XIXth century @xxjewellynwatts - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
XIXth century
@xxjewellynwatts
Protect Llewellyn Watts at all costs // I only have time for things that make me laugh - or learn // 𝕯𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖆𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖘. // dark academia: deadlywaltz.tumblr.com
The way you wrote Little Puma is so perfect i loved reading that fic it was so cute, hope i see more of him written by you!! especially with a native reader you did that perfectly!!
ah thank you so so much, this means the world to me. it definitely gives me more confidence to write more for little puma :').
summary: reader has mixed feelings about fellow tribe member Little Puma, as they seem to be getting closer. what happens when he's the first one to find her when she faints during one of her usual walks?
contains: strangers/friends to lovers. IDIOTS IN LOVE. first scene inspired by that *one* scene in lhotp. small age gap (not specified). slow burn, almost angsty, fluff too! mild suggestiveness. a bit of politics and opinions about settlers and the selling of lands. no use of y/n.
wc: 5.2k.
a/n: did my best with the research about Osage nation. bear in mind the author of this fic (yours truly) is not a native at all, any correction is welcomed and any mistake is involuntary. this turned out to be a lot more poetic than I thought it would. I poured my heart out and frankly, this might be the best fic I've ever written on here.
FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE HAD always been easy for you, with you. You were talkative, kind, always smiling and willing to help. You loved meeting new people and never shied away from an encounter — this is how you met most tribe members. It mattered to you, especially because you came from a smaller clan within the tribe, meaning you didn’t have a big family. This is how you’d become somewhat of an older sister figure for Good Eagle — or at the very least, a model. You’d help her in chores, picking up berries, getting water, preparing food but mostly, she enjoyed hearing you sing. Traditional chants, prayers, or even made up melodies in the spur of the moment made up most of her sweetest memories with you. You had taken to her immediately — but you weren’t so sure about her uncle.
Little Puma was a few years older than you, the two of you being closer in age than you were with Good Eagle. You’d inevitably seen him a few times. At first, it was scarce. Well, a “first” meeting would be misleading — you had all grown up in the same tribe, only coming from different families. You’d seen him around when you were younger but all those small memories of playing around with kids (including him) receded far enough in your mind to be replaced with a more recent sighting, about a year ago that had surprised you so much it was the only thing you could see whenever you thought of him.
You were coming back from town with your father, feet lazily trailing behind him. It was one of those hot days before summer officially rolled around, carrying the promise of scorching heat for the next few weeks. Your eyes were set ahead of the road with a far-off look, your feet were starting to hurt and hunger nibbled at your insides relentlessly. You were about to speak up to pass the time when your eyes slid from the far-away tree to something etching closer.
The rhythm of stomping horses carried off to you before your eyes could adjust to the small figures ahead. You absentmindedly fixed your posture, and adjusted your steps to match your father’s, curiosity piqued. You immediately recognized fellow tribe members etched on their horse’s back, walking in line in the opposite direction. When they got close enough to pass by you as you crossed path, your father nodded to some of them while you waved at those you knew best and offered a polite nod for those you only knew from sight. That is, until your eyes landed on Little Puma.
You were still a few feet away when you first met his eyes, your happy-go-lucky smile immediately faltering, and your stomach turning into evil knots that rid you of any hunger whatsoever. Like the others, he was dressed in traditional attire (mocassins, sallow leggings), wearing the usual facial markings you’d grown to see so much of in your life. His long black hair parted in the middle was crowned with a feather headdress. His arms, stronger than you’d remembered them when the two of you were younger, were bare, stamped in crimson red circles and lines over his shoulders. You couldn’t tell whether it was the distance or the angle — looking up at him on his horse, you walking by foot — but something about him looked different. For a second, it felt as though you had never met him, and he looked so much more… manly.
There was something majestic about the way his body bobbed up and down to the rhythm of his horse, and when he was finally close enough for his horse to be a touch and a step away, he looked down at you, head turning to maintain the eye contact longer. His eyes were rendered darker by the blue makeup around them, giving him a kind of coldness that had any thought dying as soon as it came to you. He was the definition of intimidating, the three red lines under his cheekbone making him look sharper as his earrings caught onto the sun’s light. All the others, albeit dressed similarly, paled in comparison.
You looked away, suddenly struck by shyness. Your cheeks felt hot, your stomach no longer begging for food yet feeling oddly sickly. You didn’t notice how his head turned sideways to look at you again, nor did you see him shooting you a single look over his shoulder after he was well away behind you. All you could focus on was the sudden shortness of breathing that overcame you.
He knew you. Of course he did. He’d seen you many times around with his niece. Caught you singing and playing with her many times — humoring the child although you were old enough to hang out with fellow young women like you. The two of you had never exchanged more than a single glance of acknowledgment but that day, something had snapped.
FROM THEN ON, EACH time you saw him — on your way over to see Good Eagle, going to or back from town, on your way for a walk — you’d find him staring at you unashamedly, eyes jaded but not careless while you tried your best not to get submerged by the memory of him looking down at you from atop his horse. Once, when he came to see William (Good Eagle’s father) and found you braiding the girl’s hair, you’d even went so far as to greet him, a small, graceful “hello” that had his lips turn tight albeit not unwelcoming. You’d found his silence rude, but he’d been trying not to get so awkward around you. Evidently he’d failed, and when he’d seen his sister’s face, he knew he’d get endlessly teased about it once you left. When White Sun (his sister, Good Eagle’s mother) had seen you the next day, she’d also wondered how two people like Little Puma and you — so loud, talkative and buoyant — could get so quiet around one another. She’d always found it curious how you hadn’t become closer already, after all this time of accidentally meeting. You’d just stared at her, surprised and somewhat dumbfounded, not trusting your own voice.
After that time, you saw him again at Good Eagle’s. You were bringing her some gifts (treats, a small garment) when you stopped in your tracks, at the doorframe. Little Puma was sitting on one knee, grabbing a small dusty bag from the floor. His eyes met yours in silence and for a second or two, you forgot how to speak. It felt reminiscent of when you’d seen him on his horse, in traditional attire, except now the balance had shifted and you were looking down at him.
“Hello” you said. It seemed to be the only thing you could muster whenever you faced him. He looked up at you with a smirk, the uplift of his lips the only sign he’d heard you loud and clear. You’d always assumed his silence meant he didn’t like you but something about the way he looked at you told you otherwise.
You thought you were going to get the silent treatment again until his lips parted slightly and suddenly you couldn’t look away from them.
“Hello. We’ve never really been properly introduced” he said. His voice carried a slow cadence. He was articulate, calm, which clashed with his hot-headed reputation. You’d heard of him going into settlers’ houses with Myron to collect some form of rent and while you agreed with him on the principle, you weren’t too fond of his risky ways.
“No, but isn’t that the case with everyone else in the tribe?”
His eyes went from his bag to you. He slowly stood up, your neck arching slightly to maintain the eye contact, the movement making his height even more surprising.
His smirk returned, and a small smile of your own appeared on your face.
“I guess so“ he agreed.
You stared at one another in silence before Good Eagle appeared. Your eyes slid from the tall young man to her, all warmth and smiles as he studied you with stealthy curiosity. You loved Good Eagle. That was clear to anyone with eyes — or ears, with all the stories she loved telling of you. A part of him felt as though he knew you himself. He’d been told so many times about your favorite colors, your favorite poems, the songs you liked, the type of weather you hated, that truly, a part of him did know you. But seeing you look at Good Eagle with a warmth you lacked when he was the focus of your attention displeased him. He made one step towards the door before a voice stopped him.
Yours.
“Uhm…” you cleared your throat. “My father told me I should ask William for his help but he isn’t here today and I…” your words died on your lips when you noticed the sheer focus of Little Puma’s eyes on you. You shook your head. “I need help finding my father’s horse?”
Good Eagle looked between the two of you, her hand still in yours, a smile spreading on her face.
“Of course he’ll help you! Can I come, too?” she asked excitedly.
Embarrassment shook you to your core as you tried to pat her hand fondly, “Don’t put your uncle on the spot like th-”
“I’ll help”.
Your eyes snapped back up to him. Before you knew it, the two of you — you’d promised Good Eagle you would go on a walk with her another time — were walking to the outskirts of the village. You looked for your father’s horse by foot, because knowing the creature, it couldn’t have wandered off too far, it was of the fearful kind. The two of you fell into an uncomfortable silence, with you stubbornly staring ahead out of fear of meeting his prying eyes. You walked side by side, shoulders never brushing yet even with the respectful distance, you felt somewhat out of sorts. The familiar uncomfortable knot returned in the pit of your stomach, and you were so distracted that you gasped in surprise when Little Puma’s hand shot fast to grab your arm and push you towards him, sideways—
“Careful” he warned, voice a little urgent.
You looked down to what you’d almost walked into: a small rabbit hole. Your head snapped back up to where his hand was still firm around your arm then to his eyes, already set on you coolly.
“Thank you” you said, a little breathless.
He reluctantly let go of your arm with a small nod. Slowly, your thoughts started drifting again as you observed the great empty lands, the fields of corn on the right side of the road stretching for miles ahead under the spotless blue sky. Little Puma followed your gaze, his expression going from peaceful to sour.
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” you said, voice distant. “The lands… great, wide…” you started.
“And free” added Little Puma.
His tone made you look back at him. He seemed slightly angry, now, but not at you.
“The treaty…” you guessed. “The talks are happening soon?”
