#( to the right of posts; third dot down )

[doedipus]

a large amount of time I've been spending on -untitled undefined scope original fiction project- since the last time I posted about it has been trying to develop the protagonist concept I came up with last summer or whatever into like, a character that would feel real and era appropriate.

it's fun research to do. naturally a lot of the details I assigned to her are things that I already think are cool, so it's been a lot of fun trying to trace her traits back through the relatively recent past, getting reminded of how much things have changed, or where the gaps in my intuition are, and then doing a flurry of reading to get a sense for exactly how someone like her and the people around her could have happened and what her life was probably like leading up to her present day. hopefully this results in some good good verisimilitude.

[kutepik]

Eyes on you

(nsfw 18+) Caleb has hidden cameras all over his house, and you've decided to put on a show for him.

2k words. posted also on ao3!

stalking, obsessive behavior, voyeurism, fem!reader.

PART 2 IS HERE!

Cameras. There were hidden cameras all over his house. There wasn't a bookcase or a mirror that didn’t have a little dot on it, almost imperceptible to the untrained eye. You only knew they were there by accident: when you took the elevator to Caleb's apartment, you bumped into an excited boy wearing a cap and uniform of a security company. 

"Are you Mr. Caleb's girlfriend? What a pleasure, I only saw you in pictures!" The boy waved, taking you by surprise. 

"No... I'm just a friend." You said a little confused, and the energetic boy explained himself.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I saw so many photos of Mr. Caleb with you the day I went to install those cameras that I thought you were dating. He also said he was installing the cameras to protect someone he liked." Cameras? What cameras? You thought, but before you could say anything, the elevator door opened and the boy jumped out. "Let me know if any of them stop working, I've installed so many I've almost lost count! Bye!" And so he disappeared down the hall.

Now you were in the living room, standing there in the middle, feeling the weight of your body and your movements, self-conscious about yourself and alert to the fact that you were being watched. Was he watching you? Now? Right now? That’s fucked up. Jail worthy. Caleb was obsessed with you and if your recent reunion hadn't already proved it, the dozen or hundreds of hidden cameras scattered around that room were proof that Caleb was sick. 

But we know the saying: When you point one finger, there are three fingers pointing back to you. More sickening than knowing that you were being watched, from every angle and probably in every room, was the fact that you were aroused. The spot between your legs throbbed, excited by the situation, by the fact that Caleb had probably seen you naked, had seen you sleeping, had seen you showering... It was so fucking wrong that, despite being against everything he had done in Skyhaven right after the reunion, you still delighted in remembering the possessiveness and obsession that melted at the words of your friend, oh, dear friend. 

In addition to the burning sensation between your legs, there was this tingle in your stomach at the thought of a man - not just any man, we're talking about Caleb - being so concerned, so devoted to you that he would kill and die for your happiness. In fact, a man who returned from the ashes and survived for you and you alone. He was no longer your sweet childhood friend... But that wasn't a bad thing. Now he became a man who had eyes (many, it seems, all over the house), only and exclusively for you. Caleb was crazy about you, and, oh shit, you loved it, which made you as crazy as he was. 

So you had two options: the first was to confront Caleb about why the fuck he had installed so many cameras in the apartment if the only person who spent time there apart from him was you; the second was to pretend you didn't know anything and carry on with your life as if everything was normal. 

You always chose the second option when it came to Caleb, ever since you were a teenager and in college. Whether it was sneaking around his room and finding your panties secretly hidden in the back of his closet, or listening to him masturbate while calling your name when he thought he was alone, you always pretended everything was normal. But ever since, and even more so now that you've found each other again, there was nothing normal about it, and no reason to carry on in the same way. After all, if he had changed, there was no reason for you to remain the same or pretend you didn't know anything. 

Then there was a third and new option: pretending not to know anything, but taking advantage of the situation to play with Caleb. Basically, make him taste his own medicine. If he wanted to see you, well, he would.

Pretending to be normal, you sat down on the sofa and took off your coat, throwing it on the coffee table. You took out your cell phone and called his number. 

"Is my favorite guest home yet?" Caleb answered in his usual animated voice. 

"Yeah. I'm bored. Still working? Is it break time?" You remembered that around this time he was most active on social media, so it should be the best time to put into action what you had in mind.

"Ah…You've always been very clever. Yes, I'm on break. I'll be home in two hours and we can do whatever you want. Don't get bored, you can turn on the TV or play a game on the console I have." Caleb was always like that, attentive to you, always wanting to please you. He wasn't much of a gamer, but because you liked games, he had bought a console with the excuse that he was getting interested in games. But now you weren't going to play with the console. You were going to play with something else. 

"Oh, no..." You put the phone on speaker and placed it on the arm of the sofa. You lifted your shirt and brought your fingers up to your bra, massaging your nipples. "I want to relax, not play." You said, holding your right breast while spreading your legs, slipping anxious fingers into your pants, brushing the fingertips against the wet panties. 

The call went silent. Bingo. He was indeed watching you, like the pervert he was. 

"Caleb?" You asked innocently, keeping your voice steady as you started moving your hand in circles, making it obvious what you were doing inside those tight pants. 

"A-ah, yes. Relax..." His breathing was heavy on the other end of the line, and suddenly you heard the sound of a zipper being opened. You had to stop yourself from moaning just then. He was starting to touch himself while watching you. "Why don't you, uh, take a shower in my bathroom?" His voice was a little choked. He was probably pumping himself slowly, staring at your live image through the screen in his office. Your pussy throbbed and suddenly your pants were too tight and too hot. You stopped stroking your own breasts and took both hands to the waistband of your trousers, sliding them down your legs. Then you took off your shirt, leaving only your panties and bra on. You positioned yourself again, this time with your legs spread wider and your heels resting on the table in front of the sofa. Your fingers returned to the soaked fabric of your panties, touching the sensitive clit through the wet cloth. 

"Yeah, I'll have a shower, I'm just finishing something up." With your middle finger, you moved your panties to one side to touch yourself directly. You bit your lip, holding back a moan, and squeezed your breast with your other hand. 

"Fuck..." he swore. 

"All right?" You replied innocently, holding back your unsteady voice as you carried on stimulating your clit at a steady pace. You wanted him to think you didn't know about the cameras, so you had to stay as normal as possible on the phone.

"Yup... I- I just hit my finger," he lied, slurring his words. 

"Caleb-" You said, catching your breath. "I miss you,"

"I miss you too." He sounded almost breathless. "I can come over now."

"No, you can't. There's work. Or is there something urgent you need to do here?" You quickly pulled down your panties, leaving them between your thighs. Then, out of the blue, you heard the unmistakable sound of a camera zooming in. He must have been eating you with his eyes, and now he wanted a closer look. You opened your folds, circling your fingers around the soaked entrance, like a pervert. You slowly moved the fingers up to your clit, stimulating yourself obscenely again. The other end of the line was completely silent, only a few low sounds and grunts were audible. "Caleb, is there something urgent you need to do here?" 

"Uh-" He stammered, and you raised your hips a little, grinding against your hand. "Fuck, fuck," he said. He didn't bother with sentences anymore. 

"What’s up with you? I'm feeling lonely and bored here. Can't you entertain me?" You teased innocently, but your legs were already shaking. 

"I can entertain you. Ah-" For a second, you heard the wet, rhythmic sound of his thrusts against his own hand. Oh my. Caleb had his pants down, sat somewhere in the FAA, and was touching himself like a teenager while he watched you. And you fucking loved it. "I can entertain you... I can be so, so good for you, if you let me." His voice was raspy and breathless. If you weren't so close to your orgasm, you might've asked him if everything was alright and put him in a tough spot again, but you couldn't even think about that. You were too caught up in your own pleasure. One hand was on your nipple under your bra, the other was all over your clit, and you arched your back on the sofa.

"I- I know you know how to entertain me. You're so good to me, always." You gasped, no longer caring that he was probably listening to the sound of your quick fingers against the wet flesh of your vagina. 

Suddenly, you heard a muffled cry on the other end of the line and several "Fuck, fuck, fuck" being whispered like a mantra at a low volume, as if he had his hand against his own mouth. He was coming. And that was all it took for the tingling at the base of your belly to explode and flow out of your pussy in an obscene and intense orgasm. 

You had just squirted all over the living room table and carpet, and had probably wet the sofa as well. The two of you were silent, only the audible gasp of your breaths as you caught your breath. 

"Caleb? Are you still there? It seems the connection was cut." You lied, still pretending you didn't know anything. He coughed and the sound of things being adjusted or stirred could be heard in the background. 

"Yeah, yeah… Probably disconnected or something." 

You got up and stood next to the sofa, looking at the mess you had left there. 

"Caleb I think I spilled...something on your sofa and carpet. Is there any cleaning cloth so I can clean it up?" You looked around. 

"NO!" Caleb almost shouted from the other side. "I mean, it's no problem, pipsqueak. You don't have to clean up. You must be tired from all this, right?" He cleared his throat. "From the trip, and everything. Just rest more, like I said, you can use my bathroom and take a shower if you want."

"Hm, where's that cleaning freak from before? Who are you and what have you done with my Caleb?" You heard a laugh on the other end of the line. 

"That's why. I'll take care of it. Please" The last word sounded as if he was begging. "I'll be home soon, and I'll be able to...entertain you, as you wish. We can, huh, relax together, too."

You laughed and picked up your cell phone, walking to the bathroom while dropping your bra in the hallway, knowing that he was watching here too. You picked up your wet panties and placed them on the bathroom door handle. In an instant, you could see a small dot hidden next to a painting, pointing directly at where you were standing. You stared directly at it, smiled and winked. 

"I'm waiting for you then, Caleb."

Part 2 is here

[glowettee]

✧ how to reinvent yourself without deleting everything this summer ✧

hey lovelies!! WELCOME TO SUMMER! so i've been obsessing over this idea of reinvention lately... like literally woke up at 3am last night to jot down notes in my phone because my brain wouldn't stop thinking about it?? summer always feels like this dreamy little pocket of time where anything is possible... where you can try on different versions of yourself between iced matcha lattes and sunset walks.

i know we've all been there... that moment when you're scrolling through pinterest at midnight and suddenly you're like "what if i just... became someone else??" (guilty of creating entire secret boards dedicated to my "french girl era" that never actually happened lmao). but the thing is, completely starting over is exhausting?? and honestly kind of impossible unless you're in a witness protection program??

so this post is for my girls who want that reinvention feeling without the whole dramatic disappearing act. because honestly? the you that exists right now is already pretty magical, we're just gonna help her shine in some new ways.

✧ why gentle reinvention just hits different ✧

i had this realization while reorganizing my bookshelf last week (yes, for the third time this month, don't judge me) the most interesting characters aren't the ones who completely transform overnight. they're the ones who slowly evolve, keeping their essence while discovering new facets of themselves.

like, remember in "emma" when she realizes she's been in love with mr. knightley the whole time?? she didn't become a different person, she just finally understood something that was already there. that's the kind of reinvention i'm talking about: the recognition, not rejection, of who you are.

✧ actually magical reinvention tips that feel like character development ✧

digital presence evolution (without the cringe factor)

• create a finsta where you post the aesthetic you're curious about but not ready to commit to (mine started as dark academia but somehow evolved into cottagecore with a side of astrology memes??)

• change your social media bios to describe who you're becoming, not who you've been

• make an email signature that makes you feel like the main character (mine has a tiny moon emoji that literally no one has commented on but makes me happy every time)

• curate a new spotify playlist with songs that feel like your "becoming" soundtrack (tip: add one new song every morning as a little ritual)

• start ending your texts with a new sign-off or emoji (i switched from "x" to "✨" and now my friends get worried if i don't include the sparkle)

• take selfies from a completely different angle than your usual (overhead instead of straight-on changed my LIFE)

tiny identity shifts that nobody notices but YOU

• give a slightly different name at starbucks, not completely different, just a variation that feels like an alter ego (i use "amelia" which is my middle name and it feels like slipping into another dimension for 5 minutes)

• create a secret signature scent combination by layering two perfumes you already own (vanilla + something citrusy has main character energy, trust me)

• change your handwriting slightly, make your y's loopier or dot your i's differently (sounds so minor but feels so intentional)

• develop a subtle personal symbol and incorporate it places only you would notice (i draw tiny stars on the corners of important journal pages)

• start carrying something unexpected in your bag that represents your new era (i have a tiny rose quartz crystal that literally no one knows about)

• choose a "power color" you don't usually wear and incorporate it somewhere small every day (even just as a hair tie or phone background)

space magic that costs zero dollars

• rearrange your room based on the energy you want to create (bed facing the window changed my sleep quality so much??)

• create a tiny altar/intention space somewhere private with objects that represent who you're becoming

• switch up where you do everyday activities (i started doing my skincare routine by the window instead of the bathroom and it feels like a whole spa moment)

• change the scent of your space. different candles, incense, or even just boiling cinnamon sticks on the stove

• put up photos from a completely different phase of your life than what you usually display

• rearrange your books by color or theme instead of author (my shelf organized by "books that made me cry" vs "books that changed my mind" feels so personal)

• sleep on the opposite side of the bed or with your head where your feet usually go (literally changes your dreams, i swear)

style whispers that feel like screams

• start wearing your hair in a completely new way just one day a week (slicked back bun on tuesdays has become apart of my routine)

• change where you wear your everyday jewelry. ankle bracelet instead of wrist, rings on different fingers

• try "dopamine dressing" where you wear something purely because the color makes you happy, not because it "goes" with anything

• experiment with makeup placement rather than buying new products (blush higher on cheekbones or across nose bridge instead of apples of cheeks feels revolutionary)

• wear the "special occasion" clothes on random weekdays

• try to add one unexpected accessory to elevate basic outfits (a silky scarf tied on your bag handle)

• match your nail color to your current emotional goal rather than your outfit (blues for calm, reds for confidence)

routine alchemy that changes everything

• take a completely different route home, even if it's longer

• switch when you shower AND the temperature (night showers ending with 30 seconds of cold water changed my sleep quality)

• read the last page of a book first before starting it (chaotic energy but changes how you perceive the story)

• change where you sit in every familiar setting... different spot on the couch, different chair at the dining table

• set alarms for weird specific times (9:43 instead of 9:45) so you actually notice them

relationship refreshers that feel magical

• respond to texts with voice memos if you usually type (this transformed my friendship with my long-distance bestie)

• ask people completely different questions than usual ("what made you smile today?" instead of "how was your day?")

