#and i let myself take it. and i let that be okay. and for now that's enough ✨

[boyfhee]

NO ESCAPEㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ─────𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗃𝗈𝖻 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗂𝗍.

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐄 ﹑ 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋⠀⠀(⠀⠀2134⠀⠀)⠀⠀♥︎⠀⠀𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑔𝑢𝑛ㅤㅤ천사ㅤㅤfirst time writing bodyguard hoon, hope you like it ◜ᴗ⁠◝

ㅤㅤㅤ𝗥𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗦 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗙𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞𝗦 ♥︎

“once again, miss,” your bodyguard sighs, lowering his hand to load the gun once again. “this is my job,”

lately, you have been insisting on learning how to use a gun. you had asked about it one night on your way back from the gala, a request that he had kindly denied, and now you’re at his training grounds.

“yes, but i should know how to protect myself,” you insist, taking a step forward. it smells like gun powder inside; and his cologne, way too familiar. “you can’t always be there for me,”

sunghoon doesn’t really like the sound of that.

you watch as his fingers swiftly move over the magazine, working through the gun to reload it. your gaze follows his movements, as always, he can feel it too.

it’s a little maddening, always driving him off the focus.

the instructions are clear— he’s supposed to protect you, always staying at an arm distance on the lookout for danger. although, there is someone that keeps gravitating him towards you.

“i will be,” he sighs, hair falling over his face. and your heart almost skips a beat when he runs his hand through his silky locks, exposing the very forehead that you wish to kiss every night. “you don’t have to worry,”

“please?” you’re playing coy. he can hear it in the way you say that word, honeyed and hypnotising, rolling off your tongue so perfectly.

he avoids looking at your face that he sees in his dreams. “no—”

“please, hoonie,”

and it’s annoying. not you, the name, the way his mind stops working for a few seconds when you call him that. he hates how you can practically crack his composure with a few sweet words and a bat of your pretty, doe eyes.

he only takes orders from you but much to his surprise, you always request. pouty lips and glassy eyes that are full of hope, you’re pouring your heart out. you request for a midnight escape and he obliges with a sigh.

sunghoon thinks if you ever requested him to take his own life, he would gladly do it for you.

“okay,” he surrenders to you, as always. “come here,”

he notices how your steps are laced with happiness, the way your eyes gleam at the sight of the firearms— or maybe his arms when he takes off his jacket and slips it over you.

your skin feels like a feather against his finger tips when he fixes your safety glasses. you hold your hair up to tie it in a ponytail and he can hardly think straight at the sight of your nape.

you shuffle through your pocket for a scrunchie and he waits and waits, before finally reaching out to hold your hair. “let me,”

every touch of his fingers against your skin ignites a silver of desire in him, he almost forgets he is on a payroll. he runs his fingers between the strands, getting them in a perfect ponytail before securing it with the spare hair tie that he always wears on his wrist, unbeknownst to you.

he can see how your face is heating up because of shyness, and how you whisper to him so dreamily when he is done. “thanks,”

he takes in the way you pick up the gun, noticing the slight tremor in your hands. first times are always nerve racking. good for you, sunghoon believes in hands on teaching.

with a swift move, he is standing behind you with arms around you to adjust your grip— slow, deliberate.

you’re going to get him fired.

“stand straight,” his hand is on your back, helping you straighten up, and then he ghosts up your waist to tuck your jaw up with the utmost tenderness. “chin up,”

sunghoon doesn’t think you’re half as nervous as he is. one arm distance? that’s long out of the room— he can barely think before his hand supports yours from behind, his handsome face right next to yours.

and you’re bad at hiding, always been, because he can see through you. every shiver, every hitch in your breath, every heart beat— thump, thump, thump— right against his chest.

he wonders if you realise his heart is beating in synchrony with yours.

“finger off the trigger until you’re ready,” he warns softly, helping you align the trajectory with the target. “and don’t fight the recoil,”

and you nod cautiously, afraid that one wrong move and your lips would be in his, although you would hardly complain. “you can let me go,”

“i’d rather not. you’re trembling,” his hold only tightens and you shout internally. as if it isn’t because of you! maybe, you should say it to his face sometime, maybe now, but then he guides your index finger to load the gun, soft, slow, gentle.

he might be writing his own death statement right now.

“focus on the target. if someone points at you, look them in the eye,” a subtle nod, your finger asserts over the trigger, and he whips his head towards you. “not yet, breathe,”

the air gets knocked out of your chest.

it’s what he does— protecting you while killing you slowly, drowning while telling you to swim, getting closer while pushing you away— it’s not his job. it’s simply what he is good at.

his hot breath caresses against your ear and a rush of adrenaline follows. a pause, he mumbles. “go,”

you fire. a miss.

there’s silence after the loud bang. it’s heavy, you can feel it, definitely not from you missing the target. you lower your hand, a step almost away from him, but sunghoon has always been quicker.

he holds you from behind again, supporting your arm. he’s closer, less tense, crazier, devoted. “let me show you again,”

[deliwrites]

𝕐𝕠𝕦'𝕣𝕖 𝕆𝕦𝕣𝕤 // Saja Boys & Huntr/x

// DATE // 29th of June 2025 → 30th of June 2025 // PAIRING // Huntr/x x Fem!Reader x Saja Boys // WARNING // Angst-ish?, I'm bad at writing award shows but I had to make it difficult for myself and make one anyways. // WORDS // 2.5k+ // SUMMARY // When a nervous solo artist unexpectedly finds herself seated between two of the biggest idol groups at an award show, she expects to be ignored - only to be met with warmth, curiosity, and a spark of something deeper. As the night unfolds and her past resurfaces, what began as a whirlwind of insecurity slowly transforms into unexpected support, and a silent promise from the people who were never supposed to notice her.

// Part One //

If I could explain it, I would. But I can’t.

I have just been hyped up on social media, by none other than Huntr/x and the Saja Boys. And I only just met them at an award show. I was obviously my clumsy self and literally stumbled into Zoey. I felt so embarrassed. I looked up to them, still do, and just went and made a fool of myself in front of them. Later that night I was assigned a seat between the two groups.

I don’t know how I got so lucky… and so unlucky at the same time. It was so hard not to freak out. What I expected was to be ignored by both groups. I was a nobody and yet I got to sit with them.

I didn’t deserve this. Not the seat, nor the proximity to them. Hell, they didn’t deserve to be seated with someone as low as me.

But they actually talked to me. At first I wasn’t sure if they were even talking to me, but when I didn’t respond Rumi placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. It startled me.

“I’m sorry, w-were you talking t-to me,” smooth y/n. I scold myself. She only smiled sweetly, like she understood.

“Is this your first award show?” she asked again.

“I- yeah,” I stuttered, grimacing as I awkwardly pulled my shoulders up. “Is it, obvious?” she nodded, chuckling softly. Probably because of the wide eyed expression on my face. Simply because this goddess of an idol was talking to me.

“Just a little,” she says, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “We’ve all been there, but don’t worry. You’re safe. We got you. Any questions you have about events like this, we can answer them,” she gestures to herself, then the girls who were now focused on my too. “Including them, right boys?” she asks the Saja boys on my other side pointedly. My cheeks heated in embarrassment, as I turn to my left where they sat.

They’re all watching me. Relaxed, effortless, like they were born to be idols. There was a shared look between them, no words spoken. A smirk here and a smugly raised brow there.

“Sure,” Jinu replys casually, shoulders lifting in an easy shrug. Smile tugged at the corner of his mouth like he knew something I didn’t.

I returned my gaze to the front, but theres a new feeling that I couldn’t shake. Like I was being watched, though if I peeked in the corner of my eyes it wasn’t them. Or was it?

“Don’t mind them,” Zoey says, waving her hand dismissively. “Relax, I know it’s nerve-wracking to be here. But it will be okay,” she lifts her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug, then lets them drop, signaling me to do the same. Then she leans back into her seat. I nod, taking a deep breath and lowering my shoulders before sinking into the seat completely. The tension finally loosening just a little.

“By the way, who are you?” It’s Baby, the maknae of the Saja Boys. Normally the silent type, but I’d heard he can be blunt. This is apparently one of those moments.

“That alone proves to me, that I should in fact not be here,” I mutter under my breath, not knowing they heard me loud and clear. Doubt settling in my throat like it did when I first walked in. I sigh and shake my head, trying to push it down. “I’m Y/n.”

Little does she know that both bands exchanged glances, stunned for a brief moment. They couldn’t understanding why she spoke so little of herself. Sure they didn’t know who she was, but they were sure there had to be a good reason for her being here. They most certainly wanted to find out more about her.

Before any of them could say anything one of the hosts entered the stage.

“Annyeonghaseyo, everyone! Welcome to this years K-pop Rising Stars Awards!” the host spread his arm wide as he spoke. Grand gestures to capture the audiences attention. “The night where we celebrate the freshest talents, the most unforgettable songs, and the idols who’ve taken this year by storm,” the moment he stops talking his co host enters the stage enthusiastically. Joining to stand beside the first host.

“Hello, hello! I’m Seyeon and alongside Minjun,” she introduces the both of them. “I’m thrilled to guide you through an incredible evening packed with excitement, anticipation and of course amazing performances,” cheers fill the venue.

“Tonight, we’ll be honoring a whopping fifteen idols and groups with well deserved awards!” Minjun exclaims, throwing an excited gesture toward the massive screen behind him as the list of categories light up in bold glittering text. I knew the Saja Boys and Huntr/x were nominated for multiple of these categories, which they absolutely deserved.

You would think that I would be nominated for ‘Rookie of the year - Solo’, or maybe ‘Hidden gem award’. Even the ‘Fan’s choice award’ would have made more sense. But no, I was nominated for the ‘Heartfelt Voice Award’. How? I still didn’t understand. It was as much of a shock for me as it was for my manager.

“So, sit back, enjoy the show, and let’s celebrate the incredible journey of our beloved idols - both those just beginning and those shining brighter than ever!” Seyeon brings the energy down gently, her voice calm and methodical as the crowd begins to settle. Turning to her co-host with a smile. “So, Minjun… what category shall we start with?”

“Let’s start with a bang!” Minjun replies with excitement. “How about we start with ‘Album of the year’,” music starts playing as the nominated albums show on the screen. Out of the corner of my eye - bottom right, just barely - I see him. My ex, Seo Jaewon. He’s looking straight at me with that smug look on his face that might as well be a middle finger in a tux, but I ignore it. I have to. I knew his group, NOIR7, was nominated for multiple awards too, including this one.

“Why is he looking this way,” Mira mumbles, just loud enough to make my stomach twist. The stiffness returns to my shoulders like a reflex. Of course she had to notice him.

I decide to just keep quiet. They don’t need my drama in their lives. Focusing my attention back to the hosts. They are both glancing at the screen.

“Wow,” Seyeon breathes. “So many incredible albums. How could we possibly decide on a winner?”

“Luckily, we don’t have to!” Minjun replies with a grin. He pulls an envelope from behind his back, Seyeon joinin ghis as he slowly, deliverately peels it open. Stretching the tension across the room. “The winner of ‘Album of the year’ is…”

“Huntr/x!”

Zoey squeals with excitement. The three hugging while the audience including myself clap. Someone even whistles. A smile graces my face with genuine happiness for the group. They pass me and the Saja boys to get to the stairs that led to the stage.

Wow, Mystery things, she looks kinda cute when she’s this happy. But it’s more than that. It’s the way her eyes light up - not just for the win. It’s adoration, an adoration she holds highly for Huntr/x.

He watches her a moment longer than necessary, feeling a pull he can’t explain. He’s so distracted by her that he doesn’t even clap for his friends win.

Rumi steps up to the microphone, Zoey holding the award, visibly excited for the win. Even though this is far from their first win. “Thank you so much for this incredible honor,” Rumi starts sincerity clear in her voice. “We’re truly grateful to our fans, who inspire us every day, and to everyone who believes in our music and message,” my heart swells warmly at her words a content sigh leaving my lips which does not go unnoticed by the boys. “This award means the world to us, and we promise to keep working hard and growing together. Thank you!”

Soon they return to their seat, placing their award on one of the three small coffee tables arranged in front of our large couch. For a while the smile doesn’t leave my lips as the categories continue. Saja Boys win two awards before NIOR7 wins one.

Jaewon smirks at me deliberately. Clapping the rest of the members on the back as they make their way to the front. Smug and cocky.

“What is up with him?” this time it’s Romance who notices. My gaze drops, fingers curling tightly into the fabric of my dress, bunching it at my thighs.

“It’s me,” I mutter. No use pretending anymore - Jaewon’s public hatred is impossible to ignore it seems. Even for them.

“What does that mean?” Mira asks, I can feel her eyes on me as I sigh in defeat. Shaking my head, I wanna scold myself for sharing this with the people that shouldn’t have to deal with my shit.

“Jaewon is my ex,” I tell them, visibly shaking with the anxiety crawling up my spine. “He’s just trying-” I take a shaky breath. “Trying to shove it down my throat that he’s better than me. Which… he is,” I hate to admit it but I’m going on a ramble now and there’s no stopping me. “We’ve been doing this the same amount of time but my music never took off-” a bitter laugh escapes me. “Meanwhile, he’s out here winning awards, selling out arenas… and I’m just a nobody,” I lift my gaze carefully, fighting back the tears pooling at the edges of my eyes. “It’s like no matter what I do, I’m always one step behind. And he… he makes sure I never forget it.”

Their faces are soft, no judgement, just understanding. My hands loosen their grip on the fabric. Taking a shaky inhale, I glance over at Jaewon who’s still holding his acceptance speech like he is the center of attention.

“Why would he do that?” Zoey’s voice is soft and gentle, reaching across Rumi to take my hand. I shrug my shoulders, an awkward near tears smile on my lips.

“I don’t know,” it’s barely a whisper as it leaves my lips. “I guess he just wants to break me down so I don’t tell-” I stop myself from finishing. Missing the look of curiosity mixed with anger from the eight around me.

“And now, with this nomination, it’s like he’s laughing at me in front of everyone,” I swallow hard, the sting of tears threatening. “I should not be nominated-”

A protective urge flares within them. They are not just interested anymore. Now they want to make sure she gets votes. Recognition, the win.

“What are you nominated for?” Jinu cuts in, his voice serious. It confuses me but I answer anyway. Telling them know the category like it made zero sense and the song I was nominated with. Their eyes flicker with a sudden recognition. Without a word, a silent agreement passes between them.

I want to ask ‘Why?’ but before I can, Jinu takes his phone out. One by one, the others do the same. Confused I turn to Rumi, Zoey and Mira. They too have their phones out. Not wanting to be rude I don’t peek but I can’t hold in my curiosity. Tears pretty much drying up instantly with the need for answers.

“What are you guys doing?”

“Getting you more votes,” Abby says like it’s obvious.

“Wh-what?” my eyes widen, completely stunned. “But- why? How?”

“When you said the song,” Romance starts while still typing on his phone. “I realised I do know the song.”

“It is a heartfelt song,” Mira adds which surprises me. They know my song. “And your voice fits it extremely well.”

“Wait, you know my song?”

“Of course,” they all say in unison. But they don’t know me..?

“How?”

“We got it sent as an offer for our album,” Rumi says. “But we declined it because we thought it should belong to the original artist.”

“But it was always my song…,” I trail off, unsure what to believe anymore. “It was never meant for others…? I never-” realization dawns on me as my eyes search for Jaewon. “He stole it. Oh my god, it makes so much sense now.”

Silence falls over the group, heavy. There is a shift in the air that brushes over my skin, but I can’t put my finger on. Zoey’s mouth parts in disbelief. Rumi’s expression darkens, jaw tight, eyes fixed on Jaewon across the room like she could burn a hole through him with her stare alone.

“He submitted it… as his,” Baby says quietly, like he’s piecing it together in real time.

That’s bastard, Romance thinks, clutching his phone tight. Composing himself quickly before his patterns show. His fingers move fast. One post goes out. Then another. Then another. Until every account he has, on every platform has a post, pushing her song. His screen glowing with the need to fix this.

“But how do you guys even know of my song?” I ask Jinu, confused cause the song wouldn’t fit their group. In my opinion.

“We got to listen to it as well because we are signed with the same label,” Jinu replies calmly, exhaling slowly, sharp and controlled, but there is fury in the stillness of his body. He keeps to himself that he still has the demo saved. That when he feels down, he listens to it on repeat.

“You wrote that song?” Mira asks, her voice almost softer now. “Every word?” I nod, taking my own phone out to show them pictures of my physical note book.

“Look, these are the lyrics,” I show them a page with crossed out lyrics, rewritten and changed again until I thought they were perfect. They all lean in. A little too close.

“Then you’re not just meant to be nominated,” Zoey says firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument, stunning me. “You’re meant to win.”

“What- no, it’s not that-” I try to protest, stumbling over my own disbelief. I don’t deserve this. Not their support. Not their attention. Not this.

But Abby speaks before I can finish. “We’re going to make damn sure you do,” his voice low and final. The others nod in agreement.

This isn’t about the award anymore. It’s about her. About what was taken from her. About giving back what belonged to her in the first place.

I sit there, stunned and overwhelmed, for the first time that night, I don’t feel so alone.

But she has no idea just how far they’re willing to go, to make sure she never feels this way again. They know not nearly enough about her yet. But they will. The song already tells them more than she realizes. Little glimpses into her heart, her fears, the way she views the world. It’s raw, honest, painful. The can’t unhear it. Can’t unsee her. She thinks they are just being kind. That it ends with some extra votes and sympathy. Doesn’t know it’s something bigger, deeper. Quiet for now, pulsing beneath the surface.

[em-orald]

“Give me another one.”

I gave the bartender my most pathetic look as he passed me a glass of water. I took a small sip and let out a heavy sigh, slumping in my chair.

“Are you sure you don’t want a whiskey like usual?” he asked me, genuine concern in his eyes.

“No. It’s just not the same any more. I don’t know what to do with myself. I hate being sober, but it’s impossible to get drunk ever since I met that fucking fae.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but if you’re going to sit here for another two hours and not order anything I have to ask you to leave.”

He gave me a pained smile, which I returned.

“Yeah, okay,” I said, putting on my coat as I stood up slowly.

I staggered towards the door in my best impression of a drunk, but halfway there I stopped, shook my head, and walked the rest of the way like normal. Even that wasn’t fun any more. I got to the door and stopped to look around, taking in the familiar surroundings. It all looked oddly distant, like a fond childhood memory I could only look back on and never touch. A group in the corner broke out into a cheer and started singing loudly, and I couldn’t help but think they were being foolish. To think that just a few days ago I would have gladly joined in on their revelry without a care. The faint smile on my face at this thought quickly faded, and I turned back towards the door. God, I could use a drink right now.

But before I could open it, it swung open from the outside with a loud bang. Two pairs of eyes stared at me in confusion. It was a couple of my best drinking buddies coming in for a raucous night at the bar.

“Oi, what are you doing leaving so early? The night just started!”

“Sorry, I can’t join you tonight. Or ever. I don’t think I’ll be coming around here again.”

