#but with this interview he makes up for it. he does.

[lazysoulwriter]

center of his universe. - pedro pascal. ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: soft!pedro, established relationship, pre-red carpet nerves, gentle reassurance, protective energy, proud boyfriend vibes, reader attends her first premiere

---

You and Pedro have been quietly in love for months now. Private, not secret. At least, that’s how he always puts it.

Your hands held under tables. Your Polaroids framed on his nightstand, just out of the camera’s reach during interviews. Your name never spoken publicly, but always felt in the softest parts of him—his calmer voice, his gentler smile, the sparkle in his eyes when no one else knows he’s thinking about you.

But lately, things have been… shifting. The internet’s started to notice. A few side glances at parties. One (very grainy) photo of you walking behind him at the airport. A comment under one of his posts: who’s the mystery girl with the pink nails?

So when he comes home, flops dramatically on the couch, and says, “Come to the premiere with me,” your whole body stills.

You blink. “You mean like… with you. With you?”

He sits up, like he’s already bracing himself for the incoming spiral. “With me. Next to me. Holding my hand. Wearing something that’ll make me black out the second I see you.”

You swallow. “Pedro, that’s… I’ve never done that. I’ve never been on a red carpet. I don’t know how to stand, or pose, or what to do with my hands. I don’t want to ruin it for you.”

And his expression softens in that way it always does when you doubt yourself. Like it actually hurts him a little.

He reaches out and pulls you gently into his lap. Hands firm on your hips, grounding. “You’re not ruining anything. You’re making it better. I want you there, baby. I want the world to see the woman I’m in love with.”

You hide your face in his neck. “I’ll trip.”

“I’ll trip first.” “I’ll blink weird in the photos.” “Then we’ll be blinking together.” “What if I freak out and cry?” “Then I’ll hold your hand and remind you that you’re mine and you deserve to be exactly where you are.”

He tilts your face up to his, kisses your nose. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be there.” Then, smirking: “Besides, you’re gonna look so hot. Paparazzi lenses might actually melt.”

—

On the day of the premiere, you’re shaking in the backseat of the black SUV. Pedro’s fingers are laced with yours. Your dress is stunning—he helped pick it, obviously—and your stylist kept saying “ethereal” over and over.

But all you can think is: What if I look like I don’t belong next to him?

Pedro must sense it, because he leans in close, mouth brushing your ear. “You do belong. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. The second we step out, people are going to fall in love with you. Just like I did.”

You glance at him, wide-eyed. “You really think so?”

“I know so.” He kisses your hand. “And if you get overwhelmed, squeeze twice. I’ll take you home. No questions asked.”

The door opens. The lights flash. The screams are loud.

But his hand is firm in yours, and his smile is calm and bright and proud. Like he’s not just introducing you to the world—he’s claiming you.

And later, when the photos are out and everyone’s talking and the internet’s buzzing, you find the moment he turned to you, eyes soft and glowing, while the cameras caught it all.

“Who’s she?” they ask. “Is this Pedro Pascal’s girlfriend?”

He doesn’t say anything on social media. But the next day, he posts the photo with your hands intertwined, your smile tucked into his shoulder. Caption: mine.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[dominateeye]

Dr. Butch Ware's comments in that interview (here it is in full, the relevant section is 44:57 to about 55:00) were indeed disappointing, but they aren't the Green Party's position—in fact, they directly contradict the national platform. On abortion, the party platform states "We endorse women’s right to use contraception and, when they choose, to have an abortion." On transgender equality, the party platform states "We affirm the womanhood of asexual, bisexual, heterosexual, intersex, lesbian, polyamorous, and transgender women and their right to be treated with dignity and respect." and "The Green Party will be inclusive of language in local, state and federal anti-discrimination law that ensures the rights of intersex individuals and prohibits discrimination based on gender identity, characteristics, and expression as well as on sex, gender, or sexual orientation. Gender critical or trans-exclusionary social theories such as the sex-based womens’ rights declaration are not recognized as radical inclusive feminism and will be opposed by the Green Party. ... The Green Party affirms the right of all persons to self-determination with regard to gender identity and sex." This is also the reason why the Green National Committee voted 119 to 17 to remove the Georgia state Green Party after they endorsed a transphobic sex-based rights declaration—in clear violation of the national platform quoted above. The Green Party is clearly willing to take action to defend the dignity of trans people, and clearly values the rights of everyone who can be pregnant to unrestricted access to safe abortion. It's also worth noting that Dr. Ware released a statement after the fact stating that he believes his comments were edited to remove context (though I personally can't see any edit points in the footage), and that he was in conversation with the Green Party's Lavender (LGBT) Caucus about his comments. My hope is that he will work with them to become more educated on these issues, and will make a statement detailing how his opinions have changed, or at least that he will commit to following the party platform when it comes to policy on abortion and trans rights.

Compare this to the Democratic Party, whose Senators overwhelmingly voted for the 2025 National Defense Authorization Act which included Republican language banning military healthcare plans from paying for gender-affirming care in people under 18, and which has state officials around the country still voting in favor of transphobic legislation. Democrats can't take the kind of action that the Green Party has to ensure their members are standing with trans people, because they believe that would scare away the moderates they think they need in order to win. And because these anti-trans Democrats are actually holding elected office, they're doing massive amounts of harm to trans people while the party does nothing to stop them. If the Green Party is willing to disaffiliate an entire state party and expect its vice-presidential candidate to answer to the party's LGBT caucus over anti-trans positions, that's a sign they'd be willing to do whatever they needed to to ensure elected Greens aren't harming trans people, regardless of how difficult it is for the party. On abortion, see my earlier reblogs: the Democrats have had multiple chances over four Presidential terms, with decades in between to spin up political capital, to codify Roe v Wade into federal law—and they failed. This is the problem with a big-tent party: there's no consistent vision, and it's too easy for moderate members to stand in the way of progressives who are trying to help people (as a progressive reformer, I'm sure you've encountered that). As a party with a clear ecosocialist platform, and the willingness to do the difficult thing to keep everyone working to accomplish that platform, the Greens can keep advocating for a better world and working to earn the chance to prove that they can help make that world happen.

You're right that I didn't list any reasons to vote for the Green Party in my earlier reply to you; this is because as a sign of respect, I was focusing on answering your questions rather than trying to take the conversation in a direction that would benefit my position. However, if you would like me to provide reasons why I believe you and everyone else in the US should vote Green, I'd be happy to. In fact, I've been doing so for many years. Here's just one list of reasons why I think people who regret how they've been voting will find the Greens' vision of the future exactly what they need.

The Green Party does not consider the artificial difficulties that third parties face to getting elected to be a point in their or any other third party's favor. That's like saying Democrats in red states consider gerrymandering a good thing because it means they don't have to govern. Greens understand that US election law is biased against third parties, and this makes it far harder for third party and independent candidates to win elections. Greens want to change these laws precisely because the Green Party wants to put its platform into action. Greens want voters to see what they can do because they believe they can help people, and that's what politics should be about. That's why the party runs candidates in elections at all levels—any opportunity to help people and show what Greens can do is worth trying for. Greens believe that once voters see what the party can do, and the kind of politics that the party believes in, they'll want to support the party so that Greens can help even more people around the country. The Green Party doesn't advocate for moral purity—it advocates for policies that will materially benefit the majority of people in the United States.

Reform does indeed take time, and in fact, it is still taking time. I know this all too well myself; 2016 was the first election I could vote in, and I did my duty as an informed voter. I looked at all of my options, and initially, I supported Bernie Sanders. I believed he had the kind of vision the people of this country needed, and that he could actually bring the kind of change the Democratic Party needed to make that vision happen. But Bernie failed to bring that change because he didn't have the support of the Democratic establishment. Hillary Clinton did, and she won the nomination—only to lose to Trump, because voters knew her politics were simply more of the same. This shouldn't be a surprise; this is how most efforts to change the Democratic Party have historically gone. Howard Dean tried in 2004; he energized voters that the Democratic Party needed to beat Bush, but the party establishment wanted John Kerry, and Bush won a second term. Jesse Jackson, legendary civil rights leader, tried to give the Democratic Party the energy it needed to win in 1984 and 1988. We could have seen our first Black President in the 80s and stopped so much of Reagan's disastrous dismantling of this country; instead, the Democratic establishment threw their weight behind the safe options.

For many, many decades, people have been trying to make the Democratic Party the left-wing opposition this country sorely needs. They have been failing because the Democratic establishment works against them. Why? They like the power they have, and to keep it, they need to keep the party running. To do that without changing it and losing their power, they need money. The best source of that money isn't the people who vote Democratic. It's not the people who volunteer their time to help the party grow. It's not the people who send in small-dollar donations, whatever they can afford. It's the megadonors: the corporations, the political action committees, the business magnates. These special interests happen to mention the kind of political outlook they want to spend their money on, in interviews or in issue ads, and the Democratic establishment molds the party platform to match. When a candidate with a bold vision that threatens that relationship comes in, the party establishment works to ensure that they do only the bare minimum to let that candidate compete. Any chance they get, they throw their support behind the candidate representing the same old corporate-friendly politics, and the bold vision of change is told "maybe in another four years, now go help elect our guy".

I do believe that nothing is impossible until it is done, so I'm certainly not saying that nobody should be working to reform the Democratic Party. But I do believe it's a long shot, and it's not a bad idea for those folks to be working on another strategy as a backup. I think building the Green Party is that strategy, and it's a much more viable one. The vision of the Green Party is far more compatible with the progressive vision that reformists have for the Democratic Party. You can look at the platform yourself, see how much of it you would agree with if it was on blue letterhead. You can simply go far farther with a party that isn't fighting you at every turn. Imagine how far we could all go if that party had the energy of all the reformists currently shouting at a blue brick wall.

Voter apathy is increasing, but third parties aren't the cause. Voter apathy is increasing because the two old parties haven't changed, and the people trying to get them to change have only managed to get people's hopes up right before getting smacked down. Voters are tired of the emotional rollercoaster; reformists have to be twice as tired. Both voters and reformists are realizing that change in the major parties is unlikely to ever come. Third parties are simply trying to pick up the torch of change and carry it forward, to keep fighting for justice and to keep hope alive that this country can be better than it was yesterday. Third parties aren't saying that there's no choice, they're making sure there is a choice.

The Green Party most definitely believes we have a choice, and that who wins matters. There are many different political parties in the US, and that's good—more voices means more possible solutions, and more options on your ballot means that your vote matters more. But for all of these different parties, the choice ultimately comes down to the same old parties doing the bidding of the same old forces of capital, or a bold ecosocialist vision protecting dignity for all of humanity promoted by the Green Party. That is a choice, and it's the only real choice. And a Green win is the win that would matter most.

We should celebrate the 10th anniversary of the legalization of marriage equality, but we also must remember in this moment when the rights of LGBTQ people in this country are under constant assault that it can all disappear in a moment.

This is the country we will go back to if the conservatives on the Supreme Court have openly said they want. We much fight to prevent any backslide, and fight to restore the rights that have already been stripped from us, especially trans right which have been attacked particularly cruely.

Our community fights as one or we all fall.

[glassbxttless]

The Flaming Hearts Fan Club

johnny storm x fem!reader

word count: 2.2k+

summary: Something falls out of your pocket with the most unfortunate timing anyone could’ve asked for.

warnings: reader’s gonna be embarrassed, johnny’s gonna be a funny little son-of-a-bitch and i love him

notes: One of my friends, @prettycalla, and I decided to write this idea that our other friend, @getaapologist, had given us! (I was on fire for three hours, I hope you enjoy lmao). So here’s my version (and you should check out hers!) and the kickstart to my johnnyverse! Big thank you to @robinbuckleywife for reading this over and as always, big thank you to @peachyproserpina for editing, couldn’t do this without you!

