#i never post here and i really need to start

[charles-leclerizz]

wrong room

on the runway : lando norris x fem!reader

inspiration ( warnings ) : Smut !!! (male receiving!oral sex, (un??) protected p in v sex , light dominance, Lando being a little possessive, mutual pining, soft dom!Lando energy, swearing, teasing, light voyeuristic vibes (friends nearby), mild praise kink, overstimulation), and lots of suggestive jokes.

VIP's in the front row ( taglist ) : MUTUALS GET INSTANT TAGS [@vroomvroomcircuit, @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon, @ksthegreat, @ccupcakqs]

before the show begins ( synopsis ) : What starts as a summer getaway at a friend’s villa turns into something a lot hotter when Lando walks into the wrong room - and finds you in his old hoodie, watching F1 replays. You’ve always been friendly, never close. But maybe the hoodie wasn’t the only thing you’ve been holding onto.

designer notes : well, hopefully it was worth the wait <33 . would ya'll be mad at me if I told you I haven't started chapter 3 yet? nah, cause I'm feeding you guys so well?? ok anyway, remember to wear your seatbelts. love you

The villa is carved into the hills of Côte d'Azur like a dream - terracotta tiles, arched windows, the sea glittering just beyond a blur of lemon trees and white parasols. It smells like salt, sunscreen, and freshly crushed mint. Laughter carries from somewhere deeper inside the house, floating up and over the vines crawling across the exterior walls. 

You shift your bag higher onto your shoulder and knock on the already - slightly - open door. It creaks as it swings wider. 

“Hello?” 

No answer - just music thumping softly from an unseen speaker, and the echo of distant conversation. 

You step inside. 

The marble beneath your sandals is cool. Someone’s kicked off flip - flops by the stairs. There’s a bikini drying over the back of a chair. You already know this isn’t going to be some luxury hotel - style getaway. It’s a shared house. A friend - of - a - friend kind of trip. Half of you doesn’t even remember who invited you - just that you needed the break, and this was close enough to what you craved so you said yes 

“Hey! You made it!” 

A voice - familiar - cuts through the quiet. You turn just in time to see your friend Luca come down the stairs in a pair of swim shorts and sunglasses pushed back into his curls. 

“Finally,” he grins. “You’re the last one here. Thought you bailed.” 

“I almost did.” You lift your bag with a huff. “Traffic was disgusting.” 

He helps you with your things, leads you into the living room where it smells like watermelon and something vaguely alcoholic. A few people are sprawled out on couches or clustered around the pool deck visible through the wide - open French doors. 

And then - of course - he’s there. 

Lando. 

He’s leaning back in one of the lounge chairs, a beer dangling from his fingers, legs stretched out in lazy confidence. Tan lines on his thighs, sunglasses pushed low on his nose, jaw still sharp even in the golden hour haze. He looks over when he hears your name. 

You haven’t seen him in maybe six months. You’ve never really been friends, but you’ve always hovered in the same social circle. Occasionally at the same parties, invited to the same post - race get - togethers, orbiting each other without ever really connecting. 

But now he’s looking at you like he recognizes something new. 

He nods, subtle. Gives you a half - smile. “Didn’t know you were coming.” 

You shrug. “Didn’t know you were either.” 

“Good surprise, then.” 

You’re not sure how to respond to that - so you just smile, polite, and follow Luca further inside. 

Your room’s upstairs, small but bright. There’s a ceiling fan and a tiny ensuite and just enough room to dump your suitcase across the bed without tripping over it. You unpack slowly, letting the noise of everyone else filter up through the open window. Somewhere below, Lando laughs - low and lazy - and you feel it like a fingertip dragged down your spine. 

You should be immune to him by now. He’s Lando Norris. A walking thirst trap with dimples and the most unserious sense of humour known to man. But there’s something about here - the off - duty version, the sun - drenched version, the one who isn’t surrounded by engineers or cameras - that makes it feel… different. 

Less like a boy on posters, more like a man below your window, dipping his feet into the pool. 

You shake your head and change into something breezy: cotton shorts, a crop top. When you finally go back downstairs, the sun’s just beginning to dip below the treeline, casting long shadows across the pool deck. 

People are already drinking. Someone’s pulled the Bluetooth speaker out again. There are half a dozen towels draped across every surface. 

Lando’s still by the pool. This time, he’s in the water, arms resting on the ledge, talking to someone. His wet hair curls a little at the ends. His back is freckled from the sun. You shouldn’t be looking. You are. 

He glances up just as you sit down. 

You pretend not to notice. 

Later, when you’re carrying two Aperol's back to your lounge chair, someone bumps your arm on purpose - gently, just enough to make the glasses slosh. 

“Careful.” 

You turn. 

Lando again. 

He takes one of the drinks from you before you can say anything. 

“That was for me,” you lie. 

“Too slow,” he grins, and sips. 

You narrow your eyes. “Are you always this annoying, or is it just the heat?” 

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it.” He takes another sip, gaze drifting over your legs where you’re standing in the late - day sun. 

You cross your arms over your chest, aware of how the top you're wearing hugs tighter now that it’s clung to your sun - warmed skin. 

“Is this your game? Steal drinks and flirt with every girl who makes eye contact?” 

“Only the ones who used to ignore me at parties.” 

You blink. 

“I didn’t ignore you.” 

“You never said more than two words to me.” 

“I didn’t know you,” you protest weakly. 

He smirks. “You still don’t.” 

There’s something in the way he says it - open - ended, inviting. Like he’s offering a chance. 

You roll your eyes and sit down, forcing the tension in your jaw to loosen. “You’re trouble.” 

“I try.” 

He settles into the lounge chair next to yours, shoulder brushing yours briefly before he tilts his head back to the sun again. 

The rest of the evening blurs into the kind of contented, alcohol - soft haze you only get on the second night of a trip like this - just enough comfort to start relaxing, not yet enough routine to feel bored. 

Dinner’s grilled and eaten outside. Someone plays bartender and makes the drinks far too strong. You laugh more than you expect. Lando doesn’t hover, but every time you glance over, he’s already looking. 

You should go to bed early. 

You don’t. 

You stay long enough to watch him light sparklers with a lighter he shouldn’t have, teeth catching on the cap of another beer. Stay long enough to feel the way his laugh drags across your skin from halfway across the patio. Stay long enough to admit - to yourself, at least - that maybe this time, you do want to know him. 

By the time you’re back in your room, showered and curled up on the bed with your phone in one hand and your sleep playlist in the other, you’re warm from more than just the heat. 

The last thing you see before you shut your eyes is the faint blue light of a replay clip of Lando’s onboard from Monaco. You didn’t even mean to open it. But your vague connection the world of driving means that you, just like the drivers, are addicted to watching race replays like a lullaby. You let it loop anyway - quiet, steady - as you fall asleep in a hoodie you stole from a driver party two years ago. 

You barely remember that it’s his hoodie. 

It’s hotter the next day. The kind of heat that makes everything feel heavy - time, clothes, thoughts. 

You wake up in the late afternoon, the bed tangled with your sheets and limbs, your skin still warm from the residual heat of the day before. The villa is quieter now. Most people must already be outside, and when you crack your window open, you catch the sound of a speaker playing something bassy and upbeat, mixed with the distant splash of pool water and a few hollered laughs. 

You take your time getting ready, pulling on the only clean swimsuit you packed without thinking. It’s cute, functional enough - but maybe a little revealing. Maybe not what you’d wear if you didn’t know who else would be outside. Maybe it’s stupid how long you spend in front of the mirror tugging the straps into place. 

When you finally head downstairs, the sun hits you like a wall - too much too fast, and all of it golden. The pool glimmers. Someone’s set out snacks, there’s a melting bowl of fruit beside a stack of half - read paperback books, and a cooler full of drinks wedged under the shade. 

And of course - he’s there. 

Lando. 

Lying on a towel just at the edge of the pool. Board shorts low on his hips, eyes squinting up from behind his sunglasses. He’s propped up on one arm, lazily sipping something bright orange through a paper straw. He’s laughing at something someone’s saying off to the side, curls stuck to his forehead, skin flushed just enough to tell you he’s been out here a while. 

You try not to look. You fail. 

He notices. Doesn’t say anything - just tips his chin up in a sort of wordless greeting. 

You set your towel down two chairs away. Not beside him. Not directly across. Just… within view. 

“Someone’s late to the pool party,” he calls after a moment, voice lazy from the heat. 

“I needed sleep.” 

“You needed to make a dramatic entrance, you mean.” 

You roll your eyes but smile. “You think everything’s about you.” 

“Everything is about me,” he says, deadpan. 

You stretch out on your towel, trying not to notice the way his eyes drift down your legs, then flick quickly away again when you catch him. The air feels thicker than before - or maybe it’s just your skin, suddenly too aware of every inch of exposed surface. 

Fifteen minutes later, you’re already sweating. The sun beats down mercilessly, and you sit up, digging through your bag for your sunscreen. You squirt some into your palm and reach for your shoulder - and that’s when his shadow falls across you. 

“You’ll never reach your back,” he says casually. 

One minute Lily and Kika where beside you, the next they weren’t.  

You blink up at him, “Thanks for the concern.” 

He holds out a hand. “Give it here.” 

You hesitate. Then place the bottle in his hand, trying not to think about how broad his shoulders look from this angle. He kneels behind you on the towel, the lotion cools against your overheated skin. 

His touch is… careful. Gentle at first. He smooths the sunscreen between your shoulder blades with slow, deliberate strokes, his thumbs brushing the curve of your spine before dragging back up again, just before the thin tie of your bottoms. His hands are warm and wide, fingers pressing slightly harder with each pass, until you're leaning into the sensation without even realising. 

“This, okay?” he asks, voice low - not teasing anymore, just… close. 

You nod, barely trusting your voice. 

He doesn’t stop. Works the lotion into your shoulders, your neck, fingertips grazing the strap of your swimsuit before pulling back just shy of scandal. You feel your whole - body hum, strung tight like a wire. 

And then - just as suddenly - it’s over. 

“All good,” he says, voice a little rougher than before. 

You exhale. Try to swallow. 

“Thanks.” 

He shrugs, tossing the bottle back toward your bag. “Don’t want your burning. Would ruin your dramatic entrances.” 

You laugh, light but shaky. “Wouldn’t want that.” 

You stay in the shade for most of the afternoon, half - reading a book you can’t focus on. Every time Lando walks past - dripping wet from a dive, towel slung around his shoulders, alcohol bottle in one hand - your eyes follow him before you can stop them. 

You don’t talk again. Not properly. But there’s something shifting now. You feel it in the way he looks at you longer than he should. In the way your fingers brushed his wrist earlier when he handed you a strong cocktail and didn’t pull away. In the way you can still feel his hands on your skin, hours later. 

Something’s changed. 

And you’re not sure which one of you is going to do something about it first. 

You can’t sleep. 

The villa’s quiet now - except for the creak of floorboards, the occasional pipe knocking in the wall, and the soft echo of wind sliding through open windows. Everyone else is either passed out drunk or tangled up in someone else’s sheets. The hallways feel like a lull, soaked in summer and moonlight. 

You’re curled up in bed, too warm to get under the covers, wearing nothing but the old, oversized hoodie and a faint sunburn still blooming across your thighs. You didn’t mean to put this one on - it was just at the top of your bag. Familiar, soft, slightly too big. 

Lando’s hoodie. 

You don’t even think he knows you kept it. One of those late - night party things - he tossed it to you on a balcony and never asked for it back. 

You’re not planning to see him tonight. Not thinking about the way he touched your back earlier. Not thinking about how he looked at you like he wanted to touch more. 

Your phone’s propped up on a pillow, volume low, screen lit with one of his old Silverstone onboard replays. There’s something soothing about it. The smooth rhythm of the track, the flick of the steering wheel in his gloved hands. He’s in control. Sharp. Focused.  You wonder what it’s like to make him lose that focus. 

The door creaks open. 

You sit up fast, yanking your blanket over the bottom hem of your hoodie. “What the - ” 

“Shit - ” a familiar voice mutters. “Sorry. Fuck.” 

Lando. 

He’s shirtless, in just sweats, hair a little damp like he showered but didn’t bother to dry it. His eyes are slightly wide as he sees you, as if his brain’s still catching up with what he just walked into. 

“I thought this was - ” He looks over his shoulder. “That’s not - yeah, this is definitely not my room.” 

You should say something - ask why he’s even trying to come in when most people are already knocked out for the night. 

But his eyes are stuck on your hoodie.  His hoodie.  You’re half - curled up, one leg bare up to the thigh, the hem bunched at the top of them, collar slipped low enough to show your collarbones and just a hint of skin underneath. 

“You wear that often?” he asks, voice a little hoarse. 

Your heart kicks up, fast. 

“You gave it to me.” 

“Didn’t think you kept it.” 

You shrug, hoping your face doesn’t give too much away. “Didn’t think you wanted it back.” 

He steps further into the room - slow, quiet - until he’s leaning against the inside of your door and shutting it softly behind him. 

You look at him.  He looks at you. 

Then, finally, he speaks - quiet, but direct. 

“You’re not telling me to leave.” 

You swallow. 

“Do you want me to?” you ask. 

His voice is lower now. “No.” 

You shift on the bed, pulse starting to hammer in your ears. “Then don’t.” 

He stands there for a second longer, like he’s giving you a moment to change your mind. And then he’s walking forward. 

He stands at the edge of the bed, eyes dark in the low light. One hand lift - slow, deliberate - and pulls at the blanket until he brushes your knee from where it peeks from under the hoodie. 

“You look good in that,” Lando says, voice soft, hoarse. 

You smile, lips parted. “Thought you said it wasn’t yours.” 

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Was trying to stay sane.” 

“Why?” 

He leans in, fingers tracing up your thigh, grazing higher until your breath catches. “Because if I thought about you in this hoodie too long, I’d do something stupid.” 

Your hands fist into the sheets. “Like what?” 

“Like this.” 

He kisses you hard - not rushed, but urgent. Like he’s been waiting, wanting, and now that he has you, he’s not wasting a second. You meet him halfway, fingers threading through his damp curls, hoodie riding up over your hips as he shifts between your knees and deepens the kiss. 

His hands slide up your bare thighs, slow and reverent, thumbs dragging soft circles. You gasp into his mouth when one hand cups the back of your thigh, spreading you further apart so he can settle between them. 

“Still not telling me to leave,” he murmurs against your skin, lips trailing along your jaw. 

“I’d kick your ass if you tried.” 

The room is barely lit by the faint glow of the bedside lamp. Shadows drape the corners, but the air is thick with heat - your heat, his heat - heavy enough to make every breath feel sticky and urgent. 

Lando’s sitting on the edge of the bed, bare chest rising and falling slowly, muscles tense as he watches you. The oversized hoodie you’re wearing - his hoodie - hangs loosely, but every inch of skin you show feels like a dare. 

You flip over his lap to kneel in front of him, heart hammering hard against your ribs. His cock is already hard, proud and aching beneath the loose sweats he’s left hanging low on his hips. His breath catches when you reach out, your fingers warm as they close around him over the fabric. 

“You sure about this?” he asks, voice low and rough, eyes dark and hooded with want. 

You smile, cheeks flushed and lean in closer, tugging down his waistband, “You’re the one who walked into the wrong room.” 

His hands find your hair before you can even move - gentle but insistent, threading through your curls as you lean forward, mouth parting to tease the tip of him. He groans softly, air escaping through his clenched teeth, and you know this is going to be slow, deliberate. 

You take him into your mouth, starting light - teasing with your tongue, lips barely brushing the sensitive head. His fingers tighten in your hair, nails grazing your scalp, holding you in place even as you pull back, just enough to make him desperate. 

“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy,” he rasps, his hips pressing forward instinctively. 

You hum around him, licking a slow stripe from base to tip, sucking just enough to pull a deep moan from his throat. His hands tighten, gripping the sheets as you bob your head slowly, tasting him, swallowing every hitch of breath he makes. 

When you take him deeper, your throat tightens, the stretch delicious and thrilling. He gasps, hips jerking up just a little, and you feel it - the pulse of his arousal, steady and strong. You slow down, using your tongue to circle the head, flicking the underside with precision that sends shivers through him. 

“God, you’re so good,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper. 

His free hand slips to your waist, pulling you up close, and you wrap your arms around his thighs, holding him steady. You want to hear everything - every ragged breath, every curse falling from his lips. 

The way his hips start to grind forward against your mouth, desperate for more. 

