#thanks for indulging

[yallstar]

more art for the last chapter of differential burdens in displacement! i couldn't resist the siren call of viktor teasing jayce at the end~

[deepspacenova]

STARTING CALEB'S TRAILER WITH A BACK VIEW AND HIM MOANING WAS SUCH A POWER MOVE

[oddthesungod]

Another Leyendecker study with Emmrich, and this time Lucanis gets to join him! <3

[newttxt]

my may fanart for fanfic is from

morning dew by zhelaniye

i loved the writing style from the very first paragraph, and the balance of hope and melancholy that they give law is perfect to me!! plus its cute to see the crew watch law fall hard

[seagiri]

forgive me senshi.

[bi-writes]

who to call to clean up after an "accident" than your sick and twisted military boyfriend? :D (dark!ghost x dark!fem!reader, 18+)

cw: dark!reader, dark!simon, horror movie vibes, graphic depictions of character death/murder, unhealthy relationship dynamics, one slip of daddy, smut, unprotected piv, simon "spit in my mouth" riley, reader and simon are kinda psycho :D

you've been so nice to her. really nice. you've let it slide off your back whenever she doesn't do her dishes. you pretend you don't notice when she borrows your shoes from the hallway and wears them out to dinner. you hide yourself in your room when she has her awful, loud guests over, and you have never once said anything about how she takes her sweet time in the shared bathroom in the morning and makes you late 2 days a week for work.

but this? this?

she needs to keep simon's name out of her fucking mouth.

"excuse me?" you say finally. your roommate is shrugging on her jacket to leave, her purse in her hand as she types on her phone, using it as a way to not make eye-contact with you. her long nails are tapping against the screen, and it feels like fucking drip water torture. "what the fuck did you just say?"

she sighs, irritated, rolling her eyes as she keeps tapping away at the screen.

"you're so dramatic, it was just a fucking joke."

"you know, i let a lot of things slide," you laugh, humorlessly, and you cross your arms over your chest as you follow her into the kitchen. "but you need to be careful what you say."

"i don't do anything except call it like i see it," she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and looking at herself in the reflection of the mirror hanging on the wall. "you need to just...go out more. man like that isn't gonna stay for long if you don't give him something to go for. he's bored, you know. when you have him over here all the time. and i've totally caught him peeking at me after i shower, y'know."

"well why the fuck are you wearing nothing but a towel when my boyfriend is here, anyways?" you snap. "he's trying to be polite, he's a guest. what if i wore a fucking towel when you had your guy friends over?"

she laughs, poking at the edge of her lip to fix the gloss of her pout. "trust me, honey, no one's looking at you in a towel."

you step back, a little shocked. she rolls her eyes again, sighing.

"i didn't--"

"are you kidding me?" you retort. "you're the worst fucking roommate in the world, and i put up with all your bullshit, and now you're going to go so low as to insult the way i look just to make yourself feel better?" you make your way around the kitchen island. "you don't wash your fucking dishes, you steal my fucking clothes, you're always late on your rent so i have to spot you--"

"you know what, just because i'm fucking happy, and you're not, doesn't mean you have to take it out on me!"

"i am happy, you sorry bitch!" you cry. "i'm so fucking happy, you're the only thing in my life making me constantly miserable!"

"oh, shove it up your ass, you ungrateful little shit!" she snaps. "you're just so fucking insecure and hate me so badly just because simon would rather fuck a girl like me than have to spend another minute with--"

the crack of cast iron against her head shuts her up. it dents the side of her head easily, and her face smacks against the countertop before she crumples to the floor.

it's so fast. one minute, she's yapping, high-pitched voice straining your ears. the next, she's silent.

and she won't say simon's fucking name again.

you watch with bated breath as she folds into herself, her head hitting the hardwood last, a slow puddle of blood beginning to grow under the tendrils of her hair as your eyes move to the heavy pan you're still holding in your hands.

fuck, that's a lot of blood. god, you thought she was just full of fucking air.

you drop the pan once the rush of anger leaves your chest. it thunks onto the ground, and your hands shake as you see the specks of blood that are on the back of your hands, sprinkled over the shirt you wear. it stains your bare legs, even your toes, and you don't even want to look at the spray of it along the counters.

you should be crying, you think. you should feel bad. you're trembling a little, but you think it's just the adrenaline beginning to fade and not the guilt you know is supposed to be racking your insides.

you turn your eyes back to her. her eyes are dull. she doesn't move. it's so quiet now, utterly silent, and you take a deep breath as you take in the silence that you've craved for a long while now. you make your way quietly out of the kitchen, stepping over her body before going for your phone that sits on the coffee table in front of the couch.

you keep your eyes on her as you put your phone to your ear. it rings, and you tilt your head to the side as the blood begins to spiderweb under the kitchen table.

