#(but this is a reverse scenario of that so)

[trashytracktales]

(I'm really sorry for the size of what I sent you and if you want to ignore it I'll completely understand)

I don't know if you like writing enemies to lovers (that's the only way I can describe it) but I've been thinking a lot about how you would make an amazing story with this "plot" because you write so well

So I'm here to ask for a one shot of Lando where he and Flo's best friend (his sister) don't get along and are always picking on each other (but deep down Lando just uses this as a protection so other people don't know he likes her, because he's afraid of ruining their friendship).

The scenario could be the two going to Flo's horse riding competition but they are late for the event, so Lando suggests giving a ride to his sister's friend and she accepts because she doesn't know the city and the place is on a remote farm. Halfway there it starts to rain and the car ends up getting stuck because Lando didn't want to follow the GPS, saying he knew a shorter route and this makes the two argue. The girl gets irritated by Lando's stubbornness and gets out of the car, even in the rain, and goes to a barn that is the only covered place nearby. Obviously Lando goes after her and when they get there the two admire each other for a while because the wet clothes are stuck to their bodies, leaving little to the imagination. So Lando can't hold on and kiss her and all the desire to have her is released at that moment (pls make it a smut 🥺)

Hold your horses | LN⁴

🐎 summary ──── They’ve been pushing each other’s limits for as long as they can remember, and storms aren’t something that scares them. But when they get caught in the eye of one, desire and resentment collide in a moment they can’t ignore nor change.

🐎 pairing ──── Lando Norris x Flo’s best friend (she/her)

🐎 rating ──── explicit

🐎 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, angst, smut, push-pull dynamics, arguments and dirty talk, swearing, power imbalance, wet clothes??, banter and manipulation through teasing, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, unresolved tension with open ending (don’t hate me pls I can already smell the requests for part 2).

🐎 word count ──── 7.1k

🐎 date ──── Jul. 14, 2025

🐎 a/n ──── I had this request sitting in my inbox since December of 2024. Whoever sent it, if you’re still here and reading this, I’m sooooo sorry love. I hope it was worth the wait 🤎

“JUST ADMIT IT, Lando,” she says, letting out an exasperated sigh. “We are stuck,” the girl offers the only plausible verdict and, somewhere far in the distance, a loud clap of thunder grumbles like it agrees with her.

Outside, the English countryside is a blur of grey and green, soaked in a sudden summer storm. The windshield wipers squeak uselessly across the glass, struggling to keep up with the downpour. Mud splatters up the sides of the car, and the wheels dig deeper into the soaked dirt road every time Lando tries to gun it.

He doesn’t look at her right away. Instead, he’s absolutely convinced that the sheer willpower will reverse the fact that they’re halfway up a deserted country lane, surrounded by trees that loom in on either side like spectators, and very, very stuck.

“We’re not stuck,” Lando insists, his jaw tight; he’d rather chew on wood than agree with her.

“I’m so sorry,” she says mockingly. “The fact that we are not moving might’ve gave me that impression. But thank god it’s not the case,” she continues, flashing him a fake smile.

“I just need to rock it out of the rut,” he explains, giving her an annoyed look back.

She nods. “Of course, you’re going to rock it out,” the girl repeats after him, the irritation in her voice betraying the fact that, in reality, she thinks his solution is terribly uninspired. “Genius. Did you read that in a Top Gear magazine? Wait, do you even know how to read or you just looked at the pictures?”

Beyond frustrated, Lando throws the car into reverse and hits the gas again. The tires squeal and spin, slinging more mud into the air. As a result, the car lurches an inch, maybe two, then creaks and settles deeper, the nose now slightly tilted to the right.

She clears her throat. “You were saying?”

He exhales through his nose, clearly trying to keep it together. “Can you shut up for a second?”

“You shut up. If it wasn’t for your big mouth, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now,” she points out. “Who ignores the GPS in this type of weather?”

Lando rounds on her. “I know the area, alright?”

The girl scoffs. “Clearly! We’re on a road that looks like it was last used by the Romans. But Lando knows the area. Go ahead and get us out, then. Because we’re one thunderclap away from being part of a missing persons case.”

“Why do you always have to be so dramatic?” he asks in an even tone.

She replies so quickly that it almost takes her by surprise, too. “Because I always knew you’d be the cause of my death, Norris.”

Much to their misfortune, the rain starts pouring harder, drumming angrily against the roof of the car. The sky looks heavy, thunders rolling in the distance like some kind of bad omen. They’re surrounded by thick hedgerows and open fields that stretch out in every direction, broken only by the occasional, soggy-looking fencepost. There’s no farmhouse in sight, no signal, no other cars or people. Just them.

And that’s the worst part.

“You know, I didn’t even have to drive you,” says Lando through gritted teeth as he unbuckles his seatbelt and throws open the door on his side. Water rushes in before he slams it shut again, soaking his hoodie through before he even rounds the car.

She watches him through the windshield with her arms crossed at her chest. A part of her wants to feel bad, because he looks miserable, hair plastered to his forehead now, jaw flexing as he surveys the tires like he can will the car to move. But on the other hand, he deserves it. Lando’s been nothing but a cocky, irritating nightmare since the moment she met him. Always mocking and always acting like her presence was some kind of personal inconvenience, even though she’s the one who’s had to put up with his snide remarks at family dinners, his eye-rolls whenever she talks about university, and the constant yet silent competition over who can get under the other’s skin faster.

“No traction,” she hears his voice again, jolting slightly when the door swings open. Lando climbs back in, dripping water across the console, managing to sprinkle her with a few cold drops, too. His curls are officially a mess, there’s a streak of mud on his jeans, and his expression is thunderous next time he speaks, “Road’s completely washed out,” he finally admits, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary.

The echo leaves a sinister melody in her ears. “Oh?” she gasps, faking surprise. “You mean we’re stuck?”

Lando glares at her. “Can you not?”

“I’m just trying to understand how your shortcut landed us in a damn bog.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, he throws his head back with a groan. “You’re actually the worst.”

“And now what?” she asks, outraged by the fact that he doesn’t even seem remotely concerned about looking for a way to get them out of there.

“We wait for the rain to pass,” says Lando, finally stopping the car.

The moment the engine dies beneath them, the hum vanishes, and the rain rushes in to fill the silence. In the sudden stillness of the stalled car, the air shifts. Neither of them speaks for a while, but that something that’s dancing between them it’s painfully palpable now.

