#I literally thought it was 20 minutes long

[anonity]

across the hall - chapter 2

you all have anon to thank for this LMFAO i must have written the first part in a fever dream because i genuinely had no recollection of making this

anyways sorry for the wait + i hope this lives up to your expectations! 

WC: 1500ish

you jiggled your door handle again with the hope that it would open by sheer force of will. evidently, your telekinesis skills needed work, because it didn’t even seem to consider unlocking. 

with a huff, your forehead came to land against the wood of your door with a soft thud. after contemplating the helplessness of your situation, you fish your phone out of your pocket and stare holes into the delivered sitting under your text to alyssa. 

she was supposed to be home by the time you got back, so originally it was “no problem” if you left your key in the room. 20 minutes prior, though, she’d texted to inform you that she would not in fact be home because her tinder date had decided to move the time up.

you hope he's a catfisher. 

it wouldn’t have been such an inconvenience if you hadn't already spent your entire day at the library. now you were exhausted, and had no clue when you would finally get to sink into your shitty mattress.

the floor was looking more enticing by the minute, and you were about to resign to sleeping on it when a voice rang out behind you. 

“locked out?” 

your heart stopped. this could not be a more humbling experience. every star in the sky has aligned just to screw you over at 9:45pm on this friday night, and paige bueckers is an active participant in your downfall. 

she’s going to think you’re an idiot, but what are you going to do, lie? oh, no, i just thought the wall looked comfy.

“yeah,”  you answer, turning to face the woman you’ve been avoiding for the last week. the instant eye contact has you fumbling for words a little. “i, uhhh.. well my roommate – well i left my key.. my key is in the room and my roommate is not,” you finally finish.

you’re waiting for the floor to swallow you.

paige tilts her head, nose wrinkling a little as she smiles at you. she looks amused. “so, whats your plan? teleport?”

you hum, glancing sideways at the door. “it crossed my mind.”

she’s still smiling when she gestures towards her own door. “well, if you don’t wanna sit out here all night, my roommates out. no superpowers required.”

your eyes widen – you think you’ve misheard her. “your room?”

paige laughs this time, opening her door. “well one of us has a key, and it’s not you.”

you hesitate. is paige morally obligated to let you into her room now that you’ve dragged her into your disarrayed state? are you morally obligated to decline?

she must be a mindreader, because she steps to the side and nods her head at the door. “i promise i’m literally just gonna watch game reruns tonight. you can hang out as long as you want.”

you finally nod appreciatively. “yeah, okay, thanks paige.”

you slip past her, politely taking your shoes off at the door when she shuts it behind the two of you, a glint in her eye. “you a fan?”

you eye her suspiciously. “i’ve seen some games.”

“i just find it interesting you know my name–”

“oh my god,” you roll your eyes, the smile pulling at your lips betraying you. “maybe i should’ve just stayed in the hallway.”

“oh, because the vending machine is so much better than me.”

“it’s got food,” you mumble, moreso trying to get on her nerves than make a suggestion. she takes the bait anyways, looking mock-offended.

“i have food!” she immediately reaches for her mini fridge. if you weren’t already in such an unbelievable situation, your jaw would’ve dropped at the contents.

“paige, this hardly counts as food.” the “food” in question is reminiscent of a teenage boy's “gym fuel”.  “everything in there has to taste like cardboard.”

“i play D1 basketball!” she scoffs, like she can’t believe you would suggest her chocolate chip cookie dough quest bar might be unappetizing. “you have a lot of attitude for somebody who locked herself out of her room a week into moving in.”

you sit down on someone's bed, (you can’t really tell, because both walls are lined with basketball posters) and grin, leaning forward onto your knees. “okay, you’re right, i’m sorry. but i’m still going to pass on,” you wrinkle your nose in distaste, squinting at the fridge. “legendary foods cake?”

“for legendary players,” she shoots back. you must’ve sat in the wrong spot, because paige throws herself down opposite of you and pats the space next to her. “KK’s kinda weird about people bein’ on her stuff, so..” “are all basketball players this high maintenance?” 

paige hums. “just us, i think.” “thank god.”

you move despite paige’s scowl, pressing yourself close to the edge of the bed. silence apparently never lasts long with paige, because she immediately drawls out, “sooo,” and then continues, “what are you doing alone on a friday night?”

you roll your eyes. “waiting for my roommate to get home, apparently.”

“you guys together or sum?”

you laugh. “uh, no, she’s on a date tonight. hence the locking out.” paige hums, eyes trained on the TV. “just haven’t been invited to any good parties recently.”

“i don’t think there are any – ion’ even know where KK went tonight.”

“it’s still early in the year.”

your mind drifts. you hate small talk. paige gestures towards the TV, a celtics v. bulls game from years ago rolling. “can you play 2k?”

much better.

you argue for a minute over who gets to play as the lynxes (paige finally relents, saying something about being drafted somewhere cooler and then choosing the wings of all teams) and then the first match starts.

right off the bat, she was bragging over a 2-pointer. “this games over already, y/n, you can put the controller down.”

“yeah okay, keep that energy when i drop 20 on you.”

after a flashy dunk you were particularly proud of in the second quarter, you grinned at paige. “you want me to clip that for you? you can start a highlight reel for me.”

she rolled her eyes, leaning closer to the TV. “doesn’t matter how good you look doin’ it if it’s still only two points.” 

you falter only slightly at her how good you look. 

by the fourth quarter, you were embarrassingly down 8 points. the last 6 minutes had been rough – not because you were bad at the game (because you weren’t) but because in the excitement of one of her riskiest plays following through, paige had shoved your shoulder and shouted “boom!”. unfortunately, she hadn’t moved away after that, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from her body. 

it didn’t take long for her to call you out. “bro, why is your defense so bad? do i needa show you where the buttons are?” she reaches over, mockingly gesturing at your controller. you stiffen a little at the contact. jesus, pull it together.

“touching the player in real life is totally a technical foul in 2k.” you laugh out instead, tilting the controller away.   

thankfully oblivious to your hesitation, paige laughs incredulously. “okay, now you’re just making shit up.”

at 12:00am, your phone buzzes between the two of you. paige glances down first.

“is that your roommate?”

your heart sank. after two rounds of bickering over 2k, you were beginning to hope alyssa would be out late. she wasn’t, though, and her contact photo was now bright on your screen. 

you’d abandoned her playstation after paiges second win (you’d stubbornly pointed out that it was her job to be good at basketball) and paige had turned on love and basketball instead, calling it tragic that you hadn’t seen it. the end credits had been playing for a hot minute now though, and you were really out of excuses to not go back to your dorm.

“yeah, it is. apparently her date was super hot.”

paige smiles. “good.”

theres a beat of silence (something you’ve discovered is rare with paige), before you finally shift in the bed. “thanks for letting me crash.”

she jolts a little, watching you get up. “oh, yeah, no problem, anytime.”

before you reach the door, though, paige is up with you. “hol’ on,” she starts, thrusting her phone towards you. “well, actually,” she doubles back, bringing it back to herself. “um,” she starts again, eloquently, and you raise an eyebrow at her fumbling. “give me your number – in case you get locked out again.”

“i gotta get locked out for you to play 2k with me?”

“no!” paiges eyes widen and you decide to have a little mercy on her.

“relax, i’m just messing with you.”

she gives you a bone-dry laugh in response. “ha, ha. give me your number, f’real.”

thank god for hot tinder dates.

[bellarkeandclintashaandsuch]

I kinda like Time the Series. It gives me anxiety, but I kind of like that Foam/Ta keeps saying things that imply he knows these people, especially when he says things that indicate he knows Chris very well. And when he starts talking about time travel things to himself out loud in public. It feels like what I would do. Just forget I’m not supposed to know certain people or things. Talk to myself about the problem and then go oh, shoot, did anyone hear that? 😂

I do think the show is better when it’s focused on Ta and Chris and maybe Park and Bew. And I do love Piak and the bartender girls. But sometimes they cut to random people for seemingly no reason. And there are so many people in that outro that I do not know. Who seem to have love stories of their own? Where will that fit in? And when? It's only 10 episodes.

I watched episode 1 half asleep and all I really remember is the attempted rape and subsequent murder coverup. But I liked episodes 2 and 3 much more. Amd I’m now invested in Ta and Chris’s relationship 🥺

And what does “I remember you from the first time” mean? Does Chris remember the future? Is he also a time traveler? Did they really meet even earlier than this? And Ta doesn't remember and Chris never mentioned it to Ta in the original timeline? Is he talking about 3 days ago?

[miodiodavinci]

laying down by a brook with one hand in the water like some kind of tragic prince , , , , , ,

[therealbeachfox]

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

[sapphicwitchbitch]

Me telling my best friend how much better I'm feeling compared to how shit I felt at my worst four years ago

My brain: LAUNCH THE INSECURITIES, IMPOSTER SYNDROME, AND BODY IMAGE ISSUES!

[merry-death]

Generally speaking, I like my current job a lot more than my last job. However, there is one crucial thing I desperately miss about my old job, and that's a coworker that I can bitch to about my other coworkers with 100% certainty that what I say will never get back to anyone else and especially not HR. I miss being able to just point at something an unhelpful coworker did and just say "Can you believe that idiot did this shit?" and be met with an equal amount of disdain for the poor work.