“Yes” he nodded grimly, nose flaring slightly. “The chiefs will gather to discuss it and before we know it, we will have receded our history to these selfish people” his hand carelessly motioned to your surroundings.
You snorted and Little Puma stared at you in surprise. He expected you to disagree, or tell him to calm down, like all the others. Instead, you said:
“Settlers… They pretend they know better than us and want ‘our best’. They act scared of us when actually, they are the ones being cruel. They will pretend the trade is fair but I know they will be ruthless”.
Little Puma’s mouth fell agape.
“Yes!” he said enthusiastically, loud enough to startle you. “That’s what I’ve been telling William, and White Sun and everyone willing to listen! But they keep telling me to be reasonable, and that the only way for us to survive is to accept. To-to… cower” he spat the word “before them like they have any right to claim our lands”.
His lips turned downwards into an expression of disgust.
You stopped walking suddenly, staring ahead and breathing slowly. Little Puma walked two steps ahead before he turned back to you. He studied you, unashamedly, under the sun’s light. The way your garments fell over your shoulders, your hair flying in the wind, the sun glinting off of your earrings, much like his own. You were studying the lands while he was studying you and that was the fascinating part of it: the amount of information he registered all the while looking completely disinterested and distant. His expression was hard but there was something tender, almost loving, in his eyes.
“These will always be part of our history. No matter what happens. They’ll never be able to erase that” you said solemnly, taken by a surge of honesty.
Your words pierced right through his heart, settling beneath his ribs like enchantment. He wished he’d talked to you sooner, wished he hadn’t wasted so much time being stubbornly quiet around you, wished he’d learnt to know you himself, not through his niece. You were wiser than him. He thought giving away the lands meant giving away everything else — your history, your life, your ancestors. But you saw beyond the politics of it all. Little Puma, on the other hand, was much more possessive and that applied to most things in his life as well.
Heat crept up your neck as you finally took notice of his staring at you. Before you could move or say anything else though, he brought a slender finger to his lips, as his eyes slid from your figure to something behind you. You slowly turned around.
Your father’s horse. It stood a few feet away, a tall and graceful dark figure against the yellow lands.
Suddenly, something warm and firm took hold of your hand. You turned again. Little Puma was holding it, eyes still set on you as he tilted his head towards the horse, as if to say ‘follow my lead, quietly’. The two of you, painfully slow, stepped closer to the horse. It stomped its feet once or twice but before it could escape, you’d caught its’ reins, shushing and caressing him. You looked at Little Puma, a beautiful smile gracing your lips. You brought one of your hands up to shield your eyes from the sun — how strange, they way their color had become so alluring to Little Puma — and giggled.
“Thank you” you said quietly. “It’s a good thing we found him — my parents are going on a short trip next week”.
He found himself smiling, giddy, as he turned around the horse to hold its’ reins from the other side and guide it back home.
THE GLANCES EXCHANGED BETWEEN the two of you since that day, did not go unnoticed by the others. White Sun and Good Eagle constantly teased Little Puma about it — sometimes making alluding remarks even when you were around. Surprisingly, Little Puma always remained quiet, neither confirming nor denying their accusations. When you’d been invited for dinner by White Sun (much to Good Eagle’s joy) and she had made a sneaky remark about how quiet Little Puma was that night, he simply shot you a cool look, undeterred by White Sun and William’s teasing. When you locked eyes, breath hitching, the corner of his lips turned upwards. If anything, he looked amused and you were completely flabbergasted.
When the next week rolled by and your parents left, you found yourself much freer. Of course, you still had to take care of the house and do all the chores required. Your daily tasks didn’t disappear simply because your parents had left. But it did feel easier to be by yourself at home. It also gave you more free time — which you mostly spent at Good Eagle’s or with other tribe members to help or simply kill some time. Mostly, you’d made a habit of going on a daily walk, secretly hoping to run into Little Puma. He seemed to have caught onto that new routine, because for the first three days, you’d ‘accidentally’ meet near the outskirts of the village, on the road to town. You’d end up strolling under the sun, telling one another childhood anecdotes — he’d recalled some of yours quickly, and you took a mental note that he’d been noticing you for a long time before you did —, your recent discoveries, or simply discussing the future of the Osage nation.
You’d come to learn he was more than pleasant company, often helping you carry whatever it was you had on your hands, when you had any. He was charming, funny, passionate. He seemed to have opened up a lot more since he helped you find your father’s horse, and you finally understood White Sun’s outrage at the fact you hadn’t been friends earlier. The two of you got beautifully along. Each time your strolls came to a natural end, making your way back home, he’d walk you right to your door, often staying with you a little longer — he suspected you felt lonely, what with your parents being gone, but the truth was you enjoyed his company more than your lovely solitude. His presence grew more important.
It was desired. Almost needed.
On the fourth day, you went on your own for your usual walk. You’d woken up to a shattering headache and limbs aching but still managed to carry on with taking care of the house. As you made your way to the main road, the skies grew darker, steel-like grey looming low over your head. The wind had gone from soft and mild to cold and harsher. Little Puma hadn’t joined you yet — you suspected he was busy, probably preparing with the others for their next hunting. Still, disappointment settled in your chest like it was a second home, a feeling that had grown evermore present whenever you didn’t see the young man. You went on for a few more miles until a single drop of rain turned into half a dozen and before you knew it, you were walking in the opposite direction amidst cold sweeps of rain blowing from all sides. You tried to run but your limbs were so much heavier than in the morning that you wisely chose to walk as fast as possible. You felt hot and cold all the same, chest heaving where walking in such conditions had never required particular efforts. Today, everything felt like efforts. You don’t even know how you managed to make it so far out of the village before the rain started falling and now, you suspect you might be coming down with illness.
You sigh, throat tight, vision growing blurry in the edges. You feel your will caving under the heavy blanket your body seems to have turned into.
“No” you mumble, mentally willing your legs to get you — at the very least, dear God! — safely back near the village.
When you bring your hand up to your forehead, in a poor attempt to shield yourself from the rain, it feels hot, even though you’re shivering.
You start praying aloud, mumbles making less and less sense in the deafening roar of yours ears.
Suddenly you stop. You look around, hopeful. You think you’ve heard someone calling your name and a part of you — a childish, frustrating, embarrassing part of you — immediately thinks it is Little Puma. Something seems to be quickly edging closer, in the faraway distance, coming from the village but before you can make out what or who that is, your knees buckle under your weight and hit the floor.
You can feel something stomping closer to you but it carries such a dream-like edge that you think you’re imagining that tall figure looming over you. Before you can make sense of anything you think you see, everything fades to black.
When you slowly come to your senses, the first thing you’re aware of is that you’re on a bed. Your fingers trail over to feel for the sheets, the texture.
Not any bed, yours.
You don’t know what time it is, what day it is, it feels like you’ve slept for so long yet so little.
Your eyes slowly flutter, and you hear something shuffling close to you. Alarmed you might not be alone, you force your eyes open but immediately close them, the light hurting you and worsening your headache. You bring your hands up to cover them when a voice, softer than you’d ever heard one, says next to you:
“Hey, you’re fine, I’m here”.
At that, you force your eyes open once more and when you recognize the blurry contours, you abruptly remember what happened. It hits you so violently that for that fraction of a second you’re catapulted back there — soaking wet hair, shivering in the cold rain, the coldness of the soil cutting through your legs like bone-shattering blades and that tall, dark, looming frame that eclipsed all surrounding light like a fallen angel seeking revenge.
Little Puma seems to feel your distress as he immediately grabs one of your hands. He rubs soothing patterns on your knuckles and you shiver at the contact. You hope it’s due to your fever but you doubt it.
“How did you…?” you manage to ask.
“I’m sorry”.
You finally properly stare at him, taken aback by his tone. He’s sitting on a chair next to your bed, elbows on his knees, head down like he can’t bear to see you like this any longer. When he notices your stillness, his eyes slowly look up to you.
For the first time since you’ve known him, he looks scared.
Vulnerable.
It’s a heart-shattering image.
“Why—?” you start.
“I should’ve come sooner. I should’ve been with you. I would’ve noticed, I would’ve taken care of you—” he stops, breath hitching. For a second, you think he’s crying but he isn’t.
The panic still trembles in his eyes.
“You scared me” he finally sighs.
You stare at him in shock. When he sees your expression, he stills. You can see him racking his brains, his eyes darting between your hand in his, you in your bed, and your expression. He reluctantly lets go of your hand, as if it burned him albeit setting it carefully back on the sheets.
“I’ll bring you some water and food. I’ll—”
He stands up, frowning, like he’s frustrated by himself. Your own brows furrow. What the hell happened in those last few seconds?
“I’ll call on White Sun to look after you. I shouldn’t—” he shakes his head, staring at the floor, as he walks to the kitchen.
When he leaves your room, you realize the fever has gone down a little yet your heartbeat is in a frenzy.
How could someone like Little Puma — after all those cool looks, unashamed staring, secretive smiles — seem so distraught around you?
You sat right up on your bed, feeling just strong enough to do so. Could he care about you more than he let on? And if so, why the abrupt change in attitude?
The young man steps back into your room, stubbornly staring at the nightstand next to your bed. He sets water, some bread and some biscuits on it.
“Do you need anything else?” he asks but his voice lacks the earlier warmth, it’s clipped, almost formal. He seems to be looking at you but his eyes feel distant, far-off.
