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yanderenightmare · 5 days ago

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♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, piercings, sex-trafficking, reader has big breasts...

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about being a sociopathic billionaires sex-trafficked dungeon whore…

You’re his cheap slut—his dirty little secret he keeps down in his filthy basement under lock and key. He might go on boring dates with boring gold-digging prudes to maintain appearances, but even as he fucks them, he’ll roll his eyes at their fake moans, trying to block it out and imagine you—and how he knows you’re waiting for him at home, like a pet.

He’s got intense fetishes—pierced your tits, belly button, tongue, nose, clit, and labia on the first day of your imprisonment. Your nose hook is a ring big enough to fit his cock through when he fucks your throat. Your tongue has a whole of five silver bells and a sixth ring at the very tip, which he often hooks up to a chain so he can lead you around like a panting bitch in heat instead of using a boring old collar.

No, he likes keeping your neck free so he can grip it himself, hard enough to leave his mark on the skin—fresh bruises every new day. He keeps your nipples on a shared leash anyway, so he has plenty of things to yank if he wants to, which he does.

Instead of keeping you chained by your ankle, he keeps you chained by your clit. The chain is skinny and could probably be broken if ripped hard enough, but you wouldn’t dare—any harsh movement feels as though your poor pearl is being pulled off. And with your arms in a harness behind your back, there’s not much left to do but lie there on the sweaty, sex-drenched mattress and wait for your captor to return.

And he does—every day—without fault.

When he comes downstairs, you greet him with your tongue out, nuzzling your face against his crotch just like a puppy, licking him through the fabric of his italian suit until it’s bulbous and fat and dripping with your drool. You never talk unless spoken to, but you always keep your mouth open—it’s the law—if his cock isn’t down your throat, then your tongue should be hanging out and begging for it.

He has a lot of laws. You’re only allowed to walk around on all fours. You never go upstairs. And your cunt is never empty—if it isn’t hosting his fat erection, it’s cumming and crying around the thrums of a thick egg instead, always keeping you slick and sensitive for his return.

He's a fan of plugging all your holes, especially after a rough day of work. He’ll lay you on your belly against the cool concrete floor, tied up all snug, only able to wiggle as he stuffs your cunt with the fattest dildo in the collection, your other hole with another, before straping the longest one down your throat, just to have you struggle.

Listening to your whimper is how he winds down. Meanwhile, he goes and does something else, such as playing a round of pool between himself and a glass of scotch while laying bets on whatever sport’s showing on the TV—not for the sake of winning, it’s all small millions, just for a bit of fun.

Your pussy is the absolute best. It even has his name on it—tattooed upon the mound in pretty cursive letters like you were custom-designed for him. You basically were—he spent hours browsing through pictures and samples before stopping at you, his perfect little cock-toy.

“Do you wanna be bred or fed, little whore?” he rasps against your ear, fucking your tight wet cunt hard enough for it to squelch with slick, all but streaming down your thighs along with sweat.

You think you’re a very slim step away from comatose—it’s already been a long game of passing in and out. You haven’t been able to stand for a while, but he keeps you upright between himself and the wall, letting you rest with your cheek smushed up against the cool concrete as the only thing keeping you stable, except from his ruthless manhandling, keeping you on your feet even as your knees shake and buckle.

You’re so light-headed—he doesn’t feed you nearly enough to sustain the activity he puts you through. Actually, he doesn’t feed you enough to sustain any amount of activity at all. But you suppose that’s part of the fun—keeping you dull and weak and pliant, desperate to please in the hopes he’ll have mercy. Anything will do, anything at all—scraps, crumbs, cum.

“Fed,” you pant weakly in answer, to which he chuckles breathlessly.

Simpering at your ear with a toothy grin. “Of course, you do—” He gropes both breasts in his ringed hands, kneading them up like dough as he steadily ruts against you—balls smacking hard and heavily against your clit. “Gotta keep these fat tits plump and juicy for me, right?”

Everything is numb and sore—even breathing is consuming too much energy. You can only rejoice that it’s all going to be over soon, agreeing to his vile words all too sweetly, “Yes, master—”

He coos at you—why would he want any pearl-necked blouse-wearing preppy cunt over you, his perfectly house-trained slut.

“C’mere and say ah, slut—and I’ll give you a nice warm mouthful.” He pulls you down to the ground, on your knees with your back against the wall, his fist in your hair holding your head back while you roll out your tongue.

Groaning when he starts spurting, “That’s it, my needy little cum-junkie—swallow it all.”

There’s always a hint of psychotic glee to his rambles, something just short of frantic.

“Waste a drop, and you’ll lick it up off the floor.” Oh, you know. And so you make sure to wait until all of it’s out before swallowing.

Your tongue is no stranger to his body or its tastes. Whether it be the sweat off his ballsack or the dried piss off his cockhead—you lick him clean—suck his toes as you massage his sore feet, lip his armpits, but most importantly this—drinking his cum and cherishing every drop of it. Your sole food source…

“Good bitch.”

This is what being rich is all about—warding his very own dungeon where he trains his very own little sex slave.

He washes you every day. Making thorough work of it. Fingering all your holes as deep as he can reach with soap and oil, even your mouth. Treating you just as if you were a real plastic blow-up doll.

It’s the most intimate relationship he’ll ever have.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Naoya, Geto, Gojo, ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Kuro, Sakusa, Atsumu ♡ BLLK – Reo, Sae

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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vanteguccir · 3 months ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSURPRISE PARTY TOUR: BOSTON SURPRISE * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　Where is the Boston show of the Surprise Party Tour, Y/N is pregnant, and it's Matt's turn to bring his surprise.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　being pregnant.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

After a long two year wait, the Sturniolo Triplets Surprise Party Tour was finally on the road.

The buzz of the theater was really electric, the pre-show jitters vibrating as fans filled the seats just beyond the thick curtains separating backstage from the main stage. Y/N practically radiated excitement, her steps light as she roamed around, eyes scanning every corner for Matt.

She was beyond ecstatic, to say the least. Being on the road with the triplets was her absolute favorite thing, and she had missed it so much since their last tour in 2023.

Her oversized custom shirt - the one that Nick had personally designed - hung loosely over her frame, matching his own shirt for the night. She smiled softly as she walked past crew members, setting up last-minute details. Nick and Chris were talking to the organizer somewhere behind the stage, deep in conversation, but her only focus was on finding Matt.

Just as she rounded a corner, Paula’s familiar voice echoed.

"Y/N! You look stunning."

Y/N turned her head, catching sight of the boys’ stylist walking toward her, a warm smile on her face.

"Nick did amazing with this shirt." Paula continued, eyes scanning the outfit with approval. "It looks amazing on you."

"You're too nice, Paula." Y/N’s cheeks heated as she grinned. Paula always had a way of making her feel extra confident. "Have you seen Matt?"

"He’s still in his dressing room." Paula replied before a yell of her name echoed, followed by the woman quickly excusing herself.

Y/N continued down the hall, stopping in front of the door marked with Matt’s name. She knocked gently, the sound barely audible over the distant hum of the crowd outside.

Slowly, she pushed the door open just enough to peek her head inside.

"Hey." She greeted softly, her lips curving into a small smile at the sight of Matt's fingers fumbling with the button of his jeans, his shirtless torso on full display.

His soft blue eyes lifted to meet hers as she stepped in and closed the door behind her, and the moment they locked onto hers, his entire body seemed to relax just slightly.

"Hey angel." He muttered gently.

She wasted no time crossing the room, stepping into his space as her arms wrapped tightly around his bare waist. Her hands ran up the milky skin of his back, relishing the warmth radiating off him as she pressed soft kisses against his lips before tucking her head into the crook of his neck.

His arms wound around her immediately, pulling her so close she could barely breathe, but she didn’t care. She loved being wrapped up in him like this.

A heavy sigh left Matt’s lips as he rested his chin atop her head. He was holding her like he never wanted to let go, and Y/N could feel it - his tension, his nerves, the anxious beat of his heart against her own chest.

She pressed a hand flat against the middle of his back, rubbing small, soothing circles.

"Hey, deep breaths, baby."

He obeyed, inhaling deeply, his hands sliding down to settle against her hips. His thumbs brushed over the soft fabric of her shirt above her lower stomach as if grounding himself.

"M'so nervous." He admitted, voice raspy and low, his forehead dipping against hers. "Not about what my- our family will say, I know they’ll be happy. But the fans..." His arms tightened slightly. "I just- this is so big, y'know?"

Y/N smiled softly, tilting her chin to kiss him once more, her lips lingering in reassurance.

