#nine in the after​ queue

[spockvarietyhour]

Parallels and Divergences "Before and After" & "Year of Hell Pt. 1"

[slavhew]

28/01/2024

stars don't twinkle moon doesn't shine

big thanks to @nahrgles for finishing this for me after i hit a wall with colors bg and effects- chromatic aberration blew my fkn mind

pre edit transparent version under cut because i spent too much time cleaning it loll

[kohakhearts]

now that the insomnia fic is finished i can focus on the other fics i want to write but one of them is huge. giant. and here i am. writing it for a silly little rarepair

[it-begins-with-rain]

.

[hermitadaymay]

WELCOME TO HERMIT-A-DAY MAY 2025!

Another year, another Hermit-a-Day May! I'm so thrilled to be able to bring this event to you all for the third year in a row.

THE RULES: 1. Any type of fanwork is welcome so long as it features, or is otherwise inspired by, the Hermit of the day. 2. Tag #hermitaday to have your fanwork reblogged, or submit it directly to the blog (Please note that while we recognize the value of fanworks involving more mature themes, and they can certainly count toward challenge completion if you're keeping track for yourself, content on this blog will be kept "PG-13" so that all may enjoy.). 3. Fanworks for one Hermit posted after the day rolls over to another Hermit's day (per the US Central time zone) will be reblogged in one big queue in June. 4. Traced or stolen work is NOT welcome. If we discover you have posted traced or stolen work, you will be given one chance to delete it and apologize, or you will be blacklisted from the blog. AI-generated/assisted pieces are similarly unwelcome and will not be featured on the blog. 5. We are not interested in seeing captions or tags in which you disparage your art/skills, and will not be reblogging posts where this happens. We're all improving all the time. Be kind to yourselves. 6. Technically not a rule, but we strongly recommend adding alt text or description to all images. Click here to learn more about writing alt text - it's pretty easy!

WHY SHOULD I PARTICIPATE? To show love to every Hermit, from the most to least subscribed, from those who have been on the server from day one to those who only joined this season! And because challenges are fun! And because we are once again out here for a good cause: we're running another fundraiser for Gamers Outreach, featuring art incentives by nine amazing artists. Learn more about our incentives in these posts:

MILESTONE REWARD POST

INDIVIDUAL REWARD POST

RAFFLE POST

WHO’S RUNNING THIS? Hi! My name is Luna! You can use ze/hir, she/her, he/him, or ro/ros/roseself pronouns for me. My main blog is @as-if-unreal. Helping me out this year is the incredible Mod Sky ( @skyspersonalhell ), who uses any pronouns!

BONUS DAY PROMPTS EXPLAINED UNDER THE CUT

FAVORITE "ALT" HERMIT - May 4th HoTGuY and Poultry-Man. Helsknight and Evil Xisuma. Renbob and - look, you get the idea. This server is full of theater kids ready to toss on an alternate skin and play into a brand new character at the drop of a hat. Who's your favorite?

OUTFIT SWAP - May 9th What would Doc look like in Cleo's Life Series leotard? How would Cub fare in Wels's armor? What laundry day mishap could lead Mumbo's suit to lose its sleeves like Skizz's? Only hilarity can come from this...

GROUPS AND COLLABS - May 14th This month is all about one Hermit a day... but what we really love is when they interact with each other. What does your favorite duo or group of Hermits get up to together?

FAVORITE BUILD - May 18th The Hermits have put thousands of hours into their builds, from cozy starter bases to the sprawling halls of Deepfrost Citadel, from idyllic natural landscapes to machines the size of mountains. Which builds have inspired you?

TFC - May 23rd While he may no longer be with us physically, TFC left behind him a legacy of quiet care and good humor, and Hermitcraft would not have been the same without him.

FRIENDS OF HERMITCRAFT - May 28th There are plenty of shows, podcasts, competitions, other servers, and more woven into the internet ecosystem around Hermitcraft, and plenty more people involved in them. Today is for celebrating all of those who, while they may not be Hermits themselves, exist and entertain in proximity to them.

[homunculus-argument]

What do you think about abortion? Also, are you religious?

I'm not religious, but I do believe in random shit recreationally. For one, the human cunt is a portal through which souls enter the world, but they'll need a meat suit to survive in the meatworld - just like you'd need a spacesuit to survive in space - and that takes nine months to manufacture. And sometimes the process of that happening is spontaneously aborted or cancelled by the manufacturer, and I don't think the souls of the unborn would be any more bothered by that than you getting a text going "hey sorry your comission was cancelled, we'll put you at the front of the queue for the next one".

And they'll just skip straight to the next life, or go wherever souls go after life, and maybe that's the same thing. Maybe they'll have better luck next time and just be a dandelion or something.

[teaboot]

Okay so like. You know your own name as a kid, right?

You remember how it sounds, how your parents say it, how your friends say it- you learn how to spell it, and maybe even what it means and why it was given to you, and it's yours.

It's not a tangible, physical thing, like your hair or your fingernails, but it's yours. It belongs to you.

So, like. Imagine there comes a point in life where everyone gets their name tattooed to their forehead, or something.

Could be when they're two. Could be when they're twenty. Hell, it could be when they're eighty, or ninety-nine, or whenever. But it's everybody, and it's inevitable, and it happens.

Now imagine the time comes for you, and you get up after and look in the mirror and realize they spelled it wrong.

And you have to go outside and live your life in a world where everybody is so totally used to knowing people's names on sight that not a single person second-guesses that your parents named you Susam, or Ahley, or Benjabib.

And you know it's wrong, every time you hear it, but you can choose to explain every single time- every time you're called in a coffee queue, every time a teacher picks you in class, every time you meet a new person or bump into a stranger or are greeted on the street, by children and employers and door-to-door salesmen and your fucking waitress- or you can kind of just learn to grit your teeth and ignore it.

You still notice, of course- maybe you learn to accept it, maybe you hate it every time, but whether you do anything about it or not, you still know. You know people have the wrong word for you in your head.

You know they still mean YOU, but it's not you.

So what's your solution?

Do you shrug, decide it doesn't matter, and go about your life?

Do you smear the typo over with foundation, pencil in new letters every morning?

Do you stare into the mirror sometimes and think, "wow, I should really get that fixed"?

Maybe you save up your money and get it removed, or covered up, or changed to something else. Maybe the whole damn thing was wrong, and you've been a Jacob running around as a Hailey this whole damn time.

That's the best way to explain it. It's not an easily-provable thing, or a demonstrable thing, or a feeling I can one-for-one substitute as something else-

but that's what it's like to know you're not a girl.

[txttletale]

what did you mean by "... produces ptsd on an industrial scale"? just trying to understand, thank u!

content moderation for platforms like facebook and tiktok employs thousands of people, sometimes in the usa but more commonly in the global south (so they can be paid less) to sit at computers and view hundreds of flagged posts a day, including graphic violence and csem, for awful wages, under ridiculously stringent conditions. this results in many, many of the people who work in this field developing PTSD -- and of course they are not given adequate treatment of support, one article cites facebook giving its moderaties nine minutes of 'wellness time' for employees to recover if they see something traumatic.

here's some articles on the topic that can give you a good overview of what working conditions in this field are like, but warning, there's pretty graphic descriptions of violence, animal abuse, and child sexual abuse in these articles, as well as frank discussion of suicidal ideation:

Nearby, in a shopping mall, I meet a young woman who I'll call Maria. She's on her lunch break from an outsourcing firm, where she works on a team that moderates photos and videos for the cloud storage service of a major US technology company. Maria is a quality-assurance representative, which means her duties include double-checking the work of the dozens of agents on her team to make sure they catch everything. This requires her to view many videos that have been flagged by moderators “I get really affected by bestiality with children,” she says. “I have to stop. I have to stop for a moment and loosen up, maybe go to Starbucks and have a coffee.” She laughs at the absurd juxtaposition of a horrific sex crime and an overpriced latte.

For Carlos, a former TikTok moderator, it was a video of child sexual abuse that gave him nightmares. The video showed a girl of five or six years old, he said [...] It hit him particularly hard, he said, because he’s a father himself. He hit pause, went outside for a cigarette, then returned to the queue of videos a few minutes later.

Randy also left after about a year. Like Chloe, he had been traumatized by a video of a stabbing. The victim had been about his age, and he remembers hearing the man crying for his mother as he died. “Every day I see that,” Randy says, “I have a genuine fear over knives. I like cooking — getting back into the kitchen and being around the knives is really hard for me.”

[elysianightsss]

No because girl you NEEDDDDDD to elaborate on this -> Soulmate AU. Poly!141 x neurodivergent!reader <- I will die happily

Elaboratingggggggg🤭🫠

-

You didn’t think that you’d get this far in life, many reasons spring to mind but the main one is you’re a little different than most people. You can’t cope with certain things and struggle with change. You remember growing up your family would brush off your ‘issues’ and say to just deal with it. How little they understood you.

Moving out was the best decision you ever made, the only change you have ever been happy about. It was necessary and would make your life so much easier on a level only you could understand. You could set up your space the way you like it, the way you need it. And with just you, no one would mess with your stuff just to see you loose it as it was ‘funny’ or move things to suit them better.

This way, you could live in peace.

Task force 141 had just finished a successful mission, camping out in one of the many secret safe houses as they waited for further instructions when they had sent Johnny to the shop for supplies. That’s where he saw you, in a Sainsbury’s supermarket of all places, headphones tight over your ears to block out the world while you tried to decide if the extra two, ninety-nine was worth it or not for the soothing lavender face mask you wanted.

Johnny was quick to subtly snap a picture of you and even go as far as to follow you home before bolting it back to the guys to tell them he’d finally found you. Their last soulmate.

As soon as Johnny showed them the image of you, that was it for them. They had to have you. A burning need coursing through their veins, pumping around their bodies. Nothing would ever be enough until they had you in their arms.

But as said and as they observed themselves, you don’t cope with change.

So they had to situate themselves into your life slowly, one by one.

Johnny and Simon moved in next door to you, and lived there for seven months slowly getting to know you and obviously spying on you. They gradually began to understand you and your cute quirks. They know that you eat the same thing for dinner every night, you use the same plate or bowl and wash it straight after use to make sure it is ready for next time.

