#but these are actual well known journalists

[jacobglaser]

Twitter is going great tonight.

[mariocki]

Pathfinders in Space (ABC, 1960)

"Now, the remainder of us have fifteen hours of oxygen left. That leaves fifteen hours in which to complete our research here."

"Well, what's the good of all that if you can't come back with it?"

"The moon never destroys her treasures, Henderson. We shall leave a record and it'll be preserved in the vacuum of the caves. And the future expeditions you mentioned, they will find it."

[probablyasocialecologist]

The latest questions are centered around Anat Schwartz, an Israeli who co-authored several of the paper’s most widely circulated reports, including the now well-known and scrutinized December 28 article headlined: “‘Screams Without Words’’ How Hamas Weaponized Sexual Violence on Oct. 7.” Independent researchers scrutinized the online record, and raised serious questions about Schwartz. First, she has apparently never been a reporter but is actually a filmmaker, who the Times suddenly hired in October. You would expect the paper to look for someone with actual journalistic experience, especially for a story as sensitive as this one, written during the fog of war. Surely the paper had enough of its own correspondents on staff who could have been assigned to it. Next, the researchers found that Schwartz had not hidden her strong feelings online. There are screenshots of her “liking” certain posts that repeated the “40 beheaded baby” hoax, and that endorsed another hysterical post that urged the Israeli army to “turn Gaza into a slaughterhouse,” and called Palestinians “human animals.” (Just this morning, more evidence emerged online; Schwartz apparently also served in Israeli Military Intelligence.) Finally, one of her co-authors on two of the reports was Adam Sella, who is her nephew.  Let’s pause here. What would happen if the Times suddenly hired a Palestinian filmmaker with no journalistic background, who had recently publicly “liked” posts that called for “pushing Israeli Jews into the sea,” to co-write several of its most sensitive and contested reports? 

[...]

There’s another related example of how the Times has botched the sexual violence story. One of the first Israeli organizations that arrived on the scene of the Hamas attack was Zaka, a volunteer group that recovers dead bodies. On January 15, Times reporter Sheena Frankel wrote a positive profile of the group; she included 3 or 4 sentences of criticism, only to quickly dismiss them. This site had already raised serious doubts about Zaka weeks earlier, pointing out that “the organization’s volunteers have systematically given false testimonies, and continue repeating them to journalists on behalf of the Israel government.” Then, on January 31, the Israeli daily Haaretz published a long investigation, that highlighted “cases of negligence, misinformation and a fundraising campaign that used the dead as props.” Haaretz cited one Zaka report that said a volunteer had seen a murdered pregnant woman, with the baby still attached by the umbilical cord — before concluding that the incident “simply didn’t happen.” At this stage, there are serious doubts about many aspects of Israel’s overall account about October 7. Only a genuinely independent and impartial investigation might some day get closer to the truth. But meanwhile, at the very least the New York Times must publicly recognize its errors, and assign new, unbiased reporters to try to clean up its mess. 

Continue reading

[controld3vil]

sand walking?

pairing(s): dune 2 cast x actor!reader (platonic!!)

synopsis: requested by this ask!

⤷ alt: how to seduce someone walking on sand.

notes: there hasn't been confirmed for dune 3 yet but denise villeneuve has said he's writing for it to happen. ill patiently wait for the day it's confirmed :) ALSO there are fictional/made-up mentions of the novel for the sake of the reader. they're made to be gender-neutral!! and this includes platonic flirting between cast members. i MAY have gotten carried lmaoo

“I mean- what do you think of the character? Do you think they deserved more screen time?” The clip starts off with you comfortably conversing with the interviewer. To say you weren’t deflecting their curiosity. In actuality, you were eager to learn what others thought about your performance and take on the character. The only other interpretation had on-screen was from the classic 1984 film by David Lynch.

The clip that has been widely retweeted back is of a cute moment you had from the first film of Dune (2021). Before release, little was known about your character’s potential. Apart from the enthusiastic book lovers, film viewers were clueless about what role your character would play after the first movie.

Denise Villeneuve didn’t reveal much to you in person. He wanted to keep ideas confidential until he was 100% on board making the project come to life. Still, rumors sparked through speculation and interviews with the cast members of Dune. Including an infamous short, that you forgot about, of yourself boasting about your hopes and wishes for your character.

“Yes! How could we not!” On the opposite side, the interviewer exclaimed as they leaned forward from their chair, closing into your proximity. Their hands clenched, tightening their grip on the flash card, full of questions. “The movie left us on such a cliffhanger. I think everyone would want to know what happened to Nerre,”

“That’s for Denise to decide,” Nodding you gave a relaxed smile while lifting one leg over the other. Your shoulders relaxed, feeling content and ecstatic about their response. “I can’t confirm anything until he gives me the green light to say anything,”

“I’ve also talked to Timothée this morning,” A shift in gears as the journalist flipped over another flashcard. You two had just fussed about the finale and its dramatic cliffhanger. “And all he had to say were the sweetest things about you,” At the mention of your costar compliments, you felt your skin heat up. Your eyes soften, expressing only fondness for the lovely message. A soft awh escaped your breath. “He’s very sweet. Timothee's always been fun to be around.” A fervent chuckle from the interviewer sends them into a feverish excitement. “And- he said- you had great flirting skills!” It was then your face morphed into complete shock and giddiness . “Really?!” The camera pans up on your initial reaction, eyes popping out in surprise and a bubbling laugh slowly erupting. “I’m glad someone appreciates my talents!”

Without context, the short clip seemed harmless. Your sheer reaction to Timothee's comment emphasized the fun chemistry the two of you had on set. Mirroring much of Paul and Nerre's friendship, you both complimented each other well in the first film, being the youngest surrounded by well-renowned actors. But the reason for the recent spike of interest was partially from Dune: Part Two and their interviews.

Fast forward to the debut of Dune: Part Two, it made success at the box office. Even surpassing the first film altogether. The entire cast of Dune was proud of the work they've made. The introduction of new characters played by wonderful actors and actresses all around.

Weeks after the early IMAX screenings, press interviews were being published amongst of the young cast members. A particular interview by IGV Presents brings together Timothee Chalamet, Zendaya, Florence Pugh, Austin Butler, and yourself.

This would be considered to be one of your first interviews with the Dune cast after the box office release. You felt nervous yet overjoyed at the same time to be meeting your co-actors again after the conclusion of filming had taken place.

The spokesperson of IGV, Simon Harkness starts off the interview strong with a pleasant greeting. "Congratulations on an incredible movie. Uhm it is the definition of a sci-fi blockbuster and is absolutely phenomenal, so huge congratulations to you all!"

"Thank you!" The five of you all politely cherish his kind words.

"It's so lovely to talk to you. Um- Timothee, Zendaya, I'm going to start with you. This is probably the hardest question I've ever asked in an interview so you've been warned." An endearing giggle can be seen from Zendaya before allowing him to continue. "Sand walking, who does it better?"

Timothee immediately lifts up his microphone. "I'm going to give it to Zendaya here." Without glancing at her, you could tell Zendaya was happily smiling at his compliments. How quick he was to answer made it seem how well connected the cast was even given the amount of time spent together. The main lead continues very swiftly, diving more into how cinematic the shot was from an outside perspective, "I think it's the most- one of the most cinematic shots in the movie and she really has it very precisely down but it's the nature of the movie too that she's supposed to be better than Paul,"

"Is that what it is?" In return, Zendaya who sat next to him gave him a teasing look.

Quietly from afar where you sat, next to Austin Butler, you whispered. "He acted like he couldn't do it but," Soft snickering can be heard across the room.

"In fairness to me, I was going 65%- 65 to 70 too hard," Chalamet reasons justly as he glances in your direction before looking back to the interviewer.

"You dumbed it down," Harkness nods in a high-spirited manner. Right after, Timothee reluctantly agrees, keeping the mood light-hearted.

"I had to!"

"Just how committed you are!" Austin steps in, joining in on the joke.

"Zendaya, you can take that crown. I love that," The brown-haired man reassures as she recuperates with appreciative laughter. In truth, it was a beautiful scene between Paul and Chani you were lucky enough to witness behind the camera. And contrary to their light banter, you thought both actors did well at accomplishing what it was meant sand walk. Truthfully you had no scenes beyond walking through the desert but understanding the mechanics and traditions of the Fremen was as fascinating as it was watching it up close.

Suddenly it was Florence's turn to speak, "Zendaya taught me the other day and I had to just stop to stare at her feet."

"The swoopy swoop?" You asked in a cutesy tone, with furrowed eyebrows. You couldn't help but remember the few instances you witnessed your costars practice the sand walk to be one of the more adorable rehearsals you've seen on the sand.

"Yeah, her feet were so pretty! She was doing the swoopy swoops," The blonde acknowledges, waving her hands in a zig-zag pattern. As the replication of water and how her feet moved.

The interviewer's eyes light up, "Honestly I tried to swoopy swoop at home- um because we have a carpet in the bedroom."

"How did it go?" The mixed actress puts forward.

"Awful!" An assembly of bewilderment is seen between Zendaya and Florence as they quickly question why. However, they reassure him in the end that they would practice together in hopes of him archiving the sand walk.

Talks with simple questions went down the row. Florence discusses her experience from her beginnings, starring in Little Women, comparing those scenes in terms of royalty to Dune. In both films, she's worked with well-known actors and now Christopher Walken as the emperor and her father. She raves about how it was a dream come true. A dream she had when she was little. From this experience, Florence emphasizes the concept of learning and observing her fellow actors.

Another intriguing topic follows Austin for his experience between learning choreography fighting and Elvis's iconic rubber legs. In a sense, as you leaned forward on one of your seats, you became fascinated by the Elvis actor's comparison of it all. While Elvis's moves were televised and had to be precise for the camera, being a Harkonnens gave him more leverage in the freedom to move. It was a captivating question that you couldn't help but want to listen to more.

Comparisons aside, you didn't have much to note for your upcoming question. Which is exactly why you felt unprepared for what he was going to ask.

Harkness brings up your name for the finale. "You have done stunt work before. For the first and now second film, I've heard you compared it to rather- dancing. Is that what you think your relationship with the choreography has been?"

You gave a content hum, "You see it with the Fremen or Harkonnens right? Everyone moves so differently and for the course for me, I've had to adjust my choreo little by little. And I think that analogy you mentioned really does relate back to dancing. I don't know if it's because I was once a dancer or that I'm a visual learner," You shrug your shoulders, "But I see the choreography as a dance routine. You're moving alongside people, doing hits and jabs. Both are very hands-on so I would like to approach it as something I can always work on." Satisfied with your answer, you clapped your hands together.

"Kind of like sand walking no?" It was then that Zendaya swerved counterclockwise to face you.

Bringing back the conversation they had in the beginning about sand walking, your eyes instantly brighten. "Exactly like that!"

"I feel like you would be great at sand walking," Florence puffs, mindlessly shaking her microphone back and forth. "You- You already got the moves." Even Timothee came into agreement, humming and commenting you worked well with the choreography.

Austin Butler raises his microphone. "I think you gotta learn with me because I don't think I could,"

"Nonsense!" You give him a silly glare. "If you can do a killer rubber leg, I think you can sand walk." Florence and Zendaya both mumble their support and your male costar leans to have his arm around the back of your chair, warmly.

"Is that an open invitation I see?" The spokesperson, Harkness giggly pokes at than the rest of the cast turns to look at you. Your scowl morphs into an innocent one.

"Hm?" As you squint your eyes in hesitation.

"I feel like you could have the potential to sand walk but just with the right partner," Timothee chimes in, spreading his arms over his chair as well. Your brows furrowed accusingly, as if wanting to clarify what he meant by his comment.

And the French actor gives you a look, one you became so sure of. "Mm right!" A slight eruption of laughs before you straightened your back with proper posture. "With just the right partner,"

There were also hints mentioned in your interview with Timothee surprisingly not. This was one of the more recent ones to be published, as you finally were able to pair up with your favorite co-star (besides Brolin) from the first film. The two of you had strong chemistry despite having less screen time together in the second film.

The beginning of the video cuts to a clip of you answering an innocent question. "What I think about every day, is Timothee going to send to me a meme today? Uh, I hope so!" You give a sarcastic look to your seat partner as he latently laughs in front of you. "Or when is he going to text me you know?"

It then transitions to an interviewer from Heart commercial radio as he shouts out your names. "How are you both?"

"I'm doing good!"

"Going great!"

The radio show was more relaxed than you would've expected as the spokesperson was very down to the earth with his conversation starters and contagious warmth. Timothee was able to catch up with him from his last interview when he premiered his Wonka film. Eventually, the interview became more casual discussing working together, cooking, and trendy topics.

Timothee and you both went back and forth on favorite memories you had of the first film. And talking about the new cast members and new elements it had brought to the table for the film itself.

"Cool new characters this time," As you played around with the fuzzy microphone the camera crew gave to you.

"Yup lots of new people to meet," Timothee adds on, nodding.

The interviewer proceeds with the question, "And also you have seen- there's a clip about of you running around actually." He signals to you, "Of your reaction to something Timothee said about your performance in the first film,"

"Oh! I've seen it," Almost instinctively, your co-star raises his hand. "I was supposed to send it to you but I forgot." As he turns, to finds you looking lost at the topic at hand.

"Really what was it?" You almost looked concerned, seeing how you didn't understand what they meant.

Luckily for you, the Heart radio spokesperson managed to get a hold of the video from his phone, "It was a little callback of Timothee raving about your flirting skills."

As it plays, the camera zooms in on you and your co-actors reaction. The French actor couldn't help but look slightly embarrassed but smitten when the timing of your reaction came on screen. While you held an intrigued stance, arms crossed and a content grin.

"I am pretty good at flirting,"

"You really are, huh." At the same time, you both turn to make eye contact.

"I also heard Tim- that you thought that they would be your love interest initially?" At the radio speaker's inquiry, you couldn't help but in mid-sentence, finally, swerve your head suddenly.

"Yeah well, fun fact actually," The male actor tries to reason, sitting up. "In the novels, Paul and Nerre almost did become a couple!"

It was a well-known fact of that in the first novel, there had been slight changes to the story. Initially, it was said that the author, Frank Herbert had planned for Paul and Nerre, the character you played to have a romantic connection after the fall of House Atreides. Nevertheless, it was later scrapped for another plot, that of instead having Chani as the love interest. But even decades later after the novel’s release, it was something fans still fuss about.

"Oh, I heard about that!" Almost in awe, you nodded, your attention fully on Chalamet, wondering how far he was willing to go beyond spoilers.

"Do you think Nerre would ever meet someone then?" The afro man questions, adjusting his microphone. "Since- Paul has Chani, I feel like if we ever get a potential third film, that could open some doors!"

"If a third film could happen," You start, fiddling with the lining of the mic cover, "I hope so! I mean I got the moves, I got the skills!"

"Keep practicing your sand walk and we'll see," Timothee cutely chimes as you proceed to blow a raspberry at him. Only for him to lightly swat you away.

Despite your failures to have scenes of sand walking, your cast of a crew were more than happy to show you. Javier Bardem and Jessica Ferguson were quite supportive in your interest for something you did not have any part-time. A few behind the scene videos show the actor demonstrating from afar the slower version of the walk.

Though your back was facing the camera, viewers would pick up and recognize it to be you. Jessica as well was off to the side, in her luminescent costume of a million robes, clapping from side to side.