They stared at me blankly and then at each other, not knowing what to say. I sighed and pushed past them, walking outside into the dark.

“Hey, wait! Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” I replied without turning around, still walking away. “Off to find another vice, I guess.”

I was too lost in thought to hear what they said after that. I just kept walking into the cold night, with no destination in mind. I could try any number of substances, I figured, as long as I could find out where to get them. But in the back of my mind lingered a fear colder than the chilly air around me.

What if the fae stole those from me too?

In a deal with a fae, you must give up something you hold dear. Whether it be your name, your first born, or something else, it must be held dear. You, gave up your addiction. It worked.

[bruciemilf]

Still very haunted by the idea of a young! Justice League AU.

They come across each other with an intentional, common goal. It feels like coincidence, but it also doesn’t. It’s destiny at work.

When Clark is 18, spoon-fed good manners, tall like a tree who thinks it’s a flower, sunshine laughing in his blood, he gently carries two cows back in the barn when he hears it.

Buildings decomposing. Faint, blaring cars dying. Soft whispers of ‘please please— oh god — I don’t want to die— what is that? What is that?!’

Metropolis cracks open. There’s a wound in the sky the police, the army, cannot heal. He tried calling. No one picked up.

It’s wide and scary and red and bleeds violently and Clark is so scared — but if he can survive being Perry White’s intern, he can survive this.

He grabs his Pa’s red flannel, ties it across his midsection, and flies faster than fear.

Clark learns two things that day.

1) He hits good, but he can’t throw a punch to save his life.

2) The scariest boy in the world has eyes that could make oceans cry.

Dressed in tactical gear, cobalt blue, bat shaped symbol drawn in neon across his chest. Runny eyeliner, smudged, mixed in stale blood running down his temple.

Glare so strong it could bury God.

The Bat carries an injured civilian on his back and two kids under his arms. Looks at Clark like someone seeing a shooting star for the first time.

Clark’s heart caves in on itself. Say something cool.

“I like your — blood.”

Clark hopes the next alien thing leaking from that gaping hole puts him out of his misery.

The boy blinks.

“How hard can you hit?”

Clark gulps. He gets a truck thrown at him and he stops it with one hand. He doesn’t even look at it.

“Pretty hard.”

—-

Barry Allen doesn’t arrive into battle. He trips into it.

Fifteen. Physics homework slams against settling air when he stops. Blur of red and shaking like a live wire. His sneakers light up when he walks.

“Hi! I’m Barry! Does anyone have a granola bar?”

Bruce blinks. He hands him one from the emergency compartment.

“Did everyone see that thing?! I mean — you can’t really miss it, I saw it from my house and thought ‘oh that’s weird I better go check it out’ and — IS THAT BLOOD?!”

Bruce, flat, “Not ours. Entirely.”

“Oh, okay. Coolcoolcoolcoolcool. “

Clark — carefully — moves Barry out of the way so he doesn’t get impaled by a car. Barry screams.

—-

Hal Jordan, 17 and 4 months, is five bad jokes in aviator glasses and holds the world by his teeth.

He sees Metropolis burn from Jupiter.

He inherited a dying wish from a good man, got chosen by a purpose three times bigger than him, and begs the council to go.

They have to debate first.

Hal can’t sit around to decide if this is the day he’s gonna be brave.

He crashes into battle like a green meteor, blasts Britney Spears from his ring (the battle remix), and pretends he’s not rotting with fear.

“Green Lantern, willing and able! No need to panic, people! Coast City represent! Let’s GOOOO— IS THAT A BROKEN LEG?!”

Bruce, half his face shielded by Kevlar, swallows a molar. “Fractured.”

Hal throws up a little. Clark cries. Barry looks a sugar rush away from exploding.

“You call yourself Green Lantern?” Bruce raises a brow, like he’s speaking to the human version of a typo.

“Yeah? What do you call yourself? Nickelback and Trauma?”

“The Bat.”

“…Man? Boy? Customised?”

“I can’t call myself Batman yet. If I do it now, it won’t be chronologically accurate.”

—

Oliver Queen, 17, watches it on the news.

He’s got a meeting at 11, a tan at 1, a court hearing for punching a senator at 3, and a half broken bow from last night’s patrol.

He’s pretty sure he’s going to die if he goes.

He knows he’ll regret it more if he doesn’t.

“We’re gonna die, aren’t we?”

Clark takes a breath, raises two fists he doesn’t know what to do with, and looks up to a dying sky like he’s begging it to last longer. He doesn’t answer.

He just looks at Bruce, summer blue eyes wide, fear melted over.

“I’m not hitting until you do.”

So Bruce does.

—-

A girl, taller than all of them, older than all of them, grin sharper than her sword, pierces through battle like she has war on a leash.

Diana is 18, — in their years. She kills three aliens in under a minute.

Covered in guts and glory and sunny, walks up to them like nothing.

“We will fight together, yes?”

They all nod, a bit too scared of finding out what happens if they don’t.

[norrisjpg]

── ☆ golf buggies & club cocktails

════════════════════════

series my kind of woman, LN⁴

content: swearing, the monaco grand prix, max being mean, cheek kisses, forehead kisses, charles & alexandra being icons!!

pairing: lando norris x fem!oc

rora's thoughts: this bitch was thirty-one pages long on google docs, absolutely crazy behaviour from myself here. and because it's so long, it's not proof-read so sorry for any typos. i hope you enjoy!!

════════════════════════

IT WAS UNEXPECTED to say the least, lily hadn’t expected to hear from lando for a couple months at least – between travel and sponsor dinners, his schedule didn’t exactly leave time for spontaneous invitations, especially to his best friend’s younger sister.

but, the notification arrived on friday evening, just as she was curled up in her flat watching reruns of would i lie to you? and trying to forget the awkward voicemail harry had left her earlier.

lando sent a voice note.

voicenote [0.28] “hellooo, i’m driving so this is easier for me to do rather than message you – sorry if you hate voice notes. [pause] uh, anyway, are you still coming here for that movie premiere? ‘cause i’m just saying, if you need somewhere to stay, you can stay with me if you want. [indicator clicking] what the fuck is this guy doing– anyway, sorry, yeah the hotels here are so expensive, so you may as well stay with me, if you want, no pressure. [pause] yeah, that’s all, let me know, bye lala.”

she smiled down at her phone, the warmth blooming quickly in her chest.

lily sent a voice note.

voicenote [0.36] “um…hi. i don’t usually do voice notes, i hate the sound of my own voice [laughs]. but yeah, thankyou for the offer, i’d– [pause] i’d like that, yeah, thankyou, lando. i get in at nine on tuesday morning, and the premiere is on wednesday evening, so [pause] yeah, i haven’t booked a flight back yet, but i’ll probably leave on thursday morning or something. [pause] okay, yeah, i’ll get an uber booked for tuesday, so if you could send me your address that would be helpful. thankyou, bye lan.”

her voice softly echoed around his mclaren, and he smiled, almost taking his concentration off of the road for a moment. 

lando sent a voice note.

voicenote [0.37] “ah, well i feel privileged then, la. don’t worry about booking an uber, i’ll come and pick you up from the airport. and it’s monaco this weekend, so if you’re not busy [pause] would you maybe like to come for the weekend? you can come in the garage and stuff, plus you know cam and jon and everyone now, so yeah. [pause] i mean, i’m not really giving you an option, unless you hate the idea of it. oh and then you can fly back with me on tuesday, we’re going back to the factory for a few days, so don’t worry about booking a flight back [pause] let me know.”

his voice, relaxed, boyish, and slightly muffled like he was speaking into his hoodie sleeve. it filled the space like warmth curling around her ribs.

lily sent a voice note.

voicenote [0.14] “oh, yeah, okay that sounds good. thankyou, lando. i obviously would never turn down coming to a race weekend, but yeah, if you’re willing to put up with me for that long, i’d really like that, so thankyou, again – cool, bye.”

lando sent a message. oh and pack some golfing appropriate clothes :)

• • • •

TUESDAY arrived quickly, and with it, a blinding mediterranean sun that lit up monaco like a dream. lily stepped off of the plane, dark sunglasses perched on her head, blue & white linen draped around her hips, paired with a navy tank top. nice always made her feel like she was in some sort of perfume ad, soft clouds cutting across the sky, and water that looked photoshopped. lando was waiting just outside of arrivals, sunglasses over his eyes, with a less-than-discreet quadrant cap pulled low over his forehead. 

“you came.” the mclaren driver smiled as he hugged the girl. 

“you asked me to,” lily replied softly. “plus, i never turn down free accommodation.”

“you didn’t reply for an hour, thought you’d ghosted me.” he laughed, and took her bag without asking, effortlessly sliding it into the boot, before opening the passenger side door. 

“ever heard of airplane mode?” she laughed, slipping into the car and clipping her seatbelt on. “thankyou.”

he rolled his eyes with a gentle chuckle, flicking the door shut and heading to the driver’s seat.

they made the drive back to monaco with the windows cracked open, music drifting between the two of them. lando didn’t talk much – not because he was tired or didn’t want to, he just didn’t need to fill the silence. instead, he looked over at her occasionally with a half-smile, like he was still a little in awe that she was actually there.

his apartment hadn’t changed. it was still warm-toned, a little messy in a charming way. shoes in a pile by the front door, a random golf club next to the coat rack, as if it had been forgotten mid-practice swing. it was him, cedarwood and lemon, soft around the edges. sunlight spilled in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the cozy accents of the apartment. 

“you’re in here,” lando said, opening his bedroom door. “clean sheets, the whole lot.”

“where are you sleeping?” she asked as lando lifted her suitcase onto the bed.

“couch.”

“lando–”

“i’m not arguing with you about this,” he shook his head. “you’ll lose.”

lily rolled her eyes, but smiled. “okay, but i don’t like this.”

“you’ll live, won’t you?” he quipped. 

• • • •

BY EARLY AFTERNOON, they were pulling into a quiet, palm-lined golf course just outside of the principality. carlos and rebecca were waiting at the club’s edge, both in stylish sunglasses and crisp clothes. carlos waved dramatically the moment he spotted them.

“buenas mañanas!” carlos called, “finally, the recluse is here.”

lando rolled his eyes, “i’ve literally been outside for like twelve hours this week, shut up.”

rebecca laughed, stepping in to hug lily, her arms cool from the breeze and her perfume like white flowers and sunscreen. “so nice to finally meet you,” she said warmly. “i’ve been waiting for lando to introduce us.”

“same here,” lily replied, surprised at how natural it already felt. “you look like you belong in a magazine, by the way.”

carlos scoffed, “tell her again, she spent twenty minutes looking for the shoes.”

“i’m committed to the cause.” the taller girl shrugged. 

“respect.” the british girl replied with a grin.

they teed off just after two, the sun blazing down over the monaco cliffs, heat radiating off the green in shimmering waves. lando and carlos jumped into the front of the buggy, arguing about who got to drive, while lily and rebecca quietly slipped into the back. carlos ended up winning said argument, and accelerated quite quickly toward the first hole.

“does she know?” carlos asked casually, swinging the club next to him mindlessly as they walked away from the cart.

“does who know what?”

the williams driver raised an eyebrow, “lily, that you’re head-over-heels.”

lando nearly dropped the club in his hand. “what–no, i’m not–”

“she’s sleeping in your bed, mate.” carlos said, amused. “you picked her up from the airport, you’re practically writing her poetry–”

“you’re reading too much into it.” the brit shook his head, trying not to smile. “and poetry, seriously?”

carlos just smiled knowingly. “you keep telling yourself that, i’ll just ignore the way you looked at her when she fixed her hair in the buggy mirror.”

lando said nothing, because honestly, he had nothing to say. he had noticed. she’d tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and he’d caught himself staring for a little longer than was friendly, and a lot longer than was smart.

“she’s max’s sister.” he muttered, hitting the ball a little harder than necessary. 

carlos hummed, “if it keeps you warm at night.”

by the third hole, rebecca and lily had opted to walk the stretch between shots, after lando had hit his ball into a pond by accident. 

“lando wouldn’t shut up about you after miami, you know?” rebecca said out of the blue.

lily blinked, “what?”

“he was being all casual about it, but every other word was ‘lily thinks’ or something to do with you.” the scottish girl grinned. “and that boy doesn’t usually talk that much about anything.”

the younger girl looked down at her flats, a flush she was so desperately trying to fight rising to her cheeks.

“he’s comfortable around you,” she said more gently. “that’s rare with the drivers, they may as well live in a pressure cooker.”

lily smiled, “he’s easy to be around, i guess.”

“yeah, especially when he’s pretending not to stare.”

when the seventh hole came around, lando had finally convinced lily to tee up. but, he didn’t get to see it, as his ball flew off near the trees, so he had to go and find it. 

“relax your grip, lils.” carlos said, “you’re overcorrecting.”

“since when are you a coach?”

“since lando slices his shot every time you smile at him.”

lily turned, stunned into laughter, but carlos just grinned, “you didn’t hear it from me, though.”

the sun had dipped lower by the time carlos had won at the final hole, casting gold across the hills. everyone had loosened up – laughter was easy, and the teasing was relentless. lando had finally stopped trying to hide how he was looking at lily, from carlos at least.

“you’ve got it bad.” rebecca said, nudging lando’s shoulder.

lando didn’t argue this time. he just looked at lily, walking ahead with carlos – laughter floating on the breeze – and nodded once.

“whatever you say.”

• • • •

AFTER DINNER, back at the apartment, the streets of monaco had quieted into something soft and still – the kind of quiet only a coastal city could offer. the streets below glimmered with the last of the marina lights, and the only sounds inside were the low hum of the fridge and the creak of lando’s floorboards as they both moved around. 

lily had changed into one of her oversized shirts – one of max’s old karting sponsor t-shirts she’d stolen a few years ago – and padded into the kitchen, quietly due to the material of the fluffy socks on her feet. lando was stood there, boiling the kettle, barefoot and hoodie-clad, curls slightly damp from the quick shower he’d had.

the driver looked up when she appeared, eyebrows raised. “tea?”

“please,” she nodded, walking closer. “peppermint, if you have it.”

“what do you take me for?” lando replied, mock-offended. “of course i’ve got it.”

she laughed and leant against the counter beside him, the stretch of space between them warm but unspoken. the kind of closeness that felt domestic, familiar. not unusual, but newly charged.

their fingers brushed together when he handed her the mug a minute or so later, and she smiled, “thanks.”

“always,” he nodded, the two of them falling in-step toward the couch. “movie?”

the pair plopped down on the couch, lily stretching her legs out, and lando letting her rest her feet on his lap. without speaking, he pulled the blanket over her lower body, and switched the tv on. it smelled like washing powder and sea salt, warm and inviting. 

“looking forward to your premiere tomorrow night?” the mclaren driver asked, pressing play on some cheesy rom-com. 

“i guess.” she shrugged, “actually, i wanted to ask you, do you want to come as my plus-one? platonically, of course, no pressure.”

“awh, afraid you’ll miss me too much?”

“yep, that’s the number one reason.” she retorted, voice laced with sarcasm. 

“then of course i’ll go with you.” he shot back with a soft laugh. “it’s black tie, right? what colour is your dress?”

“navy, it’s like my go-to colour.”

lando smiled, naturally resting his hand on her ankle, rubbing small circles across the skin – soft, thoughtless, familiar. 

she didn’t say a word.

she just smiled and nodded – while her brain seemed to melt. 

• • • •

THE RED CARPET was filled with flashes and shouting, and the theatre steps under lily’s heels glittered like a mirrorball. monaco never did subtle, especially not on nights like this – the air shimmered with perfume, heat, and the weight of too many egos trying not to look impressed.

lily held her chin high, a soft smile fixed on her face as lando fell into step beside her. his hand hovered gently at her lower back, not touching, but enough to feel the static electricity radiating off of his palm. she glanced at him, and he smiled – boyish and slightly nervous, as if this sort of thing wasn’t second nature to him by now. 

“you okay?” he murmured under his breath. 

“peachy,” she breathed. “you?”

“terrified,” lando smiled for the cameras. “i’m not used to being the plus-one, but it’s nice to not be asked questions.”

“well, you make a very pretty accessory, mr. norris.” she teased, glancing upward at him as the cameras captured the moment.

he looked at her then, properly – slow and deliberate, eyes dragging across her face, her earrings, the sweep of her collarbone – and sighed.

“you look–” the driver paused, lips parting slightly. “you look gorgeous, lala.”

she laughed in an attempt to prevent the heat rising up to her neck. “thankyou, but you’re just saying that because i let you pick the playlist in the car.”

the brit was about to reply, but photographers started calling their names. they posed briefly for media photos and the camera – lando standing just a little too close, lily’s smile softening whenever he leant in to speak to her. journalists yelled, but they didn’t stop long enough for a full interview. they slipped inside together, through the lobby and into the hush of the velvet-curtain theatre, where the music from the foyer faded into a quiet that felt like relief. 

their seats were front-row-adjacent, tucked into a plush middle row surrounded by industry people lily half-recognised from magazines. she scanned the programme as they sat. 

“so, what’s the plot?” lando leaned in closer, speaking quietly.

“something about a long-lost daughter reconnecting with her mother, a bit emotional.”

he blinked, “and you invited me to this?”

“you like crying.” she deadpanned.

he nudged her foot with his own, shaking his head. “hey, only when i die in tarkov.”

the movie began, and lily expected lando to fidget, whisper snide little comments and complain halfway through, but he was strangely stuff. he only really shifted once, when she tried to pull the large slit on her dress closed, and he draped his suit jacket over her legs without a word. their arms pressed against each other in the midst of the film, skin warm where they touched, and even in the flicker of the screenlight, she could feel his gaze drift to her sometimes.

by the time the credits rolled, her throat was a little thick. she blinked quickly, brushing under her eyes as the lights came up.

lando glanced over, “you cried.”

she shook her head, “so did you.”

“did not.”

“you’re sniffling?” lily laughed softly.

“shut up,” he rolled his eyes with a smile. “come on, let’s go be fake celebrities at the afterparty.”

he grabbed her hand and gently pulled her along behind him, while she was laughing at him.

“you are a celebrity?”

 • • • •

THE ROOFTOP AFTER-PARTY shimmered with the kind of effortless opulence monaco seemed to do best – glass railings framed by fairy lights, flickering candle-lit tables tucked between oversized potted plants, and a panoramic view of the marina where yachts glowed like floating constellations. the music was soft but rhythmic – a quite bassline pulsing under the clinking of glasses and easy laughter of film producers, models and industry stars.

lily stood near the edge, one hand curled around a coupe glass, the other resting lightly on the railing as she took it all in. the dress she wore – a floor-length slip of navy silk – caught the warm light with every movement, clinging just enough to hint at the silhouette beneath. the halter neckline left her shoulders practically bare, a low, open back dipped to just above her waist. her hair was pinned loosely, strands falling in soft waves around her face, and small sapphire earrings glinted against her skin. 

lando, beside her, donned a sharp, black suit tailored to perfection – the kind that moved with him, soft-shouldered and just a little undone in a way that felt intentional. his tie matched her dress perfectly, almost down to the colour-swatch – a deep, navy silk, he’d had delivered to his apartment when he’d seen the colour of her dress after her arrival.

he’d looked at her differently the moment she’d stepped out of his bedroom, adjusting the clasp of her necklace. nothing was said at first – he just stared, one hand stuffed in his pocket while the other tightened around the doorframe, like he needed something to keep himself upright.