You have one set of cutlery, one glass and one mug. Two pillows though you only sleep on one and use the other to hug to sleep. And to top it all off you have one recliner chair and one massive beanbag chair that makes you feel like you’re being hugged tight each time you sit on it. It gives you the deep pressure therapy you desperately need at times.

The guys found your habits strange at first but the more time they spent with you, the more they began to understand you. Understand your need for order, for repetition. And they had experienced first hand what happens when change was forced into your safe space.

Johnny had the bright idea to gift you a set of cutlery a few weeks ago so when he and Simon came round for dinner as they did every Thursday for the past four months, they didn’t have to bring cutlery and plates from their own place, it would already be there.

Simon said it was a bad idea but he couldn’t say no to Johnny, not with how happy he looked while he picked out some pretty baby blue plates and silver cutlery with little mushrooms painted at the end. He boasted to Simon about how much you’d love them while they stood in the queue to pay.

He was wrong.

After dinner was cooked you plated up the food no problem thinking the pretty plates were from their house. Then you opened the kitchen drawer only to hear the clutter and smash of cutlery rubbing together. The sound made a ringing pierce your ears, your hands reaching up to cover them. It was like nails on a chalkboard to you. The sound you heard making you panic beyond measure, your breathing out of control as you slid to your knees.

Johnny’s smile dropped and he sprung into action using the deep pressure therapy you had told him about with your beanbag chair. Simon was quick to removed the extra plates and cutlery from where Johnny had put them and take them back to their place before returning ready to help. He knew he’d need to call John and let him know you had had an episode, but helping you came first.

So you liked constant repetition. If it made you happy, that was absolutely fine with them.

Kyle got himself hired as a barista at your favourite cafe, he learned your usual and practiced at home to make sure every morning when you stopped by on the way to work to drink your coffee and sit with your laptop for twenty minutes, you’d have the perfect drink. He made absolutely sure that it tasted the same every single time. No change.

After a couple of months of smiles and waves here and there he finally got you to open up. Baby steps. A little at a time and now Kyle was taking his twenty minute break at your table while you typed up something for work. You always worked so hard. But he managed to get a few sentences out of you each time and it made his heart sing.

And last but not least, John became your new boss after your last one mysteriously got caught for money laundering. Mr Price was an amazing boss, he didn’t ask for much and was always giving you big opportunities that you’d only ever dreamed of. You had been promoted twice since he became the CEO.

You were now executive editor under him as the chief editor at one of the best publishers in the country. Pirons Classics, number two in the UK and number four in the World. To say the guys were proud that you worked there in the first place was an understatement. Their smart girl.

He called you sweet nicknames and brought you lunch everyday. The same thing, a pesto and cheese sandwich and a snack of your choosing from the vending machines. You don’t remember when it started but you were always too shy to say anything so it became a regular thing.

If you were to sit and think real hard about the situation you would realise how changes had been introduced into your life ever since the four of them appeared. But they were subtle changes and you genuinely couldn’t remember a time when these changes weren’t normal. On top of that, these four men were the only people besides yourself, that you felt comfortable, relaxed and content around.

So for the first time you don’t sit and think, for the first time you just let it happen and you don’t notice the difference.

Johnny and Simon were more involved with you than the other two. They were the closest to you currently with the status of your best friends which Johnny most certainly bragged to the other two about. You had known them for almost a year now and they didn’t exactly hide their romantic relationship but didn’t exactly flaunt it either.

You had found it kinda hot when you saw them kiss and even though it was unusual for you, you luckily managed to keep your mouth shut about it.

You had no idea they had noticed.

[niftukkun]

quick warning/note im gonna start emptying out my drafts soon so over the next few days/possible weeks its just gonna be post after post of whatever random things are in my drafts. its all gonna be queued and tagged " draft check " anyways i just dont want to barrage yall wth random shit without warning

[sparklystarrrr]

One shot request:

Word gets out that MC is dating the Vice House warden of Pomefiore, and Vil is NOT impressed. While you may not be officially a member of the dorm as someone close to his second-in-command he can't have you just running around. Whether you like it or not Vil now considers you a representative of Pomefiore.

Queue a disgruntled Vil showing up at the step of Ramshackle with a basket full of care products and a neatly pressed Pomefiore uniform for when they enter the premises. After all it would be poor etiquette to arrive in a slovenly state.

It's especially bad if MC struggles with hygiene in general; never fear though, he will make sure you attain mastery in the subject!

Oh and you get a micro dose of the Epel treatment.

STOPPP this is so good, I've been WAITING to do a Pomefoire oneshot for ages THX SM FOR THE REQUEST ANON!

Simple Touch-ups

Synopsis: As Rook Hunt's partner, it's Vil's job to make sure that you, as his unofficial Pomefoire member, look absolutely parfait!

Contains: Rook Hunt x Gn! Reader, Vil Schoenheit x Gn! Reader (platonic), reader gets the Epel treatment, Vil refers to (y/n) as Potato, Rook uses a plethora of French nicknames for (y/n)

It was rather calm today considering word had gone out that you and Rook were officially dating. Pretty much everyone supported you and absolutely shipped the two of you! It was honestly quite refreshing. You sat scrolling on your phone in bed when all of a sudden the doorbell rang. "Huh? No one told me they'd be coming over, I wonder who it is?"

You hopped to your feet and scurried down the stairs of Ramshackle, opening the door to see Vil looming over you with a large basket cradled in one arm and a black garment bag in his other hand. "Good evening, Potato. It has come to my attention that you're in a relationship with Rook, yes?" He said while slightly grimacing at the sight of you in over-sized pajamas and hair sticking out from every direction, plus the lack of makeup or skin care gracing your clearly exhausted face.

"Yup! Is there a reason you have these... giant packages?" Your eyes scanned between the items in his hands. "They are for you Potato. Now, scurry up to the bathroom. I must fix whatever's going on here." The man dramatically looked away as your current ensemble disgraced his eyes. In the name of fashion and all things beautiful, your outfit was a disaster, even for lounge wear.

He ushered you up to your bathroom as if it was his own dorm and looked around sadly at the minuscule size of the bathroom. "There are seriously no chairs, not even a stool?" He said, clearly shaken. "Yeah... Crowley didn't provide me with much so this is all I have." He nearly fainted. "Well, Pomefoire would never treat a young Potato to such impoverished dormitories and petite washrooms. Now, sit on the counter."

You propped yourself up on the counter and he set the basket of goodies next to you, unwrapping it and taking out everything while explaining them to you in great detail. "This is a toner, you must use it before every product you add onto your face." The bottle was dark purple, seemingly from his own brand. If it was by Vil, it was sure to work.

Along with the toner, he pulled out makeup removers, serums, moisturizers, eye creams, lip masks and balms, ect. The whole nine yards. "You will use these every day. If you need more just give me a call. I'm here to assist Potatoes like you in need of a makeover." You honestly thought he was just calling you ugly in the fanciest way possible, but whatever, getting to work with Vil was practically an honor! Especially since this was your boyfriend's best friend making sure you looked good for him.

"Now, we shall commence the makeover." Pardon..?

It was like he pulled the makeup bag out of his back pocket with how quickly he wiped it out in front of him. "Vil... What are you doing?" You asked skeptically. He looked at you like you were actively growing another head"...You thought the makeover ended there? Don't be silly Potato, you will need more than skincare products. Close your mouth so the foundation doesn't crease." He spoke after adding a cool primer to your face. He applied the light weight foundation to your face that was somehow your exact shade.

He held the bottom of your jaw up with his fingers while he patted it into your skin and blended it out flawlessly. "Suck in your cheeks. I must do the contour, blush and highlighter." He pulled out a few pallets and some bottles of blushes and contours and highlighters along with many different brushes and blenders you thought you've probably never seen before. He glided the brush with warm brown contour onto your cheekbones and along the sides of your nose, blending it into your skin with the faint red blush on his brush. He dusted shining white highlighter on the tip of your nose, brow bones, cheekbones and cupids bow. He set in the base with a setting powder that happened to go perfectly with your skin. How did everything match your skin tone so well? That was a question you'd never know the answer to. But knowing Vil's extensive makeup skills and Rook's obsession with everything possible about you, you had a good idea of how.

He muttered a small close "Close your eyes." before spraying your face with a setting spray. While your eyes remained shut he opened a pallet of neutral colored eyeshadows and shimmers. He gently applied warm browns to your lids, adding a dark purple shimmer to the center of them as well. He pulled out a smaller, more angular brush and tapped it into the black eyeshadow, adding it to your upper lash line and stretching it out like eyeliner. "Open your eyes Potato." He then grabbed a lash curler and went straight in. You didn't know what to do when suddenly seeing this new tool that sort of looked like pliers, so you stood still in fear. Luckily it was quick. He grabbed a bottle of mascara and wiped the excess off at the rim,"When I say blink, you blink." It seemed more of a threat than a request when he said it, but you followed his lead nonetheless.

He held the black garment bag in front of you. "The makeup is done. Put this on and meet me in your room." He shut the door with just those few words and you heard his heels clicking to your room. You sighed.'Beauty is... confusing.' You thought to yourself. Hanging the garment bag on the shower rod, you unzipped it. There hung a perfectly ironed Pomefoire uniform. The purple was deep and velvety and the pants were a shining black leather. It didn't have any shoes to go along with it, but you had a good pair of heeled boots that Rook bought you which would look perfect with it!

When putting it on, the pieces were confusing. You didn't know what piece was supposed to be added first or where each accessory went. You tried to remember what Rook's uniform looked like and how he would put it on in the morning when he would sleep over at Ramshackle. At last you came to the conclusion that it would be shirt, pants, that jacket/robe thing, and the wrap belt. Buttoning the shirt and wrapping the little ring holes around your fingers was a lot harder than you expected it to be. How on earth did Rook manage to make it look so easy?! The next step had been much easier. It was simply putting on the pants which you did with ease.