Another later pans to you taking long strides across the sand in the background. In front of the camera are Josh Brolin and Javier having their turn in the video, to discuss their relationship and the previous they have worked on together. However, viewers couldn't help but pinpoint your figure alongside the frame trying to master the patterns of what Javier taught you from the previous clip.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

The Assembly sees a cast of thirty-five interviewers who are autistic, neurodivergent or learning disabled, question an A-list celebrity for one extraordinary TV interview.

In this half-hour special, it's multi-award-winning actor and director, Michael Sheen, who is to face the grilling of a lifetime from the unique collective. No subject is out of bounds, no question is off the table.

On subjects as diverse as ex-girlfriends and on-screen kisses, to the OBE he gave back or his favourite motorway, how will the Good Omens star fare as The Assembly bring their unique approach to the celebrity interview?

The Assembly cast is a diverse cast ranging in age from eighteen to seventy-seven, amongst the group are musicians, artists, writers and students. Each will take their own approach in their attempt to get to the truth of Michael Sheen like nobody before has- whether that’s finding out his favourite sandwich filling or how he felt when his daughter was born.

The format is an adaptation of French show Les Rencontres Du Papotin, which saw the likes of Emmanuel Macron and Camille Cotin (Call My Agent) face the neurodivergent journalists of the Papotin. Gone was the flattery of the usual celeb fare – in its place, a mix of mischievous prodding, leftfield quizzing and profound exchanges. The superstars left completely off guard: actors asked about a driving ban or the death of a parent, the President asked if it’s really the behaviour of a role model to marry one’s teacher.

The show comes from Michelle Singer and Stu Richards' Rockerdale Studios, creators of mischievous content which seeks to put disabled agency at its heart. Stu is also known for co-creating and writing the BBC Three comedy, Jerk, and Rockerdale are most known for Channel 4’s Mission: Accessible.

Rockerdale Studios has worked closely with the BBC’s Creative Diversity Team, to ensure every element of the series works for and with autistic and neurodivergent voices.

The Assembly is a half-hour special to celebrate Autism Acceptance Week. Expect profound revelation, glorious chaos, and a lot of laughs.

The Assembly airs Friday 5 April, 10:40pm on BBC One and iPlayer

Interview with Michael Sheen

What made you say yes to being a part of The Assembly?

I said yes to being a part of The Assembly because it was just such an extraordinary and interesting idea. Then reading about the original French series, it just sounded so extraordinary, different and potentially a very revealing way to approach the tried and tested interview process, but obviously it is a lot more than just being an interview. The interview part of it is just one aspect of the project and I think there is still a lot of confusion, ignorance and fear around people with any kind of difference. I think being able to be involved in a project like this could maybe break down some of those barriers.

How is this different from any other TV show you’ve been a part of?

It’s very much unfiltered and that’s really exciting and quite nerve wracking for that reason! So much on TV is sort of smoothed out and filtered and made safe and this, certainly in the making of it, felt very not that! All the better and more refreshing for it too. I know a lot of work is put into the research and preparation for a show like this, but in terms of the actual questions being asked and the experience that you have in all being together when you’re filming, it feels very unpredictable in a really good way and really lead by the people taking part, which is terrific.

How did you feel going into filming?

Well I didn’t really have anything to go on, so I was excited. Sometimes when I’m going to be interviewed, I know what the interview is going to be about, I have a vague idea of the questions that will come up, I know the sort of things that I need to get across about what I’m there to talk about. But with this, I really had no idea what I was going to be asked, so I had to be prepared for everything and anything, there was a kind of freedom in that I suppose. Because of the unfiltered nature of what was going to happen and not being able to anticipate what might be asked, it was a little nerve wracking yes, but I was mainly just very excited!

Did your experience differ from what you were expecting and if so how?

Well I didn’t know what to expect really, so it’s not that it wasn’t what I was expecting because you can’t expect anything! There's no way you can expect anything because you just don’t know what’s going to happen, and because it is so unfiltered and unpredictable in terms of what might happen, where things might go, how people might be feeling on the day. For all the difficult questions that got asked at times, it just felt very loving and joyful and that everyone was very happy and excited to be there even though people were nervous or had anxiety at different times. There was a genuine feeling of community and I felt very welcomed into that community and ready to play so to speak, and you have to be ready to play. I felt very safe and looked after and it was just really, very funny as well – there was lots of laughter and wonderful things that people asked, responded to and performed, I mean I wasn’t expecting all of that, that was just wonderful! So many moments that I’ll never forget.

How does this compare to any other interview you’ve experienced?

It’s so unfiltered! The closest thing I can say is The One Show, where you go on to talk about one thing and then they ask you about everything else that’s going on on the show, so you get a question about your favourite bus route, then they ask you about otters! There’s an extraordinary pinball effect of questions and that’s the closest I could describe, but The Assembly is that x100. It really is extraordinary and that’s very unlike any other interview I’ve done really, usually everything is meant to follow on logically and have a kind of smoothness and polish to it, and this is just really raw and unfiltered and uncensored and I love that, I thought that was wonderful.

What can viewers expect from the show?

I imagine it will be very funny and I think quite moving. I was quite moved at times by seeing how much people had to struggle to overcome certain things they were dealing with in order to ask questions at times. That was uplifting. I think it will be different, it will be thought provoking I hope, and challenging in certain ways; challenging certain kinds of myths and stereotypes I think and ultimately just really entertaining and fun and joyful. I can’t really remember what I said, so I don’t know what people will learn about me... but it’s not about me, it’s about that fantastic group of people, but I certainly got a huge amount out of it too and I hope an audience will as well.

[fangirl-dot-com]

Chapter 26 - Texas Hold 'Em

The long awaited chapter is here! Thank you all so much for being patient with me!

Next on the schedule is Mexico and then I'm planning to do "Across Every Universe" pt. 2 because I have so many AU ideas that need to be written. The Brazil race is canceled due to a hurricane in my version of the 2024 - for plot purposes.

So get your cowboy hats on and yee-haw here we go!!

Everyone wasn’t surprised when you showed up in a particular outfit in Austin. The fans had been waiting for another themed outfit since you debuted in Vegas last year. So, they weren’t really in awe of what you were wearing. 

What they were surprised to see was the whole grid in matching outfits.

Thee. Entire. Grid. 

And yes, you had somehow wrangled everyone into matching beaver onesies from Bucees. How you convinced Max, Lewis, Kevin, Nico, Zhou, Valtteri, Pierre, and somehow Esteban as well? No one will ever know (there might have been bribes and threats, but they didn’t need to know that). 

Along with the group was a familiar Monegasque, also in the same onesie. You laughed as you saw everyone stair at the massive group. 

“This is amazing,” you giggled behind your hands. 

To be honest, only a few were actually happy to be in the pajamas. (Lando, Daniel, Oscar, Logan, Alex, and Arthur.) The rest could have said no. But who wants to say no to you. 

Photographers flashed their cameras every few seconds. Apparently, fall had actually come that October in Austin, so it wasn’t as hot as everyone thought. For a second, they were thankful to be wearing the long sleeves of the outfits. 

Except when everyone made it back to their respected garages, they all tore them off. However, a couple of them kept them on. And that group was up for a larger media conference. 

On the couch, the order was right to left: Lando, Oscar, Logan, you, Max, Daniel, and then Charles. All of you had yet to take the fuzzy clothes off. 

The interviewer was a little shocked to see the reigning world champion in kids clothing. Yet, they took one look at your smiling face as you animatedly talked to Max, they knew exactly who he was doing this for. 

The conference started, and the drivers put on their media faces, but it was hard to take them seriously when they were all dressed in the brown and bright red. 

“So starting off, what’s the story behind the outfit choices today?” 

All six drivers immediately looked to you, who sheepishly grinned. 

“Yes, Y/n, why don’t you tell the story,” Max said in a teasing tone. You hit his shoulder before raising the mic. 

“Well, it all started when most of the grid had said they hadn’t been to Bucees. And that is like the worst crime known to man. I mean, Daniel and Logan have been, but the others hadn’t.” 

Charles raises his mic next. “So she gets the brilliant plan to text everyone at midnight about going to Bucees.” 

You pulled an accused look. “Hey, everyone didn’t have to respond, but they did.” 

Oscar pulled a face. “I was pretty much dragged.” 

A gasp came from his right and left. Logan shook his head while Lando had his hand on his heart. 

“Osc, I am devastated. You went by your own will. It was also for her birthday, you know this.” 

The journalist piped up. “Happy birthday Y/n.” 

You smiled sweetly at the man, “Thank you so much.” 

Your head whipped to Lando, “Can I get back to the story?” 

The males quieted. 

“As I was saying, I texted everyone cause I was bored. Bucees is open all night so I knew it would be open. And we had the multi-passenger vans, so we could take everyone. I really thought that no one would show up.” 

“Darl, you have little faith in me.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“I knew you were coming, you texted me on the side. But when the meeting time came and everyone was down in the lobby, I wasn’t expecting it.” 

The interviewer smirked. “Who drove? We saw that you had a little trouble after Singapore.” 

You, Logan, Osar, and Lando all winced. 

Logan brought his mic up. “Yeah. That one was one me. I didn’t know that roofless cars weren’t allowed in Singapore.” 

Your finger shot up. “At least we weren’t really arrested. The officer was super nice.” 

Lando smirked. “Yep. We got a warning and he let us off.” 

Your hands clapped. “Anyway, Max drove one van and I think Lewis drove the other one?” 

Max jerked his head to look at you, a smile on his face. “Yeah, don’t want you or George taking off again.” 

The microphone picked up the sound of your hand hitting his shoulders. 

“What did everyone think of Bucees?” a man from deeper in the crowd asked. 

Charles brought his mic back up. “Best place on Earth.” 

You watched as everyone climbed out of the vans and stopped to stare at the yellow and red sign. The big beaver was almost smiling down at you. You, Logan, and Daniel watched as the grid stared at the automatic doors and gingerly step inside. 

“Welcome to Bucees!” an overly energized worker shouted. You looked around and were thankful that not many people were there. 

You waved to get everyone’s attention. 

“Ok boys, er, men, welcome to the best gas station on earth. You can find everything your little hearts’ desire so have at it.” 

The group immediately shot out into different directions. You saw Lando and Oscar immediately head to the rows and rows of drinks they offered. You knew that the Brit would definitely get a slushy when he noticed. 

A lot of the older drivers went to the home decoration sections. Lewis and Valtteri were definitely looking at all the cooking supplies. 

Daniel looked down at you. “So ‘darl, where you wanting to go?” 

You had noticed that Logan had broken away to probably visit the vast fishing supply section. There was a high possibility that he had dragged Alex as well. 

Max, Charles, and Arthur were standing next to the coffee. You shuddered as you remembered as all of them drank it straight black. The opposite of what the creamers and flavors were supposed to do. 

“You wanna get a drink and then walk around?” 

You nodded eagerly before grabbing one of the giant cups. A few drivers watched as you and Daniel filled the styrofoam with Dr. Pepper, before going to the coffee station to add cream. 

“What the hell did you just do?” 

Your eyes widened as you looked at Pierre, Max, and Charles (who all had disgusted looks on their faces). 

You held the big cup up as you swirled the liquid. “Dirty soda. It’s really good.” 

Arthur already had his cup, the same way that you did, except his had Root Beer. You had taught him the ways during early 2023 when you two were teammates. The younger Monegasque rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t look disgusted until you try it.” 

Charles still looked at him strangely. “That will completely mess up our diets.” 

Daniel’s hand clapped Charles’ shoulder. 

“That’s the point Charles. Now get a cup and start concocting.” 

You, Danny, and Arthur left them to their devices and confusion and headed for the beef jerky wall. Zhou was staring at all of the flavors with eyebrows pinched. You knew the look of a beef jerky lover with no clue which one to get. You quickly picked on up and handed it to him. 

“The Korean one is my favorite. But the ghost pepper and garlic are a close second.”

The Romeo driver showed you a quick smile before he walked away. You grabbed the flavors that Daniel and Arthur had asked for, as well as two bags for you. Your head swerved as you tried to find the two men. 

Your eyes widened as you heard Danny’s laugh, loud and clear above everything. Your feet quickly took you to the toy and clothing section. By the time you reached them, Daniel already had a onesie on. 

“Great idea Danny,” you said as you gave everything over to your boyfriend, who had smartly grabbed a basket. 

You were quick to put the pajamas on and pose with the Australian. The two of you fell into laughs as you tried to find Arthur’s size. By now, most of the grid came over to see what was going on. Lando’s eyes flashed with mischief as he tried to find ones in his and Oscar’s sizes. 

You grabbed a few off of the hangers and handed them to the drivers you thought would want one. You watched as George and Alex put them on and laughed as you saw that the pant legs were too small and came up before their ankles. 

Before you knew it, the entire grid was in once section. You and Arthur gave each other looks before dashing to Max and Charles, who immediately shook their heads. 

Max gave you a stern look. 

“No, I am not putting one on. End of st-”

Moments later, Max was brooding in a brown and red onesie. The twenty of you goofed around for almost three hours before Lewis suggested that it was time to leave. (He only said something when he noticed that you were dead asleep on Max’s back. And everyone knew that Max had the widest back so ergo, more comfortable for nappage.)  

“So that’s it. And I thought it would be a good idea to come dressed in these.” 

Charles began talking. “So again she sends a text at 5:30 am asking for everyone to wear the onesie.” 

You gave him a playful glare. “Once again, you did not have to wear it.” 

The Monegasque winked back at you (or tried to anyway). 

“But I look good in it non?” 

A scoff arose from Max. 

“You look good in anything mate.” 

You gasped as you looked at the cameras. 

“Everyone heard it right? Lestappen is real!” 

The rest of the group started to laugh loudly as Max and Charles blushed. You wiggled your eyebrows at the Dutchman, making him swat at you. 

You grumbled as you were led away from the conference. 

On Thursday, Arthur was glued to your side as you watched one of the F2 drivers use your car for free practice 1. You watched as he had his eyes sharp on the car, a sigh leaving his lips every so often. 

You bumped his side. 

“We can go to my room if you want to?” 

Arthur didn’t even respond as he made a beeline for it. You quickly took your headphones off before following him. It didn’t take long for you to catch up and slide into the room as he closed the door. 

The moment you turned around, Arthur had you pinned to the door, lips locked tightly. A small gasp left your lips as he pressed into your face. Your hands gripped the polo material and bunched it at his sides. You made quick work to stick your hands against his skin. He let out a small hiss at your cold fingers. 

“Your hands are never warm are they?” he mumbled against your lips. 

“Poor circulation,” you were able to mutter back before kissing him again. 

His left hand had made its way into your hair, lightly gripping the roots. He gently guided your head to the side and decided to attack your neck. 

You shook your head. “Marks. Please no marks.” 

Arthur respected your request as he placed a gentle kiss before going back to your lips. His right hand had made its way under your shirt. It was slightly going up before a knock at the door made him jerk it away.  

You sucked in a deep breath. 

“Yes?” 

“Kid, we’re needed in the garage,” Max’s voice sounded through the door. “Oh, and Charles is looking for Arthur, have you seen him?” 

You wanted to snort at the irony. You patted you hair a bit before responding. 

“I’ll let him know. Be out in a second.” 