"'ello?"

you blink, looking towards the door. you clutch your phone a little tighter to your ear.

"simon?" you say softly. "a-are...are you busy?"

he hums lowly, chuckling, "no' at the moment, swee'eart, why?" he asks. "mmm...missed y'r voice..." you close your eyes as you hear the buckle of his belt. you try not to picture your giant of a boyfriend leaning back on his worn couch and shoving his jeans low enough to fuck his fist. "tolk t'me, luv...tell me 'ow much ya miss daddy."

you clear your throat gently, willing yourself to ignore the soft squelch of what you know is his hand around his cock, to not let it distract you from what's more important. "uhm...i liked the flowers you gave me, simon. t-they were beautiful."

the sounds on the other end of the phone quiet. you hear shuffling, and then a few moments later, the clink of his car keys.

"tha' right, baby?" he asks, and you close your eyes as you hear the front door of his flat opening. he's already on the way, already coming.

"yeah," you sniffle. "really nice sunflowers."

a yellow flower. he huffs on the other end of the phone, breathing a little easier.

"good girl," he murmurs, and then the line cuts. you set the phone down, making your way back to the kitchen and taking a seat at the table. you watch as the blood continues to curl over the floor. you make no attempt to help her; you just swing your feet under you as you look at her spoiled outfit, just grateful she isn't wearing your shoes or one of your jackets. you would hate to have to throw something out that she got all dirty.

there's a curt knock at the door ten minutes later, and then it opens. simon shuts the door behind him, cracking his neck by moving it from side to side before narrowing his eyes at you. you bite your lip, blinking, forgetting suddenly why he is here when he looks so fucking good. he's got a sweatshirt on under his windbreaker, worn jeans tucked into his boots; you like these jeans, his ass looks incredible in them.

"wot happened?" he asks. you stand, remembering your place. your lip starts trembling, and simon's eyes soften just a little. he's wearing his balaclava, hood up over his head and jacket zipped up, shadowing any true expression on his face. his gait sounds heavy as he lets his hands out of his pockets, coming towards you. when he steps into the kitchen, his eyes dart towards your roommate who's still on the floor, laid out unnaturally just by the oven.

he lets out a low breath, clicking his tongue under the mask. you hold your breath as you wait for his reaction.

"bloody hell," simon mutters, reaching up and throwing his hood off. you wring your hands together nervously, your eyes beginning to sting with tears. you brace for the accusations, for the inevitable terror of facing the music. simon is military, for fuck's sake, why the fuck did you think turning to him would be a good idea?

"i...i-i--" you start, looking up at him, and he holds up a hand, taking the side of your face into his palm before smoothing a gloved thumb over your bottom lip. you blink in confusion, not understanding.

"'s olright, baby," he shushes you, shaking his head. "don't cry."

"simon, i--" you sputter a little, gripping his wrist gently. "i just--i couldn't do it anymore, she just--"

he pities you. maybe you can explain. maybe if you tell him a warped story of what happened, he can help you. he must know someone. he must have important friends, he must--

he uses his free hand to move his mask up over his nose, and you lean into him when he bends, kissing you warmly. your eyes flutter shut, and you shuffle closer as he kisses you sloppy, kisses you hot. you mewl as he slips his tongue into your mouth, licking over your teeth and humming low as he pulls away. his eyes are flashing.

mmm. love.

"hmm..." simon licks his lips, smiling a little. he looks over you, almost pensive, his eyes scanning over your face before he settles back on your eyes. it's tender, the way he looks at you. romantic. "let's get this off of ya."

he reaches for the large shirt you are wearing, pulling it up and over your head. he crumples it into a ball before tossing it on top of your roommate, nodding his head behind you.

it's then that you realize simon isn't going to do the noble thing. he isn't going to call the police. he isn't going to turn you in, make you explain, he seems uninterested in knowing what really happened. no, he already knows what happened. but that's not important.

his pretty, perfect girl got into a little trouble. and he's going to make this go away.

