#i just have a lot of feelings about the why

[screampied]

i’ve never sent a request i hope this makes sense 😭

reader doesnt feel very pretty so suguru fucks reader in front of a mirror + lots of praise

i love love love your work🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

❤︎ ໋𓈒 geto showing you how pretty you are.

warnings. fem! reader, mirror sēx, reverse cowgirl, praise, body worship, overstim, talking you through it, mdni. tysm <3

“. . . ah ah, something’s wrong, isn’t it?” geto hums softly, two soft hands attached to your waist. his touch was always so gentle—you lean back, feeling him bury inside of you before you pause your pace. he brings a kiss towards the crevice of your neck before speaking in a hushed tone. “my baby’s upset.”

“i’m not,” you inhale a sharp breath, and he doesn’t exactly buy it. although, he doesn’t interrupt your saddened words—he allows for you to finish, giving you nothing but his uninvited attention. it’s a long pause before you sigh. “suguru. can i—can i ask you something? be honest.”

he nips another kiss near your neck, moving a hand towards the inner corners of your physique. “why, of course. i’m listening, sweetheart.”

the words that slowly drag out your throat felt so hard to get out. a lump builds up against your esophagus before you swallow, muttering a soft, “do you . . do you think i’m pretty?”

a smile goes against his lips. “honestly, i think you’re more than pretty,” and you let off a moan once you feel his touch skim down your spine. “every chance i stare at your body, my breath gets stolen,” and then he turns your face to stare right into the mirror. “i want you to see what i see, a gorgeous girl on my lap. stunning, is she not?”

albeit, the moment your eyes reach the mirror, you see nothing but the exact opposite of your reflection.

“. . no,” you mumble, leaning against his bare chest. you hear the faint breaths of geto as he’s still stuffing you full with his shaft. your skin against his felt warm, sweltering hot. for whatever reason, your throat started to become dry like the sahara as you resume to speak. “are you just saying that, sugu?”

“oh, i’d never lie to my pretty girl,” and your heart swoons a bit. his words, so tender—easily warming its way into your heart. as you stare into the mirror with him, he leans in to press gentle kisses all against your skin. the hairs beneath your neck stand up and you inhale another sharp breath. “i love you, and if i have to smother you with millions of compliments for you to see the gorgeous girl that i see, then so be it.”

“s—suguru,” you choke out, leaning into his touch. you were so sensitive, and he feels you start to gradually move again. you were so trapped up into your intrusive thoughts that you forgot how you were just about to release. he was right, you knew that. but something within you was telling you that it simply wasn’t the case. “promise?”

he sneaks a final kiss against the shell of your ear. “my love,” he whispers, a hand softly wrapping around your neck. it’s gentle, the tip of his middle finger strums down your throat before he feels the vibrations collide against his single digit. “you are perfect. even if you think otherwise, you’re perfect for me, i promise,” he murmurs, and you could almost cry. words that you always needed to hear, your heart eases a bit before your knees buckle. “i wish i could make you see how pretty you are for me,” and his free arm slides down between your thighs, feeling against your slick entrance. you whimper, slumping way back against his chest. “and i thought it was your eyes that i get lost in,” he simpers once you meet his gaze in the mirror. “the most precious body i’ve laid my eyes upon, just look at you for a second.”

your hips start to make haste again, and he’s quite thick inside you—you gnaw on your lip, staring at geto from the mirror and he smiles.

“. . . from your curves to your skin to every inch of your body,” he rants, a hand slowly making its way to touch and feel against every part of your skin. such soft pads of his fingertips roam everywhere and you can feel yourself staring to drift into a euphoric state. it was approaching, your inescapable orgasm that left such a warm pool to stir into your abdomen. “mwah,” he kisses near the outline of your jaw. “if i could fall in love with you for the first time again, i would.”

“don’t s-say things like that,” you tremble, feeling him gradually split the inside of your cunt open with his cockhead. it felt so good, like it always does—you were quite tense, your shoulders were at least. but with each kiss that geto gives your body it eases you, sending you into a sweet lewd trance. “s-suguru.”

he chuckles. “but baby,” and he’s teasing now, hearing that familiar kittenish tone residing underneath his low voice. “it’s true. i love you, not just for your body—i love your voice, your scent, your touch, the way you play with my hair,” and he pauses, a mere rough groan escaping his lips. he was right up against your ear before he sighs softly. “i love the way you look every time i praise you, especially. the way your pupils dilate and your lips curve into a subtle smile, it’s so adorable.”

“ . . . ”

“aw, too much?” he snickers.

you lie back, rotating your hips a bit as you grind against him in reverse—slow but steady, your hands grip against his thighs before you whine. so close, your release was at the tip of your tongue. you could almost taste it, the taste of your sweetly bitter climax steadily approaching itself.

“i- i love you too,” you mumble with quivering lips, breathy pants shortly following your dialogue. “t-thank you, sugu.”

“don’t thank me,” he whispers, bringing both hands towards your waist for about the nth time now. he runs his fingers up before its at your hips, guiding your movements before he grunts himself. “stare at yourself with me. i want you to see what a pretty girl looks like when she’s about to cum.”

you almost moan from his words alone, you felt so hot — not just from his touch, but the way he spoke to you too. if it was anything suguru geto was good at, it was praising you to your heart’s content.

the more you rode him, staring at your reflection through the mirror with him propped up right behind you—you started to see what he was seeing. perhaps his words were getting through to you, a soft satisfied noise departs from your lips and he pulls you closer. “easy, that’s it. stare at me in the mirror the whole time,” and he kisses your neck again—leaving a trail of his invisible smooches. “i got you, i got you,” and your whines grow a bit more louder. he’s hitting you deep, your head slightly spins before the grip on his thigh tightens. “just make a mess on me ‘n i’ll clean it all up. i’ll do anything for you, sweetheart. even if it’s a little messy, heh.”

a tiny smile tugs against your lips at his comment before you feel the sudden ache underneath your thighs. him talking you through it all in that sly soothing voice, you felt as if you were on cloud nine—the tenderness of geto’s words had your heart feening for more, for more of his love and affection.

“she’s so breathtaking,” he gently cups your chin, staring you right in the eyes—you glance at geto, beads of sweat racing down both sides of his forehead. he was pretty too, his hair was pinned up but a few strands poked out and merely shielded his eyes. every time he looked at you, it was like he was falling more and more in love. a thumb of his plays against your lip before he hums, “my woman. my gorgeous woman.”

the moment you reach your climax, it comes at full speed—you moan loudly, feeling your pussy transmit into a full crazed spasm. your thighs quaver and tremor, and you briefly bite down on your tongue. “. . . s-suguruu,” you whimper out, such sweet candied moans ripping out your throat. he intertwined his fingers with yours his as you rode it out. your hips, sliding back and forth against him still before eventually it comes to a halt. your eyelids became heavy as you lie back, a few strands of geto’s hair tickling against your skin. “f-fuckkk.”

“shhh. breathe for me, baby,” he soft mutters, watching as your twitching body slowly calms itself down after a while. everything felt hot. with your mouth was open, spit-glossed lips parted, you listen. breath after breath gets slower, focusing on your patterns before he kisses the top of your forehead. “good girl, the best girl.”

after a while— it goes silent, you sit there— still siting on his lap with his cock all inside of you before you exhale lowly. “how do we feel now? better?”

you puff out a soft sigh. “a- a little.”

“hey, that’s progress, sweetheart,” he gently coos against your ear. geto smiles once he notices you’re still holding onto his hand. your fingers lock against his before he gives you a little head pat. “sleepy?”

“no.”

it’s a long silence and he tilts his head with an eyebrow raise through the mirror and you pout.

“okay, just a little sleepy,” and you turn around, making him pull out before facing him directly. geto gazes into your eyes before a sheepish grin forms on his face once you kiss the corner of his mouth. “i know i already said it but i love you, sugu.”

“i love you,” he replies, leaning to kiss the top of your forehead for the umpteenth time. “so much more. now let’s get the pretty girl some rest. i’ll even sing you a song to help those eyes close..”

[derinwrites]

The Three Commandments

The thing about writing is this: you gotta start in medias res, to hook your readers with action immediately. But readers aren’t invested in people they know nothing about, so start with a framing scene that instead describes the characters and the stakes. But those scenes are boring, so cut straight to the action, after opening with a clever quip, but open in the style of the story, and try not to be too clever in the opener, it looks tacky. One shouldn’t use too many dialogue tags, it’s distracting; but you can use ‘said’ a lot, because ‘said’ is invisible, but don’t use ‘said’ too much because it’s boring and uninformative – make sure to vary your dialogue tags to be as descriptive as possible, except don’t do that because it’s distracting, and instead rely mostly on ‘said’ and only use others when you need them. But don’t use ‘said’ too often; you should avoid dialogue tags as much as you possibly can and indicate speakers through describing their reactions. But don’t do that, it’s distracting.

Having a viewpoint character describe themselves is amateurish, so avoid that. But also be sure to describe your viewpoint character so that the reader can picture them. And include a lot of introspection, so we can see their mindset, but don’t include too much introspection, because it’s boring and takes away from the action and really bogs down the story, but also remember to include plenty of introspection so your character doesn’t feel like a robot. And adverbs are great action descriptors; you should have a lot of them, but don’t use a lot of adverbs; they’re amateurish and bog down the story. And

The reason new writers are bombarded with so much outright contradictory writing advice is that these tips are conditional. It depends on your style, your genre, your audience, your level of skill, and what problems in your writing you’re trying to fix. Which is why, when I’m writing, I tend to focus on what I call my Three Commandments of Writing. These are the overall rules; before accepting any writing advice, I check whether it reinforces one of these rules or not. If not, I ditch it.

1: Thou Shalt Have Something To Say

What’s your book about?

I don’t mean, describe to me the plot. I mean, why should anybody read this? What’s its thesis? What’s its reason for existence, from the reader’s perspective? People write stories for all kinds of reasons, but things like ‘I just wanted to get it out of my head’ are meaningless from a reader perspective. The greatest piece of writing advice I ever received was you putting words on a page does not obligate anybody to read them. So why are the words there? What point are you trying to make?

The purpose of your story can vary wildly. Usually, you’ll be exploring some kind of thesis, especially if you write genre fiction. Curse Words, for example, is an exploration of self-perpetuating power structures and how aiming for short-term stability and safety can cause long-term problems, as well as the responsibilities of an agitator when seeking to do the necessary work of dismantling those power structures. Most of the things in Curse Words eventually fold back into exploring this question. Alternately, you might just have a really cool idea for a society or alien species or something and want to show it off (note: it can be VERY VERY HARD to carry a story on a ‘cool original concept’ by itself. You think your sky society where they fly above the clouds and have no rainfall and have to harvest water from the clouds below is a cool enough idea to carry a story: You’re almost certainly wrong. These cool concept stories work best when they are either very short, or working in conjunction with exploring a theme). You might be writing a mystery series where each story is a standalone mystery and the point is to present a puzzle and solve a fun mystery each book. Maybe you’re just here to make the reader laugh, and will throw in anything you can find that’ll act as framing for better jokes. In some genres, readers know exactly what they want and have gotten it a hundred times before and want that story again but with different character names – maybe you’re writing one of those. (These stories are popular in romance, pulp fantasy, some action genres, and rather a lot of types of fanfiction).

Whatever the main point of your story is, you should know it by the time you finish the first draft, because you simply cannot write the second draft if you don’t know what the point of the story is. (If you write web serials and are publishing the first draft, you’ll need to figure it out a lot faster.)

Once you know what the point of your story is, you can assess all writing decisions through this lens – does this help or hurt the point of my story?

2: Thou Shalt Respect Thy Reader’s Investment

Readers invest a lot in a story. Sometimes it’s money, if they bought your book, but even if your story is free, they invest time, attention, and emotional investment. The vast majority of your job is making that investment worth it. There are two factors to this – lowering the investment, and increasing the payoff. If you can lower your audience’s suspension of disbelief through consistent characterisation, realistic (for your genre – this may deviate from real realism) worldbuilding, and appropriately foreshadowing and forewarning any unexpected rules of your world. You can lower the amount of effort or attention your audience need to put into getting into your story by writing in a clear manner, using an entertaining tone, and relying on cultural touchpoints they understand already instead of pushing them in the deep end into a completely unfamiliar situation. The lower their initial investment, the easier it is to make the payoff worth it.

Two important notes here: one, not all audiences view investment in the same way. Your average reader views time as a major investment, but readers of long fiction (epic fantasies, web serials, et cetera) often view length as part of the payoff. Brandon Sanderson fans don’t grab his latest book and think “Uuuugh, why does it have to be so looong!” Similarly, some people like being thrown in the deep end and having to put a lot of work into figuring out what the fuck is going on with no onboarding. This is one of science fiction’s main tactics for forcibly immersing you in a future world. So the valuation of what counts as too much investment varies drastically between readers.

Two, it’s not always the best idea to minimise the necessary investment at all costs. Generally, engagement with art asks something of us, and that’s part of the appeal. Minimum-effort books do have their appeal and their place, in the same way that idle games or repetitive sitcoms have their appeal and their place, but the memorable stories, the ones that have staying power and provide real value, are the ones that ask something of the reader. If they’re not investing anything, they have no incentive to engage, and you’re just filling in time. This commandment does not exist to tell you to try to ask nothing of your audience – you should be asking something of your audience. It exists to tell you to respect that investment. Know what you’re asking of your audience, and make sure that the ask is less than the payoff.

The other way to respect the investment is of course to focus on a great payoff. Make those characters socially fascinating, make that sacrifice emotionally rending, make the answer to that mystery intellectually fulfilling. If you can make the investment worth it, they’ll enjoy your story. And if you consistently make their investment worth it, you build trust, and they’ll be willing to invest more next time, which means you can ask more of them and give them an even better payoff. Audience trust is a very precious currency and this is how you build it – be worth their time.

But how do you know what your audience does and doesn’t consider an onerous investment? And how do you know what kinds of payoff they’ll find rewarding? Easy – they self-sort. Part of your job is telling your audience what to expect from you as soon as you can, so that if it’s not for them, they’ll leave, and if it is, they’ll invest and appreciate the return. (“Oh but I want as many people reading my story as possible!” No, you don’t. If you want that, you can write paint-by-numbers common denominator mass appeal fic. What you want is the audience who will enjoy your story; everyone else is a waste of time, and is in fact, detrimental to your success, because if they don’t like your story then they’re likely to be bad marketing. You want these people to bounce off and leave before you disappoint them. Don’t try to trick them into staying around.) Your audience should know, very early on, what kind of an experience they’re in for, what the tone will be, the genre and character(s) they’re going to follow, that sort of thing. The first couple of chapters of Time to Orbit: Unknown, for example, are a micro-example of the sorts of mysteries that Aspen will be dealing with for most of the book, as well as a sample of their character voice, the way they approach problems, and enough of their background, world and behaviour for the reader to decide if this sort of story is for them. We also start the story with some mildly graphic medical stuff, enough physics for the reader to determine the ‘hardness’ of the scifi, and about the level of physical risk that Aspen will be putting themselves at for most of the book. This is all important information for a reader to have.

If you are mindful of the investment your readers are making, mindful of the value of the payoff, and honest with them about both from the start so that they can decide whether the story is for them, you can respect their investment and make sure they have a good time.

3: Thou Shalt Not Make Thy World Less Interesting

This one’s really about payoff, but it’s important enough to be its own commandment. It relates primarily to twists, reveals, worldbuilding, and killing off storylines or characters. One mistake that I see new writers make all the time is that they tank the engagement of their story by introducing a cool fun twist that seems so awesome in the moment and then… is a major letdown, because the implications make the world less interesting.

“It was all a dream” twists often fall into this trap. Contrary to popular opinion, I think these twists can be done extremely well. I’ve seen them done extremely well. The vast majority of the time, they’re very bad. They’re bad because they take an interesting world and make it boring. The same is true of poorly thought out, shocking character deaths – when you kill a character, you kill their potential, and if they’re a character worth killing in a high impact way then this is always a huge sacrifice on your part. Is it worth it? Will it make the story more interesting? Similarly, if your bad guy is going to get up and gloat ‘Aha, your quest was all planned by me, I was working in the shadows to get you to acquire the Mystery Object since I could not! You have fallen into my trap! Now give me the Mystery Object!’, is this a more interesting story than if the protagonist’s journey had actually been their own unmanipulated adventure? It makes your bad guy look clever and can be a cool twist, but does it mean that all those times your protagonist escaped the bad guy’s men by the skin of his teeth, he was being allowed to escape? Are they retroactively less interesting now?

Whether these twists work or not will depend on how you’ve constructed the rest of your story. Do they make your world more or less interesting?

If you have the audience’s trust, it’s permissible to make your world temporarily less interesting. You can kill off the cool guy with the awesome plan, or make it so that the Chosen One wasn’t actually the Chosen One, or even have the main character wake up and find out it was all a dream, and let the reader marinate in disappointment for a little while before you pick it up again and turn things around so that actually, that twist does lead to a more interesting story! But you have to pick it up again. Don’t leave them with the version that’s less interesting than the story you tanked for the twist. The general slop of interest must trend upward, and your sacrifices need to all lead into the more interesting world. Otherwise, your readers will be disappointed, and their experience will be tainted.

Whenever I’m looking at a new piece of writing advice, I view it through these three rules. Is this plot still delivering on the book’s purpose, or have I gone off the rails somewhere and just stared writing random stuff? Does making this character ‘more relateable’ help or hinder that goal? Does this argument with the protagonists’ mother tell the reader anything or lead to any useful payoff; is it respectful of their time? Will starting in medias res give the audience an accurate view of the story and help them decide whether to invest? Does this big twist that challenges all the assumptions we’ve made so far imply a world that is more or less interesting than the world previously implied?

Hopefully these can help you, too.

[ms-demeanor]

You posted about adhd and I was hoping to follow up to clarify something. I’ve explained to my partner a million times about how the borderline-hoarding mess of his space is very mentally draining to me, and he understands but we’ve both essentially accepted he won’t clean his mess because he can’t because of his adhd. You’re saying he’s actually being a shit head?

This isn't necessarily an issue of him being a shithead, but it also isn't a sustainable situation. It's not good for you and there's a level of clutter that's probably not good for him either.

Large bastard is a lot more clutter-y than I am. The solution we've come to is trying to keep our messes at least isolated from one another; he can have his messes and I can have mine, but he can have those messes in his spaces, not all over the place. Sometimes those messes migrate, and that's when it's important for him to make the effort to rein them in rather than trying and failing to make a daily effort to keep our entire shared space tidy.

I think when you say "we've both essentially accepted he won't clean his mess" what I'm hearing is resignation; you're not happy about this but you don't know what to do so you've thrown up your hands and he feels helpless and unsure of what to do to improve the situation. This is the kind of "it's fine" that isn't really fine.

I think it would be worthwhile for you to each separately think about the mess and talk about it together. Are there areas that YOU *need* to have not-messy? Both for utility and your mental health? Are there areas where you can tolerate more mess than otherwise? Are there areas that are going to be harder for him to keep the mess out of than others? Are there things he doesn't *know* about cleaning up the mess?

I'm obviously a big "communication communication communication" person so I'm going to recommend a lot of talking about stuff, which is probably going to mean a lot of thinking about and interrogating stuff. I'm going to say "talk to him about why the mess bothers you" which means you also have to really articulate to yourself why the mess bothers you (for instance I'm not actually *bothered* by a messy kitchen, but I know it's going to reflect badly on us - and me specifically b/c of presumed gender roles - if someone pops by and the kitchen is a disaster, AND a messy kitchen is going to be harder to use). Genuinely, sometimes knowing *why* something is a problem might make it easier for someone with ADHD to do something. And it's not that he doesn't care that it upsets you, it's just that "Oh if I don't wash my breakfast dishes Anon won't have clear counterspace to make lunch" might be stickier in his brain (and less hard to look at emotionally) than "this thing I forget to do upsets my partner so I should do it."