It’s a sweltering July afternoon. You’re unfortunately standing in line at Burger Tower— it was of those space-age-styled fast food joints with chrome countertops, a glowing neon menu board shaped like a rocket ship, and booths upholstered in shiny red vinyl. The overhead speakers are playing The Supremes a little too loud for you to hear anything else, the smell of frying oil wafts around you, and the sun outside practically melts the linoleum floor tiles. It’s hot enough to make a person sweat through their shirt… and their pants…. really any article of fabric strewn on their bodies.

You’re one person away from the counter and you’re mentally running through your order— double cheeseburger, a strawberry shake, fries large enough to make you regret getting 'em— when you reach into your pocket to pull out your cash. Except you grab way more than you mean to. Something slips out and floats to the ground right at your feet. It’s face-down, but you already know what it is before it even touches the ground. Your stomach drops straight out your ass and to the floor. 

It’s one of your photos from the Flaming Hearts Fan Club. The official one, glossy and embarrassingly well-loved. And now stepping up right next to it? The most unfortunate pair of shoes you could hope to see. Black boots. Sleek. Attached to legs in jeans that you woefully would recognize anywhere. A voice chuckles behind you, smug and too amused for your comfort, says, “Whoa, now that’s a handsome guy.”

You freeze right in your tracks. You know that voice. Everyone knows that stupid voice. It’s been broadcast on radio interviews, on late-night variety shows, and shouted from the skies when the Fantastic Four saved Midtown last month.

You turn on your heel.

Johnny Storm is standing there. His blonde hair windswept and looked too picture perfect, his sunglasses are perched in his head, and he’s holding your fan club photo between two fingers like it might catch fire if he grips it too tight. And he’s grinning. “Real dedicated fan, huh?” he says, flipping the photo around to show the front. It’s the one where he’s in his blue suit, smirking with his arms crossed like he knows exactly how good he looks— which, clearly, he does. “Where’d you get this? You know they make me sign those after three hours of PR torture every Tuesday?”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out except a breath that sounds vaguely like a question mark. You hurriedly grab the photo back, flustered and looking anywhere but at him, trying not to sweat through your blouse. “I— I’m not, like, obsessed or anything. My friend gave it to me. You know… as a joke.”

“Oh yeah?” He raises an eyebrow, then steps around you to the counter, calling over his shoulder. 

You want the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Instead, you just shove the photo back into your pocket cursing yourself for even tucking it in the pocket of these jeans however many weeks ago. You order as fast as you can, duck your head to avoid him, and flee to the farthest booth in the restaurant. You’re definitely trying to hide behind your stupid milkshake and lick your wounds in peace. You make it halfway through a crinkle fry when a red tray drops on the table across from you, and Johnny plops down into the seat like he had been invited. He’s got two burgers on his tray, a large soda, and one of those dumb, charming milkshakes with whipped cream stacked a mile high.

You almost choke on your fries. “Are you… Are you seriously sitting here?”

“Sure am.” His eyes are twinkling as he peels the paper back on his burger. “You looked lonely. Or maybe mortified. Either way, sitting here felt like a public service.”

You groan and drop your forehead into your hand, elbow propped against the table. “You are the worst.”

“Incorrect. I’m the hottest. Literally.” He bites into his burger and shrugs. “Flaming Hearts, huh? That’s the fan club with the pins, right? Do you have the pin?”

You glare at him between spread fingers.

He leans forward, his eyes wide with mock innocence. “What? I wanna see it. Let me guess— it’s hidden in your purse next to the embroidered handkerchief with my initials, huh?”

“I do not have—” you stop yourself with a sigh. It doesn’t really matter what you say now. He’s already smiling like he’s won something.

He munches on a fry, then points one at you. “You know, most people pretend not to recognize me. They do that whole thing where they squint and go, ‘Hey, aren’t you that flying guy?’ and I say something modest, like ‘Only on days that end with Y.’ But you? You dropped the merchandise. You might as well have left a trail of rose petals to this very booth.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s almost impossible for you to stop smiling now. “If I buy you another burger and slide it across the table, will you try and forget this ever happened?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he grins through a mouthful of fries, “This has been the best part of my day. I’m literally going to remember this forever.”

You laugh despite yourself and shake your head. He’s magnetic in the kind of way you wish you were immune to, that’s how this crush started, after all. All lazy charm and a ridiculous aura of confidence. But it really wasn’t in the sleazy, plastic way you’d expect from a tabloid cover boy. It’s like he actually likes being liked, in a deeper way— nothing surface level. “Why are you here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a lab to go blow up or something?”

“Nah.” He waves his hand in dismissal, smiling. “Reed banned me for the afternoon.” Then, he leans back in the booth, one arm draping over the back of the seat. “I figured I’d get some lunch and see how many people pretended not to notice me. You win, by the way. Dropping the photo? That was pretty good.”

You groan and hide your face in your hands again. And then you shake your head, starting to laugh as you say, “I am never living this down.”

“Sure you will,” he hums, holding his shake toward you like a peace offering. “Eventually. Probably. Maybe. Want a sip?”

You squint at him. “That’s how you get cooties.”

“Oh my god, you are in the fan club.”

“Shut up.”

He kicks your foot lightly under the table and sing-songs between laughs. “You didn’t say no.”

You shoot him a mock-annoyed look over the top of your milkshake. “You kicking me under the table now? Real smooth.”

Johnny shrugs. “Subtlety’s never been my strong suit. I mean… Come on. I light on fire for a living.”

You laugh again. It bubbles out of you before you can even realize it, and suddenly you’re smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt. He notices and he gives you this big, satisfied grin like he just won a bet with himself.

“What?” you say, narrowing your eyes at him, your heart beating so hard in your chest you think it may try to escape through your ears.

“Nothing,” he shrugs. “It’s just… really nice when people laugh around me instead of screaming and running for the nearest fire extinguisher.”

“Oh, is that a thing?”

“You’d be surprised.” He nudges the last of his fries into his mouth, chews lazily, then adds, “Actually, wait, no you wouldn’t. You’re the one with my picture in your pocket.”

You groan dramatically and drop your head down against the table for what? the third time now? “Will you please stop bringing that up?”

“Not a chance.”

You hear the squeak of the vinyl as he shifts in the seat, then there’s a rustle of paper as he crumples up his burger wrapper. He’s looking at you a little differently now— clearly still very amused, but he’s softened at the edges. Like maybe he’s not here just to tease you. Like maybe he kind of likes the way you look at him while he flirts or how you groan when he pokes a little fun at you. He tosses his trash onto his tray, wipes his hands on his jeans, then he looks back at you with a tilt of his head. “So. You headed anywhere after this? Or was lunch your big plan for the afternoon?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why? Are you about to recommend I spend the rest of it being harassed by superheroes?”

“First of all, celebrity superhero. Get it right,” he says with another one of those signature grins, jerking his thumb back at himself as he points. “Second, I was gonna offer to walk you home. Unless you’d rather let the photo in your pocket be enough.”

You pause at his words, a fry halfway to your mouth. “You want to walk me home?”

He shrugs, like the suggestion is no big deal. Like he’s just a normal guy asking a normal girl to let him walk her home. But he was not a normal guy, he was fucking Johnny Storm, of the Fantastic Four. And you, you, were a member of his damn fan club. “Sure. It’s hot out. You might melt. I’d feel bad if I left you out there to fry like an egg on the concrete.”

“And you’re just… offering? Out of the goodness of your very flammable heart.”

“That, and you’re cute when you’re mortified.” He winks at you, like he hasn’t just said the sort of thing that might send your pulse into a thumping tailspin. “So what do you say? You live nearby?”

You hesitate, shifting in your seat, but it’s not because you don’t want him to. It’s because it still feels a little unreal that the Johnny Storm wants to walk you home like this is some normal, Saturday matinee kind of world. You nod at him slowly, your eyes still on him and a fry still clutched between your fingertips. “Just a few blocks.”

“Perfect.” He hops up, grabbing both of your trays. He dumps them in the bin in one graceful swoop. “Let’s go before I change my mind and fly off dramatically into the sunset.” 

He holds the door open for you as you exit, the same stupid hot air you were trying to escape, slaps you both in the face like a slightly damp towel straight from the dryer. You step out into the sun together, and he falls into step beside you. You’re walking as if you’re old friends. Like this isn’t bizarre and slightly incredible. “So…” he says after a few minutes of walking in silence. “Do I get to know your name? Or do I have to keep calling you ‘Flaming Heart Number 247’?”

You tell him your name. His lips tug up at the corners as he repeats it, and then he nods as he decides in his own head that it suits you.

“I’ve gotta admit, I didn’t really think my Thursday was gonna include teasing a girl about my own face in a burger joint, but you’ve made the experience. You, uh…” He scratches the back of his neck. “You doing anything this weekend?”

You glance sideways at him, hand curling tightly around the strap of your bag. “Why?”

“Just wondering if you’d want to… I don’t know. Get a soda or catch a movie or something. We could go somewhere I promise not to spontaneously combust on you.”

You almost gape at him, “You’re asking me out?”

“Yeah, well, it’s either that or I keep circling this block every day hoping you drop another photo of me so we have something to talk about.”

You try to play it cool, really you do, but your smile slips out before you can stop it. “Alright, Mr. Celebrity Superhero. You’ve got a date. You set it up.”

Johnny beams at you, almost boyish, entirely smitten. “You won’t regret that.”

“I probably will.”

He waits a moment and then agrees with a teasing sigh, “You definitely will, but you’ll also probably have a pretty great time.”

He walks you the rest of the way home, his hands stuffed in his front pockets. He’s telling you some absurd story about Ben trying to cook dinner and him nearly setting off the building’s sprinklers. You’re halfway to your door before you realize— he’s not just funny, or cute, or famous.

He’s fun.

And when he leans against your front gate and smirks down at you like he’s waiting for a green light, you give it to him without even thinking. He doesn’t kiss you— it’s too soon for that, you’ve just met— but he does tap the back of your hand lightly and say, “Don’t lose that photo. It might be worth something someday.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Goodnight, Johnny.”

“Night, doll” And then, with one last wink, he steps back, salutes you— all teeth and dimples, and then takes off into the sky like he was always born to fly.

You stand there, watching him go, grinning like an idiot.

And it flashes through your brain, you’re definitely gonna need a new photo.

Maybe one with you in it next time.

tags ;; No one is on the taglist for Johnny yet— so if you’d like to join, fill this form out here!

[imhalfplastic]

still, in paris

⊹ overview - pairing: mingyu x f!reader genre: slice of life · fluff · contemporary · slow burn · lighthearted tone themes: casual romance, soft humor, text-based narrative cw: brief mentions of social anxiety, implied fame context, sfw

summary: you didn’t plan to meet mingyu in paris. and you definitely didn’t plan for a blurry photo, one conversation, and a few late-night texts to turn into the internet’s favorite theory. but maybe the truth is even stranger: quiet, funny, and almost real.

from kai: got this idea after mingyu and sexyy red's moment at the pfw afterparty lol twitter wouldn't stop talking about it. started as a one-shot, but their chemistry was too good… now i'm lowkey tempted to make it longer. not sure yet. let me know what you think!

now playing: paris, texas - lana del rey

you’re not used to this.

the flashing lights, the screams, the chaotic elegance of fashion week in paris. sure, you’ve done premieres and panels before. your netflix series blew up way more than anyone expected, and suddenly your face was everywhere. streaming numbers through the roof. interviews. magazine covers. your face on a billboard near times square.

but this? this is dior.

they flew you out. they dressed you like a dream. they made you sit front row. you smiled, you posed, you pretended you weren't internally freaking out.

because deep down, you still feel like that girl who watched fashion shows at 2am, dreaming about stuff like this. and maybe you’re still that girl. just with better eyeliner and a driver waiting outside.

you make it through the show without tripping or passing out. success.

then someone mentions the afterparty and you’re like... okay. sure. why not. you’ll go. stay twenty minutes. do your duty. leave with grace and dignity and maybe a tiny dessert in your purse.

it’s crowded. obviously. but beautiful. soft lighting. velvet everything. a lot of cheek kisses and air-sipping cocktails. the kind of party where people look bored on purpose.

you’re standing near the back, halfway through a glass of something sparkling and expensive, when you see him. and by “see him,” you mean feel the atoms in the room shift slightly.

he walks in like it’s no big deal. which maybe it isn’t, to him. he’s mingyu. people know him. tall and glossy and casually perfect. wearing something you’re sure costs more than your rent, but it doesn’t even look like he’s trying. you’re not even a hardcore carat, but you’ve seen enough seventeen content to know that he’s funny and clumsy and surprisingly shy for someone that handsome.

you glance. once. okay, maybe twice.

you tell yourself that’s it.

until someone says, “oh, mingyu! this is y/n.”

and your heart tries to climb out of your chest.

he smiles like it’s easy. like he does this all the time. “hi,” he says. “i watched your show.”

you blink. “seriously?”

