#shared responsibility model

[tundrakatiebean]

I found out the tag limit is 30 on this post lmao anyway I had a very good year. I wish all of you so much good and light.

hey honest question, did anybody have GOOD stuff happen to them in 2024? cause it was really bad for me and for most people i know, so it would be nice to hear about anything that's been going WELL for any of you. even if it's small stuff. just to know there's light out there.

[travelwithpourpose]

Volunteer Vacations: Making a Difference While Exploring the World

 Volunteer travel, responsible tourism, ethical volunteering Where Adventure Meets PurposeNestled on the banks of the Zambezi River in Zambia’s Mosi-oa-Tunya National Park, Thorntree River Lodge offers more than a luxurious safari escape—it’s a gateway to ethical volunteer travel. Here, the thunder of Victoria Falls harmonizes with the quiet hum of community-driven change. Volunteer vacations,…

[aleksatia]

10 Ways You Ruin His Day (and 10 Ways You Ruin His Self-Control)

I originally made this list as character notes for future stories — I love digging deep into their dynamics and really breaking them down. But honestly? I couldn’t not share. Would love to hear your thoughts too: what do you think drives them absolutely mad, and what turns them into helpless fluff puddles? 🖤

🍎 Top 10 Things That Make Caleb Absolutely, Irrevocably Mad

1 He doesn’t know where you are Even when it makes sense. Even when you’re safe. Even when he’s on the far side of a tunnel with no signal and too much time to think. The silence eats at him, turns every breath into a countdown. By the time he’s back, no one on the base dares talk to him until you’re in his line of sight again.

2 You come home with a bouquet of flowers from another man It’s not jealousy, really. It’s… fury dressed in olive green. You’re standing there, smiling, saying some poor man gave you flowers because you saved his life. Great. Fantastic. Caleb’s thrilled that his girlfriend is both competent and accidentally irresistible. But now he has to pretend this isn’t bothering him while mentally comparing the man's face to strategic punching surfaces.

3 You climb on unstable furniture to reach something You know, nothing fancy—just a stack of books on top of a chair that’s on top of a bench. And you? Balancing like a gremlin in fuzzy socks. He walks in and suddenly the war flashbacks begin. You think it’s funny. He thinks it’s a workplace hazard, and you are the HR violation.

4 You rearrange his model planes He adores you. Worships the ground you walk on. Would throw himself in front of an oncoming dropship for you. But if you dust his shelf and dare to reorder his starfighters and aircrafts by vibes instead of model number? He's already rewriting his will. In blood.

5 You do something reckless and then smile about it You say “relax, I had a plan.” He hears: “I almost died, and I’d do it again, because I’m cute and unstoppable.” That smile? That grin you give when you know exactly what you did and you’re proud of it? That’s why he needs stress meds. And maybe a punching bag with your face on it. (Lovingly.)

6 You casually mention the girl he used to date You say it with a smirk, like it’s just some harmless teenage memory. But he doesn’t see her—he sees you. You, standing in the doorway that day. You, catching him with her, both of them half-undressed. And you looking at him like something cracked between you. Back then, you were off-limits. You were the girl he wasn’t allowed to want. So he wanted someone else. Easier. Safer. And now, years later, you bring it up like it’s nothing—while he’s still trying not to remember how badly he wished it had been you.

7 You weren’t his first kiss—but worse, he wasn’t yours It never comes up. Not out loud. But he remembers. Vividly. The hallway. The way your face lit up. The boy leaning in. You smiling. And Caleb—watching from across the room, fists clenched, jaw tight, playing the role of older brother when his whole body screamed mine. You never talk about it. But he never forgot. Never will. Because that moment should’ve been his—and someone else took it first.

8 You walk away during a fight, or shut down emotionally You call it “space.” He calls it “psychological warfare.” You shut down. He short-circuits. Nothing drives him more insane than trying to fix something while you’re actively ghosting him across the living room. He’d rather you screamed. Threw something. Anything. But this quiet? This distance? That’s the one thing he doesn’t know how to fight.

9 You cry—especially if it’s because of him And then he’s done. Game over. His spine straightens like he’s under military command and his entire soul just went through the paper shredder. You cry, and suddenly he’s the villain. You say “it’s not your fault,” but that doesn’t matter. He’s already rewriting the past and taking full responsibility. And yes, he’ll suffer in complete silence. Like a man.

10 You secretly try to uncover what he’s hiding from you You call it curiosity. He calls it a breach of protocol punishable by full emotional lockdown. You think you’re clever. He thinks you just walked into classified territory barefoot, blindfolded, and with a target on your back. You were never supposed to see that side of his world. And now that you have? He doesn’t know whether to yell, hold you, or lock you in a room with military-grade firewalls and a blanket.

🍎 Top 10 Things That Turn Caleb Into a Complete Fluff-Mess

You wearing his dog tags / uniform shirt / flight jacket Instant puddle. No chance. He sees you in his gear and his brain just... shuts off. All he can think is mine mine mine, and he gets this dumb, soft little smirk like he’s trying so hard not to combust.

You falling asleep on him—especially mid-conversation You’re curled into his side, mumbling something about dinner plans, and then: silence. He looks down, sees you asleep on his chest, and that’s it. Whole day ruined. Cancel all missions. He’s not moving.

You bringing him coffee exactly the way he likes it—without asking That quiet, thoughtful act? Hits him right in the soldier-shaped heart. He doesn’t even know how to process being taken care of, so he stares at the cup like it just proposed to him.

You absentmindedly touching him—fiddling with his fingers, tracing scars, playing with his hair He pretends he doesn’t care. He does. He cares so much he forgets how to breathe. Just turns into a warm, red-eared statue trying not to whimper.

You whispering “I trust you” or “I feel safe with you” in a soft moment Core memory unlocked. He stores that one like sacred intel. Will literally whisper it back to himself at 3 AM when he’s lying awake, missing you. It breaks him in the best way.

You clinging to him in your sleep / pulling him closer without waking up Caleb.exe has stopped functioning. He will lie perfectly still for HOURS if it means not disturbing that moment. Bonus points if you mumble his name while doing it.

You defending him when someone questions his methods or past He’s used to being the shield—not having someone stand in front of him. The second you raise your voice on his behalf? He falls in love with you all over again. Might even cry. Secretly.

You gently helping him out of his gear after a long day Soft hands on his buckles. A kiss to his shoulder. A low “You’re home now.” That’s how you make a Colonel melt. His fingers twitch like he wants to worship the ground you walk on.

You surprising him with something dumb and heartfelt, like a handmade gift or bad sketch of him He acts gruff—says “the hell is this, Pips?”—but then puts it in his locker or keeps it in his chest pocket for missions like it’s sacred treasure. Because it is.

You calling him “baby” / “handsome” / “sweetheart” when he least expects it He acts like it’s annoying. It is not annoying. It turns him into actual butter. If you do it with a teasing smile? He short-circuits. Might drop something. Might combust. Definitely blushes.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne’s Calm Snap Like a Microsurgical Thread

You ignore his instructions when you're sick You had a fever of 102°F. He left explicit care instructions—bed rest, fluids, minimal movement. You, sweating and glassy-eyed, decided this was the perfect time to rearrange the furniture. When he came home and found you dragging a bookshelf across the room “because the light felt wrong,” he genuinely considered sedating you. Not as punishment. As damage control. For both of you.

You order greasy fast food instead of going somewhere “nutritionally viable” He offered to cook. You said no. Twenty minutes later, you’re eating fries from a paper bag while half of it spills on his clean table. You grin. He stares. Not angry at the food. Angry because you rejected his precision, then settled for processed chaos.

You leave wet towels on the floor after every shower He’s not sure when it started. Day three? Day five? But every time he walks into the bathroom and steps into cold, soggy cotton, something in him fractures. You claim you “forget.” He suspects a psychological experiment.

You casually mention spending time with male friends You think it’s harmless. Lunch with Caleb. Training advice from Xavier. You light up when you talk about them—and that’s the problem. Zayne doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t raise a brow. But the sudden over-fixation on his email inbox says everything.

You receive a speeding ticket. Forty miles over the limit. You wave it off like it’s a funny little anecdote. He sits in absolute silence, calculating the stopping distance of your car vs. standard reaction time at that speed. You think he’s judging. He’s actually trying not to scream.

You poke his ass. Specifically, between the cheeks. You call it “affection.” He calls it “emotional terrorism.” He flinches like he’s been electrocuted, whips around with murder in his eyes—and you’re giggling like a gremlin. Later, you regret nothing, but your thighs may beg to differ.

When you diagnose him with internet psychology You’ve read one book on attachment styles and watched three reels about emotional unavailability. Now you’ve decided he has "clinical avoidant tendencies with a hint of fear-based control fixation." He stares at you, deadpan, like he's about to perform your autopsy.

You keep spoiled food in the fridge and expired meds in the cabinet You say “it doesn’t smell that bad” or “maybe it still works.” His eye twitches. His gloves are already on. He’s not even mad at you—he’s mad at entropy. You’ve become its agent.

You watch reality shows. About infidelity. Willingly. You claim it’s “just background noise.” But he walks in and hears someone scream “that’s not even your baby, Kyle!” and your eyes are glued to the screen. His soul briefly leaves his body.

You washed his white lab coat. With your pink unicorn pajamas. It’s not just the color. It’s the betrayal. The symbol of his clinical neutrality now smells like bubblegum and looks like cotton candy. You say it’s cute. He looks personally violated by the washing machine.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne Soft Against His Will

You bring him lunch at the hospital He never asks. You just appear—arms full of neatly packed containers, face lit up like this isn’t the third double shift he’s worked this week. He complains about the timing. The smell. The disruption. And then eats every bite with frightening focus. You leave. He stares at the empty container like it’s proof someone still believes he’s human.

You quote him back to himself like a philosopher You remember something he said weeks ago—some throwaway line about time or structure or entropy—and you drop it casually in conversation, like it’s wisdom from an ancient text. He doesn’t know how to react. You turned his logic into poetry, and he’ll never recover from that.

You wear the little seal keychain he made He didn’t think you’d keep it. Let alone turn it into your everyday keychain. But there it is—always with you, worn smooth from touch. You twirl it absentmindedly while talking to him, never noticing the way his gaze lingers. Never realizing how something so small can hit him so hard.

You put a photo of the two of you on his desk It appears one day. No fanfare. Just… there. A moment frozen in light, sitting quietly beside his surgical reports and diagnostic schematics. At first, he moves it to the edge. Then back to center. Now it lives next to his pen. He doesn’t talk about it. But it’s the only object on that desk he wipes clean with his bare hand.

His work shirt smells like you You borrowed it that morning, wore it while dancing around the apartment with wet hair and no real purpose. Hours later, when he pulls it on between rounds, the scent hits him like a loaded memory. He short-circuits mid-button. Everything feels warmer than it should.

You leave your phone with him while you shower No password. No hesitation. You toss it into his lap with a breezy “can you clear out whatever’s making it lag?” and vanish behind steam. He sits there, phone in hand, suddenly trusted with everything. He opens nothing. But the fact that you’d let him? That’s the part that shakes him.

You ask for his opinion on minor discomforts A papercut. A weird freckle. A suspicious sneeze. You hold out your hand, utterly serious, asking what he thinks. It’s laughable. Ridiculous. And it absolutely wrecks him. You could ask a dozen others—but you ask him. Like he’s the one who makes things better.

You’re on top He likes control. Precision. Strategy. But when you climb into his lap, all instinct and fire, hands braced on his chest and lips already parted—his brain stops cooperating. There’s something about you taking the lead that makes him unravel. Quietly. Violently. Completely.

You argue with him about complex theories—and mean it You don’t just nod. You push back. You challenge. You quote sources he hasn’t thought about in years. You spark. You flare. And he watches, fascinated, lips twitching with something dangerously close to pride. No one does this. No one dares. But you? You never flinch.

You whisper “I love you” in your sleep It’s not loud. It’s not even clear. Just a faint breath in the dark, like a dream half-remembered. But he hears it. Every time. And though he never says a word in return—not while you're sleeping—his fingers tighten around your waist like he's anchoring himself to the only thing that matters.

🎨 Top 10 Things That Make Rafayel Absolutely, Irrevocably Annoyed at You

You told him his painting was “nice” You stood in front of a piece that cost him three sleepless nights, a minor existential crisis, and two broken brushes—and said “Nice.” Just like that. No gasp, no poetry, no tears. He aged five years on the spot. Somewhere in the distance, a violin cried for him.

You dragged him to a cat exhibit You thought it would be cute. Enrichment. A bonding experience. Instead, he spent the entire time perched on edge, eyes darting like prey. You said “they’re just kittens.” He said nothing. He was too busy making sure none of them came closer than ten feet.

You cleaned his studio You thought you were being helpful. But you moved The Pile. The sacred, unholy, perfectly calibrated mess. Now he can’t find his favorite brush, and also he’s deeply offended by how cheerful you looked doing it.

You didn’t reply to his messages for over an hour He sent three texts, one meme, and a “thinking of you 💭” voice note. You replied 67 minutes later with “sry was showering.” By then, he’d already decided you were breaking up with him, joining a cult, or possibly dead. He had a whole monologue planned. And now you’ve ruined it.

You cut your hair He loved your long hair. Adored it. Worshipped it. You showed up with a sharp little bob and said “it’s just hair.” It is not just hair. It is the collapse of a visual era. He’s still adjusting. And by adjusting, he means mourning with wine.

You made fun of his driving You muttered “technically, you were meant to let the tram go first” He muttered “technically, silence is golden.” His driving is instinct. Vibe. Energy. If you didn’t want drama, you shouldn’t have sat in the passenger seat of a man who parallel parks like he’s in a ballet.

You woke him up too early He went to bed at 4 a.m. because inspiration struck. You woke him at 7:12 like it was nothing, and said “you have that interview, remember?” He does remember. He also remembers specifically telling you that if he ever falls asleep before sunrise, you are to let him die peacefully, cancel all earthly obligations, and throw his alarm clock into the ocean where it belongs.

You hid your phone screen when a message came in You were probably teasing. Just being playful. But now he’s spiraling. Who was it? Why the secrecy? What do you have to hide? Congratulations—you’ve just activated his inner opera villain.

You got jealous Which is absurd. He’s the one who invented possessive affection. But you being jealous? That makes him unreasonably indignant. What do you mean you “didn’t like the way that gallery girl looked at him”? Of course she looked. But he didn’t see her. He saw you.

You burned the bacon You say “it’s fine.” He says it’s charcoal. The entire kitchen smells like culinary war crimes. And now he’ll have to burn incense and replant three garden beds to recover emotionally. Who even let you near the stove? Who hurt you? Was it… the bacon?

🎨 Top 10 Ways You Accidentally Turned Rafayel Into a Purring, Love-Drunk Work of Art

You massage his head He’s mid-rant. Arms crossed. Absolutely furious about the lighting in that gallery. And then your fingers slip into his hair—and just like that, the war is over. His entire body melts like he’s been tranquilized. He’ll deny it later, of course. But the way he leans into your hand? Case closed.

You claim him in public It’s an art gala. He’s dressed to ruin people. And then you slip your arm through his, fingers just tight enough to say mine. You smile like a goddess. He pretends he’s unaffected. Inside, he’s writing vows in ten languages and considering printing matching business cards.

You actually listen to his advice He knows he can be dramatic. Unfiltered. Emotionally volatile. But when you sit there, really listening, nodding like his words matter—you destroy him. Suddenly he’s not the chaos. He’s the compass. And that? That’s love.

You share every detail of your day over dinner You talk about everything—the lady at the store, the funny email, the awful latte. You give him your day like a story, like he’s the only one you wanted to tell. He leans in, listens too closely, files away each emotion like a collector of rare art.