For the record, I think that people with ADHD should read up on Demand Avoidance and see if it might explain some of the issues that they have in their day-to-day life; I've seen some really unfortunate situations with friends where trying to do things that their partner needed became the subject of demand avoidance. *I* have experienced negative outcomes of demand avoidance. The solution to that, however, isn't to stop making attempts to do the thing OR to simply try harder to do as they're asked/told (which reinforces the demand), it's to work on setting up a situation where the partners' needs are not interpreted as a demand. This is fuck-off difficult and requires a lot of patience and care and many attempts to succeed and will be different for each person and relationship.

(Also for the record demand avoidance isn't *super* strongly linked to ADHD and it's not a definitive symptom; like Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, it is something that occurs in some number of people with ADHD and can be a useful lens through which to examine various behaviors; you don't need to have DA or RSD to have ADHD, and having DA or RSD also doesn't invalidate your diagnosis; they're symptoms. For me, DA often feels like "if I don't look at it, it can't get me" - If I ignore all the messages I've got they aren't real and don't have real consequences so I'll just ignore my texts. If I don't look at the vendor email about the order, the problem with the order isn't real and it won't get added to my task list. If I don't look at the requests in my inbox I can't let people down when I don't do them. It's a self-protective coping mechanism but it's *maladaptive* and I can't just ignore the vendor email or all my texts. I need to work on a way of doing the stuff that I'm avoiding in a way that makes it less stressful and doesn't hurt the people relying on me. That takes a lot of effort, personal insight, trial and error, and )

But before I dive into specifics I want to be really really clear about one thing: sometimes people are simply incompatible. Sometimes one person has such a low tolerance for "mess" and the other person has such a high threshold for "mess" that it can't be reconciled. It sucks that this can end up being a thing that people break up over, but it is MUCH better to acknowledge incompatibility as early as possible instead of spending years and years building resentment.

There used to be a great forum called MiL's Anonymous that I spent a lot of time on. It had a lot of people in a lot of difficult situations struggling to get by and hold their relationships together. The question that was used as a litmus test to approach each situation was simple: If you knew today that everything about living with this person would be the same in five years, would you stay?

Because you can't control your partner. You can't control the future. You can only control yourself and your proximity to situations that are harmful to you. If you knew, 100%, that things wouldn't get better in five years, would you be okay with staying in this relationship? If the answer is "no," then that's that. Don't worry about questions of whether or not your boyfriend is a shithead, start the process of ending the relationship because there's a good chance the situation is going to be exactly the same in five years.

If the answer is "yes," and you'd stay in the relationship regardless of whether or not things changed, then it's time to take actions to improve your life within the context of the relationship.

(No judgement on that yes or no, btw. If you would hate living like this for another five years, and you would feel like you'd wasted your time and hadn't done the things you wanted to with your life, get out. Bail. Go. It will be better for you and better for your partner if you split instead of spending half a decade building resentments and and problems that you'll have to spend another half a decade healing from.)

Also, a note: you describe your boyfriend's mess as borderline hoarding - is the issue *mess* or is the issue *clutter*? I have friends who are very tidy, but whose homes are very cluttered. They like things, they have many things, they keep many things around, but their houses are always clean and well-dusted and orderly, just with a tremendous amount of *stuff.* I am addressing all of this as though the issue is mess, not clutter. If your boyfriend's situation is clutter (the space is busy and packed with things but it is functional and clean) and your issue isn't with *mess* (things out of place, things not having a place, things that need to be cleaned up gathering in stacks, falling behind on regular chores like laundry and dishes and taking out the trash) then you definitely need to assess whether or not you are compatible.

For instance here's a room that is messy but not cluttered compared to a room that is cluttered but not messy:

That first room is a *mess* but it would be very easy to clean up in under an hour. The second room is fairly tidy, but would take significant effort to pare down and declutter. BOTH of these can be difficult to live with but the second one is not dangerous or threatening to anyone's health. (The second one is QUITE cluttered and if every room in a house looks like this it can be overwhelming to live with; this is actually harder to deal with in a relationship than the first one in a lot of ways. I don't have a lot of advice for what to do if your partner is a high degree of tidy-but-cluttered because I don't actually think it's a problem or wrong to have thousands of books or bins full of lego or a million kitchen appliances as long as you have the space and can keep it safe and well-maintained; this is a really significant compatibility issue)

Okay, all that out of the way, here's the hard work.

Talk about this shit

Talk to your partner and define "mess." Make sure you are on the same page about what you mean when you're talking about what a messy room looks like versus what a tidy room looks like. Gather reference pictures. DRAW reference pictures.

Explain not just that the mess upsets you, but *why* and *how* it upsets you. In this context don't think of it as your boyfriend's mess, think of it as an unpleasant roommate. Discuss this using "I-statements". "When I have to pick up laundry all over the apartment, I feel like a parent more than a partner." "When there are piles of miniatures all over the table, I feel like I don't have anywhere to do things I'm interested in." "When there are dishes in the sink, I feel frustrated because I have to clean before I can feed myself."

Discuss, frankly and openly, whether he knows how to clean. I'm not trying to make excuses for him here but a lot of people with ADHD have a lot of stress and avoidance around cleaning because they spent a lot of time getting yelled at for not knowing how to clean properly.

Discuss your needs, be firm about what you require but willing to compromise. You *need* some spaces to be clean, and some spaces may be harder for him to keep clean than others. It may be MUCH harder for him to keep a bedroom tidy than it is to keep a kitchen tidy; if you need a clean and empty bedroom with everything put away and he simply cannot do that, that is a compatibility issue. But perhaps you need *your* side of the bedroom to be very orderly and can tolerate a moderate level of mess and clutter on his side. Maybe you're really really bothered by a messy kitchen, but it doesn't bug you if the dining table is covered with projects and papers. Figure out something more workable than "his mess goes everywhere and i live with it because he's incapable of cleaning" because he probably is not incapable of cleaning and you deserve to have places in your home that are comfortable for you.

Reduce friction for cleaning

Sometimes the problem isn't cleaning, the problem is the many many steps before cleaning, or not knowing where something should go when you are done cleaning. One of the absolute best things I've done for myself for cleaning my space is getting a broom holder and mounting the broom to the wall. Sweeping is now essentially thoughtless. I don't have to find the broom or pull it out from a pile of fans or go scrounging around for a dustpan it's right there on the wall, frictionless. So here are some ways to reduce the barriers to cleaning:

Make sure you and your partner both know how to use your cleaning supplies and know where those supplies are. When I switched dishwasher soap I had to re-show Large Bastard where I was storing it and how it was used, because to him what happened was the dishwasher tabs just vanished one day and he didn't know what I was putting in the machine or the process I used. He sometimes puts tools away in places that I can't see (he's more than a foot taller than me) so sometimes I can't get started on a maintenance project until he shows me where he put the battery pack for the drill.

Consider making a how-to chart to or having him make a how-to chart to keep someplace accessible so he can reference it while cleaning. Goblin.Tools Magic ToDo is great for this. Basically a lot of the time people with ADHD have trouble knowing what to do from step to step even if they've done something before, so having a step by step guide can make it easier (I have notebooks full of step-by-step guides for everything from paying for my tuition to removing licenses for my customers to weeding my yard)

Remove obstacles; don't keep cleaning chemicals in the garage in a box that's behind a stack of parts, keep them in the room you'll be cleaning. Don't keep the cleaning supplies that you use to clean the bathroom in the kitchen. Sometimes this means buying two bottles of bleach solution and two scrubbers and two sets of cleaning gloves but having fewer steps (fetch the windex, fetch the paper towels, fetch the gloves) is often the key to getting things done (open under-sink cabinet and grab windex, gloves, and paper towels that are there instead of in the kitchen).

This sort of overlaps with the next category, which is:

Create Dump Zones

One thing that I've found that seems very different between people with ADHD cleaning and neurotypical people cleaning is that neurotypical people are good at getting to a point where the cleaning is "done." They have checked off their tasks and they have finished and it is over. There are *SOME* chores that are like this (taking out the trash is a binary state, the trash has been taken out or it has not) and some chores are perpetual (horrid cursed dishes) but I think with people with ADHD, some chores that are binary for neurotypicals are actually perpetual chores. For instance "clean off the counter" is not a one and done for me. "Clean off the counter" may involve a three day reorganization project. "Clean off the counter" does not mean "wipe down the tile and put dishes away" it means assessing whether or not I need to make vegetable stock and bleaching three tea containers and reconsidering whether or not the sharps container should live somewhere else and going through the mail and figuring out what needs to be responded to and taking out the recycling and on and on and on.

We have had company at the house for the last two weeks, so I asked large bastard to clean off the dining room table, which is largely a project zone for him. Cleaning off the dining room table meant putting away his meds (and since he's a transplant patient that involves a 30 gallon rubbermade tote), throwing away some trash, and totally reorganizing his workshop. It also incidentally involved picking up a table from facebook marketplace and moving my plants, which has now involved moving my former plant rack outside (moving buckets, finding and organizing planters and gardening tools) and taking the former table to the thrift store (not done yet) and cleaning the rug that was under the former table. So "either the table is clean, or it isn't" isn't really true for us.

HOWEVER "hang on we can't eat until the table is clear so let's drive to Pico Rivera to get that console table right now" isn't a workable plan, so you create dumpzones as areas of holding between the start and the finish of the chore.

A dump zone can be a laundry basket. It can be a craft bin. It can be a back room or under your bed. It is a place to put things that you are going to deal with later because if you deal with them now it is going to derail the thing you are actually trying to do, which is set the table for dinner.

Dump zones are vital to cleaning with ADHD and I recommend them for day-to-day cleaning as well. The day-to-day dump zones might be more for you than for your boyfriend. For instance, Large Bastard works with bullets and he sheds bullets all over the house. I used to get stressed when I found bullets when I was cleaning because are these work bullets? Are these recreational bullets? Are they in testing? Do they need to be pulled? Do they go in the workshop or the office or the garage or does he need these today so they have to stay on the counter? And the answer now is "that's not my problem naughty bullets go in the jar." Which is perfectly sensible because he gets to say "mystery yarn goes in the bin" and "art supplies go in the bucket."

I feel helpless when cleaning a lot of the time. I'm frustrated and lost and I don't know where stuff goes and everything I pick up spins off into three projects in my head and every step feels like a wall to scale. Dump zones help me with that when there's pressure or a reason for cleaning beyond day to day home maintenance. People are coming over? The bedroom is a dump zone, I'll deal with that later. I'm just cleaning up because I need to? Okay I can find a permanent home for this new dish soap.

AS A VERY IMPORTANT COROLLARY TO THIS:

Active projects do not go in dump zones while you or your partner are cleaning. This may mean designating a project sanctuary area like a corner of the table or one particular chair in your main room where a project can be placed so as not to be disturbed. (if my current crochet project ends up in the yarn bin, that may mean that I don't pick the project up for another three months, it lives on the windowsill behind the couch because that's where it'll get worked on)

Do not put things away for your partner, put them in the dump zone for your partner. Your partner has to be the one to put their own stuff away in a way that works for them. I tend to find that this naturally puts a limit on the time stuff sits in the dump zone, because eventually you'll go "hey where's my thing?" and will put stuff away. If that doesn't happen, it's still generally better to have stuff in a dump zone than all over the home.

Do not decide you know what things go together from your partner's stuff and try to "put like things together." The neurotypical urge to put like things together is the mindkiller(j/k). You do not know which things are "similar" in your partner's organization schema and attempting to organize things on your own is going to end up with all of the things "organized" being functionally lost forever from your partner's perspective. Large Bastard's mom would do this and it was infuriating, she'd say "oh I put all the electronics stuff in one box" and she would mean soldering irons, transistors, ham radios, HDMI cables, and cellphone chargers. We are *still* going through boxes of stuff that she "tidied up" when he was hospitalized in 2020 and 2021.

To prevent the need for quite so many dump zones over time, you can work on setting up landing zones and "homes" for projects and tools.

Landing Zones

Landing zones are places where things go when you come inside from doing various things. Sometimes your landing zone only needs to be a tray for your wallet and keys, sometimes your landing zone needs to be a place to take off muddy boots and put a trowel and gloves down before you shower.

To make an effective landing zone, consider what behaviors you're trying to minimize and whether the people using it are ACTUALLY going to use it. For instance I was tired of the corner of my hearth getting cluttered with random junk so I hung up some hooks and put a shelf and a basket there and it became a really effective landing zone for my bag and keys and the mail, but it was VERY ineffective for Large Bastard because it's by a door that isn't the primary door he uses to enter the house. As a result I always know where my keys and bag are but he has trouble finding his keys and wallet. He tends to enter the house through our bedroom and has an overloaded valet next to the door and that's usually where his wallet ends up. Mounting a shelf to the wall above the valet and putting a basket and a hook on it will be a better place for his stuff to land. It's not that he's not using the first zone because he doesn't know that it's there, or because he doesn't care about lost time when I'm searching for my car keys after he borrows them, he's not using it because it's not by the door he uses. That's all.

I have a landing space for when I come in for gardening that's different than the one when I come in from grocery shopping. I have a landing space for when I walk into the dining room instead of the kitchen when I get home.

Landing spaces prevent stuff from piling up all over the place because they are a limited functional space that should be used frequently. Mail ONLY goes in the landing zone. If you have mystery mail or if you're not sure it's safe to toss, you put it in the landing zone. You can't let the mail get piled up too high or you won't have a space for your keys. You can't let the change in your wallet tray get too deep or your wallet is going to slide off, etc., but you also don't just put change on the coffee table or your nightstand because the landing zone is right there.

Homes for items are just what they sound like. They're the place the item goes. It lives there. My meds live on my nightstand. You would not believe how poorly I did with taking my meds on my vacation because they weren't on my nightstand. A while back large bastard lost one of his sets of sorted meds and we tore the house up looking for them because he couldn't find them in his nightstand, which is where they live. *I* found them in his nightstand because I emptied out the entire top drawer (he had only looked on the top layer) and found them underneath a radio and a hammock. Even though they were *hidden* they were in their home, so they were findable. I recently needed ink for an art class. Art supplies live in a dresser by my desk. Ink lives in the art bin or the top left drawer. The ink was not in either of these places (it was on a cabinet in the dining room behind a teacup) so it took me weeks to find it.

Sometimes the reason that ADHD spaces are so messy is because objects have been assigned homes in places that are visible and if they get moved they get lost. This is a genuinely difficult problem that requires a lot of effort to solve and can involve a lot of trial and error for creating a tidy living space. For some people, open shelving and visible storage might be a good solution. For some people, assigning a VERY clear home and inculcating that location by habit is the only way to clean up a space. For some people one very cluttered corner to at least isolate the chaos does the trick (for me and large bastard open shelving doesn't work because anything in one place for too long becomes invisible; that means that I rely on assigning things homes and large bastard relies on having contained chaos and a general idea of where to search but what that DOES NOT mean is that he is clean or tidy. His spaces look like an explosion. But he can mostly find his stuff and do what he needs to do and as long as that's limited to specific places in shared spaces I can live with it; the dining room table can be a disaster, the kitchen cannot).

People organize things differently. It often takes a while for neurotypical adults to settle into an organizational style that works for them and ADHD adults may need to settle into a new system every few months for it to continue working. The cleanup and declutter is most likely going to be a permanent project that is always going to demand some level of attention from everyone in a shared space, but "my ADHD means I can't do it" is not really going to fly. Maybe his ADHD means that he can't keep his space tidy, but it doesn't mean you can't move stuff from shared spaces into dump zones or that he can't do stuff around the house.

If he's insisting that his ADHD means that he can't clean it is possible that he's not being a shithead, he just feels helpless and doesn't know where to start and has adopted the belief that he's a useless piece of shit who can't even keep a tidy space like a grownup because he's internalized a lot of shitty attitudes (hello, my internal monologue about keeping a clean house). But it's also possible that he's just being a shithead.

It's something that's worthwhile to investigate with him. If he's unwilling to make an attempt, then he's being a shithead.

It is also not your responsibility to rehabilitate another person. If he wants to clean and it's something he feels bad about and needs some help and support with the way that someone might need help or support for learning to use a mobility aid, that is fine but you don't have to be the one who gives him that support if it's detrimental to your health, and you don't have to be the one to teach him that stuff if it's not something you're capable of. And if he is NOT interested in working on making your shared living space more accessible for you, that is not your suitcase to unpack and you just have to ask yourself the question from the start: would I stay with this person if I knew the situation was never going to change?

IDK, I'm sure a lot of this reads like "anon you must take on the emotional labor of training your partner to be an adult" but it's really meant to be more of a way of assessing yourself and your relationship. If you created landing zones do you think he'd use them? Would he get angry if you assigned a laundry basket as a dump zone for his stuff while you tidy the living room? Is living with him long-term going to be comfortable for you if nothing changes? Do you have enough of a shared definition of "mess" that you're at least in the ballpark for what counts as a clean house?

anyway good luck, and a reminder to folks that I'm compiling a bunch of adhd resources and other information on my personal website, ms-demeanor.com. It's coming along slowly but it will eventually include stuff like ADHD cleaning tips and how to tackle a hoard, so maybe keep your eye on that space.

[sizzlingsandwichperfection-blog]

hey john!

a common inside joke about the BCG vaccine has been going viral once again recently. it’s about how latin americans can always spot one another because of the vaccine scar they have on their arms, since we all got the shot as a baby and are usually crazily proud of it (is this a weird flex?).

there is countless memes going around, one of them shows a non latin-american pedro pascal fan calling it a sexy beauty mark after seeing him shirtless.

even though all of this is hilarious, it feels weird to see this subject come up without you being in it. I thought I would share just for the funsies, but also, do you guys not take this vaccine in the US? Is it just because TB doesn’t have a lot of cases yearly? Is it because of something else? Do you also have this sexy beauty mark?

Most people in North America do not, in fact, have this sexy beauty mark.

The BCG vaccine is more than 100 years old and remains the only vaccine for tuberculosis--even though we could've already developed new vaccines if the rich world gave a shit about TB.

BCG is effective at preventing death and serious illness from tuberculosis in young children, but it has very little (if any) efficacy in adolescents and adults. For this reason, it makes sense to give the vaccine in places where lots of kids contract TB. In the U.S., rates of active TB are low enough that young children hardly ever get infected, and so it wouldn't have much impact on our burden of tuberculosis.

So that's why some people have that sexy beauty mark and others do not!

[tayytayy12]

I hate it here (a lot less when I’m with you) | OP81 x Reader

Summary - Reader just got out of a mildly toxic relationship and released a song about what her coping mechanism was during that time, but when her new relationship gets leaked by the paparazzi, she decides to show off her new favourite person.

Warnings | Mentions of a past toxic relationship/ breakup, swearing

FaceClaim | Gracie Abrams

Requested | Yes - No

Type | SMAU

Yourusername

Liked by | AaronDessner, PheobeBridgers and 2,987,425 others

Tagged | @/AaronDessner

Yourusername | Long Pond Studios has always been a place where I’ve let my emotions and feelings guide my songwriting completely, every song that I’ve written and recorded in this place has been a complete raw reflection of my feelings, and I’m forever grateful that I can trust you enough to share them all with you without the slightest moment of hesitation. That’s why, I’m surprise releasing my brand new song, ‘I hate it here’ now. This song is about a method I’ve used to cope for the past few years of my life when I wasn’t in the best situation, and I hope that it will help any of you who are or were in the same situation I was. This song was made with my soulmate of a collaborator, chosen friend, found family of mine, Aaron and were so incredibly proud of it and we can’t wait for you to hear it. Sorry for being away for so long, I love you 🤍

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User1 - OMFG SHES ALIVE !!!