You and Arthur held your breath as you heard his footsteps start to grow quiet as he walked away. 

Arthur smirked down at your flushed appearance, happy that he could make you as flustered as possible. 

“I will see you later then?” you asked, placing one last kiss on his lips. “After Sunday the guys are wanting to try to go line dancing if possible to celebrate for my birthday.” 

Arthur nodded excitedly as he stepped back, trying to straighten his shirt. 

“You go first, and I’ll follow a bit after.” 

The plan was a go as you snuck out of your room, looking around as you made your way to the open garage. 

Once Arthur thought he was in the clear, he poked his head out. Not seeing anyone directly, he also snuck around the door. His head was turned around, not seeing the body in front of him. He collided into a firm chest before whipping his head forward. 

He came face to face with Max. Arthur gulped as his hazel eyes met icy blue ones. Max just looked down at the scared 23-year-old. The Dutchman smirked before planning a hand on Arthur’s shoulders. 

“Use protection please,” was all Max said before turning around and walking in the direction that you were headed. 

Arthur glowed red at the statement before heading out. His face definitely matched the shade of his red Ferrari polo. 

Back in the garage, your mouth was wide open as you looked at the leaderboard. 

“How did a Williams get there?” 

The blue “W” shone brightly in the P1 spot. “SAR” was right next to it. 

Christian shook his head as he looked at his notebook. 

“They got an upgrade from Mercedes and decided to use it for this race.” 

Max also was boggled at the sight. You looked back at Christian, wanting to gulp with concern. 

“How are we looking?” 

The Brit sucked in a harsh breath. “Not the best. But we’ll get there.” 

“Hey kid!”

Your head whipped around at the sound of Mitch yelling your name. As you were gawking over the Williams positions, you were completely oblivious to the entirety of the garage getting closer and closer. In her hands was a small-ish white cake. A small Lightning McQueen figure was on top. You let out a small gasp as Max quickly lit the candles that were shaped in a 2 and a 1. 

Everyone soon began to sing a rendition of Happy Birthday. Toward the end of the verse, your eyes started to water. When the song ended, you lightly blew out the candles, earning several rounds of applause at something so miniscule to you. 

Yet, this act of kindness really showed how much your team loved you. Christian tried to shove your face into the cake but he really underestimated how strong your neck really was. If anything, your head didn’t move much. You just gave him a stink eye as you glared at him. 

Mitch gently set the cake in your hands as you just stared at it. The little candles illuminated the tears that were falling down. 

You looked up at everyone. Some were holding their phones, taking photos. Many where mechanics that you really had no relation to. 

You were able to croak out, “Thank you.” 

The cake was split up and soon many were munching down on small slices. You were tucked between Max and Mitch as you ate your slice. 

The Dutchman nudged you just a bit. “You seem quiet.” 

You swallowed as you looked down at the cake. “I’ve never really had this. I’ve only ever celebrated my birthday a couple of times before. A few with Enzo and then with Arthur last year. My teams have never done this before.” 

Max gave you a sad smile, silently noting to continue the tradition of getting a cake. 

On Sunday, “Not the best” became an understatement. 

You and Max had definitely done terribly in qualifying. You two made it out of Q2 by the skin of your teeth, all while Logan and Alex were happily in the top four. Q3 resulted in you and Max getting a respectable P4 and P7. The latter position making it difficult for the Dutchman to be happy with the weekend. 

During the parade on Sunday, you were standing next to the two Williams drivers. You leaned over. 

“So how did you switch out your cars for ours?” 

Logan laughed loudly, currently on cloud-9 as he was on his maiden pole position. Alex was a little jealous but was happy for the blond, since the 2023 season was not very kind. 

Alex decided to join in. 

“While you two were sleeping, we snuck out here and just swapped. Logan is pretty good with spray paint.” 

That had you laughing with your next stretched out and your head leaned back. Suddenly a hand was on your neck as you looked at the arm it was attached too. Oscar was looking at you with big round eyes while it was Lando who’s arm was at the junction of your shoulder and neck. 

You gave the two papaya boys a weird look before Oscar leaned over. 

“You have a little something on your neck.” 

Your hand quickly clapped onto your neck over Lando’s hand. You flushed bright red. 

“I told him no marks.” 

Max, who had seen the entire thing, came over and handed you his pullover. You muttered a quick thank you before pulling the oversized thing on. You just hoped that no one else saw. 

When you changed into your race suit, you stared at the red marks dotting your neck. 

“Arthur Leclerc, I’m going to kill you,” you mentioned to no one in particular. For the Austin Grand Prix you had a Captain America styled helmet. The red, white, and blue shone around the garage as you got into your car. 

You took a deep breath as you looked at the cars in front of you. Logan, Alex, and Oscar were all ahead. Lando, Charles, and Max were behind you. You felt a bit alienated from your teammate, who you normally were able to catch a bit of tunnel from on the way out to bold. 

It kind of reminded you of Monza. 

When it was lights out, you were quick on the throttle. You got the immediate jump on Oscar, putting you in P3 before the first turn. 

However, Alex was really using his degree and the masters in defense. You were frustrated at the Williams driver, yet you were really impressed with how he held you off. 

But, a slow pit stop for them and a fast one for you saw your Red Bull overtaking his easily. Yet, it seemed like the Brit had taken on a student. 

One that goes by the name of Logan Hunter Sargeant. 

You were so focused on your own race that before you knew it, you were over the line with the checkered flag waving freely. 

You pressed your radio button as you taxied. 

“Great race everyone. Congrats to Logan on his first win. Ah, I thought I had him in some places.” 

Mitch on the radio knew you sounded a bit dejected. Since the Azerbaijan race had been canced before the Singapore grand prix, she knew you wanted another race win soon. She knew you were expecting to take the win from Monza and ride on that high for as long as possible. But with a hard podium in Singapore and a car that didn’t work well in Austin, she could see you getting annoyed. 

“What was Max’s position?” 

“P4. The team had a bit of trouble with his tyres. So that’s Sargeant P1, you P2, and Piastri P3.” 

Your eyebrows raised. 

“Good job for Oscar.” 

You undid you steering wheel as you watched the American celebrate his win. The crowds seemed to roar for him as they did for you in Monza. You watched as he ran to his team, who welcomed him home with open arms. 

Funny, he got his first points in Austin last year, and his first win this year. 

Strange how the world worked. 

On the podium, you watched as the crowds placed their hands over their hearts during the Star Spangled Banner. As expected, Logan was shedding a few tears. Oscar looked so happy for the blond. COTA finally brought back the cowboy hats with the numbers on them instead of the flat caps. 

Your mind went back to the Lacy edits on Tik Tok. 

Finally, Logan was no longer being compared to Oscar. 

He could finally be himself. 

You and the Aussie were quick to douse the American in sticky champagne. Logan just laughed as he got sprayed, giving in knowing that he wasn’t going to win against the two of you. 

“Are we still going line dancing later tonight?” you asked him as the three of you stood for a picture. 

“Aw hell yeah! Bring it on Texas! Yee-haw!” 

You took the special cowboy hat off your head and tipped it to the crowd. The two boys doing the same. 

Yee-haw indeed.

williamsracing has posted

williamsracing the man, the myth, the formula 1 race winner! I guess our pronouns are USA

liked by oscarpiastri, y/n.89, logan4president, and 803,193 others

logan4president RAAWWWW WHAT THE FUCK IS A KILOMETER

williamsduo Logan Sargeant win before GTA6

y/n.89 your Americanness is showing

logansargeant yes, and? y/n.89 do not quote ariana grande at me sir

y/n.nation the helmets today were peak >>>

logan2sarg I know right - the eagle on Logan's dannyric Daniel's hook'em horns one was immaculate

iamred_iamyellow so glad they brought back the cowboy hats for the podiums

y/n.89 has posted

y/n.89 it's a real life boogey and a real life hoedown

liked by arthur_leclerc, redbullracing, circuitoftheamericas, and 750,294 others

y/n.nation HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N!!!!

leclercbros dang, she finally taught Arthur and Charles how to wear cowboy boots

leclerc4ever she just taught them how to dress period

formula_fan does anyone know what went down tonight lol

box_box_express so they went to a local bar, y/n and Daniel taught everyone how to line dance, surprisingly Logan and Oscar are very good at it formula_gossip I was also there, Carlos and max got on the mechanical bull, most of the grid was there, and Fernando was playing darts in the corner with Lando

maxverstappen1 happy birthday kid

y/n.89 thanks maxie! even if you didn't let me get the drink I wanted maxverstappen1 I don't think a fireball is an appropriate drink for your first one y/n.89 right...my first drink...totally

beyonce now that is how you celebrate

f1 YEE HAW

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @fly-me-away @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen-ln4 @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @33-81 @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12 @ilove-tswizzle @justme2042 @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @stopeatread @cha-hot @sadg3 @iloveyou3000morgan @s4turnsl0ver @alessioayla @torchbearerkyle @leptitlu @awekbachira @shreks-sugar-daddy @v1naco @stan-josie @mellowarcadefun @badassturtle13 @beskardroids @callisposts @poppyalice2001 @juniper-july19 @lizzypiastri

[dumbseee]

gentleman.

in which nothing is easy for a woman in a "man’s world."

carlos sainz jr x journalist!reader.

fc: danna paola.

note: inspired by this. sorry for the typos and mistakes :(

liked by lissiemackintosh, lilymhe, charlottesiine and 109 000 others.

y/n: living lil y/n’s dream ☁️

_

charlottesiine: missing you love!

liked by y/n.

lissiemackintosh: you’re going to kill it y/n!

liked by y/n.

fan1: i want to be her so bad

fan2: she’s living my dream

fan3: so beautiful!

fan4: good luck y/n!

fan5: what does she knows about f1?

fan6: another clout chaser… i wonder which driver will be her first victim🤣

view all comments.

_

"hi carlos! first of all, congrats on p3, you did amazing!" you smiled, your mic in hand, shaking a little and trying to stay composed as carlos stood in front of you. he smiled at you, and you swore that you could faint right now. but you had to stay professional. "thank you…?" he said so you could tell him your name. "y/n l/n, it’s my first day." you smiled again and he smiled back, handing out his hand, that you obviously shook. "i have a question for you before letting you rest, how are you going to prioritise or how is it going to work with you to test everything, do you think it will be a game changer or not?" you asked, handing him the mic, he took it and started thinking. "good question! you have great questions y/n." carlos answered first before getting cut by someone behind you. "ha! mate, if you want her in your bed, no need to lie to her." another journalist said, and you could feel your heart fall in your stomach.

you knew that kind of thing was going to happen to you during your career. because it was well known that formula one was a man’s world and women had no business in it. you took a step back and bit your lower lip to stop the tears from falling. you knew you were qualified, you knew that you worked hard for it, it was your dream! but you felt utterly disrespected and embarrassed, you couldn’t even look at carlos anymore as you tried to back up to leave. but carlos wasn’t having that, he grabbed the mic you were still holding, which surprised you and pulled you back where you were previously standing. you looked up at him and was surprised to see how pissed he looked, his warm eyes were now cold and dark, his jaw clenched and his hand flexed against the mic which showed his veins.

"how dare you call yourself a man and talk to a woman like that?" he called out, the journalist turned bright red and struggled to find his words. "she heard the disgusting words you had to say about her and it hurt her, so you better apologise right now, and loud enough for the entire paddock to hear you." the man mumbled some apologies before running away, pushing some people out of his way which made the others people surrounding you laugh. carlos looked at you and smiled, putting his hand on your shoulder. "you have a bright future ahead of you, y/n. i’m looking forward to your interview in silverstone." he winked and finally disappeared, leaving you blushing and completely lost.

carlos sainz was definitely a gentleman.

liked by charles_leclerc, charlottesiine, lissiemackintoch and 890 009 others.

carlossainz55: amazing race for us! another podium for me and charles, thanks for the support guys! we must stay focus for the next race!

_

charles_leclerc: well said!

scuderiaferrari: proud of you boys!

fan1: YAAAAAAY

fan2: p2 and p3 for ferrari, i used to pray for times like this

fan3: who’s the girl on the fourth pic?

fan4: @.fan3 a random journalist

fan5: @.fan4 idk about random tho, that’s y/n l/n, the journalist carlos stood up for in autria

fan6: is that y/n l/n??

view all comments.

_

"congrats on p2 carlos!" you said with a big smile, you weren’t pointing a mic at him, you were actually heading back to your car when you bumped into the ferrari driver. he looked surprised to see you, but smiled back. "y/n! i was expecting you during the post-race interviews, where were you?" he asked, he was still wearing his race suit, tied up to his waist which had to be the sexiest sight you’ve ever witnessed. "i was feeling sick so i asked lissie to do them for me. i watched you- i mean, i watched you and max and charles of course!" you added, flustered and suddenly turning bright red. carlos laughed and patted your head which made your heart skip a beat. "haha! don’t worry cariño, i hope you’re feeling better, i need you to be there to interview me when i finally get to be p1." you smiled and nodded. "i promise to be healthy to interview you!" carlos smiled at you before walking to his car, you watched him leave and felt your cheeks getting hot when he turned around to wave at you before hopping in his ferrari.

carlos sainz was successfully playing with your heartstrings.

liked by lissiemackintosh, charlottesiine, carlossainz55 and 345 010 others.

y/n: happiness is a butterfly.

_

comments have been disabled.

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

I think part of the reason why I find Max and Charles' dynamic so fascinating is because if anybody created original characters with their basic backstory they would be called out for pushing the narrative too hard but it's literally just basic well known facts about them and things we've seen happen, it's insane like

They're born sixteen days apart.

Their star sign is Libra, the sign of balance, equilibrium.

A complete and utter coincidence and Charles of course had his own personal reasons for choosing his number, but his number also happens to be the same about days that separate their birthdays.

They literally grew up racing each other.

They hated each other as kids.

"I am just as good as him/we're equals in experience etc"

The way they talked about each other to journalists and in their blogs while they were karting lmao.

The incident!

The comparisons since the beginning to Senna and Prost, two of the sports goats and one of the greatest rivalry in F1's history.

Max recommended Charles to be his replacement when he left his team to move onto to the next stage.

There's something poetic about them being born in the year of the ox and Max driving for red BULL. Also 2021 in which Max won his first championship was also the year of the ox and I am completely normal about it after just finding out about five minutes ago -

The slowburn of the relationship, lifelong rivals but friends now too.

The way they talk about each other.

The fact they're each other's biggest defenders.

I am sorry but Charles running off track after getting distracted by Max and then hitting his head on a golf cart again after getting distracted by Max is something I expect to see in romcom or a fic but no both of these things actually happened in Abu Dhabi 2021 on the same night lmao.

The fact they don't follow each other on Instagram and yet interact with posts about the other that someone else posted.

The reason why they don't follow each other lmao, I still cackle thinking of Charles - literally on Max's freaking plane going home to Monaco after Austria 2019 - looking over at Max to see if he noticed that he'd unfollowed him.

Max was known as the inevitable. Charles is the predestined one. Like hello?!!!

There's more but like??!!! The fact this is real life and not a movie is insane sometimes - Guess it's true what they say, truth is stranger than fiction

[xtra7s]

Hi hi omg i love your writing it’s amazing! Can i request a Reneè fic where reader is in a famous band and admits in an interview how much she loves and admires Reneè (yk that clip where Reneè is like “Date me” for Rachel Mcadams) and Reneè responds and they get close and collaborate or whatever you want!