His fingers dig into your hair, tugging lightly, and you take it as permission to go deeper - slow, steady, careful. You feel his body tense, muscles flexing as he rides the wave you’re building, his breath hitching in ragged bursts. 

When his hips jerk sharply and he releases a low growl, you swallow him down fully, holding him there as long as you can. He curses your name, gripping your hair harder, and when he pulls away, his lips are swollen, breathless. 

You look up, cheeks flushed, and meet his eyes - glazed, heavy with want and need. 

Without a word, he reaches out and pulls you to your feet, hands on your waist firm and sure. His mouth is back on yours instantly, a kiss that’s both desperate and possessive, teeth grazing your lower lip as he pulls you backward onto the bed. 

His hands roam your body with purpose, sliding beneath the hem of the hoodie, fingers finding bare skin with reverent curiosity. You arch into his touch, heart pounding as he trails kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, whispering soft promises between each press of his lips. 

He moves with slow, sure confidence, pushing the hoodie up over your head and tossing it aside like it’s been burning him all night. 

“You’re all mine,” he breathes, voice thick. 

You shiver, overwhelmed by the warmth of his hands, the heat radiating off his body as he trails down your stomach, palms flat and sure. His fingers brush the waistband of your shorts, hesitating just a second before sliding beneath. 

Every nerve ending in your body sings as he removes your shorts and panties in one smooth motion, exposing you completely. 

He kisses the inside of your thigh, lips soft and warm, fingers tracing lazy circles around your hip bones. 

When he finally parts your legs, his eyes darken, focused, hungry. 

He leans in and presses a kiss to your clit, teasing with his tongue in long, slow flicks that make you bite back a moan. 

His mouth wraps around you, warm and wet and demanding, and you clutch his hair, hips rocking forward into him without thinking. 

“Shh,” he murmurs against you, voice low and serious. “Gotta keep it down.” 

You bite your lip, nodding, desperate to keep quiet but drowning in the sensation of his tongue and mouth working magic. He hums, flicks his tongue faster, and you feel the coil tightening deep inside you. 

His hand slides between your legs, fingers teasing your entrance, brushing just the tip before pulling back to focus on your clit again. 

You’re trembling, breath coming in short, desperate gasps, hands grasping at his shoulders as he pulls you closer. 

When you come, it’s a shattered, stifled cry buried in his neck, fingers digging into his scalp as your body clenches around his mouth. 

He holds you through it, slow and steady, until you’re shuddering and soft again. 

Then, gently, he pulls back and grins up at you - wild, messy, utterly undone. 

“You taste like everything I want.” 

You laugh breathlessly and push him down, straddling him as his hands settle on your hips. 

You take your time, rolling your hips, sinking down slowly, savouring every inch. 

His hands grip your waist tight as you ride him - slow, deep, unrelenting. 

The only sounds in the room are your gasps, his moans, and skin sliding against skin. 

You lean down, kissing him hard, teeth clashing, tongues tangling as you move together - a perfect, messy rhythm. 

When he’s close, you bite his shoulder, smile against his skin, and whisper, “Not so quiet now, huh?” 

He laughs low and growls, “I’m not gonna last much longer.” 

You pick up the pace, bouncing harder, nails gripping his chest as he buries his face in your neck, fingers clutching your hips. 

And when he comes, it’s explosive - deep, guttural, his body trembling beneath you as he spills inside you. 

You ride out the waves together, panting and slick, limbs tangled. 

When it’s over, he pulls you close, pressing kisses along your jaw and whispering, “That was worth walking into the wrong room.”

The morning spills into the room like warm honey. 

Golden light streaks across the sheets, catching on dust suspended in the still air. Outside the window, someone’s already put music on too loud - something distant and summery and muffled by the thick villa walls. But in here, it’s all quiet. 

You shift under the covers, muscles pleasantly sore, skin warm from where Lando’s body presses into yours. He’s still half - asleep, one arm flung over your stomach, curls mussed against the pillow. You breathe him in sunscreen and sweat, salt and something softer. Like linen and heat. 

His hand tightens slightly at your waist, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your hip bone. It’s the kind of touch that says he's still here, even in his sleep. 

You turn toward him, nose brushing his jaw. 

“Lando,” you whisper, low and quiet, just to see if he’s awake. 

Lando hums sleepily as you kiss his chin. “Mmm, you’re up early.” 

“Not really,” you mumble. “I think it’s nearly noon.” 

He groans. “We should hide. Stay in here all day.” 

You smile. “You drooled on my pillow.” 

He growls softly, burying his face in your neck. “Could be worse. Could’ve been your chest.” 

You laugh, legs tangling with his. “You’re disgusting.” 

“Last night you said I was talented.” 

“I said you were decent.” 

He grins sleepily against your skin, voice still thick. “You came twice. At least give me ‘skilled.’” 

You roll your eyes, trying not to smile too hard - but you’re glowing, skin flushed from more than just the heat. 

His hand slips lower, resting over the swell of your ass, fingers tracing lazy shapes again. You’re not doing anything, not going anywhere. It’s rare - to feel like this. Not just satisfied but settled. 

Until -  

“OH MY GOD.” 

The door slams open, and you flinch, instinctively yanking the blanket up to your chin. 

Lando groans so loudly it’s borderline feral. “No. Nope. Out.” 

Oscar is standing in the doorway, already in swim trunks and a bucket hat, holding a protein shake in one hand like a fucking trophy. Squinting into the light like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“I KNEW IT,” he yells, pointing at you both. “Fifty bucks, bitches!” 

You blink, dazed. “What - ?” 

“I told Lily it would happen before the weekend was over,” Oscar continues, stepping just one inch further into the room like he’s inspecting evidence. “She said you’d pussy out. Guess who was right.” 

You blink. “Wait, you two - bet on us?” 

Oscar shrugs. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And then you started wearing that hoodie again. It was obvious.” 

Lando rolls over and shoves a pillow over his head. “Oscar I swear to God - ” 

“Hey, don’t blame me, you could’ve been subtle. But noooo, you had to be all hoodie and eye fucking by the pool.” 

You groan. “How long were people watching us?” 

Oscar snorts. “We have eyes.“ 

“Congrats, by the way,” he says, like he’s handing out a wedding gift. It’s when he sips at his gym bottle and hisses, you realise there’s probably tequila in there, “Try not to traumatize the maid staff.” 

And then he’s gone. 

The door clicks shut again. 

Silence. 

You both stare at the ceiling for a second before bursting into laughter. 

Lando turns toward you, dragging you under him again, smirking like an idiot. “We are never living this down” 

“I kinda don’t care” 

He hums, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You gonna wear that hoodie again?” 

You grin. “Only if I want everyone to know what I let you do to me last night.” 

He pauses. Smirks. 

“Bold of you to assume I’m not wearing it next.” 

You shove him lightly, laughing, as he tackles you back into the sheets, messy and warm and unbothered - a little wrecked, a little teased, and a whole lot in trouble. 

But somehow, it feels kind of perfect. 

meet the models after the show ( epilogue ) :

It’s the last morning at the villa. 

People are packing. Doors opening, zippers skimming across tile. Half - melted iced coffees line the kitchen counter, and someone’s already yelling about who stole their charger. 

You’re still in Lando’s bed. 

Still in his hoodie. 

Still not ready to move. 

He walks back into the room with two mugs in hand - both his. One is basic ceramic with your initials scratched in red nail polish. The other says World’s Fastest Slut in hideous bubble font. 

He doesn’t even flinch when he hands you that one. 

“You’re really still wearing that thing?” he says, nodding to the hoodie swallowing your frame. 

You raise an eyebrow and sip your coffee. “You say that like you weren’t staring every time I wore it.” 

He shrugs, dropping onto the bed beside you. “Just surprised you never took it off.” 

You smirk. “Why would I? It’s comfy. Smells good. Annoys Oscar.” 

“Ah,” he nods, mock serious. “You stayed in my hoodie out of spite.” 

You hum. “Mostly. Partially because it makes my legs look good.” 

His gaze drags down. “Can confirm.” 

You blink. “You gonna tell Oscar that ?” 

“Absolutely not. He’s been insufferable since he ‘won’ a bet that didn’t exist.” 

You laugh, and he leans forward, catching your chin gently with his fingers. You try not to smile, but he leans forward and nudges your knee with his. 

“You’re still coming back to mine after this, right?” he asks, casual, but his tone softens halfway through. 

You blink. “Did I say I was?” 

He gives you that look - head tilted, lashes low, mouth twitching like he’s holding back something cocky. “You didn’t have to.” 

You take another slow sip of coffee. “Hmm. That so?” 

He leans in closer, fingers brushing the hem of the hoodie as he murmurs, “Only condition is… if you keep stealing my clothes, I get to start stealing your time.” 

You snort. “That was corny as hell.” 

“Did it work?” 

You meet his eyes, and yeah - it did. 

You set the mug down and pull him toward you, letting him kiss you slow, like the world isn’t about to start moving again. His hand curls over your thigh, his smile warm against your lips. 

When he pulls back, you sigh into his shoulder. “Okay. Fine. I’ll come back with you.” 

“Knew it,” he says smugly. 

“On one condition,” you add. 

He raises a brow. 

“I keep the hoodie.” 

Lando grins, eyes half - lidded. “Deal.” 

You settle back into the bed, sun rising behind you, the sound of car engines and goodbyes faint in the background. But here, it’s just him. You. And the hoodie you’re never giving back. 

[paddockletters]

redeemed | lando norris part 10

masterlist | previous part | next part

a/n: helloooo, I’m honestly so embarrassed hahaha but I’m back after such a long, loooong time. unfortunately, I hadn’t had the time to sit down and write properly, and to be honest, I ran out of ideas and didn’t want to post just for the sake of it. anyway, I really hope you liked this new part, and if you have any ideas, they’d be super helpful hahaha. thank you!!! 🫶

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lando: WWE FUCKIJG DID IT. P1 🏆

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user: 🧡 this was so special

user: CONGRATS KING

user: the way y/n is always there when he’s doing well… i’m just saying

user: when your gf is there: silence. when y/n is there: insta dump 💀

user: if I were your gf, I’d be so mad rn 😭

user: istg she was there too!!

user: every time y/n is there, he gets a podium

user: THEY LOOK SO GOOD TOGETHER STOP

maxfewtrell posted stories

lando posted stories

lando's pov

yourusername posted stories

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri and 102,386 others

yourusername: Recharging and vibing. Summer never felt so good ☀️🌊

View all comments

pietra.pilao: looking fab as always!

user: wonder if she’s even paying for this vacation or just tagging along?”

yoursister: so proud of you, love! Enjoy every second 💕

user: does she ever do anything without Lando or his friends?

user: she’s literally everywhere he is, it’s getting creepy now

user: just admit you’re here for the fame and money

user: Leave Lando alone, she’s ruining everything

landonorris posted stories

yourusername posted stories

lando

liked by charles_leclerc and 923,212 others

lando: Sun, sand, and good company ☀️

view all comments

yourusernames: george russell, that's you?

georgerusell: hahah so funny, he wish🙄 lando: nah, I'm the handsome and tanned version of him

user: Lando + Y/N + Max = dream team

user: ok but where is his actual girlfriend tho??

user: Lando, we want more pics with Y/N pls

user: y/n is literally always there. it’s getting weird now

user: Y/N again?? bro you have a girlfriend 💀

user: if lando’s gf is unbothered, why are YOU pressed?? 😭😭

user: does she not have her own life?? she’s always tagging along

user: y’all need to chill, they’ve been friends for YEARS lol

user: oh she definitely loves the attention. you can see it

lando

liked by charles_leclerc and 923,212 others

lando: tried to disconnect. failed. worth it

view all comments

lando'sgf: cutiesss, miss you so much😍😍

❤️ liked by creator

user: not y/n being in EVERY photo lando’s posted this week 😭 even when her bf’s there

user: something about the way lando looks at y/n… it’s not just best friend energy anymore

user: if i were lando’s gf and saw these posts i’d lose my mind 💀

user: ngl this is starting to feel disrespectful to his gf…

y/n's pov

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[catthestampede]

I was gonna post this ao3 free but I decided just posted here 

Cottontail or Cottonhead

Danny first got into the business when he was eight.

His parents forgot him—again—at a paranormal convention. By the time they remembered, it had been two weeks.

Jazzy was away at camp, and they only noticed he was missing when she got back.

Those two weeks? Well, they were interesting, to say the least.

Somehow, he ended up being picked up by an assassin. And apparently, he and a group of them decided to see how good this kid really was.

Surprisingly, ghost hunting and assassin work are pretty similar. Ghost hunting and mercenary work? Basically the same thing.

And deep down, Danny’s always been a commit-to-the-bit kind of boy.

So he committed. He ended up gaining a reputation—one of the best child assassins out there. So good, in fact, that no one even knows his real name.

Or what his face really looks looks.

No one needs to know it’s because of stranger danger that no one knows his name—

or that he was going through a phase where he thought surgical masks were the coolest thing ever.

By the time he left, he knew things no eight-year-old should know.

⸻

The next year, history repeated itself.

And then again the year after that—but this time, Danny actually went out of his way to get jobs. Because, well…

The bills were piling up. Mom and Dad weren’t paying them—again.

Jazz tried her best, but at the end of the day, she was only two years older than him. Way too young to handle all of this.

On top of that, she was focused on getting good grades so she could earn a scholarship for college.

Danny tried to make money, but no one really wanted to hire a “freaky Fenton.”

So, when it came time for the convention?

He made up some excuse about summer camp.

Instead of two weeks, he got six. And by the end of it, he’d taken the lives of nine men.

Made more than enough money to cover him and Jazz for the rest of the year—until next summer.

He wouldn’t say he felt particularly good about it. But he didn’t really feel anything at all.

He Googled the men later, trying to find some reason to feel guilty. He didn’t.

He felt more guilt about not feeling guilt than anything else.

⸻

Time passed. By the time he was twelve, he was well known in the underworld.

He even got a nickname: The Killer Cottontail.

He’s not sure how to feel about that. But it’s too late to change it now.

He’s pretty sure it started as “Copperhead,” but was changed to “Cottontail” because of how young and cute he looked—which, rude.

(In reality, he got the nickname because the white part of his shirt always poked out of the back of his jacket like a rabbit tail.)

All in all, though? Not the worst way his life could’ve gone.

⸻

He met Bruce Wayne when he was eleven.

Danny had been hired to kill a man named Mr. Pennyworth.

Bruce thought Danny was there to kill him—which was kind of self-important, but also a reasonable assumption, he guessed.

The man panicked and offered to pay him ten times his original rate. Danny would’ve been a fool to say no.

He gave Bruce a business card and left.

⸻

Apparently, that day started a very weird relationship.

That card had a connection to Danny’s business phone, and Mr. Bruce apparently took it as an invitation to text him.

For “jobs.”

Which apparently included fetch quests… and sending pictures of his dog.

In all fairness, Ace might actually be the best dog in existence.

Danny will never not respond to pictures of that dog.

Bruce also hired him for smaller tasks like:

• Get information on Penguin’s goons

• Capture this criminal and turn him in

• What do you know about this underworld figure?

Danny enjoys the relationship, though he constantly has to remind himself to stay professional.

Also, Mr. Bruce is way smarter than he looks—or acts.

Several mercenaries have warned him about that. When Danny brought Bruce up once, Mr. Deathstroke got a weird look on his face—like he knew something but wasn’t saying it.

So Danny’s always careful about what he says around Mr. Bruce.

⸻

That odd little relationship lasted about six months.

A few days after Danny’s twelfth birthday, Bruce called him in for another job.

It was weirdly simple.

Bruce wanted him to babysit his newest kid.

Danny has no idea if Bruce realizes how insane that is.

Or that said “kid” is a trained assassin. And kind of a little punk.

Maybe Danny should introduce Bruce to How I Met Your Mother and the whole “crazy-hotness” scale, because wow—Talia al Ghul is definitely on the crazy end.

Normally, Danny wouldn’t leave Jazz alone for more than a couple of days.

But she’s staying the rest of the winter with a friend out of state.

Her school turned digital for the next 3–4 months while the building gets repaired. (Mom and Dad really need to stop jumping straight to missile-grade ghost weapons. Start with something small, maybe?)

So, for the next few months, Danny’s going to be babysitting Damian Wayne during his first days of school.

Joy. 😩

Still—it’s good money. Enough to help Jazz’s college fund. Maybe even enough to start his own.

