#gonna explode in 3 2 1 NOW}

[vwoop-prince]

YJ S3 Dick, still in the midst of his fever dream, hides underneath the 'souvenir' instead of behind some boxes, and accidentally opens the airlock trying to take care of the Parademons. The others get it to close... but not before Nightwing is thrown into space.

There, he stares at the ship holding his friends and mentors. There, he wishes more than anything that he can, somehow, survive. There, he tries to live, if only so his family don't have to bury him like Jason.

There, Nightwing dies, wanting to save everyone, even with the cold seeping into his bones far too quickly for a regular section of space.

Then, Dick opens his eyes to... Earth? There's a little house, and grass, and trees, but there's a bubble of green over it all. Outside of that green was an entire castle, one that looked like it should have far more support beams than it does for even a hope that it stays standing.

And the sky was swirling shades of that same green. It makes him think of Lazarus.

"Well, that's something you don't see every day." He whips his head behind him, a bit too fast for Earth's atmosphere, but it doesn't hurt him. Past the bubble of green was a blue-skinned adult in purple robes, the insides of a grandfather-clock fitted inside their torso, and a black staff with a stopwatch on its top. Beside them was a man with snow white hair, glowing green eyes, a crown of frozen fire dancing above his head, and the most galaxy-like cloak Dick's ever seen clasped to his shoulders. He's wearing... a hazmat suit? Maybe? The twinkling stars and odd lighting of wherever he is were giving him a bit of a headache.

But in front of those two, within this bubble, was...

"DICK!" Wally shouted with unrestrained glee, a blur overtaking his spot for barely a heartbeat before Dick's stuck in a crushing hug that he reciprocates once his brain stops feeling like its melting.

He doesn't know how long it took for them to calm down, but the man with the crown spoke up after a time, as Wally was still wiping their faces free of tears. "Welcome to the Infinite Realms, Nightwing." Dick barely even registered that he was still wearing his suit, but now it felt suffocating. "I suppose you're the one Clockwork was holding out for; There shouldn't've been enough Ectoplasm around you to form a Ghost, and your physical body's still in space. I can see why you like this one, though, Clockie," he states flippantly, turning to his companion. Almost like he didn't expect Dick to pay too close attention to what he was saying.

"Either way, there's two options for you." The man didn't let Dick swallow his tears and question anything. Dick's not sure if he's grateful or not. "First: Stay in the Realms permanently. You'll see Kid Flash whenever you want and learn to be a Ghost with the denizens of the Realms. Maybe find your parents."

"But..." Dick pulls away from Wally, keeping him at arms length, eyes flitting between them. The two outside the bubble were distinctly... ghost-like, so the mentions of 'Ghosts' make sense. But Wally looked... alive. A bit pale, a bit thin... but alive. Dick can't see any of his own skin to see if it was blue or tinted that way, but the Nightwing symbol on his chest kept flickering between its own blue and this 'Realms' green. "But--What about the others? What about you? Why can't you come home?" The last two, he focuses on Wally, because now he can feel a heartbeat beneath his gloves. Wally's alive. He's alive.

His friend just shrugs. "Something about their portals not fit for the living? I'm meant to wait for someone to figure out a permanent portal, but they won't tell me how long that'll take." Wally glares at the... 'Ghosts'? There was a heat to it, but it also seemed like this was a well-worn argument.

"The permanent portal was always an 'if', Wallace West. And that is entirely dependent on if Richard Grayson takes the second option," the clock Ghost--Clockwork?--speaks up. But instead of the adult Dick was expecting, there was an elderly Ghost in their place. Still with the time motif. Was that... more literal than Dick took it?

"Yes, the second option..." The crowned man glares daggers at Clockwork. The temperature dips below comfortable. Dick tries to blink the spaceship and stars out of his sight, withdrawing his arms from Wally to try and warm himself. Tries to remember he's not in space. "The second option is that you return to your body... changed. You'll be able to protect Earth better, stay with your alive family, save the Lost Ones... for a price."

Dick doesn't know if he should ignore the plural in 'Lost Ones'. He doesn't know if he's reading too much into how, in this Realm, apparently only his parents were able to be found. Where's Jason? He doesn't dare hope, but...

"What's the price?"

The man smiles and a ring of blue forms around his waist. It splits in two and travels up and down his body, replacing the cloak and whatever clothes he was actually wearing with a NASA shirt, worn jeans, and red sneakers actually duct taped together. The blue tint to his otherwise tan skin fades completely. His hair turns black. His eyes turn blue.

He was like a taller, slightly slimmer, way hotter version of Bruce.

The man walks through the bubble, but doesn't disturb the grass beneath his feet. "You become the Ghost King's vassal." Dick flinches away and almost hides behind Wally. "Not my idea! But, well... it is either this, or your permanent death."

"What does becoming a vassal do to him?" Wally asks, gently trying to stop Dick from breaking his ribs with how tightly he was hugging himself. Does he even have ribs?

"He gains my powers. Ice, electricity, invisibility, intangibility, flight... He becomes a Halfa. He becomes what I was, in life. Just... needing to make offerings to me, now and then. Something like that, at least. I give him powers, he gives me a chunk of, I don't know, chocolate once a week. Like a warlock."

Wally keeps talking to the man, keeps getting information that he knows he should pay attention to, but something in his chest screams to accept this deal, and he can't focus on anything else.

Nightwing can protect. He can return to life and go back to Blüdhaven, be the Vigilante they need. He can visit Gotham every now and then, help with cases and stop criminals from harming others. He can see his brother. He can see his friends. He can eat Alfred's cookies, and have little get-togethers with Babs and the Team--hell, he can argue with Bruce.

And all he has to do is... give an offering to this guy? The Ghost King? Every once in a while?

"There's no other price?" The King turns his attention to Dick. His eyes had shifted to a blue-green that almost hypnotize him. The green swirls, the blue forms and melts like snowflakes, and he can't look away.

He takes another step forward and Wally steps to the side. There was familiarity between them. Wally deferred to him. Dick can't quite tell why. Though, with how Wally hasn't once looked at Clockwork, maybe it's because he's... grounded? Are all speedsters in trouble with, what, the Ghost of Time? That... actually makes perfect sense.

"I'll be honest, Nightwing: You've impressed me." The weight behind the King's words lifts the ones that've been on his shoulders since he was nine. "You remind me of myself. Maybe, if I wasn't a Halfa... If I had a mentor... I could've been like you.

"Despite Clockwork's insistence over the years that I get back in touch with the living, I've held off. When he eventually suggested that I help create another Halfa, I locked him in his tower for twenty years. I didn't want anyone to go through what I had. But, now... I see that you won't. You can't. Even if you hide this deal--our shared powers... You'll still have people by your side. Strong people. Smart people. You can already handle yourself. And I'd love to see what you can do--who you can save--with my help."

There was maybe two inches between their faces when the King finishes speaking. Dick roves his eyes across the other's face, trying to find the common and familiar ticks that show lies and deceit and manipulation. All he finds is sincerity and genuine care.

Wally plays with his fingers from the corner of his eye, gaze hopeful as he looks between the two of them. Wally, who was alive and breathing and able to leave if he accepts. Eventually. Somehow.

Dick Grayson sends a quiet apology to his parents and hopes they will forgive him for being a little bit selfish.

"I accept."

He flings his eyes open. Above him, domino mask too wobbly to be properly secured anymore, was Robin crying and begging him to wake up. His hands were sloppily placed over his heart. Batman was trying to drag him away, the firm set of his jaw screaming grief.

Nightwing gasps once he registers his lungs burning.

There's a large cacophony of noise, multiple bright suits and people hounding over him, and the distinct artificial taste of slightly-too-much oxygen that the ship with the Parademons had. That he flew out of and died. He was still too cold.

Someone moves their arm beneath his knees and shoulder and Dick passes out.

(Dick 'Nightwing' Grayson dies in space. Ghost King Danny Phantom likes this too-human Hero. They split their souls in half, take one piece of the others, and all they know is that Phantom is now Nightwing's Patron Deity. Danny uses ice, for electricity killed him. Dick uses electricity, for ice killed him. They are opposites, and yet so incredibly similar. Clockwork was looking forward to when Danny starts putting off his paperwork to hang out with his new 'friend'.)

[queen0fm0nsterz]

Was writing a post about Meteora (yall know I love to take my time with analysis and asks in my inbox) and I've been thinking very much about how hair -- her hairstyle -- is important in her character design and evolution, especially when you remember how much of her character is defined by control. Or, rather, the lack of it.

It's an expression of the self and simultaneously the only part of her body she has any real control over... at least after disposing of ST. Olga.

I find it especially interesting how, in her memories, her teenage self -- the one that was beginning to ask questions about her condition -- had a short haircut, meanwhile her young adult version, who craved validation from her mother as well as having already internalised the harmful rethoric imparted by the school, has visibly longer hair.

We do later find out that, if left to her own devices, she'd rather keep it as short as possible; however I'd assume that the rules imposed by St Olga would actively go against her desires by imposing the feminine standard of long hair.

"Problem" is, Meteora happens to have a headful of thick curls. Hard to keep under control, right? Not that she needs to, but I'm trying to reason the way St Olga would. But it can't be helped; she needs her hair to remain voluptuous as it is, because she has horns to hide. Oh, but it can't be too long, can it, because otherwise it's gonna be all over the place.

This eternal dilemma is what I would personally insert in the narrative if I was to take a shot at rewriting (or rather, adding more, since I think the little we were given was really interesting) to Meteora's upbringing. The fact that no matter what she does with her hair (read: with herself), she'll never be good enough because the system in which she's being boxed in was simply not made for her.

Then, thinking about it, the very short undercut she chooses for herself later on becomes a paradoxical testment to her tragedy. Because on one hand, an undercut is easy to manage by herself (read: nobody would find out about the horns) and most importantly she likes it, but it also retroactively transforms into just another way to assert control over herself.

She goes to great lengths to make sure her hair is well kept and looked after, but at the same time it's performative. It's the illusion of choice. Stepping out of the small bubble which she was forced to hide in only to step right back in because she physically has no other way to feel like she's in control of anything, ESPECIALLY her own body.

St Olga is gone, but her teachings are still there. They still haunt her. She's still hiding while peaking her head out.

And I say all this because once she FINALLY lets go of all inhibitions, her hair is the first thing that changes, and it's a paradox, again. Because this time it's long, stereotypically feminine; but at the same time it's retroactively masculine, because it makes her look just like her father. (I'm not gonna go into the GENDER of all this but I promise you I DO THINK ABOUT IT A LOT)

It's beautiful and all over the place but most importantly she is free to NOT CARE.

Because she finally has the power to NOT care. She doesn't need to protect herself by trying to fit in because she has reclaimed her monster side, her own empowerment. Herself. She doesn't NEED to control herself anymore.

And again, in a rewrite, I would keep her hair this way. Long and free, at least for a long while. Then if she wants to cut it, it'll be her own choice, free of judgement. This time she'll get to show off her horns regardless. :)

[inky-evergreen]

Uhh yeah I redesigned Candide cause I can and this is my AU I so what (pleasedon'thatemeplease). I didn't change much of her personality wise since I kinda like her and felt like she had wasted potential as a character and antagonist. All I'm gonna say is that I got big plans for her (and a certain forgotten friend of ours) in the future of the series. But for now here's the things I did change about her

•Is the vice VICE principal of the school instead of a superior in order to get closer to the clones and to make sure Scudworth doesn't fuck up. Much to Scudworth's and Mr. B's dismay (they get used to her eventually don't worry)

• Is a very good manipulator and can put up a front real easy. She got almost all the clones to love her but at the same time fear her. Thinking that shes one of the people that if you're nice to her she's nice to you but if you're NOT... that's a death wish. It's almost scary how she does it. Candide says she gets it from her parents like that makes it any better.

• She still likes reptiles don't worry and has them around the school much to everybody's displeasure.

•Didn't really have a good childhood and reptiles were only friend. She felt like she didn't have a purpose from childhood wayyy up to adulthood. But when The board of shadowy figures recruited her in their business she finally felt whole. So she's quite devoted to them (maybe a lil too much)

•Speaking of The shadowy board she's real close to them and has a nice relationship with them. Sometimes they do thing that make her think that she can control their business better but it's all good :333

• She isn't the foster mom of Joan anymore but lovers of Candide and Joans dynamic DO NOT FRET!! They still interact. Joan is one of the only people that doesn't by Candide's nice guy act but that doesn't mean Candide would give up on her that easily. Joan is one of the top three of becoming the next world leader aside from Cleo and Harriet. And Candide is gonna make sure that Joan is gonna be the leader that she as destined to be.

•She's a GIRL KISSER !!! She likes WOMEN!!! She does NOT LIKE MEN!!! SCUDWORTH STOP TRYING TO PURSUE HER SHE'S A LESBIAN YOU STUPID FUCK!!!1!!1!1!1!!!1!!1!!!!1!!!!!!!

[deathstroke-the-himbonator]

10,750 words, I am absolutely fucking insane, wtf

[mnty-bubblegmyum]

I saw some letter I wrote for rinchi that I was planning to never send :(

[inkandapex]

stream madness pt. 4

Lando Norris x Y/N

Summary: Twitch streams, chaos during trivia, and one very soft Lando Norris. Whenever Y/N shows up on stream, fans get more than they bargained for. Between Max F's third-wheeling, and Lando's doting habits, the internet can't keep up.

Words: 5.3k

Warnings: swearing, mentions of period, pregnancy

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Five star michelin

The stream blinked to life, revealing a familiar setting: the sleek, modern kitchen of Lando’s Monaco apartment. The camera was already rolling, capturing a countertop neatly prepped with ingredients, and a few pots and pans waiting on the stove like soldiers at attention. Cooking stream? Unheard of.

Lando appeared on screen, a little out of focus as he fiddled with something just off-camera. He leaned down toward a mic and gave it a couple of taps.

“Can you hear me now?” he asked, eyes darting toward the chat as it exploded with responses. A few seconds passed before he nodded, satisfied. “Nice.”

From somewhere off-camera, a familiar voice chimed in. “You ready?”

“Mmhmm.” Lando stepped back into frame and clapped his hands together, “So—”

A sudden laugh burst from off-screen, stopping him mid-sentence. He turned his head, smirking.

“What?”

Y/N finally stepped into view, her expression amused. She wore one of his Quadrant hoodies, her hair pulled back casually, looking completely at home. “You and Max always do that,” she teased.

“Do what?” he chuckled, reaching out to tug her gently closer until she was tucked beside him, shoulder brushing his.

“The clapping,” she said, gesturing at him with a knowing smile. “Every time you guys film something, you both do that little clap before talking. It’s like a reflex or something.”

Lando rolled his eyes with an exaggerated sigh. “Whatever, hater…”

He turned back to the camera, hands twitching like he was going to clap again. “Anyways, so—” He froze, caught himself mid-motion, and looked right at her. “...Fuck. I really do it, huh?”

Y/N doubled over laughing, lightly shoving him. “I told you! It’s your little pre-performance ritual.”

Lando laughed too, bumping her gently with his hip. “I feel attacked in my own kitchen.”

“You should,” she grinned. “Consider this an intervention.”

“Alright, alright,” Lando grinned, finally pulling it together. “No more claps. Let’s cook before I develop another weird habit.”

“Tell them what we’re doing,” Y/N says, grabbing two aprons from the counter and tossing one to Lando.

“Right!” he nods, slipping the apron over his head. “We’re making dinner. From scratch.”

“That’s right,” she grins, stepping behind him to tie his apron strings neatly at the back. “Steak and mashed potatoes today, quick and easy.”

Lando scans the kitchen setup with a slightly exaggerated frown, lips pressed together as he surveys the ingredients. Y/N catches the look and raises a brow.