“No, thank you, I don’t think so but… are you okay—” you start.
“Great. I’ll call White Sun. She’ll take care of you. I won’t be bothering you anymore”.
And with that, he leaves before you manage to put a word in.
WHERE DID HE EVER get the idea that he was bothering you? Had you done something to upset him? Worse, had he somehow realized you were beginning to grow fond of him? On loop went those thoughts in your head as White Sun took care of you for the next two days. Luckily for you, you’d caught a mild fever and were back up on your feet for your parents’ comeback from the trip. You hadn’t seen Little Puma since the day he’d found you and while you inquired about him to White Sun, even she was dumbfounded. She said he hadn’t been talking as much as before, mostly sticking to formalities or the future of the Osage nation (nothing new, here) but even she could tell something was off.
As you drifted in and out of consciousness, the image of Little Puma on his horse from about a year ago became a recurring one. You'd find yourself dreaming of him, standing in front of you, in his traditional attire, face and body covered in makeup. He was always quiet, his startling cool look following you wherever you went, even your dreams. Once or twice you'd also dreamt of his looming shadow in the cold rain, where he'd found you fainting. Far from being scary, the memory seemed divine. An omen, a dark angel looking over you.
When you were completely back up on your feet, three days after your last encounter with Little Puma, you went to see Good Eagle. You’d missed her a great deal. And perhaps you did go to White Sun’s in the hopes of finding out more about her brother.
You brought your hand up to knock on the door but before you could, it flung open. You took a step back with a start, eyes widening.
He was here. He stood, tall, looming, expression still as if he’d gotten startled in the middle of a thought. It felt surreal seeing him in real life after you'd dreamt so much of him.
His jaded eyes looked you over once, checking up on you.
“Hi” you finally say.
“Hello”.
He fully steps outside, closing the door behind him.
You hate that your heart reacts like this every time he’s near and yet you love being near him. You’ve realized that quite some ago, now.
“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better” he says, voice warm.
“Yes, I can’t thank you enough for getting me back home safely”. You wanted to thank him for taking care of you but given how that encounter had ended, you weren’t so keen on reminding him of whatever had upset him.
He nods, lips tight in a tiny smile. His arm reaches for his bag. His hand comes out with a book. He hands it to you.
You take it, fingers brushing his in the process. Your breath hitches and you hope he hasn’t noticed. The cover is light blue with beautiful motifs on each of the four corners. You open the book.
“It’s a poetry book” Little Puma explains. “When Myron and I went to some settlers’ house, a few days ago, I found this. I know you love poems so…” he shrugs, dismissive.
Your head snaps up.
“This is lovely, Little Puma, thank you!”
You would’ve scolded him for keeping his habit of collecting this sort of rent from settlers but you didn’t want to get into a fight. You were all too happy to be back on what seemed to be friendly terms with him.
He nods once more but this time, he can’t conceal a small proud smile. Something brazen shivers in his eyes at your expression. He prides himself on making you happy.
He turns around and takes a step to leave, crushing a leaf beneath his foot and it feels like he’s stomped right on your heart.
“Did I do something?” you finally say, voice cracking slightly.
He stops. He takes a second before he turns to face you, brows furrowed, mouth agape.
“No, why would you think that?”
“I could ask you the same thing”.
Silence. You take a step closer, the book idle in your hand by your side.
“When you found me, you said you’d stop bothering me. Why?”
He swallows and looks down, briefly. Clearly, he’s not enjoying this conversation and you worry he might have never enjoyed any of your previous ones.
“I… You seemed surprised to see me. And when I…” he looks up at you. “When I took your hand you looked… shocked. I overstepped, I shouldn’t have—“
You scoff, a surprised smile gracing your lips.
“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?!”
He doesn’t understand. Why are you smiling? Why are you happy?
“Little Puma… I was pleasantly surprised! I didn’t realize I came across as negatively shocked… I blame it on the fever. But of course I was happy you were there, I… I miss you when you’re not around”.
He looked into your eyes with such calm you doubted he’d heard you. For a moment, a long one, he was very still. Eventually, he took a step closer, and when he was close enough, he grabbed your free hand. His lips parted, and you braced yourself for his next words.
Except he didn’t say anything.
He brought your hand up, lowered his head and the softness of his lips on your knuckles sent your heart in absolute frenzy.
“So…” he says when he stands tall again with a knowing smile. Your hand is still in his. “This is fine, then?” he cocks an eyebrow towards your hand and your cheeks grow hot at the realization that it tingles where his lips previously were. Your hand seems to have a life of its own, the way it craves his lips again.
Mostly, you’re embarrassed. Because you realize you want to kiss him. Badly.
“It’s more than fine” you manage to say, decidedly braver than you thought you were.
He steps closer, fully in your space now. The knowing smile hasn’t left his lips and you don’t know whether you want to glare it or kiss it away. His hands slowly reach up to each one of your upper arms, near your shoulders. His hold is firm, solid, real.
It’s better than anything you have ever imagined.
It truly is magical the way his hands on you rid you of any worry, and of all your loud thoughts. When he’s near, your mind quiets down, even if all of your senses become alert.
His eyes still haven’t left yours and you’re certain, by now, that you’re red in the cheeks and ears. You hope he can’t tell but with that cocky smile of his…
You lose your trail of thought.
Because he’s leaning closer.
You close your eyes, heart so loud in your ears you firmly believe he can hear it.
His lips caress your forehead for a few seconds before he leans away.
You open your eyes — expression stuck between awe and disappointment.
“And this is fine?” he asks again, voice so low — almost rough — you think you’ve imagined it. Albeit the playful edge, there is something brazen and determined in his eyes.
You nod, not trusting your voice.
You all the same hate and love how his knowing smile turns full-on cocky. He is enjoying himself well too much but you don’t want to stop him. You find yourself enjoying it too.
He sees the corner of your lips lift and his eyes stay there.
He’s leaning in. You want to run away, say something, disappear and never come back all at the same time.
Mostly, though, you want him to kiss you.
His lips on yours is everything you’ve imagined and completely different. They are soft, small, tentative. He is testing the waters, giving you room to break free. He is deliberately slow and reserved. But when you show no sign of leaving so soon, the pressure of his lips becomes firmer. Grounding. Certain.
His hands lower down to settle by your waist and you bring your own up to his neck. Book or not, you want to hold onto him and never let go.
The kiss isn’t shy anymore. It’s a claim. You’re surprised to see how quickly it has turned possessive, like he’s been wanting this far longer than you’d suspected. Your breath mingle, a surge of desire and heat overtake you but before you get carried away, he breaks apart.
He looks surprised by how far he’s taken it. You look like… you enjoyed every single bit of it.
His smile returns, not as cocky, but still proud and happy.
“So this is fine, too” he says with a joking edge.
“Shut up” you huff, smiling, giddy.
He plants two kisses on your cheeks and you know this is only the beginning of discovering a new side of Little Puma.
A side of him that knows you’re his, and that loves every bit of it.
—
★ likes and reblogs are very appreciated. I loved every single second of this. my requests are open for little puma x reader! comments are welcome too, I love reading your feedback!
inspector thomas brackenreid the character of all time. he's an alcoholic but he loves his wife enough to quit drinking. when his wife tells him she's feeling neglected he immediately throws his whole self into making her feel seen. his son gets kidnapped and he all but loses his head but manages to keep calm throughout the whole investigation and find the culprit. thinks he's homophobic and misogynistic and racist but when he actually meets members of marginalized groups hes like 'what the fuck. these are just people. society lied to me.' lets murdoch do whatever the fuck he wants with weird, boundary-pushing science and when murdoch gets drugged and framed for murder refuses to believe he did it even though murdoch can't remember a thing. interferes with the investigation and threatens several witnesses in order to get murdoch acquitted. earnestly commiserates with murdoch over losing the love of his life. 10/10 man would watch again
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be a part of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
summary: lando has a plan to make things work between reader and Oscar. this just might be it.
contains: a hint of jealousy, awkwardness, angst, fluff, lando playing cupid. fan culture. hearing disabilitiy. mention of an ex. fictional races.
a/n: might be weird if read as standalone. check out the other parts. reblogs are appreciated ♡
You hadn’t seen the McLaren drivers in a few days since the gala event in Monaco. And you were very grateful for the quietness of your hotel room. Sure, you went out to walk around Monaco every day, but always wearing noise cancelling headphones or your earplugs. It felt good to be on your own.
Most importantly, you were freaking embarrassed by Lando ‘I gotta ruin the moment’ Norris walking in on Oscar and you almost kissing. But as you thought back to that night, you started doubting what had happened. Was he really leaning in? Had you been imagining things? What if he’d only been friendly?
But you had felt something that night. Even the other night on the yacht.
A spark.
Hope.
A crush.
You hadn’t heard from Lando since the gala but Oscar had sent you a few texts.
Small things.
Casual things.
Like, ‘did you get back safely?’, ‘are you okay?’, ‘if you need anything, i’m a text away’.
Casual things, right?
And your heart had melted each time the phone lit up with his name. And you hated yourself for it. Because your heart leapt in your chest once more when your phone buzzed.
Except this time, it was Lando calling.
“I’m surprised you haven’t called me” he said.
You cocked an eyebrow.
“Well, hello to you too, Lan” you replied dryly.
He stayed silent for a bit.
Too long for your liking.
“What’s wrong?” you immediately ask.
He sighs, “Ok, remember how I told you not to care about rumors online?”