In two days, he starts his new job for the next three months 

@bluebird8683

"I'll pay you 10 times the amount you were given to take me out." Bruce Wayne is, very out of character, super serious and looking at him so intense.

Danny isn't paid enough to figure out why the supposed himbo isn't acting like it.

"You know what? Yeah. Deal." He fishes his phone out, accepting the money transfer and calls his boss for the day.

"Heyyy big guy– yeah‐ I know... anyway! I'm not killing Bruce Wayne, you should find someone different to do it— bye!" And he hangs up, cutting the shouting with a grin.

"If you ever, and I mean, ever need someone out of the way, call me."

He happily hands his contact information to the billionaire and swoops out of the window.

He is rich! So mega rich!

("Did you just buy the mercenary?"

"He's a kid! I panicked!"

"At least you got a phone number??")

[dontrllycaretbh]

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Title: Almost Honest

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Warnings: explicit sapphic content (18+), dom!Azzi, sub!Paige, fingering, spit kink, semi-public (locker room), teasing, locker room smut, emotional manipulation (sexy), praise kink, light degradation, post-game tension, enemies-to-everything, bench makeouts, Azzi finally snapping, years of repressed pining, “this is nothing” lies, unspoken feelings and extremely spoken orgasms (don’t read this if your elle)

Summary:

Paige has a girlfriend.

Azzi has no patience left.

After years of playful taunts and dangerous glances, one post-game moment pushes everything over the edge. What starts with a dare turns into a kiss, and what starts as a kiss becomes something much, much messier — on the bench, in the locker room, under the weight of everything they’ve never said out loud. Azzi doesn’t need to ask if Paige wants this. She already knows.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The hotel room smelled like lavender detergent and victory sweat. Paige was on the floor, back against the bed frame, scrolling aimlessly through her phone. Azzi had kicked off her slides and was pacing around the room like she couldn’t sit still.

“You gonna text her?” Azzi asked, like it was casual. Like her voice wasn’t dipped in gasoline.

Paige didn’t look up. “Who?”

Azzi smirked. “Your girlfriend. What’s her name again? Emma? Emily? Something with an E and zero flavor?”

“Elle,” Paige muttered.

“Right. Elle.” Azzi drew the name out like it was sour in her mouth. “She the one who sends you dry goodnight texts and claps when you tie your shoes?”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “What the fuck is your problem tonight?”

Azzi stopped pacing. She looked at Paige, head tilted, like she was analyzing a puzzle. “You. You’re my problem. You walk around acting like you’re satisfied with her when I know you’re not.”

Paige stood up now, jaw tight. “Don’t.”

Azzi took a step closer. “Don’t what? Tell the truth? Babe, she doesn’t even know how to look at you. I’ve seen it. You shrink around her.”

“I don’t,” Paige snapped, but her voice cracked.

“You do,” Azzi said, softer now, like a slow pull on a thread. “You get quiet. Careful. You don’t flirt. You don’t laugh like you do with me. And you sure as hell don’t look at her the way you’re looking at me right now.”

Paige’s chest rose and fell. “You’re baiting me.”

Azzi shrugged, stepping closer until they were inches apart. “Maybe. But if it wasn’t working, you’d walk away.”

Paige didn’t move.

Azzi leaned in, her breath warm against Paige’s ear. “I bet she’s never even made you want to be bad.”

“You don’t know anything about my relationship.”

Azzi laughed, low and wicked. “Please. If she satisfied you, you wouldn’t be standing here trying not to kiss me.”

Paige’s fists clenched. Her voice came out breathy, shaken: “You’re an asshole.”

Azzi grinned. “And you’re a liar.”

The silence was thick. Heavy with everything they’d never said out loud. Paige stared at her, furious — and aching. Azzi’s expression softened, just barely.

“I’m not trying to ruin anything,” she said, voice quieter. “But don’t lie to me. Not when we both know what this is.”

Paige swallowed hard. “This is nothing.”

“Then prove it,” Azzi whispered. “Walk away.”

Paige didn’t.

Instead, she closed the distance, grabbed Azzi by the collar, and kissed her like it was a punishment — for Azzi, for herself, for every moment she pretended she didn’t want this. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t kind. It was months of held-back heat and self-denial crashing into a moment that felt like it might ruin everything.

When they pulled apart, Paige’s voice was wrecked. “Fuck.”

Azzi smirked, lips swollen. “Yeah. That’s more like it.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Next day

The gym was loud with sneakers and whistles and too many bright lights for a morning practice. Paige was already sweating — not from the drills, not really — but from the moment she saw Azzi walk in.

Same black tight shorts. Same locked-in bun. Same smug look she always wore when she knew Paige hadn’t slept.

Azzi didn’t even say good morning. She just tossed her bag down, locked eyes with Paige, and smirked like she still had last night’s conversation playing on a loop in her head.

Paige looked away first.

Coach split them into teams. Of course. Azzi on the opposite side — red jersey, full grin, already pulling her hair tighter like she was about to go for blood.

And she did.

Azzi was hell all practice. Full-court pressure, constant cutting across Paige’s lane, always guarding her just a little too close. Not fouling — never that — but close enough that Paige could feel her breath on her neck when she turned for a jumper.

“You gonna shoot?” Azzi muttered during one possession, barely loud enough to be heard. “Or are you saving all your bad decisions for off the court?”

Paige missed the shot. Badly.

Azzi laughed under her breath and jogged back on defense like it was nothing.

Paige wanted to deck her.

Next play: Paige drove baseline, tried to cut left. Azzi was already there, bumping her hip, hands up, body heat burning through the thin fabric of Paige’s tank.

“You’re playing mad,” Azzi whispered.

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Azzi said. “And it looks good on you.”

Paige passed out of the drive and walked away before she said something that’d get her benched.

But Azzi didn’t stop.

Between drills, she was all friendly with everyone but Paige. Laughing, clapping, shooting threes with her eyes closed. She even bumped knuckles with kk at the water table. Paige watched it happen from across the court — and nearly bit through her own mouthguard.

End of scrimmage, Geno called a free throw challenge. Pressure shots, silence in the gym.

Paige stepped up. Missed the first. Rimmed out.

From the sideline, Azzi let out the smallest, most unnecessary whistle.

Paige glared at her.

Azzi tilted her head, then mouthed, “Shaky hands.”

Paige sank the second, but barely.

Practice ended in a haze. Everyone clapped it off, good energy, good sweat.

Except Paige, who stayed behind to shoot. Over and over. Ball after ball — most hitting back iron. She couldn’t feel her own rhythm anymore. Azzi had stolen that too.

“Want a rebounder?” came the voice behind her.

Paige froze.

Azzi was leaning against the wall again, arms crossed, water bottle in hand. Same exact pose as last night. Same quiet smirk. But this time, her voice was gentler.

“You looked a little off today.”

Paige didn’t turn. “You’re an asshole.”

Azzi shrugged. “And yet you’re still here.”

Paige finally turned, sweaty and angry and tired. “What do you want from me?”

Azzi just looked at her. Really looked.

“I want you to be honest.”

“With who?”

Azzi stepped forward, real slow. “Start with yourself.”

Paige stared at her for a long second, chest still heaving from the reps. Then she shook her head, like shaking something off that wouldn’t leave.

And without another word, she grabbed her ball and walked out of the gym.

But Azzi smiled anyway.

Because she knew Paige heard every word.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The locker room was humid with steam and sweat and the kind of silence that hums when everyone’s too tired to talk. Sneakers squeaked. Showers hissed. But Paige sat alone at her locker, towel around her shoulders, head in her hands.

She thought staying late would help her cool off.

It didn’t.

She could still feel Azzi in her skin — that stupid smirk, the soft baiting, the way she played her like a game she’d already won.

The door creaked.

Footsteps.

Paige didn’t even have to look up.

Azzi.

Of course.

She strolled in like she owned the place, hair damp, phone in hand, still in her sports bra and shorts. Barefoot. Calm. Dangerous.

“You always this dramatic after practice?” Azzi asked, voice casual like she hadn’t spent the last two hours pushing every single one of Paige’s buttons.

Paige didn’t answer.

Azzi came closer.

“You mad because I locked you up, or mad because you let me?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Azzi tilted her head, eyes locked. “Talk to you? Touch you? Remind you what you’re trying so hard to forget?”

Paige stood fast, towel dropping to the bench. “You need to stop.”

Azzi didn’t move. “You sure?”

“I have a girlfriend.”

“And I’m not the one who kissed anybody.”

That stopped her. Air punched out of her lungs like a foul call she didn’t see coming.

“You baited me,” Paige said.

Azzi stepped closer. “You took the bait.”

“I was tired. I was pissed. I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did.”

Azzi’s voice was soft now. So soft it made Paige want to scream.

“Yes, you did,” she repeated, closer now, low and slow and cutting. “You kissed me because you wanted to. Because she doesn’t get you. Not the way I do.”

Paige’s jaw clenched. “You think you know me?”

Azzi leaned in, so close their foreheads almost touched. “I know you can’t stop looking at me.”

Paige blinked once. Twice. Her breath caught.

“You hate it,” Azzi whispered, “but you like it more.”

Silence.

The words were a knife, slicing through Paige's resolve. She grabbed Azzi's hand, pulling her closer, the gap between them nonexistent. "Fine," she hissed, "you want to play? Then let's play."

Their kiss was a declaration of war. Teeth clashed, tongues dueled, and their mouths were a mess of passion and anger. It was raw, it was dirty, it was everything Paige had been trying to ignore.

Their hands roamed, greedy and urgent. Paige's fingers found the hem of Azzi's sports bra, pulling it up to expose her full, dark nipples. She pinched them lightly, eliciting a gasp from Azzi that was music to her ears. The sound of skin on skin, the slap of flesh, filled the room as their bodies collided, a cacophony of need.

The taste of mint toothpaste and sweat mingled between them as they kissed, their mouths open and hungry. Paige's heart hammered in her chest, each beat echoing through her entire being. This was wrong, she knew it, but it felt so right.

Azzi's hand slid down Paige's stomach, her fingertips brushing the damp fabric of her shorts. Paige moaned into the kiss, her legs parting instinctively, inviting the touch.

"You're so wet," Azzi whispered, her voice a dark promise.

"Don't talk," Paige growled, pushing her down onto the bench.

Their hips ground together, the friction a sweet agony that only served to stoke the fire between them. Paige's hand moved to Azzi's throat, a gentle squeeze that made her eyes roll back. "Shut up," she murmured, her voice thick with want.

Azzi's fingers danced over the seam of Paige's shorts, teasing the outline of her core. Paige's hips bucked, seeking more, needing it like she needed air. The locker room was a blur, the world outside forgotten as they drowned in each other.

Their conversation was a symphony of gasps and whimpers, a back and forth of dirty words and pleas. "Please," Paige whispered, the word a benediction and a curse.

"Tell me you want it," Azzi demanded, her voice low and urgent.

"I want it," Paige admitted, the words a broken record in her head.

Azzi's hand slid under the elastic, her fingers finding their way to Paige's slick heat. The sound of her spit mixing with Paige's arousal was obscene in the quiet room.

"Tell me you're mine," Azzi murmured, her thumb circling Paige's clit.

"I'm yours," Paige gasped, her body arching off the bench.

Their kiss grew sloppier, their movements more frantic as Azzi's fingers worked their magic. The tension in Paige's body coiled tighter and tighter until she was a spring ready to snap.

And then she did.

Her orgasm hit her like a wave, crashing over her and leaving her trembling and gasping for breath. She collapsed onto Azzi, her head buried in the crook of her neck, her heart racing like it was trying to escape her chest.

"Fuck," Paige whispered, the word a prayer and a confession.

"ur so fucking pretty when you come," Azzi said, her voice a purr.

They stayed like that, tangled in each other's arms, the locker room spinning around them. The scent of sex and sweat filled the air, a stark reminder of the line they'd just crossed.

When Paige finally pulled away, she was met with Azzi's knowing gaze. The challenge was clear: Now what?

But for the first time in what felt like forever, Paige didn't have an answer. All she knew was that she'd never felt more alive than in the chaos of this moment, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure.

The silence was deafening.

"You can't keep doing this to me," Paige whispered.

Azzi's smile was slow and smug. "But you love it."

Before Paige could respond, she was kissing her again, her tongue pushing its way into Paige's mouth, demanding and insistent. Paige moaned, her own anger and confusion mixing with the desire that had been building for so long. She felt herself giving in, her body betraying her even as she tried to hold onto the last shreds of her relationship.

"Spit," Azzi murmured against her lips, her hand moving to the back of Paige's head, pushing her down.

Paige hesitated for a moment, then did as she was told. She spat into Azzi's open mouth, watching as she swallowed it down with a hungry look in her eyes. The act was so filthy, so wrong, but it only served to make Paige's pussy throb with need.

"Ride me," Azzi ordered, her voice a low growl that sent shivers down Paige's spine.

The blond took a shaky breath and straddled Azzi's lap again, the warmth of her pussy pressing against the fabric of her shorts. She felt like she was drowning in the heat of it, in the way Azzi's hands roamed over her body, leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched.

"You want it, don't you?" Azzi whispered, her thumb tracing Paige's lower lip, her other hand sliding down to cup her ass.

Paige nodded, unable to form words. She was lost in the sensation of Azzi's mouth on hers, in the way her body was responding to the other girl's touch. It was messy and raw and everything she'd been denying herself for so long.

As if reading her mind, Azzi reached up and yanked down Paige's shorts, exposing her to the cool air of the locker room. The blond's pussy was already glistening, begging for attention.

"Fuck me," Paige managed to say, her voice barely above a whimper.

And so Azzi did. She slid two fingers into Paige, her thumb still playing with her clit, her mouth never leaving hers. Paige's hips bucked, her legs trembling as she took the rough, demanding rhythm that Azzi set.

Their kiss grew sloppier, spit mingling between them, their breaths coming in ragged pants. The sound of Azzi's fingers sliding in and out of her, the wet smack of their skin, filled the small space around them.

"I'm going to make you come," Azzi murmured, her eyes dark with lust.

"Please," Paige begged, her voice a desperate whine.

The tension grew, their movements more frantic, until Paige's orgasm hit her like a freight train. She cried out, her body convulsing as Azzi continued to fuck her through it, her mouth never leaving hers.

When it was over, Paige collapsed against Azzi's chest, her heart hammering in her ears. The locker room was a blur around her, the world outside a distant memory.

"What have we done?" she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of what they'd just shared.

Azzi's only response was to kiss her again, a soft, gentle kiss that was at odds with the raw passion of moments before. "We're not done yet," she murmured.

And Paige knew, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that she was right. This was just the beginning.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

[kdh-tally]

Abby x Reader Headcannons

Prompt : Headcannons of Abby and his Partner

Author's Note : This was requested (i was gonna write it anyways) and the request was so adorable but I unfortunately deleted it cause the first post wasn't loading 😭 But to the anon that asked, please keep your soul!! I'm not like Gwi-ma ;P

For context, you work at a pilates place. It's mixed building so they're both multiple female and male customers (i forgot what u call people who do pilates)

It’s bright and sunny with colours like yellow and pink being in the main design. Opposite of you is this minimalist and dark themed gym.

Both places are more or less enemies in business.

Not necessarily boys versus girls but instead gym junkies and muscle heads vs elegant bodybuilders and core strengtheners. 

It had been a long day and you were not supposed to be working but your co-instructor called in sick, and now you were the only available trainer on site. 

The building would be closing in a few hours and you seriously hoped no one else was coming in. Then the door opened.

In walked a guy who looked like he belonged in a boxing ring. He was crazily muscular, tall, slightly intimidating but 100% cocky.

You knew who this was, kinda.

He recently started going to the gym next door (traitor!!) so it was odd as to why he was here. Other than his pink hair, this definitely wasn’t his scene.

You were also pretty sure he was some new Kpop idol but apparently his group had gone on hiatus or something?

“Hey,” he greeted. “I’m here for the pilates thing?”

You glanced at the schedule. There was no appointment listed under his name. You looked back up at him in confusion, his cocky smirk was starting to piss you off.

He grinned. “It was a last-minute thing. Manager said she’d booked me in for some stretches or something. Said I need to ‘loosen up’.” He even added air quotes.

You tried not to roll your eyes. 

“Right. Lucky you. I’m the only one available.”

“Perfect,” he said without missing a beat before eyeing you up and down. “You look like you know what you're doing.” Cue the smirk, then the flex. 