𝐄𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐝

Pairing: Renee Rapp x Reader

Synopsis: Y/N, the bassist for Eclipsed, gives Renee some props during an interview and ends up hanging out with her.

Content: mainly fluff

Word Count: 2k

a/n: okay so this one was a bit confusing to write mainly because I felt like nothing was really going on, I didnt know if you wanted smut or something else so I apologize if it isnt what u wanted :(

masterlist

The excitement buzzed in the air as Y/N YL/N, the talented bassist of the rising rock band "Eclipsed," prepared for a much-anticipated interview. The band had been making waves in the music scene, and the media was eager to learn more about the individuals behind the electrifying sound. Y/N, known for their skillful bass playing and enigmatic stage presence, was ready to share their journey.

The interview took place in a trendy studio, with the band seated on a chic, modern couch. Y/N's fingers idly traced the frets on their bass, a well-worn instrument that had seen countless gigs and late-night jam sessions. The interviewer, a music journalist with an infectious passion for the industry, dove straight into the questions.

"So, Y/N, let's start with your musical journey. How did you find your way to the bass guitar?" the interviewer inquired, leaning forward.

Y/N grinned, the memory of their musical awakening evident in their eyes. "I actually started with the guitar, but one day, I heard this deep, resonant bass line that just spoke to me. It was like the heartbeat of the song, and from that moment, I was hooked. I switched to the bass, and it felt like coming home."

The rest of the band nodded in agreement, acknowledging the pivotal role Y/N played in shaping the band's distinctive sound. The lead singer, Maya, chimed in, "Y/N brings a unique energy to our music. The bass lines add a whole new layer, creating this dynamic and powerful sonic landscape."

As the conversation flowed, the interviewer shifted gears, asking about the band's creative process. Drummer Alex spoke about the collaborative nature of their songwriting, while the guitarist, Jake, discussed the influences that shaped their sound. Y/N interjected with tales of late-night jam sessions and the organic evolution of their music.

"We all bring something different to the table," Y/N explained. "It's like a musical potluck. Each of us has our own tastes and influences, and when we come together, it creates this fusion of sound that defines Eclipsed."

The conversation turned to the band's recent successes, including a sold-out show and a growing fan base. Y/N's eyes sparkled with gratitude as they reflected on the journey.

"It's been incredible," Y/N shared. "Our fans are amazing. They connect with the raw emotion in our music, and that's the most rewarding part. Music is a language that transcends words, and seeing people resonate with what we create is truly humbling."

As the interview with Eclipsed continued, the interviewer shifted gears, a mischievous glint in their eyes.

"Now, Y/N, the music world is full of incredible artists, and one rising star who seems to have captured a lot of attention is Renee Rapp. Have you had the chance to meet her, and what are your thoughts on her music?" the interviewer inquired, a sly smile playing on their lips.

Y/N's expression lit up at the mention of Renee Rapp. "Oh, Renee is fantastic! I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her in person yet, but I'm a big fan of her work. Her music has this raw authenticity that really resonates with me. It's always refreshing to see artists who pour their heart and soul into their craft."

The rest of the band nodded in agreement, expressing their admiration for Renee Rapp's talent. Maya, the lead singer, chimed in, "I love how she fearlessly embraces her uniqueness. It's inspiring to see artists who aren't afraid to be true to themselves, both in their music and their persona."

The interviewer pressed a bit further, asking if there were any specific songs or aspects of Renee Rapp's music that Y/N found particularly inspiring. Y/N thought for a moment before responding, "I really connect with the way she uses her voice to convey emotion. It's powerful and evocative. As musicians, we're always drawn to those artists who can create a genuine connection with their audience, and Renee does that exceptionally well."

The conversation then meandered into a discussion about musical influences, with each band member sharing their favorite artists and the impact those musicians had on their own sound. It was clear that Eclipsed Echoes drew inspiration from a diverse range of genres and artists, contributing to the richness of their music.

"And, Y/N, given that you've expressed admiration for Renee Rapp's talent, do you have any comments for her?" the interviewer asked, a faint hint of curiosity in their tone.

Y/N, ever composed, smiled with her teeth. "I do,-" She paused, looking at the camera directly. "Keep your head up, bitch. you're effortlessly you and that shit is wicked. You gotta remember the comments of your loved ones are the only ones that matter."

The rest of the band nodded in agreement, sensing the delicate nature of the question. Maya, the lead singer, added, "Absolutely. It's crucial to separate someone's art from their personal lives. We're all here because of our love for music, and that's what we should celebrate."

The interviewer, quickly shifted gears steering the conversation back toward the band's music and upcoming projects. Y/N, always poised and focused on the music, gracefully navigated through the interview, steering it away from personal matters and back into the realm of creativity and passion.

As the interview concluded, it was evident that the members of Eclipsed were not only talented musicians but also individuals who valued respect and professionalism in their interactions. The episode served as a reminder that, while curiosity about an artist's personal life may arise, the primary focus should always remain on the artistry and creativity that unite the diverse and dynamic world of music.

A few days after the interview, Y/N found a pleasant surprise in their Instagram inbox. It was a message from none other than Renee Rapp herself. Excitement bubbled within Y/N as they read the message.

"Hey Y/N! 🌟 I caught your interview, and it was awesome hearing your thoughts on my music. Your band's sound is killer! Would love to chat more and maybe hang out sometime. What do you say?"

Y/N quickly replied, expressing their gratitude and enthusiasm for the unexpected message. The conversation flowed effortlessly as they exchanged thoughts about music, shared favorite artists, and found common ground in their passion for creating authentic, powerful art.

Renee suggested meeting up for a casual hangout, perhaps grabbing coffee or exploring a local record store. Y/N eagerly agreed, and plans were set in motion for a meeting between two talented musicians who had connected through their shared love for the art form.

As the day of the meetup arrived, Y/N couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves. They met Renee at a cozy cafe, and from the moment they greeted each other, it was clear that the connection extended beyond the digital realm. The conversation flowed effortlessly, filled with laughter, shared stories of musical journeys, and a mutual appreciation for the creative process.

Y/N and Renee's casual hangout unfolded into an afternoon of shared laughter, animated discussions about music, and an undeniable chemistry that lingered in the air. The cozy cafe provided the perfect backdrop for their burgeoning connection, with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee enhancing the warmth of the atmosphere.

As they chatted about their favorite bands and musical influences, Y/N couldn't help but be captivated by Renee's infectious enthusiasm. The conversation flowed seamlessly between topics, from the intricacies of songwriting to the exhilarating rush of performing on stage. Each shared anecdote deepened the connection, forging a bond between two artists who understood the unique challenges and joys of their chosen path.

The flirtatious banter began subtly, with playful glances and gentle teasing. Renee's laughter resonated like a melody, and Y/N found themselves drawn to her magnetic energy. As they strolled through a nearby record store, fingers lightly brushing against vinyl covers and sharing recommendations, the air seemed charged with an unspoken tension.

At a moment of quiet contemplation in the record store, Renee's gaze met Y/N's, and a playful smirk played on her lips. "You know," she said with a twinkle in her eye, "your interview made me curious. You mentioned appreciating someone's art without focusing on appearance. Do you always manage to separate the two?"

Y/N felt a flush of warmth creeping up their cheeks, realizing the subtle shift in the conversation. With a coy smile, they responded, "Well, I believe in appreciating the beauty in everything, whether it's in the artistry of music or… other things."

The air between them crackled with a newfound tension, and as they continued to explore the record store, the playful exchanges deepened into a more overt flirtation. A gentle touch on the arm here, a lingering gaze there—each gesture spoke volumes, creating an atmosphere charged with unspoken desire.

As they wrapped up their hangout, Y/N and Renee exchanged contact information, promising to meet again soon. The connection they forged went beyond the shared love for music, evolving into a magnetic attraction that lingered in the air, leaving both of them eager to explore the potential of this unexpected and thrilling connection.

In the days that followed their initial hangout, Y/N and Renee's connection deepened through playful messages and shared playlists. Their conversations became increasingly laced with flirtatious undertones, a dance of words that hinted at a mutual attraction.

One evening, Y/N received a message from Renee suggesting a joint songwriting session. The prospect of collaborating ignited a spark of excitement in Y/N, and they eagerly agreed. As they settled into the cozy ambiance of Y/N's home studio, surrounded by musical instruments and the gentle hum of creativity, the air seemed charged with both anticipation and a growing sense of intimacy.

As they worked on a new song, Y/N couldn't help but notice the subtle shifts in Renee's body language—the way she would lean in slightly, the lingering touches on shared instruments, and the occasional laughter that held a hint of something more. The energy between them was palpable, a magnetic force drawing them closer with each passing moment.

Renee, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, suggested taking a break and grabbing a snack from the kitchen.

As Y/N and Renee took a break in the cozy kitchen, the atmosphere crackled with a potent blend of creative energy and unspoken desire. The shared laughter and flirtatious banter lingered in the air, creating a magnetic pull that neither could ignore. Renee, feeling the palpable tension, decided to take a bold step.

As they stood near the kitchen island, discussing the finer details of their latest composition, Renee's gaze lingered on Y/N's lips. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she leaned in, closing the distance between them and placing her hands on Y/N's waist. Time seemed to slow as Y/N felt the soft warmth of Renee's lips pressing against their own, and their back hitting the counter.

The kiss was electric, a spontaneous spark that ignited a fire between them. Y/N, momentarily stunned, soon reciprocated, their hands instinctively finding each other in a gentle embrace. The kitchen became a canvas for this unexpected moment, a dance of passion and shared connection against the backdrop of a creative haven.

Breaking the kiss, Renee grinned, her eyes filled with a mixture of playfulness and genuine affection. "Well, that was unexpected," she teased, her fingers gently tracing patterns on Y/N's arm.

Y/N, catching their breath, couldn't help but smile in response. "Glad you did it, Renee."

The shared laughter that followed sealed the moment, turning the kitchen into a haven where the boundaries between music and personal connection blurred. As they chatted over a plate of shared snacks, their knees brushed against each other under the table, creating a subtle yet electrifying connection. As they returned to their songwriting session, the newfound intimacy lingered, infusing their creative collaboration with an electrifying energy that promised more harmonies to come. The kitchen island, witness to the impromptu kiss, became a symbol of the uncharted territory their connection was now exploring.

[hotchfiles]

hotch "representing the bau" hotchner x activist!reader who won't stand for bullshit

not like actual conflict cause we know hotch is a very principled guy

more like

"shit i can't shitpost about overthrowing the government anymore cause my boyfriend is the government" vibes

you have no idea how deeply i feel about this i've actually posted about this because i'm very much against all cops and he's a literal fed ! but

you met in the most conventional of ways, which makes the whole thing even funnier to the outside person. a bar. you noticed him the moment he walked in, too downright gorgeous to be ignored, you stare at him completely shamelessly and get a few shy awkward smiles in return while he sips on his first drinks and talks to his companion, who you later learned was rossi.

he will find it later on that you're not really up for games, but it takes him by surprise when you approach him, card in hand with your phone number and the red stain of your red lips on the other side. he's immediately smitten, being flirted with so openly at his age does wonders for his ego and he makes sure to text you as soon as he gets back to his apartment.

the texting back and forth goes for hours, a lot of flirting, you're much more outspoken than he is, but still you find him hilarious, you will be telling your friends he's the funny one between you two (none of them will believe you, but you like having this only to yourself as well).

you talk movies, plays, music, favorite drinks and by 2am he asks you on a date. it's perfect from the get go. he's flattering, compliments your choice of clothes, says he likes the lipstick (the same you used on the card he is keeping safe on his wallet), takes you to a nice restaurant.

you tell him since you made the very first move, he would have to be the one to kiss you, he argues he sent you the first text so you should be the one to do it, in the end none of you know who took the first move, you're just sure you were the one to unlock your apartment door, stumbling along with him as you two passionately kissed.

it's not common for this to happen for him, he's too much of a gentleman, sleeping with someone on the first date isn't the gentlemanly thing to do, you're not attached to those norms so even if he tried to argue, your lips glued to his neck as you worked on his belt took his mind off of it.

it's not until the next morning that he really notices your place: the types of books you had, some revolutionary art pieces and it's then he realizes he has no idea what you do for a living. neither did he tell you he was a fbi agent. you two talked long hours and career wasn't even a topic (that may be why you caught his heart so fast).

you were a journalist, a writer, quite proficient and known for your progressive ideals and less than civil protests, so when you both realize the differences and the conflict it might bring, the first instinct was to pull away. forget the whole thing. it was only one date after all.

it's a matter of days for the realization that being apart won't happen, your thoughts are filled with him and his voice and the way he touched you and aaron can possibly detail every curve of your body and the way you smelled as if he was still in bed with you.

there's a mutual agreement of public discretion, you can't have your readers knowing you're falling for a fed, nor does the media needs any more reasons to write about the fbi.

his team knows though, and so does strauss, she had to be warned of the possibility of your name popping up in some lists. she reads half of your writings after that, highlighting stuff you should not be writing about (you won't listen to her on it) and the compromise you make is to keep all of your opposition material completely professional, no tweets, no tiktoks, nothing of the sort with jokes about overthrowing the government.

"did you... did you just cite and use one of stalin's books as resource here?" he asks, he's in your bed, blue boxer shorts and white t-shirt on, completely comfortable with you already, his reading glasses sit on top of nose like an old man and he furrows his brows, looking up at you. aaron's interested in what you write, he truly reads whatever you hand him just to learn more about you, he's not the one to try to censure any of it.

"well yeah... his writings are the easiest to comprehend on the topic." you shrug, not understanding the tone of his question at first.

"honey... you can't just... do you know how many... forget it. your editor will love it." his poor attempts to talk you down failing each time he looked over and saw your expectant eyes as his opinion is important to you. you smile at his defeat, taking the papers from his hand and throwing somewhere else in the room, his glasses go to the bedside table and soon you're kissing any of his worries away.

[lani-heart]

|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, smut, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au p aring(s) -> ( eventually ) ATEEZ x reader warning(s) -> abuse, mention of sex / pregnancies, etc. words -> 2.3K

abstract -> Never owe people favors it could one day cost you your life...

y/n’s perspective

“Taeyong, you can’t be serious,” I said as I was now in the office of the devil himself. And he's called to get his end in a favor. “You owe me,” he said and I scoffed. 

“You’re literally chasing in a favor from when I was in college,” I said and he only grinned. “You still owe me. Besides, it shouldn't be dangerous” and I scoffed at his reassurance. 

“It's just an interview. You’ll wear a wire, and all I need is evidence” he asked and I sighed. “Fine. But I won't risk my life for this, Taeyong” I said and he nodded. 

“I would never put you in a dangerous situation. This won’t hurt you”

“Do you have to do this? Or at least take one of us with you?” Yeosang asked and I shook my head. “I have to repay him. He helped me a lot in college… besides he's trying to do a good thing” I explained and they sighed. “You’ll be okay right?” Wooyoung asked as he hugged me tightly. 

“Of course, he explained that I'll be going in for an interview and he’ll be listening in case. He will only interfere once he's gotten information though, so I won't be in danger. This won't affect us” I assured them and they nodded. 