• suggest a different type of hangout than your usual (art gallery instead of coffee shop, sunrise instead of brunch)

• share something slightly vulnerable if you're usually private (i told my friend about my secret passion for astrology and now we have the best conversations about it)

• write actual handwritten notes to people instead of texting

• create little rituals with friends that feel special

• be the first to suggest plans if you usually wait for others (this tiny shift literally expanded my social circle overnight)

mindset magic that costs nothing

• choose a new word to eliminate from your vocabulary (i stopped saying "sorry" before asking questions)

• pick a new word to deliberately use more (i've been using "delightful" instead of "cool" and it makes ordinary things feel magical)

• create a secret personal holiday that only you celebrate (i have "manuscript monday" where i work on my secret novel for just 20 minutes)

• start a collection of something weird and specific (i collect interesting sugar packets from cafes and it makes every coffee shop visit feel like a treasure hunt + i get to discover new food brands).

i literally started taking a different route to my morning coffee last month and ended up discovering this tiny bookstore that's now my favorite place?? sometimes the smallest detours lead to the biggest discoveries.

the most interesting people aren't completely different versions of themselves every season. they're just constantly evolving.

xoxo, mindy 🤍

p.s. make sure to rest this summer, you're gonna need it <3

[throttleheart]

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Tumblr Dot Com

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff. Crack treated seriously

Warnings: 18+, fluff, secondhand embarrassment, teasing, implied smut if you squint, lando being a menace & insufferable, unresolved tension, suggestive comments, mutual pining, Y/N fighting for her life, suggestive content, makeout session, mutual pining, nsfw, they like each other so much get a room

Word Count: ~7.7k

Summary: the one where y/n runs a Tumblr account about Lando and posts fics about him, cue to chaos

tried my hand at writing something that's not in third person

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

You should’ve closed your laptop.

You should’ve closed your laptop.

It was a simple action. One you always did when Lando came over. Because no one—not a single soul—could ever find out about your Tumblr account.

But apparently, the universe had other plans.

Lando was in your kitchen, rummaging through your fridge like he owned the place, while you were curled up on the couch, scrolling through your phone. It was supposed to be a chill night—just movies, snacks, and him being annoying as usual.

And then you heard it.

“Wait.”

You looked up, confused. Lando was frozen, standing behind your desk, your very open laptop in front of him.

Your very open Tumblr dashboard in front of him.

With a very specific post displayed at the top.

A post about him.

Your stomach dropped. “Lando.”

He didn’t answer. Just stared at the screen, his eyebrows raising higher by the second.

Then, slowly—so painfully slowly—he turned to face you, a shit-eating grin already forming.

“What. Is. This?”

Your soul left your body.

“Nothing,” you blurted out, scrambling off the couch. “Close it. Right now.”

But he didn’t close it. Of course he didn’t.

Instead, he scrolled.

“Oh my God—Lando, STOP.” You lunged for your laptop, but he dodged, laughing as he held it out of reach.

“‘His hands gripped my waist, possessive, desperate—’” He snorted, eyes flicking over the words. “Jesus, is this about me?”

You wanted to die. Right there. On the spot. Instant cardiac arrest.

“Shut up, shut up, shut UP.” You tried to grab it again, but he was too quick, spinning away, now fully invested in your blog.

“‘Lando Norris was dangerous in the kind of way that ruined you for anyone else—’” He whistled, eyes wide. “Wow. You really think I’m that good, huh?”

You groaned, face burning. “I swear to GOD, if you don’t stop—”

But he just grinned, scrolling further.

“Oh, look! A fic! Let’s see what I’ve been up to.”

You panicked. “LAN—”

And then he started reading out loud.

“‘His breath was hot against my neck, sending shivers down my spine as he whispered—’”

“I’M DELETING THE BLOG.”

“‘Tell me who you belong to, baby.’”

“I’M BLOCKING MY OWN ACCOUNT.”

Lando lost it, doubling over in laughter, your laptop now clutched to his chest like it was his most prized possession.

“Oh, this is amazing. This is the best day of my life.”

You buried your face in your hands, wishing the earth would just swallow you whole. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You peeked through your fingers, glowering. “Yes, I do.”

He just smirked, finally setting your laptop down—but not before saving your blog link to his phone.

“Oh, you are NEVER living this down.”

You groaned again, flopping onto the couch, officially defeated.

Lando chuckled, moving to sit beside you, his arm draping over your shoulders. “So… do I actually whisper filthy things in your ear, or was that just for the fic?”

You whacked him with a pillow.

“I’m never speaking to you again.”

Lando snorted, leaning back against the couch, completely unfazed. “Oh, come on. You’re being dramatic.”

You glared at him, crossing your arms. “Dramatic? You just found out I run a Tumblr fan account dedicated to you. Do you understand how mortifying that is?”

“Oh, trust me, I do.” He grinned, stretching his legs out. “Because I’ve read your work. And I gotta say, I’m impressed.”

Your entire body burned with embarrassment. “I hate you.”

He clicked his tongue, smirking. “You already said that. But according to your fics, you also ‘crave me in ways words could never fully describe.’”

“I’M DEACTIVATING.”

Lando laughed, full and genuine, his stupid dimples making an appearance.

“Seriously, though. How long have you had it?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. There was no getting out of this. “A couple of years. Since before we even met.”

His eyebrows shot up. “So, you were obsessed with me before I even knew you existed? Damn, that’s kinda hot.”

“I’m begging you to shut up.”

Lando ignored you, his mind already working overtime. “Wait—does that mean you’ve written fics about me and other girls?”

You froze.

His eyes widened. “OH MY GOD, YOU HAVE.”

“IT WAS BEFORE I KNEW YOU.”

“SO YOU SHIPPED ME WITH OTHER PEOPLE?!”

You grabbed a pillow and threw it at his face. “STOP MAKING THIS WORSE.”

He caught it easily, grinning like an absolute menace. “Wow. Betrayal. And here I thought I was your favorite.”

You groaned, covering your face again. “This is literally the worst night of my life.”

Lando chuckled, shifting closer until his leg was pressed against yours. “Nah, this is great. Best night, actually.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “You are insufferable.”

“And you’re adorable when you’re embarrassed.”

You huffed, looking away. He was too close now, his familiar scent—cologne, a little sweat, a hint of something sweet—messing with your head.

Lando must’ve noticed, because his voice dropped, lower, smoother. “So… which one’s your favorite?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

He smirked, fingertips tracing random patterns on your thigh. “Which fic? Out of all the ones you wrote about me. Which one do you like the most?”

Your mouth went dry.

Because you knew exactly which one it was.

And it was not PG-13.

“Oh my God. You’re thinking of one right now.”

Lando’s voice was pure amusement, but there was something else underneath it too—something teasing, something dark, something undeniably smug.

You swallowed hard, trying to play it cool. “No, I’m not.”

“You so are.” His fingers brushed over your knee, barely there, but enough to make you shiver.

“Lando.”

He hummed, tilting his head. “You wrote about it.” His fingers slid a little higher. “Wanna recreate it?”

Your breath hitched.

His smirk widened.

“That’s what I thought.”

“I hate you.”

Lando grinned, cocky and completely unaffected. “You keep saying that, but I’m starting to think you mean something else.”

Your jaw clenched, doing your best to ignore the way his fingers were still casually resting against your leg, warm and so distracting. You weren’t going to let him win this.

Not after he found your Tumblr. Not after he read your fics.

Not after he figured out exactly how much you wanted him.

“You are never letting this go, are you?” You muttered, refusing to look at him.

Lando leaned in, voice low and infuriatingly smug. “Oh, absolutely not.”

Your entire face burned. “You’re the worst.”

“Yeah?” His fingers traced small circles against your thigh, barely there but enough to make your breath hitch. “Then why are you still letting me touch you?”

You snapped your legs shut, shoving his hand away like you weren’t seconds away from losing your mind. “Because I haven’t kicked you out yet. But don’t test me.”

Lando laughed, throwing his head back. “God, you’re cute when you’re defensive.”

“I am not defensive!”

“Mhm. Sure.” He stretched, acting like this was the most casual conversation ever, like he wasn’t slowly destroying you from the inside out. “So… about that fic.”

You groaned, dropping your head back against the couch. “Lando.”

“What? I’m just curious.” He nudged you with his elbow. “Come on. Which one’s your favorite? The one where I take you in the backseat of a McLaren? Or the one where you call me ‘Sir’ and—”

“I’M BLOCKING YOU.”

Lando cackled, absolutely thriving off your suffering. “Oh, babe, it’s too late for that. You should’ve blocked me before I found your blog. Now I know everything.”

You whined, grabbing a pillow and burying your face in it. Maybe if you ignored him long enough, he’d magically disappear.

But, of course, Lando never made things that easy.

His voice dropped, teasing but also… something else. Something thicker, heavier. “You know… we could make it real.”

Your breath caught.

Slowly, you peeked out from behind the pillow, heart hammering. “What?”

He tilted his head, watching you like he was memorizing every little reaction. “If you want. If you think your writing is accurate, we could… test it out. See if I really do all the things you imagined.”

Oh.

Oh.

Your brain short-circuited.

“You’re messing with me.”

Lando shrugged, eyes still locked on yours. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanna know what’s got you writing about me late at night.”

Your throat went dry. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, but you love it.” His smirk deepened. “And, apparently, you love me.”

You hated that he was right.

You hated that your entire body was betraying you, your pulse racing, your breath uneven.

Most of all, you hated that you were actually considering it.

Because the way he was looking at you now—dark eyes, lazy smirk, confidence dripping from every inch of him—made it really, really hard to say no.

“So, what’s it gonna be, babe?” Lando murmured, fingers grazing your wrist, slow and deliberate.

Your heart pounded.

You knew exactly where this was going.

And you didn’t want to stop it.

Not even a little bit.

“Fuck it,” you whispered, grabbing him by the collar.

And then you closed the gap.

Lando barely had a second to react before your lips crashed into his, the force of it knocking the smirk right off his face.

But he recovered fast—his hands instantly sliding around your waist, pulling you in like this was exactly what he’d been waiting for.

And maybe he had.

The kiss was hot, messy, desperate, all the teasing from earlier boiling over into something neither of you could control anymore. You could feel him smiling against your lips, like he was so damn pleased with himself for pushing you this far.

So you bit his lip.

Lando groaned, hands tightening on your hips. “Fuck, okay. That’s how we’re playing?”

“Shut up.” You kissed him again, hands threading through his stupidly soft curls, tugging just hard enough to make him swear under his breath.

He exhaled a sharp laugh, pulling you fully into his lap like he had zero patience left. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

You just smirked, nails dragging lightly against the back of his neck. “And you talk too much.”

Lando opened his mouth to say something—probably another cocky remark—but you cut him off with another kiss, grinding down just enough to make his breath hitch.

His fingers dug into your thighs, grip tightening. “Jesus, babe. You tryna kill me?”

“Just proving a point.”

Lando licked his lips, watching you like you were his next win on the track. “Yeah? And what point is that?”

You leaned in, lips brushing against his ear. “That I could write something even better after this.”

His reaction was instant—a low curse, a sharp breath, his hands gripping you harder like he was fighting the urge to just flip you over and take control.

And that’s when you realized.

Lando loved the chase. Loved being the one teasing, the one making you squirm. But now? Now he was the one losing his mind, the one stuck between wanting to keep up the game and completely unraveling beneath you.

And it was delicious.

You smirked, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his jaw. “Speechless, Norris? That’s a first.”

Lando exhaled sharply, his hands skimming under your shirt, warm and all-consuming. “Oh, babe. You have no idea what you just started.”

You tilted your head. “Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?”

His grip tightened, his smile turning dangerous.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

Lando’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as he looked at you like you were his next race, his next win—something he had to conquer, own, ruin in the best way possible.

And maybe you would’ve let him.

If you weren’t having so much fun watching him lose his mind.

You smirked, running your fingers down his chest slowly, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch. “What’s wrong, Norris? Cat got your tongue?”

His jaw ticked, hands flexing on your hips. “Careful, babe. You keep talking like that, and I’m gonna have to shut you up myself.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head, fingers dipping under the hem of his shirt. “That supposed to scare me?”

Lando let out a low laugh, but it sounded strained, like he was fighting every single instinct telling him to take control.

“Not scared, huh?” He leaned in, breath hot against your lips. “Even if I do… this?”

Before you could respond, his hands squeezed your thighs, dragging you closer until there was nothing between you.

You let out a shaky breath, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you completely fall apart. Not yet.

Instead, you smiled sweetly, tracing your fingers down his arm. “That all you got, Norris? Thought you were supposed to be a world-class driver.”

Lando’s eyes flashed, and you knew you’d just made a huge mistake.

Because now? He was done playing.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that.” His voice was low, dangerous, like the calm before a storm.

And you?

You were so fucked.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

Lando’s voice was low, the kind that sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers flexed on your hips, holding you therelike he wasn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon.

And the look in his eyes?

Yeah, you were so done for.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your cool. “Big words, Norris. But I’m still waiting.”

Lando huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “You just love pushing your luck, don’t you?”

You smirked, tilting your head slightly. “Maybe.”

His grip on you tightened, and for a second, you thought he was actually going to give in—going to kiss you, ruin you, wipe that smug look off your face with his lips.

But then?

He did something much worse.

Lando leaned in, lips barely brushing your ear, voice low and smug as hell when he whispered,

“I read the smut, you know.”

Your entire body locked up.

“…You what?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Oh yeah. I read all of it.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Every single detail.” His fingers traced small circles on your waist. “All those filthy little thoughts in that pretty head of yours. Want me to list some of my favorites?”

Oh. Oh no. Oh fuck.

Your face burned, heart racing way too fast. “Lando—”

“What was it you wrote the other day?” He pretended to think, tapping his fingers against your hip. “Oh, right. ‘Lando looks like he’d be the type to ruin you against the nearest surface and then act all innocent about it.’”

Your soul left your body.

“That was a joke, obviously,” you blurted out, your voice way too high-pitched to be convincing.

Lando just grinned, eyes gleaming. “Mmm, was it? Because it sounded like you spent a lot of time thinking about it.”

You wanted to die.

You shoved at his chest, face on fire. “Oh my god, shut up.”

Lando laughed, the sound bright and teasing, like he was having the time of his life watching you absolutely crumble in front of him.

“What else did you say? Oh—‘I bet he’d love taking his time, dragging it out until I’m begging’—”

“LANDO.”

He was cackling now, gripping your wrist when you tried to flee. “Aw, babe, don’t be shy. I think it’s cute.”

You glared at him, trying (and failing) to regain even a shred of dignity. “You’re the worst.”