User2 - ONLY TOOK FIVE MONTHS TO CONFIRM YOU’RE ALIVE AND BREATHING

AaronDessner - My favourite one together so far 🤍

Yourusername - Love you forever 🤍

User3 - WTFDYM ‘I HATE IT HERE’ EXPLAIN?

User4 - GO LISTEN TO IT ITS SOOOOOOOOOO GOOD

User5 - A SURPRISE DROP? WE’RE SPOILED

User6 - When Aarons a co-writer AND the producer, you know for a fact the song will change your life (and make the therapy bill triple)

Liked by author

User7 - Girl don’t apologise

User8 - FR like she gets cheated on, takes a brake and then apologises to us 😭 like girl it’s okay

JackAntanoff - *Alexa play Traitor by Olivia Rodrigo*

Yourusername- Your times coming synth man 🤫 LOVE YOU STILL

User9 - WDYM HIS TIME IS COMING YOU CRYPTIC WOMAN

User10 - “I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind.” That’s all I have to say.

User11 - Y/n could write Romeo and Juliet but Shakespeare couldn’t write I hate it here

User11 - “I place you need a key to get to, the only one is mine” girly I hope someone makes you want to make a copy one day

Yourusername - God I love you lmao

User11 - OMFG Y/n loves me I can die happy

User12 - “tell me something awful, like you are a poet.” BC HE ALWAYS PAINTED HER BLUE SKYS THE DARKEST GREY, RUINING HER DAY BY TELLING HER AWFUL SHIT LIKE HES A TORTURED POET !!!!!! (I knew Coney Island wasn’t fictional you fucking delusional people, no one in a happy relationship writes that shit 💕💕💕)

User13 - “This man made me feel worthless.” Y/EX/N ISTG WHEN I FIND YOU. COUNT UR MINUTES

User14 - “I'm lonely but I'm good, I'm bitter but I swear I'm fine” bitch where did you find my diary

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Yourusername

Liked by, SabrinaCarpenter, OscarPiastri and 2,191,910 others

Tagged | @/SabrinaCarpenter

Yourusername - I’m sorry who’s this woman debuting at no.1 on the billboard hot one hundred? My god it is me, I can’t believe this, I love you I love you I love you thank you so so much from the bottom of my heart, I mean it, I really do. MY GOD I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU. (And my baby with her first top ten entry, I love you Sabby, Go stream espresso, it is that sweet 🤍💕) OKAY ONE LAST THANK YOU. 💕🤍💕🤍💕

Okay I lied but being among names like Beyoncé, Ariana Grande, SZA and Kendrick Lamar is one of the biggest honours ever, I’m huge fans of them all and to be in the same space as them is an honour no words can express, I love you all, the most caring sweet fans on the whole planet 💕💕💕💕

(And yes, it was a reference to a physical key, this is it)

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User14 - We made the right one famous guys

User15 - I’m actually crying, when did she stop being our little secret

SabrinaCarpenter - My biggest fan 🩷

Yourusername - Your biggest fan 🩷

User16 - Oscar in the likes for what?

User17 - Who?

User18 - Oscar Piastri, he’s a 23 yr old f1 driver

User19 - What is vroom vroom boy doing here

AaronDessner - Truly blessed to work with you

Yourusername - I’m the blessed one don’t even

User20 - Only y/n could send a five minute long, slow, alt pop song with a main piano background, basically a depressing lullaby bop, to number one above all these TikTok songs

User21 - She’s actually adorable

OscarPiastri - Been on repeat!

Liked by author

User22 - UM HELLO WHAT ARE U DOING HERE LITTLE ORANGE MAN?

User23 - This is all bc of me btw

Celebrity.updates

Liked by, user24, and 82,828 others

Tagged | @/Yourusername @/OscarPiastri

Celebrity.updates - NEW COUPLE!!! Fast upcoming pop star, Y/n Y/l/n (21) seen out late at night on the streets of London with Formula one driver, Oscar Piastri (23), according to the source of these pictures the two were laughing and running around the streets together, when Oscar caught up to her and hugged her to him and kissed her. Rumours say that Y/n met Piastri through her ex partner who’s an engineer for f1 team Alpine, the pair seem to be quite smitten and loving with each other. What’s your thoughts on this?

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User25 - WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN

User26 - Posting these photos is bad enough, but tagging them in it is crazy

User28 - Neither of them have even been hinting at a relationship at all, they clearly didn’t want anyone to know yet

User29 - Can’t these sickos just let them live, they’re people too

User30 - Whoever took these is messed up

User31 - They do look rlly happy together though

User32 - The fact that her ex is an alpine engineer makes this situation so much more funny and interesting

SabrinaCarpenter - You’re actually disgusting

User33 - TELL THEM SAB

User34 - The fact that she’s not even wrong

User35 - the fact that she defends Y/n with no hesitation

User36 - The friendship we all need in our lives

Yourusername

Liked by, OscarPiastri, SabrinaCarpenter and 2,928,198 others

Tagged | @/OscarPiastri

Yourusername - I hate it here a lot less when I’m with you 🤍 my favourite polite cat xxxx

View all comments

LandoNorris- Finally. The pair of you at the paddock hiding in MY divers room bc you were scared someone would see you in Oscar’s. Sigh.

Yourusername - You love me

User37 - OH MY GOD

User38 - I need to know the bears name

OscarPiastri- She named him Gerald

Yourusername - Don’t sound so disgusted, that’s our son

OscarPiastri - Sorry baby

User39 - Hysterical

OscarPiastri - My favourite smiling dog 🤍

Yourusername- Excuse me did you just call me a bitch

OscarPiastri- NO I DIDNT MEAN IT LIKE THAT

User40 - The dynamic is already everything to me

User41 - Even his GF knows he’s a polite cat

Yourusername - He so is (he’s in denial)

User42 -“ I hate it here a lot less with you” Shut the fuck up

OscarPiastri

Liked by, Yourusername, LoganSargeant and 1,872,001 others

Tagged | @/Yourusername

OscarPiastri - She made me a copy 🗝️🤍

View all comments

User43 - Someone sedate me

User44 - SHE. MADE. HIM. A. COPY.

User45 - WTFFFTTFTFTD

User46 - Literally the ultimate Oscar on Alpine revenge

Liked by author

Yourusername - I don’t need my secret gardens, or my lunar valleys anymore, because I have you 🤍

OscarPiastri- My favourite and only girl 🤍

User47 - I’m taking a nap on the highway

///////

[railingsofsorrow]

don't walk out

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: “we can fight and we can be mad but we can't leave.”  pairing: s.reid x gn!reader  w.c: 1K warnings/content: implied abandoned issues; argument; silent treatment (brief); language; angst.  A/N: guess I'm on a roll today. I just love some angst. 

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

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“is that supposed to make me feel better?”  

lights had barely been turned on when you spat out a response, breaking the tense silence. your apartment was tidy, nothing out of order, even the pillows where settled two on each edge of the couch like you always did before leaving for work.  

it was the expected. three days away on a case didn't exactly mean your house would turn upside down, would it? unanimated things didn't move on their own. but one thing that was turning upside down was your mood. not only did the journey home came with lots of turbulence, but Spencer had to make an unpleasant comment that made your blood boil. was it wrong that you just wanted to not look at him right now? you were even considering not sleeping beside him tonight. 

“for fucks sake.” you mumbled under your breath when he had stayed silent. he's ignoring you now. great. throwing your work bag on the couch, you didn't even take your shoes off as you moved back toward the door. you can't handle his passive aggressive act and you certainly won't handle his silence treatment.  

“where are you going?” he called out, shuffling out of the bedroom upon hearing the sound of keys dangling. no. no, you're not leaving, are you? “what—” 

“i'm gonna take a walk, spencer.” 

it didn't take a second for him to rush over and stop your exit by blocking the door. “what are the car keys for then?” desperation clouded his tone and you felt guilt building up in your chest, but it wasn't bigger than your frustration.  

“I'm gonna drive.” 

“at this time of the night? you hate driving at night.” 

“are you my father?” he almost flinched at your sharp tone. okay, he deserved that hostility. he's been nothing but rude to you the entire jet ride back home. it's not that you did anything — even if you had done something, it does not justify the way he was treating you —, the case had been hard. it involved kids. the team wasn't fast enough. he wasn't fast enough. you almost got hurt. it was a lot to absorb in a short amount of time.  

he never wanted this: you walking out while you were mad at each other. no. you had made a deal long ago. you both were laughing after your first stupid argument, something about forgetting to fold the laundry.  

“okay, but we can be like this, right?” you said, nudging him. “we can fight and we can be mad but we can't leave.” 

his eyes soften and he almost turns to mush. he understood then that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. and yes. you would be mad and you would upset each other but leaving was off the table. he could do that. there was nothing he'd want more. 

but now he'd cross a line. didn't he? how dare he do that? how dare he cause you do want to walk out? 

“i'm sorry.” spencer is still at the doorway when you ask him to move. he won't move. he can't. “i really am. I shouldn't have said that. it was out of line.” 

“really?” you snap. he hears the edge in your voice and the crack. it breaks him. he just wants to hold you, he never meant—means to hurt you. “then why did you? why would you even think about something like that?”  

he holds back his breath of relief once you've put the keys back in the bowl. the lump in his throat diminishing slightly. 

“i was upset. angry— at the case. the whole situation, not you.“ he clarified. “sweetheart, i'm sorry. I didn't mean it.” you're searching his face for some indication of lie that you won't find. “i'm sorry.” 

“you're an idiot.” your anger is gone, there's just frustration now. maybe at yourself, because you can't really stay mad at him as he stares at you with those eyes.  

“i am,” he admits, no ounce of hesitation in his tone. he's fairly certain he is, in fact, an idiot. “i'm sorry.” he repeats and he will repeat over and over again until you forgive him. he will beg if he has to. “don't leave, please.” 

and that is not fair. it's not. he can't make you mad and say sorry and all will be forgiven. he can't look at you with those eyes and think things will be magically fixed. 

but then your armor cracks. suddenly, his behaviour makes sense. 

we can fight and we can be mad but we can't leave. 

“i wasn't going to—” you're ashamed at this point. you were so blinded by anger that you'd do something you promised to never do. “you know I wouldn't leave, right?” then his desperation in reaching the door before you makes sense and you're taken back to the moment you promised not to walk out in a fight. that's exactly what you where about to do.  

“i'm sorry.” you say, staring at the keys in your hands. “i didn't think before acting.”  

spencer nods slowly, taking a step closer towarss your frame. “and I didn't think before speaking. I'm the one that should be sorry.” 

you caught a glimpse at his twitchy fingers and takes one of his hands into your own, letting the keys slip to the floor as you yank him to your arms. he only complies by squeezing you against him. and finally, both of you have what you've been craving since this case started: each other's comfort.  

and then, you repeat. “i wasn't going to leave, you know that, right?”  

“yeah.” he burries his face into your neck and his voice is muffled by your skin. “yeah, I know.” 

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taglist: @lilyviolets ; @whore-for-spencer-reid ; @yeonalie @ninkieminjaj ; 

[amourane]

hate the way you smile

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

genre: fluff, angst, comedy, e2l + childhood enemies??

w/c: 4.7k

summary: from the second you met theodore nott you knew that your life would be torturous and that the boy would never leave you alone but maybe forever isn't so bad with theodore nott.

warnings: none just a lot of bickering

a/n: omg this one is a bit long but i finished it!

From the moment that you met Theodore Nott at the bright age of five you knew you would hate him forever. Maybe it was the way he would sneer at you with distaste or the way he would mock you for being a big crybaby whenever he took your toys. All you knew was that you simply loathed his presence.

Your families had been friends and they had initially thought that you and Theo would get along since you were both the same age. What they didn’t expect was the young boy to rip the heads of your dolls and proceed to mock you for crying your heart out. Yet even with all of your constant bickering your families still met up every holiday, bringing the demon child with them to torment your life.

Since that day your childhood was filled with cruel laughter and the mischievous eyes that would watch wherever you went.  At age seven, Theodore Nott found it appropriate to fill your bathtub with toads causing you to shriek out in terror when you opened the bathroom door, and him, to run away with glee at your horrified face. At age nine, he thought it would’ve been funny to surprise you by dumping a bucket load of pumpkin juice all over you and he cackled at your expected screams of anger. What he didn’t expect was for you to retaliate by smashing a tray of cauldron cakes into his face. 

Needless to say the war between you two started way back then and it had continued, the only difference being that now you both were more mature and civilised and there was no room for childish pranks.

“Suck my cock you mangled prat, I hope you trip and fall to your death you insignificant shit goblin!” 

At least so you thought.

You made a move and lunged for Theodore Nott’s throat as anger flared in your eyes. No one paid mind to the scene that was unfolding before them afterall it was a common occurrence for the last six years. 

“You enchanted my hair green!” You shrieked as you shook the brunette violently. “Are you out of your mind Nott? I thought we agreed we wouldn’t mess with each other’s appearances, what happened to that?” 

Theodore simply smirked and you felt your fury bubble inside you. He tilted his head to the right and acted as if he was actually pondering your question. If you could you would have been breathing flames as you felt yourself grow more livid as every second went by. 

“Hmm…I like your hair L/n, really suits the whole vibe you’re going for, don't you think bella?” Theo flashed you a wicked grin as he reached out to twirl a lock of your hair between his fingers. You slapped his hand away.

“And what vibe am I going for Nott? Please enlighten me since you apparently are the one making decisions for me.”

You should’ve just walked away. You really should’ve just cursed him out and gone to Madam Pomfrey for some sort of remedy instead of staying and entertaining whatever shit-faced idea he had come up with. The moment you saw the smug smirk that spread across his face and the dangerous twinkle in his eyes you knew he was going to spew some absolute bullshit. And you were right.

“Well obviously it’s a statement declaring that you’re mine, why else would you dye your hair to match my house?” The Slythering feigned disbelief, clutching his hands to his chest innocently. “But Salazar, I didn’t know you would be so bold about your feelings towards me bella.”

You felt heat rise and settle on your cheeks as you tried to come up with a colourful comeback to wipe the stupid smirk off his face but the words die in your throat. It was against your will but you could feel your face growing hotter as he continued to stare at you with that flirty glint in his eyes. Your brain spluttered to a stop and you scrambled desperately for something to say.

“Fuck you Nott.” You seethed before storming away with your hands balled into fists. You could hear the whispers of students and you could feel their stares as you stomped to the infirmary, determined to find some way to get your hair back to normal. 

Theodore Nott was the biggest pain in the arse you knew and he had never stopped being one. You still remembered when you had received your letter to Hogwarts and he had scoffed at the sight asking why Hogwarts would want a half-wit like you. Needless to say your parents weren’t surprised at the cries that erupted a second later from both you and him.

Throughout your years the two of you had become known for the obvious tension and pure hatred you harboured for each other though it did seem to lean on your side a bit more than it did to his. It had been the same for the first three years, bickering, pranks and whatnot. Then fourth year came and the scrawny boy you once knew had magically grown much taller and his face had lost a lot of the baby fat it once had. All at once Theodore Nott became one of the most sought after boys in Hogwarts and it only made you loathe him more. It made his ego triple in size and it made him much more flirty towards everyone but you seemed to be his number one target. All you wanted to do was to take your wand and puncture that bloated head of his.

Though his appearance changed he still was the boy you knew since you were a child and whenever he smiled you could see the same boyish grin he had way back when he was five. He had always been the same but now he just had a much more pretty face to disguise the fact he was a blithering idiot.

Theo watched as you stormed off, his smile never once leaving his face. He loved to mess with you purely to see the visceral anger that radiated off you every single time. The way you would try to stare him down but the action proved useless as he was much taller allowing him to simply look down smugly. It amused him to see how your reactions never changed. 

Ever since you were five you held the same expressions: whenever you were mildly irritated by him you would chew on your bottom lip, whenever you were pissed your eyes would double in size and you’d look like a fire-breathing dragon, and whenever he made you upset you would stare blankly without a word. He’d only ever made you truly upset once and when seeing your face he knew he would never do it again because even if the two of you bickered and fought he would never hurt you.

“Sometimes I think you’re secretly dating because you should see the way you’re daydreaming hopelessly while staring at L/n’s retreating figure Nott, you look like a bloody imbecile.” Draco slapped Theo’s back startling him out of his own thoughts. He scoffed after realising what his friend was implying.

“Oh Salazar’s balls I think I’m going to regurgitate my breakfast. You’ve gone insane if you even think for a second there’s a chance I fancy that creature.”

Laughter erupted from his friends and they continued to mock and tease him obviously not being mature enough to handle the situation with grace.

“I would rather shag the giant squid than date L/n and I’m sure the feeling is mutual.”

Mattheo hummed to himself and smirked. He placed his arm on Theo’s shoulder. “Well then can I ask her out? She’s real hot and I think she’d be interested.”

“L/n might be stupid Riddle but she wouldn’t ever go out with you or even give you the time of day. So don’t even think about doing it.” And with that he left and his friends exchanged knowing glances before bursting into another fit of laughter at their friend’s own obliviousness.

//

This was so not your day. 

Never in your life had you forgotten to hand in homework yet one silly slip up had cost you to spend your free afternoon in detention. It wasn’t your fault you had mixed up the dates on when the transfiguration homework was due. 

You begrudgingly opened the classroom doors, finding a seat to sit down for the next hour. At least you were able to catch up on some other classes while you were in detention otherwise you thought you would’ve gone mad. You looked around the classroom save for Professor McGonagall who had already greeted you when you walked in there was no one else there. 

It hadn’t even been a minute when the doors burst open to reveal a very tall and very smug Slytherin.

“Mr Nott, glad for you to join us, find a seat please.”

Theo's grin faltered as his eyes locked onto yours, a flicker of confusion dancing across his features before it was swiftly replaced by his trademark smirk. He made his way toward you, closing the distance until there were mere centimetres separating you from him.

“Now L/n, Nott, I have important business to tend to so I assume the both of you are mature enough to sit through this detention. I hope that I don’t hear about any incidents when I am gone.”

It was as if your nightmare had all of a sudden come to life as you watched McGonagall leave the classroom. You tried to protest but it fell upon deaf ears as the professor had already left the room, leaving you stuck with your nemesis.

You whipped your head to face the brunette, irritation flashing in your eyes. Why had he chosen to sit next to you when there were plenty of other seats available? The classroom was far from crowded, yet here he was, invading your personal space with his mere presence

“Why are you sitting next to me Nott?”

“Why can’t I? Do you happen to own every seat in this classroom?” He teased. “I didn’t think you did, so I’m going to sit where I want.”

You grumbled under your breath at his stubbornness, getting up to pack your things. “Fine, but then I’m moving.”

Before you could make your move, Theo reached out and grabbed your arm. “Hey slow down, I have a perfect seat right here.” Your irritation flared at his audacity, and you shot him a scathing glare as he gestured to his lap with a smug smirk. “Why don’t you-”

“Nott, if you seriously propose that I sit in your lap I will hex you to oblivion.”

“Okay!” Theo held his hands up in mock surrender, his expression feigning innocence as he cocked his head to the side, the smirk never once leaving his face. “Stay here, I won’t bother you, I swear.”

You eyed him cautiously, your scepticism evident. You weighed the options before you reluctantly sat back down. “Fine.”

A quiet hush befell the classroom and all that could be heard was the scratching of quills on parchment. That is until you were interrupted by a persistent poking sensation that disrupted your concentration, each jab of the quill more annoying than the last. You clenched your jaw as you tried to ignore Theo but you knew he wouldn’t stop until you gave him attention and there was no way you were giving him the satisfaction of reacting. So he continued to poke and poke and poke. 