“Be careful, circus hybrids are some of the most deprived and abused hybrids” San warned and I nodded. Over the years people stopped performing with animals and advanced to hybrids because of their ability to be trained and have a human way of thinking

Even though many people thought it was better it's not too well known that it's abusive to them just repeating history. “Be careful” they said as I was now on the elevator waving bye to the boys. 

They've really grown. 

I’ve officially had San and Wooyoung for five months. Whilst Yeosang joined us two months ago. It's actually been seven months since I originally adopted Son. I couldn’t be happier to have them by my side. 

Now I had to pay my debt to the devil named Taeyong. He truly does hold grudges… 

I walked into the VIP line where I showed my journalist ticket. I would be able to take pictures, and even conduct an interview. As I walked in I noticed the hybrids on display. 

There were two specifically at the entrance. They had bold big letters ‘MATZ’. They were meant to sit there in a glass box… it didn’t even have enough room to walk one step. In a smaller print were their names. 

Seinghwa was the one smiling and bowing, whilst Hongjoong only stared. He would be too far down, he could probably be dangerous. The ones around me started flashing lights at them… it clearly bothered them. I made sure to ask Taeyong to give me a camera without a flash. I took a photo of the surroundings. Another reason why he had me do this job and not Mark was because I have a hybrid specialist license to see and even handle red-coded hybrids with supervision. 

I knew how to analyze their behaviors. So when I saw Hongjoong, he had the potential to be a black code hybrid. 

“Hello! Welcome, it's an honor to see such esteemed guests !! I hope you may enjoy the show !--” as he spoke I saw his ringmaster look. He had jesters and clown costumed people handle hybrids. A few were assigned to cuff and ensure ‘MATZ’ did not act out.

They were tigers and therefore dangerous. 

“-- Of course, if you need help please ask one of my staff. I look forward to the interviews I’m scheduled for” he said as he left. As the staff looked at our tickets I was led to the back. I was given a pre / post-interview. 

“Hello, I’m going to be conducting an interview?” I said as I now saw the ringleader with the two tigers. They had chains connecting to their collar which looked like ones that were for black code hybrids. 

“Ah yes, may I ask which firm it is under?” he asked and I nodded. “It would be under the N.E.O. Firm” I stated and he nodded. 

“I see. How is Moon Taeil?” he asked and I smiled. “He’s actually on vacation at the moment. Last I heard he was in China visiting a few friends. '' I answered and he chuckled. 

“I know, your firm isn’t too keen on me,” he said and I noticed the curious eyes of the tigers. “Well, the firm has hybrid rights associated. It has been for years now” I answered and he nodded with calculating eyes. 

“That it is. Though I can assure you, our hybrids are treated like family” he said and I smiled softly as I wrote down notes of the two hybrids behind him. They were clearly agitated by his words, almost like he was lying.

“Well then. What are your questions?” he asked politely. “How many hybrids currently do you have registered?” I asked and he nodded. “Around fifty dear,” he said and I nodded. “And all are vaccinated with the current hybrid regulations, health up-to-date, VISA’s registered?” I asked and he answered yes. 

So he denied hybrid trafficking, and hybrid health neglect.

“May I ask you to talk about MATZ?'' I asked and he nodded. “These two were born into the circus. Their parents are a mix from our circus and a breeder which I know personally” he explained and I saw how Seonghwa kept on staring at my coat. His ears were twitching and I noticed Hongjoong’s glare at me….

“These two are such close friends we thought that a show would be most beneficial and fun for them,” he said while lifting his hands to pet their heads making them both clearly uncomfortable. Seonghwa stared wearily whilst Hongjoong looked like he could bite any minute.

“May I ask if I own hybrids?” He asked and I contemplated. “Decline anything in your personal life” I heard on the headpiece Taeyong gave me.

“No, I do not,” I said and he nodded. “Are you against the ownership?” He asked and I shook my head. “Not necessarily… it would take a lot of circumstances for me to adopt a hybrid,” I said and the ringmaster only nodded. 

“I can assure you every hybrid here is taken care of, and we’ll look after it, '' he said and I noticed Seonghwa's gaze. It wasn’t like Hongjoong’s glare; it was almost like he was pleading for help. 

“What’s the situation with heats?” I asked and he chuckled… “I don’t believe in heat suppressants. I let them go on with it with the other gender hybrid” he explained. 

Meaning it's how he has so many hybrids… he’s illegally breeding them. “Are you not worried about pregnancies?” I asked.

“No… some of our female hybrids are sterile so they can’t reproduce either way” he explained.

It wasn’t abuse per se to sterilize a hybrid… but it was being argued for hybrid rights.

“How long have you had this duo?” I asked curious. “Hmm, these two rascals? Well, they were born in 1998 and they’ve been with me since then.” He said and I nodded.

Would they speak out against their master? They would’ve seen everything… been through… everything.

“Sir?” I heard a clown asking for the attention of his boss. “Ah give me a moment my dear, why not have an exclusive interview with a MATZ performer. Hongjoong needs some touching up so Seonghwa treats her nicely '' be said and I knew the reason why they took the orange tiger away was because of his behavior.

“Be careful, an abuse hybrid can be triggered at any mention of abuse. Ask simple questions.” Taeyong said and before I could start I looked at him.

He stared at me with soft eyes and a smile... it shocked me how gentle his expression looked.

“I’m not fragile for you not to ask me,” he said and I felt my eyes widen. “The moment you walked in I heard that radio of yours… it kinda hurt at first” he confessed.

“I’m sorry,” I said but I couldn’t turn it off for my safety.

“It’s alright… you're not the first person to come here to infiltrate this place,” he said with his ears flattening on his head. He was losing hope for himself.

“How many hybrids are there?” I asked and he sighed. “I’ve lost count… it is over a hundred by now and more to come” he explained. “Oh, and he doesn’t register hybrids in case they die. It’s a miracle to even survive birth here… let alone survive being a baby here. We aren’t checked for until we’re cubs… after that, we’re never looked after again. The only thing he’ll ask to do is hygiene for his top performers” he explained.

“I’ve heard of your firm from the clowns… they hate you,” he said and I chuckled. “They said something about a girl writing about hybrid rights. Since then they’ve shut down several enterprises” he said and I smiled.

My reputation follows me.

“They might know who you are, be careful,” Taeyong said and Seonghwa only stared at me with twitching ears.

“You must have really good hearing to catch it,” I said and he smiled softly with his tail swishing behind him.

“Thanks… but it comes in handy with the staff,” he said and I sighed. 

“Do you have anything you want to tell me?” I asked and he swallowed down saliva showing how nervous he was.

“I’ll tell you everything if you manage to burn this place down,” he said and I sighed. “How about we make a promise?” I asked and he looked at me confused.

“I’ll shut this place down… but that’ll be the easy part. I’ll still need some more evidence after to concrete it” I asked and he nodded.

“Good luck”

The show was like any other hybrid show. 

You could see the fear in hybrid's eyes when they made a mistake and had to cover it. Clowns and performers have the upper hand. 

MATZ had the opening… they did dangerous stunts. There were a few times they stumbled but otherwise did the best they could. The crowd loved them… I saw the contrast of the two… fear and anger.

Once the show was over I did a closing statement with the ringmaster and some staff who showed me around.

“And our opening act. Did you enjoy it?” they asked and I smiled when I saw Seonghwa and Hongjoong in a tiny cage. It had enough room for the both of them but it must've made them feel trapped.

The staff were talking to other reporters when I noticed the heavy glare Hingjoong was giving me.

Seonghwa got his attention and looked to be scolding him only for him to scoff. He looked over at me and bowed in an apology in which I shook my head. 

“I hope you enjoyed the show” 

seonghwa’s pov

As the reporters left with the staff, Hongjoong glared at me. “Quit acting that way” I scolded and he scoffed

“She’s not the first person to come here asking for questions with a wire,” he said and I sighed.

“You heard what they said about that firm though—“ “She also said how she didn’t own any hybrids but owned three,” he said and I was confused. 

“She has hybrid scents reading out of her. You shouldn’t trust humans so easily… one day it’ll be you they’re disposing of” he said and I looked down.

“I… sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out that way. I’m just sick of this Seonghwa but this is our life and it’ll never change” he said and I chose not to believe that. 

I had hoped that she’d complete her promise.

“Hongjoong…. Sometimes you just have to have faith that people are still good. We don’t know how it is outside… maybe it’s different” I said and he sighed.

“But is it any better?” He asked and before I could respond I heard yelling.

“Woah!? What are you doing?!” I heard as I saw the ringmaster following… policemen? 

“This place is being temporarily shut down for inspection and so are the hybrids in this vicinity. If we find anyone trying to smuggle or hide evidence you’ll be under arrest for tampering with a crime scene” he said and I also noticed people with white lab coats. 

“Start arresting staff members and performers. Contain all the hybrids as well” he ordered and the last thing I saw was Hongjoong defying them whilst I felt a sharp pain in my neck.

Everything could only get better… right?

Waking up in a white and cold room was not what I expected…

“White tiger hybrid seems to be malnourished, untreated second-degree burns, underweight, untreated cuts, and dehydrated. Seems to be approximately 25 years old and unclassified code due to tranquilizer” I heard… Was that a doctor?

I tried sitting up but my wrists were bound. 

“You’re awake? Are you going to comply?” he asked me and I noticed how close he was. He seemed to purposely try to annoy me… “Classified as yellow. He’s one of the tame ones” he said into the radio. Classifications? I knew very little of that… but yellow wasn’t bad?

“The orange tiger is awake, and is showing a lot of aggression” I heard on his radio… Hongjoong? “Tranquilize him,” the doctor said and I struggled against the constraints. “He’s your partner, right? They won’t hurt him, but he will hurt us… he’s in good hands'' he said and I scoffed. Like I’d trust humans now after… 

“What happened to the reporter?” I asked and he looked at me confused. “She promised to help me… what did she do?” I asked and he hummed. “She’ll be conducting interviews this following week. So be on your best behavior or you’ll end up in a higher code” he said as he left the room. 

She actually… helped us?

@wonuangel @danirael @angelsaway @krissroo @minkysmilk @mayonnaise-on-toast @robertsbbygirl @superbbananananana @hyukssunflower @kitty4hwa @justconniez @senpai-of-doom @kibs-and-bits @caityelise99 @ilovekinny @ateezennie23 @wooahaelemons @purplelady85 @watamotee33@chidess97 @littlelostdemonofthelight @maliamaiden @burntarm1n @spooo00oky @eastleighsblog @momo-peachy @kitstar1117 @quartzpirate @sunnyhokyu @iwishiwasrichasfuck @theginger543210 @pandolinka @ddaeing @kpopnightingale @slid3er @kekdo-520 @puppyminnnie @sparklinghwa222 @calicanbeevil @itsvxlentine @atinism @loumin908 @smally97 @rxnexxi @acetruepunk @majesticbeluga @namjooncrabs @tashizxy @itstheghostofmypast @smilefordongil @teeziny @totallynotlyntv @kyeos4ng @prodsh00ky @acescavern

please don't be a silent reader !! reblog, comment, and like <3

[theemporium]

Hii, Charles jealous and possessive please! Smut 🔥

thank you for requesting!🖤

.

Charles Leclerc was always considered a fairly laid back guy.

To the world and the media and the general public, he was a kind-hearted guy who was a lot more open and relaxed in the spotlight aspect of the job than others. He took everything in stride and was overall a good sportsman, never taking on-track rivalries into real life relationships and friendships. He was a good laugh and he was a favourite in interviews and conferences because journalists knew they would get a polite, decent answer from him.

There was a very small number of things that could actually make Charles snap. 

But one of them was you. 

The relationship wasn’t known to the public. It had been your own little dirty secret you shared with the Ferrari driver and you were happy to do as much. You didn’t want anyone else involved in your relationship, and you didn’t want strangers giving their opinions when it was not in their place. 

However, it meant even the people in the paddock didn’t know your relationship with Ferrari’s golden boy—not even his own teammate. 

It wasn’t stupid to assume you had been invited by the team when you were sitting in the garage, with a Ferrari pass around your neck and a seemingly innocent intention of being at the Grand Prix. You were gorgeous, but at the end of the day Carlos just wanted to be polite as he introduced himself and got talking with you. 

Charles didn’t realise how much he hated the sight of you with another man until he saw you laughing with Carlos, a hand placed on his arm to brace yourself as he grinned down at you.

“Charles—” 

“Your laughs are only for me, cherie,” he grumbled as his hands tightened on your waist, watching you with hooded eyes as he relished the sight in front of him. 

Only he got to see you like this. Only he would ever see you like this. 

Clad only in one of his branded polos, his number and name plastered across the back, he watched in delight as you rocked yourself back and forth on his thigh. The rest of your clothes remained abandoned on the hotel room floor whilst Charles remained fully clothed, the jean-wrapped thigh beneath you feeling sensational against your swollen clit. 

“Charles, please,” you whined, your nails digging into his shoulders as your hips stuttered. “Please, please, please—” 

“You wanna come?” he cooed mockingly, watching as you nodded quickly, your wide eyes welling with tears as you cried for your release. “Say it, baby. Say who you belong to.” 

“You,” you moaned out, your voice a little breathy as your glossy eyes stared lovingly at him. “Only you, Charlie. Only you made me feel this good.” 

He lightly slapped your thigh. “Only me, baby.”

“Only you,” you whimpered as his hands on your hips guided you to move faster, his thigh tensing beneath you and he held you close as you finally came all over his thigh.

“All mine,” he groaned before smacking your ass, grinning at the squeal you let out. “On all fours, baby, gonna make sure I fuck it into that pretty head of yours that you’re only mine.” 

He watched in delight as you followed his orders obediently. 

“And maybe Carlos will hear you moaning for my cock next door and get the hint too.”

.

[justiceamberheard]

''Who Trolled Amber'' podcast

The highlights of each episode from the podcast. You can listen to it on Spotify, Youtube etc. EPISODE 1.

The outcome of the trial definitely damaged #METOO movement;

There were 80k of anti Amber Heard tweets, more than anti JD tweets even though AH was the one who accused him of abuse;

There's no way it was all organic, they either bought bots or those were real people pretending to be JD's supporters;

According to Jennifer Robinson, one of AH lawyers from the UK trial, Amber'd never wanted to relieve what had happened to her during the relationship;

Jennifer thought it'd be easier to win the US than in the UK;

The information about bots were thrown out way before the trial hence Ron Shnell couldn't talk about in the courtroom; EPISODE 2.