You’re always down for his wildest ideas It’s 3 a.m. He wants to hike 2.5 miles along the beach, take a boat to a tiny island, and watch the sunrise with wine. You say “give me five minutes.” And just like that, you become the only person worthy of his wildest, most beautiful chaos.

You let him photograph you Nothing compares. Not awards. Not praise. Nothing rivals the moment you look into his lens—bare, unfiltered, unashamed. Especially when you’re nude, glowing, and laughing like the world doesn’t exist. That’s when he falls in love with you all over again. And again. And again.

You let him choose your dress You come out in the one he picked. Elegant. Perfect. You spin for him. And the way he watches you? Like he made you. Like you’re the gallery and he’s the only one with the key. It’s not fashion. It’s trust. And he adores you for it.

You sing when you don’t know he’s home Wearing socks and earbuds, dancing with a broom, serenading your way through burnt pancakes. You’re off-key. Glorious. Real. And he stands in the doorway, silent, just watching. Because in that moment—you’re not posing. And he’s never loved you more.

You take care of him when he’s sick He has a fever of 99°F and insists he’s fading. You bring tea, stroke his hair, whisper that he’s “very brave.” You don’t mock him. You take his dramatics seriously. He will never forget it. He may also write you into his will.

You join him in the bathtub without asking He’s already halfway submerged, music playing, steam curling in the air—and then you slip in behind him, no warning. You nudge your legs around his hips, hand him your shampoo, and let him wash your hair while you giggle. He tries to act unimpressed. But when he starts kissing your toes? Yeah. You win.

✨ Top 10 Behavioral Anomalies That Triggered Xavier’s Internal Alert System

You break an agreement—even if it's “just a small one” It’s not about control. It’s about structure. You promised. And when you bend the rules—just slightly—he doesn’t react outwardly. No visible shift, no sharp breath. But something behind his eyes goes cold. Because for him, even small deviations mean recalculating everything. And that means risk. To you.

You create drama “just to get a reaction” You push. You poke. You escalate. And he gives you… nothing. No outburst, no flinch. Just that flat, unreadable stare while he mentally exits the room. He doesn’t get angry—he just shuts off the part of himself that wants to stay.

You refuse his protection—on principle You call it independence. He calls it a strategic vulnerability wrapped in pride. He won’t argue. He’ll just be one step farther back the next time, quietly cataloging how to stop caring just enough that it won’t kill him if something happens.

You call him cold—especially when he’s holding himself together for you You see stillness. He feels restraint. You accuse. He remembers what it takes to not become the darker version of himself. If only you knew how much energy it took to stay composed. If only you knew it was for you.

You’re late Five minutes. Ten. No message. No explanation. And his pulse ticks upward—not with impatience, but with pure, trained alertness. He starts looking for signs. Traffic reports. Emergency alerts. By the time you arrive, he’s smiling. But it’s the tight kind. The kind that says never again.

You skip training You’re tired. You had a long day. You say you’ll make it up later. He doesn’t argue. He just recalculates survival probabilities and mentally adds you to the list of people who might die because they were unprepared. And he will blame himself for letting you get soft.

You pull away from his touch when you're angry It’s not the rejection. It’s the meaning behind it. He reaches out—small, careful, calculated—and you shut the door in his face with a single backward step. He doesn’t try again. He doesn’t ask why. But the space you leave behind? It echoes.

You use a photo of Lumiere as a bookmark You think it’s cute. Maybe even sweet. He sees it—and freezes. He’s not jealous. Not exactly. But the idea that you might admire that version more—the legend, the mask, the sharpness—it unsettles something deep. Something he can’t name.

You secretly believe you’re not good enough for him You never say it out loud. But he sees it—in your deflections, your nervous jokes, the way you doubt his love like it’s a glitch. It doesn’t anger him in the usual sense. It just…hurts. Because you’re the only one who never had to earn it.

You throw yourself in front of him during a mission It’s instinct, you say. Split-second decision. You didn’t even think. And that’s the problem. He does. Always. Every variable, every movement, every risk is accounted for—except you breaking formation to protect him. You think it’s brave. He sees it as catastrophic miscalculation. Not because you acted without logic. But because you decided his life was worth more than yours. And that? That’s the one conclusion he refuses to accept.

✨Top 10 Things That Quietly Break Xavier’s Walls and Leave Him Unreasonably Soft About You

When you start reading the same book he’s readingYou don’t announce it. You just show up with the same title, a few chapters behind, and start casually asking questions. He plays it off. But inside? He’s spiraling. Because this—this—is how you speak his language. Silently. Precisely. Together.

When you knock on his door like you’re trying to break it downIt’s loud. Impatient. Inappropriate for the hour. But he knows that knock. That rhythm. That you. You need him. Not his solutions. Him. And somehow, that chaos pounding on his door feels more like home than anything else.

When you hug him from behindYou wrap your arms around his torso mid-task, face pressed between his shoulder blades, palms splayed across his chest like you’re anchoring yourself to something ancient and steady. He stills. Every time. Like someone just whispered a secret to his bones. He never asks why. Never moves away. He just tilts his head slightly—listening, as if your silence said everything he needed to hear.

When you touch his sword (the actual weapon, calm down)He never lets anyone handle it. Not even for cleaning. But your fingers skim the hilt, gentle, curious, reverent. And somehow… it’s okay. You’re not just touching steel. You’re touching him. And he lets you.

When you act like a little girlYou scrunch your nose. Say something ridiculous. Blush like you didn’t mean to. And he watches—utterly disarmed. Because he knows exactly what you want. You want him to carry you. Wrap you up. Keep you safe. And he will—without hesitation.

When you join him on a morning runYou complain. You lag. You swear this is “not your vibe.” But you still show up. Same hour. Same route. And when you match his pace for those few precious minutes? He doesn’t say it—but he’s proud. Painfully proud.

When you share your dreams—and say “we”You’re rambling. Light spilling from your words. Talking about the future, the maybes, the next steps. But you don’t say I. You say we. And that sound? That tiny shift in grammar? It settles deep. Irrevocable. Permanent.

When you make matching braceletsYou say it’s silly. Handmade. Slightly uneven. There’s a charm shaped like a rabbit. He never takes it off. Not in combat. Not in sleep. It rests against his wrist like a pressure point—and grounds him better than anything else.

When you remember his habitsYour shopping list always includes his cinnamon. His brand of shampoo. The exact instant noodles he pretends not to love. You don’t make a show of it. You just know. And that knowing? It destroys him in the softest possible way.

When you trust him completely in bed—even when his darker side surfacesThere’s a moment—quiet, charged—when the softness shifts. He waits. Watches. Braces for resistance. But you don’t pull back. You open your hands. Arch into him. Let him take control without fear. That? That’s what breaks him. Not the pleasure. The trust.

🖤Top 10 Things That Push Sylus Into Maximum Sarcasm and Mildly Homicidal Disapproval

Your outdated, unreliable weapon Yes, he gets it. It’s vintage. It’s “standard issue.” It’s approved by the Hunters Association. Congratulations. That won’t matter when it jams and gets you killed. Every time you return one of the sleek, upgraded firearms he hand-delivers like he’s your personal armory concierge, he has to resist asking if you've already made a draft of your death wish. Alphabetically sorted. With floral headers.

You chew gum—and pop it It’s not the gum. It’s the snap. The sudden, violent pop of sugary air bubbles that hits his trauma response like a trigger. He knows it’s just a noise. His shoulder still twitches. He’s this close to reaching into your mouth and extracting the gum like a gentleman. A very sarcastic, deeply annoyed, half-feral gentleman.

You try to shake your tail (him) You use stealth tech. You block your signal. You go dark. Adorable. You’re forgetting that the very system you’re relying on was developed by his own syndicate. The only person who ever really evades Sylus is Sylus. And maybe the cat that lives under his car. But not you. Never you.

You don’t introduce him as your boyfriend to your old classmates You panicked. He gets that. You called him “a friend.” And now he’s deeply committed to the bit. For the next seven days, every time you said anything, he replied with “Of course, as your friend…” in front of waiters, dealers, and one extremely confused ambassador. You only managed to shut it down by hastily posting a photo of you two with the caption “my boyfriend and the love of my life.” Acceptable recovery. Barely.

You refuse to use his resources His private jet? Untouched. His cars? Collecting dust. His black card? Sitting unused like some kind of insult in your purse. You say you’re “independent.” He says you’re actively offending his entire lifestyle philosophy. Do you have any idea how disrespectful it is to ignore an entire walk-in wardrobe prepared for you in his estate? Honestly, it’s almost admirable. Almost.

You once smoked a cigarette, and he saw it He didn’t say anything. At the time. Just looked at you. Silently. Like someone had drop-kicked a kitten in front of him. He’s not judging. He’s just picturing your lungs in an ashtray. And adding another page to your death wish list.

You speak in riddles and expect him to “get it” You want something—time away, a trip, his attention—but instead of asking, you sigh dramatically and murmur, “It’s fine. I guess some people just don’t want to escape the city with their girlfriends…” He blinks. Slow. Dangerous. “Was that a request, a riddle, or an emotional booby trap?” If you want something from him, Kitten, try using nouns and verbs. Not cryptic guilt puzzles.

You suggest another woman would be “perfect for him” It’s a joke. Offhand. Barely a breath. But your voice wavers—just slightly—and that ruins it. He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want options. He wants you. And now, thanks to your charming lapse in self-worth, he has to waste the rest of the evening reminding you that this face, this power, this entire empire already belongs to someone. Guess who.

You sneak up on him You never mean to. But somehow, you're always the one person who slips past every alarm, every trained instinct, and ends up whispering behind him when his brain is still in kill mode. It takes everything in him to not react on pure reflex. You think it’s cute. He thinks it’s potentially catastrophic.

You don’t believe him when he says he’s fine Yes, he’s bleeding. Yes, his shirt is soaked. But he said “it’s a scratch,” and when he says that—he means it. His body heals like a myth. Your worried face? It makes something in him ache. Because the real wound isn’t on him—it’s in you, for thinking he’s anything less than unbreakable.

🖤 Top 10 Things That Make Sylus Dangerously Soft for You (And Yes, He’s Keeping Score)

When you finally spend his money It started with coffee. Small. Harmless. But the alert hit his phone and, for a moment, he genuinely wondered if his card had been stolen—until he saw your name. And something in him shifted. Not because of the cost. Please. He could buy the city it was brewed in. No, it was the fact you used it. You. Willingly. Now? You’re bolder—little dresses, shoes, jewelry you don’t need. And every time you do, he rewards it like you just proved you understand the assignment: what's his, is already yours.

When you give orders to his men like you're the boss You don’t ask. You instruct. Calm, certain, completely in charge. One of his men hesitates—just once—while you’re directing them to rescue a terrified kitten stuck in a tree. Sylus doesn’t interfere. He just watches, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his mouth as armed professionals scramble to obey you like you're the patron saint of lost animals. Somewhere in his mind, he’s already fitted you for a crown. With tiny cat ears.

When you secretly pet Mephisto The mechanical raven used to drive you insane. Now? You’re sneaking him treats and absentminded scratches under the jaw. Sylus sees it. Says nothing. But deep down, he knows: if you’ve accepted the bird—you’ve accepted all of him. And that’s lethal. To him.

When you make him a playlist You never explain them. Just send a link and say nothing. But he listens—every time. Alone. In his car. In the bath. Eyes closed, calculating your every choice like it’s encrypted intel. Each track? A hint. A mood. A coded message from you to him. He doesn’t ask for them. He just waits for the next one. And when it arrives, he treats it like gospel.

When you leave a trail of chaos in his car Your hair on the seat. Your gum wrappers in the cup holder. The seat so close to the wheel he practically has to fold in half. And the music? A full-volume love ballad ready to ambush his eardrums at ignition. It's obnoxious. It’s inconvenient. It’s perfect. His life, now featuring you.

When you eat from his plate You swore you weren’t hungry. You said “no carbs this week.” And now? You’re stealing fries from his hand and dipping into his steak sauce like it’s your birthright. He doesn’t stop you. He just watches you chew with that look that says: mine. forever.

When you talk and talk and talk Something happens. You spiral. Words spill. Thoughts tangle. You’re not even aware you’re rambling—but he is. He listens to everything. Stores it all. Because there’s something magical about your voice when it’s unfiltered. You don’t realize it, but he falls a little harder every time you forget to censor yourself.

When you crawl into his lap while he’s working He’s in the middle of paperwork. Calculating things. Dangerous things. And suddenly—you. Right there. Knees on either side, arms around his neck, like the world’s most beautiful interruption. He tells himself he needs to finish. But his hands are already on your hips.

When you call and ask for help A jar. A stuck zipper. A ride. It doesn’t matter. You’re a trained hunter—you’ve faced things with claws, fangs, and no name. But you still call him. Because you want him. And that? That wrecks him in ways he’ll never admit. He’s already on his way before you hang up.

When you scream his name right before you come There’s a lot he’s proud of. His empire. His power. His record. But nothing—nothing—satisfies him more than the moment your voice breaks open with his name. Like prayer. Like surrender. Like he’s the only thing in your world. Which, of course… he is.

[some-other-number]

gonna be honest not only do I begin to not trust anyone engaging with that post like that but I don't even think y'all understood the post concerned about potential collateral damage of revolutionary action and hospitals. you sound incredibly merciless and tunnel-visioned. which makes me think you're in no position to lead a revolt yet alone a country

[kitkat13001]

⊹₊⟡⋆ 𝚘𝚑, 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚠…

⤷ mha x f!reader (use of she/her pronouns, fem. relationship labels)

⭑ number-one hero deku, sitting on the couch across from his girlfriend in his pajamas, applying matching green face masks and giggling at the mess they’re making

⭑ cold and formidable pro-hero shoto, cross-legged on the wood-paneled floor with his wife as they share a bottle of wine, despite the large vacant table and long vacant counter, laughing quietly about the most recent scandal at work

⭑ great explosion murder god dynamight, begging for mercy as his fiancée sits atop his chest grinning triumphantly and tickling him without remorse, his eyes watering and lungs burning because she knows exactly the spot that makes him unravel 

⭑ fashion icon pinky, known for her model-worthy looks, bundled up in blankets and stolen hoodies and mismatched socks and sweatpants with her girlfriend as the two of them binge-watch all five seasons of riverdale 

⭑ charming and dashing hero chargebolt, sitting in front of the tv at seven am, sharing a blanket with his fiancée and watching cartoons and eating cereal because neither of them wanted to cook and definitely not resembling two responsible adults whose wedding is in two months

⭑ the ever cool and composed ingenium absolutely losing his shit because his wife was unaware that the dominos pasta containers are aluminum and cannot go in the microwave, as they found out the hard way, the pair now staring at a crispy microwave and charred countertop

⭑ sweet and kind uravity who becomes an absolute menace when up against her girlfriend at mario kart because they agreed the loser would do the dishes and she refuses to even touch that mountain of plates after tamale night 

⭑ the manliest of all heroes, red riot, who swears there is no manlier thing than going for drive-thru at one in the morning with his fiancée in the passenger seat because they had a fry craving

masterlist — dividers by @/cafekitsune

[reasonsforhope]

"As climate disasters strain state budgets, a growing number of lawmakers want fossil fuel companies to pay for damages caused by their greenhouse gas emissions.

Last May [2024], Vermont became the first state to pass a climate Superfund law. The concept is modeled after the 1980 federal Superfund law, which holds companies responsible for the costs of cleaning up their hazardous waste spills. The state-level climate version requires major oil and gas companies to pay for climate-related disaster and adaptation costs, based on their share of global greenhouse gas emissions over the past few decades. Vermont’s law passed after the state experienced torrential flooding in 2023. In December [2024], New York became the second state to pass such a law. 

This year, 11 states, from California to Maine, have introduced their own climate Superfund bills. Momentum is growing even as Vermont and New York’s laws face legal challenges by fossil fuel companies, Republican-led states, and the Trump administration. Lawmakers and climate advocates told Grist that they always expected backlash, given the billions of dollars at stake for the oil and gas industry — but that states have no choice but to find ways to pay the enormous costs of protecting and repairing infrastructure in the face of increasing floods, wildfires, and other disasters.

