#I should really be angrier than I am | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yeyinde · 1 year

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lavender skies | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him. (And that, maybe, you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

tags: friends to lovers (but the type of friends who are basically already dating and everyone knows except them - until suddenly they do), mutual pining. Slight Kent bashing, oops. Golden Girls as a coping mechanism. warnings: none. very tame, considering who I am as a person. Heavy make-out sess, though. word count: 6,6k notes: This has been sitting in my requests forever (I lost the original, but the gist was: Gaz + pining + idiots in love). You can blame a lot of this on summer rain and 80s city pop. Been going to the pier and listening to it while I wrote this. Not my best, sure, but it was fun.

The Tinder date he warned you not to go on (and seriously, mate, who uses Tinder anymore?) ends like this:

Your date, the biggest gentleman in Kent, as proclaimed in his bio (a red flag in hindsight—there's no such thing as a gentleman from Kent), sneaks his number to the waitress, and then leaves you behind in downtown Manchester to go bar hopping with a group he just met.

It's not a great loss. All things considered, it's not even the worst date you've ever been on. It was just a spur-of-the-moment whim—equal parts anxiety and megrim: the sudden fear of being single forever (and no, despite what Kyle might say, it has nothing to do with the wedding invitation you'd gotten on Facebook, or the three others that came before it)—and therefore, there isn't much to be upset about. Not really.

But the world doesn't work on half-hearted lies and shaky truths, and on a dank little corner in Manchester, abandoned by your ride home, your abysmal date who barely looked at you, you can't deny that it hurts. That it's a little bit of a hit to your self-esteem in a way that makes you angrier than you were before, because, honestly—he wasn't even a catch to begin with.

Stupid.

You should have listened to Kyle, to his immaculate wisdom and emotional maturity far beyond his years, but you hadn't because—

Well. Sometimes the world should work on little lies. If only to the ones you tell yourself. Ones like:

It's completely fine—really it is—if your friend of nearly eight years is moving on with his life. And it's totally, absolutely okay if your best friend meets some flighty barista in Amsterdam and won't stop talking about her for the meagre three weeks he's been back from his impromptu trip to the Netherlands, then to Mexico. It's fine. It's all fine.

Because maybe you are, too.

And maybe that's the reason you went out with David from Kent.

From Kent? He texted, only hours before your date. (Hours because he'd been busy with this thing for his job—his boss is corrupt and the world is, too, but at least Amsterdam Barista is doing fine). You can do so much better than that, birdy.

You wanted to say, what? Like someone from Amsterdam instead? but you're doing this new thing where you try not to sound as mad as you think you are. Zen, maybe. Internal peace and happiness. So, instead, you say:

He's nice. I like him.

Words that, of course, have come back to bite you.

He isn't nice. He wouldn't stop staring at the waitress, and talking over you, or just generally ignoring your existence. He left you downtown, stranded without a way home. You don't like him. You really don't even think you were that interested in him.

But it makes sense.

Kyle is moving on. Your friends are getting married.

And where does that leave you?

Well—

It leaves you stuck downtown with shoes that were intended to be used for aesthetics, the kind that means standing entirely still and immobile, and not walking the fifteen kilometres to your flat because you'd spent all your money on this super flattering outfit and these unfunctional shoes, and can't afford a cab or an Uber.

Sometimes, you pretend you're a functional adult—one who knows how to navigate everything with ease, and you live in the present, the real world, where time is fluid and unchangeable, and things make sense (maths and geometry and physics) unless they don't (black holes and the vastitude of space and fate)—but moments like these remind you that you don't. That you live, instead, somewhere in the parentheses of both.

The indigo sky, murky black and void of any stars, seems to grumble along with you as you turn toward the street, readying yourself for the long walk home. Except the groan sounds less commiserating and more ominous. A noise that seems to reverberate through the crowded street, and right into your bones.

Some have the wherewithal to find shelter. A smart move because almost a moment later, the heavens split, and a summer deluge drenches the street. It's unrelenting in its downpour, soaking everything in its path in a shrill roar.

Caught in the middle of St Peter's Square, there are not many places to duck under for sanctuary, but you find an alcove beside a store, and dart toward it. The non-functional boots are pretty to look at, but with each step, you feel the hard synthetic rubber grind against your heel. Blisters form, break. The burn makes you inhale sharply against the pain, hobbling now on tender feet.

The wall is slick with condensation, but you lean against it to keep your feet from taking the brunt of your weight.

It reminds you, quite suddenly, of that night in Cardiff with Kyle. When you'd drank three-dollar margaritas at some downtrodden bar with your friends and ate rather limp-looking fish tacos (a mistake, of course, and Kyle still can't look at corn tortillas the same way), and laughed until your belly hurt at something he'd said—the words lost to alcohol and faded with time—and then leaned over, promptly throwing up in a bush.

You still can't drink tequila without giggling (and gagging) at nothing, a phantom memory, and the thought presses against a tender spot in your chest in all the wrong ways.

Time is fluid. An unavoidable truism that you can't escape.

There are people you've known since you were a child whose faces you can barely remember. Ones you promised the world to, to always be together, who you hardly think of anymore.

Moving on. Moving forward.

You think, then, of Kyle. Of the distance that lingers between you both, widening each day. It's nothing you've done, nor he; it's just—

Life. Concurrent. Everpresent.

It hurts to lose a friend, you'd always think. A small moment of grief, of loss. But not like this. Never like this.

Stuck in a downpour in the middle of Manchester, you realise you miss him. Have been missing him.

Huddling under an awning, you fish your phone from your soaked pocket, and pull up the only person you want to be around right now, in this moment of vulnerability. Loneliness.

You send him a quick text, date was a bust. Stuck downtown. Are you busy?

Kyle's reply comes three breaths later. For you? Never. Send me your location.

You send him your pin.

Another message pops up: stay put. I'm on my way.

You met Kyle Garrick at university.

It's one of those things in life that just sometimes happens. A happy accident. An eventuality that makes the world feel a little less daunting. A lock and key sliding into place. Sunsets in pretty ochre.

Someone you knew and someone he knew (two people who are now best man and groom in the upcoming wedding) decided to invite all of their friends out for a night, and it was then, slightly tipsy on cheap ale when you realised the boy in the back—a head taller than everyone else and more befitting inside the glossy pages of a magazine—was different, somehow, from anyone else you'd ever met.

It started when some stupid kids decided to pick on another. A smaller boy with a blue cap.

Kyle was the only one who noticed. The only one who seemed to care.

It was his anger that drew you to him in the first place. Moth to a flame. It's quick—the sizzling flame of a lit match: suddenly burning the wick and nearly uncontrollable. But it's short. A flickering star, burning bright, burning hot, and then being tempered and swallowed down until it's smouldering. Still hot, still dangerous, but—

Managed.

It was a snap. He was laughing, jovial. Telling jokes, and having fun, but still maintaining that enviable enigmatic persona: reserved but kind. Funny, but mature. And then it crumpled in an instant, folded away into anger. Bright and blistering. He walked to them, eyes blazing, and didn't wait for any excuses when the kids noticed him, just quickly decimated their foundations, and crushed their feeble lies between his teeth.

"Bullyin'? That's a pretty foul thing to do, innit, mate?"

And that was that.

He handed the kid back his hat—the one the others knocked off into the gutter—and told him, clipped, that he was better than them.

Just keep your chin up, yeah? Fuckin' losers, that lot. Don't go messing about with them anymore. Fucking pricks. That's a nice hat, too. Where'd you get it? Really? Oh, that's mint—

It was that moment when, unprompted and unnoticed, he easily slipped away from the group to help some kid he didn't even know that you realised you were very keen to get to know him.

"Fancy a kebab, hero?" You asked, smirking up at him.

A grin broke across his face. Sharp, feral. "I could always go to a lamb kebab."

The rest, really, just came quite naturally. Your best friend. The person you go to for anything—even terrible dates that leave you stranded in the rain.

You just wish you knew when it all began to change, to fall apart.

Kyle meets you near St Peter's Square.

You spot him first from your hiding spot beneath the awning, catching sight of his form moving through the (now) empty streets, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim trousers, the bottoms tucked, sensibly, into his fawn-coloured boots.

Even with the hood of his windbreaker pulled low over his brow, you can pick him out of a crowd with an ease that is as warming as it is jarring.

You wave him over when he stops on the mouth of Mount Street, looking in toward the Starbucks on the corner.

He finds you just as easily. And oh, his expression makes your toes curl in your misshapen boots.

Anger pinches the corner of his mouth, and hangs off the furrow of his brow, the divot between his eyes.

"Unbelievable," he huffs when he reaches you in the middle of the street, and sucks his teeth when you open your mouth to protest.

"It is what it is," you offer, playing the peacekeeper. You fall into step with him, trying not to wince. "I'm over it."

"Yeah?" The shadows across his brow deepen. "Are you sure? 'Cause… I'll fuck him up for you."

Setting your friend on a man from Kent feels entirely too vindictive, despite how much of a rush you get at the thought of seeing the man cowed a little bit. You shake your head, playing the part of a reasonable adult.

"It's okay. I'm just—I'm just, over this, yeah? Can we—"

Kyle stops you with his hand against your shoulder. "You alright?"

"My feet hurt," your smile is strained. "Terrible shoes."

"Take 'em off."

"Are you crazy—?"

"I brought slides for you. Figured you'd wear something stupid."

"Okay, fair. But—ouch? We can't all be crazy good-looking Armani models. Some of us have to work for it."

Kyle snorts. "Just take your shoes off, yeah? Throw 'em in my bag."

You can't deny it feels blissful when you lean against the slick wall outside of a shop, toeing off your tight boots. Aching feet freed from their prison. The sigh you let out makes him glance up at you from the pavement, bent over the rucksack he brought.

There's disapproval in his gaze—maybe at your choice. Choices. The date he warned you about. The boots. The socks he spots are stained with blood on the knob of your foot.

He tuts. A soft admonishment that cuts through the silence of the empty square. But it's all he says. He swallows the rest and drops the shoes he grabbed on the pavement in front of you, slowly pushing them forward with the tip of his toe.

You try not to grin when you see them.

Crocs. The ugliest ones you could find in Schuh. You'd bullied him into getting a matching pair with you. Neon yellow adorned with little clips.

You slip them on as Kyle reaches down to grab your boots. He pauses with them in his hand, eying them with something that taints the air with his disdain.

"When did you buy these?"

"On Friday." When he was sleeping off his impromptu trip to Chicago. He brought you home deep-dish pizza, frozen, and promised that it tasted much better fresh. "For the date."

"Why?" Is all he asks.

You shrug. "They're cute…?"

His eyes stray to your shoulders. The wet fabric of your shirt. His chin lowers slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on your flesh, on the goosebumps that bubble to the surface, spreading over your exposed skin. Eyes flicker, catching a droplet of water you can feel running down from behind your ear, falling over the slope of your neck. It breaks against your collarbone. He watches it all.

There's tension in the air. Static. The pressure builds and reeks of ozone when it presses into you, knuckles digging into the hollow of your throat. It renders you unable to speak—locked in a paradigm where the world beyond the honeycomb of his eyes ceases to matter, to exist almost. Thick honey ensnares you. Molasses. It clots against reason, logic, and makes you feel weightless. Floating, unmoored, in this unfamiliar abyss that closes in around you.

Except—

It isn’t.

There’s something aberrant about it, anomalous, that you can’t ignore; but beneath it sits a preternatural sense of familiarity that bends the paradox into knowns. Into tangibles. Concretes.

This is the same tension that has been simmering—festering, almost—since before he joined the miliary. In Cardiff when he leaned against you in the taxi, boney shoulder digging into your arm, and said, ‘dunno what I'd do without you, y’know?

It was the hazy smear of neon from the shops perched on the street. An ethereal gold hue streamed in from the window, cutting across the tenebrous in an asymmetrical chiaroscuro. The light was soaked up by him. Warm honey, the perfect compliment to his eyes, to the soft pink of his lips.

How could you possibly describe the feeling that spumes in the pit of your stomach outside of undiluted comfort?

Home.

It feels like like in shades; muted. A soft undercurrent that lingers inside something else, something deeper—

Moments in the foyer when he was heading back home for the evening. When he’d linger in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, arms folded over his chest, and warned you not to watch Taskmaster without him.

He’d know, he said.

When you asked how, he just said:

“Because I know you.”

It feels like that. Like that and something more. Everything, all of it, coalesces into this. Into this moment where you can’t stop staring into the flecks of mahogany and charred birchwood in his eyes, and he can’t seem to decide where to keep his, vacillating between the slope of your neck and matching your stare. A lurch, a flash of something in your chest when your gazes meet. The deep sfumato of a bare forest in the middle of winter—rich browns, raw topaz, honey and amber in a sea of white. A sleepy hinterland. Solemnent and peaceful. Dreamy. Hypnogogic.

The world always seems to shudder into a deep slumber whenever he’s around.