Then came the jacket. You had heard that Epel had a rough time putting it on to this day, so you hoped and prayed that this would just be a him problem and not a you problem too. You were wrong. It was 100% a you problem as well. You practically got tangled in the long purple fabric while trying to make it look perfect, then at one point you gave up. Vil would most likely nitpick at it for you and fix it on his own accord. Putting on the belt was no easier. It was once again a fight between you and the fabric. You felt pity for all the Pomefoire students who had to endure this pain every single day because this was WAY too much for a dorm uniform. It was like a puzzle, and you were absolutely lost doing it.

After a few too many minutes of being stuck in the bathroom and struggling on your own, you decided to get Vil's assistance. You shyly walked down the hallway with the floorboards creaking under your feet. You opened your bedroom door to find Vil going through your closets and dressers, grimacing at the clothes or lack of clothes you owned. You had only your school uniforms and clearly not enough clothes, four or five outfits max. Outfit repeating was an absolute must in your situation. "Potato, we will go shopping another day. This is clearly not enough to last you the rest of the school year. You're practically wearing threads!"

"Yeah, I haven't really had enough money to splurge on any clothes recently. I just need to get by with food and rent, clothes come second. Y'know?" You sighed out, a bit embarrassed at him shuffling through the few pieces you had. He looked at you gobsmacked and leaned a hand against the wall to stabilize himself. "...Are you serious?!" He said between deep breaths. He clutched his heart in true actor dramatics. "Uh yeah..." He shut his eyes to take in this newfound information."Potato, we will go shopping. Tomorrow in the first crack of sunlight. We both know you need it." He quickly shifted his eyes to the uniform on your body that was unfinished in assembling."The uniform has yet to be fully assembled. Why is that?"

"Oh uhm, I just needed some help with the belt.." Your voice lowered in volume as you explained your current predicament. He snorted a small chuckle "I see. Come, I will assist." He walked toward you and examined the whirlwind of a Pomefoire uniform that lay before him. He whisked the leather belt around your waist and tied the golden and red intricate rope around the belt easily. He adjusted the collar of the jacket and black shirt and made it look nice and sleek. "You'll wear this uniform exactly this way every time you step into Pomefoire, are we understood?" He said sharply. "Yeah Vil, but why should I? I'm not a Pomefoire student." You questioned. "Though you're not sorted into Pomefoire, you are in a relationship with the Vice. Therefore making you an unofficial member. You indirectly represent my dorm." He spoke as if common sense while his hands trailed from the collars of the uniform to your hair. He twirled the locks of your (h/c) hair in his fingers while he looked at it in clear deep thought, his brows furrowed.

"We must style this. Turn around for me." You turned around and he got right to work. The man didn't even need a brush to style your hair as perfectly as he was. He carded his fingers down the (h/c) strands of your hair and pulled them back. He pulled a hair tie and a few hairpins from his pockets and began his work of styling. He pulled your hair into a low ponytail and wrapped your (short/long) strands into a bun, setting them in place with a pin every time he wrapped a new piece. He would occasionally move to look at the front of your face and adjust the strands of hair that circled around your face quite messily.

Once he was done he styled your hair as he saw fit. He'd framed your face with your hair perfectly and completed the low bun that made every strand of hair sit perfectly upon your head. When seeing your final Pomefoire look, he smiled to himself. "Shall we go to Pomefoire and show you off to Rook now?" He asked, a bit more cheerful than before when he saw you in your comfy clothes since you now dawned the Pomefoire attire he had made specially for you."Of course! But... do you think he'd like me looking like this?"

He sighed at your lack of confidence like an older sibling, "Why would you discredit my work? He will fawn over it for years to come, Potato. Do think of yourself as lowly as an insignificant worm. Especially in Pomefoire attire. Come along, we are going." He turned towards the front door of Ramshackle, expecting you to follow. In a nervous state of wondering how your boyfriend would react, you followed."Ah, before we embark, let me apply this lipstick to you." He pulled out a wine red lipstick from his pocket and dabbed it on your colorless lips. "Perfect. Now, let's go."

~ In Pomefoire~

Once you stepped into the doors of the Poemfoire living room, you saw Rook keeping watch of the underclassmen including Epel. They'd been having a bit of fun while Vil was out of the dorm giving you a makeover. He'd sat on the plush silk couch with his back turned to you, giggling at the slightly rambunctious freshmen of his dorm. "Hi, my love! How's your day going?" You spoke in a sweet voice while calling to him. He turned around, disregarding what he was previously engrossed in and suddenly the world around him stopped and you were the only thing he could focus on. "Ah, mon amour, tu es très beau! Oh la la~ Magnifique mon cœur, absolutely magnifique!!" He spun you around in the air with glee, his hands firm on your hips as he smiled so big at you.

"Though your beauty as of now is absolutely radiant, I assure you that your style of over-sized lounge garments and messy (h/c) locks is much more endearing to me and ignites a fire in my heart no amount of matches and wood could come close to, mon trésor!" He spoke heartily before pressing a passionate kiss to your soft rouged lips. "Thank you Dear, Vil gave me a makeover before coming over!" You said with a smile while he placed you on your feet again with his hands gripping your waist gently."It was a challenge at first, but (y/n) is quite compliant to my help. They're a true Pomefoire student at heart." Vil said with a small smirk.

It was like Vil said earlier, Rook would be fawning over this look for years to come. He had taken a picture of you in his dorm's uniform and set it as his wallpaper on his phone. He printed it and framed it TWICE, putting it on the wall above his bed and on his vanity. He even put a picture of it in his wallet so that every time he spoiled you again he could see your beautiful face and effectively spoil you more. He made it a point to show every one he could, no student at NRC was safe from the wrath of Rook's undying devotion and love for you, and to be honest, you wouldn't have it any other way.

Can ya'll tell I love talking about makeup and skincare...

[inkbybambi]

bodyguard!simon riley who takes a bullet for you —

words: 2.9k rating: e warnings: nightmares, guns/shooting, gunshot wound, hospitals, smut, creampie, cunnilingus, mentions of threats against reader, threat against reader, lowercase writing — please let me know if i missed any! notes: 18+ content, minors dni. warnings have been provided.

He's been assigned to you for two-ish years now. You weren't thrilled at first, and neither was he — but he didn't make it as obvious as you did.

"I don't need a babysitter," you had damn-near hissed when he was introduced.

"I wasn't hired to be one," he counters coolly, which only serves to irritate you further.

Actively ignoring his presence — as much as you could when your company moved him into your apartment — even though you begrudgingly made room in the counters and fridge for his things, even going as far as investing into a better kettle so he could make his tea and clearing out an entire cabinet for all his tea, sugar, and steeper.

He trails you quietly as he was hired to; keeping close enough to always have you in his sights but far enough away that people wouldn't be able to clock his association to you — or so he thought.

Six months into his contract with you — an unknown amount of time left, as Price never answered and soon he stopped asking — he wakes in the middle of the night from a scream he never thought would come from you.

He rushes to your bedroom, gun in hand with his finger resting on the side — not the trigger. The front door is locked as he had left it, windows unbroken. He almost thinks he might've associated it with one of his own nightmares, until he sees you.

Curled in on yourself, face tucked into your knees, fingers threaded at the nape of your neck as you struggle to breathe properly, hiccups and sobs breaking between your stuttered breaths.

He knocks gently on your door, not wanting to startle you. You jump a little, regardless, but lift your head to look at him.

"'m sorry," you mumble, voice rough, "I didn't mean to wake you."

And you hadn't. You thought you were done with these awful nightmares, the ones gnawing at the edges of your mind during the day.

"'S'alright," he replies, tucking the gun into the waistband of his sleep shorts, walking carefully towards your bed. "You okay?"

The look he receives damn near breaks his heart.

He learns, that night, that an attempt had been made on your life before. More than once.

They never got close enough to do any harm, you say, but then swallow thickly and clutch your bicep where Simon sees a scar that he never took notice of previously. They didn't get close enough to do anything worse, you amend, chancing a look at him.

"I had security then, too," you explain, wiping your tears with your hand, playing with the blanket. "It didn't change anything."

Something shifts after that.

He starts cooking for you — with you, when there's time — and you bring him a cup of tea each morning. The bookshelf in the living room, previously only half-filled, collects Simon's books. You give him the login to all your streaming services, and ignore the pointed look he gives you when he sees some trashy reality tv show in your continue to watch queue.

He doesn't complain much when he stands behind you during an episode, arms crossed, asking a question here and there. You sigh, exasperated at having to explain everything, telling him to sit down as you start the series from the beginning.

Nine months into his contract, your nightmares become more frequent, and worse. You don't understand why. You were getting better, you cry in Simon's arms after a particularly rough night.

"Sometimes these things happen," he tells you softly, gently petting your hair, tucking you under his chin.

"Make them stop, please," you beg, even though you know he can't. he wishes he could.

He starts sleeping in your bed.

He's so warm, your cheek pressed into his chest, feeling more secure than you have in months when the weight of his thick, tattooed arm slings around your waist. He presses a kiss to your forehead at night, and you burrow into his side.

He starts taking the balaclava off at night.

A morning where you blessedly don't have to be up early, grey clouds hang in the sky, the promise of a storm later.

"G'mornin'," he says, voice rough with sleep, feeling him flex and stretch beneath you, groaning as his body relaxes. A flash of heat snaps through you.

"Morning," you reply, only half-awake, tilting your head up to drag your lips across his jaw, prickling with stubble.

He cradles the back of your head, fingers thick and comforting, tilting you back until his mouth slants over yours. He holds you so carefully, like glass, as his tongue slips into your mouth, hot and heavy.

The sheets rustle as he moves to lay over you, free arm resting by your head as your legs hook on his hips, trying to draw him closer to you.

He nips at your bottom lip as he rolls his hips, the heat of his cock through his boxers frazzling your brain. You mewl, his tongue back in your mouth, moving his hand to grip your waist and drag you up against him, moaning low in his throat when he feels the wetness seeping through your panties.

"Fuck," you breathe out as his mouth moves over your cheek, down your jaw, kissing the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"Say please," he rumbles.

"Simon, please," you whine, fingers curling at the base of his skull and scratching, and he snarls against your skin, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck as he tears your panties off, pushing his boxers down enough to free his cock.

You're so wet for him, slick coating your thighs as he drags his cock through your folds.