Now I don't trust any of my coworkers enough for that, but if I want to bitch to friends about it, I have to take the time to explain what task is, what the fucker did wrong, and why it's bad and annoying.

[hersweetrevenge]

for the brief moment where i wasn't distracted by his stupidly wet puppy dog eyes, i've been thinking about how corey tells allyson about being jumped.

i think it's interesting that when he's speaking directly to allyson, corey says "i got jumped last night, these *guys*..."

but then turns to laurie to say "those *kids* from the gas station"

allyson is still very much in earshot, she's definitely still listening when he tells laurie who it was and that he was trying to stand up for himself, but it's funny how his wording is different when he speaks to allyson directly. it makes me think he was (maybe even subconsciously) trying to appear less weak to allyson, especially with how injured he clearly looks.

"guys", to a degree, implies a group of adults. corey would have been one against many, of course he was going to get roughed up if a group of guys his age jumped him while he was drunk. it wouldn't have been a fair fight.

but "kids" seems a lot more tame. of course, we know how awful they were, and how unfair it is because corey can't defend himself against them properly for multiple reasons, but could corey admit to the girl he's got a crush on that he got beaten up by some high schoolers?

it's easier for him to direct the truth to laurie, who already knows about the kids, than look at allyson.

and sure, he might've say it to laurie to make her feel guilty -- it's her fault things with those kids escalated like they did -- but switching from "guys" to "kids" feels very subconsciously genuine. at the end of the day, corey is just like any other 20-something who is trying his best to initiate a relationship with this cool girl that he likes.

I wanted to say that I’m sorry and there’s… no excuse. But if you could, please, if you could just take a walk with me. Please?

[shy-writer-999]

OP Headcanons: Sanji & begging

WARNING: MINORS DNI, NSFW CONTENT.

A/N: Sanji hates it when you beg, but cockwarming changes his mind. ~3.8k words.

CW: Afab reader w/gendered language ("pretty girl" used in dirty talk once), teasing, begging, crying (only a tiny bit), edging, cockwarming, overstimulation, P in V.

Sanji & begging/c0ckwarming

Sanji wanted you to know you that you have all of him, so he absolutely detests it when you beg. Even the smallest hint of desperate pleading in your voice makes his eye twitch—you can have anything you want, and you have all of him. Why do you even question it? Why would he ever make you beg for it? You could have the whole world, his whole self, his heart, anything he could get his hands on, he would give it to you. He would do anything for you, no questions asked. Begging, in Sanji’s logic, at least, implied that he was withholding something from you—an idea he was categorically opposed to; you had all of him, and he would give anything to you that you wanted, or (literally) die trying.

While Sanji loved sex, fucking, making love, getting nasty, and getting lovey-dovey, he refused to tolerate begging of any kind. He wasn’t annoyed by you asking for something, but to him, there was a difference between asking and begging. Safe to say, whatever he understood as ‘begging’ was a pet peeve for him (albeit a very mild one).

However, Sanji’s aversion to begging changed the night you decided to try out cockwarming. You asked if you two could try it out. Sanji said that he was more than happy to oblige—as mentioned previously, he’d do anything you asked, and being able to do things for you brought him the purest happiness. Plus, he knew it would feel great.

Before it happened, you told Sanji that you wanted him inside of you for at least twenty minutes before you started fucking. You were setting the rules and establishing expectations, something that he was fantastic with.

“Sanji, no matter what I say, don’t start fucking me, and don’t let me start fucking you, until we reach the 20-minute mark. I wanna try it. Ok?”

Sanji promised that no matter what, you wouldn’t start fucking until the 20-minute mark, on the dot. He thought it sounded easy and he was eager to try out anything that would please you.

You cautioned him. “Even if I start begging, don’t listen to me, ok?” He assented—you knew how he felt about this sort of thing, so you figured he wouldn’t have a problem with it. He would do as you asked, naturally.

You knew that waiting twenty whole minutes would be difficult… but it sounded fun. And his cock felt amazing inside of you, so why not? If you saw Sanji get worked up, that would be an added bonus.

When the time came, you were sitting on Sanji’s lap, your back resting on his chest. His hands were on your hips. He set a timer on his phone and wasted no time pushing his cock through your folds and into your core. When he first started stretching you out, you realized this would be much harder than anticipated. You’d never get over how it felt when he was buried deep inside.

As Sanji pressed his head further and further into you, you shuddered. He length felt massive and hot. Gliding himself inside of you as deep as he could, he bottomed out and came to a stop. Your breath hitched. He could feel your walls already constricting, could tell that your body had tensed, that you were holding your breath.

“Baby, just relax.” He cooed in your ear as his hands slid down your hips to rest where your hips and thighs met. He gave you a good squeeze. “Only twenty minutes, ok? Just think of how good it will be when we can start moving.”

Sanji was in control, which he liked. He was submissive frequently, and sure, he liked being told what to do, but in the event that he had the reigns, he got such a kick out of telling you what to do—as long as you didn’t start begging and crying for it. Because, once again, you could have anything you asked for, and you had all of him. Sanji was hopelessly in love with you, he worshipped you. Your wish was his command. And now that you wished for cockwarming, he was in command.

He felt a little playful and figured it’d be nice to get you worked up, but not too worked up. After all, that was part of the fun. Some dirty talk and encouragement couldn’t hurt.

“Mmmm,” he hummed into your neck from behind and gave your hips a squeeze. “Your pussy feels great on my cock. So warm and wet already. Does it feel good for you too, pretty girl?”

You nodded.

“Can you use your words, my love?”

“Yes, Sanji, it feels good.” Your voice was strained and heat was blooming between your legs concerningly quick.

“It’s going to feel even better when I can drag it inside and outside, isn’t it?” He murmured again, close to your ear. You could feel his hot breath on your neck.

You answered “yes”, getting wetter—when he talked to you like this, it did something to you. It made your butterflies stir and made you blush, no matter how many times it happened.

He continued. “Mmmhmm, ‘s gonna feel so good.” Sanji’s dick jumped inside of you while he whispered sweet things in your ear, and your pussy clenched around it in response.

While you cockwarmed him, Sanji had a cookbook propped up on the table in front of you. He figured he might as well be productive in the twenty minutes, and it would be a good distraction. As long as you sat still, there’d be no problem. And besides, he had strict orders to stick to.

“Can you turn the page, my dear?” His voice went from teasing and seductive to gentle and loving. He was unfazed by the whole thing so far, but your previous resolve had started to disintegrate.

The cookbook was interesting, you smelled and felt good, and Sanji was happy. Regardless of whether or not his cock was in you, it was a privilege to be close to you in any way, so he was quite enjoying himself.

When reached your hand forward to turn the page of the cookbook, per his request, the small movement shifted his cock inside of you just barely. It was hardly noticeable, but the tiniest amount of friction sent electricity to your core.

Sanji kept reading. Three minutes went by.

He told you when to turn the page, and every time you reached forward (truly, the most miniscule of movements), your cunt clenched around his length. You were trying so hard to ignore it, but you just felt so full. Your juices were already starting to drip down his shaft, oozing to the base of his cock. Sanji could feel every delicious drip—he indulged in a fantasy for a second, imagining the taste of you, wishing he could suck on your clit. And while Sanji imagined sticking his tongue into your slit and rubbing your clit at the same time, you were trying to steady yourself. You told yourself to get a grip—after all, it was only 20 minutes, what’s the big deal?

As you reached to turn the next page (he was reading so fast, or rather, he was pretending to read fast), your core started to pulse around him. You took a deep breath, trying to regain composure. This whole thing was your idea, so you had better stick to the plan.

“Are you getting that excited already?” He scolded, feeling you squeeze and clench around him. “You have to wait. It’s only been seven minutes, princess.”

“I know, Sanji. It just feels so good already, it’s going to drive me crazy.”

“Crazy or not, you have to wait, sweetie.” His voice was coddling and sympathetic but stern.

His breath tickled your ear and he kissed from the back of your ear to your neck. It added to the overwhelming sensation of his cock throbbing in you, not moving, almost pressing on your g-spot but not completely.  

It felt like time was standing still—the seconds felt like hours, but only two more minutes had passed. Your heartbeat quickened and your gooey walls squeezed him again, molding to the shape of his cock, memorizing every inch of it, preparing to crave it again as soon as possible.

“I can feel that,” Sanji murmured as he felt you constrict and quiver for him. “Feels good.”

You didn’t respond because you knew your voice would come out as a whine. He squeezed your thighs again.

Pressure and heat were boiling in your core at this point. Only nine minutes in and your body was entering dangerous territory—you couldn’t focus on anything other than Sanji and his cock. You indulged for a moment, envisioning how good it would feel when he finally moved, how good it would feel for him to bring his hands up and play with your nipples, sucking on your neck and calling you sweet names.

The next time Sanji asked you to flip the page of his cookbook, you had to stifle a moan. You readjusted your position slightly; you were starting to feel uncomfortable. When you tried to reposition your thighs, which had been aching because your muscles had been tensed the whole time, his cock brushed your soft spot and you let out a muffled, needy sound. It sounded like a whimper, almost inaudible, but since he was so close to you, he heard it clear as day.