The opposition “emboldens our fight more,” said Maryland state delegate Adrian Boafo, who represents Prince George’s County and co-sponsored a climate Superfund bill that passed the state legislature in March. “It means that we have to do everything we can in Maryland to protect our citizens, because we can’t rely on the federal government in this moment.” 

While the concept of a climate Superfund has been around for decades, it’s only in recent years that states have begun to seriously consider these laws. In Maryland, federal inaction on climate change and the growing burden of climate change on government budgets have led to a surge of interest, said Boafo. Cities and counties are getting hit with huge unexpected costs from damage to stormwater systems, streets, highways, and other public infrastructure. They’re also struggling to provide immediate disaster relief to residents and to prepare for future climate events. Maryland has faced at least $10 billion to $20 billion in disaster costs between 1980 and 2024, according to a recent state report. Meanwhile, up until now, governments, businesses, and individuals have borne 100 percent of these costs. 

“We realized that these big fossil fuel companies were, frankly, not paying their fair share for the climate crisis that they’ve caused,” Boafo said. 

Recent bills have also been spurred by increased sophistication in attribution science, said Martin Lockman, a climate law fellow at the Sabin Center for Climate Change Law at Columbia University. Researchers are now able to use climate models to link extreme weather events to greenhouse gas emissions from specific companies. The field provides a quantitative way for governments to determine which oil and gas companies should pay for climate damages, and how much. 

Vermont’s law sets up a process for the government to first tally up the costs of climate harms in the state caused by the greenhouse gas emissions of major oil and gas companies between 1995 and 2024. The state will then determine how much of those costs each company is responsible for, invoice them accordingly, and devote the funds to climate infrastructure and resilience projects. New York’s law, by contrast, sets a funding target ahead of time by requiring certain fossil fuel companies to pay a total of $75 billion, or $3 billion per year over 25 years. The amount each company has to pay is proportionate to their share of global greenhouse gas emissions between 2000 and 2024. Both Vermont and New York’s laws apply only to companies that have emitted over 1 billion metric tons of greenhouse gas emissions over their respective covered periods. That would include Exxon Mobil, Shell, and other oil and gas giants.

Maryland’s law is so far the only climate Superfund-related legislation to pass a state legislature this year, although Governor Wes Moore vetoed the measure late on Friday [May 16, 2025]. The original draft of the bill would have required major fossil fuel companies to pay a one-time fee for their historic carbon emissions. But over the course of the legislative session, the bill was amended...

Climate advocates decried the governor’s decision, calling it “an inexplicable reversal of a position that threatens to stymie Maryland’s climate progress for negligible budget savings.” In a joint press release by three environmental groups, Kim Coble, executive director of the Maryland League of Conservation Voters, said, “This veto is not fiscal responsibility, it’s a definitive step in the opposite direction of our climate goals.”

In California, environmental groups are optimistic about the chances of a bill passing this year. This is the second year a climate Superfund bill has been introduced in the state, and the sponsors of the new bill have focused on building a broad coalition of environmental, community, and labor groups around the proposal, said Sabrina Ashjian, project director for the Emmett Institute on Climate Change and the Environment at the UCLA School of Law. This year’s legislation was introduced shortly after the devastating Los Angeles wildfires in January, which could amplify lawmakers’ sense of urgency. The bill has now passed out of each legislative chamber’s environmental committee and is awaiting votes in their respective judiciary committees. If passed, the bill will next move to the full Senate and Assembly for a final vote. 

In the meantime, legislators are keeping a close eye on ongoing legal challenges to Vermont’s and New York’s laws...

Climate experts told Grist that with huge amounts of money and liability at stake, lawsuits from the fossil fuel industry weren’t unexpected. Boafo said that given how much financial and political support the Trump campaign received from oil and gas corporations, it’s not a surprise that the Justice Department has sued New York and Vermont. Pursuing these laws invites inevitable opposition — but avoiding the growing costs of climate devastation is even riskier, advocates said. 

Lawmakers are “passing these bills because in writing budgets, in dealing with the day-to-day operation of their states, they’re facing really serious questions about how our society is going to allocate the harms of climate change,” said Lockman. “I suspect that the lawmakers who are advocating for these bills are in it for the long haul.”"

-via Grist, May 19, 2025

[flimsy-roost]

I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

[3hks]

How to Write SIBLING Relationships

If you're looking to write a sibling relationship but don't fully understand how a sibling relationship actually works, this is for you! As someone who has a younger brother, here are some points you'll want to consider when writing siblings!

Oldest, Middle, and Youngest

First, let's talk about the three types of siblings and explore their general roles, expectations, and characterization within a family!

*Oldest*

Starting with the oldest child, oftentimes, the eldest child is expected to act as the most responsible and as the role model. This doesn't mean they will go out of their way to set an example, but typically, no matter their personality and relationship with their younger siblings, they will have an innate sense of duty and protectiveness over their siblings. They want their siblings to enter the right path.

As the role model, the oldest child normally feels the most stress and anxiety, yet they also try not to show it to avoid worry from others. They highly value independence.

*Middle*

I'm sure you've heard of the jokes that the middle child is invisible child, and while those jokes are often exaggerated, the truth isn't terribly far off.

Between the eldest and youngest child, the middle child has a more difficult time standing out, which may lead to more reckless behavior for attention. They are characterized as more free-spirited and might act as a mediator between the youngest and oldest.

They will likely be more responsible and experienced than the youngest but can act similarly to the youngest.

*Youngest*

The youngest child can look like many things. Sometimes, you'll see the youngest is the most spoiled because they're the parents' favorite, and sometimes they're ignored because they have the least experience. Despite that, they have their fair share of pressures and burdens because they are often expected to meet, if not surpass, the achievements of their older siblings.

The General Dynamic

A sibling relationship differs from a typical friendship. They WILL find each other more annoying, but that doesn't mean they can't get along.

Siblings are also more honest and nit-pickier with each other. For example, if a friend changes the radio without asking, the character might not think too much of it. However, if their brother changes the radio without asking, then the character will likely feel irritated and call them out for it.

And when I say honest, I don't mean that they're super honest with each other emotionally, because that's not always the case. When I mean honest, I mean they're rather honest with each other at a surface, verbal level. They hardly hesitate to say their thoughts and can be pushy about them.

They will have an opinion on everything.

Personalities

If you've ever had some friends that have siblings, I'm sure that you're aware sometimes siblings can be similar and sometimes they're total opposites.

However, this doesn't mean that a pair of "opposite" siblings are ying and yang. While they may seem visibly different, such as fashion sense, and whether they're an introvert or extrovert, there are still shared traits that they hold. This is especially true if they're biological siblings and/or raised in the same environment together.

They influence each other, so there's bound to be some similarities in personality or values no matter how distinct each one is.

Love, Even If Unseen

No matter what, siblings love each other. They might not say it, they might not express it, or they might show it in a toxic and unhealthy way, but there's always an underlying sense of familial love. These are the people that your character has (or was supposed to) grown up with, after all.

There's going to be attachment, they will defend each other, even if they claim to hate the other.

Parents

Okay guys, now let's move on to parents and how they might play a part in sibling relationships!

*Comparisons*

Regardless of whether you have a sibling or not, you've likely experienced what it feels like to be compared to someone else. I'm not saying people with siblings have it worse, but they do have a wider range of people to be compared with.

It's not uncommon for parents to compare their children to each other, and it's not uncommon either for a child to compare themselves to their siblings. Sometimes, outsiders and/or distant family members will also compare the siblings, causing feelings of inferiority and envy.

When siblings have a poor relationship, it can sometimes be because of the parents.

*Fighting and Arguments*

Siblings fight and argue a LOT. However, you'd be mistaken if you thought a parent resolves all of these fights.

The truth is, after a certain age is reached, parents won't step in or resolve a fight unless it's right in front of them. They expect their children to be mature enough to solve their issues out, and honestly? They were tired of breaking up conflicts years ago.

Bonus point: yes, siblings can fight often, but the quarrels are usually forgotten pretty quick too. I've had several fights with my brother in which we were back to normal literally a few hours later the spat. Will I remember it for the next year? Absolutely. But do I care anymore? Not really.

Conclusion

This post may not apply to all siblings--everyone has different types of relationships--but here are some good points to start at!

TL;DR: The eldest sibling has the most responsibility, the middle sibling is a blend between the oldest and youngest and often strives for attention, and while the youngest sibling may look like they have it the easiest, they have their pressures too. Sibling relationship does not mimic a friendship, and they will have similar traits despite distinct personalities. They love and care for each other, even if it doesn't look that way. Having siblings sets up for many comparisons between them, and parents won't always resolve sibling spats.

I'll likely release some posts detailing how to write specific sibling relationships, so let me know if you want to see one in particular! Thank you for making it here!

Happy writing~

3hks <3

[chuluoyi]

࿐ ࿔ hot, hot summer !

in which you got the offer of a lifetime—takes place in 2006-2009 era! @mrrpmiao miao, you’re so responsible for the brain worm you’ve instilled in my mind🙂‍↕️

a part of gojo's love entries

summer is as hot as you are pretty.

it’s an undisputed fact to satoru. after all, he chose you. so of course you were the best. he supposed even strangers here would eventually come to realize it too… as it wasn’t the first time their kind had done so.

kamakura beach was packed in summer, and he stepped away a bit to get you shaved ice only to come back to this appalling sight.

“miss! ooh! you’re so gorgeous!”

this suspicious-looking middle-aged man—with goatee, long tied hair, wearing palm shirt and beach shorts—approached you so merrily as you were chilling under the parasol.

“ah thank you…?” you pasted a taut smile, totally clueless and spooked, hoping he would go on his way.

“i mean it! your body is so—wow!” the man gasped dramatically, appraising you from head to toe. “your bust—it’s perfect! you’d make a good cover girl, you know!”

you were wearing the bikini of the same brand inoue waka endorsed at satoru’s insistence, and true, it was indeed a sight for sore eyes.

his sore eyes, specifically. not others.

satoru scowled, and he marched towards where you were. he would do his job as always—chasing away no-good men from you.

“hey you,” he barked. “what business do you have with my girl here?”

the bearded man regarded him with surprise, before he assessed him from top to bottom. “oh! you’re mr. boyfriend? whoa, you don’t look bad yourself!”

“if you’re trying to bother my—”

“no, no! you’ve got the wrong idea!” the man defended, raising both hands in surrender. “you see, i’m about to offer the pretty lady a gig as a gravure model!”

wha? you gaped. satoru blinked.

“m-me?” you stammered, flabbergasted, pointing at yourself. “uh, are you sure?”

“yes! 100% sure!” the agent man replied with stars in his eyes. “miss, with your assets, you’ll outshine even inoue waka or kaoru sakurako themselves!”

“really?!” you almost laughed. it was a strange compliment, but a compliment nonetheless.

but next to you, satoru’s face darkened, his eyes obscured. his fists clenched around the paper bowl of shaved ice so hard it shook. the next thing you know—

“here, hold this.” he suddenly shoved the shaved ice to you, before he plucked his sandal off and—

“YOU!” satoru raised the flip-flop above his head, his eyes blazing with fury, ready to swing it at the man. “GET LOST YOU SLIMY BOZO!”

“—?! WAIT, YOUNG MAN!”

and then came the most disastrous scene before you: your boyfriend chased the agent with his sandal, throwing it at him that it bonked his head, then grabbed someone’s big-ass water gun without permission and continued the pursuit, determined to catch him.

. . .

“how could you?! why do you seem even remotely interested!?” satoru fierily questioned you after he was done cooking the gravure video agent, panting and sopping wet. in the end, the two of them got into a water gun fight that ended with him winning.

you turned to him, feigning an unimpressed expression. “he said i can outshine inoue waka. who wouldn’t want that chance?”

“you can’t!” he retorted almost immediately, aghast. “i mean, yeah you can! but no! no way! you can’t flaunt your body for everyone to see!”

“why?”

“you are mine!” he pouted hard, irked. “i don’t want to share you! you are for the consumption of my eyes only!”

his blatant response made you giddy, truthfully. and as if to stress his point, he suddenly pulled you to his chest from behind, wrapping both arms around you, making you squeal.

“satoru, you’re wet!”

“so? when i marry you someday, we’re going to share a lot of things together. wet is one of them.”

“does this mean you’d pick me over inoue waka?” you threw him a suggestive smile, looking up at him expectantly.

his face then turned pink, as he smooched you in the head. “you know the answer to that, dummy.”

who would have thought that he would really keep his promise and that you'd come to the same beach years later...?

[sunrizef1]

Girl back home

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x wife!reader

Warnings: cursing (I think)

Authors note: this took forever, but now I can actually work on whiv now that I’ve finished this

Summary: Everyone keeps trying to set Logan up, but no one bothers to ask if he's already got a girl (surprise! he does!)

Word Count: 4.2k (jesus)

“What about her? she’s pretty,” Alex asks as he points at the five hundredth model to walk past the Williams garage that day.

If it hadn’t been his home race, Logan might have walked away an hour ago when Alex’s pointing started but instead, he stayed, choosing to endure Alex’s unrelenting matchmaking.

“No, Alex. I’ve already said no to about 50 other girls you’ve pointed out, what makes you think she’d be different,” Logan groans, his head leaning back to rest against the wall behind them.

Alex purses his lips, a frown on his face, “Why won’t you let me get you a girlfriend?”

Logan pauses to stare at the ceiling of the garage for a second before he turns his head to face the man next to him, “I don’t need a girlfriend.”

“Yeah sure man, I’ve seen you stare quietly at a wall by yourself more times than you’d probably admit. If that doesn’t scream “I need a girlfriend” then I don’t know what does,” Alex shrugs before turning back to face away from his friend, his hand coming back up to point at a pretty-faced blonde girl making her way past the garage, even smiling when she locks eyes with Logan, “Ooh what about her? She seems to like you!”

Logan just hums in response, his eyes closing as he leaves Alex to talk to himself.

In reality, Logan truly didn’t need a girlfriend. He had something even better, a wife. Who also happened to be you. You had met when you were kids and had been in love ever since. You liked to joke that it was love at first sight but every time you said it, Logan would wonder how much of a joke it really was.

You had been there for every step in his career, through the wins and the losses, through karting to Formula racing. So when he proposed after the end of the f3 season in 2020, no one close to you was really surprised.

You got married shortly after, neither one of you wanting a big, flashy wedding. Instead, the wedding was small but still nice, just some close friends and family in attendance. Even Oscar had been there and he made sure to reference the event to everyone who wouldn’t understand when around Logan. He loved to talk about the “party” Logan had in 2020 to the other drivers who, frankly, had no idea what he meant.

When he got his move to Formula One, you were over the moon for him. You didn’t worry about long-distance. You had made it work in the past and you both had total confidence in each other to make it work. You continued your degree in engineering and he continued his career in racing. You tried to make it to races when school would let you, which wasn’t often, and he was more than happy to fly you out when he could.

Logan genuinely loved you more than anything. With that being said, this meant that he did not have the time of day for anyone trying to set him up with the Instagram model of the week who had decided to visit a garage.

But at the same time, he also didn’t feel the pressure to share your marriage with anyone. He didn’t really know any of the other drivers very well and if they wanted to know more about him, they could ask. It’s just that no one ever did.

Except, it seems, when they wanted to set him up.

“Hey, Logan!” A British voice calls out to the American, whose head shoots up at the uncommon voice.

“What’s up, mate?” The blonde asks Lando, pocketing the phone where he had just been texting you to ask about your engineering final.

Lando grins and places a hand on the American's shoulder, raising his voice to be heard above the sounds of the paddock, “I was talking to Oscar and he mentioned something about your love life and something about you being lonely, I don’t really remember what he said but anyway, I’m talking to this girl and she has this friend who I think would be perfect for you.”