He usually takes his time — using his fingers and tongue to open them up first, wanting to feel the wet heat of their cunt and the spurt of their release to know they're relaxed and ready for him. He eats pussy like he'll die if he doesn't, will happily spend hours between your legs if you let him.

But with you? He feels feral with need.

"It's big, sweet thing," he rasps into your skin, lips hovering over that sensitive spot on your neck that he sunk his teeth into earlier, notching the head of his cock at your entrance. He's not trying to brag, it's just a fact.

You claw at him, the sting of open scratches burning his skin so pleasantly.

"It's okay, don't care," you pant, gripping him hard enough to leave deep crescent marks in his skin, angling your hips up to draw him into your cunt yourself.

He grips your hips with both hands, slowly pushing his thick length into you, nails digging even deeper the more he pushes in.

"Feels so fucking good," he says, tongue laving over your throat to collect the thin sheen of sweat that coats your skin. "Could fuck you forever," he groans, your breath hitching.

You make a strangled noise low in your throat. It's been awhile since you've fucked anyone, and you've never fucked anyone as big as him before.

The stretch feels so good, though. Your cunt clenches around him as he sinks in deeper, mind glazing over as you focus only on him.

"Fuck," he whines when he finally seats himself fully into you, nuzzling into your neck, overwhelmed by the heat and slick, "good fucking girl, taking me so well."

He swallows thickly, waiting a couple heartbeats to enjoy this — it's been awhile for him, too.

"Think you can take it, love?" and his fucking voice. You would agree to do anything as long as you could hear that rough accent along your throat, teeth skimming your skin.

"Yes," you breathe out harshly, moving to wrap your arms around his shoulders, needing him close, close, closer.

For a man of few words, Simon has a filthy mouth as he fucks into you, accompanied by groans and growls into your collar.

"Never had a cunt this perfect." "Fuckin' made for me." "Can't wait to get my tongue in you, feel you cum on my face." "No one else can have you." "You're mine."

And you, normally far more verbal than him, are reduced to nothing more than mewls and pleas and moans for more.

You mouth and nip at his jaw when you can, wanting to mark him, wanting to stake your claim. You'll be his forever if he lets you, but you'll be damned if anyone else gets to have him either.

"Simon — " is the only warning you give before you cum on his cock, head thrown back as you moan through the waves of pleasure, release coating his length and thighs.

"That's it, baby, good girl, give it to me," he says, blunt nails digging into your waist as he grinds himself deep into you. You feel so warm and pliant, the pleasure numbing your mind as he rocks himself into you.

"Wanna feel you give me one more, angel," he bites at your throat on the other side, his need to sink his teeth into every inch of your skin overwhelming. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, fucking into you deeper, hitting that spot inside you that has you seeing stars and your toes curling.

You grip at him again, clawing as he fucks into you, the sound of your wet cunt taking each thrust creating a symphony with his groans and your cries. He feels so fucking good, splitting you open and making you whole, desperate for him to cum inside.

The way your nails dig into his shoulder is the sign that you're getting close, and he thrusts just a little harder, a little meaner, your cute whines growing more desperate as you walk the precipice of another orgasm.

No one's ever made you cum more than once — sometimes, not even once — and you've never been able to do it yourself either.

Simon? Fucks a second orgasm out of you like it's his life mission, ankles tightening around his neck as pleasure lines your veins, shaking as he continues to hit that spot inside you as you cum, prolonging it as much as he can.

"Baby — " he chokes out, sharp teeth on your shoulder, thrusts getting sloppy. The slick of your two releases sounds so loud in your bedroom, feeling the desperation as he thrusts, deeper, harder.

"Cum inside," you mumble against his cheek, nails scratching at the base of his skull as he thrusts once, twice, three times — the warmth of his release flooding your cunt.

He fists the sheets in one hand, nails dragging down your thigh as he pumps deep into you, your slick and his release seeping out of your hole, dripping down his balls and your asshole.

You stay like that, lips brushing, breathing in each other's air as you slowly come down from the high.

Simon gently — so gently — lowers your legs, carefully watching your face for any signs of discomfort, settling them on his hips, hands moving up and down your thighs. "Y'alright?" he asks. You swallow thickly and nod, both hands now at the base of his skull, affectionately scratching at the nape of his neck.

He slowly pulls out, and you miss the stretch and the warmth immediately. You push up on your elbows, watching as the mixture of your pleasure leaks out of you, biting you lip.

"Fuckin' beautiful," he says almost reverently, mesmerized.

He spends the next hour cleaning you up, and you think your nails create permanent marks on his shoulders.

Time bleeds together.

His contract renews on the twelfth month.

He heard rumors that Price might switch him out for another guard.

You're at the meeting — it's your bodyguard, after all, they figure you should get some input. Price has two separate folders prepared. A sharp look from Simon is all Price needed to know about how he feels. The tongue lashing you give your higher ups has Price raising his eyebrows, and Simon sits forward a little more should he need to haul you out over his shoulder.

He wouldn't mind that too much, he thinks, but he'd rather not.

Ten minutes later and you're angrily signing his renewal papers, a blotch of ink at the start of your name as you didn't even read the contract before signing, lungs burning from your rant about personal safety and what the fuck are you thinking and I didn't just buy an entirely new tea set for nothing.

You grip his wrist as soon as he signs himself, dragging him to the nearest bathroom.

His hand covers your mouth as he fucks you deep and slow.

"Don't worry, darling, 'm not going anywhere."

Eighteen months into his contract, and he's never felt so little control before in his life.

He's meticulous, prepared, tactile.

There's a gun in his holster for distance threats and a knife in his sheath for those who dare get too close.

He makes sure to memorize the exists before you even get to the venue, now making no effort to conceal himself.

He's like a shadow, or a guard dog.

You've never felt more secure, more protected.

Until —

He doesn't know how it slipped past him.

He let his eyes linger a little too long on the curve of your neck, where a new diamond pendant lay with his initial engraved on the back. He admires the dip of the dress you wear, open-back that shows the enticing expanse of your back, the dress covering you above the curve of your ass. You look back at him briefly while whomever you're with speaks, eyes sparkling in the bright light of the room, a smile reserved just for him.

He hears the cock of a hammer and his eyes snap to a gentleman who brandishes a gun like he's never held one before in his life. His eyes, though. His eyes are like fire, black with rage, staring at you with such hatred.

You look one second too late.

Simon is on you right after the click of the trigger, pushing you to the floor and caging you with his body.

"Stay down and don't fucking move," he growls as he reaches for his own weapon, up in a flash.

You can't hear anything except white noise and screams that sound muffled, heart pounding and making it hard to breathe. Two shots ring out, in tandem, and there's the telltale sign of a body hitting the floor.

Simon is by your side, eyes scanning, frantic, looking for any signs of harm.

"You okay?" he asks, carefully outstretching his hands to let you stop him from touching you should you want. you don't.

"Fine," your voice cracks, and you can't stop shaking.

"You're okay, you're okay," he says, cradling your cheeks, thumbs wiping under your eyes. "I'm so fucking sorry," he adds, guilt heavy in his chest.

You grab his wrists lightly, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look him over. You gasp, unable to catch a real breath, unable to look away from his stomach.

"Simon — " you say, horror laced in your voice.

He looks down, seeing the red seep through his shirt.

Fuck.

At least it wasn't you, he tells himself.

Nineteen months into his contract, and he isn't dead.

While he's been shot before — a fact he tells you, assuming it would comfort you, but only got him a venomous glare in return — it's been awhile.

The hospital, the stitches, the gauze and needles. He hated it then and he hates it now.

Price comes to you in the hospital — they're keeping Simon for a little, to make sure there's no complications with his healing — offering another guard in the interim while he recovers.

You've never shot down a proposal so quickly in your life. The nerve.

Twenty-two months into his contract, and the last of the moving boxes are taped shut and labeled. Some of them in your writing, the others in his. The keys to your new house are tucked into his pocket, alongside a black velvet box.

"Why do we have so much shit," you whine when packing, only two boxes deep and so many rooms left to go. You're too busy stuffing a manatee shaped steeper into a box — mana-tea, you giggled when he opened it, him rolling his eyes fondly in reply — and don't see him pause, looking at you softer, never hearing "we" before like that. Never dreaming he could hear it like that.

A lot of stalling on your part and encouragement on his, and the last box is packed and placed in the back of the truck.

He laces your fingers together as you drive to the new house, a bottle of champagne already chilled.

Twenty four months into his contract, and you come home with something hidden behind your back.

You smile like you have a secret, which would be a first.

It's awkward to bring around from your back, but there's a large German Shepard puppy wiggling in your grip, tail wagging furiously.

He feels his heart stop for a moment, unable to take his eyes off the puppy, and then the band that's sitting around your finger. He touches his own subconsciously.

You set the ball of fur down, who immediately launches at Simon, whining and wiggling and trying to give him kisses.

There's a collar and tag already there, and you watch with your heart beating faster than ever, unable to stop the smile on your lips, as he wrangles the pup enough to read it.

Riley.

[lieutenant-amuel]

💫 Valerio Symbolism 2.0 💫

💫Valerio Symbolism💫

***

Happy birthday to the history man <3

[fukcnoplease]

Danny is done. He is tired. He is dead. He deserves a sweet treat and to hibernate under fifteen weighted blankets for nine years.

Instead he is standing in the Gotham City cross country bus station with a dead phone and no sweet treats. He had had the misfortune of having avid ghost hunters as parents, who had demanded he help them with their latest invention instead of joining his friends on a fancy bus hired by Casper High to take them on a multiday, multicollege trip. Apparently they had made an agreement with the school that as long as he met the school trip in one of the cities and still paid for the whole trip, he could still take part and at least catch the school bus home.

Of course, exhausted after helping his parents, catching up on homework, and taking out some ghosts Danny ended up falling asleep on his bus. Now he was standing alone, cold, half-dead, in Gotham City’s main bus center with a dufflebag of clothes and backpack of ghost supplies his parents forced on him.

The school trip was, thankfully, passing through Gotham as one of the universities but they had multiple cities to hit before they got to Gotham. According to the itinerary it would take at least five days for them to hit Gotham and even then theyd be arriving late in the evening.