“I shouldn’t have agreed to come with you,” she confesses in a small voice, turning to look out the window to her right, where the storm shows no sign of stopping anytime soon. “It’s always the same shit packed differently.”

Lando shrugs. “No one forced you, mate,” he reminds her in a flat voice, not to be rude, but mostly as a fact.

She presses her lips into a thin line, forcing herself to stay calm and not to give him more power over her than he already has. But even if she’s staring out the window, watching the world distort under the glass, she can still feel his eyes flicking to her, studying her, waiting for her to react. Ever since she became part of the Norris household orbit through his sister, there’s always been some sort of hostile dynamic between them, a constant game of who can strike the sharpest blow while pretending they don’t care. Flo used to be the mediator, but when it’s just the two of them, it’s as if a civil war is about to erupt at any moment.

“You offered, mate,” she accuses, turning to look at him. “So I thought maybe we could act like two normal people who don’t hate the fuck out of each other. For once.”

Lando frowns lightly. “No, I only did what Flo asked me to,” he says in a defensive manner. “Which was to give you a ride. And hate’s a strong word, don’t you think?”

Although she bites her lip in order to stop the words from leaving her mouth, they still find a way to slip through her lips, “You act like it fits.”

Her affirmation stings more than Lando wants to admit. It lodges deep in his chest, making him go still for a moment. Maybe he’s been too caught up in the rhythm of their game to see how sharp his own edges have gotten. How sometimes, in the heat of trying to win a stupid argument, he might’ve pushed too far. Said things that weren’t just clever or sarcastic, but cruel.

“This is such a disaster,” she admits, pulling him back from his own mind. “I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere, in a car with you of all people, late for my friend’s competition, and—”

“And what?” Lando cuts her off, dragging a hand through his damp curls, water flinging from the strands. His hoodie clings to his skin, soaked and uncomfortable, but the tension inside the car is worse than the weather outside. “What do you want from me right now? To make the car fly?”

She shakes her head. “You act like you know everything, and then this happens,” the girl gestures around the car, the rain, the stuck tires, and lastly, at the air between them. “Trying to keep up with you it’s exhausting.”

Lando’s eyes flash, twisting his body towards her as if his seat caught on fire. “Don’t pretend you know me.”

“Don’t pretend I don’t.”

It’s the conviction behind her words that shuts both of them up.

Her eyes widen in surprise, and then it’s as if a veil of tranquility wraps around her shoulders. Like something just simply clicked. Of course she knows him. She knows that he always taps his fingers against the steering wheel when he’s annoyed with the traffic, that he chews the inside of his cheek when he’s trying to keep his temper in check, that he can be loud just to fill silence, and sarcastic just to keep people at arm’s length.

Lando gets moody when he’s hungry, which, she’s learned, happens every few hours like clockwork. He’s infuriatingly competitive, even when it’s just a silly game of cards, and somehow always manages to be both irritatingly confident and quite avoidant when things get too real.

But she also knows he always drives five miles under the speed limit when it’s raining. She’s seen the way he softens when he’s around little kids, how he crouches down and talks to them so they won’t feel too small. He has his sister’s back without a second thought, even if that means to drive her annoying best friend to her competitions from time to time.

And Lando knows her too.

He knows that she always has to have the last word, even if it’s just a whispered insult under her breath as she walks away. That she rolls her eyes at him so hard it’s a miracle they haven’t gotten stuck yet, and that she says his name like it’s a curse, ninety-nine percent of the times.

Even so, he likes the way it sounds coming from her mouth.

She’s dramatic in the most exasperating way, throwing her hands around when she talks, sighing loud enough to be heard in the next room. She pretends to hate everything Lando likes just to get a rise out of him, and she’s been picking fights with him for years over the stupidest things: his haircuts, how he ties his shoes, the music he listens to, or the way he eats chips like he’s in a race.

She drives him insane, and she weaponizes it. But thing is, he’s the one that lets her.

“What are you doing?” asks Lando, watching her reaching for the door handle.

“This is getting old,” she tells him with a trace of weariness in her voice. “I’m done having the same fight with you,” she adds, slamming the door before he even gets a chance to stop her.

The metallic thud echoes through Lando’s head, leaving him behind for a few moments, losing sight of her figure cutting through the rain. Instinctively, his hands reach for the steering wheel and he squeezes it in his palms to anchor himself. He knows that this is just another manifestation of her stubbornness, but he can’t remain indifferent to it, no matter how hard he tries.

The rain soaked her in seconds, angry drops dripping down her hair and past her collar. Her boots sink into the soft earth with a sickening squelch, mud clinging to her soles like it’s trying to hold her back as a warning. The wind lashes sideways across her face, pushing her hair into her mouth and eyes, but she keeps walking, even though she doesn’t know where she’s going yet. The only certainty is that she needs to get away from him, from the weight in her chest and, most importantly, from the sound of his voice that’s still ringing in her ears.

She knows she should turn back from the moment the sky lights up with a flash of lightning that splits it in two for a few seconds, and the thunder that makes her chest vibrate. But there’s something strangely comforting about the discomfort she feels and the way the rain drowns everything out. Especially her thoughts.

The road ahead bends, and so does she, veering off toward the field that dips low near the treeline. Nestled behind a tangle of hedges, barely visible through the sheets of rain, she sees an old barn, weathered and crooked, but as long as it has a roof, she decides it’s enough to shield her until the rain stops. So she scrambles over a ditch and through tall grass, the cold clawing at her naked legs, her breath coming in ragged bursts as she finally reaches the door that resists her for a second before finally giving way with a groaning creak.

It’s dim and musty inside, but to her surprise, it’s neater than she’d imagined from the outside: stacked hay bales line the far wall, and the floor is swept clean, the scent of damp wood and old straw wrapping around her like something familiar and strangely calming. The rain muffles to a soft drumming on the roof above, and for a brief moment, she’s alone in the hush of it all, her breath finally slowing down.

It’s peaceful, but then the door opens again, and she doesn’t need to turn to know exactly who it is.

“Can you stop being difficult for a minute?” he barks, stepping inside and letting the door slam shut behind him. “What are you doing walking off like that in the middle of a goddamn storm?”

“What are you doing coming after me?” she fires back.

Lando shakes his head, frustration visible on his expression. “You could’ve gotten lost.”

“Not with you around, I won’t,” she replies sarcastically. “I’m sure you would’ve found a shortcut and show up at the end of the fucking world just to keep annoying me.”

