

Part 1 here!

[denny-artsss]

Could we perhaps have more ribbun scenarios please???? It’s ok if not though!!

Tw: Angst

Imagine one day, Jax just slams her, a little too hard, and he hears a crack. He laughs and then looks at the corner of the room where her comedy mask is broken in two, realizing she was not wearing it, he looks back and calls her name "Gangle?..." but she doesn't answer. He tries to help her up but as he does the mask falls off her body, now there's only a bunch of ribbons in his hands, not even resembling a body anymore, and a bunch of shards of porcelain on the floor, he calls for Caine and as he appears he says "Sorry....I only know how to fix the comedy mask..." as they all look at Jax in horror, with the piece of ribbon still in his hands.

Days pass and no one knows how to fix Gangle up, or what happened to her.

Jax and Caine decide to just make the comedy mask her permanent face but it does not work, as it is just a prompt.

In a desperate attempt to make her ribbons resemble a body, Jax knots them up and arranges them in a different order but it's in vain.

Jax gets the idea of going into her room, and get the flextape, to fix up her tragedy mask, as it is the only thing keeping her other masks together in a order that they still work.

As he walks in the hallway, he reaches the end of it. "I must've zoned out..." He said, walking back. He stands in shock as he looks at every single door in the hallway, none of them having Gangles picture on it.

He runs down to tell the others about it, as they're all gathered around, Gangle pops out of nowhere, a panicked look on her face

"What?? What am I doing here?"

Jax looks at her and smiles

"Gangle?" He asks, only receiving a confused stare from her

"What??? What is a Gangle?"

Ragatha approach her asking what the last thing she remembers is, and that's when she says

"I put on a headset..."

The room falls silent as they all begin to mutilate their bodies.

[adobecult]

been down a fallout dunwich mystery rabbit hole lately and while i don't take much stock in bethesda's lovecraft references (they're very silly), i actually can't stop thinking about how horrifying the lead-up to october 2077 could have been for the psyches of humanity. because— if a lot of the terminal entries scattered throughout the games are to be believed— although the bombs were a shock, they weren't completely unexpected.

imagine the false alarms. the missile attack drills. the countless flare-ups of mass paranoia, rampant conspiracism (not all unwarranted) and religious fanaticism (every religion is on the table, even impossibly old and occult ones, any one that has a chance of saving us) that must have swept the world in the months before it finally happened. the wasteland we know is filled with this type of thing, but imagine the fever pitch it would have reached during a time where every rumor around every corner spelled "the end is coming soon and no one can stop it."

reported sightings of gods, aliens, ghosts, demons, mothman-style harbingers. strange animal activities. a rumored increase in black site kidnappings, secret government laboratory testing of civilians, hidden societies of elites congregating in the newly constructed vaults. constant talk of the rapture, the antichrist, the four horsemen, armageddon, ragnarok.

anti-communism in its most rabid and senseless form. your neighbor could be communing with satan to bring about the apocalypse, giving the other side information that would lead to our doom, have you checked? can you trust your friends? your coworkers? your children? do you want them in the same bunker as you when push comes to shove?

the world unraveling and no one discussing it. the american exceptionalism attitude doesn't allow for showing fear, and it's all fear inside. back to the old rituals, the old superstitions. walking down the street in the middle of the day mumbling inaudible prayers and wondering why everyone else isn't screaming. back to work. we're all in this together. everyone playing a months-long game of russian roulette, just waiting for the bullet to have its final spin.