“What’s wrong?”

He exhales a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m actually kind of nervous. Chat’s gonna see how rubbish I am at this.”

Y/N’s face softens as he gently spins her around to tie her apron too, the motion slow and familiar. She glances over her shoulder with a small smile. “That’s why I’m here, bub. We’ll work as a team.”

He gives her a playful pat on the bum, earning a surprised little laugh as he says, “Alright, boss. What’s first?”

Y/N grabs a bowl of unpeeled potatoes and hands it off to him along with a peeler. “Wash them, peel them, cut them into quarters.”

Lando blinks. “Huh?”

She stifles a laugh. “Wash. Peel. Cut. Into quarters,” she repeats with a teasing squeeze to his arm, before turning toward the fridge.

He looks down at the potatoes, then to chat, then back at the potatoes, sighing as he walks to the sink. “Do I like... scrub them or something?” he calls over his shoulder.

“No need,” she answers, rinsing some herbs at the counter. “We’re peeling them anyway.”

And so the chaos begins.

Y/N gets to work seasoning the steaks and prepping the herb butter, while Lando stands at the sink, holding a potato like it might explode. He finally begins peeling, very slowly, occasionally pausing to read the chat.

“Hey! I’m not slow!” he says, pointing the peeler accusingly at the camera, eyes squinting playfully. “I’m just taking my time.”

From behind him, Y/N chuckles, drying her hands. “You are doing it quite slow, my love.”

She walks over with a chopping board and a knife in hand, peeking into the bowl beside him. “I’ve already seasoned the meat, made the herb butter, and cleaned up. And you—” she pauses, looking over at his bowl of potatoes “—have peeled exactly… three potatoes.”

Lando gasps like she’s just betrayed him on live television. “I think I'm doing a mega job.”

She laughs, nudging him gently with her hip as she starts chopping the peeled ones. "And I'm so proud of you"

The chat explodes in laughter, messages flying in:

“3 potatoes in 20 minutes 💀” “Y/N carrying as usual” “He’s trying his best leave him alone 😭”

Y/N takes over the potato duties without much of a fight, Lando had peeled just enough for her to work with. She dumps the chunks into a pot of water and sets it to boil, giving it a quick stir before turning to check on her newly assigned sous-chef.

Lando is now standing in front of the stove like he’s guarding a priceless artifact. The pan on the burner is still very much empty, not even a drop of oil or butter in sight, but he’s watching it with intense focus.

“You do realize the pan’s still empty, right?” Y/N asks, sliding up beside him, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

Without taking his eyes off the pan, Lando scoffs, “I’m aware, yes.”

She bites back a grin. “And you’re watching it like a hawk because…?”

“I’m waiting for it to heat up enough,” he replies, dead serious, hovering his hand just above the surface with surgical precision. “You said it has to be hot. Like hot hot.”

Y/N stares at him for a second, then laughs. “Okay, fair, but you could at least put some oil in while you’re doing your little steak meditation.”

Lando lets out a dramatic sigh like she’s asking him to do the impossible, but obliges, grabbing the olive oil and drizzling it into the pan with flair. “There. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” she deadpans. “Now wait til it's smoking a bit.”

He narrows his eyes at the pan, nodding slowly. “Got it.”

From the corner of the room, her phone buzzes with notifications. Chat is thriving.

“Lando’s steak arc begins” “This man is doing yoga with a frying pan” “Protect the pan at all costs”

Lando peeks over her shoulder and squints. “I feel very attacked in this live stream.”

Y/N smirks. “Good. Means they care.”

Just then, the oil begins to ripple gently in the pan. She leans over, inspecting it.

“Alright, chef,” she says with a teasing salute. “You’re good to go.”

Lando straightens up dramatically, grabs the seasoned steak like it’s a sacred relic, and carefully lays it into the pan with a loud sizzle. He flinches slightly at the noise, glancing at her like, “Did I do that right?”

Y/N gives him a proud little nod. “That’s perfect.”

The satisfaction on Lando’s face is almost too much. He’s glowing like he just scored pole position.

“Yeah?” he says, biting his lip to hide the grin. “I mean… obviously.”

They both stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the stove, their expressions weirdly serious as they watched the steaks sizzle in the pan. The kitchen was quiet now, save for the soft bubbling from the potatoes and the satisfying sear of meat against hot oil.

Neither of them spoke. Just stood there. Staring.

Chat, however, was anything but silent.

“they’re both dissociating 😭” “brainrot live” “this is peak couple behaviour” “they’re literally the same person wtf”

Lando finally blinked out of it first. He glanced sideways and immediately burst into a quiet laugh, spotting the exact same zoned-out expression on Y/N’s face as she stared into the pan like it held the secrets of the universe.

She snapped out of it at the sound of his laugh, turning her head with a soft smile. “What?”

“You were giving me crap for staring at the pan,” he said, nudging her gently with his elbow. “You were literally dissociating watching the steak cook.”

Y/N blinked, then laughed, covering her face with one hand. “Oh my god. I was. I think the sizzle hypnotized me.”

Lando grinned, bumping her again. “Welcome to my world.”

She leaned her head briefly against his shoulder, still smiling. “Brain empty. Just meat noises.”

Chat was in shambles.

“JUST MEAT NOISES” “meat trance 🧠✨” “someone screenshot this, I need it framed”

Not much time had passed, and now the two stood on opposite ends of the kitchen island, heads down, tongues slightly poking out in focus as they carefully plated their food.

Each had been assigned their own plate, it had somehow turned into a competition. And of course, they’d agreed that chat would vote on whose presentation was better.

“Stop hogging all the broccoli, baby!” Lando cried dramatically, pointing an accusing finger at her side of the counter. “I’ve got no garnish.”

Y/N scoffed, not even looking up as she arranged a small floret just so. “You knob, we’ve literally both got five each!” she exclaimed, gesturing wildly to her plate like she was presenting evidence in court.

Lando leaned over with a squint. “Yeah, but you’ve got all the pretty pieces!”

She froze mid-mash, then turned to look at him, face twisted in utter disbelief. “They’re all broccoli, you muppet! What do you mean ‘pretty pieces’?!”

“The round ones!” Lando argued back, now clutching his plate like it was his child. “Yours are, like… cuter!”

“I cannot believe we’re arguing about broccoli aesthetics,” she muttered, laughing as she snatched one off his plate and swapped it with hers. “There. Happy?”

He paused, inspecting the trade like a jewel dealer. “...Yeah, that’s fair.”

Lando glanced over at his plate, then at hers. His brow furrowed.

“How’d you do that?” he asked, confused, staring like her food was some sort of black magic.

Y/N didn’t even look up, too focused on delicately arranging the slices of steak just right on her plate. “What now?”

“Your mash…” he said, drifting over behind her to peer over her shoulder. “How’d you make it look like that?”

She let out a loud, surprised laugh, trying to push him away with one arm. “Lando! We literally have the same stuff. Go back to your side!”

“But yours is nicer!” he whined, barely budging under her efforts, grinning down at her like a menace.

“Then make yours nicer” she shot back, trying to block his view with her body.

Lando laughed, finally backing off with a shake of his head. He grabbed a clean spoon and stood over his plate like he was defusing a bomb. Slowly, carefully, he swiped it through his mashed potatoes in a swooping motion, eyes narrowed in focus.

“Done!” Y/N announced triumphantly, tossing her hands in the air. She wiped her hands on her apron and sauntered over to Lando’s side with a mischievous grin.

“Hey!” Lando yelped, quickly shifting to block her path with his hip like a human kitchen gate. “Back to your side!”

“I just wanna peek!” she laughed, trying to sneak a look over his shoulder.

Without warning, Lando wrapped one arm around her waist, effortlessly scooping her up like she weighed nothing. Y/N squealed in surprise as he spun her around and plopped her down directly in front of the camera.

“Stay there,” he said, grinning as he planted a soft kiss on the top of her head. “Talk to chat while I finish my masterpiece.”

Y/N blinked at the camera, momentarily stunned, before bursting into laughter. “This man really picked me up like I was a rogue toddler.”

Lando finally walked over to show his plate toward the camera with a dramatic spin. “Voilà. Chef Norris’s Signature Steak Surprise.”

Y/N tilted her head, pretending to inspect. “Surprise being you didn’t burn it?” She teases as she holds up her own plate to show the camera

“Oi,” he huffed, nudging her gently with his hip again. “Time for the votes. Chat—choose wisely.”

He moved to stand beside her as the poll popped up on screen: Whose plate wins? 🍽 🧡 Lando’s Luxurious Lunch 💚 Y/N’s Superior Steak Situation

The votes flew in fast.

“I swear, if you win because of the mash swirl…” Y/N muttered, squinting at the poll.

Lando grinned. “That’s called technique, love.”

The timer ticked down.

Y/N – 62% Lando – 38%

“YESSS,” she cheered, throwing her arms up again. “Justice for the broccoli.”

Lando slumped against the counter dramatically. “This is rigged. I demand a recount.”

Y/N leaned in, pecking his cheek. “Better luck next dinner, chef.”

------------------------------------------------------

Think fast

Being in a relationship with Y/N meant Lando had to stay constantly on his toes. In the early days, her endless pranks always managed to catch him off guard, whether it was the latest viral trend or some chaotic idea she came up with on a whim, he never stood a chance. These days, though, he liked to think he’d gotten better at spotting the signs, or at least bracing himself for whatever mischief she had up her sleeve.

“It’s not going to work.”

Y/N and Max Fewtrell strolled into the McLaren hospitality, phone in hand streaming live on twitch, making their way toward the back where Lando was supposed to meet them. He’d left the hotel a couple hours earlier for back-to-back meetings before free practice.

“When has he not fallen for one of your pranks?” Max asked, sipping his coffee with a knowing grin. “Just try it. Chat's going to love it”

Y/N shook her head, already laughing at the thought of Lando calling her out before she even made a move.

“The last two times, he shut me down before I even got the chance,” she said with a shrug. “He’s learning.”

They found an empty table tucked away from the crowd and sat down to wait. Max, ever the instigator, kept nudging her to try one of the latest pranks he’d seen trending on his feed, desperate for a dose of chaos and the chance to see his best friend publicly flustered.

The two sat like that for a while, answering a few questions every now and then. Before long, Lando’s voice rang out behind them.

“Oi! There you two are!”

Y/N glanced over her shoulder and grinned, standing up with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“You want your fix? Watch this,” she whispered to Max, stepping aside from the table just as Lando approached.

“Sorry, meeting ran long,” Lando said, pulling off his cap and tossing it onto the table.

Y/N didn’t miss a beat. “Think fast! I’m a random girl!”

Without warning, she lunged at him—arms outstretched, lips puckered dramatically, ready to play her role to perfection.

Lando’s reflexes kicked in fast. “Whoa!” he said, holding his palm out and catching her right in the forehead, effectively stopping her mid-charge.

“I’m happily taken, thank you very much,” he deadpanned, pushing her away gently but firmly, then wiped his hand on his pants with exaggerated disgust. “Please maintain a safe distance, stranger.”

Max burst out laughing while Y/N nodded proudly, even slow clapping.

“Mate,” Max wheezed through his laughter, practically spilling his coffee, “you’re like a trained puppy!”

“Proud of you, babe,” Y/N grinned, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Hey!” Lando ducked away dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Lady! Please… I just told you—I have a beautiful girlfriend!”

Y/N smacked his arm, laughing. “You muppet.”

Lando chuckled, finally letting his act drop as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her in. “Hello, my love. Trying to entertain Max and chat again, I see?”

“Someone’s gotta give them content,” she teased, and Max just shook his head, still grinning, proud to have captured the whole thing.

------------------------------------------------------

Just cause

Lando had been on Twitch with Max for hours now, deep in a chaotic stream full of banter, games, and far too much shouting. Y/N had been missing in action the whole time, curled up in bed for a nap when the boys started, and clearly forgotten amidst the noise.

When she finally stirred awake, the first thing she heard was Lando’s muffled shouting through the walls. Headphones on, game volume cranked, completely unaware of how loud he was being. With a sleepy smile, she grabbed her phone and hopped onto Twitch, curiosity getting the best of her.

Instead of Lando’s stream, she tapped into Max’s—knowing full well she’d get the better view and more unfiltered commentary.

“Hi Maxie” she typed, the grin already growing on her face.

“Woah, is that Y/N?” Max’s voice rang out, loud and clear through Lando’s headset.

Lando glanced over his shoulder instinctively. “She’s asleep in the room, mate.”

Max let out a laugh. “No, mate—she just said hi in my chat. Hi Y/N!”

Lando’s brows lifted in surprise, just as the sound of her soft footsteps approached from behind. Moments later, she was there—turning his chair slightly before straddling his lap without a word, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“Oh—” Lando blinked, arms instinctively wrapping around her waist, one hand settling gently on her back. “Hi, baby. What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer—just shook her head and nuzzled into his neck, clearly not in distress, just craving closeness.

The chat exploded.

“OMG STOP” “They’re so cute I’m gonna cry” “IM SO SINGLE” “Watch Max clown them in 3...2...1…”

“Ewww! Get a room, you two!” Max called out through his mic, laughing.

“Shut up, Max,” Lando chuckled, slipping off one side of his headset and muting his mic. He leaned back slightly, guiding her face away from his neck so he could see her.

“Baby… hey,” he said softly, concern laced through his voice as his arms held her close. “You alright, my love?”

She smiled gently, still sleepy-eyed. “Hi.”

“Well, hello,” Lando chuckled, amused by the unexpected visit. He reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing her cheek. “What’s wrong? You don’t usually do this… not that I mind—I quite like it, actually.”

She only shook her head, letting out a quiet sigh as she settled her head back on his shoulder, her arms loosely wrapped around his neck.

Lando’s smile faded into a soft frown, now slightly worried. “You feeling okay? Are you sick?” His hand instinctively moved to her forehead, checking her temperature.

She laughed, lifting her head to meet his eyes. “I’m okay, silly. I just… missed you.”

That one sentence made something warm bloom in his chest. He smirked, his hands now tracing slow circles on her back, already forgetting the stream still running in the background.

“Yeah?”

She nodded, now suddenly a little bashful under his gaze.

“I can end the stream,” he offered gently. “We can hang out in the room, maybe order some food and watch a movie?”

She shook her head. “Maybe later? Go finish your game… I’ll just stay here for a bit.”

Lando smiled softly and guided her head back down to his shoulder, pressing a tender kiss to the side of her head. “Alright, my love. One more hour—then I’m all yours.”

He leaned forward and unmuted his mic, the grin already spreading on his face. “Sorry—boyfriend duties,” he said proudly, as Max groaned dramatically and the chat predictably exploded again.

“bf of the year!” “THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER 😭” “MAX IS GONNA LOSE HIS MIND I LOVE THIS” “THE BAR IS ON THE FLOOR AND LANDO JUST LAUNCHED OVER IT”

------------------------------------------------------

Who knows me best?

The stream kicked off with the usual trio, but this time, they had a small whiteboard in hand. Lando sat center, eyes scanning his computer as he tweaked his Twitch setup.

“Ready?” he asked, giving his hair a final fluff before leaning back in his chair.

Max and Y/N finally set their phones aside, both nodding in sync with soft hums of agreement.

"So..." Lando clapped his hands to mark the start of the stream, prompting a chuckle from Y/N

“See? Told you he does that too,” Y/N said, leaning forward to look at Max.

Max grinned. “P said the exact same thing to me.”

“The clapping again?” Lando groaned, rubbing his cheek in mock frustration. “I swear I’ve been trying to stop. Someone tie me down already.”

“Y/N can do that tonight—like you two always do,” Max said with a cheeky smirk. “Right!” He punctuated the joke with a clap, then winced. “Ah, fuck. I did it too.”