For the first time, Lando agrees with her. “You’re right. I would find you,” he snaps. “Because apparently, I’m the piece of shit stuck to your shoe, yeah? Always there, making your life miserable.”

Her mouth opens, stunned by the venom in his voice, but Lando won’t let her interrupt him this time.

“And maybe I am doing it on purpose. You wanna know why?” he asks rhetorically, stepping closer to where she stands. “Because you do the exact same thing to me.”

She straightens, her face hardening. “Excuse me?”

“No, you’re not excused,” his hands are clenched at his sides, water dripping from the cuffs of his sleeves. “Not when you get under my skin like it’s your fucking job. You don’t get to push every button I have, and then act like I’m the one being unreasonable.”

“Well, you are,” she spits back.

The words ricochet between them like it’s a tennis match. Without thinking, Lando takes another step forward, until they’re only a foot apart, their breath blending in the cold air.

“You think this is fun?” his voice lowers for a beat. “You think I enjoy losing my mind every time you walk into a room like you know exactly how to piss me off?”

Her throat tightens, but she doesn’t say a word. However, she knows that’s true because, again, like it or not, she knows him.

“It used to be fun,” he nods once, his eyes never leaving hers, “But we lost the fucking plot. I don’t even recognize myself when I’m around you,” Lando says quieter, but no less intense. “No one else does this to me. So why does it have to be you?”

His question cuts deep, but it sounds off, almost like surrender.

There is just too much to unpack and, somehow, not enough time. Not when her mind takes her to the ages when it was easy to tease him and push back, just because she was too afraid to pull. They’ve been circling each other for years, stuck in a cycle they didn’t know how to break and, over time, that became their normal. But they’re not teenagers anymore. And now, she discovers how resentment became their fallback, because it was always easier to fight than to face the weight of whatever they were — not enemies, but not friends, either.

With Lando standing in front of her like that, upset and shaken, she realizes that maturity has finally caught up from behind and it’s begging them to reconsider not just who they’ve been to each other in the past, but who they choose to be next.

“You really mean that?” she asks in a small voice. “That you don’t recognize yourself when you’re around me?”

Lando breathes, staring at her like she’s something he wants to destroy and protect in the same heartbeat.

“I…” he begins after a few seconds of complete silence. “I don’t know.”

It’s honest, she can tell by the way his chin quivers a little, as if her question awakened in him the same exact thought she just had.

Her lips part, like she’s about to fight it. Or maybe laugh it off. But nothing comes out. Instead, she catches the way he’s looking at her now. Not like he did when he stormed inside or with the smug grin he wears in the corner of his mouth when he’s trying to get even.

This moment is something else entirely; they’re both awake now.

Lando’s not even looking at her anymore. His eyes are stuck somewhere lower, caught on the line of her soaked shirt clinging to her body like second skin. What was once just an oversized white button-up now leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. The fabric has turned translucent, plastered to her frame, every inch of her outlined in dim light. The belt cinched at her waist draws the shirt tighter, accentuating the slope of her hips and the curve of her chest.

She feels it all at once, how her soaked mesh bra is doing little to hide anything and how her thighs are streaked with mud from walking through the field. Water is still trailing in thin lines down her neck, slipping between her breasts, and that’s where his eyes land at last.

His jaw clenches, making him look like he’s holding himself back with everything he has. His chest heaves with each breath, deep yet uneven, like the air has grown too thick to pull in properly.

“Lando…” she trails off, and even her voice sounds differently, a little unsure and way too soft for either of their liking.

His gaze snaps up, meeting hers again, tilting both of their worlds the second their eyes lock.

Suddenly, everything is reflected back at her in that stare: the frustration, the anger, the desire. The years of tension neither of them ever addressed because it was safer to bicker and pretend that hate was the only thing that tethered them. But it’s wasn’t. It’s not. It can’t be, with the way they look at each other now.

Not when Lando seems like he’s seconds from losing the battle with himself. From closing the space. From doing something neither can’t undo.

“Always under my skin,” he ends up saying as an observation, his voice frayed at the edges. He doesn’t look away from her for another second, not even as he drags his tongue across his lower lip, like his mouth is too dry for the words sitting heavy on it. “And yet, I wouldn’t want anyone else bothering me the way you do.”

His confession is beautifully wrapped in words that only she can understand. Her heart starts to race at that, realizing that the line between them is getting thinner and thinner the longer they stand in front of each other without moving; not because they can’t, but because neither of them wants to do it first.

Next, her breath catches in her throat, and it’s impossible for Lando not to notice. He sees the way her jaw tightens, how her fingers curl against her sides like she’s trying to stop herself from reacting.

She lifts her chin instead, a mocking glint returning to her eyes. “You’re just easy to play with, Norris,” she says, her armor sliding back into place. “That’s not my fault.”

Lando smiles. “Go on, then.”

“What?”

“If I’m so easy,” he steps forward, finally closing the remaining gap, “Play with me, darling.”

She knows exactly what he means, and exactly what he wants. Lando does a very good job at masking his taunting in determination, maybe even curiosity. But he can’t fool her with it, because she’s aware that whatever game they’ve been playing up until this very momment has teeth now. For a split second, she hates how well she understands him, how perfectly she can read the tension in his shoulders and the way he’s trying not to reach. They’re standing on a knife’s edge, and neither of them is saying it, but both of them know. Both of them wait.

“Come on,” Lando says again, provoking. “Say something smart. Push another button.”

She’s practically twitching to say something that will keep them in the only lane they’ve ever known, but the words never leave her mouth, because his is now occupying hers, with no trace of restraint. One of his hands is instantly in her hair, keeping her there. And it’s everything he’s been holding back, poured into the shape of her lips, the press of his chest against hers, the furious way his other hand grabs at her waist as if he has earned the right.

Luckily, she saw it coming and she answers it right away, her mouth welcoming the heat of him in. She can taste rain and frustration, and it shoots straight through her like the lightning outside, loud and electric. Her hands slide under his hoodie without a second thought, palms slick and freezing as they press to the bare skin of his stomach. Lando gasps into her mouth, the contact ripping a groan from his throat that vibrates against her lips and makes her knees weaken. His skin is like fire beneath her fingers, and she feels his muscles jump under her touch, like even that small yet bold movement has undone something in him.

He surges forward, pushing her back until her spine hits the cold wall behind her with a wet thud. She doesn’t even notice she has no personal space left at all, because all she can feel is the weight of his body pinning hers and his mouth kissing her like it’s the only norm they’ve ever known. They’re absolutely drenched from the storm, the strong scent of wet earth clinging to their skin, tangled with the musk of warm clothes and sweat. But underneath it all, there’s one thing that stops them from retreating: a burning desire that neither knows how to control anymore. A raw, persistent want that coils between their bodies and steals the air from their lungs with every breath they try to take between kisses they can’t stop giving.