"go on, luv. take a nice shower, yeah?" simon turns you around and pushes on your back gently. you suck in a shaky breath when he fondles your ass, pulling on your panties gently. "mmm...take these off, too."

you slip your panties down your legs, handing them to him.

"they have blood on them, too?" you ask, wiping your face, and he chuckles lowly.

"nah," he shrugs, stuffing them into his back pocket after taking a little sniff. "these are just for me."

jesus fucking christ, there's really something wrong with him. there's something really, really wrong with him.

and something wrong with me.

simon looks you up and down, his eyes catching on your naked body for just a few moments before he nods his head again.

"go on," he tells you. "before i get distracted." you pause for a moment, tilting your head back a little as he reaches out and cups one of your breasts in his big hand. you bite your lip, swallowing back a heavy breath as he flicks his thumb over your nipple gently. "greatest tits 've ever seen," he mumbles, scrunching his nose under the mask before he lets you go. "yeah, go on, baby." it takes everything in you to walk away when you see him reach down with that same hand and grip his bulge through his jeans, adjusting himself as he turns back to the mess in the kitchen.

when you shut the bathroom door behind you, you hear shuffling in the living room. the coffee table scraping. the couch being pushed. the rustle of the rug you have there. he grunts a little, and you hear his boots track from the kitchen back to the living room.

you turn the water on hot. you decide to take a bath, not looking at yourself in the mirror as you sink into the tub and plug the drain. you make the water scalding, and it soothes your sore muscles as you rest your cheek against the edge of the tub and stare at the door.

you're not sure how long you stay there. long enough for the water to nearly slosh over the edge of the tub and for simon to swing the bathroom door open, seemingly done with his...tasks.

he's taken his sweatshirt off. just a black t-shirt tucked into jeans, and there's a slight pant to his breaths that tell you he's exerted some energy. you notice he has his gloves still on, but before he touches you, he takes them off and tosses them into the sink.

"move over," simon mutters, starting to undress. you look up at him as he undoes the button on his pants, shucking his shirt off and into the corner before dropping his jeans. the water swishes as you sit up, and you swallow hard when simon kicks his boots and pants off, his cock hanging heavy as his mask is the last to hit the floor.

fuck, he's so pretty.

he has no regard for his size. he simply steps into the tub behind you, taking a seat. he looks comically large in your small bathtub, and you squeak a little as the water spills over the edge of the bath and wets the floor. he hums as he feels the hot water on his back. you don't say anything as his hands start to turn the water a little red. you just look up, away, at him.

you shuffle between his legs, tucking yourself into his space. you can't help but look him up and down, admiring his naked physique. he's just hot. big arms, thick thighs, sunburnt tattoos and scars cutting across his face. he hasn't shaved today, so there's some stubble along his jaw, but your eyes focus a little too much on his girthy length, heavy as it sits on his stomach and leaks a little there. his fat stomach, all solid and pudgy, such a nice place for you to rest your hands.

"you did good today," simon says finally. you look at him, and he tilts his head to the side. his approval makes your chest warm. "callin' me like tha'. wot a good girl you are."

keeping quiet on the phone is what he doesn't add out loud.

you purse your lips, trying not to keen at the praise, but it's hard not to when he reaches over and slides his hand over your shoulder, thumbing at your jaw.

"i-i didn't...didn't know what to do," you admit, and he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. you didn't know what to do, so you called him. level-headed enough to not do something rash and call someone else, no, you called him.

"mmm...tha's wot i'm 'ere for, luv," simon soothes you. "made such a little mess..."

you close your eyes. it's sick. deranged. fuck, it feels nice.

why don't i feel anything?

"i know. i'm sorry."

"nothin' ta be sorry about."

you slump into his arms, resting your cheek on his solid chest. you can feel his cock pulsing against your tummy, and you adjust yourself in the water, straddling him as you rest your chin on his pecs and look up at him through watery eyes.

you aren't sad. no. not sad at all. simon has shown you what he will do for the you. the lengths he will go. what he'll forgive just to take care of you. he's so capable, so understanding.

sick. twisted. mine.

