#whatever justin bieber says

[lwlrence]

autistics taking over the world by thought reduction: you're too lazy Hollywood to SAVE MATT DAMON (and now they're all conspiracy theorists.. uh oh)

that but like they're now animated to think twice as fast as you do by literally living their lives (the plot hole for Hole in the wall irl)

west end vs broadway

now give us back Ant and Dec's Saturday Night Takeaway controversy (nobody won Andy Peters prize of a giveaway which ends with a Sunday dream) so you would have intuitively talked to Ant and Dec about the Glee cast and they were in on it like no other gameshow existed but primarily working for the government at the same time. get a break now cuz you're all going on a takeaway getaway!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[mikaylathenerd5]

𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒜𝓁𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝒟𝑜 | Roman Reigns Smut

*I do not own the gif or pictures*

Main Mainlist ৹ Join My Taglist

PAIRING: Roman Reigns x Black OC (Shiloh Lucero)

SUMMARY: The world sees a warrior. She sees a man who only exhales when she touches him. After a brutal match ends in chaos, Roman sends nothing but a room number. No words. No apology. No warning. But Shiloh comes anyway. And in the silence that follows, she gives him what no one else ever has—peace, softness, and a body he can lose himself in.

🥀 Emotional aftercare. Sacred-level smut. And a man who doesn’t know how to let go—until she shows him he doesn’t have to.

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes graphic smut (oral, vaginal, size kink, overstimulation, creampie), strong language, emotional vulnerability, references to violence (in-ring), and intense aftercare. If you like your smut dirty and your emotions raw, this one’s for you.

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

A/N: This one did something to me. We might have went a little overboard with the smut. 😭 It’s filthy, yes—but also soft in a way that feels sacred. Roman is raw and wrecked, and Shiloh is the calm he didn’t know he needed. If you’re new here and want to keep up with all my Roman Reigns fics—drop a 💬 in the replies to join my Main Taglist, or fill out the Google Form in my pinned post. There’s a whole masterlist waiting to ruin you softly.

The world saw a warrior. She saw a man who only ever exhaled when she touched him.

She shouldn’t be here.

That thought echoed through her mind with every step she took down the carpeted hallway, her hoodie sleeves stretched over her palms, her heart thudding too loud in her chest. The hotel smelled like bleach and dust—clean but hollow. The kind of place where things came to rest. Or fall apart.

Her footsteps felt like thunder even though she moved quietly. Carefully. The closer she got to his door, the more her stomach knotted.

Room 815.

She’d stared at the text for ten minutes before even leaving the house. Just those three numbers. He didn’t say come. Didn’t say don’t. He just sent the room number, hours after the fight. After whatever had been clawing at him finally broke loose in the ring.

Shiloh had watched it on her phone. The clips. The commentators’ stunned silence when he didn’t stop swinging after the bell. The way security had to pull him off the guy. The way Roman didn’t look like Roman.

She’d seen that version of him before.

The version with the split knuckles and the cold stare.

The one who walked into the recovery room months ago with blood on his hoodie and pain in his bones and nothing left in his voice.

Back then, she hadn’t flinched.

And she wasn’t going to now.

Still, when she reached his door, her hand hovered.

She wasn’t scared of him. That wasn’t what this was.

It was what she carried for him. The tenderness, the ache. The way she saw through him even when he tried to disappear into silence. The way she knew—deep in her chest—that he needed softness more than he’d ever admit. That tonight, he didn’t need discipline or space or distance.

He needed to be seen.

To be held.

To be touched like a man, not a monster.

So she raised her hand and knocked. Softly. Once.

No answer.

Not for ten seconds. Maybe fifteen.

Then the lock clicked.

And the door opened.

The hotel room door shut behind him with a weight that had nothing to do with hinges.

Roman didn’t speak.

He dropped his gym bag by the dresser and let the silence settle over the room like fog—thick and slow, clinging to everything it touched. The air still carried the echo of the fight: adrenaline, frustration, sweat. That unshakable feeling of being full of everything and nothing at the same time.

He should’ve gone to the trainer. Should’ve iced his shoulder. Popped something for the swelling in his knee.

But he didn’t.

Because she was already here.

Shiloh sat at the edge of the bed in one of his hoodies, legs crossed, back straight but not tense. His gaze dropped, caught on the full curve of her hips, the way the oversized hoodie clung to her like it knew exactly what it was covering. She was thick in the kind of way that made a man lose his damn mind. Plush thighs. Fat ass. Built like comfort and chaos. He bit the inside of his cheek just to keep still. Her hands were tucked into the sleeves, her lips glossed with something soft and pink. The glow from the cracked bathroom door behind her lit her skin in warm gold.

She didn’t flinch when he walked in.

Didn’t rise or rush him.

She just looked at him—quietly, gently—like she was counting the parts that made it back whole.

“You okay?” she asked, voice low. Careful. Not tiptoeing—just attuned.

Roman’s gaze dragged up her body like it hurt to look too long. Not because she wasn’t beautiful—but because she was. And he didn’t know how to hold something like that without feeling like he might crack it open by mistake.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said finally. His voice sounded rough, like it had been scraped across gravel.

Shiloh blinked. She didn’t look away. “I came anyway.”

That did something to him.

He crossed the room in three slow steps and dropped to his knees in front of her. The sound of it wasn’t dramatic—just real. Solid. His hands found her thighs, palms warm even through the fabric, and then he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to her stomach like he was begging for silence.

She didn’t expect the way her chest ached just watching him breathe. Didn’t expect how warm he still was—even after the world tried to make him cold.

She touched him anyway.

Her fingers slipped through his damp hair, down to the back of his neck, tracing the line where tension still lived. Her touch didn’t ask for anything. It simply said: I’m here. I see you. I’m not leaving.

Roman exhaled like he hadn’t done that since the fight.

“You’re the only one who sees me like this,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Shiloh’s hand stilled, then moved to his jaw. She tilted his face upward until his eyes met hers.

And just like that, a memory bloomed.

The first time Shiloh saw him, he didn’t speak.

He walked into the recovery room with a scowl on his face and blood drying on the collar of his hoodie. His knuckles were split, and his right arm hung lower than his left—like even lifting it would cost too much.

She glanced up from the file in her lap. Her supervisor wasn’t in yet.

He noticed her—but barely. Like he was scanning for threats, not people.

He sat on the padded table with a grunt and pulled the hood lower over his face. Not a word.

Shiloh stood slowly, walked to the counter, grabbed an ice pack, and brought it over.

Still no eye contact.

“Your shoulder,” she said softly. “Right side?”

He didn’t nod.

Didn’t deny it either.

She reached out and laid the ice against the swelling—lightly, gently, not forcing it. His flinch was instinctive, but it passed. And then he finally looked at her.

Eyes sharp. Quiet. Heavy-lidded like they’d seen too much.

She met his stare without dropping hers.

“You don’t have to explain pain to me,” she murmured.

He blinked. Just once. Like he wasn’t expecting that.

Like maybe he didn’t even want to be understood—but now that he was, it made his whole body settle just an inch.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the session. She taped his wrist and iced his ribs. He didn’t make a sound, but his breath hitched once when her hands brushed lower than expected.

She apologized. He didn’t say anything.

But when he stood to leave, his voice was deep and low.

“You always this calm?”

She gave a half-smile. “You always this grumpy?”

And for the first time, Roman Reigns—fight-hardened, blood-smeared, silent-as-the-grave Roman—grinned.

Just a little.

He came back three days later. Asked for her by name.

And over time, something started to form.

No flirting.

No games.

Just longer sessions. Longer silences. Until the silences weren’t empty anymore.

Until she started waiting for the sound of his boots in the hallway.

Until he started staying five minutes after. Then ten. Then walking her to the parking garage.

Until the night he looked at her and said:

“I don’t usually let people touch me. But you… I feel like I’d stop breathing if you didn’t.”

And maybe that’s when he knew.

Maybe she did, too.

She still remembered that first night. The blood on his hoodie. The way he couldn’t meet her eyes until she told him he didn’t have to explain pain. The way he looked at her now was different—but the man underneath hadn’t changed. Just the way he let her hold him.

“That’s why I don’t look away,” she whispered.

And that’s when he kissed her.

The kiss wasn’t urgent. It didn’t demand or dominate. It opened.

Warmth bled between them as her lips moved against his—slow, sweet, and sure. He tasted like iron and something tired. She tasted like ChapStick and vanilla and something his.

Roman made a low sound in his throat. Not quite a growl. Not quite a sigh. Something in between. A sound that meant thank you for touching me when I feel like a monster.

He deepened the kiss, just enough to feel her breath change.

One hand cradled her jaw. The other moved to her back. He held her like a man holding the last soft thing in a hard world.

When he pulled back, his voice was hoarse.

“Take it off, Shy.”

Her throat went dry. The syllable of her name felt heavier when he said it like that—slow, deep, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

She nodded, fingers curling around the hem of the hoodie.

It wasn’t modesty. It was vulnerability.

Being bare around Roman was different. He didn’t just see her. He memorized her. Devoured her with his eyes like he wanted to be fluent in her skin.

Still, she peeled it off.

Underneath: soft bralette. Cotton shorts. Bare thighs. Gold anklet.

The shorts clung to her like a second skin, cinched just under the swell of her ass. Her hips flared, thick and smooth, and her thighs jiggled just a little as she moved—soft enough to sink into, strong enough to ride him into the mattress. Roman swore under his breath again, because fuck… she was thick and beautiful and everything he didn’t deserve.

Roman swore under his breath. In English first. Then Samoan.

“You don’t even try to kill me. You just do.”

He took off his own shirt—slow, deliberate. The bruises on his ribs bloomed deep purple. A long, angry cut ran beneath his collarbone. He didn’t flinch.

But when she reached for him, he caught her wrist.

“Don’t fix it,” he said. “Just be here.”

Shiloh’s eyes softened. She touched his chest anyway—right over the cut—and whispered, “Okay.”

And then his mouth found hers again.

Slower this time. Hungrier.

Roman’s mouth never strayed far from hers, but the kiss shifted—lower, deeper, more possessive. His lips dragged along her jaw, then lower, biting softly at her neck.

Then he sat back, gaze dark and unreadable.

“On your knees, mama.”

Shiloh’s breath caught. Not from fear. From the sheer weight in his voice.

She moved without hesitation. Slid off the bed onto the carpet, the press of the cool floor grounding her even as heat licked up her spine. Her body was buzzing—raw and worshipful. Being in front of him like this didn’t feel small. It felt powerful. Sacred. Like her mouth was the only place he wanted to lose control.

Roman leaned back slightly, legs spread, watching her with a hunger that almost made her ache. His cock strained against his sweats, thick and already leaking. And when she reached up to free him, his eyes fluttered closed for a second—just one.

“You know what I like,” he said, voice gravel. “So don’t tease me, baby. Not tonight.”

She pulled him out, her hand not even able to wrap fully around him. God, he was heavy in her palm. Warm. Veined. His tip was flushed and dripping, and she licked it once—just a flick, just to taste him.

Roman’s hips jerked.

“Fuck—”

Shiloh looked up at him through her lashes, her lips wrapping around the head. She sucked him in slowly, relaxing her jaw, inch by inch, until she couldn’t take any more. She gagged softly—his size never stopped being a stretch—but she pushed herself down again, letting her nose brush the firm line of his abs.

His groan was guttural.

“Jesus, Shy…”

She held him deep, her throat tightening around him, breathing through her nose. Her palms rested on his thighs, grounding herself in his warmth. Her eyes watered—but not from discomfort. From the rush. The intimacy. The way his whole body shook beneath her.

Roman’s hand found the back of her head—not rough, just firm.

“Look at you,” he rasped. “Givin’ me this sweet fuckin’ throat like it belongs to me.”

It did.

Every part of her did, and he knew it.

She moaned around him, letting the vibrations travel through him like lightning. He bucked once—just once—and then forced himself still.

“Shit, baby. I’m hangin’ on by a thread.”

He was unraveling, and she felt it.

And God, she loved it.

Loved that this man—this warrior, this myth, this fucking machine of violence—was coming undone because of her. Because of her mouth, her patience, her devotion.

He looked down just in time to see her spit slick down his shaft, her lips glossy, her eyes wild with heat. She sucked harder, cheeks hollowing, then pulled back and stroked him with both hands, spreading her spit all the way to the base.

Roman was breathing like he’d just run five rounds.

“Fuck. You tryin’ to make me bust in your mouth, mama? That what you want?”

She nodded, then swallowed him again.

Deeper this time.

Sloppier.

More desperate.

Her throat worked around him, each bob messier than the last. Her tears smeared down her cheeks. And still—she didn’t stop. She gave all of herself, like worship, like penance, like prayer.

Roman’s jaw clenched so hard it ached.

“Shit—Shy—you gotta stop—fuck—you gon’ make me—”

He pulled her off, fast but careful, panting like he just survived a war.

His cock was dripping, shiny and soaked, twitching in her grip. And her lips—God—her lips were swollen and slick with him.

She looked ruined.

And he’d never seen anything more perfect.

“Get up here,” he growled, low and urgent. “Now.”

Shiloh climbed onto the bed, flushed and breathless. Her thighs were trembling, her body dripping. She looked like she was ready to burst.

Roman dragged her into his lap, every part of him still shaking from the feel of her throat.

Shiloh was already straddling him, bare thighs spread across the thick muscle of his lap. Her ass settled heavy against him, thick and plush, the kind of weight that made his pulse throb. Every time she shifted, he felt her softness drag along his skin like a slow tease. That ass had a rhythm of its own—one he’d memorized, one he craved. It wasn’t just how she moved—it was what she made him feel when she did. Her softness against him made his whole body tense. He gripped her hips, thumbs pressing slow circles into her skin like he was mapping her, muscle by muscle.

“You sure?” he murmured, voice low and gritty, jaw tight with restraint.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Nah, baby. I need to hear it.”

“I want you,” she breathed, lips brushing his. “I want all of you.”

Roman’s nostrils flared.

“You got me.”

He nudged the tip against her entrance. Just that—no pressure, no push—just enough for her body to remember what it was like to be stretched by him.

She inhaled sharply. Her hips twitched, needy already.

“You feel that?” he rasped. “She already opening for me.”

He gripped his cock at the base and slid it against her folds, teasing. Her slick coated him instantly. He didn’t even push in yet, and she was already dripping.

“So fuckin’ wet. All this for me?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “It’s yours, Roman.”

“Damn right it is.”

Then he sank into her.

Slow. Deep. Unforgiving.

Shiloh’s mouth fell open, eyes squeezing shut as he filled her inch by inch. The stretch was insane. Her walls fluttered around him, barely able to take it.

Fuck—he was huge.

Every goddamn time, it felt like he was breaking her in from scratch. Like her pussy forgot how to handle him the second he pulled out. And now—now he was splitting her open like he owned the right to ruin her.

No one else had ever felt like this. No one else had ever made her gasp just from the first few inches. Roman filled every part of her—thick, heavy, perfect—and still had more to give.

It wasn’t fair. How the stretch made her ache and gush all at once. How her walls clenched like they were desperate to hold onto him. How her pussy went dumb the second he bottomed out.

She was fucking addicted to it.

To him.

To the way he made her feel small, stuffed, ruined…

And God help her, she loved it.

Loved being the only one who could take it. Loved knowing this dick—the biggest she’d ever had—was hers.

Roman groaned, head falling back. His voice cracked when he said:

“Goddamn, Shy. I forget how tight this pussy is ‘til I’m back inside it.”

She whimpered. Tried to breathe. Failed.

“That’s it, baby. Ride it. Ride this dick like it’s yours.”

She rocked forward and down—shaky at first, then stronger. Her rhythm built, hips moving in rolling waves, the wet slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the room.

Roman didn’t stop watching her.

Her tits bounced with every grind. Her nails raked his chest. Her head fell back as she moaned his name, again and again, like a prayer unraveling.

“Look at you,” he gritted out. “You fuckin’ takin’ it. So pretty. So fuckin’ perfect.”

“Fat fuckin’ ass takin’ this dick like it was made for it,” he growled, gripping both cheeks hard. “You feel what you’re doin’ to me, baby? Bouncin’ like that, makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind.”

His hand moved to her ass. SLAP.

She gasped, clenching hard around him. It sent a fresh bolt of heat through her core, her pussy tightening like a vice, sucking him in deeper.

“You like that?”

“Yes—Roman, please—”

“You gon’ make a mess all over this dick, huh?”

Another slap—harder. Her thighs jolted. Her back arched like she couldn’t help it. The sting of his palm only made the pleasure burn hotter.

“You better fuckin’ cream on me. I wanna see it.”

She didn’t even realize she was crying until her vision blurred—tears sliding down her temples, not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming stretch of him inside her. Every time she lifted and dropped her hips, she felt her body split wide open, clenching just to survive the next thrust.

It wasn’t just pleasure.

It was obliteration.

He filled her so deep her guts throbbed. Her belly felt taut from how far he reached, the tip of his cock dragging along every soft, swollen nerve that had already been fucked raw. Her clit throbbed just from how full she was. And she couldn’t stop—didn’t want to.

“You feel what you do to me?” Roman groaned, voice cracking. “You ridein’ me like that and expect me to hold on?”

He grabbed her hips tighter. Forced her to grind deeper, slower, harder. The friction made her eyes roll back. Her pussy fluttered, soaked and messy and milking him with every bounce.