“yeah,” he says, sipping something clear. “i binged it on a flight.”

you weren’t expecting that. “you watched my show on a plane?”

he shrugs, almost sheepish. “i needed something good. ended up watching the whole thing.”

your mouth opens slightly, like your brain’s buffering.

“that’s… wild,” you say finally. “you watched me act while trapped at thirty thousand feet.”

he laughs. “and liked it.”

you manage to hold eye contact, just barely. “thank you.”

he nods. “you were great. the whole cast was. but yeah, you stood out.”

you try not to smile too much, but it slips through anyway.

“well,” you say, “i’m a fan of yours too.”

he tilts his head a little, amused. “really?”

“really,” you nod. “you’re very good at what you do.”

his gaze softens, just slightly. “thanks.”

he laughs. it’s nice. warm. and you feel oddly calm now. like maybe this is just two people who exist in the same strange world, chatting for a second.

it doesn’t last long. someone pulls him away. someone else tries to talk to you. and just like that, he’s across the room again, surrounded by people who look like they were born on red carpets.

but later, when you’re waiting for your car outside and the air is a little too cold for your dress, you catch him looking at you. just once. a glance. maybe nothing.

but you feel it.

you don’t expect the internet to feel it too.

the next morning, your name is trending.

you think, oh god, what did i say? did someone post a bad angle of me? did i spill something?

but no.

it’s a blurry pic. you and mingyu. standing close. talking. both smiling. someone zoomed in so much that it’s pixelated like a renaissance painting, but the caption says:

“what are they cooking”

another post:

“mingyu looking at her like she hung the stars HELP”

and then:

“she literally said she was a fan of him a few months ago and now they’re at the same party this is my roman empire”

you want to scream. or hide. or laugh. you do all three, kind of.

your dms are unhinged. your friend sends you a tiktok of someone doing a powerpoint presentation titled “why mingyu and y/n would make sense actually.” you text back, i talked to him for thirty seconds.

but it doesn’t matter.

people see what they want to see.

you try to ignore it. let it pass. the internet always moves on eventually, right?

you post a normal picture the next day. a croissant. the eiffel tower in the background. very chill. very “look at me being unbothered in paris.” comments are not chill.

“where is mingyu” “blink twice if it’s real” “what did you talk about PLEASE I BEG”

you don’t reply.

you just keep scrolling. wondering if maybe he saw all this too.

and then, a few nights later, it happens.

your phone lights up. unknown number.

hey. this is mingyu. i hope it’s okay i got your number from someone at the party. just saw the chaos online and thought i should say hi officially.

you sit with that for a full five minutes. you reread it like he might have changed his mind and deleted the message. but it’s still there.

you type.

hi lol yeah the internet’s kinda having a moment huh

he replies almost instantly.

mingyu i forgot how people pay that much attention to who i stand next to lol

you smile. because yeah. same.

you the internet’s wild. last week someone made a thread about how i hold my coffee cup “suspiciously”

he sends a laugh emoji.

mingyu suspicious how

you apparently i grip it like i’m about to throw it at someone

mingyu honestly that’s a power move

you both stop texting for a few minutes. maybe he’s busy. maybe you are. you don’t expect more. but then:

mingyu anyway, sorry if that’s random just made me think of it and you seemed cool

you read that twice. you seemed cool.

you don’t know why it hits the way it does, but it does. quiet, lowkey, easy.

you not random i get it you seemed cool too weirdly calm for someone being chased by cameras

mingyu lol it’s a skill built over time and mild panic

you smile, thumb hovering over your screen. you don’t ask anything else. don’t push.

later that night, when you're brushing your teeth in a hotel bathroom that smells faintly like roses and money, you check your phone one last time.

a final message from him.

mingyu just saw someone on twitter say we have “suspiciously good timing”

you what does that even mean

mingyu like every time one of us posts, the other one’s online

you we’re not special. we’re just addicted to our phones

mingyu they also said we probably have a secret handshake

you we should

mingyu something dramatic lots of finger snaps maybe a spin

you followed by complete denial that we know each other

mingyu of course professionalism

you pause for a second, then type:

you you know this only makes them worse

mingyu yeah isn’t it kind of fun though

you a little

mingyu we should give them just enough to stay confused

you like posting the same sky photo 6 minutes apart

mingyu or both pretending we love the same very specific fruit

you papaya?

mingyu chaos...

you grin at your phone.

neither of you says anything else for a while.

but you don’t leave the chat.

and neither does he.

—-----------------

you wake up to sunlight spilling through gauzy curtains and the sound of distant traffic humming under your window. your phone is on the nightstand, buzzing once with a notification, then going quiet again.

you don’t check it right away.

instead, you stretch. take your time. the sheets are soft, the kind of hotel-soft that feels too luxurious to be real. you think, briefly, about how weird this week has been. fashion week. dior. mingyu.

you smile a little. not because of him, exactly. just... the whole thing. how surreal it all feels.

you finally grab your phone. one unread message.

mingyu walked past a bakery on the way back to the hotel smelled really good made me think this city is unfairly good at mornings

you snort, already smiling.

you i haven’t even left the room yet and now i feel like i’m missing out thanks

mingyu no pressure just reporting the vibes

you noted very responsible of you

mingyu it’s a public service

you should i be worried you’re turning into a pastry influencer

mingyu depends do you think that title comes with free samples

you 100% but only if you post aesthetic overhead shots

mingyu i’ll practice with my leftover croissant though i did already take a bite i was weak

you toss your phone on the bed and head to the shower. you tell yourself you’re not thinking about whether it might buzz while you’re in there.

it’s just texting. it’s just paris. it’s fine.

when you come back out, towel in your hair, your screen lights up.

mingyu do you think the eiffel tower ever gets tired of being perceived

you deeply needs a break maybe a vacation

mingyu it should visit new york blend in for once

you take photos pretending it’s never seen a bagel

mingyu “omg first time in the big city”

you laugh out loud.

you stop i can see the caption

mingyu all lowercase. subtle filter. very aesthetic

you towercore

mingyu #tbt even though it’s live

you laugh. then leave the room and disappear into the paris streets.

you walk with no real plan. you pass tourists, locals, little dogs in sweaters, a couple arguing quietly outside a tabac. the kind of scenes that would look too scripted in any film but feel perfectly normal here.

you get spotted near the river by a girl who looks like she just stepped out of your show’s fan edits. she freezes, eyes wide, then gasps like she can't believe it's actually you.

“no way. i literally watched the entire season in two days,” she says, voice shaking slightly. “i cried. like, real tears. three times.”

you smile, surprised and touched. “that’s so sweet. thank you.”

she hesitates, then blurts, “can i hug you? i’m sorry, i just...”

you laugh softly. “yeah, of course.”

she hugs you tight. not long, but full of emotion. and when she pulls back, her eyes are glassy.

“you’re even cooler in real life,” she says.

“you’re gonna make me cry now,” you reply, still smiling.

when she’s gone, you stand there a moment longer, letting it settle. feeling a little lighter, like the day just got warmer.

how strange it is to be recognized. how stranger it is to feel... okay with it.

you’ve been walking without direction. coffee in hand, sunglasses on, trying not to overthink how quiet your phone’s been.

then, finally, you text him:

you paris keeps looking like something important is about to happen

mingyu like a plot twist?

you or a confession maybe a chase scene

mingyu i could see you in a slow-motion chase

you i’d trip over a baguette

mingyu and i’d walk past like “sorry can’t get involved”

you very realistic

mingyu very french

you pause at the edge of a crosswalk, watching the way the light turns everything peach and soft.

you every corner here feels like it has backstory

mingyu i walked past a florist this morning and got emotional

you was it the flowers

mingyu the font on the sign

you powerful

mingyu might write a song about it

you can’t wait for “bouquet in d minor”

you keep walking, grinning into your coffee, phone still in hand.

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

you have dinner plans that night but cancel.

you stay in instead. order room service. eat fries from a silver tray while sitting cross-legged on the bed in the hotel robe. on tv, a french reality show plays with no subtitles. you make up the plot as you go.

your phone lights up again around ten-thirty.

mingyu is it lame if i say tonight’s the first time i’ve actually rested all week

you extremely but also same

mingyu i feel like i’ve been smiling for cameras since tuesday

you i forgot how to blink correctly in photos pretty sure i look mildly haunted in half of them

mingyu new aesthetic unlocked

you what about you how’s your night off

mingyu very quiet i’m pretending i’m in an artsy indie movie nothing happens but the music is good

you mine’s more “girl orders crème brûlée at midnight and judges everyone on tv without knowing the language”

mingyu: i’d watch that

you: it’s a limited series moody lighting no plot

mingyu i play your mysterious neighbor with three lines

you you play the guy at the bakery who always gets the last croissant before me

mingyu oh no i’m the villain

you obviously

the next morning, you get a message from someone on the dior team. there’s a private dinner that night. low-key, mostly creatives, no press. they say you don’t have to go, but they’d love to have you there. you say yes. mostly because you’re curious. maybe also because you wonder if he’ll be there.

you don’t ask.

you show up in a long dark dress and a tired smile. the room is warm, lit low, buzzing softly. the kind of gathering where you don’t have to be anything other than yourself.

he’s already there.

you spot him across the room, leaning against a marble fireplace, listening quietly. his jacket fits perfectly. he looks like he belongs here, but like he’d rather be somewhere else.

you think he sees you at the same time you see him. he gives a small nod.

you return it.

you don’t talk during dinner. you’re seated apart, close but not close enough to chat easily. he laughs once at something someone says, and you smile without meaning to.

after dessert, people drift toward the windows, champagne flutes in hand. the city lights glow softly below.

you stand near a window, watching the blur of lights over the seine. he walks over, close enough to speak quietly.

“still holding your champagne suspiciously?” he jokes.

you glance at your glass. “yeah, it feels important. like a tiny glass trophy.”

“paris does that to everything.”

“even small talk,” you say, smirking.

he laughs. “this view makes everything feel staged, like we’re extras in a film.”

“the city’s the real star.”

“exactly.”

a pause.

“people still can’t stop spinning stories about us.”

you laugh softly. “maybe we should take a picture together. just to make things more interesting.”

he grins. “caption it ‘just met’ or something mysterious.”

“‘totally random encounter,’” you add, smiling.

“internet loses it instantly.”

“and then fifty new theories start.”

“guess we’re good at this.”

you both look out over the city, quiet between you.

“you’re easier to talk to than most here,” he says.

you glance at him. “is that a compliment?”

“just an honest observation.”