Even though you swore to be loyal to pilates, you had to admit his muscles were… 😋

Five minutes later, he was on the reformer machine (in a position that should not have been physically possible) and asking if he was supposed to be feeling core activation.

“Is this normal?”

By the end of the session, he was drenched in sweat and fully humbled. You handed him water with a smirk of your own.

“Still think Pilates is just stretching?”

“…No comment.” after a moment of silence “…When’s your next opening?”

He proceeds to walk in every day after his gym sessions.

At first you’re confused cause he never seems tired?

You made him hold a side plank for 20 minutes and watched his soul leave his body.

“I can do squats with 200kg,” he gasped, “why is this band killing me?”

“Because you’re not using your core, muscle-head.”

He swore he wouldn't return again but came back the very next day.

All of a sudden he’s a regular.

Slowly starts coming to Pilate’s instead of the gym.

Many of the members, men and women alike, are super hyped.

It boosts their ego when the muscle-head can’t do half of the things they can.

He meets a decent amount of fans and they (very respectfully) ask why he’s taking Pilates classes all of a sudden.

He tells everyone he’s training to be more flexible for the dances Jinu makes them do, but honestly, he just wants to see you.

Brags that you’re his private instructor to literally everyone, even though you told him to stop doing that.

Whenever you correct his form, he smirks and says, “You just wanted an excuse to touch me, huh?”

You threaten to make him hold a wall sit for 10 minutes.

Will flirt with you. ALL THE TIME.

“You know, your hands are really strong. Its kinda hot.”

“Are you checking me out?”

“Breathe through the stretch, Abby.” you’d tell him

“It’s hard to breathe when you’re looking at me like that, cutie.”

You’ve smacked him with a foam roller at least three times. 

He soon convinces you to hang out outside of Pilates classes. 

Fortunately for you both there's a smoothie and snack bar next door.

After every session, he insists on walking you there.

You always order something healthy but he orders the fruitiest, sugariest thing and insists you try it.

You say no. He forces the straw in your mouth anyway.

When he confesses to you, he doesn’t make it big and dramatic.

I lied. It's kinda dramatic.

It was supposed to be a normal session.

You had no idea what was coming.

Abby had stayed behind again, lounging shirtless on a mat like he owned the studio, which he absolutely did not.

He’d more or less stop going to the gym at this point.

He’d just finished a perfect cobra stretch, smirking the whole time, and now he was watching you clean, spinning a towel around his hands like a bored pet.

“You always stare at me when I stretch,” he said suddenly. You didn’t look up, already used to the teasing remark. “I stare at all my clients. I’m making sure your spine isn’t breaking.”

“That’s cute. You care about my spine.”

You did look up that time, only to see him already walking over to the front desk where you stood.

“Abby,” you warned, “if you break another foam roller—”

“I’m not going to break anything today,” he cut in, laughing as you rolled your eyes. “I’m here to ask you out.”

You froze. “…What?”

“You heard me, cutie.” He leaned on the desk. “You’ve been driving me insane since day one. Yelling at me, correcting my form, making me sore for days.”

“That’s literally my job.”

“And you’re really good at it.” He leaned in, voice dropping just a little. “But I want more than our little pilates dates. Let me take you out.”

You blinked. “You’re joking.”

He tilted his head. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

You wanted to say yes. But his eyes weren’t playing around. Not this time.

“You really want to date your pilates instructor?”

“Hell yeah. You’re hot, you’re scary, and you’ve forced me into a split. I trust you with my life.” A beat. “Also,” he added, smug as ever, "I know you’ve been checking me out since the first class.”

You opened your mouth and closed it. “…Shut up.”

“Is that a yes?”

“…Maybe.”

“I’ll take it,” he said, reaching over the counter and stealing one of the protein bars you were fiddling with. “First date’s on me. Dress comfy.”

He left with a wink and a flex, the bell above the door jingling musically.

Now that he has boyfriend privileges, he’s constantly barging into your sessions to “check if your clients are better looking than him.”

They’re not. He makes sure of it.

You keep telling him it would be physically impossible for you to find someone more attractive than him anyways.

He does not like when other guys flirt with you.

He’ll sit on a mat, arms crossed, glaring while you lead a class. He’d be closer to the front of the class, which is odd cause he normally remains near the center to show off.

“I'm just observing.” he’d excuse, but you know he’s truly just trying to block any other on-lookers from seeing you.

He’s secretly very soft, though. 

Brings you water. 

Wraps his jacket around you if it’s cold.

Packs your bag the morning before classes (yes he stays over)

He pretends not to care, but sulks if you forget to text him after a long day.

The boys would be shocked that he managed to find someone willing to date him.

They only thought he had love for his muscles

“You’re dating a human pilates instructor?? Since when did you do pilates?” Baby would glare at him curiously.

Romance tries not to die laughing. “Wait, so she told you what to do and you liked it? Bro…”

Jinu was just happy he didn’t have to be forced to go to the gym with him anymore.

Abby would just take you instead.

Mystery was quite impressed. He didn’t care so much about Abby dating but was really interested in the mixed pilates center.

Would probably book a session to see what the hype’s about.

He would call you things like:

Ma’am - Whenever you boss him around.

Star-fish - Your super duper flexible the way a starfish is.

Brat - The name he uses to “bully” you

Y/N - Drags it out whenever he wants something from you.

Cutie - What he calls you most of the time.

You would call him things like:

Muscle Head : Cause he’s all muscle no brain

Baby : Cause it’s Abby spelt differently. (It kinda threw him off at first cause yk his band mate is also named Baby)

Loser : Banter is a very prominent thing in your relationship.

Himbo : He’s really pretty, you’ll be the first to admit it, he just isn’t the smartest sometimes….

Sweetie : Cause he can be such a sweet guy sometimes.

[lisssyyu]

Eternity to taste

PAIRINGS: Caitlyn Kiramman x wife!f!reader

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As you may have noticed, I really like to write with an emphasis on psychology (which is funny, because I am a lawyer by profession), so the second part may be (!) the last. In general, I really like writing in this genre, especially about the game Signalis, and maybe I'll even post a couple of fics about this fandom.

WARNING(S): Mention of violence; possession; control; implied manipulation; power imbalance; age difference (!Caitlin 28, !reader 22) ;; mention of pregnancy

wc: 6.3k

parts: 1 ;; 2 ;; ?

You no longer remembered how the street smelled, how noisy the main square was on holidays. The world that once seemed so alive and close had now dissolved into a fog, like an old photograph faded by time.

You only knew that Caitlyn drank coffee with milk, that on Tuesdays her gloves smelled of cold metal, and on Saturdays of lilacs. You knew that she always asked you to tie her tie, even though she could do it herself.

"I'm not holding you back," she said, stroking your hair like an obedient little animal. "But where will you go? To whom?"

You tried to imagine it. The city, the air, your friends. But if those thoughts had once brought a smile to your face, now your heart tightened into a knot of fear. The world had become huge and alien, frightening without her.

"They don't understand you," Caitlyn whispered, her voice growing colder and harder with every word. "They always laughed behind your back. I saw it."

You listened to her words in silence, but inside you were feeling something completely different. It was scary, not just because of what Caitlyn was saying, but because somewhere deep inside you, her words were starting to ring true.

Maybe it was true that no one was waiting for you outside the walls of this house. That your friends had long since turned their backs on you. That the world was too cruel to accept you as you were.

You felt more and more strongly how your former self that brave, lively person who once took to the streets with hope and dreams was slowly dissolving. Its place was filled with a cold, empty fear of being alone, of forgetting yourself and losing everything that was even remotely important.

Caitlyn was the one who never leaves, who harshly but unwaveringly keeps you on this precarious edge. There is no room for doubt in her voice, which means that your desire to argue with the reality she creates begins to die. You cling to her words like a lifeline, because who else but her will be there when everything falls apart?

You no longer want to resist, because resistance means being completely alone. And being alone means disappearing.

And now you are her little two. The one who belongs to her, who lives in her shadow and breathes to her rhythm. And even if a faint glimmer of your former self remains deep in your soul, it drowns in this incessant whisper:

"Only I need you. No one else needs you."

And this has become your eternal prayer.

"What's that?"

You looked down at your lap. There lay a book you had found by chance while cleaning. The house was getting colder and lonelier, especially when Caitlyn left for long shifts. You thought reading would help distract you.

"Just a novel," you whispered, feeling your voice tremble. "I got bored."

She approached, and there was no anger in her gaze, only weary cruelty, as if you had once again failed to meet her expectations.

"Are you bored with me?"

Your breath caught, the words slipping out in a mistake you would pay dearly for. Caitlyn stood almost close enough to touch, her cold presence squeezing you like a steel grip.

"I'm leaving for twelve hours. I kill for order. And you… are you bored here?"

You wanted to crawl back, but the back of the sofa behind you prevented you from doing so.

"I'm sorry," you breathed, already knowing it would lead nowhere.

"You're always apologizing. You know who else apologizes? Weaklings."

She grabbed the book with the force of someone tearing off a bandage, without pity, and threw it against the wall so that the pages scattered like feathers.

"I feed you, clothe you, keep you warm, while outside people are killing each other for crumbs of bread. I pulled you out of that filth, out of that city where you would have died at the first intersection if it weren't for me."

She leaned toward you and grabbed your chin sharply, forcing you to look up.

"And you really think you have the right to be bored?"

You wanted to argue, to say, "I was just reading," but your mouth was dry and the words stuck in your throat.

"Look at yourself," she hissed in your face. "Pathetic, scared, shaking like a rabbit. Do you really believe that anyone but me cares about you?"

You shook your head.

"That's a good girl," she said, as if it were a reward.

Caitlyn kissed you on the temple almost tenderly, but that kiss concealed the same power that had recently torn your soul apart.

"I love you, you know that," her voice became quieter and lost its former sharpness, "but when you disappoint me… I can't control my anger."

Over time, fear and anxiety began to recede, but not disappear. Rather, they hid somewhere deep inside, like animals huddled in a warm burrow.

In their place, habit took hold. The day consisted of repetitive gestures: the creak of the front door lock at exactly seven in the evening; the muffled rustle of a coat; heavy breathing before Caitlyn shook the city cold off her shoulders. You met her at the doorframe with an almost smile.

The skin of your palms remembered the roughness of wet fabric, shoulders, a tiny tremor under a uniform that smelled of gun oil. She let you help her, let you take off her gloves, touched your cheek with her fingers as a sign of her presence. And in that moment, the house became the center of the world, the only safe island amid the strange, wind-swept streets.

You learned to read her pauses. If her footsteps were heavy, you poured strong tea; if they glided almost silently, you made a decoction of oregano and mint.

Those evenings flowed smoothly, almost sleepily. She talked about the patrols in fragments: "two detained," "smuggling at the locks again." You just nodded. With each "yes" and "I understand," a strange calm grew inside you: if the world out there was really that cruel, then here, in the flickering circle of the lamp, you were on the right side of the glass.

The warmth from the lamp faded as you finally sat down to dinner. The dark oak table, the blanket on your shoulders, not a sound from the neighboring rooms. Caitlyn ate slowly, as if each movement marked the last breath of the day.

But today something was changing, and you sensed it before you heard it.

Caitlyn put down her fork and turned her palm toward you. There was so much confidence in this movement that the air around you immediately became denser.

You didn't know the words yet, but you could already feel their weight.

Seconds dragged on as a dull, muffled bell rang in your head. And when she spoke, the words fell into the silence without a splash, but the water beneath them cracked.

She wants a child.

The sound of these three words, barely whispered, was louder than any command. The world around her shifted, as if the house had suddenly tilted and the walls had cracked.

Your "no" didn't even have time to take shape. It was just a fleeting spark before it was extinguished in the darkness of her unshakable will. Inside, under her ribs, an invisible bird fluttered, but the cry stuck in her throat: a flat fear of returning to what had been before, to the cold streets, to the loneliness that had long since become more frightening than any loss.

You felt your hands trembling, even though they were resting on your knees, hidden under the fabric of your skirt. Images flashed through your mind: a child's cry, a small hand, the warm smell of milk, but next to them, in the same frame, stood her, tall, inevitable, with the same gaze that holds your world together.

You weren't ready. The word drifted away from your consciousness like a boat from a pier, farther and farther, until it turned into a tiny dot. And the tighter you hugged that dot, the more clearly you felt it melting away.

She rose from the table and leaned close to your ear. The tenderness of her breath burned your skin more intensely than a scream.

The stability you had grown so accustomed to cracked, and the crack spread across the walls of the house, across the edges of your heart, across the secret boundary where you end and her will begins. But the voice inside fell silent again: if ruins are the price of her love, then you will let the walls fall.

[snowstormarts]

Can you write a Yandere Eddie and Volt x Homeowner who is in a relationship with someone else*not a Dateable/object* and is planning to propose to them inside the house

First DE Yandere promt, ooh I couldn't wait to write for this one tbh. Especially since it's with two of my favorite boys, my own Yandere Headcanons can wait a little longer xD Also I got sick so it might take me a while longer to post fics, promts & co, sorry about that

Likes & Reblogs are appreciated, my inbox is open for Requests & Asks

"Our love can't be denied, so stop struggling"

[Yandere!Eddie & Volt x GN!Reader][Divider Credit]

[⚠Warning; Yandere Content, reader dosent have a good time Minors DNI⚠]

It started after Volt saw you walk through the doors of the Breaker Box. Something in his chest sparked to life at first he couldn't place it, whatever he felt it was intense. It craved you, demanded you to stay here forever, far from anyone else who would try and rip you away from him. And yet at the same time it lusted for your happiness, just imagining you being sad broke his heart and made his fingers itch with the need to claw at anyone who dared to make your smile disappear.

He only realized what it was exactly after a few regulars started teasing him, saying that any time he saw you walk in he would B-line it straight towards you like a clingy puppy or a love obsessed teen.

He was in love with you, not the regular kind of love he had experienced before. This was more intense, it was pure, obsessive love for the one who had caught his heart in a vice grip. And he wouldn't have it any other way, he was yours and you were his even if you didn't know it yet. He was sure you would come around soon.

And so whenever you visited the Breaker Box, Volt would not hesitate to greet you with a kiss to the back of your hand and his regular "It's always a pleasure to see you, Live Wire~" You saw it as a simple friendly yet somewhat charming gesture but to him? It was anything but friendly, it was a claim, so everyone knew you were his and he wouldn't share you with anyone else...Well maybe he would share you with one other person, his other half, Eddie. He was sure it wouldn't take long until you melt the walls around him and catch his heart for yourself as well.

True to his words it didn't take long for Eddie to join Volt in his growing obsession with you. All it took for him was that one moment, that short moment where you fell into his arms. You fit perfectly into his hold, how you clung to him as smiled, the light blush tempted him to just kiss you right there and then. You had sparked something in Eddie that he thought he would never experience again but here he was now, walls melting as he imagined your future together.

So now whenever you walked through the doors of the Breaker Box Volt would come over to greet you with his signature hand kiss and bring you to the VIP area. Sometimes Eddie would be there waiting for you, other times you would meet him after the show and on rare occasions both would join you before the show started. You never really realized how they looked at you with this burning hunger, the desire to have you for their own, to pamper you and keep you 'safe' in a their arms. Keeping away anything and anyone they thought could harm you, in the end you only needed them and nobody else, right? They knew how to treat you right, you would never want for anything as long as you were with them. They would fulfill your every wish no matter how small or big, if you wanted you could even insult them, scream at them as you lay your hands on them. They would need to reprimand you verbally but that's it and in the end they know you will come back to them. Kissing them and apologize for your outburst and they would forgive you, they always do.

To them the mere idea that you could do anything wrong was nonsense. If you were angry it was of course because someone provoked you and whoever did this would get a stern, hands on talking to from both of them. If you're sad, they won't hesitate to comfort you and ask whats wrong. If it's person, they better pray that the boys feel merciful and let them get away with a new set of broken bones and some electricity scars. Are you feeling overwhelmed and just want some peace and quiet? Don't worry they will be sure to guard you and keep everyone else away from you unless you say otherwise. Anything you want they will make sure you get it, even if it takes weeks or months of their time or money, seeing you smile is all they need.

But then one morning you walked into the Breaker Box, they were still busy with cleaning up the place, so Eddie was about ready to yell at whoever walked in to get out. Only to stop shortly after seeing you in such a chipper mood, a small blush covered your cheeks as your fingers fidgeting with your clothes non-stop. It was an adorable sight that made Eddie's mind spiral and jump to the conclusion that this was it, you were about to confess your love to him.