“Does it really feel that good when you turn the pages for me?” Sanji’s tone was one of feigned scorn, but you could hear his grin while he spoke. “Ten more minutes, angel. We’re halfway there. Just hold on. Don’t even think about how deep my cock is in you. Try to forget it. We’re just sitting here.”

While he tried and failed to calm you, Sanji was holding on for dear life. He was keeping a good façade, though. Every time that your pussy squeezed, every time he felt your muscles spasm, it sent a ripple of pleasure through him. If you could have seen it, you would see that his cock was weeping precum inside you. Every flutter from your core milked it out even more.

Only a minute had passed—nine minutes left on the timer. You were in agony at this point. Couldn’t he just move his cock a little bit?

You were starting to lose control of your body—you needed him now. Your cunt wouldn’t listen to reason, and desire was starting to fog your mind, pushing you into a haze where the only thing you could think of was how good Sanji felt inside of you and how badly you wanted to ride him.

Another minute went by. You couldn’t hold it any longer. You felt like you were going to explode.

“Sanji,” you let out a whine and his cock jumped again. “I can’t do it anymore.” As he took a breath to utter out a reply, you adjusted your hips and started to grind back and forth on his length. Since it was buried inside of you, every movement felt intense and satisfying, mind-blowing. Your movements brushed and squeezed his whole shaft—if you did this much longer Sanji wouldn’t be able to take it. But he had to. He promised you.

Your body went into overdrive. You couldn’t focus on anything and your resolve to wait nine more minutes completely vanished. You needed him and you were going to have him. You knew he wanted it because his cock twitched every other second. When you started grinding on him you moaned his name and it went straight to his dick.

“Y/N!” His voice was harsh. “Stop it, we can’t do that yet. We only have a few minutes left. I want it too, but you told me that we had to make it 20 minutes, so just hold on, my love.” He gripped your hips painfully tight, holding you in place, making sure you weren’t able to move an inch.

You started to pant and your hands met his, grasping them so hard it hurt.

“S-Sanji,” you were fully whining, not holding back anymore, so frustrated. “I can’t, I—nnnghhhhh—fuck, I can’t wait, I- I need it. Can we do it earlier? I want it now. Just forget what I said about 20 minutes.” You choked back another moan, exasperated, and his grip tightened.

“Y/N, I said no.” He had to choke back a groan. “Only a few more minutes. I promised you. We can’t yet, no matter how sweetly you ask. You told me to get to 20 minutes.”

His words went in one ear and out the other. You were lost already. Reason was out the window. You desperately tried to move your hips from side to side, up and down, to no avail. His grip was iron tight, leaving bruises where his fingers were clamped unforgivingly on your skin.

Finally, you started to beg.

“Sanji, I need you. Need you to fuck me now. Please,” your voice took on the most pathetic tone he’d ever heard. Sanji could feel your heart pounding while you begged for it; he could feel how out of breath you were. “Please fuck me—I—I need it so bad. P-please, Sanji.”

It took Sanji a moment to register your words. Lust was starting to take over his mind. If he wasn’t at the precipice of losing control already, he would have told you to stop begging at him—he would have reminded you of your own words from not long ago.

But you were imploring, beseeching, pleading for him to fuck you. You were telling him to not listen to what you said previously and that you wanted him now—and the issue was that he wanted you now, too. He wanted you so bad that it hurt. Combined with your futile attempts to writhe out of his grip, your sniveling and whining flipped a switch in Sanji’s brain. You sounded depraved, starved, desperate and cock-crazed.

He was so turned on he thought he would pass out. So this is why begging was appealing. This feeling is why people liked it when their partners needed something so badly they started to beg. To have you lose all inhibitions and desperately crave him so bad… he was outrageously attracted to you and wildly in love with you. Seeing you want him so bad… he would never forget it.

Need is an understatement. You desired Sanji carnally so much that you backtracked on your own words, told him to pay them no heed. You told him you’d do anything for him to fuck you now. You couldn’t make it five more minutes. You didn’t care about what you said before—you had to have it now.

“Fuckkkk,” he groaned. “We shouldn’t yet—baby I told you, we’d—ngggghhhh—told you we’d make it to—to twenty minutes.” His face was contorted. He was exercising the most discipline he ever had, steeling himself.

“I don’t care about what I said earlier,” you keened, fingernails digging into his skin, thighs shaking. “Need it now. Sanji, please.” He couldn’t see your face, but he could tell that you were so frustrated tears had started welling in your eyes.

Sanji froze. He felt your pussy quaking and your body was physically screaming out in need. He heard your words; heard you give him permission to fuck you now. He saw your toes curling, felt your fingernails digging into his wrists… It was too much. He was at his wits end. He was about to give in to the situation, your words, and his own desperation.

“Fuckkkkk,” he groaned loud and long, the deep noise rumbling out of his chest. He threw his head back, brows furrowed, face twisted. He had been clenching every last muscle in his body in an attempt to not fuck you. Before, you had asked him sweetly to make it to 20 minutes, to not listen to a thing you said, even if you begged for it. But here you were now, dripping slick on his cock, begging and pleading him to disregard what you had said earlier… begging him for pleasure, for the pleasure he could and wanted to give you.

Sanji couldn’t take it anymore. “Do it.”

When you heard his words and his grip on your hips loosened slightly you immediately pulled off his cock just enough and plunged him back into you. You were so wet it had seeped down his balls, making a messy puddle on the chair beneath you; your slick made your movements fluid and felt slippery on his cock.

Bouncing on his cock after begging for it, after waiting for it so long, after being so good—it was the most pleasure you’d ever felt. He was filling you up, fucking you so sloppily. His hands helped you go up and down, his groans played in your ear like honey. “F-feels so good, baby. So—so good on my cock.”

Sanji saw stars, his mind went blank. He moaned your name again and again while you whimpered. He felt how warm your cunt was, how wet it was, how tight it was, how sweaty you were—he savored your pathetic noises, got off on how needy you sounded, how desperately your hips grinded into his cock, how you fucked yourself with it. Sanji was gone. He became feral, helping you ride him faster and faster until neither of you could breathe. He didn’t give a fuck anymore.

“S-sanji, I—I’m gonna cum,” you moaned.

“Don’t care,” he grunted out, pussy drunk and apathetic.

Your ass and cunt slammed down onto his cock so rapidly that noises filled the room within seconds. It smelled like sex already; the slapping noises were almost as filthy as the noises coming from your mouth.

You almost were at your limit, so when Sanji’s fingers trailed down and started messily rubbing your clit, you nearly blacked out from pleasure, practically screaming his name.

“Cum for me.” He murmured right in your ear, his voice husky and deep.

Only seconds after that, the wave of bliss crashed over you as you creamed on his cock. You felt like you were floating, detached from reality. All you could feel was Sanji inside of you; you were aware of nothing else. You convulsed and twisted on him, tightening and wringing his cock.

Your orgasm didn’t faze Sanji. He fucked you just as aggressively through your orgasm as before. He overstimulated you, listening to your cries and getting off on the desperate noises trickling out of your mouth.

“Sanji,” you squirmed. “’s too much.”

You didn’t tell him to stop, and he knew that you felt so good from his cock that you were going to let him do anything. He was hungry for it, almost growling in your ear, telling you to “Keep going, princess.”

Sanji was doing all the work now. As his cock rammed into you, hitting your g-spot so many times you lost count, he quickly brought you to the brink of orgasm again. He was wrenching pleasure from your core, dragging it out of you carelessly and roughly.

“Feels so good on my cock, my love,” he groaned again, his voice hoarse. “Bouncing on it so good, so wet—taking it all for me. Doing such a good job.”

Your eyes were rolling back into your head at this point, you were almost limp. You needed more and more, wanted him inside of you forever—you were fucked out, fucked into oblivion, fucked like you had never been fucked before.

“S-sanji, I’m—I’m gonna cum again.”

“Show me.” His voice was rough, raspy, and gravelly.

Another wave crashed down on you as you orgasmed again, writhing and crying out his name. You fully collapsed back into him. When you came on his cock again, Sanji was seconds after you. He couldn’t hold it anymore. His hips bucked up, jerking and twitching into your cunt as his cum finally shot deep inside you. He came so much that it started leaking out of your slit, coating his shaft and balls with his own cum. He came for what felt like forever; it felt like he moaned your name a hundred times.

When you both finished riding the waves of euphoria, you were exhausted and dripping with sweat. Your hair was matted to your forehead, your voice weak, legs shaking so much you doubted you’d be able to walk.

Sanji was so fucked out he could hardly think. Moments after you both started to return to reality, you realized that Sanji’s timer had been going off the whole time. It was loud and blaring—it’s a wonder neither of you heard it.

“Fuck,” he groaned again, grabbing his phone and cancelling the alarm while he was still inside of you. “So much for waiting twenty minutes.” You could hear in his voice that he was smiling. He kissed your neck and the back of your shoulders, wrapped his hands around you into a loving embrace. “You did such a good job waiting for so long, baby.”

His praise made your heart melt. Sanji would compliment you no matter what, give you anything you wanted, love you through it all. Your requests were never too much, and he listened to you always. He was the ultimate lover-boy.