And then he looked down.

“Oh fuck—look at you.”

His jaw dropped. His voice dropped lower.

Her slick coated him in white, a creamy ring forming around the base of his cock every time she bottomed out. Her juices smeared his thighs. The air smelled like sweat, sex, and something dangerously addictive.

“Fuck, baby—you see that shit?” he growled. “You fuckin’ drippin’ down my balls.”

Shiloh whimpered. Her body trembled uncontrollably. She was seconds from losing it, thighs shaking, pussy clenching in rhythmic spasms around him.

“I can’t—I’m gonna—”

“You better fuckin’ cum,” he said, voice low, wicked. “Let me see you lose control on this dick, mama. Let me feel all of it.”

His hands gripped her ass, slammed her down—and that was it.

She shattered.

Her body jerked forward like something had snapped inside her. Her scream tore from her throat, raw and helpless. Her walls convulsed. Wetness exploded down her thighs in hot, pulsing waves. She squirted around him, again and again, coating his lap with a slick, chaotic mess.

“Fuck you’re squirting for me, huh?” he hissed. “Look at that. Look how wrecked you get for me.”

And still—he didn’t stop.

He fucked her through it, his cock dragging slow and deep through her still-gushing pussy. Her head fell back. Her mouth stayed open. Every nerve was on fire.

“You want another?”

She whimpered. “Roman—I—I can’t—”

“Yes you can.”

He flipped her.

One motion—gripped her waist, laid her back, and lined himself up again.

“Legs open. Let me see that pretty pussy I just broke.”

He slid back in—no resistance now. Just slick heat.

“Mmm. Still twitchin’. She not done yet.”

He put her ankles on his shoulders. Bent down. Kept all of him inside her.

Then he moved.

Deep, grinding thrusts that made the bed creak. His moans got rougher. His lips brushed her ear.

“Cum again, babygirl. One more. Just for me. Let me ruin you soft.”

Her hands gripped the sheets. Her body shook.

“Roman—I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“Let go. Let me feel everything.”

She came again. Loud. Messy. Writhing beneath him as her body gave out. And that broke him.

He grunted. Cursed. Slammed into her twice more before groaning into her neck.

“Givin’ you all of it. Take it. Take it.”

His cock jerked deep inside her as he came—hard. Long. Gut-wrenching.

He didn’t pull out.

Didn’t even move.

Just lay over her, shuddering with every pulse.

“You okay?” she whispered, dazed, breathless.

Roman chuckled, voice still ragged.

“Baby… I think I saw God.”

Shiloh didn’t remember collapsing.

All she knew was that her body had given up. She was boneless, limp, ruined in the best possible way. Her legs trembled with aftershocks. Her skin tingled from every place he’d touched. And her pussy—God—her pussy throbbed, stretched wide and still pulsing, warm and wet from him.

Roman hadn’t moved.

He was still deep inside her when the last tremor rocked through her hips. Still pressing his forehead to hers. Still breathing like she was oxygen and the world had left him breathless.

“You okay?” he rasped.

Her voice was hoarse. “I think… I can taste colors.”

He chuckled. Deep. Warm. A sound that made her want to kiss the corner of his mouth just to feel it again.

“That good, huh?” “You ruined me.” “Good,” he said again, this time darker. “I like you ruined.”

He kissed her cheek and pulled out slow. She whimpered at the drag—how empty she felt the second he left her. The wet sound of him slipping free echoed between them.

He looked down.

And groaned.

“Fuck. Look what you did to me.”

His cock was slicked in her cream. The base was messy with it, sticky and glistening. His cream smeared down the backs of her thick thighs, leaving glossy trails on skin that still twitched from overstimulation. Her ass—red from his palms, soft from the way she molded into his lap—looked like it had been claimed. Marked. Remembered. There was a milky trail between her thighs, seeping onto the sheets. He brushed his thumb along her slit and watched her body twitch.

“You still sensitive?” “Roman—” “Yeah,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Still flutterin’. She not ready to let me go yet.”

Then he moved. She thought he was going to tease her again, but instead—

He left the bed.

The absence of him made her cold.

She heard water run. A drawer open. The rustle of cloth. The quiet click of the light dimmer.

When he came back, he knelt at the edge of the bed. Warm towel in one hand. Tenderness in the other.

“Open your legs for me, mama.”

She did.

Because her body always listened to him before her brain could.

He wiped her clean—slow, reverent. Cupped her thighs, spread her gently, ran the towel between her folds with care so tender it made her chest ache. She winced once.

He paused. Kissed the inside of her knee.

“I got you. I’ll be gentle. Just wanna take care of my mess.”

She whimpered at how soft he was. How filthy his voice still sounded even when he was trying to be delicate.

“You always this sweet after you cum?” he murmured, brushing her skin with the backs of his knuckles. “Goin’ quiet on me like I ain’t just made you squirt on this dick twice?”

“You’re cocky.” “I’m correct.”

Once she was clean, he stood and scooped her up.

Roman didn’t ask. Didn’t warn her.

He just wrapped her in his arms like he was reclaiming something that already belonged to him.

“Can’t walk yet, huh?” he teased, lips brushing her temple.

“I might fall face-first.” “That’s alright. I’ll carry you every time.”

He tucked her into the bed gently, like he was setting something delicate into silk. Draped the sheet over her legs. Then slid in behind her, chest to her back, wrapping an arm around her waist.

But she twisted.

Rolled into him.

Tucked herself under his chin and pressed her lips to his collarbone.

“Stay close,” she whispered.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Room service trays now sat mostly ignored. Her stomach was full, her thighs sore. She was wrapped in one of his hoodies now—nothing underneath but warm skin.

Roman fed her sushi with his fingers. Held her ankle in his lap, massaging her calf.

“You always this quiet?” “You always this soft?” she asked back.

His eyes lingered on her for a long beat. Longer than she expected.

“Only with you.”

She turned her face into his chest. Breathed him in. Then asked softly:

“Do you ever let anyone else see you like this?”

His answer was immediate.

“No.”

“Why me?”

He didn't rush the answer. He trailed his fingers along the seam of her thigh. Thought for a long time. Then:

“Because you don’t try to fix me. You don’t treat me like I’m some fucked-up legend. You just… show up.”

“I’d keep showing up if you let me.”

He looked down at her. For once, no smirk. No armor. Just a truth sitting heavy behind his eyes.

“You already do.”

He kissed her slow. Not sexual. Not even possessive.

Just like he couldn’t believe he got to.

And when he pulled away, the room was quiet again—except this time, the silence felt earned.

Safe.

Shiloh was already half-asleep, lips brushing his chest, hand resting over his heart.

But before she drifted, she heard him say—voice low, almost to himself:

“I sleep better when you’re the last thing I see.”

The room was still dark.

Early morning light hadn’t breached the curtains yet—just the faint blue hush of pre-dawn that settled across the ceiling like a sigh. The air was cool. The sheets were warm. And Shiloh—bare and curled beside him—was breathing slow and even, her face tucked into the crook of his shoulder.

Roman was already awake.

Had been for almost an hour.

But he hadn’t moved.

Not because he couldn’t.

Because he didn’t want to.

There was something sacred about this—about watching her sleep, soft and safe in a bed that had seen violence hours before. Her cheek rested on his chest, her lips parted slightly, and one thigh was draped over his waist like she had no intention of letting go.

And God… he didn’t want her to.

He ran his hand down her back. Barely a touch. Just enough to feel the curve of her spine. Just enough to remind himself she was still there.

Still here.Still his.

He leaned forward—careful not to wake her—and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. Then another, lower, just above her shoulder blade.

His lips lingered.

And then, in a voice no louder than breath, he whispered something no one else had ever heard from him. Not his family. Not his friends. Not even himself, in the mirror.

“I don’t know who I’d be without you.”

The words didn’t scare him.

What scared him was how true they felt.

He kissed her again—one more time, just because he could—and let his forehead rest against the space between her shoulder and neck. She stirred lightly, but didn’t wake.

Roman closed his eyes.

And for the first time in what felt like years, he didn’t feel like he had to armor up when morning came.

He didn’t feel like the fight would start again as soon as the sun rose.

He just felt... safe.

Because she was here.

Because she came anyway.

Because maybe—for once—he didn’t have to be anything more than this.

Just a man.

Just hers.

Author's Note ✍🏽:

If this one gave you feelings, made you squirm, or had you whispering “oh my God” to no one—please tell me everything. I live for your reactions. 💭 What line did it for you? 💭 What part made you feel soft? 💭 Should I write a morning-after continuation? 💭 Do you imagine this Roman existing in the same universe as any of my other stories?

Let’s talk about it in the comments or in your tags—I always read them. Your reblogs, reactions, and love keep me inspired. 💌

Slide into my inbox with your thoughts, keysmashes, theories, or thirst. I love getting asks and screaming with y’all about these characters—it makes sharing my work feel even more special. 🖤 If you want to be added to my Main Taglist, just drop a comment or fill out the form in my pinned post. And if you're looking for more emotional smut, messy love, and slow-burn softness… my masterlist has you covered. Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading. You're seriously some of the coolest people I know.

🏷️ @star017 @sheaabuttaababyy @tribalqueen20 @trippinsorrows @mamis-girly

@pittieprincess22 @zoeroxiie @beccalynns-world @keyera-jackson @li-da-savage

@sharmelasworld @jaded-human @lov3rla03 @justazzi @fearlesschimera

@skyesthebomb @chrissyxcxox @reginawhorge01 @purplementalitybluebird @jeyusosqueen

@brianochka @diamondlifeee @perksofbeingbeautifulyetsobroken @cyberdejos2 @transparentphantomface

@sayyestoheav3nn @kianaleani @sxvual @vebner37 @sexyblacksimper

@dopematicdiamondz @behavior619 @annfg8 @ayeeeitsmiracle

@ariiaellbtheedonn

@romanreignsluver1 @ashykneee @fame-ass-ers @baybehkay @queenofklonnie22

@blackchickinthedesert @thekittysmeow

[norrisainz33]

that should be me || ln4

summary: lando has been in love with his sister's best friend for as long as he can remember but doesn't gain the confidence to tell her until shes seen with a certain other driver

pairing: lando norris x sisters!bestfriend!reader x esteban ocon

warnings: angsty, lots and lots of lando pining

a/n: based off of that should be me by justin bieber fr

word count: 2,419

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

it starts with a photo.

just a stupid photo on instagram. one of those blurry candids that you were never quite sure how the gossip pages managed to get. it was a photo of you laughing with your head tilted back, eyes closed, hand on esteban's arm and he’s looking at you like you hung the stars.

lando doesn’t like the photo and he doesn’t even look at the caption. his stomach’s already in knots and his throat’s too tight for him to scroll any further.

you’ve always laughed like that. since you were kids, since the first time flo introduced him to her annoying little friend who beat him at mario kart and made better chicken wraps than anyone he’d ever met.

lando had always told himself it wasn’t like that. you were flo's best friend. his dear sisters best friend. off limits. but mostly… too good for someone like him.

and he’d thought he had time. time to figure it out. time to find the right moment. time to stop being scared of what would happen if he told you how he felt but maybe he waited too long.

“you okay, mate?”

lando blinks realizing he’s been staring at the same post on his phone for the last five minutes. max is across the hotel room, shoving snacks into the mini fridge like it personally offended him.

“yeah. fine.” he locks his phone and tosses it on the bed.

max eyes him suspiciously. “you’re sulking bud.”

“i’m not sulking.”

“you’ve got the same face you had when we kept losing in tarkov last night. you are sulking.”

lando huffs, “whatever.”

he doesn't want to talk about it. especially not with max who most definitely will give him massive shit for it. you and flo were like sisters to max - and lando knew he'd have something to say about it. he couldn't tell him, not when the only thing circling his brain was: y/n's dating esteban ocon and i think it might actually kill me.

he sees you later that week at a paddock event. you’re positively glowing and he hates that it makes his heart ache.

you light up when you spot him. “lando!”

it’s still his name on your lips. still your arms wrapping around him. still your familiar scent and the soft brush of your laugh against his neck.

for a second, he lets himself believe things haven’t changed. until he sees esteban who is not far behind you, talking to your friends like he belongs there. like lando used to.

you pull away, smiling. “i haven’t seen you in forever!”

he shrugs, forcing a grin. “been busy.”

you lean into him like you used to, teasing. “too busy to text me back?”

lando’s throat tightens. he hasn’t meant to drift. it just hurt too much.

“you seemed busy,” he says, eyes flicking to esteban. the words come out sharper than he means.

your smile falters, “yeah, I guess.”

he remembers the first time he thought maybe just maybe you felt something too. it was a late summer night. bonfire at a lake house he, you, flo and max had rented with a few friends. everyone had gone inside except you and him and you were wrapped in one of his hoodies, nursing a half-empty drink, feet tucked under you on a lawn chair.

“do you ever think about what you want your life to look like?” you’d asked suddenly, eyes on the stars and head in the clouds.

lando was looking at you instead, “yeah, sometimes.”

you turned to him, your gaze soft and curious. “what do you see?”

he opened his mouth and closed it. swallowed the truth. i see you and me and everything in between.

but he’d just smiled and said, “fast cars. good friends and a lot of trophies.”

you’d nudged his foot with yours, “that’s the safe answer.”

and he’d thought maybe you knew. maybe you were waiting for him to say it but he didn’t.

lando sees you again two days later. not at a race but at some fancy charity dinner he barely remembered agreeing to but mclaren pr had insisted he attend. you’re across the room in a black dress that clung to your figure like it was made just for you and it made his heart stutter and of course, you were laughing at something esteban said.

from where lando stands, it’s perfect. too perfect. except… you laugh but it doesn’t reach your eyes. not the way it used to when it was just him and you and a stupid inside joke about max’s haircut or one of flo's silly antics. and when esteban leans in to whisper something, you smile, but you also look away like you’re somewhere else entirely.

lando stares at his drink, jaw tight. maybe it doesn’t mean anything but maybe it does.

later that night, back at the hotel, max glances over at lando from the other bed. “you’ve been weird.”

lando blinks, “what?”

“you’re being weird especially around y/n.”

lando shifted in his seat, “i’m not.”

max raises an eyebrow at his friend. “you barely talked to her at the dinner annd when esteban showed up, you looked like you wanted to throw him into a wall.”

“dunno what you’re talking about.”

max sighs, tossing a chip in his mouth. “whatever, man. just don’t be a dick about it, yeah? she’s happy.” lando doesn’t respond because maybe that’s the problem. he’s not so sure you are.

lando can’t stop thinking about the way esteban's hand fit on the small of your back.

that should be me. that should be him making you laugh like that. listening to you talk about your day. walking you to your car, kissing you goodnight. making a grand entrance in the paddock with you on his arm.

he’s seen every version of you, messy hair, post-crying eyes, birthday party smiles, sleepy morning grins and he loved all of them. still very much does. but you don’t know that because he never told you. and now esteban's stepping into a role lando always thought would be his if he ever got brave enough to claim it.

the tipping point is a stupid video that someone tagged him in on instagram. you and esteban again. at some little café, laughing over coffee, his fingers brushing yours. you don’t even notice the camera.

lando watches it once. twice. and on the third time, he presses pause and stares at your face and before he can stop himself he dials your number.

you answer on the second ring. “hi lando!”

god, he’s missed your voice. missed you. “hey,” he says quietly. “can we talk?”

you pause, clearly picking up on his tone. “yeah, of course lan. is everything okay with you?”

“no,” he says, honest this time. “not really.”

you meet him that night at the same spot as always, the quiet overlook just outside the city where you used to sneak off to watch the stars. he’s already there when you pull up, leaning against his mcalren, hands stuffed in his pockets.

you walk over slowly, a little guarded, a little confused. “lando?"

“why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you blink, “tell you what lan?”

“that you were seeing him.”

you shift your weight, taken aback by his words. “i didn’t think I had to? it wasn’t serious at first and then.... i don’t know. i figured you knew.”

he laughs but there’s no humor in it. “everyone knew but me huh?”

you look at him and your expression softens. “why does it matter?”

he looks up from his shoes and meets your gaze. “because I wanted it to be me.”

the words hang between you, heavy in the night air.

you blink, almost stunned into silence. “what?”

lando takes a step closer, heart pounding almost out of his chest. “i’ve loved you for a long time, y/n/n and i was stupid. i thought I had more time. thought I could wait for the right moment but I kept waiting and waiting and now i’m watching someone else live the life I used to picture with you.”

you don’t speak, too stunned by his confession that you aren't even sure what to say.

“and maybe it’s too late,” he says quietly. “maybe he’s already the guy but I couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t hurt. i had to tell you.”

silence.

“you’re an idiot,” you whisper.

“yeah, i know.” lando sighed.

you take a shaky step toward him. “i waited too, you know. for you to say something, anything.”

his heart nearly stops. “you did?”

you nod, “but then you got distant. i thought maybe I made it all up in my head. so when esteban asked me out, I figured maybe it was time to stop waiting.”

he closes the gap between you, barely daring to breathe. “i’m sorry.”

you look up at him. "what are you going to do about it?"

he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “i'm going to stop being an idiot.”

and when he leans in, you meet him halfway. your lips meet his like a question — soft, searching, full of all the words neither of you ever said.

lando lets out a shaky breath, forehead resting against yours. “i’ve been wanting to do that for years.”

you don’t smile, not quite. “same.”

you take several steps back, arms wrapping around yourself. “but this doesn’t fix everything.”

lando’s chest tightens. “i know.”