'This is it, isn't it? You're so adorable when you're nervous, Live Wire. Will you also confess your feelings to Volt? Or are you just here for one of us? Would you change your mind if you knew who we truly are? Would knowing it make you excited or make you freak out and never come back to us?' Eddie's mind came to a stop as he saw Volt walking towards you two, probably to greet you like he usually does.

But it never got to that point, you didn't even notice Volt was there frozen just like Eddie as they heard about your plan. You wanted to propose to your partner, in the safety of your home and it needed to be perfect. You asked them to keep the power steady, you had it all planned out, a nice dinner under some fairy lights (you refused to have Scandalabra there), a fancy meal made with the help of Stefan as you shared a light conversation and when the time is right, you would go on one knee and ask them to marry you.

Their eyes met and you could feel the sudden tension rise between you three, the smell of ozone filled the air as Volt walked closer, standing right behind you. Caging you against the bar that Eddie had just finished cleaning.

"Oh, our mischievous, Live Wire. You know we love you and would do anything for you, right?" Volt's electric hair brushed against your skin as he leaned in closer. You nodded hesitantly, not wanting to risk making the situation even more tense then it already is.

"Then you must know that we love your teasing and jokes, they light up the place even more then you usually do." You tried to turn your face towards Volt but Eddie had other plans, he leaned closer and kept you in place so you could only see him and his cold, yet caring grey eyes.

"Then you must also, surely know that this goes a bit too far even for you, don't you think? Making up a partner who you want to propose to? Did you want to make us jealous for neglecting you the last three days or did someone set you up to this? Was it the stupid lamp with another one of his challenges?" Eddie asked, clearly annoyed at the thought of Lux having yet another challenge that he wants to try out and hooked you in again.

You shook your head "No, no Lux has nothing to do with this, well they did say they would help me with some preparations and set the mood but nothing else. No challenges or trends, just a friend wanting to help me out...Also what do you guys mean by 'making you jealous'?"

Volt hummed, his fingers tapping against the bar as Eddie continued to talk. "Well we were quiet busy with the Breaker Box in the last few days, a sudden influx of customers who all wanted unique drinks and another large group that wanted to socialize exclusively with Volt. We barely had any time to catch our breath let alone spent some time with you, so it only makes sense that you wanted our attention but couldn't ask for it for some reason. Did we scare you or hurt you somehow, little light?" Eddie's voice was filled with concern, his hold loosen as he gently ran rubbed your cheek with his thumb.

"Guys, you didn't hurt me or scare me, really. I know this place can be busy sometimes and I'm ok with that, there's always another day to see you two. I'm not some jealous friend-" All of a sudden you could feel the tension rising once more, the smell of ozone intensified making your stomach churn as a light spark tickle your exposed neck.

"Friends? Is that all what you really think we are?" Volt asked, your body was screaming for you to flee from here. To lock the door to the Fuse box or to throw the Dateviators away and never look at them again but even if you wanted to follow through on your bodies warnings, you couldn't.

Volt was behind you with his arms blocking your left and right side and even if you did duck under his arms and run towards the door, there still would be Eddie. Who could easily run after you from behind the bar and catch you, so you had to be sneaky, play along until the right moment strikes where you can deactivate the Dateviators and escape.

"Aren't we just friends? Or do you guys like...Secretly hate me?" Play dumb, hope they get so worried that they focus more on explaining themself and then you can 'comfort them' once their guard is down, it will be your time to strike.

"No, we could never hate you little spark." Eddie replied his hands sliding down towards your own but you quickly pulled them away, refusing to look at him.

"Eddie's right, Live Wire. We could never hate you, for you have won over our hearts. You have both of us in a vice grip, we would do anything for you...Well mostly everything, a few things we could never do, even if you asked them off us."

You turned to face Volt, curious about what they wouldn't do "And what are those things?"

Eddie and Volt looked at each other, it felt kinda of intimate, like it's something you shouldn't watch but at the same time you couldn't look away. Not to mentioned the growing ozone smell that was starting to make you feel queasy, the quiet didn't help either it only intensified your anxious mind, so you were grateful when finally one of them decided to speak up.

"We will never hurt you or scare on purpose." Eddie started, you wanted to reply that they were making you anxious right now but before you could Volt continued to speak.

"We will always love and protect you, no matter how small or big the threat is."

"We will make sure you're happy here, we will give you whatever you want if it means you will stay here with us."

"And most important of all..." Volt and Eddie suddenly spoke at the same time, sending a shiver down your spine as their words echoed in your mind.

"You belong to us, no one else can have you." And then Eddie continued to speak while Volt started to pepper kisses against the back of your neck. "And if anyone tries to steal you away from us then we simply have to make them go away. You belong to us and we belong to you, Little Spark. So please just accept our love and we can forget about what you've said about that supposed 'partner' of yours."

You couldn't answer, this was no longer some misunderstanding between friends. No, you knew what this was, you were caught between two, love sick yanderes who would do who knows what to have you...But it's also the perfect moment to get their guard down and give you an opening to strike.

"...You promise you will forgive me?" Both of them nodded, as you let your hand rest on the side of Eddies face which he immediately nuzzled into. "Then I will gladly accept your two's love for me and all that is included with it, no take backs now boys."

It took a while before their guards went down, you were showered in kisses and sweet nothings as they told you how long they had loved you. How they had watched from afar not wanting to overwhelm you or push you before you were ready to confess your true feelings for them but growing ever more impatient.

You nodded along, saying your own sweet words and joking with them until you saw an opening. Faking a yawn you stretched your arms high above you and you lowered them, you struck. Your hand flew to the Dateviator ready to throw them against the wall (sorry Skylar) if it meant getting away from those two. But just as your hand brushed against the cool metal frames, your wrists were caught and slammed down onto the bar.

Biting back a hiss of pain you glared at Volt while trying to free your hands from his steel grip, you even considered trying to bite him for a moment. But that didn't guarantee he would let you go, more likely then not he would simply switch to let Eddie hold your wrist. Not to mention the electric shock you could get from biting the literal embodiment of electricity. So you put that plan on the back burner, only using it if you get desperate but for now you choose to speak your mind, you were tired of all this.

"Listen up you two, let me go now! I don't wanna be here, I'm tired, I'm scared and quiet frankly I am loosing my patience with both of you!" All you wanted right now is to get away from them and talk to your partner, you just needed to hear their voice.

"We're sorry, Live Wi-"

"Dont." You snapped at Volt who recoiled from your harsh words and a glare that would even make a Tiger quiver in fear. "I wanna go back into my room, please..."

Everything was quiet, it felt lime an eternity to you before one of them finally spoke up and broke some of the tension in the room.

"We can't let you go, little spark" Eddie whispered, his hand running through your hair in a comforting gesture, that did anything but comfort you.

"We will have to keep you here until we...Fix that little 'friend' issue of yours." Volt murmured against your ear. "Now tell us, wheres your phone? We need to have stern talk with the one who thought they could steal you from us, Live Wire.'"

It felt like a bucket full of cold water was just dumped onto you, you wiggled from side to side, biting Volt's arm in a desperate attempt to escape. Ignoring the pain that rattled through your teeth, you didn't even want to think what they would say or do to your partner.

A hand grabbed your jaw and pulled you harshly to the side, you could taste the familiar taste of metal against your stained teeth.

"Fuck, Volt are you ok?"

"Don't worry about me, Eddie."

"Don't worry? They just bit you, for all we know it could get infected!"

"I will go to Farya after we've dealt with our Live Wire here." With a defeated sigh Eddie nodded and turned back to you, clearly pissed but yet his obsession kept him from lashing out on you.

"Don't worry little spark, we know this isn't how you usually are. We forgive you but don't do it again or else we will have to punish you. Maybe we should visit your dear 'partner' of you misbehave once again and show them that you are ours."

"And if they don't listen? Well, let's just say that every home has electricity, it would be a real shame if something happened to your 'close friend' right, Live wire?~" Volt grinned, his hair sparked wildly and you knew that there was a clear threat.

"So answer us, Live wire" their voices mixed together once more. "Do you love us?"

[jxstsxgx]

𝚆𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙵𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 | 𝙴𝙳𝙳𝙸𝙴 𝙼𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙾𝙽

Pairings: Drunk!Eddie Munson x Reader (…kinda)

Word Count: 1,158 words

Summary: Eddie’s drunk. Eddie’s in love. Eddie thinks he’s confessing to you. He is not.

Contains: drunken rambling, dramatic confessions, emotional!Eddie, oblivious Steve, confused Robin, twist ending (you were never in the room), just a dumb little guy in love.

A/N: Haven't posted in days. I was battling with...laziness lol. Anyway, last fic I made was Drunk!Steve then I wanted to make Drunk!Eddie too, so here's a short one. (Lowkey Steddie, lmao)

masterlist |

Eddie Munson was completely, utterly, soul crushingly drunk.

He was seated on the floor in Robin’s living room, back pressed against the couch, beer long forgotten in his lap, curls a wild halo around his flushed face. They’d had game night. One drink turned to two, turned to eight, turned to Eddie trying to balance pretzel sticks on his nose while Robin egged him on.

Steve had just returned from a bathroom break when he noticed it. Eddie, staring dreamily across the room, eyes wide and glassy.

“Uh… is he okay?” Steve asked.

Robin looked up from stacking Uno cards. “He’s been like that for the last five minutes. Just… sighing.”

Then Eddie whispered, “God, you're so pretty.”

Robin snorted. “Oh no.”

Eddie leaned forward, eyes locked on something... or someone. “I can’t believe you're real. It’s like… you walked out of my daydreams and into this stupid living room.”

Steve glanced behind him. “Wait. Who is he looking at?”

Robin squinted. “Steve. He’s looking at you.”

“What?!”

But Eddie wasn’t listening. Eddie was enchanted. His gaze locked, expression lovesick. He clutched his heart dramatically.

“Hey,” he slurred. “C’mere.”

Steve pointed to himself. “Me?”

Eddie patted the floor beside him with a dopey smile. “Yeah, you.”

Robin blinked. “Oh my God. He thinks you’re her.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Me?”

Robin nodded. “He’s that drunk.”

Steve hesitated, then cautiously sat down next to Eddie, who immediately grabbed his hand.

“Hey,” Eddie whispered, brushing Steve’s knuckles like they were made of silk. “D’you know… you ruin me?”

Steve’s whole soul left his body. “Okay…”

Eddie smiled softly. “Every time you smile at me, I feel like I’ve been hit by lightning. But, like, the good kind. Is there a good kind? Doesn’t matter. You’re it. You’re everything.”

Robin wheezed into the couch cushions.

Steve tried, “Uh… Eddie, maybe-”

But Eddie was in full spiral now, his eyes were even shut, “And your voice. Don’t even get me started. It’s like my favorite song and a bedtime story and a warm blanket all rolled into one.”

Steve's face scrunched. “Bro.”

“I think about you all the time. All the time. Like, when I eat cereal, I’m like, ‘She’d hate this cereal.’ And I eat it anyway, because I’m sad and in love.”

Robin was crying. Literally crying from holding back her laugh.

“Every time you walk into a room,” Eddie breathed, “I forget how to function. I’d build you a house. Out of, like, D&D dice and guitar picks. I’d learn to knit pretty sweaters and skirts for you, I’d die for you.”

Steve was frozen. “Okay, we need to-”

“And you smell so nice,” Eddie continued, practically moaning. “Like vanilla. Or flowers. Or flower vanilla. I don’t know. I’m drunk.”

“You don’t say,” Steve mumbled.

Eddie gripped his hand tighter. “Don’t ever leave me, okay? Even if you fall in love with a guy who’s better than me. Like a hot firefighter. Or a lawyer. Or, like, a guy with really nice handwriting. I’ll just be… here. Sad. Loving you from afar.”

Robin gasped, absolutely losing it.

Steve, trying to suppress the laughter crawling up his throat, gently said, “Munson, Buddy. You sure you’re talking to the right person?”

Eddie squinted. “Of course I am. Why would I say all that to someone else?”

“You are talking to Steve,” Robin managed, her face red from laughing.

“No I’m not,” Eddie said, fighting for his life to open his drunken eyelids, turning toward Steve with a sleepy smile. “I’m talking to her-”

Steve pointed at himself. “I’m Steve.”

Eddie blinked. Slowly.

Then blinked again.

“…No you’re not.”

“I am.”

Eddie sat up straighter, horrified. “Then where the hell is she?!”

Robin held up her hands, still laughing. “Literally not even here. She left an hour ago, dude.”

Eddie’s jaw dropped. “No. No! I saw her! She was right there!” he pointed wildly. “She was right there and I told her about the cereal and the house and sweaters!”

Steve nodded solemnly. “Yeah, you told me.”

Eddie looked absolutely destroyed.

Then he groaned, flopping backwards with his arm over his face. “I wanna die.”

Robin patted his leg. “We’ll let you live. But we are gonna tell her.”

“Please don’t,” he whispered into the carpet. “Please let me disappear.”

Steve laughed. “You called me flower vanilla.”

Eddie groaned louder.

Robin snickers, “She’s gonna love this.”

“I was confessing to the wrong person!” Eddie was drunkly reasoning out.

“At least you were sweet about it.” Robin added.

“I need new friends.”

Robin and Steve just clinked beer bottles above his head while Eddie melted into the floor.

[brokenbough]

Absolutely incredible job on the first thing you posted on here! That sounds like I think I’m qualified to appraise the quality of writing and I’m not, sorry if it came off weird. I just loved it, I guess is more accurate to say.

Grumpy Simon is the very best, and you nailed him. He wants her to cuddle into him so bad he’s such an idiot. This concept was so wonderful and again you executed it beautifully :)

Not a request, just a musing, but I think this would be the PERFECT situation for jealousy playing a role in forcing Simon to admit his blossoming feelings for reader. He thinks he hates it when she lays on him, even though he’s starting to realize he craves it, he still resents her for it because he hates feeling feelings and she’s making him do that he just doesn’t realize that’s his problem with the situation.

But imagine how incredibly bothered and angry and jealous he’d be if reader curled into Johnny or Gaz or god forbid his CAPTAIN or even Graves or Los Vaqueros oh god instead of him. I think regardless or whether it happens on accident (maybe she settles with the rest of the group because Simon is on watch and when she gets sleepy she slumps onto whichever comfy shoulder is nearest) or on purpose (maybe he was being an asshole or had pushed her away so she tried her best to find a new pillow that wouldn’t upset her Lieutenant) I think he’d be so jealous and his feelings would come to the forefront and he’d have to confront them.

I also think it could be a cute idea for Simon to like prohibit her from sleeping on his shoulder and so on the mission she literally can’t sleep at all. She struggles and tries, just lays quietly while they sleep so as not to bother them, but she can’t get comfortable, needs the warmth and something softer than the ground to curl up into and lay her head on. This unexpected consequence takes a toll on Simon, as he sees how exhausted and frustrated she is - he’s pissed off that he cares about this beyond the possible impact on the mission. He’s also impressed but also saddened by how she’s trying to push through the mission even though she’s so much less experienced and is getting less rest than any of them.

Maybe these could be combined and that’s why she ended up falling asleep on someone else? Like she’s so tired her body draws her to the nearest willing shoulder.

Anyway just some fun ideas! I hope you’re well 🩷

One, so sad you don't write yourself. You 100% should, I love your brain. I hope you're well too

Two, I hope this is up to yalls standards. Sorry its so long. I watched two movies making this, i got distracted 😋😋 :>>>

Not proofread 🤕

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

After two years of being with the team, it almost became ritual for presents for either you or Ghost to be a collection of the two of you together, one sleep or both.

You thought it was a cute tradition. It was something you almost looked forward to, more than clothes or jewelry or trinkets. It was your favorite gift and you wouldn't trade not one photo for anything else.

But cute was not something Ghost was akin to. It was kind of the... opposite of Ghost. He was a hardened, seasoned soldier, not some fluffy pillow you could kick back on.

Yes, maybe he let you lay on his lap sometimes, and maybe you've gone to him for comfort on more than one occasion, hugging him tightly, blubbering sorrys and other apologies.

He never cooed at you, reassured you, or even hugged you back... but he let you mush your tiny face into his chest whenever life got too much for you.

Maybe it was after a mission, maybe days after and the memories came back. He'd been through it himself, he knew the feeling. Only he didn't have anyone to lean on, so maybe you leaning on him gave him some sort of closure. He doesn't know, he doesn't really think about it. He can't, not with his life on the line almost everyday and yours. It was a distraction, wasted time he simply didn't have.