“i’ll take it.”

you share a small smile.

after a moment, you quietly say goodbye and slip out, the city’s soft hum following you.

when you get back to the hotel, there’s a message.

mingyu you disappeared like a spy no dramatic storm-off or slow-motion slap. i’m disappointed

you the lighting wasn’t right i’ll save it for the sequel

mingyu you looked nice tonight not saying that to be weird just. you did

you thank you you too

mingyu safe to say we survived paris?

you not over yet but yeah mostly intact

mingyu mostly

you don’t know what to call this.

not a crush. not a friendship. not really anything you need to label. just this... quiet, mutual thing. something that makes a strange city feel less distant. something that doesn’t ask for more than it gives.

on your last night in paris, you stay up late with the window cracked open.

the sounds of the street rise and fall, soft voices, a motorbike passing, the clink of a bottle in the distance. you sit on the bed with your legs pulled to your chest, phone in hand, but no new messages.

you open your notes app and type without thinking:

things i want to remember:

the bakery smell at 8:10am

the girl who hugged me near the river

the music in the car on the way to the dinner

the way no one rushed anything

the quiet

how he said i was easy to talk to

how i felt okay

you leave it there.

you close the app.

you sleep lightly.

in the morning, just before your car arrives to take you to the airport, your phone buzzes one last time.

mingyu i’m thinking of posting that pic of us. don’t forget to keep the mystery alive when you get back.

you smile.

you always you too

mingyu safe flight talk soon?

a pause.

you yeah. talk soon.

you don’t know what’s going to happen.

but you’re not waiting for it.

you’re just letting it be.

whatever it is.

and it started here.

in paris.

[starlinggirll]

TIME FOR A HAIRCUT — D. ART

AUTHORS NOTE - mueheheheheheh i need him. also can we talk that WE as a community wrote fics for these pictures not even a day after they came out?? we're truly the best community i fear... also! this is also a reqs someone sent for husband!art for the pic in the middle! (i lost the req sorry but yk who you are!)

WARNINGS - dirty talk, oral (fem receiving), cussing, humping kinda (its the bed)

"good morning," he whispered against your temple after walking through the door.

he thought retirement would be better; more time for you and the twins, more time for himself. less time in the public eye.

he was so wrong.

he did spent most of his time with you and the twins.

he does have time for himself. which helped him change alot of things about him.

his diet, his time management, his hair.

but when he wasn't he was out for photoshoots, promo photos, advertisements. it was less grueling than hours of daily practice, tasteless, dry meals. but it was still alot.

but that's what came with being a prodigy at tennis, with being a household name.

"mornin'" you groaned, stretching your arms as he walked to your vanity to check himself out. "how was the event?" you asked tiredly, resting your cheek against your arms as you watched him look at himself in the mirror.

"boring, like usual." you hummed at his response, curling up further into the sheets. "you know..." he turned to you, a slight frown on his face. "do you think i should cut my hair? an interviewer asked about it." he murmured, walking up to you, kicking his shoes off, unbuttoning his shirt before laying down beside you. "but like in a condescending way, i guess."

you took his position as an invitation, scooting closer to him, resting your forehead against his. "i think," you whisper, brushing one of the front pieces of his hair off his face. "you should think about what i think about your hair more than what an interviewer said."

he grins, closing his eyes, relishing on the warmth your body is radiating. "and what do you think then?"

"that you look so fucking hot."

he groans, getting ontop of you and catching your lips in a sloppy, wet kiss. his hands dropped down to your breasts, giving them a slight squeeze before his lips descended onto your neck. "yeah? you like my hair that much?" he growled, parting your thighs so he could easily fit inbetween them.

you nodded, breathlessly moaning as he bit your neck. his kisses continued going lower and lower until finally reaching your stomach.

"art.." you whined, arching you back.

your fingers go tangled up in his hair. and you tugged.

he would be lying if he said he's keeping the length just for that. you pulling at it when you feel needy, when you want him to stop because he's overstimulating you. but also when its just you and him in bed, and your fingers go through his hair as he rests his head on your chest.

he moans without him realizing, his cock throbbing already.

but he cant.

he needs to please you first.

"lift up your hips for me baby." and you do, ofcourse you do.

he tosses your panties away, his eyes locked in your wet cunt. you tug him down, pressing his face into your core. he groans, taking in your smell he became so, so familiar with before going absolutely crazy inbetween your legs.

he's slurping, sucking, licking and spitting. the sounds both you and him are making are straight out of a porn video. "f-fuck!" you yelp, tugging harshly at his hair, bucking up your hips against his face.

"are you coming baby?" he says against your pussy, the vibrations making your body tremble. you nod, your free hand gripping the sheets. "do it all over my face. come on."

meanwhile, he's full on humping the bed, his cock is throbbing painfully. aching to be inside the person he adores and loves more than anything else. you.

you groan loudly, your eyes watering as you come. "fuck fuck fuck.." you moan out, body going limp from the feeling of the orgasm. he slurps every drop of your orgasm, softly rubbing your hips before giving your cunt tiny kisses. "there there."

you tug at his hair, again. wanting him to hold you. and he does, taking off his already loose buttoned down shirt before kissing your cheeks. and you bury your face into his chest, nuzzling your cheek against his chest hairs while your hand is still in his hair, but instead of pulling, you're now caressing his scalp.

"so i guess this means i shouldn't cut my hair then?" he whispers, tucking his chin ontop of your head while chuckling. "you think?" you giggle,running your finger up and down his abdomen.

"do you... to go again?" he whispers, already unbuckling his belt. and you nod. your hands already inside of pants. "before the twins wake up."

[amaditalks]

And now I'm going to take my own advice to get the details right, by providing the full quote in context, which was from Mamdani's appearance on The Bulwark podcast. It wasn't even as I depicted it, let alone the way he's being generally portrayed.

-----

Interviewer: "So I wonder what you think about that, about the phrase 'globalize the intifada' and what we've seen as some antisemitism coming from the left-wing protesters."

Mamdani: "The first thing is you were saying is antisemitism is a real issue in our city and it's one that can be captured in statistics, the ones that you were citing. It's also one that you will feel in conversations you have with Jewish New Yorkers across the city. And I remember one conversation I had with a friend of mine after the horrific war crime of October 7th. He was telling me that he went for Shabbat services at his temple and he was facing forward when he heard the door open. And he turned back with a chill going up his spine because he didn't know who was coming in. And that's more than a year ago.

And then just a few weeks ago, I had a conversation with a Jewish man in Williamsburg who told me that the same door he would keep unlocked for decades is one that he now locks out of a fear of what could happen in his own neighborhood. And I think that this is something that has to be the focus of the next mayoral administration, is not just talking about it, but tackling it. And these are the conversations that have informed our commitment around increasing funding for anti hate crime programming by 800% in our Department of Community Safety.

To the question of language that's being used, I am someone who I would say I'm less comfortable with the idea of banning the use of certain words and I think that it is more of vocative of a Trump style approach to how to lead a country. And –"

Interviewer: "Does that just make you uncomfortable? Like the phrase globalizing intifada. And the phrase from the river to the sea, does that make you uncomfortable or do you think –"

Interviewer 2: "OK, those are different. Those are super different."

Interviewer: "They're not really."

Interviewer 2: "Those are like different genres."

Interviewer: "i'm sorry, I'm asking so wrong. Then they are not really different to me. And to some people they are not different."

Mamdani: "I know people for whom those things mean very different things. And to me, ultimately, but I hear in so many is a desperate desire for equality and equal rights in standing up for Palestinian human rights. And I think what's difficult also is that the very word has been used by the Holocaust Museum when translating the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising into Arabic because it's a word that means struggle. And as a Muslim man who grew up post-9/11 I'm all too familiar in the way in which Arabic words can be twisted, can be distorted, can be used to justify any kind of meaning. And I think that's where it leaves me with a sense that what we need to do is focus on keeping Jewish New Yorkers safe. And the question of the permissibility of language is something that I haven't ventured."

-----

Context is a hell of a thing.

New York really voted for the guy who called the Warsaw Uprising an “intifada,” huh? We care about minorities unless they’re Jews I guess? Between that and the “Jewish space laser” comment that didn’t immediately get that Neanderthal fired, it really is perfectly fine to just hate on us, isn’t it?

Can’t say I’m surprised, just repeatedly disappointed.

[confessionsandcreampies]

y. isagi relationship headcanons

he analyzes everything about you—isagi notices the smallest things, how your voice softens when you’re tired, how you always fidget with your sleeves when you’re nervous. he remembers your food cravings, the exact way you like your tea, the cadence of your laugh.

he’s so unintentionally clingy—he doesn’t even realize it, but his hand always finds yours. on the couch, walking down the street, even when he’s brushing his teeth, he’ll stand next to you and lean his shoulder into yours. when he’s sleepy, he straight-up melts onto your lap.

he writes your name in his notebook—while reviewing plays and training notes, sometimes he doodles your name in the margins. not out of boredom, but because you’re always on his mind. one day you found a scribbled ‘mrs. isagi’ and he turned bright red and said, “it was for visualization training. manifesting, you know?!”

he lets you win at video games, but then gets petty—you beat him onceand he tried to play it cool. but you caught him watching youtube tutorials the next day, determined to win next time. when he does, he teases you for hours like it’s the world cup.

he wants to become the best for you—it’s not just about football anymore. he wants you in the stands when he wins. wants to bring you trophies, give interviews where he thanks you. he dreams of post-match kisses and cuddles, the press snapping photos while you wait for him at the edge of the field.

“i need to study you”—once you start sleeping together, isagi becomes obsessed with learning your body the way he studies football plays. he asks things like “did you like it when i kissed you there?” and “what made you moan like that last time?”, genuinely, because he wants to perfect every second.

he treats your pleasure like game data—he’ll experiment with positions, paces, and angles like he’s testing variables. but once he finds what makes you fall apart? he drills it relentlessly, again and again. until you’re begging him to stop, then he smiles and asks, “one more time? just for data.”

praise kink in disguise—he lives for your breathy “you feel so good” and “you’re making me crazy, yoichi.” it makes him feral. his thrusts get deeper, his fingers grip tighter, and he starts murmuring things like “you’re mine. all mine.”

totally loses control sometimes—there are nights when all that control snaps. when you tease him too much, or wear his jersey with nothing underneath. he’ll pin you to the wall, panting against your throat, muttering “you’re driving me insane. do you even know what you do to me?”

football metaphors during sex—“scored again,” he’d say smugly after you come on his tongue. “this round’s mine.” and if you grind on him while he’s trying to focus? “you’re testing my stamina, huh? that’s a foul. gotta punish you for that.”

competitive stamina beast—his cardio is off the charts. he’ll keep going through round two, three, and four, just to prove he can. he gets all flushed and whiny when you can’t keep up—“don’t tap out yet, baby. i’ve still got more in me.”

secretly watches the mirror when he’s fucking you—he’s obsessed with the way your body looks beneath him. when he catches your reflection bouncing on his lap or sees his hand wrapped around your throat in the mirror? he stares with dark eyes and groans low in his throat, hips snapping up harder.

[wendichester]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ agent castiel… sort of,

summary. you brought cas along to help you on a case. good decision? verdict isn't out yet.

pairing. castiel x reader genre. silly

wordcount. 633

notes / warnings. cas being cas™, upside-down badge, reader trying not to lose it, soft mutual affection if you squint

You really, really shouldn't have let Castiel come on this case.

Not because he’s a bad partner—he’s actually weirdly efficient once you point him in the right direction. And he does smite like no one else. But Jesus Christ, the man cannot bluff to save his life.

Or yours.

Or anyone’s, really.

You’re halfway through your third FBI impersonation of the week, interviewing a traumatized nurse in the hallway of a small-town ER, when Cas finally opens his mouth.