“i’m still with esteban,” you say, eyes darting away. “and he’s… he’s good to me.”

he nods slowly, the words hurt, but he understood. “i’m not asking you to drop everything. i just needed you to know what you mean to me.”

“i don’t want to hurt him.”

“I know,” he repeats.

“and i don’t want to hurt you, either.”

lando takes a small step toward you. “then don’t lie to yourself.”

you stare at him for a moment and then you whisper, “i need time.”

his nod is immediate. “take it! take all the time you need.”

a faint smile touches your lips. “you sure about that?”

“i've waited this long,” he says. “what’s a little longer?”

you walk back to your car in silence and when you glance over your shoulder before getting in, he’s still standing there under the stars waiting. not for an answer - just for you.

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

a/n: thanks for reading!! likes and reblogs are always appreciated

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[aphrodicci]

ᴀꜱᴛʀᴏʟᴏɢʏ ᴏʙꜱᴇᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

follow for more content!

𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞 + 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐝! 𝐨𝐫 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤 :)

aphrodite's cyphros

join my discord we talk about feminine archetype here as well <3

18+

🕊 i think i said this before but aquarius/gemini are usually found in the birth chart of twins.

🕊 individuals with saturn square neptune/venus are usually stared at, like a lot.

🕊 people with strong taurus placements are very intelligent and book-smart, but when it comes to social cues they usually lack it.

🕊 chiron in the 3h/4h solar return chart shows that you are likely going to heal your relationship with your relatives. still, old wounds are going to be open and it could go either way, you heal from it or it destroys all parties!

🕊 libra axis people and being in love with the idea of love or being loved and admired

❦ the 4h is the deepest part of ourselves, so people with martian 4h are likely to have very deep anger. it takes a moment to unleash but they usually come off as bitter of passive aggressive

❦ with the 12h being about the spiritual connection within sex, having scorpio/pluto in the 12h shows that you can be someone who really makes other people obsessed with you afterwards.

❦ people with pluto, scorpio and the moon in their 1h composite might have other people wondering how the two of you got together. people are really in their business.

❦ i realised sag ascendants usually have short breath, and it could be because of the 2h capricorn that gives issues with breathing, but this can be an earth 2h thing too.

❦ a way to a Taurus placement’s heart is food, especially Taurus moon and Mars

🕊 those who have medusa roughly impacting saturn/sun/pluto or any authority planets have a bad time trusting authority for protecting the innocent and the vulnerable.

🕊 people with 12h placements in venus persona charts usually embody the manic pixie girl for other people.

🕊 people with neptune/uranus in a 3h composite chart could have issues with independence and thinking for themselves, there's nothing wrong with a bond having in sync thoughts but someone could get too dependent on the other party's validation and agrees with whatever they say.

🕊 natives with strong libra/venus + virgo/mercury [not gemini, or rarely compared to virgo] tend to be considered as really corny, ex, addison rae, chloe bailey, ddg, beyonce, normani and skai jackson.

🕊 i find it cute that jupiterians unintentionally associate themselves with shades of purple, prince [has a song called purple rain] is a pisces moon, justin bieber's main colour was purple and he's a pisces sun and venus. olivia rodrigo is a pisces sun and sagittarius mars. im a sagittarius ascendant and i LOVE periwinkle. its actually my favourite colour

𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞 + 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐝! 𝐨𝐫 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤 :)

aphrodite's cyphros

join my discord we talk about feminine archetype here as well <3

aphrodicci ❦

[sweetdispatch]

That's my baby, she's iconic

masterlist

summary: how certain players would react on a trend to finish the lyrics "that's my baby, she's iconic" about their girlfriend

Ethan Edwards

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“I don’t know” Ethan said. “Repeat the lyric” 

“That’s my baby, she’s iconic" You told him again. 

“And she’s an alcoholic” Ethan said and your jaw dropped. 

“Ethan, what the hell” You said a little louder. 

“You’re all the time drinking” Ethan tried to defend himself. 

“It’s summer and I deserve it” You said. “You’re no fun to play” 

“Love you too” Ethan said and kissed your cheek on what you giggled.

Nico Hischier

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“Umm…” Nico started. “Give me a couple minutes and I’ll be back with it” 

Almost 30 minutes later, Nico returned to you. 

“I have it” Nico said proudly. “She’s so comic, it’s ironic” 

“Why ironic?” You asked him. 

“Because you’re a definition of irony” Nico said and you rolled your eyes,.

Jack Hughes

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“That’s my baby, she’s iconic” Jack repeated. “My mind is empty, I’m passing” 

“Rude” You said and move on with your day. 

When you were laying in your bed, ready to get some sleep, Jack was in the bathroom. He was thinking about the rhymes the whole day until he came up with them. 

“Do you still want me to finish the lyrics?” Jack asked you. 

“Sure” You said. 

“That’s my baby, she’s iconic” Jack said. “She’s harmonic, love her body” Jack finished and kissed your lips. 

Luke Hughes

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“I can’t rhyme” Luke said straight away.

“Just try” You begged him. Luke looked at you and saw your glass. 

“Drinks her tonic…” Luke paused and thought for a minute. “Drinks her tonic with a gin, I don’t know” 

“Wow, you're really bad at rhyming” You said with a laugh. Luke only rolled his eyes on you. 

“You try it, smart ass” Luke challenged you. 

“That’s my baby, he’s iconic, he’s so funny like a comic” You told him in a moment. 

“Whatever” Luke said and you laughed at his reaction.

Quinn Hughes

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“It’s 9 am, I haven’t had my breakfast yet” Quinn said, 

“Okay mister grumpy” You said and left him alone. 

An hour later, Quinn went to the bedroom where you were getting ready for the day.

“Real love, not platonic” Quinn said. 

“What?” You asked him confused. 

“You asked me about the lyrics so I would say real love, not platonic” Quinn told you and you smiled widely.

Clayton Keller

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“How mad are you gonna get if I say something wrong?” Clayton asked you. 

“I won’t be mad at all” You told him. 

“She’s chaotic” You looked at him with wide eyes and Clayton quickly came up with the rest. “But I love it” 

“Much better” You kissed him. 

Victor Mancini

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“Yeah, I’ll come back to you with that” Victor said and kissed your cheek. 

As promised, a couple hours later, Victor came back to you. 

“I suck at this but that’s all I have” Victor started. “She’s not blue, like a sonic” 

“But I am blue” You pointed at your blue shirt. 

“I was speaking metaphorically” Victor told you. 

"You’re adorable” You giggled. 

William Nylander

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“Can’t move, she’s robotic” Will said proudly. 

“I can move” You fought back. 

“Baby, I saw you dancing, you can’t move. You look like a robot” Will joked.

“You’re jealous of my moves” You told him. 

“Yeah, especially when you move like a granny” Will said and you only scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry but that’s the truth” 

“I’m not talking with you” You said trying to act like you’re mad.

Matt Rempe

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“Oh God, I don’t know” Matt said. 

“C’mon Matt, use your head” You told nicely. Matt was thinking for a minute about it. 

“She’s symphonic like a dolphin” Matt said. 

“What?” You asked confused. 

“You know, like the memes with dolphins and the song Symphony” Matt explained to you. 

“Why?” You asked him, defeated.

“Because you love the memes and the song” Matt shrugged.

“You’re lucky I love you” You told him and heard Matt’ laugh.  

Will Smith

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“I know this one” Will said. “I’m prepared” 

“I’m scared” You told him. 

“That’s my baby, she’s iconic, loves her tiktok, she’s so chronic” Will said proudly, like he waited for this moment. 

“I’m not chronically online if that’s what you’re trying to say” You told him. 

“I’m not the one who spends a couple hours every day watching tiktok” Will said and raised his hands in defense. 

“You’re watching the tiktoks with me Will” You told him. 

“Your phone tho” You rolled your eyes at his answer. 

[losvroomvroom]

watching carlos's cafelito episode finally. here's some interesting tidbits. disclaimer: my rusty ass high school spanish + the autotranslate captions. hopefully i haven't misinterpreted anything.

gets along with gaëtan because they're both workaholics who love to be on the phone in their days off

can only be comfortable in a road car when he's not driving if his father is the driver

found out about the lewis -> ferrari move from rumors before ferrari told him and then called fred about it for confirmation (Ferrari When I Get You Round Five Thousand!!!)

BIG eye roll about the whole concept of red bull god bless

pleased little chuckle when the interviewer brings up how much jv likes working with him god bless

very optimistic about williams' prospects for the 2026 car, not thrilled about the 2026 engines but is reserving judgement on the cars themselves

talking again about how his mother managed the father-son relationship, telling sr when he was too harsh, reinforcing sr's advice when jr was sick of listening to him, etc

very excited to be a double uncle (both of his sisters have kids)

has realized that you have to celebrate a good moment in motorsport when you reach it, they may not happen very often due to the number of things that have to go perfectly

listens to podcasts about team building and leadership... he had some trouble expressing what he meant in spanish (presumably bc the podcasts are in english) but he was talking about the importance of no-blame culture within a team

likes to start post-race engineering meetings by listing all the things he did wrong during a weekend before criticizing the team or the car or whatever, which helps other team members admit mistakes without fear

he's a very shy guy and really likes his privacy. the interviewer said something like "i like that you're famous, i like that everyone knows you" and he was like "it's getting worse." and then implies that he should be less famous than instagram influencers. go-to example of "a celebrity" justin bieber. wishes he could drive his nice road cars in peace. embarrassed to talk about his billion nice road cars and drive them around. drives his golf so he won't be noticed.

he and pogacar are neighbors actually. carlos's push days on the bike are pogacar's recovery days

lists swimming, cycling, and synchronized swimming as the sports that require the most dedication

re his father retiring -- "if the stopwatch says you're fast, why would you retire?"

interesting stretch where he talks about when he has to battle fernando (says fernando's always very clever) and also about navigating the teammate relationship (says it's hardest one to manage)

always goes over races with his father, the evening of or the day after

signed his first ferrari contract at 9am in his pyjamas during lockdown

respects nadal & jon rahm (golf) a lot in terms of their attitude and approach toward sport. extremely tough on the field but respectful & humble, which he thinks is the ideal

says he comes across as an affable guy in interviews because he's become calloused to them but he is still shy & pretty reserved except when he's with his 3-4 closest people. tries to maintain a distance to people he thinks might be less trustworthy ("pirates", he calls them)

loves madrid SO much (not a new fact)

loves to talk about his karting program for kids 6-8 (his "minions"), says it's important to support the grassroots of the sport, wants to make it as affordable as possible

says his best friends now are the same as his best friends when he was like three years old. he doesn't make new friends easily and he's very closed off to new people. very important to him that he's kept the same friends his whole life and doesn't get why everyone doesn't do that. (adding this to the "carlos has strong and somewhat unusual views about the concept of friendship" evidence folder)

rapid fire questions segment. cerebral or passionate?--cerebral. what are you missing in your life?--more time for golf, i'm losing my swing. best driver in f1 history?--senna. who would win in the same car? alonso, sainz, verstappen?--sainz. advice from your mom?--be respectful, behave, smile more. what f1 drivers would you go to dinner with?--lando norris & charles leclerc. any advice?--smile more. the whole world needs to smile more. will you be a world champion one day?--someday, but I hope soon.

[anon-188]

too long

pairing: AJ x f!reader | genre: smut | wc: 1.9k

summary: he waited for days. weeks. he tried to be understanding. tried to be patient. but even AJ has limits. and it’s been too long.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), established relationship, emotional tension, soft!dom AJ, unprotected sex, possessive behavior, clothing tearing, alcohol use, strong language, multiple orgasms.

inspo: “i’ve been waiting, i’m impatient. i’ve been waiting too long. it's been too long.” — TOO LONG, justin bieber.

a/n: heard this song and immediately thought of AJ (but let’s be real, when am i not thinking about him???)

AJ sat at the dinner table, alone yet again. Across from him, your plate had gone cold—another quiet reminder.

His phone buzzed.

I’m so sorry, the work party’s running longer than I thought. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.

He stared at the message for a long second, then set the phone face down beside his plate.

This was the third night in a row.

He sighed and reached for his glass of whiskey, taking a slow sip like it would somehow take the edge off. It didn’t. Not anymore.

You were busy. He knew that.

Between your packed days, the obligations with your family, and now that damn training program your job kept piling on, it made sense. You barely had time to sleep, let alone be here.

And you tried, of course. You always did. But every time he finally had you in his arms or even pulled you onto his lap, your phone would ring. An email would ping. Something would buzz or flash or vibrate—some urgent reminder that the world needed your attention more than he did.

Like tonight. 

The work party had started four and a half hours ago. You’d ridden with a coworker, told AJ it would be quick. Just a couple drinks. Just enough to show face. You had said it over your shoulder, already halfway through the doorway.

And for whatever reason, he believed it. Thought tonight might be different.

He should’ve known better.

At first, he tried to be understanding. He told himself it was just a busy stretch, a rough patch. But that was two weeks ago.

Now he was irritated—not with you, never with you—but with everything else. With your job. With the way life seemed to pull you in every direction but his.

He was even angry with himself. Mostly with himself, for how much it was getting to him.

Your absence had him wound tight. Every night without you somehow felt worse than the last. Even your best efforts—your rushed kisses, your whispered apologies, your promises to make it up to him—weren’t enough.

He tipped back the last of his drink, letting the burn sit in his chest a moment before he moved to set the glass on the counter.

In that moment, AJ made up his mind.

Your job might have needed you. But he needed you more.

And he was done waiting.

That's what sent him walking straight into your work party, broad shoulders cutting through the room, sharp eyes locked on you like nothing and no one else existed.

You were stunned—had no idea how he’d even gotten into the building—but none of that had time to register.

He didn't raise his voice when he reached you. Just leaned in close.

"You're coming home. Now."

His voice stayed quiet, meant only for you. But the tension in his jaw and the fire in his eyes said enough. People nearby paused, instinctively sensing a shift, even if they didn't know what it meant.

Maybe they were watching. Maybe they had something to say. But you didn’t care. Not really.

You had wanted to leave hours ago, but kept getting pulled into endless rounds of must-have conversations.

So when AJ reached for your hand—gentler than you expected, his grip firm, certain—you followed without hesitation.

Now you sat in the passenger seat of his car, speeding down the highway. The city lights blurred past, but he hadn’t said a word.

Not when you apologized. Not when you leaned over the console, hand sliding up the back of his neck, fingers curling into the hair at the nape—soft, slow, the way he liked it.

Nothing.

He kept his hands on the wheel, jaw set, eyes fixed ahead.

You knew he was pissed. Had known it the moment you sent that text telling him you’d be late again.

Still, you tried again anyway, voice quieter than before. “I’m sorry. AJ, I didn’t mean to—”

But he didn’t look at you. Didn’t even blink.

He wasn’t going to make it easy for you. 

Not this time.

So you sat back, didn’t push. Just waited. 

Waited until you were home. Shoes off. Coats hung. 

You watched as he headed into the kitchen, straight for the whiskey—like muscle memory. He grabbed the bottle, twisted the cap off in silence. The tension in his shoulders hadn’t eased, not once. 

Before he could pour, you crossed the room to stand beside him.

Close. But not too close.

“Hey,” you said gently as you lifted your phone.

He paused, eyes flicking over to you but not fully turning. The bottle hovered for a second, then he set it down.

You held the screen up between you, powering it off until it went dark. Silent.

“It’s just us now,” you said, placing it on the counter.

Then you stepped toward him. One step. Then another.

“Okay?”

Your eyes stayed on his face, searching for something, anything—but he wasn’t budging.

Still, you kept going. Slowly easing into his space, your hands slipping up his arms, fingertips brushing over the firm curve of his biceps.

He didn’t stop you.

Just shifted, facing you a bit more now, though his hands stayed at his sides.

You let your palms glide across his chest, up his shoulders, to the back of his neck. Your fingers toyed with the short strands of hair there as you pulled him closer.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, lips near his skin. “For missing dinner. For being late. For letting everything else take over.”

You kissed his neck, just under his jaw.

“I know you’ve been patient.” Another kiss. “And I hate that I keep making you feel like this.”

Your lips moved up to his jaw, brushing tenderly.

He exhaled then, not sharp, but deep. A shift.

You kissed higher, slowly, deliberately, grazing the corner of his mouth.

Then paused.

“Can you forgive me?” you asked, voice low as you looked at him through your lashes, that soft sweetness in your expression that always undid him.

AJ didn’t move at first. Just stared at you like he was trying to decide whether to let himself give in.

When he finally closed the distance—when his lips found yours—it was careful. Measured. 

But that didn’t last long. 

The second kiss came harder. Deeper. His hands were at your waist, then your back, then your hair—tugging gently as his mouth claimed yours again and again. 

He didn’t ease into it. Didn’t tease. He just deepened the kiss like he needed to feel all of you at once.

His steps pushed forward, guiding you back toward the couch. Not the bedroom. No, that was too far. Too long.

You moved with him, mouths still locked, heat rising fast. His hand slid around your back, fingers finding the zipper of your dress. You felt it give, the fabric loosening before he pushed it down your shoulders.

Your hands reached for him, trying to help with the buttons of his shirt, but he was already ahead of you—shrugging it off. 

By the time you made it to the couch, AJ still had his pants on, slightly unbuckled, low on his hips. He sat back and pulled you with him, your knees bracketing his thighs as you straddled him.