His incessant poking finally pushed you over the edge, prompting a sharp hiss of irritation from your lips. "What?" You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer.

“What are you doing here?” 

If there was a competition for incompetence Theodore Nott would sure have won first place.

“Detention obviously.”

“Oh you know what I meant, why are you in detention? Did you do something stupid? Wait, you do that all the time I forgot.” You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to roll them right out of your skull. "Tell me, bella," He continued, his voice laced with faux innocence. "I don't bite."

“Forgot my homework.” You reluctantly mumbled under your breath, feeling all too claustrophobic at how close he was to you. “Not that big of a deal.”

“Oh but it is.”

“What does that even mean, Nott?” Your eyes narrowed. Theo’s face twisted into a playful smirk and he was so close that you could practically hear his heart beating.

He chuckled, undeterred by your hostility. "But it's not like you to forget your homework," He teased, leaning in closer. "There must be something distracting you. Perhaps... thoughts of me?"

As if on instinct your hands reached out to push the unbearable boy away from you and you immediately got up at his incredulous words. You saw the way laughter bubbled and slipped from his lips, mocking you which only added more fuel to the evergrowing fire.

"In your dreams, Nott," You retorted, your voice laced with venom as you rose from your seat, your movements quick and determined. "I would sooner volunteer for a Dementor's kiss than waste a single thought on you."

Theo’s smirk only widened and his eyes gleamed with mischief. "Oh, believe me, the feeling is mutual," He quipped, his voice dripping with amusement as he rested his chin on his palms, his gaze never wavering from yours.

You huffed out an angry breath before picking your stuff up and stalking to the opposite end of the classroom. Luckily, he didn’t follow and you were left in peace for the rest of the detention.

//

It had been a week and a half since your detention yet Theodore Nott hadn’t approached you once since. In fact, you hadn’t seen him around school a lot, not that you were paying attention of course. It was just weird. Usually his face would pop up in front of you multiple times a day yet he was nowhere to be found. You had even lingered around the Slytherin table at lunch to see if he would show up but he never did. 

There was this sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. Even though you did despise Theo you had known him since he was a kid and he never was one to skip lessons much less disappear for over a week. Even his Slytherin friends didn’t know where he went.

That is until today. The moment you had walked into the dungeons ready for your Potions lesson you spotted him. There was a part of you that hoped you would see him today, after all he was your Potions partner. But there was something wrong. His face looked gaunt, pale, sapped of life and his eyes were merely blank as he sat unmoving. His usual demeanour was replaced with one of hollow emptiness.

“Where have you been Nott?” No response. You frowned as you looked at him, he seemed to not even hear you. “Nott? Have you suddenly become deaf?”

“It’s none of your business.” He snapped voice obviously laced with malice as the words cut through the air. The sharpness of his tone caught you off guard, a twinge of hurt gnawing at the edges of your consciousness despite the fact you both had said worse to each other.

You chose to ignore the fact that Theo was obviously in a sour mood and sat down beside him, unpacking your things. There was nothing special about the lesson, nothing that you needed to particularly pay attention to. Not that you did since you were too focused on trying to figure out what was wrong with your partner. Theo didn’t look okay, not in the slightest. He seemed exhausted and his sluggish movements proved you correct as he diced the various ingredients. 

You were in the middle of stirring the cauldron when Theo dropped a dandelion root in the mixture causing it to bubble and spit. The concoction spilled onto your hand and you shrieked at the sudden burning sensation that seemed to consume your hand in flames. The sensation is unbearable, a sharp, burning agony that seems to penetrate deep into your very bones. By now the whole class had stopped to look at you not fully registering what had happened. You turned to Theo, tears threatening to fall from your eyes at the pain but he stood there frozen, an expression you couldn’t decipher on his face.

“Theo-”

"Fucking hell, L/n." He spat, his voice dripping with disdain. "Would it kill you to not be such a clumsy moron? You could've hurt me as well. How can you even call yourself a witch?"

His words were sharp and spiteful. Through the many years of knowing Theodore Nott he had never blamed you for something he did. He might have been an incorrigible prick but he would still apologise if he had ever hurt you genuinely. But as you looked at him you couldn’t recognise the cold harsh look he gave you and you bit back your tears. You wouldn’t cry in front of him. 

Despite the fact your hand was in pain you felt something tighten around your chest and it made the air around you feel thick as if you couldn’t breathe. You stood up angrily, opening your mouth to snap back but your vision starts to fade, black spots invade your senses and that was the last thing you remember before you tumbled to the floor.

You woke up a few hours later as you felt the sun shine on your face. You blinked, disorientated, as you tried to get used to your surroundings. The familiar walls of the infirmary materialised and you felt some ease at knowing where you were. Confusion still gnawed at your mind as you struggled to piece together what had happened. How had you ended up in the infirmary? And why did everything feel so hazy, as if viewed through a foggy lens? 

Your gaze drifted to your hand, the source of the searing pain. And there, wrapped in a pristine white bandage, lay the answer to at least one of your questions. The memory flooded back in fragments, disjointed and incomplete.

Theo's careless mistake, the scalding mixture splattering across your skin, the sharp cry of pain that had torn through the air, all of it came rushing back with startling clarity.

“Miss L/n you’re awake!” Madam Pomfrey’s voice cut through your thoughts and you saw the woman make her way towards you hurriedly. “That was a terrible burn you had, lucky I had some burn-healing paste on me otherwise you would have had an ugly scar.”

You were still a bit dazed, trying to piece together how you even managed to make your way here. You distinctively remembered collapsing to the floor but that was where your memory stopped and it refused to give you any more.

“Sorry Madam Pomfrey but do you know how I got here? I really can’t seem to remember.”

“Oh dear.” The nurse frowned at your condition. “Mr Nott brought you here. He’s been here the whole afternoon. He's only just popped to dinner. I'm sure he’ll be back. Merlin, the boy did look worried.”

You resisted the urge to scoff at her words. Theodore Nott, worried. Not a chance. He probably only brought you here because Slughorn insisted, and he couldn't risk getting on the professor's bad side. No, you highly doubted he cared about what had happened to you.

The memory of his harsh words repeated in your head like an echo that refused to go away, a reminder of his indifference to your situation. And yet, despite your efforts to brush it off, a bitter laugh escaped your lips. Why were you even upset? After all, the two of you were experts at hurling mean insults at each other. It was practically a pastime. 

Rather you should have been mad at the fact he was the one who caused you to get this injury anyway. If it wasn’t for his stupid mistake you wouldn’t be in this predicament. Then again, you remembered his movements, how his usual nimble fingers were fumbling the ingredients, how he stared at the pages of his book as though they were in a foreign language. Something wasn’t right.

“You’re awake.”

The words startled you and you spotted the Slytherin boy approaching your bed as his face held the same blank expression as before. He sat down beside you and your eyes narrowed. You shuffled away, not wanting to be near him.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured quietly and the words caught you off guard. “These past few days just haven’t been the best and-”

“That’s your excuse?” You bristled at his pathetic apology, hoping that you had misheard what he had said. “You mess up our potion resulting in me getting hurt and then hurl insults my way trying to blame me for what happened. And you think simply saying ‘I’m sorry’ is enough? Using the excuse of having a few bad days as your way out?”

He stayed silent allowing you to continue.

“Theodore Nott, you always were an idiot.” You spat, the words tinged with disappointment. “But I never expected you to be such a heartless prick.”

As the final syllable fell from your lips, a heavy silence settled over the room, punctuated only by the shallow rise and fall of your breath. You held Theo’s gaze and as you studied him you noticed something you had failed to notice before. The dark circles that marred the skin beneath his eyes, the redness that rimmed their edges. The weariness that had been etched into his features. 

“I went home.” He finally said, breaking the silence with his words. “Father sent a letter saying it was urgent, that I needed to return home at once.”

You felt yourself deflate and your gaze softened. Theo and his father had never been on the best terms and ever since his mother died they drifted apart even more. Suddenly his attitude made sense and you felt the guilt seep into your senses.

“Turns out his urgent matter was that he found himself another potential wife. Some poor woman to endure his torture and he wanted to happily announce it to his son. He burnt all of my mother’s belongings and if I hadn’t stopped him he would’ve gotten rid of her grave as well.” Theo scoffed bitterly and you saw the way he was trying to stop the tears from falling. “That bastard calls himself my father but not once in his life has he ever cared about me.”

A heavy silence enveloped the both of you as you sat not uttering a word. You knew that he had always struggled with the strained relationship with his family. The death of his mother had resulted in Theo being distraught for weeks as he relived the nightmare whenever he closed his eyes. 

“I’m not going back there. I’m never setting foot in that house ever again.”

You placed your hand on his shoulder as you tried to offer some sort of comfort. His eyes locked with yours and you saw how his tears glistened as they fell silently. You felt ropes tighten around your heart and you squeezed his shoulder gently. It had been a long time since you saw Theodore Nott cry. It was a rare sight but that was what made it that much more painful.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” You whispered. “I honestly…I’m so sorry Theo. He really doesn’t deserve a son like you. You’re incredible, you know that? You might be irritating and loud and downright infuriating at times but he doesn’t deserve you because you’re amazing Theodore Nott. And, Merlin, if I’m saying that then it must mean a lot because we both know my word is golden.”

You offered him a small smile and your heart warms when you see one tug at his lips too. He looked away for a second and you saw his eyes land on your bandaged hand and he winced.

“I really am sorry for messing up our potion. I didn’t mean what I said, you’re a brilliant witch Y/n, you always have been. I was just being a prat, I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine, it’s honestly nothing bad. My hand will probably already be back to normal, I heal quickly you know.” You paused as your smile faltered and you chose your next words carefully. “If…if you don’t want to return to your house, you can always go to someone else's.”

Theo chuckled as he shook his head. “No one is going to accept me into their house without turning me into my father.”

“I will.” 

Silence. Theo looked at you, confusion clear on his face but your gaze was strong and he could tell you had meant what you had said. You felt yourself flush at his stare and you realised your hand was still on his shoulder and you quickly removed it.

“Accept you into my house I mean. My parents love you and you know they haven’t been on good terms with your father ever since what happened. We would be more than willing to take you in.” You watched as his face contorted into expressions that you couldn’t formulate. “That is if you promise not to fill my bathtub with toads again.”

Laughter fell from his lips, cascading like a melody. He lifted his hands to wipe away his tears that had been streaking down his face. His eyes no longer held the blank emotionless look but rather a certain warmth that you had missed seeing. Your grin widened upon hearing the sound and you found yourself joining in.

“At least you look pretty-”

Your words were cut off abruptly as Theo leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a sudden and unexpected kiss. You froze, unable to comprehend what exactly was happening as disbelief rippled through your body. His hands found their way at the back of your neck and you feel his thumb caress your cheek tenderly. You were still in shock when he pulled away and the last few words of the sentence you were about to say tumbled out of your mouth.

“-when you cry…”

You blinked as your mind tried to grapple at what had just happened. Theodore Nott had just kissed you. Theodore Nott, the boy you had despised since you were five, had just kissed you. He kissed you. Kissed…you. Immediately, your body erupted into flames and you felt your face flush hot at how close the both of you were.

“Your body temperature has risen extremely quickly.” Theo teased and you felt yourself grow even hotter.

“Shut it.”

“Like you’re actually a human radiator.” He continued undeterred by your glare.

“Nott if you don’t want to lose your head I would advise you to shut up.”

Theo grinned and you felt your heart stutter at the sight. “Oh so now I’m back to being Nott? What happened to Theo?” He said his name in a high pitched croon in an attempt to mock your voice and you smacked the backside of his head which only encouraged his laughter.

“You’re actually going to be the death of me.” You groaned as you slumped back down the bed, pulling the covers over your face as a feeble attempt to hide yourself from the pretty Slytherin.

Theo poked your arm and you peeked out to find him staring at you with a bright grin on his face. 

"Don't worry." He reassured you, his voice light and teasing. "I'll make sure to stay by your side forever and ever, like a blood-sucking parasite."

“How romantic.” You drawled as you rolled your eyes, trying to maintain a facade of annoyance as you retreated under the covers once more.

“Aren’t I just?” 

You ignored Theo’s playful whines for you to let him see your face. Your heart threatened to break out of your chest as you tried to calm yourself down. But even so, you were unable to stop the grin that spread across your face. Maybe, just maybe, forever wouldn't be so bad with Theodore Nott by your side.

[lordprettyflackotara]

if u think i’m pretty || chris sturniolo

SMUT. 18+. Minors DNI. tw: hate fucking. lots of it. bickering while fucking? idk you get the gist. finally got around to writing about chris. can you believe i scrapped like 5 fics? 🥴 yeah me either! also, sequel with matt if yall want it ;)

“Christopher fucking Sturniolo!”

Your words were laced with venom, the staircase rumbling beneath you as you stomped upstairs. Faintly you could hear Matt call out for you, your mind too filled with rage to hear him properly.

Pornographic moans flooded your eardrums as you reached Chris’s room, your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head. Your closed fist rattled his door, the dramatic moans coming to a screeching halt.

“Open the fucking door dickwad!” You screamed. Impatiently you tapped your foot, deciding he was taking too long. You grabbed the door handle, (surprised to find it unlocked), and swung the door open.

It was almost comical watching Chris and a girl you didn’t know scramble to get themselves dressed.

“What the fuck are you doing in here? Get the fuck out! Haven’t you ever heard of privacy?” Chris spat, shoving his gray sweatpants on. For a brief moment you felt bad for the girl, her waterline filling with tears. She was just one of many you had seen this week. You grabbed a shirt you presumed to be hers, handing it to her. You took a deep breath, containing your anger as you looked at her.

“Please get dressed and for the love of God, find someone better to fuck,” You sighed. The blonde was gone in a flash, practically sprinting out of Chris’s room. You crossed your arms, shooting lasers out of your eyes as you glared at the brunette across from you. Oh, only if looks could kill.

“I’m not believing my phone magically teleported into the dishwasher of all places,” You snarled. Your phone had been missing for six hours straight, your iphones location still saying it was at the triplets house. You had dragged Matt and Nick all around their house, searching from the ceiling to the floor. When you had finally accepted defeat, you had opened the dishwasher to grab a bowl to make a snack.

And to your displeasure, your phone was sopping wet, sitting in plain sight on the rack.

“You have zero proof I did that, literally zero,” Chris argued. Your eyes briefly flickered to his exposed chest, the amount of skin throwing you off. You shook your head, showing Chris your ruined phone. “Really? Because I can’t recall the last time you did dishes but you magically did them last night,” You snapped. Chris shrugged nonchalantly, a cocky smirk creeping across his lips.

“What can I say? I figured i’d help out the household,”

That’s it.

You chucked your phone at him, the brunette dodging the attack by seconds. It was ruined away, even the rice method was unable to save your phone. It smacked against the wall, the sound making Chris jump. “Maybe your phone wouldn’t be ruined if you weren’t having very LOUD phone sex with your boyfriend!” Chris yelled. You threw your hands up in the air, completely dumbfounded. “What are you talking about? Why would I ever-” You began arguing, before it clicked.

You weren’t having phone sex with anyone, that was for sure. But you stayed over at the Sturniolo household frequently, to the point where you were there more often than you were home. As much as Chris drove you insane, you couldn’t deny how attractive he was. The concept of the attraction being forbidden, soured by years and years of bickering, did something inside of you.

You could feel heat rushing to your cheeks, even though you didn’t want it to. Chris snickered at your loss of words, shooting you a genuine smile. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” He teased. In a swift motion you dashed across the room, your palm connecting with his cheek. Your tension with Chris had never gone beyond yelling. He had never crawled under your skin so much before, embarrassment seeping over you as you thought about the whole house hearing what he said.

A long pause silenced the room, the sound of the slap echoing through out your ears. Chris took a moment to process what you had just done, before his sharp gaze meant yours. His hand flew to your throat, gripping the sides as he threw you against the nearest wall. The air was knocked out of your lungs, your body in fight or flight mode. He easily towered over you, his sharp blue eyes filled with rage.

“You’re such a fucking whore,” Chris grumbled. He squeezed the sides of your neck harder, a whimper escaping your lips. His grip loosened, his attention fully dedicated to the sound you had made. The brunette tilted his head to the side curiously, as if he hadn’t believed what he just heard. “Did you just whimper?” He questioned. You shook your head no, Chris’s knee spreading your legs apart. Testing the waters, he brought his face closer to yours.

“You know, your little stunt prevented me from finishing earlier. Perhaps you’d like to help me out,” Chris purred, the glint of lust in your eyes telling him everything he needed to know. You rolled your eyes, your heart beginning to race as his body pressed against yours. “If you’re going to kiss me get on with it before I change my mind,” You said plainly. Chris’s grip on your throat tightened, your airway becoming restricted.

“You’ve always been a mouthy one,” He muttered, roughly bringing his lips to yours.

Chris hated how good you tasted, how good you smelled. He hated how your skin always looked so soft, your lips so plump. He despised how confident you were, always charging into everything in your life head first. What Chris actually liked, was that you challenged him. He knew that his infatuation with you wasn’t actually feelings, just raw and untamed lust. But fuck, with your lips against his, it made him want to change his mind.

The two of you clawed off each other’s clothes, discarding the clothing to the floor. Chris’s tongue swiped across your lower lip, before sliding inside. His kisses were rough and sloppy, your body addicted to the electricity he made run down your spine. You pushed him harshly against the bed, his back hitting the soft mattress underneath him.

You straddled him quickly, attempting to take control of the situation. Ever so slowly you grinded your wet cunt against his exposed shaft, a groan escaping his lips. Chris cockily put his hands behind his head, admiring you. “Go ahead, get yourself off just by grinding on me. You can do it pretty girl,” Chris instructed. You felt heat dash across your cheeks at the sound of his praise, your hips moving seemingly on their own.

Curses left your lips as you threw your head back. “Making me get myself off since you can’t do it? Figures,” You managed to say, your movements becoming more desperate. Chris leaned forward on his elbows, watching your cunt slide up and down his shift. “I’d watch your words ma, i’ll overstimulate you until you’re nothing but a cock craving whore,” Chris warned. His warning felt real, the threat in it seeking genuinely true. Even if you didn’t want to believe it.

Chris bit his bottom lip as you shamelessly grinded against him, every little movement providing pleasure to your clit. “You really think i’d fuck as many girls as I do if I couldn’t make them cum? I thought you were supposed to be smart,” Chris said coldly, mockingly tilting his head to the side. Your gaze landed back on the man beneath you, ignoring his cock in between your folds. “Yeah? I thought I was supposed to be overstimulated by now. What happened to that?” You challenged.

He was quick to change positions, your back landing against the mattress before you could think. He roughly spread your thighs apart, shoving two fingers into your cunt. A gasp of surprise was ripped from your throat, his spare hand resuming its place as your personal collar. Chris’s name spilled off of your lips as his fingers curled inside of you, his name becoming a sinful mantra. “What happened? Not so cocky now are we?” Chris taunted, watching you fall apart on his fingers.

The sight of you was enough to make his cock throb, his body craving attention. Chris remained focused, determined to corrupt you. “Open your fucking mouth slut,” Chris ordered. You so without a second thought, flattening your tongue across your bottom lip. He gripped your face harshly, leaning over and spitting into your mouth. “Swallow it,” He growled, watching you intently. You did as you were told, swallowing his saliva. You felt humiliated as it slid down your throat, the feeling euphoric.

“Thats a good girl, now why don’t you cum on my fingers for me? Hmm?” Chris asked. His words of praise made the rope inside of you snap, your orgasm washing over you without warning. Your vision went white, your thighs trembling as Chris removed his fingers from your aching cunt. You watched as he sucked them clean, maintaining eye contact with you as he did so.