"They’re going to be so happy, Matt." She murmured against his lips, her hands cupping the soft skin right above his ribs. "And even if they need a second to process it, we have each other. We’ve always had each other."

His eyes softened, filled with nothing but love and admiration as he let out a shaky breath. He leans in even more, basically smothering her, but she doesn’t mind - he needs the comfort, and he’s always only been able to be calmed by her.

"I love you." He whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.

Before she could respond, a loud knock rattled the door.

"Matt!" Nick’s voice rang from the other side. "Are you dead in there? We gotta go!"

Matt groaned.

"Angel." He exhaled sharply, anxiously searching for Y/N's eyes one last time.

"You got this, my little star." Y/N nodded softly, and Matt's grip tightened for just a second longer before he finally, reluctantly, pulled back.

She smiled, squeezing his biceps one last time before stepping aside as he grabbed his shirt, ready to walk out onto that stage and into one of the biggest moments of their lives.

Matt, Chris, and Nick were lounging on stage like it was their living room, already used to the two iconic, slightly worn orange couches that had followed them across the country like loyal dogs.

Matt had claimed the right couch for himself, sitting cross-legged with a mic resting casually in one hand. On the left couch, Chris and Nick sat shoulder to shoulder, mirroring each other’s relaxed posture.

In the crowd, Y/N was in her usual spot - dead center, front row, the seat Matt always reserved for her. The one where he could look down and find her face instantly, grounding himself with just one glance.

But tonight, she wasn’t alone.

To her right sat Mary Lou, her hands folded neatly in her lap and a warm smile decorating her radiating face. Next to her was Jimmy, sitting tall and expectant, eyes scanning the stage like he was trying to drink it all in.

It was the first - and only - show they could attend, thanks to this tour stop being just a short drive from home. The last time they saw their sons on stage felt like a lifetime ago.

Suddenly, the giant screen behind the triplets lit up. A video snapped to life, flickering for a second before showing a clip of Matt fixing his tie.

And just like that, the room erupted. Screams shot up like fireworks, echoing off every wall.

Matt leaned back dramatically, flopping his free arm up.

"Alright, alright, chill out!" He grinned, voice teasing over the noise, trying not to laugh with the giddiness that came with his fans' reactions to himself. "First of all, I just wanna say, I deserve a full-blown award for keeping this secret."

Nick whipped his head toward him with a suspicious look, brows raised.

"No, I’m not even joking." Matt laughed, eyes wide with mock seriousness. "You guys have no idea how hard it was not to spill. Like, not just to you." He pointed at his brothers. "But to them too."

He turned, locking eyes with his parents, who were watching him intently, frowning.

"But when I found out we were doing a Boston show." Matt continued, voice dipping into something more sincere. "I knew this had to be my big surprise. I’ve been waiting for this moment for months."

The cheers kicked back up again - high-pitched, chaotic, and full of love.

"Okay, before we play the video, I need y’all to promise me something." He pointed toward the audience. "I need complete silence while it plays. Like, I want every single one of you to just sit back and take it all in." He smirked. "Don’t worry, you can scream after."

As the room quieted, you could feel the shift.

And then - click - the screen changed.

A home video. The inside of the triplets' LA house flickered onto the screen.

The camera wobbled for a second before being placed down on the coffee table. The image sharpened, revealing Matt's upper body moving a bit away from it, leaning down against the cream-colored couch, red hoodie up, grey sweatpants low, looking as cozy as humanly possible.

He waved at the camera with a little grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes yet.

"Hey, guys. If you’re watching this." He started, voice soft. "That means I finally get to say something I’ve been dying to share."

He ran a hand through his messy hair, exhaling slowly like he was about to let go of a weight he'd carried for way too long.

"This message is for two very important groups." He said, pointing toward the lens. "One, my family. And two, every single fan watching right now."

Back on stage, Nick was glued to the screen, eyes narrowed, completely focused. Chris, meanwhile, kept shifting, glancing between Matt and the video like he was trying to figure out what was coming next, his leg bouncing with anxiety.

"So, here’s the deal." Video-Matt continued. "Two weeks ago, something happened. Something kinda insane. And when I found out about the tour the next day, I knew... I just knew this had to be one of my surprises."

He leaned forward, eyes flickering down for a second as he nervously clasped his hands together, like grounding himself.

"So, uh... yeah. Here it is."

The screen went black.

And then a low, steady sound filled the theater.

Thump-thump.

Not music.

Not a voice.

Something deeper, more alive.

A heartbeat.

Small, fast, and impossibly real.

The video sharpened into focus, though clearly filmed on a phone, the angle a little off-kilter like it had been propped up in a rush. The room on screen was soft and warm, washed in late afternoon sunlight.

Not a studio, not a stage. A hospital room. Neutral-colored walls. A monitor to the side.

Y/N lay on the examination bed, her brown sweater lifted to reveal her lower belly, shiny with gel. Her leggings were pulled down slightly, allowing the doctor to gently move the ultrasound wand over her skin.

Matt was right by her side, and he looked wrecked in the most beautiful way. Completely undone.

His eyes were glassy and red-rimmed, cheeks blotchy with emotion. Tears slipped down silently as he gripped Y/N’s hand like it was the only thing tethering him to the planet. His commitment ring shimmered in the soft light as his right hand constantly - and very awkwardly - cleaned the tear tracks.

Y/N had her free hand over her mouth, her chest heaving as she tried to breathe through the sob building between her ribcage and going up full force. Her eyes were locked on the monitor, wide and wet, as a tiny, hazy figure wiggled faintly on the screen.

The doctor’s voice was quiet, almost reverent.

"That’s your baby’s heartbeat."

And Matt let out this broken, wet laugh, the kind that happens when you’re completely overwhelmed and overflowing all at once, a sob following right behind. He shook his head like he couldn’t even process what he was seeing.

"That’s our baby." He whispered, his voice cracking in half as he pulled Y/N’s hand to his lips and kissed it, keeping it pressed against his mouth. "That’s literally our baby."

Back in the theater, no one moved.

Not a sound.

It was like everyone in the room had just had the wind knocked out of them. Mouths covered in shock, eyes wide with disbelief.

Chris sat frozen, his jaw slack. Nick blinked slowly like he was trying to reboot.

Neither of them said a word - they couldn’t.

Their brother was having a baby.

Mary Lou, on the other hand, was already sobbing into her hands, her shoulders shaking, eyes covered in glasses tightly shut as if trying to hold back even more tears. Jimmy sat beside her with shining eyes, blinking back upcoming tears with a shaky inhale like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

On the screen, Matt’s watery smile stayed glued to the monitor, completely and utterly obsessed.

"Can’t believe y’letting me make you a mumma." Matt hums, almost in awe, like the words tasted too good to be true. "Gonna be the best, angel. I know it."

The video faded to black again.

Y/N, sitting quietly in the theater seat, was trying her best to keep it together, her eyes glassy and full. She pressed her pink tinted lips tightly together, like any little crack would shatter her.

The sound of her baby’s heartbeat echoed in her ears, and it was everything - terrifying, surreal, breathtaking. She clutched her stomach with both hands without thinking, her decorated nails lazily scratching over her shirt, like holding the secret tighter would make it easier not to cry.

Then, one last clip.

Matt, back in their cozy LA living room, sitting in his usual spot on the couch, his eyes slightly red but glowing, lit up with so much love.

"So, yeah." He sniffled, grinning shyly. "I wanted to tell you guys in the best way I knew how." He paused, visibly holding back more tears. "Y/N and I are having a baby."

He glanced off to the side for a second, sniffing.

"And we couldn’t be happier."

The screen went black.

Not a sound.

Not a breath.

And then, the world exploded.

Screams ripped through the air like a tidal wave, the theater shaking from the sheer force of it. Fans were crying, sobbing, yelling, clutching their faces in disbelief. It was chaos - beautiful, euphoric chaos.

Nick was the first to move, and he didn’t move. He launched. One second, he was sitting on the couch. The next he was across the stage, slamming into Matt with so much force, it nearly knocked them both down to the floor.

Chris was right behind him, eyes glossy, chin wobbling, and then suddenly, all three brothers were in this tangled, messy pile of limbs and love.

"Oh my god, Matt." Nick choked out, arms locked around Matt’s neck. "You’re gonna be a dad. You’re gonna be a freaking dad."

Chris was now crying - full-on crying - Fresh Love covered shoulders shaking, fingers gripping the back of Matt’s jacket like he didn’t wanna ever let go.