According to Ron Shnell there was a bot campaign against AH but he wasn't 100% sure because the judge struck out that research;

Kathryn Arnold shared that AH wasn't allowed to be a part of Aquaman 2 promotion tour and was banned from posting anything Aquaman related;

KA also said that AH couldn't audition, no one would hire her and that the agents were told not to touch her[AH]; EPISODE 3

The podcast creators asked experts(Kai-Cheng Yang) to check the date that was given by Ron Shnell;

According to the data: many accounts with no followers had tweets with more than 5k retweets/likes; hundreds of identical tweets were posted in one day; many accounts liked 400k tweets; 10k of identical comments were left under AH youtube videos; many accounts change their tune(from right wing Chile politics) and out of nowhere started to post pro JD tweets; half oh the data/accounts/tweets were generated by inauthentic accounts and then the real accounts started to engage with those tweets etc. it all started in November 2020 when JD lost the UK case and was fired from Fantastic Beasts; EPISODE 4

Cameron Herrin case was mentioned, more specifically the sudden interest and pro CH posts on TikTok asking to reduce his sentence and that he is innocent. Most of the accounts that were spreading those posts were from Middle East; EPISODE 5

Some Arabic twitter accounts suddenly started to tweet Pro JD tweets in English during and after the US trial;

The friendship betweet Johnny Depp and prince Mohammed was mentioned(him financing JD directorial movie Modi); EPISODE 6

Adam Waldman worked for Lavrov as a consultant for years(2010-2017);

During the deposition Adam Waldman refused to answer more than 70 questions;

Alexi Mostrous tried contacting ''the internet journalists'' aka TUG and ThatBrianFella but they didn't answer; he also pointed out that the audios that were posted by ThatBrianFella were clearly edited(we know);

Mostrous also tried to call Adam Waldman but he didn't pick up the phone and 25 minutes later posted a tweet:

“He[Adam Waldman] attacked witnesses, he attacked us (legal team)..unlike anything I have ever seen from a lawyer” said Jennifer Robinson. ''Amber Heard wrote an Op-ed for Washington Post which is a very respected publication and Johnny Depp's name isn't in it. It told to survivors if this can be done to a woman whose actually well-known and well-established person in the industry, it's gonna be even worse for you.'' All-in-All, it's clear as day that Waldman was behind the bot campaign against Amber. We've known that but it's good that a popular podcast researched about it and shed a light on it. Plus it's always great to see JD fans being nervous and panicky.

[fandomwritingbit]

Curious

journalist (f)reader x William Afton

warnings: non con/rape, oral, p in v, threat, force, violence, murder/child murder, William is just vile the whole way through.

synop: you're tasked with researching the 'missing children's incident' and you have no idea just how dangerous that is.

A/n: mostly but not entirely proofread, because this is a fucking long one boys.

The moment your boss gave you the assignment, it pretty much engulfed your life. “The Missing Children Incident” as it was dubbed by the papers, referred to multiple child disappearances at a well-known children’s restaurant. You were excited with the task, thinking that finally you might have your name at the bottom of an article that actually means something. But you quickly figured out the reason you ended up with this story. The research was gruelling, nothing upon nothing turned up after hours of reading and talking to the parents. Well, the few that were willing to face a reporter. Your shovel hits rock every time forcing you to conclude that there’s nothing to be found. 

That didn’t mean you were off the hook though, your boss was still up your arse with deadlines, telling you over and over how he ‘needs you to get this sorted’ within the week.

So here you are, your last thread of a story pinched between your fingers, the business side of it. You’re standing outside the restaurant in question, the name lit up in front of you with the r in Freddy’s constantly flickering, clinging onto the hope that the owner would be willing to entertain you. At this point you’re just going to transcribe the discussion and send it to print, as you’ve come to learn something is better than nothing.

Stepping inside you’re instantly greeted with the overwhelming smell of pizza, it’s hot too, the many bodies milling around inside forming a wall of heat that makes you ache to take your jacket off. You stop for a moment to just look at the scene, children laughing in that piercing screechy way that all kids can muster, running around with foam swords or handfuls of the coloured balls from the ball pit. You want to take a photo but it doesn’t miss you how weird that would be without permission. 

As you walk around you begin to realise that it wasn’t anything special; tatty all over, the smell of grease and fast-food clinging to the faux velvet booths and garish carpet that laid in some areas of the restaurant. It was so painfully a kid’s place. You’re searching faces for anyone who looks like they have some sway around here, there’s the guards and the service staff but that’s not who you’re looking for. You know the names of the gentlemen who owned the place but there was a lack of photos available at the library, so right now you’re fully reliant on the powers of deduction. 

Then finally you reach the Show Room and truth be told, you were impressed. It was the only part of the Godforsaken place that wasn’t caked in crushed crayons or old unremovable stains. It looked somewhat cared for, rows of perfectly aligned seats in front of a large stage, those hanging lights, speakers and all.

And the animatronics? Well, they were... unnerving. You couldn’t help but stare at them, they were much bigger than you’d have thought, crazily so. And good God, their eyes. You find your face twisted in disgust. Talk about uncanny valley, these creatures were fucking chilling. You can’t believe that the children are so comfortable with them, when you can hardly even watch their ‘show’ without a heavy feeling in your chest. You quickly avert your eyes, remembering that you’re here for work and feeling glad the very moment you can’t see the animatronics anymore. 

It’s then that you finally catch sight of a lead, a tall bloke in a shirt and tie emerging from a staff only door. He has the bearing of someone higher up than the waitress he stoops down to talk to, so you take that as your green light, squeezing past a gaggle of children in your way. 

You catch the end of the conversation as you approach, the man leaning on the counter with a face like a storm. “Oh okay, Mr Afton. I’ll do that now.” The server says anxiously, looking like they want the ground to swallow them up, they go to move away and the owner scoffs. 

“Should have been done two fucking hours ago.” The waitress turns but doesn’t say anything else, quickly scurrying away to whatever task they’re being bollocked over. You wait a little awkwardly to be noticed, standing close enough that it should be obvious you’re waiting yet he doesn’t catch on at all, just continues staring sharply after his employees. So eventually you just sigh, changing position to be right in front of him. 

“...Excuse me?” You try, feeling anxiety cool your veins. He glances at you equally as harsh, the annoyed expression on his face not shifting but dulling enough to be customer friendly. 

He looks you up and down trying to figure out what the hell you want. You look too young to be a parent and too old to be a kid, his brows raise as he thinks about how young adults aren’t exactly his target market. “What?” It’s about as blunt as you’d expect and you smile awkwardly, feeling the pressure to be overly pleasant and steer this conversation to a habitable place.  

“Are you…” You look down to the notebook in your hand wanting to make sure you get his first name right, “William Afton, the uh owner?” He smirks a little, trying to look down at the paper as well, and see what you’ve got written down that is clearly about him. He can’t manage it from the angle and you soon turn the paper to your skin anyway. 

“Depends. Who are you?” That’s a yes, then, you think to yourself, though you already knew from your eavesdropping. This is beginning to feel like a bad idea, the vibes off this man are sceptical at best and the last thing you need right now is to be manhandled out of here. He raises his hand in an impatient shrug when you don’t answer quick enough, making you fumble for your work lanyard around your neck with your paper’s logo and then you give him your name. 

He hums in such a way that you can’t tell if it’s good or bad, so you try to explain yourself just to fill the silence. “I was hoping to ask you some questions. About the missing children who were last seen here.” 

At the phrase “missing children” his eyes swiftly find yours and you gulp, if he’s trying to scare you off it just might work because right now you not only wish that you weren’t here, but also that you weren’t assigned the story, Hell that you didn’t take journalism at uni. Your face must have betrayed you because he laughs, standing up straight. 

“And what questions do you have for me, huh?” There’s an accusation to his tone that backfoots you even more. He’s struggling to keep the amusement from his expression because you must be a pretty shitty reporter to get spooked this easily. But that'll just make you more fun to play with.

“Just about how the uh events have affected business…” You’re barely sound professional and the owner still doesn’t look convinced, so you continue, “It won’t take long, 15 minutes tops, I can see you’re a busy man.” You smile at the end in an effort to sell the flattery a bit more, and as sweet as you look, he knows you’d probably jump out of your skin at the word boo right now. 

He shakes his head slightly, not necessarily at you or himself, just at the situation overall. Course you didn’t come in an hour ago and catch Henry, obviously not, but at least this will get him away from work for a little while, which he needs before someone gets on his nerves enough to get fired. You stand waiting for him to answer, your lip pinched between your teeth, it’s that nervous habit that props him to say yes.

“This’d better be an interesting 15 minutes, sweetheart.” You sigh in relief, hopeful that you’ll finally get something to put in an article, but that relief soon evaporates when you realise that the work isn’t over yet. “Through there.” He nods to the staff door he entered the room through and you smile politely, walking over to it with him. 

“Thank you, Mr Afton, I really appreciate it.” You quickly blurt out your gratitude as he types in a code to open the door, then holds it open for you, but all pleasantries dry up on your tongue when you notice his knuckles are skinned and badly too, it looks recent. Because you’ve stopped dead he looks down at you with a cocked eyebrow, grinning when he notices what you’re staring at. You shake your head at your obviousness, panicking to play it off somewhat cool. 

“Accident at work?” You ask as you fully enter the much darker corridor, which only gets more dim when the door closes behind him. 

Your smile is noticeably strained as you look at him for a response, he meets your eyes and just says, “No.” in a menacingly matter of fact way. God, you think to yourself, this guy is scary, how the fuck does he work with kids? You mouth ‘oh’, playing with your hands to try and steady the growing worry nestling in your gut. 99% of your brain is saying to just leave it and face your boss’s wrath, but the foolish 1% arguing that it can’t get any worse is much too vocal. 

“Keep going. We’re going right to the back.” He pulls you out your thoughts and you obey, skin prickling under his gaze as you walk ahead of him down this staff hallway that seems to be very much lacking staff. The two of you continue until you run out of corridor, a choice between a room on the left or right making you halt. William chooses before you can ask, opening the left door and again propping it for you. 

You smile some gratitude his way as you step through the gap, the close proximity between his bigger frame and yours making you shiver in something akin to fear. 

“Are you cold?” He asks and you get the feeling that he’s mocking you. 

Ignoring it you move on. “Uh a little. Cold and dark back here, huh?” You answer, happy that you did wear your jacket after a toss up about leaving it in the car. 

“And quiet.” He adds, walking past you to take a seat on the chair at the desk in the centre of the room. This office is sparsely decorated and as intimidating as the man it likely belongs to. 

You hesitate to sit yourself, your internal dialogue finally voicing your doubts about this conversation.  “... You know, if you’d rather not have this conversation, it’s okay. I’d hate to think I've put you out…” You trail off but the man doesn’t say anything, just continues looking at you, a slight smile grazing his face. At his lack of reaction you shrug, exasperated. 

“What gave you that impression?” He speaks with amusement, and you very nearly scoff. What gave you that impression? He can’t be serious, he’s been evidently unhappy with your intrusion since the beginning and it’s starting to feel like he’s just trying to scare you off. 

So you say as such. “I don’t know, you don’t seem happy.” 

William chuckles but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He’s been enjoying making you uncomfortable, the widening of your eyes has made his cock hard and he sure as hell isn’t finished yet. But he’ll reel it in for now, lest you try and leave. “That’s just the way I am, sweetheart. There’s a reason why I don’t do the radio ads.” He flashes you a business smile, sitting back in the chair.

You visibly relax a bit at the half joke, satisfied with the explanation that his odd behaviour is just an eccentric personality but you still feel on edge. The only thing keeping you in the room is your work, after all this you need something to show for it, and this guy feels like a golden ticket. 

“I take it, that’s your partner’s role… Henry Emily?” You ask as you pull out the chair on the other side of the desk, hoping that sitting down will force him to look anywhere else other than your body. 

He scoffs a little, “Sure. You didn’t have to look at your notes for his name.” He observes, with an accusatory tone to the words. Sensing bad blood you present him your palms in some kind of surrender. 

“I’ve just never heard of anyone with Emily as their last name. Stuck with me.” You explain, thinking about how much of a nightmare this ballbuster must be to work for.

Looking at him, you find it difficult to read the stern expression on his face, having to look away when he meets your gaze head on. Only looking back at the shuffling sound of him moving the seat back and thudding his shoes on the desk, resting his feet there in a very unprofessional way. 

“You’re lucky you caught me today, Henry can be… funny with pretty young lasses like you.” He considers the word funny and you catch the meaning straight away. If the other guy is “funny” you don’t know what the hell to call this. 

“Lucky me.” You mutter, sarcasm dripping from the words. You didn’t exactly want him to hear that but the grin on his face tells you that he did. It doesn't miss you that this is a pretty handsome bloke, a silver fox, some might say. But the only silver you see is the glinting of a metallic tooth. 

At the beat of silence, he interrupts your thoughts. “You gonna ask me your questions or not?” You blink, quickly reaching for your notepad and pen, fumbling all the way. Whilst you do he smirks to himself at how you probably should have done your shirt up another button because he can see the fabric of your bra peeking over. Not that he minds.

You eventually manage, getting your papers sorted and glancing up to find that the bloke’s eyes had been on you the entire time. “The uh 26th of June, the day the five children  went missing, were you there?” You’ve rehearsed these questions a bunch and they’re written down in front of you, but you still struggle to get it out, sounding pathetic and uncertain. And whilst that may be how you feel, this guy doesn’t have to know that. 

Amusement doesn’t leave his features for a second, “Course I was.” He answers bluntly. 

“And… Did you know any of the victims?” You glance at the sheet with the five names on it, ready to give him them if he needs prompting. 

“Victims?” You curse the choice of words, technically no crimes had occurred, no individual had been found, these kids might not be victims at all. Well of anything more than complete and utter negligence from parents and restaurant staff. But you know as well as him that five children don’t just disappear without anyone having seen them. 

You stumble, “The children. Gabriel, Susan-”

He cuts you off, speaking somewhat meanly. “I don’t make a habit of befriending little kids.” At this point he’s trying to make you feel stupid, and it’s working enough that you glare at him. Poor thing must be getting whiplash, he thinks to himself, you react so plainly to everything he says it’s just delightful. You’re about to give up and move on but he continues, “But I seen them on the day. Recognised some of the pictures the police shown me.” Well that’s the answer you were looking for in the first place, the smug bastard. 

Nodding you veer off track, curiosity spurring your question, “You were interviewed by police?” 

He laughs incredulously, not liking the implications of your questioning. “We all were. Hell, I was fucking liable for it, had to hire more security staff.”  

You continue through your list of questions; what other measures did you put in place? Has the incident affected business? How do you personally feel about the events? And your staff? Each question is answered nonchalantly, a mixture of apparent boredom and sharpness to his responses. You long to ask him if he was this compliant for police, ‘this’ being the bare fucking minimum. Which you suppose could be down to him having to answer all this many times by now. But for some reason it still doesn’t sit right with you. 

After about twenty minutes you’ve got enough to finally put this assignment to bed, which you thank god for at this point. Now you can get away from this man and the gross feeling you get when he locks eyes with you. 

“I think that’ll do it, Mr Afton.” You try to smile politely, though it probably comes off wobbly. “Uh, thank you for your time.”  You add, not wanting to irritate him anymore than you likely already have. 

William nods, taking his feet off the desk and standing. You assume he’s going to get the door for you or something, so you gather your sheets up and push your chair back. Or you try to. Because you instantly bump into his figure behind you, his foot catching the wheels. From above you he can see how your brows immediately knit, confused, scared whatever it is. 

And when you turn to see what he’s doing he angles himself so you’re eye to eye, so to speak, with the bulge in his trousers. Physically jolting in your chair, you almost feel sick. You knew something about this was very wrong and like a fucking idiot you went along with it. And now you’re all alone in a back office with a scary bloke and his fucking boner. You open your mouth to speak, forcing yourself to not turn again, but you let it die when he gets there first. 

“So we’re all done? I’ve given you what you need.” The way he speaks is loaded with intention and it has your legs pressing together, you want to shiver but force yourself into stillness, “But you've not given me anything in return. What are we going to do about that, huh?”