You kissed again—hungrier now, hands tugging, grasping. Your hips moved on instinct, grinding down against the firm press of him. His breath caught at your lips as you pressed closer, chasing every ounce of friction.

It felt good—too good—but it wasn’t enough. Not for him. Not for you.

He shoved his pants lower as you lifted yourself, hands already at the waistband of your panties, ready to strip them off.

But somehow AJ was quicker.

His fingers hooked into the lace—and tore. A clean rip, the sound splitting the silence as the ruined fabric slipped partway down your thigh.

You gasped his name in shock, barely audible, but that didn’t stop him. His arm locked around your waist, positioning you exactly where he wanted.

One look. That was all he gave you before pulling you down onto him in a rough, desperate motion. You moaned at the stretch, at the way he filled you, and he groaned low—matching your pleasure as your hips settled against his hips.

Only then did he speak.

“Fuck, baby.”

He kissed you again, hotter this time—urgent and breathless—as you rocked against him in a rhythm neither of you could hold steady.

It took everything in him not to grab your hips and take over, to pull you down harder, faster, the way his body begged him to. Even now, he was trying to hold back, to stay composed. 

So he redirected.

Just as your head tipped back in a moan, his mouth found your neck, trailing heat down your skin until he reached your chest.

He lingered there, lips grazing the swell of your breasts as his hands slid up your back. One flick, and the clasp gave. He tugged the bra down your arms, careless with it now, and tossed it aside without looking.

Then he was on you again. Eager. Insatiable.

You kept moving on him, moaning into the space between you. Your grip on his shoulders tightened as you felt the edge approach—too close to hide it—your voice breaking as you admitted it.

“AJ… I’m gonna—”

You tried to hold your rhythm, to keep moving even as your thighs started to tremble. But your body was already giving in, already too far gone.

When it hit, it tore through you in waves.

You cursed, eyes squeezing shut as you came with a gasp—his name tangled in the mess of it, hips stuttering against his.

“Fuck—AJ, oh my god—”

This. This was what he needed.

To hear you like this. To feel your body come apart in his hands. To see the way you unraveled for him and only him. The crack in your voice. The shudder in your legs. That last gasp as you tried to keep going, even while your body gave up.

All of it. Just for him.

Whatever hold he had on himself shattered.

AJ shifted quickly, one arm wrapped around you as he moved, laying you back on the couch. Then he was inside you again, thrusting with more force, more intent. Like he couldn’t get close enough if he tried.

He hitched your leg higher on his waist, mouth dragging along your neck. Then, finally—

“I missed you, baby. So fucking much.”

He said it against your skin, raw and breathless, each word cut short by the rhythm of his hips.

Your hands twisted in his hair, knuckles white from the grip. You tried to speak, to say it back—to give him something. It came out half-formed, broken on your lips. A response messily tangled with an apology.

He lifted his head then, eyes locking on yours, his expression dark with something far more consuming than lust.

“Don’t make me wait like that again.”

He drove into you as he said it, deeper than before—and your body answered before your mind could catch up.

You came hard, breath stalling in your chest, spine lifting off the couch as you clenched around him.

But he didn’t stop.

Not after he fucked you through that orgasm. Not after the one that followed. His pace stayed steady, grip unrelenting, fueled by everything he hadn’t said aloud.

It had been too long. Too many nights without your voice in his ear, without your body beneath him, without the sound of his name leaving your mouth like that.

And now that he had you—he wasn’t letting go.

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

• tag list: @alealuvshayden @sythethecarrot @apocalyptichero @ggyuslovie @anak1ns-wife @5secondsofmoxley @f1wh0recom @purplerose291 @i5hyv @endairachristensen26 @mvst4far @loliskywalker @erosmutt @coruscntt

if you want to be tagged in my future posts, comment or message me! i’m happy to do it! :) just let me know if you want all works or just for specific characters <3

• links: masterlist | wattpad | summer request fest

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

a/n: another request! wasn’t sure if i should tag this as 18+ since it doesn’t contain any smut, but i’d advise you read this with caution. contains a few sensitive topics (see warnings below)

summary: based on the song by justin bieber

warnings: blood, trauma, situational alcohol abuse, forms of self-harm

word count: 6.6k

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

A smell of alcohol and something metallic lingers in the air, sharp and unescapable.

It's pitch black in the living room of your apartment. A whiskey tumbler sits on the coffee table, bloodied bandages and cotton balls scattered around it. The whiskey bottle is open, half empty, and the cap is nowhere to be found.

The suit on the floor is torn and soaked with blood. Combat boots, dirty and wet, have toppled over next to it.

Natasha's on the couch, holding an ice pack to her head. Only dressed in boxers and a sports bra now, every scar and bruise is on full display. Her eyes are closed, her hand clenching and flexing on her thigh. Nails rake over skin, draw blood, but she doesn't register it through the haze in her head.

The mission didn't go as planned. In the beginning, everything seemed fine — they made it to the location, disarmed a few guards, managed to get into the building. Her assignment was to go and free a few hostages, which she managed quite well, considering she had to fight two guards in the process.

She doesn't remember much else. Just a cell that they somehow got her into. Rusty metal and leaky pipes on the ceiling, blood on the walls.

Pressure around her wrists, her throat. It was brief, but it left its mark. Memories resurfaced — memories that never fully sank to the bottom of her mind's ocean. It felt like grappling with the ghosts of her past, being pulled underwater, drowning, fighting for her life. She could feel the water in her lungs and the blood thrumming in her ears. Salt burned her nose.

Her limbs grew heavy from the kicking and wrestling. She wanted to let go, surrender to the heavy weight of the water, but she couldn't allow herself to. Survival is something that the Red Room ingrained into her.

If there's one thing she can't do, it's die.

Death means giving up.

Four hours later, Natasha still feels like, sometimes, death may be the better option. With the way her head is pounding and her scars are burning, anything to get rid of the pain is welcome. It's why her eyes tracked the liquor shelf first when she got home.

You enter the living room not too long after. Keeping your eyes on her, you turn on the small light before blindly closing the door and locking it.

What you're seeing is not entirely unfamiliar, but it always manages to leave you startled and speechless for at least a minute or two.

"Nat?", you say quietly. No response. "Nat, love."

She opens her eyes. They look empty when they meet yours.

Not a word. Again.

You step closer and bend over to pick up her suit. You fold it, tentatively, unsure how to act. How to make this better, fix it, help her.

You can't. You've tried to before, but it keeps happening.

You sit down and put the folded suit aside. Natasha turns her head away, blank eyes fixed on the ceiling. Whatever happened earlier sucked the life out of her, leaving her completely exhausted. She doesn't want to talk, which you understand — but it feels important to you, anyway.

"Love", you say, touching her hand. She's been carving deep lines into her thigh for a while now, leaving her skin raw and burning. Dark blood is stuck under her fingernails. "Talk to me."

"Get out."

"Nat-"

"I said get out."

You stare at her, eyebrows furrowed in silent concern. You can't tell whether she needs space or support, and that frustrates you.

Shouldn't you be able to read her like an open book by now? Shouldn't you know exactly what she needs, exactly when she needs it? It's been years, after all. You've been talking about marriage, for god's sake.

However, that's not how relationships work, and it's especially not how a relationship with Natasha works. Either you accept that you'll never be fully let in, or you'll be fighting worries and insecurities your entire life.

"Hey", you say firmly, peeling her hand off her thigh. "No. We're not doing this. Not tonight."

She struggles against your grasp, but then her arm slackens. Her eyes close, frustration simmering beneath the surface. Frustration and alcohol — not a good mix.

"Fuck you", she spits. She's slurring, so you know better than to take this personally. It's anger, pain, self-loathing, exhaustion, but it's not directed at you. It never is.

You glance at the whiskey bottle on the coffee table and chew on your lip. It was full just hours ago, when you left for your shift. Now, it's nearly gone.

"Hold still", you mumble, reaching for the pack of cotton balls she discarded on the floor. You soak it in an antiseptic solution and start dabbing the deep scratches on her thigh.

"Stings."

You almost wince at how resigned she sounds, but you keep rubbing off blood and cleaning the self-inflicted wounds.

"I'm not going to ask what happened", you say, speaking carefully. You're treading on dangerous territory. One wrong word could make her snap right back into that same state of mind that got her like this. "I just need you to take a few breaths, okay? Nice and deep, love."

She shakes her head. You put your free hand on her knee.

"Please", you add. She squeezes her eyes shut and, with a movement too quick for you to see coming, pulls away. She gets up from the couch, but you catch her wrist. Her head whips around, anger and desperation raging behind those vacant eyes.

"Don't touch me!"

"Nat-"

"You have no idea", she hisses, "what this feels like. So leave me alone."

You stare at her as she tugs herself free from your light grip. Down the hallway and into your bedroom, you hear the door slam shut. It's rapid and loud, so much so that you're sure she just woke your neighbors.

It takes you a moment to collect yourself. Running your hand down your face, you exhale, then get up and start tidying the mess Natasha left behind.

You make sure to hide the whiskey bottle. The rest of the alcohol too, while you're at it.

. . .

The morning after, Natasha remembers bits. Pieces, fragments of what really happened.

She recalls blood. And yelling. Alcohol, way too much of it. You, in the middle of it all.

Guilt, heavy and hot, sits in her abdomen. No way to make it disappear.

She rolls over and finds you asleep. Sunlight filters in through the curtains, soft and golden, but it's not what she focuses on. She doesn't focus on the tired expression on your unconscious face, either. Instead, something else catches her attention.

Something dark red and dried sticks to your wrist, right where the skin is folded due to the angled position your hand is resting in. She reaches over and brushes it away. Blood. Her blood.

"Y/N?", she mumbles, voice raspy with sleep and exhaustion. "Baby. You awake?"

A sleepy sigh. When your eyebrows furrow ever so slightly, she pulls away. Definitely asleep.

Natasha sits up and immediately regrets it. She forgot about the mission yesterday, but her body didn't. Bruises and scars ache, a dull throbbing pain that spreads through her limbs. She remains in an unmoving position for a few seconds to let the pain fade, then she scoots out of bed.

The mirror in the bathroom confirms it. From head to toe, she's littered in visual evidence of yesterday's events. She didn't shower, either, so she's still full of dried blood and dirt.

She splashes her face with cold water. When she looks up, she finally sees herself clearly.

Red-rimmed eyes, puffy and tired, and a face that doesn't look like her own.

She steps away from the mirror and takes her hair out of the messy bun that's almost come loose. Water runs, steam fills the bathroom. She enters the shower and pulls the shower curtain fully closed. There are ways to let you know she wants you to join, and there are ways she lets you know the opposite.

You woke up minutes after she got out of bed. Once you heard the shower run, you were able to relax. She's at home, with you, safe and sound. If she's showering, it means she at least felt well enough to get out of bed.

You get up, put on a hoodie over your pajamas and make your way into the kitchen. As soon as you've poured some oats into a pot of milk, you hear footsteps. For a moment, you're not sure whether you should acknowledge her presence in any way — turn around, say good morning, maybe ask if she's hungry. But then you feel a pair of arms around your waist, strong and safe and hesitant, and a weight drops from your shoulders.

Natasha doesn't say anything. Neither do you.

But you aren't pushing her away, so she kisses your cheek. Her hand rubs your stomach before she makes the space between you bigger again.

You wait for an apology, some kind of confirmation she remembers anything from last night, but nothing comes. It wouldn't surprise you if she really doesn't remember — she had alcohol, lots of it, and intoxication has made her forget things before.

You drum your fingers against the counter, staring at the pot next to you, before you finally break the silence.

"About last night..."

Her shoulders tense up.

"Yeah", she says bitterly. "I drank too much."

"I'm aware", you say slowly, stirring the oatmeal and turning off the stove. What else are you supposed to say? That she should stop? God knows she's tried. God also knows it isn't easy. When everything becomes too much, even focusing on one single thing can become the hardest obstacle to overcome.

And when it comes to alcohol, it's pretty much impossible.

What might be the most confusing thing, though, is that this isn't a constant. It's not full-on alcoholism. She doesn't need it to function. But when everything becomes too much, it's what she turns to as a coping mechanism. It's dangerous and reckless and you feel like you're out of solutions.

"I put the whiskey away", you say, turning around. Her face is stoic as you lock eyes. "The rest of it, too. Don't even try to look for it. You won't find it."

"You're aware I'm a spy, right?", she says. Your lips twitch into a humorless smile. You know what she means — not that she's going to intentionally defy you using her skillset, but rather that her brain, no matter what kind of state it is in, will use said skills anyway. "You'll marry me. If you don't know about my past, then-"

"Alright", you cut her off. "Yes, I know. I'm aware. I tried my best, so let's just hope it'll be enough."

"It never is."

"Nat."

"I mean it. They have a bar at the compound, too."

"Well", you say, fidgeting, "I told Tony to put everything away."

Her eyebrows furrow. Before she can voice the feeling of betrayal you're seeing in her eyes, you lift your hand and stop her.

"I told him I'm trying to go sober."

Natasha goes silent. She stares at you, chewing her lip, then gets up and walks up to you. You know she isn't sure whether she's allowed to touch you (which, to you, is ridiculous), so you cup her face and kiss her and pull her into a hug. One hand on her nape and the other on her back, you hold her close.

"Just promise me one thing?"

She hums, her nose brushing against your neck. "Yeah?"

"No drinking alone. Please. I need to know you're safe."

Some promises she can't keep.

. . .

You get the call at 3am.

Natasha had been on a mission — one that was supposed to last at least another day, but apparently ended early. You had no idea.

Sleepy and worried, you scramble out of bed. Your phone is tucked between your ear and your shoulder as you hop through the apartment, one leg in your jeans and the other foot trying to find the hole. On the other end of the line is the owner of a bar in Queens.

You're not awake enough to fully understand everything. All you hear is something about a fight, shattered glass, blood. Not bad enough for a trip in the ambulance, thankfully, but the damage is done.

You sit in the car, buckle up, and break down. Tears flow, the frustration making them hot as they run down your cheeks. Your vision blurs, so you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. A car crash is the last thing you need right now.

The streets are as dark and empty as they can be, considering you're in New York. But most people are asleep, in their beds, not worried to death yet another time. Most people don't have to actively keep themselves from causing a car crash. When you realize you feel something akin to envy, you slam your foot on the gas pedal and tear off down the street.

You find the bar easily, mostly because a small group of people has gathered in front of it. Natasha's on the sidewalk, holding a napkin to her nose, her eyes drooping shut. You see her bleeding knuckles and the tears get heavier.

By the time you're out of the car, a man is approaching you. You barely pay him any mind, already looking at Natasha — but she's so out of it she doesn't even realize you've arrived.

"Wait", the guy says when you try to walk past him, "you're the lady I called?"

"Yeah", you say, glancing at Natasha every so often. "Her fiancée. Girlfriend, actually. What..."

He sighs and runs a hand over his thinning hair. "Had a little too much to drink. There was an argument with another customer. It, uh, escalated. Broke one of my mirrors, you know. The other guy's at the hospital."

"He's what?"

"She slammed him into the mirror face first. Chap broke his nose."

You stare at him with wide eyes. He shakes his head and lightly taps your upper arm, leading you in Natasha's direction.

"No idea if he'll sue", the man says. "He did provoke that fight. But you'll have to pay for my mirror, though."

"Sure", you say vacantly. Natasha doesn't look up when you reach her side. You crouch next to her and brush your fingers over the back of her hand. Her hand jerks the slightest bit, but she doesn't look at you. "Come on, love. Let's get you home. Can you walk?"

"She walked just fine earlier", some other guy pipes up.

You glare daggers at him before resting your hand on her shoulder. It's cold, too cold, and you notice her jacket is missing. You squeeze it, hoping it'll be enough to coax her into getting up — or, at the very least, looking at you —, but no. She stays unmoving, silent, eyes shut and the lower half of her face covered with a napkin.

She reeks of blood and alcohol. You get up and look at the guy who owns the bar. He raises his eyebrows, tatted arms crossed over his chest.

"Her jacket", you say. "Where's her jacket? It's cold out."

"Forget about it, Y/N."

You glance at her, taken aback. "Nat. Why didn't you-"

"Forget about it", she mumbles, slurring again. God, you're tired of this. "Go home."

Your glance turns into a stare. There's no way she's asking you to leave. She looks like she's moments away from passing out.

"Are you kidding?"

"No. Gome. I mean, go- go home."

"You can't be serious. You can barely talk!"

You see her shiver and decide you officially have had enough. It takes some effort, but you manage to pull her off the ground and make her sit in the car. After giving the bar owner a check for the mirror she broke, you drive home.

. . .

Natasha gasps and coughs out water. You splash her with more, and more, until you feel like she's sober enough to think somewhat straight.

"Fuck", she curses, water flowing down her face and her hair sticking to her head. "Y/N!"

"Feeling better?"

"I feel cold!"

You give her a skeptical look and splash another handful of water into her face. She's sitting in the shower, only in underwear to keep her clothes from getting wet. She shakes her head and pushes away the shower head you're holding.

"It helps", you insist. She shoots a desperate look your way and you sigh. "You okay?"

"I need clothes", she mumbles, wiping water away from her eyes. "And a blanket."

"I know", you say, grabbing her hand and helping her up. She's still wobbly on her feet, so you have to make sure she doesn't slip. "Come on."