"I’m gonna be an uncle." He whispered, voice breaking like glass, pink lips wet with tears. "I get to be an uncle, man-"

And Matt just stood there in the middle of them, eyes wide, smile splitting his face in half, heart pounding like a drum solo inside his chest.

Down there, Mary Lou had already jumped to her feet, tears streaming down her face as she delicately pulled Y/N up and into her arms, pulling her shaking body into the warmest, tightest, most mom-like hug imaginable. The kind of hug that made everything feel safe.

"Oh, sweetheart." She whispered, voice shaking with emotion. "You just made me the happiest woman alive." She pulled back for a second just to cup Y/N’s cheeks, ignoring how her fingers got wet by Y/N's salty tears, soft eyes twinkling with pride and love. "You’re gonna be such a good mom. And I’m gonna spoil the hell outta this baby, just you wait."

Y/N couldn’t even speak. She just nodded, blinking through fat tears, heart hammering against her ribs.

Then, Matt looked down.

Somehow, in the storm of screaming and crying and fans limbs and lights, his eyes found her. His girl. Standing between the stage and the front row, being held by his mom, trembling hand over her belly, absolutely wrecked by the moment. Teary, overwhelmed, glowing in the most heartbreakingly beautiful way.

And something snapped in him.

He didn’t think.

He ran.

The bodyguards surrounding both sides of the stage went wild, arms outstretched, trying to block or guide him back, yelling over their earpieces.

But Matt didn’t care.

He dodged through them like it was instinct, ears muted to the fans yells from the front row, like his body was already halfway to her before his mind even caught up.

He reached her.

And without a word, without a second’s hesitation, he pulled her into the tightest hug, body accidentally hitting Mary Lou's in the process.

Big hands met Y/N's back, circling around her upper body, lifting her slightly off the ground as he wrapped himself around her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.

"You- you-" He stammered against her cheek, their tears mixing between skin. "You did this. You’re giving me everything."

He kissed her face - cheeks, nose, forehead - his lips shaky and soft and desperate.

And then, with one hand still on her back, the other reached for the mic.

He turned back to the crowd, chest heaving, heart out in the open.

"I’M GONNA BE A DAD!!"

The theater detonated.

Y/N laughed through her now ugly cry, burying her face into Matt’s neck.

And Matt just held her tighter.

"So that's the reason Y/N's been using more hoodies than normal."

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goorgeousz · 16 days ago

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hi hi baby♥️how are you?

so...i was thinking maybe the reader likes to leave kiss marks on hotch's shirts either near the heart or on the collar of his shirt, maybe the reader is not a member of the bau or maybe works in another unit but in the same building and does not know that jokes are their love language and when they start making jokes about their relationship, calling it 'childish love,' she gets a little embarrassed and stops doing it, and when hotch asks her She tells him she wishes she had been born earlier and tells him she heard about the jokes and he says 'that's why you stopped doing it?🤨' and she tells him that she stopped doing it so that they wouldn't make fun of him, and he takes the time to explain that that's the team dynamic.

and the next morning he arrives with a kiss on the cheek or chin, very proud of it, holding her hand🥹🥹 and when they say goodbye, he takes her face in his big hands and kisses her all over and she just laughs silly and cute.🥹🥹🥹🤍🤍🤍 and hotch is kind of like 'please kiss me forever🥺'

congratulations on 400 followers, love, you deserve many more!🥹🎉♥️♥️

also, as always, only write this if you're comfortable, and if you think you need to change anything about this, pls do, i'm happy to read anything you write, i hope this has the same meaning written as i imagined it.🥲♥️

i hope you have a great week, sending you lots of love!✨✨

xoxoxo

lipstick stain | aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader summary: you stop kissing your boyfriend because his friends were making fun of him. aaron was having none of it. content/tw: reader wears lipstick, established relationship, age gap, height difference, very silly, fluff, mentions of them having sex (not descriptive), suggestive ending word count: 2.9k a/n: hey my love!!!! i’m great, currently on finals week so a little bit stressed out, but overall fine!! how ab you?? i truly hope you’re okay!! thank you so much, i’m so happy! also, thank you for this request, you already now i’m the biggest fan of whatever you suggest me! it’s so on character of him (in my opinion) and i always have the best time writing them!!! again, thank you so much for everything!!!! sending you much much love, have a great one!!! xxxxx dividers by @uzmacchiato masterlist <3

Standing next to Aaron, even on high heels, you face his chest. Which was very convenient in moments like this, in which you helped him adjust his tie, trying not to blush while he stared you down with that much attention.

Softening the fabric of his dress shirt – already perfectly smooth – in a delicate caress, your hand stopped at his chest, right above his heart. Even with the layers of clothing, you felt the strong and steady beat of his heart, like it was claiming for your attention. Impulsively, feeling a rush of affection, you leaned forward and kissed the spot, feeling his torno vibrate under your lips.

As soon as you stepped back, your eyes widened. In the middle of the blindingly white fabric, a kiss stain stood out, its shade between pink and maroon, exactly like the lipstick you’d just applied a few minutes before.

“Oh my god, Aaron, I’m sorry. Take it off, I’ll wash it in a minute.” you urged, trying to tug his shirt out of his pants.

“There’s no need.” he said, gently stopping your hands and moving them out of his shirt.

“There’s no… Are you crazy? Are you going to use a stained shirt?”

“Customized” he corrected, smirking as he looked at himself in the mirror, his expression somehow… proud? “Besides, you can’t even see it under the suit.” to prove his explanation, he dressed up the suit, buttoning up and smiling cheekily at you, as if saying ‘Told you so’.

He was right, it wasn’t visible. You frowned, still embarrassed for staining his expensive shirt. He just grabbed your face between his palms, leaving a kiss on the wrinkles on your nose.

“It’ll be our secret. Like Clark Kent.” he joked, his face mockingly serious.

“That’s my 12 old self’s dream.”

“Superman was your childhood crush?” his tone was a mix of mockery and amusement.

“Yeah, I guess I’ve always had a thing for tall brunettes with a savior complex.”

Aaron laughed loudly at that, his head threw back. All the embarrassment you felt before simply vanished.

And just like that, a ritual started. Every day you drove to work together (almost every day), just before you parted ways, you left a hidden kiss on him. On his shoulder, on his arms, his wrist, his chest. Sometimes, when you were feeling specially bold, you kissed just below his tie. And whenever he was free (which was rarer than you liked), he sent you a picture of the stain with a message (many of those, if ever caught, would send you both to a week-long seminar on inappropriate behavior at work) about how he missed you.

It was silly. A ridiculous habit, even. But it was so good, so fun. And it was yours. You loved every second.

That’s it, until one day where you’d been particularly careless. To your defense, you’d spent days apart because of one of those complex cases. So it wasn’t your fault that you wanted to spend every free moment making out with each other. And that morning he was – for a lack of better word – irresistible, with his hair messy and still dump from the shower, the mix of his soap, after shave and cologne invading your nostrils and clouding your senses, his perfectly smoothened white shirt and tie still undone – one could argue that that was his looks every single day, but there was something in the air, you swore.

So, yes, you may have pushed him back to bed. And you might have suggested – begged , with wide glistening eyes and a whine – that he kept his suit on while he trusted in and out of you. And you definitely grabbed him by the lapels of his suit, leaving a kiss stain right on the collar of his shirt, where he couldn’t be able to hide it, and whispered how he was all yours while an earth-shattering orgasm washed over you.

Although he was the one to blame, in his opinion. And he didn’t complain in the slightest, puffing his chest proudly as he finished getting dressed, zipping his pants back on and admiring the red stain contrasting with the white of his shirt.

On that very same day, not having yet made up for the time apart, as soon as you were out of the clock, you got into the elevator, leaving your floor and going straight up to your boyfriend’s. Knowing the workaholic you so lovingly called yours, you knew he would stay late, drawing himself on paperwork. It was only fair to order take-out, have dinner with him and lay on his office’s comfortable couch, enjoying his presence (in silence) (it was never silent for long, but that was the condition to be there so you had to pretend). Some of the many perks of dating a unit chief.

You were seated, your shoes long forgotten somewhere on the corner of the room, your legs crossed under you as you waited for Aaron to grab napkins and cups from the shared kitchen when you heard it. His office’s door had stayed open since your relationship stopped being a secret long ago.

“Next thing we’ll see is Hotch wearing a leash” Morgan’s voice echoed through the bullpen.

“Morgan, please.” you heard Aaron’s exasperated tone, muffled by the collective laughter.