You almost didn’t hear the end of his sentence. Your heart was already thrumming in your ears.
“What happened?”
He sighs again.
“That picture of us at the gala… combined with some other… moments together — you know, like when we won two weeks ago and I kissed your cheek-“
“Lan?” you said, voice going on octave higher than usual.
“It’snotmyfault! A twitter thread went viral about how us two could be a couple andnoweveryoneseemstobelieveit, I-“
“I told you inviting me to the gala would make things worse!”
“Oh what the hell, a guy can’t invite a friend anymore?!”
“Not when said guy is a worldwide known Formula 1 driver, Lando!” you scolded.
You sigh.
“Did Oscar say something?” your voice is quiet. You’re afraid. Worried. What if he gets the wrong idea?
“Nope, but don’t worry! I’m on it”
“On what, what do you mean, Lan?” this guy is driving you mad.
“Don't worry. Just trust me, alright?” you can hear his smile on the other side of the line and you think nothing good can come out of it.
— ★
When you showed up to the next race, you could immediately tell things were different.
Cameras followed you more. Pointed at you more directly. Phones were drawn out not so discreetly. People were whispering when you passed by.
Once you got to the hospitality suite, you waited on the outskirts of the few people that were already there in hopes of catching Oscar. He eventually showed up, race suit already on, smiling the second he saw you. You felt so stupid for the way your face betrayed your feelings. No doubt you were blushing and smiling like an idiot.
But when he stepped closer, nervousness took over.
You'd meant to tell him the rumors online were bullshit but when his eyes peered into yours, words vanished from the tip of your tongue and you found yourself drowned in the sound of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.
“You alright?” he frowned when he saw your smile fading.
His hand brushed your arm.
“Yeah, good luck for the race today! Show 'em how it's done!” you managed to cheer.
An ear-splitting grin cut his face. He actually laughed. You'd never heard him laugh like that.
You liked it.
“Thanks, love” he squeezed your arm and you melted at the nickname.
He won P1 and Lando won P2. The race had been tough and high in emotions.
After the race, you were standing next to Oscar, facing Lando and three other team members. They were talking right outside the hospitality, the noises around overlapping one another so much you had to lean in everytime someone spoke.
You tried to participate. Answered questions when you were asked. You noticed a few engineers having a loud laugh somewhere behind Lando, someone else dropping a box of god knows what onto the floor loudly.
Then Lando, Oscar and the team members laughed loudly. You looked back at them, and smiled a beat too late. You didn’t hear the joke.
You felt stupid. Silly, even.
You mumbled an excuse and left.
If you'd looked back, you would've seen Oscar's eyes following your disappearing figure, frowning and evidently worried. You'd barely made it ten steps before your phone lit up with a text from him.
'Are you free tonight?'
Your pulse quickened. You smiled despite yourself.
'Yes'
'Good. I'm taking you out, you look like you need to take your mind off of things'.
And keep true to his words, Oscar did.
He invited you for dinner. The two of you talked of nothing and everything —from politics, to your childhood, to your favorite songs, to what you each hated and liked about Lando. It was a good thing he wasn't there to hear the amount of jokes the two of you made at his expense. It was all in good spirits, though.
It was so odd how comfortable and easy conversation was with him. He was a man of few words to the outside world but when he opened up, his speech was much more animated than the robotic cadence he was so known for.
His voice became a melody you couldn't grow tired of.
Food turned into dessert turned into drinks.
As the two of you let your latest laughing fit die down, you saw his eyes soften ever so slightly. Suddenly, time slowed down, warping itself in on the two of you, folding into the corners of the soft and low yellow lights of the restaurant.
Suddenly, you felt seen under his hazel brown eyes.
Oh, this crush was bad, bad news-
“What happened today?” he asked.
You blinked, your mind catching up to the words that had left his awfully pink lips-
“Uh” you stopped your mind from wandering too far. “What do you mean?”
“When you left, earlier… you seemed… off” his voice was quiet but loud enough for you to hear.
It was all the same intimate and clear.
“Yeah, I just… I couldn't hear much of the conversation, uh… You know, the sounds just overlap one another and unless someone grabs my attention, I can get lost” you shrugged, like it meant nothing.
Like you didn't care.
Like you hadn't felt the stupidest you had in a while.
Oscar frowned. His hand found yours across the table, slowly, like he feared you'd swat it way.
Of course you didn't.
You turned your hand around so that your palm faced upwards into his own warm palm.
His breath stuttered at the movement. The acceptance, the sheer softness of it. The quiet confession.
Your heart leapt inside your chest.
“We should've noticed” he said, his jaw clenching. “I'm sorry”.
You squeezed his hand and he wanted to kiss it right there and then.
“Don't be! I should've mentioned it!”
He said your name. Slowly, almost a warning.
But his smile was teasing.
“Just accept the apology” he fake scolded.
You chuckled. Finally, you nodded.
God, you could be so stubborn! he realized with a chuckle of his own.
You went on to talk for one more hour until the sound of chatter around began to grow louder. A headache slowly peeked its way through and Oscar immediately noticed the decrease in your energy.
“Let's leave”.
A statement, but his eyebrows were raised expectantly. You nodded once. You were grateful for how quickly he could sense your unease. What else could you expect from someone who could process an incredible amount of data in very short timeframes?
You liked the way he read you so easily. Like a music sheet he played perfectly albeit seeing it for the first time. You liked the way he could tell when you felt bad because of your hearing, without making a big deal out of it. Like it was normal. Just a part of you. And it really helped you grow more comfortable with the fact that indeed, this disability was already a part of you.
The ride back to your hotel was quiet. The good kind of quiet. The one that said, I feel safe and good with you. The one you wished never ended. For a racing driver, he was exceptionally calm when driving. You had gotten so used, with your ex, to curse words muttered under the breath at whichever car pissed him off. The constant passive aggressiveness, the perpetual sighs of frustration and frowns.
You realized that for the first time in a while, you weren't on edge sitting in the passenger seat next to a man.
“Thank you for being so…”
You'd meant to say kind, understanding, generous, sweet, adorable…
“So you” you ended up saying, a grateful smile gracing your lips.
No other comment in Oscar's life had tugged at his heart so strongly.
“And for allowing me to be me”.
His chest tightened. There was so much he wanted to say he didn't know where to begin. His grip tightened on the steering wheel but his smile was soft and easy in the darkness of the car.
He was always the picture of calm but you could almost see the storm behind his eyes.
— ★
From then on, the two McLaren drivers always made sure you could see their face before they talked to you. They always got your attention lightly whenever you wore your earplugs.
Team members, engineers, fans started noticing the gentle nudges. The way Oscar always touched your arm or elbow to get your attention. The way Lando always searched for your eyes and face before talking to you.
And of course, it further reinforced the rumors.
Fans gave up on shipping you and Lando when a picture of Oscar and you holding hands outside the restaurant leaked. Pictures and videos of you looking at Oscar when he talked to you started going viral.
She looks at him like he hung the stars.
Is Oscar blushing anytime she’s near?
The way he’s always touching her, so much golden retriever energy!
She always looks at people so intensely when they’re talking to her. She's got rizz.
One afternoon, in the week between races, at a café, you scrolled on twitter. Lando, Charles and Alexandra were supposed to be here already. Lando's latest text said they'd get here 'in 20 minutes!!'.
It had been sent one hour ago.
Oscar sat next to you, sipping on a can of monster energy, his thigh gently nudging your own every time he moved.
Suddenly, you burst out laughing. He immediately leaned his shoulder progressively closer until it grazed yours. You turned to him, your smile wide and he wanted to kiss you so badly he thought he was going to burst.
“What is it?” he smiled.
“People think I have rizz!” you laughed.
He looked at the comments and saw the short video that kept replaying. It was from last week when you'd been talking to Oscar about the internship you'd found. Your faces did look rather close and maybe, just maybe, Oscar was looking down at you like you personally handed him the moon.
And maybe, just maybe, he could see the way your eyes twinkled looking up at him.
For the first time in his career as a public figure, he wished some of these comments were true.
He wished you reciprocated his feelings. Since your last date at the restaurant, he hadn't really made another move. And while he never hinted at it, he had seen the thread about Lando and you and ever since, he'd been too scared to find out whether or not any of it was true.
But seeing that video… seeing the two of you from an exterior point of view… what if-
“What're you thinking?”
Your voice pierced through his dazed mind.
“You look beautiful”.
You blinked in surprise.
His own eyes widened. Did he just say that out loud?
You thought he looked so darn cute with his wide eyes. Caught red handed in the privacy of his thoughts and by jove were those thoughts heartwarming.
“You really think so?” you found yourself saying.
He swallowed on air, looking away.
Well, why back away now?
“I always do” his eyes peered into yours.
His words landed just like one of those strategic decisions he made while driving a formula 1 car. Precise, concise, almost robotic yet so intense.
Which one of you leaned in first? Just like that first night when you met on the yacht, you couldn't tell. The only thing your mind was aware of, was his lips on yours and how tender they felt.
You don't know why but it's precisely at that moment that it dawns on you that Lando and the others were never coming today, at the café.
You had been set up by your best friend.
And honestly? You were so grateful for it. Because the next time you showed up at a race, Oscar showed the whole world he had claimed you. And in the background of the video that had recorded your kiss after the race, Lando was seen grinning wildly and cheering for the two of you.