The girl urges herself into him like it’s second nature, her fingers dragging up his ribs, and his hands slide down to her hips, gripping hard, propping himself in the curve of her. They’re not even trying to slow it down or question it. There’s no pause and no hesitation, just mouths and hands and ages of built-up tension exploding between them in the quiet shelter they’ve found while, ironically, running from each other.

Time turns back to normal speed when their lips finally part, their mouths clinging to each other for a breath longer than necessary, like even their bodies can’t quite accept they’re two separate thinghs. A soft sound slips from her lips as the kiss breaks, half sigh, half protest, so Lando doesn’t move far. Instead, he rests his forehead gently against hers, both of them breathing hard, chests rising and falling in messy tandem.

Lando’s lips curl into a small smirk. “That’s what I thought,” he pants, voice soaked in satisfaction, in a way that only he could manage after a first kiss like that.

Instinctively, her hand flies up before he can move another inch, fingers curling firmly around his jaw. She tilts his face toward hers, forcing his gaze to lock with hers, without the possibility of avoiding her gaze. “Hold your horses,” she breathes, tightening her grip on his chin, enough to stop the smugness from spreading further. “You were the one who cracked first.”

Lando huffs a laugh through his nose, eyes flicking between hers. “Cracked?” he repeats. “I’d say I finally did us both a favor.” His hands are still firm on her hips as he speaks, not letting her go. “And you didn’t exactly complain.”

“I’m still deciding,” she confesses, pushing him gently with the intention of putting some distance between them. Just to clear her mind.

But Lando doesn’t budge. Instead, he pushes back into her, tenderly matching her force as a final statement.

Carefully, his hands trail down her sides, fingers gliding over the damp fabric clinging to her curves, leaving gosebumps in their wake. When he reaches her hips, he pauses for a second, then lets his palms settle low, cupping the shape of her ass in both hands. The soft squeeze that follows pulls a tiny gasp from her, not really out of surprise, but from the intensity of how right it feels and how immediate her body responds to his touch. As if she does it on command, her hips rock into him with a mind of their own, which makes her protest at the fact that she is so easily steered by him. Into the first damn wall.

Lando notices her conflicting thoughts and, amused, he drops his forehead to her shoulder with a sigh, like the weight of it all has finally caught up to him. His breath is hot against her collarbone, and he doesn’t dare to move.

“Decide what?” he asks. “If you want to fight or fuck? ‘Cause I’m sure your body has already decided for you.”

She can’t help but roll her eyes just as her hands drift upward, with enough intention yet unsure, until her fingers tangle in his soaked curls, tugging gently at the roots. Still, Lando doesn’t lift his head. But his mouth finds the curve of her neck instead, warm lips brushing the rain-slick skin there. He tastes her like she’s suddenly something fragile that he can easily break under his force if he wanted to. And in the middle of that, it only takes a tilt of her head for him to smile, this time softened — and alarmed — by the newly found truth between them.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers, “My sister’s going to kill me.”

The girl lets out a breathy laugh, her clasp in his hair tightening. “Not if I tell her you took very good care of me.”

Her statement elicits a sound from him, something between a whimper and a muffled rasp, but it catches in his throat and turns into something more intense when she arches against him.

“How do you know I’m that good?”

She grins, eyes gleaming as her fingers slide down the front of his hoodie, stopping just above the waistband of his jeans. “Because of that big mouth of yours.” She leans in then, almost brushing her lips against his jaw as she continues, “You wouldn’t be this cocky if you couldn’t back it up, would you?”

Lando has to swallow the lump in his throat just as her fingers start to work the top button. As she does, her eyes are locked on his, daring him to contradict her again. Or to stop her.

Ironically enough, his big mouth is not so big anymore.

Lando’s fingers twitch on her ass, but can’t stay there. They drift beneath the hem of her shirt and under the damp lace of her panties. He takes his time, tracing the edge with maddening precision before slipping them gently down her thighs. The soaked fabric peels away from her skin, clinging for just a moment before falling into his waiting hand. She continues to watch him closely, pulse thudding hard in her throat, as Lando folds the lace and stuffs it into the pocket of his hoodie to keep it safe.

It shouldn’t feel so intimate, but she can feel his heart beating against her chest in a rhythm that only seems to match her own the moment his hand moves lower, almost like he’s testing to see how far she’ll let him push. Far, he figures, when his fingers slide between her folds, through heat and damp, and stills there. Not from waiting for permission, but from satisfaction.

His breath is warm at her temple next time he speaks, “I see why you’re always picking fights with me,” he concludes. “So you can get off later, thinking about it, hm?”

Her jaw tightens, fingers curling into his shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late,” he replies quickly, as if he already knew she was gonna say that. His grin spreads slow, the kind of smirk that used to make her want to punch him, but now only makes her weak.

It’s too late for her, too, as his fingers trace lazy, maddening circles along her opening, reading her. Learning her at an agonizingly slow pace. Even though she tries to hide her reaction, her hips tilt toward him without permission. She clutches his bicep to support her weight before she melts beneath him completely, eyes closing shut for a brief second.

He studies her face, teasing with the tip of his fingers right at the edge of her tight entrance. “Tell me how much you hate me right now.”

Her eyes snap open, surprised yet defiant, her response caught in her throat when Lando finally presses a finger inside, then adds another one, only to reduce her complains to simple whimpers. There is a lot of gentleness to the way he touches her, though. Every motion is purposeful, intended to pull the maximum pleasure out of her with minimum effort.

While her fingers dig into him harder, he draws his back almost entirely, dragging them just enough to leave her wanting more. Then he pushes in again, stretching and curling the tips slightly until her breath comes out in little spasms and her head tips back, thighs wrapping instinctively around his wrist, like she could trap the feeling there and keep it from breaking her open.

“Didn’t know you could go quiet,” whispers Lando, keeping his eyes on her mostly because he needs to witness this unseen version of her, willing and honest in a way neither of them ever dared admit existed. “Guess I just needed to find the right way to shut you up.”

Her entire body responds with a deep craving she hadn’t known could feel this good. She gets wetter with every shift, so soft under his touch that makes her question the strength in her own legs.

Lando’s gaze drops to where her hips subtly roll against his hand, seeking friction, release, anything to keep from falling apart too fast.