Lando just smirked, leaning in again. “If I’m the worst, why’d you write an entire fantasy about me?”

You hated how your breath hitched, how your pulse raced, how he was way too close and way too cocky about it.

“That was fiction,” you muttered, even though your body was betraying you with every second that passed.

Lando tilted his head, lips barely inches from yours. “So if I kissed you right now, it wouldn’t be like what you wrote?”

Your breath caught.

His fingers brushed against your jaw, thumb grazing your lips, teasing.

“Wouldn’t feel that good?” His voice was softer now, but the intensity in his eyes? Burning.

You hated him.

You wanted him.

And he knew it.

You swallowed hard, fingers gripping his hoodie. “Why don’t you find out?”

Lando’s smirk dropped.

For the first time since this whole thing started, you had him right where you wanted him.

And you weren’t backing down.

Not this time.

Lando’s smirk faltered.

For the first time all night, you had him exactly where you wanted him.

And the way his fingers tensed against your skin? How his lips parted, breath just a little uneven?

Yeah. He knew it too.

His gaze flickered to your lips. Once. Twice.

You almost dared him to do it.

Almost.

But Lando Norris was nothing if not stubborn, and you should’ve known he wouldn’t make this easy.

Instead, he did what he always did.

He made you wait.

“You want me to find out?” His voice was low, teasing. Deadly.

Your pulse spiked, fingers tightening on his hoodie. “Are you always this annoying?”

Lando grinned, tilting his head. “Only for you.”

Before you could snap back, he moved.

Slowly. Deliberately.

His hand slid from your waist, up your side, over your ribs, until his thumb brushed the edge of your jaw. His fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up, holding you there like he had all the time in the world.

You swallowed.

Hard.

Because this was different.

This wasn’t him teasing you for fun. This wasn’t him trying to get under your skin just to see you flustered.

This was something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

You could feel it in the way his thumb traced soft circles against your cheek, in the way his chest rose and fell just a little too quickly.

And when he spoke again?

It was barely above a whisper.

“Tell me if you don’t want this.”

Your breath hitched.

Lando’s forehead pressed against yours, his nose grazing yours, and fuck— this was so much worse than just kissing you outright.

Because now you could feel everything. The way his fingers tightened slightly, like he was holding back. The way his lips were just barely there, almost taunting you.

“I—” Your voice caught, because, holy shit, he wasn’t playing anymore.

His thumb traced your bottom lip, slow. Precise.

“Last chance, love,” he murmured.

You exhaled shakily, the tension thick enough to drown in.

And then?

Then you did the only thing you could.

You closed the gap.

Finally.

Lando swore softly against your lips, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually go through with it.

Like he had just lost some kind of game.

But the second he recovered?

He took control.

His hands moved to your waist, gripping tight as he pulled you flush against him. His lips moved against yours with that stupid mix of confidence and recklessness, like he had been waiting for this moment forever.

And honestly?

Maybe you had too.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan into the kiss. And fuck, you wanted to memorize that sound, wanted to hear it again and again and—

Lando suddenly flipped you, pressing you into the couch, half on top of you now, grinning against your mouth.

“So, I was right.”

You blinked up at him, still breathless, still so lost in him that it took a second for his words to register.

“…What?”

Lando smirked, but his voice was soft, almost too soft when he whispered,

“I really can ruin you against the nearest surface.”

Your stomach flipped.

And that was when you knew—

You were so completely screwed.

Lando was still hovering over you, smirk barely there, but his eyes?

His eyes told a different story.

Because he was wrecked.

Just as much as you were.

Maybe more.

But he was still being Lando. Still being the cocky little shit who knew exactly what he was doing to you.

So when he spoke next?

It was deadly.

“You’re staring.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie. “No, I’m not.”

Lando laughed, but it came out rough, like he was feeling every bit of this too.

“You’re literally looking at my mouth right now.”

Your gaze snapped up immediately. “Am not.”

“Liar.”

“Asshole.”

Lando grinned, but then his expression shifted, the teasing slipping into something quieter.

Something dangerous.

His fingers brushed along your jaw, so gentle it made you ache. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you like this. Like he was memorizing you.

You swallowed hard. “Lando…”

He hummed, but he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t stop looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

And fuck— It was too much.

“Say it.” His voice was low, rough, like he was barely holding on.

Your breath caught.

“Say what?”

Lando’s lips hovered over yours, so fucking close that you felt his breath, but he didn’t close the gap.

Didn’t kiss you.

Not yet.

“Say you want me.”

Your heart stuttered, because— Fuck.

This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t teasing.

This was real.

And it was so much worse because he didn’t say it like a challenge. He didn’t say it like he was certain you already did.

He said it like he needed to hear it.

Like he needed you to say it first.

Your throat felt tight, chest aching, because it was always supposed to be a game with Lando.

Always a push and pull.

But suddenly— It wasn’t.

Suddenly, it felt like this moment was everything.

And maybe that scared you more than anything.

But you still said it.

Still let it slip past your lips, quiet and shaky but unmistakably true.

“I want you.”

Lando’s breath hitched.

And then?

Then he kissed you.

Really kissed you.

Not the way he had before— Not playful or teasing or just for the sake of winning.

This was different.

This was slow, needy, like he was pouring every unspoken thing between you into the way his lips moved against yours.

Like he had been waiting for this moment forever.

And maybe he had.

Maybe you had too.

His fingers tangled in your hair, deepening the kiss, pulling you closer, closer, closer like he couldn’t get enough.

And fuck, neither could you.

Because you had kissed him before, but it had never felt like this.

Like he meant it.

Like you did.

Like neither of you were running anymore.

Lando’s lips were still on yours, but now?

Now, it wasn’t desperate.

Now, it was soft.

Like he was savoring it.

Like he was memorizing every second.

And maybe you were too.

Your fingers slipped beneath the fabric of his hoodie, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Lando exhaled, a quiet sound against your lips before he pulled back, just enough to look at you.

His forehead pressed against yours, breath still uneven, eyes still dark.

And then he smiled.

Not cocky. Not teasing.

Just soft.

Just Lando.

“I should’ve done that a long time ago.”

Your heart skipped, but you still managed to breathe out, “Yeah, no shit.”

Lando laughed, and fuck— The sound made your chest feel lighter than it had in days.

“I mean it.” His voice was gentle now, his fingers brushing down your arm. “You really didn’t know, did you?”

You bit your lip. “Know what?”

His thumb traced lazy circles along your wrist, gaze flickering over your face like he was deciding whether to say it.

Then, finally—

“That I’m fucking crazy about you.”

Your stomach dropped.

Because— What the fuck?

Your lips parted, but the words got stuck in your throat, and Lando?

Lando just smirked.

Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

But then his expression softened again, and suddenly, it wasn’t just teasing anymore.

Suddenly, it was real.

And it terrified you.

Because he meant it. Because Lando Norris meant it.

And you?

You were so gone for him it wasn’t even funny.

So you swallowed the fear down and just let yourself have this.

For once.

You leaned in, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, voice barely above a whisper—

“Yeah, well… I’m kinda crazy about you too.”

Lando’s eyes lit up, and before you could blink, he was kissing you again.

Slower this time.

Sweeter.

Like he wanted to make sure you believed him.

And maybe— Maybe for the first time—

You did.

Lando kissed you deeper this time.

Not teasing. Not hesitant.

Just wanting.

And fuck, you felt it everywhere.

His hands slid down your waist, fingers gripping like he was scared to let go. Like if he did, you’d slip away again.

Your back hit the couch, the weight of him pressing into you, his hoodie bunched up where your hands had fisted into it.

“Is this okay?” His voice was low, lips brushing against yours.

You nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him.

“Need to hear you say it, love.”

God.

Your stomach flipped, the way his voice dropped, the way his hands stayed gentle even when everything else about him was wrecking you.

“Yes, Lando.”

That was all he needed.

He groaned, pressing his lips back to yours, his fingers slipping beneath your hoodie, tracing hot lines over your bare skin.

Your breath hitched when his lips moved, traveling down your jaw, kissing, nipping, teasing until he reached that sweet spot at the base of your neck.

You whimpered, and he smirked against your skin.

“That’s new, huh?”

Your face burned, but you still rolled your eyes, pushing at his chest.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

And so you did.

You pulled him back down, fingers threading through his curls, tugging just hard enough to hear that little groan that made your thighs squeeze together.

Lando noticed.

Oh, he definitely noticed.

“You like that?” he murmured, voice all gravel and honey.

You refused to answer, refused to give him that satisfaction, but then his fingers trailed lower, his knee nudging between your thighs and—

“Lando—”

Yeah. You were gone.

And he knew it.

His lips found yours again, hotter this time, hungrier, like he was making up for every second he hadn’t done this before.

Like he was making up for all the time wasted.

And fuck, you let him.

You let him take his time, let his hands explore, let his lips ruin you.

Because he was yours now.

And you?

You were his.

Lando’s lips were everywhere—soft, urgent, like he was memorizing you, like he was making up for all the times he hadn’t done this before.

Like he wanted to make sure he’d never forget how you felt beneath him.

His fingers slipped beneath your hoodie, the tips grazing up your sides, teasing, not quite touching where you needed him.

You gasped against his lips, your nails digging into his shoulders, needing something to hold on to because he was ruining you, and you weren’t sure if you’d ever recover.

Lando chuckled, his voice deep and husky, completely wrecked.

“You’re squirming, love.”

“Shut up.”

He hummed, his fingers tracing circles on your hips. “But you love it, don’t you?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but then he shifted, his knee pressing just right, and whatever you were going to say died on your tongue.

Lando grinned, completely and utterly smug. “That’s what I thought.”

You huffed, trying to glare at him, but your body betrayed you, your hands slipping into his curls, tugging just enoughto earn that deep, guttural groan that made your stomach flip.

God.

You could listen to that sound forever.

His lips found your neck again, suckling lightly, sending shivers down your spine. “Gonna write about this on your blog, sweetheart?”

You froze.

And then promptly smacked his arm.

“Lando!”

He laughed, the vibrations tickling against your skin, but when you tried to move away, he didn’t let you go.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, lips brushing your temple as his fingers slid beneath your hoodie to rest on bare, warm skin.

The shift in mood was sudden, but not unwelcome.

You felt him exhale, felt the softening in his touch.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice quieter now.

You nodded, breath still shaky, and he tilted your chin up, making you look at him.

“You sure?”

Your heart clenched.

Because for all his teasing, for all the smugness and the cocky grins, this was Lando too.

Gentle. Attentive. Yours.

You smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He hummed, tucking you into his arms, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over your back.

Silence settled between you, but it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, warm, safe.

After a few minutes, he chuckled. “Still gonna keep that blog up, or should I expect a rebrand?”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “Oh my god, stop.”

Lando laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and you melted, because, yeah—maybe you had written about him ruining you.

But you never expected him to put you back together too.

Lando’s hands tightened on your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make you shiver.

“You hit me, love. That’s not very nice.”

You rolled your eyes, fully aware of the way he was still pinning you down, his body heat seeping into every inch of you.

“Maybe if you stopped talking—”

Your breath hitched as Lando dipped his head, his lips trailing lower, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your jaw, your neck, your collarbone.

God.

Your hands fisted in his hoodie, trying to ground yourself, but he was everywhere—hot and solid and deliberate.

“I like when you get all flustered, you know that?” he murmured against your skin.

Your only response was a sharp inhale, your fingers tugging at the fabric of his hoodie, wanting it gone.

Lando chuckled, low and wrecked, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin below your ear.

“Impatient.”

You huffed, trying to push him off, but he just grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the couch, his weight pressing firmly against you.

“Lando.”

His name came out breathless, more like a plea than a warning, and his eyes darkened instantly.

“Say it again.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat in his gaze, the way his pupils had blown wide, his usual bright blue eyes now stormy and intense.

“Lando.”

This time, you barely got the word out before he kissed you again, deeper, hungrier, like he was claiming you.

Like he didn’t just want you in this moment— he wanted every single part of you.

Your hoodie was pushed up, his hands finally roaming freely, his palms warm against your bare skin, mapping out every inch of you like he never wanted to forget.

Your head tilted back, your legs tightening around his waist, and Lando just smirked, dragging his lips lower, lower, lower—

And then—

A loud ping echoed through the room.

Lando froze.

You froze.

His head dropped against your chest with a groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Your phone.

A notification.

And, judging by the guilty look on your face, Lando already knew.

He lifted his head, narrowing his eyes, lips glistening and smug as he looked at you.

“Is that another Tumblr update?”

Your entire body burned.

You grabbed a pillow, smacking him in the face before scrambling off the couch.

“I hate you.”

Lando just laughed, completely unbothered, his arms snaking around your waist before you could escape.

“No, you don’t.”

And, to your absolute horror, he reached for your phone, grinning devilishly as he scrolled through your notifications.

“Oh, love—look at that. Another comment asking for a spicy update. Should I help you with some inspiration?”

You shrieked, grabbing your phone back, shoving him playfully away as he just grinned at you like a menace.

And even as you glared at him, breath still uneven, body still buzzing, you knew one thing for certain—

You’d never, ever run out of things to write about.

Lando was still grinning, still so smug, still looking at you like he had all the time in the world to ruin you completely.

And, god, you wanted to let him.

You shoved your phone under a pillow, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re the worst.”

Lando tilted his head, eyes dragging over you, from your flushed cheeks to your hoodie, which was still bunched upfrom where his hands had been.

And then—he smirked. The smirk. The one that made you weak every single time.

“Am I?” He took one slow step forward.

Your breath hitched.

“You sure about that?” Another step.

You should back up.

You should run.

But you didn’t.

Lando just watched you, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “Because I think, sweetheart, you actually like it.”

Your entire body felt like it was on fire.

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already there, closing the space between you, his hands gripping your hips, tugging you against him.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

You couldn’t.

Because he wasn’t.

You were absolutely, completely, utterly gone for him.

Lando chuckled, pressing a slow, teasing kiss just below your ear, his fingers tugging at the hem of your hoodie.

“Take this off.”

You froze, your heart slamming into your ribs.

He must’ve felt your hesitation because he pulled back slightly, eyes softer now, searching yours.

“Only if you want to, baby.”

Baby.

You nearly melted right there.

You swallowed, gripping his hoodie instead, tugging him closer. “I want to.”

Lando exhaled slowly, like he was holding himself back, his hands sliding up beneath the fabric, his fingers tracing fire along your skin.

“Then let me.”

He tugged it over your head in one smooth motion, and then—

His eyes.

Dark. Hungry. Completely locked onto you.

“Fuck.”