He dips closer, swaying into you. Gravity, maybe. Tidally locked satellites on the same rung. Something bubbles in your chest. Unwinds from its dormant perch between the gaps in your ribs, and climbs up your esophagus. Ready, you think, to be free—

In the distance, tyres squeal against the pavement.

—and all at once, the moment burst, breaks. Shatters into a million pieces, cosmic dust, and you watch them fall around you, blinking rapidly, as though you’ve just woken.

It feels like slowly coming down to earth when you quietly gather your things, words now stuck in your throat. In their prison.

Kyle tears his gaze away from your bare skin, clearing his throat.

"Hardly." He murmurs after a moment and slips his jacket off his shoulders before wrapping it around yours. It smells of rainwater, wet rubber. Beneath the polymer, you can smell Kyle—vetiver, cypress, jasmine; sweet and heady—and you bury your nose in the hood when he turns back to the empty street. “Well, uh—”

You can’t speak. Not yet.

He seems to understand.

"Yeah," he nods, and reaches out, tugging on the end of the drawstring. "Let's get out of here."

The rain lightens into a muted drizzle, soft droplets that fall, almost rhythmless, on the wet pavement. The town sleeps, the streets bare. Empty. The only sounds come from your slick footfalls, a horn in the distance.

It’s an easy silence that lapses between you—not at all unlike the lulls before, when things were easy and featherlight and endless; when you could talk to him about everything, anything, and all of the worries in your life were saved for something else. Never him. Never, ever him.

But it tugs at something in your chest. The same pressure blooms at the edges, lingering in the periphery. You think of the spell you fell under—quiet yearning—and shake your head, desperate now to break it.

It’s just as easy to slip into familiarity. To tease, and taunt. And so, you do.

"I'm surprised you haven't said I told you so by now. That's so impressive self-restraint."

His gaze slides over to you. "Well, you know, it's implied."

"Oh, is it, now?"

"Yeah, like when you messaged me and told me about it and I said—"

"Who even uses Tinder?"

"—that he's knobhead, and you're gonna get hurt."

You scoff. "He's from Kent, so."

"Even worse," he makes a face, derision contrasted by the jaundiced lamp spilling over the pavement. "A Tinder date with a guy from Kent? What's next? Moving to Bristol?"

"It's a nice area."

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. As nice as Essex, maybe."

"The two are not even comparable—"

"'Dunno why you're rushing into anything, anyway,” he angles his chin toward you. “If this is about Carver's wedding, I said I'd go with you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"That's sort of—like, you just have your own thing going on. I don't want to get in the way."

"I've always had my own thing going on. So have you. But that's never stopped us before, has it? What's changed."

"What about—" you swallow down something thick, bitter that wells in the back of your throat. "You know. Amsterdam. The Barista, or whatever."

His brow knots together. "And what about David from Kent?"

You sweep your hands out, motioning morosely toward your Crocs, your damp outfit. "This is what happened with David from Kent. Not exactly the fairytale meet cute you have with Amsterdam—" he makes a noise, like he means to interrupt. You cut him off. Bury it. "And besides, you should take her. I'll just—"

"I want to go with you."

"Why?"

Kyle falls to a stop near the Kebab shop you usually go to whenever he comes back from his missions, when he's craving good, hearty food that will rot his insides and clog his arteries. A small comfort from before, when everything he has now was just a dream, and you were struggling students in university who could barely afford a meal each and would split a lamb dinner over ale and terrible movies from the noughties back at your flat.

The suddenness of it all makes you blink beside him, slowly angling your chin up at him. A questioning noise wells in the back of your throat, but when you finally turn your gaze to him, it does out. A snuffed flame.

He brings his hand up, finger scratching at the soft patch of skin on the bridge of his nose where it starts to arch up. The look on his face, hidden, slightly, by the night blanketing overhead, but just illuminated enough by smears of neon and flushed street lamps for you to see it clove into something slightly flustered, hesitant. Sheepish, almost, like he hadn't meant to say what he did, and now doesn't know how to proceed forward. Cards tucked tight to his chest. Does he play his hand or fold?

You blink. Then blink again. Struggling, almost, to take in the suddenness of his flustered state.

Because the thing is:

Kyle doesn't get embarrassed or sheepish.

A running gag in your mutual friend group is that Kyle is twenty-eight going on sixty-five. An old man crammed inside the body of a young adult. He runs hot—passionate about his beliefs, quick to temper when he thinks an injustice is being doled out; a disciple of loose stoicism, but of a new age variety that is half parts stereotypical stoner chillness and ripe maturity—but he rarely is ever caught unawares enough to become embarrassed by something. He just has a perfect gauge of himself and those around him, able to quickly make friends with anybody he meets, and self-aware enough to know when he's in the wrong, when he needs to dial it back.

Being his friend for so long, you know the nuance of these expressions. His mien is ingrained in your head: known and catalogued. Nothing about Kyle is a mystery to you except the things you're barred from knowing (his second life away from home, you often joke: wholly confidential, entirety draped in secrecy).

But the look on his face is entirely alien to you. An expression you hadn't thought him capable of making.

It's jarring. It bludgeons into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away.

You know the man standing beside you, but this, everything else, is so unearthly. So foreign.

"Kyle," you hedge, taking a small step closer to him. You're not sure why. Maybe to reacquaint yourself with the man standing before you. Maybe to find something of familiarity within him to comfort the sudden crescendo of your pounding heart because even just the heady scent of his cologne—vetiver, amber—quells the sudden bloom of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. "Are you—?"

"No," he mumbles, then huffs out a soft laugh. It sounds mean, in a self-deprecating way, and your heart lurches for him. "Yeah, no. I'm alright. I just—shit, you know? 'Course I'd wanna go with you. Should be kinda obvious, no?"

Sure, you want to say. Sure, no, totally. Very obvious. And maybe had he not stopped, not made this peculiar expression on his face—like he isn't sure what to do when he always knows what he wants, what he's meant to do—you might have said them. Might let them tumble from your lips, equally self-deprecating and a touch forlorn despite never really knowing why, but that would be a lie, now.

Because you do.

The look on his face is upsetting—not because Kyle never makes that expression, or because he's never uncertain about anything, ever, but because you don't know it. It's not something you've ever seen before. And it hurts.

It's stupid. This whole thing. It shouldn't make you feel some sense of loss when he does something you don't expect. He always does. It's his brand, now—jettisoning across the world to catch bad guys and slap the trite American sense of justice and liberty for all across the faces of anyone who tries to oppose it—and you're very much acclimated to this side of him, the one he hides away from you, giving nothing at all about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's done, until he's back in England, safe and sound, and texting you at six in the morning for an English spread because he missed home. And maybe, maybe he missed you, too.

Those quiet moments are tucked into a cosm where it's only you and him, and greasy food, and reruns of Golden Girls together with your feet in his lap as you sit on the chaise and pick favourites (his is, of course, Rose) until the sun goes down, and he heads home because he has a debriefing in the morning in Hereford, and you have work. It's bereft of unease, of tension. Time slips through your fingers fluidly, and you hardly notice it's been hours since he first arrived. Comfortable, wholly, in his presence and in your skin.

Soulmates, everyone used to joke. You just get each other. Near finish each other's sentences.

Except for lately, where there has been this undeniable tension simmering between the two of you—a sense of fragility that you can't comprehend.

Growing apart, you thought. And then: guess it's time to do the same.

It made sense to make the first move. To download Tinder—much to his chagrin—and start looking for your—

Your Barista from Amsterdam.

And oh.

Oh.

Maybe it's the way the street light frames the angles and plains of his face, or the shadows that run deep lines of tenebrous across the valleys in his eyes, the sharp slope of his lips, the soft pout. The inscrutable expression that rents a jagged divot between his brow, and an unsure twist of his mouth. Maybe it's everything. Nothing.

But the only thing you know right now is that you know him. Have known him. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that goes beyond the boundaries of bodies, of flesh and blood. Bones and marrow. You know his soul. His essence. The foundations of who he is cobbled together in a lonely kebab shop over cheap ale, commiserating on an endless stream of papers and assignments; the eventuality of ever after when you hand in the final one. Over beans and toast in the afternoon, a whole day spent lounging in your flat watching reruns of Golden Girls, and petty arguments over Taskmaster that always seem to go a little bit too far, and never far enough. Fights that end two days later when he shows up with Greggs and a complete box set of that show you said you wanted to watch but never had the time for. Bargain shopping in Tottenham on an early Saturday morning because there's this chair, you see, one that you saw on their Instagram page and you simply must have it.

Soft moments in between, brackets where life doesn't seem to wrap its cold hands around your throat. Time spent in each other's company just for the sake of it.

Climbing onto your roof—a thatched mess of moss and straw and broken asphalt shingles that will one day give under your weight—and watching the stars, always searching for one that rockets across the sky while he murmurs beside you, quiet in this stillness that falls like snow in the dead of night around you. A hushed whisper as he relays the places he's been—all stars, he rasps, hand brushing wide strokes across the raspberry sky, dusted with light pollution: I'll take you there one day to see. Best fucking beer I'd ever had, too, just don't tell my cousin because he thinks the shitty lager he makes for his bar is good—and you try to picture it amongst the grey clouds. A life on the opposite side of the world. Just the two of you. Always.

And that's what it's always been, hasn't it? Just you. Just him.

It's sometime past midnight on a street corner in Manchester. Your feet hurt from walking all night, and your clothes are damp from the rain that caught you off-guard. A summer downpour. It clings to your skin in a way that's both freeing and wholly uncomfortable, but you're not thinking about that. You're not thinking about anything at all, not now. Not really. There's a silence in your head as the world falls into pieces, breaking like the jaundiced light that cuts crevasses and canyons in the tenebrous that colours sharp valleys of his face. He turns, then, a gentle list of his head as he takes you in, breathes your silence and questions the wideness of your eyes, the soft parting of your lips. The movement makes the light spill over the arch of his nose, the slope of his brow. The dawning of a new day. A new world. The untouchable of the moon where no light shines now burning hot under the sun.

(And maybe you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

So, you say it. You whisper all the words that bubble up, impatiently waiting between your teeth, effervescent and burning white-hot as they throw themselves over bone and flesh to be free.

Confessing goes like this:

Molten agony in your guts as the secrets you barely understand yourself dissolve into the atmosphere, spoken aloud and born on cobblestone and petrichor. Wide-eyed shock, uncertainty, as a new quiet falls over your shoulders, louder than anything you'd ever heard. Guncotton in your nose. A million detonations in your ears.

You've never much liked the silence. You break it, then, with your bare hands.

"...and that's basically it."

It isn't much. It isn't poetry. You're not even sure the words were real. A figment of your imagination, broken free because of baristas in Amsterdam and losers from Kent, abysmal dates and the unending fear of being wholly alone in a world you're not prepared for, all without the person who makes you feel a little bit better about the nothingness that permeates around you.

And sure. Sure. You don't need him. If Kyle decided never to speak to you again, you'd cry and you'd hurt, but you wouldn't be less of a person because of his absence. He doesn't complete you in the same way you've read about in thick books with strong-willed protagonists and an abundance of petty misunderstandings, but he compliments you. Elevates the good and stifles the bad. You want to experience things with him—not because there's some grand force at play, red strings knotted around your fingers that lead you back to him—but because you like his company. His thoughts. His mind. His presence. His essence fills you with joy in the same strokes it makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. Good and bad. You want it all.

You want it. Want him.

And he—

He's taking you home a little past midnight where you'll make yourself beans and toast and maybe try and sleep, or turn on the television to watch four women you're intricately connected to eat cheesecake and solve each other's problems. He could be at his own flat right now, playing that video game he said he wanted to try when he got back, or watching that movie he was supposed to with his flatmates, his friends. He could be talking to some barista in Amsterdam.

But he isn't.

He's here with you. Still. Still.

"I just—," you say, or try to.

But the rest is a muffled gasp against soft lips when he presses his against yours, stealing the words out of your mouth.

You can feel your heart beating through your lips. Taste him on your tongue when he draws you closer, hands reaching, grasping. Pulling you into him, into his body. You fit against him, tucked safe between the parentheses of his arms. He tastes of cardamom and cornflower. Lavender notes between his molars. Hints of milk on his tongue. You drink him down and know, then, that this is what they mean they talk about love being a feast because you chase this taste for the rest of your life and never be satiated.

He loops his arm around the small of your back, dragging you closer still. As if any atom between your bodies is an affront. There’s no hesitation in the action, in the way he burrows into your skin. No trepidation.

And maybe it would be silly for there to be any. You know him—every iota, every inch; secrets whispered at midnight in a shallow breath and dreams uttered at noon. To be known, to know, is a powerful thing. You feel it ghost across your flesh, featherlight, and reach for it with your bare hands. Seeking, searching. You don’t stop until the tips of your fingers meet his warm skin, curling around him. Anchoring yourself to him. Stuck, now, in permanence.

You find spots that were untouched before. Behind his ears, the dip of his brow, the curve of his nose, and the slope of his jaw. Cupping it in the palm of your hand, a plinth for him to rest his chin.