“Don’t listen to him, Hotch” Emily defended “It’s very common nowadays between the seventh graders.” another wave of laughter filled the room.

“It’s adorable, actually.” JJ added, amused.

“Didn’t Henry get home with a similar stain on his cheek last week?” Spencer asked, even him joining the teasing

“Enough. I can still fire all of you.” your boyfriend threatened, receiving more laughs and jokes in return.

And that’s the last thing you heard before he walked back into the office, rolling his eyes in annoyance and closing the door with a bit more force than usual.

Not knowing how to react, you just pretended you didn’t hear it, offering him a smile and throwing a random comment about the food.

The rest of the dinner went pleasantly, but half of you wasn’t there. You couldn’t stop thinking about what his team said. Wasn’t it actually childish? You and Aaron had an age gap, indeed. Visually undeniable. But that’s never been a thing between you.

All the horrors you dealt with on a daily basis made you seem older than others your age, and even though you were considerably younger than him, it wasn’t noticeable in your conversations and not once you had a problem because of immaturity or anything of the sort. But it was something you thought about, sometimes. Being with someone older and, specially, as responsible and stable as Aaron, there’s no way you wouldn’t second guess yourself, at least once. Luckily, he was too good of a person to ever make you feel insecure about it, which led you with only your anxious mind to blame.

The relationship you built was so solid and healthy that you usually found yourself forgetting to worry about the outside world, about what others may think, too wrapped up on your own little happy bubble. But, obviously, his friends would question the fact that he ended up with someone that younger than him. You just didn’t know it would affect you that much.

You didn’t want to embarrass Aaron. So, although you pretend everything were fine, that thought stayed in the back of your mind.

On the next day, you ended up getting late — for a very good reason. three good reasons, actually — and on the elevator, ready to part ways, Hotch leaned closer to you, angling his torso in a move that was more of a muscular memory than a conscious decision, and waited for the kiss.

Needless to say, you panicked. You definitely weren’t ready to have that discussion, so just turning your head and denying him his kiss was not an option. And you were still feeling too anxious to be able to ignore it all and stain his shirt again and risk his dignity.

So, since you still hadn’t had time — again, for great reasons — to think about how to handle the situation, you simply did the best you could: yanked him by the neck and locked your lips to his.

Caught by surprise, Aaron stayed still for a second. But nothing more than that, because the very next moment he relaxed, smiling into the kiss and squeezing your hip with his free hand. Before he could ask you anything, the elevator came to a stop, reaching your floor first, and you stepped out hurriedly, mumbling a “i love you” and giving him a smile that you hoped looked mischievous but probably just seemed phony.

The next few days went just as smoothly (not at all). You realized he won’t stop doing it, reaching for your kisses, so you come up with the best solution available: stop wearing lipstick.

As expected, he noticed it and questioned you instantly. To which you replied with another question “Why? Didn’t like it?” resorting to the most basic avoiding method.

“Of course I did.” he answered without missing a beat, his eyes falling down to your lips covered with a clear gloss, and having to force his gaze away back to your eyes after in order to continue the conversation “But I don’t think I’ve ever see you leaving the house without it”

You scoffed, turning around and checking yourself in the mirror. Being, yet again, completely obvious in your try to avoid the subject. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t catch on. “That’s probably not true.”

Before he could press you any further, you turned back to face him and joined your lips together in a slow and deep kiss. Any point he could possibly have made died just then, swallowed on pleasure sounds and the dance of your tongues.

And later, when he leaned towards you waiting for the kiss, you didn’t hesitate to graze your lips on the fabric of his shirt, happy to have found a solution that didn’t involve embarrassing him in front of his friends or explaining the reason behind your change of behavior.

Everything was fine, for now.

A few days have passed, and your guard is finally already down. On that specific morning, Aaron was ready to work, impeccable in his expansive suit, leaning against the bathroom door, watching you do your makeup, with your products layed on the counter.

He was explaining a discussion he had with the director a few days before, and you were so focused on his words you barely registered your own movements, counting on your muscular memory to repeat your daily routine.

Maybe because of that, you didn’t realize your hand subconsciously reached for the lipstick right by the sink. Your fingers hovered over it for a second, grazing the small tube, until you recovered your senses and put it to the side, quickly grabbing the closest product and secretly hoped for Aaron to be so lost on his story that he misses it.

As the attentive boyfriend – and profiler – that he was, of course he noticed it. So much that he stopped mid sentence, his eyes sharp on yours.

“What was that?” he asked slowly, arching an eyebrow.

“What was what?”

He tilted his head to the side, in a silent warning that it was not going to work.

“I got distracted.”

“Why did you stop wearing lipstick?” that was it. Point blank. There was no avoiding it now.

Nonetheless, you rolled your eyes, feeling embarrassed that this was even a topic. “No reason.”

“Honey” he coached, his voice gentle and nudging. In a span of five seconds you rolled your eyes again, sighing and deciding to just get this over with.

“I didn’t want to stain your shirt.”

He frowned, his forehead wrinkling in confusion “It’s not a stain, it’s a kiss.”

“A kiss stain. Anyway, it’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not… Where did this come from?” “Aaron,” you whined, blushing. “Not everything has to be a conversation.”

“I disagree.” he interrupted, but you didn’t even listen.

“I just don’t want you to have a meeting with the director board wearing a stained shirt. It’s not professional.”

“Since when do we care about that?” he tried, exasperated.

“We’re functional adults, government employees. Of course that…” but you had already lost his attention, his eyes narrowed in your direction through the mirror, like he was trying to read your mind.

“Adults?” you hated your choice of words “What is this really about?” you took a deep breath in resignation, letting your head drop down. Soon after, you felt his hands holding your waist, turning you to face him and gently touching your chin, tilting your face up towards his “Hey, you can tell me anything.”

“I just want to be more serious, you know? More mature.”

“You’re one of the most emotionally intelligent people I’ve known. Including me.”

“But I’m immature.”

“Not at all. And you know it.” he asserted, serious. Then, his voice went softer again “What don’t you explain what’s going on, hm? Please, let me understand you.”

You completely melted at that “I wish I was born sooner. Be more like you guys.”

“‘You guys’ who?”

“Your team. I overheard them talking that night in your office, and I know they think our relationship is childish. And it’s obviously because of me.”

He smiled, slowly and reverently, looking at you like you alone held the moon and the stars on your eyes.

“Sweetheart, you’re completely misreading the situation.” he said, his voice and his smile softening the blow “Listen, I know we haven’t really had that conversation yet, but you know my childhood was… hard. I was forced to mature much younger than I should've. I ended up missing many of the youths' average experiences. I buried myself into work as soon as I could, and even though it brought me where I am today, I know it cost me a lot.” he paused, taking a deep breath and staring deep into you, as if to make sure you were understanding everything “Ever since I’ve met you, I started to feel young again. In the best way possible. Not because of your age, but because of your heart. You’re kind, smart, funny and so incredibly sweet. You encourage me to be better every day, and everytime I see you I feel like a teenager experiencing my first love.”

With your heart nearly exploding with love, you tugged him closer, kissing him so deeply and tenderly, hoping that he would feel everything you could never manage to put into words.

“We don’t have to keep doing it if it makes you feel bad. But I thought you liked our little joke.” he whispered, his forehead pressed against yours. You felt your face blushing, the proximity and his voice so close and treating you with so much reverence.

“I love it. But I don’t want to be the reason why your friends make fun of you.”

Hotch stopped for a second, as if he didn’t hear what you’ve said. Then, he stepped back, with an exasperated smile. “Don’t worry about that, honey. We’re very close, the team. We tease each other all the time, it’s how we demonstrate affection. We already deal with too much darkness in our lives, that’s the way we found to keep things lighter and a little more bearable.

“Really?” you bit your lip, your eyes widening in hope. His smile grew even more.

“Mhm. They’re crazy about you. Some of them say, and I quote, that I ‘became bearable after you. Sometimes even pleasant to be around. Much less tyrant.’”

You giggled, lacing your arms around his neck “You are kind of a tyrant, indeed.”

He rolled his eyes, laughing, but visibly happier to have solved the problem than actually annoyed at your teasing.

“Nothing you ever feel makes you immature. I want to know all of your thoughts and anguish. Next time just talk to me, okay?”

You nodded “Okay.” he stared at you a little longer, just making sure you really were fine and every doubt about your relationship and yourself left entirely your mind, before he hugged you again, sneaking his arms around your waist and tugging you flush across his chest.

“And promise me, you’ll never punish me like that ever again. Depriving me of your kisses.” he mumbled, nuzzling his nose into your neck. You chuckle.