Your stomach tightened, heat rushing through you because he wasn’t just looking—he was memorizing you.

Like you were something he never wanted to forget.

And then, he was on you again, his hands gripping your waist, his lips crashing against yours, deeper, more desperate.

Like he was making up for lost time.

You barely registered being backed up against the couch before Lando’s hands were everywhere, sliding down your thighs, your hips, his fingers pressing, teasing, taking his time.

Your breath hitched as his lips trailed lower, down your jaw, your collarbone, the slope of your shoulder.

“Lando.”

He groaned against your skin. “Say it again.”

You did. Over and over again.

And when he finally pulled back, his lips swollen, his curls a mess, his hands still gripping your thighs like he couldn’t bear to let go—

He grinned, panting, eyes still blown wide with heat.

“Gonna write about that, too?”

You laughed, smacking his chest before pulling him back in.

Because, yeah—maybe you would.

But for now?

You had way better things to do.

Lando was everywhere.

His hands, his lips, his body pressed against yours, like he was claiming you, like he was making sure you’d never think about anyone else the way you thought about him.

Like he was making up for every single fic you’d ever written about him— and proving he could be so much better.

His breath was hot against your skin, his hands slipping under the waistband of your shorts, fingers trailing lower, lower—

“Lando—”

He groaned, the sound gravelly, desperate, like he was just as wrecked as you were.

“Say my name like that again, and I swear—” His voice was low, dark, full of something that made your knees weak.

You trembled, clutching at his hoodie. “Lando.”

He growled. Actually growled.

And then—

Your back hit the couch, your legs parted, and he was above you, between you, everywhere.

His mouth was on your neck, your collarbone, your chest, his hands gripping your thighs, sliding them higher around his waist.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” His breath was ragged, his hands tight on you, like he was barely holding it together.

You felt feverish, your skin burning, your pulse racing, your entire body aching for more.

His lips brushed your ear, voice wrecked.

“Tell me what you want.”

You whimpered, arching into him. “You.”

Lando exhaled sharply, his forehead dropping to yours. “Yeah? You want me to ruin you, baby?”

“Yes.”

His lips curved into a smirk.

And then—

He did.

Lando's eyes darkened, his grip tightening on your hips as he pressed firmly against you, letting you feel just how much he wanted this—wanted you.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your jaw, down your throat,leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

You gasped, your fingers threading through his curls, tugging just enough to make him groan against your skin. God, that sound.

His hands slid lower, gripping your thighs, spreading you open beneath him. His touch was teasing, torturous, deliberate.

"Lando—"

He smirked, because he knew. He knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Patience, love.”

Patience? Fuck patience.

You arched up into him, pressing your body flush against his, and his breath hitched, his fingers digging into your skin.

"Needy little thing, aren't you?" he teased, but his voice was hoarse, like he was barely holding himself together.

"Shut up and touch me."

He chuckled, low and dangerous. "You want me to touch you, sweetheart?"

"Yes."

"Where?" His fingers skimmed the edge of your shorts, barely there, taunting.

"Everywhere."

Lando swore under his breath, his control snapping like a frayed wire.

And then he was kissing you again—deep, desperate, all-consuming.

His hands slid under your hoodie, tugging it over your head, his lips barely leaving yours for a second before they were back, claiming, devouring.

He pressed his hips into yours, and the friction made your head spin.

"Feel that?" he breathed against your lips. "That’s what you do to me."

You whimpered, your nails raking down his back, pulling him closer, needing more.

"Lando, please—"

He groaned, his forehead dropping to yours. "Jesus, you're gonna be the death of me."

And then—

His hands. His mouth. His body against yours.

And nothing else in the world mattered.

Lando’s lips were still pressed to your neck, the heat of his breath making your skin burn. You could feel the weight of him above you, his chest rising and falling with every labored breath, his body just inches from yours, and the way his hands moved gently, almost hesitantly, as if asking for permission to get closer.

You didn’t stop him.

His fingertips grazed along your skin, light and teasing, before finally, slowly, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. You shivered, gasping as his touch lingered, so close but not quite touching what you needed.

His lips moved back to your ear, voice low and dangerous. "Tell me you want this," he whispered, the words laced with so much desire that it sent a wave of heat through your body. "Tell me you want me as much as I want you."

You swallowed, fighting the urge to pull him closer, but you couldn’t find the words at first. The tension was thick, hanging between you like a promise waiting to be broken.

Finally, you could barely breathe as you whispered back, voice barely audible. "I want you."

And that was all it took.

Lando’s lips crashed down on yours, desperate now, like he couldn’t hold back any longer. His hands pulled at your pants, quickly, almost too quickly, and in a rush of movement, you were completely exposed to him, the cool air of the room hitting your skin as his body pressed you into the sheets.

He hovered over you for a moment, pausing, his eyes locking with yours. "Are you sure?" His voice was rough, like he was barely holding onto his control.

You could barely speak, but you nodded, reaching for him, pulling him in, desperate to close the distance between you two.

"Then let’s not waste any more time."

And then, there was no stopping him.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Lando’s chest vibrated with laughter, and you could feel it everywhere—his warmth pressed against you, the rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek.

You huffed dramatically. “I’m deleting my blog.”

Lando gasped, mock-offended. “You’d do that to all your fans? To all the people who live for your thirst posts about me? That’s cruel, love.”

You groaned, trying to shove his grinning face away, but he only held you tighter, rolling you onto your back so he could hover over you again.

His curls were a mess, his lips kiss-swollen, and the way he was looking at you—like you were his favorite thing in the world—made your breath hitch.

“You really read all of them?” you murmured, your fingers tracing absentminded circles on his bicep.

Lando smirked, but this time, it was softer. “Course I did. Had to know what I was up against.”

You frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

He let out a small breath, his fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You write about me like I’m some kind of dream, you know? Like I’m untouchable. But I’ve been right here, loving you the whole time.”

Your heart stopped.

Lando had always been flirty, always been the one to push your buttons, but this? This was different.

This was real.

Your fingers tightened around his arm, your voice barely above a whisper. “Lando…”

He smiled, leaning down, pressing the softest kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I mean it, love. You’re not just some girl writing about me on the internet. You’re my girl.”

Something in your chest cracked open, something tender and terrifying all at once.

You reached up, pulling him down, your lips meeting his with more emotion than you could put into words.

Lando sighed into you, his hands sliding down your waist, his body pressing closer, deeper, warmer.

And suddenly, your blog posts didn’t seem so far-fetched anymore.

Because Lando Norris was the kind of man to ruin you in the best possible way— and put you back together all over again.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

You were wrapped up in his hoodie, sitting on the couch, laptop balanced on your legs, as you stared at your dashboard.

Lando walked in, fresh out of the shower, a towel slung over his shoulders, hair still damp.

“Oh no.” His voice was teasing, amused. “Are you writing about me again?”

You glared playfully, closing the screen. “Absolutely not.”

He grinned, plopping down next to you, pulling you into his arms.

“What if I wanna read the next chapter?” he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing your jaw, your neck, your shoulder.

You shivered, tilting your head slightly. “What if I just live it instead?”

Lando hummed, satisfied, his fingers curling into your hoodie, pulling you closer.

“Best story I’ve ever been a part of, love.”

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

[staff]

We Asked an Expert...in Herpetology!

People on Tumblr come from all walks of life and all areas of expertise to grace our dashboards with paragraphs and photographs of the things they want to share with the world. Whether it's an artist uploading their speed art, a fanfic writer posting their WIPs, a language expert expounding on the origin of a specific word, or a historian ready to lay down the secrets of Ea-nasir, the hallways of Tumblr are filled with specialists sharing their knowledge with the world. We Asked an Expert is a deep dive into those expert brains on tumblr dot com. Today, we’re talking to Dr. Mark D. Scherz (@markscherz), an expert in Herpetology. Read on for some ribbeting frog facts, including what kind of frog the viral frog bread may be based on.

Reptiles v Amphibians. You have to choose one.

In a battle for my heart, I think amphibians beat out the reptiles. There is just something incredibly good about beholding a nice plump frog.

In a battle to the death, I have to give it to the reptiles—the number of reptiles that eat amphibians far, far outstrips the number of amphibians that eat reptiles.

In terms of ecological importance, I would give it to the amphibians again, though. Okay, reptiles may keep some insects and rodents in check, but many amphibians live a dual life, starting as herbivores and graduating to carnivory after metamorphosis, and as adults they are critical for keeping mosquitos and other pest insects in check.

What is the most recent exciting fact you discovered about herps?

This doesn’t really answer your question, but did you know that tadpole arms usually develop inside the body and later burst through the body wall fully formed? I learned about this as a Master’s student many years ago, but it still blows my mind. What’s curious is that this apparently does not happen in some of the species of frogs that don’t have tadpoles—oh yeah, like a third of all frogs or something don’t have free-living tadpoles; crazy, right? They just develop forelimbs on the outside of the body like all other four-legged beasties. But this has only really been examined in a couple species, so there is just so much we don’t know about development, especially in direct-developing frogs. Like, how the hell does it just… swap from chest-burster to ‘normal’ limb development? Is that the recovery of the ancestral programming, or is it newly generated? When in frog evolution did the chest-burster mode even evolve?

How can people contribute to conservation efforts for their local herps?

You can get involved with your local herpetological societies if they exist—and they probably do, as herpetologists are everywhere. You can upload observations of animals to iNaturalist, where you can get them identified while also contributing to datasets on species distribution and annual activity used by research scientists.

You can see if there are local conservation organizations that are doing any work locally, and if you find they are not, then you can get involved to try to get them started. For example, if you notice areas of particularly frequent roadkill, talking to your local council or national or local conservation organizations can get things like rescue programs or road protectors set up. You should also make sure you travel carefully and responsibly. Carefully wash and disinfect your hiking boots, especially between locations, as you do not want to be carrying chytrid or other nasty infectious diseases across the world, where they can cause population collapses and extinctions.

Here are some recent headlines. Quick question, what the frog is going on in the frog world? 

Click through for Mark’s response to these absolutely wild headlines, more about his day-to-day job, his opinion on frog bread, and his favorite Tumblr.

✨D I S C O V E R Y✨

There are more people on Earth than ever before, with the most incredible technology that advances daily at their disposal, and they disperse that knowledge instantly. That means more eyes and ears observing, recording, and sharing than ever before. And so we are making big new discoveries all the time, and are able to document them and reach huge audiences with them.

That being said, these headlines also showcase how bad some media reporting has gotten. The frogs that scream actually scream mostly in the audible range—they just have harmonics that stretch up into ultrasound. So, we can hear them scream, we just can’t hear all of it. Because the harmonics are just multiples of the fundamental, they would anyway only add to the overall ‘quality’ of the sound, not anything different. The mushroom was sprouting from the flank of the frog, and scientists are not really worried about it because this is not how parasitic fungi work, and this is probably a very weird fluke. And finally, the Cuban tree frogs (Osteocephalus septentrionalis) are not really cannibals per se; they are just generalist predators who will just as happily eat a frog as they will a grasshopper, but the frogs they are eating are usually other species. People seem to forget that cannibalism is, by definition, within a species. The fact that they are generalist predators makes them a much bigger problem than if they were cannibals—a cannibal would actually kind of keep itself in check, which would be useful. The press just uses this to get people’s hackles up because Westerners are often equal parts disgusted and fascinated by cannibalism. 

What does an average day look like for the curator of herpetology at the Natural History Museum of Denmark?

No two days are the same, and that is one of the joys of the job. I could spend a whole day in meetings, where we might be discussing anything from which budget is going to pay for 1000 magnets to how we could attract big research funding, to what a label is going to say in our new museum exhibits (we are in the process of building a new museum). Equally, I might spend a day accompanying or facilitating a visitor dissecting a crocodile or photographing a hundred snakes. Or it might be divided into one-hour segments that cover a full spectrum: working with one of my students on a project, training volunteers in the collection, hunting down a lizard that someone wants to borrow from the museum, working on one of a dozen research projects of my own, writing funding proposals, or teaching classes. It is a job with a great deal of freedom, which really suits my work style and brain.

Oh yeah, and then every now and then, I get to go to the field and spend anywhere from a couple of weeks to several months tracking down reptiles and amphibians, usually in the rainforest. These are also work days—with work conditions you couldn’t sell to anyone: 18-hour work days, no weekends, no real rest, uncomfortable living conditions, sometimes dangerous locations or working conditions, field kitchen with limited options, and more leeches and other biting beasties than most health and welfare officers would tolerate—but the reward is the opportunity to make new discoveries and observations, collect critical data, and the privilege of getting to be in some of the most beautiful and biodiverse places left on the planet. So, I am humbled by the fact that I have the privilege and opportunity to undertake such expeditions, and grateful for the incredible teams I collaborate with that make all of this work—from the museum to the field—possible.

The Tibetan Blackbird is also known as Turdus maximus. What’s your favorite chortle-inducing scientific name in the world of herpetology?

Among reptiles and amphibians, there aren’t actually that many to choose from, but I must give great credit to my friend Oliver Hawlitschek and his team, who named the snake Lycodryas cococola, which actually means ‘Coco dweller’ in Latin, referring to its occurrence in coconut trees. When we were naming Mini mum, Mini scule, and Mini ature, I was inspired by the incredible list that Mark Isaac has compiled of punning species names, particularly by the extinct parrot Vini vidivici, and the beetles Gelae baen, Gelae belae, Gelae donut, Gelae fish, and Gelae rol. I have known about these since high school, and it has always been my ambition to get a species on this list.

If you were a frog, what frog would you be and why?

I think I would be a Phasmahyla because they’re weird and awkward, long-limbed, and look like they’re wearing glasses. As a 186 cm (6’3) glasses-wearing human with no coordination, they quite resonate with me.

Please rate this frog bread from 1/10. Can you tell us what frog it represents?

With the arms inside the body cavity like that, it can basically only be a brevicipitid rain frog. The roundness of the body fits, too. I’d say probably Breviceps macrops (or should I say Breadviceps?) based on those big eyes. 7/10, a little on the bumpy side and missing a finger and at least one toe.

Please follow Dr. Mark Scherz at @markscherz for even more incredibly educational, entertaining, and meaningful resources in the world of reptiles and amphibians.