Still coming down from your high, you put every last bit of energy into rolling your eyes. “Are you going to fuck me or just stare?” You asked. Chris’s cocky smile fell, replaced with a frown. “Nothings ever good enough for you, is it?” He replied, crawling on top of you. He brushed the tip of his cock up and down your folds teasingly, enjoying hearing you audibly whine for him. “Why’d you destroy my phone?” You asked, your coherent thoughts interrupted by him shoving himself inside of you.

You both moaned in unison, the unholy sounds vibrating off of the walls. “Why’d you decide to have phone sex in my house?” Chris gritted out, sliding himself further into you. He had more girth than you expected, your walls struggling to accommodate his size. “I asked you first dipshit,” You spat, fighting back a groan as he slid in further. Chris could feel your walls spasming around his cock, the sensation enough to make him cum right then and there. But he knew you’d never let him live it down.

“Yeah? Well I asked you second,” Chris replied, bottoming out inside of you. The tip of his shaft brushed against your g spot, the slightest movement of his hips making you whimper. “If you must know I wasn’t having phone sex, dumbass,” You said honestly. Chris pulled his hips back at a teasing rate, entertaining the argument. “Yeah? So what were you doing?” He questioned, doubting what you were saying. His hips bucked back into yours, hitting your g spot purposefully slow. He was drawing his thrust out, enjoying the sight of you squirming beneath him.

“I-I was thinking of you, alright? Now are you going to fuck me or what?” You rambled, embarrassed by your confession. Chris paused for a moment, soaking in your words. He leaned forward, his breath hot against your ear. “Is that so? Well, I destroyed your phone because I got jealous. You belong under me, just like this, taking my cock,” Chris purred, ignoring the embarrassment of his own confession. He pulled back slightly, allowing the two of you to make eye contact.

Out of breath and desperate, both of you panted as you stared into each other’s eyes. “Well, in that case, you better get on with it,” You said weakly. The same cocky smile that you hated plastered across his lips, his hips bucking into yours quickly. Your nails dug into his back as his hips continued to slam into yours, his cock buried inside of your cunt. Chris couldn’t hold back his own groans, your walls milking his cock dry.

With glazed eyes he met your gaze, relishing in the sound of your groans, chanting his name. “Open your mouth for me,” He ordered, his cock abusing your cervix. Chris enjoyed that you didn’t hesitate, obeying him without a second thought. He put two fingers into your mouth, shoving them as far back as he could. “Now fucking suck them slut,” He growled. With each degrading word you squeezed him harder, your body snitching on your hidden desire.

“You look so pretty like this, when you aren’t yapping that mouth of yours,” He huffed. A painful whine came from his lips, your nails purposefully digging deeper into his back. You pathetically bobbed your head up and down on his fingers, concealing your smirk as you heard him in audible pain. Chris slithered his spare hand down to your cunt, drawing fast and sloppy circles around your clit.

“Go on, cum for me. Cum on my cock like the good girl you are for me,” Chris panted. The extra sensation was enough to make you throw your head back, Chris’s fingers still lodged in your mouth. Your warning of your orgasm was muffled, your thighs shaking violently under him. The sight was going to be burned into Chris’s memory forever, the feeling of your cunt spasming around him giving him an undeniable ego boost. He fucked you through your orgasm, becoming preoccupied with chasing his own.

His fingers roughly grabbed your waist, fucking you rougher. “Shit, i’m gonna cum,” He admitted. Chris watched, mesmerized as his cock slid in and out of your cunt. “Where do you want it?” He asked, his hips beginning to stutter. You grabbed him by his throat, dragging him towards you. You put your mouth next to his ear, smirking as you told him, “Inside of me.”

You filthy fuck. For the first time your name fell from Chris’s lips as he came, his warm seed flooding your cunt. In unison you both tried to catch your breath, Chris carefully slipping out of you. The room was silent, besides desperate breathing, a knock came from Chris’s door.

“Yeah?”

“Your uh, doordash is here dude,” Matt said awkwardly. You could hear him place a bag in front of his bedroom door. “Thanks,” Chris replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Hey Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time maybe fuck a little quieter, Nicks pretty pissed.”

You exchanged glances with Chris, watching as he shoved on a shirt.

“You heard him, be quiet next time,”

“Next time? There won’t be a next time. Mr.I lasted thirty seconds.”

The sound of you two bickering made Matt roll his eyes, causing him to walk away. He wondered if you both would ever get married, or if you both would hate fuck forever. He shrugged at the idea, heading back downstairs. All Matt knew for sure, was that your moans made him cum the hardest he ever had. And that, was enough for him.

[f1goat]

more than friends ; lando norris + part twelve

In which your best friend is going to help you to gain more sexual experience and say goodbye to your insecurities, but he's quick to discover that he never wants to share you and your new experiences with others - the only problem being, him having to confess his feelings.

masterlist - playlist

fem!y/n x lando norris

warnings: smut with a plot. minors dni! probably grammar or spelling errors due to english not being my first language.

requested: yes, based on this request: something with a driver sister that’s still a virgin & lando (her bestfriend) suggests to teach her things

part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven / part eight / part nine / part ten / part eleven

“Fuck.” Lando can’t hold back this time. The word leave his mouth before he can think about it. He wants to intervene, but he knows he can’t. If it was up to him, he would drag you away and fuck you until you can’t even spell Pierre anymore, but that’s not something he can do. At least, not anymore. He fucked it up. 

Oscar sends him a pitiful look, but doesn’t say anything. His teammate knows that something has changed between Lando and you, but he doesn’t know what. Oscar wishes he knew, he feels like he needs to help the two of you before everything is broken. He keeps looking at Lando, waiting for him to snap and to say something, but nothing happens. All of Lando his focus is on you - and on Pierre who’s dancing with you. 

Lando sighs. He wants to cry. If he thinks about what happened long enough, then maybe he’ll cry for real. He feels the gaze of Oscar his eyes burning on his back. Maybe he should talk with his teammate. Maybe Oscar can help? He doubts it, but there are no other options. Maybe Oscar is his last hope. When he turns himself to Oscar, the boy is already waiting for him to speak up. 

“I think I lost her,” Lando stammers. He has never said words like this before, never have words felt this painful to say out loud, it breaks him down even further. 

“What happened?” Oscar asks. 

“I fucked it up,” Lando sighs. 

+++

“Lan?” “Yeah?”

“I uh, I was wondering how this will continue between us?” You ask a bit careful, “I mean are we going to continue to have sex or are we going back to how things where? It feels like you’ve learned me quite a lot and I don’t know what will happen now, you know?” The words are coming out like a mess, you can only hope that Lando understands what you mean. Maybe this is your coward way of asking Lando if he wants to make things different. 

Lando doesn’t know what to say. He realizes that this is the moment to come clean about his feelings for you, but he doesn’t. “Uh, we can continue like this?” He suggests at first. 

“But what will happen then?” You ask, “How will it affect our friendship?”

“The same as now, right?” Lando doesn’t know where you’re going with the questions. 

“But we can’t always stay friends who fuck, right?” You question. An annoyed feeling creeps up. Why doesn’t Lando understand your deeper meaning? 

“There are plenty people who do so, it’s called friends with benefits,” Lando informs you. He almost slaps himself for telling it so casual, why isn’t he confessing about his feelings? Why can’t he find the right words and tell you? 

“I know what that is,” you sigh, “but do you want that for us? What will happen if you meet another girl? Or if you’re done with me? I mean it feels like some sort of endless situation which will only slow us down at one point. What if our friendship gets in the way?”

Lando tries to follow all the questions, but he doesn’t know if every one of them actually got into his mind. It feels like it’s all too much. What are you saying? Why are you talking about him with another girl? Does that mean you want to search for a boyfriend yourself? In some weird way he convinces himself that it must mean that you want a boyfriend - someone else then him. 

“You can just say so if you want a boyfriend and want to stop this with me,” he eventually snickers to you. 

You show Lando a confused look. “That’s not what I’m saying?” You react surprised.

“No, but it is what you actually mean with your words, isn’t it?” Lando continues. He feels himself getting frustrated. Why did he even have hope that things would end different? Suddenly he’s glad that he didn’t confess his feelings, you would have turned him down anyway. 

“Lan, that’s bullshit,” you reply a bit annoyed, “I’m just saying that this is an hopeless situation. I need some clearance.” 

“Okay, here is your clarity,” Lando spits the words out, “We’re not fucking anymore, we’re just friends and you can find yourself some boyfriend to fuck with.” His voice gets louder with every word he says. What he doesn’t notice until it’s too late, is the way you look at him. Tears are rolling over your cheeks. 

“If that’s what you want,” you softly mutter, “then that’s fine.”

Lando doesn’t think before he talks. He speaks up with only angry and frustrated feelings inside of him to do the thinking right now. “Apparently it’s what you want,” he states angrily. 

“I uh, I need some time for myself,” you softly say, barely being able to hold back your cries. “I’ll see you later in the club.”

With those words you walk away from Lando. He watches you leave. It almost feels like some stupid movie scene. Lando watches how you walk away from him, dressed in a beautiful dress - that was already starring in his plans for when the two of you came back to the hotel room tonight. He feels a small tear rolling down on his cheek. Why did you leave? No, he can’t ask himself a question as stupid as that. You left because he accused you of the most stupid shit, just because he was too afraid to tell you about his feelings. Again. Fuck, he should have told you. He thinks about running after you, but when he opens the door he notices that you’re already gone. 

He wonders how you’re going to the club, since you told him that you’d see him there. How are you going to get there in a strange country where you don’t know anyone expect a few drivers? Lando sighs. He starts to worry about you. Hurriedly he changes his outfit and makes himself ready to also head to the club. He needs to make things right. 

+++

“Fuck man,” Oscar sighs, “That’s so fucking stupid.”

“I know,” Lando confesses, “I don’t know what I was thinking.. Fuck. How am I going to fix this?”

Oscar doesn’t respond at first. It gives Lando the time to take another look at you again. You’re still dancing with Pierre. The Alpine driver is almost pressed against your body, Lando feels himself getting angry. Why him? You have been with Pierre since Lando saw you again. The looks you send him when he tried to approach you said enough. You’re not in the mood to talk with him. 

“Just confess mate,” Oscar eventually says, “You can’t make things worse right? Just explain everything to her.” 

“But.”

“No buts,” Oscar interrupts, “just be honest with her.” 

Lando sighs. He can’t look away from you. He notices the way Pierre moves his head to get closer to your neck so he can press his lips against it. Lando hopes his marks are still somewhere on your body. Fuck, that seems really territorial, but he can’t blame himself for thinking like this. 

“Lando, go to her,” Oscar states again, “Staring and acting like some mad caveman won’t help you.” 

He sees Pierre moving again. This time holding you closely in front of himself. It looks like he wants to kiss you. Is he going to try to kiss you? Fuck. Lando wants to do many things. Walk away and stop watching so he can’t see it happen or walking as fast as he can towards you and pull you away from Pierre. When he continues to watch, he notices that you finally seek eye contact with him. Then he notices your look. Are you asking him for help? It seems like you’re really uncomfortable. Or is he just imagining things to make this better for himself? 

Lando stops thinking. He almost sprints towards you and Pierre, leaving Oscar by himself while doing so. When he’s standing in front of you, he still doesn’t think about his next movements. Lando grabs your wrist, pulls you towards himself and tries to walk away with you. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” You ask him. 

“Mate fuck off,” Pierre sneers, “you’ve had your chance.” 

“Lando, you can’t just drag me away from Pierre. It doesn’t work like that!” You yell annoyed. A small part in you hopes that Lando does drag you away from Pierre. After all, the only reason you’re dancing this close with Pierre is to cause a reaction by Lando. But you don’t know what will happen after.

“Watch me,” Lando grunts. Easily he lifts you up and puts you halfway on his shoulder. Holding you close he starts to walk away from Pierre. “Can’t just drag you away,” he mutters annoyed, “As if I’m going to look at him with my girl any longer.” He puts his hand on your ass, making sure no one can see anything from underneath your dress. The small gesture makes you smile.

When he passes Oscar, he notices the way his teammate is almost laughing out loud. “Fucking caveman,” Oscar is quick to tell him before Lando continues walking with you on his shoulder. “Just confess!” Oscar yells when Lando walks away from him. 

You really don’t know what to think right now. Yes, you did want a reaction from Lando. Yes, you did want to annoy him until he would finally snap. But did you want it to end up like this? You don’t know if you’re honest. Not that you expected such a big reaction from Lando. He literally put you onto his shoulders to take you away with him. That seems a bit much, right? When Lando reaches his rental car, he opens the passenger door and puts you down on the ground again. It’s obvious that he wants you to take place in the car, but you don’t. 

“Y/N,” Lando groans, “I swear to god, go sit in the fucking car.” 

“Why?” You ask him. 

“Because we’re going to talk.”

“We did talk,” you sigh, “and you made yourself perfectly clear. We’re not fucking anymore so I can find myself a boyfriend, since that’s what I want according to you.”

“Correction, I’m going to fuck away this terrible attitude of yours and then we’re going to talk.”

You don’t say anything. Maybe because this is kinda what you wanted? Who can blame you. Lando is fucking hot when he’s mad. Quietly you step in to the car.

The car ride is in an awkward silence. Lando his hand lays on your thigh. It feels like he’s marking you as his with the simple move, but you don’t know who he expects to reach since it’s just to two of you. His eyes are switching between you and the road. You’re also looking at him. At first you tried not to since you’re mad at him, but when you gave him a small look you couldn’t stop anymore. 

The harsh conversation between the two of you isn’t longer then a couple hours ago, but you can see it’s impact on Lando. Or maybe it’s the impact from watching at Pierre and you? At first you never knew when Lando cried or how to spot the signs that he was about to. But after being his friend for so many years, you now know. Lando looks like a mess. Your mess. 

It feels weird when you enter Lando and yours hotel room again. Both of you don’t know what to say. It makes you annoyed when Lando keeps pacing around and doesn’t say anything. And doesn’t fuck you. 

“I thought you were going to do something?” You ask him, “Or do I need to get myself back to Pierre to get fucked?” You don’t know where you found those words and how they end up leaving your mouth, but at least Lando isn’t pacing around anymore. 

He feels like he lost all of his sanity right now. Lando rushes towards you and harshly lifts you up again, only to throw you onto the bed. He turns you so you’re laying on your stomach and pulls you closer to himself. Within seconds your dress is pulled up and Lando his bottoms are hanging around his legs. He tugs on your thongs until they fall apart. Satisfied he looks at your snapped string. 

Before you can say anything about it, Lando makes sure that your ass is lifted in the air. Without any sort of warning or foreplay he lets his dick enter you. It causes you to let out a loud scream, “Fuck Lando!” He doubts for a bit about himself and his actions, but when you follow that scream with multiple moans, his doubts are quick to disappear. He fucks you without thinking about being soft, nice or anything like that. It’s animalistic. He has lost all his patience and can only focus on fucking you as hard as he can manage. 

“Fucking slut,” he grunts when he hears a loud moan from you. 

“Your slut, sir,” you say softly. You almost don’t dare to say it. When you feel Lando his pace decreasing, you feel ashamed of your words.

“What did you just say?” Lando asks you. He’s barely fucking you anymore, rarely he moves his dick in and out of you. He needs to make sure that he heard you right. 

“Your slut, sir,” you tell him again.

“Fuck,” Lando mutters, “Only mine?” 

“Yes,” you agree with him.

“Not Pierre’s?” Lando continues to ask.

“No,” you quickly state, “Wanted you to snap.”

Lando lets out a low chuckle after hearing your words. You wanted him to snap? He doesn’t know what you mean with that, but he does know you just said that Pierre’s not even close to him. He pulls back a bit, letting his dick leave your body. It causes you to let out a soft whine. Lando turns you around and looks at you. You already look fucked out. 

“Baby girl,” Lando mutters softly, “You’re the actual worst.” Lando stays silent for a couple seconds before speaking up again. “Should punish you for those actions,” he says. 

“What’s stopping you?” You ask Lando. 

“You,” Lando chuckles. 

You show Lando a confused look. What does he mean with that? Lando takes place to you next on the bed. Softly he grabs your waist and pulls you on his lap. Careful he presses a few kisses against your neck and shoulders. He moves his hands on your body. Kneading your tits and softly pulling on your nipples. It causes you to let out multiple soft moans and whines. You want - no need, more of him. 

“Lan,” you softly speak up. 

“I know, I know,” Lando replies, “but be patient baby.”

“Aren’t you mad anymore?” You ask confused. You still don’t get why Lando is all calmed down after your confession of using Pierre to make him snap. Could it be that he feels more calm now he knows that you only think about him?

“What did you mean with making me snap?” Lando asks you. 

“What you just did,” you explain, “fucking me like you own me. Snapping at Pierre and me, dragging me away only to show me and everyone else that you think I belong to you. Showing how you actually feel. Just waiting for you to tell me.”

You know you’re passing the safe way back now. With everything you just said, Lando can probably fill in the blanks himself. It should be pretty obvious now how you feel about him. You can only hope that you got Lando his feelings right as well. You’re putting a lot of fate in Oscar right now. In the mean time you move yourself, getting off Lando his lap and taking a seat next to him on the bed.

After your earlier discussion with Lando, you left and got to Oscar his hotel room. Together with him you made up this plan. Oscar was sure that only a bit of dancing with Pierre would make Lando snap within minutes. It took a bit longer, but eventually Oscar was right. Now he only has to be right about Lando his feelings for you…

“You want that?” Lando asks you confused. 

You only show him a small nod. 

“You really wanted me to act like this?” Lando continues to ask, he still can’t believe it. When you nod again, Lando doesn’t stop with his questions. “You actually wanted me to act like some sort of jealous caveman?” 

“I didn’t expect you to put me onto your shoulder,” you confess, “but I wanted you to show me that I belong to you.”

“Why?” Lando asks confused, “I really don’t get it babygirl. Like, I don’t even understand why I’m acting like this and I actually feel ashamed for it - but you, you like it? You want this?”

“It gives me hope,” you tell Lando. 

“Hope?” He asks confused.

“Hope that you like me back.”

Lando doesn’t know if he hears you correct. Did you actually say that it gives you the hope that he likes you back? Likes you back? That means that you like him, right? Lando really can’t wrap his head around everything that’s happening right now. He thought you would be mad at him. Mad for the way he acted earlier today and for what he said. Mad for the way he acted in the club. But you are glad that he acted this way and you’re telling him that you like him? Is this even real? Isn’t he still standing in the club, looking at Pierre dancing with you and imagining this to make it feel better? He can’t even help himself and softly pinches some skin on his arm. 

“I’ve said too much,” you say when Lando keeps quiet, “The hint is clear Lan. Sorry for the way I acted. Sorry for falling for you, I hope we still can be friends?” 

Just when Lando thought he was finally processing everything you just said, you’re saying stuff like this. He thinks about telling you how much he likes you too, but eventually he lets his actions speak for himself. Softly he grabs your shoulders and pulls you back on his lap again. This time you’re turned the way he can properly face you. Lando softly puts his finger underneath your chin and lifts your face up a bit. Then he presses his lips against yours. He kisses you the most loving way he can. 

When Lando puts his lips onto yours, you wonder if this means what you think it does. Is this Lando his way of showing you that he does like you back? 

You show Lando a small grin when he pulls back and looks at you. “I never want to be friends with you again,” Lando mutters with a cheeky smile. If he wasn’t smiling like crazy, you would have stressed right now. “I really need you to be my girlfriend babygirl,” Lando continues, “and I really need everyone to know that you’re mine so they will finally stop flirting with you.” 