So, like any sane person with having good literally put in front of them, he pushed you away. He kept his distance, kept you off his shoulder, because whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was growing... fond of you. Not attached. Merely... tolerant of you-- your behavior-- and that in of itself was dangerous. Fondness, trust, softness, got you killed in the field.

You didn't even notice at first, too caught up with each grueling mission. You were sputtering, running on the last fumes of your gas. Sleep didn't come easy when you were being shot at, yelled at, and pulled onto yet another plane.

But here... it's cold. And cold makes you unnaturally sleepy. It was something you've known about yourself since childhood. When it got cold, you got sleepy. That's just how it's always been. And now, in the Candian cold, in the less than warm safe house, you were getting tired.

You had last watch with Johnny, Kyle and Price first, Ghost and Price after.

Lounging on the cushy couch the safe house provided, curled up in one of the few blankets, you leaned to the side, Ghost's shoulder the comfortable pillow you remember. You yawn, nuzzling a little closer before your eyes open again.

His finger on the side of your head, pushed you away, moving you closer to Johnny before removing himself from the couch entirely.

He didn't even bother looking at you.

You frowned, watching him walk further and further away. He walked until he was completely out of your eyesight, making your frown droop even more.

You were pulled out of the sad fog by Soap. He shook you slightly, wrapping his arm around your smaller body.

"'S okay bonnie. He's usually a prick." Johnny assures with a small smile, pulling you closer as you surrendered to the fate that was Soap's shoulder.

It was warm, soft, nice. But not Ghost warm, soft, nice. Simon wasn't just warm, he was a fucking furnace, constantly burning, a crackling fire that lulled you to sleep. And he wasn't soft, he was fluff you melt into, like that one pillow you got and can only find cheap replacements for because others are too firm. And godforbid someone call his shoulder just nice. His presence, scent, the way his breath was its own type of calming was just... perfect. Soap was just... just mediocre. But it would have to do because it didn't seem like Ghost was gonna return anytime soon and you needed sleep.

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

When Ghost had left he wasn't prepared for the anger, the fury that bubbled in his chest seeing you asleep on someone else, let alone cuddled up to fucking Johnny on the small couch. Laying on top of him like he was the softest bed you've made contact with.

He squinted his eyes at the sight, his balled up fists itching for a throwing knife. He couldn't see your bunched up face, contorted in agony because Soap, as big as he was, just wasn't thick enough to sink into. It was more uncomfortable than you would've liked to admit. Bless Soap's poor, sad face if he ever found out he wasn't comfortable enough for his favorite lass.

Ghost stormed out again, standing in the cold silently as his entire body heated up with annoyance, and anger, and every other synonym of the two.

He was on watch now, even though his mind was clouded with images of you and someone else.

You, you, you.

You and someone else.

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

A soft shake jolted you awake, a knife in your hand before you registered the soft, amused smile and eyes of your captain.

"Easy there." He said, helping you up, watching as you stretched and groaned, cracking your neck, Johnny still out cold.

"Sorry. Force of habit." You say with a sheepish smile, looking around the ever quiet room. You caught Ghost's eyes before quickly looking away, the look in his eyes nothing short of barely controlled rage.

You didn't know how you'd made him mad, but he looked angry. Angrier than when he chewed you out for sleeping on him your very first mission.

"No need to apologize." He continues before shaking Johnny awake too.

When Johnny finally sat up-- having to be promptly smacked awake-- Price informed the two of you that you were now on watch.

You went to the window, looking out at the quiet snow that fell in unique snowflakes, catching up with its brothers and sisters, quietly laying next to its family before watching another fall.

The house was quiet, aside from Price's unbridled snores and Gaz soft muses in his sleep. You don't know where Ghost went off too, probably the very back room to lie down.

You couldn't take the silence anymore as you finally looked at Soap, beckoning him over to talk.

Your whispers surely too quiet to wake anyone else in the house. It was only the drop of something heavy that finally pulled your head up from snickering with Soap, shattering the bubble of silence that seemed to envelope the house.

You turned, watching Ghost angrily arrange fire in the small hearth. He didn't look at you again, glaring at an oblivious Soap as the both of you made your way over, watching the lieutenant work.

"What're ya doin' Lt.?" Soap asks, looking into the fireplace.

You looked too, focusing more on the hands that worked than the actual work.

"Fuck does it look like Johnny?" Ghost said, snappier than usual.

"Why're you fillin' up the fireplace?" You ask, looking to an offended Soap and back to the pile of neatly arranged logs.

"Can't have you fallin' asleep on watch." He answers gruffly, throwing a match into the fire. His 'you' sounding like sin. Reprimand.

Soap was too enamored with the fire to question Ghost's words. Not cryptic, but unusual.

"I wouldn't fall asleep on watch-" you say in an offended tone before he cuts in.

"But you fall asleep in the cold." He says, clipped and clearly aggravated. Accusatory, like he shouldn't know that.

You stare up a him blankly, watching his eyes. Watching him watch you with the same blank look.

"How-" you start to question before he checks your shoulder, knocking you into Johnny, pulling the Scottish man back to reality. Soap pulls a rattled you back to the window, looking out at the soft, untouched snow, mindlessly continuing the conversation from before.

But him-- his words rattled around in your brain as the other man talked, his words going in one ear and out the other as Ghost's words floated around the empty space between your ears. Just him, his words, the fire that crackled behind him.

Him, him, him.

Him and his words.

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

You were finally relieved from duty as the sun started to come up, making the snow sparkle. The sun itself tinting the sky pink and orange and red, painting the sky picturesque.

You looked away from its beauty solemnly as everyone else started to wake. You turned away, stretching again before watching the others work, looking like little ants. The thought made you smile, giggling to yourself and putting you in good spirits, something unusual from the usual bite you had in the mornings. They weren't your thing.

The rest of the task force looks at you before you just wave them off, helping with breakfast.

Price talks as the rest eat.

"Evac comes at noon, be packed up and ready by then. We have new leads to follow, so wake up." He says, a pointed look at the ever groggy Johnny. You'd say he slept as much as you, if not more on leave.

You snicker, elbowing softly. The deathly glare he gives you makes you laugh more.

Gaz starts to laugh too, seemingly more amused by how tickled you looked with Johnny than Johnny himself.

Ghost is quiet, not bothering to join in with the happy that seemed to surround you indefinitely. The sunlight crept in through the windows, shining on you softly as you literally glowed in his eyes. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes sit before opening them again. But there you sat, smile on your mouth, cheeks tinted red from laughing, your eyes crinkled in amusement, and you-- glowing.

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

The ride back was boisterous. Well, for four out of the six people aboard it. Price and Gaz laughing, Soap-- in a better mood-- making even the pilot laugh.

But you sat alone on the other side, right in front of Ghost. You tried to sit next to him, catch up on some sleep before being deployed again, but he had sat his pack in the chair next to him, not even sparing you a glance. His jaw was clenched shut, eyes burning a hole in the side of plane.

You said nothing, walking past him and past the rest before settling on the other side. Right in front of Ghost. The silence around you deafening, the tension in between tense enough to be cut with your nails.

No one said anything, no one even looked at you two, too caught up in their own jokes and theatrics.

Luckily for you, it was a short ride back to Washington.

You'd been up on more missions than usual, which meant you'd been up for longer than usual. The sleep you got with Soap had been the most you'd gotten over a week. You'd only slept 4 hours.

The promise of a proper bed and food that wasn't MREs was the only thing fueling your near empty tank. Probably everyone else's too.

When you finally landed at base, debriefed, and ate, you were finally permitted to sleep. You couldn't even make it to your room before you crashed on the couch in the secluded area that was reserved for the 141. Soap and Gaz were already there, playing a card game.

A head peaked over one of the couches. Ghost. You took the seat next to Price, watching him read a little before scooting closer and laying on his shoulder.

You settle next to him, getting a small smile in return.

"Tired?" Price asks, looking you over before turning the page.

"Mhm." You mumble, noncommittal.

You look around for a moment, taking in the happy that enveloped the two men before switching over to Ghost who looked at you. Finally, you think.

You aren't sure why you wanted him to look at you, but he had been avoiding you since.. well yesterday. You were too tired to notice it, but now that you think about it, he hasn't talked to you in mayb a week, besides barking orders and that time by the fire.

You huff softly, shifting closer to the captain. He leaned back, wrapping an arm around you. He smelled like cigar smoke and... well, warm. Maybe Old Spice.

You drifted off to sleep, the last thing you saw being Ghost's skull balaclava. It was seared into the back of your eyelids as you closed them, trying to find solace in your dreams.

It never came.

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

You awoke by yourself, passed out on the couch. You rubbed your eyes, lifting up and rubbing at the crick in your neck.

You found a mass of black in front of you. You were startled to say the least, pinching yourself to make sure it wasn't a dream.

It wasn't.

You looked up, catching Ghost again.

Looking away, you yawned, fighting the tiredness again. You couldn't get proper sleep anywhere.

A voice cut through your thoughts. Gruff, demanding, definite.

"Enjoying yourself?" It asked.

You looked back to Ghost, watching his mask move slightly.

"What?" You say, still a bit dazed from the short nap. You took a glance around the room. Cards discarded on a table some way off, Price's book discarded on the table in-between the two sofas.

"Sleeping around, I mean." He says, voice deeper than usual. He was ticked off.

Why?

"Sleeping-- what?" You ask again, offended, angry, annoyed. What the fuck was this man's game? Why was he bothering playing games with you in the fist place?

"First Soap, then Price. Who's next? Gaz?" He asks, glaring at you.

"What are you talking about?" You demand now, sitting up properly.

"I'm talking about you sleeping with everyone."

Your brain takes a moment to catch up before glaring at him.

"You mean on them? Because I'm tired? Because I've been up for 84 fucking hours, I think I deserve sleep." You spit out.

"On them, with them, same difference." He comments nonchalantly.

"Uhm, no. Not the same thing." You argue, eyeing him like he's grown a third head.

"They are to me."

".... Are- Ghost, are you jealous?" You ask, not expecting an answer.

He scoffs like it's the most ridiculous thing in the world, but his eyes tell-- scream a different story to you.

"You are." You laugh.

"I'm not. You're.. you're ridiculous." He says, scoffing again.

"No. I'm right. You are jealous."

"Uhm, no. I'm not." He reiterates.

"Yeah, you are." You say, full on smiling now.

He doesn't answer you a third time, opting to just look at you blankly, hoping his jealousy couldn't be seen through his mask.

It wasn't, but it was easily spotted through his eyes.

He huffed again, leaning back into the couch, crossing his arms.

"Fine. I'll only... sleep with you, if you apologize." You finally say after a moment of too long silence.

"Apologize?" He says, clearly annoyed at the prospect. "For what?"

"Do you really want me to go down the list?"

F"Go on." He taunts.

"One, for ignoring me for no reason. Two, for being jealous for no reason and making me lose out on sleep. Three, making me lose out on sleep when I could've used it. Four--"

"Okay. I get it. Jesus." He huffs again, his arms crossing tighter.

"Apologize." You say again.

He gives you a look, eyeing you like you've just spoken blasphemy.

You give him a look like you're not playing.

"...." He tsks audibly, opening his legs slightly for comfortability.

You raise an eyebrow, narrowing your eyes at him.

He clears his throat, his leg bouncing for a second. "And.. me..." He clears his throat again. "You only sleep with me. Okay?" He says, his authoritive voice back on.

"Mhm. I'll only sleep with you. Simon." You taunt.

"Me, and my shoulder." He continues, eyeing you seriously.

"Mhm."

"Good." He huffs out one last time before leaving.

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

"He said that? Him and his shoulder?"

"Mhm. Cause he knows what's good for him." You nod, eating a bit more.

"Okay girl. Okay." Gaz concedes, picking off your plate before recoiling when you smack his hand.

"What're you two on?" Ghost asks, eyeing Gaz.

"She's all yours man." Gaz says, raising his hands in surrender.

Ghost's eyes narrow, eyeing you after.

You only shrug, leaning on his shoulder. Pre-deployment nap after eating? Hell yeah.

[sayyestoheav3nn]

Withered 🥀

roman x black!oc

warnings: angst

word count: 1.1k

a/n: this is short i wrote a few days ago. been sitting on it and debating if it’s even worth posting… but, my goal this summer is to put my writing insecurities aside, and push myself…so, here we are lol.

if you would like to be added to my tag list, click here :)

“It’s always going to be her…isn’t it?”

Roman remained silent as his fingers slowly unclenched the doorknob. His gaze redirected back to his wife who now had tears forming in her eyes.

“Amara….”

“It doesn’t matter how many times I apologize…or try to fix things…” He watched as her fingers trembled while she nervously fiddled with her wedding ring, her voice was low and strained. 

He lowered his head as he ran his hand down his beard, “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth….that you want her not me,” her soft voice broke as she began to wipe tears from her eyes. 

The truth was something he had been refusing to admit or acknowledge for a while now. He wasn’t just lying to his wife…he was lying to himself.

If he was being completely honest, there wasn’t a fucking day that went by where he didn’t think of her. He missed waking up and looking into those beautiful hazel eyes that bore into his soul, or feeling her curls on his chest as he ran his fingers across her soft skin.

She was the only person who managed to make him smile when his life went to shit. The night he told her his last goodbye in an attempt to save his marriage, was easily one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do. Months have passed since he’d last seen her, and every day he wonders if she thinks of him as much as he does of her. His chest grows heavy at the thought of her finding someone and moving on, though deep down he knows it’s what she deserves. He wants her to be happy. Yet, a selfish part of him, wants to be the only man to give her that.

He memorized the saltiness of her tears as he kissed her for the last time. He lost count at the amount of sinful nights they spent entangled with one another, never forgetting the way she held him close as he fucked her like no one else but them existed. From the moment Mia whispered her name in his ear, he was enamored with her. What started as a distraction and resentment towards his wife, turned into something completely different. 

Something that would change him forever.

Amara studied him in disbelief, her bottom lip trembled as her tears increased, his silence said more than words ever could. Yet, that wasn't enough, she needed to hear the words leave his mouth, “Roman, answer me. Just fucking say it!”

She watched as he sat at the edge of the bed, his gaze focused on the ground as his jaw clenched the way it usually does when he’s stressed or pissed. Something that once turned her on, now made her sick to her stomach. 

Her anger and frustration grew to the point where she began to march in front of him, forcing him to look at her, “You’re really going to let that whore get in between us?”

At that his attention was fully on her, irritation quickly forming on his face, “Don’t do that shit.”

“Don’t do w—”

“You don’t get to make her the villain, our relationship was fucked before I met her. You did that Amara, not her.”

She knelt in front of him placing her shaky hand over his, “You said you’d give me a chance, that—that you’d give us a chance—”

“Amara, all we do is fucking fight. It’s clear that you don’t trust me, and that I don’t trust you...”

“I—I can’t lose you…I love you.”

He chuckled humorlessly, “Then where the hell was that love when you decided to fuck my cousin, huh?’’

Her eyes instantly shut, “Roman, if I could take it back, I would.”

“But, you can’t can you?” He jerked his hand away, “He was like a brother to me… do you know how that fucking feels?”

Amara sat on the floor pulling her knees towards her chest, her tears and sobs no longer held back, “I can’t turn back time and undo what I did, I—I don’t know what else to do… just tell me, tell me and I’ll do it.”

Seeing his wife cry, hurt him. But, sleeping with one of the closest people to him, someone who he truly believed would be by his side till the day he died, was something he finally realized was unforgivable. 

The situation between them was to the point of no return. What they had was toxic and unhealthy. A part of him will always have love for her, and it’s for that exact reason he needed to do what was best for them. 

He needed to leave, and this time for good. 

Roman reached out a hand towards her helping her to get back on her feet. She looked up at him slightly confused. He used his thumbs to wipe her mascara stained tears. Her eyes locked on his as he used his fingers to gently hold up her chin.

“I tried to forgive you, Amara, I really did. But, I can’t…just the thought of you and him, hurts me in the worst fucking way imaginable…” 

She held him tightly as she began to sob into him, Roman’s hand held the back of her head as he pulled her closer, “That doesn’t change the fact that I hurt you too. I shouldn’t have gotten revenge, you didn’t deserve that either. I don’t think the love I have or had for you will ever just disappear, but we can—”

“Then why can’t you fight for us?” Amara let go of him, slowly pulling away to look him in his eyes, “Don’t tell me that…that you love her?”