Your canvassing makes him groan, makes him tilt down into you as he begins his own exploration, chasing you in a mad pursuit. Sliding over your valleys, your plains. Running over the rugged mountains and the steep cliffs. He scours your topography with eager, nimble fingers. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush with this, a consensus you both seem to come to rather quickly when he pries open your mouth and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s sweet, soft. His hands mimic his chase, sliding along your body as if he means to commit the entirety of you to memory, searing it in his brain.

It’s only when he comes to a crossroads at your navel, pushed flush against his body, does he stop. You moan in despair at it, wanting more and more, not ready to give up this taste that curls over your tongue—saccharine sweet, salty—and Kyle echoes the noise with a groan, a quiet plea for air that both of you desperately need but can’t quite make yourself take.

“Fuck—” he groans again, breath stuttering out in sharp, deep gasps. “Can’t bloody tell you how long I wanted to do this for, fuck—”

His words seem to peel back the dreamy gossamer of a slowly burning sensuality. It ignites in a blaze, not at all unlike the swiftness of his anger. The sharp, sudden strike of a match. The crackle and hiss of flames renting the air.

The blaze starts at the point where your upper lip touches his, and almost immediately, it consumes you.

It's frenzied when he kisses you again—feral and wild: all teeth and tongue and nips against your bottom lip but the moment you sink into the fervour, Kyle changes it. Slows down. Chaste pecks to your sore lips amid a sensual onslaught. A languid roll of his tongue, soothing the burn his teeth left behind.

The way he kisses you feels like a paradox.

It's organised chaos. Refined madness. A cluttered mess of finesse and deliberate suckles; an artist's masterstroke.

You can't keep up. His rhythm is fierce and uncatchable.

Each step seems to stutter. An avartan you can’t keep pace with. Elongated taals, dips. A crescendo of harmony that is matchless, unreproducible. You struggle along with his swift current, his unerring tide that sweeps you away; unmoored, adrift. The tentative exploration ends. He knows you, now. All of you. And this is his summit. His scramble to the top. It’s biting passion; roaring flames.

You cling to him, holding tight to the liferaft he offers in a slow huff, a gust of mirth across your lips and into your lungs, slowing down to accommodate you. Malleable, now, he lets you lead, lets you take over, and move seamlessly with him. In tandem, parallel. Equilibrium brings you to heel, and you sigh into his mouth—a deep exhale of everything that has been building and building, tipping the scales around you until it was unbalanced and precarious. Teetering on the edge a precipice unknown.

His hand roams across your known geography—hills and streams, rivers and canyons—until he reaches your hand still bracketed around his cheeks, slowly peeling it away from his flesh to slide his fingers between yours, holding tight, and—

Kissing is immaculate. Bending at an altar, and making an offering to something bigger than yourself. It’s the spark of lightning flashing overhead, static in the air. Magnets drawing closer and closer until they snap together in the middle.

But holding his hand?

It feels like coming home.

The world tipping back into place. Amber warmth in your veins; the softness of a jasmine petal. You suck in a deep breath at the shock of it all.

You think of missing puzzles and loose sea ice drifting alone in the vastitude of the ocean. You think of a life where he isn’t in it and find yourself shuddering at the wrongness that emanates from it.

You want him. Want him—

It’s Kyle who pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. You blink slowly, eyes catching dark amber, honeycomb. It draws a smile from you, full and deep. Giddy on the taste of him, of this.

The only thought in your head is finally, finally.

You see his lips curl in response, eyes lidded and heavy. Blooming with want, affection. Adoration.

"What, ah—," he laughs a little, then, breathless and happy, and the noise anchors itself to your breastbone, pressing into the hollow of your ribs. A place you'll keep it forever. "What now?"

He hands you the starless sky, and places it into the cup of your palm. Breathes laughter in the air, paints the moon with his joy. You think about the places he wants to take you, and the ones he swears you'll never go. You think about aeons from now when the world is gone and the stars all die out, when there's just the hazy lavender of endless abyss you can't make sense of. You think of him, and you think of you, and you wonder when it started to just make sense for there to always be two.

Maybe that night in Cardiff when he held your shoes and gave you his coat. When he draped his arm around your shoulders, laughing at something stupid you'd said. A year before he joined this task force he makes cheeky remarks about but never goes too deeply into detail. When it was just endless summers spent working and drinking and eating good food.

He'd asked the same thing, then, half slumped over in the taxi, and three sheets to the wind. It made his eyes darken, endless pits. Black holes. The expanse of the sky is framed by brown lashes, and drooping lids.

And you'd said—

"Beans and toast?" It feels right. It feels good. "We can—"

He huffed, too, just like he does now, and squeezes your hand once, tugging you along.

"We're not watching Golden Girls."

You watch Golden Girls. Kyle wraps his arm around your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his side. He steals kisses from you when Sophia says something that makes you laugh until you're breathless and trembling.

When David from Kent texts you, he grins wide, and whispers in your ear, think I've always been a little bit in love with you, you know?

Yeah, you say, and kiss back until the taste of him is etched into the space between your teeth. Since Cardiff. For you?

"Since Uni for sure." He smiles again, sheepish and a touch flustered. It glitters on his brow and nips the apples of his cheeks. "You stole my heart when you devoured four lamb kebabs and then ate my tabbouleh. Said to myself, yeah, that's the one for me, innit?"

"On second thought, what's that Barista's number? Might try my luck instead."

"Nah, you're smitten," he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat, nips his teeth against your pulse point. "And you're all mine. No take backs."

"Ah, for fuck's sake—"

Ahhhhhhhh. Sappy romcoms are my kryptonite and it shows.

COD MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #cod gaz x reader #cod mw2 fanfic #ehhhhhh #these are my sloppiest tags #i didn't feel like making a gif so i threw this together real quick #will fix in the am #when my eyes aren't on fire

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chaoticallyfluffy · 4 months

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"What are you, a cop?" and "Now you see me now you don't" both sound interesting

For "What are you, a cop?"

Billy is deaged (actually deaged. He goes from 15 to 10 or something and doesnt remeber the league) during a mission. He suddenly woke up in the middle of a battle so he's freaked out. the Justice League take down the threat then try to calm the boy down, explaining that theyre heros and here to help.

Billy takes a moment to take that in... then bolts.

It takes a bit to catch the kid, he's surprisingly agile for his concerningly small size, but they manage to get him into the jet and hes pouting in the corner looking angrier than the league has ever seen him.

They try to ask questions. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Why are you so thin? Is there anyone we should call? But Billy stays silent and his glares stay intense until he finally speaks.

"I don't talk to pigs." he spits out, giving them the nastiest look as if his glare alone could poison and kill them.

They stare at him for a moment, processing that.

"We're not cops???" Clark says, unconvincingly. Hes never been more confused in his life and has definitely never been confused for a cop.

"Whats wrong with being a cop?" Barry, the forensic scientist, pouts.

They knew that Marvel had a bit of a weird relationship with cops but they didn't realize he hated them, and especially not with such a passion!

The league spends the whole jet ride back to the tower trying to convince Billy that not only are they not cops, but that cops shouldn't be something to be afraid of anyway.

Billy spends the whole trip explaining ACAB to them and that yes, they are in fact cops, and here's all the things that the police system has done wrong that the league have probably also done or been complicit in..

I just want to write Billy radicalizing the Justice League and the league helping to reform the police system.

---

For "Now you see me, now you dont"

In the original comics Billy can and will transform in front of anyone at anytime and they wont realize that it was a transformation. Why?because plot armor. They will just think that the boy ran away right as Captain Marvel appeared or something, and when Billy reappears they don't question it either.

In the fic, its a magic perk that came with the whole Champion of Magic package and its a perk he uses often and irresponsibly. He takes it to the extremes by transforming in front of large crowds (no one questions it), while being recorded (The camera shorts out and stops working completely), and even in front of villains (they curse when the captains escapes yet again, completely ignoring the little boy standing in the middle of their secret base)

The last one is how he figured out that even if he is very much Not supposed to be somewhere, he wont be questioned as long as the only people who see him there also saw Marvel transform in that area. If someone who didn't witness the transformation were to see him, they would realize he wasn't meant to be there and call him out which would cause the witnesses to notice it as well. Leaving the room and then returning would also snap them out of it and he would be questioned.

Its a pretty overpowered ability for a child to have access to and when your a street kid without any video games to play who gets chased out of public parks for being too 'dirty' and can't afford any toys, you have to get creative with your entertainment.

Billy wants to see just how far he can take this power, and decides to transform in front of as many people in one day as possible while on the most highly secure facility in earths orbit- the Watchtower.

Follow Billy as he stretches his powers to their limits by transforming in front of the Justice League while praying he doesn't get caught and see what pranks he's able to pull off in that time!

I really like both of these ideas and I definitely want to write them someday. I already have lots of ideas for ways Billy can abuse that particular power! For now I am focusing on a few other fics but these ones are somewhere in the queue.

#billy batson #shazam #dc #dc captain marvel #justice league #fanfiction #fanfic #dcu #ask game #wip #My writing

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tyttamarzh · 5 months

Text

Tallulah is Phil and Missa's daughter.

This will probably be very long, so if you want to read it, go grab some popcorn and get comfortable.

I have to talk about this because it's eating me up inside. I think I shouldn't give so much importance to comments coming from sewers like Twitter and much less Tiktok, but it makes me so sick (and I'm such a masochist that I even spend time looking for the shit they say to make me angrier and debate them xD).

I am very happy that it was finally made official, with papers certified by the federation, that Tallulah is the daughter of Philza and Missa, I think that was not entirely necessary for them, because they had assumed it for a long time (let's assume that Tallulah needed the pappers to end her W arc), although I suppose that more than anything it was done for those people who still cannot accept it or who deny the paternity of Phil and Missa (With Missa, although it bothers me, I can even understand it, he He hasn't been as present and many people don't know him, but god, it would be a crime to deny Tallulah's paternity to Phil, the man who has kept her alive and given everything for her throughout her life).

I'm glad that, although I have seen negative comments, the majority have been positive (even if it hurts them, it doesn't matter, it's official, screw them). Mainly, the negative comments have been from defenders of W and their arguments are so poor and weak that they are easily refuted. It is obvious that these people do not know Tallulah and have never met her, many do not even know how things turned out and say nonsense like that the current Llulah is an imposter, that it is not fair that they "rewrote" history and erased W (which It is false, Llulah's words make it clear that history was never changed, she simply moved on and that person remained in the past).

I refuted all those arguments on Twitter but screw Twitter, I hate the fucking character limit. So I'm going to expand (I have a lot of poison to get out of my skin). I have some points:

1- "That's not Tallulah" Of course it is her, those who witnessed her life and her growth during the year that passed, can realize that this was her natural evolution. She is the same girl who grew up overcoming her limitations, who suffered, who felt alone, who had abandonment problems, who everyone saw as a poor abandoned girl and who found comfort next to someone who has always loved her like a father and a brother who gave everything for her.

2- "They erased all her lore" No. Tallulah's lore is the one she built with Philza and Chayanne over the course of the year they lived together. Her relationship with W and her longing for him was only part of her story (although people made a lot of emphasis on that), but it was not the only thing that defined her, it never was and only people who never got to met her think that. They see her like an extension of that other person, as the only thing that kept him on the server, but did not see her as an individual character and definitely did not watch Phil's Vods and they never really knew her lore.

3-"How do they explain this in the lore?" Simple, there was someone in her life, someone who was her first father, but who spent very little time with her, who left a long time ago and who is currently no longer part of her life. She learned to let go of the past and focused in the family she has in the present, the family that loves her, that watched her grow up, that makes her happy and gives her security to believe in herself and that is the Death Family, Chayanne, Philza and Missa. Time passes, not all people stay, treasure those who are by your side and let go of what never brought you anything but pain.

4- "They should have created another egg and replaced her" Why replaceher? It has no sense or reason. She is a character who built her own story with her family, a story that never really involved that other person other than with one or another sporadic mention, why eliminate a character that evolved by itself? Little by little she separated herself from what she was at the beginning and that bond that she had with that first father was practically non-existent. What would be the point of eliminating it or replace her with another new character?

5- "No matter what other parents and appearance give her, she will always belong to W because she still carries the name he gave her" No. She never belonged to him. She lived with that man for 2 days and apart from leaving him the promise of a reunion, she did not contribute anything else to her life. She formed her own path, her passion for music was not because of him, it was something she already had before, her love for nature, for animals, everything was built in the days she lived with Philza (even with uncle Bad). She suffered for her first father but she moved on, she matured, she discovered her link with death and her powers as a medium, she acquired her own personality and little by little she built the Tallulah she is now.

She never belonged to anyone but herself and she always fought to prove that, but people insisted on dumping trauma on her and reminding her that she was an abandoned child waiting for someone who at a certain point was nothing more than an idealized dream, because There was never a real relationship between them, they never lived together long enough. She little by little made her decisions and chose the people she wanted to be her parents (and it's not that she had few options, Quackity, Bad and even F wanted to adopt her at the time and asked them to, but she was not a girl who was looking for parents). She could choose and she chose Philza, the person who had always been there for her and later she chose Missa, someone who despite not knowing her very well gave her his love unconditionally and gave her security when she needed it. Then she was able to feel the warmth of being part of a complete family.