Danny had to find a place to stay for five nights and something to do for five days. Thankfully, Gotham city is seeped in ectoplasm which means its full of ghosts. Ghost who are more than happy to help a lost boy find a place to stay.

Danny chats with some ghosts, being pointed this way and that before he finds a nice old man dress in a fine suit with an unfortunate gunshot wound to his chest. The man offers to lead Danny to an excellent and cheap place to stay and Danny… is too tired to care honestly. He follows the ghost across the city, hails a taxi, repeats the address the ghost gives him, missing the taxi drivers shocked stare, and falls asleep in the taxi.

He is woken up by gentle taps on the glass by an older looking man and gives a half asleep mumbled thanks to the taxi driver as the old man takes his bags inside. Even in his tired state Danny has the sense to offer to carry his own bags but is politely and sternly refused by a british accent which is enough to wake him up.

Standing in the entrance way of a luxury… hotel? It doesnt seem to have a reception, though, and the decorations feel far to personalized. He glances around to find the helpful ghost staring wistfully at one of the larger portraits. A family of three, a beautiful woman with shoulder length dark curls, a young boy with dark hair and a bright smile, and the face of the kindly ghost.

The butler(?!) calls for Danny to keep up and he rushes to catch up, more out of instinct than sense. The ghost wanders casually after them, pausing to admire artwork every now and again.

The butler drops Danny’s bags in what seems to be a guest room, or maybe this really was just an incredibly fancy hotel, the room had its own ensuite, desk, and empty closet and chest of drawers. Honestly Danny couldnt even hazard a guess anymore.

The butler(manager?) informed him that breakfast was at 8 am sharp every morning and dinner was 6 pm sharp every evening. Danny gave a dazed nod which was apparently all the older man needed before he vanished back into the hallway. Almost as quickly as the ghost did after giving Danny one last cheeky grin.

Queue Danny being weirdly introduced to the Batfam and doing his best to avoid the adoption papers at all costs while also trying NOT to be eldritch and strange around this also eldritch and strange family.

[feeder86]

Taste

Mike could remember how his breath caught in his throat when he saw Bruno for the first time. Having always been so slim and athletic himself, it was as if all of the blood in his entire body rushed down into his groin and he felt lightheaded; his heart racing with lust for the man in front of him. Bruno was the epitome of Mike’s dream man: taller than everyone else in the bar, large and very, very fat. He was flaunting his chubby physique with pants that were clearly too small; his butt crack on show, as well as the lower half of his gut that pushed out over his belt. There was a buzz around him at the bar. It was rare that a man so large came in here and it was obvious, from the twitching hands of the bear-loving guys around them, that there were many who wanted to touch his remarkably overfed body.

Mike stood behind him at the bar, waiting to be served, feeling like he was invisible in the wide man’s shadow. Even the scent of him, slightly sweaty in the humid environment, was turning Mike on; his large love handles shimmering gently as the bodies crowded around. Finally, with a space opening up at the crowded bar, Mike squeezed himself next to the big man, waiting to be served as well. He looked to his side and smiled shyly, without speaking. Even then, the eye contact, however brief, made Mike’s hardness flex in a way that made him hope he wouldn’t be served too quickly in order to allow the bulge in his crotch to calm down.

“Mine’s a beer,” the big man stated confidently to Mike.

“Sorry?” Mike spluttered back, surprised that he had been spoken to.

“My drink. I’ll have a beer,” he repeated expectantly.

“Oh… I wasn’t…” Mike mumbled, full of embarrassment. “I guess I…”

“Geez, relax, would you! I’m just joking,” Bruno chuckled, raising hand and finally ordering his own beer. “And what would you like?” he offered Mike, as if by way of an apology for causing Mike to get in such a fluster.

Mike accepted the offer and found himself following the heavy man out of the bar queue moments later. It seemed as if the big guy had come here alone, leaning against a small, high table where he could view the entirity of the bar. “Are you a chaser?” he asked Mike in his usual plain manner.

Wishing that he could act cooler, Mike mumbled once again, unsure how best to answer. “I’m not sure,” he lied. “I guess I could be.”

“You’re cute,” Bruno smiled, after formally introducing himself. “Do you want to touch my belly? Most guys in here seem to want to.”

With a free pass to feat his eyes upon Bruno’s large gut, Mike wasted no time in admiring it’s size and shape. He checked with the big man one last time, then let his electrically charged fingertips spread over the fleshy skin. Pure heaven.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Bruno nodded in approval. “Gentle. Sensual. I bet you’re good at giving a massage.”

“I’d be happy to work on your whole body if you like,” Mike shot back, unsure where his sudden boldness had come from, and immediately feeling a little embarrassed by it.

“Maybe,” Bruno chuckled. “If you play your cards right tonight,” he added, leaning into the table and seemingly about to take some time to really invest in finding out a lot more about his new admirer.

It was strange to think back on how shy Mike had been that night. Although Bruno still never failed to make him feel flustered and aroused, he liked to think, nine months later, that he at least managed to keep a cooler head around him. Being in a relationship with someone that he found so attractive should not have been as much of a challenge as it had seemed to be. His parents and friends had taken one look at Bruno and allowed their sizeist prejudices to rise to the surface. Mike had heard no end of slanderous things about Bruno that had been said to him: that he was lazy and greedy, selfish and unambitious. It was all based entirely upon his weight, and Mike knew it. They seemed to hate how much Bruno felt comfortable in his own skin. It was as if they were offended by it; believing that Bruno should feel ashamed and insecure, just like every other 400lb man of his stature. How dare he simply not care about being so fat?

There were sighs whenever Bruno went to grab Mike’s hand and show him affection in front of others. Perhaps it was the way that Bruno dressed that most irritated people and made them feel embarrassed in his company. He enjoyed his clothes being overly fitted and figure-hugging. For him, a t-shirt shirt should be over-long and tucked into his tight shorts, displaying the full arch of his gigantic gut, or else it should be too short, allowing the fat of his underbelly to show through and catch the breeze as he walked about. However, it was also his grotesque appetite that Mike knew his dad in particular found especially repulsive. He wasn’t wrong in saying that Bruno was always eating something or searching in the cupboards for snacks. He found it cheeky and rude how Bruno would help himself in their kitchen, and when he once upturned the milk bottle to chug it straght from the refrigerator, Mike’s dad had raised his voice in a way that Mike hadn’t heard since he was small.

Mike’s friends and family didn’t understand though. They didn’t realise how far Bruno had come to be in the sort of shape he was in now; how he’d always wanted to be a big man. Back when he’d started college, Bruno had been incredibly slim, and even lanky, given his great height. He’d documented his body well by taking lots of pictures during those early days and continued to do so as he began pushing his appetite to the extreme. His body had responded in just the way Bruno had wanted, as a doughy belly began to form on his slim frame. 

Mike felt an arousal he’d never experienced before as Bruno guided him through all of the pictures of him over the years: the time when he’d started to get love handles, the first signs of his double chin beginning to show. Even from quite early on, his butt had started taking on a fair amount of fat. Bruno had said this had been down to the way he’d tried to limit his exercise so much and make those calories as effective as possible when fattening his body. It had taken time; especially at Bruno’s height. Even when he’d left college, his fat stomach had still been faily easy to conceal under baggy clothes. It was only once he’d started working and had his own place that Bruno’s overeating and weight gain really started to turn to very obvious obesity. Bruno recalled with glee the time when his weight started impacting his everyday life: when he’d become too heavy for store-bought clothes, the stairs becoming more intense to walk up. He’d embraced each one of these changes, accepting the fact that his lovers would now purely be confined to those who enjoyed his fatter body. He’d taken on several feeders, of all shapes and sizes, but he’d never committed to any of these other guys in the way that he had to Mike. 

Sometimes Mike would pick up the guy’s empty clothes off the floor and just admire the sheer size of them, hardly comprehending how lucky he was to have such an oversized and greedy boyfriend. Twenty to thirty pounds a year, that was Bruno’s steady gain rate, realised by maximising his opportunities to overeat and consume as often as possible. As Bruno himself had said, fattening his skinny college body had been a lot simpler than pushing the fat on now he was well over four hundred.

Mike often wondered what it was that Bruno saw in him. Whenever they were out at some sort of bear event, it was obvious how much attention the big man could command. Mike had become accustomed to the grumpy stares of jealousy as he held his enormous boyfriend’s hand. Bruno claimed to like how constantly aroused Mike was for him. He could submit and take a pounding, yet also take the reins and feed Bruno far beyond his daily calorie goals. Not that such a mission was often required. Bruno was, if nothing else, highly motivated to overeat, and always so very self-sufficient. Despite the many hours Mike had spent feeding Bruno in the past, he knew that the big man would most likely be just as big, even if he was still single. Everything to him was so erotic, from the new stretch marks and shape, to the retirement of old clothes and the reactions of those who had not seen Bruno in some time. Every last little chance encounter was a reason for the guy to get aroused, and that horniness was more than infectious.

With Bruno’s birthday approaching, Mike began to feel a little anxious about what to do for it. Last year, they had only been dating a couple of months, and so he hadn’t gone too overboard. However, four months ago, for his own birthday, Bruno had arranged an entire weekend away to visit Mike’s hometown; the one that his family had left when he was just eleven. It was incredibly sweet and thoughtful, not to mention remarkably satisfying to show off the town he knew so well to the man that he had fallen so helplessly in love with.

Mike thought about buying an enormous cake, or an entire banquet of food to surprise Bruno with on the big day. However, when considering  how much Bruno ate in a normal day anyway, he didn’t really feel that he could make it all that special. Bruno’s hobbies weren’t any help either. There weren’t any special video games coming out anytime soon and the hot summer sun was zapping the large chub’s energy levels daily.

“What would you like to do for your birthday?” Mike finally asked, having exhausted his entire creative reserves. However, Bruno dutifully denied needing any sort of fuss, claiming that birthdays were nothing special for him.

Mike persisted. With only a couple of days remaining, he was feeling desperate for an idea to delight his lover for his birthday. “I guess maybe there is one thing I might like,” Bruno began cautiously, as if he had been thinking of the idea for some time.

Breathing a sigh of relief. Mike nodded enthusiastically, wanting to hear Bruno’s thoughts.