Logan’s face drops at the brunette's words, a frown replacing his smile, “I’m cool Lando, thanks though.”

Lando furrows his eyebrows, disbelief written on his features, “You sure, mate? She’s sooooo fine.”

Logan just nods his head in response, backing away from the McLaren driver slowly, “Yeah I’m sure Lando, you have fun thinking about your girlfriend’s friend though.”

Lando doesn’t seem to catch the diss as he just glances up and down at Logan before shaking his head and turning on his heel to head back to his garage. Logan sighs before taking his phone back out of his pocket to see another text from you. A grin breaks out on his face as he sees your name.

Logan hadn’t talked to very many of the drivers on the grid, often feeling on the outs of a lot of conversations. So he’s even more surprised to see Charles Leclerc making his way toward him at a club. A club he had only agreed to come to so he coule be Oscar's designated driver, by the way.

“Eyyy, it’s the American!” Charles says, the alcohol clearly present in his voice. The lights are too dimmed but if they were brighter, Logan would be able to see the lipstick smudges around his white collar.

“Hey, Charles,” Logan replies, scepticism laced in his voice. The Monegasque leans closer to him, the drink in his hand sloshing around in the cup.

“I have something to tell you,” Charles slurs a bit, leaning dangerously before a pretty brunette comes up and grabs him, based on her lipstick shade compared to Charles’ shirt, she had already been more than acquaintances with him before this conversation.

Logan glances at the pair before responding dryly, “Oh no.”

Charles grins before pointing back to where he had come from, a dark-haired girl sitting at the table, “That’s Natalie.”

“Navaeh,” the brunette pipes up to correct Charles as he nods in response.

“Yeah, Nivia. Anyway, she’s a friend of mine and she’s been eyeing you all night, thought you’d want her number.”

Logan rolls his eyes at the very clearly drunk couple in front of him, increasing his headache from the pounding EDM, “What an assumption there Charles. I’m actually good though.”

“What?” Charles asks, squinting to see the blonde under the club lights.

“No thanks,” Logan smiles tightly before moving to step around the couple and probably tell Oscar that either they were both leaving or Oscar was getting an Uber, “You guys have a good night though.”

The couple is already too busy sucking face to realize he’s left.

“I just don’t understand why they keep trying to set me up, I’m perfectly happy with you,” Logan complains to you over the phone a few nights later.

You were sat in your dorm, engineering work strewn across your desk and your roommate at a party somewhere. You were trying to get as much work done as possible before Logan came to Austin for the GP so you could spend the weekend with him.

“I mean, have you told them you’re married?” You ask, trying to stifle a yawn as your hand moves to write down the equation for the problem in front of you.

Logan shakes his head, the movement almost imperceptible through the small phone screen, “Nah, but it’s just that no one’s asked you know? I’m just waiting for someone to say “Hey Logan, you got a girl back home?” Before they try and set me up with some Instagram model they know.”

You smile softly as he talks, his hands moving to mess with his blond hair periodically. He eventually looks back to the screen once he’s done ranting and is met with your smiling face filling his phone screen, “What?”

“I love you,” you say warmly, your grin practically splitting your face.

Logan blushes before laughing and shaking his head to hide the redness on his face, “I love you too. I’ll see you next week yeah?”

You look down at the now-completed homework in front of you. Homework that could’ve taken about 2 fewer hours if you weren’t on call.

“Yeah I’m done with this. I’ll turn it into my professor tomorrow and after that I am free. When do you get in?” You ask, shuffling the papers together and sliding them into your bag before moving out of your chair and flopping onto your bunk, sleep clouding your eyes.

“Uhh,” Logan pauses, glancing at his suitcase. In reality, he was supposed to get in twenty two hours and six minutes from when he hung up the call, his flight leaving in three hours and arriving in Austin after a 16 hour flight and a 2 hour layover in DFW followed by an hour long flight to Austin. He would effectively be arriving about a week before any of the other drivers. Besides maybe Daniel. But he couldn’t say any of that. He wanted to surprise you, especially now that you had no work to do. So instead he just hums, “Next week I think.”

“That’s great, babe,” you yawn, a small smile on your lips at the idea of him being back with you again, “I can’t wait to see you.”

“Yeah?” Logan grins.

You hum, your eyes drifting closed slightly, “Yeah.”

Logan notices your less-than-awake state and finally decides to end the call, “Goodnight, I love you.”

You yawn again, your eyes fluttering shut, “Good morning Logan, I love you too.”

The call ends quickly after and Logan glances at the time, grinning when he sees the 8:24 am displayed on his phone screen. You’d both had to deal with the difference in time zones for so long, you probably had all the time zones memorized. Or at least you remembered enough to call out good morning instead of goodnight while he was in Qatar.

His flight touches down twenty-two hours later and the first thing he does is call you.

“Hey what's up?” It's about 10:30 in Austin and the only thing you were doing was picking up barbeque from this place on the edge of campus that your roommate had been raving about.

“Not much, just bored,” Logan replies, his eyes scanning the background of the face time call for where you could possibly be this late.

You glance down at your phone for a second to do the same, eyebrows furrowing, “Where are you? It looks dark.”

Logan glances around slightly before replying, “In a car,” he wasn't lying, he really was in a car. Just one that was ubering to your campus instead of one with his team in Qatar, “Where are you? It's like 10 pm over there.”

“Just picking up some food,” you reply, eyes looking over the moonlit sidewalk that threads through the well-kept grass that surrounds you.

“This late?”

You laugh, “I slept through dinner.”

Logan smiles before sliding forward slightly when the car stops, “Are you just going back to your dorm?”

You look around quickly, “Yeah it's like a quarter mile back though.” You tighten your grip on the bag in your hand, the plastic having started to slip. Maybe your Ugg slides hadn't been the best choice for this walk but you'd manage.

“Oh yeah I know where you are, I remember eating at that place last time I was there,” Logan pulls his suitcase out of the trunk and tips the driver, checking periodically to make sure you hadn't clocked him.

“Yeah yeah, really good stuff and the owner remembered me today, guess I've been there enough times,” You laugh, starting to move back in the direction of your dorm once again.

By the time you had stopped to readjust the bag of food and your shoes, Logan had already started to speedwalk in the direction of your dorm. As he walks he passes enough drunk college kids to fill the football stadium they had all visited so many times.

You're walking pretty slowly, enjoying the moonlight shining brightly on the campus. Your shoes definitely weren't making you any faster to be fair.

“You turn your assignment in?” Logan asks, hoping you don't notice his eyes darting around the campus in search of you.

You nod, reaching a hand up to rub at your sleepy eyes, “Yeah, he even gave me extra credit for turning it in so early.”

Logan nods absentmindedly and you raise an eyebrow as you watch him do it before his eyes lock on something and he abruptly ends the call, “I've got to go, love you!”

You stand staring at your phone with a confused look on your face for a moment, words dying on the tip of your tongue. Weird.

You shake your head before moving to walk again, Logan's weird actions at the forefront of your mind.

Before you can even take a step, someone calls out your name and you turn quickly to see Logan standing there with the biggest grin on his face.

You gasp and wrap him in a bone-crushing hug warmth spreading through you from his arms. You move to spread kisses all across his face and for a few minutes, you both just stand there, not having seen each other in a few months and taking the time to readjust.

“I missed you,” you mumble into his shoulder, unexpected tears starting to spring from your eyes.

He just sets you down before wrapping a hand around the side of your face, “I missed you too.”

You bring a sweater-clad hand up to wipe away a tear before grabbing the food in one hand and grabbing his hand in the other, starting to lead him back to your dorm.

He grabs his suitcase as you start moving, “Is your roommate here?”

“No, you know how she is. She'll be with her new boyfriend for a few weeks so we're fine,” you wave away his question as you walk toward the building a few hundred feet away.

He smiles in response, “Hope you got enough food for two.”

You just laugh joyously.

A week and a half later, you’re stood in the hotel room Logan’s team had provided him, the room much nicer than your cramped dorm room. You had spent the last 12 days exploring Austin with your husband, making up for the time spent away from each other.

You had accidentally slept through Logan’s departure for the morning, waking up to a text explaining that, with your busy class schedule, he wanted you to get as many days of sleeping in as possible but he had gotten you breakfast and it was currently sitting in the kitchen.

You smiled at the text, appreciating Logan’s thoughtfulness. In the kitchen was a coffee from your favourite coffee shop as well as a McGriddle from McDonalds, which, no doubt, hurt Logan to order considering he wasn’t allowed to eat them.

You quickly ate the food, texting Logan to thank him. He texts back surprisingly quickly, considering he was supposed to be in a meeting.

He filled you in on how his morning had gone before asking when you’d get to the paddock for the race. You replied that you’d be there soon, quickly sliding on a light jacket over your tank top and jean shorts, preparing for the Austin heat.

Considering you had never been in the COTA paddock before, you would rather be in any situation other than your current one. There were about three hours until the race and you had no idea where the Williams garage was. You had gotten in just fine but, for some reason, you couldn’t find the blue of the Williams employees anywhere.

Logan wasn’t answering his phone, which you expected considering he had already been reprimanded for being on his phone during a meeting once this morning. Now you were left by yourself, trying to navigate the busy paddock.

You were somehow in a sea of orange, eyebrows furrowed. You turn in a quick circle, eyes setting on a curly-haired man in an orange polo who you take a few quick steps towards, hoping he can help you with directions.

“Excuse me,” you call out to the man who turns around swiftly, eyes pulling across your figure before landing on your face.

“How can I help you, love?” The man replies, a British accent laced through his voice and a sharp grin on his rosy lips.

You glance around slightly, leaning away from the man’s hungry gaze, “Do you know where the Williams garage is?”

He nods his head but keeps his eyes locked on your face, his smirk unfaltering, “Yeah, yeah, it’s just down that way.”

He points to nowhere in particular, moving to lean against the wall you’re standing near, “What’s your name, darling?”

You have to hide the smirk that tries to escape you at the fact that this man clearly has no idea you were married and also clearly thought you’d be an easy girl to flirt with considering his unwavering confidence.

You tell him your name and a grin breaks out on his face, “Pretty name, I’m Lando.”

Ah, so this was Lando. You had only ever seen him with his helmet on and from what you heard from Logan, his current behaviour made perfect sense. Logan hadn’t talked a lot about the Brit but he had mentioned him a few times considering he was Oscars teammate.

You hum, glancing around amusedly around the garage. You and Lando talk for a few more moments before a shorter figure clasps a hand on his shoulder. You lock eyes with the newcomer, grinning when you see a familiar boy standing behind Lando.

"Hey Osc," You smile at the Aussie. Oscar glances sideways at Lando, eyes shifting across his face before they turn to you. You just smile sweetly at the man who reciprocates the grin back at you.

"Hey," Lando glances confusedly between the two of you at Oscar's response. When Lando's confusion goes on a bit too long, Oscar turns and swings an arm around your shoulder, effectively moving the both of you away from the still-confused McLaren driver.

"I assume you're looking for Williams, then?" Oscar asks, running his free hand through his hair which had already begun to stick to his forehead from the Austin heat.

You hum in affirmation, sliding your sunglasses down your nose as the two of you step into the sun to make your way to your husband's garage.

Oscar makes conversation as he pulls you along, talking to you about how his season had gone and also asking a lot of questions about your engineering classes.

“I’d do a video for you, shock all your classmates,” Oscar says when you tell him you had to do a presentation explaining the engineering behind a piece of machinery and you had chosen a Formula 1 car.

You laugh, shaking your head as you do, “Yeah? I'd take you up on that, but I have a driver who'd be much easier to get a video from.”

Oscar snorts, smiling as you reach the Williams garage, “Lando?”

You roll your eyes as the name leaves his lips, hitting the back of his head with the small bag in your hands, “Don't get me started on Lando. You know he tried to set Logan up with one of his friends?”

Oscar furrows his eyebrows, “What?”

“Yeah, Lando said you told him Logan’s love life was lonely or something like that,” You reply, glancing around passively in search of your husband.

Oscar somehow manages to furrow his eyebrows even deeper, mouth opening and closing in disbelief, “That’s not what I said at all.”

“Tell him that.”

You both walk into the garage after that, you move to make conversation with Benny who’s sat to the side, surprise crossing his face as he sees you.

Oscar, though, spots Logan and makes his way to him quickly. He clasps a hand on the blonde's back who turns to face him with a grin, “What’s up Osc?”

“Lando was flirting with your wife,” Oscar states flatly, trying to push down the grin on his face.

Logan blinks a few times in an attempt to understand what the Aussie just said, “What- why?”

“Don’t think he knew she was your wife, mate.”

Logan rolls his eyes before turning around slightly to resume his conversation with his engineer. He stops mid-turn and swings back around to Oscar quickly, eyes wide, “My wife’s here?”

Oscar laughs at the American's face, stepping out of his line of sight so he can see you conversing with Benny.

Logan grins, sliding past the other boy to step toward you as quick as he can, wrapping his arms around you from behind. Oscar can’t hear what you two say to each other but he can see the love painting your faces as Logan plants a kiss on the top of your head. Benny smiles at the two of you, walking away to let you two talk.

As Oscar leaves the Williams garage, he briefly debates telling Lando you were married, especially to Logan, but he eventually decides not to. He’d figure it out eventually. Also might help to have him learn the hard way.

You sat in the garage for the entire race. But when Logan ends the race in eight, you’re jumping up happily to follow the Williams employee guiding you to where he’ll be.

The moment he’s done being weighed, he runs over to you, pulling his helmet off and unzipping his suit to his hips.

He grasps the side of your face, pulling you to him as he kisses you softly. He pulls away slightly and rests his forehead against yours, lifting a hand to grab the one you have against the side of his face, fingers brushing over your wedding ring.

“Thank you for being here. I love you.”

You can’t help the lovely laugh that escapes you, throwing your head back a bit to escape the heat rising on your cheeks, “I love you too, dork. I’m so proud of you.”

He smiles before leaning to catch you in another kiss.

Lando had finished the race in 4th. Not bad considering who had finished in front of him. He’d already talked to his team so he was now just roaming around, looking for someone to talk to.

He locks eyes on you and takes a few steps toward you before someone comes running past him. He looks over to see Logan grasping your face in his hands before pulling you down into a kiss.

He can’t help but stand in shock for a few moments although he can sense a couple people walking up next to him. He glances beside him to see Charles and Alex, both also staring at Logan in disbelief.

“What the hell?” Lando asks, to no one in particular. Luckily, or unfortunately, for him, someone has an answer.

“Are you lot staring at Logan and his wife?” Lando doesn’t look over to catch the amused look on Oscar’s face as he asks the question. But Alex does, and he furrows his eyebrows at the younger man.

“Sorry?” Alex asks the Aussie who just smiles and turns back to the couple, still smiling in each other's embrace.

Charles is the first one to notice anything and he smacks the other two on the head when he does, “They’re both wearing wedding rings.”

Alex blinks for a second, caught in the strange reality that he hadn’t noticed his teammate wearing a wedding ring the whole season. He pulls out his phone to go through old photos and low-and-behold, Logan’s wearing a ring in every single one.

“Jesus Christ,” Lando mumbles, running a hand through his damp curls, “I flirted with her.”

“Yeah,” Oscar nods, hands on his hips, “I probably wouldn’t talk to Logan for a while if I were you. Unless you want to find out how they do it in Florida.”

Lando gulps at the boy's words, of course, having no idea how they “do it” in Florida but only assuming he’d end up with a black eye. Oscar has to stifle a laugh, knowing Logan would most likely just laugh it off if Lando genuinely apologized. Not that Lando would.

Oscar's eyes drift across the trio of confused drivers, most likely all going through their memories of the times they had tried to set Logan up.

“You told me he was lonely,” Lando finally whines out, turning back to Oscar who shakes his head.