And promptly ruins everything.

“I believe the man you treated last night was possessed by a demon,” he says, tone flat. “You should consider burning the bedsheets.”

You don’t even turn your head. Just close your eyes. Breathe.

The nurse blinks. “I—I’m sorry, what?”

Cas looks her dead in the eye, completely unbothered. “His soul was compromised. Demonic presence. The sulfur levels in the room were abnormally high.”

“Agent—uh…” she squints at his badge. “Your ID is upside down.”

You do turn this time.

And sure enough—there’s Cas, standing tall and proud with his fake FBI badge clipped to his trench coat backwards. Photo facing inward. Name tag half-ripped. It looks like he stole it from a cereal box.

You slap your hand over your mouth before the laugh can escape. You don’t even try to fix it anymore. It’s happened three times this week.

“Apologies,” you say quickly to the nurse, her eyes still wide. “My partner's been working long hours. Bit of a burnout case. He thinks he’s on Supernatural.”

Cas leans in and whispers, “Are we not supposed to tell her about the demon?”

“No, Cas,” you whisper back, biting back a grin. “That’s literally the opposite of what we’re supposed to do.”

He blinks at you. “But the truth is helpful. Humans cannot fight what they do not understand.”

You turn to the nurse again. “I’m gonna need you to disregard most of what he just said.”

“I think I need to sit down,” she replies faintly.

You finally drag him out into the parking lot, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose.

Cas follows like a very confused golden retriever. “I don’t understand. Why lie? The demon was there. And the sulfur was detectable.”

“That’s not the point,” you mutter. “We’re trying to blend in, Cas. Not get tossed in a straitjacket.”

He tilts his head. “Why would they arrest someone for telling the truth?”

You stare at him.

And—goddammit—you can’t even be mad. He looks genuinely baffled. Like someone just told him the sky is a lie and sandwiches are a myth.

You sigh. “Okay, okay. Let’s try again. Humans don’t like having their reality shattered. Especially by some dude in a trench coat talking about sulfur and soul rot like it’s normal.”

“But it is normal.”

“To us, sure. But not to civilians. We keep it vague. Unexplained phenomena. Gas leak. Bear attack, if you’re lazy.”

Cas frowns. “You frequently blame bears.”

“You’d be surprised how much that gets you out of,” you say.

He considers that. Then: “Can I still mention the sulfur?”

“Only if you want us detained for a psych eval.”

Cas narrows his eyes at his badge. “And this must be… right side up?”

You nod.

He flips it. Stares at it again.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Cas. That’s what the words are for.”

He looks at you. Then smiles. Just a little.

“I’m not good at this,” he says.

You huff. “Yeah, but you’re learning.”

He holds out the badge.

You take it and clip it properly to his jacket.

He doesn’t move. Just watches your hands. The quiet reverence in his posture makes your chest ache a little.

“There,” you say. “Now you’re just socially awkward instead of fully terrifying.”

Cas blinks. “Is that an improvement?”

You grin. “For you? Huge.”

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[rollforjackass]

sometimes i wonder if all those times that john constantine allegedly appeared to his writers irl weren’t actually meant to be read by them as an endorsement of their talents or his personal acknowledgment of their influence in his life (the way i used to generally romanticize those stories to mean), but were maybe more intended as like…..a Straight-Up Threat. or, more charitably, as some kind of flying-too-close-to-the-sun warning. just because it’s funny to me to think how (almost) every writer who “encountered” him decided without question to fuck off posthaste, and equally funny to wonder how — assuming he actively chose to make himself known to them, rather than merely running into them on accident — constantine wouldn’t have seen that reaction coming from a mile away.

i mean, if anyone should know best about constantine’s penchant for bringing down disaster on anyone & everyone around him, it would be him and the people who officially contributed to enforcing that penchant, right? so it’d just be common sense for the intelligent, meta-aware fictional character to think: “if i — the living breathing embodiment of a rockfall zone caution sign — go up to the dudes who made me this way, they will probably (wisely) assume my presence indicates that they are now in higher-than-previous danger of being hit by falling rocks — a danger which will only increase the longer they stay within my immediate proximity — and they will surely feel compelled to bugger off accordingly.” at which point he could logically conclude that there are undoubtedly better, less-mortally-endangering methods of paying respects to his creators than popping out of a sandwich bar stairwell and scaring the shit out of alan moore.

(unless john thinks his writers would get just as much thrill from that kind of adrenaline rush as he does, given they thought to make him that way; which, tbh, i would not put past him to assume. or unless he simply does not care to expend all the extra energy on plotting a meticulously inoffensive approach just to tell someone ‘hi’, which i also would not put past him.)

as much of a shit as he can be, i can’t really picture john constantine making the conscious decision to put the fear of god into the writers who made him without a really good reason for it. he doesn’t believe in fate or destiny or anyone pulling his strings, so even if he didn’t like something they wrote, i figure he’d just set his mind to changing it rather than lending credence to the writers’ supposed influence over his life by taking his grievances up with them. so if constantine were running around the real world actively jumpscaring the people who are most likely to genuinely fear him, knowing they’re the people most likely to genuinely fear him, i can only imagine it being a choice he makes to jar his writers out of some complacent drift that’s been leading them over the line between fiction and forbidden knowledge; or something to that effect. a scare tactic, but a preventative one.

anyway, all this said to provide context for the entertaining mental image i had of constantine rocking up to some stranger’s party in 2009 all cool & confident, thrice-assured of his ability to rattle his writers just by showing his face, only to have to beat the hastiest of hasty retreats with fresh horror in his soul after notorious freak-shit woman-hating character-mangler peter milligan gets one good look at him and comes barreling down the pipe trying to ask what john thinks of the college-aged deviantart-emo wife.

[burgers-in-anime]

I guess I draw a distinction between queerbaiting of the "we'll throw in a few treats for certain fans" variety and queerbaiting of the "hey, you should keep watching, this could actually become Canon" variety. Gundam has long done the former but never had the chance to do the latter until very recently.

Like, yes, Char and Amuro have a very charged relationship, and it's one that was picked up by fans immediately. In fact, Tomino has said that not only were Gundam's earliest fans were mostly girls, but that it was the girls who were making fanzines and otherwise engaging with the story and characters while the boys just bought and built gunpla. So I fully believe that Tomino and the rest of the staff decided to play into Char and Amuro's relationship knowing that their biggest fans would eat it up.

But note that even in that interview, the question Tomino wants his audience to wonder was "Could Char and Amuro be gay?" rather than "Could Char and Amuro get together?" He wasn't intending to go further than subtext, and I can't imagine that even the most hardcore Chamuro fans went into Char's Counterattack hoping for anything more than that (which it does deliver, yes). Even later shows like Wing were happy to play into fan desires in official art, but refrained from anything like that in the show itself. It's all little knowing winks, never anything serious.

But then G-Witch came along and had an actual, openly, explicitly, not-up-for-interpretation gay romance at its core. Text, not subtext. And if you do that once, there's no reason you can't do that again.

So when GQuuuuuuX takes a scene where Nyaan is refusing to let Machu see her contraband, and turns it into a whoops-I-tripped-and-landed-on-you-how-awkward joke right out of a rom-com, and calls attention to it by 1) holding the shot on the moment they collide and 2) giving the shot a dreamy, sparkly haze… that's not a sly wink, that's an aggressive nudge in the ribs. They knew exactly what they were saying with that shot, and how people would take it.

And I think it kind of sucks to signal the possibility of another gay couple when it was evidently not in the cards at all!

Absolutely incredible that Sunrise followed the first queer Gundam series with the first queerbaiting Gundam series

[diamantdog]

How Do You Solve a Problem Like Capitalism?* - A Defense on "Squid Game 3" That No One Asked for

*(to the tune of "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?" from "The Sound of Music").

I've been gathering my thoughts about the ending of "Squid Game", and after sleeping on it, I have come to realize that I still don't mind it at all, lol. I think most of the things I'm going to say here, I have shared them before, either here or on Discord, so please bear with me.

First of all, I get people's frustration, because there are things I wish I could change as well. I wish the 457 confrontation had been longer. I think the Sky Squid Game round spends too much time (Ep.5), even though I think it's a depiction of governments everywhere, where middle-aged men, some of whom are criminals, decide who gets to live and die. I wish Junho had killed the VIPs. And tbh, I wish In-ho had been dead.

Before we go any further, I want to iterate that while there's a "Defense" in the title above, I'm not trying to change anyone's mind about the finale. I think two things can be true at the same time. I think it's right to feel disappointed/angry/frustrated about the season, while finding a positive twist in it.

Maybe I have deluded myself into thinking this lol, but I believe I understand where HDH is coming from. For me, it started when his NYT interview was published, and he said that the baby was a symbol for humanity at its core. I was, like, "Uh oh. Gi-hun is going to either sacrifice himself or someone else for the baby." But doing the latter would be an antithesis of his arc, so the first would be much more probable. Even without the interview, though, I'm sure many people have anticipated his sacrifice. But now, the question is: Is it worth it?

For me, that depends on how one looks at his sacrifice. There's one possible answer: His death doesn't stop the game, so it's pointless. And one may think this way because one sees the bigger picture. However, I think there's another answer, which one will get when one looks closer and steps into Gi-hun's shoes. You see, while Gi-hun rejoins the game planning to stop it, I think his motivation has changed by the end. He accepts that he's only one individual, and he cannot destroy an entire system alone. He's tried and he fails.

But this is what he can do: He can make a difference for at least one other person, and that's what he achieves through his sacrifice. He's not the only one who does this. Hyun-ju dies because she's the selfless person that she's always been, and in doing so, she dies for Geum-ja and Jun-hee. Geum-ja's death serves as a wake-up call for Gi-hun. Jun-hee dies for the baby.** And Gi-hun dies for the baby, too, I suppose? But also! For himself (more on this later). And for In-ho, because I believe Gi-hun starts to change him, and we can see this from the way he goes all the way to see Ga-young in the end.

(**I think the critiques about the treatment of these women are valid. At the same time, I do think that the women having three different keys and helping each other out until a man/myunggi ruins everything is supposed to be a depiction of an ideal society. The future is female, etc.)

But yes, back to Gi-hun dying for himself. I believe his choosing to die the way he does is him dying on his own terms. He doesn't let the guards or In-ho take him out. He dies by his own hands. I believe that for him, his death is not pointless nor wasted because he does it to save the baby/humanity and, therefore, himself. He dies with his humanity still intact. And again, even though he doesn't know this, he may change In-ho.

And one may ask: Why, though? And frankly, I have asked the same question myself, lol. I've seen some people blame Netflix, and I want to say I agree with them, lmao.

Here's the thing. We've always known that Gi-hun is HDH's self-insert and "Squid Game" is his anti-capitalist manifesto. But due to the global success, he is trapped inside a gilded capitalist cage. He has to watch his life's work get turned into a cash grab, not just by Netflix but also by people like Mr. Beast. He probably doesn't have any say on the upcoming spin-off(s) because Netflix owns the rights to "Squid Game", which means they can do whatever with it. I can see why HDH sees that there is no end to this capitalist hell. It's why I think there's a taste of his hopelessness in this ending (I think he also has zero trust in the police force, justice system, and authority in general, but that's a topic for a different post). He really doesn't see the game or this big capitalist machine stopping, I think. Not any time in the near future, at least.

That's why I think killing Gi-hun is important for him. I believe that just like Gi-hun protecting the baby/humanity, killing Gi-hun is HDH's way of protecting his own humanity in the face of never-ending capitalism, which I'm sure is very tempting to him. It's also a way for him to prevent Netflix from owning Gi-hun and milking his character, putting him into their spin-off(s).