“I wasn’t punishing you.”

“It felt like it. Promise.” he insisted, his hands squeezing your hips. You leaned back just so he could see the found and honest glint in your eyes, looking at his with nothing but love, and the smirk on your lips as you extended your right hand to him, lifting your pinky in his direction.

“I promise.”

Later, when the two of you arrived at the fbi building, you had your dark and shiny lipstick tinting your lips. And in the very same color and shape of your mouth, Hotch had a mark on his jaw, showing it off like a badge.

Besides that, he also had three kiss stains distributed on his clothes: one just above the heart, another one on his lower stomach.

As for the third…

taglist: all hotch @winyourheartemma all cm @s0urw00lf @deeninadream

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pining-prince · 3 months ago

Text

I've noticed in the selfship community we don't talk a lot about ita bags and other DIY fan culture things much! To some extent it makes sense, as it might feel strange to some to have a lot of merch of someone you're viewing as a partner? But I've personally found it fun and wanted to share some video tutorials and inspiration for anyone else that might want a craft or project to dedicate to their f/o or comfort character!

links in this post go to tutorials/videos/templates!

Bags for displaying official or fanmade pins, keychains, and merch! There's a million ways to do this, but here's a couple to use as jumping off points.

using a standard premade ita bag!

using a nicer bag!

Making an ita bag out of a cheap PVC tote bag!

"But I can't afford merch/there's no official merch/etc!"

No problem, lets talk about how to diy that too!

You can use shrink plastic to make your own keychains!

You can also make pins in lots of different ways!

Using epoxy stickers

Using hot glue

Using a traditional can badge without a button maker

There are also Etsy sellers who will make custom badges from art as long as you have permission by the artist! If you have your own fanart, or can ask an artist you've commissioned, this would also be an accessible way while still looking more "official."

Finally, I believe these are usually used on Uchiwa fans (see later section), but I've used these paper letters alone as ita bag decorations! Name boards combine the letters or kanji of a character's name (or a different word relevant to the character) with their picture!

youtube

Do you have one standout badge that you'd like to highlight on your bag, or maybe you just want to make it into a keychain? Rosettes are great for that, and there's a million ways to make them. Here's a few!

1, 2, 3 , 4

Do you have paper goods such as photo cards or mini prints that need a safe but stylish way to be stored and displayed? Photo card holders are the way to go! There's a lot of different styles people like to use:

Resin Deco method

Lace and Ribbon method

Fake Cream (Decoden) method

Sticker method

Tutorials for photo cards do exist, and I will link them, but it's worth noting that it's a lot of work and the quality you get depends a ton on the quality of your printer. If you have access to an art printer, these will turn out great! If you're using a regular printer, however, you may be unsatisfied with the quality. Buying prints from small artists or having regular photos printed would be other alternatives.

Photo card tutorial focused on drawn art

Photo card tutorial focused on photos

Fans that are often printed with your favorite idol to use at concerts! While it originates there, people have started making them for their fictional favorites as decor too. You can create a full size fan (they sell blanks on amazon) or create a mini keychain version for an ita bag!

These can be quite complicated, but you can make your f/o as a plushie! Especially great for f/os who have no official plush merch.

This tutorial goes very fast, but it looks easy enough. This is only one example tutorial. There's also this pattern you can work with if you mostly understand sewing.

A more approachable plush like project would be these felt "plushies"!

You can also buy plushie bases like these , and then all that's left is the face, hair, clothes, etc.! You would probably approach it like in this video but the style would be up to you. I love how this creator embroiders faces!

I hope this gives you all some ideas to work with! 🩷

#self shipping #self ship #yumeship #yumeshipping #f/o stuff #f/os #fictional other #self ship art #self ship ideas #oshikatsu #yumedanshi #selfship #f/o community #mine

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f1-mcmuffin · 2 months ago

Note

Hii i was wondering if u can do my request where reader is like the fifth member of bp and she is dating lando and she came to the race

YESSS!!! Of course. I was planning on doing something like this, and you just gave me the motivation, so thank you. Hopefully, I met your standards.

an - updated, i'm trying to wither out the use of (y/n)

Spotlight & Slipstream

(Requested) Lando Norris x 5th Member of BLACKPINK Reader

| Lando Norris Masterlist| Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |

Barcelona Grand Prix – Saturday Morning, Quali.

The sun was already high and golden over the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya. Fans were pressed against the barricades lining the paddock entrance, phones raised, merch clutched tight, waiting for glimpses of drivers, team principals, or—if they were lucky—someone unexpected. And then, just as the buzz began to dip…

They appeared.

Lando Norris, in some baggy blue jeans, wife-beater with a button-up as a cover, tinted sunglasses, and casual shoes, cool and composed, walking hand in hand with her —member of BLACKPINK, global pop phenomenon, and the most reserved of the group until now.

She was effortlessly striking in her outfit: tailored black wide-leg trousers, a crisp white corset top, sleek sunglasses, and her long hair pulled into a low twist that framed her face with soft elegance and her signature silver “BP5” ring caught the Mediterranean sunlight. On her shoulder, a small bag with a silver McLaren logo—a gift from Lando, customized for her. Subtle. But personal.

Click. Click. Click.

Cameras erupted like fireworks.

The paddock practically froze. They hadn’t seen a launch like this in a while. Not through Instagram. Not a blurry paparazzi shot. Hand in hand, side by side—no room for doubt. PR staff members tensed. Journalists exchanged frantic glances. Fans screamed. And somewhere in the blur, someone whispered:

“Is that…?”

“Is this for real?!”

“Wait, she's my bias”

“She’s dating Lando?!”

“Wait… are they dating?”

“That’s Lando’s girlfriend?”

Lando kept his hand wrapped around hers, thumb gently rubbing over her knuckles—a grounding gesture, one that steadied her even with the chaos humming around them. She leaned into him slightly as they walked, letting him lead her past the sea of cameras.She took it all in—the garages, the engineers, the humming sound of the cars being prepped. Every now and then, a camera lens would catch her, and soon, fans on Twitter were piecing it all together.

Twitter/X: @f1updates: NEW WAG FROM GIRL GROUP BLACKPINK JUST WALKED IN HOLDING LANDO NORRIS’ HAND??? THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

People pretended not to stare—but they stared. Mechanics, media crews, engineers, interns, even other drivers mid-conversation paused just a beat too long. The Paddock had seen supermodels, celebrities, and even royals. But not like this. Oscar Piastri looked up from his water bottle and nudged someone. “Lily, that’s (Y/n), right?”

“From BLACKPINK?” asked his girlfriend, Lily, blinking hard.

Oscar grinned. “I guess we’re having a real K-pop moment.” In the hospitality suite, Lando gently introduced her to Oscar and Lily,

“This is Oscar. And Lily—his better half.” Lando said, his arm now around her waist. the energy a little awkward at first. She smiled warmly as Lily stepped forward. “You’re glowing,” Lily said, leaning in for a friendly cheek kiss. “Aw, thank you.”

“I can’t imagine walking in here with everyone staring at me like that,” Lily said gently.

She laughed, small and polite. “It feels like walking into a lion’s den covered in meat.”

Lily snorted. “Perfect analogy. C’mon, I’ll show you where to escape the cameras.”

“I’d love that,” She said, immediately relieved. Lily looped her arm around hers. They walked ahead, letting the boys talk strategy. Within ten minutes, the two were chatting like they'd known each other for weeks. Lily guided her through the paddock rhythm—where to stand, when to move, how not to accidentally get run over by a scooter. And most importantly, how to survive the internet later.

Barcelona Grand Prix – Race Day

The sun was harsher today, the air heavy with race-day nerves. Fans had already started lining the barricades before the teams had even finished breakfast. Reporters sharpened their pens. The broadcast crew had their cameras locked in. And like the most anticipated sequel, they returned.

Hand in hand again, this time walking slower, quieter—but no less magnetic. Gone was the sleek, polished “statement” energy of the day before. Today, it was personal.

She wore a cropped vintage McLaren tee—cut just enough to show a sliver of skin above a black MUI MUI Velour mini skirt. Her hair was down with curls that bounced with each step. Simple gold hoops, black sunglasses, and McLaren-designed acrylic nails with a subtle nod to Lando’s livery completed the look. She looked like a girlfriend, not a global pop star. And that somehow made it all the more stunning.

Lando kept it casual too: black relaxed-fit trousers, crisp white trainers, and a grey quarter-zip layered over his race tee, the collar tugged slightly open at the base like he’d been rushing. His McLaren backpack was slung lazily over one shoulder, and with his free hand, he squeezed her fingers now and then, the way you’d tap someone just to say I’m here.