“I told you he was lonely because his girlfriend couldn’t make it to any of the races. If you would listen, you would’ve heard that part.”

Lando has no defence to that and turns his head back again to watch as Logan laughs at something you said, fingers intertwined together.

When the news spread across the paddock the next day, Logan received a lot of incredulous texts from drivers and employees alike, all shocked that he was in a relationship, let alone married.

Logan didn’t read any of them, he was too busy hanging out with you.

Except, of course, the message from Oscar that included three specific drivers all with their eyes wide as they stared at him and you.

——————————————————

Tags: @casperlikej @evie-119

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt: Spiritual Siblings

Bruce: My assassin kid can't be that normal!

Damian: Well, I’m completely emotionally stable by Amity Park standards. The problem is with you. Obviously.

~~~~~

Damian had long found peace and home in Amity, so he did not worry that the new family and Gotham might not accept him.

Sure, Al Ghul had lived without any contact with his biological father all these years but he could safely say that he had a happy childhood. First years were hard and he was raised more as a weapon than a human being. Even so, after that a ghost who decided to become his brother appeared and everything changed.

Damian still does not know what Ra's owes Phantom but Danny has a right to take him, without prior notification, to live with Fentons, to visit Aunt Alicia at her farm, and to make Vlad’s weekends much less calm and boring. Danny jokes that he just steals him as a hostage when Al Ghul does not pay taxes for using Lazarus Pits. Whatever the reason, he already has a family that loves him.

However, he still wanted to make an effort to fit in this one too. The model of conduct certainly was his older brother. No, not the oldest, of course. To be honest Dan wasn’t the kind of a man that could charm you from the first minute. But Danny, in Damian’s experience, had a calming effect on people. So he tried to act like him.

And, yeah, for lack of experience, he was more fun!Danny at home and super!Danny on patrol but he also really tried not to get any of his own assassin personality in his new-self and was tired of it. He couldn’t get a 100% match. Fine. Still doesn’t look like anyone in this house really likes him, so whatever.

Damian understood why Bruce didn't like his company. Jazz had long ago explained to him the importance of voluntary consent. His mother did a terrible thing. Al Ghul was not a child and therefore he was ready to admit it. However, he also understood that children were not responsible for the actions of their parents.

As a biosocial being, he wanted to be more than just a painful reminder of what had happened to Bruce. Wayne's ignoring of his existence was rude. But Damian wouldn't force this man to spend time with him just because he was legally obligated to take care of his well-being. He wasn't going to prove anything to Batman, and he definitely didn't need his attention. The care of his real family is enough.

But Damian really tried to get along with new potential siblings. He even shared Sam's and Danny’s special jokes with some of adopted kids 'cause he didn’t want them to feel like he put himself above them. He wasn't good at showing emotions but he was as open as the assassin could afford to be to strangers.

But they all obviously expected something from him. And it reminded him of the League in an unpleasant way. It was easier with Fentons. Almost everyone in Amity Park was saying what they thought, and Damian didn’t have to waste time decoding potential conspiracies.

Damian missed movie marathon nights with Sam, Tucker, and Danny. And he hoped Dani had time to bother Vlad in his absence.

It was so weird here. When Danny and Valerie were fighting, they would gather at the dinner table anyway. When Damian wanted to have combat training with Drake here, he was forced to stay in his room. A very strange punishment. And undeserved one too.

Al Ghul felt quite calm and fine sitting at his easel and painting the people he left behind. An unusual subject for his paintings. But, Ancients, he missed Amity.

He missed Jack's bone breaking hugs, Maddie's Ecto-Contaminated food, arguments of Sam and Tucker, cozy art class with Mr. Baxter and even Vlad's done look. He missed Danny telling him about the stars. He also missed sword practice with Dan's boyfriend Fright Knight and he missed Dan's stories about his other youth. He missed literary evenings with Mr. Lancer, Clockwork and Ghost Writer. He even missed the hours-long Jazz lectures. He missed the dance of death and life. He missed being looked at without expecting anything from him. He missed the crowd. In the league, he was never at one with himself and in Amity he was always surrounded by people who were not afraid of his fate as the heir to the said League. This Manor was full of people, but for the first time in his life he felt lonely. Damian has to admit that he felt left behind. Of course, he understood that people needed time to build relationships, but he could have sworn that even he didn't need that much time to connect with Fentons. Maybe this is one of the tricks of the Clockwork? Then this one is not funny at all.

~~~~~Phone call~~~~ Damian: Mom, I want to go home. Maddie: I'm so sorry to hear that, sweetheart. What happened? Damian: Just…Nobody likes me. Why was I sent here? I'm not weak. And my brothers are quite capable of protecting me from Raas. I don't need Batman for this. Maddie: We'll figure it out, champ. Moms love you, remember? I'll talk to Talia, okay? Your brothers and sisters are already on edge and ready to steal you right during the patrol. Damian: It would be nice, but it would put a bat on their tails. So lock them in thermoses if they bother you too much. Maddie: But that won't stop Jazz. Damian: I missed the part where that's my problem. Maddie: Well, it will be your problem if she comes to your doorstep with your childhood photos and moralizing.

~~~~~~~~

It's his birthday. And he was always excited about it. But now, looking at the pile of gifts, he realizes that these people don't know him at all.

And this is the family of the best detective in the world? Maybe yes, but none of them bothered to really find info about him or ask him about his likes. Damian's a stranger here, and that's obvious.

The lunch container, which he will obviously give to the Boxing Lunch when he's in the right time interval, tennis rackets that Youngblood might like, The Graveyard Book…

Valerie had already read it to him and Dani before it was published. Thanks to Clockwork for his little miracles. The book reminded him of home.

Obviously this one is from Jason. And well, Damian doesn't think it was a pun on his life in Amity, more like Hood's inside joke about death but Dami will definitely leave this thing in the room at the Manor and maybe take it with him to the GZ or Amity Park.

~~~~~~~

When they gather at the festive table, Damian realizes that he has to make some kind of speech. He tries to be as brief as possible in his report.

Damian: Todd, your gift is appreciated. And I found a potential use for items that were given by others, Bruce.

Damian never called Batman his father. With Maddie and Talia, calling both moms wasn't weird, especially when Jazz explained to his biological mom that he wasn't trying to replace her. But with Wayne, it was different. Both women took care of him, they deserved this title. Wayne provided for his needs, but his core heart didn't feel like they were close. Surely there's nothing wrong if they're just Bruce and Damian? Obviously, they both don't enjoy each other's company.

Jason: So, do you like books, little demon? Damian: Sometimes reading is quite relaxing, I should point out. I'm not indifferent to Stephen King and Lovecraft. Jason: Personal recommendations? Damian: Cujo is one of my favorites. Jason: Not a common opinion, huh. Damian: It reminds me of my family. Damian tries to smile like Danny does, but Jason's twitching eye clearly indicates that he screwed it up.

~~~~Dick and Jason synchronously drop their forks as an excuse for a conference under the table.~~~~ Dick*whispers*: How's the situation? Jason*whispers back*: If the boy asks for a dog, don't be fooled. He will be happy to dance on our graves.

~~~~Cass knocks over their heads, urging them to return to their seats.~~~~

Damian: So how good you are at fading and sliding,Todd? Jason: Why did you ask? I can't, of course. Damian: Because you're dead. It seemed to me that this was a completely understandable interest. Jason: Wow, what a jerk. Damian: I wonder why your own incompetence makes me a jerk? Even my sister could do this when she wasn't dead for even a month.

Jason, for some reason, looks awkward, although he has never been embarrassed before by the idea that a girl could be stronger than him.

Jason: Your sister? How old was she when... So it's all about age. Damian rolls his eyes.

Damian: We're the same age. It seems like it was four or five years ago. To be honest, I don't remember. I wasn't around then. I'll ask Danielle the next time I go to the cemetery to visit her. Dick: I'm so sorry, Dami. Where is she buried? We can take you. Damian: There's no need. She has no grave, as there was nothing to bury. Bruce sighs loudly and covers his eyes with his hands. Damian: It's just easier to contact the afterlife in places like this, you now? Duke: We are very sorry, dude. Damian: Don't be. People come and go, and then come back if they haven't finished annoying you. There's no point in regretting the past. Her creation was not the most ethical thing but everything is going as it should. At least that's what Grandpa says. Considering that the old man is older than time, I prefer to believe him. No one plays with fate without his permission unless they want to get hit by the clock. Tim now looks like he's going to throw up and Damian hurries to move his plate closer to him. Jason: Yes, Bruce, this is definitely your son. Damian: Did I say something wrong? Dick smiles faintly at him but still doesn't find anything to say. Damian shrugs and goes back to eating asparagus. People outside of Amity are so weird.

Signal looks at Damian suspiciously as he carefully rearranges the plate of soy sausages away from himself. Did he take him for an idiot? Everyone knows that even vegetarian sausage bite and fight no worse than those with meat when they come back to life. It's not Damian's fault that he doesn't have an ectoblast with him and wants to have extra distance from the opponent.

~~~At the same time, in the walls of Wayne Manor~~~ Dani: The operation codenamed "Get Haunted Idiot" is declared open. Danny and Dan *salute*.