6- "They should change her name because W gave her that name! That impostor is not Tallulah!" Why? Her name is not anyone's intellectual property, at the time it was given to her, it belonged to her for better or worse and yes, in some way it will always be a tie to her past, but a past she has already left behind and managed to overcome by creating new memories and dreams.

To a certain extent I understand those who became attached to her because she reminded them of that other person, but if they couldn't see her as her own character, it means that they never cared enough to make the effort to get to know her.

It would shock us all if a character we liked suddenly changed drastically and left behind what like us in the first place. But if they had really watched her, they would have realized that the change was not sudden, it was gradual.

She found in Phil a protective and understanding father who always put her and her brother before anything else, who suffered with her her pain and outbursts of frustration due to the depression caused by the absence of her first father. She found in Missa a cute and loving father who always showers her with love and helps her to have confidence in herself. She doesn't lack anything with them. She has closed a cycle of pain in her life and now she can heal.

She chose the look that makes her feel finally free to be herself, whatever the external reasons that led to that, she finally has a future ahead of her unbound by the past and prefers to be more like the people she considers her family now. If you can't see what all of this really meant to Tallulah and her evolution, it's because you never cared to see even 20% of her story. Well, since the middle of last year she began her journey to break away from a name and be herself, fighting to be seen for who she was.

If those people decide to continue supporting someone despite his shit, that is their right, but the server and the admin were also within their right to decide to kick him out and want to distance themselves from a person they consider unpleasant.

7-There were comments of another type, mainly from people who are really very lost with the lore, people who consider her the daughter of Quackity, even confusing her with Tilín (saying that Q didn't know if she was the daughter of W or Luzu and that she should get a DNA test), when we all know that from the beginning she was W's daughter as a single father and that the only reason Quackity could have become Tallulah's father was if to marry W, but that never happened, W didn't come back and Quackity was never able to develop that relationship with Llulah, she considered him a possible father because she knew W loved him, but Q always being kidnapped or something, they never really related much. There are people who, even with a certificate, continue to insist that Tallulah should have been given to Quackity to raise with Luzu (she had a tender interaction with Luzu and people were already asking him to adopt her, saying that she was alone and had no parents, I seriously hate them!) I shouldn't take seriously people who obviously haven't seen Philza even once and I know that many of those people are hispanic and are limited by the language barrier but if they don't have the slightest idea They shouldn't give their opinion… Tallulah is not an object to be passed from hand to hand, she chose and in order to do so she had to go through a very long and painful arc.

8- I firmly believe that it is a great win to now have a certificate that endorses who the people she considers her parents are, but I insist, it was not necessary, because that has been known for a long time and I am sure that if it was created it was to close the mouth mouth to all those people who are not capable of accepting that.

Tallulah is the daughter of Philza and Missa (and no one else), she is part of the Death Family, that is her story, it is not a whim, a whim is continuing to link her to something she is no longer a part of or wanting to make her a part of a lore that never happened or wanting to give her other parents different from the ones she grew up with (Quackity already had Tilín, Richas and now Pepito, I don't think she needs more children and Tallulah doesn't need any more shitty drama in her life).

Tallulah is a beautiful being, both with her old look and with the new and as Missa says "She deserves only the beautiful things in the world"

Tallulah is Phil and Missa's daughter!!! Tallulah is Phil and Missa's daughter!!! Tallulah is Phil and Missa's daughter!!! And I can shout it a thousand times because it's true and she always was, but now it's certified by the government and no amount of complaining or tantrums can change that fact.

Sorry for my bad english. See you!! jajaja ando re agresiva, pero es que nadie se mete con mi familia xD

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amirasainz · 5 months

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okay okay i love the jealous alexandra!! but what about a continuation where it’s bff kika and amira vs alexandra and miss kika throws some hands!! maybe they were out on a girls day like they have kika and amira days and alexandra was there with her bff an iv and they got to shit talking and kika threw some punches, and amira was yelling in spanish like two very jumpy bffs, and pierre and charles are very much like it’d be painful if we hurt them, cause they may just kill us!! love the better girlfriend fic! this series is so so fun ❤️❤️ ( oml and kelly being very proud of her 2 younger wags when she find out )

I'm so sorry but at the end I had to laugh so bad. Please be aware that this is just a fic and not hate towards any persons mentioned.

I hope you enjoy reading and send me some requests.

-XoXo

The better girlfriend (Part 2)

Amira and Kika, inseparable as ever, embarked on another girls’ day in Monaco. Their bond was more than friendship—it was sisterhood. Kika played the role of confidante, makeup lender, and partner-in-crime during hungover mornings. Sweet “girl-dates” were their specialty, and Kika’s shoulder was always there for Amira to lean on.

But Kika wasn’t just a soft touch. Like any true best friend, she’d throw a punch or two if needed to defend Amira. Loyalty ran deep between them.

On this particular day, they indulged in a four-hour shopping spree, treating themselves to manicures and a relaxing spa session. To cap it off, they settled into a cozy restaurant for lunch, sipping delicious mimosas.

Seated at the back, they paid little attention to the other patrons—until a familiar voice reached their ears. It was one of those moments when fate intervened, weaving their lives together with unexpected threads.

"I honestly don't know what he sees in her." the annoying voice of Alex reached their ears. Amira and Kika shared a look, both of their faces looking unimpressed. "Yeah" was the weak reply from Alexandras best friend, Sarah. To be honest, Sarah wasn't Alex biggest fan at the moment. The whole stunt she did with kissing a man that was not her boyfriend wasn't ok. But going to said ex-boyfriends job and offend his new girlfriend publicly was just borderline crazy. In her opinion Amira is a sweet girl and a good girlfriend to Charles. No wonder that they are Sarah's favourite celebrity couple, but don't tell Alex.

"You should have seen her, she stood there like an idiot. She dresses like a whore. Hell, I bet she even behaves like one" Alexandra continued. "And of course little perfect Amira Sainz had to play the angel again and tell the media that she didn't take my words to heart. Does this bitch even know who I am? My word is law." For gods sake why couldn't she stop talking, thought Sarah.

Meanwhile, Kika and Amira listend to the one-sided conversation. Both girls started getting angrier the more they heard. While Amiras rage was the "I can destroy your life with one sentence" rage, Kika's blood was boiling. "Who does this stupid bitch think she is" muttered Kika.

But when Alexandra confessed she started the internet rumor of Amira having an eating disorder, all rational thoughts left her head. During those horrible rumours, Amira started really struggling. Anti-Ferrari fans and Anti-Charles fans took the presented possibility to write her online hate. Besides, starting rumours about serious topics like that is never alright, no matter who it is about. It was a very dark time for Amira.

Before Amira could even comprehend what was happening, Kika stood up and went to the neighbour table. "Hey, girlie" she said to Alex sweetly, before taking her hair and dragging her out of the chair. Alex screeched like an wounded animal, which gained the attention of the other guest and staff. One young waitress recognised the girls and started filming.

Kika pushed her to the floor and started ripping of her fake nails. "Who the fuck do you think you are talking about my best friend like that?" Alex and Kika started ringing on the floor. Obviously Kika had the upper hand. Amira, who was still angry, decided to encourage her besties behaviour. "Vamos, Kika. Acaba con esta estúpida zorra." she yelled. Kika shot her a little smile while Alex looked at her in horror. "Eso es, zorra. Toma tu puta opinión y a ver a quién le importa. " Amira said straight to her face, raising an eyebrow.

Kika slapped her one last time across the face, stood up and said loudly: "Can we get our sandwiches to-go, please?" Amira and Kika turned to the filming waitress who answered excitedly: "Girls, it's on the house for you." After paying their mimosas and taking their food, the two left.

Inside the car, Amira hugged Kika tight. "Thank you" she whispered tearfully. Kika didn't say anything back, just hugged her tighter. What the two girl's weren't aware of, was, that at this exact moment, their little video fight went viral. And boy, did the fans stand on Kikas and Amiras side.

Bonus (+):

Max and Kelly stood in front of the girls, the video on in the background. They knew Charles and Pierre wouldn't say anything against their behaviour, so they took it upon themselves to be that bad cops.

"I am very disappointed in you two. Instead of talking it out like an adult, you hit her, Kika. And you shouldn't have encouraged her, Amira. As a punishment you both are not allowed to have any girl-days for two weeks." explained Max tiredly. Instead of arguing, both girls silently nodded their heads.

After a moment of silence Max spoke again: "Kelly, don't you want to say anything as well?" "….Bad girls." was her only reply. While Max held his head in his hands, Kelly shot the two of them a secret wink.

#formula 1 #baby!sainz!sister #charles leclerc x reader #pierre gasly x kika gomez x reader #kika gomez x reader #no hate #max verstappen x kelly piquet x reader

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zoropookie · 5 months

Text

HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter twenty-six — br(ok)en (💋)

You stared at your phone light up for the twelfth time within five minutes with a dull expression.

Admittedly, you felt angrier knowing that Scaramouche still had the audacity to even text you after everything. After tormenting you for years and years, what kind of shame should someone feel after that, you wonder. The relentless pursuit of making your life miserable—to which he failed at, but it did make you wonder.

Did you do something to deserve it? Each notification felt like another jab that he took to the heart, reopening your wounds from each time he said something messed up to you. As you laid there motionless, with no light ruminating in the room except your phone, you began to feel tears well up in your eyes for the thirteenth time today.

Pursing your lips, you swiped up to read the messages and only felt reminded even further of every harsh word he said. Every cruel taunt, every moment of humiliation...and yet...

He was still right, despite being the biggest hypocrite known to man. And it pissed you off.

Why were you even laying here? Ignoring the world, rotting here like you're a vegetable. You knew that you were something to people, you knew that you were valued.

There wasn’t anything that was particularly motivating for you to get up, however. You ignored every need that you could have possibly wanted, subjecting yourself to sparseness. No matter how much you wanted to, the thoughts always came back and you didn’t know how to deal with them.

A small knock echoed from the front door. It was loud enough to hear, and you still shoved your head in the pillow and hoped it went away.

The longer time you went without answering it, the knocks became more frequent. It wasn’t Thoma, that’s who you could observe without getting up.

You finally managed to drag yourself out of bed, lazing about sounded so much nicer now that you were dreading who’s at the door. With a frustrated sigh, and irritation already to its peak of your heart, you opened the door to a familiar-ish face.

Little girl?

“Did you forget that you exist?” She said with a smile. “Welcome back to Earth! I didn’t know how long you’d be cooped up in here so I brought treats.”

You stared a bit longer than you meant to at the Tupperware of Asafiri in her hands, momentarily taken aback. “Heh?”

“Yanfei sent me here. Looks like you’re having a little bit of trouble getting back on your feet. I take it you know her?” She inquired.

“Yeah.” You blinked slowly, before holding the door a little wider. “Uh…come in, I guess. Thanks for the…treats.” You cringed. “Wow, I get why Heizou keeps being called a creep now, this can look so wrong.”

“The difference is that he does it to himself.”

The warm water on your body was oddly refreshing.

Getting out of the shower was harder knowing that you'd come back to the gust of wind in your living room, but knowing you had fresher pajamas on was also a plus. Things didn't look too great on your mental, especially since you were accustomed to showering a lot in your fresher mind.

You put on the Lightning McQueen slippers you quite often wear, and moved to the kitchen after hearing soft chops of a knife. You wondered what Nahida was up to, staring at her cut apples and bananas before putting them into a huge bowl she found in your cupboard.

"This is a very odd fruit salad you're making." You drew attention to yourself before her eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know whether or not to tell you to be careful with knives."

"I'm smarter than you think I am." Nahida cooed. "I'm used to people being condescending."

"Oh...I'm sorry— You're killing me here, kid. Lady? Are you a child or not?" You asked desperately.

Nahida turned to you, her saturated green eyes stared at you with obviously deliberate thoughts roaming her head before she took a sharp breath. She pointed the knife at you. "Do you feel better?"

"Not...really? I mean, it happened. All of this at once." You tried to process it quicker, but your head failed you. It's like how you actually felt in the moment was blocked. "I feel like I'm in limbo, I don't want to see the sun these days."

"Your thoughts are your biggest enemy right now. Easy to overthink. It's a lot to deal with on your own, good thing you aren't, right?" Nahida lowered the knife, her expression softening. "I cut you up some fresh fruit. It's better than the Asafiri for now, you don't need that much sugar after not eating for a while, or you'll crash hard. And get a headache."

Looking at the bowl loaded with bananas and slices of apples, you couldn't help but wonder why you were even granted this much care anyway. You were in mild disbelief, sitting down at the island counter in front of Nahida. "Why are you actually here?" You said in defeat.

Nahida stopped cutting the fruit, gaze shifting from it to you. She couldn't find what she could say to answer you, but she did press her lips together. "Do you want me to be honest?"