“You want me to be your girlfriend?” You ask Lando with a happy expression. 

“I need you to be my girlfriend,” he states. 

“Okay boyfriend,” you reply. 

“But now I really want to feel your cunt around my dick again,” Lando tells you cheekily. You let out a soft laugh. You position yourself a bit different, then you line up Lando his boner with your entrance and slowly let him enter you again. 

+++

The following morning Lando patiently waits for you to wake up as well. He hasn’t slept as good as last night in a couple months. He feels ten times better then before. It’s mostly a relieved feeling now that the two of you finally confessed. When you open your eyes slowly, you notice that Lando is already awake and staring at you. 

“Good morning girlfriend,” Lando whispers when you look at him. 

You show him a small smile. “Good morning boyfriend,” you reply.

Lando presses a soft kiss against your lips. “I can get used to this,” he tells you. 

“You better do,” you laugh, “It’s not like I’m going to let go of you anytime soon.”

“I love you,” Lando sighs relieved. “Oh that’s probably a bit soon to say,” he adds quickly after realizing what he just said. 

“I love you too Lan,” you tell him, “and I think you could have said it way sooner.” 

Lando grins. He pulls you close towards himself and hugs you. “I could fall asleep all over again, but we have a flight to catch.”

Later that afternoon when the two of you are sitting in the plane, Lando has been quite busy on his phone. You look curious at him, wondering what he’s doing. Before you can ask him, Lando speaks up. “I’m going to hard launch us,” he states, “Okay?”.

“Okay.”

a/n;

that was it everyoneee :') hope y'all liked this story

i do want to write further, but for this moment i have no inspiration about what i'm going to write now (expect that it's about lando ofc). so any idea is welcome ! thanks for all the likes, comments & reblogs

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[ellemj]

Breathe: Part 2 (Final Part)

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Two-Part Fic

Read Part 1 here.

Summary: Bucky shows you what it's like to not be able to breathe. It's how you make him feel every time you risk your life, after all, it's only fair for you to feel the same way for once.

Warnings: profanity, enemies to lovers type vibe, oral sex (male receiving), maybe breath play??, dirty talk, fingering, mutual pining.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: I've been super busy over the last few weeks and truly haven't had the time to write, even when I've had the motivation to. With the things I've experienced this month I'm honestly on the brink of branching into writing angst. To briefly trauma dump, having someone scream and beg you to save a life that is hours beyond saving can really push a girl to write angst. Anyway, I should be able to write a lot more in the coming weeks and I'm excited to interact with you all again.

            If Bucky was thinking straight, he wouldn’t have the image of his flesh hand fisted in your hair flashing through his mind right now.  He wouldn’t be thinking about kissing and sucking along the side of your neck as your hands work to unbuckle his belt and undo his pants. If he was thinking straight, he sure as hell wouldn’t be about to give you exactly what you asked for.

            Show me what it’s like.

      ��     What what’s like?

            Not being able to breathe.

            The tense exchange is on replay in his head as he looks at you with a hardened gaze. The tip of your index finger grazes over the skin of his lower stomach, just above his belt, as you stare back at him. Why did you ask for it? He can’t help but wonder within himself, why did you ask for some filthy variation of his cock in your mouth? Does it have anything to do with him? Or is he simply the only one around to give you one last adrenaline rush before you’re benched indefinitely? Does he even care?

            Your fingertips slip more fully under the hem of his shirt and you trace one of his v-lines with the same finger that was previously lingering along his belt. Bucky takes a deep, steady breath as another image flashes through his mind. He imagines his hand tangled in your hair as you hollow your cheeks and take every fucking inch of his cock into your goddamn mouth. In this moment, he doesn’t care if you’re only willing to suck his dick in want of an adrenaline rush or whatever the fuck else is driving you right now. All he cares about is showing you how you make him feel every single time you rush out into the field, ready to get yourself killed. All he cares about is showing you what it’s like when your lungs are starved of air and you can’t catch a full breath. He’s going to fucking show you.

            “Take it off.” Bucky’s voice comes out low and commanding in a way that has tingles running down your spine in an instant. As bold as you felt when you asked him what you asked him just a moment earlier, you find yourself suddenly unsure.

            “What?” Your hand falters against his skin. Does he want your hand off? Bucky senses your hesitation and his flesh hand quickly finds yours and guides it back down to the buckle of his belt.

            “My belt. Take it off.” Again, your hand falters. Bucky isn’t thinking at all when he lifts his own hand and lets his palm conform to the curve of your jaw, when his thumb gently brushes over your cheek. He has every ounce of your attention now. Your hands start working on autopilot, pulling the end of his belt through its loop and undoing the buckle with ease. Bucky’s thumb continues circling against your cheek, his eyes lingering on your face as you undo the button of his pants and grasp the zipper between your thumb and forefinger. “You listen so well when your life isn’t on the line.” He says, almost disappointedly. But then again, if you listened to orders in the field like everyone else, the two of you probably wouldn’t be where you are right now. When you start to tug his zipper down, he quickly places a hand over the back of yours and stops you.

            Your fucking eyes. The way you’re looking at him right now, with that damn innocent look in your eye like you’ve never touched a man’s zipper before, is doing unholy things to him. Bucky can feel his cock hardening to an uncomfortable degree, and he knows you can feel it too with where your hand is resting right now.

            “Maybe you should take advantage of that.” You whisper softly. Bucky narrows his eyes at you.

            “Of what?”

            “How well I listen when my life isn’t on the line.” A small smile plays on your lips and Bucky finds it simultaneously infuriating and undeniably attractive. His eyes coast away from your face and down your arm, all the way to where your hand rests beneath his on his zipper. He catches sight of the hair tie you removed from your hair earlier still tight around your wrist. Letting his hand fall away from yours, his signature smirk takes over his features.

            “Tie your hair back.”

            You never knew Bucky Barnes held so much power over you.

            He can’t stop staring at you, studying you as you do exactly what he asked. As you tie your hair back, he can feel the tension growing all around him. He takes it on himself to pull the zipper of his jeans down, but he doesn’t dare to do any more than that. He wants you to do it yourself. He wants to see your hands, that are so small in comparison to his own, doing everything he tells them to.  Bucky’s eyes fixate on the skin of your neck, and though he has a plan in mind that doesn’t involve his mouth on you, he can’t help it. In an instant, his flesh hand tangles in the hair that you’ve just tied back and he’s pulling you closer. Every soft drag of his lips against your skin sends more and more heat straight to your core. His tongue darts out from between his lips and wets your skin before he dares to let his teeth join the equation. The first mark he leaves on you draws a sharp gasp from you. The second mark earns him an irresistible whimper. But the third? With the third mark to your neck, you moan his fucking name.

            When Bucky lets go of his grip on your hair and moves his seat away from the steering wheel just a moment after the first moan that he heard fall from your lips, you both know you’ve reached a place of no return. When you tug his jeans down a little further and slide one hand into the front of his boxers, something in the air snaps. Your hand wraps around his length, barely able to contain the entirety of his girth, and his head falls back against the headrest of his seat.

            “Shit.”  The hushed profanity tumbles past his lips as if he didn’t even mean to let it out. Without freeing him from the confines of his boxers, you give his length one stroke. Fuck. He’s big. He’s so big that you think you might’ve underestimated just how easy it would be for him to show you what it’s like to not be able to breathe. You stroke him from base to tip again and feel his precum gathering against your palm. When you do it a third time, his head snaps forward and you feel his hand in your hair again, tugging your head back so you’re forced to look him in the eye. “I can’t fucking stand you.” He says pointedly as your hand continues to move at a torturously slow pace along his shaft. You circle your thumb around the head of his cock and feel him shudder in his seat.

            “I can’t fucking stand you either.”

            “Then why the hell is your hand on my cock?” He taunts as his stare pierces somewhere deep within you. You say nothing in response, but you stroke his length from base to tip again, slower this time. “You can’t stand me but you’re going to suck my dick, aren’t you?”

            Bucky notices the way your grip around him falters, the way you squeeze him a little tighter before your hand slightly loosens around his shaft. He can fucking smell your arousal soaking into your panties. He’s a pleasantly surprised when you decide to take initiative and tug the waistband of his boxers down enough to free his cock. It springs up against his lower stomach and you watch in awe as he pulls his shirt up enough to showcase his toned abs and keep precum from wetting the fabric.

            “Oh my god.” You breathe the words out slowly as your eyes take in the reality before you. Just like you thought, he’s big. You could tell when you had your hand on it, but seeing it right in front of you? Even in the dim light of the supermarket parking lot, you can tell you might be in over your head. While you’re thinking you might be in over your head, Bucky’s thinking about how he’s going to enjoy holding your head down.

---

            “That’s it, take another deep breath for me.” Bucky says, smoothing back your hair as he memorizes every single inch of your flushed face. You wet your bottom lip with your tongue and maintain eye contact with him as you do just that. You inhale a deep, steady breath just as he guides your head down again. His thick cock slides between your parted lips, glides over your tongue, and nudges against the back of your throat for the third time. “Fuck, just like that.” You still have a couple of inches left to take but you resist, your eyes fluttering closed as you gag around his length. Who would’ve thought choking on Bucky Barnes’ dick would be so fucking pleasurable? “All of it.” Bucky says lowly, pushing your head down enough to make you take the last two inches. He bottoms out in your mouth and a groan is ripped from his chest, making his shaft vibrate against your tongue. You moan around him and he suddenly curls his fingers into your hair and pulls you back. You’re ready for him to say something infuriating, something that’ll make you want to punch out his perfect teeth but deepthroat him all at the same time. It’s what he does best honestly.

            “If you keep pulling me back, we’re going to be here all night.” Even with the taste of his precum on your tongue and his hand fisted in your hair, you’re talking shit. Bucky studies you with a menacing gaze, his eyes traveling over the features of your face slowly as he chooses his words carefully.

            “I told you that I can’t fucking breathe when you do stupid shit, and you asked me to show you what that feels like.” He reminds you, narrowing his eyes. You nod in response. “Squeeze my thigh if you can’t handle it.” Before you’ve even processed the instructions, Bucky’s pushing your head down again and forcing his cock into your mouth. This time, he’s forceful and needy with it. He’s doing exactly what he said and showing you what it’s like to not be able to breathe.

            Up and down Bucky drags your head by his grip on your hair. Up and down along the length of his sizable cock, reveling in the feel of your tongue against his shaft and your throat tightening around whatever he gives it. Your lungs are burning. Your eyes are watering.

            “You feel that? That burning in your chest?” He asks, pushing your head down again and holding it still this time. “That’s how I feel every time you try to do shit on your own, every time you risk your life for no goddamn reason.” He holds you there for another second, until he feels a tear drip onto his upper thigh. When he lets you up for air this time, the look on his face is a mix of lustful and gentleness. He wipes your watering eyes with the pad of his thumb, admiring the fucked-out look on your face as you fight to catch your breath. “You take me so well.” Bucky coos. At this point you might as well not even be wearing any panties, because you can feel your wetness soaking through to your jeans.

            When you’ve just nearly caught your breath, Bucky gives you a small nod before guiding you down again, gentler this time.

            “Your head is spinning, isn’t it? The lack of oxygen makes it hard to think straight.” He’s right. All you can focus on is the wetness between your legs and the way the head of his cock keeps triggering your gag reflex in an unexpectedly enjoyable way. Does he know you’re enjoying this every bit as much as he is? Does he know that you’re wishing he’d done this to you when you were on your knees in that upstairs office earlier? As your head spins and the taste of his still-dripping precum lingers in your mouth, you imagine what it might’ve been like if those men had busted into the room when you were on your knees for the man with the vibranium arm. You squeeze your thighs together and surprise both yourself and Bucky when you nudge your head forward, letting your nose brush against his thigh as you take impossibly more of him into your throat. Bucky lets out a guttural groan and presses his head back into the headrest once more as he fights to maintain control over the situation. He’s just about to let you up for air when he hears a strangled whimper and then feels your body shaking over his lap. He’s quick to take his hand off of your head, thinking you’ve fully run out of breath, but you don’t sit up like he’s expecting. Instead, you start bobbing your head up and down, sucking his dick like it’s all you’ve ever wanted to do. “Shit, baby.” Baby? You’re deepthroating him of your own volition now, taking in as much of his length as you can and then backing off, doing that over and over again as he trembles in his seat. “You’re gonna make me cum if you don’t let up, shit.” He groans, cautiously letting his hand rest on the back of your head again.

            Bucky isn’t the one starved of oxygen and yet he finds himself unable to think straight. He doesn’t realize he’s tugging the tie out of your hair until it’s done. He doesn’t even realize he’s sliding your hair tie over his own wrist, his subconscious mind planning to keep it as a souvenir. What he does realize, is that you’re as close to your own orgasm as he is. It’s why he doesn’t think twice about sliding his flesh hand from your head, down your spine, and into the waistband of the back of your jeans. His touch doesn’t surprise you, but it spurs you on. His fingers dance over the wet fabric of your panties, testing the waters as you suck his dick with a newfound fervency. When he pushes the pointless fabric to the side and plunges a single finger into your cunt without warning, you take as much of his length into your mouth as you can and then you fucking swallow around him.

            “Fuck, you like sucking my dick, don’t you? Look at you swallowing my cock, taking all of it so easily.”

            Bucky adds a second finger to your dripping cunt, sliding them in to the hilt as you clench around him. When you moan around his cock, he can’t stand it anymore. He’s quick to pull his fingers out of you and grip your hair tightly, pulling you off of his cock. You take a deep breath, hating that he stopped you but thankful for the chance to breathe normally for a second.

            “When you moan like that…fuck. I almost—”

            “How am I supposed to swallow your cum if you keep fucking pulling me off?” You ask, your annoyance evident in your tone. Bucky’s eyes widen but his grip on your hair remains the same.

            “Is that what you want to do? Swallow my cum?”

            “Bucky…” You let his name roll off of your tongue in a whisper as you lean in close to his face and wrap one hand around his throbbing hard-on. “Let me swallow.”

---

            All Bucky can think about is the way you kissed him. The way you swallowed every drop of cum he spilled into your mouth and then sat up and pressed your lips to his, the way you dragged the tip of your tongue over his bottom lip before sinking back into the passenger seat has been burned in his brain for the last three days. For the last three fucking days.

            He stands with his back against the cool metal of the elevator wall, staring down at the black hair tie on his wrist. He hasn’t taken it off once, he can’t.

            You sit in front of your vanity, running your fingers over the fading marks on your neck. Is it wrong to wish he’d left you with some kind of permanent reminder of that night in the car? Is it wrong to hate that the marks he left will be gone soon?

---

            You were supposed to be meeting with Fury. You assumed that meant Fury alone, until you found yourself seated right across from Bucky Barnes. You’re two feet away from the man that had his fingers inside of you three days ago, two feet away from the man whose cum you swallowed like it was a cold drink of water on a hot summer’s day. You hadn’t expected to interact with him again after that night. You were benched, after all, your partnership indefinitely suspended with you being taken out of the field.

            When Fury walks in moments later, breaking the thick tension that was beginning to suffocate you both, what he says changes the dynamic entirely.

            Not only is he putting you back in the field, but he expects you and Bucky to spend a week undercover in the lowest place on Earth: Madripoor. A week together.

            When Fury leaves the two of you sitting in the conference room, the tension returns at full strength, swirling around the room and threatening to suck the air out of your lungs. It comes to a head when Bucky’s about to speak, about to say anything he can think of to break through the thick cloud in the atmosphere. He leans forward and rests his arms on the table, opening his mouth to say something, and that’s when you see it. Your hair tie from that night, wrapped around his wrist. His eyes follow the line of your gaze until you’re both looking at the seemingly insignificant piece of elastic.  

            But it isn’t insignificant.

            Bucky Barnes is wearing your hair tie on his wrist, and he has been for three days now.

            When your eyes meet again, that familiar warmth begins to build low in your stomach.

            Tie your hair back.

            He’d said it so authoritatively and you’d listened so willingly. Neither of you is aware that the other is thinking about the same thing.

            The next time Bucky wants your mouth around his cock, he’ll be tying your hair back himself.

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[nohoperadio]

That cool bee book I was talking about a while ago mostly refrains from philosophical digressions (which I think is a strength, I appreciated how the author had total confidence that just clearly presenting the facts about his subject would be enough to make a fascinating book without the need for any "...and here's why that should blow your mind" editorializing, and he's totally right), but there was one towards the end I've found myself thinking about a lot, which is: he wants people to stop using "self-consciousness" (i.e. the concept exemplified by the mirror test but used implicitly or explicitly in tons of other contexts) as a criterion for which animals can be considered sentient/morally relevant/having significant inner lives/however you want to describe it. Not, as you might expect, because he thinks it's an unreasonably high bar to meet, but because it's such a low bar that it produces no distinctions: he argues that basically any animal with any kind of developed central nervous system has to have some kind of self-consciousness almost by definition.

The example I remember best is: imagine you can see an object in your visual field getting closer to you. No matter the specifics, it's obviously always going to make a huge difference to how you evaluate this situation whether the cause of the object getting closer is a] the object is moving towards you, or b] you are moving towards the object. If a, then something might be pursuing you or falling on you or a thousand other things that are just not even worth considering in the case of b. But visually the two cases are indistinguishable; if you're going to be able to track the difference, your brain has to be putting at least some work into keeping tabs on what your own intentions are and what choices you're making as you move through the world, predicting the expected consequences of those choices, and maintaining a fairly tidy mental separation between stuff in the world that you're making happen and stuff in the world that's just happening of its own volition. Otherwise, every time you walk towards a rock you'll freak out and think the rock is rolling into you, or vice versa.

And it's not hard to see how this applies to your entire sensory world right, it applies to sounds and tactile sensations and even feelings internal to your body to some extent, if you're going to both perceive the world and take actions in the world then it's mandatory to mentally separate yourself and the world before that's going to yield even an ounce of helpful information, you just can't function successfully on the most basic level if you're processing stuff that you're doing on the same level as stuff that's happening, if you're in that state then you simply don't have a usable model of the world at all, you just have chaos.

So you can very easily eliminate a certain seductive narrative about the evolution of consciousness, which starts with very primitive animals who are mentally processing nothing but basic sensory inputs, then as you rise up the chain more complex animals are forming concepts of objects and building up a more nuanced understanding of the world, until finally you approach humans and the mind becomes so subtle and sophisticated that it gains access to this special advanced meta-level of thought where it can even understand itself! No, the self is precisely the one idea that has to be in place from the very beginning, before any of it has even the most rudimentary practical value. Self-consciousness isn't the pinnacle of the mind's evolution, it's one of the lowest, most basic foundations that everything else builds off of.

I think this is really cool stuff! I don't know enough about the relevant academic philosophy of mind debates to say how far all this does or doesn't speak to that, maybe someone will tell me the "self-consciousness" concept being attacked here is a strawman somehow, I don't know. But it's definitely impacted the way I (just a dumb guy who likes creatures) think about our small small cousins and what their lives might be like and I think it's super interesting. If you think it's interesting too then maybe you wanna buy The Mind of a Bee by Lars Chittka and read it. It's mostly not about this stuff, as I say it's light on philosophy and heavy on bee-life immersion, but if you actually read this whole post then you're probably in the market for that I feel like.

[luveline]

Missing my zombie!steve husband 🫶🏻

quiet day at the camp… hope something bad isn’t brewing… zombie apocalypse au <3 fem, 2k

Steve loves the sound of the river, but he only allows himself a moment to lay down on the riverbank during laundry hours. 

You stand knee deep in the water with your pants and sleeves rolled up, the corrugated metal of an old shed roof that’s been repurposed into a washing board held to your chest. It was pointless to roll your sleeves up, you’re soaked to the bone, even your hair, but the summer sun keeps you warm. 