“you–” he’d started, then blinked, and laughed once under his breath. “yeah. okay. wow.”

she’d smiled, brushing the invisible lint off of the silk. “thankyou, i think.”

now, hours later, he hadn’t drifted more than two feet from her since they arrived in his car. always within reach. always with a hand wrapped loosely around a drink he didn’t have any interest in actually drinking. she introduced him with casual pride, and he let his gaze linger when he thought she wasn’t looking, and innocently adjusted her necklace once when the clasp shifted – his fingers brushing the nape of her neck, warm and careful.

“you alright?” he asked softly, leaning toward her as another tray of champagne floated past.

“i’m all good.” lily nodded, glancing at him briefly. “you?”

“trying to not look like a bodyguard,” he shrugged. “thankyou for inviting me, too.”

“thankyou for coming. i don’t know what i’d have done on my own.”

the words were about to come out of his mouth, but then it happened.

“lils?”

her smile faltered before she turned, lando saw it. her posture shifted, a little more reserved and precise than previous. 

he walked toward them, navy shirt unbuttoned just a little too far, hair styled to look like he hadn’t tried (but absolutely had), and with the easy swagger of someone used to being in the centre of the room.

“harry, hi.” lily met him with a half-polite hug.

“you look–” he paused, letting his eyes sweep over her in a way she didn’t appreciate. “incredible.”

“thanks. um– this is lando,” she said quickly, stepping back slightly toward the driver. “lando, this is harry.”

lando extended a hand, short and clean. “nice to meet you.”

harry shook it like he’d been asked to participate in a game he didn’t want to play. “didn’t know you were into the whole formula 1 thing, lils.”

“oh, yeah, i am.” she replied, breezy but pointed. “but i’m into good company too.”

his grin thinned slightly, “right.”

he turned away a few moments later, drifting toward the bar like a man who’d realised he was playing second fiddle all of a sudden.

“that’s the guy max is always moaning about?” lando shifted his stance, speaking a little less softly than before.

“yeah.” lily, for some reason, felt the need to avoid his gaze, so she did. 

he didn’t say anything else, he didn’t need to. because, lily felt the shift. like a nozzle had turned ever-so-slightly, turning his temperature just a little colder. the quiet withdrawal, the shortness in his tone, the way his smile looked a tiny bit more forced. but he didn’t move away, didn’t act cold, but he was just less present. as if he’d realised that maybe he shouldn’t be acting the way he was, when she had another man in her life. it didn’t matter, she was max’s sister, he shouldn’t be behaving in that manner anyway. 

but, he stayed polite. attentive, even. but the teasing stopped, the closeness they’d been circling all evening retreated, not massively, but just enough to feel like something was missing.

lily noticed.

and, for the first time in a long time, she found herself wishing that harry had never shown up. 

• • • •

THURSDAY MORNING brought around a normality that lily could definitely get used to. there was just something about the monaco paddock that made the air feel charged – like it buzzed just beneath the skin. the narrow pathways, the glittering harbour at its edge, the low hum of media crews and team radios echoing against polished motorhomes – it was all tightly wound, glamorous chaos. lily had never seen anything like it, even after miami. 

the mclaren garage was a different kind of buzz though – cooler in tone, louder in sound. compressed air hissed from wheel guns, laptops blinked with data streams, and mechanics moved like they were conducting some invisible orchestra. it smelled faintly of tyre rubber and motor oil, sharp and sterile but somehow comforting too.

lando walked beside her, already in his media gear – papaya polo and black shorts, lanyard dangling around his neck, along with the double-ringed necklace he always seemed to wear. his curls were still damp, from the ridiculously quick shower he’d taken before they’d left the apartment together. there was this energy to him – maybe it was kinetic, she wasn’t sure – but he was sharper than usual, as if he was mentally in the car already.

“you really don’t have to give me a tour, lan.” lily told him as they entered the hospitality. “you gave me one in miami.”

“but you haven’t had the monaco edition.” lando replied with a grin, adjusting the pass around his neck. “monaco always hits different.”

he walked past the engineers’ station – desks lined with monitors, headphones slung over chair backs, screens flickering with telemetry data. he explained everything again, half because he loved the sport, half because he clearly liked having her there.

“lando, media pen in two minutes!” a ginger-haired girl called, beckoning lando over to her. 

“go, i’ll survive.” lily nodded, ushering him away and earning a thankful smile from the girl. 

he nodded, gently squeezing her waist as he slipped past. she watched as he walked off toward the pen – a little stiff in the shoulders, a little quieter in his steps than usual.

she turned her gaze back to the garage – only to find a familiar figure watching her with a mild curiosity from a few feet away – who then pushed himself off of the wall and stepped toward her.

“lily, right?” the australian asked, holding out his hand. “i’m oscar.”

“i know,” she laughed, shaking it. “not in a weird way, lando’s mentioned you.”

“could say the same.” oscar nodded. “that’s either good or bad, that he’s mentioned me.”

“all good, he likes you.” 

he smiled, rare – soft and genuine. “that’s nice to hear, and again, i could say the same.”

they chatted easily – about the weather, monaco’s unique energy, and about how exhausting media day actually was. oscar had a dry, understated sense of humour that kept her laughing for longer than she’d expected.

in all honesty, oscar hadn’t expected to like her so quickly. he and lando were almost complete opposites, but there was something disarmingly warm about lily fewtrell. she wasn’t loud or overly confident – the way some people in the paddock pretended to be – she had this calm kind of presence that settled in naturally, like she belonged without ever trying to. she asked questions, but soft ones, ones that didn’t feel pressure-filled or forced. she listened more than she spoke too, but when she did speak, there was a subtle sharpness behind her humour that made him laugh for longer than he’d intended to. 

and the way she said lando talked about him – with that easy smile, like it was obvious lando respected him – made oscar quietly soften, letting his guard down. the driver had expected her to be gorgeous, she was max’s sister, and lando had hovered around her name for a couple weeks now – but really? he’d expected an empty model with no real knowledge of the sport.

he hadn’t expected honesty, or the quiet charm, or how she seemed to beam when oscar brought up his teammate.

“oi,” lando called with a grin. “what are you two conspiring about?”

“your dramatic relationship with… everything.” oscar teased, waving at the papaya driver.

he rolled his eyes, “please don’t scare her off.”

“too late for that.” lily quipped with a laugh.

later in the evening, the paddock transformed into something golden – soft with twilight, the light catching on camera lenses and sunglass frames, everything washed in a golden-blue haze. the pair walked beside each other, lando still clad in papaya and complaining about how uncomfortable the press conference sofa was. her trainers were quiet on the painted walkways, padding along beside him as he casually greeted people – nodding to a mechanic there, fist-bumping a junior driver there.

“there you are,” charles called, waving as they spotted the pair rounding the corner toward them. “thought you were hiding from us.”

“we were.” lando grinned, shaking charles’ hand.

the woman stood behind charles looked like she’d stepped off the pages of vogue itself – effortlessly elegant in a blush-pink tweed co-ord that felt both vintage chanel and distinctly modern at the same time. the cropped jacket hugged her waist, just above the matching mini-skirt that hit mid-thigh and showcased her with unapologetic confidence. even in a paddock full of stylists, models and celebrities – she drew attention, easy and unbothered in the way she carried herself, because she belonged there.

so, when she hugged lily with that warm, familiar smile, she did it like they’d been friends for years, and from the outside it’d have easy to assume just that. 

“i’m alexandra, lovely to meet you,” alexandra smiled, her voice warm and light with an accent that softened all her vowels. “i’ve heard so much about you.”

“i’ve heard that a lot today,” lily laughed softly. “nice to meet you too.”

“i’m stealing her,” the french woman added, looping her arm through lily’s. “go away, boys.”

“wait, where are we going?”

“to get coffee,” she replied cheerfully. “and i’ll give you the girlfriend tour.”

“oh, we’re not–”

“–bye, you two!”

alexandra had picked up on it immediately. she could see it in the way lando leaned in slightly whenever lily spoke. the way he always seemed aware of where she was standing, what expression she was making, if she was too warm, too quiet, too crowded. she’d never seen that look on him before, but it wasn’t one a man wore casually.

charles noticed too. lando, who could be jittery and a little anxious during race weekends, looked anchored. grounded, even. not overly affectionate, not overcompensating, not distracting himself. just calm. attentive in a way charles had never seen before, like someone quiet in him had softly awoken for the time being.

“at least she’ll get to know what she’s dealing with.” charles shrugged as the two girls disappeared together.

lando muttered something under his breath, but the monegasque just grinned. “i like her,” the ferrari driver said quietly. “she’s good for you.”

“i know,” the other driver sighed, pursing his lips. “but she’s max’s sister, so… yeah.”

“and?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “you’re allowed to like someone who’s good for you, you know? no matter who they are.”

lando didn’t reply, just gave charles a look. 

but he didn’t disagree either.

• • • •

THE SCENT of grilled chicken and caesar sauce filled lando’s monaco apartment, rich with garlic, olive oil, and lemon. lily stood in the sleek kitchen, socks on her feet and humming under her breath as she chopped crisp romaine lettuce and tossed it into a bowl beside the halved cherry tomatoes and freshly-shaved parmesan. the girl moved with ease, sleeves rolled-up, hair pinned back into a loose bun as she layered the wraps she’d insisted on making lando. 

“you’re telling me that you just whip this up?” lando leaned against the kitchen island, clad in a matching hoodie and joggers, looking mildly scandalised as he watched her work. “like, casually?”

“i cook for myself all the time, lando.” lily replied, amused. “i don’t live off of uber eats, like some people i know.”

“hey, that’s slander.” he held up his hands.

she smirked, “yes, but is it wrong?”

lando paused, looking down at his feet. “no.”

she placed the wrap on a plate and slid it over to lando, before sitting on the barstool at the kitchen island, nursing a glass of water. he took a bite – a big one – and his eyes widened mid-chew.

“oh my god,” he practically moaned, muffled. “you’re joking.”

lily blinked with a laugh. “in a good way?”

“the best way,” he said, finished the bite and already reaching for more. “you have to send me the recipe for this, please.”

“secret.” she said, smugly.

“i’m marrying you.”

she laughed, trying to hide the fact that she was blushing slightly. “bit forward, norris.”

he chuckled, but didn’t double down. “seriously, you could open a restaurant.”

“or just keep cooking for you?”

“i wouldn’t complain.” he looked at her then – really looked. and for a moment, something she didn’t want to read flickered in his eyes. but, he just smiled.

they ate in comfortable silence for a while, both perched at the island with the quiet hum of monaco nightlife filtering in through the open balcony doors. the city sounded softer from above – car engines humming in the distance, the faint call of seagulls, a burst of laughter from somewhere down below. 

the pair were interrupted though, by the rhythmic buzzing of lily’s phone on the side, and her smile slipped a little the second she saw the name on her screen.

max.

lando, sensing and witnessing her change in demeanour. “you okay?”

“yeah, it’s just max.” she nodded, pursing her lips. “be back in a minute.”

he gave her a subtle nod, then turned back to the kitchen, pretending to be interested in loading the dishwasher as she slipped away – and the door to his bedroom clicked shut behind her.

“hey,” she said, softly.

“you’re all over getty.” max didn’t waste time, apparently.

lily frowned, almost laughing at his bluntness. “hi max, nice to speak to you too, how are you?”

“i’m serious, lily. what the fuck were you doing at the premiere with lando?”

“i invited him.” she replied casually. “i’m staying with him, and i thought he might like to go.”

“you’re what– you know what, nevermind.” her older brother mumbled. “do you know what people are saying?”

“why do you care so much, max?” lily’s stomach turned a little. “you’re the one who brought me to surrey to see him, you’re the one who brought me to miami with you – you don’t expect us to only hang out when you’re around, do you?”

“you’re my sister.” max snapped. “and he’s my best friend. there’s boundaries, lils. and it’s not like lando is ready to settle down like you are–”

“do you not trust me or something?” lily’s voice came quietly, almost hurt. “lando and i are just friends.”

on the other side of the door, lando had paused mid-step to the laundry room, now frozen in the hallway. he hadn’t meant to listen, but lily’s gentle voice carried through the thin walls, and glimpses of max’s more frustrated tone seeped through into the background too. 

“that’s not what this is about, lily.”

“isn’t it? i don’t understand what your issue with this is.”

“just–” he sighed. “just be careful with him, okay? he’s not like… harry, which is probably a good thing– but just… go careful, alright?”

“i’m not a child, max.”

“i know, but you seem to act like one sometimes.”

lily ended the call without saying goodbye. 

she sat on the edge of his bed for a minute, staring at the carpet. her chest felt tight, like every word she so badly wanted to scream at him had tangled up in her throat and left her heart aching. 

outside, lando moved back into the kitchen, pretending he hadn’t heard a thing. a few moments later, she emerged, composed but quiet, her eyes avoiding him.

“everything okay?” he asked gently, shutting the dishwasher.

lily nodded, forcing a smile. “yeah, just… brother things.”

he didn’t push, just hummed and started moving toward the fridge.

“dessert?”

that made her laugh, even if only a little. “all you have in your fridge is three-day-old pizza and protein shakes.”

“i’ll find something.”

“if you bring me out an old easter egg–”

he was already halfway to the pantry.

• • • •

FRIDAY MORNING came with the thrum of excitement and lots of anticipation. lily woke early to the smell of coffee and the far-off buzz of drones circling the coastline. the streets of monaco were already alive below the balcony – winding roads closed off, marshals in fluorescent orange guiding teams and fans into position, and the soft, intermittent roar of engines as pit lanes systems checks began. 

she stretched in lando’s bed, the morning sun pouring through the half-closed curtains, and felt a weird mixture of nerves and peace. the kind of quiet waiting that came with feeling completely out of place and entirely at home all at once.

by the time she padded into the kitchen, the apartment was already quietly humming with movement. lando had one airpod in, pacing lightly between sips of coffee and gulping down the protein shake on the countertop, wearing his mclaren team shirt and loose jeans, but no shoes – hair still damp from the shower.

“morning,” he spoke, glancing up and immediately softening when he saw her. “sleep alright?”

“like a baby,” she yawned, leaning on the counter beside him. “you?”

“pretty good, actually.” he shrugged. “breakfast?”

“i can cook some, if you want.” lily smiled.

“you do and i’ll fall in love.”

he said it so casually that it made her heart skip, though she couldn’t tell if he noticed – probably not.

“i’ll take that as a yes.” she teased.

the paddock felt different on practice day. louder, tighter. the air buzzed with heat and pressure, reporters already prowling for quotes and engineers frowning at data tablets like their lives depended on it. lily stayed close to the mclaren garage, tucked out of the way but still within view. lando had essentially told her to hang out wherever she liked, but she didn’t want to be a distraction. she was content with people-watching, sipping her to-go coffee, and soaking up the atmosphere.

jon found her first – she didn’t look out of place anymore, so she was a little more difficult to spot – if anything, she looked like she belonged. confident in her quiet way, comfortable on the soft edges of chaos. he stopped beside her with an easy nod, the same unhurried presence she remembered from miami. 

“thought i’d see you around here,” she smiled. 

jon smiled back, pleased to see the girl. “i didn’t scare you off last time, then.”

“hardly.” she replied, shaking her head.

“lando’s been a lot less… unbearable since you arrived.”

she laughed, a little surprised. “i’ll take that as a compliment, i think.”

“it was meant as one.” he paused, glancing into the garage to see lando deep in conversation with his race engineer. “he’s good when you’re here, less anxious.”

“really?” lily blinked, caught off-guard.

“yeah,” the performance coach said simply. “he’s not an easy person to read, but the difference is obvious.”

her heart gave a small, traitorous flutter.

“i don’t think i do much,” she admitted.

“you do more than you realise,” jon replied, nodding honestly.

she looked down at her coffee cup, unsure of what to reply to that with. no one had ever said something like that to her before – not in a way that felt so steady or sure.

he didn’t press – just nodded and added, “whatever’s going on between you two, it’s good for him.”

she glanced at lando again, who was still listening to his engineer intently, brow furrowed in concentration. but, then he glanced back at her – just briefly – but long enough for his expression to soften.

“i think he’s good for me, too.”

after the chaos of practices and media had settled, the sun had dipped low over the monaco skyline, turning the air golden as shadows stretched long across the paddock. the end of the second free practice session brought a slower rhythm to the once-frantic corridors, crew members wheeling equipment back into trucks, admin staff tapping restlessly at their phones, and a few remaining drivers giving rushed interviews before disappearing into the team motorhomes.

lily walked beside lando, her badge swinging gently at her chest, a navy mclaren hoodie draped loosely around her shoulders – his, oversized and soft. he’d tossed it to her earlier when the breeze had picked up and made a quiet joke about her team loyalty. it hadn’t left her body since.

“hey, lovebirds!”

lando groaned quietly before he turned. “why do i regret this already?”

alexandra was arm-in-arm with charles, who looked way to happy for a man who’d been losing his mind over brake issues all afternoon. they caught up quickly, alexandra slipping in beside lily, charles slinging an arm over lando’s shoulders.

“we were just talking about you two.” he said, squeezing the driver’s shoulder.

“oh no,” lily said, mock-horror blooming across her face. “should i be worried?”

“deeply.” alexandra quipped, sliding her arm through lily’s.

“alex thought you lived here.” charles chimed in.

“not quite.” the british girl laughed.

the french girl tilted her head, smiling. “but you could, couldn’t you?”

there was something light in her voice, curious too – a gentle nudge. lando didn’t say anything, just turned a pretty pink colour and averted his gaze. 

“you’re adjusting to the paddock well,” charles pointed out. “mclaren hoodie, i see? it looks a lot like lando’s.”

“she was cold.” lando, who had up until that point looked like he was begging the ground to swallow him whole, finally looked up. 

“sure,” alexandra said sweetly. “that’s why it’s been doused in your aftershave.”

lando glanced at the fewtrell girl, and something flickered behind his eyes – a little too intent, a little too sharp. then he cleared his throat and looked at charles.

“are we done here, or do you have more embarrassing things to say to me?”

“not even close,” the monegasque laughed. “but we’re going out for dinner, if you want to join?”

“we have dinner plans, sorry.” the mclaren driver thinned his lips into a line, shrugging – to which lily furrowed her eyebrows, as this was also news to her.

alexandra gently took lily’s phone out of her hand and pressed the top of her phone to lily’s, the other’s contact and number drifting onto their screens. 

“there’s my number, text me.” she said, handing the device back to her.

charles and alexandra disappeared down the street, presumably toward the ferrari driver’s home – and lando reached for his car keys. 

“they like you.” he said quietly as they approached the jeep they’d travelled to the track in.