“Okay, my love.” He nuzzled into the crook of neck and held you tighter. “Let’s go take a shower, we both need one.” He pulled out of you, doubling down on the kisses and squeezes to make up for it, then he scooped you up and carried you to the shower, where he proceeded to clean you up, kiss your forehead, and tell you how good you had been through the whole thing.

After the cockwarming, Sanji came around (pun intended) to the idea of begging. He liked that you were so desperate for him and he liked that he was in control so much that you started to babble and moan with every breath. Thinking about it later that night made his cock twinge again—he had inadvertently discovered a new part of you (the uncaring relentlessness of your entreaties) and a new part of himself (wherein he got off on seeing you so fucked out and desperate that you begged).

(˃ᆺ˂) (=^･ω･^=) (⊙_☉) (¬_¬)ﾉ

okay that's all thank u sm for reading and indulging in this freakiness with me i appreciate u so so much!!! if you got this far, which would you like to see first? i'm thinking of something with either ace or zoro...

here's my masterlist if ur interested!

--Z

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Florida is One Hell of a Drug - [Part 2]

♥ prev | next

♥ series masterlist | main masterlist

♥ pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

♥ chapter two synopsis: lando hard launched his status as a girl dad, throwing all the fans into a loop. hopefully this visit to the miami gp will bring you closer two together as co-parents

♥ smau + written - fc: girls on pinterest + madison beer for paparazzi pics - none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing and suggestive jokes !!!

♥ a/n: I'm literally honored that y'all have been enjoying this series. sorry it took me so long to write this part/chapter!

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lilyzneimer 🤍

comments are limited

alexandra_saintmleux she's so cute 🥺

logansargeant I'll take a babysitting shift 🙋‍♂️

oscarpiastri I'm the favorite uncle piss off

logansargeant chill damn

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

Things between you and Lando were still pretty awkward. After all, if someone asked the two of you the night you hooked up where you’d be in a year, a flight to Miami with your newborn baby would not be your answer. You didn’t trust him very much yet, but who could blame you? You expected him to do everything in his power to stay away from you and Camila. But here he was, flying the two of you out to watch him race. Lando really wanted to prove to you that he was all in. That he wasn’t going to take off running the minute things got hard for you two as co-parents. 

You were extremely grateful that Oscar and Lily were on the same jet as you. This made the atmosphere not too uncomfortable. Lily was rocking Camila in her arms as her and Oscar talked a little about Mark Webber. You debated whether you should jump into their conversation after having an extensive f1 research night with your best friend the day before, but you decided to just sit in silence.

You caught Lando staring at you and let out a sigh. This was going to be a long flight.

-

He scanned the keycard to a nice suite in the same hotel the grid was staying in.

"This will be your room," he said, wandering inside. "Don't worry about where Camila will sleep, the hotel provided a crib."

"Thank you," you said genuinely. He was trying to be thoughtful.

"If you need anything, you have my number." Lando said before leaving the room.

You sat on the edge of your bed and pulled out your phone to check your notifications.

They already found you? And they thought you were a wag? Damn the paparazzi is quick.

liked by user2, user7, and 3,493 more

user6 I found y/n’s instagram before it went private. How is she so gorgeous?

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user8 I’m obsessed with herrrr

user12 she’s so aesthetic

user4 new favorite wag

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-Race Day-

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

The last 20 laps of the race were driving you absolutely insane. You watched closely as Lando started to pull away from Max second by second. Your leg was shaking and you wondered why this was so nerve racking.

19 laps left. 18 laps left. 15 laps left. 10 laps left. 5 laps left.

1 lap left.

The crowd and garage erupted with cheers as Lando crossed the line in P1. You heard him screaming on the radio and couldn't help but smile. Lando Norris, the father of your daughter, is now a Formula 1 race winner.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

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mclarenracingf1 P1 BOYSS

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user6 LANDO’S A GIRL DAD 😭

user8 his gf is so pretty

user10 SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

user5 babe wake up Lando just hard launched his status as girl dad

user7 HE'S NOT THE STEP DAD HE'S THE DAD THAT STEPPED UPP

user3 @/user7 PREACH

user2 never change, mclaren admin

user1 screaming, crying, throwing up

user9 lets go lando, lando is ok

user11 lets go lando, he is here to stay!!!

user4 he has a daughter 🥺

user12 my heart belongs to the dads of the grid

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Post Race Driver Reactions-

“Lando, great race. How does it feel to not only get your first win but have your daughter and partner here with you?" 

“Oh uhm, she’s not my partner.” he pressed his lips together. “But, yeah it feels great. It’s been a long time coming but we finally got the win. I hope I made my daughter and the fans proud today.”

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, lilyzneimer, and 493,559 more

yourusername logan got me a bouquet 🥰 oh also oscar got camila some stuff too

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logansargeant @/oscarpiastri look who's the favorite uncle now

user7 please 😭

user4 the girls are fightinggg

user3 she made her account public again yay <3

user9 ok but that's so cute :(

user8 loscar as uncles >>>

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

You and Lando walked through the sliding doors of the 5 star hotel you were staying at.

"Some of the other drivers and I are gonna go out tonight if you'd like to come? I'm sure they wouldn't mind." he rubbed the back of his neck.

You nodded towards Camila who was in your arms as a silent "I have to take care of her."

He pulled his phone out quickly, “I’m sure I can find someone who can-”

“No, it's ok. Go enjoy yourself.” you said, shaking your head and pushing his phone back down. “Not too much, though. Don’t want you ending up with another unplanned kid.”  

The comment took Lando aback but drew a laugh out of him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Congrats on your win.” you smiled, walking back to your room.

-

Later that night you laid down in your hotel room bed, scrolling through your feed. Dozens of pictures and videos of Lando popped up. Camila made a squealing noise in the portable crib beside you.

"I know, right?" you said to her with a laugh.

You stared at one picture that he looked particularly good in. You couldn't pretend like he wasn't attractive.

"Alright," you sighed, and placed your phone down. "Goodnight, mija." you leaned over, kissed her forehead, and switched off the bedside lamp.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

taglist; @hc-dutch, @papaya-twinks, @2pagenumb, @formulaal, @erin-odonnell04, @drunkinthemiddleoftheday, | @kissesandmartinis, @ironmaiden1313, @six-call, @wolflover384, @tremendousstarlighttragedy, | @ilivbullyingjeongin, @celestialend, @silentreader128, @wolflover384, @ellesssssxzxz | @clowngirlsstuff, @ln4smiamitrophy, @whoneedsgeorge, @chezmardybum, @warlike-morning, | @gigicisneros, @hard4ndsoft, @eveninggstar, @jolixtreesunn, @acesofspadess,| @formulaonebuff, @notpeachybby, @shesmugirl, @mxdi0, @ririyulife, | @kravitzwhore, @bellinghambby22, @helaenatargaryensfavoritebug, @maplesyrupsainz, @harrysdimple05, | @pippyth3hippy, @noneofyourfbusinessworld,

@littlegrapejuice, | @majx00, | @si1ver06

[pomegranatesarchive]

and they were roommates | oscar piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x youtuber!reader

summary: you and oscar are trying to keep your relationship a secret, so when you move in together you tell everyone your just roommates, it isn’t as believable as you thought it would be.

liked by oscarpiastri, and 210,838 others!

yourusername: new city? new roommate!

view comments below!

user1: y/n in her monaco era ???

user2: i did NOT see this coming

user3: wait but i’ll miss your old roommate

user4: RIGHT ??? she was so funny 😭

user5: oscar in the likes ???

user6: what is oscar doing on a y/n post 😨

user7: what if HES the new roommate…

user8: reaching 😭

user9: oscar this oscar that WHENS THE BEW VIDEO ??? ITS BEEN WEEKS

user10: roommate? you’re a like gazillionaire why do you need a roommate ??

user11: why do you need a roommate ?? you’re rich ???

user12: hmmm something’s off

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, landonorris, and 726,028 others!

yourusername; new video with my new roommate! enjoy :)))

view comments below!

user13: roommate???? not with the way he looks at you

user14: AHHH NEW VIDEO

user14: OMG I LOVED IT

user14: IT WAS SO FUNNY ????

user14: YOU AND OSCAR ARE HILARIOUS TOGETHER

user15: are you SURE youre just roommates ???

user16: roommates don’t look at roommates that way 😾

user17: i watched the video, and i honestly think you guys should just order out from now on…

user18: why is oscar looking at y/n like shes the beautiful girl on planet earth

user19: because she is ??? 🙄

user20: these two are DEFINITELY not just roommates

user21: i don’t think i’ve ever seen roommates who look like they are restraining themselves from kissing every second of the day ??

user22: no yall are definitely dating….

user23: RIGHT ??? because this whole ‘roommate’ DOESNT MAKE SENSE!!!!

user23: LIKE THEY ARE BOTH RICH, WHY DO THEY NEED TO HAVE A ROOMMATE???

user24; the way they both so polite cat coded

user25: if you aren’t already dating, i’m going to need you both to start IMMEDIATELY.