Some fresh clothes and a quick session with the blowdryer later, she's on the couch. A blanket is draped over her shoulders. Now that she's back to reality, all the memories of what happened in the bar come rushing back.

It was stupid. A stupid comment from a guy drinking beer. A comment about her.

Natasha isn't considered a violent person, despite her being an Avenger or her past as an assassin. She lashed out, anyway. It makes you wonder what the hell was said to her.

She rubs her face. You sit down next to her.

"Go to bed", she says weakly. "It's late."

"And you?", you probe.

"I'm staying here."

"Alone. On the couch."

"Yes."

You shake your head. No matter what, you don't want her to have to be alone. Not even after what happened tonight — especially not after that. But she's tired, and stubborn, and she's hurt you enough tonight. She can't get that look on your face out of her head, when you were kneeling next to her on the sidewalk. How wet your cheeks were from tears and how they glistened in the light of the street lamps.

Yet you're still here, at not even 5 in the morning, still trying to make her feel better. At this point, she should try to make you feel better. Part of her is scared that she'll never be able to do that.

Natasha wants you to stay. It's the only thing that brings her peace. But she can't ruin your peace by asking you to help with hers.

"Go to bed", she repeats. "Sleep."

"No", you say, frowning. "No, absolutely not. You're not leaving my side tonight, and that's final."

She stares at you, jaw clenching. "And why the hell not?", she asks, her voice carrying bitterness and exhaustion. You raise your eyebrows in mild surprise, but remain undeterred. "Don't trust me with myself anymore?"

"Of course I do! But it's clear you weren't doing well, and-"

"And that's why I need a babysitter?!" She laughs, but there's no humor to it. Covering her face with her hands, she slumps into the couch. "God, you must be so sick of me."

There it is. That little piece of vulnerability she doesn't show, that one fear she keeps hidden like a dirty secret. Your shoulders slump and you sigh, touching her knuckles. Raw and busted open, blood still leaking from some parts of her skin.

She doesn't react. You scoot and sit on her lap, facing her, and grab her wrists. You pull her hands down, revealing the face you fell in love with, the one you still love. No matter how many issues there may be — you love her. If you have to, you'll keep driving to bars in the middle of the night for the rest of your life. You'll bandage knuckles and wipe blood away. All you need is for her to stay.

"Hey", you mumble. She shakes her head. You lean in and kiss her forehead. "Nat, please. I'm not sick of you."

No reply. You let go of her wrists to cup her face, pressing your lips to every feature, every tiny scar. She lets out a sob-like sound, but you see no tears. Your lips move from her forehead to her closed eyelid, from her cheek to the corner of her mouth.

"We'll get through this", you say, rubbing her cheeks. "You will get through this."

"It's not getting better. Y/N, it never gets better."

"That's not true", you say firmly. "It does get better. It will. Stuff like this takes time."

She looks up, tired and guilty and full of self-loathing. She'll never understand why you're in her lap instead of trying to save yourself from the bullshit she's putting you through.

"It's been years."

"It'll probably take a few more, too", you say, brushing your thumb along her lower lip. "But that's okay."

A small pause. Natasha studies you, her chest tightening with both panic and realization.

She's dragging you down with her. If she doesn't put a stop to it now, it'll only get worse for you.

"And you?", she says, challenging you. "What about you? Am I supposed to sit here and watch you go down with me?"

"What?" You shake your head. Everything inside of you is begging for your sudden suspicions to not be true. But she's saying something, and you think you know what it is. "Nat, don't. Seriously."

"Don't what? Are you really that blind?"

"I know what you're doing", you say, trying to sound calm. But you're panicking, just like she is, and it's getting hard not to hyperventilate. You're tired, sleep-deprived even, and all you want is to get her to bed and cuddle. Feel her next to you, know she's safe — at least for the time being. "It's not going to work. I'm going to bed now, and you're coming with. We'll talk in the morning."

"No." She shakes her head. "No. You'll call your parents, Y/N, and you'll get out of here. Do you know how much this shit hurts? Seeing you suffer because of me?"

You frown, searching for the right words. The words that'll make her calm down. You're not sure they exist.

"Do you know how much it hurts?", you retort. Her hands grab yours, try to gently pry them off her face, but you're relentless. "Stop!"

"You don't get it, do you? Get out of the fucking apartment!"

The more she tries to push you away, the firmer your grasp becomes. She wrestles with you, and although she may still be gentle enough with it to not hurt you, it's not that same, playful thing it used to be. She's serious about this.

"Nat!" You let out a sob and struggle, but somehow manage to pin her down. Let's not be fooled — you're still not nearly as strong as she is. But given how exhausted she is, and how the alcohol is still numbing her, you have somewhat of an upper hand. "Stop that!"

Her body goes limp beneath you, all fight draining out of her within a split second. The look on her face is defeated, so much so you almost feel bad about forcing her down like this.

"Don't be stubborn", you plead. "Not about this."

Natasha closes her eyes, forcing the tears away. Sometimes, she wishes giving up was an option for her. But it isn't, not right now, and if it were, she still wouldn't be able to do it to you.

"I'm so tired."

"I know", you mumble, all choked up, and brush some hair out of her face. "I know, baby."

"I'll lose you one way or another", she says, voice cracking mid-sentence. "I'd rather it's on my terms."

You shake your head, your grip on her wrist loosening. You bring both hands to her face and cup it. "That's the silliest thing I've ever heard you say, you know. And you say a lot of dumb stuff, love."

She laughs, but it's not that sweet sound that usually makes you melt. In a moment like this, you don't expect it to be, though.

The silence lingers. She looks up at you, tired but loving, and her hands cover yours. "You should've left me there, you know. On the curb. You don't sleep enough as it is, and you still got up to get my drunk ass home."

"For good reason", you reply, taking her hand to bring it to your mouth and kiss her bandaged knuckles. "It's not the same without you. Nothing is. Now let's go and catch up on some sleep together, yeah?"

She hesitates. "Look, I..."

"I'm serious. I'm not calling my parents, I'm not leaving. I'm staying right here, even if that means you'll keep bitching."

Natasha tilts her head. A flash of something familiar flickers across her features. It makes your heart ache.

Sometimes, you miss the before. It's not fully gone, but grasping it can be difficult. Like catching a greasy little fish in water, it keeps slipping away.

"Bitching", she echoes. A tentative smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "I love you, you know."

. . .

"I'm not sure I want to go."

You look at her, arms crossed and head tilted, a little frown on your face.

Over a year has passed since that incident at the bar. Things haven't fixed themselves magically, of course not. But it's been going uphill almost constantly, apart from a few stumbles and breaks. Which is okay — everyone needs a breather every now and then. The important part is that it hasn't gotten worse.

Something else has changed. You're wearing matching engagement rings now. You're getting married in a few weeks. You've picked out your dress, and a nice venue, and made sure the flowers match the place cards. You've moved into a new apartment, too, one that's in a calmer area of Manhattan.

Your upcoming wedding is currently the most exciting thing in your life. Which is the reason why tonight is Natasha's bachelorette party. It was Tony's idea, and although she had her doubts, you were thrilled. It's been months since she went out on her own.

"You'll have fun", you say, stepping closer to smooth out the front of her shirt. "Stark planned it. There's no way you'll get bored."

"I'm not sure you know me as well as you think", she mumbles, smiling faintly. She studies you. "It's Atlantic City. I don't want to drink too much."

You pause. But then you shake your head and adjust her jacket. "Don't worry about that. Clint will be there. Sam, Steve. You'll feel like you got trapped in a retirement home. Also, you'll get about a hundred phone calls from me if I even sense that you're being an idiot."

She exhales through her nose, lips twitching. "So a couple bodyguards, and a parole officer. I see."

"Exactly." Your hands run back down to her chest. Her heartbeat feels steady beneath your palms. "Don't drink if you don't feel good about it. But circumstances are different, and you're not alone, and I'm just a phone call away."

"I know."

You cup her face and lean in, kissing her. Her hands hold onto your upper arms, trying to keep you close. You still pull away.

"I know you want to go", you say, convinced. Natasha gives you a deadpan look. "You're just scared."

"I'm not scared", she argues. "I just...don't want to mess up. I've made progress."

"Yeah", you mumble softly. She's right. Nobody's made as much progress as she has, at least that's what you believe. Her mind still goes to bad places, but her coping mechanisms have gotten healthier. There's no way you'll give the credit to yourself, but she feels like she wouldn't have made it this far without you. She doesn't tell you that to your face, but she has her ways in which she lets you know.

"You'll have fun", you say again. "It's, like, your last night of freedom. Enjoy it while it lasts, because girl, you'll be stuck."

"Oh no, the horrors", she mumbles, smiling. She pulls you closer by wrapping her arms around your waist. Her lips press against your forehead. "Stuck with you. However will I survive."

"You're joking about it now, but in a few weeks, you'll only be able to go out with me. You'll get sick so fast."

"I won't." Natasha raises her eyebrows and squeezes your waist. "Actually, why don't you join us today, too? I'm sure it'd be more fun."

"Absolutely not." You peck her lips and step back. You wave your hand to coax her out the door. She opens it and steps out, but stops on the doormat. "I'm serious! We agreed to have separate bachelorette parties."

She rolls her eyes. "You better pray you don't have to scrape me off some boardwalk tonight."

You sigh and furrow your eyebrows, arms crossed over the Looney Tunes shirt you wear to sleep. Natasha raises her hands.

"Don't look at me like that", she says, sounding both defensive and sheepish. "I'll be good."

"I don't need you to be 'good'", you say. "Come home to me after. That's all I ask."

Natasha softens. Before you can say anything, she's back inside the hallway, hands running over your body and lips pressed to yours. You want to protest — Clint has pulled up in front of the house — but then you melt into her.

She doesn't have to tell you she'll be back. From this very moment, she always will be.

. . .

When your phone buzzes at 5am, you nearly jump out of your own skin. You don't even glance at the screen before answering the call.

"Y/N?", you hear Natasha's voice, sleepy and probably a little drunk.

"Hey", you say, sitting up and blinking away remainders of sleep. "You okay?"

"I'm fine", she mumbles. Yes, definitely drunk, but not enough for her to be slurring her words. "Just missing you."

"Oh." You rub your eyes, smiling to yourself. "I miss you too. Having fun?"

"I got dragged to a strip club."

"I'll take that as a yes", you tease.

You hear bedsheets rustle, then a thump. A groan.

"Dropped my phone", she says, voice so muffled you can barely hear her. She picks it up from the floor and puts it back to her ear. "You want to come pick me up?"

"What, now?"

"Look, I loved seeing a dozen half-naked strangers and Steve throwing up during a lap dance, but I want to come home."

You go quiet, mulling it over. Truthfully, you're feeling a little like a mom that's being called to pick up her child early because it's too scared to sleep someplace else than home — but it's almost been a day since she left, and she sounds needier than usual, and you kind of want her back with you as well.

"You're still at that hotel you told me about?", you ask, already getting up to grab some clothes.

"Yes, we-" She pauses. You stop, trying to see if the phone call ended, but then her voice cuts through the unnerving silence. "I'm wearing a ring."

"Yes, baby, we're engaged."

"Oh. Okay, that's good. I thought, uhm..."

You bite back a laugh, wiggling into a pair of sweatpants. "Didn't marry a hooker, I hope?"

"What?! Don't be ridiculous."

"I was kidding. You'll wait in the lobby?"

"Fine", she says, letting out a yawn. "Hurry."

. . .

Despite the fact you agreed on picking her up in the lobby, Natasha's on the curb when you pull up. Her face seems to light up when she sees you, and she quickly grabs her duffel bag to approach the car. The door opens and she sinks into the passenger seat.

"Hey", you say, already starting the car. "Show me your ring. Just to be safe."

"Here." She holds out her left hand. The ring on her finger is definitely one you're familiar with, so you nod and give her hand a squeeze. She looks at you, head leaning against the headrest, and hums. "You're so beautiful, you know."

"And you're drunk", you reply, starting the car. Still, a tiny smile tugs at your lips.

Natasha shakes her head. She pulls your hand into her lap and holds it tight. She's not usually this openly clingy, but she's tipsy enough to turn into this touchy-feely mess you secretly adore.

"Beautiful", she repeats. "I'm gonna marry you. You wanna marry me?"

"We're engaged", you remind her. "Don't remember?"

"Of course I do." She lets out a scoff. "Just...checking. Making sure you didn't change your mind."

"Change my mind? What, and miss out on all the late night drives?" You shoot her a smile and feel her play with your fingers. "Seriously though, you had fun?"

"It wasn't bad", she admits, closing her eyes. "Bit boring."

"Boring, you say? Well, then you definitely didn't see one of those washed-up magicians", you say absently, taking a left turn. Natasha reaches out to poke your cheek — once, twice —, then you turn your head and lightly bite her fingertip.

She retracts her hand, looking offended.

"You started it", you quickly say. "With all that poking."

Natasha rolls her eyes and leans back.

"You're sensitive", she mumbles, wiping her finger on your sleeve. You bat her hand away. "Violent, too. Jesus."

"We'll be home soon", you say. You couldn't love Natasha more, but she's right at that point of being drunk where she's simply an idiot. Clingy, needy, and a little prone to biting. "Think you can make it about two hours without throwing up?"

She waves her hand dismissively, already curling up against the car door. Head against the window and breath fogging up the glass, she dozes off.

Getting her out of the car is proven to be more difficult than anticipated.

It turns out that getting into the car to be driven around and sleep is way more enjoyable than getting out of it again. Natasha sighs and protests, but eventually, you manage to pull her to her feet. She stumbles out and grips your shoulders, then smiles crookedly.

"Hey", she mumbles. "Wanna help me pick that up? 'Cause you made my jaw drop."

"Dear god."

"Didn't like that one? I got more."

"Absolutely not", you say, dragging her toward the door. She leans on you heavily, her head resting against yours. You eye the chunky brown mass clinging to the soles of her boots. "Shoes off. What the hell is that?"

"Refried beans", she mumbles, toeing off her boots and kicking them aside. "Clint dropped his Chipotle."

"And it was all beans...?"

Natasha shrugs and walks inside, flopping onto the couch face-first. You sigh and peel off your jacket, watching her for a moment. You expect her to get up again, maybe change into fresh clothes, but no — she seems asleep.

You feel bad about waking her, but you do it anyway.

"Ass off the couch", you hum, patting her backside. A muffled groan comes from the cushion. "Let's go."

"Tired."

"The couch isn't big enough for both of us", you argue, giving her a firm pinch just below the buttcheek. "Come on, bed."

"Stop nagging me", she mumbles, but sits up. You lead her away from the couch before she can change her mind.

Clothes off and pajamas on, comforters pulled aside. Natasha collapses again, one leg angled and the other stretched out. She sighs and burrows her face right in between the two pillows on your bed.

"Drank too much", she mutters. You hum, studying her with your eyebrows slightly furrowed. "Head hurts."

"Get some sleep."

"C'mere."

"In a minute", you promise, taking off your hoodie. "You know, I actually got a little scared when you called. I thought god knows what happened."

She snorts into the pillows. "Gotta trust me more."

"I do trust you." You sit next to her, tugging her top back down where it had ridden up. "I got scared, anyway. You, a bunch of irresponsible people, Atlantic City — not the best mix."

Natasha rolls over and looks at you through sleep-hazy eyes. You smile and tap her nose. She shakes her head.

"This was your idea."

"And you had fun", you insist. She curls into you, her face pressed against your chest. "Right?"

"If I say yes, you'll shut up?"

You roll your eyes and kiss her forehead. She's warm, warmer than you, and tonight is no exception. You can feel her heat seep into you, but it's a nice feeling. You might end up overheating, but it's nice. Anything is nice when you know she's safe.

"You're comfy", Natasha mutters, fingers finding the hem of your shirt and twisting it.

"You're still drunk."

"And in love."

You run your hand down her back, a smile forming on your lips. Before you can say anything, she's fallen asleep.

. . .

The light pressure of lips against your temple wakes you up. Sunlight is filtering through the curtains, brightening up the room and warming your bed. You hum sleepily, but make no move to actually wake up.

Another kiss, more insistent this time. A glance at the clock tells you it's almost noon. You turn your head and see Natasha, half asleep and mildly hungover.

"Thank you", she mumbles, nose nuzzling your cheek.

"For what?"

"Picking me up. Loving me. All of it, I guess."

"Aw", you hum, pulling her closer. "Don't thank me for that. But thank me for not kicking you out of bed. My god, you're a furnace."

"You're being dramatic", she mutters, her tightening arms telling you she definitely doesn't care about you burning up.

"Seriously! I almost had to sleep in the fridge."

She looks up, hair mussed and eyes bleary, and you bite back a grin.

"'Til death do us part", she replies, pinching your side. "Or something like that."

Your body jerks, but there's a smile on your face. You wrap your arms around her neck and roll over, trapping her beneath your body. She grunts, limbs slackening.

"Working on your vows, I see?", you tease.

"Been working on them since the day I met you", she says, making it sound like she's teasing as well, but you know there's a hidden layer of truth to her words. You kiss her, deep and firm, then pull away. She gazes up at you, her expression giving nothing away.

Her eyes, however, say a lot.

"My personal angel", she adds, murmuring. "No idea where I'd be without you."

"Good god", you say and scrunch up your face. "You're getting soft."