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

isagi was never really popular with girls back when he was still in school. sure, he was cute, but he was quiet and never really talked to anyone other than people from the soccer team. but there was also another reason: all of the girls thought you he was dating you.

sure, having a girl best friend as a boy was problematic, but isagi didn’t care. you were next door neighbors and grew up together, so who cares about social norms? but the way that you were both stuck together like glue and always talking to each other suggested much more than just best friends or even siblings.

then he left for blue lock, and suddenly, now, during the ever so popular neo egoist league, isagi’s popularity has skyrocketed with fangirls. before he knew it, hundreds of thousands of fangirls of him had appeared all over social media. but one account—no, one person—had dominated the isagi fangirl industry.

isagiyoichimygloriouskinghusband

every single thing, everything detail, everything, down to every immaculate detail, was all based around isagi. but they also knew information that wasn’t disclosed to the public, information that jinpachi ego would never reveal for legal reasons. some claimed that she was a stalker, some claimed that she was a psycho. but no one ever could have guessed the truth.

after the neo egoist league ended, isagi and the rest of the top 23 players were thrown into interviews and the media. sitting at a meet-and-greet table and spinning his pen, isagi sat sandwiched between rin and shidou, the top three, all sitting on black plastic chairs. the other members of the top 23 sat all next to them. the tension wafting off of rin and shidou was unbearable, and isagi was stiff at the thought of being between them if a fight broke out, but he would have to resign to his fate.

of course, the user isagiyoichimygloriouskinghusband was going to be at the meet and greet—and of course, she had gotten tickets to be first in line. she would also be doing a face reveal and vlogging her meeting with isagi, although many fans have expressed their concerns for isagi, hoping that he wouldn’t be kidnapped by this crazy fan.

and finally, the first person came, the person herself. isagiyoichimygloriouskinghusband. perhaps we should probably stopped addressing you in third person now, because yep, you’re isagiyoichimygloriouskinghusband. holding the camera up to your face, you waved. “hiiiii, this is my first time showing my face on camera, sooooo…but yeah, this is gonna be my meeting with my glorious fine shyt isagi.”

finally, you walked over, and waved. “hi yoichi!” you exclaimed, grinning. isagi’s jaw dropped, nearly standing up before he noticed the stares from the rest of the top 23, especially from rin. “it’s been a while, hasn’t it? it’s been what, 2 months since your 2 week break?”

“(y/n), what…” isagi’s eyes narrowed at you. “wait—“ eyes darting from left to right, he finally connected the dots. “you’re isagiyoichimygloriouskinghusband. no way. right? no way you would ever do something like…!” but he stopped midway through his sentence. you were definitely the type to do something like this. hiori had been relentless in showing him your posts (mostly thirst posts) about him, and isagi hated it, although there were some posts that were pretty funny. the thought of you making these crossed his mind once or twice, but he never actually believed it.

“yep. say hi to the camera. so anyways, yoichi’s my childhood friend, hence why i know all this stuff about him.” isagi’s eyes narrowed once more, ignoring some of the suggestive comments about the other blue lockers around him.

“i hate you.”

“yep, love you too!”

note : before you ask, yes, they’re mutually in love, and now that isagi found out that reader is the user of their account, he doesn’t mind their posts anymore. reader has “jokingly” said i love you to him multiple times, but isagi never picked up on the seriousness. isagi’s madly in love with reader too, but he’s too dense to realize that she likes him back,

[waepenwifestre]

Let's Talk About Security Culture: Why Keeping Secrets is Cool and Sexy

It's a natural impulse -- if you love crime -- to want to talk about how great it is. And if you hate America, it's only natural to want to share your dreams for its future with the rest of tumblr dot com. It can feel brave and transgressive. And there is a drive to share your soul with the world at the heart of social media. Surely I should be posting the most concrete implications of my politics, right? This is the poster's curse.

Security Culture refers to a set of "best practices" developed over the past several decades, largely (in a US context) coming out of radical environmental groups as they faced intense state repression, infiltration and entrapment. If you're not familiar, there's some fascinating crimethinc write ups to give you a window into that world:

Much of it boils down to: don't talk about crimes, past or forthcoming with people who don't need to know about them, and be mindful of the possibility of surveillance and infiltration. And, we can support each other as a community in minimizing risks, with an eye towards enabling bold action rather than getting bogged down in fears and anxieties. The guidelines that make sense for AG-based trouble-makers are different from the guidelines that make sense for posters, but plenty of common principles apply. To speak briefly to our position here as posters:

First, it bears saying that long term anonymity is nearly impossible to maintain. Unless you've never accessed Tumblr without a vpn, and avoided connections with other ppl who can be associated with you/your location, and never shared pictures without scrubbing metadata, and a bunch of other 100% consistent steps, it's trivial for the state to know who you are.

Second, just because something isn't actively being prosecuted now doesn't mean it can't be prosecuted later. The priorities of the state change and a shift in power towards the right or a growth in radical action from the left can suddenly make it a priority to destroy anarchist networks or just find a few ppl to prosecute as examples (who probably weren't that plugged into larger networks before getting arrested). Advocating for specific anti-government crimes or declarations of intent to commit such crimes are likely prosecutable, and even if charges don't stick, they're an easy vector for legal harassment.

Third, it's worth thinking about heat as separate from prosecutability. There are modes of engagement that may not be directly criminalized but signal that you are someone worth watching. Some people choose to be public in ways that make heat unavoidable. But it's worth noting that heat isn't strictly individualized, that it persists over time but also is going to shrink over time.

It's easy on here, ime, to see yourself as a proud member of the crime fandom but not much of a content creator. And it's easy to feel like you've generated an amount of heat where you're locked into that role. But heat you generated 10 years ago is probably pretty well gone. Heat you generated 5 years ago has faded substantially. It's worth thinking about how the world might shift in the coming years and what doors you want to keep open.

The non-individualized nature of heat also means that leaning into the spiciest of anti-state positions will make it a bad idea for people who are acting out those positions end up tied to you. Loudly talking about how "more people should be doing [X/Y/Z]" unfortunately sets you up to remain distant from people who might be doing or thinking about doing such things.

Which brings me back to: keeping secrets is sexy. Not spelling everything out builds intrigue. You can lay out a theoretical position and leave working out the practical implications of that as an exercise for the reader. There's value in opacity. The poster's curse and the drive to confess are extremely convenient for the state, but we can resist them. We can hold dreams in our hearts that we refuse to offer up to the posting spectacle.

[rin-may-1103]

The Wrong Robin Au (part two?)

Previous | Master Post | Next

"Alright, kid." Danny sighed as he walked back into the motel. "tell you what, you tell me everything you think you know about me and bats, and I'll be Robin. Deal?"

Tim's eyes widen in surprise, "wait, really?" he asks, dropping the third Oreo he had been trying to balance on Sam's forehead. Sam snored, her nose twitching in agitation for a moment before going back to normal.

Tim leaned back, keeping an eye on her. "do you really mean it? you'll come back and fix him?"

Danny sighed, "I can't promise that I'll be able to fix him, but I can promise to do my best."

Tim nodded his head, "That's all I ask." then the kid stood up, holding his hand out for Danny to shake, "We got a deal, Robin."

Danny smirked, unable to keep a straight face at how cute the kid was being. Reaching out, he shook his hand.

"Right, first things first. Who's Batman, and why do you think so?" Danny asked, making his way over to the table. Tim followed behind him, his face brightening up in excitement.

"Bruce Wayne of course," Tim cheered, plopping down onto the chair across from Danny.

Of course, another rich fruit loop would be Batman. Why not? What's next? Lex Luther was Superman's archnemesis? Oliver Queen cosplayed Katniss Everdeen?

"I thought Dick Grayson, Bruce's ward, was Robin at first. It had made sense, or at least mostly did but I wasn't completely sold on it. I only really thought it was him because Robin was able to do a quadruple backflip, and only Grayson's family was able to do that. but then I saw you! and it makes perfect sense!" Tim smiled excitedly, leaning forward as he continued.

"You were able to do the flip, AND you acted just like Robin did! Dick doesn't act like Robin in public, or ever really. But you do! You did the flip, you make puns! you even bit that one mugger!"

Danny blinked before slowly nodding his head; Well, at least his personality wasn't going to be a problem. "right, makes sense," not. it did not make sense, but who was Danny to crush this kid's hopes. also, how long ago was this? because Danny hadn't done the flip this time... he's definitely bitten a criminal or two over the past two weeks, but the flip? that had to have been back when he first got his powers... he vaguely remembers his parents dragging him around the country on some trip Vlad set up for them.

see, it was totally Vlad's fault.

"and who was the second Robin?" Danny asked, leaning back and crossing his arms.

"Bruce's second kid, Jason Todd," Tim replied, not smiling anymore. "The Joker killed Robin over in Ethiopia. Jason went missing and was declared dead around the same time."

"Right," Danny coughed, glancing away from Tim. "and what else do you know?"

"Well, I know Commissioner Gordon's daughter, Barbara, was batgirl..." Tim trailed off with a wince, obviously not liking the conversation anymore. Danny had to agree, the whole class had been informed about the dangers of Gotham City. Barbara Gordan had been one of the examples they used.

"I know that you're using a fake name!" Tim suddenly added, looking more lively now. Danny blinked before sighing, "Yeah? and why's that?"

"you used your bat training to make a fake identity to throw Bruce off your trail! That way you would have more time to settle in with your new team! and it worked for a while, that is until he caught up to you and your team. it doesn't seem he knows about this identity, so you've been using it ever since Jason's death. because you're mad at him."

"and why am I mad at him?" Danny asked, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. Just what had he gotten himself into?

"because he didn't tell you about Jason's death." Danny glanced back at the kid, watching as he looked away and out the window. "just like he didn't tell Dick..."

had he finally connected the dots? had he finally realized he got the wrong person?

"why would he not tell you two?" Tim asked, turning to look up at Danny. Danny shrugged, turning to look back at the ceiling. "grief makes people do things they never would have before." like becoming a billionaire and spending twenty years scheming on how to murder a single man. or it could make them more obsessed with their work.

Danny knows grief; he's had to deal with it for years now. It's the only thing he understands about why Batman has changed so much. Grief, especially for someone you love, changes you. It holds onto your heart and never lets go. It can drive you insane if you let it.

"he was so caught up in his own grief he didn't realize that there were others who needed to grieve with him."

"Oh," Tim replied.

they sat in silence for a moment before Tim spoke up again.

"I know where the Batcave is."

Danny blinked. Right. Batman. Batcave. the bat-themed vigilante had a secret lair and it was a cave. That checked out. At least it wasn't in the basement.

"yeah?" Danny prompted, "And where's that?"

"under the manor," Tim replied, crushing any and all hope Danny had for Bruce Wayne.

It was official. All billionaires were fruitloops. Danny didn't care if they didn't all have secret basements, they were fruitloops.

Next

[luveline]

that spencer x bombshell one you just posted has me giggling and kicking my feet I think I’m in love with YOU 🫵

Now I’m thinking of spencer x bombshell where the team starts to not view reid as unwillingly tortured by her flirting. Like maybe Morgan makes a comment to reid about something he does and is like “don’t torture the poor girl” and he’s like oh shit I’M the one torturing too now?

im in love with YOU !! for you, ty for requesting ♡ fem

“Difficult,” you say, resting your head on the table. 

“I know.” Spencer wiggles his pen back and forth between two fingers, thinking hard. This case is proving to be indecipherable. None of the details want to add up, and no clear profile geographical or otherwise appears. 

“Useless.” 

“Who, me or you?” 

“Us.” You sigh morosely. “Mostly me.” 

You're not being serious. Spencer huffs a soft laugh and continues to turn the details over in his head. You open your notebook and scratch down a couple of sentences with a pen, a visual thinker. Your mind map turns to a second iteration and then a third. You can't connect the dots because they're too far apart from each other; Spencer can't do it either. Not alone. 

He scoots his chair as close to yours as possible, your knees touching, his elbow in your side. “Can I look?” he asks. 

“Of course you can. Sorry about my handwriting.” 

He shakes his head. Your handwriting is perhaps the only thing about you he wouldn't say was one hundred percent perfect. You can't control it like other things. It is perfect, in a way, because it's yours, but you've been writing quickly and he struggles to make out the occasional letter. 

He leans in toward the page. “What's this word?” he asks. 

You lean in to see it. “Coruscated.” 

“The swimming pool?” he asks, lifting his face to yours. You're closer now, and beautiful like this. He can see the powder under your eyes, the lines in your irises, the slight fading of your lipstick at the corners of your mouth. There's an eyelash on your cheek. He lifts a hand to wipe it away. “What's so important about that?” 

“It reminded me of something…” You pause as he touches your face. “Something…” Your voice lilts up in question, half-shudder. 

“Eyelash,” he explains, blowing it off of his finger. 

“Right,” you say, eyes oddly wide and soft at once, your eyebrows lifted at the starts. 

“You okay?” 

“Is she okay? Reid, you're torturing the poor girl. Give her some air,” Morgan says with a chuckle. 

Spencer leans backwards in surprise, no idea what Morgan could possibly mean. Your eyes relax as you regain some personal space, your hands coming together loosely in your lap. You laugh weakly. 

Spencer looks you up and down. He's torturing you? That doesn't make sense. For as long as you've known one another, the team has joked that your flirty ways and feminine wiles are too much for Spencer to handle. You once gave him an apology he didn't want, worried you actually were hurting him by being your playful self, and he'd set that straight immediately. You don't torture him. It's a lot of feelings to be doted on so much by you, and painful isn't one of them. Overwhelming, sometimes, and exciting, sure. 

He never realised he had the power to overwhelm you. Not until that moment. You offer a funny smile far from your usual smirk and try to steamroll Morgan's claim. “Guess I should've made a wish.” 

“What would you wish for?” Spencer asks quietly. 

You still. Morgan shakes his head in disapproval, but he laughs again and stands up. “I think they'd call that a taste of your own medicine, sweetheart,” he says to you. 

You meet Spencer's eye. “I think they would,” you say bashfully. 

For three blissful seconds, Spencer enjoys the reality of having made you flustered. You, gorgeous, confident you, left flushed and a little daunted by his casual actions and simple (maybe slightly flirtatious) questioning. But then he remembers how much he likes you and pushes it away. 

“Sorry,” he says, plastering a smile over uncertain lips, “I didn't mean to do that.” 

“No, it's okay.” 

He turns to your notes, but gives you a look from the side. “I hope you wished for someone to solve the case. We're never getting anywhere like this.” 

“Are you saying you can't?” You rest your chin in your hand. “And here I thought you were more than a pretty face.” 

You have a quick recovery rate, evidently. 

[raghhhhhyperfixations]

Not a hallucination

Jason todd Post

So we all know that Bruce and Dick had hallucinations of Jason after he died right? It being canon or fanon either way, well i present to you the short time Jason was dead, he was a little ghost spirit and cue: they weren’t actually hallucinations, it was just his ghost spirit being a menace.