That sent all three of them into a fit of laughter.

“We’re hopeless, mate,” Lando wheezed between laughs. “Alright, chat! We’re here for the ‘Best Friend vs. Girlfriend’ challenge—who knows me best?” He turned to Y/N with a playful look. “Or as she likes to call it…”

“‘Girlfriend versus Boyfriend,’” Y/N said, nodding seriously at the camera. “Because Max is my boyfriend’s boyfriend.”

“Oh, piss off,” Max laughed, shaking his head.

"I've started a poll, so you guys an vote on who you think will win" Lando says, handing each of them their own markers

“First question!” Lando grins, glancing between the two. “When and where was my Formula 1 debut?”

Max and Y/N immediately start scribbling on their boards, Lando casually jotting down his own answer with that signature smug smile.

Once they’re both done, Lando nods toward Max. “Alright, Max. You go first.”

Max flips his board with confidence. “2019, Australian Grand Prix.”

Lando chuckles and gives him a fist bump, flipping his board, revealing the same answer. “Point for Max.”

He turns to Y/N, who’s already rolling her eyes. “You got it wrong, didn’t you?”

“On the contrary,” Y/N says, flipping her board around with flair.

Lando and Max burst out laughing before she’s even finished reading.

“March 16, 2019. Australian Grand Prix. 3 PM local time,” she recites matter-of-factly, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re fucking joking,” Max wheezes, clutching his stomach. “You gave her the questions beforehand, didn’t you?!” He shoots Lando an accusatory look.

“What?! No! I swear I didn’t!” Lando throws his hands up, still laughing.

“I’m just that good of a girlfriend,” Y/N shrugs, casually erasing her board and adding a neat little mark in the corner for the point she just earned.

“We weren’t even dating yet, baby,” Lando teases, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Yeah, but she definitely had a massive crush on you already,” Max adds with a smirk, wiping off his own board "Remember when you begged me to not tell him when I found out and you—"

"—Okay! That's enough from you Maxiepoo," she says clapping her hands trying to speed up the process "move on come on keep them coming!"

Lando chuckles and nods, reading another question off his phone, “Next one. What’s my worst habit?”

Both Max and Y/N immediately start writing without hesitation, clearly prepared.

Lando watches them suspiciously. “Why are you both so fast with that?”

Max flips his board first: “Biting his nails”

“Okay wow—” Lando starts.

But Y/N’s already turning hers around: “Saying ‘I’m fine’ when he’s clearly spiraling.” She underlines it twice for dramatic effect.

Lando throws his head back laughing. “Well fuck, I feel attacked.”

“You should,” Max says. “We’ve had an intervention, like, twice.”

“You ignored both,” Y/N adds, casually ticking her board again.

Lando just shakes his head. “You guys are supposed to be on my team.”

“No,” they say in unison. “We’re on the truth’s team.”

Chat? Loving it

"NOT THEM TEAMING UP ON LANDO" "Max and Y/N are so competitive with it" "lol i think they're playing who loves Lando more?" ------------------------------------------------

Mini Lando

It had been a two-week break between races, and Lando was soaking it all in, some sun, some sleep, and a whole lot of gaming with the boys back in Monaco.

Today was no different, Lando and Max were live on Twitch, lazily stacked in their usual setup, bantering, gaming, and occasionally getting completely distracted by chat. But there was one thing everyone in the comments couldn't stop talking about.

The clip had already gone semi-viral on F1 Twitter: Twitch stream, Max mid-sentence, Lando walking off-screen, only to pop back into frame quietly leaning over Y/N on the bean bag, hand resting softly on her stomach, the other brushing her hair away like some kind of soft boyfriend fever dream. That, paired with Y/N’s mysterious absence from this stream?

Yeah. The fanbase had collectively lost its mind.

“Where’s Y/N?” Lando reads aloud, scoffing with a half-smile as he leans back in his chair.

Max snickers but doesn't look up from his screen. “Mate, you’ve unleashed the internet. That clip’s everywhere.”

Lando chuckles. “I was literally just saying hi.”

“Sure,” Max says, dragging it out like he’s stirring something dangerous. “Saying hi with your hand on her stomach and playing with her hair like it’s a Nicholas Sparks movie.”

Lando defends, laughing now. “I was being a good boyfriend”

Chat explodes — everything from “we know what tired means” to “BABY LANDOOOOO??”

Lando shakes his head, clearly fed up with the stream chat spiraling out of control. With a sigh, he pulls out his phone and dials Y/N, holding it up on speaker for dramatic effect.

Almost instantly, her voice comes through, dry and familiar “You do know I’m in the bedroom, right?”

“Hi, my love,” Lando says sweetly, ignoring Max’s exaggerated eye roll. “Come here for a sec?”

Max doesn't miss a beat. “The tone shift is insane. Bro went from gamer rage to Shakespearean boyfriend in 0.2 seconds, someone study that.”

Lando reaches over and smacks his arm, earning a loud “Oi!” from Max.

“Lan,” Y/N groans on the other end, “I look like shit right now.”

“You always look beautiful, my love,” Lando says, dramatically and unapologetically simping. “Chat’s looking for you. And, apparently… baby Norris too.”

“Oh my Gosh,” she mutters, but the sound of movement comes through anyway.

Not a minute later, Y/N appears behind Lando’s chair, wrapped in a hoodie that definitely wasn't hers, her hair in a mess of clips and chaos. She leans down, placing a soft kiss to the top of Lando’s head.

“You called?” she murmurs.

Lando looks up at her like she hung the moon. “Hello, gorgeous.”

Max turns back around, still grinning. “Everyone thinks baby Norris is on the way.”

Y/N snorts. “We can’t even agree on getting a pet, and you guys think we’re having a child?”

Chat loses it. Lando’s smile widens as he reaches up and laces his fingers through hers.

“So that’s a no?” Max deadpans.

“That’s a hell no,” she says, laughing. “Not until he agrees to get a dog”

“Here we go again,” Lando groans, burying his face in her hand.

“I was just on my period, guys. Calm your T’s,” Y/N says casually, walking further into frame like she didn’t just drop a bomb on the chat.

Max chokes on his drink. “Okay then—!”

Lando just shrugs, grinning. “You wanted answers.”

Without missing a beat, Y/N walks over to the corner of the room and returns with a small basket cradled in her arms.

“Anyway,” she continues, unfazed by the hysteria in the comments, “look at the care package Lando got me.”

She plops down next to him and starts pulling items out like she’s hosting an unboxing video: a ridiculous amount of chocolates, sour gummies, a box of painkillers, a face mask, heating patches, and even a tiny plush dinosaur.

“For emotional support,” Lando adds, pointing at the dinosaur. "Tell everyone what you named him, baby"

“His name's Dino Ricciardo” Y/N says, nudging Lando with her shoulder. “He was just being a doting boyfriend, is all.”

Chat absolutely explodes — messages flooding “I’m crying real tears, this is PEAK boyfriend behavior”“CAN WE CLONE HIM?”“Dino Ricciardo world champ 2025”“Why am I single 😭”

Lando’s just grinning like an idiot while Max shakes his head. “Yeah, alright, you win. Everyone else can go home.”

------------------------------------------------------------

Cat gate

Lando and Max were lounging side by side in his gaming room, mid-break between rounds of Counter-Strike, when Lando’s phone lit up on the desk.

“Ooh, look who’s calling, chat,” he grinned, picking it up and flashing the screen toward the camera, a photo of Y/N, cheeks squished against his in a selfie. The chat instantly flooded with heart emojis.

“Probably misses me already,” he added smugly, answering with a teasing, “Hello, baby.”

“Yuck,” Max groaned beside him, visibly cringing as he read the chat explode with reactions to Lando’s soft tone. “Hate it here.”

“Hey, so, um… don’t be mad,” Y/N’s voice came through, the slightest bit hesitant.

Lando’s brows furrowed slightly. “That’s never a good start. What’s wrong, my love? You still out with Lily and Alex?”

“Yeah! We had such a good time—we played a little golf, got some lunch…” she said casually, but there was background noise now: distant music, a bit of wind, someone talking.

Lando glanced at Max, curious. “Sounds fun. You on your way back?”

“Almost home, yes. But okay, listen… there’s just this tiny thing.”

“Wait—" Lando cut in, scandalized. "You played golf without me? I’m actually offended.”

“Lan…”

“Traitor,” Max muttered, shaking his head at her through the mic. “She always says no when we ask.”

“Because Lily actually knows what she’s doing!” Y/N snapped back playfully, then sighed. “Anyway, that’s not the point—”

“You told him about the cat yet?” another voice chimed faintly in the background—Alex Albon, unmistakably.

Lando’s expression froze. “Cat? Did Alex just say cat? What cat?!”

Y/N laughed nervously, “Okay...you know what? We’ll talk about it later. We’re almost home. Ten minutes. Love you, bye!”

“Wait—we?” Lando sat up straighter, suddenly suspicious. “Baby, who’s we? Hello??”

The call had already ended.

Max burst out laughing. “Oh, you’re in trouble.”

Lando stared at the screen like it betrayed him. “What cat? Who is we?! Did she mean her and the cat?!”

Not long later, a soft knock echoed through the room.

Lando glanced at the door just as it creaked open, revealing Y/N’s head peeking in, her eyes wide with mischief and a grin tugging at her lips.

Max immediately leaned forward, laughing. “Oh, she’s definitely up to something. That’s the face of someone who’s just done something incredibly stupid… or incredibly amazing.”

Lando turned in his chair to face her, smiling despite himself. “Come in, baby. The stream’s on.”

She stepped fully into the room, and in her arms, curled up like a sleepy little angel, was a kitten. A tiny, soft-furred ball of fluff, blinking slowly and completely unfazed by the chaos around it.

“Before you say anything,” Y/N started quickly.

“Oh my god,” Max said, whipping his head toward Lando, his eyes wide with glee.

Lando just stared. “Baby… you didn’t.”

“We can’t. We’re barely even home,” he added, voice soft but edged with disbelief.

“I know,” she rushed out, walking toward him and gently placing the kitten in his lap. “Technically, she’s still Alex’s. One of their cats had a litter and I said we could foster one for a bit.”

Lando let out a breath as the kitten instantly curled into him, purring like a tiny engine. His hand instinctively began to stroke the soft fur.

“How am I even meant to carry a cat?” he muttered, spinning his chair a little to show the stream.

“Mate… what do you mean? You’re literally holding it,” Max deadpanned, watching in disbelief.

“So?” Y/N asked, bouncing slightly on her toes. “Can we keep her—for now? Alex said if you say no, that’s totally fine. We’ve got three months to decide.”

Lando looked up at her, caught somewhere between overwhelmed and completely smitten. “But I thought you wanted a dog?”

“I do!” she said, nodding eagerly. “But now they can be friends.”

Lando turned to Max for backup, but Max just shrugged. “Leave me out of this one, mate.”

Lando’s eyes flicked back to Y/N, a grin breaking across his face despite the chaos. He looked down at the kitten, now snoozing peacefully in his lap.

“What are we naming her?”

[zuzu-tries-to-write]

hii, can you do one where bakusqaud dared yn to ignore bakugo bc they swear he likes her and he’s lwk done with it and everyone sees him start to panic bc she won’t talk to him but she’s being real friendly with denki ykykykykyk?

Guys I’m gonna try to post fanfic everyday this summer so if you guys have any ideas please send me some, love you guys sm!!

“Bet he breaks first”

“So here’s the deal,” Mina whispered, crouching with a sly smile behind the dorm couches. “I dare you to ignore Bakugo. No glances. No replies. Not even a grunt.”

Sero leaned in, eyes sparkling. “Ten minutes, tops. He’ll explode. He likes you, we all know it.”

You snorted. “You guys are insane.”

“No, we’re right,” Denki said, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “And it’ll be fun. C’mon, just for today. Watch him lose his mind.”

You grinned, lips curving in that familiar way. “Alright. But if I die, tell Aizawa it was your fault.”

⸻

Phase 1: Cold Shoulder, Activated.

“Oi.”

You didn’t even blink. Just kept scrolling on your phone, seated on the lounge chair like you didn’t just hear Bakugo say the most aggressive “hey” known to man.

He frowned.

“Are you deaf or stupid?”

You turned to Denki beside you instead. “So anyway, what were you saying about the electric squirrels in your neighborhood?”

Denki blinked. “Uh—I made that up but yes, continue.”

Bakugo’s eye twitched.

Mina snorted from behind her juice box.

⸻

Phase 2: “Why Is She Laughing at His Jokes?”

You laughed. A lot. At everything Denki said.

Even the unfunny things.

“Stop ittt,” you giggled, hitting Denki’s arm playfully. “You’re so dumb—”

“You think he’s funny?” Bakugo snapped from across the room.

You didn’t even look at him.

“I mean, a little,” you said, still grinning at Denki, who looked mildly terrified under Bakugo’s glare.

“Oh my god,” Bakugo muttered. “She’s actually lost brain cells.”

⸻

Phase 3: Panic and Petty.

An hour passed.

And Bakugo was spiraling.

He slammed his water bottle down harder than necessary. Walked past you four times—each time closer. Started randomly doing pushups next to the couch where you and Denki sat, grunting loudly.

You didn’t look.

He was glitching.

Everyone saw it.

“You good, bro?” Kirishima asked, trying not to laugh.

“She’s ignoring me,” Bakugo hissed. “What did I do? What the hell did I do?”

“You sound like a romcom villain,” Mina whispered to Sero.

“I’ll give you five bucks if he explodes,” Sero whispered back.

⸻

Phase 4: Breakdown.

“Y/N,” Bakugo said, loud, from behind you.

No answer.

You turned to Denki and said, louder, “Anyway, Denki, what do you think about—”

“That’s it.”

Suddenly he was in front of you, hands braced on either side of the couch, caging you in. Denki scooted a full meter away like he wanted to survive.

“Look at me.”

You blinked up at him, lips twitching.

“Y/N. Are you mad at me?”

You shrugged. “Why would I be mad?”

“You haven’t spoken to me all day—” His voice cracked. “—and you’re all over Pikachu over here.”

Denki gave a peace sign from the corner. “Don’t drag me into this.”

“You’re acting weird,” Bakugo muttered. His voice dropped lower. “And I don’t like it.”

You bit your lip.

Then finally, finally—you smirked.

“So you do like me.”

Silence.

His eyes widened.

Mina gasped from the hallway. “OH MY GOD.”

“You absolute menaces,” he growled toward the BakuSquad. Then back to you—eyes narrowed, flushed. “You think you’re funny?”

“Maybe a little.”

He scowled. “Fine. You win. You got my attention.”

You tilted your head, smug. “What are you gonna do about it?”

His jaw clenched—

And then, low and dangerous:

“Come with me. Now.”

“Where—”

“To talk,” he gritted out.

“Just talk?” you teased.

His eye twitched again. “If you keep smirking like that, we won’t just be talking.”

[ilovolderman]

Stealth Raccoons

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: During a chaotic mission, Sam’s on high alert and Natasha’s low-key helping you and Bucky keep your secret relationship under wraps.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

The mission was going fine. Until it wasn’t.

“Everyone stay in comms range,” Sam had said. “No hero moves,” Sam had said. “Stick to the plan,” SAM HAD SAID.

But now there were fire alarms blaring, half the base was flooding for reasons that were absolutely not in the briefing, and somehow you and Bucky were trapped in a side corridor while Sam and Nat were three levels up and getting increasingly annoyed.

Sam’s voice crackled over comms. “What do you mean you’re stuck in a broom closet?”

“It’s not a closet,” Bucky said tightly, scanning the door panel. “It’s a supply room. Very tactical. Very... moppy.”