~~~Several Days Later~~~

Damian: So, this is Dan. Danny says we keep him as a GIW repeller. Dick: And Danny and Dan are.. Jazz: His brothers. I'm Jazz by the way. Elle and I are his sisters. Damian: I feat the criteria to participate in their name cult, so they took me. Dan, Danny, Dani and Dami. Dan *ruffles Damian's hair* : I prefer to call this biting threat Damn, to be honest. Dami: Shut up, DaNtE, they almost wrote Dark in your passport, you idiot. I can't believe I thought I missed you. Danny: Wow. Rude. Your grandpa would be disappointed. Great job, lil one.

~~~Several years later~~~

[dannyriccsystem]

ik this is a common trope by now in the fanfic community but can we have drivers reacting to their girlfriends calling them their husband even thought they're not married (yet). please and thank you

ME AND MY HUSBAND…

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER

MEOW

Summary: Calling your F1 Driver boyfriend your “husband” ^^

Warnings: Fluff, Y/N usage, alcohol consumption, not proofread

Featuring: MV1, LN4, CL16, LH44, CS55, OP81

I’m a sucker for this trope idc

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

You were a famous podcaster, known for your interviews with various famous celebrities of different career paths and backgrounds. People particularly enjoyed your show because of the diversity in content, allowing viewers to branch out into various new interests and gain insight on lots of interesting topics. Anyway, today you had an interview with a famous model who offered to give discernment into the industry.

She had shared a particularly relatable point about her and her husband, mentioning how they both had very different jobs and lives, but still worked as a united team. You, in the haste of the moment, replied with, “Yeah, me and my husband are the same way.”

You didn’t even think much of it. You were just trying to relate to your guest on the show, and hadn’t registered the fact that you made a mistake. Even if you did, you’d probably just shrug it off…

Until you came home. Max seemed to have been waiting for you, sitting on a chair in the living room with Jimmy— Or Sassy, you could barely tell the different— Sitting on his lap, like some sort of evil mastermind. The sight made you laugh as you slipped off your shoes and jacket, hanging it up on the coatrack.

“Your husband,” He said pointedly, his lips quirked up into a knowing grin. You raised a brow at him, and he unlocked his phone to show you the clip. Your face lost its color, shaking your head.

“Uhm… Whoops.” You grimaced, because the reality of things was finally starting to settle in.

“I kinda like the title. Might have to start ring shopping. Everyone’s expecting it now.”

—

LANDO NORRIS - LN4

Today was one of the first races you attended in person in a long time. You had been occupied with law school and opted to support your boyfriend from afar so you could focus on your career. Of course, Lando had no complaints, but he was eager to have you in the garage supporting him once again.

Of course, you can’t be a WAG in the paddock without being caught by hundreds of interviewers. You managed to brush most of them off with short responses, or simply dismissing yourself politely, but there was one in particular that managed to catch you up.

“Y/N, Y/N!” The woman called out, rushing over to you. She looked exasperated, like she had been trying for some time now to catch you. You paused, taking pity on the woman who was clearly running in heels. She seemed polite, so you stopped to give her your attention. “Thank you,” She directed you towards the camera, and you smiled and waved.

“Hello,” You spoke cautiously, unfamiliar with this experience. It had been forever since you were put in such a position— Hopefully you didn’t look too awkward.

“How do you feel about Lando starting from pole position?” She asked, a glint of excitement in her eyes. You were glad you stopped to give her the time of day.

“Oh! I’m very confident in my husband’s abilities, and I think this will be a promising first race.” You nodded with a warm smile, but the interviewer gave you a befuddled look. You caught her gazing at your hands briefly, before nodding.

“W… Wonderful, thank you Miss Y/N.” You quietly thanked her and dismissed yourself, thinking back on the interview. You huffed a sigh, brushing the confusion off as you stepped foot into the Mclaren garage. Lando, who was watching the TV with crossed arms, which was currently displaying pre-race interviewers, turned to look at you, and his eyes widened.

“Your HUSBAND?” He questioned with raised brows. You blinked, and then your jaw dropped. THAT’S why she was being so weird.

“Oh God, now they’re all gonna think we’re married.”

Oscar, who was watching the interaction with amusement, clapped you both on the back and chuckled. “Guess it’s time to go ring shopping.”

—

CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

Today you and Charles had chosen to stay in. It was supposed to be some big event with the whole Ferrari team, but instead you guys decided to opt out and play sick. It felt slightly naughty since he was technically obligated to go, but the two of you just needed a break.

You were both relaxing on the couch, catching up on some random TV show you found a few months back and never got the opportunity to finish. It was nice to be able to dress down in comfortable clothes and not care about public appearances for a while.

Your boyfriend was sitting beside you, scrolling on his phone to order takeout from the local restaurant. “Hm, want any dessert?” He questioned mindlessly, his voice hoarse as if he had just woken up, despite the fact it was nearly 7 in the afternoon.

“You’d think my husband would know the answer to that by now,” You spoke without thinking, your voice infected with sleepiness. You stretched your arms out like a cat, resting your head against his lap. You noticed he fell silent, turning your head to look up at him. He was giving you a cheeky smile. “What?”

“You called me your husband,” He muttered with a fond look in his eyes. You playfully rolled your eyes, lightly smacking his chest. “Hey, don’t hit your husband,” He teased. “What a bad wife.”

“Oh shush, it was an accident and you know it.”

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours with a promise whispered against them, “One day.”

—

LEWIS HAMILTON - LH44

Note to self, never get drunk at a race after party.

Lewis had just finished an incredible race in P1, so while you normally left him to celebrate with his friends by himself, you decided to come along this time to show your extra support for such a smooth win.

Within your excitement, you had decided to challenge various drivers in swimming competitions, which you won with ease. By the end of the night you were shitfaced and behaving wildly unlike yourself.

The bar you all went to decided to show highlights of the most recent race. In your rather drunken state, you decided to point at one of Lewis’ overtakes and scream out loud for everyone to hear, “That’s my husband fuckers!”

The next morning you awoke with a major headache and lots of regrets. You rolled over, resting your head on your boyfriend’s chest. He groaned and stretched to life, his fingers running up your bare back.

“Good morning, wife.”

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “Damnit.”

—

CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

It was actually a run on joke within the fandom that you and Carlos were married, but all of the teasing had come from him. There were various instances where, during interviews, he’d call you “the missus” or “my pretty wife” and so on. It was all fun and games, but this was different.

Earlier that day, Carlos had posted a picture of him with Alex Albon. It was a pretty typical picture, but you always left comments on his posts no matter what. This time it was “my husband looks so good today!”

You didn’t even mean to, which is why you were confused when you realized your phone was blowing up. Your notifications were limited to very few people, which meant it was your family and friends contacting you.

So many missed calls and messages from your mother… “You got married without telling me?” was the most prominent one. You quickly opened up Carlos’ contact, shaking your head at the singular message he left.

“I didn’t know we were officially married 😃”

—

OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

Oscar Piastri was never a fan of post race interviews, but this one had been quite enjoyable. A polite interviewer was kind enough to ask you, his girlfriend, to join them on their little adventure. Usually he was quite nonchalant, but he seemed smiley everytime you answered one of the questions given to you.

“And, while we’re on the topic, how do you feel about Oscar being the new race leader?” The microphone was pointed in your direction, and you grinned.

“I have never felt more proud of my husband right now, I just…” You could feel him staring into your soul, causing you to pause. When you looked at him, he had the biggest smile possible. Probably the biggest smile the public eye had ever seen. “What?”

“My husband,” He quoted with a dreamy tone, his smile remaining in place.

“Ah,” You giggled, shaking your head. “My boyfriend,” You began again, correcting yourself. “Has been performing incredibly well this season. I wish him a good year for 2025.”

“Oscar, your thoughts?” The interviewer asked. He was still grinning boyishly.

“Just like my wife said, it’s been a good season.”

[norrisainz33]

Glimpse || OP81

☆ summary: oscar’s long time girlfriend is rather private and always has been despite her family’s fame. slowly but surely fans start to discover more about her!

☆ pairing: oscar piastri x laeno!sibling!private!reader

☆ fc & warnings: various girls from pinterest & slightly suggestive, you are responsible for the content you consume

☆ requested: yes! sorry it took my literally forever. thank you for taking the time to request 🫶🏻

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

ynlaeno has made a post 🔒

liked by nicolelaeno, oscarpiastri, landonorris, mclarenf1, yourbff, lilymhe, and 345 others

ynlaeno: festivals with my favorite sister means we get to serve fits again ✨

view all 23 comments

lilymhe: you are so hot

ynlaeno: no baby girl that’s you

alexandrasaintmleux: the world really is your runway

ynlaeno: you are one to talk 🤤

yourbff: bestie when are you going to be a model and grace the world with your beauty

ynlaeno: sooner than you think!

oscarpiastri: 🤤🤤🤤 god you look good baby

ynlaeno: thank you handsome 😘

landonorris: gross get a room

oscarpiastri: we have and you were mad about that too

landonorris: yeah bc your drivers room is connected to mine!!

ynlaeno: boys please 🫠

nicoleaeno: i love you sissy 🤍

ynlaeno: i love you more

mclarenf1: the most iconic sister duo ever

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liked by user2, user1, user3, user4, user5, user6, user7, user8, user9, and 10,238 others

f1gossip: everyone’s favorite wag, y/n, has been featured in her sister nicole’s most recent dance video!! this is the first time she’s been seen in a youtube video so this is big news and seems she’s as talented of a dancer as nicole!! maybe this is a sign that y/n’s finally going to share more

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user1: omg she can dance????? ugh i’m in love

user2: wondering if there’s anything y/n can’t do

user3: i wish we got to see her more often

user7: ugh me too y/n seems so cool

user4: i’m so jealous of their talent

user5: oscar is a lucky man , what i wouldn’t give for one chance

user8: no fr oscar is so lucky i mean look at her

user10: i’m begging one of you guys to get accepted as a follower on her insta so we can see what’s there

user13: working on it 😭

user9: y/n will forever be my favorite

oscarpiastri has made a post

liked by ynlaeno, mclarenf1, landonorris, logansargeant, yourbff, nicolelaeno, lewishamilton, goergerussell63 and 345,194 others

oscarpiastri: a week off means i get to follow the love of my life around and support her as she crushes the NY fashion week runway. i’m so proud of you y/n 🧡

view all 722 comments

user1: FASHION WEEK?!

user2: she walked at fashion week?!?!?!? oh my GOD

user3: oscar im going to take your girlfriend

lewishamilton: congrats y/n! absolutely loved the collection

ynlaeno: thank you lew 😭

user5: y/n in her model era! lewis has competition fr

ynlaeno: osco 😭😭😭 thank you sweet boy

oscarpiastri: i love you gorgeous

ynlaeno: i love you more

oscarpiastri: simply not possible sweetheart

georgerussell63: and what can’t she do 💅🏻

ynlaeno: drive an f1 car!

georgerussell63: fair but you are good at karting! you even beat oscar last time!

user3: GEORGE DROPPING MORE LORE. she is good at karting??? y/n please let us know more about you im begging

mclarenf1: we love our fashion icon ynlaeno

user6: i knew this girl could dress but who knew she could own the runway too wtf

user7: y/n crumbs , thank you oscar

nicolelaeno has posted to her story

view all story replies

user18: IS THAT Y/N?! SHE SINGS?!

user14: why is it that every day i learn of a new skill y/n possesses

user4: MOTHER Y/N

oscarpiastri: i can’t wait to see this 😍

nicolelaeno: it’s going to be a good one!! y/n FINALLY agreed to sing for me 🤍

yourbff: yesssss she finally decided to sing for a video?!

nicolelaeno: it only took a lot of bribing, begging and pleading!! ms girl loves her privacy but she’s too talented to not share

user16: just fell to the floor

ynlaeno: 👀 i’m so nervous for everyone to see this

nicolelaeno: don’t be, you’re so talented y/n/n 🫶🏻

nicolelaeno: plus the internet literally loves you

lilymhe: my talented bestie back at it again

user7: more y/n crumbs! thank you nicole

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user2, user1, user3, user4, user5, user6, user7, user8, user9, and 10,238 others

f1gossip: this week on what lore are we going to learn about y/n: her and oscar were spotted out and about at an art gallery, she was in the background of an archery video that Nicole posted recently as well as a video from Nicole of y/n signing her favorite high school musical song and a video of her reading to a class of children has also surfaced. what do you all think about the ever elusive and private y/n being featured more often on social media?

view all 201 comments

user1: i feel like in the past month alone i’ve learned more about y/n than i ever had before despite her and oscar being together for so long

user5: obsessed with this. i hope we keep seeing more of y/n

user6: y/n just casually being good at everything again

user7: talented, beautiful, kind ,,,, she is the total package

user11: oscar’s really winning with her

oscarpiastri: yes, i really am

user11: oh my god it’s him

user9: just give me one chance y/n

user13: chat i love y/n so much

user12: very demure, very mindful, very cutesy

oscarpiastri has posted a story

view all story replies

user9: gnawing at the bars of my encloser

user93: oh this outfit is eating

logansargeant: ok lover boy

oscarpiastri: hehe that’s me

user56: oscar your page is becoming a y/n fan account

lilymhe: god dmn i’m in love

oscarpiastri: get in line 😭

lilymhe: NO

user7: y/n crumbs, thank you oscar!

ynlaeno: omg baby 🥹🥹🥹🥹

oscarpiastri: you’re so beautiful

ynlaeno: you’re too sweet

oscarpiastri: and you’re the love of my life

ynlaeno: and you’re mine forever 🤍

alexandrasaintmleux: please tell her to send me that skirt

oscarpiastri: only if you send me leo in exchange

user8: i get it, if she was my girl id post her like this too

user66: OMG ITS HAPPENING EVERYONE STAY CALM

user47: the way she went from 781 followers to 134,978 in 24 hours needs to be studied.

user6: this might be the most aesthetically pleasing feed i’ve ever seen

user8: the way oscar is in almost every single one of the comments saying how much he loves her and how beautiful she is 😭😭😭😭

user81: man is obsessed and i’m so here for it

user76 y/n’s biggest fan award goes to oscar 😭

user87: if my partner doesn’t hype up my every move like oscar does for y/n… i don’t want it

user32: oscar has single handedly raised my standards for men

user12: please tell me y’all saw all her story highlights of her singing

user16: don’t forget all the ones where she’s dancing 😭

user18: there’s nothing this girl can’t do

user98: i didn’t think i could love her more but honestly after this glimpse into her life,,,, i really do

ynlaeno has added to their story

view all replies

user66: HI (louder than everyone else)

user98: omg hi mother

alexandrasaintmleux: pretty girl!! i can’t wait to see you in singapore 🤍

ynlaeno: i can’t wait to see YOU!! its been too long since we had a girls night. let’s get dinner (without the boys 😉)

alexandrasaintmleux: yes please mon amor

oscarpiastri: pic credits?!

ynlaeno: thanks for the pic oscar, you’ve been trained well 😉

oscarpiastri: ☺️☺️☺️ i’m learning

ynlaeno: yes you are sweet boy

nicolelaeno: ok gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous. i miss you so much

ynlaeno: i miss you too bestie. i hope college is amazing

user56: i got a notif that you posted and got so excited

landonorris: you better text me before you drop THE post

ynlaeno: it’s taken me forever to pick the right pictures but it’ll be dropping shortly

landonorris: eeeeeeeeek

user9: first story on public omg 😭😭

lilymhe: i am outrageously obsessed with you

ynlaeno: and i’m obsessed with you my gorgeous bestie

user23: HI HI HI HI HI

ynlaeno has made a post

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ynlaeno: something so exciting happened that i had to share it with you all. welcome to the page of the future mrs. piastri 🤍

view all 987 comments

ynlaeno: p.s. everyone say thank you lando for the impromptu photo shoot!! we love you dearly muppet 🫶🏻

oscarpiastri: thank you lando!

landonorris: you are so welcome. love you both to the moon and back ❤️

user4: no this is the cutest interaction i’ve ever seen im sick

user37: lando taking the pictures of them has me violently crying

user68: knowing lando took these pictures….. this might be the best thing to ever happen to me

oscarpiastri: i can’t wait to marry my best friend!! i love you my fiancé

ynlaeno: FIANCÉ!!! i know that’s right 🤍

user38: i love love

user27: THIS IS AN ICONIC FIRST PUBLIC POST

nicoleleano: SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

ynlaeno: me too bestie

user45: icon status wow

georgerussell63: congratulations 🤍

ynlaeno: thanks georgie 🤍

lilymhe: i’m openly weeping 😭😭😭🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🤍🤍🤍

ynlaeno: 🤍🫶🏻😭

user96: she’s so real for this i’d come off private to brag about being engaged to the oscar piastri too

nicolepiastri: congrats you two 🧡

ynlaeno: thank you mama p 🤍

user46: best day ever for annoying ppl (me)

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!!! been busy with life and also having trouble with ideas. hoping to get back into the swing of things during fall break 🫶🏻

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[ghstyles]

Protocol | His Angel

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

Pairing: College!Yn x CrimeBossl!Harry

WC: 4K

Summary: You’ve been ignoring Harry’s safety protocols. This comes back to bite you in the ass

Requested

His Angel Masterlist

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

The sun beats down on the university parking lot, the asphalt radiating heat in visible waves as students hurry between their vehicles and the air-conditioned buildings. It's late afternoon on a Friday, and the lot is beginning to empty as weekend plans take precedence over academics.

You emerge from the English Literature building, hair piled in a messy bun atop your head, a few strands escaping to frame your face. You’re dressed for the summer heat in high-waisted shorts and a light blouse, your bag heavy with books slung over one shoulder. Your phone chimes as you approach your car—a modest but reliable model that Harry had insisted on having his mechanic thoroughly inspect when he first got you the car.

Checking the notification, you see a text from Harry: Heading home?

A small smile tugs at your lips as you type back a quick Just leaving campus now. Should be home in 20.

Home. The word still feels strange sometimes. This idea that Harry's penthouse has become as much your space as your own small student apartment. Over the past year, the transition had been so gradual you hardly noticed until suddenly most of your belongings had migrated to his place, and you also found yourself spending five or six nights a week there.

Another text arrives as you reach your car: Check everything?

You roll your eyes, though there's no one around to see your exasperation. A year into your relationship, and Harry's security protocols have become a familiar routing. Sometimes comforting, sometimes frustrating, but always non-negotiable.

You send back a thumbs-up emoji, knowing it will irritate him. Harry prefers explicit confirmation, not ambiguous symbols. Sure enough, three dots appear immediately, indicating he's typing what you assume will be a slightly annoyed response.

Before he can send it, you sigh and begin the routine you’ve grudgingly incorporated into your daily life. First, you verify that your location sharing is active, which is easy enough, and you understand the logic behind it, given the enemies Harry has accumulated over the years. Next, you do a quick walk around the car, checking that it appears undisturbed.

The third rule is the one you’re most inconsistent about: checking beneath the vehicle for explosive devices. It had seemed absurdly paranoid when Harry first insisted on it, like something from a spy film rather than a precaution needed in real life. Most days, you give the undercarriage a cursory glance at best, sometimes skipping it entirely when you’re running late or the weather is bad.