"then i'll just say thank you," you mumble, grinding your hips slowly. simon hums, a wicked smile coming over his scarred face. he licks over his bottom lip, big hands gripping you by the fat of your hips as you grip the edges of the tub for stability. "say thank you to my big, strong man for taking such good care of me..."

he chuckles, his eyes lowering, watching your tits sway as you fit your pussy over his length and grind down on him.

"tha' so, baby?"

you nod.

"mhm," you whine. "how can i thank you, my big boy? how can i show you how grateful i am for cleaning up after me, hmm?" you bend at the waist, kissing him wet and warm, and he hisses as you suck his tongue into your mouth. he tastes like cigarettes, and normally you would curse him for it, but right now it tastes so much like him, and you lick around his teeth trying to taste more of that sweet nicotine.

"fuck--such a naughty little girl..." he snickers, reaching down. you sigh when he slides his big palms over your ass, forcing you to grind slower, the tip of his cock sliding through your folds leisurely. you grip the edges of the tub tighter, pressing down to give you more leverage to grind down harder. "make such a mess, oll the time..." you gasp when he presses into you just enough, the tip breaching your entrance and forcing you to squeeze around him, your cunt trying to suck him in. "olways needin' me ta pick up afta ya..."

you giggle, sliding your hands up his chest, gripping his shoulders for leverage as you sink down onto him. he grits his teeth as you do, his eyes focused on the way his cock disappears inch by inch until you're seated down in his lap, his length kissing deep and twitching excitedly. he always feels like a teenager again whenever you fuck--like you're the first pretty girl to ever wet his cock.

you cup his cheeks finally, smoothing your thumbs under his eyes as you bring his gaze up to meet yours. you swallow hard, looking down at him.

"i-i love you, simon," you breathe. he stills underneath you, his jaw clenching as he frowns just a little. you come a little closer, nuzzling your nose against his, your thumb falling to trace the outline of his torn lip. "i should've said it a long time ago...i-i..."

"heart's beatin' out y'r chest, luv," he mutters lowly. "'s olright...'m not goin' anywhere."

it's so disgusting. you should be fucking ill. you should be scrambling to the toilet, your breakfast halfway up your throat. you should be crying, emotional, begging simon to tell the cops that it was all your fault, because it is. he should've come here and made you do the level-headed thing and confess your terrible crime.

he shouldn't be here, sitting underneath you in your tub, cock-deep inside of you after helping you commit murder and then fucking clean it all up.

"what did i do?" you gasp, sitting up. you move to get out of the tub, but simon growls, putting two firm hands on your ass and shoving you back down on his cock, making you cry. "w-what did i do? s-simon, why don't i feel bad, why am i not sorry--?!"

simon tsks, feigning comfort. he juts his bottom lip out into a pout, mocking your little cries.

"oh, luvvie, don't start cryin' now," he chuckles. "don't start pretending like y'care."

uhm...

"simon--"

"no one likes a liar."

you're still trying to pretend, and he knows this. you're still trying to act how someone normally would react. someone normal, someone who thinks rationally, would never have picked up the pan in the first place. and even if they had, they would've scrambled, cried, picked up the phone and confessed, called an ambulance as they tried to get her to start breathing again, put both hands on her chest and tried to get her wake up.

but you didn't. you watched, unnervingly calm, as she stained the hardwood with her blood. you watched as her eyes glassed over, lifeless, and you watched as her insides began to paint the floor in abstract shapes as you gave it time to spread. and not once during that time, or waiting for simon, did you think to help her.

you didn't want to help her. and you certainly didn't think she deserved to get back up. maybe she hadn't done anything quite harsh enough to deserve death in someone else's eyes. annoying, overbearing, rude.

but it's hard to feel bad when she talked about simon. when she called him by his name. when you've seen her let her towel slip when he's in her vicinity, trying to coax him into her room when you're looking away.

you should've taken one of the throwing knives that simon hides in his boot and thrown it at her then, just for that.

"we're cut from the same bloody cloth, baby," simon says, almost accusingly. you grip the edges of the tub, trying to stand again, but he cants his hips and fucks up into you, drawing a frenzied moan out of you. you reach for his shoulders as he does it again, his tongue darting out before he licks a fat stripe over your pebbled nipple. "'s olright. 's okay, luv. don't worry. don't hafta get y'r hands dirty, swee'eart, i've got it."