And haunting them:

-

Dick is upset with Bruce, they were arguing and since Jason’s death he’s had nothing shouting matches with his father, he didn’t even think a new robin was a good idea and watch him be right (he had come to love Jason as a little brother anyway)

He’s not sure about continuing nightwing.

Staring at the mirror with dark eye circles he hides and a chewed lip.

“God that mullet still looks awful.”

He hears from behind him and he swivels around to find a very transparent dead Jason Todd staring at him, he does nothing but take a shaky inhale because what?

“Jason.” Dick mutters weak.

“You heard me.” Jason huffs out, sat on the bathtub, arms crossed. “Aren’chu gonna cut it?”

Dick looks back to the mirror and then a pair of scissors he keeps nearby and maybe it’s not a good idea to listen to a hallucination which is telling him to grab something sharp.

But he does and he ends up cutting his hair as short as possible and it ends up curling again around his face like it did when he was robin and when he looks back the mini-Jason is gone, his breath is even shakier but-

(A part of him feels like he’s let something go.)

-

“Dad.”

“Dad.”

“Daaaaad.”

“Daaaaaaaaaaaad.”

And Bruce is trying to ignore what he’s sure is this ghostly slight of Jason in full armoured robin suit right before he died, his smile adorning his face as he pokes at the suit, his eyebrows furrow under the cowl staring at the newest case, pin- pointing all the dots together and-

“Dad!”

And.

“Dad!”

And…

“Dad why won’t you listen to me?!”

Bruce’s shoulders tense together, his head snaps to where the ghost is and his jaw tenses but when he looks nothing is there, when he looks back at the case, the monitor screen is turned off and he’s reminded his cup of coffee (his third cup?) has gone cold and perhaps it’s time to go to bed.

He stands up and pushes the chair back, ignoring the feeling of eyes on him (they were in fact very real.)

-

“Hmm now where did i…”

And when Alfred turns around he can suddenly find the missing pasta batter for tonights dinner, yes there is a large percent it will go untouched but it’s nice.

He gives a silent smile in understanding.

and a silent.

“Thank you master Jason.”

-

Sometimes at night Bruce swears to himself he can feel a silent weight pressing against his side, a young child.

This is a better hallucination, it’s a better one then Jason screaming at him, blood dripping down the side of his face, his head beat in, his teeth crooked and his eye halfway closed with burn marks creeping down his side, screaming he did nothing to save him.

That he was useless.

It’s a better option.

He presses his hand around the weight and snuggles in, it gets him to sleep easy and maybe he can hear silent snickering like Jason has just snuck in and hidden something in his room, a rubber duck? A small bat? Or maybe the cuddle, the idea of Bruce cuddling back is funny.

He loves his sons.

He just doesn’t know how to communicate that.

-

When Dick is lonely and crying hard, so hard his throat is sore and he’s bitten into his tongue hard enough to draw blood he might see his little brother, whose hands reach out for him.

He reaches back and sobs into the robin suit begging for forgiveness, he begs until he has no tears left and until he feels absolutely numb and dry and his hands are shaking so hard they could hurt him.

But he doesn’t deserve forgiveness.

Dick knows this, his little brother was dead because of him and he knew this.

-

When Tim becomes robin the ghost disappears but that doesn’t mean the hallucinations stop, they push themselves to believe the wavy haired boy is tim, it’s unhealthy and perhaps Jason’s Ghost is frowning upon them. (He does, he is one last time before his resurrection.)

-

“Jason, jason i’m so sorry.” Dick sobs, remorse.

Timothy, new to robin but not new to their grief just lets himself be held by dick for a few moments, his hands are awkward not wanting to hold Dick back because he’s not actually his brother.

Tears seep into his hair.

-

“Jason- i mean, tim, careful.” Bruce’s voice comes out on the com.

Tim bites on his cheek.

-

“Going to bed already ja-tim?”

Tim just lets out a little hum in return for Bruce.

-

“Jaso…tim, wanna go batburger?”

“sure.” His response was.

-

“Jason.”

Tim waits for Bruce to correct himself, he doesn’t this time.

-

A repeated cycle that didn’t exactly end until red hood or Jason’s return, even then Bruce was still remorseful.

(Eventually Tim found his place in the family but there are some days where two souls find themselves regretting.)

A ghost and a person who became a Ghost of themself.

(Guys i promise i actually do know how tim became robin STOOOP)

[liztuxiemacks]

If you haven't played or seen any of the memories from the tomorrow's catch 22 event, particularly Zayne's/Galen's, beware of spoilers. ( I actually wrote this a long time ago but posted it late, haha)

I'll get straight to the point, here's my steamy Zayne analysis

Each activator is in their respective memories:

Sylus : His right eye

Caleb: Behind his left ear

Xavier: Close to the base of the spine

Rafayel: Adam's apple /throat

Zayne: ... Yes you guessed it correctly. And I have proof.

There are many subtle hints before she presses "it" with the tip of her boot or knee (depending on camera angle).

There's also many theories explaining that it's on his lower chest, somewhere close to his abdomen. That's where MC'S knee is placed but if you look really close- her knee doesn't touch his chest at all.

There's also a few clues suggesting where it's placed through dialogue. To make it SFW, i wouldn't include any of the dialogue in this theory and instead, use hints.

First hint: His concern expressed through dialogue for MC contains multiple hints. Suggesting its somewhere obscure, it's something delicate and indecent.

Second hint: He's always in calm and collected and remain in control, despite MC injecting the frenzy enhancer. To fight off the effects, Zayne distracts himself by kissing MC.

Third hint: Have you noticed only Zayne's got a cheeky response to MC? Zayne: "why don't you… and find out? He knows where its placed but acts coy to tease her. Besides luring MC into the cage, none of the other guys invites/allows MC to touch them. ( Sylus doesn't openly invite her to touch him but instead her not to press it. MC's hand momentarily disappears off camera when he's on the floor causing him to loose control.)

One more fact though. The activator was placed long before they actually meet in this scenario so it doesn't have anything to do with MC. It's a personal choice.

Fourth hint: In all the other memories, MC announces (to the player) where each of the activators are placed on the guys. But for Zayne, she only mentions this: "so that's where the activator is…" If it's on his chest like plenty claim, why won't MC say it?

Fifth hint: Everyone's activator has a red dot indicator. Zayne does not. There's a reason for this. Its hidden. For those saying it's on his chest, look closely- its a reflection. he doesn't react at all when MC openly touches his entire chest and abs.

Watch where her left hand travels down to off camera after he compliments her technique with "impressive". We can't really see much with how fast it is in dim lighting. But if you slowed it down… Zayne pulls her close, effectively blocking the player's view before we even get a chance to see where it's hidden. We see MC leg's obviously shielding his lower half.( in every other scene with the boys, after finding the activator , it glows red. The most obvious being caleb'sleft ear, Rafayel's throat and Sylus's right eye. In this scene , it's left to the imagination.)

Her left hand returns to his chest to prevent herself from loosing balance. Zayne breaks the chain and temporaily looses his self restraint with one exception- he shields her head and back from the hard floor.

In my opinion, Zayne's and Sylus's memories are the steamiest compared to the others.

This is purely speculation but i believes it fits with his character. In the ending, he says 'You can't leave me' is his way of admitting that he's always been in love with MC. This also suggests that Zayne still has some level of control to continue the conversation after.

If you get the failed bad ending, when Zayne bites her, he can't forgive himself for hurting MC so his final goodbye, the only way he believes he can truly atone, is by dying or removing himself from MC's life. Which is consistent with his lore.

Want to support me, tip here

I'll post another steamy zayne theory soon.

[rebelcracker-s]

yapping about the welcome home 10/18 update because i am so incredibly normal

Hello neighbors! Not exactly my usual content, but since when was I consistent :P I have a lot of thoughts about the new Welcome Home update, so I thought I’d make a post discussing my thoughts n findings, and try to analyze them to make sense of Welcome Home. 

SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT! YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!

First of all, right off the bat, on the first page of the storybook, you can see this:

All of these dots in white diamonds are meant to represent eyes, like the Looky-Loo branding alludes to. While they’re all mostly looking in different directions, we have these two who are looking right at the reader. I think these are meant to represent Wally’s eyes. Since we know from the hidden audios from the June ‘23 update that Wally can see through every drawing of his eyes, it looks like Wally is watching us or at least W through the storybook. It’s a tiny detail but so creepy nonetheless!

I want to focus on the end of W’s version of the storybook rather than the contents of the storybook, but I loved seeing a story centered around Sally and some depictions of Sally & Poppy’s dynamic! (Also Eddie calling Sally rude—THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTING. Based eddie tho LOL) I also loved seeing the neighbors all being so eager to help Poppy, but oh my goodness, the way that they did it… YIKES. Poor Poppy…

It’s so interesting that we’re seeing the characters one by one realize that something is wrong with their neighborhood—first Sally in last year’s Halloween update, then Eddie in the Homewarming update, now Poppy. 

It’s also interesting how Eddie and Poppy’s episodes(?) parallel each other. First of all, they very clearly focus on isolation from the rest of the neighborhood. Eddie loses all perception of the other neighbors, and the “single pea on a plate” represents his isolation from everyone else. Poppy is literally bricked off from the other neighbors, and she can’t hear them and vice versa until she screams and the door is opened.

The second interesting thing is that both of these episodes have Home involved. Eddie gets uncomfortable and immediately finds himself staring down Home even though he’s inside them. Poppy hears knocks, doors opening, and doorknobs turning—all of which are methods Home uses to communicate. I don’t know if Home is meant to be a metaphor for isolation or a genuine antagonistic force trying to corner the characters when they’re alone and at their weakest. Maybe both? 

Still, I was considering that the character who scares Poppy at the end of the storybook audio could also be one and the same with the “monster” (in quotations because it’s unclear whether this is an actual monster) Sally talked about in last year’s Halloween update. That would create a common thread between the two Halloween updates. Still, I’m not sure what that monster is meant to represent and if it is supposed to mean Home or something related to them, like the weird portal underneath it…

Third, it’s very interesting how the two episodes end. Both Eddie and Poppy are brought out of the episodes by the intervention of the other neighbors. But it’s not just any neighbors—both times, it’s Sally and Frank. Sally is the neighbor who notices something is up with Eddie first; she brings him to the Homewarming party, then pulls Frank over to Eddie at the end of Eddie’s episode. When Poppy’s episode ends, we hear two neighbors asking about her. It’s not explicitly stated whose voices they are in the transcript, but it’s clearly Sally and Frank.

Sally and Frank are a really interesting pair; their canon interactions include them getting into a physical fight over song lyrics. But somehow, we’ve seen them twice breaking up these episodes. They don’t appear to be as close as Frank is with Eddie or as Sally is with Poppy, but it would be a very weird coincidence if this was an accident both times. 

I strongly believe that Sally and Frank are both aware of what’s happening and trying to work together to either gain a bigger understanding of it, protect the other neighbors, etc. (I also have a theory that Howdy is in on it too, but I won’t focus on that right now.) This is why we see them coming to both Eddie and Poppy’s aid after their episodes. 

Another thing!! Connections to other literature seem to be really important in the lore of Welcome Home, so it’s not a throwaway that the play Sally puts on is Tell-Tale Heart. I don’t know a lot about Tell-Tale Heart, but it appears to be about a character who kills a man and buries his still-beating heart under the floorboards, only to be driven mad by the sound. I’m pretty sure we’ve heard Home’s heartbeat before, so I wonder if Tell-Tale Heart is supposed to connect to them… I’ve seen people connect it to Cask of Amontillado, but I’ve never even heard of that so I’ll let other theorists tackle that for now.

On a final note, Wally saying that “everything is as it should be” as the last line of the storybook…completely creeps me out!!!

That’s all for now. I should probably update my other theory soon lol 

[chernabogs]

For the prompts with malleus?? “If we must face the darkness, we must first accept its there.”

EVAL

Inc: Malleus and Idia Warnings: Brief mention of suicidal ideation, brief mention of medication WC: 1.9k Summary: In the lingering aftermath of his overblot, Malleus finds himself receiving an evaluation from a familiar friend while under STYX hospitality. (Post-OB, JP Spoilers)

It’s colder the lower that they go. For a while, he could hear what he thought to be groans of agony from the walls surrounding, but those have since fallen into a heavy silence. Cold, and quiet. Where solitude was once welcomed in his mind, this has since been sharply erased in recent days, leaving him feeling off-kilter as he sits on the cot.

For the third time today, he finds his hand going back up to brush along the jagged edges of his right horn. He presses his index finger against the keratin shard, and hisses when he feels it cut. He should have expected that. When he withdraws, a single red dot stares up from the pale expanse of his flesh. 

“I wouldn’t keep poking at it if I were you.” 

Abruptly, a voice cuts through the air as the nearby screens flicker to life. Malleus squints against the sudden brightness as he turns his head. Idia has been the only one he’s been talking to lately—probably because he’s the one spearheading this assessment. 

Malleus’ brow furrows in discontent. “Quite hard not to, when it happens to be the source of a vicious headache.” 

Despite this, he does listen, clasping his hands tight on his lap as his eyes adjust to the change in lighting. His headache is a byproduct of the breakage that he knows will linger until at least a few weeks have passed. His grandmother was keen enough to send healers to lessen the agony to a degree, but that which lingers is what Malleus considers a befitting personal punishment. Pain shall bequeath pain, after all. 

“Did you want a healer or something?” Idia hums as the sounds of a keyboard clicking cuts through the line. Malleus listens to the staccato rhythm in interest, imagining all the things Idia is saying about him right now. Considering that their last interaction had been less-then-pleasant, he imagines the report to be a colourful one. “I can have one come down after this assessment.” 

“That will not be necessary, thank you.” Malleus turns his hand over to see that the blood has smeared with the act of clasping. He wipes it mindlessly on the STYX uniform that he wears. His grandmother had given the organization the opportunity to hold him in the facility for a week before resuming supervision from Briar Valley. She just needs to get the systems set up to accommodate the mass of technology STYX intends to bring. 

“Well, whatever. If you change your mind, then give a shout.” The typing slows as Idia sighs, leaning back in what Malleus assumes is an office seat. A tablet appears in his hand on the screen, which he swipes at a few times before glancing back at the prince. “It’s psych eval day.”

A sharp, barking laugh escapes Malleus, which holds no humour to its sound. Oh, that is rich. He would think that they could have saved the psych eval after the magical assessments are done, but he figures that many are eager to know the state of the Crown Prince's mind. “Well then, Shroud. I suppose you can ask away.”