"A little." Your voice lowered.

"Yanfei and Heizou," Nahida paused, trying to find her words, "They wanted to see if I could convince you to start streaming again."

You frowned immediately. "Oh. Thanks for being honest."

"You made progress today, but I don't expect you to be up to it. It's a really big step." She asked you, but you couldn't even decipher the intentions behind her eyes. It was impossible to detect what anybody was thinking nowadays. "They just told me to come over so they can hope their investigation moves."

You sighed, leaning back in your chair once you felt the bitterness course your body again. Hearing that made your mood possibly worse than what it would've been if you were in bed. "Not happening. Thanks for checking on me though, you can leave if you want."

"I knew you'd say that. I guess it's fair, people are...going crazy right now figuring out whether you're okay or not." Nahida smiled once you looked back up at her. "Both Scaramouche and your fans are trying to get anything they can on your wellbeing. It's better to wait it out."

Your hopeful face turned into a sullen one, shoulders slumped at the mention of his name. "I don't know if I can even go back at all."

"I'm not sure how hard this is for you, but with what happened, you've obviously been through enough. While it's your choice to go back, Yanfei is under the impression that you can get revenge." The shorter girl explained. "In my eyes, though...I think you're able to decide that for yourself."

You felt the weight of the memories heavily, your head daunting enough for you to let out a shaky breath. "You think so?"

Nahida nodded, humming, "You don't have to stream, but don't give him the satisfaction if you're upset. You shouldn't let him know that you're suffering because of what he did. The worst thing that you can do is prove him right."

Funnily enough, as soon as she said that, you felt tears well up in your eyes again. It struck a cord, and you knew she was right. It was just knowing that anybody would say it verbatim. "That's the same thing he told me too." You blinked back your tears, more resilient than you were a few minutes ago, but also to the brim of misery.

"He?"

You shook your head, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. "Thanks," You muttered, choking on your words. You couldn't manage to say anything else, otherwise you'd betray your steely posture. "I'll think about it. Just...stay here a little more with me, please. Maybe I'll...find the resolve or something."

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo

@justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @kunisnaomi

@keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi

@kyon-cherri @b4tm4nn @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles

@kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @amvpk01 @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3

@alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith

@kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan

@yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123

@strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway

@agaygothicmushroom @levianamor @dragontammerz @wth121 @lylovw

@morgyyyyyyy @lovemari @suniika @melpomenelurks @yumejo89 @liuaneee

@franaby @tiddieshakeshownu (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

#zoropookie #hhab #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche #genshin #genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #genshin x yn #scaramouche x yn #scaramouche x you

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mxdarling · 5 months

Text

[“put that down! you’ll hurt yourself with that.” / “you’re so pretty when you smile.”]

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

ೃ⁀➷: summary: idia bought a new multiplayer game, and he wants to play it with his player one, you.

ೃ⁀➷: word count: 2.3k (2334)

ೃ⁀➷: reference/Inspiration: playlist

ೃ⁀➷: event: [200 followers event]

[author's note:] JDJDKD MORE IDIA CONTENT WOOHOOO this was supposed to be his belated birthday gift from me but uhh cough cough writer block hit me like a bitch soo.. didn't finish before new years, and it's now like- 4 months late??? anyways, thank you anon for requesting idia with dialogue #3 and #7!! my last yandere idia work had him a little creepy so i made him cute this time loll i hope it's to your satisfaction anon!

[warnings:] lowercase, yandere behavior, more fluff than yandere, established relationship, reader is a gamer, cuddling, kisses, reader is ticklish, poor explanation of game mechanics, mentions of fear for judgement, reader is portrayed as a crybaby, one paragraph mentions idia being a creep, game is a rip-off of minecraft (fantasy version), toxic teammates.

[note:] If there is anything else triggering here that I didn’t list in the warnings section, please tell me. i don’t condone this type of behavior, this is merely just for entertaining purposes and some sort of coping mechanism for me. if you continue to read beyond this point, ignoring my warnings, i am not responsible for your actions from here on out.

[GN reader]

IDIA SHROUD seemed to be in a good mood today, at least according to what you've seen so far. probably because his latest purchase is the cause of his being in such an upbeat mood. not that you're complaining; it was rather cute seeing him all excited and giddy when he found a new game to play. it's like a whole new, different side of him comes out whenever he starts to ramble about the features of the game and why he should absolutely play it right now. of course, as his player one, you're automatically going to be the first person he's going to play with. not that you mind, really. playing with idia was always a fun experience; it reminded you a lot of how you would spend your free time back in your world.

(those days of laziness, those days of unproductivity where you did nothing but lay down on your bed and do nothing—no school work to do, no club activities to do, no studying for an upcoming exam—just pure idleness. then when you're bored, you could just use your phone, PC, or iPad to entertain you as the day goes by, playing nonstop until late hours in the evening. god, you miss those days.)

you often wondered what genre of video games this new world had to offer. you knew that it wouldn't be so different from your own world, but you weren't sure just how many of your friends were affiliated with gaming entertainment. out of fear that judgement would be placed upon you if you shared this interest of yours, your love for video games has been hidden—so to find someone else (with that someone else being idia) that likes video games and is very well versed in them is a dream come true. it was a long process to get him to play with you, let alone consider you a friend and not try to avoid you every 2 seconds—still, it was a feat you were proud of because now you get to experience many, many different sides of idia that you would have never known 9 months ago.

(you once heard idia curse like at least twenty times in one breathe when one of his teammates was being shitty and a prick, he sounded so angry and scary that you backed into a corner to avoid getting burnt by his scorching, bright red hair that grew the more angrier he got. the only reason he stopped was when he heard quiet sobs in the corner of his room and turned around away from his computer to see you huddled in the corner of his room. quickly he went over there, completely abandoning his game and comforting you. he hates seeing his cute prefect cry, especially because of him, he's not the great at comforting but when he hugged you so tightly, your quiet sobs turned into silence. right then and there he swore to never be the reason you're crying and when you do, he'll be right there with you.)

you are currently cross-sitting in his very comfy bed, watching as idia set up two controllers and plugged in the PCs to turn them on (you're still surprised he's got more than 2 PCs, which, if you really think about it, his family background makes it make sense). after waiting for the PCs to turn on, he then connects the controllers to the PCs and opens up the game on both screens. you would insist on helping him set up, but due to you literally being isekai'd into this unknown world of twisted wonderland, you aren't too familiar with many things besides the whole magic stuff—plus, you aren't too keen on breaking any of idia's stuff because of your lack of knowledge on how to do technology.

(technology in general is so extremely confusing, you would argue wholeheartedly all day and all night, and idia would agree with you and low-key flex on how knowledgeable he is in the field of technology, just to impress you and show how reliable he is. secretly, he likes it when he's useful to you.)

"sorry! it took a while to set up..." in slightly shaking hands, he hands over the controller to you while holding the other in his free hand. he looked rather nervous when he faced you to give the controller, like he's worried he wasted your time waiting for him. it reminded you of a puppy looking up to its owner apologetically when they did something wrong, so cute, you thought, adorable even, you added.

"haha! it's okay! you didn't take that long anyway." you gave him a reassuring look, a soft smile, and bright eyes, showing him that you weren't bothered by having to wait a bit as he set up for you two to play.

both screens show the in-game loading screen, and the bar quickly fills up due to the fast internet speed (one you're quite envious of). slowly it fades to the starting screen, where a big text is bouncing 'tap to start' in both of your faces. Idia presses to start immediately, wanting to get into gameplay as fast as he can while you take a moment to admire the visual aspects and effects of the game in silent awe. you always had a thing for the visual stuff that was shown in-game. by slowly pressing the button on your control, you enter the game and begin a fantastical journey with idia.

“put that down! you’ll hurt yourself with that!” he says worriedly as he watches you damage your avatar's HP bar this early in gameplay. usually he gets really annoyed when he plays with noobs and normies; they stink at comprehending basic knowledge, do dumb things in-game, ask too many questions, and ruin the whole gameplay experience for him. 'ugh, how annoying.' is his usual reaction to such—of course he wouldn't think of that towards you! never ever would he ever think this way towards you; even if you do things noobs and normies usually do, he can't bring himself to be annoyed—you were too cute in his eyes. he would never admit this to your face, though, and he still gets red just at the thought of him thinking you are cute. It's true though; don't get him wrong, but... the embarrassment that comes with thinking about these thoughts is just too much for his poor little heart! honestly, he's for sure that one day you'll be the death of him, does he care though? not really; in fact, he would probably love that.

(he blushes so hard whenever he thinks of you in his clothes; it's the way your natural scent clings onto his shirts, the way his shirts made you even cuter than you already are—one of the only reasons he doesn't wash his clothes immediately because he wants to savor your smell to memory. he's a creep, yes, but he's one devoted creep.)

"whoops! sorry didn't see that, haha..." nervously laughing at your mistake, you eat whatever consumable you have in your inventory to try and restore as much health as you lost. as your avatar munches on the food in its hand, from the corner of your screen, you can see idia's avatar walking towards you. once it's near enough to your avatar, you can see the animation of a bunch of items being dropped and your inventory picking up due to the proximity between the items and your avatar. you opened your inventory, curious about what he just gave you since it looked like quite a lot of items, and confused about why he was giving you so many items in the first place. your eyes widen in shock as the items he's given you are one stack of steak, every weapon in-game (sword, axe, pickaxe, shovel, hoe), but in steel, and a full set of steel armor.

your mouth continues to gape open as you put on the armor set on your avatar. how did he get so much stuff this fast? it hasn't even been an hour yet! "where.. did you get so much stuff!?" you ask naively, following idia around as you don't want to get lost, die, and lose all your stuff. "stole half of those from villages, some from mining, and a few from trading" he says so casually as he continues to walk in an unknown direction, like this was a regular thing for him, not to mention this was a hard difficulty! he's playing this game like it's not easy mode! "could've gotten more if it weren't for those stingy mobs..." furrowing his eyebrows, he let out a small huff of frustration, pressing slightly harder on the buttons on his controller, not noticing how your mouth dropped down even further at his passing comment. as she presses on, walking in an unknown direction, you're hit with the hundredth reminder that he's on a whole other level than you when it comes to gaming.

three hours in, and you guys decided to play on public servers, where you'll get to play different game modes other than the usual story and survival modes. once the two of you picked a game to play, the room quickly filled with laughter, shouting, incoherent grumbling, screams of terror, and many more in between. you two decided to save a team game as last since idia wasn't enthusiastic about playing together with other players because he just wanted to play with you, and there was an underlying fear that you would encounter toxic teammates. but since you were practically begging him to just try it at least once, he couldn't help but give in to your pleas.

it was fun, he supposed. it wasn't as annoying or infuriating as he thought it would be, but he still had to keep up not making really snarky remarks when certain players were interacting with you. he'd hate to have you see such a mean, ugly, and disgusting side of him. other than that, it was an okay experience. he thinks it would've been better if it was just him and you on a team; wouldn't it be kind of romantic? you and him against everyone else?

then what he feared most would happen actually happened. suddenly some fucking jerk is screaming insults at you for not being good enough, and before that teammate got two more words in, he exploded on them. curses upon curses spit out his mouth in rapid speed, and the voices of that said teammate slowly but surely die down as their ego and pride go down with them. in the midst of anger and chaos between him and the teammate, you could feel tears building up inside you; everything around you started to blur, and the sounds that filled your ears were starting to get tuned out. you couldn't even hear that idia stopped screaming curses, turned off both PCs, and went to take the controller from your hand, lift you up into his lap, and slowly wrap his arms around you.

once he had you fully in his grasp, he tightened his grip, making sure not to let you get away from him. he wasn't good at words, especially when trying to comfort someone, but seeing you cry was making him cry too. he did, after all, swear to always be with you when you cry. raising one of his hands, he placed it at the back of your head and gently pushed towards his neck. then his hand went down to rub your back, up and down, up and down, at a slow pace. letting you cry it all out in peace while also letting you know he's there with you.

a few minutes have passed, and your sobs have gone silent. your eyes have become droopy and sleepy, and it feels almost impossible to keep them open. suddenly, a hand lifts your chin, and you feel a pair of lips come into contact with your forehead. it wasn't like a quick kiss; no, the kiss lasted for at least a few seconds before pulling away. even then, upon pulling away, you feel another kiss on your cheek, this time a little quicker than the forehead kiss. then another kiss on your other cheek, then another on your nose, another on your jawline, another on your earlobes, and finally, his lips hovered over your own lips.

you could feel the hesitation when he let out a nervous breath; the thought of your lips on his always sends him into an electrifying and drunken daze. he can't think straight when he's this close to you, but even then, it gives him an unusual feeling of contentment and confidence. the luck he has to be able to snag such an adorable, cute, amazing, and beautiful person like you in his life. he almost can't believe it. swallowing his own nervousness for your comfort, he presses against your soft lips delicately. soon after making physical contact with your lips, he feels a smile form on your face—a small smile, yet it was enough for him. any smile from you is enough for him, because seeing you happy is the best view he could ever lay his eyes on.

feeling out of breath, he's the first to let go but also the first to frown at the loss of touch. i want to stay like this forever, he thought as he watched you emit a giggle after the kiss. fire burns brightly in his heart, and he starts to wonder if you being the death of him will really come true. his cheeks burn that ever-warm red that he knows you've seen many, many times before, but he can't help it. when you pull him into a world through rose-tinted glasses, no way could he be immune to such an effect.