Your mouth is dry, making it hard to form some words. “I-I think you’ve got the wrong idea-”

“Really?” He asks with heavy mock surprise, sucking air through his teeth in a pitying way. You go to continue but a harsh hand suddenly finds grip in your hair, jerking your head to the side so the tent in his trousers is shoved against the side of your face. His body heat is the first thing you register and you instantly repel, pushing your chair back into him hard and panicked. 

He lets you rive yourself free, watching amused as you almost violently turn round, bumping into the desk behind you, your chest heaving with shaky breath. “I had no idea you thought that… that’s- No. No.” You babble excuses trying to de-escalate this futilely, hardly even noticing the cruel way he laughs at you.  

“Uh huh.” He nodded in faux understanding, god the way you look right now, ravaged by panic, makes his cock twitch. William steps close to you and you quiver in response, you’d give anything to be at home, hell anywhere else really, anywhere away from the reality of the dark look in the eyes of the man invading your personal space. “Come on, love. I’ll make it good for you.”

As he speaks his hand roughly cups your breast, your bra doing nothing to disguise the harshness of the touch and you exhale staggeringly from your nose. You try to pull away but his body keeps you there against the desk, his other hand firmly groping your arse. Your body is responding to him but your mind is screaming, it just feels dangerous and wrong and no fluttering in your core can make up for that. 

“Please…” You mutter, your hand pulling at the wrist whose fingers are so intent on prying under your bra. 

He chuckles, easily flicking your hand away and pushing you back on to the desk behind you, forcing you to prop yourself up briefly. It feels like you exist in slow motion because all of a sudden you’re patting along the desktop searching for something to defend yourself with, instinct fully kicking in. Eventually your fingertips brush the spine of a book and the realisation of what you’re about to do is electric in your veins. It comes easily, the movement fluid as you grip the book and slam it hard between his ribs, using your feet to push him away in his vulnerable state. The pained grunt from him is all the confirmation you need to get to your feet and run to the door, throwing yourself out of the room. 

“Jesus… fucking…” He winces, turning himself to see the door close behind you. That hurt like hell, winded him even, you crafty little shit. It’s as he’s trying to get his bearings back, he realises that he probably went too far. Fuck, you won’t get very far without the doorcode, he’ll have to follow you out there.

You get halfway down the corridor before you see the keypad illuminated by the red LED above it, you can’t go back out there, but what fucking else are you suppose to do? You turn around quickly, desperately scanning the hall for anywhere else to go, a fire door or something but no. There’s only the other internal rooms. It takes you a moment to think clearly over the thrumming of your blood but you finally decide on hiding, getting yourself inside one of these rooms and playing the waiting game. This is a restaurant after all, someone else will have to come down here eventually and you can have them open the door for you. It’s the only option. 

You try a few of the doors but find them locked, your frantic searching making the tightness in your chest worse and worse, until you see a heavy metal looking door with a ‘private’ sign on it. The keys are still sticking out the lock. 

By the time he can breathe comfortably enough to go after you, you’re nowhere to be found. He expected you to be standing by the door, perhaps holding another weapon, but no, you’re not there. He frowns, confusion washing over him before he realises that you must seriously be hiding, it makes him laugh. Come on, it’s not like he was going to hurt you. Much. 

The room you’re in is completely pitch black, so much so that you can’t tell if it’s huge or just the illusion of the dark. You stay close to the door, watching the tiny stream of light peeking out from under the door, you watch it like a hawk, waiting for that psycho to walk past. His footsteps are light, but you can just catch them, what’s more suspect is the jiggling of door handles, exactly what you did seconds ago. The thought scares you into action, you’ll have to hide more, there must be somewhere in this room you can stay out of view, so you feel around in the darkness, hands outstretched so you don’t bump into anything. You find shelves separating the room into two halves and as you go around them your fingers brush something big. 

You can feel the presence of something huge in front of you, you trace the cold metal shape, your hands shaking as you feel the dip of an arm. The fright of it makes you flinch away, catching something sticking out from the shelf and it clatters noisily to the floor. 

The sound echoes, your pursuer flinching at the suddenness of it, he turns to the direction it came from and scowls. He’s a fucking idiot for leaving it open, but you, you’re more of an idiot for going in. 

As soon as his hand touches the door handle you cower behind the shelves, hoping the dark will be to your advantage but, knowing the place so well, WIlliam finds the light switch easily. And just like that your plan crumbles to fucking dust. 

Straight away you begin imploring him, stumbling to your feet and distraughtly babbling when his tall figure shuts the door, the metal clanging of the keys immediately following. 

With wide eyes you beg him, “Look… I’m sorry, okay? I really am- I don’t want any trouble-” 

“Well, you’ve fucking found it.” He says jeeringly, a visible tightness in his jaw that hadn’t been there before making your hands clammy. “Don’t you know better than to trespass in private areas? You never know what you might stumble across-” 

“What?” You interrupt, your voice frenzied and threatening to drop any ties to sensibility you have left, “An old store room? The secrets of the trade? I don’t care- I didn’t-” Your barely sensicle plea is cut short by the starling way he moves towards you, fiercely grabbing your arm and spinning you round to look at the half-formed animatronic you had touched. You stare perplexed, before he sighs and a grip takes root on the back of your next, shoving you across the room in front of another decommissioned suit. There he forces you down on your knees and the very second the concrete bruises your skin, your airways are filled with the most vile stench. 

The smell is wrong and your body rejects it instantly, making you gag as you fall back onto your behind, scrambling to get away from it. If you were scared before, it was nothing compared to the sheer terror you feel now. Your eyes are watering from the stench but even through the blurr you make out the dull copper pool that the suit is sitting in. You retch again, this time making him laugh, you stupid little girl. 

“You get it now?” He speaks in a snide way, a sharpness in his tone forcing you to readjust to the gravity of this situation. 

“...What is that?” Your voice trembles, hand coming to cover your nose. You know what it is, somewhere in your gut, deep-set in your dna you know. And it’s incomprehensible. The list of names you abandoned in his office flickers in your mind, making you dizzy. 

The man above you scoffs, palming the erection in his trousers that was probably the hardest it had ever been, and he briefly thinks about how fucked up that is. He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, watching how you stare at the evidence in front of you, your whole body shaking. Before eventually breaking it, “How’s that for your article?” He sniggers, the words dripping with venom. 

You look up at him dumbstruck at what he was almost admitting, before panic-driven getting to your feet, struggling to stand anywhere near this disgusting man or the suit in the corner. The danger surrounding you feels suffocating, making it hard to speak.  “I- fuck my article.” You laugh but it's touching hysteria as you step towards William before stepping back again, “I don't- I won't write anything, I want nothing to do with this. Just, please, let me leave.” 

You search his face for any trace of humanity but it’s void, in its place a sadistic look that only amplifies at the horrified look on your face. As you continue glaring at him, he snickers, “Go on. Keep selling it.” 

It feels more than impossible to keep yourself together, tears of futility are pricking your eyes as you think about whether people would look for you if you never leave this room. You gulp, “I just- want to go home.” You start slow but the words cause a landslide of begging, “I didn’t mean to offend you- I had no idea. I had no idea what would happen… I just wanted to do my- my job.” By the time you’re finished, you’re fully crying.

“Offend me?” He laughs meanly, “And to think you could have just spread your legs for me and you’d be home by now. But no,” He stops chuckling, as he looks you up and down in the most predatory way. “Now, you’re in here with me, wasting my time talking like I could just let you walk out of here.” He shakes his head.

“Please.” You try, but the unmoving look of resolution on his face shows you there’s no hope. He doesn’t feel sorry for you. He doesn’t want to give you mercy. You wrack your brain trying to think about what he does want and it settles on what landed you in here in the first place. 

You step closer to him, praying that your knees will be strong enough to keep you up. He can practically see the cogs turning in your head as you look up at him, your mascara trailing down your cheeks. “I’ll-” You swallow, “I’ll do anything.” 

“Oh yeah?” The sarcasm is palpable. 

You nod frantically, falling into your last hope. You reach for him, hand shaking as you touch  the hardness in his trousers. He watches you, finding immense joy in how weak you’ve become, all you needed was to see a little blood and your resolve shatters. You see his chest settle as he exhales, so you continue, grabbing him over the fabric and trying not to think about what you’re doing. 

“That’s fucking pathetic.” He jeers, loving the way your lip trembles. 

“I’ll do better.” You try, moving to his belt and pulling at the buckle. You’re taking too long to undo it, so he grabs you by the hair, pulling you away so he can do it himself. It makes you wince in pain, but you grit your teeth and bear it, moving with his grip onto your knees before he pulls again. 

Your knees are bruised from earlier, yet that’s the furthest thing from your mind when you’re confronted by his dick, rock hard and big. He’s gifted and you wish you’d just gone along with him earlier, this is 1000x more dehumanising than a skeezy fuck in his office would have been. That thought must register on your face because he jerks your head towards him, roughly. Remembering the bed you’ve made for yourself, you wrap your hand around his length, quickly joining in your other hand and stroking him, forcing yourself not to look at him. He makes a noise you take as a good sign, so you continue. 

Bringing your head closer to him, you run your tongue over his tip, struggling not to grimace at the salty taste of the precum on his cock. The enthusiasm you’re showing him is completely false, a plea for life on the flimsy idea that sucking him off well enough will be your freedom. Slowly you take his head in your mouth and he hisses, grinning in the victory of having you try so hard. You use your tongue to tease him, swirling it around as your hands stimulate him at the base, his groan involuntarily stirring your core. His grip on your hair flexes, impatient at your provocative action and you obey, hollowing your cheeks and taking as much of him as you can, gagging when his tip presses hard in the back of your throat. As you do he holds your head right there, revelling in the way you involuntarily contract around him. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to the intrusion, straight away using your mouth like a toy, shoving his cock in and out in a rhythm that has you desperately clinging on to him silently begging for respite. 

It’s brutal and when he finally pulls back, you gasp for breath, suddenly aware of the saliva trailing down your chin in the most humiliating way. Your jaw aches from the size of him and the moment for breath is near heavenly. He rubs himself on your lips and you’re not sure if the stickiness is him or you, but you take it, sticking out your tongue in a degrading manner that you assume is what he wants. You must be right because he grins. 

“You’ve done this before, huh?” He sneers, his voice thick with restraint because he doesn't want to be done, not just yet. Not before he’s had a taste of your tight cunt.  

You nod as much as you can not wanting your silence to be interpreted as insolence, still giving his cock your full attention, sucking him like you really really want it. But it must not be good enough, because he yanks your head back, forcing you to look up at him as he speaks sharply. 

“Get up.” The command is so firm that you don’t react for a moment, but once it’s registered you trip over yourself trying to obey. You know in your gut that the worst is yet to come. 

You stand in front of him uncertainly, waiting for your next order. It comes in the form of a rough grip on your face, shoving you towards the wall and holding you strict there. William feels like a god with the terrified awe you look at him with, and he is a fucking god, he choses whether you live or die. Whilst mentally praising himself, he pulls your shirt open, ignoring the pop of the buttons and jerks your bra down, exposing your tits to the chill of the room, your nipples are peaked so nicely he can’t resist pumping his dick to the sight of them.  

You stare transfixed at the view before you, too scared to even notice him tugging at your waistband, meanly pulling your trousers from you, set on having you completely vulnerable to him. Some kind of whimper leaves your lips when the clothing hits the floor, only becoming more pathetic when he cups your pussy, nastily pressing his thumb over your clit, it makes your body jolt with unwitting pleasure. You hate yourself for it, after what you’ve come to know how can your core be willing? It’s sick. 

No, he’s sick, you force yourself to think and he keeps up stimulating you, eager to have you fall apart on his cock. You’re going to cry for him and you’re going to fucking love it. He forces your legs further apart and you shiver seeing him lined up with your hole, your slick is a mercy but you still resent it. 

He grips your hip as he forces his cock inside you, making your walls accept him all at once, it hurts and you cry out as he sinks fully to the hilt. You feel full of him, not just your cunt but your blood, your head, like he owns you. The sizzling pain of the stretch fizzles down to a static ache once he starts moving, the difference in height forcing him to lift you up slightly, your weight nothing compared to the tight grip of your pussy.

You’re whining like an injured animal, letting him selfishly fuck you, his pace soon becoming as cruel as it is deep. Partially disassociating all you can think is the rough snap of his hips, punctuated by the clinking of what you assume is his belt. He tilts the angle of your hips so you’re squeezing around him more, rubbing your bundle of nerves maliciously as his tip bruises the part of you that makes you see white. 

“There she is.” He hisses in your face, not relenting for a moment. “That’s how you fucking like it.” As vile as his taunting is, it's based in truth because you can’t deny the unwilling knot in your core that’s strangling you with the need to snap.  And it does, your body going stiff with the intensity of it, it’s all-consuming, inescapable as it seizes you entirely.

He can’t help but explode inside you at the feeling of your walls grasping around him, you go limp in his grip as he fucks you through his end, shoving his cum further and further into you. 

Your ears are ringing as you come to your senses, well, what’s left of them. You’re full of him, his filthy release trickling down your leg. William looks to the side as he gets through his climax, keeping himself wrapped in your heat, his eyes narrowing as a dark thought rears its head: he’s got bigger suits… maybe you’ll fit.

[kingkatsuki]

— when you stand up for him

Masterlist.

Warnings: 18+, v v suggestive, Bakugou’s always having nasty thoughts about you, not proofread.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Word Count: 1.9k.

Since you’d started working at Dynamight’s agency you’d found out firsthand how defamatory the media could be. There was often a mixture of positive and negative headlines for all the Pro-Heroes in the top fifty, some more negative than others. Cellophane had been stuck in a messy situation just last week when a saucy text chain had been leaked to the press, the lewd messages accompanied by a rather salacious picture of him in a state of undress. Obviously an attempt by the media to paint him in a bad light, but it actually ended up thrusting him into the top ten.

“He woulda sent that fuckin’ dick pic to anyone that asked.” Bakugou scoffed when you’d told him, grinning at the cheesy headline “Cellophane stuck in a sticky situation.”

But in particular, the media seemed hellbent on making a villain out of Dynamight. A well-known fact that they knew sold papers. His brash personality and fiery quirk made him an easy target for those sleazy tabloids to ridicule. Painting the perfect picture of Number One Pro-Hero Deku, and demonising the Number Two who was always hiding in his shadow.

Of course, the media scrutiny didn’t bother Bakugou much, far used to these words for them to have any real bite. The judgement seemed to have followed him since he was a teenager, and he’d spent the better part of his adult years trying to prove himself through his actions. And although you didn’t know it, your opinion meant far more to Bakugou than a handful of gossip magazines.

It wasn’t unusual for these reporters to call through to the Dynamight agency, especially after a successful mission. Each outlet wanting to be the first to get the scoop hot off the press from the main man himself, but fortunately for Bakugou you were the final roadblock between them and the Pro-Hero.

Most of the time you could weed through the good calls and the bad, finding the best opportunities for Dynamight to showcase himself to the world and add those precious boosts to his hero ranking. Knowing firsthand how much Bakugou hated any kind of interview environment, preferring to showcase himself through his hard work, you were careful with the engagements that you picked. The few he did were always enough to keep him sitting comfortable in second place.

You groaned when you realised who you’d ended up with on the phone, the lead journalist for The Heroic Choice, a controversial tabloid that had just published a rather scathing article about Pro-Hero Welder. And you were certain judging by the “direct” quotes that most had been stretched out of context to fit their narrative.