“well, i am wearing your brand.” she laughed, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie over her hands.

lando looked at her for a beat longer than he needed to – than he should of. “you wear it well.”

• • • •

QUALIFYING DAY had the mclaren garage humming with tension by the time lando and lily arrived. she walked a step behind him, her paddock pass swinging gently at her chest, sunglasses tucked into the side of her bag. lando glanced back every now and then, like he was checking she was still there – as if they day would go sideways if she wasn’t.

the air was electric – tight with humming anticipation that lived in the sharp corners of formula 1 weekends. engineers muttered over headsets, mechanics moved like clockwork, cameramen trailed journalists like shadows, and the smell of oil and rubber lingered beneath the faint whiff of suncream from the grandstands above.

lily knew better than to hover too close during these moments. so, she hung back near the hospitality, while lando peeled away to change into his papaya race-suit. the british girl sipped a smoothie someone from the kitchen had pressed into her hands, watching as lando didn’t seem to talk much, not even to jon. just nodding, listening, eyes slightly glassy the way they always got when he was thinking too far ahead.

“bit early for the serious face.” she teased when he walked past again.

lando stopped mid-stride and almost laughed. “i can’t help it, it’s monaco.” he shrugged, a soft smile that touched all the corners of his mouth gracing his lips. “does something to me.”

lily tilted her head, “like what?”

“turns my stomach inside out,” he mumbled, then added quieter. “but i like it, i guess.”

before she could reply, a nostalgic, familiar voice called out from behind them. “there’s my boy!”

she turned just as adam norris strode into view, his grin wide and unforgettable. cisca wauman followed close behind, sunglasses perches atop her head and a tote bag slung over her shoulder.

“oh my, lily!” cisca smiled, hugging the girl before her own son.

“cisca!” the girl laughed, embracing the older woman in a hug that came easily. “i didn’t know you two were coming!”

“flight got delayed,” adam added, kissing her cheek briefly. “you’re taller than i remember.”

“you say that every time.” the driver rolled his eyes, hugging both parents briefly. 

lily’s heart did an odd little flutter at the familiarity of it all. she’d grown up in the same social circles, at the same junior karting weekends, family barbeques – she was the girl who used to steal lando’s kinder bars during post-race debriefs, and chased max around with a garden hose in their teens.

adam turned to his son, “you didn’t tell us that lily was coming.”

lando shrugged, “it was sort of last minute.”

“so where are you staying, lily? our hotels might be close together.” cisca asked, looping her arm through the younger girl’s.

“oh, lando’s letting me stay with him.”

adam raised an eyebrow. “we don’t even get that treatment.”

lando’s face went a little pink, but luckily, his mother whisked lily away, demanding all of her life updates since the last time they’d seen each other. “come on, i want to hear everything.”

behind them, adam clapped a hand onto lando’s shoulders. “she’s a good one, you know?”

the driver found himself reddening again. “i know.”

back in the garage, everything had shifted into a tighter rhythm as qualifying loomed closer. lily sat beside cisca, watching the team buzz around lando’s car like bees in a hive, everyone moving to a beat only they could hear. lando passed by one last time, helmet tucked under his arm, before getting in the car. he paused by the two women, as if it was muscle memory.

“wish me luck?” he asked, gaze flitting between the two of them.

“you’ll do amazing, sweetheart.” cisca reassured him, nodding her head.

“you don’t need it.” lily shook her head, tilting it up to look at him.

“still want it, though.”

she smiled, gentle and grounding. “go be brilliant.”

and for a second – just a second – his whole face softened, like he believed her more than he believed anyone else.

as he disappeared into the garage, cisca nudged lily gently. “you know,” she began, gesturing toward her son. “i haven’t seen him like this in forever.”

“like what?”

“he seems settled,” she said simply. “with himself, not with the car or anything.”

lily wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that, so she smiled shyly. her stomach turned over, slow and heavy. because, the thing was – she didn’t know what any of this was. but, lando made her feel steady in a world that spun way too fast. and, maybe that meant something.

or maybe it would later.

she would have thought about it more, if the final few seconds of Q3 weren’t ticking down to zero so soon. qualifying had flickered down to a blur of engine notes and blinking timing screens. lily stood shoulder-to-shoulder with cisca, eyes glued to the television screen inside the mclaren garage. lando had gone green, green, yellow – not his best lap, but it looked well put-together.

the last corner. the line.

the time flashed up.

1:09.954

the noise was instant – a rush of celebration and disbelief colliding as team personnel leapt to their feet. mechanics hugging, engineers high-fiving. zak was already out of his chair, jon’s face cracked wide into a grin. and lando – through the screen – was surprisingly nonchalant about it all, thanking the team.

cisca clapped, “he did it!”

lily blinked at the screen, heart racing. 

sub-seventy seconds.

no one had ever done that.

in monaco, of all places.

she couldn’t stop smiling as she followed the norris parents into parc fermé. lando had already jumped out of the car and launched into his team, hugging them with happiness. his fireproofs were half-unzipped, his curly hair damp with sweat, face flushed and beaming. 

he spotted lily just as she reached the edge of the swarm. 

and she could have sworn – just for a second – the crowd faded around him.

“come here,” he grinned wide, holding out a hand.

she hesitated, only for a moment, before stepping into him, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her a little off the ground in a brief, adrenaline-high, giddy squeeze. 

“you were unreal,” she said into his shoulder. 

“i’m convinced you’re a good luck charm,” he said, pulling back. “you’re not allowed to leave, ever.”

she laughed and softly rolled her eyes, but before she could reply, a mclaren media girl appeared beside them – “sorry! lando, quick photo with the trophy?”

lando nodded, still catching his breath, and reached for the tyre-shaped pole position trophy with one hand – the engraved cylinder gleaming under the sun – before gesturing for lily to stay put.

“you’re in it,” he said simply, tugging her a little closer.

“wait–what?”

“count yourself lucky,” he said, glancing down at her briefly. “i hardly let anyone in the mclaren photos with me.”

she laughed, cheeks flushing a pretty pink. “i’m honoured.”

so there they stood, side-by-side in the middle of the chaos. lily could feel the weight of eyes around her – the lens clicking, the buzz of the paddock still rippling with his record-breaking lap.

and just before the shutter went off, lando turned. his nose brushed her temple briefly, before his lips pressed a soft, warm kiss to her cheek – “for the cameras,” he mumbled against her skin.

she couldn’t feel her legs for a moment.

lily barely had time to process the gesture before the photographer snapped the photo. a quick flutter of camera clicks, the sound sharp above the murmur of the garage.

she turned to lando, brows raised and smile tugging at her lips. 

“PR is going to hate me.” lando grinned, all boyish mischief and adrenaline. 

the media team thanked them and wandered off, while the driver’s engineer called him back over to look at the run plan for tomorrow’s race. he squeezed lily’s hand quickly, before disappearing – palm still warm from the gloves, fingers rough from years of wear and tear.

she didn’t even try and pretend like her stomach hadn’t just turned itself inside out, twice.

• • • •

LATER IN THE EVENING, the energy had finally begun to simmer down. they left the track just before sundown, slipping out the side entrance after his tedious debriefs. monaco glowed golden under the fading sun, the whole place shimmering with a kind of magic that only came at this time of day. 

in the passenger seat of his black mclaren artura, lily sat with the window cracked, the warm breeze brushing past her hair as they wound back through the narrow streets. lando had the radio low – just enough to fill the silence with something soft and base-heavy.

“you seemed quieter than normal,” she spoke up, not looking at him. “when you were talking to zak.”

he sighed, “i think i scared myself today.”

“how so?” she glanced over.

“i’ve dreamed about getting pole in monaco since i was a kid. and now i’ve done it, but never thought i’d break a record doing it – and now i’m sort of like shit, i need to back it up tomorrow.”

“you will.” lily replied immediately.

he looked at her – brief and fleeting – something unreadable in his eyes. “you always sound so sure.”

“i am sure.”

and maybe it was her certainty that made him soften, feel better about his worries, just a little. as if he could lean into it. just for a moment.

back at the apartment, everything felt a little unreal. 

the award sat casually on the kitchen island like it was a vase or a fruit bowl, the number – 1:09.954 – engraved along the surface in small, elegant print. lily ran her fingers over it while lando changed in the bedroom, trailing the pads of her fingers along the cool material.

“keep touching it and you’ll have to polish it,” came his voice from the hallway.

she looked up. he’d changed into a soft grey t-shirt and navy sweats, his curls still damp and a little unruly. he looked younger like this – softer than the podium pictures and behind-the-scenes snaps ever seemed to show. 

“you should put it with the rest of your trophies and stuff,” she said, nodding at the pole position tyre.

“i’m putting it in the bathroom.” he deadpanned.

she laughed, short and loud. “next to your mouthwash?”

“yeah, real humbling for guests – especially oscar.”

they ended up on the sofa, sharing a packet of lando’s final protein bites, some mindless rerun of love island playing on the television. he sat with one foot tucked underneath him, head tipped slightly toward her, more comfortable than he ever seemed to be in front of cameras or crowds. his energy was different here – not dialled down, but warmer, looser.

at one point, he shuffled a little closer, letting his arm slip behind her shoulders on the couch, letting his hand curl around her upper arm and trace little circles into the skin with his thumb.

she looked up at him, speaking softly – “you good?”

he didn’t answer straight away. just looked at her for a moment too long, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing. or maybe what he was feeling.

then, so quietly she almost missed it, he said, “thanks for today.”

lily nudged his knee with her own. “you’re the one who broke the track record, you should thank yourself.”

“i know,” he smiled, internally proud. “but thankyou for being there, i felt calmer than usual.”

she didn’t know what to say to that.

so, she just leaned her head into his shoulder – gently, tentatively, as if she was afraid he’d pull away – and closed her eyes briefly. he didn’t say anything, just rested his head on hers, cheek pressed against her soft brunette roots. just looked down at her hand resting beside his, and laced their pinkies together without thinking.

it meant nothing.

it meant everything.

and yet, neither of them said a word.

• • • •

MONACO on race day was different.

the air was heavier, more expectant. the streets buzzed as if they were holding their breath, and from the second they left the apartment, lily could feel it in lando’s silence – not tense, but focused. tunnel-visioned. like his world had narrowed to seventy-eight laps and nothing else.

they arrived at the paddock just after nine. the sun was already high in the sky and the air was thick with anticipation – teams bustling, mechanics sprinting between trailers, journalists scrambling for interviews. the scent of espresso mixed with burnt rubber and high-octane fuel lingered, a potent perfume that only race day could offer.

lily stood inside of the upstairs hospitality, accompanied by cisca and adam once again, hands tucked lightly into the pockets of the mclaren jacket lando had lended her for the morning – claiming he’d win if she was in papaya. her eyes were glued to the pitlane, watching lando scamper off down the track in the sleek black and orange vehicle, as the hum of radio chatter crackled softly in her ears, punctuated by the thundering roar of engines schooling through the narrow streets below. it was loud, chaotic, yet somehow intimate – like stepping into a world where every heartbeat counted.

the moments stretched. the countdown began. 

five lights on, five lights out. 

she thought she had started going into cardiac arrest when lando locked up into turn one, but he managed to save it and her heartbeat settled somewhat – not really, but she thought that if she told herself that, maybe it would.

lap after lap, he started to edge out a gap. his pace was untouchable, pushing the car to its limits with the grace of a ballet dancer and the ferocity of a future world champion. her breath caught when he clocked in fastest lap after fastest lap, dominating monaco’s winding streets like he was born to race them.

and then, the moment that everyone waited for – some celebrity waving the chequered flag.

lando norris had won the monaco grand prix.

to say the garage exploded would have been an understatement. cheers shrieked, engineers clapped each other on the back, and zak & andrea rushed down to parc ferme, the norris family in tow, lily hurrying along beside adam.

his helmet was off now, hair damp and a little squat from the balaclava, smile breaking free like the sun behind clouds. his exhaustion seemed to melt away when he saw his team, and with a few rushed steps, he was at the barriers, jumping into his crew. 

jon was the one who shoved her to the forefront, letting her stand with her hands curled around the railing for dear life. he spotted her a couple seconds later, and within the blink of an eye, he’d pulled her into a tight, sweaty hug.

“i did it, lala!” he grinned, pressing his face into her shoulder.

“told you so.” lily laughed softly, fingers tracing the sweat on the back of his neck.

flushed and triumphant, lando turned and leant in – pressing a soft, genuine kiss to lily’s cheek, nose brushing her temple. 

“for real this time,” he whispered – no teasing, no fanfare, for real.

the team gathered, ushering him off to the cooldown room, and he whispered something inaudible in her ear, breath fanning her neck before he pulled away, squeezing her hand and rushing off. 

lily’s heart fluttered in her chest, and just grinned, feeling like she belonged – right here, right now, with him – but boy, max was going to kill her, and maybe lando too this time.

the anthem played above them, the hum of ‘god save our king’ echoing out through the french streets. monaco’s harbour glimmered under the late-afternoon sun, champagne bottles waited patiently to be sprayed over the cheering crowd – and lando stood in the centre of it all, victor of the most glamorous race in formula 1, if not, the world.

the british girl craned her neck from below the stage, tucked between jon and will, her eyes never leaving him. she was sure she had caverns in her cheeks from smiling.

and then, he looked down – right at her.

and winked.

smooth and teasing, subtle enough that it could mean nothing, but obvious enough that the media would eat it up. nevertheless, it send a jolt through her chest that made her feel sixteen again, and her stomach flipped as she tried to play it cool, softly rolling her eyes and smiling at him. it should mean nothing, but it definitely meant everything.

one of monaco’s rooftop lounges hosted the afterparty. the terrace overlooked the glowing curve of the coastline, and the entire paddock scene had shown up to celebrate lando’s glorious win. music pulsed through the velvet night, champagne flowed like water, and the principality around them sparkled like it had stepped out of a dream he’d not quite finished with.

lando leaned against the balcony railing, dressed down in a simple white shirt and black slacks, sipping on a red bull while everyone else laughed with cocktails in hand. his face was a little flushed, partly post-race-win glow – though the adrenaline had finally started to settle – but partially from the hazy heat of the night.

lily was by the bar getting a drink, stood in a black satin slip dress, the mclaren lanyard from earlier stuffed into her clutch, hair tousled from the sea breeze. 

“no champagne?” lily stepped up beside him, the sea breeze catching her fly-aways. 

he smiled sideways. “not drinking this season,” he shrugged. “gotta focus on racing.”

she looked down at her own glass – of lemonade – and tapped it gently against the side of his can. “i figured, didn’t want you to be the only sober one.”

lando’s eyes softened instantly. “you didn’t have to–”

“–i wanted to, though.” she interrupted simply.

the music faded beneath them, drowned out by the sound of the waves far below and the soft thrum of their own silence. for a moment, lily swore the whole world narrowed to just this balcony, just this view, just him – just them.

lando thought to himself – maybe still high on that winning feeling – that this could be what winning really felt like.

but they just kept getting interrupted – every few minutes, someone came over, a driver, brand rep, team member with a drink in one hand and a congratulations on their lips.

he smiled. said thanks. took photos.

but, he didn’t let go of her, not once.

not in an obvious way – he wasn’t clingy, never possessive – but every time someone new approached, he’d glance sideways briefly to check she hadn’t slipped away. his fingers occasionally brushed her arm, lower back, wrist – like gravity.

after a while – and after lily had muttered something about being cold – they made their way into the booths just inside of the club. the music was louder, thumped a little deeper in their ears. lily leaned against the wall, and lando stood beside her, definitely closer than he needed to be.

“home?” he asked, leaning closer to her.

“yeah, home.”

• • • •

THE MORNING brought about a soft quietness that only muted light could offer.

for a moment, she lay still, cocooned in the aftermath of yesterday’s glory – the champagne, the cheers, the warmth of lando’s lips on her cheek, his hand on her waist as they snuck out of the party thrown for him.

her phone buzzed faintly on the bedside table, so she reached for it, blinking at the screen in the dim visibility of the room.

you have 5 missed calls from max.

her stomach dipped.

lily padded out of the bedroom, clad in some loose navy shorts and a matching tank top. the apartment was still and warm with the morning haze – the sliding glass doors open, the sea breeze drifting in, and lando was already seated at the breakfast bar, sipping apple juice in grey sweats and a black t-shirt.

“good morning,” he smiled, eyes crinkling. 

“morning,” she echoed, voice a little scratchy.

her phone buzzed. again, rhythmic and annoying.

“everything okay?” lando asked, catching the look she gave the device as she pulled it out of her pocket.

“max,” lily sighed. “five missed calls this morning.”

he scrunched his nose, breathing out in sympathy. 

she slipped onto a chair and pulled her knees up to her chest. lando didn’t say anything as she pressed the phone to her ear – just gave a small supportive nod as he reached for a banana. 

“finally,” max’s voice rang sharply through the speakers – loud enough for lando to hear it. “i’ve been trying to get through for hours.”

“sorry, i was asleep.” she replied quietly.

“recovering from all that champagne and having your tongue down lando’s throat?” 

lily froze, eyebrows furrowing. “what?”

“i saw you in parc fermé, and on mclaren’s instagram.” her brother said, cold in tone.

her mouth went dry, throat tightened as if there was actually something wrong with it all. “it’s not like that, max.”

“you’re so fucking naive,” he groaned. “you always do this, lily. lando isn’t like all the other guys you meet back in london, he’s busy and he doesn’t have time for you.”

“he’s nice to you when it suits him – you’re just convenient for him.” max continued. “you’re going to get hurt, lils, he doesn’t actually like you like that.”

“i know he doesn’t – it’s not like that, we’re just friends.”

“i know him, and i know you.” he sighed. “it looks like you’re playing happy families with someone who has a whole roster of girls he forgets about the second he gets on a plane.”

“why are you being so mean?” her voice wobbled a little, resting her head on her knees.

“you just think you’re different, lils. you’re not, you’re just next.”

there was silence on the line – not tension, not regret, just silence.

the warm device was gently pulled from her fingers within a few seconds, and she looked up at the driver, who now had her phone at his ear.

“max?” lando said into the receiver, tone clipped. “don’t speak to her like that ever again”

another pause. lando’s jaw flexed.

“yeah, hi buddy.” he pursed his lips, speaking sarcastically. 

she heard max’s voice on the other end of the line, but she couldn’t make out what he was actually saying; her heart thumping in her ears was just too loud.

“i don’t care, max.” lando raised his voice, firm but still calm. “for one, you can’t police her life, so back the fuck off. and you can’t tell me what to do either.”

more silence. lando’s eyes flitted to meet her own for a second.

“you’re fucked off?” he laughed. “you’ve essentially just said you don’t trust me, behind my back – how the fuck do you think i feel, max?”

silence, again. max must have calmed down a bit now.

“alright, see you in london.” lando mumbled, before ending the call.

she was just sitting there, gazing at the british man as he looked back at her.

“i’m sorry,” the driver said, immediately softer as he turned to her. “i didn’t mean to take over or anything–”

“no,” she whispered, getting up. “thankyou.”

he stepped toward her quickly, pulling her into his arms without hesitation. she sank into him instantly, hands curling into the back of his hoodie. lando pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, arms circling her waist, murmuring. “he was out of line, lala.”