Photographers were more aggressive, some even tried jogging backwards to get a cleaner shot.

Some fans screamed their names. Others… less friendly.

“Lando, focus on the race!”

“We love y'all!”

“She’s not even wearing a pass—oh, wait, it’s on her bag.”

“They’re kinda iconic, I won’t lie.”

“This is not a music video, it’s Formula One!”

A teen girl behind the barrier shouted, “GIRLIE, YOU LOOK AMAZING!”

She turned, smiled, and blew her a kiss

The girl screamed like she’d won the lottery.

They didn’t say much as they crossed the paddock. They didn’t have to. She caught glimpses—team members pretending not to stare, a Sky Sports camera shifting toward them, a McLaren PR assistant whispering urgently into a mic. But Lando kept his pace steady, his hold on her hand firm, and when they reached the McLaren entrance, he leaned in.

“You alright?” he murmured, eyes scanning her expression.

She nodded once. “Yea, you?”

He smirked just slightly. “I mean, we’re trending. Again.”

She rolled her eyes and bumped her shoulder into his. “Hope your car’s faster than your Instagram feed.” Lando let out a quiet laugh and pulled her a little closer so he could wrap his arm around her shoulders. Her arm went to his waist as they disappeared into the team suite, camera shutters echoing after them. And that was it. Just a walk, on a Sunday morning, between a pop star and her driver. But to the world, it was everything.

When the race began, She stood just behind the McLaren pit wall, headphones on, sunglasses up, watching every second of it.

The moment She was shown on the global broadcast, everything exploded. She’d just pulled her hair up into a loose claw clip, sipping water, nodding at something Lily pointed out on the grid when the commentator’s voice broke through screens worldwide:

“And there’s BLACKPINK’s fifth member—here supporting her partner, Lando Norris. The paddock’s real showstopper this weekend!”

Her name trended within minutes.

Twitter/X [Screengrab of her in Lando’s garage] @/F1teaqueen: WHO is the girl in Lando’s garage, and WHY is she hotter than the sun?? @/landohive: Not her looking calm while Lando is fighting for his LIFE in that last stint 💅 that’s a WAG if I’ve ever seen one @/blinkontrack: Blinks are invading F1 Twitter rn sorry but we’re HERE FOR OUR GIRL 😭💅 “WAG era unlocked” ”SHE’S SOO PRETTY” “The grid girls could never”

The cars roared past with violent beauty, but she wasn’t looking at the track. It was louder than she expected. She gripped Lily’s arm once when Lando overtook someone on a corner and again when his engineer called in with urgent tire strategy changes.

Lando had started P5. But through sheer grit—and a well-timed pit stop—he was P1 in the final ten laps. She was on her feet, clapping, heart racing. And when he crossed the finish line in first, a poll finish, the crowd and garage erupted. Mechanics cheered—and the cameras found her instantly. His name lit up on the timing screens, the McLaren garage erupting in cheers. Mechanics jumped, engineers clapped, and Zak Brown released a full-bodied “YES, mate!”

Still strapped in his McLaren, Lando slammed his fist against the top of the wheel in celebration. The orange beast was sitting in its box— first on the podium. He unbuckled fast, snatched off his steering wheel, and launched it into the car holder. Helmet off. Balaclava peeled. Hair sweaty, eyes wide, heart pumping like mad. But he wasn’t looking at the cameras.

He was looking for her.

Across the barrier, She stood with her hands pressed to her mouth, eyes glistening under the brim of his McLaren cap. Her voice was hoarse from cheering. And when he spotted her? He bolted.

No cameras. No press. No protocol.

full race suit, gloves half-off, Lando dodged past a Sky mic and made a beeline straight to the barrier. A security guy instinctively stepped forward, but Lando waved him off and leaned across the partition. She didn’t wait.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he grabbed her in an unfiltered, full-body hug. Lifting her off the ground just slightly, arms locked around her middle like he never wanted to let go. She laughed—light, breathless, near tears. “You did it.”

He mumbled something into her hair, something no mic could catch, but she nodded and pressed her forehead to his. The crowd’s noise faded into a low hum for just a second. A moment stolen between champagne and ceremony.

“P1, baby,” he whispered. “That was for you.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, hands on his flushed cheeks. “I’m so proud of you.” He grinned, breath still uneven, and rested his forehead against hers one last second before pulling back. “Okay. I gotta go do the whole... champagne thing.”

She laughed, eyes dancing. “Just don’t hit me with it.”

“No promises.”

The photos hit the internet minutes later:

Lando in his sweaty race suit, hugging her like they hadn’t just soft-launched the day before. Her smile mid-laugh, his eyes closed, their bodies pressed tight like no cameras were there at all.

Twitter/X: “He ran STRAIGHT to her omg my heart 🧡” “Not Lando looking like a Disney prince in race gear.” “She whispered ‘I’m proud of you’ is cinema.” “They’re just…ugh. The way he held her.”

When he climbed up to the podium, her jaw dropped seeing how effortlessly he belonged up there—confident, flushed with adrenaline. Their eyes met. He stood P1, cap slightly askew, heart still racing. But his eyes? His eyes were only on her. She stood just beyond the fence with the McLaren team, eyes locked on his like the world had slowed down for just them.

She wasn’t filming on her phone. She wasn’t looking at the crowd or the jumbotron.

She was looking at him—shoulders straight, McLaren hat now turned backward, sunglasses tucked away on her shirt. Her lips parted just slightly, a breath caught in her chest, hands wrapped tight around her pass lanyard.

She looked like she was trying to memorize him. Like she didn’t want to blink and miss this version of him: sweaty, grinning, flushed with victory. He stared back. Not at the trophy. Not at the camera. Not at the crowd.

Just her.

It was a silent conversation stretched over a sea of noise.

When the anthem ended and the trophies were handed out, he lifted his bottle, shook it once—and in a bold, mischievous spin, he aimed his champagne bottle right at her.

“NO—!” she shrieked, ducking just a second too late as cold, bubbly mist splashed across her shoulders, her legs, and her shoes. She laughed, mouth open in disbelief as the crowd howled, the cameras zooming in on her shocked but giggling face. “Lando!” she shouted, half-laughing, half-scolding—but with that grin she got when he made her feel sixteen again.

He just threw his head back and laughed, pointing down at her like it was the best aim he’d ever had. Charles, on the top step, clapped him on the back while Max raised a brow, smirking.

“Love’s got you reckless, mate,” Max muttered under his breath.

Lando winked.

Twitter/X: @blackpinkglobal: LANDO SPRAYING HER WITH CHAMPAGNE ON THE PODIUM I'M GOING INSANE

Back down in the crowd, couldn’t stop smiling. She wiped her legs with a towel a mechanic handed her, muttering “unbelievable” with a shake of her head, but her eyes never left the podium.

Even after the music faded and the ceremony wrapped, even as the drivers were ushered away for media and debriefs, Lando turned one more time before stepping off the stage.

She was still watching him. And he gave her one last look. She kissed her hand and waved it at him. A smile stretched across his face before he was ushered away

After the media, the champagne, and the photos, they found a moment alone—tucked away in one of the private corners of the McLaren motorhome, lights dimmed, the buzz of the race slowly fading outside.

She curled in an oversized hoodie—his hoodie—draped down to her thighs, sleeves swallowing her hands. She still smelled faintly of champagne and summer air, skin warm from the Spanish sun.

Lando leaned against the wall beside her, cheeks flushed from adrenaline and a thousand camera flashes. His curls were messy, still damp from the podium celebration.

For a second, they just looked at each other—silent, smiling, suspended in the calm after the storm.

“You looked good up there,” she said softly, her voice still a little hoarse from screaming trackside. “Like… born to be there.” trying to figure out the words.

“And you,” he replied, stepping closer, “looked like my lucky charm.”

A breathless laugh left her lips as she glanced up. “Is that your way of saying I should come to every race?”

“I’m saying,” he murmured, reaching out to tuck a damp strand of hair behind her ear, “I drove like hell because I knew you were watching. I didn’t want to let you down.” Her lips parted. Her breath hitched.

“I could never be disappointed in you,” she whispered, and before she could say anything more, he leaned in—pressing his lips to hers. It was soft at first. Warm and steady. Her hand rose to the side of his neck, his arms wrapping around her waist like he couldn’t believe she was there, real and glowing and his. Then he deepened it—urgent now, like everything that had built up between them finally burst open. His hands slid up to cup her face gently, her hoodie sleeves bunched between them. She smiled mid-kiss, tilting her head just enough to match his rhythm. He tasted like adrenaline and Gatorade and something entirely Lando.