Half in protest, half in need, she manages a whiny, “Fuck you.”

“That a request?” asks Lando, his thumb lightly tapping her clit to remind her that she’s at his mercy right now.

“Lando,” she mewls, his name falling from her lips like a curse. Or a prayer she doesn’t know she’s saying.

“Wanna hear you,” he pushes her, the speed of his fingers increasing with every breath he takes. “Say you hate me.”

She would talk, if her brain still worked. But all functionality is reduced to the way he finger-fucks her with such sweetness and annoying dexterity. Besides, it wouldn’t even be true. She doesn’t hate him. Not right now, at least. Most of the time, Lando just irks her. Because there is no one else that manages his performance of tap-dancing on every single one of the over seven trillion nerves in her body.

Forcing herself to lift her head, she looks at him for a brief moment, then lets it fall in the crook of his neck, her breath hot against his skin. “You ruin everything.”

Lando lets out a low chuckle, but it’s not mocking. More like… strained. Heavy with anticipation and desire. “Yeah?” he coaxes, lips grazing the edge of her cheek, fingers curling again inside her, dragging a broken sound from her throat. “Go on.”

She squeezes her eyes, teeth sinking into her lip, trying to hold on to whatever pride she has left. However, slowly but surely, it’s slipping away, straight into his already massive ego.

“I hate…” she gasps as he twists his fingers, “That your mouth never stops running.”

“Mhm, what else? Let it all out while you’re soaking my fingers,” he encourages her as his thumb moves in circles around her clit, making her hips twitch into him. “Let me hear it while your body keeps begging me to stuff you full of me.”

“Lando,” she warns, her breath getting caught between shame and heat and the unbearable intimacy of his words. She clings to him like he’s a lifeline, and she hates the way it makes her feel so safe, knowing that she’s in good hands. “I hate—” she tries, but it breaks off into a moan, silent and strangled.

“Me?” he finishes for her, feeling the way her walls start tensing in pulses she can’t control.

Her eyes open just in time to see the look on his face, bright and hungry.

She shakes her head.

“No, you don’t, baby,” Lando agrees in a mellow voice, his mouth brushing the corner of hers.

His fingers move faster now that he knows she’s close, more insistent, the slick rhythm of skin on skin drowned only by the roar of another series of thunders rolling outside.

Another quiet moan escapes her lips, and then she’s falling, clenching hard around his fingers as wave after wave crashes through her. Her body jerks in rhythm with his hand, fists gripping the front of his hoodie like it’s the only thing anchoring her to the earth.

“There you go,” he exhales, their breaths intertwining.

His other hand returns to her waist then slips to the back of her thigh, lifting until she’s settled against him, trusting him to hold her there. Her back meets the wall once again just as her boot scrapes softly on the ground, the other lifted and locked around him as his palm supports under her knee.

Gazing into each other’s souls like that shouldn’t be allowed. Not when they’re so close that he can smell her shampoo — a warm honey scent, blending with something sweet that makes his jaw clench. Not when his scent is so subtle but familiar, and makes her want to drink him in without a second thought.

Her eyes fall on the space between them, watching Lando pull away from between her legs. Then back up to meet his again with wide pupils. Patiently, he pushes his jeans down and reaches to guide himself against her, like he already knows what this moment means for both of them. He’s warm and hard, making her gasp as he nudges forward, the heat of her already drawing him in inch by inch. Her body tenses in disbelief, surprised by how well he fits inside her.

Lando feels her body melting into his slowly. “Are you okay?” he asks her in a soft tone.

She nods. “Keep going.”

And so he does, pushing deeper and savoring the closeness. Carefully, he lifts her off the ground completely, wrapping her other leg around his waist and, by the time he’s fully sheathed inside her, they’re face to face again, breath shaky and warm against each other’s lips.

“Forgive me,” he almost begs.

The girl lets out a breathless laugh, “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

For a heartbeat, Lando’s mouth quirks. He pulls his hips back, dragging himself almost entirely out of her warmth, and then thrusts forward harder, stealing the next breath from her lungs. Her laugh vanishes, swallowed by a choked sound she doesn’t mean to make.

Lando’s jaw clenches as he squeezes her hips tighter for more support. “For not having the restraint to be gentle with you.”

She shivers at his words, understanding that he’s doing everything in order not to break her. Rather, Lando’s trying to show her what she does to him, without her even knowing. And he wants to show her that underneath the surface, there’s an unbearable ache of finally having her, and knowing he’ll never be able to forget how she feels after this only ignites the fire inside him.

The girl finds out what he means sooner than she thought.

His rhythm starts claiming and is filled with a hunger that’s been caged for far too long. Every thrust is purposeful, angled perfectly, as if he’s been planning this in the dark corners of every argument they’ve ever had.

Her sharp tongue, always ready with a retort, is useless now. Her breath is shallow, and she’s still clinging to him like he’s the only thing holding her together.

“How many times have you imagined this?”

“In my imagination, Norris, you’re mute,” she bites back, but it’s shaky.

Lando grunts, “Unrealistic.”

He starts pounding into her, hard and fast, chasing the breathless moans he’s already addicted to. He’s relentless, but never careless. Rough, but knows how to fuck her until her attitude turns into desperation, and the only words that are coming out of her mouth are imploring him not to stop. There’s no room for breathing like a normal person, and no space for thought. Just the eagerness of his hips, the way her body arches into him without meaning to, how every time he sinks deep, she forgets how to do anything but feel. Him.

Her fingers claw on either side of his face, desperate to keep him close. She’s lost, suspended between the storm hammering the roof above them and the storm he’s dragging out of her from the inside, wondering how does he manages to be everywhere, all at once: in her ears, in her mind, and all around her. At that, her body reacts accordingly, legs trembling around his waist.

With his mouth partially open, Lando follows her facial expressions, because he feels how close she is, how tightly she squeezes his length, how every thrust only winds her tighter. And he wants to witness that.

“You feel that, don’t you?” he pants, not slowing. “You can’t even think straight, hm?”

“Shut up,” she manages, and Lando responds to her spiteful request in his own manner: by stopping.

He freezes deep inside her, holding her there as if he’s waiting for her to apologize, even though he knows that won’t happen.

The absence of movement is brutal. Her pussy clenches in protest, desperate for more, making her blink repeatedly as if her mind has been pulled back from the edge of something vast and consuming.

Lando looks at her, faces inches apart. “Feel that aching little hole, gaping out for me?”