“he’s my brother,” she mumbled against his chest.

“he’s an arsehole.”

she didn’t argue, just stayed there for a long moment, just breathing. 

eventually, he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against hers. 

“you okay?” lando asked.

his fingers traced just under her jaw – way too intimate to mean nothing. “good.”

she smiled – barely – and leant into him again.

outside, monaco carried on with its monday morning, glittering and loud and golden.

but in lando’s apartment, they were in their own little world, wrapped up in each other and quiet.

════════════════════════

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[bkghq]

ᝰ GRWM ft. y/n & bakugo

— INCLUDES pro hero! bakugo katsuki x pro hero fem! reader

— CONTENT WARNING ⋮ v wholesome bkg, lwk ooc i think, y/n being a woman of taste

— BONUS ARYA ⋮ i absolutely love this sm!! i think im gonna turn this pro hero yn/ tiktoker thingie into a series hehe

"Hey guys get ready with me for work while i tell you 10 facts about me and my boyfriend!" Y/n spoke to the camera, getting ready for her patrol, already wearing her hero suit.

"So me and my boyfriend— Katsuki, we met back in highschool. We were classmates and started dating around our second year." She said using toner pads on her face and neck.

She then moved on to the next step in her skincare routine, "Next i'm using this COSRX vitamin c serum— which by the way my very amazing boyfriend got me! i swear this guy does not, and i mean does not let me run out of anything—" She applied the serum on her face with the dropper, "— it's like he has this magical power of knowing when my essentials are almost finish and he'll just get it for me, UNasked!"

"In our relationship, Katsuki does all the cooking." She continues, now using the Milk makeup cooling water under eye gel but not before showing it to the camera. "And yes he definitely is the better cook— I try to cook from time to time, and he really appreciates when i do, but it is as clear as day that his cooking is wayyyy better than mine."

"Oh and he does the dishes too!" She adds smiling at the camera.

"When me and Kats met, we absolutely hated each other." She said putting emphasis on the word hated. "I used to call him potty mouth, and he used to call me spoilt brat, so it was quite shocking when he told me he liked me!" The girl chuckled putting on her moisturiser from clinique.

"Even though I am a pro hero myself and earn hefty, 'suki pays all our bills—" she said next putting on her sunscreen. "— He insists that it's his job since he's the 'man in our relationship, and it's a man's responsibility to provide for his girl' girls, take tips, don't settle for less!" She added acting like an older sister.

"Okay I'm done with my skincare, so moving on to the minimal makeup i do everyday." She said, while showing her too faced concealer.

"Even though he comes off as extremely mean and rude on camera, 'Ki is one of the most thoughtful people you will ever come across, he will not think twice before doing something for the people he loves." She spoke to the camera, unaware of the new company of the said man, who now stood at the door watching her, his figure also coming in the frame.

"Now im using this sacheu lip stain, this is literally my holy grail! it lasts me all day. I could be fighting like 10 villains and it will stay intact." She remarked, applying the lip stain.

"Fact number seven, we never go to bed mad at each other. It's a rule Kats made. No matter how big the fight we always resolve it before hitting the bed, and honestly it's such a healthy way to deal with fights and arguments." She said as a smile made her way to her aswell as Katsuki's face. A soft look in his eyes, as he watched her, arms crossed over his chest.

Y/N moves on to her blush. "Even though we've been dating for a long time now, we never stop going on dates!" She says putting blush on the apple of her cheeks. "This is a great way to keep your relationship interesting i feel like, since due to our work there are times when we are unable to see each for weeks at times."

"On that note— when either of us get assigned any mission overseas, we make sure to facetime atleast once a day even if it's just for 10 minutes. time differences suck, but we pick a time which is suitable for us both." The girl says as she puts her hair down from her messy bun.

"Last but not the least—"

"Is that i love this dummy here s'fuckin' much." Katsuki grumbles, finally making his presence known as he makes his way towards the girl, kissing her forehead. Y/n chuckles at his sudden appearance, because he wasn't one to make constant presence in her tiktok videos.

"You'll be late for patrol now ge'ddup dumbass." He says with no bite behind his words, giving her another kiss this time on her lips.

"Yeah!—" She smiles up at him, and looks back at the camera again, "See you guys soon, b-bye stay safe!" She concludes, hitting pause on the record button on her phone.

"You look cute today." Katsuki hums, as Y/n gets up from her chair, interlocking her hands around Katsuki's neck, his hands instinctively grabbing her waist.

"Thanks ki." She replies with a smile, standing on her tiptoes and kissing the blond man deeply.

Later that day, after patrol when Y/N posted that video. Not expecting it to blowup as much as it did, getting around ten million views, 2.5 million likes and a few hundred thousand comments.

@/ynsluvr : LOOK AT THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER !!!! @/greatexplosionmurdermypussy : if he ain't like this I DONT WANT HIM @/dekusillegitimatechild : omg queen drop links for the products @/pinky : ugh! get married already! @/chargeboltofficial : mama e papa MAMA E PAPA @/redriot : bakubro this all is so manly! proud of you @/serophane : @/chargeboltofficial he's so whipped LOL @/deku : I'm so glad kacchan treats you well y/n san ☺️

She sure was having a field day reading all these comments.

THNX 4 READING <3 RBS + COMMENTS APPRECIATED ིྀ

[vxnillabxn]

Hiii!! I hope it’s okay to ask, I’ve had this idea where MC breaks up with Zayne, thinking he deserves better. But after hearing how miserable he was, she comes back and admits she was scared and never wanted to leave. I’d love to see how he reacts and how they move forward.

Lowk been needing angst and comfort 🥲

𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne x gn!reader ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ hurt/hurt/hurt/comfort! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sfw! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ do not translate/copy/repost! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚did i almost make myself cry? yes. did i also love writing this? absolutely. do i approve of the reader! actions? hell no. BUT, overall, this is as much hurt as it is comfort, i hope i meet your expectations, dear anon! ♡

being with zayne was the best decision you ever made. he was emotionally responsible, he always talked things out, and he made sure you felt comfortable and loved. he made time for you, and he put aside important matters for the most crucial one in his eyes; you.

there was absolutely nothing you wanted to change about him or the lovely, strong relationship you two were building together.

again, there was nothing you wanted to change about him.

but about you?

plenty.

you didn't feel like you were enough for him. he sacrificed everything for you, he was a literal angel, and he always knew what to do to make it all feel better.

you, on the other hand, were sometimes too busy. you didn't know how to handle things, and you felt like the comfort you could offer him during his lowest moments was never enough.

you were not enough.

and you'd been repeating those same words for a month now.

how does he handle everything?

how is he able to have you as his top priority?

why does he love you so much, when you're not even half as special as him?

you can't take it anymore. you're tired, you feel drained, and you also feel guilty. zayne deserves the world. he deserves someone who's up to his level. someone who can silently manage everything perfectly. someone who has their life together, like he does.

it's not fair to be selfish and drag him along with you, not when he's been nothing but selfless all his life. he's been killing his free time, killing his social life, even killing his health —and all for you.

they say to love is to let go.

and after thinking and crying yourself to sleep on the nights he worked late shifts, you finally decided it was only fair to break up.

of course, he knew something was wrong.

he just never expected it would be this.

when you told him you'd wait at a nearby park, —one you two had never visited before— he was worried.

you didn't want to break up with him somewhere he loved. you wanted him to still go to the same coffee shop, the same restaurant, the same patisserie without connecting it to a memory this bitter.

when he arrived, he hugged you and kissed you softly.

it hurt.

it tasted so sweet, so genuine, so devoted…

you let him. it was going to be the last time, and your selfishness wanted a final reminder before you left him, for his own good.

what happened next is blurry in your mind.

you don't remember the exact words you said, but you remember his stunned silence.

you know you said it was so he could find someone better. someone who deserved him.

and you know he wasn't getting it.

he understood a lot of things.

but not this.

his eyes went unfocused, his lips pressed tightly shut.

he didn't speak.

you were grateful for that, because if you'd heard his voice, —his broken voice— you'd have apologized right there on the spot.

you held out the snowman keychain he'd made for you, your hands trembling. you wanted him to take it back.

but he didn't move.

he was frozen in time.

so, as cruel as fate is, you kept the keychain. a reminder of the only truly good thing that had happened to you, and when you least deserved it.

you walked away, trying not to cry, telling yourself you were doing what was best for him, right? for once, you were doing something in return for everything good he'd done for you.

and as your figure grew smaller, there was a soft splash on the ground.

a single drop of water.

not from the rain threatening to pour.

but from the corner of his eye.

…

one month.

it's been one month now, and you've been too busy working and hunting distractions. you've avoided the hospital even when you've felt worse than ever, both mentally and physically.

but your chest hurts badly, and more and more often you feel dizzy, exhausted, consumed.

it got so bad you had to go to the hospital, or they'd force you to take another month off to rest.

and the last thing you wanted was to stay by yourself, sulking and crying inside your messy, dark apartment.

once inside the hospital, you saw no one familiar. not even yvonne, the receptionist you'd grown closer to when you were zayne's patient before dating.

instead, another nurse stepped up to the reception desk and smiled warmly.

“good morning, dear. do you have an appointment?”

you swallow hard. you forgot to change doctors. maybe zayne did it for you.

“i… yes, i'm under dr. zayne's care.”

her smile faltered.

“oh, sweetie… didn't they inform you?”

her voice turned softer, her expression shifting to worry. your stomach dropped.

something happened to zayne, you're sure. your heart starts pounding wildly, but you keep your voice steady. you have to know.

“dr. gideon took over his patients for now—”

“what happened to dr. zayne?”

you didn't mean to sound so desperate, but it comes out fast, almost sharp.

the nurse flinched slightly, then cleared her throat.

“i'm afraid i can't disclose that information, sweetheart. but i can schedule you with—”

“thank you!”

you rush outside before she can finish. you run, vision blurry with panic and tears. you know the route to his house by heart. every shortcut, every turn.

zayne would never just leave. not unless something serious happened.

you pound on his door.

your breath is ragged, your heart feels like it might break your ribs, but you don't care.

nothing matters more than knowing if zayne is okay.

yet he doesn't answer.

and now your heart beats not from exhaustion, but from fear — because your heart belongs to him, and if something happened to him…

you can't wait anymore. you tear through your bag, looking for the spare key you couldn't bring yourself to throw away.

there it is. attached to the snowman keychain.

you unlock the door, hand shaking.

the sight inside leaves you breathless.

scattered books. blankets draped carelessly over the sofa…

and on the dining table… two mugs. one at his place, empty. another one at yours, still full. as if he kept waiting for you to come back and drink it with him.

two plates. two sets of cutlery. always two.

dusty. untouched. abandoned for…

exactly a month.

you rush upstairs, opening every door.

not in the bathroom.

not in the bedroom.

not in the kitchen.

maybe… his studio?

you approach the closed door, hand trembling. you push it open.

and there he is.

asleep at his desk. his laptop is still glowing faintly. the room is painfully neat, unlike the rest of the house.

but it's freezing inside.

you shiver, but step closer.

zayne looks… different.

his skin pale and unhealthy, dark circles under his beautiful eyes, a slight stubble on his usually clean-shaven face.

his fingers tinged purple from the cold. his brows furrowed, trapped in a nightmare.

this wasn't supposed to happen.

he was supposed to be better. to find someone up to his level.

but seeing him so broken, so not composed… you realize how badly you misjudged.

tears fall as you try to wake him. you shake him, nudge him, tug at his clothes, bury your face in his lap and sob.

“i'm sorry, zayne, i'm so… so sorry. i never wanted to leave, i…”

you bite your lip hard, almost drawing blood.

“this wasn't supposed to happen… you were supposed to be happy without me. you deserved so much better, zayne. so… much… better.”

words come out between sobs, but you cling to him like a lifeline.

and then, gently, you feel his fingers brushing your hair.

your breath catches. you look up.

he's awake. his expression unreadable, until the faintest smile curves his lips.

“you… came back.”

his voice is raw, hoarse from disuse.

you gasp, scrambling up to look at him properly.

you can't stop yourself.

you throw your arms around him, almost knocking him off the chair.

but then—

“stop.”

you freeze.

does he… not want this?

“i can sense it. you're overthinking again.”

his voice is soft, but firm.

“you did that a lot before you…” he pauses, looking away. “have i not made myself clear enough?”

you step back, but he pulls you closer.

“tell me. was i not clear?”

“zayne, i don't—”

“didn't i tell you how much i loved you? how much you meant to me?”

his voice stays calm, but his gaze… it's yours.

“please. answer me.”

your chest aches. you know the answer.

“zayne, i thought… i thought it was for the best. you're perfect. you always made time for me, even while saving lives. i have so much to work on and… it wasn't your fault. i was stupid, and—”

he hushes you gently, his fingers brushing your lips.

“i was perfect for you. everything i did, every choice, every thought… was for you. from the start of my career, and until the day i die, everything i do will always have you in mind.”

you're speechless.

he removes his hand, then stands, towering over you.

“do you know why i waited?”

you shake your head.

“you never said you didn't love me anymore,” he steps closer, caging you in. “and i knew i'd wait, even if it meant endless nightmares. even if i lost myself doing so… even if it took another lifetime.”

his hand cups your cheek, wiping your tears.

“because i only live for you. and that won't change, unless you tell me you don't love me anymore.”

your voice cracks.

“no! zayne, i love you! i did what i did because of love! i wanted only the best for you…”

“and the best for me is you, my love.”

his cold fingers warm at your skin, his voice trembles ever so slightly.

“don't you ever… ever do that again,” he stops, but adds more after a few seconds:

“every night, i woke up reaching for you,” he confesses, voice breaking for the first time. “i saw you leaving over and over in my dreams, and i couldn't stop you. i was dying without you, even if i kept breathing.”

you choke on a sob, and your lips crash into his.

it's messy, desperate —but he steadies you, slowing it down into something deep and aching, until you're both breathless.

you finally feel at peace. because it's him. and only him.

as you part, he kisses your trembling hands.

“my love… shall i remind you every day how much i need you to breathe?”

you sniffle, shaking your head.

“no. i think… it's my turn now to show you how much i need you. how selfish i truly am for wanting you in my life forever.”

“then let us be selfish, love.”

he kisses your forehead.

and everything falls right back in place.

as it used to be.

and from now on, he'll make sure it always is.

[nhmkhnh]

angsty (and lowk fluffy question mark) ambessa x reader where reader is depressed but hides it because they're afraid to be a burden to her and tries to like shut off any comfort from her because reader believes it'll make them look weak question mark??? then ambessa eventually notices and gets the reader to open up abt their mental state and SH question mark (the SH part is optional i js felt like including it because thsi request is lowk specific nd self indulgent as hellll sorrgyy LMFAO) idk if u've done this before but hope u liked my wee request! <33

omg i swear i will NEVER ignore requests where the reader is dealing with mental health issues, like NEVER EVER!! i mean it with my whole heart!! 🥺 i’m sending the biggest hugs to anyone going through what reader is going through, and i truly wish nothing but the best for you!! a thousand warm hugs your way!!

ambessa medarda x fem!reader || depressed!reader ;; mention about sh ;; hurt / comfort ;; comfort fic.

you were good at pretending. at smiling just right. laughing at the right moments. saying “i’m okay,” with the kind of conviction that even you wanted to believe it.

ambessa never pried. that was part of why you loved her. she wasn’t like others—didn’t pick at you with pitying looks or offer hollow reassurances. she let you come to her in your own time.

but lately, you’d been… pulling away. avoiding her hand when she reached for yours in the dark. hiding under layers of jokes or indifference when she tried to check in. even now, curled in the massive silk-draped bed you shared, you faced the wall, curled up like you were trying to make yourself small enough to disappear into the folds of her empire-colored sheets.

you didn’t hear her approach, not until the mattress dipped with her weight. her voice came low, steady. a command disguised as comfort.

“turn around, little one.”

you didn’t move.

she didn’t repeat herself.

instead, you felt her hand on your hip. large, calloused, warm. she didn’t force you, just held you there, fingers spreading slowly like she was memorizing the shape of you. her thumb stroked gently, a touch too tender for a warlord. but that’s what she was—a gentle general. just for you.

“i’ve let you pretend,” ambessa said quietly. “out of respect. but no more.”

still, you stayed silent. her thumb moved again, grounding. you bit your lip.

“it’s not weakness,” she murmured, almost to herself. “to feel pain. to carry something heavy. but it is foolish to carry it alone when i’m here.”

you finally turned.

she looked at you like you were the only thing she had ever sworn to protect. her armor was off, her braids loose for the night, but she was no less formidable—just softer around the edges. those storm-colored eyes scanned your face, drinking in every flinch, every flicker of guilt you thought you’d buried.

“tell me,” she said simply.

you hesitated. then cracked.

“i didn’t want to be a burden.”

the words came like vomit. ugly. raw.

her expression didn’t change.

“i thought if i let myself cry, or talk, or—fall apart… you’d see me as weak. like i couldn’t keep up with you. like i was… too much. or not enough.”

her gaze softened. not pitying—never that. just devastatingly calm.

“you think i lie beside you every night because you’re strong?”

you blinked, throat burning.

“i lie beside you,” she continued, “because you are brave. because you feel deeply and still choose to wake up. because you are kind, and clever, and quick, even when you’re hurting.”

her hand lifted. brushed your cheek with surprising gentleness for someone who had shattered men with her bare hands.

“and even if you weren’t any of those things,” she added, “you’d still never be a burden. you are mine. and i take care of what’s mine.”

your chest cracked.

“i’ve been…” you swallowed, voice trembling, “i’ve been thinking really bad things. about myself. like i’m—just tired of being alive sometimes. and i don’t want to be, i don’t, but it’s always there. and i can’t turn it off.”

you looked away, ashamed.

“and sometimes i… i hurt myself. when it gets too loud. but i’m okay, i swear. it’s not deep, it’s not—”

she stopped you with a quiet “come here.”

you didn’t move fast enough.

ambessa pulled you into her arms with a firm, enveloping grace, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other strong across your spine. her body was a wall of warmth and safety. not suffocating. not fragile. just… there.

you felt her breathe against your hair, the steady rhythm slowing your heartbeat.

“thank you,” she murmured, “for telling me.”

your fingers gripped her shirt.

“i hate that i’m like this.”

“no.” she leaned back, enough to tilt your chin up and look at you. “you are not broken. you are in pain. there is a difference.”

you nodded weakly.

“and you will not be alone in it again,” she said, decisive as a sword stroke. “if the weight is too heavy, you hand it to me. even if it takes a hundred times. even if it makes you cry, or scream, or go silent for days. i will not leave. you hear me?”

tears slipped free before you could stop them. you clutched her like the storm finally passed.