His eyes closed, “It’s not that simple…”

“Leave.”

“What?”

She reached for the nearest lamp quickly throwing it in his direction, missing him by literal inches, “Get the fuck away from me!”

The damage between their marriage was irreversible, there was no point in arguing anymore. He didn’t say a word and turned to walk away, her sharp voice cut through the room, “When you walk out that door…there’s no turning back. We’re done.”

Roman paused before slowly walking back towards her, he carefully placed his wedding ring on the nightstand next to her, “Our marriage died a long time ago. I was just too fucking blind to see it…”

[camficdiner]

i love the way you set this up! could i order [1.2] [2.3] [3.6 soft smut)] [4.3]?

☕️ Cam’s Fic Diner — Order 037

🍒 thank you!

To whoever requested this, you’ve got a heart of gold and a soft spot for broken boys just like me 🥹

Thank you for trusting me with your vision — I hope this gave you all the late-night ache, soft hands, and whispered *“stay”*s you were hoping for.

You’re always welcome back at the Diner 🤍

💬 “The Only Place I’m Still Me”

✨ description & prompts:

– character: Quinn Hughes

– prompt: Late night confession after a loss

– wc: ~.1.1k

– type: soft smut, emotional hurt/comfort, post-season breakdown

🧁✨🛼🍒

You weren’t expecting him tonight.

In fact, you were already in bed. The soft glow of your bedside lamp was the only light in the apartment when the knock came—tentative, uncertain, like whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure they had the right to be there.

You open the door barefoot, heart still settling from the silence. And then you see him.

Quinn.

Soaked from the rain. Hoodie pulled over messy curls. Shoulders hunched. Hands trembling, even in the sleeves of his jacket.

He doesn’t say a word. Just looks at you.

You don’t need him to. You step aside.

He steps in.

⸻

He sits on the edge of your couch like he’s afraid he might break it. Or himself.

You wrap a blanket around his shoulders and crouch in front of him.

“Quinn,” you say gently, voice steady. “Talk to me.”

He doesn’t. Not right away.

The silence stretches until you feel it start to ache in your chest.

Then, suddenly—

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he says. “Everyone else just wants to talk about the game.”

You nod once, waiting.

“They ask questions like I’m not a person. Like I’m just the fucking captain. Like I’m supposed to stand there with my chin up and smile while I get torn apart on camera.”

His voice is sharp. Bitter. But beneath it, you hear the crack.

“I’m so tired,” he says. “I’m so goddamn tired.”

⸻

You don’t say anything. Just reach for his hand.

He lets you hold it.

You squeeze. “You don’t have to be anything here.”

He looks at you, eyes rimmed red. “I don’t think anyone gives a shit about my happiness.”

Your thumb brushes over his knuckles. “I do.”

A beat.

“I miss who I was with you,” he says. “When it didn’t feel like the weight of the city was on my back. When it was just… quiet.”

You lean in, press your forehead to his. “Then stay. Be that person here.”

His breath stutters.

⸻

Later, in your room, you help him out of his wet clothes.

He doesn’t touch you like a man hungry.

He touches you like he’s scared he forgot how.

Your hands move slowly over his chest, his arms, his back. You trace every scar with reverence.

“Is this okay?” you whisper, fingertips just under the hem of his shirt.

He nods.

But when you pull the shirt over his head and his skin is bare, he closes his eyes like it hurts.

“Quinn,” you say, softly. “Look at me.”

He does.

And you see him there—really see him. Broken down, exhausted, drowning in pressure and expectation, but still him. Still Quinn.

“You’re safe here,” you tell him. “With me.”

⸻

He kisses you like he’s trying to remember how.

His lips are soft and desperate. Your hands find his jaw, thumb brushing along his cheek.

“You’re allowed to fall apart,” you whisper into his mouth.

He nods, and then he falls.

Right into you.

⸻

The sex is slow. Gentle. Emotional.

Quinn lays you down like you’re made of glass. His hands tremble as he touches you, memorizing the shape of your body like it’s the only real thing left.

You undress each other between soft breaths and tangled limbs. There’s no rush. Only feeling.

When he enters you, he gasps—like relief.

You hold his face the entire time.

He moves carefully, reverently, hips rocking in sync with your breath.

“I missed you,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion. “God, I missed you.”

You wrap your legs around him, anchoring him.

“I’m here,” you whisper back. “I’m right here.”

He buries his face in your neck, thrusts growing deeper, more urgent—but never rough.

It’s not about fucking. It’s about coming home.

He finishes with a broken moan, your name tangled in it like a prayer. He collapses on top of you, breath ragged, tears warm against your collarbone.

⸻

You stay like that for a long time.

Breathing together.

Holding each other in the dark.

When he finally pulls back to look at you, his eyes are glassy. Vulnerable.

“I don’t want to go back to pretending,” he says quietly. “Out there, I have to be everything. For everyone. But here, with you…”

He trails off.

You smile gently. “Here, you’re just Quinn.”

⸻

The next morning, he wakes up tangled in your sheets.

Hair messy. Voice hoarse. But there’s color in his face again. Life in his eyes.

He brings you coffee—badly made, way too much sugar—but he tries.

You drink it anyway.

At the door, before he leaves, he hesitates.

Then—

“Can I come back?”

His voice is barely a whisper. “Even if I mess it all up again?”

You cup his face.

“You never have to ask.”

He kisses you—soft and sure.

Then he walks out into the daylight.

[spencilweidblog]

𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 ⊹ . ݁. ݁જ⁀➴ ♡. ݁₊ ⊹

Spencer Reid finds himself with an irregular heart rate… and not because of his injury

cw: spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader, reader has hair long enough to tuck behind ears i guess, it’s really just fluffy i think!! idk i’ve never posted my writing on here nor have i ever written x reader so please give me constructive feedback and let me know if you liked it!!!

Spencer Reid had spent his fair share of time in the hospital.

Working in the BAU alone had yielded him to countless injuries. He had been shot, caught on fire, beaten, tortured, even exposed to anthrax. All of which usually landed him in the hospital, or at least receiving a very thorough once-over from the local EMS.

This recent go around was the result of a near-fatal shot to the neck during a shootout with an unsub. But this time felt different.

Because when he blinked awake, you were there.

His whole body still felt asleep, his tongue dry. He felt a faint throbbing register in his neck, but he couldn’t focus on it. The fluorescent lights framed you like a halo as you bent down, fiddling with something on the side of the bed.

He didn’t have the energy for anything except to follow you with his eyes. He watched as you continued to work, a focused glint in your eye, your scrubs rustling slightly the only sound besides his heart monitor beeping.

When you stood again, your eyes drifted up, and he quickly realized he was staring. His first instinct was to apologize, oddly enough, but you just broke into a grin, and he swore that beeping noise was getting faster.

“Hey, Dr. Reid! You’re awake!” You smiled, leaning over to check the vitals on the screen over his shoulder. “You’re in the ICU. Do you remember what happened?”

His voice came out in a sort of croak he was immediately embarrassed by. “I was shot.”

You nodded, your smile dropping to a slightly more solemn expression. “You were. But you pulled through. I heard you made it through that surgery like a champ. Do you mind if I take a look at that incision?”

Spencer nodded weakly. When you leaned forward, your eyes focused on his neck, he allowed himself to really look at you, just for a second.

You were pretty. He honestly tried not to classify women like that— pretty and not pretty— but his brain was running low on energy with all the healing his body was doing. And he couldn’t help but notice you. It wasn’t just your appearance— it was the care in the way you moved the protective cuff off his stitches, the concentration behind your eyes, the genuine warmth in the smile you had given him when you realized he was awake.

As your gloved fingers grazed his neck, he sucked in a breath, which in turn allowed whatever sweet perfume you were wearing to make him dizzy. You withdrew your fingers, replacing the cuff with a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry,” you apologized, “It’s normal for it to be tender. Just trying to check for any bleeding or damage to the stitches, but you look great!”

You started removing your gloves, still speaking in that soft, cheery tone. “You sound hoarse. I’m gonna grab you some water. Do you need anything else?”

You turned as you finished speaking again, your eyes meeting his. He urged himself to speak.

“Do you guys have jello?” He rasped. “I love jello.”

You broke into another radiant smile, and he felt a little like he was melting. “Of course. I’ll be right back with that, okay?”

With that, you whisked out of his room, taking the light with you. He settled a little, beginning to let his mind wander now that you weren’t taking up so much of his focus. Had his team managed to apprehend the unsub? How long had he been knocked out? He knew that the typical anaesthetic wore off following surgery after a couple hours, but the body also tended to be incredibly fatigued following a severe injury, and he could have simply been resting for hours and hours and—

A knock at the door sounded, and it creaked open. You stepped inside, holding a cup of jello, a little plastic-wrapped spoon, and a styrofoam cup of water.

“Here you go!” You chirped, setting the jello on the side table and helping bring the water to his lips. He swallowed, the moisture in his mouth finally returning. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“Thank you.” he murmured softly.

“Of course.” You responded, lifting up the head of his bed as you handed him the jello. “You get the royal treatment. It’s not every day we get an FBI agent in here, you know. Let alone a doctor.”

He felt his lips curl into an involuntary smile as he shakily pulled the paper lid off his jello. “Well, I hate that you have to see me like this. I’m usually a lot more put together.”

“Oh, stop it.” You waved him off, unwrapping his spoon for him. “I think you look great. You’ll be home in no time.”

Before he knew it, nearly twenty minutes had passed with you at his bedside. The jello cup sat empty on his bedside table, and his hands moved animatedly as you smiled and nodded, listening to him ramble about the effects of dopamine on the brain and body.

He winced as he looked up at the clock. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you have other patients.”

You stood, waving him off. “You’re fine, I’ve been keeping an eye on their monitors. I’ve liked talking to you. You’re definitely my most interesting patient.”

He fought back a smile at the compliment. You turned over your shoulder as you made your way to the door. “I’ll see you soon, Dr. Reid.”

He shook his head. “You can call me Spencer.”

“Well, I’ll be back, Spencer.” You shut the door behind you.

Over the next day or two, he rested, ate more than a healthy amount of jello, and talked to you as much as he possibly could. Each morning when you came back, you greeted him with familiarity, and he fought the urge to ask for extra things just so he could get you in his room more often. He knew, logically, that you had other patients, and that your kindness to him was probably job-related. But he couldn’t deny the way his pulse was always a little faster when you were in the room, and that he looked forward to your hourly rounds.

On his last day, you came in at 7:15, grinning. “Good morning, Spencer! And I say good morning because you have gotten the all-clear from the doctor to go home!”

Inexplicably, his heart sank a little. As happy as he was to have survived his injury and healed well (he knew four days was probably a short stay for this kind of wound), he hated the idea of not seeing you anymore.

You didn’t seem to notice his shift in mood. You kept talking, hooking him up to the vitals cart. “I just need to get one last set of vitals on you and I’ll get you your paperwork. Is there anyone you need to call to come get you?”

“I’ll, uh, I can call Penelope.” He cleared his throat.

“Oh, Penelope!” You unhooked the cuff as the machine beeped. “She was so sweet. Is she your girlfriend?”

Spencer nearly choked on air. “No! No.” he responded, probably a little too quickly. “We work together. And she’s a really great friend.”

You raised your eyebrows slightly. “Well, alright then. She seems like a really good friend to have.” You wheeled the cart towards the door. “I’ll be back with your paperwork soon. Hang in there just a little longer!”

Spencer shook his head, trying to clear whatever negative feeling seemed to be stuck in his throat. He dialed Penelope’s number, and she answered quickly. Soon enough, she was at the hospital, helping pack his things.

You helped him with his discharge paperwork and gave him pamphlets about how to take care of his incision. Even after several days, he was enamored with the way you did your job with so much care. You didn’t seem like you rushed through his paperwork to get him out the door. You even brought him another cup of jello for the road.

You smiled warmly at him and Penelope as you wrapped up. “Well, I’ve really enjoyed having you! I’m so glad you’re doing better. Be careful in the field, okay? Keep saving the world.”

He smiled back at you through the ache in his chest that knew he was saying goodbye. “Thank you for everything.”

“It was no problem.” You waved as you stepped out of the room, going back to your job and your life and wherever you were that he wasn’t.

He swallowed, standing up and gathering his things. His mind was racing, and he wished silently that he could turn it off. It was time to go back, to cases and unsubs and stressors and triggers and no you no you no you—

“You totally have a crush on your nurse!” Penelope giggled, breaking the silence. “Why didn’t you ask her out?”

“What? I— well—“ Spencer spluttered. “She was just nice. Also, it would have been wildly inappropriate.”

“So you wanted to.” She retorted.

“I never said that.” He slung his bag over his shoulder, walking out of the room.

“You didn’t deny it.” Penelope teased as they walked past the nurse’s station towards the elevators. He craned his neck as they passed, his eyes scanning the staff, but he didn’t see you. He sighed, imagining you waving bye to him in front of your coworkers.

Wow, snap out of it, Reid, he reprimanded himself. You barely know her. Don’t be weird.

However, even after he was settled at home, Garcia making sure he had everything he needed before he was finally alone, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. About your jokes, your kindness. That smile.

He paced his apartment. He made tea. He read three books before he realized he wasn’t retaining any of it. He tried and tried and tried to distract himself, and none of it was working.

So, at the risk of being wildly inappropriate, he ended up outside the hospital at 6:30.

Spencer tapped his foot against the concrete as he sat on the bench, the air cooling as the sun was setting. Every time he heard the electronic whir of the sliding doors, he looked up, both hopeful and terrified that it was you. He gripped in a nervous fist a bouquet of flowers that he had picked up on the way there.

He chided himself as his watch ticked closer and closer to 7. How could he even know you would walk out this door? He didn’t know your routine. He hardly knew you. In fact, this whole thing was absurd. He probably looked like some sort of stalker, standing out here, waiting for a staff member whose job it was to be nice to him and he was probably imagining the whole—

His mind stopped. Because then, he saw you.

You looked tired. Your badge clipped to your jacket, your hair a little mussed. You were shoving your stethoscope into your shoulder bag, but he felt like he was seeing something ethereal. Beautiful. Human.

He was on his feet before he realized. When you looked up, and your eyes landed on him, he swore his heart stopped beating.

“Spencer?” You half-laughed, walking over to him. You glanced down at the flowers in his hands before looking back up at him, your face a mix between confusion and pleasant surprise. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

He suddenly felt like his tongue was tied. He had spent the past hour and a half reciting in his head what he was going to say to you, and yet in this moment, he was terrified.

He settled on extending the flowers. “I, uh, I brought these for you.”

Your brows knit together as your face softened, reaching tentatively to take them from him.

“Wow, Spencer. You really didn’t have to do that.” Your eyes were a little shiny. He realized, arbitrarily, that he hadn’t seen you while standing up yet. He was used to being beneath you, smiling up at you while you checked on him or talked to him about your day. Now, you looked… smaller. More fragile. More real.

“I just… really appreciated the way you took care of me these past few days.” He replied, rocking slightly on his feet.

“You really came all this way just to give me flowers?” You asked, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

He took a steadying breath, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Well, actually, I… I came here to ask you on a date.”

There it was. Your eyes widened, and it seemed that now you were the one at a loss for words.

“Maybe there’s a textbook somewhere saying it’s a case of transference or Florence Nightingale syndrome or some other complicated psychological term I could ramble about, but the truth is…” He paused, swallowing hard. “I’ve been thinking about you since I left. A lot. And I didn’t want to leave things at just ‘thank you.’ And if you don’t feel the same way, I completely understand, and I will never come back here again, I promise—“

“Spencer.” You cut off his rapid train of speech, and he exhaled, his heart thudding out of his chest.

“Yeah?”

“I would love to.”

Oh. Fireworks were erupting somewhere behind his sternum, and he laughed a little in disbelief. “Really?”

You beamed. “Of course.” You reached into your bag, pulling out a crumpled up sticky note. You smoothed it out, passing it over with a shy smile. “I wrote this to give to you this morning and chickened out.”

His eyes scanned over it. Your handwriting scribbled on that wrinkled yellow paper, saying: “Spencer, if you ever need a follow-up, or just want to talk” followed by your phone number and a smiley face.

He was sure his cheeks were going to split open. He couldn’t figure out how to express the joy he was feeling, so he settled on: “How’s Friday?”