Today, though, as you stand in the sweltering heat with sweat beginning to bead along your hairline, you decide to humor him properly. Maybe it's the way his text seemed more insistent than usual, or maybe it's just that the anniversary of your first meeting is approaching, making you more indulgent of his protective instincts.

"Fine, Harry," you mutter to yourself, crouching down to peer beneath the car with exaggerated thoroughness. "Let's check for the imaginary bomb that's definitely not—"

The words die in your throat as your eyes land on something that absolutely should not be there. A small device attached to the underside of the chassis, a red light blinking steadily in the shadows.

For a moment, you simply stare, your brain refusing to process what you see. Then panic surges through your system, heart rate spiking as you scramble backward, nearly falling in your haste to put distance between yourself and the car.

With shaking hands, you pull out your phone, hitting Harry's contact without conscious thought. He answers on the first ring.

"Angel?" His voice is alert, no trace of the casual tone from your texts just minutes ago.

"Harry," you gasp, your voice higher than normal, words tumbling out in a rush. "There's—under my car—there's a device with a blinking light. I swear to God, Harry, it looks like a bomb. I'm not joking. It's really there!"

There's a beat of silence on the other end of the line, and then, to your complete disbelief, Harry chuckles. It's a low, dark sound that makes you freeze in confusion.

"Well, well," he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "You finally decided to take me seriously, did you?"

"What?" you blink, confusion momentarily overriding your fear. "Harry, I'm not kidding around. There is literally a device attached to my car right now!"

"I know," he replies, sounding infuriatingly calm. "I put it there."

The words take a moment to register, and when they do, you feel a surge of emotions: relief, quickly followed by disbelief, and then indignation.

"You...what?" you splutter, straightening up from your crouched position. "You put a fake bomb under my car? What the actual fuck, Harry?"

"Yeah, and by the way," he continues, ignoring your outburst, "it's been there for two weeks, angel. Took you long enough to fucking notice."

You stand in the middle of the parking lot, mouth open in shock, as the implications sink in. Two weeks. The device has been attached to your car for two weeks, and you’ve been driving around completely oblivious, skipping the safety check Harry had insisted was non-negotiable.

"You..." you start, then stop, not even sure where to begin with your indignation. "You could have given me a heart attack! I thought I was about to be blown up!"

"Better scared than dead," Harry replies, his tone shifting to something harder, more serious. "If it had been real, your pretty little eyes would be scattered across the parking lot right now."

The graphic image makes your stomach turn, but before you can respond, he continues:

"Not that I actually rely on you to check properly. I'm not a fucking idiot."

"What's that supposed to mean?" you ask, still trying to process the fact that your boyfriend—the dangerous, powerful man you’ve been sharing a bed with for the past year—planted a fake explosive on your vehicle as some kind of test.

"It means," Harry says, his voice a mixture of amusement and exasperation, "that while you've been prancing around campus thinking safety protocols are optional, I've had Zayn checking your car daily. You think I'd leave your security up to someone who considers looking under a vehicle for two seconds 'good enough'?"

The revelation that one of Harry's most trusted men has been secretly monitoring your car every day should probably disturb you more than it does. Instead, you find yourself torn between lingering anger at the deception and a reluctant appreciation for the thoroughness of Harry's protection.

"So what was the point of this little exercise?" you demand, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. "Just to prove I'm not taking your rules seriously enough?"

"The point," Harry says, and you can picture him perfectly. He’s most likely lounging in his office chair, one hand holding the phone while the other fiddles with something on his desk, his expression that maddening combination of arrogant and concerned that you’ve come to recognize as his default when it comes to your safety, "was to make you understand that these precautions aren't arbitrary. They're the difference between you walking through the door to me tonight and me identifying your body at the morgue."

The bluntness of his statement hits you like a physical blow, making you shiver despite the heat.

"That's not fair," you protest, though with less conviction than before. "You can't just put fake bombs on people's cars to teach them lessons."

"I didn't put it on 'people's' cars," Harry corrects you. "I put it on yours. Because unlike most people, you're connected to me, which makes you a target."

There's a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice has that dangerous softness that never fails to make your pulse quicken. The tone he uses when he's deadly serious about something.

"I have enemies, angel. Men who would hurt you without hesitation to get to me. The rules aren't suggestions. They're what keep you breathing."

You sigh, your initial anger fading as the reality of his words sinks in. It's easy to forget sometimes, in the comfort of your domestic routine, just how dangerous Harry's world really is. Yes, you’ve seen glimpses of it, the meetings that end with bruised knuckles and terse phone calls, the nights he comes home with blood on his shirt that isn't his own, the way his men snap to attention when he enters a room. But most of the time, you’re sheltered from the worst of it, protected by Harry's influence and reputation.

"Okay," you finally concede. "I get it. I'll be more careful. But don't ever do something like this again without warning me, or I swear to God, Harry—"

"You'll what?" he interrupts, and you can hear the smile in his voice now. That dangerous curve of his lips that still makes your stomach flip after a year together. "Punish me?"

The suggestion sends an inappropriate heat through your body despite your lingering irritation.

"I'll think of something," you promise, trying to keep your voice stern even as a reluctant smile tugs at your own lips. "So, what now? Do I just...leave this fake bomb on my car?"

"Zayn's on his way to remove it," Harry informs you. "He should be there in about five minutes. And then you're coming straight home."

It's not a request, but you don't bother arguing. The adrenaline from your initial panic is wearing off, leaving you feeling drained and, if you're honest, a little shaken by how easily you could have been in real danger without ever knowing it.

"Fine," you agree. "I'll see you soon."

"Oh, and angel?" Harry adds before you can hang up. "When you get here, we're going to have a very thorough discussion about the importance of following security protocols. Preferably with you on your knees."

The crude implication sends another inappropriate wave of heat through your body, and you find yourself biting your lip to suppress a smile despite everything.

"You're impossible," you tell him, but there's no real heat in the accusation.

"I'm effective," he corrects you. "And now you'll check under your car properly, won't you?"

"Yes," you admit grudgingly. "I will."

"Good girl," Harry says, satisfaction evident in his voice. "See you soon."

As you end the call, you spot a black SUV pulling into the parking lot. It's Zayn arriving to remove the fake device from your car. You shake your head, still not entirely sure whether to be furious with Harry for his extreme methods or grateful for the protection he provides, even when you’re too stubborn to accept its necessity.

One thing is certain, though, you'll be checking under your car properly from now on, no matter how ridiculous it seems. Because while Harry's methods may be extreme, his concern is genuine. And in his dangerous world, sometimes the difference between life and death really is as simple as taking an extra thirty seconds to be thorough.

As Zayn approaches with a nod of greeting, his dark eyes sweep the area with professional vigilance, and you make a mental note to start paying more attention to all of Harry's security rules. Not just because you finally understand their importance, but because the alternative is living with whatever creative "lesson" he might dream up next. And while this one ended with nothing more than a scare and a bruised ego, you have a feeling Harry’s patience for repeated carelessness is far more limited than he lets on.

"He made his point, then?" Zayn asks as he crouches to remove the device, his tone dry, like he already knows exactly what this little exercise was about.

"Oh, he made it," you reply, watching as he efficiently detaches the fake bomb from beneath your car. "Loudly and clearly."

Zayn’s lips quirk in what might be the closest thing to a smile you’ve ever seen from him. "He worries," he says simply, like that explains and justifies everything: the lie, the scare, the constant surveillance.

And the thing is, as you wait for him to finish so you can head back to the penthouse where Harry is waiting, you realize it does explain it. Because in Harry’s world, worry doesn’t show up as gentle reminders or heart-to-hearts. It shows up in through precautions, in backup plans for backup plans, in men like Zayn checking your car every day without your knowledge.

It’s love, expressed in the only language Harry truly understands: protection, control, and the absolute refusal to lose what he considers his. It’s not conventional, and it’s certainly not always easy to live with, but as you slide into your now-cleared car and drive toward the man who planted a fake bomb just to teach you a lesson, you find yourself smiling despite it all.

Because while normal boyfriends show they care with flowers and chocolate, Harry Styles does it with security protocols and staged explosions. And somehow, in the twisted logic of your relationship, that makes perfect sense.

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

It's a little past midnight, the kind of autumn night where the air carries a crisp bite that hints at the coming winter. Your student apartment sits nestled in a row of similar buildings, most windows dark as their occupants sleep or study in the quiet hours.

Inside your modest second-floor apartment, you move around in the soft glow of a reading lamp, preparing for bed. Your hair is damp from a recent shower, hanging in loose waves down your back as you pad barefoot across the worn wooden floors. You’re dressed in sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt stolen from Harry's drawer. It’s a habit you've developed early in the relationship, claiming his shirts were more comfortable than any pajamas you owned.

The space feels emptier without Harry's commanding presence, though he'd only left a few hours ago, called away by a business matter he refused to elaborate on. At this point in your relationship, you know better than to ask for details. Some aspects of Harry's work remain firmly separated from your life, a boundary you’ve learned to respect even as other lines between you have blurred beyond recognition.

Checking your phone, you see a text from him sent twenty minutes ago: Done for the night. Everything locked up there?

You roll your eyes affectionately at the familiar question. 

Doors locked, alarm set, you type back, deliberately omitting any mention of the windows, particularly the one in your bedroom that you habitually leave unlocked despite Harry's repeated warnings. It's a small act of rebellion, one you justify with the logic that you live on the second floor, and no one is scaling the building to break in through your window.

Besides, you like the fresh air that circulates when you crack it open at night, especially now in the cooler months. Harry's paranoia about security is understandable given his lifestyle, but sometimes it feels excessive in the context of your ordinary student existence.

Your phone chimes with his response: Good. Get some sleep, angel. Early morning tomorrow.

You smile at the message, hearing it in his deep voice with that hint of command that never quite leaves his tone, even in the most mundane exchanges. Tomorrow you’re meant to drive out to meet Louis, one of Harry's associates who's opening a legitimate restaurant as a front for something you have deliberately not asked about.

Night x, you send back, then set your phone on the charger and move to the bathroom to finish your skincare routine.

Ten minutes later, you're sliding between the covers of your bed, the window cracked open just enough to let in a gentle breeze that stirs the curtains. The sound of occasional cars passing on the street below creates a soothing white noise as you reach for your book, intending to read a few pages before sleep.

Two chapters in, your eyelids begin to grow heavy, the day's activities catching up with you. Setting the book aside, you switch off the lamp and snuggle deeper into the covers, your breathing gradually slowing as you drift toward sleep.

You're in that hazy space between wakefulness and dreams when a subtle sound registers. A soft scraping from the direction of your window. Your eyes flutter open, squinting into the darkness as your sleep-fogged brain tries to identify the noise.

Probably just the wind, you think drowsily, about to close your eyes again when another sound comes, more distinct this time, the unmistakable creak of the window frame being pulled wider. Suddenly fully alert, Your heart leaps into your throat as adrenaline floods your system.

There's someone at your window.

Frozen in fear, you watch as a dark silhouette appears against the night sky, a large figure maneuvering with surprising grace through the opening. Your mind races wildly. The baseball bat you keep by your door is too far away and your phone is charging on the nightstand, out of immediate reach.

The intruder slips inside with practiced ease, landing on the floor with barely a sound. Tall and broad-shouldered, the figure straightens to its full height, casting a long shadow across your bedroom floor in the faint light filtering in from the street lamps outside.

Your fight-or-flight response kicks in, and you scramble to reach for your phone, a scream building in your throat only to have it die there as the intruder speaks in a low, familiar voice that sends a different kind of shiver down your spine.

"Doors locked, alarm set," Harry quotes your text back to you, his tone deceptively casual as he stands in the middle of your bedroom, having just climbed in through the very window you'd insisted was secure enough left unlocked. "But you forgot to mention the fucking windows, didn't you, angel?"

Relief courses through you, quickly followed by indignation as you fumble to switch on the bedside lamp. Light floods the room, revealing Harry in all his intimidating glory. He is dressed entirely in black, his hair slightly windswept, a dangerous glint in his eyes that suggests he's not at all pleased despite the calm delivery of his words.

"Jesus Christ, Harry!" you gasp, heart still hammering in your chest. "You nearly gave me a heart attack! What the hell are you doing?"

Harry doesn't immediately respond. Instead, he moves methodically around the room, checking the locks on your other windows and drawing the curtains closed before returning to stand at the foot of your bed. His expression is unreadable, but the tension in his jaw speaks volumes.

"Teaching you a lesson," he finally says, voice low and controlled in a way that raises goosebumps along your arms. "One you seem determined not to learn through conventional methods."

 You sit up straighter against your headboard, pulling the covers up as if they might offer some protection against the intensity of his stare.

"By breaking into my apartment in the middle of the night?" you demand, your initial fear giving way to anger. "That's completely insane, Harry! You could have just talked to me about the window again if it bothers you so much."

"Talk to you?" Harry repeats, a bitter laugh escaping him as he plants his hands on the foot of your bed, leaning forward. "We've had this conversation six times in the past month alone. Clearly, talking isn't effective."

He straightens up, crossing his arms over his chest as he fixes you with a hard stare.

"So tell me, angel. What would you have done if I'd been someone else? Someone who'd been watching you, learning your habits, waiting for the perfect opportunity?"

The question lands like a slap, forcing you to confront the reality of your vulnerability. You'd been so confident in your assessment that no one could or would climb up to your second-floor window, yet Harry had managed it with disturbing ease.

"That's different," you argue, though with less conviction than before. "You're...athletic. And you knew the window would be unlocked."

"You think my enemies are recruiting out-of-shape amateurs?" Harry counters, his voice taking on an edge of frustration. "The men who would come for you because of me are professionals. They'd make what I just did look like child's play."

He runs a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of agitation that betrays how deeply this concerns him.

"And yes, I knew your window would be unlocked because you're fucking predictable, angel. You say the same thing every time. 'It's fine, Harry, I'm on the second floor', as if height is some magical deterrent to someone determined enough."

He moves to sit on the edge of the bed, close enough that you can smell the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the cooler night air still clinging to his clothes. When he speaks again, his voice has dropped to that dangerous softness that never fails to make your stomach tighten.

"Do you have any idea what it would do to me if something happened to you because you were too stubborn to take basic precautions?" he asks, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the gentle gesture at odds with the intensity of his gaze. "The men I've hurt for far less significant offenses than harming you?"

The question doesn't require an answer. They both know what Harry is capable of when provoked. The violence that simmers beneath his controlled exterior, usually kept carefully leashed but devastating when unleashed.

"I'm sorry," you finally say, the genuine concern beneath his anger finally penetrating your defenses. "I didn't think it was that serious."

"That's the problem," Harry replies, his fingers trailing down to your neck, resting lightly over your pulse point. "You don't think about these things because you've never had to. I have."

His hand moves to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your lower lip in a caress that makes your breath catch despite the tension still lingering between them.

"I don't expect you to live in fear," he continues, his tone softening slightly. "But I do expect you to take reasonable precautions that might keep you alive if the worst happens."

You lean into his touch, the last of your indignation fading as you acknowledge the legitimate concern behind his extreme methods.

"Okay," you concede quietly. "I'll keep the windows locked from now on." A small smile tugs at your lips despite everything. "Though I have to say, your teaching methods are rather dramatic."

Harry's expression remains serious, though something in his eyes shifts at your attempt at lightness.

"Would you rather I'd send someone else to prove my point?" he asks, and there's no humor in the question. "One of my men could have climbed through just as easily."

The suggestion sends a chill through you, the image of a stranger entering your bedroom while you slept is far more terrifying than finding Harry there, even when he was angry.

"God, no," you answer honestly, shuddering at the thought.

"Then consider yourself lucky it was me," Harry says, his hand moving from your face to your throat, fingers wrapping loosely around it, not threatening, but a reminder of your vulnerability. "Next time, I might not be so merciful with my teaching methods."

There's a promise in those words that makes you swallow hard, uncertain whether the flutter in your stomach is fear or anticipation or some complex mixture of both. This is the duality of loving Harry Styles. The protection and the danger are so intricately intertwined that sometimes you can't distinguish between them.

"There won't be a next time," you assure him, reaching up to cover his hand with your own. "Message received, loud and clear."

Harry studies you for a long moment, as if assessing the sincerity of your words. Whatever he sees in your expression must satisfy him, because some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

"Good," he says simply, his thumb stroking the delicate skin of your neck. Then a different kind of darkness enters his eyes as his gaze drops to take in your sleep attire. Specifically, his shirt hanging off one shoulder, revealing more than it conceals. "Now that we've settled that issue, we need to address another matter."

"What's that?" you ask, your voice catching slightly as you recognize the shift in his demeanor. 

"The fact that you're wearing my clothes without permission," Harry says, his voice dropping to a lower register that never fails to send heat pooling low in your belly. "That's my favorite shirt."

The accusation is clearly a pretense, given how many of his shirts have migrated to your wardrobe over the months, but you decide to play along, grateful for the change in mood.