"Okay, that's not-"

You grin, knowing you've got her. Calling Natasha out on her feelings doesn't end well for most, but you have the privilege of getting away with just about anything. You stuck with her through more than she’d ever expect anyone to — you get free passes for just about anything.

"You are soft!"

“Seriously, enough.”

A laugh and a quick kiss on the lips. She rolls over, getting on top again and pressing you down into the mattress. Her eyes study yours and the sun makes her red hair shine and oh, you’re suddenly convinced you’ve made it through everything you thought you wouldn’t survive.

Natasha still isn’t an open book, not even to you, but you feel like you get to read more pages with every day that goes by.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Jinx x reader

So jinx is out doing whatever she’s doing and so reader is chilling with Vi (yes I’m delusional their all a happy family season 2 doesn’t even exist!) but reader and vi are listening to like Justin Bieber or whatever white girl song (they’ve both told jinx that they don’t listen to that type of music) so bout time jinx gets back vi and reader are full on jamming to Justin and as soon as reader saw jinx they sat down and put all the blame on vi legit saying “dang vi i didn’t know you liked this type of music.” With the smug grin on their face and vi just looks at reader dumbfounded as the reader causally didn’t just throw her under the bus.

Unbelievable

|| Jinx x nonbinary!reader

|| Warnings; fluffy, reader blames the music on Vi, Vi and reader jamming to Justin Bieber, brief swearing, short drabble

|| Summary; when Jinx leaves, Vi and reader put on their favourite guilty pleasures.

Requests closed!