— ★
hope you all enjoyed this series!! reblogs are appreciated ♡
the fucking full screen sized ads on this app are making it genuinely uninhabitable in here. why can’t i scroll without accidentally touching one of these things and having my phone commandeered by the download page for Stinky Mud Treasure House Merge Farm Slots Magic #3
say it louder for the people in the back !!!!! I keep saying ads have completely ruined the internet and our most beloved social media. I'm talking Tumblr, pinterest and, obviously, YouTube. it has become UNBEARABLE. pay pay pay. always pay. oh you don't want us to ruin your daily interaction with other humans and don't want us to shove product selling down your throat??? PAY!
summary: Oscar and reader get to know each other as reader comes to terms with her hearing disability.
contains: reader has a hearing disability (tinnitus and hyperacusis — so hypersensitivity to sound, not deaf) and is in the process of getting hearing aids to ease the tinnitus. reader is lando’s friend. crack. fluff. a little bit of angst. idiots in love. miscommunication duh. a hint of jealousy maybe. swearing.
“So, wait, not even Lando knows about it?”
You sat in front of Oscar at a cute café. He'd given you his number two days ago, at the yacht party and you hadn't expected him to ask you out so soon. Or ever, for that matter. Especially with how your first encounter had gone.
“No, we… We're best friends, yes, but I was so caught up with graduating, that I hadn't seen him in months, almost a year. Sometimes I still have a hard time realizing that I have a proper diagnosis and that I should probably tell people about it, you know?” you shrugged.
Oscar nodded slowly, quietly. You’d explained a little more about your hearing discomfort, the constant ringing in your ears, needing hearing aids to soothe it, and having to protect your ears as much as possible in the meantime. Which meant you were either wearing earplugs or noise canceling headphones.
You'd appreciated his efforts to speak a little louder than he usually did when you wore earplugs — he'd actually never realized how quiet he could sound and how much harder it made it for people with a hearing disability.
He was now very aware of the way he used his voice, and it was thanks to you.
His eyes went from your ears, to your eyes, pensive. You hated how much that made your breath stutter, heart flutter and cheeks turn pink. You focused on your coffee, bringing the cup to your lips.
When you put it down, Oscar's lips twitched into a smirk. Soon enough, he was trying hard not to smile — and failing miserably.
“What?” you wondered aloud, a smile of your own growing.
“Nothin', you uh…” he cleared his throat, eyes fixed somewhere on your upper lip. “You've foam on your-”
“Shit” your eyes widened, cheeks turning red.
Your life was a freaking comedy, at this point. You brought your paper to your lip and dabbed the foam away.
“Well, there goes my aura” you joked but you regretted the words coming out of your mouth. So not cool.
“What're you talking about? That was very cute” he mumbled shyly, looking away.
You froze for a split second, a chuckle escaping your lips.
You heard a chair scrape the floor nearby but didn't register that it was the one immediately behind you and Oscar's table. You saw him look up at someone then give you a slight nod before you turned around.
“Sorry, could you move your chair, a little, please?” a woman asked, sighing dramatically.
You noticed how small the space was behind you and immediately moved your chair. You mumbled a small excuse.
You turned back to Oscar, leaning over the table in conspiracy.
“What’s up with the attitude?” you whispered.
“I know” he said, jaw clenching as he sent daggers at the woman's back behind you.
It dawned on him how little patience and compassion people had in everyday life and he had been the first one to give you that same attitude when he hadn't known about your condition. He silently promised himself he would do everything possible to make your life easier, even if that included insulting some people who were rude to you.
— ★
Eventually, you start hanging at the McLaren garage more and more often — until the noises drain your battery and you leave suddenly. People don't think much of it until they notice your seemingly aloof attitude. They think you're just in your own world, your own bubble.
The difference in your attitude doesn't go unnoticed by your best friend.
One afternoon before training he sees you sipping cola in the suite. You're sitting on the couch, phone in hand, watching something attentively. You don't notice his presence behind you but you do hear a faint sound.
“Hey, goofball”.
No reaction. It's only when you feel a hand on your shoulder that you turn your head in his direction. He's frowning, worried.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly. You have to partially read the words on his lips. You remove the earplugs, the hospitality suite is quiet enough to not hurt your ears anyway.
“Yeah, sorry, I didn't hear-“
“Wait, it's already quiet here, what's up with the earplugs?” he sat next to you, curious.
You shift in your seat. You hadn't expected to tell him like this.
Oscar steps inside the room and you notice him in the distance. He sees the earplugs in your hands and reads Lando's confused look. He sends you a small smile and an encouraging nod.
You sigh.
You tell Lando about the diagnosis. About why, all those years, your need to be in quiet spaces had grown vital. About how your head and ears were constantly buzzing, even when it was quiet. You tell him about the relief of finally putting a name on it, and getting hearing aids soon. You don't mention the uncertainty, the doubts that have been plaguing you lately. How a part of you is a little scared of what's next, how you'll adapt, adjust to a different way of living, hearing, conversing.
His eyes immediately soften. He pulls you in for a hug.
“Why didn't you immediately tell me?”
His voice is soft, not accusatory. If anything, he's angry at himself for not noticing the difference earlier.
“I don't know” you say. Because you don't. Or maybe you do, but don't want to admit it. That it scares you a little. That you're different.
He rubs soothing circles on your back. When he leans away, he's smiling.
“And when were you going to tell me you've been on a date with Oscar?”
You shush him immediately, nervous chuckle escaping your lips. You search for the brunette in the corner of your eye but he’d already left the room.
“Stop! It wasn't like that. I mean, I don't think it was?”
“Are you sure? Because every time I see him, he's looking at you with heart eyes” said Lando flatly, clearly not buying it.
You shake your head, not believing a single word but a part of you, very deep down, is hanging onto whatever hope he's mirroring.
“So…” he begins, and the mischief in his eyes is threatening. “Now that you've graduated uni, you're much more free, aren't you?” not entirely a question. He expects you to say yes. Because he knows you will.
You nod, glaring at his evil smirk.
“Perfect. Then you won't mind coming to this gala event in Monaco next week” he mumbles the sentence, then looks at the earplugs in your hands for reassurance.
“I heard that, idiot, and yes I do mind!” you sigh dramatically.
He laughs, “Oh come on, please? I promise you're gonna have so much fun. And if you don't, at least Oscar's gonna be there…”
“Ah ha, if you think this is gonna work-”
“I know it's working” he gets up and leaves the room, his decision final.
And the worst part? He's right, it is working.
— ★
You step into the gala room and realize you've made a terrible mistake.
You'd decided to not wear your earplugs. One evening dealing with the real music of the world couldn't hurt, right? Also, yes, your hairstyle did reveal your ears and you didn't feel like attracting attention by wearing earplugs. Superficial much? Yes. But soon you'd have your hearing aids, so you thought you'd take a chance and see how it goes.
Well, as soon as you step inside, the sounds are overwhelming. The clinking of glasses and plates, the heels and rush of people nearby, the sounds of the fabrics and cameras, and worst of all, the constant chatter. The voices everywhere. Each sound is magnified and you realize you are not lasting multiple hours in this environment.
Your arm is intertwined in Lando's and as the cameras start clicking in your direction, you can't help but murmur “This is going to make the rumors so much worse”.
He looks at you, frowning for a second before he smiles for the cameras.
“No it won't and you need to stop obsessing over what people say. You need a PR manager at this point” he says calmly.
You sigh and hope for the best. What else can you do?
The minute Oscar sees you with Lando, his chest tightens. He realizes he should’ve invited you to the gala. That you should be by his arm, right now, not his teammate’s.
You’re wearing a very elegant dress — but it’s understated, like you don’t want to disturb, don’t want to stand out and he knows you enough now, to see through your choices. And yet even in this dress, he cannot take his eyes off of you.
Eventually the bustle around you and Lando dies down and you accompany him to talk and meet people — a lot of them, each one more important than the last.
At some point Lando sees someone in the distance. He gently squeezes your arm “I'll be right back” he tells you, and leaves.
Well, there goes your "fun night". You're alone, with a growing headache from the constant chatter and your heels are also beginning to hurt your feet. At least, no miscommunication happened with all the people you met — you heard them loud and clear. Way too loud, you thought bitterly.
Suddenly, you feel a hand grazing your elbow. You turn around to see Oscar looking dashing in his suit.
Black suits him a lot.
“Hey- oh, you're not wearing your earplugs” he immediately notices. And while every sound is magnified without your protection, his voice still drowns in the crowd’s.
“Yes, and it's a fucking mistake. I forgot how loud any event gets for me, even when there's no music. Just the… constant chatter…” you trail off, looking around the room. Your head is starting to buzz.
He's about to say something but an old man (some investor, apparently) comes around to talk with Oscar, who immediately stops you from leaving, his hand hovering over your lower back. They talk for a few minutes, and Oscar introduces you to the man, not wanting you to feel left out of the conversation. Said man asks about you, and you find yourself easing into the conversation, smiling, but still hyperaware of all the sounds around.
Oscar notices the second your smile goes from effortless to frozen and forced. He sees your fingers tense around the champagne glass, sees how you wince every time some sound erupts too close (the clinking of a glass, a loud laugh). The vein on your forehead is a pop away when Oscar gently excuses the two of you and guides you to the outskirts of the crowd, his hand warm on your lower back.
Your heartbeat drums in your ears at the contact and you can’t help but peek at his profile. He is the picture of royalty, shoulders back, standing straight, guiding you away from everyone.