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, and 835,017 others!

yourusername; why do i always pick rock? anyways guys yes i am dating oscar jack paistri, and he’s keeping me hostage.

view comments below!

user26: HELLOOO?????

user27: the feet pic ???

yourusername: yeah oscar’s really into feet ☹️

oscarpiastri: NO IM NOT????

user28: oh i love this…

user29: omg the love letter…

user30: clap if you’re suprised!!

user31: dead silence

user32: it’s kinda easy to tell you’re dating when you look at each other the way you do

landonorris: I KNEW IT!!!

yourusername: yeah we told you last year…

landonorris: exactly? I KNEW IT.

user33: omg he writes you LOVE LETTERS ??? @/user33boyfriend do better.

user34: wow i’m so lonely

user35: i have no idea who this people are, but instagram showed me this literally 20 minutes after my bf broke up with me

user36: so😭happy😭for😭you😭

user37: WHEN IS IT MY TURRN

liked by, landonorris, yourusername, and 924,104 others!

oscarpiastri; she always picks rock. yes im dating THEE y/n l/n

view comments below!

yourusername; never beating the foot lover allegations i fear…

oscarpiastri: YOU STARTED THOSE ALLEGATIONS

yourusername: AND YOURE NOT BEATING THEM

user38: omg the locket 🥹🥹

user39: how long do you think they’ve been dating

user40: twitter detectives are SPECULATING 3 years or so ??

user41: how did they keep this a secret for SO long

user42: you like feet don’t you oscar…

user43: THIS IS SO CUTE IM HYPERVENTILATING

user44: THE LOCKET, THE MATCHING SLIPPERS, THE CUTE SOCKS?? LITERALLY SO CUTEYEYDJDKSS

user45: “she always picks rock” “why do i always pick rock?” i feel left out and i DONT LIKE IT

. . .

notes; the streets are saying oscar has officially moved to monaco ?? so here’s this:

[pucksandpower]

Newsflash

Charles Leclerc x reporter!Reader

Summary: after two years as a paddock correspondent, you’re convinced that Charles Leclerc hates your guts for no apparent reason … but maybe everything is not what it seems

“Wake up, Y/N. It’s race day!”

Your colleague, Natalie, bursts into your hotel room without knocking, as usual. You groan and pull the covers over your head, not ready to face the chaos that is sure to ensue in the paddock.

“Come on, sleepyhead! We have to be at the track by seven this morning for pre-race meetings,” Natalie says, yanking the duvet off you.

“Alright, alright, I’m up!” You grumble, slowly swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “What time is it anyway?”

“5:30. Which reminds me, I need coffee,” Natalie says, already headed for the door. “Meet me in the lobby in 20!”

You spend the next 19 minutes hastily getting ready — putting on minimal makeup, throwing on your favorite jumpsuit, and frantically gathering up notes and gear for the day. You take one last glance in the mirror, trying to smooth down your bedhead, before resigning to just throw a cap on over the mess.

Hustling down to the lobby, there’s a rush of personnel all around — mechanics, engineers, PR reps, and media darting about with coffees and laptops and headsets already in place. You spot Natalie nursing a large black coffee and beeline over.

“Ready to do this?” She asks with a grin.

“As I’ll ever be,” you reply with a shrug. The truth is, the nerves are already bubbling up in your stomach. You love your job as an F1 reporter for Sky Sports, but the pressure and scrutiny is immense.

The two of you pile into a car with the rest of the broadcast crew and head to the track. On the ride, you glance over your meticulous notes on the teams and drivers one more time, paying special attention to Ferrari.

Ever since you started covering F1 two years ago, one driver has basically refused to give you the time of day — Charles Leclerc.

For some reason, whenever you are around, he bolts in the opposite direction. When you have attempted interviews, he literally turns and speedwalks away without a word. Other drivers will chat with you, joke around, and give thoughtful answers to questions.

But Charles? Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

You can’t figure out why he hates you so much. You’ve scoured your past comments and coverage looking for anything that could have offended him, but come up empty.

Is it something personal against you? Were you mean to him in a past life or something? It hurts, to be honest. You try to stay professional, but his obvious disdain for you still stings.

Sighing, you put your notes away as the car pulls into the paddock. It’s going to be a long day.

After hair, makeup, mic checks, and a final meeting, it’s nearly time for the broadcast to go live as cars start lining up on the grid. Nerves buzzing, you watch Charles warm up with his performance coach across the pit lane, headphones in and clearly in the zone. As always, he walks right past you without a flicker of acknowledgment.

Your heart twinges, but you swiftly push the hurt aside. It’s showtime.

The next few hours are a blur of rushed interviews, sound bites, stats flashing across screens, and organized chaos. After the race finally ends, there are more interviews, podium ceremonies, and press conferences to wade through before you can take a breath.

“Man, that was brutal!” Natalie huffs as the two of you finally plop down in chairs in the media room later that afternoon. She cracks open a Red Bull and takes a long drink. “You hanging in there?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” you reply half-heartedly. The truth is, you’re drained — physically and mentally. And of course, the interaction with Charles, or lack thereof, is weighing heavy.

“Why do you let that pompous twerp get under your skin so much?” Natalie says with a frown, seeming to read your mind. “He’s a rude, stuck up jerk who isn’t worth the energy. Forget about him.”

You shake your head with a sigh. “You’re right, you’re right. I just … I don’t know, I never did anything to the guy, and it still stings.”

Just then, the door to the media room swings open, and Charles himself strides in. You inadvertently tense up as he approaches the couch, looking calm and confident in his usual Ferrari polo, and folds himself down between Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton, who rounded out the rest of the podium.

Here we go again, you think with an internal eye roll. Just gotta get this over with.

“Hello,” Charles says with an easy grin as he settles into his seat, “What have you got for us today?” Various reporters immediately start firing off questions, undoubtedly looking to get a headline from the race winner.

You gather your courage, take a breath, and call out “Charles, Y/N with Sky Sports here. Can you walk me through your thought process behind that daring pass on Lando in Turn 12?”

To your shock, the second Charles hears your voice, his whole demeanor shifts. He seems to freeze, shoulders hunching slightly, grin dropping from his face as his cheeks instantly flush deep red. He looks panicked almost, eyes darting around the room, before landing briefly on you.

“Uhh … b-bathroom. Need to go. Bye.”

And with that, he leaps up from the couch and practically sprints out of the room.

A stunned silence falls over the space as everyone stares, stunned, at the empty space he left. You feel your stomach drop through the floor, tears of embarrassment and humiliation prickling at your eyes.

What did you do wrong? Now he’s made a total spectacle, running away from you in front of your peers. Mortified, you shakily stand up, chair clanging backwards, and rush from the room as well. Needing air, you bolt outside until you find a secluded spot out back of the paddock, leaning against a wall as the tears flow freely.

“Hey, hey … what’s going on? Are you okay?”

The soft, concerned male voice startles you, and you gasp looking up. There stands Charles, looking alarmed and guilty.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out like that. Please don’t cry!” He moves closer, though still keeps his distance.

You blink rapidly, beyond confused. “What … what are you doing out here? I’m clearly the last person you want to be around.”

He sighs heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is really hard for me to admit but … I like you. As in, I have the biggest crush on you. That’s why I get so flustered and basically black out anytime you talk to me. It’s pathetic, I know.”

Your jaw actually drops open in disbelief. “You … what? You like me? Is this a joke?”

“No! No, I swear, it’s the truth,” he says, face turning red again. “I know I come across like a total jerk, I just freeze up around you because honestly? You’re just so stunning and brilliant, and I get unbelievably shy and nervous. The words won’t come out. It’s like an out of body experience! I chicken out and run away like an idiot every time.”

You stare at him, trying to process this. All this time, all the hurt and embarrassment … it was just because he developed a crush?

“I’m so sorry for how I’ve treated you. I know it must seem like I despise you. The truth is, you make me feel like a stuttering teenager with my first crush again,” Charles continues, looking at you beseechingly. “I understand if you think I’m a total tool, and I have a lot of work to do to make this up to you. But I swear, I really do like you, Y/N.”

At this, his face splits into a sheepish grin, eyes twinkling with mirth. You feel a laugh bubble up in your chest as relief washes over you.

He doesn’t hate you. In fact, it’s quite the opposite! You appraise him, really looking at him for the first time. From his twinkling green eyes to his adorable dimples to the lock of chestnut hair falling across his forehead, he’s unbelievably charming.

You shake your head, smile growing. “So this whole time, you’ve just been acting like an awkward schoolboy instead of giving me any indication of your true feelings?”

Charles laughs self-consciously. “Embarrassing, I know. Look, I promise I’ll do better-”

“Yeah, you’ve got a lot to make up for,” you say, crossing your arms and giving Charles a playful but pointed look. “All the grief and heartache you’ve put me through the last two years? This calls for serious groveling, mister.”

Charles immediately drops to one knee dramatically. “Y/N Y/L/N, light of my life, apple of my eye. I am but a humble driver, unworthy of your affection. But if you would do me the extraordinary honor of allowing me to court you properly, I vow to spend every day showing you how enchanted I am by your wit, your beauty, and your strength.”

You can’t help but giggle at his over-the-top chivalrous display. “Oh get up, you goofball!” You grab his hand and pull him back to his feet. “I’m just teasing. Well, partially teasing. I do expect you to apologize to me properly. Take me to dinner or something.”

Charles visibly brightens. “Dinner? Really? Yes, absolutely! In fact, let me take you right now. We’ll go to that little trattoria down the road. You deserve to be wined and dined for putting up with me.”