"Oh?" you reply innocently, shifting so that the shirt slips further off your shoulder. "I didn't realize. Should I take it off?"

Harry's eyes darken further, his hand tightening slightly around your throat.

"I think you should," he agrees, his voice a low growl that makes your shiver for entirely different reasons than fear. "Slowly."

As you reach for the hem of the borrowed shirt, the earlier tension of the night transforms into a different kind of intensity  that's become as familiar as breathing in your relationship. By morning, the lesson about window locks will have been reinforced in ways far more pleasurable than Harry's initial break-in, but no less effective in ensuring you remember.

And remember you will, because if there's one thing you have learned in your time with Harry Styles, it's that his protective instincts are not to be dismissed. Especially not if you want to avoid discovering what other creative "teaching methods" he might devise to keep you safe in his dangerous world.

When you wake the next morning to find every window in your apartment not just locked but reinforced with additional security measures installed while you slept, you don't protest. Instead, you simply send Harry a text: Message received. Windows locked. Lesson learned.

His response comes seconds later: Good girl. Let's keep it that way.

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

a/n: I mean…Harry's got a point. Safety protocols are not a joke but he was a bit extra hahah. Hope ya'll enjoyed

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated :)

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[exactlymaximumgarden]

schlatt with a celebrity s/o. maybe you're famous from acting, from music, streaming, modeling, literally whatever. either way, you're famous in your own right.

so imagine schlatt is doing a simple gaming stream, specifically another drunk truck simulator. he has media share turned on to entertain himself while on the road, and his viewers are submitting the usual stuff they know will make him laugh. however, one submission throws him for a loop.

it's a thirst edit of you.

schlatt has to stop a second and watch, ogling at the screen as the edit plays. "god damn," he softly mutters under his breath. meanwhile, his truck slowly starts drifting to the wrong side of the road, half of chat laughing at his reaction and the other half screaming at him to pay attention to the drive.

"who sent that in? who sent that? that is- ope." schlatt quickly veers back into the correct lane. "that is not funny. do not send me edits of my girlfriend while i am on the road, okay?" he can't help himself as he starts dissolving into laughter. however, his cheeks have very visibly heated up. "i am not a distracted driver, chat! i will not become one of those... those drunk crashers they warn you about."

this, of course, only enables chat further. more and more edits of you are flooded into the media share queue, and every single time, schlatt can't take his eyes off you. he tries to play it off by laughing, yelling "STOP!" at chat, but he secretly loves it. any opportunity to admire you is a welcome one. however, finally, he pauses his game and playfully scolds the viewers.

"guys, guys. look, i love looking at (y/n) as much as you do. i do. but i really need you guys to curtail it for tonight, alright? i'm gonna flip the fuckin' truck again if i keep takin' my eyes off the game."

he squints at chat as the responses come flooding in.

"someone said, 'you know you like it, sclit.' i know i do! you got me, man, i do! my girl might kill me if i set a bad example on the road, though. y'know how it is."

[norrisjpg]

a helping hand

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summary: in which, two best friends sharing an apartment finally get fed up of hearing the other's sexual endeavours - especially when one is struggling in that department.

content: fluff, softdom!lando, inability to orgasm, nsfw descriptions - mentions of sex toys & masturbation, oral sex, fingering, penetrative sex, protected sex, crying, squirting - aftercare

pairing: lando norris x fem!oc

rora's thoughts: hi hi hi! this is the first of my original fic rewrites so i hope you enjoy ittt! i'm also a little terrified for bahrain this weekend, because i physically need lando to stay in the lead of the drivers' championship to function correctly. that's all, enjoy!

════════════════════════

HE HAD been eyeing her up all evening, leaning against the bar with a whiskey in his hand, swilling it as he watched lily and her friends on the dancefloor.

lando had opted to stay at home, claiming he was tired from the previous weekend's race in belgium, but had equally insisted that lily still go out and have fun with her girls. but honestly, the way she'd looked when she left their apartment had forced him wide awake.

she wore a miniscule black dress, thin straps holding her cleavage up as the hem clung to her ass for dear life. the elastic on the sides grabbing onto her waist, making it look like she was cinched into some sort of corset. the tiny black heels she was wearing accentuated the beauty of her tanned legs, and the cute little bag she held with her on nights like these just finished off the look.

she was an angel in the devil's cloak.

"that guy at the bar," kika began as she leant over the counter, fixing her lipstick from the ten minutes she'd spent outside with pierre. "he's been staring at you all night, lily."

"i don't know, he's not really my type." the italian shrugged, sighing softly as she smoothed down her hair, a little wild from the humidity of the club.

"but he's a body," the portuguese girl continued. "and you said it, you've gotten a decent fuck in months - he looks like one to me."

"we'll see," lily replied, adjusting the strap of her dress and picking her bag up. "maybe i'll give it a go, i don't know."

kika hummed knowingly in response, before the two girls re-emerged from the bright bathroom and back into the dark lights of the club.

the model didn't even have to try, because within an hour, she and the mystery man - who's name she had now learned was elliot - were outside of her apartment, lily fumbling with her keys to try and get in.

"you must be really-" lando said groggily as he opened the door, having heard the failed attempts of unlocking the door, eyes widening as his eyes fell on the taller man. "drunk."

"thanks lan." she giggled softly, patting his shoulder before grabbing elliot's hand and walking him through the flat and to her bedroom.

lando's gaze followed her as she lead the man away, and elliot didn't fail to notice, and he smirked at the british driver smugly, raising his eyebrows cockily.

well, it was going to be a long night for lando.

• • • •

A LONG NIGHT was an astronomical understatement, because elliot left thirty minutes later, and lando knew something was up.

they were adults, of course, so lily had heard lando and (sometimes multiple) other girls, and lando had heard lily with other men too - so this wasn't anything out of the ordinary for them. and the driver liked to think that he knew the difference between a real orgasm, and a fake one - not that he had ever had a girl experience the latter of the two with him anyway - and he was positive the noises he had just heard were that of a fake climax.

he’d actually only ever heard her really cum once - when he had quietly re-entered the apartment after forgetting his car keys on the kitchen side. her moans had echoed through the apartment, as did a faint buzzing sound. he'd only left a minute or so earlier, so she must have been desperate for a release before, or extremely turned on.

either way, lando had then been extremely turned on too, dick springing up in his loose joggers as the dirty image of her flooded his mind - legs spread wide, pussy glistening as she sunk two fingers deep inside of her, circling her clit with whatever small helper she had invested in.

it was a filthy thought, but he could have just burst in there, and gone feral.

god, he just wanted her on his lap, all wet and pretty, and he would sink himself nice and deep. he'd split her in half, make her forget her own name, make her only remember how he felt and how good she felt.

but he left their apartment, rock hard and panicking, praying no one would see him on the way back down to his mclaren - where he'd tried to get himself in check, but failed - so therefore turned to wrapping his hand around his thick member, tip leaking salty pre-cum, and having to relieve himself there and then.

lando had vowed never to stoop to that level again, but well, here he was, on the border of doing it again as his cock twitched in his boxers, half-hard at the moans that had been tumbling from her lips - albeit fake, she still sounded so hot.

clinging onto the little self-control he had left, he peeled himself from his sheets, and got into the shower, rotating the dial to the coldest setting.

meanwhile, lily was in her bedroom, frustrated and pissed off that she still hadn't orgasmed in around three months. deep in thought as to what she could do about her issue, when she heard the familiar splatter of water on the tiles - why on earth was lando having a cold shower at almost one in the morning?

oh.

oh.

• • • •

LANDO WAS so tired of hearing it, her soft moans resonating through their sleek apartment, all for nothing to amount of the whole experience - if anything he was having a better time than she was at this point.

"yeah, um... bye." lily bidded elliot goodbye, gently closing the door in front of her as he left her apartment with a quick kiss to her lips.

"frequent visitor, that one is." the driver had piped up from the kitchen, leaning back against the countertop in the morning light. "anything serious?"

he knew the answer to that question, they both knew it. "not really, he's okay in bed i guess."

"okay?" lando furrowed his eyebrows with a slight, almost innocent tilt of his head. "why isn't he great? you sound like you think he's great."

lily's eyes softly widened and the prettiest of pink blushes spread across her features, clearly flustered by lando's bold assumption.

she fumbled over her words briefly, before speaking quietly. "he um... he hasn't made me... you know."

"what?" he pressed, moving off the counter and stepping toward her. "he isn't making you what, lily?"

"he isn't making me cum." the girl whispered, avoiding eye contact in fear of the earth swallowing her up from sheer embarrassment. "and neither can i."

"oh pretty baby," lando cooed, one hand sliding to her throat, tilting her chin up so she'd actually look at him. "no one's making you feel good, are they?"

lily shook her head, catching her lower lip between her teeth gently.

"do you want me to help you?" he whispered lowly, thumb pushing on her chin so her lip came free.

"you'd do that?" her mouth parted a little, soft breaths leaving her.

"anything for you."

• • • •

THE ROOM was so hot, the scent of desire gathering as lando pinned her against his bedroom wall, lips desperately on her own.

she was pathetic, grabbing at him needily as his hands caged her waist to the wall, hungrily claiming her mouth. little breathless noises left her lips every few seconds, small hands tugging at the t-shirt that was tossed across the room only moments later.

as the fabric interrupted their intense make out, lando took the time to admire the look in her eyes, blown pupils and her irises gazing into his own for any sign of doubt - but it was a fruitless search.

soon enough, lily was wrapped around his waist, legs squeezing the muscles as he nipped at her lower lip, before sliding his tongue into her mouth with hardly any warning.

"lan," she moaned into his lips, pulling at the soft curls of his freshly-washed mullet.

"i know, baby, i know." he murmured against his lips. "gotta be patient, okay?"

the girl pulled away, "want you to fuck me already, please lando."

"lily," he groaned. "you can't say stuff like that, drives me mad."

she was about to speak again, but he continued. "gonna have to stretch you out a bit first, yeah? so it doesn't hurt."

"whatever you want." she hummed, pressing her lips to his again as he walked over to his bed, placing her down.

in a minute or so, lily was almost completely naked, clothes strewn across the bedroom like they were in a movie scene or something along those lines. all that was left, was her pretty lace underwear, soaked with slick, which was seeping onto her inner thighs.

on her back, with lando hovering over her, lily had her hands back in lando's brunette hair, scratching her fingers over his scalp and left a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses to her skin, all the way from her collarbone, down the valley of her breasts, and to her lower abdomen.

his teeth sunk into the lace, eyes flicking upward to meet her own as he slowly dragged her panties down her thighs and to her ankles - she didn't think she'd ever witnessed something so hot.

"fuck," he breathed out, completely mesmerised by the glistening mess between her legs. "gotta taste you first, let me, yeah?"

she whined out a desperate 'yes', and that was it.

her legs were pinned up over her tummy with one of his arms, and his mouth was on her instantly. his lips lapped at her folds, before he slowly pushed his tongue in between them, all while his thumb toyed at her weeping entrance, threatening to push in but never quite breaching the soft flesh.

she was writhing, wriggling underneath him as soon as his lips wrapped around her clit. he sucked at it, swirling his tongue quickly in an effort to make her cum as intensely as she could - he was so desperate to be inside of her, but at the same time, he could spend hours in between her thighs and never get bored.

"lando—" lily gasped out, fingers finding home in his curls again. "fuck, right there— so fucking good."

she was about to praise him again, tell him how good he was doing and how good he was making her feel - when his thick middle finger pushed past her tight entrance and inside of her. he didn't both pumping it in and out, rather curling it to tap her g-spot with some force - a pornographic moan tumbling from her as her back arched up.

a second finger was quickly crammed inside of her tight hole, scissoring apart as he kept up the ministrations of sucking and licking at her clit, speed increasing with the volume of her moans.

"gonna cum—" she moaned, head tossed back against the pillow. "yes, lan, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

red hot colours flashed through her mind, like warning lights in a factory blaring inside of her brain. her velvety walls clenched around his digits, thighs squeezing around his head as she came, crying out while her legs started to shake. lily's eyes rolled back into her head, hands pulling at his hair a little harder, before relaxing completely, letting the warm waves of pleasure wash over her.

lando kitten-licked her through her orgasm, her hips bucking away from the warmth of his tongue as she became increasingly sensitive.

“you okay, darling?” the driver asked gently, letting her legs lie flat on the bed as he moved up to hover over her.

“that was— you are incredible.” she managed to muster, leaning up to peck his lips gently.

he chuckled softly, kissing her back affectionately, before sitting back on his knees and pulling his boxers off.

“think you can take one more for me, baby?”

a soft hum left her lips, legs subconsciously spreading wider for him. lando shifted to his bedside cabinet, quickly pulling out a condom and rolling it over his aching member.

“words, come on.” he prompted, grabbing his dick and running it through her folds.

“please fuck me.” lily practically begged, blinking at him.

“c’mere then,” he sat down next to her, his erection pressing against his abdomen as she shakily got up. “gonna sit on it, aren’t you, baby?”

the girl nodded, placing her hands on his shoulders as she swung her leg over his lap, the tip of his cock notching against her entrance and she settled on her knees over him.

“go on, fuck me, pretty.” he said lowly, nodding his head as the tip pressed into her.

lily’s breath hitched at the thickness of just the tip stretched her walls gently, the intensity of it increasing every time she relaxed her muscles to sink down on him. the head nestled comfortably against her cervix, crammed against her g-spot at the same time.

“shit,” lando groaned out in unison with her, tilting his head back against the headboard as she bottomed out.

even through the condom, she could feel every inch of him, every vein and ridge twitching inside of her as she got used to the feeling of her best friend’s bigger-than-average cock.

“good girl,” he praised, nodding his head and squeezing her hips. “so fucking tight.”

tears of fullness and pleasure welled in her eyes, threatening to spill as she slowly began to raise off of him a little, before going back down to meet warm embrace of his thighs.

“that’s it, just like that.” he encouraged, a groan bubbling in his throat behind his words. “that’s my girl.”

lando’s hands shifted down to her hips, helping her raise up and slide down - but soon enough she was in her own rhythm, bouncing up and down his cock deeply.

his gaze flitted south, attention captured by the small reappearing and disappearing bump of her lower tummy - and he whimpered.

“fuck, look at how deep i am, baby.” he groaned, tracing his fingers over it as she rode him. “taking me so well, such a good girl.”

the praise made her spiral, movements speeding up and the tears in her eyes spilling. lily leant in, pressing her lips to his as salty streams of water trickled down her cheeks.

her legs started to shake, body almost collapsing on top of his, sweaty and spent - but he helped her out, lifting her off and slamming her back down quickly.

lando was so close, determined to make her see stars before he even thought about finishing, so he leant back a little bit, thrusting up into her, slow and hard - slamming against her g-spot in a delicious rhythm.

their kiss deepened as he spread her open a little wider, so he could slip his fingers in between her legs and rub tight circles over her clit, and that was it.

the second her orgasm washed over her, everything was warm, and wet, and everywhere. a scream ripped through her as her pussy gushed all over him, coating his thighs and abdomen, as his eyes widened at the beautiful sight before him.

“shit, shit, shit— gonna cum—” lando groaned as she clenched so hard around him it felt as if he was stuck. “fuck, lily—”

hot ropes of sticky cum spilled into the condom, the warmth of the substance against the silicone making her hips buck up and away from the sensation, overly sensitive after the entire ordeal.

she had practically gone none-verbal, head buried into the crook of his neck from both pleasure, and embarrassment that she had just squirted all over her best friend the first time they’d had sex — she was mortified, because no one had ever made her do that before.

“you okay, darling?” lando asked gently, letting himself soften inside of her as she sat there, panting lowly.

“mhmmm,” she hummed quietly, “sorry.”

the brit furrowed his eyebrows, gently tugging on her hair so she’d look up at him - “sorry for what?”

“i.. you know, doing that.” lily gestured, looking down at the splatters on his abs and thighs.

“don’t apologise, baby, that was so fucking hot.” he reassured her, smoothing a hand over her lower back.

a blush spread across her cheeks and she pecked his lips - “thankyou, for um… helping me out.”

“you’re so welcome, but i should be thanking you.” lando smiled, kissing her back gently, mumbling against her lips. “fucking incredible.”

she giggled softly, before slowly raising her hips upward, letting him gently slip out of her. lily winced, feeling quite on the sore side and very empty now that he wasn’t stuffed balls-deep inside of her.

the way he was looking at her made her nervous, so much unspoken affection between the pair, so many things he wanted to do, but knew he couldn’t do when she was in this state - all blissed out and puffy.

“if you wanna go, i understand.” lily nodded, speaking quietly and looking away from him.

“do you want me to go?”

“if you want to leave—”

“—lily, do you want me to go?”

“…no.”

that settled it, lando smiled and kissed her gently, affectionately.

“okay, come on, let’s get you cleaned up, darling.”

• • • •

LATER IN THE MORNING, the two were entangled in each other’s embrace - lily on top of lando as his arms wrapped around her torso - both peacefully asleep.

lily was the first to awake, lando being anything if not dead to the world. she was in one of his shirts, and his hands were splayed across her ass, acting as a cover up alongside the white lace underwear lando had helped her put on an hour or so ago.

“lando,” she whispered softly, pressing gentle kisses to his neck, eliciting a quiet grumble from him. “wake up, lan.”

thud!

it wasn’t even the noise that awoke lando, it was the pillow to the tummy he received after.

in his sleepy haze, lando had rolled over and shoved whatever was trying to wake him up away, resulting in lily falling off of the bed onto the floor.

“you are a prick, you know that right?” she huffed, stood over him with her hands on her hips.

lando blinked, brain not quiet registering the words coming from her mouth, but recognising how delicious she looked in his quadrant jersey and nothing but underwear.

within moments, she was back where she belonged, on his lap with her hands in his hair, mouth moulded to his. his fingers squeezed her waist gently, the kiss staying delicate and gentle between the two.

“definitely not a one time thing, by the way.” he mumbled, eliciting a soft laugh from her.

“definitely not.”

• • • •

i do not give permission for my works to be re-written, re-published, or published on any other platform.

© norrisjpg 2025