You stifled a laugh behind your hand. “Tactical mop. For stealth cleaning.”

“You’re both impossible,” Sam muttered. “Can you at least not flirt during a breach?”

“We’re not flirting,” you said, far too quickly. “We don’t flirt,” Bucky added.

A pause.

Natasha’s voice cut in, bone dry. “That’s funny. You were making heart eyes while dodging tripwires like it was a romantic tango.”

You smacked your forehead on the wall. Bucky visibly stopped breathing.

Sam cut back in. “Wait—heart what? What do you mean tango? Are you saying there was—?”

Suddenly Bucky kicked the door panel.

It sparked. The lights flickered. A loud clunk sounded.

The door opened.

Bucky turned to you, nodding very seriously. “Tactical success.”

You gave him a look. “You just panicked and kicked the wall.”

He gave you a little grin. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Natasha hummed over comms. “You two gonna keep making goo-goo eyes or are you gonna join the rest of us before Sam has a stroke?”

“I’m fine,” Sam said through clenched teeth. “I’m just saying. They’re suspiciously in sync lately. You saw them backflip in unison last mission.”

You and Bucky exchanged a quick look.

You had, in fact, practiced that move. In private. After several accidental crashes and at least one rug burn incident that required aloe.

Bucky cleared his throat. “We’re just good at teamwork.”

Sam scoffed. “You were holding hands.”

“We were anchoring each other.” “That's a combat grip,” you added helpfully.

There was a pause.

“Combat grip?” Sam repeated flatly. “I’m going to throw myself out a window.”

Later, everyone regrouped in the main server room.  The plan was to download intel and leave quietly.

Naturally, something exploded.

Now the lights were out, alarms were blaring, and everyone was sprinting through dim corridors lit only by emergency red glow.

You and Bucky split off (again) to find the backup drive.

Sam’s voice came through comms, exasperated. “Why do they always get sent off together? Every time. It’s like Mission: Secret Couple or something.”

You nearly ran into a wall.

“Excuse me?” you said, trying to sound offended and not like your heart just plummeted into your boots.

Bucky made a face at you, whispering. “Secret Couple is a terrible code name.”

You whispered back “Sounds like a dating app for spies.”

He grinned. You grinned.

You did not kiss.

But only because the walls had cameras. And the last time you kissed near Hydra tech, it triggered an alarm labeled "UNSANCTIONED BONDING ACTIVITY."

Still not over that.

Sam was still talking. “—and it’s always like ‘oh no, we accidentally got locked in this romantic storage closet again,’ or ‘oops, my hand slipped and I caught them emotionally gazing!’”

Natasha: “Wow. Sounds like you’re really keeping detailed logs.”

Sam: “IT’S SUSPICIOUS!”

Three minutes later, you and Bucky were climbing a ladder inside a narrow, dimly lit vent shaft. You were going up first, carefully placing your boots on the creaking metal rungs. Bucky was right behind you, unusually quiet for someone who usually had a sarcastic comment locked and loaded.

You paused briefly to adjust your grip. That was apparently enough time for chaos to erupt over comms.

"Just got eyes on Y/N and Barnes," Sam’s voice rang out, suspicious and way too smug. "They’re in Vent Shaft 7, heading north—wait. Why is Barnes looking up like that? Why’s he—OH COME ON."

You froze, forehead hitting the wall with a quiet thunk. "SAM. Do not read into this."

"There was a pause," Sam insisted, scandalized. "A full, lingering pause. With a view, Barnes."

Bucky, completely unbothered, replied, "Just making sure the ladder’s stable."

"Stable my ass! You were looking up like it was art, man. That was a neck-tilt of appreciation."

Natasha cut in, her voice dry as a martini. "Sam. Be honest. Are you mad because you think something’s going on... or because no one’s ever looked at you like that in a vent shaft?"

"EXCUSE ME?"

"Just saying, maybe if you wore less tactical gear and more emotional availability—"

"I will not be emotionally manipulated by the Human Blade of Sarcasm and her two suspiciously hoodie-sharing raccoons."

"...Did he just call us raccoons?" Bucky asked.

"I think so," you said.

"Honestly? Not mad about it."

"You do share a hoodie!" Sam jumped back in. "I asked you if it was your combat hoodie, and you said ‘Don’t worry about it.’"

"I wasn’t lying. It is combat-rated. For cuddles," Bucky said with a smirk.

"Tacti-cuddly," you added.

"I hate this. I hate all of this."

Natasha, casually: "You know, now that I think about it, I did see them split a breakfast burrito this morning."

"YOU WHAT—"

"And I took a bite too. Maybe it’s a cult. A burrito cult. Ever think of that?"

"I—what—I—OKAY. Polyamorous burrito cult. That makes so much more sense than whatever secret relationship you’re all denying!"

"Honestly? That’s kinda got a ring to it," you said.

"Can we get jackets made?" Bucky asked.

"Only if I get to design the logo," Natasha replied.

"I will unravel this mystery. I will," Sam grumbled.

"Looking forward to it, Detective Wilson," Natasha said sweetly.

"This is worse than that time you all gaslit me about the mission in Madrid."

"That was an actual hallucination," you reminded him. "You took cold meds and fought a vending machine."

"It took my change and lied about it!"

"Let it go, man," Bucky said.

"I need a new team," Sam muttered.

"You need a nap," Natasha said.

"Or a snack," Bucky added.

"Or therapy," you chimed in.

"I AM FINE."

Bucky glanced up again—brief, but noticeable. You looked down at him, trying to hide your grin.

"HEY! I saw that! That was another lingering pause!"

"I was checking to make sure he didn’t fall off the ladder," you said, deadpan.

"She’s just a very responsible coworker," Bucky added innocently.

"You’re all terrible liars."

"Actually," Natasha said, cool as ever, "they’re great liars. That’s what’s so impressive."

"I WILL FIGURE THIS OUT!" Sam practically shouted.

"Of course you will," Natasha replied, too-sweet to be sincere.

You and Bucky shared a quiet look.

"Think he’s gonna try to set a trap?" Bucky asked.

"Absolutely. Wanna beat him to it?"

Bucky grinned. "Always."

After the mission ended, everyone was seated. Exhausted. Quiet. Sam sat across from you and Bucky in the quinjet, arms folded, staring like a detective in the final five minutes of a Law & Order episode. You sat a safe six inches apart from Bucky, the kind of distance that said “not officially” but definitely “definitely.”

Then his hand slid over to rest lightly on your knee. Hidden. Barely touching.

Natasha saw it instantly. She didn’t say a word. She just slid her sunglasses down her nose and gave Sam a look that said, “Don’t even bother.”

Sam sighed, rubbed his temples, and whispered to himself, “There’s something going on. I know it. I can feel it in my spleen.”

Natasha deadpanned, “Maybe it’s indigestion.”

You smirked. “Maybe you’re just emotionally constipated.”

Bucky chuckled softly. “Maybe the real secret romance was the friends we gaslit along the way.”

Natasha raised her cup of jet coffee in a mock toast.

Sam looked so tired. And still: clueless.

Minutes later, Sam’s head lolled forward, and his eyes fluttered shut. The tension in the cabin eased as he slipped into sleep, snoring softly—a rare, vulnerable moment.

You glanced at Bucky, who was watching you with that slow, fond smile reserved just for you. His hand tightened just a bit on your knee, and before you knew it, you leaned against him, your shoulder resting gently against his arm. The world outside the quinjet melted away.

Bucky’s breath was warm on your temple as he whispered, “Finally, some peace.”

You smiled, heart full, and whispered back, “Mission accomplished.”

Natasha, ever the perfect mix of sarcastic and warm, glanced over and quipped, “Well, at least someone’s asleep before Sam figures out what’s really going on.”

You and Bucky exchanged a glance, grinning.

The quinjet hummed quietly around you, a gentle lull beneath the stars streaking past the windows. Bucky’s hand never left your knee, and you let yourself relax fully into the warmth of his presence.

“You are falling asleep, aren’t you?” you whispered, leaning your head gently against his shoulder.

He turned his face just enough so you could see the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “That’s just cause I’m comfortable,” he murmured. “You make me feel like I can.”

You smiled softly, heart swelling. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me. No backsies.”

Bucky’s fingers brushed lightly over your skin, thumb tracing lazy circles. “I like the sound of that.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Promise me something?”

“Anything,” he said, voice low and steady.

“Next time Sam starts spouting nonsense about ‘emotional indigestion’ or ‘gaslighting,’ you’re the one who tells him to shut it. I’m officially outsourcing emotional labor.”

Bucky chuckled. “Deal. I’ll be the designated emotional bouncer.”

You tightened your grip on his hand and sighed happily. “You know, I think this might be the first time Sam’s fallen asleep mid-interrogation. What do you think that means?”

Bucky laughed softly. “He’s finally met his match.”

From behind you, Natasha’s quiet humming floated through the cabin, sounding suspiciously like a victory tune. Sam’s soft snore was rhythmic now, peaceful — a rare break from his usual intense energy.

You nestled closer, your cheek resting against Bucky’s warm arm. “It’s nice. Just… nice. No secrets. No guessing. Just us.”

“Exactly,” he said, voice soft as a whisper. “I like this. I like you.”

You smiled wider, squeezing his hand. “I like you too.”

Natasha’s voice piped up from the back, light and teasing, “And somewhere in the world, Sam’s still clueless and probably crying softly about a burrito.”

You and Bucky exchanged amused glances, eyes shining.

Clueless, but perfectly content.

Later, after the mission, after the jet touched down and everyone went their separate ways, you were finally curled up on the couch, warm, clean, and almost asleep.

Then your phone buzzed.

“SAM ADDED YOU TO A GROUP CHAT.”

You stared at the screen. The chat was called:

“stealth raccoons + sam”

Of course it was.

You opened it.

[Group Chat: stealth raccoons + sam] Members: Sam, You, Bucky, Natasha

Sam: this is now the official mission coordination thread. i need updates. and accountability. and transparency.

You: That’s a lot of feelings for a mission thread.

Bucky: Yeah, usually those just say “Van’s here” and “We’re being shot at.”

Sam: y’all think this is a joke. but i see things.👀

Natasha: Oh boy. The eyeballs are back. Everyone run.

Sam: i’m just saying the hoodie-sharing the synchronized exits THE BURRITO

You: Bold of you to keep bringing up the burrito like it didn’t emotionally wound you.

Sam: IT WAS A BETRAYAL IN THREE BITES

Bucky: Still mad I didn’t get the last bite tbh.

Sam: AHA YOU ADMIT YOU SHARED IT

Bucky: …we all shared it, Sam. Team nutrition.

Natasha: Sounds like love. I mean… loyalty. Definitely loyalty. 👀❤️👀

Sam: I WILL CATCH YOU I HAVE CAMERAS AND INSTINCTS AND VIBES

You: Vibes aren’t admissible in court, Sam.

Bucky: Unless you’re Judge Judy.

Sam: i am the judge and the jury and the petty god of group chat receipts

Natasha: Petty God is a great title for your next mission report.

Sam: don’t act like you’re innocent in this you’re always mysteriously nearby when they “accidentally” disappear into unmonitored zones

Natasha: Oh no. You’ve discovered my side hustle. Secret couple bodyguard slash chaos enabler. (And I look great doing it.)

Sam: Y/N. Barnes. one day. you’ll slip.

You: What if we already did and you missed it?

Bucky: What if we never did and you’re spiraling for nothing?

Sam: what if i block both of you and live in peace

Natasha: You won’t. You live for this. Sam: you’re all MENACES

You: Menaces in love? 🤷‍♀️

Sam: i hate this group chat but i refuse to leave i must monitor

Bucky: Aw. He loves us.

Sam: I SWEAR ON MY WINGS THE TRUTH WILL COME OUT THIS ISN’T OVER

[Sam has changed the group chat name to: “Operation: Truth & Betrayal”]

You: Ok now it sounds like a reality show.

Natasha: Or a band. Dibs on drums.

Bucky: Y/N sings. Obviously.

Sam: YOU’RE DEFLECTING AGAIN I’M WATCHING YOU

You stared at the group chat for a long second, thumb hovering over your screen.

Sam had just renamed it, for the third time in twenty minutes. The man was unraveling in real time.

You locked your phone and exhaled a slow, amused sigh.

From the couch across the room, Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Sam renamed the chat again?”

“Yep,” you said. “I think he’s having a dramatic monologue in the kitchen.”

“He’s gonna start drawing red string across the wall soon.”

You padded over and dropped down next to him, letting your head fall onto his shoulder with a quiet laugh. “We’re menaces.”

Bucky smirked. “Secret menaces in love. Very stealthy.”

You grinned, reaching for his hand. “He’s never gonna catch us.”

And somewhere, several rooms away, Sam sneezed violently—like the universe had just dared him to prove you wrong.

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd@poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust @homeless-clown @kitasownworld @loversrocktvgirl2 @herejustforbuckybarnes @stormy-stardust @fallen-w1ngs @winchestert101 @f4d3d-st4rs @ultravioletter @xamapolax @theendofthematerialgworl @doilooklikeagiveafrack @fablehaven-rulez @theproblemisthatimnotfictional @winter107soldier@softpia @shakysif @lucyysthings @unadulteratedpastazonkpeach @surebutwhy @tmb510 @kaiari @totallynotabuckybarnessimp @quinquinquincy @tellybearryyyy @roxyym@starstruckfirecat @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction @oliviaohanessian1 @arignipanja574 @creat0r-cat @katheriner1999 @kaiari@authoressskr @antisocialfiore @f-1-girlies-blog @ifilwtmfc @darkrock3t @navs-bhat @ravenswritingroom @lunawitchbitchraven@elfypineapple @smellybad @niceskyler @avengemepercy @crowleythesexydemon @bumblebeebutter @cjand10 @avivarougestan @parkers-gal

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[odilesgrimoire]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (end)

Midoriya is patient.

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t rush. He only ever makes sure that you are comfortable.

He’s been doing that since the beginning. Since the first time he found you alone in the class, your eyes swollen from crying, forcing a smile. He never asked what happened. Never forced you to explain. He just… sat beside you, asked if you were okay.

And now, months later, when his feelings for you have deepened into something real, something undeniable, he still waits.

“I don’t want to pressure you,” he tells you one day. It’s quiet, the sun setting in the distance, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. “But I also don’t want to pretend I don’t feel this way.” His hands curl into fists at his sides, then relax. “I really like you.”

Your breath catches. You knew this moment would come. You knew Midoriya had feelings for you. And you like him too. You know he’s different from Bakugo, so much different. But still…

You hesitate.

Because you remember what it was like, to love someone, to give them everything, only to receive nothing in return. You remember what it felt like to be ignored, to be led on.

And Midoriya sees the hesitation in your eyes. He doesn’t panic, doesn’t get upset. He just smiles gently.

“You don’t have to answer right now,” he says, voice soft. “Take your time. I just… I just wanted you to know.”

And so, you do.

You take your time. You allow yourself to feel, to process, to understand that Midoriya isn’t Bakugo.

And when you’re finally ready, you take his hand and hold it tight.

And Midoriya?

His whole face turns red.

------------------------------

Dating Midoriya is easy.

He’s nervous at first, always checking in, always making sure he’s not overstepping. Even something as simple as holding your hand makes him ask for permission.

When you say yes, his fingers slip between yours, warm and firm. And when you walk into the cafeteria together, hands intertwined, Midoriya looks like he might explode.

It’s cute. It makes you laugh.

But Bakugo isn’t laughing.

He’s watching from his seat, fists clenched, jaw tight. The soda can in his hand crumples under his grip, a twisted mess of aluminum.

He doesn’t like this.

As time passes, you and Midoriya grow closer.