"but simon," you whine, but all he does is shake his head. you don't have to put on this morality act for him. you don't have to pretend that you are sorry for something that you had every right to do, you don't have to explain to him why you aren't feeling the way you should be feeling.

simon doesn't care about how you should feel. he only cares about how you actually feel.

"she was in y'r way," simon grunts. "always bein' a bloody brat." he fists your hair and brings your mouth to his, groaning as you tighten around his cock. "'ow many times did she fuck ya over, baby, hmm? 'ow many times did she steal y'r fuckin' things, come outta the loo wearin' nothin' but her fuckin' knickers, yeah? 'ow many times?"

you kiss him, frantic, digging your nails into his pecs and dragging them angrily.

yeah. fuck her. fuck what she did to me, fuck the way she behaved, fuck her stupid face and her stupid attitude and her stupid little games.

"called ya names..." he's hitting your sweet spot now, making you cry from pleasure. your pussy feels so hot, squeezing him because you know he's right, and the way he fucks this time makes you think he really knows what you are and knows exactly how to get you there. "wot a fuckin' twat. deserved every bit o' it, baby."

you meet his eyes, dark and cruel. he's still moving, still holding onto your hips and drawing out little whines, but it's different suddenly, it's more. you nod, understanding.

simon is terrible. no good. his head isn't in the right place, maybe it never has been. you wonder, briefly, if this is what he does when he's at work, if these are the things that he's used to. maybe simon has been in service too long--maybe he doesn't understand that you aren't at war here, that you can't just kill and clean up, that you aren't in the field.

"she deserved it," you whimper, and he grins, all teeth, all mean.

"tha's it."

"she was such a bitch."

"fuckin' right."

"she got what was coming for her."

"nnghhh--fuck, baby, gonna make me fuckin' cum, tolkin' like tha'," he hisses. you practically smack him as you grab onto his scarred face, gritting your teeth as you glare down at him. his lips part, and you spit in his mouth as he fucks up into you, thighs hitting your ass with a wet smack that makes your head spin.

"and i'll get rid of the next bitch that so much as looks your way, simon."

the kiss is searing. hot, blinding, white noise fills your ears as he cums with you, stuffing you full as he cums hard, a pained groan leaving him as he collapses against the porcelain tub with a harsh thud. you follow him, chasing after him, kissing him between heavy breaths as you don't make any effort to move off of him. when simon opens his eyes, he can't help but smile.

he's never seen his reflection without a mirror.

[plagalkey]

late night takeout (street racing au)

[snarkspawn]

My part of the Leyendecker art collab with the wonderful @doraingrid ✨ after apparently sharing a brain cell and posting the same Lucanis Leyendecker study around the same time before, we decided to do it again but this time oN PURPOSE!! lmao

Check out her version too here 💜

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Who is this sassy lost child?

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[lover-of-mine]

Call: *involves kids* Eddie: I do what I want

Bonus:

[piastriprincess]

diamond  bright  ,  kiss  me  right ⸻  lando  norris  x  reader  .

featuring  lando  norris  ,  new(ish) relationship , love  confession  ,  reader  is  dramatic  as  hell  but  we  love  her word  count  1.8k author’s  note  requested  by  anon  !  i  have  basically  thought  about  nothing  but  law  school  for  the  past  two  days  but  i  was  missing  being  creative  and  wanted  to  give  you  all  something  fun  .  as  a  number  one  lando  defender  i  LOVED  writing  this  .  i  firmly  believe  he’s  a  little  bit  of  a  simp  when  he  really  likes  someone  …  very  precious  TO  ME  !  as  always  come  tell  me  what  you  think  or  send  me  a  request  !  okay  now  back  to  my  finals  studying  cave  .  love  you  all  <3  title  is  from  claws  by  charli  xcx  !

It was never supposed to be serious. 

You knew Lando Norris. The party-boy reputation, the DJ sets, a different girl at every circuit. When he sidled up to you at a bar in Monaco with that charming grin on his face, those blue-green eyes sparkling like the Mediterranean behind him, you didn’t expect much. An evening of harmless flirting, maybe. He’d buy you drinks. You might go home with him, if he wasn’t unbearably cocky. (You had a feeling he might be.) He was a player — you’d written him off in your mind before he even opened his mouth.