"i really can’t take it when you cry like that… smile for me, alright? you’re so pretty when you smile."

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

PLEASE DO NOT COPY, REPOST, SHARE, TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO OTHER SITES WITHOUT MY PERMISSION + REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED.

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tex-now · 1 month

Text

Chameleon is the most ableist episode in all of Miraculous Ladybug holy fucking shit

this is all gonna be pre season 4 jsyk

Also serious note here, my words are not gospel. I myself am not physically disabled nor do I have severe enough disabilities that it requires specific accommodations. If anyone who has any experience with this has any input they want to add or wants to correct me on anything, you are more than welcome to.

Okay let's go

Immediately off to a bad start, Marinette is upset that she has to sit in the back because she doesn't want Lila to sit next to Adrien and no, this is not because she wasn't talked to about it beforehand, because when Adrien offered to sit in the back in her place Marinette adamantly refused.

And since Marinette really was causing such an unnecessary ruckus, (ill be momentarily ignoring that Lila was lying) she was making Lila feel bad for needing accommodations. Which is super fucked up of her. And also i distinctly remember Lila cuddling up to Adrien which made Marinette angrier but that's not in the transcript so take this with a grain of salt.

Okayyy the dreaded lunch scene. I have a lot of problems with this scene so I'll do the biggest one first: The fact that the narrative states that Lila is in any way benefiting from having a disability.

People carrying her lunch trays, getting her food, making sure she doesn't have to lift a finger because of her sprained wrist and treating it like shes benefiting from it is like. Atrocious on so many levels. Not only does it state that Lila is benefiting from having a disability but it also frames making accommodations for people with disabilities as being "used" in some way, which is why disabled people don't usually get the accommodations they need because they don't get "special privileges" or the people who should be accomodating them "refuse to play favorites." Horrible thing to teach children.

And then. The napkin scene. I'm gonna say it. Marinette is the fucking worst in this episode. She is being actively ableist here, assuming that since she had one bad experience with Lila being a liar, that she's lying about everything, including having a disability, which leads to her to try and "prove" that Lila is lying. Which is super fucked up.

She throws the napkin at her in order to prove that she's lying about having a sprained wrist, and since she doesn't like Lila this is an entirely okay thing to do ig/s. The reason why this scene in particular upsets me so much is because stuff like this happens in real life all the fucking time, and people have suffered because of it.

Neurodivergent and disabled people have to fight for accommodations or to be taken seriously, by literally everyone around them while neurotypical or able bodied people constantly brush them off or interrogate them in order to prove that they are disabled, and having the main character do someting like that and end up having her be framed in the right (eventually) is abelist as fuck.

The bathroom scene is also incredibly gross to me. Marinette corners Lila in the bathroom and LITERALLY SAYS (paraphrased) "I don't have the proof for it, but I know you're lying about your disability because you lied about being friends with a celebrity so therefore I get to be ableist as fuck towards you >:(" I don't think I have to explain why that's ableist.

Okay. The elephant in the room. Lila IS faking her disabilities. She IS pretending to have them in order to benefit off of other people. This is the biggest problem in the entire episode.

The narrative itself supports the idea that

1. People benefit from having disabilities

2. Attempting to "prove" that someone doesn't have a disability is okay

3. Making accommodations for people with disabilities is "using" the accommodating party in any way

4. Being ableist is okay as long as you're right in the end

And that is hammered in by this scene in particular. Marinette is being egregiously abelist throughout the entire episode and IS being the bad guy here but since the writer's need to make her NOT look like the bad guy turns out she's right Lila is faking everything and is evil lol/s

Its not just the characters themselves that are being ableist, the writing itself is so ableist that it is literally imbedded into the story of this episode and is essential in order for it to work at all. Which is a huge writing failure on the writer's part.

Okay I think I'm done. Is this coherent at all

#i dont even think its marinettes fault at the end of the day shes the writer's puppet and her job for this episode was to be the fucking #worst #you literslly could not make her actions any better in this episode. there is nothing you could do short of getting rid of this episode-#entirely. its thag bad #ml salt #mlb salt #lila salt #ig?#miraculous ladybug salt #marrinette salt #technically #its really not her fault the writing is just really bad

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milaisreading · 9 months

Note

hihi!! just an idea :)

The post abt bachira and the others making posts on twitter and crossdresser! yn does actually get in trouble with JFA so after getting scolded by them it weighs on het shoulders a lil bit (cuz how was she meant to stop them?) and now the team is mad at bachira, isagi and kurona and maybe try cheering up crossdresser! yn?

Sorry for the mouthful😅

Love the works! <33 take care( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

🌱🩷: Thank u for the request, and I am happy u are enjoying the stories so far! Hope u like this🫶🏻

Inspo

Warnings: Reader uses she/her, but since she is crossdressing here, the guys use he/him. Requests are open

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke ⚽️

"We said to watch over your team and what they post. Do you know how bad it would have been for us if the media saw that."

"Or worse, some of the investors."

"We really should switch you out as the captain. You know nothing!"

(Y/n) cringed as the higher ups of the JFA threw those words at her.

'This isn't fair. How is any of this my fault?' She bit back her words, knowing that Anri and Ego are probably eavesdropping on the conversation.

"I am sorry. It won't happen again. I took the phones away from them and Teieri-san promised we will go over with everyone what can and can't be posted." (Y/n) said, bowing down as another man rolled his eyes.

"It better not happen. As a captain you take some responsibility as well."

"I understand." (Y/n) repeated and excused herself. Walking out of the room, she ignored both Ego and Anri, she just wanted go back to her room. Anri, worried for the girl, walked after her, leaving Ego to deal with the JFA.

"(Y/n), are you alright? Please talk to me." Anri said in worry, but got no response for a good few minutes. Eventually, all the words got to her and (Y/n) stopped in her tracks.

"(Y/n)..."

"This isn't fair, Teieri-san. All of this is too much for me. I know as a captain I have certain responsibilities, but I am not the PR manager of the team." Anri watched as the girl started tearing up.

"How was I supposed to know Bachira, Isagi, and Kurona would start messing on their profiles?! I don't understand how..." The girl started sobbing and Anri pulled her into a hug.

"It's not your fault, mistakes happen. None of it is your fault."

"I am just tired. I wish I never became the captain, or joined Blue lock. Can I just leave?"

"Don't say that. Listen, go and rest for a bit. Some sleep might do you good."

While Anri tried to calm her down, neither noticed Barou and Rin spying on them... and boy, they were mad!

"Isagi, Bachira, Kurona!!" The trio tensed up as they heard Barou's yell. He was so loud and mad that it caught the attention of other teammates.

"What is this yelling about?" Nagi raised an eyebrow.

"Dunno... Barou and Rin seem angrier than usually." Kunigami shrugged his shoulders.

"What are you yelling about?" Bachira groaned as he got off the ground, Isagi and Kurona also raised an eyebrow as well.

"You three and your stupid posts earlier on are the reason he is yelling!" Rin bit back.

"You don't mean that dumb thread Bachira started? Calm down, it wasn't anything scandalous." Chigiri tried to intervene. This earned a nod from Aryu as well.

"Yeah, it was stupid, but nothing serious."

"Is it worth yelling about it? They got their phones taken away, anyway." Tokimitsu added in. He really wasn't willing to listen to any yelling right now.

"Besides, all three of us got scolded by (Y/n) already. I don't see why you two want to do it as well." Isagi's words earned him a glare from Rin.

"And all three of you should be scolded again! You are the reason he is crying now!" Barou chimed in. This caused the trio to tense up and the rest of the team to narrow their eyes.

"What do you mean with cry? He looked pretty calm when I talked to him." Gagamaru said, Hiori soon after nodding his head.

"Yeah, he even found the situation a little funny."

"Well, those old sacks at the JFA didn't find it funny. Appeared they yelled at him and threw insults at him for that thread." Rin rolled his eyes.

"Yelled at him? You aren't serious, right?" Kurona asked quietly.

"No, we aren't kidding. We heard him cry to Teieri-san about it." Barou answered. The rest of the team was pretty tense by now, shifting their focus to glare at the nervous trio.

"So, he cried? Really cried? Is he ok now?" Niko asked in worry.

"It's so weird to imagine (Y/n) cry. He is always so composed. Whatever they said, must have really stung." Reo narrowed his eyes as Nagi and Karasu cracked their knuckles.

"Let us handle them." Karasu said rather cheerfully.

"But first! You 3 need to fix this with (Y/n). It's your fault after all." Yukimiya added in, causing the attention to be on the trio again.

"You are right... we will think of something." Isagi sighed, guilty for everything as Kurona and Bachira nodded their heads.

"Maybe food will do the trick?" Bachira wondered.

"Maybe, we can help you all. But, you better apologize to (Y/n) properly, got it?" Hiori smiled at them.

"Thank you." Kurona nodded his head as Otoya cleared his throat.

"Can we now beat up the JFA members?"

"No." Kunigami and Rin said at once.

"Do it some other time, we don't want to upset (Y/n) more." Gagamaru argued.

"Let's now focus on helping you 3 out." Chigir yawned, getting off of the floor.

A few hours later and the trio had prepared the food for (Y/n) and did some of the chores she was supposed to do. After she woke up from a longer nap, she was surprised to see Isagi at her door, but didn't think much of it. The real surprise was when she was sat down at the cafeteria, and it wasn't the food that she normally ate that was served to her.

"Huh? I shouldn't be eating this? Does the system have some issues again?" (Y/n) wondered, but earned a protest from Kurona.

"Actually, Isagi and I made it for you. As an apology for what happened earlier today." Isagi nodded his head, confusing (Y/n) more.

"What do you mean?"

"We wanted to apologize for those posts we made... we got you in a lot of trouble for it. I even did the chores that you had to, so that you can relax tonight." Bachira said, smiling apologetically at her.

"Ha? You guys did all of this?"

"Mhm." They nodded their heads. The rest of the cafeteria was pretty much silent, waiting for what might happen next.

"You... you guys really didn't have to. I already said I wasn't mad, the whole thing was funny to me. It's just that the JFA made a huge fuss over it." She rolled her eyes, remembering the yelling from earlier.

"It's all good now, don't beat yourselves up over it. Now, let's eat dinner." She smiled while gesturing at the empty eats. The trio, relieved that it all worked out well in the end, nodded their heads and went to get their own food before sitting down to eat with (Y/n). And, while the rest of the team was happy to see their captain smiling again, they couldn't help but feel down over the fact that she let the trio sit with her.

'That should have been me.'

'Lucky bastards...'

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anakinsbunniee · 9 months

Text

You can never leave.

Ft: Anakin Skywalker x female reader

In the dimly lit apartment, you sat nervously on Anakin's bed, watching him engrossed in his Jedi paperwork. The invitation from your friend Padmé to visit Naboo lingered in your mind, but there was a problem – you hadn't asked Anakin yet.

„Anakinnn..” you say, dragging the 'N' a little longer than you actually intended to.

"Yeah...?" Anakin replied, not bothering to take his eyes off the documents.

"I was considering going to Naboo with Padmé. Would you..have anything against that?" you asked, your words hanging in the air.

Anakin immediately looked up, his soft expression shifting to a scowl. "Of course, I'd have something against that. Why would you want to leave?"

"As I mentioned, Padmé wanted to visit her home planet, and..and she asked me to come along," you explained quietly.

"Tell her you're busy and can't go," Anakin orders, returning to his paperwork.

"But- I already told her yes, and I really want to go. It's getting boring just sitting in your apartment all day," you huff and cross your arms, not letting go of the subject

You're clearly too focused on your thoughts to notice Anakin putting his documents back in their rightful folders and standing up, walking to the foot of the bed.

"If you want to leave me, just say that," he murmurs, his tone calculated to instill guilt. He also crosses his arms while his eyes narrow as he takes a deep breath.

"I didn't say that, Anakin! That's what you heard. I just want to go outside a little. I feel like I'm rotting inside here," you explained, frustration evident.

"Oh, you're not enjoying it here? You don't like the home I decorated for you, the home where I cover all the bills so you can live comfortably? Well, by all means, go out and have a great time with your friend, but don't even think about returning." he replies sternly, painting your innocent desire to spend time with friends as a betrayal

"Huh? Ani, what are you saying? Of course, I appreciate you decorating and financing our home, but I just want to go out a bit! and uhm..another friend of mine mentioned that you might be overreacting and- suggested that you should stop controlling me," you mumble while still looking up at him.

Anakin, however, grew angrier, wanting to know which friend of yours had suggested this. „Which friend? Padmé? Or that blonde..what's her name again, uhh..Lera?”