Training together. Studying together. Laughing together. You’re happy. You’re moving on. You’re no longer waiting for someone to notice you.

But Bakugo… he notices.

And he hates it. At first, it’s just little jabs,

“Dumbass Deku, stop acting like a lovesick idiot.” “Tch. Can’t believe you’re actually dating this loser.”

You and Midoriya ignore it. There’s no point in responding.

But it doesn’t stop.

In class. In the cafeteria. During training. It gets worse.

Until, one day, Bakugo goes too far.

You’re walking past him in the hallway, Midoriya’s hand loosely holding yours, when you hear it.

“Tch. What a joke. You really think he actually likes you?”

You freeze.

Midoriya stiffens beside you. He turns, brows furrowed. “Kacchan-”

But Bakugo isn’t looking at him. His eyes are on you.

“You’re pathetic,” he sneers. “Jumping to the first guy who gives you attention. Guess it doesn’t matter who it is, huh? Even if it’s a weakling like Deku.”

Silence.

It’s sudden. Heavy. Suffocating.

Your stomach twists, your chest tightens. But you don’t say anything.

Neither does Midoriya.

But the entire class hears.

And Bakugo doesn’t stop.

“You’re desperate,” he spits. “Always clinging to someone. First me, now him. What’s next? Gonna throw yourself at Todoroki if Deku gets bored?”

The words cut deep. Not because they’re true, but because Bakugo knows exactly where to hurt you.

He knows exactly where your scars are. And he’s tearing them open.

Nobody speaks.

Not Kirishima. Not Kaminari. Not Uraraka. Not even Iida

But then-

BAM!.

The impact is sudden, brutal—a fist colliding with a jaw, the thud echoing through the hallway.

Bakugo stumbles back, eyes blown wide, hand clutching his face.

Midoriya stands in front of you, fist still clenched, body shaking.

But his voice? His voice is steady.

“You don’t get to say that,” he says, low and firm. Angry.

Bakugo snarls. “What the hell-”

“You don’t get to talk about her like that,” Midoriya cuts him off. His green eyes are ablaze, more furious than you’ve ever seen them. “Not after everything you did.”

Bakugo’s breath catches.

Because Midoriya isn’t just saying things anymore. He knows.

He knows what happened. He knows how Bakugo let you believe you had a chance, only to throw you away.

“You knew she liked you,” Midoriya says, voice sharp as a blade. “And you led her on.”

Bakugo flinches.

“You let her think you cared.”

His hands curl into fists.

“You let her give you everything, and you gave her nothing.”

And for once, Bakugo has no comeback.

Because Midoriya isn’t wrong.

Midoriya takes a step forward.

“She moved on. She found someone who actually cares. And now you want to tear her down?”

Silence.

“You’re a coward, Kacchan.”

The words sting. You can see it in the way Bakugo’s face tenses, in the way his eyes burn with something unreadable.

And then, Midoriya turns back to you. His gaze softens instantly.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod, but your hands are still shaking.

Midoriya doesn’t hesitate, he takes you, holding you tight.

Then, without another glance at Bakugo, he leads you away.

And Bakugo?

He just stands there.

Alone.

Deku didn’t just take you away, he gave you something Bakugo never could. And that’s why, in the end, Bakugo was the one who lost. ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ If you enjoy my writing and wanna support me (or my milk🥛 addiction), I’m on [Ko-fi], writing and sipping milk!

[demie90s]

And The Crowd is…Concerned?

꒰ 🍒 ꒱ UConn!Team X READER ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ MASTERLIST

Part 1, Part 3

⭑ pairing: UConn!Team x reader (funny!fem!reader)

⭑ summary: Geno tries to do a safety meeting, but the team can’t focus after watching your unhinged late-night driving rant go viral. Again.

⭑ genre: comedy, hood wisdom, full delusion

⭑ warnings: chaotic energy, unfiltered language, Geno’s rising blood pressure

⭑ word count: ~

It’s the first week of preseason and Geno’s already fed up.

The whole team’s stuffed into the film room—hoodies up, edges sweated out, breakfast burritos halfway eaten. Nobody speaks. The screen up front says “2025 UConn Preseason Safety and Conduct Review.”

Azzi’s already whispering. “Watch, he gon’ bring up my milkshake in the cold tub again.”

Geno walks in. Silent. Clicks the remote.

“This year,” he says, slow and tired, “we’re doing it different.”

The projector blinks. First slide? “DO NOT DO THIS.”

Then: photos.

KK nearly busting her knee on a Bird scooter.

Aubrey in mid-air falling off the bench while TikToking in socks.

Paige with a Hot Cheeto bag balanced on her leg mid-stretch like a sorcerer of chaos.

Then it hits.

Your photo.

Full 4K, unholy clarity.

You. On Instagram Live. Driving. One hand on the wheel, the other out the window flipping someone off. Pinky up. Sunglasses on. Mouth mid-rant.

The room EXPLODES.

Nika drops her protein bar. Ayanna starts wheezing. KK screams “NO WAY.” Geno? Geno clicks again. It’s a video now. Volume up.

You on live:

“Y’all so today I’m going shopping—”

HONKKKK

“—and you just gotta be true to yourself cause—BITCH HIT MY CAR I DARE YOU. I DOUBLE DOG DARE YOU. I’MA BE ON YO ASS LIKE STANK ON SHIT.”

Another honk. Tires screech.

You: “Anyways y’all but yeah, no. Life’s really about gratitude.”

Geno doesn’t even speak this time—he just rubs his eyes and mutters, “Lord, give me strength.”

On the screen: a screenshot. YOU. Mid-sentence. Mid-swerve. Edges laid, lashes still on from yesterday, UConn hoodie zipped halfway and one AirPod in. You look beautiful, dangerous, and legally unfit to operate a vehicle.

The caption on your Instagram Live?

“driving 2 heal ❤️‍🩹”

The clip plays:

You: “So y’all I was at Target right, and this man—THIS MAN—gone reach across me like I was a damn display. I said sir… sir, don’t do that. I am not the lotion aisle. I will fold you like a fitted sheet—”

HONKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

You: “—BITCH HIT ME IF YOU WANT. I BEEN WANTIN’ SOMEBODY TO TRY ME TODAY. TRY ME SO I CAN PRAY IN HANDCUFFS. I’M READY TO MEDITATE IN THE HOLDING CELL. AIN’T NOBODY IN THERE BUT ME AND MY SPIRITUAL GROWTH.”

camera shakes violently

You: “Oh wait… Chick-fil-A on the left lemme—” tires screech “—LORD IF I HIT THIS CURB I’M STILL GONNA EAT GOOD.”

The team is absolutely done.

Paige is crying in her hoodie. Nika wheezes and grabs your leg. Azzi says “nahhh” so many times it starts to sound like a remix. KK’s on the floor. Ayanna is filming them filming you.

Geno? Geno’s standing in the front like he’s witnessing the fall of Rome.

He yells, “WHO IS HOLDING THE PHONE WHILE DRIVING? WHO?!”

You: “First of all… why am I under attack?”

“You were LIVE.”

“I was telling a story!”

“You hit a curb!”

“And I bounced back. That’s resilience.”

The video keeps rolling. You’re now mid-lane-switch with no signal.

You: “Sometimes y’all just gotta stop arguing with people and run them over with grace. Like—gracefully. Not petty, just powerful. There’s a difference. Be the bigger person but also make sure they know you’ll stomp they ass out behind a tinted window if needed.”

honks in the distance

“Anyway y’all, I’m healing.”

⸻

The comments under the clip are unhinged:

“She the MLK of hood wisdom.”

“Not ‘meditate in the holding cell’ 😭😭😭”

“If she’s not mic’d up for every game I don’t want it.”

“Geno bout to have a stroke fr.”

“This the female IamZoie but make it D1.”

“You were wearing UConn gear. Public Instagram. Driving like it’s Need For Speed: Hood Edition.”

“Freedom of expression,” you shrug.

Later that day, the UConn media team posts the clip with dramatic violin music under it. The caption reads:

“Preseason Conduct Review: Certified Hood Behavior ❌”

The comments are already insane:

“She said ‘life’s about gratitude’ while threatening to end a man’s bloodline.”

“No but she’s the main character fr.”

“UConn got the craziest athletes I fear.”

“WHERE’S THE FULL LIVE FOOTAGE 👀”

“Geno is gonna retire early cause of her.”

You repost it to your story with a halo emoji and “healing journey 2025💕.”

[hy6erion]

viktor and jayce fighting over you??

𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐲 - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞

⇢ 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐠𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐨

1. The Scientific Method (or How to Win You Over)

It starts subtly—at least, as subtle as Jayce can manage.

“You know,” he says, leaning against your desk, broad shoulders blocking your view of the latest schematics, “I was thinking—you and I should go out sometime. Just the two of us. For research purposes.”

You don’t even have time to process before Viktor, seated across from you, speaks without looking up from his own work.

“Research into what? The effects of secondhand embarrassment?”

Jayce shoots him a glare. “Into team bonding, Viktor.”

“Mm. And what hypothesis are you testing? That you can single-handedly drive them to madness?” Viktor hums, scratching something in his notes. “A bold assumption, but I suppose it is not entirely unfounded.”

Jayce turns back to you, ignoring him. “Dinner. Drinks. Maybe some—”

“A headache,” Viktor mutters.

Jayce groans, running a hand down his face before pointing at you. “You. Pick a side here.”

You exhale, setting down your pen. “I don’t even know what we’re arguing about.”

“We aren’t arguing,” Viktor says at the same time Jayce huffs, “We are arguing.”

You stare at them both. They stare at each other.

This has been happening for weeks.

It’s not always this obvious—sometimes it’s in the little things, the way Viktor always ensures your coffee is warm but lets Jayce suffer with whatever’s left in the pot. Or how Jayce somehow always has an extra set of tools whenever you’re missing yours, grinning like he wasn’t just waiting for the opportunity.

And the way they bicker—gods, it never ends.

“Fine,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “Jayce, we can do dinner. And Viktor, you can join.”

Jayce groans, throwing his head back. “Not the third-wheel invitation—”

“I accept,” Viktor interrupts smoothly.

Jayce turns to him, expression wounded. “Dude.”

“You do not own them, Jayce.”

“Neither do you!”

Viktor just smiles.

You take another sip of your coffee. This is going to be a long night.

2. The Art of Winning (or Just Being Petty)

“Y/n, my dearest, most trusted lab partner,” Viktor says, sidling up next to you while you’re examining some blueprints. “You are an artist of unparalleled skill. Would you mind assisting me with some designs?”

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can answer, Jayce materializes from across the room.

“Woah, woah, hold on, I was just about to ask them for help.”

Viktor tilts his head, feigning confusion. “Just about to? How convenient.”

Jayce narrows his eyes. “You knew I was gonna ask them—”

“Mm. And yet, I asked first.”

“That doesn’t—”

“Time is linear, Jayce. Surely you understand this.”

Jayce looks ready to explode.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You both know I have other work to do, right?”

They don’t. They definitely don’t.

But Jayce recovers first, flashing you his most charming smile. “C’mon, you know I have the bigger project right now—”

“Size does not determine quality, Jayce,” Viktor interrupts. “By that logic, your brain should be much more effective.”

Jayce’s jaw drops. “Did you just—?”

“Mm?” Viktor takes a slow sip of his tea.

You sigh, turning away before you witness a murder. “I’m flipping a coin. Heads, I help Jayce. Tails, I help Viktor.”

Jayce’s shoulders relax. “That seems fair.”

Viktor hums, noncommittal.

You flip. The coin lands. You glance at it.

Then, you slap it onto your palm before either of them can see and say, “I’m helping myself today.”

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, and Jayce groans, dropping his head onto the nearest surface.

“Brilliant,” Viktor murmurs. “I am rubbing off on you.”

Jayce mumbles something into the desk. You pat his shoulder in consolation before walking away, leaving them to their stalemate.

3. The Heart of the Matter (Or: Maybe They’re Not as Subtle as They Think)

At some point, you begin to wonder if they even know what they’re fighting over.

Because it’s not just lab work. It’s not just projects, or coffee, or who gets to sit next to you during meetings.

It’s you.

And they’re both smart enough to know it, even if neither of them says it outright.

It’s in the way Jayce’s gaze lingers whenever you laugh, like he’s memorizing the sound. The way Viktor’s voice softens when he murmurs your name, careful, like he knows the weight it holds.

It’s in how they both wait for you at the end of the day, pretending it’s just coincidence.

It’s in the way Viktor watches Jayce’s arm brush against yours and says nothing, but his fingers tighten around his cane. In how Jayce watches Viktor pull you in to murmur something close and he says nothing, but his jaw tenses.

It’s in the way neither of them will ever say it—but neither of them will yield, either.

And you?Well.

You just let them fight.

[hee0soo]

Sleepless Nights

Pairing — Husband!Kim Hongjoong x afabWife!Reader

Summary — You gladly sacrifice anything for your kids and with a Husband like Hongjoong you couldn't feel happier if you tried....

Genre — fluff

AU/Trope Info — Idol!Au, SliceofLifeAu

Wordcount — 0.7k

Warnings — none

Rating — sfw

Disclaimer: this fic is written and copyrighted by ©hee0soo on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other plattforms without my permission.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED!

Before you had your children you had been a heavy sleeper. You were sure that a bomb could have exploded right next to you and you wouldn’t have woken up.

It had helped when Hongjoong was still actively promoting, sneaking in and out of your bedroom at the most atrocious of times without you so much as stirring buried underneath your blankets.

Now though, with a 3 and 1 year old in the house, even the spider spinning her web in the corner of the room could probably wake you!

And so it was no surprised that even the slightest noise leaving your sons mouth in the middle of the night had you sitting upright and ready to get up if your husbands hand on your hand hadn’t stopped you before you could.

“Go back to sleep, I’ll check on him.” Hongjoongs rough from sleep voice cut through the darkness. You felt the mattress shift when he got up and rested back against your pillows, not quite ready to go back to sleep before you weren’t sure that Ha-joon was safely back in slumberland.

Tethering on the border to fall asleep while waiting, you thought about those past few years. From the moment you proposed to Hongjoong, because doing it the normal way was boring, to Hongjoong holding your hand while waiting for the pregnancy test result and promising you th whatever would happen, you would do it together and the birth of your babies.

Joon-hee’s bright personality that Hongjoong had joked was more like her uncle Woo’s then his own and Ha-joon who was showing signs of starting to walk already while babbling happily to everyone who would hear it and entertain him. The fact that Hongjoong had immediately put his career on hold all those years ago to be with his family, making him able to experience every up and down with you caused your heart to soar.

“Is he okay?” you mumbled when you heard the door open again.

“Just lost his paci for the moment. However, I also found this little lady wandering the halls.”

You opened an eye and saw the shadow of your husband with a clingy Joon-hee attached to his front.

The little girl reached her small arms out to you, crawling into your open arms upon being sat down on the mattress before Hongjoong crawled back in bed.

“Mama…” The girl whined and hid her face in your sleepshirt.

“What’s wrong baby? Why aren’t you sleeping for mama?” you hummed into the soft curls on her head.

Hongjoong, a gentle smile on his face that you couldn’t see in the dark of the night, listened attentively.

“Bad dreamies! The sockie mons’er came and wanna eat my feetsies!”

Ah yes, the unfailable fantasy of your oldest baby that even came to hunt her dreams. Joon-hee was a dreamer, always in her head, living out the wildest storys when not whirling around like a fire cracker and it was no surprise by now that sometimes nightmares were full of that too.

“Oh, we can’t have that, don’t we ladybug? Gonna save the feetsies from the evil sock monster with mama and appa!” Hongjoong gasped out and tickled her sides to make her laugh and forget the horror of her dream. The girl reacted instantly, giggling at her fathers antics before settling down between you both.