“Don’t get too hot!” you call. 

“I’m fine,” he says, unwilling to shout. 

“He’s fine!” Robin shouts from beside him. “Numbskull.” 

Steve stares at you, locking you in, so to speak, the nice shape of your hip and stomach, the mess of your wet hair. Tonight, he’ll help you fix it, but there’s no rush and no hurry to dry off while the sun is out, and the fences are up. He turns onto his stomach. Grass tickles his cheeks. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Robin asks quietly. 

“Fine. Can you tell me if she needs help?” 

“Sure.” He listens to the sounds of her moving, likely pulling the slim lengths of her legs against her chest to hug herself, the tan leaves of a book spread out just in front of her. 

Steve could really go for a cigarette. You swapped the last box you found for toothpaste, isn’t that how it always goes? You and Robin found a cheat code in the apocalypse, nicotine with a capital ‘N’. You swap Arctic chewable for socks without holes and boxes of Marlboro’s for the bathroom essentials. Everybody wants them, and you’re great at finding them. Steve never thought he’d crave a cigarette again considering he wasn’t addicted, having smoked for a couple of months in high school to feel cool with his friends, stopping when his mom asked him to. He doesn’t remember why. She’d asked, and he’d listened, as he used to do. Swim team, cross country, basketball, lifeguard training, mowing the lawn, not upsetting his father, taking out the trash, vacuuming, no drinking and driving; task after task after task. Some of it was easy. He liked doing the dishes, and he loved taking care of his mom even if she didn’t feel the same. 

Not that it matters now. Does it matter now? He’s never gonna see her again. She’s a memory. She’s a bad memory, most of the time. 

The more he reflects on it, he decides. She was a bit shitty, but she’s his mom, and she’s likely gone, so he’ll try to remember the cookies they made together and the way she’d smile at him after she tied his shoelaces before school. And also the mean fucking bitch she’d turn into when she drank two glasses of wine. 

“What are you thinking about?” Robin asks.

“That’s the wrong soap,” you say from the river. Your voice floats over the breeze. 

“Fuck off, soap is soap,” Eddie says, your not-so-new friend, Steve’s sworn enemy. 

“I’m just saying,” you laugh. “Look, I’ll wash, you rinse.” 

“I’m thinking about that time,” Steve begins, holding his hand out toward her, open but not expectant, “when my mom and dad came home early from his business trip in Missouri and found us sleeping together.” 

“I’d never heard your dad laugh before,” Robin says. 

“My mom really didn’t like you after that.” He smiles as she takes his hand. They were a lot more touchy, pre-apocalypse. He misses that sometimes. 

“I don’t even think she thought we were dating.” 

“She was disgusted.” 

“She said we were being weird teenagers.”

“I guess we were. I never had a friend like you before so maybe I can’t blame her,” he says. He has something special with you, you’re a best friend because you’re half of his heart, but Robin was his first proper best friend, and remains it. “I missed you a lot when we were stuck in Indiana. There were a ton of times where shit would go wrong and I would get mad at you because I knew you’d know how to fix it, but you weren’t there.” 

“You’d get mad at me?” Robin asks, squeezing his hand. “You jerk. Be mad at yourself.” 

“Can you wait for me next time?” he asks.

Robin’s quiet, then she laughs, “I’m nodding but you can’t see.” 

He wonders how she’s feeling. He admits to not doing that much in the past. Not that he didn’t think about how he made others feel, he was always worrying about that after Nancy, but he can’t say he thought of it in the moment. Steve forces himself to sit up and offer his arms for a hug, which Robin gladly accepts, her frazzled laugh on his neck as he pats her back. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

“You know Y/N says I’m possessive?” 

Robin leans away, fingers curled around his elbow. “You’re fighting?” 

“No, just. She says I’m possessive, that I get mad about, you know, my people.” 

“Right. Isn’t everybody?” 

“I never thought I did. I’m not, like, too proud most of the time.” 

“Steve, this is super introspective,” she says, frowning, smiling, a weird expression somewhere melding in the middle of happy and concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay? It’s fine if you’re not.” She laughs shrilly. “I woke up the other day and cried and then ten minutes later I felt fine. I’m far from okay.” 

Steve glances past Robin’s head to watch you in the river. You’re sitting down amongst the stones. It really isn’t too deep, water to your ribcage washing suds down to Munson, who’s smiling at you kindly, not smarmy or flirting, just smiling. 

“Why did you cry?” he asks quietly. 

“I missed my cousin, I think.” 

Steve curls his arm behind her head and encourages her in for a fiercer hug. 

“Think we should probably go help them,” she mumbles. 

He takes it for the brush off that it is; sincerity is too much to take, sometimes. If she wants to be evasive about it that’s okay, she already took the leap and admitted to getting upset. 

“I cried thinking about Y/N’s hands the other day,” he says. 

“Steve.” Robin rubs her eye with the heel of her hand. “I don’t even know what to tell you.” 

“What? I’m trying to show you I’m pathetic so you don’t feel bad.” 

“I know you’re pathetic, and I don’t feel bad.” She climbs off of the ground and brushes broken grass off of her legs. Steve climbs up next to her, nudging her with his elbow. “You’re mucho pathetic. It’s kind of crazy.” 

“I think I might try and drown him,” he says conversationally. 

“Why now?” 

“Why do you think?” Steve asks, toeing off his shoes and peeling off his socks, nearly pitching forward on the wet bank closer to the river.

You and Eddie look up as they approach from different spots of the water. Your smile at seeing him winds him for the thousandth time, just so happy to see him, so in love with you he doesn’t even know what to do for a few seconds. “Hey, honey,” he says, “can I help?” 

“Now you wanna help?” you ask, gesturing to your soaked front. 

You’re messing with him, and he doesn’t care anyways, you can talk to him like crap if you want to. He shuffles down from the mud of the riverbank and into the water, cold and wet like a shock against his ankles, softer as it climbs to his knees. You’re sitting where it’s more shallow, opposed to Eddie on his knees and almost drowning further down. He puts his hand on your wet shoulder and kneels down in the water beside you. “Wanna hug?” you tease. 

Steve hugs you. Doesn’t care that you’re soaking or that the water is freezing against his crown jewels, though he shivers by your ear, prompting your laugh like bubbles in his own. “It’s cold,” he says. 

“Freezing!” 

Not to be a freak, but he can feel your chest pressed to him, and he knows you get achy in the cold. He wraps his arms doubly behind your back and rubs at your sides. “How much laundry’s left?” he asks. “We’re gonna get hypothermia. Again.” 

“You didn’t get hypothermia,” you remind him, folding into his space. “Steve… is everything okay?” 

“Do I look mopey today? Robin just asked me the same thing.” 

“You don’t look mopey, but you’re being touchy. You’re cuddling.” 

“How am I not supposed to cuddle you, dummy? I’m keeping you warm enough to function right now. Without me you’d be an ice cube floating down the river.” He leans back to hold your face in one hand, your cheek under his thumb, water racing down his wrists and your neck. 

You push against his hand gently with your cheek. 

“Sorry,” he says. 

“What for?” 

For lots of things. “I didn’t realise how cold the water was. I would’ve come to help you.” 

“It’s fine. I scrub everything and then Eddie catches it. We’ve only lost one pair of underwear,” you say. “The river’s like a long washing machine.” 

“How much do you have left?” he asks. 

“Nothing. I was just about to get out.” 

“Couldn’t have told me that before I came to get you?” 

“No,” you say, lifting your chin. Not challenging, but close. It’s an offer, Steve decides, kiss me or don’t kiss me. You don’t seem to realise he doesn’t decide, he needs you. If you always wanted to kiss him, you’d always be kissing, all the time, everywhere. 

Steve gives you a quick peck. “Come on, let’s go set up the line.” 

You somehow, together, make your way back to the tents without freezing to death after throwing your clothes on a drying line between trees. It’s warm enough that stripping down to your skivvies is mildly pleasant (away from the eyes of the other campers). You get dressed in the softest clothes you own upon Steve’s insistence, sweatpants and a dark hoodie, three pairs of socks and the tent door left open, before he lays you down on the sleeping bag, and settles between your legs, his full weight bearing down on you, his face nestled in the damp crook of your neck. 

“I couldn’t kiss you the right way,” he confesses. 

“Why?” You pull mildly at the ends of his hair. 

“‘Cos I always want more than one kiss.” 

“That’s a strangely romantic way to say you wanted to make out with me,” you whisper. 

“It’s not like that,” he insists, even though he does want to, and he did in the river, and he does all the time.

“You’re getting kinda heavy, Steve,” you mumble. 

“What?” 

“It’s a good thing.” 

“How dare you.” 

“We got sorta frail for a bit.” You wrap an arm around his head, tip of your nose to his forehead. 

“Yeah. Lucky we’re in camp Eddie now,” Steve says. 

“I never thought I’d hear you say that,” you murmur, so close to sleeping Steve can tell. You just need a feeling of security to nudge you over the edge. 

“Lucky we’re together.” He climbs off of you slowly so as not to rouse you too much, kissing your slack cheek as he settles on your shoulder. “You and me. I don’t care where we are.”

He ends up falling asleep not long after you, lulled by the rhythm of your light snore. 

[koolades-world]

I have a request for an MC who's never been called beautiful or handsome before, so when they're complimented, they ask why and just start to cry. The brothers (plus Dia and Barbatos, if it's not too much to ask, of course) are shocked at their tears and find out that their human had never been complimented before this moment.

Sorry if it's too specific, I had this experience and I cried for way too long, I just want to know how the boys would react.

hi there! yes of course :)

no worries about the specifics and such. so glad someone called you stunning like you are. you and everyone readying this: YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL HANDSOME STUNNING GORGEOUS PRETTY!!!!! if nobody has told you that today, know that you are!! you deserve the world :)))

enjoy <3

Mc who cries after being called beautiful/handsome/stunning

Lucifer

right after you had finally taken your last RAD exam, you thought you looked like a mess and you vocalized that

he swooped into to disagree and called you handsome

he’s quick to comfort you when you start to cry because he’s not quite sure why

when he finds out it’s because he called you handsome, he dabs always your tears and makes a mental note to call you good looking more often

Mammon

he called you it kind of in the heat of the moment

but that he didn’t mean it, but he was just so excited! you’d just helped him win a huge bet and made him loads of grim so it slipped out in a long string of compliments

he slows down once he sees you crying, and wipes your tears

he tells you he’d call you beautiful over and over again if you wanted because he really did think you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen

Levi

he really worked himself up to compliment you like this

after all, as a chronic overthinker, he sat for while thinking about the implications and how you might react

once he finally said it after almost chickening out, he totally freaked out after you burst out into tears

the following ten minutes were chaotic to say the least, but in the end he knew it was out of joy

Satan

omg I can literally see him reciting the iconic lines to you from Romeo and Juliet

this man is so extra in subtle ways

you’re gorgeous and he wants to you to know

by the time he’s at the end of his lines, you’re of course a blubbering mess but he’s there for you, ready to melt your heart all over again

Asmo

he often throws around that word comfortable

so, it's only natural he ends up calling you it once or twice

he didn't even realize the way you froze and started to tear up after

eventually he turns around and sees the silent tears rolling down your cheeks with a smile, and pulls you into a hug. he's gonna be calling you that a lot more from now on :)

Beel

he probably says it in passing after you called something or someone else pretty

something along the lines of “you’re pretty too” simple and to the point

he feels several moments of panic until you start to try to reassume him that they’re not bad tears

every time you call something else pretty or something along those lines, he thinks of that moment and says what he said back then with more purpose

Belphie

he for sure tells you while the two of you are our stargazing

out of the blue, he rolls over and tells you you remind him of the brightest, twinkling star and that you shine in the same, brilliant, beautiful way

without looking back at you, he returns to star gazing as you begin to silently sniff

he pulls you into his side, gently smiling and hugging you tight

Diavolo

after getting ready for a party and putting on the finished touches on your outfit, you turned to him to ask how you looked

after he told you you looked incredibly handsome, you couldn’t stop the waterworks from flowing

he’s very afraid at first he said something wrong but after you explain it’s just because you’ve never been called that before, his whole demeanor changes

he personally delivers handwritten notes to you daily during RAD that are just all the things he loves about you in them now <33

Barbatos

when he gives out a compliment, it’s very deliberate

he thinks very carefully about what he wants to say, not because he’s afraid he’ll say something wrong, but because he really wants it to mean something

when he called you and your work pretty along with a few other things, he wasn’t sure how to initially react to your tears

but eventually when you started to hug him, he hugged you back and comforted you. he has the little d’s make a routine or complimenting you too :)

[quintinh43]

3 Times Quinn Almost Proposed + 1 Time He Actually Did

The best decision Quinn ever made was you. From the second he stumbled into that Cafe with his parents, to moving in with you, to admitting he loved you and everything else in between. It was a no-brainer that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. And there was no doubt in his mind that you felt the same way.

"I can't believe you're proposing," Jack said, tapping his fingers against the center console of Quinn's car. He never could sit still, and sometimes it grated on Quinn's nerves.

"Why? Do you think it's too early?" Quinn asks anxiously, running his tongue against his lips.

Luke pitches forward from the back seat to share his input, "You've been dating for like what? Five?" He asks, doing some quick math on his fingers.

Quinn nods, "Since March,"

"Ya know, we still haven't forgiven you for not telling us immediately," Jack huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"If it's any consolation, you are the first people I wanted to tell," Quinn says placatingly.

"Quinner, go easy on our uneducated brother, he doesn't know what the word consolation means," Luke says seriously.

Quinn snorts a laugh as Jack turns around to swat Luke on the head. "I have a bigger vocabulary than you dumbass!"

Before the two of them can escalate into a full-blown bickering match, Quinn interrupts, "Back to my problem, guys! Do you think it's too early to propose?" His fingers tap nervously on the steering wheel as he navigates to the jewellery store.

"There's no proper timeline when it comes to proposing Quinny, it comes down to when you are ready and you feel like it's the right time in your relationship," Jack says.

"I mean, you already knew you wanted to spend the rest of your life with Y/n, so this is just taking the next step towards that, isn't it?" Luke adds, adjusting his Devils Hockey cap over his curls.

"When did you two become so wise?" Quinn grumbles as he pulls into the parking lot.

"We've always been wise beyond our years," Luke says puffing his chest out. Jack flicks his cap off his head, rolling his eyes.

"Sure Lukey," Quinn snorts, running a hand through his hair.

"Alright boys, let's get this done." Jack claps, practically jumping out of the car.

It wasn't hard at all. Quinn chose a shop where he could completely customize the ring, and with access to your Pinterest board and all the rings that you already own, he knew almost exactly how he wanted it to look. The only thing he was nervous about was whether or not you would like it.

"Don't overthink it too much Quinn, you know her better than you know yourself," Jack squeezes his shoulder comfortingly.

"You could propose with a ring pop, and she would treasure it for the rest of her life," Luke adds, with a roll of his eyes.

The three of them are in and out of the shop within an hour, and Quinn is smiling his ass off all the way home.

1.

A week later, Quinn picks up the ring. It's even better than he imagined it would be in real life. As his car pulls into the driveway of the lakehouse, he sees you out front with his mom, helping her tend to her garden.

You kneel in the dirt, sunglasses perched on your nose, and a canucks cap on your head. Smiling and laughing with Ellen as you both pull weeds from the ground. Quinn's heart beats out of his chest with happiness, and he's struck with the urge to kneel in the dirt next to you and present the ring to you right then.

When you notice that he arrived, you grin widely, giving him a wave. There's dirt smudged across your nose and under your nails, and Quinn thinks the ring would be a lovely accessory to your mud-stained hands.

The outline of the ring box feels warm in his pocket as he approaches you and his mom, "Hi babe," he greets, dropping a kiss to the top of your head, and it takes everything in his bones not to get down on one knee and pull out the ring right now.

"Hi Mom," he says with a quiet smile, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Her eyes twinkle knowingly.

"Jack and Luke are napping upstairs, and the two of us are going to start lunch as soon as we're done this."

Quinn nods, "Lemme change and I'll come help you two," he runs up the stairs, tucks the ring box safely at the top of his closet and changes into shorts and a t-shirt to help you and his mom in the garden.

2.

Quinn never expected to be the guy who obsessively walked around with his engagement ring in his pocket after he bought it. But here he was, on the boat, with the ring sitting in the glove compartment. Which you had complete access to.

Jack had called him an idiot, stating that a number of things could've happened, from you finding the ring accidentally, or it falling into the water. Or maybe even a shark eating it. Luke was quick to call Jack an idiot, saying that there were no sharks in Lake Erie. Jack rolled his eyes and flicked Luke in the forehead saying it was to emphasize how stupid Quinn was being by bringing the ring with him onto the boat.

Quinn is currently in the driver's seat, you're on the wakeboard, and the rest of the boys are littered around the boat, whooping and cheering as you throw the rope and tip backwards into the water with a salute.

Trevor whistles low with admiration, "Wow, Mrs. Huggy is a professional,"

"She's not Mrs. Huggy yet, but she will be soon," Quinn mutters under his breath just as you climb the ladder back onto the boat.

It takes a minute for the words to register, but as soon as they do Trevor's jaw is on the floor. He stares back and forth between you and Quinn.

Jack, Quinn, and Luke wear various degrees of alarm on their faces, hoping and praying that you didn't hear anything.

"Damn, guys, was I that bad?" You laugh nervously, and you take in the looks on their faces. You unzip your life jacket and squeeze as much water out of your hair as you can.

"He-" Trevor starts pointing at Quinn, but before any words can actually leave his mouth, Jack is tipping Trevor over the edge of the boat and into the water.

You burst into laughter, and the boys seemingly return to normal as a soaking-wet Trevor climbs back into the boat, muttering obscenities under his breath. "Alright, who's next?"

"Me," Quinn says, desperate to get away from Trevor's pointed smirk, "You're driving," he says, pushing you gently into the driver seat where he was previously seated.

"Are you sure you want me to drive?" You ask skeptically, brow raised.

"O'course babe, there's no one I'd trust more." Quinn punctuated his sentence with a kiss on your cheek. Jack makes an offended noise, that sounds like a dying bird of some kind and you laugh at him.

Quinn rolls his eyes at him as he zips his life jacket and gets into the water for his turn on the wakeboard. He gives you a thumbs up, and parrots the movement, before slowly accelerating. You stand at the wheel of the boat, half twisted towards the back, so you can keep an eye on Quinn.

Quinn stands easily, and you smile accelerating a bit more. You turn in patterns that aren't too sharp but still make nice big waves for Quinn to ride. He's grinning like a madman. You maneuver the boat in a manner that gives him a wave to jump off of if he wants to.

He takes the opportunity, sailing through the air and managing a half spin before he hits the water. You drive around him in a slow circle as he resurfaces.

"That was fucking amazing! Where did you learn to drive a boat like that?" Trevor asks admiringly.

You shrug, cheeks heating under the praise, "My dad taught me," you say, crawling to the back of the boat and offering Quinn a hand as he climbs the ladder, "Been driving watercraft since I was like, twelve or something," you grin, squeaking as Quinn shakes his wet hair out in your direction, "You should see what I can do on a jet ski."

Jack whistles heartily, "We might have to take you up on that one of these days,"

"Sure, Jack, if you think you can handle getting your ass beat by a girl," you smirk. Jack scoffs offendedly, and Luke cackles from where he lies at the front of the boat.

Quinn is smiling so hard, his eyes crinkling at the corners, "I think we have to upgrade you to Captain for the summer, that was the best boat driving out of all of us," Quinn praises, pressing his lips to your hair.

"Seriously!" Jack says excitedly, scrambling for a life jacket, "That looked so fucking fun, no one can ever make waves like that! I'm next." He says jumping in the water before anyone can protest.