“i hear you.”

she kissed your temple. firm. steady.

you didn’t feel ashamed anymore. just held. just safe.

ambessa was still a general. still powerful. still commanding the attention of councilrooms and armies.

but right now, she was yours. and you were hers.

and maybe, just maybe… that was enough.

some bonuses because why not?

she finds you curled up on the couch again, knees to your chest, untouched food gone cold on the tray.

ambessa doesn’t sigh. doesn’t scold. she sets down her coat and crosses the room with that terrifying grace of hers—like even her softness carries weight.

you expect a lecture.

instead, her voice is low, and firm.

“you haven’t eaten all day.”

you mutter something about not being hungry, hoping she’ll let it slide.

she doesn’t.

“i didn’t ask,” she says gently.

then she disappears into the kitchen.

fifteen minutes later, she returns with your favorite dish, perfectly plated on fine porcelain. she sets the tray down and sits beside you. lifts the fork herself. “open.”

your pride tries to protest.

her look says: don’t.

so you open your mouth. she feeds you slow, watching your face for every twitch, like learning how to love you with food is as important as winning a war.

you swallow.

she smiles. “good girl.”

and just like that, warmth blooms in your chest again.

you’d never say it aloud, but you’ve been cold lately. not just inside, but literally. the nights are chillier in her villa near the cliffs. but you don’t want to ask—not for more. not when she already does so much.

then one evening, she walks in carrying a box.

“try this.”

inside: a handcrafted robe lined with imported silk and lambswool, dyed in deep twilight blues. you blink, stunned. the embroidery alone must’ve taken weeks.

you shake your head. “ambessa, i can’t accept this.”

“you will accept it,” she says smoothly, stepping closer, taking it out, holding it open. “because i noticed you shiver at night and i don’t tolerate discomfort for those i love.”

you hesitate.

she raises a brow. “do i need to dress you myself?”

a flush spreads across your face.

you slip it on. it fits perfectly. soft. heavy. warm.

ambessa presses a kiss to your shoulder once it’s on. “beautiful.”

not just the robe.

you.

you think you’ve hidden your bad day well.

but ambessa’s sharper than most. and she can smell when your thoughts are dragging you somewhere dark.

so she waits until you’re brushing your teeth, standing at the sink with a blank stare.

then she leans against the doorway. “who put that look on your face?”

you blink. “no one. i just—”

“don’t lie.”

her voice is calm. deadly calm.

you murmur something about feeling like a failure. that you’re too slow, too much, too needy.

she strides forward, tilts your chin up. her tone turns razor-soft. “say the name of the voice in your head that told you that. say it, and i will burn them to ash.”

you smile faintly. “it’s just me.”

ambessa frowns. deeply.

“then i’ll fight you, too,” she whispers. “if that’s what it takes to save you from yourself.”

then she wraps you in her arms.

and the war, for now, is over.

[ameriize]

I LOVE UR SUB ANTON FIC OMGGG FINALLY A DOM READER WRITER😭🤧

cld i pls req lightweight anton who drank too much while out w his frnds after an argument and he comes home drunk needy and sad so reader has to help😉him😉out😉 and comfort him cuz hes crying hehehehehhehej

IKKK RIGHT, I LITERALLY ONLY STARTED WRITING BC THERES BARELY ANY RIIZE DOM READER like damnn i’ll do it myself

i got a little carried away so it’s abit long apologies😛

also if you send an ask and you wanna be an anon with an emoji, add that in your ask !! i wanna be able to recognise you guys 🥹🥹

you and anton don’t usually argue. if there’s conflict, you both take time to yourselves them come back to discuss and fix. however, this time was different.

you’re not sure why you were so emotional this week, maybe because it had all been building up, but for the fifth time this week anton had forgotten to text you back. multiple conversations just left unfinished. you understand he’s busy but sending a text to tell you that would be better. you’ve brought it up in the past and he says the same low-effort statement of “i’ll get better baby i promise”

well he hadn’t. so you blew up on him after he came back home from work. a heated argument struck up between you two, with you raising your voice and him rolling his eyes and sighing at you. you told him not changing is a sign of not caring for your partner and he responded with telling you you’re overreacting.

one thing led to another, and he grabbed his keys and headed out, saying “i’m gonna go meet my friends. use this time to calm down baby because i’m not dealing with you right now. it’s too much”

it’s too much?? is he saying you’re too much?

the sadness and frustration that was bubbling up in you was better dealt with sleep.

however you couldn’t sleep. not when he hadn’t come home for 4 hours. it’s almost midnight and you were getting worried. he wasn’t picking up any of your calls which he never does. you were pacing up and down your living room trying to figure out what to do next.

just as you were about to dial the police to order a search party, you hear keys jangling in the main door.

you stand up, and walk towards the door to see a red faced, teary eyed anton, who was stumbling and swaying side to side whilst trying to walk in. you hurriedly walked over to him and quickly placed his arm around your neck, ignoring his strong smell of booze, and tried to help him settle down on the couch, but he grabbed you aswell. you both landed down and anton readjusted to lay on your chest, sticking to you like glue.

he’d been babbling about how he was sorry, sorry he hurt you, sorry he made you feel unloved, uncared for. tears were strolling down his face and landing on your chest. good thing your silk nightgown had a low cut neck.

“baby please forgive me. please. all i want is you. i never meant to hurt you. baby i love you so much. i’m so sorry”

“tonnie hey it’s okay it’s okay , i said stupid things too i’m sorry aswell. i’m just happy you’re okay my love”

you gently cupped his face, wiping his tears away. he looked so cute with a red flush on his cheeks, and his teary puffy eyes.

you gave him a peck on his eyes and then worked your way to his lips. you noticed he was being more responsive than usual when he’s drunk. he was shifting around a lot more and letting out more small whines as you kissed him.

“thank you baby thank you. i just- i just needed you so bad. all i could think of was you when i was out. i only wanted to be next to you.”

“aww tonnie you needed me?”

“yea, so bad. so so bad. i just wanted to feel you. just wanted you to have your hands on me.”

you forgot how needy he gets when he’s drunk.

“oh? where on you?”, you said, deciding to play along.

he buried his head deeper in your chest and shyly moved your hand closer to his dick, that was now stiff and throbbing.

“here. i needed you here. fuck please touch me baby please”

“i don’t know… you were pretty mean to me earlier?”

he whined at this and raised his head to look at you. tears threatened to fall from his eyes, barely hanging on by a thread.

“i’m so sorry baby please. i didn’t mean all that i said. i’m sorry please forgive me. i really didn’t mean to hurt you.”

now you had no choice but to take pity on him and comfort his poor self. i mean his dick was throbbing and pulsating so much for you.

you moved your hand past his trousers onto his boxers and began palming and squeezing his whole length, lightly but enough for him to feel it.

“ahhh!! fuck, yes!”

he started bucking up into your hand, desperate for more. after some minutes, he removed his trousers and boxers, per your request, and straightened his back on the couch. while maintaining eye contact, you straddled his legs and continued palming his dick.

but it wasn’t enough for him.

“shit shit baby please let me be inside. i need more. i need you”

you weren’t sure if you wanted him to wait and get even more desperate or fuck the life out of him. but he was so sad and remorseful, how couldn’t you side with the latter option?

you lifted up your nightgown then drew your lace panties to the side. anton watched you mesmerisingly, like you were the sun. he wanted nothing more than for you to bounce up and down his dick, making him take everything you give him. and you would do just that.

you hovered your cunt over his pulsing red hot tip and dragged his dick across but never putting it in. you could see him starting to get more restless, with whines and pleas leaving his mouth. then you finally inserted it in, and slowly sunk down on his whole length.

“ohhhhh fuck.” he moaned, eyes rolling back.

you begun to move, grinding back and forth, so slowly. it was agonising for him.

“please move my love. fuck i need you to fuck me faster baby please”, he whined, tears once again threatening to fall.

you decided you’ve tortured him long enough so you started moving, slamming yourself down with every movement. strings of delicious moans, whimpers, “yes”s and “fuck fuck fuck”s , fell out of his mouth. you felt so fucking good and anton wasn’t sure if he could hold it any longer.

“baby i’m close i’m so fucking close. please can i cum?”

“no. not yet. hold it for me like a good boy okay?” you said in his ear, then you dragged your tongue up his ear. he shivered and whimpered, and whined, “please baby. i can’t hold it anymore, i really can’t! it’s too much, it feels too good!”

“don’t you wanna be good for me?”

fuck yes he does. he always wants to be good for you.

“yes yes yes i do. i’m your good boy.”

“good. so then wait and take it.”, you said, authoritatively but still in a soft tone. you placed your hand over his mouth and started roughly riding him, making his dick hit that spot that felt like heaven.

anton swore he could see stars. the stimulation was too much, and his dick was about to explode. muffled, high pitched moans - borderline screams at this point - filled the air, as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“fuck”, you moaned, “anton i want you to cum with me. okay baby?”

he nodded his head rapidly, praying and begging for you to cum all over his dick already. you removed your hand from his mouth and placed it in his hair, grabbing a few locks. he shuddered at this.

“i’m cumming, tonnie! cum inside me!”

“fuck fuck fuck fuckkkkk!”, he whined, with his eyes rolled back in his head, back arching off the couch as he shot his hot load inside you, filling you all the way up.

you both came down from your high, chest heaving. he kissed you softly, hand cupping your face.

“thank you baby”, he whispered.

you hummed in return and just as you were about to get off him, he stopped you.

“let’s just stay like this. i don’t wanna be away from you.”, he said sincerely, looking up at you with the most adorable puppy eyes.

you laid your head against his chest and snuggled in.

“i really am sorry for earlier. i should’ve never left, and i should’ve never hurt you in the first place. you know i love you right?”

“yeah, i know anton.”, you said with a smile.

a/n : hope that you like it anon !! not sure if it’s how you wanted it to be so, sorry for that :( also send in asks plssssssss and let me know what you think🙏

[cheshireliam]

"A Wicked Proposal To You" Collection Event Story: Ellis Twilight Card Story

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

Ellis: Oh! Isn’t that the snack you were curious to try, Kate?

Ellis: I think this dress would really look good on you. What do you think?

Ellis: And over there— 

Ellis looked happier than usual pushing me in my wheelchair while we went on a stroll around town.

When I glanced up at his face, I recalled how we ended up in this situation. 

[ Flashback ]

Kate: Owww…

Ellis: Kate, are you okay!? 

It happened a few days back. 

I spotted Ellis and wanted to surprise him, so I ran over to throw my arms around him from behind.

But before I could grab him, my foot caught on the carpet and I fell forward.

There was a dull crack and as I lay on the floor, Ellis rushed over looking worried. 

Ellis: That sounded awful. Which foot did you hurt?

Kate: Left… ugh… 

I writhed in pain as I pointed to my right ankle, and Ellis immediately picked me up and carried me straight to Roger’s infirmary—.

[ Flashback End ]

It turned out to be a sprain that would take two weeks to heal. 

(I can't believe I’m in this state just because I tripped.) 

I only had a brief moment to lament how weak and fragile my body was. 

Because I couldn’t walk, Ellis devoted all his time to taking care of me, and a life of having him fuss over me all day and night began. 

(It’s like I’m turning into someone who can’t live without Ellis…)

I kept insisting that he didn't have to do anything for me, but now I found myself relying on Ellis for everything — having my meals, getting changed, and even taking baths. 

(But the fact I’m so happy about this is just so in-character of me.) 

His love was like oxygen.

It was needed to breathe, but too much and it would turn into poison. 

But I’ve already become someone who can’t live without that oxygen — him. 

(I’m so happy.) 

As I was wishing this happiness would never end, I suddenly realised him staring down at me— 

Ellis: Do you still remember the last time you were in a wheelchair?

Kate: Yeah. You pushed me around back then too, and we had such a fun time together. 

Back then, I was feeling low about being hurt, and so he brought me out on a wheelchair. 

Remembering how similar today felt to that day, I narrowed my eyes affectionately and smiled at the memory. 

However, Ellis looked slightly disappointed.

Ellis: I didn't really think about it the last time, but today I noticed something not so good about wheelchairs.

Kate: Huh? 

Ellis: It’s that I can’t see your face very well. 

I couldn’t help but laugh when he leaned in close and peered into my face. 

Kate: I was thinking the same thing.

Ellis: Carrying you in my arms would solve everything.

Kate: But that would tire you out.

Ellis: I’m fine with that. But the wheelchair is more fun for you, isn’t it?

Seeing the troubled look on his face… I reached up to cup his cheeks and pressed a kiss to his lips. 

Kate: But it lets us kiss in a different way how we usually do.

Ellis’ lips lifted into a sweet smile in response to my words.

Ellis: Upside down kisses are nice too.

He happily stole another kiss from my lips. 

…

Our enjoyable time together flew by in the blink of an eye.

We came to a hill overlooking town. 

Kate: Wow, so beautiful… 

The town was dyed in the colours of the setting sun.

Red, orange, yellow, purple, navy — blending together in this hour called twilight. 

Ellis: I think the view’s better from here.

Kate: Whoa— 

He lifted me, bringing me closer to the twilight. 

Ellis: Hey, Kate.

Ellis suddenly called my name in a soft and sweet voice. 

Kate: What is it?

When I turned my eyes onto him, he gave me a small smile.

Ellis: Let’s get married.

Kate: Wha… 

Gazing at me with such love and tenderness — he pulled a ring out of his pocket. 

Ellis: I realised something while taking care of you when you’re hurt.

Ellis: I want to always stay by your side from now on, caring for you. 

A breeze blew, and the wheelchair shifted ever so slightly. 

Ellis: I want to share the joy when you're happy, be there to comfort you when you're sad, and to hold you close when things are hard. 

Ellis: I want to make you happy forever and ever. 

Ellis: Because I realised once again that making you happy is what makes me happy. 

Ellis wore a gentle smile as he turned to look at the town dyed in the colours of twilight. 

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I felt like I was about to cry when Ellis asked in the most tender voice,

Ellis: Will you marry me?

A single tear rolled down my cheek.

Kate: Yes, I will. 

Kate: I will become your wife, Ellis…

I nodded through my tears, and Ellis slid a ring onto my left ring finger with a slightly troubled smile. 

Ellis: What should I do, Kate? 

Ellis: I’m already so incredibly happy, and yet it feels like we’re about to become even happier. 

Those words made me chuckle. 

Kate: That’s true. We’re going to become so, so much happier. 

Carrying me in his arms, Ellis spun around on the spot and we laughed together.

Twilight slowly melted into nighttime. 

…

<< Fast Forward to Wedding Day >>

And so today, we vowed our eternal love to each other.

After the wedding ceremony was over and everyone had left the venue, our eyes met.

Just like that day, we stood under the twilight that made the rings on our ring fingers shimmer. 

Ellis: I thought the happiest moment of my life was when you said yes to my proposal, but now I'm even happier. 

He cupped my cheeks with a tender smile.

Kate: Our happiness will only keep on renewing from now on.

His smile deepened at my words.

Ellis: … I was thinking of when the happiest moment of our lives would come.

Ellis: But maybe it won’t come until we’re both granny and grandpa. 

Until we become wrinkled old people, we will continue renewing the happiest moment of our lives.

Until the day he kills me. 

Kate: If it’s with you, I’m sure I’ll still be happy as an old granny. 

Ellis: Fufu, yeah. I’m sure we’ll both be. 

We closed our eyes, and without another word from either of us, our lips met in a loving kiss. 

From this moment on, we will continue painting and shaping our blissful future together — until the ultimate happiest moment arrives, until my life is taken. 

[anarcho-commeownism]

Okay so take this with as many grains of salt as you like, because I'm just gonna talk about my own personal experience here, but I have a few things to say on this.

First of all, this isn't a new revelation by any means. You can find some form of sex aversion treated as an illness in many many instances throughout history, far before homosexuality was considered as such. This conversation HAS been thoroughly picked through in discourse on this very website but I really don't think there was ever a real conclusion to it because I believe a lot of important context hasn't really been touched on, so I appreciate someone bringing it up!

Now, my personal issue with this whole thing: I struggle with identifying as aromantic and/or asexual because the thing is? Sometimes medications, disorders, and illnesses do cause asexual/aromantic behavior and inclinations. I'm on multiple medications that decrease libido, I have sexual trauma, I am autistic, I have several anxiety disorders known to cause sexual dysfunction, etc. I've got a million and one medical reasons as to why I might feel so repulsed by the idea of having sex myself, or being in a romantic relationship, and I never had a break between being a child and being a medicated chronically ill adult to figure out what I'm "really" into. I don't feel like I ever will have a chance to find out what I'm "really" into, either, because my life is centered around my disabilities and their side effects, and there is no cure for most of this. So I've settled with it—I would rather have my life-saving medication than be allosexual, and by extension, I have a basically identical experience to that of what seems to be the "correct" asexual individual.

This kind of wholesale rejection of asexuality in a medical sense kind of leaves those of us that do experience these things medically out in the cold. It's as if we don't exist within aspec discourse at all because our existence must "prove" that asexuality is inherently medical even though we are individuals that have chosen this label because of the disorders we have or life saving medications we take or what have you. There's a reason I don't say I'm asexual most of the time—the only reason I'm "like this" is ultimately because I would be dead if I wasn't on several medications that significantly decreased my sexual desires and libido. Functionally, I am at least on the asexual spectrum, and I'm often deeply uninterested in actually having sex. I believe that the label fits me. But again, I don't like disclosing this because I know how The Disk Horse puts me directly in the center of two opposing sides, one of which thinks there's something wrong with me because I don't have sex, and the other of which believes there's something wrong with me and I would actually like sex if I wasn't chronically ill.

We have to understand that there are many reasons for asexuality, and yes, that includes medical situations. That includes trauma. These things do not inherently mean that all asexuals are the result of a disability or medication. They just mean that we exist, and you can't just ignore that to push your own one-track narrative on asexuality's relationship with the medical field.

Asexuality on its own should not be considered its own disorder, I agree. But there is a significant lack in awareness of this gray area that I am in wherein our asexuality is indeed a symptom of something else, and there are a huge variety of reactions to this! Some people do actually want their decreased sexual desires to be remedied because they miss a time in their life when they were functionally allosexual, or they feel as though they're missing something and want to experience it at least once. Some people (like me) don't mind much and want to identify as asexual and/or aromantic because that is what feels best to us. We all have the same experience, but with different conclusions. The best way to comprehend this is to just let people identify how they feel most comfortable, of course.

That's the difficulty with asexuality—while there are no provable causes for someone to become gay or transgender, there are plenty of ways a person might find themselves permanently asexual despite not being asexual previously. Sexuality is fluid! I believe those people deserve the label as much as anyone else.

Also, none of us want to be told that we would be allosexual if we weren't ill, OR that we would be asexual even if we were abled. That completely & arrogantly disregards our experiences with chronic, often life-long conditions, and our personal reconciliation with those things, just because you can only see this in a black and white way where asexuality is never a medical issue for anyone.

I suppose I just want to clarify that asexuality should not be considered a disorder on its own, but it can indeed be the result of a medical situation. And as you may not seem to understand, some people do want to see a remedy to that—and since its in this blurry gray area where some people consider it asexuality and some people just see it as decreased sexual desire, some might choose to call that conversion therapy even if the person involved was not asexual prior to their medical situation and is uncomfortable with their lack of sexual desire and/or motivation, and feels more like themself once they are off the medication they were taking or taking something to aid their libido.