“Mama ‘n appa protec’ me?” she asked with a sleepy pout and received 2 kisses from you and him to each chubby cheek.

“Always, ladybug.” Hongjoong promised her.

“N’ Ha-Joonie?”

“And Ha-Joonie too!”

Joon-hee nodded, eyes growing heavier by the second.

“Wan’ protec’ Ha-joonie too…”

You knew immediately that she was out like a light when she trailed off smuggled against you with soft puffs of air hitting the skin on Hongjoong’s neck after she turned to her father.

Silence settled over the room. You felt his fingers reach over your daughter to trail them down your face.

“Thank you,” He whispered into the dark which only caused a stir and sigh from you, already back asleep like Joon-hee. “for making me the happiest I’ve ever been…”

[quinny19]

Sleeping my way to victory-part 2

Scenario 1: A Day in the Life of (Y/N) (or, How Are They Even Functioning?)

Outside of U.A., your daily routine was… questionable at best.

You woke up late. Always. If there wasn’t school, you might not wake up at all. Your alarm clock? Useless. You had trained yourself to sleep through it.

Your room? A mess of blankets and pillows, because why sleep in just one spot when you could rotate like a cat?

Breakfast? If you remembered. Or if you weren’t still half-asleep while grabbing whatever was closest (once, you almost ate a packet of sugar thinking it was rice).

Going outside? Only if necessary. Grocery store trips were a chaotic mix of you getting lost in the aisles, standing in front of the snack section for way too long, and once, somehow ending up in a pet store without realizing it.

Your life at home was pure chaos, but somehow, you survived.

And then, when school came around, you’d drag yourself there, still half-asleep, only to dominate in training without even trying.

Your classmates had questions.

Scenario 2: Bakugo Tries to Wake You Up (Again)

"Oi, wake up."

You grumbled something incoherent, turning your head away from the voice disturbing your peace.

"Wake the hell up, dumbass!"

A pillow smacked into your face.

Your eyes cracked open slightly. Bakugo was looming over you, arms crossed, glaring like he was about to explode.

You blinked. "Mmm?"

"It’s lunchtime!" he barked. "You seriously slept through the whole damn morning! How the hell do you function?!"

You sat up, stretching, still looking half-dead. "Mmm… brain off, instincts on."

Denki, who had been watching the interaction, snickered. "Man, Bakugo, you really love waking (Y/N) up, huh?"

Bakugo twitched. "I DON’T LOVE—!"

Kirishima patted his back. "Bro, it’s okay. You can admit it."

"SHUT UP!"

Meanwhile, you had already laid back down, completely unfazed. "Too much noise…"

Bakugo clenched his fists. "YOU'RE NOT GOING BACK TO SLEEP!"

You ignored him.

He grabbed your wrist and dragged you out of the classroom.

"Oi—"

"You’re eating lunch today, dumbass. No excuses."

Denki gasped dramatically. "Kacchan, you care about their well-being! How cute!"

Bakugo almost threw you at him.

Scenario 3: Beach Chaos (or, How (Y/N) Almost Died But Didn’t Even Notice)

The class trip to the beach was supposed to be relaxing.

It was relaxing.

Until you almost drowned.

Correction: you didn’t drown—you were just… floating away.

You had fallen asleep on a floaty, peacefully drifting further and further from shore, completely unaware that the waves had carried you away.

The class? Losing their minds.

"OH MY GOD, (Y/N)!" Mina shrieked. "THEY’RE—THEY’RE DRIFTING AWAY!"

Uraraka gasped. "Do they even know?!"

"OF COURSE NOT, THEY’RE SLEEPING!" Denki yelled.

Kirishima was already stripping off his shirt. "I’ll go get them!"

Todoroki calmly made an ice path across the water. "I’ll retrieve them."

Meanwhile, Bakugo stood on the shore, looking beyond pissed.

"ARE YOU SERIOUSLY SLEEPING THROUGH THIS?!" he roared.

You? Still asleep. Peaceful. Unbothered. No thoughts, only floaty.

Todoroki skated across the water, grabbed your floaty, and dragged you back to shore.

You woke up slightly as the floaty touched the sand. "Mmm…?"

"You almost drifted out to sea," Iida lectured, waving his arms. "That was extremely irresponsible!"

You yawned. "…Felt nice, though."

Bakugo twitched. "YOU ALMOST DROWNED, YOU IDIOT!"

"Mmm… but I didn’t."

The class collectively lost it.

Scenario 4: Girls’ Hangout (or, They Treat You Like a Sleepy Baby)

You weren’t sure how you ended up here.

Mina had kidnapped you (dragged you from class while you were half-asleep), and now you were at the mall with the girls.

Uraraka clapped her hands. "Okay! Shopping time!"

Momo smiled. "We should get snacks later."

Jiro glanced at you, who had been leaning on her shoulder for the last ten minutes. "Uh… is (Y/N) gonna wake up?"

Mina waved a hand. "Nah, this is normal."

Toru giggled. "They’re like a sleepy little pet."

"…I can hear you," you muttered.

Mina hugged you dramatically. "Awww, you’re so cute when you’re sleepy!"

You sighed, letting them drag you around while you dozed in and out.

You didn’t fight it. They weren’t letting you go anyway.

Scenario 5: At Home (or, How Are You Even Alive?!)

Bakugo didn’t know what to expect when he visited your apartment.

He definitely didn’t expect chaos.

Blankets everywhere.

Half-empty cups of tea on random surfaces.

Your fridge? Full of energy drinks, snacks, and exactly one actual meal.

Your laundry? A mix of clean and dirty because you forgot which was which.

Bakugo stood in your doorway, horrified. "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!"

You sat on your couch, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito. "Home?"

"HOW DO YOU LIVE LIKE THIS?!"

You shrugged. "Mmm… survival instincts?"

He was going to combust. "YOU HAVE NO INSTINCTS, DUMBASS!"

You blinked slowly at him. "Mmm. Still alive, though."

"BARELY!"

Bakugo swore, swore that from now on, he’d check on you.

Not because he cared or anything.

…Definitely not.

Scenario 6: Bakugo vs. The Sleeping Menace (Again)

"You’re fighting me today!"

"…Mmm."

Bakugo twitched. "That’s not an answer!"

You yawned, rubbing your eyes. "…Why?"

"BECAUSE I SAID SO!"

The entire class watched, amused.

Denki leaned over to Kirishima. "Five bucks says they win in three moves."

Kirishima smirked. "Two moves."

Sero chuckled. "One move."

Bakugo exploded forward.

You sighed, dodged without even looking, and accidentally knocked him out of bounds.

One move.

You yawned. "Mmm… nap time."

Denki cheered. "HA! Sero wins!"

Bakugo, lying in the dirt, screamed into the void.

The End (For Now)

Bakugo had one goal: Beat you at least once.

Your goal? Sleep.

And, maybe, tease him a little while you were at it.

Because no matter how hard he tried…

You always won.

Part 1:

Part 3:

Part 4

[girlinterupptedsblog]

Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?

Pairing: situationship!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Smut, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation, drug use, swearing, angst, possessiveness, late-night phone calls, obsessive behavior, heartbreak, emotionally charged themes, sexual tension, mentions of drinking and weed.

It started like most things on the island did—after midnight, under a haze of weed smoke and red Solo cups. Rafe wasn’t looking for a girlfriend. You weren’t looking for whatever this was. And yet, over a year later, he still hadn’t let you go and whatever you two were.

You told yourself it was just sex.

But it wasn’t just sex. Not anymore. Not after 15 months of whispered nothings, of him pushing your hair back and saying he’d never been like this with anyone else. Of late-night joint sharing, tangled in his bed in that goddamn house that always smelled like rich boy apathy and weed. Of him holding you in the dark when no one was around to see.

But never once—not once—had he asked you to be his girlfriend.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what this was. He called you when he was bored, when his ego was bruised, when he got too high and needed something to cling to that reminded him he still had control.

“Baby,” he’d slur into the phone, his voice low and scratchy, “I was just thinkin’ about you. Fuck, I miss your body. Wish you were here. Wish you were underneath me right now, i would fuck you so good baby.”

Same thing. Every time.

Tuesday, 2:48 a.m.

Your phone buzzed against your nightstand. You were already half-awake—he had trained you like a dog with a bell, conditioned you to expect him around this time. You didn’t even need to look. You knew it was Rafe.

RAFE CAMERON

3 Missed Calls

1 Voice Message

You stared at the glowing screen. Your heart pounded—annoyed, expectant, aching. You wanted to ignore him. You wanted to pretend you didn’t care anymore. You hit play.

“Shit, hey. It’s me. Obviously. I just—uh—fuck, I don’t even know why I’m calling. Just miss you, okay? Been thinking about your mouth on me all goddamn day. Can’t fuckin’ sleep. Feel like im gonna explode if you wont suck me off. You still got that picture I sent you? Bet you do. You’re probably touching yourself to it right now. Jesus… call me. I need to hear your voice.”

You threw your phone across the room.

He wouldn’t remember this in the morning. Or maybe he would. Maybe he’d just pretend not to.

You didn’t text back. Not this time. Not again.

You met up with him again three nights later.

He had this pull—like a magnet made of sin and privilege and some raw part of your heart you didn’t want to admit he still owned.

The second you stepped into his room, he grabbed you by the waist and pushed you against the door, lips on your neck like he was starving.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he mumbled between kisses, his breath heavy with whiskey and kush. “I’ve been going crazy.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hands still found their way into his hair. “Maybe you should’ve called me when you were sober for once.”

“I did,” he lied. You both knew it was a lie. “You just didn’t pick up.”

You wanted to slap him. You wanted to kiss him harder. You bit his lip, shoved him back onto the bed, and rode him like he didn’t own your thoughts every hour of every day.

It was always like this.

You’d go days without speaking. Then he’d come knocking—or worse, calling—at 2 or 3 a.m., voice rough, stoned out of his mind, saying the exact same thing.

“Miss you.”

“Need you.”

“I wanna fuck you.”

But never, never:

“Be my girlfriend.”

“Come to this party with me.”

“Let me take you out.”

You weren’t a secret. People knew. Everyone knew. Rafe made sure of it when he’d drag you into bathrooms at house parties or pull you onto his lap in the back of his truck.

But you weren’t anything real either.

You were a placeholder for whatever he needed at the moment. A fix. A warm body. Something to text when his high went sideways and he got too in his head.

Monday, 3:02 a.m.

Incoming call: RAFE CAMERON

You let it ring.

You let it go to voicemail.

He called again. And again.

3:17 a.m.

RAFE CAMERON (Voicemail)

“Y/N. C’mon, don’t do this. I fucked up, okay? You mad ‘cause I didn’t say the right shit the other night? You want me to say it? I’ll fucking say it. I want you. I need you. No one fucks me like you do. No one gets me like you do. You win, alright? Just… just answer. Please.”

You were crying by the time it ended. Not because he meant it. But because part of you still wanted to believe he did.

You confronted him once—after a week of silence, a week of blue ticks and cold shoulders.

“You only want me when you’re high, Rafe,” you said, standing in the doorway of his kitchen while he lit a blunt. “Do you even know what I mean to you sober?”

He blinked at you, slow. Stoned. Emotionless.

“You’re overthinking it.”

That was his answer.

"And you arent thinking at all because all the drugs eat your brain away"

You almost walked away that night.

But he looked at you like you were the last fix on Earth and dragged you onto the counter, fingers bruising your thighs, voice in your ear, whispering every dirty promise he could think of to make you stay.

Because he held you after. Because he called you baby sometimes. Because he said he missed you, even if it was only when his eyes were glassy and his mind was fried.

But deep down, you knew.

You werent his favorite drug.

Saturday, 4:06 a.m.

Your phone buzzed. Again.

Again.

Again.

RAFE CAMERON:

You up?

Pick up.

Wanna feel you.

You always ignore me when I need you the most.

Don't do that shit to me.

I’m outside.

You peeked through your blinds.

His truck. Parked crooked. Headlights off. Him in the driver’s seat, head tipped back like he was praying to some god that never listened.

You didn’t go outside.

You let him wait.

You were his constant.

His always.

But he was never yours.

[its-avalon-08]

📣 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕖 📣

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10

🏁 pairing : Lando Norris x Piastri!Sister!Reader

🏎️ summary: she’s oscar piastri’s little sister — sarcastic, sharp, and completely uninterested in drivers. he’s lando norris — charming, persistent, and suddenly very interested in her. she came for oscar. she didn’t plan on falling for the one person she should’ve stayed away from.

themes : fluff, flirting, angst, over protective brother, anxiety, abusive relationship

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

chapter five: pole and silence

“AND IT’S POLE FOR OSCAR PIASTRI!”

The crowd exploded around the circuit, fans screaming his name as the orange-and-blue car crossed the line with a perfect lap time. He had pushed harder than he ever had — cornering late, braking sharp, throttle aggressive.

He didn’t care.

He didn’t care about the messages over the radio. Didn’t care when his engineer said, “YOU DID IT! POLE, OSCAR, POLE!”

He didn’t even respond. Just breathed. Hard. Furious.

He stepped out of the car and yanked his helmet off, tossing it to the side. Lily ran up to him immediately, face bright and beaming. Oscar's heart lightened. Lily Mae him happier even when he felt like shit.

“That was insane baby!” she grinned, hugging him. “Pole! You were flying!”

Oscar gave a short, lopsided smile, wrapping an arm around her quickly not wanting to let go. “Yeah. I needed that my love.”

Y/N stood a little further away, eyes wide and glassy. She hadn’t even made it past the edge of the garage. Her fingers trembled around the lanyard she twisted over and over. He hadn’t looked at her once.

Not once. It was hurting her. It was breaking her. Her own brother hated her.

Lando walked up behind her quietly, not saying anything for a second. “You okay?”

She sniffed, nodded quickly. “Mhm. I’m fine. Go—go take your pictures.”

He hesitated for a beat before heading out.

On the podium backdrop, Max stood already positioned for P2, grinning and stretching. Oscar walked over with that public smile on his face — camera-ready, relaxed — but when Lando stepped up for P3, Oscar didn’t even glance his way.

Max looked between the two of them, smirking. “No handshake today, boys?”

Oscar didn’t reply. He posed beside Max, back straight, expression unreadable. He was furthest away from Lando. Zak and Andrea shared a worried look. What the hell was going on?

Lando offered a casual “Congrats” just loud enough to be heard.

Oscar didn’t respond.

Max raised a brow. “Someone’s grumpy for a pole-sitter.”

“Just focused,” Oscar said dryly, eyes trained forward as the photographers snapped away.

The usual laughs, the playful shoulder shoves — none of it happened.

And the cameras caught it all.

After the photos, Oscar turned on his heel and went straight to his engineers. Joked with one of them, gave a nod to his data analyst, let Lily fix his hair a bit before the post-quali interview.

Not a glance spared for Lando. And none for Y/N.

She stood at the back now, almost blending into the wall, arms crossed tightly, knuckles white.

Lando returned, sweat still dripping down his neck. “He’s not gonna cool off easy,” he said softly, standing beside her.

Y/N blinked quickly, trying not to let the tears spill. “He hates me right now.”

“He’s being a dick,” Lando muttered. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Still hurts though Lan.”

“Yeah,” he said. Then after a beat, “Wanna get out of here for a bit?”

She hesitated. Then nodded.

And from across the garage, Oscar finally looked her way. Just once.

Her hand was in Lando’s.

And he looked away. What the actual fuck were they playing at?

-

Lando and Y/N didn’t speak on the drive.

Lando just drove. Quiet roads. The sky streaked with sunset, the heat of the day fading as the car twisted through the hills just outside the city. Y/N stayed quiet, her hand interlocked with Lando's whose hand laid on her thigh. A sign of comfort and reassurance.