His eyes catch yours and suddenly you don’t know how to breathe anymore.
Worst, he winks.
Casually. Like it’s as normal as saying ‘hello’.
Before you realize it, the two of you are standing outside, peeking downstairs by the balcony. The air is fresh and most of all, it’s quiet here. You feel like you can breathe easier.
He notices the way your shoulders relax. The way you close your eyes in relief.
“Having a headache?”
You blink.
“How did you know?” your voice is quiet. Your ears are buzzing louder than usual, already.
“I’ve done some research” he shrugs.
Why is he being so casual about this? This man has gone on one date with you and he already knows more than the average about your conditions?
“Why didn't you wear your earplugs tonight?” he asks, after a silence.
You watch him. Because he sounds genuinely curious and you don't remember the last time someone noticed a single thing about your demeanor or habits. His eyes don't waver, don't shy away and you feel heat rising to your cheeks.
“I wanted to… look normal, I guess” you shrug, looking at the starry sky.
He hums. Not dismissive, contemplative in the few seconds of silence that follow. Then,
“I know it's a tough transition. I can't speak for how you feel deep down, but people have to accept you as you are, not as you should be. And you should never feel like you have to compromise your health to feel seen and welcomed.”
Your head snaps towards him. He's taken a step closer and you think it's too much. Not the noises, not the proximity.
But the sweetness of it all. The softness of his voice. The careful words. The solid eyes that anchor you to this world.
You feel a knot in your throat but you're not sad. You're surprised by how seen and understood you feel by him.
Thank you, you manage to mouth.
His eyes drop to your lips and you think this is it. Your heartbeat is thrumming, your body buzzes under the proximity. You could swear he was leaning in-
Of course Lando 'I gotta ruin the moment' Norris had to show up.
“Hey, I've been searching every- Woah, sorry” he's about to leave but Oscar has already taken a step back and so have you.
“Nope, guys, go on, sorry, I didn't mean to interr-” Lando says as he steps back, a grin splitting his face.
“I'm going back to the hotel, actually!” you say cheerfully. Way too cheerfully.
You step away from the two boys, embarrassment flushing your cheeks but you stop in front of Lando before leaving altogether,
“Thanks for abandoning me, Norris” sarcasm dripping from your voice.
And with that, you leave the premises, missing the way Lando smiles at Oscar.
“All according to plan” he mumbles.
“What plan?” says Oscar.
“Don’t you worry” Lando taps his back in friendly fashion, guiding him back inside. “Come on, Zak is looking for us”.
summary: oscar meets reader at an untimely moment of her life — reader has been diagnosed with a hearing disability. what starts as annoyance turns into something softer before either of the two can name what it is.
contains: reader has a hearing disability (due to tinnitus and hyperacusis, not deaf) and is in the process of getting hearing aids. reader is lando’s friend. crack. fluff. a little bit of angst. idiots in love. miscommunication duh. a hint of jealousy maybe. swearing.
a/n: lowkey inspired by the drama. it’s such a shame we don’t have enough fics with disabled & hard of hearing reader! hope y’all enjoy this ♡ this one starts a little slow but the good stuff is coming, trust
Getting invited to a race right as you found out there was indeed a reason for your constant hearing discomfort was probably not the best idea. But Lando had insisted — how could you turn down his invitation when you finally happened to be free during a race week?! Needless to say, the man wouldn’t take no for an answer.
And when he pleaded you, on your latest facetime call, to come to the race, you couldn’t muster the courage to update him on your latest findings. You’d always had tinnitus, but as the years passed, it became increasingly uncomfortable. The times you couldn’t endure prolonged outdoor exposure due to the persistent buzzing in your head, the inability to tolerate even slightly louder noises, and the growing burden it placed on you—all these had a cause and the cause was your ears.
You’d recently gotten diagnosed and had to wait many, many weeks for your hearing aids to finally arrive. In the meantime, all you could do to bear the outside noise was wear earplugs to muffle the sound and ease the sensitivity. Which is exactly what you did when you arrived at the paddock, thanks to Lando’s passes. The minute you stepped inside the hospitality suite, the reality of the event hit you.
There were people.
Like, a lot of them.
And so many sounds. The hum of engines, people’s hurried steps, heels, and the voices — god, the voices. With the earplugs, it all sounded like you were underwater which wasn’t really more comfortable but at least better for your ears.
Your pulse spiked as your eyes searched for your friend. You met a tall brunette's eyes, his brows slightly furrowing at your sight but immediately averted your gaze, nervousness gnawing at you. Heat rose to your cheeks as you steadied your breathing, trying to look casual.
The minute Lando spotted you, he jumped to his feet, mouthed something to his colleagues, and practically ran towards you.
“You came!”
You turned to the source of the faint sound—
Lando’s curls bounced with each of his strides, grinning ear to ear like a manchild. You sighed in relief, and walked into his open arms.
So dramatic, you chuckled to yourself. As always.
But as you breathed in his cologne and felt his laugh rumble through his chest, you couldn’t deny you’d missed him too. It’d been months since you last saw him.
When you broke apart, you noticed the earlier brunette man’s eyebrows shoot up. You averted your eyes again. He looked familiar.
“It’s been forever, oh my god, I had to practically drag you here myself!” Lando said as his hands rested on your shoulders.
“Ugh, drop the theatrics, Norris” you rolled your eyes not unkindly. “You know we’re both very busy”.
“Liar. I’m a professional racing driver and yet you’re always busier than me!” he complained, brows furrowing.
“I’m here now, aren’t I?” you sighed, feeling much too aware of the nearby people’s eyes on the two of you.
Just who were you, exactly? No one had ever seen Lando light up this way before around someone else.
You couldn’t talk too long though, as he had to go get ready for the race. He made you promise him you’d stay after it was over to catch up and meet some of his friends, and he’d insisted he wouldn’t forgive you if you left early. You promised him, chest tightening at his eagerness.
You’d really missed that damn boy.
You bit down your smile as you brought your phone out and settled in some corner to watch the race. Far from prying eyes, you hoped. And even further away from the constant noises.
You scrolled on social media, only to see a picture of you hugging Lando already going viral. You gasped, as you scrolled further down the comments and reactions, heartbeat turning sickenly quick.
You didn’t notice a figure approaching then hovering near you. Didn’t notice the brunette staring at you in the hope you’d meet his eyes.
He studied your figure, hunched over your phone, something like panic stretched on your face.
“That’s the worst PR mistake you can make” he commented, trying to joke about you reading the comments on socials.
You didn’t hear him. You were so caught up by it, and with your earplugs, the surrounding world had lowered down to a faint and distant hum.
He waited. A beat. Then awkwardly cleared his throat.
No reaction.
He scoffed to himself. He’d never been dismissed, no, disrespected like this before. You had met eyes earlier. Twice. How could you just ignore him like that?
He didn’t know whether he should double down or simply pretend it didn’t happen.
Another beat.
He opted for the latter.
He swallowed his pride and walked away, jaw clenching.
The race came and went in a blur. Lando won P2, his teammate — that’s who the brunette man was! Oscar Piastri! — P3.
McLaren was on fire.
Voices erupted in cheers, and the two drivers strode in, victorious smiles etched on their faces.
Lando immediately walked to you, hugging you almost too tightly.
“You’re my lucky charm!” he cheered.
You matched his grin and joy, congratulating him.
“You’re coming with us, we’re celebrating tonight”, he added, not open for discussion.
You had to give him that, right? At the very least, for all the times you turned down his invitations before.
You nodded. He kissed your cheek in his excitement, indifferent to the dozens of cameras pointing at your interaction.
Oscar saw it all unfold. The way you’d hugged, the way you didn’t even glance his way, or congratulate him.
But you were so caught up by the environment, so lost in the sea of noises and cheers and voices and cameras and cars— that you couldn’t take notice.
— ★
You arrived at the yacht party (the yacht was literally six times the size of your apartment) dressed in a white blouse and matching white shorts, the perfect picture of elegance.
Lando introduced you to his friends, some familiar faces and some new ones too. You met Charles, Alexandra, a few engineers whose names had escaped you.
As you walked further down the yacht, you noticed Oscar, a glass in hand, wearing a white blouse and black pants. Your heart stammered at the sight, and you were so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn’t even register that Lando was guiding you to go meet him.
“Osc, I want you to meet a very dear friend of mine”, Lando started.
Oscar’s eyes went from curious to… annoyed? His gaze was cold, almost robotic.
A chill went down your spine. You tried to smile.
“Hi, nice to meet you” you introduced yourself and presented your hand.
He looked… unimpressed. Granted you’d never met the boy, he didn’t owe you anything but still… Some politeness could go a long way, you thought.
He let your hand hang in the air. For a second, you thought he was going to ignore you. But eventually he moved his own hand and shook yours, very briefly.
“Hi” he simply said. So low you almost didn’t hear it with your earplugs.
“Mate, what’s up? We just fucking won!” chuckled Lando, aiming for uplifting but landing somewhere baffled.
Oscar smiled politely, though it didn’t reach his ears. The boy didn’t like you, that was pretty clear.
As the evening unfolded, you talked more openly with Lando and his friends. You realized they were actually pretty nice, and altogether funny. You even cracked jokes with them, and although Oscar was still pissed about your earlier interaction — or lack thereof, actually — he couldn’t hide his own smirk from time to time.