It literally doesn't matter if we'd be allosexual if we weren't disabled. We're disabled. We're in a situation medically that restricts our sexual desires, motivations, and enjoyment, and there's often no way out of it. We each individually make our own decisions on our situations and what we want "fixed" medically. Sometimes people just want to enjoy sex again. Sometimes we're fine with the way we are on our meds. Does that make us less valid as asexuals? As aromantics? I don't know. You tell me.

I've come to the conclusion that the way asexuality (and by extension aromanticism if we're being real) are pathologized now is similar to how homosexuality was pathologized in the 80s.

Because, if you don't know, when homosexuality was taken out of the DSM in 1974 it was immediately replaced by a new disorder called ego dsystonic homosexuality. This "condition" basically stipulated that homosexual desire was a disorder, but only if the patient was distressed by their sexuality. This compromise disorder was obviously introduced because while they couldn't go on pretending homosexuality wasn't intrinsicly disordered, they couldn't let go of that idea completely and it wasn't removed until over a decade later in 1987. But asexuality and aromanticism are still seen this way. Asexuality is still in the DSM under the name hypoactive sexual desire disorder, which stipulates that lack of sexual desire is a disorder, but only if the patient is distressed by their sexuality.

Both disorders' diagnostic criteria warn that people who are happy in their sexuality should not be considered disordered, but this only serves as tacit admission that it was never a disorder in the first place. A true disorder is a disorder regardless of how the patient feels about it. Anorexia is a disorder even if the patient is adamant that they're happy and healthy. Chronic depression is a disorder even if the patient says they're fine. And while this has been acknowledged with regards to homosexuality, it still hasn't been acknowledged with regards to asexuality.

And this perception of asexuality is imbedded within the wider culture as well. When people hear someone, be it a fictional character or a real goddamn person, say they're not attracted to anyone or interested in sex or romance, often their immediate thought is "Oh, there must be something wrong with you." Some of them will back off if you say "Actually I'm aro/ace" but some of them won't, and even for the ones who do, their first thought was still that there's something wrong with you that needs fixing. And they only thought your lack of interest was acceptable with the excuse of labelling yourself asexual/aromantic like it's a necessary hall pass.

Because fundamentally people can't let go of the idea that asexuality and aromanticism are disordered, even if they nominally support aro/aces, so they have all these excuses, like "Well maybe they're just repressed maybe they're just traumatized maybe-" yadayadayada. Because they can't simply associate lack of attraction with being aro/ace, they can only think of being aro/ace as one possible explanation. We're literally just stuck in "Oh you say you're into the same gender not into anyone? Well maybe you're traumatized or were abused as a kid or you're going through a phase or a late bloomer and you'll find the right person someday." But it's fine because if you use your hall pass then maybe they'll back off but if you don't have it because you don't know or accept you're aro/ace yet, tough luck. It's no surprise that asexuals have the same conversion therapy rate as gay people.

[sunafc]

Cherry Smoke — 20, Right

masterlist

Rain falls in small, grey drops. It taps against Y/n’s umbrella as she waits for the bus. Seems like the sky is not having a great day either. She thinks back to her talk with Semi. It was the right thing to do — she keeps repeating in her head — to break it off before it went on too long. It was never her intention to hurt him. It was inevitable, though. Her eyes are fixed on a puddle on the road. Raindrops keep falling into it, forming little waves on the surface. Cars pass by, splashing dirty water all over the side of the street as they cross the puddle. A car stops, tire in the puddle. Y/n’s gaze moves up, recognizing the car. The window rolls down, ‘Hey,’ Suna greets her, ‘Need a ride?’ Y/n huffs, ‘What are you doing here?’ ‘I was in the area,’ he shrugs, ‘Come on, get in,’ he reaches for the car door and opens it. Y/n weighs her options: wait in the rain and sit thirty minutes on uncomfortable plastic seats or accept Suna’s offer. She gets in the car. Suna holds his breath until Y/n closes the door. The air between them is tense, awkward. Suna is scared to make a sound. Afraid to say the wrong thing once more. Neither of them utters a word for the first ten minutes of the ride. Then, Suna breaks the silence. He glances at the girl once before focusing back on the street in front of him, ‘Can we talk?’ Y/n wants to answer with a dig at his inability to talk in the past, but she decides to spare him. After all, he had driven to that bus stop for her (even though he said he was passing by, Y/n knew there was nothing in that neighborhood for him to go there). ‘Fine,’ she says, ‘But you’re doing the talking.’ Suna lets out a sigh of relief — at least she wanted to listen to him. He just had to avoid saying the wrong thing — he stops the car in a parking spot on the side of the road. He passes a hand through his hair. He slightly turns to Y/n, ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I’ve been awful to you, I’ve been a coward, and I’ve been selfish,’ he fidgets with his fingers, trying to stop his hands from shaking, ‘I like you, Y/n,’ he smiles, ‘I like you so much it makes me scared, I wanted to run from you but I couldn’t. I tried to keep you all for myself. I know you deserve better than me, but I can’t bear to see you with anyone else.’ ‘Rin—’ ‘I want to do better,’ he interrupts her, ‘I went to see a therapist.’ ‘You did?’ Y/n asks, a bit shocked. Suna lowers his gaze, ‘Yeah, Yachi said it could help me to talk with a stranger,’ — Y/n hums in agreement — ‘I only went to one session for now, and it wasn’t too bad,’ he says. ‘That’s great, Rin,’ she says in a sweet tone, sincerely happy to hear that. ‘I broke it off with Semi,’ she blurts out. ‘Oh,’ Suna tries to hide his happiness at her words and focuses on her face, trying to read her, ‘Are you okay?’ ‘I’m fine,’ she sighs, ‘It couldn’t work. It wasn’t the right time for me.’ ‘My bad,’ Suna smirks. Y/n punches his shoulder playfully, ‘I tried getting over you,’ she says, getting more serious, ‘But deep down, I didn’t want to.’ Suna’s heart skips a beat, ‘I really want to kiss you,’ he says. Y/n laughs, ‘Take me on a date first?’ ‘Bet, we’re going right now,’ Suna starts the car. Y/n's eyes widen, and she quickly grabs Suna’s arm to stop him, ‘Wait, I was joking!’ Then she sees the worried look on Suna’s face as he stops the car, ‘I can’t go on a date looking like this,’ she says, pointing at her figure. Suna goes from worried to unamused, but he smiles, ‘I see nothing wrong. You look beautiful.’ ‘Shut up,’ she averts her gaze, ‘let’s just go to yours.’ ‘Then I can kiss you?’ ‘We can talk about it,’ she says, trying to cover the smile creeping up her face. Satisfied, Suna starts the car again.

notes:

suna isn't wasting time no more

finally getting the therapy he deserves!!! fix your commitment issues king 🙏

again, everyone say thank you yachi ! our savior fr

also sorry to semi and semi stans 💔 it wasn't meant to be

thoughts and constructive criticism abt the written content are always appreciated so please, if you have any, share them!!

taglist: @nomyimi @nomoreilovesyou @heyhihellowhatsup @this-is-me-lolol @xoxpetals @massacremars @mo072806 @chikanmaniac @jayyyygeeee @unhinged-atrocities @sophiahearttss @akaashislovee @sexylexy12 @asp7n @silly-pigeon69 @0rangej0e @sticknpokes @honeyfewr @kzoyu @m3llypl1n1us @thatmf-jay @aneternallyexhaustedpigeon @ventiij @meguemii @nscuit @luvinazaki @reidsworld @h3xi2g0n3 @readerxyou @crispymaki @emiwoowoo @bluemailhiot @itz-phantomz @lover-no-lover61 @osamuspudding @dazaisfavgf @kenmacantakemeaway @ilikecats003 @ocyeanicc @luvlybeom @mncxbe @yayekes @sunaluvbug @asxprse @blub-1 @sovaenjoyer @emicatz @angelsleepinggurl @bigfluffybread @0-0rot | taglist full

[woso12]

⚠️Warning ⚠️ - Mention of a cart and being high

After hitting my cart for the last time, I placed it in my car console. I then conducted a thorough check before exiting my vehicle.Getting high before training may not have been the wisest decision, but I anticipated that this session would be challenging, so I aimed to make it feel a bit easier 

As I nod at the receptionist, I walk down the hallway toward the locker room. I push the door open and head straight to my locker, hoping to avoid any unnecessary attention. “Hey, kiddo, you okay?” Leah asks as she settles in next to me. “Crap,” I mumble quietly, just low enough for Leah not to catch it. “Yeah,” I reply, my gaze fixed on my bag as I search for my shin guards.

“Are you sure?” Leah asked, her voice tinged with concern, puzzled by your distress, especially since you seemed fine when you left the house this morning. “Yep just fine” i said getting my kit and leaving to the bathroom to change into it but before i could even get out the door my best friend in the team decided to grace me with her presence 

“Y/N, do you believe I could fit into a wishing machine?” Kyra exclaimed, her voice filled with enthusiasm. In my current high state , everything seemed hilarious, and I laughed so hard that I found it difficult to catch my breath.“Y/N, are you alright? That wasn’t funny,” Kyra remarked, her expression a mix of confusion as you finally calmed down and caught your breath. “Yeah,” I replied, holding her gaze for a few seconds before Kyra suddenly gasped.

“ARE YOU HIGH?” Kyra exclaimed loudly, causing everyone in the locker room to pause and turn to look. “I'm sorry did i hear that correct”  i let out a sign as the last person i wanted to find out is now fully looking me in the eyes seeing how red they are confirming for her i was in fact high“I said, ‘Yeah,’ in a low voice, revealing just how embarrassed I felt.” 

“are you fucking kidding me right now” Leah exclaimed, her voice filled with so much anger that it made me fear for my safety. “It was just a little bit,” I replied, attempting to defend myself, even though it wasn’t working out well for me“Do you ever forget that you’re only 17 and that you could really get yourself into serious trouble?” Leah exclaimed, her frustration evident as she nearly shouted. It’s just something I use when I’m feeling stressed, Leah. It’s not a big deal, I said while shrugging my shoulders. 

“I can hardly stand to look at you at this moment; my disappointment is overwhelming,” Leah expressed, turning away and leaving the locker room. I wiped away the tear that had escaped my eye and turned to find everyone staring at me, their expressions mirroring the disappointment Leah had shown.

I hurry to my locker, gathering my belongings while struggling to keep my tears at bay, though it's not going very well.I hop into my car and drive out of the training facility to my favorite spot where I can unwind and relax.

I arrive home shortly after 5 PM. A few hours have passed since my conversation with Leah, and I feel anxious about what awaits me in our shared house. Taking a deep breath, I open the front door and step into the hallway. The first thing I notice is the kitchen light is on, indicating that Leah is still awake 

I enter the kitchen to find Leah sitting at the table, holding a cup of tea tightly in her hands as if it were a lifeline. We sat there for a few minutes before either Leah or I said anything.“I want everything Leah expressed with anger in her voice.”“Leah, please,” I said, trying to mask my desperation.“You know, before you moved in with me, I assured your parents that you would be safe and stay away from negative influences.” I remained silent in response, feeling the weight of her words and not wanting to disappoint either her or my parents. 

“I think it is time for you to be in care of your parents again,” Leah said as she stood up to prepare herself another cup of tea. “Leah, no!” I exclaimed, not wanting to leave Leah and break the bond we share. “Then i want EVERYTHING that has weed in it now” leah said not trying the blow up for the second to dayI didn’t say a word but headed to my room to retrieve the box from beneath my bed that contained everything. I returned downstairs and placed it on the table in front of Leah. “Is that everything?” Leah asked, giving me a piercing stare.

“Alright, here’s what’s going to happen: you won’t have your car for a month. I will drive you to and from school and training. You won’t be able to hang out with friends for a week. Do I make myself clear?“‘Yes,’ I said, my gaze fixed on the ground

“Okay, I'm sorry for raising my voice earlier. I love you and truly want the best for you; I want to see you succeed in life. However, this isn’t the right step in that direction, and I can only hope you won't make this mistake again,” Leah said, her voice firm. 

“I promise this will never happen again. I love you and do not want to let you, my team, or my parents down,” I said, my voice trembling as tears threatened to spill from my eyes.

“Come here,” Leah said, opening her arms wide and allowing me to fall into her embrace.The warmth of her hug enveloped me like a cozy blanket, providing comfort and a sense of belonging. As I rested my head on her shoulder, I felt the tension slowly ebb away, replaced by an overwhelming feeling of safety and love. Leah had always been my anchor, the one constant in the ever-changing tides of life.

🌸Author note 🌸

Sorry for disappearing I got busy with work and just life I will begin post more just send requests please - love mady 💕

[obsessedwithceleste]

Shit, I’m in Love

Mattheo Riddle x Theodore Nott

Dedicated to this request 🫶🏽

Summary: When Theo finds himself feeling absolutely repulsed every time he sees his roommate and best friend kissing a guy, or bringing a boy back to their shared dormitory, he begins to worry that he’s being homophobic. Turns out Theo doesn’t have any problems with Mattheo kissing guys, as long as it’s him he’s kissing.

word count: 3.7k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

Theodore Nott knew that his best friend was gay. He was actually well aware of the fact considering he’d been hearing his best mate talking endlessly, going on and on, drooling over one wizard or another over the years. But it had always been just that. Talk.

This was something else entirely. This made Theo's stomach twist, made his teeth grate, made his fists clench so hard his fingernails left imprints on his palms. He was seeing red. Literally. It was fucking sickening to watch.

There across the room, of all people, was the fucking boy-who-lived himself, pressed up against a dark corner of the room, boxed in by Mattheo's toned arms with his tongue down Mattheo's throat.

Theo thought was going to be vomit. He could feel his lip curling with disgust as he got ready to march on over there to split that shit up.

"You know if you glare at those two any harder they might burst into flames?" the sound of Lorenzo's voice jerks Theo out of his thoughts as he turns to face his friend.

“Good. Maybe then Potter will get his fucking tongue out of Matt’s mouth before I have to take it out myself,” he snaps, getting ready to make his way over, but Lorenzo's hand on his chest stops him.

"Easy there. Let the man have his fun. You know nothing he does at these things ever means anything anyway. Sides, more ammunition to make fun of him with later," his friend says lazily, tipping his own drink into his mouth.

Theo scoffs, crossing his arms.

“That shits fucking disgusting. Nobody with decency wants to see that,” he snarls, knowing he’ll have that cursed image of Matt and Potter making out burned into his mind for at least a week.

Lorenzo’s brows furrow though as he tilts his head at his friend, taking another swig of his drink.

“I didn’t peg you as someone who cared about seeing guys kissing guys,” Enz drawls as he analyzes the brunette boy in front of him closely.

He knew full well that he was stirring up shit, but he was nothing if not invested in the drama of it all. Theo sputters now, his face distorting in disgust at the very idea of not supporting his best friend.

“No!” He exclaims a little too loudly. “No! That’s not what I’m saying. There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to see my best friend’s tongue down someone’s throat, okay? I’m not nearly drunk enough for this shit.”

Enz lets out a patronizing laugh.

"Jeez Theo. Getting awfully defensive there. Let's take it down a notch, yeah? Go find yourself a distraction of your own. Shouldn't be hard for a looker like you."

Theo wants to protest, but Lorenzo nudges his friend towards the crowd, forcing him away from the corner where Mattheo and Potter were practically eating each other alive.

It doesn't take long for Theo to find a witch ready to throw herself into his arms. Like Enzo had said, he wasn't awful to look at by any means, he just wasn't as promiscuous as the rumors had led most people to believe. So when the pretty little witch began to wrap her arms around Theo's neck, batting her eyes at him as she leaned in, Theo felt his stomach drop.

The kiss is cold and stiff and all Theo can think about is how chapped this witch's lips are. Nothing like the soft pink of Mattheo's- No.

Theo forces his eyes closed, pressing his lips harshly against the girl's as he grips her waist firmly. Ignoring the blaring sirens going off in his head, he pulls her closer still, letting her fingers tangle messily in his hair even though each touch is a stinging reminder of how he'd rather be anywhere else. He hazily hears her giggle against his mouth as he continues to make out with her, determined to shove Mattheo from his mind.

Theo was getting to be insufferable to be around. A scowl was permanently etched across his face, he was slamming books, doors, brooding about as if a rain cloud were following him about. It was so bad even Draco had taken notice and he was about as self absorbed as it came.

It was getting to the point where everyone was beginning to grow a bit worried for the boy. Just that morning Theo had snapped at Professor Snape, costing Slytherin House 20 points and almost landing himself a detention. Thankfully Blaise had hauled him off before he could open his mouth again.

The week before, Theo almost took Mattheo's head off during quidditch practice when he sent a bludger flying his way. And that was saying something considering the fact that Theo was a chaser and Mattheo was the one with a beater's bat in his hand.

Theo had even begun eating meals alone in the library, sneaking food past Madam Pince.

"Alright mate, you've gotta tell us what's been bothering you for the past few weeks," Mattheo says, finally breaking down one night after the door to their shared dormitory is slammed closed once again behind one Theodore Nott.

Theo just grumbles incoherently as he throws his book bag onto the floor in a heap next to his bed, gaining the attention of their other roommate.

"Maybe he's sexually frustrated because he hasn't gotten laid since that party a few weeks back," Lorenzo pipes up, never one to miss an opportunity to poke fun at Theo.

"Not everything can be solved with sex, Berkshire," Mattheo scoffs, throwing a pillow at the boy, but still letting out a hearty laugh.

"Oh like you're one to talk, horny bastard. You and Potter have been going at it like rabbits-"

"Nothing has been fucking bothering me. I'm fine," Theo snaps, cutting Lorenzo off and wiping the grins off his roommates' faces.

A beat of silence passes where Mattheo and Enz just stare dumbfoundedly at Theo, surprised by his outburst. Usually he was the calm and collected one of the three. It was rare for him to raise his voice. Much less at them.

"I'm gonna go shower," Theo grumbles, grabbing his soap and towel from his wardrobe before storming right back out of the room.

"Fucking hell, what was that?" Mattheo asks, mouth agape as he stares at the door.

If Theo kept barging in and out like that, those poor hinges weren't going to last another week.

Lorenzo just shrugs, uninterested.

"He's been all pissy ever since you started in with Potter. Don't think he likes him much," he drawls, pulling out a PlayWizard magazine out from under his mattress and beginning to page through it lazily.

Mattheo glares at the offending item in his friend's hands.

"Really Enz? Now?" he huffs, snatching the magazine from across the room with a quick accio before tossing it over his shoulder, banishing it off to one of the far corners of the messy room.

Lorenzo just rolls his eyes in protest, leaning back on his bed and tucking his hands behind his head.

"You ever talk to him? 'Bout you liking wizards and all? Like really talk to him? You know how his father is, stuck in the past and all. Maybe he's been messing with ole Theodore's head."