So, if we ask HDH: How do you solve a problem like capitalism? I think he doesn't know either. I don't think he has a solution. I think, like Gi-hun, he started out wanting to change the world. But along the way, his dream changed. He no longer wants to change the world; instead, he hopes to change at least one person for the better. And he's said something like this several times, that he wants viewers to seek the solution for themselves. He wants us to fill in the blanks ("Humans are ___"). He wants us to start from ourselves by not letting go of our humanity. I think there's a reason why Gi-hun dies with his eyes wide open (because he's woke, lol). I think he believes that a change eventually depends on an individual’s ability to “stay woke” and not be swayed by others who want to erase their humanity.

I think he wants us to be Gi-hun for ourselves and then for everyone else. Because only when there are enough Gi-huns in the world can "we" win against "them". This is not to say that we have to die or sacrifice ourselves for others, but... Hmm... I don't know. But we've all seen what Gi-hun is like. Maybe when faced with a moral dilemma, we should always ask ourselves: WWSGHD? What Would Seong Gi-hun Do?

TL;DR I think "Squid Game" doesn't offer a clear solution to capitalism because the creator behind it doesn't see any, but what he wants to convey is that this doesn't mean we have to succumb to it, because there's always an option to choose humanity. Instead of wanting to change the world, he hopes to change at least one person for the better. And so should we. And everyone can do this by starting with themselves and trying to be a Gi-hun, not just for their sake but also for others'.

That's all <333

[f1cflcfic]

Won't Say I'm In Love (SMAU ft. Lando Norris) - part xviii

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader; past carlos alcaraz x fem!reader

summary: As a general rule, y/n does not date athletes. You've been there, done that - would not recommend. Besides, you definitely don't do love. There's no time in the world for complicated feelings when there's a career Grand Slam to be won. But what if your heart just refuses to listen?

genre: social meda/mixed au, friends to lovers, tbd

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons

series: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v, part vi, part vii. part viii, part ix, part x, part xi, part xii, part xiii, part xiv, part xv, part xvi, part xvii, tbd.

bonus: one, two, three, four, five

a/n: so happy for Lando that he won Austria, and what a great and fun, clean battle between him and Oscar today! It got me a little distracted, but here we are :)

July 21 - 23, 2025

[Excerpt: Transcript Podcast Episode with Y/N]

Obviously the next big tour is coming up with Wimbledon. Now, there's been a lot of talk - as every year - considering the fashion of it all. It's one of the few tournaments where you're required to wear all white or risk disqualification. What are your thoughts?

"You know, there's something nice about the tradition of it all. It elevates it to this special tournament where everyone looks a certain part. But rules and traditions should also make room to evolve and adapt over time. To be honest, Wimbledon is the worst and the best. It's my home Grand Slam, but I've never won it before. It's got a lot of prestige attached to it, which also means a lot of pressure. And I've genuinely had many bad dreams about getting my period in the middle of a tight match on court. But hopefully, third time's the charm to win the final."

You bring up an important point. Periods. Menstruation and sports, is that something you have to plan around?

"I mean, a lot of us will probably all be taking some type of contraceptive that helps with that. But it won't look the same for everyone, and you all have to have a period at one point. So, yeah, you can try and plan around it, but anyone who menstruates will have had a period hit at the most inopportune time. I've been on my period during the US Open, for example. It was not fun. And even if it's not that, also like being at a friend's house and realising they don't have any period products is the worst. Thankfully, most of my male friends grew up with sisters, so they'll know better - but gents, if you're listening, get your period products in order!"

[...]

But after Wimbledon, there's a little bit of breathing space in an otherwise super tight calendar. What have you got lined up to relax over the summer? Your sister is getting married, right?

"Yes, she is! I'm so looking forward to it. They've been together for a long time now and have a kid together. But yeah, Derek proposed to my sister and then a day later they found out that Vic was pregnant with Jessie, so it's been in the works for a while this wedding. Obviously that also means that she's had to make changes all the time when it comes to the table setting, guest list, stuff like that. But I think it's going to come together really beautifully."

Have you been able to be as involved as you'd like?

"Well, I'm super glad my sister wanted to make sure she picked a date that I could actually attend. Still, there's stuff that I wasn't able to do with her, like a bachelorette party and all. But I'll get to be her maid of honour on the day itself, so that's nice. And I get to bring my best friend as a plus one, so I'm looking forward to that, too. Some of my friends have gotten close to Vic and her partner as well throughout the past years, so it's nice to be able to celebrate altogether."

July 23 - 25, 2025

[Excerpt: Transcript interview George Russell]

Now George, you're getting ready for qualifying, but we heard you joke about Lando Norris' poor eyesight after he collided with a door earlier today. You'd expect better from the championship leader, wouldn't you?

"I mean, sure. But aside from driving he's a bit of a mess. Just, chaotic, frenetic energy. Always very competitive, but also a genuine hazard for himself at times. As was apparent today."

You also play padel with him and the others, you posted a photo just the other day with you and fellow drivers. Who'd you say is the worst?

George smirks, then pretends to think it over. "We played padel the other day yeah, but who's the worst? I'd have to say Lando. You'd think he'd be better considering all the private lessons he's gotten from Y/N - but I guess they haven't really been very productive. Or he's just a lost cause."

Thankfully he's better on the racetrack.

George laughs. "I mean, that's great for him, but bad for me. If only it'd be as easy to beat him on track as it is on the padel court."

July 25 - 28, 2025

a/n: And look at that, y/n is making an effort and she is choosing to stay (for now hehe)

♥ likes, comments, reblogs and asks are always very much appreciated - i love chatting and hearing your thoughts! ♥

taglist (open): @linnygirl09 @julesbog @midnight-and-books @sarx164 @obxstiles @freyathehuntress @vhkdncu2ei8997 @berrnuu @lightdragonrayne @glow-ish @batsratswrites @blushmimi @colmathgames2 @esw1012 @sadiemack9 @tremendousstarlighttragedy @awritingtree @its-elias-world @sarah-thatstings-ann @jessicanotta @fairyjinn @destinyg237 @verogonewild @annimausi @taetae-armyyyyy @jkoooooooookie @coral7161 @chezmardybum

[rosie-posie1313]

Mason Mount Fic Recs

06/28/2025

⭒ For Luck  by @fandomtravels

every since you were kids you’ve kissed mason’s football jersey for luck, until one time you’re not there, and it’s all his own fault.

⭒ Invisible string masterlist  by @mountymase

It’s been you and your daughter until life decides to prank you by putting her dad back into your life. The only problem is that he doesn’t know he’s her dad.

⭒ Victory by @yungbludz

in which he plays against her dad’s team…

⭒ The interview  by @threelionsgirl

⭒ Mummy was mine first by @ladymarycrawley

⭒ Forbidden but delightful by @/ladymarycrawley

⭒ Reputation by @carlottawllms

⭒ Back With You by @/carlottawllms

⭒ show me how by @leviscolwill

Mason Mount x f1 driver!reader

mason brings you as his plus one to the ballon d'or ceremony and although you're both used to cameras, you still need each other to ease your minds.

⭒ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴏʀ ꜰᴀʟꜱᴇ?  By @deltaromeo3

what happens when the reader and mason are together for a youtube video- Truth Asylum?

⭒ Celebrity Gogglebox by @robb8rs

⭒ Babying a boyfriend. By @errythinisblue

Taking care of a needy boyfriend can be tough, especially if said boyfriend is a needy Mason Mount.

⭒ Can’t You Feel It Too? By @neverinadream

Mason would do anything to be with you, even get down on his knees and beg for it.

⭒ best friends, uh?  By @tsimvkas

⭒ gonna be the death of me  by @pulisicsgirl

as his publicist, Y/N is willing to do whatever Mason needs to make him comfortable at his latest sponsored photoshoot

⭒ silence is deafening  by @/pulisicsgirl

after a fight with Mason digs up memories she'd rather forget, Y/N is left to deal with trauma from her past and decide if she will let Mason in

⭒ take the pain away by @/pulisicsgirl

Y/N gets hurt, and Mason is immediately at her side, doing anything he can to take the pain away

⭒ caring for you  by @/pulisicsgirl

following Mason's surgery, Y/N does everything in her power to take care of him and keep him comfortable, and his parents take note

⭒ 𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀 by @heyhihellosworld

Mason wants to introduce your daughter to the squad

⭒ Timeless by @alltoolewis

When you and Mason are cleaning your nan’s attic you discover a book of your grandparents love story… helping Mason think of the perfect anniversary present for you…

⭒ Patience by @mountsmase

[iveneverbeenhere]

💻Temporary Secretary💻

Summary: You’re the owner of a decently-sized law firm and your current secretary has gone on vacation. So, you hire Yeosang as your newest secretary.

Genre: Non-idol au, Yeosang x black! Fem! Reader, college au

Warning: Yeosang and reader are both on toxic nonsense lowkey, Yeosang is lowkey giving Yandere, power imbalance as she still is his boss, HORNY‼️‼️, dom/sub dynamics, lowkey inappropriate work place behavior from both of them, they wilding.

A/N: This is like an extended universe to my toxic! Sugar baby Hongjoong fics. As my mutual said about Yeosang in this fic, “He’s unhinged.”

You’re the owner of a large law firm, and your recent secretary has taken leave; so, you call up a friend to help you find a replacement.

“It’s just for a bit. A couple of months at most.” You explained casually on the phone.

“Alright, anything he needs to be?” She replied, a bit absentmindedly. For a woman who runs as successfully sordid a business as she does, she loves to act like a fool.

You ponder the question for a moment, rummaging in your suit pocket for your keys. Why are they being difficult?

“Strong and sweet.”

You hear her chuckle, bemused but entertained by your brazenness.

“I meant qualifications, girl. Like work experience.” She breathes out.

You breathe a hard sigh, rolling your eyes with your phone pressed to your ear. Finally, you’ve got the keys out, but the door is being uncooperative.

“I don’t know.” You struggle to unlock the door of your firm with an espresso in hand. The keys jiggle like a goddamn Christmas carol as you try unsuccessfully to get behind the locked door of your firm. Was it always this hard? You groan exasperated, “Jesus fucking–Can type. Talk. The usual.”

She giggles, clearly tickled at your frustration, like she isn’t the culprit of it.

“That’s not any real work experience, now is it?” You squall in frustration; on top of this door not opening, she’s being purposefully obtuse. You hold the phone roughly to your ear as if your bruising hold would transfer to her neck by cellular wavelengths. You growl,

“Girl, I don’t give a fuck. He could be a belly dancer, diplomat—hell, he can be a fucking neurosurgeon for all I care! As long as he can work 7-5 and doesn’t get on my nerves, I’ll take em’.”

She busts out laughing on the line as she hears your bothered tone.

“Alright, I gotchu, I’ll try and find him by—”

A screech of “Momma, who are you talking to?” interrupts her. It’s Hongjoong.

You roll your eyes playfully, but tired, as you hear her answer with a placating “It’s just a friend, Baby!” It’s your cue to leave.

“Well, I’m going to work. Tell Hongjoong I said hi.”

She nods, clearly in a rush to get back to him. They're both so obsessed it makes you sick.

“Yeah-Yeah, I’ll tell him, and I’ll find a secretary for you. Bye!” She stumbles out as she hangs up hurriedly. You sigh, putting your phone down. She better find you one; for her sake as well as hers.

A few weeks pass, and she sends you occasional applications. The boys are nice, but if you’re being shallow, they aren’t your type.

That is, until she sends you the application of a friend of Hongjoong’s.

His name is Kang Yeosang. A statuesque, lean-fitted boy who, according to Hongjoong, was “Good at school and working out, but not much else.”

You called her immediately.

“Girl.” you excitedly breathed out. He was gorgeous.

“I know, right? I do good fucking work.” She beams as she hears your enchanted voice on the phone; once you saw him, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. He had bewitched you without ever saying a word to you. You loved it.