When they pulled back, foreheads still touching, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“You kiss like you’re trying to kill me.”

She grinned, brushing her thumb along his jaw. “You kissed me first.”

He laughed—full and soft- and then kissed her again, quicker this time, just because he could.

The Morning After

Sunlight filtered in through gauzy curtains, painting gold across the sheets. She stirred first, her cheek pressed to his bare chest. His arm was slung over her bare back, heavy and warm, fingers resting at the dip of her spine. His heart beat steady beneath her ear. She shifted slightly, and his arm tightened.

“Mmm… stay,” he murmured, his voice gravelly and half-asleep.

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” she whispered back, lips brushing the skin just over his heart.

He cracked one eye open, curls a mess, lashes tangled from sleep. “You’re real, yeah?”

She smiled, nudging his chin up with her fingers. “Very.”

He leaned in and kissed her slowly—like a secret, like a promise—and then buried his face in her hair, mumbling, “Best podium I’ve ever had.”

She giggled, tracing lazy circles on his chest. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you love it.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The way she held him said everything.

Same Night — Internet Breaks

@F1HARDWIRE "BLACKPINK's fifth member spotted with Lando Norris—hand in hand 👀 Relationship soft-launch confirmed?"

@BLACKPINKGLOBAL "Our girl supporting Lando at the Barcelona GP. The way he sprayed her with champagne and she LAUGHED? Soulmates."

@Formula_tea "BLACKPINK showing up in the McLaren garage is actually the wildest crossover of 2025."

@trackratforever: “I’m sorry, why is a KPOP IDOL in the garage like she knows what DRS is 💀 stick to dancing.”

@lovesickf1: “ Her in a paddock dress and sunglasses while Oscar tries to explain tire degradation to her is PEAK WAG behavior. I’m obsessed.”

@blinksy: “The way Lando LOOKS at her… I’d quit my job for less.”

@landoismybfnotreally: “As long as he treats her right, we’re cool. If he breaks her heart, we riot.”

@girlsontrackk: “WHO HAD BLACKPINK X F1 ON THEIR 2025 BINGO CARD??”

@lanpink_edits: “When a literal global superstar dates the grid’s golden retriever…”

Comments ranged from chaos to thirst to full support:

“I know Lando hasn’t seen her live because he would NOT survive ‘Tally’ or ‘Pretty Savage.’”

“If she’s bringing the girls to a race, the entire paddock is done for.”

“Imagine Toto Wolff trying to understand a BLACKPINK lightstick.”

Within hours, hashtags exploded

#PinkPitstop #Blackpinkinyourarea #ProtectLando #BLACKPINKOT4 #HeCanDoBetter #KickherOUT #SheDeservesBetter #F1BLINKS

She didn’t say a word. She just posted a photo on Instagram:

@/yourusername

❤️ 5.7M 💬 36.3k ➤ 512k

Yourusername been together for a while now. 🧡🏆 finally get to show you off 🧸

Comments:

@/USER1 GRID PRINCESS

@/jennierubyjane I saw you on TV. You are so pretty 🥺

↳ Yourusername stawpp 🙂‍↔️

@/USER2 F1 just got 10x hotter

@/GeorgeRussell63 Still waiting for BLACKPINK to teach us choreo. I’ll bring the helmet

@/USER3 THIS CROSSOVER IS INSANE

@/USER4 power couple 🤞

@/pierregasly Never seen Lando smile that much before. Congrats mate 👀

@/paddocktea y’all she was wearing his chain in the garage HIS CHAIN AHH

@/USER5 god really has favorites 😔😔

@/chaoticblink First Jennie dated Kai, NOW shes is dating an F1 driver? Blackpink's dating rosters stay elite

@/USER6 can’t believe Lando is now known as “Her boyfriend” to half the internet 🥹

@/Sooyaaa_ 의심스러운 활동 🕵🏻‍♂️🤔 (suspicious activity)

↳ Yourusername 🫣

@/Teamlando If she shows up to Silverstone, it’s OVER for all of us

@/yn’sluvbot LANDO YOU BETTER BE TREATING OUR GIRL RIGHT OR we’re coming for u

@/charles_leclerc Me and Alex want VIP tickets

↳ Yourusername Straight to the point 😭

@/lalalalisa_m 😍👏👏

↳ Yourusername 🧡

@/danielricciardo Can I meet Rosè? 😁

↳ roses_are_rosie 🙋‍♀️

Part 2

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n0rmal-cat · 1 month ago

Text

Yan siren singer x taxi driver reader

[still a little sick so sorry if there are mistakes lol]

The door to the car swings open and then closes just as fast.

“Where to?” Reader asked, adjusting their mirror, getting a quick glance at their customer in the process.

“Home” he said looking out the window

“That’s nice sir but I don’t know where ‘home’ is, and please put your seatbelt on”

The man grones but puts it on “fine whatever just take me away from here”

Reader gripped the steering wheel but took a breathe and let go “alright no problem”

‘Anywhere huh? Well hope you don’t mind if I take you for a little joy ride’ they smirk to themselves.

They started the car, not a minute later the man was already pouting to himself. “Agh do you mind turning the radio on, the sounds of your sad breathing is making me sad” he looked out the window.

Readers' eyes twitched “yeah…no problem” they pressed a button.

The man relaxed and closed his eyes with a smug smile

But as soon as the song started playing they turned it off again “hey what gives?!” His eyes snapped open.

“Radios broke”

“No it’s not I just saw you turn it off!”

“Yeah well your in my car, and if the only thing playing is that asshole I’m not Turing the radio on again”

“Asshole?! I think you mean handsome”

“No that guys an ass, he’s way to cocky do you know how much he’s charging for tickets, then he said ‘if your to poor you shouldn’t even come’ “

The man looked flabbergasted “you must just be upset you can’t go huh? No worries I can get you a ticket free of-“

“Honestly I don’t really even want to go, his music is meh and the lyrics are weird”

The man’s face turned red, they couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed or angry though.

“What’s your name?” He finally asked

“My what?”

“Your name give me your name!”

Reader sighed “reader, my numbers on the back of you need to call someone”

“Oh I’ll be calling someone alright” he huffed.

Reader hated people like this, now they're gonna get in trouble with their boss.

They stop the car “alright your here”

The man looked outside “this isn’t my house”

“You said anywhere, this is anywhere maybe get your ‘personal driver’ to pick you up next time”

He was quiet which was suppressing but he got out anyway taking all his bags with him.

“Here” he handed them a piece of paper

“I don’t want your number”

He glared down at them “it’s not my number idiot, but if you don’t want my generosity then I’ll take it back”

“Oh, not sure I’ll take it,” reader rolled their eyes. “Good luck with getting home”

Reader rolled their window up and drove away. They kept their eyes on the rode “note to self, stop picking up fans of that damn man”

Their hand crinkle the paper reminding them it was even there, they glanced at what was on it.

It was a check, the reciprocates name was black, the only name that was there was ‘silver midnight’ “what kinda fucking name is that?! That was like my oc from when I was in 5th grade?!” The name did sound vaguely familiar though.

They looked at it again closer “1000$?!” They screamed.

#gender neutral reader #yandere #gn reader #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #siren #singer yan🎤#gn y/n #gender neutral y/n

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 months ago

Text

Billionaire-proofing the internet

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

During the Napster wars, the record labels seriously pissed off millions of internet users when they sued over 19,000 music fans, mostly kids, but also grannies, old people, and dead people.

It's hard to overstate how badly the labels behaved. Like, there was the Swarthmore student who was the maintainer of a free/open source search engine that indexed files available in public sharepoints on the LAN. The labels sued him for millions and millions (the statutory damages for digital copyright infringement runs to $150,000 per file) and, when he begged for a settlement, said that they would accept his life's savings, but only if he changed majors and stopped studying Computer Science.

No, really.

What's more, none of the money the labels extracted from teenagers, grandparents (and the dead) went to artists. The labels just kept it all, while continuing to insist that they were doing all this because they wanted to "protect artists."

One thing everyone agreed on was how disgusted we all were with the labels. What we didn't agree on was what to do about it. A lot of us wanted to reform copyright – say, by creating a blanket license for internet music so that artists could get paid directly. This was the systemic approach.

Another group – call them the "individualists" – wanted a boycott. Just stop buying and listening to music from the major labels. Every dollar you spend with a label is being used to fund a campaign of legal terror. Merely enjoying popular music makes you part of the problem.