You consider this for a moment, taking in his eager, handsome face. The truth is, despite his past behavior, you find yourself captivated by Charles now that you understand what was really going on. His confidence, talent, and intensity are wildly attractive. And the way he’s looking at you now, with softness and admiration in his eyes .... it sends tingles down your spine.

“Alright, lead the way, hot shot,” you say with a wink.

Charles’ grin stretches even wider, if possible. “After you,” he gestures forward with a flourish, then falls into step beside you as you head towards the exit.

“I really am sorry for being such an idiot around you,” Charles says quietly after a moment of walking in comfortable silence. “The way I’ve acted was totally unacceptable. You deserve so much better.”

You glance over at his earnest expression and feel a little pang in your chest. “It’s okay, really. I get it now. Just think how close we could have been this whole time though if you’d just … I don’t know, talked to me like a normal human being!”

Charles chuckles ruefully. “Oof, so true. Honestly, I’m impressed you didn’t write me off ages ago as a complete lost cause. Clearly you’re far more patient and forgiving than I deserve.”

“Yes, I really am,” you agree teasingly, giving his arm a playful shove. You both laugh as you reach the paddock exit and emerge out onto the bustling street, taking in the energy of the crowd.

You jokingly elbow Charles’ side. “Still though, as dashingly handsome as you may be, don’t think you’re completely off the hook! I expect to be wooed and romanced properly going forward. No more running off scared like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“It’s a deal,” Charles says easily, looking thrilled. “Romance and wooing, coming right up.”

Reaching the charming little restaurant, Charles opens the door for you with a sweeping bow. You grin and step inside. Somehow, you have the feeling this is going to be the start of a wonderful evening.

No more misunderstandings. Just the two of you, getting to know each other properly over a delicious meal with the slight chill of the evening settling in around you.

And you can’t wait.

***

The next few race weekends are a whirlwind as Charles seems to do a complete 180 in his behavior towards you.

Gone is the shy, nervous wreck who could barely look you in the eye. Instead, he goes full-steam in the opposite direction, seeking you out constantly and showering you with attention.

It starts the following week after Friday practice. You’re standing in the paddock scribbling notes when you sense someone approaching. Looking up, you see Charles striding over, helmet in hand, usual calm confidence exuding from him.

“Ah, Y/N, just the reporter I was looking for,” he says with a warm grin, sidling up beside you. “Walk with me?”

Flustered by his forwardness but flattered, you quickly nod. “Uh, sure!”

Charles immediately links his arm casually through yours and starts leading you away down the paddock, journalists and crew members glancing over with raised eyebrows. You catch Natalie’s eye and she mouths “WTF?” at you with a stunned look. You just give a tiny shrug, feeling your face heat up.

“So tell me, what did you think of my lap times today?” Charles asks once you’re a few paces away from the crowd.

You blink, surprised he’s looking for actual feedback. You decide to give an honest assessment. “Well, I think you were sliding the rear end quite a bit too much through Sector 2 and losing time. The car didn’t look fully settled-”

“Brilliant analysis as always, Y/N. I knew I could count on you to give it to me straight,” Charles interrupts with a respectful nod. You feel yourself preen slightly at his praise. “Some changes to differential settings should sort that out, I think.”

He then launches into a surprisingly technical explanation of his plans to adjust the setup. You find yourself nodding along, captivated, as he outlines the various weight transfer issues and how he aims to mitigate them.

He’s speaking to you like a true engineer, not just a reporter. You realize with a jolt that he’s never gone into this level of detail with you before in any interviews.

“Sorry, I’m rambling a bit here, aren’t I?” Charles says sheepishly when he pauses. “I don’t want to bore you with too much technical detail. But you just have such a good eye and ask such insightful questions, I find myself wanting to really dive into this side of racing with you.”

He gives your arm a soft squeeze. “Anyway, let me know if you have any other observations or advice. I trust your analysis completely.”

Before you can properly respond, the two of you round a corner only to nearly walk directly into Sergio Perez, who’s heading the opposite direction. He does a comical double take at seeing the two of you arm-in-arm together.

“Ah, hello Checo!” Charles says breezily, not releasing you or missing a beat. Sergio looks hilariously confused.

“Uh … hello?” is all he manages before Charles is steering you onwards.

“See you around, mate,” he tosses over his shoulder with a wink.

You glance back to see Sergio frozen in place, staring after you both looking utterly bewildered.

The weekend continues in this vein, with Charles constantly pulling you aside to chat at length about setups, strategies, even asking your opinion on development directions for next year’s car.

He treats you with the utmost seriousness and respect, like you’re one of his most trusted advisors. It’s shocking and flattering after the cold-shoulder treatment for so long.

Whenever the broadcast crew has a break, Charles inevitably finds you and whisks you off to look at telemetry data together (which sends a poor PR officer chasing after the two of you with an NDA after the first time Charles decides to pull you into the garage) or watch video, going into painstaking detail to get your thoughts.

By Sunday, it’s become a bit of a running joke among the team, with people exchanging amused glances whenever Charles appears to disappear with you once again.

“There goes Loverboy Sharl, dragging poor Y/N off yet again to pore over spreadsheets and onboard footage,” Natalie jokes with an eye roll during a break, making the crew laugh. “How does that man ever find time to, you know, actually race?”

You shoot her a heatless glare, though you have to admit — as sweet as it is having Charles’ undivided attention, as a reporter the over-accessibility is becoming a touch much.

When the race concludes later that afternoon, Charles immediately finds you amid the chaos of the media scrum.

“Y/N!” He beams down at you, still sweaty and in his racing suit with the top half unzipped. “Come take a look at the race data with me? I want to walk through my lap times and tire deg, see if we can spot any areas to improve ...”

“Actually, I’m sort of totally swamped right now,” you gesture at the sea of people around you. “But maybe later?”

His face falls slightly. “Oh. Well I suppose I did already monopolize a lot of your time this weekend. No rest for the media?”

He gives you a lopsided smile but there’s a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. You feel a little stab of guilt.

“Tell you what though,” he continues, brightening again. “Come find me later before we fly out. I’ll have a surprise waiting for you.”

“A surprise?” You ask with a raised brow. “What does that mean?”

“Ah ah ah, no hints!” Charles laughs, wagging a finger. “Just trust me. Don’t leave without seeing me first, okay?”

With that, he leans in and unexpectedly gives you a swift peck on the cheek. You freeze, eyes going wide, feeling your face flame. Pulling back, Charles winks cheekily at you before turning and sauntering off.

Dazed, you lift a hand to touch the spot he kissed, feeling the heat radiating from your cheek. Did he really just … right out in the open like that … with the cameras recording live?

Glancing around, you see Natalie and a few other crew members staring with mouths agape. Toto Wolff is even giving you an amused look as he walks past, one eyebrow arched knowingly. Utterly mortified, you duck your head down and hurry off to find a quiet corner to collect yourself.

The next race sees the flirting and PDA ramp up even higher. Charles can’t seem to resist finding any excuse to drape an arm around your waist, stroke your arm, or playfully tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Every interaction has an undercurrent of flirtation and innuendo. And the cheek kisses become almost routine, pressed on you in front of other drivers, team bosses, cameramen, you name it.

“I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” You finally say in flustered exasperation after he ambushes you with a very public, lingering kiss on the cheek in the paddock one day. You struggle to sound annoyed, but a pleased grin tugs at the corners of your mouth as you say it.

“Sorry, ma chérie, I just can’t seem to resist around you,” Charles replies, absolutely zero shame in his voice or demeanor. “You’re lucky I have more self-control than to start making out right here in front of everyone!”

You gasp and slap his arm, scandalized, as he just throws his head back and laughs heartily.

Meanwhile, the double-takes and stunned looks from everyone around just keep coming. Even the normally straight-faced Fred Vasseur can’t seem to hold back smug grins whenever he sees the two of you getting cozy.

“Go on and get a room already, you two!” He finally chuckles one day as Charles passes by in the paddock with his usual arm draped around your waist.

“Don’t tempt me!” Charles quips back without missing a beat, giving you a roguish wink.

Soon, literally everyone in the paddock and broadcast team is aware of and commenting on the developing romance between you and Charles.

He makes no attempt to hide it whatsoever.

“Honestly, I think they’re the most nauseatingly adorable couple I’ve ever seen,” Jenson Button jokes to the rest of the broadcast team one evening as they all watch Charles throw his arm around you yet again and plant a smacking kiss on your temple.

“The honeymoon phase never ends with those two,” Natalie agrees in a wry tone, rolling her eyes. “It’s like they’re a pair of horny teenagers making out behind the bleachers.”

You just shake your head with a bashful smile and accept the good-natured ribbing. The truth is, despite Charles’ very public displays of affection causing some embarrassment and teasing from your colleagues, you find it hard to truly mind.

There’s an earnestness and joy in his demeanor whenever he’s with you that makes your heart swell. You’ve never seen him so openly happy and carefree as these past few weeks. Gone is the tightly wound, intense competitor. In his place is a warm, playful soul who can’t help but let his delight in your company shine through.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find his romantic attentions flattering and thrilling. The way his gaze smolders when his eyes meet yours, the tingle of electricity you feel whenever his hand brushes yours, the butterflies that erupt in your stomach when his lips graze your cheek — it all makes you deliriously giddy, like a lovesick teenager yourself.