Mattheo blinks. No. No! That was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard come out of Enzo's mouth. And Enzo said a lot of stupid shit. Surely not. Theo? He shakes his head, lying back himself as he twirls his wand about mindlessly.

"You're out of your damn mind Berkshire," he grunts, eyes boring into the ceiling above.

Meanwhile, Theo was quite certain he'd actually lost his mind this time. He'd never snapped like that before and in that moment, he felt like his father. The scalding water stings against his skin as he tries to burn the memory out of his head. Salazar fuckin Slytherin he was going insane.

He was trying. Really he was. But every time he looked at his best friend, he felt a sickening, sinking feeling begin to grow in his gut. It made him feel like throwing up. It made him hot and sweaty and his fists would clench up like Matt's did when he was getting ready for a fight. But at the same time, his chest would clench and he just wanted to hide Mattheo away, somewhere where no one else could have him, just Theo. But especially not, Potter. God, just thinking about him with Mattheo made Theo nauseous.

He had to sit there in potions watching the precious little lion practically rake his eyes up and down his best friend. Had to pretend he didn't see the boy who refused to die waiting for his best friend just outside the quidditch locker room. Not even the Great Hall was safe where, every time he looked up to talk to Enzo across the table, there was the golden boy himself at the Gryffindor table making eyes at his best friend seated next to him. Disgusting.

He couldn't stand it. Couldn't tolerate it. Couldn't- tolerate it?

A cold feeling washes over Theo as he freezes in place, the scorching hot water suddenly cold against his skin as dread slowly begins to creep in.

Was he being? Of course not.

It wasn't about Mattheo liking other guys. It was about him liking Potter of all people. Yeah. Of all the options that's who he went with? That was the problem. Not the fact that the sight of Mattheo kissing him made him viscerally ill. Just the fact that it was Potter he was kissing. Right.

He wasn't being intolerant. He hadn't had a problem when he walked in on Pansy and Luna making out in a broom closet. Sure it had been mildly traumatic, but it simply hadn't been his business. Not that the only reason he didn't care then was because it didn't affect him-

It was just different because it was Mattheo.

Another week passed and things between Theo and the world had not gotten any better. In fact, one might even say that things had become exponentially worse. Mostly because Mattheo was experiencing what Lorenzo was calling 'emotional whiplash'. One minute Theo was storming through their dormitory like a wild hurricane, slamming books onto his bed and grumbling to himself. But an hour later he'd be offering Mattheo the answers to their charms homework like nothing was the matter.

It all had Mattheo spinning on his head, never sure which Theo he was going to get, and he was tired of being on edge around his best friend. He just wanted- no needed things to go back to how they were. And the only way that was going to happen was if he found out what was really bothering Theo.

The library was much too quiet for Mattheo's liking. He hated the way you could hear the pages of books being turned echoing off the walls, hated how the lights were dimmed low enough that you could just barely make out the words on the page in front of you, and hated how the whole place smelled like stale parchment. But yet here he was, navigating the rows and rows of books in search of his best friend because Theo liked it here and that was enough for him.

When he finally finds the elusive brunette Theo looks up, almost surprised that Mattheo had found him amongst the endless bookshelves. Almost. Mattheo had always had a knack for finding Theo, even when he didn’t particularly want to be found.

“Hey,” Mattheo offers stiffly, eyeing his friend warily trying to gauge his mood.

Theo just leans back in his chair, head nodding, gesturing for his friend to take a seat.

“So. You’ve been- on edge lately,” Mattheo states, pursing his lips hoping Theo would give him something to work with.

Anything really at this point.

He can see his friend visibly stiffen at his words, jaw clenching as his eyes stare straight forward at the table in front of them.

"Been a weird semester," Theo replies, picking at the table.

Mattheo lets out a sigh as he too leans back in his chair as he takes a good look at his friend. Usually he felt like he knew Theo like the back of his hand. Most of the time he liked to think that he knew Theo better than he knew himself. But looking at him now, he hardly recognized him. His face was tired and he could see bags starting to form under his eyes.

"Look, is something going on with your father again? He can be pretty, intense," Mattheo asks, trying to find a spot to break through Theo's hard exterior.

Theo shakes his head quickly, sitting up a bit.

"No, no, he's actually left me alone for the most part this year. Which is preferable I guess," he replies, still not quite meeting Mattheo's eyes.

"Is it something I've done then?" Mattheo asks, head tilting as he crosses his arms over his chest as if they'll protect him from whatever comes out of Theo's mouth next.

This time though, Theo's eyes snap to his, almost frantically.

"No! I mean yes- but. It's not something you've done exactly. Well it is, but it's not you-" Theo blurts out, stumbling as he tries to get words out.

Mattheo doesn't utter a word, scared that if he does, Theo would clam right back up.

"I just- do you ever think. Do you ever feel like I don't uh, accept you?" Theo rushes out finally, face turning rather red as his gaze suddenly finds the surface of the table quite interesting once more.

Mattheo blinks once. Then again before letting out a snort of laughter. He just couldn't help it.

"That's what this has all been about?" He asks, trying and failing to cover his snickers as his friend sends a glare his way.

"I'm being serious Matt. Every time I see you and- Potter," Theo visibly shudders at the name, "making out in some corner, I feel like I'm going to be sick."

Mattheo just rolls his eyes.

"So you don't like seeing me make out with other guys. So what? That doesn't immediately make you prejudiced. Prudish maybe, but I suppose I wouldn't want to see someone I consider a brother making out with someone all the time either."

Theo's eyes narrow, clearly not convinced by Mattheo's words.

"Look, I'll scale it back alright? We have been a bit obnoxious about it all lately," Mattheo continues.

"That's just it, isn't it though? You shouldn't have to change what you're doing on my account," Theo grumbles.

"Oh come off it. It's not as if you're telling me not to kiss other lads. You just don't want to see it the same way neither of us like walking in on and seeing Enzo's latest conquest."

Theo wants to protest, Mattheo can tell, but he doesn't.

"You're probably just over thinking it mate. Don't let it get to you. You're freaking everyone out. Draco's convinced you're dying and in a mood because you don't know how to tell everyone," Mattheo says, trying to lighten the mood.

Theo just snorts, shaking his head as he picks his book back up.

"Get outta here," he chuckles, that familiar grin that Mattheo knew all too well finally returning to his face.

"So glad we had this little talk. You know how I love our little chats," he calls back as he disappears once more into the maze of bookshelves.

This had been a mistake. Theo knew going into this that this was going to be a mistake. But yet here he was yet again, brooding in the corner of the Slytherin common room as loud chatter and even louder music suffocated the dark dungeon.

Theo hadn't seen Mattheo all night so he could only imagine what kind of nefarious activities his best friend was up to at that very moment. He tried to push the thoughts from his mind. He'd been doing a lot better over the last few weeks. Mattheo had stuck to his word and kept his escapades with Potter substantially more subtle which had allowed Theo to simply pretend it wasn't happening at all, thereby lifting his spirits a good bit.

It seemed to have all worked to his detriment however since his friends, having noticed that he was no longer acting like an intolerable git, decided that they would drag him out of his dormitory this fine Friday evening to 'socialize'. He didn't want to be here. At least not sober.

Mumbling some half-assed excuse about getting himself a drink, Theo breaks off from his circle to go and raid the not so secret stash of Firewhisky that the Slytherins has stockpiled. Anything to get his mind off of where, or more importantly what, Mattheo was up to.

It wasn't even his business. He shouldn't care this much. No one else seemed to. Not Lorenzo. Not Blaise. Certainly not Draco. He had no reason to be this invested in Mattheo's romantic affairs. He wasn't his mother. Or what had Mattheo said? They were like brothers. Theo had to laugh mirthlessly at that one. Mattheo was most certainly not his brother, he was his best friend. But regardless of the label it didn't give Theo any kind of right to obsess over his other relationships.

Theo is so caught up trying to keep his mind from spinning out of control that when he turns the sharp corner to head towards the dormitories, he nearly crashes into a couple sloppily making out in the shadows.

In the faint light, Theo can just make out the glasses and oh so familiar scar on the boy pressed up against the wall, but- no. Theo would know Mattheo's soft, silky brown curls anywhere, and those were definitely not them. This guy was a lot taller than Mattheo too.

Oh Theo was going to rock their shit.

Before he even had the chance to fully comprehend what he was doing, Theo ripped the other boy off of Potter, slamming him hard against the wall.

"What in Salazar's fucking name do you think you're doing? Huh? Think you can cheat on my mate do you? That it?" The words leave Theo's mouth like fire as the other boy tries to get Theo off of Harry, but Theo just shoves him back instead and Harry seems too stunned to react.

Theo can't think, all he sees is red as Potter's shirt becomes fisted in his hands.

Then suddenly Mattheo is there, hands gently pulling Theo off of Harry as they both stumble away from each other. Theo feels like he's in a daze as he watches Potter scramble over to the other boy to make sure he's alright as Mattheo takes Theo's arm, guiding him away. He can't even hear his own voice as he spits something out over his shoulder, Mattheo quickly apologizing as he drags his friend back to their dorm.

"The hell was that?" Theo explodes as soon as the door to their dorm is shut.

Mattheo just sighs, leaning back against the door frame, trying to hold back a smile.

"Theo-"

"No! He cannot spend the better part of the last few months snogging you every chance he bloody gets just to fucking cheat on you! The bloody hell is wrong with him?"

"Theo it's okay-"

"The hell it isn't. It doesn't fucking matter if the two of you weren't even officially together, that slimy little git, I'll fucking finish what Voldemort started."

Mattheo snorts at this, "Theo I-"

"No Matt. You don't get to defend him. I don't care if you like him, he's a piece of shit you know that? He's shit, and a coward, and I never liked him. And you know what the worst part of it all is? He doesn't even know what he lost. I've had to sit around for the past how many months watching the two of you running off together constantly, feeling fucking sick to my stomach every time he kissed you, and he goes and throws it all away like it's nothing. Like you're nothing. And you're not. Not to me."

Theo doesn't see it coming. One moment he's in the midst of a full blown rant, and the next, Mattheo's soft lips that he'd fallen asleep thinking about so many times were on his.

He goes slow at first. Careful, as if he's half expecting Theo to jerk away in disgust, or horror, or some mix of the two. But instead Theo leans in, cupping Mattheo's face and pulling him towards him hungrily. It's almost desperate the way Theo clings to his friend, the ghost of uncertainty completely overtaken by the months of pining that had been brewing just beneath the surface.

When they finally pull apart, Theo can still feel Mattheo's warm breath on his face as he holds onto him, keeping him close.

They stay like that for a long time. Theo isn’t sure how much time had passed, but he didn’t want to let go.

It's Mattheo who breaks the silence first, face still so close that his lips brush against Theo's when he opens his mouth.

"Can I explain everything now, or do you want to continue to confess your undying love for me?" he teases with a familiar smirk.

Theo grumbles a bit at that.

"I didn't say that," he mumbles, tucking Mattheo's head under his chin, resting his head in Mattheo's nest of wild curls.

Mattheo just hums in response.

"Potter and I were never together," he says finally. "He had his eye on someone else, wanted to make 'em jealous. Came to me cause he thought I'd get them riled up the most and it worked."

Mattheo can feel Theo freeze around him, can sense his brain whirring as he dissects this new information.

"And what was in it for you?" he asks, voice stiff.

Mattheo lets out a quiet hum.

"Mmm. Couple galleons here, some good snogging there. Had my eye on someone myself, but wasn't so sure how he felt about blokes. To be fair I don't think he knew either. But it worked out for me in the end."

Mattheo feels the snort of air Theo lets out at his reply and knows his friend is grinning into his hair.

"Didn't make you out to be the jealous type," he says lightly, feeling the need to poke fun at his friend.

"I didn't either."

Mattheo has to laugh, basking in the feeling of Theo's arms still wrapped around him.

"You're such an idiot."

Happy late pride month! 🤍🤍

[rafeslvbug]

CHAPTER 6 - maybank blues series

you couldn’t remember how you got here.

between rafe saying he’d take care of your car, to now, everything was a blur. curled up in your sheets, a small polka dot plaster on the cut on your wrist.

hushed voices.

careful movements.

you lifted your head off the bed, hearing jj scoff, “see pope! heavy ass footsteps, woke her up!”

“huh?” you rub your head, pushing your back against the headboard in an upright position. they’re all gathered around the bed, the same way they had gathered around the couch. only except they could look at you now.

“pope’s sorry cupcake,” jj pats his friend on the back, hopping onto the bed next to you.

sarah walks in with a tray in her hands, an assortment of food, a glass of water and juice. her and john b exchange brief glances, wound apparently healed but fresh, still. they must have argued it out in the hours you were gone, or asleep.

“here, eat up,” she sets it down on your lap, and you poke around the food for a bit, before crunching down on the toast on your plate.

“how’d you get home yesterday?” kie speaks up, and your eyes drift over to her. the silence in the room seems to close everyone’s throats, a reminder of how angry she had gotten earlier.

“i’m sorry for how i reacted..” she murmurs her apology and more beats pass as they wait for you.

“it’s okay..” you accept, thinking back to yesterday. the fog begun to clear in your mind, recollection of rafe pulling onto the road leading down to the house. you walked down the rest of the way. you told him not to drive directly in front ; they would’ve gotten more angry. “i walked..my car broke down,” you say, voice raspy, prompting you to drink the cold water, condensing in the glass.

“do we need to go get it?” john b asks.

“no.”

funny looks.

tilted heads.

“i called someone myself before i started walking..i’ll collect it later,” you add, praying that when you did walk back to that curb you parked it on last night, it’s still there. if not, rafe really did handle it. then you’d have to see him again.

“i could go get it?” jj offers, but you shake your head. fast. too fast. “why not?”

“i uhm– i just wanted to go myself. i need to get out the house.”

“you got out the house yesterday, it didn’t go so well,” he snorts, and you eyes travel over to him as does everyone else’s.

“great move jj,” pope grumbles, facepalming while you let out a hollow sigh.

your worst nightmares were confirmed when you turned up to the same dreaded spot as last night to find your car gone. breathing out a sigh, scratching the back of your head, you didn’t know what next to do. the cold bit at your arms, prickling sharp goosebumps, and you wrapped your jacket tighter around yourself.

so began the walk to figure eight.

small yet swift footsteps carried you from decay and disease to a world of polish and diamonds. the smell of expensive perfumes mingling in the air growing stronger, advertising of the kildare dream on a mansion the size of seven trailers on the cut.

“hey y/n! y/n!” cole calls out, hurrying away from his conversation on the sidewalk opposite, running over to you. keeping your head down, you picked up your pace, hoping to evade him– though you knew it wouldn’t work. the same way you hoped the car would still be there, but rafe had kept his promise.

“y/n, i wanna talk to you!” he grabs your arm, trying to pull you around to face him, only for you to shove back. “what was that for?” his brows furrow, hands raised.

“what was that– you told my brother!” you yell, wrapping yourself up in your coat tighter. cole shakes his head, confused, still. lost.

“about rafe! you told him about rafe!” you elaborate, in disbelief over his blindness.

“oh my– so what?” he chuckles, easing, shoulders relaxing. it only makes you more infuriated to know he doesn’t care. doesn’t even think about what he’s caused.

“so what? cole, you had no right! nothing was going on between me and rafe, and yet you turned my whole fucking family against me!”

running a hand down his face, stepping back, cole argues back, “well i didn’t tell your dad! did i? that’s not your whole family. god knows what would’ve happened if i did, everyone knows what he’s like! so, see? i could’ve done much worse!”

your mouth falls, lip quivering. everyone knows? what does that even mean, no one knows as far as your concerned. the threat falling from his lips, even if he didn’t mean it. “we’re done cole..” you whisper, broken, and walking away.

“no, y/n! come on!”

you brush away your tears. they follow in the same path they flowed yesterday. your shoulders feel much heavier, or maybe they feel much lighter ; it’s both at once. the burden of a fracturing new relationship gone, but the weight of an already shattered old one coming to light shackling you. trapped. falling into the same mistakes every time. trusting people who don’t deserve it. cole warned you the whole time about trusting rafe, calling you naive and you wished you seen it at the time: he was the one you shouldn’t have trusted.

taglist : @starkeyjoseph @rafesbabygirlx @slut-4-rafey @lanaslushworld @littlelamy @rain-likes-purple @sunny1616 @csturnioloswifey @silkylovey @supasolaa @octoberbxbyy @rafeobx @jamesbeaufortismylife @vanessa-rafesgirl @bambigirl10 @f4sh10n-m4v3n @amelialovesrafe @letstryagaintomorrow @athenabarnes @sapphichotmess @samwinchesterisawhore @arigoldsblog

[speedywizardland]

Title: "Shields Up"

Geum Seong je x reader

The hallways of Eunjang High smelled like sweat, blood, and something metallic—maybe pride. You weren’t sure anymore. It had been another fight-filled week, and while you weren’t involved, he always made sure you never got close to danger.

"Wait here."

Seong-je’s voice was low, barely above a growl. You were about to protest—again—but his eyes were locked onto a group of boys across the courtyard. His grip on your wrist wasn’t tight, but it was firm enough to send a clear message: Don’t move.

"Seong-je, I’m not a porcelain doll," you said softly, trying to mask your frustration with a smile.

He turned to you, his sharp eyes scanning your face like a battlefield report. "No, you’re worse. Porcelain’s cheap. You’re irreplaceable."

Your breath caught.

Without waiting for your comeback, he walked off with his hands in his pockets, cool and lethal. You watched him approach the boys who had been whispering and pointing toward you earlier. It was subtle, but you’d seen it. They weren’t just students—they were scouts from another school, looking to pick a fight, maybe even use you to do it.

You should’ve told him.

You knew he’d find out anyway.

The fight didn’t last long—three punches, one kick, and a slammed locker door. He didn’t even look winded. Just annoyed. His knuckles bled slightly, and as soon as it was over, he made a beeline back to you like the others didn’t exist.

"You okay?" he asked, scanning you again as if a stare could be a medical exam.

"I’m fine," you muttered. "But you’re not."

He looked at his hand, then shrugged. "This? I’ve had worse stubbing my toe."

You grabbed his injured hand and pulled him toward the nurse’s office. He followed, as always, silently, no questions asked. That was Seong-je—only bossy when it came to your safety. For himself? He didn’t care.

"Why do you keep doing this?" you asked as you cleaned his wounds. "You can’t fight off every guy who looks at me wrong."

"I can try."

You sighed, pressing a bandage a little too hard on purpose. He winced but didn’t complain.

"Seriously. I don’t want you getting hurt because of me."

His voice was quiet now, more vulnerable than you were used to hearing. "If anything happened to you, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. This world—our school—it's not made for people like you."

You frowned. "People like me?"

"Good people."

You blinked, and suddenly you weren’t angry anymore.

He brushed a strand of hair from your face and leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. "Let me be the shield. Just this once. Just always."

You knew he was overprotective. You knew he’d take a punch for you before you even saw it coming. But maybe, just maybe, you were okay with that—so long as he let you bandage his wounds after.

---

What did yal'l think? :)