“Well, maybe we could try a little role reversal that night?” he asked tentatively.

Mike furrowed his eyebrows. “Role reversal?” he asked. He already thought they did that, having quite an active, versatile sex life.

“I mean… maybe I could feed you for a change? Just for one night,” Bruno added hastily, trying to express the idea in baby steps. “I used to be quite good at it, back in the days when I played around with lots of different feeders and gainers. They all said I was good at it.”

Mike mumbled awkwardly. Despite the length of time he’d been with Bruno, he’d never anticipated the man making a request like this. “I thought you loved my body how it is?” he asked, knowing how hard Mike worked at the gym classes he attended.

“Oh, I do!” Bruno nodded emphatically. “I love all body types. It’s just a one-night kinky idea I had.” He shrugged, then laughed at how ridiculous this scenario was. “It’s not about changing you, and if it’s not your thing, it’s fine. I’ll think of something else.”

Mike considered for a moment. “No, wait…” he mumbled; his brain trying to catch up. “It’s fine,” he shrugged. “It’s for your birthday,” he nodded, feeling that a little sacrifice like this would help show Bruno how important he was to him. “Let’s… let’s do this.”

The bus-worker strikes had completely messed up Mike’s day as he arrived home late on Bruno’s birthday a couple of days later. It was nearly half seven already and he’d been out of the house for almost thirteen hours. He apologised profusely, but Bruno already knew how much chaos the strikes were causing on the city, having seen it on the news. He could see the tiredness in Mike’s eyes and offered to forego his birthday treat in order to let Mike head to bed. However, Mike was having none of it. He tried to rally himself, heading for a shower and coming back in, feeling more refreshed. They ate a normal meal and chatted about much of the same things as they usually did.

“Come sit down,” Bruno smiled, patting his extra large, personal chair in front of the TV; a wicked, horny grin plastered across his face.

Mike did as he was told. He never sat in Bruno’s chair and it felt strange to him now; so roomy and worn-in. He stood briefly once again as a hugely fat Bruno kneeled on the floor in front of him and pulled down his pants so that he could play with him more effectively. Right away, the fat man’s expert tongue set to work, making Mke take huge long sighs of pleasure. He put his hand on Bruno’s head for a moment to stop him. “Honey, it’s your birthday. I should be doing this to you,” he worried.

Bruno shushed him and set back to work, making Mike’s legs twitch as he came close to cimaxing at least a couple of times. Then, just like that, Mike suddenly felt a long, chocolate cream cake getting pushed between his parted lips. He chuckled, having been caught off guard completely. He’d almost forgotten about this part of their horny evening. Where had his kinky boyfriend even hidden those cakes? Still, he chewed and swallowed, having accepted this would be exactly the sort of thing he would be getting up to that night.

Bruno’s demeanor was entirely different. His hands caressed and stroked Mike’s body like he was a precious, god-like being; his large, chubby hands stroking his flat stomach and fondling Mike to keep his hardness as he pushed in another cream cake, then another. Yet, still Bruno was edging him, making him think his time had arrived, then pulling it away.

Mike had never felt such a rush of different emotions. At one point, he would feel dominant and pampered, being hand fed and pleasured by his lover. But then, the next, Bruno would stop everything and chuckle at all the food smeared around his face, declaring him to be a ‘greedy boy’, before resuming as before. 

Mike’s stomach was getting tight and yet he still hadn’t climaxed. The shape of it was distended as Bruno rubbed his giant hand over it with a wicked smirk plastered across his face. Mike stared at his boyfriend’s chubby hands as they gathered the fattening foods and felt as those wide, sausage-like fingers he had long admired, now stuffing it all into his open mouth.

“You’re such a good little piggy!” Bruno teased him as it was clear just how full and aroused Mike was at that moment; those expert hands now whipping his erection up into a dangerous frenzy that could tip him over the edge. Mike stared down at his body, having never seen himself so bloated, nor felt his stomach quite so full. Then, that was it, the moment that Bruno chose to let him climax, just as his eyes settled on the little swollen midsection that was now his stomach. The feeling was intense; more so than Mike had ever encountered before and he let out an embarrassing multi-toned moan that only highlighted just how caught out he had been by the whole experience. He felt utterly spent and withered like a dead flower, being taken to bed by his enormous lover.

The next morning was much the same as any other. Bruno thanked Mike for indulging his kink to let him feed him, and chuckled as he apologised for how bloated and full Mike felt, right up until dinner time that day. But Bruno hadn’t stopped lamenting about how much he had enjoyed it and how well Mike had eaten. He recreated the moan Mike made when he climaxed as if it was the sexiest sound he had ever heard, eating more than usual, as Bruno tended to do when he was aroused.

Perhaps it was the way that Bruno recounted that night over and over that made sure the experience never left Mike’s mind, but now, even the thought of it was making Mike feel horny. His memory was crystal clear as the image of his bloated stomach came back to him each and every time he ate.

“I see you guys are still very happy,” commented Danny, one of Bruno’s gainer friends that Mike had been introduced to when they first started going out.

“He’s wonderful!” Bruno gushed, rolling his big arm over Mike’s shoulders. “I’ve never been this happy with anyone before.”

Mike blushed and smiled, always enjoying how open Bruno was about his affection for him. “Thanks,” he mumbled shyly.

“Mike also had his first, er…” Bruno began cheekily, looking across to Mike as if to gauge whether he should share these sorts of intimate details. “He had his first feed the other week,” he finally finished.

“Seriously?” Danny laughed aloud, his jaw dropping in surprise. One look at Mike’s athletic form and no one would ever have suspected that he would be open to try feeding.

“No… it wasn’t like that,” Mike tried to explain, feeling that Danny was suddenly seeing him in a whole new light. “It was just a little birthday treat for Bruno. That’s all. I didn’t want to do it.” 

“He fucking loved it!” Bruno went on; full of excitement to explain; like this had been bottled up inside him ever since it had happened. “He ate like a pig and then squirted absolutely everywhere afterwards. Shall I do the noise you made when you came?” he asked Mike with a cheeky smirk. 

“No!” Mike shot back with blood rushing to his face.

“Well, well, well!” Danny smiled to himself. “I never would have picked you for a gainer!”

“I’m not!” Mike tried defensively. “It was just a one time thing!”

“Sure,” Danny teased him. “That’s what they all say!” He winked and laughed, letting Mike know that he was only joking with him. Then the conversation changed, leaving Mike feeling surprisingly disorientated as they went back to discussing more mundane affairs. His heart was racing. Was he annoyed at Bruno for sharing their intimate secret like that? Or was it something else?

A few more weeks passed by. Bruno had made some significant progress with his weight, to the point where his tummy was starting to fall out of the t-shirts he had worn when he and Mike had first gotten together; arousing them both beyond belief. Bruno had wanted to celebrate, getting high on some weed and stuffing himself full, just as he had done in his early days, back in college. 

“I fucking love you,” Bruno growled, barely able to focus properly. He slapped his big gut and grinned. “I’m getting so fucking huge with your help, and I love it!”

“Well, I’m very pleased to be of some assistance,” Mike chuckled back, in much the same way any sober guy would, speaking to someone so high.

“And you know what else I love?” Bruno asked mischivously.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Mike smiled back, indulging Bruno with his attention, despite the fact that he knew the big man would never remember any of this in the morning.

“I love how chubby you’re getting too!” Bruno whispered as if not wanting to be overheard by a thousand invisible people that surrounded them.

“I’m not getting chubby,” Mike laughed, rolling his eyes at how far gone Bruno was by now.

But Bruno simply threw his head back and smiled with complete joy and happiness. “Oh, I love that!” he moaned with pleasure. “I love how you don’t even realise it! It’s so fucking… insanely hot! You’ve got a little chubby paunch and you haven’t even noticed! It makes me so fucking horny. If you only knew how much fucking butter… and cream… and oils I throw into your food when I cook! Oh, you’d be so fucking mad if you knew!” he giggled to himself; still with that blissful smile as he drifted off to sleep.

Mike stood up, resisting the urge to touch his body and feel. His heart was beating with a peculiar speed, considering how little attention he usually paid to the ramblings of Bruno when he was high. Calmly and without speed, he took himself to the bathroom and shut the door. He saw his face in the mirror, much like every other time he was in here. Pragmatically, he lifted his shirt from his body and dropped it onto the floor. He realised quite quickly that he hadn’t scrutinised his body in quite some time, especially given how quickly the mirror steamed up in this tiny bathroom whenever the shower was running. And yet, the shape of him was all wrong. Since when had his stomach looked so swollen? As he brushed with his finger against his belly button, he noticed a strange, alien fluttering beneath the skin. Unlike the sleeping Bruno in the next room, he hadn’t just gorged himself to create such a bloat. No, underneath his skin was an entirely new, and surprisingly thick, layer of fresh blubber. He grabbed it and pinched at it, surprised at how much he could hold between his fingers and thumb. He turned to his side and noted with horror how very much the shape of it curved out enough to look like a paunch, just as Bruno had said. 

Throwing down his sweatpants and underwear, Mike turned and inspected his rear, only to discover peculiarly plump glutes where his tight butt had once been. His fingers delicately traced the marks on his skin around his waist where his underwear had been quietly digging into him and he bounced on his toes, seeing a ripple of fat flutter through developing love handles. 

Just what had happened to him, he thought with horror, pressing his fingers into his face and realising that there was indeed a little padding of fat growing under his chin. His body was so altered and he hadn’t even realised it! His focus had been so squarely on Bruno, it had left him blind to all else. 

Yet, there it was, as he prodded and poked, grabbed and jigled: the very thing that had led him here, into a kinky relatioship with an ever fattening 440lb man; his raging hard-on, pumped full of blood and throbbing with lust at the sight of his own reflection. Mike’s hand reached for it, as if from pure instinct. Then, with very little time needed, he stroked it up and down, up and down, until it ejaculated with a violent force all across the mirror.

The next morning, Mike awoke to the smell of frying bacon. Bruno was always up early after a session like the one last night, and he generally consumed more than usual the following day. The big man re-entered their bedroom with a grin, passing a large plate of greasy goodness to Mike; it’s hefty portion cleverly camouflaged by the more extreme size of Bruno’s own plateful. 