Started; November 28th

Finished; November 28th

~~~

"Okay, she's gone." You returned to Vi, after having given your girlfriend a kiss goodbye. Jinx went off doing lord knows what, leaving you with her sister Vi for company. Which you were fine with. You and Vi got along pretty well, anyway. Vi grins when she heard you and immediately puts the music on. Justin Bieber playing through the speaker.

You and Vi were secret Justin fans. Secret because... how could you let anyone know? It would ruin your cool facades. Plus, you both already told Jinx that you hated that type of music. Not that Jinx really cared, she just kind of shrugged and went "okay? weirdos" when you kept saying you didn't like it. You and Vi were really overselling your points, so Jinx was a little sceptical but didn't question it.

It's been about an hour now, you and Vi were fully jamming along to Baby by Justin Bieber. Head banging, dancing and even singing. Just having a grand old time in your secret dance party. The door opened right as you and Vi had started the song, both singing the lyrics; "I know you love me! I know you care~" grinning like a couple of idiots. Until you caught onto the door being opened and immediately sat yourself down on the couch, looking flustered.

"Y/N, come on! It's the good- oh," Vi stopped when she noticed what you did. Seeing Jinx watching them with an amused expression.

"Don't like this music, huh?" She folded her arms, blowing her hair a bit from her face while she grinned. Jinx was enjoying this.

"It was all Vi. Dang, Vi I didn't know you like this type of music," you looked at with a smug smirk. Vi, meanwhile, looked at you completely dumbfounded and speechless. You did not just throw her under the bus. No, you didn't throw her. You tossed her.

Jinx laughed and skipped over to you, plopping herself down in your lap as the music continued to play. Her arms wrapped around you and she snugged right up, your arms easily finding their way around her waist. "Vi, I thought you liked rock music?" She asked her sister with a teasing look in her eyes.

Vi huffed and rolled her eyes, sticking the middle finger at you," fuck you." Though there was no real hate behind her words.

"Hey, don't be mean to them," Jinx pouted at Vi, clinging to you tighter, almost protectively so. Your grin became more smug at that and held her closer.

"Yeah, don't be mean," you repeated. Innocent act in full swing now.

"Unbelievable." Vi muttered, shutting the music off. She couldn't believe you just did that. And Jinx was taking your side? Vi knew Jinx had seen you dancing too. She really did just take any opportunity to mess with her, huh?

[getouyuri]

what pet names do you think that the jjk characters would use for their lovers 🥺🥺

uve unlocked a very specific demon in me with this cos the idea of them using pet names makes me feral i fear

ask and you shall receive 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

characters: satoru gojo, suguru geto, toji fushiguro, choso kamo, shoko ieiri, yuki tsukumo

satoru gojo:

• it’s a laundry list dawg

• the normal ones: sweets, sugar, angel, baby, pretty

• he doesn’t even call you by your name anymore. there’s always soooome sort of pet name he drops instead of your actual name. he overuses pretty, sugar, and sweets the most. cos he’s gotta let you know at every second that you’re pretty. PRETTY. pretty pretty pretty. sometimes attached ‘girl’ or ‘boy’ after pretty, ex: pretty girl pretty boy. sugar and sweets are cos you’re sweet like candyyyyy which makes you groan

• he uses baby regularly but he’s sure to use it when you’re annoyed with him cos he sings baby by justin bieber. satoru drops to his knees like ‘BABY BABY BABY OOOOOH LIKE BABY BABY BABY NOOOOO LIKE BABY BABY BABY OOOOOH THOUGHT YOU’D ALWAYS BE MINEEEE MINEEEEEE 😫’. you have to stop him when he gets to the ludacris verse

• the unserious ones: all of these are used to mess with you or embarrass you in front of others. pookie, pookie biscuit, snugglemuffin, babycakes, boo boo bear, sugar lips, toots, kitten, honey bunches of oats

suguru geto:

• 30% of the time he calls you by your name but the other 70% is a surprisingly long list of pet names

• angel, doll, beautiful, gorgeous, sweetheart, darling, pretty or pretty baby, sometimes babydoll

• ik a lot of people say he’d use ‘my love’ or ‘love’ but idkkkk i’m not feeling it for him 😣 even though he Is a romantic…

• angel doll and sweetheart are the main ones that he uses imo. he likes to put ‘my’ in front of angel with his possessive ass

• for fem!reader he uses princess, (‘my’) pretty girl, (‘my’) sweet girl… giggle giggle

toji fushiguro:

• eaaaaasy. cutie, sugar, babes, doll for sure 😁🙂‍↕️

• cutie is used teasingly for the most part imo

• for fem!reader he uses princess too but also ma/mama. which i get Conflicted about sometimes but also im like… hehehehehe……… yeah he’d say that shit and I’d kick my feet a bit idk!

choso kamo:

• very romantic and cliché, almost corny pet names 😭😭

• lovely, my love, darling, bunny, sunshine, treasure are the ones he uses methinks. mainly lovely and darling

• again im kinda conflicted about my love… maybe i just don’t like that endearment now that i think about it???&42$ but anyways 40% of me thinks that he’d use ‘my love’ and the other 60% is like 🙅🏽‍♀️ naw

• he usually puts ‘my’ in front of treasure

shoko ieiri:

• ughhhtnwygbykdhwbrd now im rlly kicking my feet… writing about her in my nonexistent diary

• angel, princess (IM BUSTINGGGGG okay sorry), beautiful, pretty, cutie, babe

• princess and angel are her #1’s 👆🏽 trust me

• just like toji, she uses cutie in a teasing way!! especially when you do something that she finds amusing/cute

• she refers to you as ‘the wife’ around others in a bit of a joking way. shoko’ll be like ‘gotta go, the wife’s at home and she’ll kill me if i’m not back at 6’ and ‘the wife wants me to go to the store’

yuki tsukumo:

• starts yowling like a cat in heat

• sorry

• princess 😣😣😣, bunny, pretty girl, sweet girl, angel, cutie, wifey, baby

• it’s rare that she calls you by your name. it’s typically princess, bunny, wifey, and pretty girl with the others sprinkled in occasionally

• just like shoko she also does the ‘the wife’ thing around others when she’s referring to you :3 she’ll do it to your face too. like ‘whatever the wife wants, the wife gets 🙂‍↕️’

[robintherobiner]

What would the Wayne Family and the Bat Family post tiktok

Bruce: videos of him buying new outfits with the material girl sound over it because, according to one post, 'his kids said it was funny and he liked seeing them smile'. on his official account though (the wayne enterprises one) his 'social media manager' posts clips from interviews and soundbites.

Batman: does not have a tiktok.

Dick: posts videos of him either doing gymnastics or of him hanging out with his siblings. Most of the time he is throwing up a peace sign and then Tim and Damian are wrestling in the background and he captions it something along the lines of 'brothers drawing blood in Blud!'

Nightwing: posts videos of short self defense tips/poses, regularly collabs with Red Hood. (not that Jason knows this, Dick just sets up a camera and then goes and bothers his brother until he tries to punch him so he can teach people to block)

Barbara: Posts videos talking about accessibility (both whats available and what should be put in place). if one of the wayne's annoy her, she also will post a compilation of them doing something silly like tripping over thin air or being caught using a hairbrush as a microphone)

Oracle: posts clips of people doing non violent crimes (faces blurred out ofc) with the caption "the eye in the sky sees you, dumbass." because why would you try ack a car on a street with three non-hidden cameras

Jason: doesn't post. anymore. does have an account from when he was a teenager where it's just him doing sped up acting videos to sounds. he has tried to log in to take it down but Bruce changed the password. Brucie regularly comments on different videos like "my baby was such a star... rip sweetie 🕊️🕊️🕊️" and its Jason lip-syncing to fucking Justin Bieber or something

Red Hood: posts videos shitting on Batman. the comments were full of people saying "daddy issues" or "i wanna be a dealer just so you can shoot me babygirl" so he turned them off. sometimes someone (tim) turns them back on and Jason gets bombarded with "BRO IS SERVING CUNT"

Cassandra: posts videos of her doing ballet, or of her showing off her strength. Not on purpose though, she thinks its fun to post videos of her teasing her brothers and the comments are like "WHY DID SHE JUST PICK UP DICK GRAYSON WITHOUT EVEN BREAKING A SWEAT WHAT"

Orphan: has a shared account with Batgirl, but she doesn't post on it, just sort of stands in the background as Steph makes funny videos.

Stephanie: enjoys posting videos pretending to be dating both Tim and Cass because she thinks its funny when the internet call her a gold digger and cheater. Bernard (after going public with Tim) occasionally fuels the fire by commenting "lmao get ur bag girl" under a video of her dragging Tim to a resturant

Batgirl: posts videos of her making fun of rogues, and on her shared account with Cass, just joins in on trends but obviously mixing it to fit her (aka: "when Batman lectures you for breaking a criminals leg but your literally just a teenage girl")

Timothy: like Bruce, he has two accounts. One is professional, with him promoting Wayne Enterprises products or whatever. Second one is full of him doing wild shit like skateboarding down the manor stairs or him trying to confuse Bruce with cringey slang. his most popular video though, is of him using the Nepo Baby sound by Fox SZN

Red Robin: posts slideshows of pictures of Gotham. All very aesthetic ones, of good architecture and people laughing together and shit. His bio is "showing you guy why I do what I do." His account is very artsy fartsy but he also was the first batfamily member to get verified

Duke: doesn't post, just likes videos.

Signal: posts videos of him trying to scare the other vigilantes, cuz, yknow, he can go invisible. tell me you wouldn't do that either if you could be invisible. exactly, you can't. He also makes videos about how hard it is to be a teen vigilante.

Damian: videos of his pets doing tricks. also regularly stitches Tim's videos and just deadass insults him. Tim always comments on his stitches with just a singular emoji because he found out it pisses Damian off more when he doesn't have a big reaction

Robin: posts about resources for gothamites. also has a shared account with Superboy (Jon) where they try and sneak up on both Superman and Batman. They have yet to succeed on either one.

[shintaru]

lock the door & throw out the key can't fight this no more, it's just you & me so, go ahead & drive me insane baby, run your mouth, I still wouldn't change being stuck with you

🪼 m.list ♡ taglist ♡ inspired by 🪼

~ @hyukwwn @dzvelinaskebiyars

Your boyfriend of three years hadn’t approved of you joining the sabbath crew because there were no other women and from what he heard this crew was dangerous. You loved their riding style. It was so free and unique, not bound to rules or constraints and that’s what you hated most about life and professional cycling. You wanted to be free to express yourself in any way but you always got cut from teams for being too dangerous to ride with.

So ultimately you ended up with sabbath Hyuk found you and recruited you to the team and Wooin had no exceptions. He didn’t bother trying to change his mind; he knew once Hyuk had his eyes on someone there was no stopping him, you were no exception to that either. It didn’t bother you since you admired their crew anyway. There was just one problem in Hyuk’s eyes since you joined the crew.

He thought if you joined the crew you’d only have time to be with them by his side at all times. Yet something someone keeps getting in your & his way and he can’t take it anymore. It’s time for him to take out the trash. Hyuk challenges your boyfriend Juwan to a race and the loser has to do whatever the winner says. Hyuk didn’t want to win, he wanted to destroy Juwan, not only destroy him but haunt him. He didn’t want Juwan to feel safe as long as he was with you his life was in danger Hyuk would make sure of that.

You were his, no one is allowed to have you but him. The race between the two began and Hyuk swerved around a corner leaning over the side of his bike speeding past Juwan using his pinky to knock him off balance. With quick reflexes before Juwan fully lost his balance Hyuk Jack knifes him in the chest making sure not to leave a tire mark on his face. He knew you too well to know you’d recognize his signature bruise on his victims.

He wanted this race to be their little secret because he couldn’t have you worried. He hopped off his bike walking over to the crash scene he just created. He leaned down in a squat grabbing Juwan by the hair making him face him. “Break up with her or I’ll make sure you can never face again” he says laughing hysterically using his other hand to pull & play with his bottom lip. Once Juwan agrees Hyuk finally reveals his smile you’re free just as he is and now things can finally go according to plan.

When he found out Juwan finally broke up with you he was happy but for some reason you weren’t he didn’t understand why. It was fun for him to watch Juwan cripple and run away from the fear Hyuk manifested deep within him. He’d never be good enough for you when Hyuk is right by your side. So why didn’t you find it fun as well why weren’t you ecstatic like himself why won’t you see him. When he sees you crying he doesn’t know what to say.

The sight of you crying reminds him of when he was younger trying to play with the kids around him only to leave a girl sobbing after he played with her toy. He still didn’t see a problem. He didn't do anything wrong, they got to have fun but it was only a problem when he joined in on the fun. To this day he’s still not good at responding to these types of situations; this is why he avoids relationships. That is until he met you he was never letting you go and he’d make this one time exception for you and only you.

He called off work and ignored the inessant calls trying to persuade him to come in. He promised you it was ok and he’d take care of it later and that he’d remain by your side until you didn’t need to cry over trash anymore. He hugged you from behind nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck basking in your scent. When that didn’t work he began showing you different tricks until you both shared a smile followed by laughter. That’s when he knew slowly but surely you’ll warm up to him and forget about Juwan and finally be his and his only.

He walked over to you and took your hand in his, bringing it up to the side of his face. He rested his face in your hands. The gesture confused you but you allowed it. “I’d never leave you like he did” he says suddenly. “What?” You reply. “Be with me and I’ll never leave your side” he rephrased it this time making eye contact with you. He kissed your forehead telling you that you didn’t have to answer right away. Even without your answer he knew you couldn’t escape him but he’d never met you in on that little secret.

[scorpioriesling]

May I please politely beg for a fic based on the Eris bc post you did? It was so good and I’d love to see him confront Rhys + co and taking care/loving reader

I’m the “Bad Guy”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Eris x reader

Warnings: some graphic-ish injury

Summary: Eris Vanserra; he was your… what? Enemy? Ally? Both? Sort of — at least, that’s what Rhysand says, and whatever your High Lord says, goes. But, Eris saw you for more than anyone in your court ever could, and deep down you knew he had one more title, reserved for just you: true love. What happens when you’re in danger, and he’s the first and only one you go running to?

SR’s Note: Yes you absolutely can have a fic based on Eris’ HC in this post. No need to beg — I’m happy to oblige. Here it is, I hope you like it. xoxo

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

The fire crackled and burned in the fireplace, embers creating a soft glow in the darkened sitting room. Eris was alone, lounging on the sofa in the Forest House, his newest read in hand. He liked spending his time this way — alone, reading, warm. He felt… content.

Little did he know, you’d quite enjoyed your evenings the same way.

Sure, he knew you shared an interest in reading. That’s where he usually found you when he’d visit the Night Court — shelf combing in the library of the House of Wind; curled in a chair, a different book to read each time he would see you again; sometimes, you’d even be caught talking about your favorite ones with Nesta. You quite enjoyed her, as well as her company and character, as she was very honest and real with you.

Yet, another thing in you’d shared in common.

On this particular evening though, the sun had already long set and the stars were sprinkling the sky when Eris felt his body tense on instinct. He had suddenly lost interest in what he was reading when he heard a commotion coming from outside. Well, not a commotion, but rather some sort of… crying. Whimpering, rather. He straightened in his chair, straining his ears to hear what was happening beyond the windows of the Forest House.

Usually, when this happened, it was the work of Beron — some cruel or unusual punishment that Eris had learned long ago to stay out of. Recently, tensions were running high with the Night Court; though Eris was still secretly meeting with them, it didn’t change that his father wanted to sever all ties with the solar court completely.

But this… this time, it was different.

“Please… please…”

Eris’ heartstrings pulled in his chest as he strained to listen, wanting to make any excuse or reason for his ears to be deceiving him.

But, he knew in his heart, they were not.

In an instant, he’d snapped his novel shut and was racing toward the front door. He threw it open, rounding the corner of the house and bolting for the enormous hedge maze in the backyard of the grounds. He wasn’t sure exactly what had come over him; on any other day, he’d leave you to suffer as he would the other Night Court Inner Circle members. But the squeeze of barbed wire around his heart propelled him forward.

He knew you were here. He knew it was you that needed him.

It was an odd feeling, tearing around corners in search of the one woman he’d thought over and over about torturing. He’d thought of you crying. He’d thought about how he could hurt you. Did that make him a bad person? Maybe. So be it. You weren’t perfect either. Over the last few years, he’d even thought of how he’d kill you himself — just, once, he’d thought of this. It was during a meeting with the entire Inner Circle, of course; Eris was present. He’d arrived early and heard you, again, talking to Nesta about your ideas on strategy and negotiation. Though you were speaking of ideas that would affect him directly, he didn’t care — the ideas were good. Nesta wasn’t shy to give credit where it was due, either.

But, none of that mattered because during the meeting, you hadn’t opened your mouth once or said a word about your ideas. You’d tried to interject, actually — but Rhysand was quick to silence you.

But how did you handle that?

Like a good pet would. You sat, and stayed silent. Just like you always did. You’d never challenge your High Lord, oh Cauldron no — he could just simply use you as a doormat, and it wouldn’t matter.

Maybe that’s what pissed Eris off so badly.

He knew what you were capable of, what you had to offer, and what you were worth; but it seemed that most of the Inner Circle didn’t bat an eye at you, especially Rhys, whom you bowed to and that was that. Your talents could be used for so much more, but you always stayed within the guidelines in which you were allowed.

“Please… Eris…someone help me…”

Eyes straining in the night, Eris followed your pained cries until he found you in the middle of the maze. You were slumped against the large marble water fountain, breathing unevenly as blood stained your neck. Drying crimson flakes dirtied your usually vibrant tendrils, and your hands braced over your abdomen, hot tears creating tracks down your dirtied face.

"Oh my Gods..." He rushed to you, and you peered up at him in desperation. His heart split in two, seeing you crumpled and hurt in front of him as he took in your appearance in full.

But, his sadness turned very quickly, to anger. You laid, panting and in pain, in his court, on his grounds. No explanation, no one coming to help you. He felt... violent.

He knelt down to your level, leaning in and stretching a hand out to trail over your face, registering the blood pouring from inside your lip. He then reached up to move your hair from your forehead -- a huge gash the cause for the ever growing maroon pool you two were in.

Well, one of the causes. Your hands still covered your stomach.

He was fuming, hands trembling as he tried to stay gentle with you, but absolute rage filled his every vein at how this could have happened to you.

Who could've let this happen to you.

"Eris, I..." you coughed, a few blood-tainted drops landing on the stone pathway below. "I... I didn't mean to... this is the first place I thought of..." another loud sob wretched from you, and Eris cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking over the bone. You relaxed a bit at his touch, though he usually appeared so tense and malicious. When he looked into your eyes again, his whiskey irises were dulled to a deep bourbon, and his jaw was clenched tight.

"Come with me."

He stood then and wrapped his arms around your knees and lower back, scooping you up and carrying you as carefully as he could back to his wing of the Forest House. You let out a few small yelps here and there as the searing pain in your stomach was getting to be too much to handle.

"Please, stay with me Y/N," he pleaded, looking down at you sorrowfully. Your usually soft eyes met his, and his wire-wrapped heart strained once more. He’d felt as though he was carrying a small, injured deer -- that is what you were in his eyes. A gentle, wise, little doe. His little doe.

Whatever he’d been feeling before, it was long gone. The only thoughts clouding his mind were ones of keeping you safe, helping you in every way he could, and providing you with everything you could need.

Little did he realize, you just needed him. Wasn’t that why you were there in the first place?

When Eris had finally made it inside, he sat you gently on the sofa in front of the fireplace, and ran to the washroom. It wasn’t long before he’d returned, presenting a small wet cloth in one hand and taking your chin between his fingers kindly in the other. He began to wipe away the trailing stains all over your delicate skin, trying so hard to stay gentle with you; trying to replicate the softness you'd always offerred others. He felt better seeing you relax into his touch a bit as he continued to work.

But, that's one thing you didn't have in common. He wasn't soft, or sweet like you. It was one thing he pretended to hate; he “hated” your kindness to everyone, even his father, of all people. He “hated” your soft voice, one he wasn’t used to hearing all that often. He also “hated” your gentle loving nature — so, so much he “hated” it.

He tried to steady his breathing, gazing into your round, watery eyes to attempt to ground his senses and avoid thinking about punishing whoever hurt you like this. It only caused him more agony, watching as you tried to hold back your tears. Wiping away the last of the blood from your hairline, he dropped his head for a moment, raking a hand through his hair.

“I can’t stall for you any longer, love.” He said softly. Your stomach muscles continued to tense under your palms, and you watched as he rolled a clean cloth between his hands.

"I’m going to put this,” he held up the rolled cloth.

“In here," he tucked it into your open mouth. You closed your mouth over it, so usually defiant towards your “sworn enemy”, but, really...

You'd do anything he asked of you.

His hands moved to cover your bloody ones, still clutching at your stomach.

"Y/N... you’re going to have to move your hands." He says. Your eyes screw shut as you groan, fresh pain raging from the wound in your abdomen. Eris sighs, looking to you with pleading eyes.

“Please, Y/N… you have to help me help you.” His thumbs stroke over your knuckles, now covered in your blood — and you begin to remove your hands shakily. He breathes a sharp gasp as he sees your laceration in full, and shakes his head slowly. He sits back on his knees, positioning himself between yours.

"Hold onto me." He says. You look to him in confusion, and he places your clammy fingers on his shoulders. One of his hands lingers on yours for a moment, and he pressed the inside of your wrist to his lips. He looks back to you, eyes already asking for forgiveness.

"I'll be honest,” he begins. “I've thought about hurting you before, as you've hurt me," he says, voice deep with ... something. Something you couldn't place. You could barely focus on his words as your mind started to fog over, your vision clouding with black spots. "...but never like this."

He sighs one last time, a hand coming into view between your knees, his fingers ablaze with his gift of fire. You immediately sit up, or try to anyway -- a sob racks your chest, muffled by the cloth, and Eris holds you down, hand splayed over your sternum.

"Hold onto me." He says again, his tone warning. His fingers meets your bubbling would, flames searing the skin as a scream tears through your dry, cracked throat, only quieted by the cloth you’re biting down on. Your eyes blow wide, and you squirm under his hold. He looks at you with regret, pulling back for just a moment — only to press heat onto your would again within seconds.

Your hands claw at the collar of his white button down, red already smeared over most of it. He huffs an apologetic sigh, continuing to carterize your open would, flames stinging and burning your sensitive flesh.

Over. Over. Over again.

You tilt your head back, the familiar weightless feeling becoming all too apparent. You felt it coming; you were going to black out. His once-white collar begins to slip from your fingers, and your eyes meet his one last time before glazing over as you slink into darkness.

: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ

Soft streams of sunlight bathe the room in a golden glow when you open your eyes again. You register the feeling of comfy, loose-fitting pants amid the cool, mahogany silk sheets you’re enveloped in. You blink a few times, and reach a hand up to rub the sleep from your eyes.

When your eyes adjust, you realize what’s so different; everything. The sun is illuminating the room from a window. A window across this… bedroom, with a stoked fireplace and four poster oak bed. A bed with mahogany sheets, a stark contrast to your usual lilac ones at home — as well as the teakwood bookshelf along the far wall. At least those are familiar, most of the titles. One novel is laying on the window seat; it’s one you’d just finished last week.

Then, the realization hits you; you were in Eris' room.

You try to sit up, but wince in pain and end up laying back down, head flopping against the plush pillows under your head. Your hands instinctively reach toward your stomach, tugging at the hem of the tank top you donned. A thick bandage was wrapped around your midsection, concealing your abdominal injury. Your mind wandered to last night, what you'd endured, winnowing to the Autumn Court, the burning...

Within moments, Eris appeared in the doorway, concern threading his brows together as he looks you up and down.

"Is everything alright?" In three steps, he’s made it to the bed, taking a seat on the edge of it. He pulls the covers up, tucking them around you in comfort. You shake your head in honesty, silver lining your eyes as they meet his.

He knew you’d be honest with him. Yet, another thing he “hated” about you.

"I... they took me last night." You manage to choke out. Eris readjusts to face you, scooting closer and reaching out a hand to stroke through your hair. He bites on his lower lip, eyes searching yours.

"Who. Who took you Y/N." He says. It sounds like more of a demand than a question.

You shake your head, a tear slipping free as you remember being kidnapped from your bed and tossed onto the mountainside. The feeling of freezing snow under your knees, the jagged rocks slicing into your palms would only be the beginning of the pain you'd endure before somehow winnowing away.

"It was... they wanted me to partake in the..." you swallow, the lump in your throat only growing as another tear slips free. Usually, he’d be the type to taunt you for crying or appearing so weak, but Eris only brushes his thumb against your cheek, wiping your tears away.

"The fucking Blood Rite?" He bites out. Anger radiates off of him, the small fire in the fireplace near the window growing with each passing second. The muscle in his jaw feathers as his eyes train on yours, and you nod in confirmation. His other hand rests on yours clasped atop the sheets, and you can’t help but register the heat he is emitting, even from the small touch.

He sighs, hanging his head low and shaking it slowly. When he makes eye contact again, he takes your hands reassuringly in his. “Y/N, I’m only going to ask you one more time. Who. Did. This. To you.” You can practically see the flames dancing in his irises, and you lean forward an inch, almost nose to nose with him. His strong scent of cinnamon and burnt timber wafts through your senses, and you feel a small tug on your heartstrings.