She can’t argue while multiple body parts are betraying her, clinging to him with quiet, pulsing desperation.

“Lando,” the girl moans, her back straightening up, urging him to get moving.

“Don’t think you’re better than me,” he tells her in a whispered voice, slowly resuming his dizzying pace. “We’re the same, you and I.”

His fingers sink into either side of her waist, anchoring her to every deep, punishing thrust, dragging her closer and closer to her climax, her body jolting with every collision of his hips against hers. For all she knows, the storm outside could’ve already stopped, but all she can hear is the way Lando breathes her name between gritted teeth as he fucks her so good that she’s not even able to process the words that came out of his mouth.

She writhes against his hold, chasing that sweet pressure building at the base of her spine, winding tighter with every stroke that finds that perfect spot inside her. Again and again. And again. Her fingers get lost in his curls, fisting his hair like a lifeline. And when her orgasm hits, her entire body locks against him with a strangled moan, hips shaking as her release tears through her.

Lando swears under his breath. “That’s it, fuck,” he sighs in pleasure, every muscle trembling. “Let me feel that pussy throb.”

The way he says it cuts straight through her pride. Becacuse even in all their sourness, her body listens to him. It reacts to him with more than desire. No one else has ever made two completely differen feelings seem like one. They are the epitomy of duality, and nothing they represent should complement each other as well as they do.

She lets go, boneless in his arms, her chest heaving as aftershocks roll through her.

Lando doesn’t stop until he makes sure she’s completely worn out, then he pulls out slowly, with a stifled groan, the sensation almost undoing him prematurely. He rests his forehead to her chest, breathing hard, letting all his weight against her spent body as he presses his cock on her thigh, watching it drip in thick loads down her leg. The tension floods out of him, his body shuddering as every inch of him gets taut.

“Lan?” she calls for him after a long pause in which neither of them moved.

His breath is ghosting warm over her damp skin, and his hands, once gripping her like lifelines, have gone still at her hips. Then he exhales a long breath that sounds more like inconvenience.

“Am here,” it’s all he says, but doesn’t lift his head to look at her.

That alone makes her chest tighten.

“Are you…” she trails off, not sure how to finish the question.

Are you okay?

Do you regret it?

What now?

“All good,” he replies. “I have a change of clothes in the car,” he adds matter-of-factly. “Let’s dry you off.”

The warmth of his body leaves her as he takes a step back, eyes dropping to the groung. She watches as he tucks himself back into his boxers, then fastens the button on his jeans with a quiet finality. It shouldn’t feel like this, but it makes her want throw up, mostly because she has allowed herself to believe, even if briefly, that they are compatible in some way.

But nothing’s really changed.

They’re still the same two people who push too hard and never give each other an inch unless it’s by accident.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[commandtower-solring-go]

So noise cancelling headphones work by taking in extension audio and (simplified) reversing it such that the noise the headphones produce cancel out the scenario noise. I wonder if you could do the same with Tinitus. It wouldn't be a permanent fix, but would definitely be a relief for some people

They recorded tinnitus? It's a physical thing?????

[revelboo]

I love being trans and I love seeing other transmasc ppl also gush over your blog lol. I also love the Mirage storyline and scenarios because yeah I'm a transman but God I fucking love wearing dresses and cute things idc ill never stop wearing feminine clothes because there's something so comical about the look on people faces seeing some 5' 4" dude (me) with muscles and tattoos wearing some slutty little outfit or cute dress/skirt it ALWAYS makes me giggle so like YES Mirage keep bringing me dresses and old Hollywood robes and lingerie I like feeling like a spoiled prince 💅🏻 also he better take reader for joyrides 🤺

🤣 I’d think a lot of the Cybertronians aren’t that well versed in human culture and fashion. They have no idea about our overly complicated clothes and just see soft/fluffy/pretty coverings and want to see their human in them. And most of the humans are just rolling with it, because it’s not worth arguing about and hey, it’s whatever weird thing your giant partner brought home or naked sometimes (TFP Star’s human). I think Mirage would love vintage, romantic, Hollywood clothes and start stockpiling them once he has a human.

Joyride

Mirage x Reader

• Laughing as he tears down the deserted street, you tip your head back to stare at the swollen moon wreathed in clouds as the cold wind chills you, not numbing the exhilaration of his speed at all. If you had to guess, it’s sometime after midnight since you haven’t seen another car, but then, time isn’t all that important anymore. Your schedule following Mirage’s. His latest acquisition, a silk robe of some sort with faux fur trim, flaps in the wind, the ridiculous fur trimmed sleeves shoved up to to your elbows as you hang an arm out the window to surf your hand in the air.

• Darting down a side street in a squeal of tires, he can hear your delighted laughter and it leaves him warm and light. Happy that you’re happy, that you love this feeling just as much as he does. Feels free. It’s not his war, he’d just been dragged into it and wants it to be over and done. That fact making him suspicious to the other Autobots, always questioning his loyalty, his motives. Like he might swap sides at any moment and it hurts. Just because he doesn’t agree with the war, doesn’t mean he’d betray them. “Are you getting too cold, darling?”

• Probably, but you don’t want to go back to the Ark, yet. “We’re good,” you say, even though the chilly air is starting to get uncomfortable with the thin robe, you don’t really want to go home. And that thought ripples through you. Realizing that the Ark is gone, that he’s home to you. Not exactly sure when that had happened, but it feels right. Loving having someone care about you, see you, and worry over you. Spoil you.

• Humming softly as he monitors you tucked in his driver’s seat, he turns onto another road and vents tiredly when blue lights flare, a siren wailing. “Hang on tight, sweetspark,” he purrs, really letting loose as his engine roars. And you whoop, laughing as he peels out, the human authority in pursuit. Needs enough of a lead to duck out of sight just long enough to use his abilities to cloak you both. Because just blipping out of existence in front of other humans would send Prime into a tizzy if he ever found out. Though, the car chasing him is no real threat, much too slow to catch him.

• Laughing as the affluent bot runs from the cops, you brace a hand on his dash as you get slid around. Life with aliens seldom dull or routine. “Can we stay out a little longer, please?” You call out as he reverses suddenly to shoot back into a side street, cloaking himself as the cop car blasts by, siren screaming. And he chuckles affectionately to let you know he’s going to agree. It’s not like he can ever manage to tell you no anyway.