The darker the sky turned, the more his eyes lingered. He’d wanted to ignore you entirely tonight, but you were just impossible to not see.
You weren’t loud, weren’t demanding. But you were there. You listened. You didn’t talk much but when you did, it was always relevant. Or too funny to ignore. So he observed you, like a genius trying to crack a complex code.
You met his eyes. You gave him a small smile.
His pulse quickened in response. He cleared his throat, bringing his glass to his lips and looking away.
Disappointment settled over you.
You excused yourself from the table and retreated further away from the crowd. It was already more quiet, further down the yacht.
You watched and breathed in the sea breeze. Even with earplugs, you could feel a headache starting from the noise. You’d have to leave soon.
Oscar’s eyes hadn’t left your figure since you’d stood up.
He didn’t know why, he couldn’t resist staring at you, each time your eyes caught his sent a jolt of electricity coursing through him.
A few minutes went by, when you saw something out of the corner of your eye.
You turned, jumping in surprise.
“Jeez, you scared me!” you said.
It was Oscar. He looked angry. Again.
“What, you didn’t hear me talking to you right now, just like you didn’t hear me earlier in the hospitality?” his voice was quiet, almost too quiet. You had to lean in to make out the words, shock stretching over your delicate features.
What the hell was he being so rude about?!
“Wait, no, I didn’t hear you. Neither now nor earlier, what are you talking about?”
“I was literally a few feet away from you, though…” he said slowly, his anger making way for doubt. “You were scrolling on socials”.
Had he misread the situation…? But he was standing close enough for you to hear though!
You were about to snap back before you realized.
Shit.
Fuck.
Is this what your life's gonna be like from now on?
“Wait, uh…” you tucked your hair behind both ears to reveal the earplugs. “I, uh… I wear earplugs. I have a hearing disability but I don’t have my hearing aids yet so…” you looked away, embarrassed.
You felt so silly. You fidgeted with the glass in your hand. Is this how it's going to be everyday, now?
You hadn’t even had enough time to adjust to a diagnosis that would probably change your very near future, so you hadn't even brought it up. Hell, even Lando didn’t know yet!
Oscar wanted to jump into the sea and never come back. His stomach dropped. He’d never felt more stupid.
“Fuck, I- I’m so, so, sorry, I-…” he sighed, frustrated, as he stepped closer for you to hear more properly.
The movement sent heat rising to your neck, as you stood up straighter.
“I apologize, really-“
“No, no, it’s me, I haven’t told anyone yet, I’ve just been diagnosed and it’s a little-“
He closed his eyes.
Your diagnosis was still recent.
God, he hated himself.
“Please, don’t. It’s me. I was an asshole.”
Silence settled over the two of you for a few seconds as he studied your face. The corner of his lips twitched. Yours did too before you could stop yourself.
You both burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation. His eyes lingered longer than necessary on the corner of your lips, the crinkles around your eyes. His mind short circuited at the sight.
When your laugh died down, you felt suddenly very aware of his eyes on you, the sea breeze gently playing with your hair, your white shirt under the purple and orange lights of the yacht. You shifted your weight on your feet and braced yourself for your next words.
“Do you wanna… start over?”
He blinked, mouth slightly open.
“Y-yeah, please” relief washed over him as he realized that perhaps, all chances of getting to know you weren’t gone.
summary: francis has to find a way to convince reader to come home for dinner, as per Lois’ command request. is either of the two ready for that?
contains: reader going through it, family issues/dysfunctional families, hurt/comfort, crack, the wilkersons!, no use of y/n.
a/n: so many of you aksed for a part two. the people ask, i deliver. 🫡
You were sprawled on your bed reading a book when the phone rang. You picked up, eyes glued to your book, unprepared for the voice on the other line.
“Hey, how are you?”
You immediately sat up at the sound of Francis’ voice. Your mind replayed your last date in the park, his shiny blonde hair and cool blue eyes sending butterflies in your stomach. The way his hand would linger just a fraction too long on your waist. And the kisses, god, the kisses.
“Hi Francis! I’m good, and you?” your fidgeted with the pages of your book.
“Great, uh…” he seemed to hesitate. Somewhere on the other side of the line you heard another boy’s (younger) voice saying something along the lines of come on, tell her idiot! followed by a violent shut up, Reese.
Francis’ voice chimed back up. Way too loudly to cover the background ruckus.
“So, yeah, are we still good for tomorrow afternoon? Same time, same place?”
You had the distinct feeling he’d meant to tell you something else but you rolled with it, already giddy at the idea of another pick nick date at the park.
“Sure, I’d love to”.
He could hear your smile and his heartbeat did something that would probably be dangerous for someone with a heart condition. He couldn’t wait to see. He’d been unable to think of anything else but you.
“Lovely, see you there”.
You hung up, smile plastered on your face. You looked at the book on your bed and realised you wouldn’t be able to focus again. That damn boy had you head over heels.
You had been so excited to see your boyfriend. You had prepared a nice and comfortable outfit, styled your hair just the way you liked it (and hoped he did too), worn your favorite earrings.
Of course your dad had to ruin it.
He just had to go ahead with his emotionally manipulative guilt about how he’s not seeing you enough, how your mother ruined the family, how he was a saint compared to you and your mom.
By the time his rant was over, you were relieved to get out of the house. Not only were you late to go meet Francis, your mood was also ruined.
You saw a familiar figure near a blossoming tree. He wore a black t-shirt and blue jeans, sunglasses on but smile already present.
You greeted him with a chaste kiss on the lips, your usual wide smile rendered small and halfhearted. His eyes immediately began searching your face, going quickly from your eyes, to your lips, to your cheeks.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
You sighed, the earlier lump in your throat came back ten times stronger. You avoided his eyes.
“Nothing, just… my dad, the usual shit” you shrugged, trying to keep it cool.
He grabbed your hand, tracing soothing patterns with his thumb, his eyes never leaving your face. He knew that tone and look all too well. He sighed. He hated seeing you sad.
You walked aimlessly in the park until you found a nice bench under the sun. He brought some snacks out of his backpack. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. Who would have thought that Francis Wilkerson would one day be eating snacks with a girl in a park? That kind of romantic stuff had been the last thing he thought he’d ever do. And yet…
But you barely registered his chuckle and even when he opened the bag of chips and put it between the two of you, you couldn’t bring yourself to eat.
Your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Most of the time you were very, very good at pretending everything was fine. You had mastered the arts of keeping your feelings at bay and the tears sparse. You were a prodigy of denial when it came to your family.
But every now and then… it all came crashing back down. The years spent with parents fighting, the constant arguments, you in between. The emotional manipulation, the mistakes your father had made that had cost you and your mom so much. His immaturity, his stupidity. All the times you felt unseen, unloved and in between. You raising the parents that were supposed to raise you.
And today was unfortunately like that. Each thought sent a pang of guilt, anger and despair mixed with a trip down memory lane — awful memories, and now your eyes stang and you felt like you’d never be okay, things would never get better and that if you–
Francis grabbed your hand.
You startled. Looked up at him.
His eyes on you were firm. Calm, collected. Warm. He kissed your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours, and you couldn’t even remember your name.
He said it for you. Softly. A stark contrast to the usual conversations with your parents.
He managed to bring you in a world where they didn’t exist. For a second there, you’d forgotten about everything that was wrong in your life because his hands and eyes on you just felt right. Like he was enough to make you feel like you were at the right place, at the right time, no matter when, no matter where.
“You're fine, now. You can tell me everything, y’know, right?”.
That did it. Talk about denial… You bawled your eyes out, lips trembling slightly. He immediately moved the snacks between you two away and reached for a hug. When you understood, from his grip, that he had no intention of letting go so soon, your cheek fully rested on his shoulder as you tried slowing your breathing down. He rubbed soothing patterns on your back.
It broke his heart seeing you like this.
You didn’t cry long. It was brief, but it was enough. When you pulled back, his hands still anchoring you by your waist, you felt like a weight had been lifted off of you.
His thumbs caressed your tear tracks. You told him briefly but truthfully about what you’d been going through at home for the last few years, his jaw dropping slack the more you told him.
“Wait, this whole time I thought your parents were just shitty, kind of like my parents and brothers, but… you’re an actual fucking saint in your family, and I’m totally the opposite of that” he realized, eyes wide.
You chuckled at that. He’d told you about his old bratty ways. Military school. How strained he’d always felt because of his family. You knew the lore.
He gave you more reassuring words, throwing a joke or two in there. When your eyes lit up with that familiar warmth and joy he’d fallen for, his pulse spiked up as he braced himself for his next words.
“Listen, speaking of that…” he hesitated, looking down at his hands engulfing yours.
A surge of shyness coursed through you as you studied his face, his hair, his hands. His black t-shirt and jeans made him look both boyish and manly. His touch was so warm, so soft. For the first time since… well, forever, you felt safe. At home.
“My family wants to meet you”, his blue eyes pierced through you in a wave of panic he didn’t even try to hide. “Well, my mom wants you to come by Saturday night for dinner.” he paused again, the heaviness of the words sipping in. “I know it sounds like a lot, God, they are a lot! But if you’re uncomfortable, I totally get it, you really don’t-” he spoke so fast now.
You chuckled once more.
“I don’t mind, Francis”.
That stopped him in his tracks.
Were you worried about his family not liking you? Meeting not only his parents but also his brothers? Of course you were! Who wouldn’t? Especially given the stories he’d told you about Lois… God knows she’d be hard to please.