“Eris, look it’s not anyone’s fault, okay? I mean, well, it is…” you begin with a sigh, sniffling and wiping at your eyes. “I was sleeping over at the House of Wind with Nesta and Gwyn and Emerie, and… oh, the guys were there too, for most of the night. Cassian and Azriel.” You explain. He nods for you to continue.

“Well, we were just having a nice time and when we went to sleep, I don’t know I just… one minute I was asleep and the next, I had a mask on my eyes and someone was… uh…. mm… uhm covering my mouth and… Nesta was screaming-“ you hadn’t noticed your hands beginning to shake, until Eris laced his fingers with yours. You took a steadying breath, but the shaking only subsided a little as you still remembered the horrors of the night prior.

“So… Cassian and Azriel. They were supposed to be watching you.” Eris says evenly. You look at him incredulously.

“Watching? Oh, hardly. I mean, we’re not eight years old, Eris.” You explain. He nods, biting the inside of his cheek and contemplating your words. You can practically see the gears turning in that beautiful little head.

“It seems a little chat is in order.” He chides. Your eyes widen, and your hand braces on his bicep. He glances down at your touch, then back to your face again, nose still just inches from yours.

“No! Uh… I mean, no. Please.” You say. “They haven’t done anything wrong, and-“

“I’d hardly say allowing for you to be kidnapped for the damned Blood Rite is an inexcusable offense.” He interrupts. You narrow your eyes at him.

“Andddd, I shouldn’t have been allowed to winnow at the Blood Rite. Anyone found using their powers or plotting to escape the rite once it’s begun is…” you trail off. He nods. He knows; it’s an executable offense. Bringing any of this to attention could perhaps put you in more danger.

He didn’t care. He was prepared to do anything to save you, just as he’d done the night before. He definitely wouldn’t allow some dirty Illyrians get their hands on you again, either.

“How were you able to winnow, anyway? I thought powers weren’t able to be used on Romiel during the Blood Rite,” he asks, quirking a brow. You shrug, wincing and regretting the movement.

“I don’t know… maybe, since no one knows I am capable of winnowing, they didn’t think it’d be necessary to shield those abilities from me? I don’t know Eris, I don’t know how all this works.” You say exasterbatedly, absentmindedly wiping at your nose again. Eris only seems to become more troubled by your response.

“So… they didn’t teach you to winnow, you just… did it… and they didn’t think you could do anything with your powers, so much so that no one bothered to remove them?” His voice pitches, and you nod in agreement.

“I suppose.” He slips his hand from yours, standing and straightening his shirt. He moves toward the door, not uttering another word.

“Eris, where are you-“

“Y/N, trust me; I’m only doing you justice. You’ll thank me later, dove.”

: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ

“What are you doing out of bed?”

You hear him before you see him. When you slowly turn from your spot at the stovetop, Eris is leaned against the doorframe, a cocky grin on his lips, brow raised in question. You roll your eyes, the only movement you can do at normal speed without tensing in pain.

“Well, smart guy,” you say. “You ran off and left me for half the day, and didn’t feed me. So, I forced myself up and… went on a little scavenger hunt. To the kitchen.” You say simply. He scoffs and strides over to you, stopping to lean against the counter behind you. You turn to face him, and he glances at the bandage peeking out from below your top.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, no tone or condescension evident in his voice. You cautiously take his hand in yours, and his eyes gaze at you in silent question. You press his palm to your side, and smile softly at him. All those years thinking he was your enemy; all those years thinking he would truly hurt you; all those years suppressing what you knew was true all along. Maybe he wasn’t the bad guy that everyone made him out to be. You knew he was a good male.

“I'm stronger than you thought, hmm?” You say with a wink. His eyes soften, and a little smile plays on his lips as his other hand braces your other hip bone. He pulls you close, so close your pelvis is touching his upper thighs. You peer up at him through your lashes as he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“You’ve always been the strongest woman I’ve known.”

You blush at his words, finally accepting what you’ve been running from all along; you care for Eris. Truly, you did. Why else would you winnow here, of all places? Why else would you feel a familiar tug on your heart strings when he was around?

You cared.

And, Cauldron behold; he did too.

“And… you had to show me how strong you could be today?” You ask, your tone dipping low. Eris rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“All I did was go over there, and demand to know why the hell they’d allow for you to be kidnapped in your own home-“ You gasp and swat his arm lightly.

“Eris!” You scold. He grins down at you, taking your face in his hands and looking at you lovingly.

“Maybe I should irritate you more… look at you, taking initiative and putting me in my place.” He chuckles. Your face reddens, and you stare at him wide-eyed as he runs his knuckles down your jaw, his cool silver ring easing the burning hot you felt beneath your cheek.

“Maybe you should do what you're suppos-“ Eris cuts you off with a tsk tsk tsk, pulling you in close and finally pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You part your lips, fingers caressing his jaw and threading through his hair as his lips dance with yours. His fingers trail from your cheek down to your waist, holding you close as one hand runs up and down your side; grabbing firmly when your teeth graze his bottom lip. He pulls away, breathless as he supplies you a feline grin.

“Now, where is the fun in that?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

[voie-lacte3]

best friend! reader

✩ 17. funniest person alive. (upcoming) senior in highschool. waitress. obsessed with spiderman. steals masons clothes. protective af. can drive. queen of selfies. matches energy really well. posts everything. old justin bieber + taylor swift. calls mason's mom "mom". most oblivious person. pitbull named charlie. body tea. certified yapper. jokingly bullies mason.

best friend! mason thames

✩ 18. golden retriever energy. dark + dirty humor. respectful gentleman. charismatic rizz master. never shuts the fuck up. coffee ice cream. private person. actor. has known you since forever. clingy and touchy af. flirty. popular. passenger prince. is always down for fast food. j.cole + the weeknd. always smells good. professional giggler. does whatever he feels like. obsessed with spoiling you.

how they met...

the little devil spawn 5 year old mason thames was, did not like sharing. and everyone knew.

he liked his juice boxes cold, his crayons organized by color, and the dinosaur nap mat in the corner all to himself, thank you very much.

so it was a surprise when mrs. ivy knelt down next to him and said, "mason, we have a new friend joining us today. can you show her around?"

he blinked up at her, unimpressed. "what if i don't wanna?"

but then you walked in— messy space buns, sparkly twinkle-toes, clutching a spiderman backpack like your life depended on it. you looked nervous. like maybe this wasn't where you were supposed to be. like maybe you'd rather be anywhere else.

and mason? he stared. stared a little too long, in fact. so long that the teacher nudged him gently and whispered, "mason, say hi."

so he did.

or tried to.

"uh... hi," he mumbled, tugging at the hem of his green dino t-shirt. "d'ya like dinosaurs?"

you blinked at him. then nodded slowly. "but only the long-neck ones. not the bitey ones. the bitey ones are mean."

he gasped. "you mean the t-rexes?!"

you scrunched your nose. "they're stinky."

and right then and there— little devil spawn mason decided he liked you. because no one had ever called a t-rex stinky before, and you said it like it was law.

twenty minutes later, mason was dragging you to the reading corner, 2 coloring sheets in hand, whispering like it was a secret, "i don't like nap time either. mrs. ivy always prints out something for me to color, here." he hands you a t-rex, "you color my favorite, i'll color your favorite."

he sat beside you, keeping a full two inches of space between your knees because boundaries, obviously. but when you handed him a crayon (purple, slightly chewed on), he gave you a shy little smile.

"i’m y/n," you finally introduced, making a silly face. "i’m mason," he mumbled back, looking at your dinosaur. "...he looks cool."

"thanks. his name is sir chomps-a-lot."

when nap time was over, the 2 of you exchanged papers, a huge smile on your face as you stared at the messy scribbles. "its beautiful mason!"

soon it was snack time, you pulled a fruit roll-up from your bag and he had goldfish.

you offered to share.

"but these are rainbow goldfish...." he said, pouting. "and we're best friends, we gotta share stuff," you replied solemnly.

he didn’t question it, just let you stick your hand in his pouch of goldfish anyway.

by recess, you were stuck like glue. he showed you where the monkey bars squeaked, and you taught him how to swing without dragging his feet. you played pirates, except your ship was actually the slide, and you kept making him walk the plank (even though he kept laughing too hard to jump off).

when the bell finally rang and the teacher clapped her hands, mason frowned.

frowned so much his mom questioned him when he came out the doors. "you okay sweetheart?" "no! i made a new friend today and now i have to wait till tomorrow to see her" he pouted, crossing his arms.

at the same time you squeal, "mommy!!" and race into your own mom’s arms— inches away from mason.

then it happened. your mom walks towards mason and his mom, "hey you guys ready?"

little mason's eyebrows furrowed, "did you invite her for dinner or something?" "mommy thats my new friend!" both woman chuckle, "mason, this is our new neighbor mrs. l/n, she and her family moved across the street a couple days ago"

the litte gears in masons brain start to move— he just assumed the people moving across the street were old people.

the both of you gasp, "WE'RE NEIGHBORS!!?"

"YOU LIVE ACROSS THE STREET?!"

mason grabbed your hand like it was instinct. "that means we can be together and play every day."

you jumped up and down, both moms chuckling, watching as their kids walk ten steps ahead—planning backyard picnics, popsicle parties, and the ultimate mission: building a blanket fort big enough to stretch across the street.

a/n: kindy shitty...sorry guys

| check out the rest of this au!

tags: @bluebvrriee @v4mpire-bit3s @neroloops @m-e-m06 @icollectrubberduckies @tuttifrutt1 @unsaidjaelinrose @sorry-for-party-rocking-rah @courta13 @thegr8estpuff @90zl1ps @user168537 @katie-the-bookworm @cecedelove @ktaerssoi @celestiiql @hyukabean @slutforchrissturniolo2 @greekgirldream @superlegend216 @charleymaymay @daphyyyy8888 @care-eliza

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Arguing with Dean about music

Summary: You, Sam and Dean are all prepping for a hunt. Meanwhile, you and Dean have the dumbest of arguments.

Pairings: Dean X reader

Notes ; fluff, silly argument, one shot.

Requests are open

“All I’m saying is, everybody knows that four was their best album.” Dean said while fishing a clean cloth from his duffle.

“And all I’m saying is, you’re just being stubborn.” You said in an unbothered tone with that underlying cadence of smugness he knows all too well. Your nimble fingers work at taking apart a hand gun to give it a well needed, and far over-due, cleaning.

“I am not!” (He definitely was) “But c’mon, mothership came out in two-thousand sevennnn.” He says as if it were some sort of crime. “All of it’s remastered crap anyway, nowhere near as good as the original.” He scoffs while handing you the cloth.

“You do realize “remastering” is just updating a song to match new quality standards?”

“And that’s the problem!” Dean said with a groan.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as you knew where he was going with this.

Dean picks up a knife and a sharpening block and begins to work as he goes on with his spiel. “Everyone is so obsessed with “new quality standards” and i-tunes and-and Justin Bieber!”

You roll your eyes and begin to reassemble the gun and move on to another.

“- physical media! That’s where it’s at. Just gimme some cassettes or hell even a vinyl and I am good. To. Go.”

You had heard this rant more times than you could count. You loved your boyfriend to death but damn could he talk. “Uh-huh” you say, looking up at him from your spot on the edge of the bed, the rest of the space taken out by the assorted weapons. “Whatever you say honey.” You nod with an amused smile. Regardless, it was still endearing how passionate he was.

Dean turns the knife in his hand and begins to sharpen the other side. “Okay, okay I’ll stop ranting,” he smiles. “But, there was no-“

“-Good music made after 1979,” Sam finishes, pushing open the motel door open with his foot and stepping inside.

You chuckle at this but Dean just nods his head approvingly. “Damn straight.” Dean replied.

“Oh god, don’t tell me you guys are arguing over Led Zeppelin again.” Sam sets down the paper bag he was carrying- filled with salt and other things you’d need for tomorrow’s hunt.

“She thinks mothership is a good album.” Dean said.

“So? It’s not bad, just a best-hits type thing.” Sam shrugs.

“See!” You pointed to Sam. “Thank you!”

“Two-thousand seven” Dean frowned.

“Dazed and confused is on there!” You retorted.

“Just listen to the album like a normal person.”

“I’m the one who’s not normal?”

Sam sighed and rubbed his forehead. It was going to be a long night.

[inuyashaluver]

Hi! I love your writing so much!!

Can I request something for Leah Williamson? Like Leah and Popstar!reader has been in a secret relationship and in the reader’s music video she has to kiss/being intimate with an actress (sort of like “Justin Bieber - Mistletoe”music video) Leah become jealous, although reader has explained that the song was for Leah and it was just acting. So in the next music video (I pictured it like “Dan + Shay, Justin Bieber - 10,000 hours” music video) Leah be in the music video and kinda hard launch to the world about being married to the reader.

So, maybe cute jealous Leah and fluffy ending?

(You don’t have to use the same music video reference, it just what gave me this idea☺️)

Thank you, and if you don’t want to write my request it’s okay.. no pressure!

hard launch - leah williamson

leah williamson x reader

description: in which your wife gets jealous when you kiss a man in your music video for your new album, so you give her a special one instead

warnings: swearing, jealous leah, slightly angsty idk

a/n: hiya, lovey! i hope you don’t mind but i switched the request around a teensy bit just for plot! ily and thank you for the love and request❤️ mixed feelings again lmao

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you and your wife, leah were each other’s biggest fans, but in a relatively secret manner, only the people closest to you knew about the two of you and that was how you liked it.

you and leah met at the brit’s years ago when you were seated next to each other. someone on stage said something quite unhinged and you both glanced at each other in disbelief.

“what the fuck?” you mouth to the girl next to you, she places a hand over her mouth to conceal her laugh but both of you break out into silent giggles.

after that, you both followed each other on instagram and she miraculously got your number. you both started chatting, finding out you lived 10 minutes from each other. you always met up for lunch or anytime whenever the two of you were free and it steadily progressed into a romantic relationship.

you’d been together for over 7 years, wanting to keep your lives private as you were both highly influential people in the media. you, a popstar and leah, a star football player.

and like the media always does, they ruin things. often. so, you and leah made an agreement to keep your relationship a secret, your wedding was quiet, your nearest and dearest all in attendance.

—

you and leah brought out the best in each other, and everyone noticed it. everytime you and leah got interviewed, it was one of the top comments that you and leah respectively were much happier recently. both of you always saying, “it’s just a happy day” with an identical smile.

if people did put two and two together, you and leah wouldn’t confirm nor deny your relationship. you and leah would put on subtle disguises when supporting each other, whether it was at an event or a football match, the two of you would make an effort to be there no matter what.

you both genuinely loved each other and that was all that mattered to the both of you. through a large, mutual respect and trust with one another, it worked.

—

when leah tore her acl, she was at home all the time, you took some time off music to support her and she was eternally grateful for you. when she’d cry, you kiss her cheek and tell her everything was going to be okay.

you took her to rehab, to training, to get late night snacks. whatever she wanted, you did it for her, knowing well enough that she would do the same.

all the time at home together made you both giddy amongst all the sadness of the injury. leah claimed she wouldn’t have been able to do anything without you, expressing her gratitude everyday through lazy kisses and prolonged embraces that had your hearts synched in unison.

in an attempt to express your unconditional love for your wife, you decided to make a secret album dedicated to her. once she was asleep, you would slip out of her embrace and write songs until your hand was tired and your eyes were sore.

leah was by far your biggest inspiration and you wanted her to know that.

when you would finish writing for the night, you’d hop back into the welcoming arms of your wife. she’d immediately settle on your chest, her body rising and falling as she slept soundly.

you worked on the album the entire duration of recovery for leah, impressed with how you were able to keep the secret for so long, considering she always had the ability to coax something out of you when she’d give you that attractive smirk as she’d tower over you.

once she’d recovered and made her comeback, you knew the album needed to be released, so, you put out a poster advertising it on instagram, a major yet subtle nod to leah, featuring one of her newest tattoos.

leah sees you’ve posted something on instagram since she has your notifications on, her heart stops when she recognises her tattoo, she smiles brightly that day, rushing home from training to ask you all about it.

—

liked by leahwilliamsonn and 44,232 others

yourname: my new album, ‘home’ is coming very soon! dedicated to a special person in my life, my biggest inspiration ever, i love you xx

view all comments

—

“baby!” leah calls out from the door, her keys clanging on the kitchen counter as she searches for you. you’re sitting in the living room on the couch, bundled up in one of her hoodies while you drink a tea.

“hi, love” you smile lazily at her, she looks at you full of adoration, sitting next to you on the couch and carefully taking the mug from your hands and placing it on the coffee table. she takes both of your hands in hers, leaning forward to place a kiss on your lips.

“hi, beautiful” leah smiles against your lips, placing little kisses there before pulling away to look at you. “has my girl been making an album without telling me?” leah narrows her eyes at you, placing a hand on your thigh when you kick your legs into her lap.

“maybe” you shrug teasingly, causing the blonde to groan in annoyance. “oh come on, man!” leah huffs, you raise your eyebrows at her amusingly, kissing her cheek affectionately causing a little smirk to play on her lips.

“alright i’ll tell you,” you give up when she gives you her best puppy dog eyes, “the album’s for you, i’ve been writing it throughout your recovery and a couple of songs are coming out over the next three days before i release the full thing” you inform her, fiddling with the fingers of her free hand.

“it’s for me?” leah breathes out surprisingly, attempting to move closer so she was pressed up against you, “it’s for you” you affirm, puckering your lips up for a quick kiss.

she instantly closes the gap, the kiss more passionate than you expected, causing you to whine into her mouth when she pulls you to straddle her lap. the kiss is bruising, it makes you both dizzy with affection when your lips and tongues move against each other.

in need of air, she pulls away and rests her forehead against yours, her breath fanning against your lips as she holds you close. you lean back to look at her, pushing away the stray hairs adorning her face that had fallen from her loose ponytail.

“i’ll take it you’re excited then?” you tease, placing a hand on her cheek and smiling softly at her, she nods and moves her head to kiss the palm of your hand, “more than excited” she teases back, moving to kiss you again and taking your breath away completely.

—

it was the day one of your first songs got released, labelled : ‘softly’ (by clairo - highly recommend this banger, listen and check out the lyrics!!). the music video was filmed months ago and it was cute. you thought she’d love it, but the girl sitting next to you while she watched wasn’t overly excited as much as you thought she would be.

the song was beautiful and she loved it, it was the music video that had a funny feeling bubbling in her chest. in the music video, you and a close friend of yours, a male actor had been exploring a random part of london, goofing off, slow dancing in the street, sharing a coffee and leah was fine with that, it was ‘whatever’. until the very end of the video where you shared a quick kiss before the screen turned black.

leah had an unreadable expression on her face, sitting next to you, cross-armed while her eyes were trained on the tv in your shared living room. she prods her tongue on the inside of her cheek before she clenches her jaw.

“lee, baby” you say nervously, testing out the waters, she doesn’t look at you, her eyes still on the tv. “leah?” you place a hand on her shoulder and she shrugs it off, standing up to run off to the bathroom.

she was fuming to say the least, she knew it meant nothing but there was just something about seeing you kiss someone else that made her immensely jealous and she couldn’t admit it to you.

you sigh when you hear the bathroom lock click, she never does that. you say to yourself you’re giving her space but it took you the span of 1 minute to rush to the door and sit down in front of it, your back pressed against it while you waited for her.

you hear the distant lull of the shower and you pout, picking at your nails at the thought of her being upset with you. when she was done, she opened the door and you fell back, staring up at her with wide eyes before scrambling to get off the floor.

“you okay?” you breathe out, the blonde just nods, moving past you and sitting on the bed, her back resting against the headboard while she scrolled on her phone, reading all the comments on your song.

all of them talking about how cute the video was, a couple confused as to why you casted a man as the love interest for a song clearly about a female.

you breathe out shakily before sitting next to her, picking at your nails again until leah broke the silence, “don’t do that” she reprimands softly, looking down at her phone again. “sorry” you mumble, head hanging low as you stare at your hands in your lap.

“have i done something?” you question nervously, the girl just shakes her head, placing her phone down and looking at you. her scowl was gone and instead somewhat of a pout was hinting on her lips.

your eyes slightly widen when you take in her appearance, she was jealous. you fight extremely hard to conceal your smile as you watch her amusingly, ready to see her crack under the pressure.

“did you really have to kiss a man?” leah clenches her jaw with a roll of her eyes when she hears your stifled giggles escaping your mouth. “baby-” you start, promptly interrupted but a frustrated looking leah, “a man? the songs about me!” leah scoffs in disbelief, crossing her arms over her chest as she looks at you expectantly.

“don’t smile” leah grits out, but you can’t stop, moving to sit in her lap as she frowns.

you try to untangle her arms but she’s extremely strong, deciding to place a hand on her shoulder while the other cards through her hair. she tries incredibly hard not to hum at the contact, staring into your eyes through her furrowed brows.

“the song is about you, i kissed a gay man by the way, i just thought he’d be a good fit for the video but the song is clearly about a certain pretty blonde that i love” you say sarcastically, leah untangling her arms and pinching your hip warningly.

“i love you and i only love you” you say reassuringly, peppering her face with little kisses which causes her to break out in a little smile.

“i liked the song” she sighs, leaning into your body for comfort that you happily give to her.

“i’m glad” you smile, nudging her nose with your own and giggling when it crinkles up.

“still doesn’t change the fact that you kissed a man when you have a wife” she exaggerates, her scowl making its way to her face again. you smile at her affectionately, “a gay man” you groan, “are you sure? you’re really hot and could easily make someone question themselves” leah says simply, checking you out shamelessly.

you roll your eyes and give her a chaste kiss, “yes, leah, he’s gay and i’ll happily kiss my wife that i love so much” you smile cheekily, making the blonde huff out a laugh and pull you closer into a passionate kiss.

it completely takes your breath away when she pulls away, you pant and just look at each other for a moment. she’s happy for a second until she remembers you locking lips with that man, she doesn’t care if he’s gay, it scarred her.

“so grumpy” you mumble, reaching up and running your thumb over the wrinkled skin. “i don’t care, it should’ve been me,” she huffs, she’s completely unaware of what you have under your sleeve. “i love you” you quip, she replies without skipping a beat, “i love you too”

with a couple more shared kisses and reassuring words, leah got over it.

—

two days later, the video you’d been excited yet nervous about was finally about to be released. you’d been working on not only the song but the music video extremely hard.

the song was called ‘leah’ (actually ur so pretty by wasia project), it was different from your usual music but it felt right. you nervously sat with leah on the couch, bundled up under a blanket together as you cuddled.

leah could sense your nervousness, she’d run her hand up and down your arm in attempts to calm down but this was literally a hard launch and you didn’t know how she would react.

the video gets uploaded and you nervously move the remote towards the video to click on it.

“leah?” the girl mumbles in slight shock, you lean into her, kissing her cheek quickly before pressing play. the opening chords of the piano had leah’s heart already lurching.

the video is an edited video of you and leah throughout the years. all of them filmed by you. it had videos from your dates, at home, cuddling, sleeping, kissing, everything.

‘you’re so pretty, when you smile it kills me’

your voice sings out, leah immediately tenses against you. tears were already filling in both of your eyes, leah holds onto you tightly, completely engrossed on the screen and your voice.

‘can’t stop thinking, about the way you kissed me, under the stars’

leah laughs fondly at some of the silly videos in video, a full play by play of your relationship presented to the world in the most beautiful way. when it gets to the more recent moments of your relationship, leah squeezes you gently, her breath hitching when footage of your wedding plays. you’re both crying at this point.

‘you’re the only person left, so hold me. don’t leave me’

your song finishes, the final clip you and leah sharing your first kiss as a married couple, smiling brightly with each other and walking down the aisle together excitedly before a picture of you and leah is left on the screen and then turning into a black screen.

you in leah sit in silence just crying, she pulls you into a tight embrace, her face tucked into the crook of your neck as her tears pool out of her eyes.

“i love you, i love you so much” she cries, holding onto you tightly like you could disappear at any moment.

“i love you so much, lee” you sniffle with an affectionate giggle, cradling the girl’s head to you as you held onto each other tightly.

after the long embrace, she pulls back to look at you, kissing you sweetly before pulling away again to smile lovingly at you. “sorry for the hard launch” you giggle, wiping the remnants of tears on her cheeks with your thumb. “thank you for the hard launch” she teases, kissing you again.

“the rest of the album is out” you remind and she perks up, “what are we waiting for then?” she exclaims, making you lie on top of her while she plays the album.

“there’s 10 songs, lee, we don’t need to listen to all of it now” you say sheepishly, “such a sap, lovey, 10 whole songs for me? i’m so lucky” she teases, kissing the crown of your head. “of course we need to listen now, i need to support my official wag” you smile up at her, kissing her gently while the sounds of your album drown out in the background.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

liked by alessiarusso99 and 44,232 others

leahwilliamsonn: stream my WIFE’S new album she made for me, best present ever

view all comments

yourname: my wifey

↳ leahwilliamsonn: my pretty wife

yourname: remember when you got mad i kissed a gay man

↳ leahwilliamsonn: time out.