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF fathers with their adopted sons

[calikoclouds]

I know his death is implied to be immediate but the implications of Antinous just slooowly losing consciousness over the course of the song Odysseus (and maybe even if we really want to torture him through the other two final songs so the last thing he hears is Odypen’s ‘I love you’) are immaculate, ngl.

Also a possible Odydio post-canon reunion might be a lil awkward/tense/angsty in this scenario, if the reverse happens (Odysseus looking at Diomedes and seeing the dying Antinous for a sec).

I imagine Anti-nose just staring at Odysseus as he was choking on his own blood, until he dies, for one reason or another. (Plus Ody being shocked as the similarities between Antinous and Diomedes)

[whumpypepsigal]

The Night Agent s02e03: “You’re safe. You’re okay, you’re okay.”

[moon-ttokki-x]

not your doll - (bf!bang chan x reader)

pairing: bf!bang chan x reader

summary: chan comes home upset from the latin american leg of the dominate tour.

genre: reverse comfort, idol!au, angsty, mentions of exhaustion, lots of crying, skz deserve better. reader comforts channie, mentions of delusion, mentions of eating and drinking

a/n: yall who think what happened in brazil is funny, or think it was 'just a joke' or 'fans showing support' get tf off my blog. i don't wanna see or talk to anyone who thinks what happened was okay. leave skz alone, leave chris alone. that man is not your punching bag, he's not responsible for fixing all your fucking problems, keeping everyone happy, or in charge of anyone's but his own happiness. that shit you gotta do yourself. this is so fucking disappointing, i'm ashamed to call myself a stay at the moment. let chris live his damn life and let the kids do the same. fuck yall 'stays'. if you were a real stay you wouldn't be doing this shit.

i stand with skz.

skz masterlist | skz prompt list

"Love?" You call softly, peeking around the bedroom door frame. "Did you wanna come and eat something?"

All you get in response is a muffled 'no' and the sound of shuffling as Chan shifts slightly on the bed. The warm lamplight from the bedside tables spill across his back, highlighting the skin in a rosy, haloed glow.

You sigh and pad over to him softly, sitting on the bed. "I know you might not feel like it, but you need some good food after all that travelling."

Chan shakes his head again, further mussing his unbrushed hair. The curls are squashed and fluffy from him burrowing his head into the pillows, but he doesn't seem to care. Not once has he lifted his head to take a breath of air, and you sigh and push his head gently to the side to do it for him.

He turns his head away, facing the opposite direction; you can hear the shudder from his lungs as he gulps in the fresh coldness of the air; you'd set the thermostat colder, just as he likes it, but he hadn't seemed to take any notice.

You sigh again, running a gentle hand down the soft, albeit slightly dry skin of his back. His duffel bag and suitcase is still in the corner of the room, the zip on his bag half undone as if he'd had the intention of unpacking, but he hasn't.

You'd left him to sort himself out and shower before coming to eat, but it seemed he'd just stripped himself of his outfit and tossed himself on the bed.

Couldn't say you blamed him.

Chan speaks then, low and muffled from the pillow. "I need to go to the company."

"It hasn't even been twenty minutes since you've been home, love," you chide him gently. "Just rest., hmm? All of that can come tomorrow. It doesn't look like you can even move right now..."

Chan groans and burrows his head further into the pillows; you take a soft fistful of his hair and tug it lightly, guiding his head to the side. Your heart lurches.

Chan is crying.

His makeup is smudged; you immediately rest your hands on his shoulders. They're tense as rocks. A black streak of eyeshadow has smeared itself across the white pillowcase, as well as some of his concealer; he doesn't seem to care, and neither do you.

"Channie, my love," you say as gently as you can. You can't hide the worry on your face. "What's wrong?"

That's a useless question. You know exactly what's wrong.

He sits up suddenly, as if to get up, but he collapses on his knees, digging them into the soft sheets. He throws his hands out.

"It's not fair," he cries desperately. "I do everything I can to make things work, and then it all just gets thrown to the side... I can't even open my mouth anymore without my words being twisted..."

You sit there, eyes wide and bewildered, watching this outburst. It's so oddly unlike him to do this, but you know exactly what he's talking about.

"I- The kids, too, they have to deal with all of this, I couldn't wait for us to leave because of what happened at the hotel... They were taking videos of us, videos of one of the kids just standing outside on the balcony, minding his own business, and I couldn't sleep all night because of them chanting, I just-" He hiccups, a tear spilling from each eye like a shattered crystal.

"I just want it all to go right, but it doesn't, and no matter what I do it's not enough," he keels over then, and you pull him into your lap. He lets his lower half kneel over the bed, his face buried in your thighs.

Your vision starts to blur, and a tear drops into his hair, but neither of you take notice. "Channie..."

"I chose this life, Y/n, I chose all of this, I thought I could handle it but I'm not so sure anymore. I want to be happy, and perform without worrying about all of this, I want everyone to just leave me alone..." He's crying freely now, hands gripping your hips as his back shakes, and it's all you can do not to start crying yourself.

That sadness is quickly taken over by a wave of disapproval and anger, anger at the people who dare treat your lover like this, treat his group like performing monkeys at a circus, to be poked and prodded at.

How dare they.

It's not fair. He's right. And you know you can't fix it, make it all better, kiss it healed like you have so many times before. And it's that feeling of helplessness, that overwhelming powerlessness, that makes you lean down and whisper fiercely in Chan's ear.

"Listen to me," you whisper. "It doesn't matter who did it, it doesn't matter if they thought it was right. I can't sit here and tell you I can fix it, because I can't, and neither can you, because it's not your problem, it will never be your problem. You are not their toy. Channie, my love, all you need to do is keep going. That's it, without looking back.

"Forget about those people who pretend to be Stays, who are nothing more than obsessed delusional idiots. I know it's hard. They are so completely and utterly lost in their own worlds, and you can't tie yourself into knots to fix them, because it's impossible.

"I know it hurts, love, and I know it's frustrating, especially for the kids too. None of you deserve to be treated like that, like you have to be filmed and screamed at and all of those other things-"

"But if I don't let them, then they all start hating me," his eyes are teary, utterly exhausted with emotion.

"Chris, you are not a doll," you say firmly, cupping his face. "You are not responsible for everyone's happiness. You are responsible for your own joy. So are the kids. I know you feel like you have to take the weight of the world on your shoulders, but it doesn't mean that you have to take everyone's bullshit alongside it too...

"You are a musician, an artist, not a miracle worker or some sort of magician that can take everyone's troubles away or perform to everyone's unrealistic standards. And as for those idiots who stalked you outside your hotel, JYP is taking measures to deal with it. And he says it's fine if you want to take a break for a while."