So you endure the good-natured eye rolls from Natalie and jokes from the broadcast crew with an easy smile. Because the truth is, you’ve realized how deeply you’ve fallen for Charles in return.

“You’ve got me utterly love drunk, you charming fool,” you murmur against his chest one evening.

The two of you are tucked away in a quiet corner, Charles’ back against the wall with his arms wrapped around you as you stand embraced, soaking in a few stolen moments of intimacy together.

“The feeling is mutual,” Charles replies easily, resting his chin on your head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from this madness.” He pauses, absentmindedly stroking your back. “Honestly, I half expected you to get sick of me hanging around all the time by now.”

You pull back to meet his warm green eyes. “Are you kidding? I love having you around. I still have to pinch myself that you actually want to be with me after the way you treated me for so long!”

A flicker of regret passes across Charles’ features. “I truly am sorry for being such an ass before, Y/N. I hope with time you can forgive me.”

“Already forgiven,” you assure him softly. “We’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Relief blossoms on his face and he leans in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “Thank you, ma belle. For being the most patient and kind woman on earth.”

You grin, eyes fluttering closed as his breath tickles your skin. “Mmm, I wouldn’t go that far. But I guess I do possess some super-human tolerance for broody and aloof superstar drivers with commitment issues.”

Charles chuckles at that and you can feel the rumble of it against your body. “Lucky for me then, or I would still be utterly lost.”

His mouth finds yours then, soft and intoxicating. You melt into the kiss, savoring his warmth, his scent, the gentle stroke of his fingertips along your jaw. All semblance of poise escapes you when you’re pressed against Charles like this. He never fails to make your head spin and body thrum with want.

A polite cough from nearby causes you to break apart abruptly. You blink, dazed, to see Natalie standing with an eyebrow arched sky high.

“Hey lovebirds,” she says in a wry tone. “Sorry to disturb the sunset groping, but they’re calling for final broadcast checks in 10.”

Face flaming, you duck your head and extract yourself from Charles’ embrace. He just shoots Natalie a cheeky grin, entirely unabashed.

“Better get going then,” Charles says cheerfully, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “Wouldn’t want you to be late because of me … again.” He winks.

Natalie rolls her eyes hard. “Oh I’m sure that would be a first. See you in 10, Y/N.”

With that, she turns on her heel and heads back towards the pits. You glance up at Charles shyly.

“I should … uh ...” You gesture vaguely.

“Yes, yes of course,” Charles says, squeezing your hands affectionately. “Work calls. Don’t worry, I’ll be waiting around the next corner to steal more kisses as soon as you’re free.”

You laugh and give him a playful shove. “Go on then, you impossible man! I’ll see you in a bit.”

Heart fluttering, you watch him saunter off before heading for the pits yourself, still feeling delightfully dazed.

This is really your life now. Surrounded by racing, the thrill of competition, the roar of engines … and consumed by budding love every time Charles Leclerc is near.

As far as dream jobs go, you think with a lovestruck smile, you’ve really hit the jackpot.

[rainbowsinshadesofblue]

at long last. after all of these nearly 3 years. i got covid

[dollishmehrayan]

BATBOYS GENERAL HCS DURING DATING ── .✦

a/n: my posts are barely getting engagement so it would be nice to reblog + like + cmmt tysm! Also

I’m so tired because I don’t know what I want to do with myself when like writing because I don’t have much ideas yk, (I do have a lottt of ideas just don’t want to like spam and idk how to like execute it correctly so ya) but I’m so grateful I’m back!

(Tags: batboys general hcs + fem!reader)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Compliments: Dick will compliment you constantly, but they’re the slightly extra kind. “You look like you just walked off the cover of a magazine… Or like you’re about to rob a bank with your style, and I’m here for it.”

Date Nights: Dick is a hopeless romantic mixed a romantic flirty person. He'll plan elaborate date nights that are almost too perfect. You're having a candlelit dinner on a rooftop... until a mosquito swoops by, and you both spend 20 minutes trying to catch it.

Awkwardly Adorable: Dick tries so hard to be smooth, but when it’s just the two of you, he ends up tripping over his words, saying things like “I love you… like… in a non-creepy way… I mean, I know that sounds creepy but—“, “you know dick, you could’ve just told me you loved me no need for all that extra yapping.”

Sharing Food: He can’t resist sharing his food with you but will dramatically defend his fries. “No, you can't have any. This is the last one. You’ll be fine. It’s called 'the sacrifice of love.'”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Grumpy But Cute: Jason might be brooding and grumpy on the outside, but once he gets comfortable with you, he’s a sucker for giving you the best hugs. They’re just not as soft as you expect, because, well, he’s Red Hood and that’s not very 'soft' in his book.

Love Language: He definitely has a love language of throwing sarcastic remarks at you to show affection. “I’m just saying, you look so good, I might actually let you live longer than five minutes without me.”

Meme Sharing: Jason will share the funniest memes with you, and he will laugh harder than anyone else when you send him a reaction meme. You two could spend hours going through meme after meme while ignoring his patrol responsibilities.

Late Night Conversations: He’s always the first to text at 3 am just to say, “I’m not okay. Also, I think I might’ve made pasta in the Batcave, but it’s 80% burnt and half of the 20% is missing on the ground in other words, it’s fully burnt. You in?”

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Puns & Dad Jokes: Tim is the king of puns. You might be mid-sentence talking about something serious, and he’ll sneak in, “Well, that’s egg-sactly what I was thinking.”

Organizing Everything: Tim will have a notebook just for your relationship. He organizes things like "future plans," "annoying habits to change," and “how we can both pretend to be normal in public.”

Overthinking: Tim might send you long, thoughtful texts about nothing and everything, then panic and delete them. Later, you get a short text that says, “Hey, I like you. It’s cool. Let’s go save Gotham.”

Netflix & Research: On date nights, Tim is all about watching a documentary on some obscure topic. You wanted to watch a rom-com? Nope. Tim says, “Let’s learn about the history of ancient pizza ovens.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Fiercely Protective: Damian will go full boss mode in a relationship. If someone even looks at you wrong, he’s ready to challenge them to a duel. You’ve never seen someone challenge a guy at the coffee shop to a sword fight over a latte until you met him.

Literally Shakespeare: He has this bizarre habit of reciting random Shakespeare quotes when trying to express his feelings. “My love for you is like a tempest, crashing and relentless. Also, I think you forgot to add sugar in my coffee.”

Jealousy: He’ll get jealous of even the smallest things. That random guy who offered to help you with your grocery bags? Damian’s glaring at them from across the parking lot, preparing his “You’re not worthy” speech.

Tenderness: Don’t be fooled by his brooding exterior. Damian will get you flowers (in his own way) — like a very dramatic single red rose that he purchased with the least amount of emotion possible, but you know he spent an hour picking the perfect one.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Grumpy But Loyal: Bruce is that partner who takes a long time to warm up to things, but once he’s in, he’s in 100%. He’ll still be grumpy, though. If you show up in a bat-themed shirt, you’ll get a raised eyebrow and a grunt that could probably level an entire building.

Affectionate In His Own Way: Bruce will bring you your favorite coffee without asking because he’s been paying attention to your usual order for the past six months. But if you say anything about it, he’ll act like he’s annoyed. “I’m Batman. I don’t do things for people.”

Overprotective: He’ll put the Batcomputer between the two of you if he’s feeling protective, even if it’s completely unnecessary. Someone bumps into you? Bruce is already three steps ahead, tracking their life history and figuring out their deepest secrets, just in case.

Romantic, But Quiet About It: Bruce can’t show his love through words, but the way he gives you his jacket when it’s cold speaks volumes. Of course, he acts like it was an accident. “I didn’t want you to catch a cold, that’s all. I’m not a softy, don’t read into it.”

GENERAL TRAITS FOUND IN THEM ── .✦

Matching Outfits: They’ll all pretend like they’re too cool for matching outfits, but one day they’ll catch themselves accidentally twinning with you, and neither of you can ever act normal again.

In Public: They’ll all act like they don’t care if you hold their hand in public, but if anyone tries to grab your hand instead, they’ll give them a glare that could freeze a person in place.

Batman’s Turtleneck: Every Batboy secretly loves when Bruce wears his iconic black turtleneck and glasses. They all think Bruce looks like a mysterious intellectual, and they might just start commenting on it to mess with him. Bruce is too focused on Gotham to care.

[ghouljams]

I feel like each of the 141 has a difference preference when dicking down their mate.

Kyle prefers to stay human, it lets him really get a good show while fucking into the pretty thing he managed to take home. Seeing how your skin contrasts to his softly colored sheets is more reassuring to him that you're his than any scenting could be. Also, he's a lighter sleeper as a human, letting him keep you in his bed if you try to slip out while he's asleep.

Price likes the little hint of other, as a sign of his age and experience. He's the only one of the 141 who can shift only a few senses instead of having to start properly shifting. Let's him memorize your scent while fucking you, all so he can let you have the illusion of choice by letting you go and "finding" you again later. Eventually, he'll make it seem like a bit of fate and offer you out on a date.