Turns out, you didn’t know Lando Norris at all. 

You didn’t know he would talk to you that entire night, looking ridiculously pleased every time he made you laugh, like he’d won a prize he hadn’t dared to hope for and couldn’t believe his luck. You didn’t know he would walk you home, and instead of asking to be invited up, asking if he could take you to dinner, hands stuck in his pockets so you couldn’t see the way they trembled. You didn’t know that one date would turn into nearly six months of good-morning texts, of coming home to bouquets of flowers on your doorstep just-because, of slow kisses that burned you up from the inside. 

It was like trying on a dress that looked ugly on the hanger and finding it fit you so well you never wanted to take it off again. To make a long story short, dating Lando was kind of your favorite thing. You liked everything about him. And lately, when you lay tangled in his sheets at night, his arms wrapped around your waist and his mouth pressed softly to your shoulder, breathing in his clean, boyish scent, you thought maybe your feelings were more than simply liking him. 

You couldn’t tell him, though, not yet. You cringed at the thought of the awkward silence that would stretch between you if he didn’t say it back. You trusted Lando — he was sweet to you in a way that made your chest ache sometimes, in a way that you couldn’t imagine being fake. But what if the thrill for him was all in the chase, the reckless desire to get something he thought he couldn’t have? What if now that he had you, now that he really knew you, the shine had worn off?

So you kept it to yourself. Let him slow dance with you in his kitchen to a song you’d never heard, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at you. Let him text you stupid jokes and ridiculous strings of emojis in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep. Let him scrape his teeth over your collarbone and whisper your name like a prayer into the darkness. Loved him quietly, secretly, in the private corner of your heart he hadn’t quite found yet. 

You told yourself it was fine. Things were good between you. Great, even. You weren’t going to mess it up by saying it first. You would wait until he did. 

If he ever did. 

—

The most embarrassing moment of your life starts with a phone call. 

You’re weaving through the aisles of the grocery store, looking for the pasta. Lando’s had a long day of sponsor meetings and media, but insisted that he wanted to see you anyway for your regular date night. You agreed, on the condition you could make him dinner; you like the idea of taking care of him for once, instead of the other way around.  

Your phone starts buzzing, and you pull it out of your pocket, greeted with Lando’s face — some ridiculous photo he’d taken of the two of you early on, your cheeks pressed together like two halves of a heart. You answer without hesitating, shifting the basket of groceries onto your hip. “Hey, you.”

“Hi, gorgeous.” His voice is light, but you can hear the weariness underneath he’s trying to cover up. “Just checking what time you were thinking of coming over. Zak added a last-minute meeting to the calendar, but I should be done by 7.”

You prop the phone between your shoulder and your ear, grabbing a carton of eggs. “That’s fine. I’m just picking up the stuff now, I’ll stop at home and then come to yours.” You lo- You like the domesticity of the conversation. You wonder if someday, you’ll make grocery lists together, wander through the aisles side-by-side.

“My little chef,” he says, warmth in his voice. “Give me a sneak preview of the menu. What are you making me?” 

“Oh, I thought I’d whip up some sushi,” you tease, grin on your face. You can imagine him on the other end of the phone, crinkling his nose in disgust, and the thought lodges in your chest with a far-too-familiar fond ache. 

“Right, I actually have plans. Can’t have you over anymore,” he deadpans, like clockwork. 

You let out a bark of laughter, throwing a box of pasta into your basket. “I’m kidding. Do you think I don’t remember your freakish aversion to fish?”

“Wow. My own girlfriend, bullying me,” Lando sniffs. “Might just die now. Wasting away, starving and alone, with no one to comfort me.” 

“I’m making carbonara, you big baby,” you snort, pressing the phone between your shoulder and your ear as you inspect two different wedges of Parmesan. “And maybe cookies, for dessert.” You place the cheese in the basket, heading for the checkout lane. 

“How’d I get so lucky?” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. Oh, you’re a goner. It does something stupid to your heart. 

“Guess the universe knew you needed me,” you reply, unpacking your basket onto the conveyor belt. You’re moving a little slowly; you only have one hand to unpack while the other holds the phone.

He laughs. “Score one for the universe.” His voice drops a little lower, a little softer. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too,” you reply, fumbling for your wallet as the cashier eyes you with increasing impatience, tapping at the card reader. A line has grown behind you, you realize. “Shit. Lan, I gotta go. I love you, bye.” Click.