Instinctively, Mike accepted it, only remembering Bruno’s confession from hours earlier as he was halfway through. Just as he had anticipated, Bruno didn’t remember much from the night before. Once he’d finished the box of doughnuts, he claimed that his mind was a blur, and Mike knew there was no point in bringing up what had been said. However, he did notice, for the first time, how much Bruno was casually glancing over to check on his lover’s progress with the food, inexplicably eliciting a surge of blood into his groin. Throughout the day, Mike also noticed how much Bruno’s eating and snacking habits were rubbing off on him. Whenever Bruno headed to get something for himself from the kitchen, he would always return to the couch with something small and seemingly insignificant for Mike as well. How long had Bruno been doing that without him even registering how these incidental, accidental calories must have been bloating his usual diet?

There were other revelations as well. When Mike went for dinner at his parents’ place one evening, he noticed straight away how small their dinner plates seemed in comparison to what he was now so used to, living with Bruno. He ate it all up, yet his stomach still churned with hunger, even as he left to head home. Then there was the night that he went out for food with his friend, Martha. He’d worn something loose and relaxed, given how much he was starting to notice his paunch in all his other clothes, yet Martha still picked up on a differene to his eating, laughing at how quickly he ate and how full he filled his mouth. Mike blushed. The way Martha described the way he was eating seemed to be exactly how Bruno gorged himself. It had been one of the traits that had turned Mike on the most about his huge boyfriend: the way he ate so ravenously, taking enormous mouthfuls that filled his cheeks and then swallowing it all down and starting again. But had it become a habit that Mike had subconsciously picked up himself as well? Was he now eating in a way that was reminiscent of his 450lb boyfriend?

There was an easy solution to all of this confusion that Mike felt. All he had to do was ask Bruno what was going on. Was he noticeably fatter than he used to be? Was Bruno overfeeding him, as he had claimed that night when he was high? However, Mike had never been particularly great at facing issues head-on. In fact, he found the silence and the ‘not talking about it’ to be strangely comforting. He could forget it was happening and attempt to convince himself that it was all just a kinky little fantasy that was playing out in his own head. That was, until the obvious strain of his pants, underwear and t-shirts started to become too much. Mike remembered how flustered he had been when someone in work had called him out on his weight gains, prodding an outstretched finger into his middle and laughing. He remembered the plethora of emotions within him: embarrassment, shame, disappointment. However, it also supercharged his libido to an insane extent, giving him a boner that he had hardly been able to shift for a whole week.

Upgrading his work pants became the logical strategy, not wanting to generate too much attention to his new shape, nor rip them open if he were to bend over. Likewise, his shirts could look unprofessional if they were to strain any more than they currently were. Mike looked in the mirror and nodded in approval. Yes, these would work well. His new body shape was nicely concealed with ease if you could ignore the slight puffiness to his face. It was certainly something he could learn to live with without too much worry. But that was before the fat started to build up more in his chest. He’d noticed a slight bounce under his shirts for a few days, but it was only when he stood in the mirror that he realised how pointed and full his nipples now appeared. They began to show through, even when he wore his most flattering of shirts and t-shirts. Then Mike could see Bruno staring at them hungrily, knowing exactly what he was doing, and loving every second of it.

It was only a few weeks later, when the concert tickets arrived that Bruno had booked for Mike as a Valenetine’s Day treat, that the enormous Bruno made his next big move. Mike had been gushing about what an amazing gift his thoughtful boyfriend had surprised him with, and kicking himself instead for having forgotten Valentine’s Day altogether.

“You really didn’t get me anything, huh?” Bruno asked with a bemused smile.

“I’m so sorry. I just don’t know where this month has gone. It feels like yesterday we were taking down the holiday decorations,” Mike tried as an excuse.

“That’s okay,” Bruno smiled, grabbing Mike’s butt and rubbing it suggestively, as he tended to do quite often these days, having become seemingly very obsessed with the shape and feel of Mike’s glutes. “I’m sure you can think of a way to make it up to me.”

“I’m positive I could,” Mike smiled back suggestively, turned on by his lover’s chubby hands touching his softer body; his shirt being lifted off.

Bruno headed straight to his target; his tongue sliding over Mike’s nipple with an expertise unkown to Mike beforehand. 

As Mike moaned, Bruno’s hand massaged it’s way into Mike’s groin until the increasingly thicker legs parted to grant him better access. “It’s time you had another feeding,” the enormous, horny man whispered as he lifted his head to kiss Mike.

“Another one?” Mike asked, as if it hadn’t been months since his last one.

“Another one,” Bruno nodded, leading his porky lover to the big chair by the TV and sitting him down. “Right now!” he stated with a smirk.

Deciding not to argue, Mike waited patiently as Bruno disappeared and then returned with mountains of supplies. Where had he hidden all those things? 

Mike sighed and let his head flop back into the chair. Bruno had clearly orchestrated the whole thing, knowing that Mike would forget all about Valentine’s Day, given how busy he had been in work. “All right… Just this once,” he chuckled, surrendering. After all, he really should have remembered their Valentine’s Day. No excuses

This new feeding was kinky from the offset. Bruno’s hands rubbed and pinched at Mike’s extra pounds more than usual, and he pushed in the food with a lot less compromise than he had last time. “What a greedy little pig…” the man whispered between sucking Mike off and pausing at just the right moments to prolong the experience.

There was a swirl and great gushing of chemicals and pleasure in Mike’s brain throughout the entire process. He thought he would climax, then not. He thought Bruno’s teasing couldn’t get any better, and then it did. He’d almost forgotten how arousing his feeding had been last time, and then it all came rushing back with ten times the original intensity. 

“Are you going to keep getting fatter for me, Mike?” Bruno asked, expertly stroking his lover’s hardness as if he really might let him climax this time.

Mike moaned. The answer was obvious. “Yes,” he nodded submissively, desperate to feel that final pleasure.

“Say it. Promise me!” Bruno ordered.

Mike inhaled as much as he could as the orgasm built and his legs twitched with the impending climax. “I promise. I’ll get fatter for you. I’ll eat whatever you want me to!”

“Are you a gainer?” Bruno asked, suddenly deadly serious.

“What?” Mike asked back, completely thrown by the word and the thought of it being deployed to describe him. He looked down at his body, so completely altered and swollen, not just with the food he had eaten that day, but with the pounds and pounds of pure blubber he had amassed over months and months. He’d let it all happen to him without so much as a second thought. His gym subscription had been a pointless outgoing from his bank account for weeks now. He really was… a gainer.

“Say it!” Bruno demanded, knowing that he had taken Mike over the edge and he was running out of time before he would squirt everywhere.

“I’m a gainer!” Mike shouted as he came. “I’m a gainer!”

The smug smile couldn’t be wiped off Bruno’s face over the next few days, even as Mike had panicked and asked if they could take this new direction of his quite slowly. Bruno had agreed, without any sincerity whatsoever. Mike found that his portion sizes had almost doubled overnight and Bruno immediately began experimenting with new pet names for him, like ‘piggy’ and ‘hog’. They’d also had more sex than even in the early days of their relationship; both allowing the eroticism of food and bloating to overtake them.

As Mike’s paunch swelled into a full gut, he hardly recognised his own kinky reflection. He’d started adopting items from Bruno’s old wardrobe from the time when he’d just finished college. The comments on his weight from colleagues and friends had stopped, just as Bruno had warned him they would; the seriousness and speed of his rapidly increasing weight startling them all into silence. Aside from eating a little bit more, Mike could hardly understand why it was all happening to him so quickly. Pants he had bought only weeks before, were now unable to close; the buttons on his shirts straining to contain the expanding flesh behind them. 

Likewise, Bruno had packed on weight at a greater pace than usual, gaining his annual 25lbs in only three months of Mike becoming an official gainer. His double chin had continued swallowing up his neck and his remarkable gut had a new, more extreme width and sag to it than ever before. The gainer bug inside of him was more ravenous than it had been in years - and it showed!

“Look at you two!” laughed Bruno’s gainer friend, Danny. “Fuck!”

Bruno smiled proudly, lifting his enormous t-shirt up to show off the huge expanse of skin and faint stretch marks across his own monstrous stomach. Meanwhile, Mike held back, unused to such attention and merely smiling at how delighted Bruno was to have gained so much weight.

“And look at you!” Danny marvelled, seeing the stout stomach that was pushing its way out of Mike’s torso. “I hardly recognised you!”

“He’s still a little shy about it, aren’t you?” Bruno grinned at his boyfriend, giving his wider butt a little pat at the same time.

“I can’t believe you finally let Bruno have his way with you!” Danny smiled at Mike. “He’s been wanting to fatten you up ever since you two met.”

Mike looked across at Bruno with surprise. “Since we met?” he asked in alarm.

Bruno smirked, despite the truth slipping out. “Of course I did,” he laughed. “Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I just knew that with a little time and patience, you’d make the perfect piggy for me!”

“Piggy, huh?” Danny chuckled, watching their interaction with more than just bemusement.

“He loves it!” Bruno smiled back excitedly; his tone full of mischief, just as it always was when he was about to overshare. “If he’s eating something and can’t quite finish it all, all I have to do is…”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Mike jumped in, full of embarrassment.

“Take a look at his butt too!” Bruno insisted, spinning Mike slightly so that Danny would see.

“Jeez!” Danny marvelled, seeing Mike’s previously tight glutes now so overwhelmed with the fresh fat that had both widened and rounded out his once pretty little rump. “Not to mention those love handles!”

Mike’s face flushed.

“He’s at that stage where everything is starting to jiggle, all over his body. Such a turn on! In fact, he’s already gained his first hundred pounds!” Bruno boasted.

“First?” Mike asked to clarify, trying to keep his composure and hide the erection that the seemingly throwaway comment had just given him.

“It looks like this fatty really got to you, didn’t he?” Danny chuckled, proudly throwing his arm around Bruno’s big shoulders, like he had acomplished something monumental.

“Yeah,” Mike nodded in agreement, looking on at the man he knew he never wanted to be without; the man who had changed his life in multiple ways - and all for the better. “I guess he did…”

[theweasleytwinsownmyjuicyass]

You belong with me | L.N.