‘Fuck! Why did I mention that? I can't tell him it's a guy...’ you mentally curse yourself in almost every language for saying something about that friend. You can't possibly say it was Padmé or Lera..what if he asks them and they say no?

„Well? Who was it?” he asks again impatiently, clearly wanting an answer. If you wouldn't have focused on his facial expression, you barely would have noticed his jaw clenching and his eyes darkening.

„It was..It was...-” you stop talking to take a deep breath, here goes nothing. „Crane..”

Suddenly Anakin grabs your arm, dragging you off the bed and making you stand in front of him. „Crane...? Crane?! Why are you friends with that disappointment of a Jedi?! Also, didn't I tell you no guy friends?”

„Yes, but..I met Crane way before I met you..he's just like a big brother to me...”

This answer makes him livid. „Give me your phone,” he says in a dangerous low voice, and you bet that if you wouldn't give it to him right now, he would freak out. So you obviously give it to him.

As soon as he has your phone in his hand, he throws it against the wall, making it shatter into tiny and also larger pieces which makes you squeal and jump away out of shock.

„Anakin-! What the fuck?! Why would you destroy my phone! How am I supposed to message my friend-”

Before you can finish your sentence, he suddenly slaps you hard across the face, his anger getting the better of him. Your cheek is pulsating, and your eyes are burning from the tears that you try to not let fall.

„Stop crying. I barely touched you,” he replies, taking a step back from you. ”Also, you not being able to contact your friends was the whole point of me destroying the phone. Maker, how fucking dumb are you..”

Tears spill over and flow down your face like a river escaping a dam. You feel your lip trembling and your body slightly shaking at his mean actions and words.

He bends down to your eye level, his raised voice echoing uncomfortably loud in your ears. „Oh, of course, you're crying now! It's always about you, you, you..never about me! Do you even consider how I feel right now? How I might feel about my love wanting to leave me to go to another planet without me?!”

You consider responding but decide against it, fearing it might escalate further.

„And Crane! You think you can be friends with him? He just wants to tear us apart with his stupid comments, and you're too blind to see it. You're a stupid fucking whore who doesn't give a shit about her dear boyfriend, who cares so much for her.”

As he storms towards his closet, grabbing his coat, you recognize his familiar game. He gets angry, threatens to leave, and then you always come crawling back to him.

„You're acting like a bitch, and I'm sick of it. If you can't appreciate what I risk for you, we can't be together. Go on that trip with Padmé or do the stars know what”

"Don't leave me, Ani," you sob, watching him grip the door handle, ready to abandon you over a trivial argument.

"Will you stay here? Be good and stay in this apartment? Will you only leave it when I allow you to? and will you ignore your friends who are trying to tear us apart?" he asks suddenly, his voice unintentionally rises in anger the more questions he asks.

You're torn. You love Anakin, but ignoring your friends for him? Is that even acceptable? Conflicting thoughts flood your mind, tears streaming down your face.

“o-okay...I-I’ll do that...” as soon as you answer, Anakin's arms wrap around you with comforting strength, creating a secure embrace that feels both protective and tender. The firm yet gentle hold conveys a sense of warmth and reassurance, leaving you enveloped in the comforting embrace of his muscular presence.

„Shh baby..it's for the better, mhm? Don't you think I'm right? Those friends of yours are bad people. Trying to separate you and me..i'm never going to let that happen.” he asserts, skillfully molding your perception of reality. It's a subtle, toxic dance where he positions himself as the protector while holding your head to his chest to provide a false sense of comfort as you weep into it.

In his embrace, you can't shake the lingering doubt. As his words echo in your mind, you question if surrendering your friendships is truly worth the illusion of security. Deep down, a conflict brews between the love you feel for Anakin and the nagging feeling that sacrificing your connections might cost you more than you realize.

#anakin skywalker #Manipulative!Anakin #anakin #possessive!anakin #star wars #star wars anakin #star wars x reader #anakin x you #toxic relationship #anakin skywalker angst #prequel trilogy #star wars fanfiction #anakin one shot #tw physical abuse #tw toxic relationship #anakin x reader

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serenhoshi · 2 years

Text

𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Feeling angsty here ;)

For context: You and your s/o have the biggest fight you’ve ever had since you know each other (even before getting married). You’re tired and want to go out to clear up your mind, taking off your ring in the process. He sees it and...reactions below :))

Seungcheol:

He’d get more angry than anything. Visibly upset as well, he’d point at the ring while staring straight into your soul with a callous tone.

“What do you think you’re doing right now? Why did you take it off?? I’m not done right now, you’re not leaving. Put it back on.”

Jeonghan:

As angry as Seungcheol, clearly. But doesn’t show it as much. His stare would be neutral, so you’d have no idea of what hes thinking about. Maybe a bit whinier than Seungcheol? But overall he’d say similar things.

“What are you doing this? Huh? Take it back, you have to wear it.”

Joshua:

You taking off your ring would make all his anger vanish INSTANTLY. He’d stare in shock and not say anything for a few seconds, his face visibly paler than before. Then he’d get close to you, his head moving from left to right as a no motion, taking the ring and puttin it back on you. His voice shakes a bit, and is way softer.

“Don’t do this, please. Let’s talk through this calmly, I’m sorry.”

Junhui:

It would take him some time to realize what you had done, you were already putting your shoes on when he woke up from his trance. He’d block the door with his body, ring in hand. He wouldn’t know what to say yet, it would take some time for him to arrange his thoughts correctly. But he knew that he wouldn’t let you leave, not like that.

“You forgot this, please stay..”

Hoshi:

It’s kinda hard to guess how he’d react tbh. On one hand he could get angrier, screaming at you and pursuing you to put the ring back on your finger himself. On the other hand he’d be like Joshua, cooling down instantly, and begging you to stay with him to think about this together. You chose which one seems the best to you.

“Please please please wait- don’t go, i swear i’ll do better!”

Wonwoo:

Probably the first one to leave the room, he’d lock himself up in your shared bedroom, and would most likely cry because he simply doesn’t know how to handle things. After some time he’d go back to the living room, and would see your ring, set on the table. He’d automatically call you, fidgeting the ring in his hand, completely stressed out.

“Y/n? Where are you?? Should I come pick you up? Please come back, we should try to talk about it, please.”

Woozi:

He would act as if he didn’t care, but deep inside hes so scared. He’d let you leave so you get some time to cool down, but when he saw you take off your ring he automatically felt tears blur his vision. You get no news from him while you’re out, he’d lock himself in his studio, occupying his mind while producing music. You see each other once he gets back home from the studio.

“Hey,, I think we should talk, don’t you?”

Mingyu:

Wouldn’t let you take the damn ring off. He’d rush over to you and grab your hands to provide you from it. He’ll look at your straight in the eyes -and that’s when you notice that he started crying- and apologize, so SO many times. His voice is shaky and he caresses the back of your hands while begging for you to stay with him.

“I am so, so sorry for my behavior, please forgive me, i’m so sorry, i love you so much, please stay, i’m sorry.”

The8:

He’d react a bit like Woozi; he’d give you time to cool down, for him as well. It’s very rare that you get into bit arguments, you normally just talk things out but here it heated up quickly. In contrary to Woozi, he’d text you, maybe after an hour or so, to know where you are and if you’re safe. Once you get back home you actually have a calm talk as you did in the past.

"I’m glad you came back, I was really worried”

Dokyeom:

Dokyeomie would cry his eyes out. This poor man was conflicted between anger, sadness, and fear. He wanted to prevent you from leaving, so bad, but his ego and bitter anger wanted to make him ignore you, and give you the silent treatment. Out of all the members he’d be the hardest one to make up with, he thinks ignoring you and sulking is the better solution because time will calm everything down. You’re the one who will come up to him to talk, but if you don’t have your ring on then he refuses to talk.

Vernon:

He automatically takes your hands in his to prevent you from taking your ring off, looking at you straight in the eyes. Any trace of anger has disappeared, and he looks sincere, calm, almost soothing. He’ll bring you to the sofa so you both sit down and let the tension disappear. He won’t force you to talk, you both can stay silent, as long as you’re both here and you cool down.

“I’m sorry for everything. Let’s just calm down and not do anything we might regret, okay?”

Seungkwan:

He’d continue his angry speech even when you took your ring off, setting it on the kitchen counter. He’d take the ring and follow you closely, putting himself between you and the door. He’d stare at you, his eyes dark and visibly fuming with rage. He’d take you hand and forcebly put the ring back on your finger. Then he’d talk, his voice a bit calmer, but still showing irritation.

“Don’t take it off. You annoy me very much right now but not enough to divorce. I still love you a lot.”

Dino:

Would stop talking and his face would get pale, worry taking place on his face. He’d run to you at the entrance of the appartment, and trap you against him. His arms placed around your waist and his face in the crook of your neck. He’d cry a bit, and whisper apologies.

“I’m sorry, please don’t leave me, i love you, please stay”

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randomgirlyoudontknow · 7 months

Text

No one will probably read this, but as a long-time fan of ATLA (as in, I literally watched the show as it aired in 2005-2008), I wanted to share my thoughts on the live action. Let it be known that I am far from an ATLA purist––the original certainly had its own flaws and aspects that didn't age well, in retrospect. Despite the generally negative reviews I've seen from the fandom, I was actually very satisfied with this adaptation! But I’ve seen people saying that the characters were butchered, that it’s a soulless and superficial reproduction, and those who liked the live action aren’t capable of thinking/watching critically, which I wanted to push back against (I mean, I’m working on a doctorate in literature…I am quite literally incapable of watching anything uncritically).

The shift in tone to a darker, more mature one was a positive change, imo. It is definitely a much angrier show than the original, even if some of the characters were not as fiery as they should have been (*cough* Katara *cough*). Overall, while there were certainly decisions made that I didn't agree with (mainly related to pacing and narrative), I thought the cast and crew really captured the spirit of the original, and even added depth and nuance to parts I felt were initially lacking.

In general, I really appreciated the added emphasis on the cost and suffering of war and imperialism, as well as the depiction of the physical effects of bending. Now, I realize this is largely a matter of personal preference––for example, I'm very interested in depictions of war in fiction (I mean, my dissertation partially covers the impact of WWI on avant-garde art & literature, so...). But I've seen several claims that the live action glorifies war and violence in a way that is meant to traumatize the viewer, and I simply don't think that's true? While the original handled war, genocide, trauma, etc. in a phenomenal way for a kid's show in the early 2000s, it was also still sanitized when it comes to death and injury, to an extent that I feel like we, the viewers, almost lose sight of the fact that bending KILLS. Sure, we were exposed to its after effects, like the death of Katara and Sokka's mother or Zuko's scar, but there's something to be said actually seeing and acknowledging the very palpable danger that something like firebending presents.

I've even seen someone say that the show's depiction of "gratuitous violence" constitutes a "profound misunderstanding" of the source text, which I think is frankly a bad faith take. The death and violence, though more realistic, is still not a major focus of the show, nor is it glorified in any way. A glorification of violence would look like indiscriminate killing and maiming for the sake of edginess (looking at you GOT). We would see graphic depictions of death and injuries, which simply does not happen in this show (they even joke about the fact that we never see anyone die in Ember Island Players). War and fighting are still treated with the same depth and gravity as the original, only this time, the severity of its consequences isn't obscured from the viewer.

I also thought the show's handling of trauma (especially Katara's) was excellent. The choice to have Katara's mom's death revealed in flashbacks (specifically when around firebending) was something that really stood out to me. And the new characterization of Bumi, which I realize was quite unpopular, was another change I quite appreciated. His bitterness and cynicism seemed more in-line with someone who had endured 100 years of war and the suffering of his people at the hands of a brutal imperial force. Lastly, I was pleased to see the narrative attempt to address the role Iroh played in the Siege of Ba Sing Se (something that was absolutely missing from the original). The Earth Kingdom soldier confronting him and calling him a butcher was a powerful moment, for me. I truly hope the show continues to dive into this aspect of his character in future seasons.

Speaking of characters, I loved that we got extra background and insight into several of the characters. Zhao, for example, was unexpectedly quite funny, and his actor really did a phenomenal job of fleshing him out and making him feel like a real person (as slimy and smarmy as he was) rather than a stock, cartoon villain. And I have to give kudos to the actors who played Sokka and Zuko––they both did an incredible job of embodying their respective characters, in a way that felt highly reminiscent of the original. In particular, I thought the handling of Zuko's backstory was truly outstanding––perhaps even better than the original.

All in all, I felt the live action did a really nice job of balancing the darker sides with the light. While I've seen fans complaining that the show doesn't have the same goofiness and lightheartedness, I actually thought the humor worked really well––it was one of the few times I felt the overly ironic, Joss Whedonesque one-liners actually fit. Sure, the humor was a lot drier and more toned down than the original, but I nonetheless thought it carried the show's spirit well (loved that they let Sokka say “ass” not once, but twice). There were moments when I genuinely laughed out loud! I also appreciated how, despite the more mature tone, hope, friendship, and harmony still remained the most important aspect at the end of each episode.