"I don't want to," he says quietly, inhaling your scent as you lean down to kiss the crown of his head. "I just wanted to be home with you, and I am."

"Love..."

"Please," he says, quieter. His tears have slowed. "I don't wanna talk about this anymore. It makes me angry, and being angry is exhausting. I'm already exhausted."

You sigh and crack a tiny smile, tapping his cheek lightly. Already you can see his resilience taking effect. Nothing keeps him down for long, your Chan.

"I'll let it go if you promise to come and eat something," you say. "Otherwise, I'm gonna call the kids to spend the night here and they'll eat all of the food I made for you-"

"Okay, okay," he groans, heaving himself upright. "I'm coming. Please don't call them, I've lost enough sleep trying to keep them all in line."

You laugh and kiss him. His lips are slightly chapped, and you tsk softly into the kiss as he stands up, taking you with him.

"Y/n," he murmurs, burning hands slipping to your waist.

"Thought you were too tired," you giggle.

He doesn't respond, instead tugging you closer. You reluctantly pull back and poke his side, making him gasp.

He pulls back too, fighting a sheepish look as you stare pointedly at the bathroom door. "Go shower, then come eat. Now."

He rolls his eyes and steals another kiss to your cheek as he heads towards the bathroom. "Fine."

Chuckling, you make your way to the door, heading to the kitchen. Your feet slow at the door threshold, and you turn to look back at Chan as he busies himself with pulling out a fresh set of clothes from his drawers. Even exhausted and upset, he's still beautiful. Your heart sinks a little as you watch the tear tracks on his face glisten under the lamplight, but you don't bring it up. Instead-

"Channie," you say softly.

He looks up, a black hoodie in one hand.

Your voice is gentle, almost hesitant. "It'll be okay, you know that, right?"

He nods quietly, solemn as you've ever seen him. "I know."

You feel your lips curving into a soft but sad smile. "I love you."

He blinks. "I love you more."

"That's not possible," you say teasingly as you turn and head towards the kitchen.

His laugh echoes through the house.

a/n: none bc i'm fucking pissed.

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[ciderjacks]

despite Laios low self esteem making him think that if he’d been eaten, Chilchuck and Marcille wouldn’t have helped Falin,

theres a small part of me that thinks the reason Chilchuck stayed with the party and went back in the dungeon in the first place was because he didn’t want to leave Laios alone. That Laios was moreso the reason he stayed.

[swordmaid]

thinking about how the bear pit is rlly an amalgamation of brienne’s insecurities and fears - everyone laughing at her (the whole spectacle), making a mockery of her gender and appearance (the pink dress), making a mockery of her physical prowess (wooden sword) then jaime coming down there to protect her and take her away from all of that. that whole ordeal being so significant that in her nightmares she’s hoping and calling for jaime to save her and take her away, and the fact that she even remembers the sound of jaime’s boots hitting the sand when he jumped down the pit for her im so ill

[mobius-m-mobius]

(insp) // (mirror set)

[infinitelystrangemachinex]

and when the machine herald stands over jayce like this in act 3, what then

[canisalbus]

So i remember an ask mentioning your mortal enemy, Felis Atra and their cats, and i thought it'd be fun to draw what Felis Atra's version of your italian dogs would be.

I think they would be called Butter Knife and Flamengo! Butter Knife is not his real name, it's an nickname given by his peers because of how harmless he is. I choose Flamengo because that's the name of Vasco's rival football team here in Brazil, so i thought that was the perfect name :)

Cat Machete was slightly inspired by the Oriental Shorthair cat because of their long noses and thin head shape.

Cat Vasco was inspired by the Scottish Fold cat, because FLOPPY EARS. I gave Flamengo longer ears and orange fur to make him more like his look-alike.

The last doodle is a reference to this ask (https://canisalbus.tumblr.com/post/728923918314946560/me-i-am-machete-ear-fan-number-1-those-ears) and contains the tumblr ask stand-in dog, whose cat version was inspired by the American Curl cat! They have round ears that are slightly floppy outwards.

Final notes: I know cardinal clothes don't come in vibrant blue, but i was ADAMANT on switching Machete's and Vasco's clothing color patterns. I would draw the rest of Butter Knife's and Flamengo's clothes, but i suck at designing cool outfits.

Speaking of outfits, for Machete's iconic void outfit, i figured it would be fun to make it more baggy for Butter Knife, in contrast to Machete's, that looks very tight-fitted. I think it's cute, it kinda looks like a sweater. Also i can't imagine a Machete doppelganger without high heels boots, so those HAD to stay.

Oh, and just to be clear, i'm not like, claiming ownership of these guys or anything. I just thought it would be a fun exercise. Hope you like them!! I love your art and your characters.

.

[tomatoteddy]

I know there's the whole joke about An-an and Horropedia being a ghostbuster duo together but if you really think about it, they'd be the best-worst ghostbuster team out there.

Cause yes, they may be friends and they both have their strengths that would benefit them in this profession. But An-an as seen in her anecdote is a thrill-seeker, her motivation for being an exorcist in the first place is that she wants to find something she's actually scared of. She's young, reckless, and if anything the ghosts are more afraid of her than she is of them.

Meanwhile, Horropedia is a logical and smart person. His knowledge of horror movies and tropes would help him be able to avoid situations where they could potentially die. He sees horror movies as a puzzle to solve, and would probably try to come up with the safest plans in order not to die.

So just imagine these two actually trying to excorcise ghosts together. An-an suggests splitting up so that they can find the ghosts faster and he's like "What the fuck don't you know that's how so many characters die in horror films???" and she's like "I don't care, we need to finish this job as fast as possible so we can get paid sooner!!" and he's like "WE CAN'T GET PAID IF WE'RE FUCKING DEAD???"

An-an's constantly jumping head-first into danger without any thought while Horropedia's trying to hold her back and tries to get her to go through with his plans because "I don't want you to die on me and I don't want to be responsible for your death". He's constantly shocked by how absolutely reckless An-an can be while being able to actually survive. And even though they're probably arguing a lot throughout the job, they still manage to do the job very well.

In the end, they're still friends and split the pay they get from their misadventures together (An-an needs to pay rent and Horropedia needs to buy more horror memorabilia)

[daily-hanamura]

[night-triumphantt]

This is how I imagine the reveal of sev and nikki being back together is going to go

[u3pxx]

[bad omens] you know how it is with me and body swaps and roleswaps orz