Lando Norris x driver!reader

Summary: Nothing is more painful than two people being scared of how much they love each other.

Warnings: angst, fluff, idiots in love <3

Word count: ~2.3K

^^ It‘s funny to look back at the past that had brought you into this situation. Which is being an F1 driver and helplessly in love with your best friend and racing partner.

Lando and you have been inseparable since your early karting days, in turn developing a strong bond over your shared love for the sport which grew more as you got to know each other better. You were both childish still, no matter the fact that you were nearing your mid 20‘s. But that was what you loved about you two as a pair. There was never judgment from the other and what one lacked the other filled perfectly.

Throughout the close friendship there were a few mishaps when the threshold of friendship had been overstepped but there was always a girlfriend or a boyfriend at the time holding you two restrained and loyal.

So naturally when you two finally became single at the same time and got signed into McLaren’s F1 team all you could think about was. This is it. Now is our time.

And as on queue Lando organized you a surprise. Just the two of you, middle of the starry summer’s night with the city lights below your feet. You were smiling so much that night, your cheeks had started to hurt, but how could you not smile when he was next to you, paying his whole attention to you and making you laugh.

You were sure that he was going to ask you out that night.

And then he didn’t’. It could not have been a more painful experience, but you kept up your smile even if your eyes had faded, no longer admiring the boy next to you, that was just too miserable.

Unrequited love was miserable.

Or so you had thought until about a month later when Lando brought in a girl for everyone to meet calling her his girlfriend.

Just then unrequited love became agonizing.

Your Lando was known for his cheerful disposition and infectious laughter. He was easily the happiest boy around! Well until the said girlfriend…

It was only a few weeks later that you noticed your friends’ colours fade.

About two months in the others started noticing and drilling you about it.

“What do you mean you don’t know? You two are best friends, you have to know what’s causing him so much stress lately” Carlos was making too many hand movements due to his own distress.

“I just don’t know, we don’t talk that much these days” you tucked your hair into your cap and stomped away from the Spaniard.

You didn’t want to admit it to Carlos or anyone else, but you and Lando weren’t the great friends you used to be.

You surely kept your distance since he got his girlfriend out of sheer respect to their relationship (and respect to your own mental health). Although it still seemed not enough for his girlfriend as on a few instances you caught her yelling at Lando in the cool offs to stop the friendship you shared.

To say the least that definitely put a wall between you two, but nevertheless it didn’t completely break your bond.

Now, nine months and one nasty breakup later the unrequited love feels excruciating.

A shadow has fallen over Lando’s already tainted personality. He was going through a painful breakup with his now ex-girlfriend. She had been a constant presence in his life for the past year, controlling his every move, every word and god forbid he didn’t get the right amount of points… Safe to say she was sucking life out of him as a ravenous vampire, though Lando was too blind to see that.

The breakup had taken a toll on Lando, leaving him almost senseless now that he was out of her hold, and it showed in his performance on the track. During the qualifying session for the upcoming race, he couldn't find his usual rhythm and ended up with a DNF after driving himself into a wall.

As he stepped out of his car, disappointment weighed heavily on him. Lando felt like he was losing everything now and the sadness from his failures compounded his frustration.

You had been there for Lando throughout the tumultuous relationship, supporting him in all the little ways you could, checking in before and after races and offering a listening ear whenever you could see him about to reach his limits.

But on this particular day, you could no longer listen to him whining about her, you have reached a breaking point. You couldn’t stand by and watch the man you cared for so deeply be consumed by a toxic woman who had done nothing but break him piece by piece for the past year.

"If I was better, she would still be with me." You heard Lando mumble as he laid on the sofa emotionless.

"LANDO STOP! You must be insane to be saying those things. How can you say that you're not enough? She was the one who didn't care about you, who was never here to support you. Lando, it's her who didn't deserve you, not the other way around!" you snapped, voice filled with tears.

"You don't get it. If I was enough, wouldn't there be girls who like me? Because not one of my girlfriends have actually liked me or, god forbid, loved me." Lando was drowning in self-doubt and it was suffocating you to the point where your heart physically ached seeing him so beat up.

"Can't you see why that is? Maybe you don't belong with any of those girls? Lando, maybe you belong with someone who loves you through your highs and lows, someone who can't bear to see you sad, someone who lets you cry into their shoulder in the middle of the night, and, most importantly, someone who can't stand watching you break yourself over some girl," frustration evident in your trembling voice muddled Lando.

"What are you trying to say, Y/n?"

You hesitated, heart racing, as you contemplated revealing your true feelings. "All this time, Lando, and you still can't see it."

Lando was bewildered, not comprehending your cryptic words. "See what?"

You were burning with passion, on the brink of confessing your feelings, but ultimately bit your tongue. You were praying for him, but he could not understand and you believed he never would and to express the delicate feelings right now seemed futile.

"Nothing," you replied, shaking your head to rid of the emotions taking over your rational brain, and left the room to preserve your patched up heart.

As you retreated, a storm of emotions raged within. You couldn't help but wonder if there would ever come a day when Lando would realize the truth you had left unsaid.

Your words left Lando conflicted and he hated it.

You were someone he could always count on to understand. Hell he never needed to read you, you were like a road he had taken day after day, he knew you so well, he could navigate without his senses.

Lando found himself seeking friendly counsel from Carlos, as he was still perplexed by your reaction and couldn't fathom why you had gotten so upset with him.

"I don't understand why she's so mad at me?! Can you believe it, she was even crying. I'm the one that got dumped, and she's pissed at me for picking the wrong girl?!" Lando vented pulling at his hair, frustration lacing his voice.

Carlos regarded him thoughtfully before posing a question that made Lando pause and reflect. "Lando, let me ask you this. If Y/n was dating a guy who constantly made her doubt herself and feel like shit, how would you feel?"

Lando’s response was interlaced with confusion, "Why the hell would she even date someone like that?"

"So to say you'd be pissed as well?" Carlos continued.

Lando struggled to find words to counter Carlos's argument. He had a point, and Lando was beginning to see things from a different perspective. "But I..."

Carlos interrupted him with a knowing smirk forming on his face, "You what?"

Lando thought about it, connecting the dots between his protective feelings for you and the turmoil he had experienced during his recent relationship. Carlos decided to push him closer to an epiphany.

"When you like someone, you don't want to see them hurting, but it's different to feel the pain of the other person. That's closer to-"

"Love," Lando finished, realization dawning. He abruptly grabbed his jacket and rushed out the door with a clear destination in mind.

It was time for Lando to confront the truth he had been avoiding, and perhaps, in the process, he might finally get what he had always wanted. You and love.

Everything was suddenly falling into place for Lando. He began to understand why you had never wanted to hang out whenever he got into a relationship, why you cried when he cried, why you sacrificed your sleep just to listen to him rant about the terrible things his ex had done, and crack jokes to make him smile. It all made sense, and he couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before.

Deep down, he had always known that the girls he dated were just placeholders, a way to distract himself from the perfect girl he felt undeserving of his whole life.

He had a brilliant idea last year when you both secured your McLaren positions. He planned a whole midnight drive and stargazing, which he knew you loved (that also prompted him to learn constellations for weeks before the special day, only to impress you). He wanted to ask you to be his and make it magical, but ultimately chickened out.

When the next day came around he could not face you and instead of spending the last few days before training with you he headed to a bar where he met his now ex. She was pretty and showed so much interest in him he could not not get hooked.

In that moment of absolute weakness Lando decided that having a girlfriend would solve the problem of loving his best friend and potentially ruining the friendship.

He could not have been more wrong. The relationship was an absolute hellhole, filled with insecurities and so many fights that he could no longer see himself as he looked in the mirror. Still no matter how bad his life got, he felt he deserved the purgatory for letting you slip through his fingers when he just had to hold on to you a bit tighter.

He’d never forgive himself for wasting so much time pushing you away. But he wasn’t going to settle for that. Lando was still a fighter. And fighting for you… well that now felt like his birthright.

“It's you!" Lando exclaimed bursting through the door, his voice echoing through the garage, his eyes locked directly on your form, disrupting the calm chatter around the room.

The entire room came to a standstill, eyebrows furrowing, and the atmosphere thick with confusion. Your eyes found his, equally as bewildered as the rest of the staff in the room.

Lando repeated himself, his breathy voice much lighter and softer than before. "It's you."

"Me what?" You asked, face still a mix of confusion as you tried to grasp the meaning of his words.

With each step he took closer to you, your heartbeat quickened, uncertain of the nature of those words, and just how much was hidden beneath them.

"It's always been you," Lando confessed, his voice filled with sincerity. "I've never loved anyone because you've held my heart since you smiled at me on your first day in karting. I have loved you this whole time, but I was too scared and too stupid, honestly, to do anything about it, letting myself push away my feelings by running to someone else. But I'm not scared anymore because you don't deserve to be loved silently and from afar. You are the kind of woman that is meant to be loved loudly, with no second thoughts."

“Lan…” words deceived you.

“I love you Y/n and I’m not afraid to feel it and say it anymore. And I hope that one day you can tell me that you love me too” his hands found yours, the touch of his skin on your hands felt different.

Your cheeks heat up with his confession and you search his eyes who confirm his words to be true. He does love you. And you love him too. You’ve thought your love for him unrequited for so long that hearing him say those words to you seems like a daydream.

You realize by his fading eyes that you’ve been too silent through his confession. You know exactly what the look of doubt looks like on Lando’s face and you speak up quickly promising yourself that you’ll never be the cause of that distressing look on his face.

“Took you long enough to realize Norris” you chuckle pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

He catches up to you quickly wrapping his arms around you waist deepening the kiss.

“You belong with me.” He whispers, the warm words fall on your lips right before he kisses you again, both of you smiling into the kiss.

The room erupted in cheers and applause, congratulating the new couple. Finally, Lando had found what he had been searching for all along, right by his side, and you got what you’d been wishing for since you were little. A two sided love. You both were ready to embrace your love openly, no longer bound by doubt and hesitation.

^^

A.N. back again with that Taylor Swift inspiration :3

P.s. I think my neighbors hate me because I be listening to one song on repeat for like 4h..... *skull emoji*