There's a lot of room for improvement, but I was overall very satisfied with the live action, and I'm very glad that the series has been renewed. I'm very excited to see what the cast and crew does with the rest of the show!

#tl;dr i really enjoyed the live action #long post #there's honestly so much more i could say but my brain is currently fried #this is probably a little all over the place but i just finished up a book review and i am incapable of forming coherent thoughts #atla #avatar the last airbender #natla #natla positivity

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sports-on-sundays · 6 months

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Okay I figured it out !!! what if y/n is a F1 driver and she’s really close with Charles or lando and is with either Pablo , Fermin , or pedri and they get jealous of how close y/n and Charles or lando are !! And they get into an argument before the Barcelona GP and y/n thinks they won’t be there to see them race but in the end they do go and see y/n get a home podium and they make up !!

surprises in Barcelona / Pedri González

Summary: Pedri x Spanish!F1 driver!girlfriend!reader - When Y/n is in a job in which she's surrounded by nineteen male, handsome hot shots nearly all near long, it's easy for her boyfriend to get a bit jealous.

Warnings: censored cuss, arguing in a relationship, screaming, communication cut off for a while

Requested?: Yes! <3

Author's Note: OMG I LOVE IT. It's kind of funny, because I have an OC much like the reader in this story, so to be honest, that's just what I imagined while writing this.

It all starts with a stupid, petty comment.

Pedri is to the point of practically begging you for some time together, since his schedule is free. But yours isn't. You tried to explain so many times that even though you're back home in Barcelona, and not in the UK, that doesn't mean you don't have work to do before the next race here in Barcelona.

Maybe you're being a bit harsh. Maybe you should sit down with your boyfriend and snuggle him a bit. Let him have you, just for a moment, just for a short break in both of your glittery sporting lives.

But if you were starting to change your mind at all, or feeling any sympathy in the slightest, it's suddenly squashed when that stupid comment comes out of his mouth.

"Yeah, I'm sure you've got a lot of work to do. Since you clearly care about your teammate more than your own boyfriend."

Your head snaps to look at him. "Excuse me? What teammate?"

His thick, dark eyebrows knit together as he comments, crossing his arms. "You know. Your teammate. The one you constantly talk about, and joke around with? You're practically flirting by now."

This is coming as a shocker to you. This is the first time Pedri's ever voiced thoughts such as these. But you clench your jaw. "I'm sorry, but I have no idea why you feel the need to bring Lando into this-"

"Because you're putting him over me! And your job! And your team!"

"No I'm not!" you snap, then taunt a bit, "Oh, is someone getting jealous?"

"I have the right to!" Pedri is starting to get angrier, and his body straightens more. "I see how you nudge him, and hug him after good performances-"

"Everyone does that! I'm not getting mad at you for hugging your teammates after a goal is scored, am I?"

"No, but that's different!"

"In what way? Just because I'm a woman?" your lip curls in annoyance. "So I'm not allowed to have sportsmanship and camaraderie with my team, just because of my gender? Just because my teammate is a man, and I'm a woman? Give me a f*cking break!"

Pedri stands up, his face reddening, and now his voice is raised as he snaps back, "It's not that! It's that you're doing all that, and not giving me any attention! You spend more time with Norris these days than you do with me!"

"It's because he's amongst me in my job! I can't really avoid him!"

"Maybe you should try separating your job from your personal life and show me some love for once! Give me back some of the energy I give to you!" he suddenly screams.

There's a few seconds of silence, but your heart feels cold as you respond, "So I'm not allowed to have friends, then? I have to give my everything to you, and only you? Well, at least Lando doesn't expect anything more from me than what I can give."

"Yeah, and that's because you're giving him so much! Why don't you consider me?"

"Why don't you consider me?" you suddenly yell, before slamming the door of his flat shut and leaving, your head spinning with irrational thoughts.

Lando isn't just your teammate. He's also your friend. And a good friend, at that. But you figure it's hard for anyone who really knows Lando not to like him.

Now he catches you in the McLaren garage, before the first practice session of the Barcelona Grand Prix weekend. It's been a week since the argument with Pedri, and over that week, your conscience has been killing you. You tried to text him twice, but didn't get a response, and you're too nervous to call, because you don't want to face the fact that he could just decide not to pick up.

But your heart and head are aching, and clearly it shows on your face, because suddenly you feel a friendly slap on your back as Lando says, "It's your home race weekend, Y/n. Look a bit more alive!"

You shrug and force a smile. "I know. Just got some things on my mind."

"Something bad happen?" he inquires, his eyebrow cocking up a bit.

"Not really," you shrug.

As if reading your mind, Lando asks, "Will your boyfriend be able to make it this weekend?"

This question makes your head swarm.

Will he? I mean, if he's ignoring me now, why would he bother to come to the Grand Prix?

Maybe he's too busy for me, like I was for him.

You swallow as you feel a pang of guilt deep in your chest.

"Uh, I don't know... I don't think so," you say, clearing your throat.

Lando continues looking at you expectantly with big eyes, as if thinking you're going to elaborate on that. But when you don't he says with a little frown, "Well, why not? He lives in Barcelona." Lando is, obviously, aware of which famous football player is your boyfriend.

You shrug a little. "It's a long story, to be honest. But I'm fine, Lando. Don't worry. Besides, I think the best thing right now is to just focus on racing, you know?"

Lando nods slowly, not seeming fully convinced, but says, "Alright, then. Whatever you think."

You nod as he gives you another reassuring slap on the back and walks on.

You sigh.

Just have to switch my brain off into racing mode. See all those Spanish fans cheering me on.

I've got all of McLaren, including Lando, backing me.

And I've got all of Spain, except for maybe Pedri González, my own boyfriend, backing me, too.

When you get into that car, it's like the world stops moving. In all three practices, and then in qualifying. There's no worrying about jealousy, relationships, or public image. All there is is you, the car, the speed, and the other cars you, ultimately, need to beat.

All there is is the wind, the throttle, the limits you're pushing to break past.

The speed.

It's why you love racing.

You finish qualifying in fourth, and when Lando sees you in the garage, he gives you a high five and a friendly half-hug before saying, "Starting 3-4 for the race. Good job."

You smile and nod. "Thanks. You know how it is, though." You can tell he's just trying to cheer you up. He's not actually this estatic about starting in third and fourth.

"Yeah, yeah," he nods, putting on his cap. "But, hey." He makes eye contact with you. "Maybe your boy will show up for the race, at least?"

You shrug, looking down and respond simply, "Maybe." You doubt it.

You're sure you'll make it up. The next time you see him, you'll fix everything. Apologize, and explain.

It just kind of sucks that this had to all go down right before one of the few races on the calendar that Pedri can actually make it to. Your home race.

Before the race, you text Pedri.

It's left on sent, just like the other two.

"What's got you in such a good mood?" you demand to Lando, who is basically walking around the paddock like a smug little contained jar of sunshine and rainbow, being cheeky because clearly he knows something no one else does.

You know the bratty look in his eyes.

He seems to find a ridiculous amount of pleasure in this question from you as he comments, his voice drawn out in a sing-song tone, "Nothing..."

You roll your eyes and tease, "What, some cute girl asked you out? Or, what, you heard Red Bull talking about some kind of terrible problem with their car? Or, what, you overheard the full and complete ultimate strategy of Ferrari in order to take us down?"

Lando's grin grows. "All of those things would be pretty great, but unfortunately, none of them are true. Simply, nothing at all is different," he comments, like the complete and utter dork he is.

How could Pedri ever think I'd chose this loser over him? you ask yourself in rueful disbelief.

"Alright, then don't tell me!" you say with a shrug, showing you really aren't going to waste any more energy with him.

"Good, because otherwise I might slip the secret!"

At this, your eyebrows furrow, but when you glance back at Lando, he waves his hand and adds, "You'll figure it out soon enough."

For a while, you ponder on what Lando could have been talking about, but soon you're putting on your helmet, and forgetting everything.

Because you have a chance to podium at your home race, and you intend to do it.

So you pull out on track. Drive the formation lap, entering the zone, letting everything but racing slip from your mind.

Feeling the pounding of your heart and the pulsing adreniline.

And then, before you know it, it's-

Lights out, and away we go!

"So, what place is that, then?" you question over the radio in the last lap.

"Uh, that's P2, Y/n. P2," comes the response back.

It hits you. "What? I didn't even know!" you laugh high, actually so shocked. "When did that happen?"

You hear your engineer laugh and say, "Do you want the whole run down of the race right now, or later?"

You laugh to yourself as you see the chequered flag waving ahead. "And Lando?"

"Uh, Lando go P3," answers your engineer.

"Wait, really? No way! Oh, yeah, I guess so, if I got P2!"

"Well, I'm starting to doubt you even drove the race, but if you did- great job today. That's a double podium for the team and some great points. Enjoy the podium."

You laugh to yourself and say, "I could only do it because of all the home fans cheering me on. The crowd is great!"

"Oh, and that's driver of the day, too."

"Yes! Vamos, baby. Great job, everyone, and thanks to everyone who voted for me."

When you get out of the car and flip up your visor, your heart is already pounding in your chest. Lando high fives you, and then gestures to the McLaren team, ready to greet their two drivers at the finish line.

But you can see the cheeky grin still lingering from before in Lando's eyes, and now you can see exactly why.

"Pedri?!" you scream with a (quite terrible) voice crack. Immediately you run to him, and he grabs you, taking you into his arms as you feel a couple hands from your teammates patting your shoulders and helmet in congratulations.

Pedri kisses your helmet, right where the little Spanish flag on it is. He's grinning, and says, right to you, "I'm so proud of you. And I'm sorry- I wanted it to be a surprise."

You grin and respond, "We can talk stuff over right now. Right now, I've got champagne to spray, no?"

Pedri grins back and nods in agreement. "Go for it."

In the cool down room, you corner Lando and snap, "So that's what you were being so smug about! Had you seen Pedri before the race?"

Lando grins and nods, sitting down in Max's P1 chair, not caring. "Yeah. He told me not to tell you about him being there. A surprise."

"He can speak enough English to tell you that?" You've, obviously, always just spoken to him in Spanish.

Lando chuckles and says, "Well, enough."

On the podium, when you pop the champagne, you spray it at Lando, and Lando sprays it back at you and Max. Adreniline and joy fills you as you then take a swig from the bottle and rub the stinging champagne from your eyes, feeling the wetness of it all over you.

Once you've gotten off the podium and are back in the garage, you spot Pedri, and immediately run to him. You wrap your arms around him and kiss his cheek, and say right away, "I'm so sorry, Pedri."

He hugs you back, but doesn't respond.

"I've been feeling so terrible about what happened all week... And then with the silent treatment, too..." You sigh. "I should have given you some time. I could have spared even fifteen minutes, and it would have been good for both of us. I was such an idiot, putting my own thing above you. And even if I had so much to do I couldn't spare some time for you, it was things I could still work on with you. I'm sorry. I was just being a petty idiot, and there's no reason for it."

Pedri hugs you tighter, and as you speak, it feels like there's a weight being lifted off your chest. But now it's Pedri's turn to let off the weight on his chest. "It's okay... I... I forgive you. Thank you. But I was an idiot, too. It's just... I know Norris is your friend, and I don't want you to stop having friends. It just hurts when I know you see him more than you see me. But I shouldn't have even implied you would intentionally put him over me. I'm just... It's hard not to get jealous, but I need to get better. Just... it'd be nice if you... well... if you can help it, don't constantly be hugging him and stuff, you know? But over all, I was an ass, and I'm sorry. I just took my jealousy and anger out when you said you were too busy- That was wrong of me. I'm sorry for not responding to your texts, too... The first few days, I was still too stuck in my thoughts to, but then I had the idea to surprise you at the Grand Prix, and... Well, were you surprised to see me?"

You smile softly, wholeheartedly accepting his apology and understanding his point of view much more after having a week of thinking and stressing over what had happened. But now you respond, "I was perfectly surprised. I'm so glad you came, Pedri, to see me..." Now you're beaming at him.

He grins back, stroking your cheek. "I'd never, ever miss my amazing racing girlfriend's home race!"

"I know, but..."

He comments, "It was an amazing drive. For you and Norris."

"Oh, quit calling him 'Norris'! He's my friend, which means he's yours, too, whether you like it or not!"

Pedri chuckles but accepts it. "Alright, alright. But now- am I allowed to treat Miss P2 to something sweet?"

"What do you have in mind?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He smirks and says with a wink, "It's a surprise. Are you okay with a second one for today?"

You laugh a little, but nod. "I don' know if anything could be better than simply the surprise of seeing your handsome face, but I suppose another surprise would be good."

"Alright, good. But first-" he leans in closer and says softer, "Don't I get a kiss from my little winner?"

You roll your eyes and say, "I'm neither little or a winner, not today."

"Ah, but you're little compared to me," he comments, referring to you being shorter than him, "and you've certainly won my heart."

"Ah, you're so cliché!" you snap, but lean in, cupping his cheeks, and give him a passionate post-race kiss.

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