They parked near a quiet overlook — the kind of place only locals and kids with too much time knew about.

The city stretched below them, a mosaic of blinking lights and blurred motion.

Y/N stepped out of the car, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned against the hood.

“Nice spot Norris,” she mumbled.

Lando joined her, nodding. “Yeah. I come here sometimes. When… shit gets loud.”

She smiled faintly. “So, all the time then?”

A breath of laughter escaped him. “Uh Yeah Basically.”

Silence. It wasn’t awkward. Just… suspended.

Then Lando glanced over at her. “Hey. Can I ask you something?”

She met his eyes.

He hesitated. “You don’t have to answer so please don't feel pressured too. But… your ex. What happened?”

Her breath caught, the way it always did when his name came up — even if it wasn’t said out loud.

Y/N looked away.

“He wasn’t… great,” she murmured.

Lando didn’t push.

She took a slow breath. “We met in med school. He was charming. Smart. Everyone loved him. My friends said he was so supportive. Oscar didn’t like him, not from the start. Said he smiled too wide, too fast.”

Her voice dropped.

“At first it was little things. Like... always asking where I was. Who I was with. Then it became why I was with them. Then it turned into, ‘Why didn’t you answer when I called?’”

Flashback.

“You were out with your lab partner? Again?” “It’s a research project—” “You’re always working late with him. Do you think I’m fucking stupid?” “He’s married!” “You think that means anything these days?”

Back on the hill, Y/N blinked hard.

Lando’s hands were still. He didn’t speak. Anger took over him.

“He made me feel like I was always doing something wrong,” she said. “I stopped wearing certain outfits. Stopped eating certain food. Stopped going out unless he was with me. Stopped… being me.”

Flashback.

“Babe, c’mon, don’t wear that. It’s just… too much.” “I like this dress.” “Yeah, well, I don’t want other guys staring at you like you’re a fucking slut. Change.”

Another breath.

“One night… we were arguing. He was yelling. I was crying. Oscar came to pick me up for dinner. He walked in when—” Her voice cracked. “—when he had me cornered. Hand raised about to hit me.” Lando's blood froze and a rush of anger and aggression filled his soul.

Flashback.

“YOU’RE SUCH A FUCKING HEADACHE, Y/N!” “Just let me go!” “I swear to God, if you don’t—” The door bursts open. “Get your fucking hands OFF her.”

“Oscar lost it,” she whispered. “I’d never seen him like that. He told me to pack my stuff. Drove me to Lily’s place. I never went back.”

The wind blew gently across the hilltop.

Lando hadn’t moved.

Y/N’s voice was small. “I know I shouldn’t let one asshole ruin me. But since then I just… I can’t do it. Dating. Trusting someone. Letting them in. I can’t afford to lose myself again.”

Silence.

Lando moved closer.

He didn’t say anything — didn’t try to fix it or offer hollow comfort.

He just pulled her in.

And hugged her.

No words. No flirting. Just arms wrapped around her like a shield, one hand pressed gently against the back of her head as she leaned into him, the sob catching in her throat.

Her tears stained his shirt, and he didn’t let go.

Not until her breathing steadied.

Not until the sun had fully dipped below the horizon.

Not until she whispered, “Thank you.”

And still, he stayed quiet. Just held her closer. And then he kissed her head as a sign of reassurance and security.

taglist: @landofotographyy @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @rd14 @stylesmoonlight12 @azuramicah @il0vereadingstuff @star73807-blog @sltwins @dustie-faerie @stylesmoonlight12 @lauralarsen @ayatotiddies @carey86 @hescrush @xnatqq @downsideup1989 @lilorose25 @henna006 @dustie-faerie @lewishamiltonismybf @ayatotiddies @carey86 @hescrush @xnatqq @downsideup1989 @lilorose25 @henna006 @formulaho @freya2005 @honethatty12

[a-pute11as]

serendipity (part 2) - kika nazareth

word count - 5.9k | summary - a ray of sunshine stumbles into your quiet cafe one morning, with heart shaped latte art and the added bonus of gaining a new english teacher, she decides to make it her everyday stop, even when your ex decides to pull a stunt.

this is part 2 of serendipity, part 1 can be found here.

-

a few days went by, kika never failing to show her face at the cafe, even if it was for 5 minutes or an hour and a half of an ‘english lesson’ that had no real objectives. 

the two of you had a routine, to the point where she knew your days off and the two of you would exchange a few texts instead. her excuse for asking questions was always being ‘my english needs to get better’, and you couldn’t help but entertain it, especially when there was a smile etched across your face. 

you were sitting in your flat, legs up on the sofa, your phone on your lap as it lit up. her name flashed across the screen, and as if it was routine.

kika - are you driving to the match tomorrow? or i can pick you up?

you - i can get the metro, thank you though

kika - no i’m going to pick you up, be ready for 4, the match doesn’t kick off for a while so i’m gonna find someone for you to sit with

you didn’t really know how professional matches worked. growing up you went to a handful of your brother’s 7-a-side tournaments but you were mostly focused on whatever toy your parents had packed to keep you occupied. but you knew this didn’t compare to that, at all. 

you honestly thought kika would turn up in her kit, wait a few minutes and then start playing, but clearly there was far more to it. so much so that she was finding you someone to sit with. 

you - oh, yeah sure okay

kika - ellie is injured, she's from england like you, so you can sit with her 

your heart picked up, suddenly something you thought would be a light hearted outing with a girl you had grown to really… really like had became meeting her team, her second family, her world outside of the cafe that felt so familiar. sure you kinda met two of her friends already, but that ended up in your ex showing up and tearing you apart piece from piece. 

but you couldn’t show her how anxious you were. 

you - okay, are you sure she’d be okay with that? 

kika - sí, claro, ellie loves to talk so it’s perfect

your fingers hovered over your screen for a second, thumb tapping just below the message. you chewed the inside of your cheek. part of you wanted to make an excuse, say something came up, that you were feeling off, but then another message popped through before you could type a word.

kika - don’t worry, she already said she’ll look after you

and she made me promise to tell you she’s funnier than me

also, do you own a barcelona top?

you laughed softly under your breath, relaxing ever so slightly into your cushions. your heart fluttered at the way she went out of her way to look after you, something that you hadn’t really felt before. 

you - i’ll pretend to laugh at her jokes, but i’m sure they won’t be as good as yours

but no, i don’t own one, or anything football related

the three dots appeared, disappeared, then came back again.

kika -  i’ll make sure to tell her that ;)

you’re important to me, so i want you to feel like you belong there too

you stared at the message for a moment, warmth rising in your chest in that now-familiar way. she never said too much, just enough, always the right words to soothe the previous pounding in your chest.

you - you’re making it hard to play it cool, stop being sweet

kika - can’t help it, see you at 4 cariño

your heart practically exploded at her casual use of the nickname, something so simple, a small ‘spanish’ touch on the end of her message yet you couldn’t hide the slow stunned smile tugging at your lips.

-

you checked the time again - 3:56.

you had checked the time at least 7 times in the last 20 minutes, sitting on the very edge of your sofa as you twiddled your thumbs with anticipation. you’d already put your shoes on 15 minutes ago, then taken them off again and put on another pair. your coat hung by the door, waiting, you clutched your phone tight, even reapplying lip balm for no real reason other than keeping your hands moving. 

then, right on time, the buzz of your phone cut through the silence that was eating away at your mind.

kika - i’m outside :)

you swallowed the sudden nerves and gave yourself a quick once-over in the hallway mirror, before grabbing your coat and heading down to meet her.

the cool air hit your face as you stepped outside, the late afternoon barcelona sky was still bright. kika’s car was parked right by the curb, engine idling, window down. one hand lazily resting on the wheel, the other pushing her hair behind her ear as she spotted you.

she smiled, wide and easy, the kind of smile that tugged at your nerves but made them settle.

kika leaned over to push the door open for you, “i have a present for you.”

you slid into the passenger seat, the warmth of the car wrapping around you instantly. the soft sound of music played in the background, low, slightly jazzy, unexpected but somehow very her.

your eyes flickered over to her, a small gift bag in her lap, a delicate bow tying together the handles. your gaze widening as your face flashed with a sense of fear as your eyes met hers with an apologetic look,  “but i didn’t get you anything.”

a light smile spread across her face as she laughed slightly, “it’s not a proper gift, only something small, to commemorate the first time you get to watch me play.”

“kika you really shouldn’t have.” you shook your head adamantly. 

“just open it.” she insisted, pushing the bag into your lap. 

you looked at her hesitantly, her sending you an affirmative nod before you carefully pulled at the strings of the bow, the paper rustling softly as you opened the bag, your heart thudding louder with every second. 

nestled inside was a folded football shirt, deep blue and garnet, the unmistakable colours of her team. you lifted it carefully, the fabric still holding a faint warmth, worn but clean. you held it up in front of you, your eyes raking it as your mouth dropped open slightly. 

then you saw the back.

kika #18. 

your breath caught for a moment, thumb grazing over the printing of her name. the shirt was clearly match-worn. there was a faint grass stain near the hem, and the neckline was slightly stretched. but it wasn’t just a gift, it was a piece of her.

“you didn’t…” you started softly, words catching in your throat.

“i did,” she interrupted, smiling, nodding again. “it’s from a champions league game against st polten, i scored and got an assist in that game.”

you looked at her, wide-eyed. “kika, this is- this is not small, this is special.”

“so are you,” she said simply, putting the car in gear, “i told you i wanted you to feel like you belong.”

you looked back down at the shirt in your lap, the weight of it suddenly much heavier than just a mix of fabric and thread, “i don’t know what to say.”

“you don’t have to say anything,” she replied, voice quieter now, “just wear it.”

you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “okay, but only if you sign it after you win.”

she smirked, giving you a playful nudge, “maybe i’ll even dedicate a goal to you.”

you relaxed into the seat, smiling at her words as she pulled off in the direction of the stadium. 

the drive was filled with kika’s light humming along to the songs, tapping the steering wheel in rhythm with the music before she spoke again, “ellie’s already excited to meet you.”

you tilted your head slightly, “should i be worried?”

she glanced at you, then shook her head. “no, but maybe i should be.”

you looked out the window briefly, laughing to yourself and by the time the stadium came into view in the distance, your nerves had softened into something warm and steady. 

kika said her hello’s to the security guard as they opened the barrier to allow you into the players’ car park, the gravel crunching softly beneath the tyres. you glanced around nervously, eyes catching on the sleek cars, mostly cupra’s, all of it a little more real now.

“don’t look so nervous,” kika said, reaching across to briefly squeeze your hand before easing into a parking space, “ellie’s annoying, but she’s really nice.”

you gave her a weak smile, gripping the t-shirt in your hand a little tighter.

as the engine cut off, you spotted a figure leaning casually against the low wall near the entrance, blonde ponytail, hoodie pulled up despite the mild weather, arms crossed and clearly scanning for someone.

kika sent you a look, one asking if you were ready. “let me just put this on.” you smiled lightly, referencing the shirt. you awkwardly pulled your coat off, slipping the blaugrana over your own t-shirt, looping your coat over your arm. 

you sent kika a nod, before slipping out of the car after her. kika rounded the front of the car, hand grazing your back for the briefest second before she waved toward the figure waiting.

“ellie!” she called.

the blonde perked up, grinning when she spotted the two of you. as you got closer, her eyes flicked to you, her smile widening with a kind of mischief that made your stomach tighten.

“this is the famous barista?” ellie asked, already teasing.

kika rolled her eyes affectionately, “ellie, this is the very patient barista i’ve been annoying for weeks. and this,” she added, turning to you, “is ellie. professional asshole, injured, so she’s free to keep you company tonight.”

ellie held out a hand, clearly amused, “nice to meet you. i’ve heard a lot, mostly about your coffee but she likes to talk about how pretty you are.”

“ellie, shut up.” kika groaned, her hands covered her face as she averted her gaze to the floor. 

you shook her hand, chuckling nervously as your cheeks automatically turned red, “hopefully I live up to the hype.”

ellie winked, “well you’re wearing her shirt, so you’ve already won over half the team.”

kika sighed as ellie slung an arm casually around your shoulders and began leading you toward the stadium doors, “don’t let her embarrass me too much.”

“no promises!” ellie called over her shoulder, and kika could only shake her head, watching the two of you go with a grin she couldn’t hide if she tried.

ellie guided you through the stadium’s inner corridors with the ease of someone who knew exactly where to go, talking the whole way. something about how weird it was to be sidelined again, how annoying physios could be even when they were right, how kika had definitely never acted this nervous about someone before. you laughed along, slightly dazed and definitely nervous, clutching the hem of her shirt like it was anchoring you.

eventually, you reached a private section of the stands a few rows tucked behind the dugout with perfect views of the pitch. ellie flopped into her seat with a dramatic sigh and patted the spot beside her. you sat down carefully, eyes scanning the growing crowd, heart still hammering.

“she’ll be out to warm up soon, you can usually spot her by her scrunchie.” ellie adjusting her hoodie once again. 

you smiled at the image, you often saw the same scrunchie wrapped around her wrist, occasionally looped round her ponytail. maybe it was a good luck charm, or a reminder of home, whatever it is, it was her. 

after a moment of comfortable silence, ellie glanced sideways at you, “so, how long have you lived here?”

“not long, nearly 4 months.” you shrugged lightly. 

“do you plan on staying long?” she asked, it seemed like an intimidating question but it didn’t feel like an interrogation. 

you thought for a moment before answering, “hm at least till the end of my visa, maybe longer depending on how life goes.” 

she nodded before speaking again, “so where’s home home then?”

“uh sheffield, close to manchester basically.” 

“no way, which town?” she blinked. 

you told her and her eyes widened. 

“shut up,” she said, turning toward you fully now. “that’s literally where I grew up, like, i’m not kidding, down the street from the corner shop that sold those really cheap slushies”

your jaw dropped, “no way, i went there all the time after school.”

“those were elite, i’d ask my mum for some money everyday before school just to get one,” ellie agreed, grinning, “you didn’t go to st. mary’s, did you?”

“i did! oh my god.” you shook your head in disbelief. 

“no. shut up. i was in year eleven when the entire art block flooded.”

“that was your year? we got stuck in the temporary classroom for months because of that!”

ellie burst out laughing, leaning into you as the two of you reeled from the weirdest coincidence either of you had experienced in ages.

“world’s too bloody small,” she grinned, “and kika thought she was doing you a favour introducing you to someone ‘from england’, little did she know.”

“that she introduced me to someone who probably saw me dressed as a christmas pudding in my primary school play,” you muttered.

“oh, you are never living that down now, wait were you the one who fell off the stage?”

the two of you dissolved into a fit of laughter just as the players started to file out onto the pitch to warm up. and when your eyes found kika, focused with her scrunchie in. you swore she glanced your way, just for a second. just long enough for you to notice the smile that appeared on her face.

-

the match began with a sudden burst of energy, the pitch flickering alive under the stadium lights as the roar of the crowd settled into a steady hum around you. the barcelona players moved like clockwork, fluid and fast, each pass threaded with precision and trust. 

kika’s presence was clear, demanding, running defenders in circles as if it was the easiest thing in the world. whilst the game itself was entertaining, your eyes were focused on kika, the way she’d fall into open pockets of space, eyes constantly scanning the pitch as if she could see 5 plays ahead, it was mesmerising. 

“she’s always like this,” ellie said, nudging you with her elbow, “quietly terrifying.”

you grinned, eyes still fixed on the field, on her, “she looks like she’s thinking about fifteen things at once.”