You called him in for an interview. His voice was honey-esque, smooth and deep, begging you to fall in with its natural sweetness. Alas, his manner didn't match his cadence. Each word he spoke was stuttered, scrambled into a convoluted mixture of naive excitement and awkward nervousness. He was like a lost puppy; that excited you to no end.

He was always gonna pass the interview, no matter what. You had picked him, and there was no way he was getting out of it. He stuttered, paused awkwardly, and looked around at basically nothing the entire time. It was funny. This boy in a sharp black suit and pulled-back hair; the one you had been told was “practically a genius” seemed like a bimbo in your presence. How could you not hire him?

So, he began working with you. He was perfect; arriving at the office by 6:50 with your espresso in hand and greeting you with a husky “Good morning” that slid down to the pit of your stomach. It was like he had been working for you for years.

He got along well with everyone in the office. He was politely distant. A hello from about 6 feet away; lispy, “I can help with that.” That never turned into anything more than communal support. A small “No, thank you” whenever invited to social events. It was a far cry from his treatment of you.

Staying late when you stayed late; asking you general questions about the firm that morphed into "Do you like this suit?", "How should I dress?", "What dishes are your favorite?" They're hardly appropriate questions to ask your boss. Offering to do more work than necessary to stay longer. He seemed…eager to please. You didn’t mind; in fact, you liked it.

A soft, but firm knock comes at your office door as you read up on the newest case.

“Come in!” You yelled aggressively, unaware of your tone. You needed to find a way to make this work in your favor. Homicide can easily be covered up, right? Slowly, but surely, Yeosang gently strolls into your office carrying a small file of documents. He places them on your desk with the utmost care, looking at how your brows furrow and your mouth twists into a pseudo-frown from your concentration. You look like a vengeful goddess to him. He stares a beat too long, catching your attention. His eyes are darkly obedient compared to the meek, “Here you go.” that slips out his lips.

You look down at the documents, moaning out a relieved, “Yeosang, I could kiss you!” That stops him. His hands begin to clench and unclench on the end of his slim-fitted blazer. He looks at you like a starving dog, waiting for the scrap of food you graciously promised him. He feels himself run warm as he looks at you with an uncomfortable need. You stare at him devilishly with a goading smirk as you realize his plight. You decide to push it further with a drawn-out, “Good boy.”

He gulps as if swallowing a pack of sewing needles; slow and painful with the ghost of blood turning into a collective haunting in his throat. It's a phantom pain, one only caused by desires left unfulfilled. His mouth heaves out a pathetic, “Thank you.”

You look away from him, skimming through the documents with a satisfied hum as he stands there stiff like a doll you forgot to wind up. You look back at him with a pointed eyebrow raised. He's pathetic with his hummingbird heartbeat and dry mouth; you stare for a couple of beats, relishing in his piteous squirming. Eventually, you excuse him with a lighthearted scoff of “You’re excused, secretary Kang.” He swears you’re playing mind games with him as he walks out with trembling legs.

Yeosang is aware to a certain extent that he isn’t well; not as well as everyone else is. He’s always been a little lost; always in need of firm guidance and always a little too eager to please. He and everyone else in his life chalked it up to him being a pushover. Nothing too serious.

However, with you, it's like he can’t do anything. He doesn’t want to do anything without your guidance or validation.

He lives for your continuous praise; the light, almost condescending way you guide him. He’s like a dog on a leash being pushed and pulled by your loving hand. In his darkest moments, at company dinners when he’s too drunk–he imagines crawling on the floor, tan-colored file in his teeth as he makes it to your office.

Yeosang feels warm; the type of warmth felt when you've drunk too much and all your inhibitions have gone. You fed him drink after drink at the company dinner causing him to stumble his way into the office after hours. He innocently told you he had left his car keys at the front desk, being diplomatic, you lent him the firm's keys. He wobbles to his desk, opening drawers sloppily as he grabs a file. He knows he shouldn't, but he places the beige folder in his teeth; biting softly enough to keep it still, but not enough to leave a mark. He bends down to the floor getting on his hands and knees like a dog. He always fancied himself like a Doberman in his stocky build and pitch-black suit. He wonders if you like big dogs. He crawls tentatively, the thick carpet tickling under his flat palms. The knotted fiber scraps against his pants leaving a dull burn underneath the skin of his knees. He doesn't notice; too busy gritting his teeth, trying in vain to keep his disgusting spit from seeping into the documents. He keeps his piercing gaze on the locked door to your office, envisioning you behind it. His phone rings suddenly making him halt his movements to slurry answer,

"Hello?"

"Hey, Yeosang. You found your keys?" You politely inquire; he realizes he's been gone too long.

He rummages for them in his pants pocket, pulling them out to make them clack and jiggle together as he replies,

"Yes. I just found them."

"Good! Make sure to lock up and come straight back. I need those keys." You reiterated with a slight slur.

"Yes, Ma'am."

He looks at your sharp-toed red bottoms and envisions you placing them under his chin as you give him instructions. There’s not a day that he leaves work without a desperate need in his stomach and a hard-on.

He’s a deplorable pervert. He swore once that he saw the outline of your underwear in your pencil skirt and spent his break in the company bathroom, painting his hand white.

He finds it hard to breathe when you're in the room. The attention and the affection that you lavish on him; all make a dull ache within him. It makes him almost forget that he’s temporary.

So, it catches him off guard when your original secretary comes back.

Yeosang works steadily at his desk; making the agenda for the day while answering emails with swift politeness. That is until a man walks in. He's tall and lean with an air of annoying comfortability. A sweet small grin rests on his fair face as he looks around; not lost, but searching. Yeosang speaks up firmly.

“Hello. Can I help you?

The man saunters over with ease, analyzing Yeosang in a way that makes his jaw clench. He's so fucking smug. He speaks candidly, “Oh, you must be the new temp. I’m Soobin. Choi Soobin. ”

Yeosang responds pointedly, “Are you looking for someone, Mr. Choi?”

Soobin smiles condescendingly carefree as if to say “How cute.” with a click of “I’m here to see the owner.”

Yeosang stills, a bit silent. He doesn’t like Soobin and his aggressively cute way. His disgusting friendliness sits in the waiting room like black tar. He exasperatedly sighs out,

“She’s in a meeting at the moment. She won’t be taking any visitors until–”

“Oh my god! Is that Soobin?” You exclaim as you rush out of your office to hug the gangly giant in the waiting room. Yeosang has never seen you so much as briskly walk to anything; the sight of your excitement at this stranger makes his eye twitch faintly.

Loving exchanges of ‘Hi, how are you?’ ‘How was your break? And your mother?’ Turn his lip into a thin, hard line. You both giggle and poke fun at one another; meanwhile, Yeosang has never seen you do more than a smug scoff when someone trips or messes up their paperwork. He's never seen you with anything more than a vicious smirk or stone-resting face. The sight makes his blood boil. He cuts the lovely reunion with a sharp, “Excuse me, but who is this?”

You look over at him, a wide grin still on your face as you inform him casually; As if you can't see his clear discomfort.

“This is Soobin! He’s my original secretary."

He glares hard at Soobin as he interjects with a conceited, "I just got back from vacation."

He looks at you far too lightly for Yeosang's liking; giving you a toothy smile that displays his deep dimples. He hates even more how you coo and gush over him like an adorable child.

"And we're so glad to have you back!"

Soobin concurred with a borderline lovesick, "Glad to be back."

You chuckle gently as Soobin rubs the salt in the blistering wound that Yeosang's developed by declaring, "I should be able to come back by Monday."

You nod blissfully, chatting merrily at him; although, Yeosang doesn't catch sight of that. All he can recognize is the sly, malicious grin of satisfaction Soobin gives him; Yeosang grits his teeth. He won’t be replaced that easily.

Credit to @hayatoseyepatch for dividers!

[understeeringirl]

We'll fake it your way

summary: a photo, a headline, and a quiet unraveling. three days after canada, the internet gets too loud, so you and lando set the rules. warnings: fake dating trope, social media mentions, hurt/comfort, soft emotional flashbacks, banter, protective!lando pairing: lando norris x fem!reader word count: 1.8k series: wrong side of the camera - intro - chapter one - chapter two

______________________________________________________________

It starts three days after Canada.

Lando texts you twice. Calls once. Leaves a voice note that you never open. You’re not ignoring him on purpose. You’re just tired. Not the kind that sleep fixes, either. The kind that sits in your bones, that makes your phone feel heavy in your hand. You tell yourself you’ll answer tomorrow. Then tomorrow becomes the day after. Then the day after that.

And then you’re trending. Not because of something you did. Because someone posted a blurry photo of you leaving a casting call in Monaco, and the internet decided it was open season.

"She's not even pretty." "Is this the girl who's always clinging to Lando?" "Why is she even famous?"

It spirals fast. You scroll too long. You know better. But it’s like picking at a scab—you can’t stop even when it hurts. Someone finds a race weekend clip of you standing next to Lando in the McLaren hospitality and overlays it with a Taylor Swift song about begging to be chosen. It gets over 200k likes. You close your phone. Your stomach sinks.

That night, you call him.

He answers on the second ring. “Took you long enough,” he jokes, voice warm. “Missed me?”

You smile faintly. “Hey.”

A beat of silence. Then: “You okay?”

You shift, staring out your window. “We should do it. The fake dating thing. For real.”

There’s a pause. You expect hesitation. You get none.

“Alright,” he says easily. “Let’s do it.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he repeats. “Wanna come over?”

______________________________________________________________

His apartment in Monaco is clean in a way that screams he hasn’t been home in weeks. There’s a suitcase half-unpacked by the door. Trophies on shelves you’re not sure he dusts. A hoodie of yours in the living room chair you forgot you left.

You sit cross-legged on the couch. He brings you a cup of tea like it’s muscle memory. “So,” you say, sitting across from him. “We need to set rules.”

Lando leans back, eyeing you. “Yeah?”

“You’re way too chill about this,” you say. “Which is why I need rules. Because I know you.”

He grins. “That’s fair.”

You sip your tea. “If we’re going to pull this off without losing our minds, or our friendship, we need boundaries.”

“Lay them on me.”

You sit up straighter. “Okay. What are we even trying to do with this?”

He shrugs. “Make the internet shut up. Protect you. Maybe help me get through a few interviews without dodging relationship questions.”

“So it’s part public perception, part mutual survival.”

“Exactly,” he says. “And you get full creative control over what we post. I’m not touching captions.”

“You mean no more cryptic one-liners?”

He smirks. “I’m evolving.”

He pulls out his phone and opens the Notes app. "Okay," he says, thumbs poised. "Terms and conditions. Let’s make it official."

You raise an eyebrow. "You’re writing it down?"

"We need receipts in case you sue me for emotional damage," he deadpans.

You laugh. It’s the first time tonight it doesn’t feel forced.

He starts typing.

Fake Dating Agreement:

Rule #1: No kissing unless it’s for PR. Rule #2: Weekly Instagram activity required. Stories count. Rule #3: No getting jealous. Of anything. Ever. Rule #4: Either one of us can end it. No questions asked.

He grins. “Also, I reserve the right to flirt in public. For realism.”

You roll your eyes. “Only if I can call you embarrassing nicknames in interviews.”

“Deal,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to be someone’s pumpkin.”

You groan. He’s insufferable. You try not to look at his mouth when he does.

“Anything else?” he asks. You hesitate. Then say, “Let’s just not make it harder than it needs to be.”

His face shifts, just for a second. Something flickers behind his eyes. But he nods.

“Deal.”

He reaches out his hand like this is a contract and you’re business partners. You shake on it.