You can probably guess which group I was in. Leaving aside the futility of "voting with your wallet" (a rigged ballot that's always won by the people with the thickest wallet), I just thought this was bad tactics.

Here's what I would say when people told me we should all stop listening to popular music: "If members of your popular movement are not allowed to listen to popular music, your movement won't be very popular."

We weren't going to make political change by creating an impossible purity test ("Ew, you listen to music from a major label? God, what's wrong with you?"). I mean, for one thing, a lot of popular music is legitimately fantastic and makes peoples' lives better. Popular movements should strive to increase their members' joy, not demand their deprivation. Again, not merely because this is a nice thing to do for people, but also because it's good tactics to make participation in the thing you're trying to do as joyous as possible.

Which brings me to social media. The problem with social media is that the people we love and want to interact with are being held prisoner in walled gardens. The mechanism of their imprisonment is the "switching costs" of leaving. Our friends and communities are on bad social media networks because they love each other more than they hate Musk or Zuck. Leaving a social platform can cost you contact with family members in the country you emigrated from, a support group of people who share your rare disease, the customers or audience you rely on for your livelihood, or just the other parents organizing your kid's little league game.

Hypothetically, you could organize all these people to leave at once, go somewhere else, and re-establish all your social connections. Practically, the "collective action problem" of doing so is nearly insurmountable. This is what platform owners depend on – it's why they know they can enshittify their services without losing users. So long as the pain of using the service is lower than the pain of leaving it, the companies can turn the screws on users to make their lives worse in order to extract more profit from them. This is why Musk killed the block button and why Zuck fired all his moderators. Why bear the expense of doing something nice for users if they'll still stick around even if you cut a ton of headcount and/or expensive compute?

There's a way out of this, thankfully. When social media is federated, then you can leave a server without leaving your friends. Think of it as being similar to changing cell-phone companies. When you switch from Verizon to T-Mobile, you keep your number, you keep your address book and you keep your friends, who won't even know you switched networks unless you tell them:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/29/how-to-leave-dying-social-media-platforms/

There's no reason social media couldn't work this way. You should be able to leave Facebook or Twitter for Mastodon, Bluesky, or any other service and still talk with the people you left behind, provided they still want to talk with you:

https://www.eff.org/interoperablefacebook

That's how the Fediverse – which Mastodon is part of – works already. You can switch from one Mastodon server to another, and all the people you follow and who follow you will just move over to that new server. That means that if the person or company or group running your server goes sour, you aren't stuck making a choice between the people you love who connect to you on that server, and the pain of dealing with whatever bullshit the management is throwing off:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/23/semipermeable-membranes/#free-as-in-puppies

We could make that stronger! Data protection laws like the EU's GDPR and California's CCPA create a legal duty for online services to hand over your data on demand. Arguably, these laws already require your Mastodon server's management to give you the files you need to switch from one server to another, but that could be clarified. Handing these files over to users on demand is really straightforward – even a volunteer running a small server for a few friends will have no trouble living up to this obligation. It's literally just a minute's work for each user.

Another way to make this stronger is through governance. Many of the great services that defined the old, good internet were run by "benevolent dictators for life." This worked well, but failed so badly. Even if the dictator for life stayed benevolent, that didn't make them infallible. The problem of a dictatorship isn't just malice – it's also human frailty. For a service to remain good over long timescales, it needs accountable, responsive governance. That's why all the most successful BDFL services (like Wikipedia) transitioned to community-managed systems:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/10/bdfl/#high-on-your-own-supply

There, too, Mastodon shines. Mastodon's founder Eugen Rochko has just explicitly abjured his role as "ultimate decision-maker" and handed management over to a nonprofit:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2025/01/mastodon-becomes-nonprofit-to-make-sure-its-never-ruined-by-billionaire-ceo/

I love using Mastodon and I have a lot of hope for its future. I wish I was as happy with Bluesky, which was founded with the promise of federation, and which uses a clever naming scheme that makes it even harder for server owners to usurp your identity. But while Bluesky has added many, many technically impressive features, they haven't delivered on the long-promised federation:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/02/ulysses-pact/#tie-yourself-to-a-federated-mast

Bluesky sure seems like a lot of fun! They've pulled tens of millions of users over from other systems, and by all accounts, they've all having a great time. The problem is that without federation, all those users are vulnerable to bad decisions by management (perhaps under pressure from the company's investors) or by a change in management (perhaps instigated by investors if the current management refuses to institute extractive measures that are good for the investors but bad for the users). Federation is to social media what fire-exits are to nightclubs: a way for people to escape if the party turns deadly:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/14/fire-exits/#graceful-failure-modes

So what's the answer? Well, around Mastodon, you'll hear a refrain that reminds me a lot of the Napster wars: "People who are enjoying themselves on Bluesky are wrong to do so, because it's not federated and the only server you can use is run by a VC-backed for-profit. They should all leave that great party – there's no fire exits!"

This is the social media version of "To be in our movement, you have to stop listening to popular music." Sure, those people shouldn't be crammed into a nightclub that has no fire exits. But thankfully, there is an alternative to being the kind of scold who demands that people leave a great party, and being the kind of callous person who lets tens of millions of people continue to risk their lives by being stuck in a fire-trap.

We can install our own fire-exits in Bluesky.

Yesterday, an initiative called "Free Our Feeds" launched, with a set of goals for "billionaire-proofing" social media. One of those goals is to add the long-delayed federation to Bluesky. I'm one of the inaugural endorsers for this, because installing fire exits for Bluesky isn't just the right thing to do, it's also good tactics:

https://freeourfeeds.com/

Here's why: if a body independent of the Bluesky corporation implements its federation services, then we ensure that its fire exits are beyond the control of its VCs. That means that if they are ever tempted in future to brick up the fire-exits, they won't be able to. This isn't a hypothetical risk. When businesses start to enshittify their services, they fully commit themselves to blocking anything that makes it easy to leave those services.

That's why Apple went so hard after Beeper Plus, a service that enhanced iMessage's security by making conversations between Apple and Android users as private as chats that were confined to Apple users:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/07/blue-bubbles-for-all/#never-underestimate-the-determination-of-a-kid-who-is-time-rich-and-cash-poor

It's why Elon Musk periodically freaks out and suspends users who list their Mastodon userids in their Twitter bios:

https://techcrunch.com/2022/12/15/elon-musk-suspends-mastodon-twitter-account-over-elonjet-tracking/

And it's why Meta will suspend your account if you link to Pixelfed, a Fediverse-based alternative to Instagram:

https://www.404media.co/meta-is-blocking-links-to-decentralized-instagram-competitor-pixelfed/

Once upon a time, we had a solid way of overcoming the problem of lock-in. We'd reverse-engineer a proprietary system and make a free, open alternative. We've been hacking fire exits into walled gardens since the Usenet days, with the creation of the alt.* hierarchy:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/11/altinteroperabilityadversarial

When the corporate owners of Unix started getting all weird about source-code access and user-modifiability, we didn't insist that Unix users were bad people for sticking with a corporate OS. We reverse-engineered Unix and set all those users free:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/GNU_Project

The answer to Microsoft's proprietary SMB network protocol wasn't a campaign to shame people for having SMB running on their LANs. It was reverse-engineering SMB and making SAMBA, which is now in every single device in your home and office, and it's gloriously free as in speech and free as in beer:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/samba-versus-smb-adversarial-interoperability-judo-network-effects

In the years since, a thicket of laws we colloquially call "IP" has grown up around services and products, and people have literally forgotten that there is an alternative to wheedling people to endure the pain of leaving a proprietary system for a free one. IP has put the imaginations of people who dream of a free internet in chains.

We can do better than begging people to leave a party they're enjoying; we can install our own fucking fire exits. Sure, maybe that means that a lot of those users will stay on the proprietary platform, but at least we'll have given them a way to leave if things go horribly wrong.

After all, there's no virtue in software freedom. The only thing worth caring about is human freedom. The only reason to value software freedom is if it sets humans free.

If I had my way, all those people enjoying themselves on Bluesky would come and enjoy themselves in the Fediverse. But I'm not a purist. If there's a way to use Bluesky without locking myself to the platform, I will join the party there in a hot second. And if there's a way to join the Bluesky party from the Fediverse, then goddamn I will party my ass off.

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/14/contesting-popularity/#everybody-samba

#pluralistic #federation #decentralization #bluesky #free our feeds #mastodon #activitypub #reverse engineering

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