“she is,” ellie nodded, “and one of them is definitely you.”

you flushed, the words catching you off guard, but the smile that tugged at your mouth came naturally.

as the match continued, so did the conversation between you and ellie. whatever nervous energy had knotted your stomach earlier had started to melt away, you felt comfortable around her, in a sense she felt like home. you found yourself leaning in, asking questions about positions and plays, laughing at ellie’s dramatic commentary and overly passionate rants about referees.

“number eight on the other team has been diving like she’s auditioning for eastenders,” ellie muttered.

all you could do was laugh in response, her northern attitude really shining through. 

the crowd gasped as barcelona made a break forward. your eyes snapped across the pitch just in time to see kika collect a long pass, take a neat touch, and split two defenders. the ball stayed glued to her feet. one step, then another. and then.

a shot. clean. sharp. perfectly timed. the net rippled with the impact.

the stadium erupted.

your mouth fell open as you surged to your feet without thinking, your heart leaping to meet the moment.

“oh my god, she scored, she scored!” you breathed, the awe obvious in your tone.

ellie jumped up beside you, “of course she did!”

your eyes were fixated on her, watching as she didn’t just turn to her teammates or jog back to the centre circle like most of the others. she looked up, right at you.

even from a distance, the intent was unmistakable. she pointed to the crowd. to you. her smile was wide and warm, as she held her hand to her heart and tapped twice, slow and deliberate.

your breath hitched.

“she’s…” you blinked rapidly. “was that-”

“oh yeah,” ellie confirmed, smirking, a slow teasing nod in your direction, “that was defo for you.”

you sat down slowly, a little stunned, your cheeks warm and hands frozen mid-air.

“she’s going to ruin me.” you muttered.

ellie laughed, “i think she already has, mate.”

you sank back into your seat, heart thudding wildly, the cheers of the crowd muffled beneath the sound of your pulse. your eyes never left the pitch, but your thoughts were miles away. 

back to the girl who used to second-guess everything, who used to shrink herself to fit into someone else’s idea of love. and now here you were, sitting in a borrowed shirt that still carried the faint scent of kika’s perfume, watching her dedicate a goal to you in front of a crowd of people.

the rest of the match passed in bursts, moments where you were completely absorbed by the rhythm of the play, and others where ellie and you swapped stories about growing up back home, from dodgy chip shops to awful school uniforms.

by the time the final whistle blew and the crowd erupted again, barcelona securing a solid win, your voice was slightly rough from cheering and your cheeks ached from smiling. 

players began trickling off the pitch, waving toward the stands, and your eyes scanned for kika.

you spotted her easily. sweat-slicked yet still radiant, her hair pulled back, smile as wide as the pitch itself as she exchanged high fives and hugs. but then her gaze found you again, and that smile softened. there was something quieter in it this time, it felt like it was just for you. her hand raised in a beckoning motion towards you.

“you’re coming down with me,” ellie said, already pulling her lanyard from her bag.

your brows lifted, “am i even allowed?”

“she’ll kill me if i don’t,” ellie smirked. “come on, you’re not getting out of this part.”

as you followed her toward the players’ entrance, nerves fluttered low in your belly. gone was the quiet hum and safety of the cafe you had learnt inside and out, the regulars you memorised the orders of and the bell that gave you familiarity. now here you were, walking through the hallways of one of the most decorated clubs in the world, surrounded by people of a certain status, one you weren’t as familiar with. 

kika was there, just outside the locker room, still in full kit, a towel around her neck, her hair damp but now pulled out of the ponytail. her gaze flicked up at the sound of footsteps, and the moment she saw you, her whole face changed. her grin widened, eyes lighting up like she’d been waiting for this moment the entire match.

“there’s my lucky charm,” she grinned, stepping forward, ignoring the chaos around her.

your cheeks flushed immediately, a red blush quickly spreading as you rolled your eyes, “that was all you.”

she shrugged. “not denying, but it was definitely for you.”

ellie groaned playfully, “you two are disgustingly cute already, you need to tell her about our discovery.” she smirked, nudging your arm. 

kika’s eyes widened, “oh god what’s happened?”

“we basically live round the corner from each other, we even went to the same school.” you explained, a sweet smile on your face, watching as kika’s jaw dropped slightly. 

“we’ve also exchanged numbers so we are going to get a whole lot more annoying.” ellie sent kika an annoying grin, her arm slung around your shoulder as she pulled you into her side slightly.

kika looked between the two of you with a slow blink before letting out a delighted laugh. “of course you are, this makes total sense. you’ve both got so sarcastic and speak far too quickly.”

you and ellie shared a grin before she disappeared momentarily as kika stepped closer to you, lowering her voice.

“did you like it?” she nodded toward the pitch.

you tilted your head, “you mean the goal you scored and then how you pointed at me after scoring?”

“hmm maybe,” she shrugged, a teasing glint in her eyes.

you smiled, softer this time, the noise of the corridor fading for a second. “yeah,” you said honestly, “i really did.”

she bumped her shoulder into yours, “i’ve got to go shower and pretend to listen to the coach talk about things we already know. but will you wait for me?”

you nodded, almost instantly, “of course, i’ll wait.”

as kika turned, she glanced back with one last smile. it was soft and lingering, yet it made your stomach flutter all the same. 

you leaned against the cool concrete wall as kika disappeared down the corridor, still smiling to yourself like some kind of idiot. ellie reappeared from around the corner a few moments later.

“she likes you,” ellie mentioned casually, as if she was telling you something simple like the weather.

you raised an eyebrow, before shaking your head slowly. 

ellie snorted, “no, like, she really likes you. she talks about constantly, as if you hung the stars yourself.”

you glanced down at the match-worn shirt you were still wearing, fingertips brushing the edge of the badge, “i don’t really know what I am to her yet.” you muttered. 

“well,” ellie tilted her head slightly, “you’re wearing her name on your back, she scored and pointed directly at you in front of half of barcelona, and she asked you to wait after the game. i’d say you’re at least halfway to girlfriend.”

you laughed quietly, “we haven’t even been on a date yet.” you sighed, your nerves slowly unwinding into something softer. “it’s just kind of scary. not her, not her at all, it’s just letting someone be this good to me.”

ellie’s teasing softened as she looked at you, “let her be, trust me. kika doesn’t give a lot of people this version of herself, and if she’s offering it to you, it’s because she wants you to have it.”

you nodded, eyes drifting toward the hallway again, sitting with what she had said like a weight on your chest.

fifteen minutes later, kika emerged, hair damp, her duffel slung over her shoulder. she was wearing a team hoodie and joggers now, her kit packed away, but the glow of the match hadn’t left her. she looked instantly toward where you stood, a warm smile tugging at her mouth as she made her way over. 

ellie took that as her signal to leave, giving you a small wave as she walked in the direction kika had come from.

“you waited.” she said, like she was genuinely surprised that you had been out there the whole time.

“of course i did.” you said quietly, with a small nod.

“there’s a team dinner tonight, alexia has asked if you want to come with us? it’s just a small local place round the corner that we go to sometimes,” she was quiet for a moment before speaking again, “i’d really like it if you could come.”

your eyebrow raised slightly, anxiety laced into your words, your voice quiet, “with the whole team?” 

she nodded, a small smile across her face, “a few extras with peoples partners, but the whole team knows a lot about you so they’d love to meet you.”

“okay, i’d really like that.” you smiled slowly.

“let’s go, pretty girl.” she reached out for your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, her fingers laced with yours as she pulled you through the halls back in the direction of her car. she was so casual yet your heart thumped in your chest.

- 

the restaurant was tucked away on a quiet side street, all warm lights and terracotta walls, the kind of place locals loved because it didn’t try too hard. as you walked in beside kika, the low hum of conversation drifted out from the open windows, along with the scent of garlic and something slow-cooked and rich.

“mira quién ha llegado!” someone shouted, yet you weren’t entirely sure who it was. (look who has arrived.)

the tables had been pushed together into one long stretch down the middle of the restaurant. glasses clinked. cutlery scraped. there were half-empty bottles of red wine and plates meant for sharing already scattered across the table.

kika reached for your hand again, giving your fingers a gentle squeeze before leaning toward you.

“you okay?” she asked, her voice low, just for you.

you nodded, smiling, heart still racing but not in a way that made you want to run and hide, in a way you wanted to push through and be a part of her world, “yeah, nervous, but okay.”

she led you over to the group, and suddenly all the attention shifted your way. there were smiles and a chorus of hellos that came in half-english, half-spanish, all of them curious but kind.

ellie caught your eye from down the table and gave you a little wave, lifting her glass. “hey! look who survived her first barca match!”

“barely,” you called back with a grin, causing a few people to laugh.

you took a seat beside kika, her thigh brushing against yours under the table, and slowly, one bite of pan con tomate and a question about your favorite football chant, the nerves started to ease.

the conversation flowed. jana teased kika about her goal celebration, patri argued passionately about who made the best paella, and ellie declared you had to come to the next home match, no excuses.

between the shared tapas and the soft curl of kika’s smile every time she looked at you, your nerves settled. 

you felt a sense of safety, familiarity, being with kika felt like home. something you hadn’t felt since moving to barcelona. 

as the night rolled on, the energy shifted into something warmer. the previous bustling of the dinner table had changed into a group of people who were full of food, smiles plastered onto their faces, whilst soft laughter carried its way across the room.

kika stood up for a second to chat with someone at the far end of the table, and patri leaned across to you, eyebrows raised with a grin.

“so chica, you like her back right?” patri smirked.

“h-huh?” you stuttered, your eyes widening at the sudden question, your cheeks a little warm.

ellie laughed, “it’s so obvious mate, i’ve only been with you a few hours and i’ve caught you eyeing her multiple times.”

your eyes briefly travelled to kika laughing with vicky, the two of them stood either side of alexia, nudging either side of her as she simply rolled her eyes. 

you shook your head, the heat in your cheeks continuing to rise, a short burst of confidence hit you, “well yeah, it’s hard not to.”

ellie and patri smiled at each other, sharing a nod. you looked at the two confused, you were about to question their motive until your head glanced, a smiling kika walking back in your direction. 

when kika sat back down, her hand naturally brushed yours again under the table. she didn’t say anything, it was quiet, casual, and yet more intimate than anything spoken. she dropped her arm along the back of your chair, her fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder as she leaned in.

“are you tired?” she asked, her voice close.

you shook your head, “not yet.”

“good,” she said, tilting her head with a soft smile, “you’re definitely coming to the next match.”

you smiled, bumping her shoulder lightly, “guess i’ll need another shirt.”

kika leaned in just a bit closer, her voice almost a whisper, “you can have all of them.”

you turned to look at her, and something about the way she was watching you, open, steady, unguarded, made your chest flutter.

before either of you could say more, ellie clapped loudly from across the table, “alright, lovebirds, group photo time.”

groans and laughter rose from the table as everyone shuffled into position. you started to stand, unsure where to go, until kika caught your hand. “aqui, come stand next to me,” like it was the obvious answer.

and so you did, fitting yourself beside her, her arm wrapping around your waist like it belonged there. when the camera flashed, you smiled like it was the most natural thing in the world, because it felt exactly like that. 

-

the night air was cooler now, a gentle breeze replaced the previous sun that shone over barcelona. the team filtered out onto the pavement in clusters, saying their goodbyes, before you and kika took a short walk back to her car. 

kika’s hand found yours without much thought as the two of you walked to her car. it wasn’t dramatic, just a quiet, simple thread between your fingers, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. but it still made your heart stutter.

the drive was filled with a kind of content silence, the streets of barcelona slipping past. the radio played faintly again, kika’s music filling the silence as your eyes flickered between the road and the way her face shone every time you passed a streetlight. 

you didn’t need to talk. not really. the comfortable quiet between you was everything you needed in that moment.

kika pulled up outside your building, parking just slightly crooked like she had more important things to focus on, like turning to look at you. her hand stayed on the gearshift, thumb tapping once before she finally spoke.

“thanks for coming tonight.” 

you smiled at her, unbuckling your seatbelt but making no move to open the door just yet. you were quiet for a moment before speaking, “do you want to come up?”

kika’s eyes met yours, she exhaled a small breath, her eyes scanning your face as if she was double checking your question was real, “only if you want me to.”

you smiled again, quiet but sure, and nodded once, “i do.”

-

the apartment door closed with a soft click behind you. kika was now firmly in a space that was yours, your home, your safety, now wrapped up with the girl you were falling head over heels with. 

kika’s eyes scanned across your apartment, as if she was trying to piece together every part of your world she was yet to have seen. 

the family photos that hung proud of your wall, the photos of family pets that your parents would send daily updates about, or the little parts of your personality that were scattered across your apartment. 

“i like your apartment, it’s very you.” she smiled, as if she liked what she found, eyes focusing on the family portrait one of your nieces had drawn for you before you made your move. 

you gave her a soft smile, “thank you.” you instinctively moved around your living room, turning on the warm lighting that was scattered around, you were never a fan of big white lightening. 

kika’s eyes followed you, you could feel her eyes tracking your movements across the room, and somehow it didn’t make you nervous. the air in the apartment was still, like it was waiting for something to happen. when you finally turned around, kika was still watching you, leaning against the back of the sofa.

you gave a half smile, a breath of laughter behind it, “you’re staring.”

she tilted her head slightly, “i know.”

that was all she said yet it had butterflies bursting in your stomach. 

“come on,” you said softly, nodding toward the couch, “we can put something on.”

you settled in side by side, and at first there was space between you, friendly and polite. but as the minutes ticked on and the show played without either of you really watching it, that distance closed. 

her thigh grazing yours. your shoulder pressing lightly against hers. her arm casually falling across the back of the sofa, ever so slightly grazing across your shoulder as she moved. 

your heart thudded loud beneath your skin, you could feel every vibration across your body, and part of you was convinced she could hear it too. you turned towards her, knees just about touching, then she mimicked your movements. she looked at you with that soft, unreadable gaze she seemed to save just for you.

“i don’t know what this is yet,” you said, barely above a whisper, “but i really like… this.”

her hand reached up to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “me too,” she said, her voice steadier than yours despite the weight behind her words.

she searched your eyes for a moment, like she was checking if it was okay, not just to kiss you, but to want this at all. 

and then she leaned. so you followed. 

the kiss came slowly, hesitant at first, like neither of you wanted to scare it off. but it deepened quickly, instinctively, her hand finding the side of your face, yours curling in the fabric of her t-shirt. 

you kissed like you had time. like you weren’t rushing toward anything but finally meeting in the middle. 

when you pulled away, breath mingling, your forehead resting against hers, she let out the smallest laugh.

“that was much better than the offside rule explanation.” you laughed softly.

“i’m just glad i didn’t have to explain how i felt about you with sugar packets and spoons.” she grinned, her thumb moving across your cheek slowly. 

“oh there is still time for that.” you teased, pulling away slightly as if you were about to get up before she grabbed your hand pulling you back into her embrace. 

“no no, there’s no need, not when i can just kiss you instead.” 

her words were warm against your skin, her voice low and playful. you couldn’t help the way your smile spread, tugging at the corners of your lips as you let yourself sink back into her arms.

you relaxed into her, the soft weight of her hand moving to settle on your waist, her thumb brushing slow, soothing patterns against your side.

“you really do think you’re smooth, don’t you?” you whispered, nose brushing against hers.

kika tilted her head, eyes gleaming, “only when it works, serendipity, remember?”

you laughed quietly again, your forehead pressing to hers. something about her made it feel simple, effortless. as if being this close, letting yourself fall, piece by piece, was the most natural thing in the world.

maybe barcelona had the potential of becoming home. or at least being with kika was going to feel like it. 

a/n - thank you for reading, any feedback/requests can be left in my inbox. sorry that part 2 took it's sweet time, i hope it lives up to the wait <3