Why did you accept, then? Honestly, you don’t know. Something about him just feels… right. And you know that even if it goes wrong, he'll still be by your side. God knows the boy doesn’t give a shit about his family’s opinion.
Francis was too stunned to speak.
“Really?” his shoulders dropped, tension making way for dumbfounded surprise.
“Really” you smiled.
A breath he didn’t know he withheld came out. His hands quickly moved from yours to your waist as he leaned forward and kissed you.
“You realize it might go horribly wrong, right?” he added, smile intact, as he pulled back just enough to look at you.
“Oh, yes”.
“One more thing, baby” he pulled your hand closer.
He studied your face with the reverence of someone looking at a shooting star for the first time in his life. He breathed out.
“I need you to promise me that whatever happens, whatever you hear, whatever you see… it won't change your opinion of me… unless it makes it better. Which it probably won't…”, he added the last bit under his breath, brows furrowing slightly.
You would’ve burst out laughing if it weren’t for how serious he seemed to be. You held back a chuckle. It would be unnerving if you, a product of a fucked up family, wouldn't be considerate about how little they reflect a person's character.
“I promise you, Francis”.
The minute you rang, you knew it was going to be mayhem. Multiple male voices sprung out as others shushed them just as quickly. Hurried footsteps, a glass falling and breaking and a firm woman’s voice — “Francis, come over here!” — all preceded the fateful moment.
Lois opened the door.
Francis stood next to her, a little breathless, like he’d run to get here on time.
Lois said your name with a smile, her eyebrows raising slightly. She had seen some of Francis’ girlfriends before. She’d seen the fully tattooed and pieced woman with black hair during his angsty adolescent era. She’d seen the stupid blonde — well, many stupid blondes — who only went out with Francis out of pity or because he’d pretended to be someone he wasn’t. She’d disapproved of all, and hadn’t even had to say a word to him because she knew, like every single time, that they would break up sooner or later.
But right now, her eyebrows were only raised slightly, mouth barely agape. Approval? Shock? Either way she seemed pleasantly surprised. You brought your hand out and shook hers.
That was a stark difference to the introductions she’d had to his previous girlfriends. At least, this was better than finding Francis in the middle of a make out session in his bedroom with a total stranger. Or seeing a girl half naked step out of their bathroom with a giddy smile.
“Nice to meet you, Ma'am” you said shyly.
“No need to call me that, sweetheart, call me Lois” she scoffed. “This is Ha-” she looked inside, frustration growing a little, “Hal! Oh, never mind, come in, come in”.
You stepped inside as Lois made way for three other pair of eyes to seer through you.
“This is Malcolm, Reese and Dewey” said Francis as he pointed at the middle child, the older brother and the youngest.
“Ah, finally, I can put a face on all the voices I've heard on the phone” you joked.
The three boys were surprisingly silent. They just couldn’t believe Francis could pull someone like… you.
“Ok, I sort of see what he sees in her” whispered Reese to Malcolm.
“Are you kidding? She’s literally the best girlfriend he’s ever had” he whispered back.
They waved hi, unusually quiet. Maybe, it had to do with Francis’ promise that all hell would break loose if they dared even look at you the wrong way. When you moved towards the kitchen table to sit, as Lois invited you to do so, you missed the way Francis glared at the boys, fist tightly curled in silent threat.
Hal greeted you, at last. He, too, seemed pleasantly surprised. Whatever they had expected from Francis, it clearly was better. For starters, you looked normal. Almost too normal.
Lois put some pasta and salad on every plate, as Francis searched for your eyes. Once they met his, he sent you a tight-lipped smile and discreet wink. You tilted your head just slightly in response, and Francis’ mind short-circuited.
He loved when you did that.
"So, Francis tells me you're a law student!” says Hal appreciatively.
“That I am, I'm afraid” you joked once more.
“What are you planning on doing after graduation?” he asked.
“I'll probably pass the bar and become a lawyer”.
Everyone — except Francis, since he already knew of your plans — stared at you, mouth agape. Lois quickly regained her composure, giving you a warm smile that felt… actually genuine. She nodded once, before stabbing her food with her fork, enthusiastically.
She clearly liked what she was hearing.
So, you were beautiful, smart and polite.
“Hopefully Francis never ends up needing one, again”.
You all turned to look at Reese, who wore an evil smirk on his face, clearly proud of his joke.
“Reese”, warned Francis slowly, his knuckles turning white around his fork.
“You're not much better young man, should I remind you that just a few months ago I had to go the police to get you because you “pranked” an old lady so bad she had a heart attack?” Lois said casually. “Thank God the woman didn’t die” she added under her breath but didn’t really seem concerned.
“At least Malcolm is doing well in school, you should all take example on this young lady. She will make a fine lawyer one day” added Hal, pointing at you before pointing at his kids.
Oh shit. You didn't want to become an object of comparison. Your pulse quickened as you feared the brothers would despise you for being so “perfect” in comparison to them. You searched for annoyance, anger or hurt on their faces… but they didn’t care at all, all of them just rolled their eyes. Your shoulders dropped, nervousness making way for an unexpected comfort.
They weren't so bad. Well, they weren't bad at all actually. No matter how dysfunctional they might be, how crazy they might seem, it was clear they loved one another beneath all the attitude and piques.
They were a family. Not a perfect one, but a family nonetheless. And maybe, just maybe, that brought you comfort. Knowing that you weren't the only one thriving in spite of a dysfunctional family or at least, knowing it doesn't change anything about who you really are.
As chatter flowed more naturally between all of you, you ended up discussing schools and unis with Malcolm, music and piano with Dewey and sports with Reese. Francis couldn't believe how easily you blended in, how naturally you adapted to each of them, matching their attitude, quickly cataloguing their interests and being able to talk about them.
When everyone was done eating, you brought out your tote bag.
“I heard some of you here like comics?” you started, at the confused looks they all sent you.
“Wait, are you kidding?!” said Reese excitedly. He fiddled with the comic you handed him. “Cool” he nodded approvingly.
“Wait, wait there’s more…” you peered at Dewey, whose smile was so big it was contagious.
He took the one you handed him, looking at it like it was the moon and the stars.
“And maybe, just maybe, I put my hands on some limited edition too”.
“No fucking way!” said Malcolm.
“Malcolm!” both Hal and Lois reprimanded but they weren’t really angry.
“Sorry” but his smile said he was anything but sorry as he opened the comics you handed him.
“And for the parents, some chocolates for dessert” you gave them a box.
The three younger brothers were busy with their gifts but Hal and Lois were stunned. They just stared at you, jaw slack.
Hell, even Francis hadn’t expected that.
By the time you had to leave, Lois walked down the walkway with you, alone. You wished you’d made good impression on them, but according to Francis, she was very hard to please.
She stopped walking. You took a step further before you realized it, and turned back to her, pulse quickening.
This is it, you thought to yourself. The final verdict.
God, did she like you? Was she going to tell you to never ever come back here? To leave Francis alone?
She stared at you for a while, before a small smile curled up on her face.
“Thanks for the chocolates and comics. You really didn’t hafta. They don’t deserve it” she nodded to the house.
You managed a polite chuckle at that.
“Please, it was nothing”.
“You really like him, don’t you?”
You paused. Your fingers, which had been nervously fidgeting and playing with your rings, halted. You swallowed.
“Yes, I do”.
“And he loves you.”
Was it a quest-?
“It’s not a question, he does. I’ve never seen Francis like this. He’s… actually making efforts. Ever since he met you… he’s changed. And I think further down the line, you might make him a better man. A very good man.”
Your eyes stung at the words, relief and joy flooding you.
“Lois, wow-“
“And you’ll be like the daughter I never had”.
Your voice failed you. Because what the hell were you supposed to say to that? Someone as tough and difficult as Lois openly approving you. Someone’s mother telling you you make their son better. Someone accepting you as part of their family, perhaps, even?
“Thank you, Lois, I’m truly honor-“
“You evil witch, what did you say to her?!”
You both turned to the house.
Francis was coming in big strides to where the two of you stood. He hadn’t heard a thing of the conversation. He’d only seen, through the kitchen’s window, your emotional face and he bolted.
“Why is she crying? Is she not enough? Who ever is, with you?” he continued, face red.
Your mouth fell open.
“Wait, Fran-“ you started but he cut you off.
“No! I’m tired of this! She is the most beautiful, kind and smart woman I’ve ever met in my entire life! I love her! I’ll marry her! And you will never, ever change my mind!”
Quiet fell. Lois stared at Francis, unimpressed, like she’d been through this so many times she knew every single outcome. She sighed.
“Good luck with him, honey. God knows you’re gonna need it” she said to you before she left, not without sending a pointed look at Francis.
Francis scoffed. Did she just ignore his love declaration? Does she not get it? That he loves you? That he will not stand idle while she tells you off?
“Francis, she approved. She likes me!” you explained.
He blinked at you, fingers pausing mid movement.
Oh, fuck, no.
Your nervous chuckles slowly turned into a full-on laugh.
God, Francis’ face. How indignant he’d looked!
He looked at the house, then back at you. He sighed and silently cursed himself.
Your laugh died down as you recalled his words.
Did he say he was going to marry you?
— ★
taglist: @blueberrybow @twisteduniverse5
thanks for all the love on the previous part and for all the asks and comments. it means a lot. reblogs are appreciated!