______________________________________________________________

Later, after you leave, you sit on the steps outside your flat and remember a race from years ago. You were thirteen. He had just won some junior karting final, still bouncing on his heels from the adrenaline.

A local reporter asked if you were his girlfriend. You’d laughed too hard. Said “God, no.” Loud enough for him to hear.

He’d looked over, confused but not offended. “You wish,” he teased. You rolled your eyes and tossed a water bottle at him.

But it stuck with you. Not the reporter. Not the question. Just the way you couldn’t stop wondering what he would’ve said if you hadn’t spoken first.

______________________________________________________________

Lando posts something the next day.

It’s a carousel on Instagram: his post-race weekend photo dump. Slide one is him in the garage. Slide two is his engineer mid-yell. Slide three is you, barely in frame, headset on, laughing at something he said.

Caption: she makes the headphones look better

Your heart catches. Because you weren’t expecting it. Because you didn’t know he was looking.

You repost it to your story with no caption. The internet notices.

And just like that, you’re not the girl in the background anymore. You’re the girl on his feed.

Two hours later, you get an email from McLaren’s media team. It's short and vague—more curious than directive.

Subject: Content Coordination & Public Messaging From: McLaren Media To: Lando Norris, Y/N

Hello team,

Noticing the spike in engagement following yesterday’s post — exciting stuff! Let us know if you need support managing DMs or fan messaging. We’re prepping light briefing notes in case media picks up on this before Austria.

No pressure, just flagging we may want to prep some soft-launch language for Lando’s press day.

Best, Holly // McLaren Communications

You stare at the screen for a long moment.

“They think it’s real,” you say aloud.

You forward it to Lando with no message.

He replies two minutes later:

"Ignore it unless you want to do something. They don’t need to know anything. This is for us."

You wish you believed him. But when you open Instagram again, your face is everywhere. And you’re not sure who the hell you are in any of the photos.

______________________________________________________________

Like some nights, you can’t sleep.

You spend too long rereading the comments under his post. You shouldn’t, but it’s hard not to. Most of them are supportive. Some are suspicious. A few sting.

It’s past 1 a.m. when you text him.

you up?

He replies instantly:

always. what’s up?

can’t sleep. it’s too quiet.

wanna call?

You hesitate. Then:

yeah.

He calls right away. You don’t even say hi—just listen to his breathing for a second.

“You okay?” he asks.

You roll onto your back, eyes on the ceiling. “Not really.”

There’s a pause. “Wanna talk about it?”

“I dunno. It’s just… weird.”

“Weird how?”

You exhale. “All of it. Us. This. The fake dating thing. People looking at us like we’re—” You stop.

“Like we’re not just us?” he finishes.

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “Yeah.”

He’s quiet for a second. Then, gently: “We’ve always been us. Doesn’t matter what anyone else sees.”

You let that sit between you. Because it’s true. Because that’s what this whole thing is supposed to be about—protecting that. Holding onto the only thing that’s ever really made sense.

“I’m glad it’s you,” you say softly.

You hear the smile in his voice when he replies. “Me too.”

There's a pause, then he says, “So what kept you up? Modeling drama? Existential dread? TikTok holes?”

You snort. “A bit of everything. Also I accidentally found a conspiracy thread about us being childhood enemies turned lovers.”

He laughs, a real one this time. “Wait—enemies? That’s slander. I shared my juice boxes with you.”

“You stole my fries for two years straight.”

“Out of love,” he says smugly.

You smile despite yourself. “How was media day?”

“Long. Boring. Someone asked me if I was in love. I think I said something about tire degradation.”

“Poetic,” you reply.

He hums. “You?”

“Shot a campaign. The stylist gave me a beret and said I looked like a depressed French poet.”

“Hot.”

“Shut up.”

He yawns, soft and sleepy. “I like this.”

“What?”

“This. You calling. Talking like we used to. Makes the rest of it feel less weird.”

You nod. “Yeah. Same.”

There's a pause, then he says: “You wanna do the first official post tomorrow?”

You chew your lip. “Yeah. Might as well. Let’s go big or go home.”

He hums again. “We fake it so well, people are gonna think we’ve been in love since we were ten.”

You don’t respond right away. Then you say, “Wouldn’t be the worst story.”

And he doesn’t answer, but you both fall into a silence that feels… comfortable. Familiar. Like slipping into a well-worn hoodie.

He clears his throat first. “So, if we’re doing this whole thing properly—what’s our story?”

“Our story?”

“Yeah. You know. How we 'fell in love.'”

You groan. “God, we’re gonna have to come up with an origin story.”

“Dramatic meet-cute? Shared trauma? Accidental hand brush that changed everything?”

You laugh. “It started when you made me eat a worm because you said it was a friendship ritual.”

“Character building,” he says. “Look at you now. Resilient. Gorgeous. Immunized.”

You roll your eyes. “I think we should just keep it vague. Let them guess.”

“Bold. Mysterious.” He pauses. “And then I get to say, ‘I’d rather keep that between us’ in interviews and look all coy.”

“That’s the dream,” you say dryly. “Just don’t oversell it.”

“No promises.”

A beat.

Then you say, “Hey, thanks for not making this weird.”

He chuckles. “You’re welcome for being incredibly cool and chill and fake-dateable.”

“Pumpkin.”

He groans. “I regret everything.”

______________________________________________________________

A few days later, your first public moment happens without planning.

It’s a sunny Thursday in Monaco, and you’re both on a coffee run. Paparazzi don’t usually wait outside the café on the corner, but someone spots him. Then someone spots you. Then someone yells his name.

He grabs your hand like it’s second nature. You blink down at it, then up at him. He just grins. Keeps walking.

You think it’ll be a passing thing—maybe a blurry photo, a headline buried under the next scandal. But by the time you’re home, it’s already on TikTok.

“Lando Norris soft-launching his girlfriend??” “He’s holding her hand like it’s his job.” “No one act surprised when they drop matching tattoos.”

You drop your forehead against the counter. Regret sighs out of you.

Lando, meanwhile, looks extremely pleased with himself. “Told you I’m good at this.”

“You’re going to ruin your own PR reputation.”

“Please,” he says, tossing you a bottle of water. “They love a little mystery. And now you’re not just a model. You’re my model.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

He taps a finger against his temple. “Strategic. There's a difference.”

You hate that he’s kind of right.

That night, you fall asleep with your phone buzzing under your pillow and his contact pinned at the top of your messages.

You dream about the karting track. About when it was just you and him, and the noise of the world hadn’t found its way in yet.

______________________________________________________________

hey!! here's part one of my first series, hope you like it! if i'm being honest it feels a little messy, so please tell me if it's bad 😭😭 i'll probably upload part two today or tomorrow, hehe

see you next lap ;), -N 🏁

[allwaswell16]

All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in June 2025. For more new fics, check out this month’s fic roundup at @1dmonthlyficroundup! You can find my other fic recs here.

- Louis / Harry -

🩷 Springbrooke by skipper / @skipperxao3

(M, 98k, omegaverse) At the start of his senior year, Harry, an omega with no desire to fit in, meets Zayn, an Alpha with no desire to stand out. With him, he makes a pledge to survive one year, his final year at Springbrooke High, and he’s determined to make the best of it. 

🩷 Forever at Your Feet by larry_hiatus / @emilarry

(E, 52k, dark cult) “Don’t fight it, darling,” Louis breathed, thumb stroking over Harry’s cheekbone. “You’re so very special. I can see it, and God can see it. He wants you to have this opportunity, he wants you to be ultimately purified. He wants you, cherub.” Or the one where Harry’s in a sex cult, and he’s the leader’s favorite.

🩷 (but maybe all along) i'm afraid by localopa / @voulezloux

(T, 39k, roommates) the five stages of realizing you’ve been in love with your best friend, who definitely doesn’t feel the same, this whole time.

🩷 I'm Fed Up With Pretending To Be Fine by patdkitten / @babyarcanacasey

(M, 25k, farmer Louis) Harry Styles accidentally comes out in an interview following the news that his former bandmate (and secret ex-boyfriend) Niall Horan got married to another man. His personal assistant Zayn Malik suggests they lie low for a bit while Harry's agent cleans up the mess.

🩷 Ephesians 5:21 by @wishingforloushair

(E, 24k, religion) After signing up to Theology 101, for the easy A, he meets Louis Tomlinson, an upperclassman who wears leather jackets with a chunky black crucifix. Louis is also religious, so Harry of course agrees to go to the college's Bible Discussion Study Meeting. But Louis has fucked up views on religion that Harry can't possibly understand until one day, he does.

🩷 Something Worth Crying About by @yoursolosong

(E, 11k, omegaverse) Omega Louis tells his best friend how he’s never cried during sex. Alpha Harry takes that as a challenge.

🩷 Six Ways to Sunday by @silverstuff50

(E, 11k, famous/famous) Actor Harry stans Louis, lead singer of The Six. Cue twitter flirtation, fandom meltdowns and some sliding into DMs.

🩷 Running Through The Garden by juniperlightning / @juniperlightningwrites

(E, 11k, photographer Harry) Character A buys a house with a big garden to have the opportunity to relax while gardening. Turns out character B is a loud, football loving person, who loves to play in his garden. When the ball ends up on the wrong side of the fence more than once, there is not only irritation between the neighbours.

🩷 When You've Loved Someone by @leighllbealright

(M, 9k, established relationship) Harry and Louis loved each other before they even know they loved each other, but sometimes, in some ways, love isn't always enough.

🩷 Superstition by Forestafay / @freyaforestafay

(E, 6k, girl direction) Harry has a pretty simple life: school, work at the local flower boutique, and Sunday night dance parties with her two black cats. That is, until the moving trucks pull up outside Harry's apartment complex, and someone starts moving into the previously empty flat next door.

🩷 As the World Falls Down by croisblue / @forwhatiam

(T, 5k, Labyrinth movie au) When Louis accidentally wishes away his younger sisters to the Goblin King, he's tasked with solving his Labyrinth in only 13 hours. What magic awaits him within? or, a collection of short scenes set in and out of the Labyrinth

🩷 You Keep His Shirt, He Keeps His Word by starryhaze / @starryhaze28

(E, 5k, pwp) the armpit kink socceraid fic

🩷 The Gods Wish They Believed In Us by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28

(E, 5k, pwp) the one where Louis is struggling to find motivation to finish his workout. Harry has an unconventional and effective way to encourage him

🩷 With a View by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

(E, 3k, roommates) Louis is angry, wet, and… sexy. When his new roommate Harry comes home earlier than expected and catches him trying to blow off some steam, Louis can’t quite bring himself to stop.

🩷 (Do Not) Press Play by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense

(E, 2k, roommates) Harry receives a curious text from Louis.

🩷 desire defined by sunflowersue / @sunflower-sue

(E, 2k, canon) what happens after socceraid

🩷 Burned by Louis by @haztobegood

(E, 1k, humor) Louis proves he is still a nightmare in the kitchen while Harry is away. Part 4 of Nailed By Louis

🩷 Stuck in a Hellevator by @nooradeservedbetter [quote post]

(T, 1k, misunderstandings) it’s not his fault Harry from finance was hired around April’s fools, and he had to prank him by attaching that sign that said dumbo on him, it was all in good humour and he didn’t mean anything by it. But Harry from finance took it personally, and nothing Louis could say would sway him.

🩷 Blue-green colors flashin' by TPWK_Lils

(NR, 561 words, canon) But then he heard it. Fleetwood Mac, blaring through the house at full volume. Not just any song — Silver Springs. And not just the song. Harry.

- Rare Pairs -

🩷 feels just like a drug (really fuck me up) by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(E, 6k, Zayn/Louis) He might let out another whine, he doesn’t know, he feels more than hears it, but Louis’ voice is there at his ear, breath skimming over his skin. “Want that, do you? Want someone to come in here and see you like this?”