Ghost partially shifts, and that's the most he can hold himself back when it comes to you. Claws and teeth come out, drool dripping from his maw to your skin. He needs to taste you, to make sure you taste the same. Taste like his.

Soap is a dog and he will fuck you in full transformation because of it. This man needs you on the most primal level, so why not just fuck you at his most primal. It also gives him a better nose to smell your sweat soaked skin, a longer tongue to shove into you, better hearing to catch each and every whimper you make. He needs to consume you and the best way to do that is with his wolf.

At least, that's my thought.

As usual how does it feel to be so fucking right?

Gaz absolutely prefers fucking you as a human, it feels too much like taking advantage of you when he has his semi-transformed strength and the idea of fucking you fully wolf makes him itch a little. He's so worried about damaging you with his claws and fangs :( his poor human mate, he doesn't want to ruin you. We'll, not like that at least. That won't stop him from knotting you, that's a luxury he can't afford not to indulge in. He loves the way you squirm and complain about the stretch, shushing you with soft coos, promising it'll be over soon, even when he knows it'll be a good 20 minutes at least.

Price is old hat at transformations and after years of growing and shrinking it's worn on his joints, if he doesn't have to transform he won't. He'll indulge in the sensed his wolf-form lends him, pressing his nose to your pulse and getting himself drunk on your scent. His eyes are always dark, animalistic, when he drags his flat tongue against your sex, and you worry that the teeth he's hiding might bite too hard, but he hasn't hurt you yet. And the only scare he gives you is when he presses his hand against your come filled stomach talking about pups.

Ghost simply lacks self control around you. The man has the control of a saint, but once he gets drunk on the scent of your arousal it's over for him. He grips you with heavy clawed hands, his skin splitting with fur and his nose starting to lengthen, and it scares you a little. His breathing is uneven, but his hips don't stop moving even when his bones start to break and his joints begin to pop. His drool dripping onto you is the only indication you get before he's sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You'll have to take wolfsbane in the morning if you don't want to end up going through the same pain.

Soap though... Soap fucks you like a dog, literally. He'll hunt you down on a full moon and hold you down with big paws, murmuring canned tones from his open maw about how he can't stop himself. He's all instinct, all panting and howling as he mounts you and ruts his cock against your sex, uncaring what hole he fucks himself into as long as it's yours. He'll lay directly on top of you once he's knotted you too, licking your face in apology but you know he doesn't mean it because he keeps asking for another round.

[strawberrynull]

──⯎ ˙💄 ̟ strawberry lip balm

엔하이픈 | Enhypen | Nishimura Riki

──Pairing: niki x afab!reader

──Genre: fluff

──Synopsis: After sleeping over Niki's house with some friends the night before, you accidentally left your favorite chapstick behind

──Warnings: cursing, kissing

──A/N: yall this literally took me only one hour

masterlist

You.

You were the only thing on Nishimura Riki's mind ever since he had found your strawberry lip balm sitting on his bathroom sink.

Last night, you and Jake slept over at Niki's place. The three of you had so much fun playing Mario Kart all night and ordering your favorite foods. Niki had watched you put on that strawberry lip balm at least 20 times last night. You were typically the type to leave things at people's house accidentally but he didn't think you would end up forgetting something so important to you.

Niki layed on his bed, staring at the small lip balm. It was pink and decorated with strawberries and pink lettering. He held it in between his fingers, rolling it to read the label for the hundredth time. He contemplated whether he wanted to show up at your door to give you your lip balm now or wait until you noticed it was gone.

The thought of you putting the lip balm on your plump lips flooded his mind once again. The scene played on repeat until it almost annoyed him. He ran his fingers through his hair, sighing in frustration. Sure, he kinda liked you and kinda really wanted to kiss you but you were his friend. And his best friend was best friends with you too. Having the image of your blush tinted lips on his mind all day wasn't making his guilt any better.

He was even more guilty knowing that all he wanted right now was to taste your lips. Now he had your lip balm in his hand. It was an opportunity but would he feel super bad about it after? Absolutely.

Niki opened the cap of the lip balm. It had a red tint like a real strawberry and was a bit shimmery as well. The image of your lips flashed in his mind again. Maybe he would just quickly see how the lip balm smelled... He held the small pink lip balm under his nose. As you would expect, it smelled like artificial strawberries and had a hint of honey too.

The phone buzzed making him flinch, quickly closing the lip balm and tossing it to the side. Grabbing the phone, he read a text from you.

Y/n-ie♡Hey I think I left my lip balm at your house Can I come pick it up?

He immediately began typing back, telling you he had found it and he was at home.

Y/n-ie♡great I'll be over in 5

He sat up, feeling his face begin to heat. You had texted him right as he was smelling your lip balm. He felt like a total creep. Past that feeling, the desire to taste your lips still lingered, making him feel even worse.

Niki layed back down and turned to his side, eyeing the lip balm beside him. The idea of using your lip balm on his own lips popped into his mind. He quickly shook off the idea though. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, trying to get you off his mind.

Not for long though.

He grabbed the lip balm, quickly pulling the cap off. He observed the way the flecks of glitter shimmered as he turned the lip balm. Hesitantly, he brought it up to lips. He swallowed before swiping the pink lip balm across his bottom lip. He frantically put the cap back on and threw it to the side once again. He felt horrible for using your things without your permission.

Niki licked his lips, tasting a mixture of strawberries and honey. Though he still wanted to know how it tasted on your lips.

Then there was a knock at the door. Fuck. 5 minutes had gone by too quickly. He shot up from his bed, grabbed the lip balm, and dashed toward the door. As soon as the door opened, his eyes darted to your lips. Still plump and pink even without your signature lip balm.

Great, way to go Niki.

"Hey Ki. I'm soooo glad you have my lip balm. I was looking for it all morning. I thought I was going crazy." You rambled as he tried his best to avoid looking down at your pretty lips.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Here." He said quickly, reaching out to hand you your lip balm, still avoiding eye contact. He still felt ashamed for what he had done a few seconds earlier.

You took the lip balm from his hand. Just as he was about to turn away you opened your mouth to speak again. "Riki," Shit, his full name. You noticed already. He snapped his gaze toward you. "Did you use my lip balm?"

"No."

"Yes you did. You have glitter on your lips." Fuck. You had caught him. He stood there in silence with a look of shock like a deer in headlights. You just laughed though. He had totally overstepped a boundary and you just laughed at it. "Ki, why'd you use mine? Don't you have like 30 of your own?"

"Well, I-" He stuttered. He didn't know what to tell you. Oh yeah I used your lip balm like a total freak because I wanted to know what your lips taste like. No fucking way he would tell you that.

You raised an eyebrow at him. In addition, you crossed your arms. He could never lie to you when you did that.

"I'm sorry." he started by apologizing. "I wanted to k- to kiss you but you know... friends don't do that. So uh.. I used the lip balm and I'm really sorry. It was weird, sorry." He stuttered, bowing his head to repeatedly apologize. Again, you just laughed. His guilty expression was replaced with a look of confusion.

"You could have just told me, Ki. Here," you pulled open your lip balm and spread it across your lips. "I gotchu."

Before Niki could process what was happening, you had put a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in to kiss him. Your lips were so much softer than he could have ever imagined. The taste of strawberries and honey returned to his taste buds but a hundred times better this time. Just one kiss had him feeling dizzy. Subconsciously, he grabbed hold of your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"As good as you imagined?" You whispered against his lips. You felt his arms wrap around you fully, hugging you tight against his body.

"Better." He said before pressing his lips onto yours again.

© strawberrynull, 2024. Do not copy my work. Please DM for permission before translating or reuploading. Thank You

[twilightkitkat]

Poolverine texting would be so hilarious because Wade would use emojis and slang and all lowercase, while Logan (who is old and set in his ways) would type in complete sentences with capitalization. Double space after the full stop and all.

It'd literally be like a Gen Z kid texting their grandma with how Wade and Logan's conversations go. Logan would 100% be a slow texter who types it all in one message (think about waiting 5 minutes just to get an "Okay. I love you. Talk to you later." text), while Wade would be an extreme yapper over text and send his scrambled thoughts out over multiple messages. Logan is astounded by how much he can type in 20 seconds even if the grammar is atrocious (he also finds it endearing as hell because it reflects how Wade talks to him in real life and it always leaves him warm inside to imagine Wade lighting up as he rants about his latest passion).

They'd also suffer from the intergenerational communication gap. The first time Logan used quotation marks for emphasis, Wade freaked the fuck out because why is he mad?? What is he insinuating by wishing him a "Good" day? How did he fuck up?? All while Logan feels proud of himself for really showing that he cares and wants Wade to have fun while he's out.

(When Wade came home with a bottle of his favorite whiskey and sweets from his favorite bakery he was touched but confused as hell. Until Wade finally revealed he thought he was mad and Logan and Wade nearly lost it when they realized the miscommunication.)

Logan isn't used to texting so he prefers to call most of the time (and so does Wade, he loves hearing Logan's voice and not having to decipher ancient texting rituals), but he makes an effort to text Wade throughout the day to let him know he's thinking about him and that he cares and misses him. Wade doesn't always get the exact meaning but his heart is in the right place and he sends long-winded rants about random shit he saw or people who annoyed him throughout the day so he and Logan never really feel apart.