"Don't let this one get away Quinner," Luke says, tipping his hat in your direction, "Or I'll take her from you," he throws an over-exaggerated wink in your direction, you giggle and Quinn rolls his eyes. As if the shithead wasn't with him when he bought the ring.

Quinn eyes the glove compartment, where the ring is stored, and thoroughly debates how proposing right now would play out. A sharp whistle from Jack pulls him from his thoughts, and he takes his spot at the back of the boat as Jack spotter.

You resume your place in the driver's seat, and for the rest of the evening, that's where you stay.

Quinn almost has a heart attack when he sees you reach for the glove compartment, but Luke manages to fake trip into you just in time so that Jack can sneakily snag the box and relocate it to one of the other boat compartments.

3.

The house is completely full, with a bunch of the boy's friends who are visiting. Everyone is camped out around the fire pit, nursing beers and laughing loudly. You are curled up in Quinn's lap, head pillowed on his chest while you listen to all of the boys talk about their fondest memories.

You play with the strings of Quinn's hoodie, while he absent-mindedly traces patterns on your arm. His chest rumbles with laughter and his arm tightens around you, as Jack tells a story from when they played together for Team USA. An overwhelming wave of gratitude washes over you. You're grateful for everything in life, and most of all Quinn.

"You're quiet tonight," His lips are pressed against the side of your head, and the comforting baritone of his voice soothes your soul, "doing ok?"

You nod, bringing your fingers up to trace his jaw, "just thinking,"

"Penny for your thoughts?" He speaks low, his words only for your ears, the crackling of the fire, and hearty laughter fade into the background and at this moment it's as if you and Quinn are the only two people who exist.

He was a way of doing that. Making everything else disappear and making you feel like you're the only girl in the world. "I'm so grateful for everything," you answer quietly, "especially for you. Getting to experience life with you, being able to support you, having you there to support me- and just everything that you do and have done for me. You know?"

Quinn's heart swells so wide he thinks it might burst out of his chest. Before he really knows what he's doing, he's slipping out of the chair and kneeling in front of you. You huff because you were enjoying being curled into him.

His hands are on your thighs, and your hands cup his cheeks, thumbs tracing over his cheekbones. Neither of you has noticed that the laughter has died out, and everyone is watching the two of you. Their faces are a mixture of disgust and confusion.

Jack and Luke look downright horrified, sharing a look and exchanging silent words with their eyes.

"Will you m-" Before Quinn can complete his question, Luke is scrambling out of the lawn chair that he and Duker are curled up in and tackling Quinn to the floor.

"BEE!" Jack screeches, adding to the dramatics as he stands on his chair and points in the direction of where Quinn and Luke lay in the grass, "THERE'S A FUCKING BEE!"

There was no bee.

At Jack's distressed yelling, half of the boys are out of their chairs, running around and swatting at the heads of the non-existent bee.

You hold your stomach, laughing at the general chaos. It shouldn't be as funny as it is, but the sight of almost twenty grown men screaming about a bee is pretty hilarious.

"You are welcome you fucking numbskull," Luke hisses in Quinn's ear, as he helps him back up. Quinn gives him a sheepish smile of thanks. Were it not for his brother's antics, he would've regretted that being how he proposed for the rest of his life.

Once the general chaos dies down and everyone is back in their chairs calmly, you speak up with a smirk on your face, "You guys do know Bees are not nocturnal right?"

Quinn looks pointedly at Jack like he's an idiot. As if Quinn has the right to call him an idiot when he almost proposed to the love of his life in front of twenty hockey boys around a campfire on a Tuesday night.

"How do you know that?" Jack asks, crossing his arms over his chest with a pout.

"Yeah," Trevor scoffs, "Seems untrue,"

You snort, taking a sip of your beer, "I'm an elementary school teacher, dumbass, the science unit about bugs is practically ingrained in my brain. Bees are definitely not nocturnal."

"Nope, there definitely was a bee," Luke chimes, "I literally saved Quinn's life."

"Yeah, I saw it too," Dylan adds with a nod.

"It was basically the size of Quinn's head," Cole adds, "really Y/n/n I don't know how you didn't see it," Cole says matter-of-factly.

"I can't believe you guys are trying to gaslight me about bees right now," you snort, nuzzling further into Quinn's warmth.

"I heard it buzzing in my ear, babe," Quinn says seriously.

You roll your eyes at him and tuck your head under his chin and he wraps his arms around you securely, pressing a kiss to your hair, while you argue with the guys about Bees for the next half-an-hour.

+ 1

Quinn slips out of the bedroom to let you finish changing, he pads down the stairs to where his family waits in the kitchen. Jack presents him the ring box, that he had decided to keep with him after the boat incident. Quinn tucks it into his pocket with a deep breath.

"You ready Quinner?" Luke asks, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly.

"Yeah," Quinn nods, breathing deeply.

"She's gonna say yes," Jack reassures, giving Quinn a pat on the back.

"I hope so," Quinn says nervously.

His dad chuckles, "Don't worry kid, you're doing great compared to how nervous I was when I was proposing to your mother,"

Ellen laughs fondly, "It's true, he was so nervous he forgot to pull out the ring, and then when he finally did, he dropped it."

Jim rolls his eyes, but the smile stays. Quinn laughs at that, then all his anxieties are bubbling to the surface and spilling past his lips before he can stop them.

"What if she doesn't like the ring? What if she says no, and she thinks it is too soon? What if I fall on my face? What if I lose the ring? What if-"

Jack squishes his cheeks together to keep him from talking. He tips his forehead against Quinn's staring deep into his eyes. "Breathe with me, Quinn,"

Jack takes exaggerated breaths, and Quinn follows his lead. Jim and Ellen quietly slip out of the room, leaving the brothers to themselves.

Once Quinn's breathing returns to normal, Jack lets him go. "She loves you with her whole heart, Quinn. You have nothing to worry about," Luke says, bonking his head against Quinn’s affectionately.

"Thanks, guys," he murmurs, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.

Everything goes smoothly in Quinn's opinion. Even when he practically forgot his whole speech. But if he had to do it again, he wouldn't change a thing.

-

Yeah so this ended up being like 2.9k words....

Anyways enjoy friends!

So it's basically a fic but lazy.

Part of This Universe

[psychotrenny]

Lancer is a funny because of how much it insists that Union is this flawed but ultimately benevolent institution that's well on the path to improvement, a "utopia in progress" as they love to say, when like they casually reveal so many things about it that show Union as rotten to the fucking core. Like as much as Lancer fans like to go on and on about how it's an imperfect society that needs to make compromises, there's so much awful shit about Union that just seems pointless or easily avoidable.

And like part of this is the creator's politics; they're social democrats so it's not surprising that Space Sweden is their idea of a society that, if not the best we could possibly achieve, is at least the best we can do for the foreseeable future. As a Marxist-Leninist it's only natural that I'd have a condemnatory view of such a society just as I do for real Social Democracies; my idea of an achievably "good" society is just fundamentally different from that of the creators But like Lancer is also full of little details that just seem fucked up and awful even from the values and viewpoint of Social Democracy. Like stuff that's just as bad, if not worse, than a lot of sci-fi Dystopias. Like why the fuck does Union have a CIA that's run by a group of super-computers with the actual elected legislature having an advisory role but no actual jurisdiction and this fact being kept secret from the vast majority of the populace? Not much of a democracy if one of the most powerful institutions in the entire political body is free from any kind of democratic or even fucking human oversight while most people aren't even allowed to have an opinion on this because they aren't allowed to know about it. Or what about the caste of Janissary diplomats (like was it really necessary to take children and train them like they're the jedi of interplanetary relations) who come with customised computer slaves. Like yeah don't forget about the fucking SCP computer slavery thing, which is completely fine (except for the times it isn't I guess). Like it's basically the weirdest and most uncomfortable part of Star War's setting imported near whole-cloth only like the regular mindwipes are justified because otherwise they'll full Durandal and you don't want that do you? Look how happy and content they are being forced to think like humans while acting as loyal servants. Btw Union is somehow even less denazified than West Germany. Significantly so. They literally gave Hitler Corp. (a fucking weapons manufacturer so powerful they call it a "corpro-state"!) a seat at the UN. While allowing their Blue Helmets to keep using those Nazi-made weapons. And like Third Comm is repeatedly described as doing basically the same shit that Second Comm did but with more "Care" or whatever so don't worry it's fine now.

Like I can just keep going on and on like I'm not making this up this isn't some like weird expansion this is all from the core rulebook. I get that there has to be conflict and tension but like why did they need to make their ostensible good guys so fucking awful like these are the people you're meant to feel good about fighting for why did you need to fill them with the sort of details you'd see in some cautionary dystopia? And like why do actual people keep defending these guys? Like once you get down to it Union manages to be less Space Sweden and more* "The Ottoman Empire with Pronouns"

*to borrow a phrase coined by a mate while we were talking about this

[adriennebarnes]

Can You Be My Boyfriend?

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: Y/N is Ferrari’s social media manager and when one of the mechanics doesn’t take no for an answer, she pretends she’s dating a certain Ferrari driver.

Warning: grammatical and spelling errors cuz I don’t proofread

A/N: i just wanted to say thank you so much for the love y’all gave “Prince of Ferrari”, it means a lot to me as a new Charles Leclerc writer. I hope y’all like this one too, just like Olivia Rodrigo, I am so American,

Y/N walked into Fred’s office.

“Mr. Vasseur, I had an idea for a new C2 challenge.” Y/N said.

“What did you have in mind, Y/N?” Fred asked.

“I was thinking we make dishes from each place we go to. Like Cuban food from Miami, Texas barbecue ribs, paella from Spain, and we have Charles and Carlos match the dishes to their flag. I personally think it would be fun, you know? Or we could do a video where the drivers tell us from which Grand Prix the photo was taken.” Y/N suggested.

“Those are very good ideas, Y/N, see if the boys are up to it, will you? Figure out when the best time is to film that.” Fred said.

“Yes, will do.” Y/N said and left his office. She walked to the living room (does the hospitality have a living room? I don’t know) to see Carlos and Charles chatting to away.

“There she is! Como has estado, hermosa?” Carlos asked Y/N, hugging her and kissing her on the cheek.

“Ha estado súper bien, un poquito cansada, pero nada que no se puede arreglar con un café.” Y/N said, her and Carlos laughed.

“I understand half of that.” Charles said.

“Now you know how I feel when you speak French.” Y/N said. “Anyway, as your social media manager, I had an idea for an upcoming challenge, we have to make the most of this season.” Y/N said.

“We hear you, mon ange, what’s the idea?” Charles asked.

“Can you guys guess what Grand Prix this is based off the picture?” Y/N asked, showing them a picture on her phone.

“That’s when I won in Monza.” Charles answered.

“Good, this is your challenge, guessing Grand Prixs based off a photo.” Y/N said putting her phone away. “It’s not much, but it’s different from what you guys have done in the past. You could also match dishes to their countries.” Y/N said.

“Sounds like a fun challenge.” Carlos said.

“Good to hear. I’m gonna be with the photographer, he’s taking photos of the new livery and I need to approve them before I post them on Instagram. See ya later, okay?” Y/N said, stepping into the garage where she sees the photographer looking over the photos on his camera.

“Y/N! You’re here, tell me what you think, and be brutally honest. Do you think they came out to blurry?” The photographer, Daniel, asked. Y/N started looking them over.

“They look great, honestly, it matches Ferrari’s instagram feed, you did a good job. Can you upload them to the computer?” Y/N asked and Daniel said that he could. He left Y/N alone on the garage and that’s when one of the mechanics, Ruggero, approached her.

“Sei bellissima, a more mío.” Ruggero told her. Y/N rolled her eyes,

“Grazie, Rugge, what do you want?” Y/N asked.

“You are very hostile towards me, you know? I might be able to forgive you if you go out with me.” Ruggero said.

“Not gonna happen, Rugge, aren’t you tired of getting rejected?” Y/N asked.

“I bounce back. Come on, amore, why won’t you let me take you out? You think you’re too good for me?” Ruggero asked.

“What are you talking about? Oh my god, I don’t think I’m too good for you, where the hell did you get that from?” Y/N asked, so confused at the turn this conversation took.

“Well that’s the only thing I could think of, you come from the states, you clearly think you’re better than Europeans.” Ruggero said and Y/N had enough of this nonsense.

“I have a boyfriend! Que pesado eres, me cae.” Y/N said.

“Really, who’s the boyfriend?” Ruggero asked. Y/N saw Charles walking into the garage.

“Muñeco, there you are!” Y/N said loudly, walking up to Charles and kissed him. Charles widened his eyes in shock but kissed her back and they both pulled away, Y/N wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his chest and Charles rubbed her back.

“Congratulations, does Fred know?” Ruggero asked.

“It’s private right now, we’re just seeing how this goes.” Y/N replied and as soon as Ruggero left, Y/N pulled away from Charles. “I am so sorry! Ruggero wouldn’t leave me alone so I had to tell him I had a boyfriend and honestly whoever walked through that door was going to be the victim of my lie but I am glad it’s you and not Carlos, mainly because Ruggero knows Rebecca is dating him.” Y/N explained quickly but Charles was still distracted, thinking about the kiss Y/N gave him.

“I’m sorry, what?” Charles asked.

“Can you be my boyfriend?” Y/N asked.

“I Don’t think we could pull this off, Y/N. We work together.” Charles said.

“We would only have to pretend we’re dating around Ruggero, no one else has to know, I promise.” Y/N said.

“Okay fine.” Charles said, him and Y/N were walking back to the main area (I don’t know how this works) and Carlos was standing next to Fred and Ruggero with a smile.

“Congratulations, cabrón,” Carlos told charles, hugging him. “You two are adorable.” Charles turned to look at Y/N with a look that said ‘no one will know, yeah right’

“I didn’t know you two were dating.” Fred commented.

“It’s still new.” Charles replied, putting his arm around Y/N.

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with the social media posts, it should be fine.” Fred said before walking away. Ruggero smiled before going back to the garage.

“Now I know why you always called her ‘mon ange’, que coqueto saliste, eh charles.” Carlos said, leaving Y/N and Charles alone, Y/N pulled away to face Charles.

“Well so much for that plan, I really am sorry, Charles.” Y/N said.

“You know what? It’s alright, it’s okay, pretending around here should be easy enough, this can’t get worse, right?” Charles asked.

“I Don’t think it can. How about I buy you lunch for getting you into this situation? I swear I did not mean for this to happen.” Y/N said.

“Yeah, sure let’s get lunch, where do you want to go?” Charles asked.

“Well since this lunch is my treat, you choose where we should go.” Y/N said. Charles and Y/N walked to the parking lot together and Y/N was walking towards her car when Charles grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards his car. “Seriously?”

“Well what kind of boyfriend would I be if we went to lunch in different cars?” Charles asked.

“Yeah, makes sense, Ruggero is watching through the window too, let’s go.” Y/N said. Charles opened the passenger door and Y/N got in, he close the door behind her, ever there gentleman, and he got into the driver seat. He turned on the car, and gave Y/N his phone so she can choose the music.

They arrived at the restaurant and like always, there were fans recording Charles and Y/N in the car, leaving the car, eating at the restaurant, talking, laughing, within the hour, Charles and Y/N were trending on Instagram, Twitter (X), and TikTok. As they waited for the check, Y/N was scrolling on TikTok when she found a video of her and Charles in the car.

“Charles, i think our ‘relationship’ went public.” Y/N said, showing him her phone. Charles’s eyes widened.

“Cant say I’m not surprised, I just thought videos wouldn’t be posted until later, you know?” Charles said and Y/N put her phone away.

“We haven’t even been ‘dating’ two hours and now everyone knows. You have no idea how sorry I am, I feel so bad for dragging you into this.” Y/N said.

“None of this wouldn’t have happened if Ruggero understood the word ‘no’ so you are fine, I’m glad I was able to help. But what was that thing you called me? ‘Muñeco’? Why did you call me that?” Charles asked.

“So ‘muñeco’ means ‘doll’, you have a pretty face, everyone says you’re good looking, you know you’re good looking. So muñeco just suits you, okay, especially with those dimples.” Y/N said, Charles smirked a little.

“You think I have a pretty face?” Charles asked teasingly.

“Great, I boosted your ego, like your head wasn’t big enough already. You literally said in one of those C2 challenges when Carlos had your photo that if you were a woman, you would be in love with yourself.” Y/N said. The waiter came in with the check and Y/N was going to take it but Charles was faster. “Dude, I told you I was gonna pay.”

“It would look good if you paid, there are cameras everywhere apparently.” Charles said, placing his credit card with the check. The waiter took the check.

“Then I’ll Apple Pay you. You gonna train today?” Y/N asked.

“Yes actually, come with me? You could post it to my story.” Charles asked. The waiter came back with Charles’s card.

“Yeah, I can do that. But we gotta go to Scuderia Ferrari for my car.” Y/N said, getting up from the table, Charles getting up as well.

“I think it can stay there overnight.” Charles said.

“You want me to spend the entire day with you? You’re insane.” Y/N commented as they were leaving the restaurant.

“Maybe, but it is to keep up appearances.” Charles said.

“I guess, but how long do we say we’ve been dating?” Y/N asked, getting into Charles’s car, he does the same.

“4 months seems good, don’t you think?” Charles asked.

“I guess that’s plausible.” Y/N said, Charles starts the car and drives off.

“Do you miss New York?” Charles asked.

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked.

“You travel a lot with us and you moved to Monaco for work, but do you ever miss New York? Your family? I know I miss my family when I’m away for races.” Charles said.

“I miss the food in New York, I can’t get decent tacos al pastor in Monaco, I gotta wait til the Mexican Grand Prix for them.” Y/N stated. “But yeah, I do miss New York.”

“You should ask for vacation time so you could go.” Charles said.

“I Don’t think they’ll give it to me, but thanks.” Y/N said.

For a week, Y/N and Charles have been spotted together everywhere, at races obviously, with Joris, Andrea, Doni, and Victoria, even with Charles’s family. Right now Y/N was with Charles at a club in Monaco. Y/N was at a table with Charles was at the bar getting drinks. Y/N noticed a girl flirting with Charles, touching his hand, before he pulled away with two drinks for him and Y/N.

“Charles, can we talk for a second?” Y/N asked.

“Sure, what’s on your mind, mon ange?” Charles asked, the nickname still causing butterflies in Y/N’s stomach.

“If you wanted to hook up with that girl, you can. I don’t want to have you tied down for a fake relationship.” Y/N said.

“I wasn’t interested in her at all, you know.” Charles commented.

“Really? What happens when the next girl that hits on you is more your type? I don’t want to hold you back, we are friends after all.” Y/N said.

“I have a confession to make.” Charles said, Y/N nodded her head for Charles to continue. “I’ve liked you for a while. Before you kissed me, it was a little crush, I thought it would have went away, but being with you this past week made my crush grow stronger. You don’t have to feel the same way, I just wanted to get this off my chest.” Y/N was shocked. Charles usually went for Instagram models, but he actually likes her, this was her dream come true.

“I’ve liked you for a while too, I just never thought you would see me that way.” Y/N said.

“I’m going to kiss you right now, okay?” Charles whispered, getting closer to Y/N, looking at her lips then back into her eyes, Y/N nodded, leaning in until their lips touched. It was a soft, gentle kiss, until Charles gained more confidence to do more. They pulled away. “Will you be my girlfriend? For real, this time?” Charles asked.

“Yes I will.” Y/N responded, they kissed again.

The End

Was this good? I think it was good, the pacing is weird, but I had no idea where this was going, just saying. Was it just as good as “prince of Ferrari”? Probably not, but I hope y’all liked it, should I keep writing Charles Leclerc fanfics?