“There’s a few other parties on the line.” Idia doesn’t elaborate this point as he continues setting up what Malleus assumes must be a questionnaire of sorts. “We’ll start off with the basics, then. Who are you, when were you born, and who would be considered your primary care provider?” 

Malleus blinks slowly and then furrows his brow. “I am Malleus Draconia. I was born on January 18th. My primary care provider would be the court physician, Dr. Aelthar.” 

Idia types away on the tablet for a moment, humming to himself as he does, before flashing a thumbs up. “Cool. Okay, are you on drugs?” 

“Beyond the ones for my pain? No.” They have him on four pills of a particularly high dosage for his horn-related agonies right now. Malleus has discovered many new things while occupying this cell, and one of them happens to be that he should be on child-dosages for just about everything. 

“Have you been having hallucinations, delusions, or homicidal ideations recently?” Idia quickly looks up. “Overblot excluded, I mean.” 

Overblot excluded. Malleus thinks that a rather smarmy thing to add at the end as he feels his lips pull to a tight, humourless smile. He never had any ‘homicidal ideations’ during his overblot, but he would not bother to correct Idia on that. Most people seem to think he has forgotten much of what he did while in that state. This is far from the truth. Malleus remembers every vivid minute, and it unsettles him deeply. 

“I saw a pink dancing elephant recently, though perhaps that’s a byproduct of the aforementioned medications.” He snips back as he leans against his cell wall, crossing his legs. His hand continues to throb in time with his pulse from where his horn cut through. “Otherwise, I am not homicidal, or hallucinating, or anything of that sort.”

“What about suicidal, then?” Idia asks, cutting Malleus off before he can continue his commentary. Malleus’ jaw snaps shut with a click at the question. A standard part of any evaluation but one that draws him to a pause. Idia is perceptive enough to catch note of this as he glances back up at the prince again. “Malleus?” 

Everyone was. At least, that’s the gist he’s noticed from the other boys regarding the ones who overblotted. The crashing of emotions, the broken highs, the spiralling distress of how badly one just fucked their entire life over by letting go of the tightly coiled feelings for once. He exhales sharply between clenched teeth before rubbing his hands up and down his thighs in a self-soothing manner. They all got over it, but he’s been caught in the riptide for weeks now. 

“... depends.” Is what he concludes with, his head thumping against the wall in a hollow, off-kilter sound. Idia stares quietly before writing something. Malleus isn’t expecting him to comment on it. It would feel out of touch for the other boy to do so. They, like many of NRC’s students with the rare few exceptions, were not that emotionally vulnerable. “Regardless, thoughts will not lead to action. I have far too much to worry about before I fall down that rabbit hole.” 

A tense smile touches his lips that he hopes is reassuring but looks more pained instead. Idia hums and then scratches his cheek with the butt of the tablet pen. “What have your dreams been like? Anything particular?” 

Dreams? Malleus digs deep into the catalogue of his experience so far to try and see if there are any memories of what he’s been dreaming - when he sleeps, that is. Closing his eyes invokes some strange form of panic in his chest, which has only recently begun to settle to a more anxious hum. His hand comes up once more to brush against the ruins of his horn, smearing a bit of the remaining blood along its base. 

“I have not been sleeping.” He confesses as he looks upwards, towards the flickering fluorescent lights that indicate to him what hour it is inside of this room. They have not shut off, so it isn’t night quite yet. “Or at least, I have not been sleeping well. When I do sleep, I do not remember much of what I see. A lot of darkness, flashes of green. I feel… hunger.”

He pauses, brow furrowing slightly in introspection. “A hunger, mixed in tangent with an odd hollowness, as though I am aware that I am pursuing something that, when lost, will not satiate the ache. As though this hunger is just my mind telling my body that it will not be able to keep what it desires.” 

A moment of pause settles before Malleus clears his throat and shifts to sit up straighter. 

“Did you not feel it too, Shroud?” 

Idia’s gaze drops to something in the corner of the screen that Malleus cannot see. It occurs to him that Idia had mentioned they weren’t alone in this discussion. Once more, his jaw closes sharply, and he finds himself sinking down. He had hoped to extend a line to the other boy who had been caught in similar waters and had pulled himself out with little need for aid. 

“Sort of.” The words are spoken cautiously, as though Idia is placing great thought into them before letting them out. “Most of the dreams I had were pretty dark for a while. Mom and dad said it was a consequence of the blot, but I think that’s up in the air. It took me a while to move past them. I learned pretty quickly that if you need to deal with darkness, you need to first accept it’s there.” 

Idia’s golden eyes seem to dig through Malleus’ mind as they narrow ever so slightly. Then he snorts and leans back again. “Listen, I’m the last person who should be preaching about things you should and shouldn’t do for this, since everyone has their own unique experience. I was lucky to even be accepted back to NRC. At least you know now that you aren’t the only one with a lot of baggage around here. Kinda wish we had all just…”

Idia trails off, but Malleus can easily fill in the missing part of his sentence. He sighs deeply and hunches over to rest his elbows on his knees. The memory of Lilia’s body growing cold in his arms is one that has kept him up repeatedly at night, which reflects in the darkening beneath his eyes. That, in combination with Silver’s crying, and Sebek’s distress, are aspects that Malleus would salt the lands to prevent seeing again. The added knowledge that he orchestrated this all is no lesser burden. 

Perhaps this is what his hunger is seeking. A means to fill the guilt that lingers from his actions. A manifestation of the being he absorbed to become something he should not have to begin with. 

“Anyway.” The abrupt sentence snaps Malleus’ attention back to Idia as the other man sets the tablet aside. A few more clicking sounds, a pause or two, and then Idia is nodding. “Nothing of immediate concern pops up, though you can bet you’re gonna be seeing a counselor or three over the coming weeks. Same story for all of us.”

“How exciting.” Malleus muses dryly as he watches Idia moving on the screen. The other boy finishes sending what Malleus assumes is the present report before finally meeting his gaze. 

“Got a message from Lilia asking if you’d take a call tonight. You’re not gonna break our phone if we give it to you, right?” Idia grimaces. “‘Cause so far, your track record with tech hasn’t been the greatest…”

Lilia wants to call him? Malleus perks up at this, pushing down the wave of uncertainty before giving a slight nod. “I would like that very much, yes. I promise I shall try to be as careful as possible with your device.” 

“Honestly, I think mom wants you to break it, just so she can see if it’s possible. She designed it herself.” Idia mumbles, but Malleus can see the faint fondness in the boy’s golden eyes. “Cool, cool. I’ll have them drop that in for you.”

Idia gives a thumbs up before cutting the line. Short, sweet, to the point - Malleus can appreciate that at this moment. He stares at his reflection on the screen before looking down to the red smear on his thumb. He sticks it in his mouth, sucking it clean, before wiping the saliva on his pants and gently pulling himself to his feet. Perhaps he’ll do some stretches or give a shot at meditation before taking Lilia’s call. The thought draws a faint smile to his lips. Peace may be found in breathing and movement, and with it, hopefully a dreamless night ahead. 

[fishhateme]

so... Linkedin influencer au, anyone?

LinkedIn Influencer danny in the midst of the redbull breakdown™ made me think of like this random ass au

BEAR WITH ME

(i made a pt 2!)

Imagine Max being an up and coming engineer or something along those lines, and he's a genius in his field but he's antisocial as fuck (if you'd ask him he'd just say he's intolerant to other people's bullshit)

ANYWAYS he sort of *has* to network because of the horrors of the capitalist world and as he's scrolling through LinkedIn he comes across this... dork? He isn't exactly cringe, not like this other engineer (ahem ahem aerodynamic engineer!lewis) who posts photos of his bulldog going to the office -which is supposed to be inspirational?? Somehow??- or quotes about being a unicorn

(i realize I'm getting sidetracked about how funny lewis would be on LinkedIn so I'll get back on track)

Unlike engineer!lewis, this other guy on LinkedIn isn't necessarily cringe - he's obviously a bit older than max judging by his very proper punctuation (although it is... yknow... linkedin) and his weird hyper fixation with cowboy emojis anytime he gets a promotion or anything like that, but he sort of makes max do that thing where you exhale out of your nose instead of chuckling, and since that's the first semi enjoyable thing max has ever experienced whilst on the hellhole that is linkedin, he decides to follow him

He's forgotten about it at first, but then he sort of start refreshing his feed to check if the guy has posted anything, and then he's commenting on one of his posts about hiding honey badger stickers around his physics faculty office (apparently he works in a university or something, not that max reread his career trajectory ten times or anything) with laughing emojis (who comments on LinkedIn posts? Who is he, his father?) and they get into this weird sort of always-interacting-with-each-other-but-also-y'know-it's-linkedin-not-tinder sorta vibe

The point is that his coworker/reluctant friend lando drags him to this stupid engineering event that's supposed to be perfect for networking.

Max will never admit it, but he agreed to go not only to get away from his horrible boss, because Marko creeped him the fuck out and would criticize his work even if he reinvented Einstein's theory of relativity, but also because the funny linkedin guy posted he'd be there

Except max wonders around and around the stupid aerodynamics convention and, while he runs into that fucking guy with the decked out bulldog more times than he could count, he doesn't think he sees daniel?

He's not about to humiliate himself and ask someone, though. That would be desperate, even if this daniel -danyul- is sort of well known in these circles because his LinkedIn posts are semi well known (max chuckles at the thought of falling for an influencer, but not an Instagram model, instead a LinkedIn physics micro influencer)

After a few hours he gives up, deciding the best course of action is getting shitfaced and therefore successfully forcing Lando to drive back home through the inevitable traffic the convention would bring to town

He goes to the bar and orders a gin and tonic, then another, then a third (he really shouldn't have gotten a third, he was supposed to be looking for another job in the first place and that toto guy from the germany factories seemed interested in his resume, this was a bad idea)

Flushed, frustrated and pleasantly buzzed, he rested his forehead against the coolness of the bar, closing his eyes when he heard someone sit on a stool, an amused Aussie accent right next to him

"What's got you down in the dumps, mate? An equation broke your heart? A lever system rejected your advances?"

Max closed his eyes and barely even chuckled out of courtesy for the stranger. Dork, a distant part of his brain supplied, and although he'd used that same word for someone else his buzzed brain didn't connect the dots

"I was looking for a guy I know from LinkedIn but I think he didn't show up" he admitted, surprising himself with his sudden burst of honesty. Maybe he shouldn't have drank so fast?

The guy next to him cackled, and Max didn't lift his head because the lights were too bright and they'd hurt him, but he was pretty sure he heard the scraping of the stool legs against the floor signaling this random Aussie guy almost ate shit laughing at the patheticness of his situation

Great

"Screw him!" He said, way too cheerfully for Max's taste, and ordered himself a rose

Max lifted his head at that, if only to say how idiotic it was to order a rose instead of a real drink, and he almost gasped when he was met with dark curls and a dangerously toothy grin he'd seen before, on his LinkedIn home screen, on a tiny icon but definitely there

But before he could have time to react, Daniel was clinking his glass of rose against Max's half finished g&t, smiling mirthfully

"Don't worry, mate. People on LinkedIn are a bunch of cunts, anyway"

[strawberrystepmom]

touch me so i know i am still here | three

cw: mentions of alcohol. detective dante sparda x investigative journalist f!reader. | word count: 3.1k, reading time: approx. 12 min.

notes: for the purposes of this fic, dante's last name is sparda. i know this is not his canon last name. thanks for suspending disbelief for my sake <3 uh. this series is violent and dark but it's not heavy, it's actually pretty funny and cheeky considering the subject matter so i hope you like it!

this is the third part of a series. each post will contain warnings that pertain to that particular chapter. | part: one, two

The weeks that have passed since you first roped Detective Sparda into your crazy plan have flashed by in a practical blur. Every day of the past twenty-one has been spent talking to him in some capacity, even the ones where you’re both allegedly off and comparing your research over pizza and beers, though most of it has been through text and phone call specifically. 

Strangely, you’ve almost found yourself looking forward to the usual wakeup call you place to him around 8:30 every day. He’s charming and easy to talk to, shockingly laid back for a cop with almost two decades of experience under his belt. During your chats you’ve quickly learned that he has a nephew he’s incredibly proud of although you were not brave enough to ask about those circumstances given what you’ve read and heard about his brother. He’s never been married but still hasn’t ruled it out. He loves to sleep in, to enjoy the stiffest drinks you’ve ever had the misfortune of being dared to taste, and to have a little ice cream to finish the night off. 

You’ve also learned that you may be developing a bit of a, how do you say, crush on the man. 

Anxiety dots your palms with sweat the same way it did that fateful day so few weeks back as you reach for the box that buzzes into the desk manning the side door of the police station. Dante told you this is the simplest way to get in because most of the time he’s the one manning said desk just to get away from his own. Reaching for the buzzer, your finger shakes and you scoff at yourself.

The speaker buzzes.

“Secret password.”

You recognize his voice and roll your eyes. Last night you told him you’d stop by around lunch time and to expect you but you didn’t expect him to be literally waiting by the door. Holding down the button to talk, you lean close to the speaker.  

“Let me in.”

A chuckle is all you hear before the speaker cuts off and the door unlocks, buzzing you inside. Right in the door is a face you recognize well, smiling smugly with arms crossed over his chest, swinging back and forth in his chair like always. 

“Came to meet the family today?”

Groaning and readjusting your heavy work bag where it sits over your shoulder, you poorly attempt to downplay how flustered his question has made you. 

He told you weeks ago he sees his co-workers as the closest thing to family he has, as tragic as it is. There’s no family besides his nephew to enjoy holidays and family dinners with so the particular honor has always been given to his favorite bar that tragically started closing last Christmas (something you also learned within days of knowing him) or the people at the station closest to him. 

Tipping your head to the side, you smile wryly at him. “I actually came because you asked me to but if you’re going to introduce me…” you trail off, continuing to fend off creeping embarrassment. 

What if these people he values so much hate you? The relationship of journalist and cop has long been that of cat and dog, one always chasing and the other swatting at them in response. Sensing your discomfort, Dante reaches for the door separating the hallway that contains his office and other desks and cubicles and opens it, ushering you through with a solid, fluid movement of his hand. 

“They won’t bite, I promise.”

You mock-laugh at him which only deepens his grin. 

It only takes a few more steps until you land at the desks that house his immediate subordinates, two women he has told you about many times. Nico he calls one, Lady the other, both sporting slacks and button downs rather than the usual beat cop uniforms. 