“Thanks for taking our call,” The voice spoke on the other end of the line, not that you’d had much choice, “Dynamight hasn’t responded to any of our emails, so I thought it best to try and reach you directly.”

“Yes, well Dynamight’s a very busy hero.” You spoke through gritted teeth.

“Oh, we’ve heard. We had a very concerned reader call in earlier to tell us that Dynamight almost killed someone again—” You were already seething at the accusation when the reporter continued, “How many totalled buildings is it this year? The budget must be at breaking point by now, or is it less a budget and more hush money for the victims? Almost as bad as a villain, wouldn’t you agree?”

You weren’t sure what came over you in that moment. Some would probably argue that it was the amount of love that you had built inside you for Bakugou Katsuki that made you want to protect and defend him with your life, or it could’ve just been the fact that being his secretary meant you got to see a side of him that no one else was lucky enough to see. The Hero that dedicated so many hours of his life to protecting the city and its residents, putting his own life at risk to ensure that people made it home safely to their loved ones. The countless amount of times you’d visited him in hospital or done a rather bootleg patch up of his injuries in his office after hours. The scars that now littered his body each held their own story of a time where Dynamight put others before himself, and you weren’t about to let some gossipy B-rate magazine besmirch him. Especially to try and call him, the man that would give his life for others, a villain.

So you did what Bakugou probably would’ve done, you exploded.

You weren’t even sure where it came from, certain in the months that you’d been working for Dynamight you’d never once let your temper get the best of you, even with particularly troublesome callers. His personality must have been rubbing off on you, as you continued to argue back and forth with the man on the phone, your voice increasing in power the more he argued back.

The noise roused Bakugou from his mission report, crimson eyes looking up from his laptop as he tried to make out the shouting on the other side of his office wall. Pushing his desk chair back as he dropped his glasses on top of his laptop he made his way towards the hallway, thinking that another person was harassing you for some kind of Dynamight endorsement deal again. Tugging open the door Bakugou prepared himself to tell whoever it was to leave and stop pissing off his secretary but he was shocked to see you shouting on the phone.

“Dynamight is the greatest Hero of our generation and we’re lucky to have someone like him protecting our streets. There’s no telling what could happen if we didn’t have him. Did you know violent crime is down twelve percent since he entered the top ten? And that’s not including the crime syndicates he’s managed to infiltrate in the last three months—”

Bakugou had to stop in the doorframe at the sound of you listing off facts about him so effortlessly. Mouth agape like a fish out of water as he began to wonder who you were on the phone to, and how they had managed to rile you up to this extent.

You hadn’t even noticed him standing there as you continued to berate the caller, asking them whether they had looked up any crime statistics or whether they were just interested in a sleazy headline.

Bakugou didn’t know what to say, standing outside his office as he stared at you between furrowed brows. After hearing shouting outside, he hadn’t expected it to be coming from you, and he definitely hadn’t expected it to be because you were defending him to the media.

It had Bakugou’s chest swelling with pride as he continued to hear you list of reasons why Dynamight would never do an interview with The Heroic Choice, not that he needed you to tell them that. He could’ve easily given them his own list of reasons, the main one being their scathing reviews of anyone other than Pro-Hero Deku. His throat felt dry as he watched your eyes darken as you continued to argue with them on the phone, nostrils flared as he tried to fight the blood rushing directly between his thighs.

God, you were so fuckin’ perfect.

He’d never had anyone defend him to such a level, and it made it even more special that it happened to be you doing it— the woman he was so madly in love with. Even the shy, wide-eyed look you gave him when you noticed him watching you made his heart flutter as you exchanged the last few words with the tabloid over the phone.

You’d been so heated you hadn’t even noticed Bakugou shamelessly ogling you while you were on the telephone, although you were certain he’d heard you. Your voice at least a few octaves louder than necessary, but you couldn’t help it. The realisation you had an audience now dawning on you as you gave your boss a sheepish smile.

“I’m so sorry about that, sir.” You practically gushed as soon as you slammed the phone down, which immediately began ringing again, “It just makes me so mad, they talk like they know you but they really don’t know you at all—”

“Next time, get me.” He rasped, mainly because you didn’t deserve dealing with assholes like that on the phone, but also because Bakugou wasn’t sure if he’d be able to survive you taking another call like that without blowing his load in public. The thought of having to spend the rest of the day in damp boxers had him squirming as he turned around.

“Yes, sir. I know I should’ve, but he made me so angry. I’m sorry.” No matter how many times he told you not to call him sir, you would do it anyway and it did nothing to quell the ache in his pelvis.

“Take five.” Bakugou grumbled.

“Thank you si— Bakugou.” You stopped yourself with a smile as you stood up from the desk hesitantly.

Bakugou practically waddled back into his office, trying to conceal the tent between his thighs from your praise. The overprotective words had his cock throbbing as he tried to calm his racing heart, and it didn’t help you’d said his name. Slamming his office door a little harder than intended as he pressed his back to the hardwood. Eyes screwed shut as Bakugou made a feeble attempt at steadying his breathing, before glaring down at the obvious bulge. Silently willing it to disappear as he prayed you hadn’t seen it.

But Bakugou had left so abruptly with barely a word that you began to worry that you’d done the wrong thing, remembering Creati’s words one evening when she had been visiting the agency. “All press can be good press if you orchestrate it correctly.” Maybe Bakugou really was mad at you for losing your temper on the phone to one of Musutafu’s biggest tabloids, you’d definitely guaranteed another negative Dynamight article about him. Your eyes glancing over to the shut door to his office as you gnawed your glossed lip between your teeth, pondering whether you should knock on the door to apologise. The phone began to ring again as you were making that decision, opting to pick it up and hopefully do some kind of damage control for his important public image. Hoping that the PR team wouldn’t find out just how hostile you’d been on the phone to a company representative. You had no idea that on the other side of the door, your boss was losing his cool because of you, but not for the reason you thought.

About a week later The Heroic Choice ended up posting their scathing article about Dynamight anyway, although it did little to smear his hero rating. Instead the article seemed to focus on his fiery little secretary who was seemingly even more tenacious than his newly appointed sidekicks.

“Dynamight’s secretary even more explosive than him? More on page six.” It was accompanied by a picture of you that Bakugou was certain they’d managed to take from one of your social media profiles.

You’d been so embarrassed when Bakugou had shown you the magazine with a smirk, highlighting his favourite parts of the article which happened to be the direct quotes of you defending his tenacity and altruism.

What you didn’t know was Bakugou had cut out this article and pinned it to the fridge inside his apartment, grinning at it whenever he passed. The picture they’d picked of you was real fucking pretty after all— it wasn’t his fault that it brought back the memories of you defending him every time he looked at it, his cock standing to attention when he remembered how irate you’d looked that day. Somehow it made you even prettier… But of course, he’d never tell you that.

[defectivehero]

Please write about a nb hero who is big on "not owing anyone money" and "its my problem and weight, let me carry it" and "please let me pay u back" and "its your money even if you spend it on me"

And a nb snarky millionaire (by evil methods) villain who is obsessed with their hero and is like "let me spoil u bbg" and *casually throws money around for hero* and very big on "I WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR U" but hero is too fucking dense to actually believe rhe villain.

this snippet completely spiraled out of my control (as most things do).

It all started with that damned news article. In hindsight, perhaps the hero shouldn't have been as forthcoming as they were. But, they wanted the world to know that the life of a hero wasn't always glamorous. They just... didn't expect for the journalist to capitalize on the single remark they made, the single huff of laughter they let out when asked about the wages. Days later, when the article released, the hero was stunned.

Heroism: A Thankless Job

The hero remembers the dread coiling in their chest as they opened the newspaper to find the article, apprehension increasing as they digested the information. That picture of their apartment complex... they don't remember consenting to release that information. Granted, the journalist kept them as a nameless, anonymous hero. But, it wouldn't take a huge leap in logic to connect the dots—to find the building's tenants and cross-reference those names with the hero agencies nearby. The hero just hoped an average reader wouldn't take the incentive to do something like that. They spent the rest of that day struggling to keep their paranoia at bay. It took them a while to fall asleep that night.

Fortunately, they slept well and their anxieties seemed to fade. The hero stumbled through their morning routine and opened their front door an hour later, ready to greet the day, only to nearly trip on a package. They had frowned and taken the package inside, unable to shake the recognition that they hadn't ordered anything to be delivered. Upon opening the package, they found a single unmarked envelope. Their jaw had dropped to the floor once they found the bills inside—an amount more than their typical paychecks.

Little did the hero know, this would be far from the last time they received an unmarked package with a far too generous, entirely unexplained gift inside. At first, the gifts were just small things: a collection of medical grade bandages and antiseptic, a new sweater after they spilled coffee on theirs at work, a care package with things like cough medicine and tissues that appeared the day they got sick. The hero was still profoundly uncomfortable with the idea of some mysterious benefactor providing them with these things, but at least the packages were small. The magnitude of the first gift hadn't been matched since, and the hero couldn't help but feel grateful.

Amidst their hero work and their daily life, the hero found their mind quickly returning to the question of their gift-giver's identity. It had to be someone they interacted with fairly often, considering the far too accurate timing of several of the gifts. One time could be dismissed as a mere coincidence; a box of cough medicine a mere hour after they found themself bedridden, however... That is an entirely different story.

The gifts continue, but, thankfully, they are small in scale. The hero still feels horribly guilty about being entirely unable to pay this person back, but there's almost nothing they can do. Their benefactor clearly doesn't want to make themself known, and that's fine. Really, it is.

Until there is another envelope. This time, their mystery patron doesn't bother concealing their gift within a package. Instead, the hero opens their mailbox to find an unmarked burgundy envelope. Dread coiling in their chest, they look around—foolishly hoping that their gift giver would somehow have a change of heart and decide to show themself—before heading back inside. The hero sits on their sofa and takes a deep breath, before opening the envelope with care.

What they see is enough to make their hands tremble and their grip falter, allowing the envelope to slip down to the floor. They hold their present in disbelief.

It's a check—for more money than they could possibly fathom having. This sum is so large that the hero wouldn't have to work another day in their life. They would be able to live comfortably without earning so much as a single penny on their own.

The thought sickens them. "I can't accept this," the hero breathes aloud. They look down at their apartment's hardwood flooring as if it will give them the answers they're looking for.

"I don't recall asking you to." The hero jumps, looking up to find the villain standing before them. How they got there, the hero doesn't have the faintest idea. They blink at them for a moment, wondering how they didn't connect the mysterious gifts to the villain sooner. Their enemy has always had access to extremely high-tech weaponry and state of the art medicine (judging from their utter lack of scars despite their numerous fights); not to mention, they've had an inexplicable disregard for finances for as long as the hero can remember. It's all beginning to make sense now.

The villain takes a step closer and the hero remembers their remark. "I'm serious," they say with a frown. "Why are you doing this? Do you want me to owe you? ...Is that what this is? Want to, I don't know, kick me while I'm down? You're such a good person, helping the needy." The latter statement is spoken with venom.

"No, of course not," The villain argues.

"Then why?" The hero repeats, the volume of their voice rising as they get more frustrated. They take a deep breath and clench their fist at their side. They're still holding the check in their other hand, and despite the fact that it's nearly weightless, they can feel a pressure pushing their hand down. "And, more importantly, how in the hell did you get this much money?" The hero hears themself ask.

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to," the villain says lightly. There's a darkness to their eyes that suggests the hero should cease this line of questioning. They take another deep breath.

"You're assuming I'll just... accept this," the hero realizes aloud. That familiar itching feeling is rising to meet their skin, and they're becoming less convinced that they should stop it.

"Perhaps."

The hero blinks at them once, twice. The villain refuses to break eye contact; their gaze almost urging them to do it—to use their powers to turn the check to ash. The hero gives into the flames prickling along their skin and summons their fire in the palm of their hand. It will only take a moment, maybe two, for the bottom of the paper to char. From there, it will only be a matter of time. The hero watches in anticipation.

...But nothing happens.

"Did you really think I'd be foolish enough to give you a check you could just burst into flame?"

The hero stares ahead blankly, their ears ringing. The villain's expression blurs into a twisted smile. A figment of their imagination or reality? The hero hears their breaths, ragged and half-panicked in their ears.

"I don't understand," the hero repeats hollowly. They don't understand anything that's happening—anything that happened that led them to this very moment, standing before the villain and holding a check that their enemy gave them.

"You don't have to understand," the villain says, crossing their arms over their chest. "I'm not asking you to understand. Hell, I'm not asking you to do anything. I'm ordering you to cash this check."

The hero's tongue is ironed to the roof of their mouth. Even if they desired to speak, they don't think they'd be able to.

The villain notices their speechlessness and sighs. "I didn't want things to come to this, but..." They break off. "As I predicted, you're stubborn as hell, and self-sacrificing to a fault." The hero doesn't have the energy to be offended or outraged.

"So," the villain drawls, their arm falling to their side quickly. The hero blinks and they're suddenly being held at gunpoint. "Go to your bank. Now." The hero suspects the weapon is more than a gun—and they don't care to find out just what it can do. It appears they really have no choice. The villain is forcing their hand.

An hour later, the hero is walking out of the bank with sunken shoulders. "There," the villain says, clapping a hand on their shoulder and leading them out of the building. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it?" Upon closer examination, the villain's weapon is nowhere in sight—as if it simply vanished in thin air. The unlikely pair walks down the street and heads back to the hero's car. The hero ignores the domesticity of it all, securing their seatbelt over themself. The villain doesn't seem keen to wear their seatbelt, so the hero reaches across and buckles their rival's seatbelt for them before they can object.

"I'll transfer the money back to you tomorrow," the hero announces as they're driving down the street, back towards their apartment. Their eyes are locked on the road, yet they somehow know that the villain's gaze is fixated on them with frightening focus.

"We both know you won't," the villain hums with certainty. The hero hates that they're right, hates that their rival can read them so damn easily. Their hands tighten around the steering wheel and the rest of the ride is suffocated with a horrible silence.

When the hero arrives back home, they can't shake the realization that the villain seems deeply pleased. They say as much to their enemy, who hums.

"Of course I'm pleased," the villain says, "If I knew this was all it would take to get you to accept a much-needed gift, I would've done it eons ago."

The hero takes a deep breath, struggling not to cry. It's been a long day, and they're reaching their limit. "I think you've humiliated me enough today," they announce. "Can you leave?" Please, the hero thinks to themself.

"I suppose," the villain sighs dramatically. They take one step to the door, then another. Just before their hand can clasp the doorknob, the hero feels one last objection fall from their lips.

"That money could go to far more deserving people and causes," the hero chokes out. They're choking on their own pride, choking on the simultaneous acknowledgment that they need money and the horrible knowledge that almost no one in their situation has an out like the one they were just presented with.

The villain turns around to face them, clearly moments away from rolling their eyes. "Do I look like a philanthropist to you?" The hero shakes their head, their throat burning. Their enemy nods in confirmation and turns back around. They twist the doorknob and tug the door open.

"You deserve nice things, you know." The villain's parting remark is murmured so quietly that the hero convinces themself they imagine it. The hero watches their front door close and waits a few moments before locking it. They turn around, their back to the door, and slide down to the ground with their head in their hands.

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