“Friday sounds amazing.” You zipped your bag back up, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “See you soon, Dr. Reid.”

And with that, you walked toward your car, shooting one last glance over your shoulder. And Spencer watched you, reminded of all the dopamine flooding his nervous system.

A/N: HEYYYY if you read this thank you so much i am terrified to put this on here. please let me know what you think i LOVE nurse!reader !!!! also this is so self-indulgent and i can’t bring myself to care so

[minaminokyoko]

Oh, thank FUCKING God, someone put the entire list in one post.

So, mates, when you've heard me say "Fuck Ross Geller" over the years, here's the actual factual breakdown of why you hear me say that every single time it comes across my Dash. He's a toxic sack of crap wrapped inside a safe "comedy" cocoon. We need to call out his shitty ass fucking behavior every time. Do not give him a pass just because he's on an excellent, funny (though obviously problematic) show because the intent is comedy. Ross was fucking toxic as hell and even though I personally don't like Rachel, I hated the ending for her. No. You can do better than Ross. Ross never wanted her to succeed and only wanted her to live under his thumb, so it's totally fine if you are still a fan, but don't deny his toxic fucking behavior. Just don't. The show being funny does not erase all of those emotional abuse tactics.

Oh, and I wanna add on a couple more than have always bothered the living shit out of me.

Joey started dating a gorgeous smart black woman who happens to be in a similar field or same field to Ross. Ross proceeds to start slowly seducing her away and lying to Joey about it the entire time, eventually being so bold as to condescendingly insist that Joey is "too stupid" to date a smart woman like her. Class. Fucking. Act.

And the last example I wanted to add to the list is the one that stuck in my craw the most other than him abusing Rachel for years: when Joey was fired from his soap opera and out of work, Chandler couldn't get him to accept money due to his pride, so Chandler then pretends to teach Joey how to play poker and just lies and says Joey is just really good at it, so he "wins" the money AND it doesn't hurt his feelings. Joey accidentally gets overconfident from "beating" Chandler all the time, so he plays Ross. Ross doesn't know Chandler's plan and takes all the money Chandler technically gave to Joey. Chandler then goes to Ross and explains, asking him to lose a game so that Joey can have the money to, you know, pay his fucking bills and be able to fucking eat.

Ross proceeds to refuse to give the money back to neither Chandler nor Joey.

Ross. Is. Fucking. Toxic.

End of story. I'll leave this here for those of you who've always wondered why I ALWAYS reblog hatred for him. Ain't got nothing to do with him being so called "geeky" or not being conventionally attractive. His soul is ugly, and that's that.

“but ross is so funny !! hes my favourite i cant believe you hate him !!”

ross is a main character in a comedy tv show. he has to be funny. and quite frankly, making a couple of jokes every now and then means nothing when you remember

he’s homophobic

sexist

possessive of rachel

didn’t want rachel to have a life that didnt involve him

made fun of phoebes beliefs constantly 

tried to sleep with his cousin 

fatshamed monica

made monica eat fear foods and then shamed her for wanting to eat more 

didnt want his son to play with a barbie

said another womans name at the altar 

cheated on rachel

victim complex

slept with a student 

spread rumours about rachel in high school 

using his girlfriend’s biggest insecurities as reasons not to date them

was uncomfortable when rachel dated elizabeth’s dad, but said it was fine when he dated her sister because “it wasn’t weird for him” 

was completely willing to let his parents hate chandler (his sister’s boyfriend) because it meant he’d get in trouble for something he did years ago 

THE MALE NANNY

attacked rachel and phoebe to prove a point about ‘unagi’ (okay but you can tell that scene was written by a man?? if youre a woman, thats a terrifying thing to have happen to you) 

lied about the annulment 

kept a sex tape without consent (yes i know he filmed it by accident and never watched it, but he should have destroyed it as soon as he found it) 

so annoying about rachel and joey’s relationship - he made it all about himself !! it was nothing to do with him !! 

cheated on julie 

faked his death

refused to admit he did anything wrong when it came to the ‘break’ with rachel 

didnt wanna date a girl anymore when she went bald 

i feel like theres more but thats all i can think of right now. so yeah, on this page we hate ross geller <3 if you like him, stay away from me, if you kin him… yeah just never talk to me please 

[bluescreenvirus]

chaos' apology for + addressment of everything.

i am posting this for him as he is not logged in anymore and does not wish to, but this is directly copy and pasted from him. i will be posting other VERY important statements and information to help clear a few things up, especially regarding the misinfo involving sugarydeceit. i've already cleared some of that up privately, but i want it to be public info so ppl can feel secure. it may take longer than others to post due to being busy, but please keep an eye out if you could:

...

"first and foremost: i am sorry. i'm going to get into specifics but i want to preface with a blanket "i'm sorry" first.

to start, i'm sorry to ridley and friends and the ventblogs for not handling things better. i've been doing... bad, to put it lightly, ever since the document dropped. i've been unpacking nearly 8 years of constant abuse every day, and i've started taking it out on others. i have noticeably gotten worse than i used to be. which is an unfortunate part of healing. and i regret forcing the resulting harshness of my pain onto others, especially some minors. it wasn't your guys' fault for the things that happened to me, you shouldn't have been subjected to my ire. it was wrong. so again i am sincerely sorry for that.

and no, forgiveness is not my goal, i don't want anyone to demand i be forgiven or for anyone to feel obligated to forgive me. i don't have any problem getting mad at people who think it's okay to harass other people in my honor- it's not okay. it's never okay. and i'm really sorry that people did that. i'm not sure exactly what was sent to people originally, it's really hard for me to see/find things with how many people have me blocked, so i'm sorry if that apology feels too vague. but i am specifically sorry that people tried to blame ridley for me wanting to kms. it... was because of that situation, yes, but i don't want to put that on a kid, and no one else should either. especially if you're not me. why are you accusing anyone if you're not me. it's not your place. stop it.

i'm also sorry for the situation that sparked all of this. i really did believe that the ventblogs had a major problem with acting impulsively and making situations worse than they needed to be, however, i did not express that opinion in a nice way. and in the process i made people feel like i didn't care about the hate/harassment they had recieved. so i'm sincerely sorry for that, too.

i'm also sorry for bringing up kitty genovese. it was NEVER my intention to trivialize a rape+murder, i had hoped that would be obvious, but i saw that it wasn't and became angrier instead of calmly explaining what i meant. i only referenced kitty genovese in regards to the bystander effect- i know many in this fandom are young, so it's possible people googled her and saw a rape+murder case and took what i said very wrong. which i understand. if you don't know, kitty genovese is the main example used in every study of something called "the bystander effect", that's why i brought up the case. i felt the bystander effect applied to what i was experiencing. but it would've been better to just say the bystander effect, rather than assume everyone knew who kitty genovese was and the studies that stemmed from her case. i'm sorry again for all of that.

now i just. want to try and explain some things, if i may? i know people don't particularly want to listen to me anymore, so if you want to just stop reading at the apology, feel free. that's why i've separated the two. if you do choose to stop reading what i have to say here, i wish you well.

it was never ever my intention to make ridley feel attacked/endangered by me. i was just really, really scared, when i saw that ridley was sharing sugarydeceits/sweetfuls/lopsys lies about me, and people were believing them.

sugarydeceit has been harassing my partner and i for months- over half a year, actually, and has a history of doxxing people and sharing their names publicly. it even took one of the people to court, lio convoy, who i don't like as a person obviously, but sugarydeceit did take him to court. you can even find the recording of it on youtube. sugarydeceit has threatened to do the same thing with me many times. i've been careful to hide my personal information but even then it's not a guarantee of my safety. so i freaked out, and tunnel-visioned, because i need to keep myself and my partner safe from sugarydeceit. and any support it gets emboldens it to send us threats of death, harm, and other horrible things. i already woke up to some anons from it today because of all of this. [pictured below] having support has made it brave again when i had just finally gotten it to back off again a few days ago because it was stupid enough to insult sugar's grief about his dying great grandfather.—

[anon hate as a result of the mention of sugary deceit pictured above, one even targeting chaos abuse from KC by saying "go cuddle your little sis." not blaming anyone of course, this is only the fault of those who sent these anons.]

—that's why i wanted the posts taken down, on top of the fact that the information was untrue/exaggerated, which i'm sure sugar addressed in this post already. the posts put me and sugar in danger, the posts got us harassed- like i knew they would. i felt powerless and miserable and i didn't know what to do anymore. i really was making plans on how to kill myself because i thought it was over for me. i wasn't going to survive if the whole fandom began supporting my stalker, so i was in... survival mode, i guess. in that moment i wished i was back in the zcp. and i still kind of feel like that. it was abuse, but at least i didn't know that it was. it was a comfortable kind of misery. maybe that's just some weird kind of stockholm syndrome, i don't know.

i never want to come back to this fandom. it's absolutely mortifying to have my 'friends' all outcast and hate me for nearly 8 years, only to find a place i thought was safe, and then have the same exact thing happen. i haven't felt safe here ever since i was harassed for saying i didn't have enough information to pick sides in the maxim vs ridley situation, and then maxim himself was horrible to me in a way i can't address publicly right now, and then all of this. just being here scares me. all of anticare scares me. that's why i told people to not interact or use my ocs anymore. i was scared and just wanted to be left alone. it wasn't a personal attack against anyone, or me trying to invalidate previous support, i just had too many bad experiences that traumatized me and triggered me. i'm never even going to be able to release my own statement about my abuse because i'm terrified of the fandom picking it apart to try and invalidate me, or using the personal nature of the content to send me crueler targetted harassment, or just not caring.

i do have some involvement in the doc. i provided them with a fair amount of information considering my past proximity to kc, and i was able to confirm/deny things they were unsure about. i was going to have a section about my abuse, but i pulled out of adding it. so please don't discredit the entire doc just because you hate me. there are real predators, and real extremely damning pieces of evidence, addressed within it. and some other victims still made the choice to include their stories. so if you care about the other victims you'll spread it and support it. please.

the only further 'involvement' i'm probably ever going to have is boosting the doc when it comes out and answering any questions about it though i doubt i'll get any and i don't think i want to put them in the tag if i do answer any. if anything questions should be directed toward the doc blog and if they need an answer from me they'll ask me and parrot what i say.

the support was nice while it lasted and i appreciate it. but i can't be here anymore. and i would appreciate it if people just stopped talking about me so i don't have to be terrified of being put in danger when i can't defend myself. but i can't demand anything. i just hope someone will listen.

and i have changed my mind to agree with aobasgirlfriend, another victim, who iirc felt as though this comic shouldn't have a fandom anymore. i understand that point of view now. i don't think it should have a fandom anymore either. too many people were hurt using it, me included. i think everyone left should move on and let it die. there's nothing good that will come from staying. nothing at all.

if there's anything i've forgotten to address or apologize for, you can send it to bluescreenvirus because i'm logging out for an undetermined amount of time.

goodbye." — chaosblasts

[a-random-british-top-hat]

Never posted ace attorney to this blog as it started out as moomin, then star trek, really it's just whatever the hell I like at that time but you know what, this is Tumblr, it's a dumpster fire, and so is my blog, so here!

Pride art for Ace Attorney! Aka the gay lawyer game(s)

If you don't agree with my headcanons, please be nice, please

Left to right-

Nahyuta Sahdmadhi- Non binary, ace and omni

Simon Blackquill- Demi-boy, ace, gay

Bobby Fulbright- Just gay

Athena Cykes- Aroace

Diego Armando/Godot- Straight or bi-curious with his pan/poly gf

Mia Fey- Pansexual and poly but she thought she was bi so Maya made her some pins

Lana Skye- LESBIAN absolutely lesbian

Klavier Gavin- Look, I'd say probably bi cuz of the classic "Never felt this way about a man..." But as a trans guy, I just really love seeing gay men like trans guys, like fully gay men, never with women romantically, loving their trans boyfriends, so, gay, also probably vaguely gender non conforming

Apollo Justice- Trans and gay, boy just over compensates so hard with his fake girlfriend that I think he's gay, just the "NO I'M NOT GAY!" type of in denial gay guy. Also, separate but related, he started Chords of Steel when he began testosterone so he could still yell in court with fewer voice cracks

Phoenix Wright- Bi, just bi maybe ace because lolz

Miles Edgeworth- Gay and demisexual, is the demi because I relate to him a bit too hard? Yes, but also, demi

Franziska von Karma- Lesbian

Maya Fey- Sapphic!

Also Kristoph in the corner- gay, just a failure though, also maybe aroace spec, idk

And that's all, I may post more ace attorney art in the future, idk but pride art! Also I really need to draw DGS stuff too, I need to do the great ace attorney, man...

P.S. I have not posted properly in a VERY long time cuz life and no motivation, so sorry about that, have this ridiculously long one to make up for it

P.S.S. I reached 30 tags for the first time, jeez

[zazaiafe2]

How to induce lucid dreaming?? For who never induced it.

I had prepared a post this morning about this so I will answer you right here.

Are you struggling to shift ? And are you having trouble with lucid dreams?

Here’s a nearly foolproof method based on micro-awakenings.

-> It’s inspiredm by the research of Michael Raduga ("The Phase").

If you already have lucid dreams but have never managed to shift through them,

I invite you to check out my latest blog on lucid dreaming:

"How to shift through lucid dreams."

It's this book

1) Who is this method for?

- For those who haven't managed to shift yet

- For those who struggle with lucid dreaming

- For those interested in entering a lucid dream

No need to have already succeeded.

This method puts you in the ideal state to shift from a lucid dream

(and even just to enter a lucid dream)

2) Before sleeping: prepare your body and mind

✅ 1 hour before sleeping, avoid:

– Screen

– Sugar

– Caffeine

→ Basically, anything stimulating

✅ Do some light stretching

✅ Drink a bit of water

✅ Read a book or relax

✅ Listen to theta or alpha waves or brown noise

Here are some examples of what you can listen to

3) Programmed wake-up: WBTB

Set an alarm 6 hours after going to bed

(or adjust according to your sleep rhythm)

This is the "Wake Back To Bed" technique

-> You’ll wake up on purpose at the right moment in your cycle

4) What to do when you wake up?

When the alarm rings:

– ❌ Don’t look at your phone except to turn off the alarm

– ✅ Get up slowly

– ✅ Do a calm activity (3minimum to 50 minutes max):

-> go to the bathroom, drink some water, walk a bit

-> Dim light, silence, no screen,

you can meditate a bit or do guided breathing once you got up.

5) Back to bed + clear intention

Lie down in a comfortable position

Close your eyes and mentally repeat:

-> "At the next micro-awakening, I will stay still and have a lucid dream."

Or any other affirmation that resonates with you.

You're preparing your mind to catch a natural micro-awakening.

6) What is a micro-awakening?

It’s when you wake up very briefly during the night, sometimes:

– Because it’s cold

– You roll over

– You pull the blanket

But you fall back asleep quickly…

-> On average, you have 4 to 6 per night

This is the key to entering a lucid dream

quite easily, even for people who are really struggling

7) How to use it to induce a lucid dream?

When you feel a micro-awakening:

-> Do not move! Keep your eyes closed.

Then apply one of the following techniques (choose according to your style) ->

8) When you realize you are in a lucid dream:

-> Stabilize the dream (look at your hands, rub them, touch the ground)

-> Then use your preferred method to shift from the dream

-> I invite you to check out my video where I talk about techniques to shift from a lucid dream

1️⃣ Quick visualization:

-> Imagine yourself in your dream, walking or touching something.

-> Add sound, movement, and sensations.

2️⃣ Rolling out of the body (OBE style):

-> Imagine that you're rolling or sliding out of your bed or your body.

-> Do it as a mental movement, not a physical one.

3️⃣ Direct auto-suggestion:

-> Say mentally:

-> "I am lucid now."

-> "I am dreaming."

And observe if an image or scene starts to form.

9) Small tip:

- Don't force yourself: gentleness= efficiency . If after one or two minutes in your micro-awakening you're still not in a dream, go back to sleep and try again at the next micro awakening.

- Even if you don’t shift, you're training your brain.

-Consistency > perfection.

- And if you have a false awakeningor a normal dream, .stay in the flow.

Everything brings you closer to shifting and/or lucid dreaming.

10) A few small things to do to increase your chances:

1) Write down your dreamsand train yourself to remember them.

2) Set a positive intention before sleeping, before going back to sleep, and at each micro-awakening.

3) Analyze your dreams(why such and such events appear).

4) Create anchors (like reality checks, for example).

Happy shifting