They aren’t quite what you were expecting. You’ve worked with cops throughout the admittedly short entirety of your career and have met them from all walks of life but much like Trish at the front desk and even Dante himself, these two seem different. Like they understand the responsibility bestowed upon them when they agreed to do right on behalf of others. This is an anomaly amongst police and certainly the ones you’ve ever reported on who haven’t hesitated to take a bribe or submit a half finished report if it meant saving their own asses and that’s the mild shit.

“So you are the one that has been keepin’ him busy enough he don’t bother me,” the visually younger of the two, Nico, asks you. She’s all tan skin with a pretty grin, glasses perched on her nose with a sweet southern drawl that sounds out of place amongst the accents of your native city.

Her counterpart is a woman whose age you can’t quite place just by looking at her, short haircut cropped to her ears framing sharp cheekbones. She sees you search her torso for an identifying badge but she shakes her head. “You can call me Lady, no need to get formal with it.”

You feel comfortable but aware that you are being scrutinized, especially by the shorter haired of the duo. She isn’t sizing you up yet there is a nagging feeling that you are being felt out. What’s your story? What do you really want with Dante?

The little tinge of protectiveness strangely makes you feel soft toward the detective. 

“It’s really nice to meet both of you.” You smile brightly, genuinely, and Dante stands back from the three of you like he’s observing cautious animals unfamiliar with each other. “Sorry for stealing him from you, we’ve been elbow deep in all of this stuff we’re working on.”

You don’t elaborate too much, unsure of how much he’s told them about what exactly he’s working on. It’s a case he’s technically not supposed to be touching. His plausible deniability is that he was asked to help you and no further investigation occurred. Is that true? No but he can spin a good thread if the need arises. 

“Trust me, it ain’t stealin’ him to begin with, it’s a good thing. We always tell him he should get out more and especially if it means you’re both going to get some answers.” Nico offers you an apologetic half smile but you aren’t quite sure if the apology is meant toward you, Dante, or the situation just in general.  

“He drives us crazy talkin’ about all of it all the time.”

She of course was referencing his constant dialogue about you rather than the case but you seem none the wiser.  Dante shoots her a glance that you just barely miss, mid head turn to look up at him with a smile of your own. 

“If it’s any consolation, everyone thinks I’m crazy too.” 

The smile you flash at him is genuine, warm and disarming. There’s life in your eyes he doesn’t get to see often around these parts which spurs him on to keep the easy atmosphere intact. 

Raising a brow, he looks around at his colleagues, lips pursed to hide the smirk nudging its way onto his face. “You guys think I’m crazy?”

A few smatterings of half hearted disagreement hatch amongst the two other detectives who pretend to focus on the very important documents on their laptops in front of them. The mood doesn’t shift but the topic of conversation clearly does, discussing a burglary that has spawned the theory that it is a crime ring. The detective chuckles, clapping the woman closest to him on the shoulder.

“Alright, I’ll leave you guys to think about the effects words have on people and we’ll be in my office if you need us.”

They continue to mutter amongst themselves, letting the two of you walk off with minimal argument. Thinking back about the interaction, you decide to speak up about your observations.

“For what it’s worth I don’t feel like they actually think that about you.” He shoots you an inquisitive glance, turning to face you halfway. “Crazy. Y’know, that you’re crazy.”

It’s hard to explain where you get the lingering sense that they respect Dante from. You could simply tell judging by how natural everyone felt with each other, effortlessly flopping between serious and silly. 

“So you’re telling me there’s a chance they don’t think I’m some senile old fuck yelling at shadows and clouds?”

Giggling, you lean against his side and playfully butt your shoulder against his arm.  “You aren’t even 40, detective.”

The touch makes him stop in his tracks. You follow suit only to be met with blue eyes gazing down at you warmly, his head tilted as if he’s telling you a secret. 

“Well, I feel 80 and when it’s rainy out, my knees do too.”

Another playful eye roll from you. 

“Do you need ibuprofen? I’m sure I have a few rattling around in my bag somewhere.”

He takes your playful jab in stride, laughing as always, aware you don’t mean it. You reach for your bag and sling it around the front of you, pulling out your tablet and stuffing it under your arm just to have something else to do so you don’t remain this preoccupied with his stare. 

“Teasing aside, I get the impression that they admire how hard you’ve always worked to figure this out regardless of the risk.”

It’s unlikely he’ll actually get in trouble for helping you with this investigation yet there’s a sense that he’s at risk regardless. He was taken off the case because it’s too close and now he’s been roped in by someone just as close as he is. There’s no harm in helping you pinpoint old locations or files but if this goes deeper…

That’s a question for later Dante to deal with. He sighs and starts walking again, watching you tap and type.

“And you know what I think?” Humming, you raise your brows to indicate you’re listening to him but keep your eyes trained on your tablet, swiping through apps. “That you made a great first impression and that they’re being more patient with me where you can see it ‘cause it means you’ll be nice to them and bring donuts and shit.”

Perhaps your natural acclimation to being a people person is something you owe to your experience in journalistic pursuits, expertly getting people to take down their defenses with a trustworthy face and smile. People are excited to see you, especially at the station because you bring them something new. A story, an encounter, anything. 

They eat it up and a cynical part of the detective believed at first you were playing a carefully mastered role.

Now it’s you who stops, standing and letting your hands dangle at your side with a curious tilt to your head. “Is it really so hard to admit that they may simply like you?”

Since then the astute detective has picked up that you are not faking a thing. 

Extending your pointer finger and pressing it in the middle of his chest, you look up at him through your lashes.  “And furthermore, I would never bring donuts to cops, that’s a terrible joke even for me. I’d bring danishes or croissants or something that doesn’t scream that it was grabbed from a chain five minutes before it was going to be dumped for sitting out too long. Give me some credit.”

Nope, nothing. Everything you do is authentic and thoughtful, heart on your sleeve and all. Swinging the door to his office open, the man once again ushers you in first but doesn’t shut the door in a conscious effort to avoid seeming presumptuous.

“Noted.” Dante laughs and sits down at his desk, picking up the folder on top of it and pretending to leaf through it while swinging his chair back and forth with the heel of his shoe. 

You want to ask him where this habit started. Would he even remember? Was there a younger version of Dante that had no idea what his life would be like tipping his desk chair back and forth in school, driving his teacher crazy? Has he always been this full of frenetic energy? 

Why are you so afraid to ask him any of this? It’s not like it’s life or death to ask someone about their childhood, at least not compared to what you’re both dealing with here. Anxiety returns, your palms slick with it while you shut the door to his office behind you.

“I found something interesting while going through case files the other day,” he mentions offhandedly while you continue to daydream about the questions you want to ask him. Sitting down, you lean over the desk and prop your chin up with both of your fists. 

Your eyes widen, a surprised grin blooming while you slip into one of the cushioned chairs across from him.

“Do tell.”

He passes the folder in his hands to you. Flipping it open, you look down at a map of the city printed into grids across a dozen or so pages. This version is different from the pages you’ve been able to access and review using freedom of information laws. Your brows furrow, pinching in the middle.

“Most of the murders have not been localized outside of happening in the same city which I know you know but,” He takes a breath, leaning in your direction to point at various scribblings he left across the pages in front of you. “the location where the bodies have been found has always been.”

Now that is new information or at least a conclusion you hadn’t come to on your own already.

“I noticed the FBI was trying to build a profile for this guy and they decided that this area must have had some significance to his life.”

He points to a large circle just outside of city limits. In it lies miles and miles of wooded acres, near a nature preserve that has fallen into disrepair after years of neglect.

“The area around the lake?”’

Dante nods. “Yup. Sanders.”

“Hm,” you muse, nursing the sting that after hours and hours and hours of combing through this information yourself you hadn’t come to such a conclusion on your own. You have looked at maps identical to this more times than you can count. You’ve combed through every journal and memory belonging to the victims that you could get your hands on. 

It makes you feel sloppy and immature compared to the man in front of you. Shifting in your seat uncomfortably, he takes the folder from your hand and closes it.

“It’s just something to think about.” 

It’s like he once again sensed your discomfort or something. He smiles at you warmly. “We can even pull out the big map later if you want to compare the two?”

“I’m only here for forty five minutes.”

He shrugs.

“Then at my place later?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m going to check this out tonight.” When you nod toward the folder he scoffs incredulously in response. “Absolutely not.”

Now it’s your turn to scoff, instantly taking issue with his insistence that you don’t. 

“Detectiv–”

“Dante. And no. You’re not.”

Jaw dropping when he decides to interrupt you, your face contorts into what could best be described as a look of complete challenge. This isn’t the first time Dante has ever seen you look this way, determined as all hell to get your own, yet it is the first time he has seen it not over a particularly competitive round of darts. Offense flashes in your eyes, attitude in your posture, and he moves to disarm.

“I can tell what you’re thinking, it’s written all over your face and it’s not because you’re a woman. I know how well you guys can handle yourselves when there’s danger but listen to me, please.” Catching the tense drawl at the end of his voice, you do, putting your tablet down and rolling your shoulders, gaze pinned to him. “I promised to work with you every single step of the way on this but you need to promise me that you will not follow up on any of it on your own, got it? It’s dangerous. We don’t know if this asshole is lurking or where. You aren’t dumb.”

An argument springs to life but dies when you take an additional second to ponder if it’s worth it to try and change his mind about this. He’s right. You’re not skilled with weapons or particularly strong, you’re a journalist who struggles to put her pocket knife away safely when she gets it out to show it off. This is not your wheelhouse but it is his and he wants to keep you safe.

Could it be that he has also taken a bit of a shine to you over the last few weeks? Your cheeks heat, face downturned and staring at your lap. Bad timing to hope he has a crush on you mid-scolding but you’d be lying if you said his words, his concern, weren’t stirring something inside of you that should perhaps be left alone.

He clears his throat, eyebrows raised and captures your attention once more.

“If you want to go and check it out, I’ll come with you.”

You lift your head and smirk. “Aww you mean it? Thanks dad.” Dramatically clutching your tablet against your chest, you soften your face and pout. 

He shoots you a glance out of the corner of his eye, picking up the folder and dropping it into his desk drawer. “But not tonight. Tonight you’re coming over and we’ll get shitty takeout and discuss this. We need to look at the big map before making any moves, okay?”

Sighing, you soften your posture and lean forward. It’s not only hard but impossible to argue with him now that you know his real concern is your safety and not your ineffectuality. 

“Okay.” You look down at your wrist, eyes widening at the time. “Man, you managed to suck up all forty five of my minutes very quickly.”

Rising to stand, you offer a slightly apologetic smile. Are you apologizing for getting up and arms or for leaving him? Who knows.

“Text me your address and I’ll get there sometime. When I get off or whatever.” 

Scoffing, this time without the incredulity of a few minutes prior, he leans back in his chair and folds his arms behind his head.

“Oh no, I’ll come pick you up from work.”

You really wish he wouldn’t do that.

“Dante…”

The grown man next to you laughs, joyous. “Ah, you said it that time!”

All you offer is a sharp exhale in response, gripping the door handle.

“You get off around six, right?” He grins, pointing in your general direction. You nod. “Alright, six it is.”

Dangling from the door, you raise your eyebrows and feign annoyance.

“Yeah, yeah, see you at six.”

[sleeprsirene]

"You only got eleven correct this time,” Choso sighed, setting down the paper you'd been working on. His dark eyes couldn't help but flicker a concern look at you, his brows knitting slightly.

Last week, you had asked him to tutor you in Biochemistry, a subject you were unfortunately struggling to keep up with.

It was kind of him to accept, even if he looked a little exasperated now.

“Just one more try?” you pleaded, giving him a hopeful smile. He glanced at you, clearly debating, then sighed again.

“Third time’s the charm, right?” you reasoned, watching as his gaze flicked from your face to your hands now in a peace sign before he nodded.

But before he could speak again, you decided to propose something. “I think I just need a little motivation to really do well. How about this: if I score higher than twenty, you have to grant me one wish,”

Choso looked at you, his brown eyes suspecting you. “Fine,” he agreed with a small sigh, getting up from his seat.

“But it’s getting late. You should eat something before you go home.” He mumbled something under his breath about losing track of time as he head off to his kitchen.

You grinned, grabbing another sheet of questions tucked under his laptop, this time determined to give it your all. A little later, Choso returned with a glass of water in hand, surprised to see you'd already finished.

“Done!” you announced excitedly, accepting the water as he sat back down to review your paper. His eyes moved steadily down the paper, his expression shifting from mild surprise to a smile.

“Great job! You got everything right this time.” He adjusted his glasses, giving you an approving nod.

You giggle from his compliments “Guess that little incentive helped.”

Choso looked at you, intrigued. Curious of what's in your mind. “Alright then, what’s this wish of yours? As long as it’s not too outrageous, I’ll try to make it happen.” He spoke with sincerity.

Feigning innocence, you tapped your chin as if thinking deeply, before flashing him a grin. “How about this: I get to kiss you, one kiss for each correct answer.” you winked playfully at him, enjoying the shock expression and blush on his face.

“That’s… wait—”

“Oh, but you already agreed, didn’t you?” you reminded, leaning in slightly, watching the blush creep to his neck.

Choso’s voice was barely a whisper as he closed his eyes, his ears turning red. “Fine.”

You contained your giggle, “Keep your eyes closed until I say so,” you instructed, pulling out a tube of pink lipstick from your bag. Using your phone’s reflection as your mirror.

Choso had his eyes closed patiently, his jaw tighting and his face tense. Gently, you reached up, slipping his glasses off. His eyes fluttered, almost opening, “What…what are you doing?”

“This will just make things quicker,” you answered, holding back a laugh.

With a smile, you leaned in, giving him two quick kisses on his forehead. You didnt miss how his breathing hitched at each kiss.

Then you kissed his left cheek, twice.

His right cheek, twice.

Then, softly, one kiss on each of his closed eyelids.

Finally, you leaned down, placing two gentle kisses on his neck, just beside his Adam’s apple.

“Uh…” he mumbled, barely audible, his face completely red now.

You took a step back, admiring you handywork—the light pink lip prints dotted all over his face, contrasting against his pale skin.

Right now you felt like Vincent Van Gogh or Katsushuka Hakusai admiring your artwork. Quickly, you snapped a few pictures with your phone, stupidly forgetting to make sure the camera flash is off.

Choso���s eyes immediately opened, panic laced on his voice, asking what was that just now. You could barely hold back your laughter at his flustered blushing face.

"Nothing, just checking the time," you're sure to pass that final exam now that you've got a great souvenir from your cute tutor.

woke up today and decided to post my cringe writings (⁠･ั⁠ω⁠･ั⁠)