You slide your sunglasses over your eyes as you step out of the air-conditioned grocery store. The weather as you walk home is warm. The late-afternoon sun hangs low and golden in the sky, and— 

You nearly drop the bag you’re carrying, catching it just before the eggs shatter over the Monaco sidewalk.

You told Lando you loved him. And you didn’t even realize it. 

—

By the time you get home, you’re seriously considering faking your own death.

You stand slumped against the wall of the elevator, cheeks burning with humiliation. You’ve spent the entire walk thinking up what feels like a thousand different ways to play it off — jokes, sarcasm, pretending you were talking to the cashier instead of him. They’re all stupid, all equally unlikely to work on Lando. Maybe the best option is to cancel tonight in favor of lying facedown on your carpet and never moving again. 

The elevator doors ding and slide open. You step off, turn the corner down your apartment hallway, and there’s Lando’s standing on your doorstep. 

For a minute, you think it’s a hallucination, because he can’t actually be in your hallway. He lives on the other side of Monaco, practically, and there’s always traffic. You stare at him, taking in the ruddy cheeks, the way the sweat beads at his temples, how he’s still trying to catch his breath.

He ran here, you realize, heart thudding wildly in your chest. He ran. 

The silence is terrifying, stretching between the two of you like a chasm. Then:

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice hoarse. 

“You’re supposed to be in a meeting,” you blurt, eyes wide. 

“Fuck the meeting,” he rasps, gaze trained on you. “Did you mean it?”

You have an out, now. You could lie, say it was unthinking, a force of habit from calling your mother, your friends. You could stay where you are, with those three little words rattling around your head every second of every day, and pretend it doesn’t kill you to hold them back now that you know what it feels like on your tongue. 

Or you could tell the truth, and take the chance that you’ll lose something, because there’s a possibility you could get everything. 

You look at the wild-eyed boy in front of you, who ran across Monaco just to see your face, and you already have your answer. 

“Yeah,” you say, voice small and heart in your throat. “Yeah, I meant it.”

He closes the distance between you in two steps, cups your cheeks in his hands, and smashes his lips to yours. It’s desperate, wild — your teeth knock together, and when you gasp against his mouth, he slides his tongue against yours in a way that makes your knees buckle. You pull him closer, closer, hands fisting into his shirt like he might disappear if you let go. 

“I love you too,” he gasps when you finally break apart, like it’s paining him to hold the words back. “Fuck. Been wanting to tell you for weeks, but I didn’t want to freak you out.”

You laugh wetly, forehead pressed against his. “I love you,” you say, and his whole face cracks into a smile so bright it’s like you’re looking at the sun. 

“Say it again,” he breathes. The look on his face is so obvious, all soft and awestruck. You wonder, distantly how you ever thought he didn’t feel the same.

“I love you,” you repeat, every syllable deliberate, and his arms wrap around you so fiercely it knocks the air out of your lungs. You yelp as he lifts you off your feet, laughing against his neck, your legs kicking uselessly for a second before you just give up and cling to him instead. He carries you to your door like that, arms steady and warm around you, and for one dizzying moment you think you could stay like this — weightless and safe and stupidly, overwhelmingly in love — forever. 

Maybe it was never supposed to be serious. But when he hugs you from behind while you stir the pasta, whispering I love you into your ear for the hundredth time that night like a promise he intends to keep, you seriously don’t think you’ll ever get tired of hearing it.

[angelcake10023]

//CW…. Slightly Suggestive (?) ⚠️

Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, Tang! 🔥

Bonus

They ain’t subtle

Not one bit

[karda]

[hajihiko]

💕

[awnrii]

I mean. I know the gods are all terrible lovers. Dating them mostly gets you killed or turned into a plant. But also. Your Hermes? That's a mistake I'd like to make

he appreciates it

[arcanegifs]

Piltover's Finest in Arcane: League of Legends (2021 - 2024) ❝ (Love) Sometimes it's a shadow And sometimes it's close to the end Sometimes it's divided Then suddenly the magic blends again I cry that river traveling to the sea Love like the river Whispering softly to me ❞ — The Moonglows, Love is a River (insp